ANNA CLAYTON;
>
THE MOTHER'S TRIAL.
. Calt of
BY MRS. H. J. MOORE,
AUTHOR OF TBS GOLD** ISO ACT.
" Through Buffering and forrow then but pMtsod,
To show us whmt a woman true may be."
NINTH EDITION.
BOSTON:
CROWN & CO.
TOBONTO, C. W.: A. W. BOBTWIOK.
PHILADELPHIA: J. W BRADLEY.
PROVIDENCE: 0. W. POTTBB.
1857.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the' year 1856, by
I,. P. CROWN & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
Bler.otyped bj
HOBABT ft BOBBINS,
&nd Stereotype Foundwy,
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
THB unexpected favor with which " ANNA CLATTON " haa been
received by the public, requiring another and larger edition within
a few hours from ita first appearance, shows that "Real Life "
haa not yet lost its charms, amidst the wild vagaries of fiction and
romance.
The principal characters and scenes in this " tale " are drawn
from life. Imagination cannot picture deeper shades of sadness,
higher or more exquisite joys, stranger labyrinthine mazes, than
truth has woven for us in " THB MOTHER'S TRIAL."
Here, in the heart of New England, lived, and, for aught we
know, still live, our prototypes. The same blighting influences
are even now insidiously creeping around oqr firesides ; and, while
wo disclaim either bitterness or prejudice toward those who are
blindly led, we wonld raise the finger of warning against the lead-
ers in this " Mystery of Iniquity."
BOSTON, May 7, 1855.
*p-
ANNA CLAYTON.
CHAPTER I.
"If there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
1 is thai by loving father shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head."
SCOTT'S " LADT or THE LAKX."
BEFORE a cheerful, crackling fire (for those were not the
days of Lehigh), in the family-room of an old mansion, sat,
or rather leaned, one whose silvery locks and careworn feat-
ures denoted that ho had fulfilled the " three-score years and
ten " allotted to man. Long and vacantly he gazed, but not
at the gracefully-curling smoke that wreathed itself into fan-
tastic forms, and ascended to mingle with the pure air of
heaven, leaving a long train to follow at leisure ; nor at the
glowing embers beneath, bright and genial though their influ-
ence might be ; no, the gaze of the old man bent not upon
any outward object ; his communings were deep within the
spirit's shrine, and there, spread before his mental vision in
almost startling reality, were the various scenes through
which he had passed ; the many years he had ministered in
1*
ANNA CLAYTON.
spiritual things to the flock that now seemed so dear to him ;
the loved ones he had laid to rest in the green church-
yard ; the blessings that had been showered upon him in the
midst of griefs. Brightest of all these blessings, stole softly
and sweetly the image of one who, for nineteen years, had
been enshrined within his heart, worshipped, next only to
his God ; whose first breath came freighted with the parting
blessing of a sainted mother, and to whom, with his bound-
less wealth of love and tender care, ever pouring its exhaust-
less treasures at her feet, he had been father, mother, compan-
ion ! Now his head leaned more heavily upon his breast,
and gentle, sorrowful tears were coursing down his furrowed
cheek, when a merry, joyous, silvery laugh rang through the
room, as, with a light bound, a fair girl sprang into his arms.
" A penny for your thoughts, my dear father ! " said she,
gayly ; " here you sit, moping over the fire, just where I left
you nearly an hour ago, while I have been to see Aunt
Susie, and poor Mrs. Rowley, who is so sick, and black Cato,
and sweet, patient Ellen Leslie, and " but here the tearful
eyes which met her own checked her utterance ; and, impul-
sively clasping her arms about his neck, her fair ringlets
mingling with his snowy locks, her tears fell with almost
childish exuberance.
" My child ! my darling, this must not be ! why
should I grieve you? " and, with a mighty effort stilling the
throbs of his own swelling heart, he exclaimed, in attempted
cheerfulness, " "Why, what would Herbert say, should he see
his Bessie, the prize for which he has so long and so honorably
striven, and which he thought was to be conferred upon him
with deep thankfulness that the winner was worthy of that
* ANNA CLAYTON. &* 7
which he had so earnestly sought, how would he feel should
he sec her now in tears, on the very eve of that consummation
which she often assured him would only perfect her happi-
ness ! Nay, nay, do no* speak now ; I know all your heart
would dictate; I know you would give up even Herbert,
dear as he is to you, rather than cause your old father's heart
to bleed, as you just now felt that it did. Bless you, darling,
for that devotion, and may God bless you," and here the
trembling hands and lips wore raised to heaven, " as I now
do, for all the light, life and joy, with which you have filled
this otherwise desolate heart! Such a treasure as you have
been to me, may you prove to him who has your pure young
heart in his keeping ! "
" But, father, listen to me; " and, as she spoke, her whole
frame quivering with emotion, her slight figure drawn up
with unwonted decision, she seemed to shadow forth that
bleudiug of rare loveliness and gentleness with an unwavering
obedience to the right which were so fully perfected in her
after life ; " listen, and believe me when I say that,
deeply and truly as I love Herbert, and how deeply and
truly none save my own soul can know, there is yet a
shrine in my heart which not even his love can approach,
where only is the image of one who has been to me
father, mother, brother, sister ; and can I see the shadow of
such great grief falling upon my revered father's heart, and
not declare, as I now do, that "
" Stay that declaration, my dear child, if you would not
distress me still more! There is a shadow falling on my
heart, but 't is the shadow of an angel, beckoning me on to joys
untastcd, to glories unseen, to sweet communings with her
*v
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8 ANN A CLAYTON.
who has long been waiting in the spirit-land ; and the last
wish of my heart will be gratified, as I to-morrow give to
Herbert the greatest boon this earth affords, a cheerful,
loving, truthful wife."
" Plase yer honor, Misther May, an' shure there 's a letther
for yees, and the man will be afther waiting for an answer,"
said Bridget, thrusting her head in at the door ; " but, bedad,
yees all in the dark, shure."
Before she had done speaking, Bessie, with noiseless step,
had lighted the social astral, and drawn her father's chair
near the table, where she stood, impatiently waiting for him
to adjust his glasses, take a deliberate survey of the outside,
and then as deliberately unfold the letter, which to her quick
and unerring instinct was in some way connected with him
who on the morrow would lead her to the altar.
" Bessie, dear," said Mr. May, looking up with a quiet
smile, as he handed her the missive, " here is an ordeal for
you to pass, which, if I mistake not, will be rather trying to
one so sensitive and delicate. What say you, for it is a
matter you alone must decide, shall the good people of
Asheville satisfy their curiosity by looking at the sweet face
of their minister's wife as she first takes upon herself those
vows ; or, as they express it, ' show their respect for their
beloved pastor, the Rev. Herbert Lindsey, by escorting him
and his bride to their future home ' ? 'T will be a trial, love,
but a small one, I fear, compared with many which must fol-
low, and from which a father's love would fain shield you, but
cannot. Speak, darling, and tell me what answer to give to
this request."
"What would Herbert say, father?" gently replied she,
ANNA CLAYTON. 9
while a shade of anxiety and disappointment passed over her
face.
" Spoken like my own Bessie, ever mindful of the wishes
of those she loves, and ever ready to make any sacrifice for
them. Doubtless he would like to gratify his people, but
not if it must wound the feelings of his gentle bride."
" Then, father," said she, with an arch smile, " tell them
Mr. May and his daughter, grateful for their condescension,
will be most happy to receive them."
And so it was settled that in the church where her loved
voice had first lisped the Saviour's name, and had since min-
gled its sweetness in their simple, heart-felt melodies, that
voice should once more be heard, uttering the TOWS which
severed her from her childhood's home forever.
CHAPTEE II.
" 0, hush the song, and let her tears
Flow to the dream of her early years :
Holy and pure are the drops that fall
When the young bride goes from her father's hall ;
She goes unto love yet untried and new
She parts from love which hath still been true."
MRS. HEMANS.
BRIGHTLY the morning sun shone over the village of B ,
and sweetly the birds sang, never more sweetly, thought
Bessie, as she, at early dawn, with step light, yet pensive,
thought sweet, yet sad, sought her own little nook in the gar-
den. Sacred be thy communings, sweet maiden ! we will not
venture within this consecrated spot, but breathe for thee the
prayer that thou mayest come forth strengthened for all thy
life's trials ; and above all for the great sorrow that even now
is hovering over thee, and though on thy happy bridal-day,
cannot be averted from thee.
" 0, Nancy, Miss Nancy, do help me put on this white
dress ! " said Nelly Lee, bursting into Miss Nancy Ellis' room,
to her utter dismay and confusion, as the secrets of her toilet
were thus suddenly exposed to the rude gaze of the mischiev-
ous girl, " I toot it out of my drawer this morning, where I
laid it last fall, and Kitty has ironed it so nice and now I
AIIHA CLAYTON. 11
can't get it on; and 'tis so vexing, too, for all of us girls
want to dress just alike, and carry flowers to strew in the
aisle for the bride to walk on ; and they are gathering them
now, and I 'in afraid I shall be late ; do help me, that 's a
dear, good Miss Nancy ! " said the now breathless girl, coax-
iogly throwing her arms about her.
11 1 'm sure I don't know why there should be such a fuss,
just because Miss Bessie May has taken it into her head to
get married!" said Nancy, tartly; "and then, too, to think
of her boldness in going to the church, just as if she was
afraid there would n't be folks enough to see her at home ! I
admire modesty," said she, complacently viewing her hard
features in the glass ; " but come here, child, and I '11 help
you ; " and, with much straining, pulling, and a little rending,
for, unconsciously to herself, little Nelly's form was fast
rounding and developing to its perfection, the dress was
made to stay on fit it certainly did not. But Nelly still
lingered, though she was just now in such haste, and, looking
sadly at Miss Nancy,
" I didn't know," said she, " that you hated our dear Bes-
sie ; I thought ev^body loved her."
" Well, well, child, you are too young to understand these
things ; " and, having no older listener, she continued, partly
to her and partly to herself, " to think that she should drag
her old father out just to make a display of herself, when, I
venture to say, he would prefer a quiet time at home ! "
"That an't true! " and Nelly stamped her little foot vio-
lently, " for Bridget, who lives at Mr. May's, was over to
our house last night, and said that a man brought a letter,
and she carried it to Mr. May, and he was so busy-like that
12 ANNA CLAYTON.
he didn't know she was in the room, and 'twas all about her
young mistress being married in church; and Bessie cried
about it, but said she would do as her father bid ; so, Misa
Nancy," and the little face was full of triumph, what
do you think now?"
"Think, why, I think just as I always did, that she's
a little upstart, and an't no better 'n she ought to be, neither;
and I shall just give some o' them folks that come from his
place a piece of my mind about it, too ! "
This was rather too much for Nelly ; and, her bosom heav-
ing with indignation and wrath, she seized a saucer of paint
and a long row of pearly-white teeth that lay upon the table,
and, dashing them into a thousand pieces upon the floor, she
exclaimed, " And I shall tell them, Miss Nancy, that you
could n't come to the wedding because a little girl threw your
teeth on the floor and broke them, and spilt all your paint ! "
and peal after peal of merry laughter rang through the house
as she escaped Miss Nancy's indignation, the thought of her
woful plight disarming all her childish anger.
Poor Miss Nancy ! her wrath knew no bounds. How could
she now carry out her plan of visiting this, that and the other
one, and diffusing a little of her bitterness of spirit among
them all ? And the wedding, too, where she had expected to
shine so conspicuously in a certain way, what can she do ?
And to think of that little mischievous madcap being the
cause of it all ! " O, what torments children are ! " said she,
as, quickly fastening the door, she buried her face in her
hands, and gave way to a violent fit of weeping. Who shall
Bay they were not, to her ?
Never before was there heard such a peal as now burst
ANRACLATTOH. 13
forth from the church-bell. Can that be old John the sex-
ton? If so, he must certainly be inspired; for BO plainly do
its deep tones speak to every heart, that, at its bidding, old
and young, rich and poor, all bend their steps towards ita
open portals. And now the village-green seems peopled with
fairies, as from behind every bush, from every nook and cor-
ner, there springs forth what would seem to be a wilderness
of flowers, were it not that here and there a roguish eye would
peep from under a bunch of roses, or a stray curl or dimpled
arm proclaim some humanity in that moving garden.
The little church had been transformed by these fairies into
a perfect bower of roses and evergreens ; and, as they stood
with joyous faces and beaming eyes, showering with fragrance
the pathway to the altar, what wonder that the venerable
man should pause to call down blessings on their young
hearts; or that the tall, manly form, which supported the
trembling bride, bowed in grateful acknowledgment of this
simple, characteristic offering of innocence !
Long would we linger around that altar ; for, in the deep,
tremulous voice of him who resigns his last, cherished treasure
to another's keeping, arc tones not of earth, and the melody
which wells forth from every heart in the bridal chorus ia
swelled by the sweeter strains of an angel band. She, who
has so long hovered around the loved ones with gentle, heav-
enly ministrations, is even now permitted to breathe words of
peace and joy into the lone man's soul, and, with spotless robe
and crown in view, to beckon him away to his treasures in
heaven. As with outstretched arms and streaming eyes the
father and pastor invokes God's blessing upon his flock, an
invisible presence seems to fill every heart ; even the little
2
14 ANNA CLAYTON.
ones look upon him with awe, and pass him with unwonted
reverence. Amid smiles and tears, congratulations and mur-
murings, blessings from the old and good wishes from all, the
gentle, blushing bride was proudly led forth by the now happy
husband. Many a kindly word was spoken, many a token
of affection pressed into her hand, ere she was permitted to
depart to the home and people which were henceforth to be
hers.
" O, how we shall miss her ! " sobbed Miss Nancy Ellis, as,
with her colorless face bound in cotton, she stretched forth
her long neck to gaze after the departing carriages.
"Why, Miss Nancy," said little Nelly, who had been stand-
ing unobserved near her, " why, how can you say so ? " and,
turning away in disgust, she gathered a little group about her,
and in a low voice, interrupted with constant bursts of merri-
ment or indignation, she told the mishaps of the morning, as
with frequent and meaning gestures she pointed to the face
covered up for pretended ague. It was well for Nelly that
she deferred her story till now ; for, so dangerous was their
glee, none the less boisterous for the woful aspect of Miss
Nancy before them, that many an outgrown dress, beside
hers, bore testimony to its effect.
CHAPTER III.
" What a world were this,
How unendurable ita weight, if they
Whom death hath sundered did not meet again !
THE church, just left vacant and lonely by the departure
of the bridal party, and within which still lingered sweet
influences of visible and invisible spirits, the unwithered
and blending fragrance of flowers betraying the nearness of
the former, and the hash and thrill of spirit ever attending
the overshadowing presence of the latter, was one of those
venerable structures so often met with in New England till
the hand of improvement, or, as we should rather say, of
change, swept them from the earth, but not from the cherished
remembrance of many who worshipped within their ancient
walls. How well do we remember the veneration and awe
with which wo (child as we were) gazed up into the enclosure
midway, we thought, between heaven and earth, as though
not of either, where stood the inspired man of God in flowing
robes ; how often have we likened it, in our youthful iraagin-
at ; on, to the scenes of the judgment day, when he who was to
pronounce the doom of all should occupy that sacred desk,
while Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, with other glorified
*
16 ANNA CLAYTON.
beings whose seats in heaven were already secured, should sit
in solemn state where sat those six deacons, with faces aa
devout and serious as though the fate of worlds rested upon
them ! And then those stately square pews, with innumerable
little alleys as pathways to them, how expressive of the
gathering together of each family in its exclusively social
relations before the final separation ! I confess my youthful
fancies have often led me through many such imaginary scenes
of weal and woe, while my honest, sober-minded parents were
congratulating themselves that one, at least, of their number,
was an attentive listener to the holy man's words.
The ministerial office of those days was far from being the
- " come and go " affair of the present age. Then it was
choosing a home for life, and on both sides was the union one
which only death should dissolve. Consequently the settle-
ment of a minister was an era long to be remembered, and
seldom witnessed more than once by the same generation.
This was true of the good people of B ; for only a few
among the aged could recall the time when Mr. May came
among them, in all his youthful ardor, and, after a mutually
agreeable acquaintance, was ordained as their future spiritual
teacher, amid the gaze of multitudes from far and near. The
mingled love and reverence with which they still regarded
him testified alike to his faithful fulfilment of those solemn
rows, and to their docility and love of all things good. They
had borne his sorrows on their hearts when he laid his dearly-
loved wife in their green church-yard ; and they had watched
with joy the gradually unfolding and developing beauties of
his bud of promise, the lovely Bessie. What wonder, then,
that the transplanting of this flower to another garden should
ANNA CLAYTON. 17
have been a great event in their history, or that the day
chosen for her nuptials should, by common consent, have been
enjoyed as a holiday for all ?
As the bridal cortege wound slowly from their sight, groups
of men, women and children, were eagerly discussing the many
incidents always attendant upon a country wedding, while
here and there were busy housewives, intent on their prepara-
tions for a " bit o' gossip and a cup o' tea " with their neigh-
bors. Thus the day wore on to its close, when, as if by
preconcertion, there was a general gathering on the village
green, partly to discuss the exhaustless subject of the morning's
occurrence, and also to mingle their sympathies with their
beloved pastor, who, they doubted not, would come forth to
meet them, and whose house was now indeed made desolate.
Expectant eyes were often turned towards the " parsonage,"
but none appeared in answer to their silent call, till at length
the porch door opened, and Bridget, the faithful servant,
came slowly towards them, to see if her master had been well
cared for. Great was her consternation whjn informed that
he had not been seen by any one since the services of the
morning.
"Alack a day, and isn't it meself as feared what's
coming ! " cried she ; " and share is n't it me own eyes as saw
him go to the grave of his leddy, yonder, last night aboot
twelve ! and was n't I a trimblin' and shiverin' when I see
him doun on his knees, an' the grass all damp and cowld at his
feet ! And, the blissid Virgin save me ! jist as I stipt out to
warn him, may be did n't I see the leddy herself risin' out
o' the ground and kneelin' beside him ! Och ! an' is n't a
beryin, it betokens, sich as the likes o' me would Diver see
2*
18 ANNA CLAYTON.
agin ? " And, wringing her hands, poor Biddy seemed beside
herself with grief and fright. How much influence her story
evidently a mixture of truth and imagination, had with her
hearers, could scarcely be estimated ; but of one thing they
were assured, which sufficiently alarmed them, without refer-
ence to the supernatural, their pastor had not been seen
by any one since his morning's trial. Old John the sexton
now remembered that when Mr. May parted with the bride
at the carriage he went back into the church and shut the
door ; but, as he thought, he did it that he might gain his own
house by a more private way. After a moment's consultation,
a few of the older ones approached the church, and, noiselessly
unclosing the door, gazed with speechless reverence upon the
scene before them. Seated upon the same spot where he had
given away his last treasure, the long, whitened locks flowing
upon his shoulders, his head resting upon the desk in front, so
absorbed, apparently, in deep revery that he had taken no
note of the advancing shades of evening, the old man had
passed his first solitary day. Was he not surrounded by
ministering spirits, all eager to pour the balm of consolation
into his heart? So, at least, thought those who gazed, as,
silently withdrawing, they joined their neighbors ; and, impart-
ing their own deep sympathy, all quietly sought their homes,
save a few of the faithful who remained to watch the coming
forth of their beloved pastor.
The trial of parting with his onl^ child, even though the
separation was but partial, had proved far greater and more
unendurable than Bessie's father had ever anticipated. Hastily
turning from the carriage as it moved away, that his emotion
might not be observed, he sought the solitude of his own loved
A NX A CLAYTON. 19
sanctuary, and instinctively bent his steps to the altar where,
bat a few short moments since, he had consummated a union
which his judgment approved, but which sundered a tie whose
strength he had never before so fully realized. And now,
with head bont in deep communings with his own spirit in its
great grief, did the soft, sweet whisper of the angel of hope
pervade his soul. Tremblingly did the long-tried servant
lir-ton to its words, as they gently breathed to him of heaven,
and home, and rest. The outward man moved not, stirred
not, breathed not ! but from the shrine of his inner self did
there go up joyful thanksgiving and praise, and with his
spiritual eyes did he discern hosts of enraptured beings, in
spotless robes and crowns of glory, awaiting his coming, while
she who had ever been his guardian angel, with one hand
1 in his and the other pointing to the golden gates,
gently drew him on, and together they winged their way to
the celestial paradise.
Gun it be that these seeming realities are but the fanta-
sies of a troubled mind ? or have his long years of devotion
and self-sacrifice been at length rewarded by the welcome
invitation " Come, ye blessed," so sweetly given and so
joyfully met as to seem but a glorious dream? The sobs,
tears, and heart-felt exclamations, of those who, many hours
after, found him still in the same position, but stiff and cold
in death, proclaimed that this vision was but the happy exit
of a redeemed soul from earth.
Again do the deep tones of the church-bell reverberate
through hill and dale, but with each solemn toll do the hearts
of this bereaved flock sink deeper and deeper, for well they
recognize the mournful call to go forth and consign their
20 ANNA CLAYTON.
beloved pastor to his last long rest beside the mound he has
BO often watered with his tears, where sleeps the bride of his
youth. Scarcely less deep is their grief than that which
wrings her heart, who but three days since received in pater-
nal blessings his last words on earth.
As the grave closes over that loved form, which, for many
years, has moved among them in all godliness and humility,
and within which throbbed a heart ever keenly alive to their
varying interests, every bleeding, sorrowing heart pays its
tribute alike to his worth and their own irreparable loss.
Sleep on, thou chosen of the Lord ! For thee shall no monu-
mental stone be reared, to tell of thy greatness ; but in the
simple marble slab do we read the devotion of thy life to its
great end, and the place of thy repose is indeed holy ground.
CHAPTER IV.
" Lay this into your breast :
Old friends, like old swords, still arc trusted best."
WB
" Our first love murdered is the sharpest pang
A human heart can fool."
YOCSG.
FROM the grave of her revered father, every fibre of her
quivering heart rent with agony as it was thus severed from
its long resting-place, Bessie went forth, with him who was
now her only earthly treasure, to the home he had chosen for
her. Deeply imbibing the childlike, submissive spirit, ever
Chining so brightly in him who was now reaping its reward,
and feeling that henceforth hi* spirit would be suffered to
watch over her, she did not permit her selfish sorrow to darken
the path before her. Gratefully she received the quiet mani-
festations of sympathy from those to whom she was now to bo
so closely bound ; and with deep, fervent thankfulness did
she bless her heavenly Father, who had thus kindly opened
the hearts of her husband's flock to receive the orphan bride.
Nor did the unsurpassed beauties of nature, of which Asheville
could so justly boast, lose their effect in softening the shad-
ows resting on her heart. The wide-spreading elms which
C-
22 ANNA CLAYTON.
sheltered her new home, and which, as far as the eye could
reach, lined on either side the village road j the bright, spark-
ling river, coursing its way through the green fields, and
merging itself, not far distant, into the broad Atlantic ; the
diversified scenery of hill and dale, woodland and plain, dotted
here and there with the pleasant homes of their people, could
scarcely fail to charm away sorrow from one even less enthu-
siastic than Bessie.
Released, in a measure, from home duties, by the faithful-
ness of her old nurse Bridget, she would wander forth at early
dawn, and, inhaling new life with each passing breeze, seek
some quiet nook where she could in his silent temple worship
the God of nature. Thus was her spirit strengthened for
life's trials, and her heart filled with a peace reflecting itself
in the kind words and loving smiles with which she sought to
cheer her husband's home.
A few short months, which to her seemed but as so many
happy days, were thus passed, when, as she was returning, one
morning, from her accustomed ramble, she was accosted by a
servant-girl with a beautiful child in her arms.
" Will you please, madam, to show me the way out of
these woods? I have lost the right path, and my mistress will
be anxious about the baby, if I am out any longer."
" Certainly," replied Mrs. Lindsey ; " but where do you
wish to go, and whose is this darling treasure ? " And she
stooped to admire and caress it.
" I want to go to Squire Clayton's ; this is his grandson,
and if any harm should befall him 't would break the old man's
heart ; he s ts a sight o' store by him."
"Clayton! Clayton!" repeated Mrs. Lindsey; "how
ANN A CLAYTON. 23
familiar that name sounds ! I wonder if he is any connection
of my old schoolmate, Anna. What is your mistress' name,
Susan ? for the baby has told me yours ! " said she, smiling.
" Yes, ma'am," replied she, " he said ' Susy ' the nest thing
after he learnt ' mamma.' Dear little Charlio I love him
so dearly ! His mother's name is Mrs. Duncan ; she is feeble,
and don't go about much ; but then she bears everything so
patiently and sweetly I think sometimes she an't long for
this world. But I am talking too much," said she, coloring;
" I always forget myself when talking about her, and you
Seem so like her that I forgot you was a stranger ; I can find
my way now, thanks to you for showing me. Come, Charlie,
make a bow to the lady, and say good-by."
" I will walk along with you," saH Mr-. Linlscy, laughing
heartily at the little " duje-by," and bob of the head. " I am
going to ask your mistress to let you bring the baby to my
house ; I want iny husband to see the sweet little fellow."
" I 'm afraid she won't," replied Susan, much cmbarr
"for she don't see company, anil Charlie is all the comfort
she 's got. But there she is, walking in the garden and look-
ing for us," continued she, her agitation evidently increasing
as they approached Squirt- Clayton's mansion.
"Never fear your mistress' disapprobation," said Mrs.
Lindsey, reading her look ; " I shall take care to exculpate
you from any intention of inviting me here, and will not
intrude upon her if I find it disagreeable."
" I certainly owe you many apologies for this intrusion,"
said Mrs. Lindsey, addressing Mrs. Duncan, who came for-
ward to meet them, " and should not thus trespass upon your
retirement but for that little fellow," pointing to the baby,
24 ANN A CL A YTON.
now shouting with delight in his mother's arms. " I accident-
ally met him and his nurse in the wood yonder, and at her
request, as she was somewhat bewildered, I guided them out ;
the sweet smiles and winning words of little Charlie, as she
called him, charming me on to your quiet retreat, to claim
from you a promise that to-morrow I may be allowed a visit
from him. But," continued she, gazing intently into the
lovely face of Mrs. Duncan, " you so strongly remind me of a
dear cherished friend who has now gone abroad, that I could
almost "
" Bessie, Bessie May ! can it be ? " cried Mrs. Duncan,
looking up eagerly, and clasping her arms about her. " O,
how I have longed to see you, dear, dear Bessie ! " and she
drew her to a seat in the arbor.
" But, Anna, dearest, since it is you, why did you not
write to me when you returned from abroad ? You know
you promised, and so did Robert, that I should be the first to
welcome you home."
" 0, Bessie, have you yet to learn that I am not Robert
Graham's wife, and that he is wandering alone in a foreign
land ? " replied Anna, in tones of anguish.
" I do remember, now, that Susan told me your name was
Mrs. Duncan," said Bessie ; " but the surprise and joy of
this unexpected meeting had driven it all out of my head.
Pray, what does it mean, Anna ? for in your pale, sad face
I read such suffering as I little thought would fall to the lot
of the ever-joyous and lively Anna Clayton. Surely, Robert
did not prove false ! "
" Robert never ! Tou know, Bessie, when we were such
dear good friends at school, I told you how long Robert and
ANNA CLAYTON. 25
I had known and loved each other, and that as soon as he
got the appointment abroad which he expected! we should
together find our home in a distant land. I wow remember
your query 'Are you sure, Anna, that your father will
consent?' and at the moment it troubled me; but Robert
assured me that he knew of his expected appointment, and
that a man of honor, like Squire Clayton, would never refuso
his consent to our union, when he had so long witnessed, with-
out discouraging, our inrrea.-ing attachment. Thus reiissured,
I did not suffer any further doubts to cloud our happ!;:
but returned home, as you know, full of lui'iynnt Anticipations.
But, dear Bessie, I forget upon what a long and sad story I
have entered ; i in my own
troubles that I have not even inquired by what conjuration
you, whom of all others I have most J< . have- been
brought to m y
" I told you ju.st now,' 1 replied Be-sic, sniilinir, " that it
was by the witchery of your Charlie's smiles I was drawn to
your door, little thinking, however, that in his mother I should
find my dearly-loved and lung-cherished schoolmate. But I
shall not tell you one Wtord about myself, for I am impatient
to hear the r--t of your 'sad story.' Dear Anna, if you
were in trouble, why did you not write and lot me come and
comfort you? "
"You will knowwhy, dear Beasie," replied she, "when I havo
told you all ; but the joy of meeting you, and the very thought
that I can, without : . to yon my hitherto sealed
heart, sure of receiving sympathy and kind words, almost
overpowers me," and tears came to Uer relief, as she leaned
3
26 ANNA CLAYTON.
her head upon her friend's shoulder, and, in broken sentences,
continued
"The kind and loving reception which I met from my
parents on my return from school, and the ease and freedom
with which Kobert was domesticated in our social circle, as
though already one of us, served but to brighten our hopes
for the future. Judge, then, of my consternation, when one
morning, as I sat in the library, with book in hand, but with
thoughts busily weaving such scenes of bliss as, alas ! can
never exist save in imagination, my father came in, and,
affectionately patting my cheek, said he was glad to find me
there, as he had just parted with a dear friend, and was the
bearer of a message for me which he was too happy to deliver.
This was none othei than an offer of his heart and hand from
the noble -born and aristocratic Charles Duncan. ' Now, my
daughter,' said he, exultingly, as he concluded, ' I shall live
to see my fondest hopes concerning you more than realized.
Charles Duncan's father is an English nobleman, and he will
eventually succeed to his father's titles and estates.'
" ' But, father,' said I, in tones more of despair than joy at
such an announcement, ' do you not know that this same
Charles is a reckless, dissipated fellow, and that he is well
aware of our knowledge of his character? Besides, the lim-
ited acquaintance we have had with him has only served to
expose the shallowness of his brain, as well as the baseness of
his heart. I should consider proposals from such a man an
insult to any pure-minded, virtuous girl.'
"'My child, you amaze me!' replied my father; 'the
attentions you have shown him as our guest led me to sup-
pose that you, at least, respected him. These little follies,
.
* *4f k
ASNA 'CLATTON. 27
so common to young men of his station, he will soon get
over.'
" ' It was only as your guest, father, that I have endeavored
to show him some respect ; for, from the first, I have felt
a strange repugnance to him. I cannot marry him, dear
father ! '
" My father sat some momenta in silence, his head resting
upon both hands, his countenance expressive of great disap-
pointment, while I, almost stupefied by an indefinable pre-
sentiment of coming evil, sank upon my knees at his feet,
exclaiming, ' Surely, father, you do not wish mo to marry
one who not only unhiushingly boasts of his villany in betray-
ing confiding innocence, but is also an avowed enemy of tho
religion in which we were nurrared.'
" Tut, tut, child !' replied he, hastily, what do you know
about religion ? Mr. Duncan told me, to-day, that, although
he is a Catholic, he should never interfere with his wife's re-
ligious affairs ; and as to his boasting, as you say, I think you
have been misinformed. So, come, dry your tears, and pre-
pare to look your best, for he is to dine with us to-day, and
" with you afterwards.'
" Then, father,' said I, still kneeling before him, I must
beg you to inform Mr. Duncan that I cannot grant him an
interview, or li.-tcn for a moment to his proposals ; for my
heart already acknowledges a possessor whom I can at once
respect and love.'
" ' Anna, what do you mean ? ' replied my father, with much
agitation.
" ' I mean, dear father, that with all my heart I love Rob-
ert Gotham, and his wife only can I be without perjuring
'
-
28 ANNA CLAYTON.
my plighted faith,' answered I, scarcely conscious of wnat I
said.
" A gentle knock at the door prevented the reply bursting
from my father's lips, and Robert Graham entered just in
time to avert the storm of wrath from my head. Gazing with
surprise on my kneeling form and the agitated countenances of
both, and with ready instinct divining the cause, he, too, knelt
before my father, and, with my hand clasped in his own,
exclaimed, ' Will you not bless your children ? '
" ' Never! '* uttered my father, in tones which struck terror
to our hearts, and caused mine, at least, to sink in despair
for well I knew their import. It had been the work of an
instant ; but in that one moment all our fond hopes had been
concentrated, and with a word were they thus blighted. O,
what a fearful responsibility does a father bring upon himself
when he thus hopelessly shuts out the first light of love from
the heart of his child !
" I have but an indistinct recollection of the remainder of
that morning's interview. I knew that no pleading, earnest
as it was, of Robert's, could soften my father's heart or change
his determination; and, with many reproaches, he banished
him from the house, not, however, without conceding to him
the privilege of one last interview with me, after I should
become more composed. But, in the wild ravings of delirium
ever ringing the changes on the dreadful word ' never,'
Robert was forced to leave me, as the appointment he had
received admitted of no delay. He had, as I afterwards
learned, incessantly importuned my father to alleviate our
doom, by giving him some distant hope. But he was told
that I must and should forget this youthful fancy, and marry
ANNA CLAYTON. 29
as my friends wished. Then Bobert, in the anguish of hia
soul, wrote the farewell he could not speak ; assuring me of
his constancy, and implicitly confiding in mine, though I
might be compelled, through inability to avert it, to acquiesce
in my impending fato ! 0, how different was hia departure
from a 1 that our fond anticipations had pictured ! Solitary
he sought his distant home, where ho had hoped to find his
little world of happiness."
" Dear Anna," -interrupted Mrs. Lindsey, while her own
tears were fast flowing in sympathy with her friend, " this is
too painful ; I little thought I was awakening remembrances
so bitter. Much as I desire to hear the rest of your story,
and that I do most intensely, I cannot permit my curiosity
to oiuisc you so much suffering."
" You are the first and only one, Bessie, to whom I could
thus pour out my heart, and perhaps it is wrong to speak of
those things even to you ; but I feel that it will do me good,
and I shall be none the less faithful to my duties because yon
have helped me bear my burden. How I wish I could ever
have you near me ! "
" And so you will, for I have come with my dear husband
to live in the village yonder, and every day we can see each
other. Herbert will be delighted to meet you he has heard
me say so much about you."
"Then you did marry Herbert, whose name caused you
to blush so when we were at school ! Tell me all about it,
Bessie."
"Marry him! Yes, to be sure I did," replied Bessie;
"what could I have done without him? for I, too, have
had sorrow, Anna, though not like yours. My dear father,
30 ANNACLAYTON.
who, you know, was all in all to me, died the very day I be-
came Herbert's wife ; and though he fell asleep as sweetly
and quietly as an infant, my heart would have been crushed
by its bereavement, had it not been for the blessed sympathy
of my husband. So tenderly did He, ' whose loving-kindness
changeth not,' remove me from my childhood's ever-watchful
guide, to the protection of one scarcely less dear or less de-
voted, I could not murmur at the messenger of mercy who
so gently called him home."
" 0, Bessie, you were always so hopeful, you could bear
trouble better than I," replied Mrs. Duncan, with a sigh.
" Rather say, my dear Anna, that I have been enabled to
cast my burden on One who has promised to sustain me ; and,
though your troubles are more grievous to be borne, yet is He
able to sustain you, also. But I must hasten home, for it is
nearly dinner-time, and I should be sadly missed at our table,
where two of us compose the whole family."
" I cannot let you go, dear Bessie, without a promise that
you will return this afternoon," said Mrs. Duncan, as she once
more threw her arms around her, " 't is such a luxury to see
you, and I have so much more to say and to hear ! "
"If not this afternoon, I will come to-morrow morning,
Anna," replied Bessie, affectionately kissing her; "be as-
sured I am anxious to hear the rest as soon as you are able
to bear the recital, which your pale face admonishes me is not
to-day. '
CHAPTEB V.
' lut when to miaohiof mortal* bend thoir will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! "
Pore.
AMONG the hills of Yorkshire, remarkable for their pic-
turesque scenery, there stoo4tffcioblc mansion, whose magnifi-
cent parks and highly-cultivated grounds proclaimed at once
the refined taste and opulence of the owner. It was one of
those delightful spots BO common in England, where each
generation, as it hands down to posterity the fruits of its
labor, leaves also its own impress in the tasto and care
bestowed on the inheritance. Most skilfully had the exquisite
of the former owner of Bccchgrove displayed itself, in
rendering it one of the most beautiful retreats upon which the
*eyo could rest Grottoes, fountains, murmuring waters min-
gling with the songs of rare and costly birds, enchanting the
senses almost to satiety, would abruptly terminate in the
wildest, grandest scenery of nature's mould, winding paths
shaded by the noble and majestic trees which gave to the
place its simple and unpretending name, suddenly revealing
on one hand favorite bowers for the fairies' revels, while
fchudderingly the eye would ti&n to gaze from the overhanging
W
32 ANNA CLAYTON.
precipice on the other side, down the deep, dark ravine int<
which the waters were madly dashing over its rpcky sides.
These ever-varying though never-wearying beauties of art
- and nature combined 'evinced, as we before said, the exquisite
taste of its former owner ; sorry are we to add that, at the
time to which our story relates, it had come into the posses-
sion of one who could see nothing in this unique blending of
extremes but the oddity of a bachelor uncle, who, having no
nearer relations, had made his sister's only child sole heir to
his princely fortune, together with the homestead which it had
been his life-long business to bring to its present perfection.
William Duncan, or Sir William, as he was now called, thus
suddenly stepped from comparative obscurity, in Ireland, to
the ownership and occupancy^Wan estate whose beauty he
could not appreciate, and whose greatest charm, to his shallow
mind, was the rare facilities it afforded for game and the
chase. From these employments he was certainly not
restrained by any domestic allurements. Lady Duncan, ever
weak-minded, was too much engrossed in the hoTiofs of her
unexpected elevation to think or care for the pursuits of
either her husband or son. The latter was, therefore, left to
follow his own inclination, both in the choice of companions
and amusements; nor was he long in developing traits of
character which showed but too plainly that, with the reck-
lessness of his father, he also imbibed the puerility of his
mother.
Not all the admonitions of Father Bernaldi, their family
confessor, nor the remonstrances of his tutor, joined with the
entreaties and even threats of parents, could check the im-
petuosity with which he plunged into every species of dissipa-
A X N A C L A Y T N . 33
tion. With a mind undisciplined, and naturally self-willed,
ho sought only his own gratification, regardless alike of the
proprieties of life or the laws of nature. It was, therefore,
no matter of surprise to the good physician, who was sum*
moned to the bedside of Charles Duncan, that ho found his
constitution shattered, and his whole system enervated. With
great assiduity did Dr. Murray set himself to the task of
restoring vigor to the body, while the zealous priest was no
less indefatigable in his labors to reclaim the heart, and bring
him within the pale of holy mother church. The partial suc-
cess of both was visible, as, after a tedious confinement of
three months, ho bent hia stops, one Sabbath morning, to the
chapel to celebrate mass, and bowed his head to receive
the sprinkling of holy ^f^ from the reverend father's
hands.
At the doctor's suggestion, seconded by Father Bernaldi,
vho was fearful of losing the little influence he had already
gained, when Charles .should again bo able to mingle with
former associates, it was decided that he should spend a year
or two abroad, in the company and under the guidance of
the faithful prie-st. Together, therefore, they sought the
shores of America, with no other object than to while away
the time in the manner most conducive to the health and
spirits of the heir of Bepchgrove.
To. a mind that had failed to appreciate the inimitable
grandeur and beauty surrounding his own home, the scenery
of Now England would scarcely seem worthy of a passing
notice. Though nature welcomed him in her gayest mood,
an-l smilingly strewed his path with her choicest treaties;
though fldwera rich and itHe bent their lovely forms
34 ANNA CLAYTON.
him, and filled his every breath with fragrance ; and though
the hills our own glorious New England hills with their
boundless wealth of luxurious foliage, seemed to bow their
noble heads, and sent forth their feathered choir to entice him
to their forest home, yet was not his spirit attuned to this
pure melody, nor his heart fitted to mingle with this simple
worship of nature. Far more delightful to him were the
sounds of revelry and mirth, and the congeniality he sought
dwelt only in the haunts of the pleasure-seeking world.
Towards the gay metropolis, therefore, he hastily turned his
steps, willingly aided by Father Bernaldi, to whose counsel
he listened just so far as it accorded with his own gratifica-
tion, and who, therefore, felt doubly the need of other watch
ful eyes than his own to guard the wayward youth.
Having domesticated themselves in the most luxurious
apartments they could command in the city of B , Charles
Duncan entered with keen zest into the new scenes of dissipa-
tion thus opened before him, and pleasure soon enrolled him
among her gayest votaries. Meanwhile, Bernaldi, ever wary
and vigilant for the interests of the church he served, had
sought the presence of Bishop , to whom ho was bearer
of a letter from his most worshipful reverence the Bishop of
York, within whose diocese lived Sir William Duncan. It
ran thus :
" In Alphonso Bernaldi, the bearer of this, you will recog-
nize our most faithful emissary, to whom has been intrusted
the care of an important though capricious youth. It is our
pleasure that you afford him all the aid he needs in the watch
and care of th.'3 person, that so he may be brought within the
most holy church, and his estatea,J>e converted to her use and
benefit. HUGH Pmcr, Bishop cf York."
AKNAOLATT01T. 85
" And you say tliis young man is rather headstrong," quo
riod the bishop, as he refolded the letter and filed it among
his " important documents."
" Ay, that he is," replied Bernaldi ; " he pays but little
heed to anything but his own gratification."
" What do you consider the weakest the most accessible
point in his character? " asked the wily bishop.
" Really, sir, he is altogether so weak, it is difficult to point
out any one deficiency," answered the priest.
The right reverend father sat some moments in deep thought ;
at length he inquired, " Is he fond of gaming ? "
" He is, passionately," replied Uernaldi.
11 1 have him, then," exultingly exclaimed the bishop, as
his keen gray eyes twinkled with delight ; " all you have to
do is to encourage him in this amusement ; I will take care
of the rest ;" and he rubbed his hands with infinite satisfac-
tion as his guest rose to leave.
" You will find a faithful coadjutor in all your reverence
desires," obsequiously added Father Bernaldi ; " I will from
time to time report to you his progress."
" Do so," said the bishop, as he sat down to arrange his
well-conceived plan.
" Where to-night, my young man ? " playfully inquired the
companion of Charles Duncan, as they rose from the tea-table,
and the latter prepared to go out.
" Where ? why, wherever fun and frolic reign I shall be
sure to go, good father ; why do you ask ? " carelessly replied
CharK
" Do yoalpler think, Charles, how lonely it must be to sit
36 ANNA CLAYTON.
here moping over my books till midnight, waiting for you? "
said Father Bernaldi, reproachfully.
" Why, you astonish me," exclaimed Charles, incredulously,
looking at his companion. "I thought you was the happiest man
in the world, with your books, and prayers, and good deeds."
" Well, now, suppose I should confess to you, Charles, tha4
I do sometimes tire of these things, and long to get a little
insight into the world of pleasure, what would you think ? "
" Think why, I should be perfectly delighted just to show
you a little of what I call pleasure ; but," he added, laugh-
ingly, " I fear your priestly robes would be sadly out of place
where I go to-night."
"Why not, then, lay them aside for one evening?" warily
answered the priest.
" What do you mean, my good father-confessor ? " replied
Charles, with more feeling than Bernaldi thought he pos-
sessed ; " if it is your intention to play the spy on me, you
had better stick to your prayers, for, mind you, I 'm not to be
dogged about anywhere."
" Pardon me, Charles, nothing was further from my inten-
tion than such a course," humbly replied the abashed priest.
" It is a weakness, I confess, which I must overcome; but I
had a desire to spend this evening with you."
" Come, then, good father, we won't quarrel, and if you
will promise not to preach to me again for a month, I shall bo
glad of your company to-night ; but, mind you, not a word to
the old man about it, or else he might cut off my supplies."
"My word for it, he shall not know anything from me,"
promptly responded Bernaldi, by whom such a result would
bo equally deprecated.
f
ANNA CLAYTON. 37
The brilliantly-lighted saloon, into which Charles Duncan
and hia friend were ushered, presented, even at that early
hour, a very lively scene. Groups of all classes, from the
princely merchant to the meagre-salaried clerk, wer6 collected
in various parts of the room, eagerly discussing matters of
interest pertaining to their evening's amusement, or earnestly
watching at the tables those who had already launched into
the tide of luck. Servants, continually passing and repassing,
with their tempting displays of delicacies and choice \
served up in rich glass and massive silver, gave to the whole
an air of enjoyment alluring to the uninitiated.
The entrance of the two new comers would not, of course,
excite much attention, where so many were coming and going;
but a close observer, in globing around the room, could not
fail to notice that a pair of keen black eyes were bent upon
them searchingly, and immediately withdrawn, while a precon-
certed signal was given to one standing near them. With a
careless and somewhat indifferent manner this person ap-
proached Charles, and in his blandest tone invited him to
join a group just forming around a faro-table. At any other
time and place, Charles would have hesitated before mingling
with a set of entire strangers ; but the invitation, though ab-
rupt, was so courteously extended, and the appearance of the
person so perfectly in accordance with hia ideas of a gentle-
man, that he at once accepted, and, telling his companion, in
a low voice, to seek for his own amusement, he was soon too
deeply absorbed in the game to observe what was passing
around him.
Other eyes than Mr. Manning's had noticed the searching
glance bestowed on them ; and no sooner had Charles separated
00 ANNACLAYTOH.
himself from Father Bernaldi than the latter, gliding eau*
tiously along, found himself vis-a-vis to those small gray eyea,
whose peculiar expression he had noted in his morning's in-
terview. So complete was the transformation effected in each
other by their assumed disguises, that it required great
shrewdness to detect the smooth, fair face and bald head of
the reverend bishop, beneath those flowing locks, heavy eye-
brows, and patriarchal beard ; and no less cunning was evinced
in identifying the gay and fashionably-dressed young man of
pleasure with the meek and obsequious father-confessor. A
scarcely perceptible start, as they passed each other, was the
only intimation to Bernaldi that the recognition was mutual.
Warily they threaded their way, stopping to note, with
apparent interest, the success of one, or sympathizing with the
ill luck of another, till they reached an unoccupied table,
where they could overhear, without being seen by the parties
near them. Seating themselves and ordering refreshments,
with merely the simple courtesy of strangers, the elder of the
two was soon seemingly absorbed in the contents of the news-
paper before him, while the other, with an ill-concealed attempt
at indifference, listened to the conversation near him.
" I say, Manning, what a deuced fine fellow you are ! "
exclaimed Charles Duncan, as he heaped up his ill-gotten
winnings and prepared for a larger stake ; " you 're the best
player I ever see. Come, now, give us another glass, and we '11
try it again."
" Really, Mr. Duncan, your remarks are very flattering,"
replied Mr. Manning, with a sarcastic smile'; " allow me the
honor of refilling your glass. Gentlemen, here 's to the health
and prosperity of our new friend ! "
ANITA CLAYTON. 89
Every glass waa drained save the speaker's, who quietly
replaced his on the Ublo unobserved, the lurking smile betray-
ing his evident satisfaction.
" What say you, Mr. Duncan, to a drive into the country
to-morrow, to sec some of our rustic beaut
" Agreed ! " cried the half-drunken Charles. " I declare
you are the cleverest chap I 've met with in this country ;
let 's make up a ruralizing party to-morrow at my expense,"
continued he, elated with wine and success, " and we '11 ehooso
Mr. Manning for our guide."
Their assent was pledged in another glass, when Mr. Man-
ning proposed retiring, that they might be prepared for Iheir
next day's excursion. Gently drawing Charles' arm within
his own, he quietly led the way through several streets to his
apartments at the hotel. The fumes of the wine Charles had
so freely imbibed, though still coursing through his brain,
did not blind him to the fact that .Mr. Manning seemed
familiar with his locality. "With, a half-puzzled air, ho ex-
claimed,
"How the deuce you knew where I lived I cannot imagine;
but I 've taken quite a fancy to you ; so come in and have a
little chat over a glass of Madeira." .
Mr. Manning did not require a second invitation, and, with
graceful ease throwing himself into the proffered seat, he spoke
in his most whining tones.
" It is not often my judgment and inclination agree in the
choice of friends, but this evening has convinced me that such
may bo found, and I rejoice that the interest with which you
iu.-pirod me is mutual. We shall indeed be friends."
Could Charles Duncan have looked into tho heart of tho
40 ANNAOIAYTON.
speaker as he uttered so emphatically this prediction, even he
would have shrunk with disgust from its fulfilment; for, though
deeply versed in dissipation and vice, this had been rather the
result of a weak intellect, combined with an impulsive nature,
than the distillations of a naturally malicious heart. Philip
Manning, on the contrary, might justly be compared to a
"whited sepulchre," polished externally, pleasing to the eye,
captivating to the senses, but within full of uncleanness and
pollution.
The reverend father was not ignorant of the peculiar quali-
fications of the instrument he had employed to decoy his
unwary victim ; and the supply of means, together with prom-
ised future reward, was a sufficient incentive to put in
requisition all Philip's consummate art. With ready tact he
had at once, as we have seen, ingratiated himself with Charles ;
and as they now sat sipping their social glass, he adroitly
drew from him all he wished to know, both of his past life
and future intentions. They parted at a late hour, in the best
possible humor with each other. Charles was delighted that
in his new friend he had also found an agreeable companion
for his revels, and Manning was no less pleased that he had
such a pliant nature to mould.
It was not till Charles was left alone that he bethought
himself of Father Bernaldi. Hastily seizing his hat, and
reproaching himself for his neglect, he was about to return to
the saloon where he had left him, when he perceived two
persons standing in the doorway in earnest conversation, one
of whom, at his approach, walked hastily away, and the
other, turning towards him, revealed the features of the rev-
erend father.
ANNA CLAYTON. 41
" You must excuse me," said the unsuspecting Charles,
laughing ; " I am ao used to going and coming alone that I
entirely forgot you to-night, indeed, I almost forgot myself
in the fascinating society of my new friend."
" It was just as well," replied the priest ; " I found my way
without difficulty. But who, pray, has so nearly charmed
you out of your own Mouthy ? "
" All I know about him, father, is, that he is a perfect
gentleman and delightful companion ; and that is all I care
for."
" Beware, my son, Ifow you mingle with these men of pleas-
ure ! I trust you are destined for higher pursuits than those
in which you have engaged this "evening," solemnly added
Father Bornaldi, as he laid aside his borrowed garments.
" You promised not to preach to me again for a month,"
petulantly exclaimed Charles, " and here you are at it again
before we have been in the house half an hour ! I .suppose
the next thing you will be blabbing to the old man ! "
" I only warn you for your good," meekly replied Ber
naldi.
CHAPTER VI.
" This work requires long time, dissembling looks,
Commixt with undermining actions,
"Watching advantages to execute."
WITH the first beams of the morning sun Philip Manning
arose, and, hastily dressing himself, proceeded, with noiseless
steps, through a long corridor which led from his dwelling to
the apartments occupied by the right-reverend bishop. Giv-
ing the usual signal, he was immediately admitted by the
prelate himself, and for two hours their low and earnest tones
might be heard in eager discourse. At length the door slowly
opened, and Philip, after casting a quick, searching glance
around, returned by the same passage to his own room, where
he completed his morning's toilet with care, and partook of a
sumptuous breakfast/
A more experienced observer than Charles Duncan could
not have seen the slightest defect in his figure or dress as he
emerged from the house, an hour later, to join his companions
in the contemplated excursion ; but the sinister expression of
his eye, and the Judas-like smile playing around his lips,
betrayed the villain 'beneath this elegant exterior.
" "Well, Mr. Manning," said one of the party, as he and
Charles approached, " where shall we go to-day ? You are
ANNA CLAYTON. 43
to be the guide, you know ; so we have only to follow your
directions."
" If I am to lead you to-day," replied Manning, pleasantly
smiling, " it shall be wherever you choose to go. I have just
heard, by the by, that there is to be a village fair about
twenty miles from here. What Bay you to a peep at the
country fairies, and a purchase from some of those plump,
white hands ? "
" 0, by all means let 'a go to the country fair ! " eagerly
exclaimed Charles, seconded by the others. And for the fair
they started in high spirits, full of glee with their anticipated
fun.
" I declare, if there an't old Clayton's carriage ! " said
Johnson, as they drove into the yard of the only inn the vil-
lage afforded ; " if wo catch a sight of his pretty daughter,
we .shall be well paid for coming, I '11 agree."
" Dick, why don't you strike there ? " replied Manning ;
" you 're handsome enough to captivate any girl."
" But not Anna Clayton, Manning ; Richard Johnson 's
not the man for that. Besides, she's already spoken for,
judging by the sweet looks and smiles she bestows on that
handsome fellow who is always at her side."
" You mean Robert Graham," said Morton, contemptuously.
" Depend upon it, old Clayton never '11 let his daughter marry
that poor scamp."
" If he is poor," replied Johnson, warmly, " he is the
noblest-hearted fellow I know of. If anybody is fit to marry
her, it is Robert Graham."
" It seems to me you are quite enlia^d in her service,"
44 ANNA CLAYTON.
laughingly interrupted Manning. " We must assuredly see
this paragon of beauty, eh, Duncan?"
" That we must ; and ; in the mean time, let 's go in and
drink to her health," replied Charles.
Great had been the bustle and excitement, particularly
among the young folks- in their preparation for this merry-
making. Notices had been posted in all the neighboring
towns, and the streets of the usually quiet little village were
now teeming with life, as they poured in from every side, a
gay throng of rustic beaux and belles.
Charles was enraptured with this display of country charms,
and eagerly participated in the festive scenes, so new to him ;
dancing with one, flirting with another, and frolicking with
troops of country lasses, in high glee. He had managed, with
the help of his friend Manning, to ingratiate himself with
Squire Clayton, the wealthiest and most aristocratic man in
the whole region, and sued, but in vain, for the hand of his
fair daughter, in the dance. To every invitation " engaged "
was the smiling answer; and he saw, with evident chagriD,
that it was far from being an unwilling reply. Piqued, at
length, by her indifference, he sought more willing partner ;
but the vision of her lovely form, floating gracefully about in
the mazes of the dance, seemed to him more beautiful than
anything he had ever seen, and stirred within a depth of
feeling hitherto unknown to himself.
Happily for Charles, the simple habits of the villagers
required no stronger stimulant than their own free, joyous
spirits ; else his unrestrained fondness for the wine-cup would
have lessened the admiration with which Squire Clayton
(who, by the by, Manning took care to inform of Charles'
ANNA CLAYTON. 45
station and fortune) regarded him. The old man was not
insensible to the attractions of titled wealth, and he looked
with surprise upon his daughter's evident aversion to the
object of it. Treating it, however, as a girlish freak, he was
more assiduous in his own attentions, and, at parting with
Charles, gave him a cordial invitation to visit his house
whenever it suited his pleasure.
Nothing could have been more in accordance with Charles'
wishes, and he resolved to improve to the utmost the oppor-
tunity thus afforded him of meeting one whom his heart
acknowledged unequalled by any of her sex. Carefully con-
cealing from Father Bcrnaldi and his friend Manning the new
i thus awakened within him, he quietly sought the man-
sion of Squire Clayton, where he was received with deferential
politeness by the father, and cool indifference by the daughter.
In early childhood Anna Clayton had been bereft of a
mother's love and care, though not before she had given
promise of rare loveliness, and a gentle, winning, affectionate
disposition. The idol of the whole household, she became
doubly endeared to her widowed father, who, after the death
of his much-loved wife, seemed to exist only for her. Ever
worldly-minded and irreligious, he had no source of conso-
lation, in his life-long bereavement, save in the gradually
unfolding beauty and grace of his only child. Most lovingly
would his eye follow her fairy form, as day after day she
tripped lightly off to school, hand in hand with her insepar-
able and almost only companion, Robert Graham ; or, as ho
Bat in his library overlooking the garden, his ear would be
regaled with her shouts of merry laughter, as she joyously
gambolled with her schoolmate. Thus Anna grew up a
46 ANNACLAYTON.
cherished flower, living in the sunlight of her father's love,
and, what she prized next, the companionship of the noble,
manly Robert, son of a much- valued neighbor.
' But not always were her days to glide thus smoothly
along. "With her expanding intellect, her father was pain-
fully reminded ofHhe insufficiency of the schools in their own
village, and the consequent necessity of placing her where
she could complete her education, and at the same time ac-
quire those accomplishments so suited to her nature. With
many tears did the doting father intrust this, his only treas-
ure, to the care of Mrs. Delafield, a lady of superior mind
and literary attainments, who, having lost husband and child,
devoted herself with eminent success to the instruction of
young ladies. A better selection could not have been made ;
for, while assiduously striving to improve their minds, she
did not forget that the cultivation of the heart was no less
essential to the welfare of her pupils. With her humble,
fervent piety brightly illumining the path of science, she led
them through all its intricacies with the same quiet, gentle
cheerfulnesg, ever pointing upward to the great Source of all
knowledge.
The pure and heart-felt devotion of her teacher produced
a deep and lasting impression on Anna's susceptible nature ;
but in vain did that teacher seek its reflection in her heart.
While she acknowledged its inestimable value to one like
Mrs. Delafield, so bereft of earthly treasures, her awn little
world was so filled with happiness and love, she felt no other
want. Weeks, months and years, flew by, each in their turn
laying at her feet its tribute of earthly devotion; and her
heart was satisfied. What blessing could she crave that was
ANNACLATTOH. 47
not already hers ? A father's love smoothing every ragged
path before her ; a patient, loving teacher, cheering her through
many a tedious maze ; light-hearted, merry companions,
with their exhaustless school friendships; and, what must ba
confessed as prized above all, the ceaseless, unalterable affec-
tion of her early schoolmate, Robert Graham, glowing in every
lino of his ofl-repeatcd letters, and gushing with irresistible
tenderness from his lips when they met were not these
sufficient to cast a bright halo around her existence, and satisfy
every longing of her heart?
Anna left her home a gay, thoughtless, lovely child, and
she returned to that home, after a few years' absence, reaming
her father's fondest anticipations, in the perfection of her
mind, her exceeding beauty, and the simple purity of her
heart.
Such was she, when, mingling with gay and joyous spirits
in the rural festivities of a neighboring fair, she first saw
Charles Duncan. What wonder that her pure mind shrunk
from his proffered hand, or that her indifference should grow
into disgust, as his repeated and unwelcome visits at her
father's house seemed to have some deeper significance than
common courtesy ? Her blind, infatuated father saw nothing
repulsive in the handsome, wealthy, aristocratic young man,
but secretly rejoiced in his evident admiration of his lovely
daughter. His most sanguine expectations had never led him
to imagine her the wife of a titled nobleman, though he doubted
not her Jitness for such a station ; but now that it seemed
within her reach, he could scarce contain his joy, or wait with
patience the desired consummation. Dazzled with her bril-
liant prospects, the thought of her heart's wild pleadings
.
;
48 ANNA CLAYTON
against such a union, if harbored for a moment, returned not
again. Thus, when, with elated steps and undisguised satis-
faction, he sought his daughter to communicate to her the
"euccess of all his hopes, how great was his surprise and
chagrin when she avowed, not only her extreme repugnance
to the man of his choice, but that her heart was already
pledged to one every way worthy of the gift, and that his
sanction only was wanting to complete their happiness ! Now,
for the first time, did the bitterness of his heart vent itself
upon her defenceless head, with crushing, overpowering weight,
and she fell senseless at his i'eet. Start not, tliou self-con-
demned father ! Seek not to restore the wild throbbings of
the heart thou hast well-nigh broken ; for already has her
life's great trial begun, and its shadow is even now envelop-
ing both her and thyself within its dread embrace.
For many days had Charles absented himself, upon trifling
excuses, ere the vigilant Bernaldi became aware that some-
thing unusual was absorbing the attention of his charge.
Communicating at once his suspicions to the holy father, they
were not long in discovering the cause ; and great$ indeed,
was their consternation that their plans should be thus baffled.
Frequent and earnest were their remonstrances with Charles,
but it only resulted in his greater determination to follow his
own way. We must do him the credit to say that his love
for the beautiful Anna was the purest feeling ever awakened
within him, and for the time checked his profligate course.
Foiled in their effdrt to convert Charles to their own in-
terests, and his fortune to the disposal of the church, the wily
bishop and priest lost no time in consulting the right rev-
erend father from whom they had received their instructions,
> * f
ANN A CLAYTON. ^ 49
and to whom was communicated the most trifling circum-
etanoes respecting the whole family of Clayton*. What a
holy religion, whose curious eyes thus pry with, selfish intent
into the very secret of our thoughts, and lay open before the *(
greedy, devouring eyes of her hirelings our most cherished
homo associations !
" We have well considered the whole subject laid before
us, and, while deprecating the results, which we doubt not
your most faithful efforts were exerted to prevent, we yet sco
much occasion to advance the interests of our most holy
church. We, therefore, advise that you offer no fur
oK-tarles to the young man's wishes; but, keeping fullj
his confidence, endeavor earnestly to win to the worship of
the Blessed Virgin, not only him, but the family you men-
tioned. Let no efforts be spared to this most desirable end ;
and, furthermore, suffer no heretic to interfere in your plans,
or perform the rites of marriage, should there be occasion."
Such, in part, was the missive received in answer to their
own, and their course was now plain as well as pleasant.
"Come, Charles," said Father BernulJi, cheerfully, tho
morning after he had received thuJHBtter ; " you have grown
wonderfully selfish lately. WitM all your professions of
attachment to me, you have not even offered to show me your
treasure. Come, now, let us visit her to-day, and, if I find
her half as beautiful or attractive as you represent, I shall
not have the heart to oppose you any longer, even though I
Khali incur tho displeasure of your father."
" W r ill you promise me, good father," eagerly cried tho
delighted Charles, " that on these conditions you will lend me
your aid in securing the treasure ? "
5
50 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I promise," replied Bernaldi.
" But I must forewarn you that she does not favcr my
suit," sadly answered Charles, " and only through her father
can I hope for success."
"Faint heart never won fair lady," laughingly replied
Bernaldi ; " but, if I am to interest myself for you, you must
also make me a promise."
" I would promise anything, even to the half of my pos-
sessions, to claim the hand of Anna Clayton. What is it?"
" That when you do claim that hand, your faithful friend
and companion shall bless the nuptial vow," feelingly
responded the priest, with well-affected emotion.
" That you shall," said Charles, warmly grasping Lis ha,ud,-
<! and may that blessed hour be not far distant \ "
" Amen \ " uttered Bernaldi, with deep feeling.
CHAPTER VII.
" ! for a curso npon the canning priori
Who conjured us together in ft yoke
That galls mo now ! "
" What is wedlock forced bat a hell,
An age of discord and continual strife ? "
BESSIE'S tender heart was deeply affected by her inter riew
with her former favorite and schoolmate, and she vainly
endeavored, as she turned restlessly upon her conch, to .shut
out the vision of that pale, sad face, so changed from the light-
hearted, joyous Anna of former days. ^
"Why is it, Herbert?" said she, thoughtfully, as she sat
with her husband cosily sipping their cup of coffee the next
morning, " why is it that I am raided with blessings till my
cup of happiness seems almost overflowing, while Anna, the
bright and beautiful being of school remembrance, whose
radiant existence seemed but the prediction of future joy and
life-long happiness, is drooping like a faded flower, sadly
wearing away her life, with no ray of light to cheer the
future?"
" Why, Bessie," replied her husband, " your sleepless night
has made you quite poetic, and the question you hare so
b2 ANN A CLAYTON
sirrtply proposed has puzzled wiser heads than years or mine.
But, serious]}'," continued he, " we cannot doubt that beneath
all that suffering there is hidden some wise purpose, which
will yet be revealed ; and though we cannot fathom that wis-
dom, we feel assured that ' He doeth all things well.' But
come, wife," he added, " I am growing impatient to hear the
sequel of the sad tale you told me last night. I am going
out to see some of my good people ; suppose I call, a few hours
hence, at Squire Clayton's ; will you be ready to walk home
with me?"
" Yes, indeed," replied Bessie ; " and I shall be so glad to
have you see Anna ! She needs just such counsel as you alone
can give her."
With ready sympathy, and warm, gushing love, Bessie sought
her friend, whom she found reclining on an easy-chair in her
own chamber. How surpassingly lovely was that face,
lighted up with joy at her entrance! Though sorrow had
marked its course in unmistakable lines, it could not efface
nature's impress ; and the clear, open brow, the deep, liquid
blue eye, the inexpressibly sweet mouth, all testified to the
beauty implanted there, though now shaded by the sad expres-
sion of hopeless suffering.
Bessie grasped warmly the hand extended to welcome her,
exclaiming,
" Why, Anna dear, your pale face reproaches me for
wearying you yesterday. I ought to have been more con-
siderate."
" No, Bessie," replied she, " you are mistaken if you sup-
pose it has injured me ; when you have seen me a little longer
you will become accustomed to my weakness."^
ANNA CLAY TON. 53
" But indifferent to it I shall never be," added Bessie, ear-
nestly ; " all night long have my thoughts been with you,
Anna, ami, though I know not yet all you have suffered, my
heart ycurns with inexpressible sympathy to comfort you."
" Dear Bessie, I always loved you at school, but now your
dear smiling face and soothing words are as balm to my
wounded spirit, and lead me to feel that I may yet be cheer-
ful, though never happy. When 1 have recalled all the pain-
ful scenes through which I have passed since I saw you, you
will better know how to counsel me for the future."
'Advice as inexperienced as mine would scarcely pro (it,
you, I fear," replied Bessie; "but in my husband you will
find not only a warm friend, but a judicious counsellor ; and
glad will he bo if in any way he can alleviate your triak"
" ]} . ou both ! " murmured Anna, her eyes filling
with tears. " You know not what a relief it affords thus to
unveil the secrets of my heart to you, wl
:esponds to every throb of anguish ! "
" Did you never see or hear from Kobcrt' after he left this
country ? " asked Bessie, anxious to learn more of her heart's
history.
" I will tell you all I know of Robert," said Anna, " for,
henceforth, as in the past, my lips and heart will be sealed on
that subject. To you, the only one in whose ear I dare
breathe hi.s name, I cai nfident of belief, that the
affection of a sister for a long-lost and much-injured brother
is not more pure than that I bear to llobert Graham. I tore
his image from my heart only when I became a wife ; and
to me he exists not, save in the far-off regions of dxeam-
..
54 ANN.A CLAYTON.
" You left off yesterday with Robert's departure," said
Bessie. " Tell me what became of you then."
" For many days," continued Anna, " I seemed under the
influence of some terrible nightmare ghostly phantoms
flitting around my bed, pointing at me their long, spectral
fingers, and hissing, with fearful distinctness, in my ear,
' never ! ' while I lay powerless to resist their hideous orgies,
trembling and quivering in every fibre. But far more dread-
ful were the realities of returning consciousness, when, sever-
ing every tie that bound the past, my poor, misguided father
offered me a sacrifice on the altar of his ambition. During
all the preparations for the event, to which they had obtained,
I know not how, my forced consent, life to me was a blank,
on which I could only see written, in burning characters, the
immolation of its victim. The only relief I craved, in this
self-sacrifice, was that I might be permitted to spend in sol-
itude the intervening time, rid of the presence of one, now
more repulsive than ever, who must soon receive my perjured
vows. The groans and tears, struggles and writhings of
spirit, in which I passed those weeks, I cannot even now recall
without shuddering. But at length I nerved myself for the
trial, and went forth at their bidding to take upon me life's
great burden.
" As I had requested, no reference had been made to me
in their arrangements ; and when my father tenderly assisted
me into the carriage, and took his place beside me, I had not
courage to ask our destination.
" ' We are going to the city,' said he, as if in answer to my
thoughts, and gently taking my hand ; < I thought a little
journey would benefit you, and after the ceremony is over
vARRA CLAYTON. 55
everything ia in readiness to take you -wherever you wish.
My daughter will fiiid that her obedience has been appre-
ciated, and will not go unrewarded.'
" ' If my father is satisfied,' said I, scarcely daring to trust
my voice, ' it is sufficient.'
" ' I trust you will bo convinced that in choosing for you I
have sought only your own happiness,' added he.
" I could not respond, and we rode in silence till the spires
of the distant city, coming in view, reminded him that he had
yet a duty to perform.
" ' So liberal and honorable has Charles proved himself in
all the preliminaries,' at length said my father, that I could
not, in common courtesy, refuse the only favor he asked ; and
the marriage ceremony will be performed by a very dear
friend of his, in the chapel where he has worshipped.'
" ' Married by a Catholic priest, in a Catholic church,
father?' asked I, incredulously.
" ' What matters it, my daughter,' replied he, evasively,
1 who officiates, provided the laws recognize his authority ?
You do not by this means bind yourself to have any further
connection with them ; and Charles assures me it is the only
concession he will ever ask.'
" ' Be it so,' said I, bitterly ; but remember, father, the
responsibility of this act must rest with you.'
" The scene of that heartless marriage, and the subsequent
developments of Charles Duncan's character, I cannot repeat.
That he is now a drunken, dissipated profligate, is only too
well known. I ought to mention, that after the birth of our
dear little Charlie the same farce was again played as at our
marriage, and he was christened by a Catholic priest. Sweet
56 ANNA CLAYTON.
little fellow ! his innocent prattle is the only joy to which my
heart responds. I forgot to say that just after our marriage
I read in a newspaper, that I chanced to find, a notice of the
marriage of Robert Graham with some distinguished heiress."
" Anna, you have indeed passed through much suffering,"
said Bessie, as the former ceased speaking, " and I fear will
yet see much more. You mentioned that Mr. Duncan (for I
cannot call him your husband) is heir to large estates. Where
are they ? "
" In England, but he has never informed me particularly
about it ; he seems to shun any inquiries, and even told me,
tauntingly, in one of his drunken turns, that he never intended
to have me go there, that he meant to go back, some day,
and marry a great lady."
" Is it possible he can thus abuse you, my poor Anna ? "
replied Bessie.
" O, I should not dare to tell you one half of the ill treat-
ment I receive from him," said Anna, as the tears coursed
down her cheeks. " I have succeeded in getting a partial
promise from him that he will leave me and return to his own
family. Would he only do so, it would lighten my heart,
and I might yet find much comfort in living for dear little
Charlie."
" But how does your father endure to see you suffer,
knowing, as ne must, that he caused the misery ? " asked
Bessie.
" My poor father now sees and acknowledges his error,"
replied Anna, " and bitterly does he reproach himself for
every pang I bear. His devotion to me and little Charlie ia
ANNA CLAYTON. 57
really affecting. But the poisoned arrow has entered my
heart, and will ever leave its sting behind."
" O, that I could lead you, dear Anna, to the antidote for
that poison to that fountain whose waters would assuage
your grief, and sweeten every bitter cup that you must drink ' "
fervently exclaimed Bc.^ '
" It is in vain, Bessie," replied she, sadly shaking her
head. " While in health and happiness I sought for nono
save earthly treasures ; and now I cannot, if I would, look
beyond the world I have chosen, hoping to find any comfort.
But you remind me of Mrs. Delaficld," continued Anna,
anxious to change the subjqct. " Dear, good woman, she has
twice spent her vacation with me since she learned of my
unhappy marriage ; and such a blessing has she been, not only
to me, but to my poor firthcr, that we could scarcely bear to
have her return to her school. I hope thero is some prospect
that she will yet be to me, what she has ever seemed a
wottier."
" I should rejoice for you, Anna, if that should indeed prove
so," replied Bessie. " But I see my husband coming for me,
and, though he wishes much to know you, he must call when
you are less fatigued. "We hope to welcome you into our
little home circle as soon as you are able to ride there."
" But before that you will come to see me every day, won't
you, Bessie ? "
" I don't know about that," said Bessie, smiling and kissing
her pale cheek ; " but you will see me often enough, I ven-
ture."
Drooping!^ as bends the lily before the storm did the fair
58 ANN A OLA YTON.
and fragile form of Anna Duncan yield to the blasts of
drunken furj with which her husband, in his madness, assailed
her. In one of these moods he staggered into her room,
about an hour after Bessie's departure. Calmly waiting till
his violence had exhausted itself, and reason was once more
returning, Anna, with mild though resolute tone, exclaimed,
" Charles Duncan, I have suffered this too long already ; why
do you not keep your promise, and leave me ? "
" Leave you, my ducky ! " replied he, in maudlin tones ;
" why, you could n't live without me ! I am your husband, you
know ; every woman loves her husband, ha, ha, ha ! No, I
won't leave you, I promise."
Sickened beyond measure, Anna covered her face with both
hands to shut, out the vision, and large drops trickled down
through her wan fingers.
" Come, now, none of that snivelling ! " said he, angrily.
" You know I hate it, and, what 's more, I won't have it !
You 've <?oiie nothing but snivel ever since I knew you. Now,
if you don't stop ! " said he, shaking his hand, menacingly
" Charles," interrupted she, drying her tears, " I want you
to sit down and calmly listen to me. You have often hinted
to me that you are laboring under some embarrassments,
which I could, if disposed, relieve."
"Why, to tell you the truth," said he, drawing a chair
near her, and brightening up, " I have been pretty hard up
lately, and Manning threatens to expose me to the old man if
I don't pay up. How the deuce he manages to win, all the
time, I don't sec, when I used to be the best player."
" Philip Manning has always been your evil genius,
Charles," replied Anna. ^
ANNA CLAYTON. 59
" Now, stop that talk ! Phil 's a good fellow ; he only wants
what belongs to him, and that ho shall have, by fair means
or foul. I 'm not the man to sneak off from doing the thing
that 's right. If you don't choose to bleed the old codger for
me, I shall do it myself that's all."
" What is your debt to Manning? " faintly asked Anna.
" He 'B got my I U's for a plump thousand," returned
he, " and he would n't object to a hundred more just like 'em.
But I 'm afraid the old man '11 cut me off, if he knows it."
" Did n't you tell me your father had written lately for
you to come home ? " said Anna.
" Yes, he did, if I would go alone, and not return here
again. The fact is, he won't acknowledge our marriage ; and,
to own up, I 'm sick of it myself," aid the brutish fellow.
" Well, then," replied Anna, nothing daunted by this cold-
blooded declaration, " if I will get for you the money to
satisfy Mr. Manning's claim, will you leave me, and go back
to your father ? "
" Not so fast, ducky ! You see there are several other little
items to be taken care of, such as my wine-bill, &c. &c. A
man cannot break up in a hurry ; and, besides, you know you
would pine yourself to death for me," added he, mockingly.
Unable to conceal her detestation of the man, she hastily
left the room to seek little Charlie, whose sweet messes soon
restored her wonted serenity.
" See here," said Charles, following her into the nursery ;
" I 've just thought o' something. If you '11 do what you said
up stairs, and let me take this little chap, I '11 go to-morrow."
Anna started as at a viper's sting, and, clasping her littlo
boy in her ftms, exclaimed, " Must you add this insult to the
J*> A,
60 ANNA CLAYTON.
abuse already heaped upon me? I would rather see this
child laid in his grave than live in your polluted presence ! "
" I declare ! What a good actress you would make ! " taunt-
ingly replied he. Positively, you would eclipse the divine
Ellsler herself. Let the brat go," said he, as the little fellow
shrank away from him. " But mind no more of your stuff,
ma'am ! " shaking his fist in Anna's face.
The broken-hearted wife retired to her own room, and,
throwing herself in hopeless grief upon her bed, wept till her
exhausted nature found relief in dreamy forgetfulness.
CHAPTER VIII.
> The web of oar life is of a mingled
Yarn, good and ill together."
4 Which is he villain ? Let me see his ojcs ;
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him." SnAKsrEABE.
ANNA'S hopes had not been falsely raised, and she felt that
eho had yet many comforts left, as she welcomed beneath her
father's roof the dearly-loved teacher of her school-days, now
bound by a closer tie. The cheerful piety and heart-felt sym-
pathy with which Mrs. Delafield had soothed Anna in her
hours of trial and darkness, during the vacations she had ^^
spent at Squire Clayton's, had only served to cement theirfV
affection for each other ; and it did not escape the watchful
eye of her futher that with each separation a deeper shade
of sadness seemed to rest upon his daughter. Nor was he
long in discovering that it was not wholly for his daughter he
go eagerly besought a return of these visits. His own heart
throbbed with a new life as it acknowledged the gentle influ-
ences of such companionship. With his judgment approving
the choice of his heart, he sought the presence of Anna's
teacher, and, with manly, dignified, yet persuasive eloquence,
pleaded for a life-long happiness with her. The result has
62 ANNACLAJTTON.
been already anticipated in the welcome given by Anna to
her new step-mother.
For a few months the dove of peace seemed nestling within
that happy circle. A tiny, beautiful babe had come among
them, to claim a welcome to which all hearts had responded ;
and little Charlie's joy knew no bounds when assured, again
and again, that the little wee thing in his grandma's lap
was really his own little sister, and would by and by be big
enough to play with him. The love which then welled up
in his baby heart for the little helpless being seemed inter-
woven with his very existence, and never for a moment, in
after life, ceased its devotion.
The sorrowfully reproachful manner with which Mrs. Clay-
ton ever regarded him caused Charles Duncan to shrink
as much as possible from her presence. Consequently, he
would absent himself for days, and sometimes weeks, till
Anna had nearly regained her health, amid the quiet and*
happiness surrounding her.
To her dear and valued friend Bessie this was a source of
*[-. unmingled thankfulness ; for her heart was ever yearning with
a sister's love, to soothe the sorrows and heal the wounded
spirit of one to whom she was so closely bound. Of late the
cares of each had interrupted the intercourse that both so
highly prized ; for in Bessie's happy home, also, a new life
had awakened the joyous echo of a mother's love, and stirred
within its very depths the fountain of her exhaustless affec-
tion. And with no less tenderness did the happy father
breathe a blessing over his first-born, as ae clasped to his
heart the tiny treasure.
Old Bridget was not so quiet in her demonstrations of joy,
V
ANNA CLAYTON. . 63
on the advent of this new claimant to her affection and care.
" Och, the darlint ! " exclaimed she, as she took it from the
arms of the nurse and kissed its velvet cheek ; " it is n't the
likes o' yees these old eyes have looked upon this many a
day. Shure but 't is a blessed crayther, the very image of its
mother ! Arrah, darlint, but ye shall niver know want while
these hands can serve yees. And what name will ye christen
it with, sir?" said she to the father, who stood smiling at her
earnestness.
" Should not the bud receive the name of the flower that
bore it ? " he asked, tuning to the pale face upon the bed.
And, receiving a smiling assent, he replied to Bridget, " Her
name is Bessie, and, if her life sustains all the swcetno.-,
goodness and purity, bequeathed in that name, then will she
indeed be worthy of it."
" May the Blissid Virgin keep and defind her from all
harm ! " solemnly responded Bridget, not exactly compre-
hending his reply.
"IIu>h, Bridget !" sternly replied Mr. Lindscy. "Curse
not my child's ear with such blasphemies ! Call rather upon
one who has power to save, and not the miserable substitute
your priests offer you ! "
" It's not the likes of a poof, ignorant crayther that can
rason with your rivcrencc," said Bridget, rising, with offended
dignity, to leave the room ; " but, with your lave, the big folks
yonder have had iuconse burnt and mass said, and the chris-
tening all done as it should be, by the praast, thrue Christians
that they are ;" and she shut the door with no gentle touch
as she returned to her kitchen.
" How strangely infatuated are the poor victims of Popish
64 ^ ANNA CLAYTON.
delusion ! " remarked Mr. Lindsey ; " no servant could be
kinder, nore attached and faithful, than Bridget ; and yet,
touch her religion, and she forgets everything else in her
anger. Surely these priests have a most solemn account to
render of their responsibility."
" What she said about Squire Clayton's family, troubles
me," said Mrs. Lindsey ; " I fear Anna has had some trials
with her Catholic husband. Do you know anything about it,
nurse ? "
" I have heard some reports from there," replied the nurse,
"but of very small consequence to you compared to your
health. I must positively forbid your talking or thinking
any more of them at present. You cannot, if you would,
alter the circumstances of your friend. The care of your
own health is now your most important duty, and you must
keep your thoughts quiet and calm. Excuse me, dear Mrs.
Lindsey," continued she, " but you must, for once in your life,
be selfish ; excluding everything that is not perfectly agreeable
and pleasant."
" That is right, good nurse," chimed in Mr. Lindsey ; " I
am sorry I should have alluded to such an exciting subject,
but will try to make amends in future for my indiscretion."
" There have been strange cloings at Squire Clayton's, if I
am rightly informed," said the nurse to Mr. Lindsey, at the
table, that day ; " Mr. Duncan came home, two or three days
after the birth of their little daughter, and insisted that it
should be christened, with great ceremony, in the presence of
as many as chose to attend. Fearing the effect of his anger
on the health and even life of Mrs. Duncan, should they
refuse, Squire Clayton and his wife reluctantly consented to
ANNA CLAY TON. G5
it, in condition that Anna should be kept in ignorance of tho
strange proceedings, and molested by neither her husband nor
the priest. The news was quickly spread, and many went
out of mere curiosity to witness the mumbling prayers, the
incense-burning, and tho christening performed with solemn
mockery, by the well-paid priest. In the afternoon the Cath-
olics assembled in the same room to say mass ; no one daring
to interpose, lest the maddened husband aud his accomplice
should revenge themselves by intruding into the sick chamber
of Mrs. Duncan."
" This is indeed a strange story ! " exclaimed Mr. Lindsey.
" I was not aware that the Pope's minions would come with
such bold and rapid strides into the very heart of our homo
circles. I am persuaded that Mr. Duncan is guided by a
more powerful motive than self-gratification, in his conduct.
He "has not sufficient strength of mind or purpose to meet
many obstacles, and therefore, in overcoming the united oppo-
sition of Squire Clayton and his excellent wife, he must have
been urged on by some secret and influential adviser."
" lie scarcely ever comes home, now," added she, " except
in company with one or two friends, who, many suppose aro
disguised priests."
" I am grieved to hear such accounts," replied Mr. Lind-
sey. " My parish visits lead me in other directions, so that I
am seldom in that neighborhood, and consequently was not
apprised of the state of things there. I greatly fear there
is some evil machination on foot, by these emissaries of Satan,
to draw the whole of that family into their snares. My wife
must not know of this matter further than the unguarded
remarks of Bridget informed her."
0*
66 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I shall endeavor to keep Bridget from the sick room as
much as possible," said the nurse, as she rose from the table,
" for I have my suspicions that she has been tampered with
by these priests; and it might be for their interests, you know,
to endanger the life of one who has such an influence on
Mrs. Duncan as your wife."
"To what an extent will they not carry their nefarious
schemes ! " exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, shudderingly ; " this mat-
ter must be looked into at once, and by the proper authorities."
For once report had not exaggerated, or even attained the
truth, as those who witnessed the disgusting details of the
artful priest's manoeuvring with his willing dupe could
testify. When their object had been accomplished, even
beyond their most sanguine expectations, Charles Duncan
returned in triumph, with the priest who accompanied him, to
the very holy father, the Bishop of B , who, as a reward
for his obedient perseverance, gave him absolution for .all sins
committed, and an indulgence for the future. Weeks glided
into months, and still were the nightly scenes of drunken
revelry, gambling and debatoch, continued, when he- was sud-
denly summoned home by news of the sickness of his father.
With the advice of his friends, he therefore determined that
he would now carry into effect his long-promised separation
from his unhappy wife. The deep-laid plot which these
friends, in connection with his spiritual advisers at home, were
maturing, was as yet unknown to him ; or, depraved as he
was, he might have shrunk from meeting the truthful gaze of
his much-injured wife, or the innocent glances of the sweet
children.
ANNA CLAYTON. 67
' ^
A fow quiet months in the cheerful society of her beloved
Btep-mother had done much to restore to Anna's cheek tho
bloom of health ; and the ceaseless happiness she derived from
watching the rapid progress of little Charlie, or the constantly
increasing loveliness of Myrtie, the new pet, had contributed
no less to the serenity of her mind.
Mrs. Clayton was gazing from her window, one pleasant
afternoon, upon the group under the great tree in the yard.
Anna, in her simple loose robe of white, sat upon a stool
Charlia brought for her, that sh%might be within his reach,
while he ornamented her rich auburn hair with flowers of
every variety of color, every now and then lovingly caressing
her, tho baby crowing meanwhile in Susan's arms, who could
not refrain a hearty laugh at the grotesque, gypsy-like
appearance of her mistress' head-dress, when, suddenly, with
an exclamation of fear, and a blanched cheek, Anna rose hastily
and sought the house, followed by Susan and the children.
Immediately Charles Duncan alighted from his carriage, and
was met at the door by Mrs. Clayton, who sternly bade him
enter and explain the object of his visit.
" Why, really, ma'am," exclaimed Charles, attempting to
rally himself from the effects of her cold reception, and Anna's
evident avoidance, which had not escaped his notice as he
approached the house; " really, one would think you were all
fleeing from some monster, instead of giving a fitting reception
to an honest man, who seeks his wife ! "
" And what reception should you consider befitting one like
yourself, sir?** demanded she, bitterly and haughtily.
" come now, don't give us any of your nonsense !
68 ANNA CLAYTON.
replied he; "I 've come to see my wife. Where is she, up
stairs ? " and he rose to ascertain for himself.
' Stay a moment," said Mrs. Clayton ; " she is not there,
but I will call her, if it must be."
Anna's face was deadly white as she answered the sum-
mons, and entered the presence of her husband.
" You all seem to avoid me," said he, in a softer and more
serious tone than was his wont, " and I cannot, in all honesty,
gay that I am surprised. But, as I have come to bid you
farewell, with an assurance that you will never be troubled
with my presence again, I trust you will not refuse me the
satisfaction of parting in peace."
So unexpected, and wholly unlike himself, were his words
and manner, that both his hearers were too much astonished
to reply.
" It is even so," continued he. " To-morrow I leave for
dear old England, and, as I have been but too often assured
of your wishes, it is not my intention ever to return. So, give
yourselves up to your rejoicing," added he, with a bitter
smile, " for I seek another home and a fairer bride. But let
me have one look at the children before I go."
" Surely, Charles," exclaimed the pure-minded wife, " you
will take measures for a divorce before you wed another."
"Ha ! ha ! ha ! jealous, as true as I live ! I always thought
you liked me, in spite of all you said. Come, now, you look
so charming, I 've a good mind to let the old man die, and
stay here with you, you feel so bad about my going away. I
know you do ha ! ha ! ha ! that was capital ! "
" You misunderstood me, Charles," replied Anna ; " I did
not express any wish for you to stay, nor do I feel any. That
ANNA CLAYTON. 69
you will leave me to enjoy what little peace I can, with my
children ami friends, is, and has been, my greatest wish. Lut
to trample on the ia\v~ ui < iu'l and man is dreadful."
" Well said, my little preacher," said he, tauntingly, for
he was vexed at her reply ; " but have you yet to learn that
our most holy church can absolve her sons from a marriage
contracted with a heretic ? I declare, what beauties ! " ex-
claimed he, as Susan brought in the baby, with Charlie cling-
ing to her dress. " Come here, Charlie, and kiss me, for I
am going away off," said he, holding out his hand.
" I shan't go near you ! I don't love you, 'cause you are
a naughty papa, and I 'm glad you 're goi|g away ! " shouted
the little fellow, as he ran out of the room.
" Very well, I see how he has been trained! " and bitter-
ness deep and strong sprang into the heart thai had hitherto
been merely cold and worldly.
No forced compliments were uttered, and the gates of this
Eden closed upon the departure of one who had well-nigh
destroyed its happiness ; as did*" those of Paradise shut out
the fallen beings \vho hud forfeited all its bliss. Would that
it had b 2en, as with them, for ever and ever !
wr*
- ^
*
*
CHAPTER IX.
' You Jesuits are strong in a thousand materials money, credit,
intrigue all carnal weapons ; but you are weak in God."
,, MlCHELET.
" Our stratagems
Must branch forth into manifold deceits,
Endless devices, bottomless conclusions."
NOT many miles distant from Beechgrove, surrounded on
all sides, save one, by a dense forest, -whose impenetrable gloom
was never pierced but for deeds of darkness, stood an ancient
chateau, once the residence of an unfortunate nobleman, who,
wearied and disgusted with life's realities, bequeathed all his
noble domains to the church, and sunk himself into the obscur-
ity of a monastic life. This chateau, with the additional
appendages of a cloister and chapel, had been occupied
several years as a summer residence by the priestly function-
aries of the holy mother church, the cloister immuring with-
in its solid walls those who, either by compulsion or choice,
crucified themselves to the world in their ascetic occupations.
In a sumptuously furnished room of this princely residence,
near a table, on which were scattered various papers and
implements for writing, sat two persons in earnest discussion.
A N A CLAYTON. 71
At length one of them rose, and, with a gesture of impatience,
exclaimed,
" I have done my utmost to persuade him, bat he still
clings to the hope that that, foolish son of his will return ; and
then a truce to all we can do ! " snapping his fingers.
" One trial more, my good Alphonso," replied the other,
familiarly patting his shoulder ; " here is the letter which will
settle the matter with him, if you manage right."
" Yes, but suppose that good-for-nothing fellow should take
it into his head to come just in time to betray us? " queried
he.
" Get but that writing signed," returned his companion,
with decision, " the rest is easily accomplished. Alphonso
Bernaldi is not unused to administering medicines to the sick,"
continued he, significantly.
" It shall be done, holy father," replied Bernaldi, retiring.
The morning gun, with its life-invigorating, soul-inspiring
beams, waking anew the joyous nRes of the forest songster,
and brightening into fresh existence all animate and inanimate
nature, tried in vain to cheer with one radiant glance the
lonely apartment of sickness and suffering. Its light shone
but faintly through the crimson draperies eo arranged as to
exclude every ray, and barely sufficed to reveal to the mute
nurse the different objects within her room.
" Has Charles come ? " again echoed, in feeble tones, from
the bed.
" Your son has not arrived, and I cannot flatter you with
any false hopes of ever seeing him again," replied the nurse,
who had received her instructions.
72 ANNA CLAYTON.
" It must have been a dream, then," tremulously added
he, " but I thought Charles came and asked my forgiveness,
and we were reconciled. I wish he would come!"
" If all your friends had deserted you as your son has, Sir
William, you would have reason to discard them. It is but
a poor return for all their kindness and attention to mourn
thus for one who does not wish or deserve your notice," an-
swered the cunning Jesuit.
" I don't know but you are right," said he, with a sigh,
" but it seems to me one's own son ought to be nearer than
strangers."
"Not if that son proves himself utterly heartless and
worthless," she replied. " To every good Catholic the inter-
ests of his church ought to be dearer than all others ; and if,
in addition to this obligation, your own son forsakes you for
the company of heretics, and refuses to return to you, how can
you excuse yourself to that church which has so tenderly
cared for your soul? Rather should you rejoice that the
Blessed Virgin will accept your sacrifice, and save you from
the horrors of purgatory," added she, devoutly crossing
herself.
" If Charles don't come to-day, I will delay no longer,"
faintly uttered the sick man, as though loth to pronounce
the words that would cut off even such a disobedient son from
his heritage.
" Even such a delay may prove fatal to your soul," sol-
emnly responded the nurse.
The door was noiselessly unclosed, and, with stealthy steps,
as a tiger tracks her prey, did Bernaldi glide to the bedside
of his intended victim.
ANNA CLAYTON. 73
" The morning is bright and clear, my dear Sir William ; I
trust you feel its effects in renewed strength ; " and he took
the feeble, emaciated hand within his own, with well-affected
interest and concern.
" In truth, good father, I have had but a sorry night of it.
The little sleep I got was so disturbed by strange dreams,
that I think it has made me weaker than before," replied the
invalid.
" I hope you do not allow your mind to bo disturbed by the
undutiful conduct of your son," said the pr:
" Charles has caused me much trouble, I know ; but, if he
would come to me now, and cheer what little life I have left, I
would forgive all."
" I grieve to find your heart thus clinging to earthly ob-
jects," whined Bernaldi. "I hoped, after our conversation
yesterday, you would divest yourself of all these attachments,
and be fitted to receive the holy sacrament^ without which
you cannot die in peace."
" Must I give up my son ? " cried the father, looking ear-
nestly at his confessor.
" Choose ye between your own salvation and your earthly
lusts," responded he. " But I had nearly forgotten," ho
added, taking a letter from his pocket, " this may help you
to a decision."
" Is it from Charles ? " Sir William eagerly inquired, as
he grasped the letter ; " give me my glasses, that I may read
myself what he says."
The nurse gently raised his wan and emaciated form, and,
Eupporting him on either side with pillows, sat in silence near
him, while with watchful eye and secret satisfaction the
7
7i ANN A CLAYTON.
priestly confessor noted each expression of agony as it flitted
over the face of his dupe.
" It is enough," at length exclaimed the father, in despair,
casting from him the letter, which Bernaldi quickly concealed ;
" I am ready to give up all now. Go, my good Marguerite,
and bring me a reviving draught ; and do you, holy father,
prepare me for the sacrament, for I feel that I cannot long
survive this."
Concealing his exultation, the father-confessor meekly
replied,
" Will you now prove your sincerity and devotion to the
Blessed Virgin, who thus opens her arms to receive you into
her most holy communion, as she will receive the souls of the
faithful at last ? " As he gpoke he drew from his pocket a
paper, which he unfolded before the sick man.
" Explain to me once more its contents," said Sir William,
waving his hand towards the paper.
" It is, merely, that at Lady Duncan's decease your prop-
erty shall be kept from those vile heretics to whom your son
clings, and devoted to the holy purposes of the only true, the
Catholic church," replied the crafty priest.
" Then I will sign it ! " feebly gasped the sufferer,
as he sank fainting upon his bed.
" Curse the old fool ! " muttered Bernaldi, as all their efforts
to restore consciousness seemed for some moments unsuc-
cessful ; " a moment later, and it 's little I would have done
to bring back his worthless life ! But I 'm not to be foiled
thus ! I '11 have it out of you yet, you miserable old dotard ! "
and he ground his teeth with ill-concealed vexation.
"i)o not be alarmed, my dear lady," said the sycojhantie
ANNA CLAYTON. 75
priest, as Lady Duncan hastily entered the room, startled by
the servant's report. " Sir William has only fainted ; see, ho
is already reviving," he added, as, with a deep sigh, the patient
slowly unclosed his eyes and gazed around.
At that moment the sound of carriage-wheels approaching
through the broad entrance to Beechgrove caught the quick
ear of Bernaldi, and caused the blood to leap wildly through
his veins. Suppose his prey should be snatched from him at
the very moment when his success seemed certain . Tho
thought maddened his brain, as he stepped to the window to
conceal his agitation. The sight that met his eye from tho
court-yard below did not servo to lessen it, and, with a mighty
effort to suppress his fury, he said, in a low voice, to Lady
Duncan,
" I would speak with you, fora moment, in the ante-room."
" Your son has just arrived," said he, as he closed the door
behind him, "and I wish to caution you against sudden or
violent agitation on the part of Sir William. Its effects
would probably be fatal, after his recent exhaustion. I would
suggest that your son's return be kept from him till I have
endeavored to prepare his mind for it, which I will do this
afternoon."
" Thank you, good father ! " replied Lady Duncan, with
unwonted feeling, as she hastened to meet her son.
" Remember eyes and ears open, Marguerite ! " whispered
Bcrnaldi, as he passed down the private stairway, and quickly
threaded his way to the chateau.
" Deo gratias ! " exclaimed the bishop.
" Deo gratias, indeed ! " returned Bernaldi, bitterly, all his
76 ANNA CLAYTON.
restrained passion bursting forth in incoherent words and
violent gesticulations.
" For this unseemly conduct you should do heavy penance ! "
and the bishop Bpoke sternly to the raving priest.
" And penance I would do, with a good will, but what '11
that avail me now ? " said Bernaldi. " Here have I labored
these four or five years, but to be thwarted at the last
moment ! "
" But the reward, my good Alphonso the reward is suf-
ficient for even many more years of trial," soothingly added the
bishop.
"Why taunt me with that now," retorted the priest,
" when all hopes of it must be dashed ? "
" Not so fast, my friend," answered his reverence ; " though
I had no reason to doubt the successful issue of our last plan,
I have yet another in reserve, which must accomplish our holy
object."
" What is it ? " Bernaldi asked, brightening.
" First, I will order lunch," said he, ringing a small silver
bell ; " you need refreshment after your long walk."
The savory and delicious viands spread before them, of
which they both heartily partook, had no little influence in
raising Bernaldi's spirits ; 'and he exclaimed, as they concluded
their repast,
" Now, holy father, we will to business ; your excellent wine
has restored me to myself, which that infernal old fool had
well-nigh driven out of me."
" Let him die and rot in his grave ! " impatiently exclaimed
the bishop ; " we will yet outwit them all ! "
"T would be strange, indeed, if your reverence's wisdom
ANNA CLAYTON 77
experience were not sufficient to outwit a dozen such
fellows as Charles Duncan."
"To say nothing of your own shrewdness and sunning,
Bernaldi," added the former, laughingly.
" Just give mo one more chance, good father, and I defy
all the powers above and below to thwart mo again ! "
44 But that does n't include the power of woman, which you
know was the cause of your defeat before," sneeringly replied
the bishop.
41 If ever she or her miserable old father crosses my path
again," returned Bernaldi, M let them take heed ; for, as I live,
they shall feel my vengeance ! "
14 Right glad am I, Alphonso, to hoar you say that ; for the
plan I have to propose will, if I mistake not, be the greatest
torture you could inflict upon those vile heretics."
44 Then I 'm your man," said the priest. "But what is it? "
The bishop drew nearer his companion, and in a voico
scarcely audible, as though fearful that the very walls would
hear, unfolded a plot which even the cold-blooded Bernaldi
could scarcely listen to without shuddering.
"What say you now, Alphonso ?" asked he, as he con-
cluded.
"I say," replied his companion, while a gleam of malicious
satisfaction crossed his Jesuitical face "I say that nothing
would suit mo better,.if the thing can be done."
" Our church allows no ifs in its service, and least of all
should we expect one from you," haughtily answered tho
bishop.
" Be it so, then, good father ; I will do my part to your
entire satisfaction, I venture to say."
7*
-#
78 ANNACLAYTON.
" If you dj, you will most assuredly receive your promised
reward," he replied.
"Where am I? where have I been? what have I done?"
cried, in piteous tones, the poor sufferer, as consciousness
returned, and with it a sense of some deep wrong committed.
" Did n't somebody say Charles had come, just as I signed
the deed which made him a baggar ? "
" No, Sir William," said Marguerite, stepping softly to his
bedside, " no one has spoken. You must have had strange
dreams to suppose any one wished you to wrong your son.
Here is your medicine ; it is a little past the time, but I did
not like to disturb your sleep to give it to you before."
" Then I have been asleep," said he, looking round confus-
edly ; " I thought Father Bernaldi was here, and made me
sign some paper ; and then a hideous demon appeared before
me, and said I had beggared my boy."
" These dreams indicate a higher fever," said^ she, as she
examined his pulse and then took from a small drawer a
potent sleeping-powder, which she mixed with his medicine.
" Here, Sir William."
The patient gazed wildly at her, as if half conscious of her
treachery, but, without another word, swallowed the draught,
and sank back again on his bed.
" That '11 do for you, old fellow," whispered she to herself,
" till I know what next to do ; it is nearly time he should be
here."
! Come, now, don't, mother ! " petulantly exclaimed Charles,
d *< * - 4fei' 5
-
ANNA CLAYTON^!
" 1 'vo had fuss and trouble enough, the Lord knows, since I
went away ' "
" Well," persisted Lady Duncan, " we could have excused
anything rather than such a mesalliance ; your father has
never been the same man since the day he heard of it."
" My father was never so fond of me when I was at home ! '
said he.
" 0, well, you know his honor, the honor of the whole
family, must be affected by such a course. Wo had hoped
that you would select a lady of noble birth to share your
future wealth."
" And it is n't too lato now," replied he, carelessly ; " a
simple liaison in America is no hindrance to a marriage
here."
'Was that all, Charles? I thought you were really
married to that low-born girl."
" And suppose I was, mother ? You can't believe I ever
had the slightest idea of bringing her here as my wife !
You know, as well as I, that the priest can absolve any con-
tract with a heretic. I should have died with the blues if I
had n't had something to amuse me there."
" But the children, Charles ? "
" Are just the prettiest ones you ever saw," and there
was a little softening about his heart, "but they will be
well taken care of, I know." .
" Well, my good Marguerite," said Lady Duncan, as the
former entered the room, " how is Sir William now"? "
" Sir William is very ill," replied the nurse ; " his mhd
i.s wandering, and he is evidently much worse."
" Then I will go to him directly," said Charles, rising. ^
'
80 *"! I ANNA CLAYTON.
" Alas, sir ! " and Marguerite shook her head, sadly,
" he would not recognize you now. After a few hours of
undisturbed rest, which Dr. Murray says is absolutely neces-
sary for him, he may be much better. I will inform you the
first moment it is safe for you to see him; " and she withdrew
as noiselessly as she had entered.
" Marguerite is a faithful creature," remarked Lady Dun-
can ; " she could not nurse your father more tenderly if he
were her own ; and she never seems weary with watching him."
" Where did she come from ? " asked Charles.
" She was nursing among the nobility, when Father Ber-
naldi met her, and persuaded her to come to us. I half fancy
Dr. Murray don't like her ; but I have perfect confidence in
her."
" Father Bernaldi ! " repeated Charles ; " then he is about
here now. I have n't seen him since we parted in a miff, and
he came off and left me."
" He speaks of you with great affection," replied his
mother, " and blames you no more than all your friends do."
" I don't care a farthing for his affection or censure," said
Charles, as he rose to go out and survey grounds soon to bo
his own.
With quick and stealthy steps, Bernaldi was hastening
towards Beechgrove, bitter hatred rankling in his heart, and
burning for revenge, when he perceived Charles leisurely
strolling around, with the air of a lordly possessor. Serpent-
like, he glifled circuitously through the elysian paths of this
home Eden, mingling with its pure fragrance the poisonous
exhalations of his own corrupt heart, as he vowed the deep-
est, deadliest enmity to him who had twice baffled his wicked
A X IT A CLAYTON .'^ 81
designs. Cautiously avoiding observation, he gained the side-
door, which to him, was ever accessible, and, rapidly ascend-
ing the private stairway, noiselessly entered the room, to
which none save himself was admitted.
" How now, Marguerite ! " whispered he ; " how long h%s
he slept thus ? "
" He revived a few moments after you left," replied she,
in the 'same tone ; " but I found he was beginning to bo
troublesome, so I gave him one of your powders, and he has
slept ever since."
"Very well, very well; see that he tcakcs no more! I
want none of his fancies put into that young villain's head.
Remember, the other powder, a fit of apoplexy, or any
such thing, you know, will do," and he nodded most signifi-
cantly.
" Afl you say, holy father," replied the heartless nurse.
For more than an hour Charles wandered through scenes
familiar to his youth, but now awakening within him a new
sense of their grandeur and beauty. With the pure and unsul-
lied glories of nature he had had but little acquaintance, and
less sympathy, in his wild career ; and, as they now broke
upon him in rare and unequalled perfection, he felt an unde-
fined consciousness of his own inferiority. Throwing himself
listlessly upon a rustic bench, near which the falling waters
were dancing merrily to the notes of the nightingale,
the swelling chorus of the feathered orchestra filling the air
v.ith heaven's music, he exclaimed, thinking aloud :
" T would be passing ttrange if a man can't live happily in
Hich a place a* tlu-. Ci\c me a, low choice companions, and
ITNA CLAYTON.
it 's little I care if I never leave it again. Phil Manning
shan't be one, though ; he 's too deep for me ; and, besides,
he 's got enough out of me already."
" Charles, my good fellow, how are you ? " cried a voice
behind him, as a hand was familiarly laid on his shoulder.
" Now will this dull place wake up to life again, I hope ; "
and Father Bernaldi greeted cordially his former com-
panion.
" I see you have forgotten our indifferent parting," replied
Charles ; "so you are right welcome, good father."
" I know how to excuse youthful follies and indiscretions,"
and the priest assumed one of his blandest smiles, " though
it may be my duty to check them, if possible. But I have
a thousand questions to ask you," added he, as he took the
proffered seat near Charles.
" To which I shall return only one answer," replied Charles,
laughing ; " so, don't bother me with any of your foreign
remembrances. I 've left them all behind me, and now I 'm
. going to take a fresh start* in life. If you and I are to be
future friends, for which I am willing enough, everything
pertaining to my life abroad must be forgotten. You under-
stand, eh ? "
" I should be dull, indeed," Bernaldi smilingly answered,
" not to comprehend your meaning. But just satisfy my
curiosity on one or two points, and hereafter my silence ia
pledged. '
Most artfully did he then draw from Charles all the inform-
ation he wished ; and with intense satisfaction he gathered
from him the particulars of Charles' farewell visit, which had
ANNA CLAYTON.
so embittered him towards his lovely wife, and given him a
momentary desire for revenge.
" There, now," said Charles, as he concluded, " I Ve told
you more than I ever meant to, and blast me if ever I
open my lips again about that cursed pale-laced woman ! "
But Bcmaldi had heard enough to convince him that the
dark and daring plot suggested to him a few hours before
was feasible, and that Charles himself was the fittest instru-
ment to accomplish it. His eager delight did not escape the
notice of Charles, who, however, in his vanity, attributed it
to the joy of meeting him again, and who reproached himself
for his former suspicions of this faithful friend. With .hia
arm affectionately linked in that of Bernaldi, in restored
confidence, they sauntered slowly along, the latter charming
him with his unwonted vivacity, and with humorous descrip-
tions of scenes which had occurred during his absence. Thus
had they passed a much longer time than cither was aware
of, when, as they approached the house, they perceived an
unusual commotion, servants, with frightened looks and pale
faces, running hither and thither ; and Lady Duncan, with
blanched cheek and uplifted arms, urging the swift messen-
ger, who dashed out of the yard aud out of sight while she
was yet speaking.
" My father must be worse ! " exclaimed Charles, as ho
ran, with trembling steps, towards his mother.
" 0, master Charles ! " cried the usually placid nurse,
wringing her hands, in great agitation, as she rushed forth to
meet him, " why were you not here when your poor father
called so piteously for you ? It almost broke my heart to
hear him ! " And,
84 ; ' ANNA CLAYTON.
" Before her face her handkerchief she spread,
To hide the flood of tears she did not shed."
Poor Charles could hear no more, as with rapid strides ha
passed them, and sank upon his knees at his father's bedside.
" Too late ! too late ! " murmured he, grasping the cold
and lifeless hand, which but a few moments since was stretched
forth convulsively, seeking to rest itself upon his head in
paternal blessings.
CHAPTER X.
" But of this be sure,
To do aught good will never bo onr task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight."
MILTOJ..
seemed shrouded with a gloomy pall of dark-
in---. Its late master had been consigned, with great pomp
and pageantry, to his last resting-place ; and costly masses for
the repose of his soul were daily repeated in the churches fu
and near, to the entire satisfaction of their lucre-loving priests.
The necessary forms of law had been duly attended to, and
Charles was now the acknowledged possessor of the princely
fortune and estates of the lato Sir William. Everything
wore a mournful aspect in and about the house; even the
very birds seemed to nod and whisper to each other in the
ominous silence reigning everywhere. Lady Duncan, ab-
sorbed in her selfish grief and widow's weeds, gave scarcely
a passing thought to aught else ; Marguerite, the tender
nurse, had gone on other missions of mercy, and Charles was
wearied with the dull and monotonous life he was forced to
lead. Rising early, one morning, he mounted his fleetest
horse, and, with a gesture of impatience spurring him on, he
checked not his speed till Beechgrove and its surrounding
8
86 -ANNA CLAPTON.
beauties were left far behind him. His uncurbed spirit cculd
no longer endure the restraint imposed upon him in his own
home by the customary forms of mourning, and he deter-
mined to break away from them all, and for a few days, at
least, enjoy a little of what he called life. His father's death
had affected him more than he thought it possible for any-
thing to do, and he was impatient to shake off his gloomy
feelings, and mingle again with the gay world.
The region where he now found himself was new to him,
and he suffered his noble steed to guide him whithersoever he
would, while his own thoughts were busily employed plan-
ning future scenes of pleasure. Suddenly a wild shriek rang
through the air, and in the same instant came dashing madly
on, plunging and rearing with every bound, a splendid white
charger, bearing his almost unconscious burden crouching upon
his back. Quick as thought Charles leaped from his saddle,
and, seizing the bridle-rein, which hung loosely from the char-
ger's neck, he checked him with such violence as brought them
all to the ground together. Pale with fear and affright, the
lady instantly sprang to her feet, and, soothing the equally
terrified animal, saw, to her consternation, that her deliverer
had fallen insensible, nearly crushed with the weight of horse
and rider, which had both come upon him. Vainly calling, in
her terror, for assistance, she flew to a spring near by, and
with its cool, refreshing waters laved the brow of him who
had so nearly sacrificed his own life in saving hers.
Who that had, the evening previous, seen the proud and
haughty Lady Emilie De Vere, the acknowledged belle of
the gay season, surrounded with noble suitors, turning from
them all with indifference, till in their vexation they pro-
AXNA CLAYTON. 87
nounccd her as heartless as she was beautiful, could have
recognized the same being in the earnest, anxious expression
of tho lovely face, bending over the form of her still uncon-
scious and unknown companion ? Little does the aristocratic
maiden herself imagine that each wild throb of her heart, aa
bhc gazes with intense earnestness upon the handsome features
of her heroic preserver, is but the response of a new-born joy
hidden within its depths.
truly five minutes had elapsed when the welcome sound
of advancing horsemen apprised Lady Emilie that assistance
was at hand ; and, looking up, she joyfully discovered her
lather and his faithful groom rapidly approaching in pun-nit
of her. Their vigorous exertions to restore consciousness
were soon rewarded by a deep groan from the injured man,
who slowly unclosed his eyes, fixed them for a moment upon
the fair faee near him, and again relapsed into utter oblivion.
" lie must have been internally injured," said LordWe
Verc, as his daughter concluded her narrative of the sad
accident. " It is necessary that he should receive immediate
attention. Make all possible haste, John, in getting the car-
riage, and in the mean time let a surgeon be summoned."
To llavcnswood, the delightful country residence of Lord
De Yerc, was the still insensible stranger carefully conveyed,
and laid upon its softest bed. The powerful and efficient
treatment of their family physician soon restored life and
animation ; and Charles looked around the sumptuous apart-
ment, and upon the strange faces, with a bewildered air.
" It were better for you to make no unnecessary effort,"
said the physician, mildly, as Charles attempted to rise.
"You have been injured, though we scarcely yet know to
88 ANNACLAYTON.
what extent, and we may be obliged to detain you as our
prisoner for a few days."
Charles rubbed his eyes in amazement; while a vague, in-
distinct recollection of his recent adventure seemed to dawn
slowly upon him.
" Where am I ? " at length he asked.
" Under the roof of one who will never be able to repay
his debt to you ! " exclaimed Lord De Vere, coming forward
and taking his hand.
The puzzled look again returned to Charles' face, as he
tried to comprehend his lordship's reply.
" Emilie, my daughter," said the latter, opening the door
into an adjoining room, " he has revived. Come in ; you can
better explain than I."
Blushing with maidenly confusion, the usually self-possessed
Lady Emilie stepped softly to his side, and timidly uttered her
gratitude for her preservation.
Charles was awake now, as the presence of the fair eques-
trian recalled the whole scene vividly to his mind.
" I have done nothing worthy of your thanks, fair lady,"
replied he, " though it is sweet to receive them." And he
gazed admiringly into the beautiful face of the proud lady.
" We have yet to learn the name of your self-sacrificing
hero," said Lord De Vere, with significant glances, to his
daughter.
" I trust the confusion of my brain will be a sufficient
apology, sir," said Charles, handing him a card.
" Charles Duncan ! ^ What, the son of my old friend Sir
William, recently deceased ? "
'' The same, sir," answered Charles.
ANNA CLAYTON. 89
" Then arc you indeed doubly welcome," exclaimed Lord
De Vere. " It needs no ceremony to acquaint you with my
daughter, Lady Emilie De Vere, as you have already so favor-
ably introduced yourself."
" I see I must, however unwillingly, interpose," said the
l>liy.-i'-'ian, interrupting them. " But it will be necessary to
keep Sir Charles perfectly quiet, for a few days, at least."
" Do you find him seriously injured ? " Lord De Vere
inquired, with much interest, aside.
" I fear hi> hniin is seriously affected. Indeed, I should
not be surprised if he is delirious to-night ; rest and quiet
are most essential in lii-
" Give him all the attention in your power, doctor. His
father was an old friend of mini, and this was his only child.
He has been abroad the last few years, and but lately re-
turned ; so I have never seen him till now. Strange that we
should have met in such a manner ! " added Lord De Vert.-,
musingly.
The physician's prediction was fully verified, as Charles lay
-!y moaning upon his bed, all unconscious of the anxious
care with which he was tenderly nursed, or the deep interest,
but too plainly revealed, with which one watched for his
returning reason.
Lord De Vere well knew how futile would be any attempt
to oppose or reason with his daughter ; and therefore Emilie
was, as she had ever been, left to her own guidance. Deserting
the gay scenes where she had shone so brilliantly, but for
which she had suddenly lost all relish, and assiduously devot-
ing herself to him who had so daringly saved her life, Lady
Emilie persuaded herself that she was but exercising the rites
8*
90 ANNA CLAYTON.
of good English hospitality. Not so thought the sagacious
physician, whose keen glance often caused the crimson blush
to mantle her cheek with some unwonted emotion. Not so
thought her haughty father, as, with increasing solicitude, he
saw her cheek grow pale, and her steps less light, save in the
presence of their guest.
Lady Emilie was the last to discover that other emotions
than gratitude and mere friendship prompted her to forego
all her former pleasures, that she might sit by the side, or
guide the feeble steps, of the convalescent. When, however,
the humiliating truth flashed upon her that she had given
her heart unasked, pride came to her rescue, and in a calm,
self-possessed manner, she announced to her father, in Charles'
presence, that she must fulfil an engagement in the city, and
should depart thither immediately. True to her resolution,
she very kindly and courteously bade adieu to Charles, and
hastened away, that none might see the wild throbbings
beneath that cold exterior.
" My dear Charles," said Father Bernaldi, a few days
after his return to Beechgrove, " you seem gloomy and de-
pressed, and yet you will not confide in an old friend, who,
you know, is devoted to your interests and happiness. What
can I do for you ? "
" To tell you the truth, good father, I don't know what
ails me. I 'm lonely and miserable, that 's all ; it 's so con-
founded dull here ! "
" But it is in your power to make it more cheerful."
" How ? " asked Charles.
"Nothing easier," answered Bernaldi, with a meaning
n
91
eniile ; " would not Beechgrove, and its master too, rcjoico
in the bright and beautiful presence of a fair and presiding
spirit?"
" Speak out plainly, father," said Charles, more pleased
than he cared to show; "you talk in riddles."
" I should not wish to offend you, Charles," he answered,
meekly, " but your happiness lies so near my heart, 't would
be strange, indeed, if aught affecting you escape my notice."
' Well, and what then?" impatiently added Cl:
" Nothing ; only, if these faithful eyes and cars do not
deceive me, a lady of noble birth, whose hand is coveted }>y
the rich and powerful, would not disdain to become the Eve
in this paradise."
" You mean Lady Emilie, I S^pose," replied Charles.
" The same," said Bcrnaldi, keenly eying him.
" She has no other feeling for me than gratitude, I assure
you," said Charles, in a tone which conveyed a different
hope.
" That is all a delusion, my dear sir ; Lady Emilie loves
you."
Charles eagerly started from his seat with delight.. ** Prove
that to me, good father, and you shall not lose your re-
ward."
" I could give you other proof than my word," returned
Bernaldi ; " but it would avail you nothing, as you are at
present situated.''
" I understand you but too well," said Charles, with a
Bigh ; " yet I always supposed the church had power to annul
that contract."
" So she has, and to those who are true to her interests
92 ANNAOLAYTON.
the bishop often grants such absolution ; but you must confess
you have not been a very devoted follower."
" If you mean," interrupted Charles, " that I have not
given money enough, why, set your own price, but get me
released from that hateful marriage."
" The bishop only can do that," replied Bernaldi, " and I
would advise you to seek him without delay."
Little need had Charles of such advice, for his impetuous
nature could bear no suspense ; and, as the wary priest rightly
divined, he suffered not many days to elapse ere he found
himself in the presence of one who held such power over his
future destiny. The secrets of that confessional we cannot
unveil ; but Charles returned to his home in deep thought,
and evident agitation. The ordeal he must pass was sur-
rounded with difficulties, perhaps impossibilities, which he
might never be able to overcome ; certain it was, that without
his faithful Bernaldi he could do nothing ; so, at least, he felt,
and rightly too.
" It is, as you say, a perilous undertaking," Bernaldi
remarked, after Charles had disclosed to him the conditions
upon which alone the bishop would grant his wish ; " he might
almost as well have refused you at once. And yet, it would
be the best thing for you, if you have the courage to brave it
through. I scarcely know how to advise you," he added,
with a puzzled air, " but of one thing you may be sure ; what-
ever you do, you may command your best friend to the extent
of his abilities."
" Thank you a thousand times, most excellent father!" ex-
claimed Charles; " were it not for my trust in you, I could
not for a moment hope for success."
ANN A CLAYTON. 93
You sec," reasoned Bernaldi, " there is no other way for
you to obtain Lady Emilic ; for, even had the holy father
annulled the marriage, those children would be your legal
heirs, and their friends, you may depend, would not be slow
in proclaiming it. But, if you just take them into your own
care, as you ought, and place them securely within the
church, you not only insure their salvation, but all trouble-
some discoveries by the haughty Lord do Vere will be
avoided. I know him too well to believe he would ever con-
sent to give "his daughter to one who had stooped to a connec-
tion with a low-born heretic. Your desired success can only
be gained by their entire ignorance of any such ties. To
them those children must bo as though they were not ; and,
when once you have given them to the church, they are no
longer yours, and you can say truly (should occasion re-
quire) that you have neither wife nor child. You under-
stand ? "
" Yes," said Charles, hesitatingly, " I see ; but you are
supposing, all the time, that the thing is accomplished, while
my only trouble is how to do it. If I was more sure of Lady
Emilic, I believe I should try, with your help ; but I can tell
you it will be a hard task."
" Perhaps so ; but I think we can plan it so that it will
not be so difficult as you imagine."
" I '11 leave all the planning to you, good father, while I go
to Ravens wood ; and if Lady Emilie consents to share with
me the beauties of Beechgrovc, I 'd go to the world's end and
work impossibilities; rathei than lose her "
CHAPTER XI
" Trained to duplicity and crime, they are daring, unscrupulous, un-
relenting ; and, to convert fortunes to their use, they decoy the simple,
murder the obnoxious, rob households, torture the intractable, and trust
to impenetrable dungeons to conceal those who would witness against
them. Thus has Rome perpetuated her wealth and power."
" I REALLY think, Anna," said Mrs. Clayton, gazing fondly
on her daughter, " that you have yet many years of happi-
ness before you. Your tell-tale face, if not so sunny as when
you were my pupil, has of late been growing more cheerful."
" Who can live beneath the sun's rays, and not feel their
genial influence? " replied Anna, with a loving smile. " Cold,
indeed, would be the heart that did not glow and expand in
the bright sunshine of a mother's love and such a mother ! "
she added, in a low voice of tenderness.
" Bless you, my child ! " and a tear dimmed the soft hazel
eye ; " it needed not such trials as yours to bind you more
closely to my heart. But see there comes Susan with the
baby; and Charlie is skipping merrily along, as though the
world were all flowers and sunshine."
" God grant it may be to him ! " breathed Anna, with a
sigh, which was drowned in the noisy glee of the beautiful
boy, as he came bounding into his mother's lap.
!/ ,-
ANNA CLAYTON. 05
" O, mamma ! " cried he, " we 've been to see Aunt Bessie's
baby, and she 's most as pretty as my own little sifter not
quite, though ;" and he shook his head knowingly, as ho
caught a glimpse of the chubby, dimpled face his little heart
worshipped.
" What did Aunt Bessie say to you, Charlie ? " +
" She seems as fond of the children," said Susan, coming
forward, " as if they were her own. I thought she would
never stop kissing them. She wished me to tell you, ma'am,
that her baby was christened last Sunday, and they call her
Anna, for you."
" Dear Bessie ! " exclaimed Anna, while the tears gathered
as she thought of -the wicked farce mumbled over her own
children, " she deserves all her blessings."
" That 's pretty much what she said about you, ma'am,"
replied Susan, proudly. " When she \vu.> ki.-Miiir the children
she said you deserved such treasures, for the sweetness with
which you bore your misfortunes ; those are her very words,
ma'am*"
" My misfortunes, as she terms them," smilingly remarked
Anna, turning to Mrs. Clayton, " have seemed much lighter
since they were softened by the sympathy of such warm
hearts.! 1
" Would that you had found a more sure support, dear
Anna ! " was Mrs. Clayton's only answer.
The two little cherubs had sunk into i\ c dreamless sleep
of innocence, while the young mother still kept her watchful
vigils near' them. Memories of the past, clothed with life,
96 * ANNACLAYTON.
came thronging with fearful distinctness about her. Shudder-
ingly she gazed, as the dark phantoms, one by one, came flit-
ting by in their startling, life-like reality ; and with a shriek
she recoiled from the black, fathomless abyss which seemed
opening before her. The vision passed away, and naught but
the tiny forms of the sweet sleepers met her terrified gaze, as
she tremblingly looked around.
" What a frightful dream I have had ! " whispered she, as,
with an undefined fear of coming evil, she crept softly to the
side of her treasures, and nestled them within her own arms.
Alas for thee, fond mother ! the bitterness of death itself
would be sweet in comparison with the anguish that must
wring thy heart, ere thou wilt learn to seek a stronger arm
than thine own for the protection of these defenceless ones !
" Mamma, do see ! " cried little Charlie, as he pointed
with ecstasy to the still sleeping baby, whose flaxen ringlets
were flooded with the morning's beams, and encircled her fairy
brow like a crown of glory. " Is n't that the way angels look,
mamma ? "
Anna smiled as she roused from her heavy sleep. " Yes,
darling, only little Myrtie is a thousand times more dear ;
for we can take her in our arms and kiss her, and feel that
she belongs to us."
" But Susan says she don't belong to us, mamma; she told
me yesterday that God only gave us ihe baby to love and
take care of, till he called her back to heaven. Is n't that too
bad, mamma ? "
"But Susan is right, dear," said his mother; and again
the dark foreboding of evil fell upon her heart at the
possibility of this precious trust being recalled by the Giver.
ANNA CLAYTON. 97
Susan's gentle knock at the door was quickly answered by
the bright boy, who sprang into her arms for his usual morn-
ing kiss, but drew back when he saw her face red and swollen
with weeping.
Why, Susan, what has happened ? " exclaimed Anna,
as the poor girl threw herself into a chair and burst into
tears.
" Indeed, ma'am, I have cried all night at the thought of
leaving you and the children ; but here is a letter I got last
night, and my mother is so sick they think she is going to
die, and so she has sent for me to go and stay with her while
she does live. Indeed, but it 's a sore trial to part with you
all; and my poor mother, too! I'm afraid .-lie isn't pre-
pared to die."
" 0, well," said her mistress, trying to speak cheerfully,
"we will hope for the best; your mother may get better
Boon, and then you will return to us. How soon must you
go?"
" That is what troubles me," said Susan. " They wrote
that they would have some one waiting for mo at the cross-
ing, which is about six miles from mother's, when the
stage passes there to-morrow. To get there by that time I
should have to go part of the way to-day ; " and her tears
flowed afresh. " Dear little Charlie and the darling baby !
how can I leave them ? " she cried, caressing first one and
then the other. " But God will take care of us all, Mrs.
Duncan," she added, in her simple faith ; " and if it is best
for us to be afflicted, we must not complain."
The day wore sadly away. Susan, by her fidelity and
devotion to their interests, had won the esteem of all, and
9
98 ANNA CLAYTON.
made herself almost indispensable to their comfort. Char-
lie was loud in his demonstrations of sorrow for her departure,
and little Myrtle seemed babyishly inclined to join in the
general feeling that they were losing a faithful friend as well
as servant. Poor Susan could scarcely refrain from continual
gobbing, as she made her few simple preparations to leave,
now and then stopping to clasp the baby in her arms once
more, or joining with tearful eyes in some childish frolic with
Charlie.
At length she spoke hesitatingly to Mrs. Clayton, as she
Bat with the baby in her lap, while Mrs. Duncan was sewing
near by, "I 've been thinking that I should feel easier if you
had some good faithful girl to take my place before I go.
These little darlings " and her lips quivered "want some
one to walk and play with them."
" I am aware of that," replied Mrs. Clayton ; " but
where should we look for one to fill your place, Susan?
We cannot trust every one j and, besides, we hope you will
return soon."
" I hope I may," answered Susan ; " but there is a nice
girl staying down to Mrs. Carter's, who would be glad to
serve you, even for a short time, as she is poor and needs some
help."
" Who and what is she ? Do you know her, Susan ? " Mrs.
Duncan asked, looking up with interest.
" She can tell you better than I, ma'am, if you would see
her. I only know that she had to flee her own country,
where she was well off, because she was persecuted BO for
becoming a Protestant."
" She was a Catholic, then ? "
.
ANN A CL A YTON. 99
" Yes, ma'am ; and she seems so humble, so good, that Mrs.
Carter says it is worth her board to hear her talk."
" Perhaps we had better see her, Anna," said Mrs. Clay-'
ton to her daughter ; " we cannot tell how long Susan may
have to stay and nurse her mother ; and you are not able to
take care of the children."
" How do you know she would like to come here ? " asked
Mrs. Duncan.
" Why, because I have met her several times when we 've
been out walking, and she seems so fond of the children ; she
said, only yesterday, that I must be the happiest girl in the
world with such sweet little treasures to guard. You must
excuse me, ma'am ; but when I saw her walking along by hero
this morning, I told her how bad I folt to leave you, and sho
said, Could n't she serve you till I come back ? She would do
ever} thing for those darlings, and such a sweet woman as she
knew their mother must be."
"She has a smooth tongue, anyhow, I should judge,"
said Anna, smiling ; " but you may go and tell her I would
like to see her, and if she impresses me as favorably as she*
has you, she can remain."
u went out, and soon returned with the girl, whom she
fortunately met, as she said, just outside the gate. She was
a demure-looking person, a little older than Anna had ex- .
pccted to see, but very neat and tidy, and with an air of good
breeding seldom found in one of her rank. Both Mrs. Clay-
ton and Anna were sufficiently pleased with her appearance to
justify Susan's good opinion.
" Your name, if you please," said MM. Duncan,
100 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Marguerite, at your service, ma'am," she answered, in a
pleasant voice.
" Susan was telling me," continued Anna, " that misfor-
tunes had driven you to this country. I should like to know
a little of your history."
" Perhaps these will contain all the information you wish,"
said she, handing her a small package.
Anna glanced over the papers, which she passed to Mrs.
Clayton, remarking, as she did so, " You certainly have most
ample and creditable testimony for your integrity, as well as
religious principles. Would you like to take charge of my
little pets during Susan's absence ? "
" No service would be more agreeable to me," said Mar-
guerite, as she smilingly beckoned Charlie to her lap.
Susan felt greatly relieved when she resigned her duties
into the hands of one, as she believed, every way worthy and
capable ; and she left the roof which had been such a pleas-
ant home for her, weeping, of course, but with a lighter heart
than a few hours before seemed possible.
Marguerite's gentle, unobtrusive manners, her assiduous
efforts to please, and her love for the children, which seemed
strengthening every day, soon gained the entire confidence of
Anna and her mother.
" I do not like to see my mistress bending over her sew-
ing so continually," said she, one day, to Mrs. Clayton.
" If she would only allow me to do it for her, I should be so
glad!"
The little garment was placed in her hands, and finished
with such exquisite skill, that, by her own entreaty, the whole
juvenile wardrobe was intrusted to her care, and Anna left
'
ANNA CLAYTON. 101
at liberty to breathe more freely the pure air of heaven. To
the quiet parsonage did her steps almost daily lead ; and Bes-
sie, too, had reason to rejoice in Marguerite's efficient aid,
which thus afforded her many hours of the sweet companion-
ship of her friend.
" I have come to sit with you all the morning," said Anna,
one day, as she entered Bessie's cosey breakfast-room ; " so,
just prepare yourself for a regular siege, for I told Marguerite
to leave the children here on their return from their morning
walk. Everything looks so pleasant and cheerful here, I
should like to sit down and have one of our old-fashioned
chats."
And have the talk all on your side," added Bessie, laugh-
ingly, as she welcomed her.
" No danger of that," returned Anna, " for one half the
time, at least, I should have to listen to the praises of a certain
model husband."
" And the other half," retorted Bessie, slyly, " would bo
scarcely sufficient to recount the perfections of two little
angela."
" Let 's have a truce, now we are even," said Anna, " and
I will agree with you that Herbert is a perfect embodiment
of everything that is good, pure, and noble."
" And I will say, what I tfiink" added Bessie, earnestly,
" that Charlie and Myrtie are the loveliest, sweetest cherubs
I ever saw, and are worthy of their mother."
Tears trembled in Anna's eyes, as she related to Bessie tho
frightful vision which had so terrified her the night before
So=ac's departure, and how foolishly it had affected her ever
0*
102 ANNA CLAYTON.
since, the yawning mouth of that dark abyss seeming ever
open before her.
" Why, Anna ! " exclaimed she, " I did not know you were
so superstitious ; it was doubtless the effect of unusual fatigue
or anxiety. Pray, don't be so weak as to allow it to trouble
you a moment."
The entrance of Marguerite, with her little charge, effectu-
ally put an end to the conversation ; but it left an unpleasant
impression on Bessie's mind, which she in vain tried to ban-
ish.
"When shall I come for them?" asked Marguerite, as her
mistress gently excused her.
" In season to return home to dinner," replied Anna, closing
the door.
" Come, Charlie, now we '11 have a good frolic," cried she,
as she playfully ran around the room, while, with a joyous
bound, he caught her, to the screaming delight of his baby
companions.
Would that this innocent and happy scene had no dark
counterpart, that as the day had commenced, so it might
close, in brightness and peace ! But we will not anticipate,
save to follow the steps of the perfidious nurse, as she glides
Stealthily along to a thick copse by the bank of the river.
" Is everything ready? " whispers a hoarse voice.
" " Everything, father," is her response.
" Where are the clothes ? "
" Yonder, at the foot of that large tree."
" Remember, Marguerite, act your part well, on pain of the
consequences; be here precisely at two, and leave the rest
to us."
ANNA CLAYTON. ] l>;>
" Marguerite is late," said Anna, looking at her watch ;
" what can have detained her? I think I will walk along
and meet her."
" If we cannot persuade you to dine with us," said Mr.
Lindsey, who had just come in, " I will take little Myrtie
and escort you."
" Thank you, and if you will repeat the favor to your wife
this evening, I shall be doubly obliged. Don't forget, Bessie,
that you have promised me a few hours to-night."
" A promise so pleasant to fulfil," answered Bessie, " is
not likely to be forgotten,"
"There is Marguerite, now," said Anna, after they had
walked a short distance ; " but she is coming in the opposite
direction from our house."
" I beg your pardon, Mrs. Duncan," Marguerite began, as
ehc hastily approached them ; " I thought I had sufficient
time to gather a few of those bright red berries Master Char-
lie wanted so much this morning, and so I ran up into the
woods for them. I am really very sorry to have troubled
you so much, sir," added she, as she took the baby from his
arms.
31 r. Lindsey left them, and thoughtfully walked home-
ward.
" Wife," said he, as they sat down to their dinner, " *
wish you would advise your friend to dismiss her new nurse." *
Why, what can you mcan,Hcrbcrt ? " she asked, in sur-
prise ; " we all think her a wonderful person."
"I will tell you, Bessie; as I was riding home this morn-
ing, over an unfrequented road, T saw two persons earnestly
engaged in conversation. The man, I judged, from his enor-
104 ANNA CLAYTON.
mous whiskers and heavy eyebrows, was disguised ; and his
companion was no other than the very meek-eyed nurse who
met us just now, and, as an apology for being late, said she
had been to gather berries for Charlie ! Depend upon it, there
is something wrong/'
Bessie thought of Anna's dream, and shuddered. " I will
warn her this very night," said she.
" Have we kept you long waiting, mother ? " asked Anna,
as Mrs. Clayton met her at the door.
" No, dear ; your father was unexpectedly called to the city
a few hours ago, and we shall dine by ourselves."
" How lonely it seems without him," said Anna, as they sat
at the table, " he is always so punctually in his seat. Will he
come back to-night ? "
" I cannot tell ; he received a message, just after you left,
saying that a friend of his was supposed to be dying, and he
must go to him without delay. It was a person to whom your
father is very much attached, and the news agitated him
exceedingly."
"Where is Marguerite?" inquired Mrs. Clayton of the
servant who answered the bell.
" I don't know, ma'am ; she has n't been round here all the
forenoon."
" I should n't be surprised," said Anna, " if she has gone
to get some more of those berries ; she thinks every whim of
Charlie's must be gratified."
w Mamma, come play with me ! " cried a sweet little voice,
as a bright face peered into the room.
" Ina moment, Charlie, when I have put on the baby's hood."
A H N A CLATTOtf. 105
" Now, what shall we play ? " said his mother, carefully
Beating the weo thing npon a soft, grassy spot.
" Let me catch you, mamma ! " and away she jumped,
dodging behind bushes and trees, till, to his infinite delight,
the little fellow finally cornered her, and caught her in his
plump arms.
" Mamma is tired now ! " said she, sitting down under a
tree, with the laughing baby in her arms.
Charlie crept slyly along, and down came a crimson shower
of berries over both, while a shout of joy behind them pro-
claimed the author of the mischief.
" 0, you rogue ! " cried his mother, turning partly round
to catch him.
But she suddenly paused, as she perceived an elegant car-
riage approaching them, and was making a rapid retreat into
the house, when her ovrn name was pronounced in gentle tones,
but with a voice which froze the very life-blood within her
heart. Transfixed with surprise and dismay, she stood like
some lifeless statue, speechless and immovable.
" Do not be so alarmed, dear Anna! " said Charles Duncan
(for ho it was), approaching her. " I could not live without
one more look at your sweet face. I have not come to dis-
turb your happiues.s, but I think we should have a more kindly
parting than our !
" 0, Charles ! " she cried, at length, " what baseness, what
meanness, thus to break your pledge, anil de.-troy all our
hopes ! "
" Really ! So then, you have hopes ! " returned he, deri-
sively. " Pray who La the fortunate oV>ject of them? "
106 ANNA CLAYTON.
.; Charles, stop ! " cried she, with an indignant flush. " I
hope for naught save to live and die in peace ! "
" Which you never shall ! " thundered he, as he seized the
little ones, and, with the agility of a cat, sprang into the
carriage.
" What can you mean ? " screamed she, grasping the wheel,
and placing herself before it.
One glance at Charles' priestly companion in the carriage,
the heavy blows of a stout whip-handle mangling those deli-
cate fingers ere they loosed their hold, the pleading voices
of the helpless ones mingled with her own piercing shrieks for
aid, were the last memories of Anna's reason.
It was a maniac who sped so swiftly after the fast-receding
carriage, rending the air with her unearthly shrieks, until
exhausted nature kindly laid her senseless form in the dust.
Why, mother earth, didst thou not open thine arms and
receive this stricken one to thy cold bosom ? Bather would
we lay her within thy dread embrace, than witness the spirit's
awaking to its deathless agony !
Ik"" 1 *''
.
'
CHAPTEE XII.
" Awhile she stood
Transformed by grief to marble ; and appeared
Her own pale monument ; but when she breathed
The secret anguish of her wounded soul,
So moving were the plaint?, they would hare soothed
The stooping falcon to suspend his flight,
And spare his morning prey."
FJEJTTOS'B " MARIAITHK."
NOT until he reached the city, and found his friend in per-
fect health and safety, had Squire Clayton one thought of
treachery. Now, however, his suspicions were fully roused,
and visions of robbery, and murder even, of which he might
be the victim, filled him with apprehension and alarm. Alas !
how did his worst forebodings sink into utter insiguiflcance.as
he hurriedly recntered his own home, and gazed with hor
upon that wreck of reason and beauty which lay extcr
almost lifelessly upon her couch !
0, who can break to him the sad tale of bitter anguish,
or dash from his lips the sweet chalice of hopes which tiny
hands had raised, filled with life and joy ! None save her
whose gentle hand draws him tenderly from this scene of woe,
as, with a mighty effort stilling her own grief, she gradually,
though fearfully, discloses the dreadful deed which had deso-
b
' 1* *
%
108 ANNA CLAYTON.
lated their happy home. With firmly-set teeth and clenched
hands did the grief-stricken father listen to the terrible recital.
" I have done it all ! " at length exclaimed he, hoarsely.
"I see it now ! but, God, what a fearful retribution ! "
And the strong man bowed his head and wept, in the bitter-
ness of his soul.
Now, for the first time, did he feel the power of those into
whose snare he had fallen, bearing with him his own precious
child, an unwilling victim. Past scenes, in which he had
been but the too willing dupe of arch-deceivers, flashed upon
his memory, and daguerreotyped there, with fearful distinct-
ness, his own image, stern, relentless, heeding naught save his
accursed ambition, cunningly guided by priestly influence,
even to the sacrifice of one dear as life to him, and the dese-
cration of all her holiest affections. All was clear to him
now. He had been made, through the machinations of others,
the destroyer of his own child. No less bitterly did he curse
his own guilt, because he, too, had been the victim of Jesuit
intrigue. And those innocent babes, the pride and joy of his
life, must they, too, be sacrificed ? He dared not trust him-
self to answer this question ; but rushed from his dwelling
with every thought centred in one great purpose that earth
should contain no spot to hide those treasures which he would
not search for their rescue. Little dreamed the deluded man
that, while with frantic zeal he urged his neighbors on in their
ceaseless, hopeless search, those Jesuit miscreants were calmly
sailing with their innocent prey over the deep blue waters,
laughing to scorn his futile attempts; or that inquisitorial
bolts and bars could shut forever in Stygian darkness those
helpless ones ! What drops of anguish fell from his brow as
ANNA CLAYTON. 109
he listened to the piteous moans of the woe-strickon mother,
or heard her piercing shrieks for aid, as she lived over again
the horrors of that brutal scene ! " Would to God," he cried,
in his utter wretchedness, " that reason may never return, to
mock, with its terrible truth, my heart-broken child ! "
Pale with sorrow and grief stood one beside him, as, with
clasped hands uplifted, she replied, "Pray rather that the
broken heart may find its healing and rest in one who died
for her ! " And her face glowed with a heavenly light. The
old man gazed upon her almost in awe ; but his prayerless
heart beat no response, and he turned away and sought the
solitude of his chamber, where for days none might witness
the secret mighty wrestlings of his newly-awakened soul.
With noiseless step and quivering sympathy, Bessie hov-
ered over the insensible form of the smitten one, soothing,
\\ith child-like gentleness, her frantic ravings, or weeping
wildly, as those arms were stretched forth in delirious eager-
i da.-p the babes, who, alas! may never more know a
mother's love, or feel her warm embrace ! Dear as Anna had
ever been to her, Bessie's heart now yearned with more than
a sister's love over her crushed and blighted existence. Long,
earnestly, aijonizimjly, did her prayers ascend, that the doya
of peace, with healing in its wings, might rest in that strickqp
heart, filling with sweet hope and trust its first awakening to
reason and its own desolation.
" And shure, ma'am, there 's bin a jintleman afther yecs
twice this morning," said Bridget, as Bessie returned to her
home, after a long, watchful night by Anna's bedside.
" Did he leave his name, Bridget ? " said she, with somo
surprise.
10
*
110 ANNA CLAYTON.
"He said he wouldn't lave it, aa maybees ye didn't re-
mimber him ; and when I axed him should I call the minister,
he turned aboot fornenst me, and said he 'd call agin."
" Who can it be ? " said Bessie, thoughtfully.
" He 's a fine raal jintleman, anyhow," said Bridget.
" Well, I shall know when he comes," said Bessie, as she
kissed her baby, and, with a sigh, thought of the joyous ones
who, but a few days ago, filled that very room with their
music, and were now none knew where, perhaps moaning
their little lives away in piteous cries for the loving mother
who had ever soothed all their childish griefs. More closely
hugged she her own little nestling, as her tears flowed for the
innocent and suffering.
The swollen eye and quivering lip betrayed her agitation,
as she rose to greet the stranger, whom Bridget announced as
" the jintleman."
One glance at the noble form and handsome features before
her sufficed to remind Bessie of early days, and her face
brightened with pleasure as she welcomed Robert Graham.
But thoughts of her, in whose wild delirium that name had
been uttered with deep and thrilling tenderness, mingled with
the loved and lost, saddened her heart, and again gushed her
tears for the helpless misery of the loved one's doom.
"You have just left her bedside!" said he, in a voice
choked with emotion. " Tell me, is there any hope? "
" Such hope as a drowning man might have," replied
Bessie, bitterly, " when his escape from a watery grave is but
the sure prelude to a living death on a barren shore ! "
" Say not so ! " and he shuddered as he spoke; " there
I
ANNA CLAYTON. Ill
may be yet a gleam of light for her whose whole life should
have been one bright sunshine of happiness ! "
Bessie shook her head, sadly. " What can now bring joy
to the heart thus mercilessly severed ? "
" The love of God ! " answered he, solemnly.
" How could I," exclaimed she, with emotion, " for one
moment seem to question that unfailing source of light, or
despair of its power to heal such sorrow ? It is the only hope
I have for our poor Anna's support, when she becomes con-
scious of her desolation ! "
" 3Iay that terrible awakening be softened by infinite love
;ui'l tenderness!" fervently ejaculated he.
" But," said Bessie, " I have not yet inquired for your
welfare. Anna, lying there in hopeless grief, excludes nearly
all else from my thoughts."
" I have but little to say of myself," replied he, smiling
sadly. " Life had lost for me all its joy when I left these
shores; and now that I return loaded with what the world
calls wealth, I find it even more desolate than before. Her
happiness 1 could have witnessed with thankfulness. But to
see her pure, gentle spirit writhing in its agony, is torture
almost insupportable ! " And tears, which had never fallen
for his own sorrows, now coursed each other down hia manly
cheek, convulsing his whole frame.
0, would some ministering spirit waft the fragrance of that
pure tribute, wrung from a noble heart, to the unconscious
sufferer, restlessly moaning upon her couch ! Would it not
awaken an echo in that breast that should bring back life and
hope ? Encircled by warm hearts, eagerly waiting to lavish
their wealth in restoring the light of love to the wandering
112 ANNA CLAYTON..
eye, cannot the past be enshrouded within its own dark grave,
and the future filled with happiness and love? Alas, no!
for never can that mother's undying love forget.
" Pardon me, Mr. Graham," at length said Bessie, whose
nice sense of honor could not be obscured even by her par-
tiality ; " pardon me, but such unwonted emotion seems hard-
ly consistent with your position." She paused, as though
fearful of the offence her words might give.
" May not a brother mourn for the loved playmate of his
childhood, or grieve when some ruthless hand pitilessly blights
the bright existence of his cherished sister ? " replied he, in a
gently reproachful tone. " Even thus do I mourn my poor,
ill-fated Anna."
" Forgive me," said Bessie, ingenuously, " for a thought
unworthy of your noble nature. As a dear sister she has ever
wished to be remembered by you."
" Why should I not, then, claim a brother's right to watch
over her joyless path, or try to lift the darkness from her
soul ? " answered he, eagerly. " I feel assured, my dear Mrs.
Lindsey, that you will not misunderstand my feelings in
desiring to see and comfort this worse than childless mother."
" I certainly shall not," Bessie replied, quickly; "but
there are others whose opinion is of more importance."
" I know of none," said he. " With pure motives, hallowed
by the fear of God, I feel that this sacred duty is mine, and
the smiles or frowns of the world are alike to me."
" But your wife, Mr. Graham ! ".
" Wife ! " exclaimed he, with surprise ; " you surely cannot
suppose such a being exists."
ANNA CLAYTON. 113
M Anna told me you married, soon after you went abroad,
one who was rich and beautiful," said Bessie.
" Can it be possible that such falsehood was added to
treachery ! " cried he. " And she believed it? "
" She could scarcely do otherwise," quoth Bessie, " when
the papers announced it to be so. But she ever rejoiced iu
your happiness, so strangely contrasted with her own unhappy
lot"
" Pure, unselfish being!" exclaimed Mr. Graham, " little
did she know the utter wretchedness of my lonely life, till
beams of celestial radiance pierced the gloom, and filled the
desolate heart with light and peace. To llim who hath veiled
with his glory the darkness of my own soul would I lead that
dear sister; for what but infinite love can heal her bleeding
heart?"
Bessie listened with admiration to his holy fervor, and,
warmly grasping his hand, as he rose to leave, breathed the
hope that Anna might yet find her support in the same love.
" Before I go," he said, " may I beg the favor of you,
Mrs. Lindsey, that you will repeat my wishes to .Mr. Clay-
ton. Tell him that the associations of childhood often restore
reason, and that only as a brother would I seek to lure back
to her eye its wonted light. The rest I leave to you."
" You will find me a willing advocate," replied Bessie.
"What death-like stillness reigns within the house so lately
echoing the gay laughter and merry gambols of light feet !
FAVith pale faces and saddened look do its inmates move noise-
lessly about, for more than the hush of death is there. Upon
a bed whoso snowy whiteness scarce rivals the marble huo
10*
114 ANNA CLAYTON.
of her cheek, fair, beautiful, fragile as the lily, fit emblem
of her purity, lies the young mother, calling wildly, in her
madness, for the lost ones. Bessie, the ever faithful, loving
sister, bathes her brow and quietly lulls her to sleep, while
prostrate in his agony kneels the form of one seeking strength
for this hour of trial.
" Help ! help ! " shrieks the maniac, stretching forth her
arms ; " the wretches will tear them away ! See ! the priest !
he's got them! Mercy! mercy! will none have mercy?"
Then, changing to passionate entreaty, she cried, " 0, Charles,
give me my darlings, and I will be your slave for life ! I will
kiss the very dust off your feet! Hear their screams I
come ! I come ! " and the frantic mother would have leaped
from the bed to chase the phantoms. Gently, but firmly,
grasping .her hand, nerved with unnatural strength, Robert
soothed, with the tenderness of a mother, her unquiet spirit.
" Come, Anna, dear," said he, in the familiar tones of
childhood, " let us go down to the river and throw in some
pebbles to make the water ripple."
This simple allusion to their childish sports touched a
chord in her memory, and, with a half-conscious look, she
turned towards him and whispered, " Hush ! where is Robert ?
I thought I heard his voice. I can't play without him ! "
How did the strong heart throb within its narrow bounds
at this echo from the voices of the past ! But that heart must
be closed to all its thronging memories, if he would win
back to light the darkened soul ; and, with firm and holy
purpose, did he daily breathe forth the treasured scenes of
early days to the eagerly listening ear. The spell of her
youth, wrought by the magic of that familiar voico, was
ANN A CLAYTON. 115
speedily exorcising tho evil spirit, and but for the woe which
awaited her return to consciousness Anna's friends would
have joyed in their hopes of its restoration. But how shall
he, whose unwearied efforts have calmed the frenzied eye,
and led the bewildered mind back to the dawn of reason, leave
the perfection of his work tQ others, and go forth in his
widowed loneliness? He feels instinctively that he must flee
from the recognition of her pure spirit, for his heart hath
taught him that he but mocks its truth in his fraternal
professions. Now that he has endeared himself to the care-
worn father, the anxious mother, and the faithful Bessie, by
his untiring devotion to one who must ever be to him as a
pistcr, shall he remain, to forfeit their respect, and his own
too, by betraying the secret of his heart? 0, what mighty
strivings of spirit arc his! what hours of prayerful self-abase-
ment, ere he can yield this purified offering as sweet incense
to his Maker ! But his earnest prayers were not unheeded,
and, in a strength greater than his own, he left her presence
with high and noble resolves.
Now that the strong arm on which the frail flower has
leaned is withdrawn, what shall save her from sinking? Joy,
yea, joy even to thee, thou bruised reed, for thy Saviour's
loving arms are gently encircling thee; and, when thou
awakest to the loss of thy earthly treasures, thou wilt find in
him such love as, through all thy life's journey, shall sustain
its grievous burden.
" If it must be so, Mr. Graham," said Mrs. Clayton,
eadly, " I will try to acquiesce ; but what will our poor Anna
do?"
116 ANNA CLAYTON.
" All that human love and tenderness can devise," he
replied, with deep emotion, " cannot save her from the dread-
ful shock which awaits her first moments of reason. Only
infinite love can soothe the agony of that hour ; and if prayers
and tears avail aught, she will find a support which all our
efforts would be powerless to yield."
" But for you, my dear sir," and Mrs. Clayton's voice
trembled, " she might never have been restored to us; and
now you do not remain to witness the reward of your efforts."
" Listen to me, my dear Mrs. Clayton, and you will feel
that duty, as well as safety, bids me go. I can look back
upon no moment of my life in which Anna was not the first
object of my love ; and when I was sternly driven from her,
and barriers deeper than the ocean divided us, she became the
lone star on which my soul gazed. It was then I learned
that the heart's yearnings for earthly love might have a
higher, holier object, and the soul be filled with a purer joy.
As a dear sister have I since regarded her ; and had I found
her a happy wife and mother, I could have claimed a brother's
love only, and been content. But seeing her heart broken,
desolate, stricken by such sorrow as earth could scarce equal,
has unsealed the fountain which I had thought was closed
forever ; and I go forth, bitterly conscious of my weakness,
to wage again the war within my breast. Perhaps, in making
this confession, I but teach you to despise me ;" and he looked
anxiously for her reply.
"Never!" she exclaimed, warmly ; "now that I know
the depth of your love, I but admire the more your noble
conduct."
" You can scarcely imagine the relief your words afford
ANNA CLAYTON. 11Y
mo," he said, striving to repress his emotion ; " for you will
not now misunderstand my motives in seeking to restore those
lost ones to their mother."
Mrs. Clayton looked tip in surprise. " Every effort has
been made, but no trace of them can bo found."
" Yet we can scarcely doubt," added he, " that they have
been carried to their father's home. So strong is my convic-
tion of this, that to-morrow I set sail for England, and dark
indeed must be the spot which can hide them from my vigi-
lance."
" Please, ma'am, there 's a girl in the kitchen would like to
see you," said the servant who filled the place of the false '
Marguerite.
" Show her in here," replied Mrs. Clayton. " I must beg
you to wait a few moments, Mr. Graham, as I have much to
say to you yet."
She had scarcely ceased speaking, when Susan, pale, worn
and agitated, entered the room, and threw herself at her
feet, exclaiming, " Is she 0, tell me, is my mistress still
alive ? "
Astonished beyond measure at her appearance, and still
more by her anxious inquiry, Mrs. Clayton replied, " Your
mistress is alive, Susan ; but how came you in this condition ? "
pointing to her haggard face and tattered dress.
"'Tis so terrible!" said Susan, shudderingly, "but
they would have starved me to death, if I hadn't got away
and run here. '
"Who do you msan?" asked Mrs. Clayton, still more
guzzled.
.
A"
: .-.
118 ANNA CLAYTON,
' Why, Mr. Manning and another man, who sent that
letter to get me away from here, but never to see my
mother."
"Tell me about it!" and Mrs. Clayton was nearly as
agitated as Susan, while Mr. Graham listened with eager
attention.
" Why, you see, they thought I would n't let them steal the
darlings ; and so I would n't, if they killed me ! " and she
sobbed aloud.
" Go on, Susan."
" Well, when I had got to the crossing where the letter said
some one would meet me, they carried me away and shut me
in a dark room, with nothing but bread and water; all that
did n't hurt me so much as what I heard them say about my
poor mistress."
" What was that? " asked Mr. Graham, hurriedly.
" Why, after I had been there about a week, I should think,
I heard some voices talking loud in the next room. One of
them was Mr. Duncan's, and Mr. Manning's too, but I did n't
know the others, and Mr. Manning was quarrelling about the
price he was to get for carrying me away. And then some
one asked how they were going to get the children ; and Mr.
Duncan said he could fix that easy enough, that Margue-
rite was there, and would do as they told her. 0, how I did
cry when I found out their wicked plan, and that Marguerite
was such a bad girl ! But I could n't get away, for they had
fastened me in."
" Did you hear them say what they should do with the
children ? "
" They said something about a vessel and England, but I
ANNA CLAYTO*. 119
couldn't tell what. I was all the time thinking about those
innocent little children, and how it would kill my poor mis-
tress to have them so cruelly stolen away."
"Was that all you heard, Susan? You must remember all
you can, for tiffe gentleman is going to try to find them, and
perhaps you can help him." ,
"Well, then, I will try and think," said Susan. "I don't
knowtow long it was afterwards, Mr. Manning came to that
house, and the woman asked him how they got along. O,
nicely,' said he ; ' they 're half way across the Atlantic now ; '
and when she told him not to speak so loud, for fear, I
suppose, that I should hear, he laughed louder yet, and sai^
1 She won't tell any more tales, I guess.' So I knew they
meant to kill me, and every day I tried to get away, till
yesterday, when the old woman came in to give me some
bread and water, I caught her and tied her hands with some
Strings I made of my clothes, and then ran as fast as I could,
when I came up with a wagon, and asked the man to let me
ride, and he brought me most here."
" Poor child ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, " you, too, have
Buffered, but you shall be tenderly nursed now."
"I am persuaded," at length said Mr. Graham, hastily
pacing up and down the room, " that this has been a deep-
laid plot, for some dark object ; ind Susan's sad story makes
me more determined to search it out."
CHAPTER XIII.
" Generous as brave,
Affection, kindness, the sweet offices
Of love and duty, were to him as needful
As his daily bread." ROGERS.
THE light of a new day was gently stealing within the
darkened chamber, revealing in its softened beams the pallid
features and wasted form of the unconscious sleeper, and the
anxious faces of those who through the still night had kept
their silent watch. From that long and quiet sleep will her
spirit awake with the light of other days ; or, is this but its
entrance to immortality ? The muffled tread, hushed voices,
and throbbing hearts, are but silent witnesses of the hopes and
fears which fill each bosom, as they tremblingly await the
dreaded crisis. Life and death, struggling each for the victory,
seem so nicely balanced, that none may tell which shall
triumph. All that medical skill and untiring love can devise
has been done, and now in prayerful suspense do they rest their
hopes upon the Great Physician, who alone can lift the veil
of darkness from her soul, and fill her joyless heart with un-
measured bliss. With cheerful hope and unwavering trust in
his mercy, we leave her, to wander forth with one who, intent
ANNACLATTON. 121
on noble deeds, is already dashing o'er ocean's trackless path,
towards the English shore. Full of anticipation, he heeds not
the fierce lashing of angry waves on the frail yessel ; and when,
in her weakness, she yields to the mighty power which naught
earthiy can control, and lies a helpless, shattered wreck upon
the boiling, surging sea, mingled with his thanks for deliver-
ance is the prayer that thus he may not be delayed in his
cherished object. As if in answer to this petition, a friendly
bark receives and safely conveys him to the land where, in
imagination, he has already found the lost babes. lie forgets
that an influence more potent than royalty itself, and to which
he must' inevitably yield, meets his first step ; nor does ho
know that watchful eyes are regarding him with keen interest
a.s ho hastens on shore, in his impatient zeal forgetful of all
else, save his errand of meccy. Deluded man ! he has yet to
learn that priestly despotism, with its thousand argus eyes
ever on the alert, will but scoff at his powerless efforts to trace
its dark path, or rescue from its iron grasp its chosen vie-
,:,:
" The thing is easily enough managed," said the very rever-
end father to Bernaldi, as they sat together, a few mornings
after the arrival of Robert Graham ; " from his movements,
we may look for him now at any time, and you must remain
at Beechgrove to guide that foolish fellow's tongue, or else,
in his blundering way, he may betray us. Beat it into his
thick brain, if you can, that he is to be utterly ignorant of
everything pertaining to the children, and don't suffer him to
make any remarks whatever. And, another thing, warn
Marguerite."
11
122 ANNA CLAYTOtf.
" You have given me a hard task," replied Bemaldi. ' 1
had rather undertake anything than to manage Duncan's
tongue. But curse me if I don't send that infernal Graham
back emptier than he came ! I know his mettle, and 't will be
rare sport to break it, and teach him to let other folks' busi-
ness alone." So saying, he left the house, mounted his steed,
and was soon gayly pacing along the road which led to Beech-
grove. He had gained but half the distance, when, suddenly
turning, he perceived a horseman advancing rapidly to over-
take him ; and one keen glance from under those heavy eye-
brows sufficed to reveal to him the well-remembered feature?
of Robert Graham. The Jesuit was himself at once, and
courteously awaiting the approach of the stranger, saluted
him in his blandest tones.
" I am somewhat fearful,'' said Robert, returning the salu-
tation, " that I made a wrong turn a few miles back, and
should be greatly obliged if you can direct me, by the nearest
course, to Beechgrove."
" The obligation will rest upon me," replied Bernaldi ;
" for, as I am going thither myself, and the ride is somewhat
lonely, I shall be thankful for such agreeable company."
" Really ! " exclaimed Robert. " Then, perhaps, you know
Mr. Duncan."
" It is easy to perceive that you are not an Englishman,"
quoth Bernaldi, laughing, " or Sir Charles would not be so
unceremoniously stript of his title. I know Sir Charles Dun-
can very well," added he, good-humoredly.
" I meant no offence to Sir Charles," replied Robert; "but
we Americans, so simple in our habits, do not easily fall into
your aristocratic notions."
ANNACLAYTOX. 128
" You are from America, then ? "
" I have but recently arrived from there."
" And you know Sir Charles ? " queried Bernaldi.
" I cannot say I know him personally, having never seen
him. Have I the honor of addressing one of his friends ? "
said Robert, turning towards Bernaldi.
" I am his friend ; but Sir Charles is not a person to at-
tract any warmer feeling. Hunting and fishing are about all
he cares for, except Lady Emilie."
" And who is she, pray ? "
" His affianced bride," said Bernaldi, keenly eying him.
Bx>bert started, changed color, but, fearful of betraying
himself too far, said, carelessly,
" Then he is married ! "
" Not yet," replied Bernaldi ; " but great preparations are
making for the event, which, it is said, will speedily take
place. Lord De Vere insists upon great pomp and ceremony
in^he marriage of his only child ; and Sir Charles is too well
pleased with the beautiful heiress to care for the arrange-
ments. So it is thought the affair will exceed in magnificence
nobility itself."
Robert rode on in silence, assuming an indifference he was
far from feeling. Shocked beyond the power of expression at
the perfidy of the wretch, who dared to add dishonor to the
wrongs he had already committed against his pure wife, he
scarcely knew what course to pursue. He would gladly con-
fide in his chance companion, and seek counsel of him ; but
he knew not who or what he might be, and the secret must,
therefore, remain locked in his own breast. He was roused
from his revery by the voice of Bernaldi, who exclaimed,
124 ANNA CLAYTON.
" This way, if you please this is Beechgrove." And,
turning their horses' heads, they cantered briskly through a
broad avenue, shaded by noble trees, whose luxuriant foliage
formed a magnificent arch above them. With a mind at ease,
Robert would have revelled in such beauty as everywhere
filled his eye ; but the pale, wan face of one whose stolen
treasures he sought looked forth pleadingly from each shrub
and flower, and his heart needed no stronger appeal to urge
him on.
The cunning, crafty priest succeeded in impressing upon
Charles the necessity of following his instructions implicitly,
if he would not be thwarted in his marriage with Lady
Emilie ; and then, with great affability, presented him to the
stranger, who had overtaken him in his ride thither, but whose
name he had not yet the pleasure of knowing.
" The simple, untitled name of Robert Graham is all I can
boast," replied he, handing each a card ; " and, as I have very
important business with Sir Charles, I would beg the privilege
of a few moments' private conversation."
" If Sir Charles desires, I will retire," said Bernaldi, rising.
" But probably Mr. Graham is not aware of our relation to
each other."
" No, good father," quoth Charles ; " pray be seated. As
he is my father-confessor," he added, turning to Robert, " I
can have no secrets from him. Your business, therefore,
whatever its nature, you need not fear to disclose before him."
Robert hesitated, as the thought flashed upon him that this
might be the very priest Anna called upon so loudly in her
madness ; and, if so, any attempt to rescue the children he
- - -
ANNA CLAYTON. ^ 125
" I see," said Bcrnaldi, again rising, " that Mr. Graham
considers mo an intruder, and I will therefore relieve you
both of my presence."
"I tell you, Father Bernaldi," impatiently interrupted
Charles, " what I just now told Mr. Graham. I have no
secrets from you, neither do I wish to have ; so I beg you to
sit quietly, while Mr. Graham will do mo the honor to com-
municate his business with mo."
Thus called upon, Robert felt that he could hesitate no
longer ; and, turning to the confessor, he said, ingenuously,
11 1 did prefer to see Sir Charles alone, as I judged, from
your remarks by the way, that he had kept one secret, at least,
which I would not willingly betray without his consent. But,
as he assures me it is not so, and bids mo proceed, I will
do so. I come to bring you tidings, Sir Charles, of your
pure and lovely wife, whom you trampled in the dust, and
Hffc shrieking in her wild despair, as you tore from her bosom
those helpless babes, and bore them from her sight ! "
Robert toad risen from his seat, and stood calmly, sternly
gazing into Sir Charles' face, as he addressed him. The latter
at first assumed a puzzled look ; but, as Robert concluded, he
exchanged glances with the priest, and both burst into an
immoderate fit of laughter.
" I declare," cried Charles, as soon as he could speak,
" that 's too good to be lost. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Why, bless you,
Graham, you 're capital at a joke. I have n't heard anything
better, these many days. Ha! ha ! ha ! "
" What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed Robert, looking at
him in astonishment and anger. " Is it her memory you
would insult, or me, her humble advocate ? "
11*.
126 A ANNA CLAYTON.
" Neither, 'pon my word," said Charles. " But ha ! ha !
ha ! You must excuse my laughing. What do you mean ? "
" I should think my words were sufficiently plain to be
understood. If not, your own conscience may help explain
them," replied Robert, with extreme disgust.
" Ha! ha ! ha ! You '11 certainly kill me, yet. Pray find
out, if you can, good father, what he 's up to ! "
" If I could see any symptoms of insanity about Mr. Gra-
ham," Bernaldi answered, laughing, " 't would be easy to
account for his strange words ; but, as it is, I am only amused
at the ludicrous mistake he has made. Why, my dear sir, to
talk about wife and babes to a man just on the eve of getting
married, is most laughably absurd ! But 't will do very well
as a joke, I confess."
" Gentlemen," cried Robert, " you will drive me mad ! As
sure as there is a God in heaven, your unpardonable hypoc-
risy will meet a just punishment ! If there is any justice in
England's laws, you, Sir Charles, shall be made to feel it, and
render your terrible account before a higher tribunal than
mine ! " And he spoke with an earnestness that shook their
craven hearts.
" Why, really, Mr. Graham," and Bernaldi's voice was
mild and bland, "I had no thought you were in earnest,
in charging Sir Charles with the horrible crime to which you
alluded. Pray, explain yourself further, and we may get
some clue that will enable us to assist you, if, indeed, you are
seriously in search of such a monster as you described."
Robert gazed into the calm, unruffled face of the speaker
with distrust ; but the Jesuit eye quailed not as it met his
own searching glance.
ANNA CLAYTON. ^ 127
" Y9a would persuade me, if possible," at length said he,
" that I am a dreamer, crossing the ocean on a fool's errand,
only to be laughed at hero as playing off a good joke. Now,
though it can be no news to you, I will tell you loky I came. A
wife and mother the pride of our village, beloved by all savo
the wretch who called himself her husband, has been despoiled
" of her treasures by ruffian hands ; and their daring plot, so
brutally consummated, is traced to you, Sir Charles, and a
priestly accomplice ! Before God, I charge you with that
dark and fearful deed, which will yet be terribly avenged ! "
" And who are you, sir," cried Bernaldi, springing to hia
feet and choking with rage, " that dare thus insult a gentle-
man ! Such language is not to be used with impunity by a
low-born fellow like you ; and if Sir Charles serves you right,
he will put you where you will not be likely to try it again."
" Sir Charles will do nothing of the kind," replied Bobert,
very coolly. " And you, sir priest, under that smooth and
Pharisaical face, carry a coward's heart. I fear you not.
But, Sir Charles, I have not yet done with you. All your
efforts to deceive me are vain. I see the trembling heart
beneath your foolish subterfuge, and I now demand of you
the whole truth ! "
" By what authority, sir ? " demanded Charles.
" By the authority of Him who has nerved this arm with
strength, and this heart with determination, to defend the
helpless and innocent from such inhuman outrages ! "
" Young man," interrupted Bernaldi, " I bid you beware
the consequences of your violent abuse. If you will insist
upon it that Sir Charles (who, by the way, has never been in
America) is the person you denounce for stealing his own
128 ANNA CLAYTON.
children, then search his domains, inquire strictly of all you
see, and when you are convinced of your mistake, no apology
can be too humble for such conduct." With an offended air
^-
he took Charles' arm, and they left the room.
How powerless did Kobert now feel, as the taunting words
of the priest still rang in his ear, embittering his disappoint-
ment ! How did he reproach himself, lest he had thwarted
his own object by hasty words ! To search for the children
now, would only subject him to further ridicule ; so he would
return to his hotel, to devise, if possible, some means to out-
reach both Sir Charles and his confessor. Sadly he rode
through the noble forest, passed the chateau, where, uncon-
sciously, he was the subject of much conversation, and,
throwing the bridle-rein loosely upon the horse's neck, he gave
himself up to the all-engrossing subject that brought him there.
Sir Charles' identity he could not doubt ; that they had
assumed ignorance as the easiest way to rid themselves of
troublesome inquiries, was also plain to him. How he should
now proceed, was a question which required no little wisdom
and sagacity.
He had not long to reflect, ere the sound of horses' feet ap-
proaching in the same direction caused him to draw in his
rein, and turn aside, that the rider might easily pass.
. " 1 have hastened after you," said Bernaldi, " to make
some amends for words which I should not have used, had Sir
Charles been faithful in the confessional. I find, from what he
has told me since we saw you, that you were not mistaken in
r the person, as I supposed. I knew he had led a light and
frivolous life, but to what extent I have only just learned.
You will pardon me, I am sure, for defending one whom I
ANNA OJ^YTON. 129
thought Innocent ; " and he proffered his hand, in a most con-
ciliatorj manner.
" If it was in ignorance that you sought to deceive me,
and not by design, as I supposed, I am bound to receive
your apology," replied Robert ; " especially if, now that
you are enlightened, you will acknowledge the justice of my
charges."
"The truth is," said Bcrnaldi, "as Sir (Aries informs
me, he took a fancy to visit America, while we thought him
either in France or travelling on the continent ; and, as young
men of his cast are apt to do, he formed a strong attach-
ment to a very beautiful girl there, and professed to marry
her, though the person employed to perform the ceremony
was one of his cronies, and of course the marriage was ille-
gal. Hearing of his father's illness, and extreme desire to
sec him, he hastened homo just in time to receive his
blessing, with an earnest, dying request that he would marry
the daughter of a dear friend, whose influence, he trusted,
would win him from his wild habits. Had Sir Charles then
confided in me, all might have been well; l>ut, in his new
passion for Lady Emilie, he remembered only that no legal
ties bound him in America, and, therefore, there was no obsta-
cle to his marrying as his lather, and now his own heart,
desired. He could not, however, so easily forget his two
beautiful children ; and, with what object I know not, nor
docs he himself know, he took them from their mother and
conveyed them to France, where they may bo educated as
becomes hi* children. All this I have gathered from him
since you saw him ; and now that I have made the explana-
tion I thought due to* you, I will bid you good-day,
130 ANNA CLAYTON.
of regret, on my part, at our misunderstanding
this morning."
" Stay, stay ! " cried Robert, as Bernaldi turned to leave
him. " I must know more about this when can I see you
again ? "
" Call at the chateau, yonder, to-morrow, at ten o'clock, and
I will be there to meet you."
Surprise and indignation had so wrought upon Eobert's
mind, during the priest's story, that he had not ventured to
reply, lest he should have occasion again to regret his hasti-
ness. This he now felt to have been the wisest course ; and he
returned to the hotel to prepare at leisure for the morrow's
interview, upon which important results depended.
" Gentlemen, I must rely upon your honor ! " said Robert,
looking earnestly at his companions. " It was my intention
yesterday, when I left Sir Charles, to have a public investi-
gation of the matter ; but, if you can assist me in finding the
children, I care not a farthing for him."
" What we have told you," replied Bishop Percy, very
mildly, " is from Sir Charles' own confession. I fully agree
with you in condemning his rash act, and am ready to ofier
you any assistance in my power."
" I wish you both to understand," added Robert, " that I
have not a doubt of the validity of their marriage, and shall
advise Mrs. Duncan to establish it at once."
" There, Mr. Graham," interrupted Bernaldi, handing
him a paper, "I have made out a complete directory for
ycu ; so I think you will find no difficulty in tracing them."
" And you are sure I shall find them there? " asked Robert.
ANNA CLAYTON. 131
" Wo have no reason to doubt it," they both replied. " Sir
Charles declares, upon his oath, that he left them in the care
of the abbess whoso name I have given you, though ho did
not know that wo should inform you. We do it, however,
from a sense of justice to the suffering mother, and also to
convince you of our own ignorance and blamelessness in tho
whole transaction."
" I will trust you, then," frankly said Robert, " and shall
set forth this very day."
" Not until we have dined together," added the bishop,
ringing his bell. " You and our good Bernaldi here must
smoke tho pipe of peace over a fricassee."
" Nothing easier or pleasanter," rejoined the priest, laugh-
ingly.
A more experienced observer might, perhaps, have seen, in
their unwonted cordiality and apparent sincerity, some covert
design ; but, truthful and guileless himself, Robert Grahanl's
suspicions, whatever they might have been, were speedily
quieted by their seeming interest in his plans, and evident
desire to assist him in their accomplishment.
M I feel that I have wronged you," was his ingenuous con-
fession, when leaving them, and shall bear tho remembrance
of your kindness with me in my lonely search."
Then did the hearts of* those deceivers bound within them
at the success of their duplicity. They had met and duped
the one they most feared, and what should now stay their
hand from perfecting their own dark purposes ?
" I tell you," exclaimed the bishop, bringing down his hand
upon the table with an energy that made his companion start,
132 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I tell you this marriage must be prevented, or yours is a
life-long work ! "
"Well do I know that," replied Bernaldi; "but how
shall we manage ? Graham will find out, before long, that he
is on the wrong scent, and we may expect him back like a
hyena upon us. We ought to have the thing done before
that."
" I will think the matter over, and by to-morrow we can be
ready to act."
To-morrow ! How many lips have uttered that word, which
never breathed its existence ! To how many has its looked-
for light been but darkness, the grave of their brightest
" To-morrow," Sir Charles had said to Lady Emilie, " wo
will sail over the waters of yonder beautiful lake, happy in
our mutual love, and each living but in the other's smile."
" To-morrow " saw the fair maiden bending in wild grief
over the dripping, lifeless form of her lover ; while, with ill-
suppressed rage, the thrice-baffled priest gazed on the face of
the dead. The work had been done too soon for him !
CHAPTER XIV.
" serpent heart, hid with a flowering face !
Did over dragon keep 10 fair a cave T
Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical !
Dove-feathered raven ! wolfish-ravening Iamb!
Despised substance of divinest show !
Just opposite to what thou justly seeinest."
SOAKBPZABE.
14 ANOTTJBB letter from Robert," exclaimed Mrs. Clayton,
as she entered the parsonage, and seated herself beside its fair
mistress.
" Indeed ! " replied Bessie, " and if I may judge from your
face, it is not a very sad one, either."
No, he is full of hope," said Mrs. Clayton ; " but read
for your.-elf,'' and she handed her the letter.
" I write hastily," thus the letter ran, "just as I am
on the point of starting for France. In my last I told you
I had determined to seek an interview with Sir Charles Dun-
can (as he is styled here), as it seemed to me I could reach
his heart, if he had one. The cool and insulting manner in
which ho received my appeals proved him to be the villain
we thought him ; and, were it not that he had given his con-
science to another's keeping, all my efforts to trace the lost
12
134 ANNA CLAYTON.
ones would have been fruitless. But, thanks, for once, to that
system (I cannot call it religion) which places a man's
though^and actions at the disposal of a mortal like himself,
the secrets of his confessional were confided to me by those
who would thus screen themselves and their church from hia
infamous conduct. Had I not a dearer object at heart, I
would remain here to expose his villany and perfidy, of which
even you do not yet know all. But the pleading tones of a
sweet voice, ever sounding in my ear, bid me hasten to restore
to the desolated home its light and life. I leave this very
hour for France, where, according to minute directions given
me by Duncan's confessor, and his holy leader, Bishop Percy,
I may learn tidings of those I seek, and perchance bear the
precious burden to your arms."
" May God reward such devotion ! " cried Bessie, as she con-
cluded. " What a happy life would have been Anna's, with
one so noble ! "
" But, then," replied Mrs. Clayton, with a sigh, " she might
have been satisfied with earthly love. Let us not distrust the
wisdom of Him who hath led her through such dark paths to
his own bright presence, or fear to trust in his hands the lives
of those darling ones."
" Blessed be his name," fervently responded Bessie, " tfiat
our prayers are answered, and dear Anna's heart filled with
holy peace ! Will you dare tell her of Robert's success ? "
" I fear to excite hopes which may not be realized, and yet
I can scarcely refrain from cheering her with such good
news," Mrs. Clayton answered.
" But, if Robert should return with the children, as he
hopes, it would be well to have her prepared for it, aa her
. ANNA CLAYTON. 135
feeble, shattered system could not bear another shock, even
/joy."
" Well might Bessie say that my poor Anna can bear no
more," thought Mrs. Clayton, as she bent, that night, with
yearning tenderness, over the shrunken, wasted form which
told of grief and suffering, and kissed the pallid brow where
still rested the deep traces of great sorrow. But the soul
beamed forth with its wonted light, and the eye, though
dimmed with tears, no longer wandered in maniacal darkness.
" Pray for me, mother," murmured Anna, with quivering
lip ; and her own heart mingled with the soft, gentle plead-
ings of that mother's voice, as she earnestly besought strength
and comfort for the sorrowing one. Even in that hour of
holy communion did the sweet incense of the stricken heart
ascend in blessings to Him who, in blighting her earthly hopes,
had filled her soul with heavenly joy and peace.
Days and weeks passed away, and still Anna's step grew
more strong, her heart more steadfast, in its new life of
faith ; and though the cheek paled, and the mother's soul
yearned to clasp again its treasures, she yielded without a
murmur to her sad and lonely fate. To the parsonage, ever
the homo of holy, happy thoughts, and to Bessie, whose gen-
tle ministrations and unceasing tenderness had won her spirit
back to life, did she daily turn for sweet counsel and sympa-
thy. Life with her was now but a dreary journey, to whoso
end she looked forward with hope and trust.
" What can have become of Bx>bcrt ? " said Mrs. Clayton,
one day, to her husband ; " it is three months since we last
136 ANNA CLAYTON. ,
heard from him, and he was to write immediately after he got
to France," ^
" I have had many misgivings about him lately, I confess,"
he replied. " Having been so terribly deceived myself, I can
have but little faith in those with whom he has to deal."
" He was so hopeful in his last letter, I was almost tempted
to show it to Anna, but thought I would wait till I heard
" again."
"It was well you did so," said the squire; "for, after all,
my hopes of his success are very faint."
" Father," said Anna, entering the room in great agitation,
and handing him an open paper, " read that ! "
" What is it ? what has happened, my child ? " exclaimed
Mrs. Clayton, whose thoughts were at once with Robert. Her
husband read aloud the paragraph to which Anna had
pointed.
" We regret to announce the death, on the 7th ult., of Sir
Charles Duncan, only child of the late Sir William, whose
sudden and untimely end has caused a deep sensation in
many circles. Especially to the noble family with whom he
was soon to be united by marriage would we tender our
warmest sympathy. That one so young, so full of promise,
with, a brilliant future before him, should be thus suddenly
cut down, is among the mysteries we cannot fathom. The
treacherous wave whose wild dash stilled the throbbings of that
heart unfolds none of its secrets, and we are left to wonder
in silence at its dark deed. We learn that, as Sir Charles
has left no will, his immense property will pass into the hands
of strangers on the decease of Sir William's widow."
For a moment no sound broke the stillness, as he ceased
ANNA CLAYTON. 137
fc *
reading. Anna had sunk into a chair, with her face buried
in her hands. She thought not of the dishonor and shamo
from which death had saved her, nor of the perfidy of the
wretch who had not been suffered to perfect his guilt ; but
the hope which she had almost unconsciously cherished, that
her misguided husband would, in some" repentant moment,
restore the loved ones he had torn from her, was now suddenly
destroyed, and she felt that they were indeed lost to her for-
ever. =
" My daughter," exclaimed her father, as if reading her
very thoughts, " we will trust in the Lord, that he has gracious
purposes to perform. We who have been brought, through
these bitter trials, to taste his love, can we not trust in
that love now ? "
Anna's faith brightly shone through those tears, as with
uplifted eyes and hands she murmured, " Even so, Father, for
so it seemcth good in thy sight." Simple, sweet, yet earnest
trust, wafted by the breath of angelt to its source, it will yet
return to Gil that life with bli.-.-, !
The postman's loud knock, resounding through the quiet
house, caused each to .start, ami Mrs. Clayton hastened to
receive from his hands the long-expected letter. Anna gazed
with surprise at the eagerness with which her mother, after
scanning the foreign stamp, broke the seal, and sat down ab-
sorbed in its contents. She turned to her father, but he, too,
was watching with interest the face of his wife, to gather
from it, if possible, some hope. Suddenly it flashed into her
mind that it might be connected with the lost ones, and the
blood leaped wildly about her heart as she sprang to her
12*
%.
138 ANNA CLAYTON.
mother's side and grasped the letter, exclaiming, breathlessly,
" Tell me, is it about them?"
The mild gray eyes beamed sorrowfully upon her, as Mrs.
Clayton quietly replied,
" I have thoughtlessly betrayed what it were best, perhaps,
you should not know. It may be better now to tell her all,"
added she, turning to her husband. ^ .
" I think so," he replied.
"Are they dead? " whispered Anna, in a tone half fearful,
half hopeful, as though death might be preferable to their
little, joyless lives away from her.
" No, not dead," Mrs. Clayton answered ; " but here
comes Bessie, she can tell you better than I."
The quiet, pleasant smile with which Bessie greeted her,
reassured Anna, and she felt her spirit grow calm and strong
beneath that loving glance.
" Now, Bessie," said she, " I must hear all that you have
been concealing from me. Why have I not shared your con-
. fidence ? " asked she, half reproachfully.
"Simply, dear Anna, because we feared you had not
strength to bear such suspense, which might end in disap-
pointment."
"As it has," sighed Mrs. Clayton.
Bessie looked at her inquiringly. "Go on," said she;
" and when you have told all, I will read you the letter I just
received."
" Well," said Bessie, taking one of Anna's small, white
hands within her own, " I know not whether your heart,
dear Anna, felt its influence, but in the wildest hour of your
delirium, when hope seemed faintest, one came, strong in
ANNA CLAYTON. 139
+> 1T\^
heart and purpose, to redeem you dear to him as a sister
from the life-long misery which had fallen upon you. In
your weakest moments, it was his arm that sustained you,
his spirit that breathed the happy scenes of youth into your
ear, waking recollections which brought back the wandering
mind. His voice alone, as in low and fervent tones it uttered
for you the agonizing prayer, would calm your soul to rest.
But when returning reason gave hope of your restoration, he
left you to our willing, loving hearts, and went forth to trace,
and if possible restore, those precious children to you."
The head which had sunk upon Bessie's shoulder was now
raised in earnest expectation. " Has he has Robert found
them ? " she exclaimed. " 0, why did you not tell me this
before?"
" No, dear, he has not found them, and the fear that you
might hope too much from his efforts has kept us silent."
" But Robert will save them ! " said she, with energy.
O, how strong is the faith of a loving woman's heart ! Anna
had loved Robert (jruliam, and, though years ago she crushed
that feeling, and subdued her love, her perfect trust in him
had never, for a moment, wavered.
' Robert will doubtless use every possible means to dis-
cover them," replied Bessie ; " but they are in the power of
men who would not easily yield the prize they had taken such
pains to secure."
" Robert had traced them, as he thought," added Mrs.
Clayton, " to France ; but, in a letter the postman brought
this morning, he says
" Let me read it, mother," cried Anna, eagerly, as a
shade of disappointment settled on her face.
140 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Come," said Bessie, " you must remember I have not
heard a word you have been reading, and am all anxiety to
know what Robert says."
" Perhaps you will read it aloud yourself, Bessie," Mrs.
Clayton replied ; " I had scarcely finished it when you came
in, and Mr. Clayton has not yet seen the letter."
"I have been so anxiously watching Anna," said her
father. " Does my daughter suffer one doubt to darken her
mind ? " he asked, looking into her troubled face.
" No, father, I know it is all right, but 0, my children ! "
and nature would speak through the mother's tears.
Bessie took up the letter, and, hastily wiping her own eyes,
began to read :
" I had hoped, ere this, to return to you in the joyful
accomplishment of my mission ; but I have been to France
only to find myself the victim either of treachery, or ill luck.
As I wrote you last, I received minute directions from those
who professed to know, to the convent where the dear little
ones had been carried and placed in charge of its abbess.
You may well imagine I lost no time in following these direc-
tions ; and, sooner than I had thought it possible, the dark
walls of St. Barbara were before me. Everything about the
convent corresponded so exactly with the notes given me, that
my heart beat high with expectation as I entered its gloomy
portals, and stood in the presence of the lady superior. My
strength and courage well-nigh fled, as she informed me, in
answer to my inquiries, that only three days before, the chil-
dren had been transferred to England, in obedience to Sir
Charles' commands. She appeared to sympathize warmly in
my disappointment, and wept as I told her of the sufferings
ANNA CLAYTON. 141
of their mother. With the greatest courtesy she entertained
me, and solemnly pronounced over me her 'Benedicito* as I left
her, to retrace my steps to England. I go back to Sir Charles,
and, if necessary, shall take legal measures to expose him,
and force the children from his unnatural protection. God
helping me, I will never cease ray efforts while there is any
hope of saving them."
Bessie ceased reading, with a trembling voice, for even Jxr
sanguine nature felt the greatest uncertainty of his success.
Mrs. Clayton was the first to speak.
" Now that Charles is removed, Robert may find leas diffi-
culty than he expects."
" I don't know about that, wife," said her husband, shaking
his head ; " this whole affair has been conducted with more
shrewdness and calculatiou than Charles ever possessed.
There must have been some powerful motive for the commis-
sion of such a deed, and his death may only conceal it more
effectually."
"Of whose death are you speaking?" asked Bessie, in
surprise.
" I had forgotten that you were not in when I read that,"
said the squire, as he gave her the paper.
What was there in that solemn announcement that caused
Bessie's heart to glow with something akin to pleasure ? Was
it not that, with woman's quick instinct, she saw afar off" a
light in the dark pathway of the afflicted one, a light
whose radiance, though it could not dispel, would alleviate
the bitterness of her life ? Whatever were her thoughts, hope
again smiled through her tears, as she clasped Anna's hand.
" All will come out right at last, dear Anna ; only let your
faith be unshaken and your heart rest in trustful peace."
CHAPTER XV.
My heart is firm :
There 'e naught within the compass of humanity
But I would dare to do."
HUNT'S "JULIAN."
ROBERT GRAHAM paced with impatient step the deck of the
noble ship which was fast conveying him back to England.
For hours had he kept his unbroken tread, dwelling moodily
upon his disappointed hopes and the vague uncertainty before
him ; for, though he had written hopefully to the anxious ones
at home, his own heart misgave him as to his final success.
True, his lip curled with contempt for the miserable being
with whom he must contend; but, after all, might not Sir
Charles' position and wealth give him an influence which it
would be difficult for him alone to contravene? As this
thought pressed upon him, he threw himself into a seat, and
buried his face in his hands.
" Thee seems to be in trouble, friend," said a low voice
near him, while a hand was. laid gently upon his shoulder j
" is there nothing I can do for thee ? "*
Robert looked up in surprise, and met the mild but
earnest gaze of one whose benevolent face, broad brim, and
draft coat, bespoke his sect. " Perhaps I am intruding,"
ARNACLATTON. 113
continued the latter, " but thy looks interest nie, and I would
i'uiu be rfeervice to thee."
"Thank 'you! thank you!" replied Robert, whose heart
warmed in that genial smile; "but, so far from being an
intrusion, I am really grateful that you have broken up a
revery, which, to say the least, was far from being agree-
able."
" This, surely, is not the place for unhappy thoughts," said
the Quaker, pointing around to the calm blue waters through
which they were gliding, with islands of great beauty here
and there lending enchantment to the scene.
Robert, who was an enthusiastic admirer of nature, gazed
around for a moment with delight, and, turning to his com-
panion, said, with a smile,
" You will scarcely believe, I suppose, that among those
who know me best I am often called an enthusiast in my love
of nature, while, for hours, I have been passing through such
glorious scenes with stoical indifference. How true it is that
without a mind at ease our highest enjoyment loses its zest ! "
"Verily, thou speakcst the truth, friend; but thy clear,
open brow betrays no consciousness of wrong that should
sadden thy life."
" It would be strange, indeed, my dear sir, if I did not
daily find cause for disquiet in my own heart ; but just now
I am more troubled for others than for myself."
" Perhaps it will be impertinent for me to press thee
further," said the Qua^r, " but my heart is strangely drawn
towards thee, and thy confidence should be sacred."
Robert's nature was not one to resist the kindly influencca
of such a spirit, and ho replied, earnestly, " I feel assured
144 ANNA CLAYTON.
that confidence in you cannot be misplaced ; and, as I am
greatly in need of counsel and aid, I will seek both from
you."
His ingenuousness touched the heart of the stranger, who
grasped his hand, warmly. " Thee shall find that James Lee
knows how to be a friend."
" And Kobert Graham knows how to be grateful," added
he, as he led the way to his state-room, where he could con-
verse more privately.
Had the whole world been given him from which to choose,
Robert could scarcely have found one more competent to
render the assistance he needed. With a heart filled with the
liveliest sympathy for suffering in every form, deepened by
his own checkered life of joy and sadness, James Lee seemed
peculiarly fitted to enter with all his soul into Anna's sad
story and Robert's noble purposes. Having spent several
years abroad in accumulating a large fortune, he was no
stranger to the wiles of those who seek to propagate their
church by every means within their power, and he doubted not
Sir Charles had been instigated in his strange course by some
Popish ecclesiastic, for covert designs of their own. His wise
suggestions and ready sympathy cheered Robert, while his
own heart became deeply interested in the fate of the little
orphaned children. Perhaps the sweet, though sad, remem-
brance of a little voice which, in earlier days, lovingly lisped
" father " in his ear, added a deeper earnestness to his feel-
ings ; for Robert was scarcely more impatient to unravel the
mystery than was he. Thus strengthened in his zeal and
devotion, Robert's spirits grew light and joyous, and hope
ANNA CLAYTON. 145
once more brightened his path, as they reached England, and
proceeded^ without delay to seek Sir Charles.
" Nature has doffed her gay attire since I left here," aid
Robert, as they rode leisurely through woods clad in autumn's
sombre hues.
" And assumed one more befitting earth," added his com-
panion, glancing at his own dress.
" Why," asked Robert, " was a love of the beautiful im-
planted within us, if we are not to gratify it by any unneces-
sary adornments ? "
"Thee should ask thyself that question, Robert," tho
Quaker replied. " Does the natural pride of the heart need
any stimulus from these poor bedizened bodies? "
" Certainly not," said Robert, laughing ; " but nature seeks,
in its infinite variety of gorgeous colors, to captivate our senses;
and why should not we endeavor to make ourselves as attract-
ive as possible ? "
" Simply, friend Robert, because we do it for our own
glory, while nature points from every tree and flower to the
hand that formed its beauty and fashioned its perfections."
" Excellent, my dear sir ! " exclaimed Robert. " I am
almost tempted to don the drab and beaver, and to turn
Quaker myself."
" Perhaps thce would never have cause to repent such a
course ; but," continued he, with a smile, " a drab coat and
beaver hat is not ail that is required to make thee a Friend."
" Not if I may judge from the noble examples I have seen,"
said Robert ; " but we are drawing near Beechgrove, the
residence of Sir Charles Duncan, and my heart trembles as it
fears another disappointment."
13
146 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Thee must be content to leave the result with God, when
we have done all that He puts into our hearts to da," Mr. Lee
answered, though he felt more anxiety than he was willing to
disclose.
" How silent and deserted everything appears ! " said
Kobert, as they came in view of the mansion. " Sir Charles
must be away; perhaps to meet the children, who could not
have arrived here much sooner than we."
" What dark object is that moving so stealthily across the
garden, yonder ? " asked Mr. Lee, pointing to a figure crouch-
ing along in the shadow of the hedge, and finally disappearing
in the opposite direction.
" I don't know," said Robert ; " the whole place wears a
strange look to me."
Death had left his dread imprints around them, and they
knew it not; why should there not be a look of strange-
" Can we see. Sir Charles ? " inquired Robert of the staid-
looking personage who answered their summons at the door.
" Sir Charles was buried yesterday week," was the reply,
in a tone as quiet as though nothing unusual had -occurred.
" Buried ! Sir Charles dead ! " they both exclaimed, in
one breath.
" I supposed all the country knew that," was his dry
rejoinder.
"But where are 1 mean," said Robert, as a gentle
touch from his fri^d recalled him, " where is Lady Duncan,
his mother ? "
" My mistress is within," in the same cold tone.
" Will you, my good man, beg for me a few moments'
A N A CLAYTON. 147
interview with your mistress ? Tell her my business is of tho
greatest importance, both to her and myself."
" I will, sir."
" What can I do ? " said Robert, turning to his friend, as
the servant left them to deliver his message.
"Go on," said he ; " perhaps thee will ,find it easier to deal
with this woman's heart than with her son's. But I am
shocked at his death."
" So am I. Strange that we had not heard of it, though
now I remember I have not read a paper for a long time."
" My mistress declines seeing any one," said the servant,
giving Robert a slip of paper. " She says that any business
you may have with her can bo attended to by the person
whose name she has written on that paper ;" and he held tho
door, as though quite willing to close it at once.
Stop one moment, if you please," said Robert; "where is
this person to be found ? " lie started as he glanced at the
name. " Is it the priest I saw here with Sir. Charles?"
He was Sir Charles' spiritual adviser," answered the im-
passive servant, " and my mistress has chosen him to conduct
her affairs. He has but just left tho house ; is there any-
thing more ? " he asked, without raising his eyes from tho
floor.
" Yes, one thing ; where does he live ? "
In a chateau, a few miles from here, with our most holy
bishop."
" The very same ! " exclaimed Robert, as they rode away
in tho direction of tho chateau. It was ho we saw under
the garden wall, and doubtless he noticed us too. I know
not what to expect now."
148 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Expect nothing, from such apostates, but lying, deceitful
words," his companion answered, with a bitterness which
caused Robert to exclaim,
" Why, Mr. Lee, such words sound strangely from you,
though in my heart I believe you are right ! "
" Forgive me, friend Robert, that I have, in mine anger,
so disgraced my peaceable principles ; but I tell thee I am
more disappointed than I care to confess."
"And it is all for my sake!" said Robert, gratefully.
" How can I ever repay you ? "
" By teaching me to be more discreet in my speech," an-
swered the Quaker, laughing.
" Do you think this Bernaldi would deceive us about the
children? " asked Robert, anxiously.
" If he has any private ends to gain, doubtless he would
not hesitate to deceive thee," replied Mr. Lee ; " and, from all
thou hast told me, I fear he has already done so."
" The thought of treachery crossed my mind many times
while talking with the abbess of St. Barbara," added Robert;
" but her story seemed so plausible, I could not question it."
" She had, probably, learned her part," said Mr. Lee.
Nothing could have been more natural than the look of
surprise with which Bernaldi and his reverend companion
greeted Robert, as he entered their library and introduced his
friend.
" We thought you were well on your way to America,
before -this time," graciously remarked the bishop. " To what
happy circumstance are we indebted for the pleasure of seeing
you again?"
*
ANNA CLAYTON. 149
" No very agreeable circumstance, certainly, brought mo
back to these shores and to your dwelling," answered Robert,
coolly ; "I have either been misled, or chances are strangely
against me."
" Explain yourself, if you please, Mr. Graham."
" An explanation is what / seek," returned Robert. " I
have been, at your bidding, to St. Barbara, only to be told
that the children had been sent back to England, by Sir
Charles' order. Now "
" Is it possible ? " they both cried, interrupting him. " Sent
back ! It is passing strange," continued Bernaldi, " that Sir
Charles should have done this without my knowledge."
" But has it been done without your knowledge ? " asked
Robert, earnestly.
" Most certainly, my dear sir ! Can you doubt it, after all
the cfforta I made to discover for you the retreat of his chil-
dren ? "
" Friend," said James Lee, rising and looking sternly in
his face, " wilt thou lay thine hand on this book, thy Catho-
lic Bible, and declare, upon its truth, that thou hast no knowl-
edge of Charles Duncan's children ? "
The blood mounted high in Bernaldi's face, but he restrained
his anger, as he replied, " Gentlemen are generally ready
to take each other's word without sealing it with an oath ; but,
as you seem to question mine, I am ready to assure you, in
any manner you choose, that I know nothing of them. Docs
that satisfy you?"
" And thee also, friend ? " asked Lee, turning to the bishop.
" I apprehend you are not aware of my position," ho
haughtily answered ; " the church does not allow those whom
13*
150 ANNA CLAYTON. ^
she has placed high in authority to be amenable to the
laity."
" I asked but a simple question, friend," persisted Lee ;
" will not thy church suffer thee to say yea or nay ? "
" Let it be nay, then, to save further words," replied he.
" Now, Robert," said his friend, " thy course seems to be
plainly marked. If these good people cannot assist thee, the
law must."
" Of what avail can the law be, now that Sir Charles is
dead ? " inquired Bernaldi.
" The law can penetrate into many a secret place hidden
from our eyes," Lee answered, significantly.
"I should be as rejoiced as yourselves," said Bernaldi,
without appearing to notice his meaning, "if these little ones
can be found, either with or without the help of law ; and I
promise you my heartiest sympathy and assistance."
"Would not Lady Duncan know something of them?"
asked Robert.
" She does not even know of their existence," replied the
priest ; " we thought it best not to inform her."
" But she will have to know it, in the division of Sir
Charles' property," said Robert.
A peculiar smile flitted over the priest's face. "I don't
know," said he, " that it will be necessary ; unless their legit-
imacy is proved, they can have no title to any of his prop-
erty."
" What can you mean ? " cried Robert. " You surely do not
question the legality of Sir Charles' marriage ! "
" And if Ido not," warily replied Bernaldi, " others may,
and the proof must be clear."
ANNA CLAYTON. 151
.
Robert's heart sunk as he thought of Anna's fair name being
traduced for such mercenary purposes. The interview was
becoming too painful for him, and, with an abrupt, hasty adieu,
he left tho chateau, and rode silently away by the side of lua
friend.
.
* -,*;;
CHAPTEE XVI.
1 There is a heaven yet to rest my soul on
In midst of all unhappiness, which I look on
With the same comfort as a distressed seaman .
Afar off views the coast he would enjoy,
When yet the seas do toss his reeling bark
'Twixt hope and danger." SHIRLEY.
A GREAT change had come over the household of Squire
Clayton. Mercy, gliding silently along by the side of sorrow,
had gently distilled her heavenly dew on its bitter path, and
subdued the intensity of grief. The humble, chastened spirit
of the father, so changed from the shrewd, calculating man
of the world that he had been, and the peaceful though sad-
dened expression resting on Anna's still beautiful face, told
of more than earthly sympathy and support. None could
doubt the presence of the divine Comforter, as this little group
daily knelt around the altar their hearts had raised, or as,
Sabbath after Sabbath, their long-neglected pew in the village
church was filled with earnest, prayerful hearers.
From her first knowledge of Robert's generous intentions,
Anna had felt a happy confidence in his success; but, as
months passed away and no further tidings came from him,
her hope grew faint, and but for the heart's higher trust she
would have sunk into deep despondency. Now, however, new
V,
ANNA CLAYTOK. 158
views of duty opened before her, and with willing steps and
ready sympathy she sought to forget her own sorrow in
ministering to the poor and afflicted around her, and espe-
cially in leading them to the same source of consolation whence
she had drawn such full supplies.
How did the heart of Bessie, her ever dear sister, rejoice
in the new tie which thus bound them ! In her view Anna
had lacked but one thing to perfect her lovely character;
and, though the heavenly light which beamed so sweetly from
her clear blue eye had been kindled from the ashes of her
heart's immolation, Bessie could scarcely regret a sacrifice
which had produced such glorious results. " Now, surely,"
thought she, " Anna's faith will have its reward," aishe felt,
in her short-sightedness, that the hand which smote should now
be stayed. But not as our thoughts are the thoughts of Him
who secth the end from the beginning, and knoweth of what
sore chastisement the heart hath need, ere it yields perfect
obedience to his will. Not yet was the bitter cup to pass
from her ; not till its deep, dark draught had pervaded her
life, and she had learned to bless the hand which pressed it to
her lips.
Robert returned, but his eye had lost the light of hope,
and his step the firmness of confident success, with which ho
left Asheville. He had been disappointed in the desire of
his heart, and he, too, must learn the lesson of submission.
" I cannot bear," he said to Bessie, whom he sought imme-
4iate".y on his arrival, "I cannot bear to meet the hopeless
glance of her eve, when I had thought to fill it with such joy
and gladness. From you she will better receive the sad news
of my futile though earnest endeavors to discover her lost
154 ANNA CLAYTON.
treasures. Bear with you the sympathies and prayers of one
who would fain have brought her more material comfort, but
that joy was denied him."
" But, surely, Mr. Graham, you will see Anna, and allow
her to express the gratitude she feels for your great kindness.
Her disappointment will not be so great as you imagine, for,
since your last letter, she has had but little hope of your
success. She would wish, I know, to learn the whole truth
from your lips."
" Perhaps it will be best," said he, after a moment's
thoughtfulness, " but I would have gladly spared myself this
trial."
Bessie .did not exactly understand his meaning, but she
saw that emotion too deep for utterance was agitating his
whole frame. To divert him from this, she told him of the
great change in Anna since he last saw her the sweetness
with which she had borne her affliction, and her own confi-
dence that Anna's faith would triumph over whatever disap-
pointments awaited her.
He listened in silence. One question he would ask, but
dared not. Bessie seemed to divine his thoughts just then,
for she added, " Anna has often spoken of you as a dear
brother ; indeed, she could hardly be more attached to you
if you were really so."
" Enough ! " thought he ; a sister's affection is all she has
left to bestow on me. Why did I hope for more ? Henceforth
this heart must learn to feel only fraternal affection for its
long-cherished idol."
" But you were telling me, just now," said Bessie, who
ANN A CLAYTON. 155
felt uncomfortable, she knew not why, " of your friend. Why
did he not return with you ? "
" Mr. Lee has some business affairs which require nis pres-
ence in Philadelphia. He will soon, however, join me here ;
for he has become deeply interested in Anna by his generous
and unselfish labors for her, and well does ho deserve hei
thanks."
" How noble," thought Bessie, " is Robert Graham ! ever
awarding praise to others, and receiving none himself."
Could she at that moment have looked into the heart she
was extolling, how would she have been startled by its bitter
upbraidings, that for years it had toiled on, not unselfishly,
but with an almost undefined hope of reward at last, reward
which might well repay a thousand times more labor ; and yet
friends had called it a noble sacrifice ! How did Robert con-
demn himself, as he walked slowly homeward, that he had,
even unconsciously, acted a false part ; that, while to others
ho had scenied the very embodiment of disinterested noble-
ness, his own heart had unceasingly plead for a boon richer
than his whole life's service could merit ! " Henceforth," said
he, to himself, " I will prove myself worthy of such a sister,
A brother will I bo to her, and never shall she know the
deep, unchanging love that lies buried within this heart."
Anna wandered restlessly about the house all the morning.
An unusual depression had fallen upon her spirits, which she
vainly tried to dispel. The rooms had never seemed more
silent and deserted, and the echoes of littlo pratling voices
were startlingly clear in her imagination. The motlier's heart
is struggling with its intense yearnings for the lost ones.
156 ANNA CLAYTON.
Never, in her youthful days, with the rich glow of health on
her cheek, and sparkling in her eye, had she looked so lovely
as now, when, in her abstraction, she sank upon a lounge, with
her head resting heavily upon her hand, and her thoughts
stretching far, far away, to the imagined resting-place of the
little wanderers. Her simple mourning dress, while it cast an
air of sadness about her, made more strikingly visible the
transparent whiteness of her face and neck ; and, as she sat
there, lost in deep revery, she seemed more like a beautiful
Parian statue, draped in sable garments, than a being of life
and feeling.
The sound of approaching footsteps, the click of the gate,
and the opening and closing of the door, were alike unheeded
by her, whose senses were locked within the secret chambers
of the soul. Now, however, as a well-remembered voice pro-
nounced her name, the spirit returned from its weary flight,
and she sprang eagerly forward, with a welcome on her lips.
" Anna, my dear sister ! "
" 0, Robert, have you come at last ! "
What a world of agonized meaning dwelt in her eye, as
she raised it in mute appeal to his own ! The strong man's
heart quailed beneath that searching glance ; but his voice
was calm, -as he replied,
" Anna, I grieve to come to you thus alone ! But will
not the same faith which has so strengthened you in your
hours of darkness now sustain you in this disappointment?"
He looked anxiously towards her as he ceased speaking ;
but for a moment no sound escaped her lips. She felt then
how great had been her trust of late in this arm of flesh, and
conscience whispered that such faith must ever cud in disap-
ANNA CLAYTON. 157
pointmcnt. But her heart returned at once to its allegiance,
as she murmured, earnestly, " Though He slay me, yet will I
trust in Him ! "
" Thank God ! " exclaimed Robert, with a sigh of relief.
Then, seating himself by her side, he told her all, leaving
no room for hope to allure her with its false light, judging
rightly, that thus would she best be prepared to meet the sor-
rowing life to which she seemed inevitably doomed. It was a
long, sad tale, to which she listened in such painful silence ;
and though the voice, whose tones fell on her ear like pleas-
ant memories of the past, was full of tender sympathy, she
heeded naught ye the terrible certainty that her darling
children were lost to her beyond all hope. The perfidy of her
husband, and the fearful retribution which followed, however
it might at another time have affected her, now produced no
vi.-ii'K: emotion; and Robert began to think she scarce heard
his words, till, as he closed, she exclaimed, " Leave me for a
little time alone. But come again this afternoon, my dear
brother."
Why did those words, so plaintively uttered, grate so
harshly on his ear, as he loft her presence ? A brottier's lovo
was all he claimed why could he not be satisfied ?
Warm and friendly were the greetings bestowed on Robert
by Squire Clayton and his wife, as he entered their pitting-
room that afternoon. And Anna, too, was there, with a
deeper shade of sadness on her brow. But the eye which
met his was calm and clear. Those hours of silent heart-
struggles none may know their secrets. But the sweet
expression of resignation resting on her face told the power
of a faith which could thtuj triumph in that mother's heart.
14
158 ANNA CLAYTON,
Robert saw and felt its influence, while he mentally resolved
that so bright an example should not be lost on him.
" Anna has told us of your toils and sufferings for her
sake," said Mrs. Clayton. " Our warmest thanks would fall
so far short of the obligation we feel, that I am almost
ashamed to offer them."
" I regret that you should speak of it as an obligation
conferred," replied Robert. "What I have done is no more
than any of you would do under the same circumstances.
That I must return unsuccessful, has been the greatest grief
of my life ! "
" If I could only know," said Anna, wity a quivering lip,
" that they are not in the power of those who would taint
their pure hearts with their own false worship and dreadful
heresy, it would alleviate a little of this bitterness ! "
" This is a case, my child," replied her father, tenderly,
" where we must bring not only ourselves, but those precious
ones, and leave them in the arms of a Saviour, who can keep
their hearts pure, and their lives in safety, till he sees fit, if
ever in this world, to restore them unharmed to us."
Robert listened in astonishment; for he had not yet
learned how much mercy had been mingled in their cup of
sorrow.
" I am rejoiced to hear such sentiments from you, sir," he
said ; " truly, the ways of God are wonderful ! "
" I, alone," replied the Squire, " have been the means of
bringing all this misery upon our house. I acknowledge it
with grief, and, could you know all the agony I have suffered
in consequence, you might be more disposed to pity than blame
me. But through such fires the Lord has seen fit to purify
ANNA CLAYTON. 159
my soul, and lead mo to himself; and now my mouth most
ever bo filled with his praises."
Those were manly tears that now gathered in Robert's
eyes ; for he saw how she, the beautiful, the good and pure,
had been made the sacrifice whose incense brought down such
blessings.
CHAPTER XVII.
.
t Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
% Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear."
MOORE.
DAYS and weeks fast glided into months, and still Robert
angered, though his heart uttered its loud warnings that thus
was he destroying its peace. He had loved Anna in years
past, when no cloud dimmed their vision of happiness as they
looked forward to a joyful union. But when the dread mo-
ment came that severed them, and gave her to another, not
at once did his heart yield to the stern decree. Years and
years it struggled with its mighty passion, till at length higher
and holier strength was given him to overcome all earthly
hopes and desires. Had he met Anna in the bright sunshine
of happiness and prosperity, he might still have remained
calm and unmoved ; but the answering chord in his own heart
vibrated to each note of grief as it welled forth from her
broken spirit. If he had loved the beautiful maiden in her
bright and joyous days, how did he now revere the no less
lovely woman, against whom the rude blasts of adversity had
pitilessly stormed, and who had come forth from its ruins
purified, and, in his estimation, glorified ! And yet, in all
ANNA CLAYTON. 161
thjse weeks and months of daily intercourse, Robert kept
his heart so strictly guarded, that not a word of love escaped
his lips, and Anna suspected not its hidden secret. Strange
to say, his own affairs had never been alluded to by either of
them; and she, therefore, still remained undeceived with
regard to his marriage. Whenever she attempted to speak to
him of his home and his return thither, which she felt could
not be much longer delayed, her heart silenced the words ere
they reached her lips. Why, she could not tell; but she
shrank from reminding him of dearer ties than those which
prompted him to remain and comfort her. To her he was the
devoted brother, whose absence would create such a painful
void in her heart, that she could not for a moment contemplate
it with calmness.
Let us leave her, for a time, to solve the enigma as best
she may, while we look into the cheerful parsonage, the
home of such pure, unalloyed happiness. A new inmate
one, too, who seems quite at home greets us as we enter its
ever-pleasant sitting-room. James Lee for he it is had
followed Robert to Asheville, to see one in whose fate he had,
from the first, felt such a deep interest. A double motive
actuated his desire to see her; for, with his usual quiet
shrewdness, he had penetrated the secret which Robert
thought so safely locked in his own breast, and, in his warm
and increasing friendship for one so noble, ho watched with no
little anxiety for the denouement in such a heart's his-
tory. He found in Bessie, the pastor's lovely wife, the
warmest sympathy, both in his partiality for Robert and his
intense interest and admiration of Anna. Without relatives,
with no one spot that he might call home, James Lee had
14*
162 ANNA CLAYTON.
been for years a wanderer. Some, who knew him in his
youth, spoke of disappointment and affliction 3 but none knew
the secret sorrow which sent him forth to spend among strang-
ers the best years of his life. Wealth had lavished its
treasures upon him, and he was returning once more to his
native land, when he met Eobert, as we have seen, and his
lonely heart was at once drawn towards him, and entered with
zeal into his plans. With the world before him where to choose,
he yielded alike to his own inclination and Robert's entrea-
ties, and Asheville became his home, for the present, at least.
In the parsonage where he was received as a member of
its happy circle he found that congeniality which his heart
had so long desired ; and in a few months he felt more at
home than he had ever supposed it possible for him to be
again.
" Mr. Lee," said Bessie, one day, " what say you to a rido
with us to B , my native place? My husband has a
little leisure, and proposes to spend to-morrow in rambling,
over scenes so pleasantly familiar to us both."
" I will gladly go with thee," replied he ; " friend Her-
bert shall show me the mine where he found his treasure."
" Who knows but there may yet be some treasure reserved
for you in that mine?" returned she, laughing. But she in-
stantly regretted that she had thus spoken, for his brow grew
sad, as he replied,
" When the grave shall yield back its treasures, then may
I claim mine, but not before."
This was the first time he had alluded to himself; and tears
gathered in Bessie's eyes as she thought what sad memories
the past might have garnered for him.
ANNA CLAYTON. 1G3
" Some time," said he, noticing her emotion, " you shall
hear my story ; but not now. We must carry none but cheer-
ful faces among your friends."
Bessie's heart throbbed gratefully at the warm and earnest
welcome which everywhere greeted her from those who loved
her for her father's sake, as well as her own. How lovingly
her eye rested on the dear old manse, the quiet nook in the
garden, and all the familiar scenes of her childhood! But to
the church-yard, that sacred spot where, reposing in his
last, long, quiet sleep, lay the form that her childish heart had
ever idolized, to that dear grave, watered by so many tears,
she paid her last tribute, that from thence she might carry to
her home its holy influences. Long they lingered around that
spot, for Bessie had glowingly described to her willing lis-
tener the happy exit of the freed spirit; and Herbert
Lindsey's deep, subdued voice had breathed their hearts'
aspirations, while James Lee's form still bent over that mound,
as in silent communings with the dead. A low moan sighed
along the breeze, as it floated past them ; then another and
another in quick succession followed, and Bessie turned hastily
around to sec whence the sounds proceeded. At a little
distance from them, on a newly-made grave, knelt a beautiful
girl of some fifteen summers, her hair in wild disorder, and
her whole appearance one of utter abandonment to the grief
which vented itself in sobs and moans. In a moment Bessie
was at her side. With one arm around her slight form, she gently
raised her drooping head, when she exclaimed, in surprise,
" Why, Nelly ! Can this be you the bright, joyous little
girl that danced so gayly among the flowers mourning in this
164 ANNA CLAYTON.
Bad, lonely place ? Why are you here, and whose is this new
grave?"
The weeping girl pointed to some tablets near by, which had
not yet been erected. " There," said she, " was the only
friend I had in this wide world ! '
Bessie looked still more perplexed as she read the inscrip^
tion, " Sacred to the memory of Miss Nancy Ellis." Nelly
saw the look, and replied :
" The very day you were married, Miss Bes , I mean
Mrs. Lindsey, I did something, in my childish thoughtlessness,
which made her very angry ; and the next day, when I went
to her to tell her how sorry I was that I had been so wicked,
I found her crying very hard, and she said that she had lain
all night thinking what a disagreeable person she must be to
make everybody dislike her so, and how lonely and friendless
she felt ; and then she asked me if I would not come and live
with her, and try to love her, and she would be a mother to
me. "Well has she kept her promise, Mrs. Lindsey, to the
poor orphan-pauper ; but now she is laid here, and I am again
alone ! " Here her fast-flowing tears choked her further utter-
ance.
" But have you no friends, I mean, no relatives ? " asked
Bessie, as she gently pressed the poor girl's hand.
" None in the world, that I know of," replied she. " I have
no remembrance of any other home than the poor-house from
which Miss Nancy took me, and to which I must now return."
" Not if I can prevent it," said Mr. Lee, who had drawn
near them unobserved, and heard all that passed. " I, too, am
alone in this world," added he ; " and would gladly bind
something to my heart to love and cherish. Wilt thou, dear
AHNA CLAYTON. 105
girl receive one in the place of her thou hast lost, who by
her grave promises to thee a father's care and affection ? "
Nelly looked up 3arnestly into the kindly-beaming eye bent
upon her ; child as she was in thought and feeling, what she
read there spoke peace to her heart and hopeful trust, and
she involuntarily clasped the hand extended to her, while, with
charming naivete", she replied,
" And will you love the poor orphan girl as though she
were your own dear child ? "
" Verily I will," he answered, with deep emotion, as mem-
ory held before his vision the sweet cherub image of his own
lost one.
All this had passed quickly so quickly that Bessie and
her husband still stood in wondering astonishment ; and yet
the newly-adopted father and daughter felt that they were no
longer strangers to each other. That solemn compact, so
simply made, though fraught with momentous results did
not the silent voices of the sleepers beneath whisperingly echo
it along, till, as it was registered above, one harp louder tuned
its song of praise ?
Bessie readily consented to receive Nelly into her own
home till Mr. Lee could make suitable provision for her edu-
cation ; and a cheerful, happy group they were, as they re-
turned to her hospitable roof.
"Now, Mr. Lee," said she, "what did I tell you? haven't
you found your treasure ? "
" Verily thou hast alinost a prophet's tongue, Bessie," ho
replied, laughing, " if it always serves thee as now."
" See ! " she answered, pointing to the window j " it needs
no tongue of prophecy to predict the happiness there is in
166 ANNA CLAYTON.
store for Robert Graham, Look at him; what has come
over him ? "
As she spoke, Robert crossed the street, and, looking up,
his eye met her inquiring glance, when a smile, bright and
joyful, lighted up his face, and with a quick step he entered
the room where they were sitting. But, while he is attempting
to answer all the questions so rapidly pressed upon him, let
us look back a little, and see what has thus agitated one
usually so calm.
For many days past Robert had subjected himself to the
most severe self-scrutiny, determined that no longer would he
be blind to the true state of his heart. He had tried to sub-
due his deep passion into a calm, tranquil, though tender fra-
ternal affection ; but it was in vain, so long as he witnessed
the increasing loveliness of Anna's character. He must leave
her, and that, too, at once, lest he should waver in his resolu-
tion to claim no more than a brother's love. Again must he
go forth to wage anew the war within his own breast, but not,
as before, in his own strength. Already he felt a sustaining
power within him to meet even this trial, and, with a calmness
which surprised himself, he sought Anna that morning for a
last interview. He found her alone, busily engaged with her
needle, but sad, as usual. * jfl
" Anna," said he, cheerfully, " are you not almost ashamed
of such a lazy brother ? Only think how long I have been
about here, doing nothing."
" Do you call it nothing," she replied, " to bring so much
sunshine into our hearts and home ? "
" Indeed, I do not ; I bless God, and ever shall, for per-
ANNA C L A YTON. 107
milling mo to be near you in your distress but, now that you
no longer need me, I must away to other duties."
The work dropped from Anna's hand, and a tear trembled
in her eye as she spoke.
" I will try not to be so selfish," she said ; " but, 0, how
lonely it will be when you are gone ! "
" Can I, then, add so much to your happiness ? " he asked,
earnestly.
" Most assuredly, Robert ; have you not been to me the
kindest of all brothers?
Again his heart rebelled ; but she suspected it not. " Who
could or would have done what you have ? " sb.e continued,
artlessly ; " and then, too, from you I have learned how the
heart may yield up all its treasures with a calm and perfect
trust in God. 0, Robert, you have indeed nobly performed
your mission, and I will not murmur that voices from your
own home lure you back ; but will you not, when there, some-
times breathe a prayer for the lonely, childless one? "
Her tears foil fast, but they were all unheeded by him who
sat at her side, his head buried in his hands, and his soul in
wild commotion. He had heard but one thing in all she said ;
one idea only possessed him ; what did she mean by his
own home ? Could she suppose there were others dearer to
him than herself? What strange joy thrilled his breast, as,
for one moment, his heart pleaded eagerly to be heard, that,
perchance, it might awaken some response to its long years
of faithfulness ; nor did its throbbings cease as he answered,
tremulously, "My prayers, dear Anna, will ever be yours;
but to what home you would consign me, I know not. I have
neither friends nor home away from here."
1G8 ~ ANNA CLAYTON.
" I thought, Robert," and her voice faltered a very little,
"I thought you were long since married, and "
" Thought I was married, Anna ! " he exclaimed, in a voice
half-joyful, half-reproachful ; " how could you think so ? "
"Where, then, did you just now speak of going?" she
asked, evading his last query.
"Anywhere, Anna, so that I may teach this heart the
lesson it once learned only to forget ! "
She looked up inquiringly.
Hopes, fears and resolutions, were alike forgotten then, as
he passionately clasped her hand, exclaiming, " Anna, are oil
the dreams of our youth forgotten? Does memory never
awaken echoes from the past, when, before these years of
blight and sorrow, we were happy 0, so happy in each
other's love! Forgive me, Anna," he continued, as she
gently withdrew her hand to hide her tearful face, " that I
have thus unconsciously betrayed myself. I came here with
a farewell upon my lips a farewell that you, perhaps, would
approve ; but in these last few moments hope has whispered
such a wild dream of joy into my heart, that I cannot now
leave you, save at your bidding, till all the hopes and fears
with which I have ineffectually struggled, and from which I
cannot fly, are confided to you."
He paused a moment, and watched earnestly the trembling
hands which still covered her face ; then, gathering courage
from her silence, he bent low his head near her own, and in
the same deep tones with which he had won her youthful
love did he now breathe into her listening ear the hoarded
secret of years. He told her all all that he had suffered
in his wanderings afar off, when he had striven by every
ANNA CLAYTON. 169
means to banish her image from his heart ; how that, in tho
whirl of business, when fortune seemed but to mock him with
her golden favors, or in tho midst of beauteous and high-born
maidens, whose winning smiles would have warmed into lifo
hearts less stoical than his ; whether roaming by sea or land
alone, or surrounded by warm, friendly voices, his heart had
ever turned, hopelessly, indeed, but unalterably, to her. And
when, in his intense desire to witness her happiness, which
alone, he felt, would reconcile him to his fate, he sought again
his home, who could picture his agony as the first news of that
dreadful tragedy reached his ear, and he knew that the hap-
piness, and perhaps life, of her he loved, was crushed, and
that, too, by one who should have cherished her as a rare
gift ! In his grief he called upon Bessie, and besought her to
gain for him a place a brother's place by the bedside of
the woe-stricken mother ; and, as day after day he listened to
her piteous ravings, and found that his voice alone had power
to soothe her frenzy, and his was the hand she unconsciously
clasped in preference to all others, then he felt, in all its
weight, the humiliating truth that not as a brother did he lovo
the wife of another. What hours of anguish he endured,
none might know; but gradually a divine light stole gently and
sweetly within his soul, and taught him a higher and holier
love. And when he went forth thankful that his fortune
could now be spent in her service, no other hope incited him,
in his ceaseless efforts, save that he might be permitted to
restore happiness to the desolated heart. That for a moment
a thrill of joy had swept through his heart when he knew she
was free, he confessed ; but: he had since been made to feel
that the dark wave which so mercilessly engulfed her had
15
170 ANNA CLAY TO X.
hid, with its black crest, all the brightness of her young life.
O, how earnestly he had prayed that this night of sorrow
might pass away ! but now he must leave her ; no longer will
he deceive her or his own heart in its passionate pleadings
for a dearer, tenderer tie than sister. He would not have
thus betrayed bis love, had not something within whispered
of hope and joy.
Thus did that noble heart, now for the first time in years
uttering its own language, pour forth its hidden treasures in
the deep stillness of that hour. The agitated form, the trem-
bling hands, which still concealed her face, and from beneath
which tear-drops fell fast and warm, were as yet her only
response ; but, as he paused, and in a voice of intense emotion
exclaimed, " Speak to me, Anna ; say that you forgive me ! "
she gently laid one trembling hand in his, and murmured, " 0,
Kobert, you have not deserved such suffering. If this poor,
worthless hand can repay you "
" Nay, nay, Anna," cried he, interrupting her, while his
whole frame shook with agitation ; " not from gratitude can I
receive this priceless boon."
" From the love, then, of a heart which, though blighted
and withered, turns with its first and only affection to that
faithful breast! " and she leaned her head upon his shoulder,
weeping in her joy.
How swiftly flew the hours of that day, and what wonder
that Kobert's step was quick, and his heart light, as at night-
fall he entered the parsonage, in his unutterable happiness.
" Now are my prayers answered," said Bessie, with suf-
fused eyes, as he told her of his great joy, while the no less
ANNA CLAYTON. 171
sympathizing " Friend " raised his hands, and feelingly ex-
claimed,
" God be thanked, friend Robert, that thy noble, self-sacri-
ficing life is at last rewarded ; may the blessing thou so richly
deservest rest upon thee both."
Quiet and simple were the preparations for their speedy
marriage ; for Robert insisted, and not without reason, that
there was no occasion for delay.
On the bright and cloudless morning they had chosen for
their nuptials the bridal party silently assembled around the
altar, and while Herbert Lindsey's deep voice, tremulous
with unwonted agitation, echoed through those sacred walls,
the low-murmured responses of the marriage vow broke from
the lips of the trembling bride with sad earnestness. Even
in this hour of sacred joy, tfa mother could not forget !
CHAPTER XVIII.
" 0, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive ! "
SCOTT.
AT the lower end of the spacious garden, adjoining the
chateau we have before described, was an arbor of exquisite
workmanship ; a source of unceasing admiration to the few
who were admitted within those private walks, but who little
suspected its hidden purpose.
The dense forest, whose grim heads nodded as they peered
over the high enclosure, seemed not more impenetrable than
were its mysteries to Ralph, the new gardener. Now, Ralph,
like many others, beneath a stupid and most forbidding exte-
rior possessed an active and inquiring mind. Ignorant he
was, most certainly, and superstitiously devoted to the wor-
ship of the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps for these very reasons
Bernaldi regarded him as well fitted for his service ; and,
therefore, he had, with many instructions and warnings, in-
stalled him in his new station, about two weeks previous to
the time to which we refer. Ralph's restless, inquisitive eyes,
shaded by their huge, shaggy brows, had of f en watched with
no little curiosity the peculiar care with which Father Ber-
ANNA CLAYTON. 173
naldi guarded the beautiful arbor. Implicitly believing in
the unlimited spiritual power of his confessor, the simple
gardener began to think that this might be the entrance to
those purgatorial fires with which ho had been so often
threatened.
" I 'se bound to find out suthing 'bout it," muttered he, one
afternoon, as he hid himself among the bushes, where he could,
unobserved, command a view of the entrance ; " 'cause, ye
see, I an't allers jest so good, and maybe I 'd get a push
down there afore I knowed it. Catch this old feller a-stayin'
so nigh that hot place, I tell ye ! "
Just then his cogitations were cut short by the appearance
of Bernaldi, who, gliding along the path which led to the
arbor, looked cautiously about him, and, taking from his pocket
a key, opened the mysterious door, unconscious that a pair of
great rolling eyes wer> peering at him through the bushes.
Before he closed it, those eyes had scanned every inch of the
simple structure, though in so doing they had well-nigh be-
trayed themselves.
After waiting a few moments in silence, Halph distinctly
heard the click of another door as it opened and shut ; while
a confused mingling of voices and trampling of feet sounded
to his excited imagination like the struggling of fiends to
escape from their confinement. Not another moment did ho
lose ; but, springing from his place of concealment, he rushed
through the garden, and, overturning everything that came in
his way, plunged into the kitchen, in terrible agitation.
" I tell ye I te-11 ye I to-e-11 ye, Judy," he chattered
through hLs teeth, while his great sturdy frame shook like an
15*
174 ANNA CLAYTON.
aspen-leaf, with fright, " I te-11 ye, we 're livin' in a drefful
dangerous place."
The portly cook, who, at his first appearance, had dropped
the dish in her hand, and stood, with uplifted arms, gazing in
astonishment at such an apparition, exclaimed,
" Goodness gracious, Ralph, what is the matter ? "
" 0-h, Judy ! " said he, turning round to see that the evil
spirits were not already at his heels, " we' re on the brink o'
pardition, we be, and afore ye knows it we shall all be pitched
in. I he'erd 'em jest now, the devils ! " and he dropped on
his knees, before a rude crucifix in the corner, muttering
prayers and telling beads with such vehemence that Judy
was overcome with his devotion, and kneeled too, though
she hadn't the most remote idea what she was praying
against.
" Come, now," said she, as his excitement was somewhat
abated by this cooling process, " tell me what 't was scared
you so there an't no devils round here, be they ? "
" I 'spect there is, and I 'se for making tracks quick, I tell
ye. Maybe ye don't know how nigh ye are to purgatory,
hey, Judy ? Wai, now, I '11 jest tell you ; ye 're jest as fur
off as the bottom of the garden, and no furder." Here Ralph
brought down his fist with such force on the table that poor
Judy was struck with terror.
" Laws a massy, what do you mean, Ralph ? " cried she ;
" a-scaring a poor widder woman that has n't got nobody to
go to ! "
" Don't be afcared, Judy ; I '11 take care on ye, if ye '11 only
git away from here, quick as pos-ser-ble."
11 What would their reverences say ? " asked the cook.
ANNA CLAYTON. 175
Ralph's ccuragc visibly forsook him at this question ; for,
in his fright, he had not thought of bishop or priest.
"Tell ye what, I don't know," he answered; " but, when
the devil 's at your heels, what yo 'goin' to do? "
" What d'ye see, Ralph, anyhow?" asked Judy, who felt
rather disposed to look into the matter a little before taking
such a decided step.
" I seed enuf, and he'erd cnuf, to scare a nigger. In tho
Grst place, I seed his ruv'rencc go right down into the bowels
o' the airth, and then I he'erd sick noises ! 0, lud, 't would
turn ye rite inter stone."
" You don't, though ! where was it? " said Judy, trembling
all over.
" Did n't I tell ye 't was rite down to the bottom o' that
garden that little house an't rigged up so for nothin'.
There 's suthin' 'sterious 'bout it, ye might know, when his
ruv'rence goes in there every day, and sometimes don't come
out agin till the next day. I 've had my 'spicions afore now,
I tell ye ! "
By this time Judy had recovered herself sufficiently to ask
a few more questions, which drew the whole story from Ralph,
when an inkling of the truth flashed upon her mind. Stand-
ing before him, her arms akimbo, and her little gray eyes
sparkling with vexation and mirth, she poured forth her
reproaches in no very measured strains.
" Laws a massy .' " exclaimed she, " you old fool, you dolt,
you curmudgeon, a-comin' here to 'sturb my rest, jest 'cause
you 'spects, when there an't nothin' to 'spect for ! Don't
you know, you lubber, that master goes in there to sec the
children ? "
176 ANNA CLAYTON.
"Where? what children?" broke in Kalph, rubbing his
eyes, in amazement.
" 0, go 'long, ye greeny ! If ye don't know now, I 'm good
mind not to tell ye. You 've frightened me so, now, I shan't
sleep a wink to-night."
" Wai ! " said Ralph, drawing himself up, with as much
dignity as he could, after the storm, " ye can tell me or not,
jest as ye please; but, if there an't some circumboberation
about that little house, then my name an't Ralph Riley,
that 's all ! "
'T was astonishing what effect his eloquence had upon Miss
Judy; for, wiping the perspiration from her smooth, round
face, she sat down and began at once to tell him what she
knew about it.
" A year ago or thereabouts," said she, " a poor widder
woman, like me, only she was a lady, sent for his reverence,
my master, 'cause she was a-dyin', and wanted absolution.
So, when he went to see her and give her the blessed sacra-
ment, she begged him to take her two little children and
bring 'em up for the church. Ye see some o' her wicked
relations wanted to get 'em and make heretics of 'em, and it
a'most killed her for fear they would. So, when she died,
what does good Father Bernaldi do, but he fixes up as nice a
house as ever you seed, and puts 'em in there to live, where
those wicked folks can't find 'em. There can't nobody get at
'em, only through the garden ; and that 's why he keeps it
locked all the time. He 's terrible fond of 'em, and that 's
where he goes when you see him go through that little house.
I 'spose you he'erd 'em all mnnin' and talkin' to-day when he
A 1C JT A CLAYTON*. 177
went in, and that 's what scared you so. Ha ! ha ' ha ! What
a fool you was ! "
Ralph did n't quite like tho conclusion of the matter, but
he was too much interested to notice it ; so he very mildly
asked " how old were the children, and had anybody tried to
get 'em, and where could the house be ? "
" Tried ! Laws, yes ! A man all whiskered up, and pertendin'
to be a gentleman, was round here, and then cum back, with
another funny-looking man, and they tried every way, but
they could n't get no news of 'em. I 'd a fought myself afore
they 'd a got 'em, the miserable heretics I Little Charlie is
a'most fivo and Myrtic two year old, and sweeter youngsters
never lived. To be sure, their house was lonesome-likc, but
't was a pretty walk through the woods. Some day, when
master 's willing, we '11 go and see 'em."
Judy had grown fairly eloquent as she coneteded her talc,
and llalph must be forgiven if he forgot his fright, the ar-
bor, children and everything else, in hi.s profound admiration
of the being before him. <V.-;:ii:i it is that voices were hear J
much later than usual, that night, in the housekeeper's room,
and llalph smacked his lips more than once, the next day, in
a sort ofdreamy remembrance of " joys that ' he 'd ' tasted."
The little thatched cottage, so lovingly nestled in the midst
of a green thicket, seemed strangely isolated and lonely.
Save a little spot, which had been cleared around it, and
which busy hands had made to bloom with beauty, all was dark
and gloomy as the graVW. Little, curious, prying feet, had
often trod on the verge of the thick copse which surrounded
it, and peered with eager eye.- into tfce mysteries beyond, but
178 ANNA CLAYTON.
never vettured a step further. Strange home for the warm,
expanding sympathies of childhood to be nurtured in ! and
yet, here, hidden from the agonized search of loving friends,
with none but cold hearts to rest upon, dwelt the mother's
treasures. 0, why do not the birds, in their free, joyous
flight, bear over land and sea, to one longing ear, the piteous
wailings of those little hearts, for "mamma, dear mamma"?
It was just one year, Bernaldi remembered, as, carefully
removing some clustering vines, he opened the secret door,
from which a path wound circuitously to the lone cottage,
and which, indeed, was the only entrance to that spot, it was
just one year since he had accomplished the most daring feat
he ever attempted ; and a smile of triumph lighted his dark
face, as he thought how ingeniously he had thwarted all search,
and how securely he now held the little defenceless ones in
his own grasp. It was no part of his plan to be repulsive to
them, and therefore he was far from being displeased at the
shout of joy and clapping of little hands with which his ap-
pearance was hailed : so instinctively will childhood's heart
cling to some object of love. As usual, he had plenty of bon-
bons which he scattered in their path, with a few words to
the girl who accompanied them, and then he passed Qn to the
cottage.
Its few rooms were fitted up with neatness, taste, and even
elegance ; for money had not been sparingly bestowed, before
death claimed the misguided father and live, church had
weighty reasons for continuing these luxuries. One room
alone remained untouched ; its bare and comfortless walls
and floor, with its rudely-constructed altar and solemn cruci-
fix, had oft bore witn3ss to the austere devotion performed
there.
ANNA CLAYTON. 170
At this very hour, before that crucifix kneeled the form
of a woman habited in the garb of a sister of charity. None
knew the long hours she had thus prostrated herself, or wit-
nesscd the fierce conflict raging within her breast. Remorse
was a strange guest there, and, as it pointed with its long,
spectral finger to the records of the past, or turned with grim
and savage menaces to the future, her soul writhed in its
merciless torture.
' " 0, blessed Mother ! " she cried, " save me from this hour,
and with my life will I make reparation to those whom I
have wronged ! O, most holy Virgin ! hear the vows which I
now make to thce, ere my soul sinks, in its guilt
A low, mocking laugh broke painfully on the stillness of
that moment, and caused the devotee to spring hastily to her
feet, while the indignant blood mounted to her temples; for
well she knew the voice it had been to her both the light
and curse of her life.
" What spot on earth can ew be secure from your intru-
sion ? " haughtily demanded she of him who had thus rudely
ehoekcd her better feelings.
" Softly, softly, my good Marguerite," replied the intruder ;
" don't let your hasty temper get the better of your judgment !
I was only laughing at the penance you would inflict on your-
self for an imaginary wrong. You are really growing very
zealous."
" Ay, scoff at me, and scorn me too, if you will, for being
just what you have made me ! 0, Alphonso, would to God
I had never seen you ! Then had not these hands been steeped
in every crime."
" Why, Marguerite ! " said he, in a tone which he well knew
180 ANNA CLAYTON.
would reach her heart, " you are in a strange mood to-day j
what has come over you? "
" I scarcely know, myself," she replied ; " but since morn-
ing I have had the strangest feelings ! It was just a year
ago to-day, you know, that we took those children, and all
day long it has seemed to me I could hear their mother's
terrible shrieks. It is foolish, I know, but I often wish I had
never seen them."
" Marguerite, beware ! " sternly uttered the priest. " These
wicked fancies are treason to the church, and deserve her
heaviest punishment. Have you no love for the souls of the
dear children, that you regret saving them from those abomi-
nable heretics ? Had you never done any other service, this
alone would canonize you; but beware how you impiously
provoke the wrath of the bishop, who, for this very act, has
granted you special indulgences, and who has the power at
any moment to retract them, and deliver you over to perdi-
tion."
His words had the desired effect, for her momentary repent-
ance subsided at once into her usual abject servility, and sho
humbly knelt at the confessional, giving every thought and
feeling to the keeping of a frail mortal like herself. The
world looks on and calls this a " harmless infatuation ; " but
can that be harmless which gives to man the censorship of the
soul?
Bernaldi's suspicions were aroused ; he had several times
before surprised Marguerite in tears, but never till this inter-
view did he imagine the cause. When he selected her as a
fit accomplice in his cold-blooded deed of child-robbery, and
gave to her the mother's task of rearing them, he was not
ANNAOLA7TOK. 181
mistaken in her fitness for the work. She had been too long
under his tutelage to shrink from any crime, and her instiBt
ivc hatred toward everything good had been fully gratifie^i
the deathless misery she had helped to bring upon one whoso
only fault was her goodness. But a year's companionship
with the artless innocence and purity of childhood had softened
her nature, and awakened latent hopes and desires, of which
she was as yet scarcely conscious. Thoughts of her own
bright and happy youth, till the shadow of the deceiver fell
on her path, the days and years of altcrnatc^in and sorrow
which darkened her life and hardened her heart, till she
seemed the veriest wretch on earth, would force themselves
upon her conscience, as they had done this day, and lead her
to penances the most revolting, in the vain hope that they
would remove the plague-spot from her soul !
Bernaldi saw all this ; he knew, even better than she did,
the workings of her mind ; and, while he dared not remove her
from the eweet childish influences which had produced this
effect, he determined to watch her more closely, and ,to bring
her oftener to confession, that so he might use more effectu-
ally the unbounded influence he had ever possessed over her,
to prevent any serious results.
' Come, Marguerite," said he, gayly, " let 's away with these
sad, gloomy thoughts, and discuss, over a cup of your nice tea,
more cheerful topics. You will soon get over these idle
whims, and laugh at your own folly. But where are Charlie
and Myrtie? Ah! here they coine, the darling little t!
How they will learn to thank you, a few years hence, for
bringing them into our holy church ! "
"0, Margery!" cried little Charlie, bounding into the
16
182 ANNA CLAYTON.
room, followed by his wee, toddling sister, " see what nice
things the ' good father ' gave me ! Here 's some for you ; "
and he held out his little, plump hand filled with sweetmeats,
while Myrtie seated herself on the floor, and began munching
hers as though there was not another person in the world to
care for.
" You 're a generous little fellow, Charlie, but Margery
does n't want any now."
He looked up wonderingly in her face at such a refusal,
and his quick eye detected the traces of tears. Instantly the
little hand dropped its load, and he sprang into her lap and
threw his arms about her neck.
" What does poor Margery cry for ? Have you lost your
mamma, too ? " asked he, tenderly, ever connecting tears with
such a loss.
" No, darling, ' poor Margery ' has n't got any mamma ;
but you are her little boy, and will let her be your mamma,
won't you? " and she stroked his fair hair, lovingly.
" No, no, not my mamma I " cried he, earnestly, " but my
dear, good Margery."
" And why not your mamma?" Bernaldi asked, amused at
his earnestness.
" Because because," said the little fellow, with a per-
plexed look, " I 've got one mamma away over the water, and
some day, when I 'm a man, I shall go and find her shan't
I, Margery ? "
" Perhaps so," replied she, trembling at Bernaldi's darkened
look.
" No, you won't?" said he, sharply ; " she 's a wk ked woman,
and you must never call her mamma again do you hear ? "
ANNA CLAYTON. 183
and he jerked the little arm, " mind you never say that
again, or I shall put you into a dark hole, and keep you there
till you die ! "
" Should I go to heaven, then ? " asked Charlie, with a
quivering lip.
" You M go right to purgatory, where all wicked boys go ! "
said the priest, angrily.
" But if I kneeled down and prayed, just as Aunty Bessie
used to, then God would take me to heaven, wouldn't he,
Margery ? "
" No, no, ray child," replied she ; " you are very wicked to
talk SQ! You must pray just as I teach you to. Here, kneel
down and ask the 'good father' to forgive you for such naughty
words."
The little fellow did as he was told. But his childish heart
throbbed with a sense of injustice and wrong, and drew more
closely within itself the image of his dear, lost mamma,
that imago jvhich time, with all its changes, could never
efface.
Child as he was when- torn from his mother's arms, the
noetic was forever engraved upon his memory, nor could
persuasions, threats or diversion, still his incessant cries for
" mamma" for many a weary day, as the vessel bore away its
precious load, widening the gulf between those loving hearts,
ller look of imploring agony, as she clutched the carriage-
wheel in a vain effort to stop its course, and was brutally
knocked away, reached that child-heart, never, never to bo
forgotten. He seemed instinctively to know the base part his
father bore in that terrible transaction ; for he shunned, with
utter aversion, every attempt to conciliate him, and clung
184 ANNA CLAYTON.
rather to the stranger priest and his new nurse. His baby-
sister, the darling Myrtie, became his great care ; and upon
her would he lavish all the endearments with which his little
heart was filled. Lady Duncan he would never call " grand-
mamma," for to him that title belonged only to the dear old
familiar face in his own mamma's home ; and he was better
pleased With the lonely, quiet cottage, and only Marguerite
and Myrtie for company, than in the rich halls of his father's
house. So they had but little trouble in secluding their
orphaned treasures, while the mission of these child-angels
worked silently its way into the hearts of those about them.
CHAPTER XIX.
" Foul whisperings arc abroad ; and unnat'ral deeds
Do breed unnat'ral troubles : infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets."
" Leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her." SHAKSPEABE.
" FOOL ! " muttered Bernaldi to himself, as ho retraced his
steps to the chateau. " Women are always fools about chil-
dren ! I thought she was made of better stuff than most of
them, though. But I '11 have no more of it ; I '11 put a stop
to it, if I have to stop her breath. Marguerite, ever ready to
do my bidding, to be cajoled by those brats ! Pshaw ! what
an absurdity ! But I '11 manage her yet, if she don't take
care." So saying, he passed quietly through the arbor, and
confronted Ralph just as the latter was peering through
every crevice in the wall to get a glimpse beyond.
" Ralph, what are you cfcMiig there ? " said he, quickly.
" Yur ruv'rence, sir," answered the gardener, bowing low,
" I was looking after an animal as run into that hole."
" What sort of an animal ? "
" Wai, yur ruv'rence, it looked mighty like a cat, only
't war n't bigger 'n a squirrel."
16*
186 .ANNA CLAYTON.
" Pooh ! you foolish fellow, 't was a weasel, I suppose.
You must look out for the poultry, Ralph, or he will make
his supper out of them."
" Yes, sir, your ruv'rence," said Ralph, placing his fore-
finger on his nose in a quizzical manner, as he turned away.
" Look here, Ralph," said Bernaldi, coming back, as a sud-
den thought seemed to strike him ; " did Judy ever tell you
anything about what was beyond that arbor, there?"
" Not 'zactly, yur ruv'rence."
" What did she tell you, Ralph ? "
" Wai, she said yur ruv'rence was mighty kind to the
poor, and was bringin' some on 'em up summers round
here."
" Was that all she told you, Ralph? "
" It 's all I remember, yur ruv'rence." Ralph was an
adept at mental reservation.
" I am very glad to find Judy is so discreet," added Ber-
naldi. " But, Ralph, you seem to be an honest, well-disposed
person ; supposing I should tell you a secret, and need your
assistance, could you be trusted ? "
" Ay, yur ruv'rence. Ralph Riley can be trusted any-
where," answered he, with growing importance.
" But if the secret concerned our holy church, and you
betrayed it, do you know the penance, Ralph ? "
" To die a dog's death, I s'pose,' "growled Ralph ; " it 's no
more 'n I 'd deserve." \
" Worse than that, Ralph. When you were dead your
body would be thrown to the dogs, and your soul cursed into
hell ! "
Poor Ralph's knees knocked together very perceptibly at
ANNA CLAYTON. 187
the stern manner and words of his master ; and, devoutly
crossing hi nself, ho awaited any further communications.
" But I know," continued Bernaldi, encouragingly, "you
would sooner die than be guilty of anything so wicked. I see
that I can trust you, now ; so, listen to me attentively, and
remember all I say."
" I will, yur ruv'rence." And llalph drew a long breath
of relief.
" About a year ago," began Bernaldi, seating himself on
a rustic bench, while the gardener stood, hat in hand, in serf-
like subjection, " I was sent for to flee a poor woman who
was dying, and who was in great distress because some of her
husband's relations wanted to get her two little children and
make heretics of them."
" O h ! " groaned his listener.
" Well, you know, I could irt resist the poor woman's en-
treaties ; and so, before she would receive the holy sacrament,
I promised I would see that they were brought up in the true
faith. You ought to have seen how happy this promise made
her, and how, after a good confession, she placed her soul in
the hands of the church, that masses might be said over her
~j till she was fit for the society of the Blessed Virgin. Such
a death as hers was glorious, Ralph; for she lived a good
Catholic, and now we have prayed her soul through pur-
gatory."
Ralph bowed, with profound humility.
" But no sooner was she dead than those wretches those
vile heretics tried to take away the children; and I had
to hide them away from their wicked hands. Now, Ralph,
what I want to tell you is this. Those little children that I
188 ANNA CLAYTON.
saved from destruction live in a nice cottage in those woods,
yonder, and the only way to get there is through that door
where you saw me come out just now. The boy has got some
strange notions in his head from his father's folks ; and we
must get them out of him. Do you think I can trust you,
Kalph, to keep these gates all locked, and, if any one asks
you questions about the children, to say you ' know nothing '
of them; and to keep a sharp lookout towards everybody that
comes here?"
" Trust me for all them things," answered he, with a know-
ing shake of his shaggy head.
" That 's right, Ralph ; you know what becomes a good
Catholic when these heretics try to cheat us."
" Give 'em what they deserve," said Ralph, warming with
the subject. " If they come near me with any of their infer-
nal stuff, they '11 get it, I tell ye, yur ruv'rence."
Bernaldi smiled encouragingly at his earnestness; and
Ralph, thus emboldened, went on :
"I han't lived all these long years for nothin', I tell
ye ; Ralph Riley 's the man that knows what he 's about. If
any o' them devils come prowlin' round here after the poor
little innocents, they '11 git the power o' me, I tell ye, yur *
ruv'rence."
His "ruv'rence" did not seem inclined to check the
ardor of his servant in the least, but said, as he rose to go :
" I have no doubt you will do all that 's right, Ralph ; and,
as I am going away for two or three weeks, I shall feel quite
safe to leave things with you. There 's one thing more, though,
I want to speak to you about ; but, for the price of your soul,
don't you dare mention what I say to any one. The woman
.,,
ANNA CLATTON. 189
in there, who takes care of the children, appears rather
strange lately ; now, you must watch her closely, and tell me,
when I come back, everything she has said and done. Do you
understand ? "
" Yes, sir, yur ruv'rence."
" Well, now come in with me, till I make your promise,
sure."
Ralph followed his ' master's steps into a small room, and,
kneeling as he was bid before the cross, laid his hand on the
Bible, and swore solemnly, by the Blessed Virgin and all the
saints, to be and do everything his priest commanded him.
When ho returned again to the garden, it was with a much
greater consciousness of his own superiority than he had ever
felt before.
'* Now I 'm in for V said he, rubbing his hands, with great
satisfaction ; " see if Ralph Riley don't know a thing or two,
that 'a all ! "
" I am vexed, heartily vexed," said Bernaldi, as he entered
the library, to its only occupant. " I wish there were no such
things as women in the world ! "
" I don't believe you would stay in it long, then," replied
the other, laughing ; " but what 's the matter now ? "
" If Marguerite can't be trusted," added Bernaldi, without
noticing the jest, " who is there that can ? "
" Why, what makes you think she is n't trustworthy ? "
asked his companion, a little anxiously.
Bernaldi related the particulars of his visit, while the bishop
listened attentively. " This must be looked into a little more
carefully " at length said the latter ; " it will not do to in-
190 ANNA CLAYTOff.
dulge her in such whims. She must be removed at once, if
you suspect any misgivings on her part."
" I think the lesson I gave her to-day will do her some
good," replied Bernaldi. " At any rate, try her till I
come back ; she can't do much harm before that. But, if
you will allow me, sir, I would advise you to look to her
often."
" I will do so," said the bishop ; " yet I should have
thought her capable of anything but regret."
" It is her weakness towards children that causes such
feelings ; she told me as much herself," Bernaldi answered.
" Curse them, and her too ! " exclaimed the bishop ;
" we 've got enough to attend to, without so much trouble
about them ! "
"I have sworn in Kalph, our new gardener, and he
will keep you informed of all her movements," said Ber-
naldi.
"Is he safe?"
" Yes ; I have made him so, I believe."
Ralph, in all the dignity of his new office of spy, walked up
and down the broad gravelled paths, the morning after his
memorable interview with his master and priest. Now and
then he would stop to peer through the interstices in the wall
into the mysteries beyond ; but this did not satisfy him, and,
taking from his pocket a key, which ho looked at with great
pride, he unlocked the door through which he had gazed in
his fright the day before, and, imitating as nearly as possible
the movements of his master, he cautiously closed it, and,
not without some trembling, found himself within the very
enclosure he had so carefully scanned. But the last twenty-
\ C L A Y T 191
four hours had been fraught with great events to Ralph ; and
the consciousness that he was now acting as the confidant
and agent of his rut-'rciux gavo hiui courage. So, the inner
door was opened, according to his directions, and, looking
around, he saw nothing but a well-trodden path hedged by
the thick wood. Naturally far from being courageous, and
not a little superstitious withal, Ralph hesitated before closing
the door after him ; but the twittering of birds and the
chirping of squirrels overhead were all the sounds that met
his ear, and he ventured a little way along, though the slight-
est sudden noise would have sent him rushing back to his
quarters. The perfect quietude of the forest seemed to reas-
sure him, and he followed the beaten track till it led him to an
opening, where he started back with surprise.
Ralph's weakest point, and one which he had always con-
sidered a failing, was very sensibly affected by the sight which
hero met his gaze, and riveted him to the spot; for on a
grassy plot before the cottage door sat little Myrtle, her lap
and chubby arms filled with flowers, joining in Charlie's glee
as he danced around her, and clapping her littlo fat hands for
joy as he threw a fresh load of glowing roses over her.
" Pshaw ! " said Ralph, brushing away a tear from his
rough cheek ; " what do I care for children ? I wish I
was n't such a plaguy fool, though ! I won't mind THEM, any-
how ! " and he strode up to the cottage door, fully determined
to conquer, for once, this foolish weakness of his nature.
Charlie and his little sister both sprang at once towards the
door, frightened at the unwonted sight of a strange face ; but
Myrtle's step was not so firm as her brother's, and, in her
haste, she fell upon the corner of the door-step, cutting a gash
192 ANNA CLAYTON.
in her temple, which in a moment covered her little face with
blood. Her screams brought out the only two occupants of
the cottage at once to her assistance, buJ not before Ralph
had caught her in his arms, stanching the wound with his
handkerchief, and soothing her cries as gently as a woman.
'T was strange to see that great uncouth being bend so tenderly
over the little form in his arms ; but stranger still were the
beatings of that untutored heart beneath its light load, for
then and there did Ralph, despite all his resolutions, receive
that little nestling as his guardian angel, bestowing upon her,
at the same time, so much love, that naught remained. Alas,
poor Ralph ! he has unwittingly thrown himself into a laby-
rinth of difficulty, through which even that innocent guardian-
ship may not be able to guide him !
" Beg your pardon, ma'am," said he, as Marguerite started
back, on seeing the child in his arms. " I did n't mean to hurt
her. There, sh ! sh ! " and he raised the little forehead
to his lips.
" How came you here ? " she asked, in no very pleasant
tones, as she held out her hands for the child. But the
spiritual telegraph had been faithfully at work the last
moment, and Myrtie clung to her new protector, who pressed
her more closely to his heart.
" I 'm only Ralph, the gardener," said he, apologetically ;
" I thought you would be lonesome like, and so, by leave of
my master, I come over to see if I can do anything for you."
The lady's countenance changed ; for, besides being glad
of almost any interruption of her monotonous life, she had
a woman's curiosity to learn all the gossip of the place, and
she thought this a fine opportunity.
ANNA CLAYTON. 193
*So, you arc the new gardener, are you? Well, yon may
come in while I wash the blood from Myrtle's face ; she can't
be hurt very much, I think."
Marguerite spoke pleasantly, and Ralph began tc look upon
her as some nice body.
"I allers did take to children," said he, as they went
into the house ; " but that 's the purtiest darlin ' I ever
ee."
" Yes, she 's a dear little thing ; but, Myrtie, what makes
you run to that man so ? Won't you sit in Margery's
lap ? "
" No, no ! " cried she, as she nestled again into those great
arms, and still deeper into the heart beneath, " sissy love a
sit here."
" 'T would be a plaguy shame for them heretics to git hold
o' this birdie, would n't it, now ? " said Ralph, smoothing the
little flaxen ringlets with his huge paw.
Marguerite looked at him in blank astonishment. " What
do you mean ? " asked she, quickly.
" 0, nothin' special," said he, with much confusion, as his
oath popped into his miml.
"But you did mean something; what was it ?" persisted
Marguerite.
" 'T wan't nothin' at all," and Ralph's agitation visibly
increased, " only, you know, they 're allers trying to get
away our best 'uns."
Marguerite saw (hat he knew more than he chose to tell ;
but the nature and extent of his information she was deter-
mined to find out, half hoping that, by some means, he had
learned their story.
17
194 ANNA CLAYTON.
" What is a heretic, Margery ? " asked little Charlie, who
who had been an interested though unnoticed listener.
A heretic, child ! Why, they are dreadful wicked folks,
that will roast little children and eat them, if they can catch
them."
" Where do they live, Margery ? " said he, drawing
closer to her, and looking in the direction of the woods.
"0, they live all about here; and, if we didn't take
good care of you, they would soon get you and Myrtie."
" Can't God drive them off? " he asked, innocently.
" What a strange boy this is ! " exclaimed Marguerite,
taking him into her lap. " The good father can keep them
away from you, if you do just as he tells you."
" That 's it, boy," chimed in Ralph ; " you must please his
ruv'rence, if you want him to save you."
Charlie gazed, in childish wonder, from the honest, rough
visage of one, into the pale, anxious face of the other ; and,
unable to cope with such intellects, ran off to his play, calling
Myrtie to join him.
" Them 's picters, I tell ye ! " cried Ralph, following their
little forms with his longing eyes. " Ye don't see such every
day."
" That 's true," replied Marguerite ; " but how came you to
know anything about them ?."
" O, 't an't none o' my business," said Ralph, scratching
his head, with a perplexed air ; " but his ruv'rence told me to
look in upon ye sometimes, while he 's gone."
" Gone ! where has he gone now ? "
" Can't tell ye, ma'am, 'cause I never meddle with other
folks' bisiness."
ANNA CLAYTON. 195
" He goes away often, don't he ? "
'< Yes 'm."
11 Does he go far, do you think ? "
" Don't kuow 'm."
" You don't seem to be very communicative," said his inter-
rogator, smiling, as she went to the closet and took out some
glasses and nice sandwiches. " Won't you have a lunch ? "
" Thank yc, ma'am." And Ralph's eyes glistened as she
poured out the tempting draught, which he swallowed without
a moment's hesitation. Another and another followed, his Jfc j
heart growing warmer with each glass, until Marguerite saw
the advantage she had gained, and said, as she filled it again,
for the fourth time,
" Now, Ralph, we might bo very good friends, if you were
not so shy, and afraid to tell me anything."
" Shy, am I ? That 's where you 're mistaken, I tell ye.
Ralph Riley an't 'frid o' nobody ! "
" Why didn't you tell me, then, what I asked you just
now?"
" 'Cause I didn't feel like it."
" 0, now you 're a nice fellow, you mean to tell me, don't
you ? "
" Yes, I '11 tell ye anything, only what his ruv'rence told
me not to."
" What was that, Ralph ? "
" About them young 0, I forgot 'tan't nothin'."
" There, Ralph, I told you, just now, you was afraid to
tell."
" I an't 'fraid, neither ; but I swared, on my knees, I
would n t."
196 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I am glad you keep your promise so well ; but, as I know
all about it, now, it will do no harm for us to talk it over, you
know," said the crafty Jesuit.
" i)o you really, though ? ' ' asked Ralph, brightening up at
the pleasant idea of such a confidant.
Ask Father Bernaldi if I don't," replied she.
" Well, then, maybe you can tell me who 't is he wanted
me to watch here." Ralph spoke in a -low tone ; but Mar-
guerite started as though smitten by an unseen hand. Recov-
ering herself instantly, she replied, carelessly,
" It 's Ellen, I suppose. But what did he want you to
watch her, for ? "
" 0, 'cause he said she 's gettin' some strange notions into
her head, and so he wants me to tell him all she says and
does."
" She is rather strange ! But, Ralph, you won't tell him
anything only what I tell you to, will you ? "
" No, I won't, that 's a fact," replied the half-drunken gar-
dener.
" What did he say about the children, Ralph ? "
" 0, he told me all 'bout 'em ; how their mother died, and
how the darned old heretics tried to steal 'em, and how he 'd
put 'em in here, so they could n't find 'em. You know all 'bout
it, I s'pose."
" Yes, that I do ! " she exclaimed, while her lip curled with
contempt for him who had thus set a spy upon her actions ;
for rightly she conjectured that she was the one to be
watched.
" You and I can talk these things over together some other
time, Ralph, now we understand each other j but I must see
ANNA CLATTON. 197
to the children, now. Perhaps you can come over this after-
noon, when I am not so busy."
" Yos 'm, I will," said Kalph, as he left the cottage, with
a somewhat unsteady step.
11 So it has come to this, at last ! " murmured Marguerite,
sinking into a chair, and covering her face with both hands.
" He whom I trusted in my youth only to be betrayed, ami
whose every word has since been my law, degrades me even
to his servant ! Suspects strange notions, does ho ? "Well he
may, while he is my counsellor and guide! What* blind fool
I have been, all my days ! One lesson, though, I will not
forget. The cunning and guile he has taught me shall now
be practised on himself, and he shall yet learn what it is to
be outwitted by a woman ! "
17*
CHAPTER XX.
1 Thou hast prevaricated with thy friend,
By underhand contrivances undone me."
HOWE.
NOTWITHSTANDING the business which called Bernaldi away
was important, exceedingly so, and at any other time would
have engrossed all his thoughts and energies, he left the
chateau reluctantly, and in no very enviable mood. So many
years had Marguerite been in his service, never hesitating or
wavering in her obedience to his unquestioned authority, he
had looked upon her as a life-bound slave. That she should
dare indulge for a jnoment in such feelings as she confessed
to him, was no less a matter of surprise than vexation. But,
situated as she was towards him, with so many dark secrets
in her keeping, it would not be safe to pla.ce her beyond his
influence. To one cold, dark spot would he consign her, did
not his craven heart fear detection.
" A truce to these thoughts ! " exclaimed he, at length, aa
he proceeded rapidly on his journey; " her insolence shall be
punished if I don't find her in good subjection when I return;
but now I have more important business to attend to." And
he drew from his pocket a neatly-folded letter, on which was
inscribed, in a fair and delicate hand, his own name. The
ANNA CLAYTON. 199 '
Belf-satb>aed air with which he unfolded and re-read the little
missive, and the smile of triumph which gradually broke over
his face as he pondered its contents, Bhowcd that here, at
least, success was his. Well might ho smile exultingly,
for Emilie De Vere was no slight conquest, and she it was
who had written the note he held in his hand, signifying her
readiness to enter a conventual life, if her father could bo
persuaded to consent to it. To this condition the priest gave
not the slightest heed ; for well he knew that, her mind onco
made up to this course, it matte-red little whether 'the haughty
Lord De Vere consented or not. Her large fortune was now
at her own disposal ; and, though at her father's death it
would be considerably increased, he was disposed to adopt tho
old adage, " A bird in the hand," etc., and secure the treas-
ure while yet within his grasp. Her implied determination
to abide by her father's decision caused only a contemptuous
Arug of the shoulders, as Bernaldi thought how utterly weak
were all such influences when brought within the pale of the
confessional.
What rival need tho confessor fear? Does he not hold
unlimited power over the body and soul of his deluded sub-
jects? So, at least, reasoned Lady Emilie's confessor, as he
drew near Havens wood, whose extensive parks and highly-
cultivated grounds would so soon become tho property of the
church he served. His own share of the spoils did not, of
course, enter into the thoughts of the godly man !
" I would see your master, Lord De Vere," said Bernaldi
to the servant who answered his summons. :
"Lord DC Vere is in the library. Will your reverence
wait upon him there ? " replied the latter.
200 ANNA CLAYTON.
" If he so desires ;" arid Bernaldi followed the man, who
ushered him, without ceremony, into his lordship's presence.
That nobleman turned, frowningly, to his servant, to rebuke
the sudden intrusion ; but, seeing who the visitor was, he
advanced, with extended hand, and cordially welcomed the
holy father.
" You have really surprised me in dishabille," said he,
glancing at his dressing-gown and slippers ; " but John does
not often play me such a trick, or I should be better prepared
for him."
" It is I who should apologize," replied Bernaldi, " for so
unceremoniously intruding myself; but I supposed your servant
was obeying your directions in inviting me hither, and so
followed him without hesitation."
" We will dispense with further compliments on this sub-
ject," said his lordship, smiling and motioning Bernaldi to a
seat, while he resumed the one from which he had risen.'
" Your presence is always welcome, but particularly so just
at this time. My daughter Emilie has strangely altered since
Sir Charles' death, and obstinately persists in her determina-
tion to immure herself in a convent."
" So she writes me," said Bernaldi, showing him the letter,
" and I thought it advisable to confer with you on the subject
before I see her."
" Very thoughtful, indeed, in you, most excellent father ;
I was not aware, though, that she had written to you concern-
ing it. You have great influence over her, and I trust will
be able to dissuade her from a course which will bring wretch-
edness to my heart and home."
" Certainly, my dear sir; your lordship may depend upon
AX HA CLAYTON. 201
ray doing all within my power for your interest. Bat what
does Lady Emilic say to all your arguments and entrea-
ties?"
" She has assured me that she will never take such a step
without my approval, though her happiness depends upon it.
Sometimes I think the. separation would not be so painful to
me as to see her so melancholy and- sad. Her heart seems
buried in Sir Charles' grave. What would you advise me to
do or say ? "
" Really, my lord, I have not reflected sufficiently to advise
you. Doubtless, the fervent piety and strict religious devo-
tion of the sisterhood would have great effect in tranquillizing
Lady Emilic's mind, and, perhaps, might lead her into right
views of the duty she owes her only parent."
" 0, if I could only hope for such a result ! " exclaimed the
unhappy father ; " but, supposing it were so, when once she
has cast her lot with them, she cannot go back."
" Let her, then, cuter the novitiate," punningly suggested
the priest ; " there, for one year, she will have unrestricted
liberty to go and come at pleasure ; and, surely, in that time
bhe must relent"
Had not his lordship been overcome with mental anguish,
he must have noticed the searching look which accompanied
these words. Bernaldi was a little fearful that he had ven-
tured too far in this his first interview ; but Lord De Vere
thought only of the grief of parting with his only child, even
for one year.
" Go now to her," cried he, at length, rapidly pacing up
and down the room ; " save her from this fate, and you shall
202 ANNA CLAYTON.
have my eternal gratitude ; ay, and more than that, too,"
touching, significantly, his purse.
Bernaldi assumed a look of mingled grief and indignation.
" Have I, then, fallen so low in your lordship's estimation,"
said he, " that you hope to bribe me to accomplish that which
the holy mother knows I would die now to do ! "
" Forgive me, most worthy father ! I never for a moment
doubted the purity of your intentions, or meant to insinuate
aught against your perfect uprightness ; but my whole fortune
would be worthless to me, separated from that dear child ;
indeed, I could scarce hope to survive it ;" and the proud,
haughty man hid his face in his hands, and wept like a child.
" Do not, my dear sir," whispered the priest, " allow yourself
to give way to such grief. Possibly this dreaded evil may be
averted,, and Lady Emilie restored to herself again. I will
geek her, and use all my influence in your behalf," and he
left the still weeping father, and noiselessly glided to Lady
Emilie's boudoir. For a moment he stood gazing at the scene
before him, his heart bounding with ecstacy that the beautiful
being who knelt there, absorbed in such heavenly meditations,
would soon be within his power. The robes of mourning,
which she still wore in remembrance of the dead, gave to her
colorless face an almost ethereal beauty, while the deep devo-
tion that was now burning within her beamed forth from her
dark eyes with holy light. Bernaldi must have been more
than mortal to look upon her thus unmoved, knowing that, by
cautious management, the prize might be secured ; but he felt
equal to the task, and approached her with the easy assurance
of one who is confident of success.
ANNA CLAYTON. 203
" Bcncdicite ! " he solemnly pronounced, laying his hand
on her head, as she arose.
" Thanks, good father," she humbly replied.
" What have been thy thoughts, my daughter, while kneel- .
iug here before the cross ? Does earth still bind thce to its
sordid pleasures, or hast thou already a foretaste of the joys
which belong only to those who crucify the flesh, that so their
hearts may be purified? "
" I am in a state of doubt and perplexity, most holy
father," Lady Emilie replied. " To the world and its vani-
ties I am indeed dead ; but, for my father's sake, must I not
still mingle in its pleasures ? It is to decide this question
that I wished so earnestly to see you, my spiritual guide."
" What says the holy word, my daughter ? He that loveth
father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.' Tho
ever-blessed and holy mother of Jesus will not suffer aught to
come between her love and thine. You cannot be truly her
disciple till you are willing to cast every earthly lust at her
feet, and do whatsoever she commands you."
" Though torture and death were in my path," cried the
iufatuated girl, " I could fearlessly meet them all, to be thought
worthy a humble place among the sisterhood of saints ; but
my father ! 0, my father ! who could fulfil my duties to him ? "
" You have no duties, my daughter, aside from those you
owe the church ; and this remnant of earthly affection is the
very sin you must crucify."
" And so I w9l," murmured she, falling on her knees be-
fore the crucifix. " Blessed Mother, hear me, as I surrender
this last tic at thy command, henceforth to bo thine only ! "
Amen! " solemnly added the priest; "now, indeed, thy
204 ANNA CLAYTON.
home should be among the holy ones, whose life on earth is
but a type of eternal rest and joy ! "
" My heart is ready, holy father, if you but point the
way."
" I would spare your noble father's feelings," answered the
Jesuit, " as far as we can, consistently. I have already pro-
posed to him that you spend one year as a novice before you
take the veil which separates you from the world. And thus
he may be won, by witnessing your calm and happy life, to
yield you up with gladness to your glorious destiny."
" How kind and thoughtful in you ! But he what did he
say ? will he consent ? " she asked, eagerly.
" He will, without doubt. And now that your mind is
settled, and at rest about your duty, I will return again to
Lord De Vere, whom I left in the library; and this evening
arrangements can be made for your removal to the peaceful
and quiet home you have so wisely chosen."
" Then will my prayers be answered," exclaimed the fair
enthusiast, " when, united by more than mortal vows, I clasp
to my heart those holy sisters, whose pure and spotless lives it
shall ever be my study to imitate."
.
CliAl'TKK XXI.
W- I* * *
for he
That sows in craft does reap in jealousy."
MIDDUTOH.
jn*v #
TEX years, in rapid and noiseless flight, have passed avray,
and, save jn our little captives, no outwardtehange is visible
in and about the chateau. True, a few more wrinkles have
been added to Bernaldi's face, and silvery hairs are here and
there sprinkled in his dark locks ; true, the bishop's form is
more bent, and age comes creeping on with faltering step and
hidden mien, but so gradually docs it make its dark inroads,
that all seems unchanged. Ralph is still the honest, stupid
gardener, watching with jealous care the unfolding bud whose
germ was engrafted in his heart as he caught the wee tod-
dling thing in his arms at the cottage door, and whose daily-
increasing beauty and loveliness have been his constant and
almost only delight. There he stands now, with his chin
resting upon his g^dc, seemingly in deep and anxious thought ;
for now and then a big tear drops from under those shaggy
brows, and a sigh deep and long bursts from his true heart.
Softly the door of the arbor uncloses, and a perfect little
vision of loveliness peeps out, and, tripping lightly along,
18
206 ANNA CLAYTON
clasps his great hand, with a joyous, childish laugh that she
has for once surprised him.
" 0, you rogue*! " he exclaimed ; " I bleve you 're a farey,
and jumped out o' that bush to scare me."
" What is a fairy, Ralph ? " said she, after a hearty laugh
at his exclamation.
" 0, they 're real little beauties, I tell ye, that live in
flowers and bushes; and sometimes they bring us good things."
" 0, I wish I could see one ! " cried Myrtie. " What do
they look like ? "
" Like you, only they an't half so putty."
" Like me, Ralph ! Why, I could not live in a flower ! " and
she looked a little puzzled, and a very little angry, at this
seeming slight to her important growth.
" Wai, I most wish you could, 'cause then I 'd hide ye
where nobody could n't find ye ; " and then he muttered, in an
unSer tone, " I say it 's a shame to shut her up in that 'tarnal
old convent ! "
" Did you say they give us good things, Ralph ? "
" Yes, duckey, sometimes."
" What, everything we ask them to ? "
" Wai, I should think they 'd give you putty much any-
thing you wanted," answered the partial gardener.
" 0, 1 wish I could see one ! " cried Myrtie again ; " I
know what I'd ask 'em to give me."
" Wai, what 's that, duckey ? "
She put her mouth close to Ralph's car, and whispered
something that made him start.
" Why, what put that into your head ? " he asked, looking
at her with surprise.
.
ANNA CLAYTON. 207
" 0, Charlie has told me all about it," said she, and her
little face grew very sad ; " but we mean to run away, when
we arc bigger, and find her."
" Hush don't speak so loud," said Ralph. " If his ruv'renco
should hear you talk so, he 'd put you where I should n't see
you agin, I tell ye."
" Yes, but he don't know it, and Margery don't know it,
and nobody don't know it but you. Charlie said I might tell
you, 'cause you would n't tell nobody, would you ? "
"I'd sooner cut my head off! " exclaimed Ralph, warmly.
' No, duckey, you need n't be afraid to tell Ralph Riley any-
thing; I 'd go to purgatory this minit for ye."
Myrtle had had sufficient evidence of that before, and
she knew intuitively that her confidence irfr him was not mis-
placed. She threw her fair arms lovingly around his great
neck, and her sunny ringlets contrasted strangely with his
tangled locks ; but what cared she, while his was the only
heart, save her brother's, upon which she could lean in perfect
tru>t ? ' O, Ralph," said she, "you 're a dear, good Ralph ! "
And then she whispered, " When we go, Charlie and I, you
shall go too, won't you ? "
" Yes, duckey," said he, more to quiet her than anything
else.
Ralph's unfailing devotion to the sweet little girl had won
for him Marguerite's special favor, and she had confided to
him, what she dared not to any other, the story of the
orphans, and her own wicked part in their abduction. Her
failing health, admouihhiug her of the uncertainty of life, had
brought, with thoughts of death, bitter reflections on her past
conduct. The fountains of her heart had been opened by the
208 ANNA CLAYTON.
pure, innocent affection of the children she had so cruelly de-
prived of a mother's love, and, now that she must inevitably
leave them, she shuddered at their fate, and longed to restore
them even to that hated heretic mother. For herself, she
knew no other religion than the priest had taught her; but for
the little ones, who could scarcely be more dear were they her
own, she desired something purer and better. What that
something should be, she could not tell ; but there lay hidden
.* in her heart a secret remembrance of the pious words and
lovely example of the gentle pastor's wife, whom she had
often seen and heard while at Squire Clayton's, and she felt
persuaded that Charlie and Myrtie would be safer under such
influences than in the convent and monastery to which Ber-
naldi was soon to consign them. She had never dared give
utterance to such thoughts, even at the confessional, though
for such an omission she feared her soul might be lost ; but
she distrusted Bernaldi, and to no other would he allow her
to confess. The secret, therefore, remained with her, and her
heart was filled with burning thoughts and resolves. To
Kalph, the only one about her in whom she had any confi-
dence, she had told all she dared ; but to the children them-
^ I fllr
selves she had never mentioned the subject, though often im-
portuned by Charlie, who retained a vivid recollection of his
mother's agony when he was taken from her. The little fel-
low had received such threats from Bernaldi, that now it was
only in whispered conferences with Myrtie that he dared men-
tion his mother at all. She little, confiding creature ! kept
nothing from Kalph, and so he was made the depository of
all her sage thoughts on the subject. The faithful gardener
would sooner die than betray her trust, and his honest heart,
ANNA CLAYTON. 209
it must bo confessed, wavered somewhat in its allegiance to
his " ruv'rence," as he listened with indignation to tho story
of their wrongs.
Bernaldi's quick instinct detected something wrong in the
atmosphere about him ; but fear made his servants, for once,
as wary as himself, and he still remained ignorant of tho
change which was gradually taking place in the hearts of his
dependents. He, however, thought it advisable to place
Charlie at once within the walls of tho cloister adjoining the
chateau, where his own influence would be felt more strongly,
and he could more easily control the boy's thoughts and feel-
ings.
On the very afternoon when Myrtae clung so lovingly to her
rough protector and confidant, Bernaldi passed them on his
way to the cottage, to make known his determination to Mar-
guerite. He found her reclining languidly in her easy-chair,
her wan features growing a shade paler with each successive
vL-it, which, of late, had been infrequent, and deep dejection
visible in every lineament of her usually calm and stoical
face. On a stool near her Charlie sat reading aloud to be-
guile her weariness, and now and then stopping to express his
earnest sympathy in her evident suffering. T was strange to
see the thoughtfulness with which this boy of fourteen watched
her varying emotions, changing, with each mood, his reading or
remarks ; strange, too, was it to see the heartless, intriguing,
guilt-stained Jesuit transformed into the sad, sorrowful,
repentant woman"! But such a scene had no power to soften
the obdurate heart of the priest, who now stood before them,
secretly rejoicing in the misery he was about to inflict upon
them. He was jealous of Marguerite's affection for these
210 ANNA CLAYTON.
children ; not that he cared aught for her whom he had long
since cast off as a worn-out slave, but that his own power
over her should be supplanted by a mere boy, he could not
endure. Nor did the evident shrinking with which they
received his salutation escape the keen observation of this
Jesuit. He had before noticed this, and now he would have
his revenge, by separating them forever.
" I am glad to find you looking so comfortable and happy,"
said he, smilingly, seating himself to his task. " You are
certainly improving, Marguerite ; we shall have you out again
before long, I trust."
" I cannot say that I either expect or wish for such a result
to my illness," she replied, sadly.
"I am sorry to hear you say so," said Bernaldi. "I did
hope to find you in better spirits than when I saw you last,
for I wish to talk with you about Charlie, here ; he is quite
outgrowing your care, I think."
The poor invalid drooped her head and sighed, for she un-
derstood too well his meaning; while Charlie looked up,
wonderingly. Without appearing to notice either, the Jesuit
continued,
" You have proved yourself a faithful teacher, Marguerite,
and Charlie an apt scholar, in attaining a proficiency far
beyond his years j but now his mind needs a wider scope,
and Father Francis will henceforth have the guidance of his
untamed spirit."
" When do you wish him to go ? " asked she, faintly.
" fie may as well go at once ; it will relieve you from a
part of your burden."
I
ANNA CLAYTON. 211
A portion of her old spirit returned, as she replied, with a
" Burden, indeed ! You would take from me my only com-
fort, and leave me to solitude and death ! Speak plainly ; it
needs no smooth words to conceal your meaning."
" Very well," coolly answered he, " if you wish for plain
words, you shall have them. That boy remains no longer
with you, but goes with me now to his future abode. So
make yourself ready, sir, immediately."
" 0, good father ! " pleaded the boy, with quivering lip,
" please don't take me from Margery now ! Who can read to
her, pray for her, and attend to all her little wants, when I
am gone ? She has been good and kind to me ; let me stay
with her till she gets well, and then I am ready to go wherever
you wish. Grant me just this one favor, I beg! " Charlie
had fallen on hia knee.-*, in his earnestness, and Marguerite
sank beside him, bathed UQpuv.
" Silence ! " thundered Bernaldi ; " no more of this non-
sense ! You have been with her too long already ; now gather
what things you have, and come with me. It is time you had
a master."
" Stay, Marguerite," added he, as she rose to follow Char-
lie out of the room ; " I have a few words for your ear.
I have not been blind or deaf lately, and, though you seek to
deceive me, remember, your infamy shall be visited on your
own head. It is for this I remove the boy from you ; and
the girl will soon follow; for, mark you your doom is
scaled!"
" I scorn alike your threats and your own polluted self! '
212 ANNA CLAYTON.
exclaimed she, shaking her finger towards him. "Beware
how you incense me ! "
" Ha ! ha ! What can you do ? " muttered Bernaldi, as
Charlie returned.
No word was spoken, but in one long, agonizing embrace
Marguerite parted with the boy, whose pure and innocent
childhood had awakened the first throb of contrition in her
heart, and made life sweet to her.
" It is right it is just ! " cried she, as her aching eyes
gazed longingly at the last glimpse of his loved form. " The
bitterness of this moment but speaks to me of the anguish and
woe of that mother's heart whom we desolated. 0, that I
could restore them again to her bosom ! Then would I die in
peace. But how shall I endure this lonely existence? the
little voices all hushed and silent (for Myrtie will soon go ;
he said it) and these echoing walls only breathing into my
ear remorse remorse remorse I I will have revenge!
Revenye ! Ah, yes ; he shall yet feel it, and by my hand too,
feeble and powerless as he deems me. I know a way to reach
his heart, and it shall be done. Holy Virgin, aid me in one
last effort t: expiate my crimes on the altar of justice and
truth ! "
CHAPTER XXII.
" I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name." SHAKSPKA.RE.
"WnERE are you going, Charlie?" cried Myrtie, gazing
at the little bundle in her brother's hand, as he emerged from
the cottage path with Bernaldi.
" I don't know ! " said he, and, throwing his arms about her
neck, he burst into a passionate flood of weeping.
" Come, no more scenes ! " said the priest, drawing him
from her. " You make a perfect baby of yourself. You 're
going where you will soon learn to be a man, I hope."
" Will you please to tell me, good father," asked Myrtie,
in her most winning tones, " what Charlie is crying so for,
and what you are going to do with him?"
The priest looked a little disconcerted at the fair questioner,
but, seeing Ralph, he turned away to give him some direc-
tions, without answering her. The words which Charlie then
whispered in her ear caused her childish heart to swell with
grief and indignation, and together they mingled their sobs
and tears, for this, their first separation. Charlie was the
first to epeak.
214 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Myrtle ! " whispered he, " we shall never play or study
together again, and perhaps I shall not see your dear face for
a long time j but promise me that you will remember all I
have said to you about her, our own mother, and never
forget that some day we shall go and find her. But, for your
life, you must not tell any one, except Ralph."
" I shan't forget anything that you have told me," said
she, looking into his face, with tearful eyes ; " but what can
I do without you, Charlie? 0, I shall die, I know I shall ! "
and again the tears burst forth afresh.
" No, darling, you are a little girl yet, and I am not much
older, but we must not cry nor be childish ; we must try to
grow old as fast as we can, so that we can learn some way to
find out our dear mother."
"What's all this whimpering about?" said the priest,
suddenly interrupting them ; " I told you, just now, I 'd have
no more scenes ! So, bid your brother good-by, Myrtle, and go
with Ralph. Remember my instructions ! " added he, look-
ing at the latter, " and do everything as I bid you ! "
" Yes, sir, yur ruv'rence ! " answered that worthy person-
age, with an emphatic nod of the head, and leading the little
girl towards the cottage.
" Now, sir," said Bernaldi, addressing Charlie, as they
proceeded to the monastery, " you must lay aside all your
foolish whims, for henceforth I am to be your sole master, and
I shall expect perfect obedience from you. There," pointing
to the dark, grim-looking building before them, " is your home
and you must never wish to leave it, for such a thing will not
be allowed. You are now to commence life in earnest, and I
trust we shall have no difficulty with you."
ANNA CLAYTON. ,' JilO
Charlie looked at the gray walls above him. at tint
chcerles", Lurron spot, with its high enclosure, that was here-
after to limit his enjoyment of nature, and his heart grew old
within him. He dared not trust his lips to utter a reply to
his master, but walked silently within its gloomy portals, tho
light of hope fast dying out in his young heart.
After a few moments' whispered conference with the only
occupant of the room into which they were ushered, Bcrnaldi
came forward with his companion, and introduced his pr
to Father Francis, who, as he told Charlie, would have the
special charge of him in his (Bernaldi's) absence.
Father Francis, though many years younger than Ber-
naldi, had a repulsive, sinister expression about hi.- !';u ., that,
1 Charlie to shrink with aversion from his proffered
hand, as he accosted him*
" Really, my lad," said he, noticing the movement, and
divining at once its cause, "you have some -
Well, never mind, we shall understand each other better, by
and by." Then, turning to Bernaldi, who stood by, with dark-
ened brow, he added, " I suppose you have given the boy
some instructions as to his conduct here."
' No, I have not," answered the priest ; " I thought it best
to leave him to your excellent guidance. You see," saicTle,
in a tone sot intended to reach Charlie's ears, " what you
have to "deal with, and need not hesitate to use any means
to curb him."
" I see I understand," rer. lied the prior, turning again to
Charlie.
Hp, poor boy, had been silently contemplating his
strange and unhappy position during the short conversa-
216 ANNA CLAYTON.
tion, and looking up ingenuously into the face of his new
friend, he exclaimed, " Indeed, sir, I did not mean to offend
you ! "
" Very likely," was the ungracious answer ; " but we
suffer no apologies to be made here, so you will please
remember that your like or dislike is of no consequence to me."
Charlie, thus rudely repulsed, ventured not another word ;
but his heart turned longingly to the little cottage, with Myrtie
and Marguerite to love him ; and still more yearningly to one
who even then seemed dearer to him than aught else, save
Myrtie. Courage, noble, brave boy ! the strength and hope
which springs up within thee, at thoughts of that sacred
name, come from above, where, at this moment, her softly-
breathed prayers are ascending for thee, her first-born, and
gently falling like dew upon thy sinking heart !
Charlie instinctively grasped Bernaldi's hand, as the latter
rose to go and leave him in this cheerless place ; for even his
cold face seemed pleasant to the boy, now so friendless. But,
secure of his victim, the heartless priest had no longer occa-
sion for reserve or concealment, and, angrily pushing him
away, he exclaimed :
" No more o' your puling around me, you young brat !
I 've had enough of you, I hope. As I hated your vile heretic
mother, so do I hate you ; and now you 've got to smart for
all the bother you 've been to me ! Yes, and that littlo
pale-faced wretch of a sister of yours has got to take it
too, I reckon ! We '11 see who 's master round here now ! "
So saying, he left the room, followed by Father Francis.
Then did that young, o'erburdened heart yield to its fate, and
Charlie fell senseless to the floor.
ANNA CLAYTON. 217
How sweet and happy were the dreams that came o'er him
then! a fond, loving face, beautiful as an angel'*, hovering
in earnest tenderness over his couch, while words of love,
whose tones were sweeter than music, fell upon hia ear, calling
him back to childhood again. Stretching forth his hands, he
murmured, " Mamma, dear mamma ! I 'm so tired ! "
" What does the boy mean ? " said a voice near him, while
more vigorously they applied restoratives to bring back his
young life to its woe.
" He's coming to, I reckon," replied another.
" Better let him die, while he 's about it," said a third ;
'he '11 never ' r time."
" That won't do," .-aid the first speaker ; " he 's wanted for
something special, I should think, from the charge Father
Francis gavo me."
"Likely he 's got money, then," added the other.
" Of course; or else he- would n't be of any account here,"
was the reply, in a bitter tone.
" Take care ! The walls have cars, remember ! "
But the caution came too late. The walls echoed faith-
fully, and the poor brother had to atone most severely for his
indiscretion.
Meanwhile, the object of their immediate solicitude wls
slowly reviving under their efficacious treatment; but, as his
bright, happy dreams vanished, and that sweet 6ice gave
place to the discordant sounds about him, he feared to unclosa
his eyes, lest he should find himself surrounded by evil spirits.
Gradually, however, the scenes of the last few hours came te
his remembrance, and he shuddered as he thought of Ber-
naldi's parting words
19
218 ANNA CLAYTON,
" Come, rouse up, my boy ! " spoke one, not unkindly, as he
noticed the movement; and Charlie ventured to raise one
inquiring glance to his face. What he saw there seemed to
inspire confidence, for he held out his hand, and said, plain-
tively, " Will you be my friend, now I have n't any one else ? "
Father Ambrose smoothed his hair gently, and looked pity-
ingly into the dark, earnest eyes raised to his own, as he
answered, " Why do you say that, child ? You are too young
to be friendless."
" But the good father has taken me away from Margery and
Myrtie, the only ones I had, and brought me here to live, where
he says I must always stay, and not see them any more."
" Who do you mean by the ' good father ' ? ""
" Why, Father Bernaldi, that came here with me."
" And who is Margery and Myrtie ? "
" Myrtie is my darling little sister, and Margery takes care
of us and teaches us ; that is, she did; but Father Bernaldi
Bays Myrtie is going somewhere else to live, too."
" Humph ! here 's some more of his tricks, I reckon," said
the monk, aside.
"What did you say, sir ?" asked Charlie.
" Nothing ; what is your name, my boy ? "
" Charlie."
"Charlie what?'
" I don't know, sir."
" Don't know ! What do you mean by that, Charlie ? "
" I know I had another name, once ; but it is so long ago
that [ have forgotten it, and no one about here knows.-''
" That is very strange ! " exclaimed Ambrose, his interest
-
ANNA CLAYTON. 219
in the boy growing deeper every moment. " Where did you
come from ? "
A momentary flush crossed Charlie's face as he replied, " I
don't know, exactly j and, if I did, I must not tell you."
"Why not?"
" Because because " Charlie hesitated "I should n't
dare to."
The monk knew very well why he dared not tell, and for-
bore to press him further ; though he resolved to befriend the
boy when he should learn his history.
None who had ever known Charles Duncan could fail to
recognize Charlie's resemblance to his father ; but in him the
mother's sweetness of disposition was united to the father's
vivacity, and Charlie, now in his fifteenth year, was a beau-
tiful, affectionate, high-spirited boy. He felt keenly Bernaldi's
injustice and cruelty in separating him from Myrtie, the only
one he had to love ; and while he dared not oppose him,
whom he had been taught to obey, the half-formed thoughts
and resolves floating in his mind for the last few years began
to shape themselves into one great purpose. He carefully
studied those about him, scanned each face with trembling
solicitude ; but, save Father Ambrose, found in them only the
index to cold, unfeeling hearts. Vainly did he endeavor to
draw forth one kind look or smile ; souls and bodies seemed
alike congealed in that frigid atmosphere, and his own long-
ing heart returned to him void, finding no sympathy, or
humanity even, there. Father Ambrose alone, of all that
monkish clan, looked with kindly feelings upon the friendless
boy, and watched with increasing interest the noble spirit
which bore him manfully through trials that would have
.
220 ANNA'CLAYTON.
caused many an older cheek to pale, and harder hearts to
grow faint. But days and weeks passed ere he could win
from Charlie more of his story than he had told him in his
first interview ; so strongly had Bernaldi impressed the boy's
fears with his repeated threats and warnings.
One morning, however, after an unusually severe penalty
had been inflicted upon Charlie, for Father Francis de-
lighted in heaping insults on him, he sought the monk's
cell, quivering under a sense of the indignity and injustice of
which he was the victim, and, throwing himself down, exclaimed,
passionately,
" 0, Father Ambrose, I would rather die than live in such
a place as this ! "
" Poor boy ! " replied the monk, compassionately, " I
don't much wonder that you feel so ; but be careful that no
one hears you say it beside me, lest it should make matters
worse."
" Are you, then, really a good friend to me? " asked Charlie,
brightening up a little.
" Better than you are willing to let me be, I fear; else you
would tell me more about yourself."
" If I thought it would be safe," said Charlie, looking
earnestly into the face of the other, as though he would read
his thoughts, " I should be so glad to tell you all I know ;
and then, perhaps, you could advise me, and help me too.
But, if Father Bernaldi should find it out, he would kill me
and Myrtle too, for he said so ;" and Charlie lowered his
voice, looking around fearfully.
" He shall never know anything you confide to me," said
Ambrose, encouragingly, " depend upon that ; and, if I can do
- ANNA CLA"YTON. 221
aught to make your life easier or happier, I shall rejoico
in it."
" Thank you, 0, thank you, a thousand times ! " cried
Charlie. " I will trust you, for I know you will not betray
me!"
Tears, which had refused to start at threats, punishments,
and even insults, flowed plentifully at these words of kind-
ness, and Charlie wept for a few moments unrestrained.
" Ther^" said Father jSfj^oae, gently, " that will do
now ; you know we cannot be together long, or it will bo
noticed, and wo shall be separated entirely. Ilave you heard
from your sister since you came In
" No," replied Charlie, " and it is that which grieves me
most now. I hare asked Father Bernaldi, but he will tell mo
nothing about her, only that I am not to see her again."
" I don't know about that," muttered the monk ; "others
can plan as well as he. Where do you say she is, or was ?"
" In the little cottage at the end of the garden ; but llulph
could tell you where she is now. 0, if I could see Myrtie ! "
and Charlie's eyes sparkled with the thought.
" Well, don't get too much excited about it we '11 see.
Who is Ralph?"
" Why, he 's the gardener, and a dear, good fellow too ;
he '11 do anything Myrtie asks him to. I should n't wonder
if he has tried to find me before now."
" No doubt," said the monk. " Now, if you will go and
keep perfectly quiet, I will see what I can do to relieve your
first trouble ; then, perhaps, you will find me to be a friend
you can trust, and will open your heart freely to me."
What cared Charlie now for cold words, or colder looks, as
19*
'
222 ANNA CLAYTON.
he went, with a light heart, about his daily task. Would he
not soon, perhaps this very day, see the bright, sunny face that
had ever been near his, and forget all his sorrows in her sweet,
loving caresses? His heart began to grow young again, and,
for the first time in that forlorn abode, a smile lighted up his
gad, boyish face.
CHAPTER XXIII.
" Farewell ! God knows when wo shall moot again ;
I hare a faint, cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost frcoios np the heat of life."
SHAKSPEARX.
" Tais here 's bad bisness, now I tell ye," growled Ralph,
as he entered Marguerite's room, hastily, after Charlie's de-
parture. But she heeded him not, as she sat there with her
face buried in her hands, in an attitude of despair. Ralph
coughed and hemmed several times, impatiently, and at length
ventured to touch her gently on the shoulder ; yet she moved
not.
" Holloa, there, Ellen ! " he screamed, opening the door,
" come quick, your mistress has fainted ! "
" She an't nc mistress o' mine, I 'd have you to know,"
muttered the girl, as she dashed some cold water into Mar-
guerite's face, and pulled her rather rudely on the sofa.
" Take care," said he, " or I '11 report ye to his roV-
rence."
" Much he cares for her now ! " replied she, sneeringly, for
she had of late been an eaves-dropper during Bcrnaldi's visits,
and knew pretty well how matters stood. " There, she 's
224 ANNA CLAYTON.
*
coming to now, so I '11 leave her to you, 'cause I 've got
plenty o' work to do, without fussing over her ! " and she
slammed the door after her, with no slight noise.
" Wai, now, if that an't too bad ! " said Ralph to himself;
" this poor thing '11 die, and nobody to care for her, neither."
" Is that you, Ralph ? " sighed Marguerite, unclosing her
eyes, and looking around the room.
" Yes, it 's me, and nobody else; do you feel better now? "
" I believe so ; what has happened ? 0, 1 remember now,"
and she placed her hand over her heart to still its throbbings.
' As I was sayin' jest now, it 's mighty bad bisness, in my
'pinion, this is," said Ralph, shaking his head.
" It 's dreadful, Ralph ; but think how their poor mother
must have suffered when we stole them away from her ! "
" 0, wal," said he, soothingly, " she was a heretic, you
know, and it was for their good you took 'em away."
" No, Ralph, I cannot claim a good motive for that wicked
deed," said she, earnestly, " though the Holy Mother knows
how sincerely and bitterly I have repented it."
" Is Charlie goin' to stay long in the ' St. Augustine ' ? "
asked Ralph.
" I suppose so ; for Father Bernaldi said that henceforth
he would be under the care of Father Francis."
" Then I can see him sumtimes," said Ralph ; " but my
putty birdie where '11 she go ? 'fa
" I don't know ; Father Bernaldi has n't told me yet."
"Seems to me I shan't stan' it when she's gone;" and
Ralph's voice trembled. " Why don't he let you keep her a
spell longer ? She 's too young to go among them old stiff
nuns."
ANNA CLAYTON 225
" He 's afraid I shall spoil her, as he says I have Charlie,"
replied Marguerite, with a curling lip.
"There an't a better boy nowheres," exclaimed Ralph,
energetically ; " but they '11 break his spirit, I 'm afeared."
" That 's what they intend to do, Ralph, and Myrtle's too.
I know but too well what a convent life is ; and, were it not
that I have other hopes for her, I would sooner gee her die
than go there. Ay, 't would be a kindness even to take her
life."
Ralph started to his feet ; he had never seen Marguerite so
excited before, and he feared she was losing her senses.
" Ralph ! " said she, solemnly, " my life is almost ended,
and there are none to care how soon it may be ; but, before I
die, I have a great work to perform. This very hour, at the
foot of that cross, I have vowed to accomplish it ; and you,
Ralph, arc the only one that can aid me. Promise me, for
Myrtie's sake, that you will."
" I 'd a-most give up my soul for Myrtie now," said he.
" I know you would, Ralph ; and your devotion to her haa
strengthened my purpose. But I 'm too weak to talk any
more now ; don't, for your life, repeat anything I 've said to
you. Where 's Myrtie ? "
" She 's here," he replied, looking, out of the window ;
"but her poor little heart is broken partin' with Charlie; and
when she comes to go herself I 'm thinking 't will 'bout kill
her."
He went out as he spoke ; and, sitting on the door-step,
the very one where he had first taken the little girl -to his
arms and heart, wept such tears as were never before
wrung from his heart. He knew, though he dared not tell
226 ANNA CLAYTON.
Marguerite, in her excited state, that the next day his dar-
ling pet, whom he had watched so tenderly, would go among
strangers ; and what Marguerite had just said of a convent
life sank deeply into his heart, and made him tremble still
more for the fate of his treasure.
" What makes you so sad, Ralph ? " asked Myrtie, coming
to him, her own eyes red with weeping for the loss of her
playmate.
" dear, dear! I can't stan' this, no way ! " burst from him,
as he rushed furiously along the path to the chateau. Then
turning, he ran back, and caught the wondering girl in his
arms, and hugged her convulsively to his bursting heart.
" What is the matter, dear Ralph ? " cried she.
" Matter ! darlin', blessed birdie ! Why, your old Ralph's
heart 's a breakin', that 's all ! " groaned he.
" What for because Charlie 's gone ? "
" No, no, not that, though I feel bad enough about it ; or
should, if 't wan't for sumthin' else."
"Do tell me what it is, Ralph; you know I shall pity
you."
" It 's yourself, birdie, that 's to be pitied ! What '11 you
do without Margery to take care of ye, and old Ralph to tend
ye, and worship the very ground ye tread on ? "
" Are you going away to leave me ? " she asked, plain-
tively.
" No, duckey, I an't ; but you 've got to go, and leave my
old heart to break ! " And Myrtie felt, the strong frame be-
neath her shake.
" Where am I going, Ralph ? "
" I don't kn^w, yet ; but his ruv'rence said you would
ANNA CLAYTON. 227
go to-morrow. There, it 's all out, now ! " And tears again
rolled down hi* sunburnt cheek.
' That 's what Charlie meant when he told me to keep up
good courage," said Myrtie, thoughtfully ; " and he said, too,
I must n't be childish about it, but grow old fast, so that we
could someday find out our dear mother ! 0, Ralph, don't
feel so bad ; 'cause you will go with us, and then we shall
always live together."
He could not bear to sadden that young heart ; so ho re-
plied, " Wai, duckcy, these old knees shall bend every day
and every uight for ye, and it '11 be mighty hard if suthin'
don't come of it, I tell ye. But what can I do without you,
birdie ? "
" O, you will come and see me, and then we will, have such
a nice time ! and may be I can come here, too."
" Poor little thing ! Margery says they won't let me. But
I know what I '11 do," said llalph, brightening up ; "I '11 seo
where you go, and maybe they 'd hire me to work where I
can catch a sight of your sweet face sumtimes, jest enough to
keep the heart in me."
" But poor Margery, llalph ! IIow could you leave her all
alone ? "
" dear, dear ! " replied he, " I did n't think o' her ! Wai,
what .-hall I do, any way ? " And again the cloud rested
heavily upon his spirit.
" Stay here with dear Margery," answered the thoughtful
child, " and ask Father Bernaldi to let you come and see me,
sometimes. It won't be long, llalph ; for I mean to be so very
good, the Blessed Virgin will answer our prayers Charlie's
and mine."
228 ANNA CLAYTON.
Ralph walked home in a state of bewilderment. He seemed
beset with troubles from which he could not extricate himself.
He had promised to stay with Margery, and aid her in some-
thing, he knew not what. And here was his birdie, the light
of "his eye, going he knew not where, with none to care for
her as he had done. Vainly did the ragged slouched hat
perform repeated precipitate journeys from his head to the
ground, while with his fingers' ends he sought to scratch up
some new idea from his cranium. In vain did he strike more
vigorously his spade into the earth, as though a mine of
knowledge might be hidden beneath. The mystery could not
be solved ; and the simple-hearted gardener was fairly lost in
the darkness and sorrow with which he was surrounded. Sud-
denly, however, his face brightened ; and, dropping his spade,
he ran with all speed up the garden-walk to the chateau, and
was soon knocking humbly at the door of the library.
" Come in," cried the bishop's voice. And Ralph stood
trembling in the presence of the most holy father, twirling
nervously the old hat around his fingers.
" Why, Ralph ! " said the bishop, looking somewhat aston-
ished at his appearance, " what brings you here, now ? "
" If it please yur great ruv'rence," answered the gardener,
" I 'm troubled in here ! " laying his broad hand on his breast.
"Ah, Ralph what's the matter? Haven't you con-
fessed, lately?"
"Most holy father, I have; but that don't reach it. 1
must go away from here ; and I want your blessin' and a
carocter," said Ralph, growing bolder.
" My blessing and a character ! " replied the 'bishop.
ANNA CLAYTON. 229
' Surely, you are out of your senses, Ralph. Why do you
wish to leave here ? "
" Yur great ruv'renco will pardon what I shall say in answer
to your question."
" Certainly, Ralph say on."
" Wai, then, for more 'n ten years I 've worked faithful,
here ; nobody can say aught agin that."
No, Ralph ; you have been an honest, faithful fellow, I
believe ; but say on."
" The heart is clean gone out o' me ! " said Ralph, while
his voice shook with emotion, " and I can 't do no more, no
how."
" How 'B that ? What do you mean, Ralph ? " asked the
bishop, more and more puzzled.
" Why, you see, holy sir, when the light that 's kept these
olu eyes from fudin', and this lone heart from sinkin', is taken
away, I shan't be good for nothin', sir."
" Speak plainer, Ralph ; I don't understand you," said the
other ; who, however, did begin to divine the cause of his
trouble, knowing the extraordinary affection existing between
the rough being before him and the beautiful child.
" Wai, then, great ruv'rence, to be plain-spoken, I can't
live here, no how, after my little birdie 's gone."
" And why not, Ralph ? " queried the bishop, to draw him
out.
" Why not, indeed ! Should n't I every mornin* listen for
the song of my lark, and hear nothin' but the pitiful notes o'
the birds in the woods, yonder ? Should n't I every minit
hear the pattin' o' little feet comin* to me, and see nothin'
but old Towscr a-walkiu' round the garden ? Should n't I
20
*
230 ANNA CLAYTON
keep watchin' the Moor o' that arbor all day long to see the
little face, brighter 'n the sun to these eyes, come to cheer
me, and watch the flowers grow ? Should n't I "
" Stop, stop, Ralph, that '11 do ! " cried the bishop, laugh-
ing ; " you are getting so enthusiastic, you forget yourself.
No doubt you love this little ' birdie,' as you call her, and so
do we no one could help it. But that only makes us the
more anxious to do everything for her good. You would n't
want her to grow up in ignorance."
" She ignorant my little birdie! You may call Ralph
that but not her no, never ! "
"You forget yourself, Ralph!" said the bishop, more
sternly. " It is not for you to judge, but we, who know what
is right. I shall expect you will, therefore, say no more
about it, but go to your work foolish fellow that you are.''
Ralph made a hasty retreat to his own quarters, where he
sat down, more troubled than ever. He thought of the cruel
separation of the brother and sister; of the hard life the
former must lead in the austere monastery to which he had
gone ; of the horrors of a convent life, as hinted at by Mar-
guerite, which his " birdie" must now meet. And, it must be
confessed, his respect for all " ruv'rences " decreased in the
same proportion as his anxiety and grief for the children
increased ; for were they not really the cause of all this
trouble ?
He was in this state of mind when Bernaldi returned from
the cloister whither he had conducted Charlie, and, in passing
through the garden, saw Ralph in such deep meditation.
" How now, Ralph? " said he, accosting him ; " what 's the
matter with you?"
ANNA CLAYTON. 231
" Nothin' ! " answered the gardener, gruffly ; " only I an't
a-goin' to stay here another day, darn me if I do ! "
" Ha ! ha ! that 's pretty well, after ten years' such service
as you have had here ! What 's the trouble, now ? "
" I say I can't stan' it no how nor no way, another day
after my little birdie 'a gone that's the trouble."
" ho! that's the trouble, is it? But what are you going
to do about it ? You can 't see her any more if you go away
from here than if you stay."
" Wai, I shan't keep thiukin' all the time she 's round me,
as I shouM hero."
" What if I should make a proposition to you, Ralph?"
said Bernaldi, who, for various reasons, could not part with
this man, " what if I should say, if you '11 do so and so, you
may go ana see Myrtio very often?"
" 0, yur ruv'rence, yur blessed ruv'rcnco ! " cried Ralph,
falling on his knees, " that's all I'd ask to be yur servant
forever. I 'd walk on my hands and knees over burnin' pitch-
forks ; I'd "
" That '11 do," said the priest ; " I shall not require any
such servkc; so you need not spend your breath talking
about it. But when I want you to do certain things for me,
which I will tell you some time, you must not flinch nor draw
back. Will you remember ? "
" Yur ruv'rence, I will remember everything, so that I can
see my birdie sometimes, I tell ye."
Such a load as was lifted from Ralph's heart ! Now ho
can know what treatment Myrtie meets with. Is she happy?
docs her heart still cling to him, her best friend? and a
thousand other things, which only his noble heart could havo
232 ANNA CLAYTON.
suggested. How earnestly did he watch for the moment when
he could with safety run and communicate his happiness to the
cottage inmates ; and, as soon as that moment arrived, seeing
Bernaldi leave the chateau, how he bounded through the path,
like one almost crazed, and rushed into their quiet sitting-
room, catching Myrtie up in his arms, and almost smothering
her in his joy !
" dear, dear ! " cried he, " I can't stan' this no better 'n
I could afore! Only think, birdie, yur old Ralph 's goin' to
Bee ye most every day ! "
" What 's that you say, Ralph ? " exclaimed Marguerite,
with eager joy.
" I say what I mean," answered the delighted fellow ; " I 'm
going to see Myrtie very often ; that 's what his ruv'rence
said. 0, an't you glad, birdie ? "
" Yes, indeed, Ralph," cried Myrtie, hugging him more
closely.
" But, Ralph," said Marguerite, who could scarce believe
her ears, " explain yourself ; you cannot see Myrtie, if she
goes into a convent."
" What, not if his ruv'rence gives me leave ? " asked he,
with a knowing look.
"Yes; but "
" Yes, but nothin' ; I tell ye he says I may. Now, an't ye
glad, Margery ? 'cause ye see you '11 know all about Myrtie ;"
and he fairly capered the huge fellow round the room.
" Glad, Ralph ! you can never know how thankful I am for
such a hope : " exclaimed Marguerite, who saw how much
this would aid her in carrying out her plans.
" Now, dear Margery, and you, too, dear Ralph, won't feel
ANNA CLAYTON. 233
BO bad about my going, will you ? " said Myrtic, thinking only
of those she loved best; "but dear, dear Charlie shan't I
eter see him again ? " and tears forced themselves down her
checks, despite her efforts to prevent them.
" Yes, you shall, birdie, if I can manage it ; so, don't cry
any more abo.it it." Ralph could sec no trouble in anything
now.
" Poor Charlie ! " sighed Marguerite ; " how lu's noble
spirit will break, and his affectionate heart bo crushed, among
tlm-e hoartless souls ! But he shall yet be saved," added she,
energetically; "I swear it before this cross, and you, Ralph
they shall loth be sated ! "
"That's good, I tell ye," joined in Ralph; "I wish I
could help ye."
" And so you will ; for, unless you are faithful, it cannot bo
done."
" Have n't I allers been, since I knew this birdie ? "
" Yes, llalph, and you will live to see your reward, while
I must soon sink, and justly too, into an unnoticed and un-
honored grave. But, O Blessed Virgin, spare me till justico
!- avenged !"
Myrtic did not comprehend all this, but she saw that Mar-
gory was unhappy, and, going gently to her side, she laid her
lace, still wet with tears, upon thtf nurse's shoulder, ex-
claiming, " Dear, dear Margery, don't be so sad ! I am suro
the good father will let me come to see you, now you 're so
sick and I love you so much, and Charlie's gone too."
" You don't know him as well as I, dear child," replied
Margery ; " I shall never hope to see my darling Myrtio
again ! " and she pressed her convulsively to her heart.
20*
234 ANNA CLAYTON.
How quickly sped away the sorrowful moments the last
which united sinful, fallen nature to the guileless innocence
of childhood ! Marguerite found herself alone, she scarcely
knew when or how ; but that she was bereft, forsaken, did not
every pulsation of her heart tell her ? Now has her expia-
tion commenced; and, but for the one burning desire to accom-
plish it to the utmost, she must have inevitably sank beneath
consuming disease and grief. Faint not, erring woman ! It
may yet be that thy contrition will spread for thee a downy
bed, on which to yield thy last breath in peace.
*
CHAPTER XXIV.
,
" Now warm in love, now withering in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom."
Pin.
NoTnixa could be sweeter or more winning than the modest,
humble manner in which Myrtie met the imperious demands
of the lady superior of the convent where Bernaldi placed
her. She had been there scarcely a month, and yet, despite
her youth, she had been subjected to stinging sarcasm, insult,
and even cruelty, " to break her in at once," as that holy
mother said. But her brave little heart withstood all thcso
trials, and, ever repeating to herself Charlie's last injunction,
the present was overlooked, or patiently borne, in her bright
hopes for the future. But not long could the loving heart
of this fair, sunny little creature endure the chilling blasts
around her. Courage and hope must alike yield to such ad-
verse influences, unless, perchance, some kindred spirit breathes
into her own its warm, gushing affection, and sustains through
this terrible ordeal her untried soul.
Thrice had Ralph, true to his promise and himself, begged
for admission within those barred gates ; the inexorable por-
tress had ever some ready excuse for disappointing him.
236 ANNA CLAYTON.
Sometimes Myrtle had " gone for a walk," or she was " out
riding with the ladies," or " busy with her studies, and could
not be interrupted ; " till at length, in his despair, the poor
fellow complained to his " ruv'rence," and besought his inter-
ference. Bernaldi, finding he could no longer be put off, ac-
companied him to the convent, and, placing Myrtie in his arms,
told him to say all he wished quick, as the child must not be
long delayed from her tasks.
0, what a world of meaning was there in the wild cry of
mingled joy and grief with which she clasped her arms around
that faithful neck ! Naught but tears, which could not be
restrained, spoke to the true heart beneath ; and yet that heart,
in bursting agony, drank in the tale of woe.
" My birdie, my poor, darling birdie ! " at length he ex-
claimed ; " they 're killing you, I know they are ! "
Bernaldi stood by with lowering brow, and Myrtie dared
only murmur, in reply,
" No they are not, but I 'm so lonely without you, Ealph ! "
" It is n't my fault, duckey, that I have n't seen you before.
That cursed old hag at the gate would n't "
" Stop ! " thundered Bernaldi, in a voice which caused them
both to start ; "is this the way you would teach the child to
regard those around her ? You will conduct yourself very
differently, sir, or your interviews with her are at an end."
" I did n't mean nothin', yur ruv'rence," cried Ralph, in-
timidated at such a threat ; " but her little pale face and sad
looks make me almost crazy."
" You did not come here to talk about her looks," replied
Bernaldi, tartly, " but to encourage her to be a good girl,
which I am afraid she has n't been since she came."
ANNA CLAYTON*. 237
Ralph choked down the indignant reply which sprang to
his lips at this insinuation, lest his " ruv'rence " should carry
his threat into execution, and forbid his coming again to see
Myrtie. So, concealing his emotion as much as possible, he
whispered in Myrtie's ear,
" Keep up good courage, birdie ; you shan't stay hero
always."
The little blue eyes answered him most expressively, as
they beamed with thankful, hopeful love into his own. But
Myrtie was learning to be discreet, and, with tbe dark eyes of
the priest bent frowningly upon them, how could she pour her
sorrows where most of all she longed to do ?
So in silent embrace they sat, and save only in the spirit's
deep utterance did each to the other tell its grief.
" Come," said the priest, growing impatient, " I have no
more time to fool in this way. Bid your birdie, as you call
her, good-by, Ralph, and we must return to the chateau ; it 'B
getting late."
One convulsive clasp around his neck, and a kiss in which
the bitterness of that child-heart was concentrated, and Myr-
tie sank to the floor, cowering beneath her dress, that she
might not see him go. 'T was strange to see that rough, un-
couth being, as he walked slowly away (for Bernaldi had left
him when he got him outside of the walls), turn, and, stretch-
ing forth his brawny arms, cry aloud, in the anguish of his
spirit, till, weakened and overcome by grief, he would sit by
the wayside, gazing with aching eyes at the walls which im-
prisoned his " birdie."
How long Myrtie had been crouching upon the floor of the
desolate room she knew not, when she started to her feet with
238 ANNA CLAYTON.
surprise, as a gentle hand was laid upon her head, and a soft,
pleasant voice asked, in accents of sympathy,
" What is it grieves this little girl so ? "
She looked up into the sweet face of the strange lady, and,
clasping her hands, said, earnestly,
" 0, he 's gone, and now I have n't any friends ! "
" Who is he ? "
" Why, Ralph, my only friend, that is, except Margery
and Charlie."
"Poor child!" said the lady, pityingly; "well do I know
the desolation this place brings to the heart. I will not ask
you any more questions now" (for Myrtie was sobbing on her
breast), " but after vespers, to-morrow, come to Sister Agnes'
cell, and we will talk together."
" Are you Sister Agnes ? " asked Myrtie, looking at the
serge gown and cap of the nun.
" That is my name here," sighed the other, thinking of the
proud title by which the world had known her.
" 0, I 'm so glad to find somebody here that I can love ! "
exclaimed the warm-hearted little girl ; " for I know I shall
love you, Sister Agnes."
" So you shall, my sweet child ; and Sister Agnes will love
you, too, very much. But be careful not to say anything
about it before the others, or they may prevent my seeing
you. Go, now, and keep up a good heart till to-morrow,"
added the nun, affectionately kissing her.
Childhood's drooping heart revived a little in this brief
sunshine, and Myrtie went to her tasks reassured.
At the same time, in her private parlor, sat Bernaldi, in
deep, earnest conversation with the lady superior.
ANNA CLAYTON. 239
11 1 don't see how we can prevent their meeting sometimes ,
it 's the only hold I 'vc got on him now, and a strong one it
is, too , he '11 do anything, no matter what, foi the sake of
seeing her."
" I shall look out that it happens but seldom, I promise
you," replied the mother ; " for she 's hard enough now to
subdue, and he '11 only make her worse the beastly fellow !"
"We can manage it better, by and by," continued the priest
" but for the present it wjll be necessary to humor him a little,
or he may flinch from the business."
" Well, 1t must be as you say, I suppose."
" And, another thing," added Bernaldi, gently ; " I would
recommend you to be rather lenient towards her till we get
through over there ; it won't do to undertake too much at
once, you know."
" I 'm all obedience, holy father ! " replied she, sarcastically.
" The child shall be trotted on my knee every day, if you say
so!"
" Come, come, mother ! don't be vexed. Yon shall have
your own way with her very soon ; you know, as well as I,
what my object is."
" Well, let her rest," said the lady ; but what about Sis-
ter Agnes? She's as incorrigible as ever, though I have tried
every torture you suggested, till I thought she would die under
my hands."
" May the devil take her ! " muttered Bernaldi, his brow
darkening at the obstinacy of the poor nun. " We must
change our course towards her. Severity won't move her ;
we 'II try w,hat flattery and pretended kindness 'II do."
" I 'II leave that game for you to play ! " said the haughty
mm ' *
240 ANNA CLAYTON.
woman ; " I 've no fancy for such things. It 's my opinion,
though, that nothing we can do will change her determina-
tion."
" She shall change, or, by heaven?, I '11 put her out of the
way, and make a will to suit myself!" cried the infuriated
priest.
" That 's what you ought to have done long ago," coolly
answered the superioress.
" I should, but for Lord De Vere'g brother," said Bernaldi.
" He still holds Lady Emilie's property, and would not be
likely to give it up without a strict investigation."
" He does not know where she is, you say."
" No, nor never will. I have told him that she has gone
to France, and he thinks she is still there. He would not
dream of looking for her so near home."
" Well, but, if we should succeed in getting her to make
this will, how would you manage 1 "
" Why, don't you see 1 I should tell him she came here
the very day before she died, and, calling for a lawyer, caused
such a will to be drawn up and sealed, without our knowledge
or consent ; and then handing him the will, still sealed, he
could suspect nothing."
" No doubt, you would make a good story of it ! " said th J
mother, laughing. " Come, let 's have a glass of wine over it,
and drink to the success of all our plans ! "
Myrtie crept softly through the narrow, dark hall, on each
side of which were ranged the cells of the hapless inmates,
and, reaching at length one which had been designated as
Sister Agnes', she knocked timidly, and was quickly admit-
ANNA CLAYTON. 241
tod by the nun into her little dormitory. Blinded by her
tears the day before, Myrtie had not noticed how pale and
emaciated Sister Agnes looked, and she started at the wan
face and figure before her. The nun smiled sadly, as she
drew the little girl closely to her side, and, throwing her arm
affectionately round her, said,
" You are not afraid I am a ghost, are you ? "
" O, no, ma'am ! " replied Myrtie, " but I 'm sorry to see
you look so sick ! "
A tear dropped from the nun's eye at these simple words,
the first of sympathy she had heard for many a year, and she
felt strangely drawn to the little creature beside her.
" What is your name, dear ? " she asked.
" Myrtie, ma'am ! "
" Myrtie, that 's a very pretty name ! How old are
you?"
" I 'm twelve, and Charlie 's fourteen."
" Who 's Charlie, pray ? " said Sister Agnes, amused at the
child's earnestness and simplicity.
" Why, Charlie 's my brother, ma'am ! " answered Myrtie,
with a little surprise that he should not be known by every-
body.
"Where is he now, Myrtie?"
The eye drooped and the little bosom heaved, as she replied,
" They 'vc put him into some such bad place as this, I sup-
pose ; " then, growing bolder/she added, " but we mea'n to get
away when we 're older."
" What do you mean by that, my child ? " asked the aston-
ished nun.
"0, I mustn't tell, cause Charlie told me not to; but
21
242 ANNA CLAYTON.
you would n't hurt us, would you ? " and Myrtle looked up,
with confiding innocence, into the sweet, sad face above her.
" Hurt you, my poor child ! " exclaimed Sister Agnes,
becoming more and more interested, " never, never ! Come,
Bit down here and tell me all your little story ; for Sister
Agnes will be your friend always."
Myrtie did not doubt her in the least ; and she confided all
she knew of herself, Charlie, Margery and Ralph, into the
ear of her willing and sympathizing listener. When she had
done, Sister Agnes pressed her more closely to her heart, and
imprinted a warm kiss on her cheek.
" Myrtie, darling," said she, " your short life has been a
gad one, but such suffering as you never dreamed of awaits
you in this place. You must not stay here. But go now,
dear, or you will be missed ; come to me as often as you
can slip away without being seen, for my heart will long
for your innocent sympathy, to beguile its wretchedness."
" Sweet child ! " murmured the nun, closing the door
after Myrtie's retreating form, and throwing herself upon
her hard pallet ; " must she too be sacrificed ? No, it must
not, shall not be ! Though I may never see my childhood's
home, or the dear friends of my youth, this poor lamb mu^t
be restored to- its fold. How strangely has she touched a
chord in my memory, bringing back long-forgotten scenes
and familiar faces of the world in which I once lived ! And
for what have I exchanged those sweet memories ? ay, for
what ! Let the gloomy walls of this my prison-house hear
my reply : For an existence terrible as the tortures of a lost
soul ! 0, my beloved father, for this have I left you to die
in loneliness and grief j for this I have sacrificed every
ANNA CLAYTON. 243
earthly hope ! And now, as my soul is swiftly passing to its
dread account, what have I to look or hope for ? Nothing,
nothing, bat the darkness and despair of an unknown fu-
turity ! "
CHAPTER XXV.
" T is fearful building upon any sin ;
One mischief entered, brings another in ;
The second pulls a third, the third draws more,
And they for all the rest set ope the door."
"I TELL ye, Judy, your coffee 's thicker 'n mud, and these
rolls 'd weigh a pound a piece ! I can't eat none on 'em, any
way ! " and Ralph bounced out of the house, slamming the
door after him, and leaving untasted the nice breakfast Judy
had so carefully prepared for him.
" Goodness gracious ! " exclaimed she, placing her hands
on her hips, and looking with astonishment through the win-
dow at his ungainly figure as it shambled down the garden,
" what has come over that fellow ? Why, he 's only fit for the
madhouse, and has n't been, since those children went away.
Coffee all muddy, indeed ! when I made it fresh and nice,
and settled it with an egg a-purpose for him ! 0, laws a
massy ! well, I b'lieve men are all alike, after all ! " and,
with this sage conclusion, she sat down in moody silence to
partake the slighted repast.
Ralph weeded away most vigorously in his large flower-bed,
often, in his abstraction, mistaking one for the other, till the
ANNA CLAYTON. 245
confused mass at his feet recalled his attention, and he hastily
gathered up the waste in a basket, and deposited it in an un-
noticed corner of the garden. While thus occupied, a sound
like that of a person scratching on the other side of the wall
attracted his attention, and, climbing up, he perceived a man
with the cowl and cassock of an Augustine friar. At the
same instant, the monk, looking up, accosted him
" Are you Ralph, the gardener ? "
" I 'm Ralph Riley, and nobody else ! " was his reply.
" Well, come down to that little opening in the wall, yonder.
I have something to say to you."
Ralph looked a little suspicious, but ho moved along
to the place designated, and waited for the stranger to
speak.
" You had a little boy here," said the monk, in a whisper,
" named Charlie. Do you know what has become of him ? "
" He 's gone to the St. Augustine," answered Ralph, la-
conically.
" Have you ever tried to see him ? "
" No, 'cause it's no use."
" Would you like to see and talk with him ? "
" Would n't I ! " cried Ralph, looking up, joyfully.
" Well, the poor fellow is nearly heart-broken ; and I took
pity on him, and promised to find you out, and bring hinn
tidings of his little sister, Myrtle."
Then, he 's told ye about her," and Ralph's countenance
fell ; " but, he '11 never see her agin." <
"How? Why so?''
" O, she 's gone to be a nun ; but they '11 kill her afore
she 's old enough for that ! "
21*
246 ANNA CLAYTON.
" When did she go ? " asked the monk, without noticing
the last part of Ralph's answer.
" About a month ago the day after Charlie went away."
A shade of disappointment crossed Father Ambrose's face
(for it was he) ; and, after a moment's thoughtfulness, he said,
" Poor Charlie ! it will almost kill him to hear of this ; but,
if you will come to this place just after sundown to-night, I
will manage some way to get him here, so that you can tell
him all about it. He will bear it better from you."
" I '11 be here, and thank ye too," Ealph quickly rejoined,
and they parted.
" Wai," thought he, " I 'm mighty glad he 's got a friend ;
but my poor birdie 's all alone 'mong them great ugly nuns.
I must go 'n tell Margery 'bout this."
Pity, indignation and grief, alternately prevailed in the
gardener's heart, as he poured out its wretchedness to his
willing listener.
" Now, Ealph," said Marguerite, as he concluded, "you must
know the great purpose for which I pray that my life may be
spared. These children, Ealph, that noble boy, and Myr-
tie, lovely as an angel, must be rescued from the terrible fate
to which they are consigned. You do not know the reason
of their treatment ; but listen, and I will tell you. Their father,
Sir Charles Duncan, left an immense property, which, at the
death of their grandmother, will fall to these two alone. Now,
the bishop yes, Ealph, the bishop and priest together havo
planned to keep these children within their grasp, that they
may secure the property to themselves, and the church.
Shame upon me ! I was a third party in this wrong ; but my
eyes are opened, and my heart too, I trust, and now I only
CLAYTON. . 247
live to make reparation. You, Ralph, better than anybody
else, can aid me in this; and, after the little you have seen
of what their life must be as they are, I know you will do
everything in your power."
" That I will," said Ralph, to whom this version of the case
was new ; " but what '11 we do ? "
" We most send those children back to their excellent
mother," slowly and emphatically replied Marguerite.
Ralph scratched his head, in the greatest bewilderment.
" How are ye 'gon to do it ? " he asked.
" I do not know myself yet ; bat I feel persuaded there
will some way open for them. I may die first, but you,
Ralph, must never rest till it is accomplished. Will you
promise me this?"
" Yes, I promise;" and Ralph crossed himself, with so-
lemnity.
" All you can do now," continued Marguerite, " is to cheer
them up, and encourage them to hope for the future.
" I '11 tell Charlie, to-night, that as sartin as you and I live
he '11 be got away from that hole," said Ralph, warming up.
" And I could n't help sayin' some such thing to my poor
birdie when she looked so drefful at me."
" You did right, Ralph ; we will save them yet.' ;
" I don't see how it 's 'gon to be done ; but I '11 tell 'em so,
any how." And Ralph left the cottage more puzzled, but with
a lighter heart, than he entered it.
It was dusk when he repaired to the rendezvous the monk
had proposed, so that he could not see- Charlie's pale face, or
its woe-begone expression ; but the tremulous voice with which
the little fellow begged to see his sister completely overcame
248 ANNA CLAYTON,
Ralph, and the big tears chased each other down his cheek
as he told the boy of Myrtle and her trials. Father Ambrose
stood by, but something seemed to affect his eyes, and he
turned away to wipe them.
" Charlie ! " whispered Ralph, " guess what Margery and
I 've been talkin' about, this afternoon ; we 're 'gon to git you
away from here, and send you home to your mother."
" How can you, Ralph ? " asked Charlie.
" That 's jest what I asked myself, but we 're 'gon to, some
how."
" 0, Ralph, how kind you are to say that ! Ever since I
came here I Ve prayed to see my mother ; and one night I
thought I saw her among the angels ; but I 'm afraid I shall
die before I can go to her."
" No fear o' that, Charlie, if ye only keep up good heart.
Ye can stan' it a spell longer in that 'tarnal old hole, can't
ye?"
" 0, yes, Ralph ; I could bear anything if I knew I should
go with Myrtie and live at our own home again."
" Wai, jest consider that 's settled, and cheer up, my boy."
" I will, Ralph; but can't I see Myrtie again till then?"
" I don't see no way ; they keep her mighty close ; 't was
as much as / could do to get one sight o' her sweet face."
Charlie's breast heaved, and tears fell thick and fast at this
disappointment; but the severe discipline of the last few
weeks had taught him to control his feelings, which he quickly
did, and, with a trembling voice, sent a message of love to
the dear sister he had so longed to see.
Father Ambrose had not been an unmoved spectator of this
scene. For years his heart had not been so touched as now,
ANNA CLAYTON. 249
and he could with difficulty restrain himself from falling on
the boy's neck, to weep with him in his misery. From that
moment the orphans cause became his own, and with heart
and soul he entered into all their plans, proving himself a
friend indeed to the friendless, and cheering Charlie on
through trials and sufferings, by ever pointing to a golden
future as the requital for all these woes.
Ralph's perplexity increased each day, as a thousand new
schemes were planned and rejected by him and Marguerite,
while still the burden seemed resting on them.
" We must try to be patient," Marguerite would say to
him ; " such a daring feat as ours requires time, as well as
the most careful management. I do not doubt we shall
accomplish it ; but it may be month?, and even years, hence."
" 0, dear, dear, and my birdie feelin' so dreffully ! I tell
ye, she can't stan' it, no way." And Ralph would run off to
conceal his agitation.
One day he came to Marguerite, with a very serious air,
and asked her to bring him a cup of tea, at the same time
taking from his pocket a email paper.
" Why, Ralph," said she, " what is the matter now? what
arc you going to do ? "
" You '11 see, Margery, if you bring me the tea." And,
willing to indulge him in his strange conceit, she made the
tea and brought it to him. Very deliberately unfolding tho
little paper, he poured its contents into the cup.
" There ! " said he, " now I 've done what I promised to ;
but I would n't advise ye to drink it, that 's all."
More astonished than ever, Marguerite exclaimed, " Why,
Ralph ! what does all this mean ? "
250 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Don't ye know," said he, coming close to her, and speak-
ing very low, " his ruv'rence told me I might go to see Myrtie
if I 'd do somethin' for him 'thout tellin' on 't?"
Yes, Ralph, but go on ! "
" Wai, this mornin', jest as I was comin' over here, he cum
down the garden mighty pleasant-like, and says he, ' Have
you seen Marguerite lately ? ' I told him no, but I 's jest goin'
over there. "Was ye ? ' says he ; ' then I want to say some-
thin' to ye first ;' and, upon that, he took this paper out o' his
pocket, and says he, ' You know, Ralph, you promised to do
anything I bid ye, if I let ye see Myrtie often.'
" ' Often ! ' said I ; ' but I have n't seen her but once, and
then I had to come to yur ruv'reuce afore they 'd let me in.'
" ' 0, well,' said he, ' you may be sure that won't hap-
pen agin ; they did n't understand it over there ; you may go
to-morrow, if ye wish.' I jumped right up, I tell ye, when
he said that. ' But,' ses he, you must first do as I tell ye.'
' That I will,' ses I ; and then he gave me this paper, and told
me it was somethin' to make ye stronger, and that I must jest
put it into yur tea, 'thout yur knowin it. ' Yes, sir, yur
ruv'rence,' ses I, ' I '11 do it.' I did n't let on that I 'spected
anything ; but I thought 't would be jest as well if ye knowed
what he said."
" Ralph, you are a noble fellow j you have saved my life.
I have known for a long time that he wished me out of the
way ; but I r m too wary for him. Well he knew that none
other could have done this deed ; but you I should not have
watched, and, therefore, he chose his instrument well."
" What '11 1 say to him, though, when he asks me 'bout it ? "
" Tell him you lid as he bid you, and leave the rest to me,
ANNA CLAYTON. 51
Poor, pitiful fool ! my vengeance is cot yet completed, as ho
shall find, to his sorrow."
" I could n't have you die, DO how, I toll ye," said Ralph,
his eyes glistening.
" I don't expect to live long, Ralph ; something within
tells me my days are numbered ; but not by kis hand must I
die, though he thus wills it. Profess strict obedience to him,
Ralph, but fail not to confide to me all he says ; for thus only
can those children be saved ! "
" I '11 do it never fear but what I will ! ' Ralph ex-
claimed, earnestly.
" Are you going to sec Myrtie to-morrow ? "
" Indeed I am ; I must cheer up my poor birdie, or she '11
die."
" Tell her Margery loves her, prays for her, and will try
to save her."
" I '11 tell her we 're goin' to save her. I tell ye it makes
me feel right wicked to have her shut up so from all the buds
and flowers, aud nice frolics, she used to like so well."
" It won't be long, Ralph ; she '11 soon be as free as the
birds."
" That 's a fact, and Ralph Riley's old feet '11 follow her
to the world's end. I must go home now, or his ruv'ienco
'11 be missin' me; look out all round, Margery, won't ye? "
" You may be sure I -shall, more now than ever, after
what you have told me, Ralph."
Much to his surprise and gratification, Ralph was admitted
without a question to the spacious hall of the convent, and
Myrtie came bounding with joy to meet him. For a few
moment* he neither knew nor carod for aught gave that hit)
252 ANNA CLAYTON
birdie was in his arms once more. Then, as he held her from
him to see if she had changed, he became conscious that a pair
of gray eyes were fixed steadily upon them, watching every
word and movement. This so disconcerted him that he could
only clasp Myrtie more closely to his heart, in silence. At
length a loud knocking at the outer door, and the entrance of
visitors, diverted the attention of the superioress, and Ralph
improved the opportunity thus afforded him to whisper words
of comfort and hope into his birdie's heart. That little heart
beat quick at the mention of Charlie's name, and his simple,
affectionate message was treasured midst her tears. Then her
little confidences were all poured into the ear ever open to her
slightest word, and Ralph was made acquainted with all dear
Sister Agnes had said and done, and how she had promised to
try and help her to get away from the convent, before she was
old enough to take the veil.
"What a relief it was to her faithful, true-hearted friend,
when Myrtie assured him that she had not been treated so
badly since he was there before ! To be sure, nobody but
Sister Agnes had spoken a pleasant word to her ; but then
they did n't whip her, and make her lie all night on a hard
stone floor, as they used to, and so she got along pretty
well, and he must not cry any more about her, for she could
bear it till
She did not finish this sentence, for the sharp gray eyes
were again upon them; and the mother said, in no very
pleasant tone,
" Your whispered conference has been too long, already ;
you will go directly to your tasks, Myrtie, and your old
friend will be careful not to repeat his long visit again."
>.".'..
ANNA CLAYTON. 253
What cared Ralph for her sour words and looks ? He had
held his birdie to his heart, and found her better than his
fears anticipated ; and was he not soon to see her freo
among the hills of her own native home? Lighter-hearted
than he had been since Myrtic left tho cottage, Kalph returned
to his labor and his schemes.
* *
* *
IP
.
I
CHAPTER XXVI.
"" And doth not a meeting like this make amends
For all the long years I 've been wandering away ? '
TEN years ! And how lightly has their swift passage
touched the cheek and brow of Herbert Lindsey's lovely wife !
Care and trouble have been strange guests in their peaceful
manse; and, but for the deep sympathy which made the
sorrows of another her own, Bessie's days would have been
passed in almost cloudless sunshine. The little olive-plants that
gather around her table give her a matronly air, by no means
unbecoming ; and if the man of God, in rebuking sin among
Ms people, often feels that pride and idolatry are to be espe-
cially guarded against in his own heart, as he gazes at his
home treasures, who can wonder? Herbert Lindsey feels,
and rightly, too, that to the humble, fervent piety and holy
example of his wife may be traced, in a great measure, his
own eminent success. Beloved he cfrtainly is for his many
excellences and devotion to his spiritual calling; but the
words of wisdom which fall from his lips seem to have a deeper
significance in the pure and heavenly life shining forth from
the pastor's home.
And Anna, too, whom we left long years since at the bridal
altar, mingling with its sacred vows a mother's unceasing
ANNA CLAYTON. 255
prayers for her lost ones, how has her heart been sustained
in its still hopeless bereavement ? Alas ! the grave must
long since have given its silent response, but for the noble,
unwearying devotion of him who uttered no unmeaning vow
when he received to his heart the broken flower, and promised
to cherish and protect it from every rude blast. Well and
faithfully has he kept that pledge ; and, though each year
the fragile form of his beautiful bride bonds more droopingly
upon his bosom, as the mother's hopes, one by one, fade away,
yet the warm, loving glance which ever meets his own tells
him that in her spirit's shrine he is forever embalmed. Dear
to him is the task of winning back the beloved life he has ever
worshipped ; and happiness deep and unutterable, though
often sad and subdued, reigns in the home of Robert Gra-
ham. Their little coterie of friends remains unbroken ; for
death, at that fell tragedy, stood back aghast, daring only to
point its skeleton finger to the circle vanquished by a more
terrible foe.
Seventy winters tell their snowy tale in the venerable
locks of the village squire, while Mrs. Clayton still faith-
fully retains her post by his side, cheering him through
life's last days, untouched herself by time's quick flight.
Near the old stone mansion Robert reared a beautiful homo
for his bride ; and now another, no less costly or elegant, is
placed by its side, and Nelly Lc-c, proud and happy, is its
presiding genius. Like a butterfly she flits through each
happy home, carrying light and joy to all ; then, closing her
wings in her own bower, she sinks with a grateful, overflow-
ing heart, and pours forth her simple orisons for him who has
256 ANNA CLAYTON.
thus sheltered her from the cold storms of this pitiless world
in his paternal arms.
Nelly must needs be grateful ; for the true-hearted Quaker
has nobly redeemed his promise to the friendless child of
charity, and no father could more tenderly watch over his
awn than does James Lee cherish his adopted daughter. Only
one cause had Nelly for unhappiness ; that was in the obscur-
ity of her birth. Could she be assured that honest though
abject poverty had been the lot of her parents, then would her
mind be at rest ; but the blood tingled painfully through her
veins as the humiliating thought often forced itself upon her
that she might be the child of shame. She would not disturb
the peace of her dear father for so had she learned to call
Mr. Lee by such vague fancies ; but still they preyed silently
upon her young heart.
Of his early history Mr. Lee seldom spoke, save to Kobert
and his wife ; and they only gathered that some great sorrow
had burdened his youth, the secret of which would go with
him to his grave. But not thus was the calm, submissive
spirit in which he had received these sore chastisements to
be rewarded not such the requital of his kindness to the
orphan !
" A letter for you, father," said Nelly, as he came home,
one evening, " and a singular-looking missive it is, too ; " and
she handed him a package bearing a foreign stamp and seal.
He took it, gazed earnestly at the superscription, and then, as
his eye fell on the stamp, he trembled violently, and retired
to his own room before breaking the seal. One, two, and even
three hours passed, and still he returned not, till Nelly,
ANNA CLAYTON. 257
unable longer to endure the suspense, ventured to knock
timidly at his door.
" Come in, dear child," he cried ; and, holding out his hand
as she approached him, he said, in an agitated voice, " Come
hither, my daughter ; here is a mystery to be unravelled."
" Does it nearly concern you, father, and is it anything
very serious ? " she inquired, anxiously.
" More serious, and more nearly concerning me, than thee
can imagine, Nelly ! 13ut first I must tell thee that which I
had thought to bury with me a tale of wretchedness that
made this world a wilderness, till thou, dear child, stirred
again the fountain of love in my heart ! " He paused, and
Nelly drew nearer to him, clasping his hand with filial affec-
tion, while she exclaimed,
" What does not the poor orphan owe to this hand, that
raised her from degradation, and suffered her to win a place
in the noblest heart that ever throbbed ! "
" Nay, nay, my child ! thou knowest not how thou hast
brought back to life thy poor father. When all his sad tale
is told thee, then, perhaps, thou wilt see the glorious mission
it has been given thee to fulfil."
" Bless you, my dear father, for those words ! and now I
listen with intense interest to your story, and the connection
it has with that letter."
Mr. Lee shaded his face, that its varying emotions might
not be visible to her, and then proceeded :
" In my early youth, Nelly, I wooed and won a beautiful
bride. Carrie Linton, an only daughter, beloved by all, and
sought by many richer and more noble than I, gave to me the
priceless treasure of her love ; and I could only worship and
22*
258 ANNA CLAYTON
idolize the being who had thus ennobled me. In my eyes she
was all perfection ; but friends, who looked with calmer gaze
at this paragon, cautioned me against her light and trifling
character. Blinded as I was, it seemed to me but the exu-
berance of a happy, loving heart, all too soon to be checked
by the serious, earnest life which she well knew awaited her
as my wife. She loved me passionately (0, 1 will never doubt
that ! ), and we both trusted to the serenity of the future for
our happiness. Her friends, too, saw the incongruity of the
gay, fashionable belle becoming a sober Quaker's wife. But
when did love ever stop to consider or reason ?
" Carrie and I were married in the full expectation of a
quiet, blissful union ; and for weeks and months naught dis-
turbed our deep, tranquil happiness, while she was pronounced
by all a model Quaker's wife. The advent of a little being,
who usurped her mother's name, and inherited her beauty,
seemed to perfect our joy. Thus were the skies bright above
us, and, as we thought, our path strewed with flowers. Wh,en
little Carrie was three months old, I was called to England to
attend to some important business, and left, with many tears,
my home Eden. Little thought I that a serpent was lurking
around that sacred bower.
" My wife, engrossed with the care of her little nursling
and other home duties, seldom wrote; but the charming simplic-
ity of her affectionate messages repaid me for their scarcity.
The business which called me away proved much more intri-
cate than I had anticipated, and consequently detained me
abroad beyond all my expectations. I had not heard from
home for many months, when one morning a package was
handed me, bearing the familiar stamp, but in a strange hand-
ANNA CLAYTON. 259
writing. I tore it open with a vague presentiment of coming
evil But who can picture my despair when, devouring ita
contents, I learned that my wife, at the instigation of base
calumniators and the entreaties of her friends, had '.eft for-
ever her husband and home, and that legal proceedings were
already commenced for our separation ! Again and again
did those terrible words burn themselves into my brain, ere I
realized their dread import Then, when the overwhelming
truth forced itself upon me, delirium mercifully blotted out
those first hours of anguish, and I awoke to consciousness
under the gentle ministrations of my kind hostess, and excel-
lent physician, who, the better to understand my case, deemed
it necessary to read the dreadful letter. Unutterable sym-
pathy dwelt in every line of their faces, as they bent over me
in unwearied efforts to restore the shattered senses.
" Despite all their remonstrances, I determined to return at
once to my home (alas ! no more a home for me), and prevent,
if possible, the terrible consummation. But I arrived too
late ! Slander had scattered its foul venom before me ; and
T, who had been toiling day and night that I might the sooner
return to my loved ones, was stigmatized as a base deserter
of my wife and child for the low-born pleasures of a volup-
tuary ! The fiat had gone forth my doom was sealed, and
my home stripped of its idols ! Agonizingly I besought one
interview with her who was my wife ; but, to prevent this,
they had removed her far away, and I never saw her again.
It was in vain to refute the charges ; it could not give me
back my treasures, and what cared I for aught else ? Since
that time I have wandered over the earth, finding neither rest
nor happiness, till t/tou, dear .Nelly, caiuc like a God-send to
260 ANNA CLAYTON.
my heart, and opened again its sweet fountains. To me hast
thou been as my own child ! "
" 0, my father ! " cried Nelly, raising her streaming eyes
to his, "what sorrows have been yours! and yet you endure
all in uncomplaining silence ! "
" There is my strength, my daughter ! " said he, pointing
above, " and there, only, can the secrets of my heart be dis-
closed. But when I meet her pure spirit above, then, then
will she know the truth and faithfulness of her husband ! "
" But what has this to do with it, father?" asked Nelly,
pointing to the letter.
" Much, every way, my dear ; for it gives me the startling
information that my child still exists in some place unknown
to her maternal relatives. It seems though I knew it -not
before that Carrie left them all, and sought some obscure
place, where she lived in sorrow, and died with grief. Her
dear remains still rest they know not where, and my own
child is, like me, a wanderer on the earth. A large fortune
(so this letter tells me) awaits her when found. But not for
that will I now seek her. Heaven grant me the precious boon
of clasping once more to my heart this dear image of my lost
Carrie ! "
" Amen ! " responded Nelly, from her heart.
Mr. Lee gazed lovingly at the unselfish, noble girl, as he
added, "To-morrow I must leave thee; and, should my
prayers be answered, thou wilt lose no place in thy father's
heart."
" Think not of me, dear father ! " she replied ; " my heart
will pray unceasingly for your success, and the happiest
moment of my life will be when I see your Carrie locked in
ANNA CLAYTON. 261
her father's arms ! " Had the gift of prophely been conferred
on Nelly, she could not have spoken more truthfully.
The next morning, pale and agitated, James Lee went forth
on his errand of love. Weeks passed ere the faintest trace of
his lost treasures could be found ; yet he wearied not in his
ceaseless search. At length an incident, trifling in itself, led
him to the obscure but charming village of W , where
he learned from an old lady that, many years before, a lady
and child inhabited the small cottage near her, just in the
edge of the wood. She " could tell but little about them,"
she said, " for, if her memory served her right, no one knew
or visited them." Where they went, or what became of them,
she did not know, for she " went away about that time to live
with her daughter."
Vague and unsatisfactory as was this information, it yet
determined Mr. Lee to remain and trace the history of this
lady. He soon chanced to meet a nurse, who had been em-
ployed in that capacity for thirty years, and professed to
know everything about everybody. From her he drew all
that was necessary to convince him that here, indeed, his lost
Carrie lived and died. Where she was laid not even the old
nurse could tell ; and his widowed heart wandered among the
graves, if perchance her spirit might lead him to its resting-
place.
But his daughter where was she? All that he could
learn was, that some person had taken her away ; but where
none knew, or what was to be her fate. Sadly the father
pursued his anxious search, hope and fear alternately pre-
vailing in his breast, till finally his perseverance was re-
warded by hearing that the little orphan child (as she was
262 ANNA CLAYTON.
supposed to be) l&d been carried to a remote town. Thither
he went at once, only to learn that from thence she had been
removed to another town, more distant, and so on. Following
the wanderings of the friendless girl, he had well-nigh yielded
to his anxiety and grief for the fate of his only, darling child.
With what surprise and consternation did he at length trace
her to the pauper's home in the village of B , the very
place he had so often visited with Bessie, and from whose
church-yard he had taken Nelly to his home !
A thousand wild, delirious fancies filled his brain, as he
thought of Nelly's story of her own childhood and unknown
parentage. Heart-sick with suspense, and unable to control
his agitation, the bewildered father entered the asylum of
poverty, and hurriedly inquired if any of its inmates bore
the name of Carrie Lee.
" Not any," was the laconic answer.
" But such an one did come here, in the year 18 ? "
" Very likely," answered the overseer, " but I was not here
at that time."
" Hast thou no records ? "
" Yes, sir, but the town-clerk keeps them."
" For Heaven's sake, friend," exclaimed Mr. Lee, slipping
some money into his hand, " go bring me those records ! "
The man obeyed with alacrity this golden order, and soon
returned with the important documents. With trembling
hands Mr. Lee turned over page after page, till, in the very
year he had named, he found an entry of the reception, not
of Carrie, but of Nelly Lee. The most careful scrutiny
proved that no other of that name had been entered there.
Scarcely daring to trust his thoughts, the half-crazed father
ANNA CLAYTON. 263
found the widow of the former overseer, who was in nowise
loth to give him a bit of the gossip of her palmy days Dis-
tracted between uncertainty and hope, his incoherent questions
were slightly heeded by the woman, who evidently thought him
a little " out of his head." The rare opportunity, however,
of displaying her knowledge, could not be resisted, and she
rattled on most unmercifully about all the children " she had
been a mother to." Mr. Lee listened with the utmost impa-
tience, hoping she would at length rciu-h the longed-for name ;
nor was he disappointed. " Then," said she, "there was the
poorest little creetur you ever did see cum one day, with a
man, who sed they 'd kep her long enough in his town, and wo
must take our spell. She 'd been round every town jist so,
nobody knowed where she cum from, or who she 'd ever be-
longed to. I tuk a mighty likin' to her, she 's so terrible
putty ; so I kcp her longer 'n I need to, and then an old maid,
here, Miss Nancy, took her right hum with her, and made a
darter on her. She was mighty curus 'bout her name, tho'.
Sumtimes she 'd say 'twas Carrie, and then she'd cry to be
called Nelly; so my old man put it on to his books Lord
a'marcy, the man's gone clean crazy!-" exclaimed she, as
with her last words Mr. Lee rushed out of tho house and
down the street as far as she could see, " I guess I '11 bar
my door, cause I'm a lone widder, and like as not he '11 bo
back agin." So saying, she secured her house, and sat down
to consider the event, while the object of her fears was riding
in hot haste towards his home, his heart bounding with wild
ecstucy.
" Come, Anna," said Mrs. Lindsey, one pleasant morning,
" I have called for you to walk with me over to Nelly's."
264 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I have been thinking of the same thing this morning,
Bessie, and will be ready to join you in a few moments."
"Don't you think Nelly is very much changed since Mr.
Lee went away ? " asked Anna, as they pursued their walk.
" Poor girl, she seems lonely and low-spirited, I think ! "
said Bessie, " She is so fond of him, she cannot bear to have
him out of her sight."
" I know she is," said Anna, " but it seems to me that is
not all that troubles her. Have you noticed how pale and
careworn she looks, of late, as though some secret sorrow
preyed upon her ? "
" You are a closer observer than I, Anna ; I confess I have
not thought much of it. But there she is, coming out to meet
us ; she must answer for herself."
" Nelly, dear," said Anna, when they were quietly seated,
" we have been thinking that you look quite sad, lately."
" Do I ? " answered Nelly, smiling. " I am very far from
feeling sad just at this moment, I am so glad to see you
both!"
" When do you expect Mr. Lee? "
" I cannot tell you," said Nelly ; " his return is very uncer-
tain. I look for him every day, and yet he may not come for
weeks perhaps months."
" I miss him very much," said Bessie ; " our circle never
seems complete without him."
"And Robert," added Anna, "can scarcely get along
without his right-hand man, as he calls Mr. Lee."
Scarcely were these words uttered, when all three started,
as a carriage drove furiously up to the door.
" There he is ! " cried Nelly, violently agitated, and at the
ANNA CLAYTON. 265
moment James Leo burst into the room, and caught
her to his heart. " My daughter ! my own child ! " he cried ;
"thank God, I have found thee at last!" Then, as Nelly
looked wonderingly in his face, he added, " Dear, precious
image of my lost Carrie, why have I not before seen thy
mother's wondrous beauty in thy sweet face? Nolly, thou art
indeed mine! Tis thy father's arms that embrace thee
thine own father ! Thou art no more Nelly, but the sweet
namesake of her that bore thee, my sainted Carrie ! "
Joy like this who can picture? when the dark waves
that have so long rolled and dashed at will against his strug-
gling heart are stayed, and a gentle voice comes o'er the
waters, crying " Peace, peace ! " And thou too, noble girl,
hast now gained the only desire of thy heart an honorable
parentage.
Sincere and heart-felt were the tears of joy that mingled
with his own, as Mr. Lee told his tale to the two friends who
had witnessed the strange scene. If in Anna's heart some
murmuring thoughts would whisper what might have been her
joy, that heart replied, at once, " My Father rules the storm,"
and hushed were its murmurings.
"Who can now distrust the beneficence of our God?"
exclaimed Mr. Lee, in the fulness of his heart. " Friend
Anna, thou 'It yet see joy as great as mine the spirit within
tells me thus."
Mournfully shaking her head, Anna joined her friend in
silence, and in deep thought both pursued their homeward
way.
23
*.
I
-^
CHAPTER XXVII.
[ ! think what anxious moments pass b
tfnreen
The birth of plots and their last fatal periods !
! 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
Pilled up with horror and big with death ! "
ADDISON.
THE bishop paced, with impatient steps, the soft-carpeted
floor of his private audience chamber. Something unusual had
evidently occurred to disturb him ; for as often as he passed
and repassed the window, he would look anxiously into the court-
yard below, as though watching for the arrival of some one.
" What a vexatious piece of business this is ! " at length he
exclaimed. " I 'm really afraid those blood-hounds will track
him here before Bernaldi gets him safely off. How provoking
that, just because he served us once (and he was well paid for
it, too), he must needs call upon us to save his neck from the
gallows ! If I was sure he would keep mum till he did swing,
de'il a bit I 'd do for him, I know. But it 's just the way
with these fellows ! let them once get any hold on you, and
there 's no end to their demands."
" Come in ' " cried he, in answer to a gentle knock at the
door, and the object of his soliloquy presented himself.
"Ah, Manning, how are you, this morning?" said he,
ANNA CLAYTON. 2G7
extending his hand. " Are you rested from your wild-goose
chase ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! bift that was a good one, though."
"I must own that I feel considerably used up," replied
the other, with a yawn. " To tell the truth, I did n't dare
to sleep with but one eye at a time ; therefore, you will excuse
me, most excellent father, if I stretch myself a while on this
dainty lounge."
" Certainly ! Make yourself at home, Mr. Manning ; you
need all the rest you can get, as you have quite a little jour- ,
ney before you yet."
" The deuce I have ! But how am I to get there without
being seen ? " '
" Father Adolpho, with his shaven beard Hind pate, accom-
panying his holy brother on missions of mercy, need not fear
to meet the officers of justice face to face. Little will they
suspect him to be their prison-bird ; " and the bishop laughed
heartily at his own craftiness.
" By Jove,. I could n't have fixed that up better myself! "
cried Philip Manning, springing to his feet as he caught an
inkling of their ingenious plan ; " but I 'm deuced afraid
they '11 be at my heels before we are ready for them."
" Here comes Bernaldi, at last ! " burst from the bishop's
lips, with a sigh of relief; " now we are safe."
Philip Manning could scarcely believe in his own identity
as he surveyed himself in the glass from head to foot, after
leaving Bernaldi's dexterous hands ; and loud and long did
he laugh at the metamorphosed be.ing before him. " You say
that fellow's name " pointing to himself " is Father Adol-
pho. Well, it '11 seem pretty curious ; but I guess I can man-
age it. It 's better, any how, than to have one's neck tied up
L*
268 ANNA CLAYTON.
too tigflt! Where are we bound to, though? I haven't
asked that question yet."
" Father Bernaldi will accompany you to a brotherhood in
a retired spot, where we hope you will be cautious as to your
future conduct. " Your entrance there will bring you under
solemn obligations to obey, perfectly and implicitly, every
command of the church, through its chosen head ; and any
violation of such a pledge would be visited by its severest
penalties."
" Most holy father, I thank thee for thy leniency and kind-
ness to the poor convict ! " exclaimed Manning, with solemn
mockery, falling on his knees before the bishop.
" We know how to treat our friends," replied the bishop,
significantly ; " but rise up now, and hasten away, lest some
untoward event should yet place you in the hands of the law.
Henceforth, let Father Adolpho ' forget that such a being as
Philip Manning existed. Farewell ! "
" I would speak with you a moment," said Bernaldi, return-
ing to the bishop's presence, while the pseudo-monk awaited
him in the hall. " This troublesome affair may detain me
some time from home perhaps a month."
"Well, well," interrupted the bishop; "if you succeed in
ridding us of him, it will be a good month's work."
" No doubt of that," replied the other ; " but what I wish
to say is, that Marguerite seems failing rapidly ; and, should
she require the service of a priest before I return "
" I '11 attend to that, I assure you ! Her last confession
might be rather dangerous for us."
"Just so," said Bernaldi; "and now I go, with your
blessing."
ANNA CLAYTON. 269
11 Thank God, they 're off, at last ! " cried the bishop, as he
watched the speedy departure and retreating forms of the
brother monks. " Now I will go and attend to this thing
immediately."
A visit from the bishop was, of late, something so unusual,
that it caused Marguerite's cheek to flush as he approached
her bedside.
" Benedicite ! " solemnly pronounced he, laying his hand
upon her head : " how is it with thee, my daughter ? "
" Death is not far off," replied she, feebly ; " I feel his
approach."
" And where, my daughter, does your heart rest in this
hour?"
" Upon the mother of my Jesus."
" Nobly answered," said he ; " there let it rest, till by the
intercession of the saints and the prayers of the holy church
she receives you to her bosom, fit companion for saints and
angels."
" But my heart is vile, most holy father."
" Then will it be as the heart of Mary. Let no doubts
P disturb your peace ; for will not the church take care of its
own? and you, who have so faithfully served it, shall be borne
in its sheltering arms to the very gates of bliss ! "
" Your words, most holy father, inspire me with hope that
even such as /may be saved."
"Most assuredly, my daughter; can you doubt it? But,
first, every thought and desire of your heart must be freely
confessed, that it may be cleansed from all its impurity and
. -
270 ANNA CLAYTON.
guilt, Whenever you desire and are fully prepared for
this important act, I will come and receive your words."
" I thank thee, holy father. I will lose no time in sending
to thee, when my soul is ready."
" Till then, farewell, my daughter. God be with thee ! "
Her own soul or those dear children ! Which shall be
saved? To the true Catholic there is no medium ground.
The heart must be laid bare to its inquisitorial dissector, or
the soul will be accursed forever. Marguerite believed this,
for she knew no other way. What wonder, then, that long,
torturing, agonizing struggles rent her feeble frame, ere she
could save, at such a price, objects precious even as they !
But out of that furnace she came forth purified as by fire.
The secret of her heart shall go with her to her grave, thus
did she resolve. And who shall say that the recording angel,
as he registered that solemn expiation, blotted not out with the
penitent's tears her dark page of guilt !
For many days after the bishop's visit the poor invalid
seemed rapidly declining ; yet she earnestly cautioned Kalph
to breathe not a word of it to his master ; " For," said she,
" the last great work of my life is yet unfinished, and till it be
accomplished death itself will, I know, stay its hand."
Ralph was in sad perplexity. That Marguerite should die
without a priest he could not endure to think of; but he feared
to disobey her wishes, lest it should somehow jeopardize the
interests of his " birdie." Marguerite deemed it safer to keep
him in ignorance of the details of her plan for rescuing the
children j but he well understood that the little missives he so
faithfully, though stealthily, conveyed back and forth, had
f *'
ANNA CLAYTON.
some reference to that object, else he would not have so toiled
whole nights to reach a distant town and return again before
his absence could be known. Then, too, it was his hand that
furni.shed her all needed materials for writing, though much
wondering why she, day after day, kept up such a continual
scratching with her pen. Yet he blindly obeyed all her direc-
tions, never doubting her assurance that in so doing he waa
but serving his "birdie." At length, after one of his nocturnal
rambles, Ralph brought her, one morning, a letter whose peru-
sal, though it agitated, seemed to take a load from her spirit.
The hectic deepened on her cheek, the eye burned with new
lustre, as she pressed it to her bosom, exclaiming, " Now am I
ready ! Willingly, blessed Mother of Jesus, do I yield up
my soul for this great boon ! " Hush ! sees she not that cold
shadow stealing silently over her threshold ? Nearer and
nearer it approaches, till she feels its icy breath, and in terror
cries, " Death, spare yet a little longer thy victim ! In
mercy stay thy cold hand till another sun shall set, that my
vow may be accomplished ! " At that piercing ry, the
shadow paused, turned aside, and, with uplifted arm, awaited
the implored reprieve.
" ROB quickly ! " said the dying woman to Ralph, who stood
near ; " bring Charlie to my bedside, for my moments aro
numbered, and I have much to say to him."
Ralph obeyed ; and, through the kind management of
Father Ambrose, quickly returned with the trembling lad.
Two years since, in that very room, Charlie had parted from
Marguerite ; and now, for the first time, they met, met in
the presence of death. With sobs which he could not repress,
275f ANNA CLAYTON.
Charlie kneeled by her bedside, and covered with kisses the
white, emaciated hand.
" My poor boy," said she, motioning him to rise, " we have
no time to lose ; a few hours hence and these lips will be
closed ; but, 0, what a tale must they unfold to your innocent
heart, ere death seals them forever! But, first, Charlie,
promise that you will forgive me, forgive, even though I
have blighted your young life, forgive me for the sake of
the reparation I now seek to make ! "
" 0, Margery ! dear Margery, don't talk so ! " cried Charlie,
with a choking voice. " You and Ralph are all the friends
Myrtie and I have had, and when you are gone what shall we
do?"
u Say that you will forgive me, Charlie ! "
" If there is anything but kindness to forgive, I do from
my heart ! " replied he.
" Now, Ralph," continued she, " good and kind that you
are, will you leave us a while? What I have to say must be
heard by Charlie alone."
" Come nearer, dear child ! your sad, care-worn face tells
me what you are suffering. I know, Charlie, and, O, I knew
too well ! what our darling Myrtie must suffer if she remains
within those dreadful walls ! Do you remember your mother,
Charlie?"
" I don't remember how she looked," he answered ; " but I
have dreamed of her so much lately, I think I should know
her. Why do you ask that? "
" Because I wish you to be like her. Listen now, Charlie,
and I will tell you what I remember of her. When I first
saw her, she was sitting with her babe in her arms, and you,
* *
ANNA CLAYTON. 273
her first-born, was by her side. She looked like an angel ;
and I trembled in her presence, as I thought of the wicked
errand upon which I had come. But I was hardened then ;
and, besides, the wicked man whom I served was always
near to urge me on to the dreadful deed. It was /, Charlie,
who helped to steal you from your beautiful home and angel
mother, and brought you over the cold waters, to .<ien<l your
life in solitude and misery, and your baby sifter too. Think
how it must have broken your mother's heart to have her
treasures thus torn from her ! Long and faithfully have you
been sought for in every corner of the earth ; but no eye can
ever penetrate these hidden places, and she knows not what
has been, the fate of her darling-. My breath fails me; I
wanted to tell you how your young, innocent lives have brought
me to repentance; but, lest I should not have strength, I
have written it all in this " (handing him a package) ; " and
now, before it is too late, let me tell you that Marguerite,
guilty and faithless as she has beea, has done what she could
to repair the great wrong. Yes, Charlie, I have given up
my soul to restore you to your mother Water! quick!
quick ! I faint ! " said the sufferer, falling back on her pillow.
Pale and affrighted, Charlie sprang to her assistance,
entreating, passionately, that she would not leave him thus ;
that, ere death claimed her, she would, in pity, feturn and
save her lost children.
Those accents of entreaty reached her heart ; and, though
death's relentless fingew were grasping their prey, she mur-
mured, incoherently, through her thickening breath, " This
letter take it go to him he will sayje you God will
bless you J know it don't tell Ralph tell Myrtie I
274 ANNA CLAYTON.
died for you that package for your mother what do
I see Jesus will have mercy on me 0, glorious ! glori-
ous!;'
Charlie was alone with the dead ! Affectionately but rev-
erently closing those eyes which had ever beamed kindly on
him, he bent over the still form, and paid his tearful tribute
to her memory. Then, stilling his grief, in that silent pres-
ence he opened Marguerite's legacy his passport home !
The letter which she had given him with her dying breath
caused his heart to leap wildly, as hope, strong and earnest,
sprang up within him. Thus it ran :
" MY DEAR SISTER : You, whom we have for twenty years
mourned as dead, can scarcely imagine the surprise your letter
caused me. It came as from the grave, for you neither tell
me where you are, nor whether I shall ever see you again.
0, why will you keep yourself thus estranged? Our hearts
and arms are open to receive you. I shall never forgive those
priests for enticing you into a convent ; and, could I find you
v now, I would snatch you from their grasp. To show you that
I still love you, my sister, and not without the hope that it
may win you back to me, I will undertake your mission,
though, let me tell you, it is a dangerous one, requiring both
ingenuity and despatch. My vessel will be ready to sail next
Monday ; but, as it may require a longer time for your pro-
teges to effect their escape, I will wait for them, holding
myself in -readiness to slip the cable at very short notice,
^inclosed you Will find minute directions how and where to
find me. If the boy will follow these, he will meet with no
difficulty ; but the girl I should think would need some one to
help her along. You do not tell me who they are, or where
bound, except to New York ; and, perhaps, it is best I should
not know ; but be assured they shall receive every attention
irorn me, on my sister's account.
" What more can I say to induce you to return to us ?
Your uncouth but trusty messenger will absolutely give me
* *
AN HA CLAYfOH. 275
no tidings of you ; and I can only trust that, on my return,
your gratitude, if not affection, will bring you to me. Then
only peace and happiness will be restored to your brother's
heart."
Again and again did Charlie read this precious letter, and
the accompanying note of directions, till every word was in-
delibly stamped in his memory. Then, opening the larger
package Marguerite had designated for his mother, he found
it contained his own and Myrtle's story, from the moment
they were torn from her till now. Enclosed with the rest
was a beautifully embroidered purse, containing all the
earthly possessions of her who had, year by year, hoarded
them for this very purpose. Charlie wept at this last token
of repentance, and, carefully enclosing it, together with tho
invaluable papers, in a small parcel, he wrote to Myrtie to
guard them sacredly, and, by the memory of their blessed
mother, to effect, in some way, her escape to the place desig-
nated in the note ; that the next Monday he would meet her
there, if alive, did she but say she would go. Then, turning
towards the face of the dead, to read her silent approval from
those pallid lips, he breathed one long, last adieu, and left
forever the cottage which had been his prison-house.
" How is she now ? " asked llalph, who had been watching
for him near the garden. .
" She has gone to her rest, Ralph. Bury her there in tho
little spot where Myrtie and I used to play together, and
keep the flowers blooming on her grave, llalph ; for nobly has
she died."
Tho big teara dropped from Ralph's eyes as he answered,
276 ANNA CLAYTON.
" I will, Charlie ; but what '11 now become of you and my
birdie?"
" Good, kind Kalph, what a friend have you been to us !
You shall never be forgotten. Here is a package, Ralph, as
precious as your birdie's life ; will you carry it to her, and
be sure that no one sees it ? "
" That I will," said Ralph, " this very night."
" And be sure you bring me an answer, Ralph. I will be
at that little place in the wall where we met before."
" Never fear to trust Ralph Riley," said the honest fellow,
starting off at once, and drawing his coat-sleeve across his
eyes; " he 'd gf ve up his old life now, if he could save his
birdie."
HAPTER XXVIII.
I am a woman ! nay, a woman wronged . '
BATAOB.
" Ten thousand curses fasten on 'em both !
Now will this woman, with a single glance,
Undo what I 've been laboring all this while ! "
ADDIBOW.
4 I WILL bo there ! " Such w%s Myrtle's simple response
to Charlie's earnest appeal ; but how fraught with meaning
were those little words, speaking courage and hope to his
heart ! Yes, Myrtie would be there, he did not doubt, though
by what means he could not divine ; and ke, too, must be
there, difficult as seemed any way of escape. How intensely
was every thought bent on the accomplishment of his purpose !
Plan after plan was rejected, and still, as the time drew nigh,
the poor boy was more distracted than ever. Father Am %
brose, in his sympathy, attributed Charlie's dejection to the-
loss of Marguerite, and strove by added kindness to soothe
his heart.
" Charlie," said he, one evening, " I noticed at vespers,
to-day, you looked more troubled than usual ; can I do any*
thing to cheer you ? "
278 ANNA CLAYTON. ^
" You have already loaded me with kindness," reolied
Charlie, gratefully ; " I know of no more that .you can do,
unless unless " and he hesitated.
" What is it, my dear boy ? You can surely speak without
reserve to me.'V
" I should so like to visit Marguerite's grave ! " said Charlie j
" she was such a friend to me and Myrtie ! "
Father Ambrose thought a moment, and then, without a
suspicion of the boy's real design, said, in a low voice,
" I am to be on guard, to-night, and, if it will be any com-
fort for you to visit her grave, you can do so without being
noticed."
" 0, I thank you a thousand times ! " cried Charlie, as a
bright gleam of hope flashed into his heart. " You could not
confer a greater kindness. How long will it be safe for me
to stay?'.'
" As long as you wish, my dear boy. I will let you in."
Charlie could scarce refrain from embracing him in his joy,
as he thus saw the way open for his escape. But, wisely
checking himself, he said, with a sad tone, " Poor Margery !
she was all the friend Myrtie and I had for many years ! "
" There," thought Ambrose, " I was right in conjecturing
that her death caused such a change in him. I must try to
favor him more." Then charging Charlie not to hasten home
till he was ready, he left him, on good thoughts intent.
" Perhaps it is wrong to deceive him so," said Charlie to
himself, when he was alone ; ' but, after all, it may make hinj
less trouble than to know all about it. Farewell, good, kind
Father Ambrose ! the prayers of the boy you have befriended
will ever follow you!"
ANNA CLAYTON. 279
To avoid suspicion, Charlie took nothing with him. Bat,
arraying himself in the coarse, homely garb provided for
him, he passed, with cautions steps, through the private
entrance Ambrose had left unfastened for him, and, turning
in pn opposite direction from the cottage, crept along in the
shadow of the wall till he gained safely the highway. O,
how swiftly bounded his feet o'er the glad earth, as with a
joyous heart he traced the way pointed out by Marguerite's
brother ! What though thirty long, weary miles lay before
him. " Mother, Myrtie, and home ! " was the watchword that
lured on his unfaltering steps through that lonely midnight
walk. Press on, brave boy ! thy winged guide will bear thee
safely along to the haven of thy hopes !
But Myrtie, gentle, loving Myrtie, hqw can she es-
cape the sleepless vigilance which surrounds her ? Not even
to look on the cold, lifeless face of her childhood's guardian,
was she suffered to pass those prison-walls, so strictly did
they guard their treasure. But an eye which bolts nor dun*
geons can avert, though they heed it not, is now looking into
that orphaned heart, with power to pity and save. Whence
but from Him came the faith and hope which traced those
simple lines of promise, " I will be there"?
When Ralph gave Myrtie the package Charlie had in-
trusted to him, she flew at once with it to Sister Agnes' cell.
" A letter from Charlie ! " exclaimed the overjoyed girl ;
" only think, Sister Agnes, a letter from Charlie ! the first
one be ever wrote me ; and Ralph is going to wait for me to
answer it. How can 1 ever tell him how much I love him
dear, dear Charlie ! " And she tore open the precious missive
as she stood by the nun'a pallet, and together they devoured
280 AN HA CLAYTON.
each word and line of that earnest, agonizing appeal. Myrtle
rubbed her eyes to assure herself she was not dreaming, and
Sister Agnes hid her face in her hands in thoughtful silence.
" Well, Myrtie," said she, at length, " what reply will you
give your noble brother ? "
" I know not, Sister Agnes, and yet I think I shall go."
The nun looked up with astonishment into the face of the
young girl, radiant with hope, till, catching the inspiration,
she exclaimed, " Yes, Myrtie, I believe you will ; tell him
so."
Tearing a blank leaf from her prayer-book, Myrtie traced
with a pencil those talismanic words, and gave them to Ralph,
who, poor fellow, little knew the import of the message he was
conveying. Charlie had cautioned her in his note not to re-
veal the matter to her old friend; so she suffered him to depart
without telling him that he would not see her again. But
the streaming eye and trembling voice with which she bade
him farewell (in her heart a last one) lingered many a day in
Ralph's memory, causing the answering tears to roll down his
cheek as often as he thought of her emotion.
When Myrtie again sought Sister Agnes, she found her with
flushed cheek and burning brow, intensely absorbed in the
story Marguerite had written for their mother. 0, what a
strange revelation was there made of her own escape from a
perjured and dishonorable marriage with the only one she had
ever loved and that one the father of her dear Myrtie ! How
she longed to see the patient, suffering woman who had been
Charles Duncan's wife ! the woman she had unconsciously
wronged in loving him ! What an additional motive she had
now to seek some way to restore Myrtie to her mother's arms !
ANNA CLAYTON. 281
And Myrtle, too ! how her cheeks tingled at the mention of
her father's perfidy, little suspecting, though, that the proud
Eniilie De Vere and Sister Agnes were one !
All night long the feeble nun tossed restlessly upon her
hard pallet. Visions of the past, in all their dread reality,
came floating by ; while the dim future, with its unknown
terrors, stood like some gaunt spectre, ready to clutch its
prey ! One moment she seemed swiftly gliding through tho
air, encircled by Myrtie's arms, transformed into an angel's;
and then from behind some dark cloud would {>eer forth a
satanic face, in which she could trace the lineaments of her
perfidious lover, when instantly she began to descend lower,
lower, lower, till, in her fright, she woke to find herself alone
in her cheerless cell !
Morning's gray light streamed through the aperture which
served for a window ; but Sister Agnes was too feeble to rise.
Carefully concealing Myrtie's papers about her person, she
summoned the portress, and requested the presence of the
mother superior. Her spirit was stirred within her. Save
Myrtle she miat, though to accomplish it deception and fraud
were necessary. To deceive such characters as she had to
deal with, for such a purpose, seemed to her both right and
just. When, therefore, that worthy personage appeared, in
no very pleasant mood, Sister Agnes accosted her in the most
humble manner, begging her forgiveness for all the trouble
she had occasioned her.
" What good does all your penitence do," answered the
mother, sharply, " so long as you refuse to obey the first
jommand of the church ? "
" That is just what I wished to see you about, this morning,"
t 24*
282 ANNA CLAYTON.
eaid the nun. " It has been revealed to me to-night that I
ought no longer to withhold my substance from the church. I
feel jore than ever that my life is rapidly wasting away, and
what I do must be done quickly. Therefore, if you please,
holy mother, I will attend to making my will without delay."
The superior was so taken by, surprise with this change
in Sister Agnes, that she scarcely knew what to reply. It
seemed highly important to secure the object now, lest she
should lose the effect of this sudden excitement (as she deemed
it) of the sick nun's disordered imagination. But yet, in
Father Bernaldi's absence, how could she manage it ?
" You do not reply," continued Sister Agnes ; " perhaps
you deem me unworthy to make this offering."
" It is not that," said the superior, in a gentle tone j
"your repentance, though it comes late, will doubtless be
accepted. But he who should have the direction of this affair
is absent, and I scarcely know how to proceed."
" You mean Father Bernaldi. How long will he be away?"
" He thought when he left it might be a month*; but he
may come sooner."
Sister Agnes could scarce contain her joy at this intelli-
gence ; it made her plan so much easier. " Heaven knows,"
cried she, anxiously, " whether I shall be alive on his return.
Is there no one to whom this matter can be intrusted ? "
" Your zeal is commendable," replied the mother, approv-
ingly, " and I will consult the bishop at once."
" There is one," continued Sister Agnes, " if he is still liv-
ing, who knows more definitely the extent of my possessions
than I do. Indeed, I doubt if I could define them without
his assistance."
ANNA CLAYTON. 283
" Who is that ? "
" It is Mr. Stuart, the attorney who drew up my deeds. I
think- he now has them in his possession, and I should liko
to show him with what a hearty good-will I give them away."
" I will think of this matter," said the superior, rising to go,
" and, now that you have come to a right decision, I shall
have you removed at once to more comfortable quarters, and
a nurse provided for you. Who should you prefer ? "
" You are too kind, most excellent mother ! I now see my
great error in not sooner obeying you; but you shall lose
nothing by it, I assure you. Perhaps you can best spare the
little girl, and she will do for me at present."
" I fear she is not old enough to take proper care of you,"
interrupted the mother, kindly.
" Let her try a few days, and see."
"Well, if you prefer it, she shall."
Sister Agnes saw through this veil of hypocrisy, and though
at another time she would have treated it with the contempt
it deserved, she now determined to make use of it for Myrtie's
sake, yea, even to become a deceiver herself.
The superior was as good as her word, and in a few hours
Sister Agnes found herself laid in a nice, clean bed, in one of
their pleasantest rooms, with Myrtie at her side, as nurse. She,
dear girl, was overjoyed at the change, though she did not
understand why it was done ; and Sister Agnes thought it not
best to inform her of her plans till she could be more sure
of their success; but she often wiped away her tears, and,
smoothing her bright ringlets, assured her she should be saved.
The morning after these changes, Sister Agnes was not sur-
prised at an early visit from the superior ; for she rightly
284 ANNA CLAYTON.
conjectured that little else would claim the woman's attention
till the momentous question of her will was settled.
" How do you find yourself, this morning, my daughter ? "
said she, in her blandest tone, approaching the bedside.
" I have n't rested so well for many a night, thanks to your
nice, soft bed," replied the nun ; " but still I feel that I am
fast going."
" And how is your mind ? "
" Clear and firm, especially since the holy resolution I
made yesterday."
" Then you do not waver ? "
" By no means ; on the contrary, I was never more deter-
mined to do right than now."
" I am thankful to hear you express yourself so fully, for I
came to talk with you on that subject. I have seen his holy
reverence, the bishop, and he has no objection to the course
you proposed ; indeed, he thinks it a wise one, provided you
are steadfast in your determination, and will not be influenced
by any worldly opposition."
" Do not fear for me, holy mother. The whole world could
not move me, so strongly have I set my heart upon this deed
of justice."
" Well spoken, my daughter ! You will therefore be pre-
pared to meet the person you named at eleven o'clock. He
has been notified, and will be here then. I trust I do not
need to remind you of the duties you owe us, in any commu-
nication you may make to him."
" You can trust me," replied Sister Agnes, striving to con-
ceal the agitation she felt at the approaching interview.
Eleven o'clock arrived, and the pale nun lay almost motion-
ANNA CLAYTON. 285
less on her pillow. She was again to see a familiar face
one, too, who had been her father's friend, and, but for her own
blind folly, might still have been hers. Would he know her ?
Could he recognize, in her poor, emaciated form and shrunken
face, the once bright and beautiful Emilie De Vere ? Would
he tell her of her father's last days, and, perhaps, confirm
Bernaldi's dreadful report, that he died unreconciled to her?
Would he but here her heart almost ceased to beat, as the
sound of footsteps came nearer and nearer, and the mother su-
perior entered her room, accompanied by the stranger. Yes
it was he. Through her half-closed eyes she could see that
he wore the same look, though age had furrowed his cheek
and wrinkled his brow. 0, how her heart longed to unburden
itself to him ! But her first thoughts must be given to Myrtie ;
and with this feeling she unclosed her eyes, as if just awaking
from sleep. The mother softly moved to her side, and said, in
a low voice, "He is here ; are you ready? "
' I am," replied she, turning her face towards the attorney.
He started as he met her look, and a painful expression
crossed his face, as of some unpleasant remembrance ; but,
unsuspicious of the truth, ho advanced towards her and said,
" The lady superior tells me, ma'am, that you have a desire
for my services in executing your will ; shall I wait upon you
now?"
" If you please, sir," was the feeble reply. Then, turning to
the mother, she added, "Wjll it not be better for me to
confer with the gentleman alone; the act will seem more
free."
The superior winced a little at this proposal, but she could
286 ANNA CLAYTON.
make no plausible objection, and she therefore reluctantly
withdrew.
"Now, sir," said the nun, summoning all her strength,
" look at me ; have you ever seen me before ? "
"I was half-persuaded, just now, that I had," he replied;
" there is something familiar about your face, and yet I da
not know you."
" Well may you say that, for I do not know myself! Say,
can you recognize in these wan features aught of one you
knew as Emilie De Vere ? "
The attorney gazed, with a startled look, into her face, as
ghe uttered that name, and, seizing her hand, exclaimed,
" Can it be possible ? Has the grave given up its dead,
that I thus see you again, Emilie, daughter of my best
friend?"
" An unworthy daughter of the noblest of fathers ! " added
she.
" And yet he blamed you not, but died with warm blessings
on his lips for his misguided daughter."
" Was it indeed so ? " cried she, eagerly. " 0, what a
weight of 'sorrow do you lift from my heart ! They told me
that he cursed me ! "
" Who told you so ? "
" Father Bernaldi."
"The wretch ! When your father pleaded so piteously to
see you once more, that he might bless you, that priest said
you had cast off all earthly attachments, and, the better to
escape your own father's importunity, had taken the veil
in a distant convent. I have supposed for a long time that
you were dead, as all efforts to learn your fate have been futile."
ANNACLAYTOX. >. 287
Sister Agnes, overcome with emotion, sank back upon her
pillow. Of what dark treachery had she been the victim !
While pining under a father's supposed displeasure, and long-
ing to throw herself at his feet for forgiveness, that father
had been represented to her as inexorable in his determination
not to see or forgive her ; and death had come between them
to set his silent seal upon that falsehood.
" ^Tiat were your intentions, Emilie in sending for me ? "
asked the attorney, breaking the painful silence. " Are you
ready to bequeath your property to these people, who have
thus deceived you ? "
" Never, never ! " warmly exclaimed the nun ; ' even though
I had not now discovered their perfidy, I had other thoughts,
though they must not know it, 't would be my death-war-
rant, at once. O, sir, your heart can never conceive what a
living death I have suffered in this place ! "
"You must leave it immediately, Lady Emilie, and be
restored to your possessions and your home."
" No, sir, that can never be, and I do not now wish it. The
sands of my life are nearly run, and with the few days that
are left me I wish to make restitution where I have wronged,
and save from an unholy grasp a lovely and innocent vic-
tim."
In a subdued tone Sister Agnes then told him the sad tale
of the orphans of their parentage, of her near approach to
crime in wedding Sir Charles, of her own intense desire to
save them from the dreadful fate which awaited them, and to
restore them to the arms of that bereaved mother. She also
told him of the opportunity which now offered for their es-
cape, and begged, with an earnestness which could not be
288 ANNA CLAYTON.
resisted, that he would devise some plan to aid her in effect-
ing it. His heart was moved, as indeed it could not otherwise
be, and he promised to comply with her wishes as far as it
"Now," said he, " let us proceed to the business for which ,
I was summoned, or suspicions may be aroused which will
thwart our plans." So saying, he unfolded the papers he had
brought with him, and, spreading them about on the table, he
rang a little bell, and requested the presence of the superior.
" I find," said he, with a business-like air, as she came in,
" that I have not the necessary documents for making out this
instrument. Had I known that the daughter of Lord De
Vere wished my services, I could have brought her papers,
which are in my possession ; but, as it is, I await your further
orders as to the time for another interview."
The superior eyed him closely as he said this, but she
could detect no emotion in his countenance, and she therefore
replied,
" I leave that to you, sir. In Sister Agnes' feeble condi-
tion, it may, perhaps, be as well to have these matters all
concluded speedily, that her mind may be perfectly at rest."
" I agree with you entirely, madam, and, if you please, will
wait upon you again to-morrow, at two o'clock."
" Very well, sir ; we shall expect you."
CHAPTER XXIX.
" Press on ! There ' no such word aa fail .
Press nobly on ! tho goal it near !
The wisdom of the present hour
Makes np for follies past and gone ;
To weakness strength succeed.*, and power
From frailty springs. Press on ! press en ! "
)
" TO-DAY, dear Myrtie," said Sister Agnes, as her young
nurse hovered around her couch, with pale and anxious brow,
" to-day he has promised to effect some means for your
escape ; and, O, how rejoiced shall I be to know that you are
far beyond pursuit ! "
" It will be hard to leave you alone, Sister Agnes," replied
Myrtie.
" I do not doubt it, my dear girl," said the nun, affection-
ately ; " but the little life there is left in me will soon be
exhausted; and how much more calmly shall I go to rest,
knowing you are safe ! "
" Noble, generous heart ! " murmured Myrtie ; " Heaven
will be your reward ! "
" I have written a few lines to your mother, Myrtie,
and enclosed them in your package. They are for her eye
alone."
25
290 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Mother ! " repeated the fair girl, " mother ! Can it
be I shall ever know that name? 'T would be joy too
great ! "
" Yes, Myrtie," said the nun, with enthusiasm, * you will
know and love that dear being, my heart tells me that you
will. But, when her warm and loving smiles gladden your life,
do not forget poor Sister Agnes ! "
" Forget you never ! " cried Myrtie, with streaming
eyes. " If I am ever blest with a mother's love, she shall
know that to you we owe the mutual gift ; your name shall be
ever on our lips ! "
" Dear girl, how you have twined yourself about my heart
since I first knew you ! Keep near me to-day, Myrtie, for it
is our last.''
The affectionate girl threw her arms about the nun's neck,
and, with sweet, winning words, sought to beguile the painful-
ness of their parting. But, within, her heart was struggling
with fear and uncertainty. What if all their plans should
fail, and her bright picture of home and its joys prove an illu-
sion ! 0, how, dark would seem the future, after such a
foretaste !
Two o'clock came ; and, punctual to his appointment,
the attorney was ushered into the lady superior's private
parlor, accompanied by the lad who brought his bundle of
papers.
" I wish to ask you a few questions," said she, " before
permitting another interview with Sister Agnes."
" I am most happy to confer with you, madam," he replied,
very calmly.
ANNA CLAYTON. 291
M She has, of course, informed yon who she is ? "
" Yes ; that was necessary."
" Did she give you any intimations that she would like to
return again to the world ? "
" On the contrary, madam, she averred that she remained
here of her own free will and accord, and would upon no
consideration leave you. These, I am happy to inform you,
were her words* "
" And you would testify to them, if necessary ? "
" Certainly, madam."
" I am thankful, I assure you, that she speaks thus of the
house where she has spent so many happy years. I did not
know but her declining health might affect her mind
otherwise ; it would be a great trial to part with her now."
" No doubt of it, madam ; she is a very lovely person."
" So she is, sir ; and she seems BO grateful for all we have
done ! Has she told you how she means to dispose of her
property ? "
11 She has intimated something of the kind to me ; and I
think you. will have no cause to be displeased, madam."
" 0, we have no wish to control her in this matter," replied
the superior, delighted at this insinuation. " You see, sir,
that she acts freely, and without even our knowledge."
" I see, madam j and allow me to say I highly approve of
your course. Shall I now proceed to her room ? "
" If you please, sir," said the superior, leading the way.
Myrtie was with Sister Agnes as they entered the room,
and the imploring look with which she met his gaze reached
the lawyer's heart. In a stiff, formal manner he bade them
" good-afternoon," and then, turning to the superior he said,
292 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Perhaps it will be as well, madam, for us to continue our
interviews in a private manner ; however, it is as you say."
" I certainly have no objection," she replied, promptly,
reassured by his recent confidence ; and, motioning Myrtie to
follow, she left the room.
" 0, tell me at once, sir ! " cried the agitated nun. " Is
there any chance for her ? can you save her ? "
" I think so ; at least, I hope so," replied the lawyer.
" But it will be necessary to keep yourself very calm, Lady
Emilie, to avoid suspicion. Almost everything depends on
presence of mind, now."
" Let me but know there is hope for her, and I will be as
impervious as marble," was her impassioned answer.
" That is right," said he ; " and now I will explain to you
my plan." Carefully securing the door, he then opened the
bundle, supposed to contain law papers and documents, and
displayed to her astonished gaze a full suit of boy's clothes,
well worn.
" There," said he, " I judged these would fit Myrtie ; and,
as my errand-boy is the same size, she can pass out with me
in the evening, without suspicion. To carry away as large a
bundle as I brought, you must roll up a suit of her clothes,
for her use afterwards ; these you will conceal very carefully
till this evening, when I shall make an excuse to visit you
again, and Myrtie must be prepared. I shall pretend to have
forgotten something, and shall send my boy for it. Myrtie
can easily personate the boy, and when outside the gates a
messenger awaits her, who will convey her at once to the
appointed spot. Do you approve this plan, Lady Emilie ? "
"Most heartily, my dear sir! And I think it can bo
ANNA CLAYTON. 293
%
accomplished without difficulty. 0, sir ! what do we not ow
you for such noble efforts ! "
" Do not speak of that, I pray you. To say nothing of the
justice and mercy of the deed, Lord Do Vere's daughter is
entitled to any and every service I can render. But we must
to business, or those gray eyes will see something wrong ; "
and the attorney plied his pen as assiduously as though noth-
ing unusual had occurred.
" Wo proceed slowly, madam," said he to the superior, as
he was about to leave. " Lady Bmilie's possessions are very
large, and, joined to those of the late Lord De Vere, make a
princely fortune, which it requires no inconsiderable amount
of time to detail in her will. I regret that other business
occupies so much of my time just now."
"It is unfortunate,'' relied she; "particularly as her
health seems failing so rapidly."
" If it would be agreeable to you," suggested he, " I might,
perhaps, devote my evenings to her. What are the regula-
tions of your house about admittance tin n '.' ''
" We have none that would interfere with such an arrange-
ment, as I could easily give the girl directions to admit you."
" Well, then, with your approval, I will commence this
evening, and continue each successive one till the whole matter
is settled."
She nodded her acquiescence, and he passed out, elated with
this first success ; while within, locked in each other's arms,
trembling hearts awaited, in almost breathless silence, his
promised return.
Twilight deepened into evening as the attorney, accompanied
by the lad, with some trepidation, it must be confessed,
25*
294 ANNA CLAYTON
agaii. applied for admission to those inaccessible walls. A
jolly7 round-faced Irish girl, whom he had not seen before,
opened the gate for him.
" Where is your mistress ? " asked he.
" An' shure, is n't she in at vespers, an' the porthress, too ?
an' was n't I tould to let ye in, if ye be 's the lawyer as comes
to see the sick nun ? "
" I am the one. What is your name, my good girl ? "
" Johanna, sir, at your sarvice," said the girl, with a low
curtsey. *
" Well, Joanna," said he, slipping something into her hand,
" you seem to be a nice girl. How long will they be in at
vespers?"
" About a half an hour longer, sir. Bedad, he 's a rale
jintleman, any how," said she, glancing at her glittering palm,
and then at his retreating form, " that 's thrue of him ! "
" Now is the moment ! " whispered he, thrusting his head
into Sister Agnes' room. " Be quick, or it will be too late !
I will wait here for her."
A smothered sob and kiss, and, sooner than he thought it
possible, Myrtie came out in, her disguise, and, without a
word, followed him down stairs. The poor girl scarcely
breathed with the intensity of her emotion ; for on this mo-
ment she felt that her destiny hung.
" My good Joanna," said the attorney, " I find I have
left some of my papers at home, and am going to send this
boy after them. You will let him in when he returns, won't
you?"
" Shure an' I will, yer honor," answered she, unbolting the
gate, to let him pass through.
ANNA CLAY TON. Ul)D
" Now, mind, Dick," said he, calling after the boy, " get
tho ones I told you, in the left-haml drawer. That fellow is
so stupid ! "
" He oughter be bright to serve ycr honor," said Joanna,
pertly.
" You think so, do you? " answered he, laughing. " Well,
there 's something for your compliment." And he pat another
coin into her hand, which completed her admiration of the
"jintleman."
All this had passed so quickly, he could scarcely realize
that the momentous deed was done ! that Myrtie was now
swiftly distancing pursuit, and that both he and Sister Agnes
must prepare themselves for the denouement. As he returned
to her room, the nun's calm and immovable face and manner
astonished him. That she could so control the hidden fires
that he knew were burning within her breast, rejoiced as well
as surprised him.
" This is well, Lady Emilie ! " said he, approvingly ; " re-
tain but your present immobility, and all will be safe. She
i.s already beyond their reach ! "
" Thank God ! " was all that burst from her heart, in reply.
" Little as we both feel inclined for business," continued
he, " we must seem to be engaged by it. I will now proceed
to fill up these blanks, and then read them to you for correc-
tion. Remember, everything depends upon your prudence
and discretion when the crisis comes ! "
Very earnestly was the legal gentleman engaged in reading
aloud to the nun descriptions of certain boundaries of land
belonging to the De Vere estate, so that he heard not the
superior's step as she came in and seated herself.
296 ANNA CLAYTON.
"These, then, make the sum-total of your possessions,"
exclaimed he, " which we will now proceed to bequeath, as
you directed, to Ah, madam, excuse me ! I was not
aware of your presence. Am I encroaching on your stated
hours for rest ? Bless me ! " he added, looking at his watch,
" how time slips away when one is busy ! "
" You was so buried in your papers, that I did not disturb
you when I came in," the superior answered, pleasantly.
" But, where is Myrtie ? I thought she was here, Agnes ! "
" Do you mean the little girl I saw when I came in ? "
asked the attorney.
" The same."
" I took the liberty of asking her to retire while we trans-
acted our business," said he.
" She went in to vespers, I thought," added Sister Agnes.
The mother, with a troubled look, went out ; but soon re-
turned with the startling intelligence that the girl was no-
where to be found, and had not been seen by any of the sisters.
" What can have happened to her ? " cried the nun, with
assumed terror. " Do, my dear sir, lend your aid in finding
her ! "
" Certainly I will," replied he ; " but do not alarm yourself
needlessly ; doubtless the girl will soon be found."
" 'T is very strange ! " muttered the superior, leading the
way to the chapel, which they searched in vain. She did not
choose to initiate her companion into the dark mysteries and
intricate windings of her great charnel-house ; so she politely
excused his further attendance, and, with a look of real alarm,
hastened to arouse the inmates for a more thorough search.
** We are safe ! " whispered he, as he bade Lady Emilie
ANNA CLAYTON. 297
good-night. " She has not the least suspicion. Only maintain
yourself, and all will go right."
And all did go right ! Though the alarum's shrill sound
broke harshly on the still morning air, calling for aid in
trouble ; though its echo was heard in deep tones of warning
from St. Augustine's chime ; and though legions of vassals, in
every form of disguise, searched with ceaseless diligence, and
held in surveillance every avenue and port of the kingdom,
innocence triumphed over all !
No sooner was Myrtie, in her strange dress, outside the
convent-gate, thau a hand was laid gently on her shoulder,
and a" voice whispered in hor ear, " Follow me ! n Trembling
in every limb, she followed the light, quick step of her con-
ductor, till they reached a deep wood, where he silently placed
her in the carriage awaiting them ; and, seating himself be-
side her, he said, kindly, " Keep up good courage the worst
is over!"
The spirited steed, as though conscious of his burden, bore
them swiftly over hill and dale, and before even Myrtle's
impatient heart expected they entered the suburbs of tho
city where dwelt the protector Marguerite hud secured for the
orphans. The cautious guide here stopped, and, leaving his
horse at an obscure inn, they threaded their way carefully to
the house designated in his directions. A long, weary hour
were they in finding it, and not louder than Myrtie's heart did
the knocker resound as they reached the door. A window
above them was in a few momenta raised, in answer to their
summons.
298 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Does Captain Glynn live here ? " asked the guide, in an
under-tone.
"Yes it's me. I'll be right down," said that worthy
individual, half suspecting who they were; for, to tell the
truth', he had thought of little else since he received Mar-
guerite's letter ; and every day his interest deepened to see
the children who had so won his sister's heart.
In a few moments he opened his door to the new comers ;
but Myrtie's companion, giving her a bundle, said,
" I should mueh prefer to remain here while this young girl
exchanges the garments she has on for her own, and then I
will take them and return immediately."
"'Young girl!" responded the host, with surprise. "Ah,
yes, I understand, now pretty well thought of, too. Come
right in, my dear."
Myrtie gazed earnestly into his pleasant face, while a single
word hovered on her lips " Charlie ! "
" Not here, yet," said he, cheerfully ; " but you have come
so safely, we '11 hope the best for him."
Myrtie was in a new world now, with these kind-hearted
people (for his wife had joined them). But all their entreaties
could not prevail with her to eat or sleep till Charlie should
share her happiness. Poor Charlie ! where was he ?
" I tell you what, wife," said the captain, as the gray light
began to appear in the east, " I guess I '11 slip down to the
Orient ' and have everything put in full rig. These birds '11
be caged again, mighty quick, if we don't get 'em out of the
way."
" But what if the boy does not come ? " queried she.
ANNA CLAYTON. 299
" It '11 be bad business, that ! " said he ; " but somehow I
think he will."
Buttoning up his fear-naught, the good sailor left the house,
intent on his deed of mercy. lie had proceeded but a few
steps, when he noticed a boy at the corner of the street, look-
ing anxiously around, as though uncertain what course to take.
" Where awa' now, youngster ? " said he, hailing him.
11 1 'm only trying to find a house in this street," replied
the boy, shrinking into the shadow of a building.
" Well, there's a fleet of 'em, you sec," laughingly added the
other ; which '11 you hail ? "
" Do you know if one Captain Glynn lives in any of
them ? " asked the boy, taking courage from the man's good-
nature.
" Tack about, my lad ! Yonder 's your harbor ; and, if your
name 's Charlie, there *s a jolly wglcome for you, my hearty ! "
The captain grasped the boy's hand warmly as he said this,
and drew him towards his home.
" But, who arc you ? " asked the latter, wonderingly.
" Who am I ? Why, the very cruiser you 're after, my
lad. My name 's Captain Richard Glynn. Now, who are
you ? " he asked. But the merry twinkle of his eye told that
he already suspected the truth.
" I am the boy dear Margery wrote you about. But Myr-
tie 0, where is she?" exclaimed Charlie, as they ascended
the steps.
" Let 's go in and see," said the other, taking a key from
his pocket, with which he unlocked the door.
Myrtie, exhausted with fatigue and excitement, had thrown
herself upon the sofa ; and, in a half-dreamy state, she heard
300 A N tt A CLAYTON.
the door open. Turning her head quickly, she sprang, with
one bound, and was locked in her brother's arms ! " Charlie ! ' '
" Myrtie ! " was all that each could utter.
Again and again were the tears brushed from that manly,
weather-beaten cheek, ere Captain Glynn could find voice to
speak.
" Now, my hearties," said he, " we must lose no time, or
those pirates '11 be after you ! Give 'em some breakfast, wife,
while I am putting up my traps, and in one hour we '11 have
plenty of sea-room."
How proudly dashed the " Orient " o'er the swelling wave,
bearing freight more precious than Eastern gems ! How gently
rocked the cradle of the deep, as old ocean sang the orphans'
lullaby ! How each shrill, raging wind hushed its voice, as
on, still on, floated the charmed vessel to its destined port
"MomEii AND HOME!"
" Swift glides the wandering bark,
Bearing beloved ones o'er the restless wave ;
! let thy soft eye mark
Thei? course ! Be with them, Holiest, guide and save ! "
CHAPTER XXX.
'A springing joy,
A pleasure which no language can expreu,
An ecstacy that mothers only feel,
Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow,
Like gleams of sunshine in 1 a lowering sky."
" I AM sorry to say it, ray dear sir," quoth the physician,
ominously shaking his head, " but nothing short of a miracle
can save your wife ; and I am free to add, Mr. Graham, that
but for you she would long ago have been in her grave."
Robert Graham leaned heavily on the mantel, and a deep
sigh shook his whole frame. " Then there is no hope ? "
" None, that I can see," returneM the other ; " she has been
growing more feeble every year, and I fear the crisis cannot
be far off. T is a sad case, sad ! sad ! " and the kind- ^
hearted doctor fell into a fit of musing, while Robert still
leaned in deep revery.
" Let 's see ! " at length said the former ; " it 's some twelve
or thirteen years since that terrible event, is n't it ? "
" Twelve years last May," answered Robert, sadly.
" It 's a great pity i\&t justice cannot reach such knave. 1 -,"
802 ANNA CLAYTON.
continued the doctor ; " my fingers have ached, many a time,
to get hold of them."
" They are hidden by an impenetrable wall which sets laws
at defiance everywhere," Robert replied; "but, in this in-
stance, we have every reason to believe they were aided by
that poor, misguided Duncan."
" Well, he met with a pretty summary punishment, any
how ! "
" Yes, he has found one tribunal that cannot be averted ;
and so, at last, will those, his dark conspirators."
" Well, I must confess," said the doctor, " that this very
case has done more to make me a sceptic than anything else.
Just look at your wife ! A better woman never breathed, and
yet her happiness, her life even, is sacrificed to the damna-
ble wickedness of such villains. Now, if there is a God who
watches over and takes care of his own, why does he suffer
this ? Why permit such villany to go unpunished ? "
" We have just noted the sad end of one of them," replied
Robert, " and who knows what may yet befall the rest? Still,
if in this world they prosper, we cannot doubt the terrible
retribution which awaits them when the great Judge demands
innocent blood at their hands."
" Supposing it is so, why should he allow so much suffering
here, when, as you believe, he has power to prevent it? "
" His reasons we know not here ; but, in the light of eter-
nity, we shall see and admire the wisdom which has brought
us, even through such dark ways, into his glorious presence."
" And your wife feels thus ? "
" Much more than I," said Robert, warmly ; " the spirit
within her seems brightening ; her faith strengthens and, with
ANNA CLAYTOX. 803
Sweet trust and hope, she leans on Him who has bruised but
to make her whole."
" There must be something," said the physician, thought-
fully, " for such faith to rest upon. Mrs. Graham has always
been an enigma to me, and now more so than ever."
" Simply, my dear sir, allow me to say, because you havo
not learned that cure for every ill trust in God ! "
" Trust in God ! " 0, what need had Robert Graham of
such faith ! There lay Anna, his earthly idol, sinking slowly,
but surely, to her grave. And what to him will this world
be when she is gone ? Trust I O, yes, he hath need of
perfect trust, else will he sink in despair ! See him now, as
on his knees he bends in agony, crying, " Let but this cup
pass from me ! " What, save heavenly light, can pierce his
darkness, and teach him this sweet submission " Not my
will, but thine be done ! " *
And she, too, that sad, gentle being, whom only his love
has detained on earth needs she not to draw from deep foun-
tains of hope? 1'al.j ,-h.- li.'s l.ut, a- -he MTS tli-- dark, grim
mesa n^er gradually approaching with deadly aim, what angel
of mercy, so like the one she has cherished for years, averts the
dreaded -haft, and, turning its radiant face to hers, murmurs,
" Mother and Home ! " She sees her own image reflected in
that face, and, stretching forth her arms, she cries, " My
daughter my own ! " But, alas ! fond mother, 't is only a
dream a vision of thy sickly imagination ; thou must awake
to find thy treasures still gone ! Such a dream had Anna ;
and, as she told it with glowing breath to her husband, he
wept that thus it could not be.
304 ANNA CLAYTON.
It was a warm, still night in August. Not a sound was
heard ; even the chirp of the cricket ceased, and the whippoor-
will's song was lulled to rest. Asheville was buried in mid-
night silence. Scarce was this silence broken by the light
steps of those who now approached the quiet village, as hand
in hand they came along its public road, with eager eyes and
burning hearts scanning each dwelling. At length, before
the old stone mansion they stood the elder, a boy, gazing
with deepest interest at its porch, its yard, and, finally, at the
great elm, whose overhanging branches covered its roof.
" There, Myrtie ! " whispered he, " I remember that tree ;
this must be the place ; but, 0, I dare not knock ! Perhaps
she is dead ! "
The girl threw herself upon his neck. " 0, don't say so,
Charlie ! 't would break our hearts dear, blessed mother ! "
How sweetly echoed that word in her heart, as, with timid,
trembling steps, they went up to the porch-door, and gently
raised the knocker ! But Morpheus reigned within, and
louder must be the summons to open his gates. Again and
again, each knock vibrating fearfully on their hearts, did they
try to arouse the inmates.
" 0, dear ! " said Charlie, " I 'm afraid nobody lives here !
What shall we do?"
" Try once more," said Myrtie, tremblingly ; and again the
knocker was timidly raised, while their hearts almost ceased
, to beat.
" What was that noise? " said Mrs. Clayton, half waking
from her slumbers.
" I did n't hear anything," replied her husband.
" I am quite sure I did ; and it seems to me I have heard
ANNA CLAYTON,
305
it two or three times in my sleep," said she, rising and going
to the window.
" Bless me ! here it somebody at the door ! who can it
be?"
This thoroughly aroused her husband, and he quickly sprang
to his feet and raised the window.
" What 's wanting ? " he asked.
A whispered consultation at the door, and then "Does
Anna Clayton live here ? " inquired a voice below.
" Anna Clayton ! who do you mean ? " said he, with aston-
ishment.
" Her name used to be Anna Clayton," answered the voice,
more boldly ; " but afterwards 't was Anna Duncan."
" Wife ! wife ! what does this what can this mean ? "
cried the old man, completely bewildered ; " here is a boy and
girl inquiring for Anna. O, my God ! if it should be ! " but
the sentence was left unGnL-hed, for, with his first words, his
wife had flown down stairs. In a moment he was at her side
and as the light which he held in his hand fell upon the face
of the young girl, he exclaimed,
" My child ! the image of my Anna ! "
What joyful greetings, then, for the young wanderers !
What open hearts to receive them ! but " mother " is first
upon their lips.
Then comes the story of her sufferings of the noble devo-
tion of him who is worthy to be called their father, and of
their lovely home near by. Charlie listened with a swelling
heart ; but Myrtie was so full of joy, she could hear naught,
save that, when morning dawned, she should be in her mother's
arms.
26*
-
306 ANNA CLAYTON
Then Charlie told of their escape from their hated prisons ;
of dear, kind Capt. G-lynn, who brought them safely over to
New York, and placed them in a vessel bound for Boston ;
and how from there they travelled through the day, and at
night found shelter in some comfortable farm-house, till now
they had reached their home. ^Venders ceased not when the
morning sun dawned on the little group, so earnestly engaged.
But who shall now bear to that mother these tidings of great
joy ? May not its excess break the frail tenure which binds
her spirit to earth?
Robert Graham had just risen from his sleepless couch.
All night had those dread words sounded in his ear, " no
hope no hope ! " No hope for her, the suffering victim of
popish barbarity j and no hope for him whose all of earth
must soon lie beneath the sod ! The morning sun threw its
first teams upon his kneeling form, as in secret anguish he
pleaded for strength in his hour of trial and darkness. Does
not that bright ray speak life and hope into his soul ? He
looks up, he sees the omen and accepts it, and with a lighter
heart does he go forth to duty.
Scarcely had he descended to the parlor, when a light knock
at the outer door brought him thither.
" My master and mistress want you to come right over
there," hastily said the messenger.
" Why, Maria, what has happened ? Is anybody sick or
hurt?"
" No sir, but they told me not to say anything only to
ask you to come over quick."
1 'Tis very strange," said he, as he prepared to obey the
ANNA CLAYTON. 307
summons, at once. " What can they want of me at this early
hour ? "
Then, looking in upon the pale face of his wife, as she still
slept, he quietly slipped out of the house, and with rapid steps
entered the old mansion. But at its threshold he stopped,
gazing with amazement on the tableau before him. For,
upon either end of the sofa sat Squire Clayton and his wife,
while between them, affectionately clasping a hand of each,
were two, whose faces, though he had never seen them, were
as some familiar dream.
" Tell me," cried he, agitatedly, " what does all this mean ?
Whose are these ? "
" Can you not suspect, Robert?" answered the Squire, with
a beaming face, as he pointed significantly to Myrtle, whose
sweet smile reflected so strongly her mother's.
" It is her smile! But no it cannot be! Tell mo
(), toll me, I pray you ! " und he stretched forth his hands, in
his earnestness.
Charlie rose, and, with inimitable sweetness, taking one out-
stretched hand, and placing Myrtie's within the other, said,
" We are your children, father ! " e
O, with what a strong, loving embrace were they gathered
to that noble heart, as, with more than paternal tenderness, he
uttered, " My son my daughter ! "
" Take us to our mother ! " said Myrtie, still clasping his
hand.
" God only knows how I shall break this to her ! " replied
Mr. Graham. "But, come, my children, and you too,
father and mother ; 't is meet we '-should all gather beneath
one roof to-day."
* ~* .
308 ANNA CLAYTON.
'Twere difficult to tell whose limbs tottered most as they
entered Robert Graham's dwelling those aged ones', who had
been brought to see the day for which they had so long
prayed ; the little ocean-tossed mariners', now at last safely
moored, though still tremblingly murmuring "mother and
home ; " or the fond husband's, with every thought, in this
great moment, centering on the fearful joy thus brought to
one dearer than all.
" Has my wife yet waked, Susan ? " asked he.
"Yes sir no sir," answered the housekeeper, ab-
stractedly, gazing from one to the other with a strange look.
" 0, I forgot, Susan ! " added Mr. Graham, with a smile.
" You must share our joy ; these are the little ones you used
to tend."
" I knew it I knew it ! " exclaimed she, hugging them
alternately. " 'T is the same face little Charlie used to wear,
and the baby too ! How they 've grown ! 0, my mistress
will die for joy ! " and the faithful girl was almost beside
herself with delight.
Burdened with the joyful mission, Robert Graham sought
Ms wife's apartment. How strangely bright everything
seemed to him now! Even Anna's face glowed with new
light as she welcomed him with a cheerful smile. " What,
up and dressed so soon ! " said he. " You are certainly
stronger, Anna."
" I have rarely enjoyed such sleep as I did last night," she
replied ; "and this, together with those bitters the doctor left
me, have given me rather an unnatural strength, I think."
" I am thankful, dearest * for you need it all "
ANNA CLAYTON. 809
She looked up with surprise into his face. " What is it,
Robert ? " said she. " What do you mean ? "
"I mean," replied he, unable to control his agitation,
"that joy such as she dreams not of awaits my beloved
wife!"
" Surely, Robert," and she grasped his arm, convulsively,
"you do not mean you have not heard "
"No, dearest, I have heard nothing, but I have seen
them! seen your darling children, Anna ! and they are
now under this roof, waiting for a mother's blessing ! "
" Where O, where ! " cried she, wildly rushing to tho
door ; but Robert touched the bell, and in an instant two
light forms sprang into their mother's arms !
Is there aught of earth in a scene like this? Rather, are
not angels encircling the little group, breathing heaven's sweet
incense upon them, and setting its glorious seal on this sacred
reunion of hearts ?
CHAPTER XXXI.
Joy never feasts so high
As when the first course is of misery."
JOY ! joy ! all now is joy in that blest home ! Even the
good doctor doubts no longer a kind overruling Providence,
and the Quaker refers triumphantly to his spirit's prophecy.
But what are doubts and prophecies now to that happy house-
hold, whose hearts are filled with gladness ! The ebbing tide
of life flows back again to the mother's breast, as she pillows
her head in the loving arms of her noble boy, or bends her
ear to catch the sweet tones of Myrtie's winning voice as she
fondly murmurs " Mother ! "
As the first tumult of joy subsides, and eager questions draw
forth the children's tale, what dark revelations are made of a
plot so infamous that their hearts quake with horror ! Mar-
guerite's testimony was read with glistening eyes and forgiv-
ing tenderness, while over Lady Emilie's sad fate they wept
tears of heartfelt sympathy. Ralph's name became at once
a household word where Myrtie dwelt, and his kindness and
unbounded devotion an unceasing theme of grateful remem-
brance. Father Ambrose, too, was not- forgotten an im-
portant though unwitting aid in Charlie's escape. The
ANNA CLAYTON. 311
humane attorney, the faithful guide, and last, though not
least, the kind-hearted Captain Glynn, each received their
meed of praise from overflowing hearts.
Anna read in secret the lines traced to her by the hapless
nun, and no eye save his who shared her every thought was
permitted to see them. Thus breathed that noble spirit to
its gentle sister :
" I have wronged you deeply, sweet, suffering mother of my
darling Myrtle ! but till now I knew it not. Heaven in
mercy spared me the guilt of receiving thojt perjured vows,
and saved you from dishonor. For the sake of her who has
BO sweetly beguiled two years of my lonely lot, and who bears
away with her all of heart I have left, you will, I know, for-
give the wrong. I shall never see your fw* on earth ; but
will not the dear girl who binds my soul to yours unite us
forever in perfect love ?
" Let us deal gently with the dead ! His errors, though
great, are not for us to expose. Rather ic the cold earth
shroud them from our hearts that we, too, may find forgive-
ness at last. You will soon hear from me awiin ; and when
you read my last testimony of love for your matchless child,
will you aot breathe a prayer for the aoui of her who has
gone an, whither ? "
" 0, Popery ! " exclaimed Robert, as he ceased reading,
" where will thy machinations end? No victims are too noble
or exalted for thy ruthless hand ! "
" Poor Lady Einilie ! " said Anna ; " she must have endured
terrible sufferings."
" No doubt ; but could they have been greater than yours,
Anna ? "
" Perhaps not," and Anna shuddered ; " out I have been
surrounded with sympathy and love, while in tne cold, solitary
walls of her cell what alleviation could there be ? "
812 ANNA CLAYTON.
" One comfort she must have now, though, since she has
rescued our child from her dreadful fate."
" I shall never, never forget her ! " fervently uttered the
happy mother.
The village bell pealed forth joyous notes as from house
to house the tidings quickly spread that the lost children
had returned. Friends and neighbors thronged, with eager
sympathy, to clasp their hands, and hear the wonderful
Ctory.
Not a heart was unmoved at the recital; deep-swelling
indignation burned in every breast that such an atrocious
crime had been perpetrated in their midst, and left them no
power for redress. Even Bridget conceded to Mrs. Lindsey
that there " might be some bad praasts, though Father
O'Brady warn't the likes of 'em, shure."
But at night, when this day of glad greetings was over
trhere could happier hearts be found than those gathered in
the no longer desolate home ? The blissful smile resting on
Anna's cheek told of joy that had long been a stranger there :
and her husband's soul spoke through the beaming eye with
which he gazed on his restored treasure restored by scarcely
less than a miracle ! Bessie rejoiced as truly in their happi-
ness as she wept in their grief; and the whole-souled Quaker
craved no greater earthly good. The venerable father, too,
was there, relieved at last from the dread consequences of his
mistaken ambition. But who had hearts so light, spirits so
free and joyous, as the imprisoned captives ? " Mother and
Home " was to them no longer a beautiful vision, as they
revelled in the bright, sweet reality of their dreams. Do not
ANNA CLAYTON. 313
each moments well-nigh efface the past, as hope gilds with ita
own radiant beams a happy future?
" Come, children," said Squire Clayton, as the evening
closed, " we must let our little travellers seek the rest they
BO much need. Can we separate without blessing the glorious
Giver for this our deep, unutterable joy ? "
Then, as every knee bent responsive, his soul broke forth in
strains of thanksgiving and praise, rapturous and heavenly.
Charlie and Myrtie looked on in wonder. They knelt as did
the rest ; but where was the crucifix, where the formula to
which they were accustomed? Myrtie gently took from her
bosom the rosary and cross which she always wore, and com-
menced her usual devotions ; but Charlie listened with awe to
those deep spirit-breathings, and forgot all else in this first
prayer that ever reached his ear.
' Dear mother," said Myrtie, when they were alone, " I
did n't sec any of you pray to-night."
" Did n't tee us pray, darling what do you mean ? "
" Why, where was your rosary, mother? "
A tear dimmed Anna's eye as eh*e gently replied, " I fear
my daughter has been taught to regard only the form of
prayer. We do not believe in such worship as you have been
accustomed to, Myrtie."
" I noticed grandfather did n't pray to the Holy Virgin, as
we do, but it seemed strange to me. Surely you do,
mother?"
" God forbid that I should ever pollute my lips with such
blasphemy, Myrtie ! "
" Why, mother, you frighten me ! Who do you pray to ? "
" To that God who alone sustained me when bereaved of
27
314 ANNA CLAYTON.
you, my darling, and who is infinitely precious to every child
of sorrow and want."
Myrtie looked with surprise and admiration at her mother's
beautiful face, lighted up with holy fervor.
" And don't you say mass, mother ? "
"No!"
" Nor matins, nor vespers? "
" No, my dear child ; we abjure all these worse than sense-
less forms, and cling with simple, earnest faith to the cross of
him who died to save our souls."
" Who was that, mother? "
" Jesus, our only Saviour. Can it be that my children
have yet to learn that precious name ? " and the mother
bowed her head and wept.
" Forgive me, dear mother ! " said Myrtie, throwing her
arms about her neck j " I did not mean to cause you such
tears. I am sure whatever you believe must be right ; only
it seems so strange to me."
And strange was it, both to Charlie and Myrtie, to witness
such simple, unobtrusive piety, so strikingly contrasted with
the noisy, unmeaning ceremonies of the church in which they
had been nurtured. But gradually a purer light shone upon
their souls, and ere long they too knelt at the same altar and
worshipped the God of their mother.
It cannot be supposed that an event of so great importance,
and so nearly concerning the honor and integrity of the
" Mother Church," would be long in reaching the ears of her
watchful emissaries. In less than a week after the return of
Sir Charles Duncan's children, all the gossiping rumor of the
ANNA CLAYTON. 315
neighborhood was faithfully transcribed, and despatched, with
all possible speed, to the " Very Rev. Bishop Percy." While
this important message is quickly traversing its watery path,
the inmates of the chateau are becoming more and more per-
plexed at the unaccountable disappearance of their young
victims. The most severe scrutiny of every person connected
with the convent could elicit no information concerning
Myrtle.
The gates had been kept securely barred, as usual ; no one
had passed through them except the lawyer and his errand-
boy. He, of course, could know nothing of the matter, being
at the time deeply engaged with Sister Agnes. How or when
she could have escaped their vigilance, was an unfathomable
mystery to the lady superior; and if, perchance, she got
out-ide their walls, what unearthly power had she to evade so
effectually their swift-footed mes-sengers, who left no spot
unscarched through the land ? Ah ! Lady Mother, for once
thy base, crafty wiles have been foiled by a power thou
kuowest not of the sleepless guardian of innocency !
Father Ambrose, though suffering severe penalties for the
indulgence which he was forced to admit he had granted to
Charlie, secretly rejoiced in the boy's escape. But llalph,
who can describe the unselfish joy of his honest heart, when
told that his birdie had flown, none knew where, and that
Charlie had gone too ! What though he would no longer
look upon the face he worshipped, or hear again the song of
his lark, was it not better thus than to see her young life
pining away in cold solitude ?
" I feel drefful lonesome like," said he to himself, one day,
as he walked towards the deserted cottage, and seated himself
316 ANNA CLAYTON.
on its well-remembered step. How changed was even that
lonely spot ! The little voice whose music so charmed his
soul had fled ; and she who alone could have sympathized in
his loneliness lay beneath yonder mound in death's still sleep !
The joyous notes of the birds seemed to mock him with their
gladness. " Any how," continued he, brushing away the tears
that would fall thick and fast, " I 'm mighty glad she 's got
away from those 'tarnal old critters, over there. She 's free
now, and happy too ; but I reckon if she knowed how her old
Ralph's heart aches, she 'd a let him foller her. I don' know,
but it seems to me I can't stan' it much longer, no how.
These old bones '11 soon lay close to Margery's, yonder, if I 've
lost my birdie. Any how, I 'm glad she 's gone ; 'cause now
she '11 have a mother to love her. I wonder if she thinks of
her poor Ralph, who 'd die for her any minit ! "
Bide thy time, good, honest soul ! thou 'It ere long see
what a place thou hast in thy " birdie's " heart.
A grim and shadowless messenger had, despite their bolts
and bars, entered the convent, and laid his icy fingers on
the heart of a penitent sister. How that magic touch froze
every stream of life, and left the soulless clay like sculptured
marble! Noble birth, disappointed hopes, and degraded
misery, were all forgotten in that breathless slumber; and
she who lay there so cold and still wore a peaceful smile, as
though angels were chanting forth her last, best deed on
earth !
The deep-toned convent bell tolled the knell of the departed
sister ; friends gathered around her bier, and the once proud
and haughty Lady Emilie was borne to her father's halls,
ANNA CLAYTON. 817
beneath the sable pall. O, must her requiem be tuned by
the heartless wretches who have, drop by drop, distilled her
life's blood !
After the last sad rites had been performed, and Lady
Emilio entombed beside her father, the attorney drew
Bernaldi aside, and, placing a heavy package in his hand,
said,
" I was requested by her whose obsequies we have just
attended to give you the munificent sum of one hundred
guineas, that masses may be said for the repose of her soul ;
and I am further instructed by her to say that in three months
from this day her will is to be opened and read in the pres-
ence of you all."
The priest bowed low as he pressed the golden weight in
his hands. " Sister Agnes' word has ever been my law,"
whined he, " since she first devoted her life to piety and
good works."
The lawyer bit his lips, but said nothing.
" I well remember," continued Bernaldi, "how trying it was
to me to communicate to her noble father, the late Jxrd Do*
A'ere, her determination to shut out all worldly thoughts and
objects from her heart, and give herself up to be the bride of
heaven. But her pleadings that I would bear the message
were not to be resisted."
" And that communication killed him," laconically added
Mr. Stuart.
"I know it grieved him to the soul," said the priest;
"but Sister Agnes was inexorable, and so there was no
remedy."
" She must have had a very hard heart, then."
27*
318 ANNA CLAYTON.
" No, she had not ; but her mind was so filled with ecstatic
enjoyment, she lived above the world, as though it were not
worthy a thought. Hers was, indeed, a bright example,"
here Bernaldi's emotion overcame him, and he pressed his
snowy handkerchief to his eyes, with well-dissembled grief.
The lawyer turned away with a contemptuous shrug of his
shoulders, but the priest soon rejoined him, and said, in a low
voice, "About Lady Emilie's will why did she not wish it
read for so long a time ? "
" I cannot tell you, sir," replied Mr. Stuart. " I do not hold
myself responsible for Lady Emilie's actions, or her will either.
I am merely her servant in this matter."
" You have seen enough, though, to convince you that there
has been no compulsion in her case ? "
" Most certainly, my good sir father priest," said the other,
with a peculiar smile. " Lady Emilie has, I know, acted
with a free and hearty good-will in the disposal of her
immense fortune. But, 'twill be quite unexpected to these
^friends of hers, won't it ? " and he touched the priest's arm
significantly.
This made certainty doubly sure in Bernaldi's mind ; and
he whispered, as he parted with him, " You shall lose nothing
by your job, I promise you."
The lawyer bowed, smilingly, and returned to his home to
pen a letter " to the guardian of Myrtilla Duncan, daughter
of Sir Charles and Anna Duncan, of Asheville."
The contents of that letter seemed to give him peculiar
satisfaction ; for every few moments he would drop his pen,
and, rubbing his hands together, exclaim, " Noble deed ! "
ANNA CLAYTON. 319
"just requital ! " " who could deserve it more ? " Lady
Km i lie, thou hadst a noble soul ! " etc.
"Great commotion there'll be when that will is read,"
soliloquized he. " It will be quite as well, I think, for me to
improve the opporttaity to travel abroad; and, as Lady
Emilie's generosity 11 enable me to do it, I think I shall."
CHAPTER XXXII.
Here are a few of the unpleasantest words
That ever blotted paper." S'HAKSPEARE.
'T is modesty in sin to practise every
Disguise to hide it from the world ;
But creatures free from guilt affect the sun,
And hate the dark, because it hides their innocence.
SIK W. D
" 'T is passing strange," said Bernaldi, glancing at the open
letter he held in his hand, and which he had just read, "'tis
.passing strange how those children could have escaped from
our hands ! Somebody outside must have helped them, that 's
certain."
" A very sage conclusion, truly," replied Bishop Percy,
ironically, " when the poor simpletons never stepped beyond
our bounds, and could not have known one road from another."
" Well, whoever it was," continued Bernaldi, " he has man-
aged to dodge us pretty well."
" Have you any suspicions of the real villain ? " asked the
other.
' No ; I cannot say that I have. I should n't be surprised,
ANNA CLAYTON. 321
though, if that Robert Graham had kept his spies about us
all the time."
" They must have grown old in his service, then, before
they accomplished anything ; thirteen years is a good
while to watch. No I suspect the trouble lies nearer homo
than that."
" Who do you mean ? "
" I cannot help associating that wretch of a Marguerite with
this matter. She appeared very strange before she died ; and
the boy was with her the last day."
"That should n't have been allowed," said Bernaldi,
quickly.
" Nor was it, with my knowledge. Ralph managed to get
him there."
" Ralph must be looked after. I fear he knows more than
he will confess. Put him to the torture, at once ! "
' I really think it would do no good ; he is too simple to
deceive us. I 've cross-questioned him so much, I should have
detected any signs of guilt."
" After all, our trouble is n't so much haw they got away,
as what we shall do now they 've escaped us."
"True," replied the bishop; "and I'm for securing the
property, first of all."
" How can that be done ? "
" I confess I am a little puzzled, myself, to know precisely
haw ; but, supposing a will were to be found among Sir
Charles Duncan's papers, giving to us I mean the church
the whole of his property, what then?"
" Why then I suppose we could get it ; but it would
322 ANNA CLAYTON. ^
be pretty difficult to try that game now, the old lady has been
dead so long."
" I don't know about that ; we have got to make a most
desperate effort, or we shall lose all."
" Plaguy curses those young ones have been to us, ever
since we had them ! I wish, now, we 'd just shut up their
mouths, to begin with ! " exclaimed Bernaldi, angrily.
" It would have been better, as it has turned out," said the
bishop ; " but let us think of something more agreeable, now.
My plan of a will may succeed yet. We may reckon pretty
surely on Lady Emilie, from what you have said."
" No doubt of her, now. The dead don't change nor run
away. And, besides, her attorney as good as told me it was
all right. Pretty sum we 've got for masses, have n't we ? "
" Yes ; I suppose she did that to give us a foretaste of
what 's coming. We must get this Duncan affair arranged
before her will comes out, for we may have a quarrel with her
heirs."
" When we get possession of those two immense estates,"
said Bernaldi, greedily, " we can afford to rest a while, and
enjoy life."
" Which we will do, my good Alphonso," replied the
bishop, slapping him on the shoulder.
The day came, at last (as all days will), when the future
possessor of Ravenswood and its princely revenues was to be
made known to the world. Beyond the circle of expectants
little was said or thought of it. Every one- supposed it would
fall, as a matter of course, to the only brother of the late
Lord Do Vere, who, for the last ten or twelve years, had held
ANNA CLAYTON. 823
tne property in trust for Lady Emilie, should she ever appear
to claim it. So quietly and discreetly had the attorney, Mr.
Stuart, managed the whole affair, since his first interview with
the sick nun at the convent, that neither her uncle nor othei
friends had the most remote idea of the disposition she had
made of her fortune. When, therefore, each notified guest
presented himself, at the appointed time, within the spacious
drawing-rooms, he was received with a stare and shrug by the
rest, as though their own expectations were thereby propor-
tionably lessened. Still in they came. But what a motley
group ! Here, an old decrepid servant, who had known Lady
Emilie in childhood ; there, the faithful nurse who had tended
her footsteps from infancy ; near by, some distant relative,
who had long been forgotten by all, save her whose own
wretchedness quickened her remembrance of the unfortunate.
Now, with the step and mien of a lordly possessor, comes the
bishop in full canonicals, and by his side the smooth-tongued
priest, with face wreathed in smiles, aa he bows condescend-
ingly to all around him. One and another follows, till the
rooms are nearly filled, and Bernaldi begins to wonder whence
and why they came. Then, as the notary makes his appear-
ance, accompanied by Lady Emilie's attorney and two or three
witnesses, all thoughts are concentrated on the business before
them. Carefully arranging the papers on the table, and
placing a large unsealed package before the notary, 31 r.
Stuart, with evident embarrassment, turned to the expectant
guests.
" I wish," said he, " to clear myself from every imputation
of connivance in this matter. That I remonstrated with her
whose will we are about to hear on her extraordinary dis-
324 ANNA CLAYTON.
posal of her vast possessions, you have her testimony. In
this note, written but two days before her death, she says to
me:
" Your intentions, I have no doubt, are good, in trying, as
you do, to dissuade me from my purpose. But my mind is
settled immovably ; and I therefore beg your immediate atten-
tion to the necessary forms, etc.'
" You will see by this," continued Mr. Stuart, " that Lady
Emilie acted freely and independently ; and, though to most
of you the result will be unexpected, and perhaps offensive,
you must, one and all, exonerate me from any responsibility
in the matter. Will you do so ? " asked he, pleasantly,
turning his eye upon the bishop and Bernaldi. The latter
instantly rose, and, looking round very smilingly, replied,
" I think I can answer for us all, my dear sir, that, what-
ever may occur, you have proved yourself free from blame."
"Do you all thus judge me?" again asked the lawyer.
And, as every head bowed assent, the notary added, with a
smile,
" This is rather an unusual proceeding, I think. Lawyers
are never held responsible for their clients' actions."
" You will see my reasons, presently," whispered Mr. Stuart,
" if you will proceed with your duties."
The notary then rose, and, midst breathless silence, broke
the important seal. At the same moment the lawyer touched
the bell-cord near him, and the summons was at once answered
by the entrance of two persons, unknown to all but the bishop
and priest. An involuntary exclamation of surprise and rage
burst from their lips as the two new comers very quietly
seated themselves. But the voice of the notary recalled
ANN A CLAYTON. 825
their attention, as, with a clear, distinct enunciation, he read
bequest after bequest to this, that and the other tried and
faithful servant or friend, not one of whom was forgotten by
the grateful daughter of Lord Do Vere. Then to her uncle,
the only surviving member of the family, she bequeathed her
homestead the mansion in which they were assembled, with
all its dear, familiar associations. Next, her father's counsel-
lor and friend, as well as her own, he who had brightened
the last few days of her life by his unwearied kindness and
sympathy, was affectionately remembered in the gift of ten
thousand pounds.
*' Now," thought Bernaldi, " comes our turn ! All these
don't amount to a third of her wealth."
" All the rot ami roidue of my property," continued the
notary's loud voice (here followed long and minute descrip-
tions), " I, Ernilie De Vere, being of sound mind, do give and
bequeath to Mvrtilla, daughter of Sir Charles and Anna
Duncan, and her heirs forever."
" I pronounce that will a forgery ! " screamed Bernaldi,
utterly unable to control his fury at this astounding finale.
" And you, sir, are the perpetrator of it ! " shaking his finger
at the younger of the two strangers before mentioned.
" Calm yourself, my dear sir," said the notary ; " such lan-
guage cannot be allowed here. This will is too well attested
to be disputed."
" And you, you villain ! " continued Bernaldi, without
heeding tho remark, as he rushed up to the attorney, " you
knew it all, and was accessory to it. You shall feel my veu-
geancc for this ! " ^
" Yes," added the bishop, with a flashing eye, " it was all
28
326 ANNA CLAYTON.
a contrived plot between them ! But they shall be thwarted,
yet!"
" Friends ! " said the elder stranger, " thou hadst better be
a little chary of thy charges. Dost remember a certain plot
in which thou and one Marguerite were so nearly concerned ?
And who was ' thwarted ' there ? "
" Confound that devilish old fool ! " whispered the bishop,
drawing Bernaldi aside, " he '11 blab the whole thing right
out here, if we provoke him ! Let 's go home, and see what
we can do ! "
" I am sorry to see thee leave us now," said the stranger,
as they prepared to go ; " for my friend Robert, here, has yet
a little business with thee. However, we will call at thy home."
" Concentrated rage and bitterness are in those men's
souls," said Mr. Stuart, after they had left. " You and I
must look out for ourselves, Mr. Graham."
" I trust I shall not be long detained in their neighbor-
hood," replied the other. " I find, though, since my arrival,
more work than I expected; for Lady Duncan's death is news
to me."
" Really, then, you have another property to secure for
your little heiress."
"Yes; and, as guardian to the children, I bespeak your
counsel and immediate uttoution to the matter."
" And I accept the trust without hesitation ; for, do you
know, I am getting deeply interested in your little wards. I
feel half tempted to cross the water to see them."
- " Nothing would give us greater pleasure than to have you
accompany us home ; and I can insure you a hearty welcome
there."
ANNA (CLAYTON. 327
"111 go," said Mr. Stuart; warmly; "and, in the mean
time, I will serve you with my best ability here."
Rumor's thousand tongues quickly spread the news of
Lady Emilie's will far and near, greatly to the dismay of the
discomfited bishop and priest ; for, now that the existence of
Sir Charles Duncan's children became known, conjecture was
rife as to the next occupant of Beechgrove. Tims far, since
Lady Duncan's decease, it had remained deserted and tenant-
less, and its immense income had been paid over to the treas-
ury of the holy church by Sir Charles' late attorney, who
dared not question Bernaldi's pretended claim. But now the
time for action had come ; and- deep indeed and well-played
must be their game, to meet the open demands of truth and
equity. Infuriated beyond the power of expression by their
repeated defeats, Bernaldi and the bishop nerved themselves
for a most desperate conflict over this last hope the posses-
sion of Beechgrove and its fortunes. But more even than
this was at issue ; for, failing to substantiate their claims,
would not character, reputation, everything be lost, and their
long-lived villany brought to light?
The morning after Lady Emilie's will had been made known,
as Mr. Markland, the late Sir Charles' attorney, sat busily
writing in his office, three gentlemen were ushered into his
presence, for whose visit he was well prepared by a long night's
conference with Bernaldi. Advancing with great cordiality,
he greeted-Mr. Stuart, whom he knew, very warmly.
" Allow me," said the latter, " to introduce my friend>
Messrs. Lee and Graham, from America. We have given you
an early call this morning," continued he, " that the business
328 ANNA CLAYTON.
which detains them here may be concluded as speedily as
possible."
" And may I ask what connection I have with that busi-
ness ? " said Mr. Markland, blandly.
" Certainly sir ; we come to prove to you the right and
title of certain heirs to the late Sir Charles Duncan's property,
of which we understand you have the charge."
" I hold Sir Charles' papers in my possession yet ; but are
you aware that he left a will, Mr. Stuart ? "
" A will ! Is it possible, Mr. Markland ? "
" Yes, sir ; Sir Charles left a will to be executed after his
mother's decease."
"And what is the tenor of.that will, Mr. Markland?"
"You can see for yourself, if you like," replied the
attorney, going to a small closet and taking therefrom a paper
which he handed to Mr. Stuart. The latter examined it very
closely, and a strange expression rested upon his face as he
returned it.
" Why has not this will been executed before now ? " said
he.
"A pressure of business has prevented it," replied the
other ; " but I am intending to settle it forthwith."
" You have, of course, in obedience to this instrument,
handed over the proceeds to Father Bernaldi."
" I have, except a sufficient sum for the maintenance of
Lady Duncan."
" How much, in all, should you judge you have naid ? "
"Really, Mr. Stuart, I don't know that I ought to
answer all your questions; however, there is no harm in
this, that I see. I have his receipt for fifty thousand pounds."
ANNA CLAYTON.
" I will not press you further, Mr. Markland ; but, as I am
acting for the legal heirs of Sir Charles, you will concede to
me the right of an investigation of his affairs."
" Certainly, Mr. Stuart ; no one can object to that."
" Very well ; then I will appoint a meeting here, if you
please, to-morrow, at this hour, and will trouble you to notify
all interested persons to be presout"
" I will do so, though I see no reason for such a meeting."
" What has that fellow got into his head now ? " said Mr.
Markland to himself, after they had left. " I must go right
over and see Father Bernaldi about it; there's something in
the wind, I 'in afraid ; " and more carefully than Mr. Stuart
had done did he examine every word and line of the will.
" This certainly is all straight ; there can be no mistake here.
Pshaw ! he can't do anything about it."
28*
CHAPTER XXXIII.
k*
" All your attempts
Shall fall on me like brittle shafts on armor,
That break themselves ; or like waves against a rock,
That leave no sign of their ridiculous fury
But foam and splinters. My innocence like these
Shall stand triumphant ; and your malice serve
But for a trumpet to proclaim my conquest.
Nor shall you, though you do the worst fate can,
Howe'er condemn, affright an honest man !
HALPH worked away in his garden that afternoon in silence
and sadness. Years seemed to have passed over him in the
last few months, bending still lower his ungainly form, and
dragging more heavily his slow and awkward step. His heart
was " clean gone," as he said, " after his birdie, and he
should n't stan' it much longer, he knew." So abstracted was
he, as his hands busily plied the spade, that he was not aware
of the presence of another person till a hand was laid upon
his arm, and a rough voice asked, " Is this Ralph Riley, the
gardener ? "
" Yes, it 's me," said he ; " but what do you want ? "
" You are my prisoner, sir," replied the other ; " I am an
officer of justice, and was sent to arrest you for stealing."
ANNA CLAYTON. 331
" Stealin' ! " cried Ralph. " I never stole nothin' in all my
life. Don't 0, don't take me to prison ! "
" You must come there 's no help for it ! " said the offi-
cer, as he led the poor frightened fellow away, and left a noto
for his master.
" Where are you goin' to take me to ? " asked Ralph, as
he tremblingly obeyed the order to get into the carriage which
was waiting for them.
" To the person who sent me," said the other ; " I don't
know any more about it."
Friendless, alone, and now a criminal, Ralph gave himself
up to despair. What matter was it to him, he thought, what
became of him ! But soon the carriage stopped, and the pris-
oner was at onco conducted into a small, comfortable apart-
ment, he knew not where.
" This an't so bad, after all," said he to himself, as he
looked around. " I thought they was goin' to put me into a
dungin."
Just at this moment the door opened, and a gentleman
advanced with extended hand and cordial smile. " Forgive
me, Ralph," said he, " that I was obliged to play such a trick
to get you here ; you were so shut in there, at the chateau,
I could not come near you ; and Myrtie told me to find
you, and "
" What ! Myrtie, my darlin', blessed birdie ! " cried Ralph,
eagerly ; " where is she ? 0, tell me, sir, if you can ! "
" She 's safe and well," said the gentleman, smiling at
Ralph's earnestness, " and wants you to come to her in her
own home."
" 0, sir ! " and Ralph fell on his knees, while the tears
332 ANNA CLAYTON.
streamed down his cheeks, " I 'd be willin' to die the next
minit, if I could only see her sweet face once more ! "
" You shall see her, Ralph ; not once only, but every day
of your life, if you will go with me," said Kobert Graham,
wiping away the tears which would gather in his eyes.
" I 'd go to the eend o' this world, and into the next, to find
her, the light o' this old heart ! I han't been myself a minit
since she went away ; but I 's mighty glad when she got away
from them ugly faces, any how ! "
" Ralph, you have been a good, kind, true-hearted friend to
Myrtie ; and she loves you, as she ought to."
" Bless her eyes, she 's an angel an' nothin' else ! I knew
the Blessed Virgin 'd help her through, any how ! but how 'd
she git away? an' where 's Charlie? an' how come you
to know 'em ? "
So Robert told him how they escaped and got home ; and
how he, their new father, had come over to get their property
away from the wicked priests ; and how they had charged him
not to return without Ralph ; and how he had managed to get
him arrested, so that Bernaldi would n't suspect anything ; and
now he was going to take care of him till they could all go
together to Myrtie, where he should always have a home with
his birdie.
Ralph laughed and cried all in one breath, as Mr. Graham
concluded. " O dear," said he, " I thought, little while ago,
I was dyin' o' grief; and now I can't stan' this no better !
I shall die, I 'm so happy, I tell ye ! "
Again the three unwelcome visitors presented themselves at
Mr. Markland's office, at the time appointed the preceding
ANNA CLAYTON. 833
day ; but, to their surprise, no one was present except Bernaldi,
who deigned neither by look nor gesture to notice their en.
trance.
" I had hoped," said Mr. Stuart, " to find a large number
present this morning."
" There is no necessity for it," replied Mr. Mark land.
" Father Bernaldi is here to repreeent the church to which Sir
Charles Duncan has bequeathed his whole property, and 1 art
as agent for the testator. What more is needed ? "
" Still," persisted Mr. Stuart, " I object to proceeding with-
out witnesses ; and, as you have none, I shall take the liberty
to introduce a few myself." Saying which, he left the room,
and soon returned with a dozen or more gentlemen, most of
them well known to the lawyer and priest.
" I protest against this whole proceeding," exclaimed the
latter, angrily. " That upstart," pointing to Mr. Graham,
" has the audacity, I suppose, to think he can break Sir
Charles' will. You '11 find yourself in a bad place soon, sir,
let me tell you ! "
" Let us attend to business, without further parley," said
Mr. Stuart, addressing Mr. Markland ; and then in a concise
manner he presented the claims of Sir Charles Duncan's
children as his legal heirs, and demanded an immediate set-
tlement of his property upon them.
" But the will, Mr. Stuart ! you surely forget the will ! "
exclaimed the attorney, with astonishment.
" I do not forget the instrument purporting to be the will
of Sir Charles Duncan," replied Mr. Stuart, with terrible
emphasis ; " but here, in the presence of these witnesses, I
pronounce that document a forgery ! "
334 ANNA CLAYTON.
" Infamous liar ! " cried Bernaldi, purpling with rage
" prove your words, if you can ! "
" I intend to do so," coolly returned Mr. Stuart, " if Mr.
Markland will put a few of these witnesses under oath."
" I will do nothing of the kind," said the attorney ; " they
could prove nothing ; this is all child's play."
" Just as you please," returned Mr. Stuart. "Your choice
lies between doing it here, or in the public court-room, to
which one of the gentlemen present has a summons for you
both."
" What would you have or do, Mr. Stuart ? " asked the
attorney, somewhat mollified by the aspect of things.
"I would have justice done to the innocent and perse-
cuted; ay and to the guilty, also," replied he, turning to the
" This is insufferable ! " exclaimed Bernaldi, springing to
his feet. " I, for one, will no longer bear such insolence ! "
" As I said before," returned Mr. Stuart, " you can choose
whether you will meet this charge here, fairly, or have it re-
ferred to a legal tribunal, where there will be no secrets."
Mr. Markland drew Bernaldi aside, and, after a few mo-
ments' consultation, proposed sending for Bishop Percy and a
few others, to which Mr. Graham readily assented.
How like the hushed breath which oft presages the coming
whirlwind and storm was the ominous silence which reigned
in that room as the messenger departed swiftly on his errand !
Even Bernaldi felt its oppression, as his eye glanced uneasily
around, to detect, if possible, some indications of the ap-
proaching struggle. But tho face of Mr. Stuart was immov-
ably calm ; and, though a shade of triumph rested upon
ANNA CLAYTON 335
Robert Graham's brow, he completely baffled the penetrating
glance bestowed upon him. The suspense was at length be-
coming painful, when, greatly to the relief of all, steps were
heard ascending the stairs, and in a moment, throwing wide
open the door, his servant announced " his most holy reverence
the bishop." Bowing and smiling moat obsequiously, Mr.
Markland advanced, and apologized ID no measured terms for
the necessity he felt of summoning one so exalted to his hum-
ble abode. Drawing himself up, with hauteur, the bishop replied,
' Your reasons are doubtless satisfactory, Mr. Markland ; I
only regret that we must tolerate, even for a few moments, the
presence of such persons ! " and, as he spoke, he cast a wither-
ing look of scorn and contempt upon Robert Graham and his
friend Mr. Lee. Paying not the slightest heed to .the re-
mark, or the look which accompanied it, Mr. Stuart inquired
if they were now in readiness to proceed.
" I believe so," was Mr. Markland's reply.
" Then," said Mr. Stuart, " I will now reiterate my asser-
tion. That will I pronounce a forgery a most infamous de-
vice, to wrest from Sir Charles Duncan's lawful heirs his
immense property."
" Are you aware of the risk you incur by that assertion,
unless fully proved?" asked Mr. Markland, whose cheek
paled at the task before him.
Most assuredly I am," replied Mr. Stuart, contemptuously;
" but I come prepared to prove th^charge."
" Do it, if you can ! " shouted the bishop, forgetting him-
self in hia anger; " but remember, you shall answer for this
hereafter ! "
" I shall be ready to do so, sir," quietly replied Mr. Stuart ;
836 ANNA CLAYTON.
and then, turning to Mr. Markland, he added, " You will now
oblige me by producing the instrument you call Sir Charles'
will."
Most reluctantly was this request complied with ; for those
guilty, craven hearts quailed before the attorney's determined
" There," said Mr. Markland, handing him the document,
" you will find it difficult, I imagine, to detect a flaw in that
will. It cost Sir Charles and myself many days' labor to
draw it up to his satisfaction, and you see it is well attested."
" "Where are the witnesses now ? " abruptly inquired Mr.
Stuart.
" Well, really, I don't know ; but I suppose they could be
found, if necessary," replied Mr. Markland, with some con-
fusion.
" It will not be necessary," said Mr. Stuart, emphatically.
" I see," continued he, " that the manufacturers' stamp upon
this paper is that of Messrs. Levin & Co. As those gentle-
men are present, will they oblige me by stepping forward."
Immediately two gentlemen, of prepossessing appearance,
came towards the lawyers.
" My name is Levin," said the eldest, " and this is my
partner, Mr. Rogers."
Mr. Markland bowed stiffly, and Mr. Stuart continued,
" The purpose for which I requested your presence here
to-day, gentlemen, you will understand presently. First,
however, Mr. Markland wm please administer the customary
oath ; for I wish to show you that this is no ' child's play.' "
" Mr. Stuart, this is carrying your folly altogether too far,"
exclaimed the bishop, imperiously ; " it cannot be allowed,"
ANNA CLAYTON. 337
" With all deference to you, sir," replied the lawyer, " I
am employed by the guardian of Sir Charles Duncan's heira
to investigate his affairs, and obtain for them their property."
" Which cannot be done wh^ile that will exists," returned
the other.
" But I am prepared to prove that Sir Charles never made
that will."
"A modest assertion, truly! " said the bishop, sneeringly ;
* pray, who, then, do you charge with the forgery ? "
" It were wise for you, sir," significantly answered the law-
yer, " not to press that question too earnestly. My duty to
my clients will be performed fearlessly, and, if any further
impediments are offered here, we shall refer the case at once
to a more public tribunal. Decide now; shall I proceed
or not ? " and he calmly awaited their answer.
The bishop, priest and lawyer, conversed apart for a few
moments, and then the latter replied,
" We are indifferent to your proceedings, Mr. Stuart; we
do not foar to meet you here or elsewhere ; but, if here, how
can the question be satisfactorily settled ? "
" By the decision of a majority of those present, excluding
all personally interested," answered Mr. Stuart.
" But how are we to know they are not already pledged to
your interests ? " Bernaldi asked.
Mr. Stuart cast a pitiful glance at the priest, and then,
turning to the company, he said,
" If there is one gentleman present who knows the object
for which he has been summoned here, I pray you let it be
known." But they all averred that they came in at Mr.
29
338 ANNA CLAYTON
Stuart's request, to witness some transaction, of what nature
they knew not.
Bernaldi gazed searchingly into each face in that large
group, and was apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, for he
eaid, " Let us proceed, then, and end this foolish affair with-
out delay. But your witnesses must be examined separ-
ately."
" Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Stuart, motioning Mr. Kogers
and another gentleman out of the room. " Now, Mr. Levin,"
said he, as that gentleman was placed under oath, " will you
examine the paper upon which that will is written, and tell
us if you manufactured it ? "
Mr. Levin examined it carefully, 1 then held it up to the
light a moment, and answered, without hesitation, " We did,
sir."
" Is there no possibility of your being mistaken ? "
" Not the slightest, sir ; for, to prevent that, we have a pri-
vate mark of our own."
" How long have you been in the business ? "
" About thirty years."
"Have you always used the same stamp or private
mark?"
" Our paper has always been stamped as you see this is,"
he replied, pointing to a corner of the sheet, " but latterly we
have adopted a more private mark, by which we can at once
identify our own manufacture."
" Latterly, did you say ? How long since you adopted it ? "
" About three months, as you will see by the date which is
attached to the mark ;" and he held it up so that each one
could see.
^
ANNA CLAYTON. 339
Daring this reply, Bernaldi had sprang to his feet, with
dilated eyes and compressed lips; for he, -too, saw the evi-
dence of his guilt unmistakably clear before their eyes.
" Now let us hear what our other witnesses may say," said
Mr. Stuart, without noticing the priest's agitation.
" I shall question him myself! " Mr. Markland exclaimed,
angrily, as the partner of Mr. Levin appeared.
" Do so," replied Mr. Stuart.
" In the first place, then," said the lawyer, " I would ask
the witness if there is such a material difference between one
bit of paper and another, that he would dare to identify it, if
the life of a fellow-being hung upon his decision."
" I should not dare to identify it, sir, unless I had some
peculiar reason."
" And is there anything peculiar, in the paper of your own
manufacture, by which you could distinguish it from any
other?"
' There is, sir, in the paper we have made within the last
two or three months."
" What is it?"
41 A private mark, which we agreed upon, and which we
have pressed into the paper, with the date of its adoption."
"Did this paper come from your manufactory?" asked
Mr. Stuart, handing him the will.
He looked through it, as his partner had done, and then said,
11 It did, sir ; and here is the mark and date of which I spoke."
" How long since that paper was made ? "
" It must have been made within three months."
" What need have we of further evidence ? " cried Mr.
Stuart, looking around. " Sir Charles Duncan has been dead
340 ANNA CLAYTON.
these twelve years ; and yet, on this sheet of paper, not three
months old, is his will professed to have been written ! "
" The will is a forgery ! " resounded on all sides ; " there
can be no doubt of it."
" Who, then, is the villain?" sternly demanded he of Mr.
Markland.
" Indeed, Mr. Stuart, you need n't ask me," replied he,
angrily ; " all I know about it is, I drew up such a will for
Sir Charles, and supposed this was the same one. It must be
a copy of it."
" Miserable subterfuge ! " exclaimed Mr. Stuart. " But I
have neither time nor patience to waste on you. Make resti-
fc tution this moment to those you have wronged, or I place you
in the hands of the law."
All the dark, malignant passions which had been working
fearfully in Bernaldi's heart during this scene now burst forth
uncontrollably ; and he hurled the most bitter, deadly invec-
tives upon Robert Graham, Mr. Lee, and even the bishop
himself.
" He is a madman!" said the latter, contemptuously ; "and
no wonder, when he has such evil spirits to contend with."
The frantic priest vainly endeavored to make his escape
amidst the confusion. Two strong arms restrained him,
while Mr. Stuart said, " I have not yet done with you, Sir
priest. You will just give me a check for fifty thousand
pounds, with interest added, the sum Mr. Markland has paid
you from Sir Charles' estate ! "
" You have got to prove Sir Charles' marriage before you
can get anything ! " retorted the priest, exultingly ; " and
that, you know, you can't do."
ANNA CLAYTON. 841
^^L Jl& 4 *
Not so fast ! " cried Mr. Stuart. " I have the proof
here, and you may just sign that check, or the Bow-street
officers, who wait below, will take you in charge I And you,
Mr. Markland, will transfer to me at once all Sir Charles'
property, of whatever nature."
" Well, friend," said James Lee, who had remained a silent,
though not an unmoved spectator of the whole scene, and,
as he spoke, he patted familiarly the bishop's shoulder,
" what thinkest thou now ? Dost thou not see the hand of
the great Avenger in all this? Are not the bitter tears of
anguish thou hast wrung from a mother's heart now drop-
ping like molten lead into thine own ? Verily, friend, I envy
thee not the vigils thou 'It keep this night ! "
" Am I to be forever baffled thus ? " fried Bernaldi, gnash-
ing his teeth with rage, as he that night made a few hasty
preparations for flight. " Yes ! " whispered conscience, in a
voice so clear he started with fright, " so long as innocence
and purity are your chosen victims, you have an invisible foe
to meet, whose shield is truth; against which your barbed
arrows rebound to your own breast ! "
29*
CHAPTER XXXIV.
" Were my whole life to come one heap of troubles,
Tie pleasure of this moment would suffice,
And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance."
LEE'S "MlTHBIDATES."
GLADLY do we turn from scenes of guilt and retribution, to
the cheerful group gathered on the deck of the " Orient,"
that white-winged messenger which, a few months since, so
quickly sped on its mission of love, bearing the mother's
gems to her breast. Now, though freighted with golden
treasures and joyous hearts, the proud waves stay not their
angry dash and roar, as when childhood breathed its pure and
holy calm along the watery path.
Captain Grlynn, who had been pacing with rapid strides the
deck of the noble ship, his weather-beaten face glowing with
pride and happiness, suddenly stopped before the group.
" Now, friends," said he, " my heart is so full I must make
a short yarn of what I 'm going to say. Little did I think,
when I promised Marguerite to take that poor boy and girl
into my craft, what would be the end of it ! But, here I
stand, the owner and master of as handsome a clipper as ever
crossed the ocean, the gift of those children I no longer to
be called the ' Orient,' but, with your leave," bowing to Mr
ANNA CLAYTON. 343
Graham, and, giving a signal to the crew, " there 'a the name
of my craft." Up rose the broad streamer, and, gracefully
unfolding to the breeze, displayed, in gilded letters, ' CUARLLH
AND MYRTIE." A shout of joy from the little group gavo
their welcome appreciation of the grateful tribute, as the silken
pennant floated above them, its bright wings plumed for
homeward flight !
Loud and long rose Ralph's shout above all others, as
he saw his " birdie's " name shining so brightly above him.
" What 'ud his ruv'rence say now," quoth he, " ef he know'd
old Ralph's a-sailiu' under that flag, and he thinkin' all tho
time I 's in prison ! He ! he ! he ! " chuckled he, as he groped
his way down to tell the story to the sailors.
" Verily, friend Robert," said the Quaker, wiping a tear
from his eye, " how hast thy life changed since thou and I
first met yea, and mine also! "
" Yes," replied Mr. Graham, " and to you I feel that I
owe much of my present happiness. Your kind words and
counsel have strengthened me in many a dark hour, when my
heart failed mo."
" Now all is bright about thee," added the other, " thoa
must guard well thy heart, lest it be satisfied with earthly
good."
" I will remember your caution," said Robert, smiling,
" for I grant I am in some danger."
" There are others, if I mistake not," remarked Mr. Stuart,
" who have many of life's changes to reflect upon. What think
you, for instance, of Bernaldi, revelling, but a few months
since, in the spoils of innocence, and the power to blight and
344 ANNA CLAYTON.
crush whomsoever he chose now forced to flee from an out-
raged and exasperated community ? "
"He carries his base heart with him," said Mr. Lee;
" from that he cannot flee."
" No," replied Mr. Stuart ; " and I fear his wicked designs
may not always be frustrated, as in your case, Mr. Graham."
" Doubtless he will go about ' seeking whom he may de-
vour,' " answered Robert, with a shudder ; " but God grant
that neither he nor any other Jesuit may ever cross my path
again ! "
How eagerly did Ralph rise with each morning sun, and
stretch forth his neck to catch, perchance, a glimpse of the
land where his " birdie " dwelt ! To him the days wore
slowly away. " Seems to me," said he, one morning, " this
'tarnal old hulk keeps a-goin' right round one pint nothin'
but water to-day, and nothin' but water yesterday, and ever
so many days afore that. I b'leve the whole world 's turned
to water ! " But Ralph's suspense was soon relieved. That
very afternoon one of the crew, pointing to a long dark line
on the horizon, asked him if he saw that.
" See what? " said he ; " that snaky-lookin' thing way off
on top o' the water ? "
" Ho ! ho ! you lubber, don't you know that 's land ? "
Ralph looked at the sailor in amazement, rubbed his eyes,
and then looked again in the direction he pointed ; but it
required more faith than he possessed to connect that dark
object with the land of his dreams. Yet still he gazed, and
gazed, till his eyes ached and his brain reeled; gradually
the dark line seemed expanding and looming up in the dis-
AHMA CLAYTON. 345
Unco, when the conviction suddenly flashed upon his mind
that the sailor's words were true.
"Hurra! hurra! " screamed he, in a voice which brought
every soul on deck ; " there 's my blessed birdie's land !
Seems to me this old hulk '11 never fetch there, though. O,
dear ! dear ! I could a'uiost jump across, this rninit ! "
But on, swiftly ou, the buoyant vessel glided, notwithstand-
ing Ralph's fears, while every eye gazed intently on the still
disUnt shores.
" By to-morrow," said Robert Graham, as they retired to
their berths that night, " we shall have <iuite a distinct view
of the laud;" and, with a grateful heart, ho laid him down to
sleep and dream of home.
But, all through thai livelong night, with straining eyes,
vainly endeavoring to peer through its darkness, sat the
honest old gardener; sleep came not near his eyelids, for
memory and hope were busily weaving their chains about his
lu'iirt. Anxiously he watched .for the first gray streak of
dawn, and when its faint light revealed a boldly -dctiued shore,
even nearer thau he had dared to hope, his joy knew no
bounds. Shuffling along as fast as his clumsy feet would
carry him, he gave a very decided knock at Robert Graham's
state-room door. " Mister Graham ! " said he, " Mister Gra-
ham ! we 're a'most to 'Meriky ! " Then seizing T. great
diuncr-bell which lay ou a table near him, he rang its loud
notes with an unsparing hand, causing thy sleepers to spring
from their berths with affright.
" Verily, Ralph," said the Quaker, coming on deck, " thou
art beside thyself, this morning. What aileth theo ? "
" 0, wo 'vc a'most got there, Mr. Lee. Seems to mo I can't
346 ANNA OLAYION.
stan' it, no way, till I see my birdie's sweet face again ! " and
off he went to feast his eyes on the land which contained hia
treasure.
" The happiest home in all Asheville, save one?' said Mrs.
Lindsey, smiling, as she entered Anna's parlor, one afternoon,
and found her seated lovingly with her children.
" No, Bessie," replied Anna, " I shall not admit even
your exception ; mine is the happiest home in all the world ! "
" And I 'm the happiest girl in the world," cried Myrtie,
throwing back her sunny curls, and dimpling her face with a
bright smile.
" You are the most beautiful, at least," thought Mrs. Lind-
sey, as she kissed the sweet mouth and gazed into the deep-
blue eye of the fair girl. Myrtie was lovely; but her
winning simplicity was the charm which drew all hearts to
her.
" I really believe I am the happiest of you all," said
Charlie, a noble, manly boy of fifteen ; " but when father
comes," and he looked roguishly at his mother, " we shall
all have to yield the point to him."
Anna smiled, and, telling him to run down to the post-office
and s^if there was any news from that father, she said to
Bessie, " It is not so very weak and foolish, after all, to pride
myself on such a boy as that, is it, Bessie? "
" Weak and foolish ! " repeated Bessie, her eyes suffused
with tears ; "no, indeed, dear Anna ! you have in your children
all a mother's heart could wish; if anything could repay
your years of suffering, it would be the restoration of suck
treasures."
ANNA CLAYTON. 347
" Here, mother ' " cried Charlie, bounding into the room
with a joyful step, " here 's a letter from father, post-marked
in Boston ; now you are glad, I know."
Anna quickly broke the seal, while Charlie and Myrtie
impatiently awaited the news.
" Only think," said their mother, as she concluded reading,
" they have arrived in Boston, and will be here nearly as soon
as this letter this very night, probably ! "
" Has Ralph come, too, mother ? "
' Yes, my daughter, and you can hardly wish to see him
more than I do."
" 0, how glad, how ylad I am ! " cried Myrtie, clapping
her hands for joy. " Dear, good Ralph ! he shall always live
with me now ! "
" And, besides Ralph," said Mrs. Graham, " there 's Mr.
Stuart and his wife, and Captain Glynn and his wife, all your
friends, my children I might say, your deliverers ! "
" Yes," said Charlie, " and all the friends we had, except
Margery and Father Ambrose."
" And Sister Agnes ! " added Myrtie, warmly.
" Cherish them all with great love," said their mother, " for
our present joy we owe to them. But go now, my boy, and
gather in our home circle to greet the welcome visitors.
You, dear Bessie, belong to us; so you must remain and let
your husband join you here."
" 0, Anna, my dearly-cherished sister ! " exclaimed Bes-
sie, " most sincerely do I rejoice with you that your grief is
thus turned into gladness, and the dark cloud removed, as I
trust, forever from your path I "
The news of the expected arrival had quickly spread
348 ANNA CLAYTON.
through the Tillage ; and long before the travellers reached
Robert Graham's house, they were greeted with shouts of
welcome along the road. Hand in hand stood Charlie and
Myrtle at the gate, eagerly watching for the first glimpse
of faces they had known only in sorrow. Near them the
happy wife and mother, with parted lips and flushed cheeks,
waited to receive not only a loved husband, but those who
had guarded her best treasures when lost to her. The group
around the door, crowned by the white flowing locks of the
aged grandfather, watched, with joyful sympathy, for the
expected guests.
" Here they come ! " cried Myrtie, as two carriages drove
rapidly up to the house ; and, unheeding all else, she flew to
the extended arms of a rough being, who had no eyes save
for her.
" Dear, good Ralph ! " exclaimed she, " how glad I am to
see you ! "
"There 'tan't no use I can't say nothin'!" said
Ralph, choking with each word, as he hugged her closely to
his breast. "Birdie darlin' darlin' birdie!" Then hold-
ing out an arm to Charlie, he enclosed within that warm
embrace all his world. Not an undimmed eye looked upon
them, for all knew through what suffering that strange friend-
ship had been nurtured, and what devotion had bound these
young hearts to their childhood's protector.
" Children," at length said their mother, approaching
them with streaming eyes, "let me, too, bless your old
friend ; for even you cannot feel as I do how much we owe
to him ! "
Come, birdie, let 'a go 'way sum'mers I can't stan' this
ANNA CLAYTON. 341)
no longer ! " cried Ralph, as Myrtle's mother poured forth in
warm terms her gratitude to him.
" Wait till Myrtie has greeted her other friends," said Mrs.
Graham, smiling kindly on him. " You and she will not bo
parted again for many a year, I trust."
" I "d never ask for nothin' more 'n to serve my birdie
allers," said he, wiping his eyes, and gazing after her fair
form.
She, glad and joyous as the birds, flitted from one to
another, wanning each heart with her sunny smiles ; while
Charlie, in a more dignified though no less cordial manner,
warmly welcomed the friends of his darker hours. Mr.
Stuart no longer wondered at Lady Emilie's enthusiastic gen-
erosity, and Captain Glynn felt that henceforth his " craft "
would be doubly dear to him, with its new colors.
14 Come, wife," said Mr. Graham, in the midsfc of their re-
joicings, " let us give our friends a seat under the great elm
across the way. I 've got a little piece of news reserved for
you, yet." *
" For me?" asked she, looking up in surprise.
" Yes, Anna, for you ; and, as it is something very agree-
able, I choose to tell it in a pleasant spot. There, Mr. Stuart,
what do you think of this? " he added, as they grouped them-
selves under the wide-spreading branches.
41 Delightful ! delightful ! " exclaimed the lawyer.
" But the news, Robert! " said his wife; " tell us the news,
now!"
" I am not going to give you a lecture," said he, laugh-
ingly, as their voices were hashed, and all eyes turned with
expectation to him, " but I must tell you that our Jit tic Myr-
30
850 ANNA OLAYfON.
tie, here, is the richest heiress in all the state I had almost
said the country ! "
" How 's that? " cried several voices at once.
"Mr. Stuart, will give you the particulars. I can only
Bay that those dear children who were stolen beneath this
very tree have been restored not only to their mother's
arms, but to their rightful possessions. And, though Charlie's
inheritance is princely, Myrtie's has the addition of Lady
Emilie's fortune ! Thus, as on this memorable spot began,
so may here forever end, THE MOTHEE'S TRIAL."
ANNA CLAYTON.
THE roLLOwnca ARE SOME or THE OPINIONS or THE PRESS
THB story, as a whole, IB most graphically and powerfully drawn
and is one of the most affecting and instructive we have ever read.
Yet, as the various scenes, almost tragical at times, draw to a conclu-
frii'ti, light falls upon the picture, and its painfully dark shading la
relieved. Characters change places with, startling rapidity, sad faces
brighten, and Jesuitical eyes look double vengeance in the dismay and
confusion of their defeat. Throughout the work there is a vitality and
strength, a freedom from all flippancy and trifling, a purity of senti-
ment and a sober earnestness of purpoee, which give it a power over
the sympathies, and an intrinsic and permanent worth, far beyond any
moral tale with which we tan acquainted. Barre Gazette.
Its high literary character, and the peculiar features of the plot, un-
folding scenes of " real life," and of affecting and even terrible interest,
will impress every one who enters upon the story. There V enough
of the beautiful, playful and triumphant, to relieve the dark shading
of the picture ; and those who have read the entire work predict for it
a popularity which few works of the kind have ever enjoyed. Bos-
ton Journal.
We are led to expect a work of extraordinary interest, decidedly
the best popular tale of the season. We are impatient to see the end
of the story, and shall give a more full notice of the work as soon as it
is out Boston Bee.
-
A work of uncommon power, and of exciting and absorbing interest.
Boston Telegraph.
It is a novel founded on actual occurrences, though of a most remark-
able character : and the scene is laid in one of our own New England
villages. It develops the craft and the unscrupulous means to which
852 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
Jesuitism sometimes resorts to accomplish darling objects ; and will bo
likely to impress the reader very strongly against that " Mystery of
Iniquity," which has so long been working hi darkness ha the world,
and which still works wherever it can find opportunity. The moral
tone of the work, judging from such of the proof-pages as we have
seen, will satisfy the most scrupulous reader. Boston Evening
Traveller.
A work of very high order. The story moves on with a force, direct-
ness of aim, and dignified moral tone, which every sensible reader will
admire. There is about it nothing flimsy or trifling, no foolish gossip,
no senseless and silly talk, thrown hi to make out a book. It is too
earnest and business-like for such poor resorts. * * It is such a
specimen of literary workmanship in the story line as it is refreshing
to get hold of. Saturday Evening Gazette.
From a partial examination of the proof-sheets, we are prepared to
expect something of extraordinary interest. It is written in a style of
uncommon beauty and force, and the work, in its whole plot and execu-
tion, promises to exceed anything of the land with which we are
acquainted. Boston Evening Transcript.
A well-conceived and finely- written tale, of high moral excellence,
and useful tendency. The plot is exceedingly attractive, and the style
of the author is pure and vigorous. Boston Courier.
Through the courtesy of the publisher we have been permitted to
look at the proof sheets of Anna Clayton, and believe this work will
have as large a sale as the most popular works of the day. It is written
in a graphic, outspoken style ; the incidents are true to nature, not
overdrawn, distorted, or feeble. It is not only highly intellectual, but
a work of uncommon and absorbing interest. Uncle Samuel.
It is declared to be a book, not of fiction, but of facts, things which
have actually occurred, brottght together and arranged with skill in
a narrative form. Our present acquaintance with the character and
accomplishments of the writer leads us to anticipate, when we shall
have read it, an entire concurrence with the strong recommendations
cf the Boston papers. New York Independent
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