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 * * 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,- 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.