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 IdLIS 
 
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 MARRIED IN HASTE, 
 
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 AUTHOR OF " DORA THORNE," " BEYOND PARDON," 
 " REPENTED AT LEISURE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 3 r 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 GEO. W. OGILVIE, 
 230 LAKE STREET,
 
 MARRIED IN HASTE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE Christmas-eve that brought happiness to so many 
 thousands of homes brought to me nothing more than a long 
 uncomfortable journey and the novelty of a first situation ; 
 for I had traveled from London to the lake country ; and, 
 when I reached the station at Ulladale, my senses were 
 numbed with cold and frost. 
 
 Evidently some mistake had been made as to the time of 
 the trains, for the carriage which I had expected would be 
 sent to meet me had not yet arrived. The station was a 
 small one, and there were few people about. The wind wailed 
 dismally round the building. The open archway that led 
 from the station to the road looked like a black yawning 
 abyss. Anything was better than remaining there, so I re- 
 solved to fill up the time that I must wait in walking down 
 the road that led to Ulladale. In the distance was the pretty 
 town, the church-spires of which stood out tall and white. 
 Just as I reached the end of the road, the moon came from 
 behind the clouds and cast a silvery gleam over the snow-clad 
 scene, and then it was exceedingly beautiful. 
 
 I leaned over the stile to gaze at it. The moonlight kissed 
 the white spires, the snow-covered meadows, the distant 
 houses. From the bare hedges and the branches of the trees 
 hung great icicles which glittered like diamonds. The red 
 berries shone on the holly trees, the tall dark firs stood out 
 in martial array, the stars shone in the night-sky. 
 
 Oh, beautiful Christmas-eve ! Something stirred in my 
 heart and brought tears to my eyes when the bells began to 
 ring and the soft sweet chime came to me across the snow.
 
 I thought of the happy homes that Christmas moon was shin- 
 ing on, of devoted husbands and wives, fond fathers and 
 mothers, merry children home from school, of happy lovers, 
 kindly friends. I looked up to the sky, and I prayed that 
 Heaven would send some one to love me. Every one expects 
 a gift at Christmas-time, and that was what I asked from 
 Heaven. That was my prayer on Christmas-eve, and my 
 story will tell how it was granted. 
 
 I returned to the station just as the hour was striking, and 
 found that the carriage had arrived during my absence. The 
 coachman touched his hat as I came up the platform. There 
 was no other being in sight. 
 
 " The carriage for Miss Forster, from Ullamere," he said. 
 And a few minutes later I was on my way to the Hall. 
 
 It seemed as though the stars were lighting me to a fresh 
 life, as though the snow-fringed branches of the tall trees 
 were beckoning to me. I felt a weird sensation in driving 
 alone through this silent country on Christmas-eve. 
 
 The moon shone out with a whiter, brighter light. I saw 
 that we were driving through a beautiful park. The water 
 lying under the trees was completely frozen ; the evergreens 
 stood out distinct and clear ; and the weird music of the wind, 
 as it stirred the great trees, sounded as though the very spirit 
 of Christmas were abroad. 
 
 A sudden curve, the ripple of a fountain not yet frozen, 
 the cry of a startled bird, the deep baying of a hound, and 
 we were driving up a fine avenue of chestnut-trees. The 
 moon revealed a noble pile of buildings. I see the picture 
 now as I saw it then. Ullamere was a large, handsome resi- 
 dence, built in the Italian style, with pillared porch and bal- 
 cony, and stately wings. A lawn sloped down to the very 
 edge of the lake, and the park lay behind the house. No 
 ruddy light shone from the windows ; all was dark and 
 gloomy. It struck me vaguely, as I stood outside, that the 
 house held a secret. No answer came to the first ring ; the 
 second brought an old gray-haired man, who opened the door 
 cautiously, it seemed to me. In the large entrance-hall there 
 were no evergreens, no firelight, no mistletoe-bough, only 
 gloom and deep shadows. A small lamp glimmered some- 
 where in the depths of the hall. 1 felt chilled. 
 
 "Miss Forster," said the butler, "my lady is expecting 
 you. Will you step this way ? "
 
 He led the way to the library, where a fire burned in the 
 grate and a lighted lamp stood on the table. As for any sign 
 of Christmas, I might as well have looked for roses in 
 December. 
 
 " I will tell Lady Culmore that you are here, he said. 
 
 He went away, leaving me alone. What a silent house this 
 was ! No sound disturbed it, not even the opening or shut- 
 ting of a door ; and the silence appeared to grow more and 
 more intense. It seemed as though an atmosphere of wrong- 
 doing filled the house. I turned up the lamp. The light 
 fell on handsome marble busts, on well-lined bookcases, on 
 massive bronze ornaments, on a few choice pictures. 
 
 Presently the door opened, and the gray-haired butler an- 
 ounced " Lady Culmore." I heard the rustle of a silken 
 dress ; a faint odor, as of heliotrope, was wafted to me. As 
 I saw her then I shall see her until I die. She came in with 
 a quiet, graceful movement. Her dress was of rich ruby vel- 
 vet, while fine lace shrouded the, white shoulders and the 
 rounded arms. She was beautiful as a queen ; and, if ever a 
 woman's face told a story, her face did. I read in it power, 
 passion, terrible repression the outcome of an unnatural 
 life ; I read wistfulness and fear. It was the loveliest, but 
 the strangest face I had ever seen. One peculiarity of it 
 was that, when she was not speaking or smiling, her lips 
 became very pale. 
 
 She came to me with outstretched hands, but without a 
 smile, without a gleam of welcome in her eyes. She was 
 like a fair marble statue, yet what a depth of feeling lay in 
 the dark blue eyes ! 
 
 " You have had a long, cold journey, Miss Forster," she 
 said. " It is eight o'clock, and we are just going to take 
 tea. Mrs. Harper shall show you to your room, and then 
 you can join us." 
 
 Not to save my life could I have refrained, as I raised my 
 eyes, filled with tears, to her face, from saying 
 
 " This is not much like Christmas." 
 
 And, if the words had been so many barbed arrows that 
 pierced her heart, she could not have started more. It was 
 as though some long-lost voice had spoken to her. 
 
 " Is it Christmas-eve ? " she replied. " I had forgotten 
 it." 
 
 " You forgot that it was Christmas-eve ! " I cried, wonder-
 
 ing to myself what manner of woman this was. " Why," 
 I continued, " the whole world remembers and loves Christ- 
 inas ! " 
 
 " I loved it once," she remarked. 
 
 " And why not now ? " I asked, without thinking that per- 
 haps my words were abrupt. 
 
 "Now?" she answered dully. "Oh, now is quite differ- 
 ent ! " She looked confused, as though she hardly knew 
 how to answer me. Then, seeing the tears rain down my 
 face, she added, " You must try to be happy. It was kind of 
 you to come. You will find Ullamere a beautiful place, but 
 very dull." 
 
 She shuddered as she spoke : and I noticed that her 
 voice was sweet and clear, but sadly deficient in the sweet 
 intonations that speak of hope and love. I believe that I 
 was almost frightened by her. 
 
 " You are fatigued with your long journey," she said, see- 
 ing that my tears still fell. 
 
 " Yes ; but it is not that," I replied. " I thought Christ- 
 mas was so beautiful in England." 
 
 " So it is," she replied ; and she clasped her white hands 
 together. " But not here not here ; we forget it. It must 
 seem strange to you." 
 
 I had read such beautiful stories of Christmas-eve in 
 England of the holly and mistletoe, and of Christmas dec- 
 orations. I remembered my prayer at the stile under the 
 snow-fringed trees. 
 
 " I have asked for a Christmas gift," I said impulsively. 
 
 " What have you asked for ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I was looking at the blue sky, watching the stars, and I 
 asked that Heaven, as my Christmas gift, might give me 
 some one to love me." 
 
 " Some one to love you ! " she echoed. Her face flushed, 
 her eyes sparkled, her hands trembled. " Ask for a sword to 
 pierce your heart, for a deadly serpent to poison you, for 
 lightning to strike you dead, if you will ; but never ask for 
 any one to love you never for any one whom you can love ! " 
 
 And the next minute she was gone. 
 
 A kindly, comely woman, whom I knew afterward as Mrs. 
 Harper the housekeeper, came to me a few minutes later. 
 
 " Will you go to your room, miss ? " she asked. " You 
 must be tired and cold."
 
 Yet, though the wintry wind had pierced me and the frost 
 had seized my hands, my heart was colder still ; and I longed 
 for the happy sunny France that I had left. 
 
 We went through long winding passages. Mrs. Harper 
 carried a wax-taper, which made the darkness seem all the 
 more profound. The wind moaned fitfully. 
 
 " What a dreary house ! " I cried involuntarily. " Why 
 do you not have it lighted ? " 
 
 " There is no gas nearer than Ulladale," she replied, " and 
 that is quite five miles away. Besides, no one cares about 
 having the place lighted up." 
 
 " No one cares ! " I repeated. " What an extraordinary 
 thing ! I thought every one liked to make a house cheer- 
 ful." 
 
 " All the gas that could be made in the world would not 
 render this house cheerful," said Mrs. Harper. " There is a 
 shadow over it." 
 
 " The shadow of what ? " I asked, with a pale face a:;d 
 fast-beating heart. 
 
 " No one knows. I can see the shadow and feel it, but 
 I cannot tell what it is. You are young, Miss Forster, and 
 you must try to be cheerful. Do not let the gloom oppress 
 you. That is the bell for tea." 
 
 I looked at my few plain and simple dresses. 
 
 " I am ashamed to go down in one of these," I said. 
 " Are there any visitors ? " 
 
 She laughed a dreary laugh. 
 
 " Visitors ! No ; they seldom come here." 
 
 " But Lady Culmore was so superbly dressed ! " I cried. 
 
 The housekeeper looked at me earnestly. 
 
 " In all the country," she replied, " there is no one who 
 dresses so magnificently as my lady ; but she will never get 
 that which she dresses for never." 
 
 I took out a dress of plain black silk and some holly- 
 berries. 
 
 " I will not forget it is Christmas, if every one else in the 
 house does ! " I cried, as I placed a spray of red-berried holly 
 in my hair and one in the bodice of my dress. 
 
 A few minutes afterward I stood at the drawing-room door 
 with a beating heart. There was a death-like silence within ; 
 the wind was wailing outside, the shadows were deepening 
 and gathering around me. I took courage, opened the door,
 
 and found myself in a magnificent room, lofty and beautifully 
 decorated. The ceiling was painted ; there were fine pictures, 
 a few rare statues, jardinieres filled with costly exotics, 
 luxurious furniture ; altogether it was a most charming apart- 
 ment. It was lighted by wax-tapers. Lady Culmore was 
 seated before the ruddy fire. 
 
 Come in, Miss Forster," she said. " You will be glad to 
 have some tea, I am sure." 
 
 A cozy little table was drawn to the fire ; a silver tea- 
 service, with cups and saucers of Sevres china, was placed on 
 it. I took a seat, and then Lady Culmore forgot all about 
 me. She sat looking into the fire, holding in her white hand a 
 fan of delicate feathers. Evidently she saw pictures in the 
 fire which I could not see, she read stories there which I 
 could not read. 
 
 After a short interval, a servant brought in a silver stand 
 and kettle, and placed them on the table. 
 
 " Sir Rudolph is coming, my lady," he said. 
 
 I had thought her cold and without emotion, but I saw 
 now that I had been mistaken. Her face changed. The 
 peculiar pallor of the lips disappeared, and the mask as of stone 
 fell ; there was the flushed, passionate, beautiful face of a living, 
 loving woman. I noticed that she placed one hand over her 
 heart, as though she would still its beating. I have never 
 seen such pain, such passion, such intensity of longing in any 
 human eyes as I read in hers. 
 
 Again the door opened, and Sir Rudolph entered. I 
 forgot at first to look at him in the wonder I felt at her. The 
 agony in the eyes of a frightened bird when the snake first 
 fixes it would give a faint idea of the expression in hers; yet 
 in them shone a gleam of love unutterable, despairing love. 
 But, when he spoke, I looked at him. He was not a model 
 of manly beauty ; but he had a face that, once seen, could 
 never be forgotten. He was tall, with the erect figure, the 
 broad shoulders, the muscular limbs that distinguish a true 
 Englishman. The chief charms of his face lay in his mouth 
 and eyes. The mouth was tender, proud, and firm, its 
 graceful lines unhidden by the dark mustache. I could never 
 describe the beauty, the power, and the pathos of his eyes. 
 When they looked at me, they were kindly, clear, and bright ; 
 when they fell on Lady Culmore's face, I read aversion and 
 fear in them.
 
 Sir Rudolph held out his hand, and bade me welcome to 
 Ullamere. His greeting was a thousand times more kindly 
 than Lady Culmore's had been. He said that he hoped I 
 should not find it dull that he spent his own time in reading, 
 boating, fishing, and rambling over the hills. And all the 
 time he spoke his wife's eyes were fixed on him with the look 
 of a frightened bird. 
 
 We sat down, and if ever there was a study, these two, 
 husband and wife, presented one. I see the whole scene so 
 plainly the magnificent room, with the pale clear light from 
 the wax-tapers, the glow of the fire as it fell on the pictures 
 and statues, the bloom and fragrance of the hothouse flowers. 
 I shall never forget how the firelight fell on the rich dress 
 and jewels, the fair hair and beautiful face of Lady Culmore, 
 and on the dark head and noble face of Sir Rudolph. Had 
 she donned the rich robe and gems to please Sir Rudolph ? 
 If so, it was indeed labor in vain. After the first half-shrink- 
 ing look, his eyes were carefully averted from her. I could 
 see that plainly. It was not careless indifference ; it was that 
 he would not look at her. When he spoke to me, his eyes 
 met mine with a frank open expression. If Lady Culmore 
 addressed him, they were studiously fixed on anything but 
 her. 
 
 As tea proceeded, the wonder to me grew greater. When 
 Sir Rudolph addressed his wife, he seemed quite unconscious 
 of the constraint and coldness that came into his voice, as she 
 seemed quite unconscious of the pleading that came into hers. 
 There was no attempt at conversation between them. I could 
 not say that Sir Rudolph was wanting in civility or attention 
 to the beautiful woman who looked at him with such passion- 
 ate, entreating, love-lit eyes ; but he did only just what 
 was needful no more. There was more below the surface, 
 unless I was greatly mistaken. I read shrinking aversion, 
 something more than dislike loathing even on his part ; on 
 hers, love that was painful in its passionate entreaty. Al- 
 together I felt that I was in a atmosphere of mystery. The 
 gloom of the house, the silence that reigned in the splendid 
 rooms, the curious aspect of husband and wife, all confirmed 
 the idea. 
 
 One little incident impressed me much. Lady Culmore 
 wore a very handsome diamond bracelet ; the gold of the set- 
 ting of one of the stones was slightly damaged, and hurt her
 
 arm, She raised it suddenly with a little cry of pain, and 
 went over to her husband, 
 
 " Rudolph," she said, " will you see to this bracelet for 
 me ? " And she looked at him with eyes so full of love that 
 my wonder was that he did not embrace her on the spot and 
 kiss the lovely pleading face. 
 
 She held out her beautifully rounded white arm to him 
 and showed him the little red mark caused by the broken 
 gold. In doing so her hand touched him. It was acciden- 
 tal, I believe ; but I shall never forget the incident. It was 
 over in a moment ; but, while that moment lasted, the scene 
 was terrible. His faced changed ; fierce anger flamed from 
 his eyes. He shook the white hand from him as though it 
 had been a viper. 
 
 " You forget ! " he cried, in a voice, so cold and hard that 
 I recognized it with difficulty ; and, shuddering, white, trem- 
 bling, she shrunk away from him. 
 
 " Good night, Miss Forester," said Sir Rudolph abruptly. 
 " I hope you will make yourself as happy as you can." 
 
 He was gone before I had time to reply. 
 
 Lady Culmore stood quite still for a few moments ; then 
 she tore the jewels from her hair, from her neck, from her 
 arms, and dashed them upon the ground. 
 
 " Am I so hateful, so horrible," she cried, " that he will 
 not look at me, that I may not touch him ? Oh, Heaven, 
 am I so hateful, so loathsome as that ? " 
 
 Suddenly she remembered my presence, and looked at me 
 with a mild, passionate despair that touched my very heart. 
 I went to pick up the beautiful gems strewn upon the ground. 
 I laid them, a glittering, magnificent mass, on the table. She 
 came up to them with a half-shamed face. 
 
 " How passionate I am, Miss Forester ! " she said. 
 " What can you think of me ? " 
 
 " I have had no time to think at all yet," I replied. 
 
 Then she walked to one of the large mirrors, and stood 
 before it for some minutes in silence. 
 
 "Miss Forester, come here," she said, after she had 
 looked long and earnestly at herself. 
 
 I went to her, and we stood side by side. She regarded 
 me critically. 
 
 " You are beautiful," she said slowly. " You are dark as 
 the daughters of sunny Spain, and your eyes are like dusky
 
 velvet no, they are like purple heartsease ; but you are not 
 so beautiful as I am." She turned to me fiercely and clutched 
 my hands. " Tell me," she cried " you have had time 
 to judge tell me am I not a woman whom any man could 
 love ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied quickly, half frightened by her strange 
 manner. 
 
 " Look at my arm," she continued. " If any other man 
 had been in his place, he would have kissed it; and he flung 
 it from him ! " 
 
 I have no time to answer. The footman came in to clear 
 the table, and I went back to my room. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT manner of house, what manner of people were 
 these ? What was wrong under this roof ? What was the 
 shadow where all should have been bright ? I had been tired 
 before, but the mystery and novelty had so excited and 
 bewildered me that I could not rest, I could not sleep. 
 Surely no one had ever spent a stranger Christmas-eve than 
 this. 
 
 I drew aside the hangings. Ah me, the sweet white 
 world that lay outside, the beauty of the Christmas night-sky 
 and golden stars ! I could not hear the bells, although I knew 
 there would chime until past midnight ; and I knew how the 
 music of them would rise and fall over the trees, would die 
 away across the snow. I should have wept in sheer des- 
 perate pity for my own loneliness had it not been that my 
 thoughts were so deeply engrossed with the mystery of Ulla- 
 mere. 
 
 I went to sleep at last, thinking of the beautiful face of the 
 wife, of the noble face of the husband, wondering what 
 shadow, what sorrow lay between them. 
 
 Christmas morning dawned bright and beautiful. I drew 
 near the window and looked out in wonder and delight. 
 There lay the mere, known as Ulla Water, and the grounds 
 of the estate sloped down to the very edge. It was a beauti-
 
 10 
 
 ful lake, on which in summer the water-lilies slept; green 
 reeds and sedges grew on the banks, and in many places the 
 boughs of the trees dipped into the water. There was almost 
 every variety of tree in the grounds copper-beech and silver- 
 beech, stately oak and graceful lime, trembling aspen and 
 spreading walnut, the pride of the place being a grand old 
 cedar. In its mantle of white snow, with the sun shining 
 full upon it, the scene was most striking. The robins were 
 flying about in search of food, and the laurustinus was in full 
 flower. My heart and spirits rose. It could not be all mis- 
 ery in such a world as this, such a beautiful world, disfigured 
 only by man and sin ! 
 
 I went down stairs, thinking that, if Christmas-eve were 
 forgotten, surely, being Christians, they would remember 
 Christmas-day ! But again there was no recognition of it 
 no holly, no mistletoe, no cheery voices, no laughter, no 
 Christmas greeting. The house was as silent in the morning 
 sunshine as it had been on the previous night. 
 
 Breakfast was served in the dining-room ; but neither Sir 
 Rudolph nor his wife came down to it. The old butler told 
 me that Sir Rudolph's breakfast was served to him in his 
 study, and that her ladyship took hers in her own room. 
 
 There was nothing to be done but to make the best of it, 
 to take my breakfast in solitude and dream of the thousand 
 happy homes where, on Christmas morning, the long-parted 
 met again, and there was nothing but gladness and love ; and, 
 while the sunshine does not deepen the shadow in this 
 gloomy dwelling, I can tell the brief story of my life how 
 and why I came to Ullamere. 
 
 My mother, Mabel Averil, came of a good old English 
 family. When not more than seventeen she ran away with 
 her drawing-master, Alic Forster, a young artist who had 
 dreams of making a name and winning fame. Her family 
 never forgave her, and my father took her to Paris. There 
 he struggled long and arduously. The best engagement he 
 had was as drawing-master to the pupils of Madame Dude- 
 vant, who had a large and fashionable school in the Champs 
 Elyse'es. He died suddenly of fever when I was four years 
 old ; and Madame Dudevant, who was a kind-hearted woman, 
 offered my mother a situation as English teacher in her 
 school. My education was to be her recompense and truly 
 I received a first-class education. Had I been the daughter
 
 II 
 
 of a peeress instead of a poor English teacher, she could not 
 have taken greater pains with me. On my life at the Parisian 
 pension I need not dwell. My mother died when I was near- 
 ly eighteen ; and after that I could never endure the place, it 
 was so full of painful memories for me. Madame was very 
 good ; when I told her how unhappy I felt, she said the best 
 thing would be for me to take a situation in England. She 
 answered an advertisement for a young lady who spoke 
 French, German, and Italian, and was well acquainted with 
 the literature of the three countries. It was essential that 
 she should also be an excellent musician and a good singer. 
 The salary proposed was most liberal, and a comfortable 
 though exceedingly quiet home was offered. 
 
 " You will be very fortunate," said Madame Dudevant to 
 me, " if you secure this." 
 
 Very fortunate indeed in a great many respects ! The 
 salary was one hundred per annum ; the situation was that 
 of companion to Lady Culmore, the wife of Sir Rudolph 
 Culmore of Brooke, residing now at Ullamere, in Lancashire. 
 Madame thought she had some reason for congratulating 
 me, and I was only too delighted to have an opportunity of 
 seeing England, the land I loved. 
 
 It was on the twenty-third of December that I left Mad- 
 ame Dudevant, the school, and the gay sunny land of France. 
 I was eighteen that same month. My experience of life was 
 limited to that of a boarding-school. I had a vague idea 
 that all married people were very happy, never having lived 
 with any. The only men I had seen were the masters who 
 attended the school and the fathers and brothers of the 
 boarders. 
 
 So, young and inexperienced, I was plunged into what I 
 felt must be the very heart of a tragedy. 
 
 Mrs. Harper came in to say that Lady Culmore was not 
 very well, and would not be down stairs yet for some time, 
 but that, if I liked, I could have the carriage and drive to 
 Ulladale Church. 
 
 " Will no one else go to church, Mrs. Harper ? " I asked. 
 
 " No one ever goes to church from here," she said sadly. 
 " You will find this like very few other houses in the world, 
 Miss Forster ; " and I felt that her words were true. 
 
 I told her how glad I should be to attend church. It was 
 pleasant to think of going out into the sunshine amidst the 
 holly and the MOW,
 
 12 
 
 Tears came to my eyes when I heard the chime of 
 Christmas bells at last. There was no lack of evergreens in 
 the church ; the whole place seemed filled with them. Again 
 I prayed Heaven for my Christmas gift some one to love 
 me. I thought much, as I knelt there, of the darkened 
 household whence no one went to church, and where they 
 had forgotten Christmas-eve. 
 
 I drove home again when service was over, better and 
 brighter for that my first visit to an English church ; but, as 
 I drew near Ullamere, the shadow fell over me again. 
 
 When I re-entered the house, I found that Sir Rudolph 
 was out, and the butler told me that Lady Culmore wished 
 to see me in her boudoir. The boudoir was a pretty little 
 room leading from the drawing-room and looking right over 
 the mere. I went to her at once, feeling more curiosity than 
 I cared to express. I found her very quiet, very sad, and 
 pale. Evidently the terrible emotion of the preceding even- 
 ing had exhausted her. She wore a dress of purple velvet 
 that showed her tall graceful figure to the greatest advan- 
 tage. There was the same deathly pallor on her face, the 
 same curious expression of restraint, fear, and longing in her 
 eyes as there had been on the previous night, she held out 
 her hand to me, half clinging to me, as I noticed afterward 
 she clung to any one who was kind to her. 
 
 " You have been to church," she said, with a smile. " You 
 found something like Christmas there ? " 
 
 " A beautiful Christmas," I replied, " just as I had 
 dreamed of it all holly and laurel and mistletoe. And I 
 love to hear the old Christmas carols." 
 
 " I have not been to church for so long, I almost forget 
 what the services are like," she said. 
 
 " Do you not think it rather a pity not to go to church ? " 
 I ventured to ask. " It does not matter whether our trouble 
 be of body or of mind, there is always comfort there." 
 
 " It would be useless for me," she said " quite useless." 
 
 " But why ? " I asked. 
 
 And. her face paled as she answered 
 
 " If man cannot forgive, how can Heaven forgive ? " 
 
 " It is just the reverse," I answered. " It matters little 
 
 about man forgiving, if Heaven forgives. But you Oh, 
 
 Lady Culmore, what a strange thing for you to say ? What 
 can you have done for such pardon to be required ? **
 
 They were imprudent words, and, had I stopped to think, 
 I should not have uttered them ; but she did not take them 
 amiss. I saw a faint motion of her hands, as though she 
 would fain wring them, and then she turned away. 
 
 " Lady Culmore," I said to her presently, " if you have a 
 few minutes to spare, I should like to know what my duties 
 are. Up to the present time I have done anything for you." 
 
 "Your duties," she repeated vaguely "your duties as a 
 companion to me ? It was Sir Rudolph who insisted that I 
 should have a companion. I do not know. He thought I 
 wanted some one to be with me." 
 
 " What shall I be able to do to help you ? " I asked. 
 
 " I hardly know," she replied. " Can you comfort me 
 when I am most miserable ? " 
 
 " I will do my best," I answered ; and she turned from 
 me with a low moan. 
 
 " I want comfort," she said " comfort always." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " I COULD not describe the misery of Sir Rudolph's house- 
 hold. What the shadow was that lay over it I was unable to 
 guess. Husband and wife were both young and handsome ; 
 they had almost every gift that Heaven could bestow ; 
 nothing was wanting, so far as I could see, to complete their 
 happiness ; yet they were further apart, it seemed to me, 
 than if a grave had lain between them a thousand times 
 further apart. 
 
 That first Christmas-day that I spent in England will 
 never die from my memory. We did not see Sir Rudolph 
 until dinner-time seven o'clock ; and then it appeared to me 
 that my remonstrance respecting Christmas-day had reached 
 the kitchen, for the dinner comprised something in the shape 
 of Christmas fare a turkey and a plum pudding. Some one, 
 in a moment of ill-advised enthusiasm, had placed a pretty 
 little sprig of holly a few glossy leaves, with a fair sprink- 
 ling of red berries on the top of the latter. Sir Rudolph 
 looked at it, and then turned to the butler.
 
 " What is this ? " he asked. 
 
 " Holly, Sir Rudolph," he replied. 
 
 " And why has it been put there ? " he continued. 
 
 " I thought perhaps Christmas-day," he said, stam- 
 mering. 
 
 " Take it away ! " commanded Sir Rudolph sternly. 
 
 And the butler, with great perturbation of manner and a 
 crimson face, removed the unfortunate sprig of holly. 
 
 I read the expression of Sir Rudolph's face, and it said, 
 as plainly as words could speak, " I will have no rejoicing, no 
 outward sign of rejoicing, in this house." 
 
 And in such fashion Christmas was celebrated at Ulla- 
 mere. I watched husband and wife, and I was never so com- 
 pletely puzzled. I could not make out the cause of disagree- 
 ment at all. It was no petty feeling that actuated him, 
 that had caused those lines on Sir Rudolph's face ; one could 
 see that. Some great deep emotion was at work within him ; 
 and at times it almost overpowered him. 
 
 Lady Culmore was beautiful enough to charm any man, 
 yet she evidently had no charm for him. Whatever the 
 mystery might be, I felt sure that it was not that he cared for 
 any one else. There was something so true, so noble about 
 him, that no one living could suspect him of anything wrong. 
 He was polite to his wife, with a cold icy politeness that was 
 enough to madden a woman who loved him. 
 
 He never said an unnecessary word to her. "When he was 
 dining with us, he did the honors of the table. If, on asking 
 her to partake of any dish, she declined, he did not press her. 
 He never repeated the invitation. When a bow or gesture of 
 any kind could take the place of words, it was made to 
 do so. Any little act of politeness, such as placing a chair 
 or a footstool for her, was performed with a formality and 
 coldness that made matters far worse than if he had omitted 
 it. He never went out with her. He went his way, she went 
 hers. He never interfered with her arrangements. If Lady 
 Culmore asked him a question, he replied to it as briefly as 
 possible. He never offered any comment, any suggestion ; in 
 fact, between them a gulf lay wide and deep as the grave. 
 But Lady Culmore, I could see, had a wild, passionate ador- 
 ation for her husband. She loved him so well that she trembled 
 at the sound of his footsteps, at the sound of his voice. Her 
 eyes were always full of entreaty, full of pain and passion.
 
 She suffered terribly when he was absent ; she suffered even 
 more when he was present. In the one case it was an agony 
 of longing, in the other an agony of pain. It was the strangest 
 household, surely, into which any one ever entered. Sir Ru- 
 dolph occupied the west wing. His rooms were all there 
 his study, dressing-room, bedroom, gunroom and overlooked 
 the park. Lady Culmore's rooms were in the east wing. 
 The great drawing-room and the dining-room, with one or 
 two handsomely furnished reception-rooms, were in the centre 
 of the building. 
 
 There they met on neutral ground, as it were, but nowhere 
 else. No messages ever passed between them. They lived 
 as perfect strangers, barely interchanging the ordinary civil- 
 ities of life. Strange husband and wife truly! And the 
 gloom that surrounded them seemed to spread to others. On 
 the faces of the servants there was never a smile. They went 
 about with a hushed subdued air and movement, as though 
 they two felt the weight of the mystery. 
 
 " Only on Sunday morning did we all take breakfast to- 
 gether ; and a most solemn and funerc al affair it was. During 
 the week -Sir Rudolph and Lady Culmore never met until 
 night, when we dined. He spent the day in study and sport. 
 She well it seemed to me that her hours were spent in a 
 fevered dream. I shudder now when I think of them. She 
 was never at ease, at rest, for five minutes together. She 
 would ask me to play and sing to or with her, and then in a 
 few minutes would rise and cry out that it was enough, that 
 she did not care for it. She would begin to translate some 
 foreign work, and, before she had written many lines, it would 
 follow the fate of the music. 
 
 " Come out with me, Miss Forster," she would say. I 
 cannot bear the house ; it stifles me." 
 
 We would go out, and perhaps before we had reached the 
 park gates, she would say, with a dreary sigh 
 
 " Let us go back again. I -cannot bear the park." 
 
 On the beautiful restless face I never saw for one moment 
 an expression of peace. 
 
 The evenings were perhaps the most dreary part of the 
 life at Ullamere. Sir Rudolph never spent them with us. 
 When dinner was ended, he went to his room, and we saw no 
 more of him. 
 
 But one evening ah me, what a night that was ! a most
 
 i6 
 
 terrible storm raged. The snow was all washed away, the 
 rain fell in torrents. It beat against the windows as though 
 it would shatter them. The wind was something appalling 
 in its violence. We could hardly hear each other speak ; 
 trees were torn up by the roots ; the doors and windows rat- 
 tled. Once or twice the great bell in the stable rang without 
 rhythm or measure. The dogs howled, the servants were 
 pale with fear. 
 
 As usual, Sir Rudolph rose to quit the dining-room. To 
 my surprise, Lady Culmore went up to him. This time she 
 did not touch him ; she did not lay her hand upon his arm, 
 but she looked up at him with the most despairing eyes I 
 ever beheld. 
 
 " Sir Rudolph," she said and her voice trembled with 
 the passion of her earnestness " I pray you remain with us ; 
 I am frightened. Heaven is angry to-night, and I am sorely 
 afraid. Stay with us." 
 
 For a moment his eyes flashed fire. Then, looking at the 
 white face, with its quivering lips and frightened eyes, the 
 fire died out, and profoundest pity took its place. 
 
 I thought my prayer added to hers might have effect, and 
 I said 
 
 " The wind and the rain would make any one afraid." 
 
 He hesitated half a minute. He did not look at his wife 
 again, but glanced at me. 
 
 " Are you really alarmed, Miss Forster ? " he asked. 
 
 "I should be glad if you would remain," I replied, 
 touched by the wistful entreaty of her eyes. 
 
 " Then I will," he replied ; and the relief on her face was 
 beautiful to see. 
 
 I could not understand why she cared so much for his 
 presence. He never spoke to her nor looked at her, never 
 went near her. If she made a remark to me, he was studi- 
 ously silent ; yet I fancied that he listened with some kind of 
 curiosity to all that she said. 
 
 During that evening a feeling of friendship sprang up be- 
 tween Sir Rudolph and myself. He was well-bred, graceful, 
 and accomplished. To me there was a peculiar charm in his 
 manner; there was something more than courtesy, something 
 of chivalry in it. I found that he was an excellent French 
 and German scholar. We talked of Goethe and of Heine, of 
 that most graceful and original writer Fouque, of whom he
 
 n 
 
 was an enthusiastic admirer. We had a most enjoyable con- 
 versation. Several times I tried my best to draw Lady Cul- 
 more into it ; but, when I spoke to her, he remained silent. 
 If she made any comment, he did not reply ; so, from sheer 
 pity for her embarrassment, I refrained from appealing to 
 her. Still it seemed strange. There was the husband, in- 
 tellectual, a deep thinker, fluent speaker, delightful com- 
 panion ; here was the wife, fair and beautiful as the morning 
 star ; yet between them was a gulf that no human power 
 could bridge. 
 
 I liked Sir Rudolph. I could see no fault in him ; but I 
 noticed one thing. ' No matter what we said, no matter how 
 the subject engrossed him, the shade of sorrow and sadness 
 never left his face nor died from his dark eyes. Something 
 of pity for the estranged wife filled my heart. Surely she 
 must suffer terribly ! He was so kind, so gentle in his man- 
 ner to me to her so cold, so silent. To me it became so 
 painful at last that I said to myself that anything would be 
 better than for Sir Rudolph to spend his evenings with us. 
 
 What was the mystery ? Even as he talked to me over 
 and over again I asked myself this question. I could see^no 
 fault in either, nor could I see in either any cause, any reason 
 for the coldness that existed. 
 
 It struck ten at last. The storm had abated. Sir Ru- 
 dolph arose. 
 
 " You will not be afraid now," he said, regarding me with 
 a kindly smile. " The wind has fallen, and the rain has 
 ceased." 
 
 I looked instinctively at Lady Cuhnore. His glance fol 
 lowed mine ; but the expression of his face changed com- 
 pletely as his eyes rested on her. Then, with a bow, he was 
 gone ; and she turned away with an expression of mortal an- 
 guish on her face.
 
 i8 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IF Sir Rudolph did not like his wife, why did he not leave 
 her? If she had done him any wrong, why did he not punish 
 her ? If there was anything against her of which he knew, 
 why did he not charge her with it ? Any mode of life must 
 be better than this. 
 
 As the days passed on, I saw no difference, no relaxation 
 of severity and coldness on his part, no lessening of the pas- 
 sionate love and bootless worship on hers. It would be 
 always so, I supposed. I wondered in a dull kind of way at 
 times whether I should spend my whole life in the contem- 
 plation of a mystery that I could not understand. Neither 
 husband nor wife ever spoke of each other, or I might have 
 gathered something of the truth from what they said. Sir 
 Rudolph talked to me for hours together on every conceiv- 
 able subject, and I helped him occasionally with some trans- 
 lations ; but never once during the time we spent together 
 did he ever mention the name of his wife. I was but young, 
 and had the natural curiosity of youth. I must say I longed 
 to know the mystery of the household in which I lived. 
 
 The new year came and was welcomed much as Christ- 
 mas had been. At times I asked myself if I should remain 
 at Ullamere, if I should not go out into the world, escape 
 from this atmosphere of melancholy; but, odd to say, 
 estranged as they were, I was growing most warmly attached 
 to both to the wretched husband and the miserable wife. I 
 did not know which I liked best or which I pitied the 
 more. 
 
 January, with its ice and snow, came to an end ; Febru- 
 ary, with its faint gleams of sunshine, passed ; March came in 
 like a lion. It was well for me that the beauties of nature had 
 power to soothe and charm. I watched eagerly for the 
 spring, thinking that the glory and tenderness of it must 
 surely in some measure chase away the horrible gloom. But 
 there came an evening in March the very recollection of 
 which chills my heart. There was no storm, no tempest of 
 rain, but the wind was blowing as I had never heard it. I
 
 '9 
 
 love the wind ; I love it, be it the softest breath that stirs the 
 roses and lifts the sprays of jasmine or the mighty blast that 
 rends the giant branches and bends the sturdy oak. 
 
 That evening it came in great gusts from the hills, like 
 the roar of artillery, afterward seeming to die away on the 
 lakes. Then it rose again, and came wailing with a long- 
 drawn sobbing sound round the house. I was not afraid. 
 This was what I liked ; and when I went to my room, instead 
 of going to sleep like a sensible girl, I opened my window 
 the better to hear it, for my heart and soul rejoiced in it. 
 
 Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor. 
 Some one tried the handle of my door gently and cautiously. 
 I did not know fear, but I must confess that at the sound of 
 the handle turning my heart beat fast. I went to the door 
 and opened it.. To my surprise, there stood Lady Culmore, 
 wrapped in a long blue dressing-gown, her hair hanging over 
 her shoulders, her face white as death, her eyes full of fear. 
 Even in that moment I could not help noticing the whiteness 
 of the hands that held the taper. 
 
 "I am disturbing you, Miss Forster," she said; "but I 
 am afraid oh, so sorely afraid ! Will you come with me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Lady Culmore. But what frightens you ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " The wind, the wind ! " she replied. " I am sure that 
 every lost soul is abroad to-night and wailing in it. Will you 
 come with me ? " 
 
 She was trembling from head to foot ; great drops of 
 agony stood on her forehead ; the hand that held the wax- 
 taper trembled. What was it that made the beautiful face so 
 terrible to see ? 
 
 " You need not be frightened, Lady Culmore," I said. 
 "The wind is always rough in March. You are afraid of it. 
 I think it beautiful." 
 
 " It is not the wind that I hear in my room," she whis- 
 pered. " Oh, come ! " 
 
 Without another word, I took the taper from her hand 
 and went with her. When we reached the room where Lady 
 Culmore slept, I found that all the lamps were burning. She 
 laid her hand upon my arm. 
 
 " I want you to listen," she said, in a low, hoarse whisper. 
 " Listen ! " 
 
 As she stood before me, with a strained despairing ex-
 
 2O 
 
 pression on her face, wild terror in her eyes, and her hand 
 uplifted, I might have been forgiven some little emotion of 
 fear. The scene was weird enough. 
 
 "Listen ! " she repeated. And then I heard the soft, sad 
 sob of the wind at the window dying away into the faintest 
 possible moan. 
 
 " What is that?" she asked me, while a strong shudder 
 shook her whole frame. " Listen again, and tell me, for 
 Heaven's sake, what is that?" 
 
 The dying wail of the wind was followed by a soft tap 
 against the window-glass, so soft, so indistinct, that I could 
 hardly hear it. The sound came again and again, until at 
 last the terrified woman flung herself upon her knees with a 
 cry of anguish that I shall never forget a perfect scream of 
 terror. It rings in my ears even now as I write. 
 
 " I know what it is ! " she cried. " You must not let it 
 in ! Keep the window closed ! Send it away ! Oh, Heaven, 
 send it away ! " And she fell senseless, with her white 
 miserable face upon the ground. 
 
 I raised her, laid her upon the couch, and went to the 
 window. The moon shone on the budding trees and on the 
 mere. I saw in a moment that the sound was caused by the 
 tapping of a small spray of ivy against the window-glass. 
 Having found this out, I went back to rouse and reassure 
 her. She lay just where I had placed her, her blue eyes 
 open and full of inexplicable terror. 
 
 " Have you sent it away ! " she asked, in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 " There is nothing to send away, Lady Culmore," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Nothing ! " she cried. " Are you quite sure ? Nothing 
 at all ? " 
 
 " No. What could there be outside your window ? '' 
 
 I began to wonder if her brain was affected. It was the 
 only possible explanation of her conduct. 
 
 The wind had been silent for some few minutes. Then 
 it rose again the same faint sobbing round the window, a 
 sound as natural as any could be, but evidently full of super- 
 natural dread to her. She sprang to her feet and held up 
 her hand again. 
 
 " Listen ! " she cried. 
 
 "It is nothing, Lady Culmore," I said, speaking firmly, 
 for I thought that perhaps this was but a severe hysterical
 
 21 
 
 attack. " It is nothing, Lady Culmore," I repeated. " Do 
 you understand ? It is only the wailing of the wind." 
 
 " Ah, no ! " she said. " That is what it sounds like to 
 you. Do you know what it is in reality ? It is the crying of 
 a little child, quite a little child, standing there. Hark ! Do 
 you not hear it now ? " 
 
 There was certainly some faint resemblance to the cry of 
 a child, the wail of an infant in great pain. I should never 
 have thought of it but for her. 
 
 " Lady Culmore," I said, " you must listen to reason, you 
 must be calm. This is foolish, hysterical, nervous nonsense ! 
 Come with me to the window. Look and listen for yourself." 
 
 She wrung her hands. 
 
 " I dare not ! " she cried. 
 
 " You must," I said. " It is the only way in which you 
 can be convinced. Come." 
 
 I took the white hands in mine and compelled her to 
 cross the room. I drew aside the blinds and hangings, 
 opened the window, and made her look out. 
 
 "You see there is nothing," I said. "Look at the moon, 
 the water, and the trees." 
 
 She turned away with a deathly shudder. 
 
 " I must have dreamt it then," she said. 
 
 " What did you dream ? " I asked. 
 
 " I dreamt that I heard some one tapping at the window, 
 and I woke in a great fright. Then I heard the wailing of a 
 child, a pitiful tiny voice sobbing with the faintest breath, 
 and the sound came from the window. I went there, and 
 drew aside the curtains as you have done now, and I saw 
 oh, that Heaven would darken my eyes for evermore ! I 
 saw a tiny child standing there, dressed in a little white 
 shroud, and he was rapping with a feeble little hand on the 
 window-pane. For one moment the baby eyes flashed into 
 mine, and I knew that if he came in I should fall down dead." 
 
 " It was a dream," I said, with a sigh of unutterable re- 
 lief " only a dream." 
 
 But she broke from me with a terrible cry. She flung 
 herself upon her knees, she tore her fair hair, she beat her 
 hands together wildly, and I spent the remainder of the night 
 in trying to soothe her. Verily I had cause to remember the 
 bitter winds of March !
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 APRIL, with its soft showers, its odor of sweet violets and 
 growing buds, its sweet daffodils and pale primroses, was 
 passing quickly, but still there was no change at Ullamere. 
 It was nearly four months since I came, and there was the 
 same gloom, the same constraint, the same wretchedness in 
 Sir Rudolph's home ; but by this time I had lost all desire 
 to leave the place. All my affection and interest, all my 
 thoughts, were centered in the baronet and his wife. 
 
 There was nothing very mysterious about Sir Rudolph, 
 except the way in which he lived. The whole mystery 
 seemed to cling to Lady Culmore. After that night when the 
 winds of March blew so terribly, I had a lingering suspicion 
 that her mind was unhinged, had lost its balance. And yet, 
 even if it were so, that was no solution of the mystery of Sir 
 Rudolph's conduct. A man who loved his wife would but 
 study her the more for any misfortune of that kind. 
 
 I remember another incident. This happened in the 
 calm, early, gray morning light. Again I heard footsteps in 
 the corridor, and again the handle of my door was turned. 
 I knew this time that it was Lady Culmore. She was stand- 
 ing outside, with the same terrible fear on her face. 
 
 " I want you, Miss Forster," she said. " Come with me ; " 
 and as a matter of course, I went. 
 
 " She carefully closed the door of her room, placed the 
 wax-taper on the table, and turned to me. The distress in 
 her white face was terrible to see. 
 
 " Now," she cried " now tell me what you hear ! " She 
 seemed to breathe with difficulty ; great gasps came from her 
 lips. " Quickly," she said " tell me quickly ! What do you 
 hear ? " 
 
 " Nothing," I replied. " There is not a sound ; even the 
 wind is still." 
 
 She struck her hands together with a passionate cry. 
 
 " You must hear it. You sav ' No ' to calm me. I shall
 
 23 
 
 not be frightened if you hear it ; but, if it comes only to me, 
 oh, Heaven, what shall I do ? " 
 
 She hid her face in her hands, and trembled so violently 
 that I became alarmed. 
 
 " Tell me what you hear, Lady Culmore," I requested. 
 
 " The cry of a child. Can you not hear it ? It has been 
 wailing round my pillow all night long, until it has driven me 
 mad," she said. " I am mad ! Oh, Miss Forster, look for 
 it ! I am sure it is here. Some of those wicked servants 
 have hidden ir here on purpose that it should cry and 
 frighten me. We must find it ; I can bear it no longer ! " 
 And the most painful spectacle I ever saw in my life was the 
 spectacle of this beautiful desperate woman searching every- 
 where for that which did not exist. Suddenly she looked at 
 the door. " Ah," she cried, " it is outside now ! It is dying 
 away at the end of the corridor. It is gone ; thank Heaven, 
 it is gone ! " 
 
 She shrank, shuddering, from the door, and sank down 
 upon a chair. She was exhausted, white, trembling. I went 
 to her and took her hands. They were cold as death itself. 
 
 " You have been dreaming again, Lady Culmore," I said. 
 " You must remember that you had the same dream before, 
 and how it terrified you. Try to be cheerful. You must be 
 ill or nervous ; such fancies and dreams as these do not 
 trouble strong or healthy people. You should go away from 
 here. I shall certainly speak to Sir Rudolph about it ; he 
 does not know how ill you are." 
 
 She clung to me with passionate cries and tears. 
 
 " You must not do that. I cannot go away. Promise me 
 that you will not say one word to him. I will kill myself if 
 you do ! " 
 
 Her vehemence startled me. 
 
 " Certainly I will not, unless you wish it," I said. " You 
 .re really ill though, Lady Culmore, and you should have 
 medical advice. These terrible fancies of yours are only the 
 result of illness." 
 
 She flung her arms around me, and laid her fair head on 
 my shoulder. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " she whispered. " Oh, comfort me, 
 comfort me, for my heart is torn and desolate ! " 
 
 How was I to comfort her when I did not even know her 
 trouble ? I could feel how her heart was beating, how she
 
 trembled, while great bitter sobs rose to her lips, and I won- 
 dered more than ever what had gone wrong in the life of 
 this beautiful sorrowful woman. 
 
 I smoothed the fair shining hair, and the touch of my 
 hand calmed her. 
 
 " It is a strange thing," I said to her, " that you should 
 always have the same dream, that you should be haunted, as 
 it were, by the cries of a little child." 
 
 Her face could grow no paler ; but her head fell more 
 heavily upon my shoulder. 
 
 " So strange ! " she murmured. " Ah, so strange ! " 
 
 " You never had a little child, Lady Culmore, had you? " 
 
 " Never," she answered. 
 
 Had you little brothers or sisters ? " I asked. 
 
 " None," she replied. 
 
 " It is an extraordinary thing, never having had anything 
 to do with a little child, that you should be haunted by the 
 cries of one ! " 
 
 She was looking at me with wild, distended eyes. 
 
 " Miss Forster, you will not tell this fancy of mine to 
 any one ? " she said slowly. " I am so afraid that people 
 should think me mad." 
 
 Then she promised to try to be calm, to lie down and 
 sleep, if I would remain with her. I did so, and sat down by 
 her side, holding her hand, until at last she dropped into a 
 fevered, restless sleep. 
 
 Ah me, how restless ! The beautiful head and troubled 
 face turned incessantly from side to side ; the lips were never 
 still ; and the burden of her cry was, " I did it all for you, 
 love all for you ! " Then came prayers, entreaties, sighs, 
 and tears ; but above all rang that one pitiful cry, " All for 
 you, love all for you ! " 
 
 In the full morning light I left her fast asleep. 
 
 Could it be that the gloom of the house was extending to 
 me ? All that day I was miserable. I felt sure that Lady 
 Culmore was very ill, threatened with a severe illness or with 
 insanity. I was sorely perplexed, feeling that it was my 
 duty to get help for her from somewhere, yet not knowing in 
 the least to whom I should apply. I would not betray her. 
 I would keep the secret of her strange fancies and her terri- 
 ble nights ; but I must have the advice of some one as to 
 how she could best be dealt with. The only person I could
 
 think of was Mrs. Harper, the housekeeper ; and I went one 
 afternoon in search of her. I asked her to come out with 
 me into the grounds, where I could talk to her at my ease. 
 I told her thac I thought Lady Culmore was very ill, and 
 that she required more attention than I could give her. The 
 housekeeper looked sorry and very puzzled. 
 
 " I am just as much bewildered as yourself, miss," she 
 said. "This is not like any other household. What lies 
 between those two husband and wife I cannot tell, but I 
 fear it is something terrible. They seem to me more like 
 jailer and prisoner than anything else." 
 
 "Which is the jailer? " I asked. 
 
 " Sir Rudolph," she answered. " I would not stay but 
 that, after all, I like both my master and my lady so well. 
 They seem to me perfection apart, but together they would 
 puzzle the saints." 
 
 " Has it always been this way, Mrs. Harper ? " 
 
 " Yes. The servants in the house are strangers, except the 
 
 " Was there anything curious connected with it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Nothing ; every one noticed the intense love of the 
 bridegroom for the bride. I never saw any one so devoted 
 in my life. It was marvelous to see them together. Sir 
 Rudolph brought his bride home to Brook Hall, and I lived 
 there one year with them. Then, quite suddenly, they came 
 here ; and they have lived in this strange fashion ever since." 
 
 " And you know nothing of what brought them here 
 nothing of the cause of their being on such terms with each 
 other ?"" 
 
 " Nothing. Everything was bright and happy at Brooke 
 Hall. The house was filled with guests. I remember even 
 that arrangements had been made for a dance, when Sir Ru- 
 dolph sent for me suddenly. ' We are going to Ullamere, 
 Mrs. Harper,' he said. ' Will you come with us ? We shall 
 not return to Brooke Hall.' ' It is very sudden, Sir Rudolph,' 
 I said ; and then I noticed how white his face was. I have 
 never seen him like himself since that never; and that was 
 Christmas-eve. We stopped at Brooke Hall until the day 
 after Chritsmas-day. We have been here just one year." 
 
 " But there must have been a reason," I said. "A hus- 
 band and wife, both young, passionately attached to each 
 other, could not have fallen into this state without some rea- 
 son."
 
 26 
 
 " I know ot none. 1 have thought it over a hundred 
 times. 
 
 " Did nothing happen at Brooke Hall ? Did Lady Cul- 
 more make her husband jealous ? " 
 
 Mrs. Harper smiled. 
 
 "There was little fear," she replied. " If ever any 
 woman worshipped a man, my lady worshipped her husband. 
 She seemed as though she could not live out of his presence. 
 It was the wonder of every one. I do not think, when she 
 talked and laughed with other men, that she really heeded 
 them. Her eyes followed him always, and her whole heart 
 was in them." 
 
 " But was there no warning of what was about to happen ? " 
 
 " None," was the reply. " The only incident which oc- 
 curred at Brooke was the death of the nurse, Martha Jen- 
 nings. She died on the morning of Christmas-eve ; but that 
 had nothing to do with my master and mistress leaving home 
 so suddenly. I think, Miss Forster, it will be better for you 
 to speak to Sir Rudolph about my lady. He loved her so 
 dearly once, he must feel anxious if he thinks there is any- 
 thing the matter with her." 
 
 I took Mrs. Harper's advice, and went at once to Sir Ru- 
 dolph I found him in the gunroom. 
 
 " I want to speak to you for a few minutes, Sir Rudolph," 
 I said. 
 
 He bowed with a frank courtesy that was his great 
 charm. 
 
 "Will you not come in, Miss Forster ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am too great a coward, Sir Rudolph. I am afraid of 
 the guns." 
 
 " I must come to you then," he said laughingly ; and he 
 joined me where I was standing on the lawn, adding, "I am 
 at your service, Miss Forster." 
 
 But all his geniality died away when I told him that I 
 wished to speak to him about Lady Culmore. I said that 
 she was very ill, and that I was uneasy about her. He was 
 a changed man at once cold, hard, unyielding. He listened 
 to all I said, and made no answer, except that, if I thought 
 Lady Culmore ill, I could send for a doctor any doctor I 
 liked. Then his interest ceased. 
 
 " Sir Rudolph," I said, " have you has any one who 
 knows her any suspicion that Lady Culmore is mad ? "
 
 27 
 
 " Mad," he repeated, with infinite scorn " mad ! I wish 
 to Heaven she was ! " 
 
 And I was left to find out what those words meant. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE end of the month of May was near, and during all 
 this time I had not seen one vistior at the hall. Just as we 
 were when the Christmas snow fell, so were we now that the 
 roses and lilies were beginning to bloom, save that the outer 
 world was a paradise. The lake-country is, to my thinking, 
 the fairest part of England, with its tors and fells, its moun- 
 tains and vales. 
 
 I shall never forget the sunlight on the hills, the blue 
 deep waters, and winding streams, the laughing green valleys. 
 
 I had longed for years to see an English May, and now my 
 desire was gratified. I had never dreamed of anything one 
 half so fair. And this May was the true month of the poets, 
 sweet and smiling. Pink and white hawthorn grew in the 
 hedges ; the lilacs and laburnums were all in rlower ; the fields 
 were so bright with daisies and buttercups that they appeared 
 carpeted with silver and gold, and the handsome spikes of 
 the chestnuts were out in profusion. 
 
 Lady Culmore had steadfastly refused to see a doctor. 
 
 " Why should I try to preserve my life ? " she said, when 
 I spoke of one. " I had one great hope, but it is dying slowly 
 and surely. When it is quite dead, I shall die too. What 
 is there in life to make me desire it ? " she cried passionately. 
 " Christmas snow, March winds, summer flowers, would come 
 and go ; I should be eating my heart away." 
 
 " But, Lady Culmore," I said, " why should you feel and 
 think in this way ? Why should not life be bright to you as 
 it is to others ? You are so unhappy that I dare to talk to 
 you as I would not to any one else. Why need you despair ? 
 You are young and beautiful and wealthy ; and have a hus- 
 band who might Well, perhaps I had better not speak 
 
 of that." 
 
 "You do not understand," she said. " I made a terrible
 
 28 
 
 mistake once in my life a most terrible mistake. I see it 
 now. He will never forgive nor forget it." 
 
 " How did you make it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Through love of him," she answered. " Heaven knows 
 I speak the truth. I never thought of the right or the wrong ; 
 I only thought that it was all for him." 
 
 " Can you tell me what it was you did ? " I asked. 
 
 She shrank from me trembling, with an expression of utter 
 despair. It seemed to me that I was about to solve the mys- 
 tery at last. But she cried out 
 
 " No a thousand times no ! The words would scorch 
 my lips. I did not see then as I see now." 
 
 " And you say it was this mistake of yours that estranged 
 your husband from you ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes. He said he would never forgive me, and I begin 
 to think that he never will. 1 had hope once, but now I have 
 none. So I pray that I may die, for the silence of death is 
 sweet, and life is all bitterness to me." 
 
 I could not press the question. I could not force her to 
 tell me this secret which was corroding her very life. 
 
 As the spring grew warmer, she had fewer distressing 
 nights. I urged her to come out of doors, I tried to interest 
 her in the beauty of mountains and valley, of flower and tree ; 
 but in vain. 
 
 " My heart is dead," she saiJ to me one morning I had 
 taken her to Esthwaite Water, and we were sitting on a grassy 
 band. " You see the beauty of the sunlight and the flowers ; 
 I do not. Everything is alike to me a dull hopeless blank." 
 
 " Do you not think you ought to try to rouse yourself ? " 
 I asked. " I know there are incurable sorrows, but yours 
 can hardly be one." 
 
 She looked at me with a faint gleam of hope in her eyes. 
 
 " What do you call an incurable sorrow, Kate ? " she asked 
 we were so much together, and she had grown so fond of 
 me, that she generally used my Christian name. 
 
 " An incurable sorrow means, I suppose, a sorrow which 
 there seems no hope of assuaging," I replied. 
 
 " And what should you think would cause such a sorrow 
 as that ? " she asked. 
 
 I thought deeply for a few minutes ; then I replied 
 
 " There are very few reasons for an incurable sorrow. 
 Path would not be one, for there is the hope of meeting
 
 again in heaven ; sickness that has no remedy would not be 
 one, for, patiently borne, it brings a blessing of its own ; loss 
 of money is not one, for life holds plenty of happiness with- 
 out wealth, and hard work hurts no one. I am puzzled to 
 imagine what can cause an incurable sorrow. The only thing 
 I can think of is the doing of an evil deed for which there is 
 no remedy." 
 
 " You admit that that is a ground for sorrow that can 
 never be cured ? " 
 
 Looking at the beauty of earth and sky, of the gleaming 
 waters kissing the green banks, of the myriads of wild-flowers 
 and ferns growing around us, I was puzzled again. All this 
 was the work of the great Creator. Would He who clothed 
 the lilies, who fed the sparrows, give to one of His creatures 
 pain that could not be cured ? 
 
 " I am beginning to think that there is no such thing as 
 an incurable sorrow," I said slowly. " We agree that evil 
 deeds, sin, crime, are the greatest sources of sorrow. There 
 is no sin, no crime, so great but that Heaven will pardon it." 
 
 " Do you think so, Kate ? " And the mournful blue eyes 
 sought mine with the first gleam of hope that I had ever seen 
 in them. 
 
 " I am sure of it," I replied. " There is no sin so great, 
 no crime so horrible, but that Heaven will pardon, if pardon 
 be asked." 
 
 " But man," she said " why does not man forgive ? " 
 
 " Man acts with human power, Heaven with power divine. 
 Men in this world judge, reward, and punish according to 
 human laws." 
 
 " Then it happens sometimes," she said sadly, " that, 
 while Heaven pardons, men punish ? " 
 
 " It must be so," I said. "Take a thief for instance. He 
 may repent of his sin, and may ask pardon for it with prayers 
 and tears ; all the same, men must punish him. He must be 
 imprisoned, and made, if possible, to give back his ill-gotten 
 goods. So with all other sins. I am quite sure of one thing 
 that, no matter what men may do, Heaven always pardons 
 a humble and contrite heart." 
 
 " Yet," she said despairingly, " my husband will never 
 forgive me. Why should he be less pitiful, less merciful than 
 Heaven ? If I knelt and prayed to him from sunrise to sun, 
 set, he would wave me away with the same cold gesture. Oh,
 
 30 
 
 Kate, Kate, do not be shocked, but I think nay, I am sure 
 that I would sooner have had my husband's forgiveness 
 than the pardon of Heaven." And her eyes sought mine 
 with a wistfulness that made my very heart ache. 
 
 "No, you do not mean that, Lady Culmore, for in that 
 case you must have loved your husband with a greater love 
 than you have given to the Creator." 
 
 "I did," she gasped "hence my sin, my terrible sin ! 
 I will be wiser Kate. I will weary Heaven with my prayers 
 for pardon ; and, when it is granted, I will not cease to seek 
 my husband's forgiveness. Oh, my sin, my sin ! It was all 
 for love of him. I would have gone through fire and water 
 for him ; and now " 
 
 I looked at her in wonder and amazement. What had she 
 done ? What was the sin of which she spoke ? There were 
 traces of great sorrow on her beautiful face, but no traces of 
 sin. A few questions from me then, when her heart was 
 softened, would have drawn her secret from her ; but I would 
 not ask them. After we had talked for some time, she sat 
 in silence, watching the golden light that played amongst 
 the trees and shone upon the waters. Then she spoke 
 again. 
 
 " Kate," she said, " if you loved any one very much so 
 much that you forgot everything else in the world, so much 
 that you forgot all about right and wrong and you com- 
 mitted a great sin for the sake of the man you loved, should 
 you not think he would find it easy to forgive ? " 
 
 " I should think forgiveness would depend entirely on 
 what the sin was, Lady Culmore." 
 
 The words seemed to strike her like a blow. She wept 
 silently, bitterly. 
 
 " Whatever wrong you did, Lady Culmore," I said gently, 
 " you have suffered enough." 
 
 " I shall suffer until 1 die ! " she moaned. 
 
 I left her a few minutes afterward to go in search of some 
 rare ferns, and when I came back she was lying with her 
 face on the grass. She was sobbing 
 
 " Forgive me oh, forgive me ! It was all for him ; I 
 loved him so." 
 
 And I wondered more than ever what was the mystery of 
 this woman's life.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Miss FORSTER," said Sir Rudolph one morning, " will 
 you take a message from me to Mrs. Harper ? I promised to 
 be at Bernham Woods by eleven o'clock, and it is nine now ; 
 so that I have not time to see her myself." 
 
 " I will take any message you please, Sir Rudolph," I re- 
 plied, grieved that he altogether ignored his wife, who was 
 present. 
 
 She looked up, with a deep shadow of pain in her eyes. 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Harper that I expect my brother, Mr. Ulric 
 Culmore, this evening, and that he will remain a few weeks. 
 I should like the blue rooms to be prepared for him." The 
 blue rooms were two very charming apartments in the west 
 wing, near to Sir Rudolph's ; one was used as a sitting-room, 
 the other as a sleeping-room. " Ask Mrs. Harper to see 
 that a writing-table is placed in the sitting-room," continued 
 Sir Rudolph; "my brother will want to study while he is 
 here." 
 
 He bowed and went away. Lady Culmore came up to 
 me, and once more I noticed the excessive whiteness of her 
 hands, the pallor of her face. She clutched, rather than 
 held my arm. 
 
 " Kate." she cried, in a low terrified whisper. " Kate, 
 what does this mean ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you, Lady Culmore," I said. 
 
 " Why is he coming, of all the people in the world ? 
 Ulric Culmore why is he coming ? I I am sore afraid." 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " I asked. " Surely not of Sir Ru- 
 dolph's brother ? " 
 
 "Yes, of him," she said. "What is he coming for ? " 
 
 " To see Sir Rudolph, and to rest most probably," I said. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " she cried eagerly. " Do you see 
 nothing else in it ? " 
 
 " What else could there be ? " I asked. 
 
 " He is a barrister, and very clever," she said. 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it," '1 answered, laughing. 
 
 But she continued to tremble, and I left her to attend to 
 Sir Rudolph's orders.
 
 32 
 
 " Mr. Ulric Culmore coming ! " said the housekeeper. 
 " I am glad ! " 
 
 " Do you know him ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, Miss. He came to Brooke Hall while I was there, 
 and I liked him very much. I am glad he is coming. He 
 will be sure to bring some kind of change to this miserable 
 house." 
 
 " Then he has never been to Ullamere ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she replied. " The last time he came to Brooke 
 was to attend the funeral." 
 
 A funeral is an every-day matter, and it did not occur to 
 me to ask whose it was. 
 
 " When he was at Brooke Hall, all was right between Sir 
 Rudolph and my lady," continued Mrs. Harper. " I remem- 
 ber that they both drove with him to the station. He will 
 be surprised indeed when he sees how matters stand here ; 
 but I think he will improve them. Both Sir Rudolph and 
 my lady are much attached to him." 
 
 I remembered the white face and the frightened eyes of 
 Lady Culmore, and I doubted if this were the case so far as 
 she was concerned. 
 
 On the evening of the 27th of May I went out for a short 
 stroll through the grounds. Dinner was delayed until half 
 past eight, on account of Ulric Culmore's expected arrival. 
 I wandered down to the lakeside, and stood there watching 
 the gold of the laburnum, the blue of the lake, the rippling 
 green foliage, the brown distant hills, until I was lost in 
 admiration. It was the chill breeze coming from the lake 
 that roused me. I had been absorbed in trying to penetrate 
 the mystery of the baronet's household, and I found that the 
 time had passed rapidly. I hastened back to the house ; 
 and, as I stood outside the porch, which was hidden by great 
 masses of white jasmine and climbing roses, I heard a 
 strange voice say 
 
 " You have visitors at Ullamere, Rudolph ? " 
 
 " No," was the quick reply, " we have not." 
 
 " There was one of the loveliest girls I have ever seen in 
 my life down by the lakeside," added the strange voice. 
 " I saw her as I was crossing the bridge a brunette, perfect 
 in her way." 
 
 " Miss Forster," said Rudolph quietly. 
 
 " And who is Miss Forster ? : ' asked the unknown.
 
 33 
 
 " She is, as you say, a most lovely girl, and she is as good 
 as she is lovely. She lives here at Ullamere as companion 
 to Lady Culmore." 
 
 Then I heard a light lai:ph. 
 
 " I should not have thought you would have allowed that. 
 You were always companion enough for her." 
 
 I hurried away. The conversation was not intended for 
 me ; and surely he, the stranger, must have been mistaken in 
 calling me a lovely girl ! Why, at school the other girls were 
 always teasing me about my dusky hair and dark eyes ! Of 
 course this must be Ulric Culmore. I longed to see his face, 
 for his voice was both rich and musical. I was young, and 
 no one had ever praised me, no one had ever paid me any 
 homage. My heart thrilled wiih delight at this tribute to my 
 beauty. 
 
 Then the dinner bell rang. I felt shy and embarrassed ; 
 but I had no time to think of myself. Lady Culmore came 
 to my room. 
 
 " Kate," she said, " let me go down with you." She wore 
 a rich sapphire velvet, with & parure of fine pearls. " Do I 
 look nice ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " You look perfectly beautiful," I replied. " That is a 
 dress fit for a queen." 
 
 " But my face ? " she said. " Kate, if you saw my face 
 now for the first time, should you think that I had anything 
 on my mind, that any secret was eating my life away ? Tell 
 me truly, Kate. Do I look like a woman with a secret ? " 
 
 I turned so that I could see her plainly. The magnificent 
 dress, falling in graceful folds, suited her to perfection ; the 
 pearls shone round her white graceful throat and in the coils 
 of her fair hair ; a sweet subtle odor was wafted to me. No 
 figure, no face could have been more beautiful ; but, alas, she 
 \\as right it was the face of a woman with a secret ! The 
 eyes and the lips betrayed it they were so constrained, she 
 kept such a guard over them. She stood watching me anx- 
 iously, as though her very life depended upon my answer. 
 For a few moments I was silent. 
 
 " And you do not wish Mr.Ulric Culmore to find it out ?" 
 was all I could bring myself to say. 
 
 " I do not," she replied. 
 
 " Then you must let your face relax. There is a restraint, 
 a tension about it, that tells the story."
 
 34 
 
 fk 
 
 " How shall I shake it off ? " she cried, suddenly clinging 
 to me. " You are so kind, so good to me, tell me how shall 
 I shake it off ? " 
 
 " Forget it," I said. 
 
 I regretted my words as soon as they were uttered. She 
 flung up her arms with a terrible cry. 
 
 " Forget it ! Oh, Heaven, if I might, if I could but have 
 the power to forget it for one hour only one hour ! " 
 
 I saw that one of her fits of violent excitement was impend- 
 ing, and that she would not be able to go down to dinner un- 
 less it was averted. I talked to her, reasoned with her, ad- 
 mired her dress admiration of such a kind, poor lady, always 
 pleased her and, by the time the dinner bell rang, I had 
 quite forgotten my own little gleam of happiness in having 
 been called lovely. 
 
 I went into the room with Lady Culmore. She trembled 
 so that she could hardly hold her fan in her hands. Some 
 one came to meet us as we entered ; some one with a hand- 
 some face and winning voice took Lady Culmore's hand in 
 his and said. 
 
 " Why, Nest, you are not looking well ! What is the mat- 
 ter ? Will you introduce me to Miss Forster ? " 
 
 Ah me, the thought of the rapture of that moment will 
 cause my heart to thrill with ecstasy until I die ! Never till 
 then shall I forget his first glance. So I met my fate the 
 love that was my doom. It came to me when Ulric Culmore 
 looked into my face for the first time. I remember it was 
 only a momentary glance ; but my heart beat fast, a mist came 
 before my eyes, a vague something stirred in my heart ; one 
 glance from those beautiful eyes had suddenly roused my 
 whole being into new life. 
 
 When I was myself again, he was talking to Lady Culmore, 
 and there was evident anxiety in his voice. 
 
 " I cannot think what has changed you so completely, 
 Nest," he was saying. " You had two of the most delicious 
 dimples in the world, and they have both disappeared. I 
 remember thinking to myself that, when I married, I would 
 choose a wife with just such dimples." 
 
 How terribly awkward it was ! Just as he said those 
 words I wondered if I was blessed with such charms. I 
 raised my eyes suddenly, and found that he was looking at 
 me. I felt as though I had been detected in some terrible 
 crime, and blushed to the very roots of my hair.
 
 35 
 
 Sir Rudolph came into the room and went to speak to his 
 brother. I turned to Lady Culmore, who looked very pale 
 and agitated. 
 
 " Pray forgive me, Lady Culmore," I said. " What was 
 the pretty name by which Mr. Culmore called you ? " 
 
 A sad sweet smile came over her beautiful face. 
 
 " Nest," she replied. " It is a Welsh name. I cannot 
 tell why it was given to me. It brings back so much to my 
 mind. I have not heard the name for a year for a whole 
 year. I had almost forgotten it." 
 
 Then I looked up in wonder, for I heard a sound that was 
 quite novel to me Sir Rudolph laughing, actually laughing, 
 in the most light-hearted fashion. How completely that 
 laugh changed the expression of his face it would be impos- 
 sible to tell. I had been at Ullamere from Christmas-eve 
 until now, the end of May, and such a thing had never oc- 
 curred before. 
 
 " Kate," said Lady Culmore, " do you think that Ulric 
 will notice Sir Rudolph's manner to me ? " 
 
 I felt sure that he must ; but I did my best to comfort 
 her by saying that we would talk so much that it would not 
 be perceived. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE dinner that evening was, for two of us at least, an 
 anxious interval. Lady Culmore evidently did not wish Mr. 
 Culmore to see the peculiar footing on which she stood with 
 Sir Rudolph. He himself did not change his manner in the 
 least. Except for the needful civilities of the table, he did 
 not address his wife. She spoke to him several times, and 
 between us we managed to hide from the visitor the terrible 
 state of things that existed. Yet I saw him once or twice 
 look from one to the other with strangely wondering eyes, as 
 though he could not quite understand or make out how mat- 
 ters stood. He was bewildered and puzzled. And, though 
 it was a delight to me to sit there at table with him, where I
 
 36 
 
 could see the handsome face and listen to every bright 
 cheerful word that fell from his lips, I was glad when we 
 went away. It was such an effort to keep up conversation 
 in the circumstances. 
 
 Mr. Culmore held the door open for us as we passed 
 through. He smiled at Lady Culmore. 
 
 "We shall not be long, Nest," he said. " It is a barbar- 
 ous custom for men to linger over their wine." 
 
 But I felt sure Sir Rudolph would not join us ; it was not 
 his custom. 
 
 Lady Culmore could not rest. 
 
 " Play to me, Kate ; sing to me," she said, when we 
 reached the drawing-room. " Do something that will bring 
 them here ; I dread leaving them alone." She was pacing 
 up and down the room, her hands clasped, her eyes full of 
 wistful sorrow. " Sing something that will attract them," 
 she entreated. 
 
 And I sang my best songs, French and English. They 
 did not come. I knew they would not. Her agitation in- 
 creased every moment, until it became almost hysterical. 
 
 " What will he think, Kate ? What will Mr. Culmore 
 think ? He must see he must notice the change. He will 
 never rest until he knows the cause." 
 
 " You may be quite sure that, if Sir Rudolph does not 
 come to spend the evening with us, he will not spend it in 
 talking about you." 
 
 I read her fear. Whatever the secret of her life was, she 
 dreaded lest her husband should reveal it to his brother. I 
 knew Sir Rudolph was incapable of that. 
 
 I continued to play and sing ; but the clock had struck 
 eleven before they came, and then I saw that the gloom and 
 the shadow had spread to Ulric's handsome face and rested 
 there. Yet I felt sure that Sir Rudolph had not betrayed 
 his wife. 
 
 Mr. Culmore looked wonderingly from one to the other. 
 
 " You must not blame me, Nest. It is not fair to tell tales 
 out of school ; but Rudolph would not come. He would 
 have all my Bar stories over again. I told him it was not 
 polite." 
 
 Then he came over to me. He talked to me, and the 
 sound of his voice was sweet and pleasant to my ears. Yet 
 I was not so much engrossed but that I saw Lady Culmore
 
 37 
 
 go up to her husband and speak to him. She folded her 
 hands, as though she were uttering a prayer, but she did not 
 offer to touch him. I knew afterward that she was pleading 
 with him, in tones that might have melted any heart, that he 
 would be just a little merciful to her while Ulric was here. 
 And he had answered 
 
 <; A contract is a contract. Ours cannot be broken." 
 
 The gentlemen remained in the drawing-room for half an 
 hour, and the puzzled, bewildered look in Ulric Culmore's 
 eyes deepened. In his happy, cordial way he made an effort 
 to bring them together. He asked if we should like a game 
 of whist. Sir Rudolph said " No." In his conversation he 
 appealed from one to the other ; but Sir Rudolph was im- 
 penetrable, cold, impassible nothing stirred or moved him ; 
 and, when Mr. Culmore found this to be really the case, he 
 was too much of a gentleman to persevere. He let matters 
 take their own course, and looked on in silence. 
 
 When something or other happened that revealed the gulf 
 between this hapless husband and wife, I saw his eyes fixed 
 on me questioningly ; but no words crossed our lips. 
 
 Sir Rudolph seemed devotedly attached to his brother ; 
 the love that should have been lavished on his wife was given 
 to him. It was delightful to see them together ; he was so 
 amiable, so attentive, Ulric so bright and kindly. But Lady 
 Culmore was sorely pained. I did not remember ever to 
 have seen her look so unhappy. Ulric made no change in 
 his treatment of her. He was kind, attentive, and affectionate 
 to her. Either he knew her secret and thought nothing of 
 it, or did not know, and retained his old affectionate respect 
 for her. 
 
 Mr. Culmore came to breakfast with us the next morning, 
 and was startled at not finding his brother there. 
 
 " Where is Rudolph ? " he asked. 
 
 " He seldom takes breakfast with us," replied Lady Cul- 
 more, her face flushing painfully. And Ulric, seeing it, said 
 no more. 
 
 So the day passed, and though Ulric's presence seemed 
 to have brought light and sunshine, it wrought jio change in 
 the unhappy relationship which existed between husband and 
 wife. He never alluded to it ; he seemed gradually to fall 
 into our strange \vays. He was kind and loving to both, 
 ignored the estrangement as much as possible, took the part
 
 3* 
 
 of neither, and behaved as well as any man could possibly 
 have behaved in the circumstances. 
 
 After a few days Lady Culmore recovered herself, finding 
 that her brother-in-law merely wondered and looked puzzled. 
 
 How am I to tell what next happened ? What words shall 
 I find sweet enough, fair enough for my story ? On Christ- 
 mas-eve, leaning over the stile that led into the snow-clad 
 meadows, looking up to the night-sky where the stars shone, 
 I had prayed Heaven as a Christmas gift to send me some 
 one to love me ; and with the budding of the green leaves, 
 with the singing of birds and the sunshine of May, rny prayer 
 was granted. 
 
 I seemed to be standing outside the gates of some wonder- 
 ful land, when suddenly they opened, and the golden light 
 fell full upon me, blinding and dazzling me. At first I 
 thought of Ulric Culmore simply as a scholar and a gentleman; 
 later I began to look upon him as one of the handsomest, 
 noblest, most generous of men ; finally I found that his pres- 
 ence greatly affected me. Why should my heart beat fast at 
 the sound of his voice ? Why should my face burn at the 
 sight of him ? Why did I tremble like a leaf in the wind when 
 he spoke to me ? Why did every nerve and pulse thrill at 
 the bare mention of his name ? My heart told me that it 
 was because' I loved him. 
 
 I gave him the whole love of my heart, and I never thought 
 of its being returned. It was happiness enough to me to 
 love him. I never thought of past or future , the present 
 sufficed for me. Heaven knows that I was not presumptuous 
 in my love. To live where I should see him, to do all in my 
 power for those he loved, to live loving him, to die breathing 
 his name I had no greater ambition, no more fervent hope. 
 To me he stood quite apart in the world of men there was 
 none like him, none equal to him ;'that he should ever dream 
 of placing me by his cico seeded most improbable. So the 
 lovely month of roscc, :aui~ round while the heart of t!ie cVi'u. 
 changed into the passionate- loving heart of the woman, and 
 I was a child :\o more. 
 
 How I loved him '. And it was no wonder. I had seen so 
 little of life. He vas really the first young, handsome man I 
 had known. That beautiful June was the happ^-t montli of 
 my life ; not that 1 forgot the trouble; and sorrows of others,
 
 30 
 
 but that the glamor of love's young dream was so strong upon 
 me that my heart was full. 
 
 Ulric Culmore had come to Ullamere to study and to rest, 
 yet how often in the early mornings, when the lake was like 
 a sheet of molten gold and the rosy light lay on the distant 
 hills, I found him in the grounds or down by the water-side ! 
 And I had not the faintest idea that he came because he 
 wished to talk to me. The knowledge that I loved him with 
 a full and perfect love that was to be my one secret in life, 
 gave me, strange to say, perfect ease in his presence, perfect 
 confidence while with him. So we talked in the early morn- 
 ing hours, under the stately trees, and down by the river- 
 side, the birds singing to us, the flowers sending us their 
 sweet perfume, the sun shining down upon us. 
 
 Mr. Culmore liked talking to me. He always took break- 
 fast with Lady Culmore and me. He very often came during 
 the morning to read to us as we sat in the shade of the 
 great spreading trees ; he followed us always into the draw- 
 ing-room after dinner ; he accompanied us in our walks and 
 drives. 
 
 " How much pleasanter a house is when there is a gentle- 
 man to take an interest in matters ! " I said one day thought- 
 lessly to Lady Culmore. I repented the words the moment 
 I saw her face grow pale. 
 
 One morning Ulric and I were together amongst the 
 roses. He plucked one and gave it to me ; it was a lovely 
 moss-rosebud just peeping coquettishly from its green leaves. 
 
 " Do you know what this means ? " he asked. 
 
 I said " No," that I knew nothing of the language of 
 flowers. 
 
 " You do not know what a moss-rosebud symbolizes ? " 
 he questioned. " Promise me to try to find out." 
 
 Was it the warm sunlight that dazzled my happy eyes ? 
 I could not look at him. I took the rosebud, and ran away 
 shamefacedly.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 As I hurried from Mr. Culmore, I almost ran against 
 Lady Culmore. I stopped to apologize. 
 
 " Where are you going in such a hurry ? " she asked. 
 
 " I do not know," I replied. 
 
 " Not know where you are going, Kate ? How strange ! " 
 
 It was perfectly true. I only knew that I was running 
 away from happiness so great that it dazed me as do the rays 
 of a burning sun. Lady Culmore looked at me earnestly I 
 would have given the world if I could have hidden my face 
 from her gaze. 
 
 " Oh, child," she said, " what is this I read in your eyes ? 
 What is it, Kate ? " 
 
 " Nothing," I replied, trying guiltily to hide the rosebud. 
 
 "Nothing?" she repeated, "Lift up your head, Kate, 
 and look at me." 
 
 There was no help for it. I raised my head, and looked 
 at her. She gazed into my eyes, and said 
 
 " My dear, the light that is in your eyes is the light that 
 never yet shone on land or sea. Do you know what that is ? " 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 " The light of love," she said. " Oh, Kate, what who 
 has brought it there ? " 
 
 " The sunlight," I answered, as I ran away a second time. 
 
 It was only natural that I should go to the library in 
 search of a Language of Flowers, and I read, " Moss-rosebud 
 confession of love." Ah me, I smile now ! But then, when 
 I read it, a great, and almost solemn awe came over me. I 
 felt as a pilgrim feels when he first enters a shrine. Of course 
 it was all nonsense, merely a jest. It was not likely that he 
 loved me. Still I would far rather that he had not jested 
 with me on such a subject. And then the delicious memory 
 of his words came to me. He had said that I was one of the 
 loveliest girls he had ever seen. 
 
 How my heart beat ! How my whole soul seemed filled 
 with sunshine and happiness ! Could any one be wretched 
 in this beautiful world ? And then, like an icy wind, came 
 the memory of Lady Culmore. She had loved her husband,
 
 41 
 
 and what was her reward ? I remembered what she said 
 when I told her of my prayer on Christmas-eve. Yet, not 
 heeding the warning, I wrapped up my precious rosebud. I 
 wonder if ever one small flower made any girl so perfectly 
 happy before ? 
 
 When I saw Lady Culmore the next time, her face was 
 pale from excessive weeping, and I could not help wondering 
 if what had passed between us had roused bitter-sweet mem- 
 ories in her heart. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Dinner was over ; it had been the ordinary curious con- 
 strained meal, with the usual complete estrangement of hus- 
 band and wife, the usual efforts at cheerfulness on the part 
 of Mr. Culmore. How I longed to get away, longed for the 
 brightness of sunlight and flowers, for the fresh air arid out- 
 door freedom. 
 
 How it happened I cannot fell. I seem to see that even- 
 ing always through a golden mist. Sir Rudolph was in his 
 study, engaged on some business about the estate, Lady Cul- 
 more had disappeared, and Ulric came to me. 
 
 " Miss Forster," he said, " do not waste this beautiful 
 evening indoors. Our host and hostess have both withdrawn. 
 Let us enjoy the last rays of the sun. Will you come ?" 
 
 Would I ? My heart went out to him in answer. Whither 
 could he have led that I would not have followed? 
 
 " You will not need hat or cloak this lovely evening," he 
 continued. 
 
 A black shawl of Lady Culmore's lay on the couch. He 
 wrapped it in Spanish fashion round my head and shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "I will show the flowers their queen," he said. "Let us 
 leave the world, with all its cares and miseries, behind us, 
 Miss Forster, and go for an hour into fairy-land." 
 
 " Where is fairy-land ? " I asked. 
 
 " Wherever we like to make it," he replied. " We shall 
 find ours near the lake." 
 
 Shall I ever forget the scent of magnolia, which was in 
 full bloom and filled the air with perfume ? Shall I ever for- 
 get the cry of the cushat dove, the song of the nightingale 
 on the far side of the lake, the golden light on the water, the 
 fair blue sky, the scent of the blossoms we crushed beneath 
 our feet ?
 
 Just where the magnolia-tree, with its great white scented 
 flowers, stood, the lake formed a little bay. Lady Culmore, 
 who had pretty fancies when she was not too miserable to 
 entertain them, called it " Magnolia Bay." I told Mr. Cul- 
 more this, and he smiled at the pretty conceit. 
 
 "We will make it our fairy-land," he said. 
 
 Such an hour comes only once in life ; and it came, thank 
 Heaven, then for me ! The water of the lake softly rippled 
 and kissed the green banks ; the wind stirred the magnolia- 
 blossoms. Far away stretched the rugged brown hills, golden 
 now in the light of the setting sun. My lover was silent 
 for some minutes, then he took both my hands, looking at 
 them earnestly. 
 
 "You wear no rings, Miss Forster," he said. 
 
 " I haven't any," I replied, quickly. " Madame gave me 
 my mother's wedding-ring ; but it broke." 
 
 " I wonder if you will think me very rude if I make one 
 comment ? " he continued. 
 
 " I should never think you rude," I answered, " make 
 what comment you might." 
 
 " As you wear no engagement-ring, I venture to conclude 
 you are not engaged ? " 
 
 " To be married, do you mean ? " I asked, in supreme 
 wonder. 
 
 " Yes, to be married," he said. 
 
 " Oh, no ! How could that be ? I have been at school 
 all my life." 
 
 " You have never had a lover ? " he pursued. 
 
 " No, never," I answered. 
 
 " I knew it," he said. " Ah, Kate, no woman's eyes are 
 ever the same after a lover has looked into their depths ! 
 Yours are clear as the morning star. No lover has ever 
 gazed into them. Kate, raise them to mine." 
 
 But, instead of that, I buried my face in my hands. 
 
 The birds sang on, the wavelets broke tranquilly against 
 the bank, but above the song and the ripple I heard the voice 
 that held all the music of earth for me. 
 
 " Did you find out what the moss-rosebud symbolized ? 
 You must tell me. Did you find it out, Kate ? " 
 
 "Yes," I whispered, almost inaudibly. 
 
 "I loved you at first sight, Kate," he said. "You were 
 sitting here by the lake when I saw you. You do not know
 
 43 
 
 the charm of your own face. Yet you will learn it quickly 
 enough when you are in the world of men. I could not im- 
 agine who you were, for my brother had not told me of the 
 new addition to his household ; but I thought you the love- 
 liest girl I had ever seen ; and, Kate, in that first moment my 
 heart went out to you, and it has never come back. I wanted 
 to tell you this days ago, but I have hesitated ; you seemed 
 so unconscious of it all. To trouble you with the cares of 
 love seemed like breaking into some beautiful sanctuary ; yet 
 I do not see why I should not be happy, if I can. Kate, I 
 love you, and I want you to be my wife." 
 
 That was the answer to my prayer. 
 
 " I love you so dearly, so well, Kate, that I will devote 
 my life to you. Will you love me in return ? " 
 
 I did Heaven only l.new how well. But it occurred to 
 me that it would be madness for him to marry me. I had 
 nothing but what he was pleased to call my beauty and my 
 loving heart. I had neither fortune, position, nor connec- 
 tions, and I felt sure that all these were needful to him. I 
 told him that he could not d-> a worse thing for himself. He 
 laughed, and said that he was the best judge. He loved me, 
 and nothing else was of consequence. 
 
 I did not tell him all how I had loved him from the first 
 moment I had heard his voice. Some few details I kept se- 
 cret even from him. We plighted our troth by the side of 
 the lake a troth that has not been broken, and never will be. 
 
 His wife ! How little I dreamed that I should ever hear 
 those words ! I had loved him with a love that was all hu- 
 mility. 
 
 " You delight my eyes just as you gladden my heart, 
 Kate," said my lover. " It seems to me always as though 
 you move to some sweet hidden music. You confess that 
 you love me, Kate? " 
 
 " Yes ; I love you," I replied. 
 
 " And you promise to be my wife ? " 
 
 " Yes If you really wish it." 
 
 " As if I could help wishing it, Kate ! I am your first 
 lover, darling ? " 
 
 " And my last," I said, earnestly. 
 
 " That I believe. No lover has looked into your beautiful 
 eyes, no lover has kissed your lips sweet as they are true 1 
 May I have the first kiss, Kate ? "
 
 44 
 
 And there, in the glory of the evening sunset, my lover 
 kissed me for the first time ; and that kiss bound my heart 
 to him forever. 
 
 The sun had set, leaving the water cold and gray, before 
 we remembered how time was flying. The birds had all gone 
 to rest, all nature seemed in repose when we rose to return 
 to the house. 
 
 " Mr. Culmore," I began. 
 
 " Never ' Mr. Culmore ' again, Kate," he said. " Mine 
 is not a very melodious name, but you must try to use it. 
 Say ' Ulric ' always when you speak to me." 
 
 " Ulric,'" I said shyly, " rl^ not tell any one just yet. Let 
 me grow accustomed to it first." 
 
 " I will do as you wish, my darling," he said, " but for a 
 short time only." 
 
 And then, although we were so near the house that any 
 one could see us from the windows, he actually kissed me 
 again. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " KATE," cried my lover impatiently, " there are limits to 
 human endurance ! " 
 
 " Very small limits they are ! " I retorted. " You, Ulric, 
 are the most impatient of men." 
 
 The dark handsome face smiled. 
 
 " You do not mean it, Kate. If I thought you did ' 
 
 " You shall not kiss me again, Ulric ; I have made up my 
 mind. Yesterday, I am sure, the gardener saw you." 
 
 " He may see me again to-day, !f he likes ! " laughed 
 Ulric. " If a man may not kiss the girl whom he is going to 
 marry, pray tell me whom is he to kiss ? " 
 
 That was a problem I was unable at the moment to solve. 
 
 " Strange that we should both be thinking of the same 
 thing ! I was just about to tell you that human endurance 
 has its limits, and that I shall not bear this kind of thing 
 much longer." 
 
 I knew very well that " this kind of thing " meant silence
 
 45 
 
 as to our engagement, but I was so unwilling to speak of it. 
 
 It was a glorious morning at the end of June. My lover 
 Heaven bless his handsome head and dark beautiful face ! 
 had come out to smoke a cigar under the chestnut-trees. 
 As a matter of course, I must go with him. Sir Rudolph 
 had ridden over to Ulladale ; Ulric had declined to accompany 
 him. 
 
 " We will have a little picnic of our own, Kate, "he said, 
 " I will have a cigar or two, you shall have some fruit, and 
 we will improve the shining hours." 
 
 It was absurd to resist, to make excuses which I did hy- 
 pocritically enough for nothing on earth was so delightful 
 to me as to be with him. 
 
 "You forget, ' I said, "that I am Lady Culmore's com- 
 panion." 
 
 " I know that you are my companion," he said ; " and I 
 shall not give you up, either to Lady Culmore or to any one 
 else." 
 
 He arranged a most comfortable seat for me, and placed 
 some fruit where I could easily reach it rich ripe staw- 
 berries and purple grapes. 
 
 " Now you have nothing to do but to sit still, Kate, look 
 charming, and let me admire you. Do you know that you 
 look like the morning itself? Your eyes are so bright, and 
 you have the daintiest of colors. Your hair what dark hair 
 it is, Kate ! all lies in rings and waves. Altogether, I am 
 more in love than ever with my future wife ! " 
 
 He knelt 'by my side, kissed my hands, kissed my lips, 
 called me by every endearing name. I wondered for a mo- 
 ment whether he would always love me in this fashion, or 
 whether coldness or estrangement would come to us as it 
 had come to Sir Rudolph and Lady Culmore. 
 
 " You are thinking of something disagreeable, Kate ; I 
 know it by the expression of your face." 
 
 I sighed. 
 
 " I will not have you sigh, dearest," said my lover. 
 " Sighs must not pass such lips as yours lips made for smiles 
 and kisses." 
 
 Ah, sweet sunny hours, sweeter than words can tell, how 
 quickly they passed, and how blissful they were ! 
 
 " I was saying, Kate," continued Ulric, " that I have 
 come to the end of my endurance. To love you as I do,
 
 46 
 
 yet not to be at liberty to give fu\} expression to that love 
 is torture. Last night, when you were singing, you looked 
 so captivating that I could hardly refrain from taking you 
 in my arms and kissing you." 
 
 " It was well you did not," I said, wondering what Lady 
 Culmore would have thought. 
 
 " You said, dearest, you wished me to keep silence about 
 our engagement for a short time, because you wanted to 
 grow accustomed to it. Are you accustomed to it yet ? " 
 
 I raised my happy eyes to his face, and told him that 
 the wonder of it was so great that, if I lived for a century, 
 it would still be a source of supreme astonishment to me. 
 
 " Evidently then it is quite useless waiting any longer. 
 Let me tell my brother this evening. My darling, I want to 
 marry you in the autumn. Are those tears in your eyes, 
 Kate ? " 
 
 " Yes, tears of joy," I replied. " I am so happy, Ulric 
 no girl in the wide world was ever happier ; but I cannot for- 
 get the misery that surrounds us. If I could see Lady Cul- 
 more less miserable, Sir Rudolph more like you, I should not 
 care. I know how it will be when we tell her ; she will cry, 
 or say some of those terrible things that one cannot bear to 
 hear, and Sir Rudolph will be colder than ever. Out here in 
 the sunlight, where the waters shine, the roses bloom, and 
 the whole world is lovely, it is easy to be happy and to talk 
 of love ; but in that shadowed house, by that shadowed hearth, 
 where husband and wife speak never a kindly word, how can 
 I ? I feel that, if we speak of our love there, a shadow will 
 fall over it." 
 
 His face grew grave, the laughter died from his eyes. 
 
 " I understand," he said, in a low voice, " and I sympa- 
 thize sincerely, Kate," he continued after a time, " I have 
 never liked to speak to you about the matter, but what can 
 possibly have parted those two ? Do you know anything 
 about it." 
 
 " Nothing in the world," I replied. " No one could know 
 less." 
 
 " Has this coldness existed ever since you have been 
 here ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and it is that which makes me dislike to speak of 
 my own happy love." 
 
 " I have said nothing about it," continued Ulric ; " but I
 
 47 
 
 was never so shocked, so startled, so distressed in my life- 
 The first night I spent here I thought the coldness was only 
 a passing one and even that horrified me ; but, when I saw 
 that it was always the same, that nothing changed or softened 
 it, I was bewildered. Do you know, Kate, that they were 
 once the most devoted of lovers, that Rudolph was mad about 
 her, and that she, so beautiful and graceful, was sought after 
 everywhere ? She rejected some of the best offers in England 
 to marry Rudolph." 
 
 " And now is he tired of her ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, that is not it. I have watched them closely for I 
 would do anything to bring about a different state of things 
 and have come to the conclusion that there is a secret be- 
 tween them, and that it concerns Nest." 
 
 " Of what nature is the secret, do you think, Ulric ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " I read fear and shrinking in her face," replied my lover. 
 " Evidently she has done something which has made her 
 afraid of him. What it can be is a mystery to me. She is 
 so gentle, so loving, I cannot imagine that she would do any- 
 thing wrong. I am sure it is a strong reason on his part that 
 causes him to treat her in this fashion" 
 
 " I pity her the most," I said. " She loves him so dearly ; 
 her whole lue seems to be a passion of love and pain." 
 
 " And I," said Ulric slowly, " pity him the most ; I see in 
 his face such an expression of torture. I know that he loved 
 her so entirely that his heart must have been broken before 
 matters came to this pass." 
 
 I told him how I had found her by the lakeside, her face 
 buried in the grass, crying to Heaven for pardon that it 
 had been all for love of him. My lover was silent for some 
 time after that. 
 
 " It seems a dishonorable thing," I said, " to try to dis- 
 cover a secret that is evidently kept from one ; but, if any- 
 thing could be done to bring them together or even to 
 re-establish ordinary kindness and civility between them, it 
 would be a good deed." 
 
 Still my lover, always so quick of speech, was silent. 
 
 " Kate," he said, after a time, " are you sure that Lady 
 Culmore used these words ' all for him ' ? " 
 
 "Not once, but a hundred times," I replied. And then I 
 saw that his face had grown pale.
 
 48 
 
 " 'All for him,' " he repeated. "That would imply that 
 she admitted having done something wrong, but that it was 
 for his sake." 
 
 " That is what I have always thought, Ulric that she 
 did some wrong for him." 
 
 " What could she have done ? " he continued. " She 
 loves him too entirely to have given a thought to any one 
 else." 
 
 " No, she has never betrayed him even by a thought," I 
 said. And I saw the dark face grow paler. 
 
 " Kate," asked my lover solemnly, " have you ever tried 
 to imagine what Lady Culmore could possibly have 
 done ? " 
 
 " Never. She is truthful, or I might think that she had 
 lied in some shameful way." 
 
 " But what could she have lied about ? " asked Ulric. 
 "There was no mystery about their love or marriage; and 
 the lie must have been a shameful one which could part 
 them." 
 
 " Candidly, Ulric, I have seen no fault in Lady Culmore 
 except a too great love for her husband. To me her char- 
 acter seems perfect in every other respect. I believe she 
 loves him most devotedly. I think she would do anything in 
 the wide world for him. I can imagine that she might even 
 mistake wrong for right for his sake. Nay, Ulric, I can go 
 further; I believe that she loves him so entirely that she 
 would do wrong for his sake and think it right. Love for 
 him is the master-passion of her nature." 
 
 Ulric looked terribly distressed. 
 
 " Why," I cried, " the shadow is spreading to you. You 
 look miserable. What is it ? " 
 
 " A horrible idea," he replied " a false one, I could 
 swear, but so unutterably horrible that it has made me ill." 
 
 He looked ill. 
 
 " Tell me what it is," I requested. 
 
 " I cannot, Kate. To save my life I would not put into 
 words the idea that has crossed my mind." 
 
 Not only had his face grown white, but his hands trem- 
 bled. I did not like to ask him any further questions. He 
 stamped his foot impatiently. 
 
 " How foolish I am, Kate," he cried, " frightening myself 
 with a scare-crow ! I must have a terribly depraved mind for
 
 49 
 
 such an idea to cross it. That is the worst of my profession ; 
 we are always diving into motives. Kate, this has spoiled 
 our picnic. Lei us forget it." 
 
 He spoke lightly; but it was in vain; he could not for- 
 get. I saw him shudder again and again. He rose from his 
 seat, and paced up and down by the lakeside, his arms fold- 
 ed, his head bent, intense miser}' on his face. Truly our 
 picnic was spoiled. I went to him at last, and laid my hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 " Forgive me, my darling," he said. " I have a fit of the 
 horrors. I am ashamed of myself. Tell me one thing more. 
 Justice is justice. Tell me, in all her raving and her pray- 
 ers, has Lady Culmore ever said anything about a little 
 child ? " 
 
 " Why," I cried in wonder, " that is the very thing she is 
 afraid of 'l " 
 
 I told him of the scenes which had occurred. He stood 
 like one transfixed. 
 
 " Great Heaven," he said at last, " I believe I am right ! 
 I believe with my whole heart and soul that I am right. 
 Kate, it is all over with our picnic. Come back to the 
 house." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FROM that hour Ulric Culmore was a changed man. The 
 blight, the shadow that lay over the others had spread now 
 to him. He was silent, abstracted, and gloomy. At times 
 he seemed to try hard to become his old genial self again, 
 but the attempt always failed. 
 
 What was the mystery that hung over Ullamere, that 
 seemed to blight every one it touched ? Something about a 
 little child ; yet Lady Culmore had had no children, no little 
 brothers and sisters. What could it be ? It seemed useless 
 thinking. 
 
 The change in my lover grieved me exceedingly. It was 
 not that he loved me less I could see that but that his 
 mind was so preoccupied. He had been anxious that our 
 engagement should be made public ; now he never spoke of
 
 5 
 
 it. He had been anxious that we should be married in the 
 autumn ; now he never mentioned marriage. Yet I felt quite 
 sure in my heart that it was not for want of love, nor because 
 he loved me less. 
 
 One morning it was the beginning of July, and the tiger- 
 lilies were all in bloom he was standing in the porch, look- 
 ing round him with certainly the saddest expression 1 had 
 ever seen on his face. I went up to him and clasped both my 
 hands round his arm. 
 
 " You look so unhappy, Ulric," I said. You have never 
 been yourself since the day of our picnic. What can I do to 
 win back the smiles ? " 
 
 " Bear with me, my darling," he said, " until I have made 
 up my mind what to do. Kate," he added suddenly, " you 
 are one of the noblest and least mercenary of women. Has 
 it occurred to you that, if my brother dies without children, 
 the estate and title come to me ? " 
 
 " No, I have not thought of it," I replied. 
 
 " It is so," he said sadly. " If no son be born to Rudolph, 
 I shall be Sir Ulric Culmore." 
 
 He looked so grave, and he spoke so sadly, that I could 
 not help saying 
 
 " You do not look very happy about it, Ulric." 
 
 " I am not," he replied. " I I fear there has been a 
 great wrong done. If oh, Heaven, how can I even say the 
 words ? if what I dread be true, I will take neither title nor 
 estate. I would rather go out to the backwoods and make a 
 fortune there." 
 
 " Shall you never tell me what it is, Ulric ? " I asked. 
 
 " It would serve no purpose, Kate, and would only im- 
 bitter your life," he replied. " You say rightly that I have 
 not been the same man since the thought came to me, and 
 it would be as bad for you." 
 
 " Are you always going to be miserable, gloomy, and sad, 
 Ulric ? " I asked. 
 
 " Not always, darling, I hope," he answered, with a sigh. 
 
 " When shall you be your own self, Ulric ? I love the old 
 self the best. You were so bright, so happy and blithe. 
 When will the Ulric I love come back again ? " 
 
 " When this terrible doubt is settled," he replied. 
 
 " And when will that be ? " I asked. 
 
 He stood silent for some minutes, and then answered
 
 " When I find courage to speak to my brother." 
 
 " When shall you find courage ? " I pursued after a time. 
 
 " I do not know, Kate ; honestly speaking, I do not 
 know. If I am correct in my terrible suspicion then there 
 is very little happiness for us in this world. If I am not 
 correct, my brother will be so bitterly angry with me for the 
 suspicion that he will never forgive me. I must watch for 
 my opportunity, Kate." 
 
 Later on that same day Sir Rudolph called him into the 
 library, and showed him the plans for some alterations at 
 Brooke Hall. He related to me all that passed between 
 them. 
 
 " Ulric, come, and look at these plans," said Sir Rudolph. 
 " They came this morning from Millsom, in London. What 
 do you thing of them ? " 
 
 The brothers bent over the papers. Their opinions did 
 not quite agree ; Sir Rudolph liked one set, Ulric the other. 
 
 " I shall choose these," said Sir Rudolph, pointing to the 
 set that Ulric preferred. 
 
 " No," laughed Ulric ; " Brooke Hall belongs to you. 
 Rudolph, let the alterations be in accordance with your taste, 
 not with mine." 
 
 " True, Brooke Hall is mine, but I shall never live there. 
 It will never be home to me any more. I hate the place, and 
 I intend never to enter it again." 
 
 " Hate Brooke Hall ! " cried Ulric. " Why, I thought 
 you liked it ? " 
 
 " I did a short time since ; I do not now." 
 
 " How has the place displeased you, Rudolph ? " 
 
 Sir Rudolph's face darkened. 
 
 " That does not matter, Ulric," he said. I do not care 
 about being questioned. In the natural course of things the 
 Hall must come to you when I die." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You will have sons and daughters of your 
 own, Rudolph. I have no wish to succeed you. My career 
 is marked out for me, and I hope to make myself famous." 
 
 Sir Rudolph laid both his hands on Ulric's shoulders, and 
 looked into his face. 
 
 " We haved loved each other truly, have we not, Ulric ? " 
 
 " Yes, and shall always do so," replied Ulric. 
 
 "Then take my word for it, brother, that no son or daugh- 
 ter of mine will ever succeed me. You will be Sir Ulric Cul-
 
 S 2 
 
 more of Brooke ; and I pray Heaven with my whole heart 
 that you may have a happier life than mine." 
 
 " Yet," said Ulric, " you have had everything to make you 
 happy." 
 
 " Outwardly happy, yes. Every heart knows its own 
 secrets. I had dreamed Heaven knows how I had dreamed 
 of a very different life from this." 
 
 Then the brothers faced each other. 
 
 " In the old days we had no secrets from each other," 
 said Ulric, earnestly. " When you were a gay careless young 
 lieutenant and I a struggling barrister, we knew each other's 
 thoughts, Ru. I knew of your love for Nest, and you knew 
 how I was looking for an ideal that I have since found. We 
 had not a secret from each other. We stood, true brothers, 
 heart to heart, face to face, no shadow between us, loving, 
 loyal, and true. Now, Ru, tell me what stands between us." 
 
 " A secret," answered Sir Rudolph. 
 
 " I know it," answered Ulric. " Whose secret is it ? " 
 
 " If it were mine," replied Sir Rudolph, " you would have 
 been made acquainted with it long ago. It concerns another, 
 and I hold it." 
 
 " Can you not intrust it to me ? " asked Ulric. 
 
 " I would, but the other who shares it will not. Better 
 far not to know it. It has blighted my life ; it might blight 
 yours." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Ulric, " I might help you." 
 
 " Impossible. There is no help. There is nothing but 
 patient endurance until life ends ; and the greatest mercy I 
 can ask from Heaven is that mine may end soon." 
 
 " As we are talking, Ru, more in the old fashion than the 
 new, let me ask you one thing. What has gone wrong between 
 you and Nest ? " 
 
 Sir Rudolph's face paled, and his lip quivered. 
 
 " I cannot tell you ; I would if I could." 
 
 " Is it the same secret that has blighted your life, Ru ? 
 Has it come between your wife and yourself ? " 
 
 "Yes," he replied, after a pause ; "it is the same thing." 
 
 "And, Ru, will it always last ? Shall you never take 
 Nest in your arms again and kiss her with the old love ? " 
 
 " Never," he replied " never, so help me Heaven ! " 
 
 " Has she done that which you never can forgive, Ru ? " 
 
 " She has," he replied. " I would not answer such ques-
 
 S3 
 
 tions to any other living creature," said Sir Rudolph. ' To 
 you, my brother, I may say this much -no more." 
 
 " And shall you live and die, Ru, without telling us what 
 this terrible secret is which has spoiled your life ? " 
 
 " I hope so," he replied. " It would do no one good, and 
 would do much harm." 
 
 " My dear old Ru," said Ulric, " are you quite sure that 
 this is wise ? It is brotherly love, and not curiosity, that 
 prompts me to speak. Are you wise in this ? No man could 
 bear such a burden long. You will break down. Now, while 
 there is time, let me help you." 
 
 " You cannot help," he replied gloomily. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that your whole life is to be 
 spent in this fashion hidden from the world, blighted nay, 
 worse, wasted ? It is inconceivable. If a wrong has been 
 done, let it be set aright." 
 
 " It can never be set aright," answered Sir Rudolph. 
 
 " Then forget it. What is the use of brooding over a 
 sorrow that can never be healed ? Be brave and strong, Ru. 
 Trample it down, live it down. What is the use of all this 
 tragical misery ? Let us end it." 
 
 " There can be no end," said Sir Rudolph, solemnly. 
 "Now, Ulric, we will discuss the matter no further." 
 
 " Ru, let me plead for Nest. I have never seen any one 
 so unhappy. My heart aches when I look at her. When I 
 think of the laughing, light-hearted girl of three years ago, 
 I cannot believe my eyes. She is like a woman dead in life. 
 Could you not relent even ever so little ? Could you not make 
 a grand effort and forgive ? " 
 
 " My dear Ulric, you mean well ; but you do not under- 
 stand. If you love me, say no more. As it is, so it must 
 remain. And now about the plans, Ulric ; you must de- 
 cide." 
 
 And Ulric did decide, with tears in his eyes. He could 
 not bear to think that his noble, kindly, generous brother 
 should suffer so terribly, 
 
 Some few days after that, I went one morning into the 
 library, and I found Lady Culmore standing at the window. 
 I knew that Ulric had been writing some letters there. She 
 did not move when I went in, and I did not disturb her. I 
 found my book, and waited to see if she would speak to me, 
 if she wanted anything, or if I could do anything for her.
 
 S4 
 
 I shall never forget the white face that was turned to 
 mine. 
 
 " Kate," she said, in a low voice, " come here ; I want 
 you." 
 
 I went to her. 
 
 " Have you noticed any change in Ulric's manner to 
 me ? " she asked. 
 
 " No," I answered. " He has always seemed very fond of 
 you, and is so now." 
 
 " Then it must be my fancy. Please Heaven it is so ! I 
 thought he looked curiously at me, and spoke sternly." 
 
 "There you must be wrong," I said, " for I do not think 
 Ulric could speak sternly if he tried. Lady Culmore," I 
 added suddenly, " I wonder how much of your trouble is 
 fancy ? " 
 
 " None of it," she answered. " My trouble is real enough. 
 The most intolerable part of it is that I wake at times and 
 for a few minutes believe it is all a dream. How I dread the 
 gradual growing certainty ! I love Ulric, Kate," she added, 
 mournfully ; " I should not like him to grow cold to me." 
 
 " Why should he, Lady Culmore ? " I asked. 
 
 "I cannot tell ; but there has been something I have not 
 liked, something I never saw in his eyes before, although I 
 have seen it in Rudolph's often." 
 
 I wondered if Ulric still had the same idea or suspicion 
 that he had spoken of to me, and if it was that which had 
 affected his manner to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LATELY we had one visitor at Ullamere, and that was the 
 Reverend John Thornleigh, Rector of Ulladale, though why 
 he came I could not imagine. I was the only member of the 
 household who went to church ; the servants were, one and 
 all, Dissenters even the old butler ; yet the rector persisted 
 in calling. He and I had become very good friends. He liked 
 to talk to me. I knew afterward that he loved me, and would 
 have asked me to be his wife but that he heard of my engage- 
 ment.
 
 55 
 
 His wife was dead had died when his only son was born ; 
 and nothing seemed to give him such comfort as talking 
 to me about her. When the rector was announced, if by any 
 accident we were all three together, Sir Rudolph and Lady 
 Culmore would remain for a short time. It was a great em- 
 barrassment to the rector I could see that. Apart he could 
 talk to them, but together, he looked in a state of bewilder- 
 ment from one to the other. He saw plainly enough the 
 terms on which they lived ; that no necessary word ever 
 passed between them ; that strangers could not be less to each 
 other than this husband and wife. He saw that all efforts 
 to draw them nearer together were quite unavailing. It was 
 distressing to him, and, unlike myself, he never became ac- 
 customed to it. I did. At first it was uncomfortable enough ; 
 but, from force of habit, the time came when I could carry 
 on a conversation with both at the same time, without the 
 slightest embarrassment. The rector could not. He grew 
 confused ; he appealed from one to the other. His appeals 
 were met with stern coldness by Sir Rudolph, with an excess 
 of embarrassment by Lady Culmore. Of the two he liked 
 Lady Culmore best. She was always most kind to him, and 
 ready to help his charitable work when he needed it. 
 
 I was present once when he said to her 
 
 " Lady Culmore, do you never attend any place of wor- 
 ship ? " 
 
 And she made answer, " Never." 
 
 The rector was a good man. He had a real love for his 
 profession. Moreover, he was clever and accomplished. He 
 looked just a little shocked when Lady Culmore answered 
 thus. 
 
 " Do you not think," he began. But she interrupted him. 
 
 " If you please, Mr. Thornleigh, we will not discuss the 
 matter. I yield at once. I am quite sure that every one 
 ought to go to some place of worship. I have my own 
 reasons for staying away, and they are known only to One." 
 
 What could any man say in answer to that ? " 
 
 Then the rector grew more confidential with me. He 
 talked a great deal about Sir Rudolph and Lady Culmore. 
 They were two of the pleasantest people he had ever met, he 
 said, and he deeply deplored the terrible estrangement be- 
 tween them. Like every one else who knew them, he 
 wondered greatly what had caused it. He was a true friend
 
 56 
 
 of theirs, and, knowing that, we talked always in the hope 
 that we might be able to do something. But, after a time, I 
 saw that it was impracticable ; there was nothing to be done. 
 
 The rector never tired of talking to me about his little 
 child. I went to see him at the Rectory. On my return I 
 told Lady Culmore all about his sweet baby ways. 
 
 " Do ask him here, Lady Culmore." I said. " You can- 
 not think how the presence of a child brightens the house. 
 These rooms would be very different with a child playing 
 and laughing, or even crying in them. Do ask him, Lady 
 Culmore," I urged ; " I am sure it would cheer and amuse 
 you." 
 
 She grew very pale so pale that I thought she would 
 swoon. 
 
 " My dear, it would simply kill me," she replied. 
 
 " How could the visit of a sweet little boy like little Willie 
 hurt you ? " I asked, in some surprise. 
 
 She made no answer to the question, and I continued 
 
 " It would please Sir Rudolph, I am sure." 
 
 " It would not," she cried ; "you are quite mistaken. It 
 
 would " Then she stopped abruptly. " No, Miss 
 
 Forster ; if you wish me well, never let any children come to 
 Ullamere." 
 
 " Do you not like children ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered wearily. " I suppose it is part of 
 the nature of all women to love them." 
 
 " I am not quite sure of that, Lady Culmore," I answered. 
 " I have seen and known women who did not like children 
 at all." 
 
 So I relinquished my idea. 
 
 I was with Sir Rudolph and Lady Culmore another day, 
 when the rector came to ask their help. It was for a poor 
 woman whose child was very ill, and the rector dwelt much 
 on the child's sufferings. 
 
 " It seems to me such an awful thing," he said, "for a 
 little child to die of want." 
 
 He did not perceive, as I did, how the expression of both 
 his listeners' faces changed, Sir Rudolph's growing stony 
 and cold, Lady Culmore's wearing that terribly embarrassed 
 air that came over her at times. I hastened to speak, 
 hoping that I should turn the tide of conversation. 
 
 " I do not think it worse for a child to die of want than 
 for a grown-up person so to die."
 
 57 
 
 The rector shook his head. 
 
 " I have a theory of my own about the death of infants," 
 he said. 
 
 Thinking to divert the conversation from what might be 
 a dangerous channel, I said quickly 
 
 " What is your theory, Mr. Thornleigh ? " 
 
 " It is this, Miss Forster. In the case of grown-up men 
 and women, you know the extent of their capabilities you 
 know exactly what they are ; they may be clever, they may be 
 the reverse. But, if an infant dies, you do not know what 
 loss the world sustains ; he may be an embryo Milton or 
 Shakespeare. So the death of a child, it seems to me, is 
 much sadder than that of a grown-up person." 
 
 There was something certainly in this view of the case ; 
 and I was so much interested in it that for a few moments I 
 forgot Lady Culmore. A deep sigh drew my attention to 
 her. I saw her turn away from us with a look of such in- 
 tense anguish on her face as I had never seen on human face 
 before, while Sir Rudolph had grown white as death. 
 
 I hastened to say that this was a new idea to me, that I 
 had always thought adult life the more valuable ; then I 
 asked the rector some idle question about the bell-ringers, 
 and Sir Rudolph made his escape. Lady Culmore seemed 
 to breathe more freely after he had gone, and the rector 
 received all that he desired. Thinking over one inci- 
 dent after another, it seemed clear to me that, whatever was 
 the secret, the tragedy, the mystery of Lady Culmore's life, 
 it was connected with a little child. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A MOST unexpected event happened ere long the rector 
 was invited to dinner. It appears a trivial incident in itself, 
 hardly worth recording, but it led to greater events. It 
 must have been at Ulric's suggestion. Sir Rudolph never 
 asked any human being near the place, and Lady Culmore 
 dreaded seeing any one. I may mention that Ulric had pre- 
 tended to be dreadfully jealous of the rector and his baby-
 
 58 
 
 son, and that I was both young and foolish enough to be 
 flattered by his jealousy, and thought it a great thing to have 
 such a tall handsome man jealous about me. 
 
 One bright sunny morning, when I was starting with 
 Ulric for the lake, the rector was announced, and I was 
 obliged to stay and entertain him neither the master nor 
 the mistress of the house was to be seen. Ulric's face 
 darkened. 
 
 " Is there really no one but you, Kate, to entertain 
 visitors ? The rector is what you ladies call ' such a hand- 
 some man ! ' Do not stay long, dear. Think of the pleasant 
 time we shall have, the boat gliding over the lake among the 
 water-lilies a delightful prospect for a warm day." 
 
 " I must hear what he has to say, Uric," I remonstrated. 
 
 As it happened, the rector had a great deal to say. He 
 was very anxious about the inhabitants of Ulladale. The 
 town was very unhealthy ; and, as Sir Rudolph owned a 
 great deal of property there, he wished to see him and talk 
 to him about it. Some of the houses, the rector said, were 
 so badly built, so badly ventilated, that they were neither 
 more nor less than traps for fever and death. 
 
 " Do not think that I am an alarmist," he added ; " but, 
 Miss Forster, if fever does break out there, it will be fatal to 
 many." 
 
 I advised him to see Sir Rudolph. So it came about that 
 the rector was invited to dinner an event in the Ullamere 
 household. 
 
 It was a warm day. The air was faint with the breath of 
 roses, heavy and still ; there was no movement in the sprays 
 of the jasmine. That evening Lady Culmore looked most 
 beautiful. She wore a dress of white lace trimmed with 
 green leaves and long trailing grasses ; a diamond star shone 
 in her fair hair, a diamond cross lay on her white breast. 
 She had dressed, as usual, to charm the eyes of her husband, 
 and they never even rested on her. 
 
 To please my lover, T wore a pretty primrose silk cut 
 square, with short sleeves. I had beautiful white rounded 
 arms, he said, and insisted on my showing them ; they were 
 made to be admired, and he would not have them hidden. 
 
 That was the most cheerfql dinner I remember at Ulla- 
 mere. The unnatural coldness and silence of husband and 
 wife were not noticed so much when there was a visitor
 
 59 
 
 present. The rector had plenty to say, Ulric was in better 
 spirits than I had seen him for some time. 
 
 Suddenly I cannot remember how it began the con- 
 versation turned on capital punishment, and the rector 
 quoted the well known words that " the worst use to which 
 you can put a man is to hang him." I noticed that at first 
 neither Sir Rudolph nor Lady Culmore joined in the conver- 
 sation. They sat listening in silence, Sir Rudolph looking 
 paler than usual, Lady Culmore with an unusual flush on her 
 beautiful face. The rector and Ulric argued the question 
 hotly, Ulric being in favor of and the rector against the pun- 
 ishment of death. 
 
 " I have often thought," said the rector, " that those 
 words, ' a life for a life,' are capable of many interpreta- 
 tions." 
 
 " Do you not believe," asked Ulric, " that the man who 
 deliberately takes a human life should pay the penalty of his 
 crime with his own ? " . 
 
 " No, I do not," replied the rector. " Men are such 
 strange mixtures of good and evil. I do not see the use of 
 hanging a man. It does no good ; it cannot restore the 
 dead to life." 
 
 "It deters others from committing the same crime," de- 
 clared Uliic. 
 
 " I do not think so," said the rector. "When a man in 
 the heat of passion kills another, he does not stop to think 
 about the last execution." 
 
 " Opinions differ," said Ulric. " Where life is taken in 
 the mad heat of passion, it is perhaps hardly murder. It is 
 when life is taken after cool, calm deliberation, after thought 
 and reflection, that I call the deed murder." 
 
 The word fell painfully on our ears. 
 
 "It is a horrible word 'murder,'" I said. "The very 
 sound of it is terrible." 
 
 " I read a strange story the other day," said the rector, 
 " one that struck me very forcibly. A man murdered his 
 wife, how or why I forget ; she had given him some provoca- 
 tion perhaps. He ran away, when, of course, a ' hue and 
 cry ' was sent out, and the police were soon after him. He 
 had hidden himself in a low part of the town, and in the 
 very house where he was concealed a terrible fire occurred. 
 A poor woman was sleeping in one of the upper rooms, and
 
 6o 
 
 her cries were heard. This man who had murdered his wife 
 risked, absolutely risked his life to save the woman who was 
 a stranger to him. He rushed through the flames and suf- 
 focating smoke ; the hair was burned from his head, his face 
 and hands suffered, but he saved her life. While she was in 
 the act of blessing and thanking him for it, the police capt- 
 ured him. ' You will hang me for killing my wife,' he said 
 to them. ' I killed her because she provoked me ; but I am 
 sorry for it. 5 Some one present quoted the words, ' A 
 life for a life.' ' That is Scripture,' said the man Imly. ' I 
 have literally fulfilled it. I killed my wife, but I have given 
 life to this woman, inasmuch as I have saved her from death. 
 Truly it is a life for a life.' The story struck me as being a 
 strange one," added the rector. 
 
 Something induced me to look at Lady Culmore's face. 
 Her eyes were fixed on the rector's face ; she hung upon each 
 word that fell from his lips. There was a strange light in 
 her eyes that I had never seen there before. 
 
 " Yes," said Ulric ; " but the man was mistaken. The 
 proper reading of the words is that whosoever takes a man's 
 life shall pay for it with his own." 
 
 " If one life pays for another," Lady Culmore broke in, 
 " how can it matter whose life it is ? " 
 
 Every one looked up in wonder. Her clear, sweet tones 
 vibrated through the room, her beautiful face was flushed. 
 Sir Rudolph regarded her in astonishment. She went on 
 
 " T f any one takes a life and gives a life, does not that 
 equalize matters ? " she asked ; and I detected something of 
 scornful bitterness in her voice. " If the life given be more 
 valuable than the life taken, does not that more than dis- 
 charge the debt ? " 
 
 " No," said the rector, in a distinct voice that seemed to 
 startle us " no. That is the view of a distorted mind, Lady 
 Culmore, of one that does not distinguish clearly between 
 right and wrong." 
 
 I saw her shrink as she would have shrunk from a blow. 
 
 " What a gloomy conversation ! " cried Ulric suddenly. 
 " How can we have drifted into it ? Let us dismiss the sub- 
 ject. Lady Culmore, you ought to have dismissed us." 
 
 " I have been greatly interested," she said ; and again 
 there was something new and strange in her voice, while the 
 light still flashed in her eyes.
 
 6i 
 
 During the long discussion husband and wife hardly 
 looked at each other, But at the words " a life for a life " 
 I saw Lady Culmore raise her eyes and fix them on her 
 husband's face. Who could read them with their messages 
 of love, regret, and hope ? 
 
 So the evening passed; and, when the rector had gone, 
 Sir Rudolph, witht a hasty " Good night," retired also. Lady 
 Culmore, who seemed quite abstracted, walked to the window 
 and drew the blind aside. She stood there looking out into 
 the darkness. 
 
 " Kate," whispered my lover, " come here ; I want you ; " 
 and we went into the conservatory which was dimly lighted. 
 " My dear " with a quiet caress " you have behaved won- 
 derfully well this evening." 
 
 " I always behave well, Ulric." 
 
 " You did not flirt with the rector at all, and I must make 
 full amends. He has a fine face ; he argues well too. Kate, 
 I am sure that he admires you. Does the bracelet fit, dar- 
 ling ? " 
 
 This was merely an excuse to hold up my arm and kiss 
 it. I pointed to Lady Culmore standing at the window. 
 
 " She will not see me," said Ulric ; " and if she does, it 
 will not matter. Fancy, dearest, what I suffer, sitting all 
 night watching your beautiful face, and never able to kiss the 
 lips I love or gaze into the eyes that hold all bliss for me. 
 Kate, I must be indemnified !" 
 
 It was useless pointing to Lady Culmore. It was useless 
 to do or say anything ; and, to be quite honest, perhaps I did 
 not mind so very much. 
 
 " Remember," said my lover, with a flush on his handsome 
 face " remember that I shall speak to my brother to-mor- 
 row. I will not put up with another day's delay." 
 
 He bade me " Good night," in his usual lover-like fashion, 
 and went away. Then I crossed over to Lady Culmore. 
 She turned to me when I spoke to her. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," she said, " who is it ? " 
 
 " Who is what ? " I asked. 
 
 " You should see your own face, Kate ; you should see 
 your own eyes. As we stand side by side, you are the very 
 picture of happiness, as I am the picture of woe." 
 
 I was ashamed of myself. I wished that I could drive 
 the light of happiness from my face and eyes.
 
 62 
 
 " I am haunted," she said, " those words, ' a life for a 
 life.' What a strange conversation that was, Kate ! " 
 
 " Neither cheerful nor pleasant," I replied. " And, if I 
 were you, Lady Culmore, I would forget all about it." 
 
 " I wish," she cried, passionately, " that I could forget 
 all about myself, even to my very name ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ULRIC had no chance of fulfilling his threat on the follow- 
 ing day, for Sir Rudolph rode off early in the morning to 
 Ulladale, to inspect the houses of which the rector had 
 spoken. The heat was intense. The heavens were like 
 molten brass. The white lilies drooped, the roses hung 
 their heads ; the birds had hidden themselves in their leafy 
 coverts ; there was not a ripple on the lake, not a whisper 
 of wind from the mountain-tops to relieve the settled intense 
 heat. 
 
 " I wish Sir Rudolph had not gone to Ulladale to-day," 
 said Lady Culmore ; " it is so hot, and he will be in and out 
 of these horrible houses. I shall be miserable about him. 
 I have such a sense of coming sorrow on me." 
 
 Ulric laughed. 
 
 " Now, Nest, we will not have that. Things are bad 
 enough ; we will not have any foreboding of coming sorrow." 
 
 " I cannot help it," she said, with pale, trembling lips. 
 
 It was a long quiet day. Ulric and I spent the morning 
 under the cedar. He read and I worked, with various little 
 happy interludes. 
 
 Night came, and Sir Rudolph returned in safety. Al 
 though Lady Culmore had been anxious concerning him all 
 day, she did not go out to meet him ; she gave utterance to 
 none of the joy she felt at seeing him ; but I saw that her 
 whole heart went out to him, though she repressed all outward 
 sign of emotion. 
 
 Dinner was an utter failure ; no one was hungry, no one 
 could eat. Even Ulric succumbed to the heat, and had little 
 to say.
 
 In the drawing-room afterward, Lady Culmore, in her 
 white dress, seated herself in the shadow. Sir Rudolph 
 opened the windows wide, and. pushed away the hangings. 
 
 " Let us have what little air there is," he said. 
 
 " Kate," exclaimed Ulric, suddenly, " sing for us. I 
 found a quaint song the other day, and I brought it home 
 with me." 
 
 He placed it on the piano, and I sang it. It was called 
 " Two Pictures." 
 
 " I sat in the gathering shadows, 
 
 And I looked to tho west away; 
 There the hand of an unseen artist 
 
 Was painting, at close of day, 
 A strange and beautiful picture 
 
 That filled my soul with awe, 
 And made men think of the city 
 
 No mortals ever saw. 
 
 ' Paint me, O wonderful artist,' 
 
 I cried, when the shadows came, 
 And hid the marvelous glory 
 
 Of the western hills aflame 
 ' Paint me the face of an angel ! ' 
 
 And, lo, before my eyes 
 Was the face of my sainted mother 
 
 Who dwells in Paradise I 
 
 " Paint me the face of a sinner 1 " 
 
 A darker shadow swept 
 Down the hills, and I thought, in the twilight, 
 
 The unseen artist wept; 
 And, lo, from a magical pencil 
 
 A face in a moment had grown, 
 The sad white face of a sinner, 
 
 And I knew it for my own I " 
 
 Two white hands were laid gently upon my shoulder, and 
 a tearful voice whispered 
 
 " Kate, do you love me ? " 
 
 " You know that I do, Lady Culmore," I replied. 
 
 " Then do not sing another note ; I cannot bear it. I used 
 to sing once. My voice, they said, was sweet and clear as a 
 silver bell ; and I loved music." 
 
 " I have never heard you sing, Lady Culmore," I said. 
 
 " I have not sung a note since since we came here," she 
 returned ; " and I never shall sing again," And then we 
 parted for the night,
 
 64 
 
 The rector had not been near us all day, nor had we had 
 any news of little Willie ; but on the following morning, 
 when we sat at breakfast, all four together, for a wonder, he 
 was announced. He came in looking very anxious, with dark 
 shadows beneath his eyes. Before he greeted us he cried, in 
 a distressed voice 
 
 " Little Willie is very ill." 
 
 We were all grieved. The poor rector seemed heart- 
 broken. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Ulric. " One must not at- 
 tach too much importance to the ailments of children. They 
 seem to be at death's door one day, and they are quite well 
 again the next." 
 
 " Yes ; but he is very ill," said the rector gravely. " I was 
 sent for early this morning to visit the poor woman who lives 
 by the west lake. As I was returning, I met Dr. Johnston, 
 who had just been to see my little boy, and he tells me that 
 he is very ill indeed. I thought I would call here, and ask 
 you to let the groom drive me home. I shall reach the Rec- 
 tory so much more quickly." 
 
 Sir Rudolph insisted on driving him himself ; and he left 
 us all very sorrowful. 
 
 That evening we were just finishing dinner, when a note 
 came from the Rectory which was addressed to me. It told 
 the terrible news that little Willie was ill of small-pox of the 
 malignant type. The nurse had taken him to some cottage 
 where a woman lay stricken with it, and the child had caught 
 the contagion. To add to the rector's distress, the nurse had 
 fled from the house when she discovered what was the matter ; 
 the young housemaid, afraid of losing her good looks, also 
 left at once, and there was no one to attend to his darling boy 
 but the old housekeeper. I read the letter aloud, and then 
 rose from my chair. 
 
 " Lady Culmore," I said, " will you let me go to the Rec- 
 tory ? I will nurse the child ; I am not afraid, and I love 
 little Willie. He must not want for care." 
 
 Ah, there was the same strange light on her beautiful face 
 that I had remarked before, the same clear unearthly radiance 
 in her eyes ! 
 
 " No," she replied, " I will not let you go, Kate. If it be 
 really malignant small-pox, it is very contagious, and generally 
 fatal."
 
 65 
 
 A strong arm was thrown around me ; I felt myself drawn 
 close to a faithful loving heart. 
 
 " You are not your own to do what you like with. You 
 are mine, and I forbid you to go." 
 
 I clung to Ulric, weeping. 
 
 "The little child I must go to the little child!" I 
 sobbed. 
 
 " You shall not go near it," he said. "You are mine. 
 There are plenty of clever trained nurses who can do the 
 work better than you. I will not let you risk your life." 
 
 We have forgotten the presence of others ; we had forgotten 
 everything except each other. An astonished cry from Lady 
 Culmore roused me. 
 
 " Ulric ! Kate ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 My lover raised his dark handsome flushed face. 
 
 " I forgot," he said. " I was going to tell you this morn- 
 ing. You know nothing of this. Rudolph, my brother, 
 
 Nest" 1 noticed, even at that moment, that he did not 
 
 say, " Nest, my sister " " I love Kate, and she has promised 
 to be my wife." 
 
 The next moment Sir Rudolph had crossed the room, and, 
 taking me from Ulric's arms, kissed me. 
 
 " A good and charming wife you will have, Ulric," he 
 said ; and then a great sadness came over his face. I knew he 
 was thinking of the time when he had made choice of a wife. 
 
 Lady Culmore came up to me hurriedly. 
 
 " Kate, I half guessed it. I was sure you loved some 
 one ; I have seen such a love-light in your eyes. I am very 
 glad it is Ulric, for he will be so good to you." 
 
 She threw her arms around me, and, as she kissed me. I 
 heard her sigh. Neither husband nor wife looked at each 
 other. On Sir Rudolph's face there was an expression of 
 great relief. 
 
 "Your news is good news to me, Ulric," he said "very 
 good news. Welcome, Kate ! " to me. And for the first 
 time I noticed toleration in his eyes when he looked at Lady 
 Culmore. 
 
 I thanked them for their kindly greeting, resolving in 
 my heart that I would be a true and loving sister to them. 
 
 " But little Willie," I said " we must not forget him. 
 You who love me let me go to nurse him. I shall come back 
 soon ; I am not afraid. The little one will die without 
 c*rt."
 
 66 
 
 " Once and for all, I say ' No ! " cried Ulric. " You shall 
 not go. I am sorry for the rector, sorry from my heart for 
 the child ; but I cannot sacrifice you for them. What do 
 you say, Rudolph ? " 
 
 " I say decidedly that she must not go," replied Sir Ru- 
 dolph. " I will not hear of it." 
 
 Then Lady Culmore came to us. 
 
 " No, you must not go, Kate. For you are love, life, and 
 
 brightness ; for me Ah, well, dear, you would fill any 
 
 station far better than I should ! I will go to nurse the 
 sick child." 
 
 She turned to her husband, her face eagerly expectant. 
 She went up to him with clasped hands. She did not touch 
 him ; one rebuff had been enough for her. 
 
 " Heaven has sent me this chance," she said. " You see 
 it for yourself. Oh, let me go ! Do not refuse rne, Ru- 
 dolph. It is my first prayer to you since ' 
 
 " Hush ! " he said, but not unkindly. " Hush ! " 
 
 " Let me go, Rudolph ! " she cried. " Heaven has sent 
 me this chance ; let me avail myself of it. You know, you 
 know" and, as she bent her head near him I heard her say, 
 " 'a life for a life.' Let me save this one ; let me give mine 
 for it, if needs must be ! Say that I may go, Rudolph ! " 
 
 Still he hesitated, and a look came into his eyes that I 
 had never seen there before. He must have loved her with 
 desperate passion once. 
 
 " You ask me to let you go to certain death. Do you 
 know that ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but I may save a life. In any case, I 
 shall offer mine for it. And, if I die, you will forgive me ? 
 Ah, do not turn from me, Rudolph, beloved ; do not be 
 angry with me ! You will forgive me when I lie dying ; and 
 Heaven will be good to me, and let me die when I am look- 
 ing on your face. Oh, beloved, I will die a hundred deaths 
 for one word of pardon from you a hundred deaths ! " 
 
 His eyes were full of tears. I saw that he dared not 
 trust himself to speak. 
 
 " Certain death has no fear for me with the prospect of 
 your forgiveness and a farewell from you when I lie in the 
 dark shadow. Oh, beloved, what is my life but living death ? 
 Oh, love, if I loved you less, I should suffer less ! May I
 
 When 1 asked the question, he had ansvvefed promptly, 
 " No ; " when she asked it, he hesitated. Yet from that mo- 
 ment I knew that he loved her with his whole soul. What 
 could possibly have come between these two who loved each 
 other with so great a love ? Ulric and I looked on fascinated. 
 They forgot us. 
 
 " Think," she said to him," what an atonement it will be ! 
 When you remember, my sin, you will remember also the 
 amends I tried to make. Ah, beloved," she cried, bursting 
 into passionate tears, "you told me yourself you could love 
 me no more in life, but you might in death ! Oh that I 
 might die die by fire, by torture, by the sword, if with it I 
 might have pardon from you and die looking on you ! Ru- 
 dolph beloved, may I go ? " 
 
 He was none the less a brave man that the tears fell from 
 his eyes as he answered 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THERE was some little commotion in the household when 
 it was known that Lady Culmore had gone to the Rectory. 
 Was the master mad, the servants asked each other, to let 
 her go there when he knew what had happened ? A beauti- 
 ful creature like that to go into the very arms of death ? 
 
 Mrs. Harper came to me with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " I always thought it would end in this way," she said. 
 " You will see, miss, my lady will die. I say she is a saint 
 and a martyr, let who will say different." 
 
 And indeed that seemed the only opinion about the matter. 
 Small-pox had been almost unknown in the pretty town of 
 Ullaclale. Some ] oor girl born there had been in service in 
 Liverpool, had come home ill with it, and from her the con- 
 tagion had spread. The people were terrified. Neither for 
 love nor money could the rector get any one to go to his 
 house. 
 
 Sir Rudolph was restless and miserable after his wife was 
 gone. Ulric and I made no allusion to the discussion that
 
 had taken place between them. It was a sacred matter be- 
 tween husband and wife. Whatever wonder or curiosity it 
 raised in us, we never spoke of it. 
 
 We were very dull at Ullamere after Lady Culmore went. 
 Happily one of the housemaids had no fear, and would ac- 
 company her, so that we had the comfort of knowing that 
 she was not alone. Neither Sir Rudolph nor Ulric had any 
 fear of contagion. They went over to the Rectory two or 
 three times every day. Lady Culmore never saw them ; she 
 would not leave little Willie, and the rector would not allow 
 them to enter the house. 
 
 Day succeeded day, and still the little fellow lay battling 
 with the fell disease. On all sides we heard hearty praises 
 of Lady Culmore. Meanwhile a nurse from London had 
 been installed at the Rectory, but little Willie would have 
 none of her. The servants said that Lady Culmore was 
 giving her life for him, little knowing how true their words 
 were. A.t first none of the doctors had hope. Malignant 
 small-pox at the age of three was most exceptional, and they 
 did not see the slightest chance of recovery ; but Lady Cul- 
 more's nursing was so invaluable that, if anything could save 
 him, that would. Onlookers related afterward, with tears in 
 their eyes, how she nursed and tended the little one ; how 
 she soothed his long agony ; how she never left him either 
 by night or day, but was satisfied with broken snatches of 
 sleep by his side ; how the little fellow moaned for her, cried 
 for her, and would never be pacified but by her. 
 
 " She is giving her life for him," they said to one another, 
 little thinking how true their words might prove. 
 
 It was an anxious time for us ; and Sir Rudolph was most 
 unhappy. At last news came from the Rectory. Little 
 Willie was decidedly better ; he had asked for the kitten 
 and for " Kate." Ulric's face cleared as he read the 
 letter. 
 
 " We shall have some happy days yet," he said. " I shall 
 be glad to see the child safe and well." 
 
 Years afterward I saw the letter that Lady Culmore wrote 
 to her husband when the child was believed to be out of 
 danger, little dreaming that, after all her care, he would be 
 amongst the angels first. 
 
 " BELOVED RUDOLPH, Do you remember the words, ' a
 
 life for a life ' ? I took away one ; I have saved another. 
 The child is out of danger, and will recover ; but I am very 
 ill. Shall I come home to die, or will my atonement be more 
 complete if I remain away from you ? Remember, you 
 promised that I sho.uld die looking on your face. I feel that 
 Heaven has forgiven me." 
 
 There were weeping and wailing at Ullamere when it was 
 known that Lady Culmore lay at death's door. She had not 
 been smitten down by small-pox, although she had hung over 
 the child night and day, soothing him ; but fever had stricken 
 her. She had no warning of her coming illness. She fell one 
 night as she was singing the child to sleep. She rallied suf- 
 ficiently to write that letter, and she rallied no more. 
 
 Every precaution was taken, and Lady Culmore was 
 brought to her old rooms in the eastern wing. 
 
 She was alarmingly ill. The doctors called it low fever. 
 I think that it was exhaustion, and that she had really given 
 her life to the child. She had all her senses, all her facul- 
 ties, but no strength. She could not raise her hands. To 
 my intense delight, I was allowed to help in nursing her ; 
 and I tried my best to cheer her. The sun came shining 
 into her room ; the summer air was sweet now with helio- 
 trope and mignonnette. We could hear the birds singing, 
 and the wind stirring the branches of the trees. But there 
 were no terrible fancies now, there was no dream of a child's 
 voice crying, or of a child's tiny hand rapping against the 
 window-pane. Sometimes in her sleep she spoke of little 
 Willie. 
 
 One morning she called me to her. I knelt down by her 
 side, and she drew my face down to hers. 
 
 " Kate," she said, " I loved you the first moment I saw 
 you, I am glad, my dear, that you will be Lady Culmore." 
 
 " I shall never be Lady Culmore," I said. " i am to be 
 Ulric's wife." 
 
 " Rudolph will never marry again, and I am going to die," 
 she replied. " You will be Lady Culmore, Kate, and I am 
 glad of it. I wonder when I shall die ? I am impatient for 
 the time, for I have a fancy that Rudolph will let me die in 
 his arms. Let me know when the doctors tell you that my 
 hour is come. When I am gone, you will all know the truth 
 about me. I could not bear that you should know it while I
 
 live ; but you Cannot hurt me by words or looks when 1 am 
 dead." 
 
 " Nor would I ever willingly hurt you at all," I said ; but 
 she whispered faintly 
 
 " You do not know, dear ; you do not know what I did." 
 
 I do not care ! " 1 cried impetuously. " I am quite sure 
 you could not do anything very wrong." 
 
 " You think so ? " she murmured, with a faint wringing of 
 the hands. " Kate, you will know my story some day ; 
 always remember that it was for his sake, and because 1 
 loved him so. You must not forget." 
 
 Thinking over the whole story as I do now, I am sure 
 that the best thing she could have done was to keep her sad 
 story secret. Even loving her as I did, I could not, after I 
 had heard it, have gone to her and kissed her. It was much 
 better that we should not know the truth while she still 
 lived. What could we have said to her ? 
 
 One evening Lady Culmore was lying, as I thought, fast 
 asleep. Everything in the house was calm and still ; not a 
 sound broke the silence. It was my turn to sit up with her, 
 and one of the nurses sat in the adjoining room. I was 
 thinking that Lady Culmore slept soundly, and was perhaps 
 a trifle better, when suddenly she opened her eyes, with a 
 bright, pleased, surprised smile. She half raised herself on 
 her elbow, and looked at the door. Even to this hour I can 
 recall the thrill of horror that passed through me when I saw 
 and heard her. With a bright smile she looked at the door, 
 and held out her hands, as though in loving greeting. 
 
 " Little Willie," she exclaimed, in her low weak voice, 
 " little Willie, how did you come here ? " Her eyes seemed 
 to follow some shadowy form, as though it moved from the 
 door to her bedside. " Little Willie," she cried again, 
 " what has brought you here ? " She seemed to wait for his 
 answer ; and then she added, " To take me with you me ? 
 Are you quite sure, darling ? " Another pause ; then she 
 said, "Of course I will. I must see Sir Rudolph; then I 
 will come. Wait for me, little Willie." 
 
 I knew that he was at home in his little white bed, fast 
 asleep, and well watched. I touched her gently. 
 "Lady Culmore," I said, "you are dreaming." 
 She looked at me, and I saw death in her eyes. 
 " I am not dreaming, Kate ; I am wide awake. Do you
 
 see little Willie ? There he stands, my dear, the little darl- 
 ing child. He says that he has come for me, that he has 
 been sent for me wretched, guilty, miserable me ! " 
 
 " Dear Lady Culmore, you are dreaming," I said. "Little 
 Willie is safe at home." 
 
 " She does not see you, Willie dear," she remarked faintly ; 
 "but I do. Wait for me. Kate, call Sir Rudolph; the 
 message has come." 
 
 Yes, there was death in her eyes, those beautiful eyes that 
 had shed so many tears, and would shed no more. I roused 
 the nurse, and sent for Sir Rudolph and Ulric. Verily the 
 hour was come. 
 
 In less than five minutes they were both in the room, 
 and, looking at the white face on the pillow, they saw at once 
 that the Angel of Death stood over her. 
 
 " My poor Nest ! " cried Sir Rudolph ; and he sank upon 
 his knees with a bitter cry. 
 
 Before I relate what happened next, let me say that the 
 first news which reached us in the morning was that little 
 Willie was dead. He had died quite suddenly in the middle 
 of the night. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LADY CULMORE opened her eyes at the sound of her hus- 
 band's voice, and laid her hand upon his bowed head. 
 
 "You will let me touch you, Rudolph," she said, "now 
 that I am dying ? You promised me forgiveness, and a last 
 farewell. Oh, love, kiss me ! Oh, love, how I have loved 
 you ! " 
 
 The sweet faint voice sounded clearly and distinctly in the 
 room. She looked round on Ulric and myself with loving 
 eyes. 
 
 " You will tell them when I am dead," she said. " Tell 
 them all the truth, and let them judge me as they will. If I 
 have sinned, I have suffered. To live near you always, to see 
 you, to breathe the same air with you, to be called by your 
 name, yet to be further apart from you than an utter stranger 
 oh, love, that has been torment to me ! I have seemed to
 
 1* 
 
 die every hour since that horrible night. I see my sin, my 
 terrible sin, and I am glad to die." With a sudden accession 
 of strength, she rose and cried, in a voice that was almost 
 terrible, " Love, let me die in your arms ! " 
 
 " Grant her request, Rudolph," said Ulric. 
 
 Sir Rudolph rose from his knees and took her in his arms. 
 With a cry that I shall never forget, she laid her head upon 
 his breast. 
 
 " Let me die looking on you," she said in a plaintive 
 voice ; and, clasping her arms around him, she added, " Listen 
 to me, beloved ! Here, on my deathbed, I avow the great 
 sin of my life. It has been wild, mad, passionate, love of 
 you. I have given you the love I should have given to 
 Heaven. I have lived for you, sinned for you I die for 
 you." 
 
 He bent down ah, thank Heaven he did it ! and kissed 
 the pale lips. He whispered something to her, and she re- 
 plied. Then I heard her say 
 
 " Tell them as soon as I am dead, Rudolph, before you 
 call strangers in." 
 
 She lay silent for some minutes, with a light of rapture on 
 her face. 
 
 " At last oh, my love, at last ! " she said. " Rudolph, 
 say once more that you forgive me." 
 
 " I forgive you, my darling," he answered, his voice trem- 
 bling " I forgive you. Die in peace ; and may Heaven par- 
 don you as I do." 
 
 I saw a smile pass over her pallid features ; and she died, 
 as she had prayed that she might, with her eyes fixed on his 
 face. 
 
 He laid her down gently to rest, weeping such bitter pas- 
 sionate tears as men seldom shed. 
 
 " Have I been too hard on her?" he cried. " Have I 
 judged her too harshly ? Was I too severe ? Oh, Nest, it is 
 all too late now ! " 
 
 Too late ! Her ears were closed to all mortal sounds. 
 Words of love or regret, of passion or sorrow, would reach her 
 never more. 
 
 "A life lost, wrecked, ruined ! " he said. " Oh, Nest, in 
 our happy young days how little we dreamed of this ! Mercy 
 is best. I I wish I had been more merciful. But she died 
 as she wished to die."
 
 73 
 
 Ulric and I stood by in silence. Sir Rudolph knelt down 
 by the dead woman's side, and I cannot think of his pas- 
 sion of grief now without tears. 
 
 The pent-up love of long months was lavished on her then. 
 He kissed the white brow and the golden rippling hair, he 
 called her by every endearing name. One such word a few 
 short hours before would have flooded her whole soul with 
 joy ; now the white face was still, and the lips that had sighed, 
 pleaded, and prayed, were closed forever. 
 
 " Kate," whispered Ulric, " come away. We will leave 
 him here." 
 
 But Rudolph looked up at us with weeping eyes. 
 
 " Nay," he said, " do not go yet. You know what she 
 said. I was to tell you her story as soon as she was dead. 
 Let me tell it to you now, and it will be buried with her." 
 
 So standing there, his hand clasping the hand of his dead 
 wife, Sir Rudolph told us the story of her life and her sin. 
 
 When Sir John Culmore, father of Rudolph and of 
 Ulric, died, he left three sons the eldest, Richard, who suc- 
 ceeded him ; the second, Rudolph, who was then a captain 
 in the Army ; the third, Ulric, my lover, who was a barrister 
 practicing in town. When Sir John died, he was succeeded 
 by his eldest son, who then became Sir Richard Culmore of 
 Brooke. He was a kind generous man, and devoted to his 
 brothers. Captain Rudolph Culmore and Ulric spent the 
 greater part of their leisure time at Brooke. Between the 
 brothers the greatest possible affection nay, the most tender 
 love existed. 
 
 They resembled each other greatly. They were tall, dark 
 handsome men, noble and generous. The two younger sons 
 had but a very small patrimony. Rudolph lost the greater part 
 of his money in some speculation by which he had hoped to 
 double it ; Ulric worked hard at his profession. Sir Richard 
 was generosity itself. He insisted upon making both brothers 
 a very handsome allowance. They were unwilling to accept 
 it, but they made a compromise. They agreed to take it 
 until the elder brother married ; then, they persisted in say- 
 ing, he would want it himself. 
 
 So it was arranged, and very happy they all were. At last 
 Sir Richard, during one of his visits to London, fell in love 
 with Ethel, daughter of Lady Hazlewood. Captain Rudolph 
 Culmore, rendered curious by his brother's enthusiastic de-
 
 74 
 
 scription of his betrothed, went to see her, and at once 
 became a victim to the charms of her cousin, Nest Hazle- 
 wood, an orphan whom Lady Hazlewood had adopted when 
 the girl's parents died. Sir Richard was delighted. 
 
 There was some question just then about the captain's 
 regiment being ordered abroad, so that, on that score, apart 
 from other obstacles, nothing was said about his immediate 
 marriage. But there was no obstacle to that of the heir of 
 Brooke with Ethel Hazlewood ; therefore the important 
 ceremony took place without loss of time. 
 
 The bride was a beautiful and queenly woman, fair, 
 graceful, and stately. She was deeply in love with her hus- 
 band, who had a passionate affection for her. 
 
 The two brothers were present at the wedding ; Nest 
 Hazlewood was one of the bridemaicls. The event passed 
 off with the greatest eclat. The happy bride and bridegroom 
 went off to the Continent, and returned, after six week's 
 absence, in great state to Brooke. 
 
 Nest was persuaded to live with her cousin, and for a few 
 months everything went merrily " as a marriage-bell." The 
 captain heard no more of the departure of his regiment, and 
 was continually running over to Brooke. 
 
 Captain Culmore had only his pay he had lost his 
 private fortune and beautiful Nest had nothing, so that it 
 might and probably would be years before their marriage 
 could take place. The eldest brother, Sir Richard, made 
 most liberal offers to Rudolph. He would have shared his 
 income with him, but the captain would not consent. It 
 would be an injustice to take it, he said, now that Sir Richard 
 was married, and might have children of his own to provide 
 for. He said that Nest and he loved each other truly, and 
 were not afraid to wait that he should do his best, and 
 work hard for promotion. 
 
 The captain was passionately attached to Miss Hazle- 
 wood, but he was more philosophical than she was. He 
 looked upon the postponement of the marriage as a necessity 
 which there was no need to bewail, while she brooded in 
 silence over what she considered a most cruel fate.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SIR RICHARD and Lady Culmore had been married a little 
 over a year when a terrible tragedy happened. Sir Richard 
 was killed by the bursting of a gun. The bullet lodged in his 
 heart, and he fell dead instantaneously. There was terrible 
 consternation and distress. Messages and telegrams \\ere 
 despatched in haste, and before the end of the day both 
 brothers were at the Hall. No words could tell their grief at 
 the news. 
 
 Sir Richard had left no will ; but, after a long conference 
 with the lawyers and an interview with Lady Culmore her- 
 self, it was arranged that everything should for a time remain 
 as it was. Lady Culmore, even in the midst of hr great 
 grief, was not altogether desolate, for in a few months she 
 would be the mother of a little child. If this child were a 
 boy, he would, of course, succeed both to title and estate if 
 a daughter, Captain Culmore would be the heir. He himself 
 behaved most nobly. Nothing could exceed his kindness to 
 the young widow. He insisted that she should remain at 
 Brooke Hall, that every care and attention should be lavished 
 on her. He went continually to .visit her. He was as kind 
 and devoted as the most loving brother could possibly have 
 been. Nest. Hazlewood remained during this anxious period 
 with her cousin at Brooke, and she too, as nurse, was most 
 devoted. There were times when Nest rebelled against the 
 fate of her lover and herself. 
 
 " It does seem hard," she would say to him, " that a little 
 child should stand between you and this grand inheritance." 
 
 But the captain would laugh at her, and never made the 
 slightest comment on the state of affairs. His bi other's wife 
 and child were sacred to him. If he felt the slightest dis- 
 appointment, he never showed it. But Nest with difficulty 
 concealed her annoyance. 
 
 So the days and weeks passed anxiously, and at last the 
 hour came when Lady Culmore was blessed by the birth of a 
 son and heir. Captain Culmore had been sent for, and he
 
 76 
 
 arrived an hour before the young mother died. She lived 
 only to place the child in Rudolph's arms. 
 
 " I should like him to be called Bertie," she said ; " and 
 I intrust him to you you and Nest." 
 
 They both knelt by her side. She took a hand of each, 
 and held it in her own. 
 
 " No trust could be more sacred than this which I confide 
 to you both," she said. " Take care of my little son. I leave 
 him to you ; let him be to you as a son of your own. You will 
 look after his interests, Rudolph ; it will be many a day be- 
 fore the broad lands of Brooke fall to him. Nest, you have 
 been like a sister to me ; take care of my child. You will be 
 married, and you must come to live here, to be the guardians 
 of my child." 
 
 And, kneeling there, they promised her most faithfully to 
 care for and cherish the child as though it were their own. 
 
 I will tell the remainder of the story in Sir Rudolph's own 
 words. He was still kneeling by the side of the bed, and his 
 tempest of grief was over. 
 
 " Kate, you will perhaps understand me best," he said, 
 " when I tell you that from the moment the young mother, 
 dying, placed that child in my arms, I loved it tenderly. ' I 
 am not ashamed," continued Sir Rudolph, " to tell you that 
 I knelt down and kissed the little face of my brother's son, 
 that I promised loyal fealty and true service to him. I 
 promised to look after his interests as though they were my 
 own. 
 
 " ' Sir Albert Culmore of Brooke ! ' I said, saluting in 
 soldier fashion the baby-heir. 
 
 " We had taken the child into the nursery which the poor 
 young mother had prepared with such loving care. We in- 
 stalled the little Sir Bertie in great state. A nurse had been 
 engaged for hin. She was a tall, stout woman ; and she sat 
 before the fire with the little bundle of white flannel and 
 white lace on her knee. Her name was Martha Jennings. 
 
 " ' Do you think the little one is strong, nurse ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' No one can tell, sir,' she answered, ' at this age. It 
 will be against him, poor little child, losing his mother.' 
 
 " I laid my hand upon Nest's shoulder. 
 
 " ' This lady will be the most tender of mothers to him,' I 
 said. 
 
 " But the nurse shook her head.
 
 77 
 
 " ' A child has but one mother, sir,' she said. 
 
 " Nest bent down to kiss him. 
 
 " ' I will be a loving mother to you, baby,' she said. 
 
 " And I wondered if the mother in heaven could see the 
 fair little child lying there, with its two protectors, Nest and 
 myself Ah, poor Nest ! ' 
 
 " Lady Culmore was laid to sleep by her husband's side, 
 and I wrote for prolonged leave of absence. If not the heir 
 to the estate, I was the agent for it steward for the little 
 child and his rights. The leave of absence was granted, and 
 I was very busy. There was much to do in settling the 
 affairs of the estate. Ulric came down to help me whenever 
 he could. I grew to love my fair little nephew ; I used to 
 call him the chieftain. I made it a practice to kneel by the 
 pretty cot where he slept and pray for him. I liked to go 
 there in the morning and at night. A tender passionate love 
 was growing in my heart for the baby-heir, my dead brother's 
 son. True, the little fellow had deprived me of title, estate, 
 and wealth ; but I did not seem to love him one jot the less. 
 The nurse smiled when she saw me kneeling by the cot, kiss- 
 ing the little hand. I always like to remember that one day 
 she said to me " 
 
 " ' You are a good man, sir. Excuse me, but some gentle- 
 men would hate a child who had come between them and 
 such a property.' ' 
 
 " I laughed, for this seemed absurd and contemptible. 
 Hate that fair, tender little creature, whose father was my 
 own brother ! Oh, no, never ! Rather would I love and 
 cherish him. One morning Nest and myself were standing 
 by the little cot, and she said to me 
 
 " ' What a fragile tender life it is ! And to think that this 
 is all that stands between you and fortune ! ' ' 
 
 " I kissed her beautiful upturned face." 
 
 f " ' Do not encourage such thoughts, much less utter them, 
 ( Nest,' I said." 
 
 " ' Nevertheless it does seem strange, Rudolph,' she per- 
 sisted. ' that such a tiny child should deprive you of every- 
 thing.' " 
 
 "'We were all tiny children once upon a time,' I replied." 
 
 " I knew that Nest cried at times over vhat seemed the 
 hardness of our fate. There was no prospect of our marriage 
 for some time yet."
 
 7* 
 
 " One morning Mrs. Jennings told me that the child was 
 not well, and a little later a letter came from headquarters, 
 saying that our regiment was ordered abroad, though not on 
 active service. The news was almost a death-blow to Nest. 
 She clung to me, poor child, weeping passionately. I must 
 not go, she said ; she would die if I left her. I soothed and 
 calmed her. I told her that, if I went, she must remain, and 
 take good care of the little heir. I shall never forget her 
 anguish at the thought of our separation. 
 
 " I must hasten to the end of my story. The child got 
 worse during the day, and the next morning he was dead. 
 The doctor said that he had died in convulsions, and added 
 that the little one was so delicate that he had never really 
 thought he would live. The nurse was overwhelmed with 
 grief. It struck me afterward, although I did not think much 
 of it at the time, that she never looked me in the face when 
 she spoke of the child. The little heir was dead. I thanked 
 Heaven, as I stood by the little one's side, that even in my 
 thoughts I had never wished him harm, that I had never for 
 one moment grudged him his rich inheritance, nor felt that 
 he was in my way." 
 
 Sir Rudolph paused for a few moments, looking earnestly 
 on the face of his dead wife. Then he turned to us again. 
 
 " When the child died, you remember, Ulric, I sent at 
 once for you. I succeeded to the title and estate. I was 
 sorry for the child; but it had been such a fragile life that I 
 did not greatly mourn. We buried the little one. Nest then 
 went back to her aunt, and it was arranged that she should 
 remain with her until we were married. I did not think it 
 strange that she should suggest taking the nurse, Martha 
 Jennings, with her. The woman professed great attachment 
 to her, while Nest seemed to rely greatly on her. Nor, when 
 we were married, did I think it strange that Nest should 
 want to bring the nurse with her to Brooke Hall. I 
 imagined that she liked her for my little nephew's sake, and 
 that the child formed a tie between them which women only 
 could understand. 
 
 " The cloud caused by so many deaths hung over us for 
 some time, and then gradually we learned to look back on 
 the past with calmness. We were young, and I was more 
 happy with my wife than words can tell. You know, both of 
 you, how she loved me. I think no man in the world was 
 ever more beloved.
 
 79 
 
 " I remember that my first sensation of uneasiness arose 
 from noticing how completely Nest was under the control of 
 the nurse ; and I did not altogether like the woman's manner 
 to her. More than once I found my wife in tears, and when 
 I inquired the reason she put me off with an evasive answer. 
 Yet, Heaven knows, these were but trifles which brought me 
 no gleam of suspicion of the reality to come. 
 
 "I wish," continued Sir Rudolph, "that I were not com- 
 pelled to tell you the rest. I do so only by her command, 
 now that she is dead. I would fain bury her secret with her, 
 poor misguided Nest ! 
 
 " I must confess now that there were times when I felt 
 uneasy about Nest. She was so changed. She seemed to 
 love me, if possible, more than ever. She was most devoted 
 to me, but she puzzled me. She was abstracted, and did 
 not seem quite sure of herself. 
 
 " About a week before Christmas-day Mrs. Jennings was 
 taken suddenly ill. Nest seemed much distressed. We sent 
 for the doctor from Avonsleigh, and he pronounced her to be 
 in great danger. At first no one thought much of her illness, 
 nor did we say anything before our friends the house was 
 filled with guests lest they should be nervous. One of the 
 housemaids undertook to nurse her, and we hoped for the 
 best. At nine o'clock on the morning of Christmas-eve I 
 was as happy as any one in England. I rose from the break- 
 fast-table, after making plans for the day with my guests. 
 Nest met me in the hall, where the men-servants had just 
 placed a great bunch of mistletoe. I took up a spray, and 
 held it over Nest's head. As I saw her face then I never 
 beheld it more. I kissed the lips that had never worn any- 
 thing but the sweetest smiles for me, and at the same mo- 
 ment the housemaid who was in attendance on the sick 
 woman came to me. 
 
 " ' Sir Rudolph/ she said, ' Mrs. Jennings bade me ask 
 you if you would go to her. She is much worse, and she 
 wants to see you.' 
 
 " I was on the point of saying that I would go at once, 
 when I saw a terrible change come over my wife's face. She 
 looked for one moment as though she was going to faint. 
 She clasped my hand and said 
 
 " ' You must not go, Rudolph. It is only a woman's 
 foolish fancy.'
 
 8o 
 
 " ' I cannot refuse the poor creature. I must go, Nest,' 
 I said. 
 
 " ' You shall not ! ' she cried desperately ; and she clung 
 to me with such earnestness that I could hardly free myself. 
 
 44 ' Why do you wish me not to see her, Nest ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Because she is wicked and malicious,' was the answer. 
 4 She will tell you anything. She has mad fancies. Oh, 
 Rudolph beloved, for Heaven's sake do not go near her ! ' 
 
 " There was something startling in her manner. I could 
 not understand it. Was she afraid for herself, or for me ? 
 
 44 ' I cannot refuse the request of a dying woman,' I said, 
 more sternly than I had ever spoken to her before ; ' but you 
 can come with me, Nest.' 
 
 She shrank back, shuddering 
 
 14 ' No,- no ! ' she cried. 
 
 44 4 Then let me go alone, and trust me.' 
 
 44 1 shall never forget the despair on her face when I left 
 her. I shall never forget the cry that came from her lips. 
 
 ' 4 4 I shall not be long, Nest,' I said. 
 
 44 4 1 knew where the sick woman was lying, and I hasten- 
 ed thither. I found the nurse at the point of death. A 
 servant was sitting with her ; and the sick woman looked at 
 me with an imploring face. 
 
 44 ' Send her away*, Sir Rudolph,' she said. 4 1 want to 
 speak to you.' 
 
 44 The woman went, and we were left alone. 
 
 " ' Sir Rudolph,' said the nurse, 4 1 know before I speak 
 that the words I have to say will break your heart. I meant 
 to die without uttering them, but I cannot. I dare not 
 depart with this secret undisclosed. I I must confess the 
 truth.' 
 
 44 ' Certainly,' I said, ' If you have anything on your 
 mind, you had better tell me.' 
 
 44 4 Ah, sir,' she said pityingly, 4 it will break your heart ! 
 You will never be happy again I know you so well, sir ; and 
 yet, if I die without telling you, I feel I shall never sleep in 
 my grave. I could not rest ; I should come back from the 
 dead to tell you.' 
 
 44 4 Tell me now,' I said, for her words had excited in me a 
 certain horror that I could not endure ' tell me at once ! ' 
 
 " She beckoned to me to go closer to her, and I did so. 
 She raised her hand, and I placed my ear to her lips.
 
 Si 
 
 " * I dare not speak aloud,' she said. ' Even the walls 
 have ears, and they might hear me. What I have to say is 
 a fatal secret that you must tell to no one. Anoiher life 
 hangs on it. Sir Rudolph, your wife, Lady Culmore, poisoned 
 the little baby heir herself.' 
 
 " I started back from her with a feeling of loathing and 
 horror impossible to describe. My fair gentle Nest slay that 
 little tender babe ! I was filled with anger. 
 
 " ' You are raving ! ' I cried. ' It is mad, wicked fancy ! ' 
 
 " ' Sir,' she said calmly, ' it is the truth the plain simple 
 truth ; and I can die easily now that T have told it. Sir, as 
 surely as Heaven is above us, Lady Culmore killed the child. 
 I saw her do it with my own eyes. I will tell you ; you shall 
 judge for yourself.' 
 
 " There was no help for it. I was compelled to listen, 
 and I had begun to fear ah me, how terribly ! 
 
 " ' You remember,' she said, ' that the baby was taken ill, 
 and that we nursed him assiduously, no one more tenderly, 
 more kindly than Miss Nest. The night he died we were 
 rather anxious about him, and Miss Hazlewood said she would 
 sit by his cot while I went down to supper. I was quite 
 willing. I went to see if the child was all right. He was fast 
 asleep, and looked, to my thinking, better; there was more 
 color in the fair little face. As I left the room, Sir Rudolph, 
 I was struck by the peculiar expression on Miss Hazlewood's 
 face. I could not describe it a cruel look it seemed to me. 
 I went down stairs, but Miss Hazlewood's look haunted me. 
 Not that I had any fear ; I would rather have suspected a 
 saint of doing harm to the child than Miss Hazlewood. I 
 could not rest clown stairs. I went back. I saw Miss Hazle- 
 wood on her knees by the side of the cradle. She held a 
 little bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. As I 
 walked in at the door, I saw her, with a steady hand, drop 
 two drops from the bottle into the spoon. Then, before I 
 could cross the room, before I had time to speak, the child 
 had swallowed the contents of the teaspoon. I caught her, 
 as I may say, red-handed. She neither saw nor heard me, 
 she was so deeply engrossed in giving the child the fatal dose. 
 I sprang forward. 
 
 " ' " What are you doing ? " I cried. 
 
 " ' For a moment she seemed almost paralyzed with fear. 
 
 " ' " What are you doing ? " I cried again, almost beside 
 myself.
 
 82 
 
 " ' " Giving baby his medicine," she said. " It is just 
 time." 
 
 " ' She tried to hide the bottle ; but I would not let her, 
 and in the struggle she dropped it. The contents were spilled 
 upon the pillow. I picked up the bottle. On it was a label 
 with the one terrible word " Poison." 
 
 " ' " You have dropped some of this into the teaspoon ! " 
 I cried. " You guilty miserable woman, you have killed the 
 child ! " 
 
 " ' She did not deny it. She fell at my feet, groveling, 
 crying out that it was such a fragile little life, and that it part- 
 ed you from her. She clung tome with cries and tears. She 
 told me that your regiment was ordered abroad, and that it 
 would be years before you could return and marry her long 
 years but that, if the child died, and you succeeded to the 
 baronetcy, you would be obliged to sell, and then you would 
 marry her at once. " And I loved him so," she cried plain- 
 tively ; " I love him so dearly ! " That was all she kept re- 
 peating " I love him so ! " It was a terrible scene, sir 
 the child already dead in his cot, and the beautiful lady, with 
 her white despairing face, crouching on the ground. 
 
 " ' " I could not let him go ! " she moaned. " He has 
 been so faithful, so loyal, so good ; he has loved me so well. 
 Every one else's love prospers. Why should we spend all 
 the best years of our life apart ? He might die abroad, he 
 whom I love with all my heart. And it was only this one lit- 
 tle life, so fragile, so weak, that stood between him and 
 wealth." 
 
 " ' She bent over the little one's body. 
 
 " ' " See," she cried ; " it has not suffered ; it breathed 
 only for a short space, and then died. A few minutes ago it 
 was a weak, struggling little creature, now it is a bright angel 
 in heaven. I have done no serious wrong. I have set the 
 little soul free, and I need not part from my love. I have 
 given him fortune, wealth, all that my heart desired for him," 
 
 " ' " The law will tell a different story, Miss Hazelwood," 
 I said. " In the eyes of the law, as well as before Heaven, 
 the life of a little child is as sacred as that of a grown-up 
 person." 
 
 " ' Do you know, Sir Rudolph,' said the nurse, ' I do not 
 think that up to that time she had looked upon the deed as 
 murder ? She had thought only of removing the obstacle
 
 that lay between you, sir, and wealth that lay between her- 
 self and her love. She had never thought of the fact that 
 she had put herself within the power of the law. If you had 
 but seen her when I told her that she had committed a murder 
 and deserved to be hanged ! To prove the truth of all I say, 
 sir, look at this. I have saved it from that time to this.' 
 
 "She drew from beneath her pillow a little bottle, with 
 the word ' Poison ' on the label of it, and a frilled white linen 
 pillow-case in which holes had been burned. 
 
 " ' You can tell how deadly the poison was when you see 
 that it has burned the linen in this fashion,' said the nurse. 
 ' But the child did not surfer one minute ; it died at once. 
 Well, sir, Miss Hazelwood cried, wept, prayed, pleaded, until 
 at last I promised not to tell her secret. But I cannot keep 
 it in death." 
 
 " ' How am I to know this story is true ? ' I asked. 
 * These things you show me are no proof.' 
 
 " ' A soul on the brink of eternity does not lie, sir. Lady 
 Culmore paid me well to keep the secret, but I have very often 
 been on the point of telling you.' 
 
 u ' I do not believe you even now,' I cried. 
 
 " ' Look behind you, sir,' she said ; ' you will read the 
 truth there." 
 
 " I glanced in the direction in which she pointed, and 
 there I saw my wife standing with ghastly terror on her face 
 and desperate fear in her eyes. I held up the bottle to her. 
 
 " ' Is it true ? ' I asked. 
 
 " And she fell upon her knees, cowering as she cried out 
 
 " ' Yes, it is true ! ' 
 
 " I cannot describe," continued Sir Rudolph, " my feel- 
 ings of horror. Since the shock I have never been the same 
 man. An hour later, I stood with my unfortunate wife in her 
 boudoir, resolved that we should part that hour, never to 
 meet again. I loved her very dearly ; but, when I knew that 
 she had taken the life of that fair little child, loathing took 
 the place of love. 
 
 " I told her, in grave measured words, that we must part 
 that night, never more to meet. I told her that the struggle 
 in my heart was a hard one, that I felt inclined to deliver her 
 up to justice and to the fate she deserved. But she was a 
 woman, and my wife I could not see her hanged. I hesi- 
 tated, as it seemed to me, between two sins screening a mur-
 
 8 4 
 
 deress, and giving up to justice the wife who had sinned for 
 me. 
 
 " If I talked to you forever, Ulric, Kate, I could not tell 
 you all the details of that horrible scene. Poor beautiful 
 Nest ! Her grief was terrible to witness. She clung to me, 
 she knelt at my feet, she prayed and pleaded with such 
 passionate despair that it might almost have moved a heart of 
 stone. What she had done had been done for love of me. 
 What did that little fragile life matter ? What was it in com- 
 parison with my fortune, with my love and hers ? I saw that 
 what the old nurse had said was true she did not regard the 
 deed she had committed as murder. 
 
 " Ah, you cannot tell what it was to me to have the wo- 
 man I had loved best in the world crouching in tears at my 
 feet ! This woman, weeping, praying was my darling Nest ; 
 the face I had loved, the white hand I had kissed and 
 caressed, were those of a murderess, and that murderess was 
 my wife ! Hour after hour passed on that terrible Christmas- 
 eve. We were still together, and I was unable to decide 
 what to do. I could not give her up to justice. She was my 
 wife, and she had sinned for me ; yet the murder was none the 
 less a terrible one. No man was ever more wretched or more 
 bewildered. Poor Nest, how she loved me ! She crouched 
 at my feet in an agony of tears, and I could not raise her to 
 comfort her I could not soothe her. She was worn and ex- 
 hausted with the passion of her grief. 
 
 " ' Do not send me from you, love ! " she cried, in a voice 
 like that of a dying woman. ' Kill me, if you will. I should 
 bless even death at your hands.' 
 
 " What was I to do ? She had committed a cruel crime ; 
 she deserved punishment ; yet, as she clung to my feet in 
 tears, how could I decide ? 
 
 " ' It was all for you, love,' she moaned. ' I could not 
 bear that you should go across the sea. I have loved you so 
 dearly and so long, it seemed as though we should never be 
 happy. 
 
 " ' Happy ! As though sin could ever lead to happiness I ' 
 
 " ' I would have killed myself, Rudolph,' she said, ' to 
 make you happy.' 
 
 " And I knew it was true. I could not give her up to jus- 
 tice, and I certainly could not take her to my heart again, 
 although she had sinned for me.
 
 " We had been three hours together, when a sudden idea 
 occurred to me. We could he husband and wife no more. I 
 could never kiss the face of a murderess ; I could never touch 
 the hands that had taken the life of that fair little child. All 
 was over between my once beloved Nest and me over for- 
 ever. But I could shield her in some measure. She should 
 never, if I could help it, mix with the world again. The 
 idea occurred to me to bring her to Ullamere no place could 
 be more out of the world and to live out here the remainder 
 of our sorrowful lives apart. I would keep her secret on those 
 conditions. She must be content to live alone without friends 
 or visitors. 
 
 " For myself, so hot was my indignation that I swore I 
 would never touch her hands again ; and she promised that 
 she would never even lay a finger on me. Poor Nest ! 
 She broke that promise only once. We were to live together 
 that is, under one roof but were to be further apart than 
 strangers ; more than the bitterness of death lay between us. 
 She was never to approach my rooms, nor I hers. We were 
 to speak only when necessity compelled us. So I hoped to 
 compromise matters, to punish her for her sin and in some 
 measure to shield her from the consequences. Yet I felt 
 that I had made a most miserable compromise. 
 
 " I remember that she looked at me, hopeless despair 
 shining in her eyes. 
 
 " ' Rudolph,' she said, ' the sentence you have passed is 
 heavier than the sentence of death ; but I accept it, and sub- 
 mit to it, coming ffom you.' 
 
 " Then came two or three days that I shall never forget, 
 the abrupt breaking up the party of friends, the surprise 
 of the servants. Some of them I left in charge of Brooke ; 
 the two most faithful I brought here. I left orders for the 
 funeral of the old nurse, who died a few hours after she had 
 confessed that miserable secret to me and then we came 
 here. 
 
 " Here we have lived since in the very depths of misery. 
 I adhered strictly to the rules l^id down. I could not for- 
 give my wife her crime, although I knew it had been com- 
 mitted from love of me. Every day it grew more horrible in 
 my eyes, and every day the distance between us increased. 
 Every time I saw those hands of hers I fancied them holding 
 the fatal dose, until I oh, may Heaven forgive me 1 until
 
 36 
 
 -> 
 
 I hated her. I never looked at her, I never heard the sound 
 of her voice, without thinking of the murdered child. 
 
 " After that I noticed a great change in her. I do not 
 think, frankly speaking, that she ever realized the enormity 
 of her sin. I believe there had always been a faint hope in 
 her heart that I should forgive her and take her back again, 
 poor child ! The stories that I heard from the servants 
 about her were so deplorable that I decided on finding a 
 companion for her. Kate, who came as poor Nest's com- 
 panion, will be your wife, Ulric ; and may Heaven send you 
 a happier lot than has fallen to me ! 
 
 " She sinned, but she suffered ; through all the time of 
 bitter estrangement she loved me as well and as passionately 
 as ever. She tried to atone for her sin. How she pleaded 
 to me that she might nurse the rector's child ! 
 
 " That is her story. How do you judge her ? " 
 
 Closed forever were the lips that might have pleaded in 
 self-defence, the eyes that had shed so many bitter tears. 
 She could tell us nothing of the passion and love that had 
 driven her mad, of her sorrow and despair, her torture and 
 anguish. She lay silent. Heaven would judge her. Dare 
 we ? 
 
 Rudolph bent down and kissed her with burning tears. 
 
 " Who will judge her ? " he asked. 
 
 And no voice replied. 
 
 " What flowers will you place in her hands, Kate ? " said 
 Ulric softly. 
 
 Ah me, not the white roses of innocence or the red blos- 
 oms of guilt ! In her golden hair, on her silent heart, in 
 her white hands, I placed purple passion-flowers, the truest 
 emblem of her. 
 
 ******* 
 
 I am Lady Culmore now, for Sir Rudolph went back into 
 the Army, and was slain at Isandula. Then Ulric gave up 
 the Bar, and we were married, and went to live at Brooke. 
 The memory of the fair little child, of its young mother, of 
 beautiful Nest, has faded now ; but Ulric, more my lover 
 than ever since he has been my husband, says that, when he 
 sees the mistletoe, the white berries look like tears upon it ; 
 and he will not have it near us at Christmas-time.
 
 r . / 
 
 / X 6 > 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MINE all mine ! Mine the grand sweep of meadow-land, 
 green and fertile, looking like a sea of gold when the wind 
 stirred the yellow buttercups ! Mine the range of purple-tinted 
 hills that lay in the distance, clothed with trees which had been 
 the growth of centuries ! Mine the pine-forest stretching down 
 to the sea, with its rich aromatic odors, and its never-ceasing 
 music as the wind swayed the heads of the stately pines ! 
 Mine the shady woods with their open glades, their leafy clois- 
 ters, where the sunlight fell on the sward, filtered, as it were, 
 through the boughs of the interlacing trees, where the wild- 
 flowers grew in lavish abundance a lovely verdant kingdom 
 wherein the merry brown hares roamed at will and the bright- 
 eyed squirrels leaped fearlessly from bough to bough ! Mine 
 the magnificent gardens, said to be the finest, the most exten- 
 sive, and the best laid out in the country, with their wealth of 
 ferneries, and greenhouses, fountains and statuary ! Mine the 
 fine trout-stream that ran through the wide domain ! Mine 
 the numberless little brooks that meandered along peacefully 
 and found their way to the river Floy, and were then swept on 
 to mingle their waters with the ever-restless ocean ! Mine 
 the grand old mansion called Jesmond Hall, one of the most 
 ancient and picturesque houses in the country, a stately pile of 
 gray stone standing on the slope of a hill ! Originally it had 
 been a castle, held by one of the early Saxon chiefs. Tt had
 
 272 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 changed hands many times, and had been added to, taken from 
 and altered until it became what it now was, a confusion of 
 architectural styles,in which the original was almost obliterated 
 by the later additions ; yet withal was it a most picturesque 
 home. Terraces and gardens had a gentle slope, and the deep 
 swift river Floy ran at the foot of the hill ; and in the distance 
 there was a glimpse of the blue waters of the sea for Jesmond 
 stood on the fair coast of Hampshire. Mine the fine old ruins, 
 with their ivy-clad walls and well preserved keep ! Mine all 
 the wealth that had been hoarded in hidden coffers, the count- 
 less thousands that had been accumulating for long years ! 
 Mine the diamonds and rare jewels Jesmond heirlooms ! 
 Mine the pictures literally worth a king's ransom the fine 
 old silver, the treasures of gold, of rare old china, of buhl, of 
 jasper, and of marqueterie all that the old Hall contained 
 was mine all mine ! 
 
 As I, Felicia Gordon, stood on the summit of the steep 
 grassy hill everything on which I gazed was my own, except 
 the vast expanse of sea which bounded my estate on the south. 
 
 I was not vain ; but, looking back, I should imagine that 
 my heart swelled at that moment with a sense of my own 
 importance. On this large domain there were many tenants. 
 Pretty little farms nestled in the valleys, quaint old-fashioned 
 homesteads dotted the meadows, the straggling little village 
 of Mead was all mine, and I owned many houses in the town 
 that lay nearest to the Hall Honton ; so that numbers of men 
 women, and children were dependant on me, many lives lay, 
 as it were in, my hand ; and on this bright May morning, when 
 I stood on the hill top, looking over my miniature kingdom, 
 my heart and mind were full of good resolutions. 
 
 This splendid fortune which had come so unexpectedly to 
 me should not be spent on myself in lavish luxury, in gayeties, 
 frivolites, or senseless extravagance. That I seriously re- 
 solved. Heaven had given it to me, and I would do good with 
 it and use it wisely. There should be no bitter abject poverty, 
 no sickness should go unrelieved, there should be no want of 
 education on my fair estate of Jesmond. I would be queen 
 and mother to my people. My heart warmed to them, yearned 
 over them, as I stood and contemplated how boundless 
 Dame Nature had dealt with the fruitful lands before me. 
 No motherless children should weep on these fertile lands. 
 My first undertaking would be an orphanage, to be built down
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 273 
 
 by the sea, yet so near Jesmond that I could visit it every 
 day. No old men or old women should live half starving and 
 die forlorn within the limits of my domain, for I should have 
 almshouses that should yet be comfortable homes. The sick 
 should not lie neglected and helpless in the cottages that were 
 mine, for I would build a large hospital near the village of 
 Mead, where the air was clear and bracing. The children 
 should have their schools and playgrounds, and education 
 should be free to all. I would be queen and mother in a 
 true and real sense to those whom heaven had in a measure 
 confided to my charge. My heart and soul were fired with 
 these resolves. 
 
 The blue heavens shone above me ; the yielding earth 
 laughed beneath my feet ; the air was full of luscious odors of 
 May, the scent from the pine-forest, the brine from the sea, 
 and nearer to me came heavily-laden gusts of perfume from 
 lilac and magnolia blossom. I shall never forget the moment 
 when, standing on the green hill-top, the shining, shimmering 
 sea in the distance, I registered my vow to live for others and 
 not for myself alone. 
 
 The will which gave me all this wealth was indisputably 
 clear and simple, and had in it no flaw. My uncle Sir Wil- 
 liam Jesmond had but one son, Paul, who was his natural 
 heir and successor. 
 
 The Jesmonds of Jesmond Dene were a very old family, 
 but at the time when my story begins their number had 
 greatly decreased. They had died away fathers, mothers, 
 sisters, and brothers until there was no one left of a once 
 numerous race except Sir William, the owner and lord of 
 Jesmond Dene, and his sister, my mother, Teresa Jesmond. 
 
 Sir William was at heart a miser. He loved money for 
 its own sake, and the sight of it never failed to bring a smile 
 to his hard mean face. Although my mother was his own 
 and only sister, when she married he gave her no dowry, but 
 very unwillingly made her a present of a few hundred pounds, 
 with an intimation that she must ask for no more. She never 
 did ; but in those days, when she deplored my uncle's mean- 
 ness, she never thought that all his gold was accumulating 
 for me. 
 
 My mother had married a clergyman, the Rev. Arthur 
 Gordon, and I was their only child. They both died when I
 
 274 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 was a girl of thirteen, and my father's sister, Annette Gordon, 
 took charge of me. 
 
 Sir William Jesmond was married, and a son and heir 
 had been born unto him ; but in his lifetime the home at Jes- 
 mond Dene was not a happy one. I went there once. Lady 
 Jesmond had asked aunt Annette to bring me for the summer 
 holidays, and I well remember the magnificent old house 
 with its treasures, the gardens and grounds, the woods and 
 the sea. I remember Sir William, a tall spare man with a 
 mean face and small cunning eyes ; I vividly recollect Lady 
 Jesmond, a faded elegant woman, who seemed to me to be 
 tired of life ; but I remember best of all my handsome 
 bright faced cousin Paul. I was thirteen years of age then, 
 he five years older. He was very kind to me, and I loved 
 him with all the ardor of a childish love. He was a young 
 prince and a veritable hero in my eyes. 
 
 " Cheer up, Felicia ! " he would say to me twenty times 
 a day. " I am going out to see the world, and, when I have 
 seen it, I shall come home and marry you." 
 
 " But Sir William will never give us any money," I would 
 remark ,with a keen conviction that nothing could be done 
 without it. 
 
 " I will make plenty of money, dear. My father may 
 keep his," he would answer cheerfully. 
 
 And, of all the memories of my girlhood, that of my hand- 
 some, generous, laughter-loving cousin stands out the bright- 
 est and the best. How little I dreamed in those days that I 
 should ever take his place ! 
 
 My life was spent quietly enough with my aunt Annette. 
 She had a small annuity, out of which she fed, clothed, and 
 educated me, for I had not in the wide world one shilling of 
 my own. 
 
 It may be imagined therefore what a change it was for 
 me a penniless orphan when I became sole heiress of 
 Sir William Jesmond of Jesmond Dean, his land, shares, un- 
 told gold, all mine. 
 
 Lady Jesmond died when her son was nineteen, and 
 after her death Sir William became, if possible, a greater 
 miser than ever, and almost refused himself the necessaries 
 of life. None but the old servants bound by strong ties to 
 the family would tolerate his meanness ; even his son Paul 
 could not endure it. He wanted to see the world, as he had
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 375 
 
 always desired, and, after many disputes and arguments, Sir 
 William purchased for him a commission in the th Hussars. 
 Three months after he joined the regiment it was ordered 
 off to India, and Paul thankfully embraced the opportunity 
 of getting away from the paternal roof and " seeing the 
 world " at the same time. Five years passed, and there was 
 little communication between father and son. Sir William's 
 was a wretched, miserable life, and it ended as miserably as 
 it had been spent. He was found dead in his chair, holding 
 in his hand a letter written by Colonel Brownlow, of the th 
 Hussars, telling him that his son Captain Paul Jesmond had 
 died suddenly of a malignant fever without having had time 
 to write him one word of farewell. 
 
 The old baronet had never seemed to care much for 
 either his wife or child, but that letter killed him. He had 
 given his life, his heart, his soul, to gold he had worshiped 
 his accumulated wealth to the exclusion of everything else in 
 life ; yet he could not live on, knowing that his handsome, 
 careless, generous son had been snatched away in the bloom 
 of early manhood, and he his father denied the consola- 
 tion of one parting word or one last look at the face he 
 loved. 
 
 Sir William was buried in due course ; and, when his will 
 was read, it was made clear that I, Felicia Gordon, was sole 
 heiress of all his wealth. The terms of his will were simple 
 enough. He left everything he held in the world land, 
 house, money, scrip, and shares to his son Paul Jesmond. 
 If his son married and had issue, the property was to descend 
 intact to his eldest son. If Paul Jesmond died unmarried, it 
 was to go without reserve to his niece Felicia Gordon, the 
 only child of Teresa Gordon, his sister. It was to descend 
 to her children if she married ; if she did not, it passed to 
 some distant relatives to whom Sir William had always enter- 
 tained a strong antipathy. That I was the next of kin there 
 was no doubt. Sir William was dead, Paul was dead ; Jes- 
 mond Dean, with its rich revenues, was mine. 
 
 It was early in February when I came with aunt Annette 
 to take possession of my new home, and it was the beginning 
 of May when I made my resolve to live for others and not 
 for myself. 
 
 I had been at Jesmond Dene about three months, and had 
 grown to love the place and the people. I had just begun
 
 276 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 to put my philanthropic resolutions into shape, and my build- 
 ings were slowly rising beneath the hands of the many work- 
 men engaged. The grand old mansion had been renovated 
 some of Sir William's hoarded thousands had been spent up- 
 on it and the grounds and garden had been rescued from 
 the weeds and long-standing neglect. I had increased my 
 staff of servants indeed everything was in the very perfec- 
 tion of order and I was undoubtedly happy. I was to be 
 happier still, although the full light of the sun was hidden 
 from me for the present. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SMILE came over the kindly face of my aunt Annette 
 when I told her of my resolves. 
 
 " Mother and queen ! " she repeated. " I wish you 
 health, strength, and wisdom to keep to them." 
 
 The May sun never shown on a brighter fate than mine, 
 or on a lighter heart. It was true the shadow of death lay 
 over my new inheritance ; but then I had seen my uncle 
 only once, and that some years before. For the bright-faced 
 handsome cousin dead in a far-off land I had the deepest 
 pity, and one of my first acts was to erect to his memory a 
 beautiful marble cross and that memorial was always sur- 
 rounded by fragrant flowers. 
 
 " All the novelty of my position had died away when the 
 month of May came round. I might have been Miss Gordon 
 of Jesmond Dene all my life, everything came so naturally to 
 me. The tenants liked and trusted me, the servants showed 
 me absolute devotion, my buildings were all in progress, my 
 aunt and I were happy beyond words in the grand old man- 
 sion. Our neighbors had called upon us, but it was too 
 soon after Sir William's death for us to receive or pay visits. 
 We were happy enough without that indeed the hours of 
 the day were not sufficiently long for all the pleasant occupa- 
 tions we found to engage us. Aunt Annette was as young at 
 heart as I was myself, and, when the moon was silvering 
 the ripples of the sea, it was no unusual thing for us to wan-
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 277 
 
 der down to the shore and gaze in rapturous awe and delight 
 at the majestic scene before us. 
 
 I was nearly twenty when this great change of fortune 
 came to me, but still a girl in lightness of heart, in want of 
 knowledge of the world and its ways a girl with all a girl's 
 innocent love of fun and frolic. I had had no lover; my 
 heart was fresh and untouched. 
 
 It is a hard thing for a girl to tell her own love-story as I 
 have to tell mine to tell of the dream that came to me before 
 I knew that my fair inheritance was to be the scene of a 
 tragedy to disclose the beautiful love-dream that came to me 
 as the revelation of a newer, brighter, higher life than any I 
 had yet known. 
 
 In the same green county, on the shore of the same shin* 
 ing sea, stood an old mansion called Dunroon. It was larger 
 than Jesmond Dene, though not quite so picturesque ; still 
 there were not many finer old places than Dunroon. The 
 great feature of it was the river Doon, which ran through the 
 grounds. From the hill-top I could see the tall towers and 
 turrets of Dunroon, the ancestral home of the Saxons. 
 
 When we had been some time at Jesmond Dene, Lady 
 Saxon called upon us, and was pleased from the first moment 
 she saw me to take great interest in me. 
 
 " The Jesmonds and the Saxons have been friends for 
 many generations," she said: "they have loved and inter- 
 married. It seems strange that you and I you a young 
 woman and I an old one should be the sole representatives 
 of two such ancient families." 
 
 " But you have a son," I remarked for I had heard much 
 of Lord Saxon. 
 
 " I do not mean that," she interrupted hastily. " Of 
 course my son is the representative of the Saxons. What I 
 intended to say was that it. seems strange we should both 
 have the care of house and estate. My son is always in Italy, 
 and I do not know when he will return." Here she looked 
 at me with sudden emotion in her face. " My son is more 
 than the whole world to me," she went on. " He is the 
 very core of my heart, the very light of my eyes. The world 
 is all shadow to me, but he stands out clear and distinct. 
 It is the great pain of my life that he lives away from me, 
 that he seems to love art better than nature, Italy better than 
 England. I cannot understand it ; but it is so."
 
 278 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 Lady Saxon was still a handsome well-preserved woman, 
 with a penchant for rich dresses and costly furs, diamonds 
 and priceless lace. I had heard others say that her son was 
 " art-mad." He had now been five years from home, during 
 which time his mother had lived at Dunroon, and had man- 
 aged everything for him. Indeed it was often said that but 
 for his mother's continual mention of him Lord Saxon would 
 have been forgotten on his own estate. My aunt and I both 
 liked Lady Saxon, and I often listened patiently by the hour 
 while she expatiated upon the virtues of her darling son. He 
 was the handsomest, the dearest, the best. There was no face, 
 no voice like his. The only flaw in his otherwise perfect 
 character was that he would loiter in Italy instead of coming 
 home. 
 
 " Have you ever dreamed how beautiful a man's face can 
 be ? " she asked me. " Imagine one that is dark, proud, 
 tender, and imperious, drawing the hearts of all women who 
 look upon it a face that seems always raised to the skies 
 and hardly to see the lowly earth. That is my son. He is like 
 that. I have seen women watch for the gleam of his eyes, 
 for his smiles, for the words from his lips ; but he did not see 
 them. He sees the stars that illumine the skies, but he does 
 not see the daisies that grow in the fields. When you come 
 to Dunroon, I will show you his portrait, and when you see 
 his face you will understand better." 
 
 So it happened that I thought a great deal and formed a 
 very high opinion of Lord Saxon because his mother talked 
 to me incessantly and almost always in praise of him. 
 
 " If he were but more like other men," she would say, 
 with a sigh, " if he had ambition, I should not care at what 
 he aimed. He thinks more of a broken statue than a seat in 
 Parliament. An old picture has a greater charm for him than 
 any worldly honors. Music, painting, and sculpture are the 
 three things that he loves best ? and he is an English noble- 
 man, master of a large estate, and head of a grand old 
 race ! " 
 
 I ventured to suggest that all noblemen need not have 
 the same tastes ; but she was dissatisfied because her son 
 frittered away his time and his opportunities upon art instead 
 of cultivating the ordinary life of an English nobleman. 
 
 " My husband," she said, " was a stanch Conservative, yet 
 I do not believe that my son knows the difference between a
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 279 
 
 Whig and a Tory. My husband never allowed one foot of 
 timber to be cut down on his estate ; my son writes always 
 about the preservation of pictures. But he is so good that I 
 ought to be ashamed to grumble at his one great failing." 
 
 " My son is a dreamer of dreams," she told me one morn- 
 ing, when she had driven over to Jesmond Dene. " He is 
 led astray by a passionate love of beauty. He detects love- 
 liness where others see none. The curve of an arm, the 
 graceful arch of a neck, the beauty of a dark straight brow, 
 delight him. He is, in fact, one of those people, half artist, 
 half genius, who can 'hear a leaf fall.' Do you know all that 
 that phrase means ? " 
 
 " I can imagine it," I replied. 
 
 " My son has a theory that the world can be set straight 
 by a right understanding of beauty, and by a proper cultiva- 
 tion of it He is a dreamer in a world of stern reality, and 
 some day or other I am sorely afraid his dreams will bring 
 him bitter sorrow. If he would but marry ! " 
 
 " That would perhaps cure him of dreaming," I said 
 laughingly. 
 
 After that we paid a visit to Dunroon. While aunt 
 Annette talked to some visitors, Lady Saxon, addressing me 
 in a low voice said 
 
 " Come with me to my boudoir. My son's portrait hangs 
 there, and I want you to see it." 
 
 1 went with her. There was a strange wild beating at my 
 heart, a strange sense of something unusual. I felt more as 
 though I were going to see a living person than a picture. 
 
 The boudoir was an elegant room facing the west ; a soft 
 light fell on the picture of the master of Dunroon, Lord 
 Saxon. 
 
 We stood silent before it. She did not even turn to me 
 and say, " That is my son." Looking at the portrait, I seemed 
 to know by instinct why he could not help his love of beauty, 
 and why women loved him as they looked upon him. It was 
 a handsome, even fascinating face. The kingly poise of the 
 head, the well-chiseled features, the dark straight brows, the 
 keen dark eyes that seemed full of pride and passion eyes 
 that had in them the power of controling others the shapely 
 mouth, combining the firmness of a man with the tenderness 
 of a woman the face altogether was one that seen either in 
 a picture or in real life must haunt you forever, The eyes
 
 2 8o fAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 looked into mine as I stood silently marveling at the beauty 
 portrayed on the canvas. 
 
 " That is my son," said Lady Saxon, after we had gazed 
 for some time upon the strangely fascinating picture. 
 
 Why did I stand there with fast-beating heart and flushed 
 face ? Why did my hands tremble ? Why did those dark 
 tender eyes flash into mine as it were ? I turned to her 
 ladyship. 
 
 " What is your son's name ? " I asked. 
 
 " Lionel," she answered, smiling ; " but at home he was 
 always called ' Nello.' " 
 
 Again I lapsed into silence. 
 
 " His face is full of power," said his mother proudly. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, with unconscious prophecy ; " but the 
 power is latent. It will not develop yet. He must dream 
 out his dreams, and then " 
 
 " Ah, then ? " his mother echoed with a sigh. 
 
 I had seen no face like the one before me. I had not 
 believed that Nature was so lavish in the bestowal of her 
 riches upon mortal man. I went home haunted by Lord 
 Saxon's portrait. If I looked at the western sky where the 
 great rosy clouds were gathering, it was there ; if I looked 
 along the serried rows of dark pine trees, it was there ; when 
 the moon shone out at night, and I walked down to see it 
 glittering on the sea, the face was there. It came to me in 
 the starlight, in my dreams, in the rays of the sun. I saw it 
 in the chalice of the white lilies, and in the hearts of the red 
 roses. 
 
 " I am haunted," I said to myself. And even as the face 
 seemed to be photographed on my brain, so the name rang 
 like music in my ears, " Nello, Nello! " The birds sung it, 
 the wind whispered it, and I laughed at my strange fancies. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 So little did I realize or understand this new sensation 
 which possessed my whole being that I laughed again when 
 Lady Saxon drove over to the hall and we spent two long 
 hours in discussing her son.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 281 
 
 " I like to speak to you about Nello," she said, " you seem 
 to understand him. I know that talking about him so fre- 
 quently is a weakness of mine, and at times I see a half-satiri- 
 cal smile on the faces of many of my listeners ; but you never 
 smile and never tire you understand." 
 
 So, from the clay on which we stood side by side before 
 his portrait, the young lord seemed to form a tie between the 
 mother and myself. 
 
 Aunt Annette was much amused at the ardent friendship 
 which Lady Saxon had evinced for me. 
 
 " If you were Lady Saxon's own daughter, she could not 
 care more for you," she would say to me. 
 
 Why did those simple words, so carelessly uttered, touch 
 my very heart ? Of course he would come home some day, 
 and I should see him ; and he would talk to me, this dreamer 
 of dreams, because his mother loved me. Then my thoughts 
 would become confused and my heart beat more quickly than 
 ever. 
 
 One morning Lady Saxon drove over with a bundle of 
 letters from her son to read to me. They were dated from 
 different places, and in several of them he spoke of coming 
 home ; but no definite lime was mentioned. 
 
 " He may come at any time now," said Lady Saxon " at 
 any hour. If Heaven will but give me my son once again, 
 he shall not leave me. I wish he would marry." 
 
 As she spoke she fixed her eyes on my face, and my in- 
 stinct told me that in her heart she added, " I wish he would 
 marry you ; " and that look in her eyes was often there when 
 she spoke to me of Lord Saxon. 
 
 It was early in June and the world seemed a paradise of 
 beauty, fragrance, and song; the great magnolia trees on the 
 lawn were all in bloom, and the light breeze wafted the per- 
 fume of myriads of flowers. I had some fine white jasmine 
 that was in the full perfection of beauty, and, as Lady Saxon 
 was very fond of it, I resolved to drive over and take her 
 some. The birds were trilling their tuneful lays, the banks 
 and hedges were resplendent with clusters of wild-flowers, 
 whilst the wind played musically as it rustled gently among 
 the leaves of the lime-trees. All nature appeared in its 
 brightest garb and its gayest mood. To my girlish fancy, 
 excited by always hearing of the young lord, the birds sung 
 " Nello " in their shrill sweet voices, and the wind whispered
 
 2 g 2 FAIX BUT FALSE. 
 
 " Nello " to the green lime-leaves that had on them a half 
 golden glow. 
 
 I drove through the wealth of rich summer foliage and 
 flowers, always keeping to view the murmuring sea, as it 
 rolled lazily in the golden sunlight, until I came to Dunroon's 
 stately mansion. 
 
 A groom came out and relieved me of the high-spirited 
 ponies. 
 
 " Her ladyship is in the garden, Miss Gordon," he said, 
 knowing that I always made my way straight to her wherever 
 she was. 
 
 Yes ; her ladyship was in the garden, her hands full of 
 crimson roses, and a light on her pleasant face such as I had 
 never seen before. 
 
 " Felice," she cried, when she saw me she always used 
 the French form of my name " Felice, what good angel has 
 brought you here ? " 
 
 " I came to bring you this," I answered, holding, out the 
 white odorous jasmine. " Let me twine it with your roses," 
 I said ; and, lo, she was looking at me with tears in her 
 eyes ! 
 
 " This is not the only welcome gift that has come to me 
 to-day," she murmured to herself. " Come with me, Felice ; 
 I have something to show you," she said ; and I followed 
 her, my hands filled to overflowing with the fragrant flowers. 
 
 She led the way to a pretty little drawing-room, called 
 Sea View room, from the fact that a magnificent view of the 
 sea, of the stretch of yellow sands, and of the blue waters 
 that came rolling in, breaking into sheets of white foam, 
 could be obtained from the long wide windows. She entered 
 the room quietly, and I followed. By the open window, in- 
 tently watching the inrolling of the waves, stood a tall young 
 man, and when he turned at the sound of our entrance, I saw 
 the face of Lord Saxon" Nello," as the birds, the leaves, 
 the wind sung it ; " Nello," as the word fell like two notes 
 of liquid music from his mother's lips ; but Lord Saxon to 
 me. As she had taken me to see his portrait, so she now 
 brought me to see him in person. She led me to him. 
 
 " Nello," she said, " this is my new neighbor Miss Felicia 
 Gordon, the ' Felice ' of whom I have written so often. Though 
 I am an old lady and she a young one, we are very fast 
 Wends."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 283 
 
 " My mother's friends are always mine," he said, holding 
 out his hand to me in the most cordial manner. 
 
 I wish I could describe what I then felt. In our lives 
 there are moments so full of emotion that they seem to mark 
 a turn in them that we never reach again. 
 
 This was such a moment for me. I could not describe 
 it. At first I felt almost a shock, as though the picture had 
 suddenly come to life and the dark tender eyes were again 
 smiling down into mine. Then I saw the dancing waves 
 crest-tipped by the powerful rays of the summer sun, I saw 
 the bouquet of fragrant flowers that I held in my hands. Ah, 
 me, to this day the sight and the scent of those flowers vividly 
 bring back the past to me ! When I look at them, Swin- 
 burne's line comes home to me with singular force 
 
 " I shall never again be friends with roses." 
 
 And then I raised my eyes and looked at the original of the 
 picture that had so strangely fascinated me. It was as 
 though I had raised them to the warm noonday sun, as though 
 a thrill of fever passed through my veins ; my heart beat 
 violently, my face flushed, some of the flowers fell unheeded 
 to the ground. I remembered what his mother had said, 
 that all women who looked into his face loved him. Did I ? 
 The very thought made me tremble ; but it was not with 
 fear. He was speaking to me, of what I hardly know, for in 
 the spell his presence cast over me, I saw nothing but the 
 surpassing loveliness of his marvelous face. All the attributes 
 of a noble character were delineated in it, and it had an in- 
 definable something which, without my knowing it, drew my 
 heart from my breast and kept it. 
 
 " What a glorious bouquet you have," he was saying ; 
 " and how beautiful they are ! I did not know that red roses 
 and white jasmine went so well together." 
 
 " That is Felice's taste," said Lady Saxon ; " and it is 
 perfect." 
 
 " It is like herself," he remarked, with a glance of un- 
 mistakable admiration. 
 
 Ten minutes later I was sitting on the couch by the great 
 window. Lady Saxon had taken off my hat and mantle, her 
 son had relieved me of my burden of flowers, and I was at
 
 284 FAIR SUT FALSE. 
 
 home with them happy, light of heart, but with a strange 
 sensation of almost terrified delight, something quite new to 
 me. I could not tell which was the greater, the pleasure or 
 the pain of it. I did not often look at him ; but my ears 
 drank in every word that he uttered. I had never before 
 known the charm of a good talker, and to me the flow of his 
 words was like listening to a strain of sweet music. He had 
 a low, clear, cheery voice, and a laugh that it did one good 
 to hear. Looking back on that day, I blame myself. No 
 girl ought to give her love unasked. It is unmaidenly, un- 
 dignified ; but it was more Lady Saxon's fault than mine. 
 She had sown the seed, and I was to reap the harvest. 
 
 Lady Saxon begged me to stay for the day, and, assuming 
 that she had my consent, ordered the carriage to fetch aunt 
 Annette. It was a day of days ! I could no more describe 
 it than I could paint the rose, the gold, and the purple that 
 flush the morning sky. It was the day on which my soul 
 woke to maturity ; and the dawning of that new life was ter- 
 rible even in its beauty. It was brightest sun and deepest 
 shadow sun when the light of his face was turned upon me, 
 when he spoke to me, when he showed me any gracious little 
 act of attention ; shade when he was absent or engrossed 
 with another. 
 
 We were out on the lawn under the white magnolia-tree, 
 and he was talking to me of the power of its perfume. When 
 we came to the sweet syringa-trees, he told me a legend of 
 one of his ancestresses, who broke off a spray to give to her 
 lover when he was going to the wars, and it was returned to 
 her dyed with his heart's blood. 
 
 " It was taken from this very tree," he said. 
 
 After dinner, when we were out under the cypress, Lord 
 Saxon told me how often his mother had written about me, 
 and how well he knew the name of Felicia Gordon. 
 
 " There was one surprise in store for me," he said with a 
 smile. " I thought you were a staid matronly lady, and I 
 found you a young girl. I was astonished when I saw your 
 face behind that great mass of flowers." 
 
 I longed with all my passionate young heart to ask him 
 if he had found my face fair, if it had pleased him. But no 
 he must never know that his mother had made me love 
 him before he returned home. And as we stood under the
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 285 
 
 dark boughs of the cypress, watching the sun set over the 
 river and the pine-woods, these words came into my mind 
 
 " My mother, list'ning to my sleep, 
 
 Heard nothing but a sigh at night 
 The short sigh rippling on the deep, 
 When hearts run out of breath and sight 
 Of men to God's clear sight. 
 
 " When others named thee, thought thy brows 
 
 Were straight and tender ' Here 
 He comes between the vineyard rows 1 ' 
 I said not ' Ay,' nor waited, dear, 
 To feel thy step too near." 
 
 I would be like the girl in the song, I determined. No 
 one should know, no one should even guess my secret ; no 
 one should read it in my face, or hear it in my voice, or see 
 it shining in my eyes. It never need be, never should be 
 known. I could and would guard my secret. 
 
 At last this day of supreme happiness came to an end. 
 There could be no other like it, just as there could be no 
 second sunrise, no second birth of the lily and the rose. It 
 was the first dawn of love, delicious yet bewildering. 
 
 I drove home with Aunt Annette under the light of the 
 stars, but I did not see them. When I raised my face to the 
 heavens, I saw only the face of Nello, Lord Saxon. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Do you like my son, Felice ? " asked Lady Saxon, some 
 days afterward. " Is he what you expected to find him ? Did 
 I describe him well ? " 
 
 I did not dare to look straight at her when I answered the 
 question ; but I saw a smile on her lips. 
 
 He had been home a fortnight then, and I had for- 
 gotten what life had been like before he came to Dunroon. 
 The past and the future held no charm for me. I had no 
 thought but for the present, with its unalloyed happiness, its 
 ravishing delight. 
 
 We never tired of each other, for we had, after all, many 
 ideas and tastes in common. He was an excellent talker, I
 
 BUT FALSE. 
 
 a good listener. No one seemed to think it strange thatwe 
 passed long hours together. Lady Saxon made no comment, 
 my aunt no remark. Few days passed without an invitation 
 to Dunroon ; and if we did not accept it, Lord Saxon would 
 come to Jesmond Dene. And every morning the delight, 
 the novelty, with its mixture of passionate happiness and 
 transient pain, grew stronger upon me. He was a dreamer 
 of dreams, a lover of beauty, poet and artist in one. But to 
 my thinking, there was no one else in the world like him he 
 stood alone. 
 
 He never even hinted at love ; yet he was always kind, 
 gentle, and attentive ; and I felt sure that he admired me, 
 for he had made many sketches of me. I flattered myself 
 that my love for him was carefully concealed, that no one 
 knew of it, that it was hidden in the innermost recess of my 
 heart. 
 
 " Nothing is better, I well think, 
 
 Than love ; the hidden well-water 
 Is not so delicate to drink." 
 
 I felt sure that he was growing to love me, for there was 
 between us an intangible something denoting a stronger 
 feeling than friendship. When he spoke to me, his voice had 
 a low and tender tone ; when he looked at me, his eyes shone 
 with evident admiration. I had a sure conviction that he 
 thought of me, remembered my words, studied to please me 
 and was not that growing love ? 
 
 One evening we stood together by a picturesque acacia, 
 and, carelessly gathering a spray of it, I held it out to him. 
 
 " There are not many fairer flowers," I said ; and, as he 
 took it from me, he kissed my hand. 
 
 On another occasion we were standing in the library, both 
 searching for a book, which he found ; and, as he stooped to 
 give it to me, he touched my brow with his lips. In that 
 moment all the brightness and sweetness of heaven seemed to 
 be showered upon me ! He was learning to love me ! And he 
 kissed me again in the woods, when we wandered thither to 
 listen to the nightingales. And, as we strolled on in the 
 silvery moonlight which pierced the leafy canopy above us, 
 with only the musical trill of the birds breaking the silence, 
 I thought how applicable these lines were to me 
 
 " First time he kissed me, he but only kissed 
 The fingers of this hand with which I write ;
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 287 
 
 And ever since it grew more clear and bright, 
 Slow to world greetings, quick with its ' Oh, listl ' 
 When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
 
 I could not wear here plainer to my sight 
 
 Than that first kiss. The second passed in height 
 The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, 
 Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed 
 
 That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown 
 With sanctifying sweetness did precede ! 
 
 The the third upon my lips was folded down, 
 Two perfect purple states, since when ended 
 
 I have been proud, and said, ' My love, my own 1 ' " 
 
 In all England there was no place so famous for nightin- 
 gales as Jesmond Dene. There was a whole colony of the 
 sweet songsters in the trees that grew near the pine-forest, and 
 they sung as surely never nightingales sung elsewhere. I lis- 
 tened to them often, when it seemed to me that they wiled by 
 . their melodious music the very heart from my breast. But 
 one evening we had been at Dunroon all day I was talking 
 enthusiastically of the nightingales, when most of the guests 
 present expressed a wish to hear them, and it was arranged 
 that, as it was a fine moonlit night, we should all drive back 
 to Jesmond Dene and stroll to the woods ; afterward the 
 guests were to take some refreshment at the hall, and then 
 return home. 
 
 " It will be a beautiful evening, Felicia," said Lord Saxon 
 to me by this time mother and son had both learned to ad- 
 dress me by my Christian name. 
 
 From the moment we left Jesmond Dene until we reached 
 the woods, it was all a happy dream to me. I did not notice 
 how the different groups arranged themselves ; all I know was 
 that a voice, the very tone of which made my heart vibrate 
 with joy, said 
 
 Lord Saxon was looking into my face ; and with a flut- 
 tering heart and a deep color rising to my cheeks I turned to 
 accompany him. 
 
 Slowly we walked by the great sombre trees, listening to 
 the river as it rushed past the projecting rocks in its seem- 
 ingly mad haste to reach the sea ; at the silent twinkling stars 
 as they kept their vigil in the heavens above. There can 
 never again come such a night for me. 
 
 I look back to that evening as the one perfectly happy 
 evening of my life. It was not the full sunrise of love ; it
 
 ,$8 PAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 was the fresh tremulous dawn. Lord Saxon said little, and 
 the silence that lay between us was more eloquent than 
 words. 
 
 " Through his words the nightingales 
 
 Drove straight and full their clear long call, 
 Like arrows through heroic mails ; 
 And love was awful in it all 
 
 The nightingales, the nightingales 1 " 
 
 It was on this occasion that he kissed my lips ; and I 
 vowed that no other's kiss should ever lie there. A nightin- 
 gale that had been singing melodiously suddenly flew from one 
 tree to another, and we watched the flight of the bird in the 
 pale light of the moon. 
 
 " Look, Felicia," cried Lord Saxon ; " it is there ! " 
 
 I looked up eagerly, and then, as my face was lowered 
 again, he caught it and kissed my lips ; while I heard him 
 whisper, " Ever dearest Felicia ! " The music of his voice 
 and the sweetness of the caress seemed to me one. Then 
 footsteps and laughing voices drew near us, and the charm 
 was dispelled. But in that moment I learned what many pass 
 a long life without learning the very ecstasy of love. 
 
 " You have caught the moonlight in your eyes, Felicia," 
 said aunt Annette, when we entered the brilliantly-lighted 
 drawing-room. " You looked dazed." 
 
 So I was ; but it was with happiness and love, not with 
 the light of the moon. When our visitors prepared to depart 
 aunt Annette and I accompanied them to the end of the lawn. 
 Oh, fair white moon, never again will you shine for me with 
 the same light ! Never more will rose-leaf and lily-bloom be 
 so sweet; never again will summer* wind waft me such love- 
 laden messages ! 
 
 He held my hand tightly in his own as we walked across 
 the lawn to the drive where the carriages were in readiness 
 As we passed the cluster of acacia-trees, he said, bending 
 down, and looking tenderly into my eyes 
 
 "I shall never forget this night, Felicia." 
 
 " Nor shall I," I answered. 
 
 " What does it all mean, Felicia ? " he asked. " What 
 does the summer wind whisper ? What do the nightingales 
 sing ? What thrills in the air and shines in the stars ? What 
 is it, my my darling ? Do you know ? "
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 289, 
 
 I bowed my head ah me ! as I answered, " Yes." 
 " I will come to-morrow," he whispered, " and tell you 
 what it means. Good-night, Felicia." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TO-MORROW ! I closed my eyes that night in an ecstasy of 
 delight. The calm serenity of the night-skies, the gentle rip- 
 ple of green leaves, the silver light of the moon, and the dark 
 handsome face of my lover I dared in my own heart to use 
 the word were with me in my dreams. The song of the 
 nightingales and my lover's voice blended harmoniously, 
 greeting my ears with sweet melody as I dreamed on of the 
 morrow. " Felicia good-night, Felicia ! " was the burden 
 of the melody ; and its ravishing strains fell soothingly on my 
 senses. 
 
 " To-morrow," was come. The sun was gilding the earth 
 with its resplendent rays, the birds carol their songs of de- 
 light, the gentle wind, kissing the flowers, wafted their per- 
 fume abroad. Nello was coming to tell me " what it all 
 meant." I knew that one word explained it, and that word 
 was " love." He was coming. Patience he would be here 
 soon, and then my life would be crowned by the possession 
 of his love ! 
 
 I was standing under the spreading cedar-boughs, antici- 
 pating in thought the happiness that was to be mine, when a 
 letter was brought to me. I had gone thither, knowing that 
 he must pass by the spot. The golden sunlight that pierced 
 through the drooping boughs was warm and pleasant. He 
 would stand beside me, and he would tell me " what it all 
 meant." Taking the letter from the bearer, a thrill passed 
 through me. I knew by instinct that the note was from him. 
 I opened it hastily. It ran thus my first love-letter 
 
 " I had hoped to be with you to-day, Felicia, as I have 
 much to say to you. But I have just received a telegram from 
 my agent in Ireland, and, if I want to save my property there 
 from utter destruction, I must go at once. I shall not be
 
 29 o FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 long absent. I hope to be back with you before th'e nightin- 
 gales have ceased to sing." 
 
 Though the sun was shedding its warmth around, a sudden 
 gray chill fell over everything. All the gold seemed to fade 
 from the sunlight, the perfume to depart from the flower, the 
 light from the skies, the glory from earth and sea. A mist 
 of passionate tears rose before my eyes as I saw my cup of 
 happiness dashed to the ground. It was not " to-morrow " 
 after all ; and I remembered how people always said that to- 
 morrow never came. But he would return. I felt grieved, 
 disappointed, but not fearful. Lady Saxon had often spoken 
 to me of their Irish estate, Lochfin, and had expressed a 
 wish that Lionel would sell it. The tenants were always in 
 rebellion against the agent, and she was nervous lest harm 
 should come to her son. He laughed at the idea. He was 
 not afraid of disaffection or open rebellion, so he had gone 
 amongst them ; and I 
 
 Well, the summer was not over, the roses had not ceased 
 to bloom. All would come right if I had but the patience 
 to wait. I should soon again see the face I loved so well. 
 
 But, notwithstanding my self-administered solace, a chill 
 had come over the warm summer day, and I wondered 
 vaguely why I had allowed my own life to be so completely 
 absorbed in his. Why should this terrible dread possess me 
 because he was not with me ? And what oh, the horror of 
 it ! what if he never came back ? 
 
 An hour afterward, while I was still standing under the 
 cedars a second letter came. It was from Lady Saxon. Brief, 
 but to the point, it ran 
 
 " Come and comfort me, Felicia I have lost my son 
 again ! I want to talk to you about him." 
 
 I went at once. Aunt Annette kissed me with a quiet 
 smile. I think she understood more of my affairs than she 
 chose to let me know. 
 
 " My son, my son ! " That was the burden of Lady 
 Saxon's cry ; yet she was not sorry that he had gone to Ireland, 
 for she firmly believed in his ability to allay the anger aroused 
 against his agent. " When the people see him, they will be 
 sure to love him," she argued, with motherly pride. " There 
 could be no better cure for disaffection than seeing and con- 
 versing with my son."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 291 
 
 And when the day was over she walked with me to the 
 end of the drive. 
 
 " You have comforted me greatly, Felicia," she said. 
 " What should I do without you ? I wish you were my own 
 daughter." 
 
 A few moments afterward she added 
 
 " Oh, Felicia, I should be the happiest woman in the 
 whole wide word if Nello fell in love with you and you agreed 
 to marry him ! I wonder, if he asked you to be his wife, 
 whether you would say ' Yes ? ' I almost think you would." 
 
 I could laugh happily at the words, knowing what he had 
 whispered to me. 
 
 " My daughter Felicia," she murmured, when I had taken 
 my seat in the pony carriage " fair as the sweetest flower 
 that blows ! " 
 
 And with those pleasant words ringing in my ears I 
 hastened home. 
 
 The last rays of the setting sun were falling over Jesmond 
 Dene as I drew near ; a golden light lingered on the distant 
 sea, on the pine-wood, on the rushing river, on the green 
 pastures and the picturesque pile of buildings, which I had 
 learned to love so well. No warning of coming tempest came 
 to me ; no shadow lay on the lovely Dene ; no presentiment 
 of coming evil possessed me. But there at the great entrance 
 door looking pale and anxious, stood my aunt Annette. 
 
 She held out her hands to me as I ascended the flight of 
 marble steps. 
 
 " Welcome home, my dear ! " she said ; but there was a 
 strange ring in her voice, and a troubled look was on her face. 
 -' You look tired, Felicia," she continued, "you must have a 
 glass of wine. Come in here with me." 
 
 Somewhat to my surprise, she led the way into one of the 
 small drawing-rooms that we seldom used, and stood by in 
 silence while I drank the wine. 
 
 " There is a little surprise for you, Felicia," she began, in 
 a trembling voice. " Mr. Benson is here." 
 
 Mr. Benson was the family solicitor, and had for many 
 years been intrusted with the management of the Jesmond 
 affairs. Sir William had the most implicit faith in him. 
 " Benson says so ! " was affirmation strong enough for any- 
 thing. Benson had advised him with all his investments ; 
 Benson had drawn up the will which made me, in consequence
 
 292 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 of Paul's death, heiress of Jesmond Dene ; Benson had brought 
 us down to the Dene, and had remained with us a whole 
 week, instructing me in my new duties, and teaching me much 
 of which I had previously been quite ignorant. It was he 
 who had approved all my plans for building, and who had 
 told me that I could not spend Sir William's hoarded 
 thousands in a better fashion. 
 
 I felt no alarm at hearing that he had come, even though 
 it was suddenly and without notice. I was much more troubled 
 about aunt Annette, for she seemed so unlike herself. 
 
 " He came soon after you had gone to Dunroon," she 
 went on nervously. " He wanted me to send for you, but I 
 thought you should have one more happy day." 
 
 " Mr. Benson would never make me unhappy," I laughed. 
 " He is always the bearer of good news to me." 
 
 She looked at me wistfully. 
 
 " Mr. Benson desires a long talk with you on business 
 matters," she explained. " You had better defer it until after 
 dinner." 
 
 "I will do that with pleasure," I answered, little imagin- 
 ing the nature of the business. 
 
 Had I been less engrossed in my own love-story, I should 
 have known from Mr. Benson's nervous hesitating manner 
 that something of more than usual importance was amiss. 
 While I was talking to the grave old lawyer, while I was 
 dining with him, I was in fancy looking into my absent lover's 
 face and listening to the notes of the nightingales. 
 
 " Can you spare an hour this evening," inquired Mr. 
 Benson, " or shall I defer my business until the morning ? " 
 
 It appeared to me that he was not unwilling to defer it. 
 I had never seen him so unlike himself confused, hesitating, 
 glancing at me strangely, beginning a speech, then ending 
 abruptly. 
 
 I said to him at last 
 
 " You are not well, Mr. Benson." 
 
 " No ; I am in great distress." he answered. 
 
 " In distress ? " It was such a strange confession for him 
 to make. "In distress?" I repeated. "You are not ill, I 
 hope ? You have not met with any misfortune ? " 
 
 " I am not ill, and the misfortune that depresses me is 
 not mine," he -said,
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 393 
 
 " Not yours ! " I exclaimed ; and his grave manner gave 
 an additional significance to his words. 
 
 " The fact is," he continued, looking at me, " I have, 
 for the first time in my professional life, made a terrible mis- 
 take." 
 
 I could only repeat the words, " A terrible mistake ! " 
 
 " It is not often that lawyers do that," he said. " They 
 are generally very cautious. I fear that in this particular 
 business I have been neither. A lawyer," he continued, 
 " above all men, should well consider every step he takes 
 In this one case I did not." 
 
 He was talking to a girl whose soul vibrated to the music 
 of the nightingales and the sound of her lover's voice ; and 
 even those words, portentous as they were, did not startle 
 her. 
 
 " Yet," he continued, " I cannot see how I could have 
 helped it, or how I am to balme, though blame must lie some- 
 where." 
 
 " It does not lie with you, I feel sure," I said, with a 
 faint attempt at consolation, and as a proof of my confidence in 
 his legal acuteness. 
 
 " The worst of it," he continued, " is that the mistake I 
 have made affects you." 
 
 " Then," I said, " it can be easily remedied." For, in 
 my ignorance, I did not think there could be any mistake 
 made which would seriously affect me. 
 
 " I am afraid," he went on, disregarding my interposition, 
 " it will be a terrible blow to you. You seem so happy 
 here." 
 
 " I am very happy here indeed it would be impossible 
 for any one to be happier," I replied. 
 
 " You remember the terms of Sir William's will, Miss 
 Gordon ? " he continued. 
 
 I answered that I remembered them well. 
 
 " The whole estate descended to his son Paul. The title 
 is hereditary ; the estate is not. If Paul married and had 
 children, it went to them. If he died unmarried, it became 
 yours." 
 
 " Yes ; and it is mine, thank heaven ! " I said. 
 " So I thought. Heaven knows I thought so," he an? 
 swered ; " but, Miss Gordon, it appears that Paul was married. 
 He has left a widow and an only son."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSJZ. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE lawyer's words fell like poisoned arrows on my heart. 
 Paul had left a widow and an only son ! That meant that I 
 was no longer mistress of Jesmond Dene that the splendid 
 inheritance I had planned to do so much good with had 
 slipped from my grasp. 
 
 There was silence between us for some time a silence 
 fraught with unutterable horror to me. Mr. Benson broke it 
 as last. 
 
 " I blame myself," he said. " I ought to have made 
 inquiries, and have been satisfied beyond the possibility of 
 doubt that Paul Jesmond had not married ; I ought to have 
 ascertained that before helping to place you in possession. 
 I am afraid it is a terrible blow to you," he added. 
 
 " Yes, it is," I replied " so great a blow that I cannot 
 at present realize it. It has stunned me." 
 
 " It stunned me," said Mr. Benson. " I was for many 
 hours quite unable to comprehend the result of this deplora- 
 ble blunder. Now I see plainly enough what I ought to have 
 done. I should have written to India for further information 
 before you were formally installed as mistress of Jesmond 
 Dene." 
 
 " It would have been better," I said mechanically. " You 
 are quite sure that there is no mistake now ? " I added. 
 
 " No, everything is too well authenticated for that. There 
 is no mistake this time. I I cannot tell you how grieved I 
 am how I blame myself, but there had never been any word 
 of Paul's marriage, he had not mentioned it. and it seems to 
 have been but little known, even among his friends in the 
 army. You bear the blow well, Miss Gordon." 
 
 Nevertheless, bravely as I bore this crushing reverse of 
 fortune, it was a terrible blow to me. For a time it had 
 banished the cherished memory of my lover's face. But 
 slowly it began to return, and I took heart once more. The 
 first thought that presented itself clearly to my mind was this 
 that, if he loved me, change of fortune would not affect 
 him ; and whilst I possessed his love nothing on earth could.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 *9S 
 
 affect me. By degrees hope seemed to come back to my 
 heart, the color to my face, clear thought to my brain. 
 Then I realized that I was no longer mistress of Jesmond 
 Dene, and that I must give way to my cousin's little son. I 
 confess, between smiles and tears, that the very words " My 
 cousin's little son " softened and warmed my heart to the 
 child as nothing else could have done, and robbed the blow 
 of half its bitter sting. My cousin's little son the son of 
 the bright-faced handsome lad who had been so kind to me 
 in my girlhood, who had kissed me, and had promised to 
 marry me when he had seen the world ! He had married 
 some one else, and I must give way to his child, the rightful 
 heir to Jesmond Dene. Still my heart warmed to him, for 
 my dead cousin's sake. 
 
 " As you will remember," continued Mr. Benson, " there 
 was no cordiality between father and son. Sir William liked 
 to save money ; Paul enjoyed spending it. The father's 
 miserly ways made home hateful to the son. They quarreled 
 fiercely before they parted, and I should imagine, from the 
 tone of the letters that passed between them, that they were 
 never on friendly terms again. Sir William refused him an 
 allowance for some time, so deeply rooted was his anger. He 
 afterward relented ; but by that time the young fellow's 
 heart was hardened. I know that Sir William wrote to him 
 several times on the subject of marriage, urging him to take 
 great care not to be so foolish as to fall in love that he must 
 not marry until he returned to England, and then he was to 
 marry a wealthy woman. Money was to be his first con- 
 sideration. Sir William told me all about these letters. He 
 added also that he had never received an answer to them. 
 That accounts," remarked Mr. Benson, " for the young 
 fellow's silence about his marriage. There is no doubt he 
 believed implicitly that, if his father knew of it, he would 
 disinherit him and leave him penniless, for he married much 
 beneath him, his wife having no dowry except a beautiful 
 face." 
 
 " Who was she ? " I asked. 
 
 " Her name was Gabrielle Fairfax," he replied, " and she 
 was livirg in the family of Major Esmond as governess to 
 his children a very unusual thing in India ; but the Esmond 
 children were strong and healthy, and their parents did not 
 care to part with them. She was a most beautiful and a
 
 296 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 very good girl, Colonel Brownlow tells me, clever and ac- 
 complished, belonging to a respectable English family. She 
 had, of course, no fortune, and no prospect of ever possessing 
 any. Paul Jesmond fell in love with and married her. No 
 one knew of the marriage, except Major Esmond and his 
 wife. Paul dared not let it be known lest his father should 
 hear of it. He never spoke of it even to his most intimate 
 friends ; but he told Major Esmond that when he returned to 
 England he should take his wife straight to Jesmond Dene, 
 and trust to her lovely face to win him his father's forgive- 
 ness. Miss Gordon, I can hear in fancy his cheery young 
 voice saying, ' When my father sees her, he will relent.' He 
 was always sanguine, poor Paul ! " 
 
 I knew that my bright-faced handsome cousin ! Mr. 
 Benson went on 
 
 " He rented a pretty little house on the Neilgherry Hills 
 for his wife, and they lived very happily for two years, no one 
 guessing his secret. A son was born there ; and Paul Jes- 
 mond, who knew the importance of that son's birth, took the 
 precaution of having it properly registered, and of keeping a 
 copy of the registration. The child was christened by the 
 resident chaplain, who, in his turn, faithfully kept the pro- 
 mise of secrecy that he had given. Paul took yet another 
 precaution, which, for one so habitually careless as himself, 
 seems to be somewhat remarkable. He gathered together 
 the needful papers his certificate of marriage and the cer- 
 tificate of his son's birth and placed them together, with a 
 long letter to his father, telling him all the story of his 
 marriage, and begging, if anything happened to him, that he 
 would be kind to his wife and child. 
 
 " ' Let little Guy succeed me,' he wrote. ' Do not visit 
 the offenses of the father on the son. However faulty I may- 
 have been, do not disinherit my boy. My marriage may dis- 
 please you, but you will forgive me when you see my wife's 
 face. And she is as good as she is beautiful. I love her 
 with all my heart. There comes to me, father, at times a 
 presentiment that I shall die young. If I do, be kind to my 
 wife and child. Let my wife have the honor that falls to the 
 widowed ladies of Jesmond Dene, and let my son succeed to 
 the estate. I am your only son ; you will not refuse my 
 prayer. I am writing this, so that, should anything happen
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 297 
 
 to me, my wife may bring it in her hands to you, and you, in 
 your turn, will do justice to her.' 
 
 "So runs the letter, Miss Gordon." 
 
 By that time my eyes were full of tears, and I had begun 
 to forget my own troubles, and to think only of the handsome 
 bright-eyed lad who had loved me when I was a child, and 
 of his little son. 
 
 " It appears," continued Mr. Benson, " that Paul fell ill 
 very suddenly with one of those terribly malignant fevers so 
 common in the East. He had been appointed to some slight 
 military command where he would be detained three months. 
 The name of the place to which he was sent, and where he 
 died, was Faizabad. As a matter of course, he bade farewell 
 to his wife, she knowing that the separation would be for 
 three months ; and during that time, not having expected to 
 hear from him, she was not anxious about him. His com- 
 rade on the fatal expedition was Captain Archie Hartigan, 
 who was by his side when he died. It seems that on the day 
 before his death, while some little consciousness still re- 
 mained, Paul placed a small package in Captain's Hartigan's 
 hands, with these words, " Find out my wife, and give her 
 this to take to my father.' Captain Hartigan intended to 
 fulfill the commission at the earliest moment ; but, even 
 before his friend was laid to rest, he himself was stricken 
 down with the same fever, and lay for some time hovering 
 between life and death. Other officers were sent to Faizabad, 
 and for many weeks the package left by Captain Jesmond 
 was not delivered. The first thing that Captain Hartigan did, 
 when restored to health, was to go to Colonel Brownlow and 
 give him Paul's message ' Find out my wife, and give her 
 this to take home to my father.' The colonel declared that 
 Captain Jesmond had never married. He made the fullest 
 possible inquiries, but could obtain no confirmation of any 
 such marriage. None of Paul's brother-officers knew any- 
 thing of it. Major Esmond did not belong to the same 
 regiment ; and unfortunately just at that time he was away on 
 military business, so that there was no one to throw any 
 light upon the matter. But, when Major Esmond returned, 
 and heard what had happened, he went at once to Colonel 
 Brownlow, and told him the whole story. The colonel was 
 not very well pleased, and blamed Major Esmond for having 
 connived at the secret marriage of a young officer. Then
 
 2 g8 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 Captain Hartigan was sent to find the young wife, so soon 
 widowed, and to communicate to her the intelligence of her 
 husband's death. He found her with her infant son. She 
 was beautiful as a dream, and good as she was fair. Her 
 distress was terrible when she learnt the sad news, for it 
 appears that she had dearly loved her husband. At first she 
 refused to believe that he was dead ; and then she declined 
 to go home to England. She wanted to be left alone to die 
 in peace where he had left her. It was represented to her 
 how greatly such a course would injure the prospects of the 
 boy, who, on his grandfather's death, would in all proba- 
 bility become Sir Guy Jesmond and master of Jesmond 
 Dene. For the child's sake she consented to do what she 
 would never have done for her own return to England, and 
 see her husband's father. She would not however accept 
 any escort, though Colonel Brownlow would have placed her 
 under the protection of an officer and his wife who were 
 shortly returning to England, Mrs. Esmond implored her 
 to take a maid ; but she would not ; she would travel alone, 
 her only companion being her fatherless boy. Colonel Brown- 
 low gave her the precious package, and she sailed from Cal- 
 cutta in the Caspian Queen, and reached London safely." 
 
 " Reached London !" I exclaimed. " Then she is near 
 quite near?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the lawyer gravely. . " The news of Sir 
 William's death was not known in the regiment when she 
 left, and Colonel Brownlow, understanding that I was the 
 family solicitor, advised her to come straight to me. She did 
 not do so, but allowed a fortnight to elapse, and then she 
 came." 
 
 " Then you have seen her ? " I cried. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "I have seen her; " and the old 
 lawyer was strangely silent after that. . 
 
 " What about her ? " I asked eagerly. " What do you 
 think of her?" 
 
 " She is simply the most beautiful woman I have ever be- 
 held," he replied. 
 
 " And good as beautiful ? " I asked again. 
 
 " I could not judge ; she was not with me very long 
 though long enough to convince me that her claims are valid 
 and legal. She is Lady Jesmond, and her son is Sir Guy."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 299 
 
 " Heaven bless my cousin's little son, Sir Guy ? " I man- 
 aged to say, although my eyes were blinded with tears. 
 
 " I am glad, I am thankful that you bear it so well," said 
 Mr. Benson. " I have never felt so anxious or so unhappy 
 in my life as I have felt over this unfortunate business. But 
 who would have thought that Paul would marry entirely for 
 beauty, and then hide his wife in the Neilgherry Hills ? I 
 do not know what would have been the result of this match 
 if Sir William had lived." 
 
 "You say Paul married her entirely for her beauty; surely 
 he must have loved her ? " 
 
 " Yes, there is no doubt he did," he replied. Still there 
 was a significant hesitation in his manner. 
 
 " You do not like her ? " I said, divining, as I believed, 
 his true thoughts. I put the question so suddenly that he 
 had not time to think before he answered. 
 
 " No indeed I do not," he replied, with an air of great 
 relief. " But she will be here to-morrow, Miss Gordon. She 
 would not come with me, but it was arranged that she should 
 follow me." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UNTIL long after midnight aunt Annette, Mr. Benson, 
 and I sat discussing this to me momentous matter. One 
 thing was certain there was no deception, no flaw in the 
 evidence, no informality in the marriage ; everything was 
 perfectly straightforward and strictly legal. Aunt Annette 
 wanted me to dispute the claim possession was nine points 
 of the law, she contended. But Mr. Benson declared that it 
 would be absolutely useless nay, he added gravely that it 
 would be wrong to contest a claim so fully established. There 
 was not the least doubt about any of the facts, and the case 
 was as strong as it well could be. Indeed Mr. Benson, who 
 was an upright man as well as a clever lawyer,pointed out that, 
 even if there should be a slight flaw in any of the evidence, 
 that would not alter the fact that Paul's son was entitled to 
 succeed him. Womanlike, I was most curious to know why 
 he did not like Lady Jesmond ; but to this question he could
 
 300 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 give me no satisfactory answer. She was beautiful, graceful, 
 well-bred. 
 
 " She gives me the idea of one who has been brought up 
 in France," he said. " And, entre nous, Miss Gordon, I do 
 not like French training." 
 
 Then came the question, what was to be done with me ? 
 What course ought I to pursue with regard to my future ? 
 Aunt Annette, who was vexed 'and angry at this untoward 
 appearance of a claimant for my throne, declared that I 
 should go back with her to the little house we had left but a 
 few months before. But that had been let just as it stood, 
 therefore we could not return to it for a time at least. Mr. 
 Benson counseled us to wait. 
 
 "Wait until you see her, Miss Gordon, until you know 
 what she intends to do. You have many undertakings on 
 hand ; she may desire to go on with some of them, and ask 
 your co-operation. Be patient and wait." 
 
 When I retired to rest that night, sleep came not to my 
 weary eyes, for my mind was full of the romance of this 
 beautiful young widow who was coming to Jesmond Dene to 
 reign in my stead. As a matter of course, I felt most bitterly 
 and keenly the loss of this my princely inheritance. It was 
 as much lost to me on that first evening when I heard the 
 news as afterward when others reigned there supreme. 
 Crushing and keen was the ever-recurring thought that I was 
 no longer " queen and mother " of my people ; they were no 
 longer my loyal and affectionate subjects. I thought of the 
 half-built almshouses, of the hospital and schools, of the thou- 
 sand and one plans I had conceived for the benefit of those 
 living around me, and my heart ached at the thought that my 
 dreams would not be realized. Still, if the goodness of her 
 heart were in accord with her personal charms, the probabili- 
 ties were that Lady Jesmond would be pleased with the work 
 I had begun, and carry it on. What a dream of wealth and 
 luxury, benevolence and happiness it had been to me ! And 
 now I must go back to the dreary seclusion that had been 
 mine before. 
 
 But no ! Now that love had dawned in my soul, the 
 dreariness of my past life could never recur. I knew by 
 instinct that Lady Saxon would love me none the less for my 
 loss of fortune that she would be superior to such sordid 
 meanness as to allow her feelings toward me to change be-
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 301 
 
 cause I was no longer mistress of Jesmond Dene. And I 
 was equally certain that Lord Saxon, than whom a more gen- 
 erous-hearted man never lived, would love me as hitherto. 
 My heart found perfect rest in these pleasant thoughts. 
 
 Early on the following morning my aunt Annette fell ill, 
 and Lady Saxon came over to see me. I looked full and 
 straight into my old friend's kindly face while I told my 
 story. If I had detected the slightest coldness toward me, the 
 slightest shade of disappointment, I should have shrunk from 
 her. But thee was nothing but the most loving sympathy and 
 motherly affection depicted on her countenance, She listened 
 for some time in silent amazement ; and then she spoke : 
 
 "Felicia," she said, "you shall share my home and my 
 purse ; you shall be my dear adopted daughter, and I will 
 make you so happy that you shall not miss Jesmond Dene. I 
 love you the better now that I see how bravely and how well 
 you can bear such a disastrous stroke of ill-fortune. I wonder 
 what this Lady Jesmond is like." 
 
 " Beautiful as a dream, I am told," I answered. 
 
 " A worshiper of beauty, a dreamer of dreams." The 
 words returned to me with vivid force. They were Lady 
 Saxon's description of her son. 
 
 How kind and good she was to me at this trying period 
 of my life ! I ought even to have been grateful for the mis- 
 fortune which brought to me such disinterested love. She 
 would have been pleased and proud to carry me off there and 
 then, but I was destined to remain for many a long day at 
 Jesmond Dene. I knew little of the world, my experience 
 being limited to the few acquaintances of my aunt and Lady 
 Saxon's ; but I knew enough to be sure that it was a marvel- 
 ous thing to find one perfectly disinterested friend. 
 
 " I think," said Mr. Benson, " that it would be as well to 
 send a carriage to Honton station to meet Lady Jesmond. I 
 do not know the hour at which she will arrive, but she said 
 she should come to-day." 
 
 " She will doubtless feel nervous," I remarked, " and 
 slightly uncomfortable. It is not a very pleasant position for 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Benson looked at me with his eyes opened to their 
 widest extent. 
 
 " I saw no sign of nervousness in her," he observed. 
 " She seemed perfectly self-possessed and mistress of the 
 situation."
 
 302 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 The words jarred upon me. 
 
 ' You must feel the position a painful one," he added 
 kindly. 
 
 " But she is said to be as good as she is beautiful," I cried ; 
 " and good women are sensitive." 
 
 " Not all," he rejoined. " Many women have the most 
 matter-of-fact natures ; they are sensitive neither for them- 
 selves nor others ; yet they are good women." 
 
 " I think sensitiveness a noble virtue," I remarked. 
 
 " It is hardly that," he replied. " It is rather a quality 
 that directs many others. Lady Jesmond is not sensitive, I 
 am sure," Mr. Benson went on. " She did not seem to think 
 how this change would affect any one but herself. You will 
 send the carriage for her, by-the-bye ? " 
 
 I did send it, with orders that it was to remain at the 
 railway station and await all the London trains. I sent also 
 for the doctor from Honton to see my aunt Annette. On his 
 arrival he spoke rather gravely of her condition. I told him 
 that she desired to go away from Jesmond Dene at once ; 
 but he said she would imperil her life if she were so rash. So 
 perforce, whether we liked it or not, we must remain as guests 
 within the walls of what had for a brief period been our own 
 home. 
 
 " Forgive me, Miss Gordon," the doctor said, before leav- 
 ing ; " but as I came along I heard a rumor which I venture 
 most earnestly to hope is not true." 
 
 I knew at once that the story in some way or other had 
 leaked out. 
 
 " You mean," I said slowly, " that we have had news from 
 India, and that my cousin Paul has left both a widow and a 
 son ? " 
 
 " That is what I heard. Is it true, Miss Gordon ? " asked 
 Dr. Bland. 
 
 " It is perfectly true," I replied. " We expect the young 
 widow, Lady Jesmond, and her son here to-day." 
 
 " True ? I did not believe it. There will be a revolution 
 amongst the people, for you are greatly beloved here, Miss 
 Gordon." 
 
 " Right is right," I answered ; " and my cousin's little 
 son is the heir to Jesmond Dene." 
 
 He said no more, but when he was gone I sought Mr. 
 Benson and told him what had occurred, and that I thought
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 it would be preferable to call all the servants together and 
 tell them what had happened rather than that they should be 
 left to hear it piecemeal from strangers. He quite agreed 
 with me ; and the whole household was gathered together in 
 the servants' hall, where Mr. Benson told them the story of 
 Paul's marriage and death, and announced that the widowed 
 Lady Jesmond, with her little son Sir Guy, was coming that 
 day to take possession. Mr. Benson told me, with tears in 
 h-s eyes, that when he had finished his narration there was 
 but one cry among the servants, and that was for Miss Gor- 
 don. They all loved Miss Gordon ; they did not want to 
 lose Miss Gordon. 
 
 " They are devotedly attached to you," he said ; and my 
 heart was comforted by the knowledge that I retained the 
 affection of those about me. 
 
 Noon came, but still there was no sound of carriage- 
 wheels. Then followed a long sultry afternoon, during which 
 Mr. Benson, who was miserably anxious and nervous, dropped 
 off to sleep. 
 
 That afternoon many callers came, for the news had spread 
 throughout the district. I ought to have been, and I was, 
 consoled by the many expressions of kindness and sympathy. 
 No one seemed to think it strange that Paul had married, or 
 that his widow should come home to claim his heritage. The 
 general impression seemed to be that it was a thousand pities 
 Sir William and his son had not been on better terms, when 
 Captain Jesmond would have had no reason to conceal his 
 marriage, and the unfortunate mistake would never have been 
 made. 
 
 The long afternoon had passed, my visitors had all de- 
 parted, and Mr. Benson had awaked from his slumbers ; still 
 there was no sound of carriage-wheels to herald the approach 
 of Lady Jesmond. 
 
 " I cannot stand much more of this kind of thing," said 
 the lawyer. " I do not think I ever knew what suspense 
 meant before." 
 
 " I have ordered dinner for seven," I said. And just as 
 I uttered the words we heard the sound, so long and anxi- 
 ously awaited, of carriage-wheels. " They are here ! " I cried. 
 
 But no warning came to me of what was to follow in the 
 wake of the home-coming of Lady Jesmond.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " SHALL you go to meet Lady Jesmond ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied ; " she shall have a kindly welcoir/e 
 home." 
 
 I went out into the entrance-hall, and there I saw three 
 figures. One was that of a tiny child, crying with fatigue ; 
 the second was a tall elderly woman dressed in deep mourn- 
 ing, who seemed to be a nurse ; the third, a tall graceful lady 
 dressed in deep black crape. This was the young widow, 
 Lady Jesmond. I went to her with outstretched hands for 
 was she not Paul's widow ? but she did not or would not see 
 them ; for she merely gave me a cool little nod, and said 
 
 " Are you Felicia Gordon ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " Mr. Benson told me about you," she said. " Is he here ? 
 I am Lady Jesmond." 
 
 " Mr. Benson is here," I replied, " and has been anxiously 
 expecting you." 
 
 " I hope," she said, " that we are in time for dinner ; I 
 am very hungry. It has been a tiresome journey." 
 
 I had had some faint idea of falling on her neck and bid- 
 ding her welcome to the home that I was about to relinquish 
 to her some faint idea of telling her how I bade her welcome 
 for Paul's sake ; but the manner in which she met my advan- 
 ces checked my ardor. It was evident the lady felt no emotion 
 on reaching the home of her husband's boyhood. She was 
 hungry ! 
 
 " Dinner is at seven," I answered ; and she must have 
 noticed the change in my voice, for she looked at me. 
 
 " Seven ! " she repeated. " Why, it is only just six now ! " 
 
 Then I turned from her, and Heaven knows, although he 
 had deprived me of my inheritance, tears of honest affection 
 filled my eyes when I saw Paul's little son. I should have 
 known the child was Paul's, no matter where I had seen him, 
 his face was so like his father's. He had the same dark 
 laughing eyes, with a golden light in their depths, the same 
 brows, the same dark curls.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 305 
 
 " Why," I cried, " this child is the living image of dear 
 Paul ! " ' 
 
 Lady Jesmond turned to me quickly, and there was a 
 strange inflection in her voice. 
 
 " Did you know Paul ? " she asked. 
 
 " I knew him well when he was a boy," I answered. " I 
 knew him here at Jesmond Dene. I was his cousin." 
 
 " Yes, I know that Mr. Benson told me ; but I was not 
 aware that you knew him," she remarked. Then her voice 
 softened a little as she said, " I shall like to talk to you about 
 him." 
 
 When she uttered these words, the bright handsome face 
 of my dead cousin rose before me, and seemed to ask plead- 
 ingly for kindness to his wife. She should receive it from 
 me for the sake of olden days. 
 
 I took the bonny little fellow into my arms and caressed 
 him fondly. He ceased crying, and looked with piteous eyes 
 into my face. 
 
 " Mamma," he cried, " mamma ! " 
 
 " I am here, Guy," replied Lady Jesmond quickly. " Be 
 a good boy, dear." 
 
 " He is tired," I said, " Shall I take him to the nursery 
 we have prepared for him ? It is the same his father had." 
 
 I saw her make a quick gesture to the woman who stood 
 near. She came forward instantly. 
 
 " I am the child's nurse," she said, and prepared to take 
 him from me ; but the little fellow resisted all her efforts and 
 clasped his baby arms tightly round my neck. 
 
 "Never mind, nurse," interposed Lady Jesmond. "If 
 Miss Gordon likes to trouble herself with a tiresome child, 
 let her ; I am sure it is very kind of her. Guy must be good," 
 she added, turning to the little fellow, who still clung eagerly 
 to me. 
 
 The sound of her voice, sweet and musical as it was, did 
 not seem to appease the child. Again in a piteous voice he 
 cried 
 
 " Mamma ! " 
 
 " I am here," Lady Jesmond repeated. " You had better 
 take him, nurse ; he seems inclined to be cross. I have but 
 little patience with crying children," she continued. Then, 
 turning to me, she asked, " Have you ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately for me, I have been but little with chil-
 
 306 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 dren," I said ; " but I do not think my patience would 
 fail." 
 
 " Shall I take Sir Guy now, and give him his bath, my 
 lady ? " asked the nurse. " Then I can come and help your 
 ladyship to dress." 
 
 " See that you have all you want yourself, nurse. Ring 
 for wine or tea, and see that you have every comfort," said 
 Lady Jesmond, much to my astonishment. 
 
 I thought that speech showed decided consideration for 
 others, and it pleased me. 
 
 The child continued to cry as he was carried off to the 
 nursery, and the sound was strange in that old house, where 
 children had not lived for so many years. 
 
 " He is very cross to-night," said Lady Jesmond. " I 
 wish I could break him of that absurd habit he has of always 
 crying for me." , 
 
 " It is natural enough," I answered. " Children generally 
 cry for their mothers." 
 
 " Things that are most natural are not always most pleas- 
 ant," said Lady Jesmond, decidedly. 
 
 And then I wondered whether she had any heart, whether 
 she felt any emotion on coming to this her husband's home 
 the place where his boyish days had been spent. 
 
 "It must have been a trial," I said to her, " for you to 
 come home without Paul." 
 
 " Yes, a great trial," she replied ; but there was no note 
 of regret or pain in the calm sweet voice. " I .think, Miss 
 Gordon, I will go to my room now. I have brought no maid 
 with me ; perhaps I can have a little assistance from yours." 
 
 " With pleasure,''' I replied. 
 
 During all this time she had stood with her traveling 
 cloak, which was slightly edged with fur, even though it was 
 summer, drawn tightly around her, and her face closely veiled. 
 
 " I am afraid," I said, " that you feel cold." 
 
 " Cold ! " she repeated, in a tone of wonder. 
 
 " Most people suffer much from cold when they first 
 come from India," I remarked. 
 
 " Yes ; I suffered greatly the first few days after my arri- 
 val in England. I did not attempt to leave the house for a 
 fortnight, but postponed my visit to Mr. Benson until I felt 
 a little seasoned. Now I will go to my room." 
 
 I did not ask her where she had been staying, or with
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 307 
 
 whom. She was not the kind of person with whom I felt I 
 could take such a liberty, however kind the intention might 
 be. 
 
 My maid was summoned, and showed her ladyship to her 
 room. I was left with conflicting sensations, and I seemed 
 quite unable to form any idea of the character of my newly- 
 found cousin. If any one had asked me whether I liked her, 
 I could not have answered the question. 
 
 I hastened to give aunt Annette, who was anxiously await- 
 ing me, an account of the interview. I could not tell her 
 what I thought of Lady Jesmond, for I . had no definitely- 
 formed opinion upon the point. I told her all about the 
 pretty child with his father's face, and the elderly nurse, and 
 of Lady Jesmond's solicitude for her. 
 
 "That speaks well for her," said aunt Annette. "Good 
 women are always thoughtful for their servants." 
 
 Why did those words haunt me "good as she is beauti- 
 ful ? " 
 
 I did not go down-stairs until the dinner-bell rang ; when 
 I did so, I found Mr. Benson alone in the dining-room. Her 
 ladyship had not yet come down. 
 
 " Well ? " he cried, eagerly, and waited for me to speak. 
 
 The next moment the rustling of silk and crape told us 
 that Lady Jesmond was near. 
 
 I cannot describe what I felt when I beheld her lady- 
 ship's marvelous loveliness. I have never seen anything like 
 it ; it was perfect, surpassing loveliness ; and with it was 
 that subtle irresistible charm which men call fascination. 
 As I gazed at her, Lady Saxon's words came back to me 
 " a worshiper of beauty, dreamer of dreams." 
 
 Tall and slender, her figure was the very perfection of 
 grace. She had such shapely shoulders as are rarely seen ; 
 and, lightly veiled by thin black crape, they shown white as 
 alabaster through their gauzy covering. Her hands were 
 delicate and white, and were adorned with many valuable 
 rings ; her arms were as though they had been sculptured. 
 She was a blonde of the purest type ; even the hot sun of 
 India had not marred the faultless delicacy of her com- 
 plexion. Her eyes were blue, large, bright, and clear, full of 
 fire, with a gleam of passion eyes that could smile and flash, 
 that could woo with all sweetness and " scorn with all fire " 
 eyes that startled by their unusual brightness and their
 
 BUT FALSE. 
 
 depth of expression. The brows were dark and straight 
 Her mouth was perfect, with the most alluring dimples ; yet 
 there was in the short upper lip something that told of pride 
 and scorn. From her crown of golden hair to her dainty 
 little feet, she was simply a masterpiece of Nature's handi- 
 work, without one blemish in her fair loveliness. 
 
 Even Mr. Benson's calm face flushed as he hastened to 
 greet her with a low bow and extended hand. 
 
 " I am glad to see you looking so well, Lady Jesmond," 
 he said. 
 
 She looked at him with a world of mischief in her eyes. 
 
 " You do not say ' Welcome to Jesmond ! ' " she remarked, 
 playfully. " That is because Miss Gordon is here, and you 
 think it would hardly be in good taste. You are right, but 
 Miss Gordon and I are already very good friends." 
 
 Mr. Benson was quite at a loss how to reply to these 
 candid utterances. It seemed that her beauty had robbed 
 him of all power of speech. She then turned to me with an 
 amused smile, and I could see that she was gratified by my 
 look of admiration. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LADY JESMOND went at once to the head of the table, taking 
 her place there as though it had been her custom for years. 
 She smiled and nodded familiarly at me as she took her 
 seat, but made no remark. She talked gayly and brilliantly 
 during dinner, and did not seem at all conscious of being in 
 a strange position ; nor did she appear to realize that her 
 coming could have caused me any pain. She spoke without 
 constraint, and evidently had nothing to conceal. She looked 
 round the luxuriously-appointed dinner-table with undisguised 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " It seems a strange turn pf fate that has brought me 
 here," she said, " and made me mistress of all this wealth 
 pro tern" 
 
 " You can scarcely call it ''pro tern,' " said Mr. Benson. 
 " Your son is a long way from his twenty-first birthday. How 
 old is he now ? " 
 
 " He will be two years old in September," she replied ;
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 309 
 
 *' so that I shall be queen-regent for almost twenty years. I 
 shall heartily enjoy my regency in this delightful spot." 
 
 I looked at Mr. Benson, and he at me. The words struck 
 me as exceedingly strange, for it is not often that one hears 
 a young widow speak of the years she must pass without the 
 society of her husband as enjoyable ones. 
 
 " Did my cousin Paul talk much about Jesmond Dene ? " 
 I asked her. 
 
 " Not very much," she replied. 
 
 " Did he seem angry with Sir William ? " asked Mr. 
 Benson. 
 
 " No not angry that is not the word," she answered, 
 quickly. " He was vexed at what he considered his mean- 
 ness." 
 
 " It was strange that Captain Jesmond made no allusion 
 to his marriage," remarked Mr. Benson. 
 
 Lady Jesmond laughed, giving her head a dainty little 
 toss at the same time. 
 
 " I do not think so," she answered. " I had no fortune, 
 and all Sir William's letters to his son on the subject of mat- 
 rimony began and ended with one piece of advice he must 
 marry some one with money. Unluckily I had none." 
 
 " You could not expect to monopolize all the good gifts 
 of this world," said the lawyer politely. 
 
 She laughed ; and truly her laugh was like a silvery 
 chime. 
 
 " Paul said he should never write to Sir William about his 
 marriage, but, when he could get leave of absence, he should 
 bring me home. He had an idea that I was quite irresistible, 
 and that Sir William had only to see me to love me," said 
 Lady Jesmond, looking into the lawyer's face with an expres- 
 sion which fairly bewildered that good man. "What do you 
 think, Mr. Benson ? Would Sir William have liked me ? " 
 she asked ingenuously. 
 
 " I am afraid he liked nothing but gold," the lawyer an- 
 swered. 
 
 She laughed merrily, disclosing as she did so her even 
 pearly white teeth. 
 
 " I had no idea," she remarked presently, " that Jesmond 
 Dene was so extensive, or that Sir William was so rich. Paul 
 spoke of him as a wealthy man ; but I did not think he had 
 such unbounded wealth."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 " It is a pleasant surprise," said Mr. Benson. 
 
 " Very pleasant," replied Lady Jesmond, with a bright 
 little laugh. " When one has suffered all one's life as I have 
 for want of money, such a surprise is, I can assure you, fully 
 appreciated." 
 
 I liked her better after these outspoken expressions. 
 She was evidently not in the least ashamed of having been 
 poor. 
 
 " More than half the world live in misery from want of 
 money," she continued. " My parents were comparatively 
 poor, and I had to leave home when I was quite a girl to 
 earn my own living." 
 
 Mr. Benson ventured to suggest that early contact with the 
 world helped to form and brace the character. 
 
 " If it be so, I have had a long experience," she said 
 laughingly, " for I began to teach when I was very young." 
 
 No, certainly she had no false pride. I had never heard 
 any one speak more openly, and I liked her for it. 
 
 When dinner was over, we left Mr. Benson with his bottle 
 of favorite old port, and returned to the drawing-room. Lady 
 Jesmond appeared absorbed in deep thought, and it was only 
 when I was about to leave the room to visit aunt Annette 
 that she broke the silence. 
 
 " Stay with me, will you, Miss Gordon ? " she said. " I 
 feel lonely and strange to-night." 
 
 " Ah, then," I thought to myself, " she is not devoid of 
 feeling ; but her strong will keeps the emotional side of her 
 nature hidden from the world ! " 
 
 " I will stay with pleasure, if you desire it," I answered. 
 
 She crossed the room, and came over to where I was 
 standing. How well I remember the scene ! The sun had 
 set and the lovely landscape was shrouded as by a misty veil. 
 The French windows were wide open, and the perfume borne 
 on the evening air filled the room. 
 
 " What a fair sweet night ! " I remarked. 
 
 She looked calmly from the window ; there was no admira- 
 tion in her eyes. 
 
 " It is well enough," she said ; and then, laying her hands 
 on my shoulders, and looking down for she was taller than 
 I into my face, she added slowly, " Miss Gordon, you have 
 reason to hate me and my little son."
 
 FAIR B UT FALSE. 3 j j 
 
 " I have no reason to entertain any such feeling toward 
 you or the child," I replied half indignantly. 
 
 " How long have you been here ? " she asked. 
 
 " I came at the beginning of February," I answered. 
 
 " Time enough for you to grow deeply attached to Jesmond 
 Dene," she remarked, in slow measured tones. 
 
 " I love it with all my heart," I confessed. 
 
 " You have grown accustomed to receiving a large income 
 to doing what you liked with vast sums of money ? " 
 
 " I was not long in learning the lesson," I answered, with 
 a smile. " Mr. Benson tells me that you have begun many 
 improvements on the estate that you are building schools, 
 an hospital and almshouses." 
 
 " It is true, Lady Jesmond." 
 
 " He tells me also that you are already a model lady of the 
 manor." 
 
 " He is very kind to say so," I answered, with a glow of 
 pride at the thought that my honest endeavors had been 
 appreciated. 
 
 " Do you know, Miss Gordon," she said, drawing nearer 
 to me, " I am exceedingly sorry ? Not sorry that my son 
 will succeed to what you have looked upon as your inheritance ; 
 but I am truly grieved because of the great loss you have 
 sustained." 
 
 She spoke so kindly that my heart was touched. 
 
 " It is," I admitted, " a great loss. Still I have no right 
 to complain of the course events have taken. It is right 
 that Paul's son should inherit what is legally his. I do not 
 see that any one is to blame." 
 
 " You might have been spared the pain of all this had 
 more care been exercised by those whose duty it was to make 
 the fullest inquiries," she said. 
 
 " Yes ; but I shall not give up all hope and pleasure in 
 life because I have lost Jesmond Dene." 
 
 She looked at me earnestly so earnestly that I could 
 not be offended when she said 
 
 " You are beautiful enough to marry well." 
 
 " I shall not redeem my fallen fortunes by marriage," I an- 
 swered ; but my heart throbbed wildly and my face flushed 
 as I spoke. Marriage meant love, love meant Nello ; and 
 again the music of the nightingales seemed to ring in my 
 ears, and I heard him whisper" Felicia,"
 
 3 1 2 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 " Well," said Lady Jesmond, " we won't speculate as to 
 what might have been, but will confine ourselves to the stern 
 reality of what is. I thought when I came here that you 
 would be my bitterest enemy, that you might possibly contest 
 my claim." 
 
 " No one could contest your claim who had looked into 
 little Guy's face," I replied, " for he is the very image of 
 Paul." 
 
 " Still it was in your power to make things very disagree- 
 able," she continued. "You might have given me much 
 trouble ; but you have yielded at once so generously, so 
 gracefully, so kindly, and, I may add, so nobly, that I cannot 
 help saying I am deeply grateful to you for my son's sake. 
 I thank you, Miss Gordon. And now I want to ask a favor 
 of you. Will you stay here at Jesmond Dene with me for a 
 year at the very least ? I do not know what your plans for 
 the future may be ; but this I promise you you shall not 
 leave Jesmond Dene without a handsome dowry. Before 
 anything is settled, give me the promise that you will remain 
 with me for one year not as mistress of the house, but as 
 my companion and helpmate. You say you loved your cousin 
 Paul promise me for his sake." 
 
 " Will you tell me why you require that promise, why 
 you desire me to stay with you, Lady Jesmond ? " 
 
 " Yes, as frankly as you ask. I am a stranger here, and 
 shall feel lonely. The position is new to me, and I do not 
 quite know how to fill it. I should be glad to learn from 
 you, if you will teach me. I am not accustomed to the man- 
 agement of a large household, and I am not sure even whether 
 I understand what is and what is not etiquette in England. 
 Will you stay and teach me ? " 
 
 In response to her earnest pleading eyes. I promised, 
 not that I would remain with her for a year, but that I would 
 stay as long as I could. 
 
 " So much may happen in a year," J thought to myself : 
 I would not promise for a year.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 313 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ON the following morning Lady Jesmond asked me to 
 show her over the house. It was still early when we went 
 through all the suites of luxuriously furnished rooms . 
 
 " I had no idea the place was so large," she said time 
 after time ; and the more she saw of it the more serious she 
 grew. " What a place to lose and to win ! " she murmured. 
 " How could Paul leave such a home ? " she added wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 " He preferred independence to luxury," I answered. 
 
 Then from the lawn I pointed out to her all the beauties 
 of Jesmond Dene the restless sea in the distance ; the frag- 
 rant pine forest ; the shady woods ; the clear deep river ; the 
 fertile meadow-lands ah, and even the steep green hill from 
 which I had surveyed the smiling landscape, believing it to 
 be mine all mine ! 
 
 " It must be hard for you to give it up, Miss Gordon," 
 she said again. 
 
 " It is hard ; but I shall do it with a good grace," I an- 
 swered. Then, thinking that she would like to see her boy, I 
 suggested that we should go to the nursery. 
 
 "What for?" she asked, opening wide her bright blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " To see little Guy," I replied. 
 
 " He is all right," she said curtly ; " nurse will tak good 
 care of him. The little gentleman lives in clover, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " What is the nurse's name ? " I asked suddenly, without 
 any particular reason. 
 
 For a moment I wns startled by the change that over- 
 spread her countenance. She looked at me with a vague ex* 
 pression, as though she did not know ; then, recovering her- 
 self quickly, she answered 
 
 " Mrs. Rivers." 
 
 " Has she been with you long ? " I asked. 
 
 " NO," she replied carelessly ; " J brought no nurse with
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 me from India. I engaged Mrs. Rivers on reaching Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " You had good references with her without doubt ? " I 
 said. 
 
 " She is well-known to some very near and dear friends 
 of mine," replied Lady Jesmond, " and is an excellent nurse. 
 I can trust little Guy with her at all times." 
 
 " She struck me as being rather a peculiar woman," I ven- 
 tured to say. 
 
 " In what way ? " asked Lady Jesmond ; and her voice 
 seemed to grow sharp and harsh. 
 
 " Rather above her station, I fancied ladylike ; and she 
 speaks well," I answered. 
 
 Suddenly the roses she had been gathering fell from her 
 hands, and I noticed that her face grew white and that a 
 slight tremor passed over her. 
 
 " You are ill, Lady Jesmond ! " I cried. 
 
 " No," she answered ; " I am only cold. Though you call 
 it summer, there is no warmth in the sun." Yet she did not 
 look cold, but frightened and ill. 
 
 Longing to see more of Paul's little son, I went to the 
 nursery when Lady Jesmond retired to her room. It struck 
 rae at once that the nurse was not very pleased to see me. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mrs. Rivers," I said. 
 
 She looked at me with an expression of blank surprise, 
 and after a moment's hesitation returned my salutation. I 
 knew from tradition that nurses are autocrats, and, as I de- 
 sired to see much of the child, I perceived that I must con- 
 ciliate her. 
 
 " May I see the little one and play with him for a short 
 time ? " I asked. 
 
 She looked at me half hesitatingly, and I felt sure that 
 she longed to say " No," but she smiled and answered po- 
 litely 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it, Miss Gordon." 
 
 And then she brought the child, who was laughing and 
 crowing with delight, to me. 
 
 I took him in my arms and caressed him ; but, when he 
 saw that I was a stranger, the merry laughter died away, and 
 the eyes so like his father's looked with pathetic inquiry into 
 mine. 
 
 V Mamma," he stid wistfully, " mamma 1 "
 
 FATK BUT FALSX. 3 1 5 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Rivers was by his side. 
 
 " Bless the dear child," she said, " that is his cay the 
 whole day long nothing but ' mamma.' " 
 
 And again the large solemn baby-eyes looked into mine, 
 as he cried 
 
 " Mamma ! " 
 
 " Your mamma is tired, little Guy," I said. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers looked up anxiously as she caught my words. 
 
 " Is Lady Jesmond tired ? She is not very strong. People 
 who come from India never are." 
 
 " As she was looking over the house with me," I answer- 
 ed, " she shivered violently, as though she was ill." 
 
 " How was that ? " she asked nervously. 
 
 " I do not know probably because she went out on the 
 lawn without hat or mantle," I answered. 
 
 " Lady Jesmond is not strong," repeated the nurse. " If 
 you would be so kind as to remain here with Sir Guy, Miss 
 Gordon, I will go and see how her ladyship is." 
 
 Quite willingly I remained with the little fellow, kissing 
 him to my heart's content. I tried to make him say " Feli- 
 cia," and, after many futile attempts, the rosy little lips man- 
 aged to murmur " Leesy," much to my delight. But what 
 question did those baby-eyes ask when they looked into my 
 face and he cried " Mamma " ? 
 
 After waiting some time, I began to feel anxious about 
 Lady Jesmond. 
 
 " Come with me, Baby Guy," I said. " We will go and 
 see mamma." 
 
 And again into his eyes came the look of wonder and 
 questioning that I had noticed before. I remember how I 
 danced the boy down the long corridors, and how his merry 
 little laugh resounded in the otherwise silent house. 
 
 Thinking Lady Jesmond might be ill, I went quietly to 
 her door. Before I had time to rap or to speak I heard 
 voices ; and then Mrs. Rivers said 
 
 " You must be careful, Gabrielle." 
 
 I knocked at once before I could hear more, and, when 
 the door was opened, and they saw me, a strange confusion 
 seemed to come over them. 
 
 " Have you been waiting long, Miss Gordon ? " asked Mrs. 
 Rivers sharply. 
 
 " No ; I have just come," I replied. And then it flashed
 
 3 X 6 FAIR B UT FALSE. 
 
 across my mind that she suspected me of listening. She would 
 not suspect me of such meanness unless she were capable of 
 it herself, I thought ; and, as I turned to her, I caught her 
 eyes fixed steadily on me. They were not the most friendly 
 glances that we exchanged. 
 
 " I was afraid that you were ill," I said to Lady Jesmond. 
 
 " I was tired this morning, Felicia," she answered gently ; 
 " and when I am tired I am afraid that I give way to fits of 
 moodiness. I am better now." 
 
 I then left, taking Baby Guy with me. But we did not 
 dance down the passages this time, for my honor had been 
 wounded by the suspicion this woman had cast upon me. 
 Why was she on such confidential terms with the mistress of 
 Jesmond Dene ? Addressing her with formal respect when 
 they were in public, why did she call her " Gabrielle " when 
 they were alone ? 
 
 Lady Jesmond was wonderfully kind to her. She had two 
 rooms most comfortably furnished, and she was waited upon 
 by an undernurse who did all the work. She had every deli- 
 cacy supplied to her, and her ladyship insisted that she should 
 take wine. Indeed no servant could have led a more com- 
 fortable life than Mrs. Rivers led. She was much attached 
 to the child, and seemed very devoted to Lady Jesmond ; but 
 there was nothing by which I could account for the strange 
 familiarity which undoubtedly existed between them. I saw 
 Lady Jesmond angry once, and I was the unintentional cause 
 of it. We were talking about the boy's future, about Eton and 
 Harrow, Oxford and Cambridge, when, quite accidentally 
 and without attaching much meaning to the words, I said 
 
 " You will have to decide upon one or the other when Mrs. 
 Rivers has gone." 
 
 Lady Jesmond turned to me with flashing eyes. 
 
 " That time will never come," she said. Mrs. Rivers will 
 never leave me." 
 
 I was surprised that she should display so much feeling 
 about such an insignificant matter. Then, seeing my look of 
 wonder, she apologized. 
 
 " I am so impatient, Felicia," she said ; " and I am very 
 much attached to nurse. I should not like to lose her." 
 
 " I hope you never will," I replied. And, though we 
 spoke of it no more, the subject did not fade from my mind.
 
 FAIR BUT FALS. 3 1 7 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A WEEK had elapsed and no news had come from Ireland. 
 Lady Saxon came over every day to Jesmond Dene, for she 
 knew I was a very willing listener to anything she had to say 
 about Nello, and his silence had caused her considerable anx- 
 iety. She was very kind and attentive to aunt Annette, whose 
 health did not improve ; but to Lady Jesmond she seemed to 
 have a quiet antipathy. They were most polite to each other 
 but rarely spoke except to exchange ordinary civilities. 
 
 " She is as you say, Felicia, a most beautiful woman ; but 
 I do not like her ; and I do not know why," Lady Saxon would 
 say to me ; while Lady Jesmond would half reproach me by 
 saying 
 
 " I cannot understand what you see in Lady Saxon. She 
 is excessively proud and haughty, almost repellent. I shall 
 never like her." 
 
 Lady Saxon was very kind to the little heir, and always 
 asked to see him when she came, never forgetting to bring 
 him presents of toys, and she soon became a favorite with the 
 child, and even the nurse. 
 
 Mr. Benson had gone away much relieved in mind. He 
 was delighted that I was going to remain for some time at 
 the Dene, that Lady Jesmond and myself were good friends, 
 and that her ladyship had insisted on making me an al- 
 lowance. 
 
 " I do not~care," she said to the lawyer, " whether the 
 money is taken from my income or my son's. Miss Gordon 
 must have it." 
 
 We lived in peace and harmony, and as the days went on 
 our friendship ripened and expanded. 
 
 " I call you Felicia," she said to me one morning ; " you 
 should call me Gabrielle. I prefer it." 
 
 And it was mutually agreed that for the future we should 
 address each other by our Christian names. 
 
 " You are sure to have a love-story, Felicia," she said, 
 after contemplating me earnestly as I stood before her ; 
 " and, unless I am a false prophet, it will not be a happy 
 one." 
 
 " Why do you think so ? " I asked her.
 
 3 1 g PAIR B t/T FALS& 
 
 " I can read it," she replied, " in your face and eyes." 
 
 " You have had a love-story of your own," I said. 
 
 " I," she cried, her brilliant eyes opened wide " I ? Oh, 
 no ; I have had no love-story." 
 
 " But you married Paul for love ? " I said ; and her face 
 flushed crimson. 
 
 She laughed, and seemed slightly confused. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Felicia," she said, " I feel thai I 
 could love more deeply, more passionately than I loved Paul. 
 I was young, and marriage presented an easy escape from 
 those tiresome children. Besides, I had a great desire to be 
 Lady Jesmond. I did love Paul, but I am sure that I could 
 love more deeply than I loved him." 
 
 " You do not mean to say that you would marry again, 
 Gabrielle ? " I cried, in astonishment. 
 
 " I am certain I shall if I fall in love and the right man 
 asks me ; " and she laughed. " You look disappointed, 
 Felicia." 
 
 " I have hitherto thought of you as belonging entirely to 
 Paul and little Guy and Jesmond Dene," I answered. 
 
 " You thought I should be an ideal widow and live here . 
 in seclusion, devoting myself entirely to the education of my 
 son and the cultivation of a lifelong sorrow. But I do not 
 aim at such perfection." 
 
 " Your heart is not buried in your husband's grave," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " No ; it is beating, living full of hope, light, and longing 
 for pleasures and gayeties. I shall stay here at Jesmond 
 Dene quietly for a year, and then you will see what will 
 happen, Felicia." 
 
 " You are by no means a model widow," I said. 
 
 " I am just a trifle more honest than many," she rejoined. 
 " I was very sorry to lose Paul, and I would have done any- 
 thing to save his life ; but, as it was the will of Heaven that 
 he should die, I do not see why the remainder of my life 
 should be all darkness and gloom ; do you ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, if the loss of him does not make it so," I 
 answered. 
 
 " I am ambitious," she said. " I intend to marry well, 
 unless my ambition is spoiled by love." 
 
 We were standing on the balcony outside the library 
 window which commanded an excellent view of the river and
 
 PAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 319 
 
 the long avenue of chestnuts forming the drive. Never had 
 I seen Lady Jesmond look fairer. The fresh morning air 
 had tinted her cheeks with a delicate rose-bloom, her blue 
 eyes were bright as stars, and the light summer wind toyed 
 gently with the loosened masses of bright waving hair. 
 
 " Who is that ? " she asked suddenly, pointing to a tall 
 figure striding up the avenue toward the Hall. 
 
 A spray of roses prevented me from seeing him for a 
 moment ; but, on pushing it hastily aside, I saw that it was 
 Lord Saxon. 
 
 " Who is that ? " repeated Lady Jesmond. " What a 
 splendid man ! " Her face flushed, and her eyes shone with 
 a brightness such as I had not seen in them before. " Felicia, 
 how slow you are ! Who is he ? " she cried. 
 
 But my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, and in 
 vain I tried to give utterance to his name. 
 
 " I have seen many handsome men," she said, " but never 
 one like him." 
 
 I shall never forget the expression of suppressed emotion 
 on her face as she watched him. 
 
 " Do you know him ? Who is he ? " she repeated. 
 
 " It is Lord Saxon," I answered. 
 
 " Lord Saxon of Dunroon ? You do not mean to say 
 that is Lady Saxon's son ? I was just beginning to hate the 
 very sound of his name, for she never seems to speak of any 
 one else ; but, if that is her son, I at once abjure my dislike, 
 and will listen all day long while she talks of him." 
 
 I heard the sound of footsteps, and a servant's voice an- 
 nounced 
 
 "Lord Saxon." 
 
 I turned quickly, and, in doing so, I saw his first look at 
 her. I saw how his eyes flashed, I saw the gleam of admira- 
 tion that he could not control, and I knew that his beauty-lov- 
 ing nature was taken captive by her loveliness. 
 
 He looked at her in silence for a few moments ; and then 
 with difficulty, as I could see, he withdrew his eyes from her 
 and looked at me. 
 
 " Miss Gordon," he said, " I am glad to see you again." 
 
 But oh, Heaven, something was missing from his voice 
 that I might never hear again ! It was not the tender voice 
 that had whispered " Felicia " when we stood on the lawn on 
 that memorable moonlit night.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 I held out my hand to him, but my heart was too full for 
 my lips to give utterance to words. Lord Saxon murmured 
 something to me ; I was conscious only that he desired an 
 introduction. 
 
 Briefly I introduced Lord Saxon to Lady Jesmond. 
 
 He spoke first, and she listened as with charmed ears; 
 and, as she responded to his greeting, his eyes seemed riveted 
 by the fair loveliness of her face. He stood like one fasci- 
 nated, unconscious of everything around him but the dazzling 
 brilliancy of Gabrielle, Lady Jesmond. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN hour passed, and still the conversation was kept up 
 with unflagging interest. All Lady Jesmond's powers of 
 fascination were brought into play. Once or twice his lord- 
 ship turned to me with some commonplace remark, and then 
 at one bright smile from her he instantly forgot me. We 
 were still out on the balcony, Lord Saxon seated by her side, 
 whilst I stood gazing at the roses with a faint sad heart. 
 What had happened that the light seemed to have left the 
 sun and the fragrance to have fled from the flowers ? 
 
 Lord Saxon was " a lover of beauty and a dreamer of 
 dreams " I knew it and, now that he had met with a 
 woman of surpassing loveliness, he would worship at her 
 shrine. Why need I mind ? With a smile on my face I stood 
 there whilst my heart was slowly breaking; for I knew, just 
 as well as if they had disclosed their thoughts, that a passion- 
 ate mutual love was burning in their hearts. He could never 
 have loved me ; it had been but a passing fancy. This 
 woman had stormed his heart with her beauty, and he had 
 surrendered. 
 
 AVhen the feeling of pain had somewhat moderated, I 
 heard what they were saying. 
 
 " Not ride !" cried Lord Saxon. " I thought all ladies 
 rode in India !" 
 
 " I was an exception," she said. " It is the one accom- 
 plishment above all others that I miss."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 321 
 
 11 Let me teach you," he begged eagerly. 
 
 "You would not like the trouble," she said coquettishly. 
 
 " Trouble !" he repeated. " Why, it would give me the 
 greatest pleasure and delight ! " 
 
 " We will speak of it later," she said. 
 
 Then came an interruption, in the shape of a message 
 from the nursery, saying that Mrs. Rivers would be glad if 
 Lady Jesmond would go there at once, as Sir Guy did not 
 seem well. 
 
 Nello and I were left on the balcony alone. Had he come 
 to talk to me of the silvery moon and the nightingales' song ? 
 Alas, alas, his eyes followed Lady Jesmond, and, when she 
 had vanished from his sight, he stood with a dreamy, musing 
 smile on his lips 1 
 
 "He is a dreamer of dreams," I said to myself, whilst a 
 bitter pain seized my heart ; " and now they are of her, not 
 of me." 
 
 " Felicia," he said, turning to me, " I cannot tell you how 
 grieved and distressed I am at your sudden reversal of for- 
 tune. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read my 
 mother's letter, and found that Jesmond Dene was no longer 
 yours. Do you feel the loss greatly ?" 
 
 His words were kind enough, but the very kindness was as 
 a dagger thrust into my heart ; it showed me how completely 
 his love was dead. 
 
 The loss of Jesmond Dene was so trifling to me in com- 
 parison with this other and greater loss that I could have 
 laughed at the question ; but I answered it soberly enough. 
 
 " I feel it most deeply ; but I do not resent it. I loved 
 my cousin Paul, and I am glad that his son will have the 
 estate." 
 
 " You are very noble and very good," he said. " I have 
 thought a great deal about it, and I cannot express to you 
 how glad I am to see you carry such a brave heart, Felicia. 
 Have you decided yet what you will do ? " 
 
 I could have cried out in my anguish that I had hoped, 
 had thought that he was coming to settle my future for me ; 
 but I shrouded myself in a mantle of pride. If his love for 
 me was so weak that it had died at sight of a fairer face, 
 what had it been worth ? 
 
 I told him that I had decided on nothing that for the
 
 322 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 present I should remain with Lady Jesmond, as she had 
 asked me ; also that my aunt was too ill to be removed. 
 
 " I should like to see your cousin Paul's little son," he 
 said. " Certainly his widow is the most beautiful woman I 
 ever seen." 
 
 " And you worship beauty," I remarked bitterly. 
 
 How deaf he was to the anguish that rang in my voice ! 
 He laughed frankly, apparently unaware of the pain he had 
 caused me. 
 
 " So my mother said, Felicia ; and I am afraid it is true. 
 But I want to talk to you of yourself." 
 
 When Lady Jesmond returned to the room, laughing at 
 the nurse's anxiety and unnecessary alarm, he immediately 
 left me ; and the next moment I heard him beseeching Lady 
 Jesmond to drive over to Dunroon. 
 
 " I should like to show you the place " he said. " Felicia 
 will drive over with you." 
 
 " I will think about it," answered Lady Jesmond. " I 
 never make hurried promises." 
 
 " Felicia," cried Lord Saxon, " you will bring Lady Jes- 
 mond over to Dunroon ? " 
 
 " When she likes to go." 
 
 And then Lord Saxon rose to depart. He must really go, 
 he said ; he had stayed much longer than he ought. But 
 even after that declaration he lingered, talking to her, and 
 watching her every movement with admiring eyes. 
 
 So this was the prosaic end of my love story ! Had he 
 cared for me ? I could not tell ; but I believed he had, or 
 he would not have kissed me. He had loved me with a 
 feeble apology for love which had died when he saw the fair 
 face of Lady Jesmond. I had tasted happiness but to lose 
 it ; I had dreamed my love-dream but to wake and find it 
 vanished. I had been unspeakably happy for a few days, 
 and now, without any warning, the cup of happiness had 
 been dashed from my lips, the blissful delusion had been 
 dispelled. 
 
 When Lord Saxon had gone, Lady Jesmond turned to me. 
 
 " Felicia," she cried, " you are a greater mystery than 
 ever to me. Imagine knowing such a man as that, and never 
 speaking of him ! You must be as unimpressionable as 
 marble." 
 
 " You never liked Lady Saxon," I made excuse.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 323 
 
 " It did not follow that I should not like her son," she 
 said, and then added, " I have a presentiment that I shall 
 become his wife." 
 
 " You must wait until he asks you," I ventured to sug- 
 gest. 
 
 " Yes ; and I can make him ask me whenever I like," she 
 said laughingly. " Why, Felicia, did you not see ? " 
 
 " See what ? " I asked impatiently. 
 
 " Why, that he was in love with me from the first moment 
 that we met ! I feel it ; I am sure of it. And, Felicia, Feli- 
 cia, I am afraid my own case is like his ! He is the first man 
 I have seen whom I should care to love or marry." 
 
 " You forget Paul," I said, shocked at her words. 
 
 " I do not forget him. But, Felicia, why did you never 
 speak to me of Lord Saxon ? " 
 
 " How could I tell that the topic would interest you ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " You might have been sure, knowing what a superior man 
 he is. Now I shall cultivate his mother's friendship ; and, 
 Felicia, you will take me to Dunroon ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A YEAR passed, and to me it was one of slow torturing 
 agony. My strength deserted me, the color faded from my 
 cheeks, the light from my eyes, but I kept my secret. No 
 one, except perhaps Lady Saxon, had the faintest idea that I 
 had ever cared for the handsome lord of Dunroon. 
 
 It was impossible for me not to watch Nello and Lady 
 Jesmond as they sauntered amid the trees and flowers, hef 
 bright lovely face and golden hair contrasting with his dark, 
 proud, manly beauty. Never was lover more devoted than 
 Lord Saxon. He came every day, sometimes twice ; and I 
 could hear his voice calling " Gabrielle, Gabrielle ! " as he 
 sought for her in the grounds. He was proud of her love, 
 and he gloried in her brilliant beauty. If by any chance he 
 came when she was engaged or absent, he would pour out all 
 his passionate loving thoughts of her to me. Lashings from
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 a fiery whip could not have stung me more ; but I listened 
 with a smile on my lips, though every word lacerated my 
 heart. As for Lady Jesmond, she gave herself up completely 
 to her love-dream. 
 
 " I talked of ambition once," she said to me ; " I never 
 could have had any. I would marry Lord Saxon if he were a 
 peasant instead of a prince, as he is." 
 
 " Do you love him so much? " I asked. 
 
 " Love him," she exclaimed, with a warm glow on her 
 face " love him ? That is a weak expression, Felicia. It 
 is something deeper and stronger than simple love. I always 
 knew," she continued, " that if ever I loved at all, it would 
 be in terrible earnest. I wish I had more moderation and 
 greater self-control." 
 
 They were acknowledged lovers when she spoke in that 
 enthusiastic fashion ; but no time had been settled for the 
 marriage. My aunt Annette was still lying ill, and Lady 
 Saxon was miserable. 
 
 " I do not like Lady Jesmond," she said to me one day 
 when we were alone ; " I have never likecl her, and I never 
 shall. I do not trust her. There is something strange and 
 mysterious in her manner which repels even more than her 
 glittering loveliness. I am anxious that my son should be 
 happy ; but I wish he had chosen differently," she concluded, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 I could not help noting that there were times when Lady 
 Jesmond seemed unhappy, when she was restless and un- 
 easy, started at the least sound, grew pale when she heard 
 an unusual noise. I found her at intervals with her face 
 clouded with thought, and her bright blue eyes shadowed. It 
 struck me that she spent too much more time with Mrs. Rivers 
 than she had hitherto done. They were in constant and 
 close companionship, always talking eagerly, earnestly, and 
 in whispers. Two other things struck me as extremely sin- 
 gular how little thought Lady Jesmond bestowed upon her 
 dead husband and how little love she showed for her child. 
 All her interest centered in Lord Saxon. 
 
 The month of June had come round again, and still I was 
 an inmate of Jesmond Dene. I could not leave, first because 
 I had solemnly promised to remain for a time, and secondly 
 because my aunt Annette, who was lying ill with a spinal 
 complaintj could hardly endure my being out of her presence,
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 325 
 
 All nature smiled in the summer sun, and the nightingales 
 once again awoke the echoes of the night with their melodi- 
 ous song. 
 
 At the close of a sultry day, when the moon was shining 
 over the trees, I went quietly to hear the nightingales, as I 
 had once gone with Nello. Bitter were my thoughts, hot and 
 bitter were my tears. She had taken him from me, this beauti- 
 ful woman whose little son had deprived me of my inherit- 
 ance. 
 
 It was a luxury to be alone, to pour forth unrestrainedly 
 the agony of my heart, to crouch down on the long soft grass 
 and sob out my grief. They were singing so exquisitely, the 
 nightingales, and yet the sweet music seemed to tear my very 
 heart. He would have loved me and married me but for her ! 
 Heaven forgive me in that moment I hated her ! Ah, if 
 she had but remained in India if my cousin Paul had but 
 lived ! And the plaint of Bianca among the nightingales came 
 home to me. 
 
 " She had not reached him at my heart 
 
 With her fine tongue, as snakes indeed 
 Kill flies ; nor had I, for my part, 
 
 Yearned after, in my desperate need, 
 And followed him, as he did her, 
 
 To coasts left bitter by the tide, 
 Whose very nightingales, elsewhere 
 
 Delighting, torture and deride ; 
 For still they sing, the nightingales. 
 
 " I would not for her white and pink, 
 
 Though such he lirtes, her grace of limb, 
 Though such he has praised, nor yet I think 
 
 For life itself, though spent with him, 
 Commit such sacrilege, affront 
 
 God's nature, which is love, intrude 
 Twixt two affianced souls, and hunt 
 
 Like spiders in the altar wood 
 I cannot bear those nightingales I 
 
 " If she chose sin, some gentler guise 
 
 She might have sinned in, so it seems. 
 She might have pricked out both my eyes, 
 
 And I still seen him in my dreams, 
 Or drugged me in my soup or wine, 
 
 Nor left me angry afterward. 
 To die here with his hand in mine, 
 
 His breath upon me, were not hard. 
 Our Lady, hush those nightingales !
 
 326 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 u Sing they so, 
 
 And you be silent ? Do I speak. 
 And you not hear ? An arm you throw 
 
 Round some one, and I feel so weak. 
 Oh, owl-like birds 1 They sing for spite, 
 
 They sing for hate, they sing for doom ; 
 They'll sing through death who sing through night, 
 
 The'll sing and stun me in the tomb 
 The nightingales, the nightingales ! " 
 
 In the madness of my despair I realized how much I had 
 loved him. He would be standing now on the balcony with 
 her ; he would be worshiping the beauty of her fair face, his 
 arm encircling her waist, and he would kiss her lovely lips. 
 And I was lying there, lonely, desolate, and broken-hearted ! 
 Was it just ? I cried to the silent shining heavens. She had 
 everything, she had had the trusting love of my bright young 
 cousin ; she was the mother of his heir ; she was mistress of the 
 home that had been mine ; she had money, lands ; and _now 
 she had taken him ! Was it fair, because she had the bright- 
 ness of the stars in her eyes and the sheen of the sun in her 
 hair, that she should take him from me ? Was it fair that 
 she should stand in the circle of his arm, and I lie forsaken 
 there ? Was it fair that she should take his caresses and his 
 kisses while I stretched out my arms to the empty air ? 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ! 
 
 THERE was a surprise in store for me when I returned 
 from my dismal ramble. I found that Lord Saxon had re- 
 mained rather later than usual, and that Lady Jesmond had 
 discarded her widow's weeds. Never shall I forget the vision 
 of loveliness that met my dazed eyes. She wore a dress of 
 pale violet velvet, which contrasted well with her golden 
 tresses and exquisite complexion. I had seen, not many 
 days before, Lord Saxon take the little crape cap from her 
 head, and all her shining hair fall in a glorious mass of rip- 
 ples and waves about her shapely shoulders. 
 
 " It is more than a sin to cover such hair," he 
 looked up to him with sudden gravity.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 327 
 
 " I hope," she answered calmly, " that I shall never com- 
 mit a greater." 
 
 " I do not think you could commit a sin if you tried," he 
 said, his eyes looking into hers with deep yearning love ; and, 
 to my surprise, instead of smiling, her gravity deepened. 
 
 The remembrance of her dazzling beauty of that evening 
 will never leave me. I remember, too, how she sung to him, 
 and how he leaned admiringly over her chair and drank in 
 the music of her sweet voice ; and then they went out on to 
 the balcony, where he bade her good-night, bending down 
 and kissing her lips, and breathing passionate words into her 
 ears which seemed to stir her into new life. 
 
 Then he was gone ; and she stood gazing after him with 
 a smile sweet and tender, such as I had seldom seen on her 
 face before. 
 
 We stood together once more ; her face was full of emo- 
 tion, her eyes were full of tears of joy. 
 
 " I will be a good woman my whole life long," she said 
 suddenly, " I will be as good as woman can be ; for, oh, 
 Felicia, I am so happy I am so unutterably happy ! Do 
 you know what has happened ? " 
 
 " No," I answered faintly ; but my heart told me what 
 was coming. 
 
 Two warm soft arms were placed round my neck, a golden 
 head nestled on my bosom, a fair bewitching face was turned 
 to mine, tears shone in the blue eyes. 
 
 "Listen to me, Felicia," she said. "I am the happiest 
 woman in the whole wide world. Oh, I will be good I will 
 indeed be good ! " 
 
 " But you are good now, Gabrielle," I said, anxious only 
 to avert the coming announcement. 
 
 " I will be better ! " she cried. " Oh, Felicia, I do not 
 deserve to be so happy ! " 
 
 The white arms tightened their clasp and the beautiful 
 head nestled more closely to me. 
 
 " I shall remember to-day above all other days," she 
 said ; " it is the happiest of my life. Felicia, I am shy at 
 telling you my good news. Lord Saxon has asked me to be 
 his wife, and wishes me to marry him this summer." 
 
 There was a dead silence as her voice died away ; the 
 smile on her face was full of unutterable content. 
 
 The blow which I had so long expected had at last fallen.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE, 
 
 I must go away, far away, where I could never hear of or see 
 either of them again ! 
 
 " This summer," she repeated ; " and, now that my hap- 
 piness is so near, I I am afraid of it afraid ! " she re- 
 peated, raising her face and kissing me. " Can you say any- 
 thing that will give me courage ? " 
 
 " You have nothing to fear," I said, with difficulty. 
 
 " Is it colder than usual to-night ? " she asked. " The 
 air is sweet with roses, but it seems to me chill ; " and I felt 
 a shudder pass over the graceful figure. " I wish," she added, 
 with sudden melancholy, " that I had my life to begin over 
 again. All people make grave mistakes at one time or an- 
 other in their lives, do they not ? " 
 
 " Very many do," I replied who had made a greater one 
 than I ? " But surely you are not among the number, Ga- 
 brielle you can have made no mistake in your life ? " 
 
 "She looked at me with wistful longing eyes. 
 
 " I did not know," she said, " that pure love brought so 
 much with it. I find the first thing is a craving to be worthy 
 of it." 
 
 " I hope you are worthy of it," I answered gravely. Her 
 curious words and manner began to make me feel anxious. 
 
 " I will try to be," she said. " Felicia," she continued, 
 drawing my face down to hers and kissing it again, " you 
 have known Nello longer than I have ; do you think, if he 
 loved any one very much, and found out that she he loved 
 had done a great wrong, he would forgive readily ? " 
 
 " It would depend altogether on the nature of the wrong 
 committed," I replied. " I should imagine that he would be 
 ready to overlook ordinary faults and weaknesses ; but there 
 are some things that he would never pardon." 
 
 " What are they ? " she asked breathlessly. 
 
 " He hates trickery and deceit," I answered. " He 
 would, I believe, almost forgive murder sooner than anything 
 of that nature." 
 
 She was looking at me with wide-opened frightened eyes. 
 
 " He would sooner forgive murder than deceit ! " she 
 echoed. 
 
 The words had a strange sound as she uttered them, and 
 made a lasting impression upon me. 
 
 " I am sure it is cold," she remarked, after a pause ; and 
 once again she shuddered.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 329 
 
 She began to pace up and down the long drawing-room. 
 
 " You will think that I am behaving strangely to-night," 
 she said, " I am uneasy ; I cannot rest." 
 
 I attempted to go, but she cried out, " Felicia, do not 
 leave me ! " 
 
 " It is strange," she said presently, with rare humility, 
 " that out of all the world of women Nello should have 
 chosen me." 
 
 " I do not think so," I replied quickly. " He loves you 
 because you are one of the most beautiful." 
 
 She looked sad and disappointed. 
 
 " Do you think it is only for my beauty that he loves 
 me ? " she asked. 
 
 " Would not that content you ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Not now," she answered slowly. " It would once ; it 
 will not satisfy me now. Love has opened my eyes to a 
 hundred things I did not know before." 
 
 " You really do not seem to have loved my cousin," I was 
 startled into saying. 
 
 " No," she replied and her eyes filled with tears " I 
 did not love Paul not in this fashion, at least." 
 
 They I advised her to go to rest. Her face was burning, 
 her eyes were shining with a strange light, her golden hair 
 had fallen over her shoulders in careless profusion. Never 
 was vision of womanhood so fair ! 
 
 " I am so loath to see the happiest day of my life come 
 to an end," she said, " that I feel compelled to linger here. 
 Felicia, have you ever had what people call a presentiment ?" 
 
 " Yes, often," I answered. 
 
 " Have they been realized ? " she asked. 
 
 " More often than not," I replied. 
 
 - " I have a presentiment to night a feeling that tells me 
 to-morrow will not be like to-day." 
 
 " You will be happier than ever to-morrow," I said. 
 " Lord Saxon will come over to Jesmond Dene quite early, 
 and he will want to drive you or ride with you to one of your 
 favorite haunts. Then you will romp on the staircase with 
 little Guy ; you will go off in excellent spirits ; and you will 
 have quite forgotten your presentiment when you return." 
 
 " Good-night, Felicia," she said ; " you have comforted 
 me." 
 
 I kissed her, and said " Good-night."
 
 33 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 When I awoke the next morning, my first thought was 
 that I must go from Jesmond Dene. I could not bear to 
 remain in the place that had seen my hopes crushed and my 
 love ruthlessly blasted. 
 
 Just as I had prophesied, Lord Saxon came over quite 
 early, as he wanted to drive Lady Jesmond to St. Michael's 
 Priory, a fine ruin about ten miles distant. 
 
 " A whole day, my darling, out in the sunshine together ! " 
 I heard him say. 
 
 They went to the nursery, whence I heard issue shrill peals 
 of sweet childish laughter. I went after them with a mes- 
 sage for Lady Jesmond. Lord Saxon was tossing the child in 
 his arms, delighting and frightening him at the same time. 
 Lady Jesmond was speaking to the nurse at the other end of 
 the room, and again I caught the words, " Be careful, Gabri- 
 elle ; " and once more I wondered why the nurse should 
 presume so to address her mistress. 
 
 Nello and Lady Jesmond rode away together, and there 
 was no shadow on her lovely laughing face as she wished me 
 a pleasant " Good-morning." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE clock was striking twelve when the footman brought 
 me a card, with the announcement that the visitor had asked 
 for Lady Jesmond, but that, on being told that she was from 
 home, he had requested to see me. 
 
 Taking up the card, I read the name of Major Esmond ; 
 and I remembered that Gabrielle was living in his family, 
 teaching his children, when she first met Paul. 
 
 I hastened from my seat on the lawn to the drawing-room 
 and there found a fine, tall, soldierly man awaiting me. 
 
 " I presume I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Gordon," 
 he said, as he rose and bowed, " whom I already know well 
 by report ? I called on Mr. Benson as I passed through Lon- 
 don, and he spoke much of you. I am Major Esmond. 
 Lady Jesmond was living in my house when she met your 
 cousin Paul.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 33* 
 
 I replied that we had often spoken of those days, and that, 
 although Lady Jesmond was not just then at home, I felt 
 sure she would welcome him most cordially to Jesmond Dene. 
 I invited him to partake of some refreshment ; and, as he 
 drank a glass of sherry, he told me what had brought him 
 home. 
 
 " I have but six months' leave of absence," he said, " and 
 I had some difficulty in getting that ; but we have had a 
 lawsuit in our family which has lasted sixteen years, and I 
 have just won it. I was compelled to come to England to 
 settle affairs ; and before I left India my wife, who was 
 warmly attached to Miss Fairfax, now Lady Jesmond, begged 
 me run down to Jesmond Dene to see her. I ought to have 
 written ; but, finding myself with two days to spare, I decided 
 to come down unannounced. How is Lady Jesmond ? " 
 
 " She is exceedingly well," I answered. 
 
 " I am glad of that. She was very delicate when she left 
 India ; her husband's death was a terrible blow to her." 
 
 I thought to myself that she must have changed greatly 
 if sorrow for Paul's death had made her ill. 
 
 " It was only natural," I said. 
 
 " She was always very delicate indeed some of us thought 
 she would not stand the voyage," said the major earnestly. 
 
 " In what way was she delicate ? " I asked wonderingly, 
 for Lady Jesmond had always seemed to me the very personi- 
 fication of health and strength. 
 
 " She seemed to be consumptive," he replied ; "but I am 
 delighted to hear that she is better. 
 
 " I have never seen or known her anything but perfectly 
 well and robust." And he repeated that he was very glad to 
 hear it. 
 
 " Miss Fairfax was in delicate health the whole time she 
 lived with us," continued the major. " Mrs. Esmond was 
 always more or less anxious about her. She will be pleased 
 to hear of her perfect recovery. And how is little Sir Guy ? " 
 
 I told him how well the boy was progressing, and what a 
 pet he was ; how every one loved and indulged him. I told 
 him too what a devoted nurse he had ; and the major ap- 
 peared thoroughly delighted to hear such excellent news. 
 
 " We were very much attached to Miss Fairfax," he con- 
 tinued. " My children loved her as though she was one of 
 the family. She wast as good as she was beautiful"
 
 332 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE 
 
 Again the old familiar phrase that had puzzled me so 
 often ! I should certainly not have described Gabrielle as 
 being as good as she was fair. 
 
 " I have never seen any one so perfectly patient as she 
 was," he went on. 
 
 " Patience is the very last virtue I should attribute to 
 Lady Jesmond," I remarked, with a smile. 
 
 " You surprise me ! " he said, with a pleasant laugh. 
 Then, changing the subject, he added, " What a magnificent 
 place this is, Miss Gordon ! I had no idea that I should find 
 it so large." 
 
 " Lady Jesmond was greatly surprised when she first 
 came." 
 
 " Was she very much pleased ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes delighted," I answered. 
 
 " I am glad to hear that," said the kind-hearted soldier. 
 " I was afraid she would never take an interest in anything 
 again. Hers was so entirely a love match." 
 
 I thought of her words " Marriage provided an easy 
 escape from the slavery of teaching; besides which, I liked 
 the idea of being Lady Jesmond." Evidently the major and 
 myself viewed the beautiful Gabrielle's character from very 
 different stand-points. 
 
 I ordered luncheon for Major Esmond, and then left him 
 to rest, promising to bring Lady Jesmond to him directly she 
 returned. 
 
 After luncheon the major fell asleep, and I went to sit 
 with aunt Annette for an hour or two. 
 
 Then it occurred to me that he would probably like some 
 coffee. It was just four o'clock when I entered the drawing- 
 room, where he sat, to ask him. He looked the picture of 
 comfort, with newspapers and magazines scattered on the 
 table near him. 
 
 "If I have a weakness," said the major, " it is for coffee. 
 I shall be delighted to take a cup." 
 
 In my own mind I had decided that Lord Saxon and Ga- 
 brielle would return about five, in time to rest and dress for 
 dinner. " A whole day in the sunshine, my darling," he had 
 whispered ; and I therefore felt sure they would not hasten 
 to return. 
 
 Suddenly, just as I was inquiring whether the major would 
 take milk and sugar with his coffee, I heard the sound of
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 333 
 
 their voices. They had returned by what we called the road, 
 and had passed into the courtyard instead of riding up the 
 drive. They walked together toward the drawing-room win- 
 dows, which were wide open. 
 
 She came on, talking and laughing gayly, to her doom. 
 His arm was thrown lightly round her, after his usual caress- 
 ing fashion, and her beautiful face, wreathed in smiles, was 
 raised to his. 
 
 " Lady Jesmond has returned," I said to the major. 
 
 His face brightened perceptibly at the words. 
 
 Just at that moment her ladyship and Lord Saxon came 
 to the long open glass doors, and entered the room. 
 
 The major rose and bowed as he glanced at the beautiful 
 woman, but there was no sign of recognition between them. 
 
 I looked at her, expecting her to welcome affectionately 
 one who had been so devoted a friend to her and Paul. As 
 she did not move, I went to her. 
 
 " Gabrielle," I said, "your old friend Major Esmond is 
 on leave of absence, and has come to see you." 
 
 Then I drew back in fear and trembling, for I saw that 
 there was something terribly wrong. Her face grew colorless 
 while the light seemed suddenly to fade from her eyes, and a 
 startled fear to take possession of her. I pray Heaven that 
 I may never again witness such torture as I read on that 
 woman's face. 
 
 She did not look at the major. Her eyes sought Lord 
 Saxon, and rested piteously on his handsome face. The 
 major seemed confused and uncomfortable. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he said hesitatingly; "I am afraid 
 that I have made some mistake. It was Lady Jesmond, my 
 old friend Gabrielle Fairfax, the widow of Captain Paul Jes- 
 mond, whom I called to see." 
 
 She raised her head with desperate courage, and looked 
 into his face. There was a certain pathetic dignity in her 
 manner as her eyes met his. 
 
 " I am Lady Jesmond," she said proudly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam," returned the major. " I 
 am convinced there is a great mistake somewhere. You are 
 not the Mrs. Paul Desmond I had the honor of knowing in 
 India." 
 
 " I am Lady Jesmond," she repeated ; but the color did 
 not return to her lips, nor the light to her eyes.
 
 334 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 11 You are not the widow of the late Captain Jesmond," 
 he said. 
 
 ' ; I am the widow of Paul Jesmond," she replied. 
 
 " You are not the mother of the child who left India in his 
 o.vn mother's arms ! " he cried ; and this time his face flushed 
 \.l.h impatience, as he looked at the woman standing like a 
 .' r^.tue before him. 
 
 " I am the mother of little Guy," she answered. 
 
 " I swear before Heaven that you are not the same 
 Gabrielle Fairfax who lived in my house ! " he cried. 
 
 She paused a moment, then answered 
 
 " I am Gabrielle Fairfax." 
 
 " You are not ! " contradicted the major warmly. ''Who 
 you are, madam, is best known to yourself, and does not con- 
 cern me ; but you are not Gabrielle Fairfax, the young lady 
 who lived in my house, who taught my children, who married 
 Paul Jesmond, and whom I myself gave away at the altar. 
 Emphatically and most certainly you are not she- You might 
 as well try to make me believe that I am the Viceroy of 
 India." 
 
 " You may be for all I know to the contrary," she said, 
 with simulated pride and contempt. 
 
 " I can bring hundreds of people to prove that I am Major 
 Esmond. I do not think, madam, that you will find one who 
 can give truthful testimony to the fact that you are Lady 
 Jesmond." 
 
 And then, seeing that her face grew paler, and that she 
 trembled violently, Lord Saxon went to her. She held out 
 her arms to him, as though he were her only rock of refuge, 
 and he clasped her to his breast with a passionate cry. 
 
 " What is it, my darling ? " he said. " I do not understand. 
 Tell me what is wrong." 
 
 She rose slowly from his circling arms, and pointed to 
 Major Esmond. 
 
 " Nello," she exclaimed, " that man has insulted me ! He 
 is mad ! " 
 
 The major seemed rather relieved to have a man to deal 
 with, and when these words fell from her turned impatiently 
 to Lord Saxon. 
 
 "I am sane enough," he said; "but, mad or sane, I 
 persist in denying that that lady is Gabrielle Fairfax or Lady 
 Jesmond."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE: 
 
 335 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MAJOR ESMOND, who had at first seemed anxious and 
 distressed, now stood erect and at ease, evidently with the 
 consciousness of one who had suddenly realized that he was 
 to be the means of exposing what at present looked like a 
 gigantic fraud. The smile which had rested on his handsome 
 face was no longer there ; a stern grave expression had taken 
 its place. Lord Saxon looked perplexed and bewildered, 
 but his face was full of love and tenderness, and turned always 
 toward the woman beside him. 
 
 No idea that she could be an impostor had ever occurred 
 to me indeed the frank and open way in which she had 
 spoken of her past life, of her marriage, of my Cousin Paul, 
 of the fact that she had never been in love until now, seemed 
 to me guarantees of her identity and honesty. But there was 
 fear in the agonized face now raised beseechingly to her 
 lover startled, terrible fear ; and, if she were innocent, why 
 need she tremble at the visit of one who had acted as a father 
 toward her ? 
 
 Lord Saxon, drawing her nearer to him, turned angaily to 
 Major Esmond. 
 
 " This lady," he said, " is soon to become my wife ; any- 
 thing you may have to say against her or about her will be 
 my affair, not hers." 
 
 " With all the pleasure in the world," rejoined Major 
 Esmond. " I have nothing to say against the lady how 
 could I when this is the first time I have seen her ? How 
 could I, either, say anything about her when she is an entire 
 stranger to me ? " 
 
 " You deny her identity ! " cried Lord Saxon. 
 
 " I do not indeed. I simply affirm and repeat that this 
 lady is not Gabrielle Fairfax, who lived as governess in my 
 house. I seem," continued the major, " to have hit upon 
 some family secret or mystery of which I know nothing. The 
 case seems simple enough to me. The young lady whom I 
 seek lived in my house, where she was treated with the utmost
 
 336 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 kindness and affection. We were present at her marriage ; 
 we had the same warm feeling for her afterward. When I 
 was returning to England, my wife's first request was that I 
 should call upon Gabrielle Fairfax, now Lady Jesmond. At 
 some inconvenience to myself I came hither, desiring to see the 
 young girl I had befriended and helped. I find brought to 
 me as Lady Jesmond a total stranger a beautiful woman, 
 but a total stranger to me and you are angry because I speak 
 out and say so. I am sorry I came. I wish I had been a thou- 
 sand miles away ; but, being here, I must speak the truth. This 
 lady who calls herselfLady Jesmond is not the Gabrielle Fair* 
 fax who lived with us. Our Gabrielle Fairfax," he continued, 
 " was a fragile delicate girl with a fair angelic face which had 
 a consumptive look. Her eyes were gray, and her hair was 
 more brown than golden. I swear before Heaven that this 
 lady is not the bride whom I gave away to be Paul Jesmond's 
 wife. You doubt me," said the major, looking toward Lord 
 Saxon. " I can give you positive proof of the truth of what 
 I say." Then he looked round upon us, as if specially to 
 engage our attention. " Listen. I can give you overwhelm- 
 ing proof that this lady is not Gabrielle Fairfax. You know 
 all my friends know that Miss Fairfax lived in my house 
 for two years ; it is also well known that I gave her away at 
 her marriage, Now I appeal to you, Miss Gordon, and to 
 you, Lord Saxon, to take note of this not only did I utterly 
 fail to recognize Lady Jesmond when she entered the room, 
 but she also failed to recognize me. Was it not so ? I appeal 
 to you both. Did she recognize me ? " 
 
 We were compelled to answer " No." 
 
 " The Gabrielle Fairfax who left my house in tears 
 because she loved us all so well would have come to me as a 
 daughter, would ha^ve taken my hands in affectionate greet- 
 ing, would have bidden me a hundred times welcome to her 
 home. If this be Lady Jesmond, why did she meet me in 
 silence and without recognition ? There is no answer to the 
 question ; there can be none. One of two things must be 
 clear to you, Miss Gordon, and to you, Lord Saxon. Either 
 I am not Major Esmond, or this lady is not Gabrielle Fairfax. 
 Now I am prepared to prove my identity. To begin I am 
 personally well known to the commander-in-chief and to many 
 of the officials at the Horse Guards ; and I can bring more 
 than a hundred gentlemen, all men of position, to prove that
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 337 
 
 I am Major Esmond. I will wait here, if you wish it, until 
 more than sufficient evidence is brought forward to prove it. 
 Wnen it is conclusively proved, it will be for you to find out 
 who this lady is whom you have received as Lady Jesmond." 
 
 Lord Saxon looked at me with fear and dismay depicted 
 on his face. His eyes sought mine with a horrible question- 
 ing in them. 
 
 " I received Lady Jesmond," I said ; " and I have 
 never had the least doubt as to her identity. She came her* 
 with her infant son, and at once took up her position as 
 mistress of Jesmond Dene. Mr. Benson, too," I added, " was 
 fully satisfied as to the validity and genuineness of her 
 claim." 
 
 " I am sorry I should be the means of creating so much 
 unpleasantness," returned the major ; " but justice should be 
 done. The lady will pardon me perhaps if I ask her a 
 few questions. What, for instance, were the names of my 
 three children ? " 
 
 She made no answer, but clung more closely to her lover. 
 
 " Can you tell me one detail of the wedding where it 
 took place the name of the clergyman who married you ? 
 Can you describe the dress you wore ? What happened just 
 as we were leaving the church ? " 
 
 Again she did not reply, but flung her arms round her 
 lover's neck, crying despairingly 
 
 " Oh, Nello, Nello ! " 
 
 " I do not think," said the major quietly, "that there is 
 any need to prolong this painful scene. I will relieve you of 
 my presence, and then the lady may be inclined to throw 
 some light upon the matter." Then, turning to me, he said, 
 " I thank you, Miss Gordon, for your kindness and hospital- 
 ity. I should have been very glad to help you to solve the 
 mystery; but perhaps you will let me hear the solution before 
 I leave England. I need hardly add that you may rely upon 
 my silence." 
 
 " Stay ! " cried Lord Saxon. " You must not leave us in 
 this suspense." 
 
 " There is no suspense," rejoined the major. "You may 
 take it as an established fact that that lady is not Lady Jes- 
 mond." Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he 
 added quickly. " I can give you another and what ought to be 
 an overwhelming proof of what I say. I had forgotten it until
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 just this moment. The clergyman who married Gabrielle 
 Fairfax and Captain Jesmond is now in London. He was 
 sent home on the sick-list, and arrived in England last 
 month. The proper and most satisfactory course would be 
 to telegraph for him. I can give you his address. He is a 
 friend of mine, and he knew Miss Fairfax. Let him come, 
 and we will abide by his decision." 
 
 " Oh, Nello, Nello," cried the unhappy girl, " not that, 
 not that ! " 
 
 " Shall it be so, my darling ? " asked his lordship. " If 
 this clergyman can prove that the major is wrong and you 
 are right, by all means let him come." 
 
 But she clung to him, weeping passionate tears, and 
 cried 
 
 " Not that ! Oh, Nello, Nello, that ! " 
 
 " Will you not see him ? " asked Lord Saxon gently. 
 
 " No, no a thousand times no ! " she cried. 
 
 " Tell me why you will not see him, Gabrielle," he said, 
 gazing on the face he loved so well. " If he, by seeing you 
 for a moment, can disprove what the major asserts, and 
 prove your truth, why not see him ? " 
 
 " Yes./' put in the major quietly, " why not see him ? " 
 
 " Say ' Yes,' Gabrielle," said her lover, "It is an easy 
 way of meeting the difficulty. Do you not see, my darling, 
 that if you refuse this test it will look like guilt ? " 
 
 But his entreaties were all in vain. 
 
 " No man," said the major, " ever found himself in such 
 a painful position, I do believe ; yet, if there has been a 
 fraud, it should be exposed." 
 
 " Do not use the word ' fraud ' in connection with this 
 lady ! " cried Lord Saxon, with a darkening face. 
 
 " I have no wish to do so ; but, if she is not Lady Jes- 
 mond, is she not guilty of a most wicked fraud, one that no 
 honest man could ever tolerate or forgive ? " 
 
 " Nello, Nello ! " cried Lady Jesmond ; and the drooping 
 figure nearly slipped from his clasp, while the colorless face 
 dropped heavily upon his breast. 
 
 " I believe," he cried, turning with hot anger to the 
 major, " that you have killed her ! " 
 
 " It is not I who have killed her," said the major gravely. 
 " I am merely the instrument by which a cruel wrong has 
 been found out."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 339 
 
 Lord Saxon laid the beautiful unconscious figure on the 
 couch. 
 
 " Come to her, Felicia," he cried excitedly ; " she is in 
 a dead swoon ! " 
 
 Major Esmond turned to Lord Saxon and looked straight 
 into his face. 
 
 " It is natural," he said, " that, loving this lady, you 
 should espouse her cause ; but your prejudice should not 
 blind you to the claims of simple justice. Miss Gordon is 
 bound to give up all in favor of the true Lady Jesmond, but 
 not to a fraudulent stranger. I should like to see the child," 
 he continued, as if expecting that the fraud had extended 
 even to the substitution of another child for Paul's. 
 
 I rang the bell, standing before Lady Jesmond to screen 
 her from observation, and told the servant who appeared to 
 tell Mrs. Rivers to bring down little Sir Guy to the drawing- 
 room without delay. 
 
 " It is hardly a scene for a servant to witness," said the 
 major. 
 
 But I assured him that the nurse was a confidential servant 
 whom Lady Jesmond trusted implicitly. 
 
 I shall never forget Mrs. Rivers's face when she entered 
 the room. She looked from one to another with wild question- 
 ing eyes, and an anticipation of coming danger seemed to 
 come to her. 
 
 Major Esmond took the child from her arms and looked 
 critically at the boy's pretty features. 
 
 " I know not," he said, after a pause, " where the mother 
 may be, but this is certainly Paul Jesmond's child." 
 
 " What is the matter ?'" cried Mrs. Rivers. " What is 
 wrong ? " 
 
 And on her face I noticed the same deadly fear and dis- 
 may that had taken possession of Lady Jesmond. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " WHAT is wrong ? " repeated the nurse. " Oh, tell me, 
 for Heaven's sake ! " 
 
 " She may be able to throw some light on the mystery," 
 said the major. " She came here with the lady, and, as you
 
 BUT FALSE. 
 
 say she is a confidential servant, I should most certainly tell 
 her what has occurred." 
 
 " We do not know what is wrong yet," I said, answering 
 Mrs. Rivers. " This is the gentleman Major Esmond in 
 whose house Miss Gabrielle Fairfax lived in India, and he 
 has come to see her. He declares this lady to be a stranger 
 to him, and not Lady Jesmond at all." 
 
 The woman's face, as she listened, assumed a livid pallor, 
 and a fierce gleam shone in her dark eyes. 
 
 " Who dares say it ? " she cried. " Who dare utter so foul 
 a calumny ? " 
 
 " I do ; I dare," said the major. " That lady is no more 
 Gabrielle Fairfax than you are ! I know Gabrielle as well 
 as I do my own children." 
 
 The old nurse's face became more ghastly white, and a 
 violent fit of trembling came over her. 
 
 " Can you tell us anything which will help to solve the 
 mystery ? " asked Lord Saxon. 
 
 " There is no mystery, my lord. He speaks falsely 
 falsely ! I have not one word to say. Where is Lady Jes- 
 mond ? " 
 
 " She is here," I said, moving aside. " She has fainted." 
 
 With a heart-rending cry the woman sprung forward and 
 knelt down by the side of the apparently lifeless body on the 
 couch. At the sound Lady Jesmond languidly opened her 
 eyes and murmured something which did not reach us. 
 
 " Hush, my dear, hush ! " cried the nurse ; then, turning 
 to us with anger and defiance, she added, " You will kill her 
 between you ! Who dares to say she is not Paul Jesmond's 
 widow and the mother of his child ? " 
 
 " Nello, Nello," cried the faint voice, " I I will tell you ! 
 Send them all away all away ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush, my dear ! " said Mrs. Rivers. " Lie still ! " 
 And again she turned her face to us, as she continued, " She 
 does not know what she is saying. You will drive her mad 
 between you ! " 
 
 " Send them all away, Nello ! I want to tell you only 
 you ! " she cried. 
 
 " Take the child to the nursery, Mrs. Rivers," said Lord 
 Saxon. 
 
 But the woman refused to go. 
 
 " I will not leave her," she declared. " She is not safe 
 " ? "h any one but me."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 341 
 
 " Go," said the faint weak voice. 
 
 And, weeping bitter tears, the nurse obeyed the command 
 of her mistress, and left the room. 
 
 " Wait for me in the dining-room, Major Esmond," said 
 Lord Saxon. " I should like to see you again before you go." 
 
 " I will," answered the major. 
 
 And then, with a slight gesture, Lord Saxon made known 
 to me his wish that I should remain. 
 
 " Speak out, Gabrielle," he said. " Of all people in the 
 world, you need fear me the least, because I love you the 
 best. Speak to me fearlessly tell me all." 
 
 " Oh, Nello, Nello, nothing that I can say will make any 
 difference to you to us ? " 
 
 But I remarked that he did not answer the question. So 
 did she, for she stretched out her trembling arms to him. 
 
 " Nello, I will tell you all." 
 
 She rose from the couch, and flung herself imploringly 
 upon her knees at his feet. She caught his hand in hers, and 
 raised her agonized face to his. I pray Heaven I may never 
 witness another such scene. Her golden hair hung like a 
 glittering veil over her shoulders, and her fair loveliness was 
 shadowed by a storm of agonized despair. 
 
 " Look at me, Nello ! " she cried, with passionate fervor. 
 " Do not turn your eyes from me ! You will not love me less 
 when I confess that I am a most miserable sinner. Throw 
 your arms round me, Nello ; take me to your breast. I can- 
 not speak when I am so far from you." 
 
 But he did not move. 
 
 " Nello ! " she cried again, and the piteous agony in her 
 voice touched my heart. 
 
 " Speak to me freely, Gabrielle," he said. " At present 
 I cannot understand what all this means ; " and, as he spoke, 
 he laid his hand on her head. 
 
 " I am a miserable sinner," she sobbed, after a momentary 
 pause ; " but I did not think of the wickedness of the act 
 and I was persuaded. I saw the enormity of my crime after- 
 ward ; but it was too late to withdraw then." 
 
 " Tell me," he said and I noticed the change in his voice 
 " is what the major said true ? Are you Lady Jesmond ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, " I am not. Oh, forgive me, Nello, 
 forgive me ! If I had known that I should see you and love 
 you, I would never have done it. Oh, forgive me 1 "
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 "Will you tell me who you are ?" he asked gently, but 
 firmly. 
 
 " I am Lady Jesmond's sister," she replied. " My name 
 is Alice, not Gabrielle." She must have caught sight of his 
 face then, for her voice died in a wail of deep despair. " You 
 must forgive me, Nello, you must," she persisted, "or I shall 
 die here at your feet ! If I had known that I should meet 
 you, if I had known that the time was coming when I should 
 see you and love you, I would rather have died than be 
 guilty of this sin. Great Heaven, there is no pity in your 
 face, no love in your eyes ! Your heart is growing hard and 
 cold toward me. Let me die let me die ! " 
 
 She wrenched her hands from his, and flung herself to 
 the ground in a frenzy of madness. I went to her, for I 
 could not bear the sight of her despair. 
 
 " Gabrielle," I said, do not weep so bitterly." Then my 
 heart aching with anguish at the sight of the beautiful wreck 
 before me, I turned to him. " Oh, Lord Saxon, be kind to 
 her ! She loves you so well, and she is so unhappy. Be 
 hind to her." 
 
 " Tell me all," Lord Saxon again requested. 
 
 " I cannot," she answered ; " my strength fails me 
 Felicia, fetch my mother ; she will tell you all." 
 
 " Your mother, Gabrielle ? She is not here," I said. 
 
 " Ah, I forgot you do not know ! Mrs. Rivers is my 
 mother." 
 
 " Mrs. Rivers your mother ! " cried Lord Saxon, in un- 
 disguised astonishment. " More deceit, more intrigue ! Oh 
 Gabrielle, whom I believed to be true as I found you fair, 
 how could you stoop so low ? " 
 
 The only answer to this reproach was a moan of despair. 
 
 " There is a terrible scene below, Mrs. Rivers," I said, 
 entering the nurse's room. "Will you come down, please ? 
 Lady Jesmond wants you." 
 
 She seemed to fly rather than walk ; and I hastened 
 after her. Ah, the mother's instinct, the mother's love ! 
 She thought neither of Lord Saxon nor of me, but went to 
 the girl who lay upon the carpet, crushed and helpless. 
 
 " My darling, what is it ? " she cried. For a moment the 
 burning face of the unhappy girl appeared through the veil 
 of loosened hair.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 343 
 
 " Mother," she said," tell them all ! Do not keep one 
 word back tell them all ! " 
 
 The nurse looked up with a troubled frightened face. 
 
 " You know " she said. 
 
 " We know that this lady is not Lady Jesmond," Lord 
 Saxon broke in, and we also know that you are Mrs. Fair- 
 fax." 
 
 " It is all discovered then ! " she said despairingly. " Oh, 
 my beautiful Alice, it would never have been done but for 
 me guilty, miserable me ! " 
 
 She turned to Lord Saxon, and kept her eyes fixed on 
 his face the whole time that she spoke. 
 
 " My lord," she went on, "you have judged her already. 
 I read your judgment in your eyes. Suspend it until you 
 have heard what I have to tell." 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 " I must speak of myself for a few minutes," she said. 
 " My husband was a poor hard-working curate who left me, 
 when he died, with two little daughters, Gabrielle and Alice. 
 We lived at Wavertree ; and after his death I supported my- 
 self and my children by giving music-lessons there. I say 
 ' supported ; ' but only Heaven knows the desperate struggle 
 I maintained to bring up my children respectably, I never 
 knew until recently what it was to be free from the pinch of 
 poverty poverty all the more bitter because it has been 
 what the world in its satire calls 'genteel.' Of all the slow 
 tortures that destroy life genteel poverty is the greatest. 
 You, my lord, who have never known want, who have never 
 felt the pangs of hunger, you do not know the trials that be-, 
 set those who have to battle fiercely for their daily bread. 
 My children were good and beautiful. They were both 
 cleve r ; and I struggled on until they were old enough to 
 receive educational training. I denied myself food in order 
 that they should have enough to eat. Many a night, my 
 lord, I have lain awake too hungry to sleep ; but they knew 
 no hunger, no cold. They were too little then. 
 
 " When they grew older, through the good offices of a 
 friend of mine, since dead, I found a home for them in a 
 large boarding-school near Paris, where they both received an 
 excellent education in return for the services they rendered. 
 
 " When Gabrielle was about seventeen, she had an offer 
 of a situation ip India. A lady going thither wanted a com-
 
 344 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 panion who could speak French. My daughter went with her ; 
 and afterward she went to live as a governess in the family of 
 Major Esmond. She was very happy there, and often sent me 
 money home. Still my life was a terrible struggle, and few 
 sun-rays illumined my dreary path. I had to rent a comfort- 
 able house and dress respectably, or I should have lost all 
 my pupils. Think, then, what news it was to me when I 
 heard that my daughter was to marry the son and heir of 
 Sir William Jesmond, although, as she told me, the marriage 
 was to be kept secret. Still I understood all the advantages 
 that must accrue from it." 
 
 She paused for a few minutes. Lord Saxon did not stir ; 
 but I saw traces of deep emotion on his face. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "You cannot realize," continued Mrs. Fairfax, "what 
 that marriage meant for me ; it meant freedom from the hor- 
 rible grind of poverty, which had already almost crushed the 
 life from me ; freedom from the irksome task of teaching for 
 a miserable pittance ; a fair provision for the comforts and 
 necessities of life for I knew that my daughter would care 
 for me. She did. I believe that the first sum of money her 
 husband gave her was sent to me. She told me that she 
 would be able to do more for me after a time ; that, when she 
 returned to England, I should cease to work ; that she would 
 settle a substantial income on me; and that* at last I should 
 have the rest so long withheld from me. Think of my delight 
 at the glowing prospect opened up to me ! You cannot 
 realize it, you who have never known want. My daughter 
 begged me to be reticent as to her position and prospects, 
 never to mention her marriage even to my dearest friends ; 
 and I never did not even to poor Alice, her sister lying 
 here, my poor beautiful Alice ! " 
 
 She bent down and kissed the colorless face half hidden 
 by the trembling hands. 
 
 " Not even Alice knew then," she reiterated, as though 
 3peaking to herself. " When the little heir was born, my
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 345 
 
 daughter wrote to me again, and told me of her happiness, 
 adding that the proudest moment of her life would be when 
 she placed her little son in my arms. For I was a good 
 mother to both my girls, Lord Saxon." 
 
 He bowed, but did not speak. I was hoping ihat he 
 would say a few words to comfort her. 
 
 " All this time," she went on, "my daughter Alice was 
 in France. She had found an excellent situation there, and 
 things were going better with me. Then came a period of 
 disquiet. Gabrielle had written to me from India to say 
 that her husband was going to Faizabad on some military 
 business, and that he would be absent for three months. 
 
 " The next letter that came from her brought the news 
 of his death, and that she was coming home with the little 
 heir to Jesmond Dene. I well remember the words of her 
 letter 
 
 " ' I shall come home to you for a few days first, mother ; 
 my heart is so completely broken by Paul's death that I 
 could not face Jesmond Dene just yet.' 
 
 " She came to Wavertree, bringing with her no servant 
 only her baby-boy ; and on the same day my daughter Alice 
 returned from France. For the first time since they were 
 children, I had them together under my roof. Try to realize 
 the temptation, Lord Saxon, and you, Miss Gordon. 
 
 " We were there in my house quite alone. I had no ser- 
 vant, no visitors ; few of my pupils came to my home, and 
 none of them knew anything of my daughters. Lady Jes- 
 mond, the child in whom all my hopes centered, was taken ill 
 and died quite suddenly. She looked very ill when she came, 
 for the loss of her husband had preyed on her mind and 
 weakened her already debilitated constitution. She had 
 never been strong ; she was fragile and delicate unlike my 
 beautiful Alice, who was always healthy. Poor Gabrielle died 
 of inflammation of the lungs. We called in a croctor ; but 
 remembering all she had said about secrecy, I did not men- 
 tion her name before him; he knew only that she was my 
 daughter. Neither he nor I anticipated a serious termination 
 to her illness, or what was done afterward would have been 
 impossible ; but she died quite suddenly in the middle of the 
 night, when Alice and I were in the house alone. I was
 
 BUT FALSE. 
 
 terribly distressed because of her loss chiefly, and also be- 
 cause of the complete shattering of all my hopes. The child 
 might live and succeed to Jesmond Dene ; but there would 
 be no provision for me. If my daughter had lived, I should 
 have been well provided for ; but here she was lying dead ! 
 Poverty and work still stared me in the face ; and I was so 
 tired ! An idea I admit thaf it was a wicked one flashed 
 across my mind showing me how I could avert the calamity 
 which threatened my future prospects. No one knew any- 
 thing about my daughter ; no one knew here in England 
 which was Lady Jesmond and which was Alice Fairfax. Why 
 not ask the living child to take the dead one's place ? 
 
 " No one could ever know ; it would hurt no one. A 
 widowed Lady Jesmond was traveling from India; a widowed 
 Lady Jesmond was expected at Jesmond Dene. They were 
 both my children, and, as it could work no injury to any one, 
 why should not the one pass for the other ? 
 
 " I thought it all over carefully, and viewed it in all its 
 bearings. There seemed to me little harm in it ; and I 
 was so tired of poverty, so tired of work ! The only 
 danger I could foresee was the very one that has 
 occurred the coming home of some one from India 
 who had known Gabrielle there ; but the chances of 
 such a thing happening appeared to me very small. She 
 had known but few people, and those few were not likely to 
 seek her out in England ; and, if they should happen to do 
 so, she could easily evade them. There did not seem to me 
 to be the least danger of my plans being upset in that 
 manner. I pondered the matter in my mind, and then I 
 broached it to Alice. 
 
 " At first believe me, Lord Saxon she most positively 
 refused to agree to my schem?. She said that it would be 
 false, dishonorable, mean that she would never consent to 
 such a deception. But I talked to her, and pointed out that, 
 with her beauty and her position as Lady Jesmond, she 
 would be able to make a brilliant marriage. I persuaded her; 
 let the blame and the punishment fall on me I deserve it. 
 
 ' I took my living daughter to the side of the dead one. 
 I drew from my dead child's hand her wedding ring and 
 diamond keeper, and I placed them on Alice's hand. 
 
 "'It is Alice Fairfax who lies dead there,' I said: ' and 
 you are Gabrielle, Lady Jesmond, I took the boy and
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 347 
 
 placed him in her arms. ' Henceforth/ I said to her, ' this 
 is your child.' 
 
 " I told the little fellow to call her ' mamma ;' but I was 
 much troubled by the look in the child's eyes. If he could 
 have spoken, he would have said plainly, ' This is not my 
 mamma ; she has gone away !' But he was too young to 
 understand ; nevertheless, whenever he calls Alice ' mamma,' 
 there is a questioning look in his eyes." 
 
 I wondered that I had not thought of this before, for I 
 had often heard the cry of the child for his mother and seen 
 his strange inquiring gaze. This confession made clear to 
 me many of the mysterious things I had observed during the 
 past twelve months. 
 
 " We had no trouble in successfully carrying on the 
 deception," Mrs. Fairfax continued. " No one suspected 
 what had been done. Alice took possession of Gabrielle's 
 trunks, of her clothes, her jewels, her papers, of the package 
 left by Captain Jesmond to be given to his wife. Who was 
 there to say that she was not Gabrielle, Lady Jesmond ? The 
 doctor's certificate was made out in the name of Alice Fair- 
 fax, and in Wavertree churchyard the name of Alice Fairfax 
 is engraved on my dead daughter's tombstone. 
 
 " But when all was arranged, my daughter grew nervous. 
 'It is a fraud and a deception,' she declared ; and more 
 than once she told me that she had not the courage to carry 
 it through. She consented to represent her sister only on 
 condition that I would come with her and act as nurse to 
 the child. Then, and not until then, did she consent to come. 
 She made me promise that I would live with her always ; and 
 we have been very happy. Oh. my beautiful Alice, have 1 
 crushed you by my miserable folly ? " 
 
 Her voice died away in bitter sobs as she knelt by her 
 daughter's side ; and she who had for so long been known 
 as Lady Jesmond opened her arms and pillowed the gray 
 head upon her bosom. 
 
 " Never mind, mother," she said. " Do not cry so, dear; 
 all will be well yet. Nello will forgive me." 
 
 But I knew, from the stern pained expression on his face, 
 that he would never take her to his heart again. He was " a 
 worshiper of beauty, and a dreamer of dreams ; " but he was 
 a man who valued honor and integrity, who could not toler-
 
 34 g FAIR BUT FALSE, 
 
 ate deceit. I knew her doom, poor girl, before he pro- 
 nounced it. 
 
 " You will forgive us both, my lord ? " said the weeping 
 mother. 
 
 " Your sin was not against me," he replied gravely. " You 
 have wronged Miss Gordon more than you have wronged me." 
 
 " Felicia, you will forgive me ? " pleaded Alice Fairfax. 
 
 I stooped down and kissed the lips that but a few short 
 hours before had been wreathed with smiles. 
 
 "I forgive you, dear, with all my heart," I replied. 
 
 " You have always been good to me Felicia," she went 
 on, " although I took so much from you." 
 
 She did not know she would never know all that she 
 had taken, or all that I had lost. 
 
 " Felicia has forgiven me," she said, in a trembling voice. 
 " Nello, you will not refuse me pardon ? " 
 
 " Forgive us, my lord ! " sobbed Mrs Fairfax again. 
 
 " Not only do I forgive you entirely," said Lord Saxon, 
 " but it shall be my care and my pleasure to provide for your 
 future, Mrs. Fairfax. You shall know want no more." 
 
 She turned quickly, and kissed his hand. 
 
 " I thank you, my lord," she said gratefully ; but her 
 daughter's voice interrupted her further expression of thanks. 
 
 " Nello, Nello," cried the unhappy girl, " speak to me 
 think of me ! " 
 
 " Will you leave us ? " he said to Mrs. Fairfax . " I wish 
 to talk to your daughter for a short time."' Then, noting the 
 violence of her grief, he added, " Do not weep so bitterly. 
 It was a great folly a wretched mistake ; but it is too late 
 now to repair it. I can only say this that your future shall 
 be my care. Leave me with your daughter now." 
 
 And, still weeping most bitterly, Mrs. Fairfax left the 
 room. 
 
 Lord Saxon walked over to Alice Fairfax, and stood by 
 her side, gravely looking down at the face he had so often 
 smiled upon. 
 
 " Alice ! " he said. " It seems strange to give you that 
 name." 
 
 She looked up to him with eager passionate eyes. 
 
 " Shall I never be ' Gabrielle' to you again ? " she asked. 
 
 " No never more," he answered gravely. " The name 
 was not yours, and you should not have borne it."
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE, 
 
 349 
 
 " Oh, Nello, Nello, if you will not forgive me, kill me ! 
 I cannot live witnout you ! " she cried. 
 
 " It is no question of forgiveness," he said coldly ; " my 
 dear, beautiful as you are, and dearly as I love you, we must 
 part." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WHEN Alice heard Lord Saxon's words and they sounded 
 with terrible distinctness in the quiet room she started with 
 a faint cry, and then fell back white and helpless. After a few 
 moments she stood up, having recoved her composure. 
 
 " You cannot mean that, Nello ! " she cried. " You can- 
 not leave me ; we cannot part ! I am your promised wife. 
 Look at me," she continued, in frenzied despair " look into 
 the face that you have found so fair, and tell me that your 
 love is still mine ! You must not leave me to desolation and 
 death ! Look at me whom you have professed to love, and 
 whisper your forgiveness. Nello, would you plunge a dagger 
 into my heart ? " 
 
 " Need you ask, Alice ? " he answered. 
 
 " Well, you will kill me far more cruelly if you leave me 
 bereft of your love," she said. " Oh, Nello, Nello, if you 
 must send me from you, kill me here and now ! I would 
 rather die by your hand than receive life from another." 
 
 A simple dignity, such as I had not seen before, came to 
 him now. 
 
 " My dear," he said, in gentle yet firm tones, "you must 
 see that it is impossible I can ever marry you. Your beauty 
 took me by storm and I gave you as deep and passionate love 
 as man ever gave to woman. It came to me like a vision of 
 perfect bliss ; it died when I found that you had been to me 
 a living lie. I would have married you had you been poor 
 as the beggar-girl whom King Cophetua loved ; I would have 
 married you had your beauty been marred by burn or scar. 
 But you have on your soul a stain so horrible to me that your 
 beauty could never hide it from my eyes." 
 
 With a cry to Heaven for pity, she again sunk upon the 
 couch, whilst Lord Saxon went on, in a grave sad voice 
 
 " Do not think me harsh do not think that I judge you
 
 35 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 from a pinnacle of self-complacent goodness. I humble my- 
 self before Heaven for my many faults and sins while I speak 
 to you. There are transgressions much greater than yours 
 in the eyes of the world which I could more easily have for- 
 given ; but a lie has always been to me the thing most hate- 
 ful on earth. Had you told me all," he went on, " when I 
 first declared my love for you had you trusted to my affec- 
 tion, and shown me that, after all, a love of truth reigned in 
 your soul, I would have made you my wife. But the lie you 
 have acted and lived has been found out by another. I 
 never before appreciated," he added, " the moral beauty of 
 a woman. Beauty pales before the grandeur of nobility of 
 soul, even as the twinkling stars are outshone by the sun at 
 noonday." 
 
 I could listen to no more, but stood up to defend the 
 beautiful yet unhappy woman who was writhing beneath the 
 words of contempt that he poured forth. 
 
 " Do not be so terribly hard, so bitterly cruel, Lord 
 Saxon ! " I cried. " You may need mercy yourself some 
 day. If she has sinned, she suffers." 
 
 " And I suffer," he returned. " My life is as hopelessly 
 shattered as is hers. I have loved, not a real, but an ideal 
 woman whose soul, I believed, was clear as crystal. The 
 ideal has vanished ; and the reality that remains is but the 
 dross of common humanity. Oh, Alice, why, when you 
 knew I loved you why did you not tell me yourself of the 
 deceit you were practicing ? Your honesty in telling me 
 would have gone far toward atoning for your crime. As it 
 is, you have been simply found out." 
 
 She rose from the couch and approached Lord Saxon. 
 The pallor of death was on her face. As she flung herself 
 upon her knees at his feet she looked at him with a pathetic 
 yearning in her eyes which I shall never forget to the day of 
 my death. 
 
 " Forgive me, Nello," she pleaded and her voice might 
 have touched a heart of stone " forgive me ! I did wrong 
 and I have suffered throughout the whole period of my de- 
 ception. Oh, Nello, forgive me, and take me to your heart ! 
 I will be such a faithful wife to you all the more faithful 
 and truthful because I have deceived you. Nello, never 
 again in this world shall my lips open to utter one false word 
 never again ! "
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 351 
 
 " My dear," he said, " you only torture yourself and me. 
 The soul has gone from my love ; there is but the corpse of 
 it left nothing can reanimate it, I must be able to look up to 
 the woman I take for a wife, to honor and reverence her. 
 How could I reverence you when I know you to have com- 
 mitted a fraud ? I will befriend you, I will take care of you ; 
 but my love is dead." 
 
 " Felicia," she cried, " plead for me ! If he leaves me 
 thus, I shall die ! " The tears were raining down her face, 
 and her anguish was pitiable to see. " Plead for me, Felicia ; 
 he will listen to you." 
 
 " Be kinder to her, Lord Saxon," I said. " Do you not 
 see that you are breaking her heart ? And, with all her faults, 
 you ought to remember that she has loved you devotedly." 
 
 " She has indeed," he answered, with a sad look on his 
 face. " I wish it were all different, for I shall never know 
 happiness again." 
 
 She rose and put both her arms round his neck, and 
 whispered words of love to him. She kissed and caressed 
 his face with her little white trembling hands. 
 
 " My own love, my dear love. She murmured. You 
 could not, you must not, leave me without your love." 
 
 But he was deaf to her entreaties, and the caresses which 
 but a few hours before would have rilled him with delight 
 now were repugnant to him. 
 
 " I repent," she cried to him " oh, Nello, I repent so 
 bitterly ! Heaven pities a repentant sinner. Cannot you, 
 beloved, forgive this my great sin ? " 
 
 " I do," he replied. " It is not that. Rest now, and to- 
 morrow we will settle your future and your mother's." 
 
 " Apart from you ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes apart from me, my dear quite apart." 
 
 " To-morrow, Nello ? " she questioned, looking at him 
 with a strange smile. " You will settle my future to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he said. " Now rest." 
 
 " To morrow ! " She repeated, with the same strange 
 brooding smile on her face. " Kiss me once more, Nello 
 once more. Forget that my lips have lied to you, and re- 
 member only that I have loved you, You are quite sure that 
 nothing can induce you to take me back to your heart again 
 you are quite sure ? "
 
 352 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 " I am quite sure," he replied, slowly. 
 
 " Kiss me just once again then, and say good-by. Oh, 
 the happy hours that we have spent, the love that has been be- 
 tween us, Nello ! Mine was a great fault a wicked deed ; 
 but you must always remember that my repentance was terri- 
 ble. I see there is no mercy for me. You have none : 
 Heaven will have none. I have finished ! But you will say 
 good-by, Nello, and you will always remember my terrible 
 repentance ? " 
 
 I never saw such yearning love and tenderness as then 
 came into Lord Saxon's face. 
 
 Notwithstanding all his shrinking from her, she went up 
 to him again. There was no supplication in her voice now 
 a quiet resignation had come over her. 
 
 " Good-by, Nello ! " she said. " My dear lost love, good- 
 by ! and then, wringing her hands with a gesture of utter 
 despair, she went from the room. 
 
 " Her heart will break," I said. " Oh, Nello, forgive her ! " 
 
 " Do you not think that my heart is torn with grief and 
 pain ? " he asked. " Felicia, I loved her so well that I think 
 I could have forgiven her anything except the base deceit that 
 she has been guilty of." 
 
 Then Lord Saxon joined the Major. They were together 
 for half an hour ; and, when they were leaving, the Major 
 expressed to me his great sorrow at what had occurred. He 
 added that, in the distressing circumstances, he would not 
 remain in the house ; and, as Lord Saxon had asked him to 
 stay at Dunroon, he had decided to accept his hospitality. 
 
 They arranged to return to Jesmond Dene on the follow- 
 ing afternoon, and meanwhile they would telegraph to Mr. 
 Benson to meet them without delay. Everything was to be 
 done quietly, so as to give Alice as little pain as possible. 
 
 *' No publicity ! " said the Major. " It is an unfortunate 
 business altogether; but we must screen her." 
 
 When I had said good-night to them, I repaired at once 
 to aunt Annette's room. I did not tell her anything of what 
 had passed, as I feared it would greatly excite her and prob- 
 ably retard her already slow recovery. 
 
 Before retiring for the night, I went to Alice's room and 
 asked if she would like me to stay with her for an hour or 
 two. The answer came in a strange smothered voice " No," 
 she would rather be alone.
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TOWARD four in the morning she whom I had known as 
 Gabrielle, Lady Jesmond, entered my room. Her face was 
 quite colorless, and her long golden tresses hung loosely over 
 her shoulders ; her eyes shone with a light that was almost 
 terrible in its brightness. She came toward me, holding a 
 letter in her hand. 
 
 " I could not sleep," she said, " and I have written this. 
 Felicia, you have been kind to me from the first ; will you 
 render me a great service ? " 
 
 " I will if I can," I replied. 
 
 " You can if you will. I want you to go this morning, 
 and with your own hands deliver this letter to Lord Saxon. 
 Do not trust it to any servant or friend ; give it direct into 
 his own hands." 
 
 " He is coming here this afternoon," I told her, thinking 
 that she might then give the letter to him. 
 
 " I want him to read it at once. He said he was coming 
 to settle my future to-day ; but before he decides upon any- 
 thing I wish him to read this. Will you take it to him, Feli- 
 cia, early this morning ? You can drive over to see Lady 
 Saxon, and then place it in his hands." 
 
 " Do you wish it very much ? " I asked, for I did not care 
 for the commission. 
 
 " I do with my whole heart," she said. " Take it, Feli- 
 cia, and promise me that he shall have it before ten o'clock." 
 
 I took the letter from her hands and promised to fulfil 
 her wishes. She kissed me, but her face was deathly cold, 
 and a strange wild gleam was in her eyes. She went to the 
 window and drew aside the lace hangings. 
 
 " The sun is rising,'' she said, " and the river is rushing 
 madly onward to the sea." 
 
 The faint light of the dawn was on her face as she left 
 my room, and those were the last words she ever uttered to 
 me. I heard her close the door, and hoped fervently that 
 she might rest and sleep. 
 
 I did not like the commission ; still, as the letter was
 
 354 
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 evidently of great importance, and I had promised, I went. 
 It was just ten o'clock when I reached Dunroon, and placed 
 it in Lord Saxon's hands. He was surprised to see me so 
 early, and seemed in no mood to read the letter. He opened 
 it at last. As he read his face grew ghastly white, and he 
 staggered back, with his hand pressed to his brow. He 
 stood for some few minutes stunned and bewildered, then 
 thrust the letter into my hands. 
 
 " Read, Felicia," he cried " read quickly, quickly ! " 
 I hurriedly read the loving, despairing, passionate words 
 that were her death-knell words all blotted with tears 
 words written in the early dawn of the day of which she was 
 not to see the end. This was the letter 
 
 "You say, Nello, that you are coming to-day to settle my 
 future. Dear, I shall settle it myself. There is no mercy 
 for me ; there is none on earth there will be none perhaps in 
 heaven ; I expect none. And yet my fault was not so great, 
 not so terrible. Such as it was, I will expiate it with my life ; 
 and the expiation is a greater sin than that for which you have 
 left me. Now that I have known the warmth and sunshine 
 of your love, I cannot live in the cold and the darkness. 
 Better a thousand times to be at rest, with the green grass 
 growing over me, than to live on without happiness, without 
 hope ! 
 
 " This will be my repentance, Nello. I shall walk out in 
 the early morning to the river, when the sun is shining. You 
 kno-.v the reach where two days since you stood on the bank 
 and drew the dripping water-lilies ashore, and I the happiest 
 woman in the world stood by your side. It is there that I 
 shall seek rest. This is my repentance, Nello. I shall walk 
 down the path we have so often trodden together, knowing 
 that it is for the last time. As I take my last walk to the 
 river, everything will say good-by to me. Yet I shall not 
 falter. When the chill water kisses my face, when it 
 seizes me and carries me swiftly along, when it washes my 
 hair and bears me, a deadly burden, on its breast, then my 
 repentance will have been accomplished ; and, when this 
 letter reaches your hands, she whom you have loved and 
 spurned will be past reproach, beyond recall. Of all that 
 was but yesterday filled with light and gladness there will re- 
 main to-day nothing but a dark memory. Nello, my beloved,
 
 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 355 
 
 I write this on my bended knees, and on this sheet have fallen 
 the most bitter tears woman can ever shed. I lay my last 
 kiss on this paper, for I know that you must touch it. I shall 
 die as I have lived, loving you. When I reach the river's 
 brink, I shall love you ; when the chill water kinder than 
 you, beloved takes me into its embrace, I shall still love you. 
 " Long as you live, Nello, my spirit will hover near you. 
 During the sweet summer nights, when the wind is sighing in 
 the trees, you will think of me. When you walk by the river 
 and hear the faint sobbing of the water, you will give a thought 
 to her who preferred to die rather than live without you. You 
 will know that my soul was not all false, because it held in 
 it so true a love for you. Through the sigh of the summer 
 wind, through the wash of the waves on the shore, my voice 
 will come to you, and you will remember that, though I 
 sinned greatly my repentance was terrible. Beloved, fare- 
 well!" 
 
 I laid down the pitiful letter blotted with tears, and for a 
 minute we looked at each other in silent horror. Then Lord 
 Saxon, rousing himself from the stupor that had come over 
 him, cried out 
 
 " For Heaven's sake come quickly to the river, Felicia ! " 
 
 But the river was far away, and the hour long past for 
 human power to save her from the doom that she had sought. 
 We drove rapidly from Dunroon to Jesmond Dene, accom- 
 panied by Major Esmond, and Lord Saxon led the way to 
 the reach. 
 
 It was all too true. There, at the spot indicated in her 
 letter, she lay, her face upraised to the morning sky and a 
 smile on her lips, as though she had found the water kinder 
 than her lover's closed arms, and death sweeter than life. 
 
 Her body was speedily recovered from its cruel resting- 
 place, and conveyed to the Hall. 
 
 Lady Saxon and her son, Major Esmond and myself held 
 a council that same afternoon, and we decided that the last 
 act of kindness we could show to her memory would be to 
 keep her story of duplicity and the cause of her death secret 
 from the world. 
 
 There was terrible dismay and consternation throughout 
 the district when it became known that the beautiful Lady 
 Jesmond had been found drowned, Of course it was an a~ci-
 
 35 6 FAIR BUT FALSE. 
 
 dent. Many people thought that she had been trying to 
 reach the water-lilies, and so had fallen in. In the first wild 
 moments of her great anguish we were afraid that Mrs. Fair- 
 fax would reveal the secret which we all hoped would be buried 
 with the remains of the unfortunate girl. Fortunately she 
 did not disclose the truth. We were compelled to tell Mr. 
 Benson everything ; and, to my astonishment, he did not 
 seem greatly surprised. He suggested that Mrs. Fairfax 
 should continue to have charge of the child until he was a few 
 years older, and that afterward she should be provided for on 
 the estate. 
 
 Lady Jesmond's funeral will not soon be forgotten. It 
 was attended by rich and poor, and there was no one who did 
 not regret and grieve over the fair young life so abruptly and, 
 as it seemed, so cruelly cut short. 
 
 Lord Saxon was there as chief mourner. The vast assem- 
 blage of spectators, beholding his white set face, little 
 dreamed of the tragedy in which he had shared. 
 
 " May heaven pardon me if I was too hard upon her ! " 
 he said to me, as we stood together after the funeral. 
 
 By the end of July a calm that was almost painful had 
 settled over Jesmond Dene. The grass had grown on Alice's 
 newly-made grave, and people wondered why it was always 
 surrounded by beautiful flowers, yet never had a head- 
 stone. 
 
 There was a calm too at Dunroon ; for its master had 
 gone away, and his mother believed that he would never re- 
 turn. 
 
 He had suffered terribly during the recent trying days 
 so much so that he was a changed man. He regretted hav- 
 ing spoken so bitterly to the erring woman, and that he had 
 not been more patient. He felt that he ought to have known 
 what she mean* when she said so strangely, " To-morrow ! " 
 and he blamf d himself for not at the time realizing all that 
 her words pr /tended and taking steps to frustrate her design. 
 He did not forget her ; and for years his life was imbittered 
 and darkened by the tragedy in which he had played so con- 
 spicuous a part. 
 
 Meanwhile little Guy grew and prospered. At Mr. Ben- 
 son's solicitation I remained at Jesmond Hall to superintend 
 the house and take charge of the child. My aunt Annette 
 died without ever knowing the whole truth ; and I took every
 
 FATR BUT FALSE. 
 
 357 
 
 care of the unfortunate woman on whose shoulders the re- 
 sponsibility for this sad tragedy rested. 
 
 * * * # # # # 
 
 Six years afterward, when every one had ceased to expect 
 him, Lord Saxon came home. It was in June, and the night- 
 ingales had begun to sing. He asked me to walk with him 
 to hear them ; and where he had lingered when he first kissed 
 me and lovingly whispered my name we now stood again. 
 He told me how he was learning to love me when that fair 
 but frail woman came between us and snatched his very soul 
 away. He asked me to trust him with my love and to be his 
 wife ; while the nightingales sung as though they had always 
 known how my story must end. I did not say " Yes," at 
 once. It was not the passionate love of " long ago," but the 
 more enduring love of maturer years, that I gave him. We 
 were married ; and I am now Ladv Saxon of Dunroon, and 
 the Dowager Lady Saxon was overjoyed at the realization of 
 her long-deferred hopes. Sooth to say, I worshiped my 
 husband , and we are very happy ; but the words of that ter- 
 rible letter haunt him. Nello is strong and brave ; but there 
 are times when I can see that he is nervous, and those times 
 are when the wind sighs amongst the trees and we can hear 
 the soft low sobbing of the waves on the shore. 
 
 But for all that we are happy; and I know now what the 
 nightingale sings about in June. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000127363