I HAVE FELT IT IN THE TREMBLE OF HIS HAND AS HIS DARK EYE 
 MET MINE. 
 
 Page 18.
 
 HER PLAYTHINGS, 
 
 MEN 
 
 NOI/EL 
 
 BY 
 
 MABEL ESMONDE CAHILL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WORTHINGTON CO., 747 BROADWAY 
 1801
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY 
 WORTHINGTON CO. 
 
 Press of J. J. Little & Co. 
 Astor Place, New York
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 IN LINCOLN GREEN. 
 
 Let me carry your thoughts, Reader, to a woodland 
 scene in the heart of England, where, but a few years 
 ago the royal oaks stretched far above, and the mossy 
 green sward was soft to the horse's hoofs which trampled 
 it; where the mottled lizard and the glittering adder 
 glided in and out of the tangled underbrush of rhodo- 
 dendron and sweet briar; where the lovely coltsfoot and 
 the waving pines mingled their perfumes in early Spring, 
 whilst above, in the wind-swung branches the gentle 
 wood pigeon cooed her soft love tale to her mate. There 
 on a dewy morning in the Spring of 188, four days 
 prior to the great race meeting of Darcliffe, we might 
 have seen galloping over the springy turf two proud 
 crested animals, the one bestridden by a young man of 
 some twenty-two summers, the other, riderless, but bear- 
 ing upon his glossy shoulder the trappings for a lady's 
 use. This and much more yet could we have seen as 
 onward dashed that bold, reckless young rider, looking 
 not back to yesterday's peaceful hours, looking not for- 
 ward to the dark possibilities of to-morrow. 
 
 Onward he dashed with the lady's charger by his 
 side, until the park lands of Darcliffe had been left far 
 to the rear, until fields of stubble had been galloped 
 over and their neat hedgerows crossed, until at last 
 arrived at the grand, old ivied wall marking the bound-
 
 4 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 ary between the equally important estates, attached re- 
 spectively to Darcliife Castle and Cumberwold Abbey, 
 when the panting steeds were suffered to draw breath. 
 
 A long, low rambling wall this was, with its ivy crested 
 buttresses, its massive earthworks, meant to withstand 
 the ravages of centuries ; full of weird memories for the 
 little unkempt rogues of long gone generations, who had 
 so often climbed its ledges to nud where the wood-birds 
 loved to build their nests in early Spring ; full of vague 
 terrors for the timid little girls who ofttimes wove the 
 daisies and kingcups into fantastic chains beneath its 
 cooling shade. 
 
 And now, as the young horseman reined in amid a 
 cluster of poplars fringing the boundary wall, a low, 
 clear whistle broke upon the still air and an arrow shot 
 up against the blue sky. A pretty little arrow this, shot 
 from a lady's archery bow, feather tipped and fleet to do 
 its mistress' bidding, as, bearing on its sharp point a 
 note, it landed at the young man's feet. A note, the 
 opening of which caused the young man's cheek to 
 blanch and his hand to tremble, whilst having read it 
 and re-read it apparently to his satisfaction, he pro- 
 ceeded with the delightful idiocy of his twenty-two 
 summers to crush it many times against his lips. 
 
 Blind mortal, who cannot pierce the impenetrable 
 stretches of futurity, could you but understand that in 
 the note you hold there is contained a message pregnant 
 for you with subtlest poison, such as in the unknown 
 to-morrow will blight your manhood's sweetest hours, 
 leaving you naught but ashes and dead sea fruit behind, 
 your cheek would blanch, but from a different motive to 
 that which prompted it but a moment ago to grow more
 
 IN LINCOLN' GREEN. 5 
 
 deadly white than the drifting clouds above you. But 
 the young mau thought not of to-morrow, as he sprang 
 towards a buttress of the old ivied wall and waited, yea 
 waited for what possibilities that ll to-morrow" held for 
 him. 
 
 Not long had he waited ere there sprang into view from 
 above the figure of a young girl in the first blush of lovely 
 womanhood, with form and face fresh and voluptuous as 
 the bursting rose-bud culled from its parent stem but a 
 moment back. Especially lovely this young wood-nymph 
 looked in her riding habit of darkest green, which by its 
 perfect make betrayed the rounded curves of a generous 
 figure, whilst, with a rippling laugh as full of soft music 
 as the tinkling of goat-bells amongst the Alpine gorges, 
 she sprang from her vantage ground into the readily 
 extended arms of the young man. A passionately linger- 
 ing kiss, and a little cry, a few tender greetings, eyes 
 looking into answering eyes, and then these young people 
 turned to where the horses stood trampling the mossy 
 sward in a corner of the fragrant pine- woods. 
 
 It took them but a very short time to get settled once 
 more in their saddles, and in a moment more they were 
 riding onward together, to ruin and to heart break, such 
 as seldom engulfs years so tender as theirs.
 
 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. 
 
 A trial race. The grooms and jockeys, scattered here 
 and there in groups of twos and threes, admire Lady 
 Adelaide Heathmore, the dashing young heiress of 
 Cumberwold Abbey, as she canters leisurely towards the 
 course. 
 
 "She's goin' to ride the race on JBlackwater. I'm 
 d if she's not a rare plucked un ! " 
 
 "See her go! My eye! What a jock she'd make! 
 Steady as a rock over the hurdle ! " 
 
 " She'll do ; and if she was to ride in the big race I'd 
 back her ! " 
 
 Such were the enthusiastic comments uttered within 
 earshot of our lovely wayward heiress; comments that, 
 for all her wealth and high -breeding, brought a keener 
 tinge of pleasure to her cheek than did in after life the 
 subtlest flatteries of the many princes of Europe who 
 kneeled before her beauty. 
 
 But though this Diana seemed an object for their un- 
 limited adoration, still amongst the jockeys "the favor- 
 ite" was "the favorite," and he was carrying Rutland 
 Borradale quietly down towards the starting point. 
 
 " So I am going to ride a genuine race ! " said Lady 
 Adelaide enthusiastically to her companion. " I wish I 
 were a jockey, but, Rutland dear, what is the betting 
 to be?" 
 
 The young man bent low in his saddle until his lips
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. < 
 
 almost brushed her loose flying hair, and whispered 
 some words that made her blood rush to her velvety 
 cheek. 
 
 " Be it so," she says with a ripple of laughter and a 
 toss of the proudly turned head. 
 
 " So that is why you are mounted on the favorite, is 
 it ? Well you shall not win if I can prevent it." 
 
 Eutland had not been fearful of trusting the great 
 racer of his uncle's stable to his fair companion, whose 
 hands on horseback were sympathetic, and whose riding 
 was very perfect and finished, but he had had his own 
 views with regard to winning this race, and they were 
 very dear to him, so he smiled at the toss of the proud 
 girlish head, but said no more. 
 
 One, two, three, and they urge their horses to a racing 
 speed along the resounding turf, Blackwater leading, 
 Blackbriar, the favorite, second, as they clear the first 
 and third hurdles. Blackwater, although esteemed the 
 better horse by most outsiders, was known amongst the 
 trainers and stable men around Darcliffe to have done 
 as fine things in the way of trial races as his stable com- 
 panion, and he was ahorse, which, when handled gentlj 7 , 
 as he was being to-day by Lady Adelaide's finger-tips, 
 he was pretty sure to strain wind and limb to their utmost 
 at her urging. 
 
 Over the fourth hurdle they sailed, neck and neck, 
 whilst the enthusiasm of the on-lookers became clamor- 
 ous. 
 
 " She'll have it, the young lady ! There's none like 
 her to ride a thoroughbred." 
 
 " Nonsense," came from another; " the favorite is only 
 holding back while she does the running."
 
 8 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 li You're mightily mistaken, young man ; tbat riding 
 doesn't, mean anything but dead earnest. But doesn't 
 she ride, though ; and lie is pressing her hard." 
 
 " Yes, she has it ! No, they're over the last .together. 
 She pulls ahead ! She has it ! She has it ! She has it ! 
 
 No, d me if it isn't the favorite by a neck ! Well, 
 
 well, I must back the favorite and win some money." 
 
 Wild cheers rang out now for the favorite. He was 
 going to win money for them all, for every one of 
 them had backed him for the great race. 
 
 " Never beaten he's a clipper, and has every penny I 
 own on him." 
 
 The speaker was a burly farmer, who had since he was 
 a small boy considered it part of his religious creed to 
 back and uphold the horses produced by his own shire, 
 and Blackbriar he knew to be one of the finest he had 
 ever had the pleasure of risking his money on. 
 
 "Hedge a bit is what I am going to do," said a cooler- 
 headed Southerner. " Every man in England has his 
 pound, shilling or penny on Blackbriar, so the odds are 
 too short to make anything, and I wouldn't trust him 
 anyhow too much." 
 
 11 Ye know precious little, then, an' ye don't know our 
 Darcliffe horse." 
 
 Whereat, with a groan for the skeptical speaker, the 
 crowd dispersed to rush to where their idol was pawing 
 the turf and fretfully champing his bit, as though medi- 
 tating another scamper over the field of his triumph. 
 
 One and all secure whatever prices remain at that 
 late hour in the betting market, and all feel happy about 
 their investments. 
 
 Lady Adelaide and Eutland in the meantime have
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. 9 
 
 drawn up side by side, with the velvety glow of health 
 on their cheeks and lips, but in the young man's spark- 
 ling fresh dark eye is an especial flash of triumph, as 
 with ineffable tenderness and love breathing in his whole 
 demeanor, he bends his looks on his adorable compan- 
 ion. 
 
 "Do you understand, darling, the race is minef he 
 whispers. "The race is mine, you are mine, the world 
 is mine." 
 
 11 Does it make you very happy f she retorts saucily, 
 and then recoils a little timidly, as would the frightened 
 fawn in tbe gyves of its captor. 
 
 " Adelaide," he murmured, his eyes full of passionate 
 adoration, " I love you." 
 
 " And I you," was breathed softly in return. 
 
 A deep draught of love they drink from each other's 
 eyes ; then they slowly come back to realities, and turn 
 their horses' heads towards Darcliffe. 
 
 As they left the race course with its crowds of trainers 
 and jockeys considerably to the rear, and emerged once 
 more under the fine old oaks of Darcliffe, the sun was 
 rising to its zenith, the rooks had spread their wings in 
 search of some distant pasture lauds where the worms 
 and succulent roots were particularly tasty, and all in 
 the woods was silent in the noon-tide. 
 
 " You said your uncle was away, did you not, Rutland? 
 But he might be back by an early train." 
 
 " Yes, darling, he might, but that is improbable." 
 
 " Still he will be very angry if he hears of this, so we 
 had better hurry homeward." 
 
 " His anger will mean nothing to me, darling, when by
 
 10 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 incurring it I shall have procured the slightest pleasure 
 for my Adelaide." 
 
 Again in one clinging kiss of youth, and love, and 
 pleasure their lips met under the wind-swung branches 
 of the oaks, and then they dashed forward, anxious to 
 place their horses safe in their own stalls at Darcliffe. 
 
 For a few happy moments they cantered side by side 
 avoiding now a projecting bough, now a blasted tree- 
 stump overgrown with moss and dewy primroses, until, 
 in the very heart of that quiet wood the slumbering 
 wood-pigeons were startled into timid life by a lady's 
 wild cry, mingling with a deep angry bellow, loud and 
 terrible to them in their peaceful groves as is the angry 
 roar of the lion in his native forests. A crashing of 
 underwood and a galloping of heavy feet was hoard, 
 distinct from the flying footfalls of the horses, and the 
 lady was conscious of having for a moment beheld dash 
 ing full upon her flank, a lordly steer that had broken 
 from some shambles not far off, with the gash of the 
 slaughter-axe gaping wide in his massive neck, -whilst 
 the blood gushed in torrents from the huge rift, madden- 
 ing the brute with pain and terror. 
 
 However, fear lent the swiftness of the wind to Lady 
 Adelaide's horse's hoofs, as with a startled snort, Black- 
 water sped onward, gaining steadily before his pursuer, 
 though the latter was goaded by fury to an alarming- 
 speed. 
 
 " Darling, you were always a brave girl, but now you 
 must show your courage more than ever. I do not think, 
 however, there is real danger." 
 
 Side by side they galloped, the gentleman reining in 
 slightly, and directing his movements according to the
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. 11 
 
 lady's speed, whilst behind them, and not so very far, 
 the savage brute came thundering along with ponderous 
 hoof-stroke and an occasional fierce bellow which froze 
 the blood of the riders. 
 
 Each moment, however, he was losing ground, and 
 when next the lady turned in her saddle she knew that 
 danger was past. 
 
 "By Jove, the bridge over the torrent is broken!" 
 crir-d the young man in startling tones, " and it is an 
 ugly spot ; we must let our horses look well at it and 
 take time." 
 
 Yawning now at their feet was a ravine whose sides 
 were steep as a precipice, and studded at the bottom 
 with huge rocks, over which a torrent was rushiug. 
 
 They knew their horses, however, to be steeplechasers, 
 daring and active enough to clear a wider or an uglier 
 leap than this, and the riders were not alarmed. But 
 some time was necessarily lost in creeping down the dizzy 
 incline, whilst other valuable moments were past in find- 
 ing a part of the torrent practicable for a leap. Parts 
 were too dangerously wide, parts so bristled with slip- 
 pery or jagged rocks that no horse's hoof could rest upon 
 them to take off. At one spot at the near brink of the 
 torrent lay a newly-fallen oak tree, a young tree of 
 about sixty years' growth, which had been dealt foully 
 with ; the coutrabaud axe had done part of the work, and 
 a late storm the rest. 
 
 At the spot where the trunk of this tree lay the tor- 
 rent was at its narrowest, and a tiny patch of sward 
 stretched beneath the horses' hoofs. This was the 
 most feasible spot for a leap, but it would still be a
 
 12 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 hazardous one, owing to the obstruction offered by the 
 fallen tree. 
 
 " You do not fear it, I am sure * ? ' said the gentleman 
 encouragingly, and a proud little toss of the head was 
 her only answer. 
 
 " Then here is the take off, and follow me. Your 
 horse must rise high to the tree, and take a good stretch. 
 
 " Stay, darling ! " he cried suddenly ; " that bough 
 will drag you from your saddle." 
 
 Dismounting quickly, he swung his full weight from 
 the projecting bough so as to draw it slightly aside. 
 
 " Now ! Pass ! " cried he. 
 
 In a moment the lady was over tree and stream, as 
 ifghtly borne as though it were a swallow that had 
 skimmed the water. 
 
 In the meantime the brute pursuing then came thun- 
 dering along, and a bellow close at hand told the young 
 man he had no time to lose. 
 
 In consternation he sprang to his saddle, his horse, 
 snorting with terror, scarce rose to the tree-trunk ; he 
 struck it heavily with his knees, and not being able to 
 save himself, he struggled wildly in mid-air, and then 
 plunged forward on his head into the water, where for a 
 moment he lay stunned. 
 
 Quick as thought the young man had disengaged him- 
 self, and snatched from his breast pocket a revolver 
 which he presented at the head of the oncoming steer. 
 
 Crack ! Crack ! rang out upon the air, and one bullet 
 lodged in the steer's head, but it was too late. Ere the 
 fallen horse could rise from the water again, the mad- 
 dened brute had hurled himself with such savage im- 
 petuosity down the rough sides of the ravine, that at the
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. 13 
 
 
 
 bottom, in the rough torrent intersecting it, he fell power- 
 less in the throes of death, but not before his cruel horns 
 had torn into shreds the quivering heart of Black briar, 
 the gallant racer who was to have carried the thousands 
 of the rich, the hundreds of the poor safely past the post, 
 only four days thence. 
 
 A cry of pain escaped the blanched lips of the lady, 
 as she she sprang from her saddle to the ground. 
 
 " It will ruin the Earl of Darcliffe ! What will he say ? 
 He has so much money on the race. Oh, poor, noble 
 Blackbriar ! How sorry I am for you ! Rutland, dearest, 
 can I not do something for you ? Something for him P 
 she asked plaintively. 
 
 " Nothing dearest, noth " 
 
 Ere he could finish there came from the crest of the 
 hill above them a startling cry of horror, a cry with the 
 ring, almost of wild despair, and in an instant the tall, 
 soldierly form of the Earl of Darcliffe, with blanched 
 cheek and flaming eye, and a loaded revolver in his hand, 
 came springing down the slope. 
 
 Hatred and contempt breathed from his lips and brow 
 as he advanced threateningly towards his nephew. 
 
 " Coward !" he hissed, with suppressed passion, pre- 
 senting the revolver at his nephew's temple, " you deserve 
 it more than that poor dumb brute yonder. Go, cow- 
 ard ! get thee hence quickly, and never dare to darken 
 my threshold again! Go," he cried again, with intense 
 and rising fury, " Go, or I will shoot you down like any 
 dog in my pathway." 
 
 Then, whilst his ashen lips quivered with pain, he 
 turned and sent two bullets through the brain of the 
 noblest animal he had ever called his own ; and it was a
 
 14 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 mercy, indeed, for in the pangs of expiring agony the 
 limbs of the gallant brute were yet trembling. 
 
 " Forgive me," uncle !" was all that Rutland Borradule 
 could murmur, as with a sob that choked him, and pas- 
 sionate despair in his starry boyish eyes, he turned to 
 leave that scene of horror. 
 
 But now a detaining hand was laid on his arm, and a 
 pale face was raised to his. 
 
 " Rutland," she cried, " you have a friend till death in 
 me, tell me if I may not help you ?" 
 
 " You cannot, dearest," he breathed hoarsely. " Be- 
 lieve me, it is best that we should say goodbye forever 
 here. All must now be over between us, as you see, I 
 shall now be nothing but a beg beggar." It was with 
 difficulty he framed the word which meant for him a life- 
 long struggle and pain. 
 
 " Rutland ! not good bye !" and the plaintive dark 
 yes anon wells of love and light were raised to his in 
 mute entreaty, till his whole frame quivered, and his 
 resolution faltered, but it was only for a brief moment. 
 
 One lingering look he cast towards that scene of hor- 
 ror where the idolized racer of his uncle's stables and of 
 all their country round had, with his last faithful gasp 
 stretched his gallant limbs, stark and cold, at his pitying 
 master's feet, when naught of sorrow or despair could 
 avail to rouse him, and the young man dashed his hand 
 to his brow. 
 
 "Adelaide ! Adelaide ! look yonder ! It is, indeed good 
 bye forever, and I hope, for your sake, I may never see 
 you again." 
 
 " Rutland, you do not love me," she cried, with bitter 
 passion, but seeing that the young man turned from her,
 
 A LIFE'S WRECK. 
 
 she sprang towards him with a great fear in her hear 
 
 " Let nie save you from one plunge in the depths of 
 misery," she cried, as, unbuttoning his coat, she drew 
 from its little resting place, the deadly toy, with glitter- 
 ing muzzle, which, with steady hand, she pointed at her 
 own white brow. 
 
 " .Remember," she cried, with bloodless lips, " that I 
 keep it always, and no sooner do you attempt to end 
 your life than this will also stop the heart beats of your 
 once loved Adelaide !" 
 
 Ere the revolver had been lowered, ere the blood had 
 crept timidly back to her lips and cheeks, her lover had 
 sped away, leaving her to face alone whatever the future 
 held of good or evil for her. 
 
 But in Eutlaud Borradale's ear, as he went, came the 
 low murmur of her voice : 
 
 " I shall wait for you ! You will return and find me 
 waiting."
 
 18 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 
 
 In the March of 18, four years later than the events 
 we have just described, there were invitations issued for 
 a ball at No. 67 Boulevarde d'Igliamento, in the centre 
 of the most fashionable quarter of Brussels, and all the 
 wealth and beauty of the kingdom were expected to 
 grace it en masse. 
 
 High hopes and aspirations were based upon the coin- 
 ing fete; it was to be one of the most brilliant events of 
 the season, the military were to be represented by the 
 handsome 2d Lancers and the dashing "Guides," to the 
 thrilling strains of whose band the guests would dance ; 
 and numerous and interesting were the conjectures 
 amongst the daughters of beauty as to which of them 
 should on that occasion bear off tho coveted palm for 
 unrivalled loveliness. Alas !- many were to be the holo- 
 causts sacrificed on the altar of Venus for that event, 
 and iii consequence, many were the victims to trades- 
 men's bills who passed an uncomfortable cycle before 
 and after the 18th. 
 
 All the illustrious houses of the capital had their 
 guests, and amongst the most honored were those of the 
 great "Banking Baron," who at present was doing the 
 honors of his princely mansion to the Marchioness of 
 Ripdale, one of the most renowned beauties of Europe, 
 and to whom all conceded the title of " loveliest of her 
 sex" wherever she appeared. Little doubt had she or
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 17 
 
 indeed any one else, that her triumph at this ball would 
 be unexceptional, and that so long as she was present, 
 no other beauty could be looked at. So accustomed was 
 she to " come, and see and conquer ! " 
 
 " We understand," said the beautiful Marchioness, one 
 morning over her matiual ortolan to her host, the Baron 
 de Eothsleind, u though indeed, merely from the vaguest 
 rumor that there is at the Castle of Montelarde, a rather 
 good looking girl, totally unknown in society, not pre- 
 sented at Court either in England or Belgium, who, in a 
 word, is an American, and who, owing to her wealth, might 
 be quite a feature of our little entertainment, Baron, so 
 we might stretch a point and have her. But I fear 
 sadly," she added, " it will be a case of too many 
 millions, a very little of good looks, and nothing about 
 her that could be termed i chic.' However, we must 
 complain of nothing, she can stand alone, as her wealth 
 lends her ample attraction." 
 
 And while her host is dispatching the invitations to 
 the Castle of Moutelarde, the spoiled beauty turns to 
 the satisfactory contemplation of her own unrivalled 
 charms in the handsome pier glasses which abound around 
 her. 
 
 The night of the 18th, and evening ! Ten o'clock had 
 struck in the old halls of Montelarde, and the party 
 from the castle had not yet started, although the drive 
 into town was more than sixteen miles. 
 
 "The horses will do it in no time," calmly asserted 
 Monsieur de Moutespaire. " They have had nothing to 
 do for a week." 
 
 He might as well have been philosophical over the 
 matter. Who can describe the thrill of excitement and
 
 18 . HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 delight, the bustle, the rushing to and fro, the endless 
 adjusting of trifles ; in a word, the infinite pleasure that 
 reigns in the ladies' boudoir the liour before the ball. 
 
 Who, on the contrary, can paint, too, dismally the en- 
 nui of the gentlemen's apartments during the same hour ; 
 the standing in draughts, the gloomy endeavors to find 
 cigars, the heavy penalty of arranging a cravat, the hu- 
 miliation of looking for a pin, followed by the odious 
 perplexity of not knowing what must be done with that 
 pin. 
 
 Yes, for the gentlemen, undoubtedly this is the su- 
 premely miserable hour of their lives, whilst for the 
 ladies it holds complete bliss. 
 
 Madame de Montespaire was still hurrying to and 
 fro in her gorgeous attire of black velvet and silk, 
 trimmed elegantly with a thousand pounds' worth of 
 Brussels lace. Diamonds adorned her comely neck, and 
 a tiara of handsome emeralds and diamonds sparkled 
 in her hair, whilst in her bosom blazed the superb bloom 
 of a single scarlet cactus. 
 
 And the while in her elegant boudoir sat Elra Brook- 
 ley, with curl-caressed brow leaning on her jeweled 
 hand, entirely oblivious of passing events, wholly indif- 
 ferent to the coming hour and its requirements. 
 
 " I have been loved yes, I have been adored by one 
 handsome as a young god ! Loved !" she murmured, as 
 with dreamy eyes she looked out over the lake, where 
 in the darkling shadows the queenly swans glided in 
 and out among the waxen water lilies and tangled reeds. 
 "Yes, loved! Have I not felt it in the tremble of his 
 hand, as his dark eye met mine 5 felt it in the passion- 
 ate quiver of his whole frame as his lips have brushed
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 19 
 
 mine. Yea, have I not read it writ in his eyes those 
 glorious eyes which, looking solemnly, wonderingly into 
 the chaos of the future, I have seen sublime with the 
 dark, thrilling passion which might have lived in 
 David's as he approached with rapturous intent to slay 
 Goliath those eyes which, speaking back to me, were 
 all of tenderness and worship, as beneath their heavy 
 shade of lashes they sparkled and glinted and kindled 
 as the deep waters under the starlight, until they were 
 very dangerous for lovely woman to get lost in their 
 seductive depths. 
 
 " Yes, dangerous for others, but not for me, for we are 
 beloved of one another we have plighted faith to one 
 another forever and ever !" 
 
 But here she brushed her curls from her brow and 
 sighed. 
 
 " Could he but be here to-night ! Could he but assure 
 me that his love is as ardent yet as it was in those happy 
 days ! But he is not rich, and they will not have asked 
 him. Poor Rutland !" she cried, flinging impatiently 
 from her the diamond crescents that her maid had sup- 
 posed would sparkle superbly that night in her dark 
 wealth of hair. 
 
 " What avail to look handsome to-night ? He will 
 not be present, and I shall be alone to enjoy my little 
 triumphs, or to howl over my big miseries, as the case 
 may be. Come !" she cried, as a tap at the door re- 
 minded her that however much she might fondly imag- 
 ine she would be quite alone that evening, her brisk 
 little maid intended quickly to disturb all such visions 
 by taking absolute possession of her person in order to 
 put the finishing touches to her ball-room toilet.
 
 20 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Fortunately the maid was not as indifferent on the 
 subject as was her mistress, with the result that, after 
 clusters of sapphires and handsome diamonds had been 
 fastened here and there with the entire independence of 
 a daughter of America, and when her exquisite gown of 
 palest blue, trimmed with the softest blue-fox fur, which 
 looked chic and decidedly handsome against the ivory 
 whiteness of her neck, had been adjusted to satisfaction, 
 Elra Brookley was indeed a vision fit to make many a 
 female breast throb with indignant envy and astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 It was a brilliant assemblage that burst upon their 
 view as the party from Montelarde entered the crowded 
 ball-room. A waltz had just terminated, and the prom- 
 enade towards the supper room had begun. In a word, 
 everybody seemed intent upon his or her own particular 
 business or pleasure; but one magic whispered word 
 brought again a rush and a crush, and a polite scramble 
 to the centre of the hall, where Elra Brookley and her 
 queenly chaperone were advancing up the polished floor 
 to greet their hostess. Eyes were strained, heads were 
 turned, glasses lowered, and through the groups on all 
 sides there crept a thrill, a shiver, almost an expressed 
 groan of entirely satisfied wonderment. 
 
 "The heiress !" was breathed from lip to lip. 
 
 " Can it be possible ? There must be a mistake." 
 
 " One would be inclined not to credit her wealth with 
 such good looks." 
 
 " However, the Banking Baron is a good voucher for 
 that." 
 
 Such were the remarks that were rife on all sides as 
 Elra swept up the hall, with the calm dignity of good
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 21 
 
 breeding, unconscious of, or perhaps more truly indiffer- 
 ent to the effect she was producing, when suddenly, 
 standing out from the rest of the crowd, she caught 
 sight of a face that brought a tinge of deeper color to 
 her cheek ; a face remarkable for nothing so much as a 
 pair of marvellously soft gray eyes, which answered hers 
 with all the enthusiastic adoration of a schoolboy. Yes ! 
 Elra's eyes could not refrain from telling their pleasure 
 at seeing a friend of olden times in Murray Cresenworth, 
 for, down in Montelarde, hemmed in amongst the tower- 
 ing mountains and purple peaks, she had perhaps of late 
 felt a little lonely and just a little lost. 
 
 " He will be sure," thought she, u to have news from 
 Rutland. I am so glad he has come." 
 
 It was thus, as the startled light of surprise and 
 pleasure shone in her glorious eyes, that De Mouteford, 
 a supercilious old roue, well known in most of the 
 fashionable clubs of Brussels, Paris, and even London, 
 with all tbe impertinence of his class, levelled his glasses 
 at the advancing form of the heiress, and professed his 
 marked admiration with all the savor of a connoisseur. 
 
 " By Jove," cried he, in an insolent drawl, u she wears 
 her wealth as another woman would her diamonds, 
 merely to crown her beauty. But," added he, with a 
 marked curl of his close-shaven lip, " the auctioneering 
 is low at present. She may be knocked down to an 
 earl.' 
 
 And Forthwith he dismissed from his mind al\ thoughts 
 on so trivial a subject. 
 
 The next dance on the programme \vd8 a set 01 lancers, 
 and in this Elra took a part with some person of note 
 whose name she did not even care to enquire. She
 
 22 HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 knew he was an English " lord," a fact which made him 
 intolerable in her estimation. Now, Elra Brookley's 
 ideas on this subject were somewhat eccentric, and 
 showed an amount of old-fashioned independence, quite 
 incomprehensible, and sad to behold in so well bred a 
 young person. 
 
 She had once met a young Englishman of the genus 
 u lord," who in the superb pride of aristocracy had re- 
 lated to her how the "pork-dealers' daughters" were 
 having it all their own way Amongst the English swells; 
 and forthwith she had settled it definitely in her mind 
 that she should loathe England's wooden swelldom. 
 
 " I almost fancy," she said to herself, " that I could 
 hate even Rutland if he were one of those titled eye-glass 
 wearing Englishmen. And yet, if any one has an air of 
 breeding and of class about him, it is Rutland. I sup- 
 pose with my amount of money I shall be looked down 
 upon for choosing a plain Mr. Anybody, no matter how 
 distinguished that Mr. Anybody may be; but, after all, 
 other people's pity cannot make me unhappy with Rut- 
 land." 
 
 In the meantime whilst Elra, with intensely bored ex- 
 pression the " Ford " admired her all the more for it, it 
 was a sign of breeding he thought was pacing through 
 the dance, Murray Cresenworth had been doing his best 
 to get close to Elra, and at the conclusion of the lancers 
 did actually contrive to carry her off most willingly on 
 her part for the following waltz, despite the looks of 
 hostility and entreaty respectively, succeeding each other 
 on the peer's face, 
 
 Murray's arm was on her waist, her hand clasped his, 
 whilst the music rose and fell in passionate or languishing
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 23 
 
 cadence, and away they floated, threading their way 
 amidst clouds of tulle and laces, as free from jostle by 
 Murray's superior guidance as though they sailed alone 
 upon an open sea, with thoughts for nothing save the 
 voluptuous swell of the music and the enthralling pleas- 
 ure of the hour. 
 
 Such a pair of graceful dancers could not fail to be the 
 cynosure of many admiring glances, and of some very 
 envious ones. 
 
 Amongst others who watched these dancers in partic- 
 ular were a very portly dowager, and her two rather 
 well favored daughters, who were temporarily enjoying 
 a rest. 
 
 " Why Marie, my daughter, what has become of your 
 jeun Americain I I was beginning to imagine, and not 
 without reason, that he was very much epris. Am I to 
 understand that you and he have quarrelled ? " 
 
 Now, on the day preceding this important event, it 
 must be told that Pauline, Odile and Marie, three sisters, 
 and Madame de la lioche, their mother, had assembled 
 to debate about the coming ball ; they had arranged 
 about dresses, about partners, about business. Each one 
 had been alloted a certain line to pursue; Pauline deter- 
 mines to attack a very rich widower, Odile is apportioned 
 some younger prey, and, last of all, Marie is lectured. 
 
 "You, Marie," said the wise Pauline, " must secure 
 Monsieur Cresenvort, he is imrnensly rich, and seems to 
 care for you. He is, besides, young, ardent and very 
 impressionable. You ought to be able to do it." 
 
 "I fear not," said Marie, diffidently ; " he rather ad- 
 mires Mademoiselle Berthe."
 
 24 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "Pooh, she is as cold and as dull as stone, and as hid- 
 eous as an Egyptian mummy. She will not stand in your 
 way with so brilliant and witty a person as Monsieur 
 Cresenvort, be assured, Marie 1 " 
 
 "I like Monsieur Cresenvort very much," responded 
 Marie, still unconvinced, " but I fear he is too gay and 
 too charming for me." 
 
 " You are pretty," retorted her sister impatiently, " do 
 as we advise you, or you will be very ungrateful." 
 
 And this then was the reason why in Marie's bright 
 eyes lingered the air of the conqueror, as she sat by her 
 mother watching the latest arrival, which happened to be 
 Madame de Moutelarde and her beautiful charge; she, 
 Marie, had been dancing since she entered the rooms 
 with that ravissant Monsieur Cresenvort. 
 
 "Three dances in succession," cried her sister Odile 
 enthusiastically, "and see how wickedly those girls you- 
 der are looking at you. You are a darling wicked little 
 coquette, Marie." 
 
 " Mamma," said Marie deprecatingly, " I trust it will 
 not look too marked but as Monsieur Cresenvort has 
 asked me for the thirteenth dance, which is one of the 
 evening's prettiest waltzes, I suppose I may stretch a 
 point and dance it with him '?" 
 
 "Then," came the quick rejoinder, "be sure you se- 
 cure the fourteenth and endeavor to sit out the fifteenth 
 with him." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Marie, with a quick gasp of horror at 
 sight of their proposed victim skimming past on the 
 polished floor with his arm on the waist of an unutter- 
 ably lovely girl, wholly unknown to her or her sisters. 
 
 Yes, away glided those two happy dancers, dreamers
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 25 
 
 they were then, up and down and around they went as 
 though they could never tire; till at last among the 
 fern-decked archways and the dim lights, they disap- 
 peared altogether; and, I would not like to say posi- 
 tively, but I am inclined to fear, that the thirteenth 
 waltz and its engagements were totally forgotten by 
 some one, who as the outraged Marie presumed, with 
 much indignation, ought to have known better. 
 
 " How decidedly frowsy our dancers are beginning to 
 look, Baron ; " remarked the Marchioness of Ripdale to 
 her host, as they sat at the reserved supper table at the 
 end of the great dining hall, whereon nothing but silver 
 and the richest cut glasses sparkled under their wealth 
 of vine-leaf and fruit, quaking jelly, cheese cake, and 
 marrou-glace ; and where in quick succession, pate de 
 foie gras, chicken salads, cold duck, ortolans or wood 
 cock, chased each other at the behest of the apparently 
 unappreciative gourmands. 
 
 " But there is a complexion yonder of pure alabaster ; 
 how refreshing it is in its positively dazzling whiteness, 
 after all those horrors of the ball room. My brain may 
 have been softened by your excellent wines, Baron, but 
 it appears to me impossible to explain, why people will 
 dance if it mars their beauty," 
 
 "Oh, easily explained, dear Marchioness, they have 
 none to lose. There are but five perfectly beautiful 
 women in the whole of Europe, and of these only one 
 has deigned to grace my rooms with her presence to-night. 
 She however will ever be more esteemed than all the 
 others. 
 
 "Baron, you are a Parisian, and you wrong you? 
 guests, especially she of the Grecian brow and marble-
 
 20 
 
 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 white skin; and, positively, if I am to enjoy another 
 morsel of your excellent supper, I must have that re- 
 freshingly perfect face opposite me. But who is the 
 goddess with the handsome shadowy eyes and keen 
 eagle brows 1 The type is so decidedly new that I won- 
 der where she can have brought her good looks from ? " 
 
 " From the other side of the Atlantic, I presume." 
 
 " Ah, the handsome heiress ! " she exclaimed languidly 
 as she toyed with her marron-glace ; it will amuse me to 
 make the acquaintance of a Texan or a Nevada gold- 
 mine girl, they are said to be original." 
 
 Beauty is almost always attracted towards beauty, 
 and the English marchioness and the American heiress, 
 after a pleasant conversation over their dainty suppers, 
 were prepared to offer to each other as sincere and 
 pretty a little hand of friendship as could be exchanged 
 between two ladies reared under such widely different 
 circumstances. 
 
 Had Elra Brookley been an Englishwoman she would 
 have enquired the maiden name of the young marchion- 
 ess whose beauty was inspiring the fashionable world 
 with wonder ; she would have placed herself in posses- 
 sion of the antecedents, the past history, and, in a word, 
 all that was known about the young peeress both before 
 and after her marriage. 
 
 But not being English, Elra Brookley lay languidly 
 back amongst the soft cushions of the carriage as they 
 drove homeward in the cold gray light of morning, and 
 gave no more than perhaps a passing thought to those 
 haunting eyes, to those lips molded for passion, to that 
 brow of snow ; but the recollection of them came to her
 
 A QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 27 
 
 mind coupled always with an indefinable dread rather 
 than with any real pleasure. 
 
 " Thank heaven," she murmured, " he has been spared 
 having ever had her beauty near him to tempt him to 
 madness and passion." 
 
 And yet as she thought thus, she trembled, for simul- 
 taneously came to her the recollection of a strange event 
 which had happened that .evening. 
 
 During supper, Elra had noticed that the Marchioness 
 of Eipdale wore a very handsome bracelet, to which was 
 suspended a very small locket. This locket, unperceived 
 by its owner, had become detached from the bracelet, 
 and slipped among the cut glass ornaments of the 
 table. As Elra picked it up and handed it back to the 
 Marchioness, her face grew, for a moment, deadly pale ; 
 for in that pretty, jewel-trimmed locket she saw a face 
 startlingly like that of the man she loved to distraction, 
 though more boyish, with his curly locks and stany 
 eyes, than her Rutland ; but looking again, she found 
 the face in the locket distinctly different from Rutland's, 
 and she breathed more freely. And yet she could not 
 put the thought of that face in the locket from her mind. 
 
 " What if it should be his face after all, hanging there 
 at that beautiful peeress' wrist, perhaps placed there by 
 himself! But no, it was not his face ! It was entirely 
 different, and if it had been, how could it have come 
 there ?" 
 
 And thus, torn by unhappy doubts and terrors, she fell 
 into a troubled slumber whilst the carriage moved on- 
 ward through the fresh morning air. 
 
 At the same time the Marchioness in the seclusion of
 
 28 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 her silk-draped boudoir, sighed as she looked at that 
 boyish face in her little locket. 
 
 " I wonder," thought she, " was he angry or rejoiced 
 when he at length sought home expecting to find me 
 
 waiting, and found me ah ! " she looked down at her 
 
 wedding ring and shuddered. " I never loved but him, 
 and him I have myself thrown aside ! Well," she con- 
 tinued, with a little frosty laugh, " be it so 1 I must 
 now only fill the blank in my life by making all men my 
 playthings ! " 
 
 "What is that, dear?" said her husband, rejoining 
 her at this moment. " You seem happy for so early an 
 hour in the day." 
 
 " I was thinking, dear," rejoined his loving spouse, 
 ".how well you danced that hornpipe ! It is incredible 
 for a man of your size and age." 
 
 With this parting shot, which she knew would prove 
 spicy to the middle-aged, rotund marquis, she threw her- 
 self amid the satin cushions of the lounge and exhibited 
 a reprehensible determination not to vouchsafe another 
 word to her lord and master.
 
 IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. U9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE PEKFUMED PINE WOODS. 
 
 Many weeks had passed since Elra had been so uni- 
 versally accorded the pal in for matchless beauty at the 
 ball given by the Baron de Eothsleiud in. Brussels, and 
 since then she had lingered on in the lovely old castle of 
 Moutelarde as the pampered guest of Madame de Monte- 
 spaire and her husband. 
 
 " We had grown so old, dear, before you came, and 
 now you are here we live once more and are young again ; 
 so, cherie, do not ask to fly from us," was reiterated so 
 often by her handsome hostess who found in Elra's visit 
 an excuse for gaieties long unheard of at the castle that 
 Elra was not loathe to prolong her stay. 
 
 " So good of you to tolerate a humdrum existence like 
 ours, at this dull old castle, but we must see what we 
 can do to enliven you," her host would venture sometimes ; 
 but this really meant that he would as usual plunge into 
 his daily paper, leaving to his wife the cares of thinking 
 out the subject in question and of following it up, if she 
 cared to, which arrangement met with the said wife's 
 thorough approval. 
 
 Thus many was the brilliant fete where Elra wielded 
 the sceptre of the courted Queen of Beauty, repeating 
 her triumphs o'er and o'er, and without number were her 
 worshippers who lingered always around her, ready to 
 anticipate her most trivial wish. Amongst these was
 
 30 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Murray Creseuworth, who had gained the much coveted 
 privilege of calliug every now and again to attend Elra 
 in her rambles on horseback or on foot. 
 
 Elra being in the position of a young woman whose af- 
 fections were engaged elsewhere was rather inclined to 
 ridicule his devotion and yet, like any daughter of Eve, 
 when all was said and done, she had, be it understood, a 
 kind of sneaking affection for this young American whose 
 enthusiastic admiration was preposterous and absurd, but 
 who, nevertheless, had brought her good news from him 
 on the night of the Baron de Rothsleind's ball. 
 
 That news whispered in her ear had made her to tread 
 on air for many a day after, and, strange to say, it was 
 oftentimes that the young man had to repeat those whis- 
 pered words in their long rambles together, when they 
 so often watched tire sunbeams as they shot aslant on 
 the waters at their feet, or the purple clouds of sunset 
 clustering about the falling disc of gold, or, again, the 
 gaunt shadows of the mountains falling dark and gloomy 
 across the valley. 
 
 Once, indeed, he had surprised her amongst the fern, 
 where couched the timid deer, with a letter in her hand 
 and with so soft, so tender a smile on her lip, and in her 
 brimming eye, that he had timidly asked the reason. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Oresenworth, such news ! " cried she gaily. 
 "Rutland is coming. Read for yourself," and she 
 handed him the letter which ran briefly as follows : 
 MY BELOVED ONE: 
 
 I am starting to see you at last, and I tremble with joy 
 when I think of our approaching meeting. Remember, 
 darling, your sweet promise. I shall call you little wife 
 three days after I rejoin you, and be true to the man who 
 adores you.
 
 IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 31 
 
 It was signed with bis initials, E. B. 
 
 How selfish love ami prosperity is apt to make the 
 best of us. Elra, tender of thought and word to a de- 
 gree at other times, now glanced at her companion, eager- 
 ly and selfishly expecting naught but gladness and sym- 
 pathy in his glance, but she certainly was not prepared 
 for the change that had transformed his ordinarily cheery 
 face in hue from its healthy red to the cold, ashen gray 
 of a snow-charged sky. 
 
 His secret stood revealed, and for the first time she 
 felt in her heart a twinge of pity for her victim. 
 
 " Forgive me," she breathed, softly, with a note of pain 
 in her voice. " I did not know I never believed " 
 
 What she did or did not believe, never transpired, for 
 at that moment occurred something which strongly 
 diverted their thoughts from the point in question. 
 
 Ere Murray could command himself sufficiently to 
 utter some sarcastic word expressive of how very indif- 
 ferent he felt as to anything that might occur to his 
 lovely companion in the matter of her marrying Rutland 
 Borradale or any other man, Elra's dainty parasol, 
 whether premeditated on her part or by accident, got 
 carried away by the wind, and ended up in the water at 
 their feet, where they were compelled to watch it getting 
 sucked and crushed to atoms amongst the rocks. 
 
 11 How awkward of me to have allowed it to go," said 
 Murray, with deep contrition, quite forgetting the sar- 
 casm he had been planning, and instead he looked for 
 forgiveness in her radiant happy eyes. 
 
 " It is not to be regretted at all," she cried gaily. 
 "It will merely be an excuse to go to town for a new 
 one."
 
 32 HER PLAYTHINGS, At EN. 
 
 All very well such stoicism on Elra's part, but now 
 occurred the difficulty of how the heiress could possibly 
 walk the length of three fields, much less all the way 
 back to the castle, without a sunshade. 
 
 "It is not to be thought of," cried Murray, deter- 
 minedly, and it was forthwith settled that the gentleman 
 should hurry homeward and from thence bring the car- 
 riage to meet her, with a relay of sunshades whose num- 
 ber would allow for any more accidents. With a little 
 wave of her handkerchief, Elra watched her cavalier 
 disappearing amongst the trees, and then, with the wild 
 buoyancy of spirits known only to youth and pleasure 
 and love, she danced along the pathway towards the 
 lake, humming to a sweet air, well known at that time : 
 
 " She took three paces through the room, 
 She saw the water-lily bloom, 
 She saw the helmt aud the plume, 
 
 She looked down to Oamelot. 
 
 Out flew the web, and floated wide ; 
 The mirror cracked from side to side ; 
 'The curse is come upon me,' cried 
 The lady of Shalott." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " Poor thing," mused Elra, " to have her life's happi- 
 ness wrecked by one glance. I wonder," she continued, 
 "if it could ever possibly be that at one glance of mine 
 the world and the sea and the sky will change in a mo- 
 ment and become everything that is horrible and bitter 
 and miserable. Impossible ! Impossible ! " she cried. 
 But she shuddered, nevertheless, as she thought of it. 
 
 It was a lovely view which burst upon her sight, as 
 she cleared the pine and oak woods fringing the water's 
 brink at this particular point. Beyond lay a beautifully
 
 IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 33 
 
 wooded valley in the heart oi' the Ardenne country, 
 hemmed in by the towering crags and lofty peaks of 
 Brumenwoefel, bordered by the majestic forests ; a sunlit 
 valley where nestled the little watering town of Vielsalin, 
 guarded on all sides by its protecting centaurs. 
 
 At Elra's feet, on the placid bosom of the lake, the 
 golden water lilies were peeping above the wave, their 
 juicy fresh green leaves spanning the glassy surface of 
 the mere ; water spiders skated here -and there, revelling 
 in the glowing sunbeams ; beauties melted into beauties, 
 and all in nature breathed of harmony and gladness. 
 She watched the shepherds on the distant hills collect 
 their flocks; she saw the huntsmen emerge from out 
 the gloom of the forest trees, with their powder horns 
 and game flung across their shoulders ; and lower down, 
 amongst the willows near the river that fed the little 
 lake, and scarce at a stone's cast from her side, she saw 
 what was it that made her start so ? she saw a form, 
 perfect in its manly symmetry and beauty, and the next 
 moment she had sprung to her feet from the tangle of 
 reeds and kingcups, amongst which she crouched, with 
 a little half-strangled cry of delight, for she saw Eutland 
 Borradale advancing down the pathway to greet her. 
 
 " Yet, no ! He has not seen me yet," she murmured. 
 " He is on his way to the castle, and must needs pass 
 this way; so I shall wait and see his startled look with 
 shall it be surprise ? Shall it be pleasure?" she asked 
 of herself jealously, as half hidden by the clustering pine 
 trees she waited for she knew not what; waited for 
 that which she would rather she had never known. 
 
 Yes ! Her face blanched and became set as marble, 
 as she perceived that Rutland Borradale her Eutland
 
 34 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 was not alone in his quiet ramble ; that bis deep, tender 
 tones were answered by a woman's voice. 
 
 And yet, after all, they were but groundless fears that 
 assailed her, for although she had not yet seen the lady 
 who accompanied Kutlaud, one glance at his curling lip 
 and cold contemptuous eye sufficed to reassure her. 
 
 k < Where have I heard that voice before ?" she cried, 
 in startled tones, as, advancing down the pathway, 
 their voices became more and more distinct, until she 
 could catch the very words they spoke. 
 
 u Things have fared well with your ladyship since that 
 day," was heard, in the sarcastic tones of the young 
 man. 
 
 "Yes; fortune has in a way smiled on me," she 
 answered, sadly ; " but you, the friend and companion 
 of my girlhood, have condemned me to a loveless life." 
 
 u In your estimation, perhaps, to condemn you to 
 poverty might have proved a worse sin. Yes, you may 
 be thankful your lot is cast as it is." 
 
 " Rutland, you know I am not thankful." 
 
 " You are not thankful for anything, then." 
 
 " You are heartless !" 
 
 The unknown, advancing around a corner in the wind- 
 ing pathway, now suddenly emerged into view. 
 
 There in the sunshine, standing amongst the quaking 
 reeds and shimmering aspens, she confronted the man 
 who walked by her side, with a look brimming with re- 
 proach and and love. It was the deep fire of a fathom- 
 less love that spoke from her magnificent eyes as she 
 stood where the blue-eyed forget me-uots in the marsh 
 lands and the kingcups and golden iris made a carpet of 
 ilowers for her dainty feet.
 
 IN THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 35 
 
 And this lady, who and what was she ? One with the 
 lithe, willowy grace of a princess born, to rule, one en- 
 dowed with all the exquisite tenderness and sweet sym- 
 pathy of womanhood a woman with a neck like a swan 
 and sweet, deep, pensive eyes, velvety and dark, and 
 mysterious as the waters which gurgled and ebbed on 
 the lake's flowery margin. Soft and white were the 
 water-lilies she had plucked and fastened at her throat, 
 but more like the driven snow was her classic brow, more 
 lovely than all nature's other charms was the naturally 
 rich blush that lingered in her dimpling cheek. 
 
 Who and what was she ? 
 
 She was, in a word, Adelaide, Marchioness of Ripdale. 
 
 She whom of all women Elra had most wished could 
 never be thrown in Rutland's path to tempt him with her 
 glorious beauty ; and here she was deep in the heart of 
 ths lonely woods at Champisnay with him as her only 
 attendant, and, whether by design or otherwise, this 
 meeting had been effected Elra did not dare to ask her- 
 self. 
 
 " Rutland," said the woman, standing in his pathway, 
 " do you remember the lakes at the Abbey and our happy 
 life amongst the heathery haunts of the coot and water- 
 fowl, where we used to catch the little fish and trap the 
 frogs and water rats !" Then, seeing he turned his head 
 away, she added : 
 
 " Can you forget ?" 
 
 The last words were spoken so slowly, so softly, with 
 such ^a passionate ring of regret that even Elra, listen- 
 ing, thought, with a twinge of pain, that they sounded 
 sweet as the wanton zephyrs playing among the harp- 
 strings of old.
 
 36 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Yes! alas! to see Adelaide was to love her, and slowly 
 Rutland's hand went out to her's in reconciliation, their 
 eyes met and lingered and something there was in that 
 prolonged glance that made the unhappy watcher recoil 
 as though struck by an invisible hand. 
 
 " O God 1" came in broken accents from her stone cold 
 lips, " I have been strangely mistaken ! His words, his 
 looks were false. He loved me not. He never, never 
 loved me. How could I have imagined it so !" 
 
 " Yes," continued Adelaide, " as brother and sister 
 were we then and we were happy dreamers ; but now 
 you have grown to love the light of other eyes and the3 r 
 have grown for you lovely as the starry midnight. 
 Whilst I " 
 
 " Adelaide ! " he cried, imperiously, but now she turned 
 from him. 
 
 With the quick daring of a blinded, long-suppressed 
 passion he drew the queenly head to his breast and 
 looked long and searchingly in her eyes. 
 
 "Adelaide," he cried, his tall, manly form quivering 
 from head to foot, iu every fibre, iu every muscle. " I 
 know of no loveliness to equal the unholy depths of 
 darkness, the unfathomable mystery of your eyes." 
 
 ' ; What can their unfathomable mysteries mean for 
 you F she breathed, with a ring of almost defiance in her 
 tones. 
 
 " The fire in your eyes, Adelaide, has made the star- 
 light of my boyhood ! The passion-flame living in them 
 now must be the beacon to wreck or save my manhood ! 
 Which will " 
 
 But the strain upon that listener amongst the trees 
 was too much j in that moment, seeing what she saw,
 
 I.Y THE PERFUMED PINE WOODS. 37 
 
 something seemed to tear her heart down, down, down ; 
 and she knew that all of golden happiness and sweet 
 love and faith had gone from her life forever. With not 
 so much as a murmur, therefore, she fell nervelessly in 
 the rank and tangled grasses, her senses gradually leav- 
 ing her until all became cloudy and indistinct and her 
 limbs grew to the coldness of marble.
 
 38 HER 2 y LAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER. 
 
 "Who and what was Adelaide, Marchioness of Rip- 
 dale, before her marriage?" 
 
 The question was calmly addressed by Elra Brookley 
 to her hostess next morning as that lady and she linger- 
 ed over a late breakfast. Murray Cresenworth was also 
 there, toying with some game pie and other dainties, and 
 making a brave show of being ravenous, although in 
 truth he had not touched any food that morning, tie 
 had been coaxed into staying at the Castle for the night, 
 and could not sleep for the haunting thought of Elra's 
 dead white face, and icy hand, last evening when he 
 had rejoined her in the woods by the lake. Something, 
 he told himself, had transpired to have effected so start- 
 ling and sad a change in Elra's whole being, something 
 very untoward it must have been, for her spirits of tbe 
 morning would have enabled her to have shaken off any- 
 thing trivial; and Murray's brain was exercised vainly 
 to fathom the difficulty. This morning, too, the cold list- 
 lessness of her manner would give one the idea that her 
 very heart was dead within her, that she cared for nothing 
 like she did yesterday morning, that in fact the world 
 had come to a standstill for her. 
 
 Could it be she has seen Borradale, or what can 
 have happened ? thought Murray ; he gave little cre- 
 dence to her explanation of having fallen asleep in the
 
 A QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER, 39 
 
 woods, and having been awakened by bis calling ber by 
 name, wben be bad almost despaired of finding ber. 
 
 " You look cold tbis morning, dear," said Madame de 
 Montespaire, kindly. " I fear that you must bave taken 
 a cbill yesterday during your nap in tbe woods. About 
 tbe lovely Marchioness, did you ask me? Wby dear, 
 sbe was tbe daughter of a man of wealth and note, whose 
 name I don't remember, and was reared in tbe lap of 
 luxury. She was a famous shot, a dasbing horsewoman ; 
 and, by the way, that reminds me," she said, addressing 
 Murray, " did sbe not, or was it only rumor, get a young 
 man of good standing, Borradale bis name was, a 
 nephew of tbe Earl of Darcliffe, I think, into rather an 
 ugly pickle by one of her usual daring feats of horseman- 
 ship. I never beard the rights of tbe story, but I believe 
 it was risky in more ways tban one. She rode in Dar- 
 cliffe races in a jockey's colors and costume, pulled her 
 borse, wbicb cbanced to be tbe favorite, and designedly 
 lost the race. Young Borradale was made accountable 
 by tbe jockey club for the misdemeanor, as it was he 
 who bad abetted tbe fraud, by giving ber tbe mount on 
 tbe favorite." 
 
 The story of any little scandal never loses its piquant 
 flavor, so l:ng as there is a woman to recount it. At 
 the name of Borradale Elra gave a painful start, but 
 seeing, or feeling rather, that Creseinfoith's eyes were 
 on ber, sbe asked calmly. 
 
 "Borradale is then the name of tbis nephew of the 
 Earl of Darcliffe ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, and I believe be bas been greatly im- 
 poverished since then, as bis uncle bas cast him off, and 
 it was tbis that induced the present Marchioness to give
 
 40 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 him tip without another thought, for I believe they were 
 rather attached to each other previously, and in fact had 
 run wild as boy and girl together." 
 
 She might have rambled on forever, as Elra was too 
 much crushed apparently to allow of her uttering a syl- 
 lable, and Murray's breath being fairly taken away by 
 the news, each word of which he felt drove a dagger 
 through the gentle womanly heart beating within a few 
 paces of him ; but Monsieur de Montespaire, who 
 despised late breakfasts in the abstract, and all who 
 took part in them, entered at this moment with a gun in 
 his hand. 
 
 "Heady far the chase, eh, Cresen worth ? If you care 
 to come, I have a good double barrel at your disposal, 
 and we can have some good sport through our patches of 
 forestland." 
 
 But our carpet knight, after timidly consulting Elra's 
 eyes, in which he read somethiug of encouragement, 
 preferred to linger with the ladies. Everything that he 
 could possibly devise was done during the course of that 
 morning to chase the cloud from Elra's brow, and with 
 such success that at length her little ripples of laughter 
 sounded nearly as bright and ringing as ever. It was 
 in this happier frame of mind, into which his gay re- 
 partee had coaxed Elra, that Murray and she strolled 
 down the avenue with the arching trees overhead, and 
 the wind soughing in the branches, prepared, as they 
 were fully, to enjoy the lovely summer weather iu each 
 other's company.^ 
 
 However they were destined to have a slight break in 
 the monotony of so delightful a programme, for com- 
 ing towards them fioui the tower gate which guarded
 
 A QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER. 41 
 
 the entrance to the detnense, they perceived a young man, 
 whoso steps were hastened as he caught sight of them. 
 
 It was Rutland Borradale. 
 
 They met, and Murray watched Elra Brookley's face 
 keenly, but it was not to be read. With a happy little rip- 
 ple of laughter she extended her hand to their visitor, and 
 the next few minutes were made very bright with allu- 
 sions to pleasant memories, and delightful anecdotes, 
 and repartee from all sides, Then, in a lull of the con- 
 versation, Rutland Borradale, turning towards Elra, 
 with eyes that softened with deepest tenderness, as he 
 saw her fresh young beauty looking lovlier than perhaps 
 ever before, under the swaying boughs of the blossom 
 heaped chestnuts. 
 
 "You got my letter I see by your answer, but you did not 
 tell me half what I longed to know," he whispered, bending 
 towards her, but loud enough for Cresen worth to hear. 
 
 " Will you grant me a delicious long afternoon alone at 
 your feet, dearest?" This was breathed very low, but 
 sweet and clear as a bell rang her careless answer. 
 
 " The horses await us at the door; Mr. Creseuworth 
 and I have an engagement to ride this afternoon." 
 
 For a moment he was staggered by her answer, and 
 grew pale to the lips, his eyes darkening in anger, but 
 the next instant he had forced himself to be calm, and 
 drawing himself up proudly, he lifted his hat with all 
 the freezing hauteur Avhich the bluest blood of England 
 can best assume at will. 
 
 " It must be as you decide," and in a moment he had 
 turned on his heel. 
 
 "Ah," thought Murray, drawing a deeper breath 
 than usual, u it is as I conjectured."
 
 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEA r . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 
 
 How tiny, how inconceivably small is onr human 
 nature \vith its aspirations, its pursuits, its little glories, 
 its trials, its infinitesimal Bufferings. Look out through 
 the cold twilight at the grey villages clustering about 
 the mountain's brow ; what a speck each hut ; what 
 a palmful each village: Yet within, those huts live 
 human beings, t;iller, stronger, perhaps more noble than 
 we who survey them. Within those villages palpitates 
 the heart, the strength, the stir, the workings of human 
 life. And far, far above all, the immense Being who guides 
 and doubtless looks down, and if his eye were not All- 
 seeing, would that Eye detect us in our sufferings; if His 
 mind were not all perceiving, would he ken that we poor 
 beings lived, or groaned, or toiled? 
 
 And we, perhaps, if we sometimes soared beyond our little 
 lives on looking back, how much of poignancy would our 
 griefs and miseries lose from the far off sphere from 
 which we might survey them. But it is hard to rise 
 thus above the cruelties and griefs of life, and in the 
 ocean of sublimity forget them. 
 
 Somewhat of these saddening realities passed through 
 Elra's mind, as with a feeling of utter loneliness she stole 
 down toward where a line of poplars marked the pro- 
 gress of the brook watering the lawn at Montelarde. It 
 was a balmy summer afternoon ; scarce a ripple of wind
 
 A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 43 
 
 was there to stir the leaves of the poplars that shivered 
 through the calmest day. The shade of the oaks was 
 dark and cool, and the sweet smelling hay was freshly 
 strewn upon the sward, when, with a novel in her hand, 
 she lay down upon the rugs and cushions provided by 
 the attentive Cresenworth and began to read some of 
 Madame's light literature. She had complained of head- 
 ache through the morning and had entreated for a rest 
 in the long and sultry afternoon, when Madame would be 
 making a somewhat distant call; and now with heavy lids, 
 which unwillingly did their duty, she crept languidly 
 through a page of a very racy French novel. Gradu- 
 ally her eyelids drooped and she listened with a shud- 
 der to the dismally weird sound amongst the poplars. 
 Those ghostly trees that in the cold twilight freeze the 
 blood with suggestions of the suicide and midnight mur- 
 der, which they appear to have seen enacted beneath 
 their branches and for which they seemed ever to shiver 
 and weep. Elra revelled in the gloomy thoughts 
 brought by the tremor of those silver-grey leaves. There 
 is always a certain pleasure in sharing Nature's gloom, 
 very different from the endurance of one's own sorrow. 
 Elra was awakened from her reverie by a footfall on the 
 turf beside, and a voice ringing in her ears, a voice that 
 was always destined to thrill her. " Alone !" She did 
 not need to raise her head to recognize the intruder. Too 
 well she knew the well-built frame and the face which 
 charmed, though scarcely more handsome than manly 
 looking. There are those who hold that grey eyes are 
 treacherous. Certain it is they have the greatest power 
 to soften or darken, to lighten or harden, of any color, be 
 it brown, blue or black. Dark grey starry eyes, which
 
 44 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 changed with every word, a well cut profile and, sur- 
 passing all, a sensitive sweetness of expression playing 
 around the full, ripe lips, about which lurked great capa- 
 bility for humor. Such were the features whose memory 
 came crowding back to Elra as she, with determined 
 bent head and averted eyes, caught his first low words. 
 "Elra," he said iu sorrowful tones, which brought her 
 back to the happy da3~s, when together they had chased 
 the pretty corn-crakes through the meadows at Offington, 
 irrespective of damage done to the silvery grasses 
 "you are cold as an iceberg; why?" 
 
 A little tearless sob broke from her as she viewed him, 
 tall and manly looking, with his thrilling, soft eyes bent 
 in pleading to hers, and not venturing, as was his wont, 
 to touch her hand with ever so timid a caress, or to pass 
 his fingers with even the gentlest tenderness through her 
 braided locks. Catching no answer from her lips he bent 
 low over her, till his whispered words reached her ear : 
 
 " Dave you forgotten your love f ' 
 
 Eis hand was laid on her shoulder with what she chose 
 to deem the tenderness of an elder brother for the sister 
 of whom he is proud. That gentle caress as he well knew, 
 could not fail to thrill her, and half unwillingly she raised 
 her eyes to his. Yes, Rutland Borradale she knew had 
 power to kill all that was lovely, and sweet, and bright 
 in her life, to turn all things forever to blackest night. 
 She knew she worshipped this young man standing 
 above her with a love which is known but once in a life- 
 time, and which, when killed, drags down the heart to 
 bitter death or rather petrefactiou unfailing with it. 
 
 "Rutland!" His name broke from her lips in a half 
 groan, and shuddering with pain as she looked at him,
 
 A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 45 
 
 she crouched lower on the ground at his feet. In an 
 instant he was on his knees with his arm about her. 
 
 " Elra, what is it grieves you f he murmured gently; 
 but recoiling from his caress she sprang to her feet. 
 
 " By what right does your arm encircle me now 1 ?" she 
 said with mocking curl of the lip. " By the right of love, 
 I suppose. Elra," he cried in scathing tones, " I must 
 conclude that you are not your usual self to-day." Then 
 with all his mauly dignity reasserting itself, he added : 
 " I suppose you remember that you have promised to be 
 my wife ?" " I remember, ah, too well ! Rutland," she 
 said, more gently, choking back a sob, " it is only fair to 
 you that our engagement shall from this moment be 
 canceled. This is yours," as she drew the crescent of 
 diamonds from her finger. "From this hour your love 
 can fly untrammeled whither it wills. 
 
 "And the meaning of this?" "That can be told in 
 four words, you yourself wish it." " And my answer lies 
 in three, I do not." lt You do not love me, Rutland ?" The 
 question was breathed in fear and the answer came 
 slowly, calmly, coldly, " I do not." Something seemed 
 to strike her as with a glove of steel and she staggered, 
 but raising her eyes bravely to his she asked: "Then, 
 why dare you to wish that our lives should be joined 1 ?" 
 " Because you yourself wish it," he rejoined coolly. With 
 flashing eye and flushed cheek she drew herself up 
 proudly. "Coward," she cried, "I would rather see 
 myself dead than be your wife " A dark light sprang 
 into Lis eyes as he seized her hands and held them 
 forcibly at her side whilst they looked into each other's 
 eyes with all the darkest passions that human hearts 
 can know. " You are mad," he cried ; " what has come
 
 46 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 to you ? You have loved me, you love me still, as only a 
 true, brave, loyal woman can, and you dare to tell me, 
 1 go, I will have you no longer by my side.' " Here he 
 paused and his tone softened. " You have said it once; 
 but dare you say it again."' His hand released hers, 
 his arm stole around her neck and his eyes sought hers 
 in the mute eloquence that he was perfectly aware never 
 failed to thrill her, and for one weak, delicious moment 
 hers answered his. 
 
 lie had conquered; he knew he held her captive once 
 again in that moment of sweet intoxication, and she 
 trembled as she remembered all, and thought of her 
 resolution so weak, so weak when his soft eye held hers 
 in thrall. 
 
 "Rutland, " she breathed, " you have been so cruel, so 
 treacherous 
 
 "Anything else, darling?" he whispered, interrupting 
 her catalogue of his virtues. His cheek was now press- 
 ed against hers, his eyes dancing with humor, his tem- 
 per unruffled as ever. 
 
 This was the man who with his pliant, ever-ready smile 
 had stolen the entirety of her essentially womanly heart, 
 leaving, alas, the dire consequences of that heft to be 
 learned only long years after. 
 
 The poor little struggling bird taken in the net which 
 her wings with all their little fluttering efforts could 
 not break, as a last resource, called to her help all her 
 resolution. She thought of all her vows, never to rejoice in 
 her recreant lover's smile again, never to allow her pulses 
 to throb as his lips met hers ; she thought of all this and 
 of all that was past, and with a superb effort she drew 
 herself away from his arms as she thought forever.
 
 A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 47 
 
 "Rutland," she said firmly, "our wedding will never 
 take place; it is impossible! Here are your diamonds; 
 they were, I believe, the pledges of your sincerity." This 
 .she could not refrain from saying a little bitterly, adding : 
 " We are, remember, in future, strangers." 
 
 " That, then, is your final decision, " he retorted in chill- 
 ing tones, his eyes darkening in anger. 
 
 " It is !" She did not flinch as she said it. 
 
 " My wish can only be that you may not live to repent 
 ifc bitterly," he said coldly ; " but I would think a little be- 
 fore I should sacrifice my life to be wrecked as you are 
 doing. Think ! think, Elra ! you are young, you are 
 beautiful, and, alas ! for yourself you love me." 
 
 " Alas ! But this I remember, only when you will kneel 
 to me in days to come and cry, i Elra, I love you as I have 
 loved none other; I live but to unsay those cruel words 
 of mine; I shall die if need be to prove my love,' but it 
 will then be too late! too late!" She covered her ikce 
 with her hands as she sank on the rugs again and groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 " Elra !" 
 
 "Rutland, leave me, I command it," she almost shriek- 
 ed as he stood irresolute not venturing to approach, not 
 wishing to go, and with the fitful fires of auger lighting 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " Be it so !" he cried in withering tones, as seizing the 
 crescent of diamonds which for two long years had been 
 such an object of tenderness to Elra, he flung it con- 
 temptuously in the stream and was gone ere that inde- 
 pendent young woman dared to look again in his face. 
 
 Gone! did I say? No, not gone; he had caught sight 
 ere he turned away of the deathly pallor creeping over
 
 48 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 her cheek and lips, and in an instant, forgetting all but 
 his tender feeling for her, he had flung himself down be- 
 side her, drawing her swiftly to him, and she did not 
 resist. 
 
 She had felt the bitterness Of parting with the man she 
 loved; death itself, she thought, might perhaps come less 
 bitter, and now that he was by her side again, she yield- 
 ed up her lips to his quite submissively for such a 
 would-be independent young lady. 
 
 "Forgive me, little darling, I cannot live without you. 
 The words I spoke were but tittered in frenzy, for, in 
 very fact, my manhood's noblest devotion is now, and ever 
 has been yours. Darling, I shall give you life-long proof 
 of it. " And she believed him. 
 
 Slowly she raised her eyes, and unflinchingly as any 
 judge, met his burning glance, but something spoken by 
 those impassioned eyes made her own white lids to quiver 
 an 4 droop. 
 
 "Why do you change your mind so quickly," she re- 
 torted with a brave assumption of indifference. " Who 
 are you, that you seem to have the privilege of moulding 
 the course of my life to your will?" 
 
 " Elra, I am the man ? " he said not arrogantly, but with 
 the inspired eloquence of a deep passion, " to whom your 
 whole soul has gone forth and yielded submission, and 
 who, in return, worships you, adores you, will die for 
 you." 
 
 He had conquered indeed, doubts and suspicions were 
 flung to the winds, for in his strong unyielding arms she 
 breathed half in fear, half in ecstacy of love and gladness. 
 
 " Be it so ! " And their wedding after all was fixed for 
 three days from thence.
 
 A WOMAN'S RESOLUTION. 49 
 
 Out into the moonlight she wandered that night, Elra 
 with the shadowy eyes and the brow stamped with intel- 
 lect, which so many women had envied her; out she 
 wandered to where, across the star illumined lake, a tiny 
 shallop glided, cutting with a soft and murmuring ripple 
 the crystal bosom of the placid water, where deep down 
 in the glassy wavelets she could see the glittering con- 
 stellations shimmer like diamonds set in a sea of sap- 
 phire, whilst above in regal beauty Diana's crescent sail- 
 ed, showering her floods of frosted, silvery light over 
 smiling hill and towering mountain, frowning crag and 
 glowering fortress; wrapping the far away blue peaks 
 in hoary grandeur, whilst her softened beams the while 
 descended on the dancing w r aters in the valleys below, 
 playing in and out among&t the darkling shadows where 
 the weeping willows hang forever their light tresses over 
 the mysterious eddying pools. 
 
 "And his love, like these things, was sworn to last 
 forever and forever," she murmured. "O, Elra! Elra! 
 Elra ! you are his slave. He loves you not ! yet, as long 
 as life is yours, you must bend and kiss the hand which 
 masters you, for you cannot live without him ! " 
 
 "No," she continued, clasping her cold hands together, 
 < I am his slave. Come what will, I cannot live without 
 him."
 
 50 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHO SAW IT? 
 
 It is the morning of the wedding a bright, glorious 
 morning, from whose sky the early tinges of crimson, 
 and purple, and emerald have scarce faded ; a morning 
 redolent with joy and blessing; a morning which had 
 been looked forward to with intense feelings of awe and 
 dread by the proud, courted beauty, Elra, whose very 
 smile seemed only needed to charm all men to her feet; 
 a morning that had been looked forward to by Rutland 
 Borradale with hope and gladness, for he was very 
 proud and very fond, deep down in his heart, of the 
 beautiful American, girl whom he was soon to call his 
 wife. 
 
 Elra at a quarter to eleven had a merry group around 
 her, and already much that should be done to her toilet 
 had been done. It was to be a strictly private affair, 
 but Madame de Montespaire could not refrain from ask- 
 ing some chosen friends to celebrate the occasion by 
 lunching with them after the ceremony. " You see, our 
 dear Elra prefers it so," said Madame to one of her pet 
 lady callers, " and in the existing state of relations be- 
 tween the groom and his uncle, the Earl of Darcliife, it 
 is no doubt best that it should be so ; but we shall have 
 our own little time for gaiety afterwards ; and quite a 
 number, amongst others the beautiful Marchioness, have 
 accepted invitations to be present at an unpretending
 
 WffJ SAW IT? 51 
 
 little spread after the young people have settled all about 
 their future. Be sure you come, luncheon will be served 
 early, twelve is the hour fixed." 
 
 In the meantime, eleven had struck, and all was 
 apparently ready, but faces began to look grave, and it 
 was whispered around, "The bridegroom, where is he?" 
 
 EIra, chilled to the heart at what she deemed a slight, 
 had herself asked it in a whisper more than once, and at 
 last, with growing fear and horror, her lips had refused 
 to ask it any more. A quarter past eleven, half-past 
 eleven, and the ashen color of Elra's face was disagree- 
 able to see. 
 
 "She and he, I suppose, have between them planned 
 this humiliation for me. Oh, Rutland, it would have 
 been more manly to have taken back the ring you gave, 
 and accepted your release there and then. But no," she 
 cried bitterly, " he would have been an idiot to have 
 thrown away his claim on my fortune, when it is for 
 my wealth alone ho is marrying me. Murray," she 
 stammered, with white lips, as that gentleman approach- 
 ed her, "Is Has " 
 
 Murray shook his head, but could not trust himself to 
 say anything. 
 
 "Then," she cried, passionately, "tell everybody to 
 go away again; there will be no wedding." So saying, 
 she tore the veil and wreath from her head and flung 
 them far from her. 
 
 " The Marchioness of Ripdale has arrived, my dear," 
 said Madame de Montespaire, approaching, and show- 
 ing on her good natured face her utter perplexity as to 
 what to think or say. " Where is Mr. Borradale ? What 
 can have become of Rutland, dear? I do not know
 
 52 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 what to think. Something grave must have occurred 
 or he would have let us know. But there is time yet," 
 she added, encouragingly; "we can keep our guests 
 waiting some little time," and she hurried away to enter- 
 tain them. "I fear," thought Elra, bitterly, "there 
 may indeed be time enough, but there will be no bride- 
 groom to-day. Oh, if I had but trusted poor Murray, 
 this would never have happened." 
 
 "Poor 77 Murray chanced to be by her side, and his 
 gray eyes, full of tenderness and love, sought hers. 
 
 "Murray," she breathed, almost beside herself with 
 mortified feelings and pride, "why did I say 'No' to your 
 whispered words that evening? Why did you let me?" 
 
 With a great wave of joy sweeping through his soul, 
 Murray quickly, daringly, caught her to his heart. "I 
 will never a.ain let you say 'No,' my darling," and to 
 his whispered words this time came the answer from her 
 smiling lips, " Yes." 
 
 But ten minutes later the agony in her eyes belied her 
 words, as the procession moved forward towards the ora- 
 tory of the castle. "Fifteen minutes more and what 
 fate awaits me? Oh, if he would but come!" She 
 paused, she lingered, under any trivial pretext that came 
 to her mind ; but no sign was there of her recreant lover 
 appearing even at the last hour, and Elra's soul was 
 crushed to earth at the thought. 
 
 "But no," she cried, "events shall not conquer me. 
 I am the daughter of a race which has ever valued 
 courage, of a noble race, and I shall show them that 
 such an one can still be proud. The slight must not 
 crush me;" and with a queenly step she advanced up 
 the centre of the chapel with Murray by her side.
 
 WHO SAW IT? 53 
 
 And how fared it the while with Rutland Borradale ? 
 As a matter of form merely empty form, he thought 
 be sent word to his uncle informing him of his inten- 
 tions, and asking, for the sake of his future bride, some 
 little token of friendliness between them. Judge, there- 
 fore, of his surprise when he received a wire back : 
 
 "I shall place Darcliffe Castle at the disposal of you and 
 your bride for the mouth following your wedding, and I 
 cordially invite you to spend your first happy days to- 
 gether there. I am going to Norway for the fishing, so 
 you will be entirely undisturbed, and you cannot find a 
 prettier retreat for your young wife. I shall be with you 
 at the wedding if you state what time." It was signed 
 merely with his initials. 
 
 No word he mentioned of what had passed between 
 them. It was as though he wished to exclude the disa- 
 greeable phantom of a by gone day from his mental vision. 
 
 The Earl of Darcliffe, truth to say, had been as in- 
 tensely proud of his promising young nephew as an 
 utterly selfish nature can be, and new that he heard 
 that amongst all the suitors and gallants who had sighed 
 at the feet of this American heiress, renowned equally 
 for beauty, good breeding, and wealth, Rutland Borradale 
 had alone been the accepted one, the pride of family and 
 blood returned, and eagerly he opened his arms to his 
 long-banished nephew. This communication of the 
 Earl's reached Rutland Borradale only the evening be- 
 fore his wedding, on his return from seeing his bride- 
 elect, when he had arranged with her all the necessary 
 particulars for the morrow. 
 
 "The dear old uncle," he said with full heart, " I al- 
 ways knew ho was a brick, and didn't mean it at heart;
 
 54 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 and oh, won't it be a surprise and delight to my sweet 
 little Elra ! sbe darling little thing is too good for me. 
 But she loves me and she is the sweetest little woman 
 ever trod, so we might as well have things as they are." 
 
 In the meantime he sent word to his uncle in Brus- 
 sells to be down at ten the next morning so as to be in 
 good time, as the ceremony should come off at eleven. 
 Bnt in the morning came a telegram from 104 Boulevarde 
 des Espangnols : 
 
 " Come, quickly, your uncle has met with an accident. 
 Jsmay de la Roche. " In half an hour he was by his 
 uncle's sido, whom he found suffering from a fractured 
 bone in one of his feet, but who otherwise was not seri- 
 ously hurt. He, Rutland, had telegraphed to his fiancee 
 on arriving at the Boulevarde, and had, at his hostess' 
 kind persuasion, given her the telegram to look after. 
 
 " Maiie, dear," said Madame de la Eoche, " tell Bogai tz 
 to take this message around. " Pretty Marie as she trip- 
 ped away on her mission had tho curiosity to look at the 
 address, and, meeting with her sister Odile, they mis- 
 chievously determined to withhold it until the evening, 
 when they intended leisurely to forward it. 
 
 a It is for the American heiress, and we owe her one 
 point, you know. She can wait for her telegram." 
 
 They were malicious, these girls, and had been doubt- 
 lessly much nettled by Murray Cresen worth's behavior 
 the night of the De Eothsleind'sball; but they were not 
 really wicked, and if they could but have foreseen half 
 of the grave consequences of that unjust deed of theirs, 
 they would have parted with Rutland Borradale's tele- 
 gram more quickly than if it burnt their fingers. 
 
 It arrived duly in the evening and contained the words:
 
 WHO SAW IT? ')) 
 
 "Postpone the ceremony until twelve. I cannot be 
 down until 11.30. My uncle has met with an accident. 
 R. Borradale." 
 
 Bat in the meantime what had happened H 
 
 What was it that greeted the eyes of the groom elect 
 when he made his late entry into the oratory of the 
 Castle where all were assembled, accompanied by his 
 uncle whose progress was but slow and painful, and 
 de Montford who had always stood on terms of close 
 friendship with the Earl, and who now wished to be 
 present at the nephew's brilliant marriage. 
 
 At one end of the apartment was a group of four per- 
 sons writing their names, and advancing witli rapid 
 strides to read these, Rutland Borradale saw but oue 
 name, and that one was Elra Cresenworth. 
 
 A man cannot cry out when he is hurt, but into Rut- 
 land Borradale's eyes sprang the ominous gloom, the 
 wicked fire, that darkles in pools gurgling around the 
 cruel death dealing rocks in a wintry sea. 
 
 Elra Cresenworth quite calm now handed her husband 
 an unsealed cnvcloi e. 
 
 "It is for Mr. Borradale," she said in a low steady 
 voice. 
 
 Murray rather diffidently handed the envelope as 
 bidden, and as Borradale opened the paper it contained, 
 he saw at once that it was a cheque for a very large 
 amount of money, the sight of which contained no par- 
 ticular meaning to his mind, until his eye caught his own 
 name on the cheque. He then realized that it had beeu 
 drawn by Elra Brookley, and that by it the considerable 
 amount of two millions of dollars was to be made payable 
 by the G National Bank of New York, to Rutland
 
 50 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Borradale, and a separate note showed tlic words: 
 " Seeing it was for this he sought my hand ." 
 
 No more did he give himself time to read, but flinging 
 back the papers at their feet, he turned to the bridegroom 
 with flashing eyes. u You dare !" he hissed, between his 
 clinched teeth, whilst his hand stole to his pocket. 
 Quick as thought sounded the report of a pistol, and 
 Murray Creseuworth Liy next moment in a pool of his 
 own life blood. 
 
 In the confusion that followed none could rightly say 
 they had seen the hand that had pulled the trigger, and 
 sent that deadly bullet home. But the very thought of 
 the crime went hand in hand with the recollection of 
 events which so immediately preceded it. At Rutland 
 Borradale's feet had been flung the deadly weapon yet 
 reeking with smoke and fire, and suspicion could not fail 
 to point its grim finger at the man who had been crushed 
 by one of the crudest blows that could have been dealt 
 by Fate, or rather by the hand of his now hapless victim. 
 
 But when the authorities had definitely settled in their 
 minds that suspicion did actually point in a certain di- 
 rection, and had sufficiently gathered their straying 
 mental faculties to be able to look around, there was no 
 trace to be found, or no tidings to be had, either of the 
 Earl of Darcliff'e, his nephew, or his friend, de Mont fort.
 
 THE LAD Y OF THE MOA TED GRANGE. 57 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 
 
 Peeping from amid the darkling cluster of rich green 
 oak and beech and silver poplar that shelter them i'roni 
 the southerly gale are the ivied walls of the ruined castle 
 of Bramber, an ancient pile, majestic still in its decay as 
 it overlooks from its lofty vantage ground, a sweep 
 of country wealthy in farmsteads, with their broad lands 
 studded over with the browsing cattle, busy villages 
 where the children play, and quaint windmills, with 
 gaunt flappers ever rushing through the air with their 
 dull, booming sound. 
 
 Truly may we utter our regret with Mr. Ruskin that 
 there should have been no pencil to hand down to us tbe 
 decaying beauties of this structure, or no pen to chronicle 
 its glories while yet it towered in grandeur above the far- 
 reaching flats that stretch away at its base. 
 
 Levelled by the Parliamentarians under Sir William 
 Waller, in 1G43, after a short but spirited siege, there is 
 little now remaining )fthis once strong fortress, which 
 in its hey-day dominated a country of some hundreds of 
 leagues around, and whose sieurs, besides possessing 
 large estates in Munster and part of the city of Limerick, 
 in Ireland, claimed vassalage dues at one time from the 
 lords of Pevensey and Knepp in Sussex, and from those 
 of Radnor, Brecknock, Hay and Abergavcnny, in Wales. 
 
 Breastworks, battlements, turrets, bastions that had
 
 58 HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 shielded generations, and tbe lordly keep that had 
 been witness to so many a deadly conflict have crumbled 
 long since beneath Time's cankering finger, or have 
 toppled over the steep bank on which the castle w;is 
 built, and lie strewn in shapeless piles of corroding rub- 
 bish in the dry moat. 
 
 Before the destruction of the castle in the seventeenth 
 century there was, overlooking the drawbridge, and 
 guarding, and containing the portcullis, or hanging- 
 door, a strong, square tower, a part of whose flank is yet 
 standing. This massive bit of masonry, though now 
 presenting the appearance of a dismantled skeleton wall, 
 thickly enshrouded with ivy, displays even to this day 
 great solidity of build from its broad base upwards, 
 measuring from some five to six feet in thickness. 
 
 Of the many picknickers perhaps from Shoreham, 
 perhaps from Brighton visiting the castle, those who 
 look across the wold to the South Downs skirting the 
 horizon, may perceive a striking bit of scei>ery expanding 
 at their feet. Yonder, sleeping amidst the trees, is the 
 little hamlet of Bramber, a helpless, unprotected cluster 
 of weather-beaten hovels and quaint cottages, which ever, 
 in the olden days of cruel rapine, fell the first victim to 
 cruel marauders attacking the castle. The village as it 
 is now seen, boasts of but a single street, which stretches 
 to the foot of the nearly perpendicular ascent leading to 
 the castle ruins. To the south of the castle, at a distance 
 of some nine to ten miles, lie the towns of Brighton and 
 Worthing; and on the west a darkling mass of waving 
 pine and beech crowns the rounded crest of Chancton- 
 bury King, making at sunset a jagged wall of gloom 
 against the crimson-tinted sky; whilst to the north and
 
 THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 59 
 
 east spreads a rural and sweet, if somewhat tame, land- 
 scape. Away on all sides stretch the yellow cornfields, 
 with the waving golden grain or the rich green pastures, 
 wheie through the long summer days the sleepy cattle 
 stand knee-deep in the rank tangled grasses, or wher- 
 ever it is possible far down amongst the reeds and sedge 
 that shiver and sough in the bubbling cool water. In 
 just such a way, perhaps, as did the poor peaceful beasts 
 stand long years ago when the fitful tramp of horses' feet 
 -was dimly heard afar off; when the blast of the bugle 
 and the clang of armor grew momently nearer, till the 
 stream of mounted warriors swept across the marshy 
 plain, and the tide of war rolled in one great devastating 
 wave to the foot of the castle. 
 
 On the east side where the grass is vivid green and the 
 tall-stemmed forget-me-nots interweave their growth 
 with the nodding bulrushes, where the marsh marigolds 
 and yellow kingcups abound ; there spread at one time a 
 deep morass which has since been reclaimed to advan- 
 tage. This morass had held abundance of wild fowl for 
 the hawking parties which, in times of peace, often saun- 
 tered from the castle, mounted on gaily-caparisoned 
 horses, and dashed along the quaking turf, to watch the 
 noble falcon wheeling in ever narrowing circles ere it 
 dropped upon the prey, to engage in that gallant 
 struggle which so delighted the old Norman barons, more 
 especially, when it ended, as it more often did, in the 
 death of the inoffensive heron. 
 
 It was whilst indulging in this lordly recreation that 
 John de Braose, Baron of Brarnber, met with his un- 
 timely death in 1232. Wheeling on the sedgy borders 
 ot the widespread marsh, the baron's hot-blooded Span-
 
 GO HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 ish horse took umbrage at a flight of wild fowl rising 
 \7ith noisy flapping of wings and wild startled cries 
 close to the place where he galloped. Tossing high his 
 coal-black crest, the excited animal, with a terrified 
 snort, recoiled upon his haunches, and for a moment 
 pawed the air in. majestic grandeur, ere he viciously 
 flung himsi-lf back and in hurtling descent crushed his 
 mailed and helnieted rider to almost instantaneous death 
 beneath him. It was then that the Lady of Bramber, 
 the ill-starred daughter of Llewellyn a bride but two 
 short years ago having repaired to the gloomy eastern 
 towers to watch from their embrasured casements the 
 gallant spectacle of the hawking party streaming away 
 to the westward in the valley beneath, had the hapless 
 fate to witness that black horse's fall, and to watch her 
 dead lord borne homeward to his castle and to her. 
 
 Around the brow of the knoll whereon stood the castle 
 and keep, ran a wall of considerable thickness, which 
 formed part of the outer ramparts of the fortress, and 
 which, towards the eastern side, where, protected by the- 
 se verity of the incline, the castle was more strongly 
 guarded, is to this day in a state of remarkably good 
 preservation ; but to the west, from whence the chief 
 rush of besiegers under Waller flooded the castle, the 
 wall was entirely demolished and razed to the ground. 
 
 One of the most striking features of this ancient forti- 
 fication, as now seen, is the dry moat, which runs at the 
 base of the castle and extends over a circular area of 
 some 1,000 feet. Before the seventeenth century, when 
 this moat was supplied with water from the river Adtir, 
 which flows through the valley bordering the east side 
 of the castle, the water filling it spanned some forty-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 01 
 
 seven feet in breadth, from bank to bank, being some 
 thirty feet in depth at the shallowest point ; and thus to 
 the inhabitants of the fortress affording the strongest 
 protection against marauding attacks. That part of the 
 moat facing the south, which was spanned by the draw- 
 bridge, is now filled with a dry rubble, formed in most 
 part from the wreck of the Norman tower, which beiug 
 added to and solidified by the covering of a coarse 
 earth, has since allowed of a more easy access to the 
 castle walls. Its deep cut sides, as also the steep banks 
 which rise from the margin of the moat to the foot of the 
 old ramparts, are thickly fringed with hazel saplings 
 interwoven everywhere in dense growth with the silver 
 birch, willow, gray poplar, and aspen, the shadow from 
 whose boughs sweeps a green sward farther down where 
 ihe pale bramble-rose and purple fox-glove, the thirsty 
 iris, and yellow marsh lilies rise from amongst the dank 
 mosses that cluster and creep around the spreading 
 roots of the young oaklings. As may thus bo seen, the 
 moat affords a wealth of interest to the curious bands of 
 pleasure seekers, who picnic under its kindly shade, and 
 who love well to pry into its vernal nooks and gather the 
 wood-anemones there, or to sit, perhaps, and listen to 
 the soughing of the wind amongst the quivering willows 
 and aspens overhead. 
 
 Most of the traditions and legends of the castle have 
 been swept away with time, and though it does, indeed, 
 possess a skeleton history one quaintly-worded and full 
 oi interest it is such mere outline as to leave behind an 
 unprofitable wish for deeper draughts of knowledge. 
 
 There are not wanting, however, in the records, half 
 historic, half legendary, of this castle, tales of vindictive 
 cruelty and heartless bloodshed.
 
 62 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEW. 
 
 In the reign of King Henry VII, one Hubert de Hurst, 
 an alien baron, having been accorded the charge of the 
 castle during the minority of a certain William de Braose, 
 the then Lord of Bramber, exercised much despotic sway 
 over the country round, and was much dreaded amongst 
 his own household for his jealous tyranny. Amongst 
 other of his cruelties he effected the rape of Maud Will- 
 mot, commonly known as the Maid of Ditchling, a peasant 
 girl of great beauty, and of hitherto untarnished inno- 
 cence. Her he forced later to marry him, treating her 
 for some time with all the lavish tenderness and care 
 that love could inspire; but she, young, gay and frolic- 
 loving, could find nothing beside her jealous elderly 
 lord, that consoled her for the loss of her free, happy, 
 careless life amidst the sweet green fields and shady 
 lanes, far down in the valley by her father's hut. 
 
 Before her forced marriage with De Hurst, Maud of 
 Ditchling had deeply loved and pledged herself to one 
 De Lindfield, the young scion of a good old family, 
 though poor; and tli is young squire, under guise of an 
 old standing friendship for De Hurst, having followed 
 Maud to her husband's castle, carried on with her there 
 a secret and guilty intimacy. For a while unsuspicious, 
 De Hurst, who was a true sportsman, admired in his 
 guest all that was most frank and manly in manner and 
 bearing, most skillful in dangerous exercise of arms, and 
 most daring in feats of horsemanship, for in hunting 
 fields and over hawking grounds none excelled De Lind- 
 field. It was thus that, with stirring tales of dangers, 
 happily surmounted in the pursuit of these manly re- 
 creations, the young Squire was enabled to w r hile away 
 the dreary hours when the old and irritable Baron was 
 attacked by his baneful enemy, the gout.
 
 THE LAD Y OF THE MO A TED GRANGE. 63 
 
 But an imprudence on the part of tlie Lady Maud, led 
 De Hurst to fear for the honor of bis name, and ascer- 
 taining that his suspicions were correct, and enraged 
 with jealousy, he determined to bide his time for a bitter 
 revenge. Accordingly late one night, as the Lady of 
 Bramber was returning from an assignation with her 
 lover in a summery arbor within the castle grounds, 
 De Hurst, who had been a witness to the scene between 
 the deeply guilty pair, had De Liudfield siezed and con- 
 veyed to an underground dungeon, used in those days 
 for the storage of corn, where he was thrown and locked 
 in, never to come out again. 
 
 The griui tale has it that De Hurst with his own 
 hands, night after night, built up a wall with plaster 
 and stone in front of the cell containing his victim, and 
 that once, towards the completion of his task, having 
 looked for a last time at the unhappy young man, he 
 found that the hair of the latter had turned to a snow 
 white. The wretched Lady Maud, upon learning the 
 hapless fate of her lover, is said to have entirely lost 
 her reason. When Sir William Waller battered in the 
 southwest ramparts of the castle, and his victorious 
 soldiers pick -axed their way into the staunch walls of 
 the keep, there was then found in an old dungeon the 
 skeleton remains of the man who had expiated his 
 crime in a living tomb. 
 
 What more is known of the castle's history affords 
 but little interest, being principally a bare account of 
 the alliances formed in marriage by the Barons of 
 Bramber in their days of power. 
 
 Thus Time's wave is ever rolling on, and the walls of 
 this once brave fortress will disappear j history will
 
 f4 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 close for ever over that remote spot, leaving nothing but 
 a bald earthwork to tell of the labors of giants, to tell 
 of beroic deeds, of cruel deeds, and of the gallant deeds 
 of many of England's noble sons performed beneath the 
 shadow of those moated towers. The children will run 
 and play amongst the clambering weeds and shivering 
 willows that fringe the rock, and will laugh and dream 
 not that this is hallowed ground, that every sod they 
 press is pregnant with the story of a deeper tragedy 
 than ever they will witness, the chronicles even of which 
 are now lost to them forever in the impenetrable gulf of 
 Time. 
 
 But history repeats itself, and Bramber has its mys- 
 teries yet; mysteries that produce endless trouble and 
 conjecture in the timid minds of the little rustics run- 
 ning through the Grange meadows after the corn-crakes' 
 nests; and such as even make the stolid countrymen 
 passing the miniature towers of the Grange entrance ex- 
 orcise their slow minds with ever increasing wonder as 
 to who may be the queen who reigns in that solitary 
 mansion. 
 
 For where the grass is vivid green, and where the 
 solitary heron stands in the dusky twilight on the bordeis 
 of what was once the deep morass, where, in 1232, John, 
 Baron of Brainber, met his death, but which is now 
 ground reclaimed to some advantage, there stands a 
 pretty and quaintly gabled mansion called The Grange. 
 At about the time the story opens this Grange had been 
 leased to a lady giving her name as Mrs. Eldmere, who 
 wore the deep mourning of widowhood, and who gave 
 but little explanation save that supplied by her fune- 
 real garments for thus burying herself in so remote a
 
 THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 65 
 
 corner of creation as this little hamlet under the ruined 
 fortress. 
 
 She had, however, brought with her several servants, 
 which showed that she was wealthy, which circumstance, 
 coupled Avith the retired life she led, caused much won- 
 der, but it was very few from the village who ever pene- 
 trated to the inside of the Grange, and those who did 
 saw little or nothing of its mistress. One thing, how- 
 ever, had become well known, and that was that the lady 
 of the Grange was very beautiful and wore costly dia- 
 mond rings, which alone in the eyes of the maidens and 
 swains of Bramber surrounded her with as much mys- 
 tery and romance as any imprisoned queen. 
 
 If they had seen more of her they might have pro- 
 nounced her habits and ways very quiet and uninteresting 
 for a person so enveloped in mystery as she, for nothing 
 apparently broke in upon the monotony and routine in 
 that household, every member of which seemed to think 
 highly of its mistress, and in consequence was more in- 
 clined to keep from disturbances which might annoy her 
 gentle womanly feeling. 
 
 And this strangely beautiful lady, who seemed ab- 
 sorbed in governing her household with care and 
 patience, in the inner recesses of her private apartments, 
 what was she like? What was the secret skeleton which 
 confronted her there, and which had made her life such 
 an apparent blank ? 
 
 Ah ! that secret she had evidently never disclosed to 
 any one, even the most favored, and none save her 
 trusted maid knew anything of her past life, and she 
 never broke the confidence reposed in her by her mis- 
 tress. But even this faithful, handmaiden did not know
 
 66 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 exactly everything concerning Mrs. Eldmere, for often- 
 times she seemed entirely puzzled to see her mistress 
 vainly searching among old papers which she kept 
 on ordinary occasions carefully locked away, but which 
 nevertheless often stole out from their hiding-place 
 when Mrs. Eldmere was alone, or fancied she was alone. 
 But from such fruitless searches she always rose with a 
 sigh and the sad murmured words : 
 
 " Not yet ! Not yet !" 
 
 But perhaps it may be interesting to our readers them- 
 selves to take a peep at the Grange and its beautiful 
 mystery-enveloped lady ere we proceed further with our 
 story. 
 
 The Grange Bramber is the name of one of those 
 charming country houses which are to be found in so 
 many parts of southern England. It stands in park-like 
 grounds, guarded at the entrance by two massive tower- 
 gates, and is surrounded on all sides by alow stone wall, 
 which is again surmounted by a thick bushy hedge, effect- 
 ually prevents any possible chance of being overlooked 
 by passers by, and makes the grounds particularly shel- 
 tered and secluded. 
 
 The house is a long low building, whose large bay- 
 windows open on the smooth velvety lawns, overhung 
 by well-grown trees and shrubs, and with its miniature 
 lake and terrace opening onto a rose garden, it makes 
 a pretty picture of quiet English country life. The 
 family to whom the Grange belonged were now abroad, 
 and it was at present occupied by a Mrs. Eldmere, who 
 lived a most quiet and retired life, was rarely seen out- 
 side the tower-gates, and who seemed to have for her 
 sole companion a tall white-browed girl, whom she desig-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MO A TED GRANGE. 07 
 
 nates as Topsie, and who must have been a school-mate, 
 judging from the frequent allusions they both make con- 
 cerning mistresses and professors, and the general hap- 
 penings of school life which they had witnessed together. 
 
 The arrival of Mrs. Eldmere and her young companion 
 at the Grange had given rise at first to much conjecture 
 in the minds of those few who make up the so-called so- 
 ciety- of a small country place; but as time went on, and 
 the new-comers persistently ignored all advances, they 
 saw that the ladies, for 'some reason or other, preferred 
 to remain unvisited, and if ever Mrs. Eldmere's name was 
 mentioned, it was generally accompanied with a shake 
 of the head and a look that might mean many tilings. 
 She was considered to be peculiar! and as the average 
 country resident has a horror of appearing anything but 
 commonplace, it is to be feared that Mrs. Eldmere had 
 not found favor in their sight. 
 
 The lady's young companion was variously spoken of 
 as her sister (although there was not the slightest re- 
 semblance between them), her companion, and l\erfemme 
 dechamlre; and to account for her long-continued resi- 
 dence with Mrs. Eldmere, and the relations that existed 
 between them, we must go back to some time previous 
 to their arrival at the Grange. 
 
 One morning Mrs. Eldmere had received a letter the 
 contents of which we shall take the liberty of reading, 
 and which ran thus : 
 
 DEAREST OLD ELL. : My husband has been ordered 
 to India with the gallant 10th (the Prince's Own) and I 
 am going with him. I cannot bear to have him go out 
 alone for an indefinite length of time, and yet I dread 
 leaving poor Topsie to mother and sisters, who are dread-
 
 68 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 fully harsh to her. Do you know of any pleasant coun- 
 try house where she will be cared for, treated gently, and 
 perhaps loved, while I am away, which will not, I hope, 
 be for long. You will have my eternal gratitude if by 
 any sweetness or kindness you can soften her hard road 
 in life. On my return I hope never to have to part with 
 my sister again, as Bedstone is going to send in his resig- 
 nation, and we shall be able to settle down for good. If 
 I do not see you before we start, 1 am always your old 
 university chum, 
 
 BOPSIE, nee ARTEALE ALLESMERE. 
 
 This letter had been sent originally to the Chateau of 
 Montelarde, and from thence forwarded by her business 
 man in London to her present address. It was, there- 
 fore, owing to this delay of the letter that, having hurried 
 to London, Mrs. Eldinero had arrived only in time to kiss 
 her friend good-bye and to see her sail for India, but 
 in that very short time she had contrived to make her 
 friend Bopsie entirely happy by whispering in her ear 
 the words : 
 
 " Darling, Topsie will be a boon to my lonely exist- 
 ence ; she shall be cherished as my very own sister. But 
 what has made her young life unhappy f 
 
 u That is a miserable matter," answered her friend 
 with a sigh, "but one which you have every right to 
 know, so you will find the key to it in the papers which 
 are waiting for you at my lawyer's; and now God bless 
 you! dear old Ell., and may you be as happy as you have 
 made me; and with another kiss and many hand-clasps 
 the two friends parted, and Mrs. Eldmere had returned 
 to her quiet' country home accompanied by a tall fair 
 girl of whom she appeared to be very fond, and who has 
 been her constant companion ever since.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MOATED GRANGE. 69 
 
 Although Mrs. Eldmere had often pondered over her 
 last meeting with Topsie's sister and the words she had 
 then spoken, she had never applied to the lawyer for let- 
 ters which she knew contained the solution of the prob- 
 lem. She knew that Topsie had had some great disagree- 
 ment with her own family, which rendered it impos- 
 sible for her to live happily at home, but she had lived 
 too long abroad to know much, about her friends, ex- 
 cept through occasional letters from Artrale, and these, 
 though never mentioning the details, had at one time 
 been full of a mysterious something that seemed to hint 
 at shame or sorrow for some one she loved, but who Mrs. 
 Eldmere never thought of associating with her sister. 
 
 She noticed that the girl never received any letters 
 from her home people, nor did she ever mention them, 
 and more than once she felt inclined to ask the reason, 
 but a strange feeling of reluctance came over her and she 
 left the words unspoken. They were so happy together, 
 though their life was quiet and simple, and Mrs. Eld- 
 mere often feared that Topsie might grow weary of its 
 monotony, but she was always bright, gay, and full of 
 laughter, so that her friend found it hard to imagine that 
 any deep sorrow had ever shaded her fair young brow. 
 
 It was Topsie, therefore, who (to Mrs. Eldmere's sur- 
 prise) spoke first on the matter she had been so deeply 
 pondering, and almost as if she could read her thoughts 
 she said, abruptly, one morning: 
 
 "I know you think it odd, Elra, that I get no letters 
 from home ; I have watched your face j I know it is so- 
 Did you never hear the why and wherefore of my ban- 
 ishment 1 ? I know Artralo wrote it all to you. She 
 thought, and I, too, that you ought to know."
 
 70 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " I have never asked to see those letters, Topsie," said 
 Mrs. Eldmere, -with all her love and sympathy shining 
 in her eyes. " I thought, perhaps, some day you would 
 tell me, dear, and if not I am content not to know." 
 
 "But you must know!" cries Topsie rather wildly. 
 Ob, Elra! let me read it out to you;" and the girl threw 
 herself at Mrs. Eldmere's feet, and, leaning her pretty 
 head against her friend's knee, she drew from a folded 
 packet some closely written sheets of foolscap, the writ- 
 ing on which she began to read as follows :
 
 LITTLE TARTAR. 71 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "LITTLE TARTAR." 
 
 Once again I am in the old woods at Eavenstowe with 
 Lenore by my side : unhappy, beautiful Lenore, with the 
 genius-kindled eyes and broad snowy brow that intellect 
 has so plainly stamped as all its own. 
 
 In family we are fourteen seven young lords and 
 seven young ladies I the youngest, and Lenore the 
 thirteenth ; Lenore, with hair which has caught the 
 ruddy tinges of the setting sun, with eyes that mirror 
 the shadowy tints of the purpling clouds at sunset, with 
 a soul tender, deep, unfathomable. 
 
 She had an alarming amount of brain 5 she was glo- 
 riously clever ! This, I fear, is a rather girlish expres- 
 sion, but my sister, the "little Tartar," as Lenore was 
 styled by the elders of the family, was very bright, and 
 had always shown great promise for a brilliant after- 
 life. 
 
 She was, for all this great promise, a strange little 
 girl, merciless where she took a dislike, and notwith- 
 standing 'the possession of a dear, beautiful petite face, 
 she was not so much loved or admired by those who ap- 
 proached her as might have been expected. There was 
 something in her manner that repelled a something 
 haughty and unconquerable but she was also, by rea- 
 son of her brightness and courage, the link between
 
 72 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEK. 
 
 the timid younger ones of our family and the domineer- 
 ing elders who, by reason of their having been born 
 ahead of us, had every right on their side, but whose 
 one-sided logic had been rather crumbled in a heap once 
 or twice by our "little Tartar." This was considered 
 remarkable for one of us girls, as our boys have always 
 been esteemed very talented, and especially powerful iu 
 threading through an argument, the right and justice of 
 which very often depended upon the fists that upheld it. 
 One of our boys, " Lord Cupid," took a " double first," 
 and has grown very fat upon fame ever since, but then 
 he has since become the sou and heir. A second of our 
 young men, Lord Dumrell, shot a man, and was not only 
 too talented to get hanged for it, but was acquitted with 
 great honor and distinction ; while a third, Lord Eancrid, 
 did better still, as papa has always affirmed, for he shot 
 himself! One of our younger lords, on the other hand, 
 being dull witted, and unable to think of anything origi- 
 nal, married an American heiress and became wealtby; 
 while among the girls a few of them married, and most 
 of them remained old maids, poor things ! living most of 
 their time at the dower house of Eavenstowe near Drisle- 
 hurst, Sussex. 
 
 Very little was there in common between our grand, 
 haughty lady mother and her numerous little lords and 
 ladies. Never did we run to her with our tales of woes 
 and wants; and, after all, she may not have been to 
 blame. I, Lady Artrale, the youngest of her offspring, 
 having so often heard myself irreverently termed the 
 ninety-ninth, that I have begun to forget how many we 
 are in family. 
 
 But to return to our pleasure party in the woods,
 
 LITTLE TARTAR. 73 
 
 where Leonore and I are happily indifferent to all un- 
 palatable family problems, we are bnsily engaged in 
 building up a naughty little gypsy fire, which we feed 
 from time to time with twigs from the neighboring trees. 
 I say naughty, because it has always been deemed irre- 
 deemably wicked by my lady mother (and all her other 
 offspiiug of lords and ladies to the number of fourteen) 
 for Lenore and I to so far forget our rank as to take de- 
 light in the vulgar pastime of roasting mushrooms in the 
 woods, and this is what we are now clandestinely doing. 
 
 Lenore and I love each other tenderly, and take all 
 our pleasures in common; but I have also other feelings 
 with regard to my beautiful sister. I venerate her be- 
 cause she is capable of being so much more haughty and 
 self-controlled than myself, and she has always been so 
 immensely more talented than any of our smart family, 
 including even the fat sou and heir. 
 
 U I wish I were a snail," cries my sprightly sister, still 
 keeping a sharp lookout for intruders. 
 
 " Oh !" comes iu an astonished gasp from me ; but I 
 suppose talent is always strongly eccentric. 
 
 " I should then have a house of my own, transportable 
 at will." 
 
 " But, dear," I mildly suggest, " would you not be 
 cramped for room ?" 
 
 "Yes; that is why papa's miserably fat son and heir 
 could never get iu to slay my pet rats, as he did yester- 
 day. 
 
 " Happy America ! where children and rats are pro- 
 tected by their owu special laws," she continued, ram- 
 bling on from one thought to another. 
 
 " Indeed I hope my home will be larger than a snail's,"
 
 74 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 I say, reverting to her former idea, " otherwise I should 
 have no room for lovely si4ver and things." To which 
 vague remark Lenore replies : 
 
 " There you are, foolish little Artrale, wishing for what 
 you will tire of in less than three days. Poor little wom- 
 an !" At this I look rather humbly at Miss Philosopher, 
 but my after-thought is to rebel. 
 
 " Lenore," I say, very reproachfully 5 " you are so per- 
 petually discontented that I am sure you never know 
 what you want." 
 
 " You are right. I shall never be satisfied for it is a 
 yearning for greatness and power over my fellow-beings 
 that eats into my soul." 
 
 Another flash of genius, I suppose, but it quite crum- 
 bles my dignity into a little heap. " You do say such 
 funny things, Lenore," I venture. 
 
 "Not at all;" you do not know how I despise silver 
 how I despise wealth !" 
 
 li Oh ! " She seems to startle so many "ohs " from me. 
 
 " One never can dare to enjoy anything really wlien 
 one is rich," Lenore explains. " I should never think of 
 mkiug mushrooms here in the woods if it were not for 
 my poverty, and you know how much I enjoy them, sis- 
 ter mine." 
 
 So saying, Leonore flings herself prone on her fur- 
 trimmed coat, and in her usual graceful attitude of lazy 
 content gazes dreamily up at the rooks overhead. The 
 sweet perfume of violets and coltsfoot fills the air, and 
 all around is to be seen the tender green of the young 
 larch buds. 
 
 "Nature is what I love," she continued, sententiously; 
 Nature, whose voice comes to me in the hush of the pine
 
 I SAW A STRANGER, A HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, WITH HAT IN HAND 
 ADVANCING TOWARDS US. 
 
 Page 75.

 
 LITTLE TARTAR. 75 
 
 woods or tbe swirling rush of the river j Nature, which 
 is Truth gloriously portrayed." 
 
 "And in the meantime, dear," I answer dryly, your 
 mushrooms are burning. Can you not leave the ideal 
 and descend to the real ? Here is your favorite dish 
 cooked to a turn." 
 
 A rustling in the bushes and a slight cry of surprise 
 from Lenore caused me to look up quickly, and I saw a 
 stranger, a handsome young man, with hat in hand and 
 an expression of much amusement, advancing towards us. 
 
 Instinctively I feel that my cheeks are crimson from 
 my recent exertions over the fire, that my hands are 
 soiled, likewise that the stranger has most fascinating 
 eyes, and is evidently a gentleman. Lenore is, however, 
 equal to the occasion, for she rises quickly to her feet and 
 asks the intruder, with a would-be haughty look, if he is 
 aware that he is trespassing. 
 
 "I beg ten thousand pardons if that be the case," he 
 replied, "but the truth is I am a stranger here, having 
 lost my way in the woods, and seeing the smoke of a 
 gypsy fire, as I imagined, I came this way, hoping to fall 
 in with some one who could put me on the right path to 
 Sir Gregory Athelhurst's, where I am now staying to en- 
 joy a couple of his rare gallops after hounds. I did not 
 expect to surprise two wood nymphs at their repast and 
 must beg to be forgiven, for I see that owing to my un- 
 fortunate appearance the mushrooms are now cooked to 
 -a turn, or rather to a cinder !" 
 
 As he said this he looked at us with such a comical 
 expression on his face that it was irresistible, and even 
 Lenore joined in the laughter that followed. In a few 
 minutes we were chatting as easily as if we had known
 
 76 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 each other for years, and our new friend proved so en- 
 tertaining a companion that time passed all too quickly, 
 until Lenore, who had twice warned me of the lateness 
 of the hour, at last insisted upon our going home. Mr. 
 de Montford (this was the stranger's name) begged to 
 walk with us as far as the edge of the wood, as he said, 
 " I am afraid, if you leave me alone again, I shall be lost, 
 and the next time I may fall into the hands of the ogre 
 of the forest instead of into those of the l beautiful nymphs 
 of the woods ;' though I am already so much your cap- 
 tive,'"' ho managed to whisper to me, " that you can do 
 with me as you will." 
 
 "Then I command you to leave us," I replied, with a 
 smile and a blush, " for here is your road and ours lies 
 there." 
 
 Lenore had been walking in front of us through the 
 wood, as the paths were narrow, and Mr. de Montford 
 had contrived to detain me at his side, by some pretext 
 or other, till we reached the high-road which led to the 
 village. 
 
 There was something singularly fascinating to me in 
 this man ; he was too gentlemanly to trouble me with 
 empty compliments, but his eyes had a marvellous power 
 of expressing unspoken words of admiration ; and though 
 I fully realized that it was wrong to feel thus for an ut- 
 ter stranger, I hoped that somehow we should meet again 
 erelong. 
 
 11 You must leave us now," said Lenore, earnestly. 
 " My mother would never forgive us if she knew we had 
 been talking to you so long. Please go." 
 
 " I will vanish at once," said De Montford with a low 
 bow, but you cannot be so cruel as to leave me without 
 telling me your names the names of my rescuers f
 
 LITTLE TARTAR. 77 
 
 " I am called Lenore, and my sister is Artrale," said 
 Lenore, demurely. Now go, sir, and do not let us fiud 
 you trespassing again on our dominions. Here she bowed 
 and turned away, and he seized the opportunity to take 
 my hand and press it to his lips with a whispered < k au 
 revoir," while with a significant look, that seemed to plead 
 for another meeting, he left us. 
 
 11 Well, Artrale ! I must say you more than flirted with 
 the young man, said Lenore, us we walked slowly home. 
 How would your fiance like to hear of this ? " 
 
 tl Do you really think I flirted too much ? I said, teas- 
 iugly. Why, Lenore, I believe you are jealous of the 
 handsome stranger's evident preference for me ! Ami 
 to receive no attention but from my future lord and mas- 
 ter? This young man was so romantic, and he was so 
 good to look at, I could not help flirting just a little. I 
 must have some fun, and there is no harm done any- 
 how." 
 
 No harm done yet ! but other and stolen interviews 
 followed the first meeting of Lady Artrale and De Mont- 
 ford, and what was begun in a spirit of coquetry, induced 
 by the quiet country life led by two high-born girls who 
 lived in almost entire seclusion, was destined to end as 
 sadly as it had begun happily. In a word it came to this : 
 
 Lady Artrale, before meeting De Montford, had for 
 some time been engaged to be married to a man she 
 really admired, and whom she esteemed highly, though 
 a little fear was mingled with both these feelings. 
 
 Eedstone, Earl de Brun, had become deeply enamoured 
 of the lovely Artrale, whom he had met by chance iu 
 travelling ; and though, owing to her youth and inex- 
 perience, her motber would have wished for no engage- 
 ment, she at last consented to his entreaties, and Artrale
 
 78 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 was to be married and presented in the following year. 
 She had seen but little of her future husband, but she 
 knew him to be the soul of honor, and very exacting 
 where his love was in question. She would have grieved 
 sorely to lose him now through her own folly, and she 
 trembled at the crisis that was approaching. No ray of 
 hope seemed to brighten the clouds that were gathering 
 round her hitherto bright young life. On the one hand, 
 she saw the iron determination of a man ruled by a 
 desperate passion j on the other, a pure, upright love, 
 believing nil things noble of its object, and expecting 
 love and honor from the same. She almost hated the 
 day on which she first saw De Montford standing in the 
 light of the fitful flame in the woods, and she hated 
 herself, most of all, for fanning into flame a still more 
 dangerous fire than that which flickered at their feet. 
 But, now that she had coquetted with the wind, she must 
 reap the whirlwind. 
 
 "I will meet De Moutford once more," she thinks 5 
 "but it must be for the last time." And Lady Artrale 
 arrayed herself in her most becoming gown a pink cam- 
 bric that had been much admired by her hero and, 
 taking her large straw, poppy-decked hat, she slowly 
 walked through the grounds to their trysting place in 
 the woods. De Montford was already there, and as she 
 approached he came to meet her with out-stretched 
 hands and a happy light in his eyes that showed too 
 plainly how dear she was to him. 
 
 " At last !" he cried. " I feared you were not coming ; 
 and now, what have you to say to me V 
 
 "I have to tell you," said Lady Artrale, simply, rais- 
 ing her blue eyes to his face, " that we must not meet 
 again. I have only come to say good-bye."
 
 LOST ON THE BRO W OF DA WN. 79 
 
 CHAPTEB X. 
 
 LOST ON THE BROW OF DAWN. 
 
 Here, as Artrale's recital becomes vague and rather 
 drivelling, Mrs. Eldraere thinks, we shall finish it our- 
 selves. 
 
 Do Montford, a young man of good old Norman fam- 
 ily, endowed though he bo with a handsome face and 
 great capabilities for attracting the fair sex, with a large 
 amount of brains and a rather diminutive rent-roll, has 
 fallen decidedly in love with Lady Artrale, seventh 
 daughter of Edred, Marquis of Ripdale, and his wife 
 Leonora, and over and above is determined to marry her. 
 He therefore gets a little disagreeable shock on hearing 
 the word "good-bye " uttered by her in so calm a way ; 
 but he is not easily baffled. " I have likewise come to 
 say that horrid little word, Artrale," he says coolly. " I 
 can no longer postpone my promised visit to that 
 wretched estate of mine in Yorkshire. Don't you pity 
 me, Artrale ?" he continues, searching deeply in her 
 limpid eyes for the emotions which he knows his words 
 cause. 
 
 Yes, he sees it all, rather plainly, too, for he is versed 
 in the lore of woman's looks, and he knows that his ap- 
 parent indifference has staggered the vain young lady 
 before him. He therefore meets her angry glances with 
 a smile on his parted lips as she says : 
 
 ''Lady Artrale, if you please," and draws herself up 
 to her full height.
 
 SO HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "As you will, Lady Artrale," says Be Montford with 
 indifference, though, she fancied that for a moment a 
 gleam of passion shone in his dark eyes. "I will not 
 detain you now, as you have said enough to prevent 
 me caring to; but permit me to escort you to the high- 
 road. There I shall leave you, and you will not again 
 be troubled by my importunity." 
 
 So saying, he struck into a field which they had sel- 
 dom or never traversed before, and side by side and in 
 severe silence they threaded their way through the 
 broad, rich pastures, each busy with his or her own 
 thoughts. Lady Artrale suddenly becomes conscious, 
 however, that they are treading new ground, and with a 
 quick catch in her breath she looks at two peaceful- 
 seeming cows, who, with that far-away look in their 
 slumberous eyes so much admired in the heroines of 
 novels, are so happily engaged in ruminating that they 
 would not sacrifice their comfort for the uncomfortable 
 effort of tossing pretty Artrale on their horns. No, she 
 thinks they won't harm her, but for all that, after a 
 quick look at her stolid companion, she makes a little 
 dash for a gate opening on to the highway. But, alas! 
 before they can gain the gate Lady Artrale flings her 
 arms into space with an hysterical cry, then turns 
 precipitately and flies, followed quietly and at a respect- 
 ful distance by a noble-looking charger with coal-black 
 mane and crest. On hearing her frightened cry, De 
 Montford's lip curls, and he mutters, "Ha! my proud 
 but timid beauty, I have conquered. It is as I had cal- 
 culated." And in a moment ho has gained her side, 
 where she stands undecided as to what point of a wide 
 brook she should choose to jump into, rather than be 
 trampled to death by a. vicious horse.
 
 LOST ON THE BROW OF DAWN. 81 
 
 "You can never cross there," says De Montford, 
 feeling himself rather master of the situation. " If the 
 horse bo wicked, he will surely follow you even into the 
 water." This is said rather unfeelingly, and Lady Ar- 
 trale turns pale and sinks in an attitude of despair at his 
 feet. 
 
 " What is to be done f Cannot you save me ?" 
 
 "I do not think you need alarm yourself ; the horse 
 looks quiet enough. Besides, even should you wish it, 
 there is no possibility of egress at this side of the field ; 
 that line of blackthorn stakes bars all hope for us." 
 
 "Well, then, I shall die here! 7 ' (this defiantly j) 
 ' and I suppose you won't care a pin?" 
 
 " How can a man care or care not a pin ?" thinks 
 De Montford, smiling stoically at her agony of despair; 
 but he says rather softby, -as his eyes look down into 
 hers: 
 
 "Did you care very much just now what pain you 
 gave me ? and you gave it unsparingly." 
 
 At hearing his murmured words Lady Artrale is 
 inclined to be indignant, but, remembering the wicked 
 horse and her helpless condition, she becomes piteous. 
 
 li I cannot love you ! I wish you would take that for 
 an answer," she rather whines. 
 
 " That is not true, and I shall make you love me," .re- 
 torts De Montford masterfully, as she crouches lower on 
 the sward. 
 
 u You have heard the only answer I can give you,' 
 murmured the lady. " I wish you would accept it." 
 
 u I cannot and will not accept any answer that you have 
 yet given me. Artrale, I love you !" This was breathed 
 rather than spolren in tones soft but full of feeling.
 
 82 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " Don't care !" says she flippantly, whereat he bites his 
 lips and gro^s pale, but very determined. 
 
 " Artrale !" he repeats, " my love is dangerous and 
 deep ; think twice before you spurn it." 
 
 " Sir!" begins Lady Artrale grandly ; then her dignity 
 collapses, for, sailing with majestic strides towards them 
 comes the coal-black horse she dreads so much, and as 
 ho breaks into a loud, au.,ry whinny, she gives a little 
 shriek : " He is so wicked ! lie has already trampled 
 two of his keepers. " I suppose my mangled bones will 
 strew the plains to-morrow ! " 
 
 This she says with a persuasive sidelong look at the 
 man above her, but he is as unfeeling as an oyster, for 
 there he stands with immovable countenance until she 
 longs to give him a little shake ! 
 
 " Mr. de Montford." 
 
 "WeUf 
 
 " Did you hear what I said P 
 
 " Yes, that your bones would " 
 
 "Yes; will you not save me?" This is said pathet- 
 ically. 
 
 " I'd not mind being reduced to powder myself," cries 
 the young man nonchalantly. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh !" Three little shrieks escape Artrale's 
 pretty lips as the horse, who is now close to them, paws 
 frantically at the sod, ploughing up the dainty mosses 
 in a ruthless manner. 
 
 "Artrale, the horse is only playful ; he will not harm 
 you when I am near," says De Montford protectingly. 
 
 " He will, he will !" cries she, desperately. " Can wo 
 not jump the brook ?" 
 
 " Do not attempt it ; you will never get over it. Uuf ,
 
 LOST ON- THE BROW OF DAWN. S3 
 
 Artrale, suffer me !" Here he clasps her slight form in 
 his arms, and with her hair sweeping her neck, and her 
 face very close to his, he breathes : 
 
 " Artrale, in another moment you can be safe. I can 
 put brook and fences far behind me with Artrale in my 
 arms ; but, darling, I will not cross them without the 
 answer my heart is longing for. Be my love, Artrale 
 be my wife, my adored wife !" 
 
 Now passion is breathing from his lips and eyes; his 
 whole frame is trembling with the very strength of his 
 resolve that she shall be his, and Lady Artrale knows 
 that the crisis of her shallow little life is at hand that 
 whatever word she shall speak in this moment of her 
 supposed danger' De Montford will hold her to forever 
 after, if he really be the strong, determined man he 
 looks. 
 
 " I choose rather to be trampled to death !" cries she, 
 with a wicked flash from her handsome eyes, which seems 
 to make her captor doubly determined to be the winner 
 in this little game. 
 
 " That is not the answer I am waiting for, Artrale." 
 Here ho holds her face close to his, with her form still 
 resting in his strong arms, and looks into her eyes till he 
 feels a quiver run through her frame, and he knows he 
 lias conquered her. 
 
 " I wait to prove my love for you, Artrale. Say you 
 will be my loved and loving wife." 
 
 " Yes," came in a sigh from the pretty trembling lips, 
 which were immediately pressed passionately by him. 
 
 "The horse!" she whispered in terror; " save me!" 
 
 De Montford, with one magnificent bound, such as the 
 most powerful of athletes might justly think of with
 
 84 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 pride during a lifetime, cleared the wide brook, and its 
 fringing line of blackthorn stakes, with his promised 
 bride held lightly in his arms. 
 
 What passed between Lady Artrale and De Montford 
 after this we need not mention. Suffice it to say that 
 the lady reached her home in safety, and, gaining the 
 shelter of her own room, locked the door against all 
 intruders, and then gave way to a burst of passionate 
 tears. The Fates have indeed been unkind to her. Had 
 she not meant to dismiss De Montford this very day ? 
 And instead of this she finds herself pledged to him by 
 a promise which she knows he will surely make her keep, 
 though it was wrung from her at a moment when terror 
 had blinded her to every thought save that of her sup- 
 posed danger. 
 
 " What shall I do ?" she moans, wringing her pretty 
 hands and restlessly pacing the floor of her room. 
 
 "Are you here, Artrale?" cries Leuore's voice at her 
 door, and hastily removing, as she hopes, all traces of 
 grief from her face, she admits her sister, w r ho is evi- 
 dently impatient at being kept waiting. 
 
 Lenore's quick eyes at a glance see that something is 
 wrong. Artrale's flushed face and nervous manner show 
 her only too plainly that her little sister is hiding some- 
 thing from her, and by dint of pleading and persuading 
 she at last draws from Artrale the whole story of herself 
 and De Moutford, their stolen interviews, and now this 
 promise given; and the poor child, with many sobs and 
 tears, entreats her sister's help and advice. 
 
 Artrale, in her misery, notices that Lenore's eyes are 
 inspired with something that she cannot describe but
 
 LOST ON THE BROW OF DAWN. 85 
 
 as a strange sublimity, but they are very sad as she re- 
 marks gently, 
 
 " I shall save you, Artrale. Have no fear, dear sister." 
 
 " Dearest, do nothing rash," cries Artrale, rather in 
 fear of what she reads in her sister's eyes "nothing 
 that can possibly hurt or blight your happy career 
 through life or in society. Promise me." 
 
 But she answers abruptly. Leuore is always abrupt. 
 Artrale thinks. 
 
 " I do not care for what you term society. Itjs mad- 
 ness that a girl should yearn to go into society, to be 
 stretched on the rack and tortured like any dozen of 
 little fried oysters." 
 
 And so the subject was suffered to lapse for the time 
 between the two young ladies. 
 
 When we nest see Lady Artrale and her sister we find 
 them busied with preparations for the former's wedding, 
 and the old house, which had been so dull and quiet 
 since the sudden death of their brother (by having shot 
 himself), is now all alive and bustling with the excite- 
 ment that such an important event is sure to cause. 
 
 Artrale seems joyous and full of life, her eyes are ra- 
 diantly blue and happy, and the late nervousness that 
 had been observed in her manner had almost disap- 
 peared. She had had a respite from De Montford's at- 
 tentions, as he had been called away peremptorily on 
 business, and though he had written often, he had not 
 since appeared on the scene. 
 
 It was Leuore who brought Artrale nearly all her let- 
 ters every morniug, this latter young lady liking to lin- 
 ger among her pillows a little longer than her sprightly 
 sister, and it was therefore with little surprise that Ar-
 
 86 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 trale saw Lenore appear in her bedroom on the morning 
 preceding that of her wedding with a bundle of rnono- 
 granied notes in her hand. She little dreamed of the 
 serpent in the basket of fruit. She found it, however^ 
 all too soon, and with blanched cheek and lips handed 
 it to Lenore, who, singing softly and happily as a young 
 thrush in the luscious spring-time, is all unconscious of the 
 horror written in her sister's eyes. But Lenore changes 
 color, too, when she reads ; though, seeing her sister's 
 haggard face, she says confidently : 
 
 " It will be all right dear, don't trouble about it, I will 
 see him instead of you to-night, since he must see some 
 one. To-morrow you will be past his power; darling, 
 how happy you will be then !" 
 
 Artrale's blue eyes are full of tears as she tries to smile 
 assent, and Lenore leaves her no time to pursue the sub- 
 ject, which is not again mentioned between the sisters. 
 
 That evening, in the hubbub and bustle of preparation 
 for the morrow, no one noticed the slender white robed 
 figure which stole out through the shrubberies ; no one 
 took any notice of a light-wheeled carriage which stood 
 waiting by the shrubbery gate, and yet those were the 
 signs and tokens of the opening act of a tragedy as sad 
 and bitter as ever the pale crescent witnessed. 
 
 No one missed Lady Lenore until the following 
 morning, and then it was only because she was absent 
 from her place as bridesmaid. This incident caused 
 wonder in many minds, but in that of the bride herself 
 it caused a panic which showed itself in her white face 
 and trembling lips throughout the ceremony. Two and 
 two were put together, and when Lenore did at last ap- 
 pear, she found, alas ! a cruel reception.
 
 LOST ON THE BROW OF DA WN. 87 
 
 Lenore's father, at her mother the grand cold mar- 
 chioness' bidding, refused his permission to his favorite 
 daughter to cross the threshold and mingle with the 
 other members of his family refused to his hitherto 
 idolized child the protection of a parent's roof and Lady 
 Lenore found herself publicly lost an outcast and 
 homeless. 
 
 So ended the sad tale written by Artrale, now Countess 
 de Brun, to Mrs. Cresenworth, to throw some light for 
 her benefit upon the past career of the beautiful Lenore, 
 alias Topsie.
 
 88 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 SIR GREGORY'S LOVE FEVER. 
 
 AmoDg those of her neighbors who were curiously in- 
 terested in the mistress of the Grange and her quiet 
 way of living may be mentioned Sir Gregory Athelhurst, 
 a wealthy baronet, who, having had occasion to stop for 
 a short time at his Manor-house, had heard something 
 which rather tickled his imagination, and, moreover, had 
 seen something that had still more powerfully interested 
 him in that part of Sussex. 
 
 Adjacent to the Grange, and dominating a princely 
 park through which the mottled deer roamed at will 
 among the tall ferns, is this Manor-house, the much- 
 despised country seat of the jovial Sir Gregory, who, 
 truth to tell, preferred his shooting cottage on his Scot- 
 tish moor, or his racing box near New Market, to this 
 lonely old pile of buildings, where his man-of-all-trades, 
 Michael Dolan by name, seemed to be his sole companion. 
 For, excepting a few waii's who visited the well-estab- 
 lished county families scattered here and there, there 
 were very few strangers who ever allowed themselves to 
 be found in that rather forgotten part of the country, 
 and it was because of this, and the doleful stagnation 
 around it, that the Manor house had always held so few 
 attractions for Sir Gregory. The latter, when he wished 
 to entertain his friends, did so always at some other of 
 his country places. He was an ardent sportsman, had
 
 SfX GREGOR Y S LO VE FE VER. 89 
 
 killed tigers in India and moose in Canada, was the 
 straightest rider in the county, and^in addition to this he 
 was a bachelor of forty-two, rich, and not ill-looking ; and 
 though the gossips said he was too much addicted to the 
 foaming bowl, they at the same time excused this weak- 
 ness as a necessary adjunct to his character of country 
 squire. At tbis particular time Sir Gregory had already 
 been at the Manor-house much longer than was his cus- 
 tom. He had spent his days riding across the downs 
 and in long rambles with his dogs, while his evenings 
 had been generally passed in the company of a large 
 bowl of punch. But even these attractions had begun 
 to pall, and he had already decided to. make preparations 
 for his departure to the north, when something occurred 
 to change his plans. 
 
 One day while he was returning from a long cross- 
 country ride, and was walking his hunter slowly down a 
 wooded lane, he soliloquized thus with himself: "This 
 is getting to be blamed slow. I can't stand it much 
 longer. Glad I gave Dolan such strict orders to have 
 my traps ready for to-morrow. The Manor is nothing 
 but a sleepy old bat-hole. I shan't be sorry to go north." 
 
 Just at this moment his hunter shied violently, and 
 with a half-suppressed oath the baronet looked for the 
 cause. What he did see was a fluttering silken skirt and 
 the glimpse of a face so lovely that at the sight of it the 
 bachelor baronet's heart went humpety-bumpety, and his 
 jolly face turned scarlet as his coat, while he heard a 
 sweet voice saying, 
 
 " May I trouble you to hand me that basket f and, 
 looking down, he perceived a little fancy basket half full 
 of flowers lying on the roadside near his horse's feet.
 
 90 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 u Certainly, madam," he said, banding it to her with 
 great alacrity. The fair unknown bowed her thanks, 
 and disappeared befiind a big oak trunk, leaving Sir 
 Gregory with interest and curiosity both aroused as he 
 peered anxiously between the trees to get another 
 glimpse of his fair inamorata. 
 
 " Who on earth can she be ?" he thought; " that is no 
 mere country girl, I am sure ; I wish I could have another 
 good look at her. Turning his horse's head homeward, 
 he saw Dolan coming down the lane, and at once put 
 him through a series of questions regarding the fair un- 
 known, but the Irishman was as much at sea as the bar- 
 onet himself. Dolan was Sir Gregory's right hand man. 
 A good-natured, easy going, ready-witted fellow, with a 
 fund of Irish humor; fond of a joke and perfectly de- 
 voted to his master. The two men were about the same 
 height and build ; but Sir Gregory had dark eyes and 
 hair, while Dolau ? s head was crowned with a shock of 
 coarse straight red, that no amount of brushing would 
 reduce to order. 
 
 That evening, after dinner, Sir Gregory called Dolan 
 and ordered his hunting clothes unpacked, and his pink 
 coat brought out, saying that he wished to make an 
 early start for the meet next day. 
 
 u Why, sir!" exclaimed the factotum in astonishment. 
 " Sure I thought your honor would be departin' be the 
 railway f 
 
 " Never mind, Dolan, I have decided to stay a few days 
 longer, I have nothing to hurry for, and I want to try the 
 roan mare before I go; besides (to himself), I must find 
 out who my fair unknown of this afternoon may be. If 
 she be staying in the neighborhood she will surely be at
 
 SIR GREGORY'S LOVE FEVER. 91 
 
 the meet to-morrow, either as an onlooker or a participant ; 
 ten to one she is a regular Diana as well as a Venus ! 
 From this moment on Sir Gregory is possessed with one 
 hope and one object in life, and hard enough he finds the 
 task he has set himself. He discovers his fair one's 
 name to be Mrs. Eldmere, and that the lady is living at 
 the Grange, but as she does not visit in the neighbor- 
 hood, and is rarely seen outside her own gates, he tor- 
 ments himself in vain to find some means of approaching 
 her. Thinking she may possibly play tennis, he goes 
 so far as to handle a racquet, doing so about as grace- 
 fully and effectually as an elephant swinging a bar of iron, 
 but without any favorable result as to his playing tennis 
 well, or seeing the lady, and he begins almost to despair 
 of ever making her acquaintance. Dolan is the con- 
 fidant of all his schemes, and he has orders to watch the 
 Grange from time to time, hoping in this way to discover 
 some means by which he can introduce himself to her 
 notice, but at last the baronet growing impatient, re- 
 solves on a desperate step. " Just take these letters 
 round to the l Grange ' and the i Nest,' " he tells Dolan ; 
 and the person addressed feeling called upon to answer, 
 but being totally incapable of answering like anybody 
 else, replies in the following manner : 
 
 "Faixan'I willthot!" as he smiles his approval of 
 his master's boldness, and goes off stolidly with the pre- 
 cious missives. 
 
 Dolan is a character in his own way, and whfin Mrs. 
 Dolan allows him, he rules his master with a good- 
 natured tyranny that is, he makes allowances for hu- 
 man nature's frailties in him, and even helps them on 
 occasions. But he has discovered that a great secret of
 
 02 HER PLAYTHINGS. MEN. 
 
 any man's power over his fellow-man is contained in 
 these words of advice given him by a friend: " Control 
 your own wife first." And Dolan sets about doing it. 
 Now this at first seems not so easy, as Mrs. Dolan has a 
 tongue tliat does perpetually seem to wag at both ends, 
 while for mere self-defence Dolan is reduced to the sad 
 plight of placing corks in his ear!?, so as not to be dis- 
 turbed in his duties or liis night's rest by the eloquence 
 of his spouse. However, by degrees his corks are made 
 by an unaccountable agency to disappear, and Dolan is 
 sorely troubled, for he finds himself completely at the 
 lady's mercy, till he hits upon a happy expedient that 
 at last enables him to gain and hold undisputed sway. 
 He has hitherto made it a rule to fly at the first sign of 
 argument, and as Mrs. Dolan generally pursues, he now 
 leads his spouse around the garden at a brisk walk. At 
 first she has it, as usual, all her own way. However, 
 the pace soon tells, she pants for breath, and finds 
 herself wishing that, for the sake of argument, she had 
 never been blessed with such portentous charms. Her 
 breath goes. She can but gasp something to the ef- 
 fect that Dolan is an "iggeraut clod j" but that person 
 refusing obstinately to hear her, she sinks on a bench 
 that fairly croaks beneath her portly form, and relapses 
 into an ominous silence. This manoeuvre, repeated two or 
 three times a day, when his madam is in her most argu- 
 mentative moods, has an annihilating effect upon the 
 discussion of politics and abstract subjects, and the said 
 tonic duly administered reduces the poor woman to such 
 a state of submission that she often hears herself with 
 wonder pronouncing the words, "Then do as you like," 
 or, "Just as you say, but don't worrit about it." Thus
 
 SIR GREGORY'S LOVE FEVER. 93 
 
 Dolan had found himself master of the field with regard 
 to his wife. But there was some oue else who was sup- 
 posed to have some kind of a voice in his family, and 
 that was his daughter Maggie, who, as Dolan pere ex- 
 pressed it, " was a caution, and too kuowin' for her age." 
 Now just how Maggie had secured a voice, morally as 
 well as physically, happened in the following way : 
 
 On one occasion of hurry and bustle, when the master 
 had brought home some friends unexpectedly to sleep at 
 the Manor-house, mere Dolan was struggling with a 
 basket of spotless linen in the rear hall, which at the 
 time was buried in utter darkness. Setting the basket 
 down, she advised the youthful Maggie to run and fetch 
 the lantern from the house-keeper's room and to look 
 sharp about it. This produced the effect of Maggie's 
 scurrying on her errand, and returning to the fourth 
 landing of the stair- way, on which is situated the room 
 designated. She then proceeded to c/aue her neck over 
 the balusters, in the endeavor to throw light upon the 
 scene of her parent's struggle with the darkness and the 
 linens, and seeing her below she (the daughter) muses 
 thus : 
 
 "Mar is teariu'! she'll whip me when I get to the 
 bottom if slie don't have the light quick ! I know what 
 I'll do !" This with a sudden burst of inspiration, and 
 suiting the act to the thought, she flings one of her pedal 
 extremities (translated legs) over the balusters and holds 
 aloft the lantern, so as to illumine her parent's pathway. 
 She loses no time either in turning the head-over-heels 
 act, and for a moment she and the lantern offer the sight 
 of a confused jumble in their endeavor to reach the 
 ground first, On the whole, the lantern, I think, fares
 
 94 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 i 
 
 worst, as it coines down with a crash and a bump at a 
 safe distance from Maggie, whose wide flung limbs are 
 deposited in the linen basket ! Now on first becoming 
 aware that her daughter is flying through mid air, Mrs. 
 Dolan, with a gurgle of horror, sinks upon a chair, and 
 hopes she is going to faint. But she does not; and when 
 next she has the courage to remove her hands from her 
 eyes, she sees through the semi-darkness a face peeping 
 from over the rim of the wicker basket. This she slowly 
 discovers to be Maggie, who has had the effrontery not 
 to have met with any personal injuries, at the expense, 
 too, of her (Mrs. Dolau's) newly washed table and bed 
 linen. 
 
 "Not even her nose broken ! and my table-cloths all 
 spoilt, the hussy !" she cries as she makes a wicked dive 
 for the linen. But Maggie in her heart of hearts, as she 
 peeps from the basket, tells herself. " Mar is tearin' !" 
 so she makes a lively spring from under mar's porten- 
 tous arm, and seeing no means of escape from the hall, 
 she darts like a rat into an aperture under a walnut cab- 
 inet, heavily laden with the master's handsomest pieces 
 of antique china ; nor does she suffer even the tip of her 
 heel to remain open to the attack of the enemy. 
 
 " Come out of there, ye little viper !" says the afflicted 
 mother, but Maggie laughs to herself and remains firm. 
 " Such a thrashin' as ye'll get !" 
 
 Here a light appears on the scene, carried by the 
 master himself, who had heard some of the uproar, and 
 wanted to hear the rest. But the good woman had 
 worked herself into so white a heat that she was ob- 
 livious of everything save a desire to get at the culprit. 
 
 " Thrashiu's too good fur ye ! Ye'll have the dose !"
 
 SIR CREGOR Y'S LOVE FE VER. 95 
 
 This for Maggie meant castor oil, two table-spooufuls 
 of which were choked down her throat each time she 
 was particularly naughty, each time without fail to come 
 up again, and each time to have a still bigger dose choked 
 down again. Therefore was Maggie never more desper- 
 ate than when the " dose " was mentioned in her hear- 
 ing. The effect upon her in this instance was seen by 
 the calm but determined upheaval of the china decking 
 the walnut cabinet, of the rocking to and fro of the same, 
 of the tottering 
 
 " Hold ! hold ! come out, you little ferret !" shouts the 
 master in an agony of uproarious mirth, for nothing ap- 
 peals to him like what he chooses to look upon as a huge 
 joke, even though his china is in danger. 
 
 " Come out, little Meg ! and I'll make it all right for 
 you. You shall not be worried or punished, I'll answer 
 for that," 
 
 But Maggie is incredulous, and the earthquake and 
 upheaval business continues until Mrs. Dolau succumbs 
 in fear and trembling, falls into an arm -chair, and 
 Maggie knows that she has won the day. 
 
 She creeps out from her rat-hole with feelings of tri- 
 umph and safety, and from that day she has gained her 
 master's protection and is never " dosed." 
 
 But from her rat-hole on that day Maggie has carried 
 with her something more than mere feelings of triumph 
 and security. She has also carried with her a little faded 
 piece of paper, blood-stained and torn at one end, and 
 which piece of worthless paper no one but cunning little 
 Maggie herself is permitted to see.
 
 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 
 
 Sir Gregory Athelhurst is a bachelor, and when we say 
 that, we mean to imply that though he has now reached 
 the mature age of forty-two, he has not yet found it 
 necessary to cliange his state of single blessedness, being 
 perfectly content to live in his beautiful, rambling old 
 manor house (going sadly to waste for want of a mis- 
 tress), entertaining his friends and enjoying himself in 
 his own peculiar way. Yes, Sir Gregory is a bachelor. 
 Sir Gregory has a beautiful house all for his own. So 
 thinks Maudie de la Eoche. 
 
 What does a bachelor who smokes want with a draw- 
 ing-room all gold and pale blue paneling ? What does a 
 bachelor who lives on horseback, or in his cattle-houses, 
 know of the luxuries that can all be piled by one pair of 
 fair, plump little hands (such as Maudie's, for instance) 
 into the exquisite boudoir she reserves for her own pri- 
 vate little love scenes and sorrows and novel reading ? 
 So thinks Maudie de la Roche, who is very envious of a 
 title in general, but of that of Lady Athelhurst in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 So also does not think Sir Gregory, as, leaning back- 
 ward in his comfortable arm-chair, with his large foot- 
 ball-shaped head submerged behind the Times, he is 
 enjoying a temporary lull between the business of his 
 breakfast and his morning gallop.
 
 IN BA CHEL OR QUAR TERS. 7 
 
 Sir Gregory is a stubborn bachelor. He persists in 
 preferring his low pipe to the exquisite art and blandish- 
 ments that the feminine inind can offer, and this morning 
 in particular he hugs his lonely state ; but then he is 
 essentially unamiable. This state of solitary rejoicing 
 is produced by a letter which he has received this morn- 
 ing from Maudie de la Eoche : 
 
 " DEAR SIR GREGORY : We are giving an entertain- 
 ment," etc., it runs. " You must, must, must come F 
 
 " I must, must, must come ! Must, must, must I ? We 
 shall see about that, little Miss Fattie 1 (That is what I 
 fear most of her men friends called Miss Maudie.) And 
 forthwith the wicked the wicked baronet shoots the 
 would-be love letter into the cuspidor, then calmly returns 
 to the contemplation of the Times, giving the while an 
 occasional pat to his favorite cats. Of these, being a 
 bachelor, he has two Larkie and Scotchie, and they en- 
 joy their mutton chop every morning with their master, 
 whom they rule. When the latter retires behind his 
 newspaper, it is the cats' especial time for enjoyment, 
 and this moruiug they are having their usual boisterous 
 sparring match at their master's feet, who himself actu- 
 ally begins shortly to purr with content. And shall fat 
 Maudie, the wicked temptress, come in to disturb his 
 happiness ? Never ! 
 
 If Maudie does not come to disturb his dreams, some- 
 thing else does in the shape of a greyhound puppy, who 
 means no harm, but whose appearance causes, quite un- 
 necessarily, a great pit-pat-patting to begin suddenly in 
 the gentle feline breasts, whose owners, with angry grin- 
 ning jaws, jump among the china and cut-glass arrange-
 
 98 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 ments so copiously covering the breakfast-table, while 
 the bachelor looks calmly on from behind his news- 
 paper, and gently remonstrates with the units of his 
 menagerie. 
 
 What Sir Gregory next sees is his handsome puppy, 
 of whom he is especially fond, trying to follow the 
 cats. 
 
 " Down, Trevor, down !" cries Sir Gregory, the twinkle 
 in whose eye tells the puppy plainly that his master is 
 enjoying the fun. 
 
 Trevor has a gallant heart that is not to be conquered 
 by mere cats, and since his master ordains that he shall 
 not skip over the table after them, he is determined that 
 those cats shall come down to him from their strong- 
 hold. 
 
 This end he calmly effects, with a twinkle of mischief 
 in his roguish eye, by giving one short sharp jerk to the 
 corner of the damask table-cloth, which gives to his pull, 
 and next moment comes to the floor, with its litter of 
 cats, china, cut-glass, and silver, at the same time bury- 
 ing Trevor, like Samson, in the ruins. 
 
 Next there is a dreadful howl and screech and hiss, 
 followed by the rolling about and cracking of china and 
 glass on a large scale ; and in the midst of this charivari 
 the bachelor baronet stretches his arm calmly and pulls 
 the bell almost from its socket. 
 
 " Dolan," he says, rather red in the face from anger, 
 to the woman who runs hurriedly to answer his call, 
 
 " what the d is the use of a house-keeper who does 
 
 nothing but eat her head off in wages and fine feeding ? 
 I give you a month's warning for letting that puppy in 
 here. That will teach you, I hope, that my dining-room
 
 IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 93 
 
 is not a kennel. Pick np those things, and you pay for 
 everything that is broken !" 
 
 With a sullen growl, and an angry dive for the cats 
 and the puppy, Mrs. Dolan stoops over the debris of the 
 breakfast- table. 
 
 " And it's all his fault, it is. Ke should have stopped 
 the fight, and not call for a poor helpless woman to do 
 everythink for him ; but men is such arrogant good-for- 
 nothing creatures." 
 
 The month's warning did not trouble her in the least. 
 She had been six years with Sir Gregory now, and every 
 fortnight of it had she received, without fail, the same 
 month's warning. In fact, it was a problem now whether 
 she or Sir Gregory ruled at the Manor-house. 
 
 That afternoon, as Sir Gregory was returning from his 
 daily gallop, with his thoughts in a flutter at the remem- 
 brance of a certain vision which he has seen but a short 
 hour ago, and which rather shakes his allegiance to 
 bachelor life, he is surprised to find, as he turns a bend 
 in the road, that two horsemen in pink are riding down 
 the high-way, only a little way ahead of him. Seeing 
 that one of their horses had gone lame, and being a 
 keen sportsman, he rides quickly forward to see if he 
 can offer aid, as the Manor-house is quite near and 
 the village at least four miles distant. 
 
 Upon hearing the sound of horses' hoofs behind them 
 the two strangers turn to meet the new-comer, and there 
 is a general murmur of astonishment from all three 
 as Sir Gregory rides up. " Well, Borradale ! Hello, De 
 Montford," he cries, with a genuine ring of pleasure in 
 his voice, "how in the name of goodness did you come 
 here, and why, being here, did you not let me know
 
 100 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 your whereabouts ? Don't you remember that the Manor- 
 house is in this neighborhood, and that you have both 
 promised to put in a few days there, if ever you were in 
 this country? I see that you can't get much farther 
 with that poor beast of yours, Borradale, so, as tins 
 Manor is close at hand, I must insist on your both put- 
 ting up there for the night at least, and when I have 
 once got you safe in Liberty Hall, you will find it such 
 comfortable quarters you won't care to move." 
 
 "It's awfully good of you, old fellow" says Borradale. 
 " I shall be glad to accept your offer; it isn't much fun 
 riding an animal that is dead lame, and we were consult- 
 ing just now as to what were best to be done, for we 
 can't possibly get back to Shoreham in this plight." 
 
 " Well, come on now," says Sir Gregory, cheerily, I 
 will send a man over for your traps in less than two 
 hours, and if you want any other inducement, you can 
 shoot all day if you like, drive or ride my thorough- 
 breds, besides having the chance of seeing some of the 
 finest heads of cattle in the shires. The coverts are in 
 fine condition just now, and it will be a godsend if you 
 two fellows will help me shoot over them during the next 
 few days My cook is not to bo despised, and if you are 
 as fond of good wine as you used to be (with a sly look 
 at Do Montford) you will find the Manor cellar equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
 " You offer us such a list of good things," says De 
 Montford, gayly, " there is no resisting you. My only 
 surprise is that you have been allowed to enjoy these 
 good things unmolested for so long." 
 
 " Eh ! what ?" said the baronet, coloring a little un- 
 der his friend's determined gaze.
 
 IN BACHELOR QUARTERS. 101 
 
 u I mean, is there no fair Lady of the Manor ? or are 
 you sure there is not one hidden in this delightful 
 retreat ? Has Cupid never troubled you, my dear fellow ? 
 or is your heart adamantine, and given wholly to your 
 beasts and cattle f 
 
 " Well, well, all in good time," replied Sir Gregory, 
 sheepishly, but "here we are at the house, and now, 
 before we go in, I want to show you the stables." 
 Thereupon the three men stroll off in that direction, 
 having given the horses to a groom with minute direct- 
 tions from his master to bandage and attend to the suf- 
 fering animal. 
 
 While visiting stables and cattle sheds the conver- 
 sation between the three friends degenerates into a 
 genuine masculine gossip, and who will dare to say that 
 of the two genders the masculine will not be by far the 
 more voluble and searching a gossip than any chatter- 
 ing that could be gone through by the feminine crowd *? 
 The conversation having veered from horses to cattle, 
 and from these latter to lovely woman, Sir Gregory finds 
 himself in a corner. 
 
 " You have not yet answered my question," continued 
 De Montford, rather enjoying the baronet's discomfiture 
 on this topic. " Now tell me, isn't there a woman in the 
 case ?" 
 
 " Wait until you see her," says Sir Gregory incau- 
 tiously ; then, having betrayed himself, he continues, in a 
 stage whisper, "I am rather struck just now by a beau- 
 tiful and mysterious lady, a widow, I presume, as she 
 dresses mostly in black, and lives alone with a beautiful 
 young girl for her sole companion. Her name, I find, is 
 Mrs. Eldinere, and she has taken the Grange for a year,
 
 102 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 lives there in style, must have money, is a divinely 
 lovely woman, and a perfect horse woman," he continues 
 warming up to his subject. " I tell you, my dear fellows, 
 she's thorough-bred every inch of her, and I swear I will 
 make her acquaintance, however difficult or improbable 
 that may seem. As she and her friend both ride, I am 
 looking forward to seeing them with us over grass 
 and fallow, and if I can't make the lady's acquaintance 
 
 then, somehow, why d it, my name isn't Gregory 
 
 Athelhurst. 
 
 " That's right, old fellow, go in and win !" cries Eutland 
 Borradale with a quiet smile. " Young, beautiful, and 
 a widow ! what more could any man desire ? and I sup- 
 pose, as you have no designs on her pretty friend, one 
 of us poor fellows might have a chance there. No wonder 
 that you are getting tired of bachelorhood, with such a 
 tempting prospect as the handsome widow presents, for 
 of course any woman would think twice before she re- 
 fused a title (this is said rather satirically), and if she is 
 fond of country life and sport, you will have no difficulty 
 in persuading her to a change of name." 
 
 "I am growing quite curious to see the fair lady, says 
 de Montford, and hope you will manage it while we are 
 here." 
 
 But in the meantime, after Sir Gregory had with great 
 pride shown his friends all the various beauties to be seen 
 in the stables and out-houses attached to the Manor, he 
 took them both up to the house, quite ready to be intro- 
 duced to the good comfortable quarters he had promised ; 
 but alas ! at this early hour in the afternoon he is appar- 
 ently not expected home, and he finds that the angry 
 Mrs. Dolan reigns supreme to the exclusion of outside
 
 IiV BACHELOR QUARTERS, 103 
 
 authority. The gentlemen are therefore prepared to be 
 astonished at nothing, and are not even startled when, 
 issuing from the direction of the drawing-room, they 
 hear the most lugubrious sounds. 
 
 Thump, thump, thump ! and with the loud pedal well 
 down, fall the clumsy fingers of the ambitious Daddy 
 Dolan on the keys of Sir Gregory's grand-piano, and as 
 the gentlemen enter the room unseen, she raises her voice 
 in a loud, unmusical wail, whose tuue is, alas, unrecog- 
 nizable ! 
 
 The voice of her master calls her from her dreams of 
 bliss rather unfeelingly : 
 
 " Why don't you get a sledge-hammer ?" 
 
 With a scream and a kick which reduces the piano-stool 
 to a lowly position among the flowers of the carpet, 
 Daddy flies, with her head hidden under her apron, and 
 the three gentlemen laugh heartily, though Sir Gregory, 
 as he picks up the fallen stool, mutters audibly: " This 
 is what comes of being a bachelor. I am not even mas- 
 ter in my own house." 
 
 Here Mrs. Dolan reappears, and in a very aggrieved and 
 dignified voice murmurs, with her hands folded before 
 her: 
 
 " Well, Sir Gregory, what's for dinner?" 
 
 "Dinner !" cries the baronet, looking as thunderstruck 
 as though he never expected to have any that day. 
 
 " Yes, sir, dinner," in a still more aggrieved way. 
 
 " I thought dinner was cooked long ago." 
 
 " Cooked !" retorts the house-keeper, " when no bor- 
 ders was given, and no one to give 'em." 
 
 " Couldn't you have given the orders ?" shouts Sir 
 Gregory, in a towering temper, " or what do you do all
 
 104 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 day?" This looks hopeful for Mrs. Dolan, and she tri- 
 umphs secretly, but outwardly she wipes away an angry 
 tear with the corner of her white apron. 
 
 "You know very well, sir, that I have resigned /i;il I 
 /iauthority in this 'ouse, since I'm. engaged packing to 
 leave at your orders next month." 
 
 " Tut, woman ! In the mean time I'm d sure I'm 
 
 not going to do without my dinner every day. So put 
 off the packing and go about your business, and that 
 quickly !" thunders Sir Gregory, knowing in his inmost 
 heart that he Is, as usual, going to be the loser in the 
 argument. 
 
 " What do you wish for dinner, Sir Gregory ?" pursues 
 the relentless house-keeper. 
 
 " Oh, anything," scornfully ; " anything that I can 
 carve chops, steaks and be quick I" for Sir Gregory, 
 being portly, remembers to have suffered severely from 
 over-exertion on one occasion when he carved a turkey 
 for twelve persons, and he thinks it detracts from his 
 pleasure in dining to have to mop his brow in the very 
 middle of dislocating the drumstick, 
 
 Mrs. Dolan, I think, likewise remembers the occasion 
 in question, for later, while a generous dinner is being- 
 served, there appears on the table before Sir Gregory a 
 magnificent bird, something of the description of the 
 despised turkey ; and the baronet finds ample reason to 
 curse his house-keeper for being so clever. 
 
 " If I don't settle that woman !" snarls Sir Gregory. 
 " I'm hanged if I don't be married just to get the better 
 of her!" And so on, and so on, until he gets actually 
 wearied of the hanging business, as applied to Mrs. 
 Dolan.
 
 IN BA CHEL OR QUAR TERS. 105 
 
 "Well, De Moutford," cries jolly Sir Gregory late that 
 night, as they are retiring after a long evening spent in 
 dining copiously, and quaffing of the oldest vintages 
 offered by the Athelhurst cellar, and that very ap- 
 parently to no sparing amount, " I have your promise to 
 bring the earl down for the big meet at Drislehurst, and 
 we shall have a royal day, or rather week of it, I hope. 
 Borradale there loves pretty women and flue horses as 
 well as the best of us, and I am sure he will stay with me 
 till then." 
 
 " That, I fear, is impossible," begins Borradale, but is 
 summarily interrupted by his host. 
 
 " Tut, man ! you are my prisoner now in these ghostly old 
 halls, and as such I declare you to be incapable of decid- 
 ing for yourself in any matter to-night. So, until to-mor- 
 row, just yield to the inevitable, which at this moment, 
 as I see your eyes are blinking, is sleep. I could be an 
 all-nighter, but you young ones can't be expected to 
 stand under all I can." 
 
 Whereat Sir Gregory, on his way to his own particular 
 sanctum, endeavors to describe the ever-widening circles 
 of a hawk on the wing. 
 
 The last thoughts that present themselves to the minds 
 of De Moutford and Rutland Borradale, ere in sleep they 
 lose all power of unravelling problematical questions, are 
 somewhat similar. 
 
 "This beautiful inconnue of Sir Gregory's," thinks the 
 former, " who may she be ? She has rather interested 
 me. I declare to heaven I think I'll stay and solve the 
 mystery. It may turn up something to my advantage, 
 and it can't harm me ! Who knows if I might not even 
 win an heiress, and that, faith, will be acceptable j for if
 
 106 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 I don't do that pretty soon I shall have to look up New 
 York, -with its own peculiar style of thinking and its 
 more peculiar style of marrying. To win a pile here will 
 be to save an odious journey, so here goes for it ! 
 
 " They say she has a husband somewhere 1" The fact 
 looks rather important, but it does not have a very 
 dampening effect upon De Montford's resolutions. " No 
 matter," he thinks 5 "she will, no doubt, be willing 
 enough to go through the courts if the inducements be 
 made sufficiently fetching, or if the thumb-screw be 
 applied with sufficient determination ; and I think I 
 have mastered lovely women before." 
 
 With a contented expression he falls asleep, and in 
 his dreams he has a wealthy heiress at his feet hunger- 
 ing for his smiles, which makes him happy. 
 
 Not less interested in the beautiful unknown is Eut- 
 land Borradale, but his interest in the matter is more or 
 less unselfish, as it springs entirely from a feeling of 
 camaraderie towards his host, and an intense appre- 
 ciation of the humorous side of the question. He there- 
 fore falls asleep promising himself, if he be persuaded to 
 make a longer stay with Sir Gregory than had been his 
 intention, to witness at least some rather ridiculous and 
 spicy love scenes.
 
 TRACED IN RUBIES. 107 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TRACED IN BUSIES. 
 
 Next morning, notwithstanding the revel overnight, 
 all is bustle at the Manor-house. Sir Gregory has of- 
 fered the two young men each a fine mount, and the 
 meet being at a distance, they have to make an early 
 start ; so, after partaking of a hasty breakfast, all three 
 ride off in the best possible spirits, anticipating the day's 
 enjoyments. 
 
 But For tune does not favor them ; the hounds do noth- 
 ing in particular, and after a rather disappointing day 
 they find themselves leisurely riding homeward about 
 three o'clock that same afternoon. They are a some- 
 what silent party ; the horses are tired and jaded, and 
 Sir Gregory is not in the best of tempers, as he had prom- 
 ised himself a fine day's sport, and looking upon their 
 continued ill luck as a great want of consideration on the 
 part of Providence, he is greatly disgusted at their non- 
 success. 
 
 As they ride onward, the country begins to look fa- 
 miliar, and at last they reach a low stone wall that borders 
 the Grange estate. Here Rutland Borradale falls a little 
 behind his companions and allows them to get several 
 paces ahead; he is riding in a listless kind of way; his 
 face looks dark and sad ; perhaps thoughts are running 
 in his mind of a day long ago when he had hoped all 
 things of woman's love, and had seen his hopes wrecked.
 
 108 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 As he and his companions proceed, however, the 
 country grows to look a little more like home, and this 
 rather cheers the riders, as, man-like, they promise them- 
 selves something warmly comforting when they shall 
 leave their saddles. 
 
 As they find themselves passing along under the 
 shadow of the Grange walls, from which to the Manor- 
 house is but a step otherwise a quarter of a mile they 
 are startled at sight of the lithe form of a greyhound 
 which, leaping from behind to the top of the Grange 
 wall, lands on the road near them, as graceful and light 
 as a featber wafted by summer winds. Rutland Borra- 
 dale's eyes followed the retreating form of the handsome 
 hound rather indifferently ; while the dusky shadows 
 thrown by the trees, interweaving overhead, prevented 
 him from observing the dog's points more fully as the 
 latter disappeared over a neighboring fence, to reap- 
 pear, however, lower down. Here the hound stands 
 revealed in a full burst of sunshine,, and Rutland Bor- 
 radale, as he spurs his horse forward, is observed by his 
 companions to change color. 
 
 " Whose is he ?" cried Borradale, disconnectedly 
 (apropos to them of nothing). " Whose ? I do not 
 think. I think some No, I think " 
 
 Here sir Gregory breaks in with "Do you often think 
 aloud,- my dear fellow, in such disconnected language ?" 
 which remark has the effect of making Borradale subdue 
 some powerful emotion, which has come near mastering 
 him ; and with a light remark he turns the tables on 
 his opponent. 
 
 " My incoherency was owing to an eagerness on your 
 account. Is not that your adored one's hound ?"
 
 TRACED IN RUBIES. 109 
 
 " Why, so it must be," cries the baronet iii astonish- 
 ment, noticing the dog for the first time. 
 
 "And therefore the object of your courtly admiration 
 cannot be far away." 
 
 " By Jove ! if you aren't right." And here Sir 
 Gregory, with a heart that seems to go up and down 
 like a field of mangold-wurzel in autumn, with a buinp 
 here, and a hollow there, and all turned higgledy : pig- 
 gledy, proceeds to do some earnest prowling for the 
 longed-for sight of a gate cut in the Grange wall, but 
 none appearing, he turns by way of pastime to watch 
 the hound, snuffing among the fallen dried leaves, prob- 
 ably for a hedgehog (ladies' dogs are good for rooting 
 out pig-headed little hedgehogs and making a fuss 
 about it). Then Rutland Borradale, gently pressing 
 spurs to his horse's sides, proceeds calmly on his home- 
 ward way, but not without having first whistled to the 
 hound, calling him by name in a masterful voice: 
 
 "Lion! Lion! to heel, sir!" 
 
 Suddenly the dog, to the astonishment of Sir Gregory 
 and De Montford, lifts his noble crest, pricks up his ears, 
 and in the flash of a thought has passed them with a 
 loud yelp, and has thrown himself madly upon Rutland 
 Borradale. Astonishment is succeeded in their minds 
 by fear for their friend's safety, as the only explanation 
 to them of the matter is rabies in the dog ! but soon, 
 however, they find that the gallant hound is covering 
 Borradale with canine caresses, licking his hands, toes, 
 leathers, cords, everything, with an occasional little yelp 
 of delight, even rubbing the clay and leaves off his own 
 nose onto that of the gentleman. 
 
 "Quiet, Lion! quiet, old fellow!" mutters Borradale,
 
 110 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 and seeing that he has turned a bend in the road, which 
 hides him from his companions, he lowers his head over 
 that of the hound and examines the dog's collar. This 
 is a beautifully elaborate piece of workmanship, bearing 
 the mythical inscription that he has seen somewhere 
 often before, executed in tiny diamoud chips, "With my 
 heart forever !" 
 
 He reads still further, something that makes his lips 
 quiver, it is the word wrought in glittering red stones, 
 " Never !" 
 
 " Elra ! Elra ! she loves me still, she will not dare deny 
 it," and unclasping the rich collar which opens only to 
 the pressure of a secret spring, he gives the dog a tender, 
 long, maudlin hug, and then, sitting erect once more in 
 his saddle, after having placed the collar in safety, some- 
 where about the region of his waistcoat, looks as emo- 
 tionless as though his heart was not throbbing in wildest 
 rebellion against his breast-pocket. 
 
 " Hello, Bor. ! we thought you were home by now," 
 says Sir Gregory. " Sly dog, who knows all about the 
 lady of the Grange, and won't tell others who might 
 like to know. Well, well !" he continues, putting spurs 
 to his horse, "we'll get square ; but first we must dine side 
 by side, to show there's no ill feeling, you know !" and he 
 gives a knowing wink, which Borradale does not ap- 
 preciate, and in reply to which he denies all knowledge 
 about Mrs. Eldmere, although the hound, he maintains, 
 is one he has once sold at a very high price to a dog 
 fancier, previous to starting for a tour on the European 
 continent. A silvery whistle interrupts the knowing 
 laugh with which Sir Gregory answers this "yarn," as 
 he terms it, and at the words " Get back there, hound,"
 
 HE UNCHAINED THE RICH COLLAR, WHICH OPENED ONLY ON THE 
 PRESSURE OF A SECRET SPRING. 
 
 Paae 110.
 
 TRACED IN RUBIES. Ill 
 
 from Borradale, the dog skims lightly over the high 
 moss-grown wall back again into the Grange meadows. 
 There he is greeted by a little murmur of delight from 
 his mistress, and a little cry of astonishment from her 
 companion, Topsie. 
 
 " Why, what nas become of his collar?" cries Mrs. 
 Eldmere in dismay. " Ob, it could not have been a 
 tramp who stole it! he would never find the secret 
 spring. Who could it be ? I remember but one who 
 ever knew the secret, and he " 
 
 " Oh, Elra, that lovely collar !" says Topsie, regretfully, 
 " I always knew it would be stolen some day ! the only 
 thing you can do is to offer a very large reward for its 
 recovery " 
 
 " Perhaps ! I don't know," is Mrs. Eldmere's answer to 
 her friend's amazement, but the latter cannot hear the 
 muttered words, " If only it were he !" 
 
 " Elra, dearest, I have an idea !" cries Topsie suddenly, 
 as they are walking slowly back to the house followed 
 by Lion. " Let us go down to old Peter's cottage and 
 tell him about your loss j he is crazy enough sometimes, 
 I think, but he might make inquiries in the village for 
 us, and I know that he will do anything for you or me." 
 
 " It's not a bad idea," said Mrs. Eldmere thoughtfully ; 
 "let us go across the fields; the sooner something is 
 done the more chance there is of finding the collar, and 
 old Peter knows all the country folks for miles around. 
 Come, Lion, we will take you with nsf and turning 
 briskly in the opposite direction the two ladies are soon 
 out of sight across the fields on their way to old Peter's 
 cottage. 
 
 This individual being somewhat of a character, de-
 
 112 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 serves a few words of introduction, which are here 
 given : 
 
 Peter Long had been one of the old family retainers 
 in the house of Eaveustone during two generations. He 
 had seen the old marquis grow up and die, to be suc- 
 ceeded by his son, the present owner of the title; and old 
 Peter, as huntsman to the Marquis of Ripdale, considered 
 himself as much part and parcel of the family as the 
 gloomy old mansion-house of Eavenstone itself. He had 
 lived there, man and boy, for over fifty years,. and could 
 as little bear transplanting as any of the sturdy old oaks 
 upon the place. So that when the present marquis, a 
 man of fast life and dissolute habits, came to his own, 
 and Peter found himself curtly dismissed, he obstinately 
 refused to leave, and gave the marquis to understand 
 that he intended to live and die in his old home at Eaven- 
 stone. This obstinacy so incensed his new master that 
 he gave peremptory orders for the old man's removal, 
 and old Peter was turned out bag and baggage, no one 
 daring to oppose the cruel power of the proud and 
 haughty marquis. This blow nearly broke old Peter's 
 heart, and for a time it seemed as if his mind was weak- 
 ened, but he had some kind friends left, and by their help 
 he was established in a little cottage in the woods, 
 where he now lived on the small pittance allowed him 
 by the ladies of Eavenstone, who, though they were 
 powerless to prevent his dismissal, contrived to assist the 
 poor old fellow unknown to their brother. Peter's hut, 
 or cottage, stood in the midst of the woods, and often 
 the passers-by could hear him cheering on the dogs, imi- 
 tating the bugle call, with loud cries of "Tally-ho! tally- 
 ho 1" as he roamed through the woods, for in his crazy
 
 TRACED IN RUBIES. 113 
 
 moods lie was once more the gallant hardy huntsman of 
 former days, and the sound of a horse's hoof or the bark 
 of a dog would often be enough to rouse him when 
 nothing else would. Topsie had known old Peter from 
 her childhood, and she it was who had done the most for 
 1dm in his lonely exile. He would never want whjle slio 
 could help him, and Peter loved the very ground his dear 
 missie (as he called her) trod on. Twice in her life had 
 he been at hand to save her from great peril : once as a 
 child, when riding, he had caught her from the saddle as 
 her pony, mad with fright, had leaped into the quarry be- 
 low j and again, when the doors of her own home had been 
 closed to her, sbe had crept to old Peter's cottage and 
 passed two days in hiding there ; so that Topsie's love 
 for the poor crazy fellow was only equalled by her pity 
 for his lonely condition and wrecked life. 
 
 Mrs. Eldrnere and Topsie, meanwhile, had crossed the 
 fields and were entering a little glade in the woods, which 
 now stood in the budding beauty of approaching spring. 
 It was carpeted with moss, greener than emerald and 
 softer than velvet, and the faint sweet perfume of violets 
 mingled with the soft breath of a light breeze which 
 played around them, ruffling the plumes of Mrs. Eld- 
 mere's dainty hat and tossing the red-gold locks of the 
 young girl into still more picturesque confusion. 
 
 " Hunting will soon he over," said Topsie with a sigh, as 
 she drew a long breath of the fragrant perfume which now 
 filled the air. " I alsvays remember how Peter hated the 
 violets when they came, and I never could bring him 
 to admit any beauty in flowers. ' Drat them vilets !' 
 was his usual reply; ' they spoils the scent for us, and 
 that's all I care about.' However, it's a good thing there
 
 114 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 won't be much more hard riding, for Irish King is getting 
 very tender on his forefeet, and I am afraid he won't be 
 good for much after this year." 
 
 "That reminds me, dearest," says Elra with a loving 
 smile, " I never told you that I was negotiating for a new 
 horse for you. Such a fearless rider needs a better mount 
 than the poor old King, and I mean you to have a steed 
 worthy of your equestrian powers." 
 
 " Oh, Elra !" you darling," cries the girl, impulsively 
 tbrowiug her arms round her companion's neck and giv- 
 ing her a fond kiss. " How good of you to think of it ; 
 but please don't buy the horse now ; it would only be 
 idle, eating its head off in the stable all summer, and the 
 King carries me beautifully in our country rides ; he is 
 only found wanting on the hard dusty road." 
 
 " Well, we will see," is Mrs. Eldmere's answer. " I 
 haven't heard of a suitable animal yet, so it may be best 
 to wait, as you suggest, though I will tell Robert to keep 
 his eyes open, and if he hears of a lady's hunter being 
 for sale to let me know of it." 
 
 They found old Peter in, and after fully explaining the 
 lost collar to him Topsie said : 
 
 " Now, Peter, this collar must be found, and if any of 
 the villagers know anything about it I am sure we can 
 trust you to find it out " 
 
 " That ye can, missie," says the old man with a chuckle 
 of delight. "I'm spry enough still, and if that there 
 dog's collar has been stole by any one as lives within 
 ten miles o' here, I'm bound to hear about it. You trust 
 me, missie ; they all thinks I'm daft, and takes no care what 
 they says afore me, so I'll just go down and have a mug 
 of ale at the Hare and Hounds, where I'll likely hear all 
 ye want to know."
 
 TRA CED IN R UBIES. 1 15 
 
 "That's right, Peter; we knew you would help us; 
 here's the money for the ale, but mind you don't stay too 
 long or drink too much ;" and with this injunction the 
 ladies left him and returned to the Grange by the same 
 way as they had come. As they reached the house 
 Mrs. Eldmere said : u We had better renew our search 
 now, Topsie I am so determined to find that missing 
 link ;" and they go up to an old lumber-room and are 
 soon pouring over a collection of dust-begrimed papers 
 which lie hidden in the depths of a worm-eaten oaken 
 cliest.
 
 116 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LION FINDS A MASTER. 
 
 Yes, there is no denying it, life at the Grange is 
 dull, very dull, and its quietude is beginning to tell on 
 Mrs. Eldmere, though she scarcely dares to admit it, 
 even to herself. But to-day, somehow, the ghost of the 
 past has risen from its grave, and, sitting there in her 
 quiet boudoir, with hands idly folded and eyes gazing 
 listlessly out on the lovely glowing landscape, which 
 seems but to mock her with its brightness, Mrs. Eldmere 
 thinks of those happy days now past and gone. As the 
 lovely American heiress, who had there been so courted 
 and flattered as she, when in the zenith of her girlish 
 beauty she had queened it at ball and reception when 
 her name was upon every lip, and the homage of every 
 man was laid at her feet ? Society had chosen her for 
 queen, and for two happy years she had reigned ; her 
 life had been full of gayety and brightness ; now all was 
 changed, and she felt herself left lonely and deserted, 
 though in burying herself at the Grange she had volun- 
 tarily cut herself off from all society, and her hiding- 
 place was even now unknown to many of her friends. 
 
 "It is not only for myself," she says, as she rises and 
 impatiently paces the floor of her pretty room. " That 
 poor child who shares ray exile; what must this dull life 
 mean to her ? I was wrong to let her come, and though 
 I doubt not her love and fidelity to me, I must not suffer 
 her sacrifice to be too irksome.
 
 LION FINDS A MASTER. 317 
 
 " Life," sbe continues plaintively, " is a sorry problem. 
 Yesterday a reigning queen ; to-day a solitary, despised 
 hermit. But, oh ! better so. Better to live alone and die 
 unnoticed than to count hours of lingering torture by the 
 side of Murray Cresenworth. 
 
 (For Mrs. Eldmere, the lady of the Grange, is indeed 
 Elra Cresenworth who, having vainly tried to yield 
 loving allegiance to her adoring husband, has at last fled 
 from him in despair, and buried berself in the loneliest 
 little nook in Sussex, hoping that her lord and master 
 may never see her again.) 
 
 "After all, the human heart grows accustomed to 
 changes, and I shall live my sorrow down, I suppose. 
 Things might be infinitely worse, for I have Topsie, with 
 her glorious intelligence and her darling gentle ways. 
 
 (As she is speaking, a clock in the room strikes eleven 
 with silvery tones, and Mrs. Eldmere starts with a cry 
 of surprise.) 
 
 " How late already ; and we are to ride this morning." 
 
 So, hastily gathering up some letters which lie open on 
 the table before her, she turns and leaves the room to 
 don her hat and habit. 
 
 Half an hour later finds her standing in the hall, Avhip 
 in hand and with a smile on her face, for as she knows 
 the sharp eyes of Miss Topsie would quickly search her 
 soul, she is determined to hide, even from her, the un- 
 satisfied longings and vain regrets that she has lately 
 indulged in. 
 
 "Come, Topsie dear, aren't you ready?" she cries to 
 her young companion (who was in herself somewhat of a 
 mystery to the people about, being known as Topsie to 
 all her friends, and apparently possessing no surname by
 
 118 HER PL A YTHIKGS, MEN. 
 
 which to distinguish her). " It will be a glorious morning 
 for a ride, and Irish King is getting so impatient." 
 
 " Coming ! coming!" cries a fresh young voice, and Miss 
 Topsie appears, clad in a smart, well-fitting habit and 
 jaunty hat, from under whose brim her bright, dark eyes 
 glance mischievously, and, with a smile that shows every 
 one of her brilliant white teeth, the young lady runs 
 down the steps to fondle her horse and give him his ac- 
 customed lump of sugar. 
 
 " You will spoil the king," says Mrs. Eldmere smiling, 
 " and you should always give him his reward when the 
 ride is over, not before the start." 
 
 " That's just where I don't agree with you," says Top- 
 sie, brightly. "'Duty first and pleasure after' is a 
 stupid saying. I make it pleasure first. Perchance apres 
 one may have to do the duty, but I always get out of it 
 if I can." 
 
 " Well, where shall we go?" says Mrs. Eldmere when 
 they were both mounted and indulging in a preparatory 
 canter down the avenue with Lion at the horses' heels. 
 
 " Let's go round by Chanconbury King, and see if the 
 fairies have finished their revels. You know they always 
 have a good time at midsummer, at least the story-books 
 tell us that, and I would dearly like to have my three 
 wishes fulfilled." 
 
 "Well, what do you wish for, dear?" says her com- 
 panion, amused at the girlish chatter. 
 
 " First, a pair of wings, which would fly with me 
 wherever I wished to roam ; a purse like that of Fortu- 
 natus, never empty ; and last, but not least, to be a bril- 
 liant financier or statesman with the world at my feet. 
 I am restless, ambitious, extravagant, and these three
 
 LION FINDS A MASTER. 119 
 
 longings would then be gratified. Now what do you 
 want, ElraF 
 
 " Ob, I !" said Mrs. Eldmere, with a start and change 
 of color. " I want to find Lion at present. Do you see 
 him, Topsie t He has missed us, I fear." 
 
 "Why there he is!" she cried, pointing to a solitary 
 horseman in the field ahead of the riders, towards whose 
 knee the dog was leaping with spasmodic efforts. There 
 is Lion springing on that man. Can he be going to 
 attack him? What can be the matter? Why, he is 
 caressing Lion !" 
 
 " You must be mistaken, Topsie," said Mrs. Eldmere, 
 growing suddenly pale, "Lion has never suffered any 
 one to caress him but one man, and be It cannot be." 
 Hastily crossing the fence they came up closer to the 
 horseman, who did not even turn in his saddle, but acted 
 as if he were totally unaware of their presence. Elra 
 called Lion to her side, but for once he did not respond, 
 and remained gazing up at the rider, his very beautiful 
 head almost touching the tips of the gentleman's patent 
 leather boots. 
 
 And now Topsie receives somewhat of a shock as she 
 concludes that the man before them is a total stranger^ 
 if she might judge by the greeting he received ; yet, on 
 glancing at Mrs. Eldraere, she sees her trembling with 
 vexation or some other indefinable emotion. 
 
 But here the gentleman, at whose knee Lion persists 
 in trotting, wheels his horse round, giving Mrs. Eldmere 
 room to pass. They exchange a long, steady look, charg- 
 ed with defiance on both sides ; a deep, dangerous glance, 
 which stirs their very souls and bridges over many a 
 weary month, and which, in its very intensity of pain, is
 
 120 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 intensity of keenest pleasure, but passing, it leaves the 
 lady looking very haughty and unsubdued as she ad- 
 vances with an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of 
 his salutation, and does not even offer to call Lion to her 
 side. But Borradale, for it was he, with fully as haughty 
 a glance, watches their retreating figures with some mut- 
 tered words, the spelling of which would be very difficult 
 to accomplish. 
 
 He remains, apparently rooted to the ground, in the 
 middle of the field, like some old statue of some older 
 king, transported there to frighten the preying rooks, 
 until he catches a glimpse of one of the ladies' skirts flat- 
 tering to the ground. 
 
 She has descended, ostensibly, to unbar a five-rail 
 gate, but she seems to find it so pleasant on the soft 
 mosses that carpet the banks fringed with blackthorn 
 that she has suffered herself to sink down among the 
 golden kingcups and mosses, and seems to think she is 
 going to remain there. A few powerful strides brings 
 Rutland Borradale's horse alongside, and then he sees 
 it is Mrs. Eldmere, who, with the tears of mortification 
 ami anger frozen in her eyes, and with a face colorless as 
 her kerchief, has sunk down pale and trembling as the 
 aspen in the breeze. Topsie is beside her in a moment, 
 and offers remedies none of them half so effectual as the 
 reappearance of the (to her) strange gentleman on the 
 scene. 
 
 " What secret misery is the cause of this emotion ?" 
 thinks Topsie, with a sad shake of her wise little head ; 
 "1 have never seen her ruffled yet." 
 
 As Mr. Borradale looks at her something soft and pity- 
 ing creeps into his eyes and he says a few gentle words,
 
 LION FINDS A MASTER. 121 
 
 which, however, do not seem to have at all the desired 
 effect. Elra thinks she hears a triumphant ring in his 
 voice, and hastily rising, with proudly erect head, she 
 springs into the saddle, disdaining his proffered help 
 and taking that of Tupsie. " Come, Lion P she says, 
 commandingly, but Lion lingers by Borradale. 
 
 " He has had a master before he acknowledged a mis- 
 tress," murmurs the young man, with a challenge in his 
 eyes and voice. 
 
 "Then he can still lick the hand of the master, and 
 bend to his sovereign rule, for no mistress will whistle 
 for him again !" 
 
 "Mrs. Murray Cresen worth is mistaken if she thinks 
 that Rutland Borradale reclaims that which he has once 
 given, be it so insignificant a gift as that of a dog, or 
 even that of his own heart's affection. He never takes 
 back what lie has once given !" 
 
 Entirely calm he stood there as those quietly spoken 
 words, surcharged with painful meaning, fell from his 
 lips, and with one quick, frightened look she turned 
 away not, however, before a little telltale quiver, one 
 rapid, rebellious heaving, of her bosom, had given him 
 the answer that he sought. In a moment more her met- 
 tlesome horse, having felt the sharp sting of her tiny 
 spur, springs away over the heathery fields, bearing a 
 mistress whose form is very light and supple, but whose 
 heart is strangely heavy, and will be so for many a day 
 to come. When they reach the Grange Topsie notices 
 the cloud on Elra's brow, and sees what she thinks looks 
 like great tears standing in her eyes ; so, subduing her 
 natural curiosity about their late encounter, she chatters 
 gayly till they reach the house, when Mrs. Eldraere,
 
 122 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEA T . 
 
 pleading headache and indisposition, retired to her own 
 room, and was not again visible till dinner-time that 
 evening. 
 
 "Oh dear, what can the matter be F sighs the girl, as 
 she takes up a favorite novel after her solitary lunch 
 and throws herself down for a quiet read, " I would give 
 a great deal to know who and what Lion's master may 
 be, and what he has to do with Elra. I hate mysterious 
 men !" and she sighs again.
 
 SIR GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SIR GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 
 
 That same evening, had we chanced to turn in at the 
 Grange, we might have seen that Sir Gregory has at 
 last effected his entry between the tower gates of its 
 avenue, and has been bold and fortunate enough even 
 to penetrate to its divinely appointed little drawing- 
 room. But once there, to his bitter chagrin be it said, 
 he finds that the object of his intensest interest is gone 
 out; or more likely, Sir Gregory thinks, is in her own 
 sweet little boudoir, but won't be worried out by him. 
 
 He therefore keeps a careful eye on the door- way, to 
 cut off her chance of passing it unobserved, while he 
 settles himself to the task of charming Miss Topsie, 
 whom he has surprised over a volume of Erchmaun- 
 Chatrain, and who now finds herself in for a dismal in- 
 terview. " So glad to make your acquaintance," says the 
 baronet, blandly smiling, and advancing to shake hands 
 with his victim. " Such charming ladies and good horse- 
 women are an acquisition in a country place like this.'" 1 
 
 "What do you know about our riding, Sir Gregory?" 
 says Topsie, mischievously ; " I am not aware that you 
 have ever seen us, except at a great distance." (Mrs. 
 Eldmere and Topsie had on more than one occasion sur- 
 prised Sir Gregory in hiding behind a tree or fence to 
 watch them as they rode past, and Topsie had often
 
 12-4 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 joked her frieiid on the supposed passion of the baronet 
 for the fair lady of the Grange. 
 
 "There is one thing in which I should like to claim 
 your help," she continued, calmly, " and as you are one 
 of the magnates of the place, you can doubtless be of 
 great assistance." 
 
 "Delighted,"! am sure," smiles the gentleman urbanely, 
 " to be of any assistance to the lovely Mrs. Eld mere and 
 her beautiful friend;" this is said with a low bow, hand 
 on heart, and with a would-be killing glance, that looks 
 more like a leer. 
 
 " Well, Sir Gregory, I will tell you we have been 
 lately much annoyed during our rides, even walks, by 
 the movements of a mysterious man, who evidently 
 wishes to shadow us; for we have seen him crouching 
 down behind fences, and hiding behind trees, as we 
 have passed, and though we have never actually caught 
 sight of his face, we are becoming alarmed by his per- 
 sistently following us; Mrs. Eldmere has even grave 
 thoughts of employing a detective to watch the man, 
 and find out if he is only a harmless idiot or a dangerous 
 lunatic, in which latter case it would be better to im- 
 prison him at once or deprive him of his liberty. 
 
 Sir Gregory's face had been a study during this re- 
 cital, turning from red to crimson, and the desperate 
 efforts he made to appear a calm and interested listener 
 delighted Topsie's wicked little heart. 
 
 " Hum ! You say you have never seen his face, my 
 dear young lady?" he asked, taking out his handker- 
 chief and mopping his brow with the same, while he 
 fidgeted on his chair and cast a look of deep anxiety on 
 his tormentor.
 
 SIR GREGOR Y AT THE GRANGE. 125 
 
 " No, Sir Gregory," says Topsie, sweetly, " but I am 
 sine I should know him again. lie is tall and stout a 
 man about your own size, I should say." 
 
 " Ob, indeed ; about my own size," says the baronet, 
 growing, if possible, more crimson than before. " You 
 don't say so ! Why, how unaccountable," Sir Gregory 
 laughs, or rather tries to ; while Topsie is delighted to 
 indulge in a little burst of merriment on her own ac- 
 count. 
 
 "Well, well, it's too bad ! something must be done; I 
 will look into the matter myself," says Sir Gregory, pom- 
 pously, and then the conversation languishes, while the 
 young lady disappears into the recesses of a bow-window. 
 
 " Why, here comes Maudie de la Roche," cries Topsie, 
 in a tone of joy, eying the baronet with a sidelong glance 
 that means more mischief. " She is coming up the 
 avenue. How fortunate ! She and you get along so 
 well together, Sir Gregory." Here she sees his face 
 grow a shade paler and his eyes darken, while cautiously, 
 and with the defiant look of one driven to bay, he draws 
 two corks from his pockets, a la Mike Dolan. These, 
 on Maudie's entrance, he places in his ears, and then re- 
 tires comfortably into the recesses of his arm-chair, feel- 
 ing safe. 
 
 Maudie's garrulous tongue is in glorious form, and, 
 conscious of the advantage of her position, she rattles 
 on to Sir Gregory about her fat dog, her fat pony, and 
 her fat self. 
 
 Stealing a glance round she finds that Topsie has glided 
 from the room, and, seeing an encouraging smile on the 
 baronet's face, she deems that a little dash of the senti- 
 mental will not come amiss.
 
 12G HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " It's such a long, long time since I saw you last, Sir 
 Gregory, she begins. I have been quite ill lately with a 
 cold and sore throat and haven't dared to go out! But 
 perhaps you did not know of it P 
 
 " Delighted to hear it," says the baronet with a bow 
 and wave of his hand. 
 
 Maudie thinks the answer strange, but is not yet sub- 
 dued. 
 
 "Why didn't you answer my letter?" she says, im- 
 ploringly, "I waited so patiently for an answer, just one 
 tiny word !" reproachfully. 
 
 " Bless me, I give it up," he cries testily, " its no good 
 asking me for the word, I never could guess a riddle !" 
 Then, seeing Maudie's astonished face, and imagining that 
 his reply had not been satisfactory, he added, " Of course 
 not, I never intended to, I thought I told you that some 
 time ago. A man in my position cannot afford to take 
 part in amateur theatricals, and, besides, I'm no actor." 
 
 " I don't think you are listening to what I say, cries 
 Maudie rather angrily; can you hear me speaking f 
 
 " Yes, yes, I quite agree with you; I am sure you are 
 right." 
 
 " But what are those things in your ears ! how 
 can you hear me with those there? But perhaps you 
 don't F 
 
 These questions have broken from Maudie in quick 
 gasps, and in another moment, realizing the position, 
 she draws herself up grandly, stretches out her hand to 
 him in a dignified and freezing good-bye, and sails from 
 the room. 
 
 As soon as Maudie is well out of sight Sir Gregory 
 rises from his chair, and taking the corks from his ears
 
 SIX GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 127 
 
 restores them to his pocket with a satisfied air of triumph 
 for once he has got the better of his bete noire, Miss 
 Maudie de la Roche. 
 
 In another moment Topsie reappears and looks greatly 
 surprised to find him still there. 
 
 " I thought you would have escorted Miss de la Roche 
 home," she says, "knowing what friends you are; it was 
 very unkind of you not to do so." 
 
 " I could not leave before I had seen you again, he says 
 gallantly, and you are greatly mistaken if you think Miss 
 Maudie and I are on such friendly terms." 
 
 "Oh, come!" says Topsie, archly, "I won't allow you 
 to say one word against her, I know you were longing to 
 accompany her when she went, and if you go at once, 
 you will soon catch her up, for she doesn't walk very 
 fast !" 
 
 "No, indeed, I could not think of it. I must stay 
 and see Mrs. Eldmere. I have an important project " 
 
 "Oh, then, if you wish it," retorts Topsie, certainly; 
 stay as long as you like ! you are most welcome ! 
 But I must run away from you for a short time. 
 Make yourself quite at home in my absence, and 
 in case you wish to leave, there is the door ! in case you 
 think of staying all night, there is the door-mat for you 
 to lie across !" 
 
 But not even this little ruse of Topsie's would have 
 gotten rid of the baronet, had not something rather un- 
 accustomed happened just at that moment. 
 
 This was the appearance of a young man on the car- 
 riage sweep, leading a horse, and dragging in his hand 
 the tire of a wheel of the dog-cart to which the horse 
 was harnessed.
 
 128 HER PLAYTHINGS, WEN. 
 
 11 There must have been an accident somewhere," says 
 Sir Gregory, watching the new-coiner with great interest. 
 A card is next moment brought in by the servant, and 
 Topsie, catching sight of some number, and il Fifth 
 Avenue," in one little corner, she waits no longer, but 
 dashes off in pursuit of Mrs. Eld mere, who turns pale on 
 seeing the card ; and then a bright color suffuses her 
 face, with a strange hope dawning in her eyes. 
 
 " He is a friend j he will be kind," she murmurs, and 
 forthwith descends the stair- way to bid her guest wel- 
 come. 
 
 In the drawing-room she finds a young man, tall and 
 debonair, talking gayly with Topsie, whom he seems 
 to have taken very kindly to, notwithstanding the freez- 
 ing little air that this young lady seems to keep in store 
 for strange young men. 
 
 An American has a strange propensity for ices of all 
 kinds, and Eoanwood Offington did not think the ice in 
 question, flavored as it was by rose-leaf lips, very terri- 
 fying. Even au iceberg may melt, and Topsie certainly 
 did. 
 
 "I am afraid you will think my presumption very 
 great," says the gentleman, as, hat in hand, he is 
 ushered into the room ; " but I hope that my appearance 
 here will justify itself. My carriage broke down just 
 outside your gates, and being a stranger here, and riot 
 seeing any other residence in view, I was bold enough to 
 enter, feeling sure that English hospitality would not 
 refuse to help a stranger and a foreigner in distress. I 
 was told that the house was occupied by a Mrs. Eldmere. 
 Have I the pleasure of speaking to that lady T' with aii 
 inqiring bow.
 
 SIR GREGORY AT THE GRANGE. 129 
 
 "No, sir," says Topsie, demurely, "I ain only her 
 friend, but as Mrs. Eldmere is herself au American, lam 
 sure she will be glad to see you. I sent her your card, 
 and she will doubtless soon be here. In the mean time, 
 please consider yourself among friends, and allow me 
 to give you a cup of tea." 
 
 " No, thanks. Miss er " 
 
 " Topsie," she says, abruptly. 
 
 " Miss Topsie," he continued, with an almost percept- 
 ible smile, "I never indulge in that beverage." 
 
 "Oh, then you haven't been in England long," cries 
 the young lady. " It's quite English to love tea and 
 scandal the two always seem to go together ; but I dare 
 say you are not too fond of the English, and Americans, 
 being a superior people, are above those little weak- 
 nesses !" 
 
 "There you do me great injustice, Miss Topsie," replies 
 Mr. Offingtou, "though I have hardly been long enough 
 in England to appreciate its hospitality and its many 
 beauties as I shall do after to-day," he adds, with a 
 meaning glance. 
 
 Upon the entrance of Mrs. Eldmere a sudden change 
 comes over the face of Eoanwood Offington, and with a 
 cry of mingled surprise and pleasure he comes forward 
 with out-stretched hands. 
 
 " Mrs. Murray Cresenworth," he says " what an un- 
 expected pleasure ! They told me a Mrs. Eldmere lived 
 here." 
 
 " And they were right you are now speaking to that 
 lady. There was no mistake. I am Mrs. Eldmere," with 
 a glance at the young man's face that seems to command 
 or entreat his silence. Then turning to Sir Gregory with
 
 330 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 a gracious smile aud a few words of welcome winch re- 
 duce the inflammable baronet to a state of exquisite do 
 light, she explains : " Mr. Offiugton is an old friend," 
 and upon her introducing the two men the conversation 
 becomes general. 
 
 " What an unexpected pleasure to see you again ! 
 says the hostess to Mr. Offiugton (who has not yet re- 
 covered from his surprise, but gives no sign of the same). 
 " It must be quite a lucky accident that has brought you 
 so near us." 
 
 " A very fortunate one for me " (with a glance at Top- 
 sie). "The Grange must be a kind of loadstone; and 
 who can wonder at it, considering the many attractions 
 it contains P 
 
 li You need not compare us to stones, Mr. Offington," 
 says Topsie with a delicious pout. 
 
 " No, indeed," says the baronet, gallantly coming to 
 the rescue ; for in his present state of beatitude, which 
 he has so little anticipated, he is ready to champion all 
 the fair sex. " Beauty is always attractive, and when 
 Mrs. Eldmere and Miss Topsie are the ladies in question, 
 every man must fall and worship at their shrine.'' 
 
 " How poetical you are, Sir Gregory," says Mrs. Eld- 
 mere, with a smile, while Topsie sends Mr. Offington a 
 coquettish glance, which is fully appreciated by that 
 young man. 
 
 " In this case Sir Gregory's sentiments are all my 
 own," he cries ; " only, not being poetical, I cannot do 
 the subject justice." 
 
 "Hear, hear!" cries Topsie, gayly, quoting: "'And 
 Beauty draws us with a single hair.' Do you think a 
 woman's beauty is her hair ?"
 
 SIR CREGOR Y AT THE GRANGE. 131 
 
 "Very often." 
 
 " Theii you are all beautiful," breaks in the baronet. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," says Topsie, demurely. " I "have a 
 large share of beauty but it is iu rny trunk ; it was 
 cut off last June !" 
 
 Here there is a faint smile of appreciation on Roan- 
 wood Oftiugton's face, and Topsie feels his magnetic 
 eyes searching hers. Mrs. Eldmere, who has been more 
 or less restless during the conversation, has risen from 
 her chair and is standing at the other end of the long 
 room. Suddenly she turns and beckons Mr. Offington 
 to her side, 
 
 u I want to show you these," she says, pointing to a 
 group of photographs on a table. " You have been in 
 Home, I know, and I was never quite decided as to what 
 this picture may be." Mr. Offington joins her and 
 Topsie, who is watching them from the corner of her 
 eye, while she vainly endeavors to converse with Sir 
 Gregory, sees that the photograph was only a subter- 
 fuge. Mrs. Eldmere and Mr. Offingtou. have never even 
 pretended to look at it ; but, after an earnest whispered 
 conversation between the two, Mr. Offington turns to 
 Sir Gregory and proposes that he shall drive him over, 
 as the Manor-house will be on his way homeward. The 
 hospitable baronet is highly delighted with this sugges- 
 tion, being already in a convivial mood. He proposes 
 that they shall make a night of it together at the Manor- 
 house. Nothing loath, Mr. Eoanwood Offington accepts 
 with pleasure, and with many adieus to the ladies they 
 get into Sir Gregory's cart and drive off. 
 
 " By Jove ! I'll go to little < Miss Fattie's,' after all," says 
 the baronet as they sweep under the tower gates. " I'd
 
 132 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 go through fire to see that widow again. What do you 
 say, Offiugton ! Do you think she will have me in the 
 end ? Some women, I know, like a long courtship ; but, 
 come and judge of matters for yourself at Miss Maudie's 
 afternoon party to morrow." 
 
 " Can't, my dear fellow, so I will only wish you every 
 success in the matter," says Offington, with something 
 like deviltry in his eye, " and I hope you will let me 
 know when the happy event is to take place." 
 
 " You seem to look upon it as matter of certainty," 
 says Sir Gregory with rather a grewsome face, and there 
 the subject drops.
 
 MA UDIE PLA YS HOSTESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MAUDIE PLAYS HOSTESS. 
 
 Maudie de la Roche is in her element, and as she 
 bustles about tbo room her mother sits watching her 
 with secret admiration and conscious pride. The " Nest " 
 has on its most festive appearance, all the rooms are 
 decorated with a wealth of flowers, and Miss Maudie's 
 fat little figure trots from place to place putting last 
 touches, giving occasional directions to the bewildered 
 maid, and trying in vain to impress the button-boy or 
 small page with the solemnity and importance of the 
 occasion, for Miss de la Eoche has a garden party to- 
 day whicli she hopes will be honored by the beauty and 
 fashion of the neighborhood. 
 
 " Yoila raon enfant ; repose toi inaintenant," mur- 
 murs Madame from her chair of state ; " it is all perfect! 
 and you will be so hot, so tired." 
 
 " Yes, I think it is all in readiness now," says Maudie, 
 looking round the pretly room with conscious pride; 
 i( I only hope Anatole will announce the people prop- 
 erly." (Anatole being the name at present inflicted 
 upon the luckless youth who is told off to answer the 
 door.) 
 
 11 How do you like my dress, maman ?" she continues, 
 sinking into a low comfortable chair near her mother; 
 "the dear marchioness advised it, and I really think 
 it is quite a success !"
 
 134 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 The gown in question is composed of bright blue silk 
 much frilled and furbelowed, while the hat is a diminu- 
 tive sailor in white straw, trimmed with blue ribbons, 
 and now perched coquettishly on Miss Maudie's head. 
 Her face being broad and fat, and the hat small and 
 narrow, it is not the most becoming head-gear she could 
 have chosen, but having vaguely heard that English 
 girls generally wear sailor hats all summer, she con- 
 cluded that it would be the most appropriate finish to 
 her toilette. 
 
 u The color is lovely, it is like the blue of heaven," 
 her mother replies, not trusting her own taste against 
 that of her anglicized daughter; but tell me who are 
 coining to-day did Mrs. Eldmere accept ? 
 
 "Oh yes, of course," says Maudie with a disdainful 
 shrug;" I had to ask her, as she lives so near, but you 
 know, maman, that I have heard strange stories about 
 her. She shuts herself up at the Grange with that girl, 
 and one would think that she thought herself too good 
 to mix with us; but to-day she will see the Marchioness 
 of Ripdale here, and I hope to show Mrs. Eldmero the 
 sort of people who come to my parties, but who would 
 never go to see her. Some say she is a divorcee, others 
 that she has a husband living, and Eldmere is not her 
 right name. If she wasn't rich, and didn't live at the 
 Grange, I wouldn't invite her, for I don't admire those 
 women who have a story like Mrs. Eldmere " 
 
 Here Maudie gives a virtuous sniff, and turning to 
 take a look at herself in an opposite mirror, is horrified 
 to see Mrs. Eldmere advancing with a quiet well-bred 
 air, and dressed in creamy white from head to foot. Her 
 face betrays no sign that she had overheard the previous
 
 MAUDIE PLAYS HOSTESS. 135 
 
 conversation, and Maudie, much relieved, goes forward to 
 meet her and several other guests who have at this 
 moment arrived. 
 
 Mrs. Eldmere, however, had overheard Maudie's last 
 remarks, and she feels a hot wave of anger and shame 
 at the thought that tbis girl, whom she had always 
 despised as shallow and weak, should be able to use her 
 name so lightly. She wishes she had never come, or 
 that at least Topsie were here to defend her ; but she 
 wisely resolves to remain for a time, congratulating her- 
 self that she ordered her carriage at an early hour. 
 Now the visitors begin to arrive in shoals, and Maudie 
 is quite proud and pleased at the undoubted success of 
 her first large garden party. 
 
 The house is crowded, and so are the pretty lawns and 
 trim walks, with smart, well-dressed girls and matrons, 
 accompanied by their attendant cavaliers. Tennis is in 
 full swing and some adventurous spirits are engaged at 
 bowls and croquet; all is life and animation, for the 
 good people of the neighborhood have few opportunities 
 for showing off their fine clothes, and the present occa- 
 sion is worthy of their best efforts, for has not a rumor 
 been whispered that no less a person than the Mar- 
 chioness of Eipdale would grace the fete with her 
 beautiful presence. 
 
 Maudie de la Roche was a little upstart nobody, it is 
 true, but, viewed in the reflected light of a real live 
 marchioness, she becomes a charming hostess whom they 
 are all glad to patronize. 
 
 Maudie is in a perfect flutter of delight, but her 
 anxiety becomes evident when the last guest has been 
 announced and no marchioness appears. She consults
 
 33G HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 her watch every few moments, and at last, to her 
 delight, with a great clatter of prancing high-bred steeds 
 and glittering trappings, the Ravenstowe carriage ap- 
 pears, and her bliss is unalloyed. The Marchioness of 
 Ripdale languidly descends, and is received by Maudie 
 with effusive thanks for her ladyship's appearance. 
 
 "Yes, I thought it would amuse me to come and see 
 your garden party," she remarks, coolly. "What a 
 crowd you have here ! Where did they all come from T 
 she continues, sinking into a comfortable chair and gaz- 
 ing with apparent curiosity at the scene on the lawn. 
 " There's a pretty gown rather Pin gat or La Ferrierre, 
 I would swear. Maudie, who is the wearer of that 
 creamy-white gown? She's not a country woman, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 "Oh, that's Mrs. Eldmere, of the Grange," says 
 Maudie, and is about to give further details of that lady 
 when the marchioness, to her surprise, with a start and 
 cry of astonishment, exclaims : 
 
 " Why, that must be Elra Brookley it's so like her !" 
 
 " She's called Mrs. Eldmere," says Maudie, pursing up 
 her mouth. 
 
 "Oh well, never mind," continues her ladyship "it 
 maybe only a resemblance;" nevertheless, in her o\vn 
 mind she knows it is Elra, and determines to find out 
 why she is now masquerading under the name of Eld- 
 mere. It will be some sort of amusement, she thinks, to 
 unearth a little intrigue, and she resolves to begin on 
 this at once. 
 
 If the truth must be told, Maudie de la Roche is now 
 honored with the friendship, or rather patronage, of the 
 Marchioness of Ripdale for the simple reason that the
 
 MA UDIE PLA YS HOSTESS. 137 
 
 lady is now vegetating (as she calls it) at Ravenstowe, 
 and having met Miss de la Roche at a tennis gathering? 
 and being much amused at her posing a Panglaise, she 
 makes her acquaintance, promising herself much enter- 
 tainment from the girl's evident simplicity and gulla- 
 bility. 
 
 Her ladyship's husband is now in Canada, and during 
 his absence she has deemed it politic to spend a few 
 weeks with his people at Ravenstowe, though she hates 
 everything pertaining thereto with a deadly hatred, and 
 is consumed with ennui. The life they lead is intensely 
 dull and formal, and as her only society is composed of 
 the ladies Pysche and Amabel Allesmere, two anti- 
 quated spinsters of doubtful age, Handle's rill of chatter 
 proves a welcome and refreshing oasis in the dead level 
 of her existence at Ravenstowe, and she has even con- 
 descended so far as to honor the garden party with the 
 light of her presence. 
 
 Sir Gregory Athelhurst and his friend De Montford 
 were among some of the earlier guests that afternoon, 
 and, after a few words to his hostess, Sir Gregory clev- 
 erly contrives to secure a vacant seat near Mrs. Eldrnere, 
 to which he appears to be glued for the next half hour, 
 happy in the mere presence of his divinity, who receives 
 all his advances with great coldness, and seems quite un- 
 concerned by the baronet's deep sighs and furtive glances, 
 though she is in truth much annoyed by the same. 
 
 De Montford has been introduced to her, and, with his 
 usual keen perception and fine, tact, he at once recog- 
 nizes her as Mrs. Cresenworth, but does not intend to 
 let her know that he does so. He, therefore, makes him- 
 self very charming to the lady, who is greatly relieved
 
 138 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 to be rid of Sir Gregory, and at the same time be 
 makes up bis miud to two things: one is, tbat Mrs. Eld- 
 inere is tbe wealthy American beiress wbo made a sensa- 
 tion by ber beauty and ricbes at Brussels some years 
 ago; the other, tbat be is perfectly willing to assist tbe 
 lady in spending ber money, being particularly bard up 
 at tbe time, and be concludes tbat he must either marry 
 ber, or, if ber husband is still living, so far compromise 
 ber tbat he will get a divorce, and De Montford will then 
 make bis own terms with the supposed Mrs. Eldmere. 
 
 Though these thoughts are flitting through bis miud 
 be does not forget to play tbe part of a polished gentle- 
 man, and Mrs. Eldmere, far from suspecting his real 
 motives, is genuinely glad to meet him ; it is such a treat 
 to find a well informed traveller such as De Montford 
 appears to be; and after Sir Gregory's platitudes bis 
 remarks are doubly welcome. 
 
 " May I not get you some refreshments ?" he asks her, 
 after a time " an ice, or a cup of tea, or some fruit?" 
 
 " I think you may bring me a cup of tea," says Mrs. 
 Eldmere; "no sugar," she adds, "only a little cream;" 
 and De Montford goes at once to procure it for her. 
 
 Just at this moment she becomes aware tbat Maudie 
 de la Roche has entered the room with a gentleman, and 
 instinctively she feels that they are watching ber. Mrs. 
 Eldmere glances carelessly at tbe speakers, but as she 
 raises her eyes, it is to meet those of Eutland Borra- 
 dale fixed intently on ber. One look from those eyes of 
 love or scorn or hatred, she knows not which, and be 
 has turned away without even an acknowledgment of 
 ber bow of recognition. Her heart is beating fast, and 
 she feels the color ebbing from ber cheeks ; would De
 
 MA UDIE PLA YS HOSTESS. 139 
 
 Mont ford never coine ? At least he will shield her from 
 the cruel coldness of those eyes, which will haunt her 
 now for many a day. 
 
 Being a woman, and a finished actress, Mrs. Eldmere 
 shows no sign of what she feels, as leaning lazily back 
 in her chair she plays with a white feather-fan, and 
 languidly swings it to and fro, while in the silence of 
 the now deserted room she plainly hears his voice and 
 Maudie's replies. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Borradale, you must see my flowers," 
 says that young lady, as coquettishly as she is able. 
 "I am proud of my orchids. Won't you please take 
 Mrs. Eldmere through the conservatory? I see she is 
 sitting there alone, poor thing, and it would be a charity 
 to take compassion on her ! Let me introduce you. She 
 is a charming grass widow." This is all said in a hurried 
 whisper, but the gentleman's reply is clearly spoken : 
 
 "No, I thank you, Miss de la Eoche, I do not care to 
 improve my acquaintance with such widows, but if you 
 will be my partner I shall be delighted to join our friends 
 in a game of tennis ;" and offering his arm to the young 
 lady the two pass out through the open window onto 
 the lawn. 
 
 "Here's another man who doesn't approve of Mrs. 
 Eldmere," thinks Maudie, with a little snigger of delight 
 at the same. " I really mustn't ask her here again. It 
 doesn't do to be too charitable, and men always dislike 
 any mystery about a woman. But," she continues aloud, 
 " there is the marchioness ! How would you like to make 
 yourself agreeable in that quarter, Mr. Borradale ?" 
 
 " Here is your cup of tea, Mrs. Eldmere," says De 
 Moutford, who had quietly entered in time to hear the
 
 140 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 last few remarks; and noticing Ler deadly pallor and 
 trembling lips, be adds, so significantly that Elra felt 
 sure he must know all her secret, " This room is close 
 and you are looking pale. Will you not accept my escort 
 through the conservatory \ The cool air will revive you, 
 and I cannot bear to see you suffering." 
 
 Mrs. Eldmere mutely thanks him with her eyes, and 
 placing the tips of her gloved hand upon his arm, they 
 enter the little conservatory that opens from the draw- 
 ing room, and, with a few carefully chosen remarks, De 
 Montford puts his companion at her ease again as he 
 points out the various beauties of Maudie's somewhat 
 diminutive collection of flowers and orchids. 
 
 " Oh, how very beautiful!" cries Mrs. Eldmere, really 
 pleased. " These lilies are fair as the young girl, I sup- 
 pose, you will choose for your bride." 
 
 " Who could the fair one be ?" laughed De Montford. 
 " She may be very fair, but not so for my eyes. I do 
 not know that any one is lovely beside you." 
 
 " Oh !" she says, a little sceptically, if ever so little 
 startled, "you are learning to be a polished courtier, 
 Mr. de Montford." 
 
 " Sunshine perfects and draws forth the beauties of the 
 rose ; my sunshine lies in your eyes, Mrs. Cresen worth." 
 
 He said it so gently, breathing the last word with 
 
 such reluctant tenderness, that she could scarcely feel 
 
 inclined to resent his speech, but a little look of alarm 
 
 -stole into her eyes as she placed her fingers on his coat 
 
 sleeve, saying : 
 
 " I think I hear the first carriages approaching the 
 hall door. I shall be glad to have mine ordered also, so 
 I must go and say adieu to my charming hostess."
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 
 
 Do we blame one who has been starved for hungrily 
 devouring some delicious food which is at length offered 
 him? Can we sympathize with the frail human nature 
 which, having hungered of the mind for many months, 
 has the intoxicating banquet of love placed before it to 
 tempt it to partake ? 
 
 Such was the allurement offered by the naughty little 
 god to Elra Cresenworth on the day when, thinking no 
 harm, dreaming no harm, she wandered listlessly among 
 the hedge-rows, plucking a golden primrose here and 
 there, rejecting it for a cowslip bell that tempted her from 
 its nook under the pink and white hawthorns lining 
 her way, and among whose shower of blossoms the soft- 
 eyed wood-pigeon was cooing to its mate. Her thoughts, 
 in sympathy with the gladsome nature around her, are 
 pleasant ones, though sometimes, indeed, they are tinged 
 with the more sombre of colors. Why do her thoughts 
 fly back to that unpalatable episode of Maudie's "after- 
 noon ?" She clinches her teeth at thought of Maudie's 
 triumphant malice she spurns beneath her heel an in- 
 offensive pink-lipped daisy when her thoughts revert to 
 Rutland Borradale's coldly calculated slight she remem- 
 bers with pleasure of De Montford coming to her rescue. 
 
 De Montford ! where has she seen or heard that name ? 
 In Brussels ; yes, but where else ? " Oh !" she cries, as a
 
 142 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 light breaks iu upon her an unpalatable one, evidently, 
 as Ler eyes darken with something like annoyance as 
 she thinks: "Was his the name that Topsie read as 
 figuring in that sad story ? How little attention I pur- 
 posely paid when Topsie read to me the details of her 
 sad secret! but, now I think of it, I fancy the two names 
 are alike. Can he be that villain ? and yet his face does 
 not look very wicked. He tells me he has a brother who 
 is an entirely black sheep, but what must I believe?" 
 
 Thereupon she arranges a little plan by which she 
 will herself find out all about it; to speak to Topsie 
 on the matter would, she thinks, be to torture her need- 
 lessly, poor little woman ! 
 
 "If it be indeed he," she cries, clasping her hands, 
 "no hatred or vengeance of mine will be too bitter for 
 him. But I must go to work cautiously." 
 
 Here Lion, who has hitherto been following her, and 
 who thinks he has not received his due share of attention, 
 pushes his wet nose beneath her hand and thus compels 
 her to stroke his glossy head. 
 
 "Naughty Lion, who has lost his collar and cannot 
 recover it again, do you not know that it bears a message 
 from me to my only loved one ?" She continues, play- 
 fully, "Xaughty hound, bring it to me again, for when 
 he comes back once more he must read the word and 
 solve the problem, as he alone can." 
 
 She has come by this time to an ugly looking stile, 
 and as she stands reflective as to whether she will cross 
 it or not a strong hand is put forth to help hers ; there is 
 a meeting of the eyes, a lingering hand-pressure, and 
 Borradale stands once more beside Elra with the old 
 protective look and attitude, his arm on her slight waist
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 143 
 
 while he draws her to him. Very dangerous for Borra- 
 dale at that moment is that protecting position ho holds 
 above the beautiful woman who calls another man than 
 he her lord and husband ; more dangerous still is her 
 position to the woman who knows in her heart she has 
 never swerved in love's allegiance from the man towering 
 above her. 
 
 " I entreat you, let me pass," she says, pale to the 
 lips with the emotion that is mastering her. " It is un- 
 manly, cruel, your being here," she continues, endeavor- 
 ing to brush his arm aside." 
 
 " My meeting you here was by no will of my own, God 
 knows! Elra," he replies, bitterly "but here by an 
 adverse chance, if you will, I have found you, and I do 
 not relinquish you again, as I am a man and love jou." 
 
 Something in Elra's brain there was that seemed to 
 snap, and in her mind was a wild confusion as of a world 
 turned upside down. 
 
 "What is right and wrong? Is it the jus) ice of 
 Nature to give allegiance where the heart has given 
 love, or is it more praiseworthy to give cold friendship 
 where devotion has been vowed ? Heaven 1" she cries, 
 lifting her hand to her brow, " My head is on fire." But 
 to Borradale she says, coldly, "Go!" 
 
 " I will go indeed, darling, now, with the assurance 
 that your love has never been given to any save me," 
 and without other caress than a tender pressure of the 
 golden embroideries of her waistband he is gone. 
 
 Elra's emotions for some days after the above scene 
 we shall not attempt to describe, but Borradale's are as 
 follows : Now that the overpowering influence of love 
 has crept into his life again for he is more than ever
 
 144 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 passionately enamoured of the woman who, in the midst 
 of her love has insulted and scorned him he longs to 
 have her snowy arms placed of their own accord once 
 more about his neck, and her lips breathing the words 
 " I love you," till in the very wretchedness of his loss he 
 swears it shall still be so, however he encompass it ! To 
 effect his object he has many times to elude the vigilance 
 of Sir Gregory, whom he once actually meets prowling 
 around the Grange walls on he supposes the same 
 errand as himself, and he feels consequently wrathful 
 with the meddlesome baronet for sinning as he sins. 
 
 However, nothing appears to reward his efforts until 
 one morning, on which he had carefully watched Sir 
 Gregory and De Montfbrd ride off for a distant meet of 
 hounds, when, strolling in the fields without even the 
 excuse of a gun over his shoulder, he hears a little ap- 
 pealing cry of distress. It comes .from a lady at the 
 other side of the fence, who, unaware of the proximity 
 of any male thing, is doing brave battle with an inno- 
 cent-looking bumble-bee, and ducking her head affright- 
 edly now and again as though a huge winged monster 
 were looming above her. This affords him even a better 
 opportunity than he had hoped. 
 
 " The horrid bee !" he cries, mimicking her tones of 
 distress, when coming upon her unawares he draws her 
 tenderly to him with one arm while with the other 
 he wards off the monster, and he is rewarded for his 
 gallantry by seeing that her primly pursed lips have 
 broken into an unwilling smile. 
 
 " Let us sit here for a while," says Borradale, gently 
 drawing her down beside him on a bank of mosses 
 and kingcups; "I wish to speak to you seriously."
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 145 
 
 "Beally," retoits she, looking a little ruffled and a 
 little frightened. "And you cannot speak seriously 
 walking F 
 
 " It is not my wish to !" says the young man illogi- 
 cally, the while scanning her coolly from head to foot. 
 
 " You surely do not think to speak ably or calmly or 
 seriously with your arm where it is at present. But I 
 presume you are above the follies of your sex." This 
 she says in a partly mocking, wholly provoking tone, and 
 it makes him cry, in return, 
 
 "Perhaps so, but as I do not wish to speak coolly I 
 shall leave my arm where it is and dare all for so de- 
 licious a position." 
 
 "Pray don't speak warmly; I must suffocate if you 
 try," says EIra, with a very attractive languor. 
 
 " EIra," he cries, in a hoarse whisper, " I would I 
 could overpower you with the strength and depth of my 
 great love ! I would I might always have you to protect 
 and cherisb, EIra;" eagerly, "let me live let me hope 
 that once more I shall have you by my side !" 
 
 " I am sure," she says, rather flippantly, " you will 
 have me much longer than you care to keep me." Why 
 then did she appear so astonished at the passionate 
 caress that followed ? Was it mere coquetry that made her 
 turn her wondrous lovely eyes to his with a glance of lan- 
 guid, haughty inquiry and the little scornful word, " Sir?" 
 
 " EIra, why cannot we be to each other as we once 
 were ? I cannot help picturing you in my mind as one 
 of those dazzling flies that haunt the water's brink, no 
 sooner touched than they vanish from your grasp. Shall 
 we not be as we have been, Eira ?" But she evades 
 answering him.
 
 140 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "Do not, for mercy sake, puzzle ine with conundrums 
 to-day, my brain is softening, the sifting of a problem 
 would dissolve it utterly 5 leave me, in fact, overpowered 
 if not seated here all night." 
 
 "Then I should be happy staying with you, Elra," he 
 cries, pleadingly ; " say with your own sweet little lips, 
 1 Butland, I love you !' " 
 
 Elra is silent, and in the pale twilight which is creep- 
 ing on he fails to judge of the horror, the pain written in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " We must separate, sir," she cries, coldly springing 
 to her feet, but he draws her back to his side again by 
 the power of his strong right arm, which is not to be 
 deterred now. 
 
 " Sweetest, you fear to stay, 3-011 tremble for yourself 
 because you love me ! Say it is so and I live but to win 
 you by my side again." And as he says it a great wave 
 of hope and passion struggles in his eyes. 
 
 " Love you. I do not," she says, coldly turning away, 
 and remembering as she says it a scene of not so very 
 many months ago in which it had been from his lips that 
 those same callous words had fallen. He bites his lips 
 as he hears them. "And yet he says it is ennobling in 
 a woman to love." 
 
 " Not with the woman whose love solemnly plighted 
 to one man is given to another." 
 
 ."Is it thus in this case, Elra?" he says, softly. " But do 
 not deny it ; you cannot," he cries, with a flash of some- 
 thing very like triumph in the eyes that he turns to search 
 hers, and with which he seems to tear her secret from her in 
 spite of herself. She trembles with virtuous indignation 
 and and some other kind of feeling that we shall not
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 147 
 
 attempt to describe, but which we fear was tbe more 
 potent of the two in making her feel very much like au 
 aspeii in the summer breezes. " Do not deny it," he re- 
 peats. " You dare not! You shall not! You cannot!" 
 and losing all self-control, he takes her in his arms with 
 a few whispered words which make her turn white as 
 the blossoms that heap the hawthorn sprays. a Leave 
 him ! Come to me ! It is but justice that I ask. You 
 have insulted and injured me through him. Let him be 
 the sufferer now." Recoiling from his caress Elra Cres- 
 enworth, with the grand dignity of only an offended 
 goddess, or the daughter of an independent race, with 
 lip that curls with noble scorn, and tiny foot that seems 
 to spurn the very ground he treads, she says", in a voice 
 trembling and hoarse, 
 
 "How must I teach you that I loathe you? how I 
 contemn you as you deserve ? how I " 
 
 u Enough," says Borradale, with a dangerous flash in 
 his eyes. " Yours, madam, was the fault. To you was 
 reserved the task of making our deep, simple, noble love 
 a sin yours be the blame. To that which in my prom- 
 ised wife was a cowardly disloyalty must I return the 
 thanks that are due." As she saw him turn on his heel 
 in bitter scorn her white cheek was not more deadly 
 pale than his passion-marked features, and with a groan 
 of scarce so much anger as horror she sank back in n 
 hepless and hopeless attitude among the primroses 
 and kingcups. 
 
 Once again Eutland Borradale stands beside Elra 
 Cresenworth, and this time the victory is his, for she 
 trembles as she tells herself that her jealously guarded 
 secret lies bare before him.
 
 148 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 u Lion has no collar now as he used to of old," he had 
 said, " and yet I remember when he had a costly one. 
 1 With my heart forever ' I gave him " Here he pauses, 
 and as she does not appear to have heard what he said, 
 he continues : " And our compact, Elra, do you remem- 
 ber it f ' 
 
 " I believe," she retorts, indifferently, " it was that if 
 the parties were separated, and he should come back 
 after many years, the word never, inscribed on the collar, 
 should tell him what he did not deserve to know that 
 her love had never swerved." 
 
 "And was that word ever written ?" he asks, eagerly 
 seizing her hands. But Elra has clinched her pearly 
 teeth witlr the determination that the man before her 
 shall never wring her secret from her lips, and it is 
 therefore with the utmost seeming indifference that she 
 replies : 
 
 "Not to my knowledge. The bill for rendering the 
 word as agreed upon, in rubies, would have come to 
 nearly five thousand a sum that the lady thought 
 scarcely worth while throwing in the dust." 
 
 Here he listens no longer, but with a little laugh of 
 triumph he catches her in his strong arms and strains 
 her to him. 
 
 " Elra ! Elra ! deny it no longer, you love me still, for 
 here is the proof," and he unfeelingly holds before her 
 horrified eyes the rich collar taken from Lion's neck 
 scarce a fortnight ago. Driven to bay, with a flame in 
 her eyes that is to him rather maddening to see, she is 
 for all that more powerful than ever in her very weak- 
 ness, for she says : 
 
 "I have loved you, indeed, Rutland, but for the sake
 
 THE TEMPEST SWEEPS APACE. 149 
 
 of that love give me your pity and do not drag me down. 
 God grant I may never see you more!" With this she 
 passes from his arms without as he tells himself re- 
 proachfully his having wrung from her dewy lips the 
 confession : I love you, Eutland P
 
 150 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RECONCILIATION. 
 
 It is past eight o'clock, aud Mrs. Eldmere's pretty pro- 
 file still lies cushioned among the billowy eider-down ; 
 she is dreamily thinking of those sweet, dangerous mo- 
 ments that yesterday has made her live through; and 
 " Oh," comes the thought to her, " shall I yield shall I 
 give myself to love and all that is glorious and lovely in 
 human life, or (shuddering) shall I rise beyond myself! 
 Can I?" She is gliding down-hill, she feels herself very 
 weak to resist, and yet in her great struggle she cries 
 aloud : 
 
 " Oh, for a staying hand ! Oh, for the protection of a 
 strong, true friend! Why is not my husband here to 
 stand by my side and save me ? Elra ! Elra ! it will soon 
 be too late ! Go back while yet you can to the shelter 
 of his roof, to the embrace of his protecting arm." 
 
 At this thought she shudders and pales, but with a 
 little clinched fist and set white teeth she mutters, " I 
 shall" 
 
 Here her thoughts are interrupted by the entrance 
 of her maid, who, coming gently to the bedside, says, 
 " Two letters for you, madam," and hands her the silver 
 salver. 
 
 " That will do, Forbes," her mistress answers, hastily 
 glancing at the handwritings. u I see there is a letter 
 from my lawyer here which will entail a visit to Brighton
 
 RECONCILIA TION. 151 
 
 to-day. Order breakfast for 8:30, and then come to dress 
 me." 
 
 " I shall take the ten o'clock train," thought Mrs. 
 Eldmere, " and I must go alone. It would not do to 
 take Topsie with me. Howl hate the business! But 
 Mr. Barton says he must see me, so I suppose there is 
 no help for it, and I don't want him to be seen here. I 
 can't afford to have the village gossips making conjec- 
 tures on his appearance, though old Barton looks more 
 like an out-at elbows parson than the clever lawyer he 
 really is. Heigh ho ! I wish the deed were done." 
 
 Two hours later Mrs. Eldmere was seated in a first- 
 class carriage on her way to Brighton, and on the arri- 
 val of the train she drove at once to her lawyer's office. 
 
 u Mr. Barton is very busy, but if you will wait a few 
 moments he may be able to see you," says a young clerk, 
 with great assurance, pointing to a vacant chair. This 
 Mrs. Eldmere refuses to take, and giving the luckless 
 youth a withering glance of scorn, which causes him to 
 blush perceptibly, she hands him her card and says, " I 
 wish to see Mr. Barton at once." 
 
 A moment more and she is ushered into the lawyer's 
 sanctum, to find Mr. Barton blandly bowing and smiling, 
 as is the accustomed method of the spiders of the law 
 in receiving their victims or fair clients. 
 
 " Very glad to see you, my dear madam. Lovely day, 
 is it not?" says the lawyer, handing his visitor a chair. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," says Mrs. Eldmere, or Cresenworth, as 
 we must now call her, " but I didn't come here to talk 
 about the weather, Mr. Barton. Now tell me frankly 
 what you want me to do. You know I trust you to do 
 the best for me."
 
 102 HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear lady," says Mr. Barton, playing 
 nervously with his spectacles and moving some papers 
 in front of him as if in search of something. " Now I am 
 going to suggest something to you something that I 
 feel sure is the best thing to be done." Then, after a 
 pause, " Is there no possibility of a reconciliation be- 
 tween yourself and your husband, madam ? That is 
 what I mean j" and the old lawyer glanced keenly at her 
 face, as if he would read her very thoughts. 
 
 " You see the case looks very badly for you," he con- 
 tinues ; " I think there is no hope of its being ever under- 
 stood in your favor, and a black pall of dishonor, though 
 totally unmerited, would darken and enshroud your life. 
 
 " My dear child," says Mr. Barton, " for you are but a 
 child to me, and must forgive the extreme interest I take 
 in you, my advice to you is, try to be reconciled to 
 your husband and take no further steps in this affair. 
 His fault was but too great a love for you ; can you not 
 forgive him, and treat him with somewhat of wifely af- 
 fection? He has nearly suffered death; he will never 
 be the same man again that he was before he made that 
 fatal mistake for love of you f 
 
 Mrs. Oresenworth listens in haughty silence, and Mr. 
 Barton pauses for a reply. 
 
 She is thinking of it all the sacrifice she will have to 
 make, the loss of esteem from all those who to her are 
 estimable, and she sighs. Even the other day did she 
 not quiver when listening tq the spiteful words of the fat 
 Maudie, whom she had always so thoroughly despised, 
 and how would it be if such words were always meted 
 out to her by her own sex ? Would she always be held in 
 light esteem by men, or be, in other words, despised by all
 
 RECONCILIA TION. 153 
 
 her friends and foes alike ? She shudders, and sits with 
 clasped hands, while a sob breaks from her quivering lips. 
 
 The lawyer is not slow to take advantage of her soften- 
 ing mood, and clinches his argument by a persuasive : 
 
 " What shall I write to your husband, madam ? Shall 
 it be reconciliation, as he most dearly hopes it may, or 
 must it be separation, which means a broken heart for 
 him and untold misery for you ? What shall it be, 
 madam ?" 
 
 Without trusting her voice to speak, Mrs. Cresenworth 
 took the pen and wrote but one word, " Come !" and then, 
 placing her hand in the big palm of the kindly lawyer, 
 she made as rapid an escape as possible from this little 
 den of legal horrors. 
 
 The same evening we find her again at her home at the 
 Grange, and after a solitary meal she strolls out in the 
 cool of the evening to wander in the fragrant rose gar- 
 den, now filled with delicious perfume of June roses. As 
 she paces through the green parterres a shade of sadness 
 is on her brow, for she remembers the events of the day, 
 and is haunted by thoughts of the future and the mes- 
 snge she had sent, if only of one word. Had she done 
 right to send it ? As she paces up and down restlessly 
 she calls from time to time, " Lion, Lion," but nothing 
 living appears to answer her call. She has been told 
 that since her departure that morning her beautiful grey- 
 hound has been missing, and her heart is filled with mis- 
 givings, for Lion is a link to the past. The dog had 
 belonged to him by whom, alas, her life had been made 
 the wreck it was, and it was the only thing left to remind 
 her of the past. She could not bear to picture her noble 
 hound in any one's keeping save her own.
 
 1 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " Perhaps be knows, poor brute, that his master is 
 banished now forever, and that a rival will soon take his 
 place may be here even to-night. He is more loyal 
 than his mistress, who is willing to bend to an unloved 
 rule." 
 
 Leaving the rose garden, she wanders down through 
 lawns and meadows towards the river, which, in the soft 
 twilight, lies shimmering between its leafy banks. Here 
 she is startled to see a lanky form crouched among the 
 ferns and grasses, which, springing up at her approach, 
 presents very much the appearance of a half-tamed creat- 
 ure. Mrs. Cresenworth recognizes in her a village girl 
 she had often seen in her wanderings, who went by the 
 name of Daddy Dolau, and had rather an unenviable rep- 
 utation of being as wild as a young goshawk. 
 
 " Why, Daddy, what are you doing here at this time 
 of night ?" says Mrs. Cresenworth, kindly, as the girl, 
 seeing a friendly face, had gone down again on her knees 
 among the bracken, as if searching for something lost. 
 
 "I've lost my best friend," she answered brusquely. 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Mrs. Cresenworth, smiling. " And 
 who may that be f 
 
 " It isn't a l who,'" says the girl ; " it's a l what.'" 
 
 " I really don't understand you." 
 
 "No; I dare say not. I mean it isn't alive." 
 
 " Oh, dead. Is it a pet bird you have brought here to 
 bury ?" 
 
 " I never had a live pet," says the girl, sullenly. 
 " This 'ere's a knife." 
 
 " A what ?" 
 
 " A knife. Tim give it me ; brought it from the fair 
 at Shoreham a while back. I uses it to cut most every-
 
 RECONCILIA TION. 153 
 
 'thing with ; crack nuts ; cut off mice's tails, and pare 
 apples. And now Fve lost him. I have heard that a 
 -knife cuts love; so I suppose Tim won't bring me homo 
 that pink ribbon he promised, or, if he do, will give it to 
 Sal bad luck to her ! But I want to find my knife 
 again, just to spite 'em. Tim allus liked me best." 
 
 " You foolish girl, to believe in such nonsense. Tim 
 won't like you any better or worse if you lose it, though 
 he may say it was careless." 
 
 " Well, here it is, lady," cries the girl triumphantly, 
 holding up an old well-worn jack-knife. " Now, you 
 must have brought me luck, for I've searched here nigh 
 on an hour. Good-luck to you ; and if ever you wants a 
 friend, remember there are two of them at your service 
 me and the knife !" 
 
 Mrs. Cresenworth laughed at the girl's grotesque re- 
 marks, and had almost forgotten her late sad thoughts 
 in the quaint little episode just recounted; but as she 
 walked back to the house she heard a rapid footstep 
 behind, an arm was thrown around her, and, turning 
 quickly, she sees her husband ! Elra Cresenworth 
 started backward with a cry of pain. 
 
 " I did not think So soon !" she gasped. 
 
 " My wife ! Are you not going to be my loving wife ?" 
 he says, with the wistful ring of tears in his voice, 
 
 " Can we forget f she asks, after a long pause. 
 
 " Everything can be forgotten, if you so will it, Elra. 
 Elra," he whispered, with his longing eyes searching 
 hers, and drawing her gently to him, " my wife ! forgive 
 and forget !" 
 
 Closer and closer he drew her to him, till, with an un- 
 mistakable shudder, Elra lay in his arms, with her lips
 
 156 HER PLA V THINGS, MEN. 
 
 pressed by bis. It was not long, however, before this 
 little scene was interrupted. A sound among the trees 
 aroused them, and close at hand they heard the joyful 
 bark of a hound, and in another moment Lion springs 
 upon his mistress, while Elra, with a soft little purr of 
 content and delight, caresses her recaptured idol. 
 
 " Why, where do you come from, Lion F she asks, in 
 happy surprise, and, looking up, sees that they are not 
 alone. A tall form is standing there in the shadow, 
 and every vestige of color fades from her cheek, while 
 into her eyes springs the fire of desperation; for, coldly 
 contemptuous, Rutland Borradale is surveying her with 
 the scant mercy that the tyrant may give to his slave, the 
 persecutor his victim, while from liis lips drop words 
 frigid as icicles. 
 
 "I have had the pleasure of saving your dog's life, 
 and now I have the honor to return him to, I fear, his un- 
 appreciative mistrfiss." 
 
 He accompanied his words with one long, coldly cruel 
 look, and ere she could choke back a traitor lump that 
 would rise in her throat to prevent her forming words 
 as icily indifferent, as bitterly cutting as were his, he had 
 lifted his hat with lingering politeness and turned from 
 her without another word. 
 
 No word was spoken by the lately returned husband 
 of the appearance of Rutland Borradale on the scene at 
 such an untoward hour, but it had proved for him none 
 the less a deadly shock, and it could not fail to revive 
 old and bitter scores. 
 
 "Let us go in," "said his wife, rousing herself a little 
 later from a dreary state of stupefaction " the fog 
 from the river has chilled me."
 
 RECONCILIA TION. 
 
 157 
 
 And then it was for the first time that her anxious 
 husband noticed with alarm the strangely rich color that 
 burned in her cheek, while to his touch her hand was 
 clammy and cold as that of the dead.
 
 158 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 
 
 Mrs. Murray Cresenworth is leaning languidly back 
 among her luxurious sofa pillows looking rather paler 
 than we have ever seen her before, while Topsie bends 
 over her, gently smoothing back the masses of her dark 
 hair and bathing her brow with some cooling fragrant 
 essence. The girl's eyes are full of sympathizing com- 
 passion as she says gently : 
 
 " You have been ill, dear?" 
 
 "Yes. I have had, perhaps, cause; but it is passed, 
 says Mrs. Cresenworth, with a wan smile, and 1 am 
 saved from a terrible temptation." 
 
 "I know, dear," whispers Topsie sadly, "but you 
 would never have fallen," and the girl softly kisses back 
 the tears which are thickly gathering in Elra's eyes. 
 
 " I believe you are my good angel, Topsie," she says 
 in a faint voice, " what should I have done without that 
 glorious pure light, that burns so steadily in your eyes, 
 to help me onward over a stony pathway ?" 
 
 Poor Topsie has turned away to cover the powerful 
 emotion which is mastering her, and she points to the 
 carriage drawn up at the door, with Murray as" driver, 
 waiting for Elra to take her seat beside him. 
 
 With a sigh Elra rises, throws a wrap of costly sable 
 about her, and descends the stairs to join her husband, 
 while Topsie, from the window, watches them start with
 
 A CGAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 159 
 
 a half unconscious sigh of "poor Elra!" lingering on 
 her lips. 
 
 "Do you feel better now, Elra?" asks her husband, 
 anxiously, as Mrs. Cresenworth takes her place beside 
 him. " You are so pale; had you not better put off the 
 drive ?" 
 
 " No, no," she answers impatiently, " I am quite well, 
 it was only a slight faintuess and that has passed." And 
 Elra settles herself amid the carriage pillows with a 
 t red sigh, while her husband, quite reassured, and 
 gladly welcoming this tete-a-tete, takes the reins from 
 the waiting groom and drives off. 
 
 " Where shall we go ?" he asks her ; you know the 
 country better than I do. 
 
 " Oh, anywhere !" she answers listlessly, these country 
 roads are all alike. 
 
 They drive on for some time in silence, then Mr. 
 Creseuworth begins, " I am sure you are dull here, Elra, 
 this quiet country life is killing you ; let us leave the 
 Grange and go abroad again, or up to town at any rate. 
 Here you are completely buried alive and I want my 
 wife to enjoy herself and have every pleasure that can 
 be found. Will you not let me drive you to the meet of 
 drags and four-in-hands to morrow ? it will be a pretty 
 sight and one you ought to witness, for I hear that all 
 the county folks from far and near will certainly be 
 present" 
 
 " And that is a very good reason why I cannot go," she 
 says rather gladly. "I have nothing but such a weird 
 collection of dowdy old-fashioned wraps many of which 
 should certainly be pointed out as fit for Thad}- O'Flynu's 
 collection of antiquities in the village museum."
 
 160 HER PLAYTHINGS. MEN. 
 
 "I suppose you might make, up a second edition of 
 the petrified bundle of rags, especially in these," says 
 Murray, touching her sables, " but dear I don't think you 
 could possibly look to disadvantage even though the 
 gathering be ever so chic /" 
 
 "Ah ! you do not know anything of our little feminine 
 weaknesses and piuings to be considered the best dressed 
 lady of the throng. Most of us would never show our- 
 selves if it were not for the pleasure of eclipsing some 
 other star of beauty or note." 
 
 " I believe you," says Murray, laughing, " and as you 
 must have the pleasure to-morrow of excelling in beauty 
 and dress, we must see what Worth can do for you." 
 
 "But the meet-of drags is to be to-morrow morning," 
 interjects Elra ! 
 
 Here Murray draws from under the carriage- seat a 
 carefully arranged parcel, which is found to contain a 
 lovely dove-colored mantle, trimmed with chenille em- 
 broidery and fringe of feathers and lined with soft rose- 
 colored satin. 
 
 " Why, what a beauty !" says Mrs. Cresenworth, " and 
 how good of you to think of it." 
 
 She is supremely touched by this small incident, and 
 tells herself that she is cruel to give so little in return 
 for so much love and thought for her. She longs to be 
 gentle and womanly, to fling her arms around her hus- 
 band's neck with the tender, whispered words, "I am 
 yours, darling!" But when her dewy lips meet his a 
 vision rises up as though to mock at her a vision of two 
 eyes aflame with mingled passion, scorn and hatred 
 and after all it is with a little rebellious sigh that she 
 suffers the caress of her husband.
 
 A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 10 L 
 
 " I forgot to tell you, dear," he says a moment later, 
 11 that I have asked Offington to come and stay with us 
 for a week. He is a bright, clever fellow, and I know 
 you like him, so I felt sure you would not object." 
 
 "No, indeed ; I am very glad to hear it," says Elra. 
 "Mr. Offiugtou is an old favorite of mine." 
 
 " He is quite epris with your little friend Miss Top- 
 sie," says her husband. " I wonder if there is any like- 
 lihood of its being mutual ? It would be a good match 
 for her. Don't you think Topsie would marry him ?" 
 
 " No, dear ; I do not think she is the girl to care to 
 marry in a hurry. She has only seen him once, and I 
 am sure I shall never bear to part with her." 
 
 " But I want my Elra all to myself!" 
 
 A look of wistful reproach steals into Elra's eyes as she 
 answers : 
 
 " Dearest, remember all she has been to me when 
 when I was alone here." 
 
 " Then, Elra, you shall have her always if you wish 
 it, if that will make you love me the least little bit 
 more." 
 
 Being a New York business man he did not fail to 
 make a bargain, even in an affair of love. 
 
 On their return, an hour later, they find Miss Topsie 
 impatiently awaiting them, as she stands shading her 
 eyes from the sun, and tapping the broad stone steps with 
 a little foot clad in a smart patent-leather shoe, while 
 now and then she pusbes back a stray lock of red gold 
 hair from her white forehead. 
 
 " At last !" she cries, helping Elra to alight, while 
 Murray Cresenworth tosses the reins to a groom, and 
 they all three enter the house.
 
 1G3 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "Are you tired, dear !" says Topsie, for Mrs. Creseu- 
 worth sinks into the first comfortable chair with a little 
 yawn. 
 
 " Yes, I am, dear wretchedly tired. We drove too 
 far, I think. Fortunately, I can go and rest now till 
 dinner-time." 
 
 "And, in the mean time, I will go and gather some 
 flowers," says Topsie. " I see the roses want renewing, 
 and 1 noticed some beauties out on the front lawn just 
 now." So the young lady runs to fetch a pretty willow 
 basket to hold the flowers ; and, tying a dainty bit of 
 lace and muslin over her bright hair, she starts out to 
 rob the garden of its treasures. 
 
 Her basket is now nearly full, and she makes a charm- 
 ing picture of girlish grace as she flits from one rose- 
 bush to another, softly humming a merry tune the while. 
 So intent is she on her thoughts that she has not heard 
 a carriage drive up to the door, and she gives a little 
 cry and start of surprise as she hears herself called by 
 name, and sees, coming across the lawn to meet her, 
 Eoanwood Offington, accompanied by a young lady of 
 about the mature age of eight years. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Offingtou, how you startled me ! I had no 
 idea that any one was near. Have you come to see Elra ? 
 She is tired after her drive, and resting now, but Mr. 
 Cresenworth is visible. Please come into the house 
 after you have properly introduced me to this young 
 lady. I am longing to meet a genuine American child, 
 and she looks sweet." 
 
 " So she is," lie replies heartily. " Here, Daisy, 
 shake hands with this lady. She loves little girls." 
 
 " How do you do ? I am glad to meet you," says Miss
 
 A CO A T OF SILKEN GRA V. 1G3 
 
 Offington, gravely; and Topsie bends down to kiss the 
 child with a tender, loving glance. 
 
 " What a pretty place the Grange is, and what lovely 
 flowers!" says Mr. Offington, who has been watching 
 Topsie's face intently all this time. 
 
 " It's all very well in summer, but wait till November 
 or February," she replies. "The country is only bear- 
 able for six months in the year. But please come in, 
 and let me take possession of that wee mite, as she looks 
 bored by our old-time notions of conversation. Come 
 along, Daisy;" and, taking the child by the hand, she 
 leads the vray into the house. 
 
 " What a glorious pair of eyes !" thinks Mr. Offington, 
 as Topsio leads them across the lawn; "and where could 
 my own have been when I met this girl the other day ? 
 I thought her pretty lively and interesting, but I find 
 her a woman with soul and thought and depth shining in 
 her eyes lovely ones, too I" he ejaculated. " She will 
 give some person trouble near the region of the heart 
 before long, I expect, if she hasn't done so already. 
 Fancy calling a girl like that Topsie ! Why, it's hea- 
 thenish ! With that lovely face and figure one can pic- 
 ture her as Adelaide or Marguerite !" 
 
 At this period of his soliloquy Topsie turns to him and 
 says : 
 
 " There is Mr. Creseuworth now, so I will go and tell 
 Elra you are here, and carry Daisy oft* with me, for I 
 know she is dying of ennui at present." 
 
 u Well, old fellow, glad to see you!" says Murray Ores- 
 enworth, as he enters the room, and the two men go off 
 for a chat and the inevitable cigar, while Elra and Top- 
 sie amuse themselves with the quaint oddities of the
 
 164 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 extremely self-possessed and entertaining maiden of 
 eight summers. 
 
 ''All plain sailing now, Murray, isn't it?" says bis 
 friend, with a keen glance. a I heard all sorts of rumors, 
 you know, but I am ever so glad to find that things are 
 amicably settled, and hope you may have a long life and 
 a happy one." Then, as Murray does not answer, he 
 continues : "Mrs. Cresenworth is a lovely and charming 
 woman, and her friend, Miss Topsie must be a great ad- 
 dition to the family circle, eh F 
 
 " Oh yes j Topsie is a dear little girl," says Murray, 
 hastily, and a great friend of my wife's ; but you know, 
 Eoan, or rather you will know some day, that there are 
 times when three is no company when one would like to 
 have one's wife to one's self; but Elra has offered her 
 a home here, and, of course, you will understand that 
 though I like her very much, I rather wish sometimes 
 we could be alone Elra and I." 
 
 " Well, Miss Topsie may marry some day," says Mr. 
 Offington, rather wistfully, " and then your wishes will 
 be fulfilled. I know of one who admires her greatly 
 too much for his own peace of mind but I don't know if 
 she would have him. You see, he has only seen her 
 twice, and that's being rather sudden, isn't it, even for 
 a New Yorker ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," says Murray Cresenworth, absently. " It 
 would never do to speak to her yet ; and then, poor 
 child, maybe she is happier now than she ever could be 
 as the wife of even the man you allude to ; women are 
 such strange creatures it takes a man's lifetime to find 
 them out, and then, perhaps, the discovery of what they 
 really are is made too late."
 
 A COAT OF SILKEN GRAY. 165 
 
 " I am not sure if you are complimenting the man in 
 question or the reverse," says his friend, with a laugh ; 
 " but I am conceited enough to think that I could make 
 any woman happy that I loved passionately." 
 
 " Well, well, who knows ?" replies Murray. " We all 
 think we can do that."
 
 1G6 . HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 
 
 But let us in the mean time take a peep at Maudie de 
 la Koche in her own little home, as she tries to improve 
 the hours of her stay in England. 
 
 Not many miles from the Grange, on the Shoreliam 
 road, stands a pretty bijou cottage, surrounded by tiny 
 grounds, and with an air of semi-gentility lurking in its 
 green shutters, that are now hermetically sealed against 
 the pure breath of the September breezes, and through 
 which the subdued murmur of voices can be heard. 
 
 They belong to a French lady and her daughter, who 
 have taken up their residence at " The Nest," as the cot- 
 tage is poetically called, and very substantial nestlings 
 are now its occupants. The neighborhood was mildly 
 alarmed when it was first made aware that two French 
 ladies Papists, as I fear the country folks called them 
 had taken the Nest for a year. But the new-com- 
 ers had not proved themselves at all formidable. In- 
 deed the daughter, Maudie (neeMathilde), appeared only 
 too anxious to become an English girl at the shortest 
 possible notice, and most praiseworthy were the attempts 
 she made to copy her more emancipated sisters of laper- 
 fide Albion. And in the light of her good will to become 
 Anglicized as rapidly as possible, the neighborhood had 
 begun to tolerate Maudie, and even welcomed her some- 
 times at their slow tea parties, seeing that she was neither 
 beautiful nor witty, and would never prove a formidable 
 rival in a love affair.
 
 MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 167 
 
 If the truth must be told, Madame de la Roche had 
 many reasons for wishing tlie youngest and least inter- 
 esting of her daughters to be favorably received, and 
 her admitted taste in dress did its best to hide a stout 
 thick-set figure, which was poor Maudie's greatest bete 
 noire. 
 
 " Why, mon enfant? says her mother, coming into the 
 small sitting-room one morning, and lifting expressive 
 hands aghast to see her daughter calmly surrounded by 
 letters of unmistakable masculine caligraphy, " who are 
 all these gentlemen writing to you ?" 
 
 " Ob, don't be alarmed, mother. They are only the 
 greatest racquet players of England." 
 
 " But where, darling, have you met these gentlemen ? 
 I see the names of Mr. Hartington, Mr. Wallace, and 
 others. Why, I don't even know them by name." 
 
 "Neither did I," says her daughter, iinperturbably ; 
 but that doesn't matter, you dear, simple old thing. I 
 have only asked them to play in our tournament. It's 
 allright. Many of the English girls do these kind of 
 things." 
 
 " Oh," says Madame, toning down again, as she con- 
 templates her clever daughter, " then I suppose it's all 
 right. These English have strange manners and customs, 
 it seems to me. Well, how many of the gentlemen will 
 play with you my dear f 
 
 " That's the worst part of it," says clever Maude, irri- 
 tably. " These horrid men ! How very distressing it is to 
 try to do anything for them ! Here is Mr. Hartington 
 says his doctor actually forbids his playing, and I read 
 his name as playing somewhere yesterday, so I don't be- 
 lieve him. What shameful stories men can tell ! But
 
 1G8 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 now I must go, mother, as I am to join a paper chase 
 to-day. How do you like the costume for it?" And 
 Maudie gets up and walks across the room to exhibit a 
 marvellous new bloomer costume which she assures her 
 mother is the correct thing for young ladies to wear dur- 
 ing any athletic exercise. The dress looks oddly enough 
 on Maudie's plump, round little figure, which is thus 
 shown, unfortunately, to great disadvantage ; and, to 
 crown the costume, she has perched a small cap on her 
 head, which is as unbecoming to her round, good-tem- 
 pered face as anything could possibly be. But Maudie 
 is determined to look like an English girl or die in the 
 attempt; and though she hates active exercise of any 
 kind, she is now prepared for a two or three mile spin 
 across country, which will involve climbing gates, fences 
 or other impediments ; but go she must, or she will lose 
 the prestige it has taken her so much hard trouble to 
 gain. 
 
 Madame de la Eoche, whom we have seen before in 
 Brussels, is at a loss what to say, she finds the bloomer 
 costume affreuse ; and she is lost in wonder at the un- 
 locked for traits which their sojourn in England has de- 
 veloped in her daughter's character. 
 
 " What is this paper chase ?" 
 
 " Oh, we girls are the hounds, and the one who runs 
 fastest is chosen for the hare, and he or she goes first, 
 carrying a bug full of scraps of paper, which are dropped 
 here and there on the road, to leave a track. Then, 
 after the hare has had five minutes' start, the hounds are 
 off, following the scent or track by means of the scraps 
 of paper. We don't keep to the road, of course, but go 
 across country, climb hedges, leap ditehes, etc. Indeed,
 
 MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 109 
 
 we have to go wherever the hare leads us. Well, I must 
 be off now 5 so, good-bye." and Maudie gives her perky 
 little cap a few pats here and there before the mirror, 
 takes up a pair of gauntlets and a riding whip, and thus 
 oddly equipped goes out smiling, and satisfied that her 
 costume and appearance will be as English if not more 
 so than that of the girls she is likely to meet. 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu /" soliloquizes Madame de la Roche, 
 as she watches her daughter's departure, " she is a clever 
 girl. Who is there that knew her in Brussels would 
 meet her now in that strange dress, and say, 'This is 
 Mathilde !' She surprises me, her mother ; and if Sir 
 Gregory will only be at the hunt, he will find her like 
 any English girl though I think the men here have no 
 taste if they say they like such a dress. It is horrible to 
 me, mais enfin, one must do as others do in this country," 
 and poor Madame nodded her head sagely, and trotted 
 out to see her cook and arrange about their dinner for 
 that evening. 
 
 Early in the afternoon of the same day De Montford 
 may be seen walking up the avenue to the Grange, 
 where he sends in his card, asking to see Mr. Offington, 
 if he is at home. The servant goes to inquire, and re- 
 turns with a message to this effect: that Mr. Offington 
 is not at home, but Miss Roanwood Offington will be 
 glad to receive him, if he cares to wait until his return, 
 which will be shortly. 
 
 Somewhat surprised at this, as he does not know who 
 Miss Roanwood Offingtou may be, he decides to be re- 
 ceived, and is shown into a pretty drawing-room opening 
 onto the rose garden, where he awaits his hostess. He
 
 170 HER PL A Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 is contemplating the lovely woodland scene before Lim 
 with great interest, when he hears the patter of foot- 
 steps, and, turning, sees a small child's figure, not more 
 than knee high to a grasshopper (as some people would 
 remark), graciously advancing towards him. 
 
 " Miss Offington T he asks, dubiously. 
 
 "Yes, I am Miss Offington. Won't you be seated, 
 please; and by what name shall I call you?" says the 
 young lady, quietly, of the six foot of manhood towering 
 above her. 
 
 "You would scarcely know iny name, madam," replies 
 six foot with a sweeping bow. " I bring a letter to Mr. 
 Offiugton your uncle, I presume?" introducing me 
 from the Earl of Darcliffe. "Here is the letter; but 
 perhaps you may not be able to read it?" 
 
 " German ; no," was the reply, in frosty tones, as she 
 draws her little figure up ; " but if it should be in Eng- 
 1 sh, Spanish, or French, I am quite able to master 
 its contents." 
 
 So saying, she took the letter and demurely perused 
 it, while her visitor sat lost in amazement at the self-pos- 
 session and quiet dignity of his child hostess. With a 
 serious face she handed him back the letter, saying, 
 quaintly, " Be assured you are most welcome, sir, and of 
 course you must stay to luncheon ; they will all be home 
 soon, and then you can see my uncle." Mr. de Moutford 
 bowed and accepted, and here the conversation lan- 
 guished; for, for the life of him he couldn't think of any- 
 thing to say to this mite, who seemed so unembarrassed 
 at entertaining a perfect stranger that he was lost in ad- 
 miration of her ready savoir faire, and only wished that 
 he could feel as entirely at his ease as she did.
 
 MA FHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 171 
 
 "Do you read poetry?" his new little friend asked 
 suddenly, and, before he had time to disclaim any such 
 sentimental taste, she continued, " I recite !" and forth- 
 with plunged spiritedly into " I had ten dollars in my 
 inside pocket;" half singing, half reciting it, in a very 
 extraordinary and amusing way the Englishman thought. 
 It was a very severe trial for one whose nationality 
 obliged him, under pain of being considered hopelessly 
 ill bred, never to be amused, to repress a strong inclina- 
 tion to laugh, but being an Englishman, a hero in some 
 respects, and a stoic in all, he valiantly crushed his 
 hilarious inclinations, and rewarded the recitation with 
 " Very nice indeed ; a charming piece of poetry !" which 
 remark greatly offended Miss Offiugton, who had been 
 accustomed to have her successes crowned with loud ap- 
 plause and much laughter, and who was secretly puzzled 
 at this new genus of humanity whose acquaintance she 
 had just made. 
 
 " I am afraid you must be tired of staying in-doors," she 
 said, rising, "and would perhaps like to see the horses. 
 I don't myself go into the stables, it is more correct not " 
 (she was in reality afraid of the horses, but she would 
 never acknowledge it to any mere stranger) ; " but I 
 can introduce you to the coachman or stable-boy, and 
 either will give you all the information you want." So 
 saying Miss Offington led the way through the garden 
 and field to the stables at the back of the house, and 
 De Montford humbly followed, not daring to remonstrate. 
 
 On the way there she condescended to him somewhat, 
 and showed him how a man who was not afraid could 
 stroke and scratch the pretty gentle Alderney's ear, and- 
 showed him how the chickens loved to hear her voice,
 
 172 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 knowing in their own little minds that she seldom passed 
 without causing some grain to drop from her dimpling 
 lingers into their midst 5 grain which, in this instance, the 
 Englishman remarked, had a noted propensity for laud- 
 ing on the fat and comfortable backs of the more vener- 
 able hens, where it would remain, probably for hours, 
 safely out of reach. 
 
 On the whole, the conversation was waxing friendly, 
 when they were startled by an unaccountable commo- 
 tion at the entrance to one of the cattle-sheds, and De 
 Montford caught a glimpse of Maudie de la Roche dis- 
 playing her charms in a very startling costume, while 
 she was in the act of disappearing from view in a neigh- 
 boring door- way. 
 
 Their next sensation, and it was a curious one, was 
 the apparition of Mike the 'herd, in a very agitated 
 frame of mind and gasping for breath. 
 
 " Oh, yer honor, sure it was stark starin' mad she 
 was ! and I chased her all around, and the queer thing 
 ran like crazy. Then she took and hid in the cow-house, 
 and sure then I nabbed her safe, for I locked the door. 
 All the same I felt curus to know what them creetures 
 looks like, so I slides in at the windy and asks her what 
 she wishes. Then such pitiful eyes as she raises to me, 
 the poor thing ! and she says : l Won't you let me out 
 agin ? I won't hurt you, I'm only a hare, and the hounds 
 are chasing me.' And sure that was the poor thing's 
 craze, so I left her locked up, and was going for the per- 
 lice when I sees yer Honor, and thought to tell ye and 
 show ye the poor crittur. But here comes Mr. Offington 
 and Elra Cresenworth sure and they might know best 
 what to do wid her!"
 
 MATHILDE BECOMES ANGLICIZED. 173 
 
 Here the man at last drawing breath, Miss Offington 
 breaks in : " Why, here's uncle and dear old Elra,' ; 
 cried the child, joyfully, with a feeling of relief, now that 
 her responsibility regarding Mr. de Montford was at an 
 end. "This is a gentleman who wanted to see you, 
 uncle." The two men being duly introduced, she turned 
 to the cowherd, who had now recovered from his breath- 
 less recital, and was gesticulating and pointing to a 
 shed in the corner of the Held with great energy. 
 
 "Poor thing! she must be a mad woman," said Elra, 
 compassionately, upon hearing the details from the 'herd, 
 whose name was Mike; "let us come and speak to her; 
 I don't think she is dangerous." 
 
 Accordingly, the whole party walked over to the cow- 
 house, which Mike unlocked with great deliberation, and 
 followed him in to see the strange creature. 
 
 " It's ne'er a man or a woman, but somewhat like 
 both," said Mike in a stage whisper, "for I saw the 
 trousers when it went flying around here, and it has pet- 
 ticuts as well. There it lies, miss," he says, triumph- 
 antly, pointing to a wet, bedraggled-looking heap crouch- 
 ing on some hay in a corner; "and now, ma'am, hadn't 
 I better run and fetch the perlice?" 
 
 "The police? Oh no, no !" cries the figure, springing 
 up and trying to make for the door. " I have done 
 nothing ! Allow me to go directly," she cries, with a 
 would-be haughty English stare, which has the result of 
 making Elra feel rather a choking sensation. 
 
 " How do you do, Maudie ? Been out for a run ? But 
 I see you have." 
 
 For it was, indeed, Maudie, who, having been pressed 
 hard by the pursuing hounds, had taken refuge in a
 
 174 HER PLA Y THINGS, MEN. 
 
 cattle-shed attached to the Grange farm, and now stood 
 before them gasping for breath, and deploring her lost 
 dignity. 
 
 " I shall never play hare and hounds again," sobbed 
 Maudie. " I am tired of the hoidenish ways of English 
 girls ! I am tired of everything ! And oh, that dreadful 
 de Montford will tell Sir Gregory, and then oh !" This 
 last thought brought a little angry sob with it, as 
 Maudie paused to survey her own pitiful condition. 
 Alas, for her hopes and aspirations to conquer on sight 
 in an English girl's bloomer costume, for a sorrier figure 
 she could not have presented ! Her dress, wet, torn and 
 knee-deep in mud, her jaunty cap crushed over one ear, 
 and her face burned a deep brick red by contact with the 
 wind, presented a whole which was rather trying upon 
 Maudie's dignity and good looks, and which she rather 
 suspected of forcing those little rebellious smiles to the 
 lips of the horrid English audience. 
 
 With a little injured whine of " The marchioness is' 
 waiting for me all this time," Maudie sneaks out of the 
 "foreign" crowd, and is off as quick'ly as her short 
 limbs will bear her, in some direction best known to her- 
 self, while De Montford improves his chances, or hopes 
 he does, by lingering by Elra Cresenworth, opening 
 gates, and paying her those hundred attentions which 
 we poor women have such a weakness for.
 
 AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 
 
 Reduced since the return of Murray Cresenworth to 
 her own companionship, and being in rather a dreamy 
 inood, Topsie goes down to the lake one lazy day and es- 
 tablishes herself in ease and comfort on the soft cushions 
 at the bottom of one of the boats a favorite haunt of 
 hers. She is lying idly, looking up at the blue sky, when 
 a footstep is heard, and Roauwood Offingtoii appears; 
 then, with a scramble and a jerk, Topsie sits up in the 
 boat, with heightened color and an assurance that she 
 was not asleep or anywhere near the land of dreams. 
 
 u May I take the oars and row you around the lakef 
 he asks; which request being granted, he enters the 
 boat, and together they float around the island. 
 
 Who has not loved to be alone, or nearly alone, on a 
 lake on a lazy summer afternoon, gliding over the sheet 
 of unruffled crystal, startling the coots, who go fluttering 
 and splashing noisily to their covert among the rushes, 
 or watching the black-eyed swans diving their snowy 
 necks beneath the water, to reappear in another moment 
 glossy and smooth as if no speck of moisture had touched 
 their downy plumage ? It is cool in the shadow of the 
 chestnuts, and along by the overhanging bank the keel of 
 their boat cuts through the rippling water, making it 
 rush with with a soft gurgle against the high-thrown 
 sands.
 
 17G HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Topsie leans forward and gazes into the water with 
 half-closed eyes, while her companion watches her keenly 
 and notes every light and shadow that passes over the 
 girl's expressive, telltale face. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking ?" he says at last, and her 
 reply startles him. 
 
 " I was thinking of the laws made by man, and how I 
 despise them," she answered. "One day they bind the 
 land with a ba^d of iron ; the next day they are dis- 
 solved or laughed to scorn. Laws made by Nature alone 
 stand." 
 
 "Well, my little metaphysician, what do you know of 
 the making or breaking of laws?" he asked, curiously. 
 
 " The law means might, not right. It is only the weak 
 minded who consider that immorality consists in the 
 breaking of laws those tiresome people who consider 
 that the appearance of evil is evil, and that where there 
 is no such appearance there justice is !" 
 
 " But there is no smoke without fire," was his answer, 
 while his houesfc eyes sought hers searchiugly. 
 
 " No, truly ; but who can judge by the smoke whether 
 the flame is pure or impure? Who dares to say that 
 beneath the appearance of crime lurks the real crime ? 
 The wise, at least, will not dare a judgment, for there are 
 so many little tricks of Fate, so many possible little hap- 
 penings in human life, so many unfathomable motives 
 in the human heart, that what appeared the crime of 
 yesterday may show as the height of nobility, purity and 
 greatness in the human soul to-day." 
 
 "Poor little woman! What has happened to make 
 you speak so sadly of life, when you should be so happy 
 and thoughtless in your youth and beauty ?"
 
 TOPS1K LKAXS FORWARD .AM) GAZES INTO THE WATER WITH HALF- 
 CLOSED EYES. 
 
 Page 176.
 
 AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 177 
 
 " Alas !" she tlionglit, " that my life was once such a 
 continuous flood of golden sunshine, such a never-ending 
 bubble of spaikling joy ! And now I have cut myself 
 off from all right to sympathy. I have been insane 
 enough to part with a birthright that can never be re- 
 gained." Aloud she said : " Often those who seem the 
 gayest and brightest are those who have most to bear in 
 silence. There are some secrets that must be kept invi- 
 olate, and even were I to tell you all, you might con- 
 demn me as others have done." 
 
 He bends swiftly over her and takes her hand as he 
 says : " You may never enlighten me as to what has left 
 this blight of melancholy upon your young life j but I 
 shall never believe aught of you save that which is pure 
 and true and sweet." 
 
 " You may be promising too much," cries Topsie, with 
 a tremor in her voice, and without waiting his answer, 
 as the boat has now touched the shore, she springs past 
 Offiugton, and, without touching his out-stretched hand, 
 runs swiftly through the garden and is soon lost to 
 sight. 
 
 As days spread out into weeks, and Offiugton still 
 lingers on near her, hoping he knows not what, Top- 
 sie feels a chain linking itself around her heart which 
 she had never known there before, and she trembles at 
 the thought of sounding the depths of her own heart, 
 which she knows she must do soon. 
 
 But about this time a change comes over Elra's volatile 
 husband which affects matters rather strongly in the 
 Grange household. 
 
 The effect upon the neighborhood caused by the sud- 
 den changing of Mrs. Eldmere's name to that of Creseu-
 
 178 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 worth, and the startling appearance of that lady's hus- 
 band, had been great indeed, and rather confusing to 
 rural minds. If Sir Gregory Athelhurst was greatly 
 upset by this sudden and unlocked for blow, it seemed 
 to have rather the contrary effect upon his friend De 
 Moutford, who had his own little schemes on hand, and 
 the appearance of Mr. Murray Cresenworth upon the 
 scene was not so great a surprise to him as it had been 
 to poor Sir Gregory. 
 
 After the first awkwardness had passed, Mr. Murray 
 Cresenworth had been warmly welcomed by the sporting 
 element in the county, and he soon found himself a 
 welcome guest among the country squires. One of these ' 
 was a certain Captain Lane, who, for some reason or 
 other, appeared to greatly dislike De Montford, and 
 one day, from idle curiosity, perhaps, Mr. Creseuworth 
 jokingly asked his new friend why he was so bitter. 
 
 " Because I know the man is a villain !" was the quick 
 reply "and you, Cresenworth, should be the one to 
 know it before it is too late." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean by that ?" says the unsus- 
 pecting Murray. 
 
 " I mean," answers the captain with emphasis, " that 
 your wife is in love with De Montford, and you are so 
 blind that the only man in the country who doesn't 
 know of it is the lady's husband. If you want proofs I 
 can give them ! Here is a letter which fell into my 
 hands, fortunately, and which is proof positive that De 
 Montford and your wife are more than mere friends." 
 
 Mr. Cresenworth at first is furious with the captain for 
 daring to attack his wife, whom he loves and trusts, but 
 at the sight of a letter in Elra's handwriting, evidently
 
 AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 179 
 
 written to De Montford aud couched in tender language, 
 such as it was impossible for a woman to use except to 
 her husband or lover, he allows himself to be convinced, 
 and thus unconsciously becomes the tool of the men into 
 whose hands he is ready to play. Not only is the letter 
 shown him, but a receipt for a large sum of money, its 
 acknowledgment by De Montford, and love and thanks 
 to his darling Elra. 
 
 This last document sets fire to the kindling mass of his 
 resentment, and, without a word to his unsuspecting 
 wife, Murray Creseuworth hurries up to London and 
 holds a consultation with his lawyer, preparatory to 
 taking steps for a divorce. 
 
 In the mean time the ladies at the Grange, all un- 
 suspecting of the danger which threatens one of them, 
 pursue the even tenor of their accustomed life, now 
 brightened by the presence (to Topsie at least) of Eoan- 
 wood Offington, who seems to find his quarters at the 
 Grange so comfortable that he is loath to tear himself 
 away. He has noticed, however, a certain restraint and 
 avoidance of him exercised by that young lady, and, man- 
 like, the more he is repulsed, the greater his ardor in 
 pursuit of his object. Some days have now passed, Mr. 
 Cresenworth is still absent from home, and Eoanwood 
 Offington is stopping at the Inn Bramber, as he is fully 
 determined to have a satisfactory interview with Topsie 
 previous to his departure from those country parts. 
 With this end in view he enters the library one morning 
 nt a time when he knows Miss Topsie is usually to be 
 found there, and taking a book, and a seat in a distant 
 corner of the room, calmly waits for her appearance. 
 
 It was true that Topsie had purposely avoided him, for
 
 180 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 she could not fail to notice his growing admiration, which 
 had soon deepened into love; and she dreaded an ex- 
 planation which she felt would have to come sooner or 
 later, if once she allowed herself to listen to his words. 
 
 Mr. Offington is beginning to grow weary of his en- 
 forced retirement from the cheerful fireside, for the days 
 were now cold enough to warrant the luxury of a bright 
 wood fire on the hearth, when he hears at last the sound 
 of voices in the hall, and presently Topsie enters the 
 room alone, and running to the fireplace with a little 
 shiver, throws herself down on the rug before the cheer- 
 ful blaze. 
 
 Here the gentleman with the dexterity of an old hunts- 
 man quietly stalks his prey, who, unconscious of his pres- 
 ence, is gazing into the bright flames with a sad and 
 troubled look on her young face. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts," he says gently, at last, 
 and the girl gives a great start while the color rushes to 
 her cheeks as she looks around in evident confusion. 
 
 She sees it is Mr. Offington and knows that her hour 
 has come, for there is a look of determination on that 
 young man's face which tells her instinctively that she 
 must give her answer now. 
 
 I am glad to find this opportunity of speaking to you 
 alone (with emphasis upon the word) before I go. You 
 have so evidently avoided me, and been so constrained 
 in my presence lately, that lam almost fearful of speak- 
 ing to you now, but I cannot leave the Grange, dearest, 
 without a word from you. Can you not say that word, and 
 bid me hope that I may one day claim you as my wife? 
 Topsie had risen to her feet and now stood facing him with 
 downcast eyes, and lips that trembled as she whispered,
 
 AN UNHAPPY HUSBAND. 181 
 
 lt Please say no more; I must not listen to yon yet." 
 
 "Then you do bid me Lope, my darling," bo cries, 
 eagerly trying to seize her band. 
 
 "Yes ! if ever tbe clouds are cleared away," she mur- 
 murs, and witb one look of radiant love and bope she 
 tears berself from bis arms and burries from tbe bouse. 
 
 Ou ber way through tbe gardens sbe bears Elra's voice 
 calling, and bastily drying ber tears, sbe turns to meet 
 Mrs. Cresen worth, wbo comes to her witb an open letter in 
 ber hand and a look of anxious bewilderment on ber face. 
 " Just listen to this new freak of my husband's," sbe says 
 to tbe girl ; " be writes me s lying, l am I prepared to ad- 
 vance any good reason why be shall not institute pro- 
 ceedings for a divorce against me T I know Murray's 
 jealous nature too well by this time, but I never thought 
 be would dare to be so insane as this. What can he 
 mean ?" 
 
 But here Topsie suddenly drags Elrainto the shade of 
 some shrubs to avoid meeting two men who are walking 
 in tlreir direction, and they recognize De Montford in. an 
 earnest and amicable discussion with bis erstwhile hater, 
 Captain Lane. 
 
 "I do not know why I so distrust both of these men," 
 says Elra, after they have passed "I never feel safe 
 when they are anywhere near." 
 
 "Your instinct tells you right/' says Topsie, pale as 
 tbe colorless roses at ber throat. Heaven help you if 
 you lie in their power, one of them at least will know no 
 mercy." 
 
 And Elra knows at last that Hugo de Montford it has 
 been wbo has wrecked her loved Topsie's life. " He is 
 a friend of my husband."
 
 182 
 
 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "Then," says Topsie, reflectively, " I see it all it is 
 he who has worked you wrong with your husband ! I 
 feel it, I am sure of it, for some purpose of his own, and 
 Heaven befriend you, Elra F
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA K. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRAY. 
 
 It is Thursday a brisk winter's day and a day of 
 surprises it proves to be for more than one family iu 
 the neighborhood of Eavenstowe, for what begins with 
 a comedy of errors may end before long in a tragedy! 
 
 That terrible condition of misery and discomfort called 
 house-cleaning is being carried on at the dower-house, 
 now occupied by the dowager Marchioness of Eipdale 
 and two of her elder daughters; and the ladies have 
 been driven from one room to another, from the dining- 
 room to the hall, where they are now occupying the win- 
 dow-seat looking out on to the wintry avenue. 
 
 " I wish ma could regulate things better, and not have 
 everything miserable for the short time that we are 
 home," snapped Psyche ; and though you may think I 
 speak of a little dog, I refer in reality to a gaunt maiden 
 lady, written of in Debrett as fifth daughter of Edred, 
 Marquis of Eipdale, and of his wife Lenora. 
 
 " Pin sorry for you, my dear," says the dowager lady, 
 tartly, "but you are not obliged to stay, Amabel, and I 
 can manage to exist without you ! I suppose you think 
 we do not feel the inconvenience as well as yourself." 
 
 Lady Psyche was heard to mutter crossly to herself 
 to the effect that the dower-house was not a cheerful 
 place, that she felt her usual attack of rheumatism ap- 
 proaching, as she walked away from her mother and
 
 184 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 sister to reconnoitre the premises and see if her room 
 was still in a state of chaos. 
 
 " What a temper Psyche has," sighs the dowager 
 always finding fault; this is not Eipdale Castle, with 
 its retinue of servants ! By the way, Amabel, when did 
 you last hear from Artrale ?" 
 
 " I showed you her last letter/' answers Amabel, who 
 is as fat and lazy as her sister is gaunt and restless ; 
 "she mentions Lenore." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" says Psyche, joining in the conversa- 
 tion, " and what does she say about her ? I really think 
 Artrale ought to know better than to even mention her 
 to us ; though she was our sister, she has disgraced the 
 family, and I, for one, never wish to see her again." 
 
 The dowager sighs; but Psyche continues: "I al- 
 ways thought Lenore was a little mad, her mind always 
 leaned towards the startlingly eccentric. Don't you re- 
 member, ma dear, when she caught those two little mice 
 and harnessed them to the toy steam-engine, and allowed 
 them to run away with it ? Such peculiar ideas in any- 
 body else would have beeu accounted insanity !" 
 
 Here she is interrupted by the entrance of a maid-ser- 
 vant, who comes to ask her mistress what is to be done 
 with the contents of a large oaken bureau, which is to be 
 relegated from the lumber room to one of the apartments. 
 
 " It's full of papers, my lady, bills and such like, or law 
 papers maybe," says the maid. 
 
 Oh, burn them, Hester ! answers the dowager indiffer- 
 ently, but Amabel suggests that they should first be 
 looked at, and the maid retires, returning presently with 
 her apron full of musty-looking papers, which she de- 
 posits on the hall table as requested.
 
 GLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 185 
 
 "Where did they come from?" says Psyche, gingerly 
 touching the dusty documents with the tips of her 
 fingers. 
 
 " The old bureau was bought two years ago, at a sale 
 from the vicarage ; these must belong to Mr. Grey most 
 likely." 
 
 " Here is a strange document," says Amabel with 
 interest, " and it looks like a marriage certificate!" 
 
 " Show it to me," says her sister, and the two unfold 
 the paper and commence to read it. 
 
 "It is a marriage certificate," cries Amabel, excited- 
 ly ; " here, let me read the names. Why Leuore Alles- 
 mere and Hugo de Montford ! Jt cannot be," she gasps, 
 " it can't mean that Lenore is really married !" 
 
 "Let me have it!" says the dowager, imperiously; 
 " this must be some trick ; I will never believe it.; after 
 these Long years to find that Lenore was really married 
 to that man!" But when the document is in her hand 
 she sees at once that Amabel's words are true. There 
 stand the two names, though the corner of the register 
 has been torn carefully away, and the name of the 
 clergyman is missing, 
 
 " Girls, this matter must be seen into at once," cries 
 the dowager, in great agitation ; " this document must 
 be placed before that man, and he must be made to con- 
 fess whether this be true or no. Poor lost Lenore !" 
 
 " Here is the very man we want," says Amabel, from 
 her post by the window-seat. " Dr. Warder, mother, is 
 now coming up the avenue ; let us tell him, and ask for 
 his advice." 
 
 The good old family doctor is soon put in possession 
 of the astonishing revelation made by the old bureau,
 
 186 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 and he is intrusted with the precious paper with which 
 to confront De Montford. 
 
 "No time is to be lost," he says, as he hustles into his 
 long overcoat. " Give me authority to meet the fellow 
 with this in my hands, and I will soon know whether 
 the villain has all this time been deceiving that poor 
 child or no. For all your sakes," he adds, " I pray that 
 this piece of paper will win back your sister; though, if 
 she were really married to that man, Heaven help her, to 
 be in the hands of such a scoundrel !" 
 
 He forthwith loses no time in calling at De Montford's 
 cottage, and finding that gentleman out, resolves de- 
 terminedly to repeat his call on the morrow. 
 
 " A note for you miss," says Anatole, entering the 
 drawing-room at the Nest late that same afternoon, and 
 handing his young mistress a suspicious looking three- 
 cornered letter, which Maudie seizes on with joy, recog- 
 nizing her dear marchioness as the writer thereof. " Ob, 
 mamma !" she says, after hastily glancing at the contents, 
 " her ladyship wants me to meet her at the ruins at four 
 o'clock, and have a good l spin on the downs,' as she 
 calls it. I am so delighted that she has kept her promise 
 of returning to Eavenstowe in the winter, and of course 
 I will meet her. We may be late, so don't wait for me, 
 but have your dinner at seven as usual." 
 
 Then Miss de la Eoche hurries to her room, and having 
 donned her bloomer costume, according to directions, 
 she sallies forth to meet her friend at the ruins. 
 
 Maudie is first at the rendezvous and has to wait some 
 minutes before her ladyship appears, but she is used to 
 this, and knows that she mustn't grumble at whatever 
 it may be her friend's caprice to inflict upon her.
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRAY. 187 
 
 " Hello, Maudie !" says the new-comer, "quite on time. 
 as our transatlantic friends say. I told you I would be 
 here again, and after three days at Ravenstowe with my 
 elderly sisters-in-law, to sny nothing of a gouty, dyspep- 
 tic husband, I thought a smart run across country would 
 do me good, and clear the cobwebs from my brain ; more- 
 over, I want to talk to you, and to find out all I can about 
 the beautiful Mrs. Eldmere, or Mrs. Cresenworth, which- 
 ever it is; she interested me that day when I saw her at 
 your house, and I believe you know something about 
 her." 
 
 Maudie was only too willing to tell all, and more than 
 she knew about the fascinating lady who had robbed her 
 of Sir Gregory's attentions, and the two set off at a 
 smart trot through the fields, which the marchioness de- 
 clared led, by a short cut to the downs wher<* the " spin" 
 was to be taken. 
 
 But, as often happens, the short cut proved a long one ; 
 and having leaped small brooks, clambered over fences 
 and gates, and made themselves both hot and tired, they 
 at last emerge onto the high-road again, where they sit 
 down to rest on some stones, and to consult as to what 
 is best to be done. 
 
 "I believe we are lost, Maudie!" says her ladyship in 
 great glee; she looks as calm and cool as when they 
 started, and is a great contrast to her poor friend, who 
 is still panting from her recent exertions. 
 
 " What fun that would be ! I haven't an idea where- 
 abouts we are, so let us sit and wait here till something 
 turns up." 
 
 Presently the stillness is broken by the sound of cart- 
 wheels, and a gypsy caravan conies slowly down the road.
 
 188 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Tied to one of the vans is a poor hungry-looking dog, 
 and when the marchioness catches sight of his woe- 
 begone face and drooping tail, a wicked little thought 
 flashes through her inind ; and going up to one of the 
 men she asks, abruptly, " Will you sell me that dog ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lady/' the man replies with a grim smile of 
 humor; "he is a fine watch-dog, and a high bred un, 
 but, being a lady, I will let you have him for a half 
 sovereign ! He's worth a deal more," he continues, 
 thinking perhaps he has not been greedy enough. 
 
 " Well, here is your money, my good man, and at the 
 same time I wauta penny rattle, one of those wicker 
 toy things." 
 
 "Maudie, you shall go shares with me in this," she 
 whispers; "I mean to have no end of fun. Do you think 
 that animal could possibly be made to run, even with a 
 rattle tied to his tail? if so, we can both have great di- 
 version for a ha'penny, a penny being the price of the 
 rattle, and I won't" charge you for the dog." Maudie is 
 well used to her friend's vagaries, and is willing to sub- 
 mit to all she proposes, though to tell the truth she is 
 now thoroughly tired, and only wishes herself at home 
 again. 
 
 The dog and rattle being paid for, the caravan moves 
 slowly on, and the two ladies are left in solitude again. 
 The marchioness has tied the animal to the fence and is 
 now engaged in endeavoring to fix the rattle to one of 
 his extremities, which he resents with a low growl, and 
 Maudie, who is terribty afraid of all strange dogs, stands 
 watching in an agony of fear, as she is not sure if she 
 will be asked to hold the brute or not. 
 . " It's getting very late, isu't it f ' she remarks, timidly ;
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 189 
 
 " bad we not better wait till another day ? I am sure we 
 must be miles from home." 
 
 "I suppose we are, or at least you are," says her 
 friend, coolly, " and I mean to take a drive in the next 
 conveyance that comes along. " Why, here is the very 
 thing," she continues, mischievously, as a small cart, 
 commonly called a kreel, is seen approaching. In this 
 kreel is some clean straw, and lying on the straw are 
 some half dozen little pigs, who blink and wink and 
 squeal at intervals. The marchioness stops the bundle 
 of rags which directs the footsteps of the .donkey who 
 draws the cart, and after a short parley room is made 
 for the two ladies in its interior, and in spite of Maudie's 
 protestations she is forced to mount and take a seat be- 
 side the pigs, while the dog is tied to the back of the 
 cart, and is dragged an unwilling victim in their wake. 
 
 " What fun !" says her ladyship, looking round with 
 intense amusement depicted on her face, partly at Mau- 
 die's disgust, partly at the novelty of their position. 
 
 " These horrid pigs !" says the girl, plaintively, 
 
 " They won't hurt you, missie/' answers the old crone 
 "They is as knowing as can be; look for all the world, 
 the impudent little things, as if they could tell fortunes." 
 
 " Here is a carriage coming," cried Maudie, in a tone 
 of despair. 
 
 " All right," tuck your head down," says her friend, 
 boldly, and the next moment a handsome phaeton and 
 pair is driven rapidly past. No sooner is it out of sight 
 than the marchioness gives vent to a peal of silvery 
 laughter. "Did you see them?" she asks. " My lord 
 and master, whom I left at home suifering from an 
 attack of gout and temper, driving with a fair unknown J
 
 190 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 This will suit me finely ! How glad I am we were hid- 
 den here." 
 
 " Was it really your husband ?" says Maudie, in an 
 awe-struck tone. 
 
 " None other than the noble marquis himself. I told 
 him I might be going up to town to-day, so I suppose he 
 thought it was a good opportunity. I declare, Maudie, 
 we are having a lovely time this afternoon, and if it were 
 not so late we might have the dog chase after all." By 
 this time, however, the sun had set, the shadows were 
 lengthening., and both ladies began to feel ready for their 
 accustomed meal, so it was decided that the dog should 
 be reprieved till the following day, and that they should 
 leave the kreel at the next farm-house, where the old 
 crone told them the pigs were to be delivered. 
 
 "It's quite nigh the Grange," she said, to Maudie's 
 delight, as she saw some prospect of reaching homo 
 that night, for the Grange and the Nest were within a 
 mile of each other. Just then the cart turns a bend in 
 the road, and reveals the figures of two people, a lady 
 and gentleman, standing just in front of them. With a 
 gasp of horror Maudie recognizes De Moutford and Mrs. 
 Cresenworth, and buries her unfortunate head in the 
 straw as she whispers the same to her companion. As 
 they pass them in the growing dusk the marchioness 
 notices that Mrs. Cresenworth is clad in a long gray 
 cloak, richly embroidered and trimmed with beads and 
 feathers, and as she turns, apparently to dismiss D.e 
 Montford with a haughty gesture, they hear her say, 
 " I must beg you not to come any farther I am going 
 into these cottages so I will wish you good-bye. ' 
 
 They watch her as she walks smartly up the lane
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 191 
 
 towards the farm-house, and, before entering, see her 
 loosen her rich cloak, which she hands to a little girl 
 who is standing near the door, for she is going in to see 
 a sick woman, and knows by experience that the interior 
 of the cottage is neither clean nor comfortable, and that 
 the windows have not been opened all summer. 
 
 If Maudie has recognized Mrs. Cresen worth it was the 
 keen eyes of the Marchioness of Ripdale which first saw 
 De Montford, and by the time Elra Cresenworth enters 
 the cottage door she has formed a plan which she at 
 once proceeds to carry into execution. 
 
 " Maudie," she says, in an imperious way, " I am going 
 to leave you, but don't dare to move or speak watch 
 me, and follow me at a distance after I have spoken to 
 De Montford ;" and the next moment she has sprung 
 out of the cart and is walking towards the cottage. 
 When she reaches the door she says quietly to the girl 
 who is still waiting there, 
 
 " Give mo my cloak, child ;" and, handing her a shil- 
 ling, takes the garment froip the astonished little maiden, 
 and throwing it around herself, walks quickly down the 
 lane to where De Moutford is still lingering, as if loath 
 to tear himself away. She has found a thick luce veil in 
 one of the pockets of the cloak, and, having tied this 
 over her face, she trusts to be able to pass for Mrs. 
 Creseuworth without detection. They are both tall 
 women, and the marchioness is a good actress, so she 
 has no fear of successfully duping De Montford, especi- 
 ally as it is now so dark that it would be impossible to 
 distinguish features. 
 
 . De Montford gives a start of surprise when he sees the 
 supposed Mrs. Cresenworth returning so quickly, and he 
 comes forward at once.
 
 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " I ain afraid you found your invalid out or up," ho 
 says, significantly," and now it is too dark for you to 
 walk alone; may I not offer you an arm ?" 
 
 To his surprise his arm is at once taken, and, is it his 
 fancy, or does Mrs. Cresemvorth press it gently as she 
 murmurs a reply? Can it be that she relents, and after 
 such a cold and stubborn resistance, has at last fallen a 
 victim to his seductive looks and words ? 
 
 " But it's always the way," thinks this conquering hero 
 complacently, " these great beauties give in to one in the 
 end with a much more startling brevity than their less 
 sought sisters !" and deeming he has his grasp on the 
 beautiful, coveted, forbidden fruit, he passes his arm 
 gently around her waist, and draws her to him, and is not 
 one whit surprised when she secedes and comes to him 
 with very little resistance, but with what he deems an 
 hysterical little sob. He endeavors to search her eyes, 
 but these are strictly averted, and for fear lest so mag- 
 nificent a prize should slip from his grasp, he deems it 
 his best plan to strike while the iron is hot. 
 
 "My darling," he says, "you have consented at last! 
 You will come with me, and I shall protect your fair 
 name with the last drop of my heart's blood ! My dog- 
 cart is here waiting, and my cottage is not far away ; let 
 me escort you thither, where malice cannot penetrate to 
 make your hours bitter. None will dare to molest you 
 there ! We shall be safe from all intruders. You will 
 come then, dearest one F For his only answer he catches 
 the sound of a second smothered sob, and it is with re- 
 newed pleading in his voice that he says: "How un- 
 happy you are, and yet how beautiful ! Come with me, 
 Elra, and allow my heart's worship to be laid at your feet,
 
 CLAD IN ROSE AND GRA Y. 193 
 
 to make you happy as the lark that sings in a summer 
 sky. Come !" 
 
 The lady seems reluctant to accept his proposition, 
 but at last suffers herself to be handed into the dog cart, 
 which is drawn at once in the direction of De Montford's 
 shooting cottage. In the mean time Maudie is chafing 
 and fuming at this new freak of her ladyship, though 
 she dare not disobey her tormentor, and when she sees 
 the dog-cart drive rapidly off, she knows she has to fol- 
 low it as quickly as the donkey can be urged along ; 
 though she is heartily tired of the present comedy, she 
 has a still greater fear of her ladyship's displeasure. 
 Very little conversation takes place between the occu- 
 pants of the dog-cart. De Montford can scarcely believe 
 that this is really Elra Cresen worth by his side, but though 
 her face is veiled, he recognizes the long gray cloak she 
 had been wearing ; and the marchioness, scarcely trust- 
 ing herself to speak, except in whispers, holds her head 
 down and pulls the lace veil still further over her face. 
 On their arrival at the co.ttage a man steps out of the 
 shadow, and coming to the side of the dog-cart, whispers 
 a few words to De Montford which make him bite his 
 lips and change color. 
 
 " Wait here," he says in a hurried whisper to the un- 
 known, as he hands Mrs. Cresenworth from the carriage. 
 
 " Here we are, dearest. You are quite safe now. 
 Wait one little moment while I see my agent, and then I 
 will be with you." So saying he hands the lady into the 
 house, and, locking the door carefully behind her, puts 
 the key in his pocket. A brief, sharp battle of words 
 ensues between the two men outside, and then De Mont- 
 ford reluctantly mounts his dog-cart, the stranger taking
 
 194 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEA T . 
 
 the seat beside him, and drives off in the direction of the 
 Manor-house. 
 
 Maudie and the donkey-cart have by this time made 
 their appearance, for in spite of the old crone's assurance 
 to the contrary, she has insisted on being driven in 
 pursuit of De Montford. When they reach the cottage 
 Maudie hears her friend's voice calling to her, and, look- 
 ing up, sees that lady standing at the window of a room 
 above, and jumps down, much relieved, from off her bed 
 of straw. 
 
 u You can't get in," says the marchioness, who seems 
 to be enjoying it all hugely. " The door is locked, and 
 you will have to climb in at the window. Look about 
 and see if there's a ladder handy that will help you." 
 
 Maudie obediently looks about, and finds an old lad- 
 der leaning against a tree in the little garden. This she 
 brings to the window, and, putting it in position, pro- 
 ceeds cautiously to mount the steps. All goes well till 
 Maudie nearly reaches the top ; then there is a crash and 
 a scream, and the frail support gives way under her 
 ample weight. But she is at the window-sill, and the 
 marchioness, catching hold of her, drags her into the 
 room. Then, realizing their ludicrous position, she flings 
 herself into a chair and bursts into a peal of laughter. 
 
 " Well, you're a friend in need," she says, as Maudie 
 goes to the window and ruefully gazes at the ruins of the 
 ladder, which are reposing in a heap on the flower-beds. 
 
 " Now that you have removed our only means of exit, 
 we shall have to remain here all night, I suppose, for the 
 door is locked, and I don't mean to break my ankles by 
 a leap from that window ; so we must stay here and 
 make the best of it"
 
 THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING. 
 
 r > 
 
 After De Montford has driven away in the direction of 
 bis cottage, with Mrs. Cresenworth by his side, an angry 
 head is thrust over the hedge along which she has just 
 passed with her companion, and a few muttered oaths are 
 heard. 
 
 "I vow by Heaven," says Murray Cresenworth's hoarse 
 voice, u she will make a fool of me no more ! She will 
 have to reap the reward of her treachery and her sin. I 
 shall stay proceedings no longer." 
 
 His loud tones have the effect of scaring a few little 
 rabbits close by, and he sees a very red tumbled head of 
 hair peep from a warren lower down, and the next mo- 
 ment the legs that belong to the head are scampering 
 affrightedly across the fields towards the Grange; but 
 poor Mr. Cresenworth is too preoccupied to care how 
 many little bundles of rags he may have the pleasure of 
 seeing bowling along in that direction. 
 
 " I had come to offer her a last choice between honor 
 with a sigh or dishonor. She has chosen the latter; 
 and she was my wife !" 
 
 This was said as sadly as a man might speak who re- 
 signs all right to happiness henceforth, for Murray well 
 knew that his wife had been the very light of his eye 
 and life of his heart, and that his existence without her 
 was a void.
 
 190 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 He loses no time in despatching a boy on horseback to 
 the nearest telegraph station with the following despatch, 
 wiitten by him in feverish haste lest his resolution should 
 fail: 
 
 " Finish up proceedings, and let the journals be ap- 
 prised as ordered. 
 
 "(Signed) MURRAY CRESENWORTH." 
 
 A long night of agony he spends in a room of the inn 
 at Brain ber, and daybreak finds him up and about again, 
 glad to put away the horrors of a night unequalled in 
 suffering by anything he has been through in his pre- 
 vious life. 
 
 Had he, however, been in the inood to notice any- 
 thing that night, he might have seen two men enter a 
 room in the village inn, not so very far from his own ; 
 and he would have recognized DC Montford in the one, 
 while the other we will describe as the stranger who 
 had so inopportunely interrupted De Montford's tete- 
 a-tete with the fair lady of his heart. 
 
 There is evidently a dispute between the men, as loud 
 angry words are spoken by them, which have some re- 
 lation to a large financial scheme that one of them has 
 in hand. 
 
 " It would be bad, would it not," says the stranger, in 
 mocking tones, " to let them know of that embezzling 
 matter practised upon your father-in-law by whom we 
 shall not say F 
 
 " Hold !" cries De Montford ; " who is my father-in- 
 law ? tell me that." 
 
 " People would not confide large sums to the keeping 
 of your banking concern, would they 1 ?" continues the 
 stranger, not noticing the interruption.
 
 THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING. 197 
 
 "An impudent blackmailing scheme," rages De Mont- 
 ford ; " I know your purpose, you cowardly rascal, but 
 you will find that the law can gag you sooner than you 
 might desire !" 
 
 "And the man you shot " 
 
 But here ensues a violent altercation between the two 
 men. At first De Montford is proud and overbearing 
 in manner and speech, but by degrees, helped by the 
 stranger's powerful arguments, ho assumes a milder tone 
 and is at last forced to yield, as those who knew his 
 haughty nature did not think it possible for De Mont- 
 ford ever to have done. 
 
 But Cresenworth notices nothing, and next morning 
 disdaining breakfast, he mounts his horse, impatient to 
 call at the post-office for any mail that the morning may 
 bring. The post-mistress hands liim a telegram from 
 his lawyer, which had evidently crossed his of the pre- 
 vious evening, but which had not been delivered earlier 
 to Creseuworth, owing to no particular address being 
 given. It contained the words : , 
 
 "Divorce granted yesterday at 2.59. Morning papers 
 will corroborate. 
 
 " (Signed) CLARKSON, KYFE & CLARKSON." 
 
 He staggered ever so little when he read the message 
 it was so strange so unexpected so soon. What 
 though he himself had ordered his lawyers to proceed 
 with the utmost despatch in the matter? 
 
 " It is finished then, and a beautiful woman, once noble 
 as she was beautiful, has been trained at mywish through 
 the slough of the Divorce Court ! Poor little Elra ! your 
 sufferings have begun." 
 
 Touching with his lips a glass of some strong stimu-
 
 198 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 lant, he mounts his horse in a dazed way, and rides 
 down the frost-hardened road towards the Grange, not 
 knowing what new developments Fate has in store for 
 him just as the hale and hearty man goes forth in the 
 morning and sees not the death's-head that hovers round 
 and follows him to his fate. 
 
 If we go back but a few hours, and follow the appari- 
 tion that had rather startled Murray Cresenworth by 
 popping at an inopportune moment from a rabbit bur- 
 row and shooting off in the direction of the Grange, we 
 shall find the same strange apparition arriving at its 
 destination in haste that is more hot and hurried than 
 graceful. 
 
 Alone at the Grange, and feeling her nerves rather 
 shattered from all she has lately learned, Topsie retires 
 to bed (though it is still daylight), under orders from the 
 doctor, where a strong injection of morphine is adminis- 
 tered. 
 
 " You must be kept quite quiet for a few days, my dear 
 young lady," he.says, "and then I hope you will be feel- 
 ing yourself again." 
 
 Ere she lays her head on the pillow, however, for a 
 much needed sleep, her room is suddenly invaded by 
 Daddy Dolan, who has been watching outside during 
 the doctor's visit, and on his departure makes her way 
 into Topsie's room and rushes to her bedside. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Topsie, dear!" she half sobs, "are you 
 going to die? I saw the doctor here, and thought maybe 
 he was murdering you, and I having so much that I must 
 tell you !" All this is said in a burst of grief from Daddy, 
 whose devotion to Topsie is well known, and who is a 
 privileged intruder at the Grange so that the gill's
 
 THICKENING, DARKENING, CLOUDING. 199 
 
 presence in the house did not cause much astonishment 
 or curiosity. Topsie had been in the habit of teaching 
 her young protegee, and though the result has not yet 
 been great, she knows she has won a faithful and trusty 
 friend in the poor neglected, simple-minded country girl. 
 
 " What is it Daddy ? tell me dear," she says, as Daddy 
 continued to sob, her head buried in her apron. " What 
 has happened?" 
 
 "I was in the rabbit warren, iniss, a while ago, sitting 
 on the bank a-thinkiug of nothing when I see that bold 
 black man a coming down the lane " (this was Daddy's 
 name for De Montford, whom she cordially detests for 
 some reason or other). " I crouched down for him not 
 to see me, and then I heard voices talking, and one was 
 a lady's. I didn't listen, miss, but I couldn't help hear- 
 ing what they said; leastways lie spoke so loud and she 
 in whispers." 
 
 " What did they say ? tell me," cries Topsie, sitting up 
 in bed with wide open eyes, " tell me, Daddy, quickly !" 
 
 " They whispered some first, and then he says: 'Well, 
 come with me now ! everything is ready, my carriage is 
 waiting, and we can soon beat my hunting cottage, safe 
 from all intruders ; they will never think to look for you 
 there; come, my darling!' The lady seemed to be saying 
 i No ' at first, then he persuades her some more, and they 
 go forward and get into a carriage and drive off; she 
 seemed to be frightened somewhat ; leastways she cries 
 out 'No ! no! how can I trust you?' But he whips up 
 the horses and off they go ; then I comes across to tell 
 you, miss, and on my way I meets the poor gentleman^ 
 Mr. Cresenworth ; he must have been there and heard it 
 too ; and she such a pretty lady !"
 
 200 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 u Who was it?" almost shrieks Topsie, seizing the girl 
 roughly by the arm. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Cresenwortb, miss ! I told you there was 
 no other lady as I see." 
 
 With a wild cry Topsie flies from her bed, all thought 
 of sleep is dashed in a moment from her mind. She 
 hurries into her riding habit in hysterical haste, and 
 orders Irish King to be instantly saddled with the child's 
 basket saddle which had been recently purchased for 
 little Miss Offington. The paddle has a high back, 
 rather like a chair, and to this, as she mounts her horse, 
 she has herself bound (in a moment of strange inspira- 
 tion) by a leathern strap. The next instant she is dash- 
 ing rather wildly down the sweep of lawn towards the 
 tower gates. 
 
 Mrs. Cresenworth, returning a little later, hears from 
 her maid that Topsie is out riding, and is satisfied with 
 the explanation of her absence, until finding it grows very 
 late and there is no appearance of Topsie she becomes 
 alarmed; and is rendered doubly so on being told of the 
 dose of morphia administered to that young lady in the 
 afternoon. It is therefore in a sad state of alarm lest 
 the young horsewoman may have been overtaken sud- 
 denly by the effects of the narcotic, that Mrs. Cresen- 
 worth orders a search to be made of which, however, 
 nothing comes.
 
 B Y T1SDA LE BRA CKEN. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 
 
 " Dolan, go and attend to those earths ; see that they are 
 stopped," said Sir Gregory that evening as jumping from 
 his horse he ran briskly up the stone steps leading to his 
 well appointed bachelor's abode. 
 
 " 'Pon my soul," cried he, irritably, looking round the 
 old halls, hushed in gloom and silence, "I must get mar- 
 ried to enliven this old tomb ! How sweet and bright 
 that little Eldmere could make it all for me. I wonder 
 will she have me when I ask her? or more, I wonder will 
 she even give me the chance of taking her prim little 
 hand in mine and proffering my request ? By my faith if 
 she doesn't "and here, to signify -the strength of his 
 fierce intentions in case of such trying circumstances, ho 
 quaffed a full goblet to her honor, for which act of ap- 
 preciation she would no doubt have felt flattered and 
 grateful, particularly had she seen him. stagger a little 
 towards the comfortable settee in front of the cheery log 
 lire and stretch himself there, the while murmuring her 
 praises in very thickening speech, quite oblivious to the 
 important fact that his Mis. Eldmere had been claimed 
 by another man. 
 
 "Poor master, it isn't his fault!" said the long limbed 
 daughter of the red-haired Hibernian, Dolan; it isn't his 
 fault. She had him worked up to that same, and sure 
 she must be a heartless thing,, for master ho be the
 
 202 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN- 
 
 grandest " and forthwith her thoughts revert to last 
 Michaelmas, and the largesse slipped in her hand by the 
 master of the manor, accompanied with a well, we won't 
 mention, for the sake of that dignity which I have heard 
 affirmed (rightly or wrongly I dare not say) belongs inva- 
 riabty to scions of the old, old stock. Be that as it may, 
 the recollection of it made the cheeks of the fair Hiber- 
 nian grow a little pinker under the freckles, and it made 
 her feel justly indignant against any " rediculous stuck 
 up thing" who might affect to despise the master she 
 chose to champion. 
 
 "What could she want better?" asked she scornfully. 
 " She thinks she has it, but she hasn't, that's sartaiu, 
 the poor crathur." 
 
 Now this daughter of a red-haired race boasted, besides 
 freckles, a true womanly heart, even if it was inclined 
 to admire in her master what she considered was the 
 highest type of manly beauty, and everything else besides 
 that was good and noblest in her estimation ; but that 
 did not prevent her being a sensible, comfortable, every- 
 day, commonplace girl one who never indulged in day 
 dreams, although she did commit the folly of giggling 
 when "the master" had slipped something in her hand, 
 accompanied with a well, it is not fair, and I won't tell 
 what ! 
 
 She, Miss Dolan, also rejoiced in several names, and 
 among others the soubriquet of Daddy Long Limbs 
 (translated legs) was her especial property, owing to her 
 peculiar length of nether limbs; and this particular 
 evening, when the master of the manor was happy in 
 his rather maudlin dreams concerning his hard-hearted 
 goddess, there came a ringing cry through the yard at
 
 BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 203 
 
 the rear of the manor : " Daddy ! Daddy Dolan ! come out 
 if ye want to see for yourself sich sport and quick." 
 
 The long-limbed maiden, with dishevelled hair flying 
 in the wind, rushed out at what she deemed a very ir- 
 resistible appeal from the small boy Dolan, her brother; 
 for she knew it meant that there were rats and terriers 
 in the wind, or rather in the yard, ready for any number 
 of exciting encounters. 
 
 "Fadder is goin' for to stop the erts, so if we sneak 
 and make no noise, we can have the rabbits to ourseffs, 
 and steal a march onknownst to de ole man. Daddy doan. 
 yees be like a girl and make noise like a girl, its silly ; 
 and if yees doan we'll have roas' rabbit on de quiet." 
 
 Daddy of the long limbs had a lingering fondness for 
 rabbit cooked in this outlaw fashion, so she vowed in a 
 piteous way that she would not be a bit like a girl, and 
 that she would sneak, and, positively, make no noise ; 
 whereat they started for the fox and rabbit coverts, tak- 
 ing care to "'sneak "at a careful distance from Dolan 
 the elder, who preceded them by the length of about a 
 field. 
 
 It was a moonlight night, and once within the shadow 
 of the woods the little outlaws diverged into a track of 
 their own, with their eager terriers throttling themselves 
 in their detaining arms, in rebellious endeavors to steal 
 off for a scamper and a tear after the timid little rabbits. 
 At last, and only when they believed themselves fairly 
 out of ear-shot of their revered parent, they gave them- 
 selves unreservedly to the intoxicating pleasure of 
 slaughtering any foolish little beast who was- simple 
 enough to stand and play until caught and worried to 
 death by Boxer and Foxer.
 
 HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 Of these there were not many, indeed I do not think 
 any timid rodents gave them the opportunity of " roas' 
 rabbit "that night; but for all this the little Dolans 
 were enjoying themselves to the top of their bent when 
 Boxer struck up a low wailing howl, a long " keening," 
 such as dogs are wont to indulge in when death is hov- 
 ering around a house. In a moment the piercingly sad 
 note was caught up by Foxer, while the Dolan children 
 stood rooted where they stood, prevented by a paralyz- 
 ing fear from articulating a syllable with their trembling 
 lips. The climax came in the trampling of a horse's hoofs 
 on the mossy turf, and scarcely daring to look at the 
 dark figure which, distinct in the moonlight, loomed 
 above them in the saddle, they turned with as genuine 
 a howl of terror as even their beloved Boxer or Foxer 
 had been capable of and faced for home, scampering all 
 the way. There they arrived, to their astonishment, in 
 safety, and I do not think that ever after they cared ex- 
 actly to disturb the gentle little rabbits on moonlight 
 nights. 
 
 Had they stayed in the woods with their parent they 
 might have heard still more weird sounds while that 
 person was applying himself diligently to the stopping 
 of the earths. Two of these had been securely fastened 
 against the inatinal return of the fox, when suddenly he 
 had occasion to whistle for his dog. This was a noble 
 greyhound, black as coal, neatly and cleanly built, and 
 fleet of limb ; the pride and delight in fact of the sport- 
 loving Hibernian, who never went anywhere without his 
 much esteemed canine companion. But to-night, al- 
 though he would not have sacrificed his dog's compan- 
 ship, he could not help thinking, with a slightly uneasy
 
 BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 203 
 
 feeling, for be was a superstitious man, bow weird and 
 gbostly appeared the spectre-like bound, as in and out 
 of tbe tangled undergrowth of tree and sbrub be glided 
 witb noiseless foot-fall. Wben, therefore, the bound drop- 
 ped himself suddenly prone on the earth a few paces 
 ahead of him, and stretched his limbs and tail to a stark, 
 rigid stiffness the while setting up so partly fierce, part- 
 ly dismal a howl the right-hand man of Sir Gregory 
 Athelhurst, in a moment of nervousness, seized his 
 double-barrel breech-loader, and in an instant had his 
 finger on the trigger. 
 
 Not a moment too soon, he told himself, had he placed 
 himself, on guard, for down one of the open glades inter- 
 secting the woods came a horse at full gallop, which 
 gave him but scant measure of time to spring aside, as 
 with frantic speed the animal tore on through the woods, 
 hushed till now in the still midnight. The moonlight 
 flooded his pathway, and in the moment when he had to 
 spring aside so deftly or be trampled upon, Dolan bad 
 caught sight of the flutter of a lady's riding habit. 
 
 " Be krapes ! who can be out in the woods this awful 
 hour?" he cried angrily to himself, although his teeth did 
 chatter a bit " and a lady too, who ought to be warm and 
 snug in her little bed at home ; but it's a sorry trick, and 
 I wouldn't choose to be the lady," he concluded, scorn- 
 fully, feeling indignant enough to hold the said lady up 
 to the ridicule and gossip of the whole country around. 
 
 However, he did not have much time to plan ven- 
 geance, when a sudden and appalling thought froze his 
 blood. " She might be a sperret, the Lord presarve me ! " 
 Whereat his teeth fairly rattled in his head, and his 
 knees shook beneath him. However, these mental ter-
 
 206 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 rors were mild to those which seized him a moment later, 
 making his blood freeze, and leaving him entirely unde- 
 cided whether he was suffering from an attack of de- 
 lirium tremens, or whether he was really standing in 
 the moon flooded woods by Tisdale Bracken, for through 
 those woods rang out clear and wild .and full of music, 
 in the dead stillness of the midnight, a cry which made 
 the woods resound, from end to end as it were, with the 
 thrilling blast of the huntsman's bugle, as he puts his 
 treasures, the fox-hounds, into covert to begin their 
 search for their appointed prey. 
 
 "Hi, get in there; get in, get in ! Now you're on him, 
 brave fellows, my beauties, no\v you're on him ; Neptune, 
 get in there. 'Ware, hound F' This last ejaculation being 
 emphasized by the loud cracking of the huntsman's whip, 
 and then there followed a startliugly ringing cry of 
 "Tally-ho! tally-ho! tally-ho! gone aw-a-ay !'' accom- 
 panied by a long and cheery blast of the horn. 
 
 Echo answered echo from the neighboring hills, until 
 the silvery tones were caught and hurled back from the 
 old tower walls of Bramber, rousing the answering call 
 again into mocking life amid the stillness of the slum- 
 bering woods, until at last, in weird ripples of bell-like 
 notes, it died away in the dells, leaving all things steep- 
 ed in solemn repose once more. Eerie the whole thing 
 was, and savoring highly of the supernatural, in the opin- 
 of Dolan, whose cap refused to lie any longer on his 
 bristling hair, and with the assistance of which he was 
 fain to dash some beads of moisture from his brow. Had 
 he been capable of framing a few thoughts on the occa- 
 sion, he would have quickly built up a pretty little ro- 
 mance, and told himself that the " leddy was out for a
 
 BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 207 
 
 lark." But with the demoniacal sounds of huntsman's 
 whip and horn ringing through the woods, there was 
 nothing could persuade the solitary terror-beset Dolan 
 that the figure on horseback was other than that of a 
 "sperret," and when next the wild black horse came 
 careering down the wind, dashing full upon him as 
 though he himself owned a spirit's claim to invisibil- 
 ity, Dolan stepped aside, and raised his gun to his 
 shoulder. He knew that the horse was a valuable one, 
 and that there was nothing of the spirit about it, but the 
 figure sitting so straight in the saddle, what was it? 
 This was what Dolan wished to glean, when, raising his 
 breech-loader to his shoulder, he took deliberate aim. The 
 report rang out as the unknown horsewoman dashed by, 
 and Dolan saw by the large tear in the flimsy veil that 
 the shot had struck her over the ear, glancing off, then in 
 the direction of an old oak, where it lodged, and was 
 afterwards found by Dolan. Of the bullet having struck 
 her Dolau was certain. Judge, therefore, of his surprise 
 when, without a groan or even a sound escaping her im- 
 movable lips, and sitting erect as ever in her saddle, she 
 continued her reckless course through the woods. But 
 something more than mere horror was now running 
 through Dolan's mind, for in the moonlight he had seen 
 the lady's face. 
 
 "Krapes, it's the lady of the Grange or her sperret!" 
 and Dolan pere scurried home just as precipitately and 
 about as gracefully as had his long-limbed daughter 
 earlier in the night. 
 
 "Confoundedly awkward this prejudice in the Hibern- 
 ian mind against harmless spirits," thought Sir Gregory 
 next morning on hearing the ghostly story. " I myself
 
 208 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 would not mind being beset by half a dozen supernatu- 
 rals, but here is this blockhead, Dolan, will never stop 
 the earths for me in future, because a horse galloped by 
 him in the dark, which is deucedly stupid." But so it 
 was for years after, Dolan could scarcely be coaxed out- 
 side his doors when once darkness had fallen, and more 
 especially did he shun the glories of a moonlight night, 
 for he had seen and could affirm with his dying breath 
 that it was moonlight nights that the spirits most af- 
 fected. 
 
 The next morning after Dolan had seen a ghost 
 dawned intensely cold. The hunting men at the Manor- 
 house, looking at an early hour from their windows, be- 
 held a spreading expanse of white, frost-covered fields, 
 hard and stern enough to defy any ray of sunshine to 
 soften them to-day, and they turned from the view with 
 a disgusted whistle and the exclamation of " No hunting 
 to-day 1" Daddy Dolan, who has spent most of the night 
 out-of-doors, sliding on various little sheets of ice that 
 came in her way which pastime she would not miss for 
 anything has called early at the Grange, and finding 
 that neither Mrs. Cresenworth nor Topsie had spent the 
 night there, she becomes alarmed, and stands thinking 
 for some moments with her mouth open. The deter- 
 mination she then comes to may be described in the man- 
 ner she puts it into action. After one or two wise nods 
 and grunts she suddenly takes to her heels and runs as 
 hard as her legs can carry her, till, out of breath and di- 
 shevelled, she arrives at the Manor-house, and rushes 
 into the breakfast-room, where Sir Gregory and Kutland 
 Borradale are enjoying their morning meal, reading the 
 newspapers and cursiug the weather alternately. Dad-
 
 BY TISDALE BRACKEN. 209 
 
 dy's appearance, like a bombshell in their inidst, consid- 
 erably startles both men, and Sir Gregory swears a little 
 as he asks impatiently : 
 
 " What the deuce does Daddy mean by this inoppor- 
 tune appearance ?" 
 
 The girl pants for breath, and then rushes into her 
 story with incoherent haste. 
 
 U I knew as something were going to happen," she 
 says, " for a many things had warned me this last night. 
 Pat and I were out in the woods, and we see the stran- 
 gest being riding on horseback, while the crazy hunts- 
 man followed, crying, 'Tally-ho! tally-ho!' It were 
 neither man nor woman," says Daddy, dropping her 
 voice to an awe-struck whisper ; " it were a spirit, and 
 Pat and me felt our flesh creep when it flew past. They 
 seemed to be riding towards the Grange, and maybe it 
 was a token, for the ladies is missing, both Mrs. Cresen- 
 worth and Miss Topsie, and the Lord knows where they 
 may be by this time, with wild horses and crazy hunts- 
 men after 'em." 
 
 " What under heaven do you mean, girl, by all this 
 rigmarole ! Speak out and tell the truth !" thunders the 
 baronet. 
 
 " It's the truth I've told ye," Daddy answers, sullenly. 
 " The ladies are missing. They haven't been seen at the 
 Grange since yesterday, and were not there last night." 
 
 This news greatly alarms Sir Gregory, who, leaving 
 his breakfast unfinished, rushes out to have a horse sad- 
 dled, leaving Eutlaud Borradale alone in the room with 
 the girl. 
 
 No sooner is Sir Gregory out of sight than Daddy rubs 
 her hands together with delight, and says to herself:
 
 210 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 "I knew that would bring him out. He thinks a pow- 
 erful deal of the ladies, but what would he say if he 
 knew that Mrs. Creseuworth is running away with that 
 bad man, De MontfordP 
 
 "Mrs. Cresenworth De Montford 1" says Eutland 
 Borradale, in a horrified whisper, catching hold of 
 Daddy. " Tell me what you mean, girl P 
 
 " Just what I say," answers Daddy, wrathfully. " I 
 can't tell you no more, as I don't know no better than 
 you do. What with ghosts and missing folks, I'm that 
 dazed I don't know nothing to-day, and that's a fact." 
 
 This is all Eutlaud Borradale can extract from Daddy, 
 and so he^too, has his horse saddled and roughed, and, 
 springing upon his back, he gallops him across country 
 in the direction of De Mont ford's cottage.
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " DONE ONCE DONE TWICE !" 
 
 At De Montford's cottage in the early morning a dain- 
 ty head protrudes from a small lattice, and two hand- 
 some laughing eyes are coquetting with the duller ones 
 of the ptoughboy, who, supposed to be engaged at that 
 hour in weeding the flower-beds on the terrace, is in- 
 stead gazing with open eyes and mouth into which his 
 goddess has already shot three little missiles of dust and 
 water at the unaccustomedly lovely vision above him. 
 Suddenly, however, to the surprise of the ploughboy, 
 the head of his enchantress disappears very quickly, 
 and looking around for the cause he sees the master of 
 the cottage approaching in company with a stranger. 
 Finding himself taken as much notice of as if he were a 
 shrub or a stone, he stays to overhear some significant 
 words spoken by the stranger in a dry, meaning voice. 
 
 " What has been done once, my dear fellow, can be 
 done twice j we shall see if you have duped the lady, or 
 if the lady has not duped you !" 
 
 Ere they have time to turn the key in the lock, how- 
 ever, they are precipitately joined by Sir Gregory Athel- 
 hurst, arriving from one quarter in a painful state of 
 manly alarm for the safety and well-being of his admired 
 one, and a moment later, from another direction, by 
 Murray Cresenworth, who looksfeverish and purple about 
 the eyes, as he comes to seek for he knows not what har-
 
 212 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 rowing confirmation of bis wife's guilty sliame. It is 
 early morning yet, and intensely cold, as the four men 
 stand on the threshold of De Montford's shooting cot- 
 tage, which is, by common consent, to be the next mo- 
 ment ruthlessly invaded. 
 
 Sir Gregory precedes his friends, and by doing so re- 
 ceives a greeting ovation in the shape of a solid mass of 
 treacle on just the right part of his bald head ! Next 
 comes De Montford, who divines that the penalty in- 
 flicted upon his forerunner is meant for him, but whose 
 emotions are too powerful to allow him to smile; and 
 lastly comes the determined-looking stranger and Mur- 
 ray Cresenworth. A little scream and a succession of 
 giggles are heard, and a suppressed cry of " Mon Dieu, 
 quelle horreure 1" and when the men emerge from the 
 gloomy stairway into the sunlight of the room they see 
 a very charming sight, but one which nevertheless has 
 the effect of petrifying De Montford as he gazes, spell- 
 bound, at the apparition of the two ladies, who have 
 evidently shared the privacy of his apartment. Hitherto 
 throughout all that has been happening he has held his 
 head very proudly, as that of a conqueror, for he has had 
 reason to tell himself that the one being who to him was 
 worth all things else was waiting for him at his cottage, 
 and could not be torn from his arms. But now his 
 head almost sinks to his broad chest with aggravated 
 rage and disappointment ; he clinches his hands and sets 
 his teeth, for he sees it all how he has been duped; 
 and, moreover, he now tells himself he will have to strain 
 every power of his ordinarily active brain to extricate 
 himself within the next hour from the tangled meshes he 
 finds hampering him on all sides.
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! li!3 
 
 Flung carelessly over a chair he sees the costly mantle 
 which he knew was owned by Elra Cresen worth (another 
 such, to his knowledge, was not to be found in Paris or 
 London), and in whose folds of silken gray and rose he 
 had vainly imagined himself to be gathering in his arms 
 the beauty and wealth and worth he would give half the 
 world at that moment to own. 
 
 Standing beside the chair is a vision of dainty piquant 
 loveliness attired in Tarn o' Shanter cap and silken sash 
 and kirtle, such as the hardy Highlanders wear, and 
 which made no effort to conceal a finely moulded limb, 
 while at a little distance, farther in the shade, was 
 what appeared to be another figure clad in the same 
 costume, rather a caricature upon her companion. 
 
 If De Montford had been startled by the revelation 
 thus made to him, Murray Cresen worth's sensations upon 
 learning the true state of affairs can better be imagined 
 than described. As the truth flashed upon him he was 
 able to comprehend the full meaning of the situation, 
 and, with a low groan of agony and despair, he buried 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 Here the marchioness breaks into a ripple of malicious 
 laughter as she sees Maudie's evident mortification, and 
 notes with delight the tragic faces of the men before her. 
 
 " Maudie, tell the gentlemen what a royal time we 
 have been having," she says. " Is not the suspicion of 
 wickedness often a much more palatable and enjoyable 
 ingredient than mere wickedness itself? It is so much 
 more spicy and so much more dangerous. Now, although 
 Maudie and I have borne our misfortunes with the sanc- 
 tity of angels all night (we caught a rat to while away 
 the time), I have no doubt that if my husband dear
 
 214: HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 little Cupid, you know ! were to insinuate his fat limbs 
 up that narrow stairway and see me here, he would cer- 
 tainly be unkind enough to knock one of you gentlemen 
 down or to shoot another ! As for me, he would get a 
 divorce this very day if he only knew he could get it 
 annulled to-morrow." 
 
 She says this with a quick look at Murray Cresen- 
 worth and then laughs softly to herself, for that gentle- 
 man has been writhing beneath her words, and is now 
 calling for a glass of water with all the helplessness of a 
 fainting woman previous to sinking on a chair, with an 
 ugly ashen-gray look about his mouth and eyes, while he 
 holds a hand to his side, as if he suffered pain in tho 
 direction where he had been shot. 
 
 For a moment no one speaks ; but the painful silence 
 is broken by Sir Gregory, who whispers something to 
 De Montford, and then goes out to fetch the needed stim- 
 ulant for Mr. Cresenworth, while De Moutford looks in 
 vain for the stranger, who, somehow, has evidently con- 
 trived to make his escape, as he is nowhere to be seen. 
 
 " Here he is," thinks De Montford, with a sigh of relief 
 as a quick, heavy footstep is heard upon the stair, and 
 the next moment the Marquis of Eipdale comes upon the 
 scene, to find himself face to face with Ms wife. 
 
 She calmly smiles as she surveys the intruder, who, 
 with a furious look, grunts out a series of oaths be- 
 tween his teeth at the gentlemen around ; and turning 
 to his wife with as disgusted an air as Napoleon might 
 have worn when at a ball he told his sister, who was 
 dancing in full dress, "Pauline, go and put on your 
 ch s e ! the Marquis of Eipdale exhorts his spouse to 
 cover her limbs a little more, and not to show so much of
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! 215 
 
 lier shapely ankles. Whereat she robes herself in the 
 lovely gray cloak which has been the innocent cause of 
 all this trouble, and with a sprightly air of extreme in- 
 difference she takes leave of Maudie, and is about to 
 gain the stairway, but in passing by the window she 
 glances out and sees so strange a sight that her excla- 
 mation of surprise brings the other occupants of the 
 room at once to her side to see, in their turn, two horse- 
 women, one rather in advance of the other, careering 
 aimlessly over the hill that protects the back of the cot- 
 tage from the northern blast. All crowd to see it save, 
 indeed, De Montford, who has quietly slipped from the 
 room, ordered his horse to be saddled, and springing 
 across his hunter's back, has, in an incredibly short 
 time, gained the side of one of the ladies who had been 
 seen from the cottage window. But he is not unlbllowed. 
 "My business here is not ended yet," mutters the 
 stranger before mentioned, as coming up with De Mont- 
 ford he overhears that worthy, with all tho telling elo- 
 quence of desperation, pleading for Elra's love, very 
 much as if he were pleading for his own life. He hears 
 him cruelly urge upon her her bitter position as the di- 
 vorced and despised wife of Cresen worth ; he urges like- 
 wise upon her that it had been with his name she had 
 been compromised, through 110 fault of hers, of course, 
 but that fact a malicious world will not credit; and he 
 concludes by entreating her to silence all bitter tongues 
 by becoming without delay his loved, respected and 
 adored wife. Elra listens to his words in silence for 
 some time, and then suddenly pointing to the other lady 
 on horseback at a little distance from them, whose figure 
 her eyes have never wandered from, she says, quietly :
 
 21G HER PLA YTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " You shall have the only answer worthy your loyalty 
 and devotion when we hold yonder lady's horse by the 
 bridle." Her manner was so softly, dangerously sweet, 
 with so much alluring languor in her eyes, that De 
 Moutford could scarce trust his senses, and dared not 
 indulge in the swift hope that shot through his frame, 
 making life turn to a rose-color once more for him. 
 
 " Oh, if it could but be !" he thinks, distractedly, and 
 carrying her gloved hand reverently to his lips he kisses 
 it with a fervor which he gladly thinks must have im- 
 pressed Elra, as she turns quickly from him. " My sov- 
 ereign queen, command me unto death," he whispers, 
 ere breaking into a gallop they follow up the unknown 
 lady on horseback. 
 
 Scarce five minutes later the stranger, who had been a 
 silent witness of the above scene, was startled by the sud- 
 den appearance and wild air of a younger horseman on 
 the ground, who asks him, in breathless tones, " Elra 
 De Montford where are they ?" 
 
 "Gone to the railway station yonder, I presume," re- 
 torts the stranger, coolly pointing towards the retreating 
 figures of the two equestrians. 
 
 " Powers of heaven, if that be true, he'll die first !" 
 and driving the spurs savagely into his horse's flank, he 
 strikes across the fields rather wildly after them. 
 
 "Her spirit is perhaps crushed, poor little soul, and she 
 may even do this in her desperation. Oh, for a hand to 
 help her ! Shall I be there in time ! Can I possibly f ' 
 
 This is said in horror, as he sees the railway cars cir- 
 cling along like a serpent in the valley, within ten min- 
 utes' course from the halting-place, and he looks over the 
 fine wide fields of stubble and turnip ridge, besides the
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! 217 
 
 yawning ditches that he must put behind him ere he 
 can arrive in time to save his loved one from her immi- 
 nent danger. He puts spurs to his horse, and with an 
 encouraging word cheers on the noble brute to show his 
 mettle now or never. On they go, at a mad gallop over 
 fields and hedges, till they reach the last obstacle which 
 separates them from the road beyond. Here, alas! they 
 are less fortunate, and Borradale perceives when too late 
 the mass of ice which, slippery as a sheet of polished 
 glass, is waiting to receive them. He clears the fence 
 with a tremendous leap, but as his horse's hoofs strike 
 on the glittering ice he stumbles, and fulling heavily, 
 with a dull crash, rolls helplessly, like a log, backward 
 into the dark yawning ditch behind. In his frantic 
 struggles Borradale knows that it has fared badly with 
 his gallant horse, but he has not time to help him out in 
 his distress. 
 
 " Poor noble brute ! you have saved my angel ! no 
 breath can touch her still," he cries. But he was not a 
 moment too soon. The train had drawn up to the platform, 
 and De Moutford, after a word of coldly received entreaty, 
 becomes desperate. Fearless of consequence he has now 
 placed his arm on her waist, and is drawing her forcibly 
 along. Appalled by this unlocked for danger, Elra can- 
 not force back the little shriek that is startled from her 
 lips, and which begs very eloquently for manly assist- 
 ance in her hour of need. In another moment De Mont- 
 ford finds his arm struck more roughly and forcibly than 
 politely from its position about Elra Brookley's waist, 
 and turning he encounters the flaming eyes of what he 
 considers a madman. Then, while they are amiably 
 looking at one another, the train passes on. It is well
 
 218 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 that the two men have not much time for lengthy con- 
 vorsation for they are both stammering with rage, when 
 Dr. Warder, with De Montford's strange companion of 
 the morning beside him, drives up alongside them, and 
 following timidly, as it were, comes a horse down the 
 road, at sight of which Elra wrings her hands. " It is 
 Topsie ! quick, quick ! catch her horse !" 
 
 The animal that had evaded all pursuit by Elra dur- 
 ing the morning appeared now in rather an exhausted 
 condition, and, having once come within range, was cau- 
 tiously circumvented by the gentlemen's united efforts. 
 Dr. Warder seizing the bridle, and with an exclamation 
 of horror, and " I have come too late !" leads the horse 
 close to Elra. 
 
 "Dearest Topsie, speak!" cries that lady, aghast at 
 the deathly pallor of the girl's face, the starkness of her 
 limbs, while from those around her burst exclamations 
 of 'Who is she?' 'Dead!' ' Can it bef 'Topsie!' 
 'As I live, Lady Lenore Allesmere !' 
 
 " Quick, Warder, for the love of Heaven save her ! 
 save her!" 
 
 " Is this, indeed, Topsie, and have I come too late ?" 
 says a new arrival on the scene, and turning they see 
 that the group has been joined by Eoanwood Offington, 
 with rather a distracted look in his eyes. 
 
 " I fear," says Dr. Warder, solemnly, " we have all 
 come too late. Lady Leiiore de Montford is, if I mistake 
 not, far beyond our assistance." 
 
 "De Moutford!" " De Montford!" "De Montford!" 
 is repeated around in all the tones of the ascending and 
 descending scale. 
 
 While this conversation has been taking place, the
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! 219 
 
 doctor has been busily engaged in loosening the straps 
 that bind Lady Lenore to the saddle, and, while Elra is 
 placing some cordial to her lips in a vain hope, the phy- 
 sician turns to the assembled group and saj-s, warmly: 
 
 'Yes, gentlemen, this cruelly calumniated lady has 
 been all these years the wife of that brave man yonder!" 
 and he scornfully indicates De Montford, " as may be 
 seen by her marriage certificate; and now help me with 
 those cords on the far side !" 
 
 So saying, he hands to Elra a paper, the reading of 
 which strikes a great wonder into her soul. Turning 
 to her erstwhile suitor, she says, in icy tones: 
 
 " What greeting has De Montford for his lost bride f 
 
 De Montford looks at her as coldly contemptuous 
 as a man who appreciates her mental powers as very 
 small. 
 
 "Yarns if you will excuse me" he retorts, "are 
 believed by mere women, but a man must see the signa- 
 ture of the officiating clergyman before he begins to be- 
 lieve anything so impossible as this stupid concoction;" 
 and to himself he thinks, " So that is the trick that was 
 practised on me that night. I had feared something- of 
 the kind, but it will avail her nothing. Part of the cer- 
 tificate is lost anyhow." But suddenly he remembers a 
 little piece of torn paper which he had seen in Mrs. 
 Cresenworth's possession, dated and signed by the Eev. 
 George Grey, and which might very well answer for 
 the torn corner of the certificate before him ; and even 
 though the wife with whom he has so suddenly and 
 unexpectedly been confronted has the every appearance 
 of a corpse, De Montford loses a little of his assurance. 
 Suddenly a happy idea seems to strike him. He is will-
 
 220 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 ing to accept Lenore as his wife, since public opinion is 
 so strong on that point, and he thinks of a passage in the 
 last will of the late Marquis of Ripdale, his wife's father, 
 in which, to his beloved daughter Lenore was left the 
 sum of 30,000. By Jove!" he thinks to himself, " it 
 cannot be possible that you have had a wife's capital at 
 your command all this time and did not make use of it." 
 
 Roan wood Offington had listened in silence to the doc- 
 tor's explanations, for he can scarcely realize the full 
 extent of the misery it has brought him. That Topsie's 
 real name is Lady Lenore, and above all that she is another 
 man's ivife, seems to him impossible of belief. In the 
 mean time the doctor has disappeared, but some one has 
 caught the words " Frozen to death while still under the 
 influence of the morphine," dropped from his lips, as, 
 gathering the stark form of Lady Lenore in his arms, he 
 carried her towards the station-master's little cottage, 
 and once in its cosy rooms, dismisses all useless attend- 
 ants and spectators, while using all the means in his 
 power he applies restoratives. 
 
 Outside the cottage the conversation in the group 
 waxes loud and stormy. 
 
 " My wife, indeed ! So that was the trick practised 
 on me by clever Leuore Allesmere, was it f ' 
 
 " Don't dare to breathe her name, you in or I'll 
 knock you down !" and the stranger steps towards him 
 menacingly. 
 
 "Knock me down for speaking about my wife? I'd 
 like you to remember that I have the right to demand of 
 you why you mention the lady. As for me, with regard 
 to her, I speak and act as I choose, without consulting 
 you."
 
 DONE ONCE DONE TWICE! 221 
 
 " Will you !" says bis strange friend of the previous 
 night, as he closed his mouth with an ominous snap. 
 
 " I will, if it so please you, my lord," retorts De Mont- 
 ford, caustically. " To begin with, my wife's 30,000 will 
 go immediately to capitalize the little scheme you are 
 interested in." 
 
 . " Naturally," laughs the other, " when you get it be- 
 tween your fingers." 
 
 "You will see how quickly the law of England will 
 enable me to touch my bride's dowry. A dead wife is 
 ready money, you know," he says, rubbing his hands 
 softly together. 
 
 " Before you avail yourself of the wealth at your dis- 
 posal, you ought to learn a few facts which will enlighten 
 you as to the way in which you stand with regard to your 
 wife." 
 
 Here the stranger dashes off into a recital which holds 
 his listeners spellbound.
 
 222 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " BRAVE LITTLE HEART." 
 
 I was a clerk in a London bank, and bad returned to 
 witness the ceremonies and festivities which were to fol- 
 low the nuptials of our own Lady Artrale Allesmere and 
 Redstone, Earl de Bruu. The marriage had not been 
 announced publicly, as the family were in mourning, but 
 that would not prevent the people on the estate from 
 celebrating it in jovial fashion. So I had got off from 
 duty on a four days' holiday, and intended to share in 
 the fun, while I stayed with my father, who used to be 
 Jack, the valued huntsman of the old Marquis of Rip- 
 dale, but was now superseded. What happened to me 
 then on the night before the wedding was this : 
 
 Standing in the shrubbery, under the pale light of a 
 young crescent moon, which was slowly rising in the 
 heavens, I overheard De Moutford's conversation with 
 Lady Leuore : 
 
 " Where is Artrale F 
 
 " Not to be seen to-night." 
 
 " That is not true. I must see her, if I have to brave 
 it all and walk into her father's library to demand her. 
 I start for Brussels early in the morning, and as I love 
 her tenderly, and have no intention of trusting to her 
 changeable disposition, I mean to have the ceremony of 
 our promised marriage performed this very night, even 
 if I have to spill my heart's blood for it."
 
 BRA VE LITTLE HEART. . 223 
 
 " Then," says Lenore, after a pause, during which she 
 has sought to gain time, " your last letter should have ar- 
 rived earlier, for Artrale, having had a previous engage- 
 ment at the 'Firs' for the masquerade ball to-night, 
 went there this afternoon in time for an early dinner." 
 
 " Not doubting your word, of course," retorted De 
 Montford coldly, fearing a ruse, " but being quite deter- 
 mined to see and speak with Lady Artrale this night, if 
 even in the presence of her assembled family, I shall 
 beg your excuses for passing on towards the castle, or 
 may I hope to have your escort f ' 
 
 His determination evidently strikes rather a chill to 
 Lady Lenore's heart, for it is in a slightly unsteady voice 
 that she replies : "As you do not credit my words, per- 
 haps you will believe this," handing him a note in Lady 
 Artrale's handwriting. This confirms what has already 
 been told him, and at the end of it are the words, 
 
 " I wish so much to see you, if only for a short while, 
 and nothing will please me better than to have you come 
 to the ball to-night. Pray be there, just to please your 
 little Artrale, whom you will recognize by repeating 
 twice the word Adelaide to the lady wearing the colors 
 which are enclosed in my letter. But on speaking to me 
 you must promise to call me by the name of 'Adelaide.' 
 Yours, in haste, ARTRALE." 
 
 De Montford pauses as he finishes reading the note, 
 and with a dark look at Lenore says, brusquely, " I sup- 
 pose you are ready to corroborate what is said in this 
 letter P 
 
 " Yes," says Lenore bravely, thinking of the danger 
 which threatens the life's happiness of her sister. 
 
 " Then come with me, seek out your sister at the ball,
 
 224 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 you will know her dress better than I, and bring her to 
 me. If she be not there I shall return without delay to 
 her father's house and demand fulfilment of her promise. 
 Will you come now f 
 
 Lenore grew paler under the moonlight, which was 
 now bright, and hesitated, as if these may have been her 
 thoughts : How can she save Artrale ? What shall she 
 say to this man who is so sternly bent upon the destruc- 
 tion of all her sistei's present joy and happiness? What 
 would her fiance say to find that his future bride had 
 promised towed another, had even now arranged to meet 
 him upon the very eve of her wedding day? The in- 
 timacy so lightly begun, the intrigue so thoughtlessly 
 entered into by her careless sister, where had it brought 
 her? And then the proofs, her letters, were still in De 
 Montford's hands ! The next moment she had made a 
 desperate resolve. 
 
 Seeing her falter, De Montford coldly lifts his hat 
 and advances towards the house. " I will come," she 
 says ; and he turns, upon hearing her voice. 
 
 " So you are ready to answer for the truth of this 
 letter ? Then come, we lose time," and he hands her into 
 his waiting carriage which is driven rapidly away. 
 
 As they drove off I stepped from out of the shadow ; 
 an overpowering curiosity, mingled with a desire to be 
 on hand if my respected Lady Lenore should require my 
 help, impelled me to follow them. I never had much 
 hard cash in those days, but what little I had went to 
 hire a horse and light wagon, and in a short time I too 
 was on the road leading to the Firs. Arriving there, 
 after some little delay, I had no difficulty in tracing 
 De Montford, whom I saw in earnest conversation with
 
 BRAVE LITTLE HEART. 225 
 
 a beautifully robed lady ; but, in the meantime, the fol- 
 lowing events, as I learned afterwards, had been happen- 
 ing: 
 
 Lady Lenore, on arriving at the Firs, had at once 
 hastened to the dressing-rooms, where, by the means of 
 some judicious bribery, she had been enabled to robe 
 herself in the disguise of a monk's cloak and hood ; and, 
 with the latter well drawn over her face, to escape recog- 
 nition, she joins De Montford in the shrubbery; and, 
 leading him to one of the ball-room windows, which is 
 left invitingly open, to give air to the crowded rooms, 
 tells him to stand in the shadow of the palms and ferns 
 which decorate this egress to the garden, and she will 
 send Artrale to him. She plunges in among the crowd 
 of dominoes. Having gained the greatest crush of the 
 dancing-room, she exclaims, in a loud, well-heard whis- 
 per, "Adelaide! Adelaide!" but nothing comes of her 
 little ruse, and going still farther in the crowd she re- 
 peats it. This time it was crowned with the following 
 success : A lady, clad in the most delicate shade of 
 lavender, trimmed with a richer, deeper purple shade, 
 tinged here and there with red, impersonating " clouds 
 at sunset," turns quickly towards what she imagines to 
 be the form of the man who had challenged Adelaide. 
 
 "What will you with Adelaide?" she murmurs as 
 softly as music from the harp-strings. 
 
 "That Adelaide will follow me," says the unknown, 
 still in a whisper, and presenting her his arm he leads, 
 the way through the crowded rooms to the open windows 
 by which De Montford stands expectant. 
 
 During their progress through the crush the monk 
 has, unseen by his companion, managed to fasten to her
 
 226 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 shoulder a knot of ribbons similar in color to those which 
 had been enclosed to De Moutford in Artrale's fictitious 
 letter, and, with a sign in the direction of De Moutford, 
 the monk bends towards her and whispers : 
 
 " A devoted slave of yours, he, and longs to lay his 
 heart at your feet," and so saying, disappears. 
 
 " This rather amuses me. I must carry on the farce," 
 thinks Adelaide. " But my voice may not answer unless, 
 indeed, I have so hoarse a throat as to have it unrecog- 
 nizable for that of any particular person. Yes, I shall 
 have the influenza, and that very severely." In the con- 
 versation that follows she delights her adorer every short 
 while with a mournful frog-like croak, which, notwith- 
 standing its beauty, elicits great sympathy on his part. 
 
 De Montford, standing outside the windows, had begun 
 to doubt whether he was not on a fool's errand, and had 
 repeated in his thoughts many unspellable, naughty 
 words, when, suddenly catching sight of the knot of 
 colors similar to those he wears, he springs forward with 
 the challenge, "Adelaide! Adelaide!" and this being, 
 to his delight and surprise, answered as he had hoped 
 for, he had straightway poured a volume of impas- 
 sioned words into his companion's ear. The lady in 
 question is rather dazed at first by the fervor and (to 
 her) incoherency of his earnest pleading but entering 
 into the spirit of what she considers " an intrigue en- 
 tirely worthy of a masquerade," she appoints a spot in 
 the grounds to meet the " unknown," as she terms her 
 ardent admirer. 
 
 The rendezvous is to be at midnight, and on her way 
 back to the cloak room for a wrap she meets a friend to 
 whom she divulges the little plot.
 
 BRAVE LITTLE HEART. 227 
 
 " If you want to be amused, my dear," she says to 
 that young lady, " come with me." 
 
 " Where do you propose to go f asks her friend, Lady 
 Muriel, cautiously. 
 
 " To the vicarage, dear." 
 
 " This cold night, and why f ' 
 
 " To be married, of course," laughs Adelaide. " You 
 may scarcely believe it, but I have an admirer whom I 
 never discovered before." 
 
 " And his name ? I fear you are very wild, Adelaide," 
 says her friend, laughing also. 
 
 " That I shall find out in goodtime. Bet you half a 
 cookie he never finds out my name, though. Wild, you 
 say ? What can I do, dear, if the poor, crazy fellow is 
 so deeply enamoured ? The unhappy man is awfully in 
 earnest, and would think nothing of shooting himself, 
 and me in the bargain, if I did not consent on the in- 
 stant. He wants to be married just here to-night. 
 Nothing else will please him, and to fall in with his 
 humor I intend to go through with the ceremony, so 
 here goes. Come along and see me married, dear," she 
 says, with a dry humor and gleam of mischief in her 
 eyes that fairly startles her companion. 
 
 " But your husband !" she gasps, although at the same 
 time she is intensely amused at this wild project. 
 
 "Dear Cupid is at this moment vastly enjoying him- 
 self in his way, and 1 can't see why I mayn't have a 
 little fun on my own account. He is now discussing 
 ortolans, surrounded by some of the prettiest and most 
 rapid of our beauties, and I am sure not even the an- 
 nouncement that his wife has eloped with a dark un- 
 known would for one moment trouble his digestion, or
 
 228 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 interrupt his little amours with the fair ladies who con- 
 stitute his court. No ! I mean to see this through, as I 
 believe the whole thing will prove vastly entertaining, 
 and my being already married adds a piquant flavor to 
 the romance." 
 
 " Are you not afraid of being recognized ?" suggests 
 her friend, who is evidently more cautious than herself. 
 
 " Do you think it possible to recognize me for any par- 
 ticular person ?" she cries, removing her domino and 
 displaying a head and cheeks swathed to the very eyes 
 in cotton wool. " It is fearful to be growing old, but I 
 must only bear it, and fight my hardest against cold, 
 cough, influenza, sore throat, bronchitis, and rapid con- 
 sumption, all of which I am at present suffering from. 
 However, before the night is out I intend getting some 
 of Uriah Lewi's sarsaparilla, and I shall be instantly 
 cured of everything." 
 
 The young lady evidently seems impressed with her 
 friend's capabilities as an actress, for she makes no fur- 
 ther remonstrance. They both depart together to find 
 the gentleman of the colors at the appointed place of 
 meeting. 
 
 He is there in waiting, and hurries them off to the 
 vicarage close by, where a hasty ceremony is performed 
 without interruption, save for an occasional little giggle 
 from the heavily veiled bride. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service the wheels of a car- 
 riage are heard on the road outside, and De Montford, 
 looking at his watch, exclaims: 
 
 "It is even later than I thought 5 I must leave you 
 now, my darling, but shall come to claim my own within 
 two days." Then he would have lifted the veil which
 
 BRA VE LITTLE HEART. ^2 
 
 shrouded the face of his new-made bride, but she drew 
 back with a little scream and gesture of refusal, and evi- 
 dently wished to avoid a caress. 
 
 "Always wilful, he whispers, but the next time we 
 meet you will give me what you deny me now." 
 
 " Not wilful, dearest," replies in hoarse tones the happy 
 bride, " but it is my neuralgia, which is so painful that 
 to have my head touched is torture indeed, dearest; but 
 all that will be for next time, as you say." However, he 
 cannot part without some kind of caress, and pressing 
 his lips tenderly to her uncovered brow, he whispers, 
 with infinite compassion, "You are in pain, dearest! 
 how I wish I could stay to alleviate your sufferings." 
 So saying he jumps into his carriage and cries to the 
 coachman, "To the nearest station like lightning!" 
 and is gone after having signed his name to the marriage 
 papers. In the meantime the name 'of Lenore Allesmere 
 had been written down by that lady herself as a sub- 
 stitution for that of the bride, while Adelaide had glided 
 from the room. This substitution of signatures being 
 unnoticed by the clergyman in the confusion of the 
 bridegroom's departure, the reverend gentleman pro- 
 ceeds to exhort the bride to be a dutiful and loving wife, 
 and promises to forward the certificate of her marriage 
 within a few days. 
 
 Her reply rather staggers him. " Do not trouble, the 
 certificate will be valueless to me." 
 
 " Ah !" he says in great surprise. " Evidently you are 
 very young and inexperienced or you would know the 
 worth of a marriage certificate !" 
 
 "You can keep it then until I want it, since it may 
 prove more valuable than I had thought !" and, with
 
 230 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 many thanks to the good minister, the rather hilarious 
 bride and her chaperoning friend take their departure 
 back to the ball-room, to indulge in Levies sarsaparilla to 
 cure her cough, cold, etc. 
 
 Lady Lenore, whom I had not once lost sight of during 
 all this time, seeing that her sister's future happiness 
 was at last quite safe, suffered me to escort her on her 
 homeward way. The Hall gates at Eavenstone being 
 now closed, however, I invited her to take shelter in my 
 mother's cottage, which she accepted, and was kind 
 enough to return to for several nights following upon 
 the ball at the Firs. 
 
 "And behind all this mummery, who was the bride f 
 bursts in De Montford savagely. 
 
 "Adelaide, Marchioness of Eipdale," says the silvery 
 tones of that young and beautiful and thoroughly im- 
 prudent peeress. "You were cheated in a bride, De 
 Montford. Ha ! ha 1" But in the mean time the young 
 stranger points to where Lenore has disappeared in the 
 doorway of the station-master's cottage, and says, in a 
 voice that trembles with emotion : 
 
 " She saved her sister with no thought of self in her 
 young heart, and to-day you have seen her dead in her 
 youth and loveliness at rest at last, brave little heart !" 
 
 As the young man finishes his recital Eoanwood 
 Offmgton omes forward, however, and astonishes him, 
 for he wrings his hand warmly, almost to the point of 
 dislocation of the bones. 
 
 " To you I owe my most earnest thanks ; you have 
 given me a very beautiful, peerless bride. In that cot- 
 tage yonder Leuore still breathes, and in my arms but a
 
 BRA VE LITTLE HEART. 231 
 
 moment ago she justified my thanking you for your de- 
 votion. Friends till death, old fellow, and may I have 
 the chance of doing as much for you as you have for me." 
 
 During this little announcement Kutland Borradale 
 has been, to Murray Cresenworth's evident dissatisfac- 
 tion, hovering around his goddess, and is very unhappy 
 that he cannot soothe the apparent misery depicted on 
 her ordinarily bright riante face : in his soul it must 
 be said he curses the erstwhile husband who did not 
 know how to appreciate the adorable being he had won 
 for his wife. While Cresenworth, now more unwilling 
 than ever to resign the beautiful prize which is slipping 
 from, his grasp especially when he sees that the jewel 
 of untold price, which he has spurned, is likely to be- 
 come the property of another, strikes a bold stroke on 
 his last stake and loses. 
 
 While for a moment Borradale is out of ear-shot, he 
 catches sight of Elra standing a little apart from the 
 others, with her shapely head resting against the glossy 
 shoulder of her horse, and in her eyes he sees there is a 
 wistful look, as of a dumb animal in pain. " Can she 
 then know ? Has she heard all f ' thinks Murray, and 
 bending swiftly towards her, he but dares to whisper 
 the one word " Elra !" in a tone so abject that she could 
 not help but pity him, u Elra !" he repeats, seeing she 
 is silent, " have you no word for me F 
 
 " You forget Miss Brookley," she says, in such meas- 
 ured, cold tones that his hopes go down with a rush. 
 
 " Never that for me," he says, passionately. " Elra, 
 give me one word of forgiveness, of command, of per- 
 mission to protect your name, to reinstate it where is 
 properly its place, among those of noble women as I
 
 232 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 unfortunately alone can do it and it shall be done with 
 my dying breath." 
 
 But she turns away with scorn on her parted lips. 
 "All England," she says, "has been this morning ad vised 
 of my my crime." 
 
 On catching her words a cold moisture breaks over 
 Cresenworth's forehead and the thought strikes him that 
 the events of yesterday, followed by a harrowing, sleep- 
 less night, and clinched by what had very nearly proyed 
 the tragedy of the morning, have been too much for him, 
 and, with his hand to his side, he staggers for support 
 against her horse. 
 
 " Come away, darling," tenderly whispers Borradale to 
 her at this moment, but Creseuwortb, with all the dogged 
 determination of a man who has never been beaten be- 
 fore in his life, comes quickly to her side. 
 
 " Elra, stay and hear me !" but here he gasps, for a 
 terrible pain has shot through his heart. " I feel I am 
 going; Elra it is in death's agony that I entreat you 
 to be mine once more, my honored wife !" One look he 
 cast at her pale, cold brow, one piteous look, as might a 
 dog who was suffering death at the hand of its loved 
 master, and ere her glorious eyes could soften, ere a word 
 of gentle womanly love could tremble on her lips, time 
 has slipped into eternity, and fear, love, hate mocked at 
 her for Murray Cresenworth, with a long, long shiver 
 of agony, a stagger and a groan, stretched himself dead 
 at her feet ! 
 
 " Courage !" says Kntland Borradale, tenderly support- 
 ing Elra Cresenworth's form ere she totters against her 
 horse. " My wife! my darling ! now, forever ;" but weak- 
 ened though she be, she recoils in horror from his touch.
 
 BRA VE LITTLE HEART. 233 
 
 "Never!" she cries, pointing to her husband's form 
 stretched stark at her feet. " It is by your hand he lies 
 there " 
 
 "Murdered, she would say," and turning quickly Bor- 
 radale beholds the flashing triumphant eyes of Adelaide, 
 Marchioness of Ripdale. 
 
 " You will never own her," she pursues, maliciously. 
 It was the shot sent home so straight by you that has 
 killed him, and she will not marry his mur 
 
 "Adelaide!" he cries, savagely eying the beautiful 
 woman he has once loved ; but in a moment he is calm 
 again and master of the situation. 
 
 " That will not prevent me from giving her my heart's 
 adoration and love to my dying day." 
 
 " Oh, my God !" comes in a moan from Elra's lips, 
 while Adelaide looks on with a rather disdainful shrug 
 of her shoulders. 
 
 "Are you Mrs. Cresenworth, madam ?" 
 
 " Yes," says that lady, rather startled, as she turns to 
 the speaker, who proves to be a youth of some eighteen 
 summers, who had but a moment ago arrived on the 
 scene. 
 
 " Then, ma'am, I've been charged to deliver you this 
 note from Clarkson, Eyfe & Clarkson, and to explain to 
 you, in case you don't fully catch its meaning, that there 
 was no divorce granted yesterday in your case. There 
 was, it is true, one given between a certain Mr. Gresel- 
 wirth and his wife, one of whom is a client of your 
 lawyers, and Mr. Eyfe, who had prosecuted the case, 
 being unable to get back from court to the office, wired 
 word to the effect :
 
 234 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 " i Greselwirth's divorce granted, 2.59 ; advise him and 
 wife immediately RYFE.' 
 
 "The name, transmitted in a hurry, read wrong, and 
 thus the mistake which you know of occurred." 
 
 " You have said enough," Elra answers faintly, " you 
 have come too late; my husband is beyond learning of 
 what has been done." 
 
 For the physician, having been called from the side of 
 Lady Leuore, has officially pronounced Murray Cresen- 
 worth to be dead. The old shot- wound he had received 
 on his wedding morning had come against him at last, 
 causing a very sudden failure of the heart. 
 
 " Here comes your train, De Montford/'says the much 
 injured Marquis of Eipdale, touching that worthy briskly 
 on the shoulder, " and if in six hours " taking out his 
 watch and looking determined " you are not off English 
 territory you will be arrested for what you yourself 
 best know. Go or stay, as best suits yourself and that 
 praiseworthy banking scheme of yours." 
 
 "Bluster, my lord, mere bluster!" says De Montford 
 with a proud curl of his lip, " but you will find I am no 
 coward, and here I stay as long as it suits me to remain 
 where I am, indifferent to bullying from peer or pauper." 
 
 " Then you are prepared to answer a charge of forgery 
 substantiated by this paper, which you will easily recog- 
 nize, as it was stolen by you from the vest-pocket of the 
 man whom you shot almost to death for that express end 
 two years ago Murray Cresenworth and whose death 
 now lies, without a doubt, at your door." 
 
 The marquis holds in his hand the while a piece of 
 blood- stained paper, torn at one edge the very one
 
 BRA VE LITTLE HEART. 235 
 
 which Daddy Dolan had carried from her fortress of ref- 
 uge under the Athelhurst china cabinet, and which she 
 had afterwards sold at what she considered a " skinning 
 bargain " to a stranger who had been kind to her, but 
 whom she had considered afflicted with lunacy. 
 
 De Montford, when he sees the paper, grows cold and 
 very white, but he is no coward, and though he stands in 
 imminent danger he feels he has ground for some hope ; he 
 knows that a peer of the realm will sacrifice an amount 
 of rancor rather than have his wife's folly arid impru- 
 dence aired in court which must eventually be the case 
 in this matter of his forgery therefore he feels reassured. 
 
 With a muttered imprecation, and the words "the 
 banking scheme must go to the dogs 1" seeing he has 
 met his master, De Moutford does what many a bigger 
 villain has done before him, in similar circumstances, i.e., 
 slips into the train and gets quietly out of the way.
 
 '23Q HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 It's no use denying it, Fortune is a fickle jade! 
 
 During the early days of his passion for Mrs. Eldmere 
 Sir Gregory had never doubted of the ultimate success of 
 his suit, and he h&,^ begun even to hope he was making 
 advances in the lady's favor, when, through the untime- 
 ly advent of Mr. Cresenworth, he found himself "com- 
 pletely knocked out," as he described it; and as a solace 
 for his blighted affection the worthy baronet betook him- 
 self to hard riding and hard drinking, hoping to find con- 
 solation in the deep and flowing bowl ! 
 
 One evening when riding home with his friend the Earl 
 of Darcliffe (who is himself a black sheep and a boon 
 companion of the baronet), after a good day's racing and 
 many pints of sparkling champagne, they reach the 
 Manor-house at a late hour, and Sir Gregory insists 
 upon his friend accepting his hospitality for that night 
 at least. 
 
 " Come in, old fellow," he says with a boisterous laugh ; 
 " don't refuse a good thing ! I can give you such a bowl 
 of punch as you never tasted before ;" and as the earl, 
 who is also rather the worse for what he has imbibed, 
 willingly assents, the two men turn in at the gates and 
 gallop up the avenue. Just before reaching their front 
 door Sir Gregory's horse shies violently at some object 
 on the road, and lands his master in the middle of a
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 237 
 
 flower-bed at one side of the carriage sweep. This com- 
 pletely sobers that gentleman, who picks himself up with 
 many groans and bad words, and then goes to see what 
 the object may be that can have so startled his tired 
 horse who, to his knowledge, has never done such a 
 thing before, and who is warranted to stand firm at a 
 cannon, or a threshing-machine, or any other foe to 
 equine nerves. 
 
 What he finds is a child's wheelbarrow, full of white 
 sand, into which is stuck a goodly array of paper 
 flags, and which has evidently been used by the chil- 
 dren in some military demonstration. This formidable 
 obstruction is planted full in the middle of the carriage 
 drive. Sir Gregory silently curses Mrs. Dolan and her 
 family as he rubs his shins, and explains to his friend 
 that he is not hurt, only bruised. 
 
 " Confound those brats!" he mutters as they enter the 
 house, and then he takes his friend off to his own par- 
 ticular den, where we will leave them to "make a night 
 of it." 
 
 As the result of the latter festivity, Sir Gregory wakes 
 next day in a particularly bad frame of mind ; and, as he 
 slowly dresses, he thinks of the wheelbarrow of the pre- 
 vious night, and resolves to go down and give Mrs. 
 Dolan a gentle reminder, both as to the breakfast for 
 himself and friend, and the desirability of keeping the 
 little Dolans out of his and his horse's way. He has 
 worked himself up to a proper state of mind in which to 
 deliver the lecture ; but, on his appearing at the head 
 of the stairway leading to the hall, his anger is changed 
 into speechless indignation. Mrs. Dolan, who is usually 
 the most untidy and dirty of mortals, with a holy horror
 
 238 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 of water and brushes, has apparently changed in this 
 respect, for the hall is now at least two inches deep in 
 water, while the young Dolans, with shrieks of delight, 
 are engaged in swimming boats, and upsetting pails, 
 and other diversions. At the sight of their master they 
 turn and fly, and he picks his way across the wet hall to 
 reach the shelter of the dining-room. Here, too, all is in 
 confusion. The carpet is rolled up, the furniture is tied 
 and bandaged, and even the mirror and pictures are 
 swathed in yellow gauze. 
 
 " What the devil does all this mean I" roars Sir Greg- 
 ory, in a fury, as he rings the bell violently and swears 
 in audible tones. " Where is that woman ?" 
 
 " Do you allude to me, sir ?" says Mrs. Dolan, appear- 
 ing in the doorway, clad in a costume that would have 
 delighted the baronet at any other time, but which now 
 exasperates him all the more. 
 
 " What do you mean by turning my house topsy-turvy 
 like this ?" he cries. " Are you mad ? You look it, I'm 
 sure 1" 
 
 Mrs. Dolan, who is attired in a short gown of doubtful 
 color, well drawn up to escape the wet, thus showing a 
 generous display of ankles, a calico jacket, and with her 
 head tied up in a duster, and a large feather -broom 
 in her hand, looks more like an Indian squaw than a 
 respectable house servant. But there is the fire of de- 
 termination in her eye, and a toss of her head shows her 
 master that she means mischief. - 
 
 "Sure it's yourself that's mad," she says in reply, " to 
 take objections to the cleaning. It's little enough the 
 house ever sees, and I thought it would be all the better 
 for a touch of soap and water. Sure it's me that should
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 239 
 
 complain at the extra work and not yourself. What 
 with your friends to stay, and your late suppers and 
 early breakfasts, I declare I'm worn to a thread al- 
 ready." 
 
 "That will do, woman !" roars Sir Gregory. "You 
 may pack up bag and baggage and leave my house at 
 the end of the month do you hear? Dolan can stay if 
 he has a mind to, but I will not stand another hour of 
 this so now you know. Take down all this rubbish, 
 cart away all your pails and brushes, and have break- 
 fast ready for us in half an hour." 
 
 Mrs. Dolan sees that her master is in earnest, and re- 
 tires precipitately to do his bidding and revenge her- 
 self by falling upon her husband and giving him the 
 greatest " talking lo" he has had for many a day; but 
 the breakfast-table is ready at the hour Sir Gregory 
 mentions, and when the Earl of Darcliffe makes his ap- 
 pearance all signs of house cleaning have disappeared 
 for good. 
 
 After the meal the earl takes his leave, and Sir Greg- 
 ory, who has been silent and taciturn all the morning, 
 brooding over his wrongs, accompanies him to the sta- 
 tion, and then turns his horses' heads towards the 
 Nest. Calling in there he asks for Miss de la Koche, 
 and is ushered into that young lady's presence. 
 
 " How delighted I am to see you, Sir Gregory," cries 
 Maudie, with eyes of great astonishment at the early 
 visit; for since Sir Gregory's infatuation for Mrs. Eld- 
 mere Miss Maudie had been entirely neglected by the 
 baronet. " Mamma is not up yet, she has been suffering 
 much lately, but I will let her know that you are here." 
 
 " Pray don't do that, my dear young lady," says Sir
 
 240 HER PLA YTIIINGS, MEN. 
 
 Gregory earnestly. I came to speak to you, and am glad 
 to find you alone, and forthwith the baronet goes on 
 to relate that his domestic happiness is so imperilled by 
 the aggravations of his housekeeper, Mrs. Dolan, that 
 he has come to ask Maudie to be his protectress and 
 his wife. 
 
 The unexpected news is almost too much for poor 
 Maudie, who sighs and blushes with delightful embar- 
 rassment as she says, with a little smirk, " Dear Greg- 
 ory ! how did you find out that I loved you all along F 
 And to this the baronet wisely answers nothing, though 
 he sighs as he thinks of Mrs. Eldmere and her beauty, 
 even as he presses his new fiancee's fat little hand to his 
 lips in a lover's first caress. " It had to be," he murmurs to 
 himself, " I couldn't stand that woman any longer." And 
 thus it was that Maudie wooed and won Sir Gregory at 
 last, and despite even her envious sisters Odile and Pau- 
 line who had flown to England on hearing the happy 
 news, to do all the mischief they could became the happy 
 bride of a comfortable English baronet, who could actu- 
 ally hear, see, and speak like most of us. 
 
 It is a lovely summer night; a bright moon sheds its 
 lustre upon the landscape, sometimes disappearing be- 
 hind a fleecy cloud or snow-clad peak, at others shining 
 in dazzling splendor upon the wooded valley beneath, 
 and lighting up the tiny villages that lie nestling in the 
 heart of the Bernese Oberlaud, now quiet and hushed 
 in sleep. A gay party is assembled on the mountain's 
 brow, and bright talk and merry laughter fills the air, 
 for they are waiting with some impatience for thefiist 
 sounds of the distant bugle blast, which was to acquaint
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 241 
 
 them with the famous echo of this region ; an attraction 
 of this lovely spot which the travellers had come to hear, 
 at this hour of the night, thus adding a strange charm to 
 the beauty of the scene. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the rest stand two figures, who, 
 though alone and in silence, appear to be well content 
 to have their solitude thus undisturbed. They, too, 
 are listening for the first faint sounds of the distant 
 horn. 
 
 Presently the lady moves away from her companion, 
 and, going to the edge of the precipice, peers down into 
 the darkness beneath. Her light figure stands poised 
 there but for a moment, for the gentleman advances, and, 
 throwing a protecting arm around her waist, leads her 
 back to higher ground. 
 
 "My darling, what a risk to run!" he says, tender- 
 ly, though reproachfully, gazing at the beautiful face. 
 " How dare you ? It is well that I am at hand to pro- 
 tect you, and I suppose you will now admit my right to 
 shield my own from danger." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I must own you for my lord and mas- 
 ter," she answers, with a happy little laugh ; "but it is, 
 I assure you, a most unwilling slavery. However, for all 
 that, though these chains are constraining,' 7 touching 
 the firm arms still held around her, " I do not care yet to 
 break them." 
 
 " I would not attempt it if I were you," he says, dryly. 
 Then, "My own Elra!" he murmurs passionately, and 
 catching her to his heart, he kisses the lovely lips so near 
 his own, and reads all the love and tenderness shining 
 in her eyes as she answers, softly : 
 
 " God grant us happiness, my dearest one!"
 
 242 HER PLAYTHINGS, MEN. 
 
 And then the first faint sounds of the bugle call 
 steal softly through the valley, ever growing louder, 
 till it dies in a gentle murmur, as the echo repeats 
 the sound of its toneSo 
 
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 (New Aldine Edition.) i6mo, vellum cloth, $1.00; 
 do., do., three-quarter calf, extra, $2.50 ; do., do., 
 flexible, or tree-calf, $3.50. 
 
 This great dramatic poem exhibits a soul gifted, tried, buffeted, beguiled, stricken, purified, 
 redeemed, pardoned, and triumphant. It is interspersed with delightful songs. Has been praised 
 by Bulwer, Thackeray and Tennyson as a remarkable poem of great beauty. The present edition 
 is very handsome, the type is large and elegant, the paper is excellent, and the steel engravings are 
 of exceeding grace. 
 
 BON GAULTIER'S BOOK OF BALLADS.- 
 
 By W. E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin. A new 
 edition, including " Firmilian." Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 In all his poems Prof. Aytoun has put forth a sustained power and beauty of expression which 
 have placed him in the foremost rank of the poets of his time. " His Lays" have all the historic 
 truth and force of Macaulay, expressing noble thought by a delineation of generous and lofty 
 natures stated with fluency, vigour and movement. His ballad themes are selected from striking 
 incidents and from stirring scenes of Scottish history, and he has thrown over them the light of 
 an imagination at once picturesque and powerful.
 
 BURTON (Dr. J. Hill). The Book Hunter, uith 
 
 Memoir and Index. NEW EDITION, with Portrait 
 and Engraving of Interior of Library. Crown Svo, 
 Roxburgh style, $3.00. 
 
 Burton's "Book Hunter" is indispensable to every owner of a library; it will be found of 
 incalculable aid in classifying, studying, collecting and the preservation of books. It abounds in 
 reminiscences of noted Bibliophiles and Book Hunters. We offer in this edition a volume that tor 
 general excellence of typography and binding will delight the heart of every book hunter. 
 
 CAMPBELL (Sir George, M. P.). White and Black. 
 The Outcome of a Visit to the United States. By 
 Sir George Campbell, M.P. Being a Bird's-eye 
 View of the Management of the Colored Races, 
 with the Contents of my Journal. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, $1.75. 
 
 We have in this work the views of a prominent Englishman on the relative positions occupied 
 by the Black and White Races in the United States. Several suggestions and opinions are given 
 toward solving the Race Problem that will be read with lively interest by all who desire the caste 
 question amicably settled. 
 
 CARROLL (Lewis). Through the Looking Glass, 
 and What Alice Found There. With fifty illustra- 
 tions by John Tenniel. i vol. i2mo. $1.25. 
 
 CHILD'S OWN BOpK OF FAIRY TALES. 
 
 Containing Aladdin or the Wonderful Lamp, 
 Beauty and the Beast, Children in the Wood, 
 Goody Two-Shoes, Gulliver, Jack the Giant Killer, 
 Jack and the Beanstalk, Puss in Boots, Robin Hood, 
 Tom Thumb, White Cat, Yellow Dwarf, and others. 
 With upwards of one hundred illustrations, after 
 designs by eminent American artists. Square i6mo, 
 cloth. $1.50. 
 
 The best collection of the famous old-fashioned Fairy Tales contained in any one volume, 
 many of which can only be found in this edition. 
 
 CHILD'S TREASURY OF FAIRY TALES. 
 
 For Little Folks. Containing The Six Swans, 
 Little Hunch - Back, Hop - O - My Thumb, 
 Blanch and Rosalind, Dummling and the Toad,
 
 Fortunio, The Fox's Brush, The Three 
 Wishes, Cinderella, Whittington and his Cat, 
 and many others. Printed with extra large type. 
 Illustrated with 60 engravings by the American 
 artists, Twaites and others. Cloth, black and gold, 
 square i6mo, $1.50. 
 
 This edition of the more popular and best known Fairy Tales is especially commended for the 
 profusion and beauty of its illustrations. 
 
 CHILDREN'S BIBLE PICTURE AND 
 STORY BOOK, With sixty full-page illustra- 
 tions. Square i6mo, beautifully printed and bound 
 in cloth extra, $1.50. 
 
 A real beautiful book one that ought to be placed into the hands of all, even the youngest 
 children. It is a complete history of the principal events or stories in the Old and New Testa- 
 ments, written in remarkably clear, simple, unaffected language, extremely well illustrated. It 
 brings out into bold relief the singular charm of the book of books, and leads on to the study of the 
 scriptures. 
 
 CRAIG'S DICTIONARY. A Pronouncing Dic- 
 tionary of the English Language. Based upon the 
 Works of Webster, Worcester, etc., etc. Contain- 
 ing 30,000 Words and 750 Engravings. Edited by 
 C. H. Craig, LL. D. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Every one ought to own a dictionary," and the low price at which we offer this edition 
 
 places it within the reach of all. It is, undoubtedly, the best cheap dictionary made ; it contains all 
 the words in general every-day use, with their most standard definitions and pronunciations. 
 
 CRAIG (A.R., M.A.). YpUR LUCK'S IN YOUR 
 HAND ; or, The Science of Modern Palmistry, 
 with some Account of the Gypsies. Numerous 
 illustrations. i2mo, cloth, gilt extra, $1.25. 
 
 A recent revival of interest in this fascinating study has certainly proven the fact that Prof. 
 Craig's Palmistry is the most complete and satisfactory work on the subject extant it shows the 
 careful work of a master hand. Should there be a single "doubting Thomas" who does not 
 believe " your luck's in your hand," let him read the convincing arguments in this work and be 
 converted. 
 
 CYCLOPEDIA OF BIBLE ILLUSTRA- 
 TIONS, being a storehouse of Similes, Allegories, 
 and Anecdotes. Edited by Rev. R. Newton, D.D. 
 I2mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 A treasury of spiritual riches borrowed from nature, art, history, biography, anecdote, and 
 simile, by Christian authors of all countries and ages. A book full of wisdom and of the happiest 
 illustrations of points of doctrine and morals.
 
 CYCLOPAEDIA OF THE ARTS AND 
 SCIENCES : Botany, Zoology, Mineralogy, 
 Geology, Astronomy, Geometry, Mathematics, 
 Mechanics, Electricity, Chemistry, etc., etc. Illus- 
 trated with over 3,000 wood engravings, i vol., 4to, 
 cloth extra, $6.00 ; sheep, $7.50; or, in half morocco 
 extra, $10.00. 
 
 This popular Encyclopaedia is more than a first-class book of reference, it is n library ot 
 popular scientific treatises each one complete in itself, which places into the hands of the reader 
 the means to procure for himself a thorough technical self-education. The several topics are 
 handled with a view of a thorough instruction of these particular branches of knowledge, and 
 all statements are precise and scientifically accurate. 
 
 DANA (R. H., Jr.). Two Years Before the Mast, i 
 vol., i2mo, $1.50. 
 
 One of the most fascinating and instructive narratives of the sea ever written for young folks. 
 The reader's sympathies are enlisted with the hero from first to last, but the hardships and hair- 
 breadth escapes he meets with would prevent most boys from emulating his example. 
 
 DUFFERIN. Letters from High Latitudes. A 
 Yacht Voyage to Ireland, Jan Mayen, and Spitz- 
 bergen. By his Excellency the Earl of Dufferin, 
 Governor-General of the Dominion of Canada. 
 Authorized edition. With portrait and several illus- 
 trations. 8vo, cloth extra, $1.50. 
 
 The titled author has given us in this work a narrative of a voyage replete with incident in the 
 yacht " Foam." His impressions of the countries and people visited in the far North are written 
 in a fresh and original style, in the purest English, and the account of the whole voyage is as 
 pleasing and interesting as a work of fiction. 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING'S 
 POEMS. The most satisfactory American edi- 
 tion issued, printed from excellent type on paper of 
 superior quality, with introductory essay by Henry 
 T. Tuckerman. 3 vols., 8vo, gilt tops, $5.26 ; half 
 calf extra, $10.50. 
 
 The highest place among modern poetesses must be claimed for Mrs. Browning. In purity, 
 loftiness of sentiment, feeling and in intellectual power she is excelled only by Tennyson, whose 
 works it is evident she had carefully studied. Nearly all her poems bear the impress of deep 
 and sometimes melancholy thought, but show a high and fervid imagination. Her Sonnets fram 
 the Portuguese, are as passionate as Shakespeare's, all eminently beautiful. Of her Aurora Leigh, 
 Ruskin said " that is the greatest poem which this century has produced in any language."
 
 FESTUS. A Poem by Philip James Bailey. With 
 choice steel plates, by Hammett Billings. Beau- 
 tifully printed. 4to, cloth, gilt, $3.00; do., do., full 
 gilt and gilt edges, $5.00. 
 
 GAUTIER (Theophile). One of Cleopatra's Nights 
 and Other Fantastic Stories. Translated from the 
 French by Lafcadio Hearn v 8vo, cloth extra, gilt 
 top, $1.75. 
 
 A brilliant and intensely fascinating collection of stories from the pen of the inimitable Gautisr, 
 they are excellent specimens of his work in his brightest and happiest vein ; the scenes are auda- 
 ciously limned, and distinguished for their conscientious fidelity to nature. 
 
 GRAY. The works of Thomas Gray, in Prose and 
 Verse. Edited by Edmund Goose, Lecturer of 
 English Literature at the University of Cambridge. 
 With portraits, fac-similes, etc. 4 vols., crown Svo, 
 cloth, gilt top, $6.00 ; half calf, $12.00. 
 
 " Every lover of English literature will welcome the works of Gray, the author of the immortal 
 'Elegy written in a Country Churchyard,' from the hands of an editor so accomplished as Mr. 
 Gosse. His competency for the task has been known for some time to students of poetry, and 
 the present edition is now considered to be the most careful and complete ever published." 
 London Athen&um. 
 
 GUNNING (William D.). Life History of Our 
 Planet. Illustrated with 80 illustrations by Mary 
 Gunning. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt extra, $1.50. 
 
 From this work, more so than any other, we probably gain a clearer idea of the almost 
 incredible changes Nature has wrought on our planet and still more wonderful changes we may 
 expect in the future. We are given several interesting pai;es with illustrations on the mammoth 
 creatures of pre-historic times, whose mummified bones alone remain to tell their story. It should 
 be read by every one who desires to know more about the world we live in. 
 
 HARDY (Lady Duffus). Through Cities and Prairie 
 Lands. A most interesting book of Travels in 
 America, i.vol., crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.75. 
 
 Recollections of a most pleasant trip made by this distinguished lady through America. She 
 has many warm words for the kind manner in which she was treated, and altogether the 
 work is a most pleasingand pronounced contrast to the average hastily written English impressions 
 of America. 
 
 5
 
 HISTORY AND ANTIQUITIES OF FREE- 
 MASONRY, as Connected with Ancient Norse 
 Guilds, and the Oriental and Mediaeval Building 
 Fraternities, to which is added the Legend of Prince 
 Edward, etc., by George F. Fort. A New Edition, 
 i vol., 8vo, $1.75. 
 
 This work is the result of years of labor on the part cf the author, whose original and persistent 
 design has been to arrive at the truth, and, r.t the same time, supply a want long felt by members 
 of t Masonic Fraternity, as well as the uninitiated. That he has fully accomplished his purpose is 
 demonstrated by the fact that it is now looked upon as the most standard and authentic history of 
 Freemasonry in existence. 
 
 HOW ? or, Spare Hours Made Profitable for Boys 
 and Girls. By Kennedy Holbrook. Profusely 
 illustrated by the author. 8vo, cloth, gilt, $2.00. 
 do., do., full gilt extra, $2.50. 
 
 The most interesting and instructive work of the kind ever issued. By the help of t'leir plainly 
 worded and fully illustrated instructions, any bright boy or girl may devise unlimited entertain- 
 ment and fashion many acceptable and useful presents for playmates and friends. The directions 
 are for working with wood, paper, chemicals and paints, with knife, pencil, brush and scissors, and 
 for the performance of sleight-of-hand tricks. 
 
 JERROLD (Blanchard). Days with Great Authors. 
 Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, Douglas Jerrold. Se- 
 lections from their Works, and Biographical Sketches 
 and Personal Reminiscences. Numerous illustra- 
 tions. 8vo, cloth, gilt extra, $2.00. 
 
 To the hosts of admirers of these great authors this work will prove of absorbing interest, as it 
 contains many reminiscences never before in print. Considerable space has also been devoted to 
 their public speeches, and short, characteristic selections are given from their best works. 
 
 LA FONTAINE'S FABLES. Translated from 
 the French by Elizur Wright, Jr. Illustrations by 
 Grandville. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, $1.50. 
 
 La. Fontaine's Fables there is magic as well as music in the name ; they have been deservedly 
 popular for years, and they will be read with ever increas-ng pleasure by young and old, " as lnr:g 
 as the world rolls round." This is the only moderate priced translation of these charming fables 
 published. 
 
 LE BRUN (Madame Vigee). Souvenirs of. With 
 a steel portrait, from an original painting by the 
 author. 2 vols. in I, crown 8vo, red cloth, gilt 
 top, $1.75. 
 
 "An amusing book, which contains a great deal that is new and strange, and many anecdotes 
 which are always entertaining." It is written in a reminiscent and chatty style, and relates many 
 "choice tid-bits'' of the distinguished historical personages with whom the authoress was acquainted.
 
 LOUDpN'S COTTAGE, FARM AND VILLA 
 
 Architecture and Furniture. Containing numerous 
 Designs for Dwellings, from the Villa to the Cottage 
 and the Farm, each design accompanied by analyti- 
 cal and critical remarks. Illustrated by upwards of 
 2,000 engravings. In one very thick vol., 8vo, $7.50. 
 
 Ope of the most useful books on architecture ever issued. Gives valuable hints to anyone con- 
 templating building either villas, cottages, or outhouses, and may save thoughtful and practical men 
 hundreds of dollars. 
 
 MACAULAY'S LAYS of Ancient Rome. With 
 all the antique illustrations and steel portrait. Beau- 
 tifully printed. 4to, cloth, extra gilt, $3.50 ; do., do., 
 full gilt and gilt edges, $5.00; do., do., I2mo, cloth 
 extra, $1.00. 
 
 When the famous historian issued these lays, which have since become classics, it was a 
 literary surprise, for no one thought that he was also a poet of such high degree. His poetry is the 
 rythmical outflow of a vigorous and affluent writer, given to splendor of diction, and imagery in 
 his flowing prose. Stedman said of this volume, " the lays have to me a charm, and to almost every 
 healthy young mind are an immediate delight." 
 
 NAPOLEON. Las Cases' Napoleon. Memoirs of 
 the Life, Exile, and Conversations of the Emperor 
 Napoleon. By the Count de Las Cases, with 8 
 steel portraits, maps, and illustrations. 4 vols., I2mo, 
 400 pages each, cloth, $5.00 ; half calf extra, $10.00. 
 
 With his son the Count devoted himself at St. Helena to the care of the Emperor and passed 
 his evenings in recording his remarks. Commenting in a letter to Lucian Bonaparte on the 
 treatment to which Napoleon was subjected, he was arrested by the English authorities and sent 
 away and imprisoned. 
 
 NAPOLEON. O'Meara's Napoleon in Exile; or A 
 Voice from St. Helena. Opinions and Reflections 
 of Napoleon on the Most Important Events in his 
 Life and Government in his own words. By Barry 
 E. O'Meara, his late Surgeon. Portrait of Napo- 
 leon, after Delaroche, and a view of St. Helena, 
 both on steel. 2 vols., i2mo, cloth, $2.50; half calf 
 extra, $5.00. 
 
 Mr. O'Meara's works contains a body of the most interesting and valuable information 
 information the accuracy of which stands ummpeached by any attacks made against its author. 
 The details in Las Cases' work and those of Mr. O'Meara mutually support each other.
 
 NAPIER'S PENINSULA WAR. The History 
 of the War in the Peninsula. By Major-Gen. Sir 
 W. F. P. Napier. With 55 maps and plans of bat- 
 tles, 5 portraits on steel, and a complete index. An 
 elegant Library Edition. 5 vols., 8vo, $7.50 ; half 
 calf, $18.00. 
 
 Acknowledged to be the most valuable record of tbat war which England waged against the 
 power of Napoleon. The most ample testimony has been borne to the accuracy of the historian's 
 statements, and to the diligence and acuteness with which he has collected his materials. 
 
 NELL GWYN, The Story of, and the Sayings of 
 Charles the Second, related and collated by Peter 
 Cunningham, F.S.A. With fine portrait and 11 
 extra engravings. 8vo, cloth extra, $3.50. 
 
 An exceedingly interesting memoir relating to the times of Charles II. Pepys in writing about 
 Nell Gwyn called her " Pretty witty Nell," was always delighted to see her, and constantly praises 
 her excellent acting. Cunningham states that had the King lived he would have created her 
 Countess of Greenwich, and his dying wish to his brother, afterwards James II., was : "Do not let 
 poor Nelly starve." 
 
 PICTURESQUE IRELAND, Descriptive and 
 Historical. Comprising 5o full-page engravings on 
 steel of its picturesque scenery, remarkable antiqui- 
 ties and present aspects, from original drawings by 
 W. H. Bartlett, and a complete account of its cities, 
 towns, mountains, waters, ancient monuments, and 
 modern structures by Markinfield Addey. 2 vols., 
 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, $10.00 ; or in half 
 morocco extra, gilt edges, $20.00. 
 
 These two handsome volumes will make the reader better acquainted with the picturesque 
 features of the " Emerald Isle " than any work that has ever preceded it. Only by a combination 
 of both pen and pencil was it possible to give an idea of the beauty of Ireland, its marvelous lakes, 
 mountains and valleys, romantic streams, mysterious round towers, giant's causeway, waterfalls, 
 stately castles, magnificent religious and public edifices, etc., etc. 
 
 PURITANS. History of the Puritans and Pilgrim 
 Fathers. By Professor Stowell and Daniel Wilson, 
 F.S.A. In i vol., 8vo, cloth, $1.75. 
 
 Stowell and Wilson's history is acknowledged everywhere to be the best and most exhaustive 
 history of the Pilgrim fathers. A full and complete account of the rise of the Puritans under the 
 Tudors to their settlement in New England, which is herein given, makes this a most valuable work 
 of reference and study.
 
 STAUFFER (Frank H.). The Queer, The Quaint, 
 The Quizzical. A Cabinet for the Curious. With 
 full index. 8vo, cloth extra, $1.75. 
 
 " Oddities and wonders. 
 
 Antiquities and blunders, 
 And omens dire ; 
 
 Strange customs, cranks and freaks, 
 
 With philosophy in streaks" 
 
 are all to be found between the covers of this book. It certainly is the completest collection of odd 
 and curious events ever made. 
 
 TAINE, H. A. History of English Literature. 
 Translated by H. Van Laun, with Introductory 
 Essay and Notes by R. H. Stoddard. 4 handsome 
 volumes. Cloth, white labels, $7i5o. 
 
 It is the book on the subject, the more wonderful that, written by a French critic, it should be 
 accepted by English-speaking people everywhere Ai.the authority on the literature of their own 
 language, universally prized for its clearness, terseness and comprehensiveness, and yet as 
 interesting as a work of fiction. 
 
 THE APOCRYPHAL NEW TESTAMENT, 
 
 Being all the Gospels, Epistles, and Other Pieces now 
 extant attributed in the First Centuries to Jesus 
 Christ, His Apostles and their Companions, and 
 not included in the New Testament by its compil- 
 ers. Translated from the original tongues, and now 
 first collected into one volume. With numerous 
 quaint illustrations, i vol., 8vo, cloth, red edges, 
 $1.25. 
 
 As a literary curiosity this work has excited the greatest attention all over the Christian world. 
 There is nothing in it contradictory of those truths which have been accepted as revealed, but every 
 chapter and verse goes to confirm the undoubted writings of the apostles and evangelists. 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. Leaves of Grass. Original 
 edition. Year 85 of the State. Foolscap 8vo, 
 cloth extra, $3.75. 
 
 We offer here the Fine Original Edition of Whitman's Poems. Recognition of the wonderful 
 power and charm in his rugged verse has been freely given by all who appreciate the grand and 
 beautiful in poetry. The " Good, Gray Poet " is gaining admirers daily; his Leaves of Grass is 
 destined to live forever as a representative classic of a bold and rythmic style of versification 
 peculiarly his own. .
 
 WATERS (Robert). William Shakespeare Por- 
 trayed by Himself. A Revelation of the Poet in 
 the Career and Character of one of his own 
 Dramatic Heroes. By Robert Waters. i vol., 
 $1.25. 
 
 In this able and exceedingly interesting book on Shakespeare, the author shows 1 ow the great 
 poet has repealed himself, his life, and his character, besides refuting conclusively the ciphers of 
 Donnelly and other Baconian theories. Altogether the best life of Shakespeare, remarkably well 
 written in vigorous English. "An original, wholesome, scholarly, and plainly sincere book on 
 Shakespeare. It is after all something new about Shakespeare, which Lowell feared could not be 
 said." E. C. STEDMAN. 
 
 WILSON'S NOCTES AMBROSIAN^E. The 
 
 Noctes Ambrosianse, by Prof. Wilson, J. G. Lock- 
 hart, James Hogg, and Dr. Maginn. A revised 
 edition, with Steel Portraits, and Memoirs of the 
 authors, and copiously annotated by R. Shelton 
 Mackenzie, D.C.L 6 vols., crown 8vo, including 
 " Christopher North," A Memoir of Prof. Wilson, 
 from family papers and other sources. By his 
 daughter, Mrs. Gordon. Cloth $9.00; half calf $i 8 oo. 
 
 This series of imaginary conversations were supposed to have taken place between Christopher 
 North (Wilson), the Ettrick Sheperd (Hogg) and others in the parlour ofa tavern kept by one Am- 
 brose in Edinburgh, hence the title Noctes Ambrosianae. A too literal interpretation is not to be 
 given to the scene of these festivities, however, but the true Ambrose's must be looked for only 
 in the realms of the imagination. It is one of the most curious and original works in the 
 English language, a most singular and delightful outpouring of criticism, politics and descriptions 
 of feeling, character and scenery of verse and prose, of eloquence and especially of wild fun. It 
 breathes the very essence of the Bacchanalian revel of clever men. Prof. Wilson is a writer of the 
 most ardent and enthusiastic genius whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters. 
 
 YOUNG FOLKS' HISTORY OF THE RE- 
 BELLION. By William M, Thayer. Illustrated. 
 4 vols., i2mo, cloth, $5.oo. 
 
 Fort Sumter to Roanoke Island. 
 Roanoke Island to Murfreesboro'. 
 
 Murfreesboro' to Fort Pillow. 
 Fort Pillow to the End. 
 
 A faithful history of the late war, which by its attractive presentation is especially adapted to 
 youthful readers. Its narrative is full of dash and adventure, the military events are recited vividly 
 and thrillingly, it is interspersed with individual heroism, suffering and daring, and on the whole 
 renders a better account of the war and its causes than any other book that we are acquainted with. 
 The author's style is perfect at all times, either delicate, pathetic, or picturesque, but always in 
 sin. pie language that any young reader can fully understand.
 
 CLASSICS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 AESOP'S FABLES. New edition, profusely illus- 
 trated. 8vo, cloth, gilt, $2.00; do,, do., full gilt 
 extra, $2.50. 
 
 .'Esop, born in the sixth century before Christ, while traveling through Greece, recited himself 
 his home-truths, which in the shape of fables are full of wisdom that will teach and live forever. 
 He did not collect or write them down, but they were easily remembered, became universally pop- 
 ular and were passed on from mouth to mouth, and from generation to generation. 
 
 ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hans 
 Christian Andersen. New plates, large, clear type, 
 handsomely printed and illustrated. i2mo, cloth, 
 black and gold, $2.00; do., do., full gilt, $2.50. 
 
 The most charming fairy tales of the world, full of earnestness, humor, pathos, and fresh inven- 
 tiveness, written in a sty lecf carefully studied simplicity. They have become familiar to children 
 in all countries. 
 
 ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. 
 
 New edition. Edited by E. O. Chapman. Pro- 
 fusely illustrated. 8vo, cloth extra, $2.00 ; do., do., 
 full gilt, $2.50. 
 
 A very pleasing edition, with most attractive illustrations of the oriental fairyland over which 
 Queen Shehrazad reigns. It is now and always will remain a classic. 
 
 BARON MUNCHAUSEN. The Life, Travels, 
 and Extraordinary Adventures of. By the Last of 
 his Family. i vol., cloth, gilt, $2.00; do., do., full 
 gilt extra, $2.50. 
 
 The original Munchausen was an officer in the Russian service, who served against the Turks. 
 He told the mo t extravagant stories about the campaign till his fancy completely got the better of 
 his memory, and he believed his own extravagant fictions. The wit and humor of these tales are 
 simply delightful. 
 
 BOY'S OWN BOOK. A Complete Encyclopedia 
 of all Athletic, Scientific, Recreative, Out-door and 
 In-door Exercises and Diversions. Beautifully 
 illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt, $1.50. 
 
 The best present anyone can make to bright boys. One ought always bear in mind the adage 
 " all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
 
 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. --Translated by 
 Lucy Crane. Profusely illustrated by Walter Crane, 
 Wehnert, and George Cruikshank. 8vo, cloth, gilt 
 extra, $2.00; do., do., full gilt, $2.50. 
 
 The mo-it entertaining fairy stories ever written, singularly fascinating, the delight of children, 
 young and old. 
 
 GULLIVER'S TRAVELS for Children. Specially 
 edited by E. O. Chapman, with over 200 illustra- 
 tions, i vol., 8vo, $2.00; do., do., full gilt, $2.50. 
 
 The most original and extraordinary of all Swift's productions. While courtiers and politicians 
 recognized in the adventures of Gulliver many satirical allusions to the court and politics of England, 
 the great mass of readers saw and felt only the wonder and fascination of the narrative. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE for Children. Edited by 
 E. O. Chapman, with over 170 illustrations, i vol., 
 8vo, cloth extra, $2.00; do., do., full gilt, $2.50. 
 
 How happy that this the most moral of romances is not only the most charming of books, but 
 also the most instructive ! Chalmers. Was there ever anything written by mere man that the 
 reader wished longer, except Robinson Crusoe. Dr. Samuel Johnson. 
 
 HENTY SERIES. 
 
 A TALE OF WATERLOO ; or, One of the 
 
 28th. By G. A. Henty. With full-page illus- 
 trations by W. H. Overend. i2mo, cloth extra, 
 $1.50. 
 
 A boy's story which covers the period of the Napoleonic wars, and particularly describes the 
 Waterloo Campaign. It is written in Mr. Henty's best style, skillfully constructed, highly 
 enjoyable and full of exciting adventures. 
 
 
 
 IN THE REIGN OF TERROR. The Adven- 
 tures of a Westminster Boy. 'By G. A. Henty. 
 With full-page illustrations by J. Schonberg. 
 i2mo, cloth extra, $1.50. 
 
 "The story is one of Mr. Henty's best." Saturday Review. 
 
 "The interest of it lies in the way in which the difficulties and perils Harry has to encounter 
 bring out the heroic and steadfast qualities of a brave nature. Again and again the last extremity 
 seems to have been reached, but his unfailing courage triumphs over all. It is an admirable boy's 
 book." Birmingham Post.