 4. There will be no wedding to-day. At night I went to bed hoping to the last that Belle would relent and say a kindly word to me. After all, she was the only sister I had, and I would have been thankful to have been reconciled with her. But she was as implacable as ever, and never uttered one kindly word to me amid all the congratulations of others. Although Lady Elizabeth had, I know, remonstrated with her on her unsisterly behavior. My father did not care to interfere in the matter, especially as his sympathies were all in favor of his eldest daughter. I was up be-times, for we were to be at the church at ten o'clock. I had been sorely exercised about the choice of a wedding-dress, as I feared that white would make me look more hideous than usual. But Lady Elizabeth had persuaded me to have a creamy satin, and somehow, as I surveyed myself in the glass, I was not quite so dissatisfied with the result as I had expected to be. The freckles had found the London atmosphere uncongenial, and had departed, I fervently hoped, for ever. My complexion, too, had changed from a muddy hue to a clear dark olive, which, though far from being satisfactory, was a considerable improvement on its former condition. My hair, thanks to the skillful treatment of Lady Elizabeth's maid, had grown much thicker and looked rather nice than otherwise. But, in spite of these improvements, I was still an ugly, insignificant-looking slip of a girl, and I lost myself in wonderment at the thought of such great good fortune coming to me. There were to be no bridesmaids, only a few personal friends having been invited to church, though there was to be a reception at the house afterward. Bell had at first declared her intention of refusing to accompany us to the church, but perhaps the thought that she would, by holding herself aloof, betray to the world at large how deeply she grinned she was, induced her to alter her mind. Still, when I saw her in the hall just before we started, I could not account for her unusual appearance. She was positively livid, and shook every now and then in the strangest manner. Both my father and Lady Elizabeth conceived the idea that she must be ill, but she assured them that there was nothing to matter with her. But, of course, one feels a little excited at seeing one's sister so suddenly raised to splendor, she said, with a side glance at me which displayed so curious a mixture of fear and hatred that I lost all my good spirits, and was driven to church in an unaccountable state of nervousness and trepidation, which was increased when I saw that the bridegroom and Lord Egraville, who was to officiate as best man, were not here first according to arrangement. I am surprised they are not here yet, whispered Lady Elizabeth. Never mind, dear, they are sure to come soon. So I thought too. But for the life of me I could not hinder the tears which came to ease my head and my heart, both of which were in a state of painful tension. By and by I looked up to see Bell's eyes fixed upon me once more. But what had brought a change in her again? Her expression was no longer one of fear but of victory. The hatred was there yet, and that did not surprise me. But how to account for the unmistakable triumph which I had seen manifest itself on her face for a moment? Like a flash, her words recurred to me. I tell you it shall not be. I will not have it. Sooner than endure such a humiliation I would— Ah! What would she do? What had she done? I asked myself anxiously. Something decisive. Something disastrous to me I knew, for her face would not have worn that momentary impress of a purpose accomplished. Somehow, through all the weary waiting that followed, my powers of observation and deduction seemed strung to their highest pitch. I noticed that as the moments dragged on without bringing the two gentlemen, Lady Elizabeth and my father grew momentarily more anxious. I also noticed that Bell no longer looked expectantly toward the door, as everyone else kept doing, but that she bore all the appearance of one whose desires were accomplished. At last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, my father rose from his seat, and whispering to Lady Elizabeth that he was going to the Earl's temporary town residence to ascertain the cause of the strange delay, he left the church without further preamble, my acutely attuned ears shortly afterward hearing the rattling of his cab-wheels down the street. Lady Elizabeth, who sat next to me, put a caressing hand upon my own, and whispered, Do not look so frightened, child, I do not suppose they will be long in coming, now. They will never come, was my reply, intended only for my comforter's ears. They will never come. Something dreadful has happened and Bell knows it. See how calm and self-satisfied she is now? Remember the state she was in before she came? She vowed that my marriage would not take place. She has made her vow come true. Lady Elizabeth cast a startled glance at Bell, but had no time to comment upon my words, for at this moment we heard an excited hubbub near the door, and Marvel, the Earl's valet, came down the aisle with a face which advertised bad news. Will your lady ship please leave the church as quickly as you can? he said to my stepmother, and take the bride with you. There will be no wedding today. For God's sake, tell me what is the matter, she exclaimed. Something dreadful has happened to my father. An accident has occurred to him, said Marvel, with an attempt to speak as if it were nothing serious. But his voice broke in the endeavor, and he sobbed forth. Oh, my poor master, it is too dreadful. What is the matter with him? cried Lady Elizabeth, fairly shaking the man in the intensity of her excitement and dread. Tell me at once. When I heard Marvel's reply I neither shrieked nor fainted, for I had felt sure that he would say what he did. He is dead, he said, and my eyes, flaming and accusing now at once sought bells, flashing my conviction of her guilt in her face. Under that glance she reeled as if from a blow. I hardly know what else happened that morning. I went home as in a dream, feeling somehow more sorry for Lady Elizabeth than for myself, and wondering if they would hang bell when it was discovered that she had murdered the Earl, for my mind refused to disabuse itself of a conviction of her guilt, although reason pointed to the conclusion that it was impossible for her to have injured the Earl, seeing that she had not seen him or spoken to him for twenty hours. The wedding guests returned to their own homes, there to discuss the sensational interruption to what some of them had voted the most sensational wedding of the season. My father reached home soon after we did, and confirmed Marvel's story in every detail. The Earl of Great Linn's had been found by Marvel, who had grown alarmed when he did not rise at eight o'clock, lying in ghastly rigidity in the bed which he had sought some hours earlier in apparently unusually buoyant health and spirits. A glance convinced Marvel that life was quite extinct, and a moment later he was rousing the household with shouts and cries. Of course everybody came rushing up to the Earl's room, and of course several doctors were summoned at once. But it was only two patents, from the very first, that there was no hope, and though there was much loud lamentation on the part of the servants, and quite a touching display of sorrow on the part of Lord Egreville, or rather the new Earl of Great Linn's, it was not of the slightest avail, and the fiat speedily went forth to the world that Lionel, ninth Earl of Great Linn's, being in an unusually excited state, owing to his prospective marriage had succumbed to unsuspected heart disease. Nearly all the world accepted this explanation of the tragic event which had, at one blow, deprived me of husband, wealth, title, position, and influence, and had converted Lord Egreville into the peer he longed to be. But not for one moment did I believe that the doctors had given anything like a true diagnosis of the cause of the late Earl's death. There is a fashion in everything, even in matters of life and death, and nowadays it seems to be an epidemical fashion with medical men to ascribe every sudden death of which they do not understand the cause to unsuspected heart disease. The explanation is plausible and in all likelihood more often than not correct, although there is a strong element of guesswork about it. Post-mortem examinations are horrible and unpleasant contingencies to contemplate, and the feelings of relatives and friends are apt to be cruelly wounded by the bare mention of such adornier resort. Of course it would have been extremely painful for all parties concerned if an inquest over the remains of the Earl of Greatland had been suggested. But I never doubted, for one instant, that such a course would have resulted in the discovery of foul play, such as only I and one other as subsequent events proved suspected. Suspected, do I say? It was no mere suspicion with me. It was a firm and rooted conviction that nothing but absolute proof to the contrary could ever dispel. And that proof, since no one broached the advisability of an inquest, was not likely to be afforded me. No doubt there was some considerable marvel in some people's minds concerning my manner in bearing the sudden reverse of fortune which had befallen me. But their opinion troubled me little, and was not likely that I would occupy the minds of sensation-mongers long after I had been relegated to my former status of insignificant obscurity. Tears did not often come to relieve the aching weight which oppressed me, as I pondered in what perhaps struck those who were unable to gauge my real feelings as a hard and defiant mood. How could they tell, however, that the grief I felt for the loss of the man who had loved me outweighed my regret for my lost glories, since I let very few words of sorrow escape me? Indeed, I dare not indulge in comments with any one, for I feared lest the horror and loathing which I now felt for my sister and her fiancee should break the bounds in which I had resolved for the time being to entramel them, and overflow in a torrent of bitter denunciation and invective. I should imagine that there are few girls of stronger passions for love or for hatred than myself, and I sometimes caught myself wondering how I managed to refrain from publicly denouncing those whom I firmly believed to be the deliberate murderers of my dear old Earl, for I hated them with a hatred that was consuming in its wild intensity. Yes, my hatred was of fearful force, but I was swayed by an even stronger passion which held it at bay. This was my love for Lady Elizabeth. The first being, who since my mother died had opened her heart to me, and who was now prostrated by a nervous attack due to grief at the loss of her father, between whom and herself the strongest sympathy had always existed. She had of late admitted me largely into her confidence, and I had gained so much knowledge of her nature that I knew what a bitter blow such family disgrace would be to her as would overtake us all were my convictions shared by others. For my father's sake I would not have repressed my wild longing for vengeance. For Lady Elizabeth's sake I could have submitted to make an even greater sacrifice. But even my great love for her could not induce me to hold friendly intercourse with Bell, or to withhold the fierce glances of accusation under which the new Earl of Greatlands writhed in impotent rage. He saw that I suspected evil doing of some sort on his part, and he resented my glances at first by frowns of defiance. But somehow, when I continued to maintain steadfastly the antagonistic attitude I had assumed, he grew manifestly uneasy, and even went so far as to presume to address words of sympathy to me, which implied that he imagined me to cherish animosity against him merely because he was occupying the place of the man who was to have been my husband, and suggested that he hoped I would no longer hold aloof from him and Bell as if I thought they had done me an injury. To this misjudged attempt to induce me to bury the hatchet I vouchsafed no response but a cold stare of contempt, and a curl of the lip which spoke volumes. Indeed so potent was this mute answer of mine that the Earl almost ceased to visit our house, and my father was informed by Bell that my violence in ill manners had succeeded in depriving her to a great extent of her lover's society. Dora, said my affectionate parent, to me one morning after breakfast, I am sorry to observe that you have lapsed into your former ill-conditioned state of selfish ill-breeding. I have made all due allowance for the disappointment you must have felt at being prevented from becoming the great lady you expected to be. But I have noticed with growing displeasure that you are venting your spleen in an unjustifiable manner upon Bell. Certainly she is going to occupy the position you thought would be yours, but she is doing you no personal injury thereby, for your chances are irrevocably gone. And she was engaged to the present Earl of Greatlands before the marriage between yourself and his father was arranged. It is therefore abominable that you should try to make her life miserable by driving her lover from the house, and doing your best to produce an estrangement between them. And if you continue your present behavior I shall insist upon your going to live at the Grange until we are ready to leave London. Lady Elizabeth was too ill to come downstairs and was therefore not present during this harangue. Otherwise it would probably have not been made, for even in things that wholly and solely concerned me, my father was want to show that consideration for his wife, who loved me, that he would never have displayed toward me for my own sake, and he treated me with tolerable politeness when in her presence. But when she was not there, he showed the same unbounded partiality for Bell and the same lack of sympathy for me which had always distinguished our intercourse in the past. And it is not surprising that my lately acquired self-reliance prompted me to retort that I was best aware of the motives of my conduct, that Bell was not likely to lose her lover through me, since their destiny would henceforth be ruled by the promptings of an evil conscience. You miserable little wretch! exclaimed my father. How dare you speak to me on that tone! And how dare you cast innuendos against Bell and Cyril which virtually amounted to an accusation? An accusation of what, sir? I asked, with a calm deliberateness which surprised even myself, and caused my father to stagger as if he had received a blow. And indeed he had received such a blow as is to be hoped falls to the lot of few fathers. For my looks and manner, more than my words, had struck him with a sudden conviction that his favorite child was suspected of having at least been accessory to a mortal crime. That the suspicion emanated from the brain of another of his children mattered little to him, for he already disliked me too intensely to feel any heart pangs on my account. It was quite sufficient, however, to cause him to cast aside the last shred of conventionality as regarded his treatment of myself. What transpired during the next five minutes I prefer not to relate. There are events in the lifetime of most people which possess either too sacred or too painful an interest for discussion with others. The memory of my last envy with my father awakes in me no emotion but that of resentment at the constant injustice with which he had always treated me, and which culminated on this occasion in my expulsion from his house. Perhaps he thought that I would not take him at his word, and that at the end of the hour which he had named as the limit of time he would allow me in which to pack up my belongings and rid my family of my presence, I would weepingly sue for mercy and promise to be polite and conciliatory to Bell and the Earl of Greatlands. The mere supposition that I, whose passions were of the strongest, could thus do violence to my feelings and acknowledge the superiority of two people whom I hated and despised with all my heart, for the sake of retaining a home in which I could never hope to be happy again, still serves to excite my indignation and to provoke me to a feeling of resentment which I would feign repudiate in my calmer moments. For after all my father, poor man, was blinded by his partiality for Bell, and although we fully grasped the deadly import of my unspoken suspicions, he never for a moment doubted his beautiful darling's goodness, but accepted my attitude merely as a convincing proof of the monstrosity of nature of one to whom had been denied that outward fairness which in his eyes was equal to the strongest proof of inward purity. Thus I sometimes reasoned in attempted palliation of his harshness to me. But somehow my reasoning has an awkward knack of doubling upon itself and transforming my would-be kindlier leanings into the old embittered resentment. My preparations for departure were soon made, although as yet my brain was in too great a turmoil to permit me to make a definite plan for my future guidance. I must remove myself and my belongings quickly, and I must take my lave of Lady Elizabeth without permitting her to be pained by a knowledge of the permanent nature of the estrangement between myself and my family. The latter was a difficult feat for me to perform, but I succeeded in going through the interview in a manner which it pleased me to recall during my subsequent sufferings. For my dear stepmother was spared the pain which would have been hers if she had realized the anguish of mine which my love for her caused me to hide. I found her in her dressing-room, reclining on a couch which was drawn up to the fire, the day being somewhat chilly for the time of year. I noted with a sudden foreboding dread the change which the last few weeks had wrought in Lady Elizabeth's appearance. She was paler, thinner, and altogether much more fragile-looking than when, a short time ago, she had assisted me to select a true so for my own marriage with her father. There was, however, a light in her eyes which had, until lately, been a stranger to them, and which had caused me considerable uneasiness. For it gave me the impression that it had its origin in a feeling deeper even than the grief which an affectionate daughter would naturally feel at the loss of a beloved parent. Could it be that—oh, no—perished the thought? Why should she be tortured by such suspicions as had fixed their scorpion fangs in my brain? She could scarcely be so fully convinced of Belle's capacity for evil as I was, since she had never known her until the glamour of her artfulness and beauty was such as to cause nearly everyone who knew her to take a fancy to her. Nor had she such deep reason to distrust one of her own mother's children as was the case with me. Some hidden sorrow was sapping her life's strength. But I fervently and sincerely pray that it might not be the hideous phantom of suspicion which was bidding fair to wreck my own life. I have come to say good-bye for a time, I said, speaking with wonderful quietness for one whose brain was in a whirl of stormy emotion. As you know, things are not as pleasant as they might be between Belle and myself, and Father and I have agreed that it will be best for me to return to the Grange for a while. The change will do me good, but I shall be grieved to part from you. But, my dear, we are all going to the Grange shortly, said Lady Elizabeth, casting upon me a look of anxious scrutiny. Come here, kneel beside me and tell me all about this sudden arrangement. Have Belle and you been quarreling? Belle and I have not been quarreling, I answered, as I dropped on my knees beside the only woman in the world who loved me, and stroked her white hand between my much less shapely ones. But you may have noticed that whether rightly or wrongly, I cannot feel happy in her presence. The Earl, your brother, too, seems to be kept away from the house through the antagonism which he and I feel for each other. I feel as if it were wicked to dislike anyone nearly related to you. But indeed I cannot help it. So you must forgive me, and let me go from you now with nothing but the kindest and most loving words from you. For believe me, I am more sorely in need of your sympathy than ever I was, and could not bear to think of an estrangement between you and me. Dory, I have learned to love you, and I know that you are not likely to form violent antipathies without a cause. I also feel convinced that your treatment of my brother is dictated by the strongest feelings on your part. The nature of that feeling must remain unknown to me, for I dread confirmation of certain thoughts which fill my days and nights with terror. Even should you prove to be actually unjust to my brother, it will make no difference between us. But if you are really leaving town before the rest of us do, you must promise me one thing. I will promise anything to you. I know your willingness to serve me, and I think I can gauge your love for me, but I am about to exact a great proof of both. Listen. All my life I have yielded to the dictates of family pride. I have been proud of my ancient lineage and unsullied family eskichon. So proud indeed that I did not hesitate to ally myself with one who had once been one of the humblest sons of the people. I never dreamed of the possibility of my being lowered to his family level by marrying him, but was sure that the prestige of my own connections would overshadow the possible vulgarity of his antecedents. In marrying a wealthy commoner, of whose personal worthiness I felt thoroughly convinced, I hoped to be able to assist my family to a financial position more commensurate with their social status than the aristocratic impicuniosity which had been our lot for many years, owing to the extravagance of my grandfather who had mortgaged the greater part of the estate. My expectations were fully justified. My husband was kind and generous, and whatever my original failings toward him may have been, I can truthfully say that his upright nature won my complete loyalty and respect. I was certainly disappointed to find myself comparatively poor after his death. But I have had time to think the matter over since then, and believe that the people to whom he left the bulk of his money must have needed it more than I did. I see that you wonder why I am telling you all this. I assure you I have a strong enough motive, for I want you to realize that I would sacrifice everything to the honor of my family. Love. Happiness. Even life itself. This being the case, can you picture how terrible it would be to me to see even the shadow of public disgrace fall upon our name? That you have apple provocation for a certain course of conduct which would materially affect the interests of my brother and of your sister I know. I also know that you return the love I bear you. Let that love outweigh the resentment you feel at the conduct of others. If you are not declined to spare them, for God's sake spare me the anguish which a disclosure of your suspicions would cause me. You are leaving us for a time. I employ you to have mercy upon an ancient name. By the time Lady Elizabeth had got thus far, she was sobbing in uncontrollable excitement and clung to me with convulsive apprehension. As for me, I was filled with grief at this disclosure of the suffering which my dear one was undergoing. I could no longer doubt that she shared all my own painful suspicions, and that to her distressed state of mind her recent physical prostration was attributable. And I was stabbed by the remorseful thought that I had been the one to originate the dread suspicions which were doing so much mischief. Was it too late to undo the mischief? Could I hope to remove the terrible burden of dread which oppressed Lady Elizabeth? It was doubtful. But there was too much at stake to warrant hesitation on my part, and my course of conduct was instantaneously mapped out. Mother, I said, as quietly as my emotion would permit, I cannot pretend not to understand the meaning of what you have just said. But, oh, my dear, how could you think I meant all that I implied to you on that terrible morning when I was beside myself with anxiety and grief? Put away such thoughts from your mind. It is the misfortune, not the fault, of Cyril and Bell, that all the circumstances attending recent events have seemed as if especially guided for their interests. But even if I, who am so great a loser by their advancement, can say that my first suspicions were unjustifiable and wicked, surely you can no longer think them capable of a crime too atrocious for even ready-dyed criminals to think of. Lady Elizabeth suddenly raised her head and literally gasped with mingled relief and amazement. Is it possible, she cried, that I have been tormenting myself needlessly, that I have foully wronged Cyril and Bell, that I have mistaken your dislike to them for a stronger sentiment, out of a thirst for justifiable revenge for a deadly injury? Quite possible. Think. Our dear old Earl could not have been expected to live very much longer. He was happy. So happy that he was naturally excited. Excitement is not good for weakly old people, and the skillful doctors who were summoned were sure to be able to judge the real cause of death. You cannot tell how much I regret having given audible expression to a cruel suspicion. But you can do as I have done, and repudiate it. Do you repudiate it? Most certainly I do. Thank God for that. You have lifted a nightmare from my mind. Do you know that the promise I wished to exact from you was that you would at least spare me the suffering which a denunciation of my brother Cyril would cause me? A denunciation? Ah, well, I don't like him. I never shall like him. But as there is nothing to denounce, I can safely promise you, nay, swear to you, that never, so long as you live, will I, by word or deed, do ought that can injure any member of your family, or in any way jeopardize its good name. You swear this? I swear it. You have given me a new lease of life, my darling, and by the time we join you at the Grange you will see me almost as vigorous as ever. I hope so. But I must be off now where I shall not be ready when the cab comes round for me. Good-bye. Good-bye, my dear. I hope the change will do you good. You, too, have been drooping lately. I suppose I have. But country air will work wonders, eh? Another minute, and I had hurried out of Lady Elizabeth's room with breaking heart and whirling brain. Should I ever see her again? To what had I pledged myself? I had, for her sake, foresworn all my dreams of punishing those whom I firmly believed to be the murderers of the Earl of Greatlands. Certainly I had never intended to invoke the vengeance of the law upon them, for I also had some regard to the maintenance of the esteem in which the two families were held by the world at large. But I had meant to elucidate, by some means, the extent of their culpability and to show them up to their relatives in all their hideous criminality, leaving them to continue their career stripped of the misplaced love and confidence that had hitherto been so Charlie bestowed upon me. Surely this was but a feeble ideal of the punishment due to a great crime which had deprived me of everything that made my life worth living. But I was now bereft of even this small satisfaction, for I had, for the sake of Lady Elizabeth, pledged myself to do nothing that would reflect discredit upon her family. I had even gone so far as to repudiate all my suspicions, and so long as she lived I must do nothing to reawaken the terrors which had been tormenting her of late. Does anyone doubt that I found this sacrifice of my personal inclinations very hard to bear? Or that it was not a real sacrifice to leave my enemies to gloat unrestrainedly at the success of their evil plotting? Or do they imagine that the feelings I harbored were unjustifiable? If so, let them imagine themselves in my position. Let them picture all that I had lost and suffered, and contrast my lot with what would have been my condition had the Earl's life not terminated when it did. True, I had as yet not the slightest practical evidence to support my opinion of the culpability of the new Earl and his fiancée. But as my personal conviction never admitted the slightest doubt on that score, I found its virtual abandonment all the harder to bear. Though nothing would now make me disregard Lady Elizabeth's wishes. And this I mention not for the sake of demonstrating my powers of self-sacrifice, but to show how gratefully I reciprocated the kindness of my stepmother, and to show how my heart hungered for love, since the lavishment of a little of it upon me had power to arouse in me a feeling so passionate as to be almost akin to worship. And now I was about to leave, probably forever, the one being who cared for me. Small wonder that the hard feelings which had hitherto enabled me to keep my composure should break down, and that the quick tears of other lonesomeness should chase each other down my paled cheeks as I hurriedly gathered my belongings together, and began to pack them in the substantial trunks which had been provided by Lady Elizabeth to hold the true so with which her loving liberality had provided me. Excuse me, Miss Dora, but my lady has sent me to see if I can be of any use to you. You are packing everything up? Then pray let me do it for you. I looked up, threw my tears, and saw Agnes, my stepmother's maid, standing ready to relieve me of my task. She was in such evident sympathy with me that at sight of her kindly face my last shred of composure left me, and I wept in such an abandonment of grief as only a feeling of utter desolation can produce. Agnes was frightened at the violence of my emotion and did her best to console me, but I presently became calmer, and thanking her for the trouble she was taking gladly availed myself of her help in packing my boxes. I felt no hesitation in taking everything and belonged to me, for all I had worth having was due to the generosity of Lady Elizabeth or of her father. To my own father I owed nothing of which I was now possessed, the last item of the unbecoming garment which he had so grudgingly bestowed upon me having disappeared long ago. In another half-hour I was ready to go, and a few moments later the cab for which I had sent was at the door. As I stepped into it I glanced at the upper windows of the house which was no longer a home for me. I saw Lady Elizabeth, who had come to her window to wave me a smiling good-bye. Evidently no one had yet told her that I was permanently banished from my father's house. I smiled and kissed my hand to her, resolved that her last glimpse of me should be as pleasant as possible. Then my eyes sought the level of the drawing-room windows to see—what?—my sister standing there by the side of the Earl of Greatlands, both of them displaying the greatest delight at my departure, and both of them casting contemptuous glances of triumph on a poor, homeless girl whose presence near them was a continual reproach. But their malevolence did not get all the satisfaction it sought, for my glance wandered swiftly upward again, and rested on my stepmother's smiling face, until I was driven out of sight altogether with such apparent unconsciousness of their presence that they could not know I had seen them. And thus I entered upon the battle of life on my own account. CHAPTER V. a maiden's fancies In spite of the turmoil of mind under which I had labored since my interview with my father, I had already formed somewhat definite plans for my future. I had made all my arrangements as if I were really going to the Grange and had had my boxes labelled accordingly. Thus Lady Elizabeth had not alarmed herself about me, knowing that my comfort would be looked after at the Grange. My father, if he had taken the trouble to make any inquiries about me, would also think he knew whether I was bound. And, even if visited by a faint feeling of compunction on my behalf, would consider that I was as well off in one place as in another. But since he had ordered me from his house I meant to take him literally at his word, and had resolved never to cast my shadow within any threshold of his again. I was bit ill-equipped for earning my livelihood, but I had a certain determination of purpose at whose bidding I was prepared to cast aside all false pride, such as might possibly throw obstacles in the way of my progress. Thus I realized that it might become necessary for me to adopt a means of living perfectly honest and honorable in itself, but which had hitherto never entered into the calculations of a Courtney. Circumstances had precluded my having many friends to whom I could turn in my present need, but I felt that I could rely upon the vicar of Morby and his kindly wife. Both the Reverend, Horace Garth, and Mrs. Garth had always shown some interest in me and my doings, and they were among the few people who seemed to be uninfluenced by the physical disadvantages which were such a sore source of trouble to me. It was to the Morby vicarage, therefore, that I resorted for aid and counsel in this my great extremity. I felt some trepidation as I was swiftly world along in the second-class compartment, for which a sense of the necessity of economizing the money I had at my disposal had induced me to take a ticket. As to what kind of traveling companions I had, it is impossible for me to say, for I was too much engrossed with my troubles to take notice of my surroundings. Will the Garths welcome me and do their best for me? Or will they consider me to blame and wash their hands of me? This was the question that was uppermost in my mind, and I could scarcely refrain from putting it into so many words, when, on a lighting at Morby's station, whom should I see but the vicar himself welcoming two ladies who had evidently traveled from town by the same train on which I had conveyed myself. Having the porter, who gave me a respectful recognition, to see after my luggage for the present, I hurried up to the vicar and accosted him. Mr. Garth, can you give me a moment's private conversation? If these ladies will kindly excuse you, I will not keep you long. Why, do worry, what brings you here just now? Mr. Garth exclaimed, as he, fortified by the permission of his friends, walked along the platform with me. And how do you happen to be traveling alone? My father has turned me out of his house. Until I can find some means of earning my living, I have no one to whom I can go for counsel but yourself. I hope to have been able to stay with you tonight, but I see you already have visitors. Tut, tut, child, as if that mattered, you would always be welcome. Now, not a word of all this until we can talk the matter over later on. Meanwhile, come and be introduced to my friends. Oh, I say Thompson, see that Miss Courtney's luggage is sent up to the vicarage with the rest. Ah, here we are. Mrs. Marshall, I am glad to introduce to your notice Miss Dora Courtney, who has kindly come to cheer her old friends up a bit. Miss May, you will be pleased to have a clever companion of your own age while you are down here. Dory, these are old friends and near relatives of ours. Mrs. Frank Marshall and Mrs. May Morris. What wonderful power there is in generous good-nature combined with tact. Five minutes before I reached Morby Station I was among the most miserable upon earth, wondering whether even a civil welcome awaited me. Five minutes after my arrival I was being bold toward the vicarage in Mrs. Garth's funny little governess-car. It was laughing merrily with the others at the small space at our individual disposal. My dear, I have an unexpected pleasure in store for you. Here are our cousins, and here is Dora Courtney, also come to favour us with a visit. Thus said the vicar, on our arrival at his home. There was a warm welcome from Mrs. Garth, supplemented by a somewhat boisterous one from Master Vincent Garth, who betrayed great curiosity concerning my outward appearance. Do come right into the middle of the hall, just for one minute, he demanded, while we have a real good look at you. Quite unconscious of the purport of his impetuosity I laughingly obeyed him, the rest meanwhile standing by in indulgent amusement. For some seconds the child looked at me gravely, then his face became quickly clouded with disappointment, and considerably, to the surprise of us all, he burst into loud lamentations, of which it was some time before we could gather the meaning. We don't like her any better, he sobbed. Suzy said Miss Dora was to be a grand countess, and we've looked at her, and she isn't turned grand. She's just ugly. I believe Mrs. Garth hoped and fancied that I had not been able to understand Vinny's comments, but I had not found it very difficult to do so, and felt quite as much hurt as if this little stab to my vanity had proceeded from a irresponsible individual, instead of from an impulsive child, though I strove to hide my humiliated feelings as much as possible. What a horrid child! whispered Miss Morris, as we passed up the fine old staircase, in the wake of our hostess, on the way to the rooms allotted to us. He ought to be whipped for insulting anyone like that. For a moment I was tempted to second her remark, then my better nature prevailed as I remembered how frank and generous Vinny really was. I do not blame him. I answered, somewhat soberly it must be confessed. Vinny was only giving way to a natural disappointment, and did not dream of hurting my feelings, I am sure. Now look at the accommodation I have for you, and tell me if you think it will do, called out Mrs. Garth's rich voice from a room which she and Mrs. Marshall had just entered. I have only two spare bedrooms, which open out of this dressing-room, she continued. I had intended the large room for Maj, and the small one for May, but I am afraid I must ask two of you to use one bedroom jointly. Oh! how delightful! exclaimed May, who was evidently a very impulsive young lady. Maj can have the small room, and Dora and I will sleep in the other. I may call you Dora, May and I. I hate ceremony, and, do you know, I have taken quite a fancy to you. Of course all of Miss May's propositions were cheerfully acquiesced in, and we were all three soon occupied in unpacking our dinner gowns. In the dressing-room a cozy little fire shed its comforting rays upon the pretty furniture and draperies, and gave an aspect of cheerfulness to the place which was, by no means, reflected in my own heart, though I strove to banish all outward semblance of dejection. Fancy a fire in June, laughed May, as she insisted I should at once call her. It strikes a Londoner as rather odd, but, do you know, I'm not at all sure that it isn't quite cool down here. I gather that you are a native of these parts, Dora. Is it a usual thing to need fires in summer? At the Grange, I replied, as I fastened the dinner-dress, which I would rather have been excused from wearing this evening, as I was both tired and overwrought, and would gladly have gone to bed. At the Grange we seemed to need fires all the year round in some of the rooms. Some parts of the neighborhood are inclined to be rather marshy and damp, and as coals are cheap about here. Nearly everybody keeps the chills off in the only possible way. Goodness gracious! I hope it isn't a fever-and-agu sort of What shall we do if it is? We are invited down here for a month, but if there is any danger in that direction, I shall be take myself off again. Fancy jerking your limbs first in one direction, and then in another, and pulling grimaces at people just at the very moment when you want to be most polite. It's too awful to think about, and I dare not risk it. Why you goose, exclaimed Mrs. Marshall, you are mixing up fever and agu with an entirely different complaint called Saint Vitus's Dance. It is a nervous affection not likely to be brought on by a chill. And, I added, I don't think you need to alarm yourself about fever and agu, either. None of the Garth household have ever been troubled with it, and we have always enjoyed the same immunity at the Grange. The Grange? That's where you live, isn't it, inquired May. It sounds quite old, worldish, and jolly. I could fancy all sorts of spirits and hobgoblins desporting in its interminable corridors and secret chambers. What is the ghost like? Is it a woman dressed in gray silk and with a heartbroken look on a beautiful face? And does she wring her hands and cry, Woe is me? Or is it a man looking fierce and vengeful and dragging, clanking chains after him? They are mostly either one or the other. And oh, I forgot, the woman turns into a cat sometimes, and stands mewing over a place where there is buried treasure. Isn't it delightful to think of? Dora, you must take me to the Grange and let me sleep with you a night. Then we'll watch for the ghost, and perhaps we may solve the mystery of the treasure and become rich beyond the wildest dreams of avarice. And then I'll write the ghost's history. Mr. Stoach is great on ghosts lately, but our ghost tale will be much better and much more thrilling than any he has got hold of. I wonder if there are heaps of rubies and pearls and diamonds and sapphires among the treasure. It always is the case. Oh, won't they be gorgeous? Dora, we must go, not later than to-morrow night. I really cannot bear the suspense any longer. What do you say? But for a little while I was beyond saying anything, for every time I tried to speak a fit of laughter prevented the utterance of a single intelligible word. Mrs. Marshall, too, though she laughed like one who was more familiar with Miss May's flight of fancy and vagaries than I was, enjoyed the situation thoroughly. That's the way with May, she smiled. You will get used to her by and by, no doubt. She pictures the wildest things and accepts the freaks of her own imagination as gospel truth. But interrupted May, whose face looked comically anxious. There is a ghost, isn't there? And there is a treasure, isn't there? I'm afraid that the Grange possesses neither of those hallmarks of antiquity, I responded, as gravely as I could. At least I have never heard of them. That's just it, cried May, renewed hope sparkling in her eyes. Perhaps you are rather nervous, and they don't like to tell you about the ghost. But it's there all the same. Have you never heard it pattering along the deserted corridors, or tapping gently against the window panes to attract your attention, or sighing mournfully through the keyhole, or— May, do be less absurd, pleaded Mrs. Marshall. You will not be ready to go down with us to dinner if you do not hurry up, instead of standing, chattering about rubbish. Rubbish indeed. Ghosts are not rubbish. Treasure is not rubbish. I wish I had some of the latter now, so that I could have a maid to dress me. Dora, you must, you really must, let us make a start at solving the mystery to-morrow. But there is no mystery. That remains to be seen. At any rate, you will take me to the Grange to-morrow, will you not? I was glad that just at this moment we were summoned to dinner, as May's persistence about visiting the Grange worried me a little, and I did not want to commit myself in any way until I had had the private talk with Mr. Garth that had been agreed upon. So, we will see about it, was all the reply on the subject which May received just then. But it satisfied her for the time being, for she immediately went off into ecstasies of thanks and speculation, which bubbled over even after we had sat down to dinner. What do you think? she exclaimed to Mr. and Mrs. Garth. I am in for no end of adventure. Dora has promised to take me to the Grange, to exercise the ghost and recover the buried treasure. And we are going to spend our wealth abroad. We shall wear our diamonds at the foreign courts, and I intend to marry nothing under a duke. And my children will be princes, and perhaps, good gracious, who's the next heir to the throne of Germany. By this time the whole company was convulsed with laughter, which Miss May did not seem to appreciate. For she froze up immediately, cast a withering look of scorn at the callously inappreciative company, and spoke not another word for at least two minutes, at the end of which time her tongue was languishing for exercise. And how did you leave a lady Elizabeth? inquired Mrs. Garth during this momentary break in the conversation. I do not like her present condition at all, was my reply. She has fretted a good deal ever, ever since the Earl died. It cost me much to utter these words quietly, for the mere thought of my poor old lover's mysterious death always moved me to sudden anger. But surely she is not fretting herself ill, said Mr. Garth, in some surprise. We know that she was much attached to her father. But after all, he was really old, and she has many compensating blessings, if I am not mistaken. You are not mistaken, was my answer. But Lady Elizabeth's grief is not selfish or unreasonable, though it may be incomprehensible to all but herself and me. Then you think you understand fully why she is allowing it to prey on her health? God help me, yes! I cried passionately. Why do you torture me like this? Cannot you understand that the whole subject is too bitter for me to talk of more than can be helped? Poor child exclaimed Mrs. Garth penitently. Of course it is, I ought to have known. No, no, I am the one to blame. How can you possibly know all that occupies my mind? Forgive my hasty words, they were foolish and unwarrantable. Mrs. Garth protested against this last assertion of mine, but I hardly need remark that our party was not quite so cheerful as it had been, and that we were all somewhat relieved when it was time to adjourn to the drawing-room. Don't worry, said Mr. Garth, can you spare me a few moments before we join the others? Certainly. Then we will have a chat in my study. And to Mr. Garth's study we went. Here, so far as it was advisable for me to do, I confided the details of my history and perplexities to my host, who listened with the greatest attention to all I had to tell him. Do you think I am much to blame? I asked at last. I cannot think that you have much to reproach yourself with, as though somewhat impulsive at times I believe you to be very fair and just. But, to be candid, I do not quite realize the necessity for all this extreme feeling. That, I suppose, is because I do not know all the workings of the case. Is that so? You are quite right, but I cannot be more explicit than I have been. I have no right to press the subject further on anyone's notice, but I can assure you honestly that I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed, and that it would be utterly impossible for me to live in the same house with my sister again. Not that she need be blamed much either, but we seem to be naturally antagonistic to each other and are best apart. But what will you do with yourself, child? That you should earn your own living has never been contemplated for you, and you are consequently handicapped at every point. I am not afraid of work. Teaching is not much in my line. I believe I can play the fiddle sufficiently well to perform at an occasional concert, but that would not do much toward keeping me. You might teach the violin. Oh, dear, no. I am afraid I should find myself wrapping the knuckles of my pupils if they should turn out extra stupid. That wouldn't do at all. I could go out as an anusis, or companion, or something of that sort, for I write a neat hand, have more than a smattering of French and German, and am a one at making Everton taffy and pickled cabbage. Two very indispensable acquisitions for an anusis. Still, your other qualifications might fetch somebody. What do you say if we advertise? Would you mind going abroad? Just what I would be best pleased to do at present. Now, about Mrs. Marshall and Ms. Morris, it will be necessary to tell them something. We will just tell them that I have had a great deal of trouble, that I wish to turn my back on the scenes of my trouble for a time, and that while away from home I have a fancy for earning my own living. Such part of my troubles are already public property, as you may, of course, confide to them. Then things are settled so far. I will see about the advertisement being sent off for you, and you must understand that we are by no means in a hurry to get rid of you. You will be more than welcome to stay here until you find something to your liking to do. Somehow all this kindness robbed me of the composure which a strict businesslike attitude on Mr. Garth's part might have helped me to preserve. I could only thank him brokenly, and beg him to excuse my appearance in the drawing room, as I felt fit for nothing but solitude in bed. He readily promised to do what I wished, and at length I felt at liberty to retire for the night. But by this time I had a distracting headache, and though I bathed my forehead with oda cologne, and tried various other infallible specifics, I found it impossible to go to sleep, or even to subdue the pain which tormented me. From below I could occasionally hear the sound of singing, though I was unable to judge whether the vocalist was the elder or the younger of the two visitors. About twelve o'clock, as judged from the periodical chiming of the little clock in the dressing room, became evident that the other visitors were coming up to bed, and I forthwith feigned the sleep which refused to come at my bidding, lest voluble Miss May might expect me to talk with her. The two ladies made as little noise as possible in the dressing room for a while, and I was just thinking that my bedfellow would soon join me, when I heard the most blood curdling shriek imaginable, and a white figure fairly flew into the bedroom, jumped into the bed, drew the clothes frantically over her head and ears, and moaned in a state of shuddering terror. My own natural alarm was speedily quenched by the appearance of Mrs. Marshall bearing every evidence of extreme anger. I do believe you are losing your senses altogether, she exclaimed, giving her sister's shoulder a vigorous shake, which so far from pacifying the young lady only sent her into a fresh paroxysm of terror, and caused her to give a louder shriek than the first. By this time Mrs. Garth had run into the room to see what was the matter, while at the door could be heard the voices of a startled group of people, composed of the vicar, the cook, and the housemaid, all of them wondering what on earth the commotion was about. Inside the bedroom, the tableau was not without interest. Mrs. Garth stood with a lighted candle raised above her head, looking almost as frightened as May seemed to be. Mrs. Marshall was trying to convince her sister that there was nothing to be afraid of. May was steadily trying to bury herself under the bed-clothes, and I was sitting up in bed, vainly struggling to rest my legitimate share of sheets and blankets from the frantic clasp of their unceremonious appropriator. After a while, May grew calmer and popped her head from under the clothes with a sudden jerk, which caused it to come in contact with the chin of her sister, who was bending over her in an attempt to pacify her. The result was somewhat painful for Mrs. Marshall, and caused May to scream out again in terror. Keep it off, keep it off," she cried wildly. Keep what off? What on earth do you mean? I shouted, feeling utterly unnerved and vexed at the same time. Oh, the ghost, the ghost, keep it off," was the shuddering response. How can you be so silly? I said, out of all patience. What do you mean by a ghost? By this time May began to seem more rational and cautiously sat up, surveying the room with a scared look. I heard it, she said solemnly, and I felt it touch my shoulders. It was no ghost other than myself who touched her shoulders, spoke up Mrs. Marshall still hugging her jaw in an attitude of pain. I wish I could shake some sense into you. Oh, it was you, was it, quote May? But it wasn't you who gave three unearthly taps at the window. I heard them, quite distinctly, and I'm sure it was all done by a ghost. It was done by the Virginia creeper which climbs all over this side of the house, said Mrs. Garth. You will very likely hear it again, but may go to sleep comfortably. And let other people go to sleep, added Mrs. Marshall as she went back to her own room. Mrs. Garth, after bidding us both good night, also retired, and May subsided angrily into a recumbent position, just like Madge, to try and make me look ridiculous, she grumbled. All the same it was a ghost and I won't stay here after tomorrow. And this was the girl who, only a few hours before, had talked of laying a ghost and unearthing the ghostly buried treasure with which her prolific imagination haunted the home of my childhood. Certainly her escapade had had one good effect. It had banished my headache and I did not suffer any more from insomnia that night. When I awoke the next morning, May Morris was looking at me with a comical expression of disgust on her pretty face. "'Do you know?' she said solemnly. I believe I made a perfect idiot of myself last night. I can't think what it was that so unnerved me. The fact is it was the unexpectedness of the whole thing. Now, if I had known beforehand that the house was haunted, I shouldn't have been frightened a bit. You wait and see what a bold front I shall put on when we see the Grange Ghost." "'My dear,' I said, with a smile born of a conscious superiority and matters nervous, there are two reasons why I cannot show the Grange Ghost. And what are they? I am not likely to visit the interior of the Grange, and if I did visit it I could not show any one its Ghost, because it hasn't got one.' "'Hasn't it really?' "'No, really.' "'What a pity, and just when I thought I was going to have a share of the treasure. Never mind, I shall find another someday.' "'Oh, by the by,' Mr. Garth told May a funny thing last night. He said that you, a rich young lady belonging to a county family, and, as one might almost say, the widow of an earl, wanted to take a situation and earn your own living. He is quite right in what he stated. "'Then I believe I know just the sort of thing that would suit you, that is, if you would care to go to Russia.' "'Why not?' "'Well, you see, it is such a queer place. It swarms all over with nihilists and anarchists and spies and caviar and bomb shells, and there are prisons at every street corner into which they clap you without so much as a minute's notice, if you don't happen to salam humbly every time a government official goes by in his amber gown and scarlet turban. In fact, it's just a horrid place, where they can't speak English, and where they murder everybody who can't pronounce the word p'kavi. "'Upon my word, May, you'll be the death of me yet. You seem to get awfully mixed up in your information. Somebody must have been slandering Russia to you a little. Of course, it could never be half so nice as England at its best, but even the evil one, you know, isn't half so black as he's painted, and will give Russia the benefit of doubt. Anyhow, your description hasn't frightened me, and if you don't mind, you shall give me the particulars of the situation you were speaking of while I complete my toilet." All right, I'll tell you about it. But if you were put in prison and tickled to death, don't say I didn't warn you. I daresay you have heard that when Madge and I are at home, we live at South Kensington. Now, next door to us there lives a Russian lady with her little daughter and a whole swarm of servants. We met Madame Kaminsky at Lady Tranmirs at home last week, and heard that she was looking out for a useful companion to take back to Russia with her. She wanted somebody who was a real lady who could be treated on a family footing, and who could speak French or German. She had had several applicants for the post, but none of them suited. I wonder why. While between you and me in the post, I think I know they were all too good looking. Madame is both young and beautiful, and does not want a companion who will eclipse her. Then I suppose I shall stand a chance of securing the coveted post, since I am almost ugly enough to serve as a foil even to a plain woman. Now, that is nasty of you, for I don't call you a bit ugly, only just unbeautiful enough to prevent Madame from being jealous. Very well. I will go back to London to-morrow and interview Madame Kaminsky, if you will furnish me with her address. But why not write? A letter would not describe my appearance accurately enough. If Madame desires someone who is unbeautiful as you put it, a sight of me will go far to convince her that she has found the treasure she is in search of. I don't quite understand you, but of course I will write the address down for you, and if you really get the appointment, you must write me regular accounts of your adventures. Then I'll have them printed in a book, and if I can't find a buried treasure, I shall perhaps be famous as an authoress. A valuable wrinkle, my dear. I must be careful not to write anything that isn't intended to become public property. Oh, but you are sure to be in such a perpetual state of excitement that you will not be able to weigh all your words when you are writing. There is one difficulty. Suppose they put you in prison, how will you manage to send your letters off? You must trust me for that. I am sure to find some way of dispatching all the letters I am likely to write to you while in prison. On your side, you must never mention anything about Russia or the Russians in any letter you may dispatch to the Tsar's country. Then we shall be all right. Very well, then that is all arranged. But before you go downstairs, I am going to show you the loveliest, most ravishing, most delightful thing you ever saw in your life. Look here. As Mae spoke, she jumped up and dived into one of her boxes, once she finished out a whole handful of photographs. I naturally expected to behold the presentment of a superlatively beautiful member of my own sex, and was not a little astounded to see a dozen portraits of a popular but by no means wonderfully handsome actor. Isn't he bewitching, Mae rhapsodized? Did you ever see anyone in your life half so handsome? Oh, he's simply adorable! And did he give you all those photographs? Oh, dear no. I bought them all with my own pocket money. I love him so dearly that I dream of him almost night and day, and I buy a copy of every fresh portrait of him that is issued. Oh, if only you could imagine how I love him. And does he return your love? Unfortunately for me, he does not know me. He has never even seen me. Then I suppose you fell in love with him on the stage. No, he is nearly always on tour, and I have never seen him act. Indeed, I have never seen him at all. I just saw a photograph of him in a shop window and straightway fell in love with it. You may think it's only a passing fancy, but I feel that if I could only look upon his face my greatest dreams of earthly bliss would be realized, and then I would be content to die. Mere romance, my dear girl, you will come across someone in the flesh who will prove much more charming than the counterfeit presentments of your adorable actor, who by the by becomes engaged to a fresh young lady about every six months. I can't help it. He's just all in all to me, and I shall never marry so long as he remains single. If, after all my devotion, my hero marries another woman, that I may think of accepting a gentleman who proposes to me every three months. Meanwhile I have a little consolation. I often take a look at his house at Kensington in the hope of catching a glimpse of him through one of the windows. And in this style may meander dawn, the while I wondered whether she were really sane or not. She was evidently badly smitten, and my mere portraits, which must have revealed to her many beauties of expression which were hidden to me, for I could only look upon them as the faithful presentment of a man whom I heard, spoken of as selfish, conceited and unscrupulous in his dealings with women. I suppose you are quite disburdened of all the particulars of your wonderful romance by this time, was Mrs. Marshall's cheery greeting. I knew it was no use interrupting you before you had confided the whole story to Miss Courtney. And what do you think of it, Miss Dora, now that you have heard it? This last question was addressed to me with such a humorous twinkle in Mrs. Marshall's merry dark eyes that for the life of me I could not help responding to it, and my comments were expressed in a burst of hearty laughter, which not all my latent worries could rob of its spontaneity. I was not sure that May might not resent our irreverence, but she took it very good humordly. And five minutes later we were all greeting our host and hostess at the breakfast table. As both the sisters were in quite a merry mood, they cheered to the rest of us up wonderfully, and no one to look at us would imagine that we had ever become acquainted with care. CHAPTER VI When Venom'd Gossip shows her poison fangs, the watchword is, beware. But as soon as breakfast was over I had a private confabulation with Mr. Garth, in which he fully approved of my intention of going to see Madame Kominsky at once. Let me see, said by and by, there is a train from Morby at 12.52. This would enable you to reach Kensington by 4.30. A good time, I should imagine, for catching the lady at home. If you fail to see her this evening, you can either return here, or put up at a hotel, which I can recommend for the night. If you do not come to an arrangement, you will return and stay here, of course, until something else turns up. Should you, on the other hand, find the appointment one that you can accept, your future proceedings will be arranged between Madame Kominsky and yourself. The 12.52 train will suit me admirably, I said. I shall have time to pay a visit to Bobby and Teddy. They, at least, will remember me with affection. Then suppose you get ready to get one story. I will go with you as I want to see John Page. He has had frequent touches of rheumatism lately, and I promise to take him some liniment. I can talk to him while you interview your pets. Ms. Morris is anxious to go to the Grange, but I would much rather go without her this morning. My wife will amuse her. I can take her, together with her sister, to have a look at Courtney Grange tomorrow. Half an hour later, the vicar and I were walking briskly toward my old home, and I was feeling happy at the mere sight of the waving cornfields and smiling hedgerows, which stretched on our right hand, in vivid contrast to the semi-barrenness and sober but quaint coloring of the moorland on our left. I found it impossible to pass all the floral treasures which greeted me by the way, and my heart presently grew heavy at the thought that it might possibly be years before I was able to gather another bunch of wildflowers on my native heath. When the chimneys of the Grange came in sight, I had a fierce battle to fight with my avowed determination not to enter its doors again, and I found that sentiment was, after all, a much stronger passion in me than wounded pride. Oh, I must run in and see Martha, I exclaimed, when at last we emerged from the Long Avenue. Do wait a minute here while I run round to the back and give her a surprise. Suiting the action to the word, I left the good-natured vicar to his own devices, while I hurried round to the kitchen entrance, anxious to see Martha at her usual allocations, in order that I might fancy this hurried visit to my home, or home-like. Somewhat to my disappointment, Martha was not half so surprised, as I had fancied she would be. Hey, is that you, Miss Dora? she exclaimed, dropping the potatoes she was peeling, as I impetuously sprang into the kitchen and gave her a warm greeting. I thought maybe you would come today, and you'll find your room quite ready for you. But how could you know I was coming? I inquired, blankly. I never sent you word that you might expect me. No, but Mr. Courtney did. We got a letter from him this morning. Here it is. I took the letter which she pulled out of her pocket for me and read it, feeling as if all the romance were knocked out of me again. Prepare Miss Dora's room. If she is not already at the grains, you may expect her soon. That was all. And I could not help but slight feeling of vexation at its tenor. True, it implied that my father had not really intended to banish me altogether, but it also evinced such a determination to ignore any mental distress in which I might be submerged, that it convinced me more than ever of the hopelessness of ever expecting my father to show the least spark of true affection for me. And how is John, I asked soberly. John? Why, John's pretty much as usual, I think, said Martha, with a sharp touch of asperity in her voice. But somehow he seems to be everlastingly complaining of late, and it's, oh, my leg, oh, my back nearly all day long. Then he must be really ill. Not he, he's just taken a lazy fit and once pampering, that's all. Which he ain't likely to get from the wife of his bosom, broke in John's voice at this juncture. Oh, John, I quite forgot, I exclaimed penitently. The vicar is waiting for you on the steps. He has got some liniment for you. John hobbled off at once, calling out as he did so. There's a letter waiting for you upstairs, Miss Dora. Aroused to sudden curiosity, I at once ran up to my old room, and almost cried with joy to see Lady Elizabeth's beloved handwriting. If my father's missive lacked sympathy, his wife's made ample amends for it. For it breathed of nothing but love and anxious care for my well-being. It had been taken for granted by my stepmother that I would come straight to the Grange and wait quietly there for the return of the rest of the family. I resolved to perpetuate her comforting delusion as long as I could, and forthwith wrote her a letter in which I thanked her warmly for all the nice messages she sent me, and assured her that she need have no uneasiness about me, as I should make myself quite comfortable while it more be. Then I sallied out to the stables, having wondered already how it was that I had seen nothing, either of Bobby or of Teddy. Even as I got quite up to the stable door, they were both still invisible, and a vague feeling of impending calamity seized me as the old familiar whistle, to which my erstwhile playmates had been wont to respond so joyously, failed to evoke the usual boisterous signs of recognition from either of them. I certainly did hear a feeble whine, but got hardly credited to be Bobby's usually clamorous voice. Oh, my goodness, I thought, dumbly, is a new trouble about to befall me? Then I walked slowly forward, feeling a leaden weight on limbs and brain alike. With quaking heart and anxious eyes, I peered in the direction of Teddy's old stall. And when I failed to see the dear little ugly companion of my happiest frolics, I only felt the mist which covered my eyes to be the outcome of a dreary conviction, which had been stealing over me ever since I emerged from the house. For a moment, a deadly faintness almost overpowered me so that I had to seize the nearest available support in order to prevent myself from falling. While I still stood feeling half dazed with a newly added sense of misery, I once more heard the feeble imitation of a whine which had already attracted my attention. Then, looking down, I saw, painfully rolling toward me, a little round body that must be, could be, nothing but my darling Bobby. He's totally stepping forward. I stooped and lifted the object and, oh, how can I ever describe what I felt when, taking it to the light, I discovered it to be none other than my beloved pet. Poor fellow, he had recognized me, and though almost a death-store had made a desperate effort to meet me once more. I sat with him on my lap and bent over him in an agony of grief. He, in his turn, fondly licked my fingers, and looked at me with a piteous, all adoring love shining out of the beautiful eyes which were already fast glazing over with the last dread film. Oh, my darling, I moaned as I kissed his dear little head over and over again. What have I done that I should lose everything I love? I would give ten years of my life to see you frisk about me in the old happy way. Can't you really get better now that I have come? Did the poor thing understand me, or was he only making a supreme effort to make me comprehend how glad he was to see me? Perhaps it was both, for he was always more intelligent than some human beings I have encountered. Be this as it may, he suddenly rose to his feet and stood looking in my face for a moment, almost the picture of his old excitable self, with sparkling eyes and quivering body. Then he gave a sharp, glad bark and dropped, lifeless, on the lap of one of the most desolate human beings on earth. How long I sat there in my misery, I do not know, but was at last interrupted by the voice of the vicar, who, perceiving what had happened, asked me no questions, but gently lifting poor Bobby's body into a basket which stood close by, suggested we should bury him ourselves before we returned to the vicarage. As one in a dream I let him lead me, whether he would, and together we went down to the old orchard where, presently, my kindly friend took upon himself the office of Gravedigger. Concerning Teddy, I ask no more questions just now, for I no longer believed him to be alive. When I had marked Bobby's resting place, I turned to John Page, whom for the first time I noticed to be standing near me. And now I said, my voice still shaken with sobs. Tell me how it is that you never sent us word that my pets were ill. Indeed, Miss, I did, answered John, with a sympathetic look at my grief-stricken face. I sent the master word about everything. You had only been gone a day or two when Teddy began to fret and go off his feed. He would seek you in the yard, and in the orchard, and in all sorts of likely and unlikely places. And when he couldn't see anything of you, he would whinny, that pitifully, that neither Martha nor me liked to hear him. We used to try to pet him up a bit, but it was no go, and we could see that if he went on fretting like that, things would soon go wrong with him. Bobby too hung his head and walked about, looking the picture of misery. When you were away at my lady's place before, they both took on considerable, but you were not quite so long away, and it hadn't such an effect on them as it's had this time. It was only last week that Teddy died, and Bobby has never been out of the stable since. I have done what I could for him, but anybody could see that he wouldn't be here long. The master knew Teddy was dead, and I'm sure I thought you knew all about it. I buried him just at the foot of the paddock, feeling that that was where you would have liked to put him if you had been at home. I couldn't speak, but I gave John a look which would show him that I exonerated him from blame, and that I was grateful to him for what he had tried to do for me. Then I walked down to the paddock to take one last look at poor old Teddy's resting place, and hear a fresh idea seized me. My two pets had been such inseparable friends during life that I felt it cruel to part them in death and return to John to ask him to bring Bobby's body to be finally interred beside that of his friend and companion. My wish was soon accomplished, and then without looking back at the old home even once more, I walked away toward the vicarage, followed by the vicar, and hardly knowing whether grief at my loss or resentment at the callousness which had prevented my father from telling me the true state of the case was predominant. I had not walked far before I was overtaken by Mr. Garth, but there was very little said between us until we were nearly at the vicarage. Did you know that my poor pony was dead? I asked him. Certainly not, he replied. I saw John last week, and he never mentioned either of your pets, though I do not doubt that he has taken good care of them. Very likely your father did not wish you to be told much about them, lest the news should unsettle you. Yes, of course. That is the true explanation of the case. My father was actuated by tender regard for my feelings, and I ought to feel proportionately grateful. But somehow I don't feel particularly moved in the direction of gratitude, and the sooner I am away from the neighborhood of Courtney Grange, the better. I shall not regret my absence from it now, since my presence near it could only foster painful memories. The past is dead, and I must let my dead past bury its dead. You have youth and energy on your side, my dear. I predict that in six months you will yearn for your old home again and be as happy as ever here. Never! You do not know me, Mr. Garth. My experiences since I went to London have been such as to develop and increase the latent passions of my childhood, besides endowing me with others toward which I never suspected myself to have a leaning. Among the latter are self-reliance, independence, and firmness of purpose. They alone will forbid my early return to the Grange. Well, I will not argue the point with you, child, as, of course, you know more about the matter than I do. But has it struck you that while we have been lingering at the Grange, time has been flying and that you have missed the 1250 train for London? You will have to put off your journey until morning, as the next train from here arrives in London too late to enable you to call it Madame Kaminsky's house this evening. Then what shall I do? How soon can I get there in the morning? If you do not mind rising early, you can leave by the 6.30 a.m. train. That will land you in Kensington in good time. If you and Mrs. Garth, pray don't mention it, child, we are only too happy to do what we can for you. Oh, there they all are. They, of whom he spoke, were Mrs. Garth, Mrs. Marshall, and Mrs. Morris, who were walking leisurely toward us, their hands full of wild roses and honeysuckle, which they had been pulling in the hedge-rose. Master Vinnie was skipping alone in front and having an occasional race with Leo, a splendid Saint Bernard, who looked as wise as any of us. The whole party looked so handsome, so happy and so thoroughly satisfied with their lot in life, that my own isolation and loneliness struck me more forcibly than ever. I am not sure that I was not going to give way to another outburst of grief when I chanced to look up into Mr. Garth's face and saw that the erstwhile sad and sympathetic expression of his countenance had vanished as magically as do-morning mists before the power of the rising sun. He was smiling at the pleasant sight which greeted his gaze, and in an instant I was confounded by a sense of the selfishness of my own conduct. What right had I to obtrude my private griefs upon my friends? True, they were kind and sympathizing, but that did not deprive them of their due claim to consideration, and life does not hold so much happiness for any that one can afford to exchange the flowers of joy for the withered leaves of sorrow, even though the sorrow may more closely appertain to another. I believe that great changes of character may be brought about in susceptible and highly strung natures by trifling incidents, and a suddenly conceived resolve of my own was no particularly noticeable departure from a somewhat general rule. If I cannot be happy myself, I reflected, I can at least conduce to the happiness of others by presenting a bright and cheerful front to the world, and this I will try to do in future, God helping me. It was in conformity with this resolution that I walked smilingly up to Mrs. Garth and her guests, and apologized for having kept the vicar so long away from them. Then I challenged Vinnie and Leo to a race, and before Mr. Garth had time to conjecture the cause of the abrupt change in my demeanor, I was scampering down the lane with the delighted boy and the no less delighted dog, who instantly entered into the spirit of the diversion suggested, as did also Mae Morris, who laughingly exclaimed that she saw no reason why she should not join in the fun, and promptly followed in our wake. We had half an hour of scampering and laughter, and returned to the vicarage breathless, rosy, and hungry. Perhaps Leo could hardly be accused of being either breathless or rosy, but he was certainly as ready for his midday meal as any of us. As for myself, I noted with surprise that my effort to appear cheerful and happy had recoiled upon myself, and that I no longer felt so miserable as I had done earlier in the day. You're just a dear, jolly girl, said Mae to me as we were rehabilitating our toilet, previous to going down to lunch. I'm awfully sorry you were going away so soon, and I'm awfully afraid lest those horrid Russians should lock you up in one of their dungeons. Just fancy how awfully horrid it would be if they were to hang you up by the thumbs and flog you with a bundle of nouts. My dear girl, I said, unable to refrain from laughter at Mae's limited and slangy vocabulary, as well as at her hazy and mixed-up notions of things Russian. It is not by any means sure that I am going to Russia, and even if I do, it is of no use anticipating unlikely contingencies. Perhaps not, retorted Mae, sapiently, but one may as well be prepared for possibilities, and then they don't overtake one as a surprise. And after all, there are perhaps worse things than the note. Hardly, I rejoined, the note so generally proves an instrument of death that it must be regarded as the extreme punishment. But suppose they banish you to Siberia. I don't see any probability of such a disaster, as if I am lucky enough to secure the appointment I am seeking, I shall be very careful about what I say and do. And now, suppose we go downstairs. After luncheon, the vicar announced his intention of paying some visits which he owed to a few of the poorer of his parishioners. I do not care to inflict myself upon them in the forenoon, he added. They are generally busy, either cleaning or cooking, and do not care to be bothered by collars before they have had time to don themselves up a little. But why should you trouble yourself to visit them at all, when you have a carrot who could look after your poorer parishioners? Asked Mrs. Marshall. The vicar of St. Dundee's Church only associates with or speaks personally to the well to do people of his parish. He never goes to any house of which the rent is less than seventy pounds per annum. Then I suppose he does not think people with small incomes possess souls, I ejaculated. Oh dear yes, of course they have souls, but you can't attach as much importance to their conversion, as if they were in a position to be of service to the church, as rich people can be, and a curate's attentions are as much as they can expect. Then we may conclude that the objects of a curate and of a vicar are entirely dissimilar. The curate wishes to save souls. The vicar is anxious to heedle money out of his parishioners. Fine Mrs. Marshall, how can you so depreciate Mr. Garth's calling? Good gracious, Miss Courtney, it is you who are doing it, not me. I never thought of the matter in the light you are throwing upon it, and I am sure Mr. Garth understands my meaning very well. To be sure, I do, responded the vicar good-humoredly. No doubt the vicar of St. Anjarees is swayed by motives which outsiders do not understand. For my own part, I am quite convinced of my own unfitness for a city living, as I have what some would consider in federately democratic notions. For instance, I am far happier when chatting with old Mrs. Murphrey, who has been bedridden for six years, and who nevertheless earns a precarious livelihood by knitting and coarse needlework, than when conversing with Lady Smythe, who imagines herself to be the greatest lady in the county, and I would much rather have a talk and a smoke with Old Grey, our cobbler poet, than be invited out to dine with the Lord of the Manor. And that reminds me, put it in Mrs. Garth, that Lady Smythe and her daughters are coming this afternoon for a game of tennis. The Worthingtons will probably be here, too, so I hope you will try to get back before they leave. The vicar, having promised to use his best endeavors in that direction, now hurried off, I would rather have been excused from meeting the coming guests if I had consulted only my own inclination, and it required a little mental struggle on my part to induce me to persevere just then in my lately formed resolve to be as cheerful as possible at all times. May Morris, superficial and shallow as she seemed, was a bright, merry girl, who did nothing to foster either lugubriousness or reserve, and with whom it would have been difficult for me to maintain a silent mood for any length of time. Vinnie, too, seemed to have taken immensely to me since the morning, and eagerly improtuned us for another romp. Thus it happened that when the smithe family drove up to the door, they were rather scandalized by seeing two young women who were evidently utterly regardless of appearances, scampering along a sidewalk, laughing and panting, followed by a fleet-footed child who was pelting them with daisies, whose occasional tugs had utterly ruined the fresh appearance of their gowns. There now, I said at last, I really must sit down a bit. Vinnie, hadn't you better run in and ask nurse to sponge your hands in face before any visitors see you? I think I must go in also, and straighten my hair. That's just how I feel, said May, so we all adjourned in order to present a better appearance by and by. An hour later, both courts on the vicarage tennis lawn were occupied with players, most of whom wielded their rackets in such a way as to indicate considerable practice in the health-giving pastime upon which they were now engaged. The two brothers, Worthington, sons of a local landed proprietor, were worthy partners of the Mrs. Smyth and Mr. Graham, the doctor's assistant, whose aider and a battery in all social functions at which they could both be present was Mr. Wicks, our curate, was so evidently smitten by May's charms that I caught myself wondering whether he would be able to supplant the fascinating actor. Mrs. Marshall had offered to let me play in her stead, but a reaction from my previous excitement had set in, and I craved quiet and repose, leaving her, therefore, to a game which I knew she would enjoy. I strolled further away from the house and presently sat down on the forked arm of an apple tree, which grew just behind the hut that had been erected for the accommodation of those who preferred to watch the game, rather than take an active part in it. The branch of the tree hung so low that I had no difficulty in fixing myself comfortably upon it, and I soon found the repose of my situation so conducive to drowsiness that I think I must have gone to sleep for a little while. At any rate I was roused by the sound of voices which I could not localize for a few moments as I had not noticed the approach of the speakers who were evidently now sitting in the hut close to me. My own name fell in my ears with somewhat startling distinctness. Miss Dora Courtney said a voice which I recognized as that of Lady Smythe, the wife of an ex wine merchant who had chance to be the mayor of a neighboring town on the occasion of the Queen's Jubilee and had consequently dropped into a knighthood. Miss Dora Courtney surprises me by her behavior. In what way Lady Smythe and who is the young lady that she should evoke interest in you, asked another voice which was strange to me but which had such a liberal allowance of flattering unction in it and which laid such emphasis on the second person singular that I set its owner down for a toady of the first water at once. My dear Miss Grindel was the reply I am certainly exclusive but I am able to take interest in many people whose position in society scarcely warrants noticed from me. Otherwise you would hardly find me mixing indiscriminately with people at parties like this. It pleases commoners to be noticed by persons of title and I pride myself upon being looked upon as more condescending than the rest of the nobility hereabouts. Oh you're just an angel if only the Mount Merlins were like you. Ah yes poor things I feel sorry for them. What's the use of their asthmatic old earldom without money to keep it up? Such a struggle as they must have had and between you and me they're dying to know Sir Robert and myself but are overalled by a sense of the great difference in our position. You mean Lady Smyth? We are so rich and they are so poor. No wonder they are afraid of intruding upon us. And this Miss Courtney? To be sure we were talking of Miss Courtney. Well she was brought up at Courtney Grange and has a sister and brother who are perfectly lovely strange as it may seem when you look at her plain face. I believe they pride themselves upon being a county family but they were a very poverty stricken lot until the father secured for his second wife a rich widow the daughter of the earl of Greatlands. Then one startling announcement followed another. Lady Elizabeth's brother the heir to the earldom became engaged to the beautiful Miss Courtney. Then the wedding was put off because the old earl was to be married to the ugly Miss Courtney the one who is here now. While all society was opening its eyes in amazement at this freak of the old earl it was startled by the news of his death on his wedding morning. How shocking and had the marriage taken place how could it this girl would then have been the Countess of Greatlands. Poor thing what a dreadful disappointment for her. Yes you may well say so and that is what surprises me so about her. She seems to be quite happy and merry look how she was running about the garden when we came a perfect tomboy so she was it's really very indecent of her when one comes to think of it she ought to keep herself as quiet as if she really were a widow. Widows I don't think much of them they are a flighty lot but what do you think people are saying about the Greatlands romance as it is called? I'm sure I don't know you see I've been abroad and and you can't afford to buy the newspapers yes I know all about that well they say that the earl's son that is the present earl and his intended bride Miss Bell Courtney were furious when they heard of the old gentleman's infatuation and that they swore the marriage would never take place one of the servants overheard a desperate quarrel between the two sisters in which the elder vowed all sorts of horrible things after that it was queer to say the least that the poor old man who had gone to bed the night before quite healthy and happy should be found to be dead when his valet went to rouse him on his marriage morning good heavens why they must have murdered him well it certainly looks like it they vowed he shouldn't get married and he didn't live to get married of course the other couple now that all obstacles have been swept out of their path will get married soon and share the wealth and title but I wouldn't like to stand in their shoes oh here is Mrs. Garth Mrs. Garth we've just been saying what a good thing it is for poor Miss Dora Courtney that she can be so cheerful after all her troubles yes she bears up wonderfully poor child but I have not seen her for some time I thought she was perhaps in here with you where will you have your tea here or in the drawing room I think I would rather go indoors for a while I want to look at some new prints Mr. Garth was telling me about a few minutes later the hut had changed occupants and May Morris hot and excited after a victorious game was pouring tea for the tennis players out of an urn which a servant had placed on the table while the young men were handing the bread and butter plates around amid a chorus of laughter and merry repartee I alone sat unobserved lonely and now once more thoroughly miserable heedless of odd else save my own bitter reflections and feeling as incapable of moving as I had done during the conversation between Lady Smyth and Miss Grindel that the tragedy of my life should be talked about did not surprise me but that my own dreadful suspicions should have found an echo in the breasts of others was to me a most horrible revelation which created in me so great a revulsion of feeling as to paralyze my energies pro tem I could do nothing for a while but sit and wonder vaguely what would be the end of it all would the conviction of my sister's guilt spread from one to another until the authorities felt bound to interfere with the object of arriving at a complete solution of the mystery should I have to give evidence and would Lady Elizabeth be called upon to witness against her brother and her stepdaughter would the name of both families be dragged through the mire of the criminal courts and be gloated over by pothouse politicians in polemical discussions inray the immortality of the aristocracy and horror of horrors suppose things were to come to the worst was it possible that my beautiful sister the pride of her father's heart and one of my darling mother's children could be sentenced to a shameful death a murderer's death is not more shameful than its crime we know but alas how many hearts bear witness to the agony inflicted on friends and relatives by the mandates of justice it would kill Lady Elizabeth if the case were brought to trial and this reflection was itself enough to strengthen my determination to avoid publicity henceforth my very presence it seemed was sufficient to set the tongues of conjecture and suspicion wagging my temporary absence might also help people to forget the existence of myself and my history for the future if I would avoid a crisis I had better be seen and heard as little as possible and this reflection made me so feverishly anxious to quit the country that I sprang from my seat in excitement and hurried toward the house as if thereby I could hasten the interview between Madame Kaminsky and myself as I might have expected I was intercepted on my way and besieged by inquiries as to where I had been hiding myself my pale face and heavy eyes endorsed the idea of the desire of seclusion on the score of a violent headache and I was allowed to go to my room where Mrs. Garth soon followed me with a cup of tea and words of sympathy left alone once more I meditated earnestly as to my future proceedings finally coming to the conclusion that for the sake of Jerry and Lady Elizabeth if not for the sake of my father and Belle I must never divulge ought that could harm Belle but must do all in my power to prevent the suspicions of others from being fostered in spite of my desire to appear as cheerful as possible I felt myself unequal to the task of going downstairs again that afternoon evening found me able to appear more sociable and the next morning saw me primed with good wishes and affectionate goodbyes from my dear good friends Mr. and Mrs. Garth both of whom had got up to escort me to the station en route for Kensington where I arrived in due course End of Chapter 6 Recording by Coffee Lover 17