 Part 1 Chapters 15 and 16 of Bessie's Fortune by Mary Jane Holmes This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 15. Gray and the Secret Breakfast was waiting in the pleasant dining-room at Gray's Park where Burton Gerald sat before the fire, with his head bent down and his face so white and ghastly that his wife, when she came in and saw him, was moved with a great pity for him, though she wondered much that his sorrow should be so acute for the father he had never seemed very fond of in life. Stooping over him she kissed him softly and said, I am sorry you feel so badly, Burton. Your father was old and quite ready to die. Surely that should comfort you a little. Yes, yes, I know, but please don't talk to me now, he replied with a gesture of the hand as if to silence her. He was not sorry for his father's death, but he was willing, and they glad that she should think so, for he could not tell her of the load of shame from which he should never be free. What would she say if she knew? He asked himself as he remembered all her pride of blood and birth and family. And Gray, his only boy of whom he was so proud and who he fully expected, would some day fill one of the highest posts in the land. What would he say if he knew his father was the son of a murderer? Burton would not soften the crime even in thought, though he knew that had his father been arrested at the time, he could only have been convicted of manslaughter, and possibly not of that. But he called it by the hard name murder and shuddered as he thought of Gray. But he will never know, he said to himself, Anna will keep her promise and I do not fear Mr. Sanford, though I give half my fortune. Yes, all, if he had not been told. Gray will never know. But I know, and must meet his innocent eyes and hear him talk of his grandfather as of saint. It was at this point in his soliloquy that Gray came slowly and his face wider than his father's, with dark rings around his eyes which were heavy and swollen with the tears he had shed. Gray had not slept at all for the dreadful words, I killed a man and buried him under my bed, were continually ringing in his ears while the ghost of the murdered man seemed present with him, urging him to vengeance for the wrong until at last, when he could bear it no longer he stretched his hands out into the darkness and cried, What is it you want with me? I am not to blame, but if there is anything I can do to make it right I'll do it, when I am man. Now go away and do not torment me so. Gray knew there was nothing there, knew that the spirits of the departed do not come back again, but he was not in a frame of mind to reason clearly upon anything. He only knew how wretched he was and that after his promise to redress the dead man's wrongs he grew calmer and more quiet, though there was still that terrible pain and disappointment in his heart especially when he thought of his aunt Hannah, whom he had held so high, and whom he now felt he had loved and revered more than any other person. Remembering all the past which at times had puzzled him and which he now understood, he was surgeon that she had known from the first and so was an accomplice. Possibly the law would not touch her he reasoned as he tried to fancy what might have been had this thing been known to the public, but he remembered having heard of a case which happened in an adjoining town many years before where at the instigation of his wife a man was killed and thrown into his own well. The wife was hung in Worcester with her three accomplices, but a woman who was in the house at the time went free, though she was ever after known as Oldscape Gallows, and shunned accordingly. Was his aunt Hannah like her? Would people thus call her if they knew? No, no, oh no! he cried in agony. She is not like that. Please God grant that my aunt Hannah is a good woman still. I cannot lose faith in her and I love her so much. And thus the dreadful night wore to an end, and the morning found grave burning with fever while a sharp pain like a knife cut through his temples every time he moved. He was not surprised when Lucy came and told him his grandfather was dead. He expected it, but with the moan he buried his face in his pillow and sobbed, Oh, Grandpa, where are you now, I wonder? And I thought you so good, so sure of heaven. Please God, have mercy on him. Oh, I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to think that he is lost. And he loved me so and blessed me on his deathbed. This was the burden of Gray's grief, for he did not stop to consider all the years of sincere repentance which had purified the soul just gone and made it fit for heaven, and his heart was very sore as he slowly dressed himself and went down to the breakfast room to meet his father, who knew what he did and who must feel it just as keenly. His first impulse was to fall upon his neck and cry out, I know, I heard it, I was there. We will bear it together. But when he remembered that his grandfather had said that he was not to know, he restrained himself and said very quietly, Grandpa is dead, Aunt Lucy told me. When is the funeral? The voice was not like Gray's, and Mr. Gerald looked up quickly to meet the eyes which fell at once as did his own. Neither could look in the other's face with that secret which each knew it was hiding from the other. But both were outwardly calm and the breakfast passed quietly with no reference to the recent event occupying the minds of all. Mrs. Gerald and her sister had expected that Gray would feel his loss keenly and possibly be noisy in his boyish demonstrations of grief, but they were not prepared for the torpor which seemed to have settled upon him, and which kept him indoors all day sitting by the fire over which he shivered as if in a chill, though his cheeks were crimson, and he sometimes wiped the drops of sweat from his lips and forehead. His head was still aching terribly and he was cold and faint and this was a sufficient reason for his declining to accompany his Aunt Lucy when after breakfast was over she went with his father to the farmhouse where she spent nearly the entire day seeing to the many little things necessary for the funeral and which Hannah could not attend to. Gerald Dean did not go. Her nerves were not equal to it and she should only be in the way she said. She sent her love to Hannah and remained at home with Gray who seldom spoke to her and scarcely stirred, though occasionally his mother saw his lips move and great tears rolled down his cheeks. I suppose he would care but not so much as this, she thought, as she watched him anxiously, wondering at the strength of his love for an old man in whom she had never even felt interested. Once moved with pity for him she put her hand on his head just as in the morning she had put it on her husbands and stooping kissed him tenderly, saying, I am sorry for you, Gray. Is it really making you sick? Try and not feel so badly. Your grandfather was old and ready to die. You would not have him back. He is so happy now. Just as his father had done when she tried to comfort him, so Gray did. He made a gesture for her to stop and said piteously, Please don't talk to me now, I cannot bear it. So she sat down again beside him while he continued to nurse the bitter thoughts crowding so fast upon him. Was his grandfather happy now? Was it well with him in the world to which he had gone? He kept asking himself over and over again all that dreary day and the drearier night which followed and which left him whiter, sadder if possible than ever. The funeral was appointed for half-past two on Saturday afternoon and Burton, who went over in the morning, asked Gray to go with him. Your Aunt Hannah will expect you. She was disappointed in not seeing you yesterday. But Gray said promptly, No, I'll wait and go with mother. So Mr. Gerald went alone with Lucy, leaving his wife and Gray to join him about half-past one, just before the neighbors began to assemble. When Gray came in, Hannah, who was already draped in her morning robe which Lucy had provided for her, went up to him and, putting her arms around him, said very low and gently but with no sadness in the tone, Oh, Gray, I am so glad you have come and sorry you are suffering so from headache, but I know just how you loved him and how he loved you, better than anything else in the world. Will you come with me and see him now? He looks so calm and peaceful and happy, just as you never saw him look. Oh, no, no! Gray cried, wrenching himself from her. I cannot see him. Don't ask me, please. Not see your grandfather who loved you so much. Oh, Gray! Hannah exclaimed, with both wonder and reproach in her voice. I want you to remember him as he looks now so different from what he was in life. But I cannot, Gray said. I never saw anyone dead. I cannot bear it, and going from her he took a seat in the kitchen as far as possible from the bedroom which held so much horror for him. He knew his grandfather was not there, for he was lying in his coffin in the front room where Lucy had put the flowers brought from the conservatory at Gray's Park. But the other one was there, under the floor, where he had lain for thirty-one years, and Gray was thinking of him, wondering who he was and if no inquiries had ever been made for him. The room was a haunted place for him, and he was glad the door was closed, and once, when Lucy went into it for something, he started as if to keep her back. Then remembering that he must never be supposed to know the secret of that room, he sank again into his chair in the corner where he stayed until the people began to assemble, when he went with his mother into the adjoining room where the coffin was and where he sat immovable as a stone through the service, which was not very long. The hymn which had been selected by Hannah was the one commencing with, a sleep in Jesus that blessed sleep from which none ever waked to weep, and as the mournful music filled the rooms and the words came distinctly to Gray's ears, he started as if struck a blow while to himself, he said, Is he a sleep in Jesus? If I only knew, can no one tell me? For grandpa. Then he was quiet again and listened intently to what Mr. Sanford was saying of the deceased. Contrary to his usual custom, the rector spoke of the dead man who had gone down to the grave like a sheaf of grain fully ripe and meet for the kingdom of heaven. There can be no mistake, he said, I was with him a few hours before he died. I heard his words of contrition for sins committed and his assurance that all was peace and joy and brightness beyond the tomb. His sins of which he repented as few ever have were all washed away in Jesus's blood, and while today we stand around his grave, he is safe with the Savior he loved and trusted to the end. What else he said Gray did not know for the sudden reaction in his feelings. Mr. Sanford was with his grandfather at the last. He had heard the dreadful words, I killed a man, and yet he declared the sinner saved. He must know he who had stood by so many deathbeds. Yes, he is asleep in Jesus. Gray whispered, while over him there stole a feeling of deep joy, mingled with the remorse that he had ever doubted the goodness of his grandfather who had prayed for and blessed him on the Thanksgiving day which seemed so long ago. Gray could look upon him now, and when his aunt Hannah and his father rose to take their leave of the corpse, he went with them, lingering by the coffin after they had returned to their seats, and bending over the white still face where death had left a smile, so peaceful, so inexpressibly sweet that it touched the boy keenly, and stooping down he kissed the stiffened lips and murmured through his tears, Dear Grandpa, forgive me for doubting you, I know you were good. I know you are in heaven. He spoke in a whisper, and no one heard what he said, though all noted the pallor of his face and the heavy rings about his eyes, and when the next date was rumored in town that he was very sick no one was surprised. It was brain fever induced by the strain upon his mental powers, and the cold he had taken that night when unknown to anyone he had gone to the farmhouse through the storm and returned again. For three weeks he lay at the very gates of death, watched and cared for as few boys have ever been cared for and watched, for he was the idol of hearts which would break if he were to die. The farmhouse was shut up, and Hannah took her post as chief nurse to the boy she loved so much and whose condition puzzled her a little. Once in the first days of his illness went after an absence of an hour or so she re-entered the room where his father was keeping watch he lifted his bright fever-stricken eyes to her face and asked, Who was the man? What man? Hannah and her brother asked simultaneously, a great fear in the heart of each lest the other had betrayed what Gray was not to know. Have you told him? Burton whispered to his sister who answered, You know I have not. Then turning to Gray who was still looking at her she said to him again, What man? For a moment the wild bright eyes regarded her fixedly, then there seemed to come over the boy a gleam of reason and he replied, I don't know. After that he never mentioned the man again or in any way alluded to the secret weighing so heavily upon the two who watched him so constantly, Hannah and his father. Not a word ever passed between them either on the subject, so anxious were they for the life of the lad who in his delirium taught constantly of the past, of Europe and the ship and the mountains he had climbed and whose names were on his Alpenstock. Again he was at Carnarvon going over the old castle and again at Melrose fighting on the Fourth of July with Neil MacPherson who had said his mother was not a lady. Then there were quieter moods when he talked of and too little Bessie MacPherson whom he had never seen but who came to him in his delirium and with her sunny blue eyes and golden hair hovered around his bed while he questioned her of the little room high up in the hotel where she went without her dinner so often while her heartless mother dined luxuriously. Send for her and bring her here where she can have enough to eat. Why don't you send for Bessie? He would say to them, and once he said it to Miss MacPherson who was standing by his bedside and who replied, I have sent for her. She is coming. All right! He answered, stuff her when she comes, give her all the mince pie she can eat and all the griddle cakes. She never saw any at home. After that he was more quiet, but every morning and every evening he asked, has Bessie come? And when told not yet, he would reply, send her to me when she comes, I want to see her. And so the time went on until the fever spent itself and there came a morning when Greya woke to perfect consciousness of the present and a vague remembrance of the past. They told him how long he had been sick and how anxious they had been. Did I talk much? He asked his Aunt Lucy when she was alone with him. Yes, most of the time, she replied, and over his face there flitted a shadow of fear lest he had talked to things he ought not. What did I say? He asked, and she told him as nearly as she could remember. And Aunt Hannah was here all the time. Where is she now? He inquired and Lucy replied. She went home last night for the first time in two weeks. She had to go as the snow had drifted under the eaves and the house was leaking badly. Is she there alone? Greya asked with a shudder as he thought of that hidden grave under the floor. No, Sam is there and I sent Sarah with her, was Lucy's answer, and after a moment Greya continued. Wasn't Mr. Sanford here once in the room, I mean? Yes, many times, Lucy replied. He prayed for you here two or three times and in the church every Sunday. Send for him. I want to see him. Send now. Greya said, adding as he saw the expression of joy on his aunt's face and guess what was in her mind. Don't think I'm awful good or going to join the church. It is not that, but I want to see the minister before Aunt Hannah comes back. Fortunately, Mr. Sanford was at that very moment below. He had stopped on his way to the post office to inquire for Greya at whose side he soon stood, holding the pale hand in his and looking inquiringly into the eager face of the boy who had asked to see him alone and who said to him as he had to his aunt Lucy, don't think I am good or going to join the church for I am not. I thank you for praying for me. I guess it helped me pull through and I am going to pray myself by and by, but I don't want you to talk to me about that now. I want to ask you something. Grandpa never joined the church and at the funeral you said he was good, that he was safe. Did you mean it? Greya's eyes were fixed earnestly upon the rector who answered unhesitatingly. I wish I were as sure of heaven as he. I know he is safe. You are sure, Greya rejoined, fleshing a little, for now he was nearing the real object of his interview with the rector. You are sure and Aunt Hannah is sure. She ought to know. You believe her a good woman. Mr. Sanford could not understand the breathless eagerness with which Greya awaited his reply which came quickly, decidedly. Here Aunt Hannah, yes, she is the best, the truest, the purest woman who ever lived. She is a martyr, a saint, an angel. I never knew one like her. Thank you, Greya said, with a look of intense relief in his eyes. You have made me very happy. I wanted to feel sure about Grandpa. And now, please go, I am very tired. Sometime I will see you again. So the rector left him, feeling a little disappointed with the result of his interview. She had hoped that Greya wished to speak with him of himself and of his new resolves for the future, when in fact it was only a wish to be reassured of his grandfather's safety, which the boy possibly doubted a little because he had never united himself with the church. That Hannah had anything to do with it the rector never suspected and did not dream of the great gladness in Greya's heart as he kept repeating to himself, she is good even if she did know. She is a saint, a martyr and an angel. And I distrusted her. But all my life hereafter I will devote to her by way of atonement. It was late in the afternoon when Hannah returned to Greya's park and went up to see her nephew of whose improved condition she had heard. Oh, Auntie! He cried when he saw her. I am so glad to have you back. And Hannah did not guess that the boy had her back in more ways than one, but she kissed him and cried over him and told him how her heart had ached when she feared she might lose him and how desolate the world would be without him, while he told her how much he loved her and how he meant to care for her when he was a man and take her to Europe and everywhere. And you will grow young again, he said. You have never had any youth, I guess. How old are you, Auntie? She told him she was forty-six and making a little mental subtraction, he thought, fifteen when it happened. No, she has had no youth, no girlhood. But to her, he said, you do not look so old and you are very pretty still, not exactly like Aunt Lucy or Mother. You are different from them both, though more like Aunt Lucy, whose face is the sweetest I ever saw except yours, which looks as if Christ had put his hand hard upon it and left his impressed there. There were great tears upon the face where Christ had laid his hand so hard, and Gray kissed them away and then asked about the old house and said he was coming to spend the day with her just as soon as possible and the night too adding in a sudden burst of bravery and enthusiasm, and I'll sleep in Grandpa's room if you wish it, I'm not afraid because he died in there. No, no, Hannah said and her cheek paled a little, it is not necessary for you to sleep there, no one will ever do that again. I shall always keep it as he left it. Gray knew what she meant but made no comment and as he seemed very tired Hannah soon left him to rest. Naturally strong and full of vigor Gray's recovery was rapid and in ten days from the time the fever left him his father drove him to the farmhouse where Hannah was expecting him with the south room made as cheerful as possible and a most tempting lunch spread for him upon a little round table before the fire. Mr. Gerald was going to Boston that afternoon and so Gray was left alone with his aunt as he wished to be for he meant to tell her that he too shared her secret and after his father had gone and his lunch was over he burst out suddenly. Auntie, there is something I must tell you, I can't keep it any longer. I was here the night Grandpa died, I was in the kitchen and heard about, about that under the floor. Gray, Hannah gasped as her work dropped from her nervous hands which shook violently. Yes, Gray went on. I wanted to come with father but he said no and so I went to my room but could not go to bed for I knew Grandpa was dying and I wished to see him and I stole out the back way and came across the fields and into the kitchen where I stood warming myself by the stove and heard you all talking in the next room. I did not mean to listen but I could not help it and I heard Grandpa say, 31 years ago tonight I killed a man in the kitchen yonder and buried him under the floor under my bed and have slept over him ever since. You see, I remember his very words, they affected me so much I thought the floor came up and struck me in the face and that my throat would burst with the lump which almost strangled me. I did not hear any more for I ran from the house into the open air where I could breathe and went back to Gray's Park and up to my room without being missed at all. I thought I should die and that was what made me sick and why I did not come here till the funeral and why I did not want to see Grandpa. I was so disappointed, so shocked and afraid he was not in heaven till I heard what Mr. Sanford said and Auntie, I must tell you all, I thought dreadful things of you too because you knew. I thought you were what they said old Scape Gallows was and accomplice. Oh, Gray, my boy, no, no, Hannah cried aghast. This is worse than death and from you, I cannot bear it. In an instant Gray was kneeling at her side imploring her forgiveness and telling her he did not think this of her now. I know you are good, a saint, a martyr, an angel, the best woman that ever lived, Mr. Sanford said so. Mr. Sanford, Hannah exclaimed, what do you mean? You have not spoken to him? Not of that, Gray said, but I sent for him, you know, and Aunt Lucy thought I was going to be good and join the church, but I only wanted him to tell me sure that Grandpa was safe and that you were good as I used to think you were. He never suspected I was inquiring about you, I brought it in so neat, but he said you were a martyr, a saint, an angel, and the best woman that ever lived and I believed him and love you so much and pity you so much for all you must have suffered. And now tell me about it, don't omit a single detail, I want to know it all. So she told him everything and when the story was ended he took her white face between his two hands and kissing it tenderly, said, now I am sure you are a saint, a martyr, an angel, but the martyrdom is over, I shall take care of you, I will help you find Elizabeth Rogers or her heirs and father shall not know. I'll go to Europe when I am a man and inquire at every house in Carnarvon for Joel Rogers or his sister and when I find the heirs I will send the money to them and they shall never know where it came from and if there are shares and quarries and minds I'll manage that somehow. I am to be a lawyer, you know, and I can find some kink which will work. How he comforted her with his cheery, hopeful words and how fast the hours flew by until Tom came to take him back to Gray's park. But Gray begged so hard to stay all night that Hannah ventured to keep him and Tom returned without him. I am not a bit afraid of the house now and would as soon sleep in grandpa's room as anywhere. He said to Hannah as they sat together in the evening and then they talked of her future until Gray was old enough to take care of her as he meant to do. Shall you stay here? He asked and Hannah replied, I don't know yet what I shall do. I shall let your father decide for me. You might live with us in Boston, Gray said. That would be jolly for me, but I don't know how you and mother would hitch together you are so unlike. I wish I was big and married and then I know just where you would go, but father will arrange it I am sure. And three weeks later when Berton came up from Boston after his son he did arrange it for her. It is of no use, he said to her, I have tried meeting and mingling with my friends and I feel as if they saw on my face what is always in my mind and if I stay in Boston I shall someday scream out to the public that my father was a murderer. I could not help it and I can understand now how Lucy was wrought upon to do what she did in church when they thought her crazy. I shall be crazy too if I stay here and I am going away. Geraldine likes Europe and so do I and as I can leave my business as well as not I shall shut up my house and go abroad until I feel that I can look my fellow men in the face. And gray, Hannah asked sorrowfully knowing how dreary her life would be with him so far away. I shall take him with me, her brother replied. I shall put him in school somewhere in England or Germany and send him eventually to Oxford. But you will stay here won't you? I'd rather you would. Yes, she answered still more sadly for she fully understood the intense selfishness of the man who went on. I shall be happy you're knowing you are here for I cannot have the house sold or rented or even left alone lest by some chance the secret of our lives should be discovered. I am almost as morbid on the subject as father was but with you here I shall feel safe. You can have anyone live with you whom you choose and I will supply you with plenty of money so I do not see why you should not in time be quite content. Yes, brother, Hannah said very low but shall I not see Gray for years? Perhaps not. I don't know, was her brother's reply as he arose to go without a single throb of pity for the woman who was to be left alone in the home so hateful to him. But Gray when he heard of the plan which did not surprise him comforted her with the assurance that he should spend all his long vacations with her as he did not mind crossing the ocean at all. I may be with you oftener than if I were in America and then sometime I'll go to Carnarvon and begin the search. So don't feel so badly, he said to her as he saw the great tears roll down her cheeks and guessed in part her sorrow. And so the necessary arrangements were made as rapidly as possible and one Saturday about the middle of March Hannah stood on the wharf in New York with a feeling like death in her heart and saw Gray sail away and leave her there alone. 16. Expecting Bessie. After Miss MacPherson had sent her letter to her nephew Archie asking him to give his little daughter to her keeping, her whole nature seemed to change and there was on her face a look of happy expectancy rarely seen there before. Even her cook Sarah and her maid Flora noticed and disgusted as they sat together by the kitchen fire but as Miss MacPherson never encouraged familiarities with her domestics they asked her no questions and only wondered and speculated when she bad them remove everything from the small bedroom at the end of the upper hall which communicated with her own sleeping apartment. But when this room was papered and painted and furnished with a pretty carpet of drab and blue and a single iron bedstead with lace hangings and a child's bureau and rocking chair and more than all when a large doll was bought with a complete wardrobe for it Flora could no longer restrain her curiosity but asked if her mistress were expecting a child. Yes was the reply. My grand-niece Bessie who was named for me she lives at Stoneley my old home in Wales and I may get a letter any day saying she has sailed. I shall go to New York to meet her so have my things ready for me to start at a moment's notice. So confident was Miss MacPherson that her nephew would be glad to have his daughter removed from the influences around her to a home where she was sure of enough to eat and that his frivolous wife would be glad to be rid of a child who must be in the way of her flirtations that she was constantly expecting to hear that she was coming. She did not believe Archie would bring her himself but she thought he would probably consign her to the care of some reliable person or put her in charge of the captain or stewardess and in her anxiety to have the little girl she had written a second letter three days after she sent the first. In this she had suggested the stewardess of the Celtic whom she knew and with whom she assured Archie he could trust his child. But days and weeks went by until it was past the middle of June and still there were no tidings of Bessie. At last, however, there came a foreign letter addressed in a woman's hand, too. Miss Elizabeth MacPherson, Allington, Wooster County, Massachusetts, USA. The Elizabeth was an affront to the good woman who bristled all over with resentment as she held the deity envelope in her hand and studied the strange monogram, D-A-M, Daisy Allen MacPherson. Swears even in her monogram, I knew she would, was Miss Betsy's comment as she broke the seal and began to read, first muttering to herself. She writes well enough. The letter was as follows. Stonely, Bangor, June 3rd. Our dear aunt. Humph, I am not her aunt, was the mental comment and then she read on. We have just come home from Paris where we spent several delightful weeks with a party of friends who would gladly have kept us longer. But Archie was homesick for the old place, though what he can see and it to admire I am sure I do not know. So here we are for an indefinite length of time and here we found both your letters which old Anthony who grows more and more stupid every year failed to forward to us in Paris. As Archie leaves everything to me he said I must answer the letters and thank you for your offer to remove our little girl from the poisonous atmosphere you think surrounds her and bring her up morally and spiritually. I do not know what the atmosphere of Stonely used to be when you lived here but I assure you it is very healthy now not at all poisonous or malariaous. We have had some of the oldest used cut down and that lets in the sunshine and fresh air too. But I am wandering from the object of my letter which is to say that we cannot let you have our little Bessie even with the prospect of her learning to scour knives and pair potatoes and possibly having a few thousands if she does well. Archie would assume part with his eyes as with Bessie while nothing short of an assured fortune and that a large one would induce me to give her up. She is in one sense my stock in trade. Heartless wretch, dropped from the indignant ladies lips her stock in trade, what does she mean? Does she play out this child for her own base purposes? Then she read on. Strangers are always attracted by her and through her we make so many pleasant acquaintances. Indeed she quite throws me into the shade but I am not at all jealous. I am satisfied to be known only as Bessie's mother. I am very proud of her and hope someday to see her at least a Countess. Countess, fool, muttered Miss Bessie and read on. The enclosed photograph is like her in features but fails I think in expression but I send it as it will give you some idea of her as she is now. Here Miss Bessie stopped and taking a card from the bit of tissue paper in which it was wrapped, engaged earnestly and with a feeling of intense yearning and bitter disappointment upon the beautiful face whose great wide open blue eyes looked at her just as they had looked at her on the sands at Aberystwyth. The photographer's art had succeeded admirably with Bessie and made a most wonderful picture of childish innocence and beauty besides bringing out about the mouth and into the eyes that patient half sorry expression which spoke to Miss Bessie of loneliness and hunger far up in the fourth and fifth stories of fashionable hotels were the little girl often ate her smuggled dinner of rolls and nuts and raisins and whatever else her mother could convey into her pocket unobserved by those around her. Yes, she looks as if a big slice of plum pudding or minced pie would do her good. Poor little thing and I am not to have her, Miss Bessie said with a lump in her throat as she continued reading. You saw her once I know three years ago at Aberystwyth though she had no idea then who the funny woman was who asked her so many questions. Why didn't you make yourself known to us? Archie would have been delighted to meet you. He never saw you I believe. And why didn't you speak to me when I went by as Bessie says I did? Was Archie with me I wonder or was it young Lord Hardy from Dublin Archie's best friend? He was with us there and sometimes walked with me when Archie was not inclined to go out. He is very nice and Archie is very fond of him while to Bessie and me he is like a brother. Here Miss Bessie stopped again and taking off her spectacles harangued the tortoise shell cat who was sitting on the rug and looking at her. Archie's friend, her brother, humbug. It does make me so mad to see a married woman with a young whipper snapper of a fellow chasing after her and using her husband as a cover. Mark my words, the woman who does that is not a pure good woman at heart or in thought though outwardly she may be sweet as sugar and her husband. Well he is both weak and unmanly to allow it and is looked upon with contempt. To all this Mrs. tortoise shell purred an ascent and the lady went on with the letter. Bessie is waiting for me to go for a walk and so I must bring this letter to a close. Archie sends his love and will with me be very glad to welcome you to your old home should you care to visit it. When I was a child I thought at the grandest place in the world but it is very much run down for we have no money with which to keep it up and have only the two servants Anthony and Dorothy both of whom are getting old. And yet I do not complain of Archie for not trying to do something. Once however before we were married I tried to rouse him to something like energy and caring for himself but since seeing the world his world I mean for you know of course I am not what would be considered his equal socially I have changed my mind and do not blame him at all. Brought up as he was with an idea that he must not work it is very hard for him to overcome early prejudices of training and education and I think his uncle the honorable John would be intensely mortified to have his nephew in trade though he is very careful not to give him anything toward his support and we are so poor that even a hundred pounds would be a fortune to us. Maybe some good angel will send it to us by and by. Hoping it most devoutly I have the honor to be very sincerely your niece Daisy Allen McPherson. P.S. Bessie thanks you again for the turquoise ring you sent her. A hundred pounds, five hundred dollars. And maybe she devoutly hopes I shall be the good angel who will send it to her but she is mistaken. Do I look like an angel? Miss Bessie said fiercely addressing herself to the cat. No they may go to destruction their own way. I wash my hands of them. I should have been glad for the little girl but I can't have her. She will grow up like her mother, marry some fool, have her friend and brother dangling after her and smuggle dinners and lunches for her children up in the attic. Well so be it. That ends it forever. The letter was an insult from beginning to end and Miss McPherson felt it as such and with a sigh of keen regret as for something lost she put away the picture and when Flora asked when little Miss Bessie was coming she answered curtly. Never. End of chapters 15 and 16, end of part one. Part two, chapters one and two of Bessie's fortune by Mary Jane Holmes. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. One, stonely. The season is June. The time 14 years prior to the commencement of this story and the place an old garden in Wales about half way between Bangor and the suspension bridge across Manai Straits. The garden which is very large must have been beautiful in the days when money was more plenty with the proprietor than at present. But now there were marks of neglect and decay everywhere and in some parts of it the shrubs and vines and roses were mixed together in so hopeless a tangle that to separate them seemed impossible while the yew trees at which there were several grew dark and thick and untrimmed and cast heavy shadows upon the grass-blats near them. The central part of the garden however showed signs of care. The broad gravel walk was clean and smooth and the straight borders beside it were full of summer flowers among which roses were conspicuous. Indeed there were roses everywhere for Anthony loved them as if they were his children and so did the white-faced invalid indoors whose room all door the Anthony's wife kept filled with the freshest and choicest. It did not matter to her that the sick man had wandered very far from the path of duty and was dying from excessive dissipation. He was her pride, her boy, whom she had tended from his babyhood and whom she would watch over and care for to the last. She had defended and stood by him when he brought home a pretty little brown-eyed, brown-haired creature whose only fault was her poverty in the fact that she was a chorus singer in the opera's in London where Hugh MacPherson had seen and fallen in love with her. Two years she had lived at Stonely, happy as the singing birds which flew about the place and built their nests in the use, and then one summer morning she died and left to Dorothy's care a little boy of three weeks who, without much attention from anyone as regarded his moral and mental culture, had scrambled along somehow and had reached the age of 16 without a single serious thought as to his future and without ever having made the least exertion for himself. Dorothy and Anthony, the two servants of the place had taken care of him and would continue to do so even after his father's death or if they did not, his uncle the Honorable John MacPherson in London would never see him want, he thought. So with no bad habits except his extreme indolence which amounted to absolute laziness, the boys' days passed on until the hot summer morning in June when he lay asleep on a broad bench under the shade of a yew tree with his face upturned to the sunlight which penetrated through the overchanging boughs and fell in patches upon him. Occasionally a fly or honeybee came and buzzed about him but never alighted upon him because of the watchful vigilance of the young girl who stood by his side shielding him from the sun's rays with her person and her white cape bonnet which she also used to scare away the insects for Archie MacPherson must not be troubled even in his sleep if care of hers could prevent it. The girl who was not more than 12 in reality though her training had made her much older in knowledge and experience was singularly beautiful with great blue eyes and wavy golden hair which fell in long curls to her waist. Her dress though scrupulously neat and clean and becoming indicated that she belonged to the middle or working class far below the social position of the boy. But whatever inequality of rank there was between them she had never felt it for ever since she could remember anything Archie MacPherson had played with and petted and teased her and she was almost as much at home at Stonely as in the workroom of her mother Mrs. Elizabeth Allen who made dresses for the ladies of Bangor and vicinity. How handsome he is, she said to herself as she gazed admiringly upon the sleeping boy and how white and slim his hands are. They're a great deal whiter than mine but that I suppose is because he's a gentleman's son and I have to wash dishes and sweep and dust the rooms and the girl glanced regretfully at her own hands which though fat and well-shaped were brown and showed signs of the dusting and dish washing required of her by her mother whose means were very limited and whose dress making did not warrant luxury of any kind. I wish my hands were white and that I could wear diamond rings like the ladies at the George, she continued and sometime I will if they are only shams. Half the world does not know the difference. Just then a handsome carriage containing a gentleman and lady, child and nurse and maid turned in at the large gate which Anthony opened very respectfully with a pull at his forelock. That's the MacPherson's from London. What an ugly, proud looking thing Lady Jane is, the girl thought and in watching the carriage as it drove toward the house she relaxed her vigilance so far that a huge blue bottle fly which had been skirting around the spot for some time alighted squarely upon Archie's nose and roused him from his slumber. Yawning lazily and stretching his long arms he looked up and seeing his companion called out in a tone half familiar, half patronizing as he would address an inferior. Hello, days, what are you doing here? Keeping the sun and the flies off from you, they bite awfully this morning, she answered quietly and Archie continued. Upon my word, days, you are a little Trump standing bareheaded in the sun to shield me. How long have you been here? Half an hour perhaps and I was getting tired, was the girl's reply, but Archie did not ask her to sit down beside him for he wanted all the bench to lounge upon and leaning upon his elbow he went on talking to her and answering her questions jestingly until she said, how is your father? Then there came a shadow upon the face of the boy who replied, he is worse than they have sent for Uncle John and Lady Jane, we expect them today. Yes, I know, they came while you were asleep. Lady Jane looks very proud, Daisy said and Archie rejoined. She looks as she is then, I hate her. If Archie hated her, Daisy did too and she answered promptly, so do I. Though she had never seen the lady in question until that morning when she rode by arching her long neck and looking curiously around her. She thinks the world made only for her and the baby Neil, Archie said, and Dorothy thinks so too. She is in a great way about her coming because we have no servants, I don't care. Let Uncle John give us some money if they want style when they come to Stoneley. That's so, and Daisy nodded approvingly, then she went on. Mother has made some lemon jelly for the dinner because Dorothy says she makes it so nice and I am going over this evening to wash the dishes and help Dorothy a little. You, I wouldn't, Archie said, looking reflectingly at her. But she will give me a shilling toward a new sash, was the girl's answer and Archie replied. I'll give you the shilling, don't go. And he put his hand in his pocket for the shilling which Daisy knew was not there for the poverty of the McPherson's of Stoneley was no secret in the neighborhood any more than was the pride which kept them so poor. She had often heard both discussed by her mother's customers and when Archie said as he withdrew his hand empty, plague on it, what a bother it is never to have any money. I wish we were not so poor. I wonder how I can make a fortune. I thought of 40 ways. She asked Sossily, did you ever think of going to work? To work, to work. He repeated slowly as if not fully comprehending her. I don't think I quite know what you mean. I mean, she replied, that if you have no money and want some, why don't you go to work and earn it like Giles, the tailor, or Jones, the baker? It would not hurt you one bit. That is rich, Archie exclaimed, sitting upright for the first time and laughing immoderately. The best thing I have heard asked Lady Jane or Uncle John or even Anthony how they would like to have a McPherson turned baker or a tailor or a tinker. You know I did not mean you to be any of these, the girl answered a little indignantly, but you might do something. You can go to London and be a clerk in that big store, Marshall and Snellgroves. That would not be hard nor spoil your hands. I am afraid it would, little days, the boy replied. You will have to try again. It would never do for a McPherson to be in trade. We were not born to it. How would gambling suit you? Piles of money are made that way. Gambling, Daisy repeated, and could Miss Betsy McPherson have seen the scorn which flashed in the eyes of Daisy Allen, she would have forgiven the Daisy McPherson whom she saw years after upon the terrace of Aberystwyth, flirting with Lord Hardy. But the Daisy of the Marine Terrace was a very different person from the young girl who, with a hand upon each hip and her head on one side, gave Archie a piece of her mind in terms neither mild nor selected. Gambling, I'd never speak to you again if you stooped to such a thing as to play for money. You'd better a thousand times sell butchers meat at the corner or cry gooseberries in the street. Suppose you are a gentleman, a McPherson, without money. Must you either gamble or sit still and let someone else take care of you? It won't hurt you to work any more than anybody else and you'll have to do something. Everybody says so. Suppose you do have stonely when your father dies. There are only a few acres besides the park and they are all run down. What are you going to do? Upon my word, I did not know you had so much vim. You are a regular little spitfire, Archie said regarding her intently. Then after a pause he added. What am I going to do? I am sure I don't know unless I marry you and let you take care of me. I believe you could do it. The hands that had been pressed on Daisy's hips met suddenly together in a quick nervous clasp while there came over the girl's face a look of wonder and surprise and evident perplexity. Although Daisy was much older than her years in some things, the idea of marrying Archie or any one else had never entered her mind. Now, however, she was conscious of a new feeling which she could not define and after regarding him fixedly for a moment without any apparent consciousness she answered in a very matter of fact way. I believe I could take care of you somehow. I know you could. So suppose we call it a bargain, Archie said, but before Daisy could reply, Lady Jane's maid appeared coming down the broad walk. Stopping in front of the girl and boy and merely noticing the former by a supercellious stare, she said to the latter interrogatively, Mr. Archibald MacPherson, present, he answered with a comical look at Daisy on whom it was lost for she was admiring the smart cap and pink ribbons of the maid who said, if you are Mr. Archibald, your father wishes to see you. He said I was to fetch you directly. Rising slowly, Archie shook himself together and started for the house while Daisy looked after him with a new and thoughtful expression on her face. Archie, she called at last, tell Dorothy I shall not come to help her with the dishes. I have changed my mind. I do not want the shelling. All right. Was Archie's response as he walked on, never dreaming that he had that morning sown the first germ of the ambition which was to overshadow all Daisy Allen's future life and bear fruit a hundred fold? 2. The MacPherson's The room in which Hugh MacPherson was lying was the largest and coolest and best furnished in the house, for since he had been confined to his bed, Dorothy had brought into it everything she thought would make it more attractive and durable to the fastidious invalid who, on the June morning when his son was in the garden talking to Daisy Allen, was propped upon pillows scarcely whiter than his thin, worn face and was speaking of Archie to his brother John, who was standing before him with folded arms and a gloomy troubled expression on his face. Just across the room by an open window sat Lady Jane, pretending to rearrange a bowl of roses on the table near her, but listening intently to the conversation between the two brothers. I don't know what will become of Archie, the sick man said, speaking very slowly. I shall leave him nothing but stonely with a mortgage on it for four hundred pounds and a little annuity which came through his mother. Strange that from dear little Dora, who when I married her had nothing but her sweet voice and sweeter face, the boy should inherit all the ready money he can ever have, unless you or our sister Betsy open your hearts to him. You used to fancy the boy and talked once of adopting him when I had that fever at Paul and you came to see me. Here Lady Jane's long neck arched itself more proudly and John felt how intently she was awaiting his reply. Yes, Hugh, he said, I like the boy, he is bright and intelligent and I did think of adopting him once but that was before Neil came. Now I have a son which makes a difference. I cannot take Archie or do very much for him either. You know I have very little money of my own and I have no right to spend Lady Jane's. Here the willowy figure near the window bent very low over the roses as if satisfied the turn matters were taking as John went on. As his uncle and guardian I will see to him of course and will write to our sister asking her to do something for him. Perhaps she will invite him to come to her in America and if so what are your wishes? Shall I let him go? The invalid hesitated a moment while his common sense fought with the old hereditary pride of blood and birth which would keep one in the rank to which it had pleased God to call him even if he starved there. The latter gained the victory and he replied, I would rather Archie should not go to America if there is any other way. Betsy is very peculiar in her ideas and would as soon apprentice him to a shoemaker as anything else. In the last letter I received from her she advised me to put him to some trade and to break stone myself on the highway rather than do nothing. No Archie must not go to America. He may marry well if you and Lady Jane look after him. And you will, John. You will have a care for my boy when I am gone and oh never, never let him go near the gaming table. That has been my ruin. Keep him from that whatever you do. Why not require a promise from him to that effect? He is a truthful boy, he will keep his word. John said and he replied, yes, yes, that's it. Strange I never thought of it before. I will send for him at once. Call Anthony to fetch him and oh, John, I owe Anthony fifty pounds. Money borrowed at different times from his hard earnings. Will you see that he is paid? Yes, John answered promptly. For Anthony who had been at Stoneley since he was a boy and had been so much to him was his favorite and should not suffer. He would pay Anthony but when his brother mentioned other debts owing to the trade's people in Bangor and Bo Maris and even Carnarvon he objected on the ground that he was not able but said he would lay the matter before his sister Betsy who was far richer than himself. It was at this point that Archie appeared in the door and after greeting his uncle John and the lady Jane with the grace and courtesy so natural to him he went to his father's bedside where he stopped suddenly, struck with an expression on the pinched white face which earlier in the morning had not been there. Father, he cried while a great fear took possession of him. What is it? Are you worse? Yes, my son, weaker, that is all and going from you very fast before the day is over perhaps and I want to talk to you Archie and to tell you I have nothing to leave you but Stoneley and that is mortgaged. Nothing but the small annuity on your life from your mother's little fortune which came too late to do her any good. Oh Dora, who bore with me so patiently and loved me through all? Shall I find her, I wonder? She was so good and I am so bad and Archie, my ruin has been the gaming table which you must avoid as you would the plague. Death and eternal ruin sit there side by side. Shun it Archie and promise me as you hope for heaven never to play for money, never. But what shall I do? Archie asked remembering that he had intended to try his fortune at Monte Carlo where he had heard such large sums were sometimes made. What shall I do? I don't know, my boy, the father replied. There will be some way provided. Your uncle John will look after you as your guardian and your aunt in America will help. But promise and I shall die happier. And so with no special thought about it except that his father wished it, Archie MacPherson pledged himself never to play for money under any circumstances and the father knew the boy would keep the pledge and felt that his last hours of life were easier. For those hours were his last and when the son went down the master of stone lay dead in the room where he had blessed his son and commended him to the care of his brother and Anthony feeling certain that the latter would be truer to the trust than the former in whom selfishness was their predominant trait. It was a very quiet and pretentious funeral. For John MacPherson who knew the expense of it would fall on himself would have no unnecessary display and the third day after his death Hugh MacPherson was laid to rest by the side of the Dora he had often neglected but always loved. As soon as the funeral was over John returned to London with Lady Jane having first given Archie a great deal of good advice to the effect that he must do the best he could with what he had and never spend a shilling unnecessarily or forget that he was a MacPherson. On his arrival in London John wrote to his sister in America telling her of Hugh's death, of his poverty and his debts and asking what she was willing to do for the boy who was left as it were upon the world. In due time the answer came and was characteristic of the writer. She would pay the mortgage and the debts to the trades people rather than have the MacPherson name disgraced and she would take the boy and put him in a way to earn his own living at some honest and respectable occupation. If he did not choose to come or her brother did not choose to send him on account of any foolish pride and prejudice against labor then he might take care of him or the boy might starve for all of her. This letter John and Lady Jane read together but did not consider for a moment. With a scornful toss of her head Lady Jane declared herself ready to give of her own means toward the maintenance of the boy rather than see a MacPherson degraded to manual labor and thus disgrace her son Neil, the apple of her eye. And so it was settled between them that Archie was to be kept in ignorance of his Aunt Betsy's offer which the low taste he had inherited from his mother might possibly prompt him to accept. Meanwhile he was for the present to remain at Stonely where his living would cost a mere pittance and where he would pursue his studies as here to for under the direction of a retired clergyman who for a nominal sum took boys to educate. This sum with other absolute necessaries John undertook to pay feeling when all the arrangements were made that he had done his duty to his brother's child who was perfectly delighted to be left by himself at Stonely where he could do as he pleased with Anthony and Dorothy and his teacher too for that matter and where he was free to talk with and tease and at last make love to Daisy Allen for his uncle John paid but little attention to him beyond paying the sum he had pledged and having him in his family at London and in Derbyshire for a few weeks each year when it was most convenient. Naturally he could not help falling in love with Daisy who was the only girl he ever saw except the high bread, milk and water misses whom he sometimes met in Lady Jane's drawing room and who in point of beauty and grace and pecancy could in no degree compare with the playmate of his childhood. After the morning when Daisy kept a son from him in the old you shaded garden and he jestingly proposed to marry her that she might take care of him a change came over the girl who began to develop the talent for intrigue in which she afterward became so successful and as a preliminary step she made herself so necessary to Archie that his life without her would hardly have been indurable and of his own accord he always shortened as much as possible his visits to London for he knew how bright was the face and how warm the welcome awaiting him at Stonely. And so it came about that when Daisy was 16 and he was 20 he offered himself to the girl who pretended no surprise or reserve but promptly answered yes and then suggested that their engagement be kept a secret from everyone until he came of age and could do as he pleased for Daisy well knew the fierce opposition he would meet from his proud relatives if once they knew that he had stooped to the daughter of a dressmaker and so well did she manage the affair that not even Dorothy suspected the real state of affairs until one morning when Archie who had been absent for two weeks on a tour through Scotland astonished her by walking into the house with Daisy whom he introduced as his wife and the mistress of Stonely. She too had been to Scotland to visit some friends and there the marriage was consummated and Archie had someone to take care of him at last. And when his uncle John wrote him a most angry letter denouncing him as his nephew and cutting off his yearly allowance which though small was still something to depend upon Daisy rose to the situation and managed his annuity and managed the household and managed him until enough was saved from their slender means to start on the campaign which she had planned for herself and which she carried out so successfully. The continent was her chosen field of action and Monte Carlo the point toward which she steadily set her face until at last one lovely October day five months after her marriage Mr. and Mrs. Archibald MacPherson of Stonely, Wales were registered at the Hotel d'Angleterre and took possession of one of the cheapest rooms until they could afford a better. It does not matter where we sleep or where we eat so long as we make a good appearance outside she said to Archie who shrank a little at first from the closed dreary room on the fifth floor so different from his large area apartment at home which though very plainly furnished had about it an air of refinement and respectability in striking contrast to this 10 by 12 hole where Daisy made the most ravishing toilets of the simplest materials with which to attract and ensnare any silly moth ready to cinch its wings at her flame. She had settled the point that if Archie could not earn his living because he was a MacPherson she must do it for him. Five months had suffice to show her that there was in him no capability or disposition for work or business or exertion of any kind. He was a great good natured easygoing, indolent fellow popular with everybody and very fond and very proud of and very dependent upon her with no grain of jealousy in his nature. So when the English swells of which there were many at Monte Carlo flocked around her attracted by her fresh young beauty and the girlish simplicity of her manners she readily encouraged them not because she cared particularly for their admiration but because she meant to use them for her own purpose and make them subservient to her interests. End of chapters one and two. Part two chapters three and four of Bessie's Fortune by Mary Jane Holmes. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Three at Monte Carlo. Reader, have you ever been to Monte Carlo? That loveliest spot in all the world where nature and art have done so much. Where the summer rains fall so softly and the winter sun shines so brightly and where the blue of the autumnal sky is only equaled by the blue of the Mediterranean sea whose waves kiss the beautiful shore and cool the perfume dare. If you have been there, you do not need a description of the place or of the mass of human beings who daily press up the hill from the station or swarming from those grand hotels hurry toward one common center, the tall casino whose gilded domes can be seen from afar and whose interior, though so beautiful to look upon, is, as Miss Betsy MacPherson would express it, the very gate of hell. Perhaps, like the writer of this story, you have stood by the long tables and watched the people seated there, the white-haired, watery-eyed old men whose trembling hands can scarcely hold the gold they put down with such feverish eagerness, the men of middle age whom experience has taught to play cautiously and stop just before the tide of success turns against them. The young men, who with the perspiration standing thickly about their pale lips and a strange glitter in their feverish eyes as they see hundreds swept away, still play recklessly, desperately until all is lost and they leave the accursed spot hopelessly ruined, sometimes seeking forgetfulness and death with only the stars looking down upon them and the restless sea moaning in their ears. Lost, lost. There are women, too, at Monte Carlo, more I verily believe than men, old women who sit from the hour of noon to the hour of midnight, women with their life's history written on their wrinkled wicked faces, women who laugh hysterically when all they have is lost and then borrow of their friends to try their luck again, women who go from table to table with their long bags upon their arms and who only risk five or ten francs at a time and stop when their unlucky star is in the ascendant or they feel that curious eyes are watching them. For these habitual players at Monte Carlo are very superstitious and it takes but little to unnerve them. There are young women there, too, who play first to see if they can win and when, by the fall of the little ball, their gold pieces doubled, they try again and again until the habit is fixed and their faces are as well known in the saloons as those of the old men with the bleer eyes which find time between the plays to scan these young girls curiously and calculate their price. And among these young women, Daisy McPherson sat the morning after her arrival at Monte Carlo with a look of sweet innocence on her face and a parent unconsciousness of the attention she was attracting. She had been among the first to enter the salon at the hour of its opening for she was eager for the contest. She did not expect Archie to play for she knew he would not break the promise made to his dying father. But she was bound by no such vow and she meant to make her fortune on the spot where gold was won so easily and alas, so easily lost. Rarely, if ever, had a more beautiful face been seen in that gilded den than Daisy's as she entered the room leaning upon the arm of her husband and walking slowly from table to table to see how it was done before making her first venture. Not a man but turned to look at her and when at last with a trembling hand she put down her five frank piece, not one but was glad when she took up two and with a smile of triumph tried her luck again. It is said that success always attends the new beginner at Monte Carlo and it surely attended Daisy who played on and on seldom losing until grown bold by repeated success she staked her all 150 francs and doubled it at once. That will do. 12 pounds are enough for one day, she said, and depositing her gains in her leather bag she took Archie's arm and left the room followed by scores of admiring eyes while many an eager question was asked as to who the lovely English girl could be. In the anti-room outside there was a crowd of people moving in opposite directions and the train of Daisy's blue muslin for those were not the days of short dresses was stepped upon and held until the gathers at the waist gave way and there was a long, ugly rent in one of the bottom flounces. I beg your pardon, miss, for my awkwardness but really I could not help myself. I was so pushed by the crowd was said in Daisy's ear in a rich Irish brogue and turning partly round she saw a fair-haired young man scarcely two years older than herself with a look of genuine distress upon his aristocratic but boyish face as he continued I hope I have not ruined the dress and it is such a pretty one. I am sure you could not help it but I am awful sorry for it is my very best gown but then I can afford another now for I gained 12 pounds today. Daisy said, gathering up her torn skirt and thus showing to good advantage her pretty feet and the fluted ruffles on her white petticoat. Daisy, Archie said reproachfully for he did not like her speaking thus freely to a stranger. Let's get out of this and he made his way to the open air followed by the young man who still kept apologizing for his awkwardness until Archie lost all patience and said a little hotly. I tell you it is of no consequence my wife can afford another. Your wife, the young Irishman, repented with a gas. Is it possible? I thought she was your sister. She looks so young. Your wife. Yes, my wife, and I am Archibald MacPherson of stonely banger in Wales, Archie answered fiercely and with a look which he meant should annihilate the enemy who not in the least abashed because he really meant no harm lifted his soft hat very respectfully as he replied. Mr. MacPherson, I am glad to make your acquaintance. I was in Bangor last year at the George Hotel and heard your name mentioned. I am Lord Frederick Hardy of Dublin, better known there as Ted Hardy of Hardy Manor and I am out on a spree running myself independent of tutors and guardians and all that sort of thing. Pours I consider the whole lot of them though my guardian fortunately is the best-natured and most liberal old cove in the world and gives me mostly all I want. I think it is a streak of luck to have met you here where I know nobody and nobody knows me. I hope we may be friends. His manor so friendly and so familiar mollified Archie who had heard of the young Irish Lord whose income was 10,000 pounds a year and who spent his money lavishly during the few days he was at the George while Daisy who held a title in great veneration was enraptured with this young peer who treated her like an equal. And so it came that in half an hour's time the three were the best of friends and had made several plans with regard to what they would do during their stay at Monte Carlo. The next day Daisy did not see her new acquaintance but as she was dressing for the Tabledote dinner which she could afford with her 12 pounds gain the box was brought to her room with a note addressed to her by Lord Hardy who wrote as follows, Dear Mrs. MacPherson, I send you a new dress in place of the one I had the misfortune to spoil yesterday. Please accept it without a protest just as if I were your brother or your husband's best friend as I hope to be. You're sincerely, Ted Hardy. Oh Archie! Daisy exclaimed as she opened the box and held to view a soft, rich, lustrous silk of dark navy blue which Lord Hardy had found in niece whether he had been that day and which in quality and style did justice to his taste and generosity. Oh Archie isn't it a beauty and it almost stands alone. Yes! Archie answered meditatively for he rather doubted the propriety of receiving silk costly a present for his wife from a stranger and he said so to Daisy adding that it was of course very kind in Lord Hardy but wholly uncalled for and she'd better return it at once as he would not quite like to see her wear it. But Daisy began to cry and said she had never had a silk dress in her life and this was just what she wanted and she could make it herself and she presumed the amount Lord Hardy paid for it was no more to him than a few pence were to them. And so she kept it and thanked Lord Hardy very sweetly for it with tears swimming in her great blue eyes when she met him in the evening at dinner for he had given up his luxurious quarters at the more fashionable hotel and had come to the same house with the McPherson's whose shadow he became. The navy blue silk was quickly made in the privacy of Daisy's apartment and she was very charming in it and attracted a great deal of attention and drove the young Irishman nearly crazy with her smiles and cockatries. Lord Hardy took her and her husband to drive every day in the most stylish turnout the place afforded and took them to Nice and Mantone and introduced them to some friends of his who were staying at the latter place and of whose acquaintance slight as it was Daisy made capital ever after. The adventurous was developing fast in her and Lord Hardy was her willing tool always at her beck and nod and going everywhere with her except into the playroom itself. From that place he was debarred for at Monte Carlo they have decreed that no male under age shall enter the charmed spot and Teddy was not twenty-one and had said so to the man in the office and after that neither persuasions nor bribes were of any avail. Better have lied straight out more than one hard old man said to him but Ted Hardy could not lie straight out and so he stayed out and waited around disconsolately for Daisy whom fortune sometimes favored and sometimes deserted. One day she lost everything and came out greatly perturbed to report her ill luck to Teddy as she called him now. It's a shame that I can't go in I could loan you some you know Lord Hardy said and Daisy replied, yes, Tis an awful shame. Then after a moment she added, Teddy I've been thinking I expect my cousin Sue from Bangor every day. Yes, Teddy replied slowly and thinking at once that a cousin Sue might be the throw. Is she nice? How does she look? Any like you? No more like you Ted. She is about your height. You are not tall you know. Her hair is just the color of yours and curls just like it while her eyes are the same. Dress you in her clothes and you might pass for her. Bye, Joe, bye, see. When will she be here? Teddy asked and Daisy replied. Just as soon as you can buy me some soft woollen goods to make her a suit and a pair of women's gloves and boots which will fit you and a switch of hair to match yours. Comprenez-vous? You bet I do. Was the delighted answer. And within 24 hours the soft woollen goods and the boots and gloves and switch of hair and sundry other articles pertaining to a woman's toilet were in Daisy's room from which during the next day issued shrieks of laughter almost too loud to be strictly lady-like as Daisy fitted the act of little Irishman and instructed him how to demean himself as cousin Sue from Bangor. Two days later and there sat side by side at the roulette table two fair-haired English girls as they seemed to be and nobody suspected the truth or dreamed of the ruse which had succeeded admirably and admitted to forbidden ground young Lord Hardy who in the new dress which fitted him perfectly and with Daisy's linen collar and cuffs and necktie and one of Daisy's hats perched on his head and drawn over the forehead where his own curly hair was kept in his place as a bang by numerous hairpins would have passed for a girl anywhere. Nobody had challenged him or his age as he passed in with Daisy who was well known by this time and around whom and her companion a crowd of curious ones gathered and watched them as they played cautiously at first for that was Daisy's style. Then as Ted's Irish blood began to tingle with excitement more recklessly until he whispered to her, play high. There's no such thing as a second hand low here. Double your stakes and I'll be your backer. And Daisy played high and won nearly every time while the lookers on marveled at her luck and wondered by what strange intuition she knew just where to place her gold. For days the pair known to the crowd as Le Cousin Anglaise played side by side while Lord Hardy maintained his incognito perfectly though some of the spectators commented on the size of his hands and wondered why he always kept them gloved. And Ted enjoyed it immensely and thought it the jolliest lark he ever had and did not care as to how much he lost if Daisy only won. But at last her star began to wane and her gold pieces were swept off rapidly by the remorseless croupier until 50 pounds went at one stroke and then Daisy turned pale and said to her companion, don't you think we'd better stop? I believe Satan himself is standing behind me with his evil eye. Do look and see who is there? Nobody but your husband upon my soul, Ted whispered after glancing back at Archie who with folded arms and a cloud on his brow stood watching the game and longing to take his wife away. Nobody but your husband who looks black as his satanic majesty, but never do you mind my darling, he continued adopting the dialect of his country. Play high and it's me self will make good all you lose. Faith and bijabbers they can't break, Ted Hardy. Thus reassured Daisy played high and her luck returned and when she left the hall that night she was richer by a thousand pounds than when she entered it. The next day the MacPherson's left Monte Carlo accompanied by Lord Hardy who went with them to Genoa and Turin and Milan and the Italian lakes and Venice where he said goodbye for he was going to Rome while they were to turn their faces homeward stopping for a few weeks at Paris which Daisy said she must see before shutting herself up at stupid old stonely which looked very uninviting to her since she had seen the world and found how much there was to enjoy and how much influence she could exert in it. Others than Ted Hardy had been attracted to the airy little beauty who always managed to make them serviceable in some way not withstanding Archie's oft-repeated protest that she made too free with strangers and accepted civilities where she ought to have given rebukes. Archie had not been altogether pleased with the campaign and was glad when at last he drove into the old park at stonely and was warmly welcomed by Dorothy and Anthony who had made the place as comfortable as possible with the small means of their command. Four, little Bessie. Oh Archie, isn't it a pokey old place and doesn't it smell of rats and must? Daisy said as with her husband she went through the great rooms whose only ornament consisted in the warm fires on the hearth and the pots of chrysanthemums and late roses which Dorothy had put here and there by way of brightening the house up a bit and making the homecoming more cheerful for the young people. But it needed more than roses and chrysanthemums and fires to satisfy Daisy who forgetting the little back room in the dressmaker's shop when she came and remembering only the delights of the continent and the excitement of Monte Carlo and the honor as she thought it of having a real live earl in her party tossed her head a little and said she wished she was back in Paris. But Archie did not share her feelings. It had not been pleasant for him to see Daisy all gold and admired by men he wanted to knock down nor had he quite liked the escapade at Monte Carlo for aside from the fear lest the fraud should be discovered there was always before him a dread of what his uncle John and the Lady Jane would say should the affair ever reach their ears as it might for Lord Hardy was not very discreet and was sure to tell of it sometime. As to the playing could he have had his choice he would far rather have played himself than to stand by and see Daisy do it. But his vow to his father could not be broken and so he was tolerably content especially as the result was so far beyond his expectations. 1500 pounds was the sum total of the gains and Daisy who held the purse and managed everything played the Lady of Stoneley to perfection and made enemies of all her former friends her mother included and was only stopped in her career of folly by the birth of her baby who was not at all welcome to the childish mother. It was the latter part of March and the crocuses and hyacinths were just beginning to blossom in the garden at Stoneley when the baby Bessie first lay in the cradle which had rocked Archie in his infancy. They did not call her Bessie at first for there were many discussions with regard to the name Archie wishing her called Dora for his mother and Daisy inclining to Blanche or Beatrice. I'll tell you what Archie, she said one day there's that old maid aunt of yours in America with piles of money they say let's name the baby for her and so get some of her filthy looker. Call our baby Bessie, are you crazy? Archie asked, but Daisy was an earnest and carried her point as she always did and when at Easter Lord Hardy stopped at Stoneley on his way to his home in Ireland he was one of the sponsors for the child who was christened Bessie. If I dared I would add Jane to it for her ladyship which would make her Bessie Jane but that would be too much. Daisy said to Lord Hardy adding we shall call her Bessie of course and never Betsy. We only give her that abominable cognomen for the sake of weedling something out of that old woman in America. Archie is to write and tell her. So Archie wrote the best letter he could concoct and said he had named his little daughter Bessie which he hoped would please his aunt. This he took for approval to Daisy who said it was very well but insisted that he should add a PS that if his aunt had 50 pounds or so of ready money he would like to borrow it for a time as his expenses were heavy and Stoneley needed so much repairing. At first Archie refused utterly. It looked so much like begging he said but he was overruled and added the PS which made Miss MacPherson furious and steeled her heart against the innocent baby who bore her name. The request for money over mastered every gentler feeling and the letter was consigned to the flames and never answered. Never mind Archie, Daisy said as weeks went by and there came no message from America. The old miser means to cut us off. Well let her, I can manage without her and our 1500 pounds will last a while. After that is gone trust me for more. And Archie who was too indolent to exert himself did trust her and parting with every vestige of manhood and manliness did what she bought him to do and when she bought him go. Sometimes to the most expensive hotels where while the money lasted they lived like princes and when it was gone like rats in a hole. Sometimes to Monte Carlo where Daisy was generally successful. Sometimes to Hamburg and Baden Baden. Sometimes to Epsom where she bet with Lord Hardy on the races and got her money whether she lost or won for the kind-hearted Ted could never withstand her tears and sometimes into the houses to which she managed to get invited and where she stayed as long as possible or until some other house was open to her. Meanwhile little Bessie grew into a child of wonderful loveliness. Possessing her mother's beauty of feature and complexion and her father's refinement of feeling she added to them a truthful simplicity and frank ingenuousness of manner which went all hearts to her. Much as they might despise her mother everybody loved and pitied Bessie whose life was a kind of scramble and who early learned to think and act for herself and to know there was a difference between her father and her mother. She learned too that large hotels where prices were high meant two rolls and a cup of milk for breakfast, a biscuit or apple for lunch and nothing for dinner except what her mother could surreptitiously convey into her pocket at Tabledote. And still there was no merry or happy or child playing upon the sands at Aberritz with then Bessie MacPherson on the summer morning when Miss Bessie MacPherson first saw her and called out, Bessie MacPherson is that you? Leaving her companions she went to the tall and peculiar-looking woman sitting so straight and stiff upon the bench and laying her soft white hands on her knee looked curiously and fearlessly into her face with the remark, I am Bessie, not Bessie. I think that is a horrid name. And so the conversation commenced between the strange pair and Bessie told of the stingy aunt in America for whom she was named and who had never sent her a thing and whom her mama called Old Sourkraut. Bessie was very communicative and Miss MacPherson learned in a few minutes more of the Bohemian life and habits of her nephew and his wife than she had learned at her brother's house in London where she had been staying for a few weeks and where Mistress Daisy was not held in very high esteem. And all the time she talked, Bessie's little hands were busy with the folds of the black dress on the woman's knee, rubbing and smoothing it with the restlessness of an active nervous child. But Miss MacPherson would hardly have minded if the hands had worn holes in her dress so interested was she in the little creature talking to her so freely. Would you like to go and live with me? She asked at last. You shall go to school with children of your own age and have all you want to eat, good bread and milk and muffins and syrup and... Chiffleur au gratin? Can I have that? I liked that best of all the day I went to tabletote in Paris with mama. Bessie interrupted and Miss MacPherson replied. No, but you can have Huckleberry Pie in summer and a sled in winter to ride downhill. At the mention of the sled, Bessie opened her eyes wide and after a moment's reflection asked, can Papa go too? Yes, if he will, came hesitatingly for Miss MacPherson and the child continued. And mama? No, heaven forbid! Was the response spoken so decidedly that the restless hands were motionless and into the blue eyes and about the sweet mouth there stole the troubled half-grieved expression which in after years became habitual to them. Don't you like my mama? The child said. She is very nice and pretty and Lord Hardy likes her and so does Papa for he kisses her sometimes. Papa would not go without mama and I must not leave Papa so you see I cannot go though I'd awfully like the sled and the pie. Where do you live? Miss MacPherson did not reply directly to this but said instead, I am going to America in a few days and shall see your Aunt Betsy. Which shall I tell her for you? Tell her to send me something, was the prompt reply, which made Miss Betsy's shoulders jerk a little. Send you what? She asked rather sharply and Bessie who had commenced the rubbing process again and was looking at her hands replied, I want a turquoise ring, five stones with a pearl in the center, real too. I don't like shams, neither does Papa, but mama don't care if she gets the effect. If you'll never tell as long as you live and breathe those solitaires in mama's ears are nothing but paste and were bought in the Palais Royale and Bessie pursed up her lips so disdainfully that Miss MacPherson burst into a laugh and stooping down kissed the little face as she said. That's right child, never tolerate a sham, better than naked truth always. In the distance Daisy who had passed them 10 minutes or so ago was returning with young Hardy and rising to her feet Miss Betsy said, I must go now child, goodbye. Try and be good and truthful and real and stick to your father and sometime maybe you'll see me again. Then she walked swiftly away and Bessie saw her no more but for days she talked of the queer old woman on the terrace who had called her Betsy and who had bad her be good and truthful and real and stick to her father. Numerous were the questions put to her by her father and mother relative to the stranger whose identity with the American at they scarcely doubted and Archie was conscious of a bitter pang as he reflected that she had been so near to him and yet had not tried to find him. He had heard that she was expected in London and he knew now how strong had been the hope that he should meet her and that she would do something for him. He was so tired and so ashamed of the life he led. Now here, now there, now on the first floor, now on the fifth floor back, now plenty, now penury and absolute want according to Daisy's luck. For Daisy managed everything and bad him take things easy and trust to her but he would so much rather have stayed quietly at Stonely with but one meal a day and know that meal was paid for then to live what to his sense of propriety seemed a not very respectable life but he had lost his chance. The one who might have made living at Stonely possible had ignored him. She had been where he was and had not sought him and his face was very gloomy that evening as he sat in front of the hotel with Bessie in his lap while Daisy walked on the terrace with Lord Hardy and told him of the old woman on the sands who must have been the American aunt. One week later there came a letter from old Anthony saying he had received a small package from London directed to Miss Betsy MacPherson, care of Archibald MacPherson. Should he keep it till his master returned or should he forward it to Aberystwyth? Archie replied that he was to forward it and two days after there came to him a small box containing a turquoise ring of five stones unmistakably real with a good sized pearl in the center and on the gold band was inscribed. Little Betsy, 1800 blank. That settled the question of the donor and Daisy laughed till she cried over what she called the old woman's spite. Nasty old cat, she said. Why didn't she send some money instead of this bobble which is a deal too large for the child? She can't wear it in years. I must say though that it is very beautiful and the old thing did herself justice when she bought it. Look Archie, it fits me perfectly and she slipped it onto her finger where it remained for as she said, Bessie could not wear it then and it might as well do somebody some good. Archie wrote at once to his aunt in closing a card on which Bessie had printed with infinite pains, I got the ring, thank you ever so much. By some fatality this letter which was directed to Allington, Massachusetts, USA went astray and was never received by Miss MacPherson who hath expected it and who with the memory of the blue-eyed child upon the sands fresh in her mind was prepared to answer it. But no letter came to her or went to Archie either and so two people were disappointed and the chasm widened between them. Archie, inputting it to his aunt's peculiar nature and she charging it all to that Jezebel as she stigmatized Daisy of whom she had heard most exaggerated accounts from her brother's wife, the Lady Jane. End of chapters three and four. Part two, chapter five of Bessie's Fortune by Mary Jane Holmes. This Leap of Ocs recording is in the public domain. Five, at Penron Park. When three years after that summer Mrs. Captain Smithers of Penron Park, Middlesex invited Mr. and Mrs. Archibald MacPherson to spend a few weeks at her handsome country house and meet the honorable John MacPherson and his wife, the Lady Jane, she did it in perfect faith and with entire confidence in Daisy as a matron of immaculate principles and spotless reputation. She had met her the previous winter at a pension in Florence where Daisy, who was suffering from a severe cold on her lungs, played the role of an interesting invalid and seldom went out except for a short walk in the warmest part of the day and only appeared in the parlor in the evening where she made a lovely picture seated in a large, easy chair with her pretty blue wrapper and her shawl of soft white wool wrapped around her. The guests of the house were mostly Americans who had never heard of Daisy and knew nothing of Monte Carlo or Lord Hardy and only saw her a devoted wife and mother and wondered vaguely how she could ever have married that long, lank, lazy Englishman who had neither life nor spirit in him and whom they thought a monster because he never seemed the least concerned when his lovely little wife copped the hardest and could scarcely speak aloud. That was the English of him, they said, and they set upon poor Archie behind his back and tore his reputation as a husband into shreds and said he neglected his sick wife shamefully and in consequence they were kinder and more attentive to her and her room was full of flowers and fruit and bottle of port wine and sherry and Mrs. Captain Smithers who fully shared the opinions of her American cousins took the beautiful invalid to drive with her and made much of her and thought her the most charming person she had ever met and ended as Daisy meant she should by inviting her to spend the month of August at Penron Park. You will meet some very pleasant people, she said and I shall be glad to introduce you to them. I shall ask Lady Jane McPherson and her husband. It is a shame you have never met them. Lady Jane is rather peculiar but a very good woman and you ought to know her. This, the kind hearted and not very far seeing Mrs. Smithers said because she had received the impression that the McPhersons of London slighted the McPhersons of Stonely not so much for their poverty as for the fact that Daisy's family was not equal to their own. And this I think very absurd, she said to Daisy. I belong to the mercantile world for my father is a Liverpool merchant and at first Smithers' mothers and sisters were inclined to treat me coolly though they are very friendly now so you see my dear, I know how it feels not to be in perfect accord with one's family and I mean to do my best for you. I shall bring you and Lady Jane together. She is sure to like you. Thank you, Daisy said. I hope she may for Bessie's sake. She could be of use to her in the future but if you please do not tell her she is to meet me or she may decline your invitation. Very well was Mrs. Smithers' reply. I will say nothing about you. And so without mentioning all her expected guests Mrs. Smithers asked Lady Jane to visit her in August and that lady who had twice before enjoyed the hospitalities of Penron Park accepted readily with no suspicion that the woman whom she detested more than any creature in the world was to be there also. The house at Penron Park was very large and comodious with a wing on either side of the main building and in these wings were situated the sleeping rooms for guests. A wide hall divided the main part and on the second floor were two large airy chambers opposite each other with dressing room and bathroom and alcove for bed attached and the whole fitted up elegantly. These rooms were usually given to the most honored guests those who rejoiced in titles and on the occasions of her former visits at Penron Lady Jane had occupied one and her bosom friend old Lady Oakley the other. But this time there was a change and when Lady Oakley arrived with her maid and her poodle dog and her ear trumpet for she was very deaf she was assigned a room in one of the wings. Her hostess telling her apologetically that she had thought it well to put the McPherson's together as they would thus get on better and she was so anxious for Lady Jane to like Mrs. Archie the sweetest, most amiable of women. Lady Oakley who knew that every apartment at Penron was like a palace, cared little where she was put and settled herself in her quarters the evening before the London McPherson's were expected. Daisy had been there a week or more for she was prompt to the day. Their funds were very low. They were owing seven pounds for lodgings in London besides various bills to the green grocer, the dry grocer, the milkman and the baker and had barely enough to pay for their second class tickets from London. I don't know what we are going to do. Archie said when alone with his wife in the beautiful room over which Daisy had gone into ecstasies, exclaiming as she seated herself in a luxurious easy chair. Why Archie, we are housed like princes. We have never been in a place like this. I wish we were to stay longer than a month. I mean to manage somehow for an extension. A low growl was the only sound from Archie who was busy brushing off the dust gathered on the journey. Say, isn't it nice, she continued and then coming into the room and wiping his face with the towel as he came, Archie replied. Nice enough, yes. But I don't know what we are going to do when we have to leave here, I tell you. It makes a chap feel mighty mean not to have a shilling in his pocket and that's just my case. How much have you? Twenty shillings, was Daisy's reply. But never mind, trust me to feel the purse somehow. I have an idea, so don't look so glum and let us enjoy the present. But I can't, Archie replied. I can not enjoy myself feeling all the time that we are living upon other people and accepting invitations we can never return. In short, we are nothing but imposters, both of us. He spoke savagely and turned to re-enter his dressing room in the door of which Bezzie stood with her great blue eyes fixed wonderingly and sadly upon him. She had heard all the conversation and there was a troubled look on her face as she said, what is an imposter, Papa? What does it mean? It means, he answered, that we impose upon people every hour of our lives passing ourselves off for what we are not. People suppose we have money when we haven't a shilling to spare and oh, everybody besides. I see, it means we are shams and not real, Bezzie said, and her bright face was overcrowded with an expression pitiful to see in one so young. This was the McPherson's first day at Penrin Park but the little passage at arms did not at all dim Daisy's sky. Something would turn up, she knew, and at dinner something did turn up for Mrs. Smithers mentioned to Archie that her husband had fallen in with a young Irish lord who had been for a day or two at the pension in Florence and remembering how intimate he was with Mr. McPherson, he had invited him to spend a week at Penrin Park and the young man had accepted and would arrive the 10th. There was a gleam of triumph in Daisy's eyes as they met her husbands. The presence of Lord Hardy meant money for she had only to lament her poverty and talk of burying herself at Stonely and instantly the generous Irishman would insist upon relieving her present needs. It is only a loan, you can pay me some time when your ship comes in and really I have more than I know what to do with. This was always Lord Hardy's argument to which Daisy yielded and went on piling up the debt which she insisted would be paid in some way and her thoughts always turned to the old aunt in America through whom relief must someday come. But Archie knew better and their indebtedness to Lord Hardy filled him with shame just as Daisy's intimacy with the young man filled him with disgust though he had perfect faith in the Irishman whose worst fault was an open and Hardy admiration for a married woman and to a certain extent he had faith in Daisy who much as she might compromise her good name by flirtation would never break her marriage vow and the letter even if she did in spirit. In a way she would be true to him always but the world did not know her as he did and he knew perfectly well how she was talked about and her frivolous conduct commented upon by such people as Lady Jane and her set but he could not help himself. Daisy was master and he submitted with a feeling of humiliation which showed itself upon his face and made him very quiet and ill at ease except when Bessie was with him. There was something about Bessie which restored his self-respect and made a man of him. Bessie was his all and to himself he had made a vow that she should not follow in the footsteps of her mother. I will kill her first. He said with clenched fists and flashing eyes and Daisy would never have known him could she have seen him when as was often the case he went over by himself what he would say to her if he ever got his courage up. Taking a chair for his auditor he would gesticulate fiercely and declare that he would not stand at any longer. Daisy MacPherson he would say addressing himself to the chair. I tell you what it is. I am ashamed of myself and of you too and I am going to stop it and take you home and be master of my own house and if we cannot live on our small income you can take up your dead mother's trade and make dresses and buy, Joe. I'll help you too. I'll keep the books and, and. Here he would stop not knowing exactly what else he would do for work with something to which he did not take kindly. As the chair never offered any remonstrance no matter how savage he was he usually felt better and respected himself more after an attack upon it and there the battle ended for he had not the courage to deal thus with his wife who had ruled him too long to yield her sceptre now. Such was the condition of things between this ill assorted pair when we find them at Penrend Park which so fully accorded with Daisy's taste that she had once determined to stay longer than a month even if she were not invited to extend her visit. She had been at the park a week or more enjoying all the ecla of the favored guest for Mrs. Smithers infatuation was complete when it was announced at the breakfast table that the honorable John McPherson with Lady Jane and Neil would arrive that evening in time for dinner. Instantly Archie's face flushed crimson for he had not seen his uncle since his marriage which had called forth a letter so angry in its tone that he had never answered it or sought for any further intercourse with his indignant relative. Daisy, on the contrary, was wholly unmoved. Vene Vidi Vici was her motto which had proved true in so many instances that she fancied she only had to meet the haughty Lady Jane face to face and conquer her also. And yet she did feel a little nervous when as the hour for the train drew near she went to her room and commenced her toilet for dinner. Let me see, she murmured. They have undoubtedly heard that I am a brazen face and a minx and awfully extravagant and flashy in style so simplicity in dress and modesty of demeanor will best suit me now. I must not wear my paced diamonds for though I have no idea Lady Jane can tell them from the real, she would think them far too expensive for people in our circumstances and wonder how I got them. So the false diamonds were put aside as was everything else which would awake in an inquiry as to its cost and a simple blue muslin was chosen with ruching at the neck and nothing on the sleeves which were rather wide and showed to good advantage the beautifully rounded arms and hands of which Daisy was so proud. Her golden curls were gathered in a shining mass at the back of her head and fastened with a comb of pink coral, Lord Hardy's gift when he was in Naples with her. At her throat she wore a blush rose and another in her belt with no jewelry of any kind except her wedding ring and Bessie's turquoise which she still appropriated. Nothing could be simpler than her whole dress and nothing more becoming for it gave her sweet girlish look which she knew always produced an effect. Meanwhile the expected guests had arrived and Daisy heard them in the hall as they took possession of the room opposite hers. Lady Jane was very tired and hot and dusty for she had come from Edinburgh that day and she glanced around her luxurious apartment with a feeling of comfort and relief as she issued her orders to her maid Lydia and talked to her husband. Open the little trunk, Lydia, and take out my pearl-colored grenadine. I cannot wear a heavy silk tonight and find my valentine fichu and my small diamonds. I don't suppose there is anyone in particular here unless it is Lady Oakley and she I presume has the room opposite this. She did the last time we were here. John, we are really very comfortable. Mrs. Smithers knows how to keep up an attractive house and is a charming woman though of course not quite to the manner born. Was her father an ironmonger or what? He was a wholesale merchant and worth a mint of money. Why, he could buy out every McPherson and Trevelyan in the United Kingdom, was John's reply and then with a little toss of her head Lady Jane began her toilet for it wanted but an hour of dinner. There, that will do for me. I can finish the rest myself and now go to Blanche's room and see to her and send Neil to me, she said to Lydia when she was nearly dressed. Lydia obeyed and after she had gone Lady Jane said to her husband, I hope Mrs. Smithers will not object to Blanche even if she was not invited. I really could not leave her behind. There was no reply from John who was busy in the dressing room but a fresh young voice from the doorway answered her. I think it was downright cheeky to bring her without an invitation. With her giggling and her relies and her yeeessess, all she can say and her white eyebrows and toe hair she is not very ornamental even if she has ten thousand a year. The speaker was Neil MacPherson, the boy who on the Fourth of July had been thrashed by Gray Gerald for his sneer at the American flag for his comments on American ladies. He was a year older than Gray with a dark, handsome face, a pleasant smile, and winsome ways when he chose to be agreeable. As a rule he was very good-natured and his manners were perfect for a boy of fifteen but there wasn't all he did or said an air of superiority as if he felt himself quite above the majority of his companions which indeed was the fact. Trained by his mother from infancy to consider the Trevelyan blood the best in England outside the pale of royalty and the MacPherson blood the best outside the peerage, it was not strange that his good qualities and he had many should be warped and dwarfed and overshadowed by an indomitable pride and supreme selfishness which would prompt him at any time to sacrifice his best friend in behalf of his own interest. And yet Neil was generally a favorite for he was frank and obliging and good-humored and very gentlemanly in his manner and quick to render the little attention so gratifying to the ladies by whom he was held high in esteem as a patron boy. He was the idol of his mother who saw no fault in him whatever and who had commenced already to plan for him a brilliant marriage or at least a marriage of money for her own income was not large and that of her husband smaller still. Blanche Trevelyan whom Neil had designated as toe-haired and white-browed was her grand-niece and Neil's second cousin and as heiress to ten thousand a year she might develop into a desirable pati notwithstanding her ordinary appearance now. And so when the girl became an orphan Lady Jane offered to take charge of her and took her into the family as the daughter of the house though she never encouraged Neil to think of her as a sister. She was his cousin Blanche and entitled to a great deal of forbearance and respect because of her money and because her mother had been the granddaughter of a duke. Neil called her cousin Blanche and quarreled with and teased her and made fun of her white eyebrows and said her feet were too big and her ankles too small and that on standing she always bent her knees to make herself look short for she was very tall and angular and awkward in every way. Wait till my cousin Bessie grows up there's a beauty for you. He had said to his mother on his return from Stonely where he had spent a few days the winter previous and greatly to the annoyance of his mother he talked constantly of the lovely child who had made so strong an impression upon him. Lady Jane had heard much of Daisy's exploits and as the stories concerning her were greatly exaggerated she looked upon her if not actually an abandoned woman as one whose good name was hopelessly tarnished and she never wished to see either her face or that of her child nor did she dream how near the enemy was to her only just across the hall in the room which she fully believed to be occupied by her friend old Lady Oakley from Grovner Square. When her husband and Neil went out as they did soon after the latter had expressed himself with regard to Blanche and been sharply reproved they left the door ajar and she could hear the sound of footsteps in the room opposite where Lady Oakley was supposed to be making her toilet just as Lady Jane was making hers. I believe I will go and see her she said to herself when her dressing was completed and she found she had a good fifteen minutes before the dinner hour and stepping across the hall she knocked at Daisy's door. Daisy's first impulse was to call out Entrée as she did on the continent her second to open the door herself which she did disclosing to the view of her astonished visitor not a fat red-faced dowager of seventy but a wonderful vision of girlish loveliness clad in simple muslin with a mischievous twinkle in the blue eyes which met hers so fearlessly. I beg your pardon miss Lady Jane began stammeringly I thought this was Lady Oakley's room she is my friend I hope you will excuse me she continued as she detected the smothered mirth in Daisy's eyes there is nothing to excuse Daisy began in perfectly well-bred tones the mistake was natural Lady Oakley did occupy this room I believe but she is now in the north wing as Mrs. Smithers kindly gave this room to me so that I might be near you that is if as I suppose you are Lady Jane MacPherson and she looked steadily at her visitor who with a slight bridling of her long neck bowed in the affirmative never doubting that the young person before her was fully her equal not withstanding the plainness of her dress every detail of which she took in at a glance and mentally pronounced perfect some poor Earl's daughter who Mrs. Smithers has found she has a peculiar talent for making good acquaintances she thought just as Daisy offered her hand which she involuntarily took but dropped it as if it had been a viper when the latter said then you are my aunt or rather my husband's aunt for I am Mrs. Archibald MacPherson and I am so glad to meet you had a bombshell exploded at Lady Jane's feet and struck her in the face she could not have been more astonished stepping quickly back from this claimant to her notice her face grew pale for an instant and then flushed with anger as she gasped you Mrs. Archibald MacPherson that that she did not say what but added what are you doing here visiting Mrs. Smithers like yourself Daisy replied with imperturbable gravity we were together in Florence where I was sick and she was kind enough to like me and she invited me to spend this month with her so that I might meet Archie's relatives whom she thought I ought to know and Lady Oakley thinks so too she came yesterday yes Lady Jane kept repeating as she retreated step by step till she stood in her own door with her eyes still fixed upon Daisy who fascinated her in spite of her deeply rooted prejudice amounting almost to hatred the creature as she designated her was far prettier than she had supposed and might pass for a lady with those who knew nothing of her antecedents but then her reputation as a bold fast woman would it be safe or right to allow Blanche whom she designed for Neil to remain under the same roof with such a person was her first query still if Mrs. Smithers who was a power in the social world not withstanding her connection with trade had taken her up and Lady Oakley too perhaps it would be better not to make a scene and show her animosity too much she could be barely civil to the woman and cut her visit short on one pretext or another thus deciding she said meeting you so suddenly has surprised me very much Mrs. McPherson I hope your husband as well I knew him when a boy perhaps he is in the drying room I think I will go down as it is nearly dinnertime and bowing stiffly she went down the stairs every nerve quivering with insulted dignity and not quite certain whether she heard a smothered laugh or not from the room where Daisy was shaking with laughter at what she termed the old cat's discomforter nasty thing she said how she hates me and how little I care I hope I shan't let her spoil my fun I have the inside track and I mean to keep it thus deciding she too started for the drawing room where the guests were assembling for dinner and where Mrs. Smithers who was by nature rather a fish is and anxious to write everything was explaining to Lady Jane that she had invited Mr. and Mrs. Archibald McPherson to meet her and was discounting upon the beauty and amability of the latter whom her ladyship was sure to like a little too much of a coquette perhaps she said but so very pretty and pecan that she cannot help attracting admiration yes I know I have seen her I made her acquaintance in the upper hall Lady Jane answered coldly and this saved the embarrassment of an introduction when Daisy at last appeared perfectly self possessed and graceful and looking as Lady Jane unwillingly confessed to herself as innocent as a Madonna meanwhile Archie had sought his uncle resolved to have the awkwardness of their first meeting over before any prying eyes were upon them he found him alone and mustering all his courage went up to him and offered his hand as if nothing had ever occurred to separate them John McPherson had heard from his host that his nephew was there and was in a most perturbed state of mind on his wife's account rather than on his own she would be very indignant and perhaps do something rash he feared while for himself he wanted to see the boy whom he had always liked it was while he was thinking thus that Archie came suddenly upon him in his surprise Mr. McPherson forgot everything except the young man standing so humbly before him with a look on his face and in his eyes like the brother dead years ago and who when dying had said be kind to Archie extending both hands to his nephew he said Archie by Jove I am glad to see you I hope you are well though upon my word you don't look so and he glanced curiously and with a sensation of pity at the young man who though scarcely 31 might have passed for 40 he was so pale and careworn while his clothes were threadbare and shining in places and hung upon him loosely but at this cordial greeting there was a wonderful transformation and Archie's face grew almost boyish in its expression and there was a moisture in his eyes as he took his uncle's hands and held them while he answered the questions put to him so rapidly remembering at last that it was his duty to reprove his nephew a little the honorable John said to him I have been very angry with you for your hasty marriage was not what I could have wished it has severed you from us from Lady Jane completely yes I know Archie replied I suppose you would not like it but my marriage was for myself and not for anyone else and it has proved all you could wish his uncle asked regarding him steadily Archie's face was very red and his lips were white as he replied Daisy was very young we ought to have waited but she is beautiful and greatly admired huh more is the pity John said then after a moment silence he continued I say Archie how have you managed to live all these years I hear of you everywhere I hope you have not resorted to the gaming table never came decidedly from Archie do you think I would break my promise to my father I have never touched a card even for amusement though I have wanted to so much when I needed money sadly and saw how easily it was one at Monte Carlo your wife plays though John said sharply and Archie replied I have nothing to say on that score except that Daisy takes care of me I should starve without her for you know I was not brought up to work and it is too late now to begin though I believe I'd be willing to break stone on the highway if I had the strength yes yes I see the uncle interposed a horrible dread seizing him lest his nephew might do something beneath a McPherson unless he was prevented how much have you now how much money I mean just one shilling and Daisy has 10 if Mrs. Smithers had not invited us here heaven only knows what we should have done for Daisy will not stay at stonely so we travel from place to place and she manages somehow Archie said and his uncle rejoined and makes her name a byword and a reproach as I suppose you know Daisy is my wife Archie replied with a dignity for which his uncle menially respected him just then the last dinner bell rang and rising from his seat John put his hand first in his vest pocket and then into Archie's hand where he left a 20 pound note saying rapidly you needn't tell her your wife I mean or mine either a man may do as he likes occasionally they were walking toward the house arm in arm and Archie's step was lighter and his face brighter and handsomer than it had been in many a day indeed he was quite his old self as he entered the drawing room and greeted his August hand who received him more graciously than she had his wife just then Neil came in with Bessie whom he took to his mother saying look mother here is Bessie didn't I tell you she was a beauty then as his mother merely inclined her head he lifted the child in his arms and held her close to the proud lips which touched the white forehead coldly while a frown darkened the ladies face for notwithstanding that Bessie was so young and Neil a mere boy she disapproved of the liking between them lest it should interfere with Blanche but Neil did not fancy Blanche and he did like Bessie and took her into dinner holding her little hand while she skipped and jumped at his side and looked up in his face with those great blue eyes which moved him strangely now and which in the after time were to be wilder and intoxicate and awaken in him all the better impulses of his nature and then become the sweetest and the saddest memory of his life it is so nice to go to dinner with big people and have all you want to eat isn't it she said to him as she settled herself in her chair and with all the precision of a grown person of course it's nice Neil replied never dreaming what a real dinner was to this child who had so often dined on a bit of bread a few shriveled grapes a figure to and some raisins trying hard to keep her tears back when the bread was dry and scanty and she was very hungry she was very happy with Neil at her side and she laughed and chatted with him and told him of stonely in the white rabbit old Anthony was rearing for him when he came at Christmas as he had promised to do dinner being over Archie who did not smoke excused himself from the gentleman who did and taking Bessie with him sauntered off into the grounds till he reached the seat where he had found his uncle sitting down upon it and taking Bessie in his lap he told her of his good fortune and showed her the back note oh I am so glad the child exclaimed for now we are real and not imposters are we not in the sense of not having any money he replied but there was a sad anxious expression on his face as he looked down upon the little girl beside him and thought of the future and what it might bring to her Bessie he said at last how would you like to live at stonely all together and not be traveling about oh I'd like it so much Bessie said but I am afraid mama would not she hates stonely it's so dull but you and I might live there you would be my little housekeeper and I could teach you your lessons part she said conjuring up in his mind a vision of a quiet home with Bessie as his companion if Daisy did not choose to stay with him she could go and come as she liked he thought and then and there he decided that his wandering life was at an end the next day the party at Penron Park was increased by Mr. and Mrs. Bertrand Gerald from Boston very nice Americans especially the lady who might pass for an English woman Mrs. Smithers informed her guests yes I know them or rather I know their son Gray the young cub who thrashed me so last 4th of July when we were at Melrose Neil exclaimed but he's not a bad fellow after all and we grew to be good friends I hope he is coming too but Gray did not come as the reader will remember for his mother made it a kind of punishment for his quarrel with Neil that he should remain in London while she visited at Penron Park where she met with Lady Jane McPherson whom she admired greatly and with Daisy whom she detested for the bold cockatry which manifested itself so plainly after the arrival of Lord Hardy that even Mrs. Smithers sense of propriety was shocked and she began to look forward with pleasure to the day when her house would be freed from the presence of this lady the month of August was the limit of the visit and Daisy would have gone then had there been any place to go to accept stonely but there was not no friendly door was open to her she could not return to London and she would not go to stonely so she resolved to remain where she was until Lord Hardy returned to his country seat in Ireland and then she would go there and take Archie and Bessie with her to carry out this purpose she began suddenly to droop and effect a langer and a weakness she was far from feeling for she had really never been better in her life and Archie knew it and watched her with dismay as she enacted the role of the interesting invalid to perfection a little hacking cough came on with a pain in her side and finally to Mrs. Smithers horror she took to her bed the last week in August unable to sit up but overwhelmed with grief at her inability to travel and fear unless she should be a burden upon her hostess and outstay her welcome never dreaming that it was a farce to gain time Mrs. Smithers made the best of it and saw guests after guests depart until only the Welsh McPherson's remained and she was longing to get away herself to the north of Scotland where she was due the middle of September fortunately Lord Hardy went home sooner than he had intended and wrote to Daisy and her husband that his house was ready for them and then the invalid recovered her strength rapidly and was able in three days to leave Penron Park and travel to Ireland with Archie who had fought hard to return to Stonely and begin the new life he had resolved upon but Daisy knew better than to go to Hardy Manor without him and she persuaded him to go with her and then to Paris from which place she made a flying visit to Monte Carlo where she met with such success that she did not greatly object to spending the holidays at Stonely with her they went just before Christmas it was at this time that Archie received his aunt's letter offering to take little Bessie and bring her up as a sensible useful woman for a moment Archie's heart leaped into his throat as he thought of emancipating his child from the baneful influence around her but when he remembered how desolate he should be without her he said I cannot let her go upon one point however he was still resolved he would remain at Stonely and keep Bessie with him nothing could change that decision Daisy would of course go where she pleased he could not restrain her and as many English women did travel alone on the continent she might escape remark in that respect and be no more talked about than if he were with her at first Daisy objected to this plan it was necessary for her to earn her living she said and the least Archie could do was to give the support of his presence but Archie was firm and when in February Daisy started again on her trip which had for its destination Monte Carlo and Genoa Archie was left behind with his 20 pound note which he had not yet touched and with Bessie as his only companion end of chapter five