CORD AND CREESE. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE DODGE CLUB. "

BY PROF. JAMES DE MILLE. 

CORD AND CREESE. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE LETTER FROM BEYOND THE SEA. 

On the morning of July 21, 1840, the _Daily News_ announced thearrival of the ship _Rival_ at Sydney, New South Wales. As oceansteam navigation had not yet extended so far, the advent of this shipwith the English mail created the usual excitement. An eager crowd besetthe post-office, waiting for the delivery of the mail; and little knotsat the street corners were busily discussing the latest hints at newswhich had been gathered from papers brought ashore by the officers orpassengers. 

At the lower end of King Street was a large warehouse, with an office atthe upper extremity, over which was a new sign, which showed with newlygilded letters the words:

COMPTON & BRANDON. 

The general appearance of the warehouse showed that Messrs. Compton andBrandon were probably commission merchants, general agents, or somethingof that sort. 

On the morning mentioned two men were in the inner office of thiswarehouse. One was an elderly gentleman, with a kind, benevolent aspect, the senior partner of the firm. The other was the junior partner, and inevery respect presented a marked contrast to his companion. 

He had a face of rather unusual appearance, and an air which in Englandis usually considered foreign. His features were regular--a straightnose, wide brow, thin lips, and square, massive chin. His complexion wasolive, and his eyes were of a dark hazel color, with a peculiarity aboutthem which is not usually seen in the eye of the Teutonic or Celticrace, but is sometimes found among the people of the south of Europe, orin the East. It is difficult to find a name for this peculiarity. It maybe seen sometimes in the gipsy; sometimes in the more successful amongthose who call themselves "spiritual mediums, " or among the morepowerful mesmerizers. Such an eye belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte, whoseglance at times could make the boldest and greatest among his marshalsquail. What is it? Magnetism? Or the revelation of the soul? Or what?

In this man there were other things which gave him the look of the greatNapoleon. The contour of feature was the same: and on his brow, broadand massive, there might be seen those grand shadows with which Frenchartists love to glorify the Emperor. Yet in addition to this he had thatsame serene immobility of countenance which characterized the other, which could serve as an impenetrable mask to hide even the intensestperson. 

There was also about this man a certain aristocratic air and grace ofattitude, or of manner, which seemed to show lofty birth and gentlebreeding, the mysterious index to good blood or high training. How sucha man could have happened to fill the position of junior partner in acommission business was certainly a problem not easily solved. There hewas, however, a man in appearance out of place, yet in reality able tofill that place with success; a man, in fact, whose resolute willenabled him to enforce success in any calling of life to which eitheroutside circumstances or his own personal desires might invite him. 

"The mail ought to be open by this time, " said Brandon, indifferently, looking at his watch. "I am somewhat curious to see how things arelooking. I noticed quotations of wool rather higher than by last mail. If the papers are correct which I saw then we ought to do very well bythat last cargo. "

Mr. Compton smiled. 

"Well, Brandon, " said he, "if it is so it will show that you are right. You anticipated a rise about this time, you know. You certainly have aremarkable forecast about the chances of business. "

"I don't think there is much forecast, " said Brandon, with a smile. "Itwas only the most ordinary calculation made from the well-known factthat the exportation this year had been slight. But there comes Hedleynow, " he continued, moving his head a little to one side so as to lookup the street. "The letters will soon show us all. "

Mr. Compton looked out in the direction which Brandon indicated and sawthe clerk approaching. He then settled himself back in his chair, puthis hands in his pockets, threw one leg over the other, and beganwhistling a tune with the air of a man who was so entirely prosperousand contented that no news whether good or evil could greatly affect hisfortunes. 

In a short time the clerk entered the inner office and, laying theletters down upon the table nearest Mr. Compton, he withdrew. 

Mr. Compton took up the letters one by one and read the addresses, whileBrandon looked carelessly on. There were ten or twelve of them, all ofwhich, except one, were addressed to the firm. This one Mr. Comptonselected from among the others, and reaching it out in his hand said:

"This is for you, Mr. Brandon. "

"For me?" repeated Brandon, with marked surprise; and taking the letterhe looked at the address with eager curiosity. 

The address was simply as follows:

 Louis Brandon, Sydney, New South Wales. 

The letters were irregular and loosely formed, as though written by atremulous hand--such letters as old men form when the muscles havebecome relaxed. 

Mr. Compton went on opening the letters of the firm without taking anyfurther notice of his partner. The latter sat for some time looking atthe letter without venturing to open it. He held it in both hands, andlooked fixedly at that address as though from the address itself he wastrying to extort some meaning. 

He held it thus in both hands looking fixedly at it, with his head bentforward. Had Mr. Compton thought of taking a look at his usuallyimpassive companion, he would have been surprised at the change whichhad taken place in him at the mere sight of that tremulous handwriting. For in that he had read grief, misfortune, perhaps death; and as he satthere, pausing before he dared to break the seal, the contents of theletter had already been conjectured. 

Gloom therefore unutterable gathered upon his face; his features fixedthemselves into such rigidity of grief that they became more expressivethan if they had been distorted by passionate emotions; and over hisbrow collected cloud upon cloud, which deepened and darkened everyinstant till they overshadowed all; and his face in its statuesquefixedness resembled nothing so much as that which the artist gives toNapoleon at the crisis hour of Waterloo, when the Guard has recoiledfrom its last charge, and from that Imperial face in its fixed agony thesoul itself seems to cry, "Lost!" "Lost!"

Yet it was only for a few minutes. Hastily subduing his feeling Brandonrose, and clutching the letter in his hand as though it were tooprecious to be trusted to his pocket, he quietly left the office and thewarehouse and walked up the street. 

He walked on rapidly until he reached a large building which bore thesign "Australian Hotel. " Here he entered, and walked up stairs to aroom, and locked himself in. Then when alone in his own apartments heventured to open the letter. 

The paper was poor and mean; the handwriting, like that of the address, was tremulous, and in many places quite illegible; the ink was pale; andthe whole appearance of the letter seemed to indicate poverty andweakness on the part of the writer. By a very natural impulse Brandonhesitated before beginning to read, and took in all these things with aquick glance. 

At last he nerved himself to the task and began to read. 

This was the letter. 

"Brandon, March 10, 1846. 

"My dear Boy, --These are the last words which you will ever hear fromyour father. I am dying, my dear boy, and dying of a broken heart; but_where_ I am dying I am afraid to tell you. That bitterness I leavefor you to find out some day for yourself. In poverty unspeakable, inanguish that I pray you may never know, I turn to you after a silence ofyears, and my first word is to implore your forgiveness. I know my nobleboy that you grant it, and it is enough for me to ask it. After askingthis I can die content on that score. 

"Lying as I do now at the point of death, I find myself at last freedfrom the follies and prejudices which have been my ruin. The clouds rollaway from my mind, and I perceive what a mad fool I have been for years. Most of all I see the madness that instigated me to turn against you, and to put against the loyal love of the best of sons my own miserablepride and the accusation of a lying scoundrel. May God have mercy uponme for this!

"I have not much strength, dear boy; I have to write at intervals, andby stealth, so as not to be discovered, for I am closely watched. _He_ must never know that I have sent this to you. Frank and yourmother are both sick, and my only help is your sister, my sweet Edith, she watches me, and enables me to write this in safety. 

"I must tell you all without reserve before strength leaves me forever. 

"That man Potts, whom you so justly hated, was and is the cause of allmy suffering and of yours. You used to wonder how such a man as that, alow, vulgar knave, could gain such an influence over me and sway me ashe did. I will try to explain. 

"Perhaps you remember something about the lamentable death of my oldfriend Colonel Despard. The first that I ever heard of this man Pottswas in his connection with Despard, for whom he acted partly as valet, and partly as business agent. Just before Despard left to go on hisfatal voyage he wrote to me about his affairs, and stated, inconclusion, that this man Potts was going to England, that he was sorryto lose him, but recommended him very earnestly to me. 

"You recollect that Colonel Despard was murdered on this voyage undervery mysterious circumstances on shipboard. His Malay servant Uracao wasconvicted and executed. Potts distinguished himself by his zeal inavenging his master's death. 

"About a year after this Potts himself came to England and visited me. He was, as you know, a rough, vulgar man; but his connection with mymurdered friend, and the warm recommendations of that friend, made mereceive him with the greatest kindness. Besides, he had many things totell me about my poor friend, and brought the newspapers both fromManilla and Calcutta which contained accounts of the trial. 

"It was this man's desire to settle himself somewhere, and I gave himletters to different people. He then went off, and I did not see him fortwo years. At the end of that time he returned with glowing accounts ofa tin mine which he was working in Cornwall. He had bought it at a lowprice, and the returns from working it had exceeded his most sanguineexpectations. He had just organized a company, and was selling thestock. He came first to me to let me take what I wished. I carelesslytook five thousand pounds' worth. 

[Illustration: "EDITH SHE WATCHES ME, AND ENABLES ME TO WRITE THIS INSAFETY. "]

"On the following year the dividend was enormous, being nearly sixty percent. Potts explained to me the cause, declaring that it was the richestmine in the kingdom, and assuring me that my £5000 was worth ten timesthat sum. His glowing accounts of the mine interested me greatly. Another year the dividend was higher, and he assured me that he expectedto pay cent. Per cent. 

"It was then that the demon of avarice took full possession of me. Visions of millions came to me, and I determined to become the richestman in the kingdom. After this I turned every thing I had into money toinvest in the mine. I raised enormous sums on my landed estate, and putall that I was worth, and more too, into the speculation. I wasfascinated, not by this man, but by the wealth that he seemed torepresent. I believed in him to the utmost. In vain my friends warnedme. I turned from them, and quarreled with most of them. In my madness Irefused to listen to the entreaties of my poor wife, and turned evenagainst you. I can not bear to allude to those mournful days when youdenounced that villain to his face before me; when I ordered you to beghis pardon or leave my roof forever; when you chose the latteralternative and became an outcast. My noble boy--my true-hearted son, that last look of yours, with all its reproach, is haunting my dyinghours. If you were only near me now how peacefully I could die!

"My strength is failing. I can not describe the details of my ruin. Enough that the mine broke down utterly, and I as chief stockholder wasresponsible for all. I had to sell out every thing. The stock wasworthless. The Hall and the estates all went. I had no friend to helpme, for by my madness I had alienated them all. All this came upon meduring the last year. 

"But mark this, my son. This man Potts was _not_ ruined. He seemedto have grown possessed of a colossal fortune. When I reproached himwith being the author of my calamity, and insisted that be ought toshare it with me, the scoundrel laughed in my face. 

"The Hall and the estates were sold, for, unfortunately, though theyhave been in our family for ages, they were not entailed. A feeling ofhonor was the cause of this neglect. They were sold, and the purchaserwas this man Potts. He must have bought them with the money that he hadplundered from me. 

"Now, since my eyes have been opened, I have had many thoughts; andamong all that occurs to me none is more prominent than the mysteriousmurder of my friend. This man Potts was with him at the time. He waschief witness against the Malay. The counsel for the defense bore downhard on him, but he managed to escape, and Uracao was executed. Yet thismuch is evident, that Potts was largely benefited by the death ofDespard. He could not have made all his money by his own savings. Ibelieve that the man who wronged me so foully was fully capable ofmurder. So strong is this conviction now that I sometimes have asuperstitious feeling that because I neglected all inquiry into thedeath of my friend, therefore he has visited me from that other life, and punished me, by making the same man the ruin of us both. 

"The mine, I now believe, was a colossal sham; and all the money that Iinvested in stocks went directly to Potts. Good God! what madness wasmine!

"O my boy! Your mother and your brother are lying here sick; your sisterattends on us all, though little more than a child. Soon I must leavethem; and for those who are destined to live there is a future which Ishudder to contemplate. Come home at once. Come home, whatever you aredoing. Leave all business, and all prospects, and come and save them. That much you can do. Come, if it is only to take them back with you tothat new land where you live, where they may forget their anguish. 

"Come home, my son, and take vengeance. This, perhaps, you can not do, but you at least can try. By the time that you read these words theywill be my voice from the grave; and thus I invoke you, and call you totake vengeance. 

"But at least come and save your mother, your brother, and your sister. The danger is imminent. Not a friend is left. They all hold aloof, indignant at me. This miscreant has his own plans with regard to them, Idoubt not; and he will disperse them or send them off to starve in someforeign land. Come and save them. 

"But I warn you to be careful about yourself for their sakes. For thisvillain is powerful now, and hates you worse than any body. His arm mayreach even to the antipodes to strike you there. Be on your guard. Watchevery one. For once, from words which fell from him hastily I gatheredthat he had some dark plan against you. Trust no one. Rely on yourself, and may God help you!

"Poor boy! I have no estate to leave you now, and what I do send to youmay seem to you like a mockery. Yet do not despise it. Who knows whatmay be possible in these days of science? Why may it not be possible toforce the sea to give up its prey?

"I send it, at any rate, for I have nothing else to send. You know thatit has been in our family for centuries, and have heard how stout oldPeter Leggit, with nine sailors, escaped by night through the Spanishfleet, and what suffering they endured before they reached England. Hebrought this, and it has been preserved ever since. A legend has grownup, as a matter of course, that the treasure will be recovered one daywhen the family is at its last extremity. It may not be impossible. Thewriter intended that something should come of it. 

"If in that other world to which I am going the disembodied spirit canassist man, then be sure, O my son, I will assist you, and in the crisisof your fate I will be near, if it is only to communicate to your spiritwhat you ought to do. 

"God bless you, dear boy, and farewell. 

"Your affectionate father. 

"RALPH BRANDON. "

This letter was evidently written by fragmentary portions, as though ithad been done at intervals. Some parts were written leisurely--othersapparently in haste. The first half had been written evidently with thegreatest ease. The writing of the last half showed weakness andtremulousness of hand; many words would have been quite illegible to onenot familiar with the handwriting of the old man. Sometimes the word waswritten two or three times, and there were numerous blots and unmeaninglines. It grew more and more illegible toward the close. Evidently itwas the work of one who was but ill able to exert even sufficientstrength to hold a pen in his trembling hand. 

In this letter there was folded a large piece of coarse paper, evidentlya blank leaf torn from a book, brown with age, which was worn at thefolds, and protected there by pieces of cotton which had been pastedupon it. The paper was covered with writing, in ink that was much faded, though still quite legible. 

Opening this Brandon read the following:

[Illustration: Facsimile of handwritten page reading:

"One league due northe of a smalle islet northe of the Islet of SantaCruz northe of San Salvador----I Ralphe Brandon in my shippe Phoenix ambecalmed and surrounded by a Spanish fleete----My shippe is filled withspoyle the Plunder of III galleons----wealth which myghte purchase akyngdom-tresure equalle to an Empyr's revenue----Gold and jeweles incountless store----and God forbydde that itt shall falle into the handsof the Enemye----I therefore Ralphe Brandon out of mine owne good wyland intente and that of all my men sink this shippe rather than be takenalyve----I send this by my trusty seaman Peter Leggit who with IX otherstolde off by lot will trye to escape in the Boate by nighte----If thiscometh haply into the hands of my sonne Philip let him herebye knowethat in this place is all this tresure----which haply may yet be gatherdfrom the sea----the Islet is knowne by III rockes that be pushed up likeIII needles from the sande. 

"Ralphe Brandon"]

CHAPTER II. 

A LIFE TRAGEDY. 

Not a word or a gesture escaped Brandon during the perusal, but after hehad finished he read the whole through twice, then laying it down, hepaced up and down the room. His olive skin had become of a sickly tawnyhue, his eyes glowed with intense lustre, and his brow was covered withthose gloomy Napoleonic clouds, but not a nerve was shaken by the shockof this dread intelligence. 

Evening came and night; and the night passed, and morning came, but itfound him still there pacing the room. 

Earlier than usual next morning he was at the office, and waited forsome time before the senior partner made his appearance. When he came init was with a smile on his face, and a general air of congratulation toall the world. 

"Well, Brandon, " said he, cordially, "that last shipment has turned outfinely. More than a thousand pounds. And it's all your doing. Iobjected, but you were right. Let me congratulate you. "

Something in Brandon's face seemed to surprise the old gentleman, and hepaused for a moment. "Why what's the matter, my boy?" he said, in apaternal voice. "You have not heard any bad news, I hope, in thatletter--I hope it's nothing serious?"

Brandon gave a faint smile. 

"Serious enough, " said he, looking away with an abstracted gaze, "to puta sudden end to my Australian career. "

"Oh no--oh no!" said the other, earnestly; "not so bad as that. "

"I must go home at once. "

"Oh well, that may be, but you will be back again. Take a leave ofabsence for five years if you wish, but don't quit for good. I'll do thebusiness and won't complain, my boy. I'll keep your place comfortablefor you till your return. "

Brandon's stern face softened as he looked at the old man, whosefeatures were filled with the kindest expression, and whose tone showedthe affectionate interest which he felt. 

"Your kindness to me, Mr. Compton, " said he, very slowly, and with deepfeeling, "has been beyond all words. Ever since I first came to thiscountry you have been the truest and the best of friends. I hope youknow me well enough to believe that I can never forget it. But now allthis is at an end, and all the bright prospects that I had here mustgive way to the call of the sternest duty. In that letter which Ireceived last night there came a summons home which I can not neglect, and my whole life hereafter must be directed toward the fulfillment ofthat summons. From mid-day yesterday until dawn this morning I paced myroom incessantly, laying out my plans for the future thus suddenlythrust upon me, and though I have not been able to decide upon any thingdefinite, yet I see plainly that nothing less than a life will enable meto accomplish my duty. The first thing for me to do is to acquaint youwith this and to give up my part in the business. "

Mr. Compton placed his elbow on the table near which he had seatedhimself, leaned his head upon his hand, and looked at the floor. FromBrandon's tone he perceived that this resolution was irrevocable. Thedeep dejection which he felt could not be concealed. He was silent for along time. 

"God knows, " said he, at last, "that I would rather have failed inbusiness than that this should have happened. "

Brandon looked away and said nothing. 

"It comes upon me so suddenly, " he continued. "I do not know what tothink. And how can I manage these vast affairs without your assistance?For you were the one who did our business. I know that well. I had nohead for it. "

"You can reduce it to smaller proportions. " said Brandon; "that caneasily be done. "

The old man sighed. 

"After all, " he continued, "it is not the business. It's losing you thatI think of, dear boy. I'm not thinking of the business at all. My griefis altogether about your departure. I grieve, too, at the blow whichmust have fallen on you to make this necessary. "

"The blow is a heavy one, " said Brandon; "so heavy that every thing elsein life must be forgotten except the one thought--how to recover fromit; and perhaps, also, " he added, in a lower voice, "how to return it. "

Mr. Compton was silent for a long time, and with every minute the deepdejection of his face and manner increased. He folded his arms and shuthis eyes in deep thought. 

"My boy, " said he at last, in that same paternal tone which he had usedbefore, and in a mild, calm voice. "I suppose this thing can not behelped, and all that is left for me to do is to bear it as best I may. Iwill not indulge in any selfish sorrow in the presence of your greatertrouble. I will rather do all in my power to coincide with your wishes. I see now that you must have a good reason for your decision, although Ido not seek to look into that reason. "

"Believe me, " said Brandon, "I would show you the letter at once, but itis so terrible that I would rather that you should not know. It is worsethan death, and I do not even yet begin to know the worst. "

The old man sighed, and looked at him with deep commiseration. 

"If our separation must indeed be final, " said he, at last, "I will takecare that you shall suffer no loss. You shall have your full share ofthe capital. "

"I leave that entirely to you, " said Brandon. 

"Fortunately our business is not much scattered. A settlement can easilybe made, and I will arrange it so that you shall not have any loss. Ourbalance-sheet was made out only last month, and it showed our firm to beworth thirty thousand pounds. Half of this is yours, and--"

"Half!" interrupted the other. "My dear friend, you mean a quarter. "

The old man waved his hand. 

"I said half, and I mean half. "

"I will never consent. "

"You must. "

"Never. "

"You shall. Why, think of the petty business that I was doing when youcame here. I was worth about four thousand. You have built up thebusiness to its present dimensions. Do you suppose that I don't know?"

"I can not allow you to make such a sacrifice, " said Brandon. 

"Stop, " said Mr. Compton. "I have not said all. I attach a condition tothis which I implore you not to refuse. Listen to me, and you will thenbe able to see. "

Mr. Compton rose and looked carefully out into the office. There was noone near. He then returned, locked the door, and drawing his chair closeto Brandon, began, in a low voice:

"You have your secrets and I have mine. I don't wish to know yours, butmy own I am going to tell to you, not merely for the sake of sympathy, but rather for the sake of your assistance. I am going to tell you who Iam, and why I came out here. 

"My name is not Compton. It is Henry Lawton. All my early life waspassed at York. There I married, had a son, and lived happily for years--in fact, during the childhood of my boy. 

"It was that boy of mine, Edgar, that led to all my troubles. I supposewe indulged him too much. It was natural. He was our only child, and sowe ruined him. He got beyond our control at last and used to run aboutthe streets of York. I did what I could to save him, but it was toolate. 

"He went on from bad to worse, until at last he got in with a set ofmiscreants who were among the worst in the country. My God! to think howmy boy, once a sweet child, could have fallen so low. But he was weak, and easily led, and so he went on from bad to worse. 

"I can not bear to go into particulars, " said the old man, after a longpause. "I will come at once to point. My poor, wretched boy got in withthese miscreants, as I was telling you, and I did not see him from onemonth's end to another. At last a great burglary took place. Three werearrested. Among these two were old offenders, hardened in vice, the onenamed Briggs, the other Crocker; the third was my unhappy boy. "

The old man was silent for some time. 

"I do not think, after all, that he was guilty: but Briggs turned King'sEvidence, and Crocker and my son were condemned to transportation. Therewas no help. 

"I sold out all I had in the world, and in compliance with theentreaties of my poor wife, who nearly went mad with grief, I came outhere. I changed my name to Compton. My boy's term was for three years. Ibegan a business out here, and as my boy behaved well he was able to getpermission to hire out as a servant. I took him nominally as my servant, for no one knew that he was my son, and so we had him with us again. 

"I hoped that the bitter lesson which he had learned would provebeneficial, but I did not know the strength of evil inclinations. Aslong as his term of imprisonment lasted he was content and behaved well;but at last, when the three years were up, he began to grow restive. Crocker was freed at about the same time and my boy fell again under hisevil influence. This lasted for about a year, when, at last, one morninga letter was brought me from him stating that he had gone to India. Mypoor wife was again nearly distracted. She thought of nothing but herboy. She made me take her and go in search of him again. So we went toIndia. After a long search I found him there, as I had feared, inconnection with his old, vicious associates. True, they had changedtheir names, and were trying to pass for honest men. Crocker calledhimself Clark, and Briggs called himself Potts. "

"Potts, " cried Brandon. 

"Yes, " said the other, who was too absorbed in his own thoughts tonotice the surprise of Brandon. "He was in the employ of ColonelDespard, at Calcutta, and enjoyed much of his confidence. "

"What year was this?" asked Brandon. 

"1825, " replied Mr. Compton. "Crocker, " he continued, "was acting as asort of shipping agent, and my son was his clerk. Of course, my firstefforts were directed toward detaching my son from these scoundrels. Idid all that I could. I offered to give him half of my property, andfinally all, if he would only leave them forever and come back. Thewretched boy refused. He did not appear to be altogether bad, but he hada weak nature, and could not get rid of the influence of these men. 

"I staid in India for a year and a half, until I found at last thatthere was no hope. I could find nothing to do there, and if I remained Iwould have to starve or go out to service. This I could not think ofdoing. So I prepared to come back here. But my wife refused to leave herson. She was resolved, she said, to stay by him till the last. I triedto dissuade her, but could not move her. I told her that I could not bea domestic. She said that she could do even that for the sake of herboy. And she went off at once and got a situation as nurse with the sameColonel Despard with whom Briggs, or, as he called himself, Potts, wasstaying. "

"What was the Christian name of this Potts?" asked Brandon, calmly. 

"John--John Potts. "

Brandon said nothing further, and Compton resumed. 

"Thus my wife actually left me. I could not stay and be a slave. So Imade her promise to write me, and told her that I would send her as muchmoney as I could. She clung to me half broken-hearted as I left her. Ourparting was a bitter one--bitter enough: but I would rather break myheart with grief than be a servant. Besides, she knew that whenever shecame back my heart was open to receive her. 

"I came back to my lonely life out here and lived for nearly two years. At last, in September 1828, a mail arrived from India bringing a letterfrom my wife and Indian papers. The news which they brought well-nighdrove me mad. "

Compton buried his face in his hands and remained silent for some time. 

"You couldn't have been more than a child at that time, but perhaps youmay have heard of the mysterious murder of Colonel Despard?"

He looked inquiringly at Brandon, but the latter gave no sign. 

[Illustration: "THERE'S SOME MYSTERY ABOUT IT WHICH I CAN'T FATHOM. "]

"Perhaps not, " he continued--"no: you were too young, of course. Well, it was in the _Vishnu_, a brig in which the Colonel had embarkedfor Manilla. The brig was laden with hogshead staves and box shooks, andthe Colonel went there partly for his health, partly on business, takingwith him his valet Potts. "

"What became of his family?" interrupted Brandon. 

"He had a son in England at school. His wife had died not long beforethis at one of the hill stations, where she had gone for her health. Grief may have had something to do with the Colonel's voyage, for he wasvery much attached to his wife. 

"Mails used only to come at long intervals in those days and this onebrought the account not only of the Colonel's fate, but of the trial atManilla and the execution of the man that was condemned. 

"It was a very mysterious case. In the month of July a boat arrived atManilla which carried the crew and one passenger from the brig_Vishnu_. One of the men, a Malay named Uracao, was in irons, andhe was immediately given up to the authorities. "

"Who were the others?"

"Potts, as he called himself, the Colonel's valet, Clark, three Lascars, and the Captain, an Italian named Cigole. Information was at once laidagainst the Malay. Potts was the chief witness. He said that he slept inthe cabin while the Colonel slept in an inner state-room; that onemorning early he was roused by a frightful shriek and saw Uracao rushingfrom the Colonel's state-room. He sprang up, chased him, and caught himjust as he was about to leap overboard. His creese covered with bloodwas in his hand. The Colonel, when they went to look at him, had histhroat cut from ear to ear. Clark swore that he was steering the vesseland saw Potts catch Uracao, and helped to hold him. The Captain, Cigole, swore that he was waked by the noise, and rushed out in time to seethis. Clark had gone as mate of the vessel. Of the Lascars, two had beendown below, but one was on deck and swore to have seen the same. On thistestimony Uracao was condemned and executed. "

"How did they happen to leave the brig?"

"They said that a great storm came up about three days' sail fromManilla, the vessel sprang a leak, and they had to take to the boat. Their testimony was very clear indeed, and there were no contradictions;but in spite of all this it was felt to be a very mysterious case, andeven the exhibition of the Malay creese, carefully covered with thestains of blood, did not altogether dispel this feeling. "

"Have you got the papers yet, or are there any in Sydney that contain anaccount of this affair?"

"I have kept them all. You may read the whole case if you care aboutit. "

"I should like to, very much, " said Brandon, with great calmness. 

"When I heard of this before the mail was opened I felt an agony of fearlest my miserable boy might be implicated in some way. To my immenserelief his name did not occur at all. "

"You got a letter from your wife?" said Brandon, interrogatively. 

"Yes, " said the old man, with a sigh. "The last that I ever receivedfrom her. Here it is. " And, saying this, he opened his pocket-book andtook out a letter, worn and faded, and blackened by frequent readings. 

Brandon took it respectfully, and read the following:

"CALCUTTA, August 15, 1828. 

"MY DEAREST HENRY, --By the papers that I send you, you will see what hasoccurred. Our dear Edgar is well, indeed better than usual, and I wouldfeel much cheered if it were not for the sad fate of the poor Colonel. This is the last letter that you will ever receive from me. I am goingto leave this country never to return, and do not yet know where I willgo. Wherever I go I will be with my darling Edgar. Do not worry about meor about him. It will be better for you to try and forget all about us, since we are from this time the same as dead to you. Good-by forever, mydearest husband; it shall be my daily prayer that God may bless you. 

"Your affectionate wife, MARY. "

Brandon read this in silence, and handed it back. 

"A strange letter, " said Compton mournfully. "At first it gave a bitterpang to think of my Mary thus giving me up forever, so coldly, and forno reason: but afterward I began to understand why she wrote this. 

"My belief is, that these villains kept my son in their clutches forsome good reason, and that they had some equally good reason for keepingher. There's some mystery about it which I can't fathom. Perhaps sheknew too much about the Colonel's affairs to be allowed to go free. Theymight have detained her by working upon her love for her son, or simplyby terrifying her. She was always a timid soul, poor Mary. That letteris not her composition: there is not a word there that sounds like her, and they no doubt told her what to write, or wrote out something, andmade her copy it. 

"And now, " said Compton, after another long pause, "I have got to theend of my story. I know nothing more about them. I have lived here eversince, at first despairing, but of late more resigned to my lot. Yetstill if I have one desire in life it is to get some trace of these dearones whom I still love as tenderly as ever. You, my dear boy, with yourability may conjecture some way. Besides, you will perhaps be travelingmore or less, and may be able to hear of their fate. This is thecondition that I make. I implore you by your pity for a heart-brokenfather to do as I say and help me. Half! why, I would give all that Ihave if I could get them back again. "

Brandon shuddered perceptibly at the words "heart-broken father;" but hequickly recovered himself. He took Compton's hand and pressed it warmly. 

"Dear friend, I will make no objection to any thing, and I promise youthat all my best efforts shall he directed toward finding them out. "

"Tell them to come to me, that I am rich, and can make them happy. "

"I'll make them go to you if they are alive, " said Brandon. 

"God bless you!" ejaculated the old man, fervently. 

Brandon spent the greater part of that day in making businessarrangements, and in reading the papers which Compton had preservedcontaining an account of the Despard murder. 

It was late at night before he returned to his hotel. As he went intothe hall he saw a stranger sitting there in a lounging attitude readingthe Sydney _News_. 

He was a thin, small-sized man, with a foreign air, and quick, restlessmanner. His features were small, a heavy beard and mustache covered hisface, his brow was low, and his eyes black and twinkling. A sharp, furtive glance which he gave at Brandon attracted the attention of thelatter, for there was something in the glance that meant more than idlecuriosity. 

Even in the midst of his cares Brandon's curiosity was excited. Hewalked with assumed indifference up to the desk as though looking forthe key of his room. Glancing at the hotel book his eye ranged down thecolumn of names till it rested on the last one. 

"_Pietro Cigole_. "

--Cigole! the name brought singular associations. Had this man still anyconnection with Potts? The words of his father's letter rushed into hismind--"His arm may reach even to the antipodes to strike you. Be on yourguard. Watch every one. He has some dark plan against you. "

With these thoughts in his mind Brandon went up to his room. 

CHAPTER III. 

"A MAN OVERBOARD!"

In so small a town as Sydney then was Brandon could hope to learn allthat could be learned about Cigole. By casual inquiries he learned thatthe Italian had come out in the _Rival_, and had given out that hewas agent for a London house in the wool business. He had bought up aconsiderable quantity which he was preparing to ship. 

Brandon could not help feeling that there was some ruse about this. Yethe thought, on the other hand, why should he flaunt his name so boldlybefore the world? If he is in reality following me why should he notdrop his name? But then, again, why should he? Perhaps he thinks that Ican not possibly know any thing about his name. Why should I? I was achild when Despard was murdered. It may be merely a similarity of names. 

Brandon from time to time had opportunities of hearing more aboutCigole, yet always the man seemed absorbed in business. 

He wondered to himself whether he had better confide his suspicions toMr. Compton or not. Yet why should he? The old man would become excited, and feel all sorts of wild hopes about discovering his wife and son. Could it be possible that the Italian after so many years could nowafford any clew whatever? Certainly it was not very probable. 

On the whole Brandon thought that this man, whoever he was or whateverhis purpose might be, would be encountered best by himself singly. IfMr. Compton took part he would at once awaken Cigole's fears by hisclumsiness. 

Brandon felt quite certain that Mr. Compton would not know any thingabout Cigole's presence in Sydney unless he himself told him. For theold man was so filled with trouble at the loss of his partner that hecould think of nothing else, and all his thoughts were taken up withclosing up the concern so as to send forward remittances of money toLondon as soon as possible. Mr. Compton had arranged for him to draw£2000 on his arrival at London, and three months afterward £3000-£10, 000would be remitted during the following year. 

Brandon had come to the conclusion to tell Mr. Compton about Cigolebefore he left, so that if the man remained in the country he might bebribed or otherwise induced to tell what he knew; yet thinking itpossible that Cigole had designed to return in the same ship with him, he waited to see how things would turn out. As he could not helpassociating Cigole in his mind with Potts, so he thought that whicheverway he turned this man would try to follow him. His anticipations provedcorrect. He had taken passage in the ship _Java_, and two daysbefore the vessel left he learned that Cigole had taken his passage inher also, having put on board a considerable quantity of wool. On thewhole Brandon felt gratified to hear this, for the close association ofa long sea voyage would give him opportunities to test this man, andprobe him to the bottom. The thought of danger arising to himself didnot enter his mind. He believed that Cigole meant mischief, but had toomuch confidence in his own powers to fear it. 

On the 5th of August the ship _Java_ was ready, and Mr. Comptonstood on the quarterdeck to bid good-by to Brandon. 

"God bless you, dear boy! You will find the money coming promptly, andSmithers & Co. 's house is one of the strongest in London. I have broughtyou a parting gift, " said he, in a low voice. He drew from his pocket apistol, which in those days was less known than now--indeed, this wasthe first of its kind which had reached Australia, and Mr. Compton hadpaid a fabulous price for it. "Here, " said he, "take this to remember meby. They call it a revolver. Here is a box of patent cartridges that gowith it. It is from me to you. And mind, " he continued, while there cameover his face a vengeful look which Brandon had never seen there before--"mind, if ever you see John Potts, give him one of those patentcartridges, and tell him it is the last gift of a broken-heartedfather. "

Brandon's face turned ghastly, and his lips seemed to freeze into asmile of deadly meaning. 

"God bless you. " cried Compton, "I see by your face that you will do it. Good-by. "

He wrung Brandon's hand hard and left the ship. 

About six feet away stood Cigole, looking over the stern and smoking acigar. He was near enough to hear what had been said, but he did notappear to have heard it. Throwing his cigar into the water, he plungedhis hands into his pockets, and began whistling a lively air. 

"Aha, Capitano, " said he, in a foreign accent, "I have brought my wooloff at last. "

Brandon paced the deck silently yet watchfully. 

The good ship _Java_ went out with a fine breeze, which continuedfor some days, until at last nothing could be seen but the wide ocean. In those few days Brandon had settled himself comfortably on board, andhad learned pretty well the kind of life which he would have to lead forthe next six months or so. The captain was a quiet, amiable sort of aperson, without much force of character; the mate was more energetic andsomewhat passionate; the crew consisted of the average order of men. There was no chance, certainly, for one of those conspiracies such asMr. Compton had hinted at as having taken place on the _Vishnu_;for in his account of that affair he evidently believed that Uracao hadbeen made a scape-goat for the sins of the others. 

Brandon was soon on the best of terms with the officers of the ship. Asto Cigole it was different. The fact of their being the only passengerson board might of itself have been a sufficient cause to draw themtogether; but Brandon found it difficult to pass beyond the extremestlimits of formal intercourse. Brandon himself considered that hispurposes would be best served by close association with this man; hehoped that in the course of such association he might draw somethingfrom Cigole. But Cigole baffled him constantly. He was as polite andcourteous as all Italians are; he had an abundance of remarks all readyabout the state of the weather, the prospects of the voyage, or thehealth of the seamen; but beyond these topics it was difficult to inducehim to go. Brandon stifled the resentment which he felt toward this man, in his efforts to break down the barriers of formality which he kept up, and sought to draw him out on the subject of the wool trade. Yet here hewas baffled. Cigole always took up the air of a man who was speaking toa rival in business, and pretended to be very cautious and guarded inhis remarks about wool, as though he feared that Brandon would interferewith his prospects. This sort of thing was kept up with such greatdelicacy of management on Cigole's part that Brandon himself would havebeen completely deceived, and would have come to consider him as nothingmore than a speculator in wool, had it not been for a certain deepinstinct within him, which made him regard this man as one who wasactuated by something far deeper than mere regards for a successfulspeculation. 

Cigole managed to baffle the most dextrous efforts and the most delicatecontrivances of Brandon. He would acknowledge that he was an Italian, and had been in all parts of Italy, but carefully refrained from tellingwhere he was born. He asserted that this was the first time that he hadbeen in the Eastern seas. He remarked once, casually, that Cigole was avery common name among Italians. He said that he had no acquaintances atall in England, and was only going there now because he heard that therewas a good market for wool. At another time he spoke as though much ofhis life had been passed in Marseilles, and hinted that he was a partnerof a commercial house there. 

Cigole never made any advances, and never even met half-way those whichBrandon made. He was never off his guard for one instant. Polite, smiling, furtive, never looking Brandon fairly in the face, he usuallyspoke with a profusion of bows, gestures, and commonplaces, adopting, infact, that part which is always at once both the easiest and the safestto play--the non-committal, pure and perfect. 

It was cunning, but low cunning after all, and Brandon perceived that, for one who had some purpose to accomplish, with but a common soul tosustain him, this was the most ordinary way to do it. A villain ofprofounder cunning or of larger spirit would have pursued a differentpath. He would have conversed freely and with apparent unreserve; hewould have yielded to all friendly advances, and made them himself; hewould have shown the highest art by concealing art, in accordance withthe hackneyed proverb, "Ars est celare artem. "

Brandon despised him as an ordinary villain, and hardly thought it worthhis while to take any particular notice of him, except to watch him in ageneral way. But Cigole, on the contrary, was very different. His eyes, which never met those of Brandon fairly, were constantly watching him. When moving about the quarter-deck or when sitting in the cabin heusually had the air of a man who was pretending to be intent onsomething else, but in reality watching Brandon's acts or listening tohis words. To any other man the knowledge of this would have been in thehighest degree irksome. But to Brandon it was gratifying, since itconfirmed his suspicions. He saw this man, whose constant efforts weredirected toward not committing himself by word, doing that very thing byhis attitude, his gesture, and the furtive glance of his eye. Brandon, too, had his part, but it was infinitely greater than that of Cigole, and the purpose that now animated his life was unintelligible to thisman who watched him. But Cigole's whole soul was apparent to Brandon;and by his small arts, his low cunning, his sly observation, and manyother peculiarities, he exhibited that which is seen in its perfectionin the ordinary spy of despotic countries, such as used to abound mostin Rome and Naples in the good old days. 

For the common spy of Europe may deceive the English or Americantraveler; but the Frenchman, the German, the Spaniard, or the Italian, always recognizes him. 

So Brandon's superior penetration discovered the true character ofCigole. 

He believed that this man was the same Cigole who had figured in theaffair of the _Vishnu_; that he had been sent out by Potts to dosome injury to himself, and that he was capable of any crime. Yet hecould not see how he could do any thing. He certainly could not incitethe simple-minded captain and the honest mate to conspiracy. He was toogreat a coward to attempt any violence. So Brandon concluded that he hadsimply come to watch him so as to learn his character, and carry back toPotts all the knowledge that he might gain. 

This was his conclusion after a close association of one month withCigole. Yet he made up his mind not to lose sight of this man. To him heappeared only an agent in villainy, and therefore unworthy of vengeance;yet he might be made use of as an aid in that vengeance. He thereforewished to have a clew by which he might afterward find him. 

"You and I, " said he one day, in conversation, "are both in the sametrade. If I ever get to England I may wish some time to see you. Wherecan I find you?"

Cigole looked in twenty different directions, and hesitated for sometime. 

"Well, " said he at last, "I do not think that you will wish to see me--"and he hesitated; "but, " he resumed, with an evil smile, "if you shouldby any possibility wish to do so, you can find out where I am byinquiring of Giovanni Cavallo, 16 Red Lion Street, London. "

"Perhaps I may not wish to, " said Brandon, coolly, "and perhaps I may. At any rate, if I do, I will remember to inquire of Giovanni Cavallo, 16Red Lion Street, London. "

He spoke with deep emphasis on the address. Cigole looked uncomfortable, as though he had at last made the mistake which he dreaded, and hadcommitted himself. 

So the time passed. 

After the first few days the weather had become quite stormy. Stronghead-winds, accompanied often by very heavy rains, had to beencountered. In spite of this the ship had a very good passagenorthward, and met with no particular obstacle until her course wasturned toward the Indian Ocean. Then all the winds were dead againsther, and for weeks a succession of long tacks far to the north and tothe south brought her but a short distance onward. Every day made thewind more violent and the storm worse. And now the season of the equinoxwas approaching, when the monsoons change, and all the winds that sweepover these seas alter their courses. For weeks before and after thisseason the winds are all unsettled, and it seems as if the elements werelet loose. From the first week in September this became manifest, andevery day brought them face to face with sterner difficulties. Twicebefore the captain had been to Australia; and for years he had been inthe China trade; so that he knew these seas well; but he said that hehad never known the equinoctial storms begin so early, and rage withsuch violence. 

Opposed by such difficulties as these the ship made but a slow passage--the best routes had not yet been discovered--and it was the middle ofSeptember before they entered the Indian Ocean. The weather then becamesuddenly calm, and they drifted along beyond the latitude of the westernextremity of Java, about a hundred miles south of the Straits of Sunda. Here they began to encounter the China fleet which steers through thisstrait, for every day one or more sails were visible. 

Here they were borne on helplessly by the ocean currents, which at thisplace are numerous and distracted. The streams that flow through themany isles of the Indian Archipelago, uniting with the greater southernstreams, here meet and blend, causing great difficulties to navigation, and often baffling even the most experienced seaman. Yet it was not allleft to the currents, for frequently and suddenly the storms came up;and the weather, ever changeful, kept the sailors constantly on thealert. 

Yet between the storms the calms were frequent, and sometimes longcontinued, though of such a sort as required watchfulness. For out ofthe midst of dead calms the storm would suddenly rise in its might, andall the care which experience could suggest was not always able to avertdisaster. 

"I don't like this weather, Mr. Brandon. It's the worst that we couldhave, especially just here. "

"Why just here?"

"Why, we're opposite the Straits of Sunda, the worst place about theseparts. "

"What for?"

"Pirates. The Malays, you know. We're not over well prepared to meetthem, I'm afraid. If they come we'll have to fight them the best way wecan; and these calms are the worst thing for us, because the Malay proascan get along in the lightest wind, or with oars, when we can't move atall. "

"Are the Malays any worse than usual now?" asked Brandon. 

"Well, no worse than they've been for the last ten years. Zangorri isthe worst of them all. "

"Zangorri! I've heard of him. "

"I should think you had. Why, there never was a pirate in these seasthat did so much damage. No mortal knows the ships that devil hascaptured and burned. "

"I hope you have arms for the seamen, at any rate. "

"Oh, we have one howitzer, and small-arms for the men, and we will haveto get along the best way we can with these; but the owners ought neverto send us here without a better equipment. "

"I suppose they think it would cost too much. "

"Yes; that's it. They think only about the profits, and trust to luckfor our safety. Well, I only hope we'll get safely out of this place--that's all. "

And the captain walked off much more excited than usual. 

They drifted on through days of calm, which were succeeded by fierce butshort-lived storms, and then followed by calms. Their course laysometimes north, sometimes south, sometimes nowhere. Thus the timepassed, until at length, about the middle of September, they came insight of a long, low island of sand. 

"I've heard of that sand-bank before, " said the captain, who showed somesurprise at seeing it; "but I didn't believe it was here. It's not downin the charts. Here we are three hundred and fifty miles southwest ofthe Straits of Sunda, and the chart makes this place all open water. Well, seein's believin'; and after this I'll swear that there is such athing as Coffin Island. "

"Is that the name?"

"That's the name an old sea-captain gave it, and tried to get theAdmiralty to put it on the charts, but they wouldn't. But this is it, and no mistake. "

"Why did he call it Coffin Island?"

"Well, he thought that rock looked like a coffin, and it's dangerousenough when a fog comes to deserve that name. "

Brandon looked earnestly at the island which the captain mentioned, andwhich they were slowly approaching. 

It lay toward the north, while the ship's course, if it had any in thatcalm, was southwest. It was not more than six miles away, and appearedto be about five miles long. At the nearest extremity a black rock aroseto a height of about fifty feet, which appeared to be about five hundredfeet long, and was of such a shape that the imagination might easily seea resemblance to a coffin. At the farthest extremity of the island was alow mound. The rest of the island was flat, low, and sandy, with notrace of vegetation perceptible from the ship, except a line of dingygreen under the rock, which looked like grass. 

The ship drifted slowly on. 

Meanwhile the captain, in anticipation of a storm, had caused all thesails to be taken in, and stood anxiously watching the sky toward thesouthwest. 

There a dense mass of clouds lay piled along the horizon, gloomy, lowering, menacing; frowning over the calm seas as though they wouldsoon destroy that calm, and fling forth all the fury of the winds. Theseclouds seemed to have started up from the sea, so sudden had been theirappearance; and now, as they gathered themselves together, their formsdistended, and heightened, and reached forward vast arms into the sky, striving to climb there, rolling upward voluminous cloud masses whichswiftly ascended toward the zenith. So quick was the progress of theseclouds that they did not seem to come from the banks below; but it wasrather as though all the air suddenly condensed its moisture and made itvisible in these dark masses. 

As yet there was no wind, and the water was as smooth as glass; but overthe wide surface, as far as the eye could reach, the long swell of theocean had changed into vast rolling undulations, to the motion of whichthe ship yielded, slowly ascending and descending as the waters rose andfell, while the yards creaked, and the rigging twanged to the strainupon them. 

Every moment the sky grew darker, and as gloom gathered above so itincreased below, till all the sea spread out a smooth ebon mass. Darkness settled down, and the sun's face was thus obscured, and apreternatural gloom gathered upon the face of nature. Overhead vastblack clouds went sweeping past, covering all things, faster and faster, till at last far down in the northern sky the heavens were all obscured. 

But amidst all this there was as yet not a breath of wind. Far above thewind careered in a narrow current, which did not touch the surface ofthe sea but only bore onward the clouds. The agitation of the sky abovecontrasted with the stillness below made the latter not consoling butrather fearful, for this could be none other than that treacherousstillness which precedes the sudden outburst of the hurricane. 

For that sudden outburst all were now looking, expecting it everymoment. On the side of the ship where the wind was expected the captainwas standing, looking anxiously at the black clouds on the horizon, andall the crew were gazing there in sympathy with him. From that quarterthe wind would burst, and it was for this assault that all thepreparations had been made. 

[Illustration: "HE PUSHED HIM HEADLONG OVER THE RAIL AND HELPLESSLY INTOTHE SEA. "]

For some time Brandon had watched the collecting clouds, but at lengthhe turned away, and seemed to find a supreme fascination in the sand-bank. He stood at the stern of the ship, looking fixedly toward therock, his arms folded, and his thoughts all absorbed in that one thing. A low railing ran round the quarter-deck. The helmsman stood in asheltered place which rose only two feet above the deck. The captainstood by the companion-way, looking south at the storm; the mate wasnear the capstan, and all were intent and absorbed in their expectationof a sudden squall. 

Close by the rudder-post stood Cigole, looking with all the rest at thegathering storm. His face was only half turned, and as usual he watchedthis with only a furtive glance, for at times his stealthy eyes turnedtoward Brandon; and he alone of all on board did not seem to be absorbedby some overmastering thought. 

Suddenly a faint, fluttering ripple appeared to the southward; it camequickly: it seemed to flash over the waters; with the speed of the windit moved on, till a quick, fresh blast struck the ship and sighedthrough the rigging. Then a faint breathing of wind succeeded; but faraway there rose a low moan like that which arises from some vastcataract at a great distance, whose roar, subdued by distance, soundsfaintly, yet warningly, to the ear. 

At this first touch of the tempest, and the menacing voice of itsapproach, not a word was spoken, but all stood mute. Brandon aloneappeared not to have noticed it. He still stood with folded arms andabsorbed air, gazing at the island. 

The roar of the waters in the distance grew louder, and in the directionfrom which it came the dark water was all white with foam, and theboiling flood advanced nearer in myriad-numbered waves, which seemed nowlike an army rushing to the charge, tossing on high its crested headsand its countless foam-plumes, and threatening to bear down all beforeit. 

At last the tornado struck. 

At the fierce blast of the storm the ship rolled far over, the mastscreaked and groaned, the waves rushed up and dashed against the side. 

At that instant Cigole darted quickly toward Brandon, and the momentthat the vessel yielded to the blow of the storm he fell violentlyagainst him. Before Brandon had noticed the storm or had time to steadyhimself he had pushed him headlong over the rail and helplessly into thesea--

 "--liquidae projecit in undas Praecipitem. "

Cigole clung to the rail, and instantly shrieked out:

"Man overboard!"

The startling cry rang through the ship. The captain turned round with aface of agony. 

"Man overboard!" shouted Cigole again. "Help! It's Brandon!"

"Brandon!" cried the captain. "He's lost! O God!"

He took up a hen-coop from its fastenings and flung it into the sea, anda couple of pails after it. 

He then looked aloft and to the south with eyes of despair. He could donothing. For now the storm was upon them, and the ship was plungingfuriously through the waters with the speed of a race-horse at the touchof the gale. On the lee-side lay the sand-bank, now only three milesaway, whose unknown shallows made their present position perilous in theextreme. The ship could not turn to try and save the lost passenger; itwas only by keeping straight on that there was any hope of avoiding thatlee-shore. 

All on board shared the captain's despair, for all saw that nothingcould be done. The ship was at the mercy of the hurricane. To turn wasimpossible. If they could save their own lives now it would be as muchas they could do. 

Away went the ship--away, farther, and farther, every moment leaving ata greater distance the lost man who struggled in the waters. 

At last they had passed the danger, the island was left behind, and thewide sea lay all around. 

But by this time the storm was at its height; the ship could notmaintain its proper course, but, yielding to the gale, fled to thenorthwest far out of its right direction. 

CHAPTER IV. 

SINKING IN DEEP WATERS. 

Brandon, overwhelmed by the rush of waters, half suffocated, andstruggling in the rush of the waves, shrieked out a few despairing criesfor help, and sought to keep his head above water as best he could. Buthis cries were borne off by the fierce winds, and the ship as itcareered madly before the blast was soon out of hearing. 

He was a first-rate swimmer, but in a sea like this it needed all hisstrength and all his skill to save himself from impending death. Encumbered by his clothes it was still more difficult, yet so fierce wasthe rush of wind and wave that he dared not stop for a moment in hisstruggles in order to divest himself of his clothing. 

At first, by a mere blind instinct, he tried to swim after the ship, asthough by any possibility he could ever reach her again, but thehurricane was against him, and he was forced sideways far out of thecourse which he was trying to take. At last the full possession of hissenses was restored, and following the ship no longer, he turned towardthe direction where that sand island lay which had been the cause of hisdisaster. At first it was hidden from view by the swell of waves thatrose in front, but soon rising upon the crest of one of these heperceived far away the dark form of the coffin-shaped rock. Here thenbefore him lay the island, and toward this both wind and wave impelledhim. 

But the rock was far to the right, and it might be that the island didnot extend far enough to meet him as he neared it. It was about fivemiles in length, but in his efforts he might not be able to reach eventhe western extremity. Still there was nothing else to do but to try. Resolutely, therefore, though half despairingly, he put forth his beststrength, and struggled manfully to win the shore. 

That lone and barren sand-bank, after all, offered but a feeble chancefor life. Even if he did reach it, which was doubtful, what could he do?Starvation instead of drowning would be his fate. More than once itoccurred to him that it would be better then and there to give up allefforts and let himself go. But then there came the thought of thosedear ones who waited for him in England, the thought of the villain whohad thrown him from the ship, and the greater villain who had sent himout on his murderous errand. He could not bear the idea that they shouldtriumph over him so easily and so quickly. His vengeance should not betaken from him; it had been baffled, but it still nerved his arm. 

A half hour's struggle, which seemed like many hours, had brought himmuch nearer to the island, but his strength was almost exhausted. Hisclothes, caught in the rush of the waves, and clinging to him, confinedthe free action of his limbs, and lent an additional weight. Anotherhalf hour's exertion might possibly bring him to the shore, but thatexertion hardly seemed possible. It was but with difficulty now that hecould strike out. Often the rush of the waves from behind wouldoverwhelm him, and it was only by convulsive efforts that he was able tosurmount the raging billows and regain his breath. 

Efforts like these, however, were too exhaustive to be long continued. Nature failed, and already a wild despair came over him. For a quarterof an hour longer he had continued his exertions; and now the island wasso near that a quarter of an hour more might bring him to it. But eventhat exertion of strength was now no longer possible. Faintly andfeebly, and with failing limbs and fiercely-throbbing heart, he toiledon, until at last any further effort seemed impossible. Before him wasthe mound which he had noticed from the ship. He was at the westernextremity of the island. He saw that he was being carried in such adirection that even if he did struggle on he might be borne helplesslypast the island and out into the open sea. Already he could look pastthe island, and see the wide expanse of white foaming waves whichthreatened to engulf him. The sight weakened what little strength wasleft, and made his efforts even feebler. 

Despairingly he looked around, not knowing what he sought, but seekingstill for something, he knew not what. In that last look of despair hiseyes caught sight of something which at once gave him renewed hope. Itwas not far away. Borne along by the waves it was but a few yardsdistant, and a little behind him. It was the hen-coop which the Captainof the _Java_ had thrown overboard so as to give Brandon a chancefor life. That last chance was now thrown in his way, for the hen-coophad followed the same course with himself, and had been swept along notvery far from him. 

Brandon was nerved to new efforts by the sight of this. He turned andexerted the last remnants of his strength in order to reach this meansof safety. It was near enough to be accessible. A few vigorous strokes, a few struggles with the waves, and his hands clutched the bars with thegrasp of a drowning man. 

It was a large hen-coop, capable of keeping several men afloat. Brandonclung to this and at last had rest. Every minute of respite from suchstruggles as he had carried on restored his strength to a greaterdegree. He could now keep his head high out of the water and avoid theengulfing fury of the waves behind. Now at last he could take a bettersurvey of the prospect before him, and see more plainly whither he wasgoing. 

The sand-bank lay before him; the mount at the western extremity was infront of him, not very far away. The rock which lay at the eastern endwas now at a great distance, for he had been swept by the currentabreast of the island, and was even now in danger of being carried pastit. Still there was hope, for wind and wave were blowing directly towardthe island, and there was a chance of his being carried full upon itsshore. Yet the chance was a slender one, for the set of the tide carriedhim beyond the line of the western extremity. 

Every minute brought him nearer, and soon his fate would be decided. Nearer and nearer he came, still clinging to the hen-coop, and making noefforts whatever, but reserving and collecting together all hisstrength, so as to put it forth at the final hour of need. 

But as he came nearer the island appeared to move more and more out ofthe line of his approach. Under these circumstances his only chance wasto float as near as possible, and then make a last effort to reach theland. 

Nearer and nearer he came. At last he was close by it, but the extremepoint of the island lay to the right more than twenty yards. This wasthe crisis of his fate, for now if he floated on any longer he would becarried farther away. 

The shore was here low but steep, the waters appeared to be deep, and aheavy surf dashed upon the island, and threw up its spray far over themound. He was so near that he could distinguish the pebbles on thebeach, and could see beyond the mound a long, flat surface with thingrass growing. 

Beyond this point was another a hundred yards away, but farther out ofhis reach, and affording no hope whatever. Between the two points therewas an inlet into the island showing a little cove; but the surf justhere became wilder, and long rollers careered one past another over theintervening space. It was a hopeless prospect. Yet it was his lastchance. 

Brandon made up his mind. He let go the hen-coop, and summoning up allhis strength he struck out for the shore. But this time the wind and seawere against him, bearing him past the point, and the waves dashed overhim more quickly and furiously than before. He was swept past the pointbefore he had made half a dozen strokes; he was borne on stillstruggling; and now on his left lay the rollers which he had seen. Inspite of all his efforts he was farther away from the island than whenhe had left the hen-coop. Yet all hope and all life depended on theissue of this last effort. The fifteen or twenty minutes of rest and ofbreathing-space which he had gained had been of immense advantage, andhe struggled with all the force which could be inspired by the nearnessof safety. Yet, after all, human efforts can not withstand the fury ofthe elements, and here against this strong sea the strongest swimmercould not hope to contend successfully. 

 "Never I ween was swimmer In such an evil case. "

He swam toward the shore, but the wind striking him from one side, andurging on the sea, drove him sideways. Some progress was made, but theforce of the waters was fearful, and for every foot that he movedforward he was carried six feet to leeward. He himself saw this, andcalculating his chances he perceived with despair that he was alreadybeyond the first point, and that at the present rate there was nopossibility of gaining the farther point. 

Already the waves leaped exultingly about him, dashing over him now morewildly, since he was exposed more than before to their full sweep. Already the rollers lay close beside him on his left. Then it seemed asthough he would be engulfed. Turning his head backward with a last faintthought of trying to regain the hen-coop, so as to prolong lifesomewhat, he saw it far away out of his reach. Then all hope left him. 

He was now at the outermost line of rollers. At the moment that heturned his head a huge wave raised him up and bore him forward. Hestruggled still, even in that time of despair, and fought with hisenemies. They bore him onward, however, none the less helplessly, anddescending carried him with them. 

But now at last, as he descended with that wave, hope came back, and allhis despair vanished. 

For as the wave flung him downward his feet touched bottom, and he stoodfor a moment erect, on solid, hard sand, in water that scarcely reachedabove his knees. It was for a moment only that he stood, however, forthe sweep of the water bore him down, and he fell forward. Before hecould regain himself another wave came and hurled him farther forward. 

By a violent effort he staggered to his feet. In an instant hecomprehended his position. At this western end the island descendedgently into the water, and the shoal which it formed extended for milesaway. It was this shoal that caused the long rollers that came over themso vehemently, and in such marked contrast with the more abrupt waves ofthe sea behind. 

In an instant he had comprehended this, and had taken his course ofaction. 

Now he had foothold. Now the ground beneath lent its aid to hisendeavor; he was no longer altogether at the mercy of the water. Hebounded forward toward the shore in such a direction that he couldapproach it without opposing himself entirely to the waves. The pointthat stretched out was now within his reach. The waves rolled past it, but by moving in an oblique direction he could gain it. 

[Illustration: "HE STAGGERED UP A FEW PACES UPON THE SANDY DECLIVITY. "]

Again and again the high rollers came forward, hurling him up as theycaught him in their embrace, and then casting him down again. As he wascaught up from the bottom he sustained himself on the moving mass, andsupported himself on the crest of the wave, but as soon as his feettouched bottom again he sprang forward toward the point which now becameevery minute more accessible. Wave after wave came, each was morefurious, each more ravenous than the preceding, as though hounding oneanother on to make sure of their prey. But now that the hope of life wasstrong, and safety had grown almost assured, the deathlike weaknesswhich but shortly before had assailed him gave way to new-born strengthand unconquerable resolve. 

At length he reached a place where the rollers were of less dimensions. His progress became more rapid, until at length the water becameexceedingly shallow, being not more than a foot in depth. Here the firstpoint, where the mound was, protected it from the wind and sea. This wasthe cove which he had noticed. The water was all white with foam, butoffered scarcely any resistance to him. He had but to wade onward to theshore. 

That shore was at last attained. He staggered up a few paces upon thesandy declivity, and then fell down exhausted upon the ground. 

He could not move. It was late; night came on, but he lay where he hadfallen, until at last he fell into a sound sleep. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MYSTERY OF COFFIN ISLAND. 

When Brandon awaked on the following morning the sun was already high inthe sky. He rose at once and walked slowly up, with stiffened limbs, toa higher spot. His clothes already were partly dry, but they wereuncomfortable and impeded his motion. He took off nearly every thing, and laid them out on the sand. Then he examined his pistol and the boxcontaining cartridges. This box held some oil also, with the help ofwhich the pistol was soon in good order. As the cartridges were encasedin copper they were uninjured. He then examined a silver case which wassuspended round his neck. It was cylindrical in shape, and the topunscrewed. On opening this he took out his father's letter and theinclosure, both of which were uninjured. He then rolled them up in asmall compass and restored them to their place. 

He now began to look about him. The storm had ceased, the waves hadsubsided, a slight breeze was blowing from the sea which just ruffledthe water and tempered the heat. The island on which he had been castwas low, flat, and covered with a coarse grass which grew out of thesand. But the sand itself was in many places thrown up into ridges, andappeared as though it was constantly shifting and changing. The moundwas not far away, and at the eastern end of the island he could see theblack outline of the rock which he had noticed from the ship. The lengthhe had before heard to be about five miles; the width appeared about onemile, and in its whole aspect it seemed nothing better than theabomination of desolation. 

At the end where he was the island terminated in two points, betweenwhich there was the cove where he had found refuge. One of these pointswas distinguished by the mound already mentioned, which from where hestood appeared of an irregular oblong shape. The other point was low, and descended gently into the water. The island itself appeared to bemerely the emergence of some sand-bank which, perhaps, had been formedby currents and eddies; for here the currents of the Strait of Sundaencounter those from the Southern and Indian oceans, and this bank layprobably near their point of union. 

A short survey showed him this. It showed him also that there was butlittle if any hope of sustaining life, and that he had escaped drowningonly perhaps to perish by the more lingering agonies of starvation. 

Already hunger and thirst had begun to be felt, and how to satisfy thesewants he knew not. Still he would not despair. Perhaps the _Java_might return in search of him, and his confinement would only last for aday or so. 

He understood the act of Cigole in a way that was satisfactory tohimself. He had thrown him overboard, but had made it appear like anaccident. As he fell he had heard the shout "Man overboard!" and was nowable to account for it in this way. So a faint hope remained that thecaptain of the _Java_ would not give him up. 

Still subsistence of some kind was necessary, and there was nothing tobe done but to explore the sandy tract before him. Setting forth hewalked toward the rock along the sea-shore. On one side toward the norththe shore was shallow and sloped gently into the water; but on thesouthern side it descended more abruptly. The tide was out. A steepbeach appeared here covered with stones to which myriads of shell-fishwere attached. The sight of these suggested the idea to him that on theopposite side there might be clams in the sand. He walked over there insearch of them. Here the slope was so gradual that extensive flats wereleft uncovered by the receding tide. 

When a boy he had been sometimes accustomed to wander on sand flats nearhis home, and dig up these clams in sport. Now his boyish experiencebecame useful. Myriads of little holes dotted the sand, which he knew tobe the indications of these molluscs, and he at once began to scoop inthe sand with his hands. In a short time he had found enough to satisfyhis hunger, and what was better, he saw all around an unlimited supplyof such food. 

Yet food was not enough. Drink was equally necessary. The salt of theseshell-fish aggravated the thirst that he had already begun to feel, andnow a fear came over him that there might be no water. The search seemeda hopeless one; but he determined to seek for it nevertheless, and theonly place that seemed to promise success was the rock at the easternend. Toward this he now once more directed his steps. 

The island was all of sand except the rocks on the south beach and thecliff at the eastern end. Coarse grass grew very extensively over thesurface, but the sand was fine and loose, and in many places thrown upinto heaps of many different shapes. The grass grew in tufts or inspires and blades, thinly scattered, and nowhere forming a sod. The soilwas difficult to walk over, and Brandon sought the beach, where the dampsand afforded a firmer foothold. In about an hour and a half he reachedthe rock. 

It was between five hundred and six hundred feet in length, and aboutfifty in height. There was no resemblance to a coffin now as Brandonapproached it, for that likeness was only discernible at a distance. Itssides were steep and precipitous. It was one black solid mass, withoutany outlying crags, or any fragments near it. Its upper surface appearedto be level, and in various places it was very easy to ascend. Up one ofthese places Brandon climbed, and soon stood on the top. 

Near him the summit was somewhat rounded; at the farther end it was flatand irregular; but between the two ends it sank into a deep hollow, where he saw that which at once excited a tumult of hope and fear. Itwas a pool of water at least fifty feet in diameter, and deep too, sincethe sides of the rock went down steeply. But was it fresh or salt? Wasit the accumulation from the showers of the rainy season of the tropics, or was it but the result of the past night's storm, which had hurledwave after wave here till the hollow was filled?

With hasty footsteps he rushed toward the margin of the pool, and bentdown to taste. For a moment or so, by a very natural feeling, hehesitated, then, throwing off the fever of suspense, he bent down, kneeling on the margin, till his lips touched the water. 

It was fresh! Yes, it was from the heavens above, and not from the seabelow. It was the fresh rains from the sky that had filled this deeppool, and not the spray from the sea. Again and again he quaffed therefreshing liquid. Not a trace of the salt-water could be detected. Itwas a natural cistern which thus lay before him, formed as though forthe reception of the rain. For the present, at least, he was safe. 

He had food and drink. As long as the rainy season lasted, and for sometime after, life was secure. Life becomes doubly sweet after beingpurchased by such efforts as those which Brandon had put forth, and thethought that for the present, at least, he was safe did not fail to fillhim with the most buoyant hope. To him, indeed, it seemed just then asif nothing more could be desired. He had food and drink in abundance. Inthat climate shelter was scarcely needed. What more could he wish?

The first day was passed in exploring the rock to see if there was anyplace which he might select for his abode. There were several fissuresin the rock at the eastern end, and one of these he selected. He thenwent back for his clothes, and brought them to this place. So the firstday went. 

All the time his eyes wandered round the horizon to see if a sail mightbe in sight. After two or three days, in which nothing appeared, heceased his constant watch, though still from time to time, by a naturalimpulse, he continued to look. After all he thought that rescue mightcome. He was somewhat out of the track of the China ships, but still notvery much so. An adverse wind might bring a ship close by. The hope ofthis sustained him. 

But day succeeded to day and week to week with no appearance of anything whatever on the wide ocean. 

During these long days he passed the greater part of his time eitherunder the shelter of the rock, where he could best avoid the hot sun, orwhen the sea-breeze blew on its summit. The frightful solitude offeredto him absolutely nothing which could distract his thoughts, or preventhim from brooding upon the hopelessness of his situation. 

Brooding thus, it became his chief occupation to read over and over hisfather's letter and the inclosure, and conjecture what might be hiscourse of action if he ever escaped from this place. His father's voiceseemed now to sound to him more imploringly than ever; and the winds atnight, as they moaned round the rock, seemed to modulate themselves, toform their sounds to something like a wild cry, and wail forth, "Comehome!" Yet that home was now surely farther removed than ever, and thewinds seemed only to mock him. More sad and more despairing than Ulysseson the Ogygian shore, he too wasted away with home-sickness. 

[Greek: kateibeto se glukus aion noston oduromeno. ]

Fate thus far had been against him, and the melancholy recollections ofhis past life could yield nothing but despondency. Driven from home whenbut a boy, he had become an exile, had wandered to the other side of theworld, and was just beginning to attain some prospect of a fortune whenthis letter came. Rising up from the prostration of that blow, he hadstruggled against fate, but only to encounter a more over-masteringforce, and this last stroke had been the worst of all. Could he rallyafter this? Could he now hope to escape?

Fate had been against him; but yet, perhaps, here, on this lonelyisland, he might find a turning-point. Here he might find that turningin the long lane which the proverb speaks of. "The day is darkest beforethe morn, " and perhaps he would yet have Fate on his side. 

But the sternest and most courageous spirit can hardly maintain itsfortitude in an utter and unmitigated solitude. St. Simeon Stylitescould do so, but he felt that on the top of that pillar there rested theeyes of the heavenly hosts and of admiring mankind. It is when theconsciousness of utter solitude comes that the soul sinks. When theprisoner thinks that he is forgotten by the outside world, then he losesthat strength which sustained him while he believed himself remembered. 

It was the lot of Brandon to have this sense of utter desolation: tofeel that in all the world there was not one human being that knew ofhis fate; and to fear that the eye of Providence only saw him withindifference. With bitterness he thought of the last words of hisfather's letter: "If in that other world to which I am going thedisembodied spirit can assist man, then be sure, O my son, I will assistyou, and in the crisis of your fate I will be near, if it is only tocommunicate to your spirit what you ought to do. "

A melancholy smile passed over his face as he thought of what seemed tohim the utter futility of that promise. 

Now, as the weeks passed, his whole mode of life affected both mind andbody. Yet, if it be the highest state of man for the soul to live byitself, as Socrates used to teach, and sever itself from bodilyassociation, Brandon surely had attained, without knowing it, a mostexalted stage of existence. Perhaps it was the period of purificationand preparation for future work. 

The weather varied incessantly, calms and storms alternating; sometimesall the sea lying dull, listless, and glassy under the burning sky; atother times both sea and sky convulsed with the war of elements. 

At last there came one storm so tremendous that it exceeded all thatBrandon had ever seen any where. 

The wind gathered itself up from the south-east, and for a whole day theforces of the tempest collected themselves, till at last they burst infury upon the island. In sustained violence and in the frenzy of itsassault it far surpassed that first storm. Before sundown the storm wasat its height, and, though yet day, the clouds were so dense and soblack that it became like night. Night came on, and the storm, and roar, and darkness increased steadily every hour. So intense was the darknessthat the hand, when held close by the face, could not be distinguished. So restless was the force of the wind that Brandon, on looking out tosea, had to cling to the rock to prevent himself from being blown away. A dense rain of spray streamed through the air, and the surf, rollingup, flung its crest all across the island. Brandon could hear beneathhim, amidst some of the pauses of the storm, the hissing and bubbling offoaming waters, as though the whole island, submerged by the waves, wasslowly settling down into the depths of the ocean. 

Brandon's place of shelter was sufficiently elevated to be out of thereach of the waves that might rush upon the land, and on the lee-side ofthe rock, so that he was sufficiently protected. Sand, which he hadcarried up, formed his bed. In this place, which was more like the lairof a wild beast than the abode of a human being, he had to live. Manywakeful nights he had passed there, but never had he known such a nightas this. 

There was a frenzy about this hurricane that would have beeninconceivable if he had not witnessed it. His senses, refined andrendered acute by long vigils and slender diet, seemed to detect audiblewords in the voice of the storm. Looking out through the gloom his sightseemed to discern shapes flitting by like lightning, as though thefabled spirits of the storm had gathered here. 

It needed all the robust courage of his strong nature to sustain himselfin the presence of the wild fancies that now came rushing and throngingbefore his mind. The words of his father sounded in his ears; he thoughthe heard them spoken from the air; he thought he saw an aged spectralface, wan with suffering and grief, in front of his cave. He covered hiseyes with his hands, and sought to reason down his superstitiousfeeling. In vain. Words rang in his ears, muffled words, as thoughmuttered in the storm, and his mind, which had brooded so long over hisfather's letter, now gave shape to the noise of winds and waves. 

"--In the crisis of your fate I will be near. "

"I shall go mad!" cried Brandon, aloud, and he started to his feet. 

But the storm went on with its fury, and still his eyes saw shapes, andhis ears heard fantastic sounds. So the night passed until at last thestorm had exhausted itself. Then Brandon sank down and slept far on intothe day. 

When he awaked again the storm had subsided. The sea was stillboisterous, and a fresh breeze blew which he inhaled with pleasure. After obtaining some shell-fish, and satisfying his appetite, he went tothe summit of the rock for water, and then stood looking out at sea. 

His eye swept the whole circuit of the horizon without seeing any thing, until at length he turned to look in a westwardly direction where theisland spread out before him. Here an amazing sight met his eyes. 

The mound at the other end had become completely and marvelouslychanged. On the previous day it had preserved its usual shape, but nowit was no longer smoothly rounded. On the contrary it was irregular, thenorthern end being still a sort of hillock, but the middle and southernend was flat on the surface and dark in color. From the distance atwhich he stood it looked like a rock, around which the sand hadaccumulated, but which had been uncovered by the violent storm of thepreceding night. 

At that distance it appeared like a rock, but there was something in itsshape and in its position which made it look like a ship which had beencast ashore. The idea was a startling one, and he at once dismissed itas absurd. But the more he looked the closer the resemblance grew untilat last, unable to endure this suspense, he hurried off in thatdirection. 

During all the time that he had been on the island he had never beenclose to the mound. He had remained for the most part in theneighborhood of the rock, and had never thought that a barren sandhillock was worthy of a visit. But now it appeared a very differentobject in his eyes. 

He walked on over half the intervening distance, and now the resemblanceinstead of fading out, as he anticipated, grew more close. It was stilltoo far to be seen very distinctly: but there, even from that distance, he saw the unmistakable outline of a ship's hull. 

There was now scarcely any doubt about this. There it lay. Every steponly made it more visible. He walked more quickly onward, filled withwonder, and marveling by what strange chance this vessel could havereached its present position. 

There it lay. It could not by any possibility have been cast ashore onthe preceding night. The mightiest billows that ever rose from oceancould never have lifted a ship so far upon the shore. To him it wascertain that it must have been there for a long time, and that the sandhad been heaped around it by successive storms. 

As he walked nearer he regarded more closely the formation of thiswestern end. He saw the low northern point, and then the cove where hehad escaped from the sea. He noticed that the southern point where themound was appeared to be a sort of peninsula, and the theory suggesteditself to him by which he could account for this wonder. This ship, hesaw, must have been wrecked at some time long before upon this island. As the shore was shallow it had run aground and stuck fast in the sand. But successive storms had continued to beat upon it until the movingsands which the waters were constantly driving about had gathered allaround it higher and higher. At last, in the course of time, a vastaccumulation had gathered about this obstacle till a new bank had beenformed and joined to the island; and the winds had lent their aid, heaping up the loose sand on high till all the ship was covered. Butlast night's storm had to some extent undone the work, and now the wreckwas once more exposed. 

Brandon was happy in his conjecture and right in his theory. All whoknow any thing about the construction and nature of sand islands such asthis are aware that the winds and waters work perpetual changes. Thebest known example of this is the far-famed Sable Island, which lies offthe coast of Nova Scotia, in the direct track of vessels crossing theAtlantic between England and the United States. Here there is repeatedon a far larger scale the work which Brandon saw on Coffin Island. SableIsland is twenty miles long and about one in width--the crest of a vastheap of sand which rises out of the ocean's bed. Here the wildest stormsin the world rage uncontrolled, and the keepers of the light-house havebut little shelter. Not long ago an enormous flag-staff was torn fromout its place and hurled away into the sea. In fierce storms the spraydrives all across, and it is impossible to venture out. But most of all, Sable Island is famous for the melancholy wrecks that have taken placethere. Often vessels that have the bad fortune to run aground are brokenup, but sometimes the sand gathers about them and covers them up. Thereare numerous mounds here which are known to conceal wrecked ships. Someof these have been opened, and the wreck beneath has been brought toview. Sometimes also after a severe gale these sandy mounds are tornaway and the buried vessels are exposed. 

[Illustration: "GREAT HEAVENS!" CRIED BRANDON, STARTING BACK--"THE'VISHNU!'"]

Far away in Australia Brandon had heard of Sable Island from differentsea captains who had been in the Atlantic trade. The stories which thesemen had to tell were all largely tinged with the supernatural. One inparticular who had been wrecked there, and had taken refuge for thenight in a hut built by the British Government for wrecked sailors, toldsome wild story about the apparition of a negro who waked him up at deadof night and nearly killed him with horror. 

With all these thoughts in his mind Brandon approached the wreck and atlast stood close beside it. 

It had been long buried. The hull was about two-thirds uncovered. A vastheap of sand still clung to the bow, but the stern stood out full inview. Although it must have been there for a long time the planks werestill sound, for they seemed to have been preserved from decay by thesand. All the calking, however, had become loose, and the seams gapedwidely. There were no masts, but the lower part of the shrouds stillremained, showing that the vessel was a brig. So deeply was it buried inthe sand, that Brandon, from where he stood, could look over the wholedeck, he himself being almost on a level with the deck. The mastsappeared to have been chopped away. The hatchways were gone. The holdappeared to be filled with sand, but there may have been only a layer ofsand concealing something beneath. Part of the planking of the deck aswell as most of the taffrail on the other side had been carried away. Astern there was a quarter-deck. There was no skylight, but only dead-lights set on the deck. The door of the cabin still remained and wasshut tight. 

All these things Brandon took in at a glance. A pensive melancholy cameover him, and a feeling of pity for the inanimate ship as though shewere capable of feeling. By a natural curiosity he walked around to thestern to see if he could read her name. 

The stern was buried deep in the sand. He had to kneel to read it. Onthe side nearest him the letters were obliterated, but he saw someremaining on the opposite side. He went over there and knelt down. Therewere four letters still legible and part of a fifth. These were theletters:

 VISHN

"Great Heavens!" cried Brandon, starting back--"the _Vishnu!_"

CHAPTER VI. 

THE DWELLER IN THE SUNKEN SHIP. 

After a moment of horror Brandon walked away for a short distance, andthen turning he looked fixedly at the wreck for a long time. 

Could this be indeed _the_ ship--_the Vishnu_? By whatmarvelous coincidence had he thus fallen upon it? It was in 1828 thatthe _Vishnu_ sailed from Calcutta for Manilla. Was it possible forthis vessel to be preserved so long? And if so, how did it get here?

Yet why not? As to its preservation that was no matter in itself forwonder. East Indian vessels are sometimes built of mahogany, or otherwoods which last for immense periods. Any wood might endure for eighteenyears if covered up by sand. Besides, this vessel he recollected hadbeen laden with staves and box shooks, with other wooden materials whichwould keep it afloat. It might have drifted about these seas till thecurrents bore it here. After all it was not so wonderful that thisshould be the _Vishnu_ of Colonel Despard. 

The true marvel was that he himself should have been cast ashore here onthe same place where this ship was. 

He stood for a long time not caring to enter. His strength had been worndown by the privations of his island life; his nerves, usually likesteel, were becoming unstrung; his mind had fallen into a morbid state, and was a prey to a thousand strange fancies. The closed doors of thecabin stood there before him, and he began to imagine that somefrightful spectacle was concealed within. 

Perhaps he would find some traces of that tragedy of which he had heard. Since the ship had come here, and he had been cast ashore to meet it, there was nothing which he might not anticipate. 

A strange horror came over him as he looked at the cabin. But he was notthe man to yield to idle fancies. Taking a long breath he walked acrossthe island, and then back again. By that time he had completelyrecovered, and the only feeling now remaining was one of intensecuriosity. 

This time he went up without hesitation, and climbed on board thevessel. The sand was heaped up astern, the masts gone, and the hatchwaystorn off, as has been said. The wind which had blown the sand away hadswept the decks as clean as though they had been holy-stoned. Not a ropeor a spar or any movable of any kind could be seen. 

He walked aft. He tried the cabin door; it was wedged fast as thoughpart of the front. Finding it immovable he stepped back and kicked at itvigorously. A few sturdy kicks started the panel. It gradually yieldedand sank in. Then the other panel followed. He could now look in and seethat the sand lay inside to the depth of a foot. As yet, however, hecould not enter. There was nothing else to do except to kick at it tillit was all knocked away, and this after some patient labor wasaccomplished. 

He entered. The cabin was about twelve feet square, lighted by dead-lights in the deck above. On each side were two state-rooms probablyintended for the ship's officers. The doors were all open. The sand haddrifted in here and covered the floor and the berths. The floor of thecabin was covered with sand to the depth of a foot. There was no largeopening through which it could enter: but it had probably penetratedthrough the cracks of the doorway in a fine, impalpable dust, and hadcovered every available surface within. 

In the centre of the cabin was a table, secured to the floor, as ships'tables always are; and immediately over it hung the barometer which wasnow all corroded and covered with mould and rust. A half dozen stoolswere around, some lying on their sides, some upside down, and onestanding upright. The door by which he had entered was at one side, onthe other side was another, and between the two stood a sofa, the shapeof which was plainly discernible under the sand. Over this was a clock, which had ticked its last tick. 

On some racks over the closet there were a few guns and swords, intended, perhaps, for the defensive armament of the brig, but all inthe last stage of rust and of decay. Brandon took one or two down, butthey broke with their own weight. 

The sand seemed to have drifted more deeply into the state-rooms, forwhile its depth in the cabin was only a foot, in these the depth wasnearly two feet. Some of the bedding projected from the berths, but itwas a mass of mould and crumbled at the touch. 

Brandon went into each of these rooms in succession, and brushed out theheavy, wet sand from the berths. The rotten quilts and blankets fellwith the sand in matted masses to the floor. In each room was a seaman'schest. Two of these were covered deeply; the other two but lightly: thelatter were unlocked, and he opened the lids. Only some old clothesappeared, however, and these in the same stage of decay as every thingelse. In one of them was a book, or rather what had once been a book, but now the leaves were all stuck together, and formed one lump of slimeand mould. In spite of his most careful search he had thus far foundnothing whatever which could be of the slightest benefit to him in hissolitude and necessity. 

There were still two rooms which he had not yet examined. These were atthe end of the cabin, at the stern of the ship, each taking up one halfof the width. The sand had drifted in here to about the same depth as inthe side-rooms. He entered first the one nearest him, which was on theright side of the ship. This room was about ten feet long, extendingfrom the middle of the ship to the side, and about six feet wide. Atelescope was the first thing which attracted his attention. It lay in arack near the doorway. He took it down, but it fell apart at once, beingcompletely corroded. In the middle of the room there was a compass, which hung from the ceiling. But the iron pivot had rusted, and theplate had fallen down. Some more guns and swords were here, but allrusted like the others. There was a table at the wall by the stern, covered with sand. An arm-chair stood close by it, and opposite this wasa couch. At the end of this room was a berth which had the sameappearance as the other berths in the other rooms. The quilts andmattresses as he felt them beneath the damp sand were equally decayed. Too long had the ship been exposed to the ravages of time, and Brandonsaw that to seek for any thing here which could be of the slightestservice to himself was in the highest degree useless. 

This last room seemed to him as though it might have been the captain's. That captain was Cigole, the very man who had flung him overboard. Hehad unconsciously by so doing sent him to the scene of his early crime. Was this visit to be all in vain? Thus far it seemed so. But might therenot yet be something beneath this sand which might satisfy him in hissearch?

There still remained another room. Might there not be something there?

Brandon went back into the cabin and stood looking at the open doorwayof that other room. 

He hesitated. Why? Perhaps it was the thought that here was his lastchance, that here his exploration must end, and if nothing came of itthen all this adventure would be in vain. Then the fantastic hopes andfears which by turns had agitated him would prove to have been absurd, and he, instead of being sent by Fate as the minister of vengeance, would be only the commonplace victim of an everyday accident. 

Perhaps it was some instinct within him that made known to his mind whatawaited him there. For now as he stood that old horror came upon himfull and strong. Weakness and excitement made his heart beat and hisears ring. Now his fancy became wild, and he recalled with painfulvividness his father's words:

"In the crisis of your fate I will be near. "

The horrors of the past night recurred. The air of the cabin was closeand suffocating. There seemed in that dark room before him some dreadPresence, he knew not what; some Being, who had uncovered this his abodeand enticed him here. 

He found himself rapidly falling into that state in which he would nothave been able either to advance or retreat. One overmastering horrorseized him. Twice his spirit sought to overcome the faintness andweakness of the flesh. Twice he stepped resolutely forward; but eachtime he faltered and recoiled. 

Here was no place for him to summon up his strength. He could bear it nolonger. He turned abruptly and rushed out from the damp, gloomy placeinto the warm, bright sunshine and the free air of heaven. 

The air was bright, the wind blew fresh. He drank in great draughts ofthat delicious breeze, and the salt sea seemed to be inhaled at eachbreath. 

The sun shone brilliantly. The sea rolled afar and all around, andsparkled before him under the sun's rays with that infinite laughter, that [Greek: anaerithmon gelasma] of which Aeschylus spoke in his deeplove of the salt sea. Speaking parenthetically, it may be said that theonly ones from among articulate speaking men who have found fittingepithets for the sea are the old Greek, the Scandinavian, and theEnglishman. 

Brandon drew in new strength and life with every breath, till at last hebegan to think once more of returning. 

But even yet he feared that when he entered that cabin the spell wouldbe on him. The thought of attempting it was intolerable. Yet what was tobe done? To remain unsatisfied was equally intolerable. To go back tohis rock was not to be thought of. 

But an effort must be made to get rid of this womanly fear; why shouldhe yield to this? Surely there were other thoughts which he might callto his mind. There came over him the memory of that villain who had casthim here, who now was exulting in his fancied success and bearing backto his master the news. There came to him the thought of his father, andhis wrongs, and his woe. There came to his memory his father's dyingwords summoning him to vengeance. There came to him the thought of thosewho yet lived and suffered in England, at the mercy of a pitiless enemy. Should he falter at a superstitious fancy, he--who, if he lived, had sogreat a purpose?

All superstitious fancy faded away. The thirst for revenge, the sense ofintolerable wrong arose. Fear and horror died out utterly, destroyed byVengeance. 

"The Presence, then, is my ally, " he murmured. "I will go and face It. "

And he walked resolutely, with a firm step, back into the cabin. 

Yet even then it needed all the new-born resolution which he hadsummoned up, and all the thought of his wrong, to sustain him as heentered that inner room. Even then a sharp thrill passed through him, and bodily weakness could only be sustained by the strong, resolute, stubborn soul. 

[Illustration: "THERE SEEMED A GHASTLY COMICALITY IN SUCH A THING ASTHIS, " ETC. ]

The room was about the size of the captain's. There was a table againstthe side, which looked like a leaf which could hang down in case ofnecessity. A trunk stood opposite the door, with the open lid projectingupward out of a mass of sand. Upon the wall there hung the collar of acoat and part of the shoulders, the rest having apparently fallen awayfrom decay. The color of the coat could still be distinguished; it wasred, and the epaulets showed that it had belonged to a British officer. 

Brandon on entering took in all these details at a glance, and then hiseyes were drawn to the berth at the end of the room, where that Thinglay whose presence he had felt and feared, and which he knew by aninternal conviction must be here. 

There It awaited him, on the berth. Sand had covered it, like acoverlet, up to the neck, while beyond that protruded the head. It wasturned toward him: a bony, skeleton head, whose hollow cavities seemednot altogether vacancy but rather dark eyes which looked gloomily athim--dark eyes fixed, motionless; which had been thus fixed through thelong years, watching wistfully for him, expecting his entrance throughthat doorway. And this was the Being who had assisted him to the shore, and who had thrown off the covering of sand with which he had concealedhimself, so as to bring him here before him. Brandon stood motionless, mute. The face was turned toward him--that face which is at once humanand yet most frightful since it is the face of Death--the face of askeleton. The jaws had fallen apart, and that fearful grin which isfixed on the fleshless face here seemed like an effort at a smile ofwelcome. 

The hair still clung to that head, and hung down over the fleshlessforehead, giving it more the appearance of Death in life, and lending anew horror to that which already pervaded this Dweller in the Ship. 

 "The nightmare Life-in-Death was he, That thicks men's blood with cold. "

Brandon stood while his blood ran chill, and his breath came fast. 

If that Form had suddenly thrown off its sandy coverlet and risen to hisfeet, and advanced with extended hand to meet him, he would not havebeen surprised, nor would he have been one whit more horror-stricken. 

Brandon stood fixed. He could not move. He was like one in a nightmare. His limbs seemed rigid. A spell was upon him. His eyes seemed to fastenthemselves on the hollow cavities of the Form before him. But under thattremendous pressure he did not altogether sink. Slowly his spirit rose;a thought of flight came, but it was instantly rejected. The next momenthe drew a long breath. "I'm an infernal fool and coward, " he muttered. He took three steps forward, and stood beside the Figure. He laid hishand firmly upon the head; the hair fell off at his touch. "Poor devil, "said he, "I'll bury your bones at any rate. " The spell was broken, andBrandon was himself again. 

Once more Brandon walked out into the open air, but this time there wasnot a vestige of horror left. He had encountered what he dreaded, and itwas now in his eyes only a mass of bones. Yet there was much to thinkof, and the struggle which had raged within him had exhausted him. 

The sea-breeze played about him and soon restored his strength. Whatnext to do was the question, and after some deliberation he decided atonce to remove the skeleton and bury it. 

A flat board which had served as a shelf supplied him with an easy wayof turning up the sand. Occupation was pleasant, and in an hour or twohe had scooped out a place large enough for the purpose which he had inview. He then went back into the inner cabin. 

Taking his board he removed carefully the sand which had covered theskeleton. The clothes came away with it. As he moved his board along itstruck something hard. He could not see in that dim light what it was, so he reached down his hand and grasped it. 

It was something which the fingers of the skeleton also encircled, forhis own hand as he grasped it touched those fingers. Drawing it forth heperceived that it was a common junk bottle tightly corked. 

There seemed a ghastly comicality in such a thing as this, that thislately dreaded Being should be nothing more than a common skeleton, andthat he should be discovered in this bed of horror doing nothing moredignified than clutching a junk bottle like a sleeping drunkard. Brandonsmiled faintly at the idea; and then thinking that, if the liquor weregood, it at least would be welcome to him in his present situation. Hewalked out upon the deck, intending to open it and test its contents. Sohe sat down, and, taking his knife, he pushed the cork in. Then hesmelled the supposed liquor to see what it might be. There was only amusty odor. He looked in. The bottle appeared to be filled with paper. Then the whole truth flashed upon his mind. He struck the bottle uponthe deck. It broke to atoms, and there lay a scroll of paper coveredwith writing. 

He seized it eagerly, and was about opening it to read what was writtenwhen he noticed something else that also had fallen from the bottle. 

It was a cord about two yards in length, made of the entrail of someanimal, and still as strong and as flexible as when it was first made. He took it up carefully, wondering why such a thing as this should havebeen so carefully sealed up and preserved when so many other things hadbeen neglected. 

The cord, on a close examination, presented nothing very remarkableexcept the fact that, though very thin, it appeared to have been nottwisted but plaited in a very peculiar manner out of many fine strands. The intention had evidently been to give to it the utmost possiblestrength together with the smallest size. Brandon had heard of cordsused by Malays and Hindus for assassination, and this seemed like thedescription which he had read of them. 

At one end of the cord was a piece of bronze about the size of a commonmarble, to which the cord was attached by a most peculiar knot. Thebronze itself was intended to represent the head of some Hindu idol, thegrotesque ferocity of its features, and the hideous grimace of the mouthbeing exactly like what one may see in the images of Mother Kali orBowhani. 

At once the cord associated itself in his mind with the horrors which hehad heard of as having been perpetrated in the names of these frightfuldeities, and it seemed now to be more than a common one. He carefullywound it up, placed it in his pocket, and prepared to examine themanuscript. 

The sun was high in the heavens, the sea-breeze still blew freshly, while Brandon, opening the manuscript, began to read. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 

"BRIG 'VISHNU, ' ADRIFT IN THE CHINESE SEA. 

"July 10, 1828. 

"Whoever finds this let him know that I, Lionel Despard, Colonel of H. M. 37th Regiment, have been the victim of a foul conspiracy performedagainst me by the captain and crew of the brig _Vishnu_, andespecially by my servant, John Potts. 

"Expecting at any time to perish, adrift helplessly, at the mercy ofwinds and waves, I sit down now before I die, to write all thecircumstances of this affair. I will inclose the manuscript in a bottleand fling it into the sea, trusting in God that he may cause it to beborne to those who may be enabled to read my words, so that they mayknow my fate and bring the guilty to justice. Whoever finds this lethim, if possible, have it sent to my friend, Ralph Brandon, of BrandonHall, Devonshire, England, who will do more than any other man to causejustice to have its due. 

"To further the ends of justice and to satisfy the desires of myfriends, I will write an account of the whole case. 

"In the name of God, I declare that John Potts is guilty of my death. Hewas my servant. I first found him in India under very remarkablecircumstances. 

"It was in the year 1826. The Government was engaged in an effort to putdown bands of assassins by whom the most terrific atrocities had beencommitted, and I was appointed to conduct the work in the district ofAgra. 

"The Thuggee society is still a mystery, though its nature may yet berevealed if they can only capture the chief [Footnote: The chief wascaptured in 1830, and by his confession all the atrocious system ofThuggee was revealed. ] and make him confess. As yet it is not fullyknown, and though I have heard much which I have reported to theGovernment, yet I am slow to believe that any human beings can actuallypractice what I have heard. 

"The assassins whom I was pursuing eluded our pursuit with marvelousagility and cunning, but one by one we captured them, and punished themsummarily. At last we surrounded a band of Thugs, and to our amazementfound among them a European and a small boy. At our attack the Hindusmade a desperate resistance, and killed themselves rather than fall intoour hands; but the European, leading forward the little boy, fell on hisknees and implored us to save him. 

"I had heard that an Englishman had joined these wretches, and at firstthought that this was the man; so, desirous of capturing him, I orderedmy men whenever they found him to spare his life if possible. This manwas at once seized and brought before me. 

"He had a piteous story to tell. He said that his name was John Potts, that be belonged to Southampton, and had been in India a year. He hadcome to Agra to look out for employ as a servant, and had been caught bythe Thugs. They offered to spare his life if he would join them. According to him they always make this offer. If it had only beenhimself that was concerned he said that he would have died a hundredtimes rather than have accepted; but his little boy was with him, and tosave his life he consented, hoping that somehow or other he mightescape. They then received him with some horrible ceremonies, and markedon his arm and on the arm of his son, on the inner part of the rightelbow, the name of Bowhani in Hindu characters. Potts showed me his armand that of his son in proof of this. 

"He had been with them, according to his own account, about threemonths, and his life had been one continuous horror. He had picked upenough of their language to conjecture to some extent the nature oftheir belief, which, he asserted, would be most important informationfor the Government. The Thugs had treated him very kindly, for theylooked upon him as one of themselves, and they are all very humane andaffectionate to one another. His worst fear had been that they wouldcompel him to do murder; and he would have died, he declared, ratherthan consent; but, fortunately, he was spared. The reason of this, hesaid, was because they always do their murder by strangling, since theshedding of blood is not acceptable to their divinity. He could not dothis, for it requires great dexterity. Almost all their strangling isdone by a thin, strong cord, curiously twisted, about six feet inlength, with a weight at one end, generally carved so as to representthe face of Bowhani. This they throw with a peculiar jerk around theneck of their victim. The weight swings the cord round and round, whilethe strangler pulls the other end, and death is inevitable. His hands, he said, were coarse and clumsy, unlike the delicate Hindu hands; andso, although they forced him to practice incessantly, he could notlearn. He said nothing about the boy, but, from what I saw of that boyafterward, I believe that nature created him especially to be a Thug, and have no doubt that he learned then to wield the cord with as muchdexterity as the best strangler of them all. 

"His association with them had shown him much of their ordinary habitsand some of their beliefs. I gathered from what he said that the basisof the Thuggee society is the worship of Bowhani, a frightful demon, whose highest joy is the sight of death or dead bodies. Those who areher disciples must offer up human victims killed without the shedding ofblood, and the more he can kill the more of a saint he becomes. Themotive for this is never gain, for they rarely plunder, but purelyreligious zeal. The reward is an immortality of bliss hereafter, whichBowhani will secure them; a life like that of the Mohammedan Paradise, where there are material joys to be possessed forever without satiety. Destruction, which begins as a kind of duty, becomes also at last, andnaturally perhaps, an absorbing passion. As the hunter in pursuing hisprey is carried away by excitement and the enthusiasm of the chase, or, in hunting the tiger, feels the delight of braving danger and displayingcourage, so here that same passion is felt to an extraordinary degree, for it is men that must be pursued and destroyed. Here, in addition tocourage, the hunter of man must call into exercise cunning, foresight, eloquence, intrigue. All this I afterward brought to the attention ofthe Government with very good results. 

"Potts declared that night and day he had been on the watch for a chanceto escape, but so infernal was the cunning of these wretches, and soquick their senses, sharpened as they had been by long practice, thatsuccess became hopeless. He had fallen into deep dejection, andconcluded that his only hope lay in the efforts of the Government to putdown these assassins. Our appearance had at last saved him. 

"Neither I, nor any of my men, nor any Englishman who heard this story, doubted for an instant the truth of every word. All the newspapersmentioned with delight the fact that an Englishman and his son had beenrescued. Pity was felt for that father who, for his son's sake, hadconsented to dwell amidst scenes of terror, and sympathy for the anguishthat he most have endured during that terrific captivity. A thrill ofhorror passed through all our Anglo-Indian society at the revelationwhich he made about Thuggee; and so great was the feeling in his favorthat a handsome subscription was made up for him by the officers atAgra. 

"For my part I believed in him most implicitly, and, as I saw him to beunusually clever, I engaged him at once to be my servant. He staid withme, and every month won more and more of my confidence. He had a goodhead for business. Matters of considerable delicacy which I intrusted tohim were well performed, and at last I thought it the most fortunatecircumstance in my Indian life that I had found such a man. 

"After about three years he expressed a wish to go to England for thesake of his son. He thought India a bad place for a boy, and wished totry and start in some business in his native land for his son's sake. 

"That boy had always been my detestation--a crafty, stealthy, wily, malicious little demon, who was a perfect Thug in his nature, withoutany religious basis to his Thuggeeism. I pitied Potts for being thefather of such a son. I could not let the little devil live in my house;his cruelty to animals which he delighted to torture, his thievingpropensities, and his infernal deceit, were all so intolerable. He wasnot more than twelve, but he was older in iniquity than many a gray-headed villain. To oblige Potts, whom I still trusted implicitly, Iwrote to my old friend Ralph Brandon, of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, requesting him to do what he could for so deserving a man. 

"Just about this time an event occurred which has brought me to this. 

"My sweet wife had been ill for two years. I had obtained a faithfulnurse in the person of a Mrs. Compton, a poor creature, but gentle andaffectionate, for whom my dear love's sympathy had been excited. No onecould have been more faithful than Mrs. Compton, and I sent my darlingto the hill station at Assurabad in hopes that the cooler air mightreinvigorate her. 

"She died. It is only a month or two since that frightful blow fell andcrushed me. To think of it overwhelms me--to write of it is impossible. 

"I could think of nothing but to fly from my unendurable grief. I wishedto get away from India any where. Before the blow crushed me I hopedthat I might carry my darling to the Cape of Good Hope, and therefore Iremitted there a large sum; but after she left me I cared not where Iwent, and finding that a vessel was going to Manilla I decided to gothere. 

"It was Potts who found out this. I now know that he engaged the vessel, put the crew on board, who were all creatures of his own, and took theroute to Manilla for the sake of carrying out his designs on me. To giveevery thing a fair appearance the vessel was laden with stores andthings of that sort, for which there was a demand at Manilla. It waswith the most perfect indifference that I embarked. I cared not where Iwent, and hoped that the novelty of the sea voyage might benefit me. 

"The captain was an Italian named Cigole, a low-browed, evil-facedvillain. The mate was named Clark. There were three Lascars, who formedthe small crew. Potts came with me, and also an old servant of mine, aMalay; whose life I had saved years before. His name was Uracao. Itstruck me that the crew was a small one, but I thought the captain knewhis business better than I, and so I gave myself no concern. 

"After we embarked Potts's manner changed very greatly. I remember thisnow, though I did not notice it at the time, for I was almost in a kindof stupor. He was particularly insolent to Uracao. I remember oncethinking indifferently that Potts would have to be reprimanded, orkicked, or something of that sort, but was not capable of any action. 

"Uracao had for years slept in front of my door when at home, and, whentraveling, in the same room. He always waked at the slightest noise. Heregarded his life as mine, and thought that he was bound to watch overme till I died. Although this was often inconvenient, yet it would havebroken the affectionate fellow's heart if I had forbidden it, so it wenton. Potts made an effort to induce him to sleep forward among theLascars, but though Uracao had borne insolence from him without amurmur, this proposal made his eyes kindle with a menacing fire whichsilenced the other into fear. 

"The passage was a quick one, and at last we were only a few days' sailfrom Manilla. Now our quiet came to an end. One night I was awakened bya tremendous struggle in my cabin. Starting up, I saw in the gloom twofigures struggling desperately. It was impossible to see who they were. I sprang from the berth and felt for my pistols. They were gone. 

"'What the devil is this?' I roared fiercely. 

"No answer came; but the next moment there was a tremendous fall, andone of the men clung to the other, whom he held downward. I sprang frommy berth. There were low voices out in the cabin. 

"'You can't, ' said one voice, which I recognized as Clark's. 'He has hispistols. '

"'He hasn't, ' said the voice of Cigole. 'Potts took them away. He'sunarmed. '

"'Who are you?' I cried, grasping the man who was holding the otherdown. 

"'Uracao, ' said he. 'Get your pistols or you're lost!'

"'What the devil is the matter?' I cried, angrily, for I had not evenyet a suspicion. 

"'Feel around your neck, ' said he. 

"Hastily I put my hand up. A thrill of terror passed through me. It wasthe Thuggee cord. 

"'Who is this?' I cried, grasping the man who had fallen. 

"'Potts, ' cried Uracao. 'Your pistols are under your berth. Quick! Pottstried to strangle you. There's a plot. The Lascars are Thugs. I saw themark on their arms, the name of Bowhani in Hindu letters. '

"All the truth now seemed to flash across me. I leaped back to the berthto look under it for my pistols. As I stooped there was a rush behindme. 

"'Help! Clark! Quick!' cried the voice of Potts. 'This devil'sstrangling me!'

"At this a tumult arose round the two men. Uracao was dragged off. Pottsrose to his feet. At that moment I found my pistols. I could notdistinguish persons, but I ran the risk and fired. A sharp cry followed. Somebody was wounded. 

"'Damn him!' cried Potts, 'he's got the pistols. '

"The next moment they had all rushed out, dragging Uracao with them. Thedoor was drawn to violently with a bang and fastened on the outside. They had captured the only man who could help me, and I was a prisonerat the mercy of these miscreants. 

"All the remainder of the night and until the following morning I heardnoises and trampling to and fro, but had no idea whatever of what wasgoing on. I felt indignation at the treachery of Potts, who, I nowperceived, had deceived me all along, but had no fear whatever of anything that might happen. Death was rather grateful than otherwise. StillI determined to sell my life as dearly as possible, and, loading mypistol once more, I waited for them to come. The only anxiety which Ifelt was about my poor faithful Malay. 

"But time passed, and at last all was still. There was no sound eitherof voices or of footsteps. I waited for what seemed hours in impatience, until finally I could endure it no longer. I was not going to die like adog, but determined at all hazards to go out armed, face them, and meetmy doom at once. 

"A few vigorous kicks at the door broke it open and I walked out. Therewas no one in the cabin. I went out on deck. There was no one there. Isaw it all. I was deserted. More; the brig had settled down so low inthe water that the sea was up to her gunwales. I looked out over theocean to see if I could perceive any trace of them--Potts and the rest. I saw nothing. They must have left long before. A faint smoke in thehatchway attracted my attention. Looking there, I perceived that it hadbeen burned away. The villains had evidently tried to scuttle the brig, and then, to make doubly sure, had kindled a fire on the cargo, thinkingthat the wooden materials of which it was composed would kindle readily. But the water had rushed in too rapidly for the flames to spread;nevertheless, the water was not able to do its work, for the wood cargokept the brig afloat. She was water-logged but still floating. 

"The masts and shrouds were all cut away. The vessel was now littlebetter than a raft, and was drifting at the mercy of the ocean currents. For my part I did not much care. I had no desire to go to Manilla or anywhere else; and the love of life which is usually so strong did notexist. I should have preferred to have been killed or drowned at once. Instead of that I lived. 

"She died on June 15. It was the 2d of July when this occurred which Ihave narrated. It is now the 10th. For a week I have been drifting Iknow not where. I have seen no land. There are enough provisions andwater on board to sustain me for months. The weather has been fine thusfar. 

"I have written this with the wish that whoever may find it will send itto Ralph Brandon, Esq. , of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, that he may seethat justice is done to Potts, and the rest of the conspirators. Let himalso try, if it be not too late, to save Uracao. If this fall into thehands of any one going to England let it be delivered to him as above, but if the finder be going to India let him place it in the hands of theGovernor-General; if to China or any other place, let him give it to theauthorities, enjoining them, however, after using it, to send it toRalph Brandon as above. 

"It will be seen by this that John Potts was in connection with theThugs, probably for the sake of plundering those whom they murdered:that he conspired against me and tried to kill me; and that he haswrought my death (for I expect to die). An examination of my desk showsthat he has taken papers and bank bills to the amount of four thousandpounds with him. It was this, no doubt, that induced him to make thisattempt against me. 

"I desire also hereby to appoint Henry Thornton, Sen. , Esq. , of HolbyPembroke, Solicitor, my executor and the guardian of my son Courtenay, to whom I bequeath a father's blessing and all that I possess. Let himtry to secure my money in Cape Town for my boy, and, if possible, toregain for him the four thousand pounds which Potts has carried off. 

"Along with this manuscript I also inclose the strangling cord. 

"May God have mercy upon my soul! Amen. 

"LIONEL DESPARD. "

"July 28. --Since I wrote this there has been a series of tremendousstorms. The weather has cleared up again. I have seen no land and noship. 

"July 31. --Land to-day visible at a great distance on the south. I knownot what land it may be. I can not tell in what direction I am drifting. 

"August 2. --Land visible toward the southwest. It seems like the summitof a range of mountains, and is probably fifty miles distant. 

"August 5. --A sail appeared on the horizon. It was too distant toperceive me. It passed out of sight. 

"August 10. --A series of severe gales. The sea always rolls over thebrig in these storms, and sometimes seems about to carry her down. 

"August 20. --Storms and calms alternating. When will this end?

"August 25. --Land again toward the west. It seems as though I may bedrifting among the islands of the Indian Archipelago. 

"September 2. --I have been sick for a week. Unfortunately I am beginningto recover again. A faint blue streak in the north seems like land. 

"September 10. --Open water. 

"September 23. --A series of storms. How the brig can stand it I can notsee. I remember Potts telling me that she was built of mahogany andcopper-fastened. She does not appear to be much injured. I amexceedingly weak from want and exposure. It is with difficulty that Ican move about. 

"October 2. --Three months adrift. My God have mercy on me, and makehaste to deliver me! A storm is rising. Let all Thy waves and billowsoverwhelm me, O Lord!

"October 5. --A terrific storm. Raged three days. The brig has runaground. It is a low island, with a rock about five miles away. ThankGod, my last hour is at hand. The sea is rushing in with tremendousviolence, hurling sand upon the brig. I shall drift no more. I canscarcely hold this pen. These are my last words. This is for RalphBrandon. My blessing for my loved son. I feel death coming. Whether thestorm takes me or not, I must die. 

"Whoever finds this will take it from my hand, and, in the name of God, I charge him to do my bidding. "

This was the last. The concluding pages of the manuscript were scarcelylegible. The entries were meagre and formal, but the hand-writing spokeof the darkest despair. What agonies had this man not endured duringthose three months!

Brandon folded up the manuscript reverentially, and put it into hispocket. He then went back into the cabin. Taking the bony skeleton handhe exclaimed, in a solemn voice, "In the name of God, if I am saved, Iswear to do your bidding!"

He next proceeded to perform the last offices to the remains of ColonelDespard. On removing the sand something bright struck his eye. It was agold locket. As he tried to open it the rusty hinge broke, and the covercame off. 

[Illustration: "THREE MONTHS ADRIFT. "]

It was a painting on enamel, which was as bright as when made--theportrait of a beautiful woman, with pensive eyes, and delicate, intellectual expression; and appeared as though it might have been wornaround the Colonel's neck. Brandon sighed, then putting this in hispocket with the manuscript he proceeded to his task. In an hour theremains were buried in the grave on Coffin Island. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SIGNAL OF FIRE. 

The wreck broke in upon the monotony of Brandon's island life andchanged the current of his thoughts. The revelations contained inDespard's manuscript came with perfect novelty to his mind. Potts, hisenemy, now stood before him in darker colors, the foulest of miscreants, one who had descended to an association with Thuggee, one who bore onhis arm the dread mark of Bowhani. Against such an enemy as this hewould have to be wary. If this enemy suspected his existence could henot readily find means to effect his destruction forever? Who could tellwhat mysterious allies this man might have? Cigole had tracked andfollowed him with the patience and vindictiveness of a blood-hound. There might be many such as he. He saw plainly that if he ever escapedhis first and highest necessity would be to work in secret, to concealhis true name, and to let it be supposed that Louis Brandon had beendrowned, while another name would enable him to do what he wished. 

The message of Despard was now a sacred legacy to himself. The dutywhich the murdered man had imposed upon his father must now be inheritedby him. Even this could scarcely add to the obligations to vengeanceunder which he already lay; yet it freshened his passion and quickenedhis resolve. 

The brig was a novelty to him here, and as day succeeded to day he foundoccupation in searching her. During the hotter part of the day he busiedhimself in shoveling out the sand from the cavern with a board. In thecool of the morning or evening he worked at the hatchway. Here he soonreached the cargo. 

This cargo consisted of staves and short boards. All were blackened, andshowed traces of fire. The fire seemed to have burned down to a depth offour feet, and two or three feet under the sides; then the water comingin had quenched it. 

He drew out hundreds of these staves and boards, which were packed inbundles, six boards being nailed together as box-shooks, and thirty orforty staves. These he threw out upon the deck and on the sand. Whatremained he drew about and scattered loosely in the hold of the vessel. He did this with a purpose, for he looked forward to the time when someship might pass, and it would then be necessary to attract herattention. There was no way of doing so. He had no pole, and if he hadit might not be noticed. A fire would be the surest way of drawingattention, and all this wood gave him the means of building one. Hescattered it about on the sand, so that it might dry in the hot sun. 

Yet it was also necessary to have some sort of a signal to elevate incase of need. He had nothing but a knife to work with; yet patienteffort will do much, and after about a week he had cut away the railthat ran along the quarter-deck, which gave him a pole some twenty feetin length. The nails that fastened the boards were all rusted so thatthey could not be used in attaching any thing to this. He decided whenthe time came to tie his coat to it, and use that as a flag. Itcertainly ought to be able to attract attention. 

Occupied with such plans and labors and purposes as these, the dayspassed quickly for two weeks. By that time the fierce rays of the sunhad dried every board and stave so that it became like tinder. The shipitself felt the heat; the seams gaped more widely, the boards warped andfell away from their rusty nails, the timbers were exposed all over it, and the hot, dry wind penetrated every cranny. The interior of the holdand the cabin became free from damp, and hot and dry. 

Then Brandon flung back many of the boards and staves loosely; and afterenough had been thrown there he worked laboriously for days cutting uplarge numbers of the boards into fine splints, until at last a huge pileof these shavings were accumulated. With these and his pistol he wouldbe able to obtain light and fire in the time of need. 

The post which he had cut off was then sharpened at one end, so that hecould fix it in the sand when the time came, should it ever come. Here, then, these preparations were completed. 

After all his labor in the cabin nothing was found. The bedding, themattresses, the chests, the nautical instruments had all been ruined. The tables and chairs fell to pieces when the sand was removed; thedoors and wood-work sank away; the cabin when cleared remained a wreck. 

The weather continued hot and dry. At night Brandon flung himself downwherever he happened to be, either at the brig or at the rock. Every dayhe had to go to the rock for water, and also to look out toward the seafrom that side. At first, while intent upon his work at the ship, thesight of the barren horizon every day did not materially affect him; herose superior to despondency and cheered himself with his task. But atlength, at the end of about three weeks, all this work was done andnothing more remained. His only idea was to labor to effect his escape, and not to insure his comfort during his stay. 

Now as day succeeded to day all his old gloom returned. The excitementof the last few weeks had acted favorably upon his bodily health, butwhen this was removed he began to feel more than his old weakness. Suchdiet as his might sustain nature, but it could not preserve health. Hegrew at length to loathe the food which he had to take, and it was onlyby a stern resolve that he forced himself to swallow it. 

At length a new evil was superadded to those which had already afflictedhim. During the first part of his stay the hollow or pool of water onthe rock had always been kept filled by the frequent rains. But now forthree weeks, in fact ever since the uncovering of the _Vishnu_, nota single drop of rain had fallen. The sun shone with intense heat, andthe evaporation was great. The wind at first tempered this heatsomewhat, but at last this ceased to blow by day, and often for hoursthere was a dead calm, in which the water of the sea lay unruffled andall the air was motionless. 

If there could only have been something which he could stretch over thatprecious pool of water he might then have arrested its flight. But hehad nothing, and could contrive nothing. Every day saw a perceptibledecrease in its volume, and at last it went down so low that he thoughthe could count the number of days that were left him to live. But hisdespair could not stay the operation of the laws of nature, and hewatched the decrease of that water as one watches the failing breath ofa dying child. 

Many weeks passed, and the water of the pool still diminished. At lastit had sunk so low that Brandon could not hope to live more than anotherweek unless rain came, and that now he could scarcely expect. The look-out became more hopeless, and at length his thoughts, instead of turningtoward escape, were occupied with deliberating whether he would probablydie of starvation or simple physical exhaustion. He began to enter intothat state of mind which he had read in Despard's MSS. , in which lifeceases to be a matter of desire, and the only wish left is to die asquickly and as painlessly as possible. 

At length one day as his eyes swept the waters mechanically out of purehabit, and not expecting any thing, he saw far away to the northeastsomething which looked like a sail. He watched it for an hour before hefairly decided that it was not some mocking cloud. But at the end ofthat time it had grown larger, and had assumed a form which no cloudcould keep so long. 

Now his heart beat fast, and all the old longing for escape, and the oldlove of life returned with fresh vehemence. This new emotion over-powered him, and he did not try to struggle with it. 

Now had come the day and the hour when all life was in suspense. Thiswas his first hope, and he felt that it must be his last. Experience hadshown that the island must lie outside the common track of vessels, and, in the ordinary course of things, if this passed by he could not hope tosee another. 

Now he had to decide how to attract her notice. She was still far away, yet she was evidently drawing nearer. The rock was higher than the moundand more conspicuous. He determined to carry his signal there, and erectit somewhere on that place. So he took up the heavy staff, and bore itlaboriously over the sand till he reached the rock. 

By the time that he arrived there the vessel had come nearer. Her top-sails were visible above the horizon. Her progress was very slow, forthere was only very little wind. Her studding-sails were all set tocatch the breeze, and her course was such that she came graduallynearer. Whether she would come near enough to see the island was anotherquestion. Yet if they thought of keeping a look-out, if the men in thetops had glasses, this rock and the signal could easily be seen. Hefeared, however, that this would not be thought of. The existence ofCoffin Island was not generally known, and if they supposed that therewas only open water here they would not be on the look-out at all. 

[Illustration: "STILL HE STOOD THERE, HOLDING ALOFT HIS SIGNAL. "]

Nevertheless Brandon erected his signal, and as there was no place onthe solid rock where he could insert it he held it up in his own hands. Hours passed. The ship had come very much nearer, but her hull was notyet visible. Still he stood there under the burning sun, holding alofthis signal. Fearing that it might not be sufficiently conspicuous hefastened his coat to the top, and then waved it slowly backward andforward. 

The ship moved more slowly than ever; but still it was coming nearer;for after some time, which seemed to that lonely watcher like entiredays, her hull became visible, and her course still lay nearer. 

Now Brandon felt that he must be noticed. He waved his signalincessantly. He even leaped in the air, so that he might be seen. Hethought that the rock would surely be perceived from the ship, and ifthey looked at that they would see the figure upon it. 

Then despondency came over him. The hull of the ship was visible, but itwas only the uppermost line of the hull. He was standing on the very topof the rock, on its highest point. From the deck they could not see therock itself. He stooped down, and perceived that the hull of the shipsank out of sight. Then he knew that the rock would not be visible tothem at all. Only the upper half of his body could by any possibility bevisible, and he knew enough of the sea to understand that this wouldhave the dark sea for a back-ground to observers in the ship, andtherefore could not be seen. 

Still he would not yield to the dejection that was rapidly coming overhim, and deepening into despair every minute. Never before had he soclung to hope--never before had his soul been more indomitable in itsresolution, more vigorous in its strong self-assertion. 

He stood there still waving his staff as though his life now dependedupon that dumb yet eloquent signal--as though, like Moses, as long ashis arms were erect, so long would he be able to triumph over theassault of despair. Hours passed. Still no notice was taken of him. Still the ship held on her course slowly, yet steadily, and no change ofdirection, no movement of any kind whatever, showed that he had beenseen. What troubled him now was the idea that the ship did not come anynearer. This at first he refused to believe, but at last he saw itbeyond doubt, for at length the hull was no longer visible above thehorizon. 

The ship was now due north from the rock, sailing on a line directlyparallel with the island. It came no nearer. It was only passing by it. And now Brandon saw that his last hope of attracting attention by thesignal was gone. The ship was moving onward to the west, and everyminute would make it less likely that those on board could see the rock. 

During the hours in which he had watched the ship he had been busyconjecturing what she might be, and from what port she might have come. The direction indicated China almost undoubtedly. He depicted in hismind a large, commodious, and swift ship, with many passengers on theirway back to England. He imagined pleasant society, and generalintercourse. His fancy created a thousand scenes of delightfulassociation with "the kindly race of men. " All earthly happiness seemedto him at that time to find its centre on board that ship which passedbefore his eyes. 

The seas were bright and sparkling, the skies calm and deeply blue, thewinds breathed softly, the white swelling sails puffed out like cloudsagainst the blue sky beyond. That ship seemed to the lonely watcher likeHeaven itself. Oh! to pass beyond the limits of this narrow sandy waste!to cross the waters and enter there! Oh! to reach that ship which movedon so majestically, to enter there and be at rest!

It was not given him to enter there. Brandon soon saw this. The shipmoved farther away. Already the sun was sinking, and the sudden night ofthe tropics was coming swiftly on. There was no longer any hope. 

He flung the staff down till it broke asunder on the hard rock, andstood for a few moments looking out at sea in mute despair. 

Yet could he have known what was shortly to be the fate of that ship--shortly, only in a few days--he would not have despaired, he would haverejoiced, since if death were to be his lot it were better to die wherehe was than to be rescued and gain the sweet hope of life afresh, andthen have that hope extinguished in blood. 

But Brandon did not remain long in idleness. There was yet one resource--one which he had already thought of through that long day, buthesitated to try, since he would have to forsake his signal-station; andto remain there with his staff seemed to him then the only purpose ofhis life. Now since the signal-staff had failed, he had broken it, assome magician might break the wand which had failed to work itsappropriate spell, and other things were before him. He took his coatand descended from the rock to make a last effort for life. He walkedback through the gathering gloom toward the wreck. He did not run, nordid he in any way exhibit any excitement whatever. He walked with a firmstep over the sand, neither hastening on nor lagging back, but advancingcalmly. 

Before he had gone half-way it was dark. The sun had gone down in a seaof fire, and the western sky, after flaming for a time, had sunk intodarkness. There was no moon. The stars shone dimly from behind a kind ofhaze that overspread the sky. The wind came up more freshly from theeast, and Brandon knew that this wind would carry the ship which hewished to attract further and further away. That ship had now died outin the dark of the ebon sea; the chances that he could catch its noticewere all against him, yet he never faltered. 

He had come to a fixed resolution, which was at all hazards to kindlehis signal-fire, whatever the chances against him might be. He thoughtthat the flames flaring up would of necessity attract attention, andthat the vessel might turn, or lie-to, and try to discover what thismight be. If this last hope failed, he was ready to die. Death had nowbecome to him rather a thing to be desired than avoided. For he knewthat it was only a change of life; and how much better would life be ina spiritual world than life on this lonely isle. 

This decision to die took away despair. Despair is only possible tothose who value this earthly life exclusively. To the soul that looksforward to endless life despair can never come. 

It was with this solemn purpose that Brandon went to the wreck, seekingby a last chance after life, yet now prepared to relinquish it. He hadstruggled for life all these weeks; he had fought and wrestled for lifewith unutterable spiritual agony, all day long, on the summit of thatrock, and now the bitterness of death was past. 

An hour and a half was occupied in the walk over the sand to the wreck. Fresh waves of dark had come over all things, and now, though there wereno clouds, yet the gloom was intense, and faint points of light in thesky above showed where the stars might be. Where now was the ship forwhich Brandon sought? He cared not. He was going to kindle his signal-fire. The wind was blowing freshly by the time that he reached theplace. Such a wind had not blown for weeks. It would take the ship awayfarther. What mattered it? He would seize his last chance, if it wereonly to put that last chance away forever, and thus make an end ofsuspense. 

All his preparations had long since been made; the dry wood lay looselythrown about the hold; the pile of shavings and fine thread-likesplinters was there awaiting him. He had only to apply the fire. 

He took his linen handkerchief and tore it up into fine threads, thesehe tore apart again and rubbed in his hand till they were almost asloose as lint. He then took these loose fibres, and descending into thehold, put them underneath the pile which he had prepared. Then he lookhis pistol, and holding it close to the lint fired it. 

The explosion rang out with startling force in the narrow hull of theship, the lint received the fire and glowed with the sparks into spotsof red heat. Brandon blew with his breath, and the wind streaming downlent its assistance. 

In a few moments the work was done. 

It blazed!

But scarcely had the first flame appeared than a puff of wind came downand extinguished it. The sparks, however, were there yet. It was asthough the fickle wind were tantalizing him--at one time helping, atanother baffling him. Once more Brandon blew. Once more the blaze arose. Brandon flung his coat skirts in front of it till it might gatherstrength. The blaze ran rapidly through the fine splints, it extendeditself toward the shavings, it threw its arms upward to the largersticks. 

The dry wood kindled. A million sparks flew out as it cracked under theassault of the devouring fire. The flame spread itself out to a largervolume; it widened, expanded, and clasped the kindling all around in itsfervid embrace. The flame had been baffled at first; but now, as if toassert its own supremacy, it rushed out in all directions with somethingthat seemed almost like exultation. That flame had once been conqueredby the waters in this very ship. The wood had saved the ship from thewaters. It was as though the WOOD had once invited the FIRE to union, but the WATER had stepped in and prevented the union by force; as thoughthe WOOD, resenting the interference, had baffled the assaults of theWATER, and saved itself intact through the long years for the embrace ofits first love. Now the FIRE sought the WOOD once more after so manyyears, and in ardor unspeakable embraced its bride. 

Such fantastic notions passed through Brandon's fancy as he looked atthe triumph of the flame. But he could not stay there long, and as hehad not made up his mind to give himself to the flames he clambered upquickly out of the hatchway and stood upon the sand without. 

The smoke was pouring through the hatchway, the black voluminous foldsbeing rendered visible by the glow of the flames beneath, which now hadgained the ascendency, and set all the winds at defiance. Indeed it wasso now that whatever wind came only assisted the flames, and Brandon, ashe looked on, amused himself with the thought that the wind was like theworld of man, which, when any one is first struggling, has a tendency tocrush him, but when he has once gained a foothold exerts all its effortsto help him along. In this mood, half cynical, half imaginative, hewatched the progress of the flames. 

Soon all the fine kindling had crumbled away at the touch of the fire, and communicating its own heat to the wood around, it sank down, aglowing mass, the foundation of the rising fires. 

Here, from this central heart of fire, the flames rushed on upon thewood which lay loosely on all sides, filling the hull. Through that woodthe dry hot wind had streamed for many weeks, till every stave and everyboard had become dry to its utmost possibility. Now at the first breathof the flame the wood yielded; at the first touch it flared up, andprepared to receive the embrace of the fire in every fibre of its being. 

The flame rolled on. It threw its long arms through the millioninterstices of the loose piles of wood, it penetrated every where withits subtle, far-reaching power, till within the ship the glow broadenedand widened, the central heart of fire enlarged its borders, and thefloods of flame that flowed from it rushed with consuming fury throughthe whole body of the ship. 

Glowing with bright lustre, increasing in that brightness every moment, leaping up as it consumed and flashing vividly as it leaped up. Athousand tongues of flame streamed upward through the crannies of thegaping deck, and between the wide orifices of the planks and timbers thedazzling flames gleamed; a thousand resistless arms seemed extendedforward to grasp the fabric now completely at its mercy, and the hotbreath of the fire shriveled up all in its path before yet its handswere laid upon it. 

And fast and furious, with eager advance, the flames rushed on devouringeverything. Through the hatchway, around which the fiercest firesgathered, the stream of flame rose impetuously on high, in a straightupward torrent, hurling up a vast pyramid of fire to the ebon skies, a[Greek: phlogos migan pogona] which, like that which once illumed theSlavonic strait with the signal-fire first caught from burning Troy, here threw its radiance far over the deep. 

While the lighter wood lasted the flame was in the ascendant, and noblyit did its work. Whatever could be done by bright radiance and far-penetrating lustre was done here. If that ship which had passed held anymen on board capable of feeling a human interest in the visible signs ofcalamity at sea, they would be able to read in this flame that there wasdisaster somewhere upon these waters, and if they had human hearts theywould turn to see if there was not some suffering which they mightrelieve. 

But the lighter and the dryer wood was at last consumed, and now thereremained that which Brandon had never touched, the dense masses whichstill lay piled where they had been placed eighteen years before. Uponthese the fire now marched. But already the long days and weeks ofscorching sun and fierce wind had not been without their effects, andthe dampness had been subdued. Besides, the fire that advanced upon themhad already gained immense advantage; for one half of the brig was oneglowing mass of heat, which sent forth its consuming forces, andwithered up, and blighted, and annihilated all around. The close-boundand close-packed masses of staves and boards received the resistlessembrace of the fire, and where they did not flame they still gave forthnone the less a blazeless glow. 

Now from the burning vessel the flame arose no more; but in its placethere appeared that which sent forth as vivid a gleam, and as far-flashing a light. The fire had full sway, though it gave forth no blaze, and, while it gleamed but little, still it devoured. From the sides ofthe ship the planks, blasted by the intense heat and by the outburst ofthe flames, had sprung away, and now for nearly all the length of thevessel the timbers were exposed without any covering. Between theseflashed forth the gleam of the fire inside, which now in one pure massglowed with dazzling brightness and intense heat. 

But the wood inside, damp as it was, and solid in its fibre, did notallow a very swift progress to the fire. It burned, but it burnedslowly. It glowed like the charcoal of a furnace from behind its woodenbars. 

The massive timbers of mahogany wood yielded slowly and stubbornly tothe conflagration. They stood up like iron bars long after all theinterior was one glowing mass. But, though they yielded slowly, stillthey had to yield with the passage of hours to the progress of the fire. And so it came to pass that at length the strong sides, sapped by thesteady and resistless assault, surrendered. One by one the stouttimbers, now wasted and weakened, gave way and sank down into the fervidmass beneath. At last the whole centre was one accumulation of glowingashes, and all that remained were the bow, covered with sand, and thestern, with the quarter-deck. 

The fire spread in both directions. The stern yielded first. Here thestrong deck sustained for a time the onset of the fire that had consumedevery thing beneath, but at last it sunk in; the timbers of the sidesfollowed next, and all had gone. With the bow there was a longer and aharder struggle. The fire had penetrated far into that part of thevessel; the flames smouldered there, but the conflagration went on, andsmoke and blue flames issued from every part of that sandy mound, which, fiercely assailed by the heat, gave way in every direction, broke into amillion crevices, and in places melted and ran together in a glowingmolten heap. Here the fires burned longer, and here they lived andgleamed until morning. 

Long before morning Brandon had fallen asleep. He had stood first nearthe burning wreck. Then the heat forced him to move away, and he hadgone to a ridge of sand, where this peninsula joined the island. Therehe sat down, watching the conflagration for a long time. There the lightflashed, and if that ship for whom he was signaling had noticed thissign, and had examined the island, his figure could be seen to any onethat chose to examine. 

But hours passed on. He strained his eyes through the gloom in thedirection in which the ship had vanished to see if there were any signthere. None appeared. The progress of the fire was slow. It went onburning and glowing with wonderful energy all through the night, till atlast, not long before dawn, the stern fell in, and nothing now was leftbut the sand-mound that covered the bows, which, burning beneath, gaveforth smoke and fire. 

Then, exhausted by fatigue, he sank down on the sand and fell into asound sleep. 

In the midst of thronging dreams, from the depths of that imaginary landwhere his weary spirit wandered in sleep, he was suddenly roused. A handwas laid on his shoulder, which shook him roughly, and a hoarse voiceshouted in his ear, "Mess-mate! Halloo, mess-mate! Wake up!"

Brandon started up and gazed with wild, astonished eyes around. It wasday. The sun was two or three hours above the horizon. He was surroundedby half a dozen seamen, who were regarding him with wondering but kindlyeyes. The one who spoke appeared to be their leader. He held a spy-glassin his hand. He was a sturdy, thick-set man of about fifty, whosegrizzled hair, weather-beaten face, groggy nose, and whiskers, comingall round under his chin, gave him the air of old Benbow as he appearson the stage--"a reg'lar old salt, " "sea-dog, " or whatever other namethe popular taste loves to apply to the British tar. 

"Hard luck here, mess-mate, " said this man, with a smile. "But you'reall right now. Come! Cheer up! Won't you take a drink?" And he held outa brandy-flask. 

Brandon rose mechanically in a kind of maze, not yet understanding hisgood fortune, not yet knowing whether he was alive or dead. He took theflask and raised it to his lips. The inspiriting draught gave him newlife. He looked earnestly at the Captain as he handed it back, and thenseized both his hands. 

"God Almighty bless you for this, noble friend, whoever you are! But howand when did you get here? Who are you? Did you not see my signal on therock yesterday--?"

"One question at a time, mess-mate, " said the other, laughingly. "I'mCaptain Corbet, of the ship _Falcon_, bound from Sydney to London, and these are some of my men. We saw this light last night aboutmidnight, right on our weather-bow, and came up to see what it was. Wefound shoal water, and kept off till morning. There's the _Falcon_, Sir. "

The Captain waved his hand proudly to where a large, handsome ship lay, about seven miles away to the south. 

"On your bow? Did you see the fire _ahead_ of you?" asked Brandon, who now began to comprehend the situation. 

"Yes. "

"Then you didn't pass me toward the north yesterday?"

"No; never was near this place before this morning. "

"It must have been some other ship, then, " said Brandon, musingly. 

"But how did you get here, and how long have you been here?"

Brandon had long since decided on the part he was to play. His story wasall ready. 

"My name is Edward Wheeler. I came out supercargo in the brig_Argo_, with a cargo of hogshead staves and box shooks from Londonto Manilla. On the 16th of September last we encountered a tremendousstorm and struck on this sand-bank. It is not down on any of the charts. The vessel stuck hard and fast, and the sea made a clean breach over us. The captain and crew put out the boat, and tried to get away, but wereswamped and drowned. I staid by the wreck till morning. The vessel stoodthe storm well, for she had a solid cargo, was strongly built, and thesand formed rapidly all about her. The storm lasted for several days, and by the end of that time a shoal had formed. Several storms haveoccurred since, and have heaped the sand all over her. I have lived hereever since in great misery. Yesterday a vessel passed, and I put up asignal on the rock over there, which she did not notice. In despair Iset fire to the brig, which was loaded with wood and burned easily. Iwatched till morning, and then fell asleep. You found me so. That's allI have to say. "

On hearing this story nothing could exceed the kindness and sympathy ofthese honest-hearted seamen. The Captain insisted on his taking anotherdrink, apologized for having to carry him back to England, and finallyhurried him off to the boat. Before two hours Brandon stood on the deckof the _Falcon_. 

CHAPTER IX

THE MALAY PIRATE

Two days had passed since Brandon's rescue. The light wind which hadbrought up the _Falcon_ soon died out, and before the island hadbeen left far behind a calm succeeded, and there was nothing left but todrift. 

A calm in other seas is stillness; here on the Indian Ocean it isstagnation. The calmness is like Egyptian darkness. It may be felt. Thestagnation of the waters seems deep enough to destroy all life there. The air is thick, oppressive, feverish; there is not a breath or amurmur of wind; even the swell of ocean, which is never-ending, hereapproaches as near as possible to an end. The ocean rolled but slightly, but the light undulations gave a lazy, listless motion to the ship, thespan creaked monotonously, and the great sails napped idly in the air. 

At such a time the calm itself is sufficiently dreary, but now there wassomething which made all things still more drear. For the calm wasattended by a thick fog; not a moist, drizzling fog like those of theNorth Atlantic, but a sultry, dense, dry fog; a fog which gave greateremphasis to the heat, and, instead of alleviating it, made it moreoppressive. 

It was so thick that it was not possible while standing at the wheel tosee the forecastle. Aloft, all the heavens were hidden in a canopy ofsickly gray; beneath, the sea showed the same color. Its glassy surfaceexhibited not a ripple. A small space only surrounded the vessel, andbeyond all things were lost to view. 

The sailors were scattered about the ship in groups. Some had ascendedto the tops with a faint hope of finding more air; some were lying flaton their faces on the forecastle; others had sought those places whichwere under the sails where the occasional flap of the broad canvas sentdown a slight current of air. 

The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, while Brandon was seatedon a stool near the wheel. He had been treated by the Captain withunbounded hospitality, and supplied with every thing that he could wish. 

"The fact is, " said the Captain, who had been conversing with Brandon, "I don't like calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and least ofall, calms off these infernal islands. "

"Why?"

"Because to the north'ard is the Strait of Sunda, and the Malay piratesare always cruising about, often as far as this. Did you ever happen tohear of Zangorri?"

"Yes. "

"Well, all I can say is, if you hadn't been wrecked, you'd have probablyhad your throat cut by that devil. "

"Can't any body catch him?"

"They don't catch him at any rate. Whether they can or not is anotherquestion. "

"Have you arms?"

"Yes. I've got enough to give Zangorri a pleasanter reception than heusually gets from a merchant-ship; and my lads are the boys that can usethem. "

"I wonder what has become of that other ship that passed me on theisland, " said Brandon, after a pause. 

"She can't be very far away from us, " replied the Captain, "and we maycome up with her before we get to the Cape. "

A silence followed. Suddenly the Captain's attention was arrested bysomething. He raised his hand to his ear and listened very attentively. "Do you hear that?" he asked, quickly. 

Brandon arose and walked to where the Captain was. Then both listened. And over the sea there came unmistakable sounds. The regular movement ofoars! Oars out on the Indian Ocean! Yet the sound was unmistakable. 

"It must he some poor devils that have escaped from shipwreck, " said theCaptain, half to himself. 

"Well, fire a gun. "

"No, " said the Captain, cautiously, after a pause. "It may be somebodyelse. Wait a bit. "

So they waited a little while. Suddenly there came a cry of humanvoices--a volley of guns! Shrieks, yells of defiance, shouts of triumph, howls of rage or of pain, all softened by the distance, and all in theirunison sounding appallingly as they were borne through the gloom of thefog. 

Instantly every man in the ship bounded to his feet. They had not heardthe first sounds, but these they heard, and in that superstition whichis natural to the sailor, each man's first thought was that the noisescame from the sky, and so each looked with a stupefied countenance athis neighbor. 

But the Captain did not share the common feeling. "I knew it!" he cried. "I expected it, and blow my old eyes out if I don't catch 'em thistime!"

"What?" cried Brandon. 

But the Captain did not hear. Instantly his whole demeanor was changed. He sprang to the companion-way. He spoke but one word, not in a loudvoice, but in tones so stern, so startling, that every man in the shipheard the word:

"Zangorri!"

All knew what it meant. It meant that the most blood-thirsty pirate ofthese Eastern seas was attacking some ship behind that veil of fog. 

And what ship? This was the thought that came to Brandon. Could it byany possibility be the one which passed by him when he strove soearnestly to gain her attention!

"Out with the long-boat! Load the carronade! Man the boat! Hurry up, lads, for God's sake!" And the Captain dashed down into the cabin. In aninstant he was back again, buckling on a belt with a couple of pistolsin it, and calling to his men, "Don't shout, don't cheer, but hurry, forGod's sake!"

And the men rushed about, some collecting arms, others laboring at theboat. The _Falcon_ was well supplied with arms, as the Captain hadsaid. Three guns, any quantity of smaller arms, and a long Tom, formedher armament, while the long-boat had a carronade in her bows. Thanks tothe snug and orderly arrangement of the ship, every thing was soonready. The long-boat was out and afloat. All the seamen except four wereon board, and the Captain went down last. 

"Now, pull away, lads!" he cried; "no talking, " and he took the tillerropes. As he seated himself he looked toward the bows, and his eyesencountered the calm face of Brandon. 

"What! you here?" he cried, with unmistakable delight. 

Brandon's reply consisted simply in drawing a revolver from his pocket. 

"You're a brick!" said the Captain. 

Not another word was spoken. The Captain steered the boat toward thedirection from which the sounds came. These grew louder every moment--more menacing, and more terrible. 

The sailors put all their strength to the oars, and drove the great boatthrough the water. To their impatience it seemed as though they wouldnever get there. Yet the place which they desired to reach was not faraway;--the sounds were now very near; and at length, as they droveonward, the tall sides of a ship burst on their sight through the gloom. By its side was a boat of the kind that is used by the Malays. On boardthe ship a large number of savage figures were rushing about in madferocity. 

In a moment the boat was seen. A shout rose from the Malays. A score ofthem clambered swiftly down the ship's side to their boat, and a panicseemed to seize all the rest, who stood looking around irresolutely forsome way of escape. 

The boatswain was in the bows of the long-boat and as the Malays crowdedinto their craft he took aim with the carronade and fired. The explosionthundered through the air. A terrific shriek followed. The next instantthe Malay boat, filled with writhing dusky figures, went down beneaththe waters. 

The long-boat immediately after touched the side of the ship. Brandongrasped a rope with his left hand, and, holding his revolver in hisright, leaped upward. A Malay with uplifted knife struck at him. Bang!went the revolver and the Malay fell dead. The next instant Brandon wason board, followed by all the sailors who sprang upward and clamberedinto the vessel before the Malays could rally from the first shock ofsurprise. 

But the panic was arrested by a man who bounded upon deck through thehatchway. Roused by the noise of the gun, he had hurried up and reachedthe deck just as the sailors arrived. In fierce, stern words he shoutedto his men, and the Malays gathered new courage from his words. Therewere about fifty of these, and not more than thirty English sailors; butthe former had carelessly dropped their arms about, and most of theirpieces were unloaded; the latter, therefore, had it all their own way. 

The first thing that they did was to pour a volley into the crowd ofMalays, as they stood trying to face their new enemy. The next momentthe sailors rushed upon them, some with cutlasses, some with pistols, and some with clubbed muskets. 

The Malays resisted desperately. Some fought with their creeses, otherssnatched up muskets and used them vigorously, others, unarmed, flungthemselves upon their assailants, biting and tearing like wild beasts. 

In the midst of the scene stood the chief, wielding a clubbed musket. Hewas a man of short stature, broad chest, and great muscular power. Threeor four of the sailors had already been knocked down beneath his blows. 

"Down with him, " yelled the Captain. "It's Zangorri!"

A venomous smile passed over the dark face of the Malay. Then he shoutedto his men and in an instant they rushed to the quarter-deck and took upa position there. A few of them obtained some more muskets that layabout. 

The Captain shouted to his men, who were pursuing the Malays, to loadonce more. They did so, poured in a volley, and then rushed to thequarter-deck. Now a fiercer fight took place. The Captain with hispistol shot one man dead the next instant he was knocked down. Theboatswain was grappled by two powerful men. The rest of the sailors weredriving all before them. 

Meanwhile Brandon had been in the very centre of the fight. With hisrevolver in his left hand he held a cutlass in his right, and every blowthat he gave told. He had sought all through the struggle to reach thespot where Zangorri stood, but had hitherto been unsuccessful. At theretreat which the Malays made he hastily loaded three of the chambers ofhis revolver which he had emptied into the hearts of three Malays, andsprang upon the quarter-deck first. The man who struck down the Captainfell dead from Brandon's pistol, just as he stooped to plunge his knifeinto the heart of the prostrate man. Another shot sent over one of theboatswain's assailants, and the other assailant was kicked up into theair and overboard by the boatswain himself. 

After this Brandon had no more trouble to get at Zangorri, for the Malaychief with a howl of fury called on his men, and sprang at him. Twoquick flashes, two sharp reports, and down went two of them. Zangorrigrasped Brandon's hand, and raised his knife; the next instant Brandonhad shifted his pistol to his other hand; he fired. Zangorri's arm fellby his side, broken, and the knife rang on the ship's deck. 

Brandon bounded at his throat. He wound his arms around him, and with atremendous jerk hurled Zangorri to the deck, and held him there. 

A cry of terror and dismay arose from the Malays as they saw their chieffall. The sailors shouted; there was no further fighting: some of thepirates were killed, others leaped overboard and tried to swim away. Thesailors, in their fury, shot at these wretches as they swam. The crueltyof Zangorri had stimulated such a thirst for vengeance that none thoughtof giving quarter. Out of all the Malays the only one alive was Zangorrihimself, who now lay gasping with a mighty hand on his throat. 

At last, as his struggles grew feebler, Brandon relaxed his grasp. Someof the sailors came with uplifted knives to put an end to Zangorri. 

"Back, " cried Brandon, fiercely. "Don't touch him. He's mine!"

"He must die. "

"That's for me to say, " cried Brandon in a stern voice that forbadereply. In fact, the sailors seemed to feel that he had the best claimhere, since he had not only captured Zangorri with his own hands, buthad borne the chief share in the fight. 

"Englishman, " said a voice. "I thank you. "

Brandon started. 

It was Zangorri who had spoken; and in very fair English too. 

"Do you speak English?" was all that he could say in his surprise. 

"I ought to. I've seen enough of them, " growled the other. 

"You scoundrel!" cried Brandon. "you have nothing to thank me for. Youmust die a worse death. "

"Ah, " sneered Zangorri. "Well. It's about time. But my death will notpay for the hundreds of English lives that I have taken. I thank youthough, for you will give me time yet to tell the Englishmen how I hatethem. "

And the expression of hate that gleamed from the eyes of the Malay wasappalling. 

"Why do you hate them?" asked Brandon, whose curiosity was excited. 

"My brother's blood was shed by them, and a Malay never forgives. Yet Ihave never found the man I sought. If I had found him I would not havekilled any more. "

"The man--what man?"

"The one whom I have sought for fifteen years through all these seas, "said the other, hoarsely. 

"What is his name?"

"I will not speak it. I had it carved on my creese which hangs around myneck. "

Brandon thrust his hand into the bosom of the Malay where he saw a cordwhich passed around his neck. He drew forth a creese, and holding it upsaw this name cut upon the handle: "JOHN POTTS. "

The change that came over the severe, impassive face of Brandon was soextraordinary that even Zangorri in his pain and fury saw it. He utteredan exclamation. The brow of Brandon grew as black as night, his nostrilsquivered, his eyes seemed to blaze with a terrific lustre, and a slightfoam spread itself over his quivering lips. But he commanded himself bya violent effort. 

He looked all around. The sailors were busy with the Captain, who stilllay senseless. No one observed him. He turned to Zangorri. 

"This shall be mine, " said he, and he threw the cord around his ownneck, and put the creese under his waistcoat. But the sharp eye of theMalay had been watching him, and as he raised his arm carelessly to putthe weapon where he desired, he thoughtlessly loosed his hold. Thatinstant Zangorri took advantage of it. By a tremendous effort hedisengaged himself and bounded to his feet. The next instant he was atthe taffrail. One hasty glance all around showed him all that he wishedto see. Another moment and he was beneath the water. 

Brandon had been taken unawares, and the Malay was in the water beforehe could think. But he drew his revolver, in which there yet remainedtwo shots, and, stepping to the taffrail, watched for Zangorri toreappear. 

During the fight a change had come over the scene. The fog had begun tobe dissipated and a wider horizon appeared. As Brandon looked he saw twovessels upon the smooth surface of the sea. One was the _Falcon_. The other was a large Malay proa. On the decks of this last was a crowdof men, perhaps about fifty in number, who stood looking toward the shipwhere the fight had been. The sweeps were out, and they were preparingto move away. But the escape of Zangorri had aroused them, and they wereevidently waiting to see the result. That result lay altogether at thedisposal of the man with the revolver, who stood at the stern from whichZangorri had leaped. 

And now Zangorri's head appeared above the waves, while he took a longbreath ere he plunged again. The revolver covered him. In a moment abullet could have plunged into his brain. 

But Brandon did not fire. He could not. It was too cold-blooded. True, Zangorri was stained with countless crimes; but all his crimes at thatmoment were forgotten: he did not appear as Zangorri the mercilesspirate, but simply as a wounded wretch, trying to escape from death. That death Brandon could not deal him. 

The sailors were still intent upon the Captain, whose state wascritical, and Brandon alone watched the Malay. Soon he saw those onboard the proa send down a boat and row quickly toward him. They reachedhim, dragged him on board, and then rowed back. 

Brandon turned away. As yet no one had been in the cabin. He hurriedthither to see if perchance any one was there who might be saved. 

He entered the cabin. The first look which he gave disclosed a sightwhich was enough to chill the blood of the stoutest heart that everbeat. 

All around the cabin lay human bodies distorted by the agonies of death, twisted and twined in different attitudes, and still lying in theposition in which death had found them. 

One, whose appearance showed him to be the captain, lay grasping thehair of a Malay, with his sword through his enemy's heart, while a knifestill remained buried in his own. Another lay with his head cut open;another with his face torn by the explosion of a gun. There were fourwhites here and about ten Malays, all dead. But the fourth white was awoman, who lay dead in front of a door that led to an inner cabin, andwhich was now closed. The woman appeared to be about fifty years of age, her venerable gray hair was stained with blood, and her hand clutchedthe arm of a Malay who lay dead by her side. 

While Brandon stood looking at this sight he became aware of a movementin a corner of the cabin where there were five or six bodies heapedtogether. He hurried over to the place, and, pulling away the bodies ofseveral Malays, found at length a Hindu of large stature, in whom lifewas by no means extinct, for he was pushing with hands and feet andmaking faint efforts to rise. He had been wounded in many places, andwas now quite unconscious. 

Brandon dragged away all the bodies, laid him in as easy a posture aspossible, and then rushed up to the deck for some water. Returning hedashed it over the Hindu, and bound up one or two wounds which seemedmost dangerous. 

His care soon brought the Hindu to consciousness. 

The man opened his eyes, looked upon Brandon first with astonishment, then with speechless gratitude, and clasping his hand moaned faintly, inbroken English. 

"Bless de Lor! Sahib!"

Brandon hurried up on deck and calling some of the sailors had the Hinduconveyed there. All crowded around him to ask him questions, andgradually found out about the attack of the pirates. The ship had beenbecalmed the day before, and the Malay proa was in sight, evidently withevil intentions. They had kept a good watch, and when the fog came hadsome hope of escape. But the Malay boats had sought them through thefog, and had found them. They had resisted well, but were overpowered bynumbers. The Hindu had been cook of the ship, and had fought till thelast by the side of his captain. 

Without waiting to hear the Hindu's story Brandon went back to thecabin. The door that opened into the inner cabin was shut. He tried it. It was locked. He looked into the keyhole. It was locked from theinside. 

[Illustration: "SHE FLUNG HERSELF ON HER KNEES IN A TRANSPORT OFGRATITUDE. "] "Is any one there?" he asked. 

A cry of surprise was the sole answer. 

"You are safe. We are friends. Open!" cried Brandon. 

Then came the sound of light footsteps, the key was turned, the doorslided back, and there appeared before the astonished eyes of Brandon ayoung girl, who, the moment that she saw him, flung herself on her kneesin a transport of gratitude and raised her face to Heaven, while herlips uttered inaudible words of thanksgiving. 

She was quite a young girl, with a delicate, slender frame, and featuresof extreme loveliness. Her complexion was singularly colorless. Her eyeswere large, dark, and luminous. Her hair fell in rich masses over hershoulders. In one hand she held a knife, to which she clung with adeath-like tenacity. 

"Poor child!" murmured Brandon, in accents of tenderest commiseration. "It is but little that you could do with that knife. "

She looked up at him as she knelt, then looked at the keen glitteringsteel, and, with a solemnity of accent which showed how deeply she wasin earnest, murmured, half to herself, "It could at least have saved me!"

Brandon smiled upon her with such a smile as a father might give atseeing the spirit or prowess of some idolized son. 

"There is no need, " he said, with a voice of deep feeling, "there is noneed of that now. You are saved. You are avenged. Come with me. " Thegirl rose. "But wait, " said Brandon, and he looked at her earnestly andmost pityingly. "There are things here which you should not see. Willyou shut your eyes and let me lead you?"

"I can bear it, " said the girl. "I will not shut my eyes. "

"You must, " said Brandon, firmly, but still pityingly, for he thought ofthat venerable woman who lay in blood outside the door. The girl lookedat him and seemed at first as though about to refuse. There wassomething in his face so full of compassion, and entreaty, and calmcontrol, that she consented. She closed her eyes and held out her hand. Brandon took it and led her through the place of horror and up to thedeck. 

Her appearance was greeted with a cry of joy from all the sailors. Thegirl looked around. She saw the Malays lying dead upon the deck. She sawthe ship that had rescued, and the proa that had terrified her. But shesaw no familiar face. 

She turned to Brandon with a face of horror, and with white lips asked:

"Where are they all?"

"Gone, " said Brandon. 

"What! All?" gasped the girl. 

"All--except yourself and the cook. "

She shuddered from head to foot; at last, coming closer to Brandon, shewhispered: "And my nurse--?"

Brandon said nothing, but, with a face full of meaning, pointed upward. The girl understood him. She reeled, and would have fallen had notBrandon supported her. Then she covered her face with her hands, and, staggering away to a seat, sank down and wept bitterly. 

All were silent. Even the rough sailors respected that grief. Rough! Whodoes not know that sailors are often the most tender-hearted of men, andalways the most impulsive, and most quick to sympathy?

So now they said nothing, but stood in groups sorrowing in her sorrow. The Captain, meanwhile, had revived, and was already on his feet lookingaround upon the scene. The Hindu also had gained strength with everythrob of his heart and every breath of the air. 

But suddenly a cry arose from one of the men who stood nearest thehatchway. 

"The ship is sinking!"

Every one started. Yes, the ship was sinking. No one had noticed it; butthe water was already within a few feet of the top. No doubt Zangorrihad been scuttling her when he rushed out of the hold at the noise ofthe attack. 

There was nothing left but to hasten away. There was time to savenothing. The bodies of the dead had to be left with the ship for theirtomb. In a short time they had all hurried into the boat and werepulling away. But not too soon. For scarcely had they pulled away half adozen boat-lengths from the ship than the water, which had been risinghigher and higher, more rapidly every moment, rushed madly with a finalonset to secure its prey; and with a groan like that of some livingthing the ship went down. 

A yell came from over the water. It rose from the Malay proa, which wasmoving away as fast as the long sweeps could carry her. But the deadwere not revenged only. They were remembered. Not long after reachingthe _Falcon_ the sailors were summoned to the side which lookedtoward the spot where the ship had sunk, and the solemn voice of Brandonread the burial-service of the Church. 

And as he read that service he understood the fate which he had escapedwhen the ship passed Coffin Island without noticing his signal. 

CHAPTER X. 

BEATRICE. 

It was natural that a young girl who had gone through so fearful anordeal should for some time feel its effects. Her situation excited thewarmest sympathy of all on board the ship; and her appearance was suchas might inspire a chivalrous respect in the hearts of those rough butkindly and sensitive sailors who had taken part in her rescue. 

Her whole appearance marked her as one of no common order. There wasabout her an air of aristocratic grace which inspired involuntaryrespect; an elegance of manner and complete self-possession which markedperfect breeding. Added to this, her face had something which is greatereven than beauty--or at least something without which beauty itself isfeeble--namely, character and expression. Her soul spoke out in everylineament of her noble features, and threw around her the charm ofspiritual exaltation. 

To such a charm as this Brandon did not seem indifferent. His usualself-abstraction seemed to desert him for a time. The part that he hadtaken in her rescue of itself formed a tie between them; but there wasanother bond in the fact that he alone of all on board could associatewith her on equal terms, as a high-bred gentleman with a high-bred lady. 

The Hindu had at once found occupation, for Brandon, who had seen thestuff that was in him, offered to take him for his servant. He said thathis name was Asgeelo, but he was commonly called Cato, and preferredthat name to any other. He regarded Brandon as his saviour, with all thesuperstition which Hindus can feel, and looked up to this saviour as asuperior being. The offer of employment was eagerly accepted, and Catoat once entered upon the few duties which his situation could require onship-board. 

Meanwhile the young lady remained unknown. At first she spent thegreater part of her time in her room, and only came out at meal-times, when the sadness of her face prevented any thing except the most distantand respectful courtesy. No one knew her name, and no one asked it. Catowas ignorant of it. She and the old nurse had only been known to him asthe young missis and the old missis. 

Brandon, roused from his indifference, did all in his power to mitigatethe gloom of this fair young creature, whom fate had thrown in his way. He found that his attentions were not unacceptable. At length she cameout more frequently, and they became companions on the quarter-deck. 

Brandon was touched by the exhibition which she had made of hergratitude to himself. She persisted in regarding him alone as the one towhom she owed her life, and apologized to him for her selfishness ingiving way so greatly to her grief. After a time she ventured to tellhim the story of the voyage which she had been making. She was on herway from China to England. Her father lived in England, but she hadpassed her life in Hong-Kong, having been brought up there by the oldnurse, who had accompanied her on her voyage until that fearfulcalamity. 

She told him at different times that her father was a merchant who hadbusiness all over the world, and that he had of late taken up hisstation in his own home and sent for her. 

Of her father she did not say much, and did not seem to know much. Shehad never seen him. She had been in Hong-Kong ever since she couldremember. She believed, however, that she was born in England, but didnot know for certain. Her nurse had not known her till she had gone toChina. 

It was certainly a curious life, but quite natural, when a busy merchantdevotes all his thoughts to business, and but little attention to hisfamily. She had no mother, but thought she must have died in India. Yetshe was not sure. Of all this, however, she expected to hear when shereached home and met her father. 

By the time that she had been a month on board Brandon knew much of theevents of her simple life. He saw the strange mixture of fear andlonging with which she looked forward to a meeting with her father. Helearned that she had a brother, also, whom she had never seen, for herfather kept his son with himself. He could not help looking withinexpressible pity on one so lovely, yet so neglected. 

Otherwise, as far as mere money was concerned, she had never suffered. Her accomplishments were numerous. She was passionately fond of music, and was familiar with all the classic compositions. Her voice was finelytrained, for she had enjoyed the advantage of the instructions of anItalian maestro, who had been banished, and had gone out to Hong-Kong asband-master in the Twentieth Regiment. She could speak French fluently, and had read almost every thing. 

Now after finding out all this Brandon had not found out her name. Embarrassments arose sometimes, which she could not help noticing, fromthis very cause, and yet she said nothing about it. Brandon did not liketo ask her abruptly, since he saw that she did not respond to his hints. So he conjectured and wondered. He thought that her name must be of thelordliest kind, and that she for some reason wished to keep it a secret:perhaps she was noble, and did not like to tell that name which had beenstained by the occupations of trade. All this Brandon thought. 

Yet as he thought this, he was not insensible to the music of her soft, low voice, the liquid tenderness of her eye, and the charm of hermanner. She seemed at once to confide herself to him--to own thesuperiority of his nature and seek shelter in it. Circumstances threwthem exclusively into one another's way, and they found each other socongenial that they took advantage of circumstances to the utmost. 

There were others as well as Brandon who found it awkward not to haveany name by which to address her, and chief of these was the goodCaptain. After calling her Ma'am and Miss indifferently for about amonth he at last determined to ask her directly; so, one day at thedinner-table, he said:

"I most humbly beg your pardon, ma'am; but I do not know your name, andhave never had a chance to find it out. If it's no offense, perhaps youwould be so good as to tell it?"

The young lady thus addressed flushed crimson, then looked at Brandon, who was gazing fixedly on his plate, and with visible embarrassmentsaid, very softly, "Beatrice. "

"B. A. Treachy, " said the Captain. "Ah! I hope, Miss Treachy, you willpardon me; but I really found it so everlasting confusing. "

A faint smile crossed the lips of Brandon. But Beatrice did not smile. She looked a little frightened, and then said:

"Oh, that is only my Christian name!"

"Christian name!" said the Captain. "How can that be a Christian name?"

"My surname is--" She hesitated, and then, with an effort, pronouncedthe word "Potts. "

"'Potts!'" said the Captain, quickly, and with evident surprise. "Oh--well, I hope you will excuse me. "

But the face of Beatrice turned to an ashen hue as she marked the effectwhich the mention of that name had produced on Brandon. He had beenlooking at his plate like one involved in thought. As he heard the namehis head fell forward, and he caught at the table to steady himself. Hethen rose abruptly with a cloud upon his brow, his lips firmly pressedtogether, and his whole face seemingly transformed, and hurried from thecabin. 

She did not see him again for a week. He pleaded illness, shut himselfin his state-room, and was seen by no one but Cato. 

Beatrice could not help associating this change in Brandon with theknowledge of her name. That name was hateful to herself. A fastidioustaste had prevented her from volunteering to tell it; and as no oneasked her directly it had not been known. And now, since she had toldit, this was the result. 

For Brandon's conduct she could imagine only one cause. He had feltshocked at such a plebeian name. 

The fact that she herself hated her name, and saw keenly howridiculously it sounded after such a name as Beatrice, only made herfeel the more indignant with Brandon. "His own name, " she thought, bitterly, "is plebeian--not so bad as mine, it is true, yet still it isplebeian. Why should he feel so shocked at mine?" Of course, she knewhim only as "_Mr. Wheeler_. " "Perhaps he has imagined that I hadsome grand name, and, learning my true one, has lost his illusion. Heformerly esteemed me. He now despises me. "

Beatrice was cut to the heart; but she was too proud to show any feelingwhatever. She frequented the quarter-deck as before; though now she hadno companion except, at turns, the good-natured Captain and the mate. The longer Brandon avoided her the more indignant she felt. Her outragedpride made sadness impossible. 

Brandon remained in his state-room for about two weeks altogether. Whenat length he made his appearance on the quarter-deck he found Beatricethere, who greeted him with a distant bow. 

There was a sadness in his face as he approached and took a seat nearher which at once disarmed her, drove away all indignation, and arousedpity. 

"You have been sick, " she said, kindly, and with some emotion. 

"Yes, " said Brandon, in a low voice, "but now that I am able to go aboutagain my first act is to apologize to you for my rudeness in quittingthe table so abruptly as to make it seem like a personal insult to you. Now I hope you will believe me when I say that an insult to you from meis impossible. Something like a spasm passed over my nervous system, andI had to hurry to my room. "

"I confess, " said Beatrice, frankly, "that I thought your suddendeparture had something to do with the conversation about me. I am verysorry indeed that I did you such a wrong; I might have known you better. Will you forgive me?"

Brandon smiled, faintly. "You are the one who must forgive. "

"But I hate my name so, " burst out Beatrice. 

Brandon said nothing. 

"Don't you? Now confess. "

"How can I--" he began. 

"You do, you do!" she cried, vehemently; "but I don't care--for I hateit. "

Brandon looked at her with a sad, weary smile, and said nothing. "Youare sick, " she said; "I am thoughtless. I see that my name, in some wayor other, recalls painful thoughts. How wretched it is for me to givepain to others!"

Brandon looked at her appealingly, and said, "You give pain? Believe me!believe me! there is nothing but happiness where you are. "

At this Beatrice looked confused and changed the conversation. Thereseemed after this to be a mutual understanding between the two to avoidthe subject of her name, and although it was a constant mortification toBeatrice, yet she believed that on his part there was no contempt forthe name, but something very different, something associated with bettermemories. 

They now resumed their old walks and conversations. Every day bound themmore closely to one another, and each took it for granted that the otherwould be the constant companion of every hour in the day. 

Both had lived unusual lives. Beatrice had much to say about her Hong-Kong life, the Chinese, the British officers, and the festivities ofgarrison life. Brandon had lived for years in Australia, and wasfamiliar with all the round of events which may be met with in thatcountry. He had been born in England, and had lived there, as hasalready been mentioned, till he was almost a man, so that he had much tosay about that mother-land concerning which Beatrice felt suchcuriosity. Thus they settled down again naturally and inevitably intoconstant association with each other. 

Whatever may have been the thoughts of Brandon during the fortnight ofhis seclusion, or whatever may have been the conclusion to which hecame, he carefully refrained from the most remote hint at the home orthe prospects of Beatrice. He found her on the seas, and he was contentto take her as she was. Her name was a common one. She might beconnected with his enemy, or she might not. For his part, he did notwish to know. 

Beatrice also showed equal care in avoiding the subject. The effectwhich had been produced by the mention of her name was still remembered, and, whatever the cause may have been, both this and her own strongdislike to it prevented her from ever making any allusion either to herfather or to any one of her family. She had no scruples, however, abouttalking of her Hong-Kong life, in which one person seemed to havefigured most prominently--a man who had lived there for years, and givenher instruction in music. He was an Italian, of whom she knew nothingwhatever but his name, with the exception of the fact that he had beenunfortunate in Europe, and had come out to Hong-Kong as bandmaster ofthe Twentieth Regiment. His name was Paolo Langhetti. 

"Do you like music?" asked Brandon, abruptly. 

"Above all things. " said Beatrice, with an intensity of emphasis whichspoke of deep feeling. 

"Do you play?"

"Somewhat. "

"Do you sing?"

"A little. I was considered a good singer in Hong-Kong; but that isnothing. I sang in the Cathedral. Langhetti was kind enough to praiseme; but then he was so fond of me that whatever I did was right. "

Brandon was silent for a little while. "Langhetti was fond of you?" herepeated, interrogatively, and in a voice of singular sweetness. 

"Very, " returned Beatrice, musingly. "He always called me 'Bice'--sometimes 'Bicetta, ' 'Bicinola, ' 'Bicina;' it was his pretty Italianway. But oh, if you could hear him play! He could make the violin speaklike a human voice. He used to think in music. He seemed to me to behardly human sometimes. "

"And he loved to hear you sing?" said Brandon, in the same voice. 

"He used to praise me, " said Beatrice, meekly. "His praise used togratify, but it did not deceive me. I am not conceited, Mr. Wheeler. "

"Would you sing for me?" asked Brandon, in accents almost of entreaty, looking at her with an imploring expression. 

Beatrice's head fell. "Not now--not yet--not here, " she murmured, with amotion of her hand. "Wait till we pass beyond this ocean. It seemshaunted. "

Brandon understood her tone and gesture. 

But the weeks passed, and the months, and they went over the seas, touching at Mauritius, and afterward at Cape Town, till finally theyentered the Atlantic Ocean, and sailed North. During all this time theirassociation was close and continuous. In her presence Brandon softened;the sternness of his features relaxed, and the great purpose of his lifegrew gradually fainter. 

One evening, after they had entered the Atlantic Ocean, they werestanding by the stern of the ship looking at the waters, when Brandonrepeated his request. 

"Would you be willing to sing now?" he asked, gently, and in the sametone of entreaty which he had used before. 

Beatrice looked at him for a moment without speaking. Then she raisedher face and looked up at the sky, with a deep abstraction in her eyes, as though in thought. Her face, usually colorless, now, in themoonlight, looked like marble; her dark hair hung in peculiar folds overher brow--an arrangement which was antique in its style, and gave herthe look of a statue of one of the Muses. Her straight, Grecianfeatures, large eyes, thin lips, and well-rounded chin--all had the sameclassic air, and Brandon, as he looked at her, wondered if she knew howfair she was. She stood for a moment in silence, and then began. It wasa marvelous and a memorable epoch in Brandon's life. The scene aroundadded its inspiration to the voice of the singer. The ocean spread afaraway before them till the verge of the horizon seemed to blend sea andsky together. Overhead the dim sky hung, dotted with innumerable stars, prominent among which, not far above the horizon, gleamed that gloriousconstellation, the Southern Cross. Beatrice, who hesitated for a momentas if to decide upon her song, at last caught her idea from this scenearound her, and began one of the most magnificent of Italiancompositions:

 "I cieli immensi narrano Del grand' Iddio la gloria. "

[Illustration: "SHE GAVE HERSELF ENTIRELY UP TO THE JOY OF SONG. "]

Her first notes poured forth with a sweetness and fullness that arrestedthe attention of all on board the ship. It was the first time she hadsung, as she afterward said, since Langhetti had left Hong-Kong, and shegave herself entirely up to the joy of song. Her voice, long silent, instead of having been injured by the sorrow through which she hadpassed, was pure, full, marvelous, and thrilling. A glow like somedivine inspiration passed over the marble beauty of her classicfeatures; her eyes themselves seemed to speak of all that glory of whichshe sang, as the sacred fire of genius flashed from them. 

At those wonderful notes, so generous and so penetrating with theirsublime meaning, all on board the ship looked and listened withamazement. The hands of the steersman held the wheel listlessly. Brandon's own soul was filled with the fullest effects. He stoodwatching her figure, with its inspired lineaments, and thought of thefabled prodigies of music spoken of in ancient story. He thought ofOrpheus hushing all animated nature to calm by the magic of his song. Atlast all thoughts of his own left him, and nothing remained but thatwhich the song of Beatrice swept over his spirit. 

But Beatrice saw nothing and heard nothing except the scene before her, with its grand inspiration and her own utterance of its praise. Brandon's own soul was more and more overcome; the divine voice thrilledover his heart; he shuddered and uttered a low sigh of rapture. 

"My God!" he exclaimed as she ended; "I never before heard any thinglike this. I never dreamed of such a thing. Is there on earth anothersuch a voice as yours? Will I ever again hear any thing like it? Yoursong is like a voice from those heavens of which you sing. It is a newrevelation. "

He poured forth these words with passionate impetuosity. Beatricesmiled. 

"Langhetti used to praise me, " she simply rejoined. 

"You terrify me, " said he. 

"Why?" asked Beatrice, in wonder. 

"Because your song works upon me like a spell, and all my soul sinksaway, and all my will is weakened to nothingness. "

Beatrice looked at him with a mournful smile. "Then you have the truepassion for music, " she said, "if this be so. For my part it is the joyof my life, and I hope to give up all my life to it. "

"Do you expect to see Langhetti when you reach England?" asked Brandon, abruptly. 

"I hope so, " said she, musingly. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE IMPROVISATORE. 

The character of Beatrice unfolded more and more every day, and everynew development excited the wonder of Brandon. 

She said once that music was to her like the breath of life, and indeedit seemed to be; for now, since Brandon had witnessed her powers, henoticed how all her thoughts took a coloring from this. What mostsurprised him was her profound acquirements in the more difficultbranches of the art. It was not merely the case of a great natural giftof voice. Her whole soul seemed imbued with those subtle influenceswhich music can most of all bestow. Her whole life seemed to have beenpassed in one long intercourse with the greatest works of the greatestmasters. All their works were perfectly well known to her. A marvelousmemory enabled her to have their choicest productions at command; andBrandon, who in the early part of his life had received a carefulmusical education, knew enough about it to estimate rightly the fullextent of the genius of his companion, and to be astonished thereat. 

Her mind was also full of stories about the lives, acts, and words ofthe great masters. For her they formed the only world with which shecared to be acquainted, and the only heroes whom she had power toadmire. All this flowed from one profound central feeling--namely, adeep and all-absorbing love of this most divine art. To her it was morethan art. It was a new faculty to him who possessed it. It was thehighest power of utterance--such utterance as belongs to the angels;such utterance as, when possessed by man, raises him almost to anequality with them. 

Brandon found out every day some new power in her genius. Now her voicewas unloosed from the bonds which she had placed upon it. She sang, shesaid, because it was better than talking. Words were weak--song was allexpression. Nor was it enough for her to take the compositions ofothers. Those were infinitely better, she said, than any thing which shecould produce; but each one must have his own native expression; andthere were times when she had to sing from herself. To Brandon thisseemed the most amazing of her powers. In Italy the power ofimprovisation is not uncommon, and Englishmen generally imagine thatthis is on account of some peculiar quality of the Italian language. This is not the case. One can improvise in any language; and Brandonfound that Beatrice could do this with the English. 

"It is not wonderful, " said she, in answer to his expression ofastonishment, "it is not even difficult. There is an art in doing this, but, when you once know it, you find no trouble. It is rhythmic prose ina series of lines. Each line must contain a thought. Langhetti found nodifficulty in making rhyming lines, but rhymes are not necessary. Thisrhythmic prose is as poetic as any thing can be. All the hymns of theGreek Church are written on this principle. So are the Te Deum and theGloria. So were all the ancient Jewish psalms. The Jews improvised. Isuppose Deborah's song, and perhaps Miriam's, are of this order. "

"And you think the art can be learned by every one?"

"No, not by every one. One must have a quick and vivid imagination, andnatural fluency--but these are all. Genius makes all the differencebetween what is good and what is bad. Sometimes you have a song ofMiriam that lives while the world lasts, sometimes a poor little songlike one of mine. "

"Sing to me about music, " said Brandon, suddenly. 

Beatrice immediately began an improvisation. But the music to which shesang was lofty and impressive, and the marvelous sweetness of her voiceproduced an indescribable effect. And again, as always when she sang, the fashion of her face was changed, and she became transfigured beforehis eyes. It was the same rhythmic prose of which she had been speaking, sung according to the mode in which the Gloria is chanted, and dividedinto bars of equal time. 

Brandon, as always, yielded to the spell of her song. To him it was anincantation. Her own strains varied to express the changing sentiment, and at last, as the song ended, it seemed to die away in melodiousmelancholy, like the dying strain of the fabled swan. 

"Sing on!" he exclaimed, fervently; "I would wish to stand and hear yourvoice forever. "

A smile of ineffable sweetness came over her face. She looked at him, and said nothing. Brandon bowed his head, and stood in silence. 

Thus ended many of their interviews. Slowly and steadily this young girlgained over him an ascendency which he felt hourly, and which was sostrong that he did not even struggle against it. Her marvelous genius, so subtle, so delicate, yet so inventive and quick, amazed him. If hespoke of this, she attributed every thing to Langhetti. "Could you butsee him, " she would say, "I should seem like nothing!"

"Has he such a voice?"

"Oh! he has no voice at all. It is his soul, " she would reply. "Hespeaks through the violin. But he taught me all that I know. He said myvoice was God's gift. He had a strange theory that the language ofheaven and of the angels was music, and that he who loved it best onearth made his life and his thoughts most heavenly. "

"You must have been fond of such a man. "

"Very, " said Beatrice, with the utmost simplicity. "Oh, I loved him sodearly!"

But in this confession, so artlessly made, Brandon saw only a love thatwas filial or sisterly. "He was the first one, " said Beatrice, "whoshowed me the true meaning of life. He exalted his art above all otherarts, and always maintained that it was the purest and best thing whichthe world possessed. This consoled him for exile, poverty, and sorrow ofmany kinds. "

"Was he married?"

Beatrice looked at Brandon with a singular smile. "Married! Langhettimarried! Pardon me; but the idea of Langhetti in domestic life is soridiculous. "

"Why? The greatest musicians have married. "

Beatrice looked up to the sky with a strange, serene smile. "Langhettihas no passion out of art, " she said. "As an artist he is all fire, andvehemence, and enthusiasm. He is aware of all human passions, but onlyas an artist. He has only one love, and that is music. This is his idol. He seems to me himself like a song. But all the raptures which poets andnovelists apply to lovers are felt by him in his music. He wants nothingwhile he has this. He thinks the musician's life the highest life. Hesays those to whom the revelations of God were committed were musicians. As David and Isaiah received inspiration to the strains of the harp, so, he says, have Bach and Mozart, Handel and Haydn, Beethoven andMendelssohn. And where, indeed, " she continued, in a musing tone, halfsoliloquizing, "where, indeed, can man rise so near heaven as when helistens to the inspired strains of these lofty souls?"

"Langhetti, " said Brandon, in a low voice, "does not understand love, orhe would not put music in its place. "

"Yes, " said Beatrice. "We spoke once about that. He has his own ideas, which he expressed to me. "

"What were they?"

"I will have to say them as he said them, " said she. "For on this themehe had to express himself in music. "

Brandon waited in rapt expectation. Beatrice began to sing:

 "Fairest of all most fair, Young Love, how comest thou Unto the soul? Still as the evening breeze Over the starry wave-- The moonlit wave--

 "The heart lies motionless; So still, so sensitive; Love fans the breeze. Lo! at his lightest touch, The myriad ripples rise, And murmur on. 

 "And ripples rise to waves, And waves to rolling seas, Till, far and wide, The endless billows roll, In undulations long, For evermore!"

Her voice died away into a scarce audible tone, which sank intoBrandon's heart, lingering and dying about the last word, with touchingand unutterable melancholy. It was like the lament of one who loved. Itwas like the cry of some yearning heart. 

In a moment Beatrice looked at Brandon with a swift, bright smile. Shehad sung these words as an artist. For a moment Brandon had thought thatshe was expressing her own feelings. But the bright smile on her facecontrasted so strongly with the melancholy of her voice that he saw thiswas not so. 

"Thus, " she said, "Langhetti sang about it: and I have never forgottenhis words. "

The thought came to Brandon, is it not truer than she thinks, that "sheloves him very dearly?" as she said. 

"You were born to be an artist, " he said, at last. 

Beatrice sighed lightly. "That's what I never can be, I am afraid, " saidshe. "Yet I hope I may be able to gratify my love for it. Art, " shecontinued, musingly, "is open to women as well as to men; and of allarts none are so much so as music. The interpretation of great mastersis a blessing to the world. Langhetti used to say that these are theonly ones of modern times that have received heavenly inspiration. Theycorrespond to the Jewish prophets. He used to declare that theinterpretation of each was of equal importance. To man is given theinterpretation of the one, but to woman is given the interpretation ofmuch of the other. Why is not my voice, if it is such as he said, andespecially the feeling within me, a Divine call to go forth upon thismission of interpreting the inspired utterances of the great masters ofmodern days?

"You, " she continued, "are a man, and you have a purpose. " Brandonstarted, but she did not notice it. "You have a purpose in life, " sherepeated. "Your intercourse with me will hereafter be but an episode inthe life that is before you. I am a girl, but I too may wish to have apurpose in life--suited to my powers; and if I am not able to worktoward it I shall not be satisfied. "

"How do you know that I have a purpose, as you call it?" asked Brandon, after a pause. 

"By the expression of your face, and your whole manner when you arealone and subside into yourself, " she replied, simply. 

"And of what kind?" he continued. 

"That I do not seek to know, " she replied; "but I know that it must bedeep and all-absorbing. It seems to me to be too stern for Love; you arenot the man to devote yourself to Avarice: possibly it may be Ambition, yet somehow I do not think so. "

"What do you think it is, then?" asked Brandon, in a voice which haddied away, almost to a whisper. 

She looked at him earnestly; she looked at him pityingly. She looked athim also with that sympathy which might be evinced by one's GuardianAngel, if that Being might by any chance become visible. She leanedtoward him, and spoke low in a voice only audible to him:

"Something stronger than Love, and Avarice, and Ambition, " said she. "There can be only one thing. "

"What?"

"Vengeance!" she said, in a voice of inexpressible mournfulness. 

Brandon looked at her wonderingly, not knowing how this young girl couldhave divined his thoughts. He long remained silent. 

Beatrice folded her hands together, and looked pensively at the sea. 

"You are a marvelous being, " said Brandon, at length. "Can you tell meany more?"

"I might, " said she, hesitatingly; "but I am afraid you will think meimpertinent. "

"No, " said Brandon. "Tell me, for perhaps you are mistaken. "

"You will not think me impertinent, then? You will only think that Isaid so because you asked me?"

"I entreat you to believe that it is impossible for me to thinkotherwise of you than you yourself would wish. "

"Shall I say it, then?"

"Yes. "

Her voice again sank to a whisper. "Your name is not Wheeler. "

Brandon looked at her earnestly. "How did you learn that?"

"By nothing more than observation. "

"What is my name?"

"Ah, that is beyond my power to know, " said she with a smile. "I haveonly discovered what you are not. Now you will not think me a spy, willyou?" she continued, in a pleading voice. 

Brandon smiled on her mournfully as she stood looking at him with herdark eyes upraised. 

"A spy!" he repeated. "To me it is the sweetest thought conceivable thatyou could take the trouble to notice me sufficiently. " He checkedhimself suddenly, for Beatrice looked away, and her hands which had beenfolded together clutched each other nervously. "It is always flatteringfor a gentleman to be the object of a lady's notice, " he concluded, in alight tone. 

Beatrice smiled. "But where, " he continued, "could you have gained thatpower of divination which you possess; you who have always lived asecluded life in so remote a place?"

"You did not think that one like me could come out of Hong-Kong, didyou?" said she, laughingly. 

"Well, I have seen much of the world; but I have not so much of thispower as you have. "

"You might have more if--if--" she hesitated. "Well, " she continued, "they say, you know, that men act by reason, women by intuition. "

"Have you any more intuitions?" asked Brandon, earnestly. 

"Yes, " said she, mournfully. 

"Tell me some. "

"They will not do to tell, " said Beatrice, in the same mournful tone. 

"Why not?"

"They are painful. "

"Tell them at any rate. "

"No. "

"Hint at them. "

Beatrice looked at him earnestly. Their eyes met. In hers there was aglance of anxious inquiry, as though her soul were putting forth aquestion by that look which was stronger than words. In his there was aglance of anxious expectancy, as though his soul were speaking untohers, saying: "Tell all; let me know if you suspect that of which I amafraid to think. "

"We have met with ships at sea, " she resumed, in low, deliberate tones. 

"Yes. "

"Sometimes we have caught up with them, we have exchanged signals, wehave sailed in sight of one another for hours or for days, holdingintercourse all the while. At last a new morning has come, and we lookedout over the sea, and the other ship has gone from sight. We have leftit forever. Perhaps we have drifted away, perhaps a storm has parted us, the end is the same--separation for evermore. "

She spoke mournfully, looking away, her voice insensibly took up acadence, and the words seemed to fall of themselves into rhythmic pause. 

"I understand you, " said Brandon, with a more profound mournfulness inhis voice. "You speak like a Sibyl. I pray Heaven that your words maynot be a prophecy. "

Beatrice still looked at him, and in her eyes he read pity beyond words;and sorrow also as deep as that pity. 

"Do you read my thoughts as I read yours?" asked Brandon, abruptly. 

"Yes, " she answered, mournfully. 

He turned his face away. 

"Did Langhetti teach you this also?" he asked, at last. 

"He taught me many things, " was the answer. 

Day succeeded to day, and week to week. Still the ship went on holdingsteadily to her course northward, and every day drawing nearer andnearer her goal. Storms came--some moderate, some severe; but the shipescaped them all with no casualties, and with but little delay. 

At last they passed the equator, and seemed to have entered the laststage of their journey. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 

At length the ship came within the latitude of the Guinea coast. 

For some days there had been alternate winds and calms, and the weatherwas so fitful and so fickle that no one could tell in one hour whatwould happen in the next. All this was at last terminated by a dead, dense, oppressive calm like those of the Indian Ocean, in which exertionwas almost impossible and breathing difficult. The sky, however, insteadof being clear and bright, as in former calms, was now overspread withmenacing clouds; the sea looked black, and spread out before them onevery side like an illimitable surface of polished ebony. There wassomething appalling in the depth and intensity of this calm with suchaccompaniments. All felt this influence. Although there was everytemptation to inaction and sleep yet no one yielded to it. The menlooked suspiciously and expectantly at every quarter of the heavens. TheCaptain said nothing, but cautiously had all his preparations made for astorm. Every half hour he anxiously consulted the barometer, and thencast uneasy glances at the sea and sky. 

But the calm which had set in at midnight, and had become confirmed atdawn, extended itself through the long day. The ship drifted idly, keeping no course, her yards creaking lazily as she slowly rose and fellat the movement of the ocean-undulations. Hour after hour passed, andthe day ended, and night came once more. 

The Captain did not turn in that night. In anxious expectation he waitedand watched on deck, while all around there was the very blackness ofdarkness. Brandon began to see from the Captain's manner that heexpected something far more violent than any thing which the ship hadyet encountered, but, thinking that his presence would be of noconsequence, he retired at the usual hour. 

The deep, dense calm continued until nearly midnight. The watchers ondeck still waited in the same anxious expectation, thinking that thenight would bring on the change which they expected. 

Almost half an hour before midnight a faint light was seen in the thickmass of clouds overhead--it was not lightning, but a whitish streak, asthough produced by some movement in the clouds. All looked up in muteexpectation. 

Suddenly a faint puff of wind came from the west, blowing gently for afew moments, then stopping, and then coming on in a stronger blast. Afaroff, at what seemed like an immeasurable distance, a low, dull roararose, a heavy moaning sound, like the menace of the mighty Atlantic, which was now advancing in wrath upon them. 

In the midst of this the whole scene burst forth into dazzling light atthe flash of a vast mass of lightning, which seemed to blaze from everypart of the heavens on every side simultaneously. It threw forth allthings--ship, sea, and sky--into the dazzled eyes of the watchers. Theysaw the ebon sky, the black and lustrous sea, the motionless ship. Theysaw also, far off to the west, a long line of white which appeared toextend along the whole horizon. 

But the scene darted out of sight instantly, and instantly there fellthe volleying discharge of a tremendous peal of thunder, at whosereverberations the air and sea and ship all vibrated. 

Now the sky lightened again, and suddenly, as the ship lay there, a vastball of fire issued from the black clouds immediately overhead, descending like the lightning straight downward, till all at once itstruck the main truck. With a roar louder than that of the recentthunder it exploded; fast sheets of fire flashed out into the air, and astream of light passed down the entire mast, shattering it as a tree isshattered when the lightning strikes it. The whole ship was shaken toits centre. The deck all around the mast was shattered to splinters, andalong its extent and around its base a burst of vivid flame started intolight. 

Wild confusion followed. At once all the sailors were ordered up, andbegan to extinguish the fires, and to cut away the shattered mast. Theblows of the axes resounded through the ship. The rigging was severed;the mast, already shattered, needed but a few blows to loosen its lastfibres. 

But suddenly, and furiously, and irresistibly it seemed as though thewhole tempest which they had so long expected was at last let loose uponthem. There was a low moan, and, while they were yet trying to get ridof the mast, a tremendous squall struck the ship. It yielded and turnedfar over to that awful blow. The men started back from their work. Thenext instant a flash of lightning came, and toward the west, close overthem, rose a long, white wall of foam. It was the van-guard of thestorm, seen shortly before from afar, which was now upon them, ready tofall on their devoted heads. 

Not a word was spoken. No order came from the Captain. The men awaitedsome word. There came none. Then the waters, which thus rose up like aheap before them, struck the ship with all the accumulated fury of thatresistless onset, and hurled their utmost weight upon her as she laybefore them. 

The ship, already reeling far over at the stroke of the storm, now, atthis new onset, yielded utterly, and rolled far over on her beam-ends. The awful billows dashed over and over her, sweeping her in their furyfrom end to end. The men clung helplessly to whatever rigging laynearest, seeking only in that first moment of dread to preventthemselves from being washed away, and waiting for some order from theCaptain, and wondering while they waited. 

At the first peal of thunder Brandon had started up. He had lain down inhis clothes, in order to be prepared for any emergency. He called Cato. The Hindu was at hand. "Cato, keep close to me whatever happens, for youwill be needed. " "Yes, Sahib. " He then hurried to Beatrice's room andknocked. It was opened at once. She came forth with her pale, sereneface, and looked at him. 

"I did not lie down, " said she. "I knew that there would be somethingfrightful. But I am not afraid. At any rate, " she added, "I know I willnot be deserted. "

Brandon said nothing, but held out to her an India-rubber life-preserver. "What is this for?" "For you. I wish you to put it on. It maynot be needed, but it is best to have it on. " "And what will you do?""I--oh! I can swim, you know. But you don't know how to fasten it. Willyou allow me to do so?" She raised her arms. He passed the belt aroundher waist, encircling her almost in his arms while doing so, and hishand, which had boldly grasped the head of the "dweller in the wreck, "now trembled as he fastened the belt around that delicate and slenderwaist. 

But scarcely had this been completed when the squall struck the ship, and the waves followed till the vessel was thrown far over on her side;and Brandon seizing Beatrice in one arm, clung with the other to theedge of the skylight, and thus kept himself upright. 

He rested now for a moment. "I must go on deck, " he said. "I do not wishyou to leave me, " was her answer. Nothing more was said. Brandon at oncelifted her with one arm as though she were a child and clambered along, grasping such fixtures as afforded any thing to which he could cling;and thus, with hands and feet, groped his way to the door of the cabin, which was on the windward side. There were two doors, and between themwas a seat. 

"This, " said he, "is the safest place for you. Can you hold on for ashort time? If I take you on deck you will be exposed to the waves. "

"I will do whatever you say, " she replied; and clinging to the arm ofthe almost perpendicular seat, she was able to sustain herself thereamidst the tossing and swaying of the ship. 

Brandon then clambered out on deck. The ship lay far over. The wavescame leaping upon her in successive surges. All around the sea wasglistening with phosphorescent lustre, and when at times the lightningflashed forth it lighted up the scene, and showed the ocean stirred upto fiercest commotion. It seemed as though cataracts of water wererushing over the doomed ship, which now lay helpless, and at the mercyof the billows. The force of the wind was tremendous, exceeding anything that Brandon had ever witnessed before. 

What most surprised him now was the inaction of the ship's company. Whywas not something being done? Where was the Captain?

He called out his name; there was no response. He called after the mate;there was no answer. Instantly he conjectured that in the first fierceonset of the storm both Captain and mate had been swept away. How manymore of that gallant company of brave fellows had perished he knew not. The hour was a perilous and a critical one. He himself determined totake the lead. 

Through the midst of the storm, with its tumult and its fury, there camea voice as full and clear as a trumpet-peal, which roused all thesailors, and inspired them once more with hope. "Cut away the masts!"The men obeyed, without caring who gave the order. It was the commandwhich each man had been expecting, and which he knew was the thing thatshould be done. At once they sprang to their work. The main-mast hadalready been cut loose. Some went to the fore-mast, others to themizzen. The vast waves rolled on; the sailors guarded as best they couldagainst the rush of each wave, and then sprang in the intervals to theirwork. It was perilous in the highest degree, but each man felt that hisown life and the lives of all the others depended upon theaccomplishment of this work, and this nerved the arm of each to thetask. 

At last it was done. The last strand of rigging had been cut away. Theship, disencumbered, slowly righted, and at last rode upright. 

But her situation was still dangerous. She lay in the trough of the sea, and the gigantic waves, as they rolled up, still beat upon her with alltheir concentrated energies. Helpless, and now altogether at the mercyof the waves, the only hope left those on board lay in the strength ofthe ship herself. 

None of the officers were left. As the ship righted Brandon thought thatsome of them might make their appearance, but none came. The Captain, the mate, and the second mate, all had gone. Perhaps all of them, asthey stood on the quarter-deck, had been swept away simultaneously. Nothing could now be done but to wait. Morning at last came to theanxious watchers. It brought no hope. Far and wide the sea raged withall its waves. The wind blew with undiminished and irresistibleviolence. The ship, still in the trough of the sea, heaved and plungedin the overwhelming waves, which howled madly around and leaped over herlike wolves eager for their prey. The wind was too fierce to permit evenan attempt to rig a jury-mast. 

The ship was also deeply laden, and this contributed to her peril. Hadher cargo been smaller she would have been more buoyant; but her fullcargo, added to her dangerous position as she lay at the mercy of thewaves, made all hope of escape dark indeed. 

Another night succeeded. It was a night of equal horror. The men stoodwatching anxiously for some sign of abatement in the storm, but nonecame. Sea and sky frowned over them darkly, and all the powers whichthey controlled were let loose unrestrained. 

Another day and night came and went. Had not the _Falcon_ been aship of unusual strength she would have yielded before this to thestorm. As it was, she began to show signs of giving way to thetremendous hammering to which she had been exposed, and her heavyAustralian cargo bore her down. On the morning of the third day Brandonsaw that she was deeper in the water, and suspected a leak. He orderedthe pumps to be sounded. It was as he feared. There were four feet ofwater in the hold. 

The men went to work at the pumps and worked by relays. Amidst the rushof the waves over the ship it was difficult to work advantageously, butthey toiled on. Still, in spite of their efforts, the leak seemed tohave increased, for the water did not lessen. With their utmost exertionthey could do little more than hold their own. 

It was plain that this sort of thing could not last. Already threenights and three days of incessant toil and anxiety, in which no one hadslept, had produced their natural effects. The men had become faint andweary. But the brave fellows never murmured; they did every thing whichBrandon ordered, and worked uncomplainingly. 

Thus, through the third day, they labored on, and into the fourth night. That night the storm seemed to have reached its climax, if, indeed, anyclimax could be found to a storm which at the very outset had burst uponthem with such appalling suddenness and fury, and had sustained itselfall along with such unremitting energy. But on that night it was worsefor those on board, since the ship which had resisted so long began toexhibit signs of yielding, her planks and timbers so severely assailedbegan to give way, and through the gaping seams the ocean waterspermeated, till the ocean, like some beleaguering army, failing indirect assault, began to succeed by opening secret mines to the veryheart of the besieged ship. 

On the morning of the fourth day all hands were exhausted from night-long work, and there were ten feet of water in the hold. 

It now became evident that the ship was doomed. Brandon at once began totake measures for the safety of the men. 

On that memorable day of the calm previous to the outbreak of the storm, the Captain had told Brandon that they were about five hundred miles tothe westward of the coast of Senegambia. He could not form any idea ofthe distance which the ship had drifted during the progress of thestorm, but justly considered that whatever progress she had made hadbeen toward the land. Their prospects in that direction, if they couldonly reach it, were not hopeless. Sierra Leone and Liberia were there;and if they struck the coast any where about they might make their wayto either of those places. 

But the question was how to get there. There was only one way, and thatwas by taking to the boats. This was a desperate undertaking, but it wasthe only way of escape now left. 

There were three boats on board--viz. , the long-boat, the cutter, andthe gig. These were the only hope now left them. By venturing in thesethere would be a chance of escape. 

On the morning of the fourth day, when it was found that the water wasincreasing, Brandon called the men together and stated this to them. Hethen told them that it would be necessary to divide themselves so that asufficient number should go in each boat. He offered to give up to themthe two larger boats, and take the gig for himself, his servant, and theyoung lady. 

To this the men assented with great readiness. Some of them urged him togo in the larger boat, and even offered to exchange with him; butBrandon declined. 

They then prepared for their desperate venture. All the provisions andwater that could be needed were put on board of each boat. Firearms werenot forgotten. Arrangements were made for a long and arduous voyage. Themen still worked at the pumps; and though the water gained on them, yettime was gained for completing these important preparations. 

About mid-day all was ready. Fifteen feet of water were in the hold. Theship could not last much longer. There was no time to lose. 

But how could the boats be put out? How could they live in such a sea?This was the question to be decided. 

The ship lay as before in the trough of the sea. On the windward sidethe waves came rushing up, beating upon and sweeping over her. On theleeward the water was calmer, but the waves tossed and raged angrilyeven there. 

Only twenty were left out of the ship's company. The rest were allmissing. Of these, fourteen were to go in the long-boat, and six in thecutter. Brandon, Beatrice, and Cato were to take the gig. 

The sailors put the gig out first. The light boat floated buoyantly onthe waters. Cato leaped into her, and she was fastened by a long line tothe ship. The nimble Hindu, trained for a lifetime to encounter thegiant surges of the Malabar coast, managed the little boat withmarvelous dexterity--avoiding the sweep of the waves which dashedaround, and keeping sufficiently under the lee to escape the rougherwaves, yet not so much so as to be hurled against the vessel. 

Then the sailors put out the long-boat. This was a difficultundertaking, but it was successfully accomplished, and the men were allon board at last. Instantly they prepared to row away. 

At that moment a wilder wave came pouring over the ship. It was asthough the ocean, enraged at the escape of these men, had made a finaleffort to grasp its prey. Before the boat with its living freight hadgot rid of the vessel, the sweep of this gigantic wave, which had passedcompletely over the ship, struck it where it lay. Brandon turned awayhis eyes involuntarily. 

There was a wild shriek--the next moment the black outline of the long-boat, bottom upward, was seen amidst the foaming billows. 

The men who waited to launch the cutter were at first paralyzed by thistragedy, but there was no time to lose. Death threatened them behind aswell as before; behind, death was certain; before, there was still achance. They launched the cutter in desperation. The six men succeededin getting into her, and in rowing out at some distance. As wave afterwave rose and fell she disappeared from view, and then reappeared, tillat last Brandon thought that she at least was safe. 

Then he raised his hand and made a peculiar signal to Cato. 

The Hindu understood it. Brandon had given him his directions before;now was the time. The roll of the waves [illegible] up was for thepresent less dangerous. 

Beatrice, who during the whole storm had been calm, and had quietly donewhatever Brandon told her, was now waiting at the cabin-door inobedience to his directions. 

As soon as Brandon had made the signal he hurried to the cabin-door andassisted Beatrice to the quarter-deck. Cato rowed his boat close up tothe ship, and was waiting for a chance to come within reach. The waveswere still more moderate. It was the opportunity for which Cato had beenwatching so long. He held his oars poised, and, as a sudden swell of awave rose near the ship, he forced his boat so that it came close besideit, rising high on the crest of the swell. 

As the wave rose, Brandon also had watched his opportunity as well asthe action of Cato. It was the moment too for which he had beenwatching. In an instant, and without a word, he caught Beatrice in hisarms, raised her high in the air, poised himself for a moment on theedge of the quarter-deck, and sprang forward into the boat. His footrested firmly on the seat where it struck. He set Beatrice down, andwith a knife severed the line which connected the boat with the ship. 

Then seizing an oar he began to row with all his strength. Cato had thebow oar. The next wave came, and its sweep, communicating itself to thewater, rolled on, dashing against the ship and moving under it, risingup high, lifting the boat with it, and bearing it along. But the boatwas now under command, and the two rowers held it so that while it wasable to avoid the dash of the water, it could yet gain from it all themomentum that could be given. 

Brandon handled the oar with a dexterity equal to that of the Hindu, andunder such management, which was at once strong and skillful, the boatskimmed lightly over the crests of the rolling waves, and passed outinto the sea beyond. There the great surges came sweeping on, risinghigh behind the boat, each wave seeming about to crush the little barkin its resistless grasp, but notwithstanding the threat the boat seemedalways able by some good luck to avoid the impending danger, for as eachwave came forward the boat would rise up till it was on a level withthe crest, and the flood of waters would sweep on underneath, bearing itonward. 

After nearly half an hour's anxious and careful rowing Brandon lookedall about to find the cutter. It was nowhere to be seen. Again and againhe looked for it, seeking in all directions. But he discovered no signof it on the raging waters, and at last he could no longer doubt thatthe cutter also, like long-boat, had perished in the sea. 

All day long they rowed before the wind and wave--not strongly, butlightly, so as to husband their strength. Night came, when Brandon andCato took turns at the oars--not over-exerting themselves, but seekingchiefly to keep the boat's head in proper direction, and to evade therush of the waves. This last was their constant danger, and it requiredthe utmost skill and the most incessant watchfulness to do so. 

[Illustration: "WITHOUT A WORD HE CAUGHT BEATRICE IN HIS ARMS. " ETC. ]

All this time Beatrice sat in the stern, with a heavy oil-cloth coataround her, which Brandon directed her to put on, saying nothing, butseeing every thing with her watchful, vigilant eyes. 

"Are you afraid?" said Brandon once, just after they had evaded anenormous wave. 

"No!" was the reply, in a calm, sweet voice; "I trust in you. "

"I hope your trust may not be vain, " replied Brandon. 

"You have saved my life so often, " said Beatrice, "that my trust in youhas now become a habit. "

She smiled faintly as she spoke. There was something in her tone whichsank deep into his soul. 

The night passed and morning came. 

For the last half of the night the wind had been much less boisterous, and toward morning the gale had very greatly subsided. Brandon'sforesight had secured a mast and sail on board the gig, and now, as soonas it could be erected with safety, he put it up, and the little boatdashed bravely over the waters. The waves had lessened greatly as theday wore on; they no longer rose in such giant masses, but showed merelythe more common proportions. Brandon and Cato now had an opportunity toget some rest from their exhaustive labors. Beatrice at last yielded toBrandon's earnest request, and, finding that the immediate peril hadpassed, and that his toil for the present was over, she obtained somesleep and rest for herself. 

For all that day, and all that night, and all the next day, the littleboat sped over the waters, heading due east, so as to reach landwherever they might find it, in the hope that the land might not be veryfar away from the civilized settlements of the coast. The provisions andwater which had been put in the boat formed an ample supply, which wouldlast for a long time. Brandon shared with Cato in the management of theboat, not allowing the big man to have more of the labor than himself. 

During these days Brandon and Beatrice were of course thrown into acloser intimacy. At such a time the nature of man or woman becomes mostapparent, and here Beatrice showed a noble calm and a simple trust whichto Brandon was most touching. He knew that she must feel most keenly thefatigue and the privations of such a life; but her unvaryingcheerfulness was the same as it had been on shipboard. He, too, exhibited that same constancy and resolution which he had alwaysevinced, and by his consideration for Cato showed his natural kindnessof heart. 

"How sorry I am that I can do nothing!" Beatrice would say. "You arekilling yourself, and I have to sit idle and gain my safety at yourexpense. "

"The fact that you are yet safe, " Brandon would reply, "is enough forme. As long as I see you sitting there I can work. "

"But can I do nothing? It is hard for me to sit idle while you wear outyour life. "

"You can sing, " said Brandon. 

"What?"

"Langhetti's song, " he said, and turned his face away. 

She sang at once. Her tones rose in marvelous modulations; the wordswere not much, but the music with which she clothed them seemed again toutter forth that longing which Brandon had heard before. 

Now, as they passed over the seas, Beatrice sang, and Brandon did notwish that this life should end. Through the days, as they sailed on, hervoice arose expressive of every changeful feeling, now speaking ofgrief, now swelling in sweet strains of hope. 

Day thus succeeded to day until the fourth night came, when the winddied out and a calm spread over the waters. 

Brandon, who waked at about two in the morning so as to let Cato sleep, saw that the wind had ceased, and that another one of those treacherouscalms had come. He at once put out the oars, and, directing Cato tosleep till he waked him, began to pull. 

Beatrice remonstrated. "Do not, " said she, in an imploring tone. "Youhave already done too much. Why should you kill yourself?"

"The wind has stopped, " answered Brandon. "The calm is treacherous, andno time ought to be lost. "

"But wait till you have rested. "

"I have been resting for days. "

"Why do you not rest during the night and work in the daytime?"

"Because the daytime is so frightfully hot that work will be difficult. Night is the time to work now. "

Brandon kept at his oars, and Beatrice saw that remonstrances wereuseless. He rowed steadily until the break of day: then, as day wasdawning, he rested for a while, and looked earnestly toward the east. 

A low, dark cloud lay along the eastern horizon, well-defined againstthe sky, which now was growing brighter and brighter every hour. Was itcloud, or was it something else? This was the question that rose inBrandon's mind. 

The sky grew brighter, the scene far and wide opened up before thegathering light until at last the sun began to appear. Then there was nolonger any doubt. It was LAND. 

This he told to Beatrice; and the Hindu, waking at the same time, lookedearnestly toward that shore which they had been striving so long and soearnestly to reach. It was land, but what land? No doubt it was somepart of the coast of Senegambia, but what one? Along that extensivecoast there were many places where landing might be certain death, orsomething worse than death. Savage tribes might dwell there--eitherthose which were demoralized by dealings with slave-traders, or thosewhich were flourishing in native barbarism. Yet only one course was nowadvisable; namely, to go on till they reached the shore. 

It appeared to be about fifty miles away. So Brandon judged, and so itproved. The land which they had seen was the summit of lofty hills whichwere visible from a great distance. They rowed on all that day. Thewater was calm and glassy. The sun poured down its most fervid beams, the air was sultry and oppressive. Beatrice entreated Brandon now todesist from rowing and wait till the cool of the night, but he wasafraid that a storm might come up suddenly. 

"No, " he said, "our only hope now is to get near the land, so that if astorm does come up we may have some place of shelter within reach. "

After a day of exhaustive labor the land was at last reached. 

High hills, covered with palm-trees, rose before them. There was noharbor within sight, no river outlet, but a long, uninterrupted extentof high, wooded shores. Here in the evening they rested on their oars, and looked earnestly at the shore. 

Brandon conjectured that they were somewhat to the north of SierraLeone, and did not think that they could be to the south. At any rate, asoutheasterly course was the surest one for them, for they would reacheither Sierra Leone or Liberia. The distance which they might have to gowas, however, totally uncertain to him. 

So they turned the boat's head southeast, and moved in a line parallelwith the general line of the shore. That shore varied in its features asthey passed along: sometimes depressed into low, wide savannas: atothers, rising into a rolling country, with hills of moderate height, behind which appeared the summits of lofty mountains, empurpled bydistance. 

It was evening when they first saw the land, and then they went onwithout pausing. It was arranged that they should row alternately, asmoderately as possible, so as to husband their strength. Cato rowed forthe first part of that night, then Brandon rowed till morning. On thefollowing day Cato took the oars again. 

It was now just a week since the wreck, and for the last two days therehad not been a breath of wind in the air, nor the faintest ripple onthat burning water. To use even the slightest exertion in such torridheat was almost impossible. Even to sit still under that blighting sun, with the reflected glare from the dead, dark sea around, was painful. 

Beatrice redoubled her entreaties to Brandon that he should rest. Shewished to have her mantle spread over their heads as a kind of canopy, or fix the sail in some way and float idly through the hottest part ofthe day. But Brandon insisted that he felt no evil effects as yet; andpromised when he did feel such to do as she said. 

At last they discovered that their water was almost out, and it wasnecessary to get a fresh supply. It was the afternoon of the seventhday. Brandon had been rowing ever since midday. Beatrice had wound hermantle about his head in the style of an Eastern turban so as to protecthim from the sun's rays. Looking out for some place along the shorewhere they might obtain water, they saw an opening in the line of coastwhere two hills arose to a height of several hundred feet. Toward thisBrandon rowed. 

Stimulated by the prospect of setting foot on shore Brandon rowedsomewhat more vigorously than usual; and in about an hour the boatentered a beautiful little cove shut in between two hills, which formedthe outlet of a river. Far up its winding course could be traced by thetrees along its borders. The hills rose on each side with a steep slope, and were covered with palms. The front of the harbor was shut in fromthe sea by a beautiful little wooded island. Here Brandon rowed the boatinto this cove; and its prow grated against the pebbles of the beach. 

Beatrice had uttered many exclamations of delight at the beauty of thisscene. At length, surprised at Brandon's silence, she cried, "Why do you not say something? Surely this is a Paradise after the sea!"

She looked up with an enthusiastic smile. 

He had risen to his feet. A strange, vacant expression was in his eyes. He made a step forward as if to land. His unsteady foot trembled. Hereeled, and stretched out his arms like some one groping in the dark. 

Beatrice shrieked and sprang forward. Too late: for the next moment hefell headlong into the water. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE BADINAGE OF OLD FRIENDS. 

The town of Holby is on the coast of Pembroke. It has a small harbour, with a light-house, and the town itself contains a few thousand people, most of them belonging to the poorer class. The chief house in the townstands on a rising ground a little outside, looking toward the water. Its size and situation render it the most conspicuous object in theneighborhood. 

This house, from its appearance, must have been built more than acentury before. It belonged to an old family which had become extinct, and now was occupied by a new owner, who had given it another name. Thisnew owner was William Thornton, Esq. , solicitor, who had an office inHolby, and who, though very wealthy, still attended to his business withundiminished application. The house had been originally purchased by thefather of the present occupant, Henry Thornton, a well-known lawyer inthese parts, who had settled here originally a poor young man, but hadfinally grown gray and rich in his adopted home. He had bought the placewhen it was exposed for sale, with the intention of founding a new seatfor his own family, and had given it the name of Thornton Grange. 

Generations of care and tasteful culture had made Thornton Grange one ofthe most beautiful places in the county. All around were wide parksdotted with ponds and clumps of trees. An avenue of elms led up to thedoor. A well-kept lawn was in front, and behind was an extensive grove. Every thing spoke of wealth and elegance. 

On an afternoon in February a gentleman in clerical dress walked up theavenue, rang at the door, and entering he gave his name to the servantas the Rev. Courtenay Despard. He was the new Rector of Holby, and hadonly been there one week. 

He entered the drawing-room, sat down upon one of the many loungingchairs with which it was filled, and waited. He did not have to waitlong. A rapid step was soon heard descending the stairs, and in a fewminutes a lady entered. She came in with a bright smile of welcome onher face, and greeted him with much warmth. 

Mrs. Thornton was very striking in her appearance. A clear olivecomplexion and large, dark hazel eyes marked Southern blood. Her hairwas black, wavy, and exceedingly luxuriant. Her mouth was small, herhands and feet delicately shaped, and her figure slender and elegant. Her whole air had that indefinable grace which is the sign of high-breeding; to this there was added exceeding loveliness, with greatanimation of face and elegance of manner. She was a perfect lady, yetnot of the English stamp; for her looks and manner had not that cold andphlegmatic air which England fosters. She looked rather like someItalian beauty--like those which enchant us as they smile from the wallsof the picture-galleries of Italy. 

"I am so glad you have come!" said she. "It is so stupid here, and Iexpected you an hour ago. "

"Oh, if I had only known that!" said Despard. "For, do you know, I havebeen dying of ennui. "

"I hope that I may be the means of dispelling it. "

"As surely so as the sun disperses the clouds. "

"You are never at a loss for a compliment. "

"Never when I am with you. "

These few words were spoken with a smile by each, and a slightlymelodramatic gesture, as though each was conscious of a littleextravagance. 

"You must be glad to get to your old home, " she resumed. "You lived herefifteen, no, sixteen years, you know. "

"Eighteen. "

"So it was. I was sixteen when you left. "

"Never to see you again till I came back, " said Despard, with somemournfulness, looking at the floor. 

"And since then all has changed. "

"But I have not, " rejoined Despard, in the same tone. 

Mrs. Thornton said nothing for a moment. 

"By-the-way, I've been reading such a nice book, " she resumed. "It hasjust come out, and is making a sensation. It would suit you, I know. "

"What is it?"

She rose and lifted a book from the table, which she handed to him. Hetook it, and read the title out loud. 

"Christian's Cross. "

A strange expression passed over his face. He looked at her, holding thebook out at arms'-length with feigned consternation. 

"And do you have the heart to recommend this book to me, Mrs. Thornton?"

"Why not?"

"Why, it's religious. Religious books are my terror. How could Ipossibly open a book like this?"

She laughed. 

"You are mistaken, " she said. "It is an ordinary novel, and for the sakeof your peace of mind I assure you that there is not a particle ofreligion in it. But why should you look with such repugnance upon it?The expression of your face is simply horror. "

"Pietistic books have been the bane of my life. The emotional, therhapsodical, the meditative style of book, in which one garrulouslyaddresses one's soul from beginning to end, is simply torture to me. Yousee religion is a different thing. The rhapsody may do for theTabernacle people, but thoughtful men and women need somethingdifferent. "

"I am so delighted to hear such sentiments from a clergyman! Theyentirely accord with my own. Still I must own that your horror struck meas novel, to say the least of it. "

"Would you like me to try to proselytize you?"

"You may try if you wish. I am open to conviction; but the Church of allthe ages, the Apostolic, the Catholic, has a strong hold on me. "

"You need not fear that I will ever try to loosen it. I only wish that Imay see your face in Trinity Church every Sunday. "

"That happiness shall be yours, " answered Mrs. Thornton. "As there is noCatholic church here, I will give you the honor of my presence atTrinity. "

"If that is the case it will be a place of worship to me. "

He smiled away the extravagance of this last remark, and she only shookher head. 

"That is a compliment, but it is awfully profane. "

"Not profanity; say rather justifiable idolatry. "

"Really, I feel overcome; I do not know what to say. At any rate, I hopeyou will like the book; I know you will find it pleasant. "

"Any thing that comes from you could not be otherwise, " said Despard. "At the same time it is not my habit to read novels singly. "

"Singly! Why how else can one read them?"

"I always read several at a time. "

Mrs. Thornton laughed at the whimsical idea. 

"You see, " said Despard, "one must keep up with the literature of theday. I used to read each book as it came out, but at last found satiety. The best novel palls. For my own comfort I had to invent a new plan tostimulate my interest. I will tell you about it. I take ten at a time, spread them on the table in front of me, and read each chapter insuccession. "

"Isn't that a little confusing?"

"Not at all, " said Despard, gravely. "Practice enables one to keep alldistinct. "

"But what is the good of it?"

"This, " replied Despard; "you see in each novel there are certainsituations. Perhaps on an average there may be forty each. Interestingcharacters also may average ten each. Thrilling scenes twenty each. Overwhelming catastrophes fifteen each. Now by reading novels singly theeffect of all this is weakened, for you only have the work of each inits divided, isolated state, but where you read according to my plan youhave the aggregate of all these effects in one combined--that is to say, in ten books which I read at once I have two hundred thrilling scenes, one hundred and fifty overwhelming catastrophes, one hundred interestingcharacters, and four hundred situations of absorbing fascination. Do younot see what an advantage there is in my plan? By following this rule Ihave been able to stimulate a somewhat faded appetite, and to keepabreast of the literature of the day. "

"What an admirable plan! And do you read all books in that way? Why, onecould write ten novels at a time on the same principle, and if so heought to write very much better. "

"I think I will try it some day. At present I am busily engaged with alearned treatise on the Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy, and--"

"The--what?" cried Mrs. Thornton, breathlessly. "What was that?"

"The Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy, " said Despard, placidly. 

"And is the title all your own?"

"All my own. "

"Then pray don't write the book. The title is enough. Publish that, andsee if it does not of itself by its own extraordinary merits bring youundying fame. "

"I've been thinking seriously of doing so, " said Despard, "and I don'tknow but that I may follow your advice. It will save some trouble, andperhaps amount to just as much in the end. "

"And do you often have such brilliant fancies?"

"No, frankly, not often. I consider that title the one great idea of mylife. "

"But do not dwell too much upon that, " said Mrs. Thornton, in a warningvoice. "It might make you conceited. "

"Do you think so?" rejoined the other, with a shudder. "Do you reallythink so? I hope not. At any rate I hope you do not like conceitedpeople?"

"No. "

"Am I conceited?"

"No. I like you, " replied Mrs. Thornton, with a slight bow and a wave ofthe hand, which she accompanied with a smile. 

"And I like you, " said Despard, in the same tone. 

"You could not do less. "

"This, " said Despard, with an air of thoughtful seriousness, "is asolemn occasion. After such a tender confession from each of us whatremains to be done? What is it that the novels lay down?"

"I'm sure, " returned Mrs. Thornton, with the same assumed solemnity, "itis not for me to say. You must make the proposition. "

"We cannot do any thing less than fly together. "

"I should think not"

"But where?"

"And not only where, but how? By rail, by steamboat, or by canal? Acanal strikes me as the best mode of flight. It is secluded. "

"Free from observation, " said Despard. 

"Quiet, " rejoined Mrs. Thornton. 

"Poetic. "

"Remote. "

"Unfriended. "

"Solitary. "

"Slow. "

"And, best of all, hitherto untried. "

"Yes, its novelty is undeniable. "

"So much so, " said Mrs. Thornton, "that it overwhelms one. It is abright, original idea, and in these days of commonplace is it notcreditable? The idea is mine, Sir, and I will match it with your--what?--your Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Cosmogony. "

"Economy. "

"But Cosmogony is better. Allow me to suggest it by way of a change. "

"It must be so, since you say it; but I have a weakness for the wordEconomy. It is derived from the Greek--"

"Greek!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, raising her hands. "You surely are notgoing to be so ungenerous as to quote Greek! Am I not a lady? Will yoube so base as to take me at a disadvantage in that way?"

"I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, and you may consider that a tacitapology is going on within my mind whenever I see you. "

"You are forgiven, " said Mrs. Thornton. 

"I can not conceive how I could have so far forgotten myself. I do notusually speak Greek to ladies. I consider it my duty to make myselfagreeable. And you have no idea how agreeable I can make myself, if Itry. "

"I? I have no idea? Is it you who say that, and to me?" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, in that slight melodramatic tone which she had employed thusfar, somewhat exaggerated. "After what I told you--of my feelings?"

"I see I shall have to devote all the rest of my life to makingapologies. "

"No. Do not make apologies. Avoid your besetting sins. Otherwise, fondas I am of you"--and she spoke with exaggerated solemnity--"I mustregard you as a failure. "

The conversation went on uninterruptedly in this style for some time. Itappeared to suit each of them. Despard's face, naturally grave, assistedhim toward maintaining the mock-serious tone which he chose to adopt;and Mrs. Thornton's peculiar style of face gave her the same advantage. It pleased each to express for the other an exaggerated sentiment ofregard. They considered it banter and badinage. How far it was safe wasanother thing. But they had known one another years before, and wereonly resuming the manner of earlier times. 

Yet, after all, was it safe for the grave Rector of Holby to adopt theinflated style of a troubadour in addressing the Lady of ThorntonGrange? Neither of them thought of it. They simply improved the shininghour after this fashion, until at length the conversation wasinterrupted by the opening of folding-doors, and the entrance of aservant who announced--dinner. 

On entering the dining-room Despard was greeted with respectfulformality by the master of the house. He was a man of about forty, withthe professional air of the lawyer about him, and an abstractedexpression of face, such as usually belongs to one who is deeplyengrossed in the cares of business. His tone, in spite of itsfriendliness, was naturally stiff, and was in marked contrast to thewarmth of Mrs. Thornton's greeting. 

"How do you like your new quarters?" he asked, as they sat down. 

"Very well, " said Despard. "It is more my home, you know, than any otherplace. I lived there so many years as school-boy with Mr. Carson that itseems natural to take up my station there as home. "

Mr. Thornton relapsed into his abstraction while Despard was speaking, who directed the remainder of his conversation to Mrs. Thornton. 

It was light, idle chat, in the same tone as that in which they hadbefore indulged. Once or twice, at some unusually extravagant remark, Mr. Thornton looked up in perplexity, which was not lessened on seeingtheir perfect gravity. 

They had a long discussion as to the meaning of the phrase "the dayafter to-morrow. " Despard asserted that it meant the same as eternalduration, and insisted that it must be so, since when to-morrow came theday after it was still coming, and when that came there was still theday after. He supported his theory with so much earnestness thatThornton, after listening for a while, took the trouble to go heavilyand at length into the whole question, and conclude it triumphantlyagainst Despard. 

Then the subject of politics came up, and a probable war with France wasconsidered. Despard professed to take no interest in the subject, since, even if an invasion took place, clergymen could do nothing. They wereexempt from military duty in common with gaugers. The mention of thisbrought on a long discussion as to the spelling of the word gauger. Despard asserted that nobody knew how it was spelled, and that, from thenecessities of human nature, it was simply impossible to tell whether itwas _gauger_ or _guager_. This brought out Thornton again, whomentioned several law papers in which the word had been correctlywritten by his clerks. Despard challenged him on this, and, becauseThornton had to confess that he had not examined the word, dictionary inhand, he claimed a victory over him. 

Thornton, at this, looked away, with the smile of a man who is talkingunintelligible things to a child. 

Then followed a long conversation between Despard and Mrs. Thorntonabout religion, art, music, and a miscellaneous assemblage of otherthings, which lasted for a long time. At length he rose to go. Mrs. Thornton went to a side-table and took up a book. 

"Here, " said she, "is the little book you lent me; I ought to have sentit, but I thought you would come for it. "

"And so I will, " said he, "some day. "

"Come for it to-morrow. "

"Will you be at home?"

[Illustration: "MRS. THORNTON, WALKING TO THE WINDOW, LOOKED OUT. "]

"Yes. "

"Then of course I'll come. And now I must tear myself away. Good-night!"

On the following day, at about two o'clock, Despard called again. Mrs. Thornton had been writing, and the desk was strewn with papers. 

"I know I am disturbing you, " said he, after the usual greetings. "I seethat you are writing, so I will not stay but a moment. I have come, youknow, after that little book. "

"Indeed, you are not disturbing me at all. I have been trying tocontinue a letter which I began to my brother a month ago. There is nohurry about it. "

"And how is Paolo?"

"I have not heard for some time. I ought to hear soon. He went toAmerica last summer, and I have not had a word from him since. My letteris of no importance, I assure you, and now, since you are here, youshall not go. Indeed, I only touched it a minute ago. I have beenlooking at some pictures till I am so begrimed and inundated with dustthat I feel as though I had been resolved into my original element. "

And she held up her hands with a pretty gesture of horror. 

Despard looked at her for a moment as she stood in her bright beautybefore him. A sudden expression of pain flashed over his face, succeededby his usual smile. 

"Dust never before took so fair a form, " he said, and sat down, lookingon the floor. 

"For unfailing power of compliment, for an unending supply of neat andpretty speeches, commend me to the Rev. Courtenay Despard. "

"Yet, singularly enough, no one else ever dreamed that of me. "

"You were always so. "

"With you. " "In the old days. "

"Now lost forever. "

Their voices sank low and expressive of a deep melancholy. A silencefollowed. Despard at last, with a sudden effort, began talking in hisusual extravagant strain about badgers till at last Mrs. Thornton beganto laugh, and the radiancy of their spirits was restored. "Strange, "said he, taking up a prayer-book with a peculiar binding, on which therewas a curiously intertwisted figure in gilt. "That pattern has been inmy thoughts and dreams for a week. "

"How so?"

"Why, I saw it in your hands last Sunday, and my eyes were drawn to ittill its whole figure seemed to stamp itself on my mind. See! I cantrace it from memory. " And, taking his cane, he traced the curiouslyinvolved figure on the carpet. 

"And were your thoughts fixed on nothing better than that?"

"I was engaged in worship, " was the reply, with marked emphasis. 

"I must take another book next time. "

"Do not. You will only force me to study another pattern. "

Mrs. Thornton laughed lightly, and Despard looked at her with a smile. 

"I'm afraid your thoughts wander, " she said, lightly, "as mine do. Thereis no excuse for you. There is for me. For you know I'm like Naaman; Ihave to bow my head in the temple of Baal. After all, " she continued, ina more serious voice, "I suppose I shall be able some day to worshipbefore my own altar, for, do you know, I expect to end my days in aconvent. "

"And why?"

"For the purpose of perfect religious seclusion. "

Despard looked at her earnestly for a moment. Then his usual smile brokeout. 

"Wherever you go let me know, and I'll take up my abode outside thewalls and come and look at you every day through the grating. "

"And would that be a help to a religious life?"

"Perhaps not; but I'll tell you what would be a help. Be a Sister ofCharity. I'll be a Paulist. I'll devote myself to the sick. Then you andI can go together; and when you are tired I can assist you. I think thatidea is much better than yours. "

"Oh, very much, indeed!" said Mrs. Thornton, with a strange, sad look. 

"I remember a boy and girl who once used to go hand in hand over yondershore, and--" He stopped suddenly, and then hastily added, "and now itwould be very sad, and therefore very absurd, in one of them to bring upold memories. "

Mrs. Thornton suddenly rose, and, walking to the window, looked out. "Iwonder if it will rain to-day!" she said, in a sweet voice, full of atremulous melancholy. 

"There are very dark clouds about, " returned Despard, mournfully. 

"I hope there will not be a storm, " she rejoined, with the same sadness. Her hands were held tightly together. "Some things will perish if astorm comes. "

"Let us pray that there may be calm and peace, " said Despard. 

She turned and looked at him for a moment. Strange that these two shouldpass so quickly from gayety to gloom! Their eyes met, and each read inthe face of the other sadness beyond words. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

TWO LETTERS. 

Despard did not go back to the Grange for some days. About a week hadpassed since the scenes narrated in the preceding chapter when onemorning, having finished his breakfast, he went into his library and satdown at the table to write. A litter of papers lay all around. The wallswere covered with shelves, filled with books. The table was piled highwith ponderous tomes. Manuscripts were strewn around, and books werescattered on the floor. Yet, amidst all this disorder, some order wasapparent, for many of these books lay open in certain places, and otherswere arranged so as to be within reach. 

Several sheets of paper, covered with writing, lay before him, headed, "The Byzantine Poets. " The books were all in Greek. It was the libraryof a hard-working student. 

Very different was the Despard of the library from the Despard who hadvisited the Grange. A stern and thoughtful expression was read in hisface, and his eyes had an abstraction which would have done credit toMr. Thornton himself. 

Taking his seat at the table, he remained for a while leaning his headon his hand in deep thought. Then he took up a pen and drew a piece ofpaper before him to try it. He began to draw upon it the same figurewhich he had marked with his cane on Mrs. Thornton's carpet. He tracedthis figure over and over, until at last the whole sheet was covered. 

Suddenly he flung down the pen, and, taking up the paper, leaned back inhis chair with a melancholy face. "What a poor, weak thing I am!" hemuttered at last, and let the paper fall to the floor. He leaned hishead on his hand, then resumed his pen and began to make some idlemarks. At length he began to draw. 

Under the fine and delicate strokes of his pen, which were as neat andas exquisite as the most subtle touches of an engraving, a picturegradually rose to view. It was a sea-side scene. The place was HolbyBeach. In the distance was the light-house; and on one side apromontory, which protected the harbor. Upon the shore, looking outtoward the sea, was a beautiful girl, of about sixteen years of age, whose features, as they grew beneath his tender touches, were those ofMrs. Thornton. Then beside her there gradually rose another figure, ayouth of about eighteen, with smooth face and clustering locks, wholooked exactly like what the Rev. Courtenay Despard might have been someseven or eight years before. His left arm was around her waist, her armwas thrown up till it touched his shoulder, and his right hand heldhers. Her head leaned against him, and both of them, with a subduedexpression of perfect happiness, tinged with a certain pensive sadness, were looking out upon the setting sun. 

As soon as he finished he looked at the sketch, and then, with a suddenimpulse, tore it into a thousand small fragments. He drew the writtenmanuscript before him with a long and deep-drawn sigh, and began writingwith great rapidity upon the subject of the Byzantine Poets. He had justwritten the following words:

"The Anacreontic hymns of John Damascenus form a marked contrast to--"when the sentence was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in!" Itwas the servant with letters from the post-office. Despard put down hispen gravely, and the man laid two letters on the table. He waited tillthe servant had departed, then seizing one of them, a small one, addressed in a lady's hand, he pressed it vehemently to his lips andtore it open. 

It was as follows:

[Illustration: "BOTH WERE LOOKING OUT UPON THE SETTING SUN. "]

"DEAR MR. DESPARD, --I suppose I may _never_ expect to see youagain. Yet I must see you, for yesterday I received a very long letterfrom Paolo of so singular a character that you will have to explain itto me. I shall expect you this afternoon, and till then, I remain, "Yours sincerely, "TERESA THORNTON. 

"THORNTON GRANGE, Friday. "

Despard read this letter a score of times, and placed it reverently inan inner drawer of his desk. He then opened the other, and read asfollows:

"HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA, January 12, 1847. 

"MY DEAR COURTENAY, --I was very glad to hear of your appointment asRector of Holby, your old home, and hope that by this time you are fullyestablished in the old Rectory, where you spent so many years. I wasthere often enough in poor old Carson's days to know that it was a fineold place. 

"You will see by this that I am in Halifax, Nova Scotia. My regiment wasordered off here last November, and I am just beginning to feel settled. It is not so cold here as it was in Quebec. There is capital moosehunting up the country. I don't admire my accommodations much; but it isnot a bad little town, considering all things. The people are pleasant, and there is some stir and gayety occasionally. 

"Not long before leaving Quebec, who do you think turned up? No less aperson than Paolo Langhetti, who in the course of his wanderings cameout there. He had known some extraordinary adventures on his voyage out;and these are the immediate cause of this letter. 

"He took passage early in June last in the ship _Tecumseh_, fromLiverpool for Quebec. It was an emigrant ship, and crammed withpassengers. You have heard all about the horrors of that middle passage, which occurred last year, when those infernal Liverpool merchants, forthe sake of patting a few additional pounds in their pockets, sent somany thousands to destruction. 

"The _Tecumseh_ was one of these. It was crammed with emigrants. You know Langhetti's extraordinary pluck, and his queer way of devotinghimself for others. Well, what did he do but this: as soon as the ship-fever broke out he left the cabin and took up his abode in the steeragewith the sick emigrants. He is very quiet about this, and merely saysthat he helped to nurse the sick. I know what that means. 

"The mortality was terrific. Of all the ships that came to Quebec onthat fatal summer the _Tecumseh_ showed the largest record ofdeaths. On reaching the quarantine station Langhetti at once insisted oncontinuing his attendance on the sick. Hands were scarce, and his offerwas eagerly accepted. He staid down there ever so long till the worst ofthe sickness was over. 

"Among the passengers on the _Tecumseh_ were three who belonged tothe superior class. Their names were Brandon. He took a deep interest inthem. They suffered very much from sickness both during the voyage andat quarantine. The name at once attracted him, being one well known bothto him and to us. At last they all died, or were supposed to have died, at the quarantine station. Langhetti, however, found that one of themwas only in a 'trance state, ' and his efforts for resuscitation weresuccessful. This one was a young girl of not more than sixteen years ofage. After her restoration he left the quarantine bringing her with him, and came up to the city. Here he lived for a month or so, until at lasthe heard of me and came to see me. 

"Of course I was delighted to see him, for I always thought him thenoblest fellow that ever breathed, though most undoubtedly cranky if notcrazy. I told him we were going to Halifax, and as he had no settledplan I made him come here with me. 

"The girl remained for a long time in a state of mental torpor, asthough her brain had been affected by disease, but the journey here hada beneficial effect on her, and during her stay she has steadilyimproved. About a week ago Langhetti ventured to ask her all aboutherself. 

"What will you say when I tell you that she is the daughter of poorRalph Brandon, of Brandon Hall, your father's friend, whose wretchedfate has made us all so miserable. You know nothing of this, of course;but where was Thornton? Why did not he do something to prevent thishorror, this unutterable calamity? Good God! what suffering there is inthis world!

"Now, Courtenay, I come to the point. This poor Edith Brandon, stillhalf-dead from her grief, has been able to tell us that she has still arelative living. Her eldest brother Louis went to Australia many yearsago. A few weeks before her father's death he wrote to his son tellinghim everything, and imploring him to come home. She thinks that herbrother must be in England by this time. 

"I want you to hunt up Louis Brandon. Spare no trouble. In the name ofGod, and by the memory of your father, whose most intimate friend wasthis poor old Brandon, I entreat you to search after Louis Brandon tillyou find him, and let him know the fate of his friends. I think if shecould see him the joy of meeting one relative would restore her tohealth. 

"My boy, I know I have said enough. Your own heart will impel you to doall that can be done for the sake of this poor young girl. You can findout the best ways of learning information. You had better go up at onceto London and make arrangements for finding Brandon. Write me soon, andlet me know. 

"Your affectionate uncle, "HENRY DESPARD. "

Despard read this letter over and over. Then he put it in his pocket, and walked up and down the room in deep thought. Then he took out Mrs. Thornton's note and studied it for a long time. So the hours passedaway, until at length two o'clock came and he set out for ThorntonGrange. 

On entering the drawing-room, Mrs. Thornton was there. 

"So you have come at last, " said she, as they shook hands. 

"As if I would not come ten times a day if I could, " was the answer, inan impetuous voice. 

"Still there is no reason why you should persistently avoid the Grange. "

"What would you say if I followed my own impulse, and came here everyday?"

"I would say, Good-morning, Sir. Still, now that you are here, you muststay. "

"I will stay, whether I must or not. "

"Have you recovered from the effect of my prayer-book yet?"

"No, nor ever will I. You brought the same one last Sunday. "

"That was in order to weaken the effect. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know. "

"Then all I can say is, that contempt has very extraordinarymanifestations. Among other strange things, it makes me cover my paperwith that pattern when I ought to be writing on the Mosaic Economy. "

"Cosmogony, you mean. "

"Well, then, Cosmogony. "

"Cosmogony is such a delicious word! It has been the hope of my life tobe able to introduce it in a conversation. There is only one other wordthat compares with it. "

"What is it?"

"I am afraid to pronounce it. "

"Try, at any rate. "

"Idiosyncrasy, " said Mrs. Thornton. "For five or six years I have beenon the look-out for an opportunity to use that word, and thus far I havebeen unsuccessful. I fear that if the opportunity did occur I would callit 'idiocracy. ' In fact, I know I would. "

"And what would be the difference? Your motive would be right, and it isto motives that we must look, not acts. "

After some further badinage, Mrs. Thornton drew a letter from herpocket. 

"Here, " said she, gravely, "is Paolo's letter. Read it, and tell me whatyou think of it. "

Despard took the letter and began to read, while Mrs. Thornton, sittingopposite to him, watched his face. 

The letter was in Italian, and was accompanied by a large and closely-written manuscript of many pages. 

"HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA, January 2, 1847. 

"MY SWEETEST LITTLE SISTER, --I send you my diary, as I promised you, myTeresella, and you will see all my adventures. Take care of yourself, behappy, and let us hope that we may see one another soon. I am well, through the mercy of the good God, and hope to continue so. There is nosuch thing as music in this place, but I have found an organ where I canplay. My Cremona is uninjured, though it has passed through hard times--it sends a note of love to my Teresina. Remember your Paolo to the justand upright Thornton, whom you love. May God bless my little sister'shusband, and fill his heart with love for the sweetest of children!

"Read this manuscript carefully, Teresuola mia dolcissima, and pray forthe souls of those unhappy ones who perished by the pestilence. "

CHAPTER XV. 

JOURNAL OF PAOLO LANGHETTI. 

Liverpool, June 2, 1840. --I promised you, my Teresina, to keep a diaryof all my wanderings, and now I begin, not knowing whether it will beworth reading or not, but knowing this: that my corellina will read itall with equal interest, whether it be trivial or important. 

I have taken passage in the ship _Tecumseh_ from Liverpool toQuebec. I have embarked in her for no better reason than this, that sheis the first that will sail, and I am impatient. The first New York shipdoes not leave for a fortnight. A fortnight in Liverpool! Horror!

I have been on board to secure my room. I am told that there is a largenumber of emigrants. It is a pity, but it can not be helped. All shipshave emigrants now. Ireland is being evacuated. There will soon be nopeasants to till the soil. What enormous misery must be in that mostwretched of countries! Is Italy worse? Yes, far worse; for Italy has apast to contrast with the present, whereas Ireland has no past. 

At Sea, June 4. --We are many miles out in the Irish Channel. There aresix hundred emigrants on board--men, women, and children. I am told thatmost of these are from Ireland, unhappy Ireland! Some are from England, and are going to seek their fortune in America. As I look on them Ithink, My God! what misery there is in this world! And yet what can I doto alleviate it? I am helpless. Let the world suffer. All will be righthereafter. 

June 10. --Six hundred passengers! They are all crowded together in amanner that is frightful to me. Comfort is out of the question; thedirest distress is every where present; the poor wretches only try toescape suffering. During storms they are shut in; there is littleventilation; and the horror that reigns in that hold will not let meeither eat or sleep. I have remonstrated with the captain, but withouteffect. He told me that he could do nothing. The owners of the ship putthem on board, and he was employed to take them to their properdestination. My God! what will become of them?

June 15. --There have been a few days of fine weather. The wretchedemigrants have all been on deck. Among them I noticed three who, fromtheir appearance, belonged to a different class. There was a lady with ayoung man and a young girl, who were evidently her children. The ladyhas once been beautiful, and still bears the traces of that beauty, though her face indicates the extreme of sadness. The son is a man ofmagnificent appearance, though as yet not full-grown. The daughter ismore lovely than any being whom I have ever seen. She is different frommy Bicetta. Bice is Grecian, with a face like that of a marble statue, and a soul of purely classic mould. Bice is serene. She reminds me ofArtemis. Bice is an artist to her inmost heart. Bice I love as I loveyou, my Teresina, and I never expect to meet with one who can sointerpret my ideas with so divine a voice. But this girl is morespiritual. Bice is classic, this one is medieval. Bice is a goddess, this one a saint. Bice is Artemis, or one of the Muses; this one is HolyAgnes or Saint Cecilia. There is in that sweet and holy face the samedepth of devotion which our painters portray on the face of the Madonna. This little family group stand amidst all the other passengers, separated by the wide gulf of superior rank, for they are manifestlyfrom among the upper classes, but still more so by the solemn isolationof grief. It is touching to see the love of the mother for her children, and the love of the children for their mother. How can I satisfy thelongings which I feel to express to them my sympathy?

June 21. --I have at length gained my desire. I have become acquaintedwith that little group. I went up to them this morning in obedience to aresistless impulse, and with the most tender sympathy that I couldexpress; and, with many apologies, offered the young man a bottle ofwine for his mother. He took it gratefully and frankly. He met me half-way in my advances. The poor lady looked at me with speechlessgratitude, as though kindness and sympathy were unknown to her. "Godwill reward you, Sir, " she said, in a tremulous voice, "for yoursympathy with the miserable. "

"Dear Madame, " said I, "I wish no other reward than the consciousnessthat I may have alleviated your distress. "

My heart bled for these poor creatures. Cast down from a life which musthave once been one of luxury, they were now in the foulest of places, the hold of an emigrant ship. I went back to the captain to see if Icould not do something in their behalf. I wished to give up my room tothem. He said I could do so if I wished, but that there was no room leftin the cabin. Had there been I would have hired one and insisted ontheir going there. 

I went to see the lady, and made this proposal as delicately as I could. There were two berths in my room. I urged her and her daughter to takethem. At first they both refused most positively, with tears ofgratitude. But I would not be so put off. To the mother I portrayed thesituation of the daughter in that den of horror; to the daughter Ipointed out the condition of the mother; to the son I showed theposition of his mother and sister, and thus I worked upon the holiestfeelings of their hearts. For myself I assured them that I could get aplace among the sailors in the forecastle, and that I preferred doingso. By such means as these I moved them to consent. They did so with anexpression of thankfulness that brought tears to my eyes. 

"Dear Madame, " said I, "you will break my heart if you talk so. Take theroom and say nothing. I have been a wanderer for years, and can live anywhere. "

It was not till then that I found out their names. I told them mine. They looked at one another in astonishment. "Langhetti?" said themother. 

"Yes. "

"Did you ever live in Holby?"

"Yes. My father was organist in Trinity Church, and I and my sisterlived there some years. She lives there still. "

"My God!" was her ejaculation. 

"Why?" I asked, with eager curiosity. "What do you know about Holby, andabout Langhetti?"

She looked at me with solemn earnestness. "I, " said she, "am the wife, and these are the children of one who was your father's friend. He whowas my husband, and the father of these children, was Ralph Brandon, ofBrandon Hall. "

I stood for a moment stupefied. Then I burst into tears. Then I embracedthem all, and said I know not what of pity and sympathy and affection. My God! to think of such a fate as this awaiting the family of RalphBrandon. Did you know this, oh, Teresina? If so, why did you keep itsecret? But no--you could not have known it. If you had this would nothave happened. 

They took my room in the cabin--the dear ones--Mrs. Brandon and thesweet Edith. The son Frank and I stay together among the emigrants. HereI am now, and I write this as the sun is getting low, and the uproar ofall these hundreds is sounding in my ears. 

June 30. --There is a panic in the ship. The dread pestilence known as"ship-fever" has appeared. This disease is the terror of emigrant ships. Surely there was never any vessel so well adapted to be the prey of thepestilence as this of ours! I have lived for ten days among the steeragepassengers, and have witnessed their misery. Is God just? Can he lookdown unmoved upon scenes like these? Now that the disease has come, where will it stop?

July 3. --The disease is spreading. Fifteen are prostrate. Three havedied. 

July 10. --Thirty deaths have occurred, and fifty are sick. I amassisting to nurse them. 

July 15. --Thirty-four deaths since my last. One hundred and thirty aresick. I will labor here if I have to die for it. 

July 18. --If this is my last entry let this diary be sent to Mrs. Thornton, care of William Thornton, Holby, Pembroke, England--(the aboveentry was written in English, the remainder was all in Italian, asbefore). More than two hundred are sick. Frank Brandon is down. I amafraid to let his mother know it. I am working night and day. In threedays there have been forty-seven deaths. The crew are demoralized andpanic-stricken. 

July 23. --Shall I survive these horrors? More than fifty new deaths haveoccurred. The disease has spread among the sailors. Two are dead, andseven are sick. Horror prevails. Frank Brandon is recovering slowly. Mrs. Brandon does not know that he has been sick. We send word that weare afraid to come for fear of communicating the disease to her and toEdith. 

July 27. --More than half of the sailors are sick. Eleven dead. Sixty-seven passengers dead since last report. Frank Brandon almost well, andhelping me in my work. 

July 30. --Nearly all the sailors more or less sick--five new deathsamong them. Ship almost unmanageable. In the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Talkof putting into some port. Seventy passengers dead. 

August 2. --Worse yet. Disease has spread into the cabin. Three cabinpassengers dead. God have mercy upon poor Mrs. Brandon and sweet Edith!All the steerage passengers, with a few exceptions, prostrate. FrankBrandon is weak but helps me. I work night and day. The ship is like afloating pest-house. Forty new deaths since last report. 

August 7. --Drifting along, I know not how, up the St. Lawrence. Theweather calm, and two or three sailors able to manage the ship. Captainand mate both dead. Ten cabin passengers dead. Three more sailors dead. Only thirty-two steerage passengers dead since last report, but nearlyall are sick. Hardly any one to attend to them. 

August 10. --Mrs. Brandon and Edith both sick. Frank prostrate again. Godin heaven, have mercy!

August 15. --Mrs. Brandon and Edith very low. Frank better. 

August 16. --Quarantine Station, Gosse Island. I feel the fever in myveins. If I die, farewell, sweetest sister. 

December 28, Halifax, Nova Scotia. --More than four months have elapsedsince my last entry, and during the interval marvelous things haveoccurred. These I will now try to recall as I best can. 

My last entry was made on the day of the arrival of the _Tecumseh_at the Quarantine Station, Gosse Island, Quebec. We were delayed therefor two days. Every thing was in confusion. A large number of ships hadarrived, and all were filled with sick. The authorities were taken bysurprise; and as no arrangements had ever been made for such a state ofthings the suffering was extreme. The arrival of the _Tecumseh_with her frightful record of deaths, and with several hundred sick stillon board, completed the confusion. At last the passengers were removedsomehow, I know not how or when, for I myself on the evening of ourarrival was struck down by the fever. I suppose that Frank Brandon mayhave nursed me at first; but of that I am not sure. There was fearfuldisorder. There were few nurses and fewer doctors; and as fast as thesick died they were hurried hastily into shallow graves in the sand. Iwas sick for two or three weeks, and knew nothing of what was going on. The first thing that I saw on coming to my senses was Edith Brandon. 

She was fearfully changed. Unutterable grief dwelt upon her sweet youngface, which also was pale and wan from the sickness through which shehad passed. An awful feeling shot through me. My first question was, "Isyour mother on shore?"

She looked at me for a moment in solemn silence, and, slowly raising herhand, pointed upward. 

"Your brother?" I gasped. 

She turned her head away. I was silent. They were dead, then. O God! andthis child--what had she not been suffering? My mind at once, in itsagony of sympathy with her, burst through the clouds which sickness hadthrown around it. "Poor child!" I said. "And why are you here?"

"Where else can I go?" she answered, mournfully. 

"At least, you should not wear yourself out by my bedside. "

"You are the only one left whom I know. I owe you far more than thesmall attendance which I have given you. "

"But will you not take some rest?"

"Hush! Wait till you are stronger. You are too weak now to think ofthese things. "

She laid her thin hand on my forehead gently. I turned my head away, andburst into a flood of tears. Why was it that this child was called uponto endure such agony? Why, in the midst of that agony, did she come tome to save my life? I did not resist her any longer on that day; but thenext day I was stronger, and made her go and repose herself. 

For two successive days she came back. On the third day she did notappear. The fourth day also she was absent. Rude nurses attended to me. They knew nothing of her. My anxiety inspired me with such energy thaton the fourth day I rose from my bed and staggered about to find her ifpossible. 

All was still confusion. Thousands of sick were on the island. Themistake of the first week had not yet been repaired. No one knew anything of Edith. I sought her through all the wards. I went to thesuperintendent, and forced him to make inquiries about her. No one couldtell any thing. 

My despair was terrible. I forced the superintendent to call up all thenurses and doctors, and question them all, one by one. At last an oldIrish woman, with an awful look at me, hinted that she could tellsomething about her, and whispered a word or two in the superintendent'sear. He started back, with a fearful glance. 

"What is it? Tell, in God's name!"

"The dead-house, " he murmured. 

"Where is it? Take me there!" I cried to the woman. I clutched her armand staggered after her. 

It was a long, low shed, open on all sides. Twelve bodies lay there. Inthe middle of the row was Edith. She was more beautiful than an angel. Asmile wreathed her lips; her eyes looked as though she slumbered. Irushed up to her and caught her in my arms. The next moment I fellsenseless. 

When I revived I was lying in one of the sick-sheds, with a crowd ofsufferers around me. I had only one thought, and that was Edith. I roseat once, weak and trembling, but the resolve of my soul gave strength tomy body. An awful fear had taken possession of me, which was accompaniedby a certain wild hope. I hurried, with staggering feet, to the dead-house. 

All the bodies were gone. New ones had come in. 

"Where is she?" I cried to the old woman who had charge there. She knewto whom I referred. 

"Buried, " said she. 

I burst out into a torrent of imprecations. "Where have they buried her?Take me to the place!" I cried, as I flung a piece of gold to the woman. She grasped it eagerly. "Bring a spade, and come quick, for God's sake!_She is not dead!_"

How did I have such a mad fancy? I will tell you. This ship-fever oftenterminates in a sort of stupor, in which death generally takes place. Sometimes, however, the patient who has fallen into this stupor revivesagain. It is known to the physicians as the "trance state. " I had seencases of this at sea. Several times people were thrown overboard when Ithought that they did not have all the signs of death, and at last, intwo cases of which I had charge, I detained the corpses three days, inspite of the remonstrances of the other passengers. _These tworevived. _ By this I knew that some of those who were thrown overboardwere not dead. Did I feel horror at this, my Teresa? No. "Pass away, " Isaid, "unhappy ones. You are not dead. You live in a better life thanthis. What matters it whether you died by the fever or by the sea?"

But when I saw Edith as she lay there my soul felt assured that she wasnot dead, and an unutterable convulsion of sorrow overwhelmed me. Therefore I fainted. The horror of that situation was too much for me. To think of that angelic girl about to be covered up alive in theground; to think of that sweet young life, which had begun so brightly, terminating amidst such black darkness!

"Now God help me!" I cried, as I hurried on after the woman; "and bringme there in time. " There! Where? To the place of the dead. It was therethat I had to seek her. 

"How long had she been in that house before I fainted?" I asked, fearfully. 

"Twenty-four hours. "

"And when did I faint?"

"Yesterday. "

A pang shot through me. "Tell me, " I cried, hoarsely, "when she wasburied. "

"Last night. "

"O God!" I groaned, and I could say no more; but with new strength givento me in that hour of agony I rushed on. 

It was by the eastern shore of the island. A wide flat was there, washedon one side by the river. Here more than a thousand mounds arose. Alas!could I ever hope to find her!

"Do you know where they have laid her?" I asked, tremblingly. 

"Yes, " said the woman, confidently. 

Hope returned faintly. She led the way. 

The moon beamed out brightly from behind a cloud, illumining the wasteof mounds. The river murmured solemnly along the shore. All my senseswere overwhelmed in the madness of that hour. The moon seemed enlargedto the dimensions of a sky; the murmur of the river sounded like acataract, and in the vast murmur I heard voices which seemed then likethe voices of the dead. But the lustre of that exaggerated glow, and thebooming concord of fancied spirit-voices were all contemned as trifles. I cared for nothing either natural or supernatural. Only one thought waspresent--the place where she was laid. 

We reached it at last. At the end of a row of graves we stopped. "Here, "said the woman, "are twelve graves. These were made last night. Theseare those twelve which you saw. "

"And where--where, O God, is SHE!"

"There, " replied the woman, pointing to one which was the third from theend. 

"Do not deceive me!" I cried, imploringly. "Are you sure? For I willtear up all these till I find her. "

"I am sure, for I was the one who buried her. I and a man--"

I seized the spade and turned up the soil. I labored incessantly forwhat seemed an endless period. I had thrown out much earth but had notyet reached her. I felt my fitful strength failing me. My mind, too, seemed entering into a state of delirium. At last my knees gave way, andI sank down just as my spade touched something which gave back a hollowsound. 

My knees gave way, and I sank down. But I would not give up. I tore uphandfuls of earth and threw them into the air. 

"Oh, Edith!" I cried, "I am here! I am coming! I am coming!"

"Come, Sir, " said the woman, suddenly, in her strong voice, yetpityingly. "You can do nothing. I will dig her out in a minute. "

[Illustration: "I TOOK HER IN MY ARMS AND BROUGHT HER FORTH FROM THEGRAVE, " ETC. ]

"God forever bless you!" I cried, leaping out and giving place to her. Iwatched her as she threw out the earth. Hungrily I gazed, devouring thatdark aperture with my eyes till at last the rough boards appeared. 

Then I leaped down. I put my fingers at the edge and tore at it till itgave way. The lid was only fastened with a few nails. My bleedingfingers clutched it. It yielded to my frantic exertions. 

O my God! was there ever a sight on earth like that which now met myeyes as I raised the lid and looked below? The moon, which was high inthe sky, streamed down directly into the narrow cell. It showed me theone whom I sought. Its bright beams threw a lustre round that face whichwas upturned toward me. Ah me! how white was that face; like the face ofsome sleeping maiden carved in alabaster. Bathed in the moonbeams it laybefore me, all softened and refined and made pure; a face of unearthlybeauty. The dark hair caught the moon's rays, and encircled the headlike a crown of immortality. Still the eyes were closed as though inslumber; still the lips were fixed into a smile. She lay as one who hadfallen into a deep, sweet sleep--as one who in that sleep has dreams, inwhich are visions of more than earthly beauty, and scenes of more thanmortal happiness. 

Now it was with me as though at that unequaled vision I had drawn intomy inmost being some sudden stimulus--a certain rapture of newbornstrength; strength no longer fitful and spasmodic, but firm, wellfortified and well sustained. 

I took her in my arms and brought her forth from the grave into the lifeof earth. 

Ah me! how light a thing was that frail and slender figure which hadbeen worn down by the unparalleled suffering through which she hadpassed. This thought transfixed me with a pang of anguish--even awed therapture that I felt at clasping her in my arms. 

But now that I had her, where was I to seek for a place of shelter? Iturned to the woman and asked: "Is there any secluded place where shemay sleep undisturbed till she wakes--"

"No, there is none but what is crowded with the sick and dying in allthis island. "

"I must have some place. "

"There is only one spot that is quiet. "

"What one?"

"The dead-house. "

I shuddered. "No, not there. See, " said I, and I handed her a piece ofgold. "Find me some place and you shall have still more. "

"Well, " she said, hesitatingly, "I have the room where me and my manlive. I suppose we could give up that. "

"Take me there, then. "

"Shall I help you carry her?"

"No, " I answered, drawing back my pure Edith from her outstretchedhands. "No, I will carry her. "

The woman went on without a word. She led the way back to the low anddismal sheds which lay there like a vast charnel-house, and thence to alow hut some distance away from all, where she opened a door. She spokea few words to a man, who finally withdrew. A light was burning. A rudecot was there. Here I laid the one whom I carried. 

"Come here, " said I, "three times a day. I will pay you well for this. "

The woman left. All night long I watched. She lay unmoved and unchanged. Where was her spirit wandering? Soared it among the splendors of somefar-off world? Lingered it amidst the sunshine of heavenly glory? Didher seraphic soul move amidst her peers in the assemblage of the holy?Was she straying amidst the trackless paths of ether with those whom shehad loved in life, and who had gone before?

All night long I watched her as she lay with her marble face and herchangeless smile. There seemed to be communicated to me an influencefrom her which opened the eyes of my spiritual sense; and my spiritsought to force itself upon her far-off perceptions, that so it mightcatch her notice and bring her back to earth. 

The morning dawned. There was no change. Mid-day came, and still therewas no change. I know not how it was, but the superintendent had heardabout the grave being opened, and found me in the hut. He tried toinduce me to give back to the grave the one whom I had rescued. Thehorror of that request was so tremendous that it force me intopassionless calm. When I refused he threatened. At his menace I rejoinedin such language that he turned pale. 

"Murderer!" said I, sternly, "is it not enough that you have sent to thegrave many wretches who were not dead? Do you seek to send back to deaththis single one whom I have rescued? Do you want all Canada and all theworld to ring with the account of the horrors done here, where peopleare buried alive? See, she is not dead. She is only sleeping. And yetyou put her in the grave. "

"She is dead!" he cried, in mingled fear and anger--"and she must beburied. "

"She is not dead, " said I, sternly, as I glared on him out of myintensity of anguish--"she is not dead: and if you try to send her todeath again you must first send me. She shall not pass to the graveexcept over my corpse, and over the corpse of the first murderer thatdares to lay hands on her. "

He started back--he and those who were with him. "The man is mad, " theysaid. 

They left me in peace. I grow excited as I write. My hand trembles. Letme be calm. 

She awoke that night. It was midnight, and all was still. She opened hereyes suddenly, and looked full at me with an earnest and steadfaststare. At last a long, deep-drawn sigh broke the stillness of that lonechamber. 

"Back again"--she murmured, in a scarce audible voice--"among men, andto earth. O friends of the Realm of Light, must I be severed from yourlofty communion!"

As she spoke thus the anguish which I had felt at the grave was renewed. "You have brought me back, " said she, mournfully. 

"No, " I returned, sadly--"not I. It was not God's will that you shouldleave this life. He did not send death to you. You were sleeping, and Ibrought you to this place. "

"I know all, " she murmured, closing her eyes. "I heard all while myspirit was away. I know where you found me. "

"I am weary, " she said, after a silence. Her eyes closed again. But thistime the trance was broken. She slept with long, deep breathing, interrupted by frequent sighs. I watched her through the long night. Atfirst fever came. Then it passed. Her sleep became calm, and sheslumbered like a weary child. 

Early in the morning the superintendent came, followed by a dozen armedmen. He entered with a frown. I met him with my hand upraised to hushhim, and led him gently to the bedside. 

"See, " I whispered--"but for me she would have been BURIED ALIVE!"

The man seemed frozen into dumbness. He stood ghastly white with horror, thick drops started from his forehead, his teeth chattered, he staggeredaway. He looked at me with a haunted face, such as belongs to one whothinks he has seen a spirit. 

"Spare me, " he faltered; "do not ruin me. God knows I have tried to domy best!"

I waved him off. "Leave me. You have nothing to fear. " He turned awaywith his white face, and departed in silence with his men. 

After a long sleep Edith waked again. She said nothing. I did not wishher to speak. She lay awake, yet with closed eyes, thinking suchthoughts as belong to one, and to one alone, who had known what she hadknown. 

I did not speak to her, for she was to me a holy being, not to beaddressed lightly. Yet she did not refuse nourishment, and grewstronger, until at last I was able to have her moved to Quebec. There Iobtained proper accommodations for her and good nurses. 

I have told you what she was before this. Subsequently there came achange. The nurses and the doctors called it a stupor. 

There was something in her face which inspired awe among all who sawher. If it is the soul of man that gives expression to the features, then her soul must have been familiar with things unknown to us. Howoften have I seen her in walking across the room stop suddenly and standfixed on the spot, musing and sad! She commonly moved about as thoughshe saw nothing, as though she walked in a dream, with eyes half closed, and sometimes murmuring inaudible words. The nurses half loved and halffeared her. Yet there were some little children in the house who feltall love and no fear, for I have seen her smiling on them with a smileso sweet that it seemed to me as if they stood in the presence of theirguardian angel. Strange, sad spirit, what thoughts, what memories arethese which make her life one long reverie, and have taken from her allpower to enjoy the beautiful that dwells on earth! She fills all mythoughts with her loneliness, her tears, and her spiritual face, bearingthe marks of scenes that can never be forgotten. She lives and movesamidst her recollections. What is it that so overwhelms all herthoughts? That face of hers appears as though it had bathed itself inthe atmosphere of some diviner world than this: and her eyes seem as ifthey may have gazed upon the Infinite Mystery. 

Now from the few words which she has casually dropped I gather this tobe her own belief. That when she fell into the state of trance her soulwas parted from her body, though still by an inexplicable sympathy shewas aware of what was passing around her lifeless form. Yet her soul hadgone forth into that spiritual world toward which we look from thisearth with such eager wonder. It had mingled there with the souls ofothers. It had put forth new powers, and learned the use of newfaculties. Then that soul was called back to its body. 

This maiden--this wonder among mortals--is not a mortal, she is anexiled soul. I have seen her sit with tears streaming down her face, tears such as men shed in exile. For she is like a banished man who hasonly one feeling, a longing, yearning homesickness. She has been once inthat radiant world for a time which we call three days in our humancalculations, but which to her seems indefinite; for as she once said--and it is a pregnant thought, full of meaning--there is no time there, all is infinite duration. The soul has illimitable powers; in an instantit can live years, and she in those three days had the life of ages. Herformer life on earth has now but a faint hold upon her memory incomparison with that life among the stars. The sorrow that her lovedones endured has become eclipsed by the knowledge of the blessedness inwhich she found them. 

Alas! it is a blessing to die, and it is only a curse to rise from thedead. And now she endures this exile with an aching heart, with memoriesthat are irrepressible, with longings unutterable, and yearnings thatcannot be expressed for that starry world and that bright companionshipfrom which she has been recalled. So she sometimes speaks. And littleelse can she say amidst her tears. Oh, sublime and mysterious exile, could I but know what you know, and have but a small part of that secretwhich you can not explain!

For she can not tell what she witnessed _there_. She sometimeswishes to do so, but can not. When asked directly, she sinks intoherself and is lost in thought. She finds no words. It is as when we tryto explain to a man who has been always blind the scenes before oureyes. We can not explain them to such a man. And so with her. She findsin her memory things which no human language has been made to express. These languages were made for the earth, not for heaven. In order totell me what she knows, she would need the language of that world, andthen she could not explain it, for I could not understand it. 

Only once I saw her smile, and that was when one of the nurses casuallymentioned, with horror, the death of some acquaintance. "Death!" shemurmured, and her eyes lighted up with a kind of ecstasy. "Oh, that Imight die!" She knows no blessing on earth except that which we considera curse, and to her the object of all her wishes is this one thing--Death. I shall not soon forget that smile. It seemed of itself to give anew meaning to death. 

Do I believe this, so wild a theory, the very mention of which hascarried me beyond myself? I do not know. All my reason rebels. It scoutsthe monstrous idea. But here she stands before me, with her memories andthoughts, and her wonderful words, few, but full of deepest meaning--words which I shall never forget--and I recognize something before whichReason falters. Whence this deep longing of hers? Why when she thinks ofdeath does her face grow thus radiant, and her eyes kindle with hope?Why does she so pine and grow sick with desire? Why does her heart thusache as day succeeds to day, and she finds herself still under thesunlight, with the landscapes and the music of this fair earth stillaround her?

Once, in some speculations of mine, which I think I mentioned to you, Teresina, I thought that if a man could reach that spiritual world hewould look with contempt upon the highest charms that belong to this. Here is one who believes that she has gone through this experience, andall this earth, with all its beauty, is now an object of indifference toher. Perhaps you may ask, Is she sane? Yes, dear, as sane as I am, butwith a profounder experience and a diviner knowledge. 

After I had been in Quebec about a month I learned that one of theregiments stationed here was commanded by Colonel Henry Despard. Icalled on him, and he received me with unbounded delight. He made metell him all about myself, and I imparted to him as much of the eventsof the voyage and quarantine as was advisable. I did not go intoparticulars to any extent, of course. I mentioned nothing about _thegrave_. That, dearest sister, is a secret between you, and me, andher. For if it should be possible that she should ever be restored toordinary human sympathy and feeling, it will not be well that all theworld should know what has happened to her. 

His regiment was ordered to Halifax, and I concluded to comply with hisurgent solicitations and accompany him. It is better for _her_ atany rate that there should be more friends than one to protect her. Despard, like the doctors, supposes that she is in a stupor. 

The journey here exercised a favorable influence over her. Her strengthincreased to a marked degree, and she has once or twice spoken about thepast. She told me that her father wrote to his son Louis in Australiasome weeks before his death, and urged him to come home. She thinks thathe is on his way to England. The Colonel and I at once thought that heought to be sought after without delay, and he promised to write to hisnephew, your old playmate, who, he tells me, is to be a neighbor ofyours. 

If he is still the one whom I remember--intellectual yet spiritual, with sound reason, yet a strong heart, if he is still the CourtenayDespard who, when a boy, seemed to me to look out upon the world beforehim with such lofty poetic enthusiasm--then, Teresella, you should showhim this diary, for it will cause him to understand things which heought to know. I suppose it would be unintelligible to Mr. Thornton, whois a most estimable man, but who, from the nature of his mind, if heread this, would only conclude that the writer was insane. 

At any rate, Mr. Thornton should be informed of the leading facts, sothat he may see if something can be done to alleviate the distress, orto avenge the wrongs of one whose father was the earliest benefactor ofhis family. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

"It is now the middle of February, " said Despard, after a long pause, inwhich he had given himself up to the strange reflections which the diarywas calculated to excite. "If Louis Brandon left Australia when he wascalled he must be in England now. "

"You are calm, " said Mrs. Thornton. "Have you nothing more to say thanthat?"

Despard looked at her earnestly. "Do you ask me such a question? It is astory so full of anguish that the heart might break out of puresympathy, but what words could be found? I have nothing to say. I amspeechless. My God! what horror thou dost permit!"

"But something must be done, " said Mrs. Thornton, impetuously. 

"Yes, " said Despard, slowly, "but what? If we could reach our hands overthe grave and bring back those who have passed away, then the soul ofEdith might find peace; but now--now--we can give her no peace. She onlywishes to die. Yet something must be done, and the first thing is tofind Louis Brandon. I will start for London to-night. I will go and seekhim, not for Edith's sake but for his own, that I may save one at leastof this family. For her there is no comfort. Our efforts are uselessthere. If we could give her the greatest earthly happiness it would bepoor and mean, and still she would sigh after that starry companionshipfrom which her soul has been withdrawn. "

"Then you believe it. "

"Don't you?"

"Of course; but I did not know that you would. "

"Why not? and if I did not believe it this at least would be plain, thatshe herself believes it. And even if it be a hallucination, it is asublime one, and so vivid that it is the same to her as a reality. Letit be only a dream that has taken place--still that dream has made allother things dim, indistinct, and indifferent to her. "

"No one but you would read Paolo's diary without thinking him insane. "

Despard smiled. "Even that would be nothing to me. Some people thinkthat a great genius must be insane. 

 'Great wits are sure to madness near allied, '

you know. For my part, I consider Paolo the sublimest of men. When I sawhim last I was only a boy, and he came with his seraphic face and hisdivine music to give me an inspiration which has biased my life eversince. I have only known one spirit like his among those whom I havemet. "

An indescribable sadness passed over his face. "But now, " he continued, suddenly, "I suppose Thornton must see my uncle's letter. His legal mindmay discern some things which the law may do in this case. Edith isbeyond all consolation from human beings, and still farther beyond allhelp from English law. But if Louis Brandon can be found the law mayexert itself in his favor. In this respect be may be useful, and I haveno doubt he would take up the case earnestly, out of his strong sense ofjustice. "

When Thornton came in to dinner Despard handed him his uncle's letter. The lawyer read it with deep attention, and without a word. 

Mrs. Thornton looked agitated--sometimes resting her head on her hand, at others looking fixedly at her husband. As soon as he had finished shesaid, in a calm, measured tone:

"I did not know before that Brandon of Brandon Hall and all his familyhad perished so miserably. "

Thornton started, and looked at her earnestly. She returned his gazewith unutterable sadness in her eyes. 

"He saved my father's life, " said she. "He benefited him greatly. Yourfather also was under slight obligations to him. I thought that thingslike these constituted a faint claim on one's gratitude, so that if onewere exposed to misfortune he might not be altogether destitute offriends. "

Thornton looked uneasy as his wife spoke. 

"My dear, " said he, "you do not understand. "

"True, " she answered; "for this thing is almost incredible. If myfather's friend has died in misery, unpitied and unwept, forsaken byall, do I not share the guilt of ingratitude? How can I absolve myselffrom blame?"

"Set your mind at rest. You never knew any thing about it. I told younothing on the subject. "

"Then you knew it!"

"Stop! You can not understand this unless I explain it. You are statingbald facts; but these facts, painful as they are, are very much modifiedby circumstances. "

"Well, then, I hope you will tell me all, without reserve, for I wish toknow how it is that this horror has happened, and I have stood idly andcoldly aloof. My God!" she cried, in Italian; "did _he_ not--did_they_ not in their last moments think of me, and wonder how theycould have been betrayed by Langhetti's daughter!"

"My dear, be calm, I pray. You are blaming yourself unjustly, I assureyou. "

Despard was ghastly pale as this conversation went on. He turned hisface away. 

"Ralph Brandon, " began Thornton, "was a man of many high qualities, butof unbounded pride, and utterly impracticable. He was no judge ofcharacter, and therefore was easily deceived. He was utterlyinexperienced in business, and he was always liable to be led astray byany sudden impulse. Somehow or other a man named Potts excited hisinterest about twelve or fifteen years ago. He was a mere vulgaradventurer; but Brandon became infatuated with him, and actuallybelieved that this man was worthy to be intrusted with the management oflarge business transactions. The thing went on for years. His friendsall remonstrated with him. I, in particular, went there to explain tohim that the speculation in which he was engaged could not result in anything except loss. But he resented all interference, and I had to leavehim to himself. 

"His son Louis was a boy full of energy and fire. The family were allindignant at the confidence which Ralph Brandon put in this Potts--Louismost of all. One day he met Potts. Words passed between them, and Louisstruck the scoundrel. Potts complained. Brandon had his son up on thespot; and after listening to his explanations gave him the alternativeeither to apologise to Potts or to leave the house forever. Louisindignantly denounced Potts to his father as a swindler. Brandon orderedhim to his room, and gave him a week to decide. 

"The servants whispered till the matter was noised abroad. The countygentry had a meeting about it, and felt so strongly that they did anunparalleled thing. They actually waited on him to assure him that Pottswas unworthy of trust, and to urge him not to treat his son so harshly. All Brandon's pride was roused at this. He said words to the deputationwhich cut him off forever from their sympathy, and they left in a rage. Mrs. Brandon wrote to me, and I went there. I found Brandon inflexible. I urged him to give his son a longer time, to send him to the army for awhile, to do any thing rather than eject him. He refused to change hissentence. Then I pointed out the character of Potts, and told him manythings that I had heard. At this he hinted that I wished to have themanagement of his business, and was actuated by mercenary motive. Ofcourse, after this insult, nothing more was to be said. I went home andtried to forget all about the Brandons. At the end of the week Louisrefused to apologize, and left his father forever. "

"Did you see Louis?"

"I saw him before that insult to ask if he would apologize. "

"Did you try to make him apologize?" asked Mrs. Thornton, coldly. 

"Yes. But he looked at me with such an air that I had to apologizemyself for hinting at such a thing. He was as inflexible as his father. "

"How else could he have been?"

"Well, each might have yielded a little. It does not do to be soinflexible if one would succeed in life. "

"No, " said Mrs. Thornton. "Success must be gained by flexibility. Themartyrs were all inflexible, and they were all unsuccessful. "

Thornton looked at his wife hastily. Despard's hand trembled, and hisface grew paler still with a more livid pallor. 

"Did you try to do any thing for the ruined son?"

"How could I, after that insult?"

"Could you not have got him a government office, or purchased acommission for him in the army?"

"He would not have taken it from me. "

"You could have co-operated with his mother, and done it in her name. "

"I could not enter the house after being insulted. "

"You could have written. From what I have heard of Brandon, he was justthe man who would have blessed any one who would interpose to save hisson. "

"His son did not wish to be saved. He has all his father'sinflexibility, but an intellect as clear as that of the most practicalman. He has a will of iron, dauntless resolution, and an implacabletemper. At the same time he has the open generosity and the tender heartof his father. "

"Had his father a tender heart?"

"So tender and affectionate that this sacrifice of his son must haveoverwhelmed him with the deepest sorrow. "

"Did you ever after make any advances to any of them?"

"No, never. I never went near the house. "

"Did you ever visit any of the county gentry to see if something couldbe done?"

"No. It would have been useless. Besides, the very mention of his namewould have been resented. I should have had to fling myself headlongagainst the feelings of the whole public. And no man has any right to dothat. "

"No, " said Mrs. Thornton. "No man has. That was another mistake that themartyrs made. They would fling themselves against public opinion. "

"All men can not be martyrs. Besides, the cases are not analogous. "

Thornton spoke calmly and dispassionately. 

"True. It is absurd in me; but I admire one who has for a momentforgotten his own interests or safety in thinking of others. "

"That does very well for poetry, but not in real life. "

"In _real life_, such as that on board the _Tecumseh_?"murmured Mrs. Thornton, with drooping eyelids. 

"You are getting excited, my dear, " said Thornton, patiently, with theair of a wise father who overlooks the petulance of his child. "I willgo on. I had business on the Continent when poor Brandon's ruinoccurred. You were with me, my dear, at Berlin when I heard about it. Ifelt shocked, but not surprised. I feared that it would come to that. "

"You showed no emotion in particular. "

"No; I was careful not to trouble you. "

"You were in Berlin three months. Was it at the beginning or end of yourstay?"

"At the beginning. "

"And you staid?"

"I had business which I could not leave. "

"Would you have been ruined if you had left?"

"Well, no--not exactly ruined, but it would have entailed seriousconsequences. "

"Would those consequences have been as serious as the _Tecumseh_tragedy?"

"My dear, in business there are rules which a man is not permitted toneglect. There are duties and obligations which are imperative. The codeof honor there is as delicate, yet as rigid, as elsewhere. "

"And yet there are times when all obligations of this sort are weakened. When friends die, this is recognized. Why should it not be so when theyare in danger of a fate worse than death?"

Thornton elevated his eyebrows, and made no reply. 

"You must have heard about it in March, then?"

"Yes, at the end of January. His ruin took place in December, 1845. Itwas the middle of May before I got home. I then, toward the end of themonth, sent my clerk to Brandon village to make inquiries. He broughtword of the death of Brandon, and the departure of his family to partsunknown. "

[Illustration: "THEN, COVERING HER FACE WITH HER HANDS, SHE BURST INTOAN AGONY OF TEARS. "]

"Did he make no particular inquiries?"

"No. "

"And you said not a word to me!"

"I was afraid of agitating you, my dear. "

"And therefore you have secured for me unending self-reproach. "

"Why so? Surely you are blaming yourself without a shadow of a cause. "

"I will tell you why. I dare say I feel unnecessarily on the subject, but I can not help it. It is a fact that Brandon was always impulsiveand culpably careless about himself. It is to this quality, strangelyenough, that I owe my father's life, and my own comfort for many years. Paolo also owes as much as I. Mr. Brandon, with a friend of his, wassailing through the Mediterranean in his own yacht, making occasionaltours into the country at every place where they happened to land, andat last they came to Girgenti, with the intention of examining the ruinsof Agrigentum. This was in 1818, four years before I was born. My fatherwas stopping at Girgenti, with his wife and Paolo, who was then sixyears old. My father had been very active under the reign of Murat, andhad held a high post in his government. This made him suspected afterMurat's overthrow. 

"On the day that these Englishmen visited Girgenti, a woman in deepdistress came to see them, along with a little boy. It was my mother andPaolo. She flung herself on the floor at their feet, and prayed them totry and help her husband, who had been arrested on a charge of treasonand was now in prison. He was suspected of belonging to the Carbonari, who were just beginning to resume their secret plots, and were showinggreat activity. My father belonged to the innermost degree, and had beenbetrayed by a villain named Cigole. My mother did not tell them allthis, but merely informed them of his danger. 

"At first they did not know what to do, but the prayers of my mothermoved their hearts. They went to see the captain of the guard, and triedto bribe him, but without effect. They found out, however, where myfather was confined, and resolved upon a desperate plan. They put mymother and Paolo on board of the yacht, and by paying a heavy bribeobtained permission to visit my father in prison. Brandon's friend wasabout the same height as my father. When they reached his cell theyurged my father to exchange clothes with him and escape. At first hepositively refused, but when assured that Brandon's friend, being anEnglishman, would be set free in a few days, he consented. Brandon thentook him away unnoticed, put him on board of the yacht, and sailed toMarseilles, where he gave him money enough to get to England, and toldhim to stop at Brandon Hall till he himself arrived. He then sailed backto see about his friend. 

"He found out nothing about him for some time. At last he induced theBritish embassador to take the matter in hand, and he did so with sucheffect that the prisoner was liberated. He had been treated with someseverity at first, but he was young, and the government was persuaded tolook upon it as a youthful freak. Brandon's powerful influence with theBritish embassador obtained his unconditional release. 

"My father afterward obtained a situation here at Holby, where he wasorganist till he died. Through all his life he never ceased to receivekindness and delicate acts of attention from Brandon. When in his lastsickness Brandon came and staid with him till the end. He then wished todo something for Paolo, but Paolo preferred seeking his own fortune inhis own way. "

Mrs. Thornton ended her little narrative, to which Despard had listenedwith the deepest attention. 

"Who was Brandon's friend?" asked Despard. 

"He was a British officer, " said Mrs. Thornton. "For fear of dragging inhis government, and perhaps incurring dismissal from the army, he gavean assumed name--Mountjoy. This was the reason why Brandon was so longin finding him. "

"Did your father not know it?"

"On the passage Brandon kept it secret, and after his friend'sdeliverance he came to see my father under his assumed name. My fatheralways spoke of him as Mountjoy. After a time he heard that he wasdead. "

"I can tell you his true name, " said Mr. Thornton. "There is no reasonwhy you should not know it. "

"What?"

"Lionel Despard--your father, and Ralph Brandon's bosom friend. "

Despard looked transfixed. Mrs. Thornton gazed at her husband, and gavean unutterable look at Despard, then, covering her face with her hands, she burst into an agony of tears. 

"My God, " cried Despard, passing his hand over his forehead, "my fatherdied when I was a child, and nobody was ever able to tell me any thingabout him. And Brandon was his friend. He died thus, and his family haveperished thus, while I have known nothing and done nothing. "

"You at least are not to blame, " said Thornton, calmly, "for you hadscarcely heard of Brandon's name. You were in the north of England whenthis happened, and knew nothing whatever about it. "

That evening Despard went home with a deeper trouble in his heart. Hewas not seen at the Grange for a month. At the end of that time hereturned. He had been away to London during the whole interval. 

As Mrs. Thornton entered to greet him her whole face was overspread withan expression of radiant joy. He took both her hands in his and pressedthem without a word. "Welcome back, " she murmured--"you have been gone along time. "

"Nothing but an overpowering sense of duty could have kept me away solong, " said he, in a deep, low voice. 

A few similar commonplaces followed; but with these two the tone of thevoice invested the feeblest commonplaces with some hidden meaning. 

At last she asked: "Tell me what success you had?" He made no reply; buttaking a paper from his pocket opened it, and pointed to a markedparagraph. This was the month of March. The paper was dated January 14, 1847. The paragraph was as follows:

"DISTRESSING CASUALTY. --The ship _Java_, which left Sydney on the5th of August last, reports a stormy passage. On the 12th of September adistressing casualty occurred. They were in S. Lat. 11° 1' 22", E. Long. 105° 6' 36", when a squall suddenly struck the ship. A passenger, LouisBrandon, Esq. , of the firm of Compton & Brandon, Sydney, was standing bythe lee-quarter as the squall struck, and, distressing to narrate, hewas hurled violently overboard. It was impossible to do any thing, as amonsoon was beginning, which raged for twenty-four hours. Mr. Brandonwas coming to England on business. 

"The captain reports a sand-bank in the latitude and longitude indicatedabove, which he names 'Coffin Island, ' from a rock of peculiar shape atthe eastern extremity. Ships will do well in future to give this place awide berth. "

Deep despondency came over Mrs. Thornton's face as she read this. "Wecan do nothing, " said she, mournfully. "He is gone. It is better forhim. We must now wait till we hear more from Paolo. I will write to himat once. "

"And I will write to my uncle. "

There was a long silence. "Do you know, " said Despard, finally, "that Ihave been thinking much about my father of late. It seems very strangeto me that my uncle never told me about that Sicilian affair before. Perhaps he did not wish me to know it, for fear that through all my lifeI should brood over thoughts of that noble heart lost to me forever. ButI intend to write to him, and obtain afresh the particulars of hisdeath. I wish to know more about my mother. No one was ever in suchignorance of his parents as I have been. They merely told me that myfather and mother died suddenly in India, and left me an orphan at theage of seven under the care of Mr. Henry Thornton. They never told methat Brandon was a very dear friend of his. I have thought also of thecircumstances of his death, and they all seem confused. Some say he diedin Calcutta, others say in China, and Mr. Thornton once said in Manilla. There is some mystery about it. "

"When Brandon was visiting my father, " said Mrs. Thornton, "you were atschool, and he never saw you. I think he thought you were HenryDespard's son. "

"There's some mystery about it, " said Despard, thoughtfully. 

When Mr. Thornton came in that night he read a few extracts from theLondon paper which he had just received. One was as follows:

"FOUNDERED AT SEA. --The ship _H. B. Smith_, from Calcutta, whicharrived yesterday, reports that on the 28th January they picked up aship's long-boat near the Cape Verd Islands. It was floating bottomupward. On the stern was painted the word _Falcon_. The ship_Falcon_ has now been expected for two months, and it is fearedfrom this that she may have foundered at sea. The _Falcon_ was onher way from Sydney to London, and belonged to Messrs. Kingwood, Flaxman, & Co. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SHADOW OF THE AFRICAN FOREST. 

Let us return to the castaways. 

It was morning on the coast of Africa--Africa the mysterious, theinhospitable Africa, _leonum arida nutrix_. 

There was a little harbor into which flowed a shallow, sluggish river, while on each side rose high hills. In front of the harbor was an islandwhich concealed and protected it. 

Here the palm-trees grew. The sides rose steeply, the summit was lofty, and the towering palms afforded a deep, dense shade. The grass was fineand short, and being protected from the withering heat was as fine asthat of an English lawn. Up the palm-trees there climbed a thousandparasitic plants, covered with blossoms--gorgeous, golden, rich beyondall description. Birds of starry plumage flitted through the air, asthey leaped from tree to tree, uttering a short, wild note; through thespreading branches sighed the murmuring breeze that came from off theocean; round the shore the low tones of the gently-washing surf wereborne as it came in in faint undulations from the outer sea. 

Underneath the deepest shadow of the palms lay Brandon. He had lostconsciousness when he fell from the boat; and now for the first time heopened his eyes and looked around upon the scene, seeing these sightsand hearing the murmuring sounds. 

In front of him stood Beatrice, looking with dropped eyelids at thegrass, her arms half folded before her, her head uncovered, her hairbound by a sort of fillet around the crown, and then gathered in greatblack curling masses behind. Her face was pale as usual, and had thesame marble whiteness which always marked it. That face was now pensiveand sad; but there was no weakness there. Its whole expression showedmanifestly the self-contained soul, the strong spirit evenly-poised, willing and able to endure. 

Brandon raised himself on one arm and looked wonderingly around. Shestarted. A vivid flash of joy spread over her face in one bright smile. She hurried up and knelt down by him. 

"Do not move--you are weak, " she said, as tenderly as a mother to a sickchild. 

Brandon looked at her fixedly for a long time without speaking. Sheplaced her cool hand on his forehead. His eyes closed as though therewere a magnetic power in her touch. After a while, as she removed herhand, he opened his eyes again. He took her hand and held it ferventlyto his lips. "I know, " said he, in a low, dreamy voice, "who you are, and who I am--but nothing more. I know that I have lost all memory; thatthere has been some past life of great sorrow; but I can not think whatthat sorrow is--I know that there has been some misfortune, but I cannot remember what. "

Beatrice smiled sadly. "It will all come to you in time. "

"At first when I waked, " he murmured, "and looked around on this scene, I thought that I had at last entered the spirit-world, and that you hadcome with me; and I felt a deep joy that I can never express. But I see, and I know now, that I am yet on the earth. Though what shore of all theearth this is, or how I got here, I know not. "

"You must sleep, " said she, gently. 

"And you--you--you, " he murmured, with indescribable intensity--"you, companion, preserver, guardian angel--I feel as though, if I were not aman, I could weep my life out at your feet. "

"Do not weep, " said she, calmly. "The time for tears may yet come; butit is not now. "

He looked at her, long, earnestly, and inquiringly, still holding herhand, which he had pressed to his lips. An unutterable longing to asksomething was evident; but it was checked by a painful embarrassment. 

"I know nothing but this, " said he at last, "that I have felt as thoughsailing for years over infinite seas. Wave after wave has been impellingus on. A Hindu servant guided the boat. But I lay weak, with my headsupported by you, and your arms around me. Yet, of all the days and allthe years that ever I have known, these were supreme, for all the timewas one long ecstasy. And now, if there is sorrow before me, " heconcluded, "I will meet it resignedly, for I have had my heavenalready. "

"You have sailed over seas, " said she, sadly; "but I was the helplessone, and you saved me from death. "

"And are you--to me--what I thought?" he asked, with painful vehemenceand imploring eyes. 

"I am your nurse, " said she, with a melancholy smile. 

He sighed heavily. "Sleep now, " said she, and she again placed her handupon his forehead. Her touch soothed him. Her voice arose in a low songof surpassing sweetness. His senses yielded to the subtle incantation, and sleep came to him as he lay. 

When he awaked it was almost evening. Lethargy was still over him, andBeatrice made him sleep again. He slept into the next day. On wakingthere was the same absence of memory. She gave him some cordial todrink, and the draught revived him. Now he was far stronger, and he satup, leaning against a tree, while Beatrice knelt near him. He looked ather long and earnestly. 

"I would wish never to leave this place, but to stay here, " said he. "Iknow nothing of my past life. I have drunk of Lethe. Yet I can not helpstruggling to regain knowledge of that past. "

He put his hand in his bosom, as if feeling for some relic. 

"I have something suspended about my neck, " said he, "which is precious. Perhaps I shall know what it is after a time. "

Then, after a pause, "Was there not a wreck?" he asked. 

"Yes; and you saved my life. "

"Was there not a fight with pirates?"

"Yes; and you saved my life, " said Beatrice again. 

"I begin to remember, " said Brandon. "How long is it since the wrecktook place?"

"It was January 15. "

"And what is this?"

"February 6. It is about three weeks. "

"How did I get away?"

"In a boat with me and the servant. "

"Where is the servant?"

"Away providing for us. You had a sun-stroke. He carried you up here. "

"How long have I been in this place?"

"A fortnight. "

Numerous questions followed. Brandon's memory began to return. Yet, inhis efforts to regain knowledge of himself, Beatrice was still the mostprominent object in his thoughts. His dream-life persisted in minglingitself with his real life. 

"But you, " he cried, earnestly--"you, how have you endured all this? Youare weary; you have worn yourself out for me. What can I ever do to showmy gratitude? You have watched me night and day. Will you not have morecare of your own life?"

The eyes of Beatrice kindled with a soft light. "What is my life?" saidshe. "Do I not owe it over and over again to you? But I deny that I amworn out. "

Brandon looked at her with earnest, longing eyes. His recovery wasrapid. In a few days he was able to go about. Cato procured fish fromthe waters and game from the woods, so as to save the provisions of theboat, and they looked forward to the time when they might resume theirjourney. But to Brandon this thought was repugnant, and an hourlystruggle now went on within him. Why should he go to England? What couldhe do? Why should he ever part from her?

 "Oh, to burst all links of habit, and to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day!"

In her presence he might find peace, and perpetual rapture in her smile. 

In the midst of such meditations as these her voice once arose fromafar. It was one of her own songs, such as she could improvise. It spokeof summer isles amidst the sea; of soft winds and spicy breezes; ofeternal rest beneath over-shadowing palms. It was a soft, meltingstrain--a strain of enchantment, sung by one who felt the intoxicationof the scene, and whose genius imparted it to others. He was likeUlysses listening to the song of the sirens. It seemed to him as thoughall nature there joined in that marvelous strain. It was to him asthough the very winds were lulled into calm, and a delicious languorstole upon all his senses. 

 "Sweet, sweet, sweet, god Pan, Sweet in the fields by the river, Blinding sweet, oh great god Pan, The sun on the hills forgot to die, And the lily revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream by the river. "

It was the [Greek: meligaerun opa], the [Greek: opa kallimon] of thesirens. 

For she had that divine voice which of itself can charm the soul; but, in addition, she had that poetic genius which of itself could give wordswhich the music might clothe. 

Now, as he saw her at a distance through the trees and marked thestatuesque calm of her classic face, as she stood there, seeming in hersong rather to soliloquize than to sing, breathing forth her music "inprofuse strains of unpremeditated art, " the very beauty of the singerand the very sweetness of the song put an end to all temptation. 

"This is folly, " he thought. "Could one like that assent to my wildfancy? Would she, with her genius, give up her life to me? No; thatdivine music must be heard by larger numbers. She is one who thinks shecan interpret the inspiration of Mozart and Handel. And who am I?"

Then there came amidst this music a still small voice, like the voice ofthose helpless ones at home; and this voice seemed one of entreaty andof despair. So the temptation passed. But it passed only to be renewedagain. As for Beatrice, she seemed conscious of no such effect as this. Calmly and serenely she bore herself, singing as she thought, as thebirds sing, because she could not help it. Here she was like one of theclassic nymphs--like the genius of the spot--like Calypso, onlypassionless. 

Now, the more Brandon felt the power of her presence the more he tookrefuge within himself, avoiding all dangerous topics, speaking only ofexternal things, calling upon her to sing of loftier themes, such asthose "_cieli immensi_" of which she had sung when he first heardher. Thus he fought down the struggles of his own heart, and crushed outthose rising impulses which threatened to sweep him helplessly away. 

As for Beatrice herself she seemed changeless, moved by no passion andswayed by no impulse. Was she altogether passionless, or was this hermatchless self-control? Brandon thought that it was her nature, and thatshe, like her master Langhetti, found in music that which satisfied allpassion and all desire. 

In about a fortnight after his recovery from his stupor they were readyto leave. The provisions in the boat were enough for two weeks' sail. Water was put on board, and they bade adieu to the island which hadsheltered them. 

This time Beatrice would not let Brandon row while the sun was up. Theyrowed at night, and by day tried to get under the shadow of the shore. At last a wind sprang up; they now sailed along swiftly for two or threedays. At the end of that time they saw European houses, beyond whicharose some roofs and spires. It was Sierra Leone. Brandon's conjectureshad been right. On landing here Brandon simply said that they had beenwrecked in the _Falcon_, and had escaped on the boat, all the resthaving perished. He gave his name as Wheeler. The authorities receivedthese unfortunate ones with great kindness, and Brandon heard that aship would leave for England on the 6th of March. 

The close connection which had existed between them for so many weekswas now severed, and Brandon thought that this might perhaps remove thatextraordinary power which he felt that she exerted over him. Not so. Inher absence he found himself constantly looking forward toward a meetingwith her again. When with her he found the joy that flowed from herpresence to be more intense, since it was more concentrated. He began tofeel alarmed at his own weakness. 

The 6th of March came, and they left in the ship _Juno_ for London. 

Now their intercourse was like that of the old days on board the_Falcon_. 

"It is like the _Falcon_, " said Beatrice, on the first evening. "Let us forget all about the journey over the sea, and our stay on theisland. "

"I can never forget that I owe my life to you, " said Brandon, vehemently. 

"And I, " rejoined Beatrice, with kindling eyes, which yet were softenedby a certain emotion of indescribable tenderness--"I--how can I forget!Twice you saved me from a fearful death, and then you toiled to save mylife till your own sank under it. "

"I would gladly give up a thousand lives"--said Brandon, in a low voice, while his eyes were illumined with a passion which had never before beenpermitted to get beyond control, but now rose visibly, and irresistibly. 

"If you have a life to give, " said Beatrice, calmly, returning hisfevered gaze with a full look of tender sympathy--"if you have a life togive, let it be given to that _purpose_ of yours to which you aredevoted. "

"You refuse it, then!" cried Brandon, vehemently and reproachfully. 

Beatrice returned his reproachful gaze with one equally reproachful, andraising her calm eyes to Heaven, said, in a tremulous voice, "You have no right to say so--least of all to _me_. I said what youfeel and know; and it is this, that others require your life, incomparison with whom I am nothing. Ah, my friend, " she continued, intones of unutterable sadness, "let us be friends here at least, on thesea, for when we reach England we must be separated for evermore!"

"For evermore!" cried Brandon, in agony. 

"For evermore!" repeated Beatrice, in equal anguish. 

"Do you feel very eager to get to England?" asked Brandon, after a longsilence. 

"No. "

"Why not?"

"Because I know that there is sorrow for me there. "

"If our boat had been destroyed on the shore of that island, " he asked, in almost an imploring voice, "would you have grieved?"

"No. "

"The present is better than the future. Oh, that my dream had continuedforever, and that I had never awaked to the bitterness of life!"

"That, " said Beatrice, with a mournful smile, "is a reproach to me forwatching you. "

"Yet that moment of awaking was sweet beyond all thought, " continuedBrandon, in a musing tone, "for I had lost all memory of all thingsexcept you. "

They stood in silence, sometimes looking at one another, sometimes atthe sea, while the dark shadows of the Future swept gloomily beforetheir eyes. 

The voyage passed on until at last the English shores were seen, andthey sailed up the Channel amidst the thronging ships that pass to andfro from the metropolis of the world. 

"To-morrow we part, " said Beatrice, as she stood with Brandon on thequarter-deck. 

"No, " said Brandon; "there will be no one to meet you here. I must takeyou to your home. "

"To my home! You?" cried Beatrice, starting back. "You dare not. "

"I dare. "

"Do you know what it is?"

"I do not seek to know. I do not ask; but yet I think I know. "

"And yet _you_ offer to go?"

"I must go. I must see you to the very last. "

"Be it so, " said Beatrice, in a solemn voice, "since it is the verylast. "

Suddenly she looked at him with the solemn gaze of one whose soul wasfilled with thoughts that overpowered every common feeling. It was aglance lofty and serene and unimpassioned, like that of some spiritwhich has passed beyond human cares, but sad as that of some prophet ofwoe. 

"Louis Brandon!"

At this mention of his name a flash of unspeakable surprise passed overBrandon's face. She held out her hand. "Take my hand, " said she, calmly, "and hold it so that I may have strength to speak. "

"Louis Brandon!" said she, "there was a time on that African island whenyou lay under the trees and I was sure that you were dead. There was nobeating to your heart, and no perceptible breath. The last test failed, the last hope left me, and I knelt by your head, and took you in myarms, and wept in my despair. At your feet Cato knelt and mourned in hisHindu fashion. Then mechanically and hopelessly he made a last trial tosee if you were really dead, so that he might prepare your grave. He puthis hand under your clothes against your heart. He held it there for along time. Your heart gave no answer. He withdrew it, and in doing sotook something away that was suspended about your neck. This was ametallic case and a package wrapped in oiled silk. He gave them to me. "

Beatrice had spoken with a sad, measured tone--such a tone as onesometimes uses in prayer--a passionless monotone, without agitation andwithout shame. 

Brandon answered not a word. 

"Take my hand, " she said, "or I can not go through. This only can giveme strength. "

He clasped it tightly in both of his. She drew a long breath, andcontinued:

"I thought you dead, and knew the full measure of despair. Now, whenthese were given me, I wished to know the secret of the man who hadtwice rescued me from death, and finally laid down his life for my sake. I did it not through curiosity. I did it, " and her voice rose slightly, with solemn emphasis--"I did it through a holy feeling that, since mylife was due to you, therefore, as yours was gone, mine should replaceit, and be devoted to the purpose which you had undertaken. 

"I opened first the metallic case. It was under the dim shade of theAfrican forest, and while holding on my knees the head of the man whohad laid down his life for me. You know what I read there. I read of afather's love and agony. I read there the name of the one who had drivenhim to death. The shadows of the forest grew darker around me; as thefull meaning of that revelation came over my soul they deepened intoblackness, and I fell senseless by your side. 

[Illustration: "I THOUGHT YOU DEAD, AND KNEW THE FULL MEASURE OFDESPAIR. "]

"Better had Cato left us both lying there to die, and gone off in theboat himself. But he revived me. I laid you down gently, and propped upyour head, but never again dared to defile you with the touch of one soinfamous as I. 

"There still remained the other package, which I read--how you reachedthat island, and how you got that MS. , I neither know nor seek todiscover; I only know that all my spirit awaked within me as I readthose words. A strange, inexplicable feeling arose. I forgot all aboutyou and your griefs. My whole soul was fixed on the figure of thatbereaved and solitary man, who thus drifted to his fate. He seemed tospeak to me. A fancy, born out of frenzy, no doubt, for all that horrorwell-nigh drove me mad--a fancy came to me that this voice, which hadcome from a distance of eighteen years, had spoken to me; a wild fancy, because I was eighteen years old, that therefore I was connected withthese eighteen years, filled my whole soul. I thought that this MS. Wasmine, and the other one yours. I read it over and over, and over yetagain, till every word forced itself into my memory--till you and yoursorrows sank into oblivion beside the woes of this man. 

"I sat near you all that night. The palms sighed in the air. I darednot touch you. My brain whirled. I thought I heard voices out at sea, and figures appeared in the gloom. I thought I saw before me the form ofColonel Despard. He looked at me with sadness unutterable, yet with softpity and affection, and extended his hand as though to bless me. Madderfancies than ever then rushed through my brain. But when morning cameand the excitement had passed I knew that I had been delirious. 

"When that morning came I went over to look at you. To my amazement, youwere breathing. Your life was renewed of itself. I knelt down andpraised God for this, but did not dare to touch you. I folded up thetreasures, and told Cato to put them again around your neck. Then Iwatched you till you recovered. 

"But on that night, and after reading those MSS. , I seemed to havepassed into another stage of being. I can say things to you now which Iwould not have dared to say before, and strength is given me to tell youall this before we part for evermore. 

"I have awakened to infamy; for what is infamy if it be not this, tobear the name I bear? Something more than pride or vanity has been thefoundation of that feeling of shame and hate with which I have alwaysregarded it. And I have now died to my former life, and awakened to anew one. 

"Louis Brandon, the agonies which may be suffered by those whom you seekto avenge I can conjecture but I wish never to hear. I pray God that Imay never know what it might break my heart to learn. You must savethem, you must also avenge them. You are strong, and you are implacable. When you strike your blow will be crushing. 

"But I must go and bear my lot among those you strike; I will wait onamong them, sharing their infamy and their fate. When your blow falls Iwill not turn away. I will think of those dear ones of yours who havesuffered, and for their sakes will accept the blow of revenge. "

Brandon had held her hand in silence, and with a convulsive pressureduring these words. As she stopped she made a faint effort to withdrawit. He would not let her. He raised it to his lips and pressed it there. 

Three times he made an effort to speak, and each time failed. At last, with a strong exertion, he uttered, in a hoarse voice and broken tones, "Oh, Beatrice! Beatrice! how I love you!"

"I know it, " said she, in the same monotone which she had used before--atone of infinite mournfulness--"I have known it long, and I would sayalso, 'Louis Brandon, I love you, ' if it were not that this would be thelast infamy; that you, Brandon, of Brandon Hall, should be loved by onewho bears my name. "

The hours of the night passed away. They stood watching the Englishshores, speaking little. Brandon clung to her hand. They were sailing upthe Thames. It was about four in the morning. 

"We shall soon be there, " said he; "sing to me for the last time. Sing, and forget for a moment that we must part. "

Then, in a low voice, of soft but penetrating tones, which thrilledthrough every fibre of Brandon's being. Beatrice began to sing:

 "Love made us one: our unity Is indissoluble by act of thine, For were this mortal being ended, And our freed spirits in the world above, Love, passing o'er the grave, would join us there, As once he joined us here: And the sad memory of the life below Would but unite as closer evermore. No act of thine may loose Thee from the eternal bond, Nor shall Revenge have power To disunite us _there_!"

On that same day they landed in London. The Governor's lady at SierraLeone had insisted on replenishing Beatrice's wardrobe, so that sheshowed no appearance of having gone through the troubles which hadafflicted her on sea and shore. 

Brandon took her to a hotel and then went to his agent's. He alsoexamined the papers for the last four months. He read in the morningjournals a notice which had already appeared of the arrival of the shipoff the Nore, and the statement that three of the passengers of the_Falcon_ had reached Sierra Leone. He communicated to the owners ofthe _Falcon_ the particulars of the loss of the ship, and earnedtheir thanks, for they were able to get their insurance without waitinga year, as is necessary where nothing is heard of a missing vessel. 

He traveled with Beatrice by rail and coach as far as the village ofBrandon. At the inn he engaged a carriage to take her up to her father'shouse. It was Brandon Hall, as he very well knew. 

But little was said during all this time. Words were useless. Silenceformed the best communion for them. He took her hand at parting. Shespoke not a word; his lips moved, but no audible sound escaped. Yet intheir eyes as they fastened themselves on one another in an intense gazethere was read all that unutterable passion of love, of longing, and ofsorrow that each felt. 

The carriage drove off. Brandon watched it. "Now farewell. Love, forever, " he murmured, "and welcome Vengeance!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

INQUIRIES. 

So many years had elapsed since Brandon had last been in the villagewhich bore the family name that he had no fear of being recognized. Hehad been a boy then, he was now a man. His features had passed from atransition state into their maturer form, and a thick beard andmustache, the growth of the long voyage, covered the lower part of theface like a mask. His nose which, when he left, had a boyish roundnessof outline, had since become refined and chiseled into the straight, thin Grecian type. His eyes alone remained the same, yet the expressionhad grown different, even as the soul that looked forth through them hadbeen changed by experience and by suffering. 

He gave himself out at the inn as an American merchant, and went out tobegin his inquiries. Tearing two buttons off his coat, he entered theshop of the village tailor. 

"Good-morning, " said he, civilly. 

"Good-morning, Sir; fine morning, Sir, " answered the tailor, volubly. Hewas a little man, with a cast in his eye, and on looking at Brandon hehad to put his head on one side, which he did with a quick, odd gesture. 

"There are two buttons off my coat, and I want to know if you can repairit for me?"

"Certainly, Sir; certainly. Take off your coat, Sir, and sit down. "

"The buttons, " said Brandon, "are a little odd; but if you have not gotany exactly like them, any thing similar will do. "

"Oh, I think we'll fit you out, Sir. I think we'll fit you out, "rejoined the tailor, briskly. 

He bustled about among his boxes and drawers, pulled out a large numberof articles, and finally began to select the buttons which were nearestlike those on the coat. 

"This is a fine little village, " said Brandon, carelessly. 

"Yes, Sir; that's a fact, Sir; that's just what every body says, Sir. "

"What old Hall is that which I saw just outside the village?"

"Ah, Sir, that old Hall is the very best in the whole county. It isBrandon Hall, Sir. "

"Brandon Hall?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"I suppose this village takes the name from the Hall--or is it the Hallthat is named after the village?"

"Well, neither, Sir. Both of them were named after the Brandon family. "

"Is it an old family? It must be, of course. "

"The oldest in the county, Sir. "

"I wonder if Mr. Brandon would let a stranger go through his grounds?There is a hill back of the house that I should like to see. "

"Mr. Brandon!" exclaimed the tailor, shaking his head; "Mr. Brandon!There ain't no Mr. Brandon now!"

"How is that?"

"Gone, Sir--ruined--died out. "

"Then the man that lives there now is not Mr. Brandon?"

"Nothing of the kind, Sir! He, Sir! Why he isn't fit to clean the shoesof any of the old Brandons!"

"Who is he?"

"His name, Sir, is Potts. "

"Potts! That doesn't sound like one of your old county names. "

"I should think not, Sir. Potts! Why, Sir, he's generally believed inthis here community to be a villain, Sir, " said the little tailor, mysteriously, and with the look of a man who would like very well to bequestioned further. 

Brandon humored him. "How is that?"

"It's a long story, Sir. "

"Oh, well--tell it. I have a great curiosity to hear any old storiescurrent in your English villages. I'm an American, and English life isnew to me. "

"I'll bet you never heard any thing like this in all your born days. "

"Tell it then, by all means. "

The tailor jumped down from his seat, went mysteriously to the door, looked cautiously out, and then returned. 

"It's just as well to be a little careful, " said he, "for if that manknew that I was talking about him he'd take it out of me quick enough, Itell you. "

"You seem to be afraid of him. "

"We're all afraid of him in the village, and hate him; but I hope to Godhe'll catch it yet!"

"How can you be afraid of him? You all say that this is a free country. "

"No man, Sir, in any country, is free, except he's rich. Poor people canbe oppressed in many ways; and most of us are in one way or otherdependent on him. We hate him all the worse, though. But I'll tell youabout him. "

"Yes, go on. "

"Well, Sir, old Mr. Brandon, about twenty years ago, was one of therichest men in the county. About fifteen years ago the man Potts turnedup, and however the old man took a fancy to him I never could see, buthe did take a fancy to him, put all his money in some tin mines thatPotts had started, and the end of it was Potts turned out a scoundrel, as every one said he would, swindled the old man out of every penny, andruined him completely. Brandon had to sell his estate, and Potts boughtit with the very money out of which he had cheated the old man. "

"Oh! impossible!" said Brandon. "Isn't that some village gossip?"

"I wish it was, Sir--but it ain't. Go ask any man here, and he'll tellyou the same. "

"And what became of the family?" asked Brandon, calmly. 

"Ah, Sir! that is the worst part of it. "

"Why?"

"I'll tell you, Sir. He was ruined. He gave up all. He hadn't a pennyleft. He went out of the Hall and lived for a short time in a smallhouse at the other end of the village. At last he spent what littlemoney he had left, and they all got sick. You wouldn't believe whathappened after that. "

"What was it?"

"They were all taken to the alms-house. "

A burst of thunder seemed to sound in Brandon's ears as he heard this, which he had never even remotely imagined. The tailor was occupied withhis own thoughts, and did not notice the wildness that for an instantappeared in Brandon's eyes. The latter for a moment felt paralyzed andstruck down into nothingness by the shock of that tremendousintelligence. 

"The people felt dreadfully about it, " continued the tailor, "but theycouldn't do any thing. It was Potts who had the family taken to thealms-house. Nobody dared to interfere. "

"Did none of the county families do anything?" said Brandon, who atlast, by a violent effort, had regained his composure. 

"No. They had all been insulted by the old man, so now they let himsuffer. "

"Had he no old friends, or even acquaintances?"

"Well, that's what we all asked ourselves, Sir; but at any rate, whetherhe had or not, they didn't turn up--that is, not in time. There was ayoung man here when it was too late. "

"A young man?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Was he a relative?"

"Oh no, Sir, only a lawyer's clerk; wanted to see about business I daresay. Perhaps to collect a bill. Let me see; the lawyer who sent him wasnamed Thornton. "

"Thornton!" said Brandon, as the name sank into his soul. 

"Yes; he lived at Holby. "

Brandon drew a long breath. 

"No, Sir; no friends came, whether he had any or not. They were all sickat the alms-house for weeks. "

"And I suppose they all died there?" said Brandon, in a strange, sweetvoice. 

"No, Sir. They were not so happy. "

"What suffering could be greater?"

"They do talk dreadfully in this town, Sir; and I dare say it's nottrue, but if it is it's enough to make a man's blood ran cold. "

"You excite my curiosity. Remember I am an American, and these thingsseem odd to me. I always thought your British aristocrats could not beruined. "

"Here was one, Sir, that was, anyhow. "

"Go on. "

"Well, Sir, the old man died in the alms-house. The others got well. Assoon as they were well enough they went away. "

"How did they get away?"

"Potts helped them, " replied the tailor, in a peculiar tone. "They wentaway from the village. "

"Where did they go?"

"People say to Liverpool. I only tell what I know. I heard young BillPotts, the old fellow's son, boasting one night at the inn where he washalf drunk, how they had served the Brandons. He said they wanted toleave the village, so his father helped them away to America. "

"To America?"

"Yes, Sir. "

Brandon made no rejoinder. 

"Bill Potts said they went to Liverpool, and then left for America tomake their fortunes. "

"What part of America?" asked Brandon, indifferently. "I never saw orheard of them. "

"Didn't you, Sir?" asked the tailor, who evidently thought that Americawas like some English county, where every body may hear of every bodyelse. "That's odd, too. I was going to ask you if you had. "

"I wonder what ship they went out in?"

"That I can't say, Sir. Bill Potts kept dark about that. He said onething, though, that set us thinking. "

"What was that?"

"Why, that they went out in an emigrant ship as steerage passengers. "

Brandon was silent. 

"Poor people!" said he at last. 

By this time the tailor had finished his coat and handed it back to him. Having obtained all the information that the man could give Brandon paidhim and left. 

Passing by the inn he walked on till he came to the alms-house. Here hestood for a while and looked at it. 

Brandon alms-house was small, badly planned, badly managed, and badlybuilt; every thing done there was badly and meanly done. It was white-washed from the topmost point of every chimney down to the lowest edgeof the basement. A whited sepulchre. For there was foulness there, inthe air, in the surroundings, in every thing. Squalor and dirt reigned. His heart grew sick as those hideous walls rose before his sight. 

Between this and Brandon Hall there was a difference, a distance almostimmeasurable; to pass from one to the other might be conceived of asincredible; and yet that passage had been made. 

To fall so far as to go the whole distance between the two; to begin inone and end in the other; to be born, brought up, and live and move andhave one's being in the one, and then to die in the other; what was moreincredible than this? Yet this had been the fate of his father. 

Leaving the place, he walked directly toward Brandon Hall. 

Brandon Hall was begun, nobody knows exactly when; but it is said thatthe foundations were laid before the time of Egbert. In all parts of theold mansion the progress of English civilization might be studied; inthe Norman arches of the old chapel, the slender pointed style of thefifteenth century doorway that opened to the same, the false Grecian ofthe early Tudor period, and the wing added in Elizabeth's day, the daysof that old Ralph Brandon who sank his ship and its treasure to preventit from falling into the hands of the enemy. 

Around this grand old Hall were scenes which could be found nowhere savein England. Wide fields, forever green with grass like velvet, overwhich rose groves of oak and elm, giving shelter to innumerable birds. There the deer bounded and the hare found a covert. The broad avenuethat led to the Hall went up through a world of rich sylvan scenery, winding through groves and meadows and over undulating ground. Beforethe Hall lay the open sea about three miles away; but the Hall was on aneminence and overlooked all the intervening ground. Standing there onemight see the gradual decline of the country as it sloped downwardtoward the margin of the ocean. On the left a bold promontory jutted farout, on the nearer side of which there was an island with a light-house;on the right was another promontory, not so bold. Between these two thewhole country was like a garden. A little cove gave shelter to smallvessels, and around this cove was the village of Brandon. 

Brandon Hall was one of the oldest and most magnificent of the greathalls of England. As Brandon looked upon it it rose before him amidstthe groves of six hundred years, its many-gabled roof rising out fromamidst a sea of foliage, speaking of wealth, luxury, splendor, power, influence, and all that men hope for, or struggle for, or fight for;from all of which he and his had been cast out; and the one who had donethis was even now occupying the old ancestral seat of his family. 

Brandon entered the gate, and walked up the long avenue till he reachedthe Hall. Here he rang the bell, and a servant appeared. "Is Mr. Pottsat home?"

"Yes, " said the man, brusquely. 

"I wish to see him. "

"Who shall I say?"

"Mr. Hendricks, from America. "

The man showed him into the drawing-room. Brandon seated himself andwaited. The room was furnished in the most elegant manner, most of thefurniture being old, and all familiar to him. He took a hasty glancearound, and closed his eyes as if to shut it all out from sight. 

In a short time a man entered. 

He appeared to be between fifty and sixty years of age, of medium size, broad-shouldered and stout. He had a thoroughly plebeian air; he wasdressed in black, and had a bunch of large seals dangling from beneathhis waistcoat. His face was round and fleshy, his eyes were small, andhis head was bald. The general expression of his face was that of good-natured simplicity. As he caught sight of Brandon a frank smile ofwelcome arose on his broad, fat face. 

[Illustration: "YOU ARE, SIR. JOHN POTTS OF POTTS HALL. "]

Brandon rose and bowed. "Am I addressing Mr. John Potts?"

"You are, Sir. John Potts of Potts Hall. "

"Potts of Potts Hall!" repeated Brandon. Then, drawing a card from hispocket he handed it to Potts. He had procured some of these in London. The card read as follows:

BEAMISH & HENDRICKS, FLOUR MERCHANTS & PROVISION DEALERS, 88 FRONT STREET, CINCINNATI, OHIO. 

"I, Sir, " said Brandon, "am Mr. Hendricks, junior partner in Beamish &Hendricks, and I hope you are quite well. "

"Very well, thank you, " answered Potts, smiling and sitting down. "I amhappy to see you. "

"Do you keep your health, Sir?"

"Thank you, I do, " said Potts. "A touch of rheumatism at odd times, that's all. "

Brandon's manner was stiff and formal, and his voice had assumed aslight nasal intonation. Potts had evidently looked on him as a perfectstranger. 

"I hope, Sir, that I am not taking up your valuable time. You Britishnoblemen have your valuable time, I know, as well as we business men. "

"No, Sir, no, Sir, not at all, " said Potts, evidently greatly delightedat being considered a British nobleman. 

"Well, Sir John--or is it my lord?" said Brandon, interrogatively, correcting himself, and looking inquiringly at Potts. 

"Sir John'll do, " said Potts. 

"Well, Sir John. Being in England on business, I came to ask you a fewquestions about a matter of some importance to us. "

"Proceed, Sir!" said Potts, with great dignity. 

"There's a young man that came into our employ last October whom we tooka fancy to, or rather my senior did, and we have an idea of promotinghim. My senior thinks the world of him, has the young man at his house, and he is even making up to his daughter. He calls himself Brandon--Frank Brandon. "

At this Potts started from an easy lounging attitude, in which he wastrying to "do" the British noble, and with startling intensity of gazelooked Brandon full in the face. 

"I think the young man is fairish, " continues Brandon, "but nothingextraordinary. He is industrious and sober, but he ain't quick, and henever had any real business experience till he came to us. Now, mysenior from the very first was infatuated with him, gave him a largesalary, and, in spite of my warnings that he ought to be cautious, hewants to make him head-clerk, with an eye to making him partner nextyear. And so bent on this is he that I know he would dissolvepartnership with me if I refused, take the young man, let him marry hisdaughter, and leave him all his money when he dies. That's no small sum, for old Mr. Beamish is worth in real estate round Cincinnati over twomillions of dollars. So, you see, I have a right to feel anxious, moreespecially as I don't mind telling you, Sir John, who understand thesematters, that I thought I had a very good chance myself with oldBeamish's daughter. "

Brandon spoke all this very rapidly, and with the air of one who wastrying to conceal his feelings of dislike to the clerk of whom he was sojealous. Potts looked at him with an encouraging smile, and asked, as hestopped, "And how did you happen to hear of me?"

"That's just what I was coming to. Sir John!" Brandon drew his chairnearer, apparently in deep excitement, and in a more nasal tone thanever, with a confidential air, he went on:

"You see, I mistrusted this young man who was carrying every thingbefore him with a high hand, right in my very teeth, and I watched him. I pumped him to see if I couldn't get him to tell something abouthimself. But the fellow was always on his guard, and always told thesame story. This is what he tells: He says that his father was RalphBrandon of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, and that he got very poor--he wasruined, in fact, by--I beg your pardon, Sir John, but he says it wasyou, and that you drove the family away. They then came over to America, and he got to Cincinnati. The old man, he says, died before they left, but he won't tell what became of the others. I confess I believed it wasall a lie, and didn't think there was any such place as Brandon Hall, soI determined to find out, naturally enough, Sir John, when two millionswere at stake. "

Potts winked. 

"Well, I suddenly found my health giving way, and had to come to Europe. You see what a delicate creature I am!"

Potts laughed with intense glee. 

"And I came here after wandering about, trying to find it. I heard atlast that there was a place that used to be Brandon Hall, though mostpeople call it Potts Hall. Now, I thought, my fine young man, I'll catchyou; for I'll call on Sir John himself and ask him. "

"You did right, Sir, " said Potts, who had taken an intense interest inthis narrative. "I'm the very man you ought to have come to. I can tellyou all you want. This Brandon is a miserable swindler. "

"Good! I thought so. You'll give me that, Sir John, over your own name, will you?" cried Brandon, in great apparent excitement. 

"Of course I will, " said Potts, "and a good deal more. But tell me, first, what that young devil said as to how he got to Cincinnati? Howdid he find his way there?"

"He would never tell. "

"What became of his mother and sister?"

"He wouldn't say. "

"All I know, " said Potts, "is this. I got official information that theyall died at Quebec. "

Brandon looked suddenly at the floor and gasped. In a moment he hadrecovered. 

"Curse him! then this fellow is an impostor?"

"No, " said Potts, "he must have escaped. It's possible. There was someconfusion at Quebec about names. "

"Then his name may really be Frank Brandon?"

"It must be, " said Potts. "Anyhow, the others are all right. "

"Are what?"

"All right; dead you know. That's why he don't like to tell you aboutthem. "

"Well, now, Sir John, could you tell me what you know about this youngman, since you think he must be the same one?"

"I know he must be, and I'll tell you all about him and the whole cursedlot. In the first place, " continued Potts, clearing his throat, "oldBrandon was one of the cursedest old fools that ever lived. He was verywell off but wanted to get richer, and so he speculated in a tin mine inCornwall. I was acquainted with him at the time and used to respect him. He persuaded me--I was always off-handed about money, and a careless, easy fellow--he persuaded me to invest in it also. I did so, but at theend of a few years I found out that the tin mine was a rotten concern, and sold out. I sold at a very high price, for people believed it was asplendid property. After this I found another mine and made money handover fist. I warned old Brandon, and so did every body, but he didn'tcare a fig for what we said, and finally, one fine morning, he waked upand found himself ruined. 

"He was more utterly ruined than any man I ever knew of, and all hisestates were sold. I had made some money, few others in the county hadany ready cash, the sale was forced, and I bought the wholeestablishment at a remarkably low figure. I got old Brandy--Brandy was anickname I gave the old fellow--I got him a house in the village, andsupported him for a while with his wife and daughter and his greatlubberly boy. I soon found out what vipers they were. They all turnedagainst their benefactor, and dared to say that I had ruined theirfather. In fact, my only fault was buying the place, and that was anadvantage to old Brandy rather than an injury. It shows, though, whathuman nature is. 

"They all got sick at last, and as they had no one to nurse them, I veryconsiderately sent them all to the alms-house, where they had good beds, good attendance, and plenty to eat and drink. No matter what I did forthem they abused me. They reviled me, for sending them to a comfortablehome, and old Brandy was the worst of all. I used to go and visit himtwo or three times a day, and he always cursed me. Old Brandy did getawfully profane, that's a fact. The reason was his infernal pride. Lookat me, now! I'm not proud. Put me in the alms-house, and would I curseyou? I hope not. 

"At last old Brandy died, and of course I had to look out for thefamily. They seemed thrown on my hands, you know, and I was too good-natured to let them suffer, although they treated me so abominably. Thebest thing I could think of was to ship them all off to America, wherethey could all get rich. So I took them to Liverpool. "

"Did they want to go?"

"They didn't seem to have an idea in their heads. They looked and actedjust like three born fools. "

"Strange!"

"I let a friend of mine see about them, as I had considerable to do, andhe got them a passage. "

"I suppose you paid their way out. "

"I did, Sir, " said Potts, with an air of munificence; "but, between youand me, it didn't cost much. "

"I should think it most have cost a considerable sum. "

"Oh no! Clark saw to that. Clark got them places as steeragepassengers. "

"Young Brandon told me once that he came out as cabin passenger. "

"That's his cursed pride. He went out in the steerage, and a devilishhard time he had too. "

"Why?"

"Oh, he was a little crowded, I think! There were six hundred emigrantson board the _Tecumseh_--"

"The what?"

"The _Tecumseh_. Clark did that business neatly. Each passenger hadto take his own provisions, so he supplied them with a lot. Now what doyou think he gave them?"

"I can't imagine. "

"He bought them some damaged bread at one quarter the usual price. Itwas all mouldy, you know, " said Potts, trying to make Brandon see thejoke. "I declare Clark and I roared over it for a couple of months, thinking how surprised they must have been when they sat down to eattheir first dinner. "

"That was very neat, " rejoined Brandon. 

"They were all sick when they left, " said Potts; "but before they got toQuebec they were sicker, I'll bet. "

"Why so?"

"Did you ever hear of the ship-fever?" said Potts, in a low voice whichsent a sharp trill through every fibre of Brandon's being. He could onlynod his head. 

"Well, the _Tecumseh_, with her six hundred passengers, afforded anuncommon fine field for the ship-fever. That's what I was going toobserve. They had a great time at Quebec last summer; but it wasunanimously voted that the _Tecumseh_ was the worst ship of thelot. I send out an agent to see what had become of my three friends, andhe came back and told me all. He said that about four hundred of the_Tecumseh's_ passengers died during the voyage, and ever so manymore after the landing. The obtained a list of the dead from thequarantine records, and among them were those of the these threeyouthful Brandons. Yes, they joined old Cognac pretty soon--lovely andpleasant in their lives, and in death not divided. But this young devilthat you speak of must have escaped. I dare say he did, for theconfusion was awful. "

"But couldn't there have been another son?"

"Oh no. There was another son, the eldest, the worst of the whole lot, so infernally bad that even old Brandy himself couldn't stand it, butpacked him off to Botany Bay. It's well he went of his own accord, forif he hadn't the law would have sent him there at last transported forlife. "

"Perhaps this man is the same one. "

"Oh no. This eldest Brandy is dead. "

"Are you sure?"

"Certain--best authority. A business friend of mine was in the same shipwith him. Brandy was coming home to see his friends. He fell overboardand my friend saw him drown. It was in the Indian Ocean. "

"When was that?"

"Last September. "

"Oh, then this one must be the other of course!"

"No doubt of that, I think, " said Potts, cheerily. 

Brandon rose. "I feel much obliged. Sir John, " said he, stiffly, andwith his usual nasal tone, "for your kindness. This is just what I want. I'll put a stop to my young man's game. It's worth coming to England tofind out this. "

"Well, when you walk him out of your office, give him my respects andtell him I'd be very happy to see him. For I would, you know. I reallywould. "

"I'll tell him so, " said Brandon, "and if he is alive perhaps he'll comehere. "

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Potts. 

"Ha! ha!" laughed Brandon, and pretending not to see Potts'soutstretched hand, he bowed and left. He walked rapidly down the avenue. He felt stifled. The horrors that had been revealed to him had been butin part anticipated. Could there be any thing worse?

He left the gates and walked quickly away, he knew not where. Turninginto a by-path he went up a hill and finally sat down. Brandon Hall laynot far away. In front was the village and the sea beyond it. All thetime there was but one train of thoughts in his mind. His wrongs tookshape and framed themselves into a few sharply defined ideas. Hemuttered to himself over and over the things that were in his mind:"Myself disinherited and exiled! My father ruined and broken-hearted! Myfather killed! My mother, brother, and sister banished, starved, andmurdered!"

He, too, as far as Potts's will was concerned, had been slain. He wasalone and had no hope that any of his family could survive. Now, as hesat there alone, he needed to make his plans for the future. One thingstood out prominently before him, which was that he must go immediatelyto Quebec to find out finally and absolutely the fate of the family. 

Then could any thing else be done in England? He thought over the namesof those who had been the most intimate friends of his father--Thornton, Langhetti, Despard. Thornton had neglected his father in hishour of need. He had merely sent a clerk to make inquiries after all wasover. The elder Langhetti, Brandon knew, was dead. Where were theothers? None of them, at any rate, had interfered. 

There remained the family of Despard. Brandon was aware that the Colonelhad a brother in the army, but where he was he knew not nor did he care. If he chose to look in the army register he might very easily find out;but why should he? He had never known or heard much of him in any way. 

There remained Courtenay Despard, the son of Lionel, he to whom the MS. Of the dead might be considered after all as chiefly devolving. Of himBrandon knew absolutely nothing, not even whether he was alive or dead. 

For a time he discussed the question in his mind whether it might not bewell to seek him out so as to show him his father's fate and gain hisco-operation. But after a few moments' consideration he dismissed thisthought. Why should he seek his help? Courtenay Despard, if alive, mightbe very unfit for the purpose. He might be timid, or indifferent, ordull, or indolent. Why make any advances to one whom he did not know?Afterward it might be well to find him, and see what might be done withor through him; but as yet there could be no reason whatever why heshould take up his time in searching for him or in winning hisconfidence. 

The end of it all was that he concluded whatever he did to do it byhimself, with no human being as his confidant. 

Only one or two persons in all the world knew that he was alive, andthey were not capable, under any circumstances, of betraying him. Andwhere now was Beatrice? In the power of this man whom Brandon had justleft. Had she seen him as he came and went? Had she heard his voice ashe spoke in that assumed tone? But Brandon found it necessary to crushdown all thoughts of her. 

One thing gave him profound satisfaction, and this was that Potts didnot suspect him for an instant. And now how could he deal with Potts?The man had become wealthy and powerful. To cope with him needed wealthand power. How could Brandon obtain these? At the utmost he could onlycount upon the fifteen thousand pounds which Compton would remit. Thiswould be as nothing to help him against his enemy. He had written toCompton that he had fallen overboard and been picked up, and had toldthe same to the London agent under the strictest secrecy, so as to beable to get the money which he needed. Yet after he got it all, whatwould be the benefit? First of all, wealth was necessary. 

Now more than ever there came to his mind the ancestral letter which hisfather had inclosed to him--the message from old Ralph Brandon in thetreasure-ship. It was a wild, mad hope; but was it unattainable? This hefelt was now the one object that lay before him; this must first besought after, and nothing else could be attempted or even thought oftill it had been tried. If he failed, then other things might beconsidered. 

Sitting there on his lonely height, in sight of his ancestral home, hetook out his father's last letter and read it again, after which he oncemore read the old message from the treasure-ship:

"One league due northe of a smalle islet northe of the Islet of SantaCruz northe of San Salvador----I Ralphe Brandon in my shippe Phoenix ambecalmed and surrounded by a Spanish fleete----My shippe is filled withspoyle the Plunder of III galleons----wealth which myghte purchase akyngdom-tresure equalle to an Empyr's revenue----Gold and jeweles incountless store----and God forbydde that itt shall falle into the handsof the Enemye----I therefore Ralphe Brandon out of mine owne good wyland intente and that of all my men sink this shippe rather than be takenalyve----I send this by my trusty seaman Peter Leggit who with IX otherstolde off by lot will trye to escape in the Boate by nighte----If thiscometh haply into the hands of my sonne Philip let him herebye knowethat in this place is all this tresure----which haply may yet be gatherdfrom the sea----the Islet is knowne by III rockes that be pushed up likeIII needles from the sande. 

"Ralphe Brandon"

Five days afterward Brandon, with his Hindu servant, was sailing out ofthe Mersey River on his way to Quebec. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE DEAD ALIVE. 

It was early in the month of August when Brandon visited the quarantinestation at Gosse Island, Quebec. A low, wooden building stood near thelanding, with a sign over the door containing only the word "OFFICE. " Tothis building Brandon directed his steps. On entering he saw only oneclerk there. 

"Are you the superintendent?" he asked, bowing courteously. 

"No, " said the clerk. "He is in Quebec just now. "

"Perhaps you can give me the information that I want. "

"What is it?"

"I have been sent to inquire after some passengers that came out herelast year. "

"Oh yes, I can tell all that can be told, " said the clerk, readily. "Wehave the registration books here, and you are at liberty to look up anynames you wish. Step this way, please. " And he led the way to an inneroffice. 

"What year did they come out in?" asked the clerk. 

"Last year. "

"Last year--an awful year to look up. 1846--yes, here is the book forthat year--a year which you are aware was an unparalleled one. "

"I have heard so. "

"Do you know the name of the ship?"

"The _Tecumseh_. "

"The _Tecumseh_!" exclaimed the clerk, with a startled look. "Thatis an awful name in our records. I am sorry you have not another name toexamine, for the _Tecumseh_ was the worst of all. "

Brandon bowed. 

"The _Tecumseh_, " continued the clerk, turning over the leaves ofthe book as it lay on the desk. "The _Tecumseh_, from Liverpool, sailed June 2, arrived August 16. Here you see the names of those whodied at sea, copied from the ship's books, and those who died on shore. It is a frightful mortality. Would you like to look over the list?"

Brandon bowed and advanced to the desk. 

"The deaths on board ship show whether they were seamen or passengers, and the passengers are marked as cabin and steerage. But after landingit was impossible to keep an account of classes. "

Brandon carefully ran his eye down the long list, and read each name. Those for which he looked did not appear. At last he came to the list ofthose who had died on shore. After reading a few names his eye wasarrested by one--

"_Brandon, Elizabeth_. "

It was his mother. He read on. He soon came to another--

"_Brandon, Edith_. " It was his sister. 

"Do you find any of the names?" asked the clerk, seeing Brandon turn hishead. 

"Yes, " said Brandon; "this is one, " and he pointed to the last name. "But I see a mark opposite that name. What is it? 'B' and 'A. ' What isthe meaning?" "Is that party a relative of yours?"

"No, " said Brandon. 

"You don't mind hearing something horrible, then?"

"No. "

The clerk drew a long breath. 

"Well, Sir, those letters were written by the late superintendent. Thepoor man is now a lunatic. He was here last year. 

"You see this is how it was: The ship-fever broke out. The number ofsick was awful, and there were no preparations for them here. Thedisease in some respects was worse than cholera, and there was nothingbut confusion. Very many died from lack of nursing. But the worstfeature of the whole thing was the hurried burials. 

"I was not here last year, and all who were here then have left. ButI've heard enough to make me sick with horror. You perhaps are awarethat in this ship-fever there sometimes occurs a total loss of sense, which is apt to be mistaken for death?"

The clerk paused. Brandon regarded him steadily for a moment. Then heturned, and looked earnestly at the book. 

"The burials were very hastily made. "

"Well?"

"And it is now believed that some were buried in a state of trance. "

"Buried alive?"

"Buried alive!"

There was a long silence. Brandon's eyes were fixed on the book. At lasthe pointed to the name of Edith Brandon. 

"Then, I suppose, " he said, in a steady voice, which, however, was in achanged key, "these letters 'B' and 'A' are intended to mean somethingof that description?"

"Something of that sort, " replied the clerk. 

Brandon drew a long breath. 

"But there is no certainty about it in this particular case. I will tellyou how these marks happened to be made. The clerk that was here lasttold me. 

"One morning, according to him, the superintendent came in, looking verymuch excited and altered. He went to this book, where the entries ofburials had been made on the preceding evening. This name was third fromthe last. Twelve had been buried. He penciled these letters there andleft. People did not notice him: every body was sick or busy. At last inthe evening of the next day, when they were to bury a new lot, theyfound the superintendent digging at the grave the third from the last. They tried to stop him, but he shouted and moaned alternately 'Buriedalive!' 'Buried alive!' In fact they saw that he was crazy, and had toconfine him at once. "

"Did they examine the grave?"

"Yes. The woman told my predecessor that she and her husband--who didthe burying--had examined it, and found the body not only dead, butcorrupt. So there's no doubt of it. That party must have been dead atany rate. "

"Who was the woman?"

"An old woman that laid them out. She and her husband buried them. "

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. "

"Does she stay here yet?"

"No. She left last year. "

"What became of the superintendent?"

"He was taken home, but grew no better. At last he had to be sent to anasylum. Some examination was made by the authorities, but nothing evercame of it. The papers made no mention of the affair, and it was hushedup. "

Brandon read on. At last he came to another name. It was simply this:"_Brandon_. " There was a slight movement on the clerk's part asBrandon came to this name. "There is no Christian name here, " saidBrandon. "I suppose they did not know it. "

"Well, " said the clerk, "there's something peculiar about that. Theformer clerk never mentioned it to any body but me. That man didn't dieat all. "

"What do you mean?" said Brandon, who could scarcely speak for thetremendous struggle between hope and despair that was going on withinhim. 

"It's a false entry. "

"How?"

"The superintendent wrote that. See, the handwriting is different fromthe others. One is that of the clerk who made all these entries; theother is the superintendent's. "

Brandon looked and saw that this was the case. 

"What was the cause of that?"

"The clerk told me that after making these next fifteen entries ofburied parties--buried the evening after these last twelve--he went awayto see about something. When he came back the next morning this name waswritten in the superintendent's hand. He did not know what to think ofit, so he concluded to ask the superintendent; but in the course of theday he heard that he was mad and in confinement, as I have told you. "

"Then you mean that this is not an entry of a death at all. "

"Yes. The fact is, the superintendent for some reason got it into hishead that this Brandon"--and he pointed to Edith's name--"had beenburied alive. He brooded over the name, and among other things wrote itdown here at the end of the list for the day. That's the way in which mypredecessor accounted for it. "

"It is a very natural one, " said Brandon. 

"Quite so. " The clerk let it stand. You see, if he had erased it, hemight have been overhauled, and there would have been a committee. Hewas afraid of that; so he thought it better to say nothing about it. Hewouldn't have told me, only he said that a party came here once for alist of all the dead of the _Tecumseh_, and he copied all out, including this doubtful one. He thought that he had done wrong, andtherefore told me, so that if any particular inquiries were ever made Imight know what to say. "

"Are there many mistakes in these records?"

[Illustration: "A STRANGE FEELING PASSED OVER BRANDON. HE STEPPEDFORWARD. "]

"I dare say there are a good many in the list for 1846. There was somuch confusion that names got changed, and people died whose names couldonly be conjectured by knowing who had recovered. As some of those thatrecovered or had not been sick slipped away secretly, of course therewas inaccuracy. "

Brandon had nothing more to ask. He thanked the clerk and departed. 

There was a faint hope, then, that Frank might yet be alive. On his wayto Quebec he decided what to do. As soon as he arrived he inserted anadvertisement in the chief papers to the following effect:

NOTICE:

Information of any one of the names of "BRANDON, " who came out in theship _Tecumseh_ in 1846 from Liverpool to Quebec, is earnestlydesired by friends of the family. A liberal reward will be given to anyone who can give the above information. Apply to:

Henry Peters, 22 Place d'Armes. 

Brandon waited in Quebec six weeks without any results. He then went toMontreal and inserted the same notice in the papers there, and in othertowns in Canada, giving his Montreal address. After waiting five or sixweeks in Montreal he went to Toronto, and advertised again, giving hisnew address. He waited here for some time, till at length the month ofNovember began to draw to a close. Not yet despondent, he began to forma plan for advertising in every city of the United States. 

Meanwhile he had received many communications, all of which, however, were made with the vague hope of getting a reward. None were at allreliable. At length he thought that it was useless to wait any longer inCanada, and concluded to go to New York as a centre of action. 

He arrived in New York at the end of December, and immediately began toinsert his notices in all parts of the country, giving his address atthe Astor House. 

One day, as he came in from the street, he was informed that there wassome one in his room who wished to see him. He went up calmly, thinkingthat it was some new person with intelligence. 

On entering the room he saw a man standing by the window, in his shirt-sleeves, dressed in coarse clothes. The man was very tall, broad-shouldered, with large, Roman features, and heavy beard and mustache. His face was marked by profound dejection; he looked like one whosewhole life had been one long misfortune. Louis Brandon had never seenany face which bore so deep an impress of suffering. 

The stranger turned as he came in and looked at him with his sad eyesearnestly. 

"Sir, " said he, in a voice which thrilled through Brandon, "are youHenry Peters?"

A strange feeling passed over Brandon. He stepped forward. 

"Frank!" he cried, in a broken voice. 

"Merciful Heavens!" cried the other. "Have you too come up from thedead? Louis!"

In this meeting between the two brothers, after so many eventful yearsof separation, each had much to tell. Each had a story so marvelous thatthe other might have doubted it, had not the marvels of his ownexperience been equally great. Frank's story, however, is the only onethat the reader will care to hear, and that must be reserved for anotherchapter. 

CHAPTER XX. 

FRANK'S STORY. 

"After you left, " said Frank, "all went to confusion. Potts lorded itwith a higher hand than ever, and my father was more than everinfatuated, and seemed to feel that it was necessary to justify hisharshness toward you by publicly exhibiting a greater confidence inPotts. Like a thoroughly vulgar and base nature, this man could not becontent with having the power, but loved to exhibit that power to us. Life to me for years became one long death; a hundred times I would haveturned upon the scoundrel and taken vengeance for our wrongs, but thetears of my mother forced me to use self-control. You had been drivenoff; I alone was left, and she implored me by my love for her to standby her. I wished her to take her own little property and go with me andEdith where we might all live in seclusion together; but this she wouldnot do for fear of staining the proud Brandon name. 

"Potts grew worse and worse every year. There was a loathsome son of hiswhom he used to bring with him, and my father was infatuated enough totreat the younger devil with the same civility which he showed to theelder one. Poor father! he really believed, as he afterward told me, that these men were putting millions of money into his hands, and thathe would be the Beckford of his generation. 

"After a while another scoundrel, called Clark, appeared, who was simplythe counterpart of Potts. Of this man something very singular was soonmade known to me. 

"One day I was strolling through the grounds when suddenly, as I passedthrough a grove which stood by a fish-pond, I heard voices and saw thetwo men I hated most of all on earth standing near me. They were bothnaked. They had the audacity to go bathing in the fishpond. Clark hadhis back turned toward me, and I saw on it, below the neck, three marks, fiery red, as though they had been made by a brand. They were these:"and taking a pencil, Frank made the following marks:

[Illustration: ^ /|\ [three lines, forming short arrow]

 R [sans-serif R]

 + [plus sign] ]

Louis looked at this with intense excitement. 

"You have been in New South Wales, " said Frank, "and perhaps knowwhether it is true or not that these are brands on convicts?"

"It is true, and on convicts of the very worst kind. "

"Do you know what they mean?"

"Yes. "

"What?"

"Only the worst are branded with a single mark, so you may imagine whata triple mark indicates. But I will tell you the meaning of each. Thefirst (/|\) is the king's mark put on those who are totallyirreclaimable and insubordinate. The second (R) means runaway, and isput on those who have attempted to escape. The third (+) indicated amurderous attack on the guards. When they are not hung, they are brandedwith this mark; and those who are branded in this way are condemned tohard work, in chains, for life. "

"That's about what I supposed, " said Frank, quietly, "only of course youare more particular. After seeing this I told my father. He refused tobelieve me. I determined to bring matters to a crisis, and chargedPotts, in my father's presence, with associating with a branded felon. Potts at once turned upon me and appealed to my father's sense ofjustice. He accused me of being so far carried away by prejudice as notto hesitate to invent a foul slander against an honest man. He said thatClark would be willing to be put to any test; he could not, however, askhim to expose himself--it was too outrageous but would simply assertthat my charge was false. 

"My father as usual believed every word and gave me a stern reprimand. Louis, in the presence of my mother and sister I cursed my father onthat day. Poor man! the blow soon fell. It was in 1845 that the crashcame. I have not the heart to go into details now. I will tell you fromtime to time hereafter. It is enough to say that every penny was lost. We had to leave the Hall and took a little cottage in the village. 

"All our friends and acquaintances stood aloof. My father's oldestfriends never came near him. Old Langhetti was dead. His son knewnothing about this. I will tell you more of him presently. 

"Colonel Lionel Despard was dead. His son, Courtenay, was ignorant ofall this, and was away in the North of England. There was Thornton, andI can't account for his inaction. He married Langhetti's daughter too. That is a mystery. "

"They are all false, Frank. "

Frank looked up with something like it smile. 

"No, not all; wait till you hear me through. "

Frank drew a long breath. "We got sick there, and Potts had us taken tothe alms-house. There we all prayed for death, but only my father'sprayer was heard. He died of a broken heart. The rest of us lived on. 

"Scarcely had my father been buried when Potts came to take us away. Heinsisted that we should leave the country, and offered to pay our way toAmerica. We were all indifferent: we were paralyzed by grief. The alms-house was not a place that we could cling to, so we let ourselves drift, and allowed Potts to send us wherever he wished. We did not even hopefor any thing better. We only hoped that somewhere or other we might alldie. What else could we do? What else could I do? There was no friend towhom I could look: and if I ever thought of any thing, it was thatAmerica might possibly afford us a chance to get a living till deathcame. 

"So we allowed ourselves to be sent wherever Potts chose, since it couldnot possibly make things worse than they were. He availed himself of ourstolid indifference, put us as passengers in the steerage on board of acrowded emigrant ship, the _Tecumseh_, and gave us for ourprovisions some mouldy bread. 

"We simply lived and suffered, and were all waiting for death, till oneday an angel appeared who gave us a short respite, and saved us for awhile from misery. This angel, Louis, was Paolo, the son of Langhetti. 

"You look amazed. It was certainly an amazing thing that he should be onboard the same ship with us. He was in the cabin. He noticed our miserywithout knowing who we were. He came to give us pity and help us. Whenat last he found out our names he fell on our necks, kissed us, and weptaloud. 

"He gave up his room in the cabin to my mother and sister, and slept andlived with me. Most of all he cheered us by the lofty, spiritual wordswith which he bade us look with contempt upon the troubles of life andaspire after immortal happiness. Yes, Louis; Langhetti gave us peace. 

"There were six hundred passengers. The plague broke out among us. Thedeaths every day increased, and all were filled with despair. At lastthe sailors themselves began to die. 

"I believe there was only one in all that ship who preserved calm reasonand stood without fear during those awful weeks. That one was Langhetti. He found the officers of the ship panic-stricken, so he took charge ofthe steerage, organized nurses, watched over every thing, encouragedevery body, and labored night and day. In the midst of all I fell sick, and he nursed me back to life. Most of all, that man inspired fortitudeby the hope that beamed in his eyes, and by the radiancy of his smile. 'Never mind, Brandon, ' said he as I lay, I thought doomed. 'Death isnothing. Life goes on. You will leave this pest-ship for a realm oflight. Keep up your heart, my brother immortal, and praise God with yourlatest breath. '

"I recovered, and then stood by his side as best I might. I found thathe had never told my mother of my sickness. At last my mother and sisterin the cabin fell sick. I heard of it some days after, and wasprostrated again. I grew better after a time; but just as we reachedquarantine, Langhetti, who had kept himself up thus far, gave outcompletely, and fell before the plague. "

"Did he die?" asked Louis, in a faltering voice. 

"Not on ship-board. He was carried ashore senseless. My mother andsister were very low, and were also carried on shore. I, though weak, was able to nurse them all. My mother died first. "

There was a long pause. At last Frank resumed:

"My sister gradually recovered: and then, through grief and fatigue, Ifell sick for the third time. I felt it coming on. My sister nursed me;for a time I thought I was going to die. 'Oh, Edith, ' I said, 'when Idie, devote your life while it lasts to Langhetti, whom God sent to usin our despair. Save his life even if you give up your own. '

"After that I became delirious, and remained so for a long time. Weekspassed; and when at last I revived the plague was stayed, and but fewsick were on the island. My case was a lingering one, for this was thethird attack of the fever. Why I didn't die I can't understand. Therewas no attendance. All was confusion, horror, and death. 

"When I revived the first question was after Langhetti and Edith. No oneknew any thing about them. In the confusion we had been separated, andEdith had died alone. "

"Who told you that she died?" asked Louis, with a troubled look. 

Frank looked at him with a face of horror. 

"Can you bear what I am going to say?"

"Yes. "

"When I was able to move about I went to see if any one could tell meabout Edith and Langhetti. I heard an awful story; that thesuperintendent had gone mad and had been found trying to dig open agrave, saying that some one was _buried alive_. Who do you think?oh, my brother!"

"Speak!"

"Edith Brandon was the name he named. "

"Be calm, Frank: I made inquiries myself at the island registry-office. The clerk told me this story, but said that the woman who had charge ofthe dead asserted that the grave was opened, and it was ascertained thatabsolute death had taken place. 

"Alas!" said Frank, in a voice of despair, "I saw that woman--the keeperof the dead-house--the grave-digger's wife. She told me this story, butit was with a troubled eye. I swore vengeance on her unless she told methe truth. She was alarmed, and said she would reveal all she knew if Iswore to keep it to myself. I swore it. Can you bear to hear it, Louis?"

"Speak!"

"She said only this: 'When the grave was opened it was found that EdithBrandon had not been dead when she was buried. '"

Louis groaned, and, falling forward, buried his head in both his hands. 

It was a long time before either of them spoke. At last Louis, withoutlifting his head, said:

"Go on. "

"When I left the island I went to Quebec, but could not stay there. Itwas too near the place of horror. I went up the river, working my way asa laborer, to Montreal. I then sought for work, and obtained employmentas porter in a warehouse. What mattered it? What was rank or station tome? I only wanted to keep myself from starvation and get a bed to sleepon at night. 

"I had no hope or thought of any thing. The horrors through which I hadpassed were enough to fill my mind. Yet above them all one horror waspredominant, and never through the days and nights that have sinceelapsed has my soul ceased to quiver at the echo of two terrible wordswhich have never ceased to ring through my brain--'Buried alive!'

"I lived on in Montreal, under an assumed name, as a common porter, andmight have been living there yet; but one day as I came in I heard thename of 'Brandon. ' Two of the clerks who were discussing the news in themorning paper happened to speak of an advertisement which had long beenin the papers in all parts of Canada. It was for information about theBrandon family. 

"I read the notice. It seemed to me at first that Potts was still tryingto get control of us, but a moment's reflection showed that to beimprobable. Then the mention of 'the friends of the family' made methink of Langhetti. I concluded that he had escaped death and was tryingto find me out. 

"I went to Toronto, and found that you had gone to New York. I had savedmuch of my wages, and was able to come here. I expected Langhetti, butfound you. "

"Why did you not think that it might be me?"

"Because I heard a threat of Potts about you, and took it for grantedthat he would succeed in carrying it out. "

"What was the threat?"

"He found out somehow that my father had written a letter to you. Isuppose they told him so at the village post-office. One day when he wasin the room he said, with a laugh, alluding to the letter, 'I'll uncorkthat young Brandy-flask before long. '"

"Well--the notice of my death appeared in the English papers. "

Frank looked earnestly at him. 

"And I accept it, and go under an assumed name. "

"So do I. It is better. "

"You thought Langhetti alive. Do you think he is?"

"I do not think so now. "

"Why not?"

"The efforts which he made were enough to kill any man without theplague. He must have died. "

After hearing Frank's story Louis gave a full account of his ownadventures, omitting, however, all mention of Beatrice. That wassomething for his own heart, and not for another's ear. 

"Have you the letter and MS. ?"

"Yes. "

"Let me read them. "

Louis took the treasures and handed them to Frank. He read them insilence. 

"Is Cato with you yet?"

"Yes. "

"It is well. "

"And now, Frank, " said Louis, "you have something at last to live for. "

"What is that?"

"Vengeance!" cried Louis, with burning eyes. 

"Vengeance!" repeated Frank, without emotion--"Vengeance! What is thatto me? Do you hope to give peace to your own heart by inflictingsuffering on our enemies? What can they possibly suffer that can atonefor what they have inflicted? All that they can feel is as nothingcompared with what we have felt. Vengeance!" he repeated, musingly; "andwhat sort of vengeance? Would you kill them? What would that effect?Would he be more miserable than he is? Or would you feel any greaterhappiness? Or do you mean something more far-reaching than death?"

"Death, " said Louis, "is nothing for such crimes as his. "

"You want to inflict suffering, then, and you ask me. Well, after all, do I want him to suffer? Do I care for this man's sufferings? What arethey or what can they be to me? He stands on his own plane, far beneathme; he is a coarse animal, who can, perhaps, suffer from nothing butphysical pain. Should I inflict that on him, what good would it be tome? And yet there is none other that I can inflict. "

"Langhetti must have transformed you, " said Louis, "with his spiritualideas. "

"Langhetti; or perhaps the fact that I three times gazed upon the faceof death and stood upon the threshold of that place where dwells theInfinite Mystery. So when you speak of mere vengeance my heart does notrespond. But there is still something which may make a purpose as strongas vengeance. "

"Name it. "

"The sense of intolerable wrong!" cried Frank, in vehement tones; "thepresence of that foul pair in the home of our ancestors, our own exile, and all the sufferings of the past! Do you think that I can endurethis?"

"No--you must have vengeance. "

"No; not vengeance. "

"What then?"

"Justice!" cried Frank, starting to his feet. "Justice--strict, stern, merciless; and that justice means to me all that you mean by vengeance. Let us make war against him from this time forth while life lasts; letus cast him out and get back our own; let us put him into the power ofthe law, and let that take satisfaction on him for his crimes; let uscast him out and fling him from us to that power which can fittinglycondemn. I despise him, and despise his sufferings. His agony will giveme no gratification. The anguish that a base nature can suffer is onlydisgusting to me--he suffers only out of his baseness. To me, and with athing like that, vengeance is impossible, and justice is enough. "

"At any rate you will have a purpose, and your purpose points to thesame result as mine. "

"But how is this possible?" said Frank. "He is strong, and we are weak. What can we do?"

"We can try, " said Louis. "You are ready to undertake any thing. You donot value your life. There is one thing which is before us. It isdesperate--it is almost hopeless; but we are both ready to try it. "

"What is that?"

"The message from the dead, " said Louis, spreading before Frank thatletter from the treasure-ship which he himself had so often read. 

"And are you going to try this?"

"Yes. "

"How?"

"I don't know. I must first find out the resources of science. "

"Have you Cato yet?"

"Yes. "

"Can he dive?"

"He was brought up on the Malabar coast, among the pearl-fishers, andcan remain under water for an incredible space of time. But I hope tofind means which will enable me myself to go down under the oceandepths. This will be our object now. If it succeeds, then we can gainour purpose; if not, we must think of something else. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DIVING BUSINESS. 

In a little street that runs from Broadway, not far from Wall Street, there was a low doorway with dingy panes of glass, over which was a signwhich bore the following letters, somewhat faded:

BROCKET & CO. , CONTRACTORS

About a month after his arrival at New York Brandon entered this placeand walked up to the desk, where a stout, thick-set man was sitting, with his chin on his hands and his elbows on the desk before him. 

"Mr. Brocket?" said Brandon, inquiringly. 

"Yes, Sir, " answered the other, descending from his stool and steppingforward toward Brandon, behind a low table which stood by the desk. 

"I am told that you undertake contracts for raising sunken vessels?"

"We are in that line of business. "

"You have to make use of diving apparatus?"

"Yes. "

"I understand that you have gone into this business to a larger extentthan any one in America?"

"Yes, Sir, " said Brocket, modestly. "I think we do the leading businessin that line. "

"I will tell you frankly my object in calling upon you. I have just comefrom the East Indies for the purpose of organizing a systematic plan forthe pearl fisheries. You are aware that out there they still cling tothe old fashion of diving, which was begun three thousand years ago. Iwish to see if I can not bring science to bear upon it, so as to raisethe pearl-oysters in larger quantities. "

"That's a good idea of yours, " remarked Mr. Brocket, thoughtfully. 

"I came to you to see if you could inform me whether it would bepracticable or not. "

"Perfectly so, " said Brocket. 

"Do you work with the diving-bell in your business or with armor?"

"With both. We use the diving-bell for stationary purposes; but when itis necessary to move about we employ armor. "

"Is the armor adapted to give a man any freedom of movement?"

"The armor is far better than the bell. The armor is so perfect now thata practiced hand can move about under water with a freedom that issurprising. My men go down to examine sunken ships. They go in and outand all through them. Sometimes this is the most profitable part of ourbusiness. "

"Why so?"

"Why, because there is often money or valuable articles on board, andthese always are ours. See, " said Brocket, opening a drawer and takingout some silver coin, "here is some money that we found in an old Dutchvessel that was sunk up the Hudson a hundred years ago. Our men walkedabout the bed of the river till they found her, and in her cabin theyobtained a sum of money that would surprise you--all old coin. "

"An old Dutch vessel! Do you often find vessels that have been sunk solong ago?"

"Not often. But we are always on the lookout for them, " said Brocket, who had now grown quite communicative. "You see, those old ships alwayscarried ready cash--they didn't use bank-notes and bills of exchange. Soif you can only find one you're sure of money. "

"Then this would be a good thing to bear in mind in our pearlenterprise?"

"Of course. I should think that out there some reefs must be full ofsunken ships. They've been sinking about those coasts ever since thefirst ship was built. "

"How far down can a diver go in armor?

"Oh, any reasonable depth, when the pressure of the water is not toogreat. Some pain in the ears is felt at first from the compressed air, but that is temporary. Men can easily go down as far as fifteen orsixteen fathoms. "

"How long can they stay down?"

"In the bells, you know, they go down and are pulled up only in themiddle of the day and at evening, when their work is done. "

"How with the men in armor?"

"Oh, they can stand it almost as well. They come up oftener, though. There is one advantage in the armor: a man can fling off his weight andcome up whenever he likes. "

"Have you ever been down yourself?"

"Oh yes--oftener than any of my men. I'm the oldest diver in thecountry, I think. But I don't go down often now. It's hard work, and I'mgetting old. "

"Is it much harder than other work?"

"Well, you see, it's unnatural sort of work, and is hard on the lungs. Still, I always was healthy. The real reason why I stopped was acircumstance that happened two years ago. "

"What was that?"

Brocket drew a long breath, looked for a moment meditatively at thefloor, and then went on:

"Well, there happened to be a wreck of a steamer called the_Saladin_ down off the North Carolina coast, and I thought I wouldtry her as a speculation, for I supposed that there might heconsiderable money on board one way or another. It was a very singularaffair. Only two men had escaped; it was so sudden. They said the vesselstruck a rock at night when the water was perfectly still, and went downin a few minutes, before the passengers could even be awakened. It mayseem horrid to you, but you must know that a ship-load of passengers isvery profitable, for they all carry money. Besides, there are theirtrunks, and the clerk's desk, and so on. So, this time, I went downmyself. The ship lay on one side of the rock which had pierced her, having floated off just before sinking; and I had no difficulty ingetting on board. After walking about the deck I went at once into thesaloon. Sir, " said Brocket, with an awful look at Brandon, "if I shouldlive for a hundred years I should never forget the sight that I saw. Ahundred passengers or more had been on board, and most of them hadrushed out of their state-rooms as the vessel began to sink. Very manyof them lay on the floor, a frightful multitude of dead. 

"But there were others, " continued Brocket, in a lower tone, "who hadclutched at pieces of furniture, at the doors, and at the chairs, andmany of these had held on with such a rigid clutch that death itself hadnot unlocked it. Some were still upright, with distorted features, andstaring eyes, clinging, with frantic faces, to the nearest object thatthey had seen. Several of them stood around the table. The mostfrightful thing was this: that they were all staring at the door. 

"But the worst one of all was a corpse that was on the saloon table. Thewretch had leaped there in his first mad impulse, and his hands hadclutched a brass bar that ran across. He was facing the door; his handswere still clinging, his eyes glared at me, his jaw had fallen, Thehideous face seemed grimacing at and threatening me. As I entered thewater was disturbed by my motion. An undulation set in movement by myentrance passed through the length of the saloon. All the corpses swayedfor a moment. I stopped in horror. Scarcely had I stopped when thecorpses, agitated by the motion of the water and swaying, lost theirhold; their fingers slipped, and they fell forward simultaneously. Aboveall, that hideous figure on the table, as its fingers were loosened, infalling forward, seemed to take steps, with his demon face still staringat me. My blood ran cold. It seemed to me as though these devils wereall rushing at me, led on by that fiend on the table. For the first timein my life, Sir, I felt fear under the sea. I started back, and rushedout quaking as though all hell was behind me. When I got up to thesurface I could not speak. I instantly left the _Saladin_, camehome with my men, and have never been down myself since. "

A long conversation followed about the general condition of sunkenships. Brocket had no fear of rivals in business, and as hisinterlocutor did not pretend to be one he was exceedingly communicative. He described to him the exact depth to which a diver in armor mightsafely go, the longest time that he could safely remain under water, therate of travel in walking along a smooth bottom, and the distance whichone could walk. He told him how to go on board of a wrecked ship withthe least risk or difficulty, and the best mode by which to secure anyvaluables which he might find. At last he became so exceedingly friendlythat Brandon asked him if he would be willing to give personalinstructions to himself, hinting that money was no object, and that anyprice would be paid. 

At this Brocket laughed. "My dear Sir, you take my fancy, for I think Isee in you a man of the right sort. I should be very glad to show anyone like you how to go to work. Don't mention money; I have actually gotmore now than I know what to do with, and I'm thinking of founding anasylum for the poor. I'll sell you any number of suits of armor, if youwant them, merely in the way of business; but if I give you instructionsit will be merely because I like to oblige a man like you. "

Brandon of course expressed all the gratitude that so generous an offercould excite. 

"But there's no use trying just yet; wait till the month of May, andthen you can begin. You have nerve, and I have no doubt that you'lllearn fast. "

After this interview Brandon had many others. To give credibility to hispretended plan for the pearl fisheries, he bought a dozen suits ofdiving armor and various articles which Brocket assured him that hewould need. He also brought Cato with him one day, and the Hindudescribed the plan which the pearl-divers pursued on the Malabar coast. According to Cato each diver had a stone which weighed about thirtypounds tied to his foot, and a sponge filled with oil fastened aroundhis neck. On plunging into the water, the weight carried him down. Whenthe diver reached the bottom the oiled sponge was used from time to timeto enable him to breathe by inhaling the air through the sponge appliedto his mouth. All this was new to Brocket. It excited his ardor. 

The month of May at last came. Brocket showed them a place in theHudson, about twenty miles above the city, where they could practice. Under his direction Brandon put on the armor and went down. Frank workedthe pumps which supplied him with air, and Cato managed the boat. Thetwo Brandons learned their parts rapidly, and Louis, who had the hardesttask, improved so quickly, and caught the idea of the work so readily, that Brocket enthusiastically assured him that he was a natural-borndiver. 

All this time Brandon was quietly making arrangements for a voyage. Hegradually obtained every thing which might by any possibility berequired, and which he found out by long deliberations with Frank and byhints which he gained by well-managed questions to Brocket. 

Thus the months of May and June passed until at length they were readyto start. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ISLET OF SANTA CRUZ. 

It was July when Brandon left New York for San Salvador. 

He had purchased a beautiful little schooner, which he had fitted uplike a gentleman's yacht, and stored with all the articles which mightbe needed. In cruising about the Bahama Isles he intended to let it besupposed that he was traveling for pleasure. True, the month of July wasnot the time of the year which pleasure-seekers would choose for sailingin the West Indies, but of this he did not take much thought. 

The way to the Bahama Isles was easy. They stopped for a while atNassau, and then went to San Salvador. 

The first part of the New World which Columbus discovered is now butseldom visited, and few inhabitants are found there. Only six hundredpeople dwell upon it, and these have in general but little intelligence. On reaching this place Brandon sailed to the harbor which Columbusentered, and made many inquiries about that immortal landing. Traditionsstill survived among the people, and all were glad to show the richEnglishman the lions of the place. 

He was thus enabled to make inquiries without exciting suspicion aboutthe islands lying to the north. He was informed that about four leaguesnorth there was an island named Guahi, and as there was no island knownin that direction named Santa Cruz, Brandon thought that this might bethe one. He asked if there were any small islets or sand-banks nearthere, but no one could tell him. Having gained all the information thathe could he pursued his voyage. 

In that hot season there was but little wind. The seas were visited byprofound calms which continued long and rendered navigation slow andtedious. Sometimes, to prevent themselves from being swept away by thecurrents, they had to cast anchor. At other times they were forced tokeep in close by the shore. They waited till the night came on, andthen, putting out the sweeps, they rowed the yacht slowly along. 

It was the middle of July before they reached the island of Guahi, whichBrandon thought might be Santa Cruz. If so, then one league due north ofthis there ought to be the islet of the Three Needles. Upon thediscovery of that would depend their fate. 

It was evening when they reached the southern shore of Guahi. Now wasthe time when all the future depended upon the fact of the existence ofan islet to the north. That night on the south shore was passed in deepanxiety. They rowed the vessel on with their sweeps, but the island wastoo large to be passed in one night. Morning came, and still they rowed. 

The morning passed, and the hot sun burned down upon them, yet theystill toiled on, seeking to pass beyond a point which lay ahead, so asto see the open water to the north. Gradually they neared it, and thesea-view in front opened up more and more widely. There was nothing butwater. More and more of the view exposed itself, until at last the wholehorizon was visible. Yet there was no land there--no island--no sign ofthose three rocks which they longed so much to find. 

A light wind arose which enabled them to sail over all the space thatlay one league to the north. They sounded as they went, but found onlydeep water. They looked all around, but found not so much as thesmallest point of land above the surface of the ocean. 

That evening they cast anchor and went ashore at the island of Guahi tosee if any one knew of other islands among which might be found onenamed Santa Cruz. Their disappointment was profound. Brandon for a whilethought that perhaps some other San Salvador was meant in the letter. This very idea had occurred to him before, and he had made himselfacquainted with all the places of that name that existed. None of themseemed, however, to answer the requirements of the writing. Some musthave gained the name since; others were so situated that no island couldbe mentioned as lying to the north. On the whole, it seemed to him thatthis San Salvador of Columbus could alone be mentioned. It was alludedto as a well-known place, of which particular description wasunnecessary, and no other place at that day had this character exceptthe one on which he had decided. 

One hope yet remained, a faint one, but still a hope, and this might yetbe realized. It was that Guahi was not Santa Cruz; but that some otherisland lay about here, which might be considered as north from SanSalvador. This could be ascertained here in Guahi better perhaps thanany where else. With this faint hope he landed. 

Guahi is only a small island, and there are but few inhabitants upon it, who support themselves partly by fishing. In this delightful climatetheir wants are not numerous, and the rich soil produces almost anything which they desire. The fish about here are not plentiful, and whatthey catch have to be sought for at a long distance off. 

"Are there any other islands near this?" asked Brandon of some peoplewhom he met on landing. 

"Not very near. "

"Which is the nearest?"

"San Salvador. "

"Are there any others in about this latitude?"

"Well, there is a small one about twelve leagues east. There are nopeople on it though. "

"What is its name?"

"Santa Cruz. "

Brandon's heart beat fast at the sound of that name. It must be so. Itmust be the island which he sought. It lay to the north of San Salvador, and its name was Santa Cruz. 

"It is not down on the charts?"

"No. It is only a small islet. "

Another confirmation, for the message said plainly an islet, whereasGuahi was an island. 

"How large is it?"

"Oh, perhaps a mile or a mile and a half long. "

"Is there any other island near it?"

"I don't know. "

"Have you ever been there?"

"No. "

Plainly no further information could be gathered here. It was enough tohave hope strengthened and an additional chance for success. Brandonobtained as near as possible the exact direction of Santa Cruz, and, going back to the yacht, took advantage of the light breeze which stillwas blowing and set sail. 

[Illustration: "AN ISLAND COVERED WITH PALM-TREES LAY THERE. "]

Night came on very dark, but the breeze still continued to send itslight breath, and before this the vessel gently glided on. Not a thingcould be seen in that intense darkness. Toward morning Louis Brandon, who had remained up all night in his deep anxiety, tried to piercethrough the gloom as he strained his eyes, and seemed as though he wouldforce the darkness to reveal that which he sought. But the darkness gaveno token. 

Not Columbus himself, when looking out over these waters, gazed withgreater eagerness nor did his heart beat with greater anxiety ofsuspense, than that which Brandon felt as his vessel glided slowlythrough the dark waters, the same over which Columbus had passed, andmoved amidst the impenetrable gloom. But the long night of suspenseglided by at last; the darkness faded, and the dawn came. 

Frank Brandon, on waking about sunrise, came up and saw his brotherlooking with fixed intensity of gaze at something directly in front. Heturned to see what it might be. 

An island covered with palm-trees lay there. Its extent was small, butit was filled with the rich verdure of the tropics. The gentle breezeruffled the waters, but did not altogether efface the reflection of thatbeautiful islet. 

Louis pointed toward the northeast. 

Frank looked. 

It seemed to be about two miles away. It was a low sand island about aquarter of a mile long. From its surface projected three rocks thin andsharp. They were at unequal distances from each other, and in the middleof the islet. The tallest one might have been about twelve feet inheight, the others eight and ten feet respectively. 

Louis and Frank exchanged one long look, but said not a word. That lookwas an eloquent one. 

This then was unmistakably the place of their search. 

The islet with the three rocks like needles lying north of Santa Cruz. One league due north of this was the spot where now rested all theirhopes. 

The island of Santa Cruz was, as had been told them, not more than amile and a half in length, the sand island with the needles lay abouttwo miles north of it. On the side of Santa Cruz which lay nearest tothem was a small cove just large enough for the yacht. Here, after somedelay, they were able to enter and land. 

The tall trees that covered the island rose over beautiful glades andgrassy slopes. Too small and too remote to give support to any number ofinhabitants, it had never been touched by the hand of man, but stoodbefore them in all that pristine beauty with which nature had firstendowed it. It reminded Brandon in some degree of that African islandwhere he had passed some time with Beatrice. The recollection of thisbrought over him an intolerable melancholy, and made the very beauty ofthis island painful to him. Yet hope was now strong within his heart, and as he traversed its extent his eye wandered about in search ofplaces where he might be able to conceal the treasure that lay under thesea, if he were ever able to recover it from its present place. Theisland afforded many spots which were well adapted to such a purpose. 

In the centre of the island a rock jutted up, which was bald and flat onits summit. On the western side it showed a precipice of some forty orfifty feet in height, and on the eastern side it descended to the waterin a steep slope. The tall trees which grew all around shrouded it fromthe view of those at sea, but allowed the sea to be visible on everyside. Climbing to this place, they saw something which showed them thatthey could not hope to carry on any operations for that day. 

On the other side of the island, about ten miles from the shore, therelay a large brig becalmed. It looked like one of those vessels that arein the trade between the United States and the West Indies. As long asthat vessel was in the neighborhood it would not do even to make abeginning, nor did Brandon care about letting his yacht be seen. Whatever he did he wished to do secretly. 

The brig continued in sight all day, and they remained on the island. Toward evening they took the small boat and rowed out to the sandbankwhich they called Needle Islet. It was merely a low spit of sand, withthese three singularly-shaped rocks projecting upward. There was nothingelse whatever to be seen upon it. The moon came up as they stood there, and their eyes wandered involuntarily to the north, to that place, aleague away, where the treasure lay beneath the waters. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE OCEAN DEPTHS. 

The next morning dawned and Brandon hurried to the rock and lookedaround. During the night a slight wind had sprung up, and was stillgently breathing. Far over the wide sea there was not a sail to be seen. The brig had passed away. They were finally left to themselves. 

Now at last the time of trial had come. They were eager to make theattempt, and soon the yacht was unmoored, and moved slowly out to sea inthe direction of Needle Island. A light breeze still blew fitfully, butpromised at any moment to stop; yet while it lasted they passed onwardunder its gentle impulse, and so gradually reached Needle Island, andwent on into the sea beyond. 

Before they had come to the spot which they wished to attain the breezehad died out, and they were compelled to take to the oars. Althoughearly in the morning the sun was burning hot, the work was laborious, and the progress was slow. Yet not a murmur was heard, nor did a singlethought of fatigue enter the minds of any of them. One idea only waspresent--one so overwhelming that all lesser thoughts and all ordinaryfeelings were completely obliterated. After two hours of steady laborthey at last reached a place which seemed to them to be exactly oneleague due north of Needle Islet. Looking back they saw that the rockson the island seemed from this distance closer together, and thinner andsharper, so that they actually bore a greater resemblance to needlesfrom this point than to any thing else. 

Here they sounded. The water was fifteen fathoms deep--not so great adepth as they had feared. Then they put down the anchor, for althoughthere was no wind, yet the yacht might be caught in some current, anddrift gradually away from the right position. 

The small boat had all this time been floating astern with the pumpingapparatus in it, so that the adventurous diver might readily beaccompanied in his search and his wanderings at the bottom of the sea. 

But there was the prospect that this search would be long and arduous, and Brandon was not willing to exhaust himself too soon. He had alreadyresolved that the first exploration should be made by Asgeelo. The Hinduhad followed Brandon in all his wanderings with that silent submissionand perfect devotion which is more common among Hindus than any otherpeople. He had the air of one who was satisfied with obeying his master, and did not ask the end of any commands which might be given. He wasaware that they were about to explore the ocean depths, but showed nocuriosity about the object of their search. It was Brandon's purpose tosend him down first at different points, so that he might see if therewas any thing there which looked like what they sought. 

Asgeelo--or Cato, as Brandon commonly called him--had made those simplepreparations which are common among his class--the apparatus which thepearl-divers have used ever since pearl-diving first commenced. Twelveor fifteen stones were in the boat, a flask of oil, and a sponge whichwas fastened around his neck. These were all that he required. Eachstone weighed about thirty pounds. One of these he tied around one foot;he saturated the sponge with oil, so as to use it to inhale air beneaththe water; and then, standing on the edge of the boat and flinging hisarms straight up over his head, he leaped into the water and went downfeet foremost. 

Over the smooth water the ripples flowed from the spot where Asgeelo haddisappeared, extending in successive concentric circles, and radiatingin long undulations far and wide. Louis and Frank waited in deepsuspense. Asgeelo remained long beneath the water, but to them the timeseemed frightful in its duration. Profound anxiety began to mingle withthe suspense, for fear lest the faithful servant in his devotion hadover-rated his powers--lest the disuse of his early practice hadweakened his skill--lest the weight bound to his foot had dragged himdown and kept him there forever. 

At last, when the suspense had become intolerable and the two hadalready begun to exchange glances almost of despair, a plash was heard, and Asgeelo emerged far to the right. He struck out strongly toward theboat, which was at once rowed toward him. In a few minutes he was takenin. He did not appear to be much exhausted. 

He had seen nothing. 

[Illustration: "A dark, sinewy arm emerged from beneath, armed with along, keen knife. "]

They then rowed about a hundred yards further, and Asgeelo prepared todescend once more. He squeezed the oil out of the sponge and renewed itagain. But this time he took a knife in his hand. 

"What is that for?" asked Frank and Louis. 

"Sharks!" answered Cato, in a terrible tone. 

At this Louis and Frank exchanged glances. Could they let this devotedservant thus tempt so terrible a death?

"Did you see any sharks?" asked Louis. 

"No, Sahib. "

"Why do you fear them, then?"

"I don't fear them, Sahib. "

"Why do you take this knife?"

"One may come, Sahib. "

After some hesitation Asgeelo was allowed to go. As before he plungedinto the water, and remained underneath quite as long; but now they hadbecome familiarized with his powers and the suspense was not sodreadful. At the expiration of the usual time he reappeared, and onbeing taken into the boat he again announced that he had seen nothing. 

They now rowed a hundred yards farther on in the same direction, towardthe east, and Asgeelo made another descent. He came back with the sameresult. 

It began to grow discouraging, but Asgeelo was not yet fatigued, andthey therefore determined to let him work as long as he was able. Hewent down seven times more. They still kept the boat on toward the easttill the line of "needles" on the sand island had become thrown fartherapart and stood at long distances. Asgeelo came up each timeunsuccessful. 

He at last went down for the eleventh time. They were talking as usual, not expecting that he would reappear for some minutes, when suddenly ashout was heard, and Asgeelo's head emerged from the water not more thantwenty yards from the boat. He was swimming with one hand, and in theother he held an uplifted knife, which he occasionally brandished in theair and splashed in the water. 

Immediately the cause of this became manifest. Just behind him a sharpblack fin appeared cutting the surface of the water. 

It was a shark! But the monster, a coward like all his tribe, deterredby the plashing of the water made by Asgeelo, circled round him andhesitated to seize his prey. The moment was frightful. Yet Asgeeloappeared not in the least alarmed. He swam slowly, occasionally turninghis head and watching the monster, seeming by his easy dexterity to bealmost as much in his native element as his pursuer, keeping his eyesfixed on him and holding his knife in a firm clasp. The knife was along, keen blade, which Asgeelo had carried with him for years. 

Louis and Frank could do nothing. A pistol ball could not reach thismonster, who kept himself under the water, where a ball would be spentbefore striking him, if indeed any aim could direct a bullet toward thatswift darting figure. They had nothing to do but to look on in an agonyof horror. 

Asgeelo, compelled to watch, to guard, to splash the water, and to turnfrequently, made but a slow passage over those twenty yards whichseparated him from the boat. At last it seemed as if he chose to staythere. It seemed to those who watched him with such awful horror that hemight have escaped had he chosen, but that he had some idea ofvoluntarily encountering the monster. This became evident at last, asthe shark passed before him when they saw Asgeelo's face turned towardit; a face full of fierce hate and vengeance; a face such as one turnstoward some mortal enemy. 

He made a quick, fierce stroke with his long knife. The shark gave aleap upward. The water was tinged with blood. The next moment Asgeelowent down. 

"What now?" was the thought of the brothers. Had he been dragged down?Impossible! And yet it seemed equally impossible that he could have gonedown of his own accord. 

In a moment their suspense was ended. A white flash appeared near thesurface. The next instant a dark, sinewy arm emerged from beneath, armedwith a long, keen knife, which seemed to tear down with one tremendousstroke that white, shining surface. 

It was Asgeelo's head that emerged in a sea of blood and foam. Triumphwas in his dark face, as with one hand he waved his knife exultantly. 

A few moments afterward the form of a gigantic shark floated upward tothe surface, dyeing the sea with the blood which had issued from thestroke dealt by Asgeelo. Not yet, however, was the vindictive fury ofthe Hindu satiated. He swam up to it. He dashed his knife over and overthe white belly till it became a hideous mass of gaping entrails. Thenhe came into the boat. 

He sat down, a hideous figure. Blood covered his tawny face, and thefury of his rage had not left the features. 

The strength which this man had shown was tremendous, yet his quicknessand agility even in the water had been commensurate with his strength. Brandon had once seen proofs of his courage in the dead bodies of theMalay pirates which lay around him in the cabin of that ill-fatedChinese ship: but all that he had done then was not to be compared tothis. 

They could not help asking him why he had not at once made his escape tothe boar, instead of staying to fight the monster. 

Asgeelo's look was as gloomy as death as he replied, "They tore in pieces my son, Sahib--my only son--when he first wentdown, and I have to avenge him. I killed a hundred on the Malabar coastbefore I left it forever. That shark did not attack me; I attacked him. "

"If you saw one now would you attack him?"

"Yes, Sahib. "

Brandon expressed some apprehension, and wished him not to risk hislife. 

But Asgeelo explained that a shark could be successfully encountered bya skillful swimmer. The shark is long, and has to move about in a circlewhich is comparatively large; he is also a coward, and a good swimmercan strike him if he only chooses. He again repeated triumphantly thathe had killed more than a hundred to avenge his son. 

In his last venture Asgeelo had been no more successful than before. Needle Island was now to the southwest, and Brandon thought that theironly chance was to try farther over toward the west, where they had notyet explored. 

They rowed at once back to the point from which they had set out, andthen went on about a hundred and fifty yards to the west. From thisplace, as they looked toward the islet, the three rocks seemed so closetogether that they appeared blended, and the three sharp, needlelikepoints appeared to issue from one common base. This circumstance had anencouraging effect, for it seemed to the brothers as though theirancestor might have looked upon those rocks from this point of viewrather than from any other which had as yet come upon the field of theirobservation. 

This time Brandon himself resolved to go down; partly because he thoughtthat Asgeelo had worked long enough, and ought not to be exhausted onthat first day, and partly on account of an intolerable impatience, andan eagerness to see for himself rather than intrust it to others. 

There was the horror of the shark, which might have deterred any otherman. It was a danger which he had never taken into account. But theresolve of his soul was stronger than any fear, and he determined toface even this danger. If he lost his life, he was indifferent. Let itgo! Life was not so precious to him as to some others. Fearless bynature, he was ordinarily ready to run risks; but now the thing thatdrew him onward was so vast in its importance that he was willing toencounter peril of any kind. 

Frank was aware of the full extent of this new danger, but he saidnothing, nor did he attempt in any way to dissuade his brother. Hehimself, had he been able, would have gone down in his place; but as hewas not able, he did not suppose that his brother would hesitate. 

The apparatus was in the boat. The pumping-machine was in the stern; andthis, with the various signal-ropes, was managed by Frank. Asgeelorowed. These arrangements had long since been made, and they hadpracticed in this way on the Hudson River. 

Silently Brandon put on his diving armor. The ropes and tubes were allcarefully arranged. The usual weight was attached to his belt, and hewas slowly lowered down to the bottom of the sea. 

The bottom of the ocean was composed of a smooth, even surface of finesand and gravel, along which Brandon moved without difficulty. Thecumbrous armor of the diver, which on land is so heavy, beneath thewater loses its excessive weight, and by steadying the wearer assistshim to walk. The water was marvelously transparent, as is usually thecase in the southern seas, and through the glass plate in his helmetBrandon could look forward to a greater distance than was possible inthe Hudson. 

Overhead he could see the bottom of the boat, as it floated and moved onin the direction which he wished: signals, which were communicated by arope which he held in his hand, told them whether to go forward orbackward, to the right or to the left, or to stop altogether. Practicehad enabled him to command, and them to obey, with ease. 

Down in the depths to which he had descended the water was always still, and the storms that affected the surface never penetrated there. Brandonlearned this from the delicate shells and the still more delicate formsof marine plants which lay at his feet, so fragile in their structure, and so delicately poised in their position, that they must have formedthemselves in deep, dead stillness and absolute motionlessness ofwaters. The very movement which was caused by his passage displaced themin all directions, and cast them down every where in ruins. Here, insuch depths as these, if the sounding lead is cast it brings up thesefragile shells, and shows to the observer what profound calm must existhere, far away beneath the ordinary vision of man. 

Practice had enabled Brandon to move with much ease. His breathing waswithout difficulty. The first troubles arising from breathing thisconfined air had long since been surmounted. One tube ran down from theboat, through which the fresh air was pushed, and another tube ran up alittle distance, through which the air passed and left it in myriadbubbles that ascended to the surface. 

He walked on, and soon came to a place where things changed theirappearance. Hard sand was here, and on every side there arose curiously-shaped coral structures, which resembled more than any thing else aleafless forest. These coral tree-like forms twisted their branches instrange involutions, and in some places formed a perfect barrier ofinterlaced arms, so that he was forced to make a detour in order toavoid them. The chief fear here was that his tube might get entangledamong some of the loftier straggling branches, and impede or retard hisprogress. To avoid this caused much delay. 

Now, among the coral rocks, the vegetation of the lower sea began toappear of more vivid colors and of far greater variety than any which hehad ever seen. Here were long plants which clung to the coral like ivy, seeming to be a species of marine parasite, and as it grew it throvemore luxuriantly. Here were some which threw out long arms, terminatingin vast, broad, palm-like leaves, the arms intertwined among the coralbranches and the leaves hanging downward. Here were long streamers offine, silk-like strings, that were suspended from many a projectingbranch, and hillocks of spongy substance that looked like moss. Here, too, were plants which threw forth long, ribbon-like leaves ofvariegated color. 

It was a forest under the sea, and it grew denser at every step. 

At last his progress in this direction was terminated by a rock whichcame from a southerly direction, like a spur from the islands. It aroseto a height of about thirty feet overhead, and descended gradually as itran north. Brandon turned aside, and walked by its base along its entireextent. 

At its termination there arose a long vista, where the ground ascendedand an opening appeared through this marine "forest. " On each side theinvoluted corals flung their twisted arms in more curious and intricatefolds. The vegetation was denser, more luxuriant, and more varied. Beneath him was a growth of tender substance, hairy in texture, and of adelicate green color, which looked more like lawn grass of the upperworld than any thing else in nature. 

Brandon walked on, and even in the intense desire of his soul to findwhat he sought he felt himself overcome by the sublime influence of thissubmarine world. He seemed to have intruded into some other sphere, planting his rash footsteps where no foot of man had trodden before, andusing the resources of science to violate the hallowed secrecy of awfulnature in her most hidden retreats. Here, above all things, his soul wasoppressed by the universal silence around. Through that thick helmet, indeed, no sound under a clap of thunder could be heard, and the ringingof his ears would of itself have prevented consciousness of any othernoise, yet none the less was he aware of the awful stillness; it wassilence that could be felt. In the sublimity of that lonely pathway hefelt what Hercules is imagined to have felt when passing to theunderworld after Cerberus, Stupent ubi undae segne torpescit fretum, and half expected to hear some voice from the dweller in this place:

 "Quo pergis audax? Siste proserentem gradum. "

There came to him only such dwellers as belonged to the place. He sawthem as he moved along. He saw them darting out from the hiddenpenetralia around, moving swiftly across and sometimes darting in shoalsbefore him. They began to appear in such vast numbers that Brandonthought of the monster which lay a mangled heap upon the surface above, and fancied that perhaps his kindred were waiting to avenge his death. As this fear came full and well defined before him he drew from his beltthe knife which Asgeelo had given him, and Frank had urged him to take, feeling himself less helpless if he held this in his hand. 

The fishes moved about him, coming on in new and more startled crowds, some dashing past, others darting upward, and others moving swiftlyahead. One large one was there with a train of followers, which moved upand floated for a moment directly in front of him, its large, staringeyes seeming to view him in wonder, and solemnly working its gills. Butas Brandon came close it gave a sudden turn and darted off with all itsattendants. 

At last, amidst all these wonders, he saw far ahead something whichdrove all other thoughts away, whether of fear, or of danger, or ofhorror, and filled all his soul with an overmastering passion of desireand hope. 

It was a dark object, too remote as yet to be distinctly visible, yet asit rose there his fancy seemed to trace the outline of a ship, or whatmight once have been a ship. The presentation of his hope before himthus in what seemed like a reality was too much. He stood still, and hisheart beat with fierce throbs. 

The hope was so precious that for a time he hesitated to advance, forfear lest the hope might be dispelled forever. And then to fail at thisplace, after so long a search, when he seemed to have reached the end, would be an intolerable grief. 

There, too, was that strange pathway which seemed made on purpose. Howcame it there? He thought that perhaps the object lying before him mighthave caused some current which set in there and prevented the growth ofplants in that place. These and many other thoughts came to him as hestood, unwilling to move. 

But at last he conquered his feelings, and advanced. Hope grew strongwithin him. He thought of the time on Coffin Island when, in likemanner, he had hesitated before a like object. 

Might not this, like that, turn out to be a ship? And now, by a strangerevulsion, all his feelings urged him on; hope was strong, suspenseunendurable. Whatever that object was, he must know. 

It might indeed be a rock. He had passed one shortly before, which hadgradually declined into the bottom of the sea; this might be acontinuation of the same, which after an interval had arisen again fromthe bottom. It was long and high at one end, and rounded forward at theother. Such a shape was perfectly natural for a rock. He tried to crushdown hope, so as to be prepared for disappointment. He tried to convincehimself that it must be a rock, and could by no possibility be any thingelse. Yet his efforts were totally fruitless. Still the convictionremained that it was a ship, and if so, it could be no other than theone he sought. 

As he went on all the marine vegetation ceased. The coral rockscontinued no further. Now all around the bottom of the sea was flat, andcovered with fine gravel, like that which he had touched when he firstcame down. The fishes had departed. The sense of solemnity left him;only one thing was perceptible, and that was the object toward which hewalked. And now he felt within him such an uncontrollable impulse thateven if he had wished he could neither have paused nor gone back. To goforward was only possible. It seemed to him as though some externalinfluence had penetrated his body, and forced him to move. Again, asonce before, he recalled the last words of his father, so wellremembered:

--"If in that other world to which I am going the disembodied spirit canassist man, then be sure, oh my son, I will assist you, and in thecrisis of your fate I will be near, if it is only to communicate to yourspirit what you ought to do--"

It was Ralph Brandon who had said this. Here in this object which laybefore him, if it were indeed the ship, he imagined the spirit ofanother Ralph Brandon present, awaiting him. 

Suddenly a dark shadow passed over his head, which forced himinvoluntarily to look up. In spite of his excitement a shudder passedthrough him. Far overhead, at the surface of the sea the boat wasfloating. But half-way up were three dark objects moving slowly andlazily along. They were sharks. 

To him, in his loneliness and weakness, nothing ever seemed so menacingas these three demons of the deep as he stared up at them. Had they seenhim? that was now his thought. He clutched his knife in a firmer hold, feeling all the while how utterly helpless he was, and shrinking awayinto himself from the terror above. The monsters moved leisurely about, at one time grazing the tube, and sending down a vibration whichthrilled like an electric shock through him. For a moment he thoughtthat they were malignantly tormenting him, and had done this on purposein order to send down to him a message of his fate. 

He waited. 

The time seemed endless. Yet at last the end came. The sharks could nothave seen him, for they gradually moved away until they were out ofsight. 

Brandon did not dare to advance for some time. Yet now, since the spellof this presence was removed, his horror left him, and his former hopeanimated all his soul. 

There lay that object before him. Could he advance again after thatwarning? Dared he? This new realm into which he had ventured had indeedthose who were ready and able to inflict a sudden and frightfulvengeance upon the rash intruder. He had passed safely among the horrorsof the coral forest; but here, on this plateau, could he hope to be sosafe? Might not the slightest movement on his part create a disturbanceof water sufficient to awaken the attention of those departed enemiesand bring them back?

This was his fear. But hope, and a resolute will, and a determination torisk all on this last hazard, alike impelled him on. Danger now layevery where, above as well as below. An advance was not more perilousthan an ascent to the boat. Taking comfort from this last thought hemoved onward with a steady, determined step. 

Hope grew stronger as he drew nearer. The dark mass gradually formeditself into a more distinct outline. The uncertain lines defined intomore certain shape, and the resemblance to a ship became greater andgreater. He could no longer resist the conviction that this must be aship. 

Still he tried feebly to prepare for disappointment, and made faintfancies as to the reason why a rock should be formed here in this shape. All the time he scouted those fancies and felt assured that it was not arock. 

Nearer and nearer. Doubt no longer remained. He stood close beside it. It was indeed a ship! Its sides rose high over head. Its lofty sternstood up like a tower, after the fashion of a ship of the days of QueenElizabeth. The masts had fallen and lay, encumbered with the rigging, over the side. 

Brandon walked all around it, his heart beating fast, seeing at everystep some new proof that this must be no other, by any conceivablepossibility, than the one which he sought. On reaching the bows he sawthe outline of a bird carved for the figure-head, and knew that thismust be the _Phoenix_. 

He walked around. The bottom was sandy and the ship had settled down tosome depth. Her sides were covered with fine dark shells, like anincrustation, to a depth of an inch, mingled with a short growth of agreen, slimy sea-weed. 

At last he could delay no longer. One of the masts lay over the side, and this afforded an easy way by which he could clamber upward upon thedeck. 

In a few moments Brandon stood upon the deck of the _Phoenix_. 

The ship which had thus lain here through centuries, saturated withwater that had penetrated to its inmost fibre, still held togethersturdily. Beneath the sea the water itself had acted as a preservative, and retarded or prevented decay. Brandon looked around as he stoodthere, and the light that came from above, where the surface of the seawas now much nearer than before, showed him all the extent of the ship. 

The beams which supported the deck had lost their stiffness and sunkdownward; the masts, as before stated, had toppled over for the samereason, yielding to their own weight, which, as the vessel was slightlyon one side, had gradually borne them down; the bowsprit also hadfallen. The hatchways had yielded, and, giving way, had sunk down withinthe hold. The doors which led into the cabin in the lofty poop werelying prostrate on the deck. The large sky-light which once had stoodthere had also followed the same fate. 

[Illustration: "THE MASTS HAD FALLEN AND LAY, ENCUMBERED WITH THERIGGING, OVER THE SIDE. "]

Before going down Brandon had arranged a signal to send to Frank in casehe found the ship. In his excitement he had not yet given it. Beforeventuring further he thought of this. But he decided not to make thesignal. The idea came, and was rejected amidst a world of varying hopesand fears. He thought that if he was successful he himself would be thebest messenger of success; and, if not, he would be the best messengerof evil. 

He advanced toward the cabin. Turning away from the door he clamberedupon the poop, and, looking down, tried to see what depth there might bebeneath. He saw something which looked as though it had once been atable. Slowly and cautiously he let himself down through the opening, and his feet touched bottom. He moved downward, and let his feet slidetill they touched the floor. 

He was within the cabin. 

The light here was almost equal to that with-out, for the sky-light wasvery wide. The floor was sunken in like the deck of the ship. He lookedaround to see where he might first search for the treasure. Suddenly hiseye caught sight of something which drove away every other thought. 

At one end was a seat, and there, propped up against the wall, was askeleton in a sitting posture. Around it was a belt with a swordattached. The figure had partly twisted itself round, but its bead andshoulders were so propped up against the wall that it could not fall. 

Brandon advanced, filled with a thousand emotions. One hand was lyingdown in front. He lifted it. There was a gold ring on the bony finger. He took it off. In the dim light he saw, cut in bold relief on thisseal-ring, the crest of his family--a Phoenix. 

It was his ancestor himself who was before him. 

Here he had calmly taken his seat when the ship was settling slowly downinto the embrace of the waters. Here he had taken his seat, calmly andsternly, awaiting his death--perhaps with a feeling of grim triumph thathe could thus elude his foes. This was the man, and this the hand, whichhad written the message that had drawn the descendant here. 

Such were the thoughts that passed through Brandon's mind. He put thering on his own finger and turned away. His ancestor had summoned himhither, and here he was. Where was the treasure that was promised?

Brandon's impatience now rose to a fever. Only one thought filled hismind. All around the cabin were little rooms, into each of which helooked. The doors had all fallen away. Yet he saw nothing in any ofthem. 

He stood for a moment in deep doubt. Where could he look? Could heventure down into the dark hold and explore? How could he hope to findany thing there, amidst the ruins of that interior where guns and chainslay, perhaps all mingled together where they had fallen? It would need alonger time to find it than he had at first supposed. Yet would hefalter? No! Rather than give up he would pass years here, till he haddismembered the whole ship and strewn every particle of her piecemealover the bottom of the sea. Yet he had hoped to solve the whole mysteryat the first visit; and now, since he saw no sign of any thing liketreasure, he was for a while at a loss what to do. 

His ancestor had summoned him, and he had come. Where was the treasure?Where? Why could not that figure arise and show him?

Such were his thoughts. Yet these thoughts, the result of excitementthat was now a frenzy, soon gave rise to others that were calmer. 

He reflected that perhaps some other feeling than what he had at firstimagined might have inspired that grim old Englishman when he took hisseat there and chose to drown on that seat rather than move away. Someother feeling, and what feeling? Some feeling which must have been thestrongest in his heart. What was that? The one which had inspired themessage, the desire to secure still more that treasure for which he hadtoiled and fought. His last act was to send the message, why should henot have still borne that thought in his mind and carried it till hedied?

The skeleton was at one end, supported by the wall. Two posts projectedon each side. A heavy oaken chair stood there, which had once perhapsbeen fastened to the floor. Brandon thought that he would first examinethat wall. Perhaps there might be some opening there. 

He took the skeleton in his arms reverently, and proceeded to lift itfrom the chair: He could not. He looked more narrowly, and saw a chainwhich had been fastened around it and bound it to the chair. 

What was the meaning of this? Had the crew mutinied, bound the captain, and run? Had the Spaniards seized the ship after all? Had they recoveredthe spoil, and punished in this way the plunderer of three galleons, bybinding him here to the chair, scuttling the ship, and sending him downto the bottom of the sea?

The idea of the possibility of this made Brandon sick with anxiety. Hepulled the chair away, put it on one side, and began to examine thewooden wall by running his hand along it. There was nothing whateverperceptible. The wall was on the side farthest from the stern, andalmost amidships. He pounded it, and, by the feeling, knew that it washollow behind. He walked to the door which was on one side, and passedin behind this very wall. There was nothing there. It had once perhapsbeen used as part of the cabin. He came back disconsolately, and stoodon the very place where the chair had been. 

"Let me be calm, " he said to himself. "This enterprise is hopeless. Yes, the Spaniards captured the ship, recovered the treasure, and drowned myancestor. Let me not be deceived. Let me cast away hope, and search herewithout any idle expectation. "

Suddenly as he thought he felt the floor gradually giving way beneathhim. He started, but before he could move or even think in whatdirection to go the floor sank in, and he at once sank with it downward. 

Had it not been that the tube was of ample extent, and had beencarefully managed so as to guard against any abrupt descent among rocksat the bottom of the sea, this sudden fall might have ended Brandon'scareer forever. As it was he only sank quickly, but without accident, until his breast was on a level with the cabin floor. 

In a moment the truth flashed upon him. He had been standing on a trap-door which opened from the cabin floor into the hold of the ship. Overthis trap-door old Ralph Brandon had seated and bound himself. Was it toguard the treasure? Was it that he might await his descendant, and thussilently indicate to him the place where he must look?

And now the fever of Brandon's conflicting hope and fear grew moreintense than it had ever yet been through all this day of days. Hestooped down to feel what it was that lay under his feet. His handsgrasped something, the very touch of which sent a thrill sharp andsudden through every fibre of his being. 

_They were metallic bars!_

He rose up again overcome. He hardly dared to take one up so as to seewhat it might be. For the actual sight would realize hope or destroy itforever. 

Once more he stooped down. In a sort of fury he grasped a bar in eachhand and raised it up to the light. 

Down under the sea the action of water had not destroyed the color ofthose bars which he held up in the dim light that came through thewaters. The dull yellow of those rough ingots seemed to gleam withdazzling brightness before his bewildered eyes, and filled his wholesoul with a torrent of rapture and of triumph. 

His emotions overcame him. The bars of gold fell down from histrembling hands. He sank back and leaned against the wall. 

But what was it that lay under his feet? What were all these bars?Were they all gold? Was this indeed all here--the plunder of theSpanish treasure-ships--the wealth which might purchase a kingdom--the treasure equal to an empire's revenue--the gold and jewels incountless store?

A few moments of respite were needed in order to overcome the tremendousconflict of feeling which raged within his breast. Then once more hestooped down. His outstretched hand felt over all this space which thuswas piled up with treasure. 

It was about four feet square. The ingots lay in the centre. Aroundthe sides were boxes. One of these he took out. It was made of thickoaken plank, and was about ten inches long and eight wide. The rustynails gave but little resistance, and the iron bands which once boundthem peeled off at a touch. He opened the box. 

Inside was a casket. 

He tore open the casket. 

_It was filled with jewels!_

His work was ended. No more search, no more fear. He bound thecasket tightly to the end of the signal-line, added to it a bar of gold, and clambered to the deck. 

He cast off the weight that was at his waist, which he also fastenedto the line, and let it go. 

Freed from the weight he rose buoyantly to the top of the water. 

The boat pulled rapidly toward him and took him in. As he removedhis helmet he saw Frank's eyes fixed on his in mute inquiry. His facewas ashen, his lips bloodless. 

Louis smiled. 

"Heavens!" cried Frank, "can it be?"

"Pull up the signal-line and see for yourself, " was the answer. 

And, as Frank pulled, Louis uttered a cry which made him look up. 

Louis pointed to the sun. "Good God! what a time I must have been down!"

"Time!" said Frank. "Don't say time--it was eternity!"

CHAPTER XXIV. 

BEATRICE'S JOURNAL

BRANDON HALL

September 1, 1848. --Paolo Langhetti used to say that it was usefulto keep a diary; not one from day to day, for each day's events aregenerally trivial, and therefore not worthy of record; but rather astatement in full of more important events in one's life, which may beturned to in later years. I wish I had begun this sixteen months ago, when I first came here. How full would have been my melancholy record bythis time!

Where shall I begin?

Of course, with my arrival here, for that is the time when we separated. There is no need for me to put down in writing the events that tookplace when _he_ was with me. Not a word that he ever spoke, not alook that he ever gave, has escaped my memory. This much I may set downhere. 

Alas! the shadow of the African forest fell deeply and darkly upon me. Am I stronger than other women, or weaker? I know not. Yet I can be calmwhile my heart is breaking. Yes, I am at once stronger and weaker; soweak that my heart breaks, so strong that I can hide it. 

I will begin from the time of my arrival here. 

I came knowing well who the man was and what he was whom I had for myfather. I came with every word of that despairing voyager ringing in myears--that cry from the drifting _Vishnu_, where Despard laid downto die. How is it that his very name thrills through me? I am nothing tohim. I am one of the hateful brood of murderers. A Thug was my father--and my mother who? And who am I, and what?

At least my soul is not his, though I am his daughter. My soul ismyself, and life on earth can not last forever. Hereafter I may standwhere that man may never approach. 

How can I ever forget the first sight which I had of my father, whobefore I saw him had become to me as abhorrent as a demon! I came up inthe coach to the door of the Hall and looked out. On the broad piazzathere were two men; one was sitting, the other standing. 

The one who was standing was somewhat elderly, with a broad, fat face, which expressed nothing in particular but vulgar good-nature. He wasdressed in black; and looked like a serious butler, or perhaps stillmore like some of the Dissenting ministers whom I have seen. He stoodwith his hands in his pockets, looking at me with a vacant smile. 

The other man was younger, not over thirty. He was thin, and looked palefrom dissipation. His face was covered with spots, his eyes were gray, his eyelashes white. He was smoking a very large pipe, and a tumbler ofsome kind of drink stood on the stone pavement at his feet. He stared atme between the puffs of his pipe, and neither moved nor spoke. 

If I had not already tasted the bitterness of despair I should havetasted it as I saw these men. Something told me that they were my fatherand brother. My very soul sickened at the sight--the memory of Despard'swords came back--and if it had been possible to have felt any tendernatural affection for them, this recollection would have destroyed it. 

"I wish to see Mr. Potts, " said I, coldly. 

My father stared at me. 

"I'm Mr. Potts, " he answered. 

"I am Beatrice, " said I; "I have just arrived from China. "

By this time the driver had opened the door, and I got out and walked upon the piazza. 

"Johnnie, " exclaimed my father, "what the devil is the meaning of this?"

"Gad, I don't know, " returned John, with a puff of smoke. 

"Didn't you say she was drowned off the African coast?"

"I saw so in the newspapers. "

"Didn't you tell me about the _Falcon_ rescuing her from thepirates, and then getting wrecked with all on board?"

"Yes, but then there was a girl that escaped. "

"Oh ho!" said my father, with a long whistle. "I didn't know that. "

He turned and looked at me hastily, but in deep perplexity. 

"So you're the girl, are you?" said he at last. 

"I am your daughter, " I answered. 

I saw him look at John, who winked in return. 

He walked up and down for a few minutes, and at last stopped and lookedat me again. 

"That's all very well, " said he at last, "but how do I know that you'rethe party? Have you any proof of this?"

"No. "

"You have nothing but your own statement?"

"No. "

"And you may be an impostor. Mind you--I'm a magistrate--and you'dbetter be careful. "

"You can do what you choose, " said I, coldly. 

"No, I can't. In this country a man can't do what he chooses. "

I was silent. 

"Johnnie, " said my father, "I'll have to leave her to you. You arrangeit. "

John looked at me lazily, still smoking, and for some time said nothing. 

"I suppose, " said he at last, "you've got to put it through. You beganit, you know. You would send for her. I never saw the use of it. "

"But do you think this is the party?"

"Oh, I dare say. It don't make any difference any way. Nobody would takethe trouble to come to you with a sham story. "

"That's a fact, " said my father. 

"So I don't see but you've got to take her. "

"Well, " said my father, "if you think so, why all right. "

"I don't think any thing of the kind, " returned John, snappishly. "Ionly think that she's the party you sent for. "

"Oh, well, it's all the same, " said my father, who then turned to meagain. 

"If you're the girl, " he said, "you can get in. Hunt up Mrs. Compton, and she'll take charge of you. "

Compton! At the mention of that name a shudder passed through me. Shehad been in the family of the murdered man, and had ever since livedwith his murderer. I went in without a word, prepared for the worst, andexpecting to see some evil-faced woman, fit companion for the pairoutside. 

A servant was passing along. "Where is Mrs. Compton?" I asked. 

"Somewhere or other, I suppose, " growled the man, and went on. 

I stood quietly. Had I not been prepared for some such thing as this Imight perhaps have broken down under grief, but I had read the MS. , andnothing could surprise or wound me. 

I waited there for nearly half an hour, during which time no notice wastaken of me. I heard my father and John walk down the piazza steps andgo away. They had evidently forgotten all about me. At last a man cametoward the door who did not look like a servant. He was dressed inblack. He was a slender, pale, shambling man with thin, light hair, anda furtive eye and a weary face. He did not look like one who wouldinsult me, so I asked him where I could find Mrs. Compton. 

He started as I spoke and looked at me in wonder, yet respectfully. 

"I have just come from China, " said I, "and my father told me to findMrs. Compton. "

He looked at me for some time without speaking a word. I began to thinkthat he was imbecile. 

"So you are Mr. Potts's daughter, " said he at last, in a thin, weakvoice. "I--I didn't know that you had come--I--I knew that he wasexpecting you--but heard you were lost at sea--Mrs. Compton--yes--ohyes--I'll show you where you can find Mrs. Compton. "

He was embarrassed, yet not unkind. There was wonder in his face, asthough he was surprised at my appearance. Perhaps it was because hefound me so unlike my father. He walked toward the great stairs, fromtime to time turning his head to look at me, and ascended them. Ifollowed, and after going to the third story we came to a room. 

"That's the place, " said he. 

He then turned, without replying to my thanks, and left me. I knocked atthe door. After some delay it was opened, and I went in. A thin, palewoman was there. Her hair was perfectly white. Her face was marked bythe traces of great grief and suffering, yet overspread by an expressionof surpassing gentleness and sweetness. She looked like one of thesewomen who live lives of devotion for others, who suffer out of thespirit of self-sacrifice, and count their own comfort and happiness asnothing in comparison with that of those whom they love. My heart warmedtoward her at the first glance; I saw that this place could not bealtogether corrupt since she was here. 

"I am Mr. Potts's daughter, " said I; "are you Mrs. Compton?"

She stood mute. An expression of deadly fear overspread her countenance, which seemed to turn her white face to a grayish hue, and the look thatshe gave me was such a look as one may cast upon some object of mortalfear. 

"You look alarmed, " said I, in surprise; "and why? Am I then sofrightful?"

She seized my hand and covered it with kisses. This new outburstsurprised me as much as her former fear. I did not know what to do. "Ah!my sweet child, my dearest!" she murmured. "How did you come here, hereof all places on earth?"

I was touched by the tenderness and sympathy of her tone. It was full ofthe gentlest love. "How did you come here?" I asked. 

She started and turned on me her former look of fear. 

"Do not look at me so, " said I, "dear Mrs. Compton. You are timid. Donot be afraid of me. I am incapable of inspiring fear. " I pressed herhand. "Let us say nothing more now about the place. We each seem to knowwhat it is. Since I find one like you living here it will not seemaltogether a place of despair. "

"Oh, door child, what words are these? You speak as if you knew all. "

"I know much, " said I, "and I have suffered much. "

"Ah, my dearest! you are too young and too beautiful to suffer. " Anagony of sorrow came over her face. Then I saw upon it an expressionwhich I have often marked since, a strange straggling desire to saysomething, which that excessive and ever-present terror of hers made herincapable of uttering. Some secret thought was in her whole face, buther faltering tongue was paralyzed and could not divulge it. 

She turned away with a deep sigh. I looked at her with much interest. She was not the woman I expected to find. Her face and voice won myheart. She was certainly one to be trusted. But still there was thismystery about her. 

Nothing could exceed her kindness and tenderness. She arranged my room. She did every thing that could be done to give it an air of comfort. Itwas a very luxuriously furnished chamber. All the house was lordly inits style and arrangements. That first night I slept the sleep of theweary. 

The next day I spent in my room, occupied with my own sad thoughts. Atabout three in the afternoon I saw _him_ come up the avenue Myheart throbbed violently. My eyes were riveted upon that well-knownface, how loved! how dear! In vain I tried to conjecture the reason whyhe should come. Was it to strike the first blow in his just, hisimplacable vengeance? I longed that I might receive that blow. Any thingthat came from _him_ would be sweet. 

He staid a long time and then left. What passed I can not conjecture. But it had evidently been an agreeable visit to my father, for I heardhim laughing uproariously on the piazza about something not long afterhe had gone. 

I have not seen him since. 

For several weeks I scarcely moved from my room. I ate with Mrs. Compton. Her reserve was impenetrable. It was with painful fear andtrembling that she touched upon any thing connected with the affairs ofthe house or the family. I saw it and spared her. Poor thing, she hasalways been too timid for such a life as this. 

At the end of a month I began to think that I could live here in a stateof obscurity without being molested. Strange that a daughter's feelingstoward a father and brother should be those of horror, and that herdesire with reference to them should be merely to keep out of theirsight. I had no occupation, and needed none, for I had my thoughts andmy memories. These memories were bitter, yet sweet. I took the sweet, and tried to solace myself with them. The days are gone forever; nolonger does the sea spread wide; no longer can I hear his voice; I canhold him in my arms no more; yet I can remember--

 "Das süsseste Glück für die trauernde Brust, Nach der schonen Liebe verschwundener Lust, Sind der Liebe Schmerzen und Klagen. "

I think I had lived this sort of life for three months without seeingeither my father or brother. 

At the end of that time my father sent for me. He informed me that heintended to give a grand entertainment to the county families, andwanted me to do the honors. He had ordered dress-makers for me; hewished me to wear some jewels which he had in the house, and informed methat it would be the grandest thing of the kind that had ever takenplace. Fire-works were going to be let off; the grounds were to beilluminated, and nothing that money could effect would be spared torender it the most splendid festival that could be imagined. 

I did as he said. The dress-makers came, and I allowed them to array meas they chose. My father informed me that he would not give me thejewels till the time came, hinting a fear that I might steal them. 

At last the evening arrived. Invitations had been sent every where. Itwas expected that the house would be crowded. My father even ventured tomake a personal request that I would adorn myself as well as possible. Idid the best I could, and went to the drawing-room to receive theexpected crowds. 

The hour came and passed, but no one appeared. My father looked a littletroubled, but he and John waited in the drawing-room. Servants were sentdown to see if any one was approaching. An hour passed. My father lookeddeeply enraged. Two hours passed. Still no one came. Three hours passed. I waited calmly, but my father and John, who had all the time beendrinking freely, became furious. It was now midnight, and all hope hadleft them. They had been treated with scorn by the whole county. 

The servants were laughing at my father's disgrace. The proud array inthe different rooms was all a mockery. The elaborate fire-works couldnot be used. 

My father turned his eyes, inflamed by anger and strong drink, towardme. 

"She's a d----d bad investment, " I heard him say. 

"I told you so, " said John, who did not deign to look at me; "but youwere determined. "

They then sat drinking in silence for some time. 

"Sold!" said my father, suddenly, with an oath. 

John made no reply. 

"I thought the county would take to her. She's one of their own sort, "my father muttered. 

"If it weren't for you they might, " said John; "but they ain't overfondof her dear father. "

"But I sent out the _invites_ in her name. "

"No go anyhow. "

"I thought I'd get in with them all right away, hobnob with lords andbaronets, and maybe get knighted on the spot. "

John gave a long scream of laughter. 

"You old fool!" he cried; "so that's what you're up to, is it? Sir John--ha, ha, ha! You'll never be made Sir John by parties, I'm afraid. "

"Oh, don't you be too sure. I'm not put down. I'll try again, " hecontinued, after a pause. "Next year I'll do it. Why, she'll marry alord, and then won't I be a lord's father-in-law? What do you say tothat?"

"When did you get these notions in your blessed head?" asked John. 

"Oh, I've had them--It's not so much for myself, Johnnie--but for you. For if I'm a lord you'll be a lord too. "

"Lord Potts. Ha, ha, ha!"

"No, " said my father, with some appearance of vexation, "not that; we'lltake our title the way all the lords do, from the estates. I'll be LordBrandon, and when I die you'll get the title. "

"And that's your little game. Well, you've played such good little gamesin your life that I've nothing to say, except--'Go it!'"

"She's the one that'll give me a lift. "

"Well, she ought to be able to do something. "

By this time I concluded that I had done my duty and prepared to retire. I did not wish to overhear any of their conversation. As I walked out ofthe room I still heard their remarks:

"Blest if she don't look as if she thought herself the Queen, " saidJohn. 

"It's the diamonds, Johnnie. "

"No it ain't, it's the girl herself. I don't like the way she has oflooking at me and through me. "

"Why, that's the way with that kind. It's what the lords like. "

"I don't like it, then, and I tell you _she's got to be tookdown!_"

This was the last I heard. Yet one thing was evident to me from theirconversation. My father had some wild plan of effecting an entrance intosociety through me. He thought that after he was once recognized hemight get sufficient influence to gain a title and found a family. Ialso might marry a lord. He thus dreamed of being Lord Brandon, and oneof the great nobles of the land. 

Amidst my sadness I almost smiled at this vain dream; but yet John'swords affected me strongly--"You've played such good little games inyour life. " Well I knew with whom they were played. One was withDespard, the other with Brandon. 

This then was the reason why he had sent for me from China. Theknowledge of his purpose made my life neither brighter nor darker. Istill lived on as before. 

During these months Mrs. Compton's tender devotion to me never ceased. Irespected her, and forbore to excite that painful fear to which she wassubject. Once or twice I forgot myself and began speaking to her abouther strange position here. She stopped me with her look of alarm. 

"Are you not afraid to be kind to me?" I asked. 

She looked at me piteously. 

"You are the only one that is kind to me, " I continued. "How have youthe courage?"

"I can not help it, " she murmured, "you are so dear to me. "

She sighed and was silent. The mystery about her remained unchanged; hergentle nature, her tender love, and her ever-present fear. What wasthere in her past that so influenced her life? Had she too been mixed upwith the crime on the _Vishnu_? She! impossible. Yet surelysomething as dark as that must have been required to throw so black acloud over her life. Yet what--what could that have been? In spite ofmyself I associate her secret with the tragedy of Despard. She was inhis family long. His wife died. She must have been with her at the time. 

The possibilities that have suggested themselves to my mind will one daydrive me mad. Alas, how my heart yearns over that lonely man in thedrifting ship! And yet, merciful God! who am I that I should sympathizewith him? My name is infamy, my blood is pollution. 

I spoke to her once in a general way about the past. Had she ever beenout of England? I asked. 

"Yes, " she answered, dreamily. 

"Where?"

She looked at me and said not a word. 

At another time I spoke of China, and hinted that perhaps she too knewsomething about the East. The moment that I said this I repented. Thepoor creature was shaken from head to foot with a sudden convulsion offear. This convulsion was so terrible that it seemed to me as thoughanother would be death. I tried to soothe her, but she looked fearfullyat me for a long time after. 

At another time I asked her directly whether her husband was alive. Shelooked at me with deep sadness and shook her head. I do not know whatposition she holds here. She is not housekeeper; none of the servantspay any attention to her whatever. There is an impudent head servant whomanages the rest. I noticed that the man who showed me to her room whenI first came treats her differently from the rest. Once or twice I sawthem talking in one of the halls. There was deep respect in his manner. What he does I have not yet found out. He has always shown great respectto me, though why I can not imagine. He has the same timidity of mannerwhich marks Mrs. Compton. His name is Philips. 

I once asked Mrs. Compton who Philips was, and what he did. She answeredquickly that he was a kind of clerk to Mr. Potts, and helped him to keephis accounts. 

"Has he been with him long?" I continued. 

"Yes, a considerable time, " she said--but I saw that the subjectdistressed her, so I changed it. 

For more than three months I remained in my room, but at last, throughutter despair, I longed to go out. The noble grounds were there, highhills from which the wide sea was visible--that sea which shall beassociated with his memory till I die. A great longing came over me tolook upon its wide expanse, and feed my soul with old and dear memories. There it would lie, the same sea from which he so often saved me, overwhich we sailed till he laid down his noble life at my feet, and I gaveback that life to him again. 

I used to ascend a hill which was half a mile behind the Hall within thegrounds, and pass whole days there unmolested. No one took the troubleto notice what I did, at least I thought so till afterward. There formonths I used to go. I would sit and look fixedly upon the blue water, and my imagination would carry me far away to the South, to that islandon the African shore, where he once reclined in my arms, before the daywhen I learned that my touch was pollution to him--to that island whereI afterward knelt by him as he lay senseless, slowly coming back tolife, when if I might but touch the hem of his garment it was blissenough for one day. Ah me, how often I have wet his feet with my tears--poor, emaciated feet--and longed to be able to wipe them with my hair, but dared not. He lay unconscious. He never knew the anguish of my love. 

Then I was less despairing. The air around was filled with the echo ofhis voice; I could shut my eyes, and bring him before me. His face wasalways visible to my soul. 

One day the idea came into my head to extend my ramble into the countryoutside, in order to get a wider view. I went to the gate. 

The porter came out and asked what I wanted. I told him. 

"You can't go out, " said he, rudely. 

"Why not?"

"Oh, them's Potts's orders--that's enough, I think. "

"He never said so to me, " I replied, mildly. 

"That's no odds; he said so to me, and he told me if you made any row totell you that you were watched, and might just as well give up at once. "

"Watched!" said I, wonderingly. 

"Yes--for fear you'd get skittish, and try and do something foolish. OldPotts is bound to keep you under his thumb. "

I turned away. I did not care much. I felt more surprise than any thingelse to think that he would take the trouble to watch me. Whether he didor not was of little consequence. If I could only be where I had the seabefore me it was enough. 

That day, on going back to the Hall, I saw John sitting on the piazza. Ahuge bull-dog which he used to take with him every where was lying athis feet. Just before I reached the steps a Malay servant came out ofthe house. 

He was about the same age as John. I knew him to be a Malay when I firstsaw him, and concluded that my father had picked him up in the East. Hewas slight but very lithe and muscular, with dark glittering eyes andglistening white teeth. He never looked at me when I met him, but alwaysat the ground, without seeming to be aware of my existence. 

The Malay was passing out when John called out to him, "Hi, there, Vijal!"

Vijal looked carelessly at him. 

"Here!" cried John, in the tone with which he would have addressed hisdog. 

Vijal stopped carelessly. 

"Pick up my hat, and hand it to me. "

His hat had fallen down behind him. Vijal stood without moving, andregarded him with an evil smile. 

"D--n you, do you hear?" cried John. "Pick up my hat. "

But Vijal did not move. 

"If you don't, I'll set the dog on you, " cried John, starting to hisfeet in a rage. 

Still Vijal remained motionless. 

"Nero!" cried John, furiously, pointing to Vijal, "seize him, Sir. "

The dog sprang up and at once leaped upon Vijal. Vijal warded off theassault with his arm. The dog seized it, and held on, as was his nature. Vijal did not utter a cry, but seizing the dog, he threw him on hisback, and flinging himself upon him, fixed his own teeth in the dog'sthroat. 

John burst into a torrent of the most frightful curses. He ordered Vijalto let go of the dog. Vijal did not move; but while the dog's teeth werefixed in his arm, his own were still fixed as tenaciously in the throatof the dog. 

John sprang forward and kicked him with frightful violence. He leaped onhim and stamped on him. At last, Vijal drew a knife from his girdle andmade a dash at John. This frightened John, who fell back cursing. Vijalthen raised his head. 

The dog lay motionless. He was dead. Vijal sat down, his arm runningblood, with the knife in his hand, still glaring at John. 

During this frightful scene I stood rooted to the spot in horror. Atlast the sight of Vijal's suffering roused me. I rushed forward, andtearing the scarf from my neck, knelt down and reached out my hand tostanch the blood. 

Vijal drew back. "Poor Vijal, " said I, "let me stop this blood. I candress wounds. How you suffer!"

He looked at me in bewilderment. Surprise at hearing a kind word in thishouse of horror seemed to deprive him of speech. Passively he let metake his arm, and I bound it up as well as I could. 

All this time John stood cursing, first me, and then Vijal. I said not aword, and Vijal did not seem to hear him, but sat regarding me with hisfiery black eyes. When at last I had finished, he rose and still stoodstaring at me. I walked into the house. 

John hurled a torrent of imprecations after me. The last words that Iheard were the same as he had said once before. "You've got to be tookdown; and I'll be d--d if you don't get took down precious soon!"

I told Mrs. Compton of what had happened. As usual, she was seized withterror. She looked at me with a glance of fearful apprehension. At lastshe gasped out:

"They'll kill you. "

"Let them, " said I, carelessly; "it would be better than living. "

"Oh dear!" groaned the poor old thing, and sank sobbing in a chair. Idid what I could to soothe her, but to little purpose. She afterwardtold me that Vijal had escaped further punishment in spite of John'sthreats, and hinted that they were half afraid of him. 

The next day, on attempting to go out, Philips told me that I was not tobe permitted to leave the house. I considered it the result of John'sthreat, and yielded without a word. 

After this I had to seek distraction from my thoughts within the house. Now there came over me a great longing for music. Once, when in thedrawing-room on that famous evening of the abortive fźte, which was theonly time I ever was there, I had noticed a magnificent grand piano ofmost costly workmanship. The thought of this came to my mind, and anunconquerable desire to try it arose. So I went down and began to play. 

It was a little out of tune, but the tone was marvelously full andsweet. I threw myself with indescribable delight into the charm of thehour. All the old joy which music once used to bring came back. Imagination, stimulated by the swelling harmonies, transported me faraway from this prison-house and its hateful associations to that happiertime of youth when not a thought of sorrow came over me. I lost myselftherein. Then that passed, that life vanished, and the sea-voyage began. The thoughts of my mind and the emotions of my heart passed down to thequivering chords and trembled into life and sound. 

I do not know how long I had been playing when suddenly I heard a sobbehind me. I started and turned. It was Philips. 

He was standing with tears in his eyes and a rapt expression on hisemaciated face, his hands hanging listless, and his whole air that ofone who had lost all senses save that of hearing. But as I turned andstopped, the spell that bound him was broken. He sighed and looked at meearnestly. 

[Illustration: "I STOOD LOOKING AT HIM WITH A GAZE SO FIXED AND INTENSETHAT IT SEEMED AS IF ALL MY BEING WERE CENTERED IN MY EYES. "]

"Can you sing?"

"Would you like me to do so?"

"Yes, " he said, in a faint imploring voice. 

I began a low song--a strain associated with that same childhood ofwhich I had just been thinking--a low, sad strain, sweet to my ears andto my soul; it spoke of peace and innocence, quiet home joys, and calmdelights. My own mind brought before me the image of the house where Ihad lived, with the shadow of great trees around, and gorgeous flowersevery where, where the sultry air breathed soft, and beneath the hotnoon all men sank to rest and slumber. 

When I stopped I turned again. Philips had not changed his attitude. Butas I turned he uttered an exclamation and tore out his watch. 

"Oh, Heavens!--two hours!" he exclaimed. "He'll kill me for this. "

With these words he rushed out of the room. 

I kept up my music for about ten days, when one day it was stoppedforever. I was in the middle of a piece when I heard heavy footstepsbehind me. I turned and saw my father. I rose and looked at him with aneffort to be respectful. It was lost on him, however. He did not glanceat me. 

"I came up to say to you, " said he, after a little hesitation, "that Ican't stand this infernal squall and clatter any longer. So in futureyou just shut up. "

He turned and left me. I closed the piano forever, and went to my room. 

The year ended, and a new year began. January passed away. My melancholybegan to affect my health. I scarcely ever slept at night, and to eatwas difficult. I hoped that I was going to die. Alas! death will notcome when one calls. One day I was in my room lying on the couch whenMrs. Compton came. On entering she looked terrified about something. Shespoke in a very agitated voice: "They want you down stairs. "

"Who?"

"Mr. Potts and John. "

"Well, " said I, and I prepared to get ready. 

"When do they want me?"

"Now, " said Mrs. Compton, who by this time was crying. 

"Why are you so agitated?" I asked. 

"I am afraid for you. "

"Why so? Can any thing be worse?"

"Ah, my dearest! you don't know--you don't know. "

I said nothing more, but went down. On entering the room I saw my fatherand John seated at a table with brandy before them. A third man wasthere. He was a thick-set man of about the same height of my father, butmore muscular, with a strong, square jaw, thick neck, low brow, andstern face. My father did not show any actual ferocity in his facewhatever he felt; but this man's face expressed relentless cruelty. 

On entering the room I walked up a little distance and stood looking atthem. 

"There, Clark; what do you think of that?" said my father. 

The name, Clark, at once made known to me who this man was--that oldassociate of my father--his assistant on board the _Vishnu_. Yetthe name did not add one whit to the abhorrence which I felt--my fatherwas worse even than he. 

The man Clark looked at me scrutinizingly for some time. 

"So that's the gal, " said he, at last. 

"That's the gal, " said my father. 

Clark waved his hand at me. "Turn round sideways, " said he. 

I looked at him quietly without moving. He repeated the order, but Itook no notice of it. 

"D--n her!" said he. "Is she deaf?"

"Not a bit of it, " said John; "but she's plucky. She'd just as soonyou'd kill her as not. There isn't any way of moving her. "

"Turn round!" cried my father, angrily. 

I turned as he said. "You see, " said he, with a laugh, "she's beenpiously brought up; she honors her father. "

At this Clark burst into a loud laugh. 

Some conversation followed about me as I stood there. Clark then orderedme to turn round and face him. I took no notice; but on my father'sordering it, I obeyed as before. This appeared to amuse them all verygreatly, just as the tricks of an intelligent poodle might have done. Clark gave me many commands on purpose to see my refusal, and have myfather's order which followed obeyed. 

"Well, " said he, at last, leaning back in his chair, "she is a showypiece of furniture. Your idea isn't a bad one either. "

He rose from his chair and came toward me. I stood looking at him with agaze so fixed and intense that it seemed as if all my being were centredin my eyes. 

He came up and reached out to take hold of my arm. I stepped back. Helooked up angrily. But, for some reason, the moment that he caught sightof my face, an expression of fear passed over his. 

"Heavens!" he groaned; "look at that face!" I saw my father look at me. The same horror passed over his countenance. An awful thought came tome. As these men turned their faces away from me in fear I felt mystrength going. I turned and rushed from the room. I do not remember anything more. 

It was early in February when this occurred. Until the beginning ofAugust I lay senseless. For the first four months I hovered faintlybetween life and death. 

Why did they not let me die? Why did I not die? Alas! had I died I mightnow have been beyond this sorrow: I have waked to meet it all again. 

Mrs. Compton says she found me on the floor of my own room, and that Iwas in a kind of stupor. I had no fever or delirium. A doctor came, whosaid it was a congestion of the brain. Thoughts like mine might welldestroy the brain forever. 

For a month I have been slowly recovering. I can now walk about theroom. I know nothing of what is going on in the house, and wish to knownothing. Mrs. Compton is as devoted as ever. 

I have got thus far, and will stop here. I have been several dayswriting this. I must stop till I am stronger. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BYZANTINE HYMNISTS. 

More than a year had passed since that visit to Thornton Grange whichhas already been mentioned. Despard had not forgotten or neglected themelancholy case of the Brandon family. He had written in all directions, and had gone on frequent visits. 

On his return from one of these he went to the Grange. Mrs. Thornton wassitting in the drawing-room, looking pensively out of the window, whenshe saw his well-known figure advancing up the avenue. His face was sad, and pervaded by a melancholy expression, which was noticeable now as hewalked along. 

But when he came into the room that melancholy face suddenly lighted upwith the most radiant joy. Mrs. Thornton advanced to meet him, and hetook her hand in both of his. 

"I ought to say, welcome back again, " said she, with forced liveliness, "but you may have been in Holby a week for all I know. When did you comeback? Confess now that you have been secluding yourself in your studyinstead of paying your respects in the proper quarter. "

Despard smiled. "I arrived home at eleven this morning. It is now threeP. M. By my watch. Shall I say how impatiently I have waited till threeo'clock should come?

"Oh no! don't say any thing of the sort. I can imagine all that youwould say. But tell me where you have been on this last visit?"

"Wandering like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. "

"Have you been to London again?"

"Where have I not been?"

By this time they had seated themselves. 

"My last journey, " said Despard, "like my former ones, was, of course, about the Brandon affair. You know that I have had long conversationswith Mr. Thornton about it, and he insists that nothing whatever can bedone. But you know, also, that I could not sit down idly and calmlyunder this conviction. I have felt most keenly the presence ofintolerable wrong. Every day I have felt as if I had shared in theinfamy of those who neglected that dying man. That was the reason why Iwrote to Australia to see if the Brandon who was drowned was really theone I supposed. I heard, you know, that he was the same man, and thereis no doubt about that. Then you know, as I told you, that I went aroundamong different lawyers to see if any thing could be done. Nearly allasserted that no redress was possible. That is what Mr. Thornton said. There was one who said that if I were rich enough I might begin aprosecution, but as I am not rich that did me no good. That man wouldhave been glad, no doubt, to have undertaken such a task. "

"What is there in law that so hardens the heart?" said Mrs. Thornton, after a pause. "Why should it kill all sentiment, and destroy so utterlyall the more spiritual qualities?"

"I don't think that the law does this necessarily. It depends after allon the man himself. If I were a lawyer, I should still love music aboveall things. "

"But did you ever know a lawyer who loved music?"

"I have not known enough of them to answer that. But in England music isnot loved so devotedly as in other countries. Is it inconceivable thatan Italian lawyer should love music?"

"I don't know. Law is abhorrent to me. It seems to be a profession thatkills the finer sentiments. "

"Why so, more than medicine? The fact is where ordinary men areconcerned any scientific profession renders Art distasteful. At leastthis is so in England. After all, most depends on the man himself, and, one who is born with a keen sensibility to the charms of art will carryit through life, whatever his profession may be. 

"But suppose the man himself has neither taste, nor sensibility, nor anyappreciation of the beautiful, nor any sympathy whatever with those wholove such things, what then?"

Mrs. Thornton spoke earnestly as she asked this. 

"Well, " said Despard, "that question answers itself. As a man is born, so he is; and if nature denies him taste or sensibility it makes nodifference what is his profession. "

Mrs. Thornton made no reply. 

"My last journey, " said Despard, "was about the Brandon case. I went toLondon first to see if something could not be done. I had been therebefore on the same errand, but without success. I was equallyunsuccessful this time. 

"I tried to find out about Potts, the man who had purchased the estate, but learned that it was necessary to go to the village of Brandon. Iwent there, and made inquiries. Without exception the people sympathizedwith the unfortunate family, and looked with detestation upon the manwho had supplanted them. 

"I heard that a young lady went there last year who was reputed to behis daughter. Every one said that she was extraordinarily beautiful, andlooked like a lady. She stopped at the inn under the care of a gentlemanwho accompanied her, and went to the Hall. She has never come out of itsince. 

"The landlord told me that the gentleman was a pale, sad-looking man, with dark hair and beard. He seemed very devoted to the young lady, andparted with her in melancholy silence. His account of this young ladymoved me very strangely. He was not at all a sentimental man, but aburly John Bull, which made his story all the more touching. It isstrange, I must say, that one like her should go into that place andnever be seen again. I do not know what to think of it, nor did any ofthose with whom I spoke in the village. "

"Do you suppose that she really went there and never came back?"

"That is what they say. "

"Then they must believe that she is kept there. "

"Yes, so they do. "

"Why do they not take some steps in the matter?"

"What can they do? She is his daughter. Some of the villagers who havebeen to the Hall at different times say that they heard her playing andsinging. "

"That does not sound like imprisonment. "

"The caged bird sings. "

"Then you think she is a prisoner?"

"I think it odd that she has never come out, not even to go to church. "

"It is odd. "

"This man Potts excited sufficient interest in my mind to lead me tomake many inquiries. I found, throughout the county, that every bodyutterly despised him. They all thought that poor Ralph Brandon had beenalmost mad, and, by his madness had ruined his family. Every bodybelieved that Potts had somehow deceived him, but no one could tell how. They could not bring any direct proof against him. 

"But I found out in Brandon the sad particulars of the final fate of thepoor wife and her unfortunate children. They had been sent away orassisted away by this Potts to America, and had all died either on theway out or shortly after they had arrived, according to the villagers. Idid not tell them what I knew, but left them to believe what they chose. It seemed to me that they must have received this information from Pottshimself; who alone in that poor community would have been able to tracethe fortunes of the unhappy emigrants. "

There was a long silence. 

"I have done all that I could, " said Despard, in a disconsolate tone, "and I suppose nothing now remains to be done. When we hear again fromPaolo there may be some new information upon which we can act. "

"And you can go back to your Byzantine poets. "

"Yes, if you will assist me. "

"You know I shall only be too happy. "

"And I shall be eternally grateful. You see, as I told you before, thereis a field of labor here for the lover of music which is like a newworld. I will give you the grandest musical compositions that you haveever seen. I will let you have the old hymns of the saints who livedwhen Constantinople was the only civilized spot in Europe, and theChristians there were hurling back the Mohammedans. You shall sing thenoblest songs that you have ever seen. "

"How--in Greek? You must teach me the alphabet then. "

"No; I will translate them for you. The Greek hymns are all inrhythmical prose, like the _Te Deum_ and the _Gloria_. Aliteral translation can be sung as well as the originals. You will thenenter into the mind and spirit of the ancient Eastern Church before thedays of the schism. 

"Yes, " continued Despard, with an enthusiasm which he did not care toconceal, "we will go together at this sweet task, and we will sing the[Greek: cath castaen aemeran], which holds the same place in the GreekChurch that the _Te Deum_ does in ours. We will chant together theGolden Canon of St. John Damascene--the Queen of Canons, the grandestsong of 'Christ is risen' that mortals ever composed. Your heart andmine will beat together with one feeling at the sublime choral strain. We will sing the 'Hymn of Victory. ' We will go together over the songsof St. Cosmas, St. Theophanes, and St. Theodore; St. Gregory, St. Anatobus, and St. Andrew of Crete shall inspire us; and the thoughtsthat have kindled the hearts of martyrs at the stake shall exalt oursouls to heaven. But I have more than this. I have some compositions ofmy own; poor ones, indeed, yet an effort in the right way. They are acollection of those hymns of the Primitive Church which are contained inthe New Testament. I have tried to set them to music. They are: 'Worthyis the Lamb, ' 'Unto Him that loved us, ' 'Great and marvelous are thyworks, ' and the 'Trisagion. ' Yes, we will go together at this lofty andheavenly work, and I shall be able to gain a new interpretation fromyour sympathy. "

Despard spoke with a vehement enthusiasm that kindled his eyes withunusual lustre and spread a glow over his pale face. He looked like somedevotee under a sudden inspiration. Mrs. Thornton caught all hisenthusiasm; her eyes brightened, and her face also flushed withexcitement. 

"Whenever you are ready to lead me into that new world of music, " saidshe, "I am ready to follow. "

"Are you willing to begin next Monday?"

"Yes. All my time is my own. "

"Then I will come for you. "

"Then I will be waiting for you. By-the-way, are you engaged for to-night?"

"No; why?"

"There is going to be a fźte champźtre. It is a ridiculous thing for theHolby people to do; but I have to go to play the patroness. Mr. Thorntondoes not want to go. Would you sacrifice yourself to my necessities, andallow me your escort?"

"Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a cooling draught?" saidDespard, eagerly. "You open heaven before me, and ask me if I willenter. "

His voice trembled, and he paused. 

"You never forget yourself, " said Mrs. Thornton, with slight agitation, looking away as she spoke. 

"I will be back at any hour you say. "

"You will do no such thing. Since you are here you must remain and dine, and then go with me. Do you suppose I would trust you? Why, if I let yougo, you might keep me waiting a whole hour. "

"Well, if your will is not law to me what is? Speak, and your servantobeys. To stay will only add to my happiness. "

"Then let me make you happy by forcing you to stay. "

Despard's face showed his feelings, and to judge by its expression hislanguage had not been extravagant. 

The afternoon passed quietly. Dinner was served up. Thornton came in, and greeted Despard with his usual abstraction, leaving his wife to dothe agreeable. After dinner, as usual, he prepared for a nap, andDespard and Mrs. Thornton started for the fźte. 

It was to be in some gardens at the other end of Holby, along the shore. The townspeople had recently formed a park there, and this was one ofthe preliminaries to its formal inauguration. The trees were hung withinnumerable lamps of varied colors. There were bands of music, andtriumphal arches, and gay festoons, and wreaths of flowers, and everything that is usual at such a time. 

On arriving, Despard assisted Mrs. Thornton from the carriage andoffered his arm. She took it, but her hand rested so lightly on it thatits touch was scarce perceptible. They walked around through theilluminated paths. Great crowds of people were there. All looked withrespectful pleasure at Mrs. Thornton and the Rector. 

"You ought to be glad that you have come, " said she. "See how these poorpeople feel it: we are not persons of very great consequence, yet ourpresence is marked and enjoyed. "

"All places are alike to me, " answered Despard, "when I am with you. Still, there are circumstances about this which will make it forevermemorable to me. "

"Look at those lights, " exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, suddenly; "what variedcolors!"

"Let us walk into that grotto, " said Despard, turning toward a cool, dark place which lay before them. 

Here, at the end of the grotto, was a tree, at the foot of which was aseat. They sat down and staid for hours. In the distance the lightstwinkled and music arose. They said little, but listened to the confusedmurmur which in the pauses of the music came up from afar. 

Then they rose and walked back. Entering the principal path a greatcrowd streamed on which they had to face. 

Despard sighed. "You and I, " said he, stooping low and speaking in a sadvoice, "are compelled to go against the tide. "

"Shall we turn back and go with it?"

"We can not. "

"Do you wish to turn aside?"

"We can not. We must walk against the tide, and against the rush of men. If we turn aside there is nothing but darkness. "

They walked on in silence till they reached the gate. 

"The carriage has not come, " said Mrs. Thornton. 

"Do you prefer riding?"

"No. "

"It is not far. Will you walk?"

"With pleasure. "

They walked on slowly. About half-way they met the carriage. Mrs. Thornton ordered it back, saying that she would walk the rest of theway. 

They walked on slowly, saying so little that at last Mrs. Thornton beganto speak about the music which they had proposed to undertake. Despard'senthusiasm seemed to have left him. His replies were vague and general. On reaching the gate he stood still for a moment under the trees andhalf turned toward her. "You don't say any thing about the music?" saidshe. 

"That's because I am so stupid. I have lost my head. I am not capable ofa single coherent idea. "

"You are thinking of something else all the time. "

"My brain is in a whirl. Yes, I am thinking of something else. "

"Of what?"

"I'm afraid to say. "

Mrs. Thornton was silent. They entered the gate and walked up theavenue, slowly and in silence. Despard made one or two efforts to stop, and then continued. At last they reached the door. The lights werestreaming brightly from window. Despard stood, silently. 

"Will you not come in?"

"No, thank you, " said he, dreamily. "It is rather too late, and I mustgo. Good-night. "

He held out his hand. She offered hers, and he took it. He held it long, and half stooped as though he wished to say something. She felt thethrobbing of his heart in his hand as it clasped hers. She said nothing. Nor did Despard seem able to say any thing. At last he let go her handslowly and reluctantly. 

"You will not forget the music?" said he. 

"No. "

"Good-night. "

He took her hand again in both of his. As the light shone through thewindows she saw his face--a face full of longing beyond words, andsadness unutterable. 

"Good-night, " she faltered. 

He let go her hand, and turning away, was lost amidst the gloom. Shewaited till the sound of his footsteps had died away, and then went intothe house. 

On the following morning Despard was walking along when he met hersuddenly at a corner of the street. He stopped with a radiant face, andshaking hands with her, for a moment was unable to speak. 

"This is too much happiness, " he said at last. "It is like a ray oflight to a poor captive when you burst upon me so suddenly. Where areyou going?"

"Oh, I'm only going to do a little shopping. "

"I'm sure I wish that I could accompany you to protect you. "

"Well, why not?"

"On the whole, I think that shopping is not my forte, and that mypresence would not be essential. "

He turned, however, and walked with her some distance, as far as thefarthest shop in the town. They talked gayly and pleasantly about thefźte. "You will not forget the music, " said he, on parting. "Will youcome next Monday? If you don't, I won't be responsible for theconsequences. "

"Do you mean to say, Sir, that you expect me to come alone?"

"I did not hope for any thing else. "

"Why, of course, you must call for me. If you do not I won't go. "

Despard's eyes brightened. 

"Oh, then, since you allow me so sweet a privilege, I will go andaccompany you. "

"If you fail me I will stay at home, " said she, laughingly. 

He did not fail her, but at the appointed time went up to the Grange. Some strangers were there, and Mrs. Thornton gave him a look of deepdisappointment. The strangers were evidently going to spend the day, soDespard, after a short call, withdrew. Before he left, Mrs. Thorntonabsented herself on some pretext for a few moments, and as he quittedthe room she went to the door with him and gave him a note. 

He walked straight home, holding the note in his hands till he reachedhis study; then he locked himself in, opened the note, and read asfollows:

"DEAR MR. DESPARD, --How does it happen that things turn out just as theyought not? I was so anxious to go with you to the church to-day aboutour music. I know my own powers; they are not contemptible; they are notuncultivated; they are simply, and wholly, and irretrievably_commonplace_. That much I deem it my duty to inform you. 

"These wretched people, who have spoiled a day's pleasure, dropped uponme as suddenly as though they had come from the skies. They leave onThursday morning. Come on Thursday afternoon. If you do not I will neverforgive you. On that day give up your manuscripts and books for musicand the organ, and allot some portion of your time to, Yours, "T. T. "

On Thursday Despard called, and Mrs. Thornton was able to accompany him. The church was an old one, and had one of the best organs in Wales. Despard was to play and she to sing. He had his music ready, and thesheets were carefully and legibly written out from the precious oldGreek scores which he loved so dearly and prized so highly. 

They began with the canon for Easter-day of St. John Damascene, who, according to Despard, was the best of the Eastern hymnists. Mrs. Thornton's voice was rich and full. As she came to the [Greek:anastaseos haemera]--Resurrection Day--it took up a tone ofindescribable exaltation, blending with the triumph peal of the organ. Despard added his own voice--a deep, strong, full-toned basso--and theirblended strains bore aloft the sublimest of utterances, "Christ isarisen!"

[Illustration: AND THEIR BLENDED STRAINS BORE ALOFT THE SUBLIMEST OFUTTERANCES, 'CHRIST IS ARISEN']

Then followed a more mournful chant, full of sadness and profoundmelancholy, the [Greek: teleutaion aspasmon]--the Last Kiss--the hymn ofthe dead, by the same poet. 

Then followed a sublimer strain, the hymn of St. Theodore on theJudgment--[Greek: taen haemeran taen phriktaen]--where all the horrorsof the day of doom are set forth. The chant was commensurate with thedread splendors of the theme. The voices of the two singers blended inperfect concord. The sounds which were thus wrought out bore themselvesthrough the vaulted aisles, returning again to their own ears, impartingto their own hearts something of the awe with which imagination hasenshrouded the Day of days, and giving to their voices that saddenedcadence which the sad spirit can convey to its material utterance. 

Despard then produced some composition of his own, made after the mannerof the Eastern chants, which he insisted were the primitive songs of theearly Church. The words were those fragments of hymns which are imbeddedin the text of the New Testament. He chose first the song of the angels, which was first sung by "a great voice out of heaven"--[Greek: idou, haeskaenae tou Deou]--Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men!

The chant was a marvelous one. It spoke of sorrow past, of grief stayed, of misery at an end forever, of tears dried, and a time when "thereshall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying. " There was a gentlemurmur in the flow of that solemn, soothing strain which was like thesighing of the evening wind among the hoary forest trees; it soothed andcomforted; it brought hope, and holy calm, and sweet peace. 

As Despard rose from the organ Mrs. Thornton looked at him withmoistened eyes. 

"I do not know whether your song brings calm or unrest, " said she, sadly, "but after singing it I would wish to die. "

"It is not the music, it is the words, " answered Despard, "which bringbefore us a time when there shall be no sorrow or sighing. "

"May such a time ever be?" murmured she. 

"That, " he replied, "it is ours to aim after. There is such a world. Inthat world all wrongs will be righted, friends will be reunited, andthose severed here through all this earthly life will be joined forevermore. "

Their eyes met. Their spirit lived and glowed in that gaze. It was sadbeyond expression, but each one held commune with the other in a muteintercourse, more eloquent than words. 

Despard's whole frame trembled. "Will you sing the _Ave Maria_?" heasked, in a low, scarce audible voice. Her head dropped. She gave aconvulsive sigh. He continued: "We used to sing it in the old days, thesweet, never-forgotten days now past forever. We sang it here. We stoodhand in hand. "

His voice faltered. 

"Sing, " he said, after a time. 

"I can not"

Despard sighed. "Perhaps it is better not; for I feel as though, if youwere to sing it, my heart would break. "

"Do you believe that hearts can break?" she asked gently, but withindescribable pathos. 

Despard looked at her mournfully, and said not a word. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

CLASPED HANDS. 

Their singing went on. 

They used to meet once a week and sing in the church at the organ. Despard always went up to the Grange and accompanied her to the church. Yet he scarcely ever went at any other time. A stronger connection and adeeper familiarity arose between them, which yet was accompanied by aprofound reverence on Despard's part, that never diminished, but as thefamiliarity increased only grew more tender and more devoted. 

There were many things about their music which he had to say to her. Itconstituted a common bond between them on which they could talk, and towhich they could always revert. It formed a medium for the communion ofsoul--a lofty, spiritual intercourse, where they seemed to blend, evenas their voices blended, in a purer realm, free from the trouble ofearth. 

Amidst it all Despard had so much to tell her about the nature of theEastern music that he wrote out a long letter, which he gave her theyparted after an unusually lengthy practice. Part of it was on thesubject of music, and the rest of a different character. 

The next time that they met she gave him a note in response. 

"DEAR MR. DESPARD--Why am I not a seraph endowed with musical powersbeyond mortal reach? You tell me many things, and never seem to imaginethat they are all beyond me. You never seem to think that I amhopelessly commonplace. You are kind in doing what you do, but where isthe good where one is so stupid as I am?

"I suppose you have given up visiting the Grange forever. I don't callyour coming to take me to the church _visits_. I suppose I may aswell give you up. It is as difficult to get you here as if you were theGrand Lama of Thibet. 

"Amidst all my stupidities I have two or three ideas which may be usefulin our music, if I can only put them in practice. Bear with me, and dealgently with

"Yours, despondingly, "T. T. "

To this Despard replied in a note which he gave her at their nextmeeting, calling her "Dear Seraph, " and signing himself "Grand Lama. "After this they always called each other by these names. Grand Lama wasan odd name, but it became the sweetest of sounds to Despard since itwas uttered by her lips--the sweetest, the most musical, and thetenderest. As to himself he knew not what to call this dear companion ofhis youth, but the name Seraph came into use, and grew to be associatedwith her, until at last he never called her any thing else. 

Yet after this he used to go to the Grange more frequently. He could notstay away. His steps wandered there irresistibly. An uncontrollableimpulse forced him there. She was always alone awaiting him, generallywith a sweet confusion of face and a tenderness of greeting which madehim feel ready to fall on his knees before her. How else could he feel?Was she not always in his thoughts? Were not all his sleeping hours onelong dream of her? Were not all his waiting thoughts filled with herradiant presence?

 "How is it under our control To love or not to love?"

Did he know what it was that he felt for her? He never thought. Enoughthat he felt. And that feeling was one long agony of intense longing andyearning after her. Had not all his life been filled by that one brightimage?

Youth gave it to him. After-years could not efface it. The impress ofher face was upon his heart. Her voice was always in his ears. Everyword that she had ever spoken to him was treasured up in his memory andheart with an avarice of love which prevented any one word from evenbeing forgotten. 

At church and at home, during service and out of it, in the street or inthe study, he saw only one face, and heard only one voice. Amidst thebustle of committee meetings he was conscious of her image--a sweet facesmiling on him, a tender voice saying "Lama. " Was there ever so musicaland so dear a word as "Lama?" For him, never. 

The hunger of his longing grew stronger every day. That strong, proud, self-secluded nature of his was most intense in all its feelings, anddwelt with concentrated passion upon this one object of its idolatry. Hehad never had any other object but this one. 

A happy boyhood passed in the society of this sweet playmate, then ayoung girl of his own age; a happy boyhood here in Holby, where they hadalways been inseparable, wandering hand in hand along the shore or overthe hills; a happy boyhood where she was the one and only companion whomhe knew or cared for--this was the sole legacy of his early life. Leaving Holby he had left her, but had never forgotten her. He hadcarried with him the tender memory of this bright being, and cherishedhis undying fondness, not knowing what that fondness meant. He hadreturned to find her married, and severed from him forever, at least inthis life. When he found that he had lost her he began to understand howdear she was. All life stood before him aimless, pointless, andmeaningless without her. He came back, but the old intercourse could notbe renewed; she could not be his, and he could only live, and love, andendure. Perhaps it would have been wiser if he had at once left Holbyand sought out some other abode. But the discovery of his love wasgradual; it came through suffering and anguish; and when he knew thathis love was so intense it was then impossible to leave. To be near her, to breathe the same air, to see her face occasionally, to nurse his oldmemories, to hoard up new remembrances of her words and looks--thesenow became the chief occupation of his hours of solitude, and the onlyhappiness left him in his life. 

One day he went up with a stronger sense of desolation in his heart thanusual, going up to see her in order to get consolation from the sight ofher face and the sound of her voice. Their former levity had given placeto a seriousness of manner which was very different. A deep, intense joyshone in the eyes of each at meeting, but that quick repartee and lightbadinage which they had used of old had been dropped. 

Music was the one thing of which they could speak without fear. Despardcould talk of his Byzantine poets, and the chants of the Eastern Church, without being in danger of reawakening painful memories. The piano stoodclose by, and always afforded a convenient mode of distracting attentionwhen it became too absorbed in one another. 

For Mrs. Thornton did not repel him; she did not resent his longing; shedid not seem forgetful of what he so well remembered. How was it withher who had given her hand to another?

 "What she felt the while Dare he think?"

Yet there were times when he thought it possible that she might feel ashe did. The thought brought joy, but it also brought fear. For, if thestruggle against this feeling needed all the strength of his nature, what must it cost her? If she had such a struggle as he, how could sheendure it? Then, as he considered this, he thought to himself that hewould rather she would not love him than love him at such a cost. He waswilling to sacrifice his own heart. He wished only to adore her, and wascontent that she should receive, and permit, and accept his adoration, herself unmoved--a passionless divinity. 

In their intercourse it was strange how frequently there were longpauses of perfect silence, during which neither spoke a word. Sometimeseach sat looking at the floor; sometimes they looked at one another, asthough they could read each other's thoughts, and by the mere gaze oftheir earnest eyes could hold ample spiritual communion. 

On one such occasion they stood by the window looking out upon the lawn, but seeing nothing in that abstracted gaze. Despard stood facing her, close to her. Her hand was hanging by her side. He stooped and took thatlittle slender hand in his. As he did so he trembled from head to foot. As he did so a faint flush passed over her face. Her head fell forward. Despard held her hand and she did not withdraw it. Despard drew herslightly toward him. She looked up into his face with large, eloquenteyes, sad beyond all description, yet speaking things which thrilled hissoul. He looked down upon her with eyes that told her all that was inhis heart. She turned her head away. 

Despard clung to her hand as though that hand were his life, his hope, his joy--as though that alone could save him from some abyss of despairinto which he was falling. His lips moved. In vain. No audible soundbroke that intense stillness in which the beating and throbbing of thosetwo forlorn hearts could be heard. His lips moved, but all sound diedaway upon them. 

At last a stronger effort broke the silence. 

"Teresa!"

It was a strange tone, a tone of longing unutterable, a tone like thatwhich a dying man might use in calling before him one most dear. And allthe pent-up feeling of years rushed forth in concentrated energy, andwas borne to her ears in the sound of that one word. She looked up withthe same glance as before. 

"Little playmate, " said he, in a tone of infinite sweetness, "have youever forgotten the old days? Do you remember when you and I last stoodhand in hand?"

His voice sounded like the utterance of tears, as though, if he couldhave wept, he would then have wept as no man wept before, but his eyeswere dry through his manhood, and all that tears can express were shownforth in his tone. 

As he began to speak her head fell again. As he ended she looked up asbefore. Her lips moved. She whispered but one word:

"Courtenay!"

She burst into a flood of tears and sank into a chair. And Despardstood, not daring even to soothe her, for fear lest in that vehementconvulsion of his soul all his self-command should give way utterly. 

At length Mrs. Thornton rose. "Lama, " said she, at last, in a low, sadvoice, "let us go to the piano. "

"Will you sing the _Ave Maria_" he asked, mournfully. 

"I dare not, " said she, hastily. "No, anything but that. I will singRossini's _Cujus Animam_. "

Then followed those words which tell in lofty strains of a brokenheart:

 Cujus animam gementem Contristatam et flebentem Pertransivit gladius!

CHAPTER XXVII. 

JOURNAL OF PAOLO LANGHETTI. 

When Mrs. Thornton saw Despard next she showed him a short note whichshe had just received from her brother, accompanying his journal. Nearlytwo years had elapsed since she had last heard from him. 

His journal was written as before at long intervals, and was as follows:

Halifax, April 10, 1847. --I exist here, but nothing more. Nothing isoffered by this small colonial town that can afford interest. Life goeson monotonously. The officers and their families are what they are everywhere. They are amiable and pleasant, and try to get the best out oflife. The townspeople are hospitable, and there is much refinement amongthem. 

But I live for the most part in a cottage outside of the town, where Ican be secluded and free from observation. Near my house is theNorthwest Arm. I cross it in a boat, and am at once in a savagewilderness. From the summit of a hill, appropriately named Mount Misery, I can look down upon this city which is bordered by such a wilderness. 

The winter has passed since my last entry, and nothing has occurred. Ihave learned to skate. I went out on a moose-hunt with Colonel Despard. The gigantic horns of a moose which I killed are now over the door of mystudio. I have joined in some festivities, and have done the honors ofmy house. It is an old-fashioned wooden structure which they call thePriory. 

So the winter has passed, and April is now here. In this country thereis no spring. Snow is yet on the ground. Winter is transformed graduallytill summer. I must keep up my fires till June, they say. 

During the winter I have guarded my treasure well. I took a house onpurpose to have a home for her. But her melancholy continued, and thestate of mind in which I found her still endures. Will it ever change? Igave out here that she was a relative who was in ill health. But thewinter has passed, and she remains precisely the same. Can she live onlong in this mood?

At length I have decided to try a change for her. The Holy Sisterhood ofMercy have a convent here, where she may find a higher and pureratmosphere than any where else. There I have placed her. I have toldnothing of her story. They think she is in grief for the death offriends. They have received her with that warm sympathy and holy lovewhich it is the aim of their life to cherish. 

 O mater alma Christ! carissima, Te nunc flagitant devota corda et ora, Ora pro nobis!

August 5, 1847. --The summer goes on pleasantly. A bracing climate, acool sea-breeze, fishing and hunting in the forests, sailing in theharbor--these are the amusements which one can find if he has theleisure. 

She has been among the Sisterhood of Mercy for some months. The deepcalm of that holy retreat has soothed her, but only this much, that hermelancholy has not lessened but grown more placid. She is in the midstof those whose thoughts are habitually directed to that work which shelongs after. The home from which she has been exiled is the desire oftheir hearts. They aim after that place for which she longs with so deepa longing. There is sympathy in all those hearts with one another. Shehears in their chants and prayers those hopes and desires, and these arebut the utterances of what she feels. 

Here they sing the matchless Rhythm of Bernard de Morlaix, and in thesewords she finds the highest expression that human words can give of thethoughts and desires of her soul. They tell me that the first time theysang it, as they came to this passage she burst into tears and sank downalmost senseless:

 O bona patria! lumina sobria te speculantur, Ad tua nomina sobria lumina collacrimantur: Et tua mentio pectoris unctis, cura doloris, Concipientibus aethers mentibus ignis amoris. 

November 17. --The winter must soon be here again. 

My treasure is well guarded by the Holy Sisterhood. They revere her andlook upon her as a saint. They tell me wonderful things about her whichhave sunk into my soul. They think that she is another Saint Cecilia, orrather Saint Teresa, the Saint of Love and Longing. 

She told them once that she was not a Catholic, but that any form ofworship was sweet and precious to her--most of all, the lofty utterancesof the prayers and hymns of the Church. She will not listen to dogmas, but says that God wishes only love and praise. Yet she joins in alltheir rites, and in this House, where Love is chiefly adored, shesurpasses all in the deep love of her heart. 

January 2, 1848. --I have seen her for the first time in many months. Shesmiled. I never saw her smile before, except once in the ship, when Itold my name and made her mother take my place in the cabin. 

She smiled. It was as if an angel from heaven had smiled on me. Do I notbelieve that she is one?

They all say that she is unchanged. Her sadness has had no abatement. Onthat meeting she made an effort for my sake to stoop to me. Perhaps shesaw how my very soul entreated her to speak. So she spoke of theSisterhood, and said she loved them all. I asked her if she was happierhere than at my house. She said "No. " I did not know whether to feelrejoiced or sorrowful. Then she told me something which has filled mewith wonder ever since. 

She asked me if I had been making inquiries about her family, for I hadsaid that I would. I told her that I had. She asked what I had heard. Ihesitated for a moment, and at last, seeing that she was superior to anysorrow of bereavement; I told her all about the sad fate of her brotherLouis, which your old friend Courtenay Despard had communicated to hisuncle here. She listened without emotion, and at last, looking earnestlyat me, said, "_He is not dead!_"

I stood amazed. I had seen the very newspapers which contained anaccount of his death, I had read the letters of Courtenay Despard, whichshowed how painstaking his search had been. Had he not traveled to everyplace where he could hear any thing of the Brandons? Had he not writtenat the very outset wherever he could hope to hear any thing? I did notknow what to say. 

For Louis Brandon is known to have fallen overboard from the ship Java, during a tremendous monsoon, several hundred miles away from any land. How could he possibly have escaped death? The Captain, whom CourtenayDespard found out and questioned, said he threw over a hen-coop and apail. These could not save him. Despard also inquired for months fromevery ship that arrived from those parts, but could learn nothing. Thenext ship that came from New South Wales foundered off the coast ofAfrica. Three passengers escaped to Sierra Leone, and thence to England. Despard learned their names, but they were not Brandon. The informationwhich one of them, named Wheeler, gave to the ship-owners afforded nohope of his having been found by this ship, even if it had beenpossible. It was simply impossible, however, for the _Falcon_ didnot pass the spot where poor Brandon fell overboard till months hadelapsed. 

All these things I knew, and they came to my mind. She did not notice myemotion, but after a pause she looked at me again with the sameearnestness, and said, "_My brother Frank is not dead. _"

This surprised me as much as the other. 

"Are you sure?" said I, reverently. 

"I am. "

"How did you learn this? All who have inquired say that both of yourbrothers are dead. "

"They told me, " said she, "many times. _They_ said that my brothershad not come among them to their own place, as they would have had tocome if they had left the earth. "

She spoke solemnly and with mysterious emphasis. I said nothing, for Iknew not what to say. 

On going home and thinking over this, I saw that she believed herself tohave the power of communicating with the departed. I did not knowwhether this intelligence, which she believed she had received, had beengained in her trance, or whether she thought that she had recentinterviews with those on high. I went to see her again, and asked this. She told me that once since her recovery she had fallen into that state, and had been, as she called it, "in her home. "

I ventured to ask her more about what she considered a communion withthe departed. She tried to speak, but looked like one who could not findwords. It was still the same as before. She has in her mind thoughtswhich can not be expressed by any human language. She will not be ableto express them till such a language is obtained. Yet she gave me oneidea, which has been in my mind ever since. 

She said that the language of those among whom she has been has nothingon earth which is like it except music. If our music could be developedto an indefinite extent it might at last begin to resemble it. Yet shesaid that she sometimes heard strains here in the Holy Mass whichreminded her of that language, and might be intelligible to an immortal. 

This is the idea which she imparted to me, and I have thought of it eversince. 

August 23--Great things have happened. 

When I last wrote I had gained the idea of transforming music into alanguage. The thought came to me that I, who thirst for music, and loveit and cherish it above all things--to whom it is an hourly comfort andsolace--that I might rise to utter forth to her sounds which she mighthear. I had already seen enough of her spiritual tone to know whatsympathies and emotions might best be acted upon. I saw her severaltimes, so as to stimulate myself to a higher and purer exercise ofwhatever genius I may have. 

I was encouraged by the thought that from my earliest childhood, as Ibegan to learn to speak so I began to learn to sing. As I learned toread printed type so I read printed music. The thoughts of composers inmusic thus became as legible to me as those of composers in words. Soall my life my knowledge has widened, and with that knowledge my lovehas increased. This has been my one aim in life--my joy and my delight. Thus it came to pass that at last, when alone with my Cremona, I couldutter all my own thoughts, and pour forth every feeling that was in myheart. This was a language with me. I spoke it, yet there was no one whocould understand it fully. Only one had I ever met with to whom I toldthis besides yourself--she could accompany me--she could understand andfollow me wherever I led. I could speak this language to her, and shecould hear and comprehend. This one was my Bice. 

Now that she had told me this I grasped at the thought. Never before hadthe idea entered my mind of trying upon her the effect of my music. Ihad given it up for her sake while she was with me, not liking to causeany sound to disturb her rapt and melancholy mood. 

But now I began to understand how it was with her. She had learned thelanguage of the highest places and had heard the New Song. She stood farabove me, and if she could not understand my music it would be from thesame reason that a grown man can not comprehend the words of a lisping, stammering child. She had that language in its fullness. I had it onlyin its crudest rudiments. 

Now Bice learned my words and followed me. She knew my utterance. I wasthe master--she the disciple. But here was one who could lead me. Iwould be the follower and disciple. From her I could learn more than inall my life I could ever discover by my own unassisted efforts. 

It was mine, therefore, to struggle to overcome the lisping, stammeringutterance of my purely earthly music; to gain from her some knowledge ofthe mood of that holier, heavenly expression, so that at last I might beable in some degree to speak to this exile the language of the homewhich she loved; that we, by holding commune in this language, mightrise together to a higher spiritual realm, and that she in her solitudemight receive at least some associate. 

So I proposed to her to come back and stay with me again. She consentedat once. 

Before that memorable evening I purified my heart by fasting and prayer. I was like one who was seeking to ascend into heaven to take part inthat celestial communion, to join in the New Song, the music of theangels. 

By fasting and prayer I sought so to ascend, and to find thoughts andfit utterance for those thoughts. I looked upon my office as similar tothat of the holy prophets of old. I felt that I had a power of utteranceif the Divine One would only inspire. 

I fasted and prayed that so I might reduce this grosser material frame, and sharpen and quicken every nerve, and stimulate every fibre of thebrain. So alone could I most nearly approach to the commune of spirits. Thus had those saints and prophets of old done when they had enteredupon the search after this communion, and they had received theirreward, even the visitation of angels and the vision of the blessed. 

A prophet--yes--now, in these days, it is left for the prophet to utterforth his inspiration by no other way than that of music. 

So I fasted and prayed. I took up the words from the holy priesthood, and I said, as they say:

Munda cor meum, ac labia mea, Omnipotens Deus, qui labia Isaiaeprophetae, calculo mundasti ignito!

For so Isaiah had been exalted till he heard the language of heaven, themusic of the seraphim. 

She, my divinity, my adored, enshrined again in my house, bore herselfas before--kind to me and gentle beyond all expression, but withthoughts of her own that placed between us a gulf as wide as that whichseparates the mortal from the immortal. 

On that evening she was with me in the parlor which looks out upon theNorthwest Arm. The moon shone down there, the dark, rocky hills on theopposite side rose in heavy masses. The servants were away in the city. We were alone. 

Ah, my Cremona! if a material instrument were ever able to utter forthsounds to which immortals might listen, thou, best gift of my father, thou canst utter them!

"You are pale, " said she, for she was always kindly and affectionate asa mother with a child, as a guardian angel with his ward. "You are pale. You always forget yourself for others, and now you suffer anxiety forme. Do not suffer. I have my consolations. "

I did not make any reply, but took my Cremona, and sought to lift up allmy soul to a level with hers, to that lofty realm where her spirit everwandered, that so I might not be comfortless. She started at the firsttone that I struck forth, and looked at me with her large, earnest eyes. I found my own gaze fixed on hers, rapt and entranced. Now there came atlast the inspiration so longed for, so sought for. It came from whereher very soul looked forth into mine, out of the glory of her lustrous, spiritual eyes. They grew brighter with an almost immortal radiance, andall my heart rose up till it seemed ready to burst in the frenzy of thatinspired moment. 

Now I felt the spirit of prophecy, I felt the afflatus of the inspiredsibyl or seer, and the voice of music which for a lifetime I had soughtto utter forth now at last sounded as I longed that it should sound. 

I exulted in that sound. I knew that at last I had caught the tone, andfrom her. I knew its meaning and exulted, as the poet or the musicianmust always exult when some idea sublimer than any which he has everknown is wafted over his upturned spiritual gaze. 

She shared my exaltation. There came over her face swiftly, like thelightning flash, an expression of surprise and joy. So the face of theexile lightens up at the throbbing of his heart, when, in some foreignland, he suddenly and unexpectedly hears the sound of his own language. So his eyes light up, and his heart beats faster, and even amidst thevery longing of his soul after home, the desire after that home isappeased by these its most hallowed associations. 

And the full meaning of that eloquent gaze of hers as her soul lookedinto mine became all apparent to me. "Speak on, " it said; "sound on, ohstrains of the language of my home! Unheard so long, now heard at last. "

I knew that I was comprehended. Now all the feelings of the melancholymonths came rushing over my heart, and all the holiest ideas which hadanimated my life came thronging into my mind, bursting forth into tones, as though of their own accord, involuntarily, as words come forth in adream. 

"Oh thou, " I said, in that language which my own lips could not utter--"oh thou whom I saved from the tomb, the life to which I restored theeis irksome; but there remains a life to which at last thou shalt attain. 

"Oh thou, " I said, "whose spirit moves among the immortals, I am mortalyet immortal! My soul seeks commune with them. I yearn after thatcommunion. Life here on earth is not more dear to me than to thee. Helpme to rise above it. Thou hast been on high, show me too the way. 

"Oh thou, " I said, "who hast seen things ineffable, impart to me thyconfidence. Let me know thy secret. Receive me as the companion of thysoul. Shut not thyself up in solitude. Listen, I can speak thy language. 

"Attend, " I cried, "for it is not for nothing that the Divine One hassent thee back. Live not these mortal days in loneliness and inuselessness. Regard thy fellow-mortals and seek to bless them. Thou hastlearned the mystery of the highest. Let me be thine interpreter. Allthat thou hast learned I will communicate to man. 

"Rise up, " I cried, "to happiness and to labor. Behold! I give thee apurpose in life. Blend thy soul with mine, and let me utter thy thoughtsso that men shall hear and understand. For I know that the highest truthof highest Heaven means nothing more than love. Gather up all thy love, let it flow forth to thy fellow-men. This shall be at once the labor andthe consolation of thy life. "

Now all this, and much more--far more--was expressed in the tones thatflowed from my Cremona. It was all in my heart. It came forth. It wasapprehended by her. I saw it, I knew it, and I exulted. Her eyes dilatedmore widely--my words were not unworthy of her hearing. I then was ableto tell something which could rouse her from her stupor. Oh, Music!Divine Music! What power thou hast over the soul!

There came over her face an expression which I never saw before; one ofpeace ineffable--the peace that passeth understanding. Ah me! I seemedto draw her to myself. For she rose and walked toward me. And a greatcalm came over my own soul. My Cremona spoke of peace--soft, sweet, anddeep; the profound peace that dwelleth in the soul which has its hope infruition. The tone widened into sweet modulation--sweet beyond allexpression. 

She was so close that she almost touched me. Her eyes were still fixedon mine. Tears were there, but not tears of sorrow. Her face was soclose to mine that my strength left me. My arms dropped downward. Themusic was over. 

[Illustration: "I DID NOT MAKE ANY REPLY, BUT TOOK MY CREMONA, ANDSOUGHT TO LIFT UP ALL MY SOUL TO A LEVEL WITH HERS. "]

She held out her hand to me. I caught it in both of mine, and wet itwith my tears. 

"Paolo, " said she, in a voice of musical tone; "Paolo, you are alreadyone of us. You speak our language. 

"You have taught me something which flows from love--duty. Yes, we willlabor together; and they who live on high will learn even in theirradiant home to envy us poor mortals. "

I said not a word, but knelt; and holding her hand still, I looked up ather in grateful adoration. 

November 28. --For the last three months I have lived in heaven. She ischanged. Music has reconciled her to exile. She has found one whospeaks, though weakly, the language of that home. 

We hold together through this divine medium a lofty spiritedintercourse. I learn from her of that starry world in which for a brieftime she was permitted to dwell. Her seraphic thoughts have becomecommunicated to me. I have made them my own, and all my spirit has risento a higher altitude. 

So I have at last received that revelation for which I longed, and thedivine thoughts with which she has inspired me I will make known to theworld. How? Description is inadequate, but it is enough to say that Ihave decided upon an Opera as the best mode of making known these ideas. 

I have reported to one of those classical themes which, though as old ascivilization, are yet ever new, because they are truth. 

My Opera is on the theme of Prometheus. It refers to PrometheusDelivered. My idea is derived from her. Prometheus represents DivineLove--since he is the god who suffers unendurable agonies through hislove for man. Zeus represents the old austere god of the sects andcreeds--the gloomy God of Vengeance--the stern--the inexorable--thecruel. 

Love endures through the ages, but at last triumphs. The chief agent inhis triumph is Athene. She represents Wisdom, which, by its life andincrease, at last dethrones the God of Vengeance and enthrones the Godof Love. 

For so the world goes on; and thus it shall be that Human Understanding, which I have personified under Athene, will at last exalt Divine Loveover all, and cast aside its olden adoration of Divine Vengeance. 

I am trying to give to my Opera the severe simplicity of the classicalform, yet at the same time to pervade it all with the warm atmosphere oflove in its widest sense. It opens with a chorus of seraphim. Prometheuslaments; but the chief part is that of Athene. On that I have exhaustedmyself. 

But where can I get a voice that can adequately render my thoughts--_our_ thoughts? Where is Bice? She alone has this voice; she alonehas the power of catching and absorbing into her own mind the ideaswhich I form; and with it all, she alone could express them. I wouldwander over the earth to find her. But perhaps she is in a luxurioushome, where her associates would not listen to such a proposal. 

Patience! perhaps Bice may at last bring her marvelous voice to my aid. 

December 15. --Every day our communion has grown more exalted. Shebreathes upon me the atmosphere of that radiant world, and fills my soulwith rapture. I live in a sublime enthusiasm. We hold intercourse bymeans of music. We stand upon a higher plane than that of common men. She has raised me there, and has made me to be a partaker in herthoughts. 

Now I begin to understand something of the radiant world to which shewas once for a brief time borne. I know her lost joys; I share in herlongings. In me, as in her, there is a deep, unquenchable thirst afterthose glories that are present there. All here seems poor and mean. Nomaterial pleasure can for a moment allure. 

I live in a frenzy. My soul is on fire. Music is my sole thought andutterance. Colonel Despard thinks that I am mad. My friends here pityme. I smile within myself when I think of pity being given by them tome. Kindly souls! could they but have one faint idea of the unspeakablejoys to which I have attained!

My Cremona is my voice. It expresses all things for me. Ah, sweetcompanion of my soul's flight! my Guide, my Guardian Angel, my Inspirer!had ever before two mortals while on earth a lot like ours? Who elsebesides us in this life ever learned the joys of pure spiritualcommunion? We rise on high together. Our souls are borne up in company. When we hold commune we cease to be mortals. 

My Opera is finished. The radiancy of that Divine Love which hasinundated all the being of Edith has been imparted to me in some measuresufficient to enable me to breathe forth to human ears tones which havebeen caught from immortal voices. She has given me ideas. I have madethem audible and intelligible to men. 

I have had one performance of my work, or rather our work, for it is allhers. Hers are the thoughts, mine is only the expression. 

I sought out a place of solitude in which I might perform undisturbedand without interruption the theme which I have tried to unfold. 

Opposite my house is a wild, rocky shore covered with the primevalwoods. Here in one place there rises a barren rock, perfectly bare ofverdure, which is called Mount Misery. I chose his place as the spotwhere I might give my rehearsal. 

She was the audience--I was the orchestra--we two were alone. 

Mount Misery is one barren rock without a blade of grass on all its darkiron-like surface. Around it is a vast accumulation of granite bouldersand vast rocky ledges. The trees are stunted, the very ferns canscarcely find a place to grow. 

It was night. There was not a cloud in the sky. The moon shone withmarvelous lustre. 

Down in front of us lay the long arm of the sea that ran up between usand the city. On the opposite side were woods, and beyond them rose thecitadel, on the other side of which the city lay nestling at its baselike those Rhenish towns which lie at the foot of feudal castles. 

On the left hand all was a wilderness; on the right, close by, was asmall lake, which seemed like a sheet of silver in the moon's rays. Farther on lay the ocean, stretching in its boundless extent away to thehorizon. There lay islands and sand-banks with light-houses. There, under the moon, lay a broad path of golden light--molten gold--unruffled--undisturbed in that dead calm. 

My Opera begins with an Alleluia Chorus. I have borrowed words from theAngel Song at the opening of "Faust" for my score. But the music has anexpression of its own, and the words are feeble; and the only comfortis, that these words will be lost in the triumph strain of the tonesthat accompany them. 

She was with me, exulting where I was exultant, sad where I wassorrowful; still with her air of Guide and Teacher. She is my Egeria. She is my Inspiring Muse. I invoke her when I sing. 

But my song carried her away. Her own thoughts expressed by my utterancewere returned to her, and she yielded herself up altogether to theirpower. 

Ah me! there is one language common to all on earth, and to all inheaven, and that is music. 

I exulted then on that bare, blasted rock. I triumphed. She joined me init all. We exulted together. We triumphed. We mourned, we rejoiced, wedespaired, we hoped, we sung alleluias in our hearts. The very windswere still. The very moon seemed to stay her course. All nature washushed. 

She stood before me, white, slender, aerial, like a spirit from on high, as pure, as holy, as stainless. Her soul and mine were blended. We movedto one common impulse. We obeyed one common motive. 

What is this? Is it love? Yes; but not as men call love. Ours isheavenly love, ardent, but yet spiritual; intense, but without passion;a burning love like that of the cherubim; all-consuming, all-engrossing, and enduring for evermore. 

Have I ever told her my admiration? Yes; but not in words. I have toldher so in music, in every tone, in every strain. She knows that I amhers. She is my divinity, my muse, my better genius--the nobler half ofmy soul. 

I have laid all my spirit at her feet, as one prostrates himself beforea divinity. She has accepted that adoration and has been pleased. 

We are blended. We are one, but not after an earthly fashion, for neveryet have I even touched her hand in love. It is our spirits, our realselves--not our merely visible selves--that love; yet that love is sointense that I would die for evermore if my death could make her lifemore sweet. 

She has heard all this from my Cremona. 

Here, as we stood under the moon, I thought her a spirit with a mortallover. I recognized the full meaning of the sublime legend of Numa andEgeria. The mortal aspires in purity of heart, and the immortal comesdown and assists and responds to his aspirations. 

Our souls vibrated in unison to the expression of heavenly thoughts. Wethrew ourselves into the rapture of the hour. We trembled, we thrilled, till at last frail mortal nature could scarcely endure the intensity ofthat perfect joy. 

So we came to the end. The end is a chorus of angels. They sing thedivinest of songs that is written in Holy Revelation. All the glory ofthat song reaches its climax in the last strain:

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes!"

We wept together. But we dried our tears and went home, musing on that"tearless eternity" which lies before us. 

Morning is dawning as I write, and all the feeling of my soul can beexpressed in one word, the sublimest of all words, which is intelligibleto many of different languages and different races. I will end withthis:

"Alleluia!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THIS MUST END. 

The note which accompanied Langhetti's journal was as follows:

"HALIFAX, December 18, 1848. 

"TERESUOLA VIA DOLCISSIMA, --I send you my journal, _sorellacarissima_. I have been silent for a long time. Forgive me. I havebeen sad and in affliction. But affliction has turned to joy, and I havelearned things unknown before. 

"_Teresina mia_, I am coming back to England immediately. You mayexpect to see me at any time during the next three months. _She_will be with me; but so sensitive is she--so strange would she be toyou--that I do not know whether it will be well for you to see her ornot. I dare not let her be exposed to the gaze of any one unknown toher. Yet, sweetest _sorellina_, perhaps I may be able to tell herthat I have a dearest sister, whose heart is love, whose nature isnoble, and who could treat her with tenderest care. 

"I intend to offer my Opera to the world at London. I will be my ownimpresario. Yet I want one thing, and that is a Voice. Oh for a Voicelike that of Bice! But it is idle to wish for her. 

"Never have I heard any voice like hers, my Teresina. God grant that Imay find her!

"Expect soon and suddenly to see your most loving brother, "PAOLO. "

Mrs. Thornton showed this note to Despard the next time they met. He hadread the journal in the mean time. 

"So he is coming back?" said he. 

"Yes. "

"And with this marvelous girl?"

"Yes. "

"She seems to me like a spirit. "

"And to me. "

"Paolo's own nature is so lofty and so spiritual that one like her isintelligible to him. Happy is it for her that he found her. "

"Paolo is more spiritual than human. He has no materialism. He isspiritual. I am of the earth, earthy; but my brother is a spiritimprisoned, who chafes at his bonds and longs to be free. And think whatPaolo has done for her in his sublime devotion!"

"I know others who would do as much, " said Despard, in a voice thatseemed full of tears; "I know others who, like him, would go to thegrave to rescue the one they loved, and make all life one long devotion. I know others, " he continued, "who would gladly die, if by dying theycould gain what he has won--the possession of the one they love. Ah me!Paolo is happy and blessed beyond all men. Between him and her there isno insuperable barrier, no gulf as deep as death. "

Despard spoke impetuously, but suddenly checked himself. 

"I received, " said he, "by the last mail a letter from my uncle inHalifax. He is ordered off to the Cape of Good Hope. I wrote him a verylong time ago, as I told you, asking him to tell me without reserve allthat he knew about my father's death. I told him plainly that there wasa mystery about it which I was determined to solve. I reproached him forkeeping it secret from me, and reminded him that I was now a mature man;and that he had no right nor any reason to maintain any farther secrecy. I insisted on knowing all, no matter what it might be. 

"I received his letter by the last mail. Here it is;" and he handed itto her. "Read it when you get home. I have written a few words to you, little playmate, also. He has told me all. Did you know this before?"

"Yes, Lama, " said Mrs. Thornton, with a look of sorrowful sympathy. 

"You knew all my father's fate?"

"Yes, Lama. "

"And you kept it secret?"

"Yes, Lama. How could I bear to tell you and give you pain?"

Her voice trembled as she spoke. Despard looked at her with anindescribable expression. 

"One thought, " said he, slowly, "and one feeling engrosses all mynature, and even this news that I have heard can not drive it away. Eventhe thought of my father's fate, so dark and so mysterious, can notweaken the thoughts that have all my life been supreme. Do you know, little playmate, what those thoughts are?"

She was silent. Despard's hand wandered over the keys. They always spokein low tones, which were almost whispers, tones which were inaudibleexcept to each other. And Mrs. Thornton had to bow her head close to histo hear what he said. 

"I must go, " said Despard, after a pause, "and visit Brandon again. I donot know what I can do, but my father's death requires furtherexamination. This man Potts is intermingled with it. My uncle gives darkhints. I must make an examination. "

"And you are going away again?" said Mrs. Thornton, sadly. 

Despard sighed. 

"Would it not be better, " said he, as be took her hand in his--"would itnot be better for you, little playmate, if I went away from youforever?"

She gave him one long look of sad reproach. Then tears filled her eyes. 

"This can not go on forever, " she murmured. "It must come to that atlast!"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

BEATRICE'S JOURNAL. 

October 30, 1848. --My recovery has been slow, and I am still far fromwell. I stay in my room almost altogether. Why should I do otherwise?Day succeeds day, and each day is a blank. 

My window looks on the sea, and I can sit there and feed my heart on thememories which that sea calls up. It is company for me in my solitude. It is music, though I can not hear its voice. Oh, how I should rejoiceif I could get down by its margin and touch its waters! Oh how I shouldrejoice if those waters would flow over me forever!

November 15. --Why I should write any thing now I do not know. Thisuneventful life offers nothing to record. Mrs. Compton is as timid, asgentle, and as affectionate as ever. Philips, poor, timorous, kindlysoul, sends me flowers by her. Poor wretch, how did he ever get here?How did Mrs. Compton?

December 28. --In spite of my quiet habits and constant seclusion I feelthat I am under some surveillance, not from Mrs. Compton, but fromothers. I have been out twice during the last fortnight and perceivedthis plainly. Men in the walks who were at work quietly followed me withtheir eyes. I see that I am watched. I did not know that I was ofsufficient importance. 

Yesterday a strange incident occurred. Mrs. Compton was with me, and bysome means or other my thoughts turned to one about whom I have oftentried to form conjectures--my mother. How could she ever have married aman like my father? What could she have been like? Suddenly I turned toMrs. Compton, and said:

"Did you ever see my mother?"

What there could have been in my question I can not tell, but shetrembled and looked at me with greater fear in her face than I had everseen there before. This time she seemed to be afraid of me. I myselffelt a cold chill run through my frame. That awful thought which I hadonce before known flashed across my mind. 

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Compton, suddenly, "oh, don't look at me so; don't lookat me so!"

"I don't understand you, " said I, slowly. 

She hid her face in her hands and began to weep. I tried to soothe her, and with some success, for after a time she regained her composure. Nothing more was said. But since then one thought, with a long series ofattendant thoughts, has weighed down my mind. _Who am I? What am I?What am I doing here? What do these people want with me? Why do theyguard me?_

I can write no more. 

January 14, 1849. --The days drag on. Nothing new has happened. I amtormented by strange thoughts. I see this plainly that there are timeswhen I inspire fear in this house. Why is this?

Since that day, many, many months ago, when they all looked at me inhorror, I have seen none of them. Now Mrs. Compton has exhibited thesame fear. There is a restraint over her. Yes, she too fears me. Yet sheis kind; and poor Philips never forgets to send me flowers. 

I could smile at the idea of any one fearing me, if it were not for theterrible thoughts that arise within my mind. 

February 12. --Of late all my thoughts have changed, and I have beeninspired with an uncontrollable desire to escape. I live here in luxury, but the meanest house outside would be far preferable. Every hour hereis a sorrow, every day a misery. Oh, me! if I could but escape!

Once in that outer world I care not what might happen. I would bewilling to do menial labor to earn my bread. Yet it need not come tothat. The lessons which Paolo taught me have been useful in more waysthan one. I know that I at least need not be dependent. 

He used to say to me that if I chose to go on the stage and sing, Icould do something better than gain a living or make a fortune. He saidI could interpret the ideas of the Great Masters, and make myself ablessing to the world. 

Why need I stay here when I have a voice which he used to deign topraise? He did not praise it because he loved me; but I think he lovedme because he loved my voice. He loves my voice better than me. And thatother one! Ah me--will he ever hear my voice again? Did he know howsweet his voice was to me? Oh me! its tones ring in my ears and in myheart night and day. 

March 5. --My resolution is formed. This may be my last entry. I pray toGod that it may be. I will trust in him and fly. At night they can notbe watching me. There is a door at the north end, the key of which isalways in it. I can steal out by that direction and gain my liberty. 

Oh Thou who hearest prayer, grant deliverance to the captive!

Farewell now, my journal; I hope never to see you again! Yet I willsecrete you in this chamber, for if I am compelled to return I may beglad to seek you again. 

March 6. --Not yet! Not yet!

Alas! and since yesterday what things have happened! Last night I was tomake my attempt. They dined at eight, and I waited for them to retire. Iwaited long. They were longer than usual. 

[Illustration: "OH!" CRIED MRS. COMPTON SUDDENLY, "OH, DON'T LOOK AT MESO; DON'T LOOK AT ME SO!"]

At about ten o'clock Mrs. Compton came into my room, with as frighteneda face as usual. "They want you, " said she. 

I knew whom she meant. "Must I go?" said I. 

"Alas, dear child, what can you do? Trust in God. He can save you. "

"He alone can save me, " said I, "if He will. It has come to this that Ihave none but Him in whom I can trust. "

She began to weep. I said no more, but obeyed the command and went down. 

Since I was last there months had passed--months of suffering andanguish in body and mind. The remembrance of my last visit there cameover me as I entered. Yet I did not tremble or falter. I crossed thethreshold and entered the room, and stood before them in silence. 

I saw the three men who had been there before. _He_ and his son, and the man Clark, They had all been drinking. Their voices were loudand their laughter boisterous as I approached. When I entered theybecame quiet, and all three stared at me. At last _he_ said to hisson, "She don't look any fatter, does she, Johnnie?"

"She gets enough to eat, any how, " answered John. 

"She's one of them kind, " said the man Clark, "that don't fatten up. Butthen, Johnnie, you needn't talk--you haven't much fat yourself, lad. "

"Hard work, " said John, whereupon the others, thinking it an excellentjoke, burst into hoarse laughter. This put them into great good-humorwith themselves, and they began to turn their attention to me again. Nota word was said for some time. 

"Can you dance?" said he, at last, speaking to me abruptly. 

"Yes, " I answered. 

"Ah! I thought so. I paid enough for your education, any how. It wouldbe hard if you hadn't learned any thing else except squalling andbanging on the piano. "

I said nothing. 

"Why do you stare so, d--n you?" he cried, looking savagely at me. 

I looked at the floor. 

"Come now, " said he. "I sent for you to see if you can dance. Dance!"

I stood still. "Dance!" he repeated with an oath. "Do you hear?"

"I can not, " said I. 

"Perhaps you want a partner, " continued he, with a sneer. "Here, Johnnie, go and help her. "

"I'd rather not, " said John. 

"Clark, you try it--you were always gay, " and he gave a hoarse laugh. 

"Yes, Clark, " cried John. "Now's your chance. "

Clark hesitated for a moment, and then came toward me. I stood with myarms folded, and looked at him fixedly. I was not afraid. For I thoughtin that hour of who these men were, and what they were. My life was intheir hands, but I held life cheap. I rose above the fear of the moment, and felt myself their superior. 

Clark came up to me and stopped. I did not move. 

"Curse her!" said he. "I'd as soon dance with a ghost. She looks likeone, any how. "

_He_ laughed boisterously. 

"He's afraid. He's getting superstitious!" he cried. "What do you thinkof that, Johnnie?"

"Well, " drawled John, "it's the first time I ever heard of Clark beingafraid of any thing. "

These words seemed to sting Clark to the quick. 

"Will you dance?" said he, in a hoarse voice. 

I made no answer. 

"Curse her! make her dance!" _he_ shouted, starting up from hischair. "Don't let her bully you, you fool!"

Clark stepped toward me and laid one heavy hand on mine, while heattempted to pass the other round my waist. At the horror of hispolluting touch all my nature seemed transformed. I started back. Therecame something like a frenzy over me. I neither knew nor cared what Isaid. 

Yet I spoke slowly, and it was not like passion. All that I had read inthat manuscript was in my heart, the very spirit of the murdered Despardseemed to inspire me. 

"Touch me not, " I said. "Trouble me not. I am near enough to Deathalready. And you, " I cried, stretching out my hand to him, "THUG! neveragain will I obey one command of yours. Kill me if you choose, and sendme after Colonel Despard. "

These words seemed to blast and wither them. Clark shrank back. _He_ gave a groan, and clutched the arm of his chair. John lookedin fear from one to the other, and stammered with an oath:

"She knows all! Mrs. Compton told her. "

"Mrs. Compton never knew it, about the Thug, " said he, and then lookedup fearfully at me. They all looked once more. Again that fear which Ihad seen in them before was shown upon their faces. 

I looked upon these wretches as though I had surveyed them from somelofty height. That one of them was my father was forgotten. I seemed toutter words which were inspired within me. 

"Colonel Despard has spoken to me from the dead, and told me all, " saidI. "I am appointed to avenge him. "

I turned and went out of the room. As I left I heard John's voice:

"If she's the devil himself, as I believe she is, " he cried, "_she'sgot to be took down!_"

I reached my room. I lay awake all night long. A fever seemed raging inall my veins. Now with a throbbing head and trembling hands I writethis. Will these be my last words? God grant it, and give me safedeliverance. Amen! amen!

CHAPTER XXX

SMITHERS & CO. 

The Brandon Bank, John Potts, President, had one day risen suddenlybefore the eyes of the astonished county and filled all men with curiousspeculations. 

John Potts had been detestable, but now, as a Bank President, he beganto be respectable, to say the least. Wealth has a charm about it whichfascinates all men, even those of the oldest families, and now that thisparvenu showed that he could easily employ his superfluous cash in abanking company, people began to look upon his name as still undoubtedlyvulgar, yet as undoubtedly possessing the ring of gold. 

His first effort to take the county by storm, by an ordinary invitationto Brandon Hall, had been sneered at every where. But this bank was adifferent thing. Many began to think that perhaps Potts had been an ill-used and slandered man. He had been Brandon's agent, but who could proveany thing against him after all?

There were very many who soon felt the need of the peculiar help which abank can give if it only chooses. Those who went there found Pottsmarvelously accommodating. He did not seem so grasping or so suspiciousas other bankers. They got what they wanted, laughed at his pleasantjokes, and assured every body that he was a much-belied man. 

Surely it was by some special inspiration that Potts hit upon this ideaof a bank; if he wished to make people look kindly upon him, to "be tohis faults a little blind, and to his virtues very kind, " he could nothave conceived any better or shorter way toward the accomplishment of sodesirable a result. 

So lenient were these people that they looked upon all those who tookpart in the bank with equal indulgence. The younger Potts was consideredas a very clever man, with a dry, caustic humor, but thoroughly good-hearted. Clark, one of the directors, was regarded as bluff, and shrewd, and cautious, but full of the milk of human kindness; and Philips, thecashier, was universally liked on account of his gentle, obsequiousmanner. 

So wide-spread and so active were the operations of this bank thatpeople stood astonished and had nothing to say. The amount of theiraccommodations was enormous. Those who at first considered it a mushroomconcern soon discovered their mistake; for the Brandon Bank hadconnections in London which seemed to give the command of unlimitedmeans, and any sum whatever that might be needed was at once advancedwhere the security was at all reliable. Nor was the bank particularabout security. John Potts professed to trust much to people's faces andto their character, and there were times when he would take the securitywithout looking at it, or even decline it and be satisfied with thename. 

In less than a year the bank had succeeded in gaining the fullestconfidence even of those who had at first been most skeptical, and JohnPotts had grown to be considered without doubt one of the mostconsiderable men in the county. 

One day in March John Potts was sitting in the parlor of the bank when agentleman walked in who seemed to be about sixty years of age. He had aslight stoop, and carried a gold-headed cane. He was dressed in black, had gray hair, and a very heavy gray beard and mustache. 

"Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Potts?" said the stranger, in apeculiarly high, shrill voice. 

"I'm Mr. Potts, " said the other. 

The stranger thereupon drew a letter from his pocket-book and handed itto Potts. The letter was a short one, and the moment Potts had read ithe sprang up and held out his hand eagerly. 

"Mr. Smithers, Sir!--you're welcome, Sir, I'm sure, Sir! Proud andhappy, Sir, to see you, I'm sure!" said Potts, with great volubility. 

Mr. Smithers, however, did not seem to see his hand, but seated himselfleisurely on a chair, and looked for a moment at the opposite wall likeone in thought. 

He was a singular-looking old man. His skin was fresh; there was agrand, stern air upon his brow when it was in repose. The lower part ofhis face was hidden by his beard, and its expression was therefore lost. His eyes, however, were singularly large and luminous, although he worespectacles and generally looked at the floor. 

"I have but recently returned from a tour, " said he, in the same voice;"and my junior partner has managed all the business in my absence, whichhas lasted more than a year. I had not the honor of being acquaintedwith your banking-house when I left, and as I had business up this way Ithought I would call on you. "

"Proud, Sir, and most happy to welcome you to our modest parlor, " saidPotts, obsequiously. "This is a pleasure--indeed I may say, Sir, aprivilege--which I have long wished to have. In fact, I have never seenyour junior partner, Sir, any more than yourself. I have only seen youragents, Sir, and have gone on and done my large business with you bywriting. "

Mr. Smithers bowed. 

"Quite so, " said he. "We have so many connections in all parts of theworld that it is impossible to have the pleasure of a personalacquaintance with them all. There are some with whom we have much largertransactions than yourself whom I have never seen. "

"Indeed, Sir!" exclaimed Potts, with great surprise. "Then you must do alarger business than I thought. "

"We do a large business, " said Mr. Smithers, thoughtfully. 

"And all over the world, you said. Then you must be worth millions. "

"Oh, of course, one can not do a business like ours, that commandsmoney, without a large capital. "

"Are there many who do a larger business than I do?"

"Oh yes. In New York the house of Peyton Brothers do a business of tentimes the amount--yes, twenty times. In San Francisco a new house, juststarted since the gold discoveries, has done a business with us almostas large. In Bombay Messrs. Nickerson, Bolton, & Co. Are ourcorrespondents; in Calcutta Messrs. Hostermann, Jennings, & Black; inHong Kong Messrs. Naylor & Tibbetts; in Sydney Messrs. Sandford &Perley. Besides these, we have correspondents through Europe and in allparts of England who do a much larger business than yours. But I thoughtyou were aware of this, " said Mr. Smithers, looking with a swift glanceat Potts. 

"Of course, of course, " said Potts, hastily: "I knew your business wasenormous, but I thought our dealings with you were considerable. "

"Oh, you are doing a snug business, " said Smithers, in a patronizingtone. "It is our custom whenever we have correspondents who are soundmen to encourage them to the utmost. This is the reason why you havealways found us liberal and prompt. "

"You have done great service, Sir, " said Potts. "In fact, you have madethe Brandon Bank what it is to-day. "

"Well, " said Smithers, "we have agents every where; we heard that thisbank was talked about, and knowing the concern to be in sure hands wetook it up. My Junior has made arrangements with you which he says havebeen satisfactory. "

"Very much so to me, " replied Potts. "You have always found the money. "

"And you, I suppose, have furnished the securities. "

"Yes, and a precious good lot of them you are now holding. "

"I dare say, " said Smithers: "for my part I have nothing to do with thebooks. I merely attend to the general affairs, and trust to my Juniorfor particulars. "

"And you don't know the exact state of our business?" said Potts, in atone of disappointment. 

"No. How should I? The only ones with which I am familiar are ourAmerican, European, and Eastern agencies. Our English correspondents aremanaged by my Junior. "

"You must be one of the largest houses in London, " said Potts, in a toneof deep admiration. 

"Oh yes. "

"Strange I never heard of you till two years or so. "

"Very likely. "

"There was a friend of mine who was telling me something about someSydney merchants who were sending consignments of wool to you. Compton &Brandon. Do you know them?"

"I have heard my Junior speak of them. "

"You were in Sydney, were you not?"

"Yes, on my last tour I touched there. "

"Do you know Compton & Brandon?"

"I looked in to see them. I think Brandon is dead, isn't he? Drowned atsea--or something of that sort?" said Smithers, indifferently. 

"Yes, " said Potts. 

"Are you familiar with the banking business?" asked Smithers, suddenly. 

"Well, no, not very. I haven't had much experience; but I'm growing intoit. "

"Ah! I suppose your directors are good business men?"

"Somewhat; but the fact is, I trust a good deal to my cashier. "

"Who is he?"

"His name is Philips, a very clever man; a first-rate accountant. "

"That's right. Very much indeed depends on the cashier. "

"He is a most useful and reliable man. "

"Your business appears to be growing, from what I have heard. "

"Very fast indeed, Sir. Why, Sir, in another year I expect to controlthis whole county financially. There is no reason why I shouldn't. Everyone of my moves is successful. "

"That is right. The true mode of success in a business like yours isboldness. That is the secret of my success. Perhaps you are not aware, "continued Mr. Smithers, in a confidential tone, "that I began with verylittle. A few thousands of pounds formed my capital. But my motto wasboldness, and now I am worth I will not say how many millions. If youwant to make money fast you must be bold. "

"Did you make your money by banking?" asked Potts, eagerly. 

"No. Much of it was made in that way, but I have embarked in all kindsof enterprises; foreign loans, railway scrip, and ventures in stock ofall sorts. I have lost millions, but I have made ten times more thanever I lost. If you want to make money, you must go on the same plan. "

"Well, I'm sure, " said Potts, "I'm bold enough. I'm enlarging mybusiness every day in all directions. "

"That's right. "

"I control the county now, and hope in another year to do so in adifferent way. "

"How so?"

"I'm thinking of setting up for Parliament--"

"An excellent idea, if it will not injure the business. "

"Oh, it will not hurt it at all. Philips can manage it all under mydirections. Besides, I don't mind telling a friend like you that this isthe dream of my life. "

"A very laudable aim, no doubt, to those who have a genius forstatesmanship. But that is a thing which is altogether out of my line. Ikeep to business. And now, as my time is limited, I must not staylonger. I will only add that my impressions are favorable about yourbank, and you may rely upon us to any extent to co-operate with you inany sound enterprise. Go on and enlarge your business, and draw on usfor what you want as before. If I were you I would embark all myavailable means in this bank. "

"Well, I'm gradually coming to that, I think, " said Potts. 

"Then, when you get large deposits, as you must expect, that will giveyou additional capital to work on. The best way when you have a bank isto use your cash in speculating in stocks. Have you tried that yet?"

"Yes, but not much. "

"If you wish any thing of that kind done we will do it for you. "

"But I don't know what are the best investments. "

"Oh, that is very easily found out. But if you can't learn, we will letyou know. The Mexican Loan just now is the most promising. Some of theCalifornia companies are working quietly, and getting enormousdividends. "

"California?" said Potts; "that ought to pay. "

"Oh, there's nothing like it. I cleared nearly half a million in a fewmonths. "

"A few months!" cried Potts, opening his eyes. 

"Yes, we have agents who keep us well up; and so, you know, we are ableto speculate to the best advantage. "

"California!" said Potts, thoughtfully. "I should like to try that aboveall things. It has a good sound. It is like the chink of cash. "

"Yes, you get the pure gold out of that. There's nothing like it. "

"Do you know any chances for speculation there?"

"Yes, one or two. "

"Would you have any objection to let me know?"

"Not in the least--it will extend your business. I will ask my Junior tosend you any particulars you may desire. "

"This California business must be the best there is, if all I hear istrue. "

"You haven't heard the real truth. "

"Haven't I?" exclaimed Potts, in wonder. "I thought it was exaggerated. "

"I could tell you stories far more wonderful than any thing you haveheard. "

"Tell me!" cried Potts, breathlessly. 

"Well, " said Smithers, confidentially, "I don't mind telling yousomething which is known, I'm sorry to say, in certain circles inLondon, and is already being acted on. One-half of our fortune has beenmade in California operations. "

"You don't say so!"

"You see I've always been bold, " continued Smithers, with an air ofstill greater confidence. "I read some time since in one of Humboldt'sbooks about gold being there. At the first news of the discovery Ichartered a ship and went out at once. I took every thing that could beneeded. On arriving at San Francisco, where there were already very manypeople, I sold the cargo at an enormous profit, and hired the ship as awarehouse at enormous prices. I then organized a mining company, and puta first-rate man at the head of it. They found a place on the SacramentoRiver where the gold really seems inexhaustible. I worked it for somemonths, and forwarded two millions sterling to London. Then I left, andmy company is still working. "

"Why did you leave?" asked Potts, breathlessly. 

"Because I could make more money by being in London. My man there isreliable. I have bound him to us by giving him a share in the business. People soon found out that Smithers & Co. Had made enormous sums ofmoney in California, but they don't know exactly how. The immenseexpansion of our business during the last year has filled them withwonder. For you know every piece of gold that I sent home has beenutilized by my Junior. "

Potts was silent, and sat looking in breathless admiration at thismillionaire. All his thoughts were seen in his face. His whole heart waslaid bare, and the one thing visible was an intense desire to share inthat golden enterprise. 

"I have organized two companies on the same principle as the last. Theshares are selling at a large premium in the London market. I take aleading part in each, and my name gives stability to the enterprise. IfI find the thing likely to succeed I continue; if not, why, I can easilysell out. I am on the point of organizing a third company. "

"Are the shares taken up?" cried Potts, eagerly. 

"No, not yet. "

"Well, could I obtain some?"

"I really can't say, " replied Smithers. "You might make an applicationto my Junior. I do nothing whatever with the details. I don't know whatplans or agreements he may have been making. "

"I should like exceedingly to take stock. How do the shares sell?"

"The price is high, as we wish to confine our shareholders to the richerclasses. We never put it at less than £1000 a share. "

"I would take any quantity. "

"I dare say some may be in the market yet, " said Smithers, calmly. "Theyprobably sell at a high premium though. "

"I'd pay it, " said Potts. 

"Well, you may write and see; I know nothing about it. "

"And if they're all taken up, what then?"

"Oh--then--I really don't know. Why can't you organize a companyyourself?"

"Well, you see, I don't know anything about the place. "

"True; that is a disadvantage. But you might find some people who doknow. "

"That would be very difficult. I do not see how we could begin. And if Idid find any one, how could I trust him?"

"You'd have to do as I did--give him a share of the business. "

"It would be much better if I could get some stock in one of yourcompanies. Your experience and credit would make it a success. "

"Yes, there is no doubt that our companies would all be successful sincewe have a man on the spot. "

"And that's another reason why I should prefer buying stock from you. You see I might form a company, but what could I do?"

"Could not your cashier help you?"

"No, not in any thing of that sort. "

"Well, I can say nothing about it. My Junior will tell you what chancesthere are. "

"But while I see you personally I should be glad if you would consent togive me a chance. Have you any objection?"

"Oh no. I will mention your case the next time I write, if you wish it. Still I can not control the particular operations of the office. Mycontrol is supreme in general matters, and you see it would not bepossible for me to interfere with the smaller details. "

"Still you might mention me. "

"I will do so, " said Smithers, and taking out his pocket-book heprepared to write. 

"Let me see, " said he, "your Christian name is--what?"

"John--John Potts. "

"John Potts, " repeated the other, as he wrote it down. 

Smithers rose. "You may continue to draw on us as before, and anypurchases of stock which you wish will be made. "

Potts thanked him profusely. "I wish to see your cashier, to learn hismode of managing the accounts. Much depends on that, and a shortconversation will satisfy me. "

"Certainly, Sir, certainly, " said Potts, obsequiously. "Philips!" hecalled. 

Philips came in as timid and as shrinking as usual. 

"This is Mr. Smithers, the great Smithers of Smithers & Co. , Bankers; hewishes to have a talk with you. "

Philips looked at the great man with deep respect and made an awkwardbow. 

"You may come with me to my hotel, " said Smithers; and with a slight bowto Potts he left the bank, followed by Philips. 

He went up stairs and into a large parlor on the second story, whichlooked into the street. He motioned Philips to a chair near the window, and seated himself in an arm-chair opposite. 

Smithers looked at the other with a searching glance, and said nothingfor some time. His large, full eyes, as they fixed themselves on theface of the other, seemed to read his inmost thoughts and study everypart of his weak and irresolute character. 

At length he said, abruptly, in a slow, measured voice, "Edgar Lawton!"

At the sound of this name Philips started from his chair, and stood onhis feet trembling. His face, always pale, now became ashen, his lipsturned white, his jaw fell, his eyes seemed to start from their sockets. He stood for a few seconds, then sank back into a chair. 

Smithers eyed him steadfastly. "You see I know you, " said he, after atime. 

Philips cast on him an imploring look. 

"The fact that I know your name, " continued Smithers, "shows also that Imust know something of your history. Do not forget that!"

"My--my history?" faltered Philips. 

"Yes, your history. I know it all, wretched man! I knew your father whomyou ruined, and whose heart you broke. "

Philips said not a word, but again turned an imploring face to this man. 

"I have brought you here to let you know that there is one who holds youin his power, and that one is myself. You think Potts or Clark have youat their mercy. Not so. I alone hold your fate in my hands. They darenot do any thing against you for fear of their own necks. "

[Illustration: "AT THE SOUND OF THIS NAME PHILIPS STARTED FROM HISCHAIR, AND STOOD ON HIS FEET TREMBLING. "]

Philips looked up now in wonder, which was greater than his fear. 

"Why, " he faltered, "you are Potts's friend. You got him to start thebank, and you have advanced him money. "

"You are the cashier, " said Smithers, calmly. "Can you tell me how muchthe Brandon Bank owes Smithers & Co?"

Philips looked at the other and hesitated. 

"Speak!"

"Two hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds. "

"And if Smithers & Co. Chose to demand payment to-morrow, do you thinkthe Brandon Bank would be prompt about it?"

Philips shook his head. 

"Then you see that the man whom you fear is not so powerful as someothers. "

"I thought you were his friend?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Smithers & Co. , " said Philips, wearily. 

"Well, let me tell you the plans of Smithers & Co. Are beyond yourcomprehension. Whether they are friends to Potts or not, it seems thatthey are his creditors to an amount which it would be difficult for himto pay if they chose to demand it. "

Philips looked up. He caught sight of the eyes of Smithers, which blazedlike two dark, fiery orbs as they were fastened upon him. He shuddered. 

"I merely wished to show you the weakness of the man whom you fear. Shall I tell you something else?"

Philips looked up fearfully. 

"I have been in York, in Calcutta, and in Manilla: and I know what Pottsdid in each place. You look frightened. You have every reason to be so. I know what was done at York. I know that you were sent to Botany Bay. Iknow that you ran away from your father to India. I know your lifethere. I know how narrowly you escaped going on board the _Vishnu_, and being implicated in the Manilla murder. Madman that you were, whydid you not take your poor mother and fly from these wretches forever?"

Philips trembled from head to foot. He said not a word, but bowed hishead upon his knees and wept. 

"Where is she now?" said Smithers, sternly. Philips mechanically raisedhis head, and pointed over toward Brandon Hall. 

"Is she confined against her will?"

Philips shook his head. 

"She stays, then, through love of you?"

Philips nodded. 

"Is any one else there?" said Smithers, after a pause, and in a strange, sad voice, in which there was a faltering tone which Philips, in hisfright, did not notice. 

"Miss Potts, " he said. 

"She is treated cruelly, " said Smithers. "They say she is a prisoner?"

Philips nodded. 

"Has she been sick?"

"Yes. "

"How long?"

"Eight months, last year. "

"Is she well now?"

"Yes. "

Smithers bowed his head in silence, and put his hand on his heart. Philips watched him in an agony of fright, as though every instant hewas apprehensive of some terrible calamity. 

"How is she?" continued Smithers, after a time. "Has she ever been happysince she went there?"

Philips shook his head slowly and mournfully. 

"Does her father ever show her any affection?"

"Never. "

"Does her brother?"

"Never. "

"Is there any one who does?"

"Yes. "

"Who?"

"Mrs. Compton. "

"Your mother?"

"Yes. "

"I will not forget that. No, I will never forget that. Do you think thatshe is exposed to any danger?"

"Miss Potts?"

Smithers bowed. 

"I don't know. I sometimes fear so. "

"Of what kind?"

"I don't know. Almost any horrible thing may happen in that horribleplace. "

A pang of agony shot across the sombre brow of Smithers. He was silentfor a long time. 

"Have you ever slighted her?" he asked at last. 

"Never, " cried Philips. "I could worship her--"

Smithers smiled upon him with a smile so sweet that it chased allPhilips's fears away. He took courage and began to show more calm. "Fear nothing, " said Smithers, in a gentle voice. "I see that in spiteof your follies and crimes there is something good in you yet. You loveyour mother, do you not?"

Tears came into Philips's eyes. He sighed. "Yes, " he said, humbly. 

"And you are kind to _her_--that other one?"

"I love her as my mother, " said Philips, earnestly. 

Smithers again relapsed into silence for a long time. At last he lookedup. Philips saw his eyes this time, no longer stern and wrathful, butbenignant and indulgent. 

"You have been all your life under the power of merciless men, " said he. "You have been led by them into folly and crime and suffering. Often youhave been forced to act against your will. Poor wretch! I can save you, and I intend to do so in spite of yourself. You fear these masters ofyours. You must know now that I, not they, am to be feared. They knowyour secret but dare not use it against you. I know it, and can use itif I choose. You have been afraid of them all your life. Fear them nolonger, but fear me. These men whom you fear are in my power as well asyou are. I know all their secrets--there is not a crime of theirs ofwhich you know that I do not know also, and I know far more. 

"You must from this time forth be my agent. Smithers & Co. Have agentsin all parts of the world. You shall be their agent in Brandon Hall. Youshall say nothing of this interview to any one, not even to your mother--you shall not dare to communicate with me unless you are requested, except about such things as I shall specify. If you dare to shrink inany one point from your duty, at that instant I will come down upon youwith a heavy hand. You, too, are watched. I have other agents here inBrandon besides yourself. Many of those who go to the bank as customersare my agents. You can not be false without my knowing it; and when youare false, that moment you shall be handed over to the authorities. Doyou hear?"

The face of Smithers was mild, but his tone was stern. It was thewarning of a just yet merciful master. All the timid nature of Philipsbent in deep subjection before the powerful spirit of this man. He bowedhis head in silence. 

"Whenever an order comes to you from Smithers & Co. You must obey: ifyou do not obey instantly whatever it is, it will be at the risk of yourlife. Do you hear?"

Philips bowed. 

"There is only one thing now in which I wish you to do anything. Youmust send every month a notice directed to Mr. Smithers, Senior, aboutthe health of _his daughter_. Should any sudden danger impend youmust at once communicate it. You understand?"

Philips bowed. 

"Once more I must warn you always to remember that I am your master. Fail in one single thing, and you perish. Obey me, and you shall berewarded. Now go!"

Philips rose, and, more dead than alive, tottered from the room. 

When he left Smithers locked the door. He then went to the window andstood looking at Brandon Hall, with his stern face softened intosadness. He hummed low words as he stood there--words which once hadbeen sung far away. 

Among them were these, with which the strain ended:

 "And the sad memory of our life below Shall but unite us closer evermore; No net of thine shall loose Thee from the eternal bond, Nor shall Revenge have power To disunite us _there_!"

With a sigh he sat down and buried his face in his hands. His gray hairloosened and fell off as he sat there. At last he raised his head, andrevealed the face of a young man whose dark hair showed the gray beardto be false. 

Yet when he once more put on his wig none but a most intimate friendwith the closest scrutiny could recognize there the features of LouisBrandon. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

PAOLO LANGHETTI. 

Many weeks passed on, and music still formed the chief occupation inlife for Despard and Mrs. Thornton. His journey to Brandon village hadbeen without result. He knew not what to do. The inquiries which he madeevery where turned out useless. Finally Thornton informed him that itwas utterly hopeless, at a period so long after the event, to attempt todo any thing whatever. Enough had been done long ago. Now nothing morecould possibly be effected. 

Baffled, but not daunted, Despard fell back for the present from hispurpose, yet still cherished it and wrote to different quarters forinformation. Meantime he had to return to his life at Holby, and Mrs. Thornton was still ready to assist him. 

So the time went on, and the weeks passed, till one day in March Despardwent up as usual. 

On entering the parlor he heard voices, and saw a stranger. Mrs. Thornton greeted him as usual and sat down smiling. The stranger rose, and he and Despard looked at one another. 

He was of medium size and slight in figure. His brow was very broad andhigh. His hair was black, and clustered in curls over his head. His eyeswere large, and seemed to possess an unfathomable depth, which gave thema certain undefinable and mystic meaning--liquid eyes, yet lustrous, where all the soul seemed to live and show itself--benignant in theirglance, yet lofty like the eyes of a being from some superior sphere. His face was thin and shaven close, his lips also were thin, with aperpetual smile of marvelous sweetness and gentleness hovering aboutthem. It was such a face as artists love to give to the Apostle John--the sublime, the divine, the loving, the inspired. 

"You do not know him, " said Mrs. Thornton. "It is Paolo!"

Despard at once advanced and greeted him with the warmest cordiality. 

"I was only a little fellow when I saw you last, and you have changedsomewhat since then, " said Despard. "But when did you arrive? I knewthat you were expected in England, but was not sure that you would comehere. "

"What! _Teresuola mia_, " said Langhetti with a fond smile at hissister. "Were you really not sure, _sorellina_, that I would cometo see you first of all? Infidel!" and he shook his head at her, playfully. 

A long conversation followed, chiefly about Langhetti's plans. He wasgoing to engage a place in London for his opera, but wished first tosecure a singer. Oh, if he only could find Bice--his Bicina, thedivinest voice that mortal ever heard. 

Despard and Mrs. Thornton exchanged glances, and at last Despard toldhim that there was a person of the same name at Brandon Hall. She wasliving in a seclusion so strict that it seemed confinement, and therewas a mystery about her situation which he had tried without success tofathom. 

Langhetti listened with a painful surprise that seemed like positiveanguish. 

"Then I must go myself. Oh, my Bicina--to what misery have you come--But do you say that you have been there?"

"Yes. "

"Did you go to the Hall?"

"No. "

"Why not?"

"Because I know the man to be a villain indescribable--"

Langhetti thought for a moment, and then said, "True, he is all that, and perhaps more than you imagine. "

"I have done the utmost that can be done!" said Despard. 

"Perhaps so; still each one wishes to try for himself, and though I canscarce hope to be more successful than you, yet I must try, if only formy own peace of mind. Oh, _Bicina cara!_ to think of her sweet andgentle nature being subject to such torments as those ruffians caninflict!

"You do not know how it is, " said he at last, very solemnly; "but thereare reasons of transcendent importance why Bice should be rescued. I cannot tell them; but if I dared mention what I hope, if I only dared tospeak my thoughts, you--you, " he cried, with piercing emphasis, and ina tone that thrilled through Despard, to whom he spoke, "you would makeit the aim of all your life to save her. "

"I do not understand, " said Despard, in astonishment. 

"No, no, " murmured Langhetti. "You do not; nor dare I explain what Imean. It has been in my thoughts for years. It was brought to my mindfirst in Hong Kong, when she was there. Only one person besides Pottscan explain; only one. "

"Who?" cried Despard, eagerly. 

"A woman named Compton. "

"Compton!"

"Yes. Perhaps she is dead. Alas, and alas, and alas, if she is! Yetcould I but see that woman, I would tear the truth from her if Iperished in the attempt!"

And Langhetti stretched out his long, slender hand, as though he wereplucking out the very heart of some imaginary enemy. 

"Think, Teresuola, " said he, after a while, "if you were in captivity, what would become of my opera? Could I have the heart to think aboutoperas, even if I believed that they contributed to the welfare of theworld, if your welfare was at stake? Now you know that next to youstands Bice. I must try and save her--I must give up all. My opera muststand aside till it be God's will that I give it forth. No, the oneobject of my life now must be to find Bice, to see her or to see Mrs. Compton, if she is alive. "

"Is the secret of so much importance?" asked Despard. 

Langhetti looked at him with mournful meaning. 

Despard looked at him wonderingly. What could he mean? How could any oneaffect him? His peace of mind! That had been lost long ago. And if thissecret was so terrible it would distract his mind from its grief, itscare, and its longing. Peace would be restored rather than destroyed. 

"I must find her. I must find her, " said Langhetti, speaking half tohimself. "I am weak; but much can be done by a resolute will. "

"Perhaps Mr. Thornton can assist you, " said Despard. 

Langhetti shook his head. 

"No; he is a man of law, and does not understand the man who acts fromfeeling. I can be as logical as he, but I obey impulses which areunintelligible to him. He would simply advise me to give up the matter, adding, perhaps, that I would do myself no good. Whereas he can notunderstand that it makes no difference to me whether I do myself good ornot; and again, that the highest good that I can do myself is to seekafter her. "

Mrs. Thornton looked at Despard, but he avoided her glance. 

"No, " said Langhetti, "I will ask assistance from another--from you, Despard. You are one who acts as I act. Come with me. "

"When?"

"To-morrow morning. "

"I will. "

"Of course you will. You would not be a Despard if you did not. Youwould not be the son of your father--your father!" he repeated, inthrilling tones, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. "Despard!" hecried, after a pause, "your father was a man whom you might pray to now. I saw him once. Shall I ever forget the day when he calmly went to laydown his life for my father? Despard, I worship your father's memory. Come with me. Let us emulate those two noble men who once before rescueda captive. We can not risk our lives as they did. Let us at least dowhat we can. "

"I will do exactly what you say. You can think and I will act. "

"No, you must think too. Neither of us belong to the class of practicalmen whom the world now delights to honor; but no practical man would goon our errand. No practical man would have rescued my father. Generousand lofty acts must always be done by those who are not practical men. "

"But I must go out. I must think, " he continued. "I will go and walkabout the grounds. "

Saying this be left the room. 

"Where is Edith Brandon?" asked Despard, after he had gone. 

"She is here, " said Mrs. Thornton. 

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes. "

"Is she what you anticipated?"

"More. She is incredible. She is almost unearthly. I feel awe of her, but not fear. She is too sweet to inspire fear. "

CHAPTER XXXII. 

FLIGHT. 

The last entry in Beatrice's journal was made by her in the hope that itmight be the last. 

In her life at Brandon Hall her soul had grown stronger and moreresolute. Besides, it had now come to this, that henceforth she musteither stay and accept the punishment which they might contrive or flyinstantly. 

For she had dared them to their faces; she had told them of theircrimes; she had threatened punishment. She had said that she was theavenger of Despard. If she had desired instant death she could have saidno more than that. Would they pass it by? She knew their secret--thesecret of secrets; she had proclaimed it to their faces. She had calledPotts a Thug and disowned him as her father; what now remained?

But one thing--flight. And this she was fully resolved to try. Sheprepared nothing. To gain the outside world was all she wished. The needof money was not thought of; nor if it had been would it have made anydifference. She could not have obtained it. 

The one idea in her mind was therefore flight. She had concealed herjournal under a looser piece of the flooring in one of the closets ofher room, being unwilling to encumber herself with it, and dreading theresult of a search in case she was captured. 

She made no other preparations whatever. A light hat and a thin jacketwere all that she took to resist the chill air of March. There was afever in her veins which was heightened by excitement and suspense. 

Mrs. Compton was in her room during the evening. Beatrice said butlittle. Mrs. Compton talked drearily about the few topics on which shegenerally spoke. She never dared talk about the affairs of the house. 

Beatrice was not impatient, for she had no idea of trying to escapebefore midnight. She sat silently while Mrs. Compton talked or prosed, absorbed in her own thoughts and plans. The hours seemed to herinterminable. Slowly and heavily they dragged on. Beatrice's suspenseand excitement grew stronger every moment, yet by a violent effort shepreserved so perfect an outward calm that a closer observer than Mrs. Compton would have failed to detect any emotion. 

At last, about ten o'clock, Mrs. Compton retired, with many kind wishesto Beatrice, and many anxious counsels as to her health. Beatricelistened patiently, and made some general remarks, after which Mrs. Compton withdrew. 

She was now left to herself, and two hours still remained before shecould dare to venture. She paced the room fretfully and anxiously, wondering why it was that the time seemed so long, and looking from timeto time at her watch in the hope of finding that half an hour hadpassed, but seeing to her disappointment that only two or three minuteshad gone. 

At last eleven o'clock came. She stole out quietly into the hall andwent to the top of the grand stairway. There she stood and listened. 

The sound of voices came up from the dining-room, which was near thehall-door. She knew to whom those voices belonged. Evidently it was notyet the time for her venture. 

She went back, controlling her excitement as best she might. At last, after a long, long suspense, midnight sounded. 

Again she went to the head of the stairway. The voices were still heard. They kept late hours down there. Could she try now, while they werestill up? Not yet. 

Not yet. The suspense became agonizing. How could she wait? But she wentback again to her room, and smothered her feelings until one o'clockcame. 

Again she went to the head of the stairway. She heard nothing. She couldsee a light streaming from the door of the dining-hall below. Lights, also, were burning in the hall itself; but she heard no voices. 

Softly and quietly she went down stairs. The lights flashed out throughthe door of the dining-room into the hall; and as she arrived at thefoot of the stairs she heard subdued voices in conversation. Her heartbeat faster. They were all there! What if they now discovered her! Whatmercy would they show her, even if they were capable of mercy?

Fear lent wings to her feet. She was almost afraid to breathe for fearthat they might hear her. She stole on quietly and noiselessly up thepassage that led to the north end, and at last reached it. 

All was dark there. At this end there was a door. On each side was akind of recess formed by the pillars of the doorway. The door wasgenerally used by the servants, and also by the inmates of the house forconvenience. 

The key was in it. There was no light in the immediate vicinity. Aroundit all was gloom. Near by was a stairway, which led to the servants'hall. 

She took the key in her hands, which trembled violently with excitement, and turned it in the lock. 

Scarcely had she done so when she heard footsteps and voices behind her. She looked hastily back, and, to her horror, saw two servantsapproaching with a lamp. It was impossible for her now to open the doorand go out. Concealment was her only plan. 

But how? There was no time for hesitation. Without stopping to think sheslipped into one of the niches formed by the projecting pillars, andgathered her skirts close about her so as to be as little conspicuous aspossible. There she stood awaiting the result. She half wished that shehad turned back. For if she were now discovered in evident concealmentwhat excuse could she give? She could not hope to bribe them, for shehad no money. And, what was worst, these servants were the two who hadbeen the most insolent to her from the first. 

She could do nothing, therefore, but wait. They came nearer, and at lastreached the door. 

"Hallo!" said one, as he turned the key. "It's been unlocked!"

"It hain't been locked yet, " said the other. 

"Yes, it has. I locked it myself an hour ago. Who could have been here?"

"Any one, " said the other, quietly. "Our blessed young master has, nodoubt, been out this way. "

"No, he hasn't. He hasn't stirred from his whisky since eight o'clock. "

"Nonsense! You're making a fuss about nothing. Lock the door and comealong. "

"Any how, I'm responsible, and I'll get a precious overhauling if thisthing goes on. I'll take the key with me this time. "

And saying this, the man locked the door and took out the key. Both ofthem then descended to the servants' hall. 

The noise of that key as it grated in the lock sent a thrill through theheart of the trembling listener. It seemed to take all hope from her. The servants departed. She had not been discovered. But what was to bedone? She had not been prepared for this. 

She stood for some time in despair. She thought of other ways of escape. There was the hall-door, which she did not dare to try, for she wouldhave to pass directly in front of the dining-room. Then there was thesouth door at the other end of the building, which was seldom used. Sheknew of no others. She determined to try the south door. 

Quietly and swiftly she stole away, and glided, like a ghost, along theentire length of the building. It was quite dark at the south end as ithad been at the north. She reached the door without accident. 

There was no key in it. It was locked. Escape by that way wasimpossible. 

She stood despairing. Only one way was now left, and that lay throughthe hall-door itself. 

Suddenly, as she stood there, she heard footsteps. A figure came downthe long hall straight toward her. There was not the slightest chance ofconcealment here. There were no pillars behind which she might crouch. She must stand, then, and take the consequences. Or, rather, would itnot be better to walk forward and meet this new-comer? Yes; that wouldbe best. She determined to do so. 

So, with a quiet, slow step she walked back through the long corridor. About half-way she met the other. He stopped and started back. 

"Miss Potts!" he exclaimed, in surprise. 

It was the voice of Philips. 

"Ah, Philips, " said she, quietly, "I am walking about for exercise andamusement. I can not sleep. Don't be startled. It's only me. "

Philips stood like one paralyzed. 

"Don't be cast down, " he said at last, in a trembling voice. "You havefriends, powerful friends. They will save you. "

"What do you mean?" asked Beatrice, in wonder. 

"Never mind, " said Philips, mysteriously. "It will be all right. I darenot tell. But cheer up. "

"What do you mean by friends?"

"You have friends who are more powerful than your enemies, that's all, "said Philips, hurriedly. "Cheer up. "

Beatrice wondered. A vague thought of Brandon came over her mind, butshe dismissed it at once. Yet the thought gave her a delicious joy, andat once dispelled the extreme agitation which had thus far disturbedher. Could Philips be connected with _him_? Was he in realityconsiderate about her while shaping the course of his gloomy vengeance?These were the thoughts which flashed across her mind as she stood. 

"I don't understand, " said she, at last; "but I hope it may be as yousay. God knows, I need friends!"

She walked away, and Philips also went onward. She walked slowly, untilat last his steps died out in the distance. Then a door banged. Evidently she had nothing to fear from him. At last she reached the mainhall, and stopped for a moment. The lights from the dining-room werestill flashing out through the door. The grand entrance lay before her. There was the door of the hall, the only way of escape that nowremained. Dare she try it?

She deliberated long. Two alternatives lay before her--to go back to herown room, or to try to pass that door. To go back was as repulsive asdeath, in fact more so. If the choice had been placed full before herthen, to die on the spot or to go back to her room, she would havedeliberately chosen death. The thought of returning, therefore, was thelast upon which she could dwell, and that of going forward was the onlyone left. To this she gave her attention. 

At last she made up her mind, and advanced cautiously, close by thewall, toward the hall-door. After a time she reached the door of thedining-room. Could she venture to pass it, and how? She paused. Shelistened. There were low voices in the room. Then they were still awake, still able to detect her if she passed the door. 

She looked all around. The hall was wide. On the opposite side the wallwas but feebly lighted. The hall lights had been put out, and thosewhich shone from the room extended forward but a short distance. It wasjust possible therefore to escape observation by crossing the doorwayalong the wall that was most distant from it. 

Yet before she tried this she ventured to put forward her head so as topeep into the room. She stooped low and looked cautiously and slowly. 

The three were there at the farthest end of the room. Bottles andglasses stood before them, and they were conversing in low tones. Thosetones, however, were not so low but that they reached her ears. Theywere speaking about _her_. 

"How could she have found it out?" said Clark. 

"Mrs. Compton only knows _one thing_, " said Potts, "and that is_the secret about her_. She knows nothing more. How could she?"

"Then how could that cursed girl have found out about the Thugbusiness?" exclaimed John. 

There was no reply. 

"She's a deep one, " said John, "d--d deep--deeper than I ever thought. I always said she was plucky--cursed plucky--but now I see she's deeptoo--and I begin to have my doubts about the way she ought to be tookdown. "

"I never could make her out, " said Potts. "And now I don't even begin tounderstand how she could know that which only we have known. Do youthink, Clark, that the devil could have told her of it?"

"Yes, " said Clark. "Nobody but the devil could have told her that, andmy belief is that she's the devil himself. She's the only person I everfelt afraid of. D--n it, I can't look her in the face. "

Beatrice retreated and passed across to the opposite wall. She did notwish to see or hear more. She glided by. She was not noticed. She heardJohn's voice--sharp and clear--

"We'll have to begin to-morrow and take her down--that's a fact. " Thiswas followed by silence. 

Beatrice reached the door. She turned the knob. Oh, joy! it was notlocked. It opened. 

Noiselessly she passed through; noiselessly she shut it behind her. Shewas outside. She was free. 

The moon shone brightly. It illumined the lawn in front and the tops ofthe clumps of trees whose dark foliage rose before her. She saw allthis; yet, in her eagerness to escape, she saw nothing more, but spedaway swiftly down the steps, across the lawn, and under the shade of thetrees. 

Which way should she go? There was the main avenue which led in awinding direction toward the gate and the porter's lodge. There was alsoanother path which the servants generally took. This led to the gatealso. Beatrice thought that by going down this path she might come nearthe gate and then turn off to the wall and try and climb over. 

A few moments of thought were sufficient for her decision. She took thepath and went hurriedly along, keeping on the side where the shadow wasthickest. 

She walked swiftly, until at length she came to a place where the pathended. It was close by the porter's lodge. Here she paused to consider. 

Late as it was there were lights in the lodge and voices at the door. Some one was talking with the porter. Suddenly the voices ceased and aman came walking toward the place where she stood. 

To dart into the thick trees where the shadow lay deepest was the workof a moment. She stood and watched. But the underbrush was dense, andthe crackling which she made attracted the man's attention. He stoppedfor a moment, and then rushed straight toward the place where she was. 

Beatrice gave herself up for lost. She rushed on wildly, not knowingwhere she went. Behind her was the sound of her pursuer. He followedresolutely and relentlessly. There was no refuge for her but continuedflight. 

Onward she sped, and still onward, through the dense underbrush, whichat every step gave notice of the direction which she had taken. Perhapsif she had been wiser she would have plunged into some thick growth oftrees into the midst of absolute darkness and there remained still. Asit was she did not think of this. Escape was her only thought, and theonly way to this seemed to be by flight. 

So she fled; and after her came her remorseless, her unpitying pursuer, fear lent wings to her feet. She fled on through the underbrush thatcrackled as she passed and gave notice of her track through the dark, dense groves; yet still amidst darkness and gloom her pursuer followed. 

[Illustration: "ONWARD SHE SPED, AND STILL ONWARD, THROUGH THE DENSEUNDERBRUSH. "]

At last, through utter weakness and weariness, she sank down. Despaircame over her. She could do no more. 

The pursuer came up. So dense was the gloom in that thick grove that forsome time he could not find her. Beatrice heard the crackling of theunderbrush all around. He was searching for her. 

She crouched down low and scarcely dared to breathe. She took refuge inthe deep darkness, and determined to wait till her pursuer might give uphis search. At last all was still. 

Beatrice thought that he had gone. Yet in her fear she waited for whatseemed to her an interminable period. At last she ventured to make amovement. Slowly and cautiously she rose to her feet and advanced. Shedid not know what direction to take; but she walked on, not caring whereshe went so long as she could escape pursuit. 

Scarcely had she taken twenty steps when she heard a noise. Some one wasmoving. She stood still, breathless. Then she thought she had beenmistaken. After waiting a long time she went on as before. She walkedfaster. The noise came again. It was close by. She stood still for manyminutes. 

Suddenly she bounded up, and ran as one runs for life. Her long rest hadrefreshed her. Despair gave her strength. But the pursuer was on hertrack. Swiftly, and still more swiftly, his footsteps came up behindher. He was gaining on her. Still she rushed on. 

At last a strong hand seized her by the shoulder, and she sank down uponthe moss that lay under the forest trees. 

"Who are you?" cried a familiar voice. 

"Vijal!" cried Beatrice. 

The other let go his hold. 

"Will you betray me?" cried Beatrice, in a mournful and despairingvoice. 

Vijal was silent. 

"What do you want?" said he, at last. "Whatever you want to do I willhelp you. I will be your slave. "

"I wish to escape. "

"Come then--you shall escape, " said Vijal. 

Without uttering another word he walked on and Beatrice followed. Hoperose once more within her. Hope gave strength. Despair and its weaknesshad left her. After about half an hour's walk they reached the parkwall. 

"I thought it was a poacher, " said Vijal, sadly; "yet I am glad it wasyou, for I can help you. I will help you over the wall. "

He raised her up. She clambered to the top, where she rested for amoment. 

"God bless you, Vijal, and good-by!" said she. 

Vijal said nothing. 

The next moment she was on the other side. The road lay there. It rannorth away from the village. Along this road Beatrice walked swiftly. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

"PICKED UP ADRIFT. "

On the morning following two travelers left a small inn which lay on theroad-side, about ten miles north of Brandon. It was about eight o'clockwhen they took their departure, driving in their own carriage at amoderate pace along the road. 

"Look, Langhetti, " said the one who was driving, pointing with his whipto an object in the road directly in front of them. 

Langhetti raised his head, which had been bowed down in deepabstraction, to look in the direction indicated. A figure wasapproaching them. It looked like a woman. She walked very slowly, andappeared rather to stagger than to walk. 

"She appears to be drunk, Despard, " said Langhetti. "Poor wretch, and onthis bleak March morning too! Let us stop and see if we can do any thingfor her. "

They drove on, and as they met the woman Despard stopped. 

She was young and extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was thin andwhite. Her clothing was of fine materials but scanty and torn to shreds. As they stopped she turned her large eyes up despairingly and stoodstill, with a face which seemed to express every conceivable emotion ofanguish and of hope. Yet as her eyes rested on Langhetti a change cameover her. The deep and unutterable sadness of her face passed away, andwas succeeded by a radiant flash of joy. She threw out her arms towardhim with a cry of wild entreaty. 

The moment that Langhetti saw her he started up and stood for an instantas if paralyzed. Her cry came to his ears. He leaped from the carriagetoward her, and caught her in his arms. 

"Oh, Bice! Alas, my Bicina!" he cried, and a thousand fond words came tohis lips. 

Beatrice looked up with eyes filled with grateful tears; her lipsmurmured some inaudible sentences; and then, in this full assurance ofsafety, the resolution that had sustained her so long gave wayaltogether. Her eyes closed, she gave a low moan, and sank senselessupon his breast. 

Langhetti supported her for a moment, then gently laid her down to tryand restore her. He chafed her hands, and did all that is usually donein such emergencies. But here the case was different--it was more thana common faint, and the animation now suspended was not to be restoredby ordinary efforts. 

Langhetti bowed over her as he chafed her hands. "Ah, my Bicina, " hecried; "is it thus I find you! Ah, poor thin hand! Alas, white wan face!What suffering has been yours, pure angel, among those fiends of hell!"

He paused, and turned a face of agony toward Despard. But as he lookedat him he saw a grief in his countenance that was only second to hisown. Something in Beatrice's appearance had struck him with a deeperfeeling than that merely human interest which the generous heart feelsin the sufferings of others. 

"Langhetti, " said he, "let us not leave this sweet angel exposed to thisbleak wind. We must take her back to the inn. We have gained our object. Alas! the gain is worse than a failure. "

"What can we do?"

"Let us put her in the carriage between us, and drive back instantly. "

Despard stooped as he spoke, raised her reverently in his arms, andlifted her upon the seat. He sprang in and put his arms around hersenseless form, so as to support her against himself. Langhetti lookedon with eyes that were moist with a sad yet mysterious feeling. 

Then he resumed his place in the carriage. 

"Oh, Langhetti!" said Despard, "what is it that I saw in the face ofthis poor child that so wrings my heart? What is this mystery of yoursthat you will not tell?"

"I can not solve it, " said Langhetti, "and therefore I will not tellit. "

"Tell it, whatever it is. "

"No, it is only conjecture as yet, and I will not utter it. "

"And it affects me?"

"Deeply. "

"Therefore tell it. "

"Therefore I must not tell it; for if it prove baseless I shall onlyexcite your feeling in vain. "

"At any rate let me know. For I have the wildest fancies, and I wish toknow if it is possible that they are like your own. "

"No, Despard, " said Langhetti. "Not now. The time may come, but it hasnot yet. "

Beatrice's head leaned against Despard's shoulder as she reclinedagainst him, sustained by his arm. Her face was upturned; a face aswhite as marble, her pure Grecian features showing now their faultlesslines like the sculptured face of some goddess. Her beauty was perfectin its classic outline. But her eyes were closed, and her wan, whitelips parted; and there was a sorrow on her face which did not seemappropriate to one so young. 

[Illustration: "HE LEAPED FROM THE CARRIAGE TOWARD HER, AND CAUGHT HERIN HIS ARMS. "]

"Look, " said Langhetti, in a mournful voice. "Saw you ever in all yourlife any one so perfectly and so faultlessly beautiful? Oh, if you couldbut have seen her, as I have done, in her moods of inspiration, when shesang! Could I ever have imagined such a fate as this for her?"

"Oh, Despard!" he continued, after, a pause in which the other hadturned his stern face to him without a word--"Oh, Despard! you ask me totell you this secret. I dare not. It is so wide-spread. If my fancy betrue, then all your life must at once be unsettled, and all your soulturned to one dark purpose. Never will I turn you to that purpose till Iknow the truth beyond the possibility of a doubt. "

"I saw that in her face, " said Despard, "which I hardly dare acknowledgeto myself. "

"Do not acknowledge it, then, I implore you. Forget it. Do not open uponce more that old and now almost forgotten sorrow. Think not of it evento yourself. "

Langhetti spoke with a wild and vehement urgency which was wonderful. 

"Do you not see, " said Despard, "that you rouse my curiosity to anintolerable degree?"

"Be it so; at any rate it is better to suffer from curiosity than tofeel what you must feel if I told you what I suspect. "

Had it been any other man than Langhetti Despard would have beenoffended. As it was he said nothing, but began to conjecture as to thebest course for them to follow. 

"It is evident, " said he to Langhetti, "that she has escaped fromBrandon Hall during the past night. She will, no doubt, be pursued. Whatshall we do? If we go back to this inn they will wonder at our bringingher. There is another inn a mile further on. "

"I have been thinking of that, " replied Langhetti. "It will be better togo to the other inn. But what shall we say about her? Let us say she isan invalid going home. "

"And am I her medical attendant?" asked Despard. 

"No; that is not necessary. You are her guardian--the Rector of Holby, of course--your name is sufficient guarantee. "

"Oh, " said Despard, after a pause, "I'll tell you something better yet. I am her brother and she is my sister--Miss Despard. "

As he spoke he looked down upon her marble face. He did not seeLanghetti's countenance. Had he done so he would have wondered. ForLanghetti's eyes seemed to seek to pierce the very soul of Despard. Hisface became transformed. Its usual serenity vanished, and there waseager wonder, intense and anxious curiosity--an endeavor to see if therewas not some deep meaning underlying Despard's words. But Despard showedno emotion. He was conscious of no deep meaning. He merely murmured tohimself as he looked down upon the unconscious face:

"My sick sister--my sister Beatrice. "

Langhetti said not a word, but sat in silence, absorbed in one intenseand wondering gaze. Despard seemed to dwell upon this idea, fondly andtenderly. 

"She is not one of that brood, " said he, after a pause. "It is in nameonly that she belongs to them. "

"They are fiends and she is an angel, " said Langhetti. 

"Heaven has sent her to us; we most preserve her forever. "

"If she lives, " said Langhetti, "she must never go back. "

"Go back!" cried Despard. "Better far for her to die. "

"I myself would die rather than give her up. "

"And I, too. But we will not. I will adopt her. Yes, she shall cast awaythe link that binds her to these accursed ones--her vile name. I willadopt her. She shall have my name--she shall be my sister. She shall beBeatrice Despard. 

"And surely, " continued Despard, looking tenderly down, "surely, of allthe Despard race there was never one so beautiful and so pure as she. "

Langhetti did not say a word, but looked at Despard and the one whom hethus called his adopted sister with an emotion which he could notcontrol. Tears started to his eyes; yet over his brow there camesomething which is not generally associated with tears--a lofty, exultant expression, an air of joy and peace. 

"Your sister, " said Despard, "shall nurse her back to health. She willdo so for your sake, Langhetti--or rather from her own noble andgenerous instincts. In Thornton Grange she will, perhaps, find somealleviation for the sorrows which she may have endured. Our care shallbe around her, and we can all labor together for her future welfare. "

They at length reached the inn of which they had spoken, and Beatricewas tenderly lifted out and carried up stairs. She was mentioned as thesister of the Rev. Mr. Despard, of Holby, who was bringing her back fromthe sea-side, whither she had gone for her health. Unfortunately, shehad been too weak for the journey. 

The people of the inn showed the kindest attention and warmest sympathy. A doctor was sent for, who lived at a village two miles farther on. 

Beatrice recovered from her faint, but remained unconscious. The doctorconsidered that her brain was affected. He shook his head solemnly overit; as doctors always do when they have nothing in particular to say. Both Langhetti and Despard knew more about her case than he did. 

They saw that rest was the one thing needed. But rest could be betterattained in Holby than here; and besides, there was the danger ofpursuit. It was necessary to remove her; and that, too, without delay. Aclosed carriage was procured without much difficulty, and the patientwas deposited therein. 

A slow journey brought them by easy stages to Holby. Beatrice remainedunconscious. A nurse was procured, who traveled with her. The conditionof Beatrice was the same which she described in her diary. Great griefand extraordinary suffering and excitement had overtasked the brain, andit had given way. So Despard and Langhetti conjectured. 

At last they reached Holby. They drove at once to Thornton Grange. 

"What is this?" cried Mrs. Thornton, who had heard nothing from them, and ran out upon the piazza to meet them as she saw them coming. 

"I have found Bice, " said Langhetti, "and have brought her here. "

"Where is she?"

"There, " said Langhetti. "I give her to your care--it is for you to giveher back to me. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

ON THE TRACK. 

Beatrice's disappearance was known at Brandon Hall on the following day. The servants first made the discovery. They found her absent from herroom, and no one had seen her about the house. It was an unusual thingfor her to be out of the house early in the day, and of late for manymonths she had scarcely ever left her room, so that now her absence atonce excited suspicion. The news was communicated from one to anotheramong the servants. Afraid of Potts, they did not dare to tell him, butfirst sought to find her by themselves. They called Mrs. Compton, andthe fear which perpetually possessed the mind of this poor, timidcreature now rose to a positive frenzy of anxiety and dread. She toldall that she knew, and that was that she had seen her the evening beforeas usual, and had left her at ten o'clock. 

No satisfaction therefore could be gained from her. The servants triedto find traces of her, but were unable. At length toward evening, onPotts's return from the bank, the news was communicated to him. 

The rage of Potts need not be described here. That one who had twicedefied should now escape him filled him with fury. He organized all hisservants into bands, and they scoured the grounds till darkness put anend to these operations. 

That evening Potts and his two companions dined in moody silence, onlyconversing by fits and starts. 

"I don't think she's killed herself, " said Potts, in reply to anobservation of Clark. "She's got stuff enough in her to do it, but Idon't believe she has. She's playing a deeper game. I only wish we couldfish up her dead body out of some pond; it would quiet matters down veryconsiderable. "

"If she's got off she's taken with her some secrets that won't do us anygood, " remarked John. 

"The devil of it is, " said Potts, "we don't know how much she does know. She must know a precious lot, or she never would have dared to say whatshe did. "

"But how could she get out of the park?" said Clark. "That wall is toohigh to climb over, and the gates are all locked. "

"It's my opinion, " exclaimed John, "that she's in the grounds yet. "

Potts shook his head. 

"After what she told me it's my belief she can do any thing. Why, didn'tshe tell us of crimes that were committed before she was born? I beginto feel shaky, and it is the girl that has made me so. "

Potts rose to his feet, plunged his hands deep into his pockets, andwalked up and down. The others sat in gloomy silence. 

"Could that Hong Kong nurse of hers have told her any thing?" askedJohn. 

"She didn't know any thing to tell. "

"Mrs. Compton must have blown, then. "

"Mrs. Compton didn't know. I tell you that there is not one human beingliving that knows what she told us besides ourselves and her. How thedevil she picked it up I don't know. "

"I didn't like the cut of her from the first, " said John. "She had a wayof looking that made me feel uneasy, as though there was something inher that would some day be dangerous. I didn't want you to send forher. "

"Well, the mischief's done now. "

"You're not going to give up the search, are you?" asked Clark. 

"Give it up! Not I. "

"We must get her back. "

"Yes; our only safety now is in catching her again at all hazards. "

There was a long silence. 

"Twenty years ago, " said Potts, moodily, "the _Vishnu_ driftedaway, and since the time of the trial no one has mentioned it to me tillthat girl did. "

"And she is only twenty years old, " rejoined John. 

"I tell you, lads, you've got the devil to do with when you tackle her, "remarked Clark; "but if she is the devil we must fight it out and crushher. "

"Twenty-three years, " continued Potts, in the same gloomy tone--"twenty-three years have passed since I was captured with my followers. No onehas mentioned that since. No one in all the world knows that I am theonly Englishman that ever joined the Thugs except that girl. "

"She must know every thing that we have done, " said Clark. 

"Of course she must. "

"Including our Brandon enterprise, " said John. 

"And including your penmanship. " said Clark; "enough, lad, to stretch aneck. "

"Come, " said Potts, "don't let us talk of this, any how. "

Again they relapsed into silence. 

"Well!" exclaimed John, at last, "what are you going to do to-morrow?"

"Chase her till I find her, " replied Potts, savagely. 

"But where?"

"I've been thinking of a plan which seems to me to be about the thing. "

"What?"

"A good old plan, " said Potts. "Your pup, Johnnie, can help us. "

John pounded his fist on the table with savage exultation. 

"My blood-hound! Good, old Dad, what a trump you are to think of that!"

"He'll do it!"

"Yes, " said John, "if he gets on her track and comes up with her I'm alittle afraid that we'll arrive at the spot just too late to save her. It's the best way that I know of for getting rid of the difficultyhandsomely. Of course we are going after her through anxiety, and thedog is an innocent pup who comes with us; and if any disaster happens wewill kill him on the spot. "

Potts shook his head moodily. He had no very hopeful feeling about this. He was shaken to the soul at the thought of this stern, relentless girlcarrying out into the world his terrific secret. 

Early on the following morning they resumed their search after the lostgirl. This time the servants were not employed, but the three themselveswent forth to try what they could do. With them was the "pup" to whichallusion had been made on the previous evening. This animal was a hugeblood-hound, which John had purchased to take the place of his bull-dog, and of which he was extravagantly proud. True to his instinct, the houndunderstood from smelling an article of Beatrice's apparel what it wasthat he was required to seek, and he went off on her trail out throughthe front door, down the steps, and up to the grove. 

The others followed after. The dog led them down the path toward thegate, and thence into the thick grove and through the underbrush. Scrapsof her dress still clung in places to the brushwood. The dog led themround and round wherever Beatrice had wandered in her flight from Vijal. They all believed that they would certainly find her here, and that shehad lost her way or at least tried to conceal herself. But at last, totheir disappointment, the dog turned away out of the wood and into thepath again. Then he led them along through the woods until he reachedthe Park wall. Here the animal squatted on his haunches, and, lifting uphis head, gave a long deep howl. 

"What's this?" said Potts. 

"Why, don't you see? She's got over the wall somehow. All that we've gotto do is to put the dog over, and follow on. "

[Illustration: "WHY, DON'T YOU SEE? SHE'S GOT OVER THE WALL SOMEHOW. "]

The others at once understood that this must be the case. In a shorttime they were on the other side of the wall, where the dog found thetrail again, and led on while they followed as before. 

They did not, however, wish to seem like pursuers. That would hardly bethe thing in a country of law and order. They chose to walk ratherslowly, and John held the dog by a strap which he had brought with him. They soon found the walk much longer than they had anticipated, andbegan to regret that they had not come in a carriage. They had gone toofar, however, to remedy this now, so they resolved to continue on theirway as they were. 

"Gad!" said John, who felt fatigued first, "what a walker she is!"

"She's the devil!" growled Clark, savagely. 

At last, after about three hours' walk, the dog stopped at a place bythe road-side, and snuffed in all directions. The others watched himanxiously for a long time. The dog ran all around sniffing at theground, but to no purpose. 

He had lost the trail. Again and again he tried to recover it. But hisblood-thirsty instinct was completely at fault. The trail had gone, andat last the animal came up to his master and crouched down at his feetwith a low moan. 

"Sold!" cried John, with a curse. 

"What can have become of her?" said Potts. 

"I don't know, " said John. "I dare say she's got took up in some wagon. Yes, that's it. That's the reason why the trail has gone. "

"What shall we do now? We can't follow. It may have been the coach, andshe may have got a lift to the nearest railway station. "

"Well, " said John, "I'll tell you what we can do. Let one of us go tothe inns that are nearest, and ask if there was a girl in the coach thatlooked like her, or make any inquiries that may be needed. We could findout that much at any rate. "

The others assented. John swore he was too tired. At length, after someconversation, they all determined to go on, and to hire a carriage back. Accordingly on they went, and soon reached an inn. 

Here they made inquiries, but could learn nothing whatever about anygirl that had stopped there. Potts then hired a carriage and drove offto the next inn, leaving the others behind. He returned in about twohours. His face bore an expression of deep perplexity. 

"Well, what luck, dad?" asked John. 

"There's the devil to pay, " growled Potts. 

"Did you find her?"

"There is a girl at the next inn, and it's her. Now what name do youthink they call her by?"

"What?"

"Miss Despard. "

Clark turned pale and looked at John, who gave a long, low whistle. 

"Is she alone?" asked John. 

"No--that's the worst of it. A reverend gent is with her, who has chargeof her, and says he is her brother. "

"Who?"

"His name is Courtenay Despard, son of Colonel Lionel Despard, " saidPotts. 

The others returned his look in utter bewilderment. 

"I've been thinking and thinking, " said Potts, "but I haven't got to thebottom of it yet. We can't do any thing just now, that's evident. Ifound out that this reverend gent is on his way to Holby, where he isrector. The only thing left for us to do is to go quietly home and lookabout us. "

"It seems to me that this is like the beginning of one of those monsoonstorms, " said Clark, gloomily. 

The others said nothing. In a short time they were on their way back, moody and silent. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

BEATRICE'S RECOVERY. 

It was not easy for the overtasked and overworn powers of Beatrice torally. Weeks passed before she opened her eyes to a recognition of theworld around her. It was March when she sank down by the road-side. Itwas June when she began to recover from the shock of the terribleexcitement through which she had passed. 

Loving hearts sympathized with her, tender hands cared for her, vigilanteyes watched her, and all that love and care could do were unremittinglyexerted for her benefit. 

As Beatrice opened her eyes after her long unconsciousness she lookedaround in wonder, recognizing nothing. Then they rested in equal wonderupon one who stood by her bedside. 

She was slender and fragile in form, with delicate features, whose finelines seemed rather like ideal beauty than real life. The eyes werelarge, dark, lustrous, and filled with a wonderful but mournful beauty. Yet all the features, so exquisite in their loveliness, were transcendedby the expression that dwelt upon them. It was pure, it was spiritual, it was holy. It was the face of a saint, such a face as appears to therapt devotee when fasting has done its work, and the quickenedimagination grasps at ideal forms till the dwellers in heaven seem tobecome visible. 

In her confused mind Beatrice at first had a faint fancy that she was inanother state of existence, and that the form before her was one ofthose pure intelligences who had been appointed to welcome her there. Perhaps there was some such thought visible upon her face, for thestranger came up to her noiselessly, and stooping down, kissed her. 

"You are among friends, " said she, in a low, sweet voice. "You have beensick long. "

"Where am I?"

"Among loving friends, " said the other, "far away from the place whereyou suffered. "

Beatrice sighed. 

"I hoped that I had passed away forever, " she murmured. 

"Not yet, not yet, " said the stranger, in a voice of tender yet mournfulsweetness, which had in it an unfathomable depth of meaning. "We mustwait on here, dear friend, till it be His will to call us. "

"And who are you?" asked Beatrice, after a long and anxious look at theface of the speaker. 

"My name is Edith Brandon, " said the other, gently. 

"Brandon!--Edith Brandon!" cried Beatrice, with a vehemence whichcontrasted strangely with the scarce-audible words with which she hadjust spoken. 

The stranger smiled with the same melancholy sweetness which she hadshown before. 

"Yes, " said she; "but do not agitate yourself, dearest. "

"And have you nursed me?"

"Partly. But you are in the house of one who is like an angel in herloving care of you. "

"But you--you?" persisted Beatrice; "you did not perish, then, as theysaid?"

"No, " replied the stranger; "it was not permitted me. "

"Thank God!" murmured Beatrice, fervently. "_He_ has one sorrowless. Did _he_ save you?"

"He, " said Edith, "of whom you speak does not know that I am alive, nordo I know where he is. Yet some day we will perhaps meet. And now youmust not speak. You will agitate yourself too much. Here you have thosewho love you. For the one who brought you here is one who would lay downhis life for yours, dearest--he is Paolo Langhetti. "

"Langhetti!" said Beatrice. "Oh, God be thanked!"

"And she who has taken you to her heart and home is his sister. "

"His sister Teresa, of whom he used to speak so lovingly? Ah! God iskinder to me than I feared. Ah, me! it is as though I had died and haveawaked in heaven. "

"But now I will speak no more, and you must speak no more, for you willonly increase your agitation. Rest, and another time you can ask whatyou please. "

Edith turned away and walked to one of the windows, where she looked outpensively upon the sea. 

From this time Beatrice began to recover rapidly. Langhetti's sisterseemed to her almost like an old friend since she had been associatedwith some of her most pleasant memories. An atmosphere of love wasaround her: the poor sufferer inhaled the pure and life-giving air, andstrength came with every breath. 

At length she was able to sit up, and then Langhetti saw her. He greetedher with all the ardent and impassioned warmth which was so striking acharacteristic of his impulsive and affectionate nature. Then she sawDespard. 

There was something about this man which filled her with indefinableemotions. The knowledge which she had of the mysterious fate of hisfather did not repel her from him. A wonderful and subtle sympathyseemed at once to arise between the two. The stern face of Despardassumed a softer and more genial expression when he saw her. His tonewas gentle and affectionate, almost paternal. 

[Illustration: "AS BEATRICE OPENED HER EYES AFTER HER LONGUNCONSCIOUSNESS SHE LOOKED AROUND IN WONDER. "]

What was the feeling that arose within her heart toward this man? Withthe one for her Father who had inflicted on his father so terrible afate, how did she dare to look him in the face or exchange words withhim? Should she not rather shrink away as once she shrank from Brandon?

Yet she did not shrink. His presence brought a strange peace and calmover her soul. His influence was more potent over her than that ofLanghetti. In this strange company he seemed to her to be the centre andthe chief. 

To Beatrice Edith was an impenetrable mystery. Her whole manner excitedher deepest reverence and at the same time her strongest curiosity. Thefact that she was _his_ sister would of itself have won her heart;but there were other things about her which affected her strangely. 

Edith moved among the others with a strange, far-off air, an air at oncefull of gentle affection, yet preoccupied. Her manner indicated love, yet the love of one who was far above them. She was like some grownperson associating with young children whom he loved. "Her soul was likea star and dwelt apart. "

Paolo seemed more like an equal; but Paolo himself approached equalityonly because he could understand her best. He alone could enter intocommunion with her. Beatrice noticed a profound and unalterablereverence in his manner toward Edith, which was like that which a sonmight pay a mother, yet more delicate and more chivalrous. All this, however, was beyond her comprehension. 

She once questioned Mrs. Thornton, but received no satisfaction. Mrs. Thornton looked mysterious, but shook her head. 

"Your brother treats her like a divinity. "

"I suppose he thinks she is something more than mortal. "

"Do you have that awe of her which I feel?"

"Yes; and so does every one. I feel toward her as though she belonged toanother world. She takes no interest in this. "

"She nursed me. "

"Oh yes! Every act of love or kindness which she can perform she seeksout and does, but now as you grow better she falls back upon herself. "

Surrounded by such friends as these Beatrice rapidly regained herstrength. Weeks went on, and at length she began to move about, to takelong rides and drives, and to stroll through the Park. 

During these weeks Paolo made known to her his plans. She embraced themeagerly. 

"You have a mission, " said he. "It was not for nothing that your divinevoice was given to you. I have written my opera under the mostextraordinary circumstances. You know what it is. Never have I been ableto decide how it should be represented. I have prayed for a Voice. At mytime of need you were thrown in my way. My Bice, God has sent you. Letus labor together. "

Beatrice grasped eagerly at this idea. To be a singer, to interpret thethoughts of Langhetti, seemed delightful to her. She would then bedependent on no friend. She would be her own mistress. She would not beforced to lead a life of idleness, with her heart preying upon itself. Music would come to her aid. It would be at once the purpose, theemployment, and the delight of her life. If there was one thing to herwhich could alleviate sorrow and grief it was the exultant joy which wascreated within her by the Divine Art--that Art which alone is common toearth and heaven. And for Beatrice there was this joy, that she had oneof those natures which was so sensitive to music that under its powerheaven itself appeared to open before her. 

All these were lovers of music, and therefore had delights to whichcommon mortals are strangers. To the soul which is endowed with thecapacity for understanding the delights of tone there are joys peculiar, at once pure and enduring, which nothing else that this world gives canequal. 

Langhetti was the high-priest of this charmed circle. Edith was thepresiding or inspiring divinity. Beatrice was the medium of utterance--the Voice that brought down heaven to earth. 

Mrs. Thornton and Despard stood apart, the recipients of the sublimeeffects and holy emotions which the others wrought out within them. 

Edith was like the soul. 

Langhetti like the mind. 

Beatrice resembled the material element by which the spiritual iscommunicated to man. Hers was the Voice which spoke. 

Langhetti thought that they as a trio of powers formed a means ofcommunicating new revelations to man. It was natural indeed that he inhis high and generous enthusiasm should have some such thoughts asthese, and should look forward with delight to the time when his workshould first be performed. Edith, who lived and moved in an atmospherebeyond human feeling, was above the level of his enthusiasm; butBeatrice caught it all, and in her own generous and susceptible naturethis purpose of Langhetti produced the most powerful effects. 

In the church where Mrs. Thornton and Despard had so often met there wasnow a new performance. Here Langhetti played, Beatrice sang, Edithsmiled as she heard the expression of heavenly ideas, and Despard andMrs. Thornton found themselves borne away from all common thoughts bythe power of that sublime rehearsal. 

As time passed and Beatrice grew stronger Langhetti became moreimpatient about his opera. The voice of Beatrice, always marvelous, hadnot suffered during her sickness. Nay, if any thing, it had grownbetter; her soul had gained new susceptibilities since Langhetti lastsaw her, and since she could understand more and feel more, herexpression itself had become more subtle and refined. So that Voicewhich Langhetti had always called divine had put forth new powers, andbe, if he believed himself the High-Priest and Beatrice the Pythian, sawthat her inspiration had grown more delicate and more profound. 

"We will not set up a new Delphi, " said he. "Our revelations are notnew. We but give fresh and extraordinary emphasis to old and eternaltruths. "

In preparing for the great work before them it was necessary to get aname for Beatrice. Her own name was doubly abhorrent--first, from herown life-long hate of it, which later circumstances had intensified;and, secondly, from the damning effect which such a name would have onthe fortune of any _artiste_. Langhetti wished her to take hisname, but Despard showed an extraordinary pertinacity on this point. 

"No, " said he, "I am personally concerned in this. I adopted her. She ismy sister. Her name is Despard. If she takes any other name I shallconsider it as an intolerable slight. "

He expressed himself so strongly that Beatrice could not refuse. Formerly she would have considered that it was infamous for her to takethat noble name; but now this idea had become weak, and it was with astrange exultation that she yielded to the solicitations of Despard. 

Langhetti himself yielded at once. His face bore an expression ofdelight which seemed inexplicable to Beatrice. She asked him why he feltsuch pleasure. Was not an Italian name better for a singer? Despard wasan English name, and, though aristocratic, was not one which a greatsinger might have. 

"I am thinking of other things, my Bicina, " said Langhetti, who hadnever given up his old, fond, fraternal manner toward her. "It has noconnection with art. I do not consider the mere effect of the name forone moment. "

"What is it, then, that you do consider?"

"Other things. "

"What other things?"

"Not connected with Art, " continued Langhetti, evasively. "I will tellyou some day when the time comes. "

"Now you are exciting my curiosity, " said Beatrice, in a low and earnesttone. "You do not know what thoughts you excite within me. Either youought not to excite such ideas, or if you do, it is your duty to satisfythem. "

"It is not time yet. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"That is a secret. "

"Of course; you make it one; but if it is one connected with me, thensurely I ought to know. "

"It is not time yet for you to know. "

"When will it be time?"

"I can not tell. "

"And you will therefore keep it a secret forever?"

"I hope, my Bicina, that the time will come before long. "

"Yet why do you wait, if you know or even suspect any thing in which Iam concerned?"

"I wish to spare you. "

"That is not necessary. Am I so weak that I can not bear to hear anything which you may have to tell? You forget what a life I have had fortwo years. Such a life might well prepare me for any thing. "

"If it were merely something which might create sorrow I would tell it. I believe that you have a self-reliant nature, which has grown strongerthrough affliction. But that which I have to tell is different. It is ofsuch a character that it would of necessity destroy any peace of mindwhich you have, and fill you with hopes and feelings that could never besatisfied. "

"Yet even that I could bear. Do you not see that by your very vaguenessyou are exciting my thoughts and hopes? You do not know what I know. "

"What do you know?" asked Langhetti, eagerly. 

Beatrice hesitated. No; she could not tell. That would be to tell allthe holiest secrets of her heart. For she must then tell about Brandon, and the African island, and the manuscript which he carried and whichhad been taken from his bosom. Of this she dared not speak. 

She was silent. 

"You can not _know_ any thing, " said Langhetti. "You may suspectmuch. I only have suspicions. Yet it would not be wise to communicatethese to you, since they would prove idle and without result. " So theconversation ended, and Langhetti still maintained his secret, thoughBeatrice hoped to find it out. 

At length she was sufficiently recovered to be able to begin the work towhich Langhetti wished to lead her. It was August, and Langhetti wasimpatient to be gone. So when August began he made preparations todepart, and in a few days they were in London. Edith was left with Mrs. Thornton. Beatrice had an attendant who went with her, half chaperonhalf lady's maid. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE AFFAIRS OF SMITHERS & CO. 

For more than a year the vast operations of Smithers & Co. Hadastonished business circles in London. Formerly they had been consideredas an eminently respectable house, and as doing a safe business; but oflate all this had been changed in so sudden and wonderful a manner thatno one could account for it. Leaving aside their old, cautious policy, they undertook without hesitation the largest enterprises. Foreignrailroads, national loans, vast joint-stock companies, these were thethings that now occupied Smithers & Co. The Barings themselves wereoutrivaled, and Smithers & Co. Reached the acme of their sudden glory onone occasion, when they took the new Spanish loan out of the grasp ofeven the Rothschilds themselves. 

How to account for it became the problem. For, allowing the largestpossible success in their former business to Smithers & Co. , thatbusiness had never been of sufficient dimensions to allow of this. Somesaid that a rich Indian had become a sleeping partner, others declaredthat the real Smithers was no more to be seen, and that the business wasmanaged by strangers who had bought them out and retained their name. Others again said that Smithers & Co. Had made large amounts inCalifornia mining speculations. At length the general belief was, thatsome individuals who had made millions of money in California had boughtout Smithers & Co. , and were now doing business under their name. As totheir soundness there was no question. Their operations were such asdemanded, first of all, ready money in unlimited quantities. This theywere always able to command. Between them and the Bank of England thereseemed to be the most perfect understanding and the most enviableconfidence. The Rothschilds spoke of them with infinite respect. Peoplebegan to look upon them as the leading house in Europe. The suddenapparition of this tremendous power in the commercial world threw thatworld into a state of consternation which finally ended in wonderingawe. 

But Smithers & Co. Continued calmly, yet successfully, their greatenterprises. The Russian loan of fifteen millions was negotiated bythem. They took twenty millions of the French loan, five millions of theAustrian, and two and a half of the Turkish. They took nearly all thestock of the Lyons and Marseilles Railroad. They owned a large portionof the stock of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company. They had ten millions of East India stock. California alone, which wasnow dazzling the world, could account to the common mind for suchenormous wealth. The strangest thing was that Smithers himself was neverseen. The business was done by his subordinates. There was a young manwho represented the house in public, and who called himself Henderson. He was a person of distinguished aspect, yet of reserved and somewhatmelancholy manner. No one pretended to be in his confidence. No onepretended to know whether he was clerk or partner. As he was the onlyrepresentative of Smithers & Co. , he was treated with marked respectwherever he appeared. 

The young man, whether partner or clerk, had evidently the supremecontrol of affairs. He swayed in his own hands the thunder-bolts of thisOlympian power. Nothing daunted him. The grandeur of his enterprisesdazzled the public mind. His calm antagonism to the great houses ofLondon filled them with surprise. A new power had seized a high place inthe commercial world, and the old gods--the Rothschilds, the Barings, and others--looked aghast. At first they tried to despise thisinterloper; at length they found him at least as strong as themselves, and began to fancy that be might be stronger. A few experiments soontaught them that there was no weakness there. On one occasion theRothschilds, true to their ordinary selfish policy, made a desperateattempt to crush the new house which dared to enter into rivalry withthem. Widespread plans were arranged in such a way that large demandswere made upon them on one day. The amount was nearly two millions. Smithers & Co. Showed not the smallest hesitation. Henderson, theirrepresentative, did not even take the trouble to confer with the Bank ofEngland. He sent his orders to the Bank. The money was furnished. It wasthe Directors of the Bank of England who looked aghast at this strugglebetween Rothschild and Smithers & Co. The gold in the Bank vaults sanklow, and the next day the rates of discount were raised. All London feltthe result of that struggle. 

Smithers & Co. Waited for a few months, and then suddenly retorted withterrific force. The obligations of the Rothschilds were obtained fromall quarters--some which were due were held over and not presented tillthe appointed day. Obligations in many forms--in all the forms ofindebtedness that may arise in a vast business--all these had beencollected from various quarters with untiring industry and extraordinaryoutlay of care and money. At last in one day they were all poured uponthe Rothschilds. Nearly four millions of money were required to meetthat demand. 

The great house of Rothschild reeled under the blow. Smithers & Co. Werethe ones who administered it. James Rothschild had a private interviewwith the Directors of the Bank of England. There was a sudden andenormous sale of securities that day on Change. In selling out suchlarge amounts the loss was enormous. It was difficult to findpurchasers, but Smithers & Co. Stepped forward and bought nearly allthat was offered. The Rothschilds saved themselves, of course, but at aterrible loss, which became the profits of Smithers & Co. 

The Rothschilds retreated from the conflict utterly routed, and glad toescape disaster of a worse kind. Smithers & Co. Came forth victorious. They had beaten the Rothschilds at their own game, and had made at leasthalf a million. All London rang with the story. It was a bitterhumiliation for that proud Jewish house which for years had never metwith a rival. Yet there was no help, nor was there the slightest chanceof revenge. They were forced to swallow the result as best they could, and to try to regain what they had lost. 

After this the pale and melancholy face of Henderson excited a deeperinterest. This was the man who had beaten the Rothschilds--the strongestcapitalist in the world. In his financial operations he continued ascalm, as grave, and as immovable as ever. He would risk millions withoutmoving a muscle of his countenance. Yet so sagacious was he, so wide-spread were his agencies, so accurate was his secret information, thathis plans scarcely ever failed. His capital was so vast that it oftengave him control of the market. Coming into the field untrammeled as theolder houses were, he had a larger control of money than any of them, and far greater freedom of action. 

After a time the Rothschilds, the Barings, and other great bankers, began to learn that Smithers & Co. Had vast funds every where, in allthe capitals of Europe, and in America. Even in the West Indies theiroperations were extensive. Their old Australian agency was enlarged, anda new banking-house founded by them in Calcutta began to act on the samevast scale as the leading house at London. Smithers & Co. Also continuedto carry on a policy which was hostile to those older bankers. TheRothschilds in particular felt this, and were in perpetual dread of arenewal of that tremendous assault under which they had once nearly gonedown. They became timid, and were compelled to arrange their business soas to guard against this possibility. This, of course, checked theiroperations, and widened and enlarged the field of action for theirrivals. 

No one knew any thing whatever about Henderson. None of the clerks couldtell any thing concerning him. They were all new hands. None of them hadever seen Smithers. They all believed that Henderson was the juniorpartner, and that the senior spent his time abroad. From this it beganto be believed that Smithers staid in California digging gold, which hediligently remitted to the London house. 

At length the clerks began to speak mysteriously of a man who came fromtime to time to the office, and whose whole manner showed him to possessauthority there. The treatment which he received from Henderson--at oncecordial and affectionate--showed them to be most intimate and friendly;and from words which were dropped they all thought him to be the seniorpartner. Yet he appeared to be very little older than Henderson, if asold, and no one even knew his name. If any thing could add to theinterest with which the house of Smithers & Co. Was regarded it was thisimpenetrable mystery, which baffled not merely outriders but even theclerks themselves. 

Shortly after the departure of Langhetti and Beatrice from Holby two menwere seated in the inner parlor of the office of Smithers & Co. One wasthe man known as Henderson, the other the mysterious senior partner. 

They had just come in and letters were lying on the table. 

"You've got a large number this morning, Frank?" said the seniorpartner. 

"Yes, " said Frank, turning them over; "and here, Louis, is one for you. "He took out a letter from the pile and handed it to Louis. "It's fromyour Brandon Hall correspondent, " he added. 

Louis sat down and opened it. The letter was as follows:

"August 15, 1840. 

"DEAR SIR, --I have had nothing in particular to write since the flightof Miss Potts, except to tell you what they were doing. I have alreadyinformed you that they kept three spies at Holby to watch her. One ofthese returned, as I told you in my last letter, with the informationthat she had gone to London with a party named Langhetti. Ever sincethen _they_ have been talking it over, and have come to theconclusion to get a detective and keep him busy watching her with theidea of getting her back, I think. I hope to God they will not get herback. If you take any interest in her, Sir, as you appear to do, I hopeyou will use your powerful arm to save her. It will be terrible if shehas to come back here. She will die, I know. Hoping soon to havesomething more to communicate, "I remain, yours respectfully, "E. L. 

"Mr. Smithers, Sen. , London. "

[Illustration: "LANGHETTI IS ALIVE. "]

Louis read this letter over several times and fell into deep thought. 

Frank went on reading his letters, looking up from time to time. At lasthe put down the last one. 

"Louis!" said he. 

Louis looked up. 

"You came so late last night that I haven't had a chance to speak aboutany thing yet. I want to tell you something very important. "

"Well!"

"Langhetti is alive. "

"I know it. "

"You knew it! When? Why did you not tell me?"

"I didn't want to tell any thing that might distract you from yourpurpose. "

"I am not a child, Louis! After my victory over Rothschild I ought to beworthy of your confidence. "

"That's not the point, Frank, " said Louis; "but I know your affectionfor the man, and I thought you would give up all to find him. "

"Well!"

"Well. I thought it would be better to let nothing interpose now betweenus and our purpose. No, " he continued, with a stern tone, "no, no onehowever dear, however loved, and therefore I said nothing aboutLanghetti. I thought that your generous heart would only be distressed. You would feel like giving up every thing to find him out and see him, and, therefore, I did not wish you even to know it. Yet I have kept anaccount of his movements, and know where he is now. "

"He is here in London, " said Frank, with deep emotion. 

"Yes, thank God!" said Louis. "You will see him, and we all will be ableto meet some day. "

"But, " asked Frank, "do you not think Langhetti is a man to be trusted?"

"That is not the point, " replied Louis. "I believe Langhetti is one ofthe noblest men that ever lived. It must be so from what I have heard. All my life I will cherish his name and try to assist him in everypossible way. I believe also that if we requested it he might perhapskeep our secret. But that is not the point, Frank. This is the way Ilook at it: We are dead. Our deaths have been recorded. Louis Brandonand Frank Brandon have perished. I am Wheeler, or Smithers, or Forsyth, or any body else; you are Henderson. We keep our secret because we havea purpose before us. Our father calls us from his tomb to itsaccomplishment. Our mother summons us. Our sweet sister Edith, from hergrave of horror unutterable, calls us. All personal feeling must standaside, Frank--yours and mine--whatever they be, till we have done ourduty. "

"You are right, Louis, " said Frank, sternly. 

"Langhetti is in London, " continued Louis. "You will not see him, butyou can show your gratitude, and so can I. He is going to hire an opera-house to bring out an opera; I saw that in the papers. It is a thingfull of risk, but he perhaps does not think of that. Let us enable himto gain the desire of his heart. Let us fill the house for him. You cansend your agents to furnish tickets to people who may make the audience;or you can send around those who can praise him sufficiently. I don'tknow what his opera may be worth. I know, however, from what I havelearned, that he has musical genius; and I think if we give him a goodstart he will succeed. That is the way to show your gratitude, Frank. "

"I'll arrange all that!" said Frank. "The house shall be crowded. I'llsend an agent to him--I can easily find out where he is, I suppose--andmake him an offer of Covent Garden theatre on his own terms. Yes, Langhetti shall have a fair chance. I'll arrange a plan to enforcesuccess. "

"Do so, and you will keep him permanently in London till the time comeswhen we can arise from the dead. "

They were silent for a long time. Louis had thoughts of his own, excitedby the letter which he had received, and these thoughts he did not careto utter. One thing was a secret even from Frank. 

And what could he do? That Beatrice had fallen among friends he wellknew. He had found this out when, after receiving a letter from Philipsabout her flight, he had hurried there and learned the result. Then hehad himself gone to Holby, and found that she was at Mrs. Thornton's. Hehad watched till she had recovered. He had seen her as she took a drivein Thornton's carriage. He had left an agent there to write him abouther when he left. 

What was he to do now? He read the letter over again. He paused at thatsentence: "They have been talking it over, and have come to theconclusion to get a detective, and keep him busy watching her with theidea of getting her back. "

What was the nature of this danger? Beatrice was of age. She was withLanghetti. She was her own mistress. Could there be any danger of herbeing taken back against her will? The villains at Brandon Hall weresufficiently unscrupulous, but would they dare to commit any violence?and if they did, would not Langhetti's protection save her?

Such were his thoughts. Yet, on the other hand, he considered the factthat she was inexperienced, and might have peculiar ideas about afather's authority. If Potts came himself, demanding her return, perhaps, out of a mistaken sense of filial duty, she might go with him. Or, even if she was unwilling to do so, she might yield to coercion, andnot feel justified in resisting. The possibility of this filled him withhorror. The idea of her being taken back to live under the power ofthose miscreants from whom she had escaped was intolerable. Yet he knewnot what to do. 

Between him and her there was a gulf unfathomable, impassable. She wasone of that accursed brood which he was seeking to exterminate. He wouldspare her if possible; he would gladly lay down his life to save herfrom one moment's misery; but if she stood in the way of his vengeance, could he--dared he stay that vengeance? For that he would sacrifice lifeitself! Would he refuse to sacrifice even _her_ if she were moredear than life itself?

Yet here was a case in which she was no longer connected with, butstriving to sever herself from them. She was flying from that accursedfather of hers. Would he stand idly by, and see her in danger? That wereimpossible. All along, ever since his return to England, he had watchedover her, unseen himself and unsuspected by her, and had followed herfootsteps when she fled. To desert her now was impossible. The onlyquestion with him was--how to watch her or guard her. 

One thing gave him comfort, and that was the guardianship of Langhetti. This he thought was sufficient to insure her safety. For surelyLanghetti would know the character of her enemies as well as Beatriceherself, and so guard her as to insure her safety from any attempt oftheirs. He therefore placed his chief reliance on Langhetti, anddetermined merely to secure some one who would watch over her, and lethim know from day to day how she fared. Had he thought it necessary hewould have sent a band of men to watch and guard her by day and night;but this idea never entered his mind for the simple reason that he didnot think the danger was pressing. England was after all a country oflaw, and even a father could not carry off his daughter against her willwhen she was of age. So he comforted himself. 

"Well, " said he, at last, rousing himself from his abstraction, "how isPotts now?"

"Deeper than ever, " answered Frank, quietly. 

"The Brandon Bank--"

"The Brandon Bank has been going at a rate that would have foundered anyother concern long ago. There's not a man that I sent there who has notbeen welcomed and obtained all that he wanted. Most of the money thatthey advanced has been to men that I sent. They drew on us for the moneyand sent us various securities of their own, holding the securities ofthese applicants. It is simply bewildering to think how easily thatscoundrel fell into the snare. "

"When a man has made a fortune easily he gets rid of it easily, " saidLouis, laconically. "Potts thinks that all his applicants are leadingmen of the county. I take good care that they go there as baronets atleast. Some are lords. He is overpowered in the presence of these lords, and gives them what they ask on their own terms. In his letters he hasmade some attempts at an expression of gratitude for our greatliberality. This I enjoyed somewhat. The villain is not a difficult oneto manage, at least in the financial way. I leave the dénouement to you, Louis. "

"The dénouement must not be long delayed now. "

"Well, for that matter things are so arranged that we may have 'thebeginning of the end' as soon as you choose. "

"What are the debts of the Brandon Bank to us now?"

"Five hundred and fifteen thousand one hundred and fifty pounds, " saidFrank. 

"Five hundred thousand--very good, " returned Louis, thoughtfully. "Andhow is the sum secured?"

"Chiefly by acknowledgments from the bank with the indorsement of JohnPotts, President. "

"What are the other liabilities?"

"He has implored me to purchase for him or sell him some Californiastock. I have reluctantly consented to do so, " continued Frank, with asardonic smile, "entirely through the request of my senior, and he hastaken a hundred shares at a thousand pounds each. "

"One hundred thousand pounds, " said Louis. 

"I consented to take his notes, " continued Frank, "purely out of regardto the recommendations of my senior. "

"Any thing else?" asked Louis. 

"He urged me to recommend him to a good broker who might purchase stockfor him in reliable companies. I created a broker and recommended him. He asked me also confidentially to tell him which stocks were best, so Ikindly advised him to purchase the Mexican and the Guatemala loan. Ialso recommended the Venezuela bonds. I threw all these into the market, and by dextrous manipulation raised the price to 3 per cent, premium. Hepaid £103 for every £100. When he wants to sell out, as he may one daywish to do, he will be lucky if he gets 35 per cent"

"How much did he buy?"

"Mexican loan, fifty thousand; Guatemala, fifty thousand; and Venezuelabonds, fifty thousand. "

"He is quite lavish. "

"Oh, quite. That makes it so pleasant to do business with him. "

"Did you advance the money for this?"

"He did not ask it. He raised the money somehow, perhaps from our oldadvances, and bought them from the broker. The broker was of coursemyself. The beauty of all this is, that I send applicants for money, whogive their notes; he gets money from me and gives his notes to me, andthen advances the money to these applicants, who bring it back to me. It's odd, isn't it?"

Louis smiled. 

"Has he no _bona fide_ debtors in his own county?"

"Oh yes, plenty of them; but more than half of his advances have beenmade to my men. 

"Did you hint any thing about issuing notes?"

"Oh yes, and the bait took wonderfully. He made his bank a bank of issueat once, and sent out a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in notes. Ithink it was in this way that he got the money for all that Americanstock. At any rate, it helped him. As he has only a small supply of goldin his vaults, you may very readily conjecture his peculiar position. "

Louis was silent for a time. 

"You have managed admirably, Frank, " said he at last. 

"Oh, " rejoined Frank, "Potts is very small game, financially. There isno skill needed in playing with him. He is such a clumsy bungler that hedoes whatever one wishes. There is not even excitement. Whatever I tellhim to do he does. Now if I were anxious to crush the Rothschilds, itwould be very different. There would then be a chance for skill. "

"You have had the chance. "

"I did not wish to ruin them, " said Frank. "Too many innocent peoplewould have suffered. I only wished to alarm them. I rather think, fromwhat I hear, that they were a little disturbed on that day when they hadto pay four millions. Yet I could have crushed them if I had chosen, andI managed things so as to let them see this. "

"How?"

"I controlled other engagements of theirs, and on the same day Imagnanimously wrote them a letter, saying that I would not press forpayment, as their notes were as good to me as money. Had I pressed theywould have gone down. Nothing could have saved them. But I did not wishthat. The fact is they have locked up their means very much, and havebeen rather careless of late. They have learned a lesson now. "

Louis relapsed into his reflections, and Frank began to answer hisletters. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE "PROMETHEUS. "

It took some time for Langhetti to make his preparations in London. September came before he had completed them. To his surprise thesearrangements were much easier than he had supposed. People came to himof their own accord before he thought it possible that they could haveheard of his project. What most surprised him was a call from themanager of Covent Garden Theatre, who offered to put it into his handsfor a price so low as to surprise Langhetti more than any thing elsethat had occurred. Of course he accepted the offer gratefully andeagerly. The manager said that the building was on his hands, and he didnot wish to use it for the present, for which reason he would be glad toturn it over to him. He remarked also that there was very much stock inthe theatre that could be made use of, for which he would charge nothingwhatever. Langhetti went to see it, and found a large number ofmagnificently painted scenes, which could be used in his piece. Onasking the manager how scenes of this sort came to be there, he learnedthat some one had been representing the "Midsummer Night's Dream, " orsomething of that sort. 

Langhetti's means were very limited, and as he had risked every thing onthis experiment he was rejoiced to find events so very greatly in hisfavor. 

Another circumstance which was equally in his favor, if not more so, wasthe kind consideration of the London papers. They announced hisforthcoming work over and over again. Some of their writers came to seehim so as to get the particulars, and what little he told them theydescribed in the most attractive and effective manner. 

A large number of people presented themselves to form his company, andhe also received applications by letter from many whose eminence andfortunes placed them above the need of any such thing. It was simplyincomprehensible to Langhetti, who thoroughly understood the ways of themusical world; yet since they offered he was only too happy to accept. On having interviews with these persons he was amazed to find that theywere one and all totally indifferent about terms; they all assured himthat they were ready to take any part whatever, and merely wished toassist in the representation of a piece so new and so original as hiswas said to be. They all named a price which was excessively low, andassured him that they did so only for form's sake; positively refusingto accept any thing more, and leaving it to Langhetti either to takethem on their own terms or to reject them. He, of course, could notreject aid so powerful and so unexpected. 

At length, he had his rehearsal. After various trials he invitedrepresentatives of the London Press to be present at the last. They allcame, and all without exception wrote the most glowing accounts fortheir respective journals. 

"I don't know how it is, " said he to Beatrice. "Every thing has comeinto my hands. I don't understand it. It seems to me exactly as if therewas some powerful, unseen hand assisting me; some one who secretly putevery thing in my way, who paid these artists first and then sent themto me, and influenced all the journals in my favor. I should be sure ofthis if it were not a more incredible thing than the actual resultitself. As it is I am simply perplexed and bewildered. It is a thingthat is without parallel. I have a company such as no one has everbefore gathered together on one stage. I have eminent prima donnas whoare quite willing to sing second and third parts without caring what Ipay them, or whether I pay them or not. I know the musical world. All Ican say is that the thing is unexampled, and I can not comprehend it. Ihave tried to find out from some of them what it all means, but theygive me no satisfaction. At any rate, my Bicina, you will make your_debut_ under the most favorable circumstances. You saw how theyadmired your voice at the rehearsal. The world shall admire it stillmore at your first performance. "

Langhetti was puzzled, and, as he said, bewildered, but he did notslacken a single effort to make his opera successful. His exertions wereas unremitting as though he were still struggling against difficulties. After all that had been done for him he knew very well that he was sureof a good house, yet he worked as hard as though his audience was veryuncertain. 

At length the appointed evening came. Langhetti had certainly expected agood house from those happy accidents which had given him the co-operation of the entire musical world and of the press. Yet when helooked out and saw the house that waited for the rising of the curtainhe was overwhelmed. 

When he thus looked out it was long before the time. A great murmur hadattracted his attention. He saw the house crammed in every part. All theboxes were filled. In the pit was a vast congregation of gentlemen andladies, the very galleries were thronged. 

The wonder that had all along filled him was now greater than ever. Hewell knew under what circumstances even an ordinarily good house iscollected together. There must either be undoubted fame in the primadonna, or else the most wide-spread and comprehensive efforts on thepart of a skillful impresario. His efforts had been great, but not suchas to insure any thing like this. To account for the prodigious crowdwhich filled every part of the large edifice was simply impossible. 

He did not attempt to account for it. He accepted the situation, andprepared for the performance. 

What sort of an idea that audience may have had of the "Prometheus" ofLanghetti need hardly be conjectured. They had heard of it as a novelty. They had heard that the company was the best ever collected at one time, and that the prima donna was a prodigy of genius. That was enough forthem. They waited in a state of expectation which was so high-pitchedthat it would have proved disastrous in the extreme to any piece, or anysinger who should have proved to be in the slightest degree inferior. Consummate excellence alone in every part could now save the piece fromruin. This Langhetti felt; but he was calm, for he had confidence in hiswork and in his company. Most of all, he had confidence in Beatrice. 

At last the curtain rose. 

The scene was such a one as had never before been represented. A blazeof dazzling light filled the stage, and before it stood seven forms, representing the seven archangels. They began one of the sublimeststrains ever heard. Each of these singers had in some way won eminence. They had thrown themselves into this work. The music which had beengiven to them had produced an exalted effect upon their own hearts, andnow they rendered forth that grand "Chorus of Angels" which those whoheard the "Prometheus" have never forgotten. The words resembled, insome measure, the opening song in Goethe's "Faust, " but the music wasLanghetti's. 

The effect of this magnificent opening was wonderful. The audience satspell-bound--hushed into stillness by those transcendent harmonieswhich seemed like the very song of the angels themselves; like that "newsong" which is spoken of in Revelation. The grandeur of Handel'sstupendous chords was renewed, and every one present felt its power. 

Then came the second scene. Prometheus lay suffering. The ocean nymphswere around him, sympathizing with his woes. The sufferer lay chained toa bleak rock in the summit of frosty Caucasus. Far and wide extended anexpanse of ice. In the distance arose a vast world of snow-covetedpeaks. In front was a _mer de glace_, which extended all along thestage. 

Prometheus addressed all nature--"the divine ether, the swift-wingedwinds, Earth the All-mother, and the infinite laughter of the oceanwaves. " The thoughts were those of Aeschylus, expressed by the music ofLanghetti. 

The ocean nymphs bewailed him in a song of mournful sweetness, whoseindescribable pathos touched every heart. It was the intensity ofsympathy--sympathy so profound that it became anguish, for the heartthat felt it had identified itself with the heart of the sufferer. 

Then followed an extraordinary strain. It was the Voice of UniversalNature, animate and inanimate, mourning over the agony of the God ofLove. In that strain was heard the voice of man, the sighing of thewinds, the moaning of the sea, the murmur of the trees, the wail of birdand beast, all blending in extraordinary unison, and all speaking ofwoe. 

And now a third scene opened. It was Athene. Athene represented Wisdomor Human Understanding, by which the God of Vengeance is dethroned, andgives place to the eternal rule of the God of Love. To but few of thosepresent could this idea of Langhetti's be intelligible. The most of themmerely regarded the fable and its music, without looking for any meaningbeneath the surface. 

To these, and to all, the appearance of Beatrice was like a newrevelation. She came forward and stood in the costume which the Greekhas given to Athene, but in her hand she held the olive--her emblem--instead of the spear. From beneath her helmet her dark locks flowed downand were wreathed in thick waves that clustered heavily about her head. 

Here, as Athene, the pure classical contour of Beatrice's featuresappeared in marvelous beauty--faultless in their perfect Grecian mould. Her large, dark eyes looked with a certain solemn meaning out upon thevast audience. Her whole face was refined and sublimed by the thoughtthat was within her. In her artistic nature she had appropriated thischaracter to herself so thoroughly, that, as she stood there, she feltherself to be in reality all that she represented. The spectators caughtthe same feeling from her. Yet so marvelous was her beauty, soastonishing was the perfection of her form and feature, so accurate wasthe living representation of the ideal goddess that the whole vastaudience after one glance burst forth into pealing thunders ofspontaneous and irresistible applause. 

Beatrice had opened her mouth to begin, but as that thunder ofadmiration arose she fell back a pace. Was it the applause that hadoverawed her?

Her eyes were fixed on one spot at the extreme right of the pit. A facewas there which enchained her. A face, pale, sad, mournful, with darkeyes fixed on hers in steadfast despair. 

Beatrice faltered and fell back, but it was not at the roar of applause. It was that face--the one face among three thousand before her, the one, the only one that she saw. Ah, how in that moment all the past camerushing before her--the Indian Ocean, the Malay pirate, where that facefirst appeared, the Atlantic, the shipwreck, the long sail over the seasin the boat, the African isle!

She stood so long in silence that the spectators wondered. 

Suddenly the face which had so transfixed her sank down. He was gone, orhe had hid himself. Was it because he knew that he was the cause of hersilence?

The face disappeared, and the spell was broken. Langhetti stood at theside-scenes, watching with deep agitation the silence of Beatrice. Hewas on the point of taking the desperate step of going forward when hesaw that she had regained her composure. 

She regained it, and moved a step forward with such calm serenity thatno one could have suspected her of having lost it. She began to sing. Inan opera words are nothing--music is all in all. It is sufficient if thewords express, even in a feeble and general way, the ideas which breatheand burn in the music. Thus it was with the words in the opening song ofBeatrice. 

But the music! What language can describe it?

Upon this all the richest stores of Langhetti's genius had beenlavished. Into this all the soul of Beatrice was thrown with sublimeself-forgetfulness. She ceased to be herself. Before the audience shewas Athene. 

Her voice, always marvelously rich and full, was now grander and morecapacious than ever. It poured forth a full stream of matchless harmonythat carried all the audience captive. Strong, soaring, penetrating, itrose easily to the highest notes, and flung them forth with a lavish, and at the same time far-reaching power that penetrated every heart, andthrilled all who heard it. Roused to the highest enthusiasm by the sightof that vast assemblage, Beatrice gave herself up to the intoxication ofthe hour. She threw herself into the spirit of the piece; she took deepinto her heart the thought of Langhetti, and uttered it forth to thelisteners with harmonies that were almost divine--such harmonies as theyhad never before heard. 

There was the silence of death as she sang. Her voice stilled all othersounds. Each listener seemed almost afraid to breathe. Some looked atone another in amazement, but most of them sat motionless, with theirheads stretched forward, unconscious of any thing except that one voice. 

[Illustration: "THE APPEARANCE OF BEATRICE WAS LIKE A NEW REVELATION. "]

At last it ceased. For a moment there was a pause. Then there arose adeep, low thunder of applause that deepened and intensified itself everymoment till at last it rose on high in one sublime outburst, a frenzy ofacclamation, such as is heard not seldom, but, once heard, is neverforgotten. 

Beatrice was called out. She came, and retired. Again and again she wascalled. Flowers were showered down in heaps at her feet. Theacclamations went on, and only ceased through the consciousness thatmore was yet to come. The piece went on. It was one long triumph. Atlast it ended. Beatrice had been loaded with honors. Langhetti wascalled out and welcomed with almost equal enthusiasm. His eyes filledwith tears of joy as he received this well-merited tribute to hisgenius. He and Beatrice stood on the stage at the same time. Flowerswere flung at him. He took them and laid them at the feet of Beatrice. 

At this a louder roar of acclamation arose. It increased and deepened, and the two who stood there felt overwhelmed by the tremendous applause. 

So ended the first representation of the "Prometheus!"

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE SECRET. 

The triumph of Beatrice continued. The daily papers were filled withaccounts of the new singer. She had come suddenly before them, and hadat one bound reached the highest eminence. She had eclipsed all thepopular favorites. Her sublime strains, her glorious enthusiasm, hermarvelous voice, her perfect beauty, all kindled the popular heart. Thepeople forgave her for not having an Italian name, since she had onewhich was so aristocratic. Her whole appearance showed that she wassomething very different from the common order of artistes, asdifferent, in fact, as the "Prometheus" was from the common order ofoperas. For here in the "Prometheus" there were no endless iterations ofthe one theme of love, no perpetual repetitions of the same rhyme of_amore_ and _cuore_, or _amor'_ and _cuor'_; butrather the effort of the soul after sublimer mysteries. The "Prometheus"sought to solve the problem of life and of human suffering. Its divinesentiments brought hope and consolation. The great singer rose to thealtitude of a sibyl; she uttered inspirations; she herself was inspired. 

As she stood with her grand Grecian beauty, her pure classic features, she looked as beautiful as a statue, and as ideal and passionless. Inone sense she could never be a popular favorite. She had no archness orcoquetry like some, no voluptuousness like others, no arts to winapplause like others. Still she stood up and sang as one who believedthat this was the highest mission of humanity, to utter divine truth tohuman ears. She sang loftily, thrillingly, as an angel might sing, andthose who saw her revered her while they listened. 

And thus it was that the fame of this new singer went quickly throughEngland, and foreign journals spoke of it half-wonderingly, half-cynically, as usual; for Continentals never have any faith in Englishart, or in the power which any Englishman may have to interpret art. Theleading French journals conjectured that the "Prometheus" was of areligious character, and therefore Puritanical; and consequently forthat reason was popular. They amused themselves with the idea of aPuritanical opera, declared that the English wished to Protestantizemusic, and suggested "Calvin" or "The Sabbath" as good subjects for thisnew and entirely English class of operas. 

But soon the correspondents of some of the Continental papers began towrite glowing accounts of the piece, and to put Langhetti in the sameclass with Handel. He was an Italian, they said, but in this case heunited Italian grace and versatility with German solemnity andmelancholy. They declared that he was the greatest of living composers, and promised for him a great reputation. 

Night after night the representation of the "Prometheus" went on withundiminished success; and with a larger and profounder appreciation ofits meaning among the better class of minds. Langhetti began to show astronger and fuller confidence in the success of his piece than he hadyet dared to evince. Yet now its success seemed assured. What more couldhe wish?

September came on, and every succeeding night only made the success moremarked. One day Langhetti was with Beatrice at the theatre, and theywere talking of many things. There seemed to be something on his mind, for he spoke in an abstracted manner. Beatrice noticed this at last, andmentioned it. 

He was at first very mysterious. "It must be that secret of yours whichyou will not tell me, " said she. "You said once before that it wasconnected with me, and that you would tell it to me when the time came. Has not the time come yet?" "Not yet, " answered Langhetti. 

"When will it come?"

"I don't know. "

"And will you keep it secret always?"

"Perhaps not. "

"You speak undecidedly. "

"I am undecided. "

"Why not decide now to tell it?" pleaded Beatrice. "Why should I notknow it? Surely I have gone through enough suffering to bear this, evenif it bring something additional. "

Langhetti looked at her long and doubtfully. 

"You hesitate, " said she. 

"Yes. "

"Why?"

"It is of too much importance. "

"That is all the more reason why I should know it. Would it crush me ifI knew it?"

"I don't know. It might. "

"Then let me be crushed. "

Langhetti sighed. 

"Is it something that you know for certain, or is it only conjecture?"

"Neither, " said he, "but half-way between the two. "

Beatrice looked earnestly at him for some time. Then she put her headnearer to his and spoke in a solemn whisper. 

"It is about my mother!"

Langhetti looked at her with a startled expression. 

"Is it not?"

He bowed his head. 

"It is--it is. And if so, I implore--I conjure you to tell me. Look--Iam calm. Think--I am strong. I am not one who can be cast down merely bybad news. "

"I may tell you soon. "

"Say you will. "

"I will, " said Langhetti, after a struggle. 

"When?"

"Soon. "

"Why not to-morrow?"

"That is too soon; you are impatient. "

"Of course I am, " said Beatrice. "Ought I not to be so? Have you notsaid that this concerns me? and is not all my imagination aroused in theendeavor to form a conjecture as to what it may be?"

She spoke so earnestly that Langhetti was moved, and looked still moreundecided. 

"When will you tell me?"

"Soon, perhaps, " he replied, with some hesitation. 

"Why not now?"

"Oh no, I must assure myself first about some things. "

"To-morrow, then. "

He hesitated. 

"Yes, " said she; "it must be to-morrow. If you do not, I shall thinkthat you have little or no confidence in me. I shall expect it to-morrow. "

Langhetti was silent. 

"I shall expect it to-morrow, " repeated Beatrice. 

Langhetti still continued silent. 

"Oh, very well; silence gives consent!" said she, in a lively tone. 

"I have not consented. "

"Yes you have, by your silence. "

"I was deliberating. "

"I asked you twice, and you did not refuse; surely that means consent. "

"I do not say so, " said Langhetti, earnestly. 

"But you will do so. "

"Do not be so certain. "

"Yes, I will be certain; and if you do not tell me you will very deeplydisappoint me. "

"In telling you I could only give you sorrow. "

"Sorrow or joy, whatever it is, I can bear it so long as I know this. You will not suppose that I am actuated by simple feminine curiosity. You know me better. This secret is one which subjects me to the torturesof suspense, and I am anxious to have them removed. "

"The removal will be worse than the suspense. "

"That is impossible. "

"You would not say so if you knew what it was. "

"Tell me, then. "

"That is what I fear to do. "

"Do you fear for me, or for some other person?"

"Only for you. "

"Do not fear for me, then, I beseech you; for it is not only my desire, but my prayer, that I may know this. "

Langhetti seemed to be in deep perplexity. Whatever this secret was withwhich he was so troubled he seemed afraid to tell it to Beatrice, eitherfrom fear that it might not be any thing in itself or result in anything, or, as seemed more probable, lest it might too greatly affecther. This last was the motive which appeared to influence him moststrongly. In either case, the secret of which he spoke must have beenone of a highly important character, affecting most deeply the life andfortunes of Beatrice herself. She had formed her own ideas and her ownexpectations about it, and this made her all the more urgent, and evenperemptory, in her demand. In fact, things had come to such a point thatLanghetti found himself no longer able to refuse, and now only soughthow to postpone his divulgence of his secret. 

Yet even this Beatrice combated, and would listen to no laterpostponement than the morrow. 

At length, after long resistance to her demand, Langhetti assented, andpromised on the morrow to tell her what it was that he had meant by hissecret. 

For, as she gathered from his conversation, it was something that he hadfirst discovered in Hong Kong, and had never since forgotten, but hadtried to make it certain. His efforts had thus far been useless, and hedid not wish to tell her till he could bring proof. That proof, unfortunately, he was not able to find, and he could only tell hisconjectures. 

It was for these, then, that Beatrice waited in anxious expectation. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE CAB. 

That evening Beatrice's performance had been greeted with louderapplause than usual, and, what was more gratifying to one like her, theeffective passages had been listened to with a stillness which spokemore loudly than the loudest applause of the deep interest of theaudience. 

Langhetti had almost always driven home with her, but on this occasionhe had excused himself on account of some business in the theatre whichrequired his attention. 

On going out Beatrice could not find the cabman whom she had employed. After looking around for him a long time she found that he had gone. Shewas surprised and vexed. At the same time she could not account forthis, but thought that perhaps he had been drinking and had forgottenall about her. On making this discovery she was on the point of goingback and telling Langhetti, but a cabman followed her persistently, promising to take her wherever she wished, and she thought that it wouldbe foolish to trouble Langhetti about so small a matter; so that atlength she decided to employ the persevering cabman, thinking that hecould take her to her lodgings as well as any body else. 

The cabman started off at a rapid pace, and went on through street afterstreet, while Beatrice sat thinking of the evening's performance. 

At last it seemed to her that she had been a much longer time thanusual, and she began to fear that the cabman had lost his way. Shelooked out. They were going along the upper part of Oxford Street, agreat distance from where she lived. She instantly tried to draw downthe window so as to attract the cabman's attention, but could not moveit. She tried the other, but all were fast and would not stir. Sherapped at the glass to make him hear, but he took no notice. Then shetried to open the door, but could not do so from the inside. 

She sat down and thought. What could be the meaning of this? They werenow going at a much faster rate than is common in the streets of London, but where she was going she could not conjecture. 

She was not afraid. Her chief feeling was one of indignation. Either thecabman was drunk--or what? Could he have been hired to carry her off toher enemies? Was she betrayed?

This thought flashed like lightning through her mind. 

She was not one who would sink down into inaction at the sudden onset ofterror. Her chief feeling now was one of indignation at the audacity ofsuch an attempt. Obeying the first impulse that seized her, she took thesolid roll of music which she carried with her and dashed it against thefront window so violently that she broke it in pieces. Then she caughtthe driver by the sleeve and ordered him to stop. 

"All right, " said the driver, and, turning a corner, he whipped up hishorses, and they galloped on faster than ever. 

"If you don't stop I'll call for help!" cried Beatrice. 

The driver's only answer was a fresh application of the whip. 

The street up which they turned was narrow, and as it had only dwelling-houses it was not so brightly lighted as Oxford Street. There were butfew foot-passengers on the sidewalk. As it was now about midnight, mostof the lights were out, and the gas-lamps were the chief means ofillumination. 

Yet there was a chance that the police might save her. With this hopeshe dashed her music scroll against the windows on each side of the caband shivered them to atoms, calling at the top of her voice for help. The swift rush of the cab and the sound of a woman's voice shouting foraid aroused the police. They started forward. But the horses wererushing so swiftly that no one dared to touch them. The driver seemed tothem to have lost control. They thought that the horses were runningaway, and that those within the cab were frightened. 

Away they went through street after street, and Beatrice never ceased tocall. The excitement which was created by the runaway horses did notabate, and at length when the driver stopped a policeman hurried up. 

The house before which the cab stopped was a plain two-story one, in aquiet-looking street. A light shone from the front-parlor window. As thecab drew up the door opened and a man came out. 

Beatrice saw the policeman. 

"Help!" she cried; "I implore help. This wretch is carrying me away. "

"What's this?" growled the policeman. 

At this the man that had come out of the house hurried forward. 

"Have you found her?" exclaimed a well-known voice. "Oh, my child! Howcould you leave your father's roof!"

It was John Potts. 

Beatrice was silent for a moment in utter amazement. Yet she made aviolent effort against her despair. 

"You have no control over me, " said she, bitterly. "I am of age. Andyou, " said she to the policeman, "I demand your help. I put myself underyour protection, and order you either to take that man in charge or tolet me go to my home. "

"Oh, my daughter!" cried Potts. "Will you still be relentless?"

"Help me!" cried Beatrice, and she opened the cab-door. 

"The policeman can do nothing, " said Potts. "You are not of age. He willnot dare to take you from me. "

"I implore you, " cried Beatrice, "save me from this man. Take me to thepolice-station--any where rather than leave me here!"

"You can not, " said Potts to the bewildered policeman. "Listen. She ismy daughter and under age. She ran away with a strolling Italianvagabond, with whom she is leading an improper life. I have got herback. "

"It's false!" cried Beatrice, vehemently. "I fled from this man's housebecause I feared his violence. "

"That is an idle story, " said Potts. 

"Save me!" cried Beatrice. 

"I don't know what to do--I suppose I've got to take you to the station, at any rate, " said the policeman, hesitatingly. 

"Well, " said Potts to Beatrice, "if you do go to the station-houseyou'll have to be handed back to me. You are under age. "

"It's false!" cried Beatrice. "I am twenty. "

"No, you are not more than seventeen. "

"Langhetti can prove that I am twenty. "

"How? I have documents, and a father's word will be believed before aparamour's. "

This taunt stung Beatrice to the soul. 

"As to your charge about my cruelty I can prove to the world that youlived in splendor in Brandon Hall. Every one of the servants can testifyto this. Your morose disposition made you keep by yourself. You alwaystreated your father with indifference, and finally ran away with a manwho unfortunately had won your affections in Hong Kong. "

"You well know the reason why I left your roof, " replied Beatrice, withcalm and severe dignity. "Your foul aspersions upon my character areunworthy of notice. "

"And what shall I say about your aspersions on my character?" criedPotts, in a loud, rude voice, hoping by a sort of vulgar self-assertionto brow-beat Beatrice. "Do you remember the names you called me and yourthreats against me? When all this is brought out in the police court, they will see what kind of a daughter you have been. "

"You will be the last one who will dare to let it be brought into apolice court. "

"And why? Those absurd charges of yours are worthless. Have you anyproof?" he continued, with a sneer, "or has your paramour any?"

"Take me away, " said Beatrice to the policeman. 

"Wait!" exclaimed Potts; "you are going, and I will go to reclaim you. The law will give you back to me; for I will prove that you are underage, and I have never treated you with any thing except kindness. Nowthe law can do nothing since you are mine. But as you are so young andinexperienced I'll tell you what will happen. 

"The newspapers, " he continued, after a pause, "will be full of yourstory. They will print what I shall prove to be true--that you had anintractable disposition--that you had formed a guilty attachment for adrum-major at Hong Kong--that you ran away with him, lived for a whileat Holby, and then went with your paramour to London. If you had onlymarried him you would have been out of my power; but you don't pretendto be married. You don't call yourself Langhetti, but have taken anothername, which the sharp newspaper reporters will hint was given you bysome other one of your numerous favorites. They will declare that youlove every man but your own father; and you--you who played the goddesson the stage and sang about Truth and Religion will be known all overEngland and all over Europe too as the vilest of the vile. "

[Illustration: "Oh, my daughter!" cried Potts, "will you still berelentless?"]

At this tremendous menace Beatrice's resolution was shattered to pieces. That this would be so she well knew. To escape from Potts was to haveherself made infamous publicly under the sanction of the law, and then, by that same law to be handed back to him. At least whether it was so ornot, she thought so. There was no help--no friend. 

"Go, " said Potts; "leave me now and you become covered with infamy. Whowould believe your story?"

Beatrice was silent, her slender frame was rent by emotion. 

"O God!" she groaned--but in her deep despair she could not findthoughts even for prayers. 

"You may go, policeman, " said Potts; "my daughter will come with me. "

"Faith and I'm glad! It's the best thing for her;" and the policeman, much relieved, returned to his beat. 

"Some of you'll have to pay for them winders, " said the cabman. 

"All right, " answered Potts, quietly. 

"There is your home for to-night, at any rate, " said Potts, pointing tothe house. "I don't think you have any chance left. You had better goin. "

His tone was one full of bitter taunt. Scarce conscious, with her brainreeling, and her limbs trembling, Beatrice entered the house. 

CHAPTER XL. 

DISCOVERIES. 

The next morning after Beatrice's last performance Langhetti determinedto fulfill his promise and tell her that secret which she had been soanxious to know. On entering into his parlor he saw a letter lying onthe table addressed to him. It bore no postage stamp, or post-officemark. 

He opened it and read the following:

"London, September 5, 1849. 

"SIGNORE, --Cigole, the betrayer and intended assassin of your latefather, is now in London. You can find out about him by inquiring ofGiovanni Cavallo, 16 Red Lion Street. As a traitor to the Carbonari, youwill know that it is your duty to punish him, even if your filial pietyis not strong enough to avenge a father's wrongs. 

"CARBONARO. "

Langhetti read this several times. Then he called for his landlord. 

"Who left this letter?" he asked. 

"A young man. "

"Do you know his name?"

"No. "

"What did he look like?"

"He looked like a counting-house clerk more than any thing. "

"When was it left?"

"About six o'clock this morning. "

Langhetti read it over and over. The news that it contained filled hismind. It was not yet ten o'clock. He would not take any breakfast, butwent out at once, jumped into a cab, and drove off to Red Lion Street. 

Giovanni Cavallo's office was in a low, dingy building, with a dark, narrow doorway. It was one of those numerous establishments conductedand supported by foreigners whose particular business it is not easy toconjecture. The building was full of offices, but this was on theground-floor. 

Langhetti entered, and found the interior as dingy as the exterior. There was a table in the middle of the room. Beyond this was a doorwhich opened into a back-room. 

Only one person was here--a small, bright-eyed man, with thick Vandykebeard and sinewy though small frame. Langhetti took off his hat andbowed. 

"I wish to see Signore Cavallo, " said he, in Italian. 

"I am Signore Cavallo, " answered the other, blandly. 

Langhetti made a peculiar motion with his left arm. The keen eye of theother noticed it in an instant. He returned a gesture of a similarcharacter. Langhetti and he then exchanged some more secret signs. Atlast Langhetti made one which caused the other to start, and to bow withdeep respect. 

"I did not know, " said he, in a low voice, "that any of the InteriorCouncil ever came to London.... But come in here, " and he led the wayinto the inner room, the door of which he locked very mysteriously. 

A long conference followed, the details of which would only be tedious. At the close Cavallo said, "There is some life in us yet, and what lifewe have left shall be spent in trapping that miscreant. Italy shall beavenged on one of her traitors, at any rate. "

"You will write as I told you, and let me know?"

"Most faithfully. "

Langhetti departed, satisfied with the result of this interview. Whatsurprised him most was the letter. The writer must have been one who hadbeen acquainted with his past life. He was amazed to find any onedenouncing Cigole to him, but finally concluded that it must be some oldCarbonaro, exiled through the afflictions which had befallen that famoussociety, and cherishing in his exile the bitter resentment which onlyexiles can feel. 

Cavallo himself had known Cigole for years, but had no idea whatever ofhis early career. Cigole had no suspicion that Cavallo had any thing todo with the Carbonari. His firm were general agents, who did business ofa miscellaneous character, now commission, now banking, and nowshipping; and in various ways they had had dealings with this man, andkept up an irregular correspondence with him. 

This letter had excited afresh within his ardent and impetuous natureall the remembrances of early wrongs. Gentle though he was, and pure inheart, and elevated in all his aspirations, he yet was in all respects atrue child of the South, and his passionate nature was roused to a stormby this prospect of just retaliation. All the lofty doctrines with whichhe might console others were of no avail here in giving him calm. He hadnever voluntarily pursued Cigole; but now, since this villain had beenpresented to him, he could not turn aside from what he considered theholy duty of avenging a father's wrongs. 

He saw that for the present every thing would have to give way to this. He determined at once to suspend the representation of the "Prometheus, "even though it was at the height of its popularity and in the full tideof its success. He determined to send Beatrice under his sister's care, and to devote himself now altogether to the pursuit of Cigole, even ifhe had to follow him to the world's end. The search after him might notbe long after all, for Cavallo felt sanguine of speedy success, andassured him that the traitor was in his power, and that the Carbonari inLondon were sufficiently numerous to seize him and send him to whateverpunishment might be deemed most fitting. 

With such plans and purposes Langhetti went to visit Beatrice, wonderinghow she would receive the intelligence of his new purpose. 

It was two o'clock in the afternoon before he reached her lodgings. Ongoing up he rapped. A servant came, and on seeing him looked frightened. 

[Illustration: "WHAT LIFE WE HAVE LEFT SHALL BE SPENT IN TRAPPING THATMISCREANT. "]

"Is Miss Despard in?"

The servant said nothing, but ran off. Langhetti stood waiting insurprise; but in a short time the landlady came. She had a troubledlook, and did not even return his salutation. 

"Is Miss Despard in?"

"She is not here, Sir. "

"Not here!"

"No, Sir. I'm frightened. There was a man here early this morning, too. "

"A man here. What for?"

"Why, to ask after her. "

"And did he see her?"

"She wasn't here. "

"Wasn't here! What do you mean?"

"She didn't come home at all last night. I waited up for her till four. "

"Didn't come home!" cried Langhetti, as an awful fear came over him. 

"No, Sir. "

"Do you mean to tell me that she didn't come home at her usual hour?"

"No, Sir--not at all; and as I was saying, I sat up nearly all night. "

"Heavens!" cried Langhetti, in bewilderment. "What is the meaning ofthis? But take me to her room. Let me see with my own eyes. "

The landlady led the way up, and Langhetti followed anxiously. The roomwere empty. Every thing remained just as she had left it. Her music waslying loosely around. The landlady said that she had touched nothing. 

Langhetti asked about the man who had called in the morning. Thelandlady could tell nothing about him, except that he was a gentlemanwith dark hair, and very stern eyes that terrified her. He seemed to bevery angry or very terrible in some way about Beatrice. 

Who could this be? thought Langhetti. The landlady did not know hisname. Some one was certainly interesting herself very singularly aboutCigole, and some one else, or else the same person, was very muchinterested about Beatrice. For a moment he thought it might be Despard. This, however, did not seem probable, as Despard would have written himif he were coming to town. 

Deeply perplexed, and almost in despair, Langhetti left the house anddrove home, thinking on the way what ought to be done. He thought hewould wait till evening, and perhaps she would appear. He did thus wait, and in a fever of excitement and suspense, but on going to the lodging-house again there was nothing more known about her. 

Leaving this he drove to the police-office. It seemed to him now thatshe must have been foully dealt with in some way. He could think of noone but Potts; yet how Potts could manage it was a mystery. That mysteryhe himself could not hope to unravel. The police might. With thatconfidence in the police which is common to all Continentals he went andmade known his troubles. The officials at once promised to makeinquiries, and told him to call on the following evening. 

The next evening he went there. The policeman was present who had beenat the place when Potts met Beatrice. He told the whole story--thehorses running furiously, the screams from the cab, and the appeal ofBeatrice for help, together with her final acquiescence in the will ofher father. 

Langhetti was overwhelmed. The officials evidently believed that Pottswas an injured father, and showed some coldness to Langhetti. 

"He is her father; what better could she do?" asked one. 

"Any thing would be better, " said Langhetti, mournfully. "He is avillain so remorseless that she had to fly. Some friends received her. She went to get her own living since she is of age. Can nothing be doneto rescue her?"

"Well, she might begin a lawsuit; if she really is of age he can nothold her. But she had much better stay with him. "

Such were the opinions of the officials. They courteously grantedpermission to Langhetti to take the policeman to the house. 

On knocking an old woman came to the door. In answer to his inquiriesshe stated that a gentleman had been living there three weeks, but thaton the arrival of his daughter he had gone home. 

"When did he leave?"

"Yesterday morning. "

CHAPTER XLI

THEY MEET AGAIN. 

At four o'clock on the morning of Beatrice's capture Brandon was rousedby a rap at his bedroom door. He rose at once, and slipping on hisdressing-gown, opened it. A man entered. 

"Well?" said Brandon. 

"Something has happened. "

"What?"

"She didn't get home last night. The landlady is sitting up for her, andis terribly frightened. "

"Did you make any inquiries?"

"No, Sir; I came straight here in obedience to your directions. "

"Is that all you know?"

"All. "

"Very well, " said Brandon, calmly, "you may go. "

The man retired. Brandon sat down and buried his head in his hands. Suchnews as this was sufficient to overwhelm any one. The man knew nothingmore than this, that she had not returned home and that the landlady wasfrightened. In his opinion only one of two things could have happened:either Langhetti had taken her somewhere, or she had been abducted. 

A thousand fancies followed one another in quick succession. It was tooearly as yet to go forth to make inquiries; and he therefore was forcedto sit still and form conjectures as to what ought to be done in casehis conjecture might be true. Sitting there, he took a rapid survey ofall the possibilities of the occasion, and laid his plans accordingly. 

Brandon had feared some calamity, and with this fear had arranged tohave some one in the house who might give him information. Theinformation which he most dreaded had come; it had come, too, in themidst of a time of triumph, when she had become one of the supremesingers of the age, and had gained all that her warmest admirer mightdesire for her. 

If she had not been foully dealt with she must have gone with Langhetti. But if so--where--and why? What possible reason might Langhetti havefor taking her away? This conjecture was impossible. 

Yet if this was impossible, and if she had not gone with Langhetti, withwhom could she have gone? If not a friend, then it must have been withan enemy. But with what enemy? There was only one. 

He thought of Potts. He knew that this wretch was capable of anyvillainy, and would not hesitate at any thing to regain possession ofthe one who had fled from him. Why he should wish to take the trouble toregain possession of her, except out of pure villainy, he could notimagine. 

With such thoughts as these the time passed heavily. Six o'clock at lastcame, and he set out for the purpose of making inquiries. He went firstto the theatre. Here, after some trouble, he found those who had theplace in charge, and, by questioning them, he learned that Beatrice hadleft by herself in a cab for her home, and that Langhetti had remainedsome time later. He then went to Beatrice's lodgings to question thelandlady. From there he went to Langhetti's lodgings, and found thatLanghetti had come home about one o'clock and was not yet up. 

Beatrice, therefore, had left by herself; and had not gone any wherewith Langhetti. She had not returned home. It seemed to him mostprobable that either voluntarily or involuntarily she had come under thecontrol of Potts. What to do under the circumstances was now thequestion. 

One course seemed to him the most direct and certain; namely, to go upto Brandon at once and make inquiries there. From the letters whichPhilips had sent he had an idea of the doings of Potts. Other sources ofinformation had also been secured. It was not his business to do anything more than to see that Beatrice should fall into no harm. 

By ten o'clock he had acted upon this idea, and was at the railwaystation to take the express train. He reached Brandon village aboutdusk. He went to the inn in his usual disguise as Mr. Smithers, and sentup to the Hall for Mr. Potts. 

Potts was not there. He then sent for Philips. After some delay Philipscame. His usual timidity was now if possible still more marked, and hewas at first too embarrassed to speak. 

"Where is Potts?" asked Brandon, abruptly. 

"In London, Sir. "

"He has been there about three weeks, hasn't he?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"So you wrote me. You thought when he went that he was going to hunt uphis daughter. "

"So I conjectured. "

"And he hasn't got back yet?"

"Not yet. "

"Has he written any word?"

"None that I know of. "

"Did you hear any of them say why he went to get her?"

"Not particularly; but I guessed from what they said that he was afraidof having her at large. "

"Afraid? Why?"

"Because she knew some secret of theirs. "

"Secret! What secret?" asked Brandon. 

"You know, Sir, I suppose, " said Philips, meekly. 

Brandon had carried Asgeelo with him, as he was often in the habit ofdoing on his journeys. After his interview with Philips he stood outsideon the veranda of the village inn for some time, and then went aroundthrough the village, stopping at a number of houses. Whatever it wasthat he was engaged in, it occupied him for several hours, and he didnot get back to the inn till midnight. 

On the following morning he sent up to the Hall, but Potts had not yetreturned. Philips came to tell him that he had just received atelegraphic dispatch informing him that Potts would be back that dayabout one o'clock. This intelligence at last seemed to promise somethingdefinite. 

Brandon found enough to occupy him during the morning among the peopleof the neighborhood. He seemed to know every body, and had something tosay to every one. Yet no one looked at him or spoke to him unless hetook the initiative. Last of all, he went to the tailor's, where hespent an hour. 

Asgeelo had been left at the inn, and sat there upon a bench outside, apparently idle and aimless. At one o'clock Brandon returned and walkedup and down the veranda. 

In about half an hour his attention was attracted by the sound ofwheels. It was Potts's barouche, which came rapidly up the road. In itwas Potts and a young lady. 

Brandon stood outside of the veranda, on the steps, in such a positionas to be most conspicuous, and waited there till the carriage shouldreach the place. Did his heart beat faster as he recognized that form, as he marked the settled despair which had gathered over that youngface--a face that had the fixed and unalterable wretchedness whichmarks the ideal face of the Mater Dolorosa?

Brandon stood in such a way that Potts could not help seeing him. Hewaved his arm, and Potts stopped the carriage at once. 

Potts was seated on the front seat, and Beatrice on the back one. Brandon walked up to the carriage and touched his hat. 

"Mr. Smithers!" cried Potts, with his usual volubility. "Dear me, Sir. This is really a most unexpected pleasure, Sir. "

While Potts spoke Brandon looked steadily at Beatrice, who cast upon hima look of wonder. She then sank back in her seat; but her eyes werestill fastened on his as though fascinated. Then, beneath the marblewhiteness of her face a faint tinge appeared, a warm flush, that was thesign of hope rising from despair. In her eyes there gleamed the flash ofrecognition; for in that glance each had made known all its soul to theother. In her mind there was no perplexing question as to how or why hecame here, or wherefore he wore that disguise; the one thought that shehad was the consciousness that He was here--here before her. 

All this took place in an instant, and Potts, who was talking, did notnotice the hurried glance; or if he did, saw in it nothing but a casuallook cast by one stranger upon another. 

"I arrived here yesterday, " said Brandon. "I wished to see you about amatter of very little importance perhaps to you, but it is one which isof interest to me. But I am detaining you. By-the-way, I am somewhat ina hurry, and if this lady will excuse me I will drive up with you to theHall, so as to lose no time. "

"Delighted, Sir, delighted!" cried Potts. "Allow me, Mr. Smithers, tointroduce you to my daughter. "

Brandon held out his hand. Beatrice held out hers. It was cold as ice, but the fierce thrill that shot through her frame at the touch of hisfeverish hand brought with it such an ecstasy that Beatrice thought itwas worth while to have undergone the horror of the past twenty-fourhours for the joy of this one moment. 

Brandon stepped into the carriage and seated himself by her side. Pottssat opposite. He touched her. He could hear her breathing. How manymonths had passed since they sat so near together! What sorrows had theynot endured! Now they were side by side, and for a moment they forgotthat their bitterest enemy sat before them. 

There, before them, was the man who was not only a deadly enemy to each, but who made it impossible for them to be more to one another than theynow were. Yet for a time they forgot this in the joy of the ecstaticmeeting. At the gate Potts got out and excused himself to Brandon, saying that he would be up directly. 

"Entertain this gentleman till I come, " said he to Beatrice, "for he isa great friend of mine. "

Beatrice said nothing, for the simple reason that she could not speak. 

They drove on. Oh, joy! that baleful presence was for a moment removed. The driver saw nothing as he drove under the overarching elms--the elmsunder which Brandon had sported in his boyhood. He saw not the long, fervid glance that they cast at one another, in which each seemed toabsorb all the being of the other; he saw not the close clasped handswith which they clung to one another now as though they would thus clingto each other forever and prevent separation. He saw not the swift, wildmovement of Brandon when for one instant he flung his arm aroundBeatrice and pressed her to his heart. He heard not the beating of thatstrong heart; he heard not the low sigh of rapture with which for butone instant the head of Beatrice sank upon her lover's breast. It wasbut for an instant. Then she sat upright again, and their hands soughteach other, thus clinging, thus speaking by a voice which was fullyintelligible to each, which told how each felt in the presence of theother love unutterable, rapture beyond expression. 

The alighted from the carriage. Beatrice led the way into the drawing-room. No one was there. Brandon went into a recess of one of the windowswhich commanded a view of the Park. 

"What a beautiful view!" said he, in a conventional voice. 

She came up and stood beside him. 

"Oh, my darling! Oh, my darling!" he cried, over and over again; andflinging his arms around her he covered her face with burning kisses. Her whole being seemed in that supreme moment to be absorbed in his. Allconsciousness of any other thing than this unspeakable joy was lost toher. Before all others she was lofty, high-souled, serene, self-possessed--with him she was nothing, she lost herself in him. 

"Do not fear, my soul's darling, " said he; "no harm shall come. My poweris every where--even in this house. All in the village are mine. Whenmy blow falls you shall be saved. "

She shuddered. 

"You will leave me here?"

"Heavens! I must, " he groaned; "we are the sport of circumstances. Oh, my darling!" he continued, "you know my story, and my vengeance. "

"I know it all, " she whispered. "I would wish to die if I could die byyour hand. "

"I will save you. Oh, love--oh, soul of mine--my arms are around you!You are watched--but watched by me. "

"You do not know, " she sighed. "Alas! your father's voice must beobeyed, and your vengeance must be taken. "

"Fear not, " said he; "I will guard you. "

She answered nothing. Could she confide in his assurance? She could not. She thought with horror of the life before her. What could Brandon do?She could not imagine. 

They stood thus in silence for a long time. Each felt that this wastheir last meeting, and each threw all life and all thought into therapture of this long and ecstatic embrace. After this the impassablegulf must reopen. She was of the blood of the accursed. They mustseparate forever. 

He kissed her. He pressed her a thousand times to his heart. His burningkisses forced a new and feverish life into her, which roused all hernature. Never before had he dared so to fling open all his soul to her;never before had he so clasped her to his heart; but now this moment wasa break in the agony of a long separation--a short interval which mustsoon end and give way to the misery which had preceded it--and so heyielded to the rapture of the hour, and defied the future. 

The moments extended themselves. They were left thus for a longer timethan they hoped. Potts did not come. They were still clinging to oneanother. She had flung her arms around him in the anguish of herunspeakable love, he had clasped her to his wildly-throbbing heart, andhe was straining her there recklessly and despairingly, when suddenly aharsh voice burst upon their ears. 

"The devil!"

Beatrice did not hear it. Brandon did, and turned his face. Potts stoodbefore them. 

"Mr. Potts!" said he, as he still held Beatrice close to his heart, "this poor young lady is in wretched health. She nearly fainted. I hadto almost carry her to the window. Will you be good enough to open it, so as to give her some air? Is she subject to these faints? Poor child!"he said; "the air of this place ought surely to do you good. Isympathize with you most deeply, Mr. Potts. "

"She's sickly--that's a fact, " said Potts. "I'm very sorry that you havehad so much trouble--I hope you'll excuse me. I only thought that she'dentertain you, for she's very clever. Has all the accomplishments--"

"Perhaps you'd better call some one to take care of her, " interruptedBrandon. 

"Oh, I'll fetch some one. I'm sorry it happened so. I hope you won'tblame me, Sir, " said Potts, humbly, and he hurried out of the room. 

Beatrice had not moved. She heard Brandon speak to some one, and atfirst gave herself up for lost, but in an instant she understood thefull meaning of his words. To his admirable presence of mind she addedher own. She did not move, but allowed her head to rest where it was, feeling a delicious joy in the thought that Potts was looking on and wasutterly deceived. When he left to call a servant she raised her head andgave Brandon a last look expressive of her deathless, her unutterablelove. Again and again he pressed her to his heart. Then the noise ofservants coming in roused him. He gently placed her on a sofa, andsupported her with a grave and solemn face. 

"Here, Mrs. Compton. Take charge of her, " said Potts. "She's been tryingto faint. "

Mrs. Compton came up, and kneeling down kissed Beatrice's hands. Shesaid nothing. 

"Oughtn't she to have a doctor?" said Brandon. 

"Oh no--she'll get over it. Take her to her room, Mrs. Compton. "

"Can the poor child walk?" asked Brandon. 

Beatrice rose. Mrs. Compton asked her to take her arm. She did so, andleaning heavily upon it, walked away. 

[Illustration: "THE DEVIL!" ... POTTS STOOD BEFORE THEM. ]

"She seems very delicate, " said Brandon. "I did not know that you had adaughter. "

Potts sighed. 

"I have, " said he, "to my sorrow. "

"To your sorrow!" said Brandon, with exquisitely simulated sympathy. 

"Yes, " replied the other. "I wouldn't tell it to every one--but you, Mr. Smithers, are different from most people. You see I have led a rovinglife. I had to leave her out in China for many years with a femaleguardian. I suppose she was not very well taken care of. At any rate, she got acquainted out there with a strolling Italian vagabond, a drum-major in one of the regiments, named Langhetti, and this villain gainedher affections by his hellish arts. He knew that I was rich, and, likean unprincipled adventurer, tried to get her, hoping to get a fortune. Idid not know any thing about this till after her arrival home. I sentfor her some time ago and she came. From the first she was very sulky. She did not treat me like a daughter at all. On one occasion sheactually abused me and called me names to my face. She called me a Thug!What do you think of that, Mr. Smithers?"

The other said nothing, but there was in his face a horror which Pottsconsidered as directed toward his unnatural offspring. 

"She was discontented here, though I let her have every thing. I foundout in the end all about it. At last she actually ran away. She joinedthis infamous Langhetti, whom she had discovered in some way or other. They lived together for some time, and then went to London, where shegot a situation as an actress. You can imagine by that, " said Potts, with sanctimonious horror, "how low she had fallen. 

"Well, I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to make a public demandfor her through the law, for then it would all get into the papers; itwould be an awful disgrace, and the whole county would know it. So Iwaited, and a few weeks ago I went to London. A chance occurred at lastwhich threw her in my way. I pointed out to her the awful nature of thelife she was leading, and offered to forgive her all if she would onlycome back. The poor girl consented, and here she is. But I'm very muchafraid, " said Potts in conclusion, with a deep sigh, "that herconstitution is broken up. She's very feeble. "

Brandon said nothing. 

"Excuse me for troubling you with my domestic affairs; but I thought Iought to explain, for you have had such trouble with her yourself. "

"Oh, don't mention it. I quite pitied the poor child, I assure you; andI sincerely hope that the seclusion of this place, combined with thepure sea-air, may restore her spirits and invigorate her in mind as wellas in body. And now, Mr. Potts, I will mention the little matter thatbrought me here. I have had business in Cornwall, and was on my way homewhen I received a letter summoning me to America. I may have to go toCalifornia. I have a very honest servant, whom I have quite a strongregard for, and I am anxious to put him in some good country house tillI get back. I'm afraid to trust him in London, and I can't take him withme. He is a Hindu, but speaks English and can do almost any thing. I atonce remembered you, especially as you were close by me, and thoughtthat In your large establishment you might find a place for him. How isit?"

"My dear Sir, I shall be proud and happy. I should like, above allthings, to have a man here who is recommended by one like you. The factis, my servants are all miserable, and a good one can not often be had. I shall consider it a favor if I can get him. "

"Well, that is all arranged--I have a regard for him, as I said before, and want to have him in a pleasant situation. His name is Asgeelo, butwe are in the habit of calling him Cato--"

"Cato! a very good name. Where is he now?"

"At the hotel. I will send him to you at once, " said Brandon, rising. 

"The sooner the better, " returned Potts. 

"By-the-way, my junior speaks very encouragingly about the prospects ofthe Brandon Bank--"

"Does he?" cried Potts, gleefully. "Well, I do believe we're going aheadof every thing. "

"That's right. Boldness is the true way to success. "

"Oh, never fear. We are bold enough. "

"Good. But I am hurried, and I must go. I will send Asgeelo up, and givehim a letter. "

With these words Brandon bowed an adieu and departed. Before eveningAsgeelo was installed as one of the servants. 

CHAPTER XLII

LANGHETTI'S ATTEMPT. 

Two days after Brandon's visit to Potts, Langhetti reached the village. 

A searching examination in London had led him to believe that Beatricemight now be sought for at Brandon Hall. The police could do nothing forhim. He had no right to her. If she was of age, she was her ownmistress, and must make application herself for her safety anddeliverance; if she was under age, then she must show that she wastreated with cruelty. None of these things could be done, and Langhettidespaired of accomplishing any thing. 

The idea of her being once more in the power of a man like Potts wasfrightful to him. This idea filled his mind continually, to theexclusion of all other thoughts. His opera was forgotten. One greathorror stood before him, and all else became of no account. The onlything for him to do was to try to save her. He could find no way, andtherefore determined to go and see Potts himself. 

It was a desperate undertaking. From Beatrice's descriptions he had anidea of the life from which she had fled, and other things had given hima true idea of the character of Potts. He knew that there was scarcelyany hope before him. Yet he went, to satisfy himself by making a lasteffort. 

He was hardly the man to deal with one like Potts. Sensitive, high-toned, passionate, impetuous in his feelings, he could not command thatcalmness which was the first essential in such an interview. Besides, hewas broken down by anxiety and want of sleep. His sorrow for Beatricehad disturbed all his thoughts. Food and sleep were alike abominable tohim. His fine-strung nerves and delicate organization, in which everyfeeling had been rendered more acute by his mode of life, were of thatkind which could feel intensely wherever the affections were concerned. His material frame was too weak for the presence of such an ardent soul. Whenever any emotion of unusual power appeared he sank rapidly. 

So now, feverish, emaciated, excited to an intense degree, he appearedin Brandon to confront a cool, unemotional villain, who scarcely everlost his presence of mind. Such a contest could scarcely be an equalone. What could he bring forward which could in any way affect such aman? He had some ideas in his own mind which he imagined might be ofservice, and trusted more to impulse than any thing else. He went upearly in the morning to Brandon Hall. 

Potts was at home, and did not keep Langhetti long waiting. There was avast contrast between these two men--the one coarse, fat, vulgar, andstrong; the other refined, slender, spiritual, and delicate, with hislarge eyes burning in their deep sockets, and a strange mystery in hisface. 

"I am Paolo Langhetti, " said he, abruptly--"the manager of the CoventGarden Theatre. "

"You are, are you?" answered Potts, rudely; "then the sooner you get outof this the better. The devil himself couldn't be more impudent. I havejust saved my daughter from your clutches, and I'm going to pay you off, too, my fine fellow, before long. "

"Your daughter!" said Langhetti. "What she is, and who she is, you verywell know. If the dead could speak they would tell a different story. "

"What the devil do you mean, " cried Potts, "by the dead? At any rateyou are a fool; for very naturally the dead can't speak; but whatconcern that has with my daughter I don't know. Mind, you are playing adangerous game in trying to bully me. "

Potts spoke fiercely and menacingly. Langhetti's impetuous goal kindledto a new fervor at this insulting language. He stretched out his long, thin hand toward Potts, and said:

"I hold your life and fortune in my hand. Give up that girl whom youcall your daughter. "

Potts stood for a moment staring. 

"The devil you do!" he cried, at last. "Come, I call that good, rich, racy! Will your sublime Excellency have the kindness to explainyourself? If my life is in your hand it's in a devilish lean and weakone. It strikes me you've got some kink in your brain--some notion orother. Out with it, and let us see what you're driving at!"

"Do you know a man named Cigole?" said Langhetti. 

"Cigole!" replied Potts, after a pause, in which he had stared hard atLanghetti; "well, what if I do? Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. "

"He is in my power, " said Langhetti, vehemently. 

"Much good may he do you then, for I'm sure when he was in my power henever did any good to me. "

"He will do good in this case, at any rate, " said Langhetti, with aneffort at calmness. "He was connected with you in a deed which you mustremember, and can tell to the world what he knows. "

"Well, what if he does?" said Potts. 

"He will tell, " cried Langhetti, excitedly, "the true story of theDespard murder. "

"Ah!" said Potts, "now the murder's out. That's what I thought. Don'tyou suppose I saw through you when you first began to speak somysteriously? I knew that you had learned some wonderful story, and thatyou were going to trot it out at the right time. But if you think you'regoing to bully me you'll find it hard work. 

"Cigole is in my power, " said Langhetti, fiercely. 

"And so you think I am, too?" sneered Potts. 

"Partly so. "

"Why?"

"Because he was an accomplice of yours in the Despard murder. "

"So he says, no doubt; but who'll believe him?"

"He is going to turn Queen's evidence!" said Langhetti, solemnly. 

"Queen's evidence!" returned Potts, contemptuously, "and what's hisevidence worth--the evidence of a man like that against a gentleman ofunblemished character?"

"He will be able to show what the character of that gentleman is, "rejoined Langhetti. 

"Who will believe him?"

"No one can help it. "

"You believe him, no doubt. You and he are both Italians--both dearfriends--and both enemies of mine; but suppose I prove to the worldconclusively that Cigole is such a scoundrel that his testimony isworthless?"

"You can't, " cried Langhetti, furiously. 

Potts cast a look of contempt at him--

"Can't I!" He resumed: "How very simple, how confiding you must be, mydear Langhetti! Let me explain my meaning. You got up a wild chargeagainst a gentleman of character and position about a murder. In thefirst place, you seem to forget that the real murderer has long sincebeen punished. That miserable devil of a Malay was very properlyconvicted at Manilla, and hanged there. It was twenty years ago. WhatEnglish court would consider the case again after a calm and impartialSpanish court has settled it finally, and punished the criminal? Theydid so at the time when the case was fresh, and I came forth honored andtriumphant. You now bring forward a man who, you hint, will makestatements against me. Suppose he does? What then? Why, I will show whatthis man is. And you, my dear Langhetti, will be the first one whom Iwill bring up against him. I will bring you up under oath, and make youtell how this Cigole--this man who testifies against me--once made acertain testimony in Sicily against a certain Langhetti senior, by whichthat certain Langhetti senior was betrayed to the Government, and wassaved only by the folly of two Englishmen, one of whom was this sameDespard. I will show that this Langhetti senior was your father, andthat the son, instead of avenging, or at any rate resenting, hisfather's wrong, is now a bosom friend of his father's intended murderer--that he has urged him on against me. I will show, my dear Langhetti, how you have led a roving life, and, when a drum-major at Hong Kong, wonthe affections of my daughter; how you followed her here, and seducedher away from a kind father; how at infinite risk I regained her; howyou came to me with audacious threats; and how only the dread of furtherscandal, and my own anxious love for my daughter, prevented me fromhanding you over to the authorities. I will prove you to be a scoundrelof the vilest description, and, after such proof as this, what do youthink would be the verdict of an English jury, or of any judge in anyland; and what do you think would be your own fate? Answer me that. "

Potts spoke with savage vehemence. The frightful truth flashed at onceacross Langhetti's mind that Potts had it in his power here to show allthis to the world. He was overwhelmed. He had never conceived thepossibility of this. Potts watched him silently, with a sneer on hisface. 

"Don't you think that you had better go and comfort yourself with yourdear friend Cigole, your father's intended murderer?" said he at length. "Cigole told me all about this long ago. He told me many things abouthis life which would be slightly damaging to his character as a witness, but I don't mind telling you that the worst thing against him in Englisheyes is his betrayal of your father. But this seems to have been a veryslight matter to you. It's odd too; I've always supposed that Italiansunderstood what vengeance means. "

Langhetti's face bore an expression of agony which he could not conceal. Every word of Potts stung him to the soul. He stood for some time insilence. At last, without a word, he walked out of the room. 

His brain reeled. He staggered rather than walked. Potts looked afterhim with a smile of triumph. He left the Hall and returned to thevillage. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE STRANGER. 

A few weeks after Langhetti's visit Potts had a new visitor at the bank. The stranger entered the bank parlor noiselessly, and stood quietlywaiting for Potts to be disengaged. That worthy was making some entriesin a small memorandum-book. Turning his head, he saw the newcomer. Pottslooked surprised, and the stranger said, in a peculiar voice, somewhatgruff and hesitating, "Mr. Potts?"

"Yes, " said Potts, looking hard at his visitor. 

He was a man of singular aspect. His hair was long, parted in themiddle, and straight. He wore dark colored spectacles. A thick, blackbeard ran under his chin. His linen was not over-clean, and he wore along surtout coat. 

"I belong to the firm of Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. , Solicitors, London. --I am the Co. "

"Well!"

"The business about which I have come is one of some importance. Are wesecure from interruption?"

"Yes, " said Potts, "as much as I care about being. I don't know anything in particular that I care about locking the doors for. "

"Well, you know best, " said the stranger. "The business upon which Ihave come concerns you somewhat, but your son principally. "

Potts started, and looked with eager inquiry at the stranger. 

"It is such a serious case, " said the latter, "that my seniors thought, before taking any steps in the matter, it would be best to consult youprivately. "

"Well, " returned Potts, with a frown, "what is this wonderful case?"

"Forgery, " said the stranger. 

Potts started to his feet with a ghastly face, and stood speechless forsome time. 

"Do you know who you're talking to?" said he, at last. 

"John Potts, of Brandon Hall, I presume, " said the stranger, coolly. "Mybusiness concerns him somewhat, but his son still more. "

"What the devil do you mean?" growled Potts, in a savage tone. 

"Forgery, " said the stranger. "It is an English word, I believe. Forgery, in which your son was chief agent. Have I made myselfunderstood?"

Potts looked at him again, and then slowly went to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. 

"That's right, " said the stranger, quietly. 

"You appear to take things easy, " rejoined Potts, angrily; "but let metell you, if you come to bully me you've got into the wrong shop. "

"You appear somewhat heated. You must be calm, or else we can not get tobusiness; and in that case I shall have to leave. "

"I don't see how that would be any affliction, " said Potts, with asneer. 

"That's because you don't understand my position, or the state of thepresent business. For if I leave it will be the signal for a number ofinterested parties to make a combined attack on you. "

"An attack?"

"Yes. "

"Who is there?" said Potts, defiantly. 

"Giovanni Cavallo, for one; my seniors, Messrs. Bigelow & Higginson, andseveral others. 

"Never heard of any of them before. "

"Perhaps not. But if you write to Smithers & Co. They will tell you thatBigelow, Higginson, & Co. Are their solicitors, and do theirconfidential business. "

"Smithers & Co. ?" said Potts, aghast. 

"Yes. It would not be for your interest for Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Toshow Smithers & Co. The proofs which they have against you, would it?"

Potts was silent. An expression of consternation came over his face. Heplunged his hands deep in his pockets and bowed his head frowningly. 

"It is all bosh, " said he, at last, raising his head. "Let them show andbe d---d. What have they got to show?"

"I will answer your question regularly, " said the stranger, "inaccordance with my instructions"--and, drawing a pocket-book from hispocket, he began to read from some memoranda written there. 

"1st. The notes to which the name of Ralph Brandon is attached, 150 innumber, amounting to £93, 500. "

"Pooh!" said Potts. 

"These forgeries were known to several besides your son and yourself, and one of these men will testify against you. Others who know Brandon'ssignature swear that this lacks an important point of distinction commonto all the Brandon signatures handed down from father to son. You werefoolish to leave these notes afloat. They have all been bought up on aspeculation by those who wished to make the Brandon property a littledearer. "

"I don't think they'll make a fortune out of the speculation, " saidPotts, who was stifling with rage. "D--n them! who are they?"

"Well, there are several witnesses who are men of such character that ifmy seniors sent them to Smithers & Co. Smithers & Co. Would believe thatyou were guilty. In a court of law you would have no better chance. Oneof these witnesses says he can prove that your true name is Briggs. "

At this Potts bounded from his chair and stepped forward with a terrificoath. 

"You see, your son's neck is in very considerable danger. "

"Yours is in greater, " said Potts, with menacing eyes. 

"Not at all. Even supposing that you were absurd enough to offerviolence to an humble subordinate like me, it would not interfere withthe policy of Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. , who are determined tomake money out of this transaction. So you see it's absurd to talk ofviolence. "

The stranger took no further notice of Potts, but looked again at hismemoranda; while the latter, whose face was now terrific from thefurious passions which it exhibited, stood like a wild beast in a cage, "willing to wound, but yet afraid to strike. "

"The next case, " said the stranger, "is the Thornton forgery. "

"Thornton!" exclaimed Potts, with greater agitation. 

"Yes, " said the stranger. "In connection with the Despard murder therewere two sets of forgeries; one being the Thornton correspondence, andthe other your correspondence with the Bank of Good Hope. "

"Heavens! what's all this?" cried Potts. "Where have you been unearthingthis rubbish?"

"First, " said the stranger, without noticing Potts's exclamation, "thereare the letters to Thornton, Senior, twenty years ago, in which anattempt was made to obtain Colonel Despard's money for yourself. OneClark, an accomplice of yours, presented the letter. The forgery was atonce detected. Clark might have escaped, but he made an effort atburglary, was caught, and condemned to transportation. He had beenalready out once before, and this time received a new brand in additionto the old ones. "

Potts did not say a word, but sat stupefied. 

"Thornton, Junior, is connected with us, and his testimony is valuable, as he was the one who detected the forgery. He also was the one who wentto the Cape of Good Hope, where he had the pleasure of meeting with you. This brings me to the third case, " continued the stranger. 

"Letters were sent to the Cape of Good Hope, ordering money to be paidto John Potts. Thornton, Senior, fearing from the first attempt that asimilar one would be made at the Cape, where the deceased had funds, sent his son there. Young Thornton reached the place just before youdid, and would have arrested you, but the proof was not sufficient. "

"Aha!" cried Potts, grasping at this--"not sufficient proof! I shouldthink not. " His voice was husky and his manner nervous. 

"I said 'was not'--but Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Have informedme that there are parties now in communication with them who can provehow, when, where, and by whom the forgeries were executed. "

"It's a d----d infernal lie!" roared Potts, in a fresh burst of anger. 

"I only repeat what they state. The man has already written out astatement in full, and is only waiting for my return to sign it before amagistrate. This will be a death-warrant for your son; for Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Will have him arrested at once. You are awarethat he has no chance of escape. The amount is too enormous, and theproof is too strong. "

"Proof!" cried Potts, desperately; "who would believe any thing againsta man like me, John Potts--a man of the county?"

"English law is no respecter of persons, " said the stranger. "Rank goesfor nothing. But if it did make class distinctions, the witnesses aboutthese documents are of great influence. There is Thornton of Holby, andColonel Henry Despard at the Cape of Good Hope, with whom Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Have had correspondence. There are alsoothers. "

"It's all a lie!" exclaimed Potts, in a voice which was a littletremulous. "Who is this fool who has been making out papers?"

"His name is Philips; true name Lawton. He tells a very extraordinarystory; very extraordinary indeed. "

The stranger's peculiar voice was now intensified in its odd, harshintonations. The effect on Potts was overwhelming. For a moment he wasunable to speak. 

"Philips!" he gasped, at length. 

"Yes. You sent him on business to Smithers & Co. He has not yetreturned. He does not intend to, for he was found out by Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. , and you know how timid he is. They havesucceeded in extracting the truth from him. As I am in a hurry, and you, too, must be busy, " continued the stranger, with unchanged accents, "Iwill now come to the point. These forged papers involve an amount to theextent of--Brandon forgeries, £93, 500; Thornton papers, £5000; Bank ofGood Hope, £4000; being in all £102, 500. Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, &Co. Have instructed me to say that they will sell these papers to you attheir face without charging interest. They will hand them over to youand you can destroy them, in which case, of course, the charge must bedropped. "

"Philips!" cried Potts. "I'll have that devil's blood!"

"That would be murder, " said the stranger, with a peculiar emphasis. 

His tone stung Potts to the quick. 

"You appear to take me for a born fool, " he cried, striding up and down. 

"Not at all. I am only an agent carrying out the instructions ofothers. "

Potts suddenly stopped in his walk. 

"Have you all those papers about you?" he hissed. 

"All. "

Potts looked all around. The door was locked. They were alone. Thestranger easily read his thought. 

"No use, " said he, calmly. "Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Would missme if any thing happened. Besides, I may as well tell you that I amarmed. "

The stranger rose up and faced Potts, while, from behind his darkspectacles, his eyes seemed to glow like fire. Potts retreated with acurse. 

"Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Instructed me to say that if I am notback with the money by to-morrow night, they will at once begin action, and have your son arrested. They will also inform Smithers & Co. , towhom they say you are indebted for over £600, 000. So that Smithers & Co. Will at once come down upon you for payment. "

"Do Smithers & Co. Know any thing about this?" asked Potts, in a voiceof intense anxiety. 

"They do business with you the same as ever, do they not?"

"Yes. "

"How do you suppose they can know it?"

"They would never believe it"

"They would believe any statement made by Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, &Co. My seniors have been on your track for a long time, and have comeinto connection with various parties. One man who is an Italian theyconsider important. They authorize me to state to you that this man canalso prove the forgeries. "

"Who?" grasped Potts. 

"His name is Cigole. "

"Cigole!"

"Yes. "

"D--- him!"

"You may damn him, but that won't silence him, " remarked the other, mildly. 

"Well, what are you going to do?" growled Potts. 

"Present you the offer of Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. , " said theother, with calm pertinacity. "Upon it depend your fortune and yourson's life. "

"How long are you going to wait?"

"Till evening. I leave to-night. Perhaps you would like to think thisover. I'll give you till three o'clock. If you decide to accept, allwell; if not, I go back. "

The stranger rose, and Potts unlocked the door for him. 

After he left Potts sat down, buried in his own reflections. In about anhour Clark came in. 

"Well, Johnnie!" said he, "what's up? You look down--any trouble?"

At this Potts told Clark the story of the recent interview. Clark lookedgrave, and shook his head several times. 

"Bad! bad! bad!" said he, slowly, when Potts had ended. "You're in atight place, lad, and I don't see what you've got to do but to knockunder. "

A long silence followed. 

"When did that chap say he would leave?"

"To-night. "

Another silence. 

"I suppose, " said Clark, "we can find out how he goes?"

"I suppose so, " returned Potts, gloomily. 

"Somebody might go with him or follow him, " said Clark, darkly. 

Potts looked at him. The two exchanged glances of intelligence. 

"You see, you pay your money, and get your papers back. It would befoolish to let this man get away with so much money. One hundred and twothousand five hundred isn't to be picked up every day. Let us pick it upthis time, or try to. I can drop down to the inn this evening, and seethe cut of the man. I don't like what he said about me. I call itbackbiting. "

"You take a proper view of the matter, " said Potts. "He's dangerous. He'll be down on you next. What I don't like about him is his cold-bloodedness. "

"It does come hard. "

"Well, we'll arrange it that way, shall we?"

"Yes, you pay over, and get your documents, and I'll try my hand atgetting the money back. I've done harder things than that in my time andso have you--hey, lad!"

"I remember a few. "

"I wonder if this man knows any of them. "

"No, " said Potts, confidently. "He would have said something. "

"Don't be too sure. The fact is, I've been troubled ever since that girlcame out so strong on us. What are you going to do with her?"

"Don't know, " growled Potts. "Keep her still somehow. "

"Give her to me. "

"What'll you do with her?" asked Potts, in surprise. 

"Take her as my wife, " said Clark, with a grin. "I think I'll followyour example and set up housekeeping. The girl's plucky; and I'd like totake her down. "

"We'll do it; and the sooner the better. You don't want a minister, doyou?"

"Well, I think I'll have it done up ship-shape, marriage in high life;papers all full of it; lovely appearance of the bride--ha, ha, ha! I'llsave you all further trouble about her--a husband is better than afather in such a case. If that Italian comes round it'll be his lastround. "

Some further conversation followed, in which Clark kept making perpetualreferences to his bride. The idea had taken hold of his mind completely. 

At one o'clock Potts went to the inn, where he found the agent. Hehanded over the money in silence. The agent gave him the documents. Potts looked at them all carefully. 

Then he departed. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE STRANGER'S STORY. 

That evening a number of people were in the principal parlor of theBrandon Inn. It was a cool evening in October; and there was a fire nearwhich the partner of Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. Had seated himself. 

Clark had come in at the first of the evening and had been there eversince, talking volubly and laughing boisterously. The others were moreor less talkative, but none of them rivaled Clark. They were nearly allBrandon people; and in their treatment of Clark there was a certainrestraint which the latter either did not wish or care to notice. As forthe stranger he sat apart in silence without regarding any one inparticular, and giving no indication whether he was listening to whatwas going on or was indifferent to it all. From time to time Clark threwglances in his direction, and once or twice he tried to draw some of thecompany out to make remarks about him; but the company seemed reluctantto touch upon the subject, and merely listened with patience. 

Clark had evidently a desire in his mind to be very entertaining andlively. With this intent he told a number of stories, most of which wereintermingled with allusions to the company present, together with thestranger. At last he gazed at the latter in silence for some littletime, and then turned to the company. 

"There's one among us that hasn't opened his mouth this evening. I callit unsociable. I move that the party proceed to open it forthwith. Whoseconds the motion? Don't all speak at once. "

The company looked at one another, but no one made any reply. 

"What! no one speaks! All right; silence gives consent;" and with thesewords Clark advanced toward the stranger. The latter said nothing, butsat in a careless attitude. 

"Friend!" said Clark, standing before the stranger, "we're all friendshere--we wish to be sociable--we think you are too silent--will you bekind enough to open your mouth? If you won't tell a story, perhaps youwill be good enough to sing us a song?"

The stranger sat upright. 

"Well, " said he; in the same peculiar harsh voice and slow tone withwhich he had spoken to Potts, "the request is a fair one, and I shall behappy to open my mouth. I regret to state that having no voice I shallbe unable to give you a song, but I'll be glad to tell a story, if thecompany will listen. "

"The company will feel honored, " said Clark, in a mocking tone, as heresumed his seat. 

The stranger arose, and, going to the fire-place, picked up a piece ofcharcoal. 

Clark sat in the midst of the circle, looking at him with a sneeringsmile. "It's rather an odd story, " said the stranger, "and I only heardit the other day; perhaps you won't believe it, but it's true. "

"Oh, never mind the truth of it!" exclaimed Clark--"push along. "

The stranger stepped up to the wall over the fire-place. 

"Before I begin I wish to make a few marks, which I will explain inprocess of time. My story is connected with these. "

He took his charcoal and made upon the wall the following marks:

[Illustration: ^ /|\ [three lines, forming short arrow]

 R [sans-serif R]

 + [plus sign] ]

He then turned, and stood for a moment in silence. 

The effect upon Clark was appalling. His face turned livid, his armsclutched violently at the seat of his chair, his jaw fell, and his eyeswere fixed on the marks as though fascinated by them. 

The stranger appeared to take no notice of him. 

"These marks, " said he, "were, or rather are, upon the back of a friendof mine, about whom I am going to tell a little story. 

"The first (/|\) is the Queen's mark, put on certain prisoners out inBotany Bay, who are totally insubordinate. 

"The second (R) signifies 'run away, ' and is put on those who haveattempted to escape. 

"The third (+) indicates a murderous assault on the guards. When theydon't hang the culprit they put this on, and those who are branded inthis way have nothing but hard work, in chains for life. 

"These marks are on the back of a friend of mine, whose name I need notmention, but for convenience sake I will call him Clark. "

Clark didn't even resent this, but sat mute, with a face of awfulexpectation. 

"My friend Clark had led a life of strange vicissitudes, " said thestranger, "having slipped through the meshes of the law verysuccessfully a great number of times, but finally he was caught, andsent to Botany Bay. He served his time out, and left; but, finally, after a series of very extraordinary adventures in India, and some oddevents in the Indian Ocean, he came to England. Bad luck followed him, however. He made an attempt at burglary, and was caught, convicted, andsent back again to his old station at Botany Bay. 

"Of course he felt a strong reluctance to stay in such a place, andtherefore began to plan an escape; he made one attempt, which wasunsuccessful. He then laid a plot with two other notorious offenders. Each of these three had been branded with those letters which I havemarked. One of these was named Stubbs, and another Wilson, the third wasthis Clark. No one knew how they met to make their arrangements, for theprison regulations are very strict; but; they did meet, and managed toconfer together. They contrived to get rid of the chains that werefastened around their ankles, and one stormy night they started off andmade a run for it. 

"The next day the guards were out in pursuit with dogs. They went allday long on their track over a very rough country, and finally came to ariver. Here they prepared to pass the night. 

"On rising early on the following morning they saw something moving onthe top of a hill on the opposite side of the river. On watching itnarrowly they saw three men. They hurried on at once in pursuit. Thefugitives kept well ahead, however, as was natural; and since they wererunning for life and freedom they made a better pace. 

"But they were pretty well worn out. They had taken no provisions withthem, and had not calculated on so close a pursuit. They kept ahead asbest they could, and at last reached a narrow river that ran downbetween cliffs through a gully to the sea. The cliffs on each side werehigh and bold. But they had to cross it; so down on one side they went, and up the other. 

"Clark and Stubbs got up first. Wilson was just reaching the top whenthe report of a gun was heard, and a bullet struck him in the arm. Groaning in his agony he rushed on trying to keep up with hiscompanions. 

"Fortunately for them night came on. They hurried on all night, scarcelyknowing where they were going, Wilson in an agony trying to keep up withthem. Toward morning they snatched a little rest under a rock near abrook and then hurried forward. 

"For two days more they hastened on, keeping out of reach of theirpursuers, yet still knowing that they were followed, or at least fearingit. They had gone over a wild country along the coast, and keeping anorthward direction. At length, after four days of wandering, they cameto a little creek by the sea-shore. There were three houses herebelonging to fishermen. They rushed into the first hut and implored foodand drink. The men were off to Sydney, but the kind-hearted women gavethem what they had. They were terrified at the aspect of these wretchedmen, whose natural ferocity had been heightened by hardship, famine, andsuffering. Gaunt and grim as they were, they seemed more terrible thanthree wild beasts. The women knew that they were escaped convicts. 

[Illustration: HE TOOK HIS CHARCOAL AND MADE UPON THE WALL THE FOLLOWINGMARKS. ]

"There was a boat lying on the beach. To this the first thoughts of thefugitives were directed. They filled a cask of water and put it onboard. They demanded some provisions from the fisherman's wife. Thefrightened woman gave them some fish and a few ship-biscuits. They wereabout to forage for themselves when Wilson, who had been watching, gavethe alarm. 

"Their pursuers were upon them. They had to run for it at once. They hadbarely time to rush to the boat and get out a little distance when theguard reached the bench. The latter fired a few shots after them, butthe shots took no effect. 

"The fugitives put out to sea in the open boat. They headed north, forthey hoped to catch some Australian ship and be taken up. Theirprovisions were soon exhausted. Fortunately it was the rainy season, sothat they had a plentiful supply of water, with which they managed tokeep their cask filled; but that did not prevent them from suffering theagonies of famine. Clark and Stubbs soon began to look at Wilson withlooks that made him quiver with terror. Naturally enough, gentlemen; yousee they were starving. Wilson was the weakest of the three, andtherefore was at their mercy. They tried, however, to catch fish. It wasof no use. There seemed to be no fish in those seas, or else the bits ofbread crumb which they put down were not an attractive bait. 

"The two men began to look at Wilson with the eyes of fiends--eyes thatflamed with foul desire, beaming from deep, hollow orbits which faminehad made. The days passed. One morning Wilson lay dead. "

The stranger paused for a moment, amidst an awful silence. 

"The lives of these two were preserved a little longer, " he added, inslow, measured tones. 

"They sailed on. In a few days Clark and Stubbs began to look at oneanother. You will understand, gentlemen, that it was an awful thing forthese men to cast at each other the same glances which they once cast onWilson. Each one feared the other; each watched his chance, and eachguarded against his companion. 

"They could no longer row. The one sat in the bow, the other in thestern, glaring at one another. My friend Clark was a man of singularendurance. But why go into particulars? Enough; the boat drifted on, andat last only one was left. 

"A ship was sailing from Australia, and the crew saw a boat drifting. Aman was there. They stopped and picked him up. The boat was stained withblood. Tokens of what that blood was lay around. There were other thingsin the boat which chilled the blood of the sailors. They took Clark onboard. He was mad at first, and raved in his delirium. They heard himtell of what he had done. During that voyage no one spoke to him. Theytouched at Cape Town, and put him ashore. 

"My friend is yet alive and well. How do you like my story?"

The stranger sat down. A deep stillness followed, which was suddenlybroken by something, half groan and half curse. It was Clark. 

He lifted himself heavily from his chair, his face livid and his eyesbloodshot, and staggered out of the room. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

BEATRICE'S JOURNAL CONCLUDED. 

September 7, 1849. --[This part begins with a long account of her escape, her fortunes at Holby and London, and her recapture, which is hereomitted, as it would be to a large extent a repetition of what hasalready been stated. ]--After Brandon left me my heart still throbbedwith the fierce impulse which he had imparted to it. For the remainderof the day I was upheld by a sort of consciousness of his presence. Ifelt as though he had only left me in person and had surrounded me insome way with his mysterious protection. 

Night came, and with the night came gloom. What availed his promise?Could he prevent what I feared? What power could he possibly have inthis house? I felt deserted, and my old despair returned. 

In the morning I happened to cross the hall to go to Mrs. Compton'sroom, when, to my amazement, I saw standing outside the Hindu Asgeelo. Had I seen Brandon himself I could scarcely have been more amazed oroverjoyed. He looked at me with a warning gesture. 

"How did you get here?" I whispered. 

"My master sent me. "

A thrill passed through my veins. 

"Do not fear, " he said, and walked mysteriously away. 

I asked Mrs. Compton who he was, and she said he was a new servant whom_He_ had just hired. She knew nothing more of him. 

September 12. --A week has passed. Thus far I have been left alone. Perhaps they do not know what to do with me. Perhaps they are busyarranging some dark plan. 

Can I trust? Oh, Help of the helpless, save me!

Asgeelo is here--but what can one man do? At best he can only report tohis master my agony or my death. May that Death soon come. Kindly will Iwelcome him. 

September 15. --Things are certainly different here from what they usedto be. The servants take pains to put themselves in my way, so as toshow me profound respect. What is the meaning of this? Once or twice Ihave met them in the hall and have marked their humble bearing. Is itmockery? Or is it intended to entrap me? I will not trust any of them. Is it possible that this can be Brandon's mysterious power?

Impossible. It is rather a trick to win my confidence: But if so, why?They do not need to trick me. I am at their mercy. 

I am at their mercy, and am without defense. What will become of me?What is to be my fate?

Philips has been as devoted as ever. He leaves me flowers every day. Hetries to show sympathy. At least I have two friends here--Philips andAsgeelo. But Philips is timid, and Asgeelo is only one against a crowd. There is Vijal--but I have not seen him. 

September 25--To-day in my closet I found a number of bottles ofdifferent kinds of medicine, used while I was sick. Two of theseattracted my attention. Once was labeled "_Laudanum_, " another waslabeled "_Hydrocyanic Acid--Poison. _" I suppose they used thesedrugs for my benefit at that time. The sight of them gave me more joythan any thing else that I could have found. 

When the time comes which I dread I shall not be without resource. _These shall save me. _

October 3. --They leave me unmolested. They are waiting for some crushingblow, no doubt. Asgeelo sometimes meets me, and makes signs ofencouragement. 

To-day Philips met me and said: "Don't fear--the crisis is coming. " Iasked what he meant. As usual he looked frightened and hurried away. 

What does he mean? What crisis? The only crisis that I can think of isone which fills me with dread. When that comes I will meet it firmly. 

October 10. --Mrs. Compton told me to-day that Philips had gone to Londonon business. The poor old thing looked very much troubled. I urged herto tell me what was the matter, but she only looked the more terrified. Why she should feel alarm about the departure of Philips for London Ican not imagine. Has it any thing to do with me? No. How can it? Myfate, whatever it is, must be wrought out here in this place. 

October 14. --The dreaded crisis has come at last. Will not this be mylast entry? How can I longer avoid the fate that impends?

This afternoon He sent for me to come down. 

I went to the dining-room expecting some horror, and I was notdisappointed. The three were sitting there as they had sat before, and Ithought that there was trouble upon their faces. It was only twoo'clock, and they had just finished lunch. 

John was the first to speak. He addressed me in a mocking tone. 

"I have the honor to inform you, " said he, "that the time has arrivedwhen you are to be took down. "

I paid no attention whatever to these words. I felt calm. The old senseof superiority came over me, and I looked at Him without a tremor. 

My tyrant glanced at me with a dark scowl. "After your behavior, girl, you ought to bless your lucky stars that you got off as you did. If Ihad done right, I'd have made you pay up well for the trouble you'vegiven. But I've spared you. At the same time I wouldn't have done solong. I was just arranging a nice little plan for your benefit when thisgentleman"--nodding his head to Clark--"this gentleman saved me thetrouble. "

I said nothing. 

"Come, Clark, speak up--it's your affair--"

"Oh, you manage it, " said Clark. "You've got the 'gift of gab. ' I neverhad it. "

"I never in all my born days saw so bold a man as timid with a girl asyou are. "

"He's doin' what I shouldn't like to try on, " said John. 

"See here, " said my tyrant, sternly, "this gentleman has very kindlyconsented to take charge of you. He has even gone so far as to consentto marry you. He will actually make you his wife. In my opinion he'scrazy, but he's got his own ideas. He has promised to give you a tip-topwedding. If it had been left to me, " he went on, sternly, "I'd have letyou have something very different, but he's a soft-hearted fellow, andis going to do a foolish thing. It's lucky for you though. You'd havehad a precious hard time of it with me, I tell you. You've got to begrateful to him; so come up here, and give him a kiss, and thank him. "

So prepared was I for any horror that this did not surprise me. 

"Do you hear?" he cried, as I stood motionless. I said nothing. 

"Do as I say, d--n you, or I'll make you. "

"Come, " said Clark, "don't make a fuss about the wench now--it'll be allright. She'll like kissing well enough, and be only too glad to give meone before a week. "

"Yes, but she ought to be made to do it now. "

"Not necessary, Johnnie; all in good time. "

My master was silent for some moments. At last he spoke again:

"Girl, " said he. "You are to be married tomorrow. There won't be anyinvited guests, but you needn't mind that. You'll have your husband, andthat's more than you deserve. You don't want any new dresses. Your balldress will do. "

"Come, I won't stand that, " said Clark. "She's got to be dressed up intip-top style. I'll stand the damage. "

"Oh, d--n the damage. If you want that sort of thing, it shall be done. But there won't be time. "

"Oh well, let her fix up the best way she can. "

At this I turned and left the room. None of them tried to prevent me. Iwent up to my chamber, and sat down thinking. The hour had come. 

This is my last entry. My only refuge from horror unspeakable is thePoison. 

Perhaps one day some one will find my journal where it is concealed. Letthem learn from it what anguish may be endured by the innocent. 

May God have mercy upon my soul! Amen. 

October 14, 11 o'clock. --Hope!

Mrs. Compton came to me a few minutes since. She had received a letterfrom Philips by Asgeelo. She said the Hindu wished to see me. He was atmy door. I went there. He told me that I was to fly from Brandon Hall attwo o'clock in the morning. He would take care of me. Mrs. Compton saidshe was to go with me. A place had been found where we could getshelter. 

Oh my God, I thank thee! Already when I heard this I was mixing thedraught. Two o'clock was the hour on which I had decided for a differentkind of flight. 

Oh God! deliver the captive. Save me, as I put my trust in thee! Amen. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE LAST ESCAPE. 

The hour which Beatrice had mentioned in her diary was awaited byherewith feverish impatience. She had confidence in Asgeelo, and thisconfidence was heightened by the fact that Mrs. Compton was going toaccompany her. The very timidity of this poor old creature would haveprevented her from thinking of escape on any ordinary occasion; but nowthe latter showed no fear. She evinced a strange exultation. She showedPhilips's letter to Beatrice, and made her read it over and over again. It contained only a few words. 

"The time has come at last. I will keep my word to you, dear old woman. Be ready tonight to leave Brandon Hall and those devils forever. TheHindu will help you. 

"EDGAR. "

Mrs. Compton seemed to think far more of the letter than of escaping. The fact that she had a letter seemed to absorb all her faculties, andno other idea entered her mind. Beatrice had but few preparations tomake; a small parcel contained all with which she dared to encumberherself. Hastily making it up she waited in extreme impatience for thetime. 

At last two o'clock came. Mrs. Compton was in her room. There was afaint tap at the door. Beatrice opened it. It was Asgeelo. The Hindustood with his finger on his lips, and then moved away slowly andstealthily. They followed. 

The Hindu led the way, carrying a small lantern. He did not show anyvery great caution, but moved with a quiet step, thinking it sufficientif he made no noise. Beatrice followed, and Mrs. Compton came last, carrying nothing but the note from Philips, which she clutched in herhand as though she esteemed it the only thing of value which shepossessed. 

[ILLUSTRATION: "THE GIGANTIC FIGURE OF ASGEELO STOOD ERECT, ONE ARMCLUTCHING THE THROAT OF HIS ASSAILANT, AND THE OTHER HOLDING THE KNIFEALOFT. "]

In spite of Beatrice's confidence in Asgeelo she felt her heart sinkwith dread as she passed through the hall and down the great stairway. But no sound disturbed them. The lights were all out and the house wasstill. The door of the dining-room was open, but no light shone through. 

Asgeelo led the way to the north door. They went on quietly without anyinterruption, and at last reached it. Asgeelo turned the key and heldthe door half open for a moment. Then he turned and whispered to them togo out. 

Beatrice took two or three steps forward, when suddenly a dark figureemerged from the stairway that led to the servants' hall and with asudden spring, advanced to Asgeelo. 

The latter dropped the lamp, which fell with a rattle on the floor butstill continued burning. He drew a long, keen knife from his breast, andseized the other by the throat. 

Beatrice started back. By the light that flickered on the floor she sawit all. The gigantic figure of Asgeelo stood erect, one arm clutchingthe throat of his assailant, and the other holding the knife aloft. 

Beatrice rushed forward and caught the uplifted arm. 

"Spare him!" she said, in a low whisper. "He is my friend. He helped meto escape once before. "

She had recognized Vijal. 

The Hindu dropped his arm and released his hold. The Malay staggeredback and looked earnestly at Beatrice. Recognizing her, he fell on hisknees and kissed her hand. 

"I will keep your secret, " he murmured. 

Beatrice hurried out, and the others followed. They heard the key turnin the door after them. Vijal had locked it from the inside. 

Asgeelo led the way with a swift step. They went down the main avenue, and at length reached the gate without any interruption. The gates wereshut. 

Beatrice looked around in some dread for fear of being discovered. Asgeelo said nothing, but tapped at the door of the porter's lodge. Thedoor soon opened, and the porter came out. He said nothing, but openedthe gates in silence. 

They went out. The huge gates shut behind them. They heard the key turnin the lock. In her excitement Beatrice wondered at this, and saw thatthe porter must also be in the secret. Was this the work of Brandon?

They passed down the road a little distance, and at length reached aplace where there were two coaches and some men. 

One of these came up and took Mrs. Compton. "Come, old woman, " said he;"you and I are to go in this coach. " It was too dark to see who it was;but the voice sounded like that of Philips. He led her into the coachand jumped in after her. 

There was another figure there. He advanced in silence, and motioned tothe coach without a word. Beatrice followed; the coach door was opened, and she entered. Asgeelo mounted the box. The stranger entered the coachand shut the door. 

Beatrice had not seen the face of this man; but at the sight of theoutline of his figure a strange, wild thought came to her mind. As heseated himself by her side a thrill passed through every nerve. Not aword was spoken. 

He reached out one hand, and caught hers in a close and fervid clasp. Hethrew his arm about her waist, and drew her toward him. Her head sank ina delicious languor upon his breast; and she felt the fast throbbing ofhis heart as she lay there. He held her pressed closely for a longwhile, drawing quick and heavy breaths, and not speaking a word. Then hesmoothed her brow, stroked her hair, and caressed her cheek. Every touchof his made her blood tingle. 

"Do you know who I am?" said at last a well-known voice. 

She made no answer, but pressed his hand and nestled more closely to hisheart. 

The carriages rushed on swiftly. They went through the village, passedthe inn, and soon entered the open country. Beatrice, in that moment ofecstasy, knew not and cared not whither they were going. Enough that shewas with him. 

"You have saved me from a fate of horror, " said she, tremulously; "orrather, you have prevented me from saving myself. "

"How could you have saved yourself?"

"I found poison. "

She felt the shudder that passed through his frame. He pressed her againto his heart, and sat for a long time in silence. 

"How had you the heart to let me go back when you could get me away soeasily?" said she, after a time, in a reproachful tone. 

"I could not save you then, " answered he, "without open violence. Iwished to defer that for the accomplishment of a purpose which you know. But I secured your safety, for all the servants at Brandon Hall are inmy pay. "

"What! Vijal too?"

"No, not Vijal; he was incorruptible; but all the others. They wouldhave obeyed your slightest wish in any respect. They would have shedtheir blood for you, for the simple reason that I had promised to payeach man an enormous sum if he saved you from any trouble. They were allon the look out. You never were so watched in your life. If you hadchosen to run off every man of them would have helped you, and wouldhave rejoiced at the chance of making themselves rich at the expense ofPotts. Under these circumstances I thought you were safe. "

"And why did you not tell me?"

"Ah! love, there are many things which I must not tell you. "

He sighed. His sombre tone brought back her senses which had beenwandering. She struggled to get away. He would not release her. 

"Let me go!" said she. "I am of the accursed brood--the impure ones! Youare polluted by my touch!"

"I will not let you go, " returned he, in a tone of infinite sweetness. "Not now. This may be our last interview. How can I let you go?"

"I am pollution. "

"You are angelic. Oh, let us not think of other things. Let us banishfrom our minds the thought of that barrier which rises between us. Whilewe are here let us forget every thing except that we love one another. To-morrow will come, and our joy will be at an end forever. But you, darling, will be saved! I will guard you to my life's end, even though Ican not come near you. "

Tears fell from Beatrice's eyes. He felt them hot upon his hand. Hesighed deeply. 

"I am of the accursed brood!--the accursed!--the accursed! You dishonoryour name by touching me. "

Brandon clang to her. He would not let her go. She wept there upon hisbreast, and still murmured the words, "Accursed! accursed!"

Their carriage rolled on, behind them came the other; on for mile aftermile, round the bays and creeks of the sea, until at last they reached avillage. 

"This is our destination, " said Brandon. 

"Where are we?" sighed Beatrice. 

"It is Denton, " he replied. 

The coach stopped before a little cottage. Asgeelo opened the door. Brandon pressed Beatrice to his heart. 

"For the last time, darling, " he murmured. 

She said nothing. He helped her out, catching her in his arms as shedescended, and lifting her to the ground. Mrs. Compton was alreadywaiting, having descended first. Lights were burning in the cottagewindow. 

"This is your home for the present, " said Brandon. "Here you are safe. You will find every thing that you want, and the servants are faithful. You may trust them. "

He shook hands, with Mrs. Compton, pressed the hand of Beatrice, andleaped into the coach. 

"Good-by, " he called, as Asgeelo whipped the horses. 

"Good-by forever, " murmured Beatrice through her tears. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

ROUSED AT LAST. 

About this time Despard received a call from Langhetti. "I am goingaway, " said the latter, after the preliminary greetings. "I am wellenough now to resume my search after Beatrice. "

"Beatrice?"

"Yes. "

"What can you do?"

"I haven't an idea; but I mean to try to do something. "

Langhetti certainly did not look like a man who was capable of doingvery much, especially against one like Potts. Thin, pale, fragile, andemaciated, his slender form seemed ready to yield to the pressure of thefirst fatigue which he might encounter. Yet his resolution was strong, and he spoke confidently of being able in some mysterious way to effectthe escape of Beatrice. He had no idea how he could do it. He hadexerted his strongest influence, and had come away discomfited. Still hehad confidence in himself and trust in God, and with these he determinedto set out once more, and to succeed or perish in the attempt. 

After he had left Despard sat moodily in his study for some hours. Atlast a visitor was announced. He was a man whom Despard had never seenbefore, and who gave his name as Wheeler. 

The stranger on entering regarded Despard for some time with an earnestglance in silence. At last he spoke: "You are the son of LionelDespard, are you not?"

"Yes, " said Despard, in some surprise. 

"Excuse me for alluding to so sad an event; but you are, of course, aware of the common story of his death. "

"Yes, " replied Despard, in still greater surprise. 

"That story is known to the world, " said the stranger. "His case waspublicly tried at Manilla, and a Malay was executed for the crime. "

"I know that, " returned Despard, "and I know, also, that there weresome, and that there still are some, who suspect that the Malay wasinnocent. "

"Who suspected this?"

"My uncle Henry Despard and myself. "

"Will you allow me to ask you if your suspicions pointed at any one?"

"My uncle hinted at one person, but he had nothing more thansuspicions. "

"Who was the man?"

"A man who was my father's valet, or agent, who accompanied him on thatvoyage, and took an active part in the conviction of the Malay. "

"What was his name?"

"John Potts. "

"Where does he live now?"

"In Brandon. "

"Very well. Excuse my questions, but I was anxious to learn how much youknew. You will see shortly that they were not idle. Has any thing everbeen done by any of the relatives to discover whether these suspicionswere correct?"

"At first nothing was done. They accepted as an established fact thedecision of the Manilla court. They did not even suspect then that anything else was possible. It was only subsequent circumstances that ledmy uncle to have some vague suspicions. "

"What were those, may I ask?"

"I would rather not tell, " said Despard, who shrank from relating to astranger the mysterious story of Edith Brandon. 

"It is as well, perhaps. At any rate, you say there were no suspicionsexpressed till your uncle was led to form them?"

"No. "

"About how long ago was this?"

"About two years ago--a little more, perhaps. I at once devoted myselfto the task of discovering whether they could be maintained. I found itimpossible, however, to learn any thing. The event had happened so longago that it had faded out of men's minds. The person whom I suspectedhad become very rich, influential, and respected. In fact, he wasunassailable, and I have been compelled to give up the effort. "

"Would you like to learn something of the truth?" asked the stranger, ina thrilling voice. 

Despard's whole soul was roused by this question. 

"More than any thing else, " replied he. 

"There is a sand-bank, " began the stranger, "three hundred miles south ofthe island of Java, which goes by the name of Coffin Island. It is socalled on account of a rock of peculiar shape at the eastern extremity. I was coming from the East, on my way to England, when a violent stormarose, and I was cast ashore alone upon that island. This may seemextraordinary to you, but what I have to tell is still moreextraordinary. I found food and water there, and lived for some time. Atlast another hurricane came and blew away all the sand from a mound atthe western end. This mound had been piled about a wrecked vessel--avessel wrecked twenty years ago, twenty years ago, " he repeated, withstartling emphasis, "and the name of that vessel was the _Vishnu_. "

"The _Vishnu_!" cried Despard, starting to his feet, while hiswhole frame was shaken by emotion at this strange narrative. "_Vishnu_!"

"Yes, the _Vishnu_!" continued the stranger. 

"You know what that means. For many years that vessel had lain there, entombed amidst the sands, until at last I--on that lonely isle--saw thesands swept away and the buried ship revealed. I went on board. Ientered the cabin. I passed through it. At last I entered a room at onecorner. A skeleton lay there. Do you know whose it was?"

"Whose?" cried Despard, in a frenzy of excitement. 

"_Your father's_!" said the stranger, in an awful voice. 

"God in heaven!" exclaimed Despard, and he sank back into his seat. 

"In his hand he held a manuscript, which was his last message to hisfriends. It was inclosed in a bottle. The storm had prevented him fromthrowing it overboard. He held it there as though waiting for some oneto take it. I was the one appointed to that task. I took it. I read it, and now that I have arrived in England I have brought it to you. "

"Where is it?" cried Despard, in wild excitement. 

"Here, " said the stranger, and he laid a package upon the table. 

Despard seized it, and tore open the coverings. At the first sight herecognized the handwriting of his father, familiar to him from oldletters written to him when he was a child--letters which he had alwayspreserved, and every turn of which was impressed upon his memory. Thefirst glance was sufficient to impress upon his mind the conviction thatthe stranger's tale was true. 

Without another word he began to read it. And as he read all his soulbecame associated with that lonely man, drifting in his drifting ship. There he read the villainy of the miscreant who had compassed his death, and the despair of the castaway. 

That suffering man was his own father. It was this that gave intensityto his thoughts as he read. The dying man bequeathed his vengeance toRalph Brandon, and his blessing to his son. 

Despard read over the manuscript many times. It was his father's wordsto himself. 

"I am in haste, " said the stranger. "The manuscript is yours. I havemade inquiries for Ralph Brandon, and find that he is dead. It is foryou to do as seems good. You are a clergyman, but you are also a man;and a father's wrongs cry to Heaven for vengeance. "

"And they shall be avenged!" exclaimed Despard, striking his clenchedhand upon the table. 

"I have something more before I go, " continued the stranger, mournfully--"something which you will prize more than life. It was worn next yourfather's heart till he died. I found it there. "

Saying this he handed to Despard a miniature, painted on enamel, representing a beautiful woman, whose features were like his own. 

"My mother!" cried Despard, passionately, and he covered the miniaturewith kisses. 

"I buried your father, " said the stranger, after a long pause. "Hisremains now lie on Coffin Island, in their last resting-place. "

"And who are you? What are you? How did you find me out? What is yourobject?" cried Despard, eagerly. 

"I am Mr. Wheeler, " said the stranger, calmly; "and I come to give youthese things in order to fulfill my duty to the dead. It remains for youto fulfill yours. "

"That duty shall be fulfilled!" exclaimed Despard. "The law does nothelp me: I will help myself. I know some of these men at least. I willdo the duty of a son. "

The stranger bowed and withdrew. 

Despard paced the room for hours. A fierce thirst for vengeance hadtaken possession of him. Again and again he read the manuscript, andafter each reading his vengeful feeling became stronger. 

At last he had a purpose. He was no longer the imbecile--the crushed--the hopeless. In the full knowledge of his father's misery his ownbecame endurable. 

In the morning he saw Langhetti and told him all. 

"But who is the stranger?" Despard asked in wonder. 

"It can only be one person, " said Langhetti, solemnly. 

"Who?"

"Louis Brandon. He and no other. Who else could thus have been chosen tofind the dead? He has his wrongs also to avenge. "

Despard was silent. Overwhelming thoughts crowded upon him. Was this manLouis Brandon?

"We must find him, " said he. "We must gain his help in our work. We mustalso tell him about Edith. "

"Yes, " replied Langhetti. "But no doubt he has his own work before him;and this is but part of his plan, to rouse you from inaction tovengeance. "

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

WHO IS HE?

On the morning after the last escape of Beatrice, Clark went up toBrandon Hall. It was about nine o'clock. A sullen frown was on his face, which was pervaded by an expression of savage malignity. A deeplypreoccupied look, as though he were altogether absorbed in his ownthoughts, prevented him from noticing the half-smiles which the servantscast at one another. 

Asgeelo opened the door. That valuable servant was at his post as usual. Clark brushed past him with a growl and entered the dining-room. 

Potts was standing in front of the fire with a flushed face and savageeyes. John was stroking his dog, and appeared quite indifferent. Clark, however, was too much taken up with his own thoughts to notice Potts. Hecame in and sat down in silence. 

"Well, " said Potts, "did you do that business?"

"No, " growled Clark. 

"No!" cried Potts. "Do you mean to say you didn't follow up the fellow?"

"I mean to say it's no go, " returned Clark. "I did what I could. Butwhen you are after a man, and he turns out to be the DEVIL HIMSELF, whatcan you do?"

At these words, which were spoken with unusual excitement, John gave alow laugh, but said nothing. 

"You've been getting rather soft lately, it seems to me, " said Potts. "At any rate, what did you do?"

"Well, " said Clark, slowly--"I went to that inn--to watch the fellow. Hewas sitting by the fire, taking it very easy. I tried to make outwhether I had ever seen him before, but could not. He sat by the fire, and wouldn't say a word. I tried to trot him out, and at last I did so. He trotted out in good earnest, and if any man was ever kicked at andridden rough-shod over, I'm that individual. He isn't a man--he'sBeelzebub. He knows every thing. He began in a playful way by taking apiece of charcoal and writing on the wall some marks which belong to me, and which I'm a little delicate about letting people see; in fact, theBotany Bay marks. "

"Did he know that?" cried Potts, aghast. 

"Not only knew it, but, as I was saying, marked it on the wall. That's asign of knowledge. And for fear they wouldn't be understood, he kindlyexplained to about a dozen people present the particular meaning ofeach. "

"The devil!" said John. 

"That's what I said he was, " rejoined Clark, dryly. "But that's nothing. I remember when I was a little boy, " he continued, pensively, "hearingthe parson read about some handwriting on the wall, that frightenedBeelzebub himself; but I tell you this handwriting on the wall used meup a good deal more than that other. Still what followed was worse. "

Clark paused for a little while, and then, taking a long breath, wenton. 

"He proceeded to give to the assembled company an account of my life, particularly that very interesting part of it which I passed on my lastvisit to Botany Bay. You know my escape. "

He stopped for a while. 

"Did he know about that, too?" asked Potts, with some agitation. 

"Johnnie, " said Clark, "he knew a precious sight more than you do, andtold some things which I had forgotten myself. Why, that devil stood upthere and slowly told the company not only what I did but what I felt. He brought it all back. He told how I looked at Stubbs, and how Stubbslooked at me in the boat. He told how we sat looking at each other, eachin our own end of the boat. "

Clark stopped again, and no one spoke for a long time. 

"I lost my breath and ran out, " he resumed, "and was afraid to go back. I did so at last. It was then almost midnight. I found him still sittingthere. He smiled at me in a way that fairly made my blood run cold. 'Crocker, ' said he, 'sit down. '"

At this Potts and John looked at each other in horror. 

"He knows that too?" said John. 

"Every thing, " returned Clark, dejectedly. 

"Well, when he said that I looked a little surprised, as you may besure. 

"'I thought you'd be back, ' said he, 'for you want to see me, you know. You're going to follow me, ' says he. 'You've got your pistols all ready, so, as I always like to oblige a friend, I'll give you a chance. Come. '

"At this I fairly staggered. 

"'Come, ' says he, 'I've got all that money, and Potts wants it back. Andyou're going to get it from me. Come. '

"I swear to you I could not move. He smiled at me as before, and quietlygot up and left the house. I stood for some time fixed to the spot. Atlast I grew reckless. 'If he's the devil himself, ' says I, 'I'll have itout with him. ' I rushed out and followed in his pursuit. After some timeI overtook him. He was on horseback, but his horse was walking. He heardme coming. 'Ah, Crocker, ' said he, quite merrily, 'so you've come, haveyou?'

"I tore my pistol from my pocket and fired. The only reply was a loudlaugh. He went on without turning his head. I was now sure that it wasthe devil, but I fired my other pistol. He gave a tremendous laugh, turned his horse, and rode full at me. His horse seemed as large as thevillage church. Every thing swam around, and I fell headforemost on theground. I believe I lay there all night. When I came to it was morning, and I hurried straight here. "

As he ended Clark arose, and, going to the sideboard, poured out a largeglass of brandy, which he drank raw. 

"The fact is, " said John, after long thought, "you've been tricked. Thisfellow has doctored your pistols and frightened you. "

"But I loaded them myself, " replied Clark. 

"When?"

"Oh, I always keep them loaded in my room. I tried them, and found thecharge was in them. "

"Oh, somebody's fixed them. "

"I don't think half as much about the pistols as about what he told me. What devil could have put all that into his head? Answer me that, " saidClark. 

"Somebody's at work around us, " said John. "I feel it in my bones. "

"We're getting used up, " said Potts. "The girl's gone again. "

"The girl! Gone!"

"Yes, and Mrs. Compton too. "

"The devil!"

"I'd rather lose the girl than Mrs. Compton; but when they both vanishthe same night what are you to think?"

"I think the devil is loose. "

"I'm afraid he's turned against us, " said Potts, in a regretful tone. "He's got tired of helping us. "

"Do none of the servants know any thing about it?"

"No--none of them. "

"Have you asked them all?"

"Yes. "

"Doesn't that new servant, the Injin?"

"No; they all went to bed at twelve. Vijal was up as late as two. Theyall swear that every thing was quiet. "

"Did they go out through the doors?"

"The doors were all locked as usual. "

"There's treachery somewhere!" cried John, with more excitement thanusual. 

The others were silent. 

"I believe that the girl's at the bottom of it all, " said John. "We'vebeen trying to take her down ever since she came, but it's my beliefthat we'll end by getting took down ourselves. I scented bad luck in herat the other side of the world. We've been acting like fools. We oughtto have silenced her at first. "

"No, " rejoined Potts, gloomily. "There's somebody at work deeper thanshe is. Somebody--but who?--who?"

"Nobody but the devil, " said Clark, firmly. 

"I've been thinking about that Italian, " continued Potts. "He's the onlyman living that would bother his head about the girl. They know a gooddeal between them. I think he's managed some of this last business. Hehumbugged us. It isn't the devil; it's this Italian. We must look out;he'll be around here again perhaps. "

Clark's eyes brightened. 

"The next time, " said he, "I'll load my pistols fresh, and then see ifhe'll escape me!"

At this a noise was heard in the hall. Potts went out. The servants hadbeen scouring the grounds as before, but with no result. 

"No use, " said John. "I tried it with my dog. He went straight downthrough the gate, and a little distance outside the scent was lost. Itried him with Mrs. Compton too. They both went together, and of coursehad horses or carriages there. "

"What does the porter say?" asked Clark. 

"He swears that he was up till two, and then went to bed, and thatnobody was near the gate. "

"Well, we can't do any thing, " said Potts; "but I'll send some of theservants off to see what they can hear. The scent was lost so soon thatwe can't tell what direction they took. 

"You'll never get her again, " said John; "she's gone for good thistime. "

Potts swore a deep oath and relapsed into silence. After a time they allwent down to the bank. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE RUN ON THE BANK. 

Not long after the bank opened a number of people came in who asked forgold in return for some bank-notes which they offered. This was anunusual circumstance. The people also were strangers. Potts wonderedwhat it could mean. There was no help for it, however. The gold was paidout, and Potts and his friends began to feel somewhat alarmed at thethought which now presented itself for the first time that their verylarge circulation of notes might be returned upon them. He communicatedthis fear to Clark. 

"How much gold have you?"

"Very little. "

"How much?"

"Thirty thousand. "

"Phew!" said Clark, "and nearly two hundred thousand out in notes!"

Potts was silent. 

"What'll you do if there is a run on the bank?"

"Oh, there won't be. "

"Why not?"

"My credit is too good. "

"Your credit won't be worth a rush if people know this. "

While they talked persons kept dropping in. Most of the villagers andpeople of the neighborhood brought back the notes, demanding gold. Byabout twelve o'clock the influx was constant. 

Potts began to feel alarmed. He went out, and tried to bully some of thevillagers. They did not seem to pay any attention to him, however. Pottswent back to his parlor discomfited, vowing vengeance against those whohad thus slighted him. The worst of these was the tailor, who brought innotes to the extent of a thousand pounds, and when Potts ordered him outand told him to wait, only laughed in his face. 

"Haven't you got gold enough?" said the tailor, with a sneer. "Are youafraid of the bank? Well, old Potts, so am I. "

At this there was a general laugh among the people. 

The bank clerks did not at all sympathize with the bank. They were tooeager to pay out. Potts had to check them. He called them in his parlor, and ordered them to pay out more slowly. They all declared that theycouldn't. 

The day dragged on till at last three o'clock came. Fifteen thousandpounds had been paid out. Potts fell into deep despondency. Clark hadremained throughout the whole morning. 

"There's going to be a run on the bank!" said he. "It's only begun. "

Potts's sole answer was a curse. 

"What are you going to do?" he asked. 

"You'll have to help me, " replied Potts. "You've got something. "

"I've got fifty thousand pounds in the Plymouth Bank. "

"You'll have to let me have it. "

Clark hesitated. 

"I don't know, " said he. 

"D-n it, man, I'll give you any security you wish. I've got moresecurity than I know what to do with. "

"Well, " said Clark, "I don't know. There's a risk. "

"I only want it for a few days. I'll send down stock to my London brokerand have it sold. It will give me hundreds of thousands--twice as muchas all the bank issue. Then I'll pay up these devils well, and that d----d tailor worst of all. I swear I'll send it all down to-day, and haveevery bit of it sold. If there's going to be a run, I'll be ready forthem. "

"How much have you?"

"I'll send it all down--though I'm devilish sorry, " continued Potts. "How much? why, see here;" and he penciled down the following figures ona piece of paper, which he showed to Clark:

 California Company................. £100, 000 Mexican bonds ..................... 50, 000 Guatemala do. ..................... 50, 000 Venezuela do. ..................... 50, 000 -------- £250, 000

"What do you think of that, my boy?" said Potts. 

"Well, " returned Clark, cautiously, "I don't like them American names. "

"Why, " said Potts, "the stock is at a premium. I've been getting fromtwenty to twenty-five per cent. Dividends. They'll sell for threehundred thousand nearly. I'll sell them all. I'll sell them all, " hecried. "I'll have gold enough to put a stop to this sort of thingforever. "

"I thought you had some French and Russian bonds, " said Clark. 

"I gave those to that devil who had the--the papers, you know. Heconsented to take them, and I was very glad, for they paid less than theothers. "

Clark was silent. 

"Why, man, what are you thinking about? Don't you know that I'm good fortwo millions, what with my estate and my stock?"

"But you owe an infernal lot. "

"And haven't I notes and other securities from every body?"

"Yes, from every body; but how can you get hold of them?"

"The first people of the county!"

"And as poor as rats. "

"London merchants!"

"Who are they? How can you get back your money?"

"Smithers & Co. Will let me have what I want. "

"If Smithers & Co. Knew the present state of affairs I rather think thatthey'd back down. "

"Pooh! What! Back down from a man with my means! Nonsense! They know howrich I am, or they never would have begun. Come, don't be a fool. It'lltake three days to get gold for my stock, and if you don't help me thebank may stop before I get it. If you'll help me for three days I'll payyou well. "

[Illustration: THE RUN ON THE BANK]

"How much will you give?"

"I'll give ten thousand pounds--there! I don't mind. "

"Done. Give me your note for sixty thousand pounds, and I'll let youhave the fifty thousand for three days. "

"All right. You've got me where my hair is short; but I don't mind. Whencan I have the money?"

"The day after to-morrow. I'll go to Plymouth now, get the money to-morrow, and you can use it the next day. "

"All right; I'll send down John to London with the stock, and he'llbring up the gold at once. "

Clark started off immediately for Plymouth, and not long after John wentaway to London. Potts remained to await the storm which he dreaded. 

The next day came. The bank opened late on purpose. Potts put up anotice that it was to be closed that day at twelve, on account of theabsence of some of the directors. 

At about eleven the crowd of people began to make their appearance asbefore. Their demands were somewhat larger than on the previous day. Before twelve ten thousand pounds had been paid. At twelve the bank wasshut in the faces of the clamorous people, in accordance with thenotice. 

Strangers were there from all parts of the county. The village inn wascrowded, and a large number of carriages was outside. Potts began tolook forward to the next day with deep anxiety. Only five thousandpounds remained in the bank. One man had come with notes to the extentof five thousand, and had only been got rid of by the shutting of thebank. He left, vowing vengeance. 

To Potts's immense relief Clark made his appearance early on thefollowing day. He had brought the money. Potts gave him his note forsixty thousand pounds, and the third day began. 

By ten o'clock the doors were besieged by the largest crowd that hadever assembled in this quiet village. Another host of lookers-on hadcollected. When the doors were opened they poured in with a rush. 

The demands on this third day were very large. The man with the fivethousand had fought his way to the counter first, and clamored to bepaid. The noise and confusion were overpowering. Every body was cursingthe bank or laughing at it. Each one felt doubtful about getting hispay. Potts tried to be dignified for a time. He ordered them to bequiet, and assured them that they would all be paid. His voice wasdrowned in the wild uproar. The clerks counted out the gold as rapidlyas possible, in spite of the remonstrances of Potts, who on threeoccasions called them all into the parlor, and threatened to dismissthem unless they counted more slowly. His threats were disregarded. Theywent back, and paid out as rapidly as before. The amounts requiredranged from five or ten pounds to thousands of pounds. At last, afterpaying out thousands, one man came up who had notes to the amount of tenthousand pounds. This was the largest demand that had yet been made. Itwas doubtful whether there was so large an amount left. Potts came outto see him. There was no help for it; he had to parley with the enemy. 

He told him that it was within a few minutes of three, and that it wouldtake an hour at least to count out so much--would he not wait till thenext day? There would be ample time then. 

The man had no objection. It was all the same to him. He went out withhis bundle of notes through the crowd, telling them that the bank couldnot pay him. This intelligence made the excitement still greater. Therewas a fierce rush to the counter. The clerks worked hard, and paid outwhat they could in spite of the hints and even the threats of Potts, till at length the bank clock struck the hour of three. It had been putforward twenty minutes, and there was a great riot among the people onthat account, but they could not do any thing. The bank was closed forthe day, and they had to depart. 

Both Potts and Clark now waited eagerly for the return of John. He wasexpected before the next day. He ought to be in by midnight. Afterwaiting impatiently for hours they at length drove out to see if theycould find him. 

About twelve miles from Brandon they met him at midnight with a team ofhorses and a number of men, all of whom were armed. 

"Have you got it?"

"Yes, " said John, "what there is of it. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm too tired to explain. Wait till we get home. "

It was four o'clock in the morning before they reached the bank. Thegold was taken out and deposited in the vaults, and the three went up tothe Hall. They brought out brandy and refreshed themselves, after whichJohn remarked, in his usual laconic style, "You've been and gone and done it. "

"What?" asked Potts, somewhat puzzled. 

"With your speculations in stocks. "

"What about them?"

"Nothing, " said John, "only they happen to be at a small discount. "

"A discount?"

"Slightly. "

Potts was silent. 

"How much?" asked Clark. 

"I have a statement here, " said John. "When I got to London, I saw thebroker. He said that American stocks, particularly those which I held, had undergone a great depreciation. He assured me that it was onlytemporary, that the dividends which these stocks paid were enough toraise them in a short time, perhaps in a few weeks, and that it wasmadness to sell out now. He declared that it would ruin the credit ofthe Brandon Bank if it were known that we sold out at such a fearfulsacrifice, and advised me to raise the money at a less cost. 

"Well, I could only think of Smithers & Co. I went to their office. Theywere all away. I saw one of the clerks who said they had gone to seeabout some Russian loan or other, so there was nothing to do but to goback to the broker. He assured me again that it was an unheard ofsacrifice; that these very stocks which I held had fallen terribly, heknew not how, and advised me to do any thing rather than make such asacrifice. But I could do nothing. Gold was what I wanted, and sinceSmithers & Co. Were away this was the only way to get it. "

"Well!" cried Potts, eagerly. "Did you get it?"

"You saw that I got it. I sold out at a cost that is next to ruin. "

"What is it?"

"Well, " said John, "I will give you the statement of the broker, " and hedrew from his pocket a paper which he handed to the others. They lookedat it eagerly. 

It was as follows:

 100 shares California @ £1000 each. 65 per cent, discount........................ £35, 000 50 shares Mexican. 75 per cent, discount 12, 500 50 shares Guatemala. 80 per cent, dis- count ................................ 10, 000 50 shares Venezuela. 80 per cent discount 10, 000 ------- £67, 000

The faces of Potts and Clark grew black as night as they read this. Adeep execration burst from Potts. Clark leaned back in his chair. 

"The bank's blown up!" said he. 

"No, it ain't, " rejoined Potts. 

"Why not?"

"There's gold enough to pay all that's likely to be offered. "

"How much more do you think will be offered?"

"Not much; it stands to reason. "

"It stands to reason that every note which you've issued will be sentback to you. So I'll trouble you to give me my sixty thousand; and Iadvise you as a friend to hold on to the rest. "

"Clark!" said Potts, "you're getting timider and timider. You ain't gotany more pluck these times than a kitten. "

"It's a time when a man's got to be careful of his earnings, " saidClark. "How much have you out in notes? You told me once you had outabout £180, 000, perhaps more. Well, you've already had to redeem about£75, 000. That leaves £105, 000 yet, and you've only got £67, 000 to pay itwith. What have you got to say to that?"

"Well!" said Potts. "The Brandon Bank may go--but what then? You forgetthat I have the Brandon estate. That's worth two millions. "

"You got it for two hundred thousand. "

"Because it was thrown away, and dropped into my hands. "

"It'll be thrown away again at this rate. You owe Smithers & Co. "

"Pooh! that's all offset by securities which I hold. "

"Queer securities!"

"All good, " said Potts. "All first-rate. It'll be all right. We'll haveto put it through. "

"But what if it isn't all right?" asked Clark, savagely. 

"You forget that I have Smithers & Co. To fall back on. "

"If your bank breaks, there is an end of Smithers & Co. "

"Oh no. I've got this estate to fall back on, and they know it. I caneasily explain to them. If they had only been in town I shouldn't havehad to make this sacrifice. You needn't feel troubled about your money. I'll give you security on the estate to any amount. I'll give yousecurity for seventy thousand, " said Potts. 

Clark thought for a while. 

"Well!" said he, "it's a risk, but I'll run it"

"There isn't time to get a lawyer now to make out the papers; butwhenever you fetch one I'll do it"

"I'll get one to-day, and you'll sign the papers this evening. In myopinion by that time the bank'll be shut up for good, and you're a foolfor your pains. You're simply throwing away what gold you have. "

Potts went down not long after. It was the fourth day of the run. Miscellaneous callers thronged the place, but the amounts were notlarge. In two hours not more than five thousand were paid out. 

At length a man came in with a carpet-bag. He pulled out a vast quantityof notes. 

"How much?" asked the clerk, blandly. 

"Thirty thousand pounds, " said the man. 

Potts heard this and came out. 

"How much?" he asked. 

"Thirty thousand pounds. "

"Do you want it in gold?"

"Of course. "

"Will you take a draft on Messrs. Smithers & Co. ?"

"No, I want gold. "

While Potts was talking to this man another was waiting patiently besidehim. Of course this imperative claimant had to be paid or else the bankwould have to stop, and this was a casualty which Potts could not yetface with calmness. Before it came to that he was determined to pay outhis last sovereign. 

On paying the thirty thousand pounds it was found that there were onlytwo bags left of two thousand pounds each. 

The other man who had waited stood calmly, while the one who had beenpaid was making arrangements about conveying his money away. 

It was now two o'clock. The stranger said quietly to the clerk oppositethat he wanted gold. 

"How much?" said the clerk, with the same blandness. 

"Forty thousand pounds, " answered the stranger. 

"Sorry we can't accommodate you, Sir, " returned the clerk. 

Potts had heard this and came forward. 

"Won't you take a draft on London?" said he. 

"Can't, " replied the man; "I was ordered to get gold. "

"A draft on Smithers & Co. ?"

"Couldn't take even Bank of England notes, " said the stranger; "I'm onlyan agent. If you can't accommodate me I'm sorry, I'm sure. "

Potts was silent. His face was ghastly. As much agony as such a mancould endure was felt by him at that moment. 

Half an hour afterward the shutters were up; and outside the door stooda wild and riotous crowd, the most noisy of whom was the tailor. 

The Brandon Bank had failed. 

CHAPTER L. 

THE BANK DIRECTORS. 

The bank doors were closed, and the bank directors were left to theirown refections. Clark had been in through the day, and at the criticalmoment his feelings had overpowered him so much that he felt compelledto go over to the inn to get something to drink, wherewith he mightrefresh himself and keep up his spirits. 

Potts and John remained in the bank parlor. The clerks had gone. Pottswas in that state of dejection in which even liquor was not desirable. John showed his usual nonchalance. 

"Well, Johnnie, " said Potts, after a long silence, "we're used up!"

"The bank's bursted, that's a fact. You were a fool for fighting it outso long. "

"I might as well. I was responsible, at any rate. "

"You might have kept your gold. "

"Then my estate would have been good. Besides, I hoped to fight throughthis difficulty. In fact, I hadn't any thing else to do. "

"Why not?"

"Smithers & Co, "

"Ah! yes. "

"They'll be down on me now. That's what I was afraid of all along. "

"How much do you owe them?"

"Seven hundred and two thousand pounds. "

"The devil! I thought it was only five hundred thousand. "

"It's been growing every day. Its a dreadful dangerous thing to haveunlimited credit. "

"Well, you've got something as an offset. The debts due the bank. "

"Johnnie, " said Potts, taking a long breath, "since Clark isn't here Idon't mind telling you that my candid opinion is them debts isn't wortha rush. A great crowd of people came here for money. I didn't hardly aska question. I shelled out royally. I wanted to be known, so as to getinto Parliament some day. I did what is called 'going it blind. '"

"How much is owing you?"

"The books say five hundred and thirteen thousand pounds--but it'sdoubtful if I can get any of it. And now Smithers & Co. Will be down onme at once. "

"What do you intend to do?"

"I don't know. "

"Haven't you thought?"

"No, I couldn't. "

"Well, I have. "

"What?"

"You'll have to try to compromise. "

"What if they won't?"

John shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing. 

"After all, " resumed Potts, hopefully, "it can't be so bad. The estateis worth two millions. "

"Pooh!"

"Isn't it?"

"Of course not. You know what you bought it for. "

"That's because it was thrown away. "

"Well, it'll have to be thrown away again. "

"Oh, Smithers & Co. 'll be easy. They don't care for money. "

"Perhaps so. The fact is, I don't understand Smithers & Co. At all. I'vetried to see through their little game, but can't begin to do it. "

"Oh, that's easy enough! They knew I was rich, and let me have whatmoney I wanted. "

John looked doubtful. 

At this moment a rap was heard at the back door. 

"There comes Clark!" said he. 

Potts opened the door. Clark entered. His face was flushed, and his eyesbloodshot. 

"See here, " said he, mysteriously, as he entered the room. 

"What?" asked the others, anxiously. 

"There's two chaps at the inn. One is the Italian--"

"Langhetti!"

"Ay, " said Clark, gloomily; "and the other is his mate--that fellow thathelped him to carry off the gal. They've done it again this time, and myopinion is that these fellows are at the bottom of all our troubles. Youknow _whose son he is_. "

Potts and John exchanged glances. 

"I went after that devil once, and I'm going to try it again. This timeI'll take some one who isn't afraid of the devil. Johnnie, is the dog atthe Hall?"

"Yes. "

"All right!" said Clark. "I'll be even with this fellow yet, if he is inleague with the devil. "

With these words Clark went out, and left the two together. A glance ofsavage exultation passed over the face of Potts. 

"If he comes back successful, " said he, "all right, and if be doesn't, why then"--He paused. 

"If he doesn't come back, " said John, finishing the sentence for him, "why then--all righter. "

CHAPTER LI. 

A STRUGGLE. 

All the irresolution which for a time had characterized Despard hadvanished before the shock of that great discovery which his father'smanuscript had revealed to him. One purpose now lay clearly and vividlybefore him, one which to so loyal and devoted a nature as his was theholiest duty, and that was vengeance on his father's murderers. 

In this purpose he took refuge from his own grief; he cast aside his ownlongings, his anguish, his despair. Langhetti wished to search after his"Bice;" Despard wished to find those whom his dead father had denouncedto him. In the intensity of his purpose he was careless as to the meansby which that vengeance should be accomplished. He thought not whetherit would be better to trust to the slow action of the law, or to takethe task into his own hands. His only wish was to be confronted witheither of these men, or both of them. 

It was with this feeling in his heart that he set out with Langhetti, and the two went once more in company to the village of Brandon, wherethey arrived on the first day of the "run on the bank. "

He did not know exactly what it would be best to do first. His one ideawas to go to the Hall, and confront the murderers in their own place. Langhetti, however, urged the need of help from the civil magistrate. Itwas while they were deliberating about this that a letter was brought inaddressed to the _Rev. Courtenay Despard_. 

Despard did not recognize the handwriting. In some surprise how any oneshould know that was here he opened the letter, and his surprise wasstill greater as he read the following:

"SIR, --There are two men here whom you seek--one Potts, the other Clark. You can see them both at any time. 

"The young lady whom you and Signor Langhetti formerly rescued hasescaped, and is now in safety at Denton, a village not more than twentymiles away. She lives in the last cottage on the left-hand side of theroad, close by the sea. There is an American elm in front. "

There was no signature. 

Despard handed it in silence to Langhetti, who read it eagerly. Joyspread over his face. He started to his feet. 

"I must go at once, " said he, excitedly. "Will you?"

"No, " replied Despard. "You had better go. I must stay; my purpose is adifferent one. "

"But do not you also wish to secure the safety of Bice?"

"Of course; but I shall not be needed. You will be enough. "

Langhetti tried to persuade him, but Despard was immovable. For himselfhe was too impatient to wait. He determined to set out at once. He couldnot get a carriage, but he managed to obtain a horse, and with this heset out. It was about the time when the bank had closed. 

Just before his departure Despard saw a man come from the bank and enterthe inn. He knew the face, for he had seen it when here before. It wasClark. At the sight of this face all his fiercest instinct awoke withinhim--a deep thirst for vengeance arose. He could not lose sight of thisman. He determined to track him, and thus by active pursuit to dosomething toward the accomplishment of his purpose. 

He watched him, therefore, as he entered the inn, and caught a hastyglance which Clark directed at himself and Langhetti. He did notunderstand the meaning of the scowl that passed over the ruffian's face, nor did Clark understand the full meaning of that gloomy frown whichlowered over Despard's brow as his eyes blazed wrathfully and menacinglyupon him. 

[Illustration: "THE NEXT INSTANT DESPARD HAD SEIZED HIS THROAT AND HELDHIM SO THAT HE COULD NOT MOVE. "]

Clark came out and went to the bank. On quitting the bank Despard sawhim looking back at Langhetti, who was just leaving. He then watched himtill he went up to the Hall. 

In about half an hour Clark came back on horseback followed by a dog. Hetalked for a while with the landlord, and then went off at a slow trot. 

On questioning the landlord Despard found that Clark had asked him aboutthe direction which Langhetti had taken. The idea at once flashed uponhim that possibly Clark wished to pursue Langhetti, in order to find outabout Beatrice. He determine on pursuit, both for Langhetti's sake andhis own. 

He followed, therefore, not far behind Clark, riding at first rapidlytill he caught sight of him at the summit of a hill in front, and thenkeeping at about the same distance behind him. He had not determined inhis mind what it was best to do, but held himself prepared for anycourse of action. 

After riding about an hour he put spurs to his horse, and went on at amore rapid pace. Yet he did not overtake Clark, and thereforeconjectured that Clark himself must have gone on more rapidly. He nowput his own horse at its fullest speed, with the intention of coming upwith his enemy as soon as possible. 

He rode on at a tremendous pace for another half hour. At last the roadtook a sudden turn; and, whirling around here at the utmost speed, heburst upon a scene which was as startling as it was unexpected, andwhich roused to madness all the fervid passion of his nature. 

The road here descended, and in its descent wound round a hill and ledinto a gentle hollow, on each side of which hills arose which werecovered with trees. 

Within this glen was disclosed a frightful spectacle. A man lay on theground, torn from his horse by a huge blood-hound, which even then wasrending him with its huge fangs! The dismounted rider's foot wasentangled in the stirrups, and the horse was plunging and dragging himalong, while the dog was pulling him back. The man himself uttered not acry, but tried to fight off the dog with his hands as best he could. 

In the horror of the moment Despard saw that it was Langhetti. For aninstant his brain reeled. The next moment he had reached the spot. Another horseman was standing close by, without pretending even tointerfere. Despard did not see him; he saw nothing but Langhetti. Heflung himself from his horse, and drew a revolver from his pocket. Aloud report rang through the air, and in an instant the huge blood-houndgave a leap upward, with a piercing yell, and fell dead in the road. 

Despard flung himself on his knees beside Langhetti. He saw his handstorn and bleeding, and blood covering his face and breast. A low groanwas all that escaped from the sufferer. 

"Leave me, " he gasped. "Save Bice. "

In his grief for Langhetti, thus lying before him in such agony, Despardforgot all else. He seized his handkerchief and tried to stanch theblood. 

"Leave me!" gasped Langhetti again. "Bice will be lost. " His head, whichDespard had supported for a moment, sank back, and life seemed to leavehim. 

Despard started up. Now for the first time he recollected the stranger;and in an instant understood who he was, and why this had been done. Suddenly, as he started up, he felt his pistol snatched from his hand bya strong grasp. He turned. 

It was the horseman--it was Clark--who had stealthily dismounted, and, in his desperate purpose, had tried to make sure of Despard. 

But Despard, quick as thought, leaped upon him, and caught his hand. Inthe struggle the pistol fell to the ground. Despard caught Clark in hisarms, and then the contest began. 

Clark was of medium size, thick-set, muscular, robust, and desperate. Despard was tall, but his frame was well knit, his muscles and sinewswere like iron, and he was inspired by a higher Spirit and a deeperpassion. 

In the first shock of that fierce embrace not a word was spoken. Forsome time the struggle was maintained without result. Clark had caughtDespard at a disadvantage, and this for a time prevented the latter fromputting forth his strength effectually. 

At last he wound one arm around Clark's neck in a strangling grasp, andforced his other arm under that of Clark. Then with one tremendous, oneresistless impulse, he put forth all his strength. His antagonist gaveway before it. He reeled. 

Despard disengaged one arm and dealt him a tremendous blow on thetemple. At the same instant he twined his legs about those of the other. At the stroke Clark, who had already staggered, gave way utterly andfell heavily backward, with Despard upon him. 

The next instant Despard had seized his throat and held him down so thathe could not move. 

The wretch gasped and groaned. He struggled to escape from that ironhold in vain. The hand which had seized him was not to be shaken off. Despard had fixed his grasp there, and there in the throat of thefainting, suffocating wretch he held it. 

The struggles grew fainter, the arms relaxed, the face blackened, thelimbs stiffened. At last all efforts ceased. 

Despard then arose, and, turning Clark over on his face, took the bridlefrom one of the horses, bound his hands behind him, and fastened hisfeet securely. In the fierce struggle Clark's coat and waistcoat hadbeen torn away, and slipped down to some extent. His shirt-collar hadburst and slipped with them. As Despard turned him over and proceeded totie him, something struck his eye. It was a bright, red scar. 

He pulled down the shirt. A mark appeared, the full meaning of which heknew not, but could well conjecture. There were three brands--fiery red--and these were the marks:

[Illustration: ^ /|\ [three lines, forming short arrow]

 R [sans-serif R]

 + [plus sign] ]

CHAPTER LII. 

FACE TO FACE. 

On the same evening Potts left the bank at about five o'clock, and wentup to the Hall with John. He was morose, gloomy, and abstracted. Thegreat question now before him was how to deal with Smithers & Co. Shouldhe write to them, or go and see them, or what? How could he satisfytheir claims, which he knew would now be presented? Involved in thoughtslike these, he entered the Hall, and, followed by John, went to thedining-room, where father and son sat down to refresh themselves over abottle of brandy. 

They had not been seated half an hour before the noise of carriage-wheels was heard; and on looking out they saw a dog-cart drawn by twomagnificent horses, which drove swiftly up to the portico. A gentlemandismounted, and, throwing the reins to his servant, came up the steps. 

The stranger was of medium size, with an aristocratic air, remarkablyregular features, of pure Grecian outline, and deep, black, lustrouseyes. His brow was dark and stern, and clouded over by a gloomy frown. 

"Who the devil is he?" cried Potts. "D--n that porter! I told him to letno one in to-day. "

"I believe the porter's playing fast and loose with us. But, by Jove! doyou see that fellow's eyes? Do you know who else has such eyes?"

"No. "

"Old Smithers. "

"Smithers!"

"Yes. "

"Then this is young Smithers?"

"Yes; or else the devil, " said John, harshly. "I begin to have an idea, "he continued. "I've been thinking about this for some time. "

"What is it?"

"Old Smithers had these eyes. That last chap that drew the fortythousand out of you kept his eyes covered. Here comes this fellow withthe same eyes. I begin to trace a connection between them. "

"Pooh! Old Smithers is old enough to be this man's grandfather. "

"Did you ever happen to notice that old Smithers hadn't a wrinkle in hisface?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing--only his hair mightn't have been natural; that's all. "

Potts and John exchanged glances, and nothing was said for some time. 

"Perhaps this Smithers & Son have been at the bottom of all this, "continued John. "They are the only ones who could have been strongenough. "

"But why should they?"

John shook his head. 

"Despard or Langhetti may have got them to do it. Perhaps that d----dgirl did it. Smithers & Co. Will make money enough out of thespeculation to pay them. As for me and you, I begin to have a generalbut very accurate idea of ruin. You are getting squeezed pretty close upto the wall, dad, and they won't give you time to breathe. "

Before this conversation had ended the stranger had entered, and hadgone up to the drawing-room. The servant came down to announce him. 

"What name?" asked Potts. 

"He didn't give any. "

Potts looked perplexed. 

"Come now, " said John. "This fellow has overreached himself at last. He's come here; perhaps it won't be so easy for him to get out. I'llhave all the servants ready. Do you keep up your spirits. Don't getfrightened, but be plucky. Bluff him, and when the time comes ring thebell, and I'll march in with all the servants. " Potts looked for amoment at his son with a glance of deep admiration. 

"Johnnie, --you've got more sense in your little finger than I have in mywhole body. Yes: we've got this fellow, whoever he is; and if he turnsout to be what I suspect, then we'll spring the trap on him, and he'lllearn what it is to play with edge tools. "

With these words Potts departed, and, ascending the stairs, entered thedrawing-room. 

The stranger was standing looking out of one of the windows. Hisattitude brought back to Potts's recollection the scene which had onceoccurred there, when old Smithers was holding Beatrice in his arms. Therecollection of this threw a flood of light on Potts's mind. He recalledit with a savage exaltation. Perhaps they were the same, as John said--perhaps; no, most assuredly they must be the same. 

"I've got him now, any way, " murmured Potts to himself, "whoever he is. "

The stranger turned and looked at Potts for a few moments. He neitherbowed nor uttered any salutation whatever. In his look there was acertain terrific menace, an indefinable glance of conscious power, combined with implacable hate. The frown which usually rested on hisbrow darkened and deepened till the gloomy shadows that covered themseemed like thunder-clouds. 

Before that awful look Potts felt himself cowering involuntarily; and hebegan to feel less confidence in his own power, and less sure that thestranger had flung himself into a trap. However, the silence wasembarrassing; so at last, with an effort, he said:

"Well; is there any thing you want of me? I'm in a hurry. "

"Yes, " said the stranger, "I reached the village to-day to call at thebank, but found it closed. "

"Oh! I suppose you've got a draft on me, too. "

"Yes, " said the stranger, mysteriously. "I suppose I may call it adraft. "

"There's no use in troubling your head about it, then, " returned Potts;"I won't pay. "

"You won't?"

"Not a penny. "

A sharp, sudden smile of contempt flashed over the stranger's face. 

"Perhaps if you knew what the draft is, you would feel differently. "

"I don't care what it is. "

"That depends upon the drawer. "

"I don't care who the drawer is. I won't pay it. I don't care even ifit's Smithers & Co. I'll settle all when I'm ready. I'm not going to bebullied any longer. I've borne enough. You needn't look so very grand, "he continued, pettishly; "I see through you, and you can't keep up thissort of thing much longer. "

"You appear to hint that you know who I am?"

"Something of that sort, " said Potts, rudely; "and let me tell you Idon't care who you are. "

"That depends, " rejoined the other, calmly, "very much uponcircumstances. "

"So you see, " continued Potts, "you won't get any thing out of me--notthis time, " he added. 

"My draft, " said the stranger, "is different from those which werepresented at the bank counter. "

He spoke in a tone of deep solemnity, with a tone which seemed like thetread of some inevitable Fate advancing upon its victim. Potts felt anindefinable fear stealing over him in spite of himself. He said not aword. 

"My draft, " continued the stranger, in a tone which was still moreaggressive in its dominant and self-assertive power--"my draft was drawntwenty years ago. "

Potts looked wonderingly and half fearfully at him. 

"My draft, " said the other, "was drawn by Colonel Lionel Despard. "

A chill went to the heart of Potts. With a violent effort he shook offhis fear. 

"Pooh!" said he, "you're at that old story, are you? That nonsense won'tdo here. "

"It was dated at sea, " continued the stranger, in tones which stilldeepened in awful emphasis--"at sea, when the writer was all alone. "

"It's a lie!" cried Potts, while his face grew white. 

"At sea, " continued the other, ringing the changes on this one word, "atsea--on board that ship to which you had brought him--the_Vishnu_!"

Potts was like a man fascinated by some horrid spectacle. He lookedfixedly at his interlocutor. His jaw fell. 

"There he died, " said the stranger. "Who caused his death? Will youanswer?"

With a tremendous effort Potts again recovered command of himself. 

"You--you've been reading up old papers, " replied he, in a stammeringvoice. "You've got a lot of stuff in your head which you think willfrighten me. You've come to the wrong shop. "

But in spite of these words the pale face and nervous manner of Pottsshowed how deep was his agitation. 

"I myself was on board the _Vishnu_, " said the other. 

"You!"

"Yes, I. "

"You! Then you must have been precious small. The _Vishnu_ wentdown twenty years ago. "

"I was on board of the _Vishnu_, and I saw Colonel Despard. "

The memory of some awful scene seemed to inspire the tones of thespeaker--they thrilled through the coarse, brutal nature of thelistener. 

"I saw Colonel Despard, " continued the stranger. 

"You lie!" cried Potts, roused by terror and horror to a fierce pitch ofexcitement. 

"I saw Colonel Despard, " repeated the stranger, for the third time, "onboard the _Vishnu_ in the Indian Sea. I learned from him his story--"

He paused. 

"Then, " cried Potts quickly, to whom there suddenly came an idea whichbrought courage with it; "then, if you saw him, what concern is it ofmine? He was alive, then, and the Despard murder never took place. "

"It did take place, " said the other. 

"You're talking nonsense. How could it if you saw him? He must have beenalive. "

_"He was dead!"_ replied the stranger, whose eyes had neverwithdrawn themselves from those of Potts, and now seemed like two fieryorbs blazing wrathfully upon him. The tones penetrated to the very soulof the listener. He shuddered in spite of himself. Like most vulgarnatures, his was accessible to superstitious horror. He heard andtrembled. 

"He was dead, " repeated the stranger, "and yet all that I told you istrue. I learned from him his story. "

"Dead men tell no tales, " muttered Potts, in a scarce articulate voice. 

"So you thought when you locked him in, and set fire to the ship, andscuttled her; but you see you were mistaken, for here at least was adead man who did tell tales, and I was the listener. "

And the mystic solemnity of the man's face seemed to mark him as one whomight indeed have held commune with the dead. 

"He told me, " continued the stranger, "where he found you, and how. "

Awful expectation was manifest on the face of Potts. 

"He told me of the mark on your arm. Draw up your sleeve, Briggs, Potts, or whatever other name you choose, and show the indelible characterswhich represent the name of _Bowhani_. "

Potts started back. His lips grew ashen. His teeth chattered. 

"He gave me this, " cried the stranger, in a louder voice; "and this isthe draft which you will not reject. "

He strode forward three or four paces, and flung something toward Potts. 

It was a cord, at the end of which was a metallic ball. The ball struckthe table as it fell, and rolled to the floor, but the stranger held theother end in his hand. 

"THUG!" cried he; "do you know what that is?"

Had the stranger been Olympian Jove, and had he flung forth from hisright hand a thunder-bolt, it could not have produced a more appallingeffect than that which was wrought upon Potts by the sight of this cord. He started back in horror, uttering a cry half-way between a scream anda groan. Big drops of perspiration started from his brow. He trembledand shuddered from head to foot. His jaw fell. He stood speechless. 

"That is my draft, " said the stranger. 

"What do you want?" gasped Potts. 

"The title deeds of the Brandon estates!"

"The Brandon estates!" said Potts, in a faltering voice. 

"Yes, the Brandon estates; nothing less. "

"And will you then keep silent?"

"I will give you the cord. "

"Will you keep silent?"

"I am your master, " said the other, haughtily, as his burning eyes fixedthemselves with a consuming gaze upon the abject wretch before him; "Iam your master. I make no promises. I spare you or destroy you as Ichoose. "

These words reduced Potts to despair. In the depths of that despair hefound hope. He started up, defiant. With an oath he sprang to the bell-rope and pulled again and again, till the peals reverberated through thehouse. 

The stranger stood with a scornful smile on his face. Potts turned tohim savagely:

"I'll teach you, " he cried, "that you've come to the wrong shop. I'm nota child. Who you are I don't know and I don't care. You are the cause ofmy ruin, and you'll repent of it. "

[Illustration: "THUG! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS?"]

The stranger said nothing, but stood with the same fixed and scornfulsmile. A noise was heard outside, the tramp of a crowd of men. Theyascended the stairs. At last John appeared at the door of the room, followed by thirty servants. Prominent among these was Asgeelo. Near himwas Vijal. Potts gave a triumphant smile. The servants ranged themselvesaround the room. 

"Now, " cried Potts, "you're in for it. You're in a trap, I think. You'llfind that I'm not a born idiot. Give up that cord!"

The stranger said nothing, but wound up the cord coolly, placed it inhis pocket, and still regarded Potts with his scornful smile. 

"Here!" cried Potts, addressing the servants. "Catch that man, and tiehis hands and feet. "

The servants had taken their station around the room at John's order. AsPotts spoke they stood there looking at the stranger, but not one ofthem moved. Vijal only started forward. The stranger turned toward himand looked in his face. 

Vijal glanced around in surprise, waiting for the other servants. 

"You devils!" cried Potts, "do you hear what I say? Seize that man!"

None of the servants moved. 

"It's my belief, " said John, "that they're all ratting. "

"Vijal!" cried Potts, savagely, "tackle him. "

Vijal rushed forward. At that instant Asgeelo bounded forward also withone tremendous leap, and seizing Vijal by the throat hurled him to thefloor. 

The stranger waved his hand. 

"Let him go!" said he. 

Asgeelo obeyed. 

"What the devil's the meaning of this?" cried John, looking around indismay. Potts also looked around. There stood the servants--motionless, impassive. 

"For the last time, " roared Potts, with a perfect volley of oaths, "seize that man, or you'll be sorry for it. "

The servants stood motionless. The stranger remained in the sameattitude with the same sneering smile. 

"You see, " said he, at last, "that you don't know me, after all. You arein my power, Briggs--you can't get away, nor can your son. "

Potts rushed, with an oath, to the door. Half a dozen servants werestanding there. As he came furiously toward them they held out theirclenched fists. He rushed upon them. They beat him back. He fell, foaming at the lips. 

John stood, cool and unmoved, looking around the room, and learning fromthe face of each servant that they were all beyond his authority. Hefolded his arms, and said nothing. 

"You appear to have been mistaken in your man, " said the stranger, coolly. "These are not your servants; they're mine. Shall I tell them toseize you?"

Potts glared at him with bloodshot eyes, but said nothing. 

"Shall I tell them to pull up your sleeve and display the mark ofBowhani, Sir? Shall I tell who and what you are? Shall I begin from yourbirth and give them a full and complete history of your life?"

Potts looked around like a wild beast in the arena, seeking for someopening for escape, but finding nothing except hostile faces. 

"Do what you like!" he cried, desperately, with an oath, and sank downinto stolid despair. 

"No; you don't mean that, " said the other. "For I have some Londonpolicemen at the inn, and I might like best to hand you over to them oncharges which you can easily imagine. You don't wish me to do so, Ithink. You'd prefer being at large to being chained up in a cell, orsent to Botany Bay, I suppose? Still, if you prefer it, I will at oncearrange an interview between yourself and these gentlemen. "

"What do you want?" anxiously asked Potts, who now thought that he mightcome to terms, and perhaps gain his escape from the clutches of hisenemy. 

"The title deeds of the Brandon estate, " said the stranger. 

"Never!"

"Then off you go. They must be mine, at any rate. Nothing can preventthat. Either give them now and begone, or delay, and you go at once tojail. "

"I won't give them, " said Potts, desperately. 

"Cato!" said the stranger, "go and fetch the policemen. "

"Stop!" cried John. 

At a sign Asgeelo, who had already taken two steps toward the door, paused. 

"Here, dad, " said John, "you've got to do it. You might as well handover the papers. You don't want to get into quod, I think. "

Potts turned his pale face to his son. 

"Do it!" exclaimed John. 

"Well, " he said, with a sigh, "since I've got to, I've got to, Isuppose. You know best, Johnnie. I always said you had a long head. "

"I must go and get them, " he continued. 

"I'll go with you; or no--Cato shall go with you, and I'll wait here. "

The Hindu went with Potts, holding his collar in his powerful grasp, andtaking care to let Potts see the hilt of a knife which he carried up hissleeve, in the other hand. 

After about a quarter of an hour they returned, and Potts handed over tothe stranger some papers. He looked at them carefully, and put them inhis pocket. He then gave Potts the cord. Potts took it in an abstractedway, and said nothing. 

"You must leave this Hall to-night, " said the stranger, sternly--"youand your son. I remain here. "

"Leave the Hall?" gasped Potts. 

"Yes. "

For a moment he stood overwhelmed. He looked at John. John nodded hishead slowly. 

"You've got to do it, dad, " said he. 

Potts turned savagely at the stranger. He shook his clenched fist athim. 

"D--n you!" he cried. "Are you satisfied yet? I know you. I'll pay youup. What complaint have you against me, I'd like to know? I never harmedyou. "

"You don't know me, or you wouldn't say that. "

"I do. You're Smithers & Co. "

"True; and I'm several other people. I've had the pleasure of anextended intercourse with you. For I'm not only Smithers & Co. , but I'malso Beamish & Hendricks, American merchants. I'm also Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. , solicitors to Smithers & Co. Besides, I'm your Londonbroker, who attended to your speculations in stocks. Perhaps you thinkthat you don't know me after all. "

As he said this Potts and John exchanged glances of wonder. 

"Tricked!" cried Potts--"deceived! humbugged! and ruined! Who are you?What have you against me? Who are you? Who?"

And he gazed with intense curiosity upon the calm face of the stranger, who, in his turn, looked upon him with the air of one who was surveyingfrom a superior height some feeble creature far beneath him. 

"Who am I?" he repeated. "Who? I am the one to whom all this belongs. Iam one whom you have injured so deeply, that what I have done to you isnothing in comparison. "

"Who are you?" cried Potts, with feverish impatience. "It's a lie. Inever injured you. I never saw you before till you came yourself totrouble me. Those whom I have injured are all dead, except that parson, the son of--of the officer. "

"There are others. "

Potts said nothing, but looked with some fearful discovery dawning uponhim. 

"You know me now!" cried the stranger. "I see it in your face. "

"You're not _him_!" exclaimed Potts, in a piercing voice. 

"I am LOUIS BRANDON!"

"I knew it! I knew it!" cried John, in a voice which was almost ashriek. 

"Cigole played false. I'll make him pay for this, " gasped Potts. 

"Cigole did not play false. He killed me as well as he could--But away, both of you. I can not breathe while you are here. I will allow you anhour to be gone. "

At the end of the hour Brandon of Brandon Hall was at last master in thehome of his ancestors. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

THE COTTAGE. 

When Despard had bound Clark he returned to look after Langhetti. He layfeebly and motionless upon the ground. Despard carefully examined hiswounds. His injuries were very severe. His arms were lacerated, and hisshoulder torn; blood also was issuing from a wound on the side of hisneck. Despard bound these as best he could, and then sat wondering whatcould be done next. 

He judged that he might be four or five miles from Denton, and saw thatthis was the place to which he must go. Besides, Beatrice was there, andshe could nurse Langhetti. But how could he get there?--that was thequestion. It was impossible for Langhetti to go on horseback. He triedto form some plan by which this might be done. He began to make a sortof litter to be hung between two horses, and had already cut down withhis knife two small trees or rather bushes for this purpose, when thenoise of wheels on the road before him attracted his attention. 

It was a farmer's wagon, and it was coming from the direction of Denton. Despard stopped it, explained his situation, and offered to pay anything if the farmer would turn back and convey his friend and hisprisoner to Denton. It did not take long to strike a bargain; the farmerturned his horses, some soft shrubs and ferns were strewn on the bottomof the wagon, and on these Langhetti was deposited carefully. Clark, whoby this time had come to himself, was put at one end, where he satgrimly and sulkily; the three horses were led behind, and Despard, riding on the wagon, supported the head of Langhetti on his knees. 

Slowly and carefully they went to the village. Despard had no difficultyin finding the cottage. It was where the letter had described it. Thevillage inn stood near on the opposite side of the road. 

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when they reached the cottage. Lights were burning in the windows. Despard jumped out hastily andknocked. A servant came. Despard asked for the mistress, and Beatriceappeared. As she recognized him her face lighted up with joy. ButDespard's face was sad and gloomy. He pressed her hand in silence andsaid:

"My dear adopted sister, I bring you our beloved Langhetti. "

"Langhetti!" she exclaimed, fearfully. 

"He has met with an accident. Is there a doctor in the place? Send yourservant at once. "

Beatrice hurried in and returned with a servant. 

"We will first lift him out, " said Despard. "Is there a bed ready?"

"Oh yes! Bring him in!" cried Beatrice, who was now in an agony ofsuspense. 

She hurried after them to the wagon. They lifted Langhetti out and tookhim into a room which Beatrice showed them. They tenderly laid him onthe bed. Meanwhile the servant had hurried off for a doctor, who soonappeared. 

Beatrice sat by his bedside; she kissed the brow of the almostunconscious sufferer, and tried in every possible way to alleviate hispain. The doctor soon arrived, dressed his wounds, and left directionsfor his care, which consisted chiefly in constant watchfulness. 

Leaving Langhetti under the charge of Beatrice, Despard went in searchof a magistrate. He found one without any difficulty, and before an hourClark was safe in jail. The information which Despard lodged against himwas corroborated by the brands on his back, which showed him to be a manof desperate character, who had formerly been transported for crime. 

Despard next wrote a letter to Mrs. Thornton. He told her aboutLanghetti, and urged her to come on immediately and bring Edith withher. Then he returned to the cottage and wished to sit up withLanghetti. Beatrice, however, would not let him. She said that no oneshould deprive her of the place by his bedside. Despard remained, however, and the two devoted equal attention to the sufferer. Langhettispoke only once. He was so faint that his voice was scarce audible. Beatrice put her ear close to his mouth. 

"What is it?" asked Despard. 

"He wants Edith, " said Beatrice. 

"I have written for her, " said Despard. 

Beatrice whispered this to Langhetti. An ecstatic smile passed over hisface. 

"It is well, " he murmured. 

CHAPTER LIV. 

THE WORM TURNS. 

Potts departed from the Hall in deep dejection. The tremendous power ofhis enemy had been shown all along; and now that this enemy turned outto be Louis Brandon, he felt as though some supernatural being had takenup arms against him. Against that being a struggle seemed as hopeless asit would be against Fate. It was with some such feeling as this that heleft Brandon Hall forever. 

All of his grand projects had broken down, suddenly and utterly. He hadnot a ray of hope left of ever regaining the position which he had butrecently occupied. He was thrust back to the obscurity from which he hademerged. 

One thing troubled him. Would the power of his remorseless enemy be nowstayed--would his vengeance end here? He could scarce hope for this. Hejudged that enemy by himself, and he knew that he would not stop in thesearch after vengeance, that nothing short of the fullest and direstruin--nothing, in fact, short of death itself would satisfy him. 

John was with him, and Vijal, who alone out of all the servants hadfollowed his fortunes. These three walked down and passed through thegates together, and emerged into the outer world in silence. But whenthey had left the gates the silence ended. 

"Well, dad!" said John, "what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. "

"Have you any money?"

"Four thousand pounds in the bank. "

"Not much, dad, " said John, slowly, "for a man who last month was worthmillions. You're coming out at the little end of the horn. "

Potts made no reply. 

"At any rate there's one comfort, " said John, "even about that. "

"What comfort?"

"Why, you went in at the little end. "

They walked on in silence. 

"You must do something, " said John at last. 

"What can I do?"

"You won't let that fellow ride the high horse in this style, will you?"

"How can I help it?"

"You can't help it; but you can strike a blow yourself. "

"How?"

"How? You've struck blows before to some purpose, I think. "

"But I never yet knew any one with such tremendous power as this manhas. And where did he get all his money? You said before that he was thedevil, and I believe it. Where's Clark? Do you think he has succeeded?"

"No, " said John. 

"No more do I. This man has every body in his pay. Look at the servants!See how easily he did what he wished!"

"You've got one servant left. "

"Ah, yes--that's a fact. "

"That servant will do something for you. "

"What do you mean?"

"Brandon is a man, after all--and can _die_, " said John, with deepemphasis. "Vijal, " he continued, in a whisper, "hates me, but he wouldlay down his life for you. "

"I understand, " said Potts, after a pause. 

A long silence followed. 

"You go on to the inn, " said Potts, at last. "I'll talk with Vijal. "

"Shall I risk the policemen?"

"Yes, you run no risk. I'll sleep in the bank. "

"All right, " said John, and he walked away. 

"Vijal, " said Potts, dropping back so as to wait for the Malay. "You arefaithful to me. "

"Yes, " answered Vijal. 

"All the others betrayed me, but you did not?"

"Never. "

"Do you know when you first saw me?"

"Yes. "

"I saved your life. "

"Yes. "

"Your father was seized at Manilla and killed for murder, but Iprotected you, and promised to take care of you. Haven't I done so?"

"Yes, " said Vijal humbly, and in a reverent tone. 

"Haven't I been another father?"

"You have. "

"Didn't I promise to tell you some day who the man was that killed yourfather?"

"Yes, " exclaimed Vijal, fiercely. 

"Well, I'm going to tell you. "

"Who?" cried Vijal, in excitement so strong that he could scarce speak. 

"Did you see that man who drove me out of the Hall?"

"Yes. "

"Well, that was the man. He killed your father. He has ruined me--yourother father. What do you say to that?"

"He shall die, " returned Vijal, solemnly. "He shall die. "

"I am an old man, " resumed Potts. "If I were as strong as I used to be Iwould not talk about this to you. I would do it all myself. "

"I'll do it!" cried Vijal. "I'll do it!"

His eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated--all the savage within him wasaroused. Potts saw this, and rejoiced. 

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked, showing Vijal the cord whichBrandon had given him. 

Vijal's eyes dilated, and a wilder fire shone in them. He seized thecord, turned it round his hand for a moment, and then hurled it atPotts. It passed round and round his waist. 

"Ah!" said Potts, with deep gratification. "You have not forgotten, then. You can throw it skillfully. "

Vijal nodded, and said nothing. 

"Keep the cord. Follow up that man. Avenge your father's death and myruin. "

"I will, " said Vijal, sternly. 

"It may take long. Follow him up. Do not come back to me till you cometo tell me that he is dead. "

Vijal nodded. 

"Now I am going. I must fly and hide myself from this man. As long as helives I am in danger. But you will always find John at the inn when youwish to see me. "

"I will lay down my life for you, " said Vijal. 

"I don't want your life, " returned Potts. "I want _his_. "

"You shall have it, " exclaimed Vijal. 

Potts said no more. He handed Vijal his purse in silence. The lattertook it without a word. Potts then went toward the bank, and Vijal stoodalone in the road. 

CHAPTER LV. 

ON THE ROAD. 

On the following morning Brandon started from the Hall at an early hour. He was on horseback. He rode down through the gates. Passing through thevillage he went by the inn and took the road to Denton. 

He had not gone far before another horseman followed him. The latterrode at a rapid pace. Brandon did not pay any especial attention to him, and at length the latter overtook him. It was when they were nearlyabreast that Brandon recognized the other. It was Vijal. 

"Good-morning, " said Vijal. 

"Good-morning, " replied Brandon. 

"Are you going to Denton?" "Yes. "

"So am I, " said Vijal. 

Brandon was purposely courteous, although it was not exactly the thingfor a gentleman to be thus addressed by a servant. He saw that thisservant had overreached himself, and knew that he must have some motivefor joining him and addressing him in so familiar a manner. 

He suspected what might be Vijal's aim, and therefore kept a close watchon him. He saw that Vijal, while holding the reins in his left hand, kept his right hand concealed in his breast. A suspicion darted acrosshis mind. He stroked his mustache with his own right hand, which he keptconstantly upraised, and talked cheerfully and patronizingly with hiscompanion. After a while he fell back a little and drew forth a knife, which he concealed in his hand, and then he rode forward as beforeabreast of the other, assuming the appearance of perfect calm andindifference. 

"Have you left Potts?" said Brandon, after a short time. 

"No, " replied Vijal. 

"Ah! Then you are on some business of his now?"

"Yes. "

Brandon was silent. 

"Would you like to know what it is?" asked Vijal. 

"Not particularly, " said Brandon, coldly. 

"Shall I tell you?"

"If you choose. "

Vijal raised his hand suddenly and gave a quick, short jerk. A cord flewforth--there was a weight at the end. The cord was flung straight atBrandon's neck. 

But Brandon had been on his guard. At the movement of Vijal's arm he hadraised his own; the cord passed around him, but his arm was within itsembrace. In his hand he held a knife concealed. In an instant he slashedhis knife through the windings of the cord, severing them all; thendropping the knife he plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat, andbefore Vijal could recover from his surprise he drew forth a revolverand pointed it at him. 

[Illustration: VIJAL LOOKED EARNESTLY AT IT. HE SAW THESE WORDS: "JOHNPOTTS. "]

Vijal saw at once that he was lost. He nevertheless plunged his spursinto his horse and made a desperate effort to escape. As his horsebounded off Brandon fired. The animal gave a wild neigh, which soundedalmost like a shriek, and fell upon the road, throwing Vijal over hishead. 

In an instant Brandon was up with him. He leaped from his horse beforeVijal had disencumbered himself from his, and seizing the Malay by thecollar held the pistol at his head. 

"If you move, " he cried, sternly, "I'll blow your brains out!"

Vijal lay motionless. 

"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Brandon, as he held him with the revolver pressedagainst his head, "who sent you to do this?"

Vijal in sullen silence answered nothing. 

"Tell me or I'll kill you. Was it Potts?"

Vijal made no reply. 

"Speak out, " cried Brandon. "Fool that you are, I don't want _your_life. "

"You are the murderer of my father, " said Vijal, fiercely, "and thereforeI sought to kill you. "

Brandon gave a low laugh. 

"The murderer of your father?" he repeated. 

"Yes, " cried Vijal, wildly; "and I sought your death. "

Brandon laughed again. 

"Do you know how old I am?"

Vijal looked up in amazement. He saw by that one look what he had notthought of before in his excitement, that Brandon was a younger man thanhimself by several years. He was silent. 

"How many years is it since your father died?"

Vijal said nothing. 

"Fool!" exclaimed Brandon. "It is twenty years. You are false to yourfather. You pretend to avenge his death, and you seek out a young manwho had no connection with it. I was in England when he was killed. Iwas a child only seven years of age. Do you believe now that I am hismurderer?"

Brandon, while speaking in this way, had relaxed his hold, though hestill held his pistol pointed at the head of his prostrate enemy. Vijalgave a long, low sigh. 

"You were too young, " said he, at last. "You are younger than I am. Iwas only twelve. "

"I could not have been his murderer, then?"

"No. "

"Yet I know who his murderer was, for I have found out. "

"Who?"

"The same man who killed my own father. "

Vijal looked at Brandon with awful eyes. 

"Your father had a brother?" said Brandon. 

"Yes. "

"Do you know his name?"

"Yes. Zangorri. "

"Right. Well, do you know what Zangorri did to avenge his brother'sdeath?"

"No; what?"

"For many years he vowed death to all Englishmen, since it was anEnglishman who had caused the death of his brother. He had a ship; hegot a crew and sailed through the Eastern seas, capturing English shipsand killing the crews. This was his vengeance. " Vijal gave a groan. 

"You see he has done more than you. He knew better than you who it wasthat had killed your father. "

"Who was it?" cried Vijal, fiercely. 

"I saw him twice, " continued Brandon, without noticing the question, ofthe other. "I saw him twice, and twice he told me the name of the manwhose death he sought. For year after year he had sought after that man, but had not found him. Hundreds of Englishmen had fallen. He told me thename of the man whom he sought, and charged me to carry out his work ofvengeance. I promised to do so, for I had a work of vengeance of my ownto perform, and on the same man, too. 

"Who was he?" repeated Vijal, with increased excitement. 

"When I saw him last he gave me something which be said he had wornaround his neck for years. I took it, and promised to wear it till thevengeance which he sought should be accomplished. I did so for I too hada debt of vengeance stronger than his, and on the same man. "

"Who was he?" cried Vijal again, with restless impetuosity. 

Brandon unbuttoned his vest and drew forth a Malay creese, which washung around his neck and worn under his coat. 

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, solemnly. 

Vijal took it and looked at it earnestly. His eyes dilated, his nostrilsquivered. 

"My father's!" he cried, in a tremulous voice. 

Can you read English letters?"

"Yes. "

"Can you read the name that is cut upon it?"

And Brandon pointed to a place where some letters were carved. 

Vijal looked earnestly at it. He saw these words:

 JOHN POTTS. 

"That, " said Brandon, "is what your father's brother gave to me. "

"It's a lie!" growled Vijal, fiercely. 

"It's true, " said Brandon, calmly, "and it was carved there by yourfather's own hand. "

Vijal said nothing for a long time. Brandon arose, and put his pistol inhis pocket. Vijal, disencumbering himself from his horse, arose also. The two stood together on the road. 

For hours they remained there talking. At last Brandon remounted androde on to Denton. But Vijal went back to the village of Brandon. Hecarried with him the creese which Brandon had given him. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

FATHER AND SON. 

Vijal, on going back to Brandon village, went first to the inn where hesaw John. To the inquiries which were eagerly addressed to him heanswered nothing, but simply said that he wished to see Potts. John, finding him impracticable, cursed him and led the way to the bank. 

As Vijal entered Potts locked the door carefully, and then anxiouslyquestioned him. Vijal gave a plain account of every thing exactly as ithad happened, but with some important alterations and omissions. In thefirst place, he said nothing whatever of the long interview which hadtaken place and the startling information which he had received. In thesecond place, he assured Potts that he must have attacked the wrong man. For when this man had spared his life he looked at him closely and foundout that he was not the one that he ought to have attacked. 

"You blasted fool, " cried Potts. "Haven't you got eyes? D--n you; I wishthe fellow, whoever he is, had seized you, or blown your brains out. "

Vijal cast down his eyes humbly. 

"I can try again, " said he. "I have made a mistake this time; the nexttime I will make sure. "

There was something in the tone of his voice so remorseless and sovengeful that Potts felt reassured. 

"You are a good lad, " said he, "a good lad. And you'll try again?"

"Yes, " said Vijal, with flashing eyes. 

"You'll make sure this time?"

"I'll make sure this time. But I must have some one with me, " hecontinued. "You need not trouble yourself. Send John with me. He won'tmistake. If he is with me I'll make sure. "

As the Malay said this a brighter and more vivid flash shone from hiseyes. He gave a malevolent smile, and his white teeth glistenedbalefully. Instantly he checked the smile, and cast down his eyes. 

"Ah!" said Potts. "That is very good. John shall go. Johnnie, you don'tmind going, do you?"

"I'll go, " said John, languidly. 

"You'll know the fellow, won't you?"

"I rather think I should. "

"But what will you do first?"

"Go to Denton, " said John. 

"To Denton?"

"Yes. "

"Why?"

"Because Brandon is there. "

"How can he be?"

"Simply, " said John, "because I know the man that Vijal attacked musthave been Brandon. No other person answers to the description. No otherperson would be so quick to dodge the cord, and so quick with therevolver. He has humbugged Vijal somehow, and this fool of a nigger hasbelieved him. He was Brandon, and no one else, and I'm going on histrack. "

"Well--you're right, perhaps, " said Potts; "but take care of yourself, Johnnie. "

John gave a dry smile. 

"I'll try to do so and I hope to take care of others also, " said he. 

"God bless you, Johnnie!" said Potts, affectionately, not knowing theblasphemy of invoking the blessing of God on one who was setting out tocommit murder. 

"You're spooney, dad, " returned John, and he left the bank with Vijal. 

John went back to the inn first, and after a few preparations startedfor Denton. On the way he amused himself with coarse jests at Vijal'sstupidity in allowing himself to be deceived by Brandon, taunted himwith cowardice in yielding so easily, and assured him that one who wasso great a coward could not possibly succeed in any undertaking. 

Toward evening they reached the inn at Denton. John was anxious not toshow himself, so he went at once to the inn, directing Vijal to keep alook-out for Brandon and let him know if he saw any one who looked likehim. These directions were accompanied and intermingled with numerousthreats as to what he would do if Vijal dared to fail in any particular. The Malay listened calmly, showing none of that impatience and haughtyresentment which he formerly used to manifest toward John, and quietlypromised to do what was ordered. 

About ten o'clock John happened to look on of the window. He saw afigure standing where the light from the windows flashed out, which atonce attracted his attention. It was the man whom he sought--it wasBrandon. Was he stopping at the same inn? If so, why had not Vijal toldhim? He at once summoned Vijal, who came as calm as ever. To John'simpatient questions as to why he had not told him about Brandon, heanswered that Brandon had only come there half an hour previously, andthat he had been watching him ever since to see what he was going to do. 

"You most keep on watching him, then; do you hear?"

"Yes. "

"And if you let him slip this time, you infernal nigger, you'll pay dearfor it. "

"I'll not make a mistake this time, " was Vijal's answer. And as he spokehis eyes gleamed, and again that baleful smile passed over his face. 

"That's the man, " said John. "You understand that? That's the man you'vegot to fix, do you hear? Don't be a fool this time. You must manage itto-night, for I don't want to wait here forever. I leave it to you. Ionly came to make sure of the man. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed soon. When I wake to-morrow I expect to hear from you that you have finishedthis business. If you don't, d--n you, I'll wring your infernal nigger'sneck. "

"It will all be done by to-morrow, " said Vijal, calmly. 

"Then clear out and leave me. I'm going to bed. What you've got to do isto watch that man. "

Vijal retired. 

The night passed. When the following morning came John was not up at theordinary breakfast hour. Nine o'clock came. Ten o'clock. Still he didnot appear. 

"He's a lazy fellow, " said the landlord, "though he don't look like it. And where's his servant?"

"The servant went back to Brandon at day-break, " was the answer. 

Eleven o'clock came. Still there were no signs of John. There was abalcony in the inn which ran in front of the windows of the roomoccupied by John. After knocking at the door once or twice the landlordtapped at the window and tried to peep in to see if the occupant wasawake or not. One part, of the blind was drawn a little aside, andshowed the bed and the form of a man still lying there. 

"He's an awful sleeper, " said the landlord. "It's twelve o'clock, and heisn't up yet. Well, it's his business, not mine. "

About half an hour after the noise of wheels was heard, and a wagondrove swiftly into the yard of the inn. An old man jumped out, gave hishorse to the hostler, and entered the inn. 

He was somewhat flushed and flurried. His eyes twinkled brightly, andthere was a somewhat exuberant familiarity in his address to thelandlord. 

"There was a party who stopped here last night, " said he, "that I wishto see. "

"There was only one person here last night, " answered the landlord; "ayoung man--"

"A young man, yes--that's right; I want to see him. "

"Well, as to that, " said the landlord, "I don't know but you'll have towait. He ain't up yet. "

"Isn't he up yet?"

"No; he's an awful sleeper. He went to bed last night early, for hislights were out before eleven, and now it's nearly one, and he isn'tup. "

"At any rate, I must see him. "

"Shall I wake him?"

[Illustration: HE TORE DOWN THE COVERLET, WHICH CONCEALED THE GREATERPART OF HIS FACE. ]

"Yes, and be quick, for I'm in a hurry. "

The landlord went up to the door and knocked loudly. There was noanswer. He knocked still more loudly. Still no answer. He then kept upan incessant rapping for about ten minutes. Still there was no answer. He had tried the door before, but it was locked on the inside. He wentaround to the windows that opened on the balcony; these were open. 

He then went down and told the old man that the door was fastened, butthat the windows were unfastened. If he chose to go in there he might doso. 

"I will do so, " said the other, "for I must see him. I have business ofimportance. " He went up. 

The landlord and some of the servants, whose curiosity was by this timeexcited, followed after. 

The old man opened the window, which swung back on hinges, and entered. There was a man in the bed. 

He lay motionless. The old man approached. He recognized the face. 

A cold chill went to his heart. He tore down the coverlet, whichconcealed the greater part of his face. The next moment he fell forwardupon the bed. 

"Johnnie!" he screamed--"Johnnie!"

There was no answer. The face was rigid and fixed. Around the neck was afaint, bluish line, a mark like what might have been made by a cord. 

"Johnnie, Johnnie!" cried the old man again, in piercing tones. Hecaught at the hands of the figure before him; he tried to pull itforward. 

There was no response. The old man turned away and rushed to the window, gasping, with white lips, and bloodshot eyes, and a face of horror. 

"He is dead!" he shrieked. "My boy--my son--my Johnnie! Murderer! Youhave killed him. "

The landlord and the servants started back in horror from the presenceof this father in his misery. 

It was for but a moment that he stood there. He went back and flunghimself upon the bed. Then he came forth again and stood upon thebalcony, motionless, white-faced, speechless--his lips mutteringinaudible words. 

A crowd gathered round. The story soon spread. This was the father of ayoung man who had stopped at the inn and died suddenly. The crowd thatgathered around the inn saw the father as he stood on the balcony. 

The dwellers in the cottage that was almost opposite saw him, andAsgeelo brought them the news. 

CHAPTER LVII. 

MRS. COMPTON'S SECRET. 

On the night after the arrival of John, Brandon had left Denton. He didnot return till the following day. On arriving at the inn he saw anunusual spectacle--the old man on the balcony, the crowd of villagersaround, the universal excitement. 

On entering the inn he found some one who for some time had been waitingto see him. It was Philips. Philips had come early in the morning, andhad been over to the cottage. He had learned all about the affair at theinn, and narrated it to Brandon, who listened with his usual calmness. He then gave him a letter from Frank, which Brandon read, and put in hispocket. 

Then Philips told him the news which he had learned at the cottage aboutLanghetti. Langhetti and Despard were both there yet, the former verydangerously ill, the latter waiting for some friends. He also told aboutthe affair on the road, the seizure of Clark, and his delivery into thehands of the authorities. 

Brandon heard all this with the deepest interest. While the excitementat the inn was still at its height, he hurried off to the magistrateinto whose hands Clark had been committed. After an interview with himhe returned. He found the excitement unabated. He then went to thecottage close by the inn, where Beatrice had found a home, and Langhettia refuge. Philips was with him. 

On knocking at the door Asgeelo opened it. They entered the parlor, andin a short time Mrs. Compton appeared. Brandon's first inquiry was afterLanghetti. 

"He is about the same, " said Mrs. Compton. 

"Does the doctor hold out any hopes of his recovery?" asked Brandon, anxiously. 

"Very little, " said Mrs. Compton. 

"Who nurses him?"

"Miss Potts and Mr. Despard. "

"Are they both here?"

"Yes. "

Brandon was silent. 

"I will go and tell them that you are here, " said Mrs. Compton. 

Brandon made no reply, and Mrs. Compton, taking silence for assent, wentto announce his arrival. 

In a short time they appeared. Beatrice entered first. She was grave, and cold, and solemn; Despard was gloomy and stern. They both shookhands with Brandon in silence. Beatrice gave her hand without a word, lifelessly and coldly; Despard took his hand abstractedly. 

Brandon looked earnestly at Beatrice as she stood there before him, calm, sad, passionless, almost repellent in her demeanor, and wonderedwhat the cause might be of such a change. 

Mrs. Compton stood apart at a little distance, near Philips, and lookedon with a strange expression, half wistful, half timid. 

There was a silence which at length became embarrassing. From the roomwhere they were sitting the inn could plainly be seen, with the crowdoutside. Beatrice's eyes were directed toward this. Despard said not aword. At another time he might have been strongly interested in thisman, who on so many accounts was so closely connected with him; but nowthe power of some dominant and all-engrossing idea possessed him, and heseemed to take no notice of any things whatever either without the houseor within. 

After looking in silence at the inn for a long time Beatrice withdrewher gaze. Brandon regarded her with a fixed and earnest glance, asthough he would read her inmost soul. She looked at him, and cast downher eyes. 

"You abhor me!" said he, in a loud, thrilling voice. 

She said nothing, but pointed toward the inn. 

"You know all about that?"

Beatrice bowed her head silently. 

"And you look upon me as guilty?"

She gazed at him, but said nothing. It was a cold, austere gaze, withoutone touch of softness. 

"After all, " said she, "he was my father. You had your vengeance totake, and you have taken it. You may now exult, but my heart bleeds. "

Brandon started to his feet. 

"As God lives, " he cried, "I did not do that thing!"

Beatrice looked up mournfully and inquiringly. 

"If it had been his base life which I sought, " said Brandon, vehemently, "I might long ago have taken it. He was surrounded on all sides by mypower. He could not escape. Officers of the law stood ready to do mybidding. Yet I allowed him to leave the Hall in safety. I might havetaken his heart's-blood. I might have handed him over to the law. I didnot. "

"No, " said Beatrice, in icy tones, "you did not; you sought a deepervengeance. You cared not to take his life. It was sweeter to you to takehis son's life and give him agony. Death would have been insufficient--anguish was what you wished;

"It is not for me to blame you, " she continued, while Brandon looked ather without a word. "Who am I--a polluted one, of the accursed brood--who am I, to stand between you and him, or to blame you if you seek forvengeance? I am nothing. You have done kindnesses to me which I now wishwere undone. Oh that I had died under the hand of the pirates! Oh thatthe ocean had swept me down to death with all its waves! Then I shouldnot have lived to see this day!"

Roused by her vehemence Despard started from his abstraction and lookedaround. 

"It seems to me, " said he, "as if you were blaming some one forinflicting suffering on a man for whom no suffering can be too great. What! can you think of your friend as he lies there in the next room inhis agony, dying, torn to pieces by this man's agency, and have pity forhim?"

"Oh!" cried Beatrice, "is he not my father?"

Mrs. Compton looked around with staring eyes, and trembled from head tofoot. Her lips moved--she began to speak, but the words died away on herlips. 

"Your father!" said Despard; "his acts have cut him off from adaughter's sympathy. "

"Yet he has a father's feelings, at least for his dead son. Never shallI forget his look of anguish as he stood on the balcony. His face wasturned this way. He seemed to reproach me. "

"Let me tell you, " cried Despard, harshly. "He has not yet madeatonement for his crimes. This is but the beginning. I have a debt ofvengeance to extort from him. One scoundrel has been handed over to thelaw, another lies dead, another is in London in the hands of Langhetti'sfriends, the Carbonari. The worst one yet remains, and my father's voicecries to me day and night from that dreadful ship. "

"Your father's voice!" cried Beatrice. She looked at Despard. Their eyesmet. Something passed between them in that glance which brought back theold, mysterious feeling which she had known before. Despard rose hastilyand left the room. 

"In God's name, " cried Brandon, "I say that this man's life was notsought by me, nor the life of any of his. I will tell you all. When hecompassed the death of Uracao, of whom you know, he obtained possessionof his son, then a mere boy, and carried him away. He kept this lad withhim and brought him up with the idea that he was his best friend, andthat he would one day show him his father's murderer. After I mademyself known to him, he told Vijal that I was this murderer. Vijal triedto assassinate me. I foiled him, and could have killed him. But I sparedhis life. I then told him the truth. That is all that I have done. Ofcourse, I knew that Vijal would seek for vengeance. That was not myconcern. Since Potts had sent him to seek my life under a lie, I senthim away with knowledge of the truth. I do not repent that told him; noris there any guilt chargeable to me. The man that lies dead there is notmy victim. Yet if he were--oh, Beatrice! if he were--what then? Couldthat atone for what I have suffered? My father ruined and broken-heartedand dying in a poor-house calls to me always for vengeance. My mothersuffering in the emigrant ship, and dying of the plague amidst horrorswithout a name calls to me. Above all my sweet sister, my pure Edith--"

"Edith!" interrupted Beatrice--"Edith!"

"Yes; do you not know that? She was buried alive. "

"What!" cried Beatrice; "is it possible that you do not know that she isalive?"

"Alive!"

"Yes, alive; for when I was at Holly I saw her. "

Brandon stood speechless with surprise. 

"Langhetti saved her, " said Beatrice. "His sister has charge of hernow. "

"Where, where is she?" asked Brandon, wildly. 

"In a convent at London. "

At this moment Despard entered. 

"Is this true?" asked Brandon, with a deeper agitation than had ever yetbeen seen in him--"my sister, is it true that she is not dead?"

"It is true. I should have told you, " said Despard, "but other thoughtsdrove it from my mind, and I forgot that you might be ignorant. "

"How is it possible? I was at Quebec myself. I have sought over theworld after my relatives--"

"I will tell you, " said Despard. 

He sat down and began to tell the story of Edith's voyage and all thatLanghetti had done, down to the time of his rescue of her from death. The recital filled Brandon with such deep amazement that he had not aword to say. He listened like one stupefied. 

"Thank God!" he cried at last when it was ended; "thank God, I am sparedthis last anguish; I am freed from the thought which for years has beenmost intolerable. The memories that remain are bitter enough, but theyare not so terrible as this. But I must see her. I must find her. Whereis she?"

"Make yourself easy on that score, " said Despard, calmly. "She will behere to-morrow or the day after. I have written to Langhetti's sister;she will come, and will bring your sister with her. "

"I should have told you so before, " said Beatrice, "but my own troublesdrove every thing else from my mind. "

"Forgive me, " said Brandon, "for intruding now. I came in to learn aboutLanghetti. You look upon me with horror. I will withdraw. "

Beatrice bowed her head, and tears streamed from her eyes. Brandon tookher hand. 

"Farewell, " he murmured; "farewell, Beatrice. You will not condemn mewhen I say that I am innocent?"

"I am accursed, " she murmured. 

Despard looked at these two with deep anxiety. 

"Stay, " said he to Brandon. "There is something which must be explained. There is a secret which Langhetti has had for years, and which he hasseveral times been on the point of telling. I have just spoken to himand told him that you are here. He says he will tell his secret now, whatever it is. He wishes us all to come in--and you too, especially, "said Despard, looking at Mrs. Compton. 

The poor old creature began to tremble. 

"Don't be afraid, old woman, " said Philips. "Take my arm and I'llprotect you. "

She rose, and, leaning on his arm, followed the others into Langhetti'sroom. He was fearfully emaciated. His material frame, worn down by painand confinement, seemed about to dissolve and let free that soaring soulof his, whose fiery impulses had for years chafed against the prisonbars of its mortal inclosure. His eyes shone darkly and luminously fromtheir deep, hollow sockets, and upon his thin, wan, white lips there wasa faint smile of welcome--faint like the smile of the sick, yet sweet asthe smile of an angel. 

It was with such a smile that he greeted Brandon, and with both of histhin white hands pressed the strong and muscular hand of the other. 

"And you are Edith's brother, " he said. "Edith's brother, " he repeated, resting lovingly upon that name, Edith. "She always said you were alive, and once she told me she should live to see you. Welcome, brother of myEdith! I am a dying man. Edith said her other brother was alive--Frank. Where is Frank? Will he not come to stand by the bedside of his dyingfriend? He did so once. "

"He will come, " said Brandon, in a voice choked with emotion, as hepressed the hand of the dying man. "He will come, and at once. "

"And you will be all here, then--sweet friends! It is well. "

He paused. 

"Bice!" said he at last. 

Beatrice, who was sitting by his head, bent down toward him. 

"Bice, " said Langhetti. "My pocket-book is in my coat, and if you openthe inside pocket you will find something wrapped in paper. Bring it tome. "

Beatrice found the pocket-book and opened it as directed. In the insidepocket there was a thin, small parcel. She opened it and drew forth avery small baby's stocking. 

"Look at the mark, " said Langhetti. 

Beatrice did so, and saw two letters marked on it--B. D. 

"This was given me by your nurse at Hong Kong. She said your things wereall marked with those letters when you were first brought to her. Shedid not know what it meant. 'B' meant Beatrice; but what did 'D' mean?"

All around that bedside exchanged glances of wonder. Mrs. Compton wasmost agitated. 

"Take me away, " she murmured to Philips. 

But Philips would not. 

"Cheer up, old woman!" said he. "There's nothing to fear now. Thatdevil won't hurt you. "

"Now, in my deep interest in you, and in my affection, I tried to findout what this meant. The nurse and I often talked about it. She told methat your father never cared particularly about you, and that it wasstrange for your clothing to be marked 'D' if your name was Potts. Itwas a thing which greatly troubled her. I made many inquiries. I foundout about the Manilla murder case. From that moment I suspected that 'D'meant Despard. 

"Oh, Heavens!" sighed Beatrice, in an agony of suspense. Brandon andDespard stood motionless, waiting for something further. 

"This is what I tried to solve. I made inquiries every where. At last Igave it up. So when circumstances threw Beatrice again in my way I triedagain. I have always been baffled There is only, one who can tell--onlyone. She is here, in this room; and, in the name of God, I call upon herto speak out and tell the truth. "

"Who?" cried Despard, while he and Brandon both looked earnestly at Mrs. Compton. 

"Mrs. Compton!" said Langhetti; and his voice seemed to die away fromexhaustion. 

Mrs. Compton was seized with a panic more overpowering than usual. Shegasped for breath. "Oh, Lord!" she cried. "Oh, Lord! Spare me! spare me!He'll kill me!"

Brandon walked up to her and took her hand. "Mrs. Compton, " said he, ina calm, resolute voice, "your timidity has been your curse. There is noneed for fear now. I will protect you. The man whom you have feared somany years is now ruined, helpless, and miserable. I could destroy himat this moment if I chose. You are foolish if you fear him. Your son iswith you. His arm supports you, and I stand here ready to protect bothyou and your son. Speak out, and tell what you know. Your husband isstill living. He longs for your return. You and your son are free fromyour enemies. Trust in me, and you shall both go back to him and live inpeace. "

Tears fell from Mrs. Compton's eyes. She seized Brandon's hand andpressed it to her thin lips. 

"You will protect me?" said she. 

"Yes. "

"You will save me from him?" she persisted, in a voice of agony. 

"Yes, and from all others like him. Do not fear. Speak out. "

Mrs. Compton clung to the arm of her son. She drew a long breath. Shelooked up into his face as though to gain courage, and then began. 

It was a long story. She had been attendant and nurse to the wife ofColonel Despard, who had died in giving birth to a child. Potts hadbrought news of her death, but had said nothing whatever about thechild. Colonel Despard knew nothing of it. Being at a distance at thetime, on duty, he had heard but the one fact of his wife's death, andall other things were forgotten. He had not even made inquiries as towhether the child which he had expected was alive or dead, but had atonce given way to the grief of the bereavement, and had hurried off. 

In his designs on Colonel Despard, Potts feared that the knowledge ofthe existence of a child might keep him in India, and distract his mindfrom its sorrow. Therefore he was the more anxious not only to keep thissecret, but also to prevent it from ever being known to Colonel Despard. With this idea he hurried the preparation of the _Vishnu_ to suchan extent that it was ready for sea almost immediately, and left withColonel Despard on that ill-fated voyage. 

Mrs. Compton had been left in India with the child. Her son joined her, in company with John, who, though only a boy, had the vices of a grownman. Months passed before Potts came back. He then took her along withthe child to China, and left the latter with a respectable woman at HongKong, who was the widow of a British naval officer. The child wasBeatrice Despard. 

Potts always feared that Mrs. Compton might divulge his secret, andtherefore always kept her with him. Timid by nature to an unusualdegree, the wretched woman was in constant fear for her life, and asyears passed on this fear was not lessened. The sufferings which shefelt from this terror were atoned for, however, by the constant presenceof her son, who remained in connection with Potts, influenced chiefly bythe ascendency which this villain had over a man of his weak and timidnature. Potts had brought them to England, and they had lived indifferent places, until at last Brandon Hall had fallen into his hands. Of the former occupants of Brandon Hall, Mrs. Compton knew almostnothing. Very little had ever been said about them to her. She knewscarcely any thing about them, except that their names were Brandon, andthat they had suffered misfortunes. 

Finally, this Beatrice was Beatrice Despard, the daughter of ColonelDespard and the sister of the clergyman then present. She herself, instead of being the daughter of Potts, had been one of his victims, andhad suffered not the least at his hands. 

This astounding revelation was checked by frequent interruptions. Theactual story of her true parentage overwhelmed Beatrice. This was theawful thought which had occurred to herself frequently before. This waswhat had moved her so deeply in reading the manuscript of her father onthat African Isle. This also was the thing which had always made herhate with such intensity the miscreant who pretended to be her father. 

Now she was overwhelmed. She threw herself into the arms of her brotherand wept upon his breast. Courtenay Despard for a moment rose above thegloom that oppressed him, and pressed to his heart this sister sostrangely discovered. Brandon stood apart, looking on, shaken to thesoul and unnerved by the deep joy of that unparalleled discovery. Amidstall the speculations in which he had indulged the very possibility ofthis had never suggested itself. He had believed most implicitly allalong that Beatrice was in reality the daughter of his mortal enemy. Nowthe discovery of the truth came upon him with overwhelming force. 

She raised herself from her brother's embrace, and turned and lookedupon the man whom she adored--the one who, as she said, had over andover again saved her life; the one whose life she, too, in her turn hadsaved, with whom she had passed so many adventurous and momentous days--days of alternating peace and storm, of varying hope and despair. To himshe owed every thing; to him she owed even the rapture of this moment. 

As their eyes met they revealed all their inmost thoughts. There was nowno barrier between them. Vanished was the insuperable obstacle, vanishedthe impassable gulf. They stood side by side. The enemy of this man--hisfoe, his victim--was also hers. Whatever he might suffer, whateveranguish might have been on the face of that old man who had looked ather from the balcony, she had clearly no part nor lot now in thatsuffering or that anguish. He was the murderer of her father. She wasnot the daughter of this man. She was of no vulgar or sordid race. Herblood was no longer polluted or accursed. She was of pure and noblelineage. She was a Despard. 

"Beatrice, " said Brandon, with a deep, fervid emotion in his voice;"Beatrice, I am yours, and you are mine. Beatrice, it was a lie thatkept us apart. My life is yours, and yours is mine. "

He thought of nothing but her. He spoke with burning impetuosity. Hiswords sank into her soul. His eyes devoured hers in the passion of theirglance. 

"Beatrice--my Beatrice!" he said, "Beatrice Despard--"

He spoke low, bending his head to hers. Her head sank toward his breast. 

"Beatrice, do you now reproach me?" he murmured. 

She held out her hand, while tears stood in her eyes. Brandon seized itand covered it with kisses. Despard saw this. In the midst of theanguish of his face a smile shone forth, like sunshine out of a cloudedsky. He looked at these two for a moment. 

Langhetti's eyes were closed. Mrs. Compton and her son were talkingapart. Despard looked upon the lovers. 

"Let them love, " he murmured to himself; "let them love and be happy. Heaven has its favorites. I do not envy them; I bless them, though Ilove without hope. Heaven has its favorites, but I am an outcast fromthat favor. "

A shudder passed through him. He drew himself up. 

"Since love is denied me, " he thought, "I can at least have vengeance. "

CHAPTER LVIII. 

THE MALAY'S VENGEANCE. 

Some hours afterward Despard called Brandon outside the cottage, andwalked along the bank which overhung the beach. Arriving at a pointseveral hundred yards distant from the cottage he stopped. Brandonnoticed a deeper gloom upon his face and a sterner purpose on hisresolute mouth. 

"I have called you aside, " said Despard, "to say that I am going on ajourney. I may be back immediately. If I do not return, will you say toany one who may ask"--and here he paused for a moment--"say to any onewho may ask, that I have gone away on important business, and that thetime of my coming is uncertain. "

"I suppose you can be heard of at Holby, in case of need. "

"I am never going back again to Holby. "

Brandon looked surprised. 

"To one like you, " said Despard, "I do not object to tell my purpose. You know what it is to seek for vengeance. The only feeling that I haveis that. Love, tenderness, affection, all are idle words with me. 

"There are three who pre-eminently were concerned in my father's death, "continued Despard. "One was Cigole. The Carbonari have him. Langhettitells me that he must die, unless he himself interposes to save him. AndI think Langhetti will never so interpose. Langhetti is dying--anotherstimulus to vengeance. 

"The one who has been the cause of this is Clark, another one of myfather's murderers. He is in the hands of the law. His punishment iscertain. 

"There yet remains the third, and the worst. Your vengeance is satisfiedon him. Mine is not. Not even the sight of that miscreant in theattitude of a bereaved father could for one moment move me to pity. Itook note of the agony of his face. I watched his grief with joy. I amgoing to complete that joy. He must die, and no mortal can save him frommy hands. "

The deep, stern tones of Despard were like the knell of doom, and therewas in them such determinate vindictiveness that Brandon saw allremonstrance to be useless. 

He marked the pale sad face of this man. He saw in it the traces ofsorrow of longer standing than any which he might have felt about themanuscript that he had read. It was the face of a man who had sufferedso much that life had become a burden. 

"You are a clergyman, " said Brandon at length, with a faint hope that anappeal to his profession might have some effect. 

Despard smiled cynically. 

"I am a man, " said he. 

"Can not the discovery of a sister, " asked Brandon, "atone in somedegree for your grief about your father?"

Despard shook his head wearily. 

"No, " said he, "I must do something, and only one purpose is before menow. I see your motive. You wish to stop short of taking that devil'slife. It is useless to remonstrate. My mind is made up. Perhaps I maycome back unsuccessful. If so--I must be resigned, I suppose. At anyrate you know my purpose, and can let those who ask after me know, in ageneral way, what I have said. "

With a slight bow Despard walked away, leaving Brandon standing therefilled with thoughts which were half mournful, half remorseful. 

On leaving Brandon Despard went at once to the inn. The crowd withouthad dwindled away to half a dozen people, who were still talking aboutthe one event of the day. Making his way through these he entered theinn. 

The landlord stood there with a puzzled face, discussing with severalfriends the case of the day. More particularly he was troubled by thesudden departure of the old man, who about an hour previously hadstarted off in a great hurry, leaving no directions whatever as to whatwas to be done with the body up stairs. It was this which now perplexedthe landlord. 

Despard listened attentively to the conversation. The landlord mentionedthat Potts had taken the road to Brandon. The servant who had been withthe young man had not been seen. If the old man should not return whatwas to be done?

This was enough for Despard, who had his horse saddled without delay andstarted also on the Brandon road. He rode on swiftly for some time, hoping to overtake the man whom he pursued. He rode, however, severalmiles without coming in sight of him or of any one like him. At last hereached that hollow which had been the scene of his encounter withClark. As he descended into it he saw a group of men by the road-sidesurrounding some object. In the middle of the road was a farmer's wagon, and a horse was standing in the distance. 

[Illustration: "IT WAS POTTS. "]

Despard rode up and saw the prostrate figure of a man. He dismounted. The farmers stood aside and disclosed the face. 

It was Potts. 

Despard stooped down. It was already dusk but even in that dim light hesaw the coils of a thin cord wound tightly about the neck of thisvictim, from one end of which a leaden bullet hung down. 

By that light also he saw the hilt of a weapon which had been plungedinto his heart, from which the blood had flowed in torrents. 

It was a Malay creese. Upon the handle was carven a name:

JOHN POTTS. 

CHAPTER LIX. 

[Greek: Deute teleutaion aspasmon domen. ]

The excitement which had prevailed through the village of Denton wasintensified by the arrival there of the body of the old man. For hismysterious death no one could account except one person. 

That one was Brandon, whom Despard surprised by his speedy return, andto whom he narrated the circumstances of the discovery. Brandon knew whoit was that could wield that cord, what arm it was that had held thatweapon, and what heart it was that was animated by sufficient vengeanceto strike these blows. 

Despard, finding his purpose thus unexpectedly taken away, remained inthe village and waited. There was one whom he wished to see again. Onthe following day Frank Brandon arrived from London. He met Langhettiwith deep emotion, and learned from his brother the astonishing story ofEdith. 

On the following day that long-lost sister herself appeared in companywith Mrs. Thornton. Her form, always fragile, now appeared frailer thanever, her face had a deeper pallor, her eyes an intenser lustre, herexpression was more unearthly. The joy which the brothers felt atfinding their sister was subdued by an involuntary awe which wasinspired by her presence. She seemed to them as she had seemed to otherslike one who had arisen from the dead. 

At the sight of her Langhetti's face grew radiant--all pain seemed toleave him. She bent over him, and their wan lips met in the only kisswhich they had ever exchanged, with all that deep love which they hadfelt for one another. She sat by his bedside. She seemed to appropriatehim to herself. The others acknowledged this quiet claim and gave way toit. 

As she kissed Langhetti's lips he murmured faintly:

"I knew you would come. "

"Yes, " said Edith. "We will go together. 

"Yes, sweetest and dearest, " said Langhetti. "And therefore we meet nownever to part again. "

She looked at him fondly. 

"The time of our deliverance is near, oh my friend. "

"Near, " repeated Langhetti, with a smile of ecstasy--"near. Yes, youhave already by your presence brought me nearer to my immortality. "

Mrs. Thornton was pale and wan; and the shock which she felt at thesight of her brother at first overcame her. 

Despard said nothing to her through the day, but as evening came on hewent up to her and in a low voice said, "Let us take a walk. "

Mrs. Thornton looked at him earnestly, and then put on her bonnet. Itwas quite dark as they left the house. They walked along the road. Thesea was on their left. 

"This is the last that we shall see of one another, Little Playmate, "said Despard, after a long silence. "I have left Holby forever. "

"Left Holby! Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Thornton, anxiously. 

"To join the army. "

"The army!"

"Little Playmate, " said Despard, "even my discovery of my father's deathhas not changed me. Even my thirst for vengeance could not take theplace of my love. Listen--I flung myself with all the ardor that I couldcommand into the pursuit of my father's murderers. I forced myself to anunnatural pitch of pitilessness and vindictiveness. I set out to pursueone of the worst of these men with the full determination to kill him. God saved me from blood-guiltiness. I found the man dead in the road. After this all my passion for vengeance died out, and I was brought faceto face with the old love and the old despair. But each of us would dierather than do wrong, or go on in a wrong course. The only thing leftfor us is to separate forever. "

"Yes, forever, " murmured Mrs. Thornton. 

"Ah, Little Playmate, " he continued, taking her hand, "you are the onewho was not only my sweet companion but the bright ideal of my youth. You always stood transfigured in my eyes. You, Teresa, were in my mindsomething perfect--a bright, brilliant being unlike any other. Whetheryou were really what I believed you mattered not so far as the effectupon me was concerned. You were at once a real and an ideal being. Ibelieved in you, and believe in you yet. 

"I was not a lover; I was a devotee. My feelings toward you are such asDante describes his feelings toward his Beatrice. My love is tender andreverential. I exalt you to a plane above my own. What I say may soundextravagant to you, but it is actual fact with me. Why it should be so Ican not tell. I can only say--I am so made. 

"We part, and I leave you; but I shall be like Dante, I suppose, and asthe years pass, instead of weakening my love they will only refine itand purify it. You will be to me a guardian angel, a patron saint--yourname shall always mingle with my prayers. Is it impious to name yourname in prayer? I turn away from you because I would rather suffer thando wrong. May I not pray for my darling?"

"I don't know what to do, " said Mrs. Thornton, wearily. "Your power overme is fearful. Lama, I would do any thing for your sake. You talk aboutyour memories; it is not for me to speak about mine. Whether youidealize me or not, after all, you must know what I really am. "

[Illustration: "SHE WAS WEEPING. DESPARD FOLDED HER IN HIS ARMS. "]

"Would you be glad never to see me again?"

The hand which Despard held trembled. 

"If you would be happier, " said she. 

"Would you be glad if I could conquer this love of mine, and meet youagain as coolly as a common friend?"

"I want you to be happy, Lama, " she replied. "I would suffer myself tomake you happy. "

She was weeping. Despard folded her in his arms. 

"This once, " said he, "the only time, Little Playmate, in this life. "

She wept upon his breast. 

"[Greek: Teleutaion aspasmon domen]" said Despard, murmuring in a lowvoice the opening of the song of the dead, so well known, so often song, so fondly remembered--the song which bids fare-well to the dead when thefriends bestow the "last kiss. "

He bent down his head. Her head fell. His lips touched her forehead. 

She felt the beating of his heart; she felt his frame tremble from headto foot; she heard his deep-drawn breathing, every breath a sigh. 

"It is our last farewell, " said he, in a voice of agony. 

Then he tore himself away, and, a few minutes later, was riding from thevillage. 

CHAPTER LX. 

CONCLUSION. 

A month passed. Despard gave no sign. A short note which he wrote toBrandon announced his arrival at London, and informed him that importantaffairs required his departure abroad. 

The cottage was but a small place, and Brandon determined to haveLanghetti conveyed to the Hall. An ambulance was obtained from Exeter, and on this Langhetti and Edith were taken away. 

On arriving at Brandon Hall Beatrice found her diary in its place ofconcealment, the memory of old sorrows which could never be forgotten. But those old sorrows were passing away now, in the presence of her newjoy. 

And yet that joy was darkened by the cloud of a new sorrow. Langhettiwas dying. His frail form became more and more attenuated every day, hiseyes more lustrous, his face more spiritual. Down every step of that waywhich led to the grave Edith went with him, seeming in her own face andform to promise a speedier advent in that spirit-world where she longedto arrive. Beside these Beatrice watched, and Mrs. Thornton added hertender care. 

Day by day Langhetti grew worse. At last one day he called for hisviolin. He had caused it to be sent for on a previous occasion, but hadnever used it. His love for music was satisfied by the songs ofBeatrice. Now he wished to exert his own skill with the last remnants ofhis strength. 

Langhetti was propped up by pillows, so that he might hold theinstrument. Near him Edith reclined on a sofa. Her large, lustrous eyeswere fixed on him. Her breathing, which came and went rapidly, showedher utter weakness and prostration. 

Langhetti drew his bow across the strings. 

It was a strange, sweet sound, weak, but sweet beyond all words--a long, faint, lingering tone, which rose and died and rose again, bearing awaythe souls of those who heard it into a realm of enchantment and delight. 

That tone gave strength to Langhetti. It was as though some unseen powerhad been invoked and had come to his aid. The tones came forth morestrongly, on firmer pinions, flying from the strings and toweringthrough the air. 

The strength of these tones seemed to emanate from some unseen power; soalso did their meaning. It was a meaning beyond what might beintelligible to those who listened--a meaning beyond mortal thought. 

Yet Langhetti understood it, and so did Edith. Her eyes grew brighter, aflush started to her wan cheeks, her breathing grew more rapid. 

The music went on. More subtle, more penetrating, more thrilling in itsmysterious meaning, it rose and swelled through the air, like the songof some unseen ones, who were waiting for newcomers to the Invisibleland. 

Suddenly Beatrice gave a piercing cry. She rushed to Edith's sofa. Edithlay back, her marble face motionless, her white lips apart, her eyeslooking upward. But the lips breathed no more, and in the eyes there nolonger beamed the light of life. 

At the cry of Beatrice the violin fell from Langhetti's hand, and hesank back. His face was turned toward Edith. He saw her and knew it all. 

[Illustration: LANGHETTI DREW HIS BOW ACROSS THE STRINGS. ]

He said not a word, but lay with his face turned toward her. They wishedto carry her away, but he gently reproved them. 

"Wait!" he murmured. "In a short time you will carry away another also. Wait. "

They waited. 

An hour before midnight all was over. They had passed--those purespirits, from a world which was uncongenial to a fairer world and apurer clime. 

They were buried side by side in the Brandon vaults. Frank then returnedto London. Mrs. Thornton went back to Holby. The new rector wassurprised at the request of the lady of Thornton Grange to be allowed tobecome organist in Trinity Church. She offered to pension off the oldman who now presided there. Her request was gladly acceded to. Her zealwas remarkable. Every day she visited the church to practice at theorgan. This became the purpose of her life. Yet of all the pieces twowere performed most frequently in her daily practice, the one being theAgnus Dei; the other, the [Greek: teleutaion aspasmon] of St. JohnDamascene. Peace! Peace! Peace!

Was that cry of hers unavailing? Of Despard nothing was known for sometime. Mr. Thornton once mentioned to his wife that the Rev. CourtenayDespard had joined the Eleventh Regiment, and had gone to South Africa. He mentioned this because he had seen a paragraph stating that a CaptainDespard had been killed in the Kaffir war, and wondered whether it couldby any possibility be their old friend or not. 

At Brandon Hall, the one who had been so long a prisoner and a slavesoon became mistress. 

The gloom which had rested over the house was dispelled, and Brandon andhis wife were soon able to look back, even to the darkest period oftheir lives, without fear of marring their perfect happiness. 

THE END.