THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA. 

_A NOVEL_. 

BY HESBA STRETTON

 NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 549 & 551 BROADWAY. 1872. 

 CONTENTS. 

 _PART THE FIRST_. 

 I. --AN OPEN DOOR II. --TO SOUTHAMPTON III. --A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA IV. --A SAFE HAVEN V. --WILL IT DO? VI. --TOO MUCH ALONE VII. --A FALSE STEP VIII. --AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR

 _PART THE SECOND_. 

 I. --DR. MARTIN DOBRÉE II. --A PATIENT IN SARK III. --WITHOUT RESOURCES IV. --A RIVAL PRACTITIONER V. --LOCKS OF HAIR VI. --WHO IS SHE? VII. --WHO ARE HER FRIENDS? VIII. --THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY IX. --A CLEW TO THE SECRET X. --JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS XI. --TRUE TO BOTH XII. --STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET XIII. --ONE IN A THOUSAND. XIV. --OVERHEAD IN LOVE XV. --IN A FIX XVI. --A MIDNIGHT RIDE XVII. --A LONG HALF-HOUR XVIII. --BROKEN OFF XIX. --THE DOBRÉES' GOOD NAME XX. --TWO LETTERS XXI. --ALL WRONG XXII. --DEAD TO HONOR XXIII. --IN EXILE XXIV. --OVERMATCHED. XXV. --HOME AGAIN XXVI. --A NEW PATIENT XXVII. --SET FREE XXVIII. --A BRIGHT BEGINNING XXIX. --THE GOULIOT CAVES XXX. --A GLOOMY ENDING XXXI. --A STORY IN DETAIL XXXII. --OLIVIA GONE XXXIII. --THE EBB OF LIFE XXXIV. --A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER XXXV. --THE WIDOWER COMFORTED XXXVI. --FINAL ARRANGEMENTS XXXVII. --THE TABLES TURNED XXXVIII. --OLIVIA'S HUSBAND XXXIX. --SAD NEWS XL. --A TORMENTING DOUBT XLI. --MARTIN DOBRÉE'S PLEDGE XLII. --NOIREAU XLIII. --A SECOND PURSUER XLIV. --THE LAW OF MARRIAGE XXV. --FULFILLING THE PLEDGE XLVI. --A DEED OF SEPARATION XLVII. --A FRIENDLY CABMAN XLVIII. --JULIA'S WEDDING XLIX. --A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS

 _PART THE THIRD_. 

 I. --OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION II. --ON THE WING AGAIN III. --IN LONDON LODGINGS IV. --RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE V. --BELLRINGER STREET VI. --LEAVING ENGLAND VII. --A LONG JOURNEY VIII. --AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE IX. --A FRENCH AVOCAT X. --A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL XI. --LOST AT NIGHTFALL XII. --THE CURÉ OF VILLE-EN-BOIS XIII. --A FEVER-HOSPITAL XIV. --OUTCAST PARISHIONERS XV. --A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN XVI. --SENT BY GOD XVII. --A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH XVIII. --PIERRE'S SECRET XIX. --SUSPENSE XX. --A MALIGNANT CASE XXI. --THE LAST DEATH XXII. --FREE XXIII. --A YEAR'S NEWS XXIV. --FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS XXV. --TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED XXVI. --SEEING SOCIETY XXVII. --BREAKING THE ICE XXVIII. --PALMY DAYS XXIX. --A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRÉE

PART THE FIRST. 

CHAPTER THE FIRST. 

AN OPEN DOOR. 

I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe, than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven meto the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought meto this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall;but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct whichI firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me, and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submitto their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently, for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I musteither yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was toostrong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection orinsanity. 

It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent, which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing butwet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, inwhich the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more inearnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their driverswrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they wereout of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followedthe course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until myhead ached. Toward nightfall I could distinguish a low, wailing tone, moaning through the air; a quiet prelude to a coming change in theweather, which was foretold also by little rents in the thick mantle ofcloud, which had shrouded the sky all day. The storm of rain was aboutto be succeeded by a storm of wind. Any change would be acceptable tome. 

There was nothing within my room less dreary than without. I was inLondon, but in what part of London I did not know. The house was one ofthose desirable family residences, advertised in the _Times_ as to belet furnished, and promising all the comforts and refinements of a home. It was situated in a highly-respectable, though not altogetherfashionable quarter; as I judged by the gloomy, monotonous rows ofbuildings which I could see from my windows: none of which were shops, but all private dwellings. The people who passed up and down the streetson line days were all of one stamp, well-to-do persons, who could affordto wear good and handsome clothes; but who were infinitely lessinteresting than the dear, picturesque beggars of Italian towns, or thesprightly, well-dressed peasantry of French cities. The rooms on thethird floor--my rooms, which I had not been allowed to leave since weentered the house, three weeks before--were very badly furnished, indeed, with comfortless, high horse-hair-seated chairs, and a sofa ofthe same uncomfortable material, cold and slippery, on which it wasimpossible to rest. The carpet was nearly threadbare, and the curtainsof dark-red moreen were very dingy; the mirror over the chimney-pieceseemed to have been made purposely to distort my features, and producein me a feeling of depression. My bedroom, which communicated with thisagreeable sitting-room by folding-doors, was still smaller and gloomier;and opened upon a dismal back-yard, where a dog in a kennel howleddejectedly from time to time, and rattled his chain, as if to remind methat I was a prisoner like himself. I had no books, no work, no music. It was a dreary place to pass a dreary time in; and my only resource wasto pace to and fro--to and fro from one end to another of those wretchedrooms. 

I watched the day grow dusk, and then dark. The rifts in the drivingclouds were growing larger, and the edges were torn. I left off roamingup and down my room, like some entrapped creature, and sank down on thefloor by the window, looking out for the pale, sad blue of the sky whichgleamed now and then through the clouds, till the night had quite setin. I did not cry, for I am not given to overmuch weeping, and my heartwas too sore to be healed by tears; neither did I tremble, for I heldout my hand and arm to make sure they were steady; but still I felt asif I were sinking down--down into an awful, profound despondency, fromwhich I should never rally; it was all over with me. I had nothingbefore me but to give up, and own myself overmatched and conquered. Ihave a half-remembrance that as I crouched there in the darkness Isobbed once, and cried under my breath, "God help me!"

A very slight sound grated on my ear, and a fresh thrill of strong, resentful feeling quivered all through me; it was the hateful click ofthe key turning in the lock. It gave me force enough to carry out mydefiance a little longer. Before the door could be opened I sprang to myfeet, and stood erect, and outwardly very calm, gazing through thewindow, with my face turned away from the persons who were coming in; Iwas so placed that I could see them reflected in the mirror over thefireplace. A servant came first, carrying in a tray, upon which were alamp and my tea--such a meal as might be prepared for a school-girl indisgrace. 

She came up to me, as if to draw down the blinds and close the shutters. 

"Leave them, " I said; "I will do it myself by-and-by. "

"He's not coming home to-night, " said a woman's voice behind me, in ascoffing tone. 

I could see her too without turning round. A handsome woman, with boldblack eyes, and a rouged face, which showed coarsely in the uglylooking-glass. She was extravagantly dressed, and wore a profusion ofornaments--tawdry ones, mostly, but one or two I recognized as my own. She was not many years older than myself. I took no notice whatever ofher, or her words, or her presence; but continued to gaze out steadilyat the lamp-lit streets and stormy sky. Her voice grew hoarse withpassion, and I knew well how her face would burn and flush under therouge. 

"It will be no better for you when he is at home, " she said, fiercely. "He hates you; he swears so a hundred times a day, and he is determinedto break your proud spirit for you. We shall force you to knock undersooner or later; and I warn you it will be best for you to be soonerrather than later. What friends have you got anywhere to take your side?If you'd made friends with me, my fine lady, you'd have found it goodfor yourself; but you've chosen to make me your enemy, and I'll make himyour enemy. You know, as well as I do, he can't hear the sight of yourlong, puling face. "

Still I did not answer by word or sign. I set my teeth together, andgave no indication that I had heard one of her taunting speeches. Mysilence only served to fan her fury. 

"Upon my soul, madam, " she almost shrieked, "you are enough to drive meto murder! I could beat you, standing there so dumb, as if I was notworthy to speak a word to. Ay! and I would, but for him. So, then, threeweeks of this hasn't broken you down yet! but you are only making it theworse for yourself; we shall try other means to-morrow. "

She had no idea how nearly my spirit was broken, for I gave her noreply. She came up to where I stood, and shook her clinched hand in myface--a large, well-shaped hand, with bejewelled fingers, that couldhave given me a heavy blow. Her face was dark with passion; yet she wasmaintaining some control over herself, though with great difficulty. Shehad never struck me yet, but I trembled and shrank from her, and wasthankful when she flung herself out of the room, pulling the doorviolently after her, and locking it noisily, as if the harsh, jarringsounds would be more terrifying than the tones of her own voice. 

Left to myself I turned round to the light, catching a fresh glimpse ofmy face in the mirror--a pale and sadder and more forlorn face thanbefore. I almost hated myself in that glass. But I was hungry, for I wasyoung, and my health and appetite were very good; and I sat down to myplain fare, and ate it heartily. I felt stronger and in better spiritsby the time I had finished the meal; I resolved to brave it out a littlelonger. The house was very quiet; for at present there was no one in itexcept the woman and the servant who had been up to my room. The servantwas a poor London drudge, who was left in charge by the owners of thehouse, and who had been forbidden to speak to me. After a while I heardher heavy, shambling footsteps coming slowly up the staircase, andpassing my door on her way to the attics above; they sounded louder thanusual, and I turned my head round involuntarily. A thin, fine streak oflight, no thicker than a thread, shone for an instant in the dark cornerof the wall close by the door-post, but it died away almost before I sawit. My heart stood still for a moment, and then beat like a hammer. Istole very softly to the door, and discovered that the bolt had slippedbeyond the hoop of the lock; probably in the sharp bang with which ithad been closed. The door was open for me!

CHAPTER THE SECOND. 

TO SOUTHAMPTON. 

There was not a moment to be lost. When the servant came downstairsagain from her room in the attics, she would be sure to call for thetea-tray, in order to save herself another journey; how long she wouldbe up-stairs was quite uncertain. If she was gone to "clean" herself, asshe called it, the process might be a very long one, and a good hourmight be at my disposal; but I could not count upon that. In thedrawing-room below sat my jailer and enemy, who might take a whim intoher head, and come up to see her prisoner at any instant. It wasnecessary to be very quick, very decisive, and very silent. 

I had been on the alert for such a chance ever since my imprisonmentbegan. My seal-skin hat and jacket lay ready to my hand in a drawer; butI could find no gloves; I could not wait for gloves. Already there wereominous sounds overhead, as if the servant had dispatched her briefbusiness there, and was about to come down. I had not time to put onthicker boots; and it was perhaps essential to the success of my flightto steal down the stairs in the soft, velvet slippers I was wearing. Istepped as lightly as I could--lightly but very swiftly, for the servantwas at the top of the upper flight, while I had two to descend. I creptpast the drawing-room door. The heavy house-door opened with a gratingof the hinges; but I stood outside it, in the shelter of the portico;free, but with the rain and wind of a stormy night in October beatingagainst me, and with no light save the glimmer of the feeblestreet-lamps flickering across the wet pavement. 

I knew very well that my escape was almost hopeless, for the success ofit depended very much upon which road of the three lying before me Ishould happen to take. I had no idea of the direction of any one ofthem, for I had never been out of the house since the night I wasbrought to it. The strong, quick running of the servant, and thepassionate fury of the woman, would overtake me if we were to have along race; and if they overtook me they would force me back. I had noright to seek freedom in this wild way, yet it was the only way. Evenwhile I hesitated in the portico of the house that ought to have been myhome, I heard the shrill scream of the girl within when she found mydoor open, and my room empty. If I did not decide instantaneously, anddecide aright, it would have been better for me never to have tried thischance of escape. 

But I did not linger another moment. I could almost believe an angeltook me by the hand, and led me. I darted straight across the muddyroad, getting my thin slippers wet through at once, ran for a few yards, and then turned sharply round a corner into a street at the end of whichI saw the cheery light of shop-windows, all in a glow in spite of therain. On I fled breathlessly, unhindered by any passer-by, for the rainwas still falling, though more lightly. As I drew nearer to theshop-windows, an omnibus-driver, seeing me run toward him, pulled up hishorses in expectation of a passenger. The conductor shouted some namewhich I did not hear, but I sprang in, caring very little where it mightcarry me, so that I could get quickly enough and far enough out of thereach of my pursuers. There had been no time to lose, and none was lost. The omnibus drove on again quickly, and no trace was left of me. 

I sat quite still in the farthest corner of the omnibus, hardly able torecover my breath after my rapid running. I was a little frightened atthe notice the two or three other passengers appeared to take of me, andI did my best to seem calm and collected. My ungloved hands gave me sometrouble, and I hid them as well as I could in the folds of my dress; forthere was something remarkable about the want of gloves in any one aswell dressed as I was. But nobody spoke to me, and one after anotherthey left the omnibus, and fresh persons took their places, who did notknow where I had got in. I did not stir, for I determined to go as faras I could in this conveyance. But all the while I was wondering what Ishould do with myself, and where I could go, when it readied itsdestination. 

There was one trifling difficulty immediately ahead of me. When theomnibus stopped I should have no small change for paying my fare. Therewas an Australian sovereign fastened to my watch-chain which I couldtake off, but it would be difficult to detach it while we were joltingon. Besides, I dreaded to attract attention to myself. Yet what elsecould I do?

Before I had settled this question, which occupied me so fully that Iforgot other and more serious difficulties, the omnibus drove into astation-yard, and every passenger, inside and out, prepared to alight. Ilingered till the last, and sat still till I had unfastened mygold-piece. The wind drove across the open space in a strong gust as Istepped down upon the pavement. A man had just descended from the roof, and was paying the conductor: a tall, burly man, wearing a thickwater-proof coat, and a seaman's hat of oil-skin, with a long flap lyingover the back of his neck. His face was brown and weather-beaten, but hehad kindly-looking eyes, which glanced at me as I stood waiting to paymy fare. 

"Going down to Southampton?" said the conductor to him. 

"Ay, and beyond Southampton, " he answered. 

"You'll have a rough night of it, " said the conductor. --"Sixpence, ifyou please, miss. "

I offered him my Australian sovereign, which he turned over curiously, asking me if I had no smaller change. He grumbled when I answered no, and the stranger, who had not passed on, but was listening to what wassaid, turned pleasantly to me. 

"You have no change, mam'zelle?" he asked, speaking rather slowly, as ifEnglish was not his ordinary speech. "Very well! are you going toSouthampton?"

"Yes, by the next train, " I answered, deciding upon that course withouthesitation. 

"So am I, mam'zelle, " he said, raising his hand to his oil-skin cap; "Iwill pay this sixpence, and you can give it me again, when you buy yourticket in the office. "

I smiled quickly, gladly; and he smiled back upon me, but gravely, as ifhis face was not used to a smile. I passed on into the station, where atrain was standing, and people hurrying about the platform, choosingtheir carriages. At the ticket-office they changed my Australiangold-piece without a word; and I sought out my seaman friend to returnthe sixpence he had paid to me. He had done me a greater kindness thanhe could ever know, and I thanked him heartily. His honest, deep-set, blue eyes glistened under their shaggy eyebrows as they looked down uponme. 

"Can I do nothing more for you, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Shall I see afteryour luggage?"

"Oh! that will be all right, thank you, " I replied, "but is this thetrain for Southampton, and how soon will it start?"

I was watching anxiously the stream of people going to and fro, lest Ishould see some person who knew me. Yet who was there in London whocould know me?

"It will be off in five minutes, " answered the seaman. "Shall I look outa carriage for you?"

He was somewhat careful in making his selection; finally he put me intoa compartment where there were only two ladies, and he stood in front ofthe door, but with his back turned toward it, until the train was aboutto start. Then he touched his hat again with a gesture of farewell, andran away to a second-class carriage. 

I sighed with satisfaction as the train rushed swiftly through thedimly-lighted suburbs of London, and entered upon the open country. Awan, watery line of light lay under the brooding clouds in the west, tinged with a lurid hue; and all the great field of sky stretching abovethe level landscape was overcast with storm-wrack, fleeing swiftlybefore the wind. At times the train seemed to shake with the Wast, whenit was passing oyer any embankment more than ordinarily exposed; but itsped across the country almost as rapidly as the clouds across the sky. No one in the carriage spoke. Then came over me that weird feelingfamiliar to all travellers, that one has been doomed to travel thusthrough many years, and has not half accomplished the time. I felt as ifI had been fleeing from my home, and those who should have been myfriends, for a long and weary while; yet it was scarcely an hour since Ihad made my escape. 

In about two hours or more--but exactly what time I did not know, for mywatch had stopped--my fellow-passengers, who had scarcely condescendedto glance at me, alighted at a large, half-deserted station, where onlya few lamps were burning. Through the window I could see that very fewother persons were leaving the train, and I concluded we had not yetreached the terminus. A porter came up to me as I leaned my head throughthe window. 

"Going on, miss?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes!" I answered, shrinking back into my corner-seat. He remainedupon the step, with his arm over the window-frame, while the train movedon at a slackened pace for a few minutes, and then pulled up, but at nostation. Before me lay a dim, dark, indistinct scene, with little specksof light twinkling here and there in the night, but whether on sea orshore I could not tell. Immediately opposite the train stood the blackhulls and masts and funnels of two steamers, with a glimmer of lanternson their decks, and up and down their shrouds. The porter opened thedoor for me. 

"You've only to go on board, miss, " he said, "your luggage will be seento all right. " And he hurried away to open the doors of the othercarriages. 

I stood still, utterly bewildered, for a minute or two, with the windtossing my hair about, and the rain beating in sharp, stinging dropslike hailstones upon my face and hands. It must have been close uponmidnight, and there was no light but the dim, glow-worm glimmer of thelanterns on deck. Every one was hurrying past me. I began almost torepent of the desperate step I had taken; but I had learned already thatthere is no possibility of retracing one's steps. At the gangways of thetwo vessels there were men shouting hoarsely. "This way for the ChannelIslands!" "This way for Havre and Paris!" To which boat should I trustmyself and my fate? There was nothing to guide me. Yet once more thatnight the moment had come when I was compelled to make a prompt, decisive, urgent choice. It was almost a question of life and death tome: a leap in the dark that must be taken. My great terror was lest myplace of refuge should be discovered, and I be forced back again. Wherewas I to go? To Paris, or to the Channel Islands?

CHAPTER THE THIRD. 

A ROUGH NIGHT AT SEA. 

A mere accident decided it. Near the fore-part of the train I saw thebroad, tall figure of my new friend, the seaman, making his way acrossto the boat for the Channel Islands; and almost involuntarily I made upmy mind to go on board the same steamer, for I had an instinctivefeeling that he would prove a real friend, if I had need of one. He didnot see me following; no doubt he supposed I had left the train atSouthampton, having only taken my ticket so far; though how I had missedSouthampton I could not tell. The deck was wet and slippery, and theconfusion upon it was very great. I was too much at home upon a steamerto need any directions; and I went down immediately into the ladies'cabin, which was almost empty, and chose a berth for myself in thedarkest corner. It was not far from the door, and presently two otherladies came down, with a gentleman and the captain, and held an anxiousparley close to me. I listened absently and mechanically, as indifferentto the subject as if it could be of no consequence to me. 

"Is there any danger?" asked one of the ladies. 

"Well, I cannot say positively there will be no danger, " answered thecaptain; "there's not danger enough to keep me and the crew in port; butit will be a very dirty night in the Channel. If there's no actualnecessity for crossing to-night I should advise you to wait, and see howit will be to-morrow. Of course we shall use extra caution, and all thatsort of thing. No; I cannot say I expect any great danger. "

"But it will be awfully rough?" said the gentleman. 

The captain answered only by a sound between a groan and a whistle, asif he could not trust himself to think of words that would describe theroughness. There could be no doubt of his meaning. The ladies hastilydetermined to drive back to their hotel, and gathered up their smallpackages and wrappings quickly. I fancied they were regarding mesomewhat curiously, but I kept my face away from them carefully. Theycould only see my seal-skin jacket and hat, and my rough hair; and theydid not speak to me. 

"You are going to venture, miss?" said the captain, stepping into thecabin as the ladies retreated up the steps. 

"Oh, yes, " I answered. "I am obliged to go, and I am not in the leastafraid. "

"You needn't be, " he replied, in a hearty voice. "We shall do our best, for our own sakes, and you would be our first care if there was anymishap. Women and children first always. I will send the stewardess toyou; she goes, of course. "

I sat down on one of the couches, listening for a few minutes to thenoises about me. The masts were groaning, and the planks creaking underthe heavy tramp of the sailors, as they got ready to start, with shrillcries to one another. Then the steam-engine began to throb like a pulsethrough all the vessel from stem to stern. Presently the stewardess camedown, and recommended me to lie down in my berth at once, which I didvery obediently, but silently, for I did not wish to enter intoconversation with the woman, who seemed inclined to be talkative. Shecovered me up well with several blankets, and there I lay with my faceturned from the light of the swinging lamp, and scarcely moved hand orfoot throughout the dismal and stormy night. 

For it was very stormy and dismal as soon as we were out of Southamptonwaters, and in the rush and swirl of the Channel. I did not fall asleepfor an instant. I do not suppose I should have slept had the Channelbeen, as it is sometimes, smooth as a mill-pond, and there had been noclamorous hissing and booming of waves against the frail planks, which Icould touch with my hand. I could see nothing of the storm, but I couldhear it: and the boat seemed tossed, like a mere cockle-shell, to andfro upon the rough sea. It did not alarm me so much as it distracted mythoughts, and kept them from dwelling upon possibilities far moreperilous to me than the danger of death by shipwreck. A short sufferingsuch a death would be. 

My escape and flight had been so unexpected, so unhoped for, that it hadbewildered me, and it was almost a pleasure to lie still and listen tothe din and uproar of the sea and the swoop of the wind rushing downupon it. Was I myself or no? Was this nothing more than a very coherent, very vivid dream, from which I should awake by-and-by to find myself aprisoner still, a creature as wretched and friendless as any that thestreets of London contained? My flight had been too extraordinary asuccess, so far, for my mind to be able to dwell upon it calmly. 

I watched the dawn break through a little port-hole opening upon myberth, which had been washed and beaten by the water all the night long. The level light shone across the troubled and leaden-colored surface ofthe sea, which seemed to grow a little quieter under its touch. I hadfancied during the night that the waves were running mountains high; butnow I could see them, they only rolled to and fro in round, swellinghillocks, dull green against the eastern sky, with deep, sullen troughsof a livid purple between them. But the fury of the storm had spentitself, that was evident, and the steamer was making way steadily now. 

The stewardess had gone away early in the night, being frightened todeath, she said, to seek more genial companionship than mine. So I wasalone, with the blending light of the early dawn and that of the lampburning feebly from the ceiling. I sat up in my berth and cautiouslyunstitched the lining in the breast of my jacket. Here, months ago, whenI first began to foresee this emergency, and while I was still allowedthe use of my money, I had concealed one by one a few five-pound notesof the Bank of England. I counted them over, eight of them; forty poundsin all, my sole fortune, my only means of living. True, I had besidesthese a diamond ring, presented to me under circumstances which made itof no value to me, except for its worth in money, and a watch and chaingiven to me years ago by my father. A jeweller had told me that the ringwas worth sixty pounds, and the watch and chain forty; but how difficultand dangerous it would be for me to sell either of them! Practically mymeans were limited to the eight bank-notes of five pounds each. I keptout one for the payment of my passage, and then replaced the rest, andcarefully pinned them into the unstitched lining. 

Then I began to wonder what my destination was. I knew nothing whateverof the Channel Islands, except the names which I had learned atschool--Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark. I repeated these over andover again to myself; but which of them we were bound for, or if we wereabout to call at each one of them, I did not know. I should have beenmore at home had I gone to Paris. 

As the light grew I became restless, and at last I left my berth andventured to climb the cabin-steps. The fresh air smote upon me almostpainfully. There was no rain falling, and the wind had been lullingsince the dawn. The sea itself was growing brighter, and glittered hereand there in spots where the sunlight fell upon it. All the sailorslooked beaten and worn out with the night's toil, and the few passengerswho had braved the passage, and were now well enough to come on deck, were weary and sallow-looking. There was still no land in sight, for theclouds hung low on the horizon, and overhead the sky was often overcastand gloomy. It was so cold that, in spite of my warm mantle, I shiveredfrom head to foot. 

But I could not bear to go back to the close, ill-smelling cabin, whichhad been shut up all night. I stayed on deck in the biting wind, leaningover the wet bulwarks and gazing across the desolate sea till my spiritssank like lead. The reaction upon the violent strain on my nerves wascoming, and I had no power to resist its influence. I could feel thetears rolling down my cheeks and falling on my hands without caring towipe them away; the more so as there was no one to see them. What did mytears signify to any one? I was cold, and hungry, and miserable. Howlonely I was! how poor! with neither a home nor a friend in theworld!--a mere castaway upon the waves of this troublous life!

"Mam'zelle is a brave sailor, " said a voice behind me, which Irecognized as my seaman of the night before, whom I had wellnighforgotten; "but the storm is over now, and we shall be in port only anhour or two behind time. "

"What port shall we reach?" I asked, not caring to turn round lest heshould see my wet eyes and cheeks. 

"St. Peter-Port, " he answered. "Mam'zelle, then, does not know ourislands?"

"No, " I said. "Where is St. Peter-Port?"

"In Guernsey, " he replied. "Is mam'zelle going to Guernsey or Jersey?Jersey is about two hours' sail from Guernsey. If you were going to landat St. Peter-Port, I might be of some service to you. "

I turned round then, and looked at him steadily. His voice was a verypleasant one, full of tones that went straight to my heart and filled mewith confidence. His face did not give the lie to it, or cause me anydisappointment. He was no gentleman, that was plain; his face wasbronzed and weather-beaten, as if he often encountered rough weather. But his deep-set eyes had a steadfast, quiet power in them, and hismouth, although it was almost hidden by hair, had a pleasant curve aboutit. I could not guess how old he was; he looked a middle-aged man to me. His great, rough hands, which had never worn gloves, were stained andhard with labor; and he had evidently been taking a share in the toil ofthe night, for his close-fitting, woven blue jacket was wet through, andhis hair was damp and rough with the wind and rain. He raised his cap asmy eyes looked straight into his, and a faint smile flitted across hisgrave face. 

"I want, " I said, suddenly, "to find a place where I can live verycheaply. I have not much money, and I must make it last a long time. Ido not mind how quiet the place, or how poor; the quieter the better forme. Can you tell me of such a place?"

"You would want a place fit for a lady?" he said, in a half-questioningtone, and with a glance at my silk dress. 

"No, " I answered, eagerly. "I mean such a cottage as you would live in. I would do all my own work, for I am very poor, and I do not know yethow I can get my living. I must be very careful of my money till I findout what I can do. What sort of a place do you and your wife live in?"

His face was clouded a little, I thought; and he did not answer me tillafter a short silence. 

"My poor little wife is dead, " he answered, "and I do not live inGuernsey or Jersey. We live in Sark, my mother and I. I am a fisherman, but I have also a little farm, for with us the land goes from the fatherto the eldest son, and I was the eldest. It is true we have one room tospare, which might do for mam'zelle; but the island is far away, andvery _triste_. Jersey is gay, and so is Guernsey, but in the winter Sarkis too mournful. "

"It will be just the place I want, " I said, eagerly; "it would suit meexactly. Can you let me go there at once? Will you take me with you?"

"Mam'zelle, " he replied, smiling, "the room must be made ready for you, and I must speak to my mother. Besides, Sark is six miles from Guernsey, and to-day the passage would be too rough for you. If God sends us fairweather I will come back to St. Peter-Port for you in three days. Myname is Tardif. You can ask the people in Peter-Port what sort of a manTardif of the Havre Gosselin is. "

"I do not want any one to tell me what sort of a man you are, " I said, holding out my hand, red and cold with the keen air. He took it into hislarge, rough palm, looking down upon me with an air of friendlyprotection. 

"What is your name, mam'zelle?" he inquired. 

"Oh! my name is Olivia, " I said; then I stopped abruptly, for thereflashed across me the necessity for concealing it. Tardif did not seemto notice my embarrassment. 

"There are some Olliviers in St. Peter-Port, " he said. "Is mam'zelle ofthe same family? But no, that is not probable. "

"I have no relations, " I answered, "not even in England. I have very fewfriends, and they are all far away in Australia. I was born there, andlived there till I was seventeen. "'

The tears sprang to my eyes again, and my new friend saw them, but saidnothing. He moved off at once to the far end of the dock, to help one ofthe crew in some heavy piece of work. He did not come hack until therain began to return--a fine, drizzling rain, which came in scuds acrossthe sea. 

"Mam'zelle, " he said, "you ought to go below; and I will tell you whenwe are in sight of Guernsey. "

I went below, inexpressibly more satisfied and comforted. What it was inthis man that won my complete, unquestioning confidence, I did not know;but his very presence, and the sight of his good, trustworthy face, gaveme a sense of security such as I have never felt before or since. SurelyGod had sent him to me in my great extremity. 

CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 

A SAFE HAVEN. 

We were two hours after time at St. Peter-Port; and then all was hurryand confusion, for goods and passengers had to be landed and embarkedfor Jersey. Tardif, who was afraid of losing the cutter which wouldconvey him to Sark, had only time to give me the address of a personwith whom I could lodge until he came to fetch me to his island, andthen he hastened away to a distant part of the quay. I was not sorrythat he should miss finding out that I had no luggage of any kind withme. 

I was busy enough during the next three days, for I had every thing tobuy. The widow with whom I was lodging came to the conclusion that I hadlost all my luggage, and I did not try to remove the false impression. Through her assistance I was able to procure all I required, withoutexciting more notice and curiosity. My purchases, though they were assimple and cheap as I could make them, drew largely upon my small storeof money, and as I saw it dwindling away, while I grudged every shillingI was obliged to part with, my spirits sank lower and lower. I had neverknown the dread of being short of money, and the new experience was, perhaps, the more terrible to me. There was no chance of disposing ofthe costly dress in which I had journeyed, without arousing too muchattention and running too great a risk. I stayed in-doors as much aspossible, and, as the weather continued cold and gloomy, I did not meetmany persons when I ventured out into the narrow, foreign-lookingstreets of the town. 

But on the third day, when I looked out from my window, I saw that thesky had cleared, and the sun was shining joyously. It was one of thoselovely days which come as a lull sometimes in the midst of theequinoctial gales, as if they were weary of the havoc they had made, andwere resting with folded wings. For the first time I saw the littleisland of Sark lying against the eastern sky. The whole length of it wasvisible, from north to south, with the waves beating against itsheadlands, and a fringe of silvery foam girdling it. The sky was of apale blue, as though the rains had washed it as well as the earth, and afew filmy clouds were still lingering about it. The sea beneath was adeeper blue, with streaks almost like a hoar frost upon it, with hereand there tints of green, like that of the sky at sunset. A boat withthree white sails, which were reflected in the water, was tacking aboutto enter the harbor, and a second, with amber sails, was a little waybehind, but following quickly in its wake. I watched them for a longtime. Was either of them Tardif's boat?

That question was answered in about two hours' time by Tardif'sappearance at the house. He lifted my little box on to his broadshoulders, and marched away with it, trying vainly to reduce his longstrides into steps that would suit me, as I walked beside him. I feltoverjoyed that he was come. So long as I was in Guernsey, when everymorning I could see the arrival of the packet that had brought me, Icould not shake off the fear that it was bringing some one in pursuit ofme; but in Sark that would be all different. Besides, I feltinstinctively that this man would protect me, and take my part to thevery utmost, should any circumstances arise that compelled me to appealto him and trust him with my secret. I knew nothing of him, but his facewas stamped with God's seal of trustworthiness, if ever a human facewas. 

A second man was in the boat when we reached it, and it looked wellladen. Tardif made a comfortable seat for me amid the packages, and thenthe sails were unfurled, and we were off quickly out of the harbor andon the open sea. 

A low, westerly wind was blowing, and fell upon the sails with a strongand equal pressure. We rode before it rapidly, skimming over the low, crested waves almost without a motion. Never before had I felt soperfectly secure upon the water. Now I could breathe freely, with thesense of assured safety growing stronger every moment as the coast ofGuernsey receded on the horizon, and the rocky little island grewnearer. As we approached it no landing-place was to be seen, no beach orstrand. An iron-bound coast of sharp and rugged crags confronted us, which it seemed impossible to scale. At last we cast anchor at the footof a great cliff, rising sheer out of the sea, where a ladder hung downthe face of the rock for a few feet. A wilder or lonelier place I hadnever seen. Nobody could pursue and surprise me here. 

The boatman who was with us climbed up the ladder, and, kneeling down, stretched out his hand to help me, while Tardif stood waiting to hold mesteadily on the damp and slippery rungs. For a moment I hesitated, andlooked round at the crags, and the tossing, restless sea. 

"I could carry you through the water, mam'zelle, " said Tardif, pointingto a hand's breadth of shingle lying between the rocks, "but you willget wet. It will be better for you to mount up here. "

I fastened both of my hands tightly round one of the upper rungs, beforelifting my feet from the unsteady prow of the boat. But the ladder onceclimbed, the rest of the ascent was easy. I walked on up a zigzag path, cut in the face of the cliff, until I gained the summit, and sat down towait for Tardif and his comrade. I could not have fled to a securerhiding-place. So long as my money held out, I might live as peacefullyand safely as any fugitive had ever lived. 

For a little while I sat looking out at the wild and beautiful scenebefore me, which no words can tell and no fancy picture to those whohave never seen it. The white foam of the waves was so near, that Icould see the rainbow colors playing through the bubbles as the sunshone on them. Below the clear water lay a girdle of sunken rocks, pointed as needles, and with edges as sharp as swords, about which thewaves fretted ceaselessly, drawing silvery lines about their notched anddented ridges. The cliffs ran up precipitously from the sea, carvedgrotesquely over their whole surface into strange and fantastic shapes;while the golden and gray lichens embroidered them richly, and brightsea-flowers, and stray tufts of grass, lent them the most vivid andgorgeous hues. Beyond the channel, against the clear western sky, laythe island of Guernsey, rising like a purple mountain out of the opalsea, which lay like a lake between us, sparkling and changing everyminute under the light of the afternoon sun. 

But there was scarcely time for the exquisite beauty of this scene tosink deeply into my heart just then. Before long I heard the tramp ofTardif and his comrade following me; their heavy tread sent down theloose stones on the path plunging into the sea. They were both ladenwith part of the boat's cargo. They stopped to rest for a minute or twoat the spot where I had sat down, and the other boatman began talkingearnestly to Tardif in his _patois_, of which I did not understand aword. Tardif's face was very grave and sad, indescribably so; and, before he turned to me and spoke, I knew it was some sorrowfulcatastrophe he had to tell. 

"You see how smooth it is, mam'zelle, " he said--"how clear andbeautiful--down below us, where the waves are at play like little whitechildren? I love them, but they are cruel and treacherous. While I wasaway there was an accident down yonder, just beyond these rocks. Ourdoctor, and two gentlemen, and a sailor went out from our little baybelow, and shortly after there came on a thick darkness, with heavyrain, and they were all lost, every one of them! Poor Renouf! he was agood friend of mine. And our doctor, too! If I had been here, maybe Imight have persuaded them not to brave it. "

It was a sad story to hear, yet just then I did not pay much attentionto it. I was too much engrossed in my own difficulties and trouble. Sofar as my experience goes, I believe the heart is more open to otherpeople's sorrows when it is free from burdens of its own. I was gladwhen Tardif took up his load again and turned his back upon the sea. 

CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 

WILL IT DO?

Tardif walked on before me to a low, thatched cottage, standing at theback of a small farm-yard. There was no other dwelling in sight, andeven the sea was not visible from it. It was sheltered by the steepslope of a hill rising behind it, and looked upon another slope coveredwith gorse-bushes; a very deep and narrow ravine ran down from it to thehand-breadth of shingle which I had seen from the boat. A more solitaryplace I could not have imagined; no sign of human life, or itsneighborhood, betrayed itself; overhead was a vast dome of sky, with afew white-winged sea-gulls flitting across it, and uttering their low, wailing cry. The roof of sky and the two round outlines of the littlehills, and the deep, dark ravine, the end of which was unseen, formedthe whole of the view before me. 

I felt chilled a little as I followed Tardif down into the dell. Heglanced back, with grave, searching eyes, scanning my face carefully. Itried to smile, with a very faint, wan smile, I suppose, for thelightness had fled from my spirits, and my heart was heavy enough, Godknows. 

"Will it not do, mam'zelle?" he asked, anxiously, and with his slow, solemn utterance; "it is not a place that will do for a young lady likeyou, is it? I should have counselled you to go on to Jersey, where thereis more life and gayety; it is my home, but for you it will be nothingbut a dull prison. "

"No, no!" I answered, as the recollection of the prison I had fled fromflashed across me; "it is a very pretty place and very safe; by-and-by Ishall like it as much as you do, Tardif. "

The house was a low, picturesque building, with thick walls of stone anda thatched roof, which had two little dormer-windows in it; but at themost sheltered end, farthest from the ravine that led down to the sea, there had been built a small, square room of brick-work. As we enteredthe fold-yard, Tardif pointed this room out to me as mine. 

"I built it, " he said, softly, "for my poor little wife; I brought thebricks over from Guernsey in my own boat, and laid nearly every one ofthem with my own hands; she died in it, mam'zelle. Please God, you willbe both happy and safe there!"

We stepped directly from the stone causeway of the yard into thefarm-house kitchen--the only sitting-room in the house except my own. Itwas exquisitely clean, with that spotless and scrupulous cleanlinesswhich appears impossible in houses where there are carpets and curtains, and papered walls. An old woman, very little and bent, and dressed in anodd and ugly costume, met us at the door, dropping a courtesy to me, andlooking at me with dim, watery eyes. I was about to speak to her, whenTardif bent down his head, and put his mouth to her ear, shouting to herwith a loud voice, but in their peculiar jargon, of which I could notmake out a single word. 

"My poor mother is deaf, " he said to me, "very deaf; neither can shespeak English. Most of the young people in Sark can talk in English alittle, but she is old and too deaf to learn. She has only once beenoff the island. "

I looked at her, wondering for a moment what she could have to think of, but, with an intelligible gesture of welcome, she beckoned me into myown room. The aspect of it was somewhat dreary; the walls were of bareplaster, but dazzlingly white, with one little black _silhouette_ of awoman's head hanging in a common black frame over the low, open hearth, on which a fire of seaweed was smouldering, with a quantity of grayashes round the small centre of smoking embers. There was a little roundtable, uncovered, but as white as snow, and two chairs, one of them anarm-chair, and furnished with cushions. A four-post bedstead, withcurtains of blue and white check, occupied the larger portion of thefloor. 

It was not a luxurious apartment; and for an instant I could hardlyrealize the fact that it was to be my home for an indefinite period. Some efforts had evidently been made to give it a look of welcome, homely as it was. A pretty china tea cup and saucer, with a plate or twoto match, were set out on the deal table, and the cushioned arm-chairhad been drawn forward to the hearth. I sat down in it, and buried myface in my hands, thinking, till Tardif knocked at the door, and carriedin my trunk. 

"Will it do, mam'zelle?" he asked, "will it do?"

"It will do very nicely, Tardif, " I answered; "but how ever am I to talkto your mother if she does not know English?"

"Mam'zelle, " he said, as he uncorded my trunk, "you must order me as youwould a servant. Through the winter I shall always be at hand; and youwill soon be used to us and our ways, and we shall be used to you andyour ways. I will do my best for you, mam'zelle; trust me, I will studyto do my best, and make you very happy here. I will be ready to take youaway whenever you desire to go. Look upon me as your hired servant. "

He waited upon me all the evening, but with a quick attention to mywants, which I had never met with in any hired servant. It was notunfamiliar to me, for in my own country I had often been served only bymen; and especially during my girlhood, when I had lived far away in thecountry, upon my father's sheep-walk. I knew it was Tardif who fried thefish which came in with my tea; and, when the night closed in, it was hewho trimmed the oil-lamp and brought it in, and drew the check curtainsacross the low casement, as if there were prying eyes to see me on theopposite bank. Then a deep, deep stillness crept over the solitaryplace--a stillness strangely deeper than that even of the daytime. Thewail of the sea-gulls died away, and the few busy cries of the farm-yardceased; the only sound that broke the silence was a muffled, hollow boomwhich came up the ravine from the sea. 

Before nine o'clock Tardif and his mother had gone up-stairs to theirrooms in the thatch; and I lay wearied but sleepless in my bed, listening to these dull, faint, ceaseless murmurs, as a child listens tothe sound of the sea in a shell. Was it possible that it was I, myself, the Olivia who had been so loved and cherished in her girlhood, and sohated and tortured in later years, who was come to live under afisherman's roof, in an island, the name of which I barely knew fourdays ago?

I fell asleep at last, yet I awoke early; but not so early that theother inmates of the cottage were not up, and about their day's work. Itwas my wish to wait upon myself, and so diminish the cost of living withthese secluded people; but I found it was not to be so; Tardif waitedupon me assiduously, as well as his deaf mother. The old woman would notsuffer me to do any work in my own room, but put me quietly upon oneside when I began to make my bed. Fortunately I had plenty of sewing toemploy myself in; for I had taken care not to waste my money by buyingready-made clothes. The equinoctial gales came on again fiercely the dayafter I had reached Sark; and I stitched away from morning till night, trying to fix my thoughts upon my mechanical work. 

When the first week was over, Tardif's mother came to me at a time whenher son was away out-of-doors, with a purse in her fingers, and by veryplain signs made me understand that it was time I paid the firstinstalment of my debt to her for board and lodgings. I was anxious aboutmy money. No agreement had been made between us as to what I was to pay. I laid a sovereign down upon the table, and the old woman looked at itcarefully, and with a pleased expression; but she put it in her purse, and walked away with it, giving me no change. Not that I altogetherexpected any change; they provided me with every thing I needed, andwaited upon me with very careful service; yet now I could calculateexactly how long I should be safe in this refuge, and the calculationgave me great uneasiness. In a few months I should find myself still inneed of refuge, but without the means of paying for it. What wouldbecome of me then?

Very slowly the winter wore on. How shall I describe the peacefulmonotony, the dull, lonely safety of those dark days and long nights? Ihad been violently tossed from a life of extreme trouble and peril intoa profound, unbroken, sleepy security. At first the sudden changestupefied me; but after a while there came over me an uneasyrestlessness, a longing to get away from the silence and solitude, evenif it were into insecurity and danger. I began to wonder how the worldbeyond the little island was going on. No news reached us from without. Sometimes for weeks together it was impossible for an open boat to crossover to Guernsey; even when a cutter accomplished its voyage out and in, no letters could arrive for me. The season was so far advanced when Iwent to Sark, that those visitors who had been spending a portion of thesummer there had already taken their departure, leaving the islanders tothemselves. They were sufficient for themselves; they and their ownaffairs formed the world. Tardif would bring home almost daily littlescraps of news about the other families scattered about Sark; but of thegreater affairs of life in other countries he could tell me nothing. 

Yet why should I call these greater affairs? Each to himself is thecentre of the world. It was a more important thing to me that I wassafe, than that the freedom of England itself should be secure. 

CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 

TOO MUCH ALONE. 

Yet looking back upon that time, now it is past, and has "rounded itselfinto that perfect star I saw not when I dwelt therein, " it would beuntrue to represent myself as in any way unhappy. At times I wishedearnestly that I had been born among these people, and could liveforever among them. 

By degrees I discovered that Tardif led a somewhat solitary lifehimself, even in this solitary island, with its scanty population. Therewas an ugly church standing in as central and prominent a situation aspossible, but Tardif and his mother did not frequent it. They belongedto a little knot of dissenters, who met for worship in a small room, when Tardif generally took the lead. For this reason a sort of coldnessexisted between him and the larger portion of his fellow-islanders. Butthere was a second and more important cause for a slight estrangement. He had married an Englishwoman many years ago, much to the astonishmentand disappointment of his neighbors; and since her death he had heldhimself aloof from all the good women who would have been glad enough toundertake the task of consoling him for her loss. Tardif, therefore, wasleft very much to himself in his isolated cottage, and his mother'sdeafness caused her also to be no very great favorite with any of thegossips of the island. It was so difficult to make her understand anything that could not be expressed by signs, that no one except her sonattempted to tell her the small topics of the day. 

All this told upon me, and my standing among them. At first I met a fewcurious glances as I roamed about the island; but my dress was as poorand plain as any of theirs, and I suppose there was nothing in myappearance, setting aside my dress, which could attract them. I learnedafterward that Tardif had told those who asked him that my name wasOllivier, and they jumped to the conclusion that I belonged to a familyof that name in Guernsey; this shielded me from the curiosity that mightotherwise have been troublesome and dangerous. I was nobody but a pooryoung woman from Guernsey, who was lodging in the spare room of Tardif'scottage. 

I set myself to grow used to their mode of life, and if possible tobecome so useful to them that, when my money was all spent, they mightbe willing to keep me with them; for I shrank from the thought of thetime when I must be thrust out of this nest, lonely and silent as itwas. As the long, dismal nights of winter set in, with the wind sweepingacross the island for several days together with a dreary, monotonousmoan which never ceased, I generally sat by their fire, for I had nobodybut Tardif to talk to; and now and then there arose an urgent needwithin me to listen to some friendly voice, and to hear my own speakingin reply. There were only two books in the house, the Bible and the"Pilgrim's Progress, " both of them in French; and I had not learnedFrench beyond the few phrases necessary for travelling. But Tardif beganto teach me that, and also to mend fishing-nets, which I persevered in, though the twine cut my fingers. Could I by any means make myself usefulto them?

As the spring came on, half my dullness vanished. Sark was morebeautiful in its cliff scenery than any thing I had ever seen, or couldhave imagined. Why cannot I describe it to you? I have but to close myeyes, and my memory paints it for me in my brain, with its innumerableislets engirdling it, as if to ward off its busy, indefatigable enemy, the sea. The long, sunken reefs, lying below the water at high tide, butat the ebb stretching like fortifications about it, as if to make of ita sure stronghold in the sea. The strange architecture and carving ofthe rocks, with faces and crowned heads but half obliterated upon them;the lofty arches, with columns of fretwork bearing them; the pinnacles, and sharp spires; the fallen masses heaped against the base of thecliffs, covered with seaweed, and worn out of all form, yet looking likethe fragments of some great temple, with its treasures of sculpture; andabout them all the clear, lucid water swelling and tossing, throwingover them sparkling sheets of foam. And the brilliant tone of the goldenand saffron lichens, and the delicate tint of the gray and silvery ones, stealing about the bosses and angles and curves of the rocks, as if therain and the wind and the frost had spent their whole power there toproduce artistic effects. I say my memory paints it again for me; but itis only a memory, a shadow that my mind sees; and how can I describe toyou a shadow? When words are but phantoms themselves, how can I use themto set forth a phantom?

Whenever the grandeur of the cliffs had wearied me, as one grows wearysometimes of too long and too close a study of what is great, there wasa little, enclosed, quiet graveyard that lay in the very lap of theisland, where I could go for rest. It was a small patch of ground, aGod's acre, shut in on every side by high hedge-rows, which hid everyview from sight except that of the heavens brooding over it. Nothing wasto be seen but the long mossy mounds above the dead, and the great, warm, sunny dome rising above them. Even the church was not there, forit was built in another spot, and had a few graves of its own scatteredabout it. 

I was sitting there one evening in the early spring, after the sun haddipped below the line of the high hedge-row, though it was still shiningin level rays through it. No sound had disturbed the deep silence for along time, except the twittering of birds among the branches; for uphere even the sea could not be heard when it was calm. I suppose my facewas sad, as most human faces are apt to be when the spirit is busy inits citadel, and has left the outworks of the eyes and mouth tothemselves. So I was sitting quiet, with my hands clasped about myknees, and my face bent down, when a grave, low voice at my sidestartled me back to consciousness. Tardif was standing beside me, andlooking down upon me with a world of watchful anxiety in his deep eyes. 

"You are sad, mam'zelle, " he said; "too sad for one so young as youare. "

"Oh! everybody is sad, Tardif, " I answered; "there is a great deal oftrouble for every one in this world. You are often very sad indeed. "

"Ah! but I have a cause, " he said. "Mam'zelle does not know that she issitting on the grave of my little wife. "

He knelt down beside it as he spoke, and laid his hand gently on thegreen turf. I would have risen, but he would not let me. 

"No, " he said, "sit still, mam'zelle. Yes, you would have loved her, poor little soul! She was an Englishwoman, like you, only not a lady; apretty little English girl, so little I could carry her like a baby. None of my people took to her, and she was very lonely, like you again;and she pined and faded away, just quietly, never saying one wordagainst them. No, no, mam'zelle, I like to see you here. This is afavorite place with you, and it gives me pleasure. I ask myself ahundred times a day, 'Is there any thing I can do to make my young ladyhappy? Tell me what I can do more than I have done. "

"There is nothing, Tardif, " I answered, "nothing whatever. If you see mesad sometimes, take no notice of it, for you can do no more for me thanyou are doing. As it is, you are almost the only friend, perhaps theonly true friend, I have in the world. "

"May God be true to me only as I am true to you!" he said, solemnly, while his dark skin flushed and his eyes kindled. I looked at himclosely. A more honest face one could never see, and his keen blue eyesmet my gaze steadfastly. Heavy-hearted as I was just then, I could nothelp but smile, and all his face brightened, as the sea at its dullestbrightens suddenly tinder a stray gleam of sunshine. Without anotherword we both rose to our feet, and stood side by side for a minute, looking down on the little grave beneath us. I would have gladly changedplaces then with the lonely English girl, who had pined away in thisremote island. 

After that short, silent pause, we went slowly homeward along the quiet, almost solitary lanes. Twice we met a fisherman, with his creel and netsacross his shoulders, who bade us good-night; but no one else crossedour path. 

It was a profound monotony, a seclusion I should not have had courage toface wittingly. But I had been led into it, and I dared not quit it. Howlong was it to last?

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 

A FALSE STEP. 

A day came after the winter storms, early, in March, with all thestrength and sweetness of spring in it; though there was sharpnessenough in the air to make my veins tingle. The sun was shining with somuch heat in it, that I might be out-of-doors all day under the shelterof the rocks, in the warm, southern nooks where the daisies weregrowing. The birds sang more blithely than they had ever done before; alark overhead, flinging down his triumphant notes; a thrush whistlingclearly in a hawthorn-bush hanging over the cliff; and the cry of thegulls flitting about the rocks; I could hear them all at the samemoment, with the deep, quiet tone of the sea sounding below their gaymusic. Tardif was going out to fish, and I had helped him to pack hisbasket. From my niche in the rocks I could see him getting out of theharbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in his boat, bareheaded, bidding me good-by. I began to sing before he was quite outof hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me ajoyous shout, and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it wasI who was singing. Nothing could be plainer than that he had gone awaymore glad at heart than he had been all the winter, simply because hebelieved that I was growing lighter-hearted. I could not help laughing, yet being touched and softened at the thought of his pleasure. What agood fellow he was! I had proved him by this time, and knew him to beone of the truest, bravest, most unselfish men on God's earth. How gooda thing it was that I had met with him that wild night last October, when I had fled like one fleeing from a bitter slavery! For a fewminutes my thoughts hovered about that old, miserable, evil time; but Idid not care to ponder over past troubles. It was easy to forget themto-day, and I would forget them. I plucked the daisies, and listenedalmost drowsily to the birds and the sea, and felt all through me thedelicious light and heat of the sun. Now and then I lifted up my eyes, to watch Tardif tacking about on the water. There were several boatsout, but I kept his in sight, by the help of a queer-shaped patch uponone of the sails. I wished lazily for a book, but I should not have readit if I had had one. I was taking into my heart the loveliness of thespring day. 

By twelve o'clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out inthe fresh air long enough to be quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardifwould be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the mealover, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling. So I quitted my warm nook with a feeling of regret, though I knew Icould return to it in an hour. 

But one can never return to any thing that is once left. When we lookfor it again, even though the place may remain, something has vanishedfrom it which can never come back. I never returned to my spring-dayupon the cliffs of Sark. 

A little crumbling path led round the rock and along the edge of theravine. I chose it because from it I could see all the fantastic shore, bending in a semicircle toward the isle of Breckhou, with tiny, untrodden bays, covered at this hour with only glittering ripples, andwith all the soft and tender shadows of the headlands falling acrossthem. I had but to look straight below me, and I could see long tressesof glossy seaweed floating under the surface of the sea. Both my headand my footing were steady, for I had grown accustomed to giddy heightsand venturesome climbing. I walked on slowly, casting many a reluctantglance behind me at the calm waters, with the boats gliding to and froamong the islets. I was just giving my last look to them when the loosestones on the crumbling path gave way under my tread, and before I couldrecover my foothold I found myself slipping down the almostperpendicular face of the cliff, and vainly clutching at every brambleand tuft of grass growing in its clefts. 

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 

AN ISLAND WITHOUT A DOCTOR. 

I had not time to feel any fear, for, almost before I could realize thefact that I was falling, I touched the ground. The point from which Ihad slipped was above the reach of the water, but I fell upon theshingly beach so heavily that I was hardly conscious for a few minutes. When I came to my senses again, I lay still for a little while, tryingto make out where I was, and how I came there. I was stunned andbewildered. Underneath me were the smooth, round pebbles, which lieabove the line of the tide on a shore covered with shingles. Above merose a dark, frowning rock, the chilly shadow of which lay across me. Without lifting my head I could see the water on a level with me, but itdid not look on a level; its bright crested waves seemed swelling upwardto the sky, ready to pour over me and bury me beneath them. I was veryfaint, and sick, and giddy. The ground felt as if it were about to sinkunder me. My eyelids closed languidly when I did not keep them open byan effort; and my head ached, and my brain swam with confused fancies. 

After some time, and with some difficulty, I comprehended what hadhappened to me, and recollected that it was already past mid-day, andMrs. Tardif would be waiting for me. I attempted to stand up, but anacute pain in my foot compelled me to desist. I tried to turn myselfupon the pebbles, and my left arm refused to help me. I could not checka sharp cry of suffering as my left hand fell back upon the stones onwhich I was lying. My fall had cost me something more than a fewminutes' insensibility and an aching head. I had no more power to movethan one who is bound hand and foot. 

After a few vain efforts I lay quite still again, trying to deliberateas well as I could for the pain which racked me. I reckoned up, aftermany attempts in which first my memory failed me, and then my faculty ofcalculation, what the time of the high tide would be, and how soonTardif would come home. As nearly as I could make out, it would be highwater in about two hours. Tardif had set off at low water, as his boathad been anchored at the foot of the rock, where the ladder hung; butbefore starting he had said something about returning at high tide, andrunning up his boat on the beach of our little bay. If he did that, hemust pass close by me. It was Saturday morning, and he was not in thehabit of staying out late on Saturdays, that he might prepare for theservices of the next day. I might count, then, upon the prospect of himrunning the boat into the bay, and finding me there in about two hours'time. 

It took me a very long time to make out all this, for every now and thenmy brain seemed to lose its power for a while, and every thing whirledabout me. Especially there was that awful sensation of sinking down, down through the pebbles into some chasm that was bottomless. I hadnever either felt pain or fainted before, and all this alarmed me. 

Presently I began to listen to the rustle of the pebbles, as the risingtide flowed over them and fell back again, leaving them all ajar andgrating against one another--strange, gurgling, jangling sound thatseemed to have some meaning. It was very cold, and a creeping moisturewas oozing up from the water. A vague wonder took hold of me as towhether I was really above the line of the tide, for, now the Marchtides were come, I did not know how high their flood was. But I thoughtof it without any active feeling of terror or pain. I was numbed in bodyand mind. The ceaseless chime of the waves, and the regularity of therustling play of the pebbles, seemed to lull and soothe me, almost inspite of myself. Cold I was, and in sharp pain, but my mind had notenergy enough either for fear or effort. What appeared to me mostterrible was the sensation, coming back time after time, of sinking, sinking into the fancied chasm beneath me. 

I remember also watching a spray of ivy, far above my head, swaying andwaving about in the wind; and a little bird, darting here and there witha brisk flutter of its tiny wings, and a chirping note of satisfaction;and the cloud drifting in soft, small cloudlets across the sky. Thesethings I saw, not as if they were real, but rather as if they werememories of things that had passed before my eyes many years before. 

At last--- whether years or hours only had gone by, I could not thenhave told you--I heard the regular and careful beat of oars upon thewater, and presently the grating of a boat's keel upon the shingle, withthe rattle of a chain cast out with the grapnel. I could not turn roundor raise my head, but I was sure it was Tardif, and that he did not yetsee me, for he was whistling softly to himself. I had never heard himwhistle before. 

"Tardif!" I cried, attempting to shout, but my voice sounded very weakin my own ears, and the other sounds about me seemed very loud. He wenton with his unlading, half whistling and half humming his tune, as helanded the nets and creel on the beach. 

"Tardif!" I called again, summoning all my strength, and raising my headan inch or two from the hard pebbles which had been its resting-place. 

He paused then, and stood quite still, listening. I knew it, though Icould not see him. I ran the fingers of my right hand through the loosepebbles about me, and his ear caught the slight noise. In a moment Iheard his strong feet coming across them toward me. 

"Mon Dieu! mam'zelle, " he exclaimed, "what has happened to you?"

I tried to smile as his honest, brown face bent over me, full of alarm. It was so great a relief to see a face like his after that long, wearyagony, for it had been agony to me, who did not know what bodily painwas like. But in trying to smile I felt my lips drawn, and my eyesblinded with tears. 

"I've fallen down the cliff, " I said, feebly, "and I am hurt. "

"Mon Dieu!" he cried again. The strong man shook, and his hand trembledas he stooped down and laid it under my head to lift it up a little. Hisagitation touched me to the heart, even then, and I did my best to speakmore calmly. 

"Tardif, " I whispered, "it is not very much, and I might have beenkilled. I think my foot is hurt, and I am quite sure my arm is broken. "

Speaking made me feel giddy and faint again, so I said no more. Helifted me in his arms as easily and tenderly as a mother lifts up herchild, and carried me gently, taking slow and measured strides up thesteep slope which led homeward. I closed my eyes, glad to leave myselfwholly in his charge, and to have nothing further to dread; yet moaninga little, involuntarily, whenever a fresh pang of pain shot through me. Then he would cry again, "Mon Dieu!" in a beseeching tone, and pause foran instant as if to give me rest. It seemed a long time before wereached the farm-yard gate, and he shouted, with a tremendous voice, tohis mother to come and open it. Fortunately she was in sight, and cametoward us quickly. 

He carried me into the house, and laid me down on the _lit defouaille_--a wooden frame forming a sort of couch, and filled with driedfern, which forms the principal piece of furniture in every farm-housekitchen in the Channel Islands. Then he cut away the boot from myswollen ankle, with a steady but careful touch, speaking now and then aword of encouragement, as if I were a child whom he was tending. Hismother stood by, looking on helplessly and in bewilderment, for he hadnot had time to explain my accident to her. 

But for my arm, which hung helplessly at my side, and gave meexcruciating pain when he touched it, it was quite evident he could donothing. 

"Is there nobody who could set it?" I asked, striving very hard to keepcalm. 

"We have no doctor in Sark now, " he answered. "There is no one butMother Renouf. I will fetch her. "

But when she came she declared herself unable to set a broken limb. Theyall three held a consultation over it in their own dialect; but I saw bythe solemn shaking of their heads, and Tardif's troubled expression, that it was entirely beyond her skill to set it right. She wouldundertake my sprained ankle, for she was famous for the cure of sprainsand bruises, but my arm was past her? The pain I was enduring bathed myface with perspiration, but very little could be done to alleviate it. Tardif's expression grew more and more distressed. 

"Mam'zelle knows, " he said, stooping down to speak the more softly tome, "there is no doctor nearer than Guernsey, and the night is not faroff. What are we to do?"

"Never mind, Tardif, " I answered, resolving to be brave; "let the womenhelp me into bed, and perhaps I shall be able to sleep. We must waittill morning. "

It was more easily said than done. The two old women did their best, buttheir touch was clumsy and their help slight, compared to Tardif's. Iwas thoroughly worn out before I was in bed. But it was a great deal tofind myself there, safe and warm, instead of on the cold, hard pebbleson the beach. Mother Renouf put my arm to rest upon a pillow, and bathedand fomented my ankle till it felt much easier. 

Never, never shall I forget that night. I could not sleep; but I supposemy mind wandered a little. Hundreds of times I felt myself down on theshore, lying helplessly, while great green waves curled themselves over, and fell just within reach of me, ready to swallow me up, yet alwaysmissing me. Then I was back again in my own home in Adelaide, on myfather's sheep-farm, and he was still alive, and with no thought but howto make every thing bright and gladsome for me; and hundreds of times Isaw the woman who was afterward to be my step-mother, stealing up to thedoor and trying to get in to him and me. Sometimes I caught myselfsobbing aloud, and then Tardif's voice, whispering at the door to askhow mam'zelle was, brought me back to consciousness. Now and then Ilooked round, fancying I heard my mother's voice speaking to me, and Isaw only the wrinkled, yellow face of his mother, nodding drowsily inher seat by the fire. Twice Tardif brought me a cup of tea, freshlymade. I could not distinctly made out who he was, or where I was, but Itried to speak loudly enough for him to hear me thank him. 

I was very thankful when the first gleam of daylight shone into my room. It seemed to bring clearness to my brain. 

"Mam'zelle, " said Tardif, coming to my side very early in hisfisherman's dress, "I am going to fetch a doctor. "

"But it is Sunday, " I answered faintly. I knew that no boatman put outto sea willingly on a Sunday from Sark; and the last fatal accident, being on a Sunday, had deepened their reluctance. 

"It will be right, mam'zelle, " he answered, with glowing eyes. "I haveno fear. "

"Do not be long away, Tardif, " I said, sobbing. 

"Not one moment longer than I can help, " he replied. 

PART THE SECOND. 

CHAPTER THE FIRST. 

DR. MARTIN DOBRÉE. 

My name is Martin Dobrée. Martin or Doctor Martin I was calledthroughout Guernsey. It will be necessary to state a few particularsabout my family and position, before I proceed with my part of thisnarrative. 

My father was Dr. Dobrée. He belonged to one of the oldest families inthe island--a family of distinguished _pur sang_; but our branch of ithad been growing poorer instead of richer during the last three or fourgenerations. We had been gravitating steadily downward. 

My father lived ostensibly by his profession, but actually upon theincome of my cousin, Julia Dobrée, who had been his ward from herchildhood. The house we dwelt in, a pleasant one in the Grange, belongedto Julia; and fully half of the year's household expenses were defrayedby her. Our practice, which he and I shared between us, was not a largeone, though for its extent it was lucrative enough. But there always isan immense number of medical men in Guernsey in proportion to itspopulation, and the island is healthy. There was small chance for any ofus to make a fortune. 

Then how was it that I, a young man, still under thirty, was wasting mytime, and skill, and professional training, by remaining there, a sortof half pensioner on my cousin's bounty? The thickest rope that holds avessel, weighing scores of tons, safely to the pier-head is made up ofstrands so slight that almost a breath will break them. 

First, then--and the strength of two-thirds of the strands laythere--was my mother. I could never remember the time when she had notbeen delicate and ailing, even when I was a rough school-boy atElizabeth College. It was that infirmity of the body which occasionallybetrays the wounds of a soul. I did not comprehend it while I was a boy;then it was headache only. As I grew older I discovered that it washeartache. The gnawing of a perpetual disappointment, worse than asudden and violent calamity, had slowly eaten away the very foundationof healthy life. No hand could administer any medicine for this diseaseexcept mine, and, as soon as I was sure of that, I felt what my firstduty was. 

I knew where the blame of this lay, if any blame there were. I had foundit out years ago by my mother's silence, her white cheeks, and herfeeble tone of health. My father was never openly unkind or careless, but there was always visible in his manner a weariness of her, an utterdisregard for her feelings. He continued to like young and pretty women, just as he had liked her because she was young and pretty. He remainedat the very point he was at when they began their married life. Therewas nothing patently criminal in it, God forbid!--nothing to create anopen and a grave scandal on our little island. But it told upon mymother; it was the one drop of water falling day by day. "A continualdropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike, " saysthe book of Proverbs. My father's small infidelities were much the sameto my mother. She was thrown altogether upon me for sympathy, andsupport, and love. 

When I first fathomed this mystery, my heart rose in very undutifulbitterness against Dr. Dobrée; but by-and-by I found that it resultedless from a want of fidelity to her than from a radical infirmity in histemperament. It was almost as impossible for him to avoid or conceal hispreference for younger and more attractive women, as for my mother toconquer the fretting vexation this preference caused to her. 

Next to my mother, came Julia, my cousin, five years older than I, whohad coldly looked down upon me, and snubbed me like a sister, as a boy;watched my progress through Elizabeth College, and through Guy'sHospital; and perceived at last that I was a young man whom it was nodisgrace to call cousin. To crown all, she fell in love with me; so atleast my mother told me, taking me into her confidence, and speakingwith a depth of pleading in her sunken eyes, which were worn with muchweeping. Poor mother! I knew very well what unspoken wish was in herheart. Julia had grown up under her care as I had done, and she stoodsecond to me in her affection. 

It is not difficult to love any woman who has a moderate share ofattractions--at least I did not find it so then. I was really fond ofJulia, too--very fond. I knew her as intimately as any brother knows hissister. She had kept up a correspondence with me all the time I was atGuy's, and her letters had been more interesting and amusing than herconversation generally was. Some women, most cultivated women, can writecharming letters; and Julia was a highly-cultivated woman. I came backfrom Guy's with a very greatly-increased regard and admiration for mycousin Julia. 

So, when my mother, with her pleading, wistful eyes, spoke day after dayof Julia, of her dutiful love toward her, and her growing love for me, Idrifted, almost without an effort of my own volition, into an engagementwith her. You see there was no counter-balance. I was acquainted withevery girl on the island of my own class; pretty girls were many ofthem, but there was after all not one that I preferred to my cousin. Myold dreams and romances about love, common to every young fellow, hadall faded into a very commonplace, everyday vision of having acomfortable house of my own, and a wife as good as most other men'swives. Just in the same way, my ambitious plans of rising to the verytop of the tree in my profession had dwindled down to satisfaction withthe very limited practice of one of our island doctors. I found myselfchained to this rock in the sea; all my future life would probably bespent there; and Fate offered me Julia as the companion fittest for me. I was contented with my fate, and laughed off my boyish fancy that Iought to be ready to barter the world for love. 

Added to these two strong ties keeping me in Guernsey, there were thehundred, the thousand small associations which made that island, and mypeople living upon it, dearer than any other place, or any other people, in the world. Taking the strength of the rope which held me to thepier-head as represented by one hundred, then my love for my motherwould stand at sixty-six and a half, my engagement to Julia at abouttwenty and the remainder may go toward my old associations. That ispretty nearly the sum of it. 

My engagement to Julia came about so easily and naturally that, as Isaid, I was perfectly contented with it. We had been engaged since theprevious Christmas, and were to be married in the early summer, as soonas a trip through Switzerland would be agreeable. We were to set uphousekeeping for ourselves; that was a point Julia was bent upon. Asuitable house had fallen vacant in one of the higher streets of St. Peter-Port, which commanded a noble view of the sea and the surroundingislands. We had taken it, though it was farther from the Grange and mymother than I should have chosen my home to be. She and Julia were busy, pleasantly busy, about the furnishing of it. Never had I seen my motherlook so happy, or so young. Even my father paid her a compliment or two, which had the effect of bringing a pretty pink flush to her whitecheeks, and of making her sunken eyes shine. As to myself, I was quietlyhappy, without a doubt. Julia was a good girl, everybody said that, andJulia loved me devotedly. I was on the point of becoming master of ahouse and owner of a considerable income; for Julia would not hear ofthere being any marriage settlements which would secure to her theproperty she was bringing to me. I found that making love, even to mycousin, who was like a sister to me, was upon the whole a pleasurableoccupation. Every thing was going on smoothly. 

That was till about the middle of March. I had been to church one Sundaymorning with these two women, both devoted to me, and centring all theirlove and hopes in me, when, as we entered the house on our return, Iheard my father calling "Martin! Martin!" as loudly as he could from hisconsulting-room. I answered the call instantly, and whom should I seebut a very old friend of mine, Tardif of the Havre Gosselin. He wasstanding near the door, as if in too great a hurry to sit down. Hishandsome but weather-beaten face betrayed great anxiety, and his shaggymustache rose and fell, as if the mouth below it was tremulously atwork. My father looked chagrined and irresolute. 

"Here's a pretty piece of work, Martin, " he said; "Tardif wants one ofus to go back with him to Sark, to see a woman who has fallen from thecliffs and broken her arm, confound it!"

"For the sake of the good God, Dr. Martin, " cried Tardif, excitedly, andof course speaking in the Sark dialect, "I beg of you to come thisinstant even. She has been lying in anguish since mid-dayyesterday--twenty-four hours now, sir. I started at dawn this morning, but both wind and tide were against me, and I have been waiting heresome time. Be quick, doctor. Mon Dieu! if she should be dead!"

The poor fellow's voice faltered, and his eyes met mine imploringly. Heand I had been fast friends in my boyhood, when all my holidays werespent in Sark, though he was some years older than I; and our friendshipwas still firm and true, though it had slackened a little from absence. I shook his hand heartily, giving it a good hard grip in token of myunaltered friendship--a grip which he returned with his fingers of irontill my own tingled again. 

"I knew you'd come, " he gasped. 

"Ah, I'll go, Tardif, " I said; "only I must get a snatch of something toeat while Dr. Dobrée puts up what I shall have need of. I'll be ready inhalf an hour. Go into the kitchen, and get some dinner yourself. "

"Thank you, Dr. Martin, " he answered, his voice still unsteady, and hismustache quivering; "but I can eat nothing. I'll go down and have theboat ready. You'll waste no time?"

"Not a moment, " I promised. 

I left my father to put up the things I should require, supposing he hadheard all the particulars of the accident from Tardif. He was inclinedto grumble a little at me for going; but I asked him what else I couldhave done. As he had no answer ready to that question, I walked away tothe dining-room, where my mother and Julia were waiting; for dinner wasready, as we dined early on Sundays on account of the servants. Juliawas suffering from the beginning of a bilious attack, to which she wassubject, and her eyes were heavy and dull. I told them hastily where Iwas going, and what a hurry I was in. 

"You are never going across to Sark to-day!" Julia exclaimed. 

"Why not?" I asked, taking my seat and helping myself quickly. 

"Because I am sure bad weather is coming, " she answered, lookinganxiously through a window facing the west. "I could see the coast ofFrance this morning as plainly as Sark, and the gulls are keeping closeto the shore, and the sunset last night was threatening. I will go andlook at the storm-glass. "

She went away, but came back again very soon, with an increase ofanxiety in her face. "Don't go, dear Martin, " she said, with her handupon my shoulder; "the storm-glass is as troubled as it can be, and thewind is veering round to the west. You know what that foretells at thistime of the year. There is a storm at hand; take my word for it, and donot venture across to Sark to-day. "

"And what is to become of the poor woman?" I remonstrated. "Tardif saysshe has been suffering the pain of a broken limb these twenty-fourhours. It would be my duty to go even if the storm were here, unless therisk was exceedingly great. Come, Julia, remember you are to be adoctor's wife, and don't be a coward. "

"Don't go!" she reiterated, "for my sake and your mother's. I am certainsome trouble will come of it. We shall be frightened to death; and thiswoman is only a stranger to you. Oh, I cannot bear to let you go!"

I did not attempt to reason with her, for I knew of old that when Juliawas bilious and nervous she was quite deaf to reason. I only stroked thehand that lay on my shoulder, and went on with my dinner as if my lifedepended upon the speed with which I dispatched it. 

"Uncle, " she said, as my father came in with a small portmanteau in hishand, "tell Martin he must not go. There is sure to be a stormto-night. "

"Pooh! pooh!" he answered. "I should be glad enough for Martin to stayat home, but there's no help for it, I suppose. There will be no stormat present, and they'll run across quickly. It will be the coming backthat will be difficult. You'll scarcely get home again to-night, Martin. "

"No, " I said. "I'll stop at Gavey's, and come back in the Sark cutter ifit has begun to ply. If not, Tardif must bring me over in the morning. "

"Don't go, " persisted Julia, as I thrust myself into my roughpilot-coat, and then bent down to kiss her cheek. Julia always presentedme her cheek, and my lips had never met hers yet. My mother was standingby and looking tearful, but she did not say a word; she knew there wasno question about what I ought to do. Julia followed me to the door andheld me fast with both hands round my arm, sobbing out hysterically, "Don't go!" Even when I had released myself and was running down thedrive, I could hear her still calling, "O Martin, don't go!"

I was glad to get out of hearing. I felt sorry for her, yet there was aconsiderable amount of pleasure in being the object of so much tendersolicitude. I thought of her for a minute or two as I hurried along thesteep streets leading down to the quay. But the prospect before mecaught my eye. Opposite lay Sark, bathed in sunlight, and the seabetween was calm enough at present. A ride across, with a westerlybreeze filling the sails, and the boat dancing lightly over the waves, would not be a bad exchange for a dull Sunday afternoon, with Julia atthe Sunday-school and my mother asleep. Besides, it was the path of dutywhich was leading me across the quiet gray sea before me. 

Tardif was waiting, with his sails set and oars in the rowlocks, readyfor clearing the harbor. I took one of them, and bent myself willinglyto the light task. There was less wind than I had expected, but whatthere was blew in our favor. We were very quickly beyond the pier-head, where a group of idlers was always gathered, who sent after us a fewwarning shouts. Nothing could be more exhilarating than our onwardprogress. I felt as if I had been a prisoner, with, chains which hadpressed heavily yet insensibly upon me, and that now I was free. I drewinto my lungs the fresh, bracing, salt air of the sea, with a deep sighof delight. 

CHAPTER THE SECOND. 

A PATIENT IN SARK. 

It struck me after a while that my friend Tardif was unusually silent. The shifting of the sails appeared to give him plenty to do; and to mysurprise, instead of keeping to the ordinary course, he ran recklesslyas it seemed across the _grunes_, which lie all about the bed of thechannel between Guernsey and Sark. These _grunes_ are reefs, rising alittle above low water, but, as the tide was about half-flood, they werea few feet below it; yet at times there was scarcely enough depth tofloat us over them, while the brown seaweed torn from their edges lay inour wake, something like the swaths of grass in a meadow after thescythe has swept through it. Now and then came a bump and a scrape ofthe keel against their sharp ridges. The sweat stood in beads uponTardif's face, and his thick hair fell forward over his forehead, wherethe great veins in the temples were purple and swollen. I spoke to himafter a heavier bump over the _grunes_ than any we had yet come to. 

"Tardif, " I said, "we are shaving the weeds a little too close, aren'twe?"

"Look behind you, Dr. Martin, " he answered, shifting the sails alittle. 

I did not look behind us. We were more than half-way over the channel, and Guernsey lay four miles or so west of us; but instead of the clearoutline of the island standing out against the sky, I could see nothingbut a bank of white fog. The afternoon sun was shining brightly over it, but before long it would dip into its dense folds. The fogs about ourislands are peculiar. You may see them form apparently thick blocks ofblanched vapor, with a distinct line between the atmosphere where thehaze is and where it is not. To be overtaken by a fog like this, whichwould almost hide Tardif at one end of the boat from me at the other, would be no laughing matter in a sea lined with sunken reefs. The windhad almost gone, but a little breeze still caught us from the north ofthe fog-bank. Without a word I took the oars again, while Tardif devotedhimself to the sails and the helm. 

"A mile nearer home, " he said, "and I could row my boat as easily in thedark as you could ride your horse along a lane. "

My face was westward now, and I kept my eye upon the fog-bank creepingstealthily after us. I thought of my mother and Julia, and the frightthey would be in. Moreover a fog like this was pretty often succeeded bya squall, especially at this season; and when a westerly gale blew upfrom the Atlantic in the month of March, no one could foretell when itwould cease. I had been weather-bound in Sark, when I was a boy, forthree weeks at one time, when our provisions ran short, and it wasalmost impossible to buy a loaf of bread. I could not help laughing atthe recollection, but I kept an anxious lookout toward the west. Threeweeks' imprisonment in Sark now would be a bore. 

But the fog remained almost stationary in the front of Guernsey, and theround red eyeball of the sun glared after us as we ran nearer and nearerto Sark. The tide was with us, and carried us on it buoyantly. Weanchored at the fisherman's landing-place below the cliff of the HavreGosselin, and I climbed readily up the rough ladder which leads to thepath. Tardif made his boat secure, and followed me; he passed me, andstrode on up the steep track to the summit of the cliff, as if impatientto reach his home. It was then that I gave my first serious thought tothe woman who had met with the accident. 

"Tardif, who is this person that is hurt?" I asked, "and whereabout didshe fall?"

"She fell down yonder, " he answered, with an odd quaver in his voice, ashe pointed to a rough and rather high portion of the cliff runninginland; "the stones rolled from under her feet, so, " he added, crushingdown a quantity of the loose gravel with his foot, "and she slipped. Shelay on the shingle underneath for two hours before I found her; twohours, Dr. Martin!"

"That was bad, " I said, for the good fellow's voice failed him--"verybad. A fall like that might have killed her. "

We went on, he carrying his oars, and I my little portmanteau. I heardTardif muttering. "Killed her!" in a tone of terror; but his facebrightened a little when we reached the gate of the farm-yard. He laiddown the oars noiselessly upon the narrow stone causeway before thedoor, and lifted the latch as cautiously as if he were afraid to disturbsome sleeping baby. 

He had given me no information with regard to my patient; and the soleidea I had formed of her was of a strong, sturdy Sark woman, whoseconstitution would be tough, and her temperament of a stolid, phlegmatictone. There was not ordinarily much sickness among them, and this casewas evidently one of pure accident. I expected to find a nut-brown, sunburnt woman, with a rustic face, who would very probably be impatientand unreasonable under the pain I should be compelled to inflict uponher. 

It had been my theory that a medical man, being admitted to the highestdegree of intimacy with his patients, was bound to be as insensible asan anchorite to any beauty or homeliness in those whom he was attendingprofessionally; he should have eyes only for the malady he came toconsider and relieve. Dr. Dobrée had often sneered and made merry at myhigh-flown notions of honor and duty; but in our practice at home he hadgiven me no opportunities of trying them. He had attended all ouryounger and more attractive patients himself, and had handed over to mycare all the old people and children--on Julia's account, he had said, laughing. 

Tardif's mother came to us as we entered the house. She was a little, ugly woman, stone deaf, as I knew of old. Yet in some mysterious way shecould make out her son's deep voice, when he shouted into her ear. Hedid not speak now, however, but made dumb signs as if to ask how all wasgoing on. She answered by a silent nod, and beckoned me to follow herinto an inner room, which opened out of the kitchen. 

It was a small, crowded room, with a ceiling so low, it seemed to restupon the four posts of the bedstead. There were of course none of thelittle dainty luxuries about it with which I was familiar in my mother'sbedroom. A long, low window opposite the head of the bed threw a stronglight upon it. There were check curtains drawn round it, and apatchwork-quilt, and rough, homespun linen. Every thing was clean, butcoarse and frugal--such as I expected to find about my Sark patient, inthe home of a fisherman. 

But when my eye fell upon the face resting on the rough pillow I pausedinvoluntarily, only just controlling an explanation of surprise. Therewas absolutely nothing in the surroundings to mark her as a lady, yet Ifelt in a moment that she was one. There lay a delicate, refined face, white as the linen, with beautiful lips almost as white; and a mass oflight, shining, silky hair tossed about the pillow; and large dark-grayeyes gazing at me beseechingly, with an expression that made my heartleap as it had never leaped before. 

That was what I saw, and could not forbear seeing. I tried to recall mytheory, and to close my eyes to the pathetic beauty of the face beforeme; but it was altogether in vain. If I had seen her before, or if I hadbeen prepared to see any one like her, I might have succeeded; but I wascompletely thrown off my guard. There the charming face lay: the eyesgleaming, the white forehead tinted, and the delicate mouth contractingwith pain: the bright, silky curls tossed about in confusion. I see itnow just as I saw it then. 

CHAPTER THE THIRD. 

WITHOUT RESOURCES. 

I suppose I did not stand still more than five seconds, yet during thatpause a host of questions had flashed through my brain. Who was thisbeautiful creature? Where had she come from? How did it happen that shewas in Tardif's house? and so on. But I recalled myself sharply to mysenses; I was here as her physician, and common-sense and duty demandedof me to keep my head clear. I advanced to her side, and took the small, blue-veined hand in mine, and felt her pulse with my fingers. It beatunder them a low but fast measure; too fast by a great deal. I could seethat the general condition of her health was perfect, a great charm initself to me; but she had been bearing acute pain for over twenty-eighthours, and she was becoming exhausted. A shudder ran through me at thethought of that long spell of suffering. 

"You are in very great pain, I fear, " I said, lowering my voice. 

"Yes, " her white lips answered, and she tried to smile a patient thougha dreary smile, as she looked up into my face, "my arm is broken. Areyou a doctor?"

"I am Dr. Martin Dobrée, " I said, passing my hand softly down her arm. The fracture was above the elbow, and was of a kind to make the settingof it give her considerable pain. I could see she was scarce fit to bearany further suffering just then; but what was to be done? She was notlikely to get much rest till the bone was set. 

"Have you had much sleep since your fall?" I asked, looking at theweariness visible in her eyes. 

"Not any, " she replied; "not one moment's sleep. "

"Did you have no sleep all night?" I inquired again. 

"No. " she said, "I could not fall asleep. "

There were two things I could do--give her an opiate, and strengthen hera little with sleep beforehand, or administer chloroform to her beforethe operation. I hesitated between the two. A natural sleep would havedone her a world of good, but there was a gleam in her eyes, and afeverish throb in her pulse, which gave me no hope of that. Perhaps thechloroform, if she had no objection to it, would be the best. 

"Did you ever take chloroform?" I asked. 

"No: I never needed it, " she answered. 

"Should you object to taking it?"

"Any thing. " she replied, passively. "I will do any thing you wish. "

I went back into the kitchen and opened the portmanteau my father hadput up for me. Splints and bandages were there in abundance, enough toset half the arms in the island, but neither chloroform nor any thing inthe shape of an opiate could I find. I might almost as well have come toSark altogether unprepared for my case. 

What could I do? There are no shops in Sark, and drugs of any kind wereout of the question. There was not a chance of getting what I needed tocalm and soothe a highly-nervous and finely-strung temperament like mypatient's. A few minutes ago I had hesitated about using chloroform. NowI would have given half of every thing I possessed in the world for anounce of it. 

I said nothing to Tardif, who was watching me with his deep-set eyes, asclosely as if I were meddling with some precious possession of his own. I laid the bundle of splints and rolls of linen down on the table with aprofessional air, while I was inwardly execrating my father'snegligence. I emptied the portmanteau in the hope of finding some smallphial or box. Any opiate would have been welcome to me, that would havedulled the overwrought nerves of the girl in the room within. But thepractice of using any thing of the kind was not in favor with usgenerally in the Channel Islands, and my father had probably concludedthat a Sark woman would not consent to use them. At any rate, there theywere not. 

I stood for a few minutes, deep in thought. The daylight was going, andit was useless to waste time; yet I found myself shrinking oddly fromthe duty before me. Tardif could not help but see my chagrin andhesitation. 

"Doctor, " he cried, "she is not going to die?"

"No, no, " I answered, calling back my wandering thoughts and energies;"there is not the smallest danger of that. I must go and set her arm atonce, and then she will sleep. "

I returned to the room, and raised her as gently and painlessly as Icould, motioning to the old woman to sit beside her on the bed and holdher steadily. I thought once of calling in Tardif to support her withhis strong frame, but I did not. She moaned, though very softly, when Imoved her, and she tried to smile again as her eyes met mine lookinganxiously at her. That smile made me feel like a child. If she did itagain, I knew my hands would be unsteady, and her pain would be tenfoldgreater. 

"I would rather you cried out or shouted, " I said. "Don't try to controlyourself when I hurt you. You need not be afraid of seeming impatient, and a loud scream or two would do you good. "

But I knew quite well as I spoke that she would never scream aloud. There was the self-control of culture about her. A woman of the lowerclass might shriek and cry, but this girl would try to smile at themoment when the pain was keenest. The white, round arm under my handswas cold, and the muscles were soft and unstrung. I felt the ends of thebroken bone grating together as I drew the fragments into their rightplaces, and the sensation went through and through me. I had set scoresof broken limbs before with no feeling like this, which was so nearunnerving me. But I kept my hands steady, and my attention fixed upon mywork. I felt like two persons--a surgeon who had a simple, scientificoperation to perform, and a mother who feels in her own person everypang her child has to suffer. 

All the time the girl's white face and firmly-set lips lay under mygaze, with the wide-open, unflinching eyes looking straight at me: amournful, silent, appealing face, which betrayed the pain I made hersuffer ten times more than any cries or shrieks could have done. Ithanked God in my heart when it was over, and I could lay her downagain. I smoothed the coarse pillows for her to lie more comfortablyupon them, and I spread my cambric handkerchief in a double fold betweenher cheek and the rough linen--too rough for a soft cheek like hers. 

"Lie quite still, " I said. "Do not stir, but go to sleep as fast as youcan. "

She was not smiling now, and she did not speak; but the gleam in hereyes was growing wilder, and she looked at me with a wanderingexpression. If sleep did not come very soon, there would be mischief. Idrew the curtains across the window to shut out the twilight, andmotioned to the old woman to sit quietly by the side of our patient. 

Then I went out to Tardif. 

He had not stirred from the place and position in which I had left him. I am sure no sound could have reached him from the inner room, for wehad been so still that during the whole time I could hear the beat ofthe sea dashing up between the high cliffs of the Havre Gosselin. Up anddown went Tardif's shaggy mustache, the surest indication of emotionwith him, and he fetched his breath almost with a sob. 

"Well, Dr. Martin?" was all he said. 

"The arm is set, " I answered, "and now she must get some sleep. There isnot the least danger, Tardif; only we will keep the house as quiet aspossible. "

"I must go and bring in the boat, " he replied, bestirring himself as ifsome spell was at an end. "There will be a storm to-night, and I shouldsleep the sounder if she was safe ashore. "

"I'll come with you, " I said, glad to get away from the seaweed fire. 

It was not quite dark, and the cliffs stood out against the sky in odderand more grotesque shapes than by daylight. A host of seamews werefluttering about and uttering the most unearthly hootings, but the seawas as yet quite calm, save where it broke in wavering, serpentine linesover the submerged reefs which encircle the island. The tidal currentwas pouring rapidly through the very narrow channel between Sark and thelittle isle of Breckhou, and its eddies stretching to us made it ratheran arduous task to get Tardif's boat on shore safely. But the work waspleasant just then. It kept our minds away from useless anxieties aboutthe girl. An hour passed quickly, and up the ravine, in the deep gloomof the overhanging rocks, we made our way homeward. 

"You will not quit the island to-morrow, " said Tardif, standing at hisdoor, and scanning the sky with his keen, weather-wise eyes. 

"I must, " I answered; "I must indeed, old fellow. You are noland-lubber, and you will run me over in the morning. "

"No boat will leave Sark to-morrow, " said Tardif, shaking his head. 

We went in, and he threw off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, preparatory to frying some fish for supper. I was beginning to feelravenously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since dinner, and as far as Iknew Tardif had had nothing since his early breakfast, but as afisherman he was used to long spells of fasting. While he was busycooking I stole quietly into the inner room to look after my patient. 

The feeble light entering by the door, which I left open, showed me theold woman comfortably asleep in her chair, but not so the girl. I hadtold her when I laid her down that she must lie quite still, and she wasobeying me implicitly. Her cheek still rested upon my handkerchief, andthe broken arm remained undisturbed upon the pillow which I had placedunder it. But her eyes were wide open and shining in the dimness, and Ifancied I could see her lips moving incessantly, though soundlessly. Ilaid my hand across her eyes, and felt the long lashes brush against thepalm, but the eyelids did not remain closed. 

"You must go to sleep, " I said, speaking distinctly and authoritatively;wondering at the time how much power my will would have over her. Did Ipossess any of that magnetic, tranquillizing influence about which JackSenior and I had so often laughed incredulously at Guy's? Her lipsmoved fast; for now my eyes had grown used to the dim light I could seeher face plainly, but I could not catch a syllable of what she waswhispering so busily to herself. 

Never had I felt so helpless and disconcerted in the presence of apatient. I could positively do nothing for her. The case was not beyondmy skill, but all medicinal resources were beyond my reach. Sleep shemust have, yet how was I to administer it to her?

I returned, troubled and irritable, to search once more my emptyportmanteau. Empty it was, except of the current number of _Punch_, which my father had considerately packed among the splints for mySunday-evening reading. I flung it and the bag across the kitchen, withan ejaculation not at all flattering to Dr. Dobrée, nor in accordancewith the fifth commandment. 

"What is the matter, doctor?" inquired Tardif. 

I told him in a few sharp words what I wanted to soothe my patient. Inan instant he left his cooking and thrust his arms into his blue jacketagain. 

"You can finish it yourself, Dr. Martin, " he said, hurriedly; "I'll runover to old Mother Renouf; she'll have some herbs or something to sendmam'zelle to sleep. "

"Bring her back with you, " I shouted after him as he sped across theyard. Mother Renouf was no stranger to me. While I was a boy she hadcharmed my warts away, and healed the bruises which were the inevitableconsequences of cliff-climbing. I scarcely liked her coming in to fillup my deficiencies, and I knew our application to her for help would beinexpressibly gratifying. But I had no other resource than to call herin as a fellow-practitioner, and I knew she would make a first-ratenurse, for which Suzanne Tardif was unfitted by her deafness. 

CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 

A RIVAL PRACTITIONER. 

Mother Renouf arrived from the other end of the island in an incrediblyshort time, borne along by Tardif as if he were a whirlwind and she aleaf caught in its current. She was a short, squat old woman, with askin tanned like leather, and kindly little blue eyes, twinkling withdelight and pride. Yes, there they are, photographed somewhere in mybrain, the wrinkled, yellow, withered faces of the two old women, theirwatery eyes and toothless mouths, with figures as shapeless as thebowlders on the beach, watching beside the bed where lay the white buttenderly beautiful face of the young girl, with her curls of glossy hairtossed about the pillow, and her long, tremulous eyelashes making ashadow on her rounded cheek. 

Mother Renouf gave me a hearty tap on the shoulder, and chuckled asmerrily as the shortness of her breath after her rapid course wouldpermit. The few English phrases she knew fell far short of expressingher triumph and exultation; but I was resolved to confer with heraffably. My patient's case was too serious for me to stand upon mydignity. 

"Mother, " I said, "have you any simples to send this poor girl to sleep?Tardif told me you had taken her sprained ankle under your charge. Ifind I have nothing with me to induce sleep, and you can help us if anyone can. "

"Leave her to me, my dear little doctor, " she answered, a laugh gurglingin her thick throat; "leave her to me. You have done your part with thebones. I have no touch at all for broken limbs, though my father, goodman, could handle them with any doctor in all the islands. But I'll sendher to sleep for you, never fear. "

"You will stay with us all night?" I said, coaxingly. "Suzanne is deaf, and ears are of use in a sick-room, you know. I intended to go toGavey's, but I shall throw myself down here on the fern bed, and you cancall me at any moment, if there is need. "

"There will be no need, " she replied, in a tone of confidence. "Mylittle mam'zelle will be sound asleep in ten minutes after she has takenmy draught. "

I went into the room with her to have a look at our patient. She had notstirred yet, but was precisely in the position in which I placed herafter the operation was ended. There was something peculiar about thiswhich distressed me. I asked Mother Renouf to move her gently and bringher face more toward me. The burning eyes opened widely as soon as shefelt the old woman's arm under her, and she looked up, with a flash ofintelligence, into my face. I stooped down to catch the whisper withwhich her lips were moving. 

"You told me not to stir, " she murmured. 

"Yes, " I said; "but you are not to lie still till you are cramped andstiff. Are you in much pain now?"

"He told me not to stir, " muttered the parched lips again, "not to stir. I must lie quite still, quite still, quite still!"

The feeble voice died away as she whispered the last words, but her lipswent on moving, as if she was repeating them to herself still. Certainlythere was mischief here. My last order, given just before her mind beganto wander, had taken possession of her brain, and retained authorityover her will. There was a pathetic obedience in her perfect immobility, united with the shifting, restless glance of her eyes, and the ceaselessripple of movement about her mouth, which made me trebly anxious anduneasy. A dominant idea had taken hold upon her which might provedangerous. I was glad when Mother Renouf had finished stewing herdecoction of poppy-heads, and brought the nauseous draught for the girlto drink. 

But whether the poppy-heads had lost their virtue, or our patient'snervous condition had become too critical, too full of excitement anddisturbance, I cannot tell. It is certain that she was not sleeping inten minutes' or in an hour's time. Old Dame Tardif went off to herbedroom, and Mother Renouf took her place by the girl's side. Tardifcould not be persuaded to leave the kitchen, though he appeared to befalling asleep heavily, waking up at intervals, and starting with terrorat the least sound. For myself I scarcely slept at all, though I foundthe fern bed a tolerably comfortable resting-place. 

The gale that Tardif had foretold came with great violence about themiddle of the night. The wind howled up the long, narrow ravine like apack of wolves; mighty storms of hail and rain beat in torrents againstthe windows, and the sea lifted up its voice with unmistakable energy. Now and again a stronger gust than the others appeared to threaten tocarry off the thatched roof bodily, and leave us exposed to the tempestwith only the thick stone walls about us; and the latch of the outerdoor rattled as if some one outside was striving to enter. I am notfanciful, but just then the notion came across me that if that dooropened we should see the grim skeleton, Death, on the threshold, withhis bleached, unclad bones dripping with the storm. I laughed at theghastly fancy, and told it to Tardif in one of his waking intervals, buthe was so terrified and troubled by it that it grew to have some littleimportance in my own eyes. So the night wore slowly away, the tall clockin the corner ticking out the seconds and striking the hours with afidelity to its duty, which helped to keep me awake. Twice or thrice Icrept, with quite unnecessary caution, into the room of my patient. 

No, there was no symptom of sleep there. The pulse grew more rapid, thetemples throbbed, and the fever gained ground. Mother Renouf was readyto weep with vexation. The girl herself sobbed and shuddered at the loudsounds of the tempest without; but yet, by a firm, supreme effort of herwill, which was exhausting her strength dangerously, she kept herselfquite still. I would have given up a year or two of my life to be ableto set her free from the bondage of my own command. 

CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 

LOCKS OF HAIR. 

The westerly gale, rising every few hours into a squall, gave me nochance of leaving Sark the next day, nor for some days afterward; but Iwas not at all put out by my captivity. All my interest--my wholebeing, in fact--was absorbed in the care of this girl, stranger as shewas. I thought and moved, lived and breathed, only to fight step by stepagainst delirium and death, and to fight without my accustomed weapons. Sometimes I could do nothing but watch the onset and inroads of thefever most helplessly. There was no possibility of aid. The stormywaters which beat against that little rock in the sea came swelling androlling in from the vast plain of the Atlantic, and broke in tempestuoussurf against the island. The wind howled, and the rain and hail beatacross us almost incessantly for two days, and Tardif himself was kept aprisoner in the house, except when he went to look after his live-stock. No doubt it would have been practicable for me to get as far as thehotel, but to what good? It would be quite deserted, for there were novisitors to Sark at this season, and I did not give it a second thought. I was entirely engrossed in my patient, and I learned for the first timewhat their task is who hour after hour watch the progress of disease inthe person, of one dear to them. 

Tardif occupied himself with mending his nets, pausing frequently withhis solemn eyes fixed upon the door of the girl's room, very much as apatient mastiff watches the spot where he knows his master is near tohim, though out of sight. His mother went about her household workploddingly, and Mother Renouf kept manfully to her post, in turn withme, as sentinel over the sickbed. There the young girl lay whisperingfrom morning till night, and from night till morning again--alwayswhispering. The fever gained ground from hour to hour. I had no data bywhich to calculate her chances of getting through it; but my hopes werevery low at times. 

On the Tuesday afternoon, in a temporary lull of the hail and wind, Istarted off on a walk across the island. The wind was still blowing fromthe southwest, and filling all the narrow sea between us and Guernseywith boiling surge. Very angry looked the masses of foam whirling aboutthe sunken reefs, and very ominous the low-lying, hard blocks of cloudsall along the horizon. I strolled as far as the Coupée, that giddypathway between Great and Little Sark, where one can see the seething ofthe waves at the feet of the cliffs on both sides, three hundred feetbelow one. Something like a panic seized me. My nerves were too farunstrung for me to venture across the long, narrow isthmus. I turnedabruptly again, and hurried as fast as my legs would carry me back toTardif's cottage. 

I had been away less than an hour, but an advantage had been taken of myabsence. I found Tardif seated at the table, with a tangle of silky, shining hair lying before him. A tear or two had fallen upon it from hiseyes. I understood at a glance what it meant. Mother Renouf had cut offmy patient's pretty curls as soon as I was out of the house. I could notbe angry with her, though I did not suppose it would do much good, and Ifelt a sort of resentment, such as a mother would feel, at thissacrifice of a natural beauty. They were all disordered and ravelled. Tardif's great hand caressed them tenderly, and I drew out one long, glossy tress and wound it about my fingers, with a heavy heart. 

"It is like the pretty feathers of a bird that has been wounded, " saidTardif, sorrowfully. 

Just then there came a knock at the door and a sharp click of the latch, loud enough to penetrate Dame Tardif's deaf ears, or to arouse ourpatient, if she had been sleeping. Before either of us could move, thedoor was thrust open, and two young ladies appeared upon the door-sill. 

They were--it flashed across me in an instant--old school-fellows andfriends of Julia's. I declare to you honestly, I had scarcely had onethought of Julia till now. My mother I had wished for, to take her placeby this poor girl's side, but Julia had hardly crossed my mind. Why, inHeaven's name, should the appearance of these friends of hers be sodistasteful to me just now? I had known them all my life, and liked themas well as any girls I knew; but at this moment the very sight of themwas annoying. They stood in the doorway, as much astonished andthunderstricken as I was, glaring at me, so it seemed to me, with thatsoft, bright-brown lock of hair curling and clinging round my finger. Never had I felt so foolish or guilty. 

"Martin Dobrée!" ejaculated both in one breath. 

"Yes, mesdemoiselles, " I said, uncoiling the tress of hair as if it hadbeen a serpent, and going forward to greet them; "are you surprised tosee me?"

"Surprised!" echoed the elder. "No; we are amazed--petrified! Howeverdid you get here? When did you come?"

"Quite easily, " I replied. "I came on Sunday, and Tardif fetched me inhis own boat. If the weather had permitted, I should have paid you acall; but you know what it has been. "

"To be sure, " answered Emma; "and how is dear Julia? She will be veryanxious about you. "

"She was on the verge of a bilious attack when I left her, " I said;"that will tend to increase her anxiety. "

"Poor, dear girl, " she replied, sympathetically. "But, Martin, is thisyoung woman here so very ill? We have heard from the Renoufs she had hada dangerous fall. To think of your being in Sark ever since Sunday, andwe never heard a word of it!"

No, thanks to Tardif's quiet tongue, and Mother Renouf's assiduousattendance upon mam'zelle, my sojourn in the island had been kept asecret; now that was at an end. 

"Is that the young woman's hair?" asked Emma, as Tardif gatheredtogether the scattered tresses and tied them up quickly in a littlewhite handkerchief, out of their sight and mine. I saw them againafterward. The handkerchief had been his wife's--white, with a border ofpink roses. 

"Yes, " I replied to her question, "it was necessary to cut it off. Sheis dangerously ill with fever. "

Both of them shrank a little toward the door. A sudden temptationassailed me, and took me so much by surprise that I had yielded before Iknew I was attacked. It was their shrinking movement that did it. Myanswer was almost as automatic and involuntary as their retreat. 

"You see it would not be wise for any of us to go about, " I said. "Afever breaking out in the island, especially now you have no residentdoctor, would be very serious. I think it will be best to isolate thiscase till we see the nature of the fever. You will do me a favor bywarning the people away from us at present. The storm has saved us sofar, but now we must take other precautions. "

This I said with a grave tone and face, knowing all the while that therewas no fear whatever for the people of Sark. Was there a propensity inme, not hitherto developed, to make the worst of a case?

"Good-by, Martin, good-by, " cried Emma, backing out through the opendoor. "Come away, Maria. We have run no risk yet, Martin, have we? Donot come any nearer to us. We have touched nothing, except shaking handswith you. Are we quite safe?"

"Is the young woman so very ill?" inquired Maria from a safe distanceoutside the house. 

I shook my head in silence, and pointed to the door of the inner room, intimating to them that she was no farther away than there. Anexpression of horror came over both their faces. Scarcely waiting tobestow upon me a gesture of farewell, they fled, and I saw them hurryingwith unusual rapidity across the fold. 

I had at least secured isolation for myself and my patient. But why hadI been eager to do so? I could not answer that question to myself, and Idid not ponder over it many minutes. I was impatient, yet strangelyreluctant, to look at the sick girl again, after the loss of herbeautiful hair. It was still daylight. The change in her appearancestruck me as singular. Her face before had a look of suffering andtrouble, making it almost old, charming as it was; now she had theaspect of quite a young girl, scarcely touching upon womanhood. Her hairhad not been shorn off closely--the woman could not manage that--andshort, wavy tresses, like those of a young child, were curling about herexquisitely-shaped head. The white temples, with their blue, throbbingveins, were more visible, with the small, delicately-shaped ears. Ishould have guessed her age now as barely fifteen--almost that of achild. Thus changed, I felt more myself in her presence, more as Ishould have been in attendance upon any child. I scanned her facenarrowly, and it struck me that there was a perceptible alteration; anexpression of exhaustion or repose was creeping over it. The crisis ofthe fever was at hand. The repose of death or the wholesome sleep ofreturning health was not far off. Mother Renouf saw it as well asmyself. 

CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 

WHO IS SHE?

We sat up again together that night, Tardif and I. He would not smoke, lest the scent of the tobacco should get in through the crevices of thedoor, and lessen the girl's chance of sleep; but he held his pipebetween his teeth, taking an imaginary puff now and then, that he mightkeep himself wide awake. We talked to one another in whispers. 

"Tell me all you know about mam'zelle, " I said. He had been chary of hisknowledge before, but his heart seemed open at this moment. Most heartsare more open at midnight than at any other hour. 

"There's not much to tell, doctor, " he answered. "Her name is Ollivier, as I said to you; but she does not think she is any kin to the Olliviersof Guernsey. She is poor, though she does not look as if she had beenborn poor, does she?"

"Not in the least degree, " I said. "If she is not a lady of birth, sheis one of the first specimens of Nature's gentlefolks I have ever comeacross. "

"Ah, there is a difference!" he said, sighing. "I feel it, doctor, inevery word I speak to her, and every step I walk with her eyes upon me. Why cannot I be like her, or like you? You'll be on a level with her, and I am down far below her. "

I looked at him curiously. The slouching figure--well shaped as itwas--the rough, knotted hands, the unkempt mass of hair about his headand face, marked him for what he was--a toiler on the sea as well as onthe land. He understood my scrutiny, and colored under it like a girl. 

"You are a better fellow than I am, Tardif, " I said; "but that hasnothing to do with our talk. I think we ought to communicate with theyoung lady's friends, whoever they may be, as soon as there are anymeans of communicating with the rest of the world. We should be in a fixif any thing should happen to her. Have you no clew to her friends?"

"She is not going to die!" he cried. "No, no, doctor. God must hear myprayers for her. I have never ceased to lift up my voice to Him in myheart since I found her on the shingle. She will not die!"

"I am not so sure, " I said; "but in any case we should write to herfriends. Has she written to any one since she came here?"

"Not to a soul, " he answered, eagerly. "She told me she has no friendsnearer than Australia. That is a great way off. "

"And has she had no letters?" I asked. 

"Not one, " he replied. "She has neither written nor received a singleletter. "

"But how did you come across her?" I inquired. "She did not fall fromthe skies, I suppose. How was it she came to live in thisout-of-the-world place with you?"

Tardif smoked his imaginary pipe with great perseverance for someminutes, his face overcast with thought. But presently it cleared, andhe turned to me with a frank smile. 

"I'll tell you all about it, Dr. Martin, " he said. "You know theSeigneur was in London last autumn, and there was a little difficulty inthe Court of Chefs Plaids here, about an ordonnance we could not agreeover, and I went across to London to see the Seigneur for myself. It wasin coming back I met with Mam'zelle Ollivier. I was paying my fare atWaterloo station--the omnibus-fare, I mean--and I was turning away, whenI heard the man speak grumblingly. I thought it was at me, and I lookedback, and there she stood before him, looking scared and frightened athis rough words. Doctor, I never could bear to see any soft, tender, young thing in trouble. If it's nothing but a little bird that hasfallen out of its warm nest, or a lamb slipped down among the cliffs, Ifeel as if I could risk my life to put them back again in some safeplace. Yes, and I have done it scores of times, when I dared not let mypoor mother know. Well, there stood mam'zelle, pale and trembling, withthe tears ready to fall in her eyes; just such a soft, poor, tender soulas my little wife used to be. You remember my little wife, Dr. Martin?"

I only nodded as he looked at me. 

"Just such another, " he went on; "only this one was a lady, and lessable to take care of herself. Her trouble was nothing but theomnibus-fare, and she had no change, nothing but an Australiansovereign; so I paid it for her. I kept pretty near her about thestation while she was buying her ticket, for I overheard two young men, who were roaming up and down, say as they looked at her, 'Pas de gants, et des souliers de velours!' That was true; she had no gloves on herhands, and her little feet had nothing on but some velvet slippers, allwet and muddy with the dirty streets. So I walked up to her, as if Ihad been her servant, you understand, and put her into a carriage, andstood at the door of it, keeping off any young men who wished to getin--for she was such a pretty young thing--till the train was ready tostart, and then I got into the nearest second-class carriage there wasto her. "

"Well, Tardif?" I said, impatiently, as he paused, looking absently intothe dull embers of the seaweed fire. 

"I turned it over in my own mind then, " he continued, "and I've turnedit over in my own mind since, and I can make no sort of an account ofit--a young lady travelling without any friends in a dress like that, asif she had not had a minute to spare in getting ready for her journey. It was a bad night for a journey too. Could she be going to see somefriend who was dying? At every station I looked out to see if my younglady left the train; but no, not even at Southampton. Was she going onto France? 'I must look out for her at the pier-head, ' I said to myself. But when we stopped at the pier I did not want her to think I waswatching her, only I stood well in the light, that she might see me whenshe looked round. I saw her stand as if she was considering, and I movedaway very slowly to our boat, to give her the chance of speaking to me, if she wished. But she only followed me very quietly, as if she did notwant me to see her, and she went down into the ladies' cabin in amoment, out of sight. Then I thought, 'She is running away from someone, or from something. ' She had no shawls, or umbrellas, or baskets, such as ladies are always cumbered with, and that looked strange. "

"How was she dressed?" I asked. 

"She wore a soft, bright-brown jacket, " he answered--"a seal-skin theycall it, though I never saw a seal with a skin like that--and a hat likeit, and a blue-silk gown, and her little muddy velvet slippers. It was astrange dress for travelling, wasn't it, doctor?"

"Very strange indeed, " I repeated. An idea was buzzing about my brainthat I had heard a description exactly similar before, but I could notfor the life of me recall where. I could not wait to hunt it out then, for Tardif was in a full flow of confidence. 

"But my heart yearned to her, " he said, "more than ever it did over anybird fallen from its nest, or any lamb that had slipped down the cliffs. All the softness and all the helplessness of every poor little creatureI had ever seen in my life seemed about her; all the hunted creaturesand all the trapped creatures came to my mind. I can hardly tell youabout it, doctor. I could have risked my life a hundred times over forher. It was a rough night, and I kept seeing her pale, hunted-lookingface before me, though there was not half the danger I've often been inround our islands. I couldn't keep myself from fancying we were allgoing down to the bottom of the sea, and that poor young thing, runningaway from one trouble, was going to meet a worse--if it is worse to diethan to live in great trouble. Dr. Martin, they tell me all the bed ofthe sea out yonder under the Atlantic is a smooth, smooth floor, with nocurrents, or tides, or streams, but a great calm; and there is no lifedown there of any kind. Well, that night I seemed to see the dead whohave perished by sea lying there calm and quiet with their hands foldedacross their breasts. A great company it was, and a great graveyard, strewed over with sleeping shapes, all at rest and quiet, waiting tillthey hear the trumpet of the archangel sounding so that even the deadwill hear and live again. It was a solemn sight to see, doctor. SomehowI came to think it would not be altogether a bad thing for the pooryoung troubled creature to go down there among them and be at rest. There are some people who seem too tender and delicate for this world. Yet if there had come a chance I'd have laid down my life for hers, eventhen, when I knew nothing much about her. "

"Tardif, " I said, "I did not know what a good fellow you are, though Iought to have known it by this time. "

"No, " he answered, "it is not in me; it's something in her. You feelsomething of it yourself, doctor, or how could you stay in a poor littlehouse like this, thinking of nothing but her, and not caring about theweather keeping you away from home? But let me go on. In the morningshe came on deck, and talked to me about the islands, and where shecould live cheaply, and it ended in her coming home here to lodge in ourlittle spare room. There was another curious thing--she had not anyluggage with her, not a box nor a bag of any kind. She never knew that Iknew, for that would have troubled her. It is my belief that she has runaway. "

"But who can she have run away from, Tardif?" I asked. 

"God knows, " he answered, "but the girl has suffered; you can see thatby her face. Whoever or whatever she has run away from, her cheeks arewhite from it, and her heart sorrowful. I know nothing of her secret;but this I do know: she is as good, and true, and sweet a little soul asmy poor little wife was. She has been here all winter, doctor, livingunder my eye, and I've waited on her as her servant, though a roughservant I am for one like her. She has tried to make herself cheerfuland contented with our poor ways. See, she mended me that bit of net;those are her meshes, though her pretty white fingers were made sore bythe twine. She would mend it, sitting where you are now in thechimney-corner. No; if mam'zelle should die, it will be a great grief ofheart to me. If I could offer my life to God in place of hers, I'd do itwillingly. "

"No, she will not die. Look there, Tardif!" I said, pointing to thedoor-sill of the inner room. A white card had been slipped under thedoor noiselessly--a signal agreed upon between Mother Renouf and me, toinform me that my patient had at last fallen into a profound slumber, which seemed likely to continue some hours. She had slept perhaps a fewminutes at a time before, but not a refreshing, wholesome sleep. Tardifunderstood the silent signal as well as I did, and a more solemnexpression settled on his face. After a while he put away his pipe, and, stepping barefoot across the floor without a sound, he stopped theclock, and brought back to the table, where an oil-lamp was burning, alarge old Bible. Throughout the long night, whenever I awoke, for Ithrew myself on the fern bed and slept fitfully, I saw his handsomeface, with its rough, unkempt hair falling across his forehead as it wasbent over the book, while his mouth moved silently as he read to himselfchapter after chapter, and turned softly the pages before him. 

I fell into a heavy slumber just before daybreak, and when I awoke twoor three hours after I found that the house had been put in order, justas usual, though no sound had disturbed me. I glanced anxiously at theclosed door. That it was closed, and the white card still on the sill, proved to me that our charge had no more been disturbed than myself. Thethought struck me that the morning light would shine full upon the weakand weary eyelids of the sleeper; but upon going out into the fold tolook at her casement, I discovered that Tardif had been before me andcovered it with an old sail. The room within was sufficiently darkened. 

The morning was more than half gone before Mother Renouf opened the doorand came out to us, her old face looking more haggard than ever, but herlittle eyes twinkling with satisfaction. She gave me a patronizing nod, but she went up to Tardif, laid a hand on each of his broad shoulders, and looked him keenly in the face. 

"All goes well, my friend, " she said, significantly. "Your littlemam'zelle does not think of going to the good God yet. "

I did not stay to watch how Tardif received this news, for I wasimpatient myself to see how she was going on. Thank Heaven, the feverwas gone, the delirium at an end. The dark-gray eyes, opening languidlyas my fingers touched her wrist, were calm and intelligent. She was asweak as a kitten, but that did not trouble me much. I was sure hernatural health was good, and she would soon recover her lost strength. Ihad to stoop down to hear what she was saying. 

"Have I kept quite still, doctor?" she asked, faintly. 

I must own that my eyes smarted, and my voice was not to be trusted. Ihad never felt so overjoyed in my life as at that moment. But what asingular wish to be obedient possessed this girl! What a wonderfulpower of submissive self-control! she had cast aside authority andbroken away from it, as she had done apparently, there must have beensome great provocation before a nature like hers could venture to assertits own independence. 

I had ample time for turning over this reflection, for Mother Renouf wasworn out and needed rest, and Suzanne Tardif was of little use in thesick-room. I scarcely left my patient all that day, for the rumor I hadset afloat the day before was sufficient to make it a difficult task toprocure another nurse. The almost childish face grew visibly betterbefore my eyes, and when night came I had to acknowledge somewhatreluctantly that as soon as a boat could leave the island it would be mybounden duty to return to Guernsey. 

"I should like to see Tardif, " murmured the girl to me that night, aftershe had awakened from a second long and peaceful sleep. 

I called him, and he came in barefoot, his broad, burly frame seeming tofill up all the little room. She could not lift up her head, but herface was turned toward us, and she held out her small, wasted hand tohim, smiling faintly. He fell on his knees before he took it into hisgreat, horny palm, and looked down upon it as he held it very carefullywith, tears standing in his eyes. 

"Why, it is like an egg-shell, " he said. "God bless you, mam'zelle, Godbless you for getting well again!"

She laughed at his words--a feeble though merry laugh, like achild's--and she seemed delighted with the sight of his hearty face, glowing as it was with happiness. It was a strange chance that hadthrown these two together. I could not allow Tardif to remain long; butafter that she kept devising little messages to send to him through mewhenever I was about to leave her. Her intercourse with Mother Renoufwas extremely limited, as the old woman's knowledge of English wasslight; and with Suzanne she could hold no conversation at all. Ithappened, in consequence, that I was the only person who could talk orlisten to her through the long and dreary hours. 

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 

WHO ARE HER FRIENDS?

At another time I might have recognized the danger of my post; but mypatient had become so childish-looking, and her mind, enfeebled bydelirium, was in so childish a condition, that it seemed to me I littlemore than tending some young girl whose age was far below my own. I didnot trouble myself, moreover, with any exact introspection. There was anunder-current of satisfaction and happiness running through the hourswhich I was not inclined to fathom. The winds continued against me, andI had nothing to do but to devote myself to mam'zelle, as I called herin common with the people about me. She was still so far in a precariousstate that, if she had been living in Guernsey, it would have been myduty to pay to her unflagging attention. 

But upon Friday afternoon Tardif, who had been down to the Creux Harbor, brought back the information that one of the Sark cutters was about toventure to make the passage across the Channel the next morning, toattend the Saturday market, if the wind did not rise again in the night. It was clear as day what I must do. I must bid farewell to my patient, however reluctant I might be, with a very uncertain prospect of seeingher again. A patient in Sark could not have many visits from a doctor inGuernsey. 

She was recovering with the wonderful elasticity of a thoroughly soundconstitution; but I had not considered it advisable for her even to situp yet, with her broken arm and sprained ankle. I took my seat besideher for the last time, her fair, sweet face lying upon the pillow as ithad done when I first saw it, only the look of suffering was gone. I hadmade up my mind to learn something of the mystery that surrounded her;and the child, as I called her to myself, was so submissive to me thatshe would answer my questions readily. 

"Mam'zelle, " I said, "I am going away to-night. You will be sorry tolose me?"

"Very, very sorry, " she answered, in her low, touching voice. "Are youobliged to go?"

If I had not been obliged to go, I should then and there have made asolemn vow to remain with her till she was well again. 

"I must go, " I said, shaking off the ridiculous and troublesome idea. "Ihave been away nearly six days. Six days is a long holiday for adoctor. "

"It has not been a holiday for you, " she whispered, her eyes fastenedupon mine, and shining like clear stars. 

"Well, " I repeated, "I must go. Before I go I wish to write to yourfriends for you. You will not be strong enough to write yourself forsome days, and it is quite time they knew what danger you have been in. I have brought a pen and paper, and I will post the letter as soon as Ireach Guernsey. "

A faint flush colored her face, and she turned her eyes away from me. 

"Why do you think I ought to write?" she asked at length. 

"Because you have been very near death. " I answered. "If you had died, not one of us would have known whom to communicate with, unless you hadleft some direction in that box of yours, which is not very likely. "

"No, " she said, "you would find nothing there. I suppose if I had diednobody would ever have known who I am. How curious that would havebeen!"

Was she amused, or was she saddened by the thought? I could not tell. 

"It would have been very painful to Tardif and to me, " I said. "It mustbe very painful to your friends, whoever they are, not to know what hasbecome of you. Give me permission to write to them. There can scarcelybe reasons sufficient for you to separate yourself from them like this. Besides, you cannot go on living in a fisherman's cottage; you were notborn to it--"

"How do you know?" she asked, quickly, with a sharp tone in her voice. 

It was somewhat difficult to answer that question. There was nothing toindicate what position she had been used to. I had seen no token ofwealth about her room, which was as homely as any other cottage chamber. Her conversation had been the simple, childish talk of an invalidrecovering from a serious illness, and had scarcely proved her to be aneducated person. Yet there was something in her face and tones andmanner which, as plainly to Tardif as to me, stamped this runaway girlas a lady. 

"Let me write to your friends, " I urged, waiving the question. "It isnot fit for you to remain here. I beg of you to allow me to communicatewith them. "

Her face quivered like a child's when it is partly frightened and partlygrieved. 

"I have no friends, " she said; "not one real friend in the world. "

An almost irresistible inclination assailed me to fall on my kneesbeside her, as I had seen Tardif do, and take a solemn oath to be herfaithful servant and friend as long as my life should last. This, ofcourse, I did not do; but the sound of the words so plaintively spoken, and the sight of her quivering face, rendered her a hundredfold moreinteresting to me. 

"Mam'zelle, " I said, taking her hand in mine, "if ever you should need afriend, you may count upon Martin Dobrée as one as true as any you couldwish to have. Tardif is another. Never say again you have no friends. "

"Thank you, " she answered, simply. "I will count you and Tardif as myfriends. But I have no others, so you need not write to anybody. "

"But what if you had died?" I persisted. 

"You would have buried me quietly up there, " she answered, "in thepleasant graveyard, where the birds sing all day long, and I should havebeen forgotten soon. Am I likely to die, Dr. Martin?"

"Certainly not, " I replied, hastily; "nothing of the kind. You are goingto get well and strong again. But I must bid you good-by, now, since youhave no friends to write to. Can I do any thing for you in Guernsey? Ican send you any thing you fancy. "

"I do not want any thing, " she said. 

"You want a great number of things, " I said; "medicines, of course--whatis the good of a doctor who sends no medicine?--and books. You will haveto keep yourself quiet a long time. You would like some books?"

"Oh, I have longed for books, " she said, sighing; "but don't buy any;lend me some of your own. "

"Mine would be very unsuitable for a young lady, " I answered, laughingat the thought of my private library. "May I ask why I am not to buyany?"

"Because I have no money to spend in books, " she said. 

"Well, " I replied, "I will borrow some for you from the ladies I know. We will not waste our money, neither you nor I. "

I stood looking at her, finding it harder to go away than I hadsupposed. So closely had I watched the changes upon her face, that everyline of it was deeply engraved upon my memory. Other and more familiarfaces seemed to have faded in proportion to that distinctness ofimpression. Julia's features, for instance, had become blurred andobscure, like a painting which has lost its original clearness of tone. 

"How soon will you come back again?" asked the faint, plaintive voice. 

Clearly it did not occur to her that I could not pay her a visit withoutgreat difficulty. I knew how it was next to an impossibility to get overto Sark, for some time at least; but I felt ready to combat evenimpossibilities. 

"I will come back, " I said--"yes, I promise to come back in a week'stime. Make haste and get well before then, mam'zelle. Good-by, now;good-by. "

I was going to sleep at Vaudin's Inn, near to Creux Harbor, from whichthe cutter would sail almost before the dawn. At five o'clock we startedon oar passage--a boat-load of fishermen bound for the market. The coldwas sharp, for it was still early in March, and the easterly windpierced the skin like a myriad of fine needles. A waning moon washanging in the sky over Guernsey, and the east was growing gray with thecoming morning. By the time the sun was fairly up out of its bed oflow-lying clouds, we had rounded the southern point of Sark, and were insight of the Havre Gosselin. But Tardif's cottage was screened by thecliffs, and I could catch no glimpse of it, though, as we rowed onward, I saw a fine, thin column of white smoke blown toward us. It was fromhis hearth, I knew, and, at this moment, he was preparing an earlybreakfast for my invalid. I watched it till all the coast became anindistinct outline against the sky. 

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 

THE SIXTIES OF GUERNSEY. 

I was more than half-numb with cold by the time we landed at the quay, opposite the Sark office. The place was all alive, seeming the more busyand animated to me for the solitary six days I had been spending sincelast Sunday. The arrival of our boat, and especially my appearance init, created quite a stir among the loungers who are always hanging aboutthe pier. By this time every individual in St. Peter-Port knew that Dr. Martin Dobrée had been missing for several days, having gone out in afisherman's boat to Sark the Sunday before. I had seen myself in theglass before leaving my chamber at Vaudin's, and to some extent Ipresented the haggard appearance of a shipwrecked man. A score of voicesgreeted me; some welcoming, some chaffing. "Glad to see you again, oldfellow!" "What news from Sark?" "Been in quod for a week?" "His hair isnot cut short!" "No; he has tarried in Sark till his beard be grown!"There was a circling laugh at this last jest at my appearance, which hadbeen uttered by a good-tempered, jovial clergyman, who was passing by onhis way to the town church. I did my best to laugh and banter in return, but it was like a bear dancing with a sore head. I felt gloomy anduncomfortable. A change had come over me since I left home, for myreturn was by no means an unmixed pleasure. 

As I was proceeding along the quay, with a train of sympathizingattendants, a man, who was driving a large cart piled with packages incases, as if they had come in from England by the steamer, touched hishat to me, and stopped the horse. It was in order to inform me that hewas conveying furniture which we--that is, Julia and I--had ordered, upto our new house, the windows of which I could see glistening in themorning sun. My spirits did not rise, even at this cheerful information. I looked coldly at the cases, bade the man go on, and shook off my trainby taking an abrupt turn up a flight of steps, leading directly into theHaute Rue. 

I had chosen instinctively the nearest by-way homeward, but, once in theHaute Rue, I did not pursue it. I turned again upon a sudden thoughttoward the Market Square, to see if I could pick up any dainties totempt the delicate appetite of my Sark patient. Every step I tookbrought me into contact with some friend or acquaintance, whom I wouldhave avoided gladly. The market was sure to be full of them, for theladies of Guernsey, like Frenchwomen, would be there in shoals, withtheir maidservants behind them to carry their purchases. Yet I turnedtoward it, as I said, braving both congratulations and curiosity, tosee what I could buy for Tardif's "mam'zelle. "

The square had all the peculiar animation of an early market whereladies do their own bargaining. As I had known beforehand, most of myacquaintances were there; for in Guernsey the feminine elementpredominates terribly, and most of my acquaintances were ladies. Thepeasant-women behind the stalls also knew me. Most of them nodded to meas I strolled slowly through the crowd, but they were much too busy tosuspend their purchases in order to catechise me just then, being sureof me at a future time. I had not done badly in choosing the busieststreet for my way home. 

But as I left the Market Square I came suddenly upon Julia, face toface. It had all the effect of a shock upon me. Like many other women, she seldom looked well out-of-doors. The prevailing fashion never suitedher, however the bonnets were worn, whether hanging down the neck orslouched over the forehead, rising spoon-shaped toward the sky, or lyinglike a flat plate on the crown. Julia's bonnet always looked as if ithad been made for somebody else. She was fond of wearing a shawl, whichhung ungracefully about her, and made her figure look squarer and hershoulders higher than they really were. Her face struck sharply upon mybrain, as if I had never seen it distinctly before; not a bad face, butunmistakably plain, and just now with a frown upon it, and her heavyeyebrows knitted forbiddingly. A pretty little basket was in her hand, and her mind was full of the bargains she was bent upon. She was evenmore surprised and startled by our encounter than I was, and her manner, when taken by surprise, was apt to be abrupt. 

"Why, Martin!" she ejaculated. 

"Well, Julia!" I said. 

We stood looking at one another much in the same way as we used to doyears before, when she had detected me in some boyish prank, and assumedthe mentor while I felt a culprit. How really I felt a culprit at thatmoment she could not guess. 

"I told you just how it would be, " she said, in her mentor voice. "Iknew there was a storm coming, and I begged and entreated of you not togo. Your mother has been ill all the week, and your father has been ascross as--as--"

"As two sticks, " I suggested, precisely as I might have done when I wasthirteen. 

"It is nothing to laugh at, " said Julia, severely. "I shall say nothingabout myself and my own feelings, though they have been most acute, thewind blowing a hurricane for twenty-four hours together, and we not surethat you had even reached Sark in safety. Your mother and I wanted tocharter the Rescue, and send her over to fetch you home as soon as theworst of the storm was over, but my uncle pooh-poohed it. "

"I am very glad he did, " I replied, involuntarily. 

"He said you would be more than ready to come back in the first cutterthat sailed, " she went on. "I suppose you have just come in?"

"Yes, " I said, "and I'm half numbed with cold, and nearly famished withhunger. You don't give me as good a welcome as the Prodigal Son got, Julia. "

"No, " she answered, softening a little; "but I'm not sorry to see yousafe again. I would turn back with you, but I like to do the marketingmyself, for the servants will buy any thing. Martin, a whole cartload ofour furniture is come in. You will find the invoice inside my davenport. We must go down this afternoon and superintend the unpacking. "

"Very well, " I said; "but I cannot stay longer now. "

I did not go on with any lighter heart than before this meeting withJulia. I had scrutinized her face, voice, and manner, with unwontedcriticism. As a rule, a face that has been before us all our days is asseldom an object of criticism as any family portrait which has hungagainst the same place on the wall all our lifetime. The latter fills upa space which would otherwise be blank; the former does very littleelse. It never strikes you; it is almost invisible to you. There wouldbe a blank space left if it disappeared, and you could not fill it upfrom memory. A phantom has been living, breathing, moving beside you, with vanishing features and no very real presence. 

I had, therefore, for the first time criticised my future wife. It was agood, honest, plain, sensible face, with some fine, insidious linesabout the corners of the eyes and lips, and across the forehead. Theycould hardly be called wrinkles yet, but they were the first faintsketch of them, and it is impossible to obliterate the slightest touchetched by Time. She was five years older than I--thirty-three lastbirthday. There was no more chance for our Guernsey girls to concealtheir age than for the unhappy daughters of peers, whose dates arefaithfully kept, and recorded in the Peerage. The upper classes of theisland, who were linked together by endless and intricate ramificationsof relationship, formed a kind of large family, with some of itsadvantages and many of its drawbacks. In one sense we had many things incommon; our family histories were public property, as also our privatecharacters and circumstances. For instance, my own engagement to Julia, and our approaching marriage, gave almost as much interest to the islandas though we were members of each household. 

I have looked out a passage in the standard work upon the ChannelIslands. They are the words of an Englishman who was studying us morephilosophically than we imagined. Unknown to ourselves we had been underhis microscope. "At a period not very distant, society in Guernseygrouped itself into two divisions--one, including those families whoprided themselves on ancient descent and landed estates, and whoregarded themselves as the _pur sang_; and the other, those whosefortunes had chiefly been made during the late war or in trade. Theformer were called _Sixties_, the latter were the _Forties_. "

Now Julia and I belonged emphatically to the Sixties. We had never beendebased by trade, and a _mésalliance_ was not known in our family. To besure, my father had lost a fortune instead of making one in any way; butthat did not alter his position or mine. We belonged to the aristocracyof Guernsey, and _noblesse oblige_. As for my marriage with Julia, itwas so much the more interesting as the number of marriageable men wasextremely limited; and she was considered favored indeed by Fate, whichhad provided for her a cousin willing to settle down for life in theisland. 

Still more greetings, more inquiries, more jokes, as I wended my wayhomeward. I had become very weary of them before I turned into our owndrive. My father was just starting off on horseback. He lookedexceedingly well on horseback, being a very handsome man, and inexcellent preservation. His hair, as white as snow, was thick and wellcurled, and his face almost without a wrinkle. He had married young, andwas not more than twenty-five years older than myself. He stopped, andextended two fingers to me. 

"So you are back, Martin?" he said. "It has been a confounded nuisance, you being out of the way; and such weather for a man of my years! I hadto ride out three miles to lance a baby's gums, confound it! in all thatstorm on Tuesday. Mrs. Durande has been very ill too; all your patientshave been troublesome. But it must have been awfully dull work for youout yonder. What did you do with yourself, eh? Make love to some of thepretty Sark girls behind Julia's back, eh?"

My father kept himself young, as he was very fond of stating; his styleof conversation was eminently so. It jarred upon my ears more than everafter Tardif's grave and solemn words, and often deep thoughts. I was onthe point of answering sharply, but I checked myself. 

"The weather has been awful, " I said. "How did my mother bear it?"

"She has been like an old hen clucking after her duckling in the water, "he replied. "She has been fretting and fuming after you all the week. Ifit had been me out in Sark, she would have slept soundly and ateheartily; as it was you, she has neither slept nor ate. You are quite anold woman's pet, Martin. As for me, there is no love lost between oldwomen and me. "

"Good-morning, sir, " I said, turning away, and hurrying on to the house. I heard him laugh lightly, and hum an opera-air as he rode off, sittinghis horse with the easy seat of a thorough horseman. He would never setup a carriage as long as he could ride like that. I watched him out ofsight, and then went in to seek my poor mother. 

CHAPTER THE NINTH. 

A CLEW TO THE SECRET. 

She was lying on the sofa in the breakfast-room, with the Venetianblinds down to darken the morning sunshine. Her eyes wore closed, thoughshe held in her hands the prayer-hook, from which she had been readingas usual the Psalms for the day. I had time to take note of the extremefragility of her appearance, which, doubtless I noticed the more plainlyfor my short absence. Her hands were very thin, and her cheeks hollow. Afew silver threads were growing among her brown hair, and a line or twobetween her eyebrows were becoming deeper. But while I was looking ather, though I made no sort of sound or movement, she seemed to feel thatI was there; and after looking up she started from her sofa, and flungher arms about me, pressing closer and closer to me. 

"O Martin, my boy! my darling!" she sobbed, "thank God you are come backsafe! Oh, I have been very rebellious, very unbelieving. I ought to haveknown that you would be safe. Oh, I am thankful!"

"So am I, mother, " I said, kissing her, "and very hungry into thebargain. "

I knew that would check her hysterical excitement. She looked up at mewith smiles and tears on her face; but the smiles won the day. 

"That is so like you, Martin, " she said; "I believe your ghost would saythose very words. You are always hungry when you come home. Well, myboy shall have the best breakfast in Guernsey. Sit down, then, and letme wait upon you. "

That was just what pleased her most whenever I came in from some rideinto the country. She was a woman with fondling, caressing little ways, such as Julia could no more perform gracefully than an elephant couldwaltz. My mother enjoyed fetching my slippers, and warming them herselfby the fire, and carrying away my boots when I took them off. No servantwas permitted to do any of these little offices for me--that is, when myfather was out of the way. If he was there, my mother sat still, andleft me to wait on myself, or ring for a servant, Never in myrecollection had she done any thing of the kind for my father. Had shewatched and waited upon him thus in the early days of their marriedlife, until some neglect or unfaithfulness of his had cooled her lovefor him? I sat down as she bade me, and had my slippers brought, andfelt her fingers passed fondly through my hair. 

"You have come back like a barbarian, " she said, "rougher than Tardifhimself. How have you managed, my boy? You must tell me all about it assoon as your hunger is satisfied. "

"As soon as I have had my breakfast, mother, I must put up a few thingsin a hamper to go back by the Sark cutter, " I answered. 

"What sort of things?" she asked. "Tell me, and I will be getting themready for you. "

"Well, there will be some physic, of course, " I said; "you cannot helpme in that. But you can find things suitable for a delicate appetite;jelly, you know, and jams, and marmalade; any thing nice that comes tohand. And some good port-wine, and a few amusing books. "

"Books!" echoed my mother. 

I recollected at once that the books she might select, as being suitedto a Sark peasant, would hardly prove interesting to my patient. I couldnot do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look outsome good works there. 

"Well, no, " I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out theother things, those can wait. "

"Whom are they for?" asked my mother. 

"For my patient, " I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me. 

"What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again. 

"Her name is Ollivier, " I said. "A common name. Our postmaster's nameis Ollivier. "

"Oh, yes, " she answered; "I know several families of Olliviers. I daresay I should know this person if you could tell me her Christian name. Is it Jane, or Martha, or Rachel?"

"I don't know, " I said; "I did not ask. "

Should I tell my mother about my mysterious patient? I hesitated for aminute or two. But to what good? It was not my habit to talk about mypatients and their ailments. I left them all behind me when I crossedthe threshold of home. My mother's brief curiosity had been satisfiedwith the name of Ollivier, and she made no further inquiries about her. But to expedite me in my purpose, she rang, and gave orders for oldPellet, our only man-servant, to find a strong hamper, and told the cookto look out some jars of preserve. 

The packing of that hamper interested me wonderfully; and my mother, rather amazed at my taking the superintendence of it in person, stood byme in her store-closet, letting me help myself liberally. There was agood space left after I had taken sufficient to supply Miss Ollivierwith good things for some weeks to come. If my mother had not been by, Ishould have filled it up with books. 

"Give me a loaf or two of white bread, " I said; "the bread at Tardif'sis coarse and hard, as I know after eating it for a week. A loaf, if youplease, dear mother. "

"Whatever are you doing here, Martin?" exclaimed Julia's unwelcome voicebehind me. Her bilious attack had not quite passed away, and her toneswere somewhat sharp and raspy. 

"He has been living on Tardif's coarse fare for a week, " answered mymother; "so now he has compassion enough for his Sark patient to pack upsome dainties for her. If you could only give him one or two of your badheadaches, he would have more sympathy for you. "

"Have you had one of your headaches, Julia?" I inquired. 

"The worst I ever had, " she answered. "It was partly your going off inthat rash way, and the storm that came on after, and the fright we werein. You must not think of going again, Martin. I shall take care youdon't go after we are married. "

Julia had been used to speak out as calmly about our marriage as if itwas no more than going to a picnic. It grated upon me just then; thoughit had been much the same with myself. There was no delightful agitationabout the future that lay before us. We were going to set uphousekeeping by ourselves, and that was all. There was no mystery in it;no problem to be solved; no discovery to be made on either side. Therewould be no Blue Beard's chamber in our dwelling. We had grown uptogether; now we had agreed to grow old together. That was the sum totalof marriage to Julia and me. 

I finished packing the hamper, and sent Pellet with it to the Sarkoffice, having addressed it to Tardif, who had engaged to be down at theCreux Harbor to receive it when the cutter returned. Then I made a shortand hurried toilet, which by this time had become essential to myreappearance in civilized society. But I was in haste to secure a parcelof books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageouslittle knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heedingthe greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I lookedthrough the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hitupon two of Mrs. Gaskell's novels, "Pride and Prejudice, " by JaneAustin, and "David Copperfield. " Besides these, I chose a book forSunday reading, as my observations upon my mother and Julia had taughtme that my patient could not read a novel on a Sunday with a quietconscience. 

Barbet brought half a sheet of an old _Times_ to form the first cover ofmy parcel. The shop was crowded with market-people, and, as he was busy, I undertook to pack them myself, the more willingly as I had no wish forhim to know what direction I wrote upon them. I was about to fold thenewspaper round them, when my eye was caught by an advertisement at thetop of one of the columns, the first line of which was printed incapitals. I recollected in an instant that I had seen it and read itbefore. This was what I had tried in vain to recall while Tardif wasdescribing Miss Ollivier to me. "Strayed from her home in London, on the20th inst. , a young lady with bright-brown hair, gray eyes, and delicatefeatures; age twenty one. She is believed to have been alone. Wasdressed in a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Fifty poundsreward is offered to any person giving such information as will lead toher restoration to her friends. Apply to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray'sInn Road, E. C. "

I stood perfectly still for some seconds, staring blankly at the verysimple, direct advertisement under my eyes. There was not the slightestdoubt in my mind that it had a direct reference to my pretty patient inSark. I had a reason for recollecting the date of Tardif's return fromLondon, the very day after the mournful disaster off the Havre Gosselin, when four gentlemen and a boatman had been lost during a squall. But Ihad no time for deliberation then, and I tore off a large corner of the_Times_ containing that and other advertisements, and thrust it unseeninto my pocket. After that I went on with my work, and succeeded inturning out a creditable-looking parcel, which I carried down to theSark cutter. 

Before I returned home I made two or three half-professional calls uponpatients whom my father had visited during my absence. Everywhere I hadto submit to numerous questions as to my adventures and pursuits duringmy week's exile. At each place curiosity seemed to be quite satisfiedwith the information that the young woman who had been hurt by a fallfrom the cliffs was an Ollivier. With that freedom and familiarity whichexists among us, I was rallied for my evident absence and preoccupationof mind, which were pleasantly ascribed to the well-known fact that alarge quantity of furniture for our new house had arrived from Englandwhile I was away. These friends of mine could tell me the colors of thecurtains, and the patterns of the carpets, and the style of my chairsand tables; so engrossingly interesting to all our circle was ourapproaching marriage. 

In the mean time, I had no leisure to study and ponder over theadvertisement, which by so odd a chance had come into my hands. Thatmust be reserved till I was alone at night. 

CHAPTER THE TENTH. 

JULIA'S WEDDING-DRESS. 

Yet I found my attention wandering, and my wits wool-gathering, even inthe afternoon, when I had gone down with Julia and my mother to the newhouse, to see after the unpacking of that load of furniture. I canimagine circumstances in which nothing could be more delightful than thecare with which a man prepares a home for his future wife. The very tintof the walls, and the way the light falls in through the windows, wouldbecome matters of grave importance. In what pleasant spot shall herfavorite chair be placed? And what picture shall hang opposite it tocatch her eye the oftenest? Where is her piano to stand? What china, andglass, and silver, is she to use? Where are the softest carpets to befound for her feet to tread? In short, where is the very best anddaintiest of every thing to be had, for the best and daintiest littlebride the sun ever shone on?

There was not the slightest flavor of this sentiment in our furnishingof our new house. It was really more Julia's business than mine. We hadhad dozens of furnishing lists to peruse from the principal houses inLondon and Paris, as if even there it was a well-understood thing thatJulia and I were going to be married. We had toiled through thesecatalogues, making pencil-marks in them, as though they were cataloguesof an art exhibition. We had prudently settled the precise sum (ofJulia's money) which we were to lay out. Julia's taste did not oftenagree with mine, as she had no eye for the harmonies of color--asingular deficiency among us, as most of the Guernsey women are bornartists. We were constantly compelled to come to a compromise, eachyielding some point; not without a secret misgiving on my part that thenew house would have many an eyesore about it for me. But then it wasJulia's money that was doing it, and after all she was more anxious toplease me than I deserved. 

That afternoon Pellet and I, like two assistants in a furnishing-house, unrolled carpets and stretched them along the floors before the criticalgaze of my mother and Julia. We unpacked chairs and tables, scanninganxiously for damages on the polished wood, and setting them one afteranother in a row against the walls. I went about as in some dream. Thehouse commanded a splendid view of the whole group of the ChannelIslands, and the rocky islets innumerable strewed about the sea. Theafternoon sun was shining full upon Sark, and whenever I looked throughthe window I could see the cliffs of the Havre Gosselin, purple in thedistance, with a silver thread of foam at their foot. No wonder that mythoughts wandered, and the words my mother and Julia were speaking wentin at one ear and out at the other. Certainly I was dreaming; but whichpart was the dream?

"I don't believe he cares a straw about the carpets!" exclaimed Julia, in a disappointed tone. 

"I do indeed, dear Julia, " I said, bringing myself back to the carpets. Here I had been obliged to give in to Julia's taste. She had set hermind upon having flowers in her drawing-room carpet, and there theywere, large garlands of bright-colored blossoms, very gay, and, as Iventured to remark to myself, very gaudy. 

"You like it better than you did in the pattern?" she asked, anxiously. 

I did not like it one whit better, but I should have been a brute if Ihad said so. She was gazing at it and me with so troubled an expression, that I felt it necessary to set her mind at ease. 

"It is certainly handsomer than the pattern?" I said, regarding itattentively; "very much handsomer. "

"You like it better than the plain thing you chose at first?" pursuedJulia. 

I was about to be hunted into a corner, and forced into denying my owntaste--a process almost more painful than denying one's faith--when mymother came to my rescue. She could read us both as an open book, andknew the precise moment to come between us. 

"Julia, my love, " she said, "remember that we wish to show Martin thosepatterns while it is daylight. To-morrow is Sunday, you know. "

A little tinge of color crept over Julia's tintless face as she toldPellet he might go. I almost wished that I might be dismissed too; butit was only a vague, wordless wish. We then drew near to the window, from which we could see Sark so clearly, and Julia drew out of herpocket a very large envelope, which was bursting with its contents. 

They were small scraps of white silk and white satin. I took themmechanically into my hand, and could not help admiring the pure, lustrous, glossy beauty of them. I passed my fingers over them softly. There was something in the sight of them that moved me, as if they werefragments of the shining garments of some vision, which in times goneby, when I was much younger, had now and then floated before my fancy. Idid not know any one lovely enough to wear raiment of glistening whitelike these, unless--unless--. A passing glimpse of the pure white face, and glossy hair, and deep gray eyes of my Sark patient flashed acrossme. 

"They are patterns for Julia's wedding-dress, " said my mother, in a low, tender voice. 

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 

TRUE TO BOTH. 

"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading awayinstantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful--verybeautiful indeed. "

"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leanedagainst my shoulder. 

"I like them all, " I said. "There is scarcely any difference among themthat I can see. "

"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are asdifferent as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard, and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?"

"A very great one, " I replied. "But do you think you will look well inwhite, my dear Julia? You never do wear white. "

"A bride cannot wear any thing but white, " she said, angrily. "Ideclare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright. "

"But I should mind very much, " I urged, putting my arm around her; "foryou will be my wife then, Julia. "

She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind hadbeen full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now shelooked happy. 

"You can be as nice and good as any one, when you like, " she said, gently. 

"I shall always be nice and good when we are married, " I answered, witha laugh. "You are not afraid of venturing, are you, Julia?"

"Not the least in the world, " she said. "I know you, Martin, and I cantrust you implicitly. "

My heart ached at the words, so softly and warmly spoken. But I laughedagain--at myself this time, not at her. Why should she not trust me? Iwould be as true as steel to her. I loved no one better, and I wouldtake care not to love any one. My word, my honor, my troth, were allplighted to her. Only a scoundrel and a fool would be unfaithful to anengagement like ours. 

We walked home together, we three, all contented and all happy. We had agood deal to talk of during the evening, and sat up late. Sundry smallevents had happened in Guernsey during my six-days' absence, and thesewere discussed with that charming minuteness with which women canvassfamily matters. It was midnight before I found myself alone in my ownroom. 

I had half forgotten the crumpled paper in my waistcoat-pocket, but nowI smoothed it out before me and pondered over every word. No, therecould not be a doubt that it referred to Miss Ollivier. "Bright-brownhair, gray eyes, and delicate features. " That exactly corresponded withher appearance. "Blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. " It wasprecisely the dress which Tardif had described. "Fifty pounds reward. "That was a large sum to offer, and the inference was that her friendswere persons of good means, and anxious for her recovery. 

Why should she have strayed from home? That was the question. Whatpossible reason could there have been, strong enough to impel a youngand delicately-nurtured girl to run all the risks and dangers of aflight alone and unprotected? Her friends evidently believed that shehad not been run away with; there was not the ordinary element of anelopement in this case. 

But Miss Ollivier had assured me she had no friends. What did she meanby the word? Here were persons evidently anxious to discover her placeof concealment. Were they friends? or could they by any chance beenemies? This is not an age when enmity is very rampant. For my ownpart, I had not an enemy in the world. Why should this pretty, habitually-obedient, self-controlled girl have any? Most probably it wasone of those instances of bitter misunderstanding which sometimes arisein families, and which had driven her to the desperate step of seekingpeace and quietness by flight. 

Then what ought I to do with this advertisement, thrust, as it wouldseem, purposely under my notice? If I had not wrapped up the parcelmyself at Barbet's, I should have missed seeing it; or if Barbet hadpicked up any other piece of paper, it would not have come under my eye. A curious concatenation of very trivial circumstances had ended inputting into my hands a clew by which I could unravel all the mysteryabout my Sark patient. What was I to do with the clew?

I might communicate at once with Messrs. Scott and Brown, giving themthe information they had advertised for six months before, and receive areply, stating that it was no longer valuable to them, or containing anacknowledgment of my claim to the fifty pounds reward. I might sell myknowledge of Miss Ollivier for fifty pounds. In doing so I might renderher a great service, by restoring her to her proper sphere in society. But the recollection of Tardif's description of her as looking terrifiedand hunted recurred vividly to me. The advertisement put her age astwenty-one. I should not have judged her so old myself, especially sinceher hair had been cut short. But if she was twenty-one, she was oldenough to form plans and purposes for herself, and to choose, as far asshe could, her own mode of living. I was not prepared to deliver her up, until I knew something more of both sides of the question. 

Settled--that if I could see Messrs. Scot and Brown, and learn somethingabout Miss Ollivier's friends, I might be then able to decide whether Iwould betray her to them but I would not write. Also, that I must seeher again first, and once more urge her to have confidence in me. If shewould trust me with her secret, I would be as true to her as a friend asI meant to be true to Julia. 

Having come to these conclusions, I cut the advertisement carefully outof the crumpled paper, and placed it in my pocket-book with portraits ofmy mother and Julia, Here were mementos of the three women I cared mostfor in the world: my mother first, Julia second, and my mysteriouspatient third. 

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 

STOLEN WATERS ARE SWEET. 

I was neither in good spirits nor in good temper during the next fewdays. My mother and Julia appeared astonished at this, for I was notordinarily as touchy and fractious as I showed myself immediately aftermy sojourn in Sark. 

I was ashamed of it myself. The new house, which occupied their time andthoughts so agreeably, worried me as it had not done before. I madeevery possible excuse not to be sent to it, or taken to it, severaltimes a day. 

The discussions over Julia's wedding-dress also, which had by no meansbeen decided upon on Saturday afternoon, began to bore me beyond words. Whenever I could, I made my patients a pretext for getting away fromthem. 

One of them, a cousin of my mother--as I have said, we were all cousinsof one degree or another--Captain Carey, met me on the quay, a day ortwo after my return. He had been a commander in the Royal Navy, and, after cruising about in all manner of unhealthy latitudes, had returnedto his native island for the recovery of his health. He and his sisterlived together in a very pleasant house of their own, in the Vale, abouttwo miles from St. Peter-Port. 

He looked yellow enough to be on the verge of an attack of jaundice whenhe came across me. 

"Hallo, Martin!" he cried, "I am delighted to see you, my boy. I've beena little out of sorts lately; but I would not let Johanna send for yourfather. He does very well to go dawdling after women, and playing withtheir pulses, but I don't want him dawdling after me. Tell me what youhave to say about me, my lad. "

He went on to tell me his symptoms, while a sudden idea struck me almostlike a flash of genius. 

I am nothing of a genius; but at that time new thoughts came into mymind with wonderful rapidity. It was positively necessary that I shouldrun over to Sark this week--I had given my word to Miss Ollivier that Iwould do so--but I dared not mention such a project at home. My motherand Julia would be up in arms at the first syllable I uttered. 

What if I could do two patients good at one stroke, kill two birds withone stone? Captain Carey had a pretty little yacht lying idle in St. Sampson's Harbor, and a day's cruising would do him all the good in theworld. Why should he not carry me over to Sark, when I could visit myother patient, and nobody be made miserable by the trip?

"I will make you up some of your old medicine, " I said, "but I stronglyrecommend you to have a day out on the water; seven or eight hours atany rate. If the weather keeps as fine as it is now, it will do you aworld of good. "

"It is so dreary alone, " he objected, "and Johanna would not care to goout at this season, I know. "

"If I could manage it, " I said, deliberating, "I should be glad to havea day with you. "

"Ah! if you could do that!" he replied, eagerly. 

"I'll see about it, " I said. "Should you mind where you sailed to?"

"Not at all, not at all, my boy, " he answered, "so that I get yourcompany. You shall be skipper, or helmsman, or both, if you like. "

"Well, then, " I replied, "you might take me over to the Havre Gosselin, to see how my patient's broken arm is going on. It's a bore there beingno resident medical man there at this moment. The accident last autumnwas a great loss to the island. "

"Ah! poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, "he was a sad loss to them. ButI'll take you over with pleasure, Martin; any day you fix upon. "

"Get the yacht ship-shape, then, " I said; "I think I can manage it onThursday. "

I did not say at home whither I was bound on Thursday. I informed themmerely that Captain Carey and I were going out in his yacht for a fewhours. This was simply to prevent them from worrying themselves. 

It was as delicious a spring morning as ever I remember. As I rode alongthe flat shore between St. Peter-Port and St. Sampson's, the fresh airfrom the sea played about my face, as if to drive dull care away, andmake me as buoyant and debonair as itself. The little waves wereglittering and dancing in the sunshine, and chiming with the merrycarols of the larks, outsinging one another in the blue sky overhead. The numerous wind-mills, like children's toys, which were pumping waterout of the stone-quarries, whirled and spun busily in the brisk breeze. Every person I met saluted me with a blithe and cheery greeting. My dullspirits had been blown far away before I set foot on the deck of CaptainCarey's little yacht. 

The run over was all that we could wish. The cockle-shell of a boat, belonging to the yacht, bore me to the foot of the ladder hanging downthe rock at Havre Gosselin. A very few minutes took me to the top of thecliff, and there lay the little thatched, nest-like home of my patient. I hastened forward eagerly. 

The place seemed very solitary and deserted; and a sudden fear cameacross me. Was it possible that she should be dead? It was possible. Ihad left her six days ago only just over a terrible crisis. There mighthave been a relapse, a failure of vital force. I might be come to findthose shining eyes hid beneath their lids forever, and the pale, suffering face motionless in death. 

Certainly the rhythmic motion of my heart was disturbed. I felt itcontract painfully, and its beating suspended for a moment or two. Thefarmstead was intensely quiet, with the ominous stillness of death. Allthe windows were shrouded with their check curtains. There was noclatter of Suzanne's wooden clogs about the fold or the kitchen. If ithad been Sunday, this supernatural silence would have been easilyaccounted for; but it was Thursday. I scarcely dared go on and learn thecause of it. 

All silent still as I crossed the stony causeway of the yard. Not a facelooked out from door or window. Mam'zelle's casement stood a little wayopen, and the breeze played with the curtains, fluttering them likebanners in a procession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door wasajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myselfas I gazed eagerly into the cottage. 

She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen backupon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from herhand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made acharming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The wholeinterior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak, almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, andthe deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief thegraceful, shining head, and pale face. 

I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, thatsomebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked upas I lingered on the door-sill. 

"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!"

She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raiseherself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was moredifficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, butby an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at somelittle distance. 

"Tardif is gone out fishing, " she said, "and his mother is gone awaytoo, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here inan hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that. "

"They ought not to have left you alone, " I replied. 

"And I shall not be left alone, " she said, smiling, "for you are come, you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you howmuch I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You arethe first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps youthought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow orother, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, verygood to me. "

"Never mind that, " I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on. How is the arm, first of all?"

I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand. But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. Shelooked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. Myown momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right, and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle. 

"We must take care you are not lame, " I said, while I was feelingcarefully the complicated joint of her ankle. 

"Lame!" she repeated, in an alarmed voice, "is there any fear of that?"

"Not much, " I answered, "but we must be careful, mam'zelle. You mustpromise me not to set your foot on the ground, or in any way rest yourweight upon it, till I give you leave. "

"That means that you will have to come to see me again, " she said; "isit not very difficult to come over from Guernsey?"

"Not at all, " I answered, "it is quite a treat to me. "

Her face grew very grave, as if she was thinking of some unpleasanttopic. She looked at me earnestly and questioningly. 

"May I speak to you with great plainness, Dr. Martin?" she asked. 

"Speak precisely what is in your mind at this moment, " I replied. 

"You are very, very good to me, " she said, holding out her hand to me, "but I do not want you to come more often than is quite necessary, because I am very poor. If I were rich, " she went on hurriedly, "Ishould like you to come every day--it is so pleasant--but I can neverpay you sufficiently for that long week you were here. So please do notvisit me oftener than is quite necessary. "

My face felt hot, but I scarcely knew what to say. I bungled out ananswer:

"I would not take any money from you, and I shall come to see you asoften as I can. "

I bound up her little foot again without another word, and then satdown, pushing my chair farther from her. 

"You are not offended with me, Dr. Martin?" she asked, in a pleadingtone. 

"No, " I answered; "but you are mistaken in supposing that a medical manhas no love for his profession apart from its profits. To see that yourarm gets properly well is part of my duty, and I shall fulfil it withoutany thought of whether I shall get paid for it or no. "

"Now, " she said, "I must let you know how poor I am. Will you please tofetch me my box out of my room?"

I was only too glad to obey her. This seemed to be an opening to acomplete confidence between us. Now I came to think of it, Fortune hadfavored me in thus throwing us together alone. 

I lifted the small, light box very easily--there could not be manytreasures in it--and carried it back to her. She took a key out of herpocket and unlocked it with some difficulty, but she could not raise thelid without my help. I took care not to offer any assistance until sheasked it. 

Yes, there were very few possessions in that light trunk, but the firstglance showed me a blue-silk dress, and seal-skin jacket and hat. Ilifted them out for her, and after them a pair of velvet slippers, soiled, as if they had been through muddy roads. I did not utter aremark. Beneath these lay a handsome watch and chain, a fine diamondring, and five sovereigns lying loose in the box. 

"That is all the money I have in the world, " she said, sadly. 

I laid the five sovereigns in her small, white hand, and she turned themover, one after another, with a pitiful look on her face. I felt foolishenough to cry over them myself. 

"Dr. Martin, " was her unexpected question after a long pause, "do youknow what became of my hair?"

"Why?" I asked, looking at her fingers running through the short curlswe had left her. 

"Because that ought to be sold for something, " she said. "I am almostglad you had it cut off. My hair-dresser told me once he would give fiveguineas for a head of hair like mine, it was so long and the color wasuncommon. Five guineas would not be half enough to pay you though, Iknow. "

She spoke so simply and quietly, that I did not attempt to remonstratewith her about her anxiety to pay me. 

"Tardif has it, " I said; "but of course he will give it you back again. Shall I sell it for you, mam'zelle?"

"Oh, that is just what I could not ask you!" she exclaimed. "You seethere is no one to buy it here, and I hope it may be a long time beforeI go away. I don't know, though; that depends upon whether I can disposeof my things. There is my seal-skin, it cost twenty-five guineas lastyear, and it ought to be worth something. And my watch--see what a niceone it is. I should like to sell them all, every one. Then I could stayhere as long as the money lasted. "

"How much do you pay here?" I inquired, for she had taken me so far intocounsel that I felt justified in asking that question. 

"A pound a week, " she answered. 

"A pound a week!" I repeated, in amazement. "Does Tardif know that?"

"I don't think he does, " she said. "When I had been here a week I gaveMrs. Tardif a sovereign, thinking perhaps she would give me a little outof it. I am not used to being poor, and I did not know how much I oughtto pay. But she kept it all, and came to me every week for more. Was ittoo much to pay?"

"Too much!" I said. "You should have spoken to Tardif about it, my poorchild. "

"I could not talk to Tardif about his mother, " she answered. "Besides, it would not have been too much if I had only had plenty. But it hasmade me so anxious. I did not know whatever I should do when it was allgone. I do not know now. "

Here was a capital opening for a question about her friends. 

"You will be compelled to communicate with your family, " I said. "Youhave told me how poor you are; cannot you trust me about your friends?"

"I have no friends, " she answered, sorrowfully. "If I had any, do yousuppose I should be here?"

"I am one, " I said, "and Tardif is another. "

"Ah, new friends, " she replied; "but I mean real old friends who haveknown you all your life, like your mother, Dr. Martin, or your cousinJulia. I want somebody to go to who knows all about me, and say to them, after telling them every thing, keeping nothing back at all, 'Have Idone right? What else ought I to have done?' No new friend could answerquestions like those. "

Was there any reason I could bring forward to increase her confidence inme? I thought there was, and her friendlessness and helplessness touchedme to the core of my heart. Yet it was with an indefinable reluctancethat I brought forward my argument. 

"Miss Ollivier, " I said, "I have no claim of old acquaintance orfriendship, yet it is possible I might answer those questions, if youcould prevail upon yourself to tell me the circumstances of your formerlife. In a few weeks I shall be in a position to show you morefriendship than I can do now. I shall have a home of my own, and a wifewho will be your friend more fittingly, perhaps, than myself. "

"I knew it, " she answered, half shyly. "Tardif told me you were going tomarry your cousin Julia. "

Just then we heard the fold-yard gate swing to behind some one who wascoming to the house. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. 

ONE IN A THOUSAND. 

I had altogether forgotten that Captain Carey's yacht was waiting for meoff the little bay below; and I sprang quickly to the door in the dreadthat he had followed me. 

It was an immense relief to see only Tardif's tall figure bending underhis creel and nets, and crossing the yard slowly. I hailed him and hequickened his pace, his honest features lighting up at the sight of me. 

"How do you find mam'zelle, doctor?" were his first eager words. 

"All right, " I said; "going on famously. Sark is enough to cure any oneand any thing of itself, Tardif. There is no air like it. I should notmind being a little ill here myself. "

"Captain Carey is impatient to be gone, " he continued. "He sent word byme that you might be visiting every house in the island, you had beenaway so long. "

"Not so very long, " I said, testily; "but I will just run in and saygood-by, and then I want you to walk with me to the cliff. "

I turned back for a last look and a last word. No chance of learningher secret now. The picture was as perfect as when I had had the firstglimpse of it, only her face had grown, if possible, more charming aftermy renewed scrutiny of it. 

There are faces that grow upon you the longer and the oftener you lookupon them; faces that seem to have a veil over them, which melts awaylike the thin, fine mist of the morning upon the cliffs, until theyflash out in their full color and beauty. The last glance was eminentlysatisfactory, and so was the last word. 

"Shall I send you the hair?" asked Miss Ollivier, returning practicallyto a matter of business. 

"To be sure, " I answered. "I shall dispose of it to advantage, but Ihave not time to wait for it now. "

"And may I write a letter to you?"

"Yes, " was my reply: I was too pleased to express myself moreeloquently. 

"Good-by, " she said; "you are a very good doctor to me. "

"And friend?" I added. 

"And friend, " she repeated. 

That was the last word, for I was compelled to hurry away. Tardifaccompanied me to the cliff, and I took the opportunity to tell him aspleasantly as I could the extravagant charge his mother had made uponher lodger, and the girl's anxiety about the future. A more grieved looknever came across a man's face. 

"Dr. Martin, " he said, "I would have cut off my hand rather than it hadbeen so. Poor little mam'zelle! Poor old mother! She is growing old, sir, and old people are greedy. The fall of the year is dark and cold, and gives nothing, but takes away all it can, and hoards it for theyoung new spring that is to follow. It seems almost the nature of oldage. Poor old mother! I am very grieved for her. And I am troubled, troubled about mam'zelle. To think she has been fretting all the winterabout this, when I was trying to find out how to cheer her! Only fivepounds left, poor little soul! Why! all I have is at her service. It isenough to have her only in the house, with her pretty ways and sweetvoice. I'll put it all right with mam'zelle, sir, and with my poor oldmother too. I am very sorry for _her_. "

"Miss Ollivier has been asking me to sell her hair, " I said. 

"No, no, " he answered hastily, "not a single hair! I cannot say yes tothat. The pretty bright curls! If anybody is to buy them, I will. Yes, doctor! that is famous. She wishes you to sell her hair? Very good; Iwill buy it; it must be mine. I have more money than you think, perhaps. I will buy mam'zelle's pretty curls; and she shall have the money, andthen there will be more than five pounds in her little purse. Tell mehow much they will be. Ten pounds? Fifteen? Twenty?"

"Nonsense, Tardif!" I answered; "keep one of them, if you like; but Imust have the rest. We will settle it between us. "

"No, doctor, " he said; "your cousin will not like that. You are going tobe married soon; it would not do for you to keep mam'zelle's curls. "

It was said with so much simplicity and good-heartedness that I feltashamed of a rising feeling of resentment, and parted with himcordially. In a few minutes afterward I was on board the yacht, andlaughing at Captain Carey's reproaches. Tardif was still visible on theedge of the cliff, watching our departure. 

"That is as good a fellow as ever breathed, " said Captain Carey, wavinghis cap to him. 

"I know it better than you do, " I replied. 

"And how is the young woman?" he asked. 

"Going on as well as a broken arm and a sprained ankle can do, " Ianswered. 

"You will want to come again, Martin, " he said; "when are we to haveanother day?"

"Well, I shall hear how she is every now and then, " I answered; "ittakes too long a time to come more often than is necessary. But you willbring me if it is necessary?"

"With all my heart, " said Captain Carey. 

For the next few days I waited with some impatience for Miss Ollivier'spromised letter. It came at last, and I put it into my pocket to readwhen I was alone--why, I could scarcely have explained to myself. 

 "Dear Dr. Martin, " it began, "I have no little commission to trouble you with. Tardif tells me it was quite a mistake, his mother taking a sovereign from me each week. She does not understand English money; and he says I have paid quite sufficient to stay with them a whole year longer without paying any more. I am quite content about that now. Tardif says, too, that he has a friend in Southampton who will buy my hair, and give more than anybody in Guernsey. So I need not trouble you about it, though I am sure you would have done it for me. 

 "I have not put my foot to the ground yet; but yesterday Tardif carried me all the way down to his boat, and took me out for a little sail under the beautiful cliffs, where we could look up and see all those strange carvings upon the rocks. I thought that perhaps there were real things written there that we should like to read. Sometimes in the sky there are fine faint lines across the blue which look like written sentences, if one could only make them out. Here they are on the rocks, but every tide washes them away, leaving fresh ones. Perhaps they are messages to me, answers to those questions that I cannot answer myself. 

 "Good-by, my good doctor. I am trying to do every thing you told me exactly; and I am getting well again fast. I do not believe I shall be lame; you are too clever for that. Your patient, "OLIVIA. "

Olivia! I looked at the word again to make sure of it. Then it was nother surname that was Ollivier, and I was still ignorant of that. I sawin a moment how the mistake had arisen, and how innocent she was of anydeception in the matter. She would tell Tardif that her name was Olivia, and he thought only of the Olliviers he knew. It was a mistake that hadbeen of use in checking curiosity, and I did not feel bound to put itright. My mother and Julia appeared to have forgotten my patient in Sarkaltogether. 

Olivia! I thought it a very pretty name, and repeated it to myself withits abbreviations, Olive, Livy. It was difficult to abbreviate Julia; JuI had called her in my rudest school-boy days. I wondered how highOlivia would stand beside me; for I had never seen her on her feet. Julia was not two inches shorter than myself; a tall, stiff figure, neither slender enough to be lissome, nor well-proportioned enough to bemajestic. But she was very good, and her price was far above rubies. 

According to the wise man, it was a difficult task to find a virtuouswoman. 

It was a quiet time in the afternoon, and in order to verify myrecollection of the wise man's saying, which was a little cloudy in mymemory, I searched through Julia's Bible for it. I came across a passagewhich made me pause and consider. "Behold, this have I found, saith thepreacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: which yet mysoul seeketh, but I find not; one man among a thousand have I found; buta woman among all those have I not found. "

"Tardif is the man, " I said to myself, "but is Julia the woman? Have Ihad better luck than Solomon?"

"What are you reading, Martin?" asked my father, who had just come in, and was painfully fitting on a pair of new and very tight kid gloves. Iread the passage aloud, without comment. 

"Very good, " he remarked, chuckling, "upon my word! I did not know therewas any thing as rich as that in the old book! Who says it, Martin? Avery wise preacher he was, and knew what he was talking about. Had seenlife, eh? It's as true as--as--as the gospel. "

I could not help laughing at the comparison he was forced to; yet I feltangry with him and myself. 

"What do you say about my mother and Julia, sir?" I asked. 

He chuckled again cynically, examining with care a spot on the palm ofone of his gloves. "Ha! ha! my son"--I hated to hear him say "myson"--"I will answer you in the words of another wise man: 'Mostvirtuous women, like hidden treasures, are secure because nobody seeksafter them. '"

So saying, he turned out of the room, swinging his gold-headed canejauntily between his fingers. 

I visited Sark again in about ten days, to set Olivia free from myembargo upon her walking. I allowed her to walk a little way along asmooth meadow-path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a headlower than myself--a beautiful height for a woman. That time CaptainCarey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing me to meet himat the Creux Harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of theisland. In crossing over to it--a distance of rather more than a mile--Iencountered Julia's friends, Emma and Maria Brouard. 

"You here again, Martin!" exclaimed Emma. 

"Yes, " I answered; "Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, andis gone round to meet me at the Creux. "

"You have been to see that young person?" asked Maria. 

"Yes, " I replied. 

"She is a very singular young woman, " she continued; "we think herstupid. We cannot make anything of her. But there is no doubt poorTardif means to marry her. "

"Nonsense!" I ejaculated, hotly; "I beg your pardon, Maria, but I giveTardif credit for sense enough to know his own position. "

"So did we, " said Emma, "but it looks odd. He married an Englishwomanbefore. It's old Mère Renouf who says he worships the ground she treadsupon. You know he holds a very good position in the island, and he is agreat favorite with the seigneur. There are dozens of girls of his ownclass in Guernsey and Alderney, to say nothing of Sark, who would beonly too glad to have him. He is a very handsome man, Martin. "

"Tardif is a fine fellow, " I admitted. 

"I shall be very sorry for him to be taken in again, " continued Emma;"nobody knows who that young person may be; it looks odd on the face ofit. Are you in a hurry? Well, good-by. Give our best love to dear Julia. We are busy at work on a wedding-present for her; but you must not tellher that, you know. "

I went on in a hot rage, shapeless and wordless, but smouldering like afire within me. The cool, green lane, deep between hedge-rows, the banksof which were gemmed with primroses, had no effect upon me just then. Tardif marry Olivia! That was an absurd, preposterous notion indeed. Itrequired all my knowledge of the influence of dress on the average humanmind, to convince myself that Olivia, in her coarse green serge dress, had impressed the people of Sark with the notion that she would be nounsuitable mate for their rough, though good and handsome fisherman. 

Was it possible that they thought her stupid? Reserved and silent shemight be, as she wished to remain unmolested and concealed; but notstupid! That any one should dream so wildly as to think of Oliviamarrying Tardif, was the utmost folly I could imagine. 

I had half an hour to wait in the little harbor, its great cliffs risingall about me, with only a tunnel bored through them to form an entranceto the green island within. My rage had partly fumed itself away beforethe yacht came in sight. 

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 

OVERHEAD IN LOVE. 

Awfully fast the time sped away. It was the second week in March Ipassed in Sark; the second week in May came upon me as if borne by awhirlwind. It was only a month to the day so long fixed upon for ourmarriage. My mother began to fidget about my going over to London to paymy farewell bachelor visit to Jack Senior, and to fit myself out withwedding toggery. Julia's was going on fast to completion. Our trip toSwitzerland was distinctly planned out, almost from day to day. Go Imust to London; order my wedding-suit I must. 

But first there could be no harm in running over to Sark to see Oliviaonce more. As soon as I was married I would tell Julia all about her. But if either arm or ankle went wrong for want of attention, I shouldnever forgive myself. 

"When shall we have another run together, Captain Carey?" I asked. 

"Any day you like, my boy, " he answered; "your days of liberty aregrowing few and short now, eh? I've never had a chance of trying itmyself, Martin, but they are nervous times, I should think. Cruising indoubtful channels, eh? with uncertain breezes? How does Julia keep up?"

"I can spare to-morrow, " I replied, ignoring his remarks; "on Saturday Ishall cross over to England to see Jack Senior. "

"And bid him adieu?" he said, laughing, "or give him an invitation toyour own house? I shall be glad to see you in a house of your own. Yourfather is too young a man for you. "

"Can you take me to Sark to-morrow?" I asked. 

"To be sure I can, " he answered. 

It was the last time I could see Olivia before my marriage. Afterward Ishould see much of her; for Julia would invite her to our house, and bea friend to her. I spent a wretchedly sleepless night; and whenever Idozed by fits and starts, I saw Olivia before me, weeping bitterly, andrefusing to be comforted. 

From St. Sampson's we set sail straight for the Havre Gosselin, withouta word upon my part; and the wind being in our favor, we were not longin crossing the channel. To my extreme surprise and chagrin, CaptainCarey announced his intention of landing with me, and leaving the yachtin charge of his men to await our return. 

"The ladder is excessively awkward, " I objected, "and some of the rungsare loose. You don't mind running the risk of a plunge into the water?"

"Not in the least, " he answered, cheerily; "for the matter of that, Iplunge into it every morning at L'Ancresse. I want to see Tardif. He isone in a thousand, as you say; and one cannot see such a man every dayof one's life. "

There was no help for it, and I gave in, hoping some good luck awaitedme. I led the way up the zigzag path, and just as we reached the top Isaw the slight, erect figure of Olivia seated upon the brow of a littlegrassy knoll at a short distance from us. Her back was toward us, so shewas not aware of our vicinity; and I pointed toward her with an assumedair of indifference. 

"I believe that is my patient yonder, " I said; "I will just run acrossand speak to her, and then follow you to the farm. "

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is a lovely view from that spot. I recollectit well. I will go with you, Martin. There will be time enough to seeTardif. "

Did Captain Carey suspect any thing? Or what reason could he have forwishing to see Olivia? Could it be merely that he wanted to see the viewfrom that particular spot? I could not forbid him accompanying me, but Iwished him at Jericho. 

What is more stupid than to have an elderly man dogging one's footsteps?

I trusted devoutly that we should see or hear Tardif before reaching theknoll; but no such good fortune befell me. Olivia did not hear ourfootsteps upon the soft turf, though we approached her very nearly. Thesun shone upon her glossy hair, every thread of which seemed to shineback again. She was reading aloud, apparently to herself, and the soundsof her sweet voice were wafted by the air toward us. Captain Carey'sface became very thoughtful. 

A few steps nearer brought us in view of Tardif, who had spread his netson the grass, and was examining them narrowly for rents. Just at thismoment he was down on his knees, not far from Olivia, gathering somebroken meshes together, but listening to her, with an expression of hugecontentment upon his handsome face. A bitter pang shot through me. Couldit be true by any possibility--that lie I had heard the last time I wasin Sark?

"Good-day, Tardif, " shouted Captain Carey; and both Tardif and Oliviastarted. But both of their faces grew brighter at seeing us, and bothsprang up to give us welcome. Olivia's color had come back to hercheeks, and a sweeter face no man ever looked upon. 

"I am very glad you are come once more, " she said, putting her hand inmine; "you told me in your last letter you were going to England, andmight not come over to Sark before next autumn. How glad I am to see youagain!"

I glanced from the corner of my eye at Captain Carey. He looked verygrave, but his eyes could not rest upon Olivia without admiring her, asshe stood before us, bright-faced, slender, erect, with the heavy foldsof her coarse dress falling about her as gracefully as if they were ofthe richest material. 

"This is my friend, Captain Carey, Miss Olivia, " I said, "in whose yachtI have come over to visit you. "

"I am very glad to see any friend of Dr. Martin's, " she answered, as shehold out her hand to him with a smile; "my doctor and I are greatfriends, Captain Carey. "

"So I suppose, " he said, significantly--or at least his tone and lookseemed fraught with significance to me. 

"We were talking of you only a few minutes ago, Dr. Martin, " shecontinued; "I was telling Tardif how you sang the 'Three Fishers' to methe last time you were here, and how it rings in my ears still, especially when he is away fishing. I repeated the three last lines tohim:

 'For men must work, and women must weep; And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep. So good-by to the bar, with its moaning. '"

"I do not like it, doctor, " said Tardif: "there's no hope in it. Yet tosleep out yonder at last, on the great plain under the sea, would be nobad thing. "

"You must sing it for Tardif, " added Olivia, with a prettyimperiousness, "and then he will like it. "

My throat felt dry, and my tongue parched. I could not utter a word inreply. 

"This would be the very place for such a song, " said Captain Carey. "Come, Martin, let us have it. "

"No; I can sing nothing to-day, " I answered, harshly. 

The very sight of her made me feel miserable beyond words; the sound ofher voice maddened me. I felt as if I was angry with her almost tohatred for her grace and sweetness; yet I could have knelt down at herfeet, and been happy only to lay my hand on a fold of her dress. Nofeeling had ever stirred me so before, and it made me irritable. Olivia's clear gray eyes looked at me wonderingly. 

"Is there anything the matter with you, Dr. Martin?" she inquired. 

"No, " I replied, turning away from her abruptly. Every one of them feltmy rudeness; and there was a dead silence among us for half a minute, which seemed an age to me. Then I heard Captain Carey speaking in hissuavest tones. 

"Are you quite well again, Miss Ollivier?" he asked. 

"Yes, quite well, I think, " she said, in a very subdued voice. "I cannotwalk far yet, and my arm is still weak: but I think I am quite well. Ihave given Dr. Martin a great deal of trouble and anxiety. "

She spoke in the low, quiet tones of a child who has been chiddenunreasonably. I was asking myself what Captain Carey meant by notleaving me alone with my patient. When a medical man makes a call, theintrusion of any unprofessional, indifferent person is unpardonable. Ifit had been Suzanne, Tardif, or Mother Renouf, who was keeping so closebeside us, I could have made no reasonable objection. But Captain Carey!

"Tardif, " I said, "Captain Carey came ashore on purpose to visit you andyour farm. "

I knew he was excessively proud of his farm, which consisted of aboutfour or five acres. He caught at the words with alacrity, and led theway toward his house with tremendous strides. There was no means ofevading a tour of inspection, though Captain Carey appeared to followhim reluctantly. Olivia and I were left alone, but she was moving afterthem slowly, when I ran to her, and offered her my arm on the plea thather ankle was still too weak to bear her weight unsupported. 

"Olivia!" I exclaimed, after we had gone a few yards, bringing her andmyself to a sudden halt. Then I was struck dumb. I had nothing specialto say to her. How was it I had called her so familiarly Olivia?

"Well, Dr. Martin?" she said, looking into my face again with eager, inquiring eyes, as if she was wishful to understand my varying moods ifshe could. 

"What a lovely place this is!" I ejaculated. 

More lovely than any words I ever heard could describe. It was a perfectday, and a perfect view. The sea was like an opal, changing every minutewith the passing shadows of snow-white clouds which floated lazilyacross the bright blue of the sky. The cliffs, Sark Cliffs, which havenot their equal in the world, stretched below us, with every hue of goldand bronze, and hoary white, and soft gray; and here and there a blackrock, with livid shades of purple, and a bloom upon it like a raven'swing. Rocky islets, never trodden by human foot, over which the foampoured ceaselessly, were dotted all about the changeful surface of thewater. And just beneath the level of my eyes was Olivia's face--theloveliest thing there, though there was so much beauty lying around us. 

"Yes, it is a lovely place, " she assented, a mischievous smile playingabout her lips. 

"Olivia, " I said, taking my courage by both hands, "it is only a monthnow till my wedding-day. "

Was I deceiving myself, or did she really grow paler? It was but for amoment if it were so. But how cold the air felt all in an instant! Theshock was like that of a first plunge into chilly waters, and I wasshivering through every fibre. 

"I hope you will be happy, " said Olivia, "very happy. It is a great riskto run. Marriage will make you either very happy or very wretched. "

"Not at all, " I answered, trying to speak gayly; "I do not look forwardto any vast amount of rapture. Julia and I will get along very welltogether, I have no doubt, for we have known one another all our lives. I do not expect to be any happier than other men; and the married peopleI have known have not exactly dwelt in paradise. Perhaps your experiencehas been different?"

"Oh, no!" she said, her hand trembling on my arm, and her face verydowncast; "but I should have liked you to be very, very happy. "

So softly spoken, with such a low, faltering voice! I could not trustmyself to speak again. A stern sense of duty toward Julia kept mesilent; and we moved on, though very slowly and lingeringly. 

"You love her very much?" said the quiet voice at my side, not muchlouder than the voice of conscience, which was speaking imperiously justthen. 

"I esteem her more highly than any other woman, except my mother, " Isaid. "I believe she would die sooner than do any thing she consideredwrong. I do not deserve her, and she loves me, I am sure, very truly andfaithfully. "

"Do you think she will like me?" asked Olivia, anxiously. 

"No; she must love you, " I said, with warmth; "and I, too, can be a moreuseful friend to you after my marriage than I am now. Perhaps then youwill feel free to place perfect confidence in us. "

She smiled faintly, without speaking--a smile which said plainly shecould keep her own secret closely. It provoked me to do a thing I hadhad no intention of doing, and which I regretted very much afterward. Iopened my pocket-book, and drew out the little slip of paper containingthe advertisement. 

"Read that, " I said. 

But I do not think she saw more than the first line, for her face wentdeadly white, and her eyes turned upon me with a wild, beseechinglook--as Tardif described it, the look of a creature hunted andterrified. I thought she would have fallen, and I put my arm round her. She fastened both her hands about mine, and her lips moved, though Icould not catch a word she was saying. 

"Olivia!" I cried, "Olivia! do you suppose I could do any thing to hurtyou? Do not be so frightened! Why, I am your friend truly. I wish toHeaven I had not shown you the thing. Have more faith in me, and morecourage. "

"But they will find me, and force me away from here, " she muttered. 

"No, " I said; "that advertisement was printed in the _Times_ directlyafter your flight last October. They have not found you out yet; and thelonger you are hidden, the less likely they are to find you. GoodHeavens! what a fool I was to show it to you!"

"Never mind, " she answered, recovering herself a little, but stillclinging to my arm; "I was only frightened for the time. You would notgive me up to them if you knew all. "

"Give you up to them!" I repeated, bitterly. "Am I a Judas?"

But she could not talk to me any more. She was trembling like anaspen-leaf, and her breath came sobbingly. All I could do was to takeher home, blaming myself for my cursed folly. 

Captain Carey and Tardif met us at the farm-yard gate, but Olivia couldnot speak to them; and we passed them in silence, challenged by theirinquisitive looks. She could only bid me good-by in a tremulous voice;and I watched her go on into her own little room, and close the doorbetween us. That was the last I should see of her before my marriage. 

Tardif walked with us to the top of the cliff, and made me a formal, congratulatory speech before quitting us. When he was gone, CaptainCarey stood still until he was quite out of hearing, and then stretchedout his hand toward the thatched roof, yellow with stone-crop andlichens. 

"This is a serious business, Martin, " he said, looking sternly at me;"you are in love with that girl. "

"I love her with all my heart and soul!" I cried. 

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 

IN A FIX. 

Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul. 

I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged itboldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain inthe confession. 

Yet the words startled me as I uttered them. They had involved in themso many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as theirpractical result, that I stood aghast--even while my pulses throbbed, and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as Iloved Olivia. If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should bea traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would belost to me. I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on myhands with a groan. 

"Come, come, my poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, who could never see adog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and pattinghim, "we must see what can be done. "

It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of anykind. It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning myunhappy fate. I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loosestones into the water as they came in my way. Captain Carey followed, whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, hechose the one to the "Three Fishers, " which I had sung to Olivia. Hecontinued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmenexchange apprehensive glances. 

"We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reachGuernsey, " said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsedinto silence. We scarcely spoke again, except about the shifting of thesails, in our passage across. A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and wefound plenty of occupation. 

"I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy, " said Captain Carey, whenwe went ashore at St. Sampson's; and he put his arm through mineaffectionately. 

"You will keep my secret?" I said--my voice a key or two lower thanusual. 

"Martin, " answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, "youmust not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her. "

"I must, " I urged. "Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it butyou. I must conquer it. Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for meto back out of our marriage now. You know that as well as I do. Think ofit, Captain Carey!"

"But shall you conquer it?" asked Captain Carey, seriously. 

I could not answer yes frankly and freely. It seemed a sheerimpossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in myheart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life. Mad as Iwas with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet tome, that I would as soon have parted with life itself. Nothing in theleast resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with mebefore. I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little atit; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed. I quailed andflinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the preciousguest. 

"Martin, " urged Captain Carey, "come up to Johanna, and tell her allabout it. "

Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island. Everybody knew her;and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel. She was, of course, related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us, having the genealogy of each family at her fingers' ends. But, besidesthese family histories, which were common property, she was alsointrusted with the inmost secrets of every household--those secretswhich were the most carefully and jealously guarded. I had always been afavorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposalof her brother's, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma. 

The house stood on the border of L'Ancresse Common, with no view of thesea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lyingbefore it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them. 

There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing likea lullaby about the peaceful dwelling, and hushing it into a moreprofound quiet than even utter silence; for utter silence is irksome andfretting to the ear, which needs some slight reverberation to keep thebrain behind it still. A perfume of violets, and the more dainty scentof primroses, pervaded the garden. It seemed incredible that any manshould be allowed to live in such a spot; but then Captain Carey wasalmost as gentle and fastidious as a woman. 

Johanna was not unlike her home. There was a repose about her similar tothe calm of a judge, which gave additional weight to her counsels. Themoment we entered through the gates, a certainty of comfort and helpappeared to be wafted upon the pure breeze, floating across the commonfrom the sea. 

Johanna was standing at one of the windows in a Quakerish dress of somegray stuff, and with a plain white cap over her white hair. She camedown to the door as soon as she saw me, and received me with a motherlykiss, which I returned with more than usual warmth, as one does in anynew kind of trouble. I think she was instantly aware that something wasamiss with me. 

"Is dinner ready, Johanna?" asked her brother; "we are as hungry ashunters. "

That was not true as far as I was concerned. For the first time withinmy recollection my appetite quite failed me, and I merely played with myknife and fork. 

Captain Carey regarded me pitifully, and said, "Come, come, Martin, myboy!" several times. 

Johanna made no remark; but her quiet, searching eyes looked me throughand through, till I almost longed for the time when she would begin toquestion and cross-question me. After she was gone, Captain Carey gaveme two or three glasses of his choicest wine, to cheer me up, as hesaid; but we were not long before we followed his sister. 

"Johanna, " said Captain Carey, "we have something to tell you. "

"Come and sit here by me, " she said, making room for me beside her onher sofa; for long experience had taught her how much more difficult itis to make a confession face to face with one's confessor, under thefire of his eyes, as it were, than when one is partially concealed fromhim. 

"Well, " she said, in her calm, inviting voice. 

"Johanna, " I replied, "I am in a terrible fix!"

"Awful!" cried Captain Carey, sympathetically; but a glance from hissister put him to silence. 

"What is it, my dear Martin?" asked her inviting voice again. 

"I will tell you frankly, " I said, feeling I must have it out at once, like an aching tooth. "I love, with all my heart and soul, that girl inSark; the one who has been my patient there. "

"Martin!" she cried, in a tone full of surprise and agitation--"Martin!"

"Yes; I know all you would urge--my honor; my affection for Julia; theclaims she has upon me, the strongest claims possible; how good andworthy she is; what an impossibility it is even to look back now. I knowit all, and feel how miserably binding it is upon me. Yet I love Olivia;and I shall never love Julia. "

"Martin!" she cried again. 

"Listen to me, Johanna, " I said, for now the ice was broken, my frozenwords were flowing as rapidly as a runnel of water; "I used to dream ofa feeling something like this years ago, but no girl I saw could kindleit into reality. I have always esteemed Julia, and when my youth wasover, and I had never felt any devouring passion, I began to think lovewas more of a word than a fact, or to believe that it had become only aword in these cold late times. At any rate, I concluded I was past theage for falling in love. There was my cousin Julia certainly dearer tome than any other woman, except my mother. I knew all her little ways;and they were not annoying to me, or were so in a very small degree. Besides, my father had had a grand passion for my mother, and what hadthat come to? There would be no such white ashes of a spent fire forJulia to shiver over. That was how I argued the matter out with myself. At eight-and-twenty I had never lost a quarter of an hour's sleep, ormissed a meal, for the sake of any girl. Surely I was safe. It was quitefair for me to propose to Julia, and she would be satisfied with theaffection I could offer her. Then there was my mother; it was thegreatest happiness I could give her, and her life has not been a happyone, God knows. So I proposed to Julia, and she accepted me lastChristmas. "

"And you are to be married next month?" said Johanna, in an exceedinglytroubled tone. 

"Yes, " I answered, "and now every word Julia speaks, and every thing shedoes, grates upon me. I love her as much as ever as my cousin, but as mywife! Good Heavens! Johanna, I cannot tell you how I dread it. "

"What can be done?" she exclaimed, looking from me to Captain Carey, whose face was as full of dismay as her own. But he only shook his headdespondingly. 

"Done!" I repeated, "nothing, absolutely nothing. It is utterlyimpossible to draw back. Our house is nearly ready for us, and evenJulia's wedding-dress and veil are bought. "

"There is not a house you enter, " said Johanna, solemnly, "where theyare not preparing a wedding-present for Julia and you. There has notbeen a marriage in your district, among ourselves, for nine years. It isas public as a royal marriage. "

"It must go on, " I answered, with the calmness of despair. "I am themost good-for-nothing scoundrel in Guernsey to fall in love with mypatient. You need not tell me so, Johanna. And yet, if I could thinkthat Olivia loved me, I would not change with the happiest man alive. "

"What is her name?" asked Johanna. 

"One of the Olliviers, " answered Captain Carey; "but what Olliviers shebelongs to, I don't know. She is one of the prettiest creatures I eversaw. "

"An Ollivier!" exclaimed Johanna, in her severest accents. "Martin, what_are_ you thinking of?"

"Her Christian name is Olivia, " I said, hastily; "she does not belong tothe Olliviers at all. It was Tardif's mistake, and very natural. She wasborn in Australia, I believe. "

"Of a good family, I hope?" asked Johanna. "There are some persons itwould be a disgrace to you to love. What is her other name?"

"I don't know, " I answered, reluctantly but distinctly. 

Johanna turned her face full upon me now--a face more agitated than Ihad ever seen it. There was no use in trying to keep back any part of myserious delinquency, so I resolved to make a clean breast of it. 

"I know very little about her, " I said--"that is, about her history; asfor herself, she is the sweetest, dearest, loveliest girl in the wholeworld to me. If I were free, and she loved me, I should not know whatelse to wish for. All I know is, that she has run away from her people;why, I have no more idea than you have, or who they are, or where theylive; and she has been living in Tardif's cottage since last October. Itis an infatuation, do you say? So it is, I dare say. It is aninfatuation; and I don't know that I shall ever shake it off. "

"What is she like?" asked Johanna. "Is she very merry and bright?"

"I never saw her laugh, " I said. 

"Very melancholy and sad, then?"

"I never saw her weep, " I said. 

"What is it then, Martin?" she asked, earnestly. 

"I cannot tell what it is, " I answered. "Everything she does and sayshas a charm for me that I could never describe. With her for my wife Ishould be more happy than I ever was; with any one else I shall bewretched. That is all I know. "

I had left my seat by Johanna, and was pacing to and fro in the room, too restless and miserable to keep still. The low moan of the sea sighedall about the house. I could have cast myself on the floor had I beenalone, and wept and sobbed like a woman. I could see no loop-hole ofescape from the mesh of circumstances which caught me in their net. 

A long, dreary, colorless, wretched life stretched before me, with Juliamy inseparable companion, and Olivia altogether lost to me. CaptainCarey and Johanna, neither of whom had tasted the sweets and bitters ofmarriage, looked sorrowfully at me and shook their heads. 

"You must tell Julia, " said Johanna, after a long pause. 

"Tell Julia!" I echoed. "I would not tell her for worlds!"

"You must tell her, " she repeated; "it is your clear duty. I know itwill be most painful to you both, but you have no right to marry herwith this secret on your mind. "

"I should be true to her, " I interrupted, somewhat angrily. 

"What do you call being true, Martin Dobrée?" she asked, more calmlythan she had spoken before. "Is it being true to a woman to let herbelieve you choose and love her above all other women when that isabsolutely false? No; you are too honorable for that. I tell you it isyour plain duty to let Julia know this, and know it at once. "

"It will break her heart, " I said, with a sharp twinge of conscience anda cowardly shrinking from the unpleasant duty urged upon me. 

"It will not break Julia's heart, " said Johanna, very sadly; "it maybreak your mother's. "

I reeled as if a sharp blow had struck me. I had been thinking far lessof my mother than of Julia; but I saw, as with a flash of lightning, what a complete uprooting of all her old habits and long-cherished hopesthis would prove to my mother, whose heart was so set upon thismarriage. Would Julia marry me if she once heard of my unfortunate lovefor Olivia? And, if not, what would become of our home? My mother wouldhave to give up one of us, for it was not to be supposed she wouldconsent to live under the same roof with me, now the happy tie ofcousinship was broken, and none dearer to be formed. 

Which could my mother part with best? Julia was almost as much herdaughter as I was her son; yet me she pined after if ever I was absentlong. No; I could not resolve to run the risk of breaking that gentle, faithful heart, which loved me so fully. I went back to Johanna, andtook her hand in both of mine. 

"Keep my secret, " I said, earnestly, "you two. I will make Julia and mymother happy. Do not mistrust me. This infatuation overpowered meunawares. I will conquer it; at the worst I can conceal it. I promiseyou Julia shall never regret being my wife. "

"Martin, " answered Johanna, determinedly, "if you do not tell Julia Imust tell her myself. You say you love this other girl with all yourheart and soul. "

"Yes, and that is true, " I said. 

"Then Julia must know before she marries you. "

Nothing could move Johanna from that position, and in my heart Irecognized its righteousness. She argued with me that it was Julia's dueto hear it from myself. I knew afterward that she believed the sight ofher distress and firm love for myself would dissipate the infatuation ofmy love for Olivia. But she did not read Julia's character as well as mymother did. 

Before she let me leave her I had promised to have my confession andsubsequent explanation with Julia all over the following day; and tomake this the more inevitable, she told me she should drive into St. Peter-Port the next afternoon about five o'clock, when she should expectto find this troublesome matter settled, either by a renewal of myaffection for my betrothed, or the suspension of the betrothal. In thelatter case she promised to carry Julia home with her until the firstbitterness was over. 

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. 

A MIDNIGHT RIDE. 

I took care not to reach home before the hour when Julia usually went tobed. She had been out in the country all day, visiting the south cliffsof our island, with some acquaintances from England who were staying fora few days in St. Peter-Port. In all probability she would be too tiredto sit up till my return if I were late. 

I had calculated aright. It was after eleven o'clock when I entered, andmy mother only was waiting for me. I wished to avoid any confidentialchat that evening, and, after answering briefly her fond inquiries as towhat could have kept me out so late, I took myself off to my own room. 

But it was quite vain to think of sleep that night. I had soon workedmyself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation; when onecannot remain quietly in one; room. I attempted to conquer it, but Icould not. 

The moon, which was at the full, was shining out of a cloudless field ofsky upon my window. I longed for fresh air, and freedom, and motion; fora distance between myself and my dear old home--that home which I wasabout to plunge into troubled waters. The peacefulness oppressed me. 

About one o'clock I opened my door as softly as possible, and stolesilently downstairs--but not so silently that my mother's quick ear didnot catch the slight jarring of my door. 

The night-bell hung in my room, and occasionally I was summoned away athours like this to visit a patient. She called to me as I crept down thestairs. 

"Martin, what is the matter?" she whispered, over the banisters. 

"Nothing, mother; nothing much, " I answered. "I shall be home again inan hour or two. Go to bed, and go to sleep. Whatever makes you sothin-eared?"

"Are you going to take Madam?" she asked, seeing my whip in my hand. "Shall I ring up Pellet?"

"No, no!" I said; "I can manage well enough. Good-night again, mydarling old mother. "

Her pale, worn face smiled down upon me very tenderly as she kissed herhand to me. I stood, as if spellbound, watching her, and she watchingme, until we both laughed, though somewhat falteringly. 

"How romantic you are, my boy!" she said, in a tremulous voice. 

"I shall not stir till you go back to bed, " I answered, peremptorily;and as just then we heard my father calling out fretfully to ask why thedoor was open, and what was going on in the house, she disappeared, andI went on my way to the stables. 

Madam was my favorite mare, first-rate at a gallop when she was in goodtemper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temperto-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked thestable-door. In a few minutes we were going up the Grange Road at amoderate pace till we reached the open country, and the long, white, dusty roads stretched before us, glimmering in the moonlight. I turnedfor St. Martin's, and Madam, at the first touch of my whip on herflanks, started off at a long and steady gallop. 

It was a cool, quiet night in May. A few of the larger fixed starstwinkled palely in the sky, but the smaller ones were drowned in thefull moonlight. The largest of them shone solemnly and brightly inafield of golden green just above the spot where the sun had set hoursbefore. The trees, standing out with a blackness and distinctness neverseen by day, appeared to watch for me and look after me as I rode along, forming an avenue of silent but very stately spectators; and to myfancy, for my fancy was highly excited that night, the rustling of theyoung leaves upon them whispered the name of Olivia. The hoof-beats ofmy mare's feet upon the hard roads echoed the name Olivia, Olivia!

By-and-by I turned off the road to got nearer the sea, and rode alongsandy lanes with banks of turf instead of hedge-rows, which were coveredthickly with pale primroses, shining with the same hue as the moon abovethem. As I passed the scattered cottages, here and there a dog yapped ashrill, snarling hark, and woke the birds, till they gave a sleepytwitter in their new nests. 

Now and then I came in full sight of the sea, glittering in the silverylight. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gazedown it, till my flesh crept. It was not more than a few yards inbreadth, but it was of unknown depth, and the rocks stood above it witha thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing into its narrow channelwith a thunder which throbbed like a pulse; yet in the intervals of itspulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook runningmerrily down the gorge to plunge headlong into the sea. Round every sparof the crags, and over every islet of rock, the foam played ceaselessly, breaking over them like drifts of snow, forever melting, and foreverforming again. 

I kept on my way, as near the sea as I I could, past the sleepingcottages and hamlets, round through St. Pierre du Bois and Torteval, with the gleaming light-houses out on the Hanways, and by Rocquaine Bay, and Vazon Bay, and through the vale to Captain Carey's peaceful house, where, perhaps, to-morrow night--nay, this day's night--Julia might beweeping and wailing broken-hearted. 

I had made the circuit of our island--a place so dear to me that itseemed scarcely possible to live elsewhere; yet I should be forced tolive elsewhere. I knew that with a clear distinctness. There could be nohome for me in Guernsey when my conduct toward Julia should becomeknown. 

But now Sark, which had been behind me all my ride, lay full in sight, and the eastern sky behind it began to quicken with new light. The gullswere rousing themselves, and flying out to sea, with their plaintivecries; and the larks were singing their first sleepy notes to the comingday. 

As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea, a plain of silveryblue, seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. Awhite mist lay like a huge snow-drift in hazy, broad curves over theHavre Gosselin, with sharp peaks of cliffs piercing through. 

Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of shining mist; and, dearas Guernsey was to me, she was a hundredfold dearer. 

But my night's ride bad not made my day's task any easier for me. No newlight had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loop-hole for me toescape from the most painful and perplexing strait I had ever been in. How was I to break it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me thatthe sooner it was over the better it would be for myself, and perhapsthe better for her. How was I to go through my morning's calls, in thestate of nervous anxiety I found myself in?

I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfast was finished, and myfather had gone to make his professional toilet, a lengthy and importantduty with him. Yet when breakfast came I was listening intently for somesummons, which would give me an hour's grace from fulfilling my owndetermination. I prolonged my meal, keeping my mother in her place atthe table; for she had never given up her office of pouring out my teaand coffee. 

I finished at List, and still no urgent message had come for me. Mymother left us together alone, as her custom was, for what time I had tospare--a variable quantity always with me. 

Now was the dreaded moment. But how was I to begin? Julia was so calmand unsuspecting. In what words could I convey my fatal meaning mostgently to her? My head throbbed, and I could not raise my eyes to herface. Yet it must be done. 

"Dear Julia, " I said, in as firm a voice as I could command. 

"Yes, Martin. "

But just then Grace, the housemaid, knocked emphatically at the door, and after a due pause entered with a smiling, significant face, yet withan apologetic courtesy. 

"If you please, Dr. Martin, " she said, "I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou'sbaby is taken with convulsion-fits; and they want you to go as fast asever you can, please, sir. "

"Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then Iknew positively it was nothing more than a reprieve. The sentence mustbe executed. Julia came to me, bent her cheek toward me, and I kissedit. That was our usual salutation when our morning's interview wasended. 

"I am going down to the new house, " she said. "I lost a good deal oftime yesterday, and I must make up for it to-day. Shall you be passingby at any time, Martin?"

"Yes--no--I cannot tell exactly, " I stammered. 

"If you are passing, come in for a few minutes, " she answered; "I have athousand things to speak to you about. "

"Shall you come in to lunch?" I asked. 

"No, I shall take something with me, " she replied; "it hinders so;coming back here. "

I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. Lihou's babywere not at all serious; and, as I have before stated, the practicewhich my father and I shared between us was a very limited one. My partof it naturally fell among our poorer patients, who did not expect me towaste their time and my own, by making numerous or prolonged visits. SoI had plenty of time to call upon Julia at the new house; but I couldnot summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away while I wasloitering about Fort George, and chatting carelessly with the officersquartered there. 

I went to lunch, pretty sure of finding no one but my mother at home. There was no fear of losing her love, if every other friend turned methe cold shoulder, as I was morally certain they would, with no blame tothemselves. But the very depth and constancy of her affection made itthe more difficult and the more terrible for me to wound her. She hadendured so much, poor mother! and was looking so wan and pale. If it hadnot been for Johanna's threat, I should have resolved to say nothingabout Olivia, and to run my chance of matrimonial happiness. 

What a cruel turn Fate had done me when it sent me across the sea toSark ten weeks ago!

My mother was full of melancholy merriment that morning, making patheticlittle jokes about Julia and me, and laughing at them heartilyherself--short bursts of laughter which left her paler than she had beenbefore. 

I tried to laugh myself, in order to encourage her brief playfulness, though the effort almost choked me. Before I went out again, I satbeside her for a few minutes, with my head, which ached awfully by thistime, resting on her dear shoulder. 

"Mother, " I said, "you are very fond of Julia?"

"I love her just the same as if she were my daughter, Martin--as shewill be soon, " she answered. 

"Do you love her as much as me?" I asked. 

"Jealous boy!" she said, laying her hand on my hot forehead, "no, nothalf as much; not a quarter, not a tenth part as much! Does that contentyou?"

"Suppose something should prevent our marriage?" I suggested. 

"But nothing can, " she interrupted; "and, O Martin! I am sure you willbe very happy with Julia. "

I said no more, for I did not dare to tell her yet; but I wished I hadspoken to her about Olivia, instead of hiding her name, and allbelonging to her, in my inmost heart. My mother would know all quitesoon enough, unless Julia and I agreed to keep it secret, and let thingsgo on as they were. 

If Julia said she would marry me, knowing that I was heart and soul inlove with another woman, why, then I would go through with it, and mymother need never hear a word about my dilemma. 

Julia must decide my lot. My honor was pledged to her; and if sheinsisted upon the fulfilment of my engagement to her, well, of course, Iwould fulfil it. 

I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almostthe last hour. The church-clocks had already struck four; and I knewJohanna would be true to her time, and drive up the Grange at five. Ileft a message with my mother for her, telling her where she would findJulia and me. Then doggedly, but sick at heart with myself and all theworld, I went down to meet my doom. 

It was getting into nice order, this new house of ours. We had had sixmonths to prepare it in, and to fit it up exactly to our minds; and itwas as near my ideal of a pleasant home as our conflicting tastespermitted. Perhaps this was the last time I should cross its threshold. There was a pang in the thought. 

This was my position. If Julia listened to my avowal angrily, andrenounced me indignantly, passionately, I lost fortune, position, profession; my home and friends, with the sole exception of my mother. Ishould be regarded alternately as a dupe and a scoundrel. Guernsey wouldbecome too hot to hold me, and I should be forced to follow my luck insome foreign land. If, on the other hand, Julia clung to me, and wouldnot give me up, trusting to time to change my feelings, then I lostOlivia; and to lose her seemed the worse fate of the two. 

Julia was sitting alone in the drawing-room, which overlooked the harborand the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear ofinterruption; no callers to ring the bell and break in upon our_tête-à-tête_. It was an understood thing that at present only Julia'smost intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and then byspecial invitation alone. 

There was a very happy, very placid expression on her face. Every harshline seemed softened, and a pleased smile played about her lips. Herdress was one of those simple, fresh, clean muslin gowns, with knots ofribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a prettywoman bewitching. Her dark hair looked less prim and neat than usual. She pretended not to hear me open the door; but as I stood still at thethreshold gazing at her, she lifted up her head, with a very pleasantsmile. 

"I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin, " she said, softly. 

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 

A LONG HALF-HOUR. 

I dared not dally another moment. I must take my plunge at once into theicy-cold waters. 

"I have something of importance to say to you, dear cousin, " I began. 

"So have I, " she said, gayly; "a thousand things, as I told you thismorning, sir, though you are so late in coming to hear them. See, I havebeen making a list of a few commissions for you to do in London. Theyare such as I can trust to you; but for plate, and glass, and china, Ithink we had better wait till we return from Switzerland. We are sure tocome home through London. "

Her eyes ran over a paper she was holding in her hand; while I stoodopposite to her, not knowing what to do with myself, and feeling theguiltiest wretch alive. 

"Cannot you find a seat?" she asked, after a short silence. 

I sat down on the broad window-sill instead of on the chair close tohers. She looked up at that, and fixed her eyes upon me keenly. I hadoften quailed before Julia's gaze as a boy, but never as I did now. 

"Well! what is it?" she asked, curtly. The incisiveness of her tonebrought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out ofstupor. 

"Julia, " I said, "are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy withme as my wife?"

She opened her eyes very widely, and arched her eyebrows at thequestion, laughed a little, and then drooped her head over the work inher hands. 

"Think of it well, Julia, " I urged. 

"I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you, " shereplied, the color rushing to her face. "I have no vocation for a singlelife, such as so many of the girls here have to make up their minds to. I should hate to have nothing to do and nobody to care for. Every nightand morning I thank God that he has ordained another life for me. Heknows how I love you, Martin. "

"What was I to say to this? How was I to set my foot down to crush thisblooming happiness of hers?

"You do not often look as if you loved me, " I said at last. 

"That is only my way, " she answered. "I can't be soft and purring likemany women. I don't care to be always kissing and hanging about anybody. But if you are afraid I don't love you enough--well! I will ask you whatyou think in ten years' time. "

"What would you say if I told you I had once loved a girl better than Ido you?" I asked. 

"That's not true, " she said, sharply. "I've known you all your life, andyou could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are onlylaughing at me, Martin. "

"Heaven knows I'm not laughing, " I answered, solemnly; "it's no laughingmatter. Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now. "

The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Herlips parted once or twice, but her voice failed her. Then she broke outinto a short, hysterical laugh. 

"You are talking nonsense, dear Martin!" she gasped; "you ought not! Iam not very strong. Get me a glass of water. "

I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; for the servant, who hadbeen at work, had gone home, and we were quite alone in the house. WhenI returned, her face was still working with nervous twitchings. 

"Martin, you ought not!" she repeated, after she had swallowed somewater. "Tell me it is a joke directly. "

"I cannot, " I replied, painfully and sorrowfully; "it is the truth, though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly, Julia; but I love another woman better. God help us both!"

There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hearJulia breathe or move, and I could not look at her. My eyes were turnedtoward the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in thedistance. 

"Leave me!" she said, after a very long stillness; "go away, Martin. "

"I cannot leave you alone, " I exclaimed; "no, I will not, Julia. Let metell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know every thingnow. "

"Go away!" she repeated, in a slow, mechanical tone. 

I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassyand fixed. But she motioned me from her toward the door, and her palelips parted again to reiterate her command. 

How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closedthe door I heard the key turn in the lock. I dared not quit the houseand leave her alone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear theclocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna's wheels on theroughly-paved street. She could not be here yet for a full half-hour, for she had to go up to our house in the Grange Road and come backagain. What if Julia should have fainted, or be dead!

That was one of the longest half-hours in my life. I stood at thestreet-door watching and waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion. 

"The fools!" I called them to myself. At length Johanna turned thecorner, and her pony-carriage came rattling cheerfully over the largeround stones. I ran to meet her. 

"For Heaven's sake, go to Julia!" I cried. "I have told her. "

"And what does she say?" asked Johanna. 

"Not a word, not a syllable, " I replied, "except to bid me go away. Shehas locked herself into the drawing-room. "

"Then you had better go away altogether, " she said, "and leave me todeal with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here. "

A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and, though I knew he wasnot at home, I knocked at his door and asked permission to sit for awhile in his parlor. 

The windows looked into the street, and there I sat watching the doorsof our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. No man likes to beordered out of sight, as if he were a vagabond or a criminal, and I feltmyself aggrieved and miserable. 

At length the door opposite opened, and Julia appeared, her facecompletely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the lowcarriage, as if she had been an invalid, and paid her those minutetrivial attentions which one woman showers upon another when she is ingreat grief. Then they drove off, and were soon out of my sight. 

By this time our dinner-hour was near, and I knew my mother would belooking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, who had dropped in unexpectedly: one of my father's patients--a widow, with a high color, a loud voice, and boisterous spirits, who kept up arattle of conversation with Dr. Dobrée. My mother glanced anxiously atme very often, but she could say little. 

"Where is Julia?" she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner withouther. 

"Julia?" I said, quite absently; "oh! she is gone to the Vale, withJohanna Carey. "

"Will she come back to-night?" asked my mother. 

"Not to-night, " I said, aloud; but to myself I added, "nor for manynights to come; never, most probably, while I am under this roof. Wehave been building our house upon the sand, and the floods have come, and the winds have blown, and the house has fallen; but my mother knowsnothing of the catastrophe yet. "

If it were possible to keep her ignorant of it! But that could not be. She read trouble in my face, as clearly as one sees a thunder-cloud inthe sky, and she could not rest till she had fathomed it. After she andour guest had left us, my father lingered only a few minutes. He was nota man that cared for drinking much wine, with no companion but me, andhe soon pushed the decanters from him. 

"You are as dull as a beetle to-night, Martin, " he said. "I think I willgo and see how your mother and Mrs. Murray get along together. "

He went his way, and I went mine--up into my own room, where I should bealone to think over things. It was a pleasant room, and had been minefrom my boyhood. There were some ugly old pictures still hanging againstthe walls, which I could not find in my heart to take down. The model ofa ship I had carved with my penknife, the sails of which had been madeby Julia, occupied the top shelf over my books. The first pistol I hadever possessed lay on the same shelf. It was my own den, my nest, mysanctuary, my home within the home. I could not think of myself beingquite at home anywhere else. 

Of late I had been awakened in the night two or three times, and foundmy mother standing at my bedside, with her thin, transparent fingersshading the light from my eyes. When I remonstrated with her she hadkissed me, smoothed the clothes about me, and promised meekly to go backto bed. Did she visit me every night? and would there come a time whenshe could not visit me?

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 

BROKEN OFF. 

As I asked myself this question, with an unerring premonition that thetime would soon come when my mother and I would be separated, I heardher tapping lightly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving herguests, and I was surprised and perplexed at seeing her. 

"Your father and Mrs. Murray are having a game of chess, " she said, answering my look of astonishment. "We can be alone together half anhour. And now tell me what is the matter? There is something going wrongwith you. "

She sank down weariedly into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. Itwas almost harder to tell her than to tell Julia; but it was worse thanuseless to put off the evil moment. Better for her to hear all from mebefore a whisper reached her from any one else. 

"Johanna came here, " she continued, "with a face as grave as a judge, and asked for Julia in a melancholy voice. Has there been any quarrelbetween you two?"

She was accustomed to our small quarrels, and to setting them rightagain; for we were prone to quarrel in a cousinly fashion, without muchreal bitterness on either side, but with such an intimate and irritatingknowledge of each other's weak points, that we needed a peace-maker athand. 

"Mother, I am not going to marry my cousin Julia, " I said. 

"So I have heard before, " she answered, with a faint smile. "Come, come, Martin! it is too late to talk boyish nonsense like this. "

"But I love somebody else, " I said, warmly, for my heart throbbed at thethought of Olivia; "and I told Julia so this afternoon. It is broken offfor good now, mother. "

She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face in alarm. Ithad grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading overit. Her head had fallen back against the chair. I had never seen herlook so death-like in any of her illnesses, and I sprang to my feet interror. She stopped me by a slight convulsive pressure of her hand, as Iwas about to unfasten her brooch and open her dress to give her air. 

"No, Martin, " she whispered, "I shall be better in a moment. "

But it was several minutes before she breathed freely and naturally, orcould lift up her head. Then she did not look at me, but lifted up hereyes to the pale evening sky, and her lips quivered with agitation. 

"Martin, it will be the death of me, " she said; and a few tears stoledown her cheeks, which I wiped away. 

"It shall not be the death of you, " I exclaimed. "If Julia is willing tomarry me, knowing the whole truth, I am ready to marry her for yoursake, mother. I would do any thing for your sake. But Johanna said sheought to be told, and I think it was right myself. "

"Who is it, who can it be that you love?" she asked. 

"Mother, " I said, "I wish I had told you before, but I did not know thatI loved the girl as I do, till I saw her yesterday in Sark, and CaptainCarey charged me with it. "

"That girl!" she cried. "One of the Olliviers! O Martin, you must marryin your own class. "

"That was a mistake, " I answered. "Her Christian name is Olivia; I donot know what her surname is. "

"Not know even her name!" she exclaimed. 

"Listen, mother, " I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia, and drew such a picture of her as I had seen her, as made my mothersmile and sigh deeply in turns. 

"But she may be an adventuress; you know nothing about her, " sheobjected. "Surely, you cannot love a woman you do not esteem?"

"Esteem!" I repeated. "I never thought whether I esteemed Olivia, but Iam satisfied I love her. You may be quite sure she is no adventuress. Anadventuress would not hide herself in Tardif's out-of-the-worldcottage. "

"A girl without friends and without a name!" she sighed; "a runaway fromher family and home! It does not look well, Martin. "

I could answer nothing, and it would be of little use to try. I saw whenmy mother's prejudices could blind her. To love any one not of our owncaste was a fatal error in her eyes. 

"Does Julia know all this?" she asked. 

"She has not heard a word about Olivia, " I answered. "As soon as I toldher I loved some one else better than her, she bade me begone out of hersight. She has not an amiable temper. "

"But she is an upright, conscientious, religious woman, " she said, somewhat angrily. "She would never have run away from her friends; andwe know all about her. I cannot think what your father will say, Martin. It has given him more pleasure and satisfaction than any thing that hashappened for years. If this marriage is broken off, it upsets everything. "

Of course it would upset every thing; there was the mischief of it. Theconvulsion would be so great, that I felt ready to marry Julia in orderto avoid it, supposing she would marry me. That was the question, and itrested solely with her. I would almost rather face the long, slowweariness of an unsuitable marriage than encounter the immediate resultsof the breaking off of our engagement just on the eve of itsconsummation. I was a coward, no doubt, but events had hurried me on toorapidly for me to stand still and consider the cost. 

"O Martin, Martin!" wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. "I had so set my heart upon this! I did so long to see you in a home ofyour own! And Julia was so generous, never looking as if all the moneywas hers, and you without a penny! What is to become of you now, my boy?I wish I had been dead and in my grave before this had happened!"

"Hush, mother!" I said, kneeling down again beside her and kissing hertenderly; "it is still in Julia's hands. If she will marry me, I shallmarry her. "

"But then you will not be happy?" she said, with fresh sobs. 

It was impossible for me to contradict that. I felt that no misery wouldbe equal to that of losing Olivia. But I did my best to comfort mymother, by promising to see Julia the next day and renew my engagement, if possible. 

"Pray, may I be informed as to what is the matter now?" broke in asatirical, cutting voice--the voice of my father. It roused us both--mymother to her usual mood of gentle submission, and me to the chronicstate of irritation which his presence always provoked in me. 

"Not much, sir, " I answered, coldly; "only my marriage with my cousinJulia is broken off. "

"Broken off!" he ejaculated--"broken off!"

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. 

THE DOBRÉES' GOOD NAME. 

My father's florid face looked almost as rigid and white as my mother'shad done. He stood in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand (for it hadgrown quite dark while my mother and I were talking), and the lightshone full upon his changed face. His hand shook violently, so I tookthe lamp from him and set it down on the table. 

"Go down to Mrs. Murray, " he said, turning savagely upon my mother. "Howcould you be so rude as to leave her? She talks of going away. Let hergo as soon as she likes. I shall stay here with Martin. "

"I did not know I had been away so long, " she answered, meekly, andlooking deprecatingly from the one to the other of us. --"You will notquarrel with your father, Martin, if I leave you, will you?" This shewhispered in my ear, in a beseeching tone. 

"Not if I can help it, mother, " I replied, also in a whisper. 

"Now, confound it!" cried Dr. Dobrée, after she had gone, slowly andreluctantly, and looking back at the door to me--"now just tell meshortly all about this nonsense of yours. I thought some quarrel was up, when Julia did not come home to dinner. Out with it, Martin. "

"As I said before, there is not much to tell, " I answered. "I wascompelled in honor to tell Julia I loved another woman more thanherself; and I presume, though I am not sure, she will decline to becomemy wife. "

"In love with another woman!" repeated my father, with a long whistle, partly of sympathy, and partly of perplexity. "Who is it, my son?"

"That is of little moment, " I said, having no desire whatever to confidethe story to him. "The main point is that it's true, and I told Juliaso, this afternoon. "

"Good gracious, Martin!" he cried, "what accursed folly! What need wasthere to tell her of any little peccadillo, if you could conceal it? Whydid you not come to me for advice? Julia is a prude, like your mother. It will not be easy for her to overlook this. "

"There is nothing to overlook, " I said. "As soon as I knew my own mind, I told her honestly about it. "

At that moment it did not occur to me that my honesty was due toJohanna's insistent advice. I believed just then that I had acted fromthe impulse of my own sense of honor, and the belief gave my words andtone more spirit than they would have had otherwise. My father's facegrew paler and graver as he listened; he looked older, by ten years, than he had done an hour ago in the dining-room. 

"I don't understand it, " he muttered; "do you mean that this is aserious thing? Are you in love with some girl of our own class? Not amere passing fancy, that no one would think seriously of for an instant?Just a trifling _faux pas_, that it is no use telling women about, eh? Icould make allowance for that, Martin, and get Julia to do the same. Come, it cannot be any thing more. "

I did not reply to him. Here we had come, he and I, to the very barrierthat had been growing up between us ever since I had first discovered mymother's secret and wasting grief. He was on one side of it and I on theother--a wall of separation which neither of us could leap over. 

"Why don't you speak, Martin?" he asked, testily. 

"Because I hate the subject, " I answered. "When I told Julia I lovedanother woman, I meant that some one else occupied that place in myaffection which belonged rightfully to my wife; and so Julia understoodit. "

"Then, " he cried with a gesture of despair, "I am a ruined man!"

His consternation and dismay were so real that they startled me; yet, knowing what a consummate actor he was, I restrained both my fear andmy sympathy, and waited for him to enlighten me further. He sat with hishead bowed, and his hands hanging down, in an attitude of profounddespondency, so different from his usual jaunty air, that every momentincreased my anxiety. 

"What can it have to do with you?" I asked, after a long pause. 

"I am a ruined and disgraced man. " he reiterated, without looking up;"if you have broken off your marriage with Julia, I shall never raise myhead again. "

"But why?" I asked, uneasily. 

"Come down into my consulting-room, " he said, after another pause ofdeliberation. I went on before him, carrying the lamp, and, turninground once or twice, saw his face look gray, and the expression of itvacant and troubled. His consulting-room was a luxurious room, elegantlyfurnished; and with several pictures on the walls, including a paintedphotograph of himself, taken recently by the first photographer inGuernsey. There were book-cases containing a number of the best medicalworks; behind which lay, out of sight, a numerous selection of Frenchnovels, more thumbed than the ponderous volumes in front. He sank downinto an easy-chair, shivering as if we were in the depth of winter. 

"Martin, I am a ruined man!" he said, for the third time. 

"But how?" I asked again, impatiently; for my fears were growing strong. Certainly he was not acting a part this time. 

"I dare not tell you, " he cried, leaning his head upon his desk, andsobbing. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! I recollectedhow he used to play with me when I was a boy, and carry me before him onhorseback, as long back as I could remember. My heart softened andwarmed to him as it had not done for years. 

"Father!" I said, "if you can trust any one, you can trust me. If youare ruined and disgraced I shall be the same, as your son. "

"That's true, " he answered, "that's true! It will bring disgrace on youand your mother. We shall be forced to leave Guernsey, where she haslived all her life; and it will be the death of her. Martin, you mustsave us all by making it up with Julia. "

"But why?" I demanded, once more. "I must know what you mean. "

"Mean?" he said, turning upon me angrily, "you blockhead! I mean thatunless you marry Julia I shall have to give an account of her property;and I could not make all square, not if I sold every stick and stone Ipossess. "

I sat silent for a time, trying to take in this piece of information. Hehad been Julia's guardian ever since she was left an orphan, ten yearsold; but I had never known that there had not been a formal and legalsettlement of her affairs when she was of age. Our family name had noblot upon it; it was one of the most honored names in the island. But ifthis came to light, then the disgrace would be dark indeed. 

"Can you tell me all about it?" I asked. 

My father, after making his confession, settled himself in his chaircomfortably; appearing to feel that he had begun to make reparation forthe wrong. His temperament was more buoyant than mine. Selfish naturesare often buoyant. 

"It would take a long time, " he said, "and it would be a deuse of anuisance. You make it up with Julia, and marry her, as you're bound todo. Of course, you will manage all her money when you are her husband, as you will be. Now you know all. "

"But I don't know all, " I replied; "and I insist upon doing so, before Imake up my mind what to do. "

I believe he expected this opposition from me, for otherwise all he hadsaid could have been said in my room. But after feebly giving battle onvarious points, and staving off sundry inquiries, he opened a drawer inone of his cabinets, and produced a number of deeds, scrip, etc. , belonging to Julia. 

For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried toslink out of the room; but that I would not suffer. At length theornamental clock on his chimney-piece struck eleven, and he madeanother effort to beat a retreat. 

"Do not go away till every thing is clear, " I said; "is this all?"

"All?" he repeated; "isn't it enough?"

"Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!" I answered; "it isquite enough. "

"Enough to make me a felon, " he said, "if Julia chooses to prosecuteme. "

"I think it is highly probable, " I replied; "though I know nothing ofthe law. "

"Then you see clearly, Martin, there is no alternative, but for you tomarry her, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, andyour mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If youmarry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we areall safe. If you break with her she will leave us, and demand an accountof my guardianship; and your name and mine will be branded in our ownisland. "

"That is very clear, " I said, sullenly. 

"Your mother would not survive it!" he continued, with a solemn accent. 

"Oh! I have been threatened with that already, " I exclaimed, verybitterly. "Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?"

"Heaven forbid!" he cried. "Your mother is a good woman, Martin; assimple as a dove. You ought to think of her before you consign us all toshame. I can quit Guernsey. I am an old man, and it signifies verylittle where I lie down to die. I have not been as good a husband as Imight have been; but I could not face her after she knows this. PoorMary! My poor, poor love! I believe she cares enough for me still tobreak her heart over it. "

"Then I am to be your scape-goat, " I said. 

"You are my son, " he answered; "and religion itself teaches us that thesins of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter inyour hands. But only answer one question: Could you show your face amongyour own friends if this were known?"

I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia'sproperty! Then farewell forever to all that had made my life happy! Wewere a proud family--proud of our rank, and of our pure blood; aboveall, of our honor, which had never been tarnished by a breath. I couldnot yet bear to believe that my father was a rogue. He himself was notso lost to shame that he could meet my eye. I saw there was no escapefrom it--I must marry Julia. 

"Well, " I said, at last, "as you say, the matter is in my hands now; andI must make the best of it. Good-night, sir. "

Without a light I went up to my own room, where the moon that had shoneupon me in my last night's ride, was gleaming brightly through thewindow. I intended to reflect and deliberate, but I was worn out. Iflung myself down on the bed, but could not have remained awake for asingle moment. I fell into a deep sleep which lasted till morning. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. 

TWO LETTERS. 

When I awoke, my poor mother was sitting beside me, looking very ill andsorrowful. She had slipped a pillow under my head, and thrown a shawlacross me. I got up with a bewildered brain, and a general sense ofcalamity, which I could not clearly define. 

"Martin, " she said, "your father has gone by this morning's boat toJersey. He says you know why; but he has left this note for you. Whyhave you not been in bed last night?"

"Never mind, mother, " I answered, as I tore open the note, which wascarefully sealed with my father's private seal. He had written itimmediately after I left him. 

 "11. 30 P. M. 

 "MY SON: To-morrow morning, I shall run over to Jersey for a few days until this sad business of yours is settled. I cannot bear to meet your changed face. You make no allowances for your father. Half my expenses have been incurred in educating you; you ought to consider this, and that you owe more to me, as your father, than to any one else. But in these days parents receive little honor from their children. When all is settled, write to me at Prince's Hotel. It rests upon you whether I ever see Guernsey again. Your wretched father, "RICHARD DOBRÉE. "

"Can I see it?" asked my mother, holding out her hand. 

"No, never mind seeing it, " I answered, "it is about Julia, you know. Itwould only trouble you. "

"Captain Carey's man brought a letter from Julia just now, " she said, taking it from her pocket; "he said there was no answer. "

Her eyelids were still red from weeping, and her voice faltered as ifshe might break out into sobs any moment. I took the letter from her, but I did not open it. 

"You want to be alone to read it?" she said. "O Martin! if you canchange your mind, and save us all from this trouble, do it, for mysake?"

"If I can I will, " I answered; "but every thing is very hard upon me, mother. "

She could not guess how hard, and, if I could help it, she should neverknow. Now I was fully awake, the enormity of my father's dishonesty andhis extreme egotism weighed heavily upon me. I could not view hisconduct in a fairer light than I had done in my amazement the nightbefore. It grew blacker as I dwelt upon it. And now he was off toJersey, shirking the disagreeable consequences of his own delinquency. Iknew how he would spend his time there. Jersey is no retreat for thepenitent. 

As soon as my mother was gone I opened Julia's letter. It began:

 "MY DEAR MARTIN: I know all now. Johanna has told me. When you spoke to me so hurriedly and unexpectedly, this afternoon, I could not bear to hear another word. But now I am calm, and I can think it all over quite quietly. 

 "It is an infatuation, Martin. Johanna says so as well as I, and she is never wrong. It is a sheer impossibility that you, in your sober senses, should love a strange person, whose very name you do not know, better than you do me, your cousin, your sister, your _fiancée_, whom you have known all your life, and loved. I am quite sure of that, with a very true affection. 

 "It vexes me to write about that person in any connection with yourself. Emma spoke of her in her last letter from Sark; not at all in reference to you, however. She is so completely of a lower class, that it would never enter Emma's head that you could see any thing in her. She said there was a rumor afloat that Tardif was about to marry the girl you had been attending, and that everybody in the island regretted it. She said it would be a _mésalliance_ for him, Tardif! What then would it be for you, a Dobrée? No; it is a delusion, an infatuation, which will quickly pass away. I cannot believe you are so weak as to be taken in by mere prettiness without character; and this person--I do not say so harshly, Martin--has no character, no name. Were you free you could not marry her. There is a mystery about her, and mystery usually means shame. A Dobrée could not make an adventuress his wife. Then you have seen so little of her. Three times, since the week you were there in March! What is that compared to the years we have spent together? It is impossible that in your heart of hearts you should love her more than me. 

 "I have been trying to think what you would do if all is broken off between us. We could not keep this a secret in Guernsey, and everybody would blame you. I will not ask you to think of my mortification at being jilted, for people would call it that. I could outlive that. But what are you to do? We cannot go on again as we used to do. I must speak plainly about it. Your practice is not sufficient to maintain the family in a proper position for the Dobrées; and if I go to live alone at the new house, as I must do, what is to become of my uncle and aunt? I have often considered this, and have been glad the difficulty was settled by our marriage. Now every thing will be unsettled again. 

 "I did not intend to say any thing about myself; but, O Martin! you do not know the blank that it will be to me. I have been so happy since you asked me to be your wife. It was so pleasant to think that I should live all my life in Guernsey, and yet not be doomed to the empty, vacant lot of an unmarried woman. You think that perhaps Johanna is happy single? She is content--good women ought to be content; but, I tell you, I would gladly exchange her contentment for Aunt Dobrée's troubles, with her pride and happiness in you. I have seen her troubles clearly; and I say, Martin, I would give all Johanna's calm, colorless peace for her delight in her son. 

 "Then I cannot give up the thought of our home, just finished and so pretty. It was so pleasant this afternoon before you came in with your dreadful thunder-bolt. I was thinking what a good wife I would be to you; and how, in my own house, I should never be tempted into those tiresome tempers you have seen in me sometimes. It was your father often who made me angry, and I visited it upon you, because you are so good-tempered. That was foolish of me. You could not know how much I love you, how my life is bound up in you, or you would have been proof against that person in Sark. 

 "I think it right to tell you all this now, though it is not in my nature to make professions and demonstrations of my love. Think of me, of yourself, of your poor mother. You were never selfish, and you can do noble things. I do not say it would be noble to marry me; but it would be a noble thing to conquer an ignoble passion. How could Martin Dobrée fall in love with an unknown adventuress?

 "I shall remain in the house all day to-morrow, and if you can come to see me, feeling that this has been a dream of folly from which you have awakened, I will not ask you to own it. That you come at all will be a sign to me that you wish it forgotten and blotted out between us, as if it had never been. 

 "With true, deep love for you, Martin, believe me still

 "Your affectionate JULIA. "

I pondered over Julia's letter as I dressed. There was not a word ofresentment in it. It was full of affectionate thought for us all. Butwhat reasoning! I had not known Olivia so long as I had known her, therefore I could not love her as truly!

A strange therefore!

I had scarcely had leisure to think of Olivia in the hurry and anxietyof the last twenty-four hours. But now "that person in Sark, " the"unknown adventuress, " presented itself very vividly to my mind. Knowher! I felt as if I knew every tone of her voice and every expression ofher face; yet I longed to know them more intimately. The note she hadwritten to me a few weeks ago I could repeat word for word, and thehandwriting seemed far more familiar to me even than Julia's. There wasno doubt my love for her was very different from my affection for Julia;and if it was an infatuation, it was the sweetest, most exquisiteinfatuation that could ever possess me. 

Yet there was no longer any hesitation in my mind as to what I must do. Julia knew all now. I had told her distinctly of my love for Olivia, andshe would not believe it. She appeared wishful to hold me to myengagement in spite of it; at any rate, so I interpreted her letter. Idid not suppose that I should not live it down, this infatuation, asthey chose to call it. I might hunger and thirst, and be on the point ofperishing; then my nature would turn to other nutriment, and assimilateit to its contracted and stultified capacities. 

After all there was some reason in the objections urged against Olivia. The dislike of all insulated people against foreigners is naturalenough; and in her case there was a mystery which I must solve before Icould think of asking her to become my wife. Ask her to become my wife!That was impossible now. I had chosen my wife months before I saw her. 

I went mechanically through the routine of my morning's work, and it waslate in the afternoon before I could get away to ride to the Vale. Mymother knew where I was going, and gazed wistfully into my face, butwithout otherwise asking me any questions. At the last moment, as Itouched Madam's bridle, I looked down at her standing on the door-step. "Cheer up, mother!" I said, almost gayly, "it will all come right. "

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 

ALL WRONG. 

By this time you know that I could not ride along the flat, open shorebetween St. Peter-Port and the Vale without having a good sight of Sark, though it lay just a little behind me. It was not in human nature toturn my back doggedly upon it. I had never seen it look nearer; thechannel between us scarcely seemed a mile across. The old windmill abovethe Havre Gosselin stood out plainly. I almost fancied that but forBreckhou I could have seen Tardif's house, where my darling was living. My heart leaped at the mere thought of it. Then I shook Madam's bridleabout her neck, and she carried me on at a sharp canter toward CaptainCarey's residence. 

I saw Julia standing at a window up-stairs, gazing down the long whiteroad, which runs as straight as an arrow through the Braye du Valle toL'Ancresse Common. 

She must have seen Madam and me half a mile away; but she kept her postmotionless as a sentinel, until I jumped down to open the gate. Then shevanished. 

The servant-man was at the door by the time I reached it, and Johannaherself was on the threshold, with her hands outstretched and her faceradiant. I was as welcome as the prodigal son, and she was ready to fallon my neck and kiss me. 

"I felt sure of you, " she said, in a low voice. "I trusted to your goodsense and honor, and they have not failed you. Thank God you are come!Julia has neither ate nor slept since I brought her here. "

She led me to her own private sitting-room, where I found Julia standingby the fireplace, and leaning against it, as if she could not standalone. When I went up to her and took her hand, she flung her arms roundmy neck, and clung to me, in a passion of tears. It was some minutesbefore she could recover her self-command. I had never seen her abandonherself to such a paroxysm before. 

"Julia, my poor girl!" I said, "I did not think you would take it somuch to heart as this. "

"I shall come all right directly, " she sobbed, sitting down, andtrembling from head to foot. "Johanna said you would come, but I was notsure. "

"Yes, I am here, " I answered, with a very dreary feeling about me. 

"That is enough, " said Julia; "you need not say a word more. Let usforget it, both of us. You will only give me your promise never to seeher, or speak to her again. "

It might be a fair thing for her to ask, but it was not a fair thing forme to promise. Olivia had told me she had no friends at all exceptTardif and me; and if the gossip of the Sark people drove her from theshelter of his roof, I should be her only resource; and I believed shewould come frankly to me for help. 

"Olivia quite understands about my engagement to you, " I said. "I toldher at once that we were going to be married, and that I hoped she wouldfind a friend in you. "'

"A friend in me, Martin!" she exclaimed, in a tone of indignantsurprise; "you could not ask me to be that!"

"Not now, I suppose, " I replied; "the girl is as innocent and blamelessas any girl living; but I dare say you would sooner befriend the mostgood-for-nothing Jezebel in the Channel Islands. "

"Yes, I would, " she said. "An innocent girl indeed! I only wish she hadbeen killed when she fell from the cliff. "

"Hush!" I cried, shuddering at the bare mention of Olivia's death; "youdo not know what you say. It is worse than useless to talk about her. Icame to ask you to think no more of what passed between us yesterday. "

"But you are going to persist in your infatuation, " said Julia; "you cannever deceive me. I know you too well. Oh, I see that you still thinkthe same of her'"

"You know nothing about her, " I replied. 

"And I shall take care I never do, " she interrupted, spitefully. 

"So it is of no use to go on quarrelling about her, " I continued, takingno notice of the interruption. "I made up my mind before I came herethat I must see as little as possible of her for the future. You mustunderstand, Julia, she has never given me a particle of reason tosuppose she loves me. "

"But you are still in love with her?" she asked. 

I stood biting my nails to the quick, a trick I had while a boy, but onethat had been broken off by my mother's and Julia's combined vigilance. Now the habit came back upon me in full force, as my only resource fromspeaking. 

"Martin, " she said, with flashing eyes, and a rising tone in her voice, which, like the first shrill moan of the wind, presaged a storm, "I willnever marry you until you can say, on your word of honor, that you lovethat person no longer, and are ready to promise to hold no furthercommunication with her. Oh! I know what my poor aunt has had to endure, and I will not put up with it. "

"Very well, Julia, " I answered, controlling myself as well as I could, "I have only one more word to say on this subject. I love Olivia, and, as far as I know myself, I shall love her as long as I live. I did notcome here to give you any reason for supposing my mind is changed as toher. If you consent to be my wife, I will do my best, God helping me, tobe most true, most faithful to you; and God forbid I should injureOlivia in thought by supposing she could care for me other than as afriend. But my motive for coming now is to tell you some particularsabout your property, which my father made known to me only last night. "

It was a miserable task for me; but I told her simply the painfuldiscovery I had made. She sat listening with a dark and sullen face, butbetraying not a spark of resentment, so far as her loss of fortune wasconcerned. 

"Yes, " she said, bitterly, when I had finished, "robbed by the fatherand jilted by the son. "

"I would give my life to cancel the wrong, " I said. 

"It is so easy to talk, " she replied, with a deadly coldness of tone andmanner. 

"I am ready to do whatever you choose, " I urged. "It is true my fatherhas robbed you; but it is not true that I have jilted you. I did notknow my own heart till a word from Captain Carey revealed it to me; andI told you frankly, partly because Johanna insisted upon it, and partlybecause I believed it right to do so. If you demand it, I will evenpromise not to see Olivia again, or to hold direct communication withher. Surely that is all you ought to require from me. "

"No, " she replied, vehemently; "do you suppose I could become your wifewhile you maintain that you love another woman better than me? You musthave a very low opinion of me. "

"Would you have me tell you a falsehood?" I rejoined, with vehemenceequal to hers. 

"You had better leave me, " she said, "before we hate one another. I tellyou I have been robbed by the father and jilted by the son. Good-by, Martin. "

"Good-by, Julia, " I replied; but I still lingered, hoping she wouldspeak to me again. I was anxious to hear what she would do against myfather. She looked at me fully and angrily, and, as I did not move, sheswept out of the room, with a dignity which I had never seen in herbefore. I retreated toward the house-door, but could not make good myescape without encountering Johanna. 

"Well, Martin?" she said. 

"It is all wrong, " I answered. "Julia persists in it that I am jiltingher. "

"All the world will think you have behaved very badly, " she said. 

"I suppose so, " I replied; "but don't you think so, Johanna. "

She shook her head in silence, and closed the hall-door after me. Many adoor in Guernsey would be shut against me as soon as this was known. 

I had to go round to the stables to find Madam. The man had evidentlyexpected me to stay a long while, for her saddle-girths were loosened, and the bit out of her mouth, that she might enjoy a liberal feed ofoats. Captain Carey came up tome as I was buckling the girths. 

"Well, Martin?" he asked, exactly as Johanna had done before him. 

"All wrong, " I repeated. 

"Dear! dear!" he said, in his mildest tones, and with his hand restingaffectionately on my shoulder; "I wish I had lost the use of my eyes ortongue the other day, I am vexed to death that I found out your secret. "

"Perhaps I should not have found it out myself, " I said, "and it isbetter now than after. "

"So it is, my boy; so it is, " he rejoined. "Between ourselves, Julia isa little too old for you. Cheer up! she is a good girl, and will getover it, and be friends again with you by-and-by. I will do all I can tobring that about. If Olivia is only as good as she is handsome, you'llbe happier with her than with poor Julia. "

He patted my back with a friendliness that cheered me, while his lastwords sent the blood bounding through my veins. I rode home again, Sarklying in full view before me; and, in spite of the darkness of myprospects, I felt intensely glad to be free to win my Olivia. 

Four days passed without any sign from either Julia or my father. Iwrote to him detailing my interview with her, but no reply came. Mymother and I had the house to ourselves; and, in spite of her frettings, we enjoyed considerable pleasure during the temporary lull. There were, however, sundry warnings out-of-doors which foretold tempest. I met coldglances and sharp inquiries from old friends, among whom some rumors ofour separation were floating. There was sufficient to justify suspicion:my father's absence, Julia's prolonged sojourn with the Careys at theVale, and the postponement of my voyage to England. I began to fancythat even the women-servants flouted at me. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 

DEAD TO HONOR. 

The mail from Jersey on Monday morning brought us no letter from myfather. But during the afternoon, as I was passing along the Canichers, I came suddenly upon Captain Carey and Julia, who wore a thick veil overher face. The Canichers is a very narrow, winding street, where noconveyances are allowed to run, and all of us had chosen it inpreference to the broad road along the quay, where we were liable tomeet many acquaintances. There was no escape for any of us. Anenormously high, strong wall, such as abound in St. Peter-Port, was onone side of us, and some locked-up stables on the other. Julia turnedaway her head, and appeared absorbed in the contemplation of a verysmall placard, which did not cover one stone of the wall, though it wasthe only one there. I shook hands with Captain Carey, who regarded uswith a comical expression of distress, and waited to see if she wouldrecognize me; but she did not. 

"Julia has had a letter from your father, " he said. 

"Yes?" I replied, in a tone of inquiry. 

"Or rather from Dr. Collas, " he pursued. "Prepare yourself for bad news, Martin. Your father is very ill; dangerously so, he thinks. "

The news did not startle me. I had been long aware that my father wasone of those medical men who are excessively nervous about their ownhealth, and are astonished that so delicate and complicated anorganization as the human frame should ever survive for sixty years theills it is exposed to. But at this time it was possible that distress ofmind and anxiety for the future might have made him really ill. Therewas no chance of crossing to Jersey before the next morning. 

"He wished Dr. Collas to write to Julia, so as not to alarm yourmother, " continued Captain Carey, as I stood silent. 

"I will go to-morrow, " I said; "but we must not frighten my mother if wecan help it. "

"Dr. Dobrée begs that you will go, " he answered--"you and Julia. "

"Julia!" I exclaimed. "Oh, impossible!"

"I don't see that it is impossible, " said Julia, speaking for the firsttime. "He is my own uncle, and has acted as my father. I intend to go tosee him; but Captain Carey has promised to go with me. "

"Thank you a thousand times, dear Julia, " I answered, gratefully. Aheavy load was lifted off my spirits, for I came to thisconclusion--that she had said nothing, and would say nothing, to theCareys about his defalcations. She would not make her uncle's shamepublic. 

I told my mother that Julia and I were going over to Jersey the nextmorning, and she was more than satisfied. We went on board together asarranged--Julia, Captain Carey, and I. But Julia did not stay on deck, and I saw nothing of her during our two-hours' sail. 

Captain Carey told me feelingly how terribly she was fretting, notwithstanding all their efforts to console her. He was full of thistopic, and could think and speak of nothing else, worrying me with themost minute particulars of her deep dejection, until I felt myself oneof the most worthless scoundrels in existence. I was in this humiliatedstate of mind when we landed in Jersey, and drove in separate cars tothe hotel where my father was lying ill. 

The landlady received us with a portentous face. Dr. Collas had spokenvery seriously indeed of his patient, and, as for herself, she had notthe smallest hope. I heard Julia sob, and saw her lift her handkerchiefto her eyes behind her veil. 

Captain Carey looked very much frightened. He was a man of quicksympathies, and nervous about his own life into the bargain, so that anyserious illness alarmed him. As for myself, I was in the miserablecondition of mind I have described above. 

We were not admitted into my father's room for half an hour, as he sentword he must get up his strength for the interview. Julia and myselfalone were allowed to see him. He was propped up in bed with a number ofpillows; with the room darkened by Venetian blinds, and a dim greentwilight prevailing, which cast a sickly hue over his really pallidface. His abundant white hair fell lankly about his head, instead ofbeing in crisp curls as usual. I was about to feel his pulse for him, but he waved me off. 

"No, my son, " he said, "my recovery is not to be desired. I feel that Ihave nothing now to do but to die. It is the only reparation in mypower. I would far rather die than recover. "

I had nothing to say to that; indeed, I had really no answer ready, soamazed was I at the tone he had taken. But Julia began to sob again, andpressed past me, sinking down on the chair by his side, and laying herhand upon one of his pillows. 

"Julia, my love, " he continued, feebly, "you know how I have wrongedyou; but you are a true Christian. You will forgive your uncle when heis dead and gone. I should like to be buried in Guernsey with the otherDobrées. "

Neither did Julia answer, save by sobs. I stepped toward the window todraw up the blinds, but he stopped me, speaking in a much stronger voicethan before. 

"Leave them alone, " he said. "I have no wish to see the light of day. Adishonored man does not care to show his face. I have seen no one sinceI left Guernsey, except Collas. "

"I think you are alarming yourself needlessly, " I answered. "You knowyou are fidgety about your own health. Let me prescribe for you. SurelyI know as much as Collas. "

"No, no, let me die, " he said, plaintively; "then you can all be happy. I have robbed my only brother's only child, who was dear to me as my owndaughter. I cannot hold up my head after that. I should die gladly ifyou two were but reconciled to one another. "

By this time Julia's hand had reached his, and was resting in it fondly. I never knew a man gifted with such power over women and theirsusceptibilities as he had. My mother herself would appear to forget allher unhappiness, if he only smiled upon her. 

"My poor dear Julia!" he murmured; "my poor child!"

"Uncle, " she said, checking her sobs by a great effort, "if you imagineI should tell any one--Johanna Carey even--what you have done, you wrongme. The name of Dobrée is as dear to me as to Martin, and he was willingto marry a woman he detested in order to shield it. No, you are quitesafe from disgrace as far as I am concerned. "

"God in heaven bless you, my own Julia!" he ejaculated, fervently. "Iknew your noble nature; but it grieves me the more deeply that I have sothoughtlessly wronged you. If I should live to get over this illness, Iwill explain it all to you. It is not so bad as it seems. But will younot be equally generous to Martin? Cannot you forgive him as you do me?"

"Uncle, " she cried, "I could never, never marry a man who says he lovessome one else more than me. "

Her face was hidden in the pillows, and my father stroked her head, glancing at me contemptuously at the same time. 

"I should think not, my girl!" he said, in a soothing tone; "but Martinwill very soon repent. He is a fool just now, but he will be wise againpresently. He has known you too long not to know your worth. "

"Julia, " I said, "I do know how good you are. You have always beengenerous, and you are so now. I owe you as much gratitude as my fatherdoes, and any thing I can do to prove it I am ready to do this day. "

"Will you marry her before we leave Jersey?" asked my father. 

"Yes, " I answered. 

The word slipped from me almost unawares, yet I did not wish to retractit. She was behaving so nobly and generously toward us both, that I waswilling to do any thing to make her happy. 

"Then, my love, " he said, "you hear what Martin promises. All's wellthat ends well. Only make up your mind to put your proper pride away, and we shall all be as happy as we were before. "

"Never!" she cried, indignantly. "I would not marry Martin here, hurriedly and furtively; no, not if you were dying, uncle!"

"But, Julia, if I were dying, and wished to see you united before mydeath!" he insinuated. A sudden light broke upon me. It was an ingeniousplot--one at which I could not help laughing, mad as I was. Julia'spride was to be saved, and an immediate marriage between us effected, under cover of my father's dangerous illness. I did smile, in spite ofmy anger, and he caught it, and smiled back again. I think Julia becamesuspicious too. 

"Martin, " she said, sharpening her voice to address me, "do _you_ thinkyour father is in any danger?"

"No, I do not, " I answered, notwithstanding his gestures and frowns. 

"Then that is at an end, " she said. "I was almost foolish enough tothink that I would yield. You don't know what this disappointment is tome. Everybody will be talking of it, and some of them will pity me, andthe rest laugh at me. I am ashamed of going out-of-doors anywhere. Oh, it is too bad! I cannot bear it. "

She was positively writhing with agitation; and tears, real tears I amsure, started into my father's eyes. 

"My poor little Julia!" he said; "my darling! But what can be done ifyou will not marry Martin?"

"He ought to go away from Guernsey, " she sobbed. "I should feel betterif I was quite sure I should never see him, or hear of other peopleseeing him. "

"I will go, " I said. "Guernsey will be too hot for me when all this isknown. "

"And, uncle, " she pursued, speaking to him, not me, "he ought to promiseme to give up that girl. I cannot set him free to go and marry her--astranger and adventuress. She will be his ruin. I think, for my sake, heought to give her up. "

"So he ought, and so he will, my love, " answered my father. "When hethinks of all we owe to you, he will promise you that. "

I pondered over what our family owed to Julia for some minutes. It wastruly a very great debt. Though I had brought her into perhaps the mostpainful position a woman could be placed in, she was generouslysacrificing her just resentment and revenge against my father'sdishonesty, in order to secure our name from blot. 

On the other hand, I had no reason to suppose Olivia loved me, and Ishould do her no wrong. I felt that, whatever it might cost me, I mustconsent to Julia's stipulation. 

"It is the hardest thing you could ask me, " I said, "but I will give herup. On one condition, however; for I must not leave her without friends. I shall tell Tardif, if he ever needs help for Olivia, he must apply tome through my mother. "

"There could be no harm in that, " observed my father. 

"How soon shall I leave Guernsey?" I asked. 

"He cannot go until you are well again, uncle, " she answered. "I willstay here to nurse you, and Martin must take care of your patients. Wewill send him word a day or two before we return, and I should like himto be gone before we reach home. "

That was my sentence of banishment. She had only addressed me onceduring the conversation. It was curious to see how there was noresentment in her manner toward my father, who had systematically robbedher, while she treated me with profound wrath and bitterness. 

She allowed him to hold her hand and stroke her hair; she would not havesuffered me to approach her. No doubt it was harder for her to give up alover than to lose the whole of her property. 

She left us, to make the necessary arrangements for staying with myfather, whose illness appeared to have lost suddenly its worst symptoms. As soon as she was gone he regarded me with a look half angry, halfcontemptuous. 

"What a fool you are!" he said. "You have no tact whatever in themanagement of women. Julia would fly back to you, if you only held upyour finger. "

"I have no wish to hold up my finger to her, " I answered. "I don't thinklife with her would be so highly desirable. "

"You thought so a few weeks ago, " he said, "and you'll be a pauperwithout her. "

"I was not going to marry her for her money, " I replied. "A few weeksago I cared more for her than for any other woman, except my mother, andshe knew it. All that is changed now. "

"Well well!" he said, peevishly, "do as you like. I wash my hands of thewhole business. Julia will not forsake me if she renounces you, and Ishall have need of her and her money. I shall cling to Julia. "

"She will be a kind nurse to you, " I remarked. 

"Excellent!" he answered, settling himself languidly down among hispillows. "She may come in now and watch beside me; it will be the sortof occupation to suit her in her present state of feeling. You hadbetter go out and amuse yourself in your own way. Of course you will gohome to-morrow morning. "

I would have gone back to Guernsey at once, but I found neither cutternor yacht sailing that afternoon, so I was obliged to wait for thesteamer next morning. I did not see Julia again, but Captain Carey toldme she had consented that he should remain at hand for a day or two, tosee if he could be of any use to her. 

The report of my father's illness had spread before I reached home, andsufficiently accounted for our visit to Jersey, and the temporarypostponement of my last trip to England before our marriage. My mother, Johanna, and I, kept our own counsel, and answered the many questionsasked us as vaguely as the Delphic oracle. 

Still an uneasy suspicion and suspense hung about our circle. Theatmosphere was heavily charged with electricity, which foreboded storms. It would be well for me to quit Guernsey before all the truth came out. I wrote to Tardif, telling him I was going for an indefinite period toLondon, and that if any difficulty or danger threatened Olivia, I beggedof him to communicate with my mother, who had promised me to befriendher as far as it lay in her power. My poor mother thought of her withoutbitterness, though with deep regret. To Olivia herself I wrote a line ortwo, finding myself too weak to resist the temptation. I said:

"MY DEAR OLIVIA: I told you I was about to be married to my cousin JuliaDobrée; that engagement is at an end. I am obliged to leave Guernsey, and seek my fortune elsewhere. It will be a long time before I can seeyou again, if I ever have that great happiness. Whenever you feel thewant of a true and tender friend, my mother is prepared to love you asif you were her own daughter. Think of me also as your friend. MARTINDOBRÉE. "

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. 

IN EXILE. 

I left Guernsey the day before my father and Julia returned from Jersey. 

My immediate future was not as black as it might have been. I was goingdirect to the house of my friend Jack Senior, who had been my chum bothat Elizabeth College and at Guy's. He, like myself, had been hitherto asort of partner to his father, the well-known physician, Dr. Senior ofBrook Street. They lived together in a highly-respectable but gloomyresidence, kept bachelor fashion, for they had no woman-kind at allbelonging to them. The father and son lived a good deal apart, thoughthey were deeply attached to one another. Jack had his own apartments, and his own guests, in the spacious house, and Dr. Senior had his. 

The first night, as Jack and I sat up together in the long summertwilight, till the dim, not really dark, midnight came over us, I toldhim every thing; as one tells a friend a hundred things one cannot putinto words to any person who dwells under the same roof, and is witnessof every circumstance of one's career. 

As I was talking to him, every emotion and perception of my brain, whichhad been in a wild state of confusion and conflict, appeared to fallinto its proper rank. I was no longer doubtful as to whether I had beenthe fool my father called me. My love for Olivia acquired force anddecision. My judgment that it would have been a folly and a crime tomarry Julia became confirmed. 

"Old fellow, " said Jack, when I had finished, "you are in no end of amess. "

"Well, I am, " I admitted; "but what am I to do?"

"First of all, how much money have you?" he asked. 

"I'd rather not say, " I answered. 

"Come, old friend, " he said, in his most persuasive tones, "have youfifty pounds in hand?"

"No, " I replied. 

"Thirty?"

I shook my head, but I would not answer him further. 

"That's bad!" he said; "but it might be worse. I've lots of tin, and wealways went shares. "

"I must look out for something to do to-morrow, " I remarked. 

"Ay, yes!" he answered, dryly; "you might go as assistant to a parishdoctor, or get a berth on board an emigrant-ship. There are lots ofchances for a young fellow. "

He sat smoking his cigar--a dusky outline of a human figure, with abright speck of red about the centre of the face. For a few minutes hewas lost in thought. 

"I tell you what, " he said, "I've a good mind to marry Julia myself. I've always liked her, and we want a woman in the house. That would putthings straighter, wouldn't it?"

"She would never consent to leave Guernsey, " I answered, laughing. "Thatwas one reason why she was so glad to marry me. "

"Well, then, " he said, "would you mind me having Olivia?"

"Don't jest about such a thing, " I replied; "it is too serious aquestion with me. "

"You are really in love!" he answered. "I will not jest at it. But I amready to do any thing to help you, old boy. "

So it proved, for he and Dr. Senior did their best during the next fewweeks to find a suitable opening for me. I made their house my home, andwas treated as a most welcome guest in it. Still the time wasirksome--more irksome than I ever could have imagined. They were busywhile I was unoccupied. 

Occasionally I went out to obey some urgent summons, when either of themwas absent; but that was a rare circumstance. The hours hung heavilyupon me; and the close, sultry air of London, so different from thefresh sea-breezes of my native place, made me feel languid andirritable. 

My mother's letters did not tend to raise my spirits. The tone of themwas uniformly sad. She told me the flood of sympathy for Julia had risenvery high indeed: from which I concluded that the public indignationagainst myself must have risen to the same tide-mark, though my poormother said nothing about it. Julia had resumed her old occupations, buther spirit was quite broken. Johanna Carey had offered to go abroad withher, but she had declined it, because it would too painfully remind herof our projected trip to Switzerland. 

A friend of Julia's, said my mother in another letter, had come to staywith her, and to try to rouse her. 

It was evident she did not like this Kate Daltrey, herself, for thedislike crept out unawares through all the gentleness of her phrases. "She says she is the same age as Julia, " she wrote, "but she is probablysome years older; for, as she does not belong to Guernsey, we have noopportunity of knowing. " I laughed when I read that. "Your fatheradmires her very much, " she added. 

No, my mother felt no affection for her new guest. 

There was not a word about Olivia. Sark itself was never mentioned, andit might have sunk into the sea. My eye ran over every letter first, with the hope of catching that name, but I could not find it. Thispersistent silence on my mother's part was very trying. 

I had been away from Guernsey two months, and Jack was makingarrangements for a long absence from London as soon as the season wasover, leaving me in charge, when I received the following letter fromJohanna Carey:

 "DEAR MARTIN: Your father and Julia have been here this afternoon, and have confided to me a very sad and very painful secret, which they ask me to break gently to you. I am afraid no shadow of a suspicion of it has ever fallen upon your mind, and, I warn you, you will need all your courage and strength as a man to bear it. I was myself so overwhelmed that I could not write to you until now, in the dead of the night, having prayed with all my heart to our merciful God to sustain and comfort you, who will feel this sorrow more than any of us. My dearest Martin, my poor boy, how can I tell it to you? You must come home again for a season. Even Julia wishes it, though she cannot stay in the same house with you, and will go to her own with her friend Kate Daltrey. Your father cried like a child. He takes it more to heart than I should have expected. Yet there is no immediate danger; she may live for some months yet. My poor Martin, you will have a mother only a few months longer. Three weeks ago she and I went to Sark, at her own urgent wish, to see your Olivia. I did not then know why. She had a great longing to see the unfortunate girl who had been the cause of so much sorrow to us all, but especially to her, for she has pined sorely after you. We did not find her in Tardif's house, but Suzanne directed us to the little graveyard half a mile away. We followed her there, and recognized her, of course, at the first glance. She is a charming creature, that I allow, though I wish none of us had ever seen her. Your mother told her who she was, and the sweetest flush and smile came across her face! They sat down side by side on one of the graves, and I strolled away, so I do not know what they said to one another. Olivia walked down with us to the Havre Gosselin, and your mother held her in her arms and kissed her tenderly. Even I could not help kissing her. 

 "Now I understand why your mother longed to see Olivia. She knew then--she has known for months--that her days are numbered. When she was in London last November, she saw the most skilful physicians, and they all agreed that her disease was incurable and fatal. Why did she conceal it from you? Ah, Martin, you must know a woman's heart, a mother's heart, before you can comprehend that. Your father knew, but no one else. What a martyrdom of silent agony she has passed through! She has a clear calculation, based upon the opinion of the medical men, as to how long she might have lived had her mind been kept calm and happy. How far that has not been the case we all know too well. 

 "If your marriage with Julia had taken place, you would now have been on your way home, not to be parted from her again till the final separation. We all ask you to return to Guernsey, and devote a few more weeks to one who has loved you so passionately and fondly. Even Julia asks it. Her resentment gives way before this terrible sorrow. We have not told your mother what we are about to do, lest any thing should prevent your return. She is as patient and gentle as a lamb, and is ready with a quiet smile for every one. O Martin, what a loss she will be to us all! My heart is bleeding for you. 

 "Do not come before you have answered this letter, that we may prepare her for your return. Write by the next boat, and come by the one after. Julia will have to move down to the new house, and that will be excitement enough for one day. 

 "Good-by, my dearest Martin. I have forgiven every thing; so will all our friends as soon as they know this dreadful secret. 

 "Your faithful, loving cousin, JOHANNA CAREY. "

I read this letter twice, with a singing in my ears and a whirling of mybrain, before I could realize the meaning. Then I refused to believe it. No one knows better than a doctor how the most skilful head among us maybe at fault. 

My mother dying of an incurable disease! Impossible! I would go over atonce and save her. She ought to have told me first. Who could haveattended her so skilfully and devotedly as her only son?

Yet the numbing, deadly chill of dread rested upon my heart. I feltkeenly how slight my power was, as I had done once before when I thoughtOlivia would die. But then I had no resources, no appliances. Now Iwould take home with me every remedy the experience and researches ofman had discovered. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. 

OVERMATCHED. 

My mother had consulted Dr. Senior himself when she had been in London. He did not positively cut off all hope from me, though I knew well hewas giving me encouragement in spite of his own carefully-formedopinion. He asserted emphatically that it was possible to alleviate hersufferings and prolong her life, especially if her mind was kept atrest. There was not a question as to the necessity for my immediatereturn to her. But there was still a day for me to tarry in London. 

"Martin, " said Jack, "why have you never followed up the clew about yourOlivia--the advertisement, you know? Shall we go to those folks inGray's-Inn Road this afternoon?"

It had been in my mind all along to do so, but the listlessprocrastination of idleness had caused me to put it off from time totime. Besides, while I was absent from the Channel Islands my curiosityappeared to sleep. It was enough to picture Olivia in her lowly home inSark. Now that I was returning to Guernsey, and the opportunity wasabout to slip by, I felt more anxious to seize it. I would learn all Icould about Olivia's family and friends, without betraying any part ofher secret. 

At the nearest cab-stand we found a cabman patronized by Jack--ared-faced, good-tempered, and good-humored man, who was as fond andproud of Jack's notice as if he had been one of the royal princes. 

Of course there was not the smallest difficulty in finding the office ofMessrs. Scott and Brown. It was on the second floor of an ordinarybuilding, and, bidding the cabman wait for us, we proceeded at once upthe staircase. 

There did not seem much business going on, and our appearance was hailedwith undisguised satisfaction. The solicitors, if they were solicitors, were two inferior, common-looking men, but sharp enough to be a matchfor either of us. We both felt it, as if we had detected a snake in thegrass by its rattle. I grew wary by instinct, though I had not come withany intention to tell them what I knew of Olivia. My sole idea had beento learn something myself, not to impart any information. But, when Iwas face to face with these men, my business, and the management of it, did not seem quite so simple as it had done until then. 

"Do you wish to consult my partner or me?" asked the keenest-lookingman. "I am Mr. Scott. "

"Either will do, " I answered. "My business will be soon dispatched. Somemonths ago you inserted an advertisement in the _Times_. "

"To what purport?" inquired Mr. Scott. 

"You offered fifty pounds reward, " I replied, "for informationconcerning a young lady. "

A gleam of intelligence and gratification flickered upon both theirfaces, but quickly faded away into a sober and blank gravity. Mr. Scottwaited for me to speak again, and bowed silently, as if to intimate hewas all attention. 

"I came, " I added, "to ask you for the name and address of that younglady's friends, as I should prefer communicating directly with them, with a view to cooperation in the discovery of her hiding-place. I needscarcely say I have no wish to receive any reward. I entirely waive anyclaim to that, if you will oblige me by putting me into connection withthe family. "

"Have you no information you can impart to us?" asked Mr. Scott. 

"None, " I answered, decisively. "It is some months since I saw theadvertisement, and it must be nine months since you put it into the_Times_. I believe it is nine months since the young lady was missing. "

"About that time, " he said. 

"Her friends must have suffered great anxiety, " I remarked. 

"Very great indeed, " he admitted. 

"If I could render them any service, it would be a great pleasure tome, " I continued; "cannot you tell me where to find them?"

"We are authorized to receive any information, " he replied. "You mustallow me to ask if you know any thing about the young lady in question?"

"My object is to combine with her friends in seeking her, " I said, evasively. "I really cannot give you any information; but if you willput me into communication with them, I may be useful to them. "

"Well, " he said, with an air of candor, "of course the young lady'sfriends are anxious to keep in the background. It is not a pleasantcircumstance to occur in a family; and if possible they would wish herto be restored without any _éclat_. Of course, if you could give us anydefinite information it would be quite another thing. The young lady'sfamily is highly connected. Have you seen any one answering to thedescription?"

"It is a very common one, " I answered. "I have seen scores of youngladies who might answer to it. I am surprised that in London you couldnot trace her. Did you apply to the police?"

"The police are blockheads, " replied Mr. Scott. --"Will you be so good asto see if there is any one in the outer office, Mr. Brown, or on thestairs? I believe I heard a noise outside. "

Mr. Brown disappeared for a few minutes; but his absence did notinterrupt our conversation. There was not much to be made out of it oneither side, for we were only fencing with one another. I learnednothing about Olivia's friends, and I was satisfied he had learnednothing about her. 

At last we parted with mutual dissatisfaction; and I went moodilydownstairs, followed by Jack. We drove back to Brook Street, to spendthe few hours that remained before the train started for Southampton. 

"Doctor, " said Simmons, as Jack paid him his fare, with a small coinadded to it, "I'm half afeard I've done some mischief. I've been turningit over and over in my head, and can't exactly see the rights of it. Agent, with a pen behind his ear, comes down, at that orfice in Gray'sInn Road, and takes my number. But after that he says a civil thing ortwo. 'Fine young gents, ' he says, pointing up the staircase. 'Very muchso, ' says I. 'Young doctors?' he says. 'You're right, ' I says. 'Iguessed so, ' he says; 'and pretty well up the tree, eh?' 'Ay, ' I says;'the light-haired gent is son to Dr. Senior, the great pheeseecian; andthe other he comes from Guernsey, which is an island in the sea. ' 'Justso, ' he says; 'I've heard as much. ' I hope I've done no mischief, doctor?"

"I hope not, Simmons, " answered Jack; "but your tongue hangs too loose, my man. --Look out for a squall on the Olivia coast, Martin, " he added. 

My anxiety would have been very great if I had not been returningimmediately to Guernsey. But once there, and in communication withTardif, I could not believe any danger would threaten Olivia from whichI could not protect or rescue her. She was of age, and had a right toact for herself. With two such friends as Tardif and me, no one couldforce her away from her chosen home. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. 

HOME AGAIN. 

My mother was looking out for me when I reached home the next morning. Ihad taken a car from the pier-head to avoid meeting any acquaintances;and hers was almost the first familiar face I saw. It was pallid withthe sickly hue of a confirmed disease, and her eyes were much sunken;but she ran across the room to meet me. I was afraid to touch her, knowing how a careless movement might cause her excruciating pain; butshe was oblivious of every thing save my return, and pressed me closerand closer in her arms, with all her failing strength, while I leaned myface down upon her dear head, unable to utter a word. 

"God is very good to me, " sobbed my mother. 

"Is He?" I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, so forced andaltered it was. 

"Very, very good, " she repeated. "He has brought you back to me. "

"Never to leave you again, mother, " I said--"never again!"

"No; you will never leave me alone again here, " she whispered. "Oh, howI have missed you, my boy!"

I made her sit down on the sofa, and sat beside her, while she caressedmy hand with her thin and wasted fingers. 

I must put an end to this, if I was to maintain my self-control. 

"Mother, " I said, "you forget that I have been on the sea all night, andhave not had my breakfast yet. "

"The old cry, Martin, " she answered, smiling. "Well, you shall have yourbreakfast here, and I will wait upon you once more. "

I watched her furtively as she moved about, not with her usual quick andlight movements, but with a slow and cautious tread. It was part of myanguish to know, as only a medical man can know, how every step was afresh pang to her. She sat down with me at the table, though I would notsuffer her to pour out my coffee, as she wished to do. There was adivine smile upon her face; yet beneath it there was an indication ofconstant and terrible pain, in the sunken eyes and drawn lips. It wasuseless to attempt to eat with that smiling face opposite me. I drankthirstily, but I could not swallow a crumb. She knew what it meant, andher eyes were fastened upon me with a heart-breaking expression. 

That mockery of a meal over, she permitted me to lay her down on thesofa, almost as submissively as a tired child, and to cover her with aneider-down quilt; for her malady made her shiver with its deadlycoldness, while she could not bear any weight upon her. My father wasgone out, and would not be back before evening. The whole day lay beforeus; I should have my mother entirely to myself. 

We had very much to say to one another; but it could only be said atintervals, when her strength allowed of it. We talked together, morecalmly than I could have believed possible, of her approaching death;and, in a stupor of despair, I owned to myself and her that there wasnot a hope of her being spared to me much longer. 

"I have longed so, " she murmured, "to see my boy in a home of his ownbefore I died. Perhaps I was wrong, but that was why I urged on yourmarriage with Julia. You will have no real home after I am gone, Martin;and I feel as if I could die so much more quietly if I had someknowledge of your future life. Now I shall know nothing. I think that isthe sting of death to me. "

"I wish it had been as you wanted it to be, " I said, never feeling sobitterly the disappointment I had caused her, and almost grieved that Ihad ever seen Olivia. 

"I suppose it is all for the best, " she answered, feebly. "O Martin! Ihave seen your Olivia. "

"Well?" I said. 

"I did so want to see her, " she continued--"though she has brought usall into such trouble. I loved her because you love her. Johanna wentwith me, because she is such a good judge, you know, and I did not liketo rely upon my own feelings. Appearances are very much against her; butshe is very engaging, and I believe she is a good girl. I am sure she isgood. "

"I know she is, " I said. 

"We talked of you, " she went on--"how good you were to her that week inthe spring. She had never been quite unconscious, she thought; but shehad seen and heard you all the time, and knew you were doing your utmostto save her. I believe we talked more of you than of any thing else. "

That was very likely, I knew, as far as my mother was concerned. But Iwas anxious to hear whether Olivia had not confided to her more of hersecret than I had yet been able to learn from other sources. To a womanlike my mother she might have intrusted all her history. 

"Did you find any thing out about her friends and family?" I asked. 

"Not much, " she answered. "She told me her own mother had died when shewas quite a child; and she had a step-mother living, who has been theruin of her life. That was her expression. 'She has been the ruin of mylife!' she said; and she cried a little, Martin, with her head upon mylap. If I could only have offered her a home here, and promised to be amother to her!"

"God bless you, my darling mother!" I said. 

"She intends to stay where she is as long as it is possible, " shecontinued; "but she told me she wanted work to do--any kind of work bywhich she could earn a little money. She has a diamond ring, and a watchand chain, worth a hundred pounds; so she must have been used toaffluence. Yet she spoke as if she might have to live in Sark for years. It is a very strange position for a young girl. "

"Mother, " I said, "you do not know how all this weighs upon me. Ipromised Julia to give her up, and never to see her again; but it isalmost more than I can bear, especially now. I shall be as friendlessand homeless as Olivia by-and-by. "

I had knelt down beside her, and she pressed my face to hers, murmuringthose soft, fondling words, which a man only hears from his mother'slips. I knew that the anguish of her soul was even greater than my own. The agitation was growing too much for her, and would end in an accessof her disease. I must put an end to it at once. 

"I suppose Julia is gone to the new house now, " I said, in a calm voice. 

"Yes, " she answered, but she could say no more. 

"And Miss Daltrey with her?" I pursued. 

The mention of that name certainly roused my mother more effectuallythan any thing else I could have said. She released me from her clinginghands, and looked up with a decided expression of dislike on her face. 

"Yes, " she replied. "Julia is just wrapped up in her, though why Icannot imagine. So is your father. But I don't think you will like her, Martin. I don't want you to be taken with her. "

"I won't, mother, " I said. "I am ready to hate her, if that is anysatisfaction to you. "

"Oh, you must not say that, " she answered, in a tone of alarm. "I do notwish to set you against her, not in the least, my boy. Only she has somuch influence over Julia and your father; and I do not want you to goover to her side. I know I am very silly; but she always makes my fleshcreep when she is in the room. "

"Then she shall not come into the room, " I said. 

"Martin, " she went on, "why does it rouse one up more to speak evil ofpeople than to speak good of them? Speaking of Kate Daltrey makes mefeel stronger than talking of Olivia. "

I laughed a little. It had been an observation of mine, made some yearsago, that the surest method of consolation in cases of excessive grief, was the introduction of some family or neighborly gossip, seasonedslightly with scandal. The most vehement mourning had been turned intoanother current of thought by the lifting of this sluice. 

"It restores the balance of the emotions, " I answered. "Anything soft, and tender, and touching, makes you more sensitive. A person like MissDaltrey acts as a tonic; bitter, perhaps, but invigorating. "

The morning passed without any interruption; but in the afternoon Gracecame in, with a face full of grave importance, to announce that MissDobrée had called, and desired to see Mrs. Dobrée alone. "Quite alone, "repeated Grace, emphatically. 

"I'll go up-stairs to my own room, " I said to my mother. 

"I am afraid you cannot, Martin, " she answered, hesitatingly. "MissDaltrey has taken possession of it, and she has not removed all herthings yet. She and Julia did not leave till late last night. You mustgo to the spare room. "

"I thought you would have kept my room for me, mother, " I said, reproachfully. 

"So I would, " she replied, her lips quivering, "but Miss Daltrey took afancy to it, and your father and Julia made a point of indulging her. Ireally think Julia would have had every thing belonging to you sweptinto the streets. It was very hard for me, Martin. I was ten times morevexed than you are to give up your room to Miss Daltrey. It was my onlycomfort to go and sit there, and think of my dear boy. " "Never mind, never mind, " I answered. "I am at home now, and you will never be leftalone with them again--nevermore, mother. "

I retreated to the spare room, fully satisfied that I should dislikeMiss Daltrey quite as much as my mother could wish. Finding that Juliaprolonged her visit downstairs, I went out after a while for a stroll inthe old garden, where the trees and shrubs had grown with my growth, andwere as familiar as human friends to me. I visited Madam in her stall, and had a talk with old Pellet; and generally established my footingonce more as the only son of the house; not at all either as if I were aprodigal son, come home repentant. I was resolved not to play that_rôle_, for had I not been more sinned against than sinning?

My father came in to dinner; but, like a true man of the world, hereceived me back on civil and equal terms, not alluding beyond a word ortwo to my long absence. We began again as friends; and our mutualknowledge of my mother's fatal malady softened our hearts and mannerstoward one another. Whenever he was in-doors he waited upon her withsedulous attention. But, for the certainty that death was lurking verynear to us, I should have been happier in my home than I had ever beensince that momentous week in Sark. But I was also nearer to Olivia, andevery throb of my pulse was quickened by the mere thought of that. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. 

A NEW PATIENT. 

In one sense, time seemed to be standing still with me, so like were thedays that followed the one to the other. But in another sense those daysfled with awful swiftness, for they were hurrying us both, my mother andme, to a great gulf which would soon, far too soon, lie between us. 

Every afternoon Julia came to spend an hour or two with my mother; buther arrival was always formally announced, and it was an understoodthing that I should immediately quit the room, to avoid meeting her. There was an etiquette in her resentment which I was bound to observe. 

What our circle of friends thought, had become a matter of verysecondary consideration to me; but there seemed a general disposition tocondone my offences, in view of the calamity that was hanging by a merethread above me. I discovered from their significant remarks that it hadbeen quite the fashion to visit Sark during the summer, by the Queen ofthe Isles, which made the passage every Monday; and that Tardif'scottage had been an object of attraction to many of my relatives ofevery degree. Few of them had caught even a glimpse of Olivia; and Isuspected that she had kept herself well out of sight on those days whenthe weekly steamer flooded the island with visitors. 

I had not taken up any of my old patients again, for I was determinedthat everybody should feel that my residence at home was only temporary. But, about ten days after my return, the following note was brought tome, directed in full to Dr. Martin Dobrée:

"A lady from England, who is only a visitor in Guernsey, will be muchobliged by Dr. Martin Dobrée calling upon her, at Rose Villa, VauvertRoad. She is suffering from a slight indisposition; and, knowing Dr. Senior by name and reputation, she would feel great confidence in theskill of Dr. Senior's friend. "

I wondered for an instant who the stranger could be, and how she knewthe Seniors; but, as there could be no answer to these queries withoutvisiting the lady, I resolved to go. Rose Villa was a house where therooms were let to visitors during the season, and the Vauvert Road wasscarcely five minutes' walk from our house. Julia was paying her dailyvisit to my mother, and I was at a loss for something to do, so I wentat once. 

I found a very handsome, fine-looking woman; dark, with hair and eyes asblack as a gypsy's, and a clear olive complexion to match. Her foreheadwas low, but smooth and well-shaped; and the lower part of her face, handsome as it was, was far more developed than the upper. There was nota trace of refinement about her features; yet the coarseness of them wasbut slightly apparent as yet. She did not strike me as having more thana very slight ailment indeed, though she dilated fluently about hersymptoms, and affected to be afraid of fever. It is not always possibleto deny that a woman has a violent headache; but, where the pulse is allright, and the tongue clean, it is clear enough that there is not anything very serious threatening her. My new patient did not inspire mewith much sympathy; but she attracted my curiosity, and interested me bythe bold style of her beauty. 

"You Guernsey people are very stiff with strangers, " she remarked, as Isat opposite to her, regarding her with that close observation which ispermitted to a doctor. 

"So the world says, " I answered. "Of course I am no good judge, for weGuernsey people believe ourselves as perfect as any class of the humanfamily. Certainly, we pride ourselves on being a little more difficultof approach than the Jersey people. Strangers are more freely welcomethere than here, unless they bring introductions with them. If you haveany introductions, you will find Guernsey as hospitable a spot as any inthe world. "

"I have been here a week, " she replied, pouting her full crimson lips, "and have not had a chance of speaking a word, except to strangers likemyself who don't know a soul. "

That, then, was the cause of the little indisposition which had obtainedme the honor of attending her. I indulged myself in a mild sarcasm tothat effect, but it was lost upon her. She gazed at me solemnly with herlarge black eyes, which shone like beads. 

"I am really ill, " she said, "but it has nothing to do with not seeinganybody, though that's dull. There's nothing for me to do but take abath in the morning, and a drive in the afternoon, and go to bed veryearly. Good gracious! it's enough to drive me mad!"

"Try Jersey, " I suggested. 

"No, I'll not try Jersey, " she said. "I mean to make my way here. Don'tyou know anybody, doctor, that would take pity on a poor stranger?"

"I am sorry to say no, " I answered. 

She frowned at that, and looked disappointed. I was about to ask her howshe knew the Seniors, when she spoke again. 

"Do you have many visitors come to Guernsey late in the autumn, as lateas October?" she inquired. 

"Not many, " I answered; "a few may arrive who intend to winter here. "

"A dear young friend of mine came here last autumn, " she said, "alone, as I am, and I've been wondering, ever since I've been here, however shewould get along among such a set of stiff, formal, stand-offish folks. She had not money enough for a dash, or that would make a difference, Isuppose. "

"Not the least, " I replied, "if your friend came without anyintroductions. "

"What a dreary winter she'd have!" pursued my patient, with a tone ofexultation. "She was quite young, and as pretty as a picture. All theyoung men would know her, I'll be bound, and you among them, Dr. Martin. Any woman who isn't a fright gets stared at enough to be known again. "

Could this woman know any thing of Olivia? I looked at her moreearnestly and critically. She was not a person I should like Olivia tohave any thing to do with. A coarse, ill-bred, bold woman, whose eyesmet mine unabashed, and did not blink under my scrutiny. Could she beOlivia's step-mother, who had been the ruin of her life?

"I'd bet a hundred to one you know her, " she said, laughing and showingall her white teeth. "A girl like her couldn't go about a little pokyplace like this without all the young men knowing her. Perhaps she leftthe island in the spring. I have asked at all the drapers' shops, butnobody recollects her. I've very good news for her if I could findher--a slim, middle-sized girl, with a clear, fair skin, and gray eyes, and hair of a bright brown. Stay, I can show you her photograph. "

She put into my hands an exquisite portrait of Olivia, taken inFlorence. There was an expression of quiet mournfulness in the face, which touched me to the core of my heart. I could not put it down andspeak indifferently about it. My heart beat wildly, and I felt temptedto run off with the treasure and return no more to this woman. 

"Ah! you recognize her!" she exclaimed triumphantly. 

"I never saw such a person in Guernsey, " I answered, looking steadilyinto her face. A sullen and gloomy expression came across it, and shesnatched the portrait out of my hand. 

"You want to keep it a secret, " she said, "but I defy you to do it. I amcome here to find her, and find her I will. She hasn't drowned herself, and the earth hasn't swallowed her up. I've traced her as far as here, and that I tell you. She crossed in the Southampton boat one dreadfullystormy night last October--the only lady passenger--and the stewardessrecollects her well. She landed here. You must know something abouther. "

"I assure you I never saw that girl here, " I replied, evasively. "Whatinquiries have you made after her?"

"I've inquired here, and there, and everywhere, " she said. "I've donenothing else ever since I came. It is of great importance to her, aswell as to me, that I should find her. It's a very anxious thing when agirl like that disappears and is never heard of again, all because shehas a little difference with her friends. If you could help me to findher you would do her family a very great service. "

"Why do you fix upon me?" I inquired. "Why did you not send for one ofthe resident doctors? I left Guernsey some time ago. "

"You were here last winter, " she said; "and you're a young man, andwould notice her more. "

"There are other young doctors in Guernsey, " I remarked. 

"Ah! but you've been in London, " she answered, "and I know something ofDr. Senior. When you are in a strange place you catch at any chance ofan acquaintance. "

"Come, be candid with me, " I said. "Did not Messrs. Scott and Brown sendyou here?"

The suddenness of my question took her off her guard and startled her. She hesitated, stammered, and finally denied it with more than naturalemphasis. 

"I could take my oath I don't know any such persons, " she answered. "Idon't know whom you mean, or what you mean. All I want is quite honest. There is a fortune waiting for that poor girl, and I want to take herback to those who love her, and are ready to forgive and forget everything. I feel sure you know something of her. But no body except me andher other friends have any thing to do with it. "

"Well, " I said, rising to take my leave, "all the information I can giveyou is, that I never saw such a person here, either last winter orsince. It is quite possible she went on to Jersey, or to Granville, whenthe storm was over. That she did not stay in Guernsey, I am quite sure. "

I went away in a fever of anxiety. The woman, who was certainly not alady, had inspired me with a repugnance that I could not describe. Therewas an ingrain coarseness about her--a vulgarity excessively distastefulto me as in any way connected with Olivia. The mystery which surroundedher was made the deeper by it. Surely, this person could not be relatedto Olivia! I tried to guess in what relationship to her she couldpossibly stand. There was the indefinable delicacy and refinement of alady, altogether independent of her surroundings, so apparent in Olivia, that I could not imagine her as connected by blood with this woman. Yetwhy and how should such a person have any right to pursue her? I feltmore chafed than I had ever done about Olivia's secret. 

I tried to satisfy myself with the reflection that I had put Tardif onhis guard, and that he would protect her. But that did not set my mindat ease. I never knew a mother yet who believed that any other womancould nurse her sick child as well as herself; and I could not bepersuaded that even Tardif would shield Olivia from danger and troubleas I could, if I were only allowed the privilege. Yet my promise toJulia bound me to hold no communication with her. Besides, this wassurely no time to occupy myself with any other woman in the world thanmy mother. She herself, good, and amiable, and self-forgetting, as shewas, might feel a pang of jealousy, and I ought not to be the one to adda single drop of bitterness to the cup she was drinking. 

On the other hand, I was distracted at the thought that this strangermight discover the place of Olivia's retreat, from which there was nochance of escape if it were once discovered. A hiding-place like Sarkbecomes a trap as soon as it is traced out. Should this woman catch theecho of those rumors which had circulated so widely through Guernseyless than three months ago--and any chance conversation with one of ourown people might bring them to her ears--then farewell to Olivia'ssafety and concealment. Here was the squall which had been foretold byJack. I cursed the idle curiosity of mine which had exposed her to thisdanger. 

I had strolled down some of the quieter streets of the town while I wasturning this affair over in my mind, and now, as I crossed the end ofRue Haute, I caught sight of Kate Daltrey turning into a milliner'sshop. There was every reasonable probability that she would not come outagain soon, for I saw a bonnet reached out of the window. If she weregone to buy a bonnet, she was safe for half an hour, and Julia would bealone. I had felt a strong desire to see Julia ever since I returnedhome. My mind was made up on the spot. I knew her so well as to becertain that, if I found her in a gentle mood, she would, at any rate, release me from the promise she had extorted from me when she was in thefirst heat of her anger and disappointment. It was a chance worthtrying. If I were free to declare to Olivia my love for her, I shouldestablish a claim upon her full confidence, and we could laugh atfurther difficulties. She was of age, and, therefore, mistress ofherself. Her friends, represented by this odious woman, could have nolegal authority over her. 

I turned shortly up a side-street, and walked as fast as I could towardthe house which was to have been our home. By a bold stroke I mightreach Julia's presence. I rang, and the maid who answered the bellopened wide eyes of astonishment at seeing me there. I passed byquickly. 

"I wish to speak to Miss Dobrée, " I said. "Is she in the drawing-room?"

"Yes, sir, " she answered, in a hesitating tone. 

I waited for nothing more, but knocked at the drawing-room door formyself, and heard Julia call, "Come in. "

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

SET FREE. 

Julia looked very much the same as she had done that evening when I camereluctantly to tell her that my heart was not in her keeping, butbelonged to another. She wore the same kind of fresh, light muslindress, with ribbons and lace about it, and she sat near the window, witha piece of needle-work in her hands; yet she was not sewing, and herhands lay listlessly on her lap. But, for this attitude of dejection, Icould have imagined that it was the same day and the same hour, and thatshe was still ignorant of the change in my feelings toward her. If ithad not been for our perverse fate, we should now be returning from ourwedding-trip, and receiving the congratulations of our friends. Amingled feeling of sorrow, pity, and shame, prevented me from advancinginto the room. She looked up to see who was standing in the doorway, andmy appearance there evidently alarmed and distressed her. 

"Martin!" she cried. 

"May I come in and speak to you, Julia?" I asked. 

"Is my aunt worse?" she inquired, hurriedly. "Are you come to fetch meto her?"

"No, no, Julia, " I said; "my mother is as well as usual, I hope. Butsurely you will let me speak to you after all this time?"

"It is not a long time, " she answered. 

"Has it not been long to you?" I asked. "It seems years to me. All lifehas changed for me. I had no idea then of my mother's illness. "

"Nor I, " she said, sighing deeply. 

"If I had known it, " I continued, "all this might not have happened. Surely, the troubles I shall have to bear must plead with you for me!"

"Yes, Martin, " she answered; "yes, I am very sorry for you. "

She came forward and offered me her hand, but without looking into myface. I saw that she had been crying, for her eyes were red. In a toneof formal politeness she asked me if I would not sit down. I consideredit best to remain standing, as an intimation that I should not troubleher with my presence for long. 

"My mother loves you very dearly, Julia, " I ventured to say, after along pause, which she did not seem inclined to break. I had no time tolose, lest Kate Daltrey should come in, and it was a very difficultsubject to approach. 

"Not more than I love her, " she said, warmly. "Aunt Dobrée has been asgood to me as any mother could have been. I love her as dearly as mymother. Have you seen her since I was with her this afternoon?"

"No. I have just come from visiting a very curious patient, and have notbeen home yet. "

I hoped Julia would catch at the word curious, and make some inquirieswhich would open a way for me; but she seemed not to hear it, andanother silence fell upon us both. For the life of me I could not uttera syllable of what I had come to say. 

"We were talking of you, " she said at length, in a harried and thickvoice. "Aunt is in great sorrow about you. It preys upon her day andnight that you will be dreadfully alone when she is gone, and--and--Martin, she wishes to know before she dies that the girl inSark will become your wife. "

The word struck like a shot upon my ear and brain. What! had Julia andmy mother been arranging between them my happiness and Olivia's safetythat very afternoon? Such generosity was incredible. I could not believeI had heard aright. 

"She has seen the girl, " continued Julia, in the same husky tone, whichshe could not compel to be clear and calm; "and she is convinced she isno adventuress. Johanna says the same. They tell me it is unreasonableand selfish in me to doom you to the dreadful loneliness I feel. If AuntDobrée asked me to pluck out my right eye just now, I could not refuse. It is something like that, but I have promised to do it. I release youfrom every promise you ever made to me, Martin. "

"Julia!" I cried, crossing to her and bending over her with more loveand admiration than I had ever felt before; "this is very noble, verygenerous. "

"No, " she said, bursting into tears; "I am neither noble nor generous. Ido it because I cannot help myself, with aunt's white face looking soimploringly at me. I do not give you up willingly to that girl in Sark. I hope I shall never see her or you for many, many years. Aunt says youwill have no chance of marrying her till you are settled in a practicesomewhere; but you are free to ask her to be your wife. Aunt wants youto have somebody to love you and care for you after she is gone, as Ishould have done. "

"But you are generous to consent to it, " I said again. 

"So, " she answered, wiping her eyes, and lifting up her head; "I thoughtI was generous; I thought I was a Christian, but it is not easy to be aChristian when one is mortified, and humbled, and wounded. I am a greatdisappointment to myself; quite as great as you are to me. I fanciedmyself very superior to what I am. I hope you may not be disappointed inthat girl in Sark. "

The latter words were not spoken in an amiable tone, but this was notime for criticising Julia. She had made a tremendous sacrifice, thatwas evident; and a whole sacrifice without any blemish is very rarelyoffered up nowadays, however it may have been in olden times. I couldnot look at her dejected face and gloomy expression without a keen senseof self-reproach. 

"Julia, " I said, "I shall never be quite happy--no, not with Olivia asmy wife--unless you and I are friends. We have grown up together toomuch as brother and sister, for me to have you taken right out of mylife without a feeling of great loss. It is I who would lose a righthand or a right eye in losing you. Some day we must be friends again aswe used to be. "

"It is not very likely, " she answered; "but you had better go now, Martin. It is very painful to me for you to be here. "

I could not stay any longer after that dismissal. Her hand was lying onher lap, and I stooped down and kissed it, seeing on it still the ring Ihad given her when we were first engaged. She did not look at me or bidme good-by; and I went out of the house, my veins tingling with shameand gladness. I met Captain Carey coming up the street, with a basket offine grapes in his hand. He appeared very much amazed. 

"Why, Martin!" he exclaimed; "can you have been to see Julia?"

"Yes, " I answered. 

"Reconciled?" he said, arching his eyebrows, which were still dark andbushy though his hair was grizzled. 

"Not exactly, " I replied, with a stiff smile, exceedingly difficult toforce; "nothing of the sort indeed. Captain, when will you take meacross to Sark?"

"Come, come! none of that, Martin, " he said; "you're on honor, you know. You are pledged to poor Julia not to visit Sark again. "

"She has just set me free, " I answered; and out of the fulness of myheart I told him all that had just passed between us. His eyesglistened, though a film came across them which he had to wipe away. 

"She is a noble girl, " he ejaculated; "a fine, generous, noble girl. Ireally thought she'd break her heart over you at first, but she willcome round again now. We will have a run over to Sark to-morrow. "

I felt myself lifted into a third heaven of delight all that evening. Mymother and I talked of no one but Olivia. The present rapture socompletely eclipsed the coming sorrow, that I forgot how soon it wouldbe upon me. I remember now that my mother neither by word nor signsuffered me to be reminded of her illness. She listened to myrhapsodies, smiling with her divine, pathetic smile. There is no love, no love at all, like that of a mother!

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. 

A BRIGHT BEGINNING. 

Not the next day, which was wet and windy, but the day following, didCaptain Carey take me over to Sark. I had had time to talk over all myplans for the future with my mother, and I bore with me many messagesfrom her to the girl I was about to ask to become my wife. 

Coxcomb as I was, there was no doubt in my mind that I could win Olivia. 

To explain my coxcombry is not a very easy task. I do not suppose I hada much higher sense of my own merits than such as is common to man. Iadmit I was neither shy nor nervous on the one hand, but on the other Iwas not blatantly self-conceited. It is possible that my course throughlife hitherto--first as an only son adored by his mother, and secondlyas an exceedingly eligible _parti_ in a circle where there were very fewyoung men of my rank and family, and where there were twenty or moremarriageable women to one unmarried man--had a great deal to do with myfeeling of security with regard to this unknown, poor, and friendlessstranger. But, added to this, there was Olivia's own frank, unconcealedpleasure in seeing me, whenever I had had a chance of visiting her, andthe freedom with which she had always conversed with me upon any topicexcept that of her own mysterious position. I was sure I had made afavorable impression upon her. In fact, when I had been talking withher, I had given utterance to brighter and clearer thoughts than I hadever been conscious of before. A word from her, a simple question, seemed to touch the spring of some hidden treasure of my brain, and Ihad surprised myself by what I had been enabled to say to her. It wasthis, probably more than her beauty, which had drawn me to her and mademe happy in her companionship. No, I had never shown myselfcontemptible, but quite the reverse, in her presence. No doubt ormisgiving assailed me as the yacht carried us out of St. Sampson'sHarbor. 

Swiftly we ran across, with a soft wind drifting over the sea andplaying upon our faces, and a long furrow lying in the wake of our boat. It was almost low tide when we reached the island--the best time forseeing the cliffs. They were standing well out of the water, scarred andchiselled with strange devices, and glowing in the August sunlight withtints of the most gorgeous coloring, while their feet, swathed withbrown seaweed, were glistening with the dashing of the waves. I had seennothing like them since I had been there last, and the view of thesewild, rugged crags, with their regal robes of amber and gold and silver, almost oppressed me with delight. If I could but see Olivia on thissummit!

The currents and the wind had been in favor of our running through thechannel between Sark and Jethou, and so landing at the Creux Harbor, onthe opposite coast of the island to the Havre Gosselin. I crossed inheadlong haste, for I was afraid of meeting with Julia's friends, orsome of my own acquaintances who were spending the summer months there. I found Tardif's house completely deserted. The only sign of life was afamily of hens clucking about the fold. 

The door was not fastened, and I entered, but there was nobody there. Istood in the middle of the kitchen and called, but there was no answer. Olivia's door was ajar, and I pushed it a little more open. There laybooks I had lent her on the table, and her velvet slippers were on thefloor, as if they had only just been taken off. Very worn and brown werethe little slippers, but they reassured me she had been wearing them ashort time ago. 

I returned through the fold and mounted the bank that sheltered thehouse, to see if I could discover any trace of her, or Tardif, or hismother. All the place seemed left to itself. Tardif's sheep werebrowsing along the cliffs, and his cows were tethered here and there, but nobody appeared to be tending them. At last I caught sight of a headrising from behind a crag, the rough shock head of a boy, and I shoutedto him, making a trumpet with my hands. 

"Where is neighbor Tardif?" I called. 

"Down below there, " he shouted back again, pointing downward to theHavre Gosselin. I did not wait for any further information, but dartedoff down the long, steep gulley to the little strand, where the pebbleswere being lapped lazily by the ripple of the lowering tide. Tardif'sboat was within a stone's throw, and I saw Olivia sitting in the sternof it. I shouted again with a vehemence which made them both start. 

"Come back, Tardif, " I cried, "and take me with you. "

The boat was too far off for me to see how my sudden appearance affectedOlivia. Did she turn white or red at the sound of my voice? By the timeit neared the shore, and I plunged in knee-deep to meet it, her face wasbright with smiles, and her hands were stretched out to help me over theboat's side. 

If Tardif had not been there, I should have kissed them both. As it was, I tucked up my wet legs out of reach of her dress, and took an oar, unable to utter a word of the gladness I felt. 

I recovered myself in a few seconds, and touched her hand, and graspedTardif's with almost as much force as he gripped mine. 

"Where are you going to?" I asked, addressing neither of them inparticular. 

"Tardif was going to row me past the entrance to the Gouliot Caves, "answered Olivia, "but we will put it off now. We will return to theshore, and hear all your adventures, Dr. Martin. You come upon us like aphantom, and take an oar in ghostly silence. Are you really, trulythere?"

"I am no phantom, " I said, touching her hand again. "No, we will not goback to the shore. Tardif shall row us to the caves, and I will take youinto them, and then we two will return along the cliffs. Would you likethat, mam'zelle?"

"Very much, " she answered, the smile still playing about her face. Itwas brown and freckled with exposure to the sun, but so full of healthand life as to be doubly beautiful to me, who saw so many wan and sicklyfaces. There was a bloom and freshness about her, telling of pure air, and peaceful hours and days spent in the sunshine. I was seated on thebench before Tardif, with my back to him, and Olivia was in front ofme--she, and the gorgeous cliffs, and the glistening sea, and thecloudless sky overhead. No, there is no language on earth that couldpaint the rapture of that moment. 

"Doctor, " said Tardif's deep, grave voice behind me, "your mother, isshe better?"

It was like the sharp prick of a poniard, which presently you knew mustpierce your heart. 

The one moment of rapture had fled. The paradise, that had been about mefor an instant, with no hint of pain, faded out of my sight. But Oliviaremained, and her face grew sad, and her voice low and sorrowful, as sheleaned forward to speak to me. 

"I have been so grieved for you, " she said. "Your mother came to see meonce, and promised to be my friend. Is it true? Is she so very ill?""Quite true, " I answered, in a choking voice. 

We said no more for some minutes, and the splash of the oars in thewater was the only sound. Olivia's air continued sad, and her eyes weredowncast, as if she shrank from looking me in the face. 

"Pardon me, doctor, " said Tardif in our own dialect, which Olivia couldnot understand, "I have made you sorry when you were having a littlegladness. Is your mother very ill?"

"There is no hope, Tardif, " I answered, looking round at his honest andhandsome face, full of concern for me. 

"May I speak to you as an old friend?" he asked. "You love mam'zelle, and you are come to tell her so?"

"What makes you think that?" I said. 

"I see it in your face, " he answered, lowering his voice, though he knewOlivia could not tell what we were saying. "Your marriage withmademoiselle your cousin was broken off--why? Do you suppose I did notguess? I knew it from the first-week you stayed with us. Nobody couldsee mam'zelle as we see her, without loving her. "

"The Sark folks say you are in love with her yourself, Tardif, " I said, almost against my will, and certainly without any intention beforehandof giving expression to such a rumor. 

His lips contracted and his face saddened, but he met my eyes frankly. 

"It is true, " he answered; "but what then? If it had only pleased God tomake me like you, or that she should be of my class, I would have donemy utmost to win her. But that is impossible! See, I am nothing elsethan a servant in her eyes. I do not know how to be any thing else, andI am content. She is as far above my reach as one of the white clouds upyonder. To think of myself as any thing but her servant would beirreligious. "

"You are a good fellow, Tardif, " I exclaimed. 

"God is the judge, of that, " he said, with a sigh. "Mam'zelle thinks ofme only as her servant. 'My good Tardif, do this, or do that. ' I likeit. I do not know any happier moment than when I hold her little bootsin my hand and brush them. You see she is as helpless and tender as mylittle wife was; but she is very much higher than my poor little wife. Yes, I love her as I love the blue sky, and the white clouds and thestars shining in the night. But it will be quite different between herand you. "

"I hope so, " I thought to myself. 

"You do not feel like a servant, " he continued, his oars dipping alittle too deeply and setting the boat a-rocking. "By-and-by, when youare married, she will look up to you and obey you. I do not understandaltogether why the good God has made this difference between us two; butI see it and feel it. It would be fitting for you to be her husband; itwould be a shame to her to become my wife. "

"Are you grieved about it, Tardif?" I asked. 

"No, no, " he answered; "we have always been good friends, you and I, doctor. No, you shall marry her, and I will be happy. I will come tovisit you sometimes, and she will call me her good Tardif. That isenough for me. "

"What are you talking about?" asked Olivia. It was impossible to tellher, or to continue the conversation. Moreover, the narrow channelbetween Breckhou and Sark is so strong in its current, that it requiredboth caution and skill to steer the boat amid the needle-like points ofthe rocks. At last we gained one of the entrances to the caves, but wecould not pull the boat quite up to the strand. A few paces of shallowwater, clear as glass, with pebbles sparkling like gems beneath it, laybetween us and the caves. 

"Tardif, " I said, "you need not wait for us. We will return by thecliffs. "

"You know the Gouliot Caves as well as I do?" he replied, though in adoubtful tone. 

"All right!" I said, as I swung over the side of the boat into thewater, when I found myself knee-deep. Olivia looked from me to Tardifwith a flushed face--an augury that made my pulses leap. Why should herface never change when he carried her in his arms? Why should sheshrink from me?

"Are you as strong as Tardif?" she asked, lingering and hesitatingbefore she would trust herself to me. 

"Almost, if not altogether, " I answered gayly. "I'm strong enough toundertake to carry you without wetting the soles of your feet. Come, itis not more than half a dozen yards. "

She was standing on the bench I had just left, looking down at me withthe same vivid flush upon her cheeks and forehead, and with an uneasyexpression in her eyes. Before she could speak again I put my arms roundher, and lifted her down. 

"You are quite as light as a feather, " I said, laughing, as I carriedher to the strip of moist and humid strand under the archway in therocks. As I put her down I looked back to Tardif, and saw him regardingus with grave and sorrowful eyes. 

"Adieu!" he cried; "I am going to look after my lobster-pots. God blessyou both!"

He spoke the last words heartily; and we stood watching him as long ashe was in sight. Then we went on into the caves. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. 

THE GOULIOT CAVES. 

Olivia was very silent. 

The coast of Sark shows some of the most fantastic workmanship of thesea, but the Gouliot Caves are its wildest and maddest freak. A strong, swift current sets in from the southwest, and being lashed into a giddyfury by the lightest southwest wind, it has hewn out of the rock aseries of cells, and grottos, and alcoves, some of them running farinland, in long, vaulted passages and corridors, with now and then ashaft or funnel in the rocky roof, through which the light streams downinto recesses far from the low porches, which open from the sea. Hereand there a crooked, twisted tunnel forms a skylight overhead, and theblue heavens look down through it like a far-off eye. You cannot numberthe caverns and niches. Everywhere the sea has bored alleys andgalleries, or hewn out solemn aisles, with arches intersecting eachother, and running off into capricious furrows and mouldings. There areinnumerable refts, and channels, and crescents, and cupolas, half-finished or only hinted at. There are chambers of every height andshape, leading into one another by irregular portals, but all rough andrude, as though there might have been an original plan, from which, while the general arrangement is kept, every separate stroke perverselydiverged. 

But another, and not a secondary, curiosity of this ocean-labyrinth is, that it is the habitat of a multitude of marine creatures, not to beseen at home in many other places. Except twice a month, at theneaptides, the lower chambers are filled with the sea; and here live andflourish thousands, upon thousands of those mollusks and zoophytes whichcan exist only in its salt waters. The sides of the caves, as far as thehighest tides swept, were studded with crimson and purple and ambermollusca, glistening like jewels in the light pouring down upon themfrom the eyelet-openings overhead. Not the space of a finger-tip wasclear. Above them in the clefts of the rock hung fringes of delicateferns of the most vivid green, while here and there were nooks andcrevices of profound darkness, black with perpetual, unbroken shadow. 

I had known the caves well when I was a boy, but it was many years sinceI had been there. Now I was alone in them with Olivia, no other humanbeing in sight or sound of us. I had scarcely eyes for any sight butthat of her face, which had grown shy and downcast, and was generallyturned away from me. She would be frightened, I thought, if I spoke toher in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, inthe open eye of day. 

She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for ayoung pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it withits inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gaveup my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She wasstooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high, and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel oftransparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth, sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side ofit. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if itwas stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could havepeopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly downit. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes. 

"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice, " she said, in a tremulous voice. 

"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portraittaken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a rightto hear about all her wanderings. 

"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and thisplace is like it. "

"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears. 

"It was a hateful time, " she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it. I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, whoare so clever, can tell me that. "

"That is simple enough, " I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of ourlife makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while thatremains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written onour brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia. "

"I know I shall remember it, " she answered, in a low tone. 

"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talkabout herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till wewere out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on mytongue's end. 

"We travelled nearly all over Europe, " she replied. 

I wondered whom she meant by "we. " She had never used the plural pronounbefore, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey--an unpleasantrecollection. 

We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapidcurrent between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, whichshowed the more plainly because the day was calm, and the open seasmooth. Olivia stood near me; but a sort of chilly diffidence had creptover me, and I could not have ventured to press too closely to her, orto touch her with my hand. 

"How have you been content to live here?" I asked. 

"This year in Sark has saved me, " she answered, softly. 

"What has it saved you from?" I inquired, with intense eagerness. Sheturned her face full upon me, with a world of reproach in her gray eyes. 

"Dr. Martin, " she said, "why will you persist in asking me about myformer life? Tardif never does. He never implies by a word or look thathe wishes to know more than I choose to tell. I cannot tell you anything about it. "

I felt uncomfortably that she was drawing a comparison unfavorable to mebetween Tardif and myself--the gentleman, who could not conquer orconceal his desire to fathom a mystery, and the fisherman, who acted asif there were no mystery at all. Yet Olivia appeared more grieved thanoffended; and when she knew how I loved her she would admit that mycuriosity was natural. She should know, too, that I was willing to takeher as she was, with all the secrets of her former life kept from me. Some day I would make her own I was as generous as Tardif. 

Just then my ear caught for the first time a low boom-boom, which hadprobably been sounding through the caves for some minutes. 

"Good Heavens!" I ejaculated. 

Yet a moment's thought convinced me that, though there might be a littlerisk, there was no paralyzing danger. I had forgotten the narrowness ofthe gully through which alone we could gain the cliffs. From the openspan of beach where we were now standing, there was no chance of leavingthe caves except as we had come to them, by a boat; for on each side acrag ran like a spur into the water. The comparatively open spacepermitted the tide to lap in quietly, and steal imperceptibly higherupon its pebbles. But the low boom I heard was the sea rushing inthrough the throat of the narrow outlet through which lay our only meansof escape. There was not a moment to lose. Without a word, I snatched upOlivia in my arms, and ran back into the caves, making as rapidly as Icould for the long, straight passage. 

Neither did Olivia speak a word or utter a cry. We found ourselves in alow tunnel, where the water was beginning to flow in pretty strongly. Iset her down for an instant, and tore off my coat and waistcoat. Then Icaught her up again, and strode along over the slippery, slimy masses ofrock which lay under my feet, covered with seaweed. 

"Olivia, " I said, "I must have my right hand free to steady myself with. Put both your arms round my neck, and cling to me so. Don't touch myarms or shoulders. "

Yet the clinging of her arms about my neck, and her cheek close to mine, almost unnerved me. I held her fast with my left arm, and steadiedmyself with my right. We gained in a minute or two the mouth of thetunnel. The drift was pouring into it with a force almost too great forme, burdened as I was. But there was the pause of the tide, when thewaves rushed out again in white floods, leaving the water comparativelyshallow. There were still six or eight yards to traverse before we couldreach an archway in the cliffs, which would land us in safety in theouter caves. Across this small space the tide came in strongly, beatingagainst the foot of the rocks, and rebounding with great force. Therewas some peril; but we had no alternative. I lifted Olivia a littlehigher against my shoulder, for her long serge dress wrapped dangerouslyaround us both; and then, waiting for the pause in the throbbing of thetide, I dashed hastily across. 

One swirl of the water coiled about us, washing up nearly to my throat, and giving me almost a choking sensation of dread; but before a secondcould swoop down upon us I had staggered half-blinded to the arch, andput down Olivia in the small, secure cave within it. She had not spokenonce. She did not seem able to speak now. Her large, terrified eyeslooked up at me dumbly, and her face was white to the lips. I claspedher in my arms once more, and kissed her forehead and lips again andagain in a paroxysm of passionate love and gladness. 

"Thank God!" I cried. "How I love you, Olivia!"

I had told her only a few minutes before that the brain is ineffaceablystamped with the impress of every event in our lives. But how much moredeeply do some events burn themselves there than others' I see it allnow--more clearly, it seems to me, than my eyes saw it then. There isthe huge, high entrance to the outer caves where we are standing, with amassive lintel of rocks overhead, all black but for a few purple andgray tints scattered across the blackness. Behind us the sea isglistening, and prismatic colors play upon the cliffs. Shadows fall fromrocks we cannot see. Olivia stands before me, pale and terrified, thewater running from her heavy dress, which clings about her slenderfigure. She shrinks away from me a pace or two. 

"Hush!" she cries, in a tone of mingled pain and dread--"hush!"

There was something so positive, so prohibitory in her voice andgesture, that my heart contracted, and a sudden chill of despondency ranthrough me. But I could not be silent now. It was impossible for me tohold my peace, even at her bidding. 

"Why do you say hush?" I asked, peremptorily. "I love you, Olivia. Isthere any reason why I should not love you?"

"Yes, " she said, very slowly and with quivering lips. "I was marriedfour years ago, and my husband is living still!"

CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH. 

A GLOOMY ENDING. 

Olivia's answer struck me like an electric shock. For some moments I wassimply stunned, and knew neither what she had said, nor where we were. 

I suppose half a minute had elapsed before I fairly received the meaningof her words into my bewildered brain. It seemed as if they werethundering in my ears, though she had uttered them in a low, frightenedvoice. I scarcely understood them when I looked up and saw her leaningagainst the rock, with her hands covering her face. 

"Olivia!" I cried, stretching out my arms toward her, as though shewould flutter back to them and lay her head again where it had beenresting upon my shoulder, with her face against my neck. 

But she did not see my gesture, and the next moment I knew that shecould never let me hold her in my arms again. I dared not even take onestep nearer to her. 

"Olivia, " I said again, after another minute or two of troubled silence, with no sound but the thunders of the sea reverberating through theperilous strait where we had almost confronted death together--"Olivia, is it true?"

She bowed her head still lower upon her hands, in speechlessconfirmation. A stricken, helpless, cowering child she seemed to me, standing there in her drenched clothing. An unutterable tenderness, altogether different from the feverish passion of a few minutes ago, filled my heart as I looked at her. 

"Come, " I said, as calmly as I could speak, "I am at any rate yourdoctor, and I am bound to take care of you. You must not stay here wetand cold. Let us make haste back to Tardif's, Olivia. "

I drew her hand down from her face and through my arm, for we had stillto re-enter the outer cave, and to return through a higher gallery, before we could reach the cliffs above. I did not glance at her. Theroad was very rough, strewed with huge bowlders, and she was compelledto receive my help. But we did not speak again till we were on thecliffs, in the eye of day, with our faces and our steps turned towardTardif's farm. 

"Oh!" she cried, suddenly, in a tone that made my heart ache the keener, "how sorry I am!"

"Sorry that I love you?" I asked, feeling that my love was growing everymoment in spite of myself. The sun shone on her face, which was justbelow my eyes. There was an expression of sad perplexity and questioningupon it, which kept away every other sign of emotion. She lifted hereyes to me frankly, and no flush of color came over her pale cheeks. 

"Yes, " she answered; "it is such a miserable, unfortunate thing for you. But how could I have helped it?"

"You could not help it, " I said. 

"I did not mean to deceive you, " she continued--"neither you nor anyone. When I fled away from him I had no plan of any kind. I was justlike a leaf driven about by the wind, and it tossed me here. I did notthink I ought to tell any one I was married. I wish I could haveforeseen this. Why did God let me have that accident in the spring? Whydid he let you come over to see me?"

"Are you surprised that I love you?" I asked. 

Now I saw a subtle flush steal across her face, and her eyes fell to theground. 

"I never thought of it till this afternoon, " she murmured. "I knew youwere going to marry your cousin Julia, and I knew I was married, andthat there could be no release from that. All my life is ruined, but youand Tardif made it more bearable. I did not think you loved me till Isaw your face this afternoon. "

"I shall always love you, " I cried, passionately, looking down on theshining, drooping head beside me, and the sad face and listless armshanging down in an attitude of dejection. She seemed so forlorn acreature that I wished I could take her to my heart again; but that wasimpossible now. 

"No, " she answered in her calm, sorrowful voice. "When you see clearlythat it is an evil thing, you will conquer it. There will be no hopewhatever in your love for me, and it will pass away. Not soon, perhaps;I can scarcely wish you to forget me soon. Yet it would be wrong for youto love me now. Why was I driven to marry him so long ago?"

A sharp, bitter tone rang through her quiet voice, and for a moment shehid her face in her hands. 

"Olivia, " I said, "it is harder upon me than you can think, or I cantell. "

She had not the faintest notion of how hard this trial was. I hadsacrificed every plan and purpose of my life in the hope of winning her. I had cast away, almost as a worthless thing, the substantial prosperitywhich had been within my grasp, and now that I stretched out my hand forthe prize, I found it nothing but an empty shadow. Deeper even than thislay the thought of my mother's bitter disappointment. 

"Your husband must have treated you very badly, before you would takesuch a desperate step as this, " I said again, after a long silence, scarcely knowing what I said. 

"He treated me so ill, " said Olivia, with the same hard tone in hervoice, "that when I had a chance of escape it seemed as if God Himselfopened the door for me. He treated me so ill that, if I thought therewas any fear of him finding me out here, I would rather a thousand timesyou had left me to die in the caves. "

That brought to my mind what I had almost forgotten--the woman whom myimprudent curiosity had brought into pursuit; of her. I felt ready tocurse my folly aloud, as I did in my heart, for having gone to Messrs. Scott and Brown. 

"Olivia, " I said, "there is a woman in Guernsey who has some clew toyou--"

But I could say no more, for I thought she would have fallen to theground in her terror. I drew her hand through my arm, and hastened toreassure her. 

"No harm can come to you, " I continued, "while Tardif and I are here toprotect you. Do not frighten yourself; we will defend you from everydanger. "

"Martin, " she whispered--and the pleasant familiarity of my name spokenby her gave me a sharp pang, almost of gladness--"no one can help me ordefend me. The law would compel me to go back to him. A woman's heartmay be broken without the law being broken. I could prove nothing thatwould give me a right to be free--nothing. So I took it into my ownhands. I tell you I would rather have been drowned this afternoon. Whydid you save me?"

I did not answer, except by pressing her hand against my side. I hurriedher on silently toward the cottage. She was shivering in her cold, wetdress, and trembling with fear. It was plain to me that even her finehealth should not be trifled with, and I loved her too tenderly, herpoor, shivering, trembling frame, to let her suffer if I could help it. When we reached the fold-yard gate, I stopped her for a moment to speakonly a few words. 

"Go in. " I said, "and change, every one of your wet clothes. I will seeyou again, once again, when we can talk with one another calmly. Godbless and take care of you, my darling!"

She smiled faintly, and laid her hand in mine. 

"You forgive me?" she said. 

"Forgive you!" I repeated, kissing the small brown hand lingeringly; "Ihave nothing to forgive. "

She went on across the little fold and into the house, without lookingback toward me. I could see her pass through the kitchen into her ownroom, where I had watched her through the struggle between life anddeath, which had first made her dear to me. Then I made my way, blindand deaf, to the edge of the cliff, seeing nothing, hearing-nothing. Iflung myself down on the turf with my face to the ground, to hide myeyes from the staring light of the summer sun. 

Already it seemed a long time since I had known that Olivia was married. The knowledge had lost its freshness and novelty, and the sting of ithad become a rooted sorrow. There was no mystery about her now. I almostlaughed, with a resentful bitterness, at the poor guesses I had made. This was the solution, and it placed her forever out of my reach. Aswith Tardif, so she could be nothing for me now, but as the blue sky, and the white clouds, and the stars shining in the night. My poorOlivia! whom I loved a hundredfold more than I had done even thismorning. This morning I had been full of my own triumph and gladness. Now I had nothing in my heart but a vast pity and reverential tendernessfor her. 

Married? That was what she had said. It shut out all hope for thefuture. She must have been a mere child four years ago; she looked veryyoung and girlish still. And her husband treated her ill--my Olivia, forwhom I had given up all I had to give. She said the law would compel herto return to him, and I could do nothing. I could not interfere even tosave her from a life which was worse to her than death. 

My heart was caught in a vice, and there was no escape from the tortureof its relentless grip. Whichever way I looked there was sorrow anddespair. I wished, with a faint-heartedness I had never felt before, that Olivia and I had indeed perished together down in the caves wherethe tide was now sweeping below me. 

"Martin!" said a clear, low, tender tone in my ear, which could never bedeaf to that voice. I looked up at Olivia without moving. My head was ather feet, and I laid my hand upon the hem of her dress. 

"Martin, " she said again, "see, I have brought you Tardifs coat in placeof your own. You must not lie here in this way. Captain Carey's yacht iswaiting for you below. "

I staggered giddily when I stood on my feet, and only Olivia's look ofpain steadied me. She had been weeping bitterly. I could not trustmyself to look in her face again. At any rate my next duty was to goaway without adding to her distress, if that were possible. Tardif wasstanding behind her, regarding us both with great concern. 

"Doctor, " he said, "when I came in from my lobster-pots, the captainsent a message by me to say the sun would be gone down before you reachGuernsey. He has come round to the Havre Gosselin. I'll walk down thecliff with you. "

I should have said no, but Olivia caught at his words eagerly. 

"Yes, go, my good Tardif, " she cried, "and bring me word that Dr. Martinis safe on board. --Good-by!"

Her hand in mine again for a moment, with its slight pressure. Then shewas gone, Tardif was tramping down the stony path before me, speaking tome over his shoulder. 

"It has not gone well, then, doctor?" he said. 

"She will tell you, " I answered, briefly, not knowing how much Oliviamight wish him to know. 

"Take care of mam'zelle, " I said, when we had reached the top of theladder, and the little boat from the yacht was dancing at the foot ofit. "There is some danger ahead, and you can protect her better than I. "

"Yes, yes, " he replied; "you may trust her with me. But God knows Ishould have been glad if it had gone well with you. "

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST. 

A STORY IN DETAIL. 

"Well?" said Captain Carey, as I set my foot on the deck. His face wasall excitement; and he put his arm affectionately through mine. 

"It is all wrong, " I answered, gloomily. 

"You don't mean that she will not have you?" he exclaimed. 

I nodded, for I had no spirit to explain the matter just then. 

"By George!" he cried; "and you've thrown over Julia, and offended allour Guernsey folks, and half broken your poor mother's heart, all fornothing!"

The last consideration was the one that stung me to the quick. It _had_half broken my mother's heart. No one knew better than I that it hadwithout doubt tended to shorten her fleeting term of life. At thismoment she was waiting for me to bring her good news--perhaps thepromise that Olivia had consented to become my wife before her own lasthour arrived; for my mother and I had even talked of that. I had thoughtit a romantic scheme when my mother spoke of it, but my passion hadfastened eagerly upon it, in spite of my better judgment. These were thetidings she was waiting to hear from my lips. 

When I reached home I found her full of dangerous excitement. It wasimpossible to allay it without telling her either an untruth or thewhole story. I could not deceive her, and with a desperate calmness Irelated the history of the day. I tried to make light of mydisappointment, but she broke down into tears and wailings. 

"Oh, my boy!" she lamented; "and I did so want to see you happy before Idied: I wanted to leave some one who could comfort you; and Olivia wouldhave comforted you and loved you when I am gone! You had set your heartupon her. Are you sure it is true? My poor, poor Martin, you must forgether now. It becomes a sin for you to love her. "

"I cannot forget her, " I said; "I cannot cease to love her. There can beno sin in it as long as I think of her as I do now. "

"And there is poor Julia!" moaned my mother. 

Yes, there was Julia; and she would have to be told all, though shewould rejoice over it. Of course, she would rejoice; it was not in humannature, at least in Julia's human nature, to do otherwise. She hadwarned me against Olivia; had only set me free reluctantly. But how wasI to tell her? I must not leave to my mother the agitation of impartingsuch tidings. I couldn't think of deputing the task to my father. Therewas no one to do it but myself. 

My mother passed a restless and agitated night, and I, who sat up withher, was compelled to listen to all her lamentation. But toward themorning she fell into a heavy sleep, likely to last for some hours. Icould leave her in perfect security; and at an early hour I went down toJulia's house, strung up to bear the worst, and intending to have it allout with her, and put her on her guard before she paid her daily visitto our house. She must have some hours for her excitement and rejoicingto bubble over, before she came to talk about it to my mother. 

"I wish to see Miss Dobrée, " I said to the girl who quickly answered mynoisy peal of the house-bell. 

"Please, sir, '" was her reply, "she and Miss Daltrey are gone to Sarkwith Captain Carey. "

"Gone to Sark!" I repeated, in utter amazement. 

"Yes, Dr. Martin. They started quite early because of the tide, andCaptain Carey's man brought the carriage to take them to St. Sampson's. I don't look for them back before evening. Miss Dobrée said I was tocome, with her love, and ask how Mrs. Dobrée is to-day, and if she'shome in time she'll come this evening; but if she's late she'll cometo-morrow morning. "

"When did they make up their minds to go to Sark?" I inquired, anxiously. 

"Only late last night, sir, " she answered. "Cook had settled with MissDobrée to dine early to-day; but then Captain Carey came in, and afterhe was gone she said breakfast must be ready at seven this morning intheir own rooms while they were dressing; so they must have settled itwith Captain Carey last night. "

I turned away very much surprised and bewildered, and in an irritablestate which made the least thing jar upon me. Curiosity, which had sleptyesterday, or was numbed by the shock of my disappointment, wasfeverishly awake to-day. How little I knew, after all, of the mysterywhich surrounded Olivia! The bitter core of it I knew, but nothing ofthe many sheaths and envelops which wrapped it about. There might besome hope, some consolation to be found wrapped up with it. I must goagain to Sark in the steamer on Monday, and hear Olivia tell me all shecould tell of her history. 

Then, why were Julia and Kate Daltrey gone to Sark? What could they haveto do with Olivia? It made me almost wild with anger to think of themfinding Olivia, and talking to her perhaps of me and mylove--questioning her, arguing with her, tormenting her! The barethought of those two badgering my Olivia was enough to drive me frantic. 

In the cool twilight, Julia and Kate Daltrey were announced. I was aboutto withdraw from my mother's room, in conformity with the etiquetteestablished among us, when Julia recalled me in a gentler voice than shehad used toward me since the day of my fatal confession. 

"Stay, Martin, " she said; "what we have to tell concerns you more thanany one. "

I sat down again by my mother's sofa, and she took my hand between bothher own, fondling it in the dusk. 

"It is about Olivia, " I said, in as cool a tone as I could command. 

"Yes, " answered Julia; "we have seen her, and we have found out why shehas refused you. She is married already. "

"She told me so yesterday, " I replied. 

"Told you so yesterday!" repeated Julia, in an accent of chagrin. "If wehad only known that, we might have saved ourselves the passage across toSark. "

"My dear Julia, " exclaimed my mother, feverishly, "do tell us all aboutit, and begin at the beginning. "

There was nothing Julia liked so much, or could do so well, as to give acircumstantial account of any thing she had done. She could relateminute details with so much accuracy, without being exactly tedious, that when one was lazy or unoccupied it was pleasant to listen. Mymother enjoyed, with all the delight of a woman, the small touches bywhich Julia embellished her sketches. I resigned myself to hearing along history, when I was burning to ask one or two questions and havedone with the topic. 

"To begin at the beginning, then, " said Julia, "dear Captain Carey cameinto town very late last night to talk to us about Martin, and how thegirl in Sark had refused him. I was very much astonished, very muchindeed! Captain Carey said that he and dear Johanna had come to theconclusion that the girl felt some delicacy, perhaps, because ofMartin's engagement to me. We talked it over as friends, and thought ofyou, dear aunt, and your grief and disappointment, till all at once Imade up my mind in a moment. 'I will go over to Sark and see the girlmyself, ' I said. 'Will you?' said Captain Carey. 'Oh, no, Julia, it willbe too much for you. ' 'It would have been a few weeks ago, ' I said; 'butnow I could do any thing to give Aunt Dobrée a moment's happiness. '"

"God bless you, Julia!" I interrupted, going across to her and kissingher cheek impetuously. 

"There, don't stop me, Martin, " she said, earnestly. "So it was arrangedoff-hand that Captain Carey should send for us at St. Sampson's thismorning, and take us over to Sark. You know Kate has never been yet. Wehad a splendid passage, and landed at the Creux, where the yacht was towait till we returned. Kate was in raptures with the landing-place, andthe lovely lane leading up into the island. We went on past Vaudin's Innand the mill, and turned down the nearest way to Tardifs. Kate said shenever felt any air like the air of Sark. Well, you know that brown pool, a very brown pool, in the lane leading to the Havre Gosselin? Justthere, where there are some low, weather-beaten trees meeting overheadand making a long green isle, with the sun shining down through theknotted branches, we saw all in a moment a slim, erect, veryyoung-looking girl coming toward us. She was carrying her bonnet in herhand, and her hair curled in short, bright curls all over her head. Iknew in an instant that it was Miss Ollivier. "

She paused for a minute. How plainly I could see the picture! Thearching trees, and the sunbeams playing fondly with her shining goldenhair! I held my breath to listen. 

"What completely startled me, " said Julia, "was that Kate suddenlydarted forward and ran to meet her, crying 'Olivia!'"

"How does she know her?" I exclaimed. 

"Hush. Martin! Don't interrupt me. The girl went so deadly pale, Ithought she was going to faint, but she did not. She stood for a minutelooking at us, and then she burst into the most dreadful fit of crying!

"I ran to her, and made her sit down on a little bank of turf close by, and gave her my smelling-bottle, and did all I could to comfort her. By-and-by, as soon as she could speak, she said to Kate, 'How did youfind me out?' and Kate told her she had not the slightest idea offinding her there. 'Dr. Martin Dobrée, of Guernsey, told me you werelooking for me, only yesterday, ' she said. 

"That took us by surprise, for Kate had not the faintest idea of seeingher. I have always thought her name was Ollivier, and so did Kate. 'Forpity's sake, ' said the girl, 'if you have any pity, leave me here inpeace. For God's sake do not betray me!'

"I could hardly believe it was not a dream. There was Kate standing overus, looking very stern and severe, and the girl was clinging to me--to_me_, as if I were her dearest friend. Then all of a sudden up came oldMother Renouf, looking half crazed, and began to harangue us forfrightening mam'zelle. Tardif, she said, would be at hand in a minute ortwo, and he would take care of her from us and everybody else. 'Take meaway!' cried the girl, running to her; and the old woman tucked her handunder her arm, and walked off with her in triumph, leaving us byourselves in the lane. "

"But what does it all mean?" asked my mother, while I paced to and froin the dim room, scarcely able to control my impatience, yet afraid toquestion Julia too eagerly. 

"I can tell you, " said Kate Daltrey, in her cold, deliberate tones; "sheis the wife of my half-brother, Richard Foster, who married her morethan four years ago in Melbourne; and she ran away from him lastOctober, and has not been heard of since. "

"Then you know her whole history, " I said, approaching her and pausingbefore her. "Are you at liberty to tell it to us?"

"Certainly, " she answered; "it is no secret. Her father was a wealthycolonist, and he died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the charge ofher step-mother, Richard Foster's aunt. The match was one of thestepmother's making, for Olivia was little better than a child. Richardwas glad enough to get her fortune, or rather the income from it, for ofcourse she did not come into full possession of it till she was of age. One-third of it was settled upon her absolutely; the other two-thirdscame to her for her to do what she pleased with it. Richard was lookingforward eagerly to her being one-and-twenty, for he had made ducks anddrakes of his own property, and tried to do the same with mine. He wouldhave done so with his wife's; but a few weeks before Olivia'stwenty-first birthday, she disappeared mysteriously. There her fortunelies, and Richard has no more power than I have to touch it. He cannoteven claim the money lying in the Bank of Australia, which has beenremitted by her trustees; nor can Olivia claim it without makingherself known to him. It is accumulating there, while both of them areon the verge of poverty. "

"But he must have been very cruel to her before she would run away!"said my mother in a very pitiful voice. Poor mother! she had borne herown sorrows dumbly, and to leave her husband had probably never occurredto her. 

"Cruel!" repeated Kate Daltrey. "Well, there are many kinds of cruelty. I do not suppose Richard would ever transgress the limits of the law. But Olivia was one of those girls who can suffer great torture--mentaltorture I mean. Even I could not live in the same house with him, andshe was a dreamy, sensitive, romantic child, with as much knowledge ofthe world as a baby. I was astonished to hear she had had daring enoughto leave him. "

"But there must be some protection for her from the law, " I said, thinking of the bold, coarse woman, no doubt his associate, who was inpursuit of Olivia. "She might sue for a judicial separation, at theleast, if not a divorce. "

"I am quite sure nothing could be brought against him in a court oflaw, " she answered. "He is very wary and cunning, and knows very wellwhat he may do and what he may not do. A few months before Olivia'sflight, he introduced a woman as her companion--a disreputable womanprobably; but he calls her his cousin, and I do not know how Oliviacould prove her an unfit person to be with her. Our suspicions may bevery strong, but suspicion is not enough for an English judge and jury. Since I saw her this morning I have been thinking of her position inevery light, and I really do not see any thing she could have done, except running away as she did, or making up her mind to be deaf andblind and dumb. There was no other alternative. "

"But could he not be induced to leave her in peace if she gave up aportion of her property?" I asked. 

"Why should he?" she retorted. "If she was in his hands the whole of theproperty would be his. He will never release her--never. No, her onlychance is to hide herself from him. The law cannot deal with wrongs likehers, because they are as light as air apparently, though they are asall-pervading as air is, and as poisonous as air can be. They are likechoke-damp, only not quite fatal. He is as crafty and cunning as aserpent. He could prove himself the kindest, most considerate ofhusbands, and Olivia next thing to an idiot. Oh, it is ridiculous tothink of pitting a girl like her against him!"

"If she had been older, or if she had had a child, she would never haveleft him, " said my mother's gentle and sorrowful voice. 

"But what can be done for her?" I asked, vehemently and passionately. "My poor Olivia! what can I do to protect her?"

"Nothing!" answered Kate Daltrey, coldly. "Her only chance isconcealment, and what a poor chance that is! I went over to Sark, neverthinking that your Miss Ollivier whom I had heard so much of was OliviaFoster. It is an out-of-the-world place; but so much the more readilythey will find her, if they once get a clew. A fox is soon caught whenit cannot double; and how could Olivia escape if they only traced her toSark?"

My dread of the woman into whose hands my imbecile curiosity had put theclew was growing greater every minute. It seemed as if Olivia could notbe safe now, day or night; yet what protection could I or Tardif give toher?

"You will not betray her?" I said to Kate Daltrey, though feeling allthe time that I could not trust her in the smallest degree. 

"I have promised dear Julia that, " she answered. 

I should fail to give you any clear idea of my state of mind should Iattempt to analyze it. The most bitter thought in it was that my ownimprudence had betrayed Olivia. But for me she might have remained foryears, in peace and perfect seclusion, in the home to which she haddrifted. Richard Foster and his accomplice must have lost all hope offinding her during the many months that had elapsed between herdisappearance and my visit to their solicitors. That had put them on thetrack again. If the law forced her back to her husband, it was I who hadhelped him to find her. That was a maddening thought. My love for herwas hopeless; but what then? I discovered to my own amazement that I hadloved her for her sake, not my own. I had loved the woman in herself, not the woman as my wife. She could never become that, but she wasdearer to me than ever. She was as far removed from me as from Tardif. Could I not serve her with as deep a devotion and as true a chivalry ashis? She belonged to both of us by as unselfish and noble a bond as everknights of old were pledged to. 

It became my duty to keep a strict watch over the woman who had come toGuernsey to find Olivia. If possible I must decoy her away from thelowly nest where my helpless bird was sheltered. She had not sent for meagain, but I called upon her the next morning professionally, and stayedsome time talking with her. But nothing resulted from the visit beyondthe assurance that she had not yet made any progress toward thediscovery of my secret. I almost marvelled at this, so universal hadbeen the gossip about my visits to Sark in connection with thebreaking-off of my engagement to Julia. But that had occurred in thespring, and the nine-days' wonder had ceased before my patient came tothe island. Still, any accidental conversation might give her theinformation, and open up a favorable chance for her. I must not let hergo across to Sark unknown to myself. 

Neither did I feel quite safe about Kate Daltrey. She gave me theimpression of being as crafty and cunning as she described herhalf-brother. Did she know this woman by sight? That was a question Icould not answer. There was another question hanging upon it. If she sawher, would she not in some way contrive to give her a sufficient hint, without positively breaking her promise to Julia? Kate Daltrey's namedid not appear in the newspapers among the list of visitors, as she wasstaying in a private house; but she and this woman might meet any day inthe streets or on the pier. 

Then the whole story had been confided by Julia at once to Captain Careyand Johanna. That was quite natural; but it was equally natural for themto confide it again to some one or two of their intimate friends. Thesecret was already an open one among six persons. Could it be considereda secret any longer? The tendency of such a singular story, whisperedfrom one to another, is to become in the long-run more widely circulatedthan if it were openly proclaimed. I had a strong affection for mycircle of cousins, which widened as the circle round a stone cast intowater; but I knew I might as well try to arrest the eddying of suchwaters as stop the spread of a story like Olivia's. 

I had resolved, in the first access of my curiosity, to cross over toSark the next week, alone and independent of Captain Carey. Every Mondaythe Queen of the Isles made her accustomed trip to the island, to conveyvisitors there for the day. 

I had not been on deck two minutes the following Monday when I saw mypatient step on after me. The last clew was in her fingers now, that wasevident. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND. 

OLIVIA GONE. 

She did not see me at first; but her air was exultant and satisfied. There was no face on board so elated and flushed. I kept out of her wayas long as I could without consigning myself to the black hole of thecabin; but at last she caught sight of me, and came down to theforecastle to claim me as an acquaintance. 

"Ha! ha! Dr. Dobrée!" she exclaimed; "so you are going to visit Sarktoo?"

"Yes, " I answered, more curtly than courteously. 

"You are looking rather low, " she said, triumphantly--"rather blue, Imight say. Is there any thing the matter with you? Your face is as longas a fiddle. Perhaps it is the sea that makes you melancholy. "

"Not at all, " I answered, trying to speak briskly; "I am an old sailor. Perhaps you will feel melancholy by-and-by. "

Luckily for me, my prophecy was fulfilled shortly after, for the day wasrough enough to produce uncomfortable sensations in those who were notold sailors like myself. My tormentor was prostrate to the last moment. 

When we anchored at the entrance of the Creux, and the small boats cameout to carry us ashore, I managed easily to secure a place in the first, and to lose sight of her in the bustle of landing. As soon as my feettouched the shore I started off at my swiftest pace for the HavreGosselin. 

But I had not far to go, for at Vaudin's Inn, which stands at the top ofthe steep lane running from the Creux Harbor, I saw Tardif at the door. Now and then he acted as guide when young Vaudin could not fill thatoffice, or had more parties than he could manage; and Tardif was nowwaiting the arrival of the weekly stream of tourists. He came to meinstantly, and we sat down on a low stone wall on the roadside, butwell out of hearing of any ears but each other's. 

"Tardif, " I said, "has mam'zelle told you her secret?"

"Yes, yes, " he answered; "poor little soul! and she is a hundredfolddearer to me now than before. "

He looked as if he meant it, for his eyes moistened and his facequivered. 

"She is in great danger at this moment, " I continued. "A woman sent byher husband has been lurking about in Guernsey to get news of her, andshe has come across in the steamer to-day. She will be in sight of us ina few minutes. There is no chance of her not learning where she isliving. But could we not hide Olivia somewhere? There are cavesstrangers know nothing of. We might take her over to Breckhou. Be quick, Tardif! we must decide at once what to do. "

"But mam'zelle is not here. She is gone!" he answered. 

"Gone!" I ejaculated. I could not utter another word; but I stared athim as if my eyes could tear further information from him. 

"Yes, " he said; "that lady came last week with Miss Dobrée, your cousin. Then mam'zelle told me all, and we took counsel together. It was notsafe for her to stay any longer, though I would have died for hergladly. But what could be done? We knew she must go elsewhere, and thenext morning I rowed her over to Peter-Port in time for the steamer toEngland. Poor little thing! poor little hunted soul!"

His voice faltered as he spoke, and he drew his fisherman's cap closedown over his eyes. I did not speak again for a minute or two. 

"Tardif, " I said at last, as the foremost among the tourists came insight, "did she leave no message for me?"

"She wrote a letter for you, " he said, "the very last thing. She did notgo to bed that night, neither did I. I was going to lose her, doctor, and she had been like the light of the sun to me. But what could I do?She was terrified to death at the thought of her husband claiming her. Ipromised to give the letter into your own hands; but we settled I mustnot show myself in Peter-Port the day she left. Here it is. "

It had been lying in his breast-pocket, and the edges were worn already. He gave it to me lingeringly, as if loath to part with it. The touristswere coming up in greater numbers, and I made a retreat hastily toward aquiet and remote part of the cliffs seldom visited in Little Sark. 

There, with the sea, which had carried her away from me, playingbuoyantly among the rocks, I read her farewell letter. It ran thus:

"My dear Friend: I am glad I can call you my friend, though nothing canever come of our friendship--nothing, for we may not see one another asother friends do. My life was ruined four years ago, and every now andthen I see afresh how complete and terrible the ruin is. Yet if I hadknown beforehand how your life would be linked with mine, I would havedone any thing in my power to save you from sharing in my ruin. Ought Ito have told you at once that I was married? But just that was mysecret, and it seemed so much safer while no one knew it but myself. Idid not see, as I do now, that I was acting a falsehood. I do not seehow I can help doing that. It is as shocking to me as to you. Do notjudge me harshly. 

"I do not like to speak to you about my marriage. I was very young andvery miserable; any change seemed better than living with mystep-mother. I did not know what I was doing. The Saviour said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. ' I hope I shall beforgiven by you, and your mother, and God, for indeed I did not knowwhat I was doing. 

"Last October when I escaped from them, it was partly because I felt Ishould soon be as wicked as they. I do not think any one ought to remainwhere there is no chance of being good. If I am wrong, remember I am notold yet. I may learn what my duty is, and then I will do it. I am onlywaiting to find out exactly what I ought to do, and then I will do it, whatever it may be. 

"Now I am compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful homewhere you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectlysafe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, butI must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you. By-and-by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and behappy just as you once thought you should be--as you would have been butfor me. You must think of me as one dead. I am quite dead--lost to you. 

"Yet I know you will sometimes wish to hear what has become of me. Tardif will. And I owe you both more than I can ever repay. But it wouldnot be well for me to write often. I have promised Tardif that I willwrite to him once a year, that you and he may know that I am stillalive. When there comes no letter, say, 'Olivia is dead!' Do not begrieved for that; it will be the greatest, best release God can give me. Say, 'Thank God, Olivia is dead!'

"Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by!

"OLIVIA. "

The last line was written in a shaken, irregular hand, and her name washalf blotted out, as if a tear had fallen upon it. I remained therealone on the wild and solitary cliffs until it was time to return to thesteamer. 

Tardif was waiting for me at the entrance of the little tunnel throughwhich the road passes down to the harbor. He did not speak at first, buthe drew out of his pocket an old leather pouch filled with yellowpapers. Among them lay a long curling tress of shining hair. He touchedit gently with his finger, as if it had feeling and consciousness. 

"You would like to have it, doctor?" he said. 

"Ay, " I answered, and that only. I could not venture upon another word. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. 

THE EBB OF LIFE. 

There was nothing now for me to do but to devote myself wholly to mymother. 

I made the malady under which she was slowly sinking my special study. There remained a spark of hope yet in my heart that I might by diligent, intense, unflagging search, discover some remedy yet untried, or perhapsunthought of. I succeeded only in alleviating her sufferings. I poredover every work which treated of the same class of diseases. At last inan old, almost-forgotten book, I came upon a simple medicament, which, united with appliances made available by modern science, gave hersensible relief, and without doubt tended to prolong her shorteningdays. The agonizing thought haunted me that, had I come upon thisdiscovery at an earlier stage of her illness, her life might have beenspared for many years. 

But it was too late now. She suffered less, and her spirits grew calmand even. We even ventured, at her own wish, to spend a week together inSark, she and I--a week never to be forgotten, full of exquisite painand exquisite enjoyment to us both. We revisited almost every placewhere we had been many years before, while I was but a child and she wasstill young and strong. Tardif rowed us out in his boat under thecliffs. Then we came home again, and she sank rapidly, as if the flameof life had been burning too quickly in the breath of those innocentpleasures. 

Now she began to be troubled again with the dread of leaving me aloneand comfortless. There is no passage in Christ's farewell to Hisdisciples which, touches me so much as those words, "I will not leaveyou comfortless; I will come unto you. " My mother could not promise tocome back to me, and her dying vision looked sorrowfully into the futurefor me. Sometimes she put her fear into words--faltering and forebodingwords; but it was always in her eyes, as they followed me wherever Iwent with a mute, pathetic anxiety. No assurances of mine, no assumedcheerfulness and fortitude could remove it. I even tried to laugh atit, but my laugh only brought the tears into her eyes. Neither reasonnor ridicule could root it out--a root of bitterness indeed. 

"Martin, " she said, in her failing, plaintive voice, one evening whenJulia and I were both sitting with her, for we met now without anyregard to etiquette--"Martin, Julia and I have been talking about yourfuture life while you were away. "

Julia's face flushed a little. She was seated on a footstool by mymother's sofa, and looked softer and gentler than I had ever seen herlook. She had been nursing my mother with a single-hearted, self-forgetful devotion that had often touched me, and had knit us toone another by the common bond of an absorbing interest. Certainly I hadnever leaned upon or loved Julia as I was doing now. 

"There is no chance of your ever marrying Olivia now, " continued mymother, faintly, "and it is a sin for you to cherish your love for her. That is a very plain duty, Martin. "

"Such love as I cherish for Olivia will hurt neither her nor myself, " Ianswered. "I would not wrong her by a thought. "

"But she can never be your wife, " she said. 

"I never think of her as my wife, " I replied; "but I can no more ceaseto love her than I can cease to breathe. She has become part of my life, mother. "

"Still, time and change must make a difference, " she said. "You willrealize your loneliness when I am gone, though you cannot before. I wantto have some idea of what you will be doing in the years to come, beforewe meet again. If I think at all, I shall be thinking of you, and I dolong to have some little notion. You will not mind me forming one poorlittle plan for you once more, my boy?"

"No, " I answered, smiling to keep back the tears that were ready tostart to my eyes. 

"I scarcely know how to tell you, " she said. "You must not be angry oroffended with us. But my dear Julia has promised me, out of pure loveand pity for me, you know, that if ever--how can I express it?--if youever wish you could return to the old plans--it may be a long timefirst, but if you conquered your love for Olivia, and could go back, andwished to go back to the time before you knew her--Julia will forget allthat has come between. Julia would consent to marry you if you asked herto be your wife. O Martin, I should die so much happier if I thought youwould ever marry Julia, and go to live in the house I helped to getready for you!"

Julia's head had dropped upon my mother's shoulder, and her face washidden, while my mother's eyes sought mine beseechingly. I wasirresistibly overcome by this new proof of her love for both of us, forI knew well what a struggle it must have been to her to gain the masteryover her proper pride and just resentment. I knelt down beside her, clasping her hand and my mother's in my own. 

"Mother, Julia, " I said, "I promise that if ever I can be true in heartand soul to a wife, I will ask Julia to become mine. But it may be manyyears hence; I dare not say how long. God alone knows how dear Olivia isto me. And Julia is too good to waste herself upon so foolish a fellow. She may change, and see some one she can love better. "

"That is nonsense, Martin, " answered Julia, with a ring of the oldsharpness in her tone; "at my age I am not likely to fall in loveagain. --Don't be afraid, aunt; I shall not change, and I will take careof Martin. His home is ready, and he will come back to me some day, andit will all be as you wish. "

I know that promise of ours comforted her, for she never lamented overmy coming solitude again. 

I have very little more I can say about her. When I look back and try towrite more fully of those last, lingering days, my heart fails me. Thedarkened room, the muffled sounds, the loitering, creeping, yet toorapid hours! I had no time to think of Julia, of Olivia, or of myself; Iwas wrapped up in her. 

One evening--we were quite alone--she called me to come closer to her, in that faint, far-off voice of hers, which seemed already to bespeaking from another world. I was sitting so near to her that I couldtouch her with my hand, but she wanted me nearer--with my arm acrossher, and my cheek against hers. 

"My boy, " she whispered, "I am going. "

"Not yet, mother, " I cried; "not yet! I have so much to say. Stay withme a day or two longer. "

"If I could, " she murmured, every word broken with her panting breath, "I would stay with you forever! Be patient with your father, Martin. Saygood-by for me to him and Julia. Don't stir. Let me die so!"

"You shall not die, mother, " I said, passionately. 

"There is no pain, " she whispered--"no pain at all; it is taken away. Iam only sorry for my boy. What will he do when I am gone? Where are you, Martin?"

"I am here, mother!" I answered--"close to you. O God! I would go withyou if I could. "

Then she lay still for a time, pressing my arm about her with her feeblefingers. Would she speak to me no more? Had the dearest voice in theworld gone away altogether into that far-off, and, to us, silent countrywhither the dying go? Dumb, blind, deaf to _me_? She was breathing yet, and her heart fluttered faintly against my arm. Would not my mother knowme again?

"O Martin!" she murmured, "there is great love in store for us all! Idid not know how great the love was till now!"

There had been a quicker, more irregular throbbing of her heart as shespoke. Then--I waited, but there came no other pulsation. Suddenly Ifelt as if I also must be dying, for I passed into a state of utterdarkness and unconsciousness. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH. 

A DISCONSOLATE WIDOWER. 

My senses returned painfully, with a dull and blunted perception thatsome great calamity had overtaken me. I was in my mother'sdressing-room, and Julia was holding to my nostrils some sharp essence, which had penetrated to the brain and brought back consciousness. Myfather was sitting by the empty grate, sobbing and weeping vehemently. The door into my mother's bedroom was closed. I knew instantly what wasgoing on there. 

I suppose no man ever fainted without being ashamed of it. Even in theagony of my awakening consciousness I felt the inevitable sting of shameat my weakness and womanishness. I pushed away Julia's hand, and raisedmyself. I got up on my feet and walked unsteadily and blindly toward theshut door. 

"Martin, " said Julia, "you must not go back there. It is all over. "

I heard my father calling me in a broken voice, and I turned to him. Hisframe was shaken by the violence of his sobs, and he could not lift uphis head from his hands. There was no effort at self-control about him. At times his cries grew loud enough to be heard all over the house. 

"Oh, my son!" he said, "we shall never see any one like your poor motheragain! She was the best wife any man ever had! Oh, what a loss she is tome!"

I could not speak of her just then, nor could I say a word to comforthim. She had bidden me be patient with him, but already I found the taskalmost beyond me. I told Julia I was going up to my own room for therest of the night, if there were nothing for me to do. She put her armsround my neck and kissed me as if she had been my sister, telling me Icould leave every thing to her. Then I went away into the solitude thathad indeed begun to close around me. 

When the heart of a man is solitary, there is no society for him evenamong a crowd of friends. All deep love and close companionship seemedstricken out of my life. 

We laid her in the cemetery, in a grave where the wide-spreadingbranches of some beech-trees threw a pleasant shadow over it during theday. At times the moan of the sea could be heard there, when the surfrolled in strongly upon the shore of Cobo Bay. The white crest of thewaves could be seen from it, tossing over the sunken reefs at sea; yetit lay in the heart of our island. She had chosen the spot for herself, not very long ago, when we had been there together. Now I went therealone. 

I counted my father and his loud grief as nothing. There was neithersympathy nor companionship between us. He was very vehement in hislamentations, repeating to every one who came to condole with us thatthere never had lived such a wife, and his loss was the greatest thatman could bear. His loss was nothing to mine. 

Yet I did draw a little nearer to him in the first few weeks of ourbereavement. Almost insensibly I fell into our old plan of sharing thepractice, for he was often unfit to go out and see our patients. Thehouse was very desolate now, and soon lost those little delicate tracesof feminine occupancy which constitute the charm of a home, and to whichwe had been all our lives accustomed. Julia could not leave her ownhousehold, even if it had been possible for her to return to her placein our deserted dwelling. The flowers faded and died unchanged in thevases, and there was no dainty woman's work lying about--that litter ofwhite and colored shreds of silk and muslin, which give to a room aninhabited appearance. These were so familiar to me, that the totalabsence of them was like the barrenness of a garden without flowers inbloom. 

My father did not feel this as I did, for he was not often at home afterthe first violence of his grief had spent itself. Julia's house was opento him in a manner it could not be open to me. I was made welcome there, it is true; but Julia was not unembarrassed and at home with me. Thehalf-engagement renewed between us rendered it difficult to us both tomeet on the simple ground of friendship and relationship. Moreover, Ishrank from setting gossips' tongues going again on the subject of mychances of marrying my cousin; so I remained at home, alone, eveningafter evening, unless I was called out professionally, declining allinvitations, and brooding unwholesomely over my grief. There is no morecowardly a way of meeting a sorrow. But I was out of heart, and no wordscould better express the morbid melancholy I was sinking into. 

There was some tedious legal business to go through, for my mother'ssmall property, bringing in a hundred a year, came to me on her death. Icould not alienate it, but I wished Julia to receive the income as partpayment of my father's defalcations. She would not listen to such aproposal, and she showed me that she had a shrewd notion of the truestate of our finances. They were in such a state that if I left Guernseywith my little income my father would positively find some difficulty inmaking both ends meet; the more so as I was becoming decidedly thefavorite with our patients, who began to call him slightingly the "olddoctor. " No path opened up for me in any other direction. It appeared asif I were to be bound to the place which was no longer a home to me. 

I wrote to this effect to Jack Senior, who was urging my return toEngland. I could not bring myself to believe that this dreary, monotonous routine of professional duties, of very little interest orimportance, was all that life should offer to me. Yet for the present myduty was plain. There was no help for it. 

I made some inquiries at the lodging-house in Vauvert Road, and learnedthat the person who had been in search of Olivia had left Guernsey aboutthe time when I was so fully engrossed with my mother as to have butlittle thought for any one else. Of Olivia there was neither trace nortidings. Tardif came up to see me whenever he crossed over from Sark, but he had no information to give to me. The chances were that she wasin London; but she was as much lost to me as if she had been lyingbeside my mother under the green turf of Foulon Cemetery. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH. 

THE WIDOWER COMFORTED. 

In this manner three months passed slowly away after my mother's death. Dr. Dobrée, who was utterly inconsolable the first few weeks, fell intoall his old maundering, philandering ways again, spending hours upon histoilet, and paying devoted attentions to every passable woman who cameacross his path. My temper grew like touch-wood; the least spark wouldset it in a blaze. I could not take such things in good part. 

We had been at daggers-drawn for a day or two, he and I, when onemorning I was astonished by the appearance of Julia in ourconsulting-room, soon after my father, having dressed himselfelaborately, had quitted the house. Julia's face was ominous, the upperlip very straight, and a frown upon her brow. I wondered what could bethe matter, but I held my tongue. My knowledge of Julia was intimateenough for me to hit upon the right moment for speech or silence--a rareadvantage. It was the time to refrain from speaking. Julia was notermagant--simply a woman who had had her own way all her life, and wasso sure it was the best way that she could not understand why otherpeople should wish to have theirs. 

"Martin, " she began in a low key, but one that might run up toshrillness if advisable, "I am come to tell you something that fills mewith shame and anger. I do not know how to contain myself. I could neverhave believed that I could have been so blind and foolish. But it seemsas if I were doomed to be deceived and disappointed on every hand--I whowould not deceive or disappoint anybody in the world. I declare it makesme quite ill to think of it. Just look at my hands, how they tremble. "

"Your nervous system is out of order, " I remarked. 

"It is the world that is out of order, " she said, petulantly; "I am wellenough. Oh, I do not know how ever I am to tell you. There are somethings it is a shame to speak of. "

"Must you speak of them?" I asked. 

"Yes; you must know, you will have to know all, sooner or later. Ifthere was any hope of it coming to nothing, I should try to spare youthis; but they are both so bent upon disgracing themselves, so deaf toreason! If my poor, dear aunt knew of it, she could not rest in hergrave. Martin, cannot you guess? Are men born so dull that they cannotsee what is going on under their own eyes?"

"I have not the least idea of what you are driving at, " I answered. "Sitdown, my dear Julia, and calm yourself. Shall I give you a glass ofwine?"

"No, no, " she said, with a gesture of impatience. "How long is it sincemy poor, dear aunt died?"

"You know as well as I do, " I replied, wondering that she should touchthe wound so roughly. "Three months next Sunday. "

"And Dr. Dobrée, " she said, in a bitter accent--then stopped, looking mefull in the face. I had never heard her call my father Dr. Dobrée in mylife. She was very fond of him, and attracted by him, as most womenwere, and as few women are attracted by me. Even now, with all thedifference in our age, the advantage being on my side, it was seldom Isucceeded in pleasing as much as he did. I gazed back in amazement atJulia's dark and moody face. 

"What now?" I asked. "What has my unlucky father been doing now?"

"Why, " she exclaimed, stamping her foot, while the blood mantled to herforehead, "Dr. Dobrée is in haste to take a second wife! He is indeed, my poor Martin. He wishes to be married immediately to that viper, KateDaltrey. "

"Impossible!" I cried, stung to the quick by these words. I rememberedmy mother's mild, instinctive dislike to Kate Daltrey, and her harmlesshope that I would not go over to her side. Go over to her side! No. Ifshe set her foot into this house as my mother's successor, I would neverdwell under the same roof. As soon as my father made her his wife Iwould cut myself adrift from them both. But he knew that; he would neverventure to outrage my mother's memory or my feelings in such a flagrantmanner. 

"It is possible, for it is true, " said Julia. She had not let her voicerise above its low, angry key, and now it sank nearly to a whisper, asshe glanced round at the door. "They have understood each other thesefour weeks. You may call it an engagement, for it is one; and I neversuspected them, not for a moment! He came down to my house to becomforted, he said: his house was so dreary now. And I was as blind as amole. I shall never forgive myself, dear Martin. I knew he was given toall that kind of thing, but then he seemed to mourn for my poor aunt sodeeply, and was so heart-broken. He made ten times more show of it thanyou did. I have heard people say you bore it very well, and were quiteunmoved, but I knew better. Everybody said _he_ could never get over it. Couldn't you take out a commission of lunacy against him? He must be madto think of such a thing. "

"How did you find it out?" I inquired. 

"Oh, I was so ashamed!" she said. "You see I had not the faintest shadowof a suspicion. I had left them in the drawing-room to go up-stairs, andI thought of something I wanted, and went back suddenly, and there theywere--his arm around her waist, and her head on his shoulder--he withhis gray hairs too! She says she is the same age as me, but she is fortyif she is a day. The simpletons! I did not know what to say, or how tolook. I could not get out of the room again as if I had not seen, for Icried 'Oh!' at the first sight of them. Then I stood staring at them;but I think they felt as uncomfortable as I did. "

"What did they say?" I asked, sternly. 

"Oh, he came up to me quite in his dramatic way, you know, trying tocarry it off by looking grand and majestic; and he was going to take myhand and lead me to her, but I would not stir a step. 'My love, ' hesaid, 'I am about to steal your friend from you. ' 'She is no friend ofmine, ' I said, 'if she is going to be what all this intimates, Isuppose. I will never speak to her or you again, Dr. Dobrée. ' Upon thathe began to weep, and protest, and declaim, while she sat still andglared at me. I never thought her eyes could look like that. 'When doyou mean to be married?' I asked, for he made no secret of his intentionto make her his wife. 'What is the good of waiting?' he said, 'My homeis miserable with no woman in it. ' 'Uncle, ' I said, 'if you will promiseme to give up the idea of a second marriage, which is ridiculous at yourage, I will come back to you, in spite of all the awkwardness of myposition with regard to Martin. For my aunt's sake I will come back. 'Even an arrangement like this would be better than his marriage withthat woman--don't you think so?"

"A hundred times better, " I said, warmly. "It was very good of you, Julia. But he would not agree to that, would he?"

"He wouldn't hear of it. He swore that Kate was as dear to him as evermy poor aunt was. He vowed he could not live without her and hercompanionship. He maintained that his age did not make it ridiculous. Kate hid her brazen face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. 

"That made him ten times worse an idiot. He knelt down before her, andimplored her to look at him. I reminded him how all the island wouldrise against him--worse than it did against you, Martin--and he declaredhe did not care a fig for the island! I asked him how he would face theCareys, and the Brocks, and the De Saumarez, and all the rest of them, and he snapped his fingers at them all. Oh, he must be going out of hismind. "

I shook my head. Knowing him as thoroughly as a long and close studycould help me to know any man, I was less surprised than Julia, who hadonly seen him from a woman's point of view, and had always been lenientto his faults. Unfortunately, I knew my father too well. 

"Then I talked to him about the duty he owed to our family name, " sheresumed, "and I went so far as to remind him of what I had done toshield him and it from disgrace, and he mocked at it--positively mockedat it! He said there was no sort of parallel. It would be no dishonor toour house to receive Kate into it, even if they were married at once. What did it signify to the world that only three months had elapsed?Besides, he did not mean to marry her for a month to come, as the housewould need beautifying for her--beautifying for her! Neither had hespoken of it to you; but he had no doubt you would be willing to go onas you have done. "

"Never!" I said. 

"I was sure not, " continued Julia. "I told him I was convinced you wouldleave Guernsey again, but he pooh-poohed that. I asked him how he wasto live without any practice, and he said his old patients might turnhim off for a while, but they would be glad to send for him again. Inever saw a man so obstinately bent upon his own ruin. "

"Julia, " I said, "I shall leave Guernsey before this marriage can comeoff. I would rather break stones on the highway than stay to see thatwoman in my mother's place. My mother disliked her from the first. "

"I know it, " she replied, with tears in her eyes, "and I thought it wasnothing but prejudice. It was my fault, bringing her to Guernsey. But Icould not bear the idea of her coming as mistress here. I said sodistinctly. 'Dr. Dobrée, ' I said, 'you must let me remind you that thehouse is mine, though you have paid me no rent for years. If you evertake Kate Daltrey into it, I will put my affairs into a notary's hands. I will, upon my word, and Julia Dobrée never broke her word yet. ' Thatbrought him to his senses better than any thing. He turned very pale, and sat down beside Kate, hardly knowing what to say. Then she began. She said if I was cruel, she would be cruel too. Whatever grieved you, Martin, would grieve me, and she would let her brother Richard Fosterknow where Olivia was. "

"Does she know where she is?" I asked, eagerly, in a tumult of surpriseand hope. 

"Why, in Sark, of course, " she replied. 

"What! Did you never know that Olivia left Sark before my mother'sdeath?" I said, with a chill of disappointment. "Did I never tell youshe was gone, nobody knows where?"

"You have never spoken of her in my hearing, except once--you recollectwhen, Martin? We have supposed she was still living in Tardif's house. Then there is nothing to prevent me from carrying out my threat. KateDaltrey shall never enter this house as mistress. "

"Would you have given it up for Olivia's sake?" I asked, marvelling ather generosity. 

"I should have done it for your sake, " she answered, frankly. 

"But, " I said, reverting to our original topic, "if my father has sethis mind upon marrying Kate Daltrey, he will brave any thing. "

"He is a dotard, " replied Julia. "He positively makes me dread growingold. Who knows what follies one may be guilty of in old age! I neverfelt afraid of it before. Kate says she has two hundred a year of herown, and they will go and live on that in Jersey, if Guernsey becomesunpleasant to them. Martin, she is a viper--she is indeed. And I havemade such a friend of her! Now I shall have no one but you and theCareys. Why wasn't I satisfied with Johanna as my friend?"

She stayed an hour longer, turning over this unwelcome subject till wehad thoroughly discussed every point of it. In the evening, afterdinner, I spoke to my father briefly but decisively upon the same topic. After a very short and very sharp conversation, there remained noalternative for me but to make up my mind to try my fortune once moreout of Guernsey. I wrote by the next mail to Jack Senior, telling him mypurpose, and the cause of it, and by return of post I received hisreply:

 "Dear old boy: Why shouldn't you come, and go halves with me? Dad says so. He is giving up shop, and going to live in the country at Fulham. House and practice are miles too big for me. 'Senior and Dobrée, ' or 'Dobrée and Senior, ' whichever you please. If you come I can pay dutiful attention to Dad without losing my customers. That is his chief reason. Mine is that I only feel half myself without you at hand. Don't think of saying no. 

 "JACK. "

It was a splendid opening, without question. Dr. Senior had been in goodpractice for more than thirty years, and he had quietly introduced Jackto the position he was about to resign. Yet I pondered over the proposalfor a whole week before agreeing to it. I knew Jack well enough to besure he would never regret his generosity; but if I went I would go asjunior partner, and with a much smaller proportion of the profits thanthat proffered by Jack. Finally I resolved to accept the offer, andwrote to him as to the terms upon which alone I would join him. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH. 

FINAL ARRANGEMENTS. 

I did not wait for my father to commit the irreparable folly of hissecond marriage. Guernsey had become hateful to me. In spite of myexceeding love for my native island, more beautiful in the eyes of itspeople than any other spot on earth, I could no longer be happy or atpeace there. A few persons urged me to stay and live down my chagrin andgrief, but most of my friends congratulated me on the change in myprospects, and bade me God-speed. Julia could not conceal her regret, but I left her in the charge of Captain Carey and Johanna. She promisedto be my faithful correspondent, and I engaged to write to herregularly. There existed between us the half-betrothal to which we hadpledged ourselves at my mother's urgent request. She would wait for thetime when Olivia was no longer the first in my heart; then she would bewilling to become my wife. But if ever that day came, she would requireme to give up my position in England, and settle down for life inGuernsey. 

Fairly, then, I was launched upon the career of a physician in the greatcity. The completeness of the change suited me. Nothing here, inscenery, atmosphere, or society, could remind me of the fretted past. The troubled waters subsided into a dull calm, as far as emotional lifewent. Intellectual life, on the contrary, was quickened in its current, and day after day drifted me farther away from painful memories. To besure, the idea crossed me often that Olivia might be in London--even inthe same street with me. I never caught sight of a faded green dress butmy steps were hurried, and I followed till I was sure that the wearerwas not Olivia. But I was aware that the chances of our meeting were sosmall that I could not count upon them. Even if I found her, what then?She was as far away from me as though the Atlantic rolled between us. IfI only knew that she was safe, and as happy as her sad destiny could lether be, I would be content. For this assurance I looked forward throughthe long months that must intervene before her promised communicationwould come to Tardif. 

Thus I was thrown entirely upon my profession for interest andoccupation. I gave myself up to it with an energy that amazed Jack, andsometimes surprised myself. Dr. Senior, who was an old veteran, loved itwith ardor for its own sake, was delighted with my enthusiasm. Heprophesied great things for me. 

So passed my first winter in London. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH. 

THE TABLES TURNED. 

A dreary season was that first winter in London. 

It happened quite naturally that here, as in Guernsey, my share of thepractice fell among the lower and least important class of patients. Jack Senior had been on the field some years sooner, and he wasLondon-born and London-bred. All the surroundings of his life fitted himwithout a wrinkle. He was at home everywhere, and would have counted thepulse of a duchess with as little emotion as that of a dairy-maid. Onthe other hand, I could not accommodate myself altogether to haughty andaristocratic strangers--though I am somewhat ante-dating laterexperiences, for during the winter our fashionable clients were all outof town, and our time comparatively unoccupied. To be at ease anywhere, it was, at that time, essential to me to know something of the peoplewith whom I was associating--an insular trait, common to all those whoare brought up in a contracted and isolated circle. 

Besides this rustic embarrassment which hung like a clog about meout-of-doors, within-doors I missed wofully the dainty feminine ways Ihad been used to. There was a trusty female servant, half cook, halfhouse-keeper, who lived in the front-kitchen and superintended ourhousehold; but she was not at all the angel in the house whom I needed. It was a well-appointed, handsome dwelling, but it was terribly gloomy. The heavy, substantial leather chairs always remained undisturbed inlevel rows against the wall, and the crimson cloth upon the table was asbare as a billiard-table. A thimble lying upon it, or fallen on thecarpet and almost crushed by my careless tread, would have been aswelcome a sight to me as a blade of grass or a spring of water in somesandy desert. The sound of a light foot and rustling dress, and low, soft voice, would have been the sweetest music in my ears. If a youngfellow of eight-and-twenty, with an excellent appetite and in goodhealth, could be said to pine, I was pining for the pretty, fondlingwoman's ways which had quite vanished out of my life. 

At times my thoughts dwelt upon my semi-engagement to Julia. As soon asI could dethrone the image of Olivia from its pre-eminence in my heart, she was willing to welcome me back again--a prodigal suitor, who hadspent all his living in a far country. We corresponded regularly andfrequently, and Julia's letters were always good, sensible, andaffectionate. If our marriage, and all the sequel to it, could have beenconducted by epistles, nothing could have been more satisfactory. But Ifelt a little doubtful about the termination of this Platonicfriendship, with its half-betrothal. It did not appear to me thatOlivia's image was fading in the slightest degree; no, though I knew herto be married, though I was ignorant where she was, though there was notthe faintest hope within me that she would ever become mine. 

During the quiet, solitary evenings, while Jack was away at some ball orconcert, to which I had no heart to go, my thoughts were pretty equallydivided between my lost mother and my lost Olivia--lost in suchdifferent ways! It would have grieved Julia in her very soul if shecould have known how rarely, in comparison, I thought of her. 

Yet, on the whole, there was a certain sweetness in feeling myself notaltogether cut off from womanly love and sympathy. There was a homealways open to me--a home, and a wife devotedly attached to me, wheneverI chose to claim them. That was not unpleasant as a prospect. As soon asthis low fever of the spirit was over, there was a convalescent hospitalto go to, where it might recover its original tone and vigor. At presentthe fever had too firm and strong a hold for me to pronounce myselfconvalescent; but if I were to believe all that sages had said, therewould come a time when I should rejoice over my own recovery. 

Early in the spring I received a letter from Julia, desiring me to lookout for apartments, somewhere in my neighborhood, for herself, andJohanna and Captain Carey. They were coming to London to spend two orthree months of the season. I had not had any task so agreeable since Ileft Guernsey. Jack was hospitably anxious for them to come to our ownhouse, but I knew they would not listen to such a proposal. I found somesuitable rooms for them, however, in Hanover Street, where I could bewith them at any time in five minutes. 

On the appointed day I met them at Waterloo Station, and installed themin their new apartments. 

It struck me that, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Julia waslooking better and happier than I had seen her look for a long time. Herblack dress suited her, and gave her a style which she never had incolors. Her complexion looked dark, but not sallow; and her brown hairwas certainly more becomingly arranged. Her appearance was that of awell-bred, cultivated, almost elegant woman, of whom no man need beashamed. Johanna was simply herself, without the least perceptiblechange. But Captain Carey again looked ten years younger, and wasevidently taking pains with his appearance. That suit of his had neverbeen made in Guernsey; it must have come out of a London establishment. His hair was not so gray, and his face was less hypochondriac. Heassured me that his health had been wonderfully good all the winter. Iwas more than satisfied, I was proud of all my friends. 

"We want you to come and have a long talk with us to-morrow, " saidJohanna; "it is too late to-night. We shall be busy shopping in themorning, but can you come in the evening?"

"Oh, yes, " I answered; "I am at leisure most evenings, and I count uponspending them with you. I can escort you to as many places of amusementas you wish to visit. "

"To-morrow, then, " she said, "we shall take tea at eight o'clock. "

I bade them good-night with a lighter heart than I had felt for a longwhile. I held Julia's hand the longest, looking into her face earnestly, till it flushed and glowed a little under my scrutiny. 

"True heart!" I said to myself, "true and constant! and I have nothing, and shall have nothing, to offer it but the ashes of a dead passion. Would to Heaven, " I thought as I paced along Brook Street, "I had neverbeen fated to see Olivia!"

I was punctual to my time the next day. The dull, stiff drawing-room wasalready invested with those tokens of feminine occupancy which I missedso greatly in our much handsomer house. There were flowers blooming inthe centre of the tea-table, and little knick-knacks lay strewed about. Julia's work-basket stood on a little stand near the window. There wasthe rustle and movement of their dresses, the noiseless footsteps, thesubdued voices caressing my ear. I sat among them quiet and silent, butrevelling in this partial return of olden times. When Julia poured outmy tea, and passed it to me with her white hand, I felt inclined to kissher jewelled fingers. If Captain Carey had not been present I think Ishould have done so. 

We lingered over the pleasant meal as if time were made expressly forthat purpose, instead of hurrying over it, as Jack and I were wont todo. At the close Captain Carey announced that he was about to leave usalone together for an hour or two. I went down to the door with him, forhe had made me a mysterious signal to follow him. In the hall he laidhis hand upon my shoulder, and whispered a few incomprehensiblesentences into my ear. 

"Don't think any thing of me, my boy. Don't sacrifice yourself for me. I'm an old fellow compared to you, though I'm not fifty yet; everybodyin Guernsey knows that. So put me out of the question, Martin. 'There'smany a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip. ' That I know quite well, my dearfellow. "

He was gone before I could ask for an explanation, and I saw him tearingoff toward Regent Street. I returned to the drawing-room, pondering overhis words. Johanna and Julia were sitting side by side on a sofa, in thedarkest corner of the room--though the light was by no means brilliantanywhere, for the three gas-jets were set in such a manner as not toturn on much gas. 

"Come here, Martin, " said Johanna; "we wish to consult you on a subjectof great importance to us all. "

I drew up a chair opposite to them, and sat down, much as if it wasabout to be a medical consultation. I felt almost as if I must feelsomebody's pulse, and look at somebody's tongue. 

"It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died, " remarkedJohanna. 

Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been tome--how desolate! how empty!

"You recollect, " continued Johanna, "how her heart was set on yourmarriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on herdeath-bed?"

"Yes, " I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's hand, "Iremember every word. "

There was a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder asto what this prelude was leading to. 

"Martin, " asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, "are you forgetting Olivia?"

"No, " I said, dropping Julia's hand as the image of Olivia flashedacross me reproachfully, "not at all. What would you have me say? She isas dear to me at this moment as she ever was. "

"I thought you would say so, " she replied; "I did not think yours was alove that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men whocan love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know any thing of her?"

"Nothing!" I said, despondently; "I have no clew as to where she may benow. "

"Nor has Tardif, " she continued; "my brother and I went across to Sarklast week to ask him. "

"That was very good of you, " I interrupted. 

"It was partly for our own sakes, " she said, blushing faintly. "Martin, Tardif says that if you have once loved Olivia, it is once for all. Youwould never conquer it. Do you think that this is true? Be candid withus. "

"Yes, " I answered, "it is true. I could never love again as I loveOlivia. "

"Then, my dear Martin, " said Johanna, very softly, "do you wish to keepJulia to her promise?"

I started violently. What! Did Julia wish to be released from thatsemi-engagement, and be free? Was it possible that any one else covetedmy place in her affections, and in the new house which we had fitted upfor ourselves? I felt like the dog in the manger. It seemed anunheard-of encroachment for any person to come between my cousin Juliaand me. 

"Do you ask me to set you free from your promise, Julia?" I asked, somewhat sternly. 

"Why, Martin, " she said, averting her face from me, "you know I shouldnever consent to marry you, with the idea of your caring most for thatgirl. No, I could never do that. If I believed you would ever think ofme as you used to do before you saw her, well, I would keep true to you. But is there any hope of that?"

"Let us be frank with one another, " I answered; "tell me, is there anyone else whom you would marry if I release you from this promise, whichwas only given, perhaps, to soothe my mothers last hours?"

Julia hung her head, and did not speak. Her lips trembled. I saw hertake Johanna's hand and squeeze it, as if to urge her to answer thequestion. 

"Martin, " said Johanna, "your happiness is dear to every one of us. Ifwe had believed there was any hope of your learning to love Julia as shedeserves, and as a man ought to love his wife, not a word of this wouldhave been spoken. But we all feel there is no such hope. Only say thereis, and we will not utter another word. "

"No, " I said, "you must tell me all now. I cannot let the question resthere. Is there any one else whom Julia would marry if she felt quitefree?"

"Yes, " answered Johanna, while Julia hid her face in her hands, "shewould marry my brother. "

Captain Carey! I fairly gasped for breath. Such an idea had never onceoccurred to me; though I knew she had been spending most of her timewith the Careys at the Vale. Captain Carey to marry! and to marry Julia!To go and live in our house! I was struck dumb, and fancied that I hadheard wrongly. All the pleasant, distant vision of a possible marriagewith Julia, when my passion had died out, and I could be content in myaffection and esteem for her--all this vanished away, and left my wholefuture a blank. If Julia wished for revenge--and when is not revengesweet to a jilted woman?--she had it now. I was as crestfallen, asamazed, almost as miserable, as she had been. Yet I had no one to blame, as she had. How could I blame her for preferring Captain Carey's love tomy _réchauffé_ affections?

"Julia, " I said, after a long silence, and speaking as calmly as Icould, "do you love Captain Carey?"

"That is not a fair question to ask, " answered Johanna. "We have notbeen treacherous to you. I scarcely know how it has all come about. Butmy brother has never asked Julia if she loves him; for we wished to seeyou first, and hear how you felt about Olivia. You say you shall neverlove again as you love her. Set Julia free then, quite free, to acceptmy brother or reject him. Be generous, be yourself, Martin. "

"I will, " I said. --"My dear Julia, you are as free as air from allobligation to me. You have been very good and very true to me. IfCaptain Carey is as good and true to you, as I believe he will be, youwill be a very happy woman--happier than you would ever be with me. "

"And you will not make yourself unhappy about it?" asked Julia, lookingup. 

"No, " I answered, cheerfully, "I shall be a merry old bachelor, andvisit you and Captain Carey, when we are all old folks. Never mind me, Julia; I never was good enough for you. I shall be very glad to knowthat you are happy. "

Yet when I found myself in the street--for I made my escape as soon as Icould get away from them--I felt as if every thing worth living for wereslipping away from me. My mother and Olivia were gone, and here wasJulia forsaking me. I did not grudge her her new happiness. There wasneither jealousy nor envy in my feelings toward my supplanter. But insome way I felt that I had lost a great deal since I entered theirdrawing-room two hours ago. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH. 

OLIVIA'S HUSBAND. 

I did not go straight home to our dull, gloomy, bachelor dwelling-place;for I was not in the mood for an hour's soliloquy. Jack and I hadundertaken between us the charge of the patients belonging to a friendof ours, who had been called out of town for a few days. I was passingby the house, chewing the bitter cud of my reflections, and, recallingthis, I turned in to see if any messages were waiting there for us. Lowry's footman told me a person had been with an urgent request that hewould go as soon as possible to No. 19 Bellringer Street. I did not knowthe street, or what sort of a locality it was in. 

"What kind of a person called?" I asked. 

"A woman, sir; not a lady. On foot--poorly dressed. She's been herebefore, and Dr. Lowry has visited the case twice. No. 19 BellringerStreet. Perhaps you will find him in the case-book, sir. "

I went in to consult the case-book. Half a dozen words contained thediagnosis. It was the same disease, in an incipient form, of which mypoor mother died. I resolved to go and see this sufferer at once, lateas the hour was. 

"Did the person expect some one to go to-night?" I asked, as I passedthrough the hall. 

"I couldn't promise her that, sir, " was the answer. "I did say I'd sendon the message to you, and I was just coming with it, sir. She saidshe'd sit up till twelve o'clock. "

"Very good, " I said. 

Upon inquiry I found that the place was two miles away; and, as our oldfriend Simmons was still on the cab-stand, I jumped into his cab, andbade him drive me as fast as he could to No. 19 Bellringer Street. Iwanted a sense of motion, and a chance of scene. If I had been inGuernsey, I should have mounted Madam, and had another midnight rideround the island. This was a poor substitute for that; but the visitwould serve to turn my thoughts from Julia. If any one in London coulddo the man good. I believed it was I; for I had studied that one maladywith my soul thrown into it. 

"We turned at last into a shabby street, recognizable even in thetwilight of the scattered lamps as being a place for cheaplodging-houses. There was a light burning in the second-floor windows ofNo. 19; but all the rest of the front was in darkness. I paid Simmonsand dismissed him, saying I would walk home. By the time I turned toknock at the door, it was opened quietly from within. A woman stood inthe doorway; I could not see her face, for the candle she had broughtwith her was on the table behind her; neither was there light enough forher to distinguish mine. 

"Are you come from Dr. Lowry's?" she asked. 

The voice sounded a familiar one, but I could not for the life of merecall whose it was. 

"Yes, " I answered, "but I do not know the name of my patient here. "

"Dr. Martin Dobrée!" she exclaimed, in an accent almost of terror. 

I recollected her then as the person who had been in search of Olivia. She had fallen back a few paces, and I could now see her face. It wasstartled and doubtful, as if she hesitated to admit me. Was it possibleI had come to attend Olivia's husband?

"I don't know whatever to do!" she ejaculated; "he is very ill to-night, but I don't think he ought to see _you_--I don't think he would. "

"Listen to me, " I said; "I do not think there is another man in Londonas well qualified to do him good. "

"Why?" she asked, eagerly. 

"Because I have made this disease my special study, " I answered. "Mind, I am not anxious to attend him. I came here simply because my friend isout of town. If he wishes to see me, I will see him, and do my best forhim. It rests entirely with himself. "

"Will you wait here a few minutes?" she asked, "while I see what hewill do?"

She left me in the dimly-lighted hall, pervaded by a musty smell ofunventilated rooms, and a damp, dirty underground floor. The place wasaltogether sordid, and dingy, and miserable. At last I heard her stepcoming down the two flights of stairs, and I went to meet her. 

"He will see you, " she said, eying me herself with a steady gaze ofcuriosity. 

Her curiosity was not greater than mine. I was anxious to see Olivia'shusband, partly from the intense aversion I felt instinctively towardhim. He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman'sshawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His facehad the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probablyrefined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow acrossthe brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold andglittering as steel. I knew afterward that he was fifteen years olderthan Olivia. Across his knees lay a shaggy, starved-looking cat, whichhe held fast by the fore-paws, and from time to time entertained himselfby teasing and tormenting it. He scrutinized me as keenly as I did him. 

"I believe we are in some sort connected. Dr. Martin Dobrée, " he said, smiling coldly; "my half-sister, Kate Daltrey, is married to yourfather, Dr. Dobrée. "

"Yes, " I answered, shortly. The subject was eminently disagreeable tome, and I had no wish to pursue it with him. 

"Ay! she will make him a happy man, " he continued, mockingly; "you arenot yourself married, I believe, Dr. Martin Dobrée?"

I took no notice whatever of his question, or the preceding remark, butpassed on to formal inquiries concerning his health. My close study ofhis malady helped me here. I could assist him to describe and localizehis symptoms, and I soon discovered that the disease was as yet in avery early stage. 

"You have a better grip of it than Lowry, " he said, sighing withsatisfaction. "I feel as if I were made of glass, and you could lookthrough me. Can you cure me?"

"I will do my best, " I answered. 

"So you all say, " he muttered, "and the best is generally good fornothing. You see I care less about getting over it than my wife does. She is very anxious for my recovery. "

"Your wife!" I repeated, in utter surprise; "you are Richard Foster, Ibelieve?"

"Certainly, " he replied. 

"Does your wife know of your present illness?" I inquired. 

"To be sure, " he answered; "let me introduce you to Mrs. RichardFoster. "

The woman looked at me with flashing eyes and a mocking smile, while Mr. Foster indulged himself with extorting a long and plaintive mew from thepoor cat on his knees. 

"I cannot understand, " I said. I did not know how to continue my speech. Though they might choose to pass as husband and wife among strangers, they could hardly expect to impose upon me. 

"Ah! I see you do not, " said Mr. Foster, with a visible sneer. "Oliviais dead. "

"Olivia dead!" I exclaimed. 

I repeated the words mechanically, as if I could not make any meaningout of them. Yet they had been spoken with such perfect deliberation andcertainty that there seemed to be no question about the fact. Mr. Foster's glittering eyes dwelt delightedly upon my face. 

"You were not aware of it?" he said, "I am afraid I have been toosudden. Kate tells us you were in love with my first wife, andsacrificed a most eligible match for her. Would it be too late to openfresh negotiations with your cousin? You see I know all your familyhistory. "

"When did Olivia die?" I inquired, though my tongue felt dry andparched, and the room, with his fiendish face, was swimming giddilybefore my eyes. 

"When was it, Carry?" he asked, turning to his wife. 

"We heard she was dead on the first of October, " she answered. "Youmarried me the next day. "

"Ah, yes!" he said; "Olivia had been dead to me for more than twelvemonths and the moment I was free I married her, Dr. Martin. We could notbe married before, and there was no reason to wait longer. It was quitelegal. "

"But what proof have you?" I asked, still incredulous, yet with a heartso heavy that it could hardly rouse itself to hope. 

"Carry, have you those letters?" said Richard Foster. 

She was away for a few minutes, while he leaned back again in his chair, regarding nic with his half-closed, cruel eyes. I said nothing, andresolved to betray no emotion. Olivia dead! my Olivia! I could notbelieve it. 

"Here are the proofs, " said Mrs. Foster, reentering the room. She putinto my hand an ordinary certificate of death, signed by J. Jones, M. D. It stated that the deceased, Olivia Foster, had died on September the27th, of acute inflammation of the lungs. Accompanying this was a letterwritten in a good handwriting, purporting to be from a clergyman orminister, of what denomination it was not stated, who had attendedOlivia in her fatal illness. He said that she had desired him to keepthe place of her death and burial a secret, and to forward no more thanthe official certificate of the former event. This letter was signed E. Jones. No clew was given by either document as to the place where theywere written. 

"Are you not satisfied?" asked Foster. 

"No, " I replied; "how is it, if Olivia is dead, that you have not takenpossession of her property?"

"A shrewd question, " he said, jeeringly. "Why am I in these cursed poorlodgings? Why am I as poor as Job, when there are twenty thousand poundsof my wife's estate lying unclaimed? My sweet, angelic Olivia left nowill, or none in my favor, you may be sure; and by her father's will, ifshe dies intestate or without children, his property goes to buildalmshouses, or some confounded nonsense, in Melbourne. All she bequeathsto me is this ring, which I gave to her on our wedding-day, curse her!"

He held out his hand, on the little finger of which shone a diamond, which might, as far as I knew, be the one I had once seen in Olivia'spossession. 

"Perhaps you do not know, " he continued, "that it was on this verypoint, the making of her will, or securing her property to me in someway, that my wife took offence and ran away from me. Carry was just alittle too hard upon her, and I was away in Paris. But consider, Iexpected to be left penniless, just as you see me left, and Carry wasdetermined to prevent it. "

"Then you are sure of her death?" I said. 

"So sure, " he replied, calmly, "that we were married the next day. Olivia's letter to me, as well as those papers, was conclusive of heridentity. Will you like to see it?"

Mrs. Foster gave me a slip of paper, on which were written a few lines. The words looked faint, and grew paler as I read them. They were withoutdoubt Olivia's writing:

"I know that, you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring youonce gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enoughfor my last necessities. I forgive you, as I trust that God forgivesme. "

 * * * * *

There was no more to be said or done. Conviction had been brought hometo me. I rose to take my leave, and Foster held out his hand to me, perhaps with a kindly intention. Olivia's ring was glittering on it, andI could not take it into mine. 

"Well, well, " he said, "I understand; I am sorry for you. Come again, Dr. Martin Dobrée. If you know of any remedy for my ease, you are notrue man if you do not try it. "

I went down the narrow staircase, closely followed by Mrs. Foster. Herface had lost its gayety and boldness, and looked womanly and careworn, as she laid her hand upon my arm before opening the house-door. 

"For God's sake, come again, " she said, "if you can do any thing forhim! We have money left yet, and I am earning more every day. We can payyou well. Promise me you will come again. "

"I can promise nothing to-night, " I answered. 

"You shall not go till you promise, " she said, emphatically. 

"Well, then, I promise, " I answered, and she unfastened the chain almostnoiselessly, and opened the door into the street. 

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH. 

SAD SEWS. 

A fine, drizzling rain was falling; I was just conscious of it as anelement of discomfort, but it did not make me quicken my steps. Iwanted no rapidity of motion now. There was nothing to be done, nothingto look forward to, nothing to flee away from. Olivia was dead!

I had said the same thing again and again to myself, that Olivia wasdead to me; but at this moment I learned how great a difference therewas between the words as a figure of speech and as a terrible reality. Icould no longer think of her as treading the same earth--the samestreets, perhaps; speaking the same language; seeing the same daylightas myself. I recalled her image, as I had seen her last in Sark; andthen I tried to picture her white face, with lips and eyes closedforever, and the awful chill of death resting upon her. It seemedimpossible; yet the cuckoo-cry went on in my brain, "Olivia is dead--isdead!"

I reached home just as Jack was coming in from his evening amusement. Helet me in with his latch-key, giving me a cheery greeting; but as soonas we had entered the dining-room, and he saw my face, he exclaimed. "Good Heavens! Martin, what has happened to you?"

"Olivia is dead, " I answered. 

His arm was about my neck in a moment, for we were like boys togetherstill, when we were alone. He knew all about Olivia, and he waitedpatiently till I could put my tidings into words. 

"It must be true, " he said, though in a doubtful tone; "the scoundrelwould not have married again if he had not sufficient proof. "

"She must have died very soon after my mother, " I answered, "and I neverknew it!"

"It's strange!" he said. "I wonder she never got anybody to write to youor Tardif. "

There was no way of accounting for that strange silence toward us. Wesat talking in short, broken sentences, while Jack smoked a cigar; butwe could come to no conclusion about it. It was late when we parted, andI went to bed, but not to sleep. 

For as soon as the room was quite dark, visions of Olivia haunted me. Phantasms of her followed one another rapidly through my brain. She haddied, so said the certificate, of inflammation of the lungs, after anillness of ten days. I felt myself bound to go through every stage ofher illness, dwelling upon all her sufferings, and thinking of her asunder careless or unskilled attendance, with no friend at hand to takecare of her. She ought not to have died, with her perfect constitution. If I had been there she should not have died. 

About four o'clock Jack tapped softly upon the wall between ourbedrooms--it was a signal we had used when we were boys--as though toinquire if I was all right; but it was quiet enough not to wake me if Iwere asleep. It seemed like the friendly "Ahoy!" from a boat floating onthe same dark sea. Jack was lying awake, thinking of me as I wasthinking of Olivia. There was something so consolatory in this sympathythat I fell asleep while dwelling upon it. 

Upon going downstairs in the morning I found that Jack was already off, having left a short note for me, saving he would visit my patients thatday. I had scarcely begun breakfast when the servant announced "a lady, "and as the lady followed close upon his heels, I saw behind his shoulderthe familiar face of Johanna, looking extremely grave. She was soonseated beside me, watching me with something of the tender, wistful gazeof my mother. Her eyes were of the same shape and color, and I couldhardly command myself to speak calmly. 

"Your friend Dr. John Senior called upon us a short time since, " shesaid; "and told us this sad, sad news. "

I nodded silently. 

"If we had only known it yesterday, " she continued, "you would neverhave heard what we then said. This makes so vast a difference. Juliacould not have become your wife while there was another woman livingwhom you loved more. You understand her feeling?"

"Yes, " I said; "Julia is right. "

"My brother and I have been talking about the change this will make, "she resumed. "He would not rob you of any consolation or of any futurehappiness; not for worlds. He relinquishes all claim to or hope ofJulia's affection--"

"That would be unjust to Julia, " I interrupted. "She must not besacrificed to me any longer. I do not suppose I shall ever marry--"

"You must marry, Martin, " she interrupted in her turn, and speakingemphatically; "you are altogether unfitted for a bachelor's life. It isall very well for Dr. John Senior, who has never known a woman'scompanionship, and who can do without it. But it is misery to you--thiscold, colorless life. No. Of all the men I ever knew, you are the leastfitted for a single life. "

"Perhaps I am, " I admitted, as I recalled my longing for some sign ofwomanhood about our bachelor dwelling. 

"I am certain of it, " she said. "Now, but for our precipitation lastnight, you would have gone naturally to Julia for comfort. So my brothersends word that he is going back to Guernsey to-night, leaving us inHanover Street, where we are close to you. We have said nothing to Juliayet. She is crying over this sad news--mourning for your sorrow. Youknow that my brother has not spoken directly to Julia of his love; andnow all that is in the past, and is to be as if it had never been, andwe go on exactly as if we had not had that conversation yesterday. "

"But that cannot be, " I remonstrated. "I cannot consent to Julia wastingher love and time upon me. I assure you most solemnly I shall nevermarry my cousin now. "

"You love her?" said Johanna. 

"Certainly, " I answered, "as my sister. "

"Better than any woman now living?" she pursued. 

"Yes, " I replied. 

"That is all Julia requires, " she continued; "so let us say no more atpresent, Martin. Only understand that all idea of marriage between herand my brother is quite put away. Don't argue with me, don't contradictme. Come to see us as you would have done but for that unfortunateconversation last night. All will come right by-and-by. "

"But Captain Carey--" I began. 

"There! not a word!" she interrupted imperatively. "Tell me all aboutthat wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likelyto die? Is he any thing like Kate Daltrey?--I will never call her KateDobrée as long as the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me every thingabout him. "

She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Herpertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. Whenher dinner-hour was at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house inHanover Street; and I could not get away from her without first speakingto Julia. Her face was very sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. Wesaid only a few words to one another, but I went away with theimpression that her heart was still with me. 

CHAPTER THE FORTIETH. 

A TORMENTING DOUBT. 

At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to RichardFoster. 

"You are not fit to deal with the fellow, " he said; "you may be sharpenough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing ofthe breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him everymortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?"

"There was no place given, " I answered. 

"But there would be a post-mark on the envelop, " he replied; "I willmake him show me the envelop they were in. "

"Jack, " I said, "you do not suppose he has any doubt of her death?"

"I can't say, " he answered. "You see he has married again, and if shewere not dead that would be bigamy--an ugly sort of crime. But are yousure they are married?"

"How can I be sure?" I asked fretfully, for grief as often makes menfretful as illness. "I did not ask for their marriage-certificate. "

"Well, well! I will go, " he answered. 

I awaited his return with impatience. With this doubt insinuated byJack, it began to seem almost incredible that Olivia's exquisitelyhealthy frame should have succumbed suddenly under a malady to which shehad no predisposition whatever. Moreover, her original soundness ofconstitution had been strengthened by ten months' residence in the pure, bracing air of Sark. Yet what was I to think in face of those undateddocuments, and of her own short letter to her husband? The one I knewwas genuine; why should I suppose the others to be forged? And ifforgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, andfor what purpose?

I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jackreturned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, andgrasped it heartily. 

"I no more believe she is dead than I am, " were his first words. "Yourecollect me telling you of a drunken brawl in a street off the Strand, where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl ashis wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley's agency-office, and wasjust in time to protect her from him--a girl I could have fallen in lovewith myself. You recollect?"

"Yes, yes, " I said, almost breathless. 

"He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!" exclaimed Jack. 

"No!" I cried. 

"Yes!" continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate Ican swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girlwas Olivia. "

"But when was it?" I asked. 

"Since he married again, " he answered; "they were married on the 2d ofOctober, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley's after aplace for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist; and I saw thegirl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those lettersabout her death are all forgeries. "

"Olivia's is not, " I said; "I know her handwriting too well. "

"Well, then, " observed Jack, "there is only one explanation. She hassent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will besafe if he believes her dead. "

"No, " I answered, hotly, "she would never have done such a thing asthat. "

"Who else is benefited by it?" he asked, gravely. "It does not putFoster into possession of any of her property; or that would have been amotive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is soconvinced of her death that he has married a second wife. "

It was difficult to hit upon any other explanation; yet I could notcredit this one. I felt firmly convinced that Olivia could not be guiltyof an artifice so cunning. I was deceived in her indeed if she woulddescend to any fraud so cruel. But I could not discuss the question evenwith Jack Senior. Tardif was the only person who knew Olivia well enoughto make his opinion of any value. Besides, my mind was not as clear asJack's that she was the girl he had seen in November. Yet the doubt ofher death was full of hope; it made the earth more habitable, and lifemore endurable. 

"What can I do now?" I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking tomyself. 

"Martin, " he replied, gravely, "isn't it wisest to leave the matter asit stands? If you find Olivia, what then? she is as much separated fromyou as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives, it is worse thanuseless to be thinking of her. There is no misery like that of hangingabout a woman you have no right to love. "

"I only wish to satisfy myself that she is alive, " I answered. "Justthink of it, Jack, not to know whether she is living or dead! You musthelp me to satisfy myself. Foster has got the only valuable thing shehad in her possession, and if she is living she may be in absolute want. I cannot be contented with that dread on my mind. There can be no harmin my taking some care of her at a distance. This mystery would beintolerable to me. "

"You're right, old fellow, " he said, cordially; "we will go to Ridley'stogether to-morrow morning. "

We were there soon after the doors were open. There were not manyclients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack hadrecalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus thesole difficulty was overcome. The clerk found the name of EllenMartineau entered under that date in his book. 

"Yes, " he said, "Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a Frenchschool; premium to be paid, about 10 Pounds; no salary; reference, Mrs. Wilkinson, No. 19 Bellringer Street. "

"No. 19 Bellringer Street!" we repeated in one breath. 

"Yes, gentlemen, that is the address, " said the clerk, closing the book. "Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who shouldhave paid our commission; as you perceive, a premium was requiredinstead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went tothe school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our whileto pursue our claim in law. "

"Can you describe the young lady?" I inquired. 

"Well, no. We have such hosts of young ladies here. But she was pretty, decidedly pretty; she made that impression upon me, at least. We are toobusy to take particular notice; but I should know her again if she camein. I think she would have been here again, before this, if she had notgot that engagement. "

"Do you know where the school is?" I asked. 

"No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the party, " he said. "We had nothing to do withit, except send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. Thatwas all. "

As we could obtain no further information, we went away, and paced upand down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That weshould have need for great caution, and as much craftiness as we bothpossessed, in pursuing our inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer Street, wasquite evident. Who could be this unknown Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possiblethat she might prove to be Mrs. Foster herself? At any rate, it wouldnot do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of MissEllen Martineau. It was finally settled between us that Johanna shouldbe intrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. There was not much chancethat Mrs. Foster would know her by sight, though she had been inGuernsey; and it would excite less notice for a lady to be inquiringafter Olivia. We immediately turned our steps toward Hanover Street, where we found her and Julia seated at some fancy-work in their sombredrawing-room. 

Julia received me with a little embarrassment, but conquered itsufficiently to give me a warm pressure of the hand, and to whisper inmy ear that Johanna had told her every thing. Unluckily, Johanna herselfknew nothing of our discovery the night before. I kept Julia's hand inmine, and looked steadily into her eyes. 

"My dear Julia, " I said, "we bring strange news. We have reason tobelieve that Olivia is not dead, but that something underhand is goingon, which we cannot yet make out. "

Julia's face grew crimson, but I would not let her draw her hand awayfrom my clasp. I held it the more firmly; and, as Jack was busy talkingto Johanna, I continued speaking to her in a lowered tone. 

"My dear, " I said, "you have been as true, and faithful, and generous afriend as any man ever had. But this must not go on, for your own sake. You fancied you loved me, because every one about us wished it to be so;but I cannot let you waste your life on me. Speak to me exactly as yourbrother. Do you believe you could be really happy with Captain Carey?"

"Arthur is so good, " she murmured, "and he is so fond of me. "

I had never heard her call him Arthur before. The elder members of ourGuernsey circle called him by his Christian name, but to us younger oneshe had always been Captain Carey. Julia's use of it was more eloquentthan many phrases. She had grown into the habit of calling himfamiliarly by it. 

"Then, Julia, " I said, "what folly it would be for you to sacrificeyourself to a false notion of faithfulness! I could not accept such asacrifice. Think no more of me or my happiness. "

"But my poor aunt was so anxious for you to have a home of your own, "she said, sobbing, "and I do love you dearly. Now you will never marry. I know you will not, if you can have neither Olivia nor me for yourwife. "

"Very likely, " I answered, trying to laugh away her agitation; "I shallbe in love with two married women instead. How shocking that will soundin Guernsey! But I'm not afraid that Captain Carey will forbid me hishouse. "

"How little we thought!" exclaimed Julia. I knew very well what her mindhad gone back to--the days when she and I and my mother were furnishingand settling the house that would now become Captain Carey's home. 

"Then it is all settled, " I said, "and I shall write to him byto-night's post, inviting him back again--that is, if he really left youlast night. "

"Yes, " she replied; "he would not stay a day longer. "

Her face had grown calm as we talked together. A scarcely perceptiblesmile was lurking about her lips, as if she rejoiced that her suspensewas over. There was something very like a pang in the idea of some oneelse filling the place I had once fully occupied in her heart; but thepain was unworthy of me. I drove it away by throwing myself heart andsoul into the mystery which hung over the fate of Olivia. 

"We have hit upon a splendid plan, " said Jack: "Miss Carey will takeSimmons's cab to Bellringer Street, and reach the house about the sametime as I visit Foster. That is for me to be at hand if she should needany protection, you know. I shall stay up-stairs with Foster till Ihear the cab drive off again, and it will wait for me at the corner ofDawson Street. Then we will come direct here, and tell you every thingat once. Of course, Miss Dobrée will wish to hear it all. "

"Cannot I go with Johanna?" she asked. 

"No, " I said, hastily; "it is very probable Mrs. Foster knows you bysight, though she is less likely to know Johanna. I fancy Mrs. Wilkinsonwill turn out to be Mrs. Foster herself. Yet why they should spiritOlivia away into a French school, and pretend that she is dead, I cannotsee. "

Nor could any one of the others see the reason. But as the morning wasfast waning away, and both Jack and I were busy, we were compelled toclose the discussion, and, with our minds preoccupied to a frightfulextent, make those calls upon our patients which were supposed to be ineach case full of anxious and particular thought for the ailments wewere attempting to alleviate. 

Upon meeting again for a few minutes at luncheon, we made a slightchange in our plan; for we found a note from Foster awaiting me, inwhich he requested me to visit him in the future, instead of Dr. JohnSenior, as he felt more confidence in my knowledge of his malady. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST. 

MARTIN DOBRÉE'S PLEDGE. 

I followed Simmons's cab up Bellringer Street, and watched Johannaalight and enter the house. The door was scarcely closed upon her when Irang, and asked the slatternly drudge of a servant if I could see Mr. Foster. She asked me to go up to the parlor on the second floor, and Iwent alone, with little expectation of finding Mrs. Foster there, unlessJohanna was there also, in which case I was to appear as a stranger toher. 

The parlor looked poorer and shabbier by daylight than at night. Therewas not a single element of comfort in it. The curtains hung in ragsabout a window begrimed with soot and smoke. The only easy-chair was theone occupied by Foster, who himself looked as shabby and worn as theroom. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were yellow and tattered; hishair hung long and lank; and his skin had a sallow, unwholesome tint. The diamond ring upon his finger was altogether out of keeping with histhreadbare coat, buttoned up to the chin, as if there were no waistcoatbeneath it. From head to foot he looked a broken-down, seedy fellow, yetstill preserving some lingering traces of the gentleman. This wasOlivia's husband!

A good deal to my surprise, I saw Mrs. Foster seated quietly at a tabledrawn close to the window, very busily writing--engrossing, as I couldsee, for some miserable pittance a page. She must have had someconsiderable practice in the work, for it was done well, and her pen ranquickly over the paper. A second chair left empty opposite to her showedthat Foster had been engaged at the same task, before he heard my stepon the stairs. He looked weary, and I could not help feeling somethingakin to pity for him. I did not know that they had come down as low asthat. 

"I did not expect you to come before night, " he said, testily; "I liketo have some idea when my medical attendant is coming. "

"I was obliged to come now, " I answered, offering no other apology. Theman irritated me more than any other person that had ever come acrossme. There was something perverse and splenetic in every word he uttered, and every expression upon his face. 

"I do not like your partner, " he said; "don't send him again. He knowsnothing about his business. "

He spoke with all the haughtiness of a millionnaire to a countrypractitioner. I could hardly refrain from smiling as I thought of Jack'sdisgust and indignation. 

"As for that, " I replied, "most probably neither of us will visit youagain. Dr. Lowry will return to-morrow, and you will be in his handsonce more. "

"No!" he cried, with a passionate urgency in his tone--"no, MartinDobrée; you said if any man in London could cure me, it was yourself. Icannot leave myself in any other hands. I demand from you the fulfilmentof your words. If what you said is true, you can no more leave me to thecare of another physician, than you could leave a fellow-creature todrown without doing your utmost to save him. I refuse to be given up toDr. Lowry. "

"But it is by no means a parallel ease, " I argued; "you were under histreatment before, and I have no reason whatever to doubt his skill. Whyshould you feel safer in my hands than in his?"

"Well!" he said, with a sneer, "if Olivia were alive, I dare scarcelyhave trusted you, could I? But you have nothing to gain by my death, youknow; and I have so much faith in you, in your skill, and your honor, and your conscientiousness--if there be any such qualities in theworld--that I place myself unfalteringly under your professional care. Shake hands upon it, Martin Dobrée. "

In spite of my repugnance, I could not resist taking his offered hand. His eyes were fastened upon me with something of the fabled fascinationof a serpent's. I knew instinctively that he would have the power, anduse it, of probing every wound he might suspect in me to the quick. Yethe interested me; and there was something not entirely repellent to meabout him. Above all for Olivia's sake, should we find her still living, I was anxious to study his character. It might happen, as it doessometimes, that my honor and straight-forwardness might prove a matchfor his crafty shrewdness. 

"There, " he said, exultantly, "Martin Dobrée pledges himself to cureme. --Carry, you are the witness of it. If I die, he has been my assassinas surely as if he had plunged a stiletto into me. "

"Nonsense!" I answered; "it is not in my power to heal or destroy. Isimply pledge myself to use every means I know of for your recovery. "

"Which comes to the same thing, " he replied; "for, mark you, I will bethe most careful patient you ever had. There should be no chance foryou, even if Olivia were alive. "

Always harping on that one string. Was it nothing more than a lore oftorturing some one that made him reiterate those words? Or did he wishto drive home more deeply the conviction that she was indeed dead?

"Have you communicated the intelligence of her death to her trustee inAustralia?" I asked. 

"No; why should I?" he said, "no good would come of it to me. Why shouldI trouble myself about it?"

"Nor to your step-sister?" I added. 

"To Mrs. Dobrée?" he rejoined; "no, it does not signify a straw to hereither. She holds herself aloof from me now, confound her! You are noton very good terms with her yourself, I believe?"

"The cab was still standing at the door, and I could not leave before itdrove away, or I should have made my visit a short one. Mrs. Foster wasglancing through the window from time to time, evidently on the watch tosee the visitor depart. Would she recognize Johanna? She had stayed someweeks in Guernsey; and Johanna was a fine, stately-looking woman, noticeable among strangers. I must do something to get her away from herpost of observation. 

"Mrs. Foster, " I said, and her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name, "I should be exceedingly obliged to you if you will give me anothersight of those papers you showed to me the last time I was here. "

She was away for a few minutes, and I heard the cab drive off before shereturned. That was the chief point gained. When the papers were in myhand, I just glanced at them, and that was all. 

"Have you any idea where they came from?" I asked. 

"There is the London post-mark on the envelop, " answered Foster. --"Showit to him, Carry. There is nothing to be learned from that. "

"No, " I said, comparing the handwriting on the envelop with the letter, and finding them the same. "Well, good-by! I cannot often pay you aslong a visit as this. "

I hurried off quickly to the corner of Dawson Street, where Johanna waswaiting for me. She looked exceedingly contented when I took my seatbeside her in the cab. 

"Well, Martin, " she said, "you need suffer no more anxiety. Olivia hasgone as English teacher in an excellent French school, where the lady isthoroughly acquainted with English ways and comforts. This is theprospectus of the establishment. You see there are 'extensive groundsfor recreation, and the comforts of a cheerfully happy home, thedomestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale. ' Here is alsoa photographic view of the place: a charming villa, you see, in the bestFrench style. The lady's husband is an _avocat_; and every thing istaught by professors--cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies ofwhich we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelvemonths, and in return for her services will take lessons from anyprofessors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at easenow. "

"But where is the place?" I inquired. 

"Oh! it is in Normandy--Noireau, " she said--"quite out of the range ofrailways and tourists. There will be no danger of any one finding herout there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time. "

"Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?"I asked. 

An expression of bewilderment and consternation came across hercontented face. 

"No, I did not, " she answered; "I thought you were sure of that. "

But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himselfin trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; butevery answer he gave to my eager questions plunged us into greateruncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes, and made blundering guesses at her height. The chief proof we had ofOlivia's identity was the drunken claim made upon Ellen Martineau byFoster, a month after he had received convincing proof that she wasdead. What was I to believe?

It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19Bellringer Street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging-house, and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when shewas in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgers, if herown curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fathom themystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties, should they reach the ears of Foster or his wife. 

"I must satisfy myself about her safety now, " I said. "Only put yourselfin my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?"

"I do put myself in your place, " he answered. "What do you say to havinga run down to this place in Basse-Normandie, and seeing for yourselfwhether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?"

"How can I?" I asked, attempting to hang back from the suggestion. Itwas a busy time with us. The season was in full roll, and our mostaristocratic patients were in town. The easterly winds were bringing intheir usual harvest of bronchitis and diphtheria. If I went, Jack'shands would be more than full. Had these things come to perplex us onlytwo months earlier, I could have taken a holiday with a clearconscience. 

"Dad will jump at the chance of coming back for a week, " replied Jack;"he is bored to death down at Fulham. Go you must, for my sake, oldfellow. You are good for nothing as long as you're so down in the mouth. I shall be glad to be rid of you. "

We shook hands upon that, as warmly as if he had paid me the mostflattering compliments. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND. 

NOIREAU

In this way it came to pass that two evenings later I was crossing theChannel to Havre, and found myself about five o'clock in the afternoonof the next day at Falaise. It was the terminus of the railway in thatdirection; and a very ancient conveyance, bearing the name of La PetiteVitesse, was in waiting to carry on any travellers who were venturesomeenough to explore the regions beyond. There was space inside for sixpassengers, but it smelt too musty, and was too full of the fumes of badtobacco, for me; and I very much preferred sitting beside the driver, ared-faced, smooth-cheeked Norman, habited in a blue blouse, who couldcrack his long whip with almost the skill of a Parisian omnibus-driver. We were friends in a trice, for my _patois_ was almost identical withhis own, and he could not believe his own ears that he was talking withan Englishman. 

"La Petite Vitesse" bore out its name admirably, if it were meant toindicate exceeding slowness. We never advanced beyond a slow trot, andat the slightest hint of rising ground the trot slackened into a walk, and eventually subsided into a crawl. By these means the distance wetraversed was made to seem tremendous, and the drowsy jingle of thecollar-bells, intimating that progress was being accomplished, added tothe delusion. But the fresh, sweet air, blowing over leagues of fieldsand meadows, untainted with a breath of smoke, gave me a delicioustingling in the veins. I had not felt such a glow of exhilaration sincethat bright morning when I bad crossed the channel to Sark, to askOlivia to become mine. 

The sun sank below the distant horizon, with the trees showing clearlyagainst it, for the atmosphere was as transparent as crystal; and thelight of the stars that came out one by one almost cast a defined shadowupon our path, from the poplar-trees standing in long, straight rows inthe hedges. If I found Olivia at the end of that starlit path mygladness in it would be completed. Yet if I found her, what then? Ishould see her for a few minutes in the dull _salon_ of a school perhapswith some watchful, spying Frenchwoman present. I should simply satisfymyself that she was living. There could be nothing more between us. Idare not tell her how dear she was to me, or ask her if she ever thoughtof me in her loneliness and friendlessness. I began to wish that I hadbrought Johanna with me, who could have taken her in her arms, andkissed and comforted her. Why had I not thought of that before?

As we proceeded at our delusive pace along the last stage of ourjourney, I began to sound the driver, cautiously wheeling about theobject of my excursion into those remote regions. I had tramped throughNormandy and Brittany three or four times, but there had been noinducement to visit Noireau, which resembled a Lancashire cotton-town, and I had never been there. 

"There are not many English at Noireau?" I remarked, suggestively. 

"Not one, " he replied--"not one at this moment. There was one littleEnglish mam'zelle--peste!--a very pretty little English girl, who wasvoyaging precisely like you, m'sieur, some months ago. There was alittle child with her, and the two were quite alone. They are veryintrepid, are the English mam'zelles. She did not know a word of ourlanguage. But that was droll, m'sieur! A French demoiselle would nevervoyage like that. "

The little child puzzled me. Yet I could not help fancying that thisyoung Englishwoman travelling alone, with no knowledge of French, mustbe my Olivia. At any rate it could be no other than Miss EllenMartineau. 

"Where was she going to?" I asked. 

"She came to Noireau to be an instructress in an establishment, "answered the driver, in a tone of great enjoyment--"an establishmentfounded by the wife of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the avocat! He! he! he!Mon Dieu! how droll that was, m'sieur! An avocat! So they believed thatin England? Bah! Emile Perrier an avocat--mon Dieu!"

"But what is there to laugh at?" I asked, as the man's laughter rangthrough the quiet night. 

"Am I an avocat?" he inquired derisively, "am I a proprietor? am I evena curé? Pardon, m'sieur, but I am just as much avocat, proprietor, curé, as Emile Perrier. He was an impostor. He became bankrupt; he and hiswife ran away to save themselves; the establishment was broken up. Itwas a bubble, m'sieur, and it burst comme ça. "

My driver clapped his hands together lightly, as though MonsieurPerrier's bubble needed very little pressure to disperse it. 

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "but what became of Oli--of the youngEnglish lady, and the child?"

"Ah, m'sieur!" he said, "I do not know. I do not live in Noireau, but Ipass to and fro from Falaise in La Petite Vitesse. She has not returnedin my omnibus, that is all I know. But she could go to Granville, or toCaen. There are other omnibuses, you see. Somebody will tell you downthere. "

For three or four miles before us there lay a road as straight as arule, ending in a small cluster of lights glimmering in the bottom of avalley, into which we were descending with great precaution on the partof the driver and his team. That was Noireau. But already myexhilaration was exchanged for profound anxiety. I extorted from theNorman all the information he possessed concerning the bankrupt; it wasnot much, and it only served to heighten my solicitude. 

It was nearly eleven o'clock before we entered the town; but I learned afew more particulars from the middle-aged woman in the omnibus bureau. She recollected the name of Miss Ellen Martineau, and her arrival; andshe described her with the accuracy and faithfulness of a woman. If shewere not Olivia herself, she must be her very counterpart. But who wasthe child, a girl of nine or ten years of age, who had accompanied her?It was too late to learn any more about them. The landlady of the hotelconfirmed all I had heard, and added several items of information. Monsieur Perrier and his wife had imposed upon several English families, and had succeeded in getting dozens of English pupils, so she assuredme, who had been scattered over the country, Heaven only knew where, when the school was broken up, about a month ago. 

I started out early the next morning to find the Rue de Grâce, where theinscription on my photographic view of the premises represented them assituated. The town was in the condition of a provincial town in Englandabout a century ago. The streets were as dirty as the total absence ofdrains and scavengers could make them, and the cleanest path was up thekennel in the centre. The filth of the houses was washed down into themby pipes, with little cisterns at each story, and under almost everywindow. There were many improprieties, and some indecencies, shocking toEnglish sensibilities. In the Rue de Grâce I saw two nuns in their hoodsand veils, unloading a cart full of manure. A ladies' school for Englishpeople in a town like this seemed ridiculous. 

There was no difficulty in finding the houses in my photographic view. There were two of them, one standing in the street, the other lying backbeyond a very pleasant garden. A Frenchman was pacing up and down thebroad gravel-path which connected them, smoking a cigar, and examiningcritically the vines growing against the walls. Two little children weregambolling about in close white caps, and with frocks down to theirheels. Upon seeing me, he took his cigar from his lips with two fingersof one hand, and lifted his hat with the other. I returned thesalutation with a politeness as ceremonious as his own. 

"Monsieur is an Englishman?" he said, in a doubtful tone. 

"From the Channel Islands, " I replied. 

"Ah! you belong to us, " he said, "but you are hybrid, half English, halfFrench; a fine race. I also have English blood in my veins. "

I paid monsieur a compliment upon the result of the admixture of bloodin his own instance, and then proceeded to unfold my object in visitinghim. 

"Ah!" he said, "yes, yes, yes; Perrier was an impostor. These houses aremine, monsieur. I live in the front, yonder; my daughter and son-in-lawoccupy the other. We had the photographs taken for our own pleasure, butPerrier must have bought them from the artist, no doubt. I have a smallcottage at the back of my house; voilà, monsieur! there it is. Perrierrented it from me for two hundred francs a year. I permitted him to passalong this walk, and through our coach-house into a passage which leadsto the street where madame had her school. Permit me, and I will show itto you. "

He led me through a shed, and along a dirty, vaulted passage, into amean street at the back. A small, miserable-looking house stood in it, shut up, with broken _persiennes_ covering the windows. My heart sank atthe idea of Olivia living here, in such discomfort, and neglect, andsordid poverty. 

"Did you ever see a young English lady here, monsieur?" I asked; "shearrived about the beginning of last November. "

"But yes, certainly, monsieur, " he replied, "a charming Englishdemoiselle! One must have been blind not to observe her. A face sweetand _gracieuse_; with hair of gold, but a little more sombre. Yes, yes!The ladies might not admire her, but we others--"

He laughed, and shrugged his shoulders in a detestable manner. 

"What height was she, monsieur?" I inquired. 

"A just height, " he answered, "not tall like a camel, nor too short likea monkey. She would stand an inch or two above your shoulder, monsieur. "

It could be no other than my Olivia! She had been living here, then, inthis miserable place, only a month ago; but where could she be now? Howwas I to find any trace of her?

"I will make some inquiries from my daughter, " said the Frenchman; "whenthe establishment was broken up I was ill with the fever, monsieur. Wehave fever often here. But she will know--I will ask her. "

He returned to me after some time, with the information that the Englishdemoiselle had been seen in the house of a woman who sold milk, Mademoiselle Rosalie by name; and he volunteered to accompany me to herdwelling. 

It was a poor-looking house, of one room only, in the same street as theschool; but we found no one there except an old woman, exceedingly deaf, who told us, after much difficulty in making her understand our object, that Mademoiselle Rosalie was gone somewhere to nurse a relative, whowas dangerously ill. She had not had any cows of her own, and she hadeasily disposed of her small business to this old woman and herdaughter. Did the messieurs want any milk for their families? No. Well, then, she could not tell us any thing more about Mam'zelle Rosalie; andshe knew nothing of an Englishwoman and a little girl. 

I turned away baffled and discouraged; but my new friend was not soquickly depressed. It was impossible, he maintained, that the Englishgirl and the child could have left the town unnoticed. He went with meto all the omnibus bureaus, where we made urgent inquiries concerningthe passengers who had quitted Noireau during the last month. No placeshad been taken for Miss Ellen Martineau and the child, for there was nosuch name in any of the books. But at each bureau I was recommended tosee the drivers upon their return in the evening; and I was compelled togive up the pursuit for that day. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD. 

A SECOND PURSUER. 

No wonder there was fever in the town, I thought, as I picked my wayamong the heaps of garbage and refuse lying out in the streets. The mosthideous old women I ever saw, wrinkled over every inch of their skin, blear-eyed, and with eyelids reddened by smoke, met me at each turn. Sallow weavers, in white caps, gazed out at me from their looms inalmost every house. There was scarcely a child to be seen about. Thewhole district, undrained and unhealthy, bears the name of the"Manufactory of Little Angels, " from the number of children who diethere. And this was the place where Olivia had been spending a very hardand severe winter!

There was going to be a large cattle-fair the next day, and all the townwas alive. Every inn in the place was crowded to overflowing. As I satat the window of my _café_, watching the picturesque groups which formedin the street outside, I heard a vehement altercation going on in thearchway, under which was the entrance to my hotel. 

"Grands Dieux!" cried the already familiar voice of my landlady, shrillas the cackling of a hen--"grands Dieux! not a single soul fromVille-en-bois can rest here, neither man nor woman! They have the feverlike a pest there. No, no, m'sieur, that is impossible; go away, you andyour beast. There is room at the Lion d'or. But the gensdarmes shouldnot let you enter the town. We have fever enough of our own. "

"But my farm is a league from Ville-en-bois, " was the answer, in theslow, rugged accents of a Norman peasant. 

"But I tell you it is impossible, '" she retorted; "I have an Englishmanhere, very rich, a milor, and he will not hear of any person fromVille-en-bois resting in the house. Go away to the Lion d'or, my goodfriend, where there are no English. They are as afraid of the fever asof the devil. "

I laughed to myself at my landlady's ingenious excuses; but after thisthe conversation fell into a lower key, and I heard no more of it. 

I went out late in the evening to question each of the omnibus--drivers, but in vain. Whether they were too busy to give me proper attention, ortoo anxious to join the stir and mirth of the townspeople, they alldeclared they knew nothing of any Englishwoman. As I returned dejectedlyto my inn, I heard a lamentable voice, evidently English, bemoaning indoubtful French. The omnibus from Falaise had just come in, and underthe lamp in the entrance of the archway stood a lady before my hostess, who was volubly asserting that there was no room left in her house. Ihastened to the assistance of my countrywoman, and the light of the lampfalling full upon her face revealed to me who she was. 

"Mrs. Foster!" I exclaimed, almost shouting her name in my astonishment. She looked ready to faint with fatigue and dismay, and she laid her handheavily on my arm, as if to save herself from sinking to the ground. 

"Have you found her?" she asked, involuntarily. 

"Not a trace of her, " I answered. 

Mrs. Foster broke into an hysterical laugh, which was very quicklyfollowed by sobs. I had no great difficulty in persuading the landladyto find some accommodation for her, and then I retired to my own room tosmoke in peace, and turn over the extraordinary meeting which had beenthe last incident of the day. 

It required very little keenness to come to the conclusion that theFosters had obtained their information concerning Miss Ellen Martineau, where we had got ours, from Mrs. Wilkinson. Also that Mrs. Foster hadlost no time in following up the clew, for she was only twenty-fourhours behind me. She had looked thoroughly astonished and dismayed whenshe saw me there; so she had had no idea that I was on the same track. But nothing could be more convincing than this journey of hers thatneither she nor Foster really believed in Olivia's death. That was asclear as day. But what explanation could I give to myself of thoseletters, of Olivia's above all? Was it possible that she had caused themto be written, and sent to her husband? I could not even admit such aquestion, without a sharp sense of disappointment in her. 

I saw Mrs. Foster early in the morning, somewhat as a truce-bearer maymeet another on neutral ground. She was grateful to me for myinterposition in her behalf the night before; and, as I knew EllenMartineau to be safely out of the way, I was inclined to be toleranttoward her. I assured her, upon my honor, that I had failed indiscovering any trace of Olivia in Noireau, and I told her all I hadlearned about the bankruptcy of Monsieur Perrier, and the scattering ofthe school. 

"But why should you undertake such a chase?" I asked; "if you and Fosterare satisfied that Olivia is dead, why should you be running after EllenMartineau? You show me the papers which seem to prove her death, and nowI find you in this remote part of Normandy, evidently in pursuit of her. What does this mean?"

"You are doing the same thing yourself, " she answered. 

"Yes, " I replied, "because I am not satisfied. But you have proved yourconviction by becoming Richard Foster's second wife. "

"That is the very point, " she said, shedding a few tears; "as soon asever Mrs. Wilkinson described Ellen Martineau to me, when she wastalking about her visitor who had come to inquire after her, in that cabwhich was standing at the door the last time you visited Mr. Foster--andI had no suspicion of it--I grew quite frightened lest he should ever becharged with marrying me while she was alive. So I persuaded him to letme come here and make sure of it, though the journey costs a great deal, and we have very little money to spare. We did not know what tricksOlivia might do, and it made me very miserable to think she might bestill alive, and I in her place. "

I could not but acknowledge to myself that there was some reason in Mrs. Foster's statement of the case. 

"There is not the slightest chance of your finding her, " I remarked. 

"Isn't there?" she asked, with an evil gleam in her eyes, which I justcaught before she hid her face again in her handkerchief. 

"At any rate, " I said, "you would have no power over her if you foundher. You could not take her back with you by force. I do not know howthe French laws would regard Foster's authority, but you can have nonewhatever, and he is quite unfit to take this long journey to claim her. Really I do not see what you can do; and I should think your wisestplan would be to go back and take care of him, leaving her alone. I amhere to protect her, and I shall stay until I see you fairly out of theplace. "

She did not speak again for some minutes, but she was evidentlyreflecting upon what I had just said. 

"But what are we to live upon?" she asked at last; "there is her moneylying in the bank, and neither she nor Richard can touch it. It must bepaid to her personally or to her order; and she cannot prove heridentity herself without the papers Richard holds. It is aggravating. Iam at my wits' end about it. "

"Listen to me, " I said. "Why cannot we come to some arrangement, supposing Ellen Martineau proves to be Olivia? It would be better foryou all to make some division of her property by mutual agreement. Youknow best whether Olivia could insist upon a judicial separation. But inany other case why should not Foster agree to receive half her income, and leave her free, as free as she can be, with the other half? Surelysome mutual agreement could be made. "

"He would never do it!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands round herknees, and swaying to and fro passionately; "he never loses any power. She belongs to him, and he never gives up any thing. He would tormenther almost to death, but he would never let her go free. No, no. You donot know him, Dr. Martin. "

"Then we will try to get a divorce, " I said, looking at her steadily. 

"On what grounds?" she asked, looking at me as steadily. 

I could not and would not enter into the question with her. 

"There has been no personal cruelty on Richard's part toward her, " sheresumed, with a half-smile. "It's true I locked her up for a few daysonce, but he was in Paris, and had nothing to do with it. You could notprove a single act of cruelty toward her. "

Still I did not answer, though she paused and regarded me keenly. 

"We were not married till we had reason to believe her dead, " shecontinued; "there is no harm in that. If she has forged those papers, she is to blame. We were married openly, in our parish church; whatcould be said against that?"

"Let us return to what I told you at first, " I said; "if you findOlivia, you have no more authority over her than I have. You will beobliged to return to England alone; and I shall place her in some safecustody. I shall ascertain precisely how the law stands, both, here andin England. Now I advise you, for Foster's sake, make as much haste homeas you can; for he will be left without nurse or doctor while we two areaway. "

She sat gnawing her under lip for some minutes, and looking as viciousas Madam was wont to do in her worst tempers. 

"You will let me make some inquiries to satisfy myself?" she said. 

"Certainly, " I replied; "you will only discover, as I have, that theschool was broken up a month ago, and Ellen Martineau has disappeared. "

I kept no very strict watch over her during the day, for I felt sure shewould find no trace of Olivia in Noireau. At night I saw her again. Shewas worn out and despondent, and declared herself quite ready to returnto Falaise by the omnibus at five o'clock in the morning. I saw her off, and gave the driver a fee, to bring me word for what town she took herticket at the railway-station. When he returned in the evening, he toldme he had himself bought her one for Honfleur, and started her fairly onher way home. 

As for myself, I had spent the day in making inquiries at the offices ofthe _octrois_--those local custom-houses which stand at every entranceinto a town or village in France, for the gathering of trifling, vexatious taxes upon articles of food and merchandise. At one of these Ihad learned, that, three or four weeks ago, a young Englishwoman with alittle girl had passed by on foot, each carrying a small bundle, whichhad not been examined. It was the _octroi_ on the road to Granville, which was between thirty and forty miles away. From Granville was thenearest route to the Channel Islands. Was it not possible that Oliviahad resolved to seek refuge there again? Perhaps to seek me! My heart, bowed down by the sad picture of her and the little child leaving thetown on foot, beat high again at the thought of Olivia in Guernsey. 

I set off for Granville by the omnibus next morning, and made furtherinquiries at every village we passed through, whether any thing had beenseen of a young Englishwoman and a little girl. At first the answer wasyes; then it became a matter of doubt; at last everywhere they repliedby a discouraging no. At one point of our journey we passed adilapidated sign-post with a rude, black figure of the Virgin hangingbelow it. I could just decipher upon one finger of the post, inhalf-obliterated letters, "Ville-en-bois. " It recurred to me that thiswas the place where fever was raging like the pest. 

"It is a poor place, " said the driver, disparagingly; "there is nothingthere but the fever, and a good angel of a curé, who is the only doctorinto the bargain. It is two leagues and a kilometre, and it is on theroad to nowhere. "

I could not stop in my quest to turn aside, and visit this villagesmitten with fever, though I felt a strong inclination to do so. AtGranville I learned that a young lady and a child had made the voyage toJersey a short time before; and I went on with stronger hope. But inJersey I could obtain no further information about her; nor in Guernsey, whither I felt sure Olivia would certainly have proceeded. I took oneday more to cross over to Sark, and consult Tardif; but he knew no morethan I did. He absolutely refused to believe that Olivia was dead. 

"In August, " he said, "I shall hear from her. Take courage and comfort. She promised it, and she will keep her promise. If she had known herselfto be dying, she would have sent me word. "

"It is a long time to wait, " I said, with an utter sinking of spirit. 

"It is a long time to wait!" he echoed, lifting up his hands, andletting them fall again with a gesture of weariness; "but we must waitand hope. "

To wait in impatience, and to hope at times, and despair at times, Ireturned to London. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH. 

THE LAW OF MARRIAGE. 

One of my first proceedings, after my return, was to ascertain how theEnglish law stood with regard to Olivia's position. Fortunately for me, one of Dr. Senior's oldest friends was a lawyer of great repute, and hediscussed the question with me after a dinner at his house at Fulham. 

"There seems to be no proof against the husband of any kind, " he said, after I had told him all. 

"Why!" I exclaimed, "here you have a girl, brought up in luxury andwealth, willing to brave any poverty rather than continue to live withhim. "

"A girl's whim, " he said; "mania, perhaps. Is there insanity in herfamily?"

"She is as sane as I am, " I answered. "Is there no law to protect a wifeagainst the companionship of such a woman as this second Mrs. Foster?"

"The husband introduces her as his cousin, " he rejoined, "and places herin some little authority on the plea that his wife is too young to beleft alone safely in Continental hotels. There is no reasonableobjection to be taken to that. "

"Then Foster could compel her to return to him?" I said. 

"As far as I see into the case, he certainly could, " was the answer, which drove me nearly frantic. 

"But there is this second marriage, " I objected. 

"There lies the kernel of the case, " he said, daintily peeling hiswalnuts. "You tell me there are papers, which you believe to beforgeries, purporting to be the medical certificate, with corroborativeproof of her death. Now, if the wife be guilty of framing these, thehusband will bring them against her as the grounds on which he felt freeto contract his second marriage. She has done a very foolish and a verywicked thing there. "

"You think she did it?" I asked. 

He smiled significantly, but without saying any thing. 

"I cannot!" I cried. 

"Ah! you are blind, " he replied, with the same maddening smile; "but letme return. On the other hand, _if_ the husband has forged these papers, it would go far with me as strong presumptive evidence against him, uponwhich we might go in for a divorce, not a separation merely. If theyoung lady had remained with him till she had collected proof of hisunfaithfulness to her, this, with his subsequent marriage to the sameperson during her lifetime, would probably have set her absolutelyfree. "

"Divorced from him?" I said. 

"Divorce, " he repeated. 

"But what can be done now?" I asked. 

"All you can do, " he answered, "is to establish your influence over thisfellow, and go cautiously to work with him. As long as the lady is inFrance, if she be alive, and he is too ill to go after her, she is safe. You may convince him by degrees that it is to his interest to come tosome terms with her. A formal deed of separation might be agreed upon, and drawn up; but even that will not perfectly secure her in thefuture. "

I was compelled to remain satisfied with this opinion. Yet how could Ibe satisfied, while Olivia, if she was still living, was wandering abouthomeless, and, as I feared, destitute, in a foreign country?

I made my first call upon Foster the next evening. Mrs. Foster had beento Brook Street every day since her return, to inquire for me, and toleave an urgent message that I should go to Bellringer Street as soon asI was again in town. The lodging-house looked almost as wretched as theforsaken dwelling down at Noireau, where Olivia had perhaps been living;and the stifling, musty air inside it almost made me gasp for breath. 

"So you are come back!" was Foster's greeting, as I entered the dingyroom. 

"Yes. " I replied. 

"I need not ask what success you've had, " he said, sneering, 'Why sopale and wan, fond lover?' Your trip has not agreed with you, that isplain enough. It did not agree with Carry, either, for she came backswearing she would never go on such a wild-goose chase again. You know Iwas quite opposed to her going?"

"No, " I said, incredulously. The diamond ring had disappeared from hisfinger, and it was easy to guess how the funds had been raised for thejourney. 

"Altogether opposed, " he repeated. "I believe Olivia is dead. I am quitesure she has never been under this roof with me, as Miss Ellen Martineauhas been. I should have known it as surely as ever a tiger scented itsprey. Do you suppose I have no sense keen enough to tell me she was inthe very house where I was?"

"Nonsense!" I answered. His eyes glistened cruelly, and made me almostready to spring upon him. I could have seized him by the throat andshaken him to death, in my sudden passion of loathing against him; but Isat quiet, and ejaculated "Nonsense!" Such power has the spirit of thenineteenth century among civilized classes. 

"Olivia is dead, " he said, in a solemn tone. "I am convinced of thatfrom another reason: through all the misery of our marriage, I neverknew her guilty of an untruth, not the smallest. She was as true as theGospel. Do you think you or Carry could make me believe that she wouldtrifle with such an awful subject as her own death? No. I would take myoath that Olivia would never have had that letter sent, or write to methose few lines of farewell, but to let me know that she was reallydead. "

His voice faltered a little, as though even he were moved by the thoughtof her early death. Mrs. Foster glanced at him jealously, and he lookedback at her with a provoking curve about his lips. For the moment therewas more hatred than love in the regards exchanged between them. I sawit was useless to pursue the subject. 

"Well, " I said, "I came to arrange a time for Dr. Lowry to visit youwith me, for the purpose of a thorough examination. It is possible thatDr. Senior may be induced to join us, though he has retired frompractice. I am anxious for his opinion as well as Lowry's. " "You reallywish to cure me?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. 

"To be sure, " I replied. "I can have no other object in undertaking yourcase. Do you imagine it is a pleasure to me? It is possible that yourdeath would be a greater benefit to the world than your life, but thatis no question for me to decide. Neither is it for me to considerwhether you are my friend or my enemy. There is simply a life to besaved if possible; whose, is not my business. Do you understand me?"

"I think so, " he said. "I am nothing except material for you to exerciseyour craft upon. "

"Precisely, " I answered; "that and nothing more. As some writer says, 'It is a mere matter of instinct with me. I attend you just as aNewfoundland dog saves a drowning man. '"

I went from him to Hanover Street, where I found Captain Carey, who metme with the embarrassment and shamefacedness of a young girl. I had notyet seen them since my return from Normandy. There was much to tellthem, though they already knew that my expedition had failed, and thatit was still doubtful whether Ellen Martineau and Olivia were the sameperson. 

Captain Carey walked along the street with me toward home. He had takenmy arm in his most confidential manner, but he did not open his lipstill we reached Brook Street. 

"Martin, " he said, "I've turned it over in my own mind, and I agree withTardif. Olivia is no more dead than you or me. We shall find out allabout it in August, if not before. Cheer up, my boy! I tell you what:Julia and I will wait till we are sure about Olivia. "

"No, no, " I interrupted; "you and Julia have nothing to do with it. When is your wedding to be?"

"If you have no objection, " he answered--"have you the least shadow ofan objection?"

"Not a shadow of a shadow, " I said. 

"Well, then, " he resumed, bashfully, "what do you think of August? It isa pleasant month, and would give us time for that trip to Switzerland, you know. Not any sooner, because of your poor mother; and later, if youlike that better. "

"Not a day later, " I said; "my father has been married again these fourmonths. "

Yet I felt a little sore for my mother's memory. How quickly it wasfading away from every heart but mine! If I could but go to her now, andpour out all my troubled thoughts into her listening, indulgent ear! Noteven Olivia herself, who could never be to me more than she was at thismoment, could fill her place. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH. 

FULFILLING THE PLEDGE. 

We--that is, Dr. Senior, Lowry, and I--made our examination of Foster, and held our consultation, three days from that time. 

There was no doubt whatever that he was suffering from the same diseaseas that which had been the death of my mother--a disease almostinvariably fatal, sooner or later. A few cases of cure, under mostfavorable circumstances, had been reported during the last half-century;but the chances were dead against Foster's recovery. In all probability, a long and painful illness, terminating in inevitable death, lay beforehim. In the opinion of my two senior physicians, all that I could dowould be to alleviate the worst pangs of it. 

His case haunted me day and night. In that deep under-current ofconsciousness which lurks beneath our surface sensations andimpressions, there was always present the image of Foster, with hispale, cynical face, and pitiless eyes. With this, was the perpetualremembrance that a subtile malady, beyond the reach of our skill, wasslowly eating away his life. The man I abhorred; but the sufferer, mysteriously linked with the memories which clung about my mother, aroused her most urgent, instinctive compassion. Only once before had Iwatched the conflict between disease and its remedy with so intense aninterest. 

It was a day or two after our consultation that I came accidentally uponthe little note-book which I had kept in Guernsey--a private note-book, accessible only to myself. It was night; Jack, as usual, was gone out, and I was alone. I turned over the leaves merely for listless want ofoccupation. All at once I came upon an entry, made in connection with mymother's illness, which recalled to me the discovery I believed I hadmade of a remedy for her disease, had it only been applied in itsearlier stages. It had slipped out of my mind, but now my memory leapedupon it with irresistible force. 

I must tell the whole truth, however terrible and humiliating it may be. Whether I had been true or false to myself up to that moment I cannotsay. I had taken upon myself the care, and, if possible, the cure ofthis man, who was my enemy, if I had an enemy in the world. His life andmine could not run parallel without great grief and hurt to me, and toone dearer than myself. Now that a better chance was thrust upon me inhis favor, I shrank from seizing it with unutterable reluctance. Iturned heart-sick at the thought of it. I tried my utmost to shake offthe grip of my memory. Was it possible that, in the core of my heart, Iwished this man to die?

Yes, I wished him to die. Conscience flashed the answer across the innerdepths of my soul, as a glare of lightning over the sharp crags andcruel waves of our island in a midnight storm. I saw with terribledistinctness that there had been lurking within a sure sense ofsatisfaction in the certainty that he must die. I had suspected nothingof it till that moment. When I told him it was the instinct of aphysician to save his patient, I spoke the truth. But I found somethingwithin me deeper than instinct, that was wailing and watching for thefatal issue of his malady, with a tranquil security so profound that itnever stirred the surface of my consciousness, or lifted up its ghostlyface to the light of conscience. 

I took up my note-book, and went away to my room, lest Jack should comein suddenly, and read my secret on my face. I thrust the book into adrawer in my desk, and locked it away out of my sight. What need had Ito trouble myself with it or its contents? I found a book, one ofCharles Dickens's most amusing stories, and set myself resolutely toread it; laughing aloud at its drolleries, and reading faster andfaster; while all the time thoughts came crowding into my mind of mymother's pale, worn face, and the pains she suffered, and the remedyfound out too late. These images grew so strong at last that my eyes ranover the sentences mechanically, but my brain refused to take in themeaning of them. I threw the book from me; and, leaning my head on myhands, I let all the waves of that sorrowful memory flow over me. 

How strong they were! how persistent! I could hear the tones of herlanguid voice, and see the light lingering to the last in her dim eyes, whenever they met mine. A shudder crept through me as I recollected howshe travelled that dolorous road, slowly, day by day, down to the grave. Other feet were beginning to tread the same painful journey; but therewas yet time to stay them, and the power to do it was intrusted to me. What was I to do with my power?

It seemed cruel that this power should come to me from my mother'sdeath. If she were living still, or if she had died from any othercause, the discovery of this remedy would never have been made by me. And I was to take it as a sort of miraculous gift, purchased by herpangs, and bestow it upon the only man I hated. For I hated him; I saidso to myself, muttering the words between my teeth. 

What was the value of his life, that I should ransom it by such asacrifice? A mean, selfish, dissipated life--a life that would beOlivia's curse as long as it lasted. For an instant a vision stood outclear before me, and made my heart beat fast, of Olivia free, as shemust be in the space of a few months, should I leave the disease to takeits course; free and happy, disenthralled from the most galling of allbondage. Could I not win her then? She knew already that I loved her;would she not soon learn to love me in return? If Olivia were living, what an irreparable injury it would be to her for this man to recover!

That seemed to settle the question. I could not be the one to doom herto a continuation of the misery she was enduring. It was irrational andover-scrupulous of my conscience to demand such a thing from me. I woulduse all the means practised in the ordinary course of treatment torender the recovery of my patient possible, and so fulfil my duty. Iwould carefully follow all Dr. Senior's suggestions. He was anexperienced and very skilful physician; I could not do better thansubmit my judgment to his. 

Besides, how did I know that this fancied discovery of mine was of theleast value? I had never had a chance of making experiment of it, and nodoubt it was an idle chimera of my brain, when it was overwrought byanxiety for my mother's sake. I had not hitherto thought enough of it toask the opinion of any of my medical friends and colleagues. Why shouldI attach any importance to it now? Let it rest. Not a soul knew of itbut myself. I had a perfect right to keep or destroy my own notes. Suppose I destroyed that one at once?

I unlocked the desk, and took out my book again. The leaf on which thesespecial notes were written was already loose, and might have been easilylost at any time, I thought. I burned it by the flame of the gas, andthrew the brown ashes into the grate. For a few minutes I felt elated, as if set free from an oppressive burden; and I returned to the story Ihad been reading, and laughed more heartily than before at the grotesqueturn of the incidents. But before long the tormenting question came upagain. The notes were not lost. They seemed now to be burned in upon mybrain. 

The power has been put into your hands to save life, said my conscience, and you are resolving to let it perish. What have you to do with thefact that the nature is mean, selfish, cruel? It is the physical lifesimply that you have to deal with. What is beyond that rests in thehands of God. What He is about to do with this soul is no question foryou. Your office pledges you to cure him if you can, and the fulfilmentof this duty is required of you. If you let this man die, you are amurderer. 

But, I said in answer to myself, consider what trivial chances the wholething has hung upon. Besides the accident that this was my mother'smalady, there was the chance of Lowry not being called from home. Theman was his patient, not mine. After that there was the chance of Jackgoing to see him, instead of me; or of him refusing my attendance. Ifthe chain had broken at one of these links, no responsibility could havefallen upon me. He would have died, and all the good results of hisdeath would have followed naturally. Let it rest at that. 

But it could not rest at that. I fought a battle with myself all throughthe quiet night, motionless and in silence, lest Jack should becomeaware that I was not sleeping. How should I ever face him, or grasp hishearty hand again, with such a secret weight upon my soul? Yet how couldI resolve to save Foster at the cost of dooming Olivia to a life-longbondage should he discover where she was, or to life-long poverty shouldshe remain concealed? If I were only sure that she was alive! But if shewere dead--why, then all motive for keeping back this chance of savinghim would be taken away. It was for her sake merely that I hesitated. 

For her sake, but for my own as well, said my conscience; for the subtlehope, which had taken deeper root day by day, that by-and-by the onlyobstacle between us would be removed. Suppose then that he was dead, andOlivia was free to love me, to become my wife. Would not her verycloseness to me be a reproving presence forever at my side? Could I everrecall the days before our marriage, as men recall them when they aregrowing gray and wrinkled, as a happy golden time? Would there notalways be a haunting sense of perfidy, and disloyalty to duty, standingbetween me and her clear truth and singleness of heart? There could beno happiness for me, even with Olivia, my cherished and honored wife, ifI had this weight and cloud resting upon my conscience. 

The morning dawned before I could decide. The decision, when made, brought no feeling of relief or triumph to me. As soon as it wasprobable that Dr. Senior could see me; I was at his house at Fulham; andin rapid, almost incoherent words laid what I believed to be myimportant discovery before him. He sat thinking for some time, runningover in his own mind such cases as had come under his own observation. After a while a gleam of pleasure passed over his face, and his eyesbrightened as he looked at me. 

"I congratulate you, Martin, " he said, "though I wish Jack had hit uponthis. I believe it will prove a real benefit to our science. Let me turnit over a little longer, and consult some of my colleagues about it. ButI think you are right. You are about to try it on poor Foster?"

"Yes, " I answered, with a chilly sensation in my veins, the naturalreaction upon the excitement of the past night. 

"It can do him no harm, " he said, "and in my opinion it will prolong hislife to old age, if he is careful of himself. I will write a paper onthe subject for the _Lancet_, if you will allow me. "

"With all my heart, " I said sadly. 

The old physician regarded me for a minute with his keen eyes, which hadlooked through the window of disease into many a human soul. I shrankfrom the scrutiny, but I need not have done so. He grasped my handfirmly and closely in his own. 

"God bless you, Martin!" he said, "God bless you!"

CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH. 

A DEED OF SEPARATION. 

That keen, benevolent glance of Dr. Senior's was like a gleam ofsunlight piercing through the deepest recesses of my troubled spirit. Ifelt that I was no longer fighting my fight out alone. A friendly eyewas upon me; a friendly voice was cheering me on. "The dead shall lookme through and through, " says Tennyson. For my part I should wish for agood, wise man to look me through and through; feel the pulse of my soulfrom time to time, when it was ailing, and detect what was therecontrary to reason and to right. Dr. Senior's hearty "God bless you!"brought strength and blessing with it. 

I went straight from Fulham to Bellringer Street. A healthy impulse tofulfil all my duty, however difficult, was in its first fervid moment ofaction. Nevertheless there was a subtle hope within me founded upon onechance that was left--it was just possible that Foster might refuse tobe made the subject of an experiment; for an experiment it was. 

I found him not yet out of bed. Mrs. Foster was busy at her task ofengrossing in the sitting-room--- a task she performed so well that Icould not believe but that she had been long accustomed to it. Ifollowed her to Foster's bedroom, a small close attic at the back, witha cheerless view of chimneys and the roofs of houses. There was no meansof ventilation, except by opening a window near the head of the bed, when the draught of cold air would blow full upon him. He lookedexceedingly worn and wan. The doubt crossed me, whether the disease hadnot made more progress than we supposed. His face fell as he saw theexpression upon mine. 

"Worse, eh?" he said; "don't say I am worse. "

I sat down beside him, and told him what I believed to be his chance oflife; not concealing from him that I proposed to try, if he gave hisconsent, a mode of treatment which had never been practised before. Hiseye, keen and sharp as that of a lynx, seemed to read my thoughts as Dr. Senior's had done. 

"Martin Dobrée, " he said, in a voice so different from his ordinarycaustic tone that it almost startled me, "I can trust you. I put myselfwith implicit confidence into your hands. "

The last chance--dare I say the last hope?--was gone. I stood pledged onmy honor as a physician, to employ this discovery, which had been laidopen to me by my mother's fatal illness, for the benefit of the manwhose life was most harmful to Olivia and myself. I felt suffocated, stifled. I opened the window for a minute or two, and leaned through itto catch the fresh breath of the outer air. 

"I must tell you, " I said, when I drew my head in again, "that you mustnot expect to regain your health and strength so completely as to beable to return to your old dissipations. You must make up your mind tolead a regular, quiet, abstemious life, avoiding all excitement. Ninemonths out of the twelve at least, if not the whole year, you must spendin the country for the sake of fresh air. A life in town would kill youin six months. But if you are careful of yourself you may live to sixtyor seventy. "

"Life at any price!" he answered, in his old accents, "yet you put it ina dreary light before me. It hardly seems worth while to buy such anexistence, especially with that wife of mine downstairs, who cannotendure the country, and is only a companion for a town-life. Now, if ithad been Olivia--you could imagine life in the country endurable withOlivia?"

What could I answer to such a question, which ran through me like anelectric shock? A brilliant phantasmagoria flashed across my brain--ahouse in Guernsey with Olivia in it--sunshine--flowers--the singing ofbirds--the music of the sea--the pure, exhilarating atmosphere. It hadvanished into a dead blank before I opened my mouth, though probably amoment's silence had not intervened. Foster's lips were curled into amocking smile. 

"There would be more chance for you now, " I said, "if you could havebetter air than this. "

"How can I?" he asked. 

"Be frank with me, " I answered, "and tell me what your means are. Itwould be worth your while to spend your last farthing upon this chance. "

"Is it not enough to make a man mad, " he said, "to know there arethousands lying in the bank in his wife's name, and he cannot touch apenny of it? It is life itself to me; yet I may die like a dog in thishole for the want of it. My death will lie at Olivia's door, curse her!"

He fell back upon his pillows, with a groan as heavy and deep as evercame from the heart of a wretch perishing from sheer want. I could notchoose but feel some pity for him; but this was an opportunity I mustnot miss. 

"It is of no use to curse her, " I said; "come, Foster, let us talk overthis matter quietly and reasonably. If Olivia be alive, as I cannot helphoping she is, your wisest course would be to come to some mutualagreement, which-would release you both from your present difficulties;for you must recollect she is as penniless as yourself. Let me speak toyou as if I were her brother. Of this one thing you may be quitecertain, she will never consent to return to you; and in that I will aidher to the utmost of my power. But there is no reason why you should nothave a good share of the property, which she would gladly relinquish oncondition that you left her alone. Now just listen carefully. I thinkthere would be small difficulty, if we set about it, in proving that youwere guilty against her with your present wife; and in that case shecould claim a divorce absolutely, and her property would remain her own. Your second marriage with the same person would set her free from youaltogether. "

"You could prove nothing. " he replied, fiercely, "and my second marriageis covered by the documents I could produce. "

"Which are forged, " I said, calmly; "we will find out by whom. You arein a net of your own making. But we do not wish to push this question toa legal issue. Let us come to some arrangement. Olivia will consent toany terms I agree to. "

Unconsciously I was speaking as if I knew where Olivia was, and couldcommunicate with her when I chose. I was merely anticipating the timewhen Tardif felt sure of hearing from her. Foster lay still, watching mewith his cold, keen eyes. 

"If those letters are forged, " he said, uneasily, "it is Olivia who hasforged them. But I must consult my lawyers. I will let you know theresult in a few days. "

But the same evening I received a note, desiring me to go and see himimmediately. I was myself in a fever of impatience, and glad at theprospect of any settlement "of this subject, in the hope of settingOlivia free, as far as she could be free during his lifetime. He waslooking brighter and better than in the morning, and an odd smile playednow and then about his face as he talked to me, after having desiredMrs. Foster to leave us alone together. 

"Mark!" he said, "I have not the slightest reason to doubt Olivia'sdeath, except your own opinion to the contrary, which is founded uponreasons of which I know nothing. But, acting on the supposition that shemay be still alive, I am quite willing to enter into negotiations withher, I suppose it must be through you. "

"It must, " I answered, "and it cannot be at present. You will have towait for some months, perhaps, while I pursue my search for her. I donot know where she is any more than you do. "

A vivid gleam crossed his face at these words, but whether ofincredulity or satisfaction I could not tell. 

"But suppose I die in the mean time?" he objected. 

That objection was a fair and obvious one. His malady would not pause inits insidious attack while I was seeking Olivia. I deliberated for a fewminutes, endeavoring to look at a scheme which presented itself to mefrom every point of view. 

"I do not know that I might not leave you in your present position, " Isaid at last; "it may be I am acting from an over-strained sense ofduty. But if you will give me a formal deed protecting her fromyourself, I am willing to advance the funds necessary to remove you topurer air, and more open quarters than these. A deed of separation, which both of you must sign, can be drawn up, and receive yoursignature. There will be no doubt as to getting hers, when we find her. But that may be some months hence, as I said. Still I will run therisk. "

"For her sake?" he said, with a sneer. 

"For her sake, simply, " I answered; "I will employ a lawyer to draw upthe deed, and as soon as you sign it I will advance the money yourequire. My treatment of your disease I shall begin at once; that falls, under my duty as your doctor; but I warn you that fresh air and freedomfrom agitation are almost, if not positively, essential to its success. The sooner you secure these for yourself, the better your chance. "

Some further conversation passed between us, as to the stipulations tobe insisted upon, and the division of the yearly income from Olivia'sproperty, for I would not agree to her alienating any portion of it. Foster wished to drive a hard bargain, still with that odd smile on hisface; and it was after much discussion that we came to an agreement. 

I had the deed drawn up by a lawyer, who warned me that, if Foster suedfor a restitution of his rights, they would be enforced. But I hopedthat when Olivia was found she would have some evidence in her ownfavor, which would deter him from carrying the case into court. The deedwas signed by Foster, and left in my charge till Olivia's signaturecould be obtained. 

As soon as the deed was secured, I had my patient removed fromBellringer Street to some apartments in Fulham, near to Dr. Senior, whose interest in the case was now almost equal to my own. Here, if Icould not visit him every day, Dr. Senior did, while his greatprofessional skill enabled him to detect symptoms which might haveescaped my less experienced eye. Never had any sufferer, under thehighest and wealthiest ranks, greater care and science expended upon himthan Richard Foster. 

The progress of his recovery was slow, but it was sure. I felt that itwould be so from the first. Day by day I watched the pallid hue ofsickness upon his face changing into a more natural tone. I saw hisstrength coming back by slight but steady degrees. The malady was forcedto retreat into its most hidden citadel, where it might lurk as aprisoner, but not dwell as a destroyer, for many years to come, ifFoster would yield himself to the _régime_ of life we prescribed. Butthe malady lingered there, ready to break out again openly, if itsdungeon-door were set ajar. I had given life to him, but it was his partto hold it fast. 

There was no triumph to me in this, as there would have been had mypatient been any one else. The cure aroused much interest among mycolleagues, and made my name more known. But what was that to me? Aslong as this man lived, Olivia was doomed to a lonely and friendlesslife. I tried to look into the future for her, and saw it stretch outinto long, dreary years. I wondered where she would find a home. Could Ipersuade Johanna to receive her into her pleasant dwelling, which wouldbecome so lonely to her when Captain Carey had moved into Julia's housein St. Peter-Port? That was the best plan I could form. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH. 

A FRIENDLY, CABMAN. 

Julia's marriage arrangements were going on speedily. There wassomething ironical to me in the chance that made me so often the witnessof them. We were so merely cousins again, that she discussed herpurchases, and displayed them before me, as if there had never been anynotion between us of keeping house together. Once more I assisted in thechoice of a wedding-dress, for the one made a year before was said to beyellow and old-fashioned. But this time Julia did not insist upon havingwhite satin. A dainty tint of gray was considered more suitable, eitherto her own complexion or the age of the bridegroom. Captain Careyenjoyed the purchase with the rapture I had failed to experience. 

The wedding was fixed to take place the last week in July, a fortnightearlier than the time proposed; it was also a fortnight earlier than thedate I was looking forward to most anxiously, when, if ever, news wouldreach Tardif from Olivia. All my plans were most carefully made, in theevent of her sending word where she was. The deed of separation, signedby Foster, was preserved by me most cautiously, for I had a sort ofhaunting dread that Mrs. Foster would endeavor to get possession of it. She was eminently sulky, and had been so ever since the signing of thedeed. Now that Foster was very near convalescence, they might be tryingsome stratagem to recover it. But our servants were trustworthy, and thedeed lay safe in the drawer of my desk. 

At last Dr. Senior agreed with me that Foster was sufficiently advancedon the road to recovery to be removed from Fulham to the better air ofthe south coast. The month of May had been hotter than usual, and Junewas sultry. It was evidently to our patient's advantage to exchange theatmosphere of London for that of the sea-shore, even though he had todispense with our watchful attendance. In fact he could not very wellfall back now, with common prudence and self-denial. We impressed uponhim the urgent necessity of these virtues, and required Mrs. Foster towrite us fully, three times a week, every variation she might observe inhis health. After that we started them off to a quiet village in Sussex. I breathed more freely when they were out of my daily sphere of duty. 

But before they went a hint of treachery reached me, which put me doublyon my guard. One morning, when Jack and I were at breakfast, each deepin our papers, with an occasional comment to one another on theircontents, Simmons, the cabby, was announced, as asking to speak to oneor both of us immediately. He was a favorite with Jack, who bade theservant show him in; and Simmons appeared, stroking his hat round andround with his hand, as if hardly knowing what to do with his limbs offthe box. 

"Nothing amiss with your wife, or the brats. I hope?" said Jack. 

"No, Dr. John, no, " he answered, "there ain't any thing amiss with them, except being too many of 'em p'raps, and my old woman won't own to that. But there's some thing in the wind as concerns Dr. Dobry, so I thoughtI'd better come and give you a hint of it. "

"Very good, Simmons, " said Jack. 

"You recollect taking my cab to Gray's-Inn Road about this time lastyear, when I showed up so green, don't you?" he asked. 

"To be sure, " I said, throwing down my paper, and listening eagerly. 

"Well, doctors, " he continued, addressing us both, "the very last Mondayas ever was, a lady walks slowly along the stand, eying us all veryhard, but taking no heed to any of 'em, till she catches sight of _me_. That's not a uncommon event, doctors. My wife says there's somethingabout me as gives confidence to her sex. Anyhow, so it is, and I can'tgainsay it. The lady comes along very slowly--she looks hard at me--shenods her head, as much as to say, 'You, and your cab, and your horse, are what I'm on the lookout for;' and I gets down, opens the door, andsees her in quite comfortable. Says she, 'Drive me to Messrs. Scott andBrown, in Gray's-Inn Road. '"

"No!" I ejaculated. 

"Yes, doctors, " replied Simmons. "'Drive me, ' she says, 'to Messrs. Scott and Brown, Gray's-Inn Road. ' Of course I knew the name again; Iwas vexed enough the last time I were there, at showing myself so green. I looks hard at her. A very fine make of a woman, with hair and eyes asblack as coals, and a impudent look on her face somehow. I turned itover and over again in my head, driving her there--could there be anyreason in it? or had it any thing to do with last time? and cetera. Shetold me to wait for her in the street; and directly after she goes in, there comes down the gent I had seen before, with a pen behind his ear. He looks very hard at me, and me at him. Says he, 'I think I have seenyour face before, my man. ' Very civil; as civil as a orange, as folkssay. 'I think you have, ' I says. 'Could you step up-stairs for a minuteor two?' says he, very polite; 'I'll find a boy to take charge of yourhorse. ' And he slips a arf-crown into my hand, quite pleasant. "

"So you went in, of course?" said Jack. 

"Doctors, " he answered, solemnly, "I did go in. There's nothing to besaid against that. The lady is sitting in a orfice up-stairs, talking toanother gent, with hair and eyes like hers, as black as coals, and thesame look of brass on his face. All three of 'em looked a little underthe weather. 'What's your name, my man?' asked the black gent. 'Walker, 'I says. 'And where do you live?' he says, taking me serious. 'In QueerStreet, ' I says, with a little wink to show 'em I were up to a trick ortwo. They all three larfed a little among themselves, but not in apleasant sort of way. Then the gent begins again. 'My good fellow, ' hesays, 'we want you to give us a little information that 'ud be of use tous, and we are willing to pay you handsome for it. It can't do you anyharm, nor nobody else, for it's only a matter of business. You're notabove taking ten shillings for a bit of useful information?' 'Not by nomanner of means. ' I says. "

"Go on, " I said, impatiently, as Simmons paused to look as hard at us ashe had done at these people. 

"Jest so doctors, " he continued, "but this time I was minding my P's andQ's. 'You know Dr. Senior, of Brook Street?' he says. 'The old doctor?'I says; 'he's retired out of town. ' 'No, ' he says, 'nor the young doctorneither; but there's another of 'em isn't there?' 'Dr. Dobry?' I says. 'Yes, ' he says, 'he often takes your cab, my friend?' 'First one andthen the other, ' I says, 'sometimes Dr. John and sometimes Dr. Dobry. They're as thick as brothers, and thicker. ' 'Good friends of yours?' hesays. 'Well, ' says I, 'they take my cab when they can have it; butthere's not much friendship, as I see, in that. It's the best cab andhorse on the stand, though I say it, as shouldn't. Dr. John's prettyfair, but the other's no great favorite of mine. ' 'Ah!' he says. "

Simmons's face was illuminated with delight, and he winked sportively atus. 

"It were all flummery, doctors, " he said; "I don't deny as Dr. John is aolder friend, and a older favorite; but that is neither here nor there. I jest see them setting a trap, and I wanted to have a finger in it. 'Ah!' he says, 'all we want to know, but we do want to know that veryparticular, is where you drive Dr. Dobry to the oftenest. He's going toborrow money from us, and we'd like to find out something about hishabits; specially where he spends his spare time, and all that sort ofthing, you understand. You know where he goes in your cab. ' 'Of course Ido, ' I says; 'I drove him and Dr. John here nigh a twelvemonth ago. Theother gent took my number down, and knew where to look for me when youwanted me. ' 'You're a clever fellow, ' he says. 'So my old woman thinks, 'I says. 'And you'd be glad to earn a little more for your old woman?' hesays. 'Try me, ' I says. 'Well then, ' says he, 'here's a offer for you. If you'll bring us word where he spends his spare time, we'll give youten shillings; and if it turns out of any use to us, well make it fivepounds. ' 'Very good, ' I says. 'You've not got any information to tell usat once?' he says. 'Well, no, ' I says, 'but I'll keep my eye upon himnow. ' 'Stop, ' he says, as I were going away; 'they keep a carriage, ofcourse?' 'Of course, ' I says; 'what's the good of a doctor that hasn't acarriage and pair?' 'Do they use it at night?' says he. 'Not often, 'says I; 'they take a cab; mine if it's on the stand. ' 'Very good, ' hesays; 'good-morning, my friend. ' So I come away, and drives back againto the stand. "

"And you left the lady there?" I asked, with no doubt in my mind that itwas Mrs. Foster. 

"Yes, doctor, " he answered, "talking away like a poll-parrot with theblack-haired gent. That were last Monday; to-day's Friday, and thismorning there comes this bit of a note to me at our house in DawsonStreet. So my old woman says. 'Jim, you'd better go and show it to Dr. John. ' That's what's brought me here at this time, doctors. "

He gave the note into Jack's hands; and he, after glancing at it, passedit on to me. The contents were simply these words: "James Simmons isrequested to call at No. --Gray's-Inn Road, at 6. 30 Friday evening. " Thehandwriting struck me as one I had seen and noticed before. I scanned itmore closely for a minute or two; then a glimmering of light began todawn upon my memory. Could it be? I felt almost sure it was. In anotherminute I was persuaded that it was the same hand as that which hadwritten the letter announcing Olivia's death. Probably if I could seethe penmanship of the other partner, I should find it to be identicalwith that of the medical certificate which had accompanied the letter. 

"Leave this note with me, Simmons, " I said, giving him half a crown inexchange for it. I was satisfied now that the papers had been forged, but not with Olivia's connivance. Was Foster himself a party to it? Orhad Mrs. Foster alone, with the aid of these friends or relatives ofhers, plotted and carried out the scheme, leaving him in ignorance anddoubt like my own?

CHAPTER THE FORTY-EIGHTH. 

JULIA'S WEDDING. 

Before the Careys and Julia returned to Guernsey, Captain Carey came tosee me one evening, at our own house in Brook Street. He seemedsuffering from some embarrassment and shyness; and I could not for sometime lead him to the point he was longing to gain. 

"You are quite reconciled to all this, Martin?" he said, stammering. Iknew very well what he meant. 

"More than reconciled, " I answered, "I am heartily glad of it. Juliawill make you an excellent wife. "

"I am sure of that, " he said, simply, "yet it makes me nervous a littleat times to think I may be standing in your light. I never thought whatit was coming to when I tried to comfort Julia about you, or I wouldhave left Johanna to do it all. It is very difficult to console a personwithout seeming very fond of them; and then there's the danger of themgrowing fond of you. I love Julia now with all my heart: but I did notbegin comforting her with that view, and I am sure you exonerate me, Martin?"

"Quite, quite, " I said, almost laughing at his contrition; "I shouldnever have married Julia, believe me; and I am delighted that she isgoing to be married, especially to an old friend like you. I shall makeyour house my home. "

"Do, Martin, " he answered, his face brightening; "and now I am come toask you a great favor--a favor to us all. "

"I'll do it, I promise that beforehand, " I said. 

"We have all set our hearts on your being my best man, " he replied--"atthe wedding, you know. Johanna says nothing will convince the Guernseypeople that we are all good friends except that. It will have a queerlook, but if you are there everybody will be satisfied that you do notblame either Julia or me. I know it will be hard for you, dear Martin, because of your poor mother, and your father being in Guernsey still;but if you can conquer that, for our sakes, you would make us every oneperfectly happy. "

I had not expected them to ask this; but, when I came to think of it, itseemed very natural and reasonable. There was no motive strong enough tomake me refuse to go to Julia's wedding; so I arranged to be with themthe last week in July. 

About ten days before going, I ran down to the little village on theSussex coast to visit Foster, from whom, or from his wife, I hadreceived a letter regularly three times a week. I found him as nearcomplete health as he could ever expect to be, and I told him so; but Iimpressed upon him the urgent necessity of keeping himself quiet andunexcited. He listened with that cool, taunting sneer which had alwaysirritated me. 

"Ah! you doctors are like mothers, " he said, "who try to frighten theirchildren with bogies. A doctor is a good crutch to lean upon when one isquite lame, but I shall be glad to dispense with my crutch as soon as mylameness is gone. "

"Very good, " I replied; "you know your life is of no value to me. I havesimply done my duty by you. "

"Your mother, Mrs. Dobrée, wrote to me this week. " he remarked, smilingas I winced at the utterance of that name; "she tells me there is to bea grand wedding in Guernsey; that of your _fiancée_, Julia Dobrée, withCaptain Carey. You are to be present, so she says. "

"Yes, " I replied. 

"It will be a pleasure to you to revisit your native island, " he said, "particularly under such circumstances. "

I took no notice of the taunt. My conversation with this man invariablyled to full stops. He said something to which silence was the bestretort. I did not stay long with him, for the train by which I was toreturn passed through the village in less than an hour from my arrival. As I walked down the little street I turned round once by a suddenimpulse, and saw Foster gazing after me with his pale face andglittering eyes. Ho waved his hand in farewell to me, and that was thelast I saw of him. 

Some days after this I crossed in the mail-steamer to Guernsey, on aMonday night, as the wedding was to take place at an early hour onWednesday morning, in time for Captain Carey and Julia to catch the boatto England. The old gray town, built street above street on the rockfacing the sea, rose before my eyes, bathed in the morning sunlight. Butthere was no home in it for me now. The old familiar house in the GrangeRoad was already occupied by strangers. I did not even know where I wasto go. I did not like the idea of staying under Julia's roof, whereevery thing would remind me of that short spell of happiness in mymother's life, when she was preparing it for my future home. Luckily, before the steamer touched the pier, I caught sight of Captain Carey'swelcome face looking out for my appearance. He stood at the end of thegangway, as I crossed over it with my portmanteau. 

"Come along, Martin, " hee said; "you are to go with me to the Vale, asmy groomsman, you know. Are all the people staring at us, do you think?I daren't look round. Just look about you for me, my boy. "

"They are staring awfully, " I answered, "and there are scores of themwaiting to shake hands with us. "

"Oh, they must not!" he said, earnestly; "look as if you did not seethem, Martin. That's the worst of getting married; yet most of them aremarried themselves, and ought to know better. There's the dog-cartwaiting for us a few yards off, if we could only get to it. I have keptmy face seaward ever since I came on the pier, with my collar turned up, and my hat over my eyes. Are you sure they see who we are?"

"Sure!" I cried, "why, there's Carey Dobrée, and Dobrée Carey, and Brockde Jersey, and De Jersey le Cocq, and scores of others. They know us aswell as their own brothers. We shall have to shake hands with every oneof them. "

"Why didn't you come in disguise?" asked Captain Carey, reproachfully;but before I could answer I was seized upon by the nearest of ourcousins, and we were whirled into a very vortex of greetings andcongratulations. It was fully a quarter of an hour before we wereallowed to drive off in the dog-cart; and Captain Carey was almostbreathless with exhaustion. 

"They are good fellows, " he said, after a time, "very good fellows, butit is trying, isn't it, Martin? It is as if no man was ever marriedbefore; though they have gone through it themselves, and ought to knowhow one feels. Now you take it quietly, my boy, and you do not know howdeeply I feel obliged to you. "

There was some reason for me to take it quietly. I could not helpthinking how nearly I had been myself in Captain Carey's position. Iknew that Julia and I would have led a tranquil, matter-of-fact, pleasant enough life together, but for the unlucky fate that had carriedme across to Sark to fall in love with Olivia. There was somethingenviable in the tranquil prosperity I had forfeited. Guernsey was thedearest spot on earth to me, yet I was practically banished from it. Julia was, beyond all doubt, the woman I loved most, next to Olivia, butshe was lost to me. There was no hope for me on the other hand. Fosterwas well again, and by my means. Probably I might secure peace andcomparative freedom for Olivia, but that was all. She could never bemore to me than she was now. My only prospect was that of a drearybachelorhood; and Captain Carey's bashful exultation made the futureseem less tolerable to me. 

I felt it more still when, after dinner in the cool of the summerevening, we drove lack into town to see Julia for the last time beforewe met in church the next morning. There was an air of glad excitementpervading the house. Friends were running in, with gifts and pleasantwords of congratulation. Julia herself had a peculiar modest statelinessand frank dignity, which suited her well. She was happy and content, andher face glowed. Captain Carey's manner was one of tender chivalry, somewhat old-fashioned. I found it a hard thing to "look at happinessthrough another man's eyes. "

I drove Captain Carey and Johanna home along the low, level shore whichI had so often traversed with my heart full of Olivia. It was dusk, thedusk of a summer's night; but the sea was luminous, and Sark lay upon ita bank of silent darkness, sleeping to the music of the waves. A strongyearning came over me, a longing to know immediately the fate of myOlivia. Would to Heaven she could return to Sark, and be cradled therein its silent and isolated dells! Would to Heaven this huge load ofanxiety and care for her, which bowed me down, might be taken awayaltogether!

"A fortnight longer, " I said to myself, "and Tardif will know where sheis; then I can take measures for her tranquillity and safety in thefuture. "

It was well for me that I had slept during my passage, for I had littlesleep during that night. Twice I was aroused by the voice of CaptainCarey at my door, inquiring what the London time was, and if I couldrely upon my watch not having stopped. At four o'clock he insisted uponeverybody in the house getting up. The ceremony was to be solemnized atseven, for the mail-steamer from Jersey to England was due in Guernseyat nine, and there were no other means of quitting the island later inthe day. Under these circumstances there could be no formalwedding-breakfast, a matter not much to be regretted. There would not betoo much time, so Johanna said, for the bride to change herwedding-dress at her own house for a suitable travelling-costume, andthe rest of the day would be our own. 

Captain Carey and I were standing at the altar of the old church someminutes before the bridal procession appeared. He looked pale, but woundup to a high pitch of resolute courage. The church was nearly full ofeager spectators, all of whom I had known from my childhood--faces thatwould have crowded about me, had I been standing in the bridegroom'splace. Far back, half sheltered by a pillar, I saw the white head andhandsome face of my father, with Kate Daltrey by his side; but thoughthe church was so full, nobody had entered the same pew. His name hadnot been once mentioned in my hearing. As far as his old circle inGuernsey was concerned, Dr. Dobrée was dead. 

At length Julia appeared, pale like the bridegroom, but dignified andprepossessing. She did not glance at me; she evidently gave no thoughtto me. That was well, and as it should be. If any fancy had beenlingering in my head that she still regretted somewhat the exchange shehad made, that fancy vanished forever. Julia's expression, when CaptainCarey drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the aisle to thevestry, was one of unmixed contentment. 

Yet there was a pang in it--reason as I would, there was a pang in itfor me. I should have liked her to glance once at me, with a troubledand dimmed eye. I should have liked a shade upon her face as I wrote myname below hers in the register. But there was nothing of the kind. Shegave me the kiss, which I demanded as her cousin Martin, withoutembarrassment, and after that she put her hand again upon thebridegroom's arm, and marched off with him to the carriage. 

A whole host of us accompanied the bridal pair to the pier, and saw themstart off on their wedding-trip, with a pyramid of bouquets before themon the deck of the steamer. We ran round to the light-house, and wavedout hats and handkerchiefs as long as they were in sight. That dutydone, the rest of the day was our own. 

CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH. 

A TELEGRAM IN PATOIS. 

What a long day it was! How the hours seemed to double themselves, andcreep along at the slowest pace they could!

I had had some hope of running over to Sark to see Tardif, but thatcould not be. I was needed too much by the party that had been leftbehind by Captain Carey and Julia. We tried to while away the time by adrive round the island, and by visiting many of my old favorite haunts;but I could not be myself. 

Everybody rallied me on my want of spirits, but I found it impossible toshake off my depression. I was glad when the day was over, and Johannaand I were left in the quiet secluded house in the Vale, where the moanof the sea sighed softly through the night air. 

"This has been a trying day for you, Martin, " said Johanna. 

"Yes, " I answered; "though I can hardly account for my own depression. Johanna, in another fortnight I shall learn where Olivia is. I want tofind a home for her. Just think of her desolate position! She has nofriends but Tardif and me; and you know how the world would talk if Iwere too openly her friend. Indeed, I do not wish her to come to live inLondon; the trial would be too great for me. I could not resist thedesire to see her, to speak to her--and that would be fatal to her. Dearest Johanna, I want such a home as this for her. "

Johanna made no reply, and I could not see her face in the dim moonlightwhich filled the room. I knelt down beside her, to urge my petition moreearnestly. 

"Your name would be such a protection to her. " I went on, "this housesuch a refuge! If my mother were living, I would ask her to receive her. You have been almost as good to me as my mother. Save me, save Oliviafrom the difficulty I see before us. "

"Will you never get over this unfortunate affair?"' she asked, halfangrily. 

"Never!" I said; "Olivia is so dear to me that I am afraid of harmingher by my love. Save her from me, Johanna. You have it in your power. Ishould be happy if I knew she was here with you. I implore you, for mymother's sake, to receive Olivia into your home. "

"She shall come to me, " said Johanna, after a few minutes' silence. Iwas satisfied, though the consent was given with a sigh. I knew that, before long, Johanna would be profoundly attached to my Olivia. 

It was almost midnight the next day when I reached Brook Street, where Ifound Jack expecting my return. He had bought, in honor of it, somecigars of special quality, over which I was to tell him all the story ofJulia's wedding. But a letter was waiting for me, directed in queer, crabbed handwriting, and posted in Jersey a week before. It had been solong on the road in consequence of the bad penmanship of the address. Iopened it carelessly as I answered Jack's first inquiries; but theinstant I saw the signature I held up my hand to silence him. It wasfrom Tardif. This is a translation:

 "DEAR DOCTOR AND FRIEND: This day I received a letter from mam'zelle; quite a little letter with only a few lines in it. She says, 'Come to me. My husband has found me; he is here. I have no friends but you and one other, and I cannot send for him. You said you would come to me whenever I wanted you. I have not time to write more. I am in a little village called Ville-en-bois, between Granville and Noireau. Come to the house of the curé; I am there. '

 "Behold, I am gone, dear monsieur. I write this in my boat, for we are crossing to Jersey to catch the steamboat to Granville. To-morrow evening I shall be in Ville-en-bois. Will you learn the law of France about this affair? They say the code binds a woman to follow her husband wherever he goes. At London you can learn any thing. Believe me, I will protect mam'zelle, or I should say madame, at the loss of my life. Write to me as soon as you receive this. There will be an inn at Ville-en-bois; direct to me there. Take courage, monsieur. Your devoted TARDIF. "

"I must go!" I exclaimed, starting to my feet, about to rush out of thehouse. 

"Where?" cried Jack, catching my arm between both his hands, and holdingme fast. 

"To Olivia, " I answered; "that villain, that scoundrel has hunted herout in Normandy. Read that, Jack. Let me go. "

"Stay!" he said; "there is no chance of going so late as this; it isafter twelve o'clock. Let us think a few minutes, and look at Bradshaw. "

But at that moment a furious peal of the bell rang through the house. We both ran into the hall. The servant had just opened the door, and atelegraph-clerk stood on the steps, with a telegram, which he thrustinto his hands. It was directed to me. I tore it open. "From JeanGrimont, Granville, to Dr. Dobrée. Brook Street, London. " I did not knowany Jean Grimont, of Granville, it was the name of a stranger to me. Amessage was written underneath in Norman _patois_, but so mispelt andgarbled in its transmission that I could not make out the sense of it. The only words I was sure about were "mam'zelle, " "Foster, " "Tardif, "and "_à l'agonie_. " Who was on the point of death I could not tell. 

CHAPTER THE FIRST. 

OLIVIA'S JUSTIFICATION. 

I know that in the eyes of the world I was guilty of a great fault--afault so grave that society condemns it bitterly. How shall I justifymyself before those who believe a woman owes her whole self to herhusband, whatever his conduct to her may be? That is impossible. To themI merely plead "guilty, " and say nothing of extenuating circumstances. 

But there are others who will listen, and be sorry for me. There arewomen like Johanna Carey, who will pity me, and lay the blame where itought to lie. 

I was little more than seventeen when I was married; as mere a child asany simple, innocent girl of seventeen among you. I knew nothing of whatlife was, or what possibilities of happiness or misery it contained. Imarried to set away from a home that had been happy, but which hadbecome miserable. This was how it was:

My own mother died when I was too young a child to feel her loss. Formany years after that, my father and I lived alone together on one ofthe great sheep-farms of Adelaide, which belonged to him, and where hemade all the fortune that he left me. A very happy life, very free, withno trammels of society and no fetters of custom; a simple, rustic life, which gave me no preparation for the years that came after it. 

When I was thirteen my father married again--for my sake, and mineonly. I knew afterward that he was already foreseeing his death, andfeared to leave me alone in the colony. He thought his second wife wouldbe a mother to me, at the age when I most needed one. He died two yearsafter, leaving me to her care. He died more peacefully than he couldhave done, because of that. This he said to me the very last day of hislife. Ah! I trust the dead do not know the troubles that come to theliving. It would have troubled my father--nay, it would have beenanguish to him, even in heaven itself, if he could have seen my lifeafter he was gone. It is no use talking or thinking about it. After twowretched years I was only too glad to be married, and get away from thewoman who owed almost the duty of a mother to me. 

Richard Foster was a nephew of my step-mother, the only man I wasallowed to see. He was almost twice my age; but he had pleasant manners, and a smooth, smooth tongue. I believed he loved me, he swore it sooften and so earnestly; and I was in sore need of love. I wanted someone to take care of me, and think of me, and comfort me, as my fatherhad been used to do. So much alone, so desolate I had been since hisdeath, no one caring whether I were happy or miserable, ill or well, that I felt grateful to Richard Foster when he said he loved me. Heseemed to come in my father's stead, and my step-mother urged andhurried on our marriage, and I did not know what I was doing. Thetrustees who had charge of my property left me to the care of myfather's widow. That was how I came to marry him when I was only a girlof seventeen, with no knowledge of the world but what I had learned onmy father's sheep-run. 

It was a horrible, shameful thing, if you will only think of it. Therewas I, an ignorant, unconscious, bewildered girl, with the film ofchildhood over my eyes still; and there was he, a crafty, unprincipled, double-tongued adventurer, who was in love with my fortune, not with me. As quickly as he could carry me off from my home, and return to his ownhaunts in Europe, he brought me away from the colony, where all whom Icould ever call friends were living. I was utterly alone with him--athis mercy. There was not an ear that I could whisper a complaint to; notone face that would look at me in pity and compassion. My father hadbeen a good man, single-hearted, high-minded, and chivalrous. This manlaughed at all honor and conscience scornfully. 

I cannot tell you the shock and horror of it. I had not known there weresuch places and such people in the world, until I was thrust suddenlyinto the midst of them; innocent at first, like the child I was, but thefilm soon passed away from my eyes. I grew to loathe myself as well ashim. How would an angel feel, who was forced to go down to hell, andbecome like the lost creatures there, remembering all the time theundefiled heaven he was banished from? I was no angel, but I had been asimple, unsullied, clear-minded girl, and I found myself linked inassociation with men and women such as frequent the gambling-places onthe Continent. For we lived upon the Continent, going from onegambling-place to another. How was a girl like me to possess her ownsoul, and keep it pure, when it belonged to a man like Richard Foster?

There was one more injury and degradation for me to suffer. I recollectthe first moment I saw the woman who wrought me so much miseryafterward. We were staying in Homburg for a few weeks at a hotel; andshe was seated at a little table in a window, not far from the one wherewe were sitting. A handsome, bold-looking, arrogant woman. They hadknown one another years before, it seemed. He said she was his cousin. He left me to go and speak to her, and I watched them, though I did notknow then that any thing more would come of it than a casualacquaintance. I saw his face grow animated, and his eyes look into hers, with an expression that stirred something like jealousy within me, ifjealousy can exist without love. When he returned to me, he told me hehad invited her to join us as my companion. She came to us that evening. 

She never left us after that. I was too young, he said, to be left alonein foreign towns while he was attending to his business, and his cousinwould be the most suitable person to take care of me. I hated the womaninstinctively. She was civil to me just at first, but soon there wasopen war between us, at which he laughed only; finding amusement forhimself in my fruitless efforts to get rid of her. After a while Idiscovered it could only be by setting myself free from him. 

Now judge me. Tell me what I was bound to do. Three voices I hear speak. 

One says: "You, a poor hasty girl, very weak yet innocent, ought to haveremained in the slough, losing day by day your purity, your worth, yournobleness, till you grew like your companions. You had vowed ignorantly, with a profound ignorance it might be, to obey and honor this man tilldeath parted you. You had no right to break that vow. "

Another says: "You should have made of yourself a spy, you should havelaid traps; you should have gathered up every scrap of evidence youcould find against them, that might have freed you in a court of law. "

A third says: "It was right for you, for the health of your soul, andthe deliverance of your whole self from an intolerable bondage, to breakthe ignorantly-taken vow, and take refuge in flight. No soul can bebound irrevocably to another for its own hurt and ruin. "

I listened then, as I should listen now, to the third voice. The chancecame to me just before I was one-and-twenty. They were bent uponextorting from me that portion of my father's property which would cometo me, and be solely in my own power, when I came of age. It had beensettled upon me in such a way, that if I were married my husband couldnot touch it without my consent. 

I must make this quite clear. One-third, of my fortune was so settledthat I myself could not take any portion of it save the interest; butthe other two-thirds were absolutely mine, whether I was married orsingle. By locking up one-third, my father had sought to provide againstthe possibility of my ever being reduced to poverty. The rest was myown, to keep if I pleased; to give up to my husband if I pleased. 

At first they tried what fair words and flattery would do with me. Thenthey changed their tactics. They brought me over to London, where not acreature knew me. They made me a prisoner in dull, dreary rooms, where Ihad no employment and no resources. That is, the woman did it. Myhusband, after settling us in a house in London, disappeared, and I sawno more of him. I know now he wished to keep himself irresponsible formy imprisonment. She would have been the scape-goat, had any legaldifficulties arisen. He was anxious to retain all his rights over me. 

I can see how subtle he was. Though my life was a daily torture, therewas positively nothing I could put into words against him--nothing thatwould have authorized me to seek a legal separation. I did not know anything of the laws, how should I? except the fact which he dinned into myears that he could compel me to live with him. But I know now that thebest friends in the world could not have saved me from him in any otherway than the one I took. He kept within the letter of the law. Heforfeited no atom of his claim upon me. 

Then God took me by the hand, and led me into a peaceful and untroubledrefuge, until I had gathered strength again. 

CHAPTER THE SECOND. 

ON THE WING AGAIN. 

How should I see that Dr. Martin Dobrée was falling in love with me? Iwas blind to it; strangely blind those wise people will think, who say awoman always knows when a man loves her. I knew so well that all my lifewas shut out from the ordinary hopes and prospects of girlhood, that Inever realized the fact that to him I was a young girl whom he mightlove honorably, were he once set free from his engagement to his cousinJulia. 

I had not looked for any trouble of that kind. He had been as kind to meas any brother could have been--kind, and chivalrous, and considerate. The first time I saw him I was weak and worn out with great pain, and mymind seemed wandering. His face came suddenly and distinctly before me;a pleasant face, though neither handsome nor regular in features. Itpossessed great vivacity and movement, changing readily, and always fullof expression. He looked at me so earnestly and compassionately, hisdark eyes seeming to search for the pain I was suffering, that I feltperfect confidence in him at once. I was vaguely conscious of his closeattendance, and unremitting care, during the whole week that I lay ill. All this placed us on very pleasant terms of familiarity and friendship. 

How grieved I was when this friendship came to an end--when he confessedhis unfortunate love to me--it is impossible for me to say. Such athought had never crossed my mind. Not until I saw the expression on hisface, when he called to us from the shore to wait for him, and wadedeagerly through the water to us, and held my hands fast as I helped himinto the boat--not till then did I suspect his secret. Poor Martin!

Then there came the moment when I was compelled to say to him. "I wasmarried four years ago, and my husband is still living"--a very bittermoment to me; perhaps more bitter than to him. I knew we must see oneanother no more; and I who was so poor in friends, lost the dearest ofthem by those words. That was a great shock to me. 

But the next day came the second shock of meeting Kate Daltrey, myhusband's half-sister. Martin had told me that there was a person inGuernsey who had traced my flight so far; but in my trouble and sorrowfor him, I had not thought much of this intelligence. I saw in aninstant that I had lost all again, my safety, my home, my new friends. Imust flee once more, alone and unaided, leaving no trace behind me. Whenold Mother Renouf, whom Tardif had set to watch me for very fear of thismischance, had led me away from Kate Daltrey to the cottage, I soughtout Tardif at once. 

He was down at the water's edge, mending his boat, which lay with itskeel upward. He heard my footsteps among the pebbles, and turned roundto greet me with one of his grave smiles, which had never failed mewhenever I went to him. 

"Mam'zelle is triste, " he said; "is there any thing I can do for you?"

"I must go away from here, Tardif, " I answered, with a choking voice. 

A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for amoment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile. 

"For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked. 

"Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried. 

"Tell me every thing, " he repeated; "it shall be buried here, in myheart, as if it was buried in the depths of the sea. I will try not tothink of it even, if you bid me. I am your friend as well as yourservant. "

Then leaning against his boat, for I could not control my trembling, Itold him almost all about my wretched life, from which God had deliveredme, leading me to him for shelter and comfort. He listened with his eyescast down, never once raising them to my face, and in perfect silence, except that once or twice he groaned within himself, and clinched hishard hands together. I know that I could never have told my history toany other man as I told it to him, a homely peasant and fisherman, butwith as noble and gentle a heart as ever beat. 

"You must go, " he said, when I had finished. His voice was hollow andbroken, but the words were spoken distinctly enough for me to hear them. 

"Yes, there is no help for me, " I answered; "there is no rest for me butdeath. "

"It would be better to die, " he said, solemnly, "than return to a lifelike that. I would sooner bury you up yonder, in our little graveyard, than give you up to your husband. "

"You will help me to get away at once?" I asked. 

"At once, " he repeated, in the same broken voice. His face looked gray, and his mouth twitched. He leaned against his boat, as if he couldhardly stand; as I was doing myself, for I felt utterly weak and shaken. 

"How soon?" I asked. 

"To-morrow I will row you to Guernsey in time for the packet toEngland, " he answered. Mon Dieu! how little I thought what I was mendingmy boat for! Mam'zelle, is there nothing, nothing in the world I can dofor you?"

"Nothing, Tardif, " I said, sorrowfully. 

"Nothing!" he assented, dropping his head down upon his hands. No, therewas positively nothing he could do for me. There was no person on theface of the earth who could help me. 

"My poor Tardif, " I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I am a greattrouble to you. "

"I cannot bear to let you go in this way, " he replied, without lookingup. "If it had been to marry Dr. Martin--why, then--but you have to goalone, poor little child!"

"Yes, " I said, "alone. "

After that we were both silent for some minutes. We could hear thepeaceful lapping of the water at our feet, and its boom against therocks, and the shrieking of the sea-gulls; but there was utter silencebetween us two. I felt as if it would break my heart to leave thisplace, and go whither I knew not. Yet there was no alternative. 

"Tardif, " I said at last, "I will go first to London. It is so large aplace, nobody will find me there. Besides, they would never think of megoing back to London. When I am there I will try to get a situation asgoverness somewhere. I could teach little children; and if I go into aschool there will be no one to fall in love with me, like Dr. Martin. Iam very sorry for him. "

"Sorry for him!" repeated Tardif. 

"Yes, very sorry, " I replied; "it is as if I must bring troubleeverywhere. You are troubled, and I cannot help it. "

"I have only had one trouble as great, " he said, as if to himself, "andthat was when my poor little wife died. I wish to God I could keep youhere in safety, but that is impossible. "

"Quite impossible, " I answered. 

Yet it seemed too bad to be true. What had I done, to be driven awayfrom this quiet little home into the cold, wide world? Poor andfriendless, after all my father's far-seeing plans and precautions tosecure me from poverty and friendlessness! What was to be my lot in thatdismal future, over the rough threshold of which I must cross to-morrow?

Tardif and I talked it all over that evening, sitting at thecottage-door until the last gleam of daylight had faded from the sky. Hehad some money in hand just then, which he had intended to invest thenext time he went to Guernsey, and could see his notary. This money, thirty pounds, he urged me to accept as a gift; but I insisted uponleaving with him my watch and chain in pledge, until I could repay themoney. It would be a long time before I could do that, I knew; for I wasresolved never to return to Richard Foster, and to endure any privationrather than claim my property. 

I left Tardif after a while, to pack up my very few possessions. We didnot tell his mother that I was going, for he said it would be betternot. In the morning he would simply let her know I was going over toGuernsey. No communication had ever passed between the old woman and meexcept by signs, yet I should miss even her in that cold, careless crowdin which I was about to be lost, in the streets of London. 

We started at four in the morning, while the gray sky was dappled overwith soft clouds, and the sea itself seemed waking up from sleep, as ifit too had been slumbering through the night. The morning mist upon thecliffs made them look mysterious, as if they had some secrets toconceal. Untrodden tracks climbed the surface of the rocks, and werelost in the fine filmy haze. The water looked white and milky, withlines across it like the tracks on the cliffs, which no human foot couldtread; and the tide was coming back to the shore with a low, tranquil, yet sad moan. The sea-gulls skimmed past us with their white wings, almost touching us; their plaintive wailing seeming to warn us of thetreachery and sorrow of the sea. I was not afraid of the treachery ofthe sea, yet I could not bear to hear them, nor could Tardif. 

We landed at one of the stone staircases running up the side of the pierat Guernsey; for we were only just in time for the steamer. The stepswere slimy and wet with seaweed, but Tardif's hand grasped mine firmly. He pushed his way through the crowd of idlers who were watching thelading of the cargo, and took me down immediately into the cabin. 

"Good-by, mam'zelle, " he said; "I must leave you. Send for me, or cometo me, if you are in trouble and I can do any thing for you. If it wereto Australia, I would follow you. I know I am only fit to be yourservant, but all the same I am your friend. You have a little regard forme, mam'zelle?"

"O Tardif!" I sobbed, "I love you very dearly. "

"Now that makes me glad, " he said, holding my hand between his, andlooking down at me with tears in his eyes; "you said that from your goodheart, mam'zelle. When I am out alone in my boat, I shall think of it, and in the long winter nights by the fire, when there is no littlemam'zelle to come and talk to me, I shall say to myself, 'She loves youvery dearly. ' Good-by, mam'zelle. God be with you and protect you!"

"Good-by, " I said, with a sore grief in my heart, "good-by, Tardif. Itis very dreadful to be alone again. "

There was no time to say more, for a bell rang loudly on deck, and weheard the cry, "All friends on shore!" Tardif put his lips to my hand, and left me. I was indeed alone. 

CHAPTER THE THIRD. 

IN LONDON LODGINGS. 

Once more I found myself in London, a city so strange to me that I didnot know the name of any street in it. I had more acquaintance withalmost every great city on the Continent. Fortunately, Tardif had givenme the address of a boarding-house, or rather a small family hotel, where he had stayed two or three times, and I drove there at once. Itwas in a quiet back street, within sound of St. Paul's clock. The hourwas so late, nearly midnight, that I was looked upon with suspicion, asa young woman travelling alone, and with little luggage. It was onlywhen I mentioned Tardif, whose island bearing had made him noticeableamong the stream of strangers passing through the house, that themistress of the place consented to take me in. 

This was my first difficulty, but not the last. By the advice of themistress of the boarding-house, I went to several governess agencies, which were advertising for teachers in the daily papers. At most ofthese they would not even enter my name, as soon as I confessed myinability to give one or two references to persons who would vouch formy general character, and my qualifications. This was a fatalimpediment, and one that had never occurred to me; yet the request was areasonable one, even essential. What could be more suspicious than agirl of my age without a friend to give a guarantee of herrespectability? There seemed no hope whatever of my entering into theill-paid ranks of governesses. 

When a fortnight had passed with no opening for me, I felt it necessaryto leave the boarding-house which had been my temporary home. I musteconomize my funds, for I did not know how long I must make them holdout. Wandering about the least fashionable suburbs, where lodgings wouldcost least, I found a bedroom in the third story of a house in atolerably respectable street. The rent was six shillings a week, to bepaid in advance. In this place, I entered upon a new phase of life, sodifferent from that in Sark that, in the delusions which solitude oftenbrings, I could not always believe myself the same person. 

A dreamy, solitary, gloomy life; shut in upon myself, with no outlet forassociation with my fellow creatures. My window opened upon a back-yard, with a row of half-built houses standing opposite to it. These houseshad been left half-finished, and were partly falling into ruin. A row ofbare, empty window-frames faced me whenever I turned my wearied eyes tothe scene without. Not a sound or sign of life was there about them. Within, my room was; small and scantily furnished, yet there wasscarcely space enough for me to move about it. There was no table for meto take my meals at, except the top of the crazy chest of drawers, whichserved as my dressing-table. One chair, broken in the back, and tiedtogether with a faded ribbon, was the only seat, except my box, which, set in a corner where I could lean against the wall, made me the mostcomfortable place for resting. There was a little rusty grate, but itwas still summer-time, and there was no need of a fire. A fire indeedwould have been insupportable, for the sultry, breathless atmosphere ofAugust, with the fever-heat of its sun burning in the narrow streets andclose yards, made the temperature as parching as an oven. I panted forthe cool cliffs and sweet fresh air of Sark. 

In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another withawful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was thatthe sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. The winterseemed inclined to set in early, and with unusual rigor, for a monthbefore the usual time fires became necessary. I put off lighting mine, for fear of the cost, until my sunless little room under the roof wasalmost like an ice-house. A severe cold, which made me afraid of havingto call in a doctor, compelled me to have a fire; and the burning of it, and the necessity of tending it, made it like a second person andcompanion in the lonely place. Hour after hour I sat in front of it onmy box, with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, watching thechangeful scenery of its embers, and the exquisite motion of the flames, and the upward rolling of the tiny columns of smoke, and the fiery, gorgeous colors that came and went with a breath. To see the tongues offire lap round the dull, black coal, and run about it, and feel it, andkindle it with burning touches, and never quit it till it was glowingand fervid, and aflame like themselves--that was my sole occupation forhours together. 

Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond ofcompanionship, and needed love, as much as any girl. Was it strange thatmy thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful daysin Sark?

When I awoke in the morning to a voiceless, solitary, idle day, howcould I help thinking of Martin Dobrée, of Tardif, even of old MotherRenouf, with her wrinkled face and her significant nods and becks?Martin Dobrée's pleasant face would come before me, with his eyesgleaming so kindly under his square forehead, and his lips movingtremulously with every change of feeling. Had he gone back to his cousinJulia again, and were they married? I ought not to feel any sorrow atthat thought. His path had run side by side with mine for a littlewhile, but always with a great barrier between us; and now they haddiverged, and must grow farther and farther apart, never to touch again. Yet, how my father would have loved him had he known him! How securelyhe would have trusted to his care for me! But stop! There was folly andwickedness in thinking that way. Let me make an end of that. 

There was no loneliness like that loneliness. Twice a day I exchanged aword or two with the overworked drudge of a servant in the house where Ilived; but I had no other voice to speak to me. No wonder that myimagination sometimes ran in forbidden and dangerous channels. 

When I was not thinking and dreaming thus, a host of anxieties crowdedabout me. My money was melting away again, though slowly, for I deniedmyself every thing but the bare necessaries of life. What was to becomeof me when it was all gone? It was the old question; but the answer wasas difficult to find as ever. I was ready for any kind of work, but nochance of work came to me. With neither work nor money, what was I todo? What was to be the end of it?

CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 

RIDLEY'S AGENCY-OFFICE. 

Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seizeme, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid thecrowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spokenof it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventionallife upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now, what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I didnot care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice Ipassed the Bank of Australia, where very probably. I could have learnedif he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soonas I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it. 

I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large generalagency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name inthe books for want of a reference. Toward the close of October Ireceived a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at twoo'clock the following afternoon, without fail. 

No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment! I felt in betterspirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark. There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and Iresolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be. 

It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actuallymenial, from curates to lady's-maids, and the place of business was alarge one. There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, atthe opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran thewhole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants atthe other as they stood by the counter. The compartment into which Ientered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transacttheir business. Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, inwhich employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot. A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperiousvoice which we could all hear distinctly. My heart sank at the idea ofpassing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personalhistory, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the questionof whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for. 

At last I heard the imperious voice say, "You may go. I do not think youwill suit me, " and a girl of about my own age came away from theinterview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks. A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal. 

What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, wasthe lady I had been summoned to meet?

It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and myspirits sank like lead. A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women!There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls. Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a classthat wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becomingteachers. These were laughing loudly among themselves at thecross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing. I shrank awayinto a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come. 

I had a long time to wart. The office clock pointed to half-past threebefore I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to thecounter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe fromrecognition. At the other end of the counter, in the compartment devotedto curates, doctors' assistants, and others, there stood a young man inearnest consultation with another clerk. He looked earnestly at me, butI was sure he could not know me. 

"Miss Ellen Martineau?" said the clerk. That was my mother's name, and Ihad adopted it for my own, feeling as if I had some right to it. 

"Yes, " I answered. 

"Would you object to go into a French school as governess?" he inquired. 

"Not in the least, " I said, eagerly. 

"And pay a small premium?" he added. "How much?" I asked, my spiritsfalling again. 

"A mere trifle, " he said; "about ten pounds or so for twelve months. Youwould perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a refereefor the future. "

"I must think about it, " I replied. 

"Well, there is the address of a lady who can give you all theparticulars, " he said, handing me a written paper. 

I left the office heavy-hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the halfof the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure arefuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of hearing ofsome other situation? I walked slowly along the street toward the busierthoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly aheavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and aharsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear:

"The devil! I've caught you at last!"

It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping overme. My husband's hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyes were lookingclosely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away fromme, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned, almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It wasthe stranger whom I had seen in the agency-office. But his face was nowdark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again toward us, hishand was ready to thrust him away a second time. 

"She's my wife, " he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. Bythis time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman hadcome up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly. 

"He's a drunken vagabond!" he said; "he has just come out of thosespirit-vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, andI know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley'soffice, where she has been looking after a situation. Good Heavens!cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insultedby a drunken scoundrel like that"?"

"Will you give him in charge, sir?" asked the policeman, while RichardFoster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain hisclaim upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sickand almost speechless with fear. 

"Shall I give him in charge?" he asked me. 

"I have only just heard of a situation, " I whispered, unable to speakaloud. 

"And you are afraid of losing it?" he said; "I understand. --Take thefellow away, policeman, and lock him up if you can for being drunk anddisorderly in the streets; but the lady won't give him in charge. I've agood mind to make him go down on his knees and beg her pardon. "

"Do, do!" said two or three voices in the crowd. 

"Don't, " I whispered again, "oh! take me away quickly. "

He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that therewas no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husbandstruggling with the policeman, the centre of the knot of bystanders fromwhich I was escaping. He looked utterly unlike a gay, prosperous, wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had used to appear. Hewas shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard uponhim, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my handfirmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet Street, where, in aminute or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from allpursuit. 

"You are not fit to go on, " he said, kindly; "come out of the noise alittle. "

He led me down a covered passage between two shops, into a quiet clusterof squares and gardens, where only a subdued murmur of the uproar of thestreets reached us. There were a sufficient number of passers-by toprevent it seeming lonely, but we could hear our own voices, and thoseof others, even in whispers. 

"This is the Temple, " he said, smiling, "a fit place for a sanctuary. "

"I do not know how to thank you, " I answered falteringly. 

"You are trembling still!" he replied; "how lucky it was that Ifollowed you directly out of Ridley's! If I ever come across thatscoundrel again, I shall know him, you may be sure. I wish we were alittle nearer home, you should go in to rest; but our house is in BrookStreet, and we have no women-kind belonging to us. My name is JohnSenior. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Dr. Senior, of BrookStreet?"

"No. " I replied, "I know nobody in London. "

"That's bad, " he said. "I wish I was Jane Senior instead of John Senior;I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?"

"How do you know my name?" I asked. 

"The clerk at Ridley's called you Miss Ellen Martineau, " he answered. "My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business. I heard and saw a good deal while I was there, and I am very glad Iheard and saw you. Do you feel well enough now for me to see you home?"

"Oh! I cannot let you see me home, " I said, hurriedly. 

"I will do just what you like best. " he replied. "I have no more rightto annoy you than that drunken vagabond had. If I did, I should be moreblamable than he was. Tell me what I shall do for you then. Shall I calla cab?"

I hesitated, for my funds were low, and would be almost spent by thetime I had paid the premium of ten pounds, and my travelling expenses;yet I dared not trust myself either in the streets or in an omnibus. Isaw my new friend regard me keenly; my dress, so worn and faded, and myold-fashioned bonnet. A smile flickered across his face. He led me backinto Fleet Street, and called an empty cab that was passing by. We shookhands warmly. There was no time for loitering; and I told him the nameof the suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman. 

"All right, " he said, speaking through the window, "the fare is paid, and I've taken cabby's number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know;Dr. John Senior, Brook Street. I hope that situation will be a good one, and very pleasant. Good-by. "

"Good-by, " I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till thecrowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. It was a handsomer facethan Dr. Martin Dobrée's, and had something of the same genial, vivacious light about it. I knew it well afterward, but I had notleisure to think much of it then. 

CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 

BELLRINGER STREET. 

I was still trembling with the terror that my meeting with RichardFoster had aroused. A painful shuddering agitated me, and my heartfluttered with an excess of fear which I could not conquer. I couldstill feel his grasp upon my arm, where the skin was black with themark; and there was before my eyes the sight of his haggard and enragedface, as he struggled to get free from the policeman. When he was soberwould he recollect all that had taken place, and go to make inquiriesafter me at Ridley's agency-office? Dr. John Senior had said he hadfollowed me from there. I scarcely believed he would. Yet there was achance of it, a deadly chance to me. If so, the sooner I could fly fromLondon and England the better. 

I felt safer when the cabman set me down at the house where I lodged, and I ran up-stairs to my little room. I kindled the fire, which hadgone out during my absence, and set my little tin tea-kettle upon thefirst clear flame which burned up amid the coal. Then I sat down on mybox before it, thinking. 

Yes; I must leave London. I must take this situation, the only one opento me, in a school in France. I should at least be assured of a home fortwelve months; and, as the clerk had said, I should perfect myself inFrench and gain a referee. I should be earning a character, in fact. Atpresent I had none, and so was poorer than the poorest servant-maid. Nocharacter, no name, no money; who could be poorer than the daughter ofthe wealthy colonist, who had owned thousands of acres in Adelaide? Ialmost laughed and cried hysterically at the thought of my father's vaincare and provision for my future. 

But the sooner I fled from London again the better, now that I knew myhusband was somewhere in it and might be upon my track. I unfolded thepaper on which was written the name of the lady to whom I was to apply. Mrs. Wilkinson. 19 Bellringer Street. I ran down to the sitting-room, toask my landlady where it was, and told her, in my new hopefulness, thatI had heard of a situation in France. Bellringer Street was less than amile away, she said. I could be there before seven o'clock, not too lateperhaps for Mrs. Wilkinson to give me an interview. 

A thick yellow fog had come in with nightfall--a fog that could almostbe tasted and smelt--but it did not deter me from my object. I inquiredmy way of every policeman I met, and at length entered the street. Thefog hid the houses from my view, but I could see that some of the lowerwindows were filled with articles for sale, as if they were shopsstruggling into existence. It was not a fashionable street, and Mrs. Wilkinson could not be a very aristocratic person. 

No. 19 was not difficult to find, and I pulled the bell-handle with agentle and quiet pull, befitting my errand. I repeated this severaltimes without being admitted, when it struck me that the wire might bebroken. Upon that I knocked as loudly as I could upon the panels of thebroad old door; a handsome, heavy door, such as are to be found in theold streets of London, from which the tide of fashion has ebbed away. Aslight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across, and asked who I was in a timid voice. 

"Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?" I asked. 

"Yes, " said the child. 

"Who is there?" I heard a voice calling shrilly from within; not anEnglish voice, I felt sure, for each word was uttered distinctly andslowly. 

"I am come about a school in France, " I said to the child. 

"Oh! I'll let you in, " she answered, eagerly; "she will see you aboutthat, I'm sure. I'm to go with you, if you go. "

She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim lightburning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty-stricken. There wasno carpet upon the broad staircase, and nothing but worn-out oil-clothon the floor. I had only time to take in a vague general impression, before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground-floor. Thattoo was uncarpeted and barely furnished; but the light was low, and Icould see nothing distinctly, except the face of the child lookingwistfully at me with shy curiosity. 

"I'm to go if you go, " she said again; "and, oh! I do so hope you willagree to go. "

"I think I shall, " I answered. 

"I daren't be sure, " she replied, nodding her head with an air ofsagacity; "there have been four or five governesses here, and none ofthem would go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such alovely, beautiful place. See! here is a picture of it. "

She ran eagerly to a side-table, on which lay a book or two, one ofwhich she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laidthere for security. When she brought it to me, she stood leaning lightlyagainst me as we both looked at the same picture. It was a clear, sharply-defined photograph, with shadows so dark yet distinct as to showthe clearness of the atmosphere in which it had been taken. At the lefthand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains, and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the centre stood a largesquare garden, with fountains, and arbors, and statues, in the Frenchstyle of gardening, evidently well kept; and behind this stood a longbuilding of two stories, and a steep roof with dormer windows, everycasement of which was provided, like the house in the front, with richlace curtains and Venetian shutters. The whole place was clearly in goodorder and good taste, and looked like a very pleasant home. It wouldprobably be my home for a time, and I scrutinized it the more closely. Which of those sunny casements would be mine? What nook in that gardenwould become my favorite? If I could only get there undetected, howsecure and happy I might be!

Above the photograph was written in ornamental characters, "Pensionnatde Demoiselles, à Noireau, Calvados. " Underneath it were the words, "Fondé par M. Emile Perrier, avocat, et par son épouse. " Though I knewvery little of French, I could make out the meaning of these sentences. Monsieur Perrier was an _avocat_. Tardif had happened to speak to meabout the notaries in Guernsey, who appeared to me to be of the samerank as our solicitors, while the _avocats_ were on a par with ourbarristers. A barrister founding a boarding-school for young ladiesmight be somewhat opposed to English customs, but it was clear that hemust be a man of education and position; a gentleman, in fact. 

"Isn't it a lovely place?" asked the child beside me, with a deep sighof longing. 

"Yes, " I said; "I should like to go. "

I had had time to make all these observations before the owner of theforeign voice, which I had heard at the door, came in. At the firstglance I knew her to be a Frenchwoman, with the peculiar yellow tone inher skin which seems inevitable in middle-aged Frenchwomen. Her blackeyes were steady and cold, and her general expression one ofwatchfulness. She had wrapped tightly about her a China crape shawl, which had once been white, but had now the same yellow tint as hercomplexion. The light was low, but she turned it a little higher, andscrutinized me with a keen and steady gaze. 

"I have not the honor of knowing you, " she said politely. 

"I come from Ridley's agency-office, " I answered, "about a situation asEnglish teacher in a school in France. "

"Be seated, miss, " she said, pointing me to a stiff, high-backed chair, whither the little girl followed me, stroking with her hand the softseal-skin jacket I was wearing. 

"It is a great chance, " she continued; "my friend Madame Perrier is verygood, very amiable for her teachers. She is like a sister for them. Theterms are very high, very high for France; but there is absolutely everycomfort. The arrangements are precisely like England. She has lived inEngland for two years, and knows what English young ladies look for; andthe house is positively English. I suppose you could introduce a fewEnglish pupils. "

"No, " I answered, "I am afraid I could not. I am sure I could not. "

"That of course must be considered in the premium, " she continued; "ifyou could have introduced, say, six pupils, the premium would be low. Ido not think my friend would take one penny less than twenty pounds forthe first year, and ten for the second. "

The tears started to my eyes. I had felt so sure of going if I would payten pounds, that I was quite unprepared for this disappointment. Therewas still my diamond ring left; but how to dispose of it, for any thinglike its value, I did not know. It was in my purse now, with all mysmall store of money, which I dared not leave behind me in my lodgings. 

"What were you prepared to give?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson, while Ihesitated. 

"The clerk at Ridley's office told me the premium would be ten pounds, "I answered;

"I do not see how I can give more. "

"Well, " she said, after musing a little, while I watched her faceanxiously, "it is time this child went. She has been here a month, waiting for somebody to take her down to Noireau. I will agree with you, and will explain it to Madame Perrier. How soon could you go?"

"I should like to go to-morrow, " I replied, feeling that the sooner Iquitted London the better. Mrs. Wilkinson's steady eyes fastened upon meagain with sharp curiosity. 

"Have you references, miss?" she asked. 

"No, " I faltered, my hope sinking again before this old difficulty. 

"It will be necessary then, " she said, "for you to give the money to me, and I will forward it to Madame Perrier. Pardon, miss, but you perceiveI could not send a teacher to them unless I knew that she could pay themoney down. There is my commission to receive the money for my friend. "

She gave me a paper written in French, of which I could read enough tosee that it was a sort of official warrant to receive accounts forMonsieur Perrier, _avocat_, and his wife. I did not waver any longer. The prospect seemed too promising for me to lose it by any irresolution. I drew out my purse, and laid down two out of the three five-pound notesleft me. She gave me a formal receipt in the names of Emile and LouisePerrier, and her sober face wore an expression of satisfaction. 

"There! it is done, " she said, wiping her pen carefully. "You will takelessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend theschool. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you gothe day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going forfour years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highestdegree. "

At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and thelittle girl ran to answer it, leaving the door of our room open. A voicewhich I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veinscurdle, spoke in sharp loud tones in the hall. 

"Is Mr. Foster come home yet?" were the words the terrible voiceuttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank backshivering as if every syllable struck a separate blow. All my senseswere awake: I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that camenearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting?She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do. 

"He is up stairs, " said the child's voice. "He told me he was ill when Iopened the door for him. "

"Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?" she asked. 

"She is here, " said the child, "but there's a lady with her. "

Then the woman's footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to themclimbing up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound, and I heard a door opened and closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to thedoor, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting some other questionsto be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get awaybefore I lost the use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint. 

"I will send the child to you in a cab on Wednesday, " she said, as Istood up and made my way toward the hall; "you have not told me youraddress. "

I paused for a moment. Dared I tell her my address? Yet my money waspaid, and if I did not I should lose both it and the refuge I had boughtwith it. Besides, I should awaken suspicion and inquiry by silence. Itwas a fearful risk to run; yet it seemed safer than a precipitousretreat. I gave her my address, and saw her write it down on a slip ofpaper. 

As I returned to my lodgings I grew calmer and more hopeful. It was notlikely that my husband would see the address, or even hear that any onelike me had been at the house. I did not suppose he would know the nameof Martineau as my mother's maiden name. As far as I recollected, I hadnever spoken of her to him. Moreover he was not a man to make himself atall pleasant and familiar with persons whom he looked upon as inferiors. It was highly improbable that he would enter into any conversation withhis landlady. If that woman did so, all she would learn would be that ayoung lady, whose name was Martineau, had taken a situation as Englishteacher in a French school. What could there be in that to make herthink of me?

I tried to soothe and reassure myself with these reasonings, but I couldnot be quiet or at peace. I watched all through the next day, listeningto every sound in the house below; but no new terror assailed me. Thesecond night I was tranquil enough to sleep. 

CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 

LEAVING ENGLAND. 

I was on the rack all the next day. It was the last day I should be inEngland, and I had a nervous dread of being detained. If I should oncemore succeed in quitting the country undetected, it seemed as though Imight hope to be in safety in Calvados. Of Calvados I knew even lessthan of the Channel Islands; I had never heard the name before. But Mrs. Wilkinson had given me the route by which we were to reach Noireau: bysteamer to Havre, across the mouth of the Seine to Honfleur, to Falaiseby train, and finally from Falaise to Noireau by omnibus. It was anutterly unknown region to me; and I had no reason to imagine thatRichard Foster was better acquainted with it than I. My anxiety wassimply to get clear away. 

In the afternoon the little girl arrived quite alone, except that a manhad been hired to carry a small box for her, and to deliver her into mycharge. This was a great relief to me, and I paid the shilling hedemanded gladly. The child was thinly and shabbily dressed for our longjourney, and there was a forlorn loneliness about her position, leftthus with a stranger, which touched me to the heart. We were alike poor, helpless, friendless--I was about to say childish, and in truth I was inmany things little more than a child still. The small elf, with hersharp, large eyes, which were too big for her thin face, crept up tome, as the man slammed the door after him and clattered noisilydownstairs. 

"I'm so glad!" she said, with a deep-drawn sigh of relief; "I was afraidI should never go, and school is such a heavenly place!"

The words amused yet troubled me; they were so different from a child'sordinary opinion. 

"It's such a hateful place at Mrs. Wilkinson's, " she went on, "everybodycalling me at once, and scolding me; and there are such a many people torun errands for. You don't know what it is to run errands when you aretired to death. And it's such a beautiful, splendid place where we'regoing to!"

"What is your name, my dear?" I asked, sitting down on my box and takingher on my lap. Such a thin, stunted little woman, precociously learnedin trouble! Yet she nestled in my arms like a true child, and a tear ortwo rolled down her cheeks, as if from very contentment. 

"Nobody has nursed me like this since mother died, " she said. "I'mMary; but father always called me Minima, because I was the least in thehouse. He kept a boys' school out of London, in Epping Forest, you know;and it was so heavenly! All the boys were good to me, and we used tocall father Dominie. Then he died, and mother died just before him; andhe said, 'Courage, Minima! God will take care of my little girl. ' So theboys' fathers and mothers made a subscription for me, and they got agreat deal of money, a hundred pounds; and somebody told them about thisschool, where I can stay four years for a hundred pounds, and they allsaid that was the best thing they could do with me. But I've had to staywith Mrs. Wilkinson nearly two months, because she could not find agoverness to go with me. I hate her; I detest her; I should like to spitat her!"

The little face was all aflame, and the large eyes burning. 

"Hush! hush!" I said, drawing her head down upon my shoulder again. 

"Then there is Mr. Foster, " she continued, almost sobbing; "he tormentsme so. He likes to make fun of me, and tease me, till I can't bear to gointo his room. Father used to say it was wicked to hate anybody, and Ididn't hate anybody then. I was so happy. But you'd hate Mr. Foster, andMrs. Foster, if you only knew them. "

"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My voice sounded husky to me, and my throatfelt parched. The child's impotent rage and hatred struck a slumberingchord within me. 

"Oh! they are horrid in every way, " she said, with emphasis; "theyfrighten me. He is fond of tormenting any thing because he's cruel. Wehad a cruel boy in our school once, so I know. But they are verypoor--poor as Job, Mrs. Wilkinson says, and I'm glad. Aren't you glad?"

The question jarred in my memory against a passionate craving afterrevenge, which had died away in the quiet and tranquillity of Sark. Ayear ago I should have rejoiced in any measure of punishment orretribution, which had overtaken those who had destroyed my happiness. But it was not so now; or perhaps I should rather own that it was onlyfaintly so. It had never occurred to me that my flight would plunge himinto poverty similar to my own. But now that the idea was thrust uponme. I wondered how I could have overlooked this necessary consequence ofmy conduct. Ought I to do any thing for him? Was there any thing I coulddo to help him?"

"He is ill, too, " pursued the child; "I heard him say once to Mrs. Foster, he knew he should die like a dog. I was a little tiny bit sorryfor him then; for nobody would like to die like a dog, and not go toheaven, you know. But I don't care now, I shall never see themagain--never, never! I could jump out of my skin for joy. I sha'n't evenknow when he is dead, if he does die like a dog. "

Ill! dead! My heart beat faster and faster as I pondered over thesewords. Then I should be free indeed; his death would release me frombondage, from terror, from poverty--those three evils which dogged mysteps. I had never ventured to let my thoughts run that way, but thischild's prattling had forced them into it. Richard Foster ill--dying! OGod! what ought I to do?

I could not make myself known to him; that was impossible. I would tenthousand times sooner die myself than return to him. He was not aloneeither. But yet there came back to my mind the first days when I knewhim, when he was all tenderness and devotion to me, declaring that hecould find no fault in his girl-wife. How happy I had been for a littlewhile, exchanging my stepmother's harshness for his indulgence! He mighthave won my love; he had almost won it. But that happy, golden time wasgone, and could never come back to me. Yet my heart was softened towardhim, as I thought of him ill, perhaps dying. What could I do for him, without placing myself in his power?

There was one thing only that I could do, only one little sacrifice Icould make for him whom I had vowed, in childish ignorance, to love, honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, until death parted us. Ahome was secured to me for twelve months, and at the end of that time Ishould have a better career open to me. I had enough money still to lastme until then. My diamond ring, which had been his own gift to me on ourwedding-day, would be valuable to him. Sixty pounds would be a help tohim, if he were as poor as this child said. He must be poor, or he wouldnever have gone to live in that mean street and neighborhood. 

Perhaps--if he had been alone--I do not know, but possibly if he hadbeen quite alone, ill, dying in that poor lodging of his, I might havegone to him. I ask myself again, could you have done this thing? But Icannot answer it even to myself. Poor and ill he was, but he was notalone. 

It was enough for me, then, that I could do something, some littleservice for him. The old flame of vengeance had no spark of heat left init. I was free from hatred of him. I set the child gently away from me, and wrote my last letter to my husband. Both the letter and the ring Ienclosed in a little box. These are the words I wrote, and I put neitherdate nor name of place:

"I know that you are poor, and I send you all I can spare--the ring youonce gave to me. I am even poorer than yourself, but I have just enoughfor my immediate wants. I forgive you, as I trust God forgives me. "

I sat looking at it, thinking of it for some time. There was a vaguedoubt somewhere in my mind that this might work some mischief. But atlast I decided that it should go. I must register the packet at apost-office on our way to the station, and it could not fail to reachhim. 

This business settled, I returned to the child, who was sitting, as Ihad so often, done, gazing pensively into the fire. Was she to be a sortof miniature copy of myself?

"Come, Minima, " I said, "we must be thinking of tea. Which would youlike best, buns, or cake, or bread-and-butter? We must go out and buythem, and you shall choose. "

"Which would cost the most?" she asked, looking at me with the carewornexpression of a woman. The question sounded so oddly, coming from lipsso young, that it grieved me. How bitterly and heavily must the burdenof poverty have already fallen upon this child! I was almost afraid tothink what it must mean. I put my arm round her, pressing my cheekagainst hers, while childish visions, more childish than any in thislittle head, flitted before me, of pantomimes, and toys, and sweetmeats, and the thousand things that children love. If I had been as rich as myfather had planned for me to be, how I would have lavished them uponthis anxious little creature!

We were discussing this question with befitting gravity, when a greatthump against the door brought a host of fears upon me. But before Icould stir the insecure handle gave way, and no one more formidableappeared than the landlady of the house, carrying before her a tray onwhich was set out a sumptuous tea, consisting of buttered crumpets andshrimps. She put it down on my dressing-table, and stood surveying itand us with an expression of benign exultation, until she had recoveredher breath sufficiently to speak. 

"Those as are going into foring parts, " she said, "ought to get a goodEnglish meal afore they start. If you was going to stay in England, miss, it would be quite a differing thing; but me and my master don'tknow what they may give you to eat where you're going to. Therefore webeg you'll accept of the crumpets, and the shrimps, and thebread-and-butter, and the tea, and every thing; and we mean no offenceby it. You've been a very quiet, regular lodger, and give no trouble;and we're sorry to lose you. And this, my master says, is a testimonialto you. "

I could hardly control my laughter, and I could not keep back my tears. It was a long time now since any one had shown me so much kindness andsympathy as this. The dull face of the good woman was brightened by herkind-hearted feeling, and instead of thanking her I put my lips to hercheek. 

"Lor!" she exclaimed, "why! God bless you, my dear! I didn't mean anyoffence, you know. Lor! I never thought you'd pay me like that. It'svery pretty of you, it is; for I'm sure you're a lady to the backbone, as often and often I've said to my master. Be good enough to eat it all, you and the little miss, for you've a long journey before you. God blessyou both, my dears, and give you a good appetite!"

She backed out of the room as she was speaking, her face beaming upon usto the last. 

There was a pleasant drollery about her conduct, and about the intensedelight of the child, and her hearty enjoyment of the feast, which forthe time effectually dissipated my fears and my melancholy thoughts. Itwas the last hour I should spend in my solitary room; my lonely dayswere past. This little elf, with her large sharp eyes, and sagaciouswomanly face, was to be my companion for the future. I felt closelydrawn to her. Even the hungry appetite with which she ate spoke of thehard times she had gone through. When she had eaten all she could eat, Iheard her say softly to herself, "Courage, Minima!"

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 

A LONG JOURNEY. 

It as little more than twelve months since I had started from the samestation on the same route; but there was no Tardif at hand now. As Iwent into the ticket-office, Minima caught me by the dress and whisperedearnestly into my ear. 

"We're not to travel first-class, " she said; "it costs too much. Mrs. Wilkinson said we ought to go third, if we could; and you're to pay forme, please, only half-price, and they'll pay you again when we reach theschool. I'll come with you, and then they'll see I'm only half-price. Idon't look too old, do I?"

"You look very old, " I answered, smiling at her anxious face. 

"Oh, dear, dear!" she said; "but I sit very small. Perhaps I'd betternot come to the ticket-office; the porters are sure to think me only alittle girl. "

She was uneasy until we had fairly started from the station, her rightto a half-ticket unchallenged. 

The November night was cold and foggy, and there was little differencebetween the darkness of the suburbs and the darkness of the opencountry. 

Once again the black hulls and masts of two steamers stood before us, atthe end of our journey, and hurrying voices shouted, "This way forJersey and Guernsey, " "This way to Havre. " What would I not have givento return to Sark, to my quiet room under Tardif's roof, with his trueheart and steadfast friendship to rest upon! But that could not be. Myfeet were setting out upon a new track, and I did not know where thehidden path would lead me. 

The next morning found us in France. It was a soft, sunny day, with amellow light, which seemed to dwell fondly on the many-tinted leaves ofthe trees which covered the banks of the Seine. From Honfleur to Falaisethe same warm, genial sunshine filled the air. The slowly-moving traincarried us through woods where the autumn seemed but a few days old, andwhere the slender leaflets of the acacias still fluttered in thecaressing breath of the wind. We passed through miles upon miles oforchards, where a few red leaves were hanging yet upon the knottedbranches of the apple-trees, beneath which lay huge pyramids of apples. Truck-loads of them stood at every station. The air was scented by them. Children were pelting one another with them; and here and there, wherethe orchards had been cleared and the trees stripped, flocks of geesewere searching for those scattered among the tufts of grass. The roseswere in blossom, and the chrysanthemums were in their first glory. Thefew countrywomen who got into our carriage were still wearing theirsnowy muslin caps, as in summer. Nobody appeared cold and pinched yet, and everybody was living out-of-doors. 

It was almost like going into a new world, and I breathed more freelythe farther we travelled down into the interior. At Falaise we exchangedthe train for a small omnibus, which bore the name "Noireau"conspicuously on its door. I had discovered that the little French Iknew was not of much service, as I could in no way understand the rapidanswers that were given to my questions. A woman came to us, at the doorof a _café_, where the omnibus stopped in Falaise, and made a long andearnest harangue, of which I did not recognize one word. At length westarted off on the last stage of our journey. 

Where could we be going to? I began to ask myself the question anxiouslyafter we had crept on, at a dog-trot, for what seemed an interminabletime. We had passed through long avenues of trees, and across a seriesof wide, flat plains, and down gently-sloping roads into narrow valleys, and up the opposite ascents; and still the bells upon the horses'collars jingled sleepily, and their hoof-beats shambled along the roads. We were seldom in sight of any house, and we passed through very fewvillages. I felt as if we were going all the way to Marseilles. 

"I'm so hungry!" said Minima, after a very long silence. 

I too had been hungry for an hour or two past. We had breakfasted atmid-day at one of the stations, but we had had nothing to eat since, except a roll which Minima had brought away from breakfast, with wiseprevision; but this had disappeared long ago. 

"Try to go to sleep, " I said; "lean against me. We must be there soon. "

"Yes, " she answered, "and it's such a splendid school! I'm going to staythere four years, you know, so it's foolish to mind being hungry now. 'Courage, Minima!' I must recollect that. "

"Courage, Olivia!" I repeated to myself. "The farther you go, the moresecure will be your hiding-place. " The child nestled against me, andsoon fell asleep. I went to sleep myself--an unquiet slumber, broken byterrifying dreams. Sometimes I was falling from the cliffs in Sark intothe deep, transparent waters below, where the sharp rocks lay likeswords. Then I was in the Gouliot Caves, with Martin Dobrée at my side, and the tide was coming in too strongly for us; and beyond, in theopening through which we might have escaped, my husband's face looked inat us, with a hideous exultation upon it. I woke at last, shivering withcold and dread, for I had fancied that he had found me, and was carryingme away again to his old hateful haunts. 

Our omnibus was jolting and rumbling down some steep and narrow streetslighted by oil-lamps swung across them. There were no lights in any ofthe houses, save a few in the upper windows, as though the inmates wereall in bed, or going to bed. Only at the inn where we stopped was thereany thing like life. A lamp, which hung over the archway leading to theyard and stables, lit up a group of people waiting for the arrival ofthe omnibus. I woke up Minima from her deep and heavy sleep. 

"We are here at Noireau!" I said. "We have reached our home at last!"

The door was opened before the child was fairly awake. A small clusterof bystanders gathered round us as we alighted, and watched our luggageput down from the roof; while the driver ran on volubly, and with manygesticulations, addressed to the little crowd. He, the chamber-maid, thelandlady, and all the rest, surrounded us as solemnly as if they wereassisting at a funeral. There was not a symptom of amusement, but theyall stared at us unflinchingly, as if a single wink of their eyelidswould cause them to lose some extraordinary spectacle. If I had been atotal eclipse of the sun, and they a group of enthusiastic astronomersbent upon observing every phenomenon, they could not have gazed moresteadily. Minima was leaning against me, half asleep. A narrow vista oftall houses lay to the right and left, lost in impenetrable darkness. The strip of sky overhead was black with midnight. 

"Noireau?" I asked, in a tone of interrogation. 

"Oui, oui, madame, " responded a chorus of voices. 

"Carry me to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_, " I said, speaking slowly and distinctly. 

The words, simple as they were, seemed to awaken considerableexcitement. The landlady threw up her hands, with an expression ofastonishment, and the driver recommenced his harangue. Was it possiblethat I could have made a mistake in so short and easy a sentence? Isaid it over again to myself, and felt sure I was right. With renewedconfidence I repeated it aloud, with a slight variation. 

"I wish to go to the house of Monsieur Emile Perrier, the _avocat_, " Isaid. 

But while they still clustered round Minima and me, giving no sign ofcompliance with my request, two persons thrust themselves through thecircle. The one was a man, in a threadbare brown greatcoat, with a largewoollen comforter wound several times about his neck; and the other awoman, in an equally shabby dress, who spoke to me in broken English. 

"Mees, I am Madame Perrier, and this my husband, " she said; "come on. The letter was here only an hour ago; but all is ready. Come on; comeon. "

She put her hand through my arm, and took hold of Minima's hand, as ifclaiming both of us. A dead silence had fallen upon the little crowd, asif they were trying to catch the meaning of the English words. But asshe pushed on, with us both in her hands, a titter for the first timeran from lip to lip. I glanced back, and saw Monsieur Perrier, the_avocat_, hurriedly putting our luggage on a wheelbarrow, and preparingto follow us with it along the dark streets. 

I was too bewildered yet to feel any astonishment. We were in France, ina remote part of France, and I did not know what Frenchmen would orwould not do. Madame Perrier, exhausted with her effort at speakingEnglish, had ceased speaking to me, and contented herself with guidingus along the strange streets. We stopped at last opposite the large, handsome house, which stood in the front of the photograph I had seen inLondon. I could just recognize it in the darkness; and behind lay thegarden and the second range of building. Not a glimmer of light shone inany of the windows. 

"It is midnight nearly, " said Madame Perrier, as we came to astand-still and waited for her husband, the _avocat_. 

Even when he came up with the luggage there seemed some difficulty ineffecting an entrance. He passed through the garden-gate, anddisappeared round the corner of the house, walking softly, as if carefulnot to disturb the household. How long the waiting seemed! For we werehungry, sleepy, and cold--strangers in a very strange land. I heardMinima sigh weariedly. 

At last he reappeared round the corner, carrying a candle, whichflickered in the wind. Not a word was spoken by him or his wife as thelatter conducted us toward him. We were to enter by the back-door, thatwas evident. But I did not care what door we entered by, so that wemight soon find rest and food. She led us into a dimly-lighted room, where I could just make out what appeared to be a carpenter's bench, with a heap of wood-shavings lying under it. But I was too weary to becertain about any thing. 

"It is a leetle cabinet of work of my husband, " said Madame Perrier;"our chamber is above, and the chamber for you and leetle mees is therealso. But the school is not there. Will you go to bed? Will you sleep?Come on, mees. "

"But we are very hungry, " I remonstrated; "we have had nothing to eatsince noon. We could not sleep without food. "

"Bah! that is true, " she said. "Well, come on. The food is at theschool. Come on. "

That must be the house at the back. We went down the broad gravel walk, with the pretty garden at the side of us, where a fountain was tinklingand splashing busily in the quiet night. But we passed the front of thehouse behind it without stopping, at the door. Madame led us through acart-shed into a low, long, vaulted passage, with doors opening on eachside; a black, villanous-looking place, with the feeble, flickeringlight of the candle throwing on to the damp walls a sinister gleam. Minima pressed very close to me, and I felt a strange quiver ofapprehension: but the thought that there was no escape from it, and nohelp at hand, nerved me to follow quietly to the end. 

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 

AT SCHOOL IN FRANCE. 

The end brought us out into a mean, poor street, narrow even where thebest streets were narrow. A small house, the exterior of which Idiscovered afterward to be neglected and almost dilapidated, stoodbefore us; and madame unlocked the door with a key from her pocket. Wewere conducted into a small kitchen, where a fire had been burninglately, though it was now out, and only a little warmth lingered aboutthe stove. Minima was set upon a chair opposite to it, with her feet inthe oven, and I was invited to do the same. I assented mechanically, andlooked furtively about me, while madame was busy in cutting a huge hunchor two of black bread, and spreading upon them a thin scraping of rancidbutter. 

There was an oil-lamp here, burning with a clear, bright blaze. Madame'sface was illuminated by it. It was a coarse, sullen face, with anexpression of low cunning about it. There was not a trace of refinementor culture about her, not even the proverbial taste of a Frenchwoman indress. The kitchen was a picture of squalid dirt and neglect; the wallsand ceiling black with smoke, and the floor so crusted over with unsweptrefuse and litter that I thought it was not quarried. The fewcooking-utensils were scattered about in disorder. The stove beforewhich we sat was rusty. Could I be dreaming of this filthy dwelling andthis slovenly woman? No; it was all too real for me to doubt theirexistence for an instant. 

She was pouring out some cold tea into two little cups, when MonsieurPerrier made his appearance, his face begrimed and his shaggy hairuncombed. I had been used to the sight of rough men in Adelaide, on oursheep-farm, but I had never seen one more boorish. He stood in thedoorway, rubbing his hands, and gazing at us unflinchingly with the hardstare of a Norman peasant, while he spoke in rapid, uncouth tones to hiswife. I turned away my head, and shut my eyes to this unwelcome sight. 

"Eat, mees, " said the woman, bringing us our food. "There is tea. Wegive our pupils and instructresses tea for supper at six o'clock: afterthat there is no more to eat. "

I took a mouthful of the food, but I could hardly swallow it, exhaustedas I was from hunger. The bread was sour and the butter rancid; the teatasted of garlic. Minima ate hers ravenously, without uttering a word. The child had not spoken since we entered these new scenes: her carewornface was puckered, and her sharp eyes were glancing about her moreopenly than mine. As soon as she had finished her hunch of black bread, I signified to Madame Perrier that we were ready to go to our bedroom. 

We had the same vaulted passage and cart-shed to traverse on our wayback to the other house. There we were ushered into a room containingonly two beds and our two boxes. I helped Minima to undress, and tuckedher up in bed, trying not to see the thin little face and sharp eyeswhich wanted to meet mine, and look into them. She put her arm round myneck, and drew down my head to whisper cautiously into my ear. 

"They're cheats, " she said, earnestly, "dreadful cheats. This isn't asplendid place at all. Oh! whatever shall I do? Shall I have to stayhere four years?"

"Hush, Minima!" I answered. "Perhaps it is better than we think now. Weare tired. To-morrow we shall see the place better, and it may besplendid after all. Kiss me, and go to sleep. "

But it was too much for me, far too much. The long, long journey; thehunger the total destruction of all my hopes; the dreary prospect thatstretched before me. I laid my aching head on my pillow, and criedmyself to sleep like a child. 

I was awakened, while it was yet quite dark, by the sound of acarpenter's tool in the room below me. Almost immediately a loud knockcame at my door, and the harsh voice of madame called to us. 

"Get up, mees, get up, and come on, " she said; "you make your toilet atthe school. Come on, quick!"

Minima was more dexterous than I in dressing herself in the dark; but wewere not long in getting ready. The air was raw and foggy when we turnedout-of-doors, and it was so dark still that we could scarcely discernthe outline of the walls and houses. But madame was waiting to conductus once more to the other house, and as she did so she volunteered anexplanation of their somewhat singular arrangement of dwelling in twohouses. The school, she informed me, was registered in the name of herhead governess, not in her own; and as the laws of France prohibited anyman dwelling under the same roof with a school of girls, except thehusband of the proprietor, they were compelled to rent two dwellings. 

"How many pupils have you, madame?" I inquired. 

"We have six, mees, " she replied. "They are here; see them. "

We had reached the house, and she opened the door of a long, low room. There was an open hearth, with a few logs of green wood upon it, butthey were not kindled. A table ran almost the whole length of the room, with forms on each side. A high chair or two stood about. All wascomfortless, dreary, and squalid. 

But the girls who were sitting on the hard benches by the table werestill more squalid and dreary-looking. Their faces were pinched, andjust now blue with cold, and their hands were swollen and red withchilblains. They had a cowed and frightened expression, and peepedaskance at us as we went in behind madame. Minima pressed closely to me, and clasped my hand tightly in her little fingers. We were both enteringupon the routine of a new life, and the first introduction to it wasdisheartening. 

"Three are English, " said madame, "and three are French. The English are_frileuses_; they are always sheever, sheever, sheever. Behold, how theyhave fingers red and big! Bah! it is disgusting. "

She rapped one of the swollen hands which lay upon the table, and thegirl dropped it out of sight upon her lap, with a frightened glance atthe woman. Minima's fingers tightened upon mine. The head governess, aFrenchwoman of about thirty, with a number of little black papillotescircling about her head, was now introduced to me; and an animatedconversation followed between her and madame. 

"You comprehend the French?" asked the latter, turning with a suspiciouslook to me. 

"No, " I answered; "I know very little of it yet. "

"Good!" she replied. "We will eat breakfast. "

"But I have not made my toilet, " I objected; "there was neitherwashingstand nor dressing-table in my room. "

"Bah!" she said, scornfully; "there are no gentlemans here. No personwill see you. You make your toilet before the promenade; not at thismoment. "

It was evident that uncomplaining submission was expected, and noremonstrance would be of avail. Breakfast was being brought in by one ofthe pupils. It consisted of a teacupful of coffee at the bottom of a bigbasin, which was placed before each of us, a large tablespoon to feedourselves with; and a heaped plateful of hunches of bread, similar tothose I had turned from last night. But I could fast no longer. I satdown with the rest at the long table, and ate my food with a sinking andsorrowful heart. 

Minima drank her scanty allowance of coffee thirstily, and then asked, in a timid voice, if she could have a little more. Madame's eyes glaredupon her, and her voice snapped out an answer; while the English girlslooked frightened, and drew in their bony shoulders, as if such temeritymade them shudder. As soon as madame was gone, the child flung her armsaround me, and hid her face in my bosom. 

"Oh!" she cried, "don't you leave me; don't forsake me! I have to stayhere four years, and it will kill me. I shall die if you go away andleave me. "

I soothed her as best I could, without promising to remain in this trap. Would it not be possible in some way to release her as well as myself? Isat thinking through the long cold morning, with the monotonous hum oflessons in my ears. There was nothing for me to do, and I found that Icould not return to the house where I had slept, and where my luggagewas, until night came again. I sat all the morning in the chilly room, with Minima on the floor at my feet, clinging to me for protection andwarmth, such as I could give. 

But what could I do either for her or myself? My store of money wasalmost all gone, for our joint expenses had cost more than I hadanticipated, and I could very well see that I must not expect MadamePerrier to refund Minima's fare. There was perhaps enough left to carryme back to England, and just land me on its shores. But what then? Wherewas I to go then? Penniless, friendless; without character, without aname--but an assumed one--what was to become of me? I began to wondervaguely whether I should be forced to make myself known to my husband;whether fate would not drive me back to him. No; that should never be. Iwould face and endure any hardship rather than return to my former life. A hundred times better this squalid, wretched, foreign school, than thedegradation of heart and soul I had suffered with him. 

I could do no more for Minima than for myself, for I dared not evenwrite to Mrs. Wilkinson, who was either an accomplice or a dupe ofthese Perriers. My letter might fall into the hands of Richard Foster, or the woman living with him, and so they would track me out, and Ishould have no means of escape. I dared not run that risk. The onlything I could do for her was to stay with her, and as far as possibleshield her from the privations and distress that threatened us both. Iwas safe here; no one was likely to come across me, in this remoteplace, who could by any chance know me. I had at least a roof over myhead; I had food to eat. Elsewhere I was not sure of either. Thereseemed to be no other choice given me than to remain in the trap. 

"We must make the best of it, Minima, " I whispered to the child, throughthe hum of lessons. Her shrewd little face brightened with a smile thatsmoothed all the wrinkles out of it. 

"That's what father said!" she cried; "he said, 'Courage, Minima. Godwill take care of my little daughter. ' God has sent you to take care ofme. Suppose I'd come all the way alone, and found it such a horridplace!"

CHAPTER THE NINTH. 

A FRENCH AVOCAT. 

December came in with intense severity. Icicles a yard long hung to theeaves, and the snow lay unmelted for days together on the roofs. Moreoften than not we were without wood for our fire, and when we had it, itwas green and unseasoned, and only smouldered away with a smoke thatstung and irritated our eyes. Our insufficient and unwholesome foodsupplied us with no inward warmth. Coal in that remote district cost toomuch for any but the wealthiest people, Now and then I caught a glimpseof a blazing fire in the houses I had to pass, to get to our chamberover Monsieur Perrier's workshop; and in an evening the dainty, savorysmell of dinner, cooking in the kitchen adjoining, sometimes filled thefrosty air. Both sight and scent were tantalizing, and my dreams atnight were generally of pleasant food and warm firesides. 

At times the pangs of hunger grew too strong for us both, and forced meto spend a little of the money I was nursing so carefully. As soon as Icould make myself understood, I went out occasionally after dark, to buybread-and-milk. 

Noireau was a curious town, the streets everywhere steep and narrow, andthe houses, pell-mell, rich and poor, large and small huddled togetherwithout order. Almost opposite the handsome dwelling, the photograph ofwhich had misled me, stood a little house where I could buy rich, creamymilk. It was sold by a Mademoiselle Rosalie, an old maid, whom Igenerally found solitarily reading a _Journal pour Tous_ with her feetupon a _chaufferette_, and no light save that of her little oil-lamp. She had never sat by a fire in her life, she told me, burning her faceand spoiling her _teint_. Her dwelling consisted of a single room, witha shed opening out of it, where she kept her milkpans. She was the onlyperson I spoke to out of Madame Perrier's own household. 

"Is Monsieur Perrier an avocat?" I asked her one day, as soon as I couldunderstand what she might say in reply. There was very little doubt inmy mind as to what her answer would be. 

"An avocat, mademoiselle?" She repeated, shrugging her shoulders; "whohas told you that? Are the avocats in England like Emile? He is myrelation, and you see me! He is a bailiff; do you understand? If I go indebt, he comes and takes possession of my goods, you see. It is verysimple. One need not be very learned to do that. Emile Perrier anavocat? Bah!"

"What is an avocat?" I inquired. 

"An avocat is even higher than a notaire, " she answered; "he givescounsel; he pleads before the judges. It is a high _rôle_. One must bevery learned, very eloquent, to be an avocat. "

"I suppose he must be a gentleman, " I remarked. 

"A gentleman, mademoiselle?" she said; "I do not understand you. Thereis equality in France. We are all messieurs and mesdames. There ismonsieur the bailiff, and monsieur the duke; and there is madame thewasher-woman, and madame the duchess. We are all gentlemen, all ladies. It is not the same in your country. "

"Not at all, " I answered. 

"Did my little Emile tell you he was an avocat, mademoiselle?" sheasked. 

"No, " I said. I was on my guard, even if I had known French well enoughto explain the deception practised upon me. She looked as if she did notbelieve me, but smiled and nodded with imperturbable politeness, as Icarried off my jug of milk. 

So Monsieur Perrier was nothing higher than a bailiff, and with verylittle to do even in that line of the law! He took off his tasselled capto me as I passed his workshop, and went up-stairs with the milk toMinima, who was already gone to bed for the sake of warmth. Thediscovery did not affect me with surprise. If he had been an avocat, myastonishment at French barristers would have been extreme. 

Yet there was something galling in the idea of being under the roof of aman and woman of that class, in some sort in their power and under theircontrol. The low, vulgar cunning of their nature appeared more clearlyto me. There was no chance of success in any contest with them, for theywere too boorish to be reached by any weapon I could use. All I could dowas to keep as far aloof from them as possible. 

This was not difficult to do, for neither of them interfered with theaffairs of the school, and we saw them only at meal times, when theywatched every mouthful we ate with keen eyes. 

I found that I had no duties to perform as a teacher, for none of thethree French pupils desired to learn English. English girls, who hadbeen decoyed into the same snare by the same false photograph andprospectus which had entrapped me, were all of families too poor to beable to forfeit the money which had been paid in advance for theirFrench education. Two of them, however, completed their term atChristmas, and returned home weak and ill; the third was to leave in thespring. I did not hear that any more pupils were expected, and whyMadame Perrier should have engaged any English teacher became a problemto me. The premium I had paid was too small to cover my expenses for ayear, though we were living at so scanty a cost. It was not long beforeI understood my engagement better. 

I studied the language diligently. I felt myself among foreigners andfoes, and I was helpless till I could comprehend what they were sayingin my presence. Having no other occupation, I made rapid progress, though Mademoiselle Morel, the head governess, gave me very littleassistance. 

She was a dull, heavy, yet crafty-looking woman, who had taken afirst-class diploma as a teacher; yet, as far as I could judge, knewvery much less than most English governesses who are uncertificated. Sofar from there being any professors attending the school, I could notdiscover that there were any in the town. It was a cotton-manufacturingtown, with a population of six thousand, most of them hand-loom weavers. There were three or four small factories, built on the banks of theriver, where the hands were at work from six in the morning till ten atnight, Sundays included. There was not much intellectual life here; aprofessor would have little chance of making a living. 

At first Minima, and I took long walks together into the countrysurrounding Noireau, a beautiful country, even in November. Once out ofthe vapor lying in the valley, at the bottom of which the town wasbuilt, the atmosphere showed itself as exquisitely clear, with no smokein it, except the fine blue smoke of wood-fire. We could distinguish theshapes of trees standing out against the horizon, miles and miles away;while between us and it lay slopes of brown woodland and green pastures, with long rows of slim poplars, the yellow leaves clinging to themstill, and winding round them, like garlands on a May-pole. But thispleasure was a costly one, for it awoke pangs of hunger, which I wascompelled to appease by drawing upon my rapidly-emptying purse. Welearned that it was necessary to stay in-doors, and cultivate a smallappetite. 

"Am I getting very thin?" asked Minima one day, as she held up hertransparent hand against the light; "how thin do you think I could getwithout dying, Aunt Nelly?"

"Oh! a great deal thinner, my darling, " I said, kissing the littlefingers, My heart was bound up in the child. I had been so lonelywithout her, that now her constant companionship, her half-womanly, half-babyish prattle seemed necessary to me. There was no longer anyquestion in my mind as to whether I could leave her. I only wonderedwhat I should do when my year was run out, and only one of those four ofhers, for which these wretches had received the payment. 

"Some people can get very thin indeed, " she went on, with her shrewd, quaint smile; "I've heard the boys at school talk about it. One of themhad seen a living skeleton, that was all skin and bone, and no flesh. Ishouldn't like to be a living skeleton, and be made a show of. Do youthink I ever shall be, if I stay here four years? Perhaps they'd take meabout as a show. "

"Why, you are talking nonsense, Minima, " I answered. 

"Am I?" she said, wistfully, as if the idea really troubled her; "Idream of it often and often. I can feel all my bones now, and countthem, when I'm in bed. Some of them are getting very sharp. The boysused to say they'd get as sharp as knives sometimes, and cut through theskin. But father said it was only boys' talk. "

"Your father was right, " I answered; "you must think of what he said, not the boys' talk. "

"But, " she continued, "the boys said sometimes people get so hungry theybite pieces out of their arms. I don't think I could ever be so hungryas that; do you?"

"Minima, " I said, starting up, "let us run to Mademoiselle Rosalie's forsome bread-and-milk. "

"You're afraid of me beginning to eat myself!" she cried, with a littlelaugh. But she was the first to reach Mademoiselle Rosalie's door; and Iwatched her devouring her bread-and-milk with the eagerness of aravenous appetite. 

Very fast melted away my money. I could not see the child pining withhunger, though every sou I spent made our return to England moredifficult. Madame Perrier put no hinderance in my way, for the more foodwe purchased ourselves, the less we ate at her table. The bitter coldand the coarse food told upon Minima's delicate little frame. Yet whatcould I do? I dared not write to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I very much doubtedif there would be any benefit to be hoped for if I ran the risk. Minimadid not know the address of any one of the persons who had subscribedfor her education and board; to her they were only the fathers andmothers of the boys of whom she talked so much. She was as friendless asI was in the world. 

So far away were Dr. Martin Dobrée and Tardif, that I dared not countthem as friends who could have any power to help me. Better for Dr. Martin Dobrée if he could altogether forget me, and return to his cousinJulia. Perhaps he had done so already. 

How long was this loneliness, this friendlessness to be my lot? I was soyoung yet, that my life seemed endless as it stretched before me. Poor, desolate, hunted, I shrank from life as an evil thing, and longedimpatiently to be rid of it. Yet how could I escape even from itspresent phase?

CHAPTER THE TENTH. 

A MISFORTUNE WITHOUT PARALLEL. 

My escape was nearer than I expected, and was forced upon me in a mannerI could never have foreseen. 

Toward the middle of February, Mademoiselle Morel appeared often intears. Madame Perrier's coarse face was always overcast, and monsieurseemed gloomy, too gloomy to retain even French politeness of mannertoward any of us. The household was under a cloud, but I could notdiscover why. What little discipline and work there had been in theschool was quite at an end. Every one was left to do as she chose. 

Early one morning, long before daybreak, I was startled out of my sleepby a hurried knock at my door. I cried out, "Who is there?" and avoice, indistinct with sobbing, replied, "C'est moi. "

The "moi" proved to be Mademoiselle Morel. I opened the door for her, and she appeared in her bonnet and walking-dress, carrying a lamp in herhand, which lit up her weary and tear-stained face. She took a seat atthe foot of my bed, and buried her face in her handkerchief. 

"Mademoiselle, " she said, "here is a grand misfortune, a misfortunewithout parallel. Monsieur and madame are gone. "

"Gone!" I repeated; "where are they gone?"

"I do not know, mademoiselle, " she answered; "I know nothing at all. They are gone away. The poor good people were in debt, and theircreditors are as hard as stone. They wished to take every sou, and theytalked of throwing monsieur into prison, you understand. That isintolerable. They are gone, and I have no means to carry on theestablishment. The school is finished. "

"But I am to stay here twelve months, " I cried, in dismay, "and Minimawas to stay four years. The money has been paid to them for it. What isto become of us?"

"I cannot say, mademoiselle; I am desolated myself, " she replied, with afresh burst of tears; "all is finished here. If you have not moneyenough to take you back to England, you must write to your friends. I'mgoing to return to Bordeaux. I detest Normandy; it is so cold and_triste_. "

"But what is to be done with the other pupils?" I inquired, still lostin amazement, and too bewildered to realize my own position. 

"The English pupil goes with me to Paris, " she answered; "she has herfriends there. The French demoiselles are not far from their own homes, and they return to-day by the omnibus to Granville. It is a misfortunewithout parallel, mademoiselle--a misfortune quite without parallel. "

By the way she repeated this phrase, it was evidently a greatconsolation to her--as phrases seem to be to all classes of the Frenchpeople. But both the tone of her voice, and the expression of her face, impressed upon me the conviction that it was not her only consolation. In answer to my urgent questions, she informed me that, without doubt, the goods left in the two houses would be seized, as soon as the flightof madame and monsieur became known. 

To crown all, she was going to start immediately by the omnibus toFalaise, and on by rail to Paris, not waiting for the storm to burst. She kissed me on both cheeks, bade me adieu, and was gone, leaving me inutter darkness, before I fairly comprehended the rapid French in whichshe conveyed her intention. I groped to the window, and saw theglimmering of her lamp, as she turned into the cart-shed, on her way tothe other house. Before I could dress and follow her, she would be gone. 

I had seen my last of Monsieur and Madame Perrier, and of MademoiselleMorel. 

I had time to recover from my consternation, and to see my positionclearly, before the dawn came. Leagues of land, and leagues of sea, laybetween me and England. Ten shillings was all that was left of my money. Besides this, I had Minima dependent upon me, for it was impossible toabandon her to the charity of foreigners. I had not the means of sendingher back to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I rejected the mere thought of doing so, partly because I dared not run the risk, and partly because I could notharden myself against the appeals the child would make against such adestiny. But then what was to become of us?

I dressed myself as soon as the first faint light came, and hurried tothe other house. The key was in the lock, as mademoiselle had left it. Afire was burning in the school-room, and the fragments of a meal werescattered about the table. The pupils up-stairs were preparing for theirown departure, and were chattering too volubly to one another for me tocatch the meaning of their words. They seemed to know very well how tomanage their own affairs, and they informed me their places were takenin the omnibus, and a porter was hired to fetch their luggage. 

All I had to do was to see for myself and Minima. 

I carried our breakfast back with me, when I returned to Minima. Herwan and womanly face was turned toward the window, and the light made itlook more pinched and worn than usual. She sat up in bed to eat herscanty breakfast--the last meal we should have in this shelter ofours--and I wrapped a shawl about her thin shoulders. 

"I wish I'd been born a boy, " she said, plaintively; "they can get theirown living sooner than girls, and better. How soon do you think I couldget my own living? I could be a little nurse-maid now, you know; and I'deat very little. "

"What makes you talk about getting your living?" I asked. 

"How pale you look!" she answered, nodding her little head; "why, Iheard something of what mademoiselle said. They've all run away, andleft us to do what we can. We shall both have to get our own living. I've been thinking how nice it would be if you could get a place ashousemaid and me nurse, in the same house. Wouldn't that be first-rate?You're very poor, aren't you, Aunt Nelly?"

"Very poor!" I repeated, hiding my face on her pillow, while hot tearsforced themselves through my eyelids. 

"Oh! this will never do, " said the childish voice; "we mustn't cry, youknow. The boys always said it was like a baby to cry; and father used tosay, 'Courage, Minima!' Perhaps, when all our money is gone, we shallfind a great big purse full of gold; or else a beautiful French princewill see you, and fall in love with you, and take us both to his palace, and make you his princess; and we shall all grow up till we die. "

I laughed at the oddity of this childish climax in spite of theheaviness of my heart and the springing of my tears. Minima's freshyoung fancies were too droll to resist, especially in combination withher shrewd, old-womanish knowledge of many things of which I wasignorant. 

"I should know exactly what to do if we were in London, " she resumed;"we could take our things to the pawnbroker's, and get lots of money forthem. That is what poor people do. Mrs. Foster has pawned all her ringsand brooches. It is quite easy to do, you know; but perhaps there are nopawn-shops in France. "

This incidental mention of Mrs. Foster had sent my thoughts and fearsfluttering toward a deep, unutterable dread, which was lurking under allmy other cares. Should I be driven by the mere stress of utter povertyto return to my husband? There must be something wrong in a law whichbound me captive, body and soul, to a man whose very name had become aterror to me, and to escape whom I was willing to face any difficulties, any distresses. But all my knowledge of the law came from his lips, andhe would gladly deceive me. It might be that I was suffering all thesetroubles quite needlessly. Across the darkness of my prospects flushed athought that seemed like an angel of light. Why should I not try to makemy way to Mrs. Dobrée, Martin's mother, to whom I could tell my wholehistory, and on whose friendship and protection I could rely implicitly?She would learn for me how far the law would protect me. By this timeKate Daltrey would have quitted the Channel Islands, satisfied that Ihad eluded her pursuit. The route to the Channel Islands was neitherlong nor difficult, for at Granville a vessel sailed directly forJersey, and we were not more than thirty miles from Granville. It was adistance that we could almost walk. If Mrs. Dobrée could not help me, Tardif would take Minima into his house for a time, and the child couldnot have a happier home. I could count upon my good Tardif doing that. These plans were taking shape in my brain, when I heard a voice callingsoftly under the window. I opened the casement, and, leaning out, sawthe welcome face of Rosalie, the milk-woman. 

"Will you permit me to come in?" she inquired. 

"Yes, yes, come in, " I said, eagerly. 

She entered, and saluted us both with much ceremony. Her clumsy wooden_sabots_ clattered over the bare boards, and the wings of her highNorman cap flapped against her sallow cheeks. No figure could haveimpressed upon me more forcibly the unwelcome fact that I was in greatstraits in a foreign land. I regarded her with a vague kind of fear. 

"So my little Emile and his spouse are gone, mademoiselle, " she said, ina mysterious whisper. "I have been saying to myself, 'What will mylittle English lady do?' That is why I am here. Behold me. "

"I do not know what to do, " I answered. 

"If mademoiselle is not difficult, " she said, "she and the little onecould rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft--bah! tentimes softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night forit. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for lightand attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has notenough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country. "

"I have no friends, " I said, despondently. 

"No friends! no relations!" she exclaimed. 

"Not one, " I replied. 

"But that is terrible!" she said. "Has mademoiselle plenty of money?"

"Only twelve francs, " I answered. 

Rosalie's face grew long and grave. This was an abyss of misfortune shehad not dreamed of. She looked at us both critically, and did not openher lips again for a minute or two. 

"Is the little one your relation?" she inquired, after this pause. 

"No, " I replied; "I did not know her till I brought her here. She doesnot know of any friends or relations belonging to her. "

"There is the convent for her, " she said; "the good sisters would take alittle girl like her, and make a true Christian of her. She might becomea saint some day--"

"No, no, " I interrupted, hastily; "I could not leave her in a convent. "

Mademoiselle Rosalie was very much offended; her sallow face flushed adull red, and the wings of her cap flapped as if she were about to takeflight, and leave me in my difficulties. She had kindliness of feeling, but it was not proof against my poverty and my covert slight of herreligion. I caught her hand in mine to prevent her going. 

"Let us come to your house for to-day, " I entreated: "to-morrow we willgo. I have money enough to pay you. "

I was only too glad to get a shelter for Minima and myself for anothernight. She explained to me the French system of borrowing money uponarticles left in pledge and offered to accompany me to the _mont depiété_ with those things that we could spare. But, upon packing up ourfew possessions, I remembered that only a few days before Madame Perrierhad borrowed from me my seal-skin mantle, the only valuable thing I hadremaining. I had lent it reluctantly, and in spite of myself; and it hadnever been returned. Minima's wardrobe was still poorer than my own. Allthe money we could raise was less than two napoleons; and with this wehad to make our way to Granville, and thence to Guernsey. We could nottravel luxuriously. 

The next morning we left Noireau on foot. 

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 

LOST AT NIGHTFALL. 

It was a soft spring morning, with an exhilarating, jubilant lightnessin the air, such as only comes in the very early spring, or at sunriseon a dewy summer-day. A few gray clouds lay low along the horizon, butoverhead the sky was a deep, rich blue, with fine, filmy streaks ofwhite vapor floating slowly across it. The branches of the trees werestill bare, showing the blue through their delicate net-work; but theends of the twigs were thickening, and the leaf-buds swelling under therind. The shoots of the hazel-bushes wore a purple bloom, with yellowcatkins already hanging in tassels about them. The white buds of thechestnut-trees shone with silvery lustre. In the orchards, though thetangled boughs of the apple-trees were still thickly covered with graylichens, small specks of green among the gray gave a promise of earlyblossom. Thrushes were singing from every thorn-bush; and the larks, lost in the blue heights above us, flung down their triumphant carols, careless whether our ears caught them or no. A long, straight roadstretched before us, and seemed to end upon the skyline in the fardistance. Below us, when we looked back, lay the valley and the town;and all around us a vast sweep of country, rising up to the low floor ofclouds from which the bright dome of the sky was springing. 

We strolled on as if we were walking on air, and could feel no fatigue;Minima with a flush upon her pale cheeks, and chattering incessantlyabout the boys, whose memories were her constant companions. I too hadmy companions; faces and voices were about me, which no eye or ear butmine could perceive. 

During the night, while my brain had been between waking and sleeping, Ihad been busy with the new idea that had taken possession of it. Themore I pondered upon the subject, the more impossible it appeared thatthe laws of any Christian country should doom me, and deliver me upagainst my will, to a bondage more degrading and more cruel than slaveryitself. If every man, I had said to myself, were proved to be good andchivalrous, of high and steadfast honor, it might be possible to placeanother soul, more frail and less wise, into his charge unchallenged. But the law is made for evil men, not for good. I began to believe itincredible that it should subject me to the tyranny of a husband whomade my home a hell, and gave me no companionship but that of thevicious. Should the law make me forfeit all else, it would at leastrecognize my right to myself. Once free from the necessity of hiding, Idid not fear to face any difficulty. Surely he had been deceiving me, and playing upon my ignorance, when he told me I belonged to him as achattel!

Every step which carried us nearer to Granville brought new hope to me. The face of Martin's mother came often to my mind, looking at me, as shehad done in Sark, with a mournful yet tender smile--a smile behind whichlay many tears. If I could but lay my head upon her lap, and tell herall, all which I had never breathed into any ear, I should feel secureand happy. "Courage!" I said to myself; "every hour brings you nearer toher. "

Now and then, whenever we came to a pleasant place, where a fallen tree, or the step under a cross, offered us a resting-place by the roadside, we sat down, scarcely from weariness, but rather for enjoyment. I hadfull directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie toa cousin of hers, who lived in a convent about twelve miles fromNoirean; where, she assured me, they would take us in gladly for anight, and perhaps send us on part of our way in their conveyance, inthe morning. Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day, and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaveswhich we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, anddrinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily underthe brown hedge-rows. If we reached the convent before six o'clock weshould find the doors open, and should gain admission. 

But in the afternoon the sky changed. The low floor of clouds rosegradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker asthey crept higher into the sky. The blue became paler and colder. Thewind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the eastblew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were nowcrossing. 

Insensibly our high spirits sank. Minima ceased to prattle; and I beganto shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknownfuture, than from any chill of the easterly wind. The road was verydesolate. Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom Icould inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville. About noon wehad passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below ita board had pointed toward Granville. I had followed its direction inconfidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious. This road, alongwhich the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary. 

It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching beforeus, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. A wild, weird-lookingflat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lyingin deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing. As far as I couldguess, it was drawing near to five o'clock; and, if we had wandered outof our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behindus. There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead. Allthere was gray, gloomy, and threatening. The horizon was rapidlybecoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us. Everyfew minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself aboutus, until the moaning wind drifted it away. Minima was quite silent now, and her weary feet dragged along the rough road. The hand which restedupon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely. The child was wornout, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplainingpatience. 

"Are you very tired, my Minima?" I asked. 

"It will be so nice to go to bed, when we reach the convent, " she said, looking up with a smile. "I can't imagine why the prince has not comeyet. "

"Perhaps he is coming all the time, " I answered, "and he'll find us whenwe want him worst. "

We plodded on after that, looking for the convent, or for any dwellingwhere we could stay till morning. But none came in sight, or any personfrom whom we could learn where we were wandering. I was growingfrightened, dismayed. What would become of us both, if we could find noshelter from the cold of a February night?

There were unshed tears in my eyes--for I would not let Minima know myfears--when I saw dimly, through the mist, a high cross standing in themidst of a small grove of yews and cypresses, planted formally about it. There were three tiers of steps at its foot, the lowest partly screenedfrom the gathering rain by the trees. The shaft of the cross, with aserpent twining about its base, rose high above the cypresses; and theimage of the Christ hanging upon its crossbeams fronted the east, whichwas now heavy with clouds. The half-closed eyes seemed to be gazing overthe vast wintry plain, lying in the brown desolateness of a Februaryevening. The face was full of an unutterable and complete agony, andthere was the helpless languor of dying in the limbs. The rain wasbeating against it, and the wind sobbing in the trees surrounding it. Itseemed so sad, so forsaken, that it drew us to it. Without speaking thechild and I crept to the shelter at its foot, and sat down to restthere, as if we were companions to it in its loneliness. 

There was no sound to listen to save the sighing of the east windthrough the fine needle-like leaflets of the yew-trees; and the mist wasrapidly shutting out every sight but the awful, pathetic form above us. Evening had closed in, night was coming gradually, yet swiftly. Everyminute was drawing the darkness more densely about us. If we did notbestir ourselves soon, and hasten along, it would overtake us, and findus without resource. Yet I felt as if I had no heart to abandon thatgray figure, with the rain-drops beating heavily against it. I forgotmyself, forgot Minima, forgot all the world, while looking up to theface, growing more dim to me through my own tears. 

"Hush! hush!" cried Minima, though I was neither moving nor speaking, and the stillness was profound; "hark! I hear something coming along theroad, only very far off. "

I listened for a minute or two, and there reached my ears a fainttinkling, which drew nearer and nearer every moment. At last it wasplainly the sound of bells on a horse's collar; and presently I coulddistinguish the beat of a horse's hoofs coming slowly along the road. Ina few minutes some person would be passing by, who would be able to helpus; and no one could be so inhuman as to leave us in our distress. 

It was too dark now to see far along the road, but as we waited andwatched there came into sight a rude sort of covered carriage, like amarket-cart, drawn by a horse with a blue sheep-skin hanging round hisneck. The pace at which he was going was not above a jog-trot, and hecame almost to a stand-still opposite the cross, as if it was customaryto pause there. 

This was the instant to appeal for aid. I darted forward in front of the_char à bancs_, and stretched out my hands to the driver. 

"Help us, " I cried; we have lost our way, and the night is come. "Helpus, for the love of Christ!" I could see now that the driver was aburly, red-faced, cleanshaven Norman peasant, wearing a white cottoncap, with a tassel over his forehead, who stared at me, and at Minimadragging herself weariedly to my side, as if we had both dropped fromthe clouds. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove ofdark, solemn trees from which we had come. But by his side sat a priest, in his cassock and broad-brimmed hat fastened up at the sides, whoalighted almost before I had finished speaking, and stood before usbareheaded, and bowing profoundly. 

"Madame, " he said, in a bland tone, "to what town are you going?"

"We are going to Granville, " I answered, "but I am afraid I have lostthe way. We are very tired, this little child and I. We can walk nomore, monsieur. Take care of us, I pray you. "

I spoke brokenly, for in an extremity like this it was difficult to putmy request into French. The priest appeared perplexed, but he went backto the _char à bancs_, and held a short, earnest conversation with thedriver, in a subdued voice. 

"Madame, " he said, returning to me, "I am Francis Laurentie, the curé ofVille-en-bois. It is quite a small village about a league from here, andwe are on the road to it; but the route to Granville is two leaguesbehind us, and it is still farther to the first village. There is nottime to return with you this evening. Will you, then, go with us toVille-en-bois, and to-morrow we will send you on to Granville?"

He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, whichfilled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, buthis hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, as he still stoodbareheaded before me, though the rain was falling fast. 

"Take care of us, monsieur?" I replied, putting my hand in his; "we willgo with you. "

"Make haste then, my children, " he said, cheerfully; "the rain will hurtyou. Let me lift the _mignonne_ into the _char à bancs_. Bah! How littleshe is! _Voilà!_ Now, madame, permit me. "

There was a seat in the back of the _char à bancs_ which we reached byclimbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we werewell sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet restingupon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Normanpeasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the curé in his hat andcassock, filling up the front of the car before us. 

It was so unlike any thing I had foreseen, that I could scarcely believethat it was real. 

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 

THE CURÉ OF VILLE-EN-BOIS. 

"They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Curé, " observed the driver, aftera short pause. We were travelling slowly, for the curé would not allowthe peasant to whip on the shaggy cart-horse. We were, moreover, goingup-hill, along roads as rough as any about my father's sheep-walk, withlarge round stones deeply bedded in the soil. 

"No, no, my good Jean, " was the curé's answer; "by their tongue I shouldsay they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid, and voyageabout all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to methat we have never encountered one of them before to-day. "

"But, Monsieur le Curé, are they Christian?" inquired Jean, with abackward glance at us. Evidently he had not altogether recovered fromthe fright we had given him, when we appeared suddenly from out of thegloomy shadows of the cypresses. 

"The English nation is Protestant, " replied the curé, with a sigh. 

"But, monsieur, " exclaimed Jean, "if they are Protestants they cannot beChristians! Is it not true that all the Protestants go to hell on theback of that bad king who had six wives all at one time?"

"Not all at one time, my good Jean, " the curé answered mildly; "no, no, surely they do not all go to perdition. If they know any thing of thelove of Christ, they must be Christians, however feeble and ignorant. Hedoes not quench the smoking flax, Jean. Did you not hear madame say, 'Help me, for the love of Christ?' Good! There is the smoking flax, which may burn into a flame brighter than yours or mine some day, mypoor friend. We must make her and the _mignonne_ as welcome as if theywere good Catholics. She is very poor, cela saute aux yeux--"

"Monsieur, " I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened sofar, "I understand French very well, though I speak it badly. "

"Pardon, madame!" he replied, "I hope you will not be grieved by thefoolish words we have been speaking one to the other. "

After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of thebells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and ruggedroad. Hills rose on each side of us, which were thickly planted withtrees. Even the figures of the curé and driver were no longer welldefined in the denser darkness. Minima had laid her head on my shoulder, and seemed to be asleep. By-and-by a village clock striking echoedfaintly down the valley; and the curé turned round and addressed meagain. 

"There is my village, madame, " he said, stretching forth his hand topoint it out, though we could not see a yard beyond the _char à bancs_;"it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred andtwenty-two souls, some of them very little ones. They all know me, andregard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons. --Isit not so, Jean? Rebel sons, but not many rebel daughters. Here we are!"

We entered a narrow and roughly-paved village-street. The houses, as Isaw afterward, were all huddled together, with a small church at thepoint farthest from the entrance; and the road ended at its porch, as ifthere were no other place in the world beyond it. 

As we clattered along the dogs barked, and the cottage-doors flew open. Children toddled to the thresholds, and called after us, in shrillnotes, "Good-evening, and a good-night, Monsieur le Curé!" Men's voices, deeper and slower, echoed the salutation. The curé was busy greetingeach one in return: "Good-night, my little rogue, " "Good-night, mylamb. " "Good-night to all of you, my friends;" his cordial voice makingeach word sound as if it came from his very heart. I felt that we wereperfectly secure in his keeping. 

Never, as long as I live, shall I smell the pungent, pleasant scent ofwood burning without recalling to my memory that darksome entrance intoVille-en-bois. 

"We drove at last into a square courtyard, paved with pebbles. Almostbefore the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an opendoor across a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see, spoke eagerly as soon as the horse's hoofs had ceased to scrape upon thepebbles. 

"Hast thou brought a doctor with thee, my brother?" she asked. 

"I have brought no doctor except thy brother, my sister, " answeredMonsieur Laurentie, "also a treasure which I found at the foot of theCalvary down yonder. "

He had alighted while saying this, and the rest of the conversation wascarried on in whispers. There was some one ill in the house, and ourarrival was ill-timed, that was quite clear. Whoever the woman was thathad come to the door, she did not advance to speak to me, but retreatedas soon as the conversation was over; while the curé returned to theside of the _char à bancs_, and asked me to remain where I was, withMinima, for a few minutes. 

The horse was taken out by Jean, and led away to the stable, the shaftsof the _char à bancs_ being supported by two props put under them. Thenthe place grew profoundly quiet. I leaned forward to look at thepresbytery, which I supposed this house to be. It was a low, largebuilding of two stories, with eaves projecting two or three feet overthe upper one. At the end of it rose the belfry of the church--an openbelfry, with one bell hanging underneath a little square roof of tiles. The church itself was quite hidden by the surrounding walls and roofs. All was dark, except a feeble glimmering in four upper casements, whichseemed to belong to one large room. The church-clock chimed a quarter, then half-past, and must have been near upon the three-quarters; but yetthere was no sign that we were remembered. Minima was still asleep. Iwas growing cold, depressed, and anxious, when the house-door openedonce more, and the curé appeared carrying a lamp, which he placed on thelow stone wall surrounding the court. 

"Pardon, madame, " he said, approaching us, "but my sister is too muchoccupied with a sick person to do herself the honor of attending uponyou. Permit me to fill her place, and excuse her, I pray you. Give methe poor _mignonne_; I will lift her down first, and then assist you todescend. "

His politeness did not seem studied; it had too kindly a tone to beartificial. I lifted Minima over the front seat, and sprang down myself, glad to be released from my stiff position, and hardly availing myselfof his proffered help. He did not conduct us through the open door, butled us round the angle of the presbytery to a small outhouse, opening onto the court, and with no other entrance. It was a building lyingbetween the porch and belfry of the church and his own dwelling place. But it looked comfortable and inviting. A fire had been hastily kindledon an open hearth, and a heap of wood lay beside it. A table stood closeby, in the light and warmth, on which were steaming two basins of soup, and an omelette fresh from the frying-pan; with fruit and wine for asecond course. Two beds were in this room: one with hangings over thehead, and a large, tall cross at the foot-board; the other a low, narrowpallet, lying along the foot of it. A crucifix hung upon the wall, andthe wood-work of the high window also formed a cross. It seemed astrange goal to reach after our day's wanderings. 

Monsieur Laurentie put the lamp down on the table, and drew the logs ofwood together on the hearth. He was an old man, as I then thought, oversixty. He looked round upon us with a benevolent smile. 

"Madame, " he said, "our hospitality is rude and simple, but you are verywelcome guests. My sister is desolated that she must leave you to mycares. But if there be any thing you have need of, tell me, I pray you. "

"There is nothing, monsieur, " I answered; "you are too good to us, toogood. "

"No, no, madame, " he said, "be content. To-morrow I will send you toGranville under the charge of my good Jean. Sleep well, my children, andfear nothing. The good God will protect you. "

He closed the door after him as he spoke, but opened it again to call myattention to a thick wooden bar, with which I might fasten it inside ifI chose; and to tell me not to alarm myself when I heard the belloverhead toll for matins, at half-past five in the morning. I listenedto his receding footsteps, and then turned eagerly to the food, which Ibegan to want greatly. 

But Minima had thrown herself upon the low pallet-bed, and I could notpersuade her to swallow more than a few spoonfuls of soup. I toot offher damp clothes, and laid her down comfortably to rest. Her eyes weredull and heavy, and she said her head was aching; but she looked up atme with a faint smile. 

"I told you how nice it would be to be in bed, " she whispered. 

"It was not long before I was also sleeping soundly the deep, dreamlesssleep which comes to any one as strong as I was, after unusual physicalexertion. Once or twice a vague impression forced itself upon me thatMinima was talking a great deal in her dreams. It was the clang of thebell for matins which fully roused me at last, but it was a minute ortwo before I could make out where I was. Through the uncurtained window, high in the opposite wall, I could see a dim, pallid moon sinking slowlyinto the west. The thick beams of the cross were strongly delineatedagainst its pale light. For a moment I fancied that Minima and I hadpassed the night under the shelter of the solitary image, which we hadleft alone in the dark and rainy evening. I knew better immediately, andlay still, listening to the tramp of the wooden _sabots_ hurrying pastthe door into the church-porch. Then Minima began to talk. 

"How funny that is!" she said, "there the boys run, and I can't catchone of them. Father, Temple Secundus is pulling faces at me, and all theboys are laughing. " "Well! it doesn't matter, does it? Only we are sopoor, Aunt Nelly and all. We're so poor--so poor--so poor!"

Her voice fell into a murmur too low for me to hear what she was saying, though she went on talking rapidly, and laughing and sobbing at times. Icalled to her, but she did not answer. 

What could ail the child? I went to her, and took her hands inmine--burning little hands. I said, "Minima! and she turned to me witha caressing gesture, raising her hot fingers to stroke my face. 

"Yes, Aunt Nelly. How poor we are, you and me! I am so tired, and theprince never comes!"

There was hardly room for me in the narrow bed, but I managed to liedown beside her, and took her into my arms to soothe her. She restedthere quietly enough; but her head was wandering, and all her whisperedchatter was about the boys, and the dominie, her father, and the happydays at home in the school in Epping Forest. As soon as it was light Idressed myself in haste, and opened my door to see if I could find anyone to send to Monsieur Laurentie. 

The first person I saw was himself, coming in my direction. I had notfairly looked at him before, for I had seen him only by twilight andfirelight. His cassock was old and threadbare, and his hat brown. Hishair fell in rather long locks below his hat, and was beautifully white. His face was healthy-looking, like that of a man who lived muchout-of-doors, and his clear, quick eyes shone with a kindly light. Iran impulsively to meet him, with outstretched hands, which he took intohis own with a pleasant smile. 

"Oh, come, monsieur, " I cried; "make haste! She is ill, my poor Minima!"

The smile faded away from his face in an instant, and he did not utter aword. He followed me quickly to the side of the little bed, laid hishand softly on the child's forehead, and felt her pulse. He lifted upher head gently, and, opening her mouth, looked at her tongue andthroat. He shook his head as he turned to me with a grave and perplexedexpression, and he spoke with a low, solemn accent. 

"Madame, " he said, "it is the fever. "

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. 

A FEVER-HOSPITAL. 

The fever! What fever? Was it any thing more than some childish maladybrought on by exhaustion? I stood silent, in amazement at his solemnmanner, and looking from him to the delirious child. He was the first tospeak again. 

"It will be impossible for you to go to-day, " he said; "the child cannotbe removed. I must tell Jean to put up the horse and _char à bancs_again. I shall return in an instant to you, madame. "

He left me, and I sank down on a chair, half stupefied by this newdisaster. It would be necessary to stay where we were until Minimarecovered; yet I had no means to pay these people for the trouble weshould give them, and the expense we should be to them. Monsieur le Curéhad all the appearance of a poor parish priest, with a very smallincome. I had not time to decide upon any course, however, before hereturned and brought with him his sister. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse was a tall, plain, elderly woman, but with the samepleasant expression of open friendliness as that of her brother. Shewent through precisely the same examination of Minima as he had done. 

"The fever!" she ejaculated, in much the same tone as his. They lookedsignificantly at each other, and then held a hurried consultationtogether outside the door, after which the curé returned alone. 

"Madame, " he said, "this child is not your own, as I supposed lastnight. My sister says you are too young to be her mother. Is she yoursister?"

"No, monsieur, " I answered. 

"I called you madame because you were travelling alone, " he continued, smiling; "French demoiselles never travel alone before they are married. You are mademoiselle, no doubt?"

An awkward question, for he paused as if it were a question. I look intohis kind, keen face and honest eyes. 

"No, monsieur, " I said, frankly, "I am married. "

"Where, then, is your husband?" he inquired. 

"He is in London, " I answered. "Monsieur, it is difficult for me toexplain it; I cannot speak your language well enough. I think inEnglish, and I cannot find the right French words. I am very unhappy, but I am not wicked. "

"Good, " he said, smiling again, "very good, my child; I believe you. Youwill learn my language quickly; then you shall tell me all, if youremain with us. But you said the _mignonne_ is not your sister. "

"No; she is not my relative at all, " I replied; "we were both in aschool at Noireau, the school of Monsieur Emile Perrier. Perhaps youknow it, monsieur?"

"Certainly, madame, " he said. 

"He has failed and run away, " I continued; "all the pupils aredispersed. Minima and I were returning through Granville. "'

"Bien! I understand, madame, " he responded; "but it is villanous, thisaffair! Listen, my child. I have much to say to you. Do I speak gentlyand slowly enough for you?"

"Yes, " I answered; "I understand you perfectly. "'

"We have had the fever in Ville-en-bois for some weeks, " he went on; "itis now bad, very bad. Yesterday I went to Noireau to seek a doctor, butI could only hear of one, who is in Paris at present, and cannot comeimmediately. When you prayed me for succor last night, I did not knowwhat to do. I could not leave you by the way-side, with the night comingon, and I could not take you to my own house. At present we have made myhouse into a hospital for the sick. My people bring their sick to me, and we do our best, and put our trust in God. I said to myself and toJean, 'We cannot receive these children into the presbytery, lest theyshould take the fever. ' But this little house has been kept free fromall infection, and you would be safe here for one night, so I hoped. The_mignonne_ must have caught the fever some days ago. There is no blame, therefore, resting upon me, you understand. Now I must carry her into mylittle hospital. But you, madame, what am I to do with you? Do you wishto go on to Granville, and leave the _mignonne_ with me? We will takecare of her as a little angel of God. What shall I do with you, mychild?"

"Monsieur, " I exclaimed, speaking so eagerly that I could scarcely bringmy sentences into any kind of order, "take me into your hospital too. Let me take care of Minima and your other sick people. I am very strong, and in good health; I am never ill, never, never. I will do all you sayto me. Let me stay, dear monsieur. "

"But your husband, your friends--" he said. 

"I have no friends, " I interrupted, "and my husband does not love me. IfI have the fever, and die--good! very good! I am not wicked; I am aChristian, I hope. Only let me stay with Minima, and do all I can in thehospital. "

He stood looking at me scrutinizingly, trying to read, I fancied, ifthere were any sign of wickedness in my face. I felt it flush, but Iwould not let my eyes sink before his. I think he saw in them, in mysteadfast, tearful eyes, that I might be unfortunate, but that I was notwicked. A pleasant gleam came across his features. 

"Be content, my child, " he said, "you shall stay with us. "

I felt a sudden sense of contentment take possession of me; for here waswork for me to do, as well as a refuge. Neither should I be compelled toleave Minima. I wrapped her up warmly in the blankets, and MonsieurLaurentie lifted her carefully and tenderly from the low bed. He told meto accompany him, and we crossed the court, and entered the house by thedoor I had seen the night before. A staircase of red quarries led up tothe second story, and the first door we came to was a long, low room, with a quarried floor, which had been turned into a hastily-fitted-upfever-ward for women and children. There were already nine beds in it, ofdifferent sizes, brought with the patients who now occupied them. Butone of these was empty. 

I learned afterward that the girl to whom the bed belonged had died theday before, during the curé's absence, and was going to be buried thatmorning, in a cemetery lying in a field on the side of the valley. Mademoiselle Thérèse was making up the bed with homespun linen, scentedwith rosemary and lavender, and the curé laid Minima down upon it withall the skill of a woman. In this home-like ward I took up my work asnurse. 

It was work that seemed to come naturally to me, as if I had a specialgift for it. I remembered how some of the older shepherds on the stationat home used to praise my mother's skill as a nurse. I felt as if I knewby instinct the wants of my little patients, when they could not putthem into coherent words for themselves. They were mostly children, orquite young girls; for the older people who were stricken by the fevergenerally clung to their own homes, and the curé visited them there withthe regularity of a physician. I liked to find for these sufferingchildren a more comfortable position when they were weary; or to bathetheir burning heads with some cool lotion; or to give the parched lipsthe _titane_ Mademoiselle Thérèse prepared. Even the delirium of theselittle creatures was but a babbling about playthings, and _fétes_, andgames. Minima, whose fever took faster hold of her day after day, prattled of the same things in English, only with sad alternations ofmoaning over our poverty. 

It was probably these lamentations of Minima which made me sometimeslook forward with dread to the time when this season of my life shouldbe ended. I knew it could be only for a little while, an interlude, abrief, passing term, which must run quickly to its conclusion, and bringme face to face again with the terrible poverty which the child bemoanedin words no one could understand but myself. Already my own appearancewas changing, as Mademoiselle Thérèse supplied the place of my clothing, which wore out with my constant work, replacing it with the homelycostume of the Norman village. I could not expect to remain here when mytask was done. The presbytery was too poor to offer me a shelter when Icould be nothing but a burden in it. This good curé, who was growingfonder of me every day, and whom I had learned to love and honor, couldnot be a father to me as he was to his own people. Sooner or later therewould come an hour when we must say adieu to one another, and I must goout once again to confront the uncertain future. 

But for the present these fears were very much in the background, and Ionly felt that they were lurking there, ready for any moment ofdepression. I was kept too busy with the duties of the hour to attend tothem. Some of the children died, and I grieved over them; some recoveredsufficiently to be removed to a farm on the brow of the hill, where theair was fresher than in the valley. There was plenty to do and to thinkof from day to day. 

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 

OUTCAST PARISHIONERS. 

"Madame. " said Monsieur Laurentie; one morning, the eighth that I hadbeen in the fever-smitten village, "you did not take a promenadeyesterday. "

"Not yesterday, monsieur. "

"Nor the day before yesterday?" he continued. 

"No, monsieur, " I answered; "I dare not leave Minima, I fear she isgoing to die. "

My voice failed me as I spoke to him. I was sitting down for a fewminutes on a low seat, between Minima's bed and one where a little boyof six years of age lay. Both were delirious. He was the little son ofJean, our driver, and the sacristan of the church; and his father hadbrought him into the ward the evening of the day after Minima had beentaken ill. Jean had besought me with tears to be good to his child. Thetwo had engrossed nearly all my time and thoughts, and I was losingheart and hope every hour. 

Monsieur Laurentie raised me gently from my low chair, and seatedhimself upon it, with a smile, as he looked up at me. 

"_Voilà_, madame, " he said, "I promise not to quit the chamber till youreturn. My sister has a little commission for you to do. Confide the_mignonne_ to me, and make your promenade in peace. It is necessary, madame; you must obey me. "

The commission for mademoiselle was to carry some food and medicine to acottage lower down the valley; and Jean's eldest son, Pierre, wasappointed to be my guide. Both the curé and his sister gave me a strictcharge as to what we were to do; neither of us was upon any account togo near or enter the dwelling; but after the basket was deposited upon aflat stone, which Pierre was to point out to me, he was to ring a smallhand-bell which he carried with him for that purpose. Then we were toturn our backs and begin our retreat, before any person came out of theinfected house. 

I set out with Pierre, a solemn-looking boy of about twelve years ofage, who cast upon me sidelong glances of silent scrutiny. We passeddown the village street, with its closely-packed houses forming a verynest for fever, until we reached the road by which I had first enteredVille-en-bois. Now that I could see it by daylight, the valley wasextremely narrow, and the hills on each side so high that, though thesun had risen nearly three hours ago, it had but just climbed above thebrow of the eastern slope. There was a luxurious and dank growth oftrees, with a tangle of underwood and boggy soil beneath them. A vaporwas shining in rainbow colors against the brightening sky. In the depthof the valley, but hidden by the thicket, ran a noisy stream--too noisyto be any thing else than shallow. There had been no frost since thesharp and keen wintry weather in December, and the heavy rains which hadfallen since had flooded the stream, and made the lowlands soft and oozywith undrained moisture. My guide and I trudged along in silence foralmost a kilometre. 

"Are you a pagan, madame?" inquired Pierre, at last, with eagersolemnity of face and voice. His blue eyes were fastened upon mepityingly. 

"No, Pierre, " I replied. 

"But you are a heretic, " he pursued. 

"I suppose so, " I said. 

"Pagans and heretics are the same, " he rejoined, dogmatically; "you area heretic, therefore you are a pagan, madame. "

"I am not a pagan, " I persisted; "I am a Christian like you. "

"Does Monsieur le Curé say you are a Christian?" he inquired. 

"You can ask him, Pierre, " I replied. 

"He will know, " he said, in a confident tone; "he knows every thing. There is no curé like monsieur between Ville-en-bois and Paris. All theworld must acknowledge that. He is our priest, our doctor, our _juge depaix_, our school-master. Did you ever know a curé like him before, madame?"

"I never knew any curé before, " I replied. 

"Never knew any cure!" he repeated slowly; "then, madame, you must be apagan. Did you never confess? Were you never prepared for your firstcommunion? Oh! it is certain, madame, you are a true pagan. "

We had not any more time to discuss my religion, for we were drawingnear the end of our expedition. Above the tops of the trees appeared atall chimney, and a sudden turn in the by-road we had taken brought usfull in sight of a small cotton-mill, built on the banks of the noisystream. It was an ugly, formal building, as all factories are, withstraight rows of window-frames; but both walls and roof were moulderinginto ruin, and looked as though they must before long sink into thebrawling waters that were sapping the foundations. A moremournfully-dilapidated place I had never seen. A blight seemed to havefallen upon it; some solemn curse might be brooding over it, and slowlyworking out its total destruction. 

In the yard adjoining this deserted factory stood a miserable cottage, with a thatched roof, and eaves projecting some feet from the walls, andreaching nearly to the ground, except where the door was. The smallcasements of the upper story, if there were any, were completely hidden. A row of _fleur-de-lis_ was springing up, green and glossy, along thepeak of the brown thatch; this and the picturesque eaves forming itsonly beauty. The thatch looked old and rotten, and was beginning tosteam in the warm sunshine. The unpaved yard about it was a slough ofmire and mud. There were mould and mildew upon all the wood-work. Theplace bore the aspect of a pest-house, shunned by all the inmates of theneighboring village. Pierre led me to a large flat stone, which had oncebeen a horse-block, standing at a safe distance from this hovel, and Ilaid down my basket upon it. Then he rang his hand-bell noisily, and thenext instant was scampering back along the road. 

But I could not run away. The desolate, plague-stricken place had adismal fascination for me. I wondered what manner of persons could dwellin it; and, as I lingered, I saw the low door opened, and a thin, spectral figure standing in the gloom within, but delaying to cross themouldering door-sill as long as I remained in sight. In another minutePierre had rushed back for me, and dragged me away with all his boyishstrength and energy. 

"Madame, " he said, in angry remonstrance, "you are disobeying Monsieurle Curé. If you catch the fever, and die while you are a pagan, it willbe impossible for you to go to heaven. It would be a hundred timesbetter for me to die, who have taken my first communion. "

"But who lives there?" I asked. 

"They are very wicked people, " he answered, emphatically; "no one goesnear them, except Monsieur le Curé, and he would go and nurse the devilhimself, if he had the fever in his parish. They became wicked before mytime, and Monsieur le Curé has forbidden us to speak of them withrancor, so we do not speak of them at all. "

I walked back in sadness, wondering at this misery and solitariness bythe side of the healthy, simple society of the lonely village, with itsinterwoven family interests. As I passed through the street again, Iheard the click of the hand-looms in most of the dwellings, and saw thepale-faced weavers, in their white and tasselled caps, here a man andthere a woman, look after me, while they suspended their work for amoment. Every door was open; the children ran in and out of any house, playing together as if they were of one family; the women were knittingin companies under the eaves. Who were these pariahs, whose name evenwas banished from every tongue? I must ask the curé himself. 

But I had no opportunity that day. When I returned to the sick-ward, Ifound Monsieur Laurentie pacing slowly up and down the long room, withJean's little son in his arms, to whom he was singing in a low, softvoice, scarcely louder than a whisper. His eyes, when they met mine, were glistening with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. 

I went on to look at Minima. She was lying quiet, too weak and exhaustedto be violent, but chattering all the time in rapid, childish sentences. I could do nothing for her, and I went back to the hearth, where thecuré was now standing, looking sadly at the child in his arms. He bademe sit down on a tabouret that stood there, and laid his little burdenon my lap. 

"The child has no mother, madame, " he said; "let him die in a woman'sarms. "

I had never seen any one die, not even my father, and I shrank fromseeing it. But the small white face rested helplessly against my arm, and the blue eyes unclosed for a moment, and gazed into mine, almostwith a smile. Monsieur Laurentie called in Jean and Pierre, and theyknelt before us in silence, broken only by sobs. In the room there werechildren's voices talking about their toys, and calling to one anotherin shrill, feverish accents. How many deaths such as this was I towitness?

"Monsieur le Curé!" murmured the failing voice of the little child. 

"What is it, my little one?" he said, stooping over him. 

"Shall I play sometimes with the little child Jesus?"

The words fell one by one from the feeble lips. 

"Yes, _mon chéri_, yes. The holy child Jesus knows what little childrenneed, " answered the curé. 

"He is always good and wise, " whispered the dying child; "so good, sowise. "

How quickly it was over after that!

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 

A TACITURN FRENCHWOMAN. 

Minima was so much worse that night, that Monsieur Laurentie gave mepermission to sit up with Mademoiselle Thérèse, to watch beside her. There was a kindly and unselfish disposition about Monsieur le Curéwhich it was impossible to resist, or even gainsay. His own share of thetrouble, anxiety, and grief, was so large, that he seemed to stand aboveus all, and be naturally our director and ruler. But to-night, when Ibegged to stay with Minima, he conceded the point without a word. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse was the most silent woman I ever met. She couldpass a whole day without uttering a word, and did not seem to suffer any_ennui_ from her silence. In the house she wore always, like the otherinhabitants of the village, men and women, soundless felt socks, whichslipped readily into the wooden _sabots_ used for walking out-of-doors. I was beginning to learn to walk in _sabots_ myself, for the time wasdrawing rapidly near when otherwise I should be barefoot. 

With this taciturn Frenchwoman I entered upon my night-watch by Minima, whose raving no one could understand but myself. The long, dark hoursseemed interminable. Mademoiselle sat knitting a pair of gray stockingsin the intervals of attendance upon our patients. The subdued glimmerof the night-lamp, the ticking of the clock, the chimes every quarter ofan hour from the church-tower, all conspired to make me restless andalmost nervous. 

"Mademoiselle, " I said, at last, "talk to me. I cannot bear thistranquillity. Tell me something. "

"What can I tell you, madame?" she inquired, in a pleasant tone. 

"Tell me about those people I saw this morning, " I answered. 

"It is a long history, " she said, her face kindling, as if this were atopic that excited her; and she rolled up her knitting, as though shecould not trust herself to continue that while she was talking; "all theworld knows it here, and we never talk of it now. Bat you are astranger; shall I tell it you?"

I had hit upon the only subject that could unlock her lips. It was thenight-time too. At night one is naturally more communicative than in thebroad light of day. 

"Madame, " she said, in an agitated voice, "you have observed alreadythat my brother is not like other curés. He has his own ideas, his ownsentiments. Everybody knows him at this moment as the good Curé ofVille-en-bois; but when he came here first, thirty years ago, all theworld called him infidel, heretic, atheist. It was because he would makemany changes in the church and parish. The church had been famous formiracles; but Francis did not believe in them, and he would notencourage them. There used to be pilgrimages to it from all the countryround; and crowds of pilgrims, who spend much money. There was a greatnumber of crutches left at the shrine of the Virgin by cripples who hadcome here by their help, but walked away without them. He cleared themall away, and called them rubbish. So every one said he was aninfidel--you understand?"

"I understand it very well, " I said. 

"Bien! At that time there was one family richer than all the others. They were the proprietors of the factory down yonder, and everybodysubmitted to them. There was a daughter not married, but very dévote. Ihave been dévote, myself. I was coquette till I was thirty-five, then Ibecame dévote. It is easier than being a simple Christian, like mybrother the curé. Mademoiselle Pineau was accustomed to have visions, ecstasies. Sometimes the angels lifted her from the ground into the airwhen she was at her prayers. Francis did not like that. He was young, and she came very often to the confessional, and told him of thesevisions and ecstasies. He discouraged them, and enjoined penances uponher. Bref! she grew to detest him, and she was quite like a female curéin the parish. She set everybody against him. At last, when he removedall the plaster images of the saints, and would have none but wood orstone, she had him cited to answer for it to his bishop. "

"But what did he do that for?" I asked, seeing no difference betweenplaster images, and those of wood or stone. 

"Madame, these Normans are ignorant and very superstitious, " shereplied; "they thought a little powder from one of the saints would cureany malady. Some of the images were half-worn away with having powderscraped off them. My brother would not hold with such follies, and hisbishop told him he might fight the battle out, if he could. No onethought he could; but they did not know Francis. It was a terriblebattle, madame. Nobody would come to the confessional, and every monthor so, he was compelled to have a vicaire from some other parish toreceive the confessions of his people. Mademoiselle Pineau fanned theflame, and she had the reputation of a saint. "

"But how did it end?" I inquired. Mademoiselle's face was all aglow, andher voice rose and fell in her excitement; yet she lingered over thestory as if reluctant to lose the rare pleasure of telling it. 

"In brief, madame, " she resumed, "there was a terrible conflagration inthe village. You perceive that all our houses are covered with tiles? Inthose days the roofs were of thatch, very old and very dry, and therewas much timber in the walls. How the fire began, the good God aloneknows. It was a sultry day in July; the river was almost dry, and therewas no hope of extinguishing the flames. They ran like lightning fromroof to roof. All that could be done was to save life, and a littleproperty. My brother threw off his cassock, and worked like Hercules. 

"The Pineaux lived then close by the presbytery, in a house half ofwood, which blazed like tinder; there was nothing comparable to it inall the village. A domestic suddenly cried out that mademoiselle was inher oratory, probably in a trance. Not a soul dares venture through theflames to save her, though she is a saint. Monsieur le Curé hears therumor of it; he steps in through the doorway through which the smoke isrolling; walks in as tranquilly as if he were going to make a visit aspastor; he is lost to their sight; not a man stirs to look after his ownhouse. Bref! he comes back to the day, his brown hair all singed and hisface black, carrying mademoiselle in his arms. Good: The battle isfinished. All the world adores him. "

"Continue, mademoiselle, I pray you, " I said, eagerly; "do not leave offthere. "

"Bien! Monsieur le Curé and his unworthy sister had a small fortunewhich was spent, for the people. He begged for them; he worked withthem; he learned to do many things to help them. He lives for them andthem only. He has refused to leave them for better positions. They arenot ungrateful; they love him, they lean upon him. "

"But the Pineaux?" I suggested. 

"Bah! I had forgotten them. Their factory was burnt at the same time. Itis more than a kilometre from here; but who can say how far the burningthatch might be carried on the wind? It was insured for a large sum in abureau in Paris. But there were suspicions raised and questions asked. Our sacristan, Jean, who was then a young boy, affirmed that he had seensome one carrying a lighted torch around the building, after thework-people had all fled to see after their own houses. The bureaurefused to pay, except by a process of law; and the Pineaux never begantheir process. They worked the factory a few years on borrowed money;but they became poor, very poor. Mademoiselle ceased to be dévote, anddid not come near the church or the confessional again. Now they aredespised and destitute. Not a person goes near them, except my goodbrother, whom they hate still. There remain but three of them, the oldmonsieur, who is very aged, a son, and mademoiselle, who is as old asmyself. The son has the fever, and Francis visits him almost every day. "

"It is a wretched, dreadful place, " I said, shuddering at theremembrance of it. 

"They will die there probably, " she remarked, in a quiet voice, and withan expression of some weariness now the tale was told; "my brotherrefuses to let me go to see them. Mademoiselle hates me, because in somepart I have taken her place. Francis says there is work enough for me athome. Madame, I believe the good God sent you here to help us. "

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. 

SENT BY GOD. 

I discovered that mademoiselle's opinion was shared by all the people inVille-en-bois, and Monsieur Laurentie favored the universal impression. I had been sent to them by a special providence. There was somethingsatisfactory and consolatory to them all in my freedom from personalanxieties and cares like their own. I had neither parent, nor husband, nor child to be attacked by the prevailing infection. As soon as Minimahad passed safely through the most dangerous stages of the fever, I wasat leisure to listen to and sympathize with each one of them. Possiblythere was something in the difficulty I still experienced in expressingmyself fluently which made me a better listener, and so won them to pourout their troubles into my attentive ear. Jean and Pierre especiallywere devoted to me, since the child that had belonged to them had diedupon my lap. 

Through March, April, and May, the fever had its fling, though we werenot very long without a doctor. Monsieur Laurentie found one who cameand, I suppose, did all he could for the sick; but he could not do much. I was kept too busily occupied to brood much either upon the past or thefuture, of my own life. Not a thought crossed my mind of deserting thelittle Norman village where I could be of use. Besides, Minima gainedstrength very slowly, too slowly to be removed from the place, or toencounter any fresh privations. 

When June came there were no new cases in the village, though thesummer-heat kept our patients languid. The last person who died of thefever was Mademoiselle Pineau, in the mill-cottage. The old man and hisson had died before her, the former of old age, the latter of fever. Whowas the heir to the ruined factory and the empty cottage no one as yetknew, but, until he appeared, every thing had to be left as it was. Thecuré kept the key of the dwelling, though there was no danger of any onetrespassing upon the premises, as all the villagers regarded it as anaccursed place. Of the four hundred and twenty-two souls which hadformed the total of Monsieur le Curé's flock, he had lost thirty-one. 

In July the doctor left us, saying there was no fear of the feverbreaking out again at present. His departure seemed the signal for mine. Monsieur Laurentie was not rich enough to feed two idle mouths, likemine and Minima's, and there was little for me to do but sit still inthe uncarpeted, barely-furnished _salon_ of the presbytery, listening tothe whirr of mademoiselle's spinning-wheel, and the drowsy, sing-songhum of the village children at school, in a shed against the walls ofthe house. Every thing seemed falling back into the pleasant monotony ofa peaceful country life, pleasant after the terror and grief of the pastmonths. The hay-harvest was over, and the cherry-gathering; the corn andthe apples were ripening fast in the heat of the sun. In this lull, thispause, my heart grew busy again with itself. 

"My child, " said the curé to me, one evening, when his long day's workwas over, "your face is _triste_. What are you thinking of?"

I was seated under a thick-leaved sycamore, a few paces from thechurch-porch. Vespers were just ended; the low chant had reached myears, and I missed the soothing undertone. The women, in their highwhite caps, and the men, in their blue blouses, were sauntering slowlyhomeward. The children were playing all down the village street, and notfar away a few girls and young men were beginning to dance to the pipingof a flute. Over the whole was creeping the golden twilight of a summerevening. 

"I am very _triste_" I replied; "I am thinking that it is time for me togo away from you all. I cannot stay in this tranquil place. "

"But wherefore must you leave us?" he asked, sitting down on the benchbeside me; "I found two little stray lambs, wandering without fold orshepherd, and I brought them to my own house. What compels them to gointo the wide world again?"

"Monsieur, we are poor, " I answered, "and you are not rich. We should bea burden to you, and we have no claim upon you. "

"You have a great claim, " he said; "there is not a heart in the parishthat does not love you already. Have not our children died in your arms?Have you not watched over them? spent sleepless nights and watchful daysfor them? How could we endure to see you go away? Remain with us, madame; live with us, you and my _mignonne_, whose face is white yet. "

Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was nodanger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at warwith the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I hadseen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in thelittle cemetery up the hill. If I could go away for a while, I mightreturn, and learn to be content amid this tranquillity. 

"Madame, " said the pleasant tones of Monsieur Laurentie, "do you knowour language well enough to tell me your history now? You need not proveto me that you are not wicked; tell me how you are unfortunate. Wherewere you wandering to that night when I found you at the foot of theCalvary?"

There, in the cool, deepening twilight, I told him my story, little bylittle; sometimes at a loss for words, and always compelled to speak inthe simplest and most direct phrases. He listened, with no otherinterruption than to supply me occasionally with an expression when Ihesitated. He appeared to understand me almost by intuition. It wasquite dark before I had finished, and the deep blue of the sky above uswas bright with stars. A glow-worm was moving among the tufts of grassgrowing between the roots of the tree; and I watched it almost asintently as if I had nothing else to think of. 

"Speak to me as if I were your daughter, " I said. "Have I done right orwrong? Would you give me up to him, if he came to claim me?"

"I am thinking of thee as my daughter, " he answered, leaning his handsand his white head above them, upon the top of the stick he was holding, and sitting so for some moments in silent thought. "Thy voice is not thevoice of passion, " he continued; "it is the voice of conviction, profound and confirmed. Thou mayst have fled from him in a paroxysm ofwrath, but thy judgment and conscience acquit thee of wrong. In my eyesit is a sacrament which thou hast broken; yet he had profaned it first. My daughter, if thy husband returned to thee, penitent, converted, confessing his offences against thee, couldst thou forgive him?"

"Yes, " I answered, "yes! I could forgive him. "

"Thou wouldst return to him?" he said, in calm, penetrating accents, butso low as to seem almost the voice of my own heart; "thou wouldst besubject to him as the Church is subject to Christ? He would be thy head;wouldst thou submit thyself unto him as unto the Lord?"

"I shivered with dread as the quiet, solemn tones fell upon my ear, poignantly, as if they must penetrate to my heart. I could not keepmyself from sobbing. His face was turned toward me in the dusk, and Icovered mine with my hands. 

"Not now, " I cried; "I cannot, I cannot. I was so young, monsieur; I didnot know what I was promising. I could never return to him, never. "

"My daughter, " pursued the inexorable voice beside me, "is it becausethere is any one whom thou lovest more?"

"Oh!" I cried, almost involuntarily, and speaking now in my ownlanguage, "I do not know. I could have loved Martin dearly--dearly. "

"I do not understand thy words, " said Monsieur Laurentie, "but Iunderstand thy tears and sighs. Thou must stay here, my daughter, withme, and these poor, simple people who love thee. I will not let thee gointo temptation. Courage; thou wilt be happy among us, when thou hastconquered this evil. As for the rest, I must think about it. Let us goin now. The lamp has been lit and supper served this half-hour. There ismy sister looking out at us. Come, madame. You are in my charge, and Iwill take care of you. "

A few days after this, the whole community was thrown into a tumult bythe news that their curé was about to undertake the perils of a voyageto England, and would be absent a whole fortnight. He said it was toobtain some information as to the English system of drainage inagricultural districts, which might make their own valley more healthyand less liable to fever. But it struck me that he was about to makesome inquiries concerning my husband, and perhaps about Minima, whosedesolate position had touched him deeply. I ventured to tell him whatdanger might arise to me if any clew to my hiding-place fell intoRichard Foster's hands. 

"My poor child, " he said, "why art thou so fearful? There is not a manhere who would not protect thee. He would be obliged to prove hisidentity, and thine, before he could establish his first right to claimthee. Then we would enter a _procés_. Be content. I am going to consultsome lawyers of my own country and thine. "

He bade us farewell, with as many directions and injunctions as a fathermight leave to a large family of sons and daughters. Half the villagefollowed his _char-à-banc_ as far as the cross where he had found Minimaand me, six miles on his road to Noireau. His sister and I, who hadridden with him so far, left him there, and walked home up the steep, long road, in the midst of that enthusiastic crowd of his parishioners. 

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 

A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH. 

The afternoon of that day was unusually sultry and oppressive. The blueof the sky was almost livid. I was weary with the long walk in themorning, and after our mid-day meal I stole away from mademoiselle andMinima in the _salon_, and betook myself to the cool shelter of thechurch, where the stone walls three feet thick, and the narrow casementscovered with vine-leaves, kept out the heat more effectually than thehalf-timber walls of the presbytery. A _vicaire_ from a neighboringparish was to arrive in time for vespers, and Jean and Pierre werepolishing up the interior of the church, with an eye to their owncredit. It was a very plain, simple building, with but few images in it, and only two or three votive pictures, very ugly, hanging between thelow Norman arches of the windows. A shrine occupied one transept, andbefore it the offerings of flowers were daily renewed by the unmarriedgirls of the village. 

I sat down upon a bench just within the door, and the transept was notin sight, but I could hear Pierre busy at his task of polishing theoaken floor, by skating over it with brushes fastened to his feet. Jeanwas bustling in and out of the sacristy, and about the high altar in thechancel. There was a faint scent yet of the incense which had beenburned at the mass celebrated before the curé's departure, enough tomake the air heavy and to deepen the drowsiness and languor which werestealing over me. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, with a pleasant sense of sleep coming softly toward me, when suddenly ahand was laid upon my arm, with a firm, close, silent gripe. 

I do not know why terror always strikes me dumb and motionless. I didnot stir or speak, but looked steadily, with a fascinated gaze, into myhusband's face--a worn, white, emaciated face, with eyes peering cruellyinto mine. It was an awful look; one of dark triumph, of sneering, cunning exultation. Neither of us spoke. Pierre I could hear still busyin the transept, and Jean, though he had disappeared into the sacristy, was within call. Yet I felt hopelessly and helplessly alone under thecruel stare of those eyes. It seemed as if he and I were the only beingsin the whole world, and there was none to help, none to rescue. In thevoiceless depths of my spirit I cried, "O God!"

He sank down on the seat beside me, with an air of exhaustion, yet witha low, fiendish laugh which sounded hideously loud in my ears. Hisfingers were still about my arm, but he had to wait to recover from thefirst shock of his success--for it had been a shock. His face was bathedwith perspiration, and his breath came and went fitfully. I thought Icould even hear the heavy throbbing of his heart. He spoke after a time, while my eyes were still fastened upon him, and my ears listening tocatch the first words he uttered. 

"I've found you, " he said, his hand tightening its hold, and at thefirst sound of his voice the spell which bound me snapped; "I've trackedyou out at last to this cursed hole. The game is up, my little lady. ByHeaven! you'll repent of this. You are mine, and no man on earth shallcome between us. "

"I don't understand you, " I muttered. He had spoken in an undertone, andI could not raise my voice above a whisper, so parched and dry my throatwas. 

"Understand?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know all aboutDr. Martin Dobrée. You understand that well enough. I am here to takecharge of you, to carry you home with me as my wife, and neither man norwoman can interfere with me in that. It will be best for you to comewith me quietly. "

"I will not go with you, " I answered, in the same hoarse whisper; "I amliving here in the presbytery, and you cannot force me away. I will notgo. "

He laughed a little once more, and looked down upon me contemptuously insilence, as if there were no notice to be taken of words so foolish. 

"Listen to me, " I continued. "When I refused to sign away the money myfather left me, it was because I said to myself it was wrong to throwaway his life's toil and skill upon pursuits like yours. He had worked, and saved, and denied himself for me, not for a man like you. His moneyshould not be flung away at gambling-tables. But now I know he wouldrather a thousand times you had the money and left me free. Take itthen. You shall have it all. We are both poor as it is, but if you willlet me be free of you, you may have it all--all that I can part with. "

"I prefer having the money and you, " he replied, with his frightfulsmile. "Why should I not prize what other people covet? You are my wife;nothing can set that aside. Your money is mine, and you are mine; whyshould I forfeit either?"

"No, " I said, growing calmer; "I do not belong to you. No laws on earthcan give you the ownership you claim over me. Richard, you might havewon me, if you had been a good man. But you are evil and selfish, andyou have lost me forever. "

"The silly raving of an ignorant girl!" he sneered; "the law will compelyou to return to me. I will take the law into my own hands, and compelyou to go with me at once. If there is no conveyance to be hired in thisconfounded hole, we will walk down the road together, like two lovers, and wait for the omnibus. Come, Olivia. "

Our voices had not risen much above their undertones yet, but these lastwords he spoke more loudly. Jean opened the door of the sacristy andlooked out, and Pierre skated down to the corner of the transept to seewho was speaking. I lifted the hand Richard was not holding, andbeckoned Jean to me. 

"Jean, " I said, in a low tone still, "this man is my enemy. Monsieur leCuré knows all about him; but he is not here. You must protect me. "

"Certainly, madame, " he replied, his eyes more roundly open thanordinarily. --"Monsieur, have the goodness to release madame. "

"She is my wife, " retorted Richard Foster. 

"I have told all to Monsieur le Curé, " I said. 

"_Bon!_" ejaculated Jean. Monsieur le Curé is gone to England; it isnecessary to wait till his return, Monsieur Englishman. "

"Fool!" said Richard in a passion, "she is my wife, I tell you. "

"_Bon!_" he replied phlegmatically, "but it is my affair to protectmadame. There is no resource but to wait till Monsieur le Curé returnsfrom his voyage. If madame does not say, 'This is my husband, ' how can Ibelieve you? She says, 'He is my enemy. ' I cannot confide madame to astranger. "

"I will not leave her, " he exclaimed with an oath, spoken in English, which Jean could not understand. 

"Good! very good! Pardon, monsieur, " responded Jean, laying his ironfingers upon the hand that held me, and loosening its grip as easily asif it had been the hand of a child. --"_Voilà_! madame, you are free. Leave Monsieur the Englishman to me, and go away into the house, if youplease. "

I did not wait to hear any further altercation, but fled as quickly as Icould into the presbytery. Up into my own chamber I ran, drew a heavychest against the door, and fell down trembling and nerveless upon thefloor beside it. 

But there was no time to lose in womanish terrors; my difficulty anddanger were too great. The curé was gone, and would be away at least afortnight. How did I know what French law might do with me, in thattime? I dragged myself to the window, and, with my face just above thesill, looked down the street, to see if my husband were in sight. He wasnowhere to be seen, but loitering at one of the doors was theletter-carrier, whose daily work it was to meet the afternoon omnibusreturning from Noireau to Granville. Why should I not write to Tardif?He had promised to come to my help whenever and wherever I might summonhim. I ran down to Mademoiselle Thérèse for the materials for a letter, and in a few minutes it was written, and on the way to Sark. 

I was still watching intently from my own casement, when I saw RichardFoster come round the corner of the church, and turn down the street. Many of the women were at their doors, and he stopped to speak to firstone and then another. I guessed what he wanted. There was no inn in thevalley, and he was trying to hire a lodging for the night. But Jean wasfollowing him closely, and from every house he was turned away, baffledand disappointed. He looked weary and bent, and he leaned heavily uponthe strong stick he carried. At last he passed slowly out of sight, andonce more I could breathe freely. 

But I could not bring myself to venture downstairs, where theuncurtained windows were level with the court, and the unfastened dooropened to my hand. The night fell while I was still alone, unnerved bythe terror I had undergone. Here and there a light glimmered in alattice-window, but a deep silence reigned, with no other sound than thebrilliant song of a nightingale amid the trees which girdled thevillage. Suddenly there was the noisy rattle of wheels over the roughpavement--the baying of dogs--an indistinct shout from the few men whowere still smoking their pipes under the broad eaves of their houses. Ahorrible dread took hold of me. Was it possible that he returned, withsome force--I knew not what--which should drag me away from my refuge, and give me up to him? What would Jean and the villagers do? What couldthey do against a body of _gendarmes_?

I gazed shrinkingly into the darkness. The conveyance looked, as far asI could make out of its shape, very like the _char-à-banc_, which wasnot to return from Noireau till the next day. But there was only thegleam of the lantern it carried on a pole rising above its roof, andthrowing crossbeams of light upon the walls and windows on each side ofthe street. It came on rapidly, and passed quickly out of my sight roundthe angle of the presbytery. My heart scarcely beat, and my ear wasstrained to catch every sound in the house below. 

I heard hurried footsteps and joyous voices. A minute or two afterward, Minima beat against my barricaded door, and shouted gleefully throughthe key-hole:

"Come down in a minute, Aunt Nelly, " she cried; "Monsieur Laurentie iscome home again!"

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 

PIERRE'S SECRET. 

I felt as if some strong hand had lifted me out of a whirl of troubledwaters, and set me safely upon a rock. I ran down into the _salon_, where Monsieur Laurentie was seated, as tranquilly as if he had neverbeen away, in his high-backed arm-chair, smiling quietly at Minima'sgambols of delight, which ended in her sitting down on a _tabouret_ athis feet. Jean stood just within the door, his hands behind his back, holding his white cotton cap in them: he had been making his report ofthe day's events. Monsieur held out his hand to me, and I ran to him, caught it in both of mine, bent down my face upon it, and burst into apassion of weeping, in spite of myself. 

"Come, come, madame!" he said, his own voice faltering a little, "I amhere, my child; behold me! There is no place for fear now. I am king inVille-en-bois. --Is it not so, my good Jean?"

"Monsieur le Curé, you are emperor, " replied Jean. 

"If that is the case, " he continued, "madame is perfectly secure in mycastle. You do not ask me what brings me back again so soon. But I willtell you, madame. At Noireau, the proprietor of the omnibus to Granvilletold me that an Englishman had gone that morning to visit my littleparish. Good! We do not have that honor every day. I ask him to have thegoodness to tell me the Englishman's name. It is written in the book atthe bureau. Monsieur Fostère. I remember that name well, very well. Thatis the name of the husband of my little English daughter. Fostère! I seein a moment it will not do to proceed, on my voyage. But I find that mygood Jacques has taken on the _char-à-banc_ a league or two beyondNoireau, and I am compelled to await his return. There is the reasonthat I return so late. "

"O monsieur!" I exclaimed, "how good you are--"

"Pardon, madame, " he interrupted, "let me hear the end of Jean'shistory. "

Jean continued his report in his usual phlegmatic tone, and concludedwith the assurance that he had seen the Englishman safe out of thevillage, and returning by the road he came. 

"I could have wished, " said the curé, regretfully, "that we might haveshown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was verygood, Jean. Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route. "

"Not possible, monsieur, " replied Jean; "it was four o'clock when hereturned on his steps, and it is now after nine. He would pass theCalvary before six. After that, Monsieur le Curé, he might take anyroute which pleased him. "

"That is true, Jean, " he said, mildly; "you have done well. You may gonow. Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?"

"He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest's chamber, as usual. "

"_Bien_! Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night. "

"Good-night, Monsieur le Curé, and all the company, " said Jean. 

"And you also, my child, " continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean wasgone, "you have great need of rest. So has this baby, who is verysleepy. "

"I am not sleepy, " protested Minima, "and I am not a baby. "

"You are a baby, " said the curé, laughing, "to make such rejoicing overan old papa like me. But go now, my children. There is no danger foryou. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams. "

I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all. The curé's return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such asense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber. Whenthe chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at firstbelieve that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream. The bell rang for matins at five o'clock now, to give the laborers thecool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over. I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspenseand agitation to me. So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, Idressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day. 

Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farmsand households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about thepresbytery, as if anxious not to be seen. He made me a sign as soon ashe caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of thechurch. It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly. 

"I know a secret, madame, " he said, in a troubled tone, and with anapprehensive air--"that monsieur who came yesterday has not left thevalley. My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I couldnot, madame, I could not. Not possible, you know. I wished to see yourenemy again. I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Curé, and he willgive me a penance, perhaps a very great penance. But it was not possibleto rest tranquil, not at all. I followed monsieur, your enemy, _à ladérobée_. He did not go far away. "

"But where is he, then?" I asked, looking down the street, with athrill of fear. 

"Madame, " whispered Pierre, "he is a stranger to this place, and thepeople would not receive him into their houses--not one of them. Myfather only said, 'He is an enemy to our dear English madame, ' and allthe women turned the back upon him. I stole after him, you know, behindthe trees and the hedges. He marched very slowly, like a man very weary, down the road, till he came in sight of the factory of the late Pineaux. He turned aside into the court there. I saw him knock at the door of thehouse, try to lift the latch, and peep through the windows. Bien! Afterthat, he goes into the factory; there is a door from it into the house. He passed through. I dared not follow him, but in one short half-hour Isaw smoke coming out of the chimney. Bon! The smoke is there again thismorning. The Englishman has sojourned there all the night. "

"But, Pierre, " I said, shivering, though the sun was already shininghotly--"Pierre, the house is like a lazaretto. No one has been in itsince Mademoiselle Pineau died. Monsieur le Curé locked it up, andbrought away the key. "

"That is true, madame, " answered the boy; "no one in the village wouldgo near the accursed place; but I never thought of that. Perhapsmonsieur your enemy will take the fever, and perish. "

"Run, Pierre, run, " I cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is in the sacristy, with the strange vicaire. Tell him I must speak to him this very moment. There is no time to be lost. "

I dragged myself to the seat under the sycamore-tree, and hid my face inmy hands, while shudder after shudder quivered through me. I seemed tobe watching him again, as he strode weariedly down the street, leaning, with bent shoulders, on his stick, and turned away from every door atwhich he asked for rest and shelter for the night. Oh! that the timecould but come back again, that I might send Jean to find some safeplace for him where he could sleep! Back to my memory rushed the olddays, when he screened me from the unkindness of my step-mother, andwhen he seemed to love me. For the sake of those times, would to Godthe evening that was gone, and the sultry, breathless night, could onlycome back again!

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. 

SUSPENSE. 

I felt as if I had passed through an immeasurable spell, both of memoryand anguish, before Monsieur Laurentie came to me, though he hadresponded to my summons immediately. I told him, in hurried, brokensentences, what Pierre had confessed to me. His face grew overcast andtroubled; yet he did not utter a word of his apprehensions to me. 

"Madame, " he said, "permit me to take my breakfast first; then I willseek Monsieur Foster without delay. I will carry with me some food forhim. We will arrange this affair before I return; Jean shall bring the_char à bancs_ to the factory, and take him back to Noireau. "

"But the fever, monsieur? Can he pass a night there without taking it?"

"He is in the hands of his Creator, " he answered; "we can know nothingtill I have seen him. We cannot call back the past. "

"Ought I not to go with you?" I asked. 

"Wherefore, my child?"

"He is my husband, " I said, falteringly; "if he is ill, I will nursehim. "

"Good! my poor child, " he replied, "leave all this affair to me; leaveeven thy duty to me. I will take care there shall be no failure in it, on thy part. "

We were not many minutes over our frugal breakfast of bread-and-milk, and then we set out together, for he gave me permission to go with him, until we came within sight of the factory and the cottage. We walkedquickly and in foreboding silence. He told me, as soon as he saw theplace, that I might stay on the spot where he left me, till thechurch-clock struck eight; and then, if he had not returned to me, Imust go back to the village, and send Jean with the _char à bancs_. Isat down on the felled trunk of a tree, and watched him, in his oldthreadbare cassock, and sunburnt hat, crossing the baked, cracked soilof the court, till he reached the door, and turned round to lift his hatto me with a kindly gesture of farewell. He fitted the key into thelock, passed out of my sight; but I could not withdraw my eyes from thedeep, thatched eaves, and glossy _fleur-de-lis_ growing along the roof. 

How interminable seemed his absence! I sat so still that the cricketsand grasshoppers in the tufted grass about me kept up their ceaselesschirruping, and leaped about my feet, unaware that I could crush theirmerry life out of them by a single movement. The birds in the duskybranches overhead whistled their wild wood-notes, as gayly as if no onewere near their haunts. Now and then there came a pause, when thesilence deepened until I could hear the cones, in the fir-trees close athand, snapping open their polished scales, and setting free the wingedseeds, which fluttered softly down to the ground. The rustle of aswiftly--gliding snake through the fallen leaves caught my ear, and Isaw the blunted head and glittering eyes lifted up to look at me for amoment; but I did not stir. All my fear and feeling, my whole life, werecentred upon the fever-cottage yonder. 

There was not the faintest line of smoke from the chimney, when we firstcame in sight of it. Was it not quite possible that Pierre might havebeen mistaken? And if he had made a mistake in thinking he saw smokethis morning, why not last night also? Yet the curé was lingering theretoo long for it to be merely an empty place. Something detained him, orwhy did he not come back to me? Presently a thin blue smoke curledupward into the still air. Monsieur Laurentie was kindling a fire on thehearth. _He_ was there then. 

What would be the end of it all? My heart contracted, and my spiritshrank from the answer that was ready to flash upon my mind. I refusedto think of the end. If Richard were ill, why, I would nurse him, as Ishould have nursed him if he had always been tender and true to me. Thatat least was a clear duty. What lay beyond that need not be decidedupon now. Monsieur Laurentie would tell me what I ought to do. 

He came, after a long, long suspense, and opened the door, looking outas if to make sure that I was still at my post. I sprang to my feet, andwas running forward, when he beckoned me to remain where I was. He cameacross to the middle of the court, but no nearer; and he spoke to me atthat distance, in his clear, deliberate, penetrating voice. 

"My child, " he said, "monsieur is ill! attacked, I am afraid, by thefever. He is not delirious at present, and we have been talking togetherof many things. But the fever has taken hold upon him, I think. I shallremain with him all the day. You must bring us what we have need of, andleave it on the stone there, as it used to be. "

"But cannot he be removed at once?" I asked. 

"My dear, " he answered, "what can I do? The village is free fromsickness now; how can I run the risk of carrying the fever there again?It is too far to send monsieur to Noireau. If he is ill of it, it isbest for us all that he should remain here. I will not abandon him; no, no. Obey me, my child, and leave him to me and to God. Cannot youconfide in me yet?"

"Yes, " I said, weeping, "I trust you with all my heart. "

"Go, then, and do what I bid you, " he replied. "Tell my sister and Jean, tell all my people, that no one must intrude upon me, no one must comenearer this house than the appointed place. Monsieur le Vicaire mustremain in Ville-en-bois, and officiate for me, as though I were pursuingmy journey to England. You must think of me as one absent, yet close athand: that is the difference. I am here, in the path of my duty. Go, andfulfil yours. "

"Ought you not to let me share your work and your danger?" I ventured toask. 

"If there be any need, you shall share both, " he answered, in a tranquiltone, "though your life should be the penalty. Life is nothing incomparison with duty. When it is thy duty, my daughter, to be beside thyhusband, I will call thee without fail. "

Slowly I retraced my steps to the village. The news had already spread, from Pierre--for no one else knew it--that the Englishman, who had beenturned away from their doors the day before, had spent the night in theinfected dwelling. A group of weavers, of farmers, of women from theirhousehold work, stopped me as I entered the street. I delivered to themtheir curé's message, and they received it with sobs and cries, asthough it bore in it the prediction of a great calamity. They followedme up the street to the presbytery, and crowded the little court infront of it. 

When mademoiselle had collected the things Monsieur Laurentie had sentme for--a mattress, a chair, food, and medicine--every person in thecrowd wished to carry some small portion of them. We returned in a troopto the factory, and stood beyond the stone, a group of sorrowful, almostdespairing people. In a few minutes we saw the curé open the door, closeit behind him, and stand before the proscribed dwelling. His voice cameacross the space between us and him in distinct and cheerful tones. 

"My good children, " he said, "I, your priest, forbid any one of you tocome a single step nearer to this house. It may be but for a day or two, but let no one venture to disobey me. Think of me as though I had goneto England, and should be back again among you in a few days. God ishere, as near to me under this roof, as when I stand before him and youat his altar. "

He lifted up his hands to give them his benediction, and we all knelt toreceive it. Then, with unquestioning obedience, but with manylamentations, the people returned to their daily work. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. 

A MALIGNANT CASE. 

For three days, morning after morning, while the dew lay still upon thegrass, I went down, with a heavy and foreboding heart, to the placewhere I could watch the cottage, through the long, sultry hours of thesummer-day. The first thing I saw always was Monsieur Laurentie, whocame to the door to satisfy me that he was himself in good health, andto tell me how Richard Foster had passed the night. After that I caughtfrom time to time a momentary glimpse of his white head, as he passedthe dusky window. He would not listen to my entreaties to be allowed tojoin him in his task. It was a malignant case, he said, and as myhusband was unconscious, I could do him no good by running the risk ofbeing near him. 

An invisible line encircled the pestilential place, which none of usdare break through without the permission of the curé, though any one ofthe villagers would have rejoiced if he had summoned them to his aid. Aperpetual intercession was offered up day and night, before the highaltar, by the people, and there was no lack of eager candidates ready totake up the prayer when the one who had been praying grew weary. On thethird morning I felt that they were beginning to look at me with alteredfaces, and speak to me in colder accents. If I were the means ofbringing upon them the loss of their curé, they would curse the day hefound me and brought me to his home. I left the village street halfbroken-hearted, and wandered hopelessly down to my chosen post. 

I thought I was alone, but as I sat with my head bowed down upon myhands, I felt a child's hand laid upon my neck, and Minima's voice spokeplaintively in my ear. 

"What is the matter, Aunt Nelly?" she asked. "Everybody is in trouble, and mademoiselle says it is because your husband is come, and MonsieurLaurentie is going to die for his sake. She began to cry when she saidthat, and she said, 'What shall we all do if my brother dies? My God!what will become of all the people in Ville-en-bois?' Is it true? Isyour husband really come, and is he going to die?"

"He is come, " I said, in a low voice; "I do not know whether he is goingto die. "

"Is he so poor that he will die?" she asked again. "Why does God letpeople be so poor that they must die?". 

"It is not because he is so poor that he is ill, " I answered. 

"But my father died because he was so poor, " she said; "the doctors toldhim he could get well if he had only enough money. Perhaps your husbandwould not have died if he had not been very poor. "

"No, no, " I cried, vehemently, "he is not dying through poverty. "

Yet the child's words had a sting in them, for I knew he had been poor, in consequence of my act. I thought of the close, unwholesome house inLondon, where he had been living. I could not help thinking of it, andwondering whether any loss of vital strength, born of poverty, hadcaused him to fall more easily a prey to this fever. My brain wasburdened with sorrowful questions and doubts. 

I sent Minima back to the village before the morning-heat grew strong, and then I was alone, watching the cottage through the fine haze of heatwhich hung tremulously about it. The song of every bird was hushed; theshouts of the harvest-men to their oxen ceased; and the only sound thatstirred the still air was the monotonous striking of the clock in thechurch-tower. I had not seen Monsieur Laurentie since his first greetingof me in the early morning. A panic fear seized upon me. Suppose heshould have been stricken suddenly by this deadly malady! I calledsoftly at first, then loudly, but no answer came to comfort me. If thisold man, worn out and exhausted, had actually given his life forRichard's, what would become of me? what would become of all of us?

Step by step, pausing often, yet urged on by my growing fears, I stoledown the parched and beaten track toward the house, then called oncemore to the oppressive silence. 

Here in the open sunshine, with the hot walls of the mill casting itsrays back again, the heat was intense, though the white cap I woreprotected my head from it. My eyes were dazzled, and I felt ready tofaint. No wonder if Monsieur Laurentie should have sunk under it, andthe long strain upon his energies, which would have overtaxed a youngerand stronger man. I had passed the invisible line which his will haddrawn about the place, and had half crossed the court, when I heardfootsteps close behind me, and a large, brown, rough hand suddenlycaught mine. 

"Mam'zelle'" cried a voice I knew well, "is this you!"

"O Tardif! Tardif!" I exclaimed. I rested my beating head against him, and sobbed violently, while he surrounded me with his strong arm, andlaid his hand upon my head, as if to assure me of his help andprotection. 

"Hush; hush! mam'zelle, " he said; "it is Tardif, your friend, my littlemam'zelle; your servant, you know. I am here. What shall I do for you?Is there any person in yonder house who frightens you, my poor littlemam'zelle? Tell me what I can do?"

He had drawn me back into the green shade of the trees, and set me downupon the felled tree where I had been sitting before. I told him allquickly, briefly--all that had happened since I had written to him. Isaw the tears start to his eyes. 

"Thank God I am here!" he said; "I lost no time, mam'zelle, after yourletter reached me. I will save Monsieur le Curé; I will save them both, if I can. _Ma foi!_ he is a good man, this curé, and we must not let himperish. He has no authority over me, and I will go this moment and forcemy way in, if the door is fastened. Adieu, my dear little mam'zelle. "

He was gone before I could speak a word, striding with quick, energetictread across the court. The closed door under the eaves opened readily. In an instant the white head of Monsieur Laurentie passed the casement, and I could hear the hum of an earnest altercation, though I could notcatch a syllable of it. But presently Tardif appeared again in thedoorway, waving his cap in token of having gained his point. 

I went back to the village at once to carry the good news, for it wasthe loneliness of the curé that had weighed so heavily on every heart, though none among them dare brave his displeasure by setting aside hiscommand. The quarantine was observed as rigidly as ever, but fresh hopeand confidence beamed upon every face, and I felt that they no longeravoided me, as they had begun to do before Tardif's arrival. NowMonsieur Laurentie could leave his patient, and sit under the shelteringeaves in the cool of the morning or evening, while his people couldsatisfy themselves from a distance that he was still in health. 

The physician whom Jean fetched from Noireau spoke vaguely of Richard'scase. It was very malignant, he said, full of danger, and apparently hiswhole constitution had been weakened by some protracted and gravemalady. We must hope, he added. 

Whether it was in hope or fear I awaited the issue, I scarcely know. Idared not glance beyond the passing hour; dared not conjecture what theend would be. The past was dead; the future yet unborn. For the momentmy whole being was concentrated upon the conflict between life anddeath, which was witnessed only by the curé and Tardif. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 

THE LAST DEATH. 

It seemed to me almost as if time had been standing still since thatfirst morning when Monsieur Laurentie had left my side, and passed outof my sight to seek for my husband in the fever-smitten dwelling. Yet itwas the tenth day after that when, as I took up my weary watch soonafter daybreak, I saw him crossing the court again, and coming towardme. 

"What had he to say? What could impel him to break through the strictrule which had interdicted all dangerous contact with himself? His facewas pale, and his eyes were heavy as if with want of rest, but theylooked into mine as if they could read my inmost soul. 

"My daughter, " he said, "I bade you leave even your duty in my keeping. Now I summon you to fulfil it. Your duty lies yonder, by your husband'sside in his agony of death. "

"I will go, " I whispered, my lips scarcely moving to pronounce thewords, so stiff and cold they felt. 

"Stay one moment, " he said, pityingly. "You have been taught to judgeof your duty for yourself, not to leave it to a priest. I ought to letyou judge now. Your husband is dying, but he is conscious, and is askingto see you. He does not believe us that death is near; he says none butyou will tell him the truth. You cannot go to him without running agreat risk. Your danger will be greater than ours, who have been withhim all the time. You see, madame, he does not understand me, and herefuses to believe in Tardif. Yet you cannot save him; you can onlyreceive his last adieu. Think well, my child. Your life may be theforfeit. "

"I must go, " I answered, more firmly; "I will go. He is my husband. "

"Good!" he said, "you have chosen the better part. Come, then. The goodGod will protect you. "

He drew my hand through his arm, and led me to the low doorway. Theinner room was very dark with the overhanging eaves, and my eyes, dilated by the strong sunlight, could discern but little in the gloom. Tardif was kneeling beside a low bed, bathing my husband's forehead. Hemade way for me, and I felt him touch my hand with his lips as I tookhis place. But no one spoke. Richard's face, sunken, haggard, dying, with filmy eyes, dawned gradually out of the dim twilight, line afterline, until it lay sharp and distinct under my gaze. I could not turnaway from it for an instant, even to glance at Tardif or MonsieurLaurentie. The poor, miserable face! the restless, dreary, dying eyes!

"Where is Olivia?" he muttered, in a hoarse and labored voice. 

"I am here, Richard, " I answered, falling on my knees where Tardif hadbeen kneeling, and putting my hand on his; "look at me. I am Olivia. "

"You are mine, you know, " he said, his fingers closing round my wristwith a grasp as weak as a very young child's. --"She is my wife, Monsieurle Curé. "

"Yes, " I sobbed, "I am your wife, Richard. "

"Do they hear it?" he asked, in a whisper. 

"We hear it, " answered Tardif. 

A strange, spasmodic smile flitted across his ghastly face, a look oftriumph and success. His fingers tightened over my hand, and I left itpassively in their clasp. 

"Mine!" he murmured. 

"Olivia, " he said, after a long pause, and in a stronger voice, "youalways spoke the truth to me. This priest and his follower have beentrying to frighten me into repentance, as if I were an old woman. Theysay I am near dying. Tell me, is it true?"

The last words he had spoken painfully, dragging them one after another, as if the very utterance of them was hateful to him. He looked at mewith his cold, glittering eyes, which seemed almost mocking at me, eventhen. 

"Richard, " I said, "it is true. "

"Good God!" he cried. 

His lips closed after that cry, and seemed as if they would never openagain. He shut his eyes weariedly. Feebly and fitfully came his gaspsfor breath, and he moaned at times. But still his fingers held me fast, though the slightest effort of mine would have set me free. I left myhand in his cold grasp, and spoke to him whenever he moaned. 

"Martin, " he breathed between his set teeth, though so low that only myear could catch the words, "Martin--could--have saved--me. "

There was another long silence. I could hear the chirping of thesparrows in the thatched roof, but no other sound broke the deepstillness. Monsieur Laurentie and Tardif stood at the foot of the bed, looking down upon us both, but I only saw their shadows falling acrossus. My eyes were fastened upon the face I should soon see no more. Thelittle light there was seemed to be fading away from it, leaving it alldark and blank; eyelids closed, lips almost breathless; an unutterableemptiness and confusion creeping over every feature. 

"Olivia!" he cried, once again, in a tone of mingled anger andentreaty. 

"I am here, " I answered, laying my other hand upon his, which was atlast relaxing its hold, and falling away helplessly. But where was he?Where was the voice which half a minute ago called Olivia? Where wasthe life gone that had grasped my hand? He had not heard my answer, orfelt my touch upon his cold fingers. 

Tardif lifted me gently from my place beside him, and carried me awayinto the open air, under the overshadowing eaves. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 

FREE. 

The rest of that day passed by like a dream. Jean had come down with thedaily supply of food, and I heard Monsieur Laurentie call to him toaccompany me back to the presbytery, and to warn every one to keep awayfrom me, until I could take every precaution against spreadinginfection. He gave me minute directions what to do, and I obeyed themautomatically and mechanically. I spent the whole day in my room alone. 

At night, after all the village was silent, with the moon shiningbrilliantly down upon the deserted streets, the sound of stealthyfootsteps came to me through my window. I pulled the casement open andlooked out. There marched four men, with measured steps, bearing acoffin on their shoulders, while Monsieur Laurentie followed thembareheaded. It was my husband's funeral; and I sank upon my knees, andremained kneeling till I heard them return from the little cemetery upthe valley, where so many of the curé's flock had been buried. I prayedwith all my heart that no other life would be forfeited to thispestilence, which had seemed to have passed away from us. 

But I was worn out myself with anxiety and watching. For three or fourdays I was ill with a low, nervous fever--altogether unlike the terribletyphoid, yet such as to keep me to my room. Minima and MademoiselleThérèse were my only companions. Mademoiselle, after talking that onenight as much as she generally talked in twelve months, had relapsedinto deeper taciturnity than before. But her muteness tranquillized me. Minima's simple talk brought me back to the level of common life. My ownnervous weeping, which I could not control, served to soothe me. Mycasement, almost covered by broad, clustering vine-leaves, preserved acool, dim obscurity in my room. The village children seemed all at onceto have forgotten how to scream and shout, and no sound from the streetdisturbed me. Even the morning and evening bell rang with a deep, muffled tone, which scarcely stirred the silence. I heard afterward thatJean had swathed the bell in a piece of sackcloth, and that the childrenhad been sent off early every morning into the woods. 

But I could not remain long in that idle seclusion. I felt all mystrength returning, both of body and mind. I began to smile at Minima, and to answer her childish prattle, with none of the feeling of utterweariness which had at first prostrated me. 

"Are we going to stay here forever and ever?" she asked me, one day, when I felt that the solitary peace of my own chamber was growing toomonotonous for me. 

"Should you like to stay, Minima?" I inquired in reply. It was aquestion I must face, that of what I was going to do in the future. 

"I don't know altogether, " she said, reflectively. "The boys here arenot so nice as they used to be at home. Pierre says I'm a little pagan, and that's not nice, Aunt Nelly. He says I must be baptized by MonsieurLaurentie, and be prepared for my first communion, before I can be asgood as he is. The boys at home used to think me quite as good as them, and better. I asked Monsieur Laurentie if I ought to be baptized overagain, and he only smiled, and said I must be as good a little girl as Icould be, and it did not much matter. But Pierre, and all the rest, think I'm not as good as them, and I don't like it. "

I could not help laughing, like Monsieur Laurentie, at Minima'sdistress. Yet it was not without foundation. Here we were heretics amidthe orthodox, and I felt it myself. Though Monsieur le Curé neveralluded to it in the most distant manner, there was a difference betweenus and the simple village-folk in Ville-en-bois which would always markus as strangers in blood and creed. 

"I think, " continued Minima, with a shrewd expression on her face, which was beginning to fill up and grow round in its outlines, "I think, when you are quite well again, we'd better be going on somewhere to tryour fortunes. It never does, you know, to stop too long in the sameplace. I'm quite sure we shall never meet the prince here, and I don'tthink we shall find any treasure. Besides, if we began to dig they'd allknow, and want to go shares. I shouldn't mind going shares with MonsieurLaurentie, but I would not go shares with Pierre. Of course when we'vemade our fortunes we'll come back, and we'll build Monsieur Laurentie apalace of marble, and put Turkey carpets on all the floors, and havefountains and statues, and all sorts of things, and give him a cook tocook splendid dinners. But we wouldn't stay here always if we were very, very rich; would you, Aunt Nelly?"

"Has anybody told you that I am rich?" I asked, with a passing feelingof vexation. 

"Oh, no, " she said, laughing heartily, "I should know better than that. You're very poor, my darling auntie, but I love you all the same. Weshall be rich some day, of course. It's all coming right, by-and-by. "

Her hand was stroking my face, and I drew it to my lips and kissed ittenderly. I had scarcely realized before what a change had come over mycircumstances. 

"But I am not poor any longer, my little girl, " I said; "I am richnow. ". 

"Very rich?" she asked, eagerly. 

"Very rich, " I repeated. 

"And we shall never have to go walking, walking, till our feet are soreand tired? And we shall not be hungry, and be afraid of spending ourmoney? And we shall buy new clothes as soon as the old ones are wornout? O Aunt Nelly, is it true? is it quite true?"

"It is quite true, my poor Minima, " I answered. 

She looked at me wistfully, with the color coming and going on her face. Then she climbed up, and lay down beside me, with her arm over me andher face close to mine. 

"O Aunt Nelly!" she cried, "if this had only come while my father wasalive!"

"Minima, " I said, after her sobs and tears were ended, "you will alwaysbe my little girl. You shall come and live with me wherever I live. "

"Of course, " she answered, with the simple trustfulness of a child, "weare going to live together till we die. You won't send me to school, will you? You know what school is like now, and you wouldn't like me tosend you to school, would you? If I were a rich, grown-up lady, and youwere a little girl like me, I know what I should do. "

"What would you do?" I inquired, laughing. 

"I should give you lots of dolls and things, " she said, quite seriously, her brows puckered with anxiety, "and I should let you havestrawberry-jam every day, and I should make every thing as nice aspossible. Of course I should make you learn lessons, whether you likedit or not, but I should teach you myself, and then I should know nobodywas unkind to you. That's what I should do, Aunt Nelly. "

"And that's what I shall do, Minima, " I repeated. 

We had many things to settle that morning, making our preliminaryarrangements for the spending of my fortune upon many dolls and muchjam. But the conviction was forced upon me that I must be setting aboutmore important plans. Tardif was still staying in Ville-en-bois, delaying his departure till I was well enough to see him. I resolved toget up that evening, as soon as the heat of the day was past, and have aconversation with him and Monsieur Laurentie. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. 

A YEAR'S NEWS. 

In the cool of the evening, while the chanting of vespers in the churchclose by was faintly audible, I went downstairs into the _salon_. Allthe household were gone to the service; but I saw Tardif sitting outsidein my own favorite seat under the sycamore-tree. I sent Minima to callhim to me, bidding her stay out-of-doors herself; and he came inhurriedly, with a glad light in his deep, honest eyes. 

"Thank God, mam'zelle, thank God!" he said. 

"Yes, " I answered, "I am well again now. I have not been really ill, Iknow, but I felt weary and sick at heart. My good Tardif, how much I oweyou!"

"You owe me, nothing, mam'zelle, " he said, dropping my hand, andcarrying the curé's high-backed chair to the open window, for me to sitin it, and have all the freshness there was in the air. "Dearmam'zelle, " he added, "if you only think of me as your friend, that isenough. "

"You are my truest friend, " I replied. 

"No, no. You have another as true, " he answered, "and you have this goodMonsieur le Curé into the bargain. If the curés were all like him Ishould be thinking of becoming a good Catholic myself, and you know howfar I am from being that. "

"No one can say a word too much in his praise, " I said. 

"Except, " continued Tardif, "that he desires to keep our little mam'zellein his village. 'Why must she leave me?' he says; 'never do I say a wordcontrary to her religion, or that of the _mignonne_. Let them stay inVille-en-bois. ' But Dr. Martin, says: 'No, she must not remain here. Theair is not good for her; the village is not drained, and it isunhealthy. There will always be fever here. ' Dr. Martin was almost angrywith Monsieur le Curé. "

"Dr. Martin?" I said, in a tone of wonder and inquiry. 

"Dr. Martin, mam'zelle. I sent a message to him by telegraph. It wasaltered somehow in the offices, and he did not know who was dead. Hestarted off at once, travelled without stopping, and reached this placetwo nights ago. "

"Is he here now?" I asked, while a troubled feeling stirred thetranquillity which had but just returned to me. I shrank from seeing himjust then. 

"No, mam'zelle. He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure youwould recover without his help. He said that to see him might do youmore harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines. He and Monsieur le Curé parted good friends, though they were not of thesame mind about you. 'Let her stay here, ' says Monsieur le Curé. 'Shemust return to England, ' says Dr. Martin. 'Mam'zelle must be free tochoose for herself, ' I said. They both smiled, and said yes, I wasright. You must be free. "

"Why did no one tell me he was here? Why did Minima keep it a secret?" Iasked. 

"He forbade us to tell you. He did not wish to disquiet you. He said tome: 'If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London toVille-en-bois', only to hear her say, 'Good-morning, Dr. Martin. ' 'But Iwill not see her now, unless she is seriously ill. ' I felt that he wasright, Dr. Martin is always right. "

I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say. Iheard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs. 

"If you could only come back to my poor little house!" he said; "butthat is impossible. My poor mother died in the spring, and I am livingalone. It is desolate, but I am not unhappy. I have my boat and the sea, where I am never solitary. But why should I talk of myself? We werespeaking of what you are to do. "

"I don't know what to do, " I said, despondently; "you see Tardif, I havenot a single friend I could go to in England. I shall have to stay herein Ville-en-bois. "

"No, " he answered; "Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though hedid not tell me what it is. He said you would have a home offered toyou, such as you would accept gladly. I think it is in Guernsey. "

"With his mother, perhaps, " I suggested. 

"His mother, mam'zelle!" he repeated; "alas! no. His mother is dead; shedied only a few weeks after you left Sark. "

I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time, though I had only seen her once. In my greatest difficulty I had thoughtof making my way to her, and telling her all my history. I did not knowwhat other home could open for me, if she were dead. 

"Dr. Dobrée married a second wife only three months after, " pursuedTardif, "and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London, to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior. "

"Dr. John Senior?" I said. 

"Yes, mam'zelle, " he answered. 

"Why! I know him, " I exclaimed; "I recollect his face well. He ishandsomer than Dr. Martin. But whom did Dr. Dobrée marry?"

"I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin, " said Tardif, ina grieved tone. "Who did Dr. Dobrée marry? Oh! a foreigner. No Guernseylady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobrée's death. She was agreat friend of Miss Julia Dobrée. Her name was Daltrey. "

"Kate Daltrey!" I ejaculated. My brain seemed to whirl with therecollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustmentof ideas forced upon me by Tardif's words. What would have become of meif I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobrée, and discoveredin her Kate Daltrey? I had not time to realize this before Tardif wenton in his narration. 

"Dr. Martin was heart-broken, " he said; "we had lost you, and his motherwas dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, whowas to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago. You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?"

Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopledmy world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobrée's second wife; Julia Dobréemarried to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partnerof Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment?Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitaryplace. 

"I am very sorry for you, " I said, in a low tone. 

"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked. 

"Because you have lost your mother, " I answered. 

"Yes, mam'zelle, " he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, thoughshe was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law ofthe island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits theland, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a realson to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson, would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comforther, poor woman. "

"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif, " I said; "how I wishyou would!"

"No, mam'zelle, no, " he answered, with a strange quivering tone in hisvoice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfortto her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories thatare better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I canthink of that are more and better than any wife could be to me. "

Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had manythings to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over oneanother in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a fewhours. 

Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not awooden _sabot_ clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and MonsieurLaurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of wakinga child out of a light slumber. 

"Mademoiselle, " I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here. "

My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight. Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Curéblessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keepinghis arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of abrilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtainedwindow, saw me there, and carried the news into the village. 

The next day Tardif bade me farewell, and Monsieur Laurentie drove himto Granville on his way home to Sark. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. 

FAREWELL TO VILLE-EN-BOIS. 

The unbroken monotony of Ville-en-bois closed over me again. The tollingof the morning bell; the hum of matins; the frugal breakfast in thesunlit _salon_; the long, hot day; vespers again; then an hour's chat bytwilight with the drowsy curé and his sister, whose words were so rare. Before six such days had passed, I felt as if they were to last mylifetime. Then the fretting of my uneasy woman's heart began. There wasno sign that I had any friends in England. What ought I to do? How mustI set about the intricate business of my affairs? Must I write to mytrustees in Melbourne, giving them the information of my husband'sdeath, and wait till I could receive from them instructions, andcredentials to prove my identity, without which it was useless, if itwere practicable, to return to London? Was there ever any one asfriendless as I was? Monsieur Laurentie could give me no counsel, exceptto keep myself tranquil; but how difficult it was to keep tranquil amidsuch profound repose! I had often found it easier to be calm amid manyprovocations and numerous difficulties. 

A week has glided by; a full week. The letter-carrier has brought me noletter. I am seated at the window of the _salon_, gasping in thesesimmering dog-days for a breath of fresh air; such a cool, balmy breezeas blows over the summer sea to the cliffs of Sark. Monsieur Laurentie, under the shelter of a huge red umbrella, is choosing the ripest clusterof grapes for our supper this evening. All the street is as still as atmidnight. Suddenly there breaks upon us the harsh, metallic clang ofwell-shod horse-hoofs upon the stony roadway--the cracking of apostilion's whip--the clatter of an approaching carriage. 

It proves to be a carriage with a pair of horses. 

Pierre, who has been basking idly under the window, jumps to his feet, shouting, "It is Monsieur the Bishop!" Minima claps her hands, andcries, "The prince, Aunt Nelly, the prince!"

Monsieur Laurentie walks slowly down to the gate, his cotton umbrellaspread over him, like a giant fungus. It is certainly not the prince;for an elderly, white-haired man, older than Monsieur Laurentie, butwith a more imposing and stately presence, steps out of the carriage, and they salute one another with great ceremony. If that be Monsieur theBishop, he has very much the air of an Englishman. 

In a few minutes my doubt as to the bishop's nationality was solved. Thetwo white-headed men, the one in a glossy and handsome suit of black, the other in his brown and worn-out cassock, came up the path together, under the red umbrella. They entered the house, and came directly to the_salon_. I was making my escape by another door, not being sure how Iought to encounter a bishop, when Monsieur Laurentie called to me. 

"Behold a friend for you madame, " he said, "a friend fromEngland. --Monsieur, this is my beloved English child. "

I turned back, and met the eyes of both, fixed upon me with thatpeculiar half-tender, half-regretful expression, with which so many oldmen look upon women as young as I. A smile came across my face, and Iheld out my hand involuntarily to the stranger. 

"You do not know who I am, my dear!" he said. The English voice andwords went straight to my heart. How many months it was since I hadheard my own language spoken thus! Tardif had been too glad to speak inhis own _patois_, now I understood it so well; and Minima's prattle hadnot sounded to me like those few syllables in the deep, cultivated voicewhich uttered them. 

"No, " I answered, "but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobrée. "

"Very true, " he said, "I am his friend's father--Dr. John Senior'sfather. Martin has sent me to you. He wished Miss Johanna Carey toaccompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her. I am an oldphysician, and feel at home with disease and contagion. But we cannotallow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of thequestion. I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old curé. "

Monsieur Laurentie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior'slips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not byhearing. 

"But where am I to go?" I asked. "I have no money, and cannot get anyuntil I have written to Melbourne, and have an answer. I have no meansof proving who I am. "

"Leave all that to us, my dear girl, " answered Dr. Senior, cordially. "Ihave already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is anexcellent lawyer. I am come to offer myself to you in place of yourguardians on the other side of the world. You will do me a very greatfavor by frankly accepting a home in my house for the present. I haveneither wife nor daughter; but Miss Carey is already there, preparingrooms for you and your little charge. We have made inquiries about thelittle girl, and find she has no friends living. I will take care of herfuture. Do you think you could trust yourself and her to me?"

"Oh, yes!" I replied, but I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, and put my hand through his arm. He folded his own thin, brown hand overit caressingly, and looked down at me, with something like tearsglistening in his eyes. 

"Is it all settled?" he asked, "is monsieur come to rob me of my Englishdaughter? She will go away now to her own island, and forgetVille-en-bois and her poor old French father!"

"Never! never!" I answered vehemently, "I shall not forget you as longas I live. Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if I can. I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that isimpossible, monsieur. Is it not quite impossible?"

"Quite impossible!" he repeated, somewhat sadly, "madame is too richnow; she will have many good friends. "

"Not one better than you, " I said, "not one more dear than you. Yes, Iam rich; and I have been planning something to do for Ville-en-bois. Would you like the church enlarged and beautified, Monsieur le Curé?"

"It is large enough and fine enough already, " he answered. 

"Shall I put some painted windows and marble images into it?" I asked. 

"No, no, madame, " he replied, "let it remain as it is during my shortlifetime. "

"I thought so, " I said, "but I believe I have discovered what Monsieurle Curé would approve. It is truly English. There is no sentiment, noromance about it. Cannot you guess what it is, my wise and learnedmonsieur?"

"No, no, madame, " he answered, smiling in spite of his sadness. 

"Listen, dear monsieur, " I continued: "if this village is unhealthy forme, it is unhealthy for you and your people. Dr. Martin told Tardifthere would always be fever here, as long as there are no drains and nopure water. Very well; now I am rich I shall have it drained, preciselylike the best English town; and there shall be a fountain in the middleof the village, where all the people can go to draw good water. I shallcome back next year to see how it has been done, _Voilà_, monsieur!There is my secret plan for Ville-en-bois. "

Nothing could have been more effectual for turning away MonsieurLaurentie's thoughts from the mournful topic of our near separation. After vespers, and before supper, he, Dr. Senior, and I made the tour ofVille-en-bois, investigating the close, dark cottages, and discussingplans for rendering them more wholesome. The next day, and the dayfollowing, the same subject continued to occupy him and Dr. Senior; andthus the pain of our departure was counterbalanced by his pleasure inanticipating the advantages to be obtained by a thorough drainage of hisvillage, and more ventilation and light in the dwellings. 

The evening before we were to set out on our return to England, whilethe whole population, including Dr. Senior, were assisting at vespers, Iturned my feet toward the little cemetery on the hill-side, which I hadnever yet visited. --The sun had sunk below the tops of thepollard-trees, which grew along the brow of the hill in grotesque andfantastic shapes; but a few stray beams glimmered through the branches, and fell here and there in spots of dancing light. The small squareenclosure was crowded with little hillocks, at the head of which stoodsimple crosses of wood; crosses so light and little as to seemsignificant emblems of the difference between our sorrows, and thoseborne for our sakes upon Calvary. Wreaths of immortelles hung upon mostof them. Below me lay the valley and the homes where the dead at my feethad lived; the sunshine lingered yet about the spire, with its cross, which towered above the belfry; but all else was in shadow, which wasslowly deepening into night. In the west the sky was flushing andthrobbing with transparent tints of amber and purple and green, withflecks of cloud floating across it of a pale gold. Eastward it was stillblue, but fading into a faint gray. The dusky green of the cypresseslooked black, as I turned my splendor-dazzled eyes toward them. 

I strolled to and fro among the grassy mounds, not consciously seekingone of them; though, very deep down in my inmost spirit, there must havebeen an impulse which unwittingly directed me. I did not stay my feet, or turn away from the village burial-place, until I came upon a grave, the latest made among them. It was solitary, unmarked; with no cross tothrow its shadow along it, as the sun was setting. I knew then that Ihad come to seek it, to bid farewell to it, to leave it behind me forevermore. 

The next morning Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, asfar as the cross at the entrance to the valley. He parted with us there;and when I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I sawhis black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, andthe sun shining upon his silvery head. 

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. 

TOO HIGHLY CIVILIZED. 

For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shoresfirst I was worse than friendless, with foes of my own householdsurrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, inpoverty, with a dreary, life-long future stretching before me. Now everywant of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a childagain, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, goodand tried and true, could I count! All the rough paths were made smoothfor me. 

It was dusk before we reached London; but before the train stopped atthe platform, a man's hand was laid upon the carriage-door, and ahandsome face was smiling over it upon us. I scarcely dared look who itwas; but the voice that reached my ears was not Martin Dobrée's. 

"I am here in Martin's place, " said Dr. John Senior, as soon as he couldmake himself heard; "he has been hindered by a wretch of apatient. --Welcome home, Miss Martineau!"

"She is not Miss Martineau, John, " remarked Dr. Senior. There was atinge of stateliness about him, bordering upon formality, which had keptme a little in awe of him all the journey through. His son laughed, witha pleasant audacity. 

"Welcome home. Olivia, then!" he said, clasping my hand warmly. "Martinand I never call you by any other name. "

A carriage was waiting for us, and Dr. John took Minima beside him, chattering with her as the child loved to chatter. As for me, I felt alittle anxious and uneasy. Once more I was about to enter upon anentirely new life; upon the untried ways of a wealthy, conventional, punctilious English household. Hitherto my mode of life had been almostas wandering and free as that of a gypsy. Even at home, during mypleasant childhood, our customs had been those of an Australiansheep-farm, exempt from all the usages of any thing like fashion. Dr. John's kid gloves, which fitted his hand to perfection, made meuncomfortable. 

I felt still more abashed and oppressed when we reached Dr. Senior'shouse, and a footman ran down to the carriage, to open the door and tocarry in my poor little portmanteau. It looked miserably poor and out ofplace in the large, brilliantly-lit hall. Minima kept close beside me, silent, but gazing upon this new abode with wide-open eyes. 

Why was not Martin here? He had known me in Sark, in Tardif's cottage, and he would understand how strange and how unlike home all this was tome. 

A trim maid was summoned to show us to our rooms, and she eyed us withsilent criticism. She conducted us to a large and lofty apartment, daintily and luxuriously fitted up, with a hundred knick-knacks aboutit, of which I could not even guess the use. A smaller room communicatedwith it which had been evidently furnished for Minima. The childsqueezed my hand tightly as we gazed into it. I felt as if we weregypsies, suddenly caught, and caged in a splendid captivity. 

"Isn't it awful?" asked Minima, in a whisper; "it frightens me. "

It almost frightened me too. I was disconcerted also by my ownreflection in the long mirror before me. A rustic, homely peasant-girl, with a brown face and rough hands, looked back at me from the shiningsurface, wearing a half-Norman dress, for I had not had time to buy morethan a bonnet and shawl as we passed through Falaise. What would MissCarey think of me? How should I look in Dr. John's fastidious eyes?Would not Martin be disappointed and shocked when he saw me again?

I could not make any change in my costume, and the maid carried offMinima to do what she could with her. There came a gentle knock at mydoor, and Miss Carey entered. Here was the fitting personage to dwell ina house like this. A delicate gray-silk dress, a dainty lace cap, aperfect self-possession, a dignified presence. My heart sank low. Butshe kissed me affectionately, and smiled as I looked anxiously into herface. 

"My dear, " she said, "I hope you will like your room. John and Martinhave ransacked London for pretty things for it. See, there is apainting of Tardifs cottage in Sark. Julia has painted it for you. Andhere is a portrait of my dear friend, Martin's mother; he hung it therehimself only this morning. I hope you will soon feel quite at home withus, Olivia. "

Before I could answer, a gong sounded through the house, with a suddenclang that startled me. 

We went down to the drawing-room, where Dr. Senior gave me his arm, andled me ceremoniously to dinner. At this very hour my dear MonsieurLaurentie and mademoiselle were taking their simple supper at the littleround table, white as wood could be made by scrubbing, but with no clothupon it. My chair and Minima's would be standing back against the wall. The tears smarted under my eyelids, and I answered at random to theremarks made to me. How I longed to be alone for a little while, until Icould realize all the change that had come into my life!

We had been in the drawing-room again only a few minutes, when we heardthe hall-door opened, and a voice speaking. By common consent, as itwere, every one fell into silence to listen. I looked up for a moment, and saw that all three of them had turned their eyes upon me; friendlyeyes they were, but their scrutiny was intolerable. Dr. Senior began totalk busily with Miss Carey. 

"Hush!" cried Minima, who was standing beside Dr. John, "hush! I believeit is--yes, I am sure it is Dr. Martin!"

She sprang to the door just as it was opened, and flung her arms roundhim in a transport of delight. I did not dare to lift my eyes again, tosee them all smiling at me. He could not come at once to speak to me, while that child was clinging to him and kissing him. 

"I'm so glad, " she said, almost sobbing; "come and see my auntie, whowas so ill when you were in Ville-en-bois. You did not see her, youknow; but she is quite well now, and very, very rich. We are never goingto be poor again. Come; she is here. Auntie, this is that nice Dr. Martin, who made me promise not to tell you he was at Ville-en-bois, while you were so ill. "

She dragged him eagerly toward me, and I put my hand in his; but I didnot look at him. That I did some minutes afterward, when he was talkingto Miss Carey. It was many months since I had seen him last in Sark. There was a great change in his face, and he looked several years older. It was grave, and almost mournful, as if he did not smile very often, and his voice was lower in tone than it had been then. Dr. John, who wasstanding beside him, was certainly much gayer and handsomer than he was. He caught my eye, and came back to me, sitting near enough to talk withme in an undertone. 

"Are you satisfied with the arrangements we have made for you?" heinquired. 

"Quite, " I said, not daring either to thank him, or to tell him howoppressed I was by my sudden change. Both of us spoke as quietly, andwith as much outward calm, as if we were in the habit of seeing eachother every day. A chill came across me. 

"At one time, " he continued, "I asked Johanna to open her home to you;but that was when I thought you would be safer and happier in a quietplace like hers than anywhere else. Now you are your own mistress, andcan choose your own residence. But you could not have a better home thanthis. It would not be well for you, so young and friendless, to live ina house of your own. "

"No, " I said, somewhat sadly. 

"Dr. Senior is delighted to have you here, " he went on; "you will seevery good society in this house, and that is what you should do. Youought to see more and better people than you have yet known. Does itseem strange to you that we have assumed a sort of authority over youand your affairs? You do not yet know how we have been involved inthem. "

"How?" I asked, looking up into his face with a growing curiosity. 

"Olivia, " he said, "Foster was my patient for some months, and I knewall his affairs intimately. He had married that person--"

"Married her!" I ejaculated. 

"Yes. You want to know how he could do that? Well, he produced twopapers, one a medical certificate of your death, the other a letterpurporting to be from some clergyman. He had, too, a few lines in yourown handwriting, which stated you had sent him your ring, the onlyvaluable thing left to you, as you had sufficient for your lastnecessities. Even I believed for a few hours that you were dead. But Imust tell you all about it another time. "

"Did he believe it?" I asked, in a trembling voice. 

"I do not know, " he answered; "I cannot tell, even now, whether he knewthem to be forgeries or not. But I have no doubt, myself, that they wereforged by Mrs. Foster's brother and his partner, Scott and Brown. "

"But for what reason?" I asked again. 

"What reason!" he repeated; "you were too rich a prize for them to allowFoster to risk losing any part of his claim upon you, if he found you. You and all you had were his property on certain defined conditions. Youdo not understand our marriage laws; it is as well for you not tounderstand them. Mrs. Foster gave up to me to-day all his papers, andthe letters and credentials from your trustees in Melbourne to yourbankers here. There will be very little trouble for you now. Thank God!all your life lies clear and fair before you. "

I had still many questions to ask, but my lips trembled so much that Icould not speak readily. He was himself silent, probably because he alsohad so much to say. All the others were sitting a little apart from usat a chess-table, where Dr. Senior and Miss Carey were playing, whileDr. John sat by holding Minima in his arm, though she was gazingwistfully across to Martin and me. 

"You are tired, Olivia, " said Martin, after a time, "tired and sad. Youreyes are full of tears. I must be your doctor again for this evening, and send you to bed at once. It is eleven o'clock already; but thesepeople will sit up till after midnight. You need not say good-night tothem. --Minima, come here. "

She did not wait for a second word, or a louder summons; but she slippedunder Dr. John's arm, and rushed across to us, being caught by Martinbefore she could throw herself upon me. He sat still, talking to her fora few minutes, and listening to her account of our journey, and howfrightened we were at the grandeur about us. His face lit up with asmile as his eyes fell upon me, as if for the first time he noticed howout of keeping I was with the place. Then he led us quietly away, andup-stairs to my bedroom-door. 

"Good-night, Olivia, " he said; "sleep soundly, both of you, for you areat home. I will send one of the maids up to you. "

"No, no, " I cried hastily, "they despise us already. "

"Ah!" he said, "to-night you are the Olivia I knew first, in Sark. In aweek's time I shall find you a fine lady. "

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. 

SEEING SOCIETY. 

Whether or no I was transformed into a finer lady than Martinanticipated, I could not tell, but certainly after that first evening heheld himself aloof from me. I soon learned to laugh at the dismay whichhad filled me upon my entrance into my new sphere. It would have beendifficult to resist the cordiality with which I was adopted into thehousehold. Dr. Senior treated me as his daughter; Dr. John was as muchat home with me as if I had been his sister. We often rode together, forI was always fond of riding as a child, and he was a thorough horseman. He said Martin could ride better than himself; but Martin never asked meto go out with him. 

Minima, too, became perfectly reconciled to her new position; though fora time she was anxious lest we were spending our riches too lavishly. Iheard her one day soundly rating Dr. John, who seldom came to hisfather's house without bringing some trinket, or bouquet, or toy, forone or other of us. 

"You are wasting all your money, " she said, with that anxious littlepucker of her eyebrows, which was gradually being smoothed awayaltogether, "you're just like the boys after the holidays. They wouldbuy lots of things every time the cake-woman came--and she came everyday--till they'd spent all their money. You can't always have cakes, youknow, and then you'll miss them. "

"But I shall have cakes always. " answered Dr. John. 

"Nobody has them always, " she said, in an authoritative tone, "and youwon't like being poor. We were so poor we daren't buy as much as wecould eat; and our boots wore out at the toes. You like to have niceboots, and gloves, and things, so you must learn to take care of yourmoney, and not waste it like this. "

"I'm not wasting my money, little woman, " he replied, "when I buy prettythings for you and Olivia. "

"Why doesn't Dr. Martin do it then?" she asked; "he never spends hismoney in that sort of way. Why doesn't he give auntie as many things asyou do?"

Martin had been listening to Minima's rebukes with a smile upon hisface; but now it clouded a little, and I knew he glanced across to me. Iappeared deeply absorbed in the book I held in my hand, and he did notsee that I was listening and watching attentively. 

"Minima, " he said, in a low tone, as if he did not care that even sheshould hear, "I gave her all I had worth giving when I saw her first. "

"That's just how it will be with you, Dr. John, " exclaimed Minima, triumphantly, "you'll give us every thing you have, and then you'll havenothing left for yourself. "

But still, unless Martin had taken back what he gave to me so long ago, his conduct was very mysterious to me. He did not come to Fulham halfas often as Dr. John did; and when he came he spent most of the time inlong, professional discussions with Dr. Senior. They told me he wasdevoted to his profession, and it really seemed as if he had not time tothink of any thing else. 

Neither had I very much time for brooding over any subject, for guestsbegan to frequent the house, which became much gayer, Dr. Senior said, now there was a young hostess in it. The quiet evenings of autumn andwinter were gone, and instead of them our engagements accumulated on ourhands, until I very rarely met Martin except at some entertainment, where we were surrounded by strangers. Martin was certainly at adisadvantage among a crowd of mere acquaintances, where Dr. John wasquite at home. He was not as handsome, and he did not possess the sameease and animation. So he was a little apt to get into corners with Dr. Senior's scientific friends, and to be somewhat awkward and dull if hewere forced into gayer society. Dr. John called him glum. 

But he was not glum; I resented that, till Dr. John begged my pardon. Martin did not smile as quickly as Dr. John, he was not forever readywith a simper, but when he did smile it had ten times more expression. Iliked to watch for it, for the light that came into his eyes now andthen, breaking through his gravity as the sun breaks through the cloudson a dull day. 

Perhaps he thought I liked to be free. Yes, free from tyranny, but notfree from love. It is a poor thing to have no one's love encircling you, a poor freedom that. A little clew came to my hand one day, the otherend of which might lead me to the secret of Martin's reserve and gloom. He and Dr. Senior were talking together, as they paced to and fro aboutthe lawn, coming up the walk from the river-side to the house, and thenback again. I was seated just within the drawing-room window, which wasopen. They knew I was there, but they did not guess how keen my hearingwas for any thing that Martin said. It was only a word or two here andthere that I caught. 

"If you were not in the way, " said Dr. Senior, "John would have a goodchance, and there is no one in the world I would sooner welcome as adaughter. "

"They are like one another, " answered Martin; "have you never seen it?"

What more they said I did not hear, but it seemed a little clearer to meafter that why Martin kept aloof from me, and left me to ride, and talk, and laugh with his friend Jack. Why, they did not know that I washappier silent beside Martin, than laughing most merrily with Dr. John. So little did they understand me!

Just before Lent, which was a busy season with him, Monsieur Laurentiepaid us his promised visit, and brought us news from Ville-en-bois. Themoney that had been lying in the bank, which I could not touch, whatevermy necessities were, had accumulated to more than three thousand pounds, and out of this sum were to come the funds for making Ville-en-bois thebest-drained parish in Normandy. Nothing could exceed MonsieurLaurentie's happiness in choosing a design for a village fountain, andin examining plans for a village hospital. For, in case any seriousillness should break out again among them, a simple little hospital wasto be built upon the brow of the hill, where the wind sweeps acrossleagues of meadow-land and heather. 

"I am too happy, madame, " said the curé; "my people will die no more offever, and we will teach them many English ways. When will you comeagain, and see what you have done for us?"

"I will come in the autumn, " I answered. 

"And you will come alone?" he continued. 

"Yes, quite alone, " I answered, "or with Minima only. "

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

BREAKING THE ICE. 

Yet while I told Monsieur Laurentie seriously that I should go alone toVille-en-bois in the autumn, I did not altogether believe it. We oftenspeak in half-falsehoods, even to ourselves. 

Dr. Senior's lawn, in which he takes great pride, slopes gently down tothe river, and ends with a stone parapet, over which it is exceedinglypleasant to lean, and watch idly the flowing of the water, which seemsto loiter almost reluctantly before passing on to Westminster, and thewharves and docks of the city. On the opposite bank grows a cluster ofcedars, with rich, dark-green branches, showing nearly black against thepale blue of the sky. In our own lawn there stand three fine elms, acolony for song-birds, under which the turf is carefully kept as smoothand soft as velvet; and seats are set beneath their shadow, where onecan linger for hours, seeing the steamers and pleasure-boats passing toand fro, and catching now and then a burst of music or laughter, softened a little by the distance. My childhood had trained me to befond of living out-of-doors; and, when the spring came, I spent most ofmy days under these elm-trees, in the fitful sunshine and showers of anEnglish April and May, such as I had never known before. 

From one of these trees I could see very well any one who went in or outthrough the gate. But it was not often that I cared to sit there, forMartin came only in an evening, when his day's work was done, and eventhen his coming was an uncertainty. Dr. John seldom missed visiting us, but Martin was often absent for days. That made me watch all the moreeagerly for his coming, and feel how cruelly fast the time fled when hewas with us. 

But one Sunday afternoon in April I chose my seat there, behind the treewhere I could see the gate, without being too plainly seen myself. Martin had promised Dr. Senior he would come down to Fulham with Dr. John that afternoon, if possible. The river was quieter than on otherdays, and all the world seemed calmer. It was such a day as the one inSark, two years ago, when I slipped from the cliffs, and Tardif wasobliged to go across to Guernsey to fetch a doctor for me. I wondered ifMartin ever thought of it on such a day as this. But men do not rememberlittle things like these as women do. 

I heard the click of the gate at last, and, looking round the greattrunk of the tree, I saw them come in together, Dr. John and Martin. Hehad kept his promise then! Minima was gone out somewhere with Dr. Senior, or she would have run to meet them, and so brought them to theplace where I was half-hidden. 

However, they might see my dress if they chose. They ought to see it. Iwas not going to stand up and show myself. If they were anxious to findme, and come to me, it was quite simple enough. 

But my heart sank when Martin marched straight on, and entered the housealone, while Dr. John came as direct as an arrow toward me. They knew Iwas there, then! Yet Martin avoided me, and left his friend to chatterand laugh the time away. I was in no mood for laughing; I could ratherhave wept bitter tears of vexation and disappointment. But Dr. John wasnear enough now for me to discern a singular gravity upon his usuallygay face. 

"Is there any thing the matter?" I exclaimed, starting to my feet andhastening to meet him. He led me back again silently to my seat, and satdown beside me, still in silence. Strange conduct in Dr. John!

"Tell me what is the matter, " I said, not doubting now that there wassome trouble at hand. Dr. John's face flushed, and he threw his hat downon the grass, and pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he laidhis hand upon mine, for a moment only. 

"Olivia, " he said, very seriously, "do you love me?"

The question came upon me like a shock from a galvanic battery. He and Ihad been very frank and friendly together; a pleasant friendship, whichhad seemed to me as safe as that of a brother. Besides, he knew all thatMartin had done and borne for my sake. With my disappointment there wasmingled a feeling of indignation against his treachery toward hisfriend. I sat watching the glistening of the water through the pillarsof the parapet till my eyes were dazzled. 

"I scarcely understand what you say, " I answered, after a long pause;"you know I care for you all. If you mean, do I love you as I love yourfather and Monsieur Laurentie, why, yes, I do. "

"Very good, Olivia, " he said. 

That was so odd of him, that I turned and looked steadily into his face. It was not half as grave as before, and there was a twinkle in his eyesas if another half minute would make him as gay and light-hearted asever. 

"Whatever did you come and ask me such a question for?" I inquired, rather pettishly. 

"Was there any harm in it?" he rejoined. 

"Yes, there was harm in it, " I answered; "it has made me veryuncomfortable. I thought you were going out of your mind. If you meantnothing but to make me say I liked you, you should have expressedyourself differently. Of course, I love you all, and all alike. "

"Very good, " he said again. 

I felt so angry that I was about to get up, and go away to my own room;but he caught my dress, and implored me to stay a little longer. 

"I'll make a clean breast of it, " he said; "I promised that dear olddolt Martin to come straight to you, and ask you if you loved me, in somany words. Well, I've kept my promise; and now I'll go and tell him yousay you love us all, and all alike. "

"No, " I answered, "you shall not go and tell him that. What could put itinto Dr. Martin's head that I was in love with you?"

"Why shouldn't you be in love with me?" retorted Dr. John; "Martinassures me that I am much handsomer than he is--a more eligible _parti_in every respect. I suppose I shall have an income, apart from ourpractice, at least ten times larger than his. I am much more soughtafter generally; one cannot help seeing that. Why should you not be inlove with me?"

I did not deign to reply to him, and Jack leaned forward a little tolook into my face. 

"Olivia, " he continued, "that is part of what Martin says. We have justbeen speaking of you as we came down to Fulham--never before. Hemaintains he is bound in honor to leave you as free as possible to makeyour choice, not merely between us, but from the number of fellows whohave found their way down here, since you came. You made one fatalmistake, he says, through your complete ignorance of the world; and itis his duty to take care that you do not make a second mistake, throughany gratitude you might feel toward him. He would not be satisfied withgratitude. Besides, he has discovered that he is not so great a prize ashe fancied, as long as he lived in Guernsey; and you are a richer prizethan you seemed to be then. With your fortune you ought to make a muchbetter match than with a young physician, who has to push his way amonga host of competitors. Lastly, Martin said, for I'm merely repeating hisown arguments to you: 'Do you think I can put her happiness and mineinto a balance, and coolly calculate which has the greater weight? If Ihad to choose for her, I should not hesitate between you and me. ' Now Ihave told you the sum of our conversation, Olivia. "

Every word Dr. John had spoken had thrown clearer light upon Martin'sconduct. He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and thevery fact that he had once told me he loved me, had made it moredifficult to him to say so a second time. He would not have any lovefrom me as a duty. If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, hewould not receive any lesser gift from me. 

"What will you do, my dear Olivia?" asked Dr. John. 

"What can I do?" I said. 

"Go to him, " he urged; "he is alone. I saw him a moment ago, looking outat us from the drawing-room window. The old fellow is making up his mindto see you and me happy together, and to conceal his own sorrow. Godbless him! Olivia, my dear girl, go to him. "

"O Jack!" I cried, "I cannot. "

"I don't see why you cannot, " he answered, gayly. "You are trembling, and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; but you havenot lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue. If you take my arm, itwill not be very difficult to cross the lawn. Come; he is the bestfellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for. "

Jack drew my hand through his arm, and led me across the smooth lawn. Wecaught a glimpse of Martin looking out at us; but he turned away in aninstant, and I could not see the expression of his face. Would he thinkwe were coming to tell him that he had wasted all his love upon a girlnot worthy of a tenth part of it?

The glass doors, which opened upon the lawn, had been thrown back allday, and we could see distinctly into the room. Martin was standing atthe other end of it, apparently absorbed in examining a painting, whichhe must have seen a thousand times. The doors creaked a little as Ipassed through them, but he did not turn round. Jack gave my hand aparting squeeze, and left me there in the open doorway, scarcely knowingwhether to go on, and speak to Martin, or run away to my room, and leavehim to take his own time. 

I believe I should have run away, but I heard Minima's voice behind me, calling shrilly to Dr. John, and I could not bear to face him again. Taking my courage in both hands, I stepped quickly across the floor, forif I had hesitated longer my heart would have failed me. Scarcely amoment had passed since Jack left me, and Martin had not turned hishead, yet it seemed an age. 

"Martin, " I whispered, as I stood close behind him, "how could you be sofoolish as to send Dr. John to me?"

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. 

PALMY DAYS. 

We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin'sfashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a veryquiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin's cousinJulia could not come, for she had a baby not a month old, and CaptainCarey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were mybridesmaids, and Jack was Martin's groomsman. 

On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down fromParis to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. From Falaiseevery part of the road was full of associations to me. This was thelong, weary journey which Minima and I had taken, alone, in a darkNovember night; and here were the narrow and dirty streets of Noireau, which we had so often trodden, cold, and hungry, and friendless. Martinsaid little about it, but I knew by his face, and by the tender care helavished upon me, that his mind was as full of it as mine was. 

There was no reason for us to stay even a day in Noireau, and we hurriedthrough it on our way to Ville-en-bois. This road was still morememorable to me, for we had traversed it on foot. 

"See, Martin!" I cried, "there is the trunk of the tree still, whereMinima and I sat down to rest. I am glad the tree is there yet. If wewere not in a hurry, you and I would sit there now; it is so lonely andstill, and scarcely a creature passes this way. It is delicious to belonely sometimes. How foot-sore and famished we were, walking along thisrough part of the road! Martin, I almost wish our little Minima werewith us. There is the common! If you will look steadily, you can justsee the top of the cross, against the black line of fir-trees, on thefar side. "

I was getting so excited that I could speak no longer; but Martin heldmy hand in his, and I clasped it more and more tightly as we drew nearerto the cross, where Minima and I had sat down at the foot, forlorn andlost, in the dark shadows of the coming night. Was it possible that Iwas the same Olivia?

But as we came in sight of the little grove of cypresses and yews, wecould discern a crowd of women, in their snow-white caps, and of men andboys, in blue blouses. The hollow beat of a drum reached our ears afaroff, and after it the shrill notes of a violin and fife playing a merrytune. Monsieur Laurentie appeared in the foreground of the multitude, bareheaded, long before we reached the spot. 

"O Martin!" I said, "let us get out, and send the carriage back, andwalk up with them to the village. "

"And my wife's luggage?" he answered, "and all the toys and presents shehas brought from Paris?"

It was true that the carriage was inconveniently full of parcels, for Ido not think that I had forgotten one of Monsieur Laurentie's people. But it would not be possible to ride among them, while they werewalking. 

"Every man will carry something, " I said. "Martin, I must get out. "

It was Monsieur Laurentie who opened the carriage-door for me; but thepeople did not give him time for a ceremonious salutation. They throngedabout us with _vivats_ as hearty as an English hurrah. 

"All the world is here to meet us, monsieur, " I said. 

"Madame, I have also the honor of presenting to you two strangers fromEngland, " answered Monsieur Laurentie, while the people fell back tomake way for them. Jack and Minima! both wild with delight. We learnedafterward, as we marched up the valley to Ville-en-bois, that Dr. Seniorhad taken Jack's place in Brook Street, and insisted upon him and Minimagiving us this surprise. Our procession, headed by the drum, the fife, and the violin, passed through the village street, from every window ofwhich a little flag fluttered gayly, and stopped before the presbytery, where Monsieur Laurentie dismissed it, after a last _vivat_. 

The next stage of our homeward journey was made in Monsieur Laurentie's_char à bancs_, from Ville-en-bois to Granville--Jack and Minima hadreturned direct to England, but we were to visit Guernsey on the way. Captain Carey and Julia made it a point that we should go to see them, and their baby, before settling down in our London home. Martin waswelcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-Port as I had beenin little Ville-en-bois. 

From our room in Captain Carey's house I could look at Sark lying alongthe sea, with a belt of foam encircling it. At times, early in themorning, or when the sunset light fell upon it, I could distinguish theold windmill, and the church breaking the level line of the summit; andI could even see the brow of the knoll behind Tardifs cottage. But dayafter day the sea between us was rough, and the westerly breeze blewacross the Atlantic, driving the waves before it. There was no steamergoing across, and Captain Carey's yacht could not brave the winds. Ibegan to be afraid that Martin and I would not visit the place, which ofall others in this half of the world was dearest to me. 

"To-morrow, " said Martin one night, after scanning the sunset, the sky, and the storm-glass, "if you can be up at five o'clock, we will cross toSark. "

I was up at four, in the first gray dawn of a September morning. We hadthe yacht to ourselves, for Captain Carey declined running the risk ofbeing weather-bound on the island--a risk which we were willing tochance. The Havre Gosselin was still in morning shadow when we ran intoit; but the water between us and Guernsey was sparkling and dancing inthe early light, as we slowly climbed the rough path of the cliff. Myeyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I firstcaught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out hisnets, on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, andhe flung down his nets and ran to meet us. 

"We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif, " I cried, when he waswithin hearing of my voice. 

"It will be a day from heaven, " he said, taking off his fisherman's cap, and looking round at the blue sky with its scattered clouds, and the seawith its scattered islets. 

It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visitingevery spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed usin his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet, but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of goodold Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with afar-off, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he didnot bear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with asudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us. It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we were about toreturn to London, and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I hadnever known before. 

"You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobrée?" said Tardif to me, when wewere parting from him. 

"I did not know I could ever be so happy, " I answered. 

"We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hatto us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across thewater. Before we were quite beyond ear-shot, we heard Tardif's voicecalling amid the splashing of the waves:

"God be with you, my friends. Adieu, mam'zelle!"

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. 

A POSTSCRIPT BY MARTIN DOBRÉE. 

You may describe to a second person, with the most minute and exactfidelity in your power, the leading and critical events in your life, and you will find that some trifle of his own experience is ten timesmore vivid to his mind. You narrate to your friend, whom you have notmet for many years, the incident that has turned the whole current ofyour existence; and after a minute or two of musing, he asks you, "Doyou remember the day we two went bird-nesting on Gull's Cliff?" That dayof boyish daring and of narrow escapes is more real to him than yourdeepest troubles or keenest joys. The brain receives but slightlysecond-hand impressions. 

I had told Olivia faithfully all my dilemmas with regard to Julia andthe Careys; and she had seemed to listen with intense interest. Certainly it was during those four bewildering and enchanted monthsimmediately preceding our marriage, and no doubt the narrative wasinterwoven with many a topic of quite a different character. Howeverthat might be, I was surprised to find that Olivia was not half asnervous and anxious as I felt, when we were nearing Guernsey on ourvisit to Julia and Captain Carey. Julia had seen her but once, and thatfor a few minutes only in Sark. On her account she had suffered theseverest mortification a woman can undergo. How would she receive mywife?

Olivia did not know, though I did, that Julia was somewhat frigid anddistant in her manner, even while thoroughly hospitable in her welcome. Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the frigidity. Julia called her"Mrs. Dobrée. " It was the first time she had been addressed by thatname; and her blush and smile were exquisite to me, but they did notthaw Julia in the least. I began to fear that there would be betweenthem that strange, uncomfortable, east-wind coolness, which so oftenexists between the two women a man most loves. 

It was the baby that did it. Nothing on earth could be more charming, ormore winning, than Olivia's delight over that child. It was the firstbaby she had ever had in her arms, she told us; and to see her sittingin the low rocking-chair, with her head bent over it, and to watch herdainty way of handling it, was quite a picture. Captain Carey had anartist's eye, and was in raptures; Julia had a mother's eye, and was sowon by Olivia's admiration of her baby, that the thin crust of icemelted from her like the arctic snows before a Greenland summer. 

I was not in the least surprised when, two days or so before we leftGuernsey, Julia spoke to us with some solemnity of tone and expression. 

"My dear, Olivia, " she said, "and you, Martin, Arnold and I wouldconsider it a token of your friendship for us both, if you two wouldstand as sponsors for our child. "

"With the greatest pleasure, Julia, " I replied; and Olivia crossed thehearth to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at her side. 

"We have decided upon calling her Olivia, " continued Julia, stroking mywife's hand with a caressing touch--"Olivia Carey! That sounds extremelywell, and is quite new in the island. I think it sounds even better thanOlivia Dobrée. "

As we all agreed that no name could sound better, or be newer inGuernsey, that question was immediately settled. There was no time fordelay, and the next morning we carried the child to church to bechristened. As we were returning homeward, Julia, whose face had wornits softest expression, pressed my arm with a clasp which made me lookdown upon her questioningly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and hermouth quivered. Olivia and Captain Carey were walking on in front, at amore rapid pace than ours, so that we were in fact alone. 

"What is the matter?" I asked, hastily. 

"O Martin!" she exclaimed, "we are both so happy, after all! I wish mypoor, darling aunt could only have foreseen this! but, don't you think, as we are both so happy, we might just go and see my poor uncle? KateDaltrey is away in Jersey, I know that for certain, and he is alone. Itwould give him so much pleasure. Surely you can forgive him now. "

"By all means let us go, " I answered. I had not heard even his namementioned before, by any one of my old friends in Guernsey. But, asJulia said, I was so happy, that I was ready to forgive and forget allancient grievances. Olivia and Captain Carey were already out of sight;and we turned into a street leading to Vauvert Road. 

"They live in lodgings now, " remarked Julia, as we went slowly up thesteep street, "and nobody visits them; not one of my uncle's oldfriends. They have plenty to live upon, but it is all her money. I donot mean to let them got upon visiting terms with me--at least, not KateDaltrey. You know the house, Martin?"

I knew nearly every house in St. Peter-Port, but this I rememberedparticularly as being the one where Mrs. Foster had lodged when she wasin Guernsey. Upon inquiring for Dr. Dobrée, we were ushered at once, without warning, into his presence. 

Even I should scarcely have recognized him. His figure was sunken andbent, and his clothes, which were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon him. Hiscrisp white hair had grown thin and limp, and hung untidily about hisface. He had not shaved for a week. His waistcoat was sprinkled overwith snuff, in which he had indulged but sparingly in former years. There was not a trace of his old jauntiness and display. This was arusty, dejected old man, with the crow's-feet very plainly marked uponhis features. 

"Father!" I said. 

"Uncle!" cried Julia, running to him, and giving him a kiss, which shehad not meant to do, I am sure, when we entered the house. 

He shed a few tears at the sight of us, in a maudlin manner; and hecontinued languid and sluggish all through the interview. It struck memore forcibly than any other change could have done, that he never onceappeared to pluck up any spirit, or attempted to recall a spark of hisancient sprightliness. He spoke more to Julia than to me. 

"My love, " he said, "I believed I knew a good deal about women, but I'velived to find out my mistake. You and your beloved aunt were angels. This one never lets me have a penny of my own: and she locks up my bestsuit when she goes from home. That is to prevent me going among my ownfriends. She is in Jersey now; but she would not hear a word of me goingwith her, not one word. The Bible says: 'Jealousy is cruel as the grave;the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. 'Kate is jealous of me. I get nothing but black looks and cold shoulders. There never lived a cat and dog that did not lead a more comfortablelife than Kate leads me. "

"You shall come and see Arnold and me sometimes, uncle, " said Julia. 

"She won't let me, " he replied, with fresh tears; "she won't let memention your name, or go past your house. I should very much like to seeMartin's wife--a very pretty creature they say she is--but I dare not. OJulia! how little a man knows what is before him!"

We did not prolong our visit, for it was no pleasure to any one of us. Dr. Dobrée himself seemed relieved when we spoke of going away. He and Ishook hands with one another gravely; it was the first time we had doneso since he had announced his intention of marrying Kate Daltrey. 

"My son, " he said, "if ever you should find yourself a widower, be verycareful how you select your second wife. "

These were his parting words--words which chafed me sorely as a younghusband in his honeymoon. I looked round when we were out of the house, and caught a glimpse of his withered face, and ragged white hair, as hepeeped from behind the curtain at us. Julia and I walked on in silencetill we reached her threshold. 

"Yet I am not sorry we went, Martin, " she observed, in a tone as if shethus summed up a discussion with herself. Nor was I sorry. 

A few days after our return to London, as I was going home to dinner, Imet, about half-war along Brook Street, Mrs. Foster. For the first timesince my marriage I was glad to be alone; I would not have had Oliviawith me on any account. But the woman was coming away from our house, and a sudden fear flashed across me. Could she have been annoying myOlivia?

"Have you been to see me?" I asked her, abruptly. 

"Why should I come to see you?" she retorted. 

"Nor my wife?" I said. 

"Why shouldn't I go to see Mrs. Dobrée?" she asked again. 

I felt that it was necessary to secure Olivia, and to gain this end Imust be firm. But the poor creature looked miserable and unhappy, and Icould not be harsh toward her. 

"Come, Mrs. Foster, " I said, "let us talk reasonably together. You knowas as well as I do you have no claim upon my wife; and I cannot have herdisturbed and distressed by seeing you; I wish her to forget all thepast. Did I not fulfil my promise to Foster? Did I not do all I couldfor him?"

"Yes, " she answered, sobbing, "I know you did all you could to save myhusband's life. "

"Without fee?" I said. 

"Certainly. We were too poor to pay you. "

"Give me my fee now, then, " I replied. "Promise me to leave Oliviaalone. Keep away from this street, and do not thrust yourself upon herat any time. If you meet by accident, that will be no fault of yours. Ican trust you to keep your promise. "

She stood silent and irresolute for a minute. Then she clasped my hand, with a strong grip for a woman's fingers. 

"I promise, " she said, "for you were very good to him. "

She had taken a step or two into the dusk of the evening, when I ranafter her for one more word. 

"Mrs. Foster, " I said, "are you in want?"

"I can always keep myself, " she answered, proudly; "I earned his livingand my own, for months together. Good-by, Martin Dobrée. "

"Good-by, " I said. She turned quickly from me round a corner near to us;and have not seen her again from that day to this. 

Dr. Senior would not consent to part with Minima, even to Olivia. Shepromises fair to take the reins of the household at a very early age, and to hold them with a tight hand. Already Jack is under her authority, and yields to it with a very droll submission. She is so old for heryears, and he is so young for his, that--who can tell? Olivia predictsthat Jack Senior will always be a bachelor. 

THE END.