THE MAN BETWEEN

An International Romance

By Amelia E. Barr

PART FIRST -- O LOVE WILL VENTURE IN!

THE MAN BETWEEN

CHAPTER I

THE thing that I know least about is my beginning. For it is possibleto introduce Ethel Rawdon in so many picturesque ways that the choiceis embarrassing, and forces me to the conclusion that the actualcircumstances, though commonplace, may be the most suitable. Certainlythe events that shape our lives are seldom ushered in with pomp orceremony; they steal upon us unannounced, and begin their work withoutgiving any premonition of their importance. 

Consequently Ethel had no idea when she returned home one night froma rather stupid entertainment that she was about to open a new andimportant chapter of her life. Hitherto that life had been one of thesweetest and simplest character--the lessons and sports of childhoodand girlhood had claimed her nineteen years; and Ethel was just at thatwonderful age when, the brook and the river having met, she was feelingthe first swell of those irresistible tides which would carry her day byday to the haven of all days. 

It was Saturday night in the January of 1900, verging toward twelveo'clock. When she entered her room, she saw that one of the windows wasopen, and she stood a moment or two at it, looking across the straightmiles of white lights, in whose illumined shadows thousands of sleeperswere holding their lives in pause. 

"It is not New York at all, " she whispered, "it is some magical citythat I have seen, but have never trod. It will vanish about six o'clockin the morning, and there will be only common streets, full of commonpeople. Of course, " and here she closed the window and leisurely removedher opera cloak, "of course, this is only dreaming, but to dream waking, or to dream sleeping, is very pleasant. In dreams we can have men as welike them, and women as we want them, and make all the world happy andbeautiful. "

She was in no hurry of feeling or movement. She had been in a crowd forsome hours, and was glad to be quite alone and talk to herself a little. It was also so restful to gradually relinquish all the restraining gaudsof fashionable attire, and as she leisurely performed these duties, sheentered into conversation with her own heart--talked over with it theevents of the past week, and decided that its fretless days, full ofgood things, had been, from the beginning to the end, sweet as a cup ofnew milk. For a woman's heart is very talkative, and requires little tomake it eloquent in its own way. 

In the midst of this intimate companionship she turned her head, andsaw two letters lying upon a table. She rose and lifted them. One was aninvitation to a studio reception, and she let it flutter indeterminatelyfrom her hand; the other was both familiar and appealing; none of hercorrespondents but Dora Denning used that peculiar shade of blue paper, and she instantly began to wonder why Dora had written to her. 

"I saw her yesterday afternoon, " she reflected, "and she told meeverything she had to tell--and what does she-mean by such a tantalizingmessage as this? 'Dearest Ethel: I have the most extraordinary news. Come to me immediately. Dora. ' How exactly like Dora!" she commented. "Come to me im-mediately--whether you are in bed or asleep--whetheryou are sick or well--whether it is midnight or high noon--come tome immediately. Well, Dora, I am going to sleep now, and to-morrow isSunday, and I never know what view father is going to take of Sunday. Hemay ask me to go to church with him, and he may not. He may want me todrive in the afternoon, and again he may not; but Sunday is father'shome day, and Ruth and I make a point of obliging him in regard to it. That is one of our family principles; and a girl ought to have a fewprinciples of conduct involving self-denial. Aunt Ruth says, 'Lifecannot stand erect without self-denial, ' and aunt is usually right--butI do wonder what Dora wants! I cannot imagine what extraordinary newshas come. I must try and see her to-morrow--it may be difficult--but Imust make the effort"--and with this satisfying resolution she easilyfell asleep. 

When she awoke the church bells were ringing and she knew that herfather and aunt would have breakfasted. The feet did not trouble her. Itwas an accidental sleep-over; she had not planned it, and circumstanceswould take care of themselves. In any case, she had no fear of rebuke. No one was ever cross with Ethel. It was a matter of pretty generalbelief that whatever Ethel did was just right. So she dressed herselfbecomingly in a cloth suit, and, with her plumed hat on her head, wentdown to see what the day had to offer her. 

"The first thing is coffee, and then, all being agreeable, Dora. I shallnot look further ahead, " she thought. 

As she entered the room she called "Good morning!" and her voice waslike the voice of the birds when they call "Spring!"; and her face wasradiant with smiles, and the touch of her lips and the clasp of her handwarm with love and life; and her father and aunt forgot that she waslate, and that her breakfast was yet to order. 

She took up the reproach herself. "I am so sorry, Aunt Ruth. I only wanta cup of coffee and a roll. "

"My dear, you cannot go without a proper breakfast. Never mind the hour. What would you like best?"

"You are so good, Ruth. I should like a nice breakfast--a breast ofchicken and mushrooms, and some hot muffins and marmalade would do. How comfortable you look here! Father, you are buried in newspapers. Isanyone going to church?"

Ruth ordered the desired breakfast and Mr. Rawdon took out his watch--"Iam afraid you have delayed us too long this morning, Ethel. "

"Am I to be the scapegoat? Now, I do not believe anyone wanted to go tochurch. Ruth had her book, you, the newspapers. It is warm and pleasanthere, it is cold and windy outside. I know what confession would bemade, if honesty were the fashion. "

"Well, my little girl, honesty is the fashion in this house. I believein going to church. Religion is the Mother of Duty, and we should allmake a sad mess of life without duty. Is not that so, Ruth?"

"Truth itself, Edward; but religion is not going to church and listeningto sermons. Those who built the old cathedrals of Europe had no ideathat sitting in comfortable pews and listening to some man talking wasworshiping God. Those great naves were intended for men and women tostand or kneel in before God. And there were no high or low standingor kneeling places; all were on a level before Him. It is our modernProtestantism which has brought in lazy lolling in cushioned pews; andthe gallery, which makes a church as like a playhouse as possible!"

"What are you aiming at, Ruth?"

"I only meant to say, I would like going to church much better if wewent solely to praise God, and entreat His mercy. I do not care to hearsermons. "

"My dear Ruth, sermons are a large fact in our social economy. When amillion or two are preached every year, they have a strong claim onour attention. To use a trade phrase, sermons are firm, and I believe amoderate tax on them would yield an astonishing income. "

"See how you talk of them, Edward; as if they were a commercialcommodity. If you respected them----"

"I do. I grant them a steady pneumatic pressure in the region of morals, and even faith. Picture to yourself, Ruth, New York without sermons. Thedear old city would be like a ship without ballast, heeling over withevery wind, and letting in the waters of immorality and scepticism. Remove this pulpit balance just for one week from New York City, andwhere should we be?"

"Well then, " said Ethel, "the clergy ought to give New York a first-ratearticle in sermons, either of home or foreign manufacture. New Yorkexpects the very best of everything; and when she gets it, she opens herheart and her pocketbook enjoys it, and pays for it. "

"That is the truth, Ethel. I was thinking of your grandmother Rawdon. You have your hat on--are you going to see her?"

"I am going to see Dora Denning. I had an urgent note from her lastnight. She says she has 'extraordinary news' and begs me to 'come toher immediately. ' I cannot imagine what her news is. I saw her Fridayafternoon. "

"She has a new poodle, or a new lover, or a new way of crimping herhair, " suggested Ruth Bayard scornfully. "She imposes on you, Ethel; whydo you submit to her selfishness?"

"I suppose because I have become used to it. Four years ago I beganto take her part, when the girls teased and tormented her in theschoolroom, and I have big-sistered her ever since. I suppose we get tolove those who make us kind and give us trouble. Dora is not perfect, but I like her better than any friend I have. And she must like me, forshe asks my advice about everything in her life. "

"Does she take it?"

"Yes--generally. Sometimes I have to make her take it. "

"She has a mother. Why does she not go to her?"

"Mrs. Denning knows nothing about certain subjects. I am Dora's socialgodmother, and she must dress and behave as I tell her to do. Poor Mrs. Denning! I am so sorry for her--another cup of coffee, Ruth--it is notvery strong. "

"Why should you be sorry for Mrs. Denning, Her husband is enormouslyrich--she lives in a palace, and has a crowd of men and women servantsto wait upon her--carriages, horses, motor cars, what not, at hercommand. "

"Yet really, Ruth, she is a most unhappy woman. In that little Westerntown from which they came, she was everybody. She ran the churches, andwas chairwoman in all the clubs, and President of the Temperance Union, and manager of every religious, social, and political festival; and herdays were full to the brim of just the things she liked to do. Her dressthere was considered magnificent; people begged her for patterns, andregarded her as the very glass of fashion. Servants thought it a greatprivilege to be employed on the Denning place, and she ordered her houseand managed her half-score of men and maids with pleasant autocracy. NOW! Well, I will tell you how it is, NOW. She sits all day in hersplendid rooms, or rides out in her car or carriage, and no one knowsher, and of course no one speaks to her. Mr. Denning has his Wall Streetfriends----"

"And enemies, " interrupted Judge Rawdon. 

"And enemies! You are right, father. But he enjoys one as much as theother--that is, he would as willingly fight his enemies as feast hisfriends. He says a big day in Wall Street makes him alive from head tofoot. He really looks happy. Bryce Denning has got into two clubs, andhis money passes him, for he plays, and is willing to love prudently. But no one cares about Mrs. Denning. She is quite old--forty-five, Idare say; and she is stout, and does not wear the colors and style sheought to wear--none of her things have the right 'look, ' and of courseI cannot advise a matron. Then, her fine English servants take her houseout of her hands. She is afraid of them. The butler suavely tries toinform her; the housekeeper removed the white crotcheted scarfsand things from the gilded chairs, and I am sure Mrs. Denning had aheartache about their loss; but she saw that they had also vanished fromDora's parlor, so she took the hint, and accepted the lesson. Really, her humility and isolation are pitiful. I am going to ask grandmotherto go and see her. Grandmother might take her to church, and get Dr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson to introduce her. Her money and adaptabilitywould do the rest. There, I have had a good breakfast, though I waslate. It is not always the early bird that gets chicken and mushrooms. Now I will go and see what Dora wants"--and lifting her furs with asmile, and a "Good morning!" equally charming, she disappeared. 

"Did you notice her voice, Ruth?" asked Judge Rawdon. "What a tone thereis in her 'good morning!'"

"There is a tone in every one's good morning, Edward. I think people'ssalutations set to music would reveal their inmost character. Ethel'sgood morning says in D major 'How good is the day!' and her goodnight drops into the minor third, and says pensively 'How sweet is thenight!'"

"Nay, Ruth, I don't understand all that; but I do understand the voice. It goes straight to my heart. "

"And to my heart also, Edward. I think too there is a measured music, a central time and tune, in every life. Quick, melodious natures likeEthel's never wander far from their keynote, and are therefore joyouslyset; while slow, irresolute people deviate far, and only come back afterpainful dissonances and frequent changes. "

"You are generally right, Ruth, even where I cannot follow you. I hopeEthel will be home for dinner. I like my Sunday dinner with both of you, and I may bring my mother back with me. "

Then he said "Good morning" with an intentional cheerfulness, and Ruthwas left alone with her book. She gave a moment's thought to the valueof good example, and then with a sigh of content let her eyes rest onthe words Ethel's presence had for awhile silenced:

"I am filled with a sense of sweetness and wonder that such, littlethings can make a mortal so exceedingly rich. But I confess that thechiefest of all my delights is still the religious. " (Theodore Parker. )She read the words again, then closed her eyes and let the honey of somesacred memory satisfy her soul. And in those few minutes of reverie, Ruth Bayard revealed the keynote of her being. Wanderings from it, caused by the exigencies and duties of life, frequently occurred; butshe quickly returned to its central and controlling harmony; andher serenity and poise were therefore as natural as was her niece'sjoyousness and hope. Nor was her religious character the result oftemperament, or of a secluded life. Ruth Bayard was a woman of thoughtand culture, and wise in the ways of the world, but not worldly. Herpersonality was very attractive, she had a good form, an agreeable face, speaking gray eyes, and brown hair, soft and naturally wavy. She was adistant cousin of Ethel's mother, but had been brought up with her inthe same household, and always regarded her as a sister, and Ethel neverremembered that she was only her aunt by adoption. Ten years older thanher niece, she had mothered her with a wise and loving patience, andher thoughts never wandered long or far from the girl. Consequently, she soon found herself wondering what reason there could be for DoraDenning's urgency. 

In the meantime Ethel had reached her friend's residence a new buildingof unusual size and very ornate architecture. Liveried footmen andwaiting women bowed her with mute attention to Miss Denning's suite, anabsolutely private arrangement of five rooms, marvelously furnishedfor the young lady's comfort and delight. The windows of her parloroverlooked the park, and she was standing at one of them as Ethelentered the room. In a passion of welcoming gladness she turned to her, exclaiming: "I have been watching for you hours and hours, Ethel. I havethe most wonderful thing to tell you. I am so happy! So happy! No onewas ever as happy as I am. "

Then Ethel took both her hands, and, as they stood together, she lookedintently at her friend. Some new charm transfigured her face; for herdark, gazelle eyes were not more lambent than her cheeks, though ina different way; while her black hair in its picturesquely arrangeddisorder seemed instinct with life, and hardly to be restrained. She wasconstantly pushing it back, caressing or arranging it; and her white, slender fingers, sparkling with jewels, moved among the crimped and wavylocks, as if there was an intelligent sympathy between them. 

"How beautiful you are to-day, Dora! Who has worked wonders on you?"

"Basil Stanhope. He loves me! He loves me! He told me so last night--inthe sweetest words that were ever uttered. I shall never forget oneof them--never, as long as I live! Let us sit down. I want to tell youeverything. "

"I am astonished, Dora!"

"So was mother, and father, and Bryce. No one suspected our affection. Mother used to grumble about my going 'at all hours' to St. Jude'schurch; but that was because St. Jude's is so very High Church, andmother is a Methodist Episcopal. It was the morning and evening prayersshe objected to. No one had any suspicion of the clergyman. Oh, Ethel, he is so handsome! So good! So clever! I think every woman in the churchis in love with him. "

"Then if he is a good man, he must be very unhappy. "

"Of course he is quite ignorant of their admiration, and therefore quiteinnocent. I am the only woman he loves, and he never even remembers mewhen he is in the sacred office. If you could see him come out of thevestry in his white surplice, with his rapt face and prophetic eyes. Somystical! So beautiful! You would not wonder that I worship him. "

"But I do not understand--how did you meet him socially?"

"I met him at Mrs. Taylor's first. Then he spoke to me one morning as Icame out of church, and the next morning he walked through the park withme. And after that--all was easy enough. "

"I see. What does your father and mother think--or rather, what do theysay?"

"Father always says what he thinks, and mother thinks and says what Ido. This condition simplified matters very much. Basil wrote to father, and yesterday after dinner he had an interview with him. I expectedit, and was quite prepared for any climax that might come. I wore myloveliest white frock, and had lilies of the valley in my hair and onmy breast; and father called me 'his little angel' and piously wondered'how I could be his daughter. ' All dinner time I tried to be angelic, and after dinner I sang 'Little Boy Blue' and some of the songs heloves; and I felt, when Basil's card came in, that I had prepared theproper atmosphere for the interview. "

"You are really very clever, Dora. "

"I tried to continue singing and playing, but I could not; the notes allran together, the words were lost. I went to mother's side and put myhand in hers, and she said softly: 'I can hear your father storming alittle, but he will settle down the quicker for it. I dare say he willbring Mr. Stanhope in here before long. "

"Did he?"

"No. That was Bryce's fault. How Bryce happened to be in the house atthat hour, I cannot imagine; but it seems to be natural for him to dropinto any interview where he can make trouble. However, it turned out allfor the best, for when mother heard Bryce's voice above all the othersounds, she said, 'Come Dora, we shall have to interfere now. ' ThenI was delighted. I was angelically dressed, and I felt equal to theinterview. "

"Do you really mean that you joined the three quarreling men?"

"Of course. Mother was quite calm--calm enough to freeze a tempest--butshe gave father a look he comprehended. Then she shook hands withBasil, and would have made some remark to Bryce, but with his usualimpertinence he took the initiative, and told he: very authoritativelyto 'retire and take me with her'--calling me that 'demure little flirt'in a tone that was very offensive. You should have seen father blazeinto anger at his words. He told Bryce to remember that 'Mr. Ben Denningowned the house, and that Bryce had four or five rooms in it by hiscourtesy. ' He said also that the 'ladies present were Mr. Ben Denning'swife and daughter, and that it was impertinent in him to order them outof his parlor, where they were always welcome. ' Bryce was white withpassion, but he answered in his affected way--'Sir, that sly girl withher pretended piety and her sneak of a lover is my sister, and I shallnot permit her to disgrace my family without making a protest. '"

"And then?"

"I began to cry, and I put my arms around father's neck and said he mustdefend me; that I was not 'sly, ' and Basil was not 'a sneak, ' and fatherkissed me, and said he would settle with any man, and every man, whopresumed to call me either sly or a flirt. "

"I think Mr. Denning acted beautifully. What did Bryce say?"

"He turned to Basil, and said: 'Mr. Stanhope, if you are not a cad, youwill leave the house. You have no right to intrude yourself into familyaffairs and family quarrels. ' Basil had seated mother, and wasstanding with one hand on the back of her chair, and he did not answerBryce--there was no need, father answered quick enough. He said Mr. Stanhope had asked to become one of the family, and for his part hewould welcome him freely; and then he asked mother if she was of hismind, and mother smiled and reached her hand backward to Basil. Thenfather kissed me again, and somehow Basil's arm was round me, and I knowI looked lovely--almost like a bride! Oh, Ethel, it was just heavenly!"

"I am sure it was. Did Bryce leave the room then?"

"Yes; he went out in a passion, declaring he would never notice meagain. This morning at breakfast I said I was sorry Bryce felt so hurt, but father was sure Bryce would find plenty of consolation in the factthat his disapproval of my choice would excuse him from giving me awedding present. You know Bryce is a mean little miser!"

"On the contrary, I thought he was very; luxurious and extravagant. "

"Where Bryce is concerned, yes; toward everyone else his conduct is toomean to consider. Why, father makes him an allowance of $20, 000 a yearand he empties father's cigar boxes whenever he can do so without----"

"Let us talk about Mr. Stanhope he is far more interesting. When are yougoing to marry him?"

"In the Spring. Father is going to give me some money and I have thefortune Grandmother Cahill left me. It has been well invested, andfather told me this morning I was a fairly rich little woman. Basil hassome private fortune, also his stipend--we shall do very well. Basil'sfamily is one of the finest among the old Boston aristocrats, and he isclosely connected with the English Stanhopes, who rank with the greatestof the nobility. "

"I wish Americans would learn to rely on their own nobility. I am tiredof their everlasting attempts to graft on some English noble family. No matter how great or clever a man may be, you are sure to read of hisdescent from some Scottish chief or English earl. "

"They can't help their descent, Ethel. "

"They need not pin all they have done on to it. Often father frets me inthe same way. If he wins a difficult case, he does it naturally, becausehe is a Rawdon. He is handsome, gentlemanly, honorable, even a perfecthorseman, all because, being a Rawdon, he was by nature and inheritancecompelled to such perfection. It is very provoking, Dora, and if Iwere you I would not allow Basil to begin a song about 'the EnglishStanhopes. ' Aunt Ruth and I get very tired often of the English Rawdons, and are really thankful for the separating Atlantic. "

"I don't think I shall feel in that way, Ethel. I like the nobility; sodoes father, he says the Dennings are a fine old family. "

"Why talk of genealogies when there is such a man as Basil Stanhope toconsider? Let us grant him perfection and agree that he is to marryyou in the Spring; well then, there is the ceremony, and the weddinggarments! Of course it is to be a church wedding?"

"We shall be married in Basil's own church. I can hardly eat or sleepfor thinking of the joy and the triumph of it! There will be women thereready to eat their hearts with envy--I believe indeed, Ethel, that everywoman in the church is in love with Basil. "

"You have said that before, and I am sure you are wrong. A great many ofthem are married and are in love with their own husbands; and the kindof girls who go to St. Jude's are not the kind who marry clergymen. Mr. Stanhope's whole income would hardly buy their gloves and parasols. "

"I don't think you are pleased that I am going to marry. You must not bejealous of Basil. I shall love you just the same. "

"Under no conditions, Dora, would I allow jealousy to trouble my life. All the same, you will not love me after your marriage as you have lovedme in the past. I shall not expect it. "

Passionate denials of this assertion, reminiscences of the past, assurances for the future followed, and Ethel accepted them withoutdispute and without faith. But she understood that the mere circumstanceof her engagement was all that Dora could manage at present; andthat the details of the marriage merged themselves constantly in thewonderful fact that Basil Stanhope loved her, and that some time, notfar off, she was going to be his wife. This joyful certainty filled herheart and her comprehension, and she had a natural reluctance to subjectit to the details of the social and religious ceremonies necessary, Suchthings permitted others to participate in her joy, and she resented theidea. For a time she wished to keep her lover in a world where no otherthought might trouble the thought of Dora. 

Ethel understood her friend's mood, and was rather relieved when hercarriage arrived. She felt that her presence was preventing Dora'sabsolute surrender of herself to thoughts of her lover, and all the wayhome she marveled at the girl's infatuation, and wondered if it wouldbe possible for her to fall into such a dotage of love for any man. Sheanswered this query positively--"No, if I should lose my heart, I shallnot therefore lose my head"--and then, before she could finish assuringherself of her determinate wisdom, some mocking lines she had oftenquoted to love-sick girls went laughing through her memory--

 "O Woman! Woman! O our frail, frail sex! No wonder tragedies are made from us! Always the same--nothing but loves and cradles. "

She found Ruth Bayard dressed for dinner, but her father was notpresent. That was satisfactory, for he was always a little impatientwhen the talk was of lovers and weddings; and just then this topic wasuppermost in Ethel's mind. 

"Ruth, " she said, "Dora is engaged, " and then in a few sentences shetold the little romance Dora had lived for the past year, and its happyculmination. "Setting money aside, I think he will make a very suitablehusband. What do you think, Ruth?"

"From what I know of Mr. Stanhope, I should doubt it. I am sure hewill put his duties before every earthly thing, and I am sure Dora willobject to that. Then I wonder if Dora is made on a pattern large enoughto be the moneyed partner in matrimony. I should think Mr. Stanhope wasa proud man. "

"Dora says he is connected with the English noble family of Stanhopes. "

"We shall certainly have all the connections of the English nobility inAmerica very soon now--but why does he marry Dora? Is it her money?"

"I think not. I have heard from various sources some fine things ofBasil Stanhope. There are many richer girls than Dora in St. Jude's. Idare say some one of them would have married him. "

"You are mistaken. Do you think Margery Starey, Jane Lewes, or any ofthe girls of their order would marry a man with a few thousands ayear? And to marry for love is beyond the frontiers of such women'sintelligence. In their creed a husband is a banker, not a man to beloved and cared for. You know how much of a banker Mr. Stanhope couldbe. "

"Bryce Denning is very angry at what he evidently considers his sister'smesalliance. "

"If Mr. Stanhope is connected with the English Stanhopes, themesalliance must be laid to his charge. "

"Indeed the Dennings have some pretenses to good lineage, and Brycespoke of his sister 'disgracing his family by her contemplatedmarriage. '"

"His family! My dear Ethel, his grandfather was a manufacturer oftin tacks. And now that we have got as far away as the Denning'sgrandfather, suppose we drop the subject. "

"Content; I am a little tired of the clan Denning--that is theiroriginal name Dora says. I will go now and dress for dinner. "

Then Ruth rose and looked inquisitively around the room. It was as shewished it to be--the very expression of elegant comfort--warm and light, and holding the scent of roses: a place of deep, large chairs with noodds and ends to worry about, a room to lounge and chat in, and wherethe last touch of perfect home freedom was given by a big mastiff who, having heard the door-bell ring, strolled in to see who had called. 

CHAPTER II

DURING dinner both Ruth and Ethel were aware of some sub-interest in theJudge's manner; his absent-mindedness was unusual, and once Ruth saw afaint smile that nothing evident could have induced. Unconsciously alsohe set a tone of constraint and hurry; the meal was not loitered over, the conversation flagged, and all rose from the table with a sense ofrelief; perhaps, indeed, with a feeling of expectation. 

They entered the parlor together, and the mastiff rose to meet them, asking permission to remain with the little coaxing push of his nosewhich brought the ready answer:

"Certainly, Sultan. Make yourself comfortable. "

Then they grouped themselves round the fire, and the Judge lit his cigarand looked at Ethel in a way that instantly brought curiosity to thequestion:

"You have a secret, father, " she said. "Is it about grandmother?"

"It is news rather than a secret, Ethel. And grandmother has a good dealto do with it, for it is about her family--the Mostyns. "

"Oh!"

The tone of Ethel's "Oh!" was not encouraging, and Ruth's look ofinterest held in abeyance was just as chilling. But something like thisattitude had been expected, and Judge Rawdon was not discouraged by it;he knew that youth is capable of great and sudden changes, and that itsability to find reasonable motives for them is unlimited, so he calmlycontinued:

"You are aware that your grandmother's name before marriage was RachelMostyn?"

"I have seen it a thousand times at the bottom of her sampler, father, the one that is framed and hanging in her morning room--Rachel Mostyn, November, Anno Domini, 1827. "

"Very well. She married George Rawdon, and they came to New York in1834. They had a pretty house on the Bowling Green and lived veryhappily there. I was born in 1850, the youngest of their children. Youknow that I sign my name Edward M. Rawdon; it is really Edward MostynRawdon. "

He paused, and Ruth said, "I suppose Mrs. Rawdon has had some news fromher old home?"

"She had a letter last night, and I shall probably receive oneto-morrow. Frederick Mostyn, her grand-nephew, is coming to New York, and Squire Rawdon, of Rawdon Manor, writes to recommend the young man toour hospitality. "

"But you surely do not intend to invite him here, Edward. I think thatwould not do. "

"He is going to the Holland House. But he is our kinsman, and thereforewe must be hospitable. "

"I have been trying to count the kinship. It is out of my reckoning, "said Ethel. "I hope at least he is nice and presentable. "

"The Mostyns are a handsome family. Look at your grandmother. And SquireRawdon speaks very well of Mr. Mostyn. He has taken the right sidein politics, and is likely to make his mark. They were always greatsportsmen, and I dare say this representative of the family is agood-looking fellow, well-mannered, and perfectly dressed. "

Ethel laughed. "If his clothes fit him he will be an English wonder. Ihave seen lots of Englishmen; they are all frights as to trousers andvests. There was Lord Wycomb, his broadcloths and satins and linen weremarvels in quality, but the make! The girls hated to be seen walkingwith him, and he would walk--'good for the constitution, ' was hisexplanation for all his peculiarities. The Caylers were weary to deathof them. "

"And yet, " said Ruth, "they sang songs of triumph when Lou Caylermarried him. "

"That was a different thing. Lou would make him get 'fits' and stopwearing sloppy, baggy arrangements. And I do not suppose the Englishlord has now a single peculiarity left, unless it be his constitutionalwalk--that, of course. I have heard English babies get out of theircradles to take a constitutional. "

During this tirade Ruth had been thinking. "Edward, " she asked, "whydoes Squire Rawdon introduce Mr. Mostyn? Their relationship cannot beworth counting. "

"There you are wrong, Ruth. " He spoke with a little excitement. "Englishmen never deny matrimonial relationships, if they are worthyones. Mostyn and Rawdon are bound together by many a gold wedding ring;we reckon such ties relationships. Squire Raw-don lost his son and histwo grandsons a year ago. Perhaps this young man may eventually standin their place. The Squire is nearly eighty years old; he is the last ofthe English Rawdons--at least of our branch of it. "

"You suppose this Mr. Mostyn may become Squire of Rawdon Manor?"

"He may, Ruth, but it is not certain. There is a large mortgage on theManor. "

"Oh!"

Both girls made the ejaculation at the same moment, and in both voicesthere was the same curious tone of speculation. It was a cry aftertruth apprehended, but not realized. Mr. Rawdon remained silent; he wasdebating with himself the advisability of further confidence, buthe came quickly to the conclusion that enough had been told for thepresent. Turning to Ethel, he said: "I suppose girls have a code ofhonor about their secrets. Is Dora Denning's 'extraordinary news' shutup in it?"

"Oh, no, father. She is going to be married. That is all. "

"That is enough. Who is the man?"

"Reverend Mr. Stanhope. "

"Nonsense!"

"Positively. "

"I never heard anything more ridiculous. That saintly young priest! Why, Dora will be tired to death of him in a month. And he? Poor fellow!"

"Why poor fellow? He is very much in love with her. "

"It is hard to understand. St. Jerome's love 'pale with midnight prayer'would be more believable than the butterfly Dora. Goodness, gracious!The idea of that man being in love! It pulls him down a bit. I thoughthe never looked at a woman. "

"Do you know him, father?"

"As many people know him--by good report. I know that he is a clergymanwho believes what he preaches. I know a Wall Street broker who left St. Jude's church because Mr. Stanhope's sermons on Sunday put such a fineedge on his conscience that Mondays were dangerous days for him to dobusiness on. And whatever Wall Street financiers think of the Biblepersonally, they do like a man who sticks to his colors, and who holdsintact the truth committed to him. Stanhope does this emphatically; andhe is so well trusted that if he wanted to build a new church he couldget all the money necessary, from Wall Street men in an hour. And he isgoing to marry! Going to marry Dora Denning! It is 'extraordinary news, 'indeed!"

Ethel was a little offended at such unusual surprise. "I think you don'tquite understand Dora, " she said. "It will be Mr. Stanhope's faultif she is not led in the right way; for if he only loves and pets herenough he may do all he wishes with her. I know, I have both coaxed andordered her for four years--sometimes one way is best, and sometimes theother. "

"How is a man to tell which way to take? What do her parents think ofthe marriage?"

"They are pleased with it. "

"Pleased with it! Then I have nothing more to say, except that I hopethey will not appeal to me on any question of divorce that may arisefrom such an unlikely marriage. "

"They are only lovers yet, Edward, " said Ruth. "It is not fair, or kind, to even think of divorce. "

"My dear Ruth, the fashionable girl of today accepts marriage with theprovision of divorce. "

"Dora is hardly one of that set. "

"I hope she may keep out of it, but marriage will give her manyopportunities. Well, I am sorry for the young priest. He isn't fit tomanage a woman like Dora Denning. I am afraid he will get the worst ofit. "

"I think you are very unkind, father. Dora is my friend, and I know her. She is a girl of intense feelings and very affectionate. And she hasdissolved all her life and mind in Mr. Stanhope's life and mind, just asa lump of sugar is dissolved in water. "

Ruth laughed. "Can you not find a more poetic simile, Ethel?"

"It will do. This is an age of matter; a material symbol is the properthing. "

"I am glad to hear she has dissolved her mind in Stanhope's, " said JudgeRawdon. "Dora's intellect in itself is childish. What did the man see inher that he should desire her?"

"Father, you never can tell how much brains men like with their beauty. Very little will do generally. And Dora has beauty--great beauty; no onecan deny that. I think Dora is giving up a great deal. To her, at least, marriage is a state of passing from perfect freedom into the comparativecondition of a slave, giving up her own way constantly for some oneelse's way. "

"Well, Ethel, the remedy is in the lady's hands. She is not forced tomarry, and the slavery that is voluntary is no hardship. Now, my dear, Ihave a case to look over, and you must excuse me to-night. To-morrow weshall know more concerning Mr. Mostyn, and it is easier to talk aboutcertainties than probabilities. "

But if conversation ceased about Mr. Mostyn, thought did not; for, acouple of hours afterwards, Ethel tapped at her aunt's door and said, "Just a moment, Ruth. "

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"Did you notice what father said about the mortgage on Rawdon Manor"'

"Yes. "

"He seemed to know all about it. "

"I think he does know all about it. "

"Do you think he holds it?"

"He may do so--it is not unlikely. "

"Oh! Then Mr. Fred Mostyn, if he is to inherit Rawdon, would like themortgage removed?"

"Of course he would. "

"And the way to remove it would be to marry the daughter of the holderof the mortgage?"

"It would be one way. "

"So he is coming to look me over. I am a matrimonial possibility. How doyou like that idea, Aunt Ruth?"

"I do not entertain it for a moment. Mr. Mostyn may not even know of themortgage. When men mortgage their estates they do not make confidencesabout the matter, or talk it over with their friends. They alwaysconceal and hide the transaction. If your father holds the mortgage, Ifeel sure that no one but himself and Squire Rawdon know anything aboutit. Don't look at the wrong side of events, Ethel; be content with theright side of life's tapestry. Why are you not asleep? What are youworrying about?"

"Nothing, only I have not heard all I wanted to hear. "

"And perhaps that is good for you. "

"I shall go and see grandmother first thing in the morning. "

"I would not if I were you. You cannot make any excuse she will not seethrough. Your father will call on Mr. Mostyn to-morrow, and we shall getunprejudiced information. "

"Oh, I don't know that, Ruth. Father is intensely American three hundredand sixty-four days and twenty-three hours in a year, and then in theodd hour he will flare up Yorkshire like a conflagration. "

"English, you mean?"

"No. Yorkshire IS England to grandmother and father. They don't thinkanything much of the other counties, and people from them are justrespectable foreigners. You may depend upon it, whatever grandmothersays of Mr. Fred Mostyn, father will believe it, too. "

"Your father always believes whatever your grandmother says. Good night, dear. "

"Good night. I think I shall go to grandmother in the morning. Iknow how to manage her. I shall meet her squarely with the truth, andacknowledge that I am dying with curiosity about Mr. Mostyn. "

"And she will tease and lecture you, say you are 'not sweetheart highyet, only a little maid, ' and so on. Far better go and talk with Dora. To-morrow she will need you, I am sure. Ethel, I am very sleepy. Goodnight again, dear. "

"Good night!" Then with a sudden animation, "I know what to do, I shalltell grandmother about Dora's marriage. It is all plain enough now. Good night, Ruth. " And this good night, though dropping sweetly into theminor third, had yet on its final inflection something of thepleasant hopefulness of its major key--it expressed anticipation andsatisfaction. 

What happened in the night session she could not tell, but she awokewith a positive disinclination to ask a question about Mr. Mostyn. "Ihave received orders from some one, " she said to Ruth; "I simply do notcare whether I ever see or hear of the man again. I am going to Dora, and I may not come home until late. You know they will depend upon mefor every suggestion. "

In fact, Ethel did not return home until the following day, for asnowstorm came up in the afternoon, and the girl was weary with planningand writing, and well inclined to eat with Dora the delicate littledinner served to them in Dora's private parlor. Then about nine o'clockMr. Stanhope called, and Ethel found it pleasant enough to watch thelovers and listen to Mrs. Denning's opinions of what had been alreadyplanned. And the next day she seemed to be so absolutely necessaryto the movement of the marriage preparations, that it was nearly darkbefore she was permitted to return home. 

It was but a short walk between the two houses, and Ethel was resolvedto have the refreshment of the exercise. And how good it was to feel thepinch of the frost and the gust of the north wind, and after it to cometo the happy portal of home, and the familiar atmosphere of the cheerfulhall, and then to peep into the firelit room in which Ruth lay dreamingin the dusky shadows. 

"Ruth, darling!"

"Ethel! I have just sent for you to come home. " Then she rose and tookEthel in her arms. "How delightfully cold you are! And what rosy cheeks!Do you know that we have a little dinner party?"

"Mr. Mostyn?"

"Yes, and your grandmother, and perhaps Dr. Fisher--the Doctor is notcertain. "

"And I see that you are already dressed. How handsome you look! Thatblack lace dress, with the dull gold ornaments, is all right. "

"I felt as if jewels would be overdress for a family dinner. "

"Yes, but jewels always snub men so completely. It is not altogetherthat they represent money; they give an air of royalty, and a womanwithout jewels is like an uncrowned queen--she does not get the homage. I can't account for it, but there it is. I shall wear my sapphirenecklace. What did father say about our new kinsman?"

"Very little. It was impossible to judge from his words what he thought. I fancied that he might have been a little disappointed. "

"I should not wonder. We shall see. "

"You will be dressed in an hour?"

"In less time. Shall I wear white or blue?"

"Pale blue and white flowers. There are some white violets in thelibrary. I have a red rose. We shall contrast each other very well. "

"What is it all about? Do we really care how we look in the eyes of thisMr. Mostyn?"

"Of course we care. We should not be women if we did not care. We mustmake some sort of an impression, and naturally we prefer that it shouldbe a pleasant one. "

"If we consider the mortgage----"

"Nonsense! The mortgage is not in it. "

"Good-by. Tell Mattie to bring me a cup of tea upstairs. I will bedressed in an hour. "

The tea was brought and drank, and Ethel fell asleep while her maidprepared every item for her toilet. Then she spoke to her mistress, andEthel awakened, as she always did, with a smile; nature's surest sign ofa radically sweet temper. And everything went in accord with the smile;her hair fell naturally into its most becoming waves, her dress into itsmost graceful folds; the sapphire necklace matched the blue of her happyeyes, the roses of youth were on her cheeks, and white violets on herbreast. She felt her own beauty and was glad of it, and with a laughingword of pleasure went down to the parlor. 

Madam Rawdon was standing before the fire, but when she heard the dooropen she turned her face toward it. 

"Come here, Ethel Rawdon, " she said, "and let me have a look at you. "And Ethel went to her side, laid her hand lightly on the old lady'sshoulder and kissed her cheek. "You do look middling well, " shecontinued, "and your dress is about as it should be. I like a girl todress like a girl--still, the sapphires. Are they necessary?"

"You would not say corals, would you, grandmother? I have those you gaveme when I was three years old. "

"Keep your wit, my dear, for this evening. I should not wonder but youmight need it. Fred Mostyn is rather better than I expected. It was agreat pleasure to see him. It was like a bit of my own youth back again. When you are a very old woman there are few things sweeter, Ethel. "

"But you are not an old woman, grandmother. "

Nor was she. In spite of her seventy-five years she stood erect at theside of her grand-daughter. Her abundant hair was partly gray, but thegray mingled with the little oval of costly lace that lay upon it, andthe effect was soft and fair as powdering. She had been very handsome, and her beauty lingered as the beauty of some flowers linger, in faintertints and in less firm outlines; for she had never fallen from that"grace of God vouchsafed to children, " and therefore she had kept notonly the enthusiasms of her youth, but that sweet promise of the "timesof restitution" when the child shall die one hundred years old, becausethe child-heart shall be kept in all its freshness and trust. Yes, inRachel Rawdon's heart the well-springs of love and life lay too deep forthe frosts of age to touch. She would be eternally young before she grewold. 

She sat down as Ethel spoke, and drew the girl to her side. "I hear yourfriend is going to marry, " she said. 

"Dora? Yes. "

"Are you sorry?"

"Perhaps not. Dora has been a care to me for four years. I hope herhusband may manage her as well as I have done. "

"Are you afraid he will not?"

"I cannot tell, grandmother. I see all Dora's faults. Mr. Stanhope iscertain that she has no faults. Hitherto she has had her own way ineverything. Excepting myself, no one has ventured to contradict her. But, then, Dora is over head and ears in love, and love, it is said, makes all things easy to bear and to do. "

"One thing, girls, amazes me--it is how readily women go to church andpromise to love, honor, and obey their husbands, when they never intendto do anything of the kind. "

"There is a still more amazing thing, Madam, " answered Ruth; "that isthat men should be so foolish as to think, or hope, they perhaps mightdo so. "

"Old-fashioned women used to manage it some way or other, Ruth. But theold-fashioned woman was a very soft-hearted creature, and, maybe, it wasjust as well that she was. "

"But Woman's Dark Ages are nearly over, Madam; and is not the New Womana great improvement on the Old Woman?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet, Ruth, about the New Woman. I notice onething that a few of the new kind have got into their pretty heads, andthat is, that they ought to have been men; and they have followed upthat idea so far that there is now very little difference in theirlooks, and still less in their walk; they go stamping along with thestep of an athlete and the stride of a peasant on fresh plowed fields. It is the most hideous of walks imaginable. The Grecian bend, whichyou cannot remember, but may have heard of, was a lackadaisical, vulgarwalking fad, but it was grace itself compared with the hideous stridewhich the New Woman has acquired on the golf links or somewhere else. "

"But men stamp and stride in the same way, grandmother. "

"A long stride suits a man's anatomy well enough; it does not suit awoman's--she feels every stride she takes, I'll warrant her. "

"If she plays golf----"

"My dear Ethel, there is no need for her to play golf. It is a man'sgame and was played for centuries by men only. In Scotland, the home ofgolf, it was not thought nice for women to even go to the links, becauseof the awful language they were likely to hear. "

"Then, grandmother, is it not well for ladies to play golf if it keepsmen from using 'awful language' to each other?"

"God love you, child! Men will think what they dare not speak. "

"If we could only have some new men!" sighed Ethel. "The lover of to-dayis just what a girl can pick up; he has no wit and no wisdom and noillusions. He talks of his muscles and smells of cigarettes--perhapsof whisky"--and at these words, Judge Rawdon, accompanied by Mr. FredMostyn, entered the room. 

The introductions slipped over easily, they hardly seemed to benecessary, and the young man took the chair offered as naturally asif he had sat by the hearth all his life. There was no pause and noembarrassment and no useless polite platitudes; and Ethel's firstfeeling about her kinsman was one of admiration for the perfect ease andalmost instinctive at-homeness with which he took his place. He had cometo his own and his own had received him; that was the situation, a verypleasant one, which he accepted with the smiling trust that was at oncethe most perfect and polite of acknowledgments. 

"So you do not enjoy traveling?" said Judge Rawdon as if continuing aconversation. 

"I think it the most painful way of taking pleasure, sir--that is theactual transit. And sleeping cars and electric-lighted steamers andhotels do not mitigate the suffering. If Dante was writing now he mightdepict a constant round of personally conducted tours in Purgatory. I should think the punishment adequate for any offense. But I likearriving at places. New York has given me a lot of new sensationsto-day, and I have forgotten the transit troubles already. "

He talked well and temperately, and yet Ethel could not avoid theconclusion that he was a man of positive character and uncompromisingprejudices. And she also felt a little disappointed in his personality, which contradicted her ideal of a Yorkshire squire. For he was small andslender in stature, and his face was keen and thin, from the highcheek bones to the sharp point of the clean-shaven chin. Yet it wasan interesting face, for the brows were broad and the eyes brightand glancing. That his nature held the opposite of his qualities wasevident from the mouth, which was composed and discreet and generallyclothed with a frank smile, negatived by the deep, sonorous voice whichbelongs to the indiscreet and quarrelsome. His dress was perfect. Ethelcould find no fault in it, except the monocle which he did not use onceduring the evening, and which she therefore decided was a quite idle andunhandsome adjunct. 

One feature of his character was definite--he was a home-loving man. He liked the society of women with whom he could be familiar, andhe preferred the company of books and music to fashionable socialfunctions. This pleasant habit of domesticity was illustrated duringthe evening by an accidental incident--a noisy, mechanical streetorgan stopped before the windows, and in a blatant manner began itsperformance. Conversation was paralyzed by the intrusion and when itwas removed Judge Rawdon said: "What a democratic, leveling, aggressivething music is! It insists on being heard. It is always in the way, it thrusts itself upon you, whether you want it or not. Now art isdifferent. You go to see pictures when you wish to. "

Mostyn did not notice the criticism on music itself, but added in asoft, disapproving way: "That man has no music in him. Do you know thatwas one of Mendelssohn's delicious dreams. This is how it should havebeen rendered, " and he went impulsively to the piano and then the sweetmonotonous cadences and melodious reveries slipped from his long whitefingers till the whole room was permeated with a delicious sense ofmoonlit solitude and conversation was stilled in its languor. The youngman had played his own dismissal, but it was an effective one, andhe complimented himself on his readiness to seize opportunities fordisplay, and on his genius in satisfying them. 

"I think I astonished them a little, " he mused, "and I wonder what thatpretty, cousin of mine thought of the music and the musician. I fancy weshall be good friends; she is proud--that is no fault; and she has verydecided opinions--which might be a great fault; but I think I ratherastonished them. "

To such reflections he stepped rather pompously down the avenue, not atall influenced by any premonition that his satisfactory feelingsmight be imperfectly shared. Yet silence was the first result of hisdeparture. Judge Rawdon took out his pocketbook and began to study itsentries. Ruth Bayard rose and closed the piano. Ethel lifted a magazine, while it was Madam who finally asked in an impatient tone:

"What do you think of Frederick? I suppose, Edward, you have an opinion. Isn't he a very clever man?"

"I should not wonder if he were, mother, clever to a fault. "

"I never heard a young man talk better. "

"He talked a great deal, but then, you know, he was not on his oath. "

"I'll warrant every word he said. "

"Your warrant is fine surety, mother, but I am not bound to believe allI hear. You women can please yourselves. "

And with these words he left the women to find out, if they could, whatmanner of man their newly-found kinsman might be. 

* * * * *

CHAPTER III

ONE of the most comfortable things about Frederick Mostyn was his almostboyish delight in the new life which New York opened to him. Every phaseof it was so fresh, so unusual, that his Yorkshire existence at MostynHall gave him no precedents and no experiences by which to measureevents. The simplest things were surprising or interesting. He was neverweary of taking those exciting "lifts" to the top of twenty-three storybuildings and admiring the wonderful views such altitudes gave him. Hedid not perhaps comprehend how much he was influenced by the frictionof two million wills and interests; did not realize how they evokedan electric condition that got behind the foreground of existence andstirred something more at the roots of his being than any previousexperience had ever done. And this feeling was especially entrancingwhen he saw the great city and majestic river lying at his feet in thewhite, uncanny light of electricity, all its color gone, its breathcold, its life strangely remote and quiet, men moving like shadows, and sounds hollow and faint and far off, as if they came from a distantworld. It gave him a sense of dreamland quite as much as that ofreality. The Yorkshire moors and words grew dull and dreary in hismemory; even the thought of the hunting field could not lure his desire. New York was full of marvelous novelties; its daily routine, even in thehotel and on the streets, gripped his heart and his imagination; and heconfessed to himself that New York was life at first hand; fresh drawn, its very foam sparkling and intoxicating. He walked from the Park to theBattery and examined all that caught his eye. He had a history ofthe city and sought out every historical site; he even went over toWeehawken, and did his best to locate the spot where Burr and Hamiltonfought. He admired Hamilton, but after reading all about the two men, gave his sympathy to Burr, "a clever, unlucky little chap, " he said. "Why do clever men hate each other?" and then he smiled queerly as heremembered political enemies of great men in his own day and his owncountry; and concluded that "it was their nature to do so. "

But in these outside enthusiasms he did not forget his personalrelations. It took him but a few days to domesticate himself in both theRawdon houses. When the weather drove him off the streets, he found apleasant refuge either with Madam or with Ethel and Miss Bayard. Ethelhe saw less frequently than he liked; she was nearly always with DoraDenning, but with Ruth Bayard he contracted a very pleasant friendship. He told her all his adventures and found her more sympathetic than Madamever pretended to be. Madam thought him provincial in his tastes, andwas better pleased to hear that he had a visiting entry at two goodclubs, and had hired a motor ear, and was learning how to manage it. Then she told herself that if he was good to her, she would buy him oneto be proud of before he returned to Yorkshire. 

It was at the Elite Club Bryce Denning first saw him. He came in withShaw McLaren, a young man whose acquaintance was considered as mostdefinitely satisfactory. Vainly Bryce Denning had striven to obtain anynotice whatever from McLaren, whose exclusiveness was proverbial. Whothen was this stranger he appeared so anxious to entertain? His look ofsupreme satisfaction, his high-bred air, and peculiar intonation quicklysatisfied Bryce as to his nationality. 

"English, of course, " he reflected, "and probably one of the aristocratsthat Shaw meets at his recently ennobled sister's place. He is foreverbragging about them. I must find out who Shaw's last British lion is, "and just as he arrived at this decision the person appeared who couldsatisfy him. 

"That man!" was the reply to the inevitable question--"why, he is somerelative of the old lady Rawdon. He is staying at the Holland House, but spends his time with the Rawdons, old and young; the young one is abeauty, you know. "

"Do you think so? She is a good deal at our house. I suppose the fellowhas some pretentions. Judge Rawdon will be a man hard to satisfy with ason-in-law. "

"I fancy his daughter will take that subject in her own hand. Shelooks like a girl of spirit; and this man is not as handsome as mostEnglishmen. "

"Not if you judge him by bulk, but women want more than mere bulk; hehas an air of breeding you can't mistake, and he looks clever. "

"His name is Mostyn. I have heard him spoken of. Would you like to knowhim?"

"I could live without that honor"--then Bryce turned the conversationupon a recent horse sale, and a few moments later was sauntering up theavenue. He was now resolved to make up his quarrel with Dora. ThroughDora he could manage to meet Mostyn socially, and he smiled inanticipation of that proud moment when he should parade in his ownfriendly leash McLaren's new British lion. Besides, the introduction toMr. Mostyn might, if judiciously managed, promote his own acquaintancewith Shaw McLaren, a sequence to be much desired; an end he hadpersistently looked for. 

He went straight to his sister's apartments and touched the bell quitegently. Her maid opened the door and looked annoyed and uncertain. Sheknew all about the cruelly wicked opposition of Miss Denning's brotherto that nice young man, Basil Stanhope; and also the general attitude ofthe Denning household, which was a comprehensive disapproval of all thatMr. Bryce said and did. 

Dora had, however, talked all her anger away; she wished now to befriends with her brother. She knew that his absence from her weddingwould cause unpleasant notice, and she had other reasons, purelyselfish, all emphasizing the advantages of a reconciliation. So she wentto meet Bryce with a pretty, pathetic air of injury patiently endured, and when Bryce put out his hands and said, "Forgive me, Dodo! I cannotbear your anger any longer!" she was quite ready for the next act, whichwas to lay her pretty head on his shoulder and murmur, "I am not angry, Bryce--I am grieved, dear. "

"I know, Dodo--forgive me! It was all my fault. I think I was jealous ofyou; it was hard to find that you loved a stranger better than you lovedme. Kiss me, and be my own sweet, beautiful sister again. I shall try tolike all the people you like--for your sake, you know. "

Then Dora was charming. She sat and talked and planned and told himall that had been done and all that was yet to do. And Bryce neveronce named either Ethel or Mr. Mostyn. He knew Dora was a shrewd littlewoman, and that he would have to be very careful in introducing thesubject of Mr. Mostyn, or else she would be sure to reach the centraltruth of his submission to her. But, somehow, things happen for thosewho are content to leave their desires to contingencies and accidentals. The next morning he breakfasted with the family and felt himselfrepaid for his concession to Dora by the evident pleasure their renewedaffection gave his father and mother; and though the elder Denningmade no remark in the renewed family solidarity, Bryce anticipated manylittle favors and accommodations from his father's satisfaction. 

After breakfast he sat down, lit his cigar and waited. Both his motherand Dora had much to tell him, and he listened, and gave them suchexcellent advice that they were compelled to regret the arrangementsalready made had lacked the benefit of his counsels. 

"But you had Ethel Rawdon, " he said. "I thought she was everybody rolledinto one. "

"Oh, Ethel doesn't know as much as she thinks she does, " said Mrs. Denning. "I don't agree with lots of things she advises. "

"Then take my advice, mother. "

"Oh, Bryce, it is the best of all. "

"Bryce does not know about dress and such things, mother. Ethel findsout what she does not know. Bryce cannot go to modistes and millinerswith me. "

"Well, Ethel does not pay as much attention as she might--she isalways going somewhere or other with that Englishman, that she says is arelative--for my part, I doubt it. "

"Oh, mother!"

"Girls will say anything, Dora, to hide a love affair. Why does shenever bring him here to call?"

"Because I asked her not. I do not want to make new friends, especiallyEnglish ones, now. I am so busy all day, and of course my eveningsbelong to Basil. "

"Yes, and there is no one to talk to me. Ethel and the Englishmanwould pass an hour or two very nicely, and your father is very fond offoreigners. I think you ought to ask Ethel to introduce him to us;then we could have a little dinner for him and invite him to our operabox--don't you agree with me, Bryce?"

"If Dora does. Of course, at this time, Dora's wishes and engagementsare the most important. I have seen the young man at the club with ShawMcLaren and about town with Judge Rawdon and others. He seems a nicelittle fellow. Jack Lacy wanted to introduce me to him yesterday, but Itold him I could live without the honor. Of course, if Dora feelslike having him here that is a very different matter. He is certainlydistinguished looking, and would give an air to the wedding. "

"Is he handsome, Bryce?"

"Yes--and no. Women would rave about him; men would think him finicaland dandified. He looks as if he were the happiest fellow in theworld--in fact, he looked to me so provokingly happy that I dislikedhim; but now that Dodo is my little sister again, I can be happy enoughto envy no one. "

Then Dora slipped her hand into her brother's hand, and Bryce knew thathe might take his way to his little office in William Street, the adventof Mr. Mostyn into his life being now as certain as anything in thisquestionable, fluctuating world could be. As he was sauntering downthe avenue he met Ethel and he turned and walked back with her to theDenning house. He was so good-natured and so good-humored that Ethelcould not avoid an inquisitive look at the usually glum young man, andhe caught it with a laugh and said, "I suppose you wonder what is thematter with me, Miss Rawdon?"

"You look more than usually happy. If I suppose you have found a wife ora fortune, shall I be wrong?"

"You come near the truth; I have found a sister. Do you know I am veryfond of Dora and we have made up our quarrel?"

Then Ethel looked at him again. She did not believe him. She was surethat Dora was not the only evoker of the unbounded satisfaction inBryce Denning's face and manner. But she let the reason pass; she hadno likely arguments to use against it. And that day Mrs. Denning, with aslight air of injury, opened the subject of Mr. Mostyn's introduction tothem. She thought Ethel had hardly treated the Dennings fairly. Everyonewas wondering they had not met him. Of course, she knew they were notaristocrats and she supposed Ethel was ashamed of them, but, for herpart, she thought they were as good as most people, and if it came tomoney, they could put down dollar for dollar with any multi-millionairein America, or England either, for that matter. 

When the reproach took this tone there seemed to be only one thing forEthel to say or to do; but that one thing was exactly what she did notsay or do. She took up Mrs. Denning's reproach and complained that "herrelative and friend had been purposely and definitely ignored. Dora hadtold her plainly she did not wish to make Mr. Mostyn's acquaintance;and, in accord with this feeling, no one in the Denning family hadcalled on Mr. Mostyn, or shown him the least courtesy. She thought thewhole Rawdon family had the best of reasons for feeling hurt at theneglect. "

This view of the case had not entered Mrs. Denning's mind. She wasquickly sorry and apologetic for Dora's selfishness and her ownthoughtlessness, and Ethel was not difficult to pacify. There was thenno duty so imperative as the arrangement of a little dinner for Mr. Mostyn. "We will make it quite a family affair, " said Mrs. Denning, "then we can go to the opera afterwards. Shall I call on Mr. Mostyn atthe Holland House?" she asked anxiously. 

"I will ask Bryce to call, " said Dora. "Bryce will do anything to pleaseme now, mother. "

In this way, Bryce Denning's desires were all arranged for him, and thatevening Dora made her request. Bryce heard it with a pronounced pout ofhis lips, but finally told Dora she was "irresistible, " and as his timefor pleasing her was nearly out, he would even call on the Englishman ather request. 

"Mind!" he added, "I think he is as proud as Lucifer, and I may getnothing for my civility but the excuse of a previous engagement. "

But Bryce Denning expected much more than this, and he got all that heexpected. The young men had a common ground to meet on, and they quicklybecame as intimate as ever Frederick Mostyn permitted himself to be witha stranger. Bryce could hardly help catching enthusiasm from Mostyn onthe subject of New York, and he was able to show his new acquaintancephases of life in the marvelous city which were of the greatest interestto the inquisitive Yorkshire squire--Chinese theaters and opium dives;German, Italian, Spanish, Jewish, French cities sheltering themselveswithin the great arms of the great American city; queer restaurants, where he could eat of the national dishes of every civilized countryunder the sun; places of amusement, legal and illegal, and the vastunder side of the evident life--all the uncared for toiling of thethousands who work through the midnight hours. In these excursions theyoung men became in a way familiar, though neither of them ever told theother the real feelings of their hearts or the real aim of their lives. 

The proposed dinner took place ten days after its suggestion. There wasnothing remarkable in the function itself; all millionaires havethe same delicacies and the same wines, and serve these things withprecisely the same ceremonies. And, as a general thing, the companyfollow rigidly ordained laws of conversation. Stories about publicpeople, remarks about the weather and the opera, are in order; butoriginal ideas or decided opinions are unpardonable social errors. Yet even these commonplace events may contain some element that shallunexpectedly cut a life in two, and so change its aims and desires asto virtually create a new character. It was Frederick Mostyn who inthis instance underwent this great personal change; a change totallyunexpected and for which he was absolutely unprepared. For the peoplegathered in Mrs. Denning's drawing-room were mostly known to him, andthe exceptions did not appear to possess any remarkable traits, exceptBasil Stanhope, who stood thoughtfully at a window, his pale, loftybeauty wearing an air of expectation. Mostyn decided that he wasnaturally impatient for the presence of his fiancee, whose delayedentrance he perceived was also annoying Ethel. Then there was a slightmovement, a sudden silence, and Mostyn saw Stanhope's face flush andturn magically radiant. Mechanically he followed his movement and thenext moment his eyes met Fate, and Love slipped in between. Dora wasthere, a fairy-like vision in pale amber draperies, softened with silklace. Diamonds were in her wonderfully waved hair and round her fairwhite neck. They clasped her belt and adorned the instep of her littleamber silk slippers. She held a yellow rose in her hand, and yellowrosebuds lay among the lace at her bosom, and Mostyn, stupefied by herundreamed-of loveliness, saw golden emanations from the clear pallor ofher face. He felt for a moment or two as if he should certainly faint;only by a miracle of stubborn will did he drag his consciousness fromthat golden-tinted, sparkling haze of beauty which had smitten him likean enchantment. Then the girl was looking at him with her soft, dark, gazelle eyes; she was even speaking to him, but what she said, or whatreply he made, he could never by any means remember. Miss Bayard wasto be his companion, and with some effort and a few indistinct words hegave her his arm. She asked if he was ill, and when a shake of the headanswered the query, she covered the few minutes of his disconcertionwith her conversation. He looked at her gratefully and gathered hispersonality together. For Love had come to him like a two-edged sword, dividing the flesh and the spirit, and he longed to cry aloud andrelieve the sweet torture of the possession. 

Reaction, however, came quickly, and with it a wonderful access ofall his powers. The sweet, strong wine of Love went to his brain likecelestial nectar. All the witty, amusing things he had ever heard cametrooping into his memory, and the dinner was long delayed by his finehumor, his pleasant anecdotes, and the laughing thoughts which otherscaught up and illustrated in their own way. 

It was a feast full of good things, but its spirit was not able to beartransition. The company scattered quickly when it was over to the operaor theater or to the rest of a quiet evening at home, for at the endenthusiasm of any kind has a chilling effect on the feelings. Noneof the party understood this result, and yet all were, in their way, affected by the sudden fall of mental temperature. Mr. Denning wentto his library and took out his private ledger, a penitential sort ofreading which he relished after moods of any kind of enjoyment. Mrs. Denning selected Ethel Rawdon for her text of disillusion. She "thoughtEthel had been a little jealous of Dora's dress, " and Dora said, "It wasone of her surprises, and Ethel thought she ought to know everything. ""You are too obedient to Ethel, " continued Mrs. Denning and Dora lookedwith a charming demureness at her lover, and said, "She had to beobedient to some one wiser than herself, " and so slipped her handinto Basil's hand. And he understood the promise, and with a look ofpassionate affection raised the little jeweled pledge and kissed it. 

Perhaps no one was more affected by this chill, critical after-hourthan Miss Bayard and Ethel. Mostyn accompanied them home, but he wasdepressed, and his courtesy had the air of an obligation. He said hehad a sudden headache, and was not sorry when the ladies bid him "goodnight" on the threshold. Indeed, he felt that he must have refused anyinvitation to lengthen out the hours with them or anybody. He wantedone thing, and he wanted that with all his soul--solitude, that he mightfill it with images of Dora, and with passionate promises that either byfair means or by foul, by right or by wrong, he would win the bewitchingwoman for his wife. 

CHAPTER IV

"WHAT do you think of the evening, Aunt Ruth?" Ethel was in heraunt's room, comfortably wrapped in a pink kimono, when she asked thisquestion. 

"What do you think of it, Ethel?"

"I am not sure. "

"The dinner was well served. "

"Yes. Who was the little dark man you talked with, aunt?"

"He was a Mr. Marriot, a banker, and a friend of Bryce Denning's. He isa fresh addition to society, I think. He had the word 'gold' always onhis lips; and he believes in it as good men believe in God. The generalconversation annoyed him; he could not understand men being entertainedby it. "

"They were, though, for once Jamie Sayer forgot to talk about hispictures. "

"Is that the name of your escort?"

"Yes. "

"And is he an artist?"

"A second-rate one. He is painting Dora's picture, and is a greatfavorite of Mrs. Denning's. "

"A strange, wild-looking man. When I saw him first he was lying, dislocated, over his ottoman rather than sitting on it. "

"Oh, that is a part of his affectations. He is really a childish, self-conscious creature, with a very decided dash of vulgarity. He onlytries to look strange and wild, and he would be delighted if he knew youhad thought him so. "

"I was glad to see Claudine Jeffrys. How slim and graceful she is! And, pray, who is that Miss Ullman?"

"A very rich woman. She has Bryce under consideration. Many other menhave been in the same position, for she is sure they all want her moneyand not her. Perhaps she is right. I saw you talking to her, aunt. "

"For a short time. I did not enjoy her company. She is so mercilesslyrealistic, she takes all the color out of life. Everything about her, even her speech, is sharp-lined as the edge of a knife. She could makeBryce's life very miserable. "

"Perhaps it might turn out the other way. Bryce Denning has capacitiesin the same line. How far apart, how far above every man there, stoodBasil Stanhope!"

"He is strikingly handsome and graceful, and I am sure that his luminousserenity does not arise from apathy. I should say he was a man of verystrong and tender feelings. "

"And he gives all the strength and tenderness of his feelings to Dora. Men are strange creatures. "

"Who directed Dora's dress this evening?"

"Herself or her maid. I had nothing to do with it. The effect wasstunning. "

"Fred thought so. In fact, Fred Hostyn----"

"Fell in love with her. "

"Exactly. 'Fell, ' that is the word--fell prostrate. Usually the loverof to-day walks very timidly and carefully into the condition, stepby step, and calculating every step before he takes it. Fredplunged headlong into the whirling vortex. I am very sorry. It is acatastrophe. "

"I never witnessed the accident before. I have heard of men gettingwounds and falls, and developing new faculties in consequence, but wesaw the phenomenon take place this evening. "

"Love, if it be love, is known in a moment. Man who never saw thesun before would know it was the sun. In Fred's case it was aninstantaneous, impetuous passion, flaming up at the sight of suchunexpected beauty--a passion that will probably fade as rapidly as itrose. "

"Fred is not that kind of a man, aunt. He does not like every one andeverything, but whoever or whatever he does like becomes a lasting partof his life. Even the old chairs and tables at Mostyn are held as sacredobjects by him, though I have no doubt an American girl would trundlethem off to the garret. It is the same with the people. He actuallyregards the Rawdons as belonging in some way to the Mostyns; and I donot believe he has ever been in love before. "

"Nonsense!"

"He was so surprised by the attack. If it had been the tenth ortwentieth time he would have taken it more philosophically; besides, ifhe had ever loved any woman, he would have gone on loving her, and weshould have known all about her perfections by this time. "

"Dora is nearly a married woman, and Mostyn knows it. "

"Nearly may make all the difference. When Dora is married he will becompelled to accept the inevitable and make the best of it. "

"When Dora is married he will idealize her, and assure himself that hermarriage is the tragedy of both their lives. "

"Dora will give him no reason to suppose such a thing. I am sure shewill not. She is too much in love with Mr. Stanhope to notice any otherlover. "

"You are mistaken, Ethel. Swiftly as Fred was vanquished she noticedit, and many times--once even while leaning on Mr. Stanhope's arm--sheturned the arrow in the heart wound with sweet little glances andsmiles, and pretty appeals to the blind adoration of her new lover. Itwas, to me, a humiliating spectacle. How could she do it?"

"I am sure Dora meant no wrong. It is so natural for a lovely girl toshow off a little. She will marry and forget Fred Mostyn lives. "

"And Fred will forget?"

"Fred will not forget. "

"Then I shall be very sorry for your father and grandmother. "

"What have they to do with Fred marrying?"

"A great deal. Fred has been so familiar and homely the last two orthree weeks, that they have come to look upon him as a future memberof the family. It has been 'Cousin Ethel' and 'Aunt Ruth' and even'grandmother' and 'Cousin Fred, ' and no objections have been made to theuse of such personal terms. I think your father hopes for a closer tiebetween you and Fred Mostyn than cousinship. "

"Whatever might have been is over. Do you imagine I could consent to bethe secondary deity, to come after Dora--Dora of all the girls I haveever known? The idea is an insult to my heart and my intelligence. Nothing on earth could make me submit to such an indignity. "

"I do not suppose, Ethel, that any wife is the first object of herhusband's love. "

"At least they tell her she is so, swear it an inch deep; and no womanis fool enough to look beyond that oath, but when she is sure that sheis a second best! AH! That is not a position I will ever take in anyman's heart knowingly. "

"Of course, Fred Mostyn will have to marry. "

"Of course, he will make a duty of the event. The line of Mostyns mustbe continued. England might go to ruin if the Mostyns perished off theEnglish earth; but, Aunt Ruth, I count myself worthy of a better fatethan to become a mere branch in the genealogical tree of the Mostyns. And that is all Fred Mostyn's wife will ever be to him, unless hemarries Dora. "

"But that very supposition implies tragedy, and it is most unlikely. "

"Yes, for Dora is a good little thing. She has never been familiarwith vice. She has even a horror of poor women divorced from impossiblehusbands. She believes her marriage will be watched by the angels, andrecorded in heaven. Basil has instructed her to regard marriage as aholy sacrament, and I am sure he does the same. "

"Then why should we forecast evil to their names? As for Cousin Fred, Idare say he is comfortably asleep. "

"I am sure he is not. I believe he is smoking and calling himself namesfor not having come to New York last May, when father first invited him. Had he done so things might have been different. "

"Yes, they might. When Good Fortune calls, and the called 'will not whenthey may, ' then, 'when they will' Good Fortune has become Misfortune. Welcome a pleasure or a gain at once, or don't answer it at all. It wason this rock, Ethel, the bark that carried my love went to pieces. Iknow; yes, I know!"

"My dear aunt!"

"It is all right now, dear; but things might have been that are not. Asto Dora, I think she may be trusted with Basil Stanhope. He is one ofthe best and handsomest men I ever saw, and he has now rights in Dora'slove no one can tamper with. Mostyn is an honorable man. "

"All right, but--

 "Love will venture in, Where he daurna well be seen; O Love will venture in, Where Wisdom once has been--

and then, aunt, what then?"

PART SECOND -- PLAYING WITH FIRE

CHAPTER V

THE next day after lunch Ethel said she was going to walk down toGramercy Park and spend an hour or two with her grandmother, and "Willyou send the carriage for me at five o'clock?" she asked. 

"Your father has ordered the carriage to be at the Holland House at fiveo'clock. It can call for you first, and then go to the Holland House. But do not keep your father waiting. If he is not at the entrance giveyour card to the outside porter; he will have it sent up to Fred'sapartments. "

"Then father is calling on Fred? What for? Is he sick?"

"Oh, no, business of some kind. I hope you will have a pleasant walk. "

"There is no doubt of it. "

Indeed, she was radiant with its exhilaration when she reached GramercyPark. As she ran up the steps of the big, old-fashioned house she sawMadam at the window picking up some dropped stitches in her knitting. Madam saw her at the same moment, and the old face and the young faceboth alike kindled with love, as well as with happy anticipation ofcoveted intercourse. 

"I am so glad to see you, darling Granny. I could not wait untilto-morrow. "

"And why should you, child? I have been watching for you all morning. Iwant to hear about the Denning dinner. I suppose you went?"

"Yes, we went; we had to. Dinners in strange houses are a commoncalamity; I can't expect to be spared what everyone has to endure. "

"Don't be affected, Ethel. You like going out to dinner. Of course, youdo! It is only natural, considering. "

"I don't, Granny. I like dances and theaters and operas, but I don'tlike dinners. However, the Denning dinner was a grand exception. It gaveme and the others a sensation. "

"I expected that. "

"It was beautifully ordered. Majordomo Parkinson saw to that. If he hadarranged it for his late employer, the Duke of Richmond, it could nothave been finer. There was not a break anywhere. "

"How many were present?"

"Just a dozen. "

"Mr. Denning and Bryce, of course. Who were the others?"

"Mr. Stanhope, of course. Granny, he wore his clerical dress. It madehim look so remarkable. "

"He did right. A clergyman ought to look different from other men. Ido not believe Basil Stanhope, having assumed the dress of a servant ofGod, would put it off one hour for any social exigency. Why should he?It is a grander attire than any military or naval uniform, and no courtdress is comparable, for it is the court dress of the King of kings. "

"All right, dear Granny; you always make things clear to me, yet I meetlots of clergymen in evening dress. "

"Then they ought not to be clergymen. They ought not to wear coats inwhich they can hold any kind of opinions. Who was your companion?"

"Jamie Sayer. "

"I never heard of the man. "

"He is an artist, and is painting Dora's likeness. He is getting on now, but in the past, like all artists, he has suffered a deal. "

"God's will be done. Let them suffer. It is good for genius to suffer. Is he in love with you?"

"Gracious, Granny! His head is so full of pictures that no woman couldfind room there, and if one did, the next new picture would crowd herout. "

"End that story, it is long enough. "

"Do you know Miss Ullman?"

"I have heard of her. Who has not?"

"She has Bryce Denning on trial now. If he marries her I shall pityhim. "

"Pity him! Not I, indeed! He would have his just reward. Like to like, and Amen to it. "

"Then there was Claudine Jeffrys, looking quite ethereal, but verylovely. "

"I know. Her lover was killed in Cuba, and she has been the type offaithful grief ever since. She looks it and dresses it to perfection. "

"And feels it?"

"Perhaps she does. I am not skilled in the feelings of pensive, heart-broken maidens. But her case is a very common one. Lovers arenowhere against husbands, yet how many thousands of good women losetheir husbands every year? If they are poor, they have to hide theirgrief and work for them-selves and their families; if they are rich, very few people believe that they are really sorry to be widows. Areany poor creatures more jeered at than widows? No man believes theyare grieving for the loss of their husbands. Then why should they allsympathize with Claudine about the loss of a lover?"

"Perhaps lovers are nicer than husbands. "

"Pretty much all alike. I have known a few good husbands. Yourgrandfather was one, your father another. But you have said nothingabout Fred. Did he look handsome? Did he make a sensation? Was he acousin to be proud of?"

"Indeed, Granny, Fred was the whole party. He is not naturally handsome, but he has distinction, and he was well-dressed. And I never heardanyone talk as he did. He told the most delightful stories, he was fullof mimicry and wit, and said things that brought everyone into themerry talk; and I am sure he charmed and astonished the whole party. Mr. Denning asked me quietly afterwards 'what university he was educatedat. ' I think he took it all as education, and had some wild ideas offinishing Bryce in a similar manner. "

Madam was radiant. "I told you so, " she said proudly. "The Mostyns haveintellect as well as land. There are no stupid Mostyns. I hope you askedhim to play. I think his way of handling a piano would have taught thema few things Russians and Poles know nothing about. Poor things! How canthey have any feelings left?"

"There was no piano in the room, Granny, and the company separated verysoon after dinner. "

"Somehow you ought to have managed it, Ethel. " Then with a touch ofanxiety, "I hope all this cleverness was natural--I mean, I hope itwasn't champagne. You know, Ethel, we think as we drink, and Fred isn'tused to those frisky wines. Mostyn cellars are full of old sherry andclaret, and Fred's father was always against frothing, sparkling wines. "

"Granny, it was all Fred. Wine had nothing to do with it, but a certainwoman had; in fact, she was the inspirer, and Fred fell fifty fathomsdeep in love with her the very moment she entered the room. He heardnot, felt not, thought not, so struck with love was he. Ruth got himto a window for a few moments and so hid his emotion until he could gethimself together. "

"Oh, what a tale! What a cobweb tale! I don't believe a word of it, " andshe laughed merrily. 

"'Tis true as gospel, Granny. "

"Name her, then. Who was the woman?"

"Dora. "

"It is beyond belief, above belief, out of all reason. It cannot be, and it shall not be, and if you are making up a story to tease me, EthelRawdon----"

"Grandmother, let me tell you just how it came about. We were all in theroom waiting for Dora, and she suddenly entered. She was dressed in softamber silk from head to feet; diamonds were in her black hair, and onthe bands across her shoulders, on her corsage, on her belt, her hands, and even her slippers. Under the electric lights she looked as if shewas in a golden aura, scintillating with stars. She took Fred's breathaway. He was talking to Ruth, and he could not finish the word he wassaying. Ruth thought he was going to faint----"

"Don't tell me such nonsense. "

"Well, grandmother, this nonsense is truth. As I said before, Ruthtook him aside until he got control of himself; then, as he was Dora'sescort, he had to go to her. Ruth introduced them, and as she raised hersoft, black eyes to his, and put her hand on his arm, something happenedagain, but this time it was like possession. He was the courtier in amoment, his eyes flashed back her glances, he gave her smile for smile, and then when they were seated side by side he became inspired andtalked as I have told you. It is the truth, grandmother. "

"Well, there are many different kinds of fools, but Fred Mostyn is theworst I ever heard tell of. Does he not know that the girl is engaged?"

"Knows it as well as I do. "

"None of our family were ever fools before, and I hope Fred will comeround quickly. Do you think Dora noticed the impression she made?"

"Yes, Aunt Ruth noticed Dora; and Ruth says Dora 'turned the arrow inthe heart wound' all the evening. "

"What rubbish you are talking! Say in good English what you mean. "

"She tried every moment they, were together to make him more and morein love with her. "

"What is her intention? A girl doesn't carry on that way for nothing. "

"I do not know. Dora has got beyond me lately. And, grandmother, Iam not troubling about the event as it regards Dora or Fred or BasilStanhope, but as it regards Ethel. "

"What have you to do with it?"

"That is just what I want to have clearly understood. Aunt Ruth told methat father and you would be disappointed if I did not marry Fred. "

"Well?"

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I never shall marry Fred Mostyn. Never!"

"I rather think you will have to settle that question with your father, Ethel. "

"No. I have settled it with myself. The man has given to Dora all thelove that he has to give. I will have a man's whole heart, and notfragments and finger-ends of it. "

"To be sure, that is right. But I can't say much, Ethel, when I onlyknow one side of the case, can I? I must wait and hear what Fred hasto say. But I like your spirit and your way of bringing what is wrongstraight up to question. You are a bit Yorkshire yet, whatever you thinkgets quick to your tongue, and then out it comes. Good girl, your heartis on your lips. "

They talked the afternoon away on this subject, but Madam's last wordswere not only advisory, they were in a great measure sympathetic. "Bestraight with yourself, Ethel, " she said, "then Fred Mostyn can do as helikes; you will be all right. "

She accepted the counsel with a kiss, and then drove to the HollandHouse for her father. He was not waiting, as Ruth had supposed he wouldbe, but then she was five minutes too soon. She sent up her card, andthen let her eyes fall upon a wretched beggar man who was trying to playa violin, but was unable by reason of hunger and cold. He looked as ifhe was dying, and she was moved with a great pity, and longed for herfather to come and give some help. While she was anxiously watching, ayoung man was also struck with the suffering on the violinist's face. He spoke a few words to him, and taking the violin, drew from it suchstrains of melody, that in a few moments a crowd had gathered within thehotel and before it. First there was silence, then a shout of delight;and when it ceased the player's voice thrilled every heart to passionatepatriotism, as he sang with magnificent power and feeling--

 There is not a spot on this wide-peopled earth So dear to our heart as the Land of our Birth, etc. 

A tumult of hearty applause followed, and then he cried, "Gentlemen, this old man fought for the land of our birth. He is dying of hunger, "and into the old man's hat he dropped a bill and then handed it round tomillionaire and workingman alike. Ethel's purse was in her hand. Ashe passed along the curb at which her carriage stood, he looked ather eager face, and with a smile held out the battered hat. She, alsosmiling, dropped her purse into it. In a few moments the hat was nearlyfull; the old man and the money were confided to the care of an hotelofficer, the stream of traffic and pleasure went on its usual way, andthe musician disappeared. 

All that evening the conversation turned constantly to this event. Mostyn was sure he was a member of some operatic troupe. "Voices ofsuch rare compass and exceptional training were not to be found amongnon-professional people, " he said, and Judge Rawdon was of his opinion. 

"His voice will haunt me for many days, " he said. "Those two lines, forinstance--

 'Tis the home of our childhood, that beautiful spot Which memory retains when all else is forgot. 

The melody was wonderful. I wish we could find out where he is singing. His voice, as I said, haunts my ear. "

Ethel might have made the same remark, but she was silent. She hadnoticed the musician more closely than her father or Fred Mostyn, andwhen Ruth Bayard asked her if his personality was interesting, she wasable to give a very clear description of the man. 

"I do not believe he is a professional singer; he is too young, " sheanswered. "I should think he was about twenty-five years old, tall, slender, and alert. He was fashionably dressed, as if he had been, orwas going, to an afternoon reception. Above all things, I should say hewas a gentleman. "

Oh, why are our hearts so accessible to our eyes? Only a smiling glancehad passed between Ethel and the Unknown, yet his image was prisonedbehind the bars of her eyelids. On this day of days she had met Love onthe crowded street, and he had

 "But touched his lute wherein was audible The certain secret thing he had to tell; Only their mirrored eyes met silently";

and a sweet trouble, a restless, pleasing curiosity, had filled herconsciousness. Who was he? Where had he gone to? When should they meetagain? Ah, she understood now how Emmeline Labiche had felt constrainedto seek her lover from the snows of Canada to the moss-veiled oaks ofLouisiana. 

But her joyous, hopeful soul could not think of love and disappointmentat the same moment. "I have seen him, and I shall see him again. We metby appointment. Destiny introduced us. Neither of us will forget, andsomewhere, some day, I shall be waiting, and he will come. "

Thus this daughter of sunshine and hope answered herself; and why not?All good things come to those who can wait in sweet tranquillity forthem, and seldom does Fortune fail to bring love and heart's-ease uponthe changeful stream of changeful days to those who trust her for them. 

On the following morning, when the two girls entered the parlor, theyfound the Judge smoking there. He had already breakfasted, and lookedover the three or four newspapers whose opinions he thought worthy ofhis consideration. They were lying in a state of confusion at his side, and Ethel glanced at them curiously. 

"Did any of the papers speak of the singing before the Holland House?"she asked. 

"Yes. I think reporters must be ubiquitous. All my papers had some sortof a notice of the affair. "

"What do they say?"

"One gave the bare circumstances of the case; another indulged in whatwas supposed to be humorous description; a third thought it might havebeen the result of a bet or dare; a fourth was of the opinion thatconspiracy between the old beggar and the young man was not unlikely, and credited the exhibition as a cleverly original way of obtainingmoney. But all agreed in believing the singer to be a member of someopera company now in the city. "

Ethel was indignant. "It was neither 'bet' nor 'dare' nor 'conspiracy, '"she said. "I saw the singer as he came walking rapidly down the avenue, and he looked as happy and careless as a boy whistling on a countrylane. When his eyes fell on the old man he hesitated, just a moment, and then spoke to him. I am sure they were absolute strangers to eachother. "

"But how can you be sure of a thing like that, Ethel?"

"I don't know 'how, ' Ruth, but all the same, I am sure. And as for itbeing a new way of begging, that is not correct. Not many years ago, oneof the De Reszke brothers led a crippled soldier into a Paris cafe, andsang the starving man into comfort in twenty minutes. "

"And the angelic Parepa Rosa did as much for a Mexican woman, whom shefound in the depths of sorrow and poverty--brought her lifelong comfortwith a couple of her songs. Is it not likely, then, that the gallantknight of the Holland House is really a member of some opera company, that he knew of these examples and followed them?"

"It is not unlikely, Ruth, yet I do not believe that is theexplanation. "

"Well, " said the Judge, throwing his cigarette into the fire, "if thesinger had never heard of De Reszke and Parepa Rosa, we may suppose hima gentleman of such culture as to be familiar with the exquisite Greeklegend of Phoebus Apollo--that story would be sufficient to inspire anyman with his voice. Do you know it?"

Both girls answered with an enthusiastic entreaty for its recital, andthe Judge went to the library and returned with a queer-looking littlebook, bound in marbled paper. 

"It was my father's copy, " he said, "an Oxford edition. " And he turnedthe leaves with loving carefulness until he came to the incident. Thenbeing a fine reader, the words fell from his lips in a stately measurebetter than music:

"After Troy fell there came to Argos a scarred soldier seeking alms. Not deigning to beg, he played upon a lyre; but the handling of arms hadrobbed him of his youthful power, and he stood by the portico hour afterhour, and no one dropped him a lepton. Weary, hungry and thirsty, heleaned in despair against a pillar. A youth came to him and asked, 'Whynot play on, Akeratos?' And Akeratos meekly answered, 'I am no longerskilled. ' 'Then, ' said the stranger, 'hire me thy lyre; here is adidrachmon. I will play, and thou shalt hold out thy cap and be dumb. 'So the stranger took the lyre and swept the strings, and men heard, as it were, the clashing of swords. And he sang the fall of Troy--howHector perished, slain by Achilles, the rush of chariots, the ring ofhoofs, the roar of flames--and as he sang the people stopped to listen, breathless and eager, with rapt, attentive ear. And when the singerceased the soldier's cap was filled with coins, and the people beggedfor yet another song. Then he sang of Venus, till all men's hearts weresoftly stirred, and the air was purple and misty and full of the scentof roses. And in their joy men cast before Akeratos not coins only, butsilver bracelets and rings, and gems and ornaments of gold, until theheap had to its utmost grown, making Akeratos rich in all men's sight. Then suddenly the singer stood in a blaze of light, and the men of Argossaw their god of song, Phoebus Apollo, rise in glory to the skies. "

The girls were delighted; the Judge pleased both with his own renderingof the legend and the manifest appreciation with which it had beenreceived. For a moment or two all felt the exquisite touch of theantique world, and Ethel said, in a tone of longing, "I wish that I had been a Greek and lived in Argos. "

"You would not have liked it as well as being an American and living inNew York, " said her father. 

"And you would have been a pagan, " added Ruth. 

"They were such lovely pagans, Ruth, and they dreamed such beautifuldreams of life. Leave the book with me, father; I will take good care ofit. "

Then the Judge gave her the book, and with a sigh looked into the modernstreet. "I ought to be down at Bowling Green instead of readingGreek stories to you girls, " he said rather brusquely. "I have a veryimportant railway case on my mind, and Phoebus Apollo has nothing todo with it. Good morning. And, Ethel, do not deify the singer on theavenue. He will not turn out, like the singer by the portico, to be agod; be sure of that. "

The door closed before she could answer, and both women remained silenta few minutes. Then Ethel went to the window, and Ruth asked if she wasgoing to Dora's. 

"Yes, " was the answer, but without interest. 

"You are tired with all this shopping and worry?"

"It is not only that I am tired, I am troubled about Fred Mostyn. "

"Why?"

"I do not know why. It is only a vague unrest as yet. But one thing Iknow, I shall oppose anything like Fred making himself intimate withDora. "

"I think you will do wisely in that. "

But in a week Ethel realized that in opposing a lover like Fred Mostynshe had a task beyond her ability. Fred had nothing to do as importantin his opinion as the cultivation of his friendship with Dora Denning. He called it "friendship, " but this misnomer deceived no one, not evenDora. And when Dora encouraged his attentions, how was Ethel to preventthem without some explanation which would give a sort of reality to whatwas as yet a nameless suspicion?

Yet every day the familiarity increased. He seemed to divine theirengagements. If they went to their jeweler's, or to a bazaar, he wassure to stroll in after them. When they came out of the milliner's ormodiste's, Fred was waiting. "He had secured a table at Sherry's; he hadordered lunch, and all was ready. " It was too great an effort to resisthis entreaty. Perhaps no one wished to do so. The girls were utterlytired and hungry, and the thought of one of Fred's lunches was verypleasant. Even if Basil Stanhope was with them, it appeared to be allthe better. Fred always included Dora's lover with a charming courtesy;and, indeed, at such hours, was in his most delightful mood. Stanhopeappeared to inspire him. His mentality when the clergyman was presenttook possession of every incident that came and went, and clothed itin wit and pleasantry. Dora's plighted lover honestly thought Dora'sundeclared lover the cleverest and most delightful of men. And he had noopportunity of noting, as Ethel did, the difference in Fred's attitudewhen he was not present. Then Mostyn's merry mood became sentimental, and his words were charged with soft meanings and looks of adoration, and every tone and every movement made to express far more than thetongue would have dared to utter. 

As this flirtation progressed--for on Dora's part it was only vanity andflirtation--Ethel grew more and more uneasy. She almost wished for sometrifling overt act which would give her an excuse for warning Dora; andone day, after three weeks of such philandering, the opportunity came. 

"I think you permit Fred Mostyn to take too much liberty with you, Dora, " she said as soon as they were in Dora's parlor, and as she spokeshe threw off her coat in a temper which effectively emphasized thewords. 

"I have been expecting this ill-nature, Ethel. You were cross all thetime we were at lunch. You spoiled all our pleasure Pray, what have Ibeen doing wrong with Fred Mostyn?"

"It was Fred who did wrong. His compliments to you were outrageous. He has no right to say such things, and you have no right to listen tothem. "

"I am not to blame if he compliments me instead of you. He was simplypolite, but then it was to the wrong person. "

"Of course it was. Such politeness he had no right to offer you. "

"It would have been quite proper if offered you, I suppose?"

"It would not. It would have been a great impertinence. I have givenhim neither claim nor privilege to address me as 'My lovely Ethel!' Hecalled you many times 'My lovely Dora!' You are not his lovely Dora. When he put on your coat, he drew you closer than was proper; and I sawhim take your hand and hold it in a clasp--not necessary. "

"Why do you listen and watch? It is vulgar. You told me so yourself. AndI am lovely. Basil says that as well as Fred. Do you want a man to lieand say I am ugly?"

"You are fencing the real question. He had no business to use the word'my. ' You are engaged to Basil Stanhope, not to Fred Mostyn. "

"I am Basil's lovely fiancee; I am Fred's lovely friend. "

"Oh! I hope Fred understands the difference. "

"Of course he does. Some people are always thinking evil. "

"I was thinking of Mr. Stanhope's rights. "

"Thank you, Ethel; but I can take care of Mr. Stanhope's rights withoutyour assistance. If you had said you were thinking of Ethel Rawdon'srights you would have been nearer the truth. "

"Dora, I will not listen----"

"Oh, you shall listen to me! I know that you expected Fred to fall inlove with you, but if he did not like to do so, am I to blame?" Ethelwas resuming her coat at this point in the conversation, and Doraunderstood the proud silence with which the act was being accomplished. Then a score of good reasons for preventing such a definite quarrelflashed through her selfish little mind, and she threw her arms aroundEthel and begged a thousand pardons for her rudeness. And Ethel hadalso reasons for avoiding dissension at this time. A break in theirfriendship now would bring Dora forward to explain, and Dora had awonderful cleverness in presenting her own side of any question. Ethelshrunk from her innuendoes concerning Fred, and she knew that Basilwould be made to consider her a meddling, jealous girl who willingly sawevil in Dora's guileless enjoyment of a clever man's company. 

To be misunderstood, to be blamed and pitied, to be made a pedestalfor Dora's superiority, was a situation not to be contemplated. It wasbetter to look over Dora's rudeness in the flush of Dora's pretendedsorrow for it. So they forgave each other, or said they did, andthen Dora explained herself. She declared that she had not the leastintention of any wrong. "You see, Ethel, what a fool the man is aboutme. Somebody says we ought to treat a fool according to his folly. Thatis all I was doing. I am sure Basil is so far above Fred Mostyn that Icould never put them in comparison--and Basil knows it. He trusts me. "

"Very well, Dora. If Basil knows it, and trusts you, I have no more tosay. I am now sorry I named the subject. "

"Never mind, we will forget that it was named. The fact is, Ethel, Iwant all the fun I can get now. When I am Basil's wife I shall have tobe very sedate, and of course not even pretend to know if any other manadmires me. Little lunches with Fred, theater and opera parties, andeven dances will be over for me. Oh, dear, how much I am giving up forBasil! And sometimes I think he never realizes how dreadful it must befor me. "

"You will have your lover all the time then. Surely his constantcompanionship will atone for all you relinquish. "

"Take off your coat and hat, Ethel, and sit down comfortably. I don'tknow about Basil's constant companionship. Tete-a-tetes are tiresomeaffairs sometimes. "

"Yes, " replied Ethel, as she half-reluctantly removed her coat, "theywere a bore undoubtedly even in Paradise. I wonder if Eve was tired ofAdam's conversation, and if that made her listen to--the other party. "

"I am so glad you mentioned that circumstance, Ethel. I shall rememberit. Some day, no doubt, I shall have to remind Basil of the failure ofAdam to satisfy Eve's idea of perfect companionship. " And Dora put herpretty, jeweled hands up to her ears and laughed a low, musical laughwith a childish note of malice running through it. 

This pseudo-reconciliation was not conducive to pleasant intercourse. After a short delay Ethel made an excuse for an early departure, andDora accepted it without her usual remonstrance. The day had been oneof continual friction, and Dora's irritable pettishness hard to bear, because it had now lost that childish unreason which had alwaysinduced Ethel's patience, for Dora had lately put away all her ignorantimmaturities. She had become a person of importance, and had realizedthe fact. The young ladies of St. Jude's had made a pet of their reveredrector's love, and the elder ladies had also shown a marked interest inher. The Dennings' fine house was now talked about and visited. Men ofhigh financial power respected Mr. Dan Denning, and advised the socialrecognition of his family; and Mrs. Denning was not now found moreeccentric than many other of the new rich, who had been tolerated inthe ranks of the older plutocrats. Even Bryce had made the standinghe desired. He was seen with the richest and idlest young men, and wasinvited to the best houses. Those fashionable women who had marriageabledaughters considered him not ineligible, and men temporarilyhampered for cash knew that they could find smiling assistance for aconsideration at Bryce's little office on William Street. 

These and other points of reflection troubled Ethel, and she wasglad the long trial was nearing its end, for she knew quite well thedisagreement of that evening had done no good. Dora would certainlyrepeat their conversation, in her own way of interpreting it, to bothBasil Stanhope and Fred Mostyn. More than likely both Bryce and Mrs. Denning would also hear how her innocent kindness had been misconstrued;and in each case she could imagine the conversation that took place, andthe subsequent bestowal of pitying, scornful or angry feeling that wouldinsensibly find its way to her consciousness without any bird of the airto carry it. 

She felt, too, that reprisals of any kind were out of the question. Theywere not only impolitic, they were difficult. Her father had an aversionto Dora, and was likely to seize the first opportunity for requestingEthel to drop the girl's acquaintance. Ruth also had urged her towithdraw from any active part in the wedding, strengthening her advicewith the assurance that when a friendship began to decline it ought tobe abandoned at once. There was only her grandmother to go to, and atfirst she did not find her at all interested in the trouble. She hadjust had a dispute with her milkman, was inclined to give him all hersuspicions and all her angry words--"an impertinent, cheating creature, "she said; and then Ethel had to hear the history of the month's creamand of the milkman's extortion, with the old lady's characteristicdeclaration:

"I told him plain what I thought of his ways, but I paid him every centI owed him. Thank God, I am not unreasonable!"

Neither was she unreasonable when Ethel finally got her to listen to herown serious grievance with Dora. 

"If you will have a woman for a friend, Ethel, you must put up withwomanly ways; and it is best to keep your mouth shut concerning suchways. I hate to see you whimpering and whining about wrongs you havebeen cordially inviting for weeks and months and years. "

"Grandmother!"

"Yes, you have been sowing thorns for yourself, and then you go unshodover them. I mean that Dora has this fine clergyman, and Fred Mostyn, and her brother, and mother, and father all on her side; all of themsure that Dora can do no wrong, all of them sure that Ethel, poor girl, must be mistaken, or prudish, or jealous, or envious. "

"Oh, grandmother, you are too cruel. "

"Why didn't you have a few friends on your own side?"

"Father and Ruth never liked Dora. And Fred--I told you how Fred actedas soon as he saw her!"

"There was Royal Wheelock, James Clifton, or that handsome Dick Potter. Why didn't you ask them to join you at your lunches and dances? Youought to have pillared your own side. A girl without her beaux is alwayson the wrong side if the girl with beaux is against her. "

"It was the great time of Dora's life. I wished her to have all theglory of it. "

"All her own share--that was right. All of your share, also--that was aswrong as it could be. "

"Clifton is yachting, Royal and I had a little misunderstanding, andDick Potter is too effusive. "

"But Dick's effusiveness would have been a good thing for Fred'seffusiveness. Two men can't go on a complimentary ran-tan at the sametable. They freeze one another out. That goes without saying. But Dora'sindiscretions are none of your business while she is under her father'sroof; and I don't know if she hadn't a friend in the world, if theywould be your business. I have always been against people trying to dothe work of THEM that are above us. We are told THEY seek and THEYsave, and it's likely they will look after Dora in spite of her being sounknowing of herself as to marry a priest in a surplice, when a fool inmotley would have been more like the thing. "

"I don't want to quarrel with Dora. After all, I like her. We have beenfriends a long time. "

"Well, then, don't make an enemy of her. One hundred friends are too fewagainst one enemy. One hundred friends will wish you well, and one enemywill DO you ill. God love you, child! Take the world as you find it. Only God can make it any better. When is this blessed wedding to comeoff?"

"In two weeks. You got cards, did you not?"

"I believe I did. They don't matter. Let Dora and her flirtations alone, unless you set your own against them. Like cures like. If the priestsees nothing wrong----"

"He thinks all she does is perfect. "

"I dare say. Priests are a soft lot, they'll believe anything. He'slove-blind at present. Some day, like the prophet of Pethor, [1] he willget his eyes opened. As for Fred Mostyn, I shall have a good deal to sayabout him by and by, so I'll say nothing now. "

[Footnote 1: One of the Hebrew prophets. ]

"You promised, grandmother, not to talk to me any more about Fred. "

"It was a very inconsiderate promise, a very irrational promise! I amsorry I made it--and I don't intend to keep it. "

"Well, it takes two to hold a conversation, grandmother. "

"To be sure it does. But if I talk to you, I hope to goodness you willhave the decency to answer me. I wouldn't believe anything different. "And she looked into Ethel's face with such a smiling confidence in hergood will and obedience, that Ethel could only laugh and give her twentykisses as she stood up to put on her hat and coat. 

"You always get your way, Granny, " she said; and the old lady, as shewalked with her to the door, answered, "I have had my way for nearlyeighty years, dearie, and I've found it a very good way. I'm not likelyto change it now. "

"And none of us want you to change it, dear. Granny's way is always awise way. " And she kissed her again ere she ran down the steps to hercarriage. Yet as the old lady stepped slowly back to the parlor, shemuttered, "Fred Mostyn is a fool! If he had any sense when he leftEngland, he has lost it since he came here. "

Of course nothing good came of this irritable interference. Meddlingwith the conscience of another person is a delicate and difficultaffair, and Ruth had already warned Ethel of its certain futility. Butthe days were rapidly wearing away to the great day, for which somany other days had been wasted in fatiguing worry, and incredibleextravagance of health and temper and money--and after it? There wouldcertainly be a break in associations. Temptation would be removed, andBasil Stanhope, relieved for a time from all the duties of his office, would have continual opportunities for making eternally secure theaffection of the woman he had chosen. 

It was to be a white wedding, and for twenty hours previous to itscelebration it seemed as if all the florists in New York were at work inthe Denning house and in St. Jude's church. The sacred place was radiantwith white lilies. White lilies everywhere; and the perfume would havebeen overpowering, had not the weather been so exquisite that openwindows were possible and even pleasant. To the softest strains of musicDora entered leaning on her father's arm and her beauty and splendorevoked from the crowd present an involuntary, simultaneous stir ofwonder and delight. She had hesitated many days between the simplicityof white chiffon and lilies of the valley, and the magnificence ofbrocaded satin in which a glittering thread of silver was interwoven. The satin had won the day, and the sunshine fell upon its beauty, asshe knelt at the altar, like sunshine falling upon snow. It shoneand gleamed and glistened as if it were an angel's robe; and thisscintillating effect was much increased by the sparkling of the diamondsin her hair, and at her throat and waist and hands and feet. Nor washer brilliant youth affected by the overshadowing tulle usually sounbecoming. It veiled her from head to feet, and was held in place bya diamond coronal. All her eight maids, though lovely girls, looked wanand of the earth beside her. For her sake they had been content withthe simplicity of chiffon and white lace hats, and she stood among themlustrous as some angelic being. Stanhope was entranced by her beauty, and no one on this day wondered at his infatuation or thought remarkablethe ecstasy of reverent rapture with which he received the hand of hisbride. His sense of the gift was ravishing. She was now his love, hiswife forever, and when Ethel slipped forward to part and throw backwardthe concealing veil, he very gently restrained her, and with his ownhands uncovered the blushing beauty, and kissed her there at the altar. Then amid a murmur and stir of delighted sympathy he took his wife uponhis arm, and turned with her to the life they were to face together. 

Two hours later all was a past dream. Bride and bridegroom had slippedquietly away, and the wedding guests had arrived at that rather noisyindifference which presages the end of an entertainment. Then flushedand tired with hurrying congratulations and good wishes that stumbledover each other, carriage after carriage departed; and Ethel and hercompanions went to Dora's parlor to rest awhile and discuss the event ofthe day. But Dora's parlor was in a state of confusion. It had, too, anair of loss, and felt like a gilded cage from which the bird had flown. They looked dismally at its discomfort and went downstairs. Men wereremoving the faded flowers or sitting at the abandoned table eatingand drinking. Everywhere there was disorder and waste, and from theservants' quarter came a noisy sense of riotous feasting. 

"Where is Mrs. Denning?" Ethel asked a footman who was gatheringtogether the silver with the easy unconcern of a man whose ideas wererosy with champagne. He looked up with a provoking familiarity at thequestion, and sputtered out, "She's lying down crying and making a fuss. Miss Day is with her, soothing of her. "

"Let us go home, " said Ethel. 

And so, weary with pleasure, and heart-heavy with feelings that had nolonger any reason to exist, pale with fatigue, untidy with crush, theirpretty white gowns sullied and passe, each went her way; in every hearta wonder whether the few hilarious hours of strange emotions were worthall they claimed as their right and due. 

Ruth had gone home earlier, and Ethel found her resting in her room. "Iam worn out, Ruth, " was her first remark. "I am going to bed for threeor four days. It was a dreadful ordeal. "

"One to which you may have to submit. "

"Certainly not. My marriage will be a religious ceremony, with half adozen of my nearest relatives as witnesses. "

"I noticed Fred slip away before Dora went. He looked ill. "

"I dare say he is ill--and no wonder. Good night, Ruth. I am going tosleep. Tell father all about the wedding. I don't want to hear it namedagain--not as long as I live. "

CHAPTER VI

THREE days passed and Ethel had regained her health and spirits, butFred Mostyn had not called since the wedding. Ruth thought some inquiryought to be made, and Judge Rawdon called at the Holland House. Therehe was told that Mr. Mostyn had not been well, and the young man'scountenance painfully confessed the same thing. 

"My dear Fred, why did you not send us word you were ill?" asked theJudge. 

"I had fever, sir, and I feared it might be typhoid. Nothing of thekind, however. I shall be all right in a day or two. "

The truth was far from typhoid, and Fred knew it. He had left thewedding breakfast because he had reached the limit of his endurance. Words, stinging as whips, burned like hot coals in his mouth, and hefelt that he could not restrain them much longer. Hastening to hishotel, he locked himself in his rooms, and passed the night in a frenzyof passion. The very remembrance of the bridegroom's confident transportput mur-der in his heart--murder which he could only practice by hiswishes, impotent to compass their desires. 

"I wish the fellow shot! I wish him hanged! I would kill him twentytimes in twenty different ways! And Dora! Dora! Dora! What did she seein him? What could she see? Love her? He knows nothing of love--suchlove as tortures me. " Backwards and forwards he paced the floor to suchimprecations and ejaculations as welled up from the whirlpool of rage inhis heart, hour following hour, till in the blackness of his misery hecould no longer speak. His brain had become stupefied by the iterationof inevitable loss, and so refused any longer to voice a woe beyondremedy. Then he stood still and called will and reason to council him. "This way madness lies, " he thought. "I must be quiet--I must sleep--Imust forget. "

But it was not until the third day that a dismal, sullen stillnesssucceeded the storm of rage and grief, and he awoke from a sleep ofexhaustion feeling as if he were withered at his heart. He knew thatlife had to be taken up again, and that in all its farces he must playhis part. At first the thought of Mostyn Hall presented itself as anasylum. It stood amid thick woods, and there were miles of wind-blownwolds and hills around it. He was lord and master there, no one couldintrude upon his sorrow; he could nurse it in those lonely rooms tohis heart's content. Every day, however, this gloomy resolution grewfainter, and one morning he awoke and laughed it to scorn. 

"Frederick's himself again, " he quoted, "and he must have been very faroff himself when he thought of giving up or of running away. No, FredMostyn, you will stay here. 'Tis a country where the impossible does notexist, and the unlikely is sure to happen--a country where marriage isnot for life or death, and where the roads to divorce are manifold andeasy. There are a score of ways and means. I will stay and think themover; 'twill be odd if I cannot force Fate to change her mind. "

A week after Dora's marriage he found himself able to walk up theavenue to the Rawdon house; but he arrived there weary and wan enoughto instantly win the sympathy of Ruth and Ethel, and he was immenselystrengthened by the sense of home and kindred, and of genuine kindnessto which he felt a sort of right. He asked Ruth if he might eat dinnerwith them. He said he was hungry, and the hotel fare did not tempt him. And when Judge Rawdon returned he welcomed him in the same generousspirit, and the evening passed delightfully away. At its close, however, as Mostyn stood gloved and hatted, and the carriage waited for him, hesaid a few words to Judge Rawdon which changed the mental and socialatmosphere. "I wish to have a little talk with you, sir, on a businessmatter of some importance. At what hour can I see you to-morrow?"

"I am engaged all day until three in the afternoon, Fred. Suppose I callon you about four or half-past?"

"Very well, sir. "

But both Ethel and Ruth wondered if it was "very well. " A shadow, fleeting as thought, had passed over Judge Rawdon's face when heheard the request for a business interview, and after the young man'sdeparture he lost himself in a reverie which was evidently not a happyone. But he said nothing to the girls, and they were not accustomed toquestion him. 

The next morning, instead of going direct to his office, he stopped atMadam, his moth-er's house in Gramercy Park. A visit at such an earlyhour was unusual, and the old lady looked at him in alarm. 

"We are well, mother, " he said as she rose. "I called to talk to youabout a little business. " Whereupon Madam sat down, and became suddenlyabout twenty years younger, for "business" was a word like a watch-cry;she called all her senses together when it was uttered in her presence. 

"Business!" she ejaculated sharply. "Whose business?"

"I think I may say the business of the whole family. "

"Nay, I am not in it. My business is just as I want it, and I am notgoing to talk about it--one way or the other. "

"Is not Rawdon Court of some interest to you? It has been the home andseat of the family for many centuries. A good many. Mostyn women havebeen its mistress. "

"I never heard of any Mostyn woman who would not have been far happieraway from Rawdon Court. It was a Calvary to them all. There was littleNannie Mostyn, who died with her first baby because Squire Anthonystruck her in a drunken passion; and the proud Alethia Mostyn, whosuffered twenty years' martyrdom from Squire John; and Sara, who tookthirty thousand pounds to Squire Hubert, to fling away at the greentable; and Harriet, who was made by her husband, Squire Humphrey, tojump a fence when out hunting with him, and was brought home crippledand scarred for life--a lovely girl of twenty who went through agoniesfor eleven years without aught of love and help, and died alone while hewas following a fox; and there was pretty Barbara Mostyn----"

"Come, come, mother. I did not call here this morning to hear theRawdons abused, and you forget your own marriage. It was a happy one, Iam sure. One Rawdon, at least, must be excepted; and I think I treatedmy wife as a good husband ought to treat a wife. "

"Not you! You treated Mary very badly. "

"Mother, not even from you----"

"I'll say it again. The little girl was dying for a year or more, andyou were so busy making money you never saw it. If she said or lookeda little complaint, you moved restless-like and told her 'she moped toomuch. ' As the end came I spoke to you, and you pooh-poohed all I said. She went suddenly, I know, to most people, but she knew it was her lastday, and she longed so to see you, that I sent a servant to hurry youhome, but she died before you could make up your mind to leave your'cases. ' She and I were alone when she whispered her last message foryou--a loving one, too. "

"Mother! Mother! Why recall that bitter day? I did not think--I swear Idid not think----"

"Never mind swearing. I was just reminding you that the Rawdons havenot been the finest specimens of good husbands. They make landlords, andjudges, and soldiers, and even loom-lords of a very respectable sort;but husbands! Lord help their poor wives! So you see, as a Mostyn woman, I have no special interest in Rawdon Court. "

"You would not like it to go out of the family?"

"I should not worry myself if it did. "

"I suppose you know Fred Mostyn has a mortgage on it that the presentSquire is unable to lift. "

"Aye, Fred told me he had eighty thousand pounds on the old place. Itold him he was a fool to put his money on it. "

"One of the finest manors and manor-houses in England, mother. "

"I have seen it. I was born and brought up near enough to it, I think. "

"Eighty thousand pounds is a bagatelle for the place; yet if Fred forcesa sale, it may go for that, or even less. I can't bear to think of it. "

"Why not buy it yourself?"

"I would lift the mortgage to-morrow if I had the means. I have not atpresent. "

"Well, I am in the same box. You have just spoken as if the Mostynsand Rawdons had an equal interest in Rawdon Court. Very well, then, itcannot be far wrong for Fred Mostyn to have it. Many a Mostyn has gonethere as wife and slave. I would dearly like to see one Mostyn go asmaster. "

"I shall get no help from you, then, I understand that. "

"I'm Mostyn by birth, I'm only Rawdon by, marriage. The birth-band tiesme fast to my family. "

"Good morning, mother. You have failed me for the first time in yourlife. "

"If the money had been for you, Edward, or yours----"

"It is--good-by. "

She called him back peremptorily, and he returned and stood at the opendoor. 

"Why don't you ask Ethel?"

"I did not think I had the right, mother. "

"More right to ask her than I. See what she says. She's Rawdon, everyinch of her. "

"Perhaps I may. Of course, I can sell securities, but it would be at asacrifice a great sacrifice at present. "

"Ethel has the cash; and, as I said, she is Rawdon--I'm not. "

"I wish my father were alive. "

"He wouldn't move me--you needn't think that. What I have said to you Iwould have said to him. Speak to Ethel. I'll be bound she'll listen ifRawdon calls her. "

"I don't like to speak to Ethel. "

"It isn't what you like to do, it's what you find you'll have to do, that carries the day; and a good thing, too, considering. "

"Good morning, again. You are not quite yourself, I think. "

"Well, I didn't sleep last night, so there's no wonder if I'm a bitcross this morning. But if I lose my temper, I keep my understanding. "

She was really cross by this time. Her son had put her in a position shedid not like to assume. No love for Rawdon Court was in her heart. Shewould rather have advanced the money to buy an American estate. Shehad been little pleased at Fred's mortgage on the old place, but tothe American Rawdons she felt it would prove a white elephant; andthe appeal to Ethel was advised because she thought it would amount tonothing. In the first place, the Judge had the strictest idea of thesacredness of the charge committed to him as guardian of his daughter'sfortune. In the second, Ethel inherited from her Yorkshire ancestry anintense sense of the value and obligations of money. She was an ardentAmerican, and not likely to spend it on an old English manor; and, furthermore, Madam's penetration had discovered a growing dislike in hergranddaughter for Fred Mostyn. 

"She'd never abide him for a lifelong neighbor, " the old lady decided. "It is the Rawdon pride in her. The Rawdon men have condescended to goto Mostyn for wives many and many a time, but never once have the Mostynmen married a Rawdon girl--proud, set-up women, as far as I remember;and Ethel has a way with her just like them. Fred is good enough andnice enough for any girl, and I wonder what is the matter with him!It is a week and more since he was here, and then he wasn't a bit likehimself. "

At this moment the bell rang and she heard Fred's voice inquiring "ifMadam was at home. " Instantly she divined the motive of his call. Theyoung man had come to the conclusion the Judge would try to influencehis mother, and before meeting him in the afternoon he wished to havesome idea of the trend matters were likely to take. His policy--cunning, Madam called it--did not please her. She immediately assured herselfthat "she wouldn't go against her own flesh and blood for anyone, " andhis wan face and general air of wretchedness further antagonized her. She asked him fretfully "what he had been doing to himself, for, " sheadded, "it's mainly what we do to ourselves that makes us sick. Was itthat everlasting wedding of the Denning girl?"

He flushed angrily, but answered with much of the same desire to annoy, "I suppose it was. I felt it very much. Dora was the loveliest girl inthe city. There are none left like her. "

"It will be a good thing for New York if that is the case. I'm not onethat wants the city to myself, but I can spare Dora STANHOPE, and feelthe better for it. "

"The most beautiful of God's creatures!"

"You've surely lost your sight or your judgment, Fred. She is just adusky-skinned girl, with big, brown eyes. You can pick her sort up bythe thousand in any large city. And a wandering-hearted, giddy creature, too, that will spread as she goes, no doubt. I'm sorry for BasilStanhope, he didn't deserve such a fate. "

"Indeed, he did not! It is beyond measure too good for him. "

"I've always heard that affliction is the surest way to heaven. Dorawill lead him that road, and it will be more sure than pleasant. Poorfellow! He'll soon be as ready to curse his wedding-day as Job was tocurse his birthday. A costly wife she will be to keep, and misery in thekeeping of her. But if you came to talk to me about Dora STANHOPE, I'llcease talking, for I don't find it any great entertainment. "

"I came to talk to you about Squire Rawdon. "

"What about the Squire? Keep it in your mind that he and I weresweethearts when we were children. I haven't forgotten that fact. "

"You know Rawdon Court is mortgaged to me?"

"I've heard you say so--more than once. "

"I intend to foreclose the mortgage in September. I find that I canget twice yes, three times--the interest for my money in Americansecurities. "

"How do you know they are securities?"

"Bryce Denning has put me up to several good things. "

"Well, if you think good things can come that road, you are a biggerfool than I ever thought you. "

"Fool! Madam, I allow no one to call me a fool, especially withoutreason. "

"Reason, indeed! What reason was there in your dillydallying after DoraDenning when she was engaged, and then making yourself like a ghost forher after she is married? As for the good things Bryce Denning offersyou in exchange for a grand English manor, take them, and then if Icalled you not fool before, I will call you fool in your teeth twiceover, and much too good for you! Aye, I could call you a worse name whenI think of the old Squire--he's two years older than I am--being turnedout of his lifelong home. Where is he to go to?"

"If I buy the place, for of course it will have to be sold, he iswelcome to remain at Rawdon Court. "

"And he would deserve to do it if he were that low-minded; but if I knowSquire Percival, he will go to the poor-house first. Fred, you wouldsurely scorn such a dirty thing as selling the old man out of house andhome?"

"I want my money, or else I want Rawdon Manor. "

"And I have no objections either to your wanting it or having it, but, for goodness' sake, wait until death gives you a decent warrant forbuying it. "

"I am afraid to delay. The Squire has been very cool with me lately, andmy agent tells me the Tyrrel-Rawdons have been visiting him, also thathe has asked a great many questions about the Judge and Ethel. He isevidently trying to prevent me getting possession, and I know that oldNicholas Rawdon would give his eyelids to own Rawdon Court. As to theJudge----"

"My son wants none of it. You can make your mind easy on that score. "

"I think I behaved very decently, though, of course, no one gives mecredit for it; for as soon as I saw I must foreclose in order to get myown I thought at once of Ethel. It seemed to me that if we could loveeach other the money claims of Mostyn and the inherited claims of Rawdonwould both be satisfied. Unfortunately, I found that I could not loveEthel as a wife should be loved. "

"And I can tell you, Fred, that Ethel never could have loved you as ahusband should be loved. She was a good deal disappointed in you fromthe very first. "

"I thought I made a favorable impression on her. "

"In a way. She said you played the piano nicely; but Ethel is all forhandsome men, tall, erect six-footers, with a little swing and swaggerto them. She thought you small and finicky. But Ethel's rich enough tohave her fancy, I hope. "

"It is little matter now what she thought. I can't please every one. "

"No, it's rather harder to do that than most people think it is. Iwould please my conscience first of all, Fred. That's the point worthmentioning. And I shall just remind you of one thing more: your moneyall in a lump on Rawdon Manor is safe. It is in one place, and in suchshape as it can't run away nor be smuggled away by any man's trickery. Now, then, turn your eighty thousand pounds into dollars, and dividethem among a score of securities, and you'll soon find out that afortune may be easily squandered when it is in a great many hands, andthat what looks satisfactory enough when reckoned up on paper doesn'toften realize in hard money to the same tune. I've said all now I amgoing to say. "

"Thank you for the advice given me. I will take it as far as I can. Thisafternoon the Judge has promised to talk over the business with me. "

"The Judge never saw Rawdon Court, and he cares nothing about it, but hecan give you counsel about the 'good things' Bryce Denning offers you. And you may safely listen to it, for, right or wrong, I see plainly itis your own advice you will take in the long run. "

Mostyn laughed pleasantly and went back to his hotel to think over thefacts gleaned from his conversation with Madam. In the first place, he understood that any overt act against Squire Rawdon would be deeplyresented by his American relatives. But then he reminded himself thathis own relationship with them was merely sentiment. He had now nothingto hope for in the way of money. Madam's apparently spontaneous andtruthful assertion, that the Judge cared nothing for Rawdon Court, was, however, very satisfactory to him. He had been foolish enough to thinkthat the thing he desired so passionately was of equal value inthe estimation of others. He saw now that he was wrong, and he thenremembered that he had never found Judge Rawdon to evince eitherinterest or curiosity about the family home. 

If he had been a keen observer, the Judge's face when he called mighthave given his comfortable feelings some pause. It was contracted, subtle, intricate, but he came forward with a congratulation on Mostyn'simproved appearance. "A few weeks at the seaside would do you good, " headded, and Mostyn answered, "I think of going to Newport for a month. "

"And then?"

"I want your opinion about that. McLean advises me to see thecountry--to go to Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, cross the Rockies, and onto California. It seems as if that would be a grand summer programme. But my lawyer writes me that the man in charge at Mostyn is cutting toomuch timber and is generally too extravagant. Then there is the questionof Rawdon Court. My finances will not let me carry the mortgage on itlonger, unless I buy the place. "

"Are you thinking of that as probable?"

"Yes. It will have to be sold. And Mostyn seems to be the natural ownerafter Rawdon. The Mostyns have married Rawdons so frequently that we arealmost like one family, and Rawdon Court lies, as it were, at Mostyn'sgate. The Squire is now old, and too easily persuaded for his ownwelfare, and I hear the Tyrrel-Rawdons have been visiting him. Such athing would have been incredible a few years ago. "

"Who are the Tyrrel-Rawdons? I have no acquaintance with them. "

"They are the descendants of that Tyrrel-Rawdon who a century agomarried a handsome girl who was only an innkeeper's daughter. He was ofcourse disowned and disinherited, and his children sank to the lowestsocial grade. Then when power-loom weaving was introduced they went tothe mills, and one of them was clever and saved money and built a littlemill of his own, and his son built a much larger one, and made a greatdeal of money, and became Mayor of Leeds. The next generation saw theTyrrel-Rawdons the largest loom-lords in Yorkshire. One of the youngestgeneration was my opponent in the last election and beat me--a Radicalfellow beats the Conservative candidate always where weavers andspinners hold the vote but I thought it my duty to uphold the Mostynbanner. You know the Mostyns have always been Tories and Conservatives. "

"Excuse me, but I am afraid I am ignorant concerning Mostyn politics. Itake little interest in the English parties. "

"Naturally. Well, I hope you will take an interest in my affairs andgive me your advice about the sale of Rawdon Court. "

"I think my advice would be useless. In the first place, I never saw theCourt. My father had an old picture of it, which has somehow disappearedsince his death, but I cannot say that even this picture interested meat all. You know I am an American, born on the soil, and very proudof it. Then, as you are acquainted with all the ins and outs of thedifficulties and embarrassments, and I know nothing at all about them, you would hardly be foolish enough to take my opinion against your own. I suppose the Squire is in favor of your buying the Court?"

"I never named the subject to him. I thought perhaps he might havewritten to you on the matter. You are the last male of the house in thatline. "

"He has never written to me about the Court. Then, I am not the lastmale. From what you say, I think the Tyrrel-Rawdons could easily supplyan heir to Rawdon. "

"That is the thing to be avoided. It would be a great offense to thecounty families. "

"Why should they be considered? A Rawdon is always a Rawdon. "

"But a cotton spinner, sir! A mere mill-owner!"

"Well, I do not feel with you and the other county people in thatrespect. I think a cotton spinner, giving bread to a thousand families, is a vastly more respectable and important man than a fox-hunting, idlelandlord. A mill-owning Rawdon might do a deal of good in the sleepy oldvillage of Monk-Rawdon. "

"Your sentiments are American, not English, sir. "

"As I told you, we look at things from very different standpoints. "

"Do you feel inclined to lift the mortgage yourself, Judge?"

"I have not the power, even if I had the inclination to do so. Mymoney is well invested, and I could not, at this time, turn bonds andsecurities into cash without making a sacrifice not to be contemplated. I confess, however, that if the Court has to be sold, I should like theTyrrel-Rawdons to buy it. I dare say the picture of the offending youthis still in the gallery, and I have heard my mother say that what isanother's always yearns for its lord. Driven from his heritage forLove's sake, it would be at least interesting if Gold gave back to hischildren what Love lost them. "

"That is pure sentiment. Surely it would be more natural that theMostyns should succeed the Rawdons. We have, as it were, bought theright with at least a dozen intermarriages. "

"That also is pure sentiment. Gold at last will carry the succession. "

"But not your gold, I infer?"

"Not my gold; certainly not. "

"Thank you for your decisive words They make my course clear. "

"That is well. As to your summer movements, I am equally unable togive you advice. I think you need the sea for a month, and after thatMcLean's scheme is good. And a return to Mostyn to look after youraffairs is equally good. If I were you, I should follow my inclinations. If you put your heart into anything, it is well done and enjoyed; ifyou do a thing because you think you ought to do it, failure anddisappointment are often the results. So do as you want to do; it is theonly advice I can offer you. "

"Thank you, sir. It is very acceptable. I may leave for Newportto-morrow. I shall call on the ladies in the morning. "

"I will tell them, but it is just possible that they, too, go to thecountry to-morrow, to look after a little cottage on the Hudson weoccupy in the summer. Good-by, and I hope you will soon recover yourusual health. "

Then the Judge lifted his hat, and with a courteous movement left theroom. His face had the same suave urbanity of expression, but he couldhardly restrain the passion in his heart. Placid as he looked when heentered his house, he threw off all pretenses as soon as he reached hisroom. The Yorkshire spirit which Ethel had declared found him out oncein three hundred and sixty-four days and twenty-three hours was then infull pos-session. The American Judge had disappeared. He looked as likehis ancestors as anything outside of a painted picture could do. Hisflushed face, his flashing eyes, his passionate exclamations, the stampof his foot, the blow of his hand, the threatening attitude of hiswhole figure was but a replica of his great-grandfather, Anthony Rawdon, giving Radicals at the hustings or careless keepers at the kennels "abit of his mind. "

"'Mostyn, seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon! Rawdon Court liesat Mostyn's gate! Natural that the Mostyns should succeed the Rawdons!Bought the right by a dozen intermarriages!' Confound the impudentrascal! Does he think I will see Squire Rawdon rogued out of his home?Not if I can help it! Not if Ethel can help it! Not if heaven andearth can help it! He's a downright rascal! A cool, unruffled, impudentrascal!" And these ejaculations were followed by a bitter, biting, blasting hailstorm of such epithets as could only be written with oneletter and a dash. 

But the passion of imprecation cooled and satisfied his anger in thisits first impetuous outbreak, and he sat down, clasped the arms of hischair, and gave himself a peremptory order of control. In a short timehe rose, bathed his head and face in cold water, and began to dress fordinner. And as he stood before the glass he smiled at the restored colorand calm of his countenance. 

"You are a prudent lawyer, " he said sarcastically. "How many actionablewords have you just uttered! If the devil and Fred Mostyn have beenlistening, they can, as mother says, 'get the law on you'; but I thinkEthel and I and the law will be a match even for the devil and FredMostyn. " Then, as he slowly went downstairs, he repeated to himself, "Mostyn seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon. No, sir, neithernatural nor legal owner. Rawdon Court lies at Mostyn gate. Not yet. Mostyn lies at Rawdon gate. Natural that the Mostyns should succeed theRawdons. Power of God! Neither in this generation nor the next. "

And at the same moment Mostyn, having thought over his interview withJudge Rawdon, walked thoughtfully to a window and muttered to himself:"Whatever was the matter with the old man? Polite as a courtier, butsomething was wrong. The room felt as if there was an iceberg in it, andhe kept his right hand in his pocket. I be-lieve he was afraid Iwould shake hands with him--it is Ethel, I suppose. Naturally he isdisappointed. Wanted her at Rawdon. Well, it is a pity, but I reallycannot! Oh, Dora! Dora! My heart, my hungry and thirsty heart calls you!Burning with love, dying with longing, I am waiting for you!"

The dinner passed pleasantly enough, but both Ethel and Ruth noticed theJudge was under strong but well-controlled feeling. While servants werepresent it passed for high spirits, but as soon as the three were alonein the library, the excitement took at once a serious aspect. 

"My dears, " he said, standing up and facing them, "I have had a verypainful interview with Fred Mostyn. He holds a mortgage over RawdonCourt, and is going to press it in September--that is, he proposes tosell the place in order to obtain his money--and the poor Squire!" Heceased speaking, walked across the room and back again, and appearedgreatly disturbed. 

"What of the Squire?" asked Ruth. 

"God knows, Ruth. He has no other home. "

"Why is this thing to be done? Is there no way to prevent it?"

"Mostyn wants the money, he says, to invest in American securities. Hedoes not. He wants to force a sale, so that he may buy the place for themortgage, and then either keep it for his pride, or more likely resellit to the Tyrrel-Rawdons for double the money. " Then with graduallyincreasing passion he repeated in a low, intense voice the remarks whichMostyn had made, and which had so infuriated the Judge. Before hehad finished speaking the two women had caught his temper and spirit. Ethel's face was white with anger, her eyes flashing, her whole attitudefull of fight. Ruth was troubled and sorrowful, and she looked anxiouslyat the Judge for some solution of the condition. It was Ethel who voicedthe anxiety. "Father, " she asked, "what is to be done? What can you do?"

"Nothing, I am sorry to say, Ethel. My money is absolutely tied up--forthis year, at any rate. I cannot touch it without wronging others aswell as myself, nor yet without the most ruinous sacrifice. "

"If I could do anything, I would not care at what sacrifice. "

"You can do all that is necessary, Ethel, and you are the only personwho can. You have at least eight hundred thousand dollars in cash andnegotiable securities. Your mother's fortune is all yours, with itslegitimate accruements, and it was left at your own disposal after yourtwenty-first birthday. It has been at your own disposal WITH MY CONSENTsince your nineteenth birthday. "

"Then, father, we need not trouble about the Squire. I wish with allmy heart to make his home sure to him as long as he lives. You are alawyer, you know what ought to be done. "

"Good girl! I knew what you would say and do, or I should not have toldyou the trouble there was at Rawdon. Now, I propose we all make avisit to Rawdon Court, see the Squire and the property, and while thereperfect such arrangements as seem kindest and wisest. Ruth, how soon canwe be ready to sail?"

"Father, do you really mean that we are to go to England?"

"It is the only thing to do. I must see that all is as Mostyn says. Imust not let you throw your money away. "

"That is only prudent, " said Ruth, "and we can be ready for the firststeamer if you wish it. "

"I am delighted, father. I long to see England; more than all, I long tosee Rawdon. I did not know until this moment how much I loved it. "

"Well, then, I will have all ready for us to sail next Saturday. Saynothing about it to Mostyn. He will call to-morrow morning to bid yougood-by before leaving for Newport with McLean. Try and be out. "

"I shall certainly be out, " said Ethel. "I do not wish ever to see hisface again, and I must see grandmother and tell her what we are going todo. "

"I dare say she guesses already. She advised me to ask you about themortgage. She knew what you would say. "

"Father, who are the Tyrrel-Rawdons?"

Then the Judge told the story of the young Tyrrel-Rawdon, who a centuryago had lost his world for Love, and Ethel said "she liked him betterthan any Rawdon she had ever heard of. "

"Except your father, Ethel. "

"Except my father; my dear, good father. And I am glad that Love did notalways make them poor. They must now be rich, if they want to buy theCourt. "

"They are rich manufacturers. Mostyn is much annoyed that the Squirehas begun to notice them. He says one of the grandsons of theTyrrel-Rawdons, disinherited for love's sake, came to America some timein the forties. I asked your grandmother if this story was true. Shesaid it is quite true; that my father was his friend in the matter, and that it was his reports about America which made them decide to trytheir fortune in New York. "

"Does she know what became of him?"

"No. In his last letter to them he said he had just joined a partygoing to the gold fields of California. That was in 1850. He neverwrote again. It is likely he perished on the terrible journey across theplains. Many thousands did. "

"When I am in England I intend to call upon these Tyrrel-Rawdons. Ithink I shall like them. My heart goes out to them. I am proud of thisbit of romance in the family. "

"Oh, there is plenty of romance behind you, Ethel. When you see the oldSquire standing at the entrance to the Manor House, you may see the hagsof Cressy and Agincourt, of Marston and Worcester behind him. And theRawdon women have frequently been daughters of Destiny. Many of themhave lived romances that would be incredible if written down. Oh, Ethel, dear, we cannot, we cannot for our lives, let the old home fall into thehands of strangers. At any rate, if on inspection we think it wrong tointerfere, I can at least try and get the children of the disinheritedTyrrel back to their home. Shall we leave it at this point for thepresent?"

This decision was agreeable to all, and then the few preparationsnecessary for the journey were talked over, and in this happy discussionthe evening passed rapidly. The dream of Ethel's life had beenthis visit to the home of her family, and to go as its savior was aconsummation of the pleasure that filled her with loving pride. Shecould not sleep for her waking dreams. She made all sorts of resolutionsabout the despised Tyrrel-Rawdons. She intended to show the proud, indolent world of the English land-aristocracy that Americans, just aswell born as themselves, respected business energy and enterprise; andshe had other plans and propositions just as interesting and as full ofyouth's impossible enthusiasm. 

In the morning she went to talk the subject over with her grandmother. The old lady received the news with affected indifference. She said, "It mattered nothing to her who sat in Rawdon's seat; but she would nothear Mostyn blamed for seeking his right. Money and sentiment are nokin, " she added, "and Fred has no sentiment about Rawdon. Why should he?Only last summer Rawdon kept him out of Parliament, and made him spend alot of money beside. He's right to get even with the family if he can. "

"But the old Squire! He is now----"

"I know; he's older than I am. But Squire Percival has had his day, and Fred would not do anything out of the way to him--he could not; thecounty would make both Mostyn and Rawdon very uncomfortable places tolive in, if he did. "

"If you turn a man out of his home when he is eighty years old, Ithink that is 'out of the way. ' And Mr. Mostyn is not to be trusted. Iwouldn't trust him as far as I could see him. "

"Highty-tighty! He has not asked you to trust him. You lost your chancethere, miss. "

"Grandmother, I am astonished at you!"

"Well, it was a mean thing to say, Ethel; but I like Fred, and I see therest of my family are against him. It's natural for Yorkshire to helpthe weakest side. But there, Fred can do his own fighting, I'll warrant. He's not an ordinary man. "

"I'm sorry to say he isn't, grandmother. If he were he would speakwithout a drawl, and get rid of his monocle, and not pay such minuteattention to his coats and vests and walking sticks. "

Then Ethel proceeded to explain her resolves with regard to theTyrrel-Rawdons. "I shall pay them the greatest attention, " she said. "It was a noble thing in young Tyrrel-Rawdon to give up everything forhonorable love, and I think everyone ought to have stood by him. "

"That wouldn't have done at all. If Tyrrel had been petted as you thinkhe ought to have been, every respectable young man and woman in thecounty would have married where their fancy led them; and the fancies ofyoung people mostly lead them to the road it is ruin to take. "

"From what Fred Mostyn says, Tyrrel's descendants seem to have taken avery respectable road. "

"I've nothing to say for or against them. It's years and years since Ilaid eyes on any of the family. Your grandfather helped one of the youngmen to come to America, and I remember his mother getting into a passionabout it. She was a fat woman in a Paisley shawl and a love-bird on herbonnet. I saw his sister often. She weighed about twelve stone, and hadred hair and red cheeks and bare red elbows. She was called a 'strappinglass. ' That is quite a complimentary term in the West Riding. "

"Please, grandmother, I don't want to hear any more. In two weeksI shall be able to judge for myself. Since then there have beentwo generations, and if a member of the present one is fit forParliament----"

"That's nothing. We needn't look for anything specially refined inParliament in these days. There's another thing. These Tyrrel-Rawdonsare chapel people. The rector of Rawdon church would not marry Tyrrel tohis low-born love, and so they went to the Methodist preacher, and afterthat to the Methodist chapel. That put them down, more than you canimagine here in America. "

"It was a shame! Methodists are most respectable people. "

"I'm saying nothing contrary. "

"The President is a Methodist. "

"I never asked what he was. I am a Church of England woman, you knowthat. Born and bred in the Church, baptized, confirmed, and married inthe Church, and I was always taught it was the only proper Church forgentlemen and gentlewomen to be saved in. However, English Methodistsoften go back to the Church when they get rich. "

"Church or chapel makes no difference to me, grandmother. If people areonly good. "

"To be sure; but you won't be long in England until you'll find out thatsome things make a great deal of difference. Do you know your father washere this morning? He wanted me to go with you--a likely, thing. "

"But, grandmother, do come. We will take such good care of you, and----"

"I know, but I'd rather keep my old memories of Yorkshire than getnew-fashioned ones. All is changed. I can tell that by what Fredsays. My three great friends are dead. They have left children andgrandchildren, of course, but I don't want to make new acquaintances atmy age, unless I have the picking of them. No, I shall get Miss Hillisto go with me to my little cabin on the Jersey coast. We'll take ourknitting and the fresh novels, and I'll warrant we'll see as much ofthe new men and women in them as will more than satisfy us. But you mustwrite me long letters, and tell me everything about the Squire and theway he keeps house, and I don't care if you fill up the paper with theTyrrel-Rawdons. "

"I will write you often, Granny, and tell you everything. "

"I shouldn't wonder if you come across Dora Stanhope, but I wouldn't askher to Rawdon. She'll mix some cup of bother if you do. "

"I know. "

In such loving and intimate conversation the hours sped quickly, andEthel could not bear to cut short her visit. It was nearly five whenshe left Gramercy Park, but the day being lovely, and the avenue full ofcarriages and pedestrians, she took the drive at its enforced tardinesswithout disapproval. Almost on entering the avenue from Madison Squarethere was a crush, and her carriage came to a standstill. She was thenopposite the store of a famous English saddler, and near her was an opencarriage occupied by a middle-aged gentleman in military uniform. Heappeared to be waiting for someone, and in a moment or two a young mancame out of the saddlery store, and with a pleasant laugh entered thecarriage. It was the Apollo of her dreams, the singer of the HollandHouse pavement. She could not doubt it. His face, his figure, his walk, and the pleasant smile with which he spoke to his companion were allpositive characteristics. She had forgotten none of them. His dress wasaltered to suit the season, but that was an improvement; for divested ofhis heavy coat, and clothed only in a stylish afternoon suit, his tall, fine figure showed to great advantage; and Ethel told herself that hewas even handsomer than she had supposed him to be. 

Almost as soon as he entered his carriage there was a movement, andshe hoped her driver might advance sufficiently to make recognitionpossible, but some feeling, she knew not what, prevented her givingany order leading to this result. Perhaps she had an instinctivepresentiment that it was best to leave all to Destiny. Toward the upperpart of the avenue the carriage of her eager observation came to a standbefore a warehouse of antique furniture and bric-a-brac, and, as it didso, a beautiful woman ran down the steps, and Apollo, for so Ethel hadmen-tally called him, went hurriedly to meet her. Finally her coachmanpassed the party, and there was a momentary recognition. He was bendingforward, listening to something the lady was saying, when the vehiclesalmost touched each other. He flashed a glance at them, and met theflash of Ethel's eyes full of interest and curiosity. 

It was over in a moment, but in that moment Ethel saw his astonishmentand delight, and felt her own eager questioning answered. Then she wasjoyous and full of hope, for "these two silent meetings are promises, "she said to Ruth. "I feel sure I shall see him again, and then we shallspeak to each other. "

"I hope you are not allowing yourself to feel too much interest in thisman, Ethel; he is very likely married. "

"Oh, no! I am sure he is not, Ruth. "

"How can you be sure? You know nothing about him. "

"I cannot tell HOW I know, nor WHY I know, but I believe what I feel;and he is as much interested in me as I am in him. I confess that is agreat deal. "

"You may never see him again. "

"I shall expect to see him next winter, he evidently lives in New York. "

"The lady you saw may be his wife. Don't be interested in any man onunknown ground, Ethel. It is not prudent--it is not right. "

"Time will show. He will very likely be looking for me this summer atNewport and elsewhere. He will be glad to see me when I come home. Don'tworry, Ruth. It is all right. "

"Fred called soon after you went out this morning. He left for Newportthis afternoon. He will be at sea now. "

"And we shall be there in a few days. When I am at the seaside I alwaysfeel a delicious torpor; yet Nelly Baldwin told me she loved an Atlanticpassage because she had such fun on board. You have crossed severaltimes, Ruth; is it fun or torpor?"

"All mirth at sea soon fades away, Ethel. Passengers are a very dullclass of people, and they know it; they rebel against it, but every hourit becomes more natural to be dull. Very soon all mentally accommodatethemselves to being bored, dreamy and dreary. Then, as soon as it isdark, comes that old mysterious, hungering sound of the sea; and I forone listen till I can bear it no longer, and so steal away to bed with apain in my heart. "

"I think I shall like the ocean. There are games, and books, andcompany, and dinners, and other things. "

"Certainly, and you can think yourself happy, until gradually acontented cretinism steals over you, body and mind. "

"No, no!" said Ethel enthusiastically. "I shall do according toSwinburne--

 "'Have therefore in my heart, and in my mouth, The sound of song that mingles North and South; And in my Soul the sense of all the Sea!'"

And Ruth laughed at her dramatic attitude, and answered: "The soul ofall the sea is a contented cretinism, Ethel. But in ten days we may bein Yorkshire. And then, my dear, you may meet your Prince--some fineYorkshire gentleman. "

"I have strictly and positively promised myself that my Prince shall bea fine American gentleman. "

"My dear Ethel, it is very seldom

 "'the time, and the place, And the Loved One, come together. '"

"I live in the land of good hope, Ruth, and my hopes will be realized. "

"We shall see. "

PART THIRD -- "I WENT DOWN INTO THE GARDEN TO SEE IF THE POMEGRANATESBUDDED. "

 --Song of Solomon, VI. 11. 

CHAPTER VII

IT was a lovely afternoon on the last day of May. The sea and all thetoil and travail belonging to it was overpass, and Judge Rawdon, Ruthand Ethel were driving in lazy, blissful contentment through one ofthe lovely roads of the West Riding. On either hand the beautifullycut hedges were white and sweet, and a caress of scent--the soul ofthe hawthorne flower enfolded them. Robins were singing on the topmostsprays, and the linnet's sweet babbling was heard from the happy nestsin its secret places; while from some unseen steeple the joyful soundof chiming bells made music between heaven and earth fit for bands oftraveling angels. 

They had dined at a wayside inn on jugged hare, roast beef, andYorkshire pudding, clotted cream and haver (oaten) bread, and thecareless stillness of physical well-being and of minds at ease needed nospeech, but the mutual smiling nod of intimate sympathy. For the senseof joy and beauty which makes us eloquent is far inferior to that sensewhich makes us silent. 

This exquisite pause in life was suddenly ended by an exclamation fromthe Judge. They were at the great iron gates of Rawdon Park, andsoon were slowly traversing its woody solitudes. The soft light, theunspeakable green of the turf, the voice of ancient days murmuring inthe great oak trees, the deer asleep among the ferns, the stillnessof the summer afternoon filling the air with drowsy peace this was theatmosphere into which they entered. Their road through this grand parkof three hundred acres was a wide, straight avenue shaded with beechtrees. The green turf on either hand was starred with primroses. In thedeep undergrowth, ferns waved and fanned each other, and the scent ofhidden violets saluted as they passed. Drowsily, as if half asleep, the blackbirds whistled their couplets, and in the thickest hedges thelittle brown thrushes sang softly to their brooding mates. For half anhour they kept this heavenly path, and then a sudden turn brought themtheir first sight of the old home. 

It was a stately, irregular building of red brick, sandaled and veiledin ivy. The numerous windows were all latticed, the chimneys inpicturesque stacks, the sloping roof made of flags of sandstone. Itstood in the center of a large garden, at the bottom of which ran ababbling little river--a cheerful tongue of life in the sweet, silentplace. They crossed it by a pretty bridge, and in a few minutes stoodat the great door of the mansion. It was wide open, and the Squire, withoutstretched hands, rose to meet them. While yet upon the threshold hekissed both Ethel and Ruth, and, clasping the Judge's hand, gazed at himwith such a piercing, kindly look that the eyes of both men filled withtears. 

He led them into the hall, and standing there he seemed almost a part ofit. In his youth he had been a son of Anak, and his great size had beenmatched by his great strength. His stature was still large, his facebroad and massive, and an abundance of snow-white hair emphasized thedignity of a countenance which age had made nobler. The generations ofeight hundred years were crystallized in this benignant old man, lookingwith such eager interest into the faces of his strange kindred from afar-off land. 

In the evening they sat together in the old hall talking of the Rawdons. "There is great family of us, living and dead, " said the Squire, "and Icount them all my friends. Bare is the back that has no kin behind it. That is not our case. Eight hundred years ago there was a Rawdon inRawdon, and one has never been wanting since. Saxon, Danish, Norman, andStuart kings have been and gone their way, and we remain; and I can tellyou every Rawdon born since the House of Hanover came to England. Wehave had our share in all England's strife and glory, for if there wasever a fight going on anywhere Rawdon was never far off. Yes, we canstring the centuries together in the battle flags we have won. Seethere!" he cried, pointing to two standards interwoven above the centralchimney-piece; "one was taken from the Paynim in the first Crusade, andthe other my grandson took in Africa. It seems but yesterday, and QueenVictoria gave him the Cross for it. Poor lad, he had it on when he died. It went to the grave with him. I wouldn't have it touched. I fancy theRawdons would know it. No one dare say they don't. I think they meddle agood deal more with this life than we count on. "

The days that followed were days in The House Wonderful. It held thetreasure-trove of centuries; all its rooms were full of secrets. Even the common sitting-room had an antique homeliness that provokedquestions as to the dates of its furniture and the whereabouts of itswall cupboards and hidden recesses. Its china had the marks of forgottenmakers, its silver was puzzling with half-obliterated names and dates, its sideboard of oak was black with age and full of table accessories, the very names of which were forgotten. For this house had not beenbuilt in the ordinary sense, it had grown through centuries; grown outof desire and necessity, just as a tree grows, and was therefore fitand beautiful. And it was no wonder that about every room floatedthe perfume of ancient things and the peculiar family aura that hadsaturated all the inanimate objects around them. 

In a few days, life settled itself to orderly occupations. The Squirewas a late riser; the Judge and his family breakfasted very early. Thenthe two women had a ride in the park, or wandered in the garden, or satreading, or sewing, or writing in some of the sweet, fair rooms. Manyvisitors soon appeared, and there were calls to return and courtesies toaccept. Among these visitors the Tyrrel-Rawdons were the earliest. Therepresentatives of that family were Nicholas Rawdon and his wife Lydia. Nicholas Rawdon was a large, stout man, very arrogant, very complete, very alert for this world, and not caring much about the other. He wasnot pleased at Judge Rawdon's visit, but thought it best to becousinly until his cousin interfered with his plans--"rights" he calledthem--"and then!" and his "THEN" implied a great deal, for NicholasRawdon was a man incapable of conceiving the idea of loving an enemy. 

His wife was a pleasant, garrulous woman, who interested Ethel verymuch. Her family was her chief topic of conversation. She had twodaughters, one of whom had married a baronet, "a man with money and easyto manage"; and the other, "a rich cotton lord in Manchester. "

"They haven't done badly, " she said confidentially, "and it's a greatthing to get girls off your hands early. Adelaide and Martha were welleducated and suitable, but, " she added with a glow of pride, "you shouldsee my John Thomas. He's manager of the mill, and he loves the mill, andhe knows every pound of warp or weft that comes in or goes out of themill; and what his father would do without him, I'm sure I don't know. And he is a member of Parliament, too--Radical ticket. Won over Mostyn. Wiped Mostyn out pretty well. That was a thing to do, wasn't it?"

"I suppose Mr. Mostyn was the Conservative candidate?"

"You may be sure of that. But my John Thomas doesn't blame him forit--the gentry have to be Conservatives. John Thomas said little againsthis politics; he just set the crowd laughing at his ways--his dandifiedways. And he tried to wear one eyeglass, and let it fall, and fall, andthen told the men 'he couldn't manage half a pair of spectacles; but hecould manage their interests and fight for their rights, ' and such liketalk. And he walked like Mostyn, and he talked like Mostyn, and spreadout his legs, and twirled his walking stick like Mostyn, and asked them'if they would wish him to go to Parliament in that kind of a shape, ashe'd try and do it if they wanted a tailor-made man'; and they laughedhim down, and then he spoke reasonable to them. John Thomas knows whatYorkshire weavers want, and he just prom-ised them everything they hadset their hearts on; and so they sent him to Parliament, and Mostyn wentto America, where, perhaps, they'll teach him that a man's life is wortha bit more than a bird or a rabbit. Mostyn is all for preserving game, and his father was a mean creature. When one thinks of his father, onehas to excuse the young man a little bit. "

"I saw a good deal of Mr. Mostyn in New York, " said Ethel. "He used tospeak highly of his father. "

"I'll warrant he did; and he ought to keep at it, for he's the only onein this world that will use his tongue for that end. Old Samuel Mostynnever learned to live godly or even manly, but after his death he ceasedto do evil, and that, I've no doubt, often feels like a blessing to themthat had to live anyway near to him. But my John Thomas!"

"Oh, " cried Ethel, laughing, "you must not tell me so much about JohnThomas; he might not like it. "

"John Thomas can look all he does and all he says straight in the face. You may talk of him all day, and find nothing to say that a good girllike you might not listen to. I should have brought him with us, buthe's away now taking a bit of a holiday. I'm sure he needs it. "

"Where is he taking his holiday?"

"Why, he went with a cousin to show him the sights of London; butsomehow they got through London sights very quick, and thought theymight as well put Paris in. I wish they hadn't. I don't trust foreignersand foreign ways, and they don't have the same kind of money as ours;but Nicholas says I needn't worry; he is sure that our John Thomas, ifchange is to make, will make it to suit himself. "

"How soon will he be home?"

"I might say to-day or any other early day. He's been idling for a monthnow, and his father says 'the very looms are calling out for him. ' I'llbring him to see you just as soon as he comes home, looms or no looms, and he'll be fain to come. No one appreciates a pretty girl more thanJohn Thomas does. "

So the days passed sweetly and swiftly onward, and there was no troublein them. Such business as was to be done went on behind the closeddoors of the Squire's office, and with no one present but himself, JudgeRawdon, and the attorneys attached to the Rawdon and Mostyn estates. Andas there were no entanglements and no possible reason for disputing, a settlement was quickly arrived at. Then, as Mostyn's return wasuncertain, an attorney's messenger, properly accredited, was sent toAmerica to procure his signatures. Allowing for unforeseen delays, theperfected papers of release might certainly be on hand by the fifteenthof July, and it was proposed on the first of August to give a dinnerand dance in return for the numerous courtesies the American Rawdons hadreceived. 

As this date approached Ruth and Ethel began to think of a visit toLondon. They wanted new gowns and many other pretty things, and why notgo to London for them? The journey was but a few hours, and two or threedays' shopping in Regent Street and Piccadilly would be delightful. "Wewill make out a list of all we need this afternoon, " said Ruth, "andwe might as well go to-morrow morning as later, " and at this momenta servant entered with the mail. Ethel lifted her letter with anexclamation. "It is from Dora, " she said, and her voice had a tone ofannoyance in it. "Dora is in London, at the Savoy. She wants to see mevery much. "

"I am so sorry. We have been so happy. "

"I don't think she will interfere much, Ruth. "

"My dears, " said Judge Rawdon, "I have a letter from Fred Mostyn. He iscoming home. He will be in London in a day or two. "

"Why is he coming, father?"

"He says he has a proposal to make about the Manor. I wish he were notcoming. No one wants his proposal. " Then the breakfast-table, which hadbeen so gay, became silent and depressed, and presently the Judge wentaway without exhibiting further interest in the London journey. 

"I do wish Dora would let us alone, " said Ruth. "She always bringsdisappointment or worry of some kind. And I wonder what is the meaningof this unexpected London visit. I thought she was in Holland. "

"She said in her last letter that London would be impossible beforeAugust. "

"Is it an appointment--or a coincidence?"

And Ethel, lifting her shoulders sarcastically, as if in hostilesurrender to the inevitable, answered:

"It is a fatality!"

CHAPTER VIII

THREE days afterward Ethel called on Dora Stanhope at the Savoy. Shefound her alone, and she had evidently been crying. Indeed, shefrankly admitted the fact, declaring that she had been "so bored and sohomesick, that she relieved she had cried her beauty away. " She glancedat Ethel's radiant face and neat fresh toilet with envy, and added, "Iam so glad to see you, Ethel. But I was sure that you would come as soonas you knew I wanted you. "

"Oh, indeed, Dora, you must not make yourself too sure of such a thingas that! I really came to London to get some new gowns. I have beenshopping all morning. "

"I thought you had come in answer to my letter. I was expecting you. That is the reason I did not go out with Basil. "

"Don't you expect a little too much, Dora? I have a great many interestsand duties----"

"I used to be first. "

"When a girl marries she is supposed to----"

"Please don't talk nonsense. Basil does not take the place of everyoneand everything else. I think we are often very tired of each other. Thismorning, when I was telling him what trouble I had with my maid, Julia, he actually yawned. He tried to smother the yawn, but he could not, andof course the honeymoon is over when your bridegroom yawns in your facewhile you are telling him your troubles. "

"I should think you would be glad it was over. Of all the words in theEnglish language 'honeymoon' is the most ridiculous and imbecile. "

"I suppose when you get married you will take a honeymoon. "

"I shall have more sense and more selfishness. A girl could hardlyenter a new life through a medium more trying. I am sure it wouldneed long-tested affections and the sweetest of tempers to make itendurable. "

"I cannot imagine what you mean. "

"I mean that all traveling just after marriage is a great blunder. Traveling makes the sunniest disposition hasty and peevish, for womendon't love changes as men do. Not one in a thousand is seen at her bestwhile traveling, and the majority are seen at their very worst. Thenthere is the discomfort and desolation of European hotels--theirmysterious methods and hours, and the ways of foreigners, which are notas our ways. "

"Don't talk of them, Ethel. They are dreadful places, and such queerpeople. "

"Add to these troubles ignorance of language and coinage, the utterweariness of railway travel, the plague of customs, the trunk thatwon't pack, the trains that won't wait, the tiresome sight-seeing, the climatic irritability, broiling suns, headache, loneliness, fretfulness--consequently the pitiful boredom of the new husband. "

"Ethel, what you say is certainly too true. I am weary to death of itall. I want to be at Newport with mother, who is having a lovely timethere. Of course Basil is very nice to me, and yet there have beenlittle tiffs and struggles--very gentle ones--for the mastery, whichhe is not going to get. To-day he wanted me to go with him and CanonShackleton to see something or other about the poor of London. I wouldnot do it. I am so lonely, Ethel, I want to see some one. I feel fit tocry all the time. I like Basil best of anyone in the world, but----"

"But in the solitude of a honeymoon among strangers you find out thatthe person you like best in the world can bore you as badly as theperson you don't like at all. Is that so?"

"Exactly. Just fancy if we were among our friends in Newport. I shouldhave some pleasure in dressing and looking lovely. Why should I dresshere? There is no one to see me. "

"Basil. "

"Of course, but Basil spends all the time in visiting cathedrals andclergymen. If we go out, it is to see something about the poor, or aboutschools and such like. We were not in London two hours until he was offto Westminster Abbey, and I didn't care a cent about the old place. Hesays I must not ask him to go to theaters, but historical old housesdon't interest me at all. What does it matter if Cromwell slept in acertain ancient shabby room? And as for all the palaces I have seen, myfather's house is a great deal handsomer, and more convenient, and morecomfortable, and I wish I were there. I hate Europe, and England I hateworst of all. "

"You have not seen England. We are all enraptured with its beauty andits old houses and pleasant life. "

"You are among friends--at home, as it were. I have heard all aboutRawdon Court. Fred Mostyn told me. He is going to buy it. "

"When?"

"Some time this fall. Then next year he will entertain us, and that willbe a little different to this desolate hotel, I think. "

"How long will you be in London?"

"I cannot say. We are invited to Stanhope Castle, but I don't want to gothere. We stayed with the Stanhopes a week when we first came over. Theywere then in their London house, and I got enough of them. "

"Did you dislike the family?"

"No, I cared nothing about them. They just bored me. They are extremelyreligious. We had prayers night and morning, and a prayer before andafter every meal. They read only very good books, and the HonorableMisses Stanhope sew for the poor old women and teach the poor youngones. They work harder than anyone I ever knew, and they call it'improving the time. ' They thought me a very silly, reckless youngwoman, and I think they all prayed for me. One night after they had sungsome very nice songs they asked me to play, and I began with 'My LittleBrown Rose'--you know they all adore the negro--and little by little Idropped into the funniest coon songs I knew, and oh how they laughed!Even the old lord stroked his knees and laughed out loud, while theyoung ladies laughed into their handkerchiefs. Lady Stanhope was theonly one who comprehended I was guying them; and she looked at me withhalf-shut eyes in a way that would have spoiled some girls' fun. It onlymade me the merrier. So I tried to show them a cake walk, but the oldlord rose then and said 'I must be tired, and they would excuse me. 'Somehow I could not manage him. Basil was at a workman's concert, andwhen he came home I think there were some advices and remonstrances, butBasil never told me. I felt as if they were all glad when I went away, and I don't wish to go to the Castle--and I won't go either. "

"But if Basil wishes to go----"

"He can go alone. I rather think Fred Mostyn will be here in a fewdays, and he will take me to places that Basil will not--innocent placesenough, Ethel, so you need not look so shocked. Why do you not ask me toRawdon Court?"

"Because I am only a guest there. I have no right to ask you. "

"I am sure if you told Squire Rawdon how fond you are of me, and howlonely I am, he would tell you to send for me. "

"I do not believe he would. He has old-fashioned ideas about newlymarried people. He would hardly think it possible that you would bewilling to go anywhere without Basil--yet. "

"He could ask Basil too. "

"If Mr. Mostyn is coming home, he can ask you to Mostyn Hall. It is verynear Rawdon Court. "

"Yes. Fred said as soon as he had possession of the Court he could putboth places into a ring fence. Then he would live at the Court. If heasks us there next summer I shall be sure to beg an invitation for youalso; so I think you might deserve it by getting me one now. I don'twant to go to Mostyn yet. Fred says it needs entire refurnishing, and ifwe come to the Court next summer, I have promised to give him my adviceand help in making the place pretty and up to date. Have you seen MostynHall?"

"I have passed it several times. It is a large, gloomy-looking place Iwas going to say haunted-looking. It stands in a grove of yew trees. "

"So you are not going to ask me to Rawdon Court?"

"I really cannot, Dora. It is not my house. I am only a guest there. "

"Never mind. Make no more excuses. I see how it is. You always werejealous of Fred's liking for me. And of course when he goes down toMostyn you would prefer me to be absent. "

"Good-by, Dora! I have a deal of shopping to do, and there is not muchtime before the ball, for many things will be to make. "

"The ball! What ball?"

"Only one at Rawdon Court. The neighbors have been exceedingly kind tous, and the Squire is going to give a dinner and ball on the first ofAugust. "

"Sit down and tell me about the neighbors--and the ball. "

"I cannot. I promised Ruth to be back at five. Our modiste is to see usat that hour. "

"So Ruth is with you! Why did she not call on me?"

"Did you think I should come to London alone? And Ruth did not callbecause she was too busy. "

"Everyone and everything comes before me now. I used to be first ofall. I wish I were in Newport with dad and mamma; even Bryce would be acomfort. "

"As I said before, you have Mr. Stanhope. "

"Are you going to send for me to the ball?"

"I cannot promise that, Dora. Good-by. "

Dora did not answer. She buried her face in the soft pillow, and Ethelclosed the door to the sound of her sobs. But they did not cause her toreturn or to make any foolish promises. She divined their insincerityand their motive, and had no mind to take any part in forwarding thelatter. 

And Ruth assured her she had acted wisely. "If trouble should ever comeof this friendship, " she said, "Dora would very likely complain thatyou had always thrown Mostyn in her way, brought him to her house in NewYork, and brought her to him at Rawdon, in England. Marriage is such arisk, Ethel, but to marry without the courage to adapt oneself. AH!"

"You think that condition unspeakably hard?"

"There are no words for it. "

"Dora was not reticent, I assure you. "

"I am sorry. A wife's complaints are self-inflicted wounds; scatteredseeds, from which only misery can spring. I hope you will not see heragain at this time. "

"I made no promise to do so. "

"And where all is so uncertain, we had better suppose all is right thanthat all is wrong. Even if there was the beginning of wrong, it needsbut an accident to prevent it, and there are so many. "

"Accidents!"

"Yes, for accident is God's part in affairs. We call it accident; itwould be better to say an interposition. "

"Dora told me Mostyn intended to buy Rawdon Court in September, and hehas even invited the Stanhopes to stay there next summer. "

"What did you say?"

"Nothing against it. "

"Very good. Do you think Mostyn is in London now?"

"I should not wonder. I am sure Dora is expecting him. "

In fact, the next morning they met Dora and Basil Stanhope, driving inHyde Park with Mostyn, but the smiling greeting which passed between theparties did not, except in the case of Basil Stanhope, fairly representthe dominant feeling of anyone. As for Stanhope, his nature was so clearand truthful that he would hardly have comprehended a smile which wasintended to veil feelings not to be called either quite friendly orquite pleasant. After this meeting all the joy went out of Ruth andEthel's shopping. They wanted to get back to the Court, and theyattended strictly to business in order to do so. 

Mostyn followed them very quickly. He was exceedingly anxious to seeand hear for himself how his affairs regarding Rawdon stood. They wereeasily made plain to him, and he saw with a pang of disappointment thatall his hopes of being Squire of Rawdon Manor were over. Every penny hecould righteously claim was paid to him, and on the title deeds of theancient place he had no longer the shadow of a claim. The Squire lookedten years younger as he affectionately laid both hands on the redeemedparchments, and Mostyn with enforced politeness congratulated him ontheir integrity and then made a hurried retreat. Of its own kind thisdisappointment was as great as the loss of Dora. He could think ofneither without a sense of immeasurable and disastrous failure. Onepetty satisfaction regarding the payment of the mortgage was his onlycom-fort. He might now show McLean that it was not want of money thathad made him hitherto shy of "the good investments" offered him. Hehad been sure McLean in their last interview had thought so, and had, indeed, felt the half-veiled contempt with which the rich young man hadexpressed his pity for Mostyn's inability to take advantage at theright moment of an exceptional chance to play the game of beggaring hisneighbor. Now, he told himself, he would show McLean and his braggartset that good birth and old family was for once allied with plentyof money, and he also promised his wounded sensibilities some verydesirable reprisals, every one of which he felt fully competent to take. 

It was, after all, a poor compensation, but there was also the gold. Hethanked his father that day for the great thoughtfulness and care withwhich he had amassed this sum for him, and he tried to console himselfwith the belief that gold answered all purposes, and that the yellowmetal was a better possession than the house and lands which he hadlonged for with an inherited and insensate craving. 

Two days after this event Ethel, at her father's direction, signed anumber of papers, and when that duty was completed, the Squire rosefrom his chair, kissed her hands and her cheeks, and in a voice fullof tenderness and pride said, "I pay my respects to the future lady ofRawdon Manor, and I thank God for permitting me to see this hour. Mostwelcome, Lady Ethel, to the rights you inherit, and the rights you havebought. " It was a moment hardly likely to be duplicated in any life, andEthel escaped from its tense emotions as soon as possible. She could notspeak, her heart was too full of joy and wonder. There are souls thatsay little and love much. How blessed are they!

On the following morning the invitations were sent for the dinnerand dance, but the time was put forward to the eighth of August. Ineveryone's heart there was a hope that before that day Mostyn would haveleft Rawdon, but the hope was barely mentioned. In the meantime he cameand went between Mostyn and Rawdon as he desired, and was received withthat modern politeness which considers it best to ignore offenses thatour grandfathers and grandmothers would have held for strict account andpunishment. 

It was evident that he had frequent letters from Dora. He knew all hermovements, and spoke several times of opening Mostyn Hall and invitingthe Stanhopes to stay with him until their return to America. But asthis suggestion did not bring from any member of the Rawdon family theinvitation hoped for, it was not acted upon. He told himself theexpense would be great, and the Hall, in spite of all he could do in theinterim, would look poor and shabby compared with Rawdon Court; so heput aside the proposal on the ground that he could not persuade hisaunt to do the entertaining necessary. And for all the irritation andhumiliations centering round his loss of Rawdon and his inabilities withregard to Dora he blamed Ethel. He was sure if he had been more lovableand encouraging he could have married her, and thus finally reachedRawdon Court; and then, with all the unreason imaginable, nursed ahearty dislike to her because she would not understand his desires, andprovide means for their satisfaction. The bright, joyous girl with herloving heart, her abounding vitality, and constant cheerfulness, madehim angry. In none of her excellencies he had any share, consequently hehated her. 

He would have quickly returned to London, but Dora and her husband werestaying with the Stanhopes, and her letters from Stanhope Castle werelachrymose complaints of the utter weariness and dreariness oflife there the preaching and reading aloud, the regular walking anddriving--all the innocent method of lives which recognized they werehere for some higher purpose than mere physical enjoyment. And itangered Mostyn that neither Ruth nor Ethel felt any sympathy for Dora'sennui, and proposed no means of releasing her from it. He consideredthem both disgustingly selfish and ill-natured, and was certain thatall their reluctance at Dora's presence arose from their jealousy of herbeauty and her enchanting grace. 

On the afternoon of the day preceding the intended entertainment Ruth, Ethel, and the Squire were in the great dining-room superintending itsdecoration. They were merrily laughing and chatting, and were notaware of the arrival of any visitors until Mrs. Nicholas Rawdon's rosy, good-natured face appeared at the open door. Everyone welcomed hergladly, and the Squire offered her a seat. 

"Nay, Squire, " she said, "I'm come to ask a favor, and I won't sittill I know whether I get it or not; for if I don't get it, I shall saygood-by as quickly as I can. Our John Thomas came home this morning andhis friend with him, and I want invitations for the young men, both ofthem. My great pleasure lies that way--if you'll give it to me. "

"Most gladly, " answered the Squire, and Ethel immediately went for thenecessary passports. When she returned she found Mrs. Nicholas helpingRuth and the Squire to arrange the large silver and cut crystal on thesideboard, and talking at the same time with unabated vivacity. 

"Yes, " she was saying, "the lads would have been here two days ago, butthey stayed in London to see some American lady married. John Thomas'sfriend knew her. She was married at the Ambassador's house. A fineaffair enough, but it bewilders me this taking up marriage withoutpriest or book. It's a new commission. The Church's warrant, it seems, is out of date. It may be right' it may be legal, but I told John Thomasif he ever got himself married in that kind of a way, he wouldn't havefather or me for witnesses. "

"I am glad, " said the Squire, "that the young men are home in time forour dance. The young like such things. "

"To be sure they do. John Thomas wouldn't give me a moment's rest tillI came here. I didn't want to come. I thought John Thomas should comehimself, and I told him plainly that I was ready to do anyone a favorif I could, but if he wanted me to come because he was afraid to comehimself, I was just as ready to shirk the journey. And he laughed andsaid he was not feared for any woman living, but he did want to make hisfirst appearance in his best clothes--and that was natural, wasn't it?So I came for the two lads. " Then she looked at the girls with a smile, and said in a comfortable kind of way: "You'll find them very nicelads, indeed. I can speak for John Thomas, I have taken his measure longsince; and as far as I can judge his friend, Nature went about some fullwork when she made a man of him. He's got a sweet temper, and a strongmind, and a straight judgment, if I know anything about men--whichNicholas sometimes makes me think I don't. But Nicholas isn't anordinary man, he's what you call 'an exception. '" Then shaking her headat Ethel, she continued reprovingly: "You were neither of you inchurch Sunday. I know some young women who went to the parishchurch--Methodists they are--specially to see your new hats. There'ssome talk about them, I can tell you, and the village milliner ispestered to copy them. She keeps her eyes open for you. You disappointeda lot of people. You ought to go to church in the country. It's the mostrespectable thing you can do. "

"We were both very tired, " said Ruth, "and the sun was hot, and we had agood Sabbath at home. Ethel read the Psalms, Epistle and Gospel forthe day, and the Squire gave us some of the grandest organ music I everheard. "

"Well, well! Everyone knows the Squire is a grand player. I don'tsuppose there is another to match him in the whole world, and the oldfeeling about church-going is getting slack among the young people. Theyserve God now very much at their ease. "

"Is not that better than serving Him on compulsion?" asked Ruth. 

"I dare say. I'm no bigot. I was brought up an Independent, and wentto their chapel until I married Nicholas Rawdon. My father was abroad-thinking man. He never taught me to locate God in any building;and I'm sure I don't believe our parish church is His dwelling-place. If it is, they ought to mend the roof and put a new carpet down andmake things cleaner and more respectable. Well, Squire, you have silverenough to tempt all the rogues in Yorkshire, and there's a lot of them. But now I've seen it, I'll go home with these bits of paper. I shall bea very important woman to-night. Them two lads won't know how to fleechand flatter me enough. I'll be waited on hand and foot. And Nicholaswill get a bit of a set-down. He was bragging about Miss Ethel bringinghis invitation to his hand and promising to dance with him. I wouldn'tdo it if I were Miss Ethel. She'll find out, if she does, what it meansto dance with a man that weighs twenty stone, and who has never turnedhand nor foot to anything but money-making for thirty years. "

She went away with a sweep and a rustle of her shimmering silk skirt, and left behind her such an atmosphere of hearty good-nature as madethe last rush and crowd of preparations easily ordered and quicklyaccomplished. Before her arrival there had been some doubt as to theweather. She brought the shining sun with her, and when he set, he leftthem with the promise of a splendid to-morrow--a promise amply redeemedwhen the next day dawned. Indeed, the sunshine was so brilliant, thegarden so gay and sweet, the lawn so green and firm, the avenues soshady and full of wandering songs, that it was resolved to hold thepreliminary reception out of doors. Ethel and Ruth were to receive onthe lawn, and at the open hall door the Squire would wait to welcome hisguests. 

Soon after five o'clock there was a brilliant crowd wandering andresting in the pleasant spaces; and Ethel, wearing a diaphanously whiterobe and carrying a rush basket full of white carnations, was movingamong them distributing the flowers. She was thus the center of alittle laughing, bantering group when the Nicholas Rawdon party arrived. Nicholas remained with the Squire, Mrs. Rawdon and the young menwent toward Ethel. Mrs. Rawdon made a very handsome appearance--"anaristocratic Britannia in white liberty silk and old lace, " whisperedRuth, and Ethel looked up quickly, to meet her merry eyes full of someunexplained triumph. In truth, the proud mother was anticipating a greatpleasure, not only in the presentation of her adored son, but also inthe curiosity and astonishment she felt sure would be evoked by hisfriend. So, with the boldness of one who brings happy tidings, shepressed forward. Ethel saw her approach, and went to meet her. Suddenlyher steps were arrested. An extraordinary thing was going to happen. TheApollo of her dreams, the singer of the Holland House pavement, was atMrs. Rawdon's side, was talking to her, was evidently a familiar friend. She was going to meet him, to speak to him at last. She would hear hisname in a few moments; all that she had hoped and believed was comingtrue. And the clear, resonant voice of Lydia Rawdon was like music inher ears as she said, with an air of triumph she could not hide:

"Miss Rawdon, I want you to know my son, Mr. John Thomas Rawdon, andalso John Thomas's cousin, Mr. Tyrrel Rawdon, of the United States. "Then Mr. Tyrrel Rawdon looked into Ethel's face, and in that marvelousmeeting of their eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, their pupilsdilated and flashed with recognition, and the blood rushed crimsonover both faces. She gave the gentlemen flowers, and listened to Mrs. Rawdon's chatter, and said in reply she knew not what. A swift andexquisite excitement had followed her surprise. Feelings she couldnot voice were beating at her lips, and yet she knew that without herconscious will she had expressed her astonishment and pleasure. Itwas, indeed, doubtful whether any after speech or explanation would asclearly satisfy both hearts as did that momentary flash from soul tosoul of mutual remembrance and interest. 

"I thought I'd give you a surprise, " said Mrs. Rawdon delightedly. "Youdidn't know the Tyrrel-Rawdons had a branch in America, did you? We area bit proud of them, I can tell you that. "

And, indeed, the motherly lady had some reason. John Thomas was ahandsome youth of symmetrical bone and flesh and well-developed muscle. He had clear, steady, humorous eyes; a manner frank and independent, not to be put upon; and yet Ethel divined, though she could not havedeclared, the "want" in his appearance--that all-overish grace andelasticity which comes only from the development of the brain andnervous system. His face was also marred by the seal of commonness whichtrade impresses on so many men, the result of the subjection of theintellect to the will, and of the impossibility of grasping thingsexcept as they relate to self. In this respect the American cousin washis antipodes. His whole body had a psychical expression--slim, elastic, alert. Over his bright gray eyes the eyelids drew themselveshorizontally, showing his dexterity and acuteness of mind; indeed, hiswhole expression and mien

 "Were, as are the eagle's keen, All the man was aquiline. "

These personal characteristics taking some minutes to describe werealmost an instantaneous revelation to Ethel, for what the soul sees itsees in a flash of understanding. But at that time she only answered herimpressions without any inquiry concerning them. She was absorbed by thepersonal presence of the men, and all that was lovely and lovable in hernature responded to their admiration. 

As they strolled together through a flowery alley, she made them passtheir hands through the thyme and lavender, and listen to a bird singingits verses, loud and then soft, in the scented air above them. Theycame out where the purple plums and golden apricots were beginning tobrighten a southern wall, and there, moodily walking by himself, theymet Mostyn face to face. An angry flash and movement interpreted hisannoyance, but he immediately recovered himself, and met Ethel and hislate political opponent with polite equanimity. But a decided constraintfell on the happy party, and Ethel was relieved to hear the firsttones of the great bell swing out from its lofty tower the call to thedining-room. 

As far as Mostyn was concerned, this first malapropos meeting indicatedthe whole evening. His heart was beating quickly to some sense of defeatwhich he did not take the trouble to analyze. He only saw the man whohad shattered his political hopes and wasted his money in possessionalso of what he thought he might rightly consider his place at Ethel'sside. He had once contemplated making Ethel his bride, and though thematrimonial idea had collapsed as completely as the political one, theenvious, selfish misery of the "dog in the manger" was eating at hisheartstrings. He did not want Ethel; but oh, how he hated the thought ofeither John Thomas or that American Raw-don winning her! His seat at thedinner-table also annoyed him. It was far enough from the objects ofhis resentment to prevent him hearing or interfering in their merryconversation; and he told himself with passionate indignation that Ethelhad never once in all their intercourse been so beautiful and bright asshe revealed herself that evening to those two Rawdon youths--one a mereloom-master, the other an American whom no one knew anything about. 

The long, bewitching hours of the glorious evening added fuel to theflame of his anger. He could only procure from Ethel the promise of oneunimportant dance at the close of her programme; and the American hadthree dances, and the mere loom-man two. And though he attempted torestore his self-complacency by devoting his whole attentions to theonly titled young ladies in the room, he had throughout the eveninga sense of being snubbed, and of being a person no longer of muchimportance at Rawdon Court. And the reasoning of wounded self-love is asingular process. Mostyn was quite oblivious of any personal cause forthe change; he attributed it entirely to the Squire's ingratitude. 

"I did the Squire a good turn when he needed it, and of course he hatesme for the obligation; and as for the Judge and his fine daughter, theyinterfered with my business--did me a great wrong--and they are onlyillustrating the old saying, 'Since I wronged you I never liked you. '"After indulging such thoughts awhile, he resolved to escort the ladiesAurelia and Isolde Danvers to Danvers Castle, and leave Miss Ethel tofind a partner for her last dance, a decision that favored John Thomas, greatly relieved Ethel, and bestowed upon himself that most irritatingof all punishments, a self-inflicted disappointment. 

This evening was the inauguration of a period of undimmed delight. In itthe Tyrrel-Rawdons concluded a firm and affectionate alliance with theelder branch at the Court, and one day after a happy family dinnerJohn Thomas made the startling proposal that "the portrait of thedisinherited, disowned Tyrrel should be restored to its place in thefamily gallery. " He said he had "just walked through it, and noticedthat the spot was still vacant, and I think surely, " he added, "theyoung man's father must have meant to recall him home some day, butperhaps death took him unawares. "

"Died in the hunting-field, " murmured the Squire. 

John Thomas bowed his head to the remark, and proceeded, "So perhaps, Squire, it may be in your heart to forgive the dead, and bring back thepoor lad's picture to its place. They who sin for love aren't so bad, sir, as they who sin for money. I never heard worse of Tyrrel Rawdonthan that he loved a poor woman instead of a rich woman--and marriedher. Those that have gone before us into the next life, I should thinkare good friends together; and I wouldn't wonder if we might even makethem happier there if we conclude to forget all old wrongs and livetogether here--as Rawdons ought to live--like one family. "

"I am of your opinion, John Thomas, " said the Squire, rising, and as hedid so he looked at the Judge, who immediately indorsed the proposal. One after the other rose with sweet and strong assent, until there wasonly Tyrrel Rawdon's voice lacking. But when all had spoken he rosealso, and said:

"I am Tyrrel Rawdon's direct descendant, and I speak for him when I sayto-day, 'Make room for me among my kindred!' He that loves much may beforgiven much. "

Then the housekeeper was called, and they went slowly, with soft words, up to the third story of the house. And the room unused for a centurywas flung wide open; the shutters were unbarred, and the sunshineflooded it; and there amid his fishing tackle, guns, and whips, andfaded ballads upon the wall, and books of wood lore and botany, anddress suits of velvet and satin, and hunting suits of scarlet--all fadedand falling to pieces--stood the picture of Tyrrel Rawdon, with its faceturned to the wall. The Squire made a motion to his descendant, and theyoung American tenderly turned it to the light. There was no decay onthose painted lineaments. The almost boyish face, with its loving eyesand laughing mouth, was still twenty-four years old; and with a look ofpride and affection the Squire lifted the picture and placed it in thehands of the Tyrrel Rawdon of the day. 

The hanging of the picture in its old place was a silent and tenderlittle ceremony, and after it the party separated. Mrs. Rawdon wentwith Ruth to rest a little. She said "she had a headache, " and she alsowanted a good womanly talk over the affair. The Squire, Judge Rawdon, Mr. Nicholas Rawdon, and John Thomas returned to the dining-room todrink a bottle of such mild Madeira as can only now be found in thecellars of old county magnates, and Ethel and Tyrrel Rawdon strolledinto the garden. There had not been in either mind any intention ofleaving the party, but as they passed through the hall Tyrrel sawEthel's garden hat and white parasol lying on a table, and, impelled bysome sudden and unreasoned instinct, he offered them to her. Not a wordof request was spoken; it was the eager, passionate command of hiseyes she obeyed. And for a few minutes they were speechless, then sointensely conscious that words stumbled and were lame, and they managedonly syllables at a time. But he took her hand, and they came by sunnyalleys of boxwood to a great plane tree, bearing at wondrous heighta mighty wealth of branches. A bank of soft, green turf encircled itsroots, and they sat down in the trembling shadows. It was in the midstof the herb garden; beds of mint and thyme, rosemary and marjoram, basil, lavender, and other fragrant plants were around, and close athand a little city of straw skeps peopled by golden brown bees; Fromthese skeps came a delicious aroma of riced flowers and virgin wax. Itwas a new Garden of Eden, in which life was sweet as perfume and pure asprayer. Nothing stirred the green, sunny afternoon but the murmur of thebees, and the sleepy twittering of the birds in the plane branches. Aninexpressible peace swept like the breath of heaven through the odorousplaces. They sat down sighing for very happiness. The silence became tooeloquent. At length it was almost unendurable, and Ethel said softly:

"How still it is!"

Tyrrel looked at her steadily with beaming eyes. Then he took from hispocket a little purse of woven gold and opal-tinted beads, and held itin his open hand for her to see, watching the bright blush that spreadover her face, and the faint, glad smile that parted her lips. 

"You understand?"

"Yes. It is mine. "

"It was yours. It is now mine. "

"How did you get it?"

"I bought it from the old man you gave it to. "

"Oh! Then you know him? How is that?"

"The hotel people sent a porter home with him lest he should be robbed. Next day I made inquiries, and this porter told me where he lived. Iwent there and bought this purse from him. I knew some day it wouldbring me to you. I have carried it over my heart ever since. "

"So you noticed me?"

"I saw you all the time I was singing. I have never forgotten you sincethat hour. "

"What made you sing?"

"Compassion, fate, an urgent impulse; perhaps, indeed, your piteousface--I saw it first. "

"Really?"

"I saw it first. I saw it all the time I was singing. When you droppedthis purse my soul met yours in a moment's greeting. It was a promise. I knew I should meet you again. I have loved you ever since. I wantedto tell you so the hour we met. It has been hard to keep my secret solong. "

"It was my secret also. "

"I love you beyond all words. My life is in your hands. You can make methe gladdest of mortals. You can send me away forever. "

"Oh, no, I could not! I could not do that!" The rest escapes words; butthus it was that on this day of days these two came by God's grace toeach other. 

 For all things come by fate to flower, At their unconquerable hour. 

And the very atmosphere of such bliss is diffusive; it seemed as if allthe living creatures around understood. In the thick, green branchesthe birds began to twitter the secret, and certainly the wise, wise beesknew also, in some occult way, of the love and joy that had just beenrevealed. A wonderful humming and buzzing filled the hives, and theair vibrated with the movement of wings. Some influence more swift andsecret than the birds of the air carried the matter further, for itfinally reached Royal, the Squire's favorite collie, who came saunteringdown the alley, pushed his nose twice under Ethel's elbow, and then witha significant look backward, advised the lovers to follow him to thehouse. 

When they finally accepted his invitation, they found Mrs. Rawdondrinking a cup of tea with Ruth in the hall. Ethel joined them withaffected high spirits and random explanations and excuses, but bothwomen no-ticed her radiant face and exulting air. "The garden is such aheavenly place, " she said ecstatically, and Mrs Rawdon remarked, as sherose and put her cup on the table, "Girls need chaperons in gardens ifthey need them anywhere. I made Nicholas Rawdon a promise in MossgillGarden I've had to spend all my life since trying to keep. "

"Tyrrel and I have been sitting under the plane tree watching the bees. They are such busy, sensible creatures. "

"They are that, " answered Mrs. Rawdon. "If you knew all about them youwould wonder a bit. My father had a great many; he studied their waysand used to laugh at the ladies of the hive being so like the ladies ofthe world. You see the young lady bees are just as inexperienced as aschoolgirl. They get lost in the flowers, and are often so overtaken andreckless, that the night finds them far from the hive, heavy withpollen and chilled with cold. Sometimes father would lift one of theseimprudent young things, carry it home, and try to get it admitted. Henever could manage it. The lady bees acted just as women are apt to dowhen other women GO where they don't go, or DO as they don't do. "

"But this is interesting, " said Ruth. "Pray, how did the ladies of thehive behave to the culprit?"

"They came out and felt her all over, turned her round and round, andthen pushed her out of their community. There was always a deal ofbuzzing about the poor, silly thing, and I shouldn't wonder if theirstings were busy too. Bees are ill-natured as they can be. Well, well, I don't blame anyone for sitting in the garden such a day as this; only, as I was saying, gardens have been very dangerous places for women asfar as I know. "

Ruth laughed softly. "I shall take a chaperon with me, then, when I gointo the garden. "

"I would, dearie. There's the Judge; he's a very suitable, sedate-looking one but you never can tell. The first woman found in agarden and a tree had plenty of sorrow for herself and every woman thathas lived after her. I wish Nicholas and John Thomas would come. I'llwarrant they're talking what they call politics. "

Politics was precisely the subject which had been occupying them, forwhen Tyrrel entered the dining-room, the Squire, Judge Rawdon, andMr. Nicholas Rawdon were all standing, evidently just finishing aConservative argument against the Radical opinions of John Thomas. Theyoung man was still sitting, but he rose with smiling good-humor asTyrrel entered. 

"Here is Cousin Tyrrel, " he cried; "he will tell you that you may calla government anything you like radical, conservative, republican, democratic, socialistic, but if it isn't a CHEAP government, it isn't agood government; and there won't be a cheap government in England tillpoor men have a deal to say about making laws and voting taxes. "

"Is that the kind of stuff you talk to our hands, John Thomas? No wonderthey are neither to hold nor to bind. "

They were in the hall as John Thomas finished his political creed, andin a few minutes the adieux were said, and the wonderful day was over. It had been a wonderful day for all, but perhaps no one was sorry for apause in life--a pause in which they might rest and try to realize whatit had brought and what it had taken away. The Squire went at once tohis room, and Ethel looked at Ruth inquiringly. She seemed exhausted, and was out of sympathy with all her surroundings. 

"What enormous vitality these Yorkshire women must have!" she saidalmost crossly. "Mrs. Rawdon has been talking incessantly for six hours. She has felt all she said. She has frequently risen and walked about. She has used all sorts of actions to emphasize her words, and she is asfresh as if she had just taken her morning bath. How do the men standthem?"

"Because they are just as vital. John Thomas will overlook and scoldand order his thousand hands all day, talk even his mother down while heeats his dinner, and then lecture or lead his Musical Union, or conducta poor man's concert, or go to 'the Weaver's Union, ' and what he calls'threep them' for two or three hours that labor is ruining capital, and killing the goose that lays golden eggs for them. Oh, they are awonderful race, Ruth!"

"I really can't discuss them now, Ethel. "

"Don't you want to know what Tyrrel said to me this afternoon?"

"My dear, I know. Lovers have said such things before, and lovers willsay them evermore. You shall tell me in the morning. I thought he lookeddistrait and bored with our company. "

Indeed, Tyrrel was so remarkably quiet that John Thomas also noticed hismood, and as they sat smoking in Tyrrel's room, he resolved to find outthe reason, and with his usual directness asked:

"What do you think of Ethel Rawdon, Tyrrel. "

"I think she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She has also themost sincere nature, and her high spirit is sweetly tempered by heraffectionate heart. "

"I am glad you know so much about her. Look here, Cousin Tyrrel, Ifancied to-night you were a bit jealous of me. It is easy to see you arein love, and I've no doubt you were thinking of the days when you wouldbe thousands of miles away, and I should have the ground clear and soon, eh?"

"Suppose I was, cousin, what then?"

"You would be worrying for nothing. I don't want to marry Ethel Rawdon. If I did, you would have to be on the ground all the time, and then Ishould best you; but I picked out my wife two years ago, and if we areboth alive and well, we are going to be married next Christmas. "

"I am delighted. I----"

"I thought you would be. "

"Who is the young lady?"

"Miss Lucy Watson. Her father is the Independent minister. He is agentleman, though his salary is less than we give our overseer. And heis a great scholar. So is Lucy. She finished her course at college thissummer, and with high honors. Bless you, Tyrrel, she knows far morethan I do about everything but warps and looms and such like. I admire aclever woman, and I'm proud of Lucy. "

"Where is she now?"

"Well, she was a bit done up with so much study, and so she went toScarborough for a few weeks. She has an aunt there. The sea breezes andsalt water soon made her fit for anything. She may be home very soonnow. Then, Tyrrel, you'll see a beauty--face like a rose, hair brown asa nut, eyes that make your heart go galloping, the most enticing mouth, the prettiest figure, and she loves me with all her heart. When she says'John Thomas, dear one, ' I tremble with pleasure, and when she lets mekiss her sweet mouth, I really don't know where I am. What would you sayif a girl whispered, 'I love you, and nobody but you, ' and gave you akiss that was like--like wine and roses? Now what would you say?"

"I know as little as you do what I would say. It's a situation to make aman coin new words. I suppose your family are pleased. "

"Well, I never thought about my family till I had Lucy's word. Then Itold mother. She knew Lucy all through. Mother has a great respect forIndependents, and though father sulked a bit at first, mother had itout with him one night, and when mother has father quiet in their roomfather comes to see things just as she wants him. I suppose that's theway with wives. Lucy will be just like that. She's got a sharp littletemper, too. She'll let me have a bit of it, no doubt, now and then. "

"Will you like that?"

"I wouldn't care a farthing for a wife without a bit of temper. Therewould be no fun in living with a woman of that kind. My father woulddroop and pine if mother didn't spur him on now and then. And he likesit. Don't I know? I've seen mother snappy and awkward with him allbreakfast time, tossing her head, and rattling the china, and declaringshe was worn out with men that let all the good bargains pass them;perhaps making fun of us because we couldn't manage to get along withoutstrikes. She had no strikes with her hands, she'd like to see her womenstand up and talk to her about shorter hours, and so on; and fatherwould look at me sly-like, and as we walked to the mill together he'dlaugh contentedly and say, 'Your mother was quite refreshing thismorning, John Thomas. She has keyed me up to a right pitch. WhenJonathan Arkroyd comes about that wool he sold us I'll be all readyfor him. ' So you see I'm not against a sharp temper. I like women asTennyson says English girls are, 'roses set round with little wilfulthorns, ' eh?"

Unusual as this conversation was, its general tone was assumed by Ethelin her confidential talk with Ruth the following day. Of course, Ruthwas not at all surprised at the news Ethel brought her, for though thelovers had been individually sure they had betrayed their secret tono one, it had really been an open one to Ruth since the hour of theirmeeting. She was sincerely ardent in her praises of Tyrrel Rawdon, but--and there is always a but--she wondered if Ethel had "noticed whata quick temper he had. "

"Oh, yes, " answered Ethel, "I should not like him not to have a quicktemper. I expect my husband to stand up at a moment's notice for eithermine or his own rights or opinions. "

And in the afternoon when all preliminaries had been settled andapproved, Judge Rawdon expressed himself in the same manner to Ruth. "Yes, " he said, in reply to her timid suggestion of temper, "youcan strike fire anywhere with him if you try it, but he has it undercontrol. Besides, Ethel is just as quick to flame up. It will be Rawdonagainst Rawdon, and Ethel's weapons are of finer, keener steel thanTyrrel's. Ethel will hold her own. It is best so. "

"How did the Squire feel about such a marriage?"

"He was quite overcome with delight. Nothing was said to Tyrrel aboutEthel having bought the reversion of Rawdon Manor, for things have beenharder to get into proper shape than I thought they would be, and it maybe another month before all is finally settled; but the Squire has thesecret satisfaction, and he was much affected by the certainty of aRawdon at Rawdon Court after him. He declined to think of it in anyother way but 'providential, ' and of course I let him take all thesatisfaction he could out of the idea. Ever since he heard of theengagement he has been at the organ singing the One Hundred and ThirdPsalm. "

"He is the dearest and noblest of men. How soon shall we go home now?"

"In about a month. Are you tired of England?"

"I shall be glad to see America again. There was a letter from Dora thismorning. They sail on the twenty-third. "

"Do you know anything of Mostyn?"

"Since he wrote us a polite farewell we have heard nothing. "

"Do you think he went to America?"

"I cannot tell. When he bid us good-by he made no statement as to hisdestination; he merely said 'he was leaving England on business. '"

"Well, Ruth, we shall sail as soon as I am satisfied all is right. Thereis a little delay about some leases and other matters. In the meantimethe lovers are in Paradise wherever we locate them. "

And in Paradise they dwelt for another four weeks. The ancient gardenhad doubtless many a dream of love to keep, but none sweeter or truerthan the idyl of Tyrrel and Ethel Rawdon. They were never weary ofrehearsing it; every incident of its growth had been charming andromantic, and, as they believed, appointed from afar. As the sum-merwaxed hotter the beautiful place took on an appearance of royal colorand splendor, and the air was languid with the perfume of the clovecarnations and tall white August lilies. Fluted dahlias, scarletpoppies, and all the flowers that exhale their spice in the last hotdays of August burned incense for them. Their very hair was laden withodor, their fingers flower-sweet, their minds took on the many colors oftheir exquisite surroundings. 

And it was part of this drama of love and scent and color that theyshould see it slowly assume the more ethereal loveliness of September, and watch the subtle amber rays shine through the thinning boughs, andfeel that all nature was becoming idealized. The birds were then mostlysilent. They had left their best notes on the hawthorns and among theroses; but the crickets made a cheerful chirrup, and the great brownbutterflies displayed their richest velvets, and the gossamer-likeinsects in the dreamy atmosphere performed dances and undulations fullof grace and mystery. And all these marvelous changes imparted to lovethat sweet sadness which is beyond all words poetic and enchaining. 

Yet however sweet the hours, they pass away, and it is not much memorycan save from the mutable, happy days of love. Still, when the hour ofdeparture came they had garnered enough to sweeten all the after-straitsand stress of time. September had then perceptibly begun to add tothe nights and shorten the days, and her tender touch had been laid oneverything. With a smile and a sigh the Rawdons turned their faces totheir pleasant home in the Land of the West. It was to be but a shortfarewell. They had promised the Squire to return the following summer, but he felt the desolation of the parting very keenly. With his hatslightly lifted above his white head, he stood watching them out ofsight. Then he went to his organ, and very soon grand waves of melodyrolled outward and upward, and blended themselves with the clear, soaring voice of Joel, the lad who blew the bellows of the instrument, and shared all his master's joy in it. They played and sang until theSquire rose weary, but full of gladness. The look of immortality was inhis eyes, its sure and certain hope in his heart. He let Joel lead himto his chair by the window, and then he said to himself with visibletriumph:

"What Mr. Spencer or anyone else writes about 'the Unknowable' I carenot. I KNOW IN WHOM I have believed. Joel, sing that last sequenceagain. Stand where I can see thee. " And the lad's joyful voice rangexulting out:

"Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before themountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the world, fromeverlasting to everlasting Thou art God! Thou art God! Thou art God!"

"That will do, Joel. Go thy ways now. Lord, Thou hast been ourdwelling-place in all generations. 'Unknowable, ' Thou hast been ourdwelling-place in all generations. No, no, no, what an ungrateful sinnerI would be to change the Lord everlasting for the Unknowable. '"

CHAPTER IX

NEW YORK is at its very brightest and best in October. This month of theyear may be safely trusted not to disappoint. The skies are blue, theair balmy, and there is generally a delightful absence of wind. Thesummer exiles are home again from Jersey boarding houses, and mountaincamps, and seaside hotels, and thankful to the point of hilarity thatthis episode of the year is over, that they can once more dwell undertheir own roofs without breaking any of the manifest laws of the greatgoddess Custom or Fashion. 

Judge Rawdon's house had an especially charming "at home" appearance. During the absence of the family it had been made beautiful inside andoutside, and the white stone, the plate glass, and falling lace evidentto the street, had an almost conscious look of luxurious propriety. 

The Judge frankly admitted his pleasure in his home surroundings. Hesaid, as they ate their first meal in the familiar room, that "a visitto foreign countries was a grand, patriotic tonic. " He vowed that the"first sight of the Stars and Stripes at Sandy Hook had given him thefinest emotion he had ever felt in his life, " and was altogether inhis proudest American mood. Ruth sympathized with him. Ethel listenedsmiling. She knew well that the English strain had only temporarilyexhausted itself; it would have its period of revival at the propertime. 

"I am going to see grandmother, " she said gayly. "I shall stay with herall day. "

"But I have a letter from her, " interrupted the Judge, "and she will notreturn home until next week. "

"I am sorry. I was anticipating so eagerly the joy of seeing her. Well, as I cannot do so, I will go and call on Dora Stanhope. "

"I would not if I were you, Ethel, " said Ruth. "Let her come and call onyou. "

"I had a little note from her this morning, welcoming me home, andentreating me to call. "

The Judge rose as Ethel was speaking, and no more was said about thevisit at that time but a few hours later Ethel came down from her roomready for the street and frankly told Ruth she had made up her mind tocall on Dora. 

"Then I will only remind you, Ethel, that Dora is not a fortunate womanto know. As far as I can see, she is one of those who sow pain of heartand vexation of spirit about every house they enter, even their own. But I cannot gather experience for you, it will have to grow in your owngarden. "

"All right, dear Ruth, and if I do not like its growth, I will pull itup by the roots, I assure you. "

Ruth went with her to the door and watched her walk leisurely down thebroad steps to the street. The light kindled in her eyes and on her faceas she did so. She already felt the magnetism of the great city, andwith a laughing farewell walked rapidly toward Dora's house. 

Her card brought an instant response, and she heard Dora's welcomebefore the door was opened. And her first greeting was an enthusiasticcompliment, "How beautiful you have grown, Ethel!" she cried. "Ah, thatis the European finish. You have gained it, my dear; you really are verymuch improved. "

"And you also, Dora?"

The words were really a question, but Dora accepted them as anassertion, and was satisfied. 

"I suppose I am, " she answered, "though I'm sure I can't tell how itshould be so, unless worry of all kinds is good for good looks. I've hadenough of that for a lifetime. "

"Now, Dora. "

"Oh, it's the solid truth--partly your fault too. "

"I never interfered----"

"Of course you didn't, but you ought to have interfered. When you calledon me in London you might have seen that I was not happy; and I wantedto come to Rawdon Court, and you would not invite me. I called yourbehavior then 'very mean, ' and I have not altered my opinion of it. "

"There were good reasons, Dora, why I could not ask you. "

"Good reasons are usually selfish ones, Ethel, and Fred Mostyn told mewhat they were. 

"He likely told you untruths, Dora, for he knew nothing about myreasons. I saw very little of him. "

"I know. You treated him as badly as you treated me, and all for somewild West creature--a regular cowboy, Fred said, but then a Rawdon!"

"Mr. Mostyn has misrepresented Mr. Tyrrel Rawdon--that is all about it. I shall not explain 'how' or 'why. ' Did you enjoy yourself at StanhopeCastle?"

"Enjoy myself! Are you making fun of me? Ethel, dear, it was the mostawful experience. You never can imagine such a life, and such women. They were dressed for a walk at six o'clock; they had breakfast athalf-past seven. They went to the village and inspected cottages, andgave lessons in housekeeping or dressmaking or some other drudgery tillnoon. They walked back to the Castle for lunch. They attended to theirown improvement from half-past one until four, had lessons in drawingand chemistry, and, I believe, electricity. They had another walk, andthen indulged themselves with a cup of tea. They dressed and receivedvisitors, and read science or theology between whiles. There was alwayssome noted preacher or scholar at the dinner table. The conversation wasabout acids and explosives, or the planets or bishops, or else on thenever, never-ending subject of elevating the workingman and buildingschools for his children. Basil, of course, enjoyed it. He thought hewas giving me a magnificent object lesson. He was never done praisingthe ladies Mary Elinor and Adelaide Stanhope. I'm sure I wish he hadmarried one or all of them--and I told him so. "

"You could not be so cruel, Dora. "

"I managed it with the greatest ease imaginable. He was always trottingat their side. They spoke of him as 'the most pious young man. ' I haveno doubt they were all in love with him. I hope they were. I used topretend to be very much in love when they were present. I dare say itmade them wretched. Besides, they blushed and thought me improper. Basildidn't approve, either, so I hit all round. "

She rose at this memory and shook out her silk skirts, and walked up anddown the room with an air that was the visible expression of the mockeryand jealousy in her heart. This was an entirely different Dora to thelachrymose, untidy wife at the Savoy Hotel in London, and Ethel had amomentary pang at the thought of the suffering which was responsible forthe change. 

"If I had thought, Dora, you were so uncomfortable, I would have askedBasil and you to the Court. "

"You saw I was not happy when I was at the Savoy. "

"I thought you and Basil had had a kind of lovers' quarrel, and that itwould blow over in an hour or two; no one likes to meddle with an affairof that kind. Are you going to Newport, or is Mrs. Denning in New York?"

"That is another trouble, Ethel. When I wrote mother I wanted to come toher, she sent me word she was going to Lenox with a friend. Then, likeyou, she said 'she had no liberty to invite me, ' and so on. I never knewmother act in such a way before. I nearly broke my heart about it for afew days, then I made up my mind I wouldn't care. "

"Mrs. Denning, I am sure, thought she did the wisest and kindest thingpossible. "

"I didn't want mother to be wise. I wanted her to understand that I wasfairly worn out with my present life and needed a change. I'm sureshe did understand. Then why was she so cruel?" and she shruggedher shoulders impatiently and sat down. "I'm so tired of life, " shecontinued. "When did you hear of Fred Mostyn?"

"I know nothing of his movements. Is he in America?"

"Somewhere. I asked mother if he was in Newport, and she never answeredthe ques-tion. I suppose he will be in New York for the winter season. Ihope so. "

This topic threatened to be more dangerous than the other, andEthel, after many and futile attempts to bring conversation into safecommonplace channels, pleaded other engagements and went away. She waspainfully depressed by the interview. All the elements of tragedy weregathered together under the roof she had just left, and, as far as shecould see, there was no deliverer wise and strong enough to prevent acalamity. She did not repeat to Ruth the conversation which had been sopainful to her. She described Dora's dress and appearance, and commentedon Fred Mostyn's description of Tyrrel Rawdon, and on Mrs. Denning'srefusal of her daughter's proposed visit. 

Ruth thought the latter circumstance significant. "I dare say Mostynwas in Newport at that time, " she answered. "Mrs. Denning has some veryquick perceptions. " And Ruth's opinion was probably correct, for duringdinner the Judge remarked in a casual manner that he had met Mr. Mostynon the avenue as he was coming home. "He was well, " he said, "and madeall the usual inquiries as to your health. " And both Ruth and Ethelunderstood that he wished them to know of Mostyn's presence in the city, and to be prepared for meeting him; but did not care to discussthe subject further, at least at that time. The information broughtprecisely the same thought at the same moment to both women, and as soonas they were alone they uttered it. 

"She knew Mostyn was in the city, " said Ethel in a low voice. 

"Certainly. "

"She was expecting him. "

"I am sure of it. "

"Her elaborate and beautiful dressing was for him. "

"Poor Basil!"

"She asked me to stay and lunch with her, but very coolly, and whenI refused, did not press the matter as she used to do. Yes, she wasexpecting him. I understand now her nervous manner, her restlessness, her indifference to my short visit. I wish I could do anything. "

"You cannot, and you must not try. "

"Some one must try. "

"There is her husband. Have you heard from Tyrrel yet. "

"I have had a couple of telegrams. He will write from Chicago. "

"Is he going at once to the Hot Springs?"

"As rapidly as possible. Colonel Rawdon is now there, and very ill. Tyrrel will put his father first of all. The trouble at the mine can beinvestigated afterwards. "

"You will miss him very much. You have been so happy together. "

"Of course I shall miss him. But it will be a good thing for us to beapart awhile. Love must have some time in which to grow. I am a littletired of being very happy, and I think Tyrrel also will find absence arelief. In 'Lalla Rookh' there is a line about love 'falling asleep in asameness of splendor. ' It might. How melancholy is a long spell of hot, sunshiny weather, and how gratefully we welcome the first shower ofrain. "

"Love has made you a philosopher, Ethel. "

"Well, it is rather an advantage than otherwise. I am going to take awalk, Ruth, into the very heart of Broadway. I have had enough of thepeace of the country. I want the crack, and crash, and rattle, and grindof wheels, the confused cries, the snatches of talk and laughter, thetread of crowds, the sound of bells, and clocks, and chimes. I long forall the chaotic, unintelligible noise of the streets. How suggestiveit is! Yet it never explains itself. It only gives one a full sense oflife. Love may need just the same stimulus. I wish grandmother wouldcome home. I should not require Broadway as a stimulus. I am afraid shewill be very angry with me, and there will be a battle royal in GramercyPark. "

It was nearly a week before Ethel had this crisis to meet. She went downto it with a radiant face and charming manner, and her reception wasvery cordial. Madam would not throw down the glove until the propermoment; besides, there were many very interesting subjects to talk over, and she wanted "to find things out" that would never be told unlesstempers were propitious. Added to these reasons was the solid one thatshe really adored her granddaughter, and was immensely cheered by thevery sight of the rosy, smiling countenance lifted to her sitting-roomwindow in passing. She, indeed, pretended to be there in order to geta good light for her new shell pattern, but she was watching for Ethel, and Ethel understood the shell-pattern fiction very well. She had heardsomething similar often. 

"My darling grandmother, " she cried, "I thought you would never comehome. "

"It wasn't my fault, dear. Miss Hillis and an imbecile young doctor mademe believe I had a cold. I had no cold. I had nothing at all but whatI ought to have. I've been made to take all sorts of things, and do allsorts of things that I hate to take and hate to do. For ten days I'vebeen kicking my old heels against bedclothes. Yesterday I took things inmy own hands. "

"Never mind, Granny dear, it was all a good discipline. "

"Discipline! You impertinent young lady! Discipline for yourgrandmother! Discipline, indeed! That one word may cost you a thousanddollars, miss. "

"I don't care if it does, only you must give the thousand dollars topoor Miss Hillis. "

"Poor Miss Hillis has had a most comfortable time with me all summer. "

"I know she has, consequently she will feel her comfortless room andpoverty all the more after it. Give her the thousand, Granny. I'mwilling. "

"What kind of company have you been keeping, Ethel Rawdon? Who hastaught you to squander dollars by the thousand? Discipline! I think youare giving me a little now--a thousand dollars a lesson, it seems--nowonder, after the carryings-on at Rawdon Court. "

"Dear grandmother, we had the loveliest time you can imagine. And thereis not, in all the world, such a noble old gentleman as Squire PercivalRawdon. "

"I know all about Percival Rawdon--a proud, careless, extravagant, loose-at-ends man, dancing and singing and loving as it suited time andseason, taking no thought for the future, and spending with both hands;hard on women, too, as could be. "

"Grandmother, I never saw a more courteous gentleman. He worships women. He was never tired of talking about you. "

"What had he to say about me?"

"That you were the loveliest girl in the county, and that he never couldforget the first time he saw you. He said you were like the vision of anangel. "

"Nonsense! I was just a pretty girl in a book muslin frock and a whitesash, with a rose at my breast. I believe they use book muslin forlinings now, but it did make the sheerest, lightest frocks any girlcould want. Yes, I remember that time. I was going to a little party andcrossing a meadow to shorten the walk, and Squire Percival had been outwith his gun, and he laid it down and ran to help me over the stile. Ahandsome young fellow he was then as ever stepped in shoe leather. "

"And he must have loved you dearly. He would sit hour after hour tellingRuth and me how bright you were, and how all the young beaux aroundMonk-Rawdon adored you. "

"Nonsense! Nonsense! I had beaux to be sure. What pretty girl hasn't?"

"And he said his brother Edward won you because he was most worthy ofyour love. "

"Well, now, I chose Edward Rawdon because he was willing to come toAmerica. I longed to get away from Monk-Rawdon. I was faint and wearywith the whole stupid place. And the idea of living a free and equallife, and not caring what lords and squires and their proud ladies saidor did, pleased me wonderfully. We read about Niagara and the greatprairies and the new bright cities, and Edward and I resolved tomake our home there. Your grandfather wasn't a man to like being 'theSquire's brother. ' He could stand alone. "

"Are you glad you came to America?"

"Never sorry a minute for it. Ten years in New York is worth fifty yearsin Monk-Rawdon, or Rawdon Court either. "

"Squire Percival was very fond of me. He thought I resembled you, grandmother, but he never admitted I was as handsome as you were. "

"Well, Ethel dear, you are handsome enough for the kind of men you'llpick up in this generation--most of them bald at thirty, wearingspectacles at twenty or earlier, and in spite of the fuss they makeabout athletics breaking all to nervous bits about fifty. "

"Grandmother, that is pure slander. I know some very fine young men, handsome and athletic both. "

"Beauty is a matter of taste, and as to their athletics, they can runa mile with a blacksmith, but when the thermometer rises to eighty-fivedegrees it knocks them all to pieces. They sit fanning themselves likeschoolgirls, and call for juleps and ice-water. I've got eyes yet, mydear. Squire Percival was a different kind of man; he could follow thehounds all day and dance all night. The hunt had not a rider likehim; he balked at neither hedge, gate, nor water; a right gallant, courageous, honorable, affectionate gentleman as ever Yorkshire bred, and she's bred lots of superfine ones. What ever made him get into sucha mess with his estate? Your grandfather thought him as straight as astring in money matters. "

"You said just now he was careless and extravagant. "

"Well, I did him wrong, and I'm sorry for it. How did he manage to needeighty thousand pounds?"

"It is rather a pitiful story, grandmother, but he never once blamedthose who were in the wrong. His son for many years had been the realmanager of the estate. He was a speculator; his grandsons were wild andextravagant. They began to borrow money ten years ago and had to go on. "

"Whom did they borrow from?"

"Fred Mostyn's father. "

"The devil! Excuse me, Ethel--but the name suits and may stand. "

"The dear old Squire would have taken the fault on himself if he couldhave done so. They that wronged him were his own, and they were dead. Henever spoke of them but with affection. "

"Poor Percival! Your father told me he was now out of Mostyn's power;he said you had saved the estate, but he gave me no particulars. How didyou save it?"

"Bought it!"

"Nonsense!"

"House and lands and outlying farms and timber--everything. "

Then a rosy color overspread Madam's face, her eyes sparkled, she roseto her feet, made Ethel a sweeping courtesy, and said:

"My respect and congratulations to Ethel, Lady of Rawdon Manor. "

"Dear grandmother, what else could I do?"

"You did right. "

"The Squire is Lord of the Manor as long as he lives. My father says Ihave done well to buy it. In the future, if I do not wish to keep it, Nicholas Rawdon will relieve me at a great financial advantage. "

"Why didn't you let Nicholas Rawdon buy it now?"

"He would have wanted prompt possession. The Squire would have had toleave his home. It would have broken his heart. "

"I dare say. He has a soft, loving heart. That isn't always a blessing. It can give one a deal of suffering. And I hear you have all been makingidols of these Tyrrel-Rawdons. Fred tells me they are as vulgar a lot ascan be. "

"Fred lies! Excuse me, grandmother--but the word suits and may stand. Mr. Nicholas is pompous, and walks as slowly as if he had to carry theweight of his great fortune; but his manners are all right, and hiswife and son are delightful. She is handsome, well dressed, and sogood-hearted that her pretty county idioms are really charming. JohnThomas is a man by himself--not handsome, but running over with goodtemper, and exceedingly clever and wide-awake. Many times I was forcedto tell myself, John Thomas would make an ideal Squire of Rawdon. "

"Why don't you marry him. "

"He never asked me. "

"What was the matter with the men?"

"He was already engaged to a very lovely young lady. "

"I am glad she is a lady. "

"She is also very clever. She has been to college and taken high honors, a thing I have not done. "

"You might have done and overdone that caper; you were too sensible totry it. Well, I'm glad that part of the family is looking up. They hadthe right stuff in them, and it is a good thing for families to dwelltogether in unity. We have King David's word for that. My observationleads me to think it is far better for families to dwell apart, inunity. They seldom get along comfortably together. "

Then Ethel related many pleasant, piquant scenes between the twofamilies at Monk-Rawdon, and especially that one in which the room ofthe first Tyrrel had been opened and his likeness restored to itsplace in the family gallery. It touched the old lady to tears, and shemurmured, "Poor lad! Poor lad! I wonder if he knows! I wonder if heknows!"

The crucial point of Ethel's revelations had not yet been revealed, but Madam was now in a gentle mood, and Ethel took the opportunity tointroduce her to Tyrrel Rawdon. She was expecting and waiting for thistopic, but stubbornly refused to give Ethel any help toward bringingit forward. At last, the girl felt a little anger at her pretendedindifference, and said, "I suppose Fred Mostyn told you about Mr. TyrrelRawdon, of California?"

"Tyrrel Rawdon, of California! Pray, who may he be?"

"The son of Colonel Rawdon, of the United States Army. "

"Oh, to be sure! Well, what of him?"

"I am going to marry him. "

"I shall see about that. "

"We were coming here together to see you, but before we left the steamerhe got a telegram urging him to go at once to his father, who is veryill. "

"I have not asked him to come and see me. Perhaps he will wait till I doso. "

"If you are not going to love Tyrrel, you need not love me. I won't haveyou for a grandmother any longer. "

"I did without you sixty years. I shall not live another twelve months, and I think I can manage to do without you for a granddaughter anylonger. "

"You cannot do without me. You would break your heart, and I shouldbreak mine. " Whereupon Ethel began to cry with a passion that quitegratified the old lady. She watched her a few moments, and then saidgently:

"There now, that will do. When he comes to New York bring him to see me. And don't name the man in the meantime. I won't talk about him till I'veseen him. It isn't fair either way. Fred didn't like him. "

"Fred likes no one but Dora Stanhope. "

"Eh! What! Is that nonsense going on yet?"

Then Ethel described her last two interviews with Dora. She did thiswith scrupulous fidelity, making no suggestions that might prejudice thecase. For she really wanted her grandmother's decision in order to frameher own conduct by it. Madam was not, however, in a hurry to give it. 

"What do you think?" she asked Ethel. 

"I have known Dora for many years; she has always told me everything. "

"But nothing about Fred?"

"Nothing. "

"Nothing to tell, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. "

"Where does her excellent husband come in?"

"She says he is very kind to her in his way. "

"And his way is to drag her over the world to see the cathedralsthereof, and to vary that pleasure with inspecting schools andreformatories and listening to great preachers. Upon my word, I feelsorry for the child! And I know all about such excellent people as theStanhopes. I used to go to what they call 'a pleasant evening' withthem. We sat around a big room lit with wax candles, and held improvingconversation, or some one sang one or two of Mrs. Hemans' songs, like'Passing Away' or 'He Never Smiled Again. ' Perhaps there was a comicrecitation, at which no one laughed, and finally we had wine and hotwater--they called it 'port negus'--and tongue sandwiches and carawaycakes. My dear Ethel, I yawn now when I think of those dreary evenings. What must Dora have felt, right out of the maelstrom of New York'soperas and theaters and dancing parties?"

"Still, Dora ought to try to feel some interest in the church affairs. She says she does not care a hairpin for them, and Basil feels so hurt. "

"I dare say he does, poor fellow! He thinks St. Jude's Kindergarten andsewing circles and missionary societies are the only joys in the world. Right enough for Basil, but how about Dora?"

"They are his profession; she ought to feel an interest in them. "

"Come now, look at the question sensibly. Did Dora's father bring his'deals' and stock-jobbery home, and expect Dora and her mother to feelan interest in them? Do doctors tell their wives about their patients, and expect them to pay sympathizing visits? Does your father expect Ruthand yourself to listen to his cases and arguments, and visit his poorclients or make underclothing for them? Do men, in general, consider ita wife's place to interfere in their profession or business?"

"Clergymen are different. "

"Not at all. Preaching and philanthropy is their business. They get somuch a year for doing it. I don't believe St. Jude's pays Mrs. Stanhopea red cent. There now, and if she isn't paid, she's right not to work. Amen to that!"

"Before she was married Dora said she felt a great interest in churchwork. "

"I dare say she did. Marriage makes a deal of difference in a woman'slikes and dislikes. Church work was courting-time before marriage; aftermarriage she had other opportunities. "

"I think you might speak to Fred Mostyn----"

"I might, but it wouldn't be worth while. Be true to your friend as longas you can. In Yorkshire we stand by our friends, right or wrong, andwe aren't too particular as to their being right. My father enjoyedjustifying a man that everyone else was down on; and I've stood by manya woman nobody had a good word for. I was never sorry for doing it, either. I'll be going into a strange country soon, and I should notwonder if some of them that have gone there first will be ready to standby me. We don't know what friends we'll be glad of there. "

The dinner bell broke up this conversation, and Ethel during it toldMadam about the cook and cooking at the Court and at NicholasRawdon's, where John Thomas had installed a French chef. Other domesticarrangements were discussed, and when the Judge called for his daughterat four o'clock, Madam vowed "she had spent one of the happiest days ofher life. "

"Ruth tells me, " said the Judge, "that Dora Stanhope called for Ethelsoon after she left home this morning. Ruth seems troubled at thecontinuance of this friendship. Have you spoken to your grandmother, Ethel, about Dora?"

"She has told me all there is to tell, I dare say, " answered Madam. 

"Well, mother, what do you think?"

"I see no harm in it yet awhile. It is not fair, Edward, to condemn uponlikelihoods. We are no saints, sinful men and women, all of us, and asmuch inclined to forbidden fruit as any good Christians can be. Ethelcan do as she feels about it; she's got a mind of her own, and I hope togoodness she'll not let Ruth Bayard bit and bridle it. "

Going home the Judge evidently pondered this question, for he said aftera lengthy silence, "Grandmother's ethics do not always fit the socialethics of this day, Ethel. She criticises people with her heart, nother intellect. You must be prudent. There is a remarkable thing calledRespectability to be reckoned with remember that. "

And Ethel answered, "No one need worry about Dora. Some women may showthe edges of their character soiled and ragged, but Dora will be sureto have hers reputably finished with a hem of the widest propriety. "And after a short silence the Judge added, almost in soliloquy, "And, moreover, Ethel, "'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. '"

PART FOURTH -- THE REAPING OF THE SOWING

CHAPTER X

WHEN Ethel and Tyrrel parted at the steamer they did not expect a longseparation, but Colonel Rawdon never recovered his health, and for manyexcellent reasons Tyrrel could not leave the dying man. Nor did Ethelwish him to do so. Under these circumstances began the second beautifulphase of Ethel's wooing, a sweet, daily correspondence, the best ofall preparations for matrimonial oneness and understanding. Looking forTyrrel's letters, reading them, and answering them passed many happyhours, for to both it was an absolute necessity to assure each otherconstantly, "Since I wrote thee yester eve I do love thee, Love, believe, Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer, One dream deeper one night stronger, One sun surer--this much more Than I loved thee, dear, before. "

And for the rest, she took up her old life with a fresh enthusiasm. 

Among these interests none were more urgent in their claims than DoraStanhope; and fortified by her grandmother's opinion, Ethel went at onceto call on her. She found Basil with his wife, and his efforts to makeEthel see how much he expected from her influence, and yet at the sametime not even hint a disapproval of Dora, were almost pathetic, for hewas so void of sophistry that his innuendoes were flagrantly open todetection. Dora felt a contempt for them, and he had hardly left theroom ere she said:

"Basil has gone to his vestry in high spirits. When I told him you werecoming to see me to-day he smiled like an angel. He believes you willkeep me out of mischief, and he feels a grand confidence in somethingwhich he calls 'your influence. '"

"What do you mean by mischief?"

"Oh, I suppose going about with Fred Mostyn. I can't help that. I musthave some one to look after me. All the young men I used to know pass menow with a lifted hat or a word or two. The girls have forgotten me. Idon't suppose I shall be asked to a single dance this winter. "

"The ladies in St. Jude's church would make a pet of you if----"

"The old cats and kittens! No, thank you, I am not going to churchexcept on Sunday mornings--that is respectable and right; but as tobeing the pet of St. Jude's ladies! No, no! How they would mew over mydelinquencies, and what scratches I should get from their velvet-shodclaws! If I have to be talked about, I prefer the ladies of the world todiscuss my frailties. "

"But if I were you, I would give no one a reason for saying a wordagainst me. Why should you?"

"Fred will supply them with reasons. I can't keep the man away from me. I don't believe I want to--he is very nice and useful. "

"You are talking nonsense, things you don't mean, Dora. You are notsuch a foolish woman as to like to be seen with Fred Mostyn, that littlemonocular snob, after the aristocratic, handsome Basil Stanhope. Thecomparison is a mockery. Basil is the finest gentleman I ever saw. Socially, he is perfection, and----"

"He is only a clergyman. "

"Even as a clergyman he is of religiously royal descent. There aregenerations of clergymen behind him, and he is a prince in the pulpit. Every man that knows him gives him the highest respect, every womanthinks you the most fortunate of wives. No one cares for Fred Mostyn. Even in his native place he is held in contempt. He had nine hundredvotes to young Rawdon's twelve thousand. "

"I don't mind that. I am going to the matinee to-morrow with Fred. Hewanted to take me out in his auto this afternoon, but when I said Iwould go if you would he drew back. What is the reason? Did he make youoffer of his hand? Did you refuse it?"

"He never made me an offer. I count that to myself as a greatcompliment. If he had done such a thing, he would certainly have beenrefused. "

"I can tell that he really hates you. What dirty trick did you serve himabout Rawdon Court?"

"So he called the release of Squire Rawdon a 'dirty trick'? It wouldhave been a very dirty trick to have let Fred Mostyn get his way withSquire Rawdon. "

"Of course, Ethel, when a man lends his money as an obligation heexpects to get it back again. "

"Mostyn got every farthing due him, and he wanted one of the finestmanors in Eng-land in return for the obligation. He did not get it, thank God and my father!"

"He will not forget your father's interference. "

"I hope he will remember it. "

"Do you know who furnished the money to pay Fred? He says he is sureyour father did not have it. "

"Tell him to ask my father. He might even ask your father. Whether myfather had the money or not was immaterial. Father could borrow any sumhe wanted, I think. "

"Whom did he borrow from?"

"I am sure that Fred told you to ask that question. Is he writing toyou, Dora?"

"Suppose he is?"

"I cannot suppose such a thing. It is too impossible. "

This was the beginning of a series of events all more or less qualifiedto bring about unspeakable misery in Basil's home. But there is nothingin life like the marriage tie. The tugs it will bear and not break, thewrongs it will look over, the chronic misunderstandings it will forgive, make it one of the mysteries of humanity. It was not in a day or a weekthat Basil Stanhope's dream of love and home was shattered. Dora hadfrequent and then less frequent times of return to her better self; andevery such time renewed her husband's hope that she was merely passingthrough a period of transition and assimilation, and that in the end shewould be all his desire hoped for. 

But Ethel saw what he did not see, that Mostyn was gradually inspiringher with his own opinions, perhaps even with his own passion. Inthis emergency, however, she was gratified to find that Dora's motherappeared to have grasped the situation. For if Dora went to the theaterwith Mostyn, Mrs. Denning or Bryce was also there; and the recklessauto driving, shopping, and lunching had at least a show ofrespectable association. Yet when the opera season opened, the constantcompanionship of Mostyn and Dora became entirely too remarkable, notonly in the public estimation, but in Basil's miserable conception ofhis own wrong. The young husband used every art and persuasion--andfailed. And his failure was too apparent to be slighted. He becamefeverish and nervous, and his friends read his misery in eyes heavywith unshed tears, and in the wasting pallor caused by his sleepless, sorrowful nights. 

Dora also showed signs of the change so rapidly working on her. She wassullen and passionate by turns; she complained bitterly to Ethel thather youth and beauty had been wasted; that she was only nineteen, andher life was over. She wanted to go to Paris, to get away from New Yorkanywhere and anyhow. She began to dislike even the presence of Basil. His stately beauty offended her, his low, calm voice was the verykeynote of irritation. 

One morning near Christmas he came to her with a smiling, radiant face. "Dora, " he said, "Dora, my love, I have something so interesting totell you. Mrs. Colby and Mrs. Schaffler and some other ladies have abeautiful idea. They wish to give all the children of the church undereight years old the grandest Christmas tree imaginable--really richpresents and they thought you might like to have it here. "

"What do you say, Basil!"

"You were always so fond of children. You----"

"I never could endure them. "

"We all thought you might enjoy it. Indeed, I was so sure that Ipromised for you. It will be such a pleasure to me also, dear. "

"I will have no such childish nonsense in my house. "

"I promised it, Dora. "

"You had no right to do so. This is my house. My father bought it andgave me it, and it is my own. I----"

"It seems, then, that I intrude in your house. Is it so? Speak, Dora. "

"If you will ask questions you must take the answer. You do intrude whenyou come with such ridiculous proposals--in fact, you intrude very oftenlately. "

"Does Mr. Mostyn intrude?"

"Mr. Mostyn takes me out, gives me a little sensible pleasure. You thinkI can be interested in a Christmas tree. The idea!"

"Alas, alas, Dora, you are tired of me! You do not love me! You do notlove me!"

"I love nobody. I am sorry I got married. It was all a mistake. I willgo home and then you can get a divorce. "

At this last word the whole man changed. He was suffused, transfiguredwith an anger that was at once righteous and impetuous. 

"How dare you use that word to me?" he demanded. "To the priest ofGod no such word exists. I do not know it. You are my wife, willing orunwilling. You are my wife forever, whether you dwell with me ornot. You cannot sever bonds the Almighty has tied. You are mine, DoraStanhope! Mine for time and eternity! Mine forever and ever!"

She looked at him in amazement, and saw a man after an image she hadnever imagined. She was terrified. She flung herself on the sofa ina whirlwind of passion. She cried aloud against his claim. She gaveherself up to a vehement rage that was strongly infused with a childishdismay and panic. 

"I will not be your wife forever!" she shrieked. "I will never be yourwife again--never, not for one hour! Let me go! Take your hands off me!"For Basil had knelt down by the distraught woman, and clasping her inhis arms said, even on her lips, "You ARE my dear wife! You are my veryown dear wife! Tell me what to do. Anything that is right, reasonable Iwill do. We can never part. "

"I will go to my father. I will never come back to you. " And with thesewords she rose, threw off his embrace, and with a sobbing cry ran, likea terrified child, out of the room. 

He sat down exhausted by his emotion, and sick with the thought she hadevoked in that one evil word. The publicity, the disgrace, the wrongto Holy Church--ah, that was the cruelest wound! His own wrong was hardenough, but that he, who would gladly die for the Church, should puther to open shame! How could he bear it? Though it killed him, he mustprevent that wrong; yes, if the right eye offended it must be pluckedout. He must throw off his cassock, and turn away from the sacredaisles; he must--he could not say the word; he would wait a little. Dorawould not leave him; it was impossible. He waited in a trance of achingsuspense. Nothing for an hour or more broke it--no footfall, no sound ofcommand or complaint. He was finally in hopes that Dora slept. Then hewas called to lunch, and he made a pretense of eating it alone. Dorasent no excuse for her absence, and he could not trust himself to makeinquiry about her. In the middle of the afternoon he heard a carriagedrive to the door, and Dora, with her jewel-case in her hand, enteredit and was driven away. The sight astounded him. He ran to her room, andfound her maid packing her clothing. The woman answered his questionssullenly. She said "Mrs. Stanhope had gone to Mrs. Denning's, and hadleft orders for her trunks to be sent there. " Beyond this she was silentand ignorant. No sympathy for either husband or wife was in her heart. Their quarrel was interfering with her own plans; she hated both of themin consequence. 

In the meantime Dora had reached her home. Her mother was dismayed andhesitating, and her attitude raised again in Dora's heart the passionwhich had provoked the step she had taken. She wept like a lost child. She exclaimed against the horror of being Basil's wife forever and ever. She reproached her mother for suffering her to marry while she was onlya child. She said she had been cruelly used in order to get the familyinto social recognition. She was in a frenzy of grief at her supposedsacrifice when her father came home. Her case was then won. With herarms round his neck, sobbing against his heart, her tears and entreatieson his lips, Ben Denning had no feeling and no care for anyone but hisdaughter. He took her view of things at once. "She HAD been badly used. It WAS a shame to tie a girl like Dora to sermons and such like. It waslike shutting her up in a convent. " Dora's tears and complaints firedhim beyond reason. He promised her freedom whatever it cost him. 

And while he sat in his private room considering the case, all theracial passions of his rough ancestry burning within him, Basil Stanhopecalled to see him. He permitted him to come into his presence, but herose as he entered, and walked hastily a few steps to meet him. 

"What do you want here, sir?" he asked. 

"My wife. "

"My daughter. You shall not see her. I have taken her back to my owncare. "

"She is my wife. No one can take her from me. "

"I will teach you a different lesson. "

"The law of God. "

"The law of the land goes here. You'll find it more than you can defy. "

"Sir, I entreat you to let me speak to Dora. "

"I will not. "

"I will stay here until I see her. "

"I will give you five minutes. I do not wish to offer your profession aninsult; if you have any respect for it you will obey me. "

"Answer me one question--what have I done wrong?"

"A man can be so intolerably right, that he becomes unbearably wrong. You have no business with a wife and a home. You are a d---- sight toogood for a good little girl that wants a bit of innocent amusement. Sermons and Christmas trees! Great Scott, what sensible woman would notbe sick of it all? Sir, I don't want another minute of your company. Little wonder that my Dora is ill with it. Oblige me by leaving my houseas quietly as possible. " And he walked to the door, flung it open, andstood glaring at the distracted husband. "Go, " he said. "Go at once. My lawyer will see you in the future. I have nothing further to say toyou. "

Basil went, but not to his desolate home. He had a private key to thevestry in his church, and in its darkness and solitude he faced thefirst shock of his ruined life, for he knew well all was over. All hadbeen. He sank to the floor at the foot of the large cross which hung onits bare white walls. Grief's illimitable wave went over him, and like adrowning man he uttered an inarticulate cry of agony--the cry of a soulthat had wronged its destiny. Love had betrayed him to ruin. All he haddone must be abandoned. All he had won must be given up. Sin and shameindeed it would be if in his person a sacrament of the Church should bedragged through a divorce court. All other considerations paled beforethis disgrace. He must resign his curacy, strip himself of the honorablelivery of heaven, obliterate his person and his name. It was a kind ofdeath. 

After awhile he rose, drank some water, lifted the shade and let themoonlight in. Then about that little room he walked with God through thelong night, telling Him his sorrow and perplexity. And there is a depthin our own nature where the divine and human are one. That night BasilStanhope found it, and henceforward knew that the bitterness of deathwas behind him, not before. "I made my nest too dear on earth, " hesighed, "and it has been swept bare--that is, that I may build inheaven. "

Now, the revelation of sorrow is the clearest of all revelations. Stanhope understood that hour what he must do. No doubts weakened hiscourse. He went back to the house Dora called "hers, " took away what hevalued, and while the servants were eating their breakfast and talkingover his marital troubles, he passed across its threshold for the lasttime. He told no one where he was going; he dropped as silently anddumbly out of the life that had known him as a stone dropped intomid-ocean. 

Ethel considered herself fortunate in being from home at the time thisdisastrous culmination of Basil Stanhope's married life was reached. Onthat same morning the Judge, accompanied by Ruth and herself, had goneto Lenox to spend the holidays with some old friends, and she was quiteignorant of the matter when she returned after the New Year. Bryce washer first informant. He called specially to give her the news. He saidhis sister had been too ill and too busy to write. He had no word ofsympathy for the unhappy pair. He spoke only of the anxiety it hadcaused him. "He was now engaged, " he said, "to Miss Caldwell, and shewas such an extremely proper, innocent lady, and a member of St. Jude's, it had really been a trying time for her. " Bryce also reminded Ethelthat he had been against Basil Stanhope from the first. "He had alwaysknown how that marriage would end, " and so on. 

Ethel declined to give any opinion. "She must hear both sides, " shesaid. "Dora had been so reasonable lately, she had appeared happy. "

"Oh, Dora is a little fox, " he replied; "she doubles on herself always. "

Ruth was properly regretful. She wondered "if any married woman wasreally happy. " She did not apparently concern herself about Basil. TheJudge rather leaned to Basil's consideration. He understood that Dora'sovert act had shattered his professional career as well as his personalhappiness. He could feel for the man there. "My dears, " he said, withhis dilettante air, "the goddess Calamity is delicate, and her feetare tender. She treads not upon the ground, but makes her path upon thehearts of men. " In this non-committal way he gave his comment, for heusually found a bit of classical wisdom to fit modern emergencies, andthe habit had imparted an antique bon-ton to his conversation. Ethelcould only wonder at the lack of real sympathy. 

In the morning she went to see her grandmother. The old lady had "heard"all she wanted to hear about Dora and Basil Stanhope. If men wouldmarry a fool because she was young and pretty, they must take theconsequences. "And why should Stanhope have married at all?" she askedindignantly. "No man can serve God and a woman at the same time. Hehad to be a bad priest and a good husband, or a bad husband and a goodpriest. Basil Stanhope was honored, was doing good, and he must needs behappy also. He wanted too much, and lost everything. Serve him right. "

"All can now find some fault in poor Basil Stanhope, " said Ethel. "Bryce was bitter against him because Miss Caldwell shivers at the word'divorce. '"

"What has Bryce to do with Jane Caldwell?"

"He is going to marry her, he says. "

"Like enough; she's a merry miss of two-score, and rich. Bryce'smarriage with anyone will be a well-considered affair--a marriage withall the advantages of a good bargain. I'm tired of the whole subject. If women will marry they should be as patient as Griselda, in case thereever was such a woman; if not, there's an end of the matter. "

"There are no Griseldas in this century, grandmother. "

"Then there ought to be no marriages. Basil Stanhope was a grand man inpublic. What kind of a man was he in his home? Measure a man by hishome conduct, and you'll not go wrong. It's the right place to draw yourpicture of him, I can tell you that. "

"He has no home now, poor fellow. "

"Whose fault was it? God only knows. Where is his wife?"

"She has gone to Paris. "

"She has gone to the right place if she wants to play the fool. Butthere, now, God forbid I should judge her in the dark. Women shouldstand by women--considering. "

"Considering?"

"What they may have to put up with. It is easy to see faults in others. I have sometimes met with people who should see faults in themselves. They are rather uncommon, though. "

"I am sure Basil Stanhope will be miserable all his life. He will breakhis heart, I do believe. "

"Not so. A good heart is hard to break, it grows strong in trouble. Basil Stanhope's body will fail long before his heart does; and even soan end must come to life, and after that peace or what God wills. "

This scant sympathy Ethel found to be the usual tone among heracquaintances. St. Jude's got a new rector and a new idol, and theStanhope affair was relegated to the limbo of things "it was proper toforget. "

So the weeks of the long winter went by, and Ethel in the joy and hopeof her own love-life naturally put out of her mind the sorrow of livesshe could no longer help or influence. Indeed, as to Dora, there werefrequent reports of her marvelous social success in Paris; and Etheldid not doubt Stanhope had found some everlasting gospel of holy work tocomfort his desolation. And then also

 "Each day brings its petty dust, Our soon-choked souls to fill; And we forget because we must, And not because we will. "

One evening when May with heavy clouds and slant rains was making thecity as miserable as possible, Ethel had a caller. His card bore a namequite unknown, and his appearance gave no clew to his identity. 

"Mr. Edmonds?" she said interrogatively. 

"Are you Miss Ethel Rawdon?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"Mr. Basil Stanhope told me to put this parcel in your hands. "

"Oh, Mr. Stanhope! I am glad to hear from him. Where is he now?"

"We buried him yesterday. He died last Sunday as the bells were ringingfor church--pneumonia, miss. While reading the ser-vice over a pooryoung man he had nursed many weeks he took cold. The poor will miss himsorely. "

"DEAD!" She looked aghast at the speaker, and again ejaculated thepitiful, astounding word. 

"Good evening, miss. I promised him to return at once to the work heleft me to do. " And he quietly departed, leaving Ethel standing with theparcel in her hands. She ran upstairs and locked it away. Just then shecould not bear to open it. 

"And it is hardly twelve months since he was married, " she sobbed. "Oh, Ruth, Ruth, it is too cruel!"

"Dear, " answered Ruth, "there is no death to such a man as BasilStanhope. "

"He was so young, Ruth. "

"I know. 'His high-born brothers called him hence' at the age oftwenty-nine, but

 "'It is not growing like a tree, In bulk, doth make men better be; Or standing like an oak three hundred year, To fall at last, dry, bald and sear: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May; Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. '"

At these words the Judge put down his Review to listen to Ethel's story, and when she ceased speaking he had gone far further back than anyantique classic for compensation and satisfaction:

"He being made perfect in a short time fulfilled a long time. For hissoul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted He to take him away from amongthe wicked. " [2] And that evening there was little conversation. Everyheart was busy with its own thoughts. 

[Footnote 2: Wisdom of Solomon, IV. , 13, 14. ]

CHAPTER XI

TRADE and commerce have their heroes as well as arms, and the strugglein which Tyrrel Rawdon at last plucked victory from apparent failure wasas arduous a campaign as any military operations could have afforded. Ithad entailed on him a ceaseless, undaunted watch over antagonists richand powerful; and a fight for rights which contained not only his ownfortune, but the honor of his father, so that to give up a fraction ofthem was to turn traitor to the memory of a parent whom he believedto be beyond all doubt or reproach. Money, political power, civicinfluence, treachery, bribery, the law's delay and many otherhindrances met him on every side, but his heart was encouraged daily toperseverance by love's tenderest sympathy. For he told Ethel everything, and received both from her fine intuitions and her father's legal skillpriceless comfort and advice. But at last the long trial was over, themarriage day was set, and Tyrrel, with all his rights conceded, washonorably free to seek the happiness he had safeguarded on every side. 

It was a lovely day in the beginning of May, nearly two years aftertheir first meeting, when Tyrrel reached New York. Ethel knew at whathour his train would arrive, she was watching and listening for hisstep. They met in each other's arms, and the blessed hours of that happyevening were an over-payment of delight for the long months of theirseparation. 

In the morning Ethel was to introduce her lover to Madam Rawdon, andside by side, almost hand in hand, they walked down the avenue together. Walked? They were so happy they hardly knew whether their feet touchedearth or not. They had a constant inclination to clasp hands, to run aslittle children run; They wished to smile at everyone, to bid all theworld good morning. Madam had resolved to be cool and careful in heradvances, but she quickly found herself unable to resist the sight ofso much love and hope and happiness. The young people together took herheart by storm, and she felt herself compelled to express an interest intheir future, and to question Tyrrel about it. 

"What are you going to do with yourself or make of yourself?" she askedTyrrel one evening when they were sitting together. "I do hope you'llfind some kind of work. Anything is better than loafing about clubs andsuch like places. "

"I am going to study law with Judge Rawdon. My late experience hastaught me its value. I do not think I shall loaf in his office. "

"Not if he is anywhere around. He works and makes others work. Lawyeringis a queer business, but men can be honest in it if they want to. "

"And, grandmother, " said Ethel, "my father says Tyrrel has a wonderfulgift for public speaking. He made a fine speech at father's club lastnight. Tyrrel will go into politics. "

"Will he, indeed? Tyrrel is a wonder. If he manages to walk his shoesstraight in the zigzaggery ways of the law, he will be one of that grandbreed called 'exceptions. ' As for politics, I don't like them, far fromit. Your grandfather used to say they either found a man a rascal ormade him one. However, I'm ready to compromise on law and politics. Iwas afraid with his grand voice he would set up for a tenor. "

Tyrrel laughed. "I did once think of that role, " he said. 

"I fancied that. Whoever taught you to use your voice knew a thing ortwo about singing. I'll say that much. "

"My mother taught me. "

"Never! I wonder now!"

"She was a famous singer. She was a great and a good woman. I owe herfor every excellent quality there is in me. "

"No, you don't. You have got your black eyes and hair her way, I'll warrant that, but your solid make-up, your pluck and grit andperseverance is the Rawdon in you. Without Rawdon you would verylikely now be strutting about some opera stage, playing at kings andlovemaking. "

"As it is----"

"As it is, you will be lord consort of Rawdon Manor, with a silver mineto back you. "

"I am sorry about the Manor, " said Tyrrel. "I wish the dear old Squirewere alive to meet Ethel and myself. "

"To be sure you do. But I dare say that he is glad now to have passedout of it. Death is a mystery to those left, but I have no doubt itis satisfying to those who have gone away. He died as he lived, veryproperly; walked in the garden that morning as far as the strawberrybeds, and the gardener gave him the first ripe half-dozen in a youngcabbage leaf, and he ate them like a boy, and said they tasted asif grown in Paradise, then strolled home and asked Joel to shake thepillows on the sofa in the hall, laid himself down, shuffled his headeasy among them, and fell on sleep. So Death the Deliverer found him. Agood going home! Nothing to fear in it. "

"Ethel tells me that Mr. Mostyn is now living at Mostyn Hall. "

"Yes, he married that girl he would have sold his soul for and took herthere, four months only after her husband's death. When I was young hedurst not have done it, the Yorkshire gentry would have cut them both. "

"I think, " said Tyrrel, "American gentlemen of to-day felt much thesame. Will Madison told me that the club cut him as soon as Mrs. Stanhope left her husband. He went there one day after it was known, andno one saw him; finally he walked up to McLean, and would have sat down, but McLean said, 'Your company is not desired, Mr. Mostyn. ' Mostyn saidsomething in re-ply, and McLean answered sternly, 'True, we are noneof us saints, but there are lines the worst of us will not pass; andif there is any member of this club willing to interfere between abridegroom and his bride, I would like to kick him out of it. 'Mostyn struck the table with some exclamation, and McLean continued, 'Especially when the wronged husband is a gentleman of such stainlesscharacter and unsuspecting nature as Basil Stanhope--a clergyman also!Oh, the thing is beyond palliation entirely!' And he walked away andleft Mostyn. "

"Well, " said Madam, "if it came to kicking, two could play that game. Fred is no coward. I don't want to hear another word about them. Theywill punish each other without our help. Let them alone. I hope you arenot going to have a crowd at your wedding. The quietest weddings are theluckiest ones. "

"About twenty of our most intimate friends are invited to the church, "said Ethel. "There will be no reception until we return to New York inthe fall. "

"No need of fuss here, there will be enough when you reach Monk-Rawdon. The village will be garlanded and flagged, the bells ring-ing, and allyour tenants and retainers out to meet you. "

"We intend to get into our own home without anyone being aware of it. Come, Tyrrel, my dressmaker is waiting, I know. It is my wedding gown, dear Granny, and oh, so lovely!"

"You will not be any smarter than I intend to be, miss. You are shut offfrom color. I can outdo you. "

"I am sure you can--and will. Here comes father. What can he want?" Theymet him at the door, and with a few laughing words left him with Madam. She looked curiously into his face and asked, "What is it, Edward?"

"I suppose they have told you all the arrangements. They are verysimple. Did they say anything about Ruth?"

"They never named her. They said they were going to Washington for aweek, and then to Rawdon Court. Ruth seems out of it all. Are you goingto turn her adrift, or present her with a few thousand dollars? She hasbeen a mother to Ethel. Something ought to be done for Ruth Bayard. "

"I intend to marry her. "

"I thought so. "

"She will go to her sister's in Philadelphia for a month 's preparation. I shall marry her there, and bring her home as my wife. She is a sweet, gentle, docile woman. She will make me happy. "

"Sweet, gentle, docile! Yes, that is the style of wife Rawdon menprefer. What does Ethel say?"

"She is delighted. It was her idea. I was much pleased with herthoughtfulness. Any serious break in my life would now be a greatdiscomfort. You need not look so satirical, mother; I thought of Ruth'slife also. "

"Also an afterthought; but Ruth is gentle and docile, and she issatisfied, and I am satisfied, so then everything is proper and everyonecontent. Come for me at ten on Wednesday morning. I shall be ready. Norefreshments, I suppose. I must look after my own breakfast. Won't youfeel a bit shabby, Edward?" And then the look and handclasp between themturned every word into sweetness and good-will. 

And as Ethel regarded her marriage rather as a religious rite thana social function, she objected to its details becoming in any sensepublic, and her desires were to be regarded. Yet everyone may imaginethe white loveliness of the bride, the joy of the bridegroom, thecalm happiness of the family breakfast, and the leisurely, quietleave-taking. The whole ceremony was the right note struck at thebeginning of a new life, and they might justly expect it would moveonward in melodious sequence. 

Within three weeks after their marriage they arrived at Rawdon Court. Itwas on a day and at an hour when no one was looking for them, andthey stepped into the lovely home waiting for them without outsideobservation. Hiring a carriage at the railway station, they dismissed itat the little bridge near the Manor House, and sauntered happily throughthe intervening space. The door of the great hall stood open, and thefire, which had been burning on its big hearth unquenched for morethan three hundred years, was blazing merrily, as if some hand had justreplenished it. On the long table the broad, white beaver hat of thedead Squire was lying, and his oak walking stick was beside it. No onehad liked to remove them. They remained just as he had put them down, that last, peaceful morning of his life. 

In a few minutes the whole household was aware of their home-coming, andbefore the day was over the whole neighborhood. Then there was no wayof avoiding the calls, the congratulations, and the entertainmentsthat followed, and the old Court was once more the center of a splendidhospitality. Of course the Tyrrel-Rawdons were first on the scene, andEthel was genuinely glad to meet again the good-natured Mrs. Nicholas. No one could give her better local advice, and Ethel quickly discoveredthat the best general social laws require a local interpretation. Herhands were full, her heart full, she had so many interests to share, somany people to receive and to visit, and yet when two weeks passed andDora neither came nor wrote she was worried and dissatisfied. 

"Are the Mostyns at the Hall?" she asked Mrs. Nicholas at last. "I havebeen expecting Mrs. Mostyn every day, but she neither comes nor writesto me. "

"I dare say not. Poor little woman! I'll warrant she has been forbid todo either. If Mostyn thought she wanted to see you, he would watch dayand night to prevent her coming. He's turning out as cruel a man as hisfather was, and you need not say a word worse than that. "

"Cruel! Oh, dear, how dreadful! Men will drink and cheat and swear, buta cruel man seems so unnatural, so wicked. "

"To be sure, cruelty is the joy of devils. As I said to John Thomas whenwe heard about Mostyn's goings-on, we have got rid of the Wicked One, but the wicked still remain with us. "

This conversation having been opened, was naturally prolonged by therelation of incidents which had come through various sources to Mrs. Rawdon's ears, all of them indicating an almost incredible system ofpetty tyranny and cruel contradiction. Ethel was amazed, and finallyangry at what she heard. Dora was her countrywoman and her friend;she instantly began to express her sympathy and her intention ofinterfering. 

"You had better neither meddle nor make in the matter, " answered Mrs. Rawdon. "Our Lucy went to see her, and gave her some advice aboutmanaging Yorkshiremen. And as she was talking Mostyn came in, and was asrude as he dared to be. Then Lucy asked him 'if he was sick. ' She said, 'All the men in the neighborhood, gentle and simple, were talking abouthim, and that it wasn't a pleasant thing to be talked about in theway they were doing it. You must begin to look more like yourself, Mr. Mostyn; it is good advice I am giving you, ' she added; and Mostyn toldher he would look as he felt, whether it was liked or not liked. And Lucy laughed, and said, 'In that case he would have to go to hislooking-glass for company. ' Well, Ethel, there was a time to joy adevil after Lucy left, and some one of the servants went on their ownresponsibility for a doctor; and Mostyn ordered him out of the house, and he would not go until he saw Mrs. Mostyn; and the little woman wasforced to come and say 'she was quite well, ' though she was sobbing allthe time she spoke. Then the doctor told Mostyn what he thought, andthere is a quarrel between them every time they meet. "

But Ethel was not deterred by these statements; on the contrary, theystimulated her interest in her friend. Dora needed her, and the oldfeeling of protection stirred her to interference. At any rate, shecould call and see the unhappy woman; and though Tyrrel was opposed tothe visit, and thought it every way unwise, Ethel was resolved tomake it. "You can drive me there, " she said, "then go and see JusticeManningham and call for me in half an hour. " And this resolution wasstrengthened by a pitiful little note received from Dora just after herdecision. "Mostyn has gone to Thirsk, " it said; "for pity's sake comeand see me about two o'clock this afternoon. "

The request was promptly answered. As the clock struck two Ethel crossedthe threshold of the home that might have been hers. She shuddered atthe thought. The atmosphere of the house was full of fear and gloom, thefurniture dark and shabby, and she fancied the wraiths of old forgottencrimes and sorrows were gliding about the sad, dim rooms and stairways. Dora rose in a passion of tears to welcome her, and because time wasshort instantly began her pitiful story. 

"You know how he adored me once, " she said; "would you believe it, Ethel, we were not two weeks married when he began to hate me. Hedragged me through Europe in blazing heat and blinding snows when I wassick and unfit to move. He brought me here in the depth of winter, andwhen no one called on us he blamed me; and from morning till night, andsometimes all night long, he taunts and torments me. After he heard thatyou had bought the Manor he lost all control of himself. He will not letme sleep. He walks the floor hour after hour, declaring he could havehad you and the finest manor in England but for a cat-faced womanlike me. And he blames me for poor Basil's death--says we murderedhim together, and that he sees blood on my hands. " And she looked withterror at her small, thin hands, and held them up as if to protestagainst the charge. When she next spoke it was to sob out, "Poor Basil!He would pity me! He would help me! He would forgive me! He knows nowthat Mostyn was, and is, my evil genius. "

"Do not cry so bitterly, Dora, it hurts me. Let us think. Is therenothing you can do?"

"I want to go to mother. " Then she drew Ethel's head close to her andwhispered a few words, and Ethel answered, "You poor little one, youshall go to your mother. Where is she?"

"She will be in London next week, and I must see her. He will not let mego, but go I must if I die for it. Mrs. John Thomas Rawdon told me whatto do, and I have been following her advice. "

Ethel did not ask what it was, but added, "If Tyrrel and I can help you, send for us. We will come. And, Dora, do stop weeping, and be brave. Remember you are an American woman. Yourfather has often told me how you could ride with Indians or cowboysand shoot with any miner in Colorado. A bully like Mostyn is always acoward. Lift up your heart and stand for every one of your rights. Youwill find plenty of friends to stand with you. " And with the words shetook her by the hands and raised her to her feet, and looked at herwith such a beaming, courageous smile that Dora caught its spirit, andpromised to insist on her claims for rest and sleep. 

"When shall I come again, Dora?"

"Not till I send for you. Mother will be in London next Wednesday atthe Savoy. I intend to leave here Wednesday some time, and may need you;will you come?"

"Surely, both Tyrrel and I. "

Then the time being on a dangerous line they parted. But Ethel couldthink of nothing and talk of nothing but the frightful change in herfriend, and the unceasing misery which had produced it. Tyrrel sharedall her indignation. The slow torture of any creature was an intolerablecrime in his eyes, but when the brutality was exercised on a woman, andon a countrywoman, he was roused to the highest pitch of indignation. When Wednesday arrived he did not leave the house, but waited withEthel for the message they confidently expected. It came about fiveo'clock--urgent, imperative, entreating, "Come, for God's sake! He willkill me. "

The carriage was ready, and in half an hour they were at Mostyn Hall. Noone answered their summons, but as they stood listening and waiting, a shrill cry of pain and anger pierced the silence. It was followed byloud voices and a confused noise--noise of many talking and exclaiming. Then Tyrrel no longer hesitated. He opened the door easily, and takingEthel on his arm, suddenly entered the parlor from which the clamorcame. Dora stood in the center of the room like an enraged pythoness, her eyes blazing with passion. 

"See!" she cried as Tyrrel entered the room--"see!" And she held outher arm, and pointed to her shoulder from which the lace hung in shreds, showing the white flesh, red and bruised, where Mostyn had gripped her. Then Tyrrel turned to Mostyn, who was held tightly in the grasp ofhis gardener and coachman, and foaming with a rage that rendered hisexplanation almost inarticulate, especially as the three women servantsgathered around their mistress added their railing and invectives to thegeneral confusion. 

"The witch! The cat-faced woman!" he screamed. "She wants to go to hermother! Wants to play the trick she killed Basil Stanhope with! Sheshall not! She shall not! I will kill her first! She is mad! I willsend her to an asylum! She is a little devil! I will send her to hell!Nothing is bad enough--nothing----"

"Mr. Mostyn, " said Tyrrel. 

"Out of my house! What are you doing here? Away! This is my house! Outof it immediately!"

"This man is insane, " said Tyrrel to Dora. "Put on your hat and cloak, and come home with us. "

"I am waiting for Justice Manningham, " she answered with a calmsubsidence of passion that angered Mostyn more than her reproaches. "I have sent for him. He will be here in five minutes now. Thatbrute"--pointing to Mostyn--"must be kept under guard till I reach mymother. The magistrate will bring a couple of constables with him. "

"This is a plot, then! You hear it! You! You, Tyrrel Rawdon, and you, Saint Ethel, are in it, all here on time. A plot, I say! Let me loosethat I may strangle the cat-faced creature. Look at her hands, they arealready bloody!"

At these words Dora began to sob passionately, the servants, one andall, to comfort her, or to abuse Mostyn, and in the height of the hubbubJustice Manningham entered with two constables behind him. 

"Take charge of Mr. Mostyn, " he said to them, and as they laid their bighands on his shoulders the Justice added, "You will consider yourselfunder arrest, Mr. Mostyn. "

And when nothing else could cow Mostyn, he was cowed by the law. Hesank almost fainting into his chair, and the Justice listened to Dora'sstory, and looked indignantly at the brutal man, when she showed him hertorn dress and bruised shoulder. "I entreat your Honor, " she said, "topermit me to go to my mother who is now in London. " And he answeredkindly, "You shall go. You are in a condition only a mother can help andcomfort. As soon as I have taken your deposition you shall go. "

No one paid any attention to Mostyn's disclaimers and denials. TheJustice saw the state of affairs. Squire Rawdon and Mrs. Rawdontestified to Dora's ill-usage; the butler, the coachman, the stablemen, the cook, the housemaids were all eager to bear witness to the same; andMrs. Mostyn's appearance was too eloquent a plea for any humane man todeny her the mother-help she asked for. 

Though neighbors and members of the same hunt and clubs, the Justicetook no more friendly notice of Mostyn than he would have taken of anywife-beating cotton-weaver; and when all lawful preliminaries had beenarranged, he told Mrs. Mostyn that he should not take up Mr. Mostyn'scase till Friday; and in the interval she would have time to put herselfunder her mother's care. She thanked him, weeping, and in her old, pretty way kissed his hands, and "vowed he had saved her life, andshe would forever remember his goodness. " Mostyn mocked at her"play-acting, " and was sternly reproved by the Justice; and then Tyrreland Ethel took charge of Mrs. Mostyn until she was ready to leave forLondon. 

She was more nearly ready than they expected. All her trunks werepacked, and the butler promised to take them immediately to the railwaystation. In a quarter of an hour she appeared in traveling costume, withher jewels in a bag, which she carried in her hand. There was a trainfor London passing Monk-Rawdon at eight o'clock; and after JusticeManningham had left, the cook brought in some dinner, which Dora askedthe Rawdons to share with her. It was, perhaps, a necessary but apainful meal. No one noticed Mostyn. He was enforced to sit still andwatch its progress, which he accompanied with curses it would be a kindof sacrilege to write down. But no one answered him, and no one noticedthe orders he gave for his own dinner, until Dora rose to leave foreverthe house of bondage. Then she said to the cook:

"See that those gentlemanly constables have something good to eat and todrink, and when they have been served you may give that man"--pointingto Mostyn--"the dinner of bread and water he has so often prescribedfor me. After my train leaves you are all free to go to your own homes. Farewell, friends!"

Then Mostyn raved again, and finally tried his old loving terms. "Comeback to me, Dora, " he called frantically. "Come back, dearest, sweetestDora, I will be your lover forever. I will never say another cross wordto you. "

But Dora heard not and saw not. She left the room without a glance atthe man sitting cowering between the officers, and blubbering with shameand passion and the sense of total loss. In a few minutes he heard theRawdon carriage drive to the door. Tyrrel and Ethel assisted Dora intoit, and the party drove at once to the railway station. They were justable to catch the London train. The butler came up to report all thetrunks safely forwarded, and Dora dropped gold into his hand, andbade him clear the house of servants as soon as the morning broke. Fortunately there was no time for last words and promises; the trainbegan to move, and Tyrrel and Ethel, after watching Dora's white faceglide into the darkness, turned silently away. That depression whichso often follows the lifting of burdens not intended for our shouldersweighed on their hearts and made speech difficult. Tyrrel was especiallyaffected by it. A quick feeling of something like sympathy for Mostynwould not be reasoned away, and he drew Ethel close within his arm, andgave the coachman an order to drive home as quickly as possible, fortwilight was already becoming night, and under the trees the darknessfelt oppressive. 

The little fire on the hearth and their belated dinner somewhat relievedthe tension; but it was not until they had retired to a small parlor, and Tyrrel had smoked a cigar, that the tragedy of the evening became apossible topic of conversation. Tyrrel opened the subject by a questionas to whether "he ought to have gone with Dora to London. "

"Dora opposed the idea strongly when I named it to her, " answered Ethel. "She said it would give opportunities for Mostyn to slander both herselfand you, and I think she was correct. Every way she was best alone. "

"Perhaps, but I feel as if I ought to have gone, as if I had beensomething less than a gentleman; in fact, as if I had been veryun-gentle. "

"There is no need, " answered Ethel a little coldly. 

"It is a terrible position for Mostyn. "

"He deserves it. "

"He is so sensitive about public opinion. "

"In that case he should behave decently in private. "

Then Tyrrel lit another cigar, and there was another silence, whichEthel occupied in irritating thoughts of Dora's unfortunate fatality introuble-making. She sat at a little table standing between herself andTyrrel. It held his smoking utensils, and after awhile she pushed themaside, and let the splendid rings which adorned her hand fall into thecleared space. Tyrrel watched her a few moments, and then asked, "Whatare you doing, Ethel, my dear?"

She looked up with a smile, and then down at the hand she had laid openupon the table. "I am looking at the Ring of all Rings. See, Tyrrel, itis but a little band of gold, and yet it gave me more than all the gemsof earth could buy. Rubies and opals and sapphires are only its guard. The simple wedding ring is the ring of great price. It is the loveliestornament a happy woman can wear. "

Tyrrel took her hand and kissed it, and kissed the golden band, and thenanswered, "Truly an ornament if a happy wife wears it; but oh, Ethel, what is it when it binds a woman to such misery as Dora has just fledfrom?"

"Then it is a fetter, and a woman who has a particle of self-respectwill break it. The Ring of all Rings!" she ejaculated again, as shelifted the rubies and opals, and slowly but smilingly encircled thelittle gold band. 

"Let us try now to forget that sorrowful woman, " said Tyrrel. "She willbe with her mother in a few hours. Mother-love can cure all griefs. Itnever fails. It never blames. It never grows weary. It is always youngand warm and true. Dora will be comforted. Let us forget; we can do nomore. "

For a couple of days this was possible, but then came Mrs. NicholasRawdon, and the subject was perforce opened. "It was a bad case, " shesaid, "but it is being settled as quickly and as quietly as possible. Ibelieve the man has entered into some sort of recognizance to keep thepeace, and has disappeared. No one will look for him. The gentry areagainst pulling one another down in any way, and this affair theydon't want talked about. Being all of them married men, it isn't to beexpected, is it? Justice Manningham was very sorry for the littlelady, but he said also 'it was a bad precedent, and ought not to bediscussed. ' And Squire Bentley said, 'If English gentlemen would marryAmerican women, they must put up with American women's ways, ' and so on. None of them think it prudent to approve Mrs. Mostyn's course. But theywon't get off as easy as they think. The women are standing up for her. Did you ever hear anything like that? And I'll warrant some husbands arenone so easy in their minds, as my Nicholas said, 'Mrs. Mostyn had sownseed that would be seen and heard tell of for many a long day. ' OurLucy, I suspect, had more to do with the move than she will confess. Shegot a lot of new, queer notions at college, and I do believe in my heartshe set the poor woman up to the business. John Thomas, of course, saysnot a word, but he looks at Lucy in a very proud kind of way; and I'llbe bound he has got an object lesson he'll remember as long as he lives. So has Nicholas, though he bluffs more than a little as to what he'ddo with a wife that got a running-away notion into her head. Bless you, dear, they are all formulating their laws on the subject, and theirwives are smiling queerly at them, and holding their heads a bit higherthan usual. I've been doing it myself, so I know how they feel. "

Thus, though very little was said in the newspapers about the affair, the notoriety Mostyn dreaded was complete and thorough. It was theprivate topic of conversation in every household. Men talked it over inall the places where men met, and women hired the old Mostyn servants inorder to get the very surest and latest story of the poor wife's wrongs, and then compared reports and even discussed the circumstances in theirown particular clubs. 

At the Court, Tyrrel and Ethel tried to forget, and their own interestswere so many and so important that they usually succeeded; especiallyafter a few lines from Mrs. Denning assured them of Dora's safety andcomfort. And for many weeks the busy life of the Manor sufficed; therewas the hay to cut in the meadow lands, and after it the wheat fieldsto harvest. The stables, the kennels, the farms and timber, the park andthe garden kept Tyrrel constantly busy. And to these duties were addedthe social ones, the dining and dancing and entertaining, the horseracing, the regattas, and the enthusiasm which automobiling in its firstfever engenders. 

And yet there were times when Tyrrel looked bored, and when nothing butSquire Percival's organ or Ethel's piano seemed to exorcise the unrestand ennui that could not be hid. Ethel watched these moods with awise and kind curiosity, and in the beginning of September, when theyperceptibly increased, she asked one day, "Are you happy, Tyrrel? Quitehappy?"

"I am having a splendid holiday, " he answered, "but----"

"But what, dear?"

"One could not turn life into a long holiday--that would be harder thanthe hardest work. "

She answered "Yes, " and as soon as she was alone fell to thinking, andin the midst of her meditation Mrs. Nicholas Rawdon entered in a whirlof tempestuous delight. 

"What do you think?" she asked between laughing and crying. "Whatever doyou think? Our Lucy had twins yesterday, two fine boys as ever was. AndI wish you could see their grandfather and their father. They are out ofthemselves with joy. They stand hour after hour beside the two cradles, looking at the little fellows, and they nearly came to words thismorning about their names. "

"I am so delighted!" cried Ethel. "And what are you going to call them?"

"One is an hour older than the other, and John Thomas wanted them calledPercival and Nicholas. But my Nicholas wanted the eldest called afterhimself, and he said so plain enough. And John Thomas said 'he couldsurely name his own sons; and then Nicholas told him to remember hewouldn't have been here to have any sons at all but for his father. ' Andjust then I came into the room to have a look at the little lads, andwhen I heard what they were fratching about, I told them it was none oftheir business, that Lucy had the right to name the children, and theywould just have to put up with the names she gave them. "

"And has Lucy named them?"

"To be sure. I went right away to her and explained the dilemma, andI said, 'Now, Lucy, it is your place to settle this question. ' And sheanswered in her positive little way, 'You tell father the eldest is tobe called Nicholas, and tell John Thomas the youngest is to be calledJohn Thomas. I can manage two of that name very well. And say thatI won't have any more disputing about names, the boys are as good aschristened already. ' And of course when Lucy said that we all knew itwas settled. And I'm glad the eldest is Nicholas. He is a fine, sturdylittle Yorkshireman, bawling out already for what he wants, and flyinginto a temper if he doesn't get it as soon as he wants it. Dearie me, Ethel, I am a proud woman this morning. And Nicholas is going to giveall the hands a holiday, and a trip up to Ambleside on Saturday, thoughJohn Thomas is very much against it. "

"Why is he against it?"

"He says they will be holding a meeting on Monday night to try and findout what Old Nicholas is up to, and that if he doesn't give them thesame treat on the same date next year, they'll hold an indignationmeeting about being swindled out of their rights. And I'll pledge you myword John Thomas knows the men he's talking about. However, Nicholasis close with his money, and it will do him good happen to lose a bit. Blood-letting is healthy for the body, and perhaps gold-letting may helpthe soul more than we think for. "

This news stimulated Ethel's thinking, and when she also stood besidethe two cradles, and the little Nicholas opened his big blue eyes andbegan to "bawl for what he wanted, " a certain idea took fast hold ofher, and she nursed it silently for the next month, watch-ing Tyrrel atthe same time. It was near October, however, before she found the properopportunity for speaking. There had been a long letter from the Judge. It said Ruth and he were home again after a wonderful trip over theNorthern Pacific road. He wrote with enthusiasm of the country and itsopportunities, and of the big cities they had visited on their returnfrom the Pacific coast. Every word was alive, the magnitude and stir oftraffic and wrestling humanity seemed to rustle the paper. He describedNew York as overflowing with business. His own plans, the plans ofothers, the jar of politics, the thrill of music and the drama--all themultitudinous vitality that crowded the streets and filled the air, evento the roofs of the twenty-story buildings, contributed to the potentexhilaration of the letter. 

"Great George!" exclaimed Tyrrel. "That is life! That is living! I wishwe were back in America!"

"So do I, Tyrrel. "

"I am so glad. When shall we go? It is now the twenty-eighth ofSeptember. "

"Are you very weary of Rawdon Court"'

"Yes. If a man could live for the sake of eating and sleeping and havinga pleasant time, why Rawdon Court would be a heaven to him; but if hewants to DO something with his life, he would be most unhappy here. "

"And you want to do something?"

"You would not have loved a man who did not want TO DO. We have beenhere four months. Think of it! If I take four months out of every yearfor twenty years, I shall lose, with travel, about seven years ofmy life, and the other things to be dropped with them may be ofincalculable value. "

"I see, Tyrrel. I am not bound in any way to keep Rawdon Court. I cansell it to-morrow. "

"But you would be grieved to do so?"

"Not at all. Being a lady of the Manor does not flatter me. The othersquires would rather have a good man in my place. "

"Why did you buy it?"

"As I have told you, to keep Mostyn out, and to keep a Rawdon here. ButNicholas Rawdon craves the place, and will pay well for his desire. Itcost me eighty thousand pounds. He told father he would gladly give meone hundred thousand pounds whenever I was tired of my bargain. I willtake the hundred thousand pounds to-morrow. There would then be fourgood heirs to Rawdon on the place. "

Here the conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Nicholas, who came toinvite them to the christening feast of the twins. Tyrrel soon left theladies together, and Ethel at once opened the desired conversation. 

"I am afraid we may have left the Court before the christening, " shesaid. "Mr. Rawdon is very unhappy here. He is really homesick. "

"But this is his home, isn't it? And a very fine one. "

"He cannot feel it so. He has large interests in America. I doubt ifI ever induce him to come here again. You see, this visit has been ourmarriage trip. "

"And you won't live here! I never heard the line. What will you do withthe Court? It will be badly used if it is left to servants seven oreight months every year. "

"I suppose I must sell it. I see no----"

"If you only would let Nicholas buy it. You might be sure then it wouldbe well cared for, and the little lads growing up in it, who wouldfinally heir it. Oh, Ethel, if you would think of Nicholas first. Hewould honor the place and be an honor to it. "

Out of this conversation the outcome was as satisfactory as it wascertain, and within two weeks Nicholas Rawdon was Squire of RawdonManor, and possessor of the famous old Manor House. Then there followeda busy two weeks for Tyrrel, who had the superintendence of the packing, which was no light business. For though Ethel would not denude the Courtof its ancient furniture and ornaments, there were many things belongingto the personal estate of the late Squire which had been given to her byhis will, and could not be left behind. But by the end of October casesand trunks were all sent off to the steamship in which their passage wastaken; and the Rawdon estate, which had played such a momentous part inEthel's life having finished its mission, had no further influence, andwithout regret passed out of her physical life forever. 

Indeed, their willingness to resign all claims to the old home was amarvel to both Tyrrel and Ethel. On their last afternoon there theywalked through the garden, and stood under the plane tree wheretheir vows of love had been pledged, and smiled and wondered at theirindifference. The beauteous glamor of first love was gone as completelyas the flowers and scents and songs that had then filled the charmingplace. But amid the sweet decay of these things they once more claspedhands, looking with supreme confidence into each other's eyes. All thathad then been promised was now certain; and with an affection infinitelysweeter and surer, Tyrrel drew Ethel to his heart, and on her lipskissed the tenderest, proudest words a woman hears, "My dear wife!"

This visit was their last adieu, all the rest had been said, and earlythe next morning they left Monk-Rawdon station as quietly as they hadarrived. During their short reign at Rawdon Court they had been verypopular, and perhaps their resignation was equally so. After all, theywere foreigners, and Nicholas Rawdon was Yorkshire, root and branch. 

"Nice young people, " said Justice Manningham at a hunt dinner, "butour ways are not their ways, nor like to be. The young man was born afighter, and there are neither bears nor Indians here for him tofight; and our politics are Greek to him; and the lady, very sweet andbeautiful, but full of new ideas--ideas not suitable for women, and wedo not wish our women changed. "

"Good enough as they are, " mumbled Squire Oakes. 

"Nicest Americans I ever met, " added Earl Danvers, "but Nicholas Rawdonwill be better at Rawdon Court. " To which statement there was a generalassent, and then the subject was considered settled. 

In the meantime Tyrrel and Ethel had reached London and gone to theMetropole Hotel; because, as Ethel said, no one knew where Dora was; butif in England, she was likely to be at the Savoy. They were to be twodays in London. Tyrrel had banking and other business to fully occupythe time, and Ethel remembered she had some shopping to do, a thing anywoman would discover if she found herself in the neighborhood of RegentStreet and Piccadilly. On the afternoon of the second day this duty wasfinished, and she returned to her hotel satisfied but a little weary. Asshe was going up the steps she noticed a woman coming slowly down them. It was Dora Mostyn. They met with great enthusiasm on Dora's part, andshe turned back and went with Ethel to her room. 

Ethel looked at her with astonishment. She was not like any Dora she hadpreviously seen. Her beauty had developed wondrously, she had grown muchtaller, and her childish manner had been superseded by a carriage andair of superb grace and dignity. She had now a fine color, and her eyeswere darker, softer, and more dreamy than ever. "Take off your hat, Dora, " said Ethel, "and tell me what has happened. You are positivelysplendid. Where is Mr. Mostyn?"

"I neither know nor care. He is tramping round the world after me, andI intend to keep him at it. But I forget. I must tell you how THAT hascome about. "

"We heard from Mrs. Denning. She said she had received you safely. "

"My dear mother! She met me like an angel; comforted and cared forme, never said one word of blame, only kissed and pitied me. We talkedthings over, and she advised me to go to New York. So we took threepassages under the names of Mrs. John Gifford, Miss Gifford, and MissDiana Gifford. Miss Diana was my maid, but mother thought a party ofthree would throw Mostyn off our track. "

"A very good idea. "

"We sailed at once. On the second day out I had a son. The poor littlefellow died in a few hours, and was buried at sea. But his birth hasgiven me the power to repay to Fred Mostyn some of the misery he causedme. "

"How so? I do not see. "

"Oh, you must see, if you will only remember how crazy Englishmen areabout their sons. Daughters don't count, you know, but a son carriesthe property in the family name. He is its representative for the nextgeneration. As I lay suffering and weeping, a fine scheme of revengecame clearly to me. Listen! Soon after we got home mother cabledMostyn's lawyer that 'Mrs. Mostyn had had a son. ' Nothing was said ofthe boy's death. Almost immediately I was notified that Mr. Mostyn wouldinsist on the surrender of the child to his care. I took no notice ofthe letters. Then he sent his lawyer to claim the child and a woman totake care of it. I laughed them to scorn, and defied them to findthe child. After them came Mostyn himself. He interviewed doctors, overlooked baptismal registers, advertised far and wide, bribed ourservants, bearded father in his office, abused Bryce on the avenue, waylaid me in all my usual resorts, and bombarded me with letters, buthe knows no more yet than the cable told him. And the man is becoming amonomaniac about HIS SON. "

"Are you doing right, Dora?"

"If you only knew how he had tortured me! Father and mother think hedeserves all I can do to him. Anyway, he will have it to bear. If hegoes to the asylum he threatened me with, I shall be barely satisfied. The 'cat-faced woman' is getting her innings now. "

"Have you never spoken to him or written to him? Surely"

"He caught me one day as I came out of our house, and said, 'Madam, where is my son?' And I answered, 'You have no son. The child WAS MINE. You shall never see his face in this world. I have taken good care ofthat. '

"'I will find him some day, ' he said, and I laughed at him, andanswered, 'He is too cunningly hid. Do you think I would let the boyknow he had such a father as you? No, indeed. Not unless there wasproperty for the disgrace. ' I touched him on the raw in that remark, and then I got into my carriage and told the coachman to drive quickly. Mostyn attempted to follow me, but the whip lashing the horses was inthe way. " And Dora laughed, and the laugh was cruel and mocking and fullof meaning. 

"Dora, how can you? How can you find pleasure in such revenges?"

"I am having the greatest satisfaction of my life. And I am onlybeginning the just retribution, for my beauty is enthralling the managain, and he is on the road to a mad jealousy of me. "

"Why don't you get a divorce? This is a case for that remedy. He mightthen marry again, and you also. "

"Even so, I should still torment him. If he had sons he would bemiserable in the thought that his unknown son might, on his death, takefrom them the precious Mostyn estate, and that wretched, old, hauntedhouse of his. I am binding him to misery on every hand. "

"Is Mrs. Denning here with you?"

"Both my father and mother are with me. Father is going to take a year'srest, and we shall visit Berlin, Vienna, Rome, Paris or wherever ourfancy leads us. "

"And Mr. Mostyn?"

"He can follow me round, and see nobles and princes and kings pay courtto the beauty of the 'cat-faced woman. ' I shall never notice him, neverspeak to him; but you need not look so suspicious, Ethel. Neitherby word nor deed will I break a single convention of the strictestrespectability. "

"Mr. Mostyn ought to give you your freedom. "

"I have given freedom to myself. I have already divorced him. When theybrought my dead baby for me to kiss, I slipped into its little handthe ring that made me his mother. They went to the bottom of the seatogether. As for ever marrying again, not in this life. I have hadenough of it. My first husband was the sweetest saint out of heaven, and my second was some mean little demon that had sneaked his way out ofhell; and I found both insupportable. " She lifted her hat as she spoke, and began to pin it on her beautifully dressed hair. "Have no fear forme, " she continued. "I am sure Basil watches over me. Some day I shallbe good, and he will be happy. " Then, hand in hand, they walked to thedoor together, and there were tears in both voices as they softly said"Good-by. "

CHAPTER XII

A WEEK after this interview Tyrrel and Ethel were in New York. Theylanded early in the morning, but the Judge and Ruth were on the pier tomeet them; and they breakfasted together at the fashionable hotel, where an elegant suite had been reserved for the residence of theTyrrel-Rawdons until they had perfected their plans for the future. Tyrrel was boyishly excited, but Ethel's interest could not leaveher father and his new wife. These two had lived in the same home forfifteen years, and then they had married each other, and both of themlooked fifteen years younger. The Judge was actually merry, and Ruth, inspite of her supposed "docility, " had quite reversed the situation. Itwas the Judge who was now docile, and even admiringly obedient to allRuth's wifely advices and admonitions. 

The breakfast was a talkative, tardy one, but at length the Judge wentto his office and Tyrrel had to go to the Custom House. Ethel was eagerto see her grandmother, and she was sure the dear old lady was anxiouslywaiting her arrival. And Ruth was just as anxious for Ethel to visit herrenovated home. She had the young wife's delight in its beauty, and shewanted Ethel to admire it with her. 

"We will dine with you to-morrow, Ruth, " said Ethel, "and I will comevery early and see all the improvements. I feel sure the house islovely, and I am glad father made you such a pretty nest. Nothing is toopretty for you, Ruth. " And there was no insincerity in this compliment. These two women knew and loved and trusted each other without a shadowof doubt or variableness. 

So Ruth went to her home, and Ethel hastened to Gramercy Park. Madam waseagerly watching for her arrival. 

"I have been impatient for a whole hour, all in a quiver, dearie, " shecried. "It is nearly noon. "

"I have been impatient also, Granny, but father and Ruth met us at thepier and stayed to breakfast with us, and you know how men talk andtalk. "

"Ruth and father down at the pier! How you dream!"

"They were really there. And they do seem so happy, grandmother. Theyare so much in love with each other. "

"I dare say. There are no fools like old fools. So you have sold theCourt to Nicholas Rawdon, and a cotton-spinner is Lord of the Manor. Well, well, how are the mighty fallen!"

"I made twenty thousand pounds by the sale. Nicholas Rawdon isa gentleman, and John Thomas is the most popular man in all theneighborhood. And, Granny, he has two sons--twins--the handsomest littlechaps you ever saw. No fear of a Rawdon to heir the Manor now. "

"Fortune is a baggage. When she is ill to a man she knows no reason. Shesent John Thomas to Parliament, and kept Fred out at a loss, too. Shetook the Court from Fred and gave it to John Thomas, and she giveshim two sons about the same time she gives Fred one, and that one shekidnaps out of his sight and knowledge. Poor Fred!"

"Well, grandmother, it is 'poor Fred's' own doing, and, I assure you, Fred would have been most unwelcome at the Court. And the squires andgentry round did not like a woman in the place; they were at a loss whatto do with me. I was no good for dinners and politics and hunting. I embarrassed them. " "Of course you would. They would have to talkdecently and behave politely, and they would not be able to tell theirchoicest stories. Your presence would be a bore; but could not Tyrreltake your place?"

"Granny, Tyrrel was really unhappy in that kind of life. And he was aforeigner, so was I. You know what Yorkshire people think of foreigners. They were very courteous, but they were glad to have the YorkshireRawdons in our place. And Tyrrel did not like working with the earth; heloves machinery and electricity. "

"To be sure. When a man has got used to delving for gold or silver, cutting grass and wheat does seem a slow kind of business. "

"And he disliked the shut-up feeling the park gave him. He said we werein the midst of solitude three miles thick. It made him depressed andlonely. "

"That is nonsense. I am sure on the Western plains he had solitude sixtymiles thick--often. "

"Very likely, but then he had an horizon, even if it were sixty milesaway. And no matter how far he rode, there was always that line whereearth seemed to rise to heaven. But the park was surrounded by a brickwall fourteen feet high. It had no horizon. You felt as if you were ina large, green box--at least Tyrrel did. The wall was covered with rosesand ivy, but still it was a boundary you could not pass, and could notsee over. Don't you understand, Granny, how Tyrrel would feel this?"

"I can't say I do. Why didn't he come with you?"

"He had to go to the Customs about our trunks, and there were otherthings. He will see you to-morrow. Then we are going to dine withfather, and if you will join us, we will call at six for you. Do, Granny. "

"Very well, I shall be ready. " But after a moment's thought shecontinued, "No, I will not go. I am only a mortal woman, and the companyof angels bores me yet. "

"Now, Granny, dear. "

"I mean what I say. Your father has married such a piece of perfectionthat I feel my shortcomings in her presence more than I can bear. ButI'll tell you what, dearie, Tyrrel may come for me Saturday night atsix, and I will have my dinner with you. I want to see the dining-roomof a swell hotel in full dress; and I will wear my violet satin andwhite Spanish lace, and look as smart as can be, dear. And Tyrrel maybuy me a bunch of white violets. I am none too old to wear them. Whoknows but I may go to the theater also?"

"Oh, Granny, you are just the dearest young lady I know! Tyrrel will beas proud as a peacock. "

"Well, I am not as young as I might be, but I am a deal younger than Ilook. Listen, dearie, I have never FELT old yet! Isn't that a thing tobe grateful for? I don't read much poetry, except it be in the ChurchHymnal, but I cut a verse out of a magazine a year ago which just suitsmy idea of life, and, what is still more wonderful, I took the troubleto learn it. Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote it, and I'll warrant him fora good, cheerful, trust-in-God man, or he'd never have thought of suchsensible words. "

"I am listening, Granny, for the verse. "

"Yes, and learn it yourself. It will come in handy some day, when Tyrreland you are getting white-haired and handsome, as everyone ought to getwhen they have passed their half-century and are facing the light of theheavenly world:

 "At sixty-two life has begun; At seventy-three begins once more; Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun, And brighter shine at eighty-four. At ninety-five, Should thou arrive, Still wait on God, and work and thrive. "

Such words as those, Ethel, keep a woman young, and make her right gladthat she was born and thankful that she lives. "

"Thank you for them, dear Granny. Now I must run away as fast as I can. Tyrrel will be wondering what has happened to me. "

In this conjecture she was right. Tyrrel was in evening dress, andwalking restlessly about their private parlor. "Ethel, " he said, plaintively, "I have been so uneasy about you. "

"I am all right, dearest. I was with grandmother. I shall be ready inhalf an hour. "

Even if she had been longer, she would have earned the delay, for shereturned to him in pink silk and old Venice point de rose, with a prettyermine tippet across her shoulders. It was a joy to see her, a delightto hear her speak, and she walked as if she heard music. The dining-roomwas crowded when they entered, but they made a sensation. Many roseand came to welcome them home. Others smiled across the busy space andlifted their wineglass in recognition. The room was electric, sensitiveand excited. It was flooded with a soft light; it was full of theperfume of flowers. The brilliant coloring of silks and satins, and thesoft miracle of white lace blended with the artistically painted wallsand roof. The aroma of delicate food, the tinkle of crystal, the lowmurmur of happy voices, the thrill of sudden laughter, and the deliciousaccompaniment of soft, sensuous music completed the charm of the room. To eat in such surroundings was as far beyond the famous flower-crownedfeasts of Rome and Greece as the east is from the west. It wasimpossible to resist its influence. From the point of the senses, thesoul was drinking life out of a cup of overflowing delight. And it wasonly natural that in their hearts both Tyrrel and Ethel should make aswift, though silent, comparison between this feast of sensation andflow of human attraction and the still, sweet order of the Rawdondining-room, with its noiseless service, and its latticed win-dows opento all the wandering scents and songs of the garden. 

Perhaps the latter would have the sweetest and dearest and most abidingplace in their hearts; but just in the present they were enthralled andexcited by the beauty and good comradeship of the social New York dinnerfunction. Their eyes were shining, their hearts thrilling, they went totheir own apartments hand in hand, buoyant, vivacious, feeling that lifewas good and love unchangeable. And the windows being open, they walkedto one and stood looking out upon the avenue. All signs of commercehad gone from the beautiful street, but it was busy and noisy with thetraffic of pleasure, and the hum of multitudes, the rattle of carriages, the rush of autos, the light, hurrying footsteps of pleasure-seekersinsistently demanded their sympathy. 

"We cannot go out to-night, " said Ethel. "We are both more weary than weknow. "

"No, we cannot go to-night; but, oh, Ethel, we are in New York again!Is not that joy enough? I am so happy! I am so happy. We are in New Yorkagain! There is no city like it in all the world. Men live here, theywork here, they enjoy here. How happy, how busy we are going to be, Ethel!"

During these joyful, hopeful expectations he was walking up and down theroom, his eyes dilating with rapture, and Ethel closed the window andjoined him. They magnified their joy, they wondered at it, they weresure no one before them had ever loved as they loved. "And we are goingto live here, Ethel; going to have our home here! Upon my honor, Icannot speak the joy I feel, but"--and he went impetuously to the pianoand opened it--"but I can perhaps sing it--

 "'There is not a spot in this wide-peopled earth So dear to the heart as the Land of our Birth; 'Tis the home of our childhood, the beautiful spot Which Memory retains when all else is forgot. May the blessing of God ever hallow the sod, And its valleys and hills by our children be trod!

 "'May Columbia long lift her white crest o'er the wave, The birthplace of science and the home of the brave. In her cities may peace and prosperity dwell, And her daughters in virtue and beauty excel. May the blessing of God ever hallow the sod, And its valleys and hills by our children be trod. '"

With the patriotic music warbling in his throat he turned to Ethel, and looked at her as a lover can, and she answered the look; and thusleaning toward each other in visible beauty and affection their new lifebegan. Between smiles and kisses they sat speaking, not of the past withall its love and loveliness, but of the high things calling to themfrom the future, the work and duties of life set to great ends bothfor public and private good. And as they thus communed Tyrrel took hiswife's hand and slowly turned on her finger the plain gold wedding ringbehind its barrier of guarding gems. 

"Ethel, " he said tenderly, "what enchantments are in this ring of gold!What romances I used to weave around it, and, dearest, it has turnedevery Romance into Reality. "

"And, Tyrrel, it will also turn all our Realities into Romances. Nothingin our life will ever become common. Love will glorify everything. "

"And we shall always love as we love now?"

"We shall love far better, far stronger, far more tenderly. "

"Even to the end of our lives, Ethel?"

"Yes, to the very end. "

CHAPTER XIII

A PAUSE of blissful silence followed this assurance. It was broken bya little exclamation from Ethel. "Oh, dear, " she said, "how selfishlythoughtless my happiness makes me! I have forgotten to tell you, until this moment, that I have a letter from Dora. It was sent tograndmother's care, and I got it this afternoon; also one from LucyRawdon. The two together bring Dora's affairs, I should say, to apleasanter termination than we could have hoped for. "

"Where is the Enchantress?"

"In Paris at present. "

"I expected that answer. "

"But listen, she is living the quietest of lives; the most devoteddaughter cannot excel her. "

"Is she her own authority for that astonishing statement? Do you believeit?"

"Yes, under the circumstances. Mr. Denning went to Paris for a criticaland painful operation, and Dora is giving all her love and timetoward making his convalescence as pleasant as it can be. In fact, herdescription of their life in the pretty chateau they have rented outsideof Paris is quite idyllic. When her father is able to travel they aregoing to Algiers for the winter, and will return to New York about nextMay. Dora says she never intends to leave America again. "

"Where is her husband? Keeping watch on the French chateau?"

"That is over. Mr. Denning persuaded Dora to write a statement of allthe facts concerning the birth of the child. She told her husband thename under which they traveled, the names of the ship, the captain, andthe ship's doctor, and Mrs. Denning authenticated the statement; but, oh, what a mean, suspicious creature Mostyn is!"

"What makes you reiterate that description of him?"

"He was quite unable to see any good or kind intent in this paper. Heproved its correctness, and then wrote Mr. Denning a very contemptibleletter. "

"Which was characteristic enough. What did he say?"

"That the amende honorable was too late; that he supposed Dora wished tohave the divorce proceedings stopped and be reinstated as his wife, but he desired the whole Denning family to understand that was nowimpossible; he was 'fervently, feverishly awaiting his freedom, whichhe expected at any hour. ' He said it was 'sickening to remember theweariness of body and soul Dora had given him about a non-existingchild, and though this could never be atoned for, he did think he oughtto be refunded the money Dora's contemptible revenge had cost him. "'

"How could he? How could he?"

"Of course Mr. Denning sent him a check, a pretty large one, I dare say. And I suppose he has his freedom by this time, unless he has marriedagain. "

"He will never marry again. "

"Indeed, that is the strange part of the story. It was because hewanted to marry again that he was 'fervently, feverishly awaiting hisfreedom. '"

"I can hardly believe it, Ethel. What does Dora say?"

"I have the news from Lucy. She says when Mostyn was ignored by everyonein the neighborhood, one woman stood up for him almost passionately. Doyou remember Miss Sadler?"

"That remarkable governess of the Surreys? Why, Ethel, she is the veryugliest woman I ever saw. "

"She is so ugly that she is fascinating. If you see her one minute youcan never forget her, and she is brains to her finger tips. She ruledeveryone at Surrey House. She was Lord Surrey's secretary and LadySurrey's adviser. She educated the children, and they adored her; sheruled the servants, and they obeyed her with fear and trembling. Nothingwas done in Surrey House without her approval. And if her face was nothandsome, she had a noble presence and a manner that was irresistible. "

"And she took Mostyn's part?"

"With enthusiasm. She abused Dora individually, and American womengenerally. She pitied Mr. Mostyn, and made others do so; and when sheperceived there would be but a shabby and tardy restoration for himsocially, she advised him to shake off the dust of his feet fromMonk-Rawdon, and begin life in some more civilized place. And in orderthat he might do so, she induced Lord Surrey to get him a very excellentcivil appointment in Calcutta. "

"Then he is going to India?"

"He is probably now on the way there. He sold the Mostyn estate----"

"I can hardly believe it. "

"He sold it to John Thomas Rawdon. John Thomas told me it belonged toRawdon until the middle of the seventeenth century, and he meant to haveit back. He has got it. "

"Miss Sadler must be a witch. "

"She is a sensible, practical woman, who knows how to manage men. She has soothed Mostyn's wounded pride with appreciative flattery andstimulated his ambition. She has promised him great things in India, andshe will see that he gets them. "

"He must be completely under her control. "

"She will never let him call his soul his own, but she will managehis affairs to perfection. And Dora is forever rid of that wretchedinfluence. The man can never again come between her and her love; neveragain come between her and happiness. There will be the circumference ofthe world as a barrier. "

"There will be Jane Sadler as a barrier. She will be sufficient. TheWoman Between will annihilate The Man Between. Dora is now safe. Whatwill she do with herself?"

"She will come back to New York and be a social power. She is young, beautiful, rich, and her father has tremendous financial influence. Social affairs are ruled by finance. I should not wonder to see her inSt. Jude's, a devotee and eminent for good works. "

"And if Basil Stanhope should return?"

"Poor Basil--he is dead. "

"How do you know that?"

"What DO you mean, Tyrrel?"

"Are you sure Basil is dead? What proof have you?"

"You must be dreaming! Of course he is dead! His friend came and told meso--told me everything. "

"Is that all?"

"There were notices in the papers. "

"Is that all?"

"Mr. Denning must have known it when he stopped divorce proceedings. "

"Doubtless he believed it; he wished to do so. "

"Tyrrel, tell me what you mean. "

"I always wondered about his death rather than believed in it. Basil hada consuming sense of honor and affection for the Church and its sacredoffices. He would have died willingly rather than drag them intothe mire of a divorce court. When the fear became certainty hedisappeared--really died to all his previous life. "

"But I cannot conceive of Basil lying for any purpose. "

"He disappeared. His family and friends took on themselves the meansthey thought most likely to make that disappearance a finality. "

"Have you heard anything, seen anything?"

"One night just before I left the West a traveler asked me for a night'slodging. He had been prospecting in British America in the region ofthe Klondike, and was full of incidental conversation. Among many otherthings he told me of a wonderful sermon he had heard from a young man ina large mining camp. I did not give the story any attention at the time, but after he had gone away it came to me like a flash of light that thepreacher was Basil Stanhope. "

"Oh, Tyrrel, if it was--if it was! What a beautiful dream! But it isonly a dream. If it could be true, would he forgive Dora? Would he comeback to her?"

"No!" Tyrrel's voice was positive and even stern. "No, he could nevercome back to her. She might go to him. She left him without any reason. I do not think he would care to see her again. "

"I would say no more, Tyrrel. I do not think as you do. It is a dream, a fancy, just an imagination. But if it were true, Basil would wish nopilgrimage of abasement. He would say to her, 'Dear one, HUSH! Love ishere, travel-stained, sore and weary, but so happy to welcome you!' Andhe would open all his great, sweet heart to her. May I tell Dora someday what you have thought and said? It will be something good for her todream about. "

"Do you think she cares? Did she ever love him?"

"He was her first love. She loved him once with all her heart. If itwould be right--safe, I mean, to tell Dora----"

"On this subject there is so much NOT to say. I would never speak ofit. "

"It may be a truth"

"Then it is among those truths that should be held back, and it islikely only a trick of my imagination, a supposition, a fancy. "

"A miracle! And of two miracles I prefer the least, and that is thatBasil is dead. Your young preacher is a dream; and, oh, Tyrrel, I amso tired! It has been such a long, long, happy day! I want to sleep. Myeyes are shutting as I talk to you. Such a long, long, happy day!"

"And so many long, happy days to come, dearest. "

"So many, " she answered, as she took Tyrrel's hand, and lifted her furand fan and gloves. "What were those lines we read together the nightbefore we were married? I forget, I am so tired. I know that life shouldhave many a hope and aim, duties enough, and little cares, and now bequiet, and now astir, till God's hand beckoned us unawares----"

The rest was inaudible. But between that long, happy day and the presenttime there has been an arc of life large enough to place the union ofTyrrel and Ethel Rawdon among those blessed bridals that are

"The best of life's romances. "