THE SILVER LINING

_A GUERNSEY STORY. _

 BY

 JOHN ROUSSEL. 

 Guernsey: FREDERICK BLONDEL GUERIN, "THE SUN" OFFICE, HIGH STREET. 

 1894. 

INDEX. 

 CHAPTER I. --THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE 3 II. --A LITTLE GIRL'S CHANGE OF LIFE 15 III. --THE BOARDING SCHOOL 24 IV. --THE INFLUENCES OF A GOOD HOME 33 V. --THE REWARD OF INORDINATE AMBITION 45 VI. --NEW ACQUAINTANCES 54 VII. --AN ABRUPT DISMISSAL 62 VIII. --AN UNPLEASANT VISIT 72 IX. --DECEPTIONS 79 X. --'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY 84 XI. --BUSINESS 91 XII. --A STRANGE MEETING 96 XIII. --SUPERSTITION 102 XIV. --FAILURE 107 XV. --DARK DAYS 115 XVI. --SHADOW AND SUNSHINE 125 XVII. --THE EFFECTS OF A SERMON 130 XVIII. --SUCCESS AFTER SUCCESS 135 XIX. --TOM'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. VIDOUX 143 XX. --TOM'S VISIT TO HIS UNCLE 148 XXI. --THE ENCOUNTER 153 XXII. --FATHER AND DAUGHTER 159 XXIII. --A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE 163 XXIV. --MR. ROUGEANT GOES TO CHURCH 169 XXV. --LOVE TRIUMPHS 173 XXVI. --WEDDED 183 XXVII. --RECONCILIATION 189 XXVIII. --A SAD END OF A MISPENT LIFE 197 XXIX. --DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 205

THE SILVER LINING. 

A GUERNSEY STORY. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE RESULTS OF DISOBEDIENCE. 

One fine summer afternoon--it was the month of June--the sea wascalm, the air was still, and the sun was warm. 

The mackerel boats from Cobo (a bay in the island of Guernsey) weresetting sail; an old woman was detaching limpets from the rocks, andslowly, but steadily, filling up her basket. On the west side of thebay, two air-starved Londoners were sitting on the sand, basking inthe sunshine, determined to return home, if not invigorated, atleast bronzed by the sea air. On the east side, a few little boyswere bathing. A middle-aged man, engaged in searching for sand-eels, completed the picture. 

A little boy, who might have been nine years of age, was standing inthe road gazing upon this scene. The way in which he was clothed, betokened that he was not one of the lads that lived in the vicinityof that bay. He was dressed in a well-fitting knickerbocker suit, and his polished boots, his well combed hair, denoted that he was anobject of especial care at home. He possessed a very intelligentair, a fine forehead, rather large eyes which were full ofexpression, and his frowning look, the way in which he stamped hislittle foot, denoted that he was of an impulsive temperament. Thislittle fellow had some very good ideas. He had determined to begood, and unselfish; and he tried to learn as much as he possiblycould. His mother had told him that later on this would help him inlife. 

Once, an inquisitive pedlar, noticing his intelligence, and hisgarrulous disposition, asked him jokingly if he ever intended tomarry. Upon which Frank Mathers (this was the boy's name) assumed aserious air, and giving his head a little toss he answered, "I donot know yet, there are so many beautiful little girls everywhere, one does not know which one to choose. "

A physiognomist might easily have seen that in this little boy'ssoul a struggle was going on. "Shall I go?" he was saying tohimself; "shall I go and amuse myself?" His conscience had a greatpower over him; but the beautiful sea was tempting, each wave as itfell produced a sound which was sweeter to his ears than thesweetest music. 

"Your mother has forbidden you to go;" said his conscience; "youmust obey her. "

He continued to remain undecided between pleasure and duty, thestrife going on meanwhile within him. All at once, he espied on hisextreme left four small boys about his size, who were coming out ofthe water. How they laughed; how joyful they seemed to be; how theymade the water splash and foam around them. Frank immediately beganto run at full speed towards them, and covered the space of sandwhich separated him from the little boys in two minutes. He arrivedbreathless near the group of children who were dressing themselves. He looked at them, and was asking himself if he must go nearer tothem, when one of the group looked at him with a surly air. LittleFrank translated this into: "What business have you here?" andretreated. 

He began to examine the man who was looking for sand-eels. Thefisherman was digging in the gravel with a spade, and now and then afew of the little fishes were dislodged from their hiding place. They wriggled in such a lively fashion that Frank was greatlyamused, and forgot, for a time, all about his first desire of a runin the sea. 

He laughed aloud when he saw a big sand-eel, bigger than any whichthe man had yet captured--for he took the trouble to go and see inhis basket--escape into the water and swim out of the man's reach. 

The fisherman was evidently annoyed at having lost this finespecimen, and when he saw this little fellow laughing, and standingquite close to his basket, he grew angry, and in a rough tone ofvoice, speaking in Guernsey French, he exclaimed: "Begone, youimpudent little rascal. "

Now, little Frank did not know French, and consequently did notunderstand a single word of what this man said, but he hastilyretreated. "He must have uttered something terrible, " he said tohimself; "what an ugly face. Why is this man vexed with me? I havedone nothing to grieve him; only bent over his basket and laughedwhen I saw that fish escape; but why did not the man laugh also? Itwas so amusing. "

He looked round to see whether he could discover any of those littleboys who had attracted his attention when he was in the road, butnone of them were visible. There were a few persons here and there, but no one was near him. He made sure of this by directing his eyessuccessively in the direction of every point of the compass. The"sand-eel man" was still busy, but he was far enough. Frank hastenedbehind a small rock and began to undress. As he did so, heexperienced a series of queer sensations. He was tasting pleasure atthe expense of his conscience, and, struggle as he would, he feltunhappy. It was the first time that he thus openly disregarded hismother's commands, and it cost him something to do so. 

It did not take him long to divest himself of his clothing. He wassoon in the water, dancing and romping. The water around himresembled that of Lodore. 

He now felt happy, having forgotten all about his mother and theerrand which she had sent him to accomplish. 

The water was warm; the little green crabs that walked sidewayspassing quite close to him, amused him considerably. He passed aportion of his time chasing them. Then he waded farther into thewater till it came up to his hips. Ah, this was pleasure indeed! Hewould not have exchanged his place for a suite of rooms inBuckingham Palace. 

He had been in the water for about a quarter of an hour. He glancedround to see if the fisherman was to be seen. No trace of him now. 

"He has gone home, " he thought. He began to feel cold. "I must goand dress, " he said to himself, "or I shall catch cold, and thenmamma will know that I have been bathing. "

Frank proceeded towards the place where he had placed his clothes, but as he approached the shore, he found that the water seemed to begetting warmer. This discovery was the cause of his staying fiveminutes longer in the water than he would otherwise have done. 

Then he again betook himself towards _terra firma_. "Hullo, what's this?" And he held up a boot. "How strange, it looks exactlylike mine, " he muttered. Then a thought--a flash shot through hisbrain, immediately followed by a pang through his heart. Thethought--"where are my clothes?"--the pang--the result of hisdisappointing glance towards the place in which he had placed them. He was out of the water in the twinkling of an eye. The boot whichhe had found was in his hand. Where were his trousers? where was hiscoat? There was his shirt being knocked about by the waves! Herushed upon it, threw it on the gravel near his boot, and begantremblingly to search for his other garments. He at last succeededin bringing together the following collection: One pair of trousers, one stocking, one boot, one shirt. That was all. 

He was now shivering from head to foot, his teeth chattered in hismouth, his whole appearance was one of utter wretchedness. He didnot cry; he was too miserable; he only kept muttering: "I will neverdisobey mamma any more; I will never do it, never, never. "

He looked round to ascertain that no one was looking at him. Whatwas his vexation to discover the man with the sand-eels eyeing him, a repulsive grin covering his whole face, and a small black pipestuck between his teeth. 

This sight, instead of discouraging Frank, made him assume an air ofbravado. He took his shirt, wrung out the water, shook it andproceeded to put it on. How cold it was; how it stuck to his littlebody. It only made him shiver the more. He put his stocking on theleft foot; then he put on his trousers, and lastly, his boot. Thisboot he put on the right foot so that his feet were both hidden fromview. Then with a heavy and repentant heart--what person is notrepentant when he sees himself in some nasty scrape caused by hisown sinfulness?--he directed his irregular steps towards his home. Acurious sight to gaze upon was this little fellow as he wearilyplodded on his way. 

He had not advanced twenty yards when he took off his boot and putit on the other foot. He could not endure the pain that it causedhim. He had not been accustomed to go without stockings, he hadnever tried the experiment before, and he wondered why his feet wereso tender. He rose and began to walk once more. It was an unequalwalk, like that of a person with a short leg. He stopped again. Somegravel had found its way into his boot, and the torture which itcaused him was unendurable. He carefully withdrew all thepain-inflicting pebbles, brushed off the gravel that adhered to hisstocking, and resumed his laborious task of walking. When he cameinto the road, the people which he met laughed at him. "Ah; whatnasty people there are in these places, " he thought. He fancied hewas being punished. He had hoped to have had a lot of fun. He wouldhave returned home, invented some pretext for having been longerthan usual; and now, what a wretched plight he was in. Why was henot punished in another way? this was too severe, he had neversinned at that amount, he was receiving extra payment. 

Thus soliloquized our little man when he arrived near a farm-housecalled "Les Pins. " He heard a pig squeak, and hastened along as fastas his naked and now sore foot would allow him. 

There, in the farmyard, was a sight which he had never beforewitnessed. One man, a butcher, was pulling on a rope which was tiedaround a porker's snout. Three other men were forcibly pushing theanimal along. They made but little progress however, for masterpiggy placed his feet so firmly on the ground that it required allthe efforts of the four men to make him move. 

At last he was with difficulty brought near the scaffold; the altarupon which he was to be sacrificed to supply the voracious appetitesof man. 

He was forcibly lifted upon the wooden bench and firmly held down. Then the butcher twisted the piece of rope around his hand and thepig's snout, and unsheathing a sharp knife, he plunged it in theanimal's throat. The porker's life-blood gushed out in a red stream. Frank fairly danced with joy. He forgot all his troubles whilewitnessing those of the pig. The latter tried to shake himself free. He filled the air with protestations against the treatment to whichhe was being subjected, he invoked his gods, but all in vain. Firmlyheld down by the four men he soon ceased to struggle and lay quitestill. 

"It does not seem to me, " Frank heard one of the men remark, "thathe has given a very violent shake before dying, as porkersgenerally do. " "Oh, he is dead enough, " said the butcher, "fetch thewater and let us make haste. " The men obeyed the order which wasgiven rather peremptorily and the half drunk butcher followed them, so did a lad of fourteen years (the heir to the estate), who, according to a Guernsey custom, had been holding the pig's tail. 

Frank was just considering whether he would go nearer to the animalwhen the latter gave a jump. In a moment piggy got down and gallopedin an awkward fashion straight in the direction of Frank, whouttered a cry of terror and ran away as fast as his legs would carryhim. He forgot all about his exposed foot, and received a few nastybruises and cuts against the sharp stones that were placed in theroad for macadamizing purposes. 

He cast an anxious glance behind him to see if the porker wasfollowing him, for he had now no other idea but that the pig wasbeing sent to complete the punishment which he thought had beendealt out to him for his disobedience. But the porker was not to beseen. He had fallen dead after having run a few yards. When Frankcame higher up the road, he proceeded to examine his foot. It hurthim considerably. He tied his handkerchief around it and resumed hiswalk. Seeing a great gap in the hedge he looked through it and sawthat the men were plunging the porker in a great tub full ofsteaming water. Then followed a scraping with ormer shells, and, ina few minutes, the black pig was divested of his hairy coat. Hisskin was white and smooth, like those which Frank had seen at themeat market. 

Not caring to see more, and feeling very cold, he resumed hisjourney homewards. He was so excited with what he had witnessed, that he did not think so much about his wretched condition as hewould otherwise have done, and when he arrived in front of hisfather's house, at the Rohais, he was almost cheerful. 

But he suddenly stopped short. "If I go inside with this countenanceon, mamma will punish me severely, " he thought. 

He therefore called to his aid all the hypocrisy which his yearswere able to muster, and assumed a most miserable expression. Butthis was not enough to satisfy Frank's idea of the exigencies of thepresent situation. He doubled his fists, rubbed his eyes vigorously, and uttered a very plaintive and doleful cry. 

Thus prepared, he entered the house by the back door, keeping asharp look out through the corner of his eyes for his mother. Shewas not in the kitchen; he opened the door of the parlour; his eyesreddened and moistened by the friction to which they were beingsubjected, while his cries were heart-rending. Mrs. Mathers was notin the parlour. He stopped his sham crying, sat himself on a chairand listened eagerly for the sound of approaching footsteps; readyto recommence his little game as soon as his mother entered thehouse. 

No sound of approaching footsteps were however heard. Frank Matherswas now quite chilled, although the weather was very warm. Hisexcitement had abated and he was feeling down-hearted. There was nofire in the room. Frank fetched a large coat (his father's) andwrapped it around him. He was busily engaged in this operation whenhis mother suddenly appeared upon the scene. 

She wore slippers, which accounted for his not having heard herfootsteps. 

"Well?" she said, wondering what her son was about, "what are youwrapping yourself up for?"

Frank was taken by surprise. He looked up with a very confused air. His mother misinterpreted his look. "Don't be silly, child, " shesaid, "have you carried that letter to Mr. Gavet. "

"Yes, mamma, " mumbled the little fellow, "but----" and he unbuttonedhis coat and exhibited his dilapidated state before the eyes of hisastonished mother. "What _have_ you been doing?" she questionedanxiously. "My clothes were caught by the sea, " he sobbed, andgenuine tears flowed down his cheeks. 

Then he confessed everything to his mother; how he had been temptedto enjoy himself despite her orders; how he had watched a man whowas catching sand-eels; and, finally, how his clothes had beenwashed away by the rising tide. 

When he had finished speaking, he raised his eyes to see what kindof look his mother wore. Perceiving a cloud of sadness hanging overher brow, he jumped up and exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, do not look at meso; I will never disobey you any more. "

The mother took the now repentant son upon her knees, and, afterhaving shown him the consequences of disobedience; after havingspoken to him of the pain which he caused her through showing adisposition to do wrong and of the sin which he committed, sheinstructed him tenderly, and made an impression on his soft heart, such as a mother alone knows how to make. Then she kissed her son. "You forgive me, then?" said the boy. "Yes, my dear, I forgive you. "

Frank Mathers was so impressed with his mother's love that hesilently determined never again to grieve her. "Now let me changeyour clothes. You might catch a severe cold and perhaps be ill forweeks after this. Do you feel ill?"

"No, mamma, I am cold, that is all. "

When Frank was eating his supper that evening, his heart was full ofthankfulness. "What a good mother I have, " he thought, "I will neverdo anything contrary to her orders any more. " He suddenly stoppedeating. The thought of the porker struck him and he called outgently: "Mamma. "

"What is it my dear?"

"A dead pig came running after me. "

Mrs. Mathers looked somewhat anxiously at her son. Was his mindgoing out?

"They had killed a pig at a farm, and when they were gone to fetchsome water, the porker jumped down and came running after me, " saidthe little boy. 

The slight shock which the mother had received, had sufficed toflush her cheek. 

There was something strange in that bright tint on her face, itglowed with a strange light. Her eye had a kind, but far awayglance; an almost divine expression. It was full of tenderness andmelancholy. She seemed to belong to some other world then; her wholesoul seemed to shine in that sweet face. This was how she looked asshe gazed upon her son that evening, while he was finishing hissupper, seemingly not at all astonished at his mother's silence. Hehad grown accustomed to these moments of pensiveness on his mother'spart. Of late, she often fell into a strange reverie, and littleFrank was yet too young to understand these symptoms always followedby a short, hollow cough. His mother was attacked with phthisis. 

When he had finished his supper, Frank again turned towards hismother. 

"How can a dead pig run?" he asked. 

"The pig was not dead, " said his mother; "now make haste and go tobed. I don't want to have to nurse you to-morrow. "

The little boy obeyed, muttering to himself: "The pig _was_ dead. Ibelieve what I have seen. Mamma must have misunderstood me. "

CHAPTER II. 

A LITTLE GIRL'S CHANGE OF LIFE. 

Miss Rader was a tall, stiff, sour-faced lady of four-and-fifty. Shekept a school for young country ladies at a place called "Fardot, "in one of the parishes adjoining the Forest. 

Among the pupils who were unfortunate enough to fall under her harshrule was a certain little girl whose name was Adèle Rougeant. Shewas the daughter of an avaricious farmer who lived at "Les Marches, "in the parish of the Forest. 

This little girl's mother had now been dead three years. Adèle wasthen only four years of age. 

"You will place our daughter at Miss Rader's school till she isseven years of age, " were the instructions of Mrs. Rougeant to herhusband on her death-bed. 

This was not all; Mr. Rougeant was solicited by his wife to placeAdèle for ten years at a boarding-school in "the town, " where shewould receive an education such as pertained to her rank andfortune. 

Mr. Rougeant would gladly have sent his daughter to the parishschool, till the age of fourteen. Afterwards, he would have had hertaught to work. He would have had to pay only one penny a week atthe parish school, whereas he now paid five pence. Soon, he wouldhave to disburse from fifty to sixty pounds a year for Adèle'ssake. "What extravagance, " he muttered between his teeth. But hedared not go against his promises to his dying wife. Mr. Rougeantwas superstitious. "If I fail to fulfil my promises to my dyingwife, I shall most certainly see her ghost;" he said to himself. Sohe preferred to part with a portion of his income in exchange for alife unmolested by apparitions. 

It was the month of August of the same year in which the eventsnarrated in the preceding chapter occurred. The pupils of Miss Raderwere all assembled to receive the prizes which they were supposed tohave won. 

The reward-books were handed to the pupils by an elderly lady--Mrs. Lebours. She was standing in front of the row of young girls, surrounded by half-a-dozen satellites of her own sex. Miss Rader wassitting near the group of "young ladies. "

Mrs. Lebours began: "First prize for French has been won by AdèleRougeant, but the committee of ladies have decided that as she isabout to pursue her studies elsewhere, she will not receive theprize. It will be given to the one next to her, who is going toremain under Miss Rader's excellent tuition. "

This little speech having been delivered by Mrs. Lebours, whomeanwhile flourished the reward-book; Miss Rader approached Adèle, and tapping her unkindly on the shoulder, she whispered to her in awhistling tone, her snaky eyes expressing the kindliness of a tiger:"You see what you gain through wanting to leave my school; you losea beautiful book. "

Adèle was not unhappy. On the contrary; she experienced anelevating, martyr-like sensation. She turned towards Miss Rader. 

"I have earned it?" she questioned. 

"Yes, but----. "

"I am satisfied, " she said; then, quoting as near as she could aphrase which had attracted her attention in one of the rare bookswhich she had cast her childish eyes upon, she added, "We do not goto school to obtain prizes, but to acquire knowledge. "

Miss Rader was seated in her former place when Adèle finished. Herupper lip was slightly curled up, she was gazing upon Adèle with alook of supreme contempt. 

The distribution of prizes was soon finished. The children weredismissed for the holidays and sent home. Adèle bore her little headup proudly. She had been wronged. She felt a thrill of pleasure asshe entered her home at "Les Marches. "

In acting as they had done, the committee of ladies had placedthemselves lower than her. She felt it, and prided herself uponbeing ever so much better than they were. When her father came inshe called out to him: "I earned a prize, but they would not give itme as I was going to leave school. "

"Humph!" he said moodily, "I am afraid you over-estimate yourintellectual capacities. Carry this letter to your uncle Tom at the'Prenoms. '"

And he handed his daughter a scrap of paper. 

Adèle did immediately as she was bid, not daring to speak when sheheard her father's gruff tone. 

The farm of the "Prenoms" was only half a mile distant from "LesMarches, " and Adèle did the distance in ten minutes. 

She gave the letter to her uncle. "You will have to wait for areply, " he said. 

Her uncle was a man who never said more than was absolutelynecessary. 

"Seat yourself; here is a chair for you, " said her aunt. 

Adèle took the preferred chair, and her aunt began to question her. 

"So you are going to a boarding school, " she said; and Adèle feltthat there was something sarcastic in her tone. 

"Papa wants me to, " she mumbled timidly. 

"Oh, it is not so much Alfred's wish, " significantly said Mrs. Soher(Adèle's aunt), as she turned towards her step-mother who was seatedon a "_jonquière_, " engaged in mending a pair of stockings. 

Near her sat a young boy who looked a little older than Adèle. Hewas mischievously occupied in knotting the skein of thread which hisgrandmother was using. 

Adèle resented what she knew to be a slight cast upon her deadmother's memory, but she did not speak. Her aunt had always beenhostile to her, she knew not why. 

Old Mrs. Soher raised her hoary head and remarked: "In my time, young girls like Adèle used to learn to read and write, --and work. "

Adèle felt very uncomfortable. She wished her uncle would make hasteand write his reply; but he sat at his desk, passing his fingersthrough his hair; a method with which he was familiar when puzzled. Then he rose and cast a significant glance at his wife who followedhim out of the room. 

The old woman espied her prankish grandson. She immediately brokeout into a violent fit of scolding: too animated to be serious. "Ah!but what next, you wicked little rascal. Knotting my thread; but I'msure. I have a mind to slap your face. Just look at what you havedone. Why did you do it?"

Tommy--the little boy--giggled. "I was tired of sitting here doingnothing, " he answered impudently; "why don't you tell me a story. "

"Well, now, be a good boy; do you know where the bad boys will go?"

"With the devil. "

"Quite right; now, you will be good. "

"Tell me a tale; you know, something about the old witches, " saidTommy. "How do they make people ill?" he questioned pullingimpatiently at his grandmother's shawl. 

"They give themselves to Satan, " answered the grandmother. 

"How?"

"They sign their name, writing it backwards with their own blood. "

Adèle shuddered; although she was a country girl, she had neverheard anything of the sort before. She listened attentively. 

"You told me they were given books; did you not?" questioned thelad. 

"Yes they receive one or two infamous books, which they cannotdestroy after they have taken them, neither can anyone else do awaywith these bad books. Yet, I remember quite well when there was onecompletely annihilated. 

"It was when one of my aunt's died. She was a terrible witch; alas, the chairs; and all the cups and saucers, bowls and plates on thedresser danced when they carried her body out of the house. "

Adèle laughed. 

Tommy looked at her. "Oh, it's true, " he said, "you can laugh if youlike--ain't it grand'ma?"

Mrs. Soher went on: "When we cleaned out the house, we found one ofthose awful books. No one dared to open it, yet everyone knew by itsfunny covers, its queer print and its yellow paper, that it was oneof the 'devil's own. ' My sister, who, by the way, was not verysuperstitious took----"

"Superlicious! what's that?" questioned the boy. 

"People who don't believe in all sorts, " immediately explainedgrandmamma. 

"Now where was I? ah, my sister took the book and threw it into thefire but it did not burn!"

"Oo-oo, " ejaculated Tommy. 

Adèle began to be credulous. It must be borne in mind that she wasonly seven years old. 

Grand'ma proceeded: "She snatched it again from the fire and put iton the table. Now it happened that on that very day, my brother wasgoing to seek for shell-fish at a place called _La Banque auMouton_. He said that he would take the book and place it under abig stone; then, when the tide rose, it would be covered over, and, we all hoped, altogether destroyed. 

"He took it as he had promised to do (we were gone home to dinnerthen, for we did not care to eat in the house of a witch), andplaced it, so he told us, under a big stone which he could hardlylift. "

"Ah, the Evil One was caught, " remarked Tommy. 

"He is not caught so easily as all that, " said his grandmother. "When we returned to our work, do you know what we saw?"

"No!"

"We beheld the book laid upon the table. "

Tommy opened his mouth wide enough as to be in danger ofdislocation, then he closed it with an exclamation: "Ah-a!"

Adèle dared scarcely breathe. 

"That's not all, " continued Mrs. Soher, "we were determined to getrid of the book. This is what we did. 

"My brother spoke to the minister about it. The clergyman declaredthat the book could only be stamped out of existence by a specialprocess. He went to what had been my aunt's house, and summoned mybrother and those who were there into the kitchen. Then one manthrust a bundle of furze into the oven and set it alight. Anotherone threw the book amongst the flames and firmly secured the door. 

"'Down on your knees, ' commanded the minister. Everyone obeyed. Theclergyman prayed aloud, when in a few moments, piercing shrieks wereheard issuing from the oven. The whole company were in a state ofhorripilation. The clergyman ceased praying. He simply said withquivering and pale lips: 'The book is burning. '

"The cries ceased. The door of the oven was opened. The book wasreduced to ashes. "

The two children were awe-stricken. 

They sat as still as two mice, breathing only as much as wasabsolutely necessary. It was Tommy who first broke the silence. 

He was more accustomed to hear these strange tales than his cousin, and, consequently, got over his fright sooner. 

"How did the book shriek, " questioned the boy. 

The entrance of Mr. Soher and his spouse disturbed the proceedings. Adèle was very glad of it, for she was anxious to be back homebefore dusk. 

Handing her a piece of paper, Adèle's uncle bade her be sure to giveit to her father. He enjoined her not to lose it, but to hold ittightly all the way home. "Don't put it in your pocket, " he added asthe little girl was preparing to leave. 

Adèle did as she was bid; she could not put the missive in herpocket, because--there was no pocket to the dress which she wore. 

She hastened home. The story which Mrs. Soher had recited had shakenher nerves. 

As she neared her father's house, she was tempted to look at thewriting on the paper. There was a brief struggle within her. At lasther conscience prevailed over her curiosity. 

She met her father who was waiting for her on the threshold andhanded him the paper. He ran his eyes over it and muttered audibly:"Let him go to the dogs, then, if he wishes to do so. "

As soon as Adèle was out of the "Prenoms" the two garrulous womenbegan to talk about their little visitor. As was their wont, they(especially the younger Mrs. Soher) cast upon Adèle all the slanderand scandal which they were capable of. Their epigrams were asdevoid of wit as they were coarse. 

Mr. Soher, who sat near, did not join in the conversation. Heprofessed to be a very religious man, but he rarely occupied himselfabout his household duties. His wife was just saying: "When onethinks that if that little brat of a girl had not been born, weshould inherit all my brother's property, " when the man rose fromhis chair. "I am going to the prayer-meeting, " he said abruptly, and his puritanical form as suddenly left the room. 

"Now, it is time for you to go to bed, " said Mrs. Soher to her son, when her husband was gone. 

"I don't want to go yet, " replied Tommy. 

"But you must go, and you will go now; I'll not listen to yournonsense; come, do your hear. "

"Ah! let me stay a little longer, ma. "

"No, not one moment; come along. "

"Only one minute, " pleaded the spoilt child. 

"Bah! what do you want to stay for?" said his mother, re-seatingherself. 

The minute passed away, so did many other minutes, but Tom did notstir. 

After again trying in vain the power of her pleadings and commands, the weak-minded mother took her son by the sleeve of his coat. "Come, " she said, "to bed with you. "

Tommy began to cry. 

She dragged him out of the room and up the stairs. He screamed andkicked, but was finally placed in his cot. Mrs. Soher had hardlystepped into the kitchen, when her son was heard crying. 

"I am frightened, " he bawled; "the fire--the witches--the book. "

"Bah!" said his mother, "he'll go to sleep soon. " And so he did. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE BOARDING-SCHOOL. 

Mr. Rougeant had returned early from "the town" on that Saturdayafternoon. He was now perusing the _Gazette Officielle_, the onlynewspaper which he ever cast his eyes upon. The servant--a good oldGuernsey soul, who had been in the service of the family for tenyears--was busily engaged in preparing the dinner. Contrary to thefarmer's orders, Adèle had been sent by Lizette (the servant) tofetch the cider. 

Unluckily for the little girl, Mr. Rougeant did not care to go tothe expense of buying a tap. In its stead he had a number of smallholes bored in one end of the cask. In these holes, which wereplaced vertically, one above the other, tight fitting wooden pegshad been driven. One of these pegs he drew out when he required somecider. 

When Adèle entered the cellar, mug in hand, she examined the cask. She did not know which peg to take out, neither did she care toreturn into the kitchen with an empty vessel. She venturedcautiously to pull out one of the pins. It fitted tightly. Shejerked on it. The peg came out; so did the cider. She hastilyreplaced the peg in its place, but the cider spurted all over herclean white pinafore. Timidly, she went back to the kitchen. 

"I did not know how to----"

She did not finish. The servant perceived her plight, and, with agesture, silenced her. She bustled her out into the vestibule, threwher a clean apron, bade her put it on, and proceeded to the cellar. She speedily caused--or thought she caused--all traces of the littlegirl's blunder to disappear. 

When she returned, Mr. Rougeant was talking to his daughter. He wassaying: "Listen, Adèle. Miss Euston's collegiate school for ladieswill re-open on Tuesday next, September the 13th, at half-past twoo'clock. A few boarders received. "

"How would you like to go there?" he asked of his daughter; merelyfor form's sake, however, for he had already resolved that thiswould be, if possible, Adèle's future home, for some ten years atleast. 

"I don't know, " said the little girl, placing her thumb in hermouth;--a sure sign of mingled deep-thought and puzzlement--a modeof expression which, by the bye, she was not to enjoy much longer. These gesticulations are not in harmony with boarding-schooletiquette. 

Her father did not make any other remark. He placed the newspaper onone side, and fell to work with his dinner. 

This important piece of business having been accomplished, hestarted to go to town on foot. 

His interview with Miss Euston resulted in Adèle being accepted as aboarder. She was to be entirely entrusted to the care of MissEuston, and, lastly, Mr. Rougeant was to pay an annual stipend offifty guineas. 

When he came back home, Adèle's father sank in a chair. He wastired. Moreover, he was annoyed. The fifty guineas which he hadpromised to pay each year vexed him. 

He said to himself: "This daughter of mine will run away with allthe profit which I am making out of my newly-opened quarry. But, since it must be, I cannot allow myself to violate the promises madeto the dying. I must try and see if I cannot save a little more thanI have done lately. This servant costs me too much. I must get ridof her somehow. Another one, a French one for example, would workfor four or five pounds less a year. "

In this puzzled state he descended to the cellar. He had an implicitbelief in cider as a general restorative. His scrutinizing glancesoon detected the ravages caused by Adèle's blunder. "What a fineexcuse, " he mumbled--and he grinned. 

He entered the parlour where Lizette was setting things to rightsand demanded in an imperative and angry tone: "Who has done thatmess in the cellar?"

"I did, " quietly answered the servant, anxious to shield Adèle. 

That fib she soon repented to have uttered. 

"I give you a month's notice, " said Mr. Rougeant, and he was aboutto disappear when Lizette, feeling that she was not required anymore, and moved to the quick, turned towards her master. 

"I can go now, " she said. 

"Well, go; so much the better. "

That same evening, Maît. Jacques (Mr. Rougeant's workman) droveLizette in the "spring cart" to her mother's cottage. 

Adèle wept. Her father silenced her with a frown. "You will commenceschool on Tuesday next, " he said. 

The little girl looked at her father in surprise, and, an inwardemotion completely mastering her, she recommenced crying. 

"How shall I be able to speak to those English people?" she sobbed. 

"You can talk English, can't you?" was her father's notover-consoling remark. 

"Only--a--little. "

"The person to whom I spoke is a nice lady; now, don't be silly, child. "

"The little girls will laugh at me, " she said, drying her tears withher pinafore. 

Her father did not answer her, but sat meditatively pulling on hisenormous nose. 

It was nearly midnight when Adèle managed to drop to sleep. 

Tuesday came. Her father drove her to town in his old phaeton. Then, taking her by the hand, he led her at No. ----, Grange. The two wereushered into a small, but prettily furnished drawing-room. 

After a few moments, Mdlle. Parmier entered the room, and afterhaving conversed in French for a few minutes with Mr. Rougeant, thelatter withdrew, bidding good-bye to his daughter who watched himdisappear with a dazed and stupefied air. "Is this a dream?" shethought. "Ah! would that it were. " Never before had she spoken to alady from town. She listened to hear Mdlle. Parmier's harsh voicebid her follow her, but, instead of doing so, the little French ladyadvanced towards her and in a gentle tone of voice (so soft, thatAdèle stared at her in astonishment) said: "_Miss Euston va bientôtvenir. Croyez-vous, ma chère, que cette nouvelle demeure vousconviendra?_"

"_Oui_, " answered Adèle, greatly relieved that there was at leastone person here who could talk in French. 

Then, while the lady occupied herself with a book, Adèle was busypicturing to herself the dreadful Miss Euston. Her father had saidthat she was a nice lady; but, alas, how could she? Did she notspeak in English? How was she going to answer her? "She willcertainly laugh at my bad English, " Adèle thought; and her lipsmoved about uneasily, and her eyes were moist. 

She looked towards Mdlle. Parmier. She saw four or five ladies in aconfused group; she wiped away the tears that obscured her vision. 

"Ah! if this lady were head mistress?" she went on thinking. "Oh! myclothes, they are not so pretty as those which the little girls whowere in the playground wore. " She listened tremblingly for thesounds of approaching footsteps. How she wished that the ordeal ofthe first interview would be passed. She grew so excited that shewould have given anything to be out of that room. Any suddencatastrophe which would have averted the terrible ordeal ofconfronting Miss Euston would have been welcomed by her. Had shebeen alone, she would have tried her voice to see how it sounded inEnglish, but Mdlle. Parmier was there; so she only coughed a littleto clear her throat. She tried to cough softly, as she had heardMdlle. Parmier do; but she fancied her voice sounded hoarse andvulgar. She cast a gaze towards a mirror placed at one end of theroom. What a plebeian figure!

Hark! what was that? a soft tread was heard approaching. The Frenchlady looked up from her book, and fixing her eyes encouragingly onthe little girl, she said: "_Miss Euston sera bien aise de vousvoir; parlez-vous l'anglais?_"

"_Un peu, mademoiselle_, " said Adèle, and the door opened. 

The dreaded form of Miss Euston entered the room. 

"Dis is de yong Ma'm'sel Rougeant, " said the French lady, introducing Adèle to the newly-arrived lady. 

The latter, a tall, refined and amiable lady, advanced towards Adèlewith a pleasant air, and such a kind smile lighting up herintelligent features that the little girl felt immediately drawntowards her. 

Miss Euston at once saw that Adèle was timid and feeling veryuncomfortable. 

She took the child's hand in her own and said kindly: "I am veryglad you have come, Adèle; but, your hands are quite cold; comenearer to the fire. "

Adèle stood up. Miss Euston put the chair nearer to the fire, placedthe child upon it, and began to chat in quite a friendly way. 

Mdlle. Parmier retired. Adèle's fears had vanished like a cloud ofsmoke. She felt more than simple admiration for Miss Euston; sheexperienced a kind of veneration for her. 

Had an angel from heaven entered the room instead of this lady, Adèle would not have been much more dazzled than she now was. 

"Do you understand English?" inquired Miss Euston while helping herpupil to warm her hands. 

"Not much, ma'am. "

"Then you shall soon learn, for I can see a pair of intelligent eyesbeaming under those chestnut curls. "

Adèle smiled. She felt a kind of bitter and sweet happiness. Thedreaded introduction was over, but now there were the little girlsto encounter. What kind of reception would _they_ give her?

"I am going to have two new dresses for you to try on presently, "said Miss Euston; "now, come, let me show you your bed chamber. "

Adèle was delighted with her bedroom. How neat the little criblooked. Miss Rader had told her that the people from town never hadwhite linen; they knew not how to wash, and, besides, the smokecaused their once white linen to look grimy. 

After having asked Adèle if she was pleased with her room, and thelittle child having answered: "Yes, ma'am, very much, " Miss Eustonled her into the schoolroom where about twenty young girls wereassembled. They were being directed to their respective places byMdlle. Parmier. 

Miss Euston told Adèle that she would not do anything that day butfamiliarize herself with her new surroundings. 

She gave her a nice book full of beautiful pictures to look at. Thenshe began to attend to a class of the bigger girls. 

Adèle felt her heart sink a little when Miss Euston left her, butshe managed to pluck up courage and was soon absorbed looking at thebeautiful pictures in her book. She timidly raised her eyes fromtime to time and gazed upon the young group of girls who were nearher. Two of them she perceived were looking at her, and exchangingglances, after which they tittered. 

This made Adèle's blood rush to her face. She knew they werelaughing at her and she felt uneasy. "I am as good as they are. Just let them wait till I have my new dresses, " she thought. 

She made up her mind not to look at them and kept steadily lookingat her book. But the pictures had lost their charm. Her little soulrevolted against the treatment to which she was being subjected bythese two little girls. 

When the time for recreation arrived, Miss Euston took Adèle by thehand and led her up to two other girls; one about Adèle's age, theother two years older. She told them to take care of their new andfuture companion. She was sure, she added, that they would makethings pleasant for her. "Yes, ma'am, --come, " they said to their newacquaintance. They led her out of the schoolroom and amused herduring the whole time that was set apart for recreation purposes. Bythe time the bell rang for the pupils to form classes, the threelittle girls were as friendly as could be. Adèle forgot all aboutthe little girls that had laughed at her. 

Later on in the evening, she discovered that her two littlecompanions were the only boarders beside herself. 

The day after her entrance, an event occurred which deserves perhapsto be narrated. 

Adèle walked alone down the Grange, turned to the right, and notknowing where she was going, found herself in a lane called GeorgeStreet. 

She was busily engaged contemplating a poor little crippled girl, when the latter's crutch slipped and she fell prone on the road. 

She got up quickly, however, seized her crutch and looked anxiouslyround to see if someone had perceived her. 

Adèle stood near, smiling. 

The girl in rags went up to her. "What'r'yer laughin' at, yerdressed up doll?" she said. (Adèle had one of her new dresses on. )"If you don't stop it, " she continued threateningly, "I'll give yersuch a bloomin' smack as 'l' make you think you're in the beginnin'o' next week. "

Adèle did "stop it, " and hastily walked away. 

"What!" she said to herself, "can these little girls from town beatyou soundly enough to make you think you are in the beginning of theweek to come? They _must_ be clever. I will ask Miss Euston aboutit. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE INFLUENCES OF A GOOD HOME. 

Ten years have elapsed. On a stormy September afternoon, in a roomof a two-storeyed cottage, situate at the bottom of the Rohais, awoman lay dying. Her husband knelt beside her bed, holding hiswife's hand. 

The stillness that prevailed was only disturbed by an occasional sobfrom the husband, and the short irregular breathing of the dyingwoman. 

The breathing suddenly became more regular. The husband looked athis wife. He saw that she wanted to speak to him, and immediatelyapproached his head nearer to her. 

"I am going, John, " said the woman in a faint tone; "I feel that Iam rapidly drawing nearer the end. I know you will take care of ourson, and--if ever you marry----"

Here she paused as if unable to go on. 

"Oh! don't mention that, I will never marry again, dearest. I willlook forward with eagerness to our second meeting. I shall meet youthere, Annie, " he said, and, pressing her hand between both his own, he gazed earnestly into his wife's half-closed eyes. 

Mrs. Mathers sank back on her pillow, exhausted with the effortwhich she had made to speak those few words. Presently a change cameover her face. Her husband beckoned to Marie, the servant, whohardly dared to approach, awed as she was at having to witness aperson in the grip of death. 

The end came, swift and pangless. The soul passed from the body toits eternal resting place. 

Marie stood beside the bed, her big eyes fixed on the corpse, hardlyable to believe her senses. 

"But, I thought Madame was better, much better, " she said, halfaloud, half to herself. 

"Ah! unfortunately, " said the widower, "'twas only the lull beforethe storm--a state which is common to people dying from consumption. Make haste, " he continued to the bewildered Abigail, "put the blindsdown. "

Marie did as she was told and the man proceeded downstairs. 

In the kitchen, seated on a chair, a boy was sobbing. His father hadjust told him that death had visited them. And the boy feltcompletely weighed down with grief. His mother had been so good tohim. "Such an excellent mother, " he said to himself; "ah, how Ishall miss her. "

He sobbed silently; the hot tears were few and far between. Hisgrief was too intense to be demonstrative. 

He stayed there for fully an hour, in the same attitude, bowed downas it were by this heavy load which had fallen upon him. 

Let us go back into Frank Mathers' history--for Frank Mathers it waswho mourned his mother's loss--for a few years. 

Mr. Mathers, his wife and only son were seated round the fire oneevening. 

"You will be fourteen years of age to-morrow, " said Frank's father, "it is time for me to think of finding you a situation. "

Frank did not answer, the idea of leaving school did not please him;he looked up from his book for an instant, then pretended to resumehis reading. 

"I shall talk to Mr. Baker, the grain merchant; as you have a likingfor books, I think you would do well in his office. Would you liketo go?" said his father. 

"If you think I am old enough to leave school, " mumbled Frank. 

"Certainly you are old enough, " said his father, "we can't afford tokeep you at school all your life. "

Mrs. Mathers looked at her son sympathetically, she knew he lovedhis school immensely. 

"You will only have to be at the office from nine till five, and, ifyou are diligent, you shall be able to study a few hours every day, "she said. 

"Yes, " said the boy reluctantly. 

In less than a week after this, Frank had left school and wassettled in Mr. Baker's employment. 

The winter was beginning to make itself felt, and the days weregrowing shorter and shorter. Ah! how Frank liked these winterevenings. He took his books, and, drawing his chair near a smalltable close to the fire, he kept plodding on, evening after evening, educating himself constantly. 

At the age of nineteen, he obtained a situation as clerk in a bank. He possessed a good knowledge of English and French. He was alsoacquainted with German, Latin and Mathematics. 

He had learnt unaided two systems of shorthand: one English and oneFrench. 

Neither was he ignorant of other useful sciences, of which he hadstriven to acquire at least a few elements. 

Thus armed for the world's battle, he thought himself almostinvulnerable. "I am bound to succeed, " he sometimes said to himself. "I have done all that I possibly could do towards that end. I don'tbelieve in chance. 'What a man soweth, that shall he also reap. '"

If ever a youth deserved to succeed, it certainly was Frank Mathers. He had sacrificed many pleasures for the sake of better fittinghimself for life's struggle. Often, when his companions invited himto spend an evening in questionable pleasures; "No, he would answer, I have no time for that. " At last, they ceased to torment him. 

He liked these evenings spent at home, quietly, near the fire, alonewith his mother, who sometimes lifted her eyes from her knitting orsewing, and affectionately gazed for a few moments upon her son. 

They were nearly always alone, mother and son; for the father, whowas a carpenter, spent his evenings in the workshop. 

As her son neared his twentieth birthday, Mrs. Mathers felt that shewould never live to see it. She was very anxious for her son'sfuture. After all, would he always keep in the path in which he wasnow walking?

One evening when she felt worse than usual, her anxiousness for herson's welfare rose to such a pitch that she ventured to speak a fewwords to him. 

"Frank, " she began, "you know that I am not in very good health. "

"Yes, mother. "

"I don't think I shall live long, " continued she, "and, I should somuch like to know if you have formed a decision to be a noble, good, and upright man. "

"You are not going to die, " said the youth in a half-frightenedtone, "you will be better soon, I hope. "

"No, " she said, "I am slowly but steadily declining;" then she addedin a very affectionate tone: "Will you promise me, Frank, that youwill always strive to do what is right?"

"Mother, " replied the son, his voice quivering with emotion: "I willbe good. "

Neither of them said another word for a few minutes. Their heartswere too full. Affectionate love, grief and resignation were fillingtheir souls. 

Soon, the father entered and the family retired. 

Next day Mrs. Mather's prophecies were fulfilled. She felt muchworse and stayed in bed. In less than a week, she was dead andburied. 

Thus deprived of his mother, Frank Mathers felt intensely lonely. Hesuppressed his grief as much as possible, but it could be seen thathe suffered. 

He had his father, 'tis true, but Mr. Mathers was a man of a gloomytemperament. But a young man of nineteen ought not to be attached tohis mother's pinafore! The house seemed so empty, it seemed quitelarge now, a roomy house with no furniture. The air he breathed wasnot perfumed with the sweet breath of love as it was wont to be. 

He grew melancholy. He had never been of a very bright temperament, and the life of self-sacrifice which he had hitherto led, had nothelped him towards being cheerful. 

Besides, there was no one to cheer him now, no kind word to spur himon. "Ah! life without love, " he sighed, "life without love ishardly worth living. "

From bad he went to worse. He almost ceased to eat. He lost a greatdeal of his former activity and was often absent-minded. Hisemployers noticed this, for he often made false entries in thebooks. 

One morning, the manager of the bank thought fit to speak to him. "Icannot make out what ails you, " he said, "but you will have to bemore careful in the future. "

"Pull yourself up, Mr. Mathers, try and take more interest in yourwork, or I shall feel obliged to dispense with your servicesaltogether. "

"I must try, " answered Frank. "I _will_ try, Sir. "

And try he did, but all to no purpose. 

A cloud seemed to hang over him; he was in a state of lethargy. "AmI going mad?" he said to himself more than once. No! he was notinsane, not yet at any rate; he simply took no interest in life. Nothing seemed to distract him; he cared for nothing, spoke to noone except when questioned. 

His father and Marie often tried to coax him into conversation. 

In answer he sometimes said "Bah! life is but an empty bubble, "oftener, he said nothing at all, but gazed fixedly at the floor allthe time. 

A few days after the manager had spoken to him, he ceased to go towork altogether. He did not send a letter to his employers, tellingthem of his intention to leave; of what use was it? everything wasnothing to him. 

It was not for his departed mother that he grieved. He grieved not. He hardly gave her a thought now, and, when he did, his eyes seemedto brighten up and his lips muttered: "Thou art happy. "

The doctor who examined him shrugged his shoulders. "Hypochondria, "he said as he met the enquiring glance of Mr. Mathers; then headded: "He will probably be better in a few weeks. "

The neighbours, without being consulted, said: "He is mad. "

The days came and went, and after a few months of melancholiness hegrew a little bit better. His father noticed that he began to takean interest in the culture of the garden. 

"I shall have to find work for him, " thought Mr. Mathers, and, oneday, when his son seemed in a more joyous mood than usual, he spoketo him. 

"Do you think that if I built a greenhouse you could take care ofit?" he questioned. 

"I think so, " said his son. 

"Work is slack just now, " went on Mr. Mathers, "I might as well putup one in the garden as do nothing. "

"I think I should very much like to grow tomatoes and grapes, " Frankremarked. 

"You feel better now, then, " said the father. These were the firstwords which he ventured to speak to his son about his health, nowthat the latter's senses seemed to have returned to him. 

"Have I been ill?" said Frank; and then after a pause----"Of course, I have not been very well lately, --yes, I am better, I think I ammyself again. "

"Well;" said his father, "it is agreed, we shall have a greenhouse. I think you had better go in the garden and see if you can findsomething to do there. "

Frank did as he was requested. The garden at the back of the housewas a small one, covering some twenty-five perches; of these eightwere to be blessed, or cursed, with a glass covering. 

While Frank was engaged in tying up some Chrysanthemums, he wasjoined by Marie, the servant. 

"Doin' a bit o' work, Master Frank, " she said. 

"Yes, a little, " he replied. 

"Well, that's better than mopin' about doing nothing, " was the notover-particular rejoinder. 

Frank smiled. "Well, " he said, "a fellow must do something when hecan, but there are times when he cannot. "

"Perhaps, " said Marie, rather absent-mindedly, as if she had notunderstood the meaning of his words. 

She glanced around her, to make sure that there was no one about;then she came quite close to Frank. "Have you heard the news?" shesaid. 

"What news?" questioned Frank. 

"Why, they say your father is goin' to marry; didn't you know?"

Frank's face became livid, his lips tightened, his pruning knifedropped from his hand. 

"What?" he exclaimed, as if he had not fully understood. 

"Your father's going to marry again, " said the servant in anundertone, "and I'll tell you who told me so, it was Jim Tozer, herbrother; he ought to know. "

"The brother of whom?" questioned Frank mechanically. 

"The brother of Miss Tozer, " informed Marie. 

"I should have thought that your father would have stuck a littlemore to his word, for when your poor, dear mother was dying, shementioned something to your father about marrying. He pretended tocry, and bawled out: 'Don't mention it, I'll never marry again; I'llnever marry again. '"

"And mother been dead only five months, " said Frank, more to himselfthan otherwise. 

"But it won't be yet, you know, " said Marie. "Jim Tozer told me theywould probably wait till next year. "

Then seeing Mr. Mathers coming towards them, she pretended to gathersome parsley close by, and quickly re-entered the house. 

Frank's father did not talk to his son then, but began takingmeasures for the greenhouse. 

As for Frank, he was extremely angry with his father. He thoughtthat his mother's memory was being slighted; but he resolved not tosay a word about it to his father, and to let matters stand as theywere. 

Time passed on. The winter was over. It was the month of April. Thebirds sang in the trees, the grass was springing up, the fields werebeing clothed in verdure. Nature, which had lain so long dormant, was awakening. From the trees which looked dead a few weeks agolittle buds were peeping forth, taking their first view of theworld. 

Frank Mathers was filled with delight as he watched this developmentof nature. 

One evening when he had just finished planting some tomatoes, he wassurprised to see his father enter the greenhouse. 

Mr. Mathers' face was rather pale. He looked agitated. 

"They look well, " said the father, meaning the tomato plants. 

"Yes, they _do_ look well, " answered his son; "I was just thinkingas much before you came in. "

There was a long silence here. Frank knew that his father hadsomething to communicate to him, and he guessed what it was. However, he did not help him out of his embarrassment. 

Finally, after several preliminary hems to clear his throat, Mr. Mathers began: "It is a good thing that the tomatoes are planted;to-morrow you will not work, I suppose. "

"I hope I shall, I have all these boxes to clear away. "

"Yes, yes, but to-morrow I am going to be married. "

Frank did not answer. He raised his eyes and looked straight at hisfather. His lips quivered and refused to utter a sound. 

The son's gaze was more than a match for the father's. Mr. Matherswas not yet so hardened as to laugh and look back defiantly at hisson. He, however, recovered his self-composure, tried to makehimself believe that he was in his perfect right, and in awell-feigned voice--"Well?" he said interrogatively. 

Not a word came from the son's lips; a deep sigh escaped him. Hestepped forward and walked out of the greenhouse, leaving his fatherthere--alone. 

The couple were quietly married at the Greffe the next day. 

Frank went about his work as usual, and when he came in to dine, hisstep-mother was awaiting him, her face beaming with smiles. 

When Frank found himself thus confronted by Mrs. Mathers No. 2, hedid not feel nearly so hostile to her as he had felt towards hisfather. 

He could not however welcome her warmly when his heart clamouredotherwise. He was not a hypocrite. 

When the husband advanced with his wife, the youth took theoutstretched hand and in a cold tone, his lips still uttering whathis heart did not inspire, he said, as if welcoming a stranger: "Iam happy to make your acquaintance, madam. "

He soon perceived that he had gone rather too far. He had acted onthe impulse of the moment. In fact, he had dug the abyss that wasever to lie between his step-mother and himself. 

"After all, " he said to himself, "it is better to obey one's heart. "He did not even stop to think that there were two powers at work. 

He was more to be pitied than blamed. He had loved his motherdearly, and now that she was dead, he revered her memory. 

He now perceived the influence of a good home. It had rescued himfrom a life of idleness and perhaps of vice. The genial atmosphereof their little parlour had kept him at home even more than hisbooks, which he, however, cared a good deal for. 

But now, it was all finished. This place would no more be home. Itwas a house, a comfortable dwelling place; that was all. He wouldnow have to live amongst unattractive and semi-hostile surroundings. 

Through his own fault, he would suffer. One thought howeverstrengthened him. Thousands of others had suffered for conscience'ssake. He remembered how his blood rushed to his face, when he readabout the tortures of the martyrs of religion; or the driving intoexile of the patriots of Poland. 

Strengthened with these thoughts, he rose, more determined than everto do right; to champion the good; to work; to study; to strive toacquire wisdom. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE REWARD OF INORDINATE AMBITION. 

Frank Mathers had hours of dejection. Like every other person, hehad his faults. In one of these fits of depression he grewimpatient. Then, his ambition turned in the wrong direction. He wasseized with a mania for getting rich quickly. 

How to proceed, he did not know. 

At last he thought that if he could invent something useful, andpatent it, he would soon acquire what he so much desired to possess. Now, there are thousands who are constantly trying to do as much, but they are as likely to succeed as they were when they firstbegan. 

Frank was one day walking along a country lane when he perceived acow which had broken loose. 

She galloped about, her tail erect, her head lowered. 

He pursued the animal, and after a prolonged chase and much dodgingand capering on the part of both, he managed to grasp the rope whichwas tied round the brute's horns. He held it tightly and proceededto tether his captive. But when he had driven the peg in the ground, he noticed that it was very easily pulled up. 

He pondered over this as he proceeded towards his home. Suddenly, heslapped his forehead. "I have it, " he said to himself. "I will havea peg, which, when being driven, will go all right, but when pulledabout, will release two small prongs at the sides. This will make itimpossible for anyone to pull it up; a small knob will be affixedwhich, when turned, will replace the prongs, and the peg will comeout in a jiffy. "

"Ah!" he went on thinking, "this would be a useful thing, an articlewhich would command a ready sale. Besides, it would be used wherevera good gripping peg would be necessary. "

He was enthusiastic. His mind was already full of different schemeswhich he would start when he had acquired fame and riches. 

When he came home, he was so sure of success that he imparted hisidea to his step-mother, with whom he was not generally veryconfidant. 

Poor Frank! the volley of mockery which he received quite baffledhim. 

"So you think to make your fortune in that way, " she said. "No, no, my boy, you never will. "

"But don't you see that it's a most useful thing, that----"

"Stop, stop, " she interrupted, "don't make me laugh. Do you thinkthat people are going to listen to your nonsense? Why! your pegwould get clogged with earth and would not act. "

"Wouldn't it though, at any rate, it's worth thinking over, so I'lldo that. "

"If you choose to spend your money in that fashion, you can do so, "retorted the lady, smiling contemptuously. 

"You won't laugh at me this day month, " thought Frank as he made hisexit. 

Once alone again, he grew more determined than ever. His mind wascompletely dazzled with the bright future before him. 

Next morning, he posted a letter to an inventor's agency in London. He stated that he had invented something he knew would be useful, and very much in demand if manufactured. The letter went on todetail in full length the "safety peg. " Then he went on to say thathe would very much like to have it patented and if they would kindlysend terms and advice in the course of a mail or two, he would bethankful. 

Two days afterwards, he hoped to receive the joyful news. "They willcertainly write soon, --such a valuable article--besides, they havean interest in its being patented, " he said to himself. 

He accordingly watched for the postman, and as soon as he saw him, his heart beat wildly. To think that he had the precious missive. Heapproaches, and now he is going to open the gate, --no, he passeswithout even looking in the direction of the house. 

"Surely he must be forgetting, " thought Frank, and he shouted: "Mr. Pedvin, have you any letter for me?"

"No; not to day, " said the postman--and he went on his way. 

"What are they up to now?" thought the youth, "they ought to makehaste. I'll wait till to-morrow, and if I don't receive any news, I'll send them a note, and a pretty sharp one too. "

Next day he again watched for the postman's arrival. He feltmiserable; the state of uncertainty in which he was, caused him tobe depressed. Still he could not imagine that the letter wouldcontain anything contrary to his hopes. 

The idea was so far from his wishes that he shook it away at once;he could not even bear to think of it. 

But the postman came not, and it was now ten o'clock. He rememberedwith pain that the day before he had passed by at half-past nine. 

"I must attend to my work, " he thought, "he will come presently. " Hewent about the greenhouse, watering his plants, but every otherminute he opened the door and anxiously watched for the bringer ofgood news to put in an appearance. 

He came at last. He handed a letter to Frank who ran towards him toreceive it. 

"You seem very much in earnest, " remarked the postman, "maybe it's alove-letter. And from London too, " he added noticing the post mark. 

"I'm not so foolish as that, " said Frank; as if such letters werebelow his dignity; "this is about an invention which I am going tohave patented. "

The postman showed the whites of his eyes, then turned on his heelsand continued his journey. 

Frank tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter and read:--

 "London. 

 "We are in receipt of your letter of the 3rd instant, and have much pleasure in informing you that your invention has not, to our best knowledge, been patented or manufactured. 

 "We think it would prove very well in rural districts. 

 "The best way for you, would be to secure it by provisional protection for nine months. 

 "Please forward us £2 10s. , and we will send you, at our earliest possible convenience, the necessary documents. "

"Hurrah!" shouted Frank joyfully. "I'll send them the money as soonas I can. "

He read the letter a second time to make sure that his eyes had notdeceived him. Suddenly he stopped reading. No, it was not in theletter. A thought had struck him. "I will have to mention the moneymatter to my step-mother, for she keeps the keys of my drawer, " hesaid in a soliloquy. 

He went into the kitchen. Mr. And Mrs. Mathers were there. Frankflourished the letter in his hand and exclaimed: "My invention islikely to be a success. " And, holding the letter in both his hands, he read it to his parents. 

He emphasized the points that were in his favour, with all the forcewhich he was capable of displaying. 

Mrs. Mathers looked satisfied enough till her step-son came to themoney matter. Here her face lengthened and as soon as he hadfinished reading she said: "Clever people; they think they are goingto pocket all this money with a few words of flattering. "

"Someone must pay for the one pound stamp and other expenses, "answered Frank. 

"After all this spending of money, perhaps it would not prove, "rejoined Mrs. Mathers. 

"We won't know if we don't try, " retorted Frank; "people don't makefortunes staring about them with their hands in their pockets. "

"But you don't mean to say, " almost angrily said Mrs. Mathers, "thatyou would send them your money in that fashion?"

"I do, " answered the young man in a decided tone. He was growingimpatient at what he thought to be a wanton check of progress on hisstep-mother's part. 

Here, Mr. Mathers left the room without having said a word. 

Frank watched him disappear and then remarked: "Do you think thesepeople are going to work for nothing? They would be fools. "

"Oh! 'tis not _they_ who are fools, " sarcastically remarked hisstep-mother. 

The young man waxed hot. His whole being was rising in wrath withinhim. He, however, mastered his passions. It was his duty to bend, and he did so. "If I could convince her, if I could make her feel asI myself feel, " he thought. 

For one minute he was silent, not knowing how to begin the speechthat was to bring conviction into her soul. 

"Ah!" he thought as he looked at his step-mother who had resumed herwork as if the debate was settled, "she checks me when I try to pushmyself; she tries to nip my plans in the bud. When, with a few wordsof encouragement, I might soon be a rising man. But I must convinceher--I must. If I don't succeed in doing it, I will act alone. Themoney is mine, why should I not be able to do what I like with it. If, however, I could bring her to think as I do. "

"I have always tried to push myself, " he began in a somewhat tenderand pleading tone, "and you never give me one word of encouragementor praise. "

Mrs. Mathers looked up: "You try in the wrong direction, " she said, "earn money by all means, but don't throw it away like a simpleton. "

Unheeding this, Frank resumed: "If I do not try and make life asuccess I don't know anyone who will do it for me. I have studied. Many an evening have I sat up with my books thinking of the use myknowledge would be to me in future life; many an outing have Idenied myself for the sake of studying; many a pleasure have Isacrificed for the sake of acquiring knowledge. I did not care, workdid not seem heavy, because it carried with it a hope of futurehappiness. I worked on till late in the evening. I rose early in themorning to resume my studies. And, if sometimes I felt discouraged, worn out by the ceaseless toil, I said to myself: 'Takecourage--science is bitter but its fruit is sweet. ' I have tried tocultivate myself as much as possible, to fill my mind with all thatis noble, pure, and elevating--to acquire good habits by shunningbad society and by reading good books--in short, I have sacrificedmy past self for the sake of my future self. 

"And now (his tone grew inexpressibly sad), when I try to gather afew of the fruits which I have grown, you throw yourself betweenfortune and me. 

"It is exactly as I was reading in a book the other day, in whichthe writer said: 'The cause of many failures is that men wait forsomething to turn up instead of turning up something forthemselves'----"

"You and your books, " ejaculated Mrs. Mathers, --"but I'll have nomore of this begging and grumbling; do as you like, throw your moneyto the dogs, give it to whomsoever you choose. Perhaps, when youknow the value of money, you will learn to appreciate it more. Formy part, I will have nothing more to do about this tomfoolery. "

Frank left the room with a light heart. He was free, at liberty todo whatever he chose. He chuckled to himself: "Liberty _is_ sweet. Iwill now show them what I can do when I have no one to hinder me. However, I will wait a day or two before sending the money. I mustnot act too quickly, --I will think it over. "

He went about his work. He felt that manual labour was almost belowhis dignity now. What! he, an inventor--a benefactor of mankind--theprobable millionaire of years to come--he, who would soon be lookedupon as the foremost man of the island, pointed at and envied byeveryone--watering tomatoes. Oh! it certainly was below his rank. However, he would work yet for a few days and then, well then hewould appear in his proper sphere. 

Poor fellow, he had yet another of life's lessons to learn. Helittle imagined the crushing blow that was to fall on him andscatter all his hopes. 

That evening he went to bed with his head brim full of ideas andplans for the future. His heart overflowed with delight. He dreamtof nothing but inventions, huge fortunes and fame. 

Next morning, when he awoke, his head had cleared, but his ideaswere the same. He never doubted for a moment the certainty of hissuccess. 

During the course of the morning there were instants in which hefelt less confident. What if he did not succeed--what would hisstep-mother say--what would he himself do, he who had made thisscheme part of his being. But he would prosper, why, here (lookingat the letter) was the opinion of people who had been amongstinventions for years. 

A shadow seemed to cross the path of the greenhouse. "I thinksomeone has passed by, " he thought, "I will go and see. " Suiting theaction to the thought, he sprang at the door and opened it. Whatwas his astonishment to see the postman. Two days following! it wasan event, for they seldom received letters. 

On hearing the noise which Frank made on opening the door, thepostman turned round and handed him a letter. He was agreeablysurprised to see that it was from the inventors' agency, but hisdelight was soon changed into bitter anger and bitterestdisappointment when he had read its contents. It was worded thus:

 "London. 

 "DEAR SIR, --We are sorry to inform you that the invention we were about to patent for you, had, we have just found out, been patented before. 

 "The inventor, we have learned, ruined himself in trying to push it. "

He read it twice over. Alas! it was too true. Sadly and mournfullyhe went into the house, there to think of his misfortune. 

He entered the little parlour, threw himself on a chair, took theletter from his pocket and re-read it. 

He crumpled the letter in his hand and exclaimed: "'Tis too true, there is not the slightest hope; ah! this is indeed a cloud with nosilver lining. "

He rose, paced the room in an agitated state and muttered: "Butyesterday, I thought myself a rising man, now, I have utterlyfailed; that upon which I had set my heart, upon which my thoughtshad dwelt and upon which my hopes had been built, has fallen to theground. "

"Such joy ambition finds, " something seemed to echo within him. 

CHAPTER VI. 

NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 

For a week or so Frank Mathers grieved about his misfortune. At theend of that time, an event occurred which completely distracted him. 

He was taking a walk a few miles from his home, not far from theForest Church. When he came near the farm of "Les Marches, " heperceived a man, who, seated on a branch, was sawing it. This branchprojected over a quarry which was filled with water. 

Suddenly, the branch gave way, and Mr. Rougeant (such was this man'sname), fell into the water. 

Frank at once ran towards the spot, taking off his coat as hehastened along. He was a good and plucky swimmer. When he came nearthe quarry, the drowning man was struggling for dear life. Frankseized the position in a moment. He saw that it would be useless tojump into the water, because, when once in, he would not be able toreach the edge of the quarry, for the water's surface was quite fourfeet below that of the ground. There was not a moment to lose. Theman had already gone down twice; he was coming up for the secondtime. Frank took his coat in one hand, and, leaning over the edge ofthe quarry at the risk of falling in himself, he caught hold of atuft of grass with the other hand, and awaited the drowning man'sappearance. 

The farmer rose to the surface, struggling. His eyes were dilated, his whole countenance presented a frightened and imploringappearance. 

He uttered a cry, 'twas a cry in which he poured forth all his soul;his last and supreme appeal to heaven and earth; but one word, butah! what a deep prayer to one, what an earnest appeal to the other, were centred in that word: "Help. "

"Seize this, seize this, " cried Frank. 

The drowning man saw the dangling sleeve, his last chance ofsalvation. Frantically he clutched at it. Ah! he has missed it. No, as he was going down for the third time he threw out his arm oncemore. It was a forlorn hope, but it was successful. He caught holdof the coat with both his hands and raised himself. He found a creekin which he placed his foot, and with Frank's manly help, was soonextricated from his perilous position. 

Mr. Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from awatery grave. 

Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took offhis boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did notdescribe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He hadbroad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and aformidable nose. Under his nasal organ, there bristled a shortmoustache. 

When he had partly recovered his senses, he looked around him. "Where is my saw?" he questioned, then he added: "My hat, where isit?"

The hat, probably a leaky one, had gone to the bottom. 

Frank was as much amused as he was astonished to hear him. Hereplied: "I suppose they must both be given up as lost. "

"It is a pity, " said the prostrate man, "it was a good saw, and abrand new one too. "

The man spoke in the patois of the island, a kind of old NormanFrench which the young man understood very well. He, therefore, answered in the same language. 

"Shall I go and call your people?" Frank said after a while. 

"No, thank you, I think I can walk home. "

He stood up and they both proceeded towards the farm-house. 

"Not a word of thanks, " soliloquized Frank, as he surveyed thestrong frame and the powerful limbs of his companion. 

Just then the farmer turned abruptly to him: "A good thing you werepassing near at the time of the accident. I might have beendrowned, " he said. 

"I am very glad of having been of service to you, " answered Frank. 

"You're a good fellow, " resumed the farmer looking at him andnodding. "It's not everybody, " he continued, "who would have had thesense to do as you have done. "

They arrived at the farm-house, a two-storeyed house, without anypretence at architecture, and with a slate covering: the house wassurrounded by stables, pig-sties, a small garden and a conservatory. In front of the house was a parterre, most tastefully arranged withflowers which surrounded an immense fuschia, five feet in height andcovering an area of about fifty square feet. 

The two men entered by the front door. Mr. Rougeant led his rescuerinto the kitchen. Here was Jeanne, a French servant, occupied inpoking the fire. 

"Ah, but dear me, " she exclaimed as she caught sight of the pair, "what has Mr. Rougeant been doing now?"

"I fell in the quarry, " said the farmer gruffly, "go and preparesome dry clothing, be quick, make haste. "

Jeanne immediately did as she was bid. She did not leave the room, however, without casting an inquisitive glance at Frank. 

"Adèle, " shouted Mr. Rougeant in a voice of thunder, "where areyou?"

"Miss Rougeant is gone, she told me she would not be long, " answeredthe servant from upstairs. 

"Oh, yes, always gone, " said the father of Adèle, in none toopleasant a tone; "those young girls are always out when mostwanted. "

Then he began to talk about his quarry. "Only a year ago that quarrywas being worked. There were twenty men employed in it. It paid wellthen. But it's all over now. The man who worked it found a littlebit of rubbish in his way, and, like a fool, he got frightened andleft working it, and now you see it's full of water. Are the clothesready?" This was said, or rather shouted to the servant. 

"Yes, Sir, they're ready; I'm coming, " said Jeanne. 

"It's time, " said Mr. Rougeant rising, "I am trembling all overnow. " He had been shivering for the last quarter of an hour. 

When he was half way up the stairs he called out: "Of course youwill wait till I come down again, I shall not be long Mr. ----. "

"All right, Sir, don't hurry, " answered Frank. 

Left alone in the kitchen, the young man had time to examine theroom. He had never been in a farm-house before. 

On one side, ranged along the wall, was an oblong table which wasbare. Above it, against the wall, was a shelf on which Frank coulddiscern three or four big home-made loaves of bread. 

On the opposite side, was a deal dresser on which were rangedsaucers and plates, while cups and mugs were hung upon nails driveninto the edge of the shelves; He was in the midst of his examinationwhen someone entered the house by a back door. "Is it the girl ofwhom Mr. Rougeant spoke?" he wondered. Then he pictured her tohimself: a tall overgrown country-lass, with hands like a workingman's, and feet! well, one might just as well not think about them, they were repulsively large; it was a blessing that they were hiddenfrom view. 

He was in the midst of his imaginations when Adèle Rougeant steppedinto the kitchen. On perceiving Frank she was a little astonished, but soon recovered her self-control and assumed a well-bred smile. 

The young man immediately hastened to explain the cause of hispresence. He was greatly astonished. Here, then, was the corpulentcountry-girl his imagination had fancied! Before him stood a younglady altogether different to anything he had pictured her to be. "Agirl of about seventeen, " he tells himself, but later on hediscovered that she was one year older than that; plainly, but welldressed. Her gown fitted her slender form to perfection. Everydetail in her dress was arranged with such taste, her small shoes, the exquisite lace round her throat and such a charming face peepingout of it all. She was not beautiful, but she was pretty andattractive, she opened her mouth when she smiled as well as when shespoke. 

"Pray be seated, " said the young lady to Frank who had risen on herapproach. 

Frank sat down, quite confused and ready to run out of the room. Hefelt very timid, so far, as to be uncivil; in the presence of Adèle. A young man who has spent most of his time alone, studying, will betimid when he meets a representative of the softer sex. 

He scarcely lifted his eyes from the floor. He knew she would thinkhim ill-bred, he was ashamed of himself, but he could not help it. He was full of bashfulness. Now, bashfulness is almost always a suresign of _amour-propre_. 

He scolded himself, but his red face grew redder. It was soon of acolour resembling peacock-blue. 

Noticing his discomposure, Miss Rougeant could not help sharing someof it, and, doubtless, things would soon have come to an awkwardpoint for both, if Mr. Rougeant had not put in an appearance. 

"So this is the gentleman who saved your life?" said his daughter, speaking in English. 

In the same language Mr. Rougeant replied: "Yes, this is he. "

She had now regained all her former ease, and knowing her father'smanners, thanked Frank most cordially. 

He stammered out a few words of acknowledgement. 

Seeing that her visitor cast glances at the quaint furniture, andanxious to break the confusing silence, Adèle went on: "Doubtlessyou had not seen a kitchen like this before Mr. ----. "

"My name is Frank Mathers, " interposed the young man. 

"And mine is Adèle Rougeant, " said she. 

"Fancy, putting you in such a kitchen. We must go into the parlourdirectly. "

"This is indeed very quaint and certainly primitive furniture. Imust explain the use of----, that is if----. "

"I should be greatly obliged, " said Frank, "but it really is givingyourself too much trouble. "

"On the contrary, it gives me pleasure. This"--pointing to a lowkind of bedstead--"was the sofa of our forefathers. We call it a_jonquière_. It was formerly stuffed with a weed which still growsnear the coast; called jonquier--hence its name. These rods wereused to hang the _craséaux_ on them. A _crasé_, the singular of_craséaux_, is a lamp of the most primitive type. "

"A vessel with a beak in which some oil is poured, and in the beakis placed a wick, while underneath the vessel another one issuspended as a receptacle for the oil which falls from the upperone. Only ten years ago we still used them. I remember it quitewell. "

"And these are what we call '_lattes_, '" she said, pointing to awooden rack which hung suspended from the ceiling and parallel toit. "As you see, the bacon is kept there. "

She stopped here, and looked anxiously at her father. He was paleand trembling. "Are you ill, father?" questioned his daughter. 

"No, I'm not ill, although I do not feel quite well. Make me a_totaïe_, " he said, "then I'll go to bed and try to sleep off myindisposition. "

His daughter did as her father requested. 

When she was out of the room, Frank asked Mr. Rougeant what he meantby a _totaïe_. 

"Oh, it's a capital thing, " responded the latter, "toasted breadsoaked in warm cider. You swallow cider and all; if that does notdrive a cold away, nothing will. "

While the young lady was busily engaged in toasting the bread, Frankthought it best to take his leave. 

Mr. Rougeant asked him to pay them a visit on the morrow. The youngman promised to call. He managed to overcome his timiditysufficiently to raise his eyes as he took leave of Adèle. Her eyesmet his, she blushed and immediately dropped her eyelids. 

Through the eyes the souls had spoken. 

CHAPTER VII. 

AN ABRUPT DISMISSAL. 

Next day Frank Mathers prepared to pay his promised visit. 

He fancied that he felt very much like William the Conqueror when heset out from Normandy to fight against the English. And probably hedid. 

While he was dressing with more than ordinary care, his thoughtswere all about Adèle. 

"'Tis strange, " he soliloquized, "such a well-bred, educated andrefined young lady in this strange place. She is a rose amongthistles, "--he had already formed his opinion of the master of "LesMarches. "

"How lonely she must feel living with these two people, one abig-headed, and in proportion bigger-nosed man, the other, anold ignorant hag, her face of a dirty yellow, and her jaw! itreminds me of a species of fish which have a mouth that opensvertically--'Melanocetus Johnstoni'--I think the name is. "

Here he finished soliloquizing and dressing. 

He cast a glance over his clothes. "They don't appear to fit verywell, " he thought. "How strange that I had not noticed this before. I feel disposed to put on my best coat instead of this one. "

Then he tried to scoff these thoughts away and when they would notleave him, he called himself a simpleton, scolded himself for hisfastidious taste, and resolved to start as he was. 

It was two o'clock when he called out to his step-mother: "Mother!"(this was a delicate piece of flattery); "I am going to see how theman I saved from drowning yesterday is getting on. "

"Oh, all right, Frank, " answered Mrs. Mathers, pleased to hear himcalling her "mother. "

The young man stepped out into the open air with a decided gait. After an hour's walk he arrived at the farm-house, heated by hisrapid journey. 

He was courteously received by Adèle at the door. On her devolvedthe duties of hostess, which she endeavoured to dischargeconscientiously. 

She led her guest into the parlour where Mr. Rougeant was seatedbefore a fire in an easy-chair. Frank shook hands with him andinquired how he felt. 

"Not too bad, thank you, " he replied, and beckoning Frank to a chairclose to him, he began to converse about his farm. 

Frank listened and answered as well as he could, making a remark nowand then about agriculture which astonished the farmer considerably. He had the tact to respect Mr. Rougeant's feelings, and the latterwas not slow in showing his appreciation of it. 

"You seem to know more about farming than I do, " remarked Mr. Rougeant. 

Frank felt flattered. He began to talk about agricultural chemistry, but he was soon stopped by his host. 

"I don't believe in theory, " interrupted Mr. Rougeant, "give mefacts, show me results. A great many people write about farming whocan hardly distinguish a parsnip from a carrot. "

The young man dared not go against the farmer. He saw, by hismanner, that he was not a man to be contradicted. He looked atAdèle. She was smiling, but directly her father looked round towardsher, her face became as grave as a nun's. 

Mr. Rougeant continued triumphantly to talk about his farm. It wasall the world to him, and almost the only thing about which he couldconverse. 

He never read a book. 

During the conversation Frank learnt that he had about one hundredvergées of land, one fifth of which he kept, the remainder was letto other farmers. He had but one workman, a man about sixty yearsold, who had worked for the Rougeants for more than forty years. Hisname was Jacques Dorant. Then, there was his horse; it was old now, but still good. Ah! when he was younger, he was a splendid horse, such strength, such form, such a fast trotter, frisky, but as gentleas a lamb. 

Thought Frank: "If he is to be credited, there has never been such ahorse since the days of Bucephalus, the famous horse of Alexander. "

During the whole time that they had been in the parlour, the youngman had not found courage to address a word to Adèle. He was verycareful about his tenure. He spoke in a voice which he endeavouredto soften; he uttered the best English which he could frame, --forMr. Rougeant spoke in English this time--and when there was anopportunity of displaying his talents, he availed himself of it witheagerness. 

Once, he made a serious blunder. He talked about turnips which hehad seen growing in a field close by. At which the farmer laughed:"Well, I never, turnips, ha-ha.... "

Frank felt stung. His face coloured deeply, his head was on fire. What did _she_ think of him? Through the mist that seemed to gatherbefore his eyes, he managed to glance rapidly in the direction ofAdèle. A thrill of delight shot through his veins. She was lookingat her father with an offended air, her lustrous eyes seemed toissue forth a censuring light. 

"Of course, you will stay in to tea, Mr. Mathers, " said the farmerafter a few minutes of silence. 

Frank accepted the invitation thankfully. 

Adèle left the room to help to prepare the tea things. 

Left alone with the farmer, the young man looked about him morefreely. He noticed that the room was very plainly furnished. Hiseyes alighted on a painting which represented a cow standing near acattle-shed. "What a shocking display of art, " he said to himself. "Infringement of the rules of perspective, shocking chiaroscuro, badcomposition.... "

Mr. Rougeant casually noticed him. "So you are having a look at mycow, " he said, "a friend of mine painted that picture; he was a realartist. " Then he paused, examined it like one who understands hisbusiness, and continued: "Yes, yes, exactly like her, the littlewhite patches and that little bump on her back. I gave my friend tenshillings for that painting; just think, ten shillings, seven poundsof butter. But, " he added by way of consoling himself, --for hisavaricious heart was already revolting against this uselessexpenditure of money; "it's well worth that, it's the very likenessof my 'Daisy. ' My daughter had the impudence to tell me once that Iought to put it in the wash-house. Alas! young people will alwaysbe young people. "

Struggle as he would, Frank could not refrain from smiling. His hosttook it for a genuine smile of admiration and looked at himapprovingly. 

At this stage, Adèle announced that the tea was served. 

Whilst they were at the meal, Frank was in great perplexity as tohow he should avoid breaking any of the rules of etiquette inAdèle's presence. 

He was so much in earnest about doing things properly that hecommitted several blunders. Once he almost overturned his cup, thenhe blushed till his face was all discoloured, and bit his under lipsavagely. A minute after that, while gallantly passing a platecontaining _gâche à corinthe_ to Adèle, he knocked it against thesugar basin, overset the latter, and sent the pieces of sugar andcake flying in all directions. He grew angry with himself, andcompletely lost his head. Mr. Rougeant complained of not beinghungry. Frank, who misunderstood him, answered: "Ah! I see. " Anotherblunder. 

At last the meal was over. The two men rose and returned to theparlour. The first remark of the farmer was: "In my time, servantsused to eat at the same table as their masters, but our Miss saysthat she will not have it. I let her have her own way sometimes; itdoes not cost me more, so I do not care. "

He called out to his daughter: "Adèle, make haste, so that thegentleman may hear your playing. "

"I am coming soon, " was the reply. 

The farmer went on to Frank: "The instrument which she plays is aviolin. For my part, I do not care for it. It does not make enoughnoise. Give me a harmonium or a cornet. But my daughter persists insaying that she will not learn anything but the violin. Perhaps it'sbetter after all, " he added, suddenly thinking of the outlayrequired for a new instrument. 

Adèle came in with her violin, which she at once carefully tuned. She appeared confident of success. She placed herself opposite herfather and nearly alongside the young man. 

"Fire away!" said the father, "what are you doing now?"

"I was just seeing if the strings were well tuned, " she said. "It isof no use trying to play if the instrument is out of tune. " Theselast words were spoken to Frank. 

"I cannot play on the violin, " said he. 

"Ah! then you won't criticize me, " said she. 

She bent her head over her instrument, and began playing. She forgotthe outward world, her whole attention was concentrated on herviolin as her slender and nervous fingers guided the bow or pressedthe strings. 

It was a sweet soft tune--like her voice--her face wore a tenderexpression. Then the music swelled, became louder and louder till itreached its climax; the bow bounded over the strings, the fingers ofthe left hand rose and fell in quick succession, her expression wasnow animated, her face aglow. 

Frank was sitting with his eyes fixed upon the fair musician. He hadnever imagined that an instrument could be made to express suchfeelings. 

He noticed that Adèle would have to turn a leaf. He could readmusic, so he rose, scanned the music, was soon on the track, andturned the leaf in due time. 

Adèle finished playing soon after. 

Her face was slightly flushed and triumphant. 

Frank congratulated her warmly in a select speech which he finishedthus: "In short, your playing seems to have as much power over myfeelings as Timotheus' had over Alexander's. "

The farmer's face was ominous. He had begun to entertain suspicionswhen Adèle had looked at him reproachfully before tea-time. Now hisimagination had ripened into certainty--so he thought. The youngpeople must be for ever separated. He said roughly: "There are otherthings which are more important than fiddling, one of them is toknow how to live. "

Frank looked at Adèle, she looked back at him. Their astonishmentwas diverting to witness. 

Quoth the farmer gruffly to Frank, "I am going to retire, I thinkyou had better do the same. "

"Is the man going mad?" thought Frank. He looked at Adèle, thensuddenly took his hat and his departure. 

The young lady followed him to the door. She was extremely vexed ather father's demeanour. She spoke a few words to Frank as he steppedoutside. 

"I hope you will not take my father's words too seriously, " shesaid, "I am very sorry--it's shocking--I am exceedingly angry withhim--a fine way of thanking you--you to whom he owes so much. "

As he pressed the delicate hand which she tended in farewell, Franksaid: "I quite forgive Mr. Rougeant, there are strange natures, " andhe walked away. 

He had gone by the back door, why, he did not know. As he passed thestable, he saw a man engaged in cleaning, a horse. "Come what may, "he said to himself, "I must have a chat with this fellow. "

"Good evening, " he said, speaking in French, "cleaning up a bit?"

"Good evening, sir, " replied Jacques, speaking in broken English. "You needn't talk in French, I know English; I learnt it when JimTozer worked here. "

Said Frank inly: "Jim Tozer, the name seems familiar to me. Ofcourse, my step-mother's brother. " Aloud: "You are the only workmanhere now!"

"Yes, you've been payin' a visit to Mr. Rougeant, you're thegentleman as rescued him from drowning. Lucky for him, old chap, that you were round about there, for it's dead certain he'd ha' goneto bottom. "

"You take care of this horse?"

"I take care of pretty nearly everything round about here, for thebos doesn't do much now, but he gives a reg'lar 'go at it' now andthen though. "

"I suppose you like this job, " remarked Frank, meanwhile scanningthe horse and forming his opinion of this member of the equinegenus. Here is his judgment: "A famous trotter! a spiritedsteed!--indeed!--an old nag not worth half-a-guinea. "

"What job?" said Jacques. 

"Working about here, I mean, working for Mr. Rougeant. "

"Well, ye-yes, but you've got to know how to tackle the guv'nor;he's a quair sort. I've worked for the Rougeants for forty-twoyears, and the old fellow's never given me more than my day'swage. " Then he added in an undertone, "He's a reg'lar miser, he'sgot some tin! They say he's worth four hundred quarters. "

Four hundred pounds income, was to old Jacques a large fortune. 

"Ah, " he went on, "if only I had four hundred pounds capital, withthe little that I have scraped together, I would not trouble to workany more, I would have enough for the rest of my days. We live onthirty pounds a year, me and my old missus. 

"We're not allu's feastin', you see; besides, the house we live inis ours. Built with my savin's when I married, it was----"

"Mrs. Rougeant is dead, is she not?" questioned Frank, anxious tolearn more about the family. 

"Dead! o' course she's dead, " said Jacques, "she's been dead nowfor--let me see--twelve--thirteen--fourteen years!--her daughter wasabout four years old then. "

"So Miss Rougeant is now eighteen. "

"Yes, Sir, an' a fine girl she is, "--this was said with a wink and anod. 

"She seems to have been very well educated, " said Frank. 

"I should think so, " said the labourer, opening his eyes wide. "Why, bless you, Sir, she's been at a boarding-school all her life; sheonly came to live here last year, after having been absent fornearly ten years. I bet she don't get on too well with the guv'nor, he's such an old feller for brass. She's a good 'un, too; now andthen she goes to see my old missus, and she isn't partic'lar aboutgivin' my daughter's mites a tanner, although I'll lay ten to oneshe's not allowed too much. And her flowers; have you seen 'em? Whythere's not many a gardener as 'u'd arrange 'em in sich a bloomin'style. "

"Has Mr. Rougeant always been the sort of man that he is now?"inquired Frank. 

"No, not when the lady was alive; I s'pose it was her as made himspend some money on improvements. The year before she died, he tookoff the thatched roofs and put slate instead, then he built thatthere little conservatory, but as soon as she was gone, he began topinch and screw; why, fancy, he used to shave himself, but now hisrazor's broke, he says he doesn't care to buy one, the bloke. "Jacques heard a clock strike. "I must make haste to finish this, " hesaid, "then I'll put on my togs and go home; my missus'l jaw if I'mnot in time for the grub. "

"Good-night, then, " said Frank. 

"Good-night, Sir, " shouted Jacques. --"Whog back old mare--steady!"Frank heard him say as he walked away. 

Going home, he wrapped himself up in deep thought. The way whichseemed clear yesterday, was now full of obstacles. Mr. Rougeant wasrich; judging from his demeanour he had probably already chosen hisdaughter a husband--would that she were poor. 

He looked to see what redeeming feature he could find on his side. None. He had never felt so little as he now did. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

AN UNPLEASANT VISIT. 

When Adèle came back from shutting the door after Frank, her fatherlooked at her with a hard, scrutinizing gaze, but did not say aword. 

It was just like him. He very rarely spoke when he was angry; hewould mope about for whole days, his face covered with innumerablewrinkles. 

This anger on her father's part did not pain Adèle so much as it hadformerly done. Her heart revolted at the thought of being alwaysmade to bend under her father's stern will. 

Like the terror-stricken few who would do battle for their rights, but are awed by countless numbers, Adèle had up to this time quietlysubmitted to her father's iron rule; but now she felt inclined torebel. 

Accordingly, instead of trying to coax her father into wearing hisordinary face, which was none too pleasant, she pouted. 

The old man noticed this and chuckled to himself: "Ah, ah, you thinka great deal of this young fellow. I'll teach you to keep up thehonour of the family. "

He was so delighted at the prospect of an easy victory that he didnot sulk nearly as long as usual, but, to the young girl'sastonishment, was quite talkative the next day. 

"Your aunt asked me if you would go and take tea with herto-morrow, " he said when they were at dinner. 

Adèle did not answer. 

Heedless of her silence, her father went on: "You must go, becauseyou do not go often. "

The daughter answered: "No, I do not go often. " She thought: "Oftenenough, " for she did not at all relish the idea of a visit to heraunt. 

The inmates of the "Prenoms" did not please her. There was heruncle, Mr. Soher, morose and stern. He was one of this class ofpeople who seem to be continually looking upwards, their mind somuch occupied in contemplating the upper regions that theycontinually stumble against the blocks which lie in life's path. Helived, partly on his income, partly on the commission which hesecured as agent to a firm of agricultural implement manufacturers, and partly on the money which he made by selling his property bit bybit. He had also advertised himself as auctioneer, house and estateagent, etcetera, but no one seemed to require his services in thisline. Averse to manual labour, he could not properly cultivate sucha small farm without submitting himself to this "slavish work, " ashe called it. Accordingly, he was, if slowly, surely driftingtowards bankruptcy. He saw this, so did his wife, but neither seemedto care much; they were buoyed up by a false hope, always waitingfor something unexpected to turn up, which would rescue them fromthis abyss. 

Mrs. Soher was Mr. Rougeant's sister. 

They were the only children of the late Charles Rougeant, of "LesMarches. "

She was short of stature, rather stout, her round little facealways assuming a certain air of dignity, her light blue eyeswearing a fixed gaze and her tongue always ready to slander. Shepretended to be religious, because her husband was so; had he beenotherwise, she would certainly have been otherwise too. 

Then came her twenty-four year old daughter Amelia, the only memberof the family with which the reader is not acquainted; and Tom, grown into a lazy, bad-tempered and slouching young man. Old Mrs. Soher was dead. 

The home at the "Prenoms" was not a bright one. Mr. Soher did notbelieve in education. He and his wife were often absent from home inthe evening. They went to some meeting, and their two children wereleft alone. When the parents were gone, Tom left the house, leavinghis sister alone and returning about half an hour before his parentscame in. His sister said she would tell her father, but, upon Tomthreatening her, she kept silent, for she feared her brother who wasof a very violent temper. 

One day, Tom came in later than usual. When he entered the house, hewas astonished to see his father sitting near the fire. 

"Well, " said Mr. Soher, "what does this mean?"

"I've just been out a little, " said Tom. 

"I hope you will not repeat this, my son, " said the father. Then heshowed him how wicked it was to associate with bad companions, theprobable results of it; how, when he had once acquired bad habits, he would find it nearly impossible to break with them; how he wouldbe enticed into disreputable places, and a host of otheradmonishments. 

Tom did not answer; he felt culpable, but not repentant. He did nottell his father that this same evening he had entered a public-housefor the first time. 

The days went by. Mr. Soher and his spouse continued to attend totheir meetings and their son continued to go out, returning boldlyafter his parents had come in. 

One evening, he came in drunk. Then his father became reallyalarmed. He felt that he had not done towards his son all that hemight have done. 

This did not, however, make him remain at home. 

"I must attend to my Master's work, " he would say. Once, he took hisson in the parlour, and after having exhorted him to turn a new leafhe lifted up his voice in prayer. But the son continued to drink andthe father to pray, while the mother did as much as she could toshield her dear boy. 

Tom had neither the force of will, nor the desire to amend. His homewas so dull; there was nothing about it which attracted him; he didnot care at all for the mother who tried to screen his faults. Shewas so narrow minded; always speaking ill of everyone. She knew theywere slowly sinking towards bankruptcy, and it was a consolation toher to imagine others in the same position. She saw other people'sdefects as if through a microscope. 

Foolish woman. Even as thou art scandalizing others, thine ownnature is being abased, whilst those whom thou dost backbite remainthe same. 

One glance at the daughter. She was taller and fairer than hermother. Her character was the same as her mother's. Alas! undersuch tutorship, how could she be expected to be otherwise. 

When the time came for Adèle to set out to pay her visit to the"Prenoms, " she did so reluctantly. It was not a pleasure to her, itwas a duty. If she did not go, she thought they would think her tooproud. So she made the sacrifice, and went. She determined to show abright face and to be as pleasant as she possibly could. She arrivedat the house of her hosts rather late. 

Mrs. Soher welcomed her in a piping voice. She wore her everydayapparel, and that was not of the brightest. 

"Come in, my dear; you see, my dear, I have not had time yet tochange clothes, but I'll be ready in a few minutes. 

"Sit down, my dear; why are you so late? I thought you would comesooner. "

Adèle thought: "What a state the house would have been in, if I hadarrived an hour earlier. "

Mrs. Soher began to dust a secretaire, talking all the while to herniece. "Amelia will soon be down; she ran upstairs when she heardyou knock at the door; she does not like for anyone to see her whenshe is not properly dressed, but _I_ don't care, not when it is you, at any rate. "

"A pretty compliment, " thought the visitor. 

When they were all assembled round the table partaking of their tea, Adèle tried over and over again to lead the conversation into apleasant channel, but all to no purpose. The inmates of the"Prenoms" had to be taught to converse properly before they could doso. Mrs. Soher began to babble in her ordinary way. Her daughtersupported her foolish statements. Adèle made no remark. Her auntnoticed this, and after a most scornful remark about Mrs. B. 'scharacter, she said to her niece: "Don't you think so?"

Although considerably annoyed, Adèle had not so far made any remark, but she was now directly appealed to. She spoke: "I do not know, "she said. She noticed the two women smiling and exchanging glances. 

Said Mrs. Soher sarcastically: "I thought you knew Mrs. B. "

"Yes, " answered her niece, "I know her, but I am continuallydetecting faults in my temper which have to be overcome; and I findthat I have quite enough to do to look after myself withoutbothering about others. "

If ever you saw two people looking six ways for Sunday, it was Mrs. Soher and her daughter. 

After a few moments of embarrassing silence, Mr. Soher, who had notyet spoken a word, said something about young people beingrespectful to their superiors; while Tom laughed at the two womenand smiled approvingly at his cousin. 

Adèle took her departure early and was not asked to remain longer. When she was once more in the open, she felt a great weight liftedfrom her breast. She was now free, free to entertain herself withnature, away from the stagnant atmosphere of the "Prenoms. " Shewalked along, her whole being revolting against the useless, ay, more than useless talk she had heard. But when she looked at theflowers that grew on the hedges which bordered the lane in which shewas walking, her soul was filled with a sweet balm. Here was the ivyclimbing upwards taking its support and some of its nourishment fromthe hedge which it was scaling, always gaining fresh ground. Such isthe man who has risen in the world; he avails himself of hissuccess for a nobler, higher, and mightier effort. There some meekferns were hiding in a shady nook, away from the sun's piercingrays. 

The young girl felt a twofold joy: that of being alone with nature, and that of being away from her aunt's house. 

At last, she reached "Les Marches. " How happy she felt. Not the sortof home she hoped to have some day; but still, it was home. Herfather was there, as dumb and as severe as usual, but, to her, helooked quite a nice old man now. 

While she was thus engaged in rapturous joy, Mrs. Soher and herdaughter were having a fine time of it. "Ah! she _is_ a well-bredgirl; to interrupt me like that, to answer and lecture me in thatway, " said Adèle's aunt, then she added: "Fancy that little brat, totry and give me a lesson about my duty towards my neighbour. If shehas enough to do to look after herself, let her do it; for my partI'll do as I like. It won't be a young girl who is not yet out ofher teens who is going to teach me how to live. "

The daughter scornfully remarked: "She has been to aboarding-school, you know. "

At which the two women laughed and Mr. Soher smiled, while Tom, profiting by the general interest displayed in the conversation, slipped out of the room and slouched to the nearest public-house. 

After having most unduly run down their departed guest, the twowomen resolved never again to invite her. 

And they never did. 

Had Adèle heard their decision, she would have felt even morecheerful than she now did. 

CHAPTER IX. 

DECEPTIONS. 

On the anniversary of his mother's death, Frank Mathers resolved tovisit her tomb. He had not been before; why, he could not explain. However, he determined to make up for past deficiencies. Accordingly, he went with a small bunch of flowers which he placedupon his mother's tomb. He felt a deep veneration for her. He nowknew more than ever what she had done for him, and, in his heart, hethanked heaven that had given him such a mother. He could not helpwishing that she were still alive, but he felt happy for all that, his soul was full of thankfulness. 

This visit did him so much good that he thought he would like to gooftener. 

When he came home he was astonished to see his step-mother. She wasin a dreadful fit of jealousy. "The booby, " she said to her husband, so that Frank could hear; "he was not a little attached to hismother's apron-strings. "

Frank did not say a single word and the storm soon abated. 

A few days afterwards found him walking near "Les Marches, " hopingto meet Adèle Rougeant. He was not successful. Still, he continuedhis visits, hoping to meet her some day. 

He was at last rewarded for his pains. On turning a sharp corner hesuddenly met her. The meeting was so unexpected that Frank'snervous system was quite upset. He had come hoping to talk to her. He was to enquire about Mr. Rougeant's health. 

But now, his courage failed him. He raised his hat, his lipsmuttered a faint: "How d'ye do?" he smiled in a ludicrous manner andpassed on. The young girl who thought he was about his businessbowed and went on her way. "He might have said a few words, " shethought. 

Frank was vexed with himself. 

He thought of retracing his steps, but after a moment's reflectionhe decided not to do so. 

The weather began to look threatening. The sun was setting. Hugeblack clouds were rising from the horizon while an occasional flashof lightning announced the approach of the coming storm. 

Frank hastened as fast as he could toward the Rohais. But, he hadnot gone very far before a heavy shower overtook him. 

After all his pains, the only thing which he at last secured was athorough drenching. 

When he came back home, he was down-hearted. Next morning he, however, determined to make one more attempt. 

A few days afterwards saw him leisurely promenading round the farmof "Les Marches. " It was in the evening and the moon was rising. 

He went round by the back of the house through the fields. As heapproached, he saw, on the opposite side to the stables, a smallgarden enclosed with high walls. One entrance, on the side of whichhe now stood, was by a door. He went towards it. The door was ajar. He entered the garden. Then, and only then, did he begin to reason. What if someone found him there? They would take him for a thief. "I must go, " he said to himself; "if Mr. Rougeant found me here, there would be a fine row. " But his lips uttered what his heart hadnot dictated, and he remained in the garden. It was sweet to be nearher, it was refreshing to his weary brain to behold the paths whichshe paraded every day. He was plunged into a deep reverie, when hesaw a light at one of the windows. It was she. Immediately after, there appeared another light at the other window. It was he. Frankonly cast a glance at the man. He looked at the slender form thatapproached the window. Adèle looked at the stars for a few moments, then lowered the blind. He saw her shadow for a time, then _it_ alsodisappeared. His heart was beating at a very fast rate. He feltintoxicated. He had seen her; she had appeared to him as an angel. How she had gazed towards heaven! What grace; what bearing!

Happening to turn his eyes towards the other window, he saw thatthere was no light. 

"The old fellow wants to spare his candle, " he said to himself; "heis trying to save a farthing. "

This was not the case however. The farmer had suddenly thought ofthe garden door which he had forgotten to bolt as usual. He took hiscandlestick and went down stairs. Then he put on his boots, andleaving the candlestick on the table he went through the back doorand stepped into the garden. 

Frank was gazing with fixed eyes at the stars, drinking in the balmyair, when he heard footsteps. Hastily looking in the direction fromwhence the sound came, he was horrified to see a man coming towardshim. There was not time to flee, so he quickly crouched away fromthe path. Luckily, he was in that part of the garden which was inthe shade. 

He trembled as the farmer approached. Would he see him? He wasbreathing through his nose; then he fancied he made too much noise. He opened his mouth wide, then he found that his breathing was noteven audible to himself. He squeezed his body into the leastpossible space, and watched the farmer with anxious eyes. 

Mr. Rougeant passed by without noticing him. Frank heard him shutthe door, bolt it, and--oh, misery--turn a key in a latch. Mr. Rougeant again directed his steps towards him. When he came near tohim, Frank was dreadfully alarmed to see the farmer looking straightin his direction. The young man was in the shade, while the moonshone fully on Mr. Rougeant's face. The latter looked straight atthe crouching figure, then, suddenly quickening his pace, he wenttowards the house. 

This man was a coward. He had seen the contracted silhouette, buthad not had the courage to go up to it; he went hurriedly towardshis house, seized an old gun which hung on two rusty nails andwalked back into the garden. The gun was loaded for shootingrabbits. 

As soon as Frank saw that the man was out of his way, he proceededto try and find out some means of escape. "He will be back soon, " hesaid to himself, "I must be out of his way when he returns. " He wentto the door. Impossible to open it. He scrutinized the walls. Impossible to scale them. Time was passing. What was to be done? Heheard the door of the house close. The master of the garden wasadvancing. He saw a pear-tree nailed against the wall. There wasnot a moment to lose. He climbed the pear-tree. He broke a fewbranches in doing so, and knocked down a dozen pears. He regretteddoing any damage, but he knew it would be better for him, and indeedfor both of them, if he got out of the way in time. 

Just as he let himself drop to the ground on the other side of thewall, the farmer entered the garden. While Mr. Rougeant was engagedin searching for the supposed thief with cocked gun, Frank waswalking quickly towards his home. 

Of course, the farmer did not find the intruder, but he found thebroken Chaumontel pear-tree, and he saw the pears scattered on theground. 

"The unmitigated scoundrel, " he muttered, "if I saw him now--lookingat his gun--I'd make him decamp. I'd send a few shots into his dirtyhide. "

CHAPTER X. 

'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY. 

One evening--it was the first week in June, about nine months afterFrank's adventure in the garden--Adèle Rougeant was tending herflowers. 

She had been sewing for a time, and now, feeling a want ofrelaxation, she went to her parterre. Her violin and her flowerswere her only companions. No wonder she fled to them when inclinedto be sorrowful. 

How beautiful the flower-bed looked in the twilight! The weather hadbeen very warm, the earth which had been previously battered down byheavy rains was now covered with small cracks, little mouths as itwere, begging for water. 

Adèle supplied them plentifully with the precious liquid. 

Then she armed herself with a pair of gardening gloves, and an oldmason's trowel (any instrument is good to a woman), and began toplant a row of lobelias all around her pelargoniums. 

This done, she looked at her work. There is a pleasure in gazingupon well-trimmed borders, but this pleasure is increased tenfoldwhen one thinks that the plants have been arranged by one's ownhands. 

The young lady felt this delight: she felt more, she experienced thesoothing influence of nature's sweet converse. She looked at theprimroses, whose slender stalks were bent and which touched eachother as if engaged in silent intercourse. And thus they would die, she thought, locked in each others fond embrace, their taskaccomplished, their life but one stretch of mutual love. 

"Ah love! What is love?" she said to herself. But immediately ascore of answers came; a dozen vague definitions presentedthemselves. "Certainly, " she mused, "the parents who toil for theirchildren without thinking of reward; love. " Then another self withinher answered: "It is their duty. " "Their duty, yes, but they are notoften actuated by a sense of duty; I think it is love. "

Then she thought about another kind of love--the love she felt forFrank Mathers. She asked herself why she loved him. He was not bold, and she admired boldness. That she loved him, however, she wascertain. Did he love her? "Yes, " she thought he did. Then what keptthem apart? Who was the cause of it? Her father. "What a pity I havesuch a father, " she sighed; "not content with making himselfmiserable, he makes me pass a life of anxiety. "

At this stage of her soliloquy, she perceived a young man, whom shequickly recognized as Tom, her cousin from the "Prenoms. " He camewalking towards the house. 

As he opened the little gate he smiled broadly. His smile was not apleasant one, because it was undefined. "Good-evening, Adèle, " hesaid when he came near to her. "How are you?"

"Quite well thank you, " she said, "and how are you?"

"Well enough, thanks, " he returned, a little cooled down, for shedid not take the preferred hand which he was tending towards her. 

"Are you afraid to shake hands with me?" he asked, half smiling, half vexed. 

"My gloves are soiled, " replied she, taking off her right handglove; afterwards shaking hands with him. 

"Oh, I see, " he said, quite satisfied with the excuse. 

In reality, Adèle had not seen the preferred hand; she was busy withher thoughts just then. His manner seemed repulsive to her; she knewnot why. She opened the front door and showed him into the parlour. Her father was there, evidently expecting Tom, for he received himwith a warmth which he had not shown for a long time. She left themto themselves and was proceeding towards her parterre when herfather called out to her. 

"What! are you going, Adèle, when Mr. Soher is here; come and keepus company. "

The girl retraced her steps. What could her father mean? He had nottold her a word about her cousin's visit, and yet, it was evident hewas expecting him. 

"Where's your violin?" questioned her father. 

Adèle fetched the desired instrument. She felt very much like aninstrument herself. "Father takes me for a toy, " she thought, andthen as she looked at the two men engaged in close conversation, asudden light beamed upon her--he was going to force her into a_marriage de raison_, as the French call it. Everything had beenarranged beforehand. 

It was all conjecture on her part, but she felt it to be the truth. The more she thought over it, the more she felt convinced of thefact. 

"Oh, it's disgusting, " she thought; and a sickening sensation creptover her. 

"Will you give us a tune?" said Mr. Rougeant. 

"Do;" entreated Tom. 

Adèle took the violin from the table upon which she had placed it, passed the bow over the strings to ascertain if it was properlytuned, then slowly began playing. 

It was a simple piece, which did not demand exertion. She did notcare what to play. "They cannot distinguish 'Home, Sweet Home' from'Auld Lang Syne, '" she thought. Besides, they were not halflistening; why should she give them good music. 

She felt like the painter, who, having completed a real work of art, refuses to exhibit it to the public, on the ground that it is aprofane thing to exhibit it to the gaze of unartistic eyes. 

When she had finished playing, Tom looked at her. "That's capitalmusic, " he said, assuming the air of a connoisseur, then he added:"I s'pose you practice a good bit. "

"The grin, " thought Adèle, "it's awful; and his eyes resemble thoseof a wild cat. I wonder if he has a soul; if it shines through thoseeyes, it cannot be spotless;" then, recollecting herself, she said:"I have been practising now for ten years. "

"No wonder you can rattle it, " was the rejoinder. 

Now Tom was not half so ugly as Adèle imagined him to be. Indeed, helooked well enough this evening, for he had come on purpose toexhibit himself, and was as a matter of fact as well dressed up ashe could. His manners were not refined, but they were not absolutelyrude. 

But the girl, whose whole being revolted against this scheme of herfather's fabrication, felt naturally indignant and could not helpexaggerating his faults. 

She felt greatly relieved when her father told her to prepare thesupper. 

It may here be noted that Mr. Rougeant had now altogether dispensedwith his Breton servant. Now that Adèle was growing up, a servantwas altogether superfluous, he said. The truth was that this enabledhim to save a few pounds every year. 

When the table was laid, the three sat down to supper. It beingover, the two men returned to the parlour. Adèle was a long, verylong time in putting away the supper things. 

Her father noticed this, and when she entered the parlour, heremarked: "You've been long enough. "

"Provided she has not been too long, " put in his nephew, trying towin his cousin's good will. 

After one of the most miserable evenings that Adèle had ever spent, Tom took leave of the family. 

When he was fairly out of the way, Adèle ventured to ask her fatherwhat he had come for. 

"He came to see us, " he replied, then, after a pause, he addedabruptly: "Have you ever thought of marrying?"

"I, marry! you forget that I am but a child. "

"A child! why, you will soon be of age. "

There was a deep silence for a time, then the father spoke: "Mr. Soher (emphasizing the Mr. ) is a nice young man. He means to askyour hand when he is better acquainted with you. "

"He drinks. "

"Not now, I know he used to do so, but he is quite steady now--Iknew you would object, I saw it in your manner, the way in which youanswered him; somehow or other, you don't seem to take torespectable people. But mind you; if ever you marry anyone else, nota penny of mine shall you have; not one double. "

"He is my _cousin-germain_. "

"Well, what does it matter? the law does not prevent you frommarrying your _cousin-germain_. " His tone became bitter. He went on:"I made a great mistake when I promised your mother on her death-bedthat I would send you to a boarding-school. What other objectionhave you to state?"

His daughter looked down, coloured and replied almost inaudibly: "Ido not love him. "

"Bah! if it's only that, you will get to love him soon enough; Iknow you will. "

Then thinking by her demeanour that he had nearly won her over, heasked: "Shall I ask him to dinner next Sunday?"

"You would only increase the contempt that I feel for him. "

Mr. Rougeant was not prepared for this. "I knew it, " he said in avexed tone of voice; "this is the satisfaction you give me forhaving brought you up like a lady, spending a great part of myincome towards your education. I tell you, you are a foolish girl, asimpleton; I won't have any of your nonsense. I will see to thislater on. "

They retired for the night; Mr. Rougeant enraged at his daughter'sabhorrence of Tom, and Adèle deeply grieved at the condition ofaffairs. 

Alas! she knew her father well. 

She felt that a terrible battle would have to be fought some day; aconflict for love and liberty. 

And, raising her eyes to heaven, she prayed that she might havestrength to support the fight. 

CHAPTER XI. 

BUSINESS. 

While these things were going on at "Les Marches, " a great changehad come over Frank's life. 

His father was one day descending a ladder, when one of the roundsof the latter broke and his body received a nasty jerk. He placedhis hand on his heart and muttered. "I have felt something, I havefelt something here. " Two days afterwards he died from internalhemorrhage. 

So Frank was left to live with his step-mother. 

He had now a little money and was considering how he should lay itout. Finally, he decided to build one or two greenhouses. But hewanted some land upon which to build them, and this he did notpossess. 

There was a field situated behind his garden which belonged to a Mr. Fallon. "This field would exactly suit me, " he said to himself, "Imust try to buy it. "

Accordingly, he set out towards "La Chaumière"--this was the name ofMr. Fallon's residence. When he arrived there, he saw the farmercoming out of his stable and at once asked him if his field was forsale. Now, Mr. Fallon thought himself too much of a business man toanswer either "Yes" or "No. " "I do not think, " he said, "but I can'ttell. I must mention it to my wife and think over it, for it's aserious thing to sell one's property. "

Frank nodded. 

Would he call the next evening? the man asked. 

Frank promised to call. 

The farmer immediately told his wife about the young man's proposal. The worthy couple decided to sell the piece of land, "but, " said thecautious husband, "we must sell it at a high price, if we can. Iwish it were sold though, " he continued, "it's such an out of theway place, and so far from here. "

The next evening saw Frank sitting near the hearth of the kitchen of"La Chaumière. " The following conversation took place. 

"Well, Mr. Fallon, " said Frank, "I have come to see if the field isreally for sale. "

"I hardly know, one doesn't like to do away with one's property. "

"You told me you would tell me this evening. "

"Yes, I know, but, it's a good field. "

"It may be. "

"There's a stream running through it. "

"I know. "

"You would not have to dig a well, and a well costs a great deal ofmoney. "

"Sometimes. "

"I have a mind to keep it. "

"Indeed!"

"Ah! but such good land, it's a pity to give it away. "

"I don't want to have it for nothing. "

"Perhaps not, but I don't think you would give me my price. "

"What is it?"

"Much too cheap. Land is very dear just now, and the prices willalways go up. "

"I don't know about that. "

"No, but I do, people are very eager to purchase such fine littleplots. This one has all the advantages that it can have, situation----"

"What do you mean?"

"It's situated just behind your garden; where can you have anythingbetter. "

"The field is well situated for me, but it's not worth anything asbuilding land to others, it does not border the road, " Frankventured to remark. 

"It's a splendid piece of land, " continued the farmer, "light, openand yet damp soil, just the sort of thing for tomatoes, I fancy Ican see them, as big as my fist----"

"We have not done much business yet. "

"I don't know if I shall sell it. "

"If that's the case, when will you make up your mind; shall I callagain to-morrow?"

"I hardly know"--scratching his head--"such a fine plot, let me see;aloud: It's worth a lot of money. "

"How much would you require?"

"Oh! I don't know. "

"Well, I'll call again this day week, " said Frank, tiring of thisuseless talk and guessing what the farmer's intentions were. He roseand added: "I hope you will have made up your mind by then. "

Quoth the farmer: "I should be very sorry for you to have had tocome here for nothing, perhaps we may yet come to terms. "

"Will you sell it? 'Yes' or 'No, '" said the young man re-seatinghimself. 

"If you don't mind giving me my price. "

"What _is_ your price?"

"Land is very dear. This piece is situated quite close to town, itought to fetch top price. There's two and a half vergées to thatfield. I have heard that some land has been sold for eight quartersa vergée. "

"I won't give as much for this one; it's twice too much. "

"I should require some money. "

"How much?"

"At least one hundred pounds. "

"Perhaps I might give you as much, but do state the price of thewhole. "

"Six quarters a vergée. "

"No. "

"It would be worth that to you. "

"I will give you five quarters. "

"It's too low, the field would only amount to two hundred and fiftypounds. "

"Two hundred and fifty pounds for two and a half vergées, that isabout an acre, is, I should think, a very good price. "

"That would only make, besides the one hundred pounds cash, sevenand a half pounds per annum. Such a fertile soil. Such a splendidstream. No well to dig. Hundreds of tomatoes weighing half-a-poundeach. It's ridiculously low. "

"It's time for me to part. Will you accept my price, Mr. Fallon, 'Yes' or 'No?'"

After much grumbling and protestations on the part of the farmer, with assertions that he would be ruined giving away his land likethat, the transaction was agreed to. 

Going home, Frank reviewed in his mind the state of his finance. 

He possessed the house, garden, greenhouse and workshop, minus hisstep-mother's dowry, and plus five hundred pounds cash. "I cannot domuch with that, " he thought, "but I have enough to begin with. "

And now where were his ambitious castles; where was the successfulinventor, the possessor of hundreds of thousands--contemplating tobuild two span-roofed greenhouses in which he would have to work andperspire when the thermometer would often stand at from eighty toninety degrees. 

However, he was full of hope, his ambition had received a severeblow, but it still clung to him. He feared to aim too high now, andfailures he dreaded. "I must begin at the bottom of the ladder, " hesaid to himself, "and, with God's help, I shall succeed. "

He resolved to work with his brains as well as with his hands. "Ihave some education, " he thought, "and I will seize theopportunities as they present themselves. I do not care for richesnow. If only I could succeed in securing enough money to put me outof the danger of want, I should be satisfied. "

Since his adventure in the garden, he had not dared to go again near"Les Marches. "

He thought that Mr. Rougeant had perhaps recognised him, but, fortunately for him, Adèle's father had failed to discern hiscrouching figure. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A STRANGE MEETING. 

Three months afterwards, Frank was planting his tomatoes in hisgreenhouses. He had two span-roofs, each one hundred and forty feetlong by forty feet wide. 

He had sold the workshop which was situated a few yards to the northof the house, and had thus been enabled to build larger houses thanhe at first intended. 

He heard vague rumours about his step-mother going to marry again. If the truth must be said, Frank felt delighted at the prospect ofgetting rid of her. He had never cared for her much, and, recently, the gap that had always existed between them had been considerablyenlarged. 

He had been out on business and had arrived rather late in theevening, at which Mrs. Mathers was terribly displeased. "I am notgoing to sit up all night waiting for you, " she said, and then sheadded in a most sarcastic tone of voice: "Perhaps you have been atthe cemetery. "

Frank was moved to the quick. He was of a rather passionate temperand he felt nothing but contempt for the person who had made thisremark. "I have not been, " he said hotly, "I have been about mybusiness. "

"I thought that perhaps you had been crying there, " she continuedwith the same irritating smile on her features. 

Frank answered: "I might have done worse. "

"Who would think that of a man of twenty-one, " she said. "Of course, you do not care for your poor father; your mother gets all thetears. "

Frank quite forgot himself. He looked at her defiantly and said in alow tone half fearing and yet wishing to be heard: "You are aJezabel, " then turned round and left the room. 

When he came to think over the last words which he had used towardshis step-mother, he felt ashamed of himself. He felt he had notbehaved as a man, much less as a Christian. He had gone much toofar; he owed her respect. 

He thought of going straight to her, and of asking her pardon, buthis pride prevented him from taking this wise step. Only for aminute, however; he soon overcame it and resolutely re-entered theroom where Mrs. Mathers was. 

"I was very rude to you, " he began, "I was rather excited, and----"

Without saying a word Mrs. Mathers left the room and, slamming thedoor after her, proceeded upstairs. 

Frank felt relieved. He had attempted a reconciliation. She hadrefused. He felt a sense of duty done. 

We may add that Mrs. Mathers pouted for more than a week. 

The second anniversary of his father's death having arrived, Frank, profiting by his step-mother's absence, took a small bunch of sweetscented flowers and proceeded towards the Foulon Cemetery, where hisparents were buried. 

As he was about to open the gate, he thought he saw the form of alady which he knew, coming down the road after him. He arrested hissteps. The young lady stopped likewise, as if to examine thecottage situated on her left, and, in doing so, she turned her backtowards Frank. 

He did not stay there long, but proceeded up the gravel walk towardsthe grave, but as he advanced, he thought no more of his mission. "Where have I seen that face?" he thought, "it seems familiar tome. "

He was now beside the grave, he placed the flowers near thetombstone, but his thoughts were not with the dead, they were withthe living. 

All at once, it flashed upon him, he remembered that person. Thatform, that face, belonged to Adèle Rougeant. 

He hastily left the graveyard and almost ran down the walk. 

One of the two persons who were standing near the gate said: "Thatman has seen a ghost. "

Frank smiled as he overheard the remark, and, thinking that theyoung lady had proceeded past the gate, he went in that direction. 

He walked for a quarter of an hour, but neither saw her nor anyoneresembling her. At last, he gave up the chase in despair. "I musthave construed wrongly, " he said to himself, "perhaps the person whowas standing near the entrance to the cemetery was right, it was herghost. " He mournfully retraced his steps. 

It was really Adèle Rougeant that he had seen. She was returningfrom town, when, instead of going straight home by St. Martin'smill, she went up the Grange, took a peep at her former home, thenproceeded by the Rocquettes down the Rohais. Why; the lady readerswill easily guess. 

She espied Frank, just as he was turning down Foulon Vale. 

He was so intent on his mission that he did not notice her. 

As soon as she saw his eager look and the bunch of flowers which hecarried in his hands, a feeling of exasperating jealousy seized her. Where was he going with those flowers? "Alas!" she thought bitterly, "he has a rendezvous with some pretty lass. I will follow him andascertain, if possible, the truth. "

She walked after him, and when he turned round to look at her, shehastily looked the other way. Fearing lest he might recognise her, she retraced her steps and continued her journey homewards down theRohais, muttering: "A fine place for a rendezvous. "

Something within her tried to reason: "He is nothing to you, youhave no claims upon him. " But what of her future, what of herprojected plans, her ideas, her sweet dreams; they were mown down inthis huge and single sweep. Life seemed very dark. Up to this, hopehad kept her radiant and cheerful, and now, hope was gone, and inits stead, there was a blank. 

Arrived home, she fetched her violin and poured forth all herfeelings. 

She commenced in a plaintive tone, then this changed to reproach, and the conclusion was a wail of despair. 

Again she tried to rouse herself; again she tried to reason. "Why amI so concerned about him?" she asked herself. "I must put thesefoolish thoughts aside. "

But love denied what reason would dictate, and she found herselfcontinually sighing. 

Meanwhile, Tom continued his visits from time to time, and shereceived him with as much coldness as she dared. 

But when she came to think that Frank was an acquaintance to beforgotten, she slightly changed her manner towards her cousin. 

Her father was not slow to notice the change. He laughed inly andchuckled: "I knew she would come to love him; but I must not hurryher, she is by nature a slow coach; everything will yet come allright in the end. "

The days were lengthening and Tom continued to come as early as heused to do in the depth of winter. 

It was now quite daylight when he put in an appearance. One eveninghe took Adèle for a walk round the garden. Poor girl; she did notlove him, but she did not like to speak roughly to him. She feltthat she was wronging him. She knew that at each meeting his hopeincreased. Still, what was she to do? She began to persuade herselfthat he was not so bad as she had imagined. He was now a reformedman; her father had told her so, and she could see it. If thepassion for drink which was still probably strong within him shouldreturn! She paused, mused and said with a sigh: "Alas! I do not feelthat I love him. "

Still; she hardly knew if in the end she would accept him. He wouldbe so deeply grieved if she refused, and then, if she accepted him, her father would perhaps become once more what he was when she wasquite a child. She remembered how he used to take her on his knee, and call her his dear little girl. 

She went on thinking: "How many people marry without what isgenerally called love? Certainly, the greater portion. The Frenchhave what they call _marriages de raison_, and they seem to agreeas well as others. "

Poor Adèle. How many have reasoned thus, how many are daily givingthemselves away in marriage to men for whom they feel nought butfriendship; how many give their hand to one, while their heartyearns for another. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SUPERSTITION. 

While Adèle was thus pondering over her natural shocks, Frank wasworking, full of hope for the future. 

His step-mother married, and he was left in possession of the house. He let it to an old couple, Pierre Merlin and his wife. Maît Pierre, as Frank called him, was a man of about sixty years of age. Heworked for Frank who found that it was impossible for him to keepthings ship-shape without re-enforcement. 

This old man gloried in being a true Guernseyman, one of the oldstock, of direct descent from those who fought for their countryagainst the band of adventurers who invaded the island under Ivan ofWales. He did not say that the islanders had the worst of the fight. He only spoke in the patois, which Frank understood very well. 

This species of the genus "homo" hailed from the parish of Torteval, and, being an old peasant and very illiterate, there is no cause forbeing astonished that he was superstitious. 

Frank perceived this only a few days after he had engaged him. Itwas a Friday, and the old man who was told to go and gather a fewtomatoes--the first of the season--exclaimed: "What! begin on aFriday, but you forget yourself, Mr. Mathers. "

Frank laughed at him and told him to go all the same, adding thathe was surprised people believed in such nonsense. Old Pierre obeyedmuttering: "He is a young man, and he will lose a nice lot of moneyon his crops, defying fate in that way. But it's as the proverbsays: 'Experience is a thing which is bought. '"

Although Frank did not believe in any of the old man's notions, thecontinual remarks which he heard made him eager to know more. Whenthey had dined, the two men proceeded to a garden seat and while theelder smoked his pipe, the younger questioned him. 

Pierre was very reticent in his information. What was the use oftelling this young man anything; he would not believe him. 

As time passed on, he began to have more confidence in his employer, and seeing that he never laughed at what he said, he graduallybecame more talkative. 

One day, when Frank was questioning him, the old man asked: "Haveyou ever seen the _feu bellanger_?"

"I don't think so, " responded Frank, "at any rate, I had never heardthat name mentioned before. "

"Well, " said Maît Pierre, "if you care to listen, I shall tell youall about it; you appear eager to know everything. "

He took his pipe from between his teeth; well emptied the bowl, andput the blackened clay pipe in his pocket with studied carefulness. Then he began: "The _feu bellanger_ is one of the devil's angelswhich takes the shape of fire, and goes about at night, generallywhen it is very dark, and tries to pounce upon some victim. "

Here, he stopped and looked inquiringly at Frank, who, in hisdesire to hear what old Pierre had to say, kept a very grave face. 

Apparently satisfied at the young man's appearance, the narratorcontinued: "I have often seen it myself, and once, very clearly. Iwill never forget it to my dying day. It was pitch-dark and adrizzling rain was falling. I was walking hastily towards my home, when, on my right, I beheld a light. It danced up and down, now itcame towards me, then it receded. I confess that I was nailed to thespot. I already seemed to feel its deathly grip. I was powerless tomove. I could not scream. It was the old fellow who was alreadyfascinating me. Fortunately, I remembered the words which my fatherhad once told me: 'If ever you meet the _feu bellanger_, my boy, take off your coat, turn the sleeves inside out, and put it on so;it means that you will have nothing to do with it, and that you willresist its efforts to seize you. ' I found strength enough to followmy father's advice. Hope must have sustained me. The bluish lightremained about there for a few minutes more, then disappearedentirely. "

"How thankful did I feel. With all speed, I hastened home to tell myparents of my narrow escape. They congratulated me; my father eventook my hand and welcomed me as one risen from the dead. "

"How does it kill the people it attacks?" Frank inquired. 

"It flies with them to the seaside, or to the nearest pool anddrowns them there. "

"I once knew a man who was a downright ne'er do well. He was verymuch addicted to drink. One morning, he was found drowned in astream. "

"But, " interposed Frank, "he might have stumbled in the streamwhilst in a state of intoxication. "

"No--no--no, " said Pierre, "it was not that; the _feu bellanger_ wasseen that very night near this spot where the corpse was afterwardsfound. Some people said that they had heard a scream. I quitebelieve it. It was the horrible monster's triumphal shout. He wascelebrating his victory. "

"You don't think it was the poor inebriate's cry for help, " saidFrank, forcing back a smile. 

"I told you it was a shout of triumph, " said old Pierre, losingpatience and already angry at Frank's demeanour. "Moreover, " headded, "I'll tell you something else, I have not finished yet. 

"It's a well-known fact that the _feu bellanger_ dislikes sharpenedtools, and fights with them if he happens to meet them. Being awareof this, my brother and I went to a place where we had seen themonster on the previous night. We had a sharp knife. We placed itwith the handle in the ground and the keen blade sticking out. "

"We watched from a distance to see if the _feu bellanger_ would passthat way, and seeing that it did not appear; when midnight came, wewent home. But a neighbour told us on the morrow that he had seen itin the early hours of the morning, fighting against the knife. 

"We straightway proceeded to the place where the knife was. Imagineour horror on finding that the blade was covered with blood. "

"Some poor stray animal _did_ suffer, " Frank could not helpremarking. Old Pierre was terribly displeased. He rose to go abouthis work, muttering: "Wait till he sees it, when he gets caught, Ibet he'll turn blue. "

Frank thought about his labourer's story during the whole of theafternoon. "These superstitions do a great deal of harm to thesepoor people, " he said in a soliloquy. 

He therefore resolved to try and root out all these strange notionsfrom Pierre's head. He soon felt a kind of ecstacy. It was aglorious thing to help bring about the time when science would sweepaway all traces of ignorance. 

If the theory of evolution was true, those times would come, so hedecided to set to work at once upon this man. 

It was a beginning, small perhaps, but he now believed in smallbeginnings. 

He had not yet experienced what it is to try and convert asuperstitious man. 

It is very difficult to convince an ignorant person. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

FAILURE. 

Having made up his mind to rescue Maît Pierre from hissuperstitions, Frank at once set to work. 

So, the day following his decision, he advanced to the attack. 

When they were both seated as usual having their after-dinnerconversation, Frank began: "Do you really believe all you told meabout the _feu bellanger_, Maît Pierre?"

"If I believe it? why, certainly I do. "

Frank knew he did believe it, but he wanted to fix the conversationat once. "I'll tell you what this fire is, " continued the young man;"it is a light which comes out of the soil, more especially in themarshy places. It is called 'Will-o'-the-Wisp' by some of thecountry folk in England, 'Jack-o'-Lantern' by others. The true nameof this ignited gas is _ignis fatuus_. "

The old man smiled. His look at Frank was one of pity. "What a pooryoung simple-minded, inexperienced person, " he thought, and in thevoice of a man quoting a passage from Horace he said aloud: "I haveseen it on the top of a hill. "

"It may be, " answered Frank, and, seeing old Pierre's triumphantattitude, he added: "Do you not think that there is a Maker whowatches over us? how foolish to think that he would let the evilone go about like that and drown people at his will----"

Pierre suddenly interrupted him: "And Job, " he said. 

"Oh! that was in the olden times, " said Frank; "besides, it's poeticlanguage, you must not take it so literally as you seem to do. Doyou know what lies at the bottom of all these superstitions?Ignorance; nothing but the lack of education. Among men ofknowledge, nothing of this sort is ever heard of. They do notbelieve in witches riding on broomsticks. Ah!" he added, seeingPierre was getting excited; "you believe in witches too?"

"Mr. Mathers, " said the old man looking steadily at Frank, "you're ayoung man, you should not try so to rail at people who haveexperience; you should not try to make me disbelieve things which Ihave seen with both my eyes; when you are older, when you havepassed through all that I have passed; ah, when you have, as we sayproverbially 'dragged the harrow where I have dragged the plough';then, and only then, will you attempt to remonstrate with elderlypeople. I think the proper thing for you to do now is to wait tillyou have gained some experience and not to try and speak aboutthings which you know nothing of. "

Frank was astonished at the serious tone in which this little speechwas delivered. He began to see how deep-rooted were Pierre'sbeliefs, but if the difficulties multiplied in his path, his fervourrose also. He had decided to show this man the fallacy of hisarguments, and he must accomplish his self-imposed task. He was nowvery determined; the more so, as he noticed the air of superiorityold Pierre assumed. 

"You have no proofs whatever in support of what you advance, " hesaid, "while I can prove to you that this light seen over or nearbogs and sometimes over cemeteries, is nothing but '_ignis fatuus_. 'This man found drowned, and all that nonsense, is nothing but whatwould happen under ordinary circumstances. In a state ofintoxication, he walked in the pool and was drowned. Is not thatplain enough?

"The knife covered with blood was the result of some beast cuttingits leg with the sharpened edge, every sensible man will acknowledgethat; prove to me the contrary, and I will believe you; until then, never. 

"And these witches, by the by, you have not told me if you believedin them. "

The old man met his gaze defiantly as he answered: "Yes, I do. I donot know if, as you say, they ride on broomsticks; but I'll tell youthis: My father was no fibber. He told me one day that a certainwoman went at their house from time to time. They never saw her comein at the door like one might see another person do, but she simplyfell plump in the middle of the kitchen. She found herself there, none knew how; I do not know whether it was through the ceiling orotherwise, but my father assured me he had seen her come in thisfashion more than once. "

"Stop, " cried Frank, "I never thought it would come to this. Itbeats all that I have yet heard. And you believe that, Maît Pierre, you who think yourself----"

"My father always spoke the truth, " interrupted Pierre, "if a manis not to believe what he has seen, what must he confide in, then?"

"You ought to use your reasoning faculties; but, tell me, have youever been an eye-witness to any of these things?"

"If I've seen any? why, certainly, by the dozen almost. I'll tellyou one. I was working some few years ago for a Mr. Fouret. One ofhis cows having died from milk fever, it was found necessary toreplace it. Now old Mrs. X. Had two for sale at that time, andknowing that my master wanted to buy one, she offered him hers. 

"I must tell you that this woman had the reputation of having theevil eye. Mr. Fouret did not care to refuse her, so he said he wouldgo and see them. He went. When he came back, he told us he would nottake them even if Mrs. X. Gave them to him for nothing; they werevery lean and deformed. So he resolved to risk being bewitched andbought one from Mr. Paslet. 

"When he came back to the farm he said to me: 'Pierre, go and fetchthe cow which I have bought at Mr. Paslet's farm. '

"'All right sir, ' answered I, and I started. 

"As I was coming back quietly with the beast, whom should I meet butMrs. X. 

"'Oh, it's you, Pierre, ' she said grinning; 'where have you had thatcow from?'

"I explained: 'Master had bought the animal in the morning from Mr. Paslet and had sent me to fetch it. '

"'Ah, indeed, ' she said, patting the animal; 'she's a fine beast. '

"When I saw her laying her hand on the poor creature, I said tomyself, 'she's giving it her. ' But what could I do? I said nothing, and the old woman went away. 

"I had not proceeded more than one hundred yards when the animalbegan to show signs of illness. However, I managed to lead her tothe farm which was not very far. But the beast got worse and worse. Mr. Fouret came to examine her. 'What's the matter with the brute?'he said, 'you've made her walk too fast I'm afraid; she seems to betired and exhausted. '

"'Mr. Fouret, ' I responded, 'I came along very slowly, but on theroad I met Mrs. X. '

"'Did she touch the cow?' he inquired. 

"'Yes, ' I answered. 

"'What a nuisance, ' he exclaimed, and turning to the servant-boy whowas there he said: 'take a horse and fetch the vet. As quickly asyou possibly can. '

"The veterinary surgeon came. Of course, he was not going to say hedid not know what was the matter with the beast, so he said itwas----I forget the name now, it was a queer word he said, I know, aname which he was sure we should not remember anyone of us, --andtold us to fetch some medicine. 

"We gave her the drug. She seemed a little bit better and we lefther for the night. In going to have a look at her on the followingmorning, I found the poor animal dead. "

"Well, " said Frank, "what proofs have you that it was really thiswoman who caused your cow to give up the ghost?"

"What proofs?" ejaculated the old man; "well, I think there wereproofs enough; but, to be quite sure, Mr. Fouret consulted a whitewitch. She told him it was an old woman who was jealous of him, andgave my employer a powder to burn. 'You may be certain that theculpable person will come to you, when you have burnt that powder, 'she said to him. 

"Mr. Fouret did as he had been told to do, and Mrs. X. Came on thefollowing morning. She said: 'I thought I would call so as to have alook at your new acquisition. '"

"I do not care to hear any more, " interrupted Frank; "science andreasoning will in time do away with all this. "

It was now time for them to attend to their work. They went. Not oneword did they exchange. There seemed to be a gap between them. OldPierre was vexed at being rebuked by a young man. Frank was indespair. 

The next day when they were seated as usual having a chat afterdinner, Pierre quietly produced from his pocket the _Gazette deGuernesey_. He had not said a word about superstition during themorning, but silently handed the paper to Frank, pointing with hisfinger at a paragraph. 

Not a word was exchanged. The young man took the paper and readaloud: "Spiritualism. Another convert to spiritualism is reported, the learned ----. He is well known as the able and energetic editorof the ----. "

The old man looked at Frank and in a deep voice said: "Is itignorance?"

"This is a different thing altogether, " he responded; "it is notthat base superstition about which we were speaking yesterday. Besides, learned people are not always the first to discovertrickery. "

Then he thought of the superstitious, albeit educated people whofrequent the gambling hell at Monte Carlo; and stopped short. 

Pierre looked at him; "Is it only ignorance?" he again asked. 

"Bah, " said Frank as he waved his hand with a gesture of supremecontempt; "I don't care what it is, it's very ridiculous andunreasonable. "

The old man shook his head. "I believe what I've seen, " he said. 

Frank waxed hot. "You are then determined to remain in that state ofnarrow-mindedness, believing in all this nonsense. But, my man, you_must_ be miserable. "

Again the stolid answer came: "I believe what I've seen. "

"Listen, " said Frank: "One day, when I was about nine years of age, I was looking at a pig which had been, to all appearances, killed. As I was about to go nearer, the brute jumped down and came runningafter me. I, in my ignorance, thought it was a dead pig pursuing me, and when my mother told me the contrary, I said as you do: 'Ibelieve what I have seen. '"

Quoth old Pierre: "As you say, it's a different thing altogether. "

"Let us go about our work, " said Frank; "we are losing our time Ifear. "

His hope of converting this man was almost extinguished. 

"What are my decisions coming to?" he said to himself. "I had oncedetermined to be an inventor, etcetera, and here I am with a facelike the tan and tomato-stained hands. When I try to change MaîtPierre's notions, I fail. Notwithstanding, I will not bedisheartened. Knowledge is power; if I fail here, I shall not faileverywhere. "

Frank Mathers felt himself strong, rather too much so perhaps. 

It is one of the defects of the self-educated, that they generallyimagine themselves much more learned than they really are. Nothaving anyone to compete with, or a master to show them theirimperfections, they rather over-estimate their capacities. 

There is also another disadvantage in self-culture. Theself-educated man is often only acquainted with the elements of agreat many different sciences, but it is seldom that he isthoroughly versed in any single one. There are exceptions to thisrule. One is when the student has a decided talent for something, and energy to pursue his studies. 

Frank had studied something of almost everything and imaginedhimself a savant. 

From this it must not be inferred that he was uneducated. 

But, he lacked that knowledge of the world which is only acquired bymixing with the world. 

CHAPTER XV. 

DARK DAYS. 

It was winter, dull winter, when nature rests and green fields areno more. 

There was not much work to do now in the greenhouses at "theRohais. "

Frank was one evening taking a walk towards the Câtel Church. 

He had some business to settle with his carpenter, who lived near"Woodlands. "

Presently, a man who had dogged his steps for some time, exclaimed:"It's you, Mr. Mathers, I thought it was. "

Turning round, Frank recognised Jacques, Mr. Rougeant's workman. Hethought his heart had stopped beating, so sudden was the thrill ofsatisfaction that shook its tendrils. 

"Yes, it is I, " he at last answered; and he shook hands with Jacquesas if he had been his most intimate friend. 

"He was so glad to see him, " he said. "And how are they all at 'LesMarches, '" he inquired. 

"Oh, jolly-like, " said the man who had boasted that he could speakEnglish; "the squire's in a reg'lar good mood this week. "

"Indeed!" said Frank. 

"Well, you see, it's no wonder after all; the young Miss's engagedto a young fellow; Tom Soher, I think his name is. I don't like thelook o' the chap. He used to drink and there's no sayin'----. "

He stopped short on perceiving Frank who was leaning against thewall for support; his face of an ashen hue. 

Jacques eyed him anxiously. "One'd say you'd be ill, " he remarked. 

"I don't feel exactly well, " said Frank. 

"Shall I see you home?"

"No, thank you, I can easily walk there. "

"I think I'd better come with you; I know my missus'l be waitin' forme, but I'll come if you think I must. "

"No, thank you, " again responded Frank; "there are a great manypeople about----. There! I feel slightly better. "

"As you like, " said Jacques, who by-the-by was not in the leastinclined to accompany the young man. 

"I'll go alone, " said Frank; "Good-night. "

"Good-night, Sir, I hope you'll be better soon, " said Jacques, aseach one betook himself towards his home. 

Frank was completely weighed down with this piece of unexpected andunwelcome news. He did not go to the carpenter's residence; heforgot all about it. He went straight home. How he arrived there, which road he took, which door he entered by, he did not know; buthe found himself in his bedroom, seated on a chair and gazing intospace in blank despair. 

This was the end of everything. 

He pictured to himself her lover. He did not know him, but hesucceeded in forming in his mind one of the biggest monsters thatever inhabited the globe in the shape of man. 

And Adèle; he knew she must have been forced into it by her father. "How she must groan under this yoke. To have to listen to thatvicious being with the prospect of one day being his wife. " Why hadit come to this, why was the world so formed. Ah! the wicked worldwe live in, the abominable, corrupted world. When would themillennium come. When would all this unhappiness be swept away fromthe earth's surface. 

Alas! he would die before that time; so would thousands and millionsof others. 

What had the world done that it must thus be continually sacrificed. What had he done. Others were happy; surely no one had ever met sucha deception before. People had to suffer sometimes, but not suchintense, heart-rending suffering as he now endured. 

He was full of despair. Before him, there was nothing but darkness. The more he thought over his misfortunes, the more hopeless lifeseemed to be. 

The candle was now nearly burnt out, but he heeded it not. He wavedhis hand near his face as if to scatter his thoughts. "Why did Irescue him when he was drowning. (He was thinking of Mr. Rougeant. )I risked being pulled into the water, I might have been drowned; andthis is the reward. " Ah! how humanity must suffer. If there was nojoy, no real happiness on this earth, why live, why continue toendure all this. Schopenhauer was quite right when he said life wasnot worth living. Henceforth, he would be a pessimist. Three cheersfor pessimism!

Ah! the wicked world we live in. 

The candle had now burnt itself out but the young man remainedseated, his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes gazing at thefloor, and his heart in "kingdom come. "

When the clock struck twelve, he awoke. He had fallen asleep and wasa little more composed than before. He undressed and went to bed. 

He awoke early in the morning. He was crying. What was the matterwith him. It dawned upon him: he was going to have a fit ofmelancholy. 

He felt it, but he was powerless to prevent its intrusion. He waslike the man who stands between the rails, and suddenly sees a trainadvancing at full speed towards him and remains with his eyesriveted on the instrument of his destruction, seemingly powerless tomove, till the engine crushes him in its onward course. 

When Frank descended to breakfast, old Pierre and his spouse noticedhis wan look. "I think master's going mad, " said the man to hiswife, when Frank was out of the room. "I don't know what ails him, but he seems very pale and strange. "

The young man wandered aimlessly. Nothing interested him, not evenhis books, these companions which he had cherished so much. He triedto find pleasure in them. "If I had something to do, something tooccupy my thoughts, " he said to himself, "I would be much better. Work is the balm which heals my wounds, it sets me on my feet again. I will work, I will study. "

He soon found out that work in itself could not heal his wounds. Then he grew still more despondent. What was the use of working ifwork did not bring a reward. It was all very well to toil, but towork like a slave, without the prospect of utilizing one's powerafter having continually striven to acquire it, was discouraging. 

He therefore put his books aside and his melancholy grew deeper anddeeper. 

One day he was seized with anxiousness for his soul's future. He hadnot done what he ought to have done. He greatly frightened Mrs. Merlin, when he entered the house and exclaimed: "I'm lost; I'mlost. "

"Don't say that, Mr. Mathers, " she said. "You have always been agood man. "

"Good!" he exclaimed, his eyes dilated, the muscles of his faceworking convulsively; "good, yes, for my sake, because I hoped in myselfishness to reap ten times the outlay. Don't you see, " hecontinued, "that I have only worked for my own selfish interest. Ihave made sacrifices, because I hoped to reap a rich reward. Andnow, I am well punished; I deserve all this, I certainly do. I havedone nothing for others. I have not been altruistic. "

The woman stared at him. She knew almost as much about altruism as adog does about the celestial sciences. After a few moments ofsilence she spoke: "You have been very good to us, you rescued a manfrom drowning once at great risk, you----"

"Ha, ha!" he laughed, "fine talk, to come and speak like that to me. I am going to die, and do you hear;" he added in an undertone, catching hold of Mrs. Merlin's arm and terrifying her; "I am afraid, oh, so afraid. "

The old woman began to cry. "You must not talk like that, " she said, "you really must not. Why don't you pray?"

"Pray! what is the use; no, not now. I am being punished for mysins. I must atone, I must atone. "

He continued in this sad state for a few days, weighed down withthis strange malady, which, alas, often preys upon our finestintellects. 

Then, a reaction set in, and he began to improve gradually. 

He felt quite well at times, then re-assumed his moody ways; rays ofsunshine sometimes darted from behind the clouds. "I wish the sunwould disperse the clouds, " he sighed. 

One evening, when his head was tolerably clear, he was seized with adesire to visit his parents' grave. 

Without consulting anyone, he immediately proceeded towards theFoulon. When he came to the iron gate, it was closed. He wasbitterly disappointed. By climbing over it, he would risk beingempaled on the iron spikes, or otherwise injured. 

Presently he thought of the wooden wicket situated a little lowerdown. He proceeded thither and climbed over it without difficulty. Astream confronted him. He crossed it on a plank thrown across therill. It was very dark, but he did not think of it. He was alone inthis graveyard, but he experienced no fear. He felt happier than hehad done for a long time. "Had he not adopted the pessimistic viewof life. "

He walked straight to the grave where his father and mother layburied and seated himself near it. Just then, a gentle breeze causedthe stately trees surrounding the graveyard to waft their leafy topsto and fro. Nature was rocking itself to sleep. 

Even as it slumbered, it now and then heaved a sigh, sympathizingwith the lonely man who pondered near his parents' grave. 

He soliloquized: "Around me, the dead; beneath that turf, the dead;above me, beyond those glimmering stars, somewhere in that infinityof space, in which man with his very limited understanding loseshimself, the departed souls.... "

Suddenly, he perceived a white form advancing towards him. If hairstands on end, Frank's did. His heart beat at a fearful rate. Whatcould this be? It certainly must be a ghost. "I have laughed atapparitions, but I am now going to be punished for my incredulity, "he said to himself. 

The ghost moved and came nearer. Frank trembled from head to foot. When he had recovered sufficient courage to scrutinize this form, itsuddenly disappeared. 

The young man fixed his eyes on the place where the ghost hadvanished, for ten minutes; then turned his gaze in anotherdirection. He soon recovered his senses, and fell into a reverie. 

Again he soliloquized: "We all travel towards the grave. We allshall one day be like these around me. Why work, why troubleoneself. Why have I taken so much pains about my education? I havebeen ambitious, I have worried myself, I have been anxious toacquire wealth and fame. Here, the rich and the poor, the famous, the unfamous, and the infamous, the ignorant and the educated, areresting in the same ground, surrounded by the same scenery. I havebeen foolish to worry myself thus. 

"Do I not daily meet ignorant and uncivilised people who live a lifeof contentment and happiness? Not caring for the future, notaspiring after getting on in life, living from hand to mouth, theymanage to show a radiant countenance. 

"Is ignorance bliss? Perhaps, in one sense; still I would not bewithout education. 

"What must I do to be happy? I will shut mine eyes to all ambition, I will live a quiet life. Alas! even as I pronounce these words, myheart belies them. I cannot annihilate the acute brain whichtortures me. Since all my hopes of happiness seem to shun me, I willcontinue in my new religion--pessimism; and when the hour of deathcomes, I will smile. "

He thought of the hopeful days he had once known. He rose from hisseat, cast a farewell glance on his parents' grave and proceededdown the gravel walk. He then thought of the ghost which he hadseen, and felt a vague sense of fear. "I am no coward, " he mutteredas he straightened himself and tried to assume an air ofindifference. But he felt nervous. He glanced anxiously behind himevery other moment, and increased his pace. 

He perceived, among the trees, near the gate over which he had topass--a light. 

It was as if a thunderbolt had passed through his body. 

He looked more attentively. Yes, there was a light, a strange, fantastic light, dancing amongst the trees. His feverish braincaused him to lose all power of reasoning. 

"What is this?" he said to himself. He felt his heart beatingheavily against the walls of its prison as if trying to escape. Hislegs seemed to give way under him. A big lump stuck in his throat. 

"It is only an _ignis fatuus_, " he said to himself. "No, it cannotbe, it does not burn with a bluish light. Why this terror, why thisfear; it must be the _feu bellanger_. "

The light changed. It was approaching. 

A sense of horripilation stole over him. A cold perspiration bathedhim. 

The light changed again. It really receded this time, but to Frank'sagitated mind, it was simply one of its tactics to induce him tocome nearer. 

He suddenly bethought himself of the stream. His terror reached itsclimax. "Ah! there it was, waiting for him to pass that way, andthen with a shout of triumph, it would plunge him in. "

He remembered old Pierre's words: "Wait till he gets caught. " How hewished he had not mocked him so. Perhaps this _feu bellanger_ waspreparing to revenge itself. 

Again, the light approached. It came nearer to him than it had yetcome. The supreme moment had arrived. He already felt himself beingdipped in the stream, with no one to rescue him. Ah! the horror ofbeing killed by one of the devil's angels. 

Here he remembered Pierre Merlin's advice: "Turn your coat sleevesinside out and put on your garment so. " Without a moment'shesitation he divested himself of his coat. As he was turning thesleeves, the object of his dread disappeared. A sigh of reliefescaped him. 

In a minute, he had bounded over the stream and gate into the road. He put on his coat, and was proceeding towards his home, when heperceived the cause of his fears. It was simply a ray of lightcoming through the windows of the guardian's house. He could see itnow. A woman was standing on a chair with a small lamp in her handseeking for something on a shelf. As she moved the lamp, thereflection on the trees moved also. 

He began to laugh. "The _feu bellanger_, forsooth. How old Pierrewould have smiled if he had beheld him taking off his coat. But theghost, _that_ was what puzzled him. "

The ghost came bounding over the wicket and passed by him. 

It was a white dog. 

This adventure had taught him a great lesson. What could he say now, he, the educated and civilized young man? No wonder if the peoplewho had been accustomed to hear strange tales from their earliestinfancy, believed in them. 

He went home, determined to deal leniently with Pierre in thefuture. 

"I must have been in a dreadful state of mind to have acted thus, "he thought. "I have done more than I ever meant to do. "

When he came home, he was quite cheerful. He did not say that he hadseen a ghost, neither did he tell the spouses Merlin that he hadnearly been attacked by the _feu bellanger_. 

Pierre noticed his joyous look. He gave a wink to his wife as if tosay: "He's taken a glass or two. "

It was not so; the shock which he had received had completelydislodged the last trace of melancholy. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

SHADOW AND SUNSHINE. 

What was Adèle doing? She was not engaged. It was one of Jacques'inventions, or rather deductions, from what he saw. 

She was being gradually drawn towards the abyss, where her soulwould lose all that it possessed that was divine, and into which, toall appearances, she was finally to plunge, pushed by an unseenhand, drawn thither by a magic power. 

She shuddered. After all her dreams of happiness, Fate had condemnedher to this. How often had she pictured herself, the possessor oftrue love, streams of happiness flowing into her heart. She hadformed a high ideal of life; the present did not satisfy her. Hopehad sustained her, and that hope, that idea of a pure, refined, elevated and noble life, chastened by love, was now dwindling awayand she seemed destined to join the great multitude of ordinarybeings. 

Still, she hesitated. She dared not trust her future happiness to aman for whom she barely felt friendship. 

One day, her father, being in a better mood than was his wont, toldher that she ought to make up her mind about whom she wanted tomarry. 

"It is not my intention to marry young, " she said; "I want you toleave me quiet for a whole year. "

"Nonsense;" replied her father, "but if you promise me that in ayear you will be Tom Soher's betrothed, I shall be satisfied. "

"I cannot promise you that, " she replied; "but I shall tell you whatI intend to do; perhaps I shall never marry. "

"Tom Soher is a sensible man, " said her father, satisfying himselfwith her answer. "When he was younger, he did drink a little toomuch perhaps, but he is altogether reformed now. We must not blamepeople who try to lead a new life. I know he can still drink a fewglasses of cider, but what do you want? Was not cider made to bedrunk? For my part, I prefer a man like him to half-a-dozen of thosewhite-faced teetotalers. They look as if they had just been dugup--like a fresh parsnip. "

"I think Tom Soher would do much better to abstain from alcoholaltogether, especially as he has been one of its slaves, " remarkedAdèle. 

Pretending not to hear her, or thinking this remark unworthy ofnotice, the farmer went on with unusual fervour: "Marry him, Adèle;save our family and his from ruin and disgrace, and make your olddad happy. I will teach him to work and to be thrifty; we shall getalong splendidly. "

There was some more talk, and the father went about his work. 

Adèle had now a year's liberty before her. She determined to makeuse of it. Recently, upon reflection, she had begun to entertaindoubts as to her suspicions about Frank. "He might have beenvisiting some dear relative's grave;" she said to herself. She againbegan to hope, and her spirits rose. 

Three months of the year's truce had elapsed; as yet, she had learntnothing. She looked with terror at the abyss opened before her. Sheshuddered at the thought that there were only nine months left. Howrapidly time seemed to be gliding. 

About this time, Frank Mathers began to experience a dull sensationin the region of the heart. He did not attach any importance to itat first, but as time wore on, the fluttering increased. He grewanxious. For about a week, his health remained the same, when oneday, after dinner, he was quite alarmed to feel his heart thumpingvigorously against his chest. "What is this coming to?" he said tohimself. 

The heart resumed its normal state. Frank tried to satisfy himselfthat it was only a partial indisposition. A week passed. The diseasehad increased rapidly. He was very anxious now. Sometimes, he wouldstop his work and listen. He felt his heart distinctly beatingagainst the walls of his chest. He placed his hand over the regionof the heart. How this organ thumped and heaved. His nervousness wasintense. He quickly unbuttoned his garments and looked at his chest. His heart seemed to be trying to burst through its prison walls. 

He gazed on it for a time, then buttoned his clothes and walked toand fro trying to pacify the agitated organ. In the midst of hiswalk, he stopped; mechanically, his hand was placed over his heart, and he listened, anxious, agitated, and holding his breath. 

That same evening, when he was falling asleep, he suddenly jumped upin bed. His heart had given a heavy abnormal beat, and was nowquietly working, as if ignorant and innocent of everything. 

After a while, he fell asleep. Next day, he was worse than ever. 

"Am I going to die?" he said to himself. "Life is sweet, it is hardto die so young, when before me lies the future which I would fainpenetrate. I should like to accomplish some task before I departfrom this world. "

Frank! where art thou come to? Didst not thou say, only a few weeksback: "I will smile when the hour of death comes, " and now thou artcraving for life, and thou art shrinking from death. 

Frank Mathers thought that his complaint was _Angina Pectoris_. Heconsulted a book on Pathology. He learnt that even with thisterrible disease a person might, by careful living, attain a certainage. 

This did not satisfy him. He consulted a doctor. When he was seatedin the medical man's waiting-room, it seemed to him that the doctorwas going to pronounce his doom. He fancied he could already hearhim: "You may, by taking care of yourself, live another year ortwo. "

The door of the room in which he was, opened. His heart gave a greatleap. "I wish you to auscultate me, " he said, addressing the doctorwho entered the room. 

Dr. Buisson looked at him with a scrutinizing glance as he replied:"Very well, sir; step in the next room. "

Frank followed the doctor into the room adjoining. 

The medical man proceeded to auscultate his patient. After he hadcompleted his examination, Frank looked at him inquiringly. "_AnginaPectoris_?" he questioned anxiously. 

"No. "

A sigh of relief escaped him. 

Quoth Dr. Buisson: "You have already sighed a great deal too much. You have overtaxed your strength. You must not live on passion, butyou ought to take life more easily, young man. Rest andcheerfulness, with a few bottles of physic, will put you on yourlegs again. Stimulants would benefit you. "

"I do not wish to drink any alcohol, " interrupted Frank. 

"Who talks about alcohol? Do without stimulants. You do not needthem. "

"I thought----" began Frank. 

The grave voice of the doctor interrupted him. "Young man, you mustbe careful about your diet; eat slowly--masticate well. Pass intothe dispensing room. "

"What an odd man, " thought Frank, as he wended towards his home. 

He passed the next few weeks resting nearly all the time, takingvery little exercise and a great deal of physic. He gradually grewbetter, his nervousness ceased, his heart resumed its normalcondition, it palpitated no more. 

He tried to be cheerful, but he still had great faith in pessimism. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE EFFECTS OF A SERMON. 

One Sunday, contrary to his habit, Frank betook himself to one ofthe country churches. He had several reasons for doing so. He wantedto hear a French sermon; he wanted to be quiet, away from the world, etcetera. 

As he went on his way, he dropped into a none too pleasant reverie. 

"What a queer animal man is, " he thought; "what a study. It is truethat 'the proper study of mankind is man. '

"But, the more one meditates on humanity, the more one becomesdisgusted with its artificialness and bad taste. People flock aftertrifles, they are devoid of refinement, a conjuror will have animmense number of admirers, a third-rate music-hall will fill, evento suffocation, while the man of genius, unless he be rich, oftenremains unnoticed. He who produces most exquisite poetry, soaringhigh above his fellow countrymen, carrying them out of life's dustyways into a pure atmosphere, dies of starvation in a garret. "

He arrived at the church of St. ----. He entered the sanctuary andseated himself in a place from which he would be able to see theminister. 

"This is a very comfortable position, " he said to himself. 

He began to examine the people as they took their seats. Verydifferent from one another were those who entered. The men tooktheir seats with a deal of looking round and lifting of coat-tails. They finally settled down, drawing a deep breath as they did so, asif the act of sitting was a prodigious effort. 

Frank was, with his accustomed curiosity, examining an old woman whotrudged in, wrapped up in an enormous shawl, when a lady touched himlightly on the shoulder. He turned round. 

"Sir, this is my pew, " she said, "you may go in any of those, "pointing to the left. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Frank, and he hastily left his seat andwent in one of the pews which the lady had pointed out to him. Thenhe remembered that in his haste, he had forgotten to take his hatwith him. He proceeded to fetch it. The lady who was occupying thepew with her husband and daughter handed him his hat, smiling as shedid so. 

"She might have allowed me to remain where I was, " thought the youngman. He went on thinking: "Perhaps, they have some superstitionabout worshipping in their own pew. "

He fancied everyone of the countryfolks was superstitious. Hewondered if Adèle believed in these things. A sudden pang passedthrough him, as he thought of her. His brow clouded as herecollected Jacques' words: "The young Miss's engaged to a youngfellow. "

The minister entered the church. No one rose. No formalities of anykind. He took his place quietly. The service began. 

When the sermon came, instead of the old minister who had read theprayers, Frank was astonished to see a young man, who, directly hestepped into the pulpit, impressed him most favourably. He had avery intelligent face and a cheerful countenance. 

He took for his text the words of St. Paul: "Rejoice evermore. "

He began: "There is a class of people, the followers ofSchopenhauer, who declare that life is not worth living. 

"They say this world is almost the worst possible place we couldlive in, and that, if it were a shade worse, it would be impossibleto live in it, and people would willingly end their existence. Thisdoctrine is called 'pessimism. '"

Frank felt very interested. Every word which the preacher said, seemed directly addressed to him. 

The young minister continued: "There is another class of pessimistswho have never thought of following this Schopenhauer, but who, nevertheless, find life a burden and this world almost an inferno. "

 * * * * *

"This class of people (the pessimists) pull long faces and go abouttheir work sighing. They see everything turned upside down but it isthey who are cross. 'Life is not worth living, ' they say, 'thisworld is a miserable dwelling place;' but it is they who cause theirlives to be not worth living, who make themselves miserable. "

 * * * * *

"Some of them who profess to be good, do a great deal of harm toChristianity; more than is perhaps generally imagined. Peopleexamine them and nod their heads. 'Christianity is a failure, ' theysay. "

 * * * * *

"Help to put down Schopenhauer's wretched doctrines. Look at thebright side of life. "

"You will meet with difficulties, but do not despond; to everycloud, there is a silver lining. "

He declared he was an optimist. He invited his hearers, one and allto adopt the optimistic view of life, and help to bring the kingdomof God upon earth. He pointed out the causes which should help tomake us cheerful, beautiful nature, healthy mental and physicaloccupations and distractions.... 

He told them to remember that time would be followed by eternity; tohopefully prepare for the life to come, and to help others to do thesame. 

Once out of the church, Frank felt very much puzzled. Both thediscourse and the manner in which it had been delivered, hadimpressed him. What would he do? It certainly was a matter forconsideration. Was there a silver lining to the cloud that wasfloating around him? Would he hope? Would he, in spite ofeverything, try and be cheerful?

When he came home, he had formed a decision. He would try. He wouldanswer the invitation of this young clergyman, who seemed so full ofhope and joy. 

The preacher had said: If you feel--as you will feel--that you areunable to fight unaided; pray. Frank prayed. It was not a request inwhich the lips took a very active part, but he poured forth hiswhole soul through his heart, to Him who could and would help thosewho were unable to help themselves. 

When he had finished, he felt quite equipped for the fight. For hewould have to battle. 

"I must try to be cheerful, I must set aside all my gloomythoughts, " he said to himself. "I must endeavour to change my wholeformer view of the world. I feel strong. Welcome optimism. Threecheers for optimism. "

Young man, thou art a new convert, and, like every new convert, thouart enthusiastic. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

SUCCESS AFTER SUCCESS. 

Having adopted the optimistic view of life, Frank found that it wasnot easy to eradicate his dismal turn of mind. 

He fought bravely. It was not his first fight. He had been, whenyounger, passionate and a trifle ill-tempered, but he had, whilestill in his teens, successfully overcome these defects. 

He often thought of Adèle. He dared not go near "Les Marches. " Heknew full well that the sight of the house in which he had firstknown love, would arouse in him sentiments of jealousy and grief; sohe satisfied himself with continuing to work at the reformation ofhis character. Each victory which he achieved made him feel strongerand wiser, and every day added to his success. 

Let us return to Adèle Rougeant. Six out of the twelve months' trucehad now elapsed. 

Tom's visits at Les Marches were few and far between. 

Adèle had chanced to overhear a part of the conversation which tookplace between her father and cousin, after she had asked the formerfor a year's peaceful solitude. 

Quoth Mr. Rougeant: "You will have to wait another year. "

"Indeed!" said his nephew. 

"Adèle says she wishes to think the matter over. "

"Oh!" said Tom, biting his nails; with which operation he was veryfamiliar--"a year will soon pass away. "

"Yes, " answered the uncle. 

Adèle's business took her to another room, and she had too muchgood-breeding to stay and listen. Eavesdropping was not in her line. She laughed all to herself. Liberty was so sweet. 

When she went out, she could listen with more than ordinary delightto the songs of the birds. Some were singing with everchangingvariety, others were somewhat more laboriously endeavouring toimitate the whistle of the farmer-boys. 

Adèle Rougeant sympathized with birds; she felt attracted towardsthem, for she too was a bird. She had been, for a time, caged; butnow she was perfectly free, for six more months at least. Shetrusted to be out of the difficulty by then. Why; she did not know;something within her seemed to assure her that it would be so. 

When, a week afterwards, Tom Soher was taken ill, she thought ofthat strange certainty which she had had. Was he going to die?Something within her said: "If he could, I then should be saved. "Adèle grew angry with herself for wishing such an abominable thing. She dispersed the wicked thought which had formed into a wish, withall the energy which she was capable of displaying. 

To think that she had had such a desire. She was ashamed of herself. 

Next day, when she heard that Tom's condition was worse than ever, involuntarily her heart leapt with joy. How sinful is the heart ofman!

Adèle's better nature rose against these feelings. Finally sheovercame them. She tried to pity her cousin and partly succeeded indoing so. When she fancied herself freed from him, she feltrelieved; when she pictured herself dying in his place, sheimmediately pitied him. And she put this question to herself: "Issympathy a virtue?" No. Most often, when people sympathize withothers they say: "Just imagine if we were in their place; theyreally think for themselves. "

This was now her view of the matter. Perhaps it was not quitecorrect, but there was a great deal of truth in it. 

Tom Soher was not to die this time. The crisis passed. He ralliedalmost as rapidly as he had lost strength. 

Mr. Rougeant visited him daily. His daughter listened to the news ofTom's recovery, with attention. The farmer was pleased. "She takesmore interest in him than she cares to show;" he said to himself. 

One fine afternoon, in summer, Adèle, whose spirits were as brightas the weather, was sitting in a chair--thinking. Her thoughts flewhither and thither. They were full of bright hope. She sat where shewas for nearly one hour, her head full of vague thoughts, aspirations after perfect womanhood. 

As her thoughts rambled, she recalled to mind a flower and fruitshow that was to take place that afternoon in the Vegetable Markets. 

"I think I shall go, " she said to herself. 

She spoke to her father about it. He answered her not unkindly: "Ibelieve you would travel twenty miles to see a flower; if you wishto go, you may. "

She dressed herself in a dainty costume, set out, and arrived in St. Peter-Port just as the clock of the Town Church struck five. Goingto the market, she paid the entrance fee, and proceeded leisurely toexamine the flowers. 

While she was doing so, Frank Mathers entered the exhibition, utterly unconscious of her being there. He was walking about in thecrowd, which, as evening approached, was getting thicker andthicker, when he perceived Adèle intently bent upon examining thecut flowers. 

He was quite upset. When he had recovered sufficiently to think;"She is alone, why is not her lover with her, " he mused. He couldnot unravel this mystery. 

Hope sprang within him; he shook it off. "He will be backpresently, " he said to himself; "she is waiting for him whilepretending to examine the flowers. "

He gazed upon her with admiration, unheeding the throng thatcontinually jostled him. 

Suddenly, he was startled by a burst of laughter behind him. Heturned round to ascertain its cause. 

Two burly fellows who were watching him, were having a merry time ofit at his expense. 

He moved from his place and walked away, passing quite close toAdèle, who did not notice him. He stopped a few paces from her, watching her narrowly all the time. 

She looked up, saw him, recognised him, and nodded. He raised hishat; then, a strange delicacy of feeling overcoming him, he walkedaway. 

Adèle saw him go and felt stung. Why had he not spoken to her? hemight have done so. She had been on the point of advancing towardshim, and he seemed to have deliberately avoided her. 

"I was not mistaken when I fancied he loved another one, " she saidto herself. In spite of that, she walked in a contrary direction tohim, hoping to meet him, a thing which she could not fail to do ifthey both kept advancing in contrary directions. She did not stop tothink that he would perhaps pass haughtily by her. Love is blind. 

Like the two gentlemen who circumnavigated the globe, the two youngpeople met. Frank inquired after Mr. Rougeant's health, and made afew remarks about the exhibition. He always expected to see herintended appear on the scene. Finally, he ventured to ask: "Are youquite alone?" "Yes, quite, " she answered. 

They walked together for fully one hour, examining the flowers andfruit. "Is not this a beautiful specimen of the Dahlia?" Adèleasked, pointing to a flower of that name. 

"I am afraid I do not possess the necessary qualifications to forman opinion, " he said; "I have not studied botany. "

"I think you would find the study very captivating, " she said; "ourlittle island contains quite a number of beautiful specimens. Thereare a great many hard names to learn, but I feel certain that youwould soon overcome that difficulty. "

"You have a rather high opinion of my intellectual powers, " he said;"I feel quite flattered. For the present, I will abide by yourdecisions. The flowers that you will praise, I shall call beautiful;those that you will condemn, I shall call ugly. "

"I shall not condemn any, " said she, "all flowers are beautiful tomy eyes, only some are more perfect than others. "

"You love flowers?" he questioned. 

"Immensely, they are almost my constant companions; I should liketo possess the whole of this collection, " said Adèle. 

"All to yourself. Is it not a trifle selfish?" he said, looking ather with a pair of laughing blue eyes. 

"Perhaps it is. Look at this beautiful collection of ferns. " Shebegan to name them. "This one on the left is _Adiantum CapillusVeneris_, or _Maiden Hair_, a rare European species; this one is_Adiantum Pedantum_, of American origin, and that one behind there, which is partly hidden, is _Adiantum Cuneatum_. "

"I will not learn botany, " he said; "you have quite frightened mewith all those Latin names; when I wish to know the name of someplant, I shall come and ask you. "

"I shall be delighted if I can be of any service to you, " she saidingenuously. Frank thought these words were significant, but theywere not. 

Adèle was anxious to get home early. Frank saw "Les Marches" thatevening with hopeful eyes. 

Afterwards, they often met. One day, Tom Soher, who was nowcompletely cured, came face to face with his cousin Adèle, who wasaccompanied by Frank. He stopped short, looked hard at his cousin, then resumed his walk. 

When Tom was a little way off, Frank said to Adèle: "What a queerfellow, one would think he was insane. " "He is a cousin of mine, "she said. 

"Ah! doubtless he was surprised at seeing you in such company. "

"Why?" she questioned. 

"Perhaps he is afraid of losing caste, " said Frank, anxious to knowthe cause of Tom's sullen countenance. 

Adèle laughed; "Losing caste!" she said, "the idea is preposterous. "

"Miss Rougeant, " said Frank, suddenly becoming grave, "do you wantto oblige me?"

She looked up. "Of course I do, " she replied. 

"And will you answer my question?" he continued. 

She looked down. "What can he mean?" she said inly. The twilightpartly hid the deep blush that suffused her cheek. 

He noticed her embarrassment and hastily spoke: "I was going to saythis. Some time ago, I heard that you were engaged to a young mannamed Tom Soher. Would you be kind enough to explain me the riddle. But, you need not do so, if you do not feel inclined to. "

Her manner suddenly changed. She had imagined that he had somethingof far greater importance to ask her. She replied: "I have neverbeen engaged to him; you must have heard false news. "

"Probably, " he said, "it was Old Jacques who told me so. "

"Ah, I see, " said she, "he saw my cousin coming home to visit usrather often, and he invented that little piece of news. It washe--Tom Soher--whom we met just now, and who scrutinized us so. "Then Adèle told him all about her father's intentions. She tried tolook bright, but Frank saw what she endeavoured to conceal: apainful contraction of the forehead at times. When she had finished, she asked smilingly: "What do you think of my father's mode ofprocedure?"

Frank looked at her anxiously. "I hope it will never be, " he said. 

"Indeed!"

"Because, " he continued, "I should be extremely grieved to see youforced into an union without love. "

"How do you know that it would be such an one?" she asked. 

"Because, " responded he, "when you told me about your father'splans, I saw your face. If there is any truth in physiognomy, yourecoil with horror at the prospect of one day marrying Tom Soher. "

She changed the subject of the conversation and nothing more wassaid about it that evening. 

Going home; Frank thought of the difficulties that were risingbefore him. He soliloquized: "It is always the same old story; agreedy, avaricious, grasping father, sacrificing his daughter'shappiness for the sake of his pride. But it must not be. I can andwill save her from such a terrible fate. "

He was full of indignant wrath against her father. "To think thatshe shudders at the thought of it, " he muttered. 

Meanwhile, Tom Soher was pondering heavily. He was in a terriblepassion. When he entered his father's house, he wore an angry look. He walked straight upstairs without even partaking of supper. Hismother and sister who were downstairs laughed. The young man was notmuch of a favourite at home. 

Tom sat for a long time on his bed, his face covered withperspiration, his limbs agitated. He was not yet very strong afterhis illness, and the shock which he had received had completelyupset him. 

He meditated a plan of revenge. A dozen ideas struck him, but noneseemed good enough. Finally, he thought of one, which, if carriedout, would completely crush his detestable rival. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

TOM'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. VIDOUX. 

Five minutes' walk from the "Prenoms, " there might once be seen asmall, badly built, one-storeyed cottage, the walls of which werebuilt of stone, with clay serving instead of mortar. In the walls, were three small windows, opening like French windows. They were ofdifferent sizes, contained numerous small rectangular panes ofglass, and were situated irregularly; two in front of, and onebehind the house. 

Inside, the walls were white-washed, the floor was of clay, theceiling was black with smoke. One of the two rooms served as abedroom, while the other one was badly fitted up to resemble akitchen. 

A wretchedly thatched roof, surmounted by a single stone chimney, covered the whole. 

Situated behind this hovel, was a small piece of land called agarden. In it grew cabbages, potatoes, fruits and weeds; the latterpredominating. 

In this cottage, there lived an old woman, whose age none seemed toknow. The fact that she never attended divine service, coupled withthe tales of her being in the habit of attending the witches'sabbath, was enough to make her pass amongst her superstitiousneighbours as a being possessed of supernatural powers. 

She was aware of this, and consequently avoided, as far as it waspracticable, having anything to do with her species. 

At first she had felt very angry at her countrymen's insinuations, and almost wished she did possess supernatural powers; but graduallyshe had cooled down, and now she was indifferent. 

Mrs. Vidoux--such was the appellation of this woman--was notattractive. Her face was of a colour much resembling Vandyke Brown. It was a woman's face, yet it resembled a man's, not excepting thewhiskers, which seemed to grow vigourously, as it fertilized by thedirt which her uncleanly habits allowed to accumulate on her face. 

She had but two companions; they were cats. She very often atelimpets (_Patella Vulgata_). When she descended to the beach tocollect the shell fish she took exactly one hundred. 

A proof that she could reckon up to one hundred. 

Arrived home, she cooked her limpets, gave twenty to each of hercats, and reserved sixty for herself. 

A proof that she had gastronomic tendencies. 

There was but one young man to whom she spoke freely. 

One evening, this man tumbled near her doorstep. He was intoxicated. She took him inside, laid him on her own bed, and when he had sleptand sobered, she gave him a cup of tea and escorted him to his home. Ever since, they had been friends. 

This man's name was Tom Soher. 

We have seen that an idea had struck him which he intended to carryout. He, too, believed in Mrs. Vidoux's power of bewitching. 

So the day following his unpleasant discovery, Tom Soher directedhis steps towards the old woman's cottage. 

He knocked at the door. No one answered. "She must be in thegarden, " he said to himself. He accordingly went round the back ofthe house and espied her, laboriously occupied in trying to dig afew parsnips. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Vidoux, " he said; then perceiving her uselessefforts, he took the spade from her bony hands, and dug up a few ofthe esculent roots. 

"Thank you very much, " said the old woman, leaning heavily on herwalking-stick. 

"I wonder, why she, who possesses such magic powers, does not makethose parsnips fly out of the ground without even touching them, "thought Tom. 

Then a conversation followed between them. 

"It's fine weather, " said Tom, feeling embarrassed about theintroduction of his subject. 

"Beautiful. "

"You have a great deal of trouble to work as you do, cultivatingyour own vegetables?"

"Yes, but I cannot afford to buy some. "

"Don't you feel lonely at times?"

"No, I am accustomed to solitude. "

"You did me a good turn once. "

"I am glad of it. "

"Yes, I shall always remember it. "

"I am happy to see that you don't forget, you are the only sensibleman in this parish. "

"That's praising me rather too much, I'm sure I don't deserve it, but what I think I deserve less is the nasty fix in which I now am. "

"You are in a fix?"

"You know my cousin, Adèle Rougeant?"

"Miss Rougeant, let me see--oh--yes, I knew her once, but I amafraid I should not recognise her now, she must be a fine lady bythis time. "

"Fine; she's simply charming. "

"I should think so; I don't doubt you at all, Mr. Soher. "

"There is a young man who is paying his attentions to her. "

"He is very fortunate. "

"That does not suit me. I intended to marry her. "

"You! her cousin. "

"Why not?"

"I don't know, only it seemed improbable. "

"This fellow stands in my way. "

"Of course, you shall have to try and supplant him. "

"That's impossible, she's too fond of him. "

"Well, I suppose you must give her up then. "

"I don't mean to. "

"What do you intend doing?"

"Can't you guess? Thrust him out of my way forcibly. Either he or Imust sink. "

"You look strong enough to fight a giant. "

"I do not mean to fight him. "

"Are you afraid of him? Is he stronger than you?"

"He looks rather too much of an athlete for me; I thought thatperhaps you would help me. "

"I! help you. "

"Yes. "

"How?"

Tom looked anxiously round, then said in a low tone: "I must get ridof him, I must. "

"Yes. "

"And you can help me a great deal. "

"I will do anything for you. "

"Well, will you settle him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Make him jump, of course. "

"Make him jump!"

"Yes; you know, bewitch him. "

Mrs. Vidoux suddenly became erect, her eyes were fixed on Tom withan expression that made him recoil, but before he had time to getout of her way, she had raised her walking-stick high above her headwith both her hands and brought it to bear with all her strength onTom's head. 

The blow was by no means a slight one. Tom staggered and fell. Without even pretending to notice him the old woman walked towardsher dwelling. He soon rallied, and in less time than it had probablyever been done before, he cleared the fence and vaulted in the road. He went home, swearing that he would avenge himself, not of Mrs. Vidoux, but of his cousin. 

Next morning, he decided to tell his uncle all that he knew. He hadnot dared to do it before for fear of offending his cousin; but now, he acted in a blind fury. 

He had a great deal of confidence in his uncle. He knew the enormousinfluence which he exercised over his daughter. Mr. Rougeant hadonce told him that with a single look he could make her tremble, andthat she would as soon think of refusing him as of refusing to growolder. 

Tom Soher smiled when he thought of his uncle's demeanour uponhearing the news which he had to impart. 

How he was to incite him. He must make his wrath rise to the highestpitch. If he could go at "Les Marches" when his cousin was gone andset his uncle to watch for their return, what a scene, what aspectacle to laugh at; even as he thought of it now he could nothelp laughing. 

CHAPTER XX. 

TOM'S VISIT TO HIS UNCLE. 

Tom Soher was now constantly on the watch to see if he might catchhis uncle alone. He was soon satisfied on that account. 

One evening, he saw Adèle come out of the farm-house. He hid himselfand let her go by, then he went towards "Les Marches. "

He walked straight in, and was not surprised to see his uncle busilyengaged cleaning carrot seed. 

Tom was in such a state of excitement and rage, that he hardly knewwhat he was saying. 

"Good evening, uncle, " he said, "busy?"

"Good evening, Tom, " was the reply, with the addition: "Yes, youknow the French proverb: 'Do not lose a single hour, since you arenot certain of a minute. '"

"Quite right uncle; shall I help you?"

"No, thank you, now that you are here, we shall talk, and I'll dothat job to-morrow. "

The farmer fetched a mug of cider and placed it on the table betweenthem. Tom was delighted. 

"I am glad that you are here, " quoth Mr. Rougeant. "It is not that Igenerally care for visitors, but you are always welcome. Besides, Adèle is gone and we shall pass the evening agreeably. "

"That's what I thought, uncle. "

Mr. Rougeant looked, at his nephew and wondered what ailed him. 

"Did you know she was gone?" he asked, and added: "Perhaps you mether down the road. "

"No; is she gone?" asked Tom. 

Said the farmer inly: "Is the fellow mad?" aloud; "Yes; she is goneto a concert. "

"Where?" questioned the nephew. 

"I don't know, I did not ask her. "

"You let her go all alone when it is dark!"

"Yes; she's not particularly timid. She is so fond of music, poorgirl, I did not care to refuse her, and, as she has fallen in withmy views, or very nearly so, I must allow her a little freedom. "

"Perhaps she has a companion, " said Tom. 

"No; she says she prefers going alone; it will not be for long, however; in another month she will, I hope, be your betrothed. "

Tom felt a pang of vexation run through him. He was ready toexplode, but succeeded in showing a good exterior and said jokingly:"Suppose she came accompanied by some young fellow. "

"She never would dare to do so. "

"I would not say so if I were you, uncle; it's not a good sign whena young girl is always out like that. Haven't you noticed that shevery often goes out in the evening lately?"

The old man's suspicions were beginning to be aroused. "I had noteven thought of it, " he said "but, indeed, it's as you say; she hasbeen going out often lately. "

"I hope there is no one supplanting me, " said his nephew. 

"You need not fear, Tom--pass me the mug. "

They both drank out of the same coarse vessel, and Tom, who waswarming up, continued: "I have strange presentiments, uncle; when Iwent to school, I remember having read in an English book about, 'Coming events casting their shadows before. ' Now, just as I metMiss Rougeant this evening, I saw a cat cross the road. Now, youknow as well as I do, that it means discord betwixt her and me. "

"This sounds very strange, " said the farmer, "but I thought you toldme you had not seen her. "

"Did I? really, I hardly knew what I was doing. " And, desirous offinding an excuse for his singular behaviour, he added in the mostdejected tone imaginable: "I have a rival. "

"What do you mean?" fairly howled the farmer. 

"I mean, " replied Tom, in the most wretched tone he could assume; "Imean that my cousin loves another fellow, an Englishman, who has nota single penny which he can call his own, a wretched cur, a beggarlyfortune-hunter. I fancy I can see him. He is one of those fellowswho walk bearing all their fortunes on their backs. He was dressedin faultless evening dress; light kid gloves, patent leather boots, and a tall silk hat. " (This was all false. ) "If I am not mistaken, this fellow has not a particularly bright character. "

The farmer was looking at Tom. His lips were apart, his teethclosed, his eyes shone with an ominous light. He did not say a word. Tom continued: "Ah! your fortune will soon be gone to the dogs, allthe money that you have honestly earned, that you have had so muchtrouble to scrape together, will disappear in the twinkling of aneye, and your ruined daughter will have to end her days in thehospital at the Castel. "

"Never, never;" shouted the farmer. 

"And I, who meant to attend to your business, " said Tom; "I, who wasgoing to work your farm; I, who meant to save our family from ruinand you from the shame that will necessarily fall partly on you as amember of that family; I, who am her cousin and who would have doneanything and everything for her, I am put aside as worthless stuff. "

"Oh!" groaned the farmer; "Do you know him?" he asked. 

"I have seen him but once, I do not know where he lives. "

"Do you think he will accompany her this evening?"

"Certainly, that's why she has gone out. "

"Oh! the dog--pass me the mug. "

Tom gave him the mug. The farmer took a long pull and handed it tohis nephew who drank so well that he completely emptied it, andafterwards said: "We ought to lie in wait for their arrival andattack the ninny. "

"That's what I'll do, and--" clenching his fists--"he'll be lucky ifhe escapes. "

"You ought to give him a lesson which he won't forget soon. "

"I ought to, still, when one comes to think of it, he might have meflung in prison for assault. "

"You wait till he is alone, then you can settle him. "

"If I were sentenced to a term of imprisonment, my reputation wouldbe ruined. However, I'm master of my daughter, I will give thisyoung fellow a good shaking, and, as for her; I shall see. "

"I shall be hiding behind the hedge; if you require any help, I willgive it you. "

"I think I can frighten him alone--my daughter marry one of thosewhite-faced spendthrifts, why my throat dries up at the thought ofit;--pass me the mug. "

Tom did as he was requested, feeling very uneasy. The farmer wasabout to drink, but he exclaimed: "Why, its empty. "

"Indeed, " said Tom, "let me see; so it is, I was in such a state ofmind that I did not know I had drunk all. "

"Never mind, " said his uncle, "I will fetch some more. " And heproceeded towards the cellar. 

Tom chuckled all to himself, "What a splendid piece of fun; I knewhim, he's the man to act. "

Mr. Rougeant came back with the mug brimming. The conversationcontinued to flow, so did the cider. The men were getting excited. 

"It's time for us to go out and choose a hiding-place, " said Tom. 

"Yes, let us go, " said his uncle. 

They went out. The farmer hid himself behind a hedge, Tom wentopposite him on the other side of the road also taking advantage ofthe cover which a hedge afforded him. They waited. Not a breath ofwind disturbed the grass or brambles, not a word was exchangedbetween the men on the watch. The air was stiff, but they felt itnot. The cider which they had drunk kept them warm. 

Not one of them knew exactly how they were to operate. Tom countedon his uncle and Mr. Rougeant thought he would act according tocircumstances. 

"They will never come, " said Tom to himself. He stretched himself atfull length on the grass. In less than five minutes he was sleepingsoundly. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE ENCOUNTER. 

The two young people were returning from the concert that had beengiven in St. Julian's Hall. They were walking. It was a beautifulevening. Not a breath of wind, not a cloud in the sky. Both natureand humanity slumbered. A deep silence prevailed along the lane inwhich the young couple were walking. 

'Twas a charming spot, these lanes, bordered on either side by highhedges of stone and earth, on which grew furze and grass, while hereand there, a solitary primrose--it was the month of March, --wasbending its slender stalk, loaded as it was with dew. 

Conversation is an art. So is silence. The latter is even less knownthan the former. 

Both the young people were now silent as they proceeded towards "LesMarches, " but it was a silence which spoke. They knew each other'sthoughts, one heart spoke to the other; they were both impressedwith the supreme beauty of nature and filled with love, for thatsame evening they had plighted their troth. 

It was Frank who first broke the silence: "How beautifully serenethe sky is, Adèle; almost as clear as your forehead. "

"What an immense number of stars, " she said, "astronomy must be abeautiful pursuit. "

"It must be, " he replied. "To soar far above this earth, tocontemplate those worlds, to feel oneself lifted into space, tovisit the moon with its mountains and rivers, plateaux and lakes; toaccompany Venus and Mars and all the other planets in their course;to float, as it were, amongst these gigantic masterpieces of theCreator, to calculate their dimensions, to measure their course, toweigh those monsters; to bring to light the treasures of metal whichthey contain, by the aid of Spectrum. Analysis, all this and a greatdeal more which is associated with the science must be indeed fullof wonderful exhiliration. "

"To hear you talk, one would imagine that you yearn to be amongstall those stars and planets, " said Adèle. 

"It is not the case, " he answered, "because--I'll tell you why--I amcontent to have Venus so near to me. "

"I am afraid you will have to be Mars, " she said somewhat anxiously. 

"Not a bit of it, " he replied cheerfully, "Mars is generallyrepresented with a long beard, and look, I have but a slightmoustache; have you ever noticed, " he continued, "that all theseplanets move in circles. I think the circle is the ideal figure ofthe Creator. Man cannot measure a circle or sphere. "

"I thought the heavenly bodies moved in ellipses, " she interrupted. 

"Yes, but ellipses are but a form of circles. "

"Of course, I had never thought about it before, one has so much tolearn in life. Nature's wonders are numerous and full of instructionfor the thoughtful student. It seems to me sometimes that my soulconverses with nature. A cloud obscures the sky, and I feel thatcloud passing over my heart; a ray of sunshine illumines the earth, and causes my flowers to open their petals and the dew-drops on thegrass to shine like millions of diamonds, and I smile. "

"You have the soul of a poetess, " he said. 

She laughed a rippling laugh. "I do not know, but I think the studyof nature, the proper study of man. "

"Others, --with a less poetic soul, doubtless--seem to differ fromyou. I think Pope did. But you love nature, and do not care forman. "

Her pearly teeth saw the light. 

When Adèle bade good-night to Frank that evening, a strangepresentiment of coming evil overcame her. 

She walked inside her father's house. When she entered the kitchenshe was surprised at finding it empty. The lamp was on the table. Itwas lighted. Beside it was an empty mug. She lighted a candle, wentinto the parlour, and divested herself of her hat and jacket, thinking her father would soon return. 

She did not feel at ease, however. Every other minute she turnedround nervously, half afraid of finding someone in the room. Wherecould her father be? She grew anxious. Going at the foot of thestairs, she called out: "Father, father. "

Not a sound, save that of her voice which sounded funereally. 

She went to the door, opened it, and looked outside. Everything wasstill. All at once she heard something. It was not a shout, it was ascream, a shriek, an entreaty; it came again, much louder this time, she could distinctly hear the word: "Help. "

She distinguished that voice; there was no mistaking it, she wouldhave discerned its sound amongst ten thousand. This voice wasFrank's. He had cried, he had implored, there was but one thing forher to do--to run to his aid. 

Without even taking the trouble to fetch her hat, she hastily ran inthe direction from whence the sound came. 

Breathless, she arrived upon the scene. There, on the ground, laythe prostrate figure of a man, his head supported on the knee ofanother one. 

The prostrate figure was her father's, the other man was Frank. 

When he saw her with her hair dishevelled and her frantic look, Frank looked astonished. He then beckoned to her and said: "It isonly a faint, and I hope only a slight bleeding of the nose. I thinkhe will soon regain consciousness. Is there any water about here?"

"Not that I know of, " she said, "but I will hasten home and bringsome. "

While she was gone, Mr. Rougeant opened his eyes. "Where am I?" hesaid, after in vain trying to recollect his thoughts. 

"With a friend, " answered Frank, bending over him. 

The farmer closed his eyes, then opened them again and fixed them onFrank. He quickly shut them again, however. He had recognized theyoung man and a pang of remorse shot through his hard heart. 

Adèle soon came with a small can full of water; and a basin. Herfather kept his eyes closed. He had not the courage to open them. She poured the water in a basin and began to wash his face. 

When she had finished, he opened his eyes resolutely and said: "Nowthat I am washed and the bleeding has ceased, I had better go home. "Without having the courage to look at Frank he said: "I think I cando with my daughter. "

He tried to rise, but uttered a cry of pain. "My foot hurts mefearfully, " he said, "I cannot move without your aid. "

Thereupon they both helped him to his feet, while he kept a frowninglook and a silent tongue. 

"Do you think you can walk leaning on my shoulder?" said Frank. 

"Perhaps, " he replied, and, placing his hand on the preferredshoulder, he began to hobble along; stopping often and speakingseldom. 

When the farmer was comfortably installed near the fire, his legcarefully placed on a footstool, Frank, knowing he was not wanted, took his leave, expressing a hope that the injured limb would soonbe all right again. 

The farmer shook his head sadly, and gave a look at Frank that wasvery significant. 

Then he shrank for some time into a state of complete silence, buthis face was clouded and his bushy eyebrows were more prominentlydrawn over his eyes than they had been for a long time. 

He hardly spoke a word to Adèle that evening, barely answering herquestions. 

How had the tables thus been turned? When Mr. Rougeant heard Frankpass by alone, he hastily vaulted over the hedge, intending toattack him, if not with his fists, at least with his tongue. ButProvidence directed otherwise. He miscalculated the height of thehedge on the side of the road, --for the field was higher than theroad--and fell flat on his nose and face, one of his feet twistingunder him and getting sprained. 

The blow which he sustained in falling and the pain caused by hissprained ankle caused him to faint. Frank ran to his aid, lifted himcarefully, and placed his head on his own knee. 

It was in this position, as we have already seen, that Adèlediscovered them. 

When Frank saw the farmer's nose bleeding so profusely, and thedeathly paleness on his face, he cried for help. It was this crywhich the young lady heard. The same cry aroused Tom, who wassleeping soundly, doubtless dreaming of his fair cousin. He lookedcarefully over the hedge, and when he saw how matters stood and howhis uncle lay, he took to his heels and fled. Cowardice lent himwings. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

The morning after the accident, Mr. Rougeant, whose wrath wasterrible, began to abuse his daughter. 

"You are the cause of all this, " he said, as he surveyed the injuredlimb. 

"Very indirectly, I should think, " she replied. 

"What do you mean? How dare you disobey me as you have done lately;you have made me suffer; you have, under my very eyes, been making afool of me--your father. " He paused, as if unable to frame his nextsentence. 

"I beg your pardon, father, " said the young lady respectfully; "butI have not been trying to 'make a fool' of you, as you say. Iconscientiously think that I am right in encouraging the attentionsof such an upright----"

"Stop your nonsense, " he cried imperatively, his face assuming aterrible aspect, "you are an idiotic girl, you are trying to ruin meby listening to this pasteboard fellow, this scoundrel, thisflippant rascal. "

Adèle was stung with her father's bitter sarcasm against one whomshe loved. She looked straight at her father; she knew he was unableto move from his place, and this made her bolder than she wouldotherwise have been. She answered with a firm and steady voice: "Hesaved your life once. "

"Saved my life, how? Only for his presence yesterday, I should notnow be lying idle. "

"I am not talking about yesterday, " she replied; "I mean, when hesaved you from drowning in the quarry at the risk of being himselfdragged in. "

"What has that to do with it?"

"It means that he is not a 'pasteboard fellow, ' as you say; it meansthat you ought to acknowledge his kindness; it means that you shouldbe thankful for the great service which he rendered you. "

"If I owe him anything, let him say so and I will pay him, " hereplied. He had not the slightest intention of doing so. 

"You owe him a debt of gratitude, and you should bless him; insteadof that you curse him, " she said, her lips quivering and the tearsrushing to her eyes. The idea of her beloved being cursed. 

"Yes, I hate him, " said the farmer, "I cordially distaste that dirtyrat; he is the worm that eats my bones; but, you never shall marryhim; do you hear? never. "

"I will never marry anyone else, " she said, her face assuming adesperate calmness. 

"Yes you will. "

"Father, " she said, her face almost as white as the cloth which shewas spreading on the table, "it is useless to speak any more aboutit, it pains me to have to speak thus to you, but I will never marryTom Soher. "

She heard the grinding of her father's teeth. 

"If I did so, " she continued; "I feel that I should commit a greatsin; I never could love him, therefore his life with me would bemiserable; he would feel lonely, and, I am afraid, would soonreturn to his former habits of intemperance. Then I should bebreaking my word, for I have promised----"

"You have!" howled the father. 

She did not go on; her father's eyes were riveted on her with aterrible look. She feared he was going mad. She could not proceed, mesmerized as she seemed to be under that awful gaze. 

At last she turned her attention to her work. 

Not another word was spoken on the subject that day. 

Neither of them ate much that evening. It was almost impossible forAdèle to swallow anything. What she attempted to eat, stuck in herthroat. Her father, who was seated near the fire in his accustomedplace, seemed also to have lost his appetite. 

At last, he thrust his food away from him with a gesture ofimpatience, and began moodily to contemplate the embers that wereglowing in the grate. When nine o'clock--his usual hour forretiring--struck, Adèle helped him into the parlour. 

It was there on a sofa that he insisted on sleeping while his foothurt him as it now did. 

While the conversation was going on between father and daughter, Frank was crossing the fields near "Les Marches, " and soon foundhimself beneath Adèle's window. It was open. He took out his pocketbook, and hastily writing a few lines on a leaf, tore off the pieceof paper, rolled it into a ball, and threw it straight through thewindow. 

Then he cautiously glided away. 

When Adèle retired for the night, she did not perceive the ball ofpaper that lay on the floor of her room. Her brain was so occupiedwith her thoughts that it failed to fulfil its functions towardsthe eyes. 

She fixed her optics for a moment on the crumpled piece of paper, but she saw it not. She was undressing, but she knew it not; she didit mechanically, as if by instinct. Her thoughts were with herfather and the unhappy home she was condemned to share with him. Home! alas! it was more like a hell. She shuddered at the thought. She was of a naturally quiet temperament, and she abhorred theseawful scenes. 

She earnestly hoped that the time would soon come when she wouldonce more sail in smooth waters. 

As she was moving about, her foot trod upon some object. "What isthis?" she said to herself, as she stooped to pick it up. By whomthat piece of paper had been placed there, she could not imagine. 

By the light of the candle, she managed to read the missive. How herheart gladdened. She read it over and over again. It contained amessage from Frank telling her that he hoped to hear from her at herearliest convenience. "So you will, " she said half aloud as shecarefully folded the small piece of paper. 

She slept peacefully that night. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE. 

On the following day she wrote to Frank and gave the letter toJacques, asking him to carry it in the evening at the Rohais. Theold man smiled at her, and carefully pocketing the piece of silverwhich she thrust into his hand, he remarked: "I s'pose you don'tcare for the guv'nor to know anything about this 'ere business. "

"How dare you call my father so?" she said, pretending to beoffended; "no; don't let him have any knowledge of this or any othermessage I may entrust you with in the future. "

"He won't; look 'ere Miss, I'll do anything for you, you're a good'un; and as for your father gettin' anything out of me; I'd as wellhave the last bone in my body pulled out afore I'd say anythingagainst you or your young man. You're the very picture of yourmother, that you are, she was a good woman----. "

"Jacques, if you cannot express yourself in English, talk inGuernsey French, as you used to do, " she said, for Jacques wasshowing forth his knowledge. 

"What have I said?" he questioned in his native tongue, then headded: "I thought I was speaking well, I beg your pardon if I haveoffended you, Miss. "

"You have not displeased me, " she said. "I must go now, or myfather will be fretting about my absence. I can trust you?"

"Yes, I will do anything for you. Good-night, Miss. "

"Good-night, Maît Jacques. "

And, with a light step and a cheerful countenance, she entered theroom in which her father was. He was seated in an armchair beforethe fire-place, his attention centred on a halter which he wasendeavouring to manufacture. He did not fail to notice the laughingeyes and the radiant expression of his daughter. 

"What has she been about?" he mused, "has she been speaking to thatsmooth-tongued, stuck-up son of a ragamuffin. "

His face assumed a sour expression as the suspicion crossed hismind. After a few moments of silence, he raised his small andconstantly flickering eyes, and asked in a sour tone: "Where haveyou been all this time?"

"I have been speaking to Maît Jacques, " she replied. 

"The whole time. "

"Yes, all the time. "

"Only to him?"

"Yes, to him alone. "

Mr. Rougeant was satisfied. The idea of disbelieving his daughternever entered his head. He knew she would never debase herself byuttering a falsehood, and he quietly resumed his work. Then, after afew minutes of silence, he turned again to her: "Is Jacques gone?"he enquired. 

"I do not know, " she replied. 

"Well run and see, and, if he is not, tell him to come and speak tome. "

An anxious look passed over Adèle's face. Fortunately, she was ableto slip out of the room before her father noticed it. 

"He wants to question him, " she said to herself; "I shall have towarn him. My father is almost sure to find him out. Oh! I do hopethat he is gone. " She approached the stable, where Jacques usuallyspent his last half-hour. She went towards the door, opened it andcalled out: "Jacques. "

No answer. 

She joyously tripped towards the house. After a few steps shestopped. "I have not called out very loudly, " she thought, "ifJacques were still here and my father were to see him, hissuspicions would be aroused. "

She retraced her steps, and in a half-frightened tone, wishing withall her heart that her cry might not be answered, she called outagain in a louder voice: "Maît Jacques; are you about there?"

She listened eagerly. Her summons were not answered. She wenttowards the house and entered it, saying: "He's gone, I have notseen him. "

"It does not matter much, " said her father, "I will tell him what Ihave to say to-morrow. "

Her anxiety recommenced. She looked at her father and tried to readhis thoughts. In this she failed. He had one of those hard set facesthe owners of which seem devoid of soul or sentiment. 

When she awoke the following morning, Adèle's first thoughts wereabout her father and his workman. What was he going to question himabout? Ah! he had perhaps seen her through the window, giving aletter to the old man and cautioning him. 

When they had finished breakfasting, Adèle, who began to hope herfather had completely forgotten all about his workman, was verymuch annoyed when Mr. Rougeant told her to tell Jacques to come andspeak to him. 

She searched out the old man, and, having found him, she said tohim: "Did you see Mr. Mathers yesterday evening?"

"Yes, Miss, " he answered, taking care to speak in his native tonguethis time; "I saw him. He thanked me and asked a few questions aboutyour health and Mr. Rougeant's foot. "

"I am very much obliged to you, " said Adèle, "and now, you must comeand talk to my father. I think he means to question you, but youwill be on your guard; will you not?"

"Oh, he is not the man to take me in. If he asks me if you gave me aletter yesterday, or anything else concerning you, I know what toanswer him. "

"You will speak the truth?"

"Speak the truth and be taken in, not I; there's no harm in fibbingwhen it's for doing good, Miss. "

"If you are prepared to utter falsehoods, Jacques, for the sake ofshielding me, you will lose my approbation. I shall be very angrywith you if you do so. You understand; you must not swerve from thepath of truth. "

"Well, I never, " said Jacques, "and it was all for your sake. Weshall see. I'm not going to let your father learn anything from me. Jerusalem, I would rather pull the hair off my head. "

"The plain truth, " said Adèle, shaking her forefinger at him andlooking very severe. 

"I know my work, Miss, " he replied as he followed her into thehouse. 

The farmer was seated near the fire. He did not even turn round whenJacques entered. The latter went straight up to his employer andsaid: "You wanted me to come and speak to you. "

Adèle tried to look composed, but her nerves were unsteady. Shecould not bear to leave the room, while the men were talking abouther. No, she must hear her doom; at any rate, she must be there totry and defend herself. 

"Yes, " said the farmer after a while, "what was it about now? oh!this evening----. "

"Yesterday evening;" thought Adèle, "he is making a mistake. "

"This evening, " the farmer went on, "you will carry my boots to theshoemaker's. "

"All right, Sir, " answered Jacques. 

The young lady could not restrain a sigh of relief. 

Jacques looked at her and winked--a most rude thing to do--but thenJacques did not know better. 

Quoth Mr. Rougeant, his eyes fixed on the grate: "You will tell himto be as quick as he can about mending them; I mean to walk in a fewdays. "

"All right, Sir. "

"I don't want anything expensive; in fact, I want him to mend themas cheaply as he possibly can. But, you understand, I want him torepair them well. "

"A good job costs money, " Jacques ventured to interpose. 

"I told you I don't want anything expensive, " retorted the farmerangrily. 

"Oh, that's all right, Sir; I'll tell him so, Sir, " said theworkman, frightened at Mr. Rougeant's sour tone. 

"Well, you will fetch them this evening and be careful to tell himwhat I require; a good and inexpensive job, or I won't pay him. "

"All right, Sir, " said Jacques, and he left the room muttering:"He's growing from bad to worse; he is a stingy old niggard. "

What was Tom Soher doing all this time? He was drinking. 

He had never loved Adèle Rougeant, and when he saw that there wasnot much chance of winning her, he took to drink. In reality, hepreferred his bottle to his cousin. Of course, he put all the blameon the misfortunes which he had encountered. 

Once, and only once, his father tried timidly to rebuke him. "No, "he said, "there is nothing for me to do but to drown my sorrow. Welcome ruin. "

"Why not turn a new leaf?" pleaded Mr. Soher. 

"Bah!" he replied as he walked away, "what's the use!--no; good-byeto everything. "

Spoilt child; he little knew the terrible death that awaited him. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

MR. ROUGEANT GOES TO CHURCH. 

The first Sunday after Mr. Rougeant's recovery, Adèle said sheintended to go to church. The farmer's eyes flickered more thanusual. "I think I shall accompany you, " he said. 

His daughter started. What could he mean? He had not been to churchthese last three years or more; besides, he had not a decent suit ofclothes to put on. Oh! it was disgusting. 

"He is afraid of my meeting Frank on the road, " she said to herself;"he need not fear, I am green, but not quite so much as he seems tothink. " "You have not even a suit of clothes that is fit to wear, "she said aloud. 

"They will do well enough. "

"Your coat is as green as grass, and your trousers quite yellow. Ifit was in the evening, I should perhaps go with you, but in themorning--no. "

"If you don't come with me, I suppose I shall have to come withyou. "

"You shall not come with me this morning, Sir. "

"How dare you----"

"I will not go. "

"Do as you like. "

"I shall go this evening, " she said, "the lamps will be lighted. Ihope that stock of bad oil which they have is not used up, because Ido not want the church to be well-lighted. "

"How is that?"

"How is that?" she said in a grieved tone. "People might take youfor a rag picker. "

Her father was not a bit angry at her for saying this. She knew it, hence her boldness. 

He almost smiled, a very--very rare thing for him to do; he wasproud to think that people would say to each other: "Look, there isMr. Rougeant, he is not a proud man. "

On the evening in question, the clergyman almost lost his speech andhis senses when he saw Mr. Rougeant sitting beside his daughter. 

The worshippers thought not of the prayers as they were being read, or the audience of the sermon, as it was being delivered; theythought of Mr. Rougeant. 

And, when the people came out of the church, instead of the usualremarks about the weather, folks said to one another: "Have you seenMr. Rougeant. " "Yes, " answered the more composed, "it is not oftenone sees him about here. "

"Oh!" answered the others, "how shocking. "

A party of elderly ladies were assembling just outside thechurchyard gates. 

"Have you seen Mr. Rougeant?" they asked unanimously, as theyapproached one another. 

"Oh, yes, " replied Mrs. Martin, "I was quite astounded when I sawhim enter. "

"Yes, but you see, " remarked another, "he has been ill, and maybe hehas felt the need of worshipping in the house of God. "

"What a shabby coat, " said a third. "His trousers were worn out andthreadbare, " put in Miss Le Grove, who was not able to approach verynear the group on account of her immense corpulence. 

"His daughter seemed rather ill at ease, " said No. Three. 

"I think there is some of her fault, " said Mrs. Martin, "sheencourages a young man of bad reputation. "

The whole group held up their hands and assumed an horror-strickenattitude. 

"Impossible!", exclaimed No. Two. 

"Shocking!" declared Miss Le Grove. 

"We must be very careful about what we advance'" remarked No. Two, who generally passed for being a very Christian lady; then she addedafter a pause: "Miss Rougeant is, as everyone of us knows, good, well-bred and of refined taste. "

"I only recited what I had heard, of course I don't believe it, "said Mrs. Martin, a little disconcerted. 

"If she marries and goes away from home, there will only be onething for her father to do, and that will be to marry again, "remarked Miss Le Grove, who found the state of forced celibacyunendurable. 

The others looked at each other. Some could not force back the smilethat rushed to their lips. Miss Le Grove noticed the suppressedmirth and blushed. Then losing her presence of mind, and wishing toexplain the why and wherefore of her face being so red, she said, slightly retiring: "Isn't the weather warm. "

There was a hoar-frost. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, an accident occurred, while Miss LeGrove was backing her voluminous self, which sufficed to dispersethe assemblage. 

A little boy was standing with his back to the obese woman. He wasbusily engaged, endeavouring to count the stars, when that mostworthy spinster backed against him and sent him sprawling. She didnot even feel the rencontre; it was like an iron-clad coming incollision with a fishing-smack. 

The little parish school-boy was none the less irritated. He plantedhimself before Miss Le Grove, to make sure she would see him, made afrightful grimace and shouted: "You're an old half-a-ton. " Then hedecamped. 

The other ladies giggled. 

The company dispersed. 

A group of youths who were standing near shouted "Well said, _gamin_. "

Going home, the topic of the conversation was Miss Le Grove, garnished with a sprinkling of Mr. Rougeant. 

As for the lady whom the little rogue had styled "half-a-ton" shewalked alone muttering execrations against this "little wretch, " andtelling herself that there were no Christians, that these womenlaughed at her, because she chose to remain what Providence haddirected she should be, and that Mr. Rougeant was perfectly right inkeeping away from people, who had nothing to do when they came outof church but to backbite their neighbours. 

In future, she too would shun these sophisticated people. 

And--puffing and blowing; gesticulating and perspiring;soliloquizing and threatening, she retook possession of her home, sweet home. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

LOVE TRIUMPHS. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Rougeant, " said Jacques on the Monday morning, ashe perceived his employer walking about the farmyard. 

"Good-morning, Jacques, " responded the farmer. 

"Your foot is better then?" said the workman, eager to commence theconversation, for Mr. Rougeant was already moving in a contrarydirection. 

"Yes, it's quite better now, " replied the farmer, arresting hissteps. 

"Where's Miss Rougeant?" questioned Jacques. 

"Rummaging the house; do you want to speak to her?"

"My wife told me that there was a long time she had not seen her. She says she is lonely and would very much like to see MissRougeant. She says your daughter is so kind and so much like hermother, that she would be very thankful if Miss Rougeant wouldcondescend to visit her once or twice while she is laid up. "

At the mention of his wife, Mr. Rougeant felt sorrow in his heart. He had loved once, but now, his nature was changed; he used to behappy and full of contentment then, although a struggling youngfarmer, for he had a bright, lovable and loving wife to cheer himup. 

Now he was worth ten thousand pounds, and he felt the most miserableof men. 

He stood still, the very picture of abject misery, not uttering asingle word. 

"Perhaps you will not mind telling her, " said Jacques, breaking thesilence. 

The farmer looked up; "I shall tell her, " he said, and walked away. 

"Our little affair is coming off splendidly, " said Adèle as shetripped into the garden to speak to Jacques. "Yes, Miss, you are soclever, you deserve to succeed. "

"We must not rejoice too soon; did you see Frank last night?"

"Yes, Miss. "

"And he told you that he would come?"

"Yes, Miss; he gave me a letter for you but I must not give it toyou now, I fancy Mr. Rougeant is watching us. "

"You are quite right, leave it in the stable when you go there and Iwill fetch it. Has my father asked any questions?"

"Not one; he looks very sad. "

"He is. It surprises me that he never questions you; he has suchconfidence in you; he would never think of suspecting you. "

"If he asks me any questions, I'll know how to answer them. But, "added the workman, laughing, "I must go and see how the horse isgetting on. You will find the letter under the old saddle. "

"Thank you very much for all your trouble, " said Adèle as shedisappeared through the doorway. 

After having read the letter which she had fetched from the stable, Adèle smiled. "He will meet me near Jacques' cottage at six o'clockthis evening, " she said to herself. "I must try and hide my joy asmuch as I can, for my father will grow suspicious if he reads myhappiness. "

She had to keep a continual vigilance to prevent herself fromsmiling during the day. When evening approached, she dressedherself and proceeded towards the cottage. 

The sun was setting beautifully in the west. When she reached thetop of the hill, she could see him, gently sinking, as it were, intothe sea, illuminating the horizon and the ocean in a flood ofsplendour. As it disappeared, the Hanois Lighthouse displayed itsbeacon light. 

The visit to Mrs. Dorant was of short duration. 

At half-past six, a young couple might be seen wending their wayslowly through the beautiful country lanes. They talked in softaccents. Now and then Adèle's low, silvery laugh sounded on thetranquil evening air. 

They wandered thus for two hours. "I thought we had been out onlyabout one hour, " said Adèle as Frank returned his watch to his fob. 

"Love takes no account of time, " he said. "Now, let us talkbusiness. I profess to be a business man you know. "

They talked about the obstacles to be vanquished, of Mr. Rougeant'swrath, of Tom Soher's jealousy. 

"Be of good cheer. _Amor vincit omnia_, " were Frank's last words toher that evening. 

When she opened the wicket gate, Adèle gave a horror-stricken start. She perceived the form of a man, stretched at full length before thefront door. She could not restrain a cry of alarm. Frank, who hadfollowed her, hastily advanced to see what was the matter. He hadnot gone far, before he saw the front-door open, and Mr. Rougeantcome out, holding a lighted candle in his hand. 

He hastily retreated farther away and watched the trio. He couldeasily see them without being seen. The light that came from insidethe house, and that from the candle, shone full on the group. 

He saw Mr. Rougeant pick up the prostrate figure, set the man on hisfeet, and, after having shut the gate after him, return inside. 

This man, who walked with such an unsteady gait, was Tom Soher. Frank took the trouble to follow him home. He feared for his safety, accidents are so common with people in his state. He set hisconscience at ease by seeing the tottering figure enter the house ofthe "Prenoms. "

He pitied this slave to intemperance. He shuddered at the immenseper cent. Of his countrymen who were like this man. 

How had Tom Soher happened to be lying before the threshold of "LesMarches?" We shall see. 

That same evening, he was with a few of his sort, drinking at the"Forest Arms. " He was more than half-intoxicated, when, without aword, he left the bar-room. 

"Where are you going?" shouted his comrades. 

"Bring him back, " said some. 

"Let him go, " said the others. 

Tom did not heed their talk, but directed his steps towards uncleRougeant's farm-house. 

He opened the door, walked straight in, and seated himself in achair near the long bare table, without saying a word to his uncle. 

The latter was in a dreadful state of mental excitement. He waswalking up and down the room with his hands thrust deeply into histrousers' pockets, uttering execrations, blaming everyone andeverything. He was so occupied with his ravings that he only cast aglance at his nephew, who stood, or rather sat, wondering what thedickens his uncle was about. 

"Ah, this generation, " said the farmer, "this generation is a mass ofspoilt and pampered dolls"--he was thinking of his daughter--"theyonly think about running here and there; paying visits to friends, taking tea with cousins, or walks with dressed-up mashers. 

"They do not care if they leave a poor old devil"--the appellationwas appropriate enough--"all alone, with not even a dog to keep himcompany or a cat which he could kick; off they go, dressed in thegarments for which you have paid out of your own pockets; ay, andfor which you have toiled and perspired----"

"You're quite right, uncle, " came from Tom. 

The farmer gave a sudden start. He had altogether forgotten hisnephew's presence. He went on:--"People are as proud as if they wereall of blood royal. Even the poorest women, one sees pass in theafternoon with perambulators in which sleeps some little urchin who, mayhap, is brought up nearly all on the charity of saving peoplelike me. 

"It's a curse to have to pay taxes for this vermin. I say it's adownright injustice to make us, who attach ten times more value to apenny than they do, pay for the education of their brats. 

"Ah! in my time, in the good old time, which is alas, gone for ever, we, the respectable people, were rolled about in clumsy littlewooden carts, and the children of the labourers were carried intheir mother's arms and placed between two bundles of ferns, whiletheir mother went about her work. For, poor women went to work inthose days. Ay! they had to do it or starve. But now, what do wesee? These labourers' wives with servants. "

He stamped, his foot impatiently. "And when they are destitute andhomeless from sheer want of foresight, they are kept and fed out ofthe taxes which come out of our pockets. So-called civilisation andeducation are ruining the present generation. "

"That's where you're right, uncle, " interposed his nephew. 

Mr. Rougeant went on: "Farmers' sons do not want to work now. Everyone rails at manual labour. If this state of things goes on, theisland will soon be a mass of ruined and dissipated human beings. The honourable people who have a pedigree they can boast of, aremixing with foreigners, whom no one knows whence they have sprungfrom. If you drink a glass of cider now a days, you are termed adrunkard by a lot of tea-drinkers, teetotalers and----. "

"A glass of cider would do good, one is thirsty this weather, "interrupted Tom, who, although half asleep, had caught the wordcider. 

Without even casting a glance at his nephew, so absorbed was he, thefarmer continued: "One hears nothing but bicycle-bells. Thesebicycles are the greatest nuisance yet invented. I am surprised thatpeople rack their brains in order to invent such worthless rubbish. Every one must have a bicycle. There may not be any bread in thehouse, the children may not be able to go to school or the wife tochurch for want of a decent pair of boots, but, 'I will have abicycle. ' And then, it is so very easy to have one, there's the hiresystem. Another curse of civilisation that is ruining the poor man. If our peasantry knew how to put by for a rainy day, like the Frenchcountry-folk do, we should not have so many applications for relief, our hospitals would well nigh be empty. "

"_Vere dia_, uncle. "

"Poor people now are not half so polite as they used to be when Iwas young. They call each other Mess. Instead of Maît. , and theystyle their superiors Maît. When they ought to say Mess. 

"The insolent rogues, they only have a smooth tongue when they cometo beg. People may say what they like, foolish men may talk aboutthe State establishing scholarships, for the talented poor; let themwork. I have worked all my life, and hard too, and here I am, betterthan any of them. "

"Educate them with the States' revenue. Indeed! Bring them up likegentlemen, for them to laugh at you later on, to look down upon youas if you were so much stubble. "

"That's what they like. Give young people a few pence to rattle intheir trousers' pockets, a collar, cuffs, a sixpenny signet ring onthe little finger, a nickel-silver mounted cane and a pair ofgloves, and there they go, not caring a fillip whether their parentshave toiled and struggled to rise to their present position, ignoring the necessity of thrift, a happy-go-lucky generation. Andthen, at the end of it all, a deep chasm, into which they will allfall headlong; an immense pyre that will consume all their vanitiesand profligacies. "

"They deserve to be burnt, indeed they do, uncle. "

"Someone was even talking of establishing a public library here. Well let them complete the ruin. It is as well. I hope to be dead bythat time though. Life, then, will be intolerable. I hope to sleepwith those worthy champions of labour--my ancestors--in thechurchyard yonder. 

"Books!--what do they want books for? I never yet knew a man whoread books that was worth a farthing. 

"I knew one once who was versed in book-lore, but, worse luck tohim, he could not bind a wheat-sheaf or weed a perch of parsnips, and the result--bankruptcy; failure. That's what it comes to. 

"Books!--do they want to make schoolmasters of us all, or do theywish us to be always reading our eyes out instead of attending toour business?

"Books!--they are only good for idle loafers; they offer an excusefor shunning one's duty. 'I want to read a bit, ' they say when toldto do something. 'Oh, let me just finish this page, it is sointeresting, ' they plead, when asked to quickly fetch some article. This is what Adèle used to do, but I nipped this slothful tendencyin the bud. I would have none of it. "

He stopped his discourse and his walk, gazed at his nephew who hadfallen across the table and was now sleeping soundly; thenrecommenced his peregrinations. 

"I am disgusted with the world; I don't know what it will all cometo. Some of these modern farmers are even discarding the _grandecharrue_. Oh! shades of our ancestors. The great plough--the onlyfeast of the year that is worth anything, mutton and roast beef, hamand veal, cider by the gallon and a jovial company of good old sonsof the soil. 

"It is horrible thus to see our old routine trampled underfoot, ourancestors' customs sneered at. "

Mr. Rougeant was extremely animated. Like nearly every other countryGuernseyman, he was opposed to change. 

He walked about with distorted features, his eyes shining with astrange light. 

He thought of his family dwindling away; of his daughterdisregarding his commands and disobeying him. In his innermost soulhe felt convinced that she would never marry his nephew. He cast hiseyes in the direction of the latter. What! he was sleeping while_he_ was enduring all the agony of a king who is being dethroned; ofa general, whose army is in open mutiny against him; of amillionaire who sees his whole fortune disappear through some awfulcatastrophe! It was unendurable. 

He again began to pace the room. Having finally arrived at adecision as to his future conduct, and thinking just then of hisdaughter's disregard for his tastes, he shouted in a voice ofthunder, bringing down his fist upon the table with an awful crash. 

"_Palfrancordi!_ let her act according to her own stubborn will, butshe'll not inherit a penny of mine, not one double. "

He was now quite close to his nephew and the latter, aroused by thenoise which his uncle had made, raised his head and yawninglydrawled out: "You're quite right, uncle. "

The farmer stood straight in front of Tom Soher, his arms folded, his penetrating eye fixed scrutinizingly on his nephew. He perceivedthe latter's state; his wrath increased. "What!" he ejaculated; "youare drunk!"

Tom was in such a plight that he understood not his uncle, neitherdid he perceive his anger. He muttered: "You're quite right, uncle. "

"Then begone, you wretched inebriate. I'll not have intoxicatedbrutes about my house. "

So saying, he seized bewildered Tom, dragged him through thevestibule and hurled him outside, slamming the door after his nephewwithout even waiting to see what became of him. 

Then, wearied and tired out by his exertions, he sank into a chairand began to ponder about this new discovery. He mentally resolvedthat he would never have a drunkard for his son-in-law. 

Then he gradually grew calmer. The reaction was setting in. 

He was still engaged in his reflections when he heard a cry. 'Twashis daughter's. He lightened a candle and hastened to open the door, wondering what could have happened. The sight of his nephew lyingthere, chilled him with terror. Was he dead? Had he killed him? Ifso, it was the crowning point of all his woes. 

How he raised him and sent him home we have already seen. 

When Mr. Rougeant was again with his daughter, he kept a doggedsilence. She gathered from his demeanour that he had had a frightfulshock, but took great care not to question him. Hardly a word wasexchanged between them that evening. 

Adèle was glad of it, for she had her thoughts occupied with herwedding which was to come off in three weeks. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

WEDDED. 

After all the commotion, the wedding was a very quiet one. 

Adèle left the house early one bright summer morning. 

The sun was rising, illuminating the sky with all its variouscolours; the lark was soaring towards heaven's gates; the mowerscould already be heard sharpening their scythes in the hay fields, and Mary and Louisa, the tenant's daughters, were busily engagedmilking their father's cows. 

A carriage, drawn by two grey horses, carried the heiress of "LesMarches" to be married to Frank Mathers. 

The beautifying properties of love shone on the bride's andbridegroom's countenances as they stepped out of the church of St. ----. 

In both their souls was a paradise. 

From time to time, Mrs. Mathers assumed a thoughtful expression. 

"I cannot help thinking of my father, " she said, as thecarriage-wheels rattled over the road near "Les Gravées. "

"Let not this mar your happiness, " he answered joyfully, "perhaps hewill relent when he sees that it is of no use grumbling. "

Adèle smiled, for, in spite of everything, she would be happy. "I_am_ joyful, " she said, "but as for his pardoning me, well--you donot know him as well as I do. "

The next day while Mr. And Mrs. Mathers were enjoying a snug little_tête-à-tête_, the postman brought them a letter. It was from Mr. Rougeant. 

"I told you he would be glad to renew his acquaintance, " said Frank, as soon as he saw the signature. 

"What's this?" he said. "A cheque, Adèle; a cheque for one hundredpounds! It's our wedding present, I suppose; let me read theletter:"

 "To my Daughter, --I have heard that you have been married. You think that I will bend. You are mistaken. Moreover, as I warned you before you took that rash step that I would take care you would not inherit a single penny of mine; I send you this cheque. It is the last money which you will ever receive from me. 

 "ALFRED ROUGEANT. "

Frank's face was a blank. "Fancy to come and tell you that you tooka rash step, " he said. 

"Did not I tell you that he was stubborn?" said his wife. 

"He says that he will not bend, " continued Frank, perusing theletter for a second time. "My father-in-law, you will probablybreak, then. Those one hundred pounds are welcome all the same. "

"I was thinking of sending them back, " said Mrs. Mathers, "but, perhaps, we had better keep them; father would only be too glad tohave them back. I cannot conceive how he mustered sufficientresolution to part with his god. He must have made a supremeeffort. "

Said Frank: "To pocket both our pride and the cheque, is, I think, the best course which we can pursue. We must, however, acknowledgehis kind remittance and thank him for it. What do you think ofinviting him to tea some afternoon?"

"You are joking. "

"As far as regards the invitation, yes; but as for acknowledgingreceipt of the cheque, no. I leave you to decide whether you shalldo so. Of course, I am not supposed to have anything to do in thematter. "

"Since you leave it to me, go and open the lights of yourgreenhouses, the sun is getting warm. While you are absent, I shallwrite an answer. I cannot do it while you are here; I want to bevery serious. "

Frank went out of the room. He came back after a few minutes'absence. 

"Sit you down and listen, " said his wife. The letter which she hadwritten ran thus;--

 "My Dear Father, --I have received the cheque which you were kind enough to send me. I thank you for it. "

 "Your letter, however, pained me. You seem to think that I have wantonly disobeyed you. I have not; I have only acted honourably and conscientiously. "

 "I cannot but feel sorry for you when I think of the useless and self-inflicted sufferings which you endure. "

 "As for your property, I am happy to state that we have enough, and to spare. 

 "Father; if ever you require our aid; if ever you feel that you would like to speak to us or to see us, do not hesitate; a daughter's and a son-in-law's love will you always find in us. "

 "Your affectionate daughter, "ADÈLE. "

Frank was smiling. "I think that will do very nicely, " he said. 

When Mr. Rougeant read his daughter's missive, he uttered a cry ofcontempt. "Require your aid, --well, I shall have to sink low. Youlove me. "--He banished the thought from him, for his heart wasalready softening under the influence of those words. 

Although he and his daughter had lived a life of mutualmisunderstanding during the last years of her stay at "Les Marches, "he felt her absence much more keenly than he had anticipated. 

The days that followed were for him days of inexpressible ennui. Hewould saunter up and down the kitchen for half-an-hour at a time. Heconversed with Jacques; he tried to take interest in something; hecounted his money, his gold, his god. 

Formerly, he found great pleasure in doing so; but now, the sound ofthe precious metal awoke no feeling of satisfaction within his heartas it used to do, but rung in his ears with a funereal sound. Hethought it foretold his doom. 

He continued thus for weeks, a miserable, ill-humoured, irritatedand troubled man. 

The month of August came, warm almost to suffocation. Mr. Rougeantoften felt cold. He would sit for hours before the fire, his feetstretched at full length, his hands buried in his pockets, and hisdrooping chin resting on his bosom. His eyes were closed. 

As he sat thus one afternoon, a flood of anger roused him up; herose, waxed warm, his tottering steps feverishly paced the room fora time, then sunk back into his chair, a passion-beaten, exhaustedand perspiring man. 

He had strange thoughts sometimes. Willingly would he "have shuffledoff his mortal coil; but that the dread of something after death, that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveller returns, puzzled his will, and made him rather bear the ills he had, than flyto others that he knew not of. "

One day, Mrs. Dorant, whom he had engaged to look after the house, found him meditatively examining a piece of rope, which he held inhis hand. She was alarmed and beckoned to her husband, who was near. 

He went up to his employer, who, directly he saw that he was beingobserved, threw the rope away from him excitedly. 

"You look ill, Mr. Rougeant, " said Jacques, as he scrutinized thepale face and haggard look of the farmer. 

"So I am, " was the answer. 

"Shall I fetch a doctor, or----. "

"Go about your work, " angrily commanded Mr. Rougeant. 

Jacques did as he was bid. He, however, watched the farmer. Everymorning, he expected to find him hanging from a beam. But as timepassed on, Mr. Rougeant seemed to improve. 

He had, in fact, abandoned the horrible thought of putting an end tohis existence. 

He continued thus to live for more than four years; when his healthonce more gave way. 

At the thought of death, he shuddered. To die alone, with no friendto close his eyelids, to die like a dog, ay worse, to leave behindhim the reward of his labours and thrift to persons who had defiedhim, was intolerable. 

For they had had the impudence to tell him at the solicitor'soffice that he could not make a will giving his property to others;he could not disinherit his daughter. 

All this vexed him. He sank on the _jonquière_ exclaiming "Alas!"

CHAPTER XXVII. 

RECONCILIATION. 

Mr. Rougeant's condition continued to aggravate. The thought ofdeath struck his heart with terror. Behind him, he left a life ofselfishness and bigotry. No good deed, no act of self-denial tosoften the pangs of a stricken conscience. 

Before him, everything seemed dark, mysterious, awe-inspiring, despairing; for aught he knew, a just chastisement awaited him. 

He had toiled for gold; he had obtained it. What a man soweth thatshall he also reap. 

In spite of his avarice and the knowledge that a consultation to thedoctor would cost him something, Mr. Rougeant's terror overcomingall these; he resolved to see a physician. 

He did not send Jacques to fetch one, the visit of the medical manwould have cost him too much; he drove thither in his phaeton. 

The doctor who was consulted said the disease was of long standing. 

He gave Mr. Rougeant a bottle of medicine for which the lattergrudgingly paid three francs, and told the farmer to come and seehim again in a few days. 

As Mr. Rougeant was descending the Rohais, his old horse trottingslowly and joggedly, an unwelcome thought flashed across his mind. "I must be in the vicinity of their house, " he said to himself, then he made a gesture with his right hand. "Bah! what have I to dowith them. "

He felt very lonely, his spirits were depressed, the doctor'sremarks did not tend to enliven him. 

He heard a cry. He thought he recognized the voice of his littleAdèle. 

Was he dreaming? He roused himself. His horse had stopped short. Helooked to see what was the matter. In front of his horse, a childlay crying. What a flood of memories that childish wail had theeffect of forcing upon him. 

He jumped off his vehicle, picked up the child and asked: "Are youhurt?" He intended to have spoken softly, but his voice seemed tohave completely lost that power or any approach to it. The childlooked up half afraid, and did not answer. "Are you hurt, my littleman?" he again asked, endeavouring to soften his voice. Vainattempt; he only succeeded in speaking low. 

The "little man" who, by the by, was a girl, ceased crying, lookedat his interlocutor and answered: "No. "

The child had only been knocked down by the horse's knee whilstcrossing the road; and thanks to the sagacity of the old mare, hadescaped unhurt. 

Mr. Rougeant again bent towards the child: "Where do you live?" hequestioned. 

"Vere, " said the child with such a vague wave of the hand that anyof the three corners of the island might have been implicated in herchildish, "There. "

"But where is it. Down that way"--pointing with his finger, --"or upthat way. "

The child made a little gesture with her mouth, "a _moue_" as theFrench call it, and pointed with her lips towards the bottom of thehill. The farmer mounted his carriage, holding the child in hisarms, and drove away. Meanwhile, the child felt quite at home; shewas examining this rough man attentively. 

An indescribable something was passing within the farmer's soul. 

That little child clinging confidently to him, her large blue eyesexpressing thankfulness and contentment filled him with a queer, butby no means unpleasant sensation. He was catching a glimpse of thejoy that is reaped through performing a good action. 

There was something more than this, some power at work which hecould not analyze. There was something in that childish voice andmien; that penetrated his soul and reminded him of former days. 

He felt a tender sensation gradually overwhelming him. His heart ofstone melted, a tear rolled down that hard featured and deepwrinkled visage. 

"You cry, " said the child, "are you hurt?"

He roused himself, brushed away the tell-tale tear with a quickmovement of his right arm and whipped up his horse. 

"Are you hurt?" repeated the little girl who was not to be put offso easily. 

"No;" he answered, almost softly. 

"Trot; I like to see a horse trot, " said the child. 

But Mr. Rougeant was looking round to see if he could discernsomeone searching for the child. 

"What is your father's name?" asked the farmer. 

"Papa. "

"Humph! and your mother's?"

"Mamma. "

He tried another expedient. "What do people say to your papa, Mr. What. "

"Yes; I fink it's Mr. What. "

The farmer looked puzzled. He saw a man approaching. "I will ask himif he knows where the child lives, " he was saying to himself, whenthe little girl exclaimed: "Ah! there's 'ma; look, she's lookingfrough the window. "

"'Ma;" she cried, "I've had a ride. "

Mr. Rougeant looked round. So this was where the child lived. Hedescended from the phaeton holding the little girl in his arms andstood confronting----his daughter. 

They recognized each other. There was a moment of embarrassment. 

Then the farmer, without a word, not a muscle of his face betrayinghis emotion, handed over the parcel, turned on his heels andmounting the conveyance was soon out of view. 

He did not even cast a glance behind him. His daughter watched himdisappear, then re-entered the house. 

"Poor father, " she sighed, "what a great change, what an emaciatedfigure; he has already the appearance of a ghost. "

Then, seating herself upon a sofa, she meditated a long time. Finally, her face assumed a determined expression; "Come what may, "she said to herself; "I will not leave him descend thus into thegrave. I will make at least one real effort at reconciliation. If Ido not succeed, I shall be free from remorse. "

She talked the matter over with her husband when he came home. 

"You look terribly in earnest, " said he. "If only your fatherpossessed a heart, I should hope. I think that with the zeal whichyou now show you would melt a heart of stone. However, the task is anoble one, and if you succeed, I shall only be too glad to welcomemy father-in-law. "

Next morning, Mrs. Mathers directed her steps towards "Les Marches. "She had undertaken what seemed to be a stupendous task, and sheresolved to pursue it energetically. 

This was why she went to her father's house in person. 

While she was nearing her birth-place her father was lying in hisbed, ill. Mrs. Dorant watched near him as he tossed about his couch. 

At times he was calmer than at others; one could discern the tracesupon his face softening. For he was thinking of the time when alittle girl used to nestle upon his knee, a little child exactlyresembling the one with which he had talked on the previous day. 

He could not help thinking: "I was happier then than I now am. I hada loving wife, a child whose innocence softened my heart; but now, Iam abandoned by everyone. "

He set his teeth, he again tossed about his couch and muttered: "Itis all through my daughter's fault; she might be respectablymarried. Still, she looked happy and contented. I know thesefellows, they eat and drink everything which is not spent insuperfluities. "

As Mrs. Mathers approached the front door of "Les Marches, " she felta tremor pass through her whole frame. The once familiarsurroundings and the ennobling object of her visit inspired her withstrangely tender feelings. 

Her soul was deeply moved as she entered the house. There was thekitchen with its primitive and quaint furniture. It was deserted. She seated herself on a chair and began to ponder. 

Soft was to be her voice, tender were to be her appeals to hisconscience, earnest her entreaties, she was to plead with patience, and appeal to his most heart-melting sentiments. 

She heard someone coming downstairs. "It is he, " she said toherself, and she braced herself for the encounter. 

"How you frighten me Miss--I beg your pardon--Madam. "

It was Mrs. Dorant who uttered these words as she stood in thedoorway seemingly afraid to enter, fearing the visitor might turnout to be a ghost. 

"It is you, Mrs. Dorant, " said Mrs. Mathers; "is my fatherupstairs?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Is he ill?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Dangerously?"

"Not very; he does not want us to fetch the doctor. But what haveyou come here for? If Mr. Rougeant saw you--oh--;" here she threw upboth her hands and opened her mouth and eyes wide--"oh--" shecontinued, "master would swallow you. "

"Do you think so; but I mean to go upstairs and to talk to him. "

"Oh, don't go, " she entreated, fixing her supplicating eyes uponAdèle, "he might kill you. "

Mrs. Mathers laughed. "No, " she said, "he is my father; he is illand needs me. I am going to discharge my duty towards him. " And sosaying she ascended the creaky staircase. 

To this day, she cannot explain the sensation which she felt as sheentered the room where her father lay. 

She went straight up to her father's bedside, sank on her knees, took the hand that was lying on the bedclothes between both hers andbegan to weep. 

Mr. Rougeant quickly withdrew his hand, he contracted his brow, hislips slightly curved, he looked on her with contempt. 

"What do you want?" he said roughly. "You come to beg, you pauper, your angry creditors are clamouring for their money, you are on theverge of bankruptcy. I knew it;" he added triumphantly. 

"Father, it is true, I come to beg, but not for money. I am notpoor. "

He looked at her suspiciously. 

She turned upon him her tearful eyes and softly said: "Father, youare miserable, I want to render you happy once more. "

To her great surprise, he did not answer, but his countenance fell. "Who has told her that I am miserable and that I wish to be happyonce more?" he mused. 

His daughter seized this opportunity. She took the tide at theflood. She pleaded earnestly and tenderly. 

Then, as he balanced between pride and prejudice on one side, and alife of peace and contentment on the other, her persuasive voicemade the tendrils of his heart move uneasily. 

This stone-hearted man wept. 

So did his daughter. And amidst this flood of tears, father anddaughter were reconciled once more. 

Mr. Rougeant grew rapidly better. He had something to live for now. He, however, would not quit his farm. 

"Why don't you come and live here?" he said to Frank one evening asthey sat near a blazing fire in the parlour of "Les Marches. "

The idea struck Frank as being quite practicable. He was alreadyprevented, from want of room, to extend his business at the Rohais. 

"You would not like to see greenhouses in your fields yonder;" hesaid. 

"Yes, I would; besides, I have a lot of capital which might beprofitably used up. We might form a partnership. "

"I must think it over, " said Frank. He cast a look towards Adèle, and as he met her beseeching eyes, he added smilingly: "I think wemay as well consider the matter as settled. "

Frank's property at the Rohais was let. The farm at "Les Marches"underwent a complete transformation. 

For fully three months, there was such a rubbing and scrubbing, painting and papering, that everything was turned completelytopsy-turvy. 

Order was at last evoked, the furniture from the Rohais was broughtin and the farm-house was made a model of snugness and comfortwithin. 

Without, during those three months, nothing was heard but the noiseof the carpenter's hammers and the click of the glazier's tools. 

Mr. Rougeant was as completely transformed as his farm. He lookedupon the whole with such an air of complacency that the neighboursremarked: "He is in his second infancy. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A SAD END OF A MISPENT LIFE. 

In one of the numerous public-houses in the town of St. Peter-Port, surrounded by a gang of "roughs, " a man, still young, sat on astool. 

His face was terribly emaciated, and on it, one could discern allthe traces of that demon, _alcohol_. 

In one of his agitated hands, he held a half-filled glass, in theother, a short, blackened clay-pipe. 

His glassy eyes had a strange look. 

He made an effort to carry the tumbler which he was holding to hislips, but his nerves and muscles refused to act. 

Here, we may as well say that this man's name was Tom Soher. 

"What's the matter, Tom?" said one of the men. 

"Nothing, " responded he, making use of a very old form of lie. 

At this reassuring statement, the company resumed theirconversation, and their drink. 

But Tom, after placing his glass on the counter, retired to onecorner of the room, sat himself on an empty barrel and was soon fastasleep. 

It was a profound sleep, and, from time to time, the young mantrembled convulsively. He opened a gaping mouth, he muttered someunintelligible words, but his "pals" noticed it not. 

They were accustomed to such scenes, --the sight of man, who is nomore man; an animal, lower in many respects than the brute. 

The sleeper was dreaming. He dreamt that he saw the samepublic-house in which he now was. But, instead of being built ofgranite, --as it really was, --its walls were one mass of humanbeings, piled one on top of the other. 

He could recognize some former companions who now were deceased. 

Their bodies served instead of stones, and their souls he discerned, placed in lieu of windows. 

Amidst the horrible mass of human flesh, he saw his father's body, crushed and terribly mangled; his face wore an expression ofsuffering, his whole body seemed borne down by a heavy andoppressive weight. 

Tom Soher looked at his father. The latter cast a sad and troubledlook at his son. 

All at once, the drunken man saw himself seated upon his father'sback. So this was the load that crushed him. He gazed upon hisresemblance; a mere shadow of his former self. 

As he contemplated this sad picture, he saw, issuing out of hismouth--his soul. 

An inexpressible fear and a sense of suffocation seized him. 

He tried to explain to himself this curious vision. "Bah! 'tis but adream, " he muttered; "ah! someone is grasping my throat. I amdying. " He lifted his eyes towards heaven. They encountered theceiling. 

As he sought in vain to rouse himself from that awful state oflethargy, something within him whispered: "This house is built withthe price of bodies and of souls. "

He listened eagerly. The voice was silent. 

Then the awful interpretation of this strange vision dawned upon histroubled mind. "Is it possible that I have given both my body and mysoul in exchange for drink. My soul! Alas!"

He struggled to shake himself free. Another fit of suffocationseized him in its deathly embrace. He tried to shout or to entreatmercy, but his tongue refused to utter a sound and his heart was ashard and as cold as the stones over which the vehicle in which hewas lying rolled. 

For Tom Soher was in a closed carriage. When closing time came, theowner of the public-house had him placed in a conveyance and senthome. 

He realised this, as a dull, but deep-seated pain, caused him toopen his eyes. He looked wildly round. 

The carriage rattled over the newly macadamized road, and he wasdying, unable to cry for help, incapable of articulating a singlesound. 

He struck his fist frantically out, intending to smash the window, but his blow fell an inch short of its intended mark. 

Then all his past life seemed to roll before his eyes, a mispent, futile, licentious life, in which the bad passions had predominated, and finally hustled him to his doom. A dreadful sense of fear seizedhim. He raised himself upon one of his elbows, his eyes were wideopen, and in them, there was not the expression that is seen inthose of a dying beast, which seems to say "It is finished;" hiseyes expressed a conviction of something yonder, coupled with a lookof blank despair. 

The elbow upon which he was supporting himself gave way, and he fellback--dead. 

As the driver approached the "Prenoms, " he whistled gaily. He littledreamt of the surprise which awaited him. He drove straight throughthe open gate into the farmyard. 

When Mrs. Soher heard the sound of the carriage wheels, she went tothe door of the house, opened it and said: "Here he comes again, thepoor inebriate. "

"Now, ma'am, here's your son; he's had a glass too much, but he'llbe right enough after a bit o' sleep;" and so saying, the driveropened the carriage door while Mrs. Soher approached, lantern inhand. Her daughter followed her. 

They came close to the driver, who stood stock-still, his mouth halfopen, his whole body trembling like an aspen leaf. At last, herecovered himself sufficiently to speak. "Jerusalem--he's dead, " hemuttered in a hoarse and frightened tone. 

The dead man's mother let fall the lantern which she was holding, her legs gave way under her, and she fell down and fainted. 

Her daughter was also greatly moved. She began to sob. 

"What must we do?" questioned the man. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she answered, crying; then, after a few moments'pause, she said: "Call the neighbours. "

The man gave a shout. Two men from the house on the other side ofthe road appeared at the door. 

"This way, please, be quick;" shouted the driver. 

The men precipitated themselves towards the spot. Mrs. Soher wascarried to her room upstairs and left to the care of her daughterwho applied restoratives. 

The corpse was carried into another room and laid upon a bed. Theeyes remained wide open. 

The neighbours sent away the carriage and its owner; one of themremained in the house while the other went for a doctor. 

Mrs. Soher regained consciousness, and as her senses returned toher, she cried bitterly: "My poor son, my dear son. "

At this stage, Mr. Soher came home. He was surprised to find hisneighbour seated near the fire in the kitchen. His surprise waschanged into anguish, when the neighbour, in a few words, informedhim of Tom's sad fate. 

Mr. Soher was horrified. With a blanched face and tottering steps heascended the stairs and entered the room in which lay his wife. Uponseeing him, his wife uttered heart-rending cries: "Oh, Thomas, whatare we going to do; our only son. " Her sobs choked her. 

Her husband did not say a word. He turned on his heels, closed thedoor after him, and entered the room in which lay his son's corpse. 

As he glanced at those dilated eyes, a chill ran through his frame. "Great God; is it possible?" he exclaimed, raising his eyes toheaven; "my son, my son. "

He paced up and down the room with feverish steps, a prey to themost poignant grief. His conscience upbraided him loudly. It said:

"Behold your son whose education you have overlooked; behold himwhom you have left to grow in vice, without an effort worth the nameto save him from the ruinous bent of his bad passions. "

"I know it; 'tis all my fault, " exclaimed the grief andconscience-stricken man. "I have not done half of what I might havedone for him. 

"Animated by a false pride, I desired to shine among myfellow-worshippers, and have been continually away from home, neglecting my duty there, to satisfy my ambition. Miserable man thatI am. "

He cast his eyes towards the lifeless body of which the eyes met hisand seemed to reproach him for having shirked his duty. 

"Oh, God! wilt thou ever forgive me?" he cried in wild despair;"what can I do to atone? If one half, if a tenth part of the energywhich I have displayed elsewhere had been employed in bringing up myson as I ought to have done, this would not be. "

He continued thus to soliloquize, now and then stopping abruptly inhis nervous walk to gaze upon those reproachful eyes, then resuminghis wanderings, blaming himself continually. 

He was in the midst of his peregrinations when his daughter enteredthe room. 

"Father, " she said, "a woman who is downstairs wishes to speak withyou. "

The troubled man did not answer. What was this to him; what was allthe world to him compared with his grief?

"She says her daughter, who is dying, wishes to see you, " continuedthe young woman. 

"Tell her I am coming, " said Mr. Soher. 

A dying woman wishing to see him. How could he refuse that? Perhapshe would be the means of doing some good to this person. If he couldthus begin to atone for his want of dutifulness towards his son. 

He went downstairs. 

"My daughter wishes to see you now, " said his visitor. "You willcome, Sir; you will not refuse a dying woman's request?"

"Refuse; certainly not, " he said, and he immediately accompanied hisvisitor. 

They walked the whole distance which separated the two houseswithout a word being exchanged between them. 

Mr. Soher's thoughts were with the dead; his companion was alreadygrieving for the daughter which she felt sure she was about to lose. 

Mr. Soher was ushered near the dying woman's bed. The latter wasraving, but directly she perceived him she fixed her gaze upon him, her wild, rambling talk ceased, her mind seemed to regain itslucidity. She exclaimed: "I have not found it, therefore I am lostfor ever. "

"What have you not found?" he said kindly. 

"Listen, " said she. "Some time ago, I entered a small place ofworship in which a man was delivering an address, or, as he calledit, a testimonial. 

"He said that when he had been converted, he had felt a heavenly rayof light flooding his very soul. He said he felt as if an electricbattery had come in contact with his entrails. At the same time, heheard a voice clearly saying: 'My son, thy sins are forgiven thee. '

"This man, who was no other than you, Sir, said that if his hearershad not clearly heard this divine voice and experienced this shock, they were doomed. He exhorted the congregation to seek for theseblessings. 

"I went home impressed. I decided to seek for these things of whichyou spoke. I prayed, I hoped, I waited, but I have never felt halfof what you promised your audience they would find. 

"Now, I am then to understand that I am rejected. 

"Rejected! oh Heaven. "

The poor woman burst into tears and uttered a wail of despair. 

Mr. Soher tried to soothe her. 

"No, " she said, "you are trying to deceive me, you are not speakingthe truth. "

He protested. "It was then, that I did not speak the truth, " hesaid. "I was exalted, I went too far. "

"Is it true?" said the dying woman. 

"Oh yes, do believe me. "

"I believe you, " she said sneeringly. 

The fever was again coming upon her. She began to wander in herspeech. 

Mr. Soher, at a sign from the mother, who had followed him into theroom, withdrew. 

His brain was on fire. His heart was full of the deepest and keenestanguish. 

"What have I done?" he muttered. "I wanted to be thought a saint. Not being one, I acted the hypocrite. Now, here I am, maimed, afflicted, weighed down with grief. "

He reached his home--a wreck. 

A few days afterwards, poor Tom's body was buried in the churchyard. 

From that day, life at the "Prenoms" was completely changed. 

Mr. Soher examined himself and his surroundings. 

He saw that he was drifting towards bankruptcy. He resolved--he didmore--he went to work, to try and avert the catastrophe. Hesucceeded in all that he undertook, for he worked with a will. 

His lost son was not brought back to life, neither was the landwhich he had sold redeemed, but he managed to supply his wants andthose of his family, besides putting something by for a rainy day. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 

They had had a hard day's work at "Les Marches, " packing tomatoesfor the English markets. 

It was the month of September. The days were growing short and thenights long. 

After the day's occupations were over, the family assembled in theneatly furnished parlour. Frank wrote his letters of advice to hisfruit merchants. Then he took a German book, "Hauff's stories, " andproceeded to read the diverting history of "Little Mudj, " makingfrequent use of the vocabulary. 

Afterwards, to relax his mind, he took a French book. It was one ofthe works of Blaise Pascal, his "Lettres Provinciales. " He admiredtheir originality, the trenchant satire, and the galling blows ofthis man whom Châteaubriand called a "frightful genius. "

As he read the beautiful passages which had issued from this greatman's mind, he became imbued with some of the flame that hadinspired the author of the book. 

He placed the volume on the table, rested his head upon his hand andbegan to think of his past life. 

He thought of his ambition to acquire riches, and of how he had beendeceived. Providence had ordered otherwise and baffled him. 

He was very well off now, but how differently from what he hadanticipated, he had acquired his present position. 

He thought of his mental sufferings, the acute brain, thedeep-seated ambition torturing him. 

He no longer asked himself why he had endured pain. Had he neversuffered, he would never have attained the moral position in whichhe now was. It was when he was disgusted with the world, when heexperienced an aversion for earthly things, that his firmestresolves had been formed and his determination to do goodsolidified. It was then that he attempted to rise above the dusty, monotonous and weary walks of ordinary life; it was then that hisvirtuous sensibility had been awakened, and that his loftyconceptions had been framed. And now, having aimed at somethingnoble, he was leading a useful, happy, and dignified life. 

He was cheerful, and possessed of some of that supreme happinesswhich brightens the soul, and accompanies it through immortality. 

He had said: "Why endure pain?" But it was with the same senses thathe now enjoyed pleasure. 

He had said: "Why suffer physically?" "Why, " he thought, "if thatlittle child did not feel, and had not experienced the pangs ofhunger, it would now be dead; so would I, if, when I was wrapped inthick smoke, the foul gases had not irritated my bronchial tubes andmy eyes. 

"As for the remainder, I am satisfied to leave it to Him who hascared for and protected me so far through life. Perhaps the day willcome when I shall also know the why and wherefore of things which Ialmost dared to accuse an all-wise Providence of having sent intothe world. "

While her husband was soliloquizing thus, Mrs. Mathers was busilyengaged in stitching a smart little pinafore of diaper. 

Grandpapa was resting upon the sofa with little Adèle seated on hisknee. 

He held both the child's hands in his, the left one he held in hisleft hand, and the right one he held in his right hand. TakingAdèle's right-hand forefinger and placing it in her left hand, hebegan to tell her a little story about a lark, which he rememberedhis mother used to recite to him when he was a little boy. 

"A little lark built its nest there, " he began. 

"Here, in my hand?" said the child. 

"We shall suppose the little bird did so, " answered Mr. Rougeant. "It passed this way, and the thumb caught it. "

"Ah-ha, " laughed little Adèle. 

"This finger plucked its feathers, this one cooked it, and--this oneate it. "

Frank made some remark. 

Mr. Rougeant looked up. 

"And the little one, " said Adèle, pulling impatiently on hergrandfather's sleeve, "you have not told me what the little onedid. "

"Indeed! well, the little one was left without a single crumb. "

"Poor little one, " said the child. 

END.