THE OLD COUNTESS; OR, THE TWO PROPOSALS. 

 BY

 MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. 

 AUTHOR OF "LORD HOPE'S CHOICE, " "THE REIGNING BELLE, " "MARRIED IN HASTE, " "MABEL'S MISTAKE, " "DOUBLY FALSE, " "WIVES AND WIDOWS, " "MARY DERWENT, " "THE REJECTED WIFE, " "THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS, " "THE OLD HOMESTEAD, " "FASHION AND FAMINE, " "THE HEIRESS, " "RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY, " "THE CURSE OF GOLD, " "SILENT STRUGGLES, " "THE WIFE'S SECRET, " "PALACES AND PRISONS, " "THE GOLD BRICK, " "A NOBLE WOMAN. "

 A SEQUEL TO "LORD HOPE'S CHOICE. "

 PHILADELPHIA: T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

CONTENTS. 

 Chapter PAGE

 I. --LOVE LIGHTS IN TWO HEARTS. 23

 II. --CLARA APPEALS TO HER STEPMOTHER. 30

 III. --LOVERS' QUARREL. 40

 IV. --THE ITALIAN TEACHER. 48

 V. --THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION. 57

 VI. --SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES GET INTO A CONJUGAL DIFFICULTY. 68

 VII. --THE OPERATIC SUPPER. 77

 VIII. --BEHIND THE SCENES. 86

 IX. --THE FIRST PERFORMANCE. 91

 X. --THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET. 96

 XI. --LADY CLARA QUARRELS WITH HER STEPMOTHER. 101

 XII. --THE OLD PRISONER. 107

 XIII. --THE OLD COUNTESS. 116

 XIV. --THE OLD COUNTESS AND HER SERVANT. 122

 XV. --THE EARL'S RETURN. 133

 XVI. --THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER. 143

 XVII. --HUSBAND AND WIFE. 152

 XVIII. --THE STORMY NIGHT AND SUNSHINY MORNING. 159

 XIX. --AFTER THE FAILURE. 167

 XX. --LORD HILTON TAKES SUPPER WITH OLYMPIA. 176

 XXI. --ON THE WAY TO HOUGHTON CASTLE. 184

 XXII. --THE OLD COUNTESS. 191

 XXIII. --EXPLANATIONS AND CONCESSIONS. 197

 XXIV. --DOWN BY THE BROOK AMONG THE FERNS. 203

 XXV. --HOW LADY CLARA GOT HER OWN WAY. 208

 XXVI. --THE QUARREL AND THE LETTER. 214

 XXVII. --MAGGIE CASEY MEETS HER OLD LOVER. 220

 XXVIII. --JUST FIFTY POUNDS. 224

 XXIX. --OLYMPIA'S DEFEAT. 232

 XXX. --THE FAMILY MEETING AT HOUGHTON. 240

 XXXI. --DOWN AMONG THE FERNS AGAIN. 247

 XXXII. --OUT AMONG THE TREES. 253

 XXXIII. --THE BALL AT HOUGHTON. 263

 XXXIV. --THE OLD WOMAN WANDERS BACK AGAIN. 269

 XXXV. --LADY HOPE IN THE CASTLE. 274

 XXXVI. --DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER. 280

 XXXVII. --THE NEMESIS. 289

THE OLD COUNTESS; OR, THE TWO PROPOSALS. 

CHAPTER I. 

LOVE-LIGHTS IN TWO HEARTS. 

During fourteen years Hepworth Closs had been a wanderer over the earth. 

When he was carried out from the court-room after Mrs. Yates' confessionof a crime which he had shrinkingly believed committed by another, hehad fainted from the suddenness with which a terrible load had beenlifted from his soul. 

In that old woman's guilt he had no share. It swept the blackness fromthe marriage he had protested against as hideously wicked. The wrong hehad done was divested of the awful responsibilities which had seemedmore than he could bear. The revelation had made him, comparatively, aninnocent and free man. But a shock had been given to his whole beingwhich unfitted him for the common uses of society. 

After all that had passed through his mind he could not bear to think ofjoining his sister or husband. The keen feelings of a nature, not inits full development wicked or dishonorable, had been startled intolife, when he saw into what a gulf he had almost plunged. He saw the sinand the wrong he had done in its true light, and not only repented ofit, but abhorred it from the very depths of his soul. He longed to makeatonement, and would have given ten years from his life for a chance bywhich he could have sacrificed himself to any one that poor murderedlady had loved. 

These feelings rose up like a barrier between him and his sister. Herinfluence over his youth had been so powerful that his own better naturenever might have asserted itself but for the tragedy which followed hisfirst plunge into deception and wrong-doing. He loved this beautifulyoung woman yet, as few brothers of any age or class ever did; but theshock of that tragedy was on him, and his impulse was to flee from herand the man for whose sake all this trouble had come. 

Hepworth Closs was not the first youth whose life has opened with evilthoughts and evil deeds, from which his manhood shrank appalled. 

The unformed intellect and quick passions of youth have wrecked many anoble soul, by the sin of an hour or a day, beyond the redemption of atoiling and regretful after-life. The man who does redeem himself musthave a powerful nature, which will force its strength to be recognized, and make its regeneration felt. But to the sins of youth much should beforgiven, which, in the mature man, justice might utterly condemn. 

Hepworth Closs arose from that fainting fit humbled and grateful. Thatmoment his resolve was taken. He would not share the benefits whichmight come to him through his sister's marriage, nor in anything partakeof a reward for the evil he had, in mercy, been saved from. The worldwas before him. He would work his way into prosperity, if possible; ifnot, bear his fate like a man who had deserved suffering, and couldendure it. 

One act of restitution was in his power. The property of the unfortunateperson, whom he knew as Lady Hope, had fallen into his possession, forthe house had been purchased in his name, and, in like manner, herdeposits had been made. He had never intended to claim this money as hisown, and invested it now, holding himself as the trustee. This done, hethrew himself upon the world, quite alone. 

During fifteen years he had asserted the honorable manhood that hadsprung out of his erring youth. That fearful tragedy had sickened himwith deception, and with all ambition which did not spring out of hisown honest exertions. He went forth, with all his energies on the alert, and his intellect free from the suspicions that had for a timeenthralled it. He had craved riches, and hoped to obtain them throughRachael's marriage. This had been a temptation. He had ambition still, but it took a far more noble direction. With wealth he would gatherknowledge; with both, mental force and moral power. 

He went. Men saw him in the gold mines of California, in Australia, andamong the traders of India and Japan. Then he came back to New York, andwas honorably known upon the exchange. Then came a yearning wish to seehis sister, the only relative he had on earth; and we find him at thegate of Oakhurst Park, just as Lady Clara dashed through it, as bright avision of joyous, happy girlhood as ever crossed the path of any man. 

That moment I think that Hepworth Closs fell in love with the girl. Ifso, it was absolutely his first love. The boyish and most unprincipledpassion he had felt for that murdered lady had no similitude with thefeelings that possessed him now. It was a wicked, insane desire, springing out of his perverted youth--a feeling that he would haveshuddered to have recognized as love, in these, his better days. 

Yes, it is certain Closs loved the girl at first sight, but wasunconscious of it, as the nest is when a dove settles down to itsbrooding. 

As for the girl, she had seen but few men in her life calculated todisturb the repose of a creature so gifted and rich in imagination. Atfirst Hepworth had seemed rather an old person to her, notwithstandingthe gloss of his black hair, and the smooth whiteness of his forehead. With a trust in this, which gradually betrayed her, she accepted himfrankly as a relative, and in less than three weeks, grew restless as abird. She wondered what had made the world all at once so gloriouslybeautiful, and why it was so difficult for her to keep the tears out ofher eyes when the soft purple evening came down, and divided the daywhich had been spent with him, from the night, when she could only hopeto see him in shadowy dreams. 

Rachael Closs saw all this, and it filled her with bitter rejoicing. Howwould her powerful old enemy receive the intelligence that a brother ofhers had won the heart of the future Lady Carset? that he would be lordof the proud old castle, which must go with the title, and mingle theblood she had so often denounced as base with that which had turnedagainst her, with such hot scorn, ever since she entered England as LordHope's wife?

The very thought of that haughty old peeress so humiliated waswonderfully pleasant to the wounded pride of Rachael Closs. But farbeyond this was the yearning, almost passionate fondness she felt forher brother and the beautiful girl who had been to her at once a Nemesisand an infatuation. 

This was what Lady Hope had hinted at when Hepworth first came. Thegreat wish of her heart had grown to be the union of these two persons, next to one supreme object of love, the dearest beings to her on earth. It seemed to her that those long, weary intervals, which grew more andmore frequent, when Lord Hope left her alone in the desolate splendor ofthat great house, would be more endurable if she were certain that thesetwo persons would always be near her. She was not ambitious for herbrother. That feeling had died out years ago; but her love sprang tohim, like a freshly-kindled flame. 

With Lady Hope, as with Rachael Closs, there was no moderation in herfeelings, which were tenacious as they were powerful and exacting. ButRachael, with all her impetuosity, had strong contradictory qualities. She was sagacious, and could rein in her passion of love or hate as anArab controls his desert steed. That which her soul most desired shecould wait for. 

One night, when the moonbeams lay like silver on the stone terrace, andthe shadow of the peacock fell from the balustrade like a second bird, Lady Hope complained of fatigue, and retreated into her own room, leaving Hepworth and Clara sitting upon a flight of steps which led downto a flower-garden, somewhat neglected of late years, which lay beneaththe stone terrace and brightened the grounds nearest to the lady'sapartments. Not far from these steps was a noble old cedar of Lebanon, rooted deep, where the drawbridge had been hundreds of years before. Beneath it was a rustic seat, and in its branches innumerable birds weresleeping. 

There never was, perhaps, a finer contrast of silver light and blackshadow in any landscape than surrounded these two persons, as they sattogether side by side, both thinking of the same thing, and bothreluctant to break the delicious silence. 

At last Hepworth spoke--it was but a single word, which made hiscompanion start and hold her breath. 

"Clara!"

She did not answer him; that one word frightened her. She had half amind to start up and hide herself in the shadows, for he was looking inher face, and the moonlight fell like a glory over his features, whichshe now saw were grave even to sadness. 

"Clara, do you know that I must go away soon?"

"Oh, no! no!"

The girl had not expected this. The infinite tenderness in his voice hadled her completely astray, and she broke forth in an eager protest. 

"I must, dear child. "

"Dear child!" repeated the girl, half crying. "Yes, yes, you treat melike a child--as if I could help being young--as if I could not feel andthink and be miserable like other people. It's hard, it's cruel, it's--it's--"

Here Clara burst into a flood of tears, and leaping to her feet, wouldhave run into the room where Lady Hope was sitting, but Closs caught herin his arms. 

"What are you crying for, Clara? Why do you wish to run away? It iswrong to say this, but I must go, because of loving you as no man everloved a woman before. "

"A woman?" said Clara, and gleams of mischief peeped out from behind hertears. "You called me a child just now. "

"Woman or child, Clara, you are the dearest thing to me on earth. "

Clara struggled in his arms, and tried to push him from her. 

"I--I don't believe you. There!"

"Don't believe me?"

Hepworth released the girl, and allowed her to stand alone. On anysubject touching his honor he was peculiarly sensitive. 

"Because--because men who love people don't run away from them. It--itisn't reasonable. "

All the mischief in her eyes was drowned in fresh tears. She thoughtthat he was offended, and the estrangement of a moment seems eternal tofirst love. 

"Honorable men do not permit themselves to speak of love at all wherethey have reason to think it unwelcome, " was his grave reply. 

"Unwelcome? Oh, Mr. Closs!"

Clara held out both her hands and came nearer to Hepworth, like a childthat wants to be forgiven. He drew her close to his side, but spoke alittle sadly. 

"You see how much I must love you, Clara, to forget all that a guest inyour father's house should remember. "

"I--I don't know; I can't understand what it is that you have donewrong. I'm sure I'm ready to forgive you. "

She might have said more, but he took the breath from her lips, and heldher so close to his heart that she could feel its tumultuous beatings. 

"But I can never forgive myself, darling. "

"Oh, yes you will!"

The creature pursed up her lips and offered them for his kiss--thus, asshe thought, tempting him into self-forgiveness. 

"Is it that you really--really love me?" questioned Hepworth, searchingthe honest eyes she lifted to his with a glance half-passionate, half-sorrowful, which brought a glow of blushes to her face. 

"Can you ask that now?" she questioned, drooping her head. "Will a goodgirl take kisses from the man she does not love?"

"God bless you for saying it, darling! Oh, if it could be--if it couldbe!"

"If what could be, Mr. Closs?"

"That you might be my wife, live with me forever, love me forever. "

"Your wife?" answered Clara, pondering over the sweet word in lovingtenderness. "Your wife? Are you asking me if I will be that?"

"I dare not ask you, Clara. What would your father say? What would hehave a right to say?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " answered Clara, ruefully, for she could nothonestly say that her father would consent. 

"You see, Clara, I have nothing to do but say farewell, and go. "

CHAPTER II. 

CLARA APPEALS TO HER STEPMOTHER. 

Lady Hope had retreated into her own room, for the absence of herhusband was beginning to prey upon her; and she was all the more sad andlonely because she knew in her heart that the two persons whom she sawtogether in the moonlight were thinking, perhaps talking, of the lovewhich she must never know in its fullness again--which she had neverknown as good and contented wives experience it. 

Indeed, love is the one passion that can neither be wrested from fate orbribed into life. It must spring up from the heart, like a wild flowerfrom seed God plants in virgin forest soil, to bring contentment withits blossoming. The sunshine which falls upon it must be pure andbright from heaven. Plant it in an atmosphere of sin, and that whichmight have been a holy passion becomes a torment, bitter in proportionto its strength. 

Ah! how keenly Rachael Closs felt all this as she sat there alone in herbower room, looking wistfully out upon those two lovers, both so dear toher that her very soul yearned with sympathy for the innocent love shehad never known, and never could know upon earth! Yet, dear as these twopersons were to her, she would have seen that fair girl and the manlyform beside her shrouded in their coffins, if that could have broughtback one short twelve-months of the passionate insanity which had wonLord Hope to cast aside all restraint and fiercely wrench apart the mostsacred ties in order to make her his wife. She asked forimpossibilities. Love born in tumult and founded in selfishness musthave its reactions, and between those two the shadow of a wronged womanwas forever falling; and, struggle as they would, it grew colder anddarker every year. But upon these two persons time operated differently. The wild impetuosity of his character had hardened into reserve. Hisambition was to stand high among men of his own class--to be known as astatesman of power in the realm. 

But, in all this Rachael knew that she was a drawback and a heavy weightupon his aspirations. Was it that she was less bright or beautiful? No, no. Her mirror contradicted the _one_ doubt, and the power which shefelt in her own genius rebuked the other. 

Once give her a foothold among the men and women who had so persistentlyconsidered her as an intruder, and the old vigor and pride of her lifewould come back with it: the idolatry which had induced that infatuatedman to overlook these stumbling blocks to his pride and impediments tohis ambition would surely revive. 

"Let him see me at court; let him compare me with the women whosecutting disdain wounds me to death, because it disturbs him; let himplace me where this intellect can have free scope, and never on thisearth was there a woman who would work out a husband's greatness sothoroughly. "

In the first years of her marriage, Rachael would say these things toherself, in the bitterness of her humiliation and disappointment. Others, less beautiful and lacking her talent, had been again and againintroduced from lower ranks into the nobility of England, accepted byits queen, and honored by society. Why was she alone so persistentlyexcluded? The answer was always ready, full of bitterness. The enmity ofold Lady Carset had done it all. It was her influence that had closedthe queen's drawing-room against Lord Hope's second wife. It was hercharge regarding the Carset diamonds that had made Rachael shrink fromwearing the family jewels, which justly belonged to her as Lord Hope'sproperty. It was this which made her so reluctant to pass the boundariesof Oakhurst. It was this that embittered her whole life, and rendered itone long humiliation. 

These reflections served to concentrate the hopes and affections of thiswoman so entirely around one object, that her love for Hope, which hadbeen an overwhelming passion, grew into that idolatry no man, whose lifewas in the world, could answer to, for isolation was necessary to afeeling of such cruel intensity. 

As the hope of sharing his life and his honors gave way, doubts, suspicions, and anxieties grew out of her inordinate love, and thegreatest sorrow to her on earth was the absence of her husband. It wasnot alone that she missed his company, which was, in fact, all the worldto her; but, as he went more and more into the world, a terrible dreadseized upon her. What if he found, among all the highly born women whoreceived him so graciously, some one who, in the brightness of a happylife, might make him regret the sacrifice he had made for her, theterrible scenes he had gone through in order to obtain her? What if hemight yet come to wish her dead, as she sometimes almost wished herself!

In this way the love, which had flowed like a lava stream through thatwoman's life, engendered its own curse, and her mind was continuallyhaunted by apprehensions which had no foundation, in fact, for, to thisday, Lord Hope loved her with deeper passion than he had ever given tothat better woman; but with him the distractions of statesmanship, andthe allurements of social life, were a resource from intense thought, while she had so little beside himself. 

She had striven to bind him to her by kindness to his child, until thebright girl became, as it were, a part of himself, with whom it would bedeath to part. 

Is it strange, then, that this dream of uniting Clara to her onlybrother should have been very sweet to the unhappy woman?

Lord Hope had been absent a whole month now, and even with theexcitement of her brother's presence, Rachael had found those four weeksterribly long. 

What would she do if that fair girl were separated from her entirely?Then solitude would be terrible indeed!

But another anxiety came upon her by degrees. In what way would herhusband receive Hepworth Closs? How would he accept the position the twopersons out yonder were drifting into? Would he consent to a union whicheven her partiality admitted as unsuitable, or would he, in his cold, calm way, plant his foot upon their hearts and crush her fond desire outof existence?

As Lady Hope pondered over these thoughts in silence and semi-darkness, Clara came through the window, in great excitement. 

"Oh! mamma Rachael! He is going away from us. He told me so just now;but you will not let him. You will never let him!"

Lady Hope started out of her reverie. 

"Going away? Where? Who? I cannot understand, Clara!"

"Hepworth--Mr. Closs, I mean. Oh, mamma! he threatens to leave us hereall alone by ourselves--the most cruel thing that ever was heard of. Ithought how angry you would be, and came at once. You can do anythingwith him--he loves you so dearly. Let him threaten if he likes, but youwill not let him go. You will tell him how foolish, how cruel it is toleave us, while papa is away. Oh! mamma Rachael, you can do anything! Dothis! Do this!"

"But why, darling--why do you care so much?"

"Why! why!" Clara threw back her head till the curls waved away from hershoulders, then a burning crimson came over her, the shamed face droopedagain, and she answered: "I don't know--I don't know. "

Rachael bent her face till it almost touched that hot cheek, andwhispered:

"Is it that you love him, my own Clara?"

Again Clara lifted her face. A strange light came upon it. Her lips wereparted, her blue eyes opened wide. 

"Love him--love him? Oh! mamma Rachael, is this love?"

Rachael smiled, and kissed that earnest face, holding it between bothhands. 

"I think it is, darling. Nay, I am sure that you love him, and that heloves you. "

"Loves me? Then why does he go away? I should think so but for that. "

"Because of that, I am afraid, Clara. "

"Loves me, and goes away because he loves me!" said the girl, bewildered. "I don't understand it. "

"There may be many reasons, Clara. "

"I can't think of one. Indeed I can't. Papa never was cruel. "

"He may not think it quite honorable to let--make you love him, whenyour father knows nothing about it. "

"But papa would not mind. "

"Hepworth does not know that; nor do I. Your father is a very proud man, Clara, and has a right to look high, for his only child. "

"What then? Mr. Closs is handsomer, brighter, more--more everything thatis grand and royal, than any nobleman I have ever seen. What can papasay against that?"

"But he is a man of no family position--simply Hepworth Closs, nothingmore. We can scarcely call him an Englishman. "

"What then, mamma? He is a gentleman. Who, in all this neighborhood, cancompare with him?"

"No one! no one!" answered Rachael, with enthusiasm. "There is but oneman on all the earth so far above the rest; but persons who look uponbirth and wealth as everything, may not see him with our eyes, my Clara. Then there is another objection. Hepworth is over thirty. "

"Mamma Rachael, you know well enough that I never did like boys, " saidClara, with childish petulance. 

"And compared with the great landed noblemen of England, he is poor. "

"Not so, mamma Rachael. He has made lots and lots of money out in thosecountries where they dig gold from the earth. He described it all to me, about washing dirt in pans, and crushing rocks in great machines, andpicking up pure gold in nuggets--why, he found an awful big one himself. I daresay he has got more real money than papa. I do, indeed. "

Lady Hope sighed. Perhaps she thought so too; for Oakhurst was closelyentailed, and ready money was sometimes scarce in that sumptuousdwelling. 

"And then how much shall I have? Let me ask that of papa. "

"But you will inherit something with the Carset title in spite of yourgrandmother. "

"Yes, I know. An enormous old castle with just land enough to keep it inrepair. That isn't much to boast of, or make a man like Mr. Closs feelmodest when he thinks of me. "

"But the title. Is it nothing to be a peeress in your own right?"

"I would rather he were an earl, and I a peeress in his right. "

"You are a strange girl, Clara. "

"But you love me if I am, mamma Rachael. "

"Love you, child! You will never know how much!"

"And if it so happened that he did really like me, you wouldn't goagainst it?"

"But what would my will be opposed to that of your father?"

"Only this--you can do anything with papa. Don't I remember when I was alittle girl?"

Rachael sighed heavily. 

"That was a long time ago, Clara, and childish wants are easilysatisfied. "

Clara threw both arms around her stepmother's neck and kissed her. 

"Never mind if he is a little stubborn now and then; you can manage him, yet, mamma. Only, don't let Mr. Closs do that horrid thing. I nevercould ride alone with the ponies after the last three weeks. You don'tknow how instructive he is! Why, we have travelled all over the worldtogether, and now he wants to throw me overboard; but you won't let himdo that, mamma Rachael. What need is there of any thought about what maycome? We are all going on beautifully, now, and, I dare say, papa isenjoying himself shooting grouse. When he comes back and sees how muchMr. Closs is like you, everything will be right. Only, mamma Rachael, tell me one thing. Are you sure that--that he isn't thinking me a child, and likes me only for that? This very night he called me 'my child, ' andsaid he was going. That made me wretchedly angry, so I came in here. Nowtell me--"

"Hush! hush! I hear his step on the terrace. "

The girl darted off like a swallow. For the whole universe she could nothave met Hepworth there in the presence of a third person. 

As she left the room, Closs entered it. 

"Rachael, " he said, standing before his sister, in the square ofmoonlight cast like a block of silver through the window, "I have beenweak enough to love this girl whom we both knew as an infant, when I wasold enough to be a worse man than I shall ever be again; and, still morereprehensible, I have told her of it within the last half-hour; apleasant piece of business, which Lord Hope will be likely to relish. Don't you think so?"

"I do not know--I cannot tell. Hope loves his daughter, and has neveryet denied anything to her. He may not like it at first; but--oh!Hepworth, I know almost as little of my husband's feelings or ideas asyou can. "

"But you will not think that I have done wrong?"

"What, in loving Clara? What man on earth could help it?"

"Well, I do love her, and I think she loves me. "

"I know she does. "

"Thank you, sister; but she is such a child. "

"She is woman enough to be firm and faithful. "

"You approve it all, then?"

Hepworth sat down by his sister and threw his arm around her. 

"My poor Rachael! how I wish this, or anything else, could make youreally happy!"

She did not answer; but he felt her form trembling under his arm. 

"But I only see in it new troubles for you and dishonor for myself. There is really but one way for me to act--I must leave this place. "

"And Clara? After what you have said, that would, indeed, bedishonorable. "

"She is so young; the pain would all go with me. In a few months I shallprobably have scarcely a place in her memory. "

"You wrong the dearest and finest girl in the whole world when you saythat, Hepworth! To desert her now would be profound cruelty. "

"Then in what way am I to act?"

"Write to Lord Hope; tell him the truth--that you have won the respectof men by your actions, and have, with your own energies, acquiredwealth enough to make you a fair match in that respect for his daughter. Make no allusion to the past; he is proud, and terribly sensitive onthat point, and might suspect you of making claims to equality becauseof it. "

Hepworth smiled as he stood before her in the moonlight, and she saw it. Wide travel and experience among men had led him to think that, afterall, the highest level of humanity did not always range with hereditarytitles; but he only said, very calmly:

"Lord Hope cannot accuse me justly of aspiring where he is concerned. "

Rachael felt the hot crimson leap to her face. Did Hepworth dare toequal himself with Lord Hope, the one great idol of her own pervertedlife? She answered, angrily, forgetting that the sinner was her onlybrother:

"Lord Hope need have no fear that any man living will so aspire. "

"Poor foolish girl!" said Hepworth, feeling the flash of her black eyes, and touched with pity, rather than anger, by her quick resentment. "Donot let us quarrel about Hope. If he makes you happy, I have nothing tosay against him. "

"Happy! happy!"

Rachael shrank back in her seat, uttering these two words in a voice sofull of pathetic sorrow, that it brought the pain of coming tears intoHepworth's eyes. He was glad to turn the subject. 

"Then you are not willing that I should go away?"

"It would almost kill me to lose you again, Hepworth. "

The young man felt that she spoke the truth; the very tones of her voicethrilled him with a tender conviction. 

"I will write to Hope, " he said; "it must end in that or absence. Itshall not be my fault, Rachael, if I ever go far away from you again. "

Lady Hope took her brother's hand between hers. 

"That is kind, and I really think the only wise thing to be done, " shesaid. "Hope knows that you were born a gentleman. "

"And having married into the family himself, can hardly say that it isnot good enough for his daughter. This is answer enough for allobjections of that kind. In fact, Rachael, I begin to think we can makeout a tolerable claim. Now that we have decided on the letter, I willwrite it at once, here, if you will let me order more lights. "

Hepworth rang the bell as he spoke, and directly wax candles wereburning on the ebony desk at which Lady Hope was accustomed to write. 

Having made up his mind, Closs was not the man to hesitate in doing thething he had resolved on. He spread a sheet of paper before him, andbegan his letter at once. Rachael watched him earnestly as his pen flewover the paper. 

For the first time she realized, with a pang of apprehension, the stepshe was so blindly encouraging. What if Lord Hope took offense at theletter, or should condemn her for the intimacy which had led to it? Shewas afraid of her husband, and each movement of Hepworth's pen struckher with dread. Had she, indeed, laid herself open to the wrath of aman, who was so terrible in his anger, that it made even her brave heartcower?

"There, it is finished, " said Hepworth, addressing his letter, andflinging down the pen. "Now let us throw aside care, and be happy as wecan till the answer comes. "

Lady Hope sighed heavily, and, reaching forth her hand, bade himgood-night. 

CHAPTER III. 

LOVER'S QUARREL. 

They were sitting together, under the great cedar tree, declared lovers;perhaps not the less happy because some little doubt rested over theirfuture, so far as the young lady was concerned. 

As for Hepworth Closs, he had made up his mind to expect difficulties, and knew how to conquer them, if human ingenuity could do it. He lovedthe bright young creature, and had resolved within himself that nounreasonable opposition on the part of his former friend should preventhim marrying her, while there was a possibility of conciliating hisbride, or working upon the love which he had always evinced for hischild. 

Hepworth had learned, from conversation with both the ladies, that theLord Hope of the present day was a very different person from the rash, headstrong, audacious young man whom he had almost threatened withdisgrace fourteen years back. 

Then he was ready to cast wealth, rank, conscience, everything, asidefor the gratification of any wild passion that beset him. Now he heldthe rank to which he was born sacred above all things; was careful, ifnot covetous, of wealth, because it added power to rank; and was knownthe whole country round as one of the proudest noblemen and mostpunctilious magistrates in the three kingdoms. 

This man's daughter he--Hepworth Closs--desired to make his wife. Nay, in spite of fate, meant to make his wife, unless she, in her own self, cast his love from her. Having settled upon this, he cast off all care, and gave himself up to the supreme happiness of loving and beingbeloved. 

So, as the two sat under the cedar tree, that bland autumn day, Clarathought, in her wilful little heart, that the man looked too confidentand happy. She had no idea of settling down into a commonplaceengagement, sanctioned or unsanctioned. What business had he to look sosupremely contented? Did he not know that girls sometimes changed theirminds?

In short, Lady Clara was in a wilful mood, and could be provoking enoughwhen the fit came on her. Just now she was embroidering diligently. Thegolden stamens of a superb cactus glowed out stitch by stitch, as herneedle flew in and out of its great purplish and crimson leaves. 

"Why don't you look up, Clara? I haven't seen your eyes these tenminutes. "

"Indeed! Well, I'm too busy. Pray hand me a thread of that yellow silk. "

"Not if I can help it, ladybird. It's very tiresome sitting here, onlyto watch your sharp little needle as it drops color into that greatflower. One never gets a sight of your full face. "

"Then you don't like the profile?" said Clara, demurely, and her needleflashed almost into Hepworth's eyes as he bent over her. "That is justwhat I expected. It isn't three days since you first pretended to carefor me. "

"Pretended! Clara?"

"That was the word, " answered Clara, holding her work at arms' length, and examining it, with her head on one side, like a bird eyeing thecherry he longs to peck at. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"I have been where you could gather armsful of them from the wayside, "answered Hepworth. "That is well enough, of course, for silk andworsted; but you never can get that mixture of crimson, purple andglittering steel, that makes the flower so regal in the tropics; thenthe soft tassel of pale gold, streaming out from the heart, and throwninto relief by this exquisite combination of colors. Ah, some day I willshow you what a cactus really is, Clara. "

"Perhaps, " said the provoking girl, searching her work-basket for thesilk she wanted. "Who knows?"

A flash of color flew across Hepworth's forehead. The handsome fellownever had given himself much to the study of women, and even that prettycreature had the power to annoy him, mature man as he was. She saw thathe was vexed, and rather liked it; for if the truth must be told, a morenatural coquette never lived than Lady Clara. 

"Are you beginning to doubt, Clara?"

"Doubt? Oh! not at all. I don't honestly believe that there ever was amore perfect flower than that. See how the colors melt into each other;then the point of that long, prickly leaf coming out behind. I tell you, Mr. Closs, it's perfect. "

She was looking down at her work, and he could not detect all themischief that sparkled under her drooping lashes. 

"Clara, what does this mean?"

The girl looked up at him so innocently. 

"Mean? Why, it means a cactus-flower. "

Hepworth Closs had never been a patient man, and the feelings which thatwild girl had awakened in his heart were all too earnest for suchtrifling. He rose to leave her. Then she gave him a side glance, halfcomic, half repentant. 

"Are you going?"

"Yes. "

"Dear me, I am so sorry, because I wanted to tell you something. "

The girl spoke and acted like a penitent child. Hepworth sat down again, but his face was clouded. 

"You can do anything with mamma Rachael, and I want you to ask a greatfavor for me. "

"Why not ask yourself? My sister denies you nothing. "

"But this is something peculiar, and she may think papa would not likeit. There is to be a new opera brought out in London, and such a lovelygirl is to make her first appearance in it, handsome as the morning, andwith a voice like ten thousand nightingales. Now, I do so want to hearher on the first night. "

"Well, that is easy. "

"Yes, yes--if mamma Rachael would only think so. But papa is awfulparticular, and she may be afraid to take me. But with you for anescort, there can't really be any harm; so I want your help. "

"But how did you know about this? I have not seen it in the journals. "

"No, it hasn't got abroad yet. I will tell you all about it. When I wasa very, very little girl, my poor mother died in America, where she wastravelling among the Indians, I believe, with my father. Well, you seehow hard it was on papa to be left with a poor little girl among thesavages. I do not know just how it was; but when he married mammaRachael, ever so long after, of course she got an American nurse in NewYork, who has been with me ever since. I call her my maid now, and won'thave any other, French or not--for she's good as gold, and loves medearly. You will believe that when I tell you our head gamekeeper wantedto marry her--she loved him, too, but wouldn't leave me. Margaret left asister behind in New York that she was very fond of, and has been piningto see for years. Just before you came she received a letter fromLondon, saying that her sister was there, travelling with some ladyconnected with the stage, and asking Margaret to come and visit her. Ofcourse, Margaret went, and has been all this time on a long visit to herrelative, who came to Europe with the great prima donna, Olympia. It isher adopted daughter that is coming out. "

"Olympia. Yes, I saw her in America last year--a wonderfully beautifulcreature, in a certain way; but her style of acting is not exactly whatI should choose for you, Lady Clara, though her voice is wonderful. "

"Oh, it isn't her I care about, but the young lady. Margaret says she islovely as an angel, with a heavenly voice, but that she is frightened todeath at coming on the stage, and begs and pleads with her mother not toinsist on it; but Olympia is determined. My heart quite aches for thispoor girl. She is about my age, Margaret says, and so beautiful--not abit like me. I dare say it's true, for I would give the world to be anactress, and have the whole world go mad over my singing. By-the-way, Mr. Closs, do you know that I can sing? Mamma Rachael often says, if Iwere not a lady, I might go on the stage and beat half the prima donnas;besides, she says, I am a natural actress, and that seems to displeaseher. "

"I think you are a natural actress, " said Closs, with a tinge ofsarcasm, for this whole subject displeased him, he scarcely could havetold why. 

"Now you mean to be unkind, " said Clara, rising, with a warm flush inher cheeks; "I will not ask another favor of you. "

Clara gathered up her embroidery, and prepared to leave the shelteredseat in which this conversation had been held. She certainly was notacting now, for Closs saw that her eyes were full of tears. 

"Clara, " he said, holding out both hands; "Clara, forgive me. "

She hesitated a minute, then set down her basket, and crept close to hisside, wiping the tears with one hand, while he clasped the other. Thenshe snatched her hand away, and held it behind her. 

"No--I won't forgive you. "

"Not if I persuade Lady Hope to take you up to London for thisappearance?"

"Ah, then, perhaps. "

"And go with you myself?"

"That will be splendid. "

"That Olympia is a magnificent creature. I took supper with her once inNew York. "

"You, Mr. Closs! You took supper with her?"

"She sang for us that night, divinely. "

"And you admire her so much?"

"Very much. "

"Mr. Closs, I do not think I care to go. There is no need of your askingLady Hope--I decline the whole thing. "

"Still, I think we will go, Clara, if it is only to show you how much awoman can be worshipped, and yet despised. Yes, yes, we will go and hearOlympia sing. "

But Clara was not to be so easily appeased. She gathered up her worstedand embroidery, huddled them together in her work-basket and went away, refusing to let Closs carry her basket, or even walk by her side. 

While he stood watching the haughty little thing, a voice from the otherside of the cedar tree arrested him. He turned, and saw a face that hadonce been familiar, but which he could not at the moment recognize. 

The woman came forward with a startled look. She was evidently pastthirty, and had an air of independence, which he had never seen in anEnglish domestic. 

She came closer, their eyes met, and he knew that it was Maggie Casey, the chambermaid who had led him up to that death-chamber, the last timehe visited it. She had recognized him from the first. 

"Mr. Hepworth, " she said, in a low voice: "Mr. Hepworth!"

Closs had almost been prepared for this, and did not allow himself to betaken by surprise. 

"You have got half the name right at any rate, " he said, quietly;"Hepworth Closs, and you have it complete. You never could have heard itin full, when you lived in New York, I fancy. "

"Closs, Closs? No, I never heard that name given to you; but it oncebelonged to Lady Hope, I remember. "

"And of course, naturally belongs to her brother, my good girl, " saidCloss, with a quiet smile. 

"Her brother? Whose brother? Not the Lady that was--"

The girl broke off, and her voice died in a low whisper. 

"No, no!" broke in the man, with sudden impatience; "that was a terriblething, which you and I will be all the happier in forgetting. The poorwoman who did it is suffering a hard penalty, if she is not in factdead. "

"Yes, sir, yes; but how came her grandchild here? How came you there?"

"Hush!" said Hepworth, in a voice of command, that startled the woman;"who gave you authority to ask such questions? What can you know aboutthe old woman's grandchild?"

"I know that the young lady who left you ten minutes ago was the littlegirl they called her grandchild. I saw the coroner holding the poorlittle thing up to look on the dead lady. I think that lady was hermother. "

"And have told her so, perhaps?"

"No; I never did, and I never will. She called the old woman, Yates, grandmother; but I know better than that, for I know where hergrandchild is this very minute. "

"You know her grandchild?"

"Yes, I do, and a prettier creature never lived. "

"You know her, and will tell me?"

"Indeed, I will do nothing of the sort, " answered Margaret, for she hadthrown off the jaunty abbreviation of her name. "There is somethingabout all this that puzzles me. People that I never expected to seeagain keep crossing my path like ghosts, and somehow most of them havesomething to do with that time. Why can't the whole thing rest? I'm surethat poor old woman, Yates, has had her punishment, and I don't want totalk about what I don't understand. "

"You are wise, " said Closs, whose face had lost all its cheerfulness;"there is no good in even thinking of a dead past, and, as you say, thatpoor old woman has her punishment. I am glad you have said nothing ofthese things to my sister, or Lady Clara. "

"Why should I?" said Margaret, with shrewd good sense: "what good wouldit do? In fact, what do I know? I only hope no such trouble will evercome to this house. "

"Heaven forbid!" said Closs, fervently, and the two parted. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE ITALIAN TEACHER. 

Lady Clara was right. Olympia had brought her daughter to London after aprofessional tour on the continent, not as her daughter. Olympia wouldnot force herself to admit that the tall Juno-like girl, who outshoneher in beauty, and rebuked her flippant grace by a dignity at once calmand regal, could, by any possibility, be her own offspring, at least asyet. She had arranged it with Brown that no public acknowledgment ofCaroline's relationship should be made, and that she should pass as anadopted child or protege, at least until her success on the operaticstage was confirmed. 

Brown had stipulated, on his part, that the girl should receive hermusical training in strict privacy, so far as that was possible, and, inno case, should be moved from his personal supervision, a condition thatOlympia accepted with delight, for, after a month or two, she began tofeel the presence of her cast-off husband something of a restraint, andregarded the quick growth and blooming loveliness of the young girl asalmost a wrong to her own ripe beauty. Still she would not loosen herhold as a parent on the girl's life, but still hoped to reap a goldenharvest from her talent, and sun her own charms, as they waned, in thesplendor of her child's beauty. 

With these feelings, Olympia opened her campaign in Europe, and swept abrilliant career from France to Italy, and from thence to Austria andSt. Petersburg, leaving Caroline with her guardian and maid, in avillage near Florence, where she could perfect herself in Italian andmusic at the same time. 

There Caroline's life really began. They were staying at a pretty villa, terraced up from the banks of a bright little stream, that emptieditself into the Arno, so isolated and lonely, that it was perfect heavento Brown, who was set down at once as the young lady's father, and toEliza, who delighted in the chance of rest this arrangement promised. 

While in Florence, Brown had taken his charge to one of the bestteachers in Europe, who consented to break through his usual rules andgive her lessons in the pretty home she had decided on. He would alsocharge himself with selecting a teacher of the language, who should makeher pronunciation of the sweet Tuscan perfect as her voice, which was, in fact, something wonderful. 

Some persons were in the musician's room when these arrangements weremade, and one of them, a young man, drew slowly toward the piano, like abird charmed against its will, and listened with rapt attention whileCaroline took her first lesson. The girl looked up once or twice, as hervoice rang out with unusual power, and unconsciously answered back thewarm smile that enkindled his whole face. A musician himself--she knewby the very expression of his dark eyes. 

Brown saw it too, and was delighted with the effect of her genius; whichhe, in his partial affection, deemed transcendent. 

"He is a professor, I dare say, or perhaps a great singer, " thought thekind old man; "but she charmed him at once. "

Brown was confirmed in this idea when the eminent teacher he hadconsulted fell into a discussion with the man in Italian, which Carolinedid not hear, and Brown himself could not understand, but whichevidently turned upon Caroline's performance. They were both delightedwith it; that was evident from the very ardor with which they spoke. Brown was pleased with all this, but Caroline, perhaps, remembered itwith greater interest than he had felt, for the young man's face hauntedher long after she was settled in the pretty villa, and had made herselfat home among the vines and flowers that turned those terraces into ajungle of fruit and blossoms. 

Nothing could be more lovely than the home Brown had chosen, andcertainly no place could have been found more completely isolated. Thecoming of her teachers even became a matter of deep interest toCaroline. 

One morning, when her language-master was expected, she went out earlyand stood upon the lower terrace, looking down the little stream whichled to the Arno, as I have told you, impatient for his coming; impatientto know what sort of a person he would prove, and if his society mightnot break the monotonous stillness of that beautiful place. It was earlyyet. She had no reason to believe that her new teacher would be therefor hours. She felt it very tiresome, walking up and down those terracesand watching the ripe olives drop one by one into the long grass fromthe branches overhead. The restlessness of youth was upon her, and shelonged for some means of leaping over the next three hours, when the newteacher would come, perhaps with a disappointment. 

He might be some poor old soul, whose very presence would prove anannoyance. No matter; a disappointment or an annoyance was better thanutter stagnation. She wished the new man would come, she wished therewas something for her to work at till he did come. 

A flight of stone steps fell down to the water from the lower terrace. Fastened to an iron staple sunk deep into the granite, was a little boatswinging by a cable. Caroline's heart gave a leap at the sight. 

She ran down the steps, untied the cable, and in a moment was sweepingdown the little stream, pulling her oars like an Indian girl. 

It was a lovely flow of water, clear as crystal. The sky was mirrored init softly blue; the sun struck it with arrows of silver, the floweringshrubs trailed down from its banks, and rippled the waters like the lostplumage of a peacock; fruit-laden vines broke away from the olivebranches, and dipped their purple clusters in the stream, where theyshone out richly--amethysts gleaming through crystal. Everything wasbeautiful around her. Full of youth and health she gloried in theexercise of rowing; gloried in the sunshine and quivering shadowsthrough which her pretty boat ploughed its way, breaking up picturedtrees and clouds, and turning them to foam. 

The current was with her, the wind swept softly down stream, bringing ascent of wall-flowers and jessamines with it. The boat shot downwardlike the shuttle through a web. The water deepened, the stream grewwider; she could hear the broad, free rush of the Arno, a little wayoff. Still she went on. 

It would be glorious, finding herself in the broad river sweeping towardFlorence, in her arrow-like boat. Of course she could turn at any time, but not yet. 

Something stopped the boat. A wild vine, hidden in the water, had seizedupon it, and swept it half around, then a current tossed it forward intoa sweeping whirl of waters. She was close by a vortex near the mouth ofthe river, a ravenous little whirlpool that threatened to swallow herup. The oars dropped from her hands; she seized the sides of her boatand sat still, rigid as stone, white as death. Then a great arrow, orwhat seemed to be one, shot through the water close by her, ploughing itwhite with foam. Then a man leaped into her boat, pitching a pair ofoars in before him, and holding the cable of another boat in his hand. 

He neither spoke nor looked at her, but twisting the cable around oneankle, and setting the other foot upon it further up, seized his oars, and for a minute or two battled like a tiger with the waters. 

The boat rocked, wheeled slowly away from the awful danger, then plungedforward with a shock that brought a sharp cry from Caroline's whitelips. 

"Do not be afraid. The danger is over. "

She turned her pallid face, and over it came a flash of recognition. Itwas the man who had listened to her first lesson in Florence. Herecognized her, pale as she was, and slackened his oars--they were outof danger now. 

"Am I so fortunate? My pupil! This is a great happiness. "

Caroline leaned forward and held out her trembling hands. Words ofgratitude were on her lips, but they only trembled there, withoututterance. He leaned over the little hands, as they came quiveringtoward him, but could not touch them, his own being sufficientlyoccupied with the oars. 

"There is nothing to fear now sweet lady, " he said, in Italian, whichnever sounded so sweet to her before. "The danger is wholly past--but it_was_ danger!"

Caroline shuddered; she almost felt those curling waters sweep over her. The sensation was terrible. 

"And you saved me?--you, whose face I have seen before so often, sooften. It seems like that of a friend. "

"Once--only once. I wish it had been a thousand times, if that couldlessen your fright. "

"Tell me how it was, " said Caroline, beginning to recover herself. "Icannot realize it. "

"Nor I, sweet lady, it was all so sudden. I saw a boat whirling towardthat treacherous vortex, the flash of a blue mantle, the whiteness of anupturned face. What I did, you know. I cannot tell how it was done; didnot dream who the person was. Now, I long to fall upon my knees andthank God. "

Caroline clasped the hands which had fallen to her lap, bent her head, and unspoken words of thanksgiving trembled in her heart. The man lookedupon her eagerly. That gentle glow of devotion gave her face thesweetness of a madonna. 

He thought this, and almost dropped the oars, the longing to fall downupon his knees by her side was so intense. 

She saw this, understood it, and smiled for the first time. 

"I was asking God to forgive me for being grateful to you before Ithought of Him. "

"And I was asking Him to make me grateful enough for having saved you. Surely that should bring his blessing on us both. "

Caroline bent her head, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. Then shebethought herself of the things of this world, and grew troubled. 

"But I am taking you from your course. Forgive me!"

"From my course? Not so. It was for this purpose I come. Perhaps you arenot informed that I am to make your Italian more perfect than it is, which is scarcely needed. "

"You sir!--you?"

She said no more, but her face lighted up, and he saw her hands softlyclasp themselves, as if she were thanking God over again. Then his ownhead bent forward, and he made a great effort with the oars, but it wasonly to hide the smile that broke over it. 

So up the little river these two people went more and more slowly, forthe stillness and the beauty were pleasant beyond anything, and bothdreaded the moment when this delicious happiness would end. But theyreached the steps at last, and there was Mr. Brown and Eliza, on thelower terrace, in great trouble. 

They had missed her and the boat. Dreading they scarcely knew whatdanger, both were anxious to follow her, but they had no means. Thus anhour of keen anxiety had passed, while they stood watching the river. 

"There is your father, looking anxious, " said the young man. "I hope hehas not suffered much. "

Caroline did not answer him, but sprang to the steps and ran up them, holding out her hands. 

"My child! my dear, dear child!" cried Brown, throwing both arms aroundher. 

He often used endearing terms like this when much affected, and shethought nothing of it, but kissed his face, and kissed Eliza also, whoscolded her terribly, as was her habit when disturbed by a sudden fit oftenderness--a state of feeling she was sure to resent. 

"Father Brown, this is my new teacher. The professor sent him. He hasjust saved my life. I have tried to thank him, but could not. You havemore power. "

Brown and Eliza both came close to the young man; but he shook his head, and tried to evade them. After her tender thankfulness, their gratitude, generous and pure as it was, seemed coarse to him. 

"We must begin the lesson, " he said, laughing, and drawing a book fromhis pocket. "This little accident, which was nothing, has made us losetime. "

He said this in Italian, which, of course, silenced them; and at thismoment the man could say nothing which his companion would not confirm. 

Caroline smiled, and went up the steps from terrace to terrace, while hekept by her side. Her color had come back more vividly than ever. Thesunshine struck her hair, and turned all its brown to gold. She wasdressed like a peasant of the better class, with some scarlet in herblue bodice, and more bordering the bottom of her skirt. Her neck wasuncovered, for the blue mantle had fallen off and now lay in the bottomof the boat. It was a becoming dress, but not for her--she was tooqueenly. 

They went into that old stone dwelling, forming one group; but themoment the parlor was reached, Eliza went off to her work, she said--butif any one had followed her, it would have been to a chamber under theroof, where she was upon her knees full twenty minutes, thanking God forCaroline's escape from death. 

Then Brown went away, and seated himself in an arbor on one of theterraces, where he was seen once or twice to take out his handkerchiefand wipe his eyes, as if the dust troubled him. 

The man up yonder, brave as he was, had rather evaded his gratitude; buthe knew that God would listen. 

Then Caroline took one of the volumes her new teacher had brought, andretreated to a latticed window, which had a cushioned seat in it largeenough for two, though I really do not believe she thought of that. Atany rate, he did not accuse her of it, even in his thoughts, but wentquietly to the window and took a seat by her side, at which she blusheda little, but did not move. 

Caroline was very well grounded in her Italian; so, instead of grammars, these young people fell to reading the native poets, and began withTasso--a course of studies well calculated to produce more results thanone; but Brown did not understand Italian, though he was a splendidmusician, and repeated it like a parrot. Besides, what did Eliza knowabout Tasso, Petrarch, Dante, or any of those wild fellows thatdisseminate love-poison by the line?

When her teacher was ready to go, Brown asked his name. I have no ideathat Caroline had thought of it. The young man seemed quite taken abackfor a minute, but answered, after that, something that would havesounded like an English name rendered in Italian, had a thoroughItalian scholar been present, which there was not. 

Well, for three months those young people sat twice a week in the seatin the lattice-window, and read the poets together. Need I say moreabout that?

At the end of three months Olympia had an engagement in London, and sentfor Brown to join her there with his charge. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION. 

Of course there is no such thing as arousing all London into a fit ofenthusiasm, because millions of people are not moved at the same momentby anything less than a revolution. But the West End, just then, wantedan excitement, and found it in the coming of Olympia. Her style was new, her action a little too free, perhaps, for the high-bred dames of thearistocracy; but they all went, and were amused, shocked, fascinated, and went again, but only to keep the young people, they said, from utterdemoralization--the creature really was irresistible. 

At any rate, Olympia was the fashion, and drew famously, till a rivalnovelty proclaimed itself. Then she was horror-stricken by seeing a fewempty seats in the house. To Olympia, an empty seat was desolation. 

That night Olympia went to her daughter's room the moment she reachedher hotel after a late performance. The cloak which she had worn fromthe theatre still hung about her shoulders. Her cheeks blazed withrouge, her eyes were restless and anxious. 

Caroline started up from her sweet sleep, disturbed and almostterrified. 

"What is it, mamma?" she said, holding back the hair from her lovelyface with both hands. "Is any one ill--Mr. Brown?"

Olympia sat down on her daughter's bed, and drew the cloak around her;not that she was cold, but to show that her resolution was taken. 

"No one is ill, Caroline; as for Brown, I know nothing about him. But Icome to prepare you; for this week we shall bring you out. In what operahave you practiced most?"

"Bring me out? Oh, mamma!"

The girl fell back on her pillow, dismayed, and clasping both hands, held them out imploringly. 

"Oh! I thought you had given it up. "

"Foolish child! I never give anything up. Ask Brown. "

It was true; that woman never gave up her own will to any one. Thepossibility of sacrifice or willing concession could not enter her mind. 

"But I cannot, I cannot! Oh, mother! think how little I have seen ofcrowds. To sing before one would _kill_ me!"

"Mother!" repeated Olympia, "how often must I tell you that I hate theword!--an American vulgarism!"

"Forgive me, mamma; it was only because I was so frightened at the ideaof singing in public. But I know that you did not mean it. "

The poor girl made a pitiful attempt at disbelief, and tried to winacquiescence with a timid smile. 

"I not only mean it, but will have no more evasion or protest. When weleft New York, you were dying to get on the stage. "

"Oh, that was before I knew--before I dreamed--"

"Before you knew--before you dreamed what?"

"That it made one so--so--"

"Well, speak out!"

"So unhappy. Indeed, indeed, I cannot say what I mean; only, I wouldrather die than put rouge on my face, and--oh, forgive me! I did notmean to make you look so angry!"

But Olympia was angry. The prima donna of a company does not usuallybear much opposition, even in trifles, and here Olympia had greatinterests at stake. 

Through the young girl before her she intended to run a second career, and thus crowd the enjoyment of two lives into one. 

"This all comes of Brown, " she said. "He would have you kept quiet, andout of the world, pretending that society would distract attention fromyour practice; but it was all an artful plan to keep you to himself. Ihave not been so busy as not to understand that, let me tell him. "

Caroline started up in bed, almost as much excited as the actress. 

There was plenty of good honest character in the girl; and, if sheappeared timid, it was from delicacy, not weakness. 

"You wrong Mr. Brown. There is not a selfish feeling in his heart. Whathe does, is always done for my good. "

"Yes; I suppose it is for your good when he drinks too much!"

There was a sneer on Olympia's lip, an evil spirit in her eye, whichdestroyed all its beauty; but even this did not make the girl shrink;she only put out both her hands, and turned her head away. 

"Oh! how can you?" she cried. "I never saw him in my life when he wasnot in all respects a gentleman. "

"But I have! I have!"

"Ah, madam, it is cruel to say this. Mr. Brown was my friend, my onlyfriend, long before--before you came and took me away from my poorlittle home. If you could make me think ill of him, would it be kind?"

"But he has been treacherous; he has taught you hatred of the professionwhich you were so crazy for at one time. "

"No, no; it was not Mr. Brown. I saw for myself. "

"Yes, the dark side; never in its brightness or its glory. But youshall, you shall. "

Caroline lay back upon her pillow and covered her face with one hand. The sight of that beautiful woman, so hard in her resolve, so completelyignoring all feelings but her own, was hateful to her. 

"Please let me rest to-night, " she pleaded. 

"To-night, yes. It is enough that you understand me now; but, afterthis, I shall expect no opposition. If you are so stupidly ignorant ofthe power which lies in your own beauty and genius, I am not. So try andcome to your senses before morning. Good-night. "

The woman went out, with her head aloft, and her cloak trailing behindher, for, in her excitement, she had flung it away from one shoulder, that she might gesticulate with the arm that was free. 

Caroline turned upon her pillow and cried bitterly till morning. 

Olympia was right. The girl had been scrupulously kept from all societythat her freshness might be preserved, and her education completed. 

She had been to the theatres, here and there, when some new piece waspresented, but it was rather as a study than an amusement; and after aknowledge of the public idol in private life had slowly swept away allthe romance of their first meeting, the innate coarseness of thisbeautiful, selfish woman was not long in revealing itself to thepure-minded girl, who soon began to grieve that she could not love andstill admire the mother she had at first almost worshipped. Olympia, whohad found it easy enough to dictate to managers, and oppresssubordinates, had far different material to act upon when she broke inupon the midnight sleep of the girl Daniel Yates had grounded in thenobility of true womanhood. 

The next day, being Sunday, was Olympia's great day of rest andamusement. She slept till long after mid-day, ate an epicurean breakfastin a little dressing-room with rose-tinted draperies, ran lazily overthe pages of some French novel, in the silken depths of a pretty Turkishdivan, heaped up with cushions, till long after dark; then threw herselfinto the mysteries of a superb toilet, and came into her exquisitelittle drawing-room like a princess--say Marguerite of Navarre--ready toentertain the guests, invariably invited on that evening, in a fashionthat made her quite as popular in this particular social strata as shewas behind the footlights. 

From these little suppers Caroline had been carefully excluded up tothis time; but the morning after she had left the young girl in tearsupon her pillow, Olympia broke into her day of luxurious repose bysending for her agent, with whom she had a rather stormy interview inthe dressing-room, from which Brown came out pale as death, but with anuprightness of the person, and an expression in the eyes that no one hadever seen there before. 

About an hour after he had departed, Olympia's French maid was seenhurrying up stairs to the chamber which Caroline occupied, and where shestood that moment, just as she had sprung from her chair, with a wildand startled look; for every knock she heard seemed to come from hermother, whose appearance she dreaded terribly that morning. But, insteadof Olympia, the French maid came in, with a creamy-white dress of Indiagauze thrown over her arm, its whiteness broken up by the blue ripple ofa broad sash, with a purple tinge in it; and in her hands the womancarried some half-open moss-roses, with a delicate perfume absolutelybreaking from their hearts, as if they were the outgrowth of a generoussoil--which they were not, however difficult it might be to decide froma first or second look; these French are so like nature in everythingbut themselves. 

The French maid laid these things daintily on Caroline's bed, where theroses glowed out, as if cast upon the crust of a snow-bank. Then, looking upon the girl's magnificent hair, which was simply turned backfrom her forehead and done in braids behind, she said, with pretty, broken speech:

"I will do it in crimp and puffs, if mademoiselle pleases. With herface, it will be charming. "

Caroline drew a deep breath, and cast a half-frightened, half-pleasedglance at her maid, Eliza, who stood near by, looking grimly atpreparations she could not understand. This was not half so dreadful asthe presence she had expected, and the dress was so lovely that shecould not keep her eyes from it. 

"What is it all about?" questioned staunch America, with a look atFrance which was not altogether friendly. 

"It is, " answered the French maid, spreading out her little hands, "Itis that madame will have mademoiselle down to her little supper. Theevening will be very charming because of mademoiselle. "

Caroline glanced at the blush-roses, and her eyes began to sparkle. Thenshe caught a glimpse of Eliza's face, and turned her glance resolutelyaway, looking penitent. Eliza knew something of madame's little suppers, but Caroline did not. If bursts of laughter and a soft tangle of voicessometimes came up to her room in the night, she had no means of knowingthat the noise was not from the servants' hall, and Eliza would havedied rather than enlighten her. Besides, she had nothing absolutelywrong to tell, for some of the first young noblemen in England came toOlympia's little entertainments; and when Eliza heard their namesannounced she had not a word to say, having lived long enough to attaina reverence for titles. 

In fact, it is doubtful if she did not value her charge a little morehighly from the fact that she lived in a house where noblemen came andwent with such evident sociability. 

At first Eliza had darted fiery glances at the robe of India gauze, thinking it a theatrical costume; but when she learned that it was onlya dress which would introduce her darling into the best society, fromwhich a selfish mother had rigidly excluded her, she allowed herfeatures to relax, and absolutely smiled on the little French woman. 

Then the smile, which had been struggling all the time about Caroline'smouth, broke over her whole face. She could neither keep her hands fromthe dress or the moss-roses, but touched them daintily, half doubtful, indeed, if they were intended for her. 

"If mademoiselle will please, " said the little French woman, drawing alow chair before the dressing-table, and taking an ivory brush, carvedat the back like a Chinese puzzle, in her hand. 

Caroline sat down, smiling in spite of herself. Eliza stood a little onone side, resolved to be upon her guard. 

While she was looking, down came that abundant hair in a torrent, tressupon tress, wave after wave, with tinges of gold rippling through andthrough the brown. The little French woman held up both hands, brush andall, in astonishment, and burst out in a noisy cataract of French, whichdelighted Eliza all the more because she could not understand a word ofit. 

But Caroline did understand, and this outburst of genuine admirationpleased her so much that, in a moment, her face was glowing like a wholethicket of roses, and she hadn't the courage to lift her eyes, from fearthat Eliza would see how foolish she was to care about what the littleFrench woman said. 

Eliza saw all this, but it only made that grim smile broader and deeperon her own face; and when the golden-brown hair was frizzed and rolled, and dropped in two rich curls on that white shoulder, she turned herface upon the French woman and said, "Very nice!" in a way that made thelittle woman put her head on one side, and nod it half a dozen times, while she answered:

"Yes, I tink so. "

India gauze was dropped like a cloud over Caroline's head; the sash ofpurplish blue was girded around her waist, and bunched up in superb bowsbehind; then the cloudy stuff was gathered up in drapery from a silkenunder-skirt, tinted like the sash, and fastened back with clusters ofthe moss-roses. 

This completed the toilet. No jewels were there, not even a string ofpearls, though Olympia had ropes of them; and Caroline rather sighed fortheir completeness when she took a full-length view of herself in themirror, as foolish girls will, who never learn the value of simplicityand freshness until both are lost. 

Then the little French woman went away to Olympia, giving Carolineplenty of time for reflection. The first thing the girl did was to lookshyly at Eliza, who pursed up her lips, and did her best to keep fromsmiling. Then she took courage, and said:

"Eliza. "

"I hear, " answered the grim hand-maiden. 

"Eliza, do you think _he_ would know me in this dress? Or, if so, wouldhe like it, as he did that dear Italian costume?"

"I don't know, " answered Eliza. "Them Italians have queer notions aboutdress. Now, for my part, them short skirts and low-necked waists didwell enough for common-sized girls; but you're too tall, and carry yourhead too high, for anything but a skirt that sweeps out and puffs uplike that. "

"Still, I shall always like the dear old costume, Eliza. Oh, what ahappy, happy life madame broke up when she sent for us!"

"Yes, I suppose so. You seemed to enjoy it; and as for that youngfellow, what with his boating on the river, his shooting birds--which Ihate--on the hills, and his lessons--well, really, he might about aswell have lived with us. "

"Oh! Eliza, shall we ever be so happy again?" cried the girl, kindlingup with bright memories. 

"Not just in the same way; real folks never are. But I suppose peoplehave a pretty equal share of the good and bad things of life, as they goalong. Now I haven't an idea but that the young fellow thought all wasup with him when he got the letter you left at the house. "

"I should not wonder, " said Caroline, and her bosom began to heave withan after-swell of the indignation which had stormed it, when she leftItaly at an hour's notice. "It was a cruel thing. I never will forgiveyou or Mr. Brown. A few hours would have made no difference, and he wascoming the next day. "

"What then? If he was a teacher, Mr. Brown left his money, with twomonths' overpay. "

"His money!" repeated Caroline, with infinite scorn. 

"If not money, what did he come for?" questioned the hand-maiden, sharply. 

"Eliza, you shall never think that--it degrades him and me. He nevertouched--he never thought of money. If Mr. Brown left it, as you say, Iam sure he felt insulted. "

"Then what did he come for?" inquired Eliza, with dry emphasis. 

"Because--because he loved me, and could not live without seeing me, because I--I--"

"Loved him, " said the maid. 

But Caroline had broken down wholly with this first passionateconfession. The poor girl sank to a couch, flushed all over with suchshame as only a woman of fine sensibilities can feel for that of whichshe has no reason to be ashamed at all. 

"Oh! Eliza, how can you be so cruel?" she exclaimed, dropping her hands, and revealing a face of crimson, wet with tears. "I never meant to keepit from you. "

"Of course, you never meant it, and you didn't do it, which is more. Yousupposed I didn't know. Men may be blind as bats--they usually are; andour Brown is worse than the commonality. But trust an old maid forspying out a love secret. It's like exploring a strange land for her, you know. Lord! Miss Carry, you can't keep a secret from Eliza Casey;but then, why should you? Isn't she bound to be your staunch friendforever and ever?"

These words opened a new source of anxiety to the really unhappy girl, who forgot her love-shame, and plunged at once into a new subject. 

"Oh! Eliza, if you could help me. Madame is determined. That is, shewishes me to go on the stage. "

"Well, you have been told that from the first. "

"I know--I know; but it seemed so far off then, like death, or any otherevil that you know will come, but cannot tell when. But now she says itmust be at once. Oh! Eliza, I never can do it. The very fear of it makesme shudder. "

"But why? I remember, when we first came out here, you had no other wishbut to be like her--your mother, I mean. Like her! I would rather seeyou dead!"

Eliza muttered the last words under her breath, and Caroline only heardthe question. 

"Yes, I know. Everything seemed so bright then--she brightest of all;but I was getting to shrink from it before we went up to that dearlittle villa, and since then it has seemed like death. Oh! tell herthis, Eliza, and beg of her to let me be as I am. "

"But shall I tell her all, and say that is the reason?"

"No, no, no! You may think it. Mr. Brown may think it. That is likemyself having a secret; but do not tell her for the whole world. "

"Tell her! Well, well, I aint likely to; but if she is set upon it, whatcan I say? Madame is not a woman to give up her plans, and you have got_such a voice_! Sometimes I think it would be splendid to see you takingthe wind out of her sails. "

"But it would kill me!"

"Poor thing! Well, never mind--I will stand by you, right or wrong; butthis will be a tough battle. Tell me, though, did that young fellow haveanything to do with setting you against the profession?"

"There it is, Eliza. He never knew that I thought of it, and used tospeak of female performers with such careless contempt, as if they wereten thousand degrees beneath him. "

"And he only a teacher!" said Eliza, lifting her head in the air. 

"And he only a teacher; but so proud, so sensitive, so regal in all hesaid or did. Oh! Eliza, if he knew that Olympia, grand, beautiful, andworshipped as she is, were my mother, I fear he would never care for meagain. "

"Why, how on earth could you help that?"

"I could not, and it would be wicked to desire it. But, Eliza, I oughtto have had the courage to tell him, and I put it off. Every day I saidto myself, the very next time he comes, and at last you know how it was. I had no chance, and now I may never see him again. He will always thinkme Mr. Brown's daughter, and I shall feel like an impostor. I cannothelp this; but to go on the stage, when he has said so much against it, that I will not do, unless forced there by my mother's authority. "

"Well, as I said before, I will stand by you, right or wrong; and sowill Mr. Brown, I know. I only wish he was your father. "

"He could not be kinder if he was, " said Caroline. 

Just then the door opened, and Olympia's French maid looked through. 

"Madame is in the drawing-room, and waits for mademoiselle. "

"I will come! I will come!" exclaimed Caroline, breathlessly, and shehurried down stairs. 

CHAPTER VI. 

SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES GET INTO A CONJUGAL DIFFICULTY. 

Lord Hope had a house in Belgravia, that could always be made ready forthe family at a day's notice. So Rachael, who could refuse nothing toher brother, sent up her steward to make preparations one day, andfollowed him the next with Lady Clara and Hepworth Closs; Margaret Caseyand other servants in attendance, of course. 

These persons reached London on the very Saturday when Olympia wasstricken with dismay by finding an empty seat or two in her usually wellpacked houses. When this discovery first broke upon the prima donna, Hepworth Closs was sitting quietly in the pit, where he found himself, as if by accident. They had reached town only in time for a late dinner, when the ladies, being greatly fatigued, proclaimed their intention ofretiring early, which was, in fact, casting him adrift for the evening. Being thus let loose upon the world, he very naturally brought up at theopera, and was seated so near the stage that his eyes more than oncecaught those of Olympia, who gave him one of those quick glances ofrecognition, which seemed aimed at the whole audience, but hit only oneperson. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but isn't she a stunner!" said a voice, as thefirst act closed. Hepworth might not have recognized these words asaddressed to himself, but for the weight of a large hand which was laidon his arm. As it was, he turned promptly, and encountered a stout, heavy man, handsomely dressed, but for a massive gold chain which passedacross his bosom into his vest pocket, and drooped in glittering lengthsfar down the rotundity of his capacious person, and a large diamond thatblazed on his plaited shirt bosom. From the chain and the diamond, Hepworth's first thought was, that the person must be some Californianor Australian acquaintance, belonging to his old mining days, but theman soon set that idea aside. 

"You don't happen to remember me, Mr. Hepworth, but I knew you at thefirst sight. Ask my lady here. Didn't I say, Mrs. Stacy, that gentlemanwith the coal-black mustacher, and them splendid eyes, is Mr. Hepworth, if ever I set my two eyes on Mr. Hepworth, which I did many a time, whenhe used to come to Forty-third street?"

Hepworth started. Forty-third street! Was he to be forever haunted bythe place and people connected with that awful tragedy? Why was this?The guilt was not his, yet he could not feel himself near any person, however remotely connected with it, without thrills of dread. 

The man had been talking on, but Hepworth heard nothing at first, he hadbeen too painfully startled; when he did listen, these words fell on hisear:

"That was an awful affair, Mr. Hepworth; most people was astonished, butI never was; always had my suspicions of that old woman; believe sherobbed the house of lots and lots of things, after the lady was dead; infact, am sure of it. Mrs. Stacy here is of my opinion. There was a girlin the house--perhaps you remember her, sir--Maggie we used to call her;she and the old woman Yates was thick as thieves, and both laid theirheads together. It wasn't for nothing, let me tell you; their nests werefeathered, you may believe. There never was a sharper girl than MaggieCasey. "

"She was just a forerd, imperdent cretur as set her cap at you like afiery draggon, " broke out the woman, who occupied a seat by the stoutman, and was evidently his wife; "a cretur as I wouldn't wipe my shoeson, after a long walk--no, not if she'd give me fifty pair for doing ofit. "

"I am not saying anything to the contrary, my dear, am I? That girl wasafter me sharp enough, but I never encouraged her. Mr. Hepworth cansatisfy you on that point, my own Harriet, for I remember, as if it wasyesterday, he and I talking about it the very day afore that murder, andwe both agreed that her conduct was scandalous. "

Hepworth shuddered. How well he remembered that artful conversation. Howhideous it appeared to him now. 

"But I don't think Mr. Hepworth remembers us for positive, even now, "said the woman; "just look in my face, young gent, and say if you do. "

"Harriet, my dear, isn't that a little, just a little, promiscous?" saidthe husband, as a broad, red face, with a pointed nose, turning up inthe centre, and two small leaden blue eyes looking across it, was bentforward, and challenged Hepworth's inspection. "Remember, things havechanged since we knew this gentleman. "

"In course they have changed, and I haven't no doubt that is just whatis a puzzling him now; but when I ask Mr. Hepworth if he remembers thefirst punken-pie he ever eat in his born days, and who made it, he'll besure to remember Harriet, and I ain't ashamed to say that I am her, if Ido wear an Injur shawl, and if that diment in your bozzom is a flashingright in his eyes. Self-made men, and women too, mayn't be of muchaccount in England, but in New York, the aristocracy are always a tryingto make out that they were born next door to the alms-house, and startedlife with just twenty-five cents in their pockets, so you and I needn'tbe ashamed. "

Hepworth was not cosmopolitan, and managed to get the truth out of thisconfusion of cockney, Irish, and Yankee dialect. In fact, at the firstmoment, he had recognized Matthew Stacy and Harriet Long in the personswho claimed his acquaintance, and they stung his memory like a nest ofserpents. 

"You'll be glad to know, " said Stacy, "that Harriet has been, in allrespects, up to the 'casion whenever I've made a rise in the world. There's smartness in that woman, I can tell you. When I was electedalderman of our ward, she just went into the saloon and dealt out lickerto my constituents with her own hand. There is no telling the number ofvotes she got for me by that perseeding. You'd be astonished. "

Here the curtain went up with a rush, and Stacy could only make himselfheard by sharp whispers, which reached Hepworth in fragments, when themusic sank lowest. 

"Got into a first-rate thing. Mayor with us--street contracts--cutthrough, widened--got hold of a dead charter--revived it--stock went uplike winking--kept the Irish vote of the ward in my fist--no countingthe presents that woman got. I never took one, of course; such a woman!"

Here Olympia's voice swept through the house, with an outpouring ofmelody that brought the audience to its feet, but when the tumultsubsided, Hepworth found that the man had been talking on and on, withan under-tow of political gossip, that reached him in words at last. 

"They wanted the Legislature, which wasn't to be had without money, youknow; two or three men had been seen--nothing less than a hundredthousand would do it. I was president of the board, went up myself, sawthe members, who sent me to their confidential men--jackals we call 'em, ha! ha!--got it done for sixty thousand--said nothing, but divided therest--jackals got twenty, the other twenty--you understand. She got anInger shawl out of that operation, the very one she has on. "

"No, it isn't nothing of the sort. This one was the other, " whisperedMrs. Stacy, holding up a corner of the magnificent shawl she wore. 

Hepworth turned and gazed upon the shawl until his face grew white asdeath, in the gaslight. The very sight of that rich garment made himfaint. 

The mistake he had made had a silencing effect upon Stacy too. He had nowish that the history of that garment should be produced, and when hiswife was about to speak, silenced her at once. 

"My dear Harriet, " he said, "how often have I told you that talking at atheater or the operer is awfully vulgar. I wonder you can persist init, and Mr. Hepworth by. Just listen to that music! Haven't you notaste? If you haven't, just take a look around the boxes. That youngfeller there is the Prince of Wales. "

Mrs. Stacy took a mother-of-pearl opera glass from her lap, andobediently turned it upon the royal box. 

Before the performance was over, and while Hepworth was drawn back, inspite of himself, to the most painful scenes of his life, an usher camedown the nearest passage, and put a little twisted note into his hand. It was from Olympia, inviting him to supper the next evening. 

Hepworth crushed the pretty missive in his hand, while he turned to senda verbal refusal, but the usher had withdrawn, and he had no other wayof sending a reply that night. 

The opera was at its close now, and Hepworth left the house, irritatedand restless. Could he find no place in which this miserable past wouldnot haunt him? He had hardly made his way through the crowd when his armwas seized, and Stacy almost wheeled him around on the pavement. 

"My dear sir, this way. Mrs. Stacy is already in the carriage. Of coursewe would not ride and let you go afoot. Have been a poor man myselfonce--needn't deny that to you. Know what it is to keep up a showwithout capital. But no old friend of mine shall go afoot while I havethe wherewith to pay for a carriage, and an empty seat in it. Shall setin the back seat with Mrs. Stacy, upon my soul you shall, and that's anhonor I don't offer to every man. Now just tell me where you are puttingup. "

Hepworth laughed, in spite of his annoyance. The patronizing fussinessof the ex-alderman struck a keen sense of the ridiculous, which wasstrong in his character. 

"If you insist, " he said. "But you are too generous. "

"Not at all, not at all. When Alderman Stacy does a thing, he does ithandsomely. This way, this way!"

Hepworth seated himself in the carriage where Mrs. Stacy squeezedherself in one corner, and gathered up her skirts to make room for him, and Stacy had his foot on the step, when a new poster, just placed atthe door of the opera house, struck his attention, and he stepped backto examine it. 

"'First appearance of a young American, a protege of Olympia. ' Just readthat poster, Mr. Hepworth, and tell me what you think of it, " he said, lifting himself into the carriage. "Mrs. Stacy, my dear, just look thatway, and tell me if you can guess who it is that will make a firstappearance Monday night? You know that young lady, and so does Mr. Hepworth. Now, make a guess. "

"How can you?" said Mrs. Stacy. "You know, Matthew, dear, I never wasgood at conundrums and such like. "

Matthew puffed himself out with a deep, long breath, and clasping twohuge hands encased in flame-colored gloves on his knee, leaned towardHepworth. 

"You try, now. "

Hepworth shook his head, and Stacy burst out with his mystery. 

"It's the identical child that was brought up at the inquest inForty-third street--Daniel Yates' little daughter. "

"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Stacy. "That little creature?"

"It ain't nobody else--you may bet high on that, Mrs. Stacy. "

Hepworth kept perfectly still, but his heart fairly stopped beating. 

"But how did you find out, Matthew, dear?"

"Oh! we aldermen find out everything. The girl was brought up in thecountry, near Sing-Sing, in a cedar-post cottage that the executorwanted to raise some money on. I went up to see it, and had a good lookat the girl. Yes, my dear, she was, to say, very handsome, but proud. Daniel Yates had brought her up like a queen, and I give you my word shelooked it; but there was no mistake about it. The executor had justgobbled up everything Yates left, and there was no one to look afterhim, so that the girl was just nowhere financially. I found out that thecottage could not be sold or mortgaged, nor let either, according tolaw, though the executor tried it on hard, and came again and againabout it, especially after she left it. So I found out everything aboutthe girl. That primer donner took a fancy to her, and adopted her rightout of hand because of her voice, and to-morrow night you can both ofyou see her, for I mean to have a box up among the British arrestocracythat night, and I invite you both free gratis for nothing. "

"Are you sure of this?" questioned Hepworth, who had not spoken tillnow. 

"Just as sure as I am that Alderman Stacy sits before you. But if youdon't believe it, ask the girl yourself. I mean to call on her, and Mrs. Stacy will do likewise. You can go along. That is, we will call, if shecomes out first chop on Monday night. "

"Mr. Stacy, " said the superb matron in the back seat, drawing herself upwith wonderful dignity, "I don't mean to put on airs nor nothing becauseI'm your lady and richer than some folks, or Mr. Hepworth wouldn't be anhonored guest in this here carriage; but I must set my foot squareaginst actresses and primmer donners--in short, theatre-clers ingeneral. "

"Just you hear that, " said Stacy, looking at Hepworth. "Isn't she comingit down strong, and lifting of her head high?"

"It isn't that, Mr. Stacy, but because I am a wife and a--a woman--thatI feel called upon to stand between them creturs and the sect. Pay themyour money, Mr. Stacy--pay them any amount of money from the front--butnothing beyond that, Mr. Stacy!"

"Oh, humbug, " said Mr. Stacy; "that is putting it too strong, Harriet--as if I couldn't pay money or not, just as I please. "

"It isn't humbug, Mr. Stacy, but a question of benignant morality, whichit is every woman's duty to take up and hurl back, till she totters onthe brink, martyr-like, between heaven and earth! Don't you think so, Mr. Hepworth?"

"Did you ever hear anything up to that?" exclaimed Stacy, swelling withpompous satisfaction. "Harriet is the sort of woman that a man ofsubstance can depend on, morrerly, financierly, and--and--. Not that I'mgoing to give in, you know; but it's satisfaction to know that yourmoney has lifted such a person into her proper spear. "

"That's very kind of you, and I feel it, Stacy, dear; but when you speakof lifting me up with _your_ money, who was it that owned the first fivehundred dollars you, or me, Mr. Stacy?"

"Harriet!"

"It's no use thundering out my baptismal name against me, Mr. Stacy, forthat's a thing I won't bear at no price! Truth is truth, Mr. Hepworth, and rich as that man is, rolling over and over in gold, like a porposein salt water, it was my five hundred dollars that did it! Let him sayif I didn't own that much?"

"But didn't I marry you, and then didn't you own me? Would you set downgood looks, financial ability, and moral character A number one, at fivehundred dollars, and you--"

What was coming next Hepworth was destined never to learn, for Mrs. Stacy, overcome by a fit of conjugal remorse, leaned forward and placedone substantial hand in the flame-colored glove of her husband. 

"Matthew, forgive me! I didn't mean it. That mention of the primmerdonner and her protager upset me; but I am your wife yet, Stacy, dear--your true and lawful wife--just as ready to travel with you intoevery tropical climate of Europe as I ever was. "

Stacy would not clasp his flame-colored fingers around that hand, butlet it drop with ignominious looseness, while he drew a handkerchieffrom his pocket and buried his face in it. 

"Harriet! Harriet! you have hurt my feelings, mortified my--my manhoodbefore an old friend!"

It was in the night, the carriage was close, the lamps dim, and Hepworthonly knew that there a heap of drapery launched itself into the frontseat, that a voice came from the midst, saying:

"Oh, Matthew! Matthew!"

Then the white handkerchief dropped like a flag at half mast, and thereconciliation was complete. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE OPERATIC SUPPER. 

"Indeed, Mr. Closs, I insist!"

"But, my dear child, I have no particular desire to go. "

"That is because you think that I care about it. Why should I? In fact, it is unbearable that you should have the idea. "

Hepworth Closs had in all loyalty told Lady Clara of the invitation hehad received from Olympia, and, instead of resenting it as he expected, she met his vague desire more than half-way--one of the wisest thingsany woman can do, for half the sins in the world are committed becausethey are forbidden; not that this young girl knew of the wisdom. Withher, it was half pride, half bravado; she was indignant that Hepworthshould think of going--more indignant that he should have refused theinvitation at once, without telling her of it. 

The result was, she insisted on his accepting it, though her heart wasburning with jealousy all the time. 

Closs, as I have said somewhere, had learned many things in his travels;but in Japan and the frontier countries of America girls like Clara hadnot often come under his observation, and he was far too deeply in lovefor a cool examination of her character or actions. 

So her impulse of unbounded generosity deceived him utterly, and havingsome shrinking curiosity regarding Daniel Yates' daughter, he resolvedto accept Olympia's invitation. 

Of course, Clara found a dozen absurd reasons for quarreling with himthat day, not one of which seemed to relate to Olympia; yet thatbeautiful woman was the root of them all, if Hepworth could haveunderstood it. 

But he only comprehended that every room in that sumptuous dwelling wasdull as a wilderness on that particular Sabbath day. Rachael kept herroom; Clara would not make herself agreeable; and he felt it a reliefwhen night came and took him to the little bijou of a mansion whereOlympia was waiting the advent of her guests. 

Hepworth had seen this woman in New York, and knew something of thefantastic elegance with which she could surround herself; but the househe entered surpassed anything he had ever seen in that republican city. 

Nothing sad or even grave in art or nature was ever permitted to visitthe Queen of Song in her own home. Her servants were expected to besmiling and cheerful. There was not a sombre corner in her dwelling. 

The very hall was a marvel of art; statuettes of snow-white marble, airyand graceful as stone could be chiselled, seemed ready to escort theguest into the unique drawing-room beyond. 

Delicate bric-a-brac occupied gilded brackets on the walls, or crowdedthe statuettes upon the floor; a laughing faun held back the silkencurtain that concealed the entrance to that inner room where the goddessherself presided; a soft mellow light fell upon these treasures, makingtheir beauty still more exquisite. 

A servant in silver and blue livery admitted Hepworth, and pointed tothe faun, who seemed inviting him forward with a fantastic gesture. 

The servant disappeared, his duties ended when the outer door wasopened. 

Those who visited Olympia were supposed to know their way to herpresence. Hepworth lingered a moment in the hall. Those beautiful marblepeople seemed enticing him to stay, and, for the instant, he felt anunaccountable reluctance to present himself before the actress; afeeling of humiliation came upon him that he should be willing to visitany woman whom the lady of his love could not meet on equal terms. Whatright had he there?

This question was almost upon his lips, when a silken rustle made himhold his breath. It was a young girl, tall, stately, beautiful, comingdown the marble stairs. He was standing near the centre of the floor, but drew back, step by step, as the girl descended, turning white andcold, as if there had been some wrong in his admiration of an antiquegroup in bronze, which occupied a bracket on the wall close by him. 

The girl paused, looked toward him, and, after a little hesitation, crossed the hall. 

"Permit me to show you the way, " she said. "The servant should not haveleft you so. "

Hepworth did not speak, but stood gazing upon her blankly. Her beautyhad struck him dumb. 

She made a little gesture with her hand and moved on. He followed, without a word, by the marble faun, through the lifted curtains, andinto the presence of Olympia, who was walking up and down the Gobelincarpet, with the light of a Venetian chandelier falling over her. 

She was becoming impatient for the arrival of her guests. Yet the roomseemed peopled fully; for, on every hand, mirrors that seemed framed ina network of gold, threw back and duplicated the group that stood there, the rich coloring of the draperies, two vases of Malachite and Sevres, the gifts of emperors, and the carpet, where masses of blossoms seemedstarting into fresh bloom, wherever a footstep trod them down. 

"Mr. Hepworth!" cried Olympia; "my good American friend! This is ahappiness!"

Hepworth bowed over the white hand she held out; but did not kiss it, asshe might have expected, being used to all sorts of homage. 

She looked at him in pleasant astonishment, dropped her hand with afaint laugh, and turned to the young girl. 

"Caroline, you have never seen Mr. Hepworth, I think. "

"Closs, Hepworth Closs, dear lady; you forget. "

"Do I? Well, it is very likely, though, I am sure, we always called youHepworth; but that's nothing; in our Bohemian set we generally preferredthe given name, and sometimes only took half of that. Ah, ho! here comeour friends at last!"

The curtain was flung back, revealing what seemed a crowd in the hall, which soon came forward, with little ceremony, and some rather riotousnoise. 

Olympia was in her element now. Heart and soul she loved society, andall these persons were picked people of her own choice--brilliantpersons in their various capacities, each bringing a store of wit orsome accomplishment to swell the general gaiety. Artists, dilettantinoblemen, epicures, and persons who would have accompanied Orpheus inall his explorations for the music he could give them. 

Of course, there was high mirth and some sparkling wit among a grouplike this, in which several females mingled brilliantly, and sang likesirens after Olympia had set them the example. These were professional, of course, but wonderfully clever, and talked charmingly, as women whoare reckless of criticism usually do; but in all that was said, acertain vein of doubtful license sometimes brought the color toCaroline's cheek. She could not thoroughly understand the conversationof these people. They seemed to have come out of another world toastonish and bewilder her. She knew that some of the men present werenoblemen, and saw that their manners, and even the tones of theirvoices, changed when they addressed her. 

From the secluded life she had led, this girl was incapable of makingquick comparisons. She only knew that none of these men possessed thegentle tenderness or the proud bearing of the teacher, who had become toher a beau-ideal of true manhood. Of all the men present she felt themost sympathy with Hepworth Closs. He had been in America, had known theplaces she loved so well, and could understand her loneliness in a scenelike that; but there was something even in this man that startled her alittle. 

His fine eyes were frequently lifted to her face with a look thattroubled her, a look that seemed to go beyond her and far away into thepast or future. What was he thinking of? Why were his answers aboutAmerica so dreamy and vague? Why did he look so sad while the voice ofOlympia was filling the whole house with such glorious bursts of music?

Before she could answer any of these questions, Olympia arose from thepiano, and, with a light wave of her hand, said:

"Come, Caroline, let them hear what is in your voice. "

How careless and natural it all seemed! What a tumult of smiles andentreaties followed these few caressing words!

They were words of iron to that proud, shrinking girl. She knew how muchof stern, selfish power lay under the peach-like softness of that voice. Her color went and came; her lips parted in absolute terror. Sheunderstood now why she had been permitted to join her mother's guestsfor the first time. 

"Come, my darling!"

Olympia's voice grew softer, sweeter; but there was an undertone in itthat Caroline dared not disobey. She arose, white and cold, her limbstrembling, her eyes turned upon Olympia like those of a hunted doeappealing for its life; but there was no relenting in that beautifulface--nothing but smiles. 

Hepworth Closs saw how cruelly the proud girl suffered, and was by herside in an instant. The firm clasp of his hand, as he led her to thepiano, gave her strength. She thanked him with a look, and thosefrightened eyes implored him to stay by her, as if he were the onlyfriend she recognized in the room. 

It must be a terrible fright that can entirely overcome real genius. 

The first notes of Caroline's voice trembled out from her lips like thecry of a young bird when it first tempts the air. The intense stillnesswith which the little group listened, took away her breath. But all thispassed away; her voice gathered up its tones and swelled into a power ofmusic that Olympia, in her best days, had never reached. She forgot thepeople around her--forgot everything but the glorious genius whichthrilled her whole being with ecstasies of harmony. The nightingale, nested in clustering roses and bathed with moonlight, never poured forthits song with a sweeter impulse. 

At first it was the desperation of genius, but that soon merged itselfinto an exquisite power that held her little audience in amazement. 

Olympia grew restless. Had she, with her own hands, given her crown andsceptre to another? How superbly beautiful the creature looked with thatglow of inspiration on her face! How her own devoted adorers crowdedaround the piano, leaving her on the outskirts of the crowd quite alone!

The woman's self-love and most active vanity were disturbed; but abovethat rose another passion that had of late years grown strong withinher--avarice. She recognized the sure ring of gold in those notes, andexulted over it. 

As Caroline turned from the piano flushed, and, as it were, inspired bya new life, a little storm of bravos broke over her. Just then thesupper-room was thrown open; but even the exquisite picture it presentedfailed to draw the crowd from its new idol. 

But Caroline was falling back to her normal state, and all thistumultuous admiration terrified her. 

This annoyed Olympia, also. She made a signal to the servant who stoodwaiting, and his announcement, in a loud voice, that supper was served, broke up the crowd which held Caroline prisoner. 

Olympia led the way into the most superb little supper-room that even anartist could imagine. It was, in fact, a temple, connected only by onecompartment with the house. 

A shallow dome, with ground glass, through which a tender light shonelike sunbeams through sifted snow, by a gilded network over groundglass, which also reflected hidden lights like a chain of clouded stars. 

This gallery was connected with the floor by slender marble shafts, around which passion flowers, white jessamines, creeping dwarf roses, and other clinging plants wove their blossoms up to the lighted gallery, whence they fell in delicate spray, forming arches of flowers all aroundthe room. 

The recesses thus garlanded in were lined with mirrors, in which thecrimson cushions of couch and chair, the splendid supper table, with allits rich paraphernalia of frosted plate, sparkling glass, translucentwines, and fruit in all its mellow gorgeousness of coloring werereflected over and over again. 

When that gay crowd came into the room, led by Olympia, every recessseemed to fill with its own merry company, and in each that handsomeprima donna presided like a goddess; while the tall figure of a proud, beautiful girl sat near, looking strangely wild and anxious as a loud, bacchanalian spirit broke into the scene, and turned it into a revel. Amid the gurgle of wine and the mellow crush of fruit, some one calledout:

"Fill up! fill up! A bumper to our new Queen of Song!"

With a half-suppressed shout and a waving of glasses, the party sprangup, drops of amber and ruby wine rained down to the table from areckless overflow of the uplifted goblets. 

Every recess gave back the picture with endless change of view; and thenthe voice called out again:

"To-morrow night we will show her how England can receive Americangenius and American beauty. Lady, we drink to you. "

To-morrow night! Every vestige of color fled from that poor girl's face. She attempted to rise, supported herself with one hand on the table amoment, then in the midst of that riotous toast, sank back to her chair, with her face turned imploringly on Hepworth Closs. 

When the revellers had drained their glasses and turned to look for areward in the face they had pronounced divine, it had disappeared. Amidthe confusion, Hepworth had led Caroline from the room. 

"It is too much for her, " said Olympia, tossing half a dozen peaches onthe table in her search for the mellowest. "She is such a noble, grateful creature, and has not yet learned how to receive homage. "

"While our Olympia almost disdains it. Fill up for our goddess, TheOlympia!"

"Wait a minute!"

It was the young noble next the actress who spoke. He had taken somegrape-leaves from a crystal vase near him, and was weaving the smallestamber-hued and purple clusters with them in a garland, with which hecrowned the goddess before her libation was poured out. She accepted thehomage, laughing almost boisterously, and when the grape-wreath wassettled in her golden hair, stood up, a Bacchante that Rubens would haveworshipped; for it made no difference to her in what form adulationcame, so long as she monopolized it. 

That moment Caroline was lying upon her bed up-stairs, shaking in everylimb, and crying in bitterness of spirit. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Olympia had selected an auspicious time for the first appearance of herprotege, as she always persisted in calling Caroline. 

It was the fashion just then to recognize American genius with somethinglike enthusiasm, and the very suddenness with which this young girl hadbeen brought forward operated in her favor. 

A glowing account of her voice and beauty had reached the public just ata time when no special excitement occupied it, and this served to draw acrowd around the opera house long before the hour of opening. 

On the outskirts of this crowd, the carriage which contained Olympia andher victim--for such the heroine of the evening really was--made its waytoward the stage door. Olympia leaned out of the window, and criedexultingly:

"Look, child, look! Hundreds of people waiting already!"

Caroline cast one frightened glance at the crowd, and shrank back with afaint moan. 

Just as the audience began to pour in through the opened doors thecarriage drove up to the stage entrance, and Olympia took a leap fromthe steps and held the carriage door open with her own hand, whileCaroline descended more slowly. The light from a neighboring lamp fellupon her face, and revealed the tears that stood upon her cheeks, and ahalf rebellious look in the eyes, which Olympia saw, and met with angrybitterness. 

"Crying again? Shooting spiteful looks at me, as if I were a monster, instead of a tender, considerate, self-sacrificing mother, ready toshare everything with you, even my glory! Was ever such ingratitude?"

Caroline did not answer, but walked into the narrow door, and stood uponthe dreary stage, panting for breath, like some superb animal from thewild woods, hunted down, and without hopes of escape. 

"This way--come this way, " said Olympia, taking hold of her arm. "Perhaps you will remember that we are late. The audience was crowdingin like a torrent when we passed the door. Come!"

Caroline allowed herself to be led along the stage, through yawningvistas of scenery ready placed for use, and along dark passages, untilshe came to Olympia's dressing-room, in which a blaze of light wasreflected by half-a-dozen mirrors, and fell like sunshine on a pile ofgorgeous vestments laid out for her use. 

Caroline shrank back with a faint, sick feeling. Oh, how everything hadchanged since she was so fascinated by a scene like that! Her delicate, proud nature revolted from the splendid confusion. From her very heartshe loathed the sumptuous garments with which Olympia had hoped to tempther. 

"Is there no hope?" she cried, desperately. "I would rather sufferanything than undertake this part!"

"Hope? Yes, there is everything to hope. The house is crowded already. There never was so fine an opening. Come, make ready!"

"Not if I have the power to resist. "

She spoke in a low but resolute voice, which frightened Olympia, whostood gazing at the pale young face turned upon her with a frown ofterrible anger gathering on her forehead. 

"Caroline, you cannot resist. My word is given, the contract signed, myhonor pledged. Would you disgrace me forever?"

"Your honor pledged, and I belong to you, " said the girl. "I see, Isee--there is no escaping! It is my miserable destiny!"

Caroline took off the cloak in which she was wrapped, flung down all hermagnificent hair, and seated herself before one of the mirrors. 

"Do with me as you please, " she said, turning a weary glance upon themirror. "It may be my death, but you _will_ have it so. "

The next moment that unhappy girl found herself in the hands of a cleverFrench maid, who fairly revelled in her task, as she shook out that richmass of hair, and held it up for the light to shine through. ButCaroline took no heed. The toilet only reminded her of that most hideousone when Marie Antoinette was prepared for the scaffold. For the momentshe almost wished it possible to change places with that unhappy woman. 

But the French waiting-maid went on with her work, while Olympia stoodby, directing her. 

Not till she felt a soft touch on her cheek did the girl rebel. Then shestarted up, and, pushing the maid away, rubbed her cheek with ahandkerchief so resolutely that the maid clapped her hands, declaringthat it was enough--no roses could be more lovely. 

Then she fell to her task again, muttering to herself:

"Oh, it will come in time! Youth is so satisfied with itself. But it allends in that. "

Here the maid nodded toward a tiny jar of rouge, as if to encourage it, and went on with her task. 

"Now look at yourself!" said Olympia, tossing aside some garment thathad been flung over the swinging-glass. "What do you think of that?"

Caroline looked, and saw a beautiful woman, with sweeping garments ofrose-colored silk, and a cloud of frost-like lace flung over her headand trailing down her shoulders. Splendid jewels--whether real or false, she did not care to ask--twinkled like stars through the lace, both onher head and bosom. The pictures thus reflected were beautiful, butstormy. 

Olympia saw that the rebellious spirit was but half subdued. 

"What can I do?" she said, in her perplexity, addressing the maid, wholifted up both hands and shook her head as she answered:

"Ah, madame! if a toilet like that fails, who can say?"

"I will send for Brown. She will listen to him, " said Olympia, driven todesperation. "With that spirit, she will never get the rollicking airfor her first act. "

She went to the door, and found the teacher lingering near, restless andanxious almost as herself. 

"Brown--I say, Brown--come in! She is dressed, but so obstinate! If shewere about to play Norma, it would be worth everything, but in thispart--! Do come in, dear Brown, and get her up to the proper feeling. "

Brown entered the room in absolute distress. He would gladly have keptthat young creature from the stage; but having no power to aid her inavoiding it, was nervously anxious that she should make a success. 

Caroline turned to him at once, and came forward with her hands heldout. 

"Oh, Mr. Brown, help me! It is not too late. Let them say I am sick. Indeed, indeed, it will be true! She can take the part, and leave me inpeace. Ask her, beg of her; say that I will go into her kitchen, be hermaid, go out as a teacher--anything on earth, if she will only spare methis once! Ask her, Mr. Brown. Sometimes she will listen to you!"

Brown held both her hands. They were cold as ice, and he felt that shewas trembling all over. 

"My dear, dear child! I have pleaded with her. I have done my best. "

"But again--again! Oh, Mr. Brown, do!"

Brown drew Olympia on one side, and entreated her to give the unhappygirl more time; but he knew well enough that he was asking almost animpossibility--that the woman had no power to grant that which heimplored of her. In her arrogant power she had pledged that youngcreature, body and soul, to the public. How could she draw back, whenthe crowding rush of the audience might now be heard from the placewhere they stood. 

Still the man pleaded with her, for he loved the girl better thananything on earth, and, knowing something of the feelings which made thestage so repulsive to her, would have died to save her from the pain ofthat night's experience. 

Olympia was impatient, nervous, angry. What did the man think? Was sheto throw away the chances of a great success and a brilliant fortune, because a romantic girl did not know her own mind? Was she to disgraceherself before all London?

Brown had no answer. The whole thing was unreasonable--he knew that wellenough; but his heart ached for the poor girl. So he had done his best, and failed miserably. 

"Go back and cheer the foolish thing up, " said Olympia. "You can do it. She loves you better than any one in the world. Now, if you want tooblige me, give her courage, soothe her. I never saw such a creature!With the genius and voice of an angel, she has no ambition; but it willcome. Before the drinking song is over, she will forget herself. Go, Brown, and give her courage. "

Brown went back to the dressing-room, feeling like an executioner. 

Caroline met him eagerly; but when she saw his face, her heart turned tostone. 

"I see! I see!" she said. "I am doomed! But, remember, I was forced intothis. Of my own choice, I would have died first; but she is my mother, and, in my ignorance, I promised her. Tell _him_ this, if you shouldever see him. I never shall. After what he said of parts like this, Ishould perish with shame. Ha! what's that?"

"They are calling you, " faltered Brown. 

She caught a sharp breath and sprang away from him, like a deer when thehounds are in full cry. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE FIRST PERFORMANCE. 

The opera-house was full from floor to dome. A cheerful multitudecrowded the body of the house with smiling faces, and filled it with gaycolors, till it shone out gorgeously, like a thickly-plantedflower-garden. The boxes filled, more slowly; but, after half an hour ofsoft, silken rustle and answering smiles, they, too, were crowded withdistinguished men and beautiful women of the British aristocracy, andthe whole arena was lighted up with the splendor of their garments andthe flaming brightness of their jewels. Then came a movement, and a lowmurmur of discontent, which the grandest efforts of the orchestra couldnot silence. The hour had arrived, but the curtain was still down. Wasthere to be a disappointment, after all?

In the midst of this growing confusion a party entered one of the mostprominent boxes that drew the general attention in that part of thehouse. A lady in crimson velvet, with some gossamer lace about her armsand bosom, and a cobweb of the same rich material floating from thethick braids of her coal-black hair, came into the box, followed by agentleman so like her that people exclaimed at once:

"It is her brother!"

These two persons were accompanied by a bright young girl, in whitemuslin, with a blue ribbon drawn through her hair like a snood, and astring of large pearls on her neck. The girl was beautiful as a Hebe, and bright as a star--so bright and so beautiful that a whole battery ofglasses was turned on the box the moment she entered it. Then a murmurran from lip to lip. 

"It is Lady Hope, that person who was once a governess, and the younglady must be Hope's daughter by his first marriage--the future LadyCarset, if the old countess ever dies, which she never will, if it isonly to spite that woman yonder, whom she hates. Beautiful!"

"You are speaking of Lady Hope? Yes, very; but strange! Night andmorning are not farther apart than those two. Yet I am told they aredevoted to each other. "

"Not unlikely. See how the woman smiles when the Hebe speaks to her!Wonderful fascination in that face. Just the person to carry away a manlike Hope. "

Here the conversation was broken off by an impatient outburst of theaudience. 

In obedience to it the curtain rolled up, and the first act of"Traviata" commenced. 

The tumult stopped instantly, and every face was turned with expectationon the stage, ready to greet "the lost one" with a generous welcome. 

She came in hurriedly, with her head erect, her hand clenching thatcloud of lace to her bosom, and her eyes bright as stars. A stag huntedto desperation would have turned at bay with a look like that; and thepoor animal might have recoiled as she did, when that wild burst ofadmiration stormed over her. For the outcry of the most vicious houndsthat ever ran could not have been more appalling to a victim than thatgenerous welcome was to her. 

She did not bow or smile, but retreated slowly back, step by step, untila voice from behind the scene startled her. Then she bent her tallfigure a little forward, her head drooped to her bosom, and her handswere clenched passionately under the laces. 

Again those who were nearest heard the voice, but did not understand itas that poor girl did. In her panic the little acting that belonged tothe scene was utterly overlooked; but this proud indifference wassomething new, and charmed the audience, which took her wounded pridefor superb disdain of a pampered beauty, and accepted it as a gracefulinnovation; while she stood trembling from head to foot, conscious onlyof a burning desire to break away from it all and hide herself forever. She did once move swiftly toward the wing, but there stood Olympia, andthe first glimpse of that frowning face drove her back, panting forbreath. 

The audience, seeing her panic, encouraged her with applause less stormyand more sustaining. 

She felt this kindness. The multitude were less her enemy than thewoman who stood in the shadows, hounding her on. Among all that sea offaces she saw one--that of a young girl, leaning over the crimsoncushions of a box near the stage, so eager, so earnest, so bright withgenerous sympathy, that youth answered back to youth; a smile broke overher own face, and with it came her voice, fresh, pure, soaring like abird suddenly let loose on the air. 

The audience listened in breathless sympathy, which encouraged her. There was no doubt now; fear could not long hold such genius in thrall;her movements became free, her features brightened. She flung the laceback from her head, and gave herself up to the joyous riot of thatdrinking song. 

In the midst of this scene, when every one present, on and off thestage, was lavishing homage upon her, she lifted her eyes to the younggirl who leaned forward, poising herself in the box, like a birdpreparing for flight, and clapped her little hand with the glee of adelighted child. 

Once more their smiles met. Then a deathly faintness came over thedebutante, and without a word or motion she sank upon the stage, like astatue of snow which the sun had touched. 

In the next box, leaning forward like that young girl--but oh! with whata different expression--she had seen the Italian teacher, her lover. 

The drinking-song was hushed in its most exultant swell--the revellersdrew around the fainting girl and carried her from the stage, helplessas an infant, white as the lace that clouded her. 

The audience watched them bear her away in silence; then it broke intomurmurs of regret and sympathy. 

"The effort had been too much for her. Of course, such genius wasaccompanied with corresponding sensitiveness, but she would speedilyrecover. It was only a little interruption. "

They were mistaken. The debutante did not return that night; but in herplace came Olympia, with a little tragedy in her face, and a touchingspeech, which excited admiration for herself and unbounded sympathy forher protege; after which, she entered into the character of Violette, with a grace of action and a power of voice that carried the managementthrough what had threatened to be a serious dilemma. 

The truth is, this woman, Olympia, was a remarkably clever person, andknew how to manage her subjects a great deal better than some monarchsof England have done. But she was in a raging passion that night, andthe excitement lent her force, which she exhausted in the part, whileher child lay moaning on the dressing-room sofa. 

In the midst of the first confusion, that young girl in the box hadstarted up, and laid her hand on Hepworth Closs's arm. 

"Go back to where they have taken her. You know the way. Tell my maid, Margaret, to come to me at once. No, no; take me with you. I may be ofuse. Poor girl! poor girl! They have almost killed her. "

"But it is impossible, " said Closs, looking toward Lady Hope, who wasleaning against the side of the box, with her face turned away. "Shewould not permit it. "

"She does not object. We need not be seen. No one will recognize us. Come! come!"

She took Hepworth's arm, and almost forced him from the box. 

"Which way? Come! come! I will go. "

Hepworth had been too often behind the scenes not to know how to gainadmittance there on this occasion. He knew how resolute that youngcreature was, when a generous or daring idea possessed her, and, afterwaiting a moment for Lady Hope to speak, led Lady Clara away. 

Clara was bewildered and almost terrified by the black darkness of thepassage, which was lighted only by fitful gleams from the stage; butexcitement kept up her courage, and she entered Olympia's dressing-roomwith the air of a person born to the tragic purple. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET. 

Caroline was lying upon a heap of rich garments piled on the sofa. Shewas trembling still, and every few moments a burst of bitter sobs brokefrom her. Three women were standing by--her own maid, Eliza, upon whosesympathetic face tears were trembling; Margaret, her sister; and, mostconspicuous of all, Olympia's French maid, who bent over the poor girl, with a bottle of perfume in each hand, with which she insisted onassuaging the unhappy girl's anguish. 

Lady Clara comprehended the scene at a glance, went up to the sofa, tookthe French maid by the shoulders, and wheeled her away so swiftly thatthe bottles jingled; then she fell upon her knees by the sofa, and flungone arm over Caroline. 

"Don't mind them; don't let them bother you. Just tell me what has comeover you, and I'll set it right, or know the reason why. "

The voice, so sweet, so round and cheering, aroused Caroline. 

She rose up on her elbow, and seeing the bright, honest face which hadbent toward her so kindly from the box, reached out her arms, and woundthem over Clara's neck. 

"That's right; that's sisterly. I wish you were my sister; but what'sthe use of wishing? There! kiss me again, for I mean to be a mother toyou--I do, indeed! Now tell me, what was it that struck you down so? Itwas frightful; it took away my breath. Tell me all about it. My maidhere and yours were sisters, and I shouldn't wonder if we knew eachother in America. But that is so long ago, it wouldn't signify, but forthe maids, who love us so, that it makes a sort of tie. Don't you thinkso?"

"Oh, if it could! if it could! I have no relative but one, and she willnot pity me!" cried Caroline, clinging to Lady Clara. "She will make mego back to that hateful part! It was bad enough before, but now I shoulddie of shame!"

"Why? Why now more than at first?" inquired Clara. 

"I will tell you. I know who you are, and how good every one thinks you. I hate the stage!"

"How strange! I cannot understand it. You don't know how I envied youwhen all those people started up, waving their handkerchiefs andshouting--to see them so sorry and disappointed when you did not comeback. I could hardly keep myself from leaping over the box, and askingthe crowd to let me try!"

Caroline looked into that animated face with wonder. The tears stoodstill on her cheeks, a faint smile crept into her eyes. Then she shookher head. 

"Ah! I understand. There was a time when I thought like you, but thatwas before--before--"

"Before what? Margaret and the rest of you, just go outside. The roomisn't large enough for so many. There, we are alone now. Just tell meall about it. You can trust me. "

"I know it. Well, Lady Clara--you see I know your name--"

"Exactly. But just call me Clara--nothing more. I really don't care forbeing a lady--at any rate, not much. That one thing is going to give meany amount of trouble yet, you'll see. Well, now, having settled thelady, tell me why and when you began to hate the stage so. I think it isa glorious life. Just put me where you stand, without a sovereign tohelp myself with, and I'd give up the ladyship to you in a minute. "

"But that is because you own your life. "

"Own my life? Of course I do. That is just what every soul must own. "

"Not if--if she cares for some one more than her life. "

"Oh-e! oh-e! That is the secret! And he don't like it? The heathen! Iwish he had seen you just now!"

"He did. He was standing in the box close by you. I saw his face, forthe first time in months. He was leaning forward; his eyes met mine. They were full of reproach--contempt, perhaps. I could not tell, for thehouse swam round, the lights seemed leaping toward me. Then I felt as ifthe noise were putting them out, for everything grew dark. "

"And you fainted dead away, poor dear! I know how to pity you. Not thatI have had trouble yet; but it is sure to come, and then, of course, youwill be sorry for me. "

"I shall, indeed. "

"Just as I am sorry for you now. But who is the man?"

"I hardly think I know. He gave me an Italian name, but I feel sure itwas not his. "

"That accounts for his antipathy to the stage. If he had really been anItalian, your singing would have entranced him. It was heavenly; but anEnglishman--. Well, well, we must see!"

That moment the door swung open, and Olympia came in, radiant withjewels and fierce with anger. She saw Lady Clara, and stopped upon thethreshold in haughty astonishment. Caroline shrank from the stormyexpression of her face, but faltered out:

"Madame, it is Lady Clara, the daughter of Lord Hope. "

Instantly the frown lost itself in a bland smile. Olympia was equal toher part at all times. She did not often see a lady of rank in herdressing-room, and the honor drove away the indignant wrath intended forCaroline. 

"Ah!" she said, "this poor child--it was so unfortunate! But she willrecover. In a day or two she will get back her courage. What a voice shehas, my lady! Did you hear? So fresh, so powerful, up to the very timewhen she broke down. What could have occasioned it?"

"It is indeed a misfortune, " said Clara, with some dignity; "because Iam sure she will never do for the stage. Her voice is superb, but souncertain! When we compare it with yours, madame, it is to regret thatshe ever ventured so far. "

Olympia seated herself. She had a few moments to spare before thecall-boy would summon her back to the stage. 

"There you mistake, my lady. When I was her age no one ever dreamed thatI would succeed as a singer; but you see what resolution and study cando. "

"But you _had_ study; your guardians gave plenty of time. Let her havethat time; let her friends have an opportunity to think what is best forher. "

"Her friends? I did not know that she had any in England. "

"Oh, yes! I am one; Lady Hope is another. Then there is Mr. Closs. "

"Oh!" said Olympia. "It is to that gentleman we owe the honor of thisvisit?"

"Yes, " answered Clara. "He escorted me here. Being Lady Hope's brother, it was proper, you understand. "

Olympia was looking in Clara's face. The girl pleased her. The brightmobility of her features, the graceful gestures with which sheemphasized her expressions, charmed the experienced actress. 

"Ah, if my daughter had your abandon!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. 

"Or if I had her sweet dignity. But fortune is sometimes very perverse. Now I should glory in the applause which makes her faint away. "

"Ah! she is sensitive as a child, proud as a duchess; but, where we haveplenty of genius, these things only serve to brighten it. I shall takeCaroline into my own training. When you come to hear her sing again, itwill be a different affair. "

"Oh, madam, do not ask it!" cried Caroline, in a panic. "I never, nevercan go on to that stage again!"

"We shall see, " answered Olympia, blandly. "Here comes the call-boy; Imust say adieu, with many thanks for this visit. "

"But I have a request to make. You will give her time?"

"Oh! yes, my lady. She shall have sufficient time. "

Olympia went out smiling; but Caroline understood the craft that layunder her soft words. 

"You see that I have accomplished something, " said Clara, delighted withher success; "we have gained time. "

"No, no! She will have her way. "

"What! that soft, handsome creature?"

"Has a will of iron!"

"And so have I!" exclaimed the young girl, "and my will is that sheshall not force you into a life you do not like; but I wonder at it. Upon my word, if it were not for one thing, I should like to changeplaces with you. "

Caroline shook her head. 

"You have no idea what the life is!"

"Oh! yes, I have; and it must be charming. No dignity to keep up, noretinue of servants to pass every time you come and go; but all sorts ofhomage, plenty of work, while everything you have brings in a swiftrecompense. Talent, beauty, grace discounted every night. Oh! it must becharming. "

"I thought so once, " answered Caroline, with a heavy sigh. 

"Well, never trouble yourself to think about it again. If that lovelywoman has an iron will, you must get up one of steel; but here comesMargaret. I suppose Mr. Closs is getting tired of staying out there inthe dark. Besides, Lady Hope will be frightened. Adieu, my friend; Iwill manage to see you again. "

CHAPTER XI. 

LADY CLARA QUARRELS WITH HER STEPMOTHER. 

Lady Hope had fainted, but with such deathly stillness that neitherHepworth Closs nor Clara had been aware of it. She remained, after theyleft the box, drooping sideways from her cushioned seat, with the coldpallor of her face hid in the crimson shadows, and kept from falling bythe sides of the box, against which she leaned heavily. 

No one observed this, for the whole audience was intensely occupied bywhat was passing on the stage; and the pang of self-consciousnessreturned to Rachael Closs in the utter solitude of a great crowd. Sheopened her eyes wearily, as if the effort were a pain. Then a wild lightbroke through their darkness. She cast a quick glance upon the stage andover the crowd. Then turning to look for her companions, she found thatthey were gone. A sense of relief came to the woman from a certaintythat she was alone. She leaned back against the side of the box in utterdepression. Her lips moved, her hands were tightly clasped--she seemedin absolute terror. 

What had Rachael Closs heard or seen to agitate her thus? That no onecould tell. The cause of those faint shudders that shook her from timeto time was known only to herself and her God. 

When Hepworth and Lady Clara came back, Lady Hope rose, and gatheringher ermine cloak close to her throat, said that she was tired of theconfusion, and would go home, unless they very much wished to stay andsee Olympia. 

They consented to go at once. The pallor of that beautiful face, as itturned so imploringly upon them, was appeal enough. 

On their way home Lady Clara told her stepmother of her visit behind thescenes. 

Rachael listened, and neither rebuked her for going nor asked questions;but when Clara broke forth, in her impetuous way, exclaiming, "Oh, mammaRachael, you will help us! You will get this poor girl out of hermother's power! You will let me ask her down to Oakhurst!" Rachaelalmost sprang to her feet in the force of her sudden passion. 

"What! I--I, Lady Hope of Oakhust, invite that girl to be yourcompanion, my guest! Clara, are you mad? or am I?"

The girl was struck dumb with amazement. Never in her existence had shebeen so addressed before--for, with her, Rachael had been always kindand delicately tender. Why had she broken forth now, when she asked thefirst serious favor of her life?

"Mamma! mamma Rachael!" she cried. "What is the matter? What have I donethat you are so cross with me?"

"Nothing, " said Rachael, sighing heavily, "only you ask an unreasonablething, and one your father would never forgive me for granting. "

"But she is so lovely! papa would like her, I know. She is so unhappy, too! I could feel her shudder when the stage was mentioned. Oh, mammaRachael, we might save her from that!"

"I cannot! Do not ask me; I cannot!"

"But I promised that you would be her friend. "

"Make no promises for me, Clara, for I will redeem none. Drive this girlfrom your thoughts. To-morrow morning we go back to Oakhurst. "

"To-morrow morning! And I promised to see her again. "

"It is impossible. Let this subject drop. In my wish to give youpleasure, I have risked the anger of Lord Hope. He would never forgiveme if I permitted this entanglement. "

Lady Clara turned to Hepworth Closs. 

"Plead for me--plead for that poor girl!" she cried, with theunreasoning persistence of a child; but, to her astonishment, Hepworthanswered even more resolutely than his sister. 

"I cannot, Clara. There should be nothing in common between the daughterof Olympia and Lord Hope's only child. "

"Oh, how cruel! What is the use of having rank and power if one is notto use it for the good of others?"

"We will not argue the matter, dear child. "

"But I will argue it, and if I cannot convince, I will hate you, Hepworth Closs, just as long as I live. "

"Not quite so bad as that, I trust, " answered Hepworth, sadly. "To ownthe truth, Clara, I fear your mother will have enough to do inreconciling Lord Hope to the position another person has assumed in hishousehold. Do not let us add new difficulties to her position. "

Clara began to cry. 

"I'm sure I never thought of troubling her or offending my father. It isso natural for them to be good and kind, why should I doubt them now, when the grandest, sweetest, most beautiful girl in the whole worldwants help--just the help they can give, too? Well, well, when papacomes home, I will lay the whole case before him. "

"Not for the world!" cried Rachael, suddenly. "I tell you, cast thissubject from your mind. I will not have my lord annoyed by it. For once, Clara, I must and will be obeyed. "

Clara sank back in her seat, aghast with surprise. 

"Oh, mamma Rachael, you are getting to be awfully cruel. "

"Cruel? No! In this I am acting kindly. It is you who are cruel inpressing a distasteful and impossible thing upon me. "

"I don't understand it; I can't believe it. You are always so free, sogenerous, to those who need help. It is just because this poor girl ismy friend. Oh! I only wish old Lady Carset would just die, and leave meeverything! I would let the world see a specimen of independence--Iwould! Don't speak to me, don't attempt to touch my hand, Mr. Closs! Youhaven't a spark of human nature in you. I have a good mind to leave youall, and go on the stage myself. "

Again Lady Hope broke into a storm of impatience so unlike her usualself-restraint, that Clara was really terrified. 

"Hush, girl! Not another word of this. I will not endure it. "

This severe reprimand took away Clara's breath for an instant; then sheburst into a passion of sobs and tears, huddling herself up into acorner of the carriage, and utterly refused all consolation fromHepworth, who was generously disturbed by her grief. 

Lady Hope did nothing, but sat in silence, lost in thought, or perhapsstriving to subdue the tumult of feelings that had so suddenly brokeforth from her usual firm control. 

Thus they drove home in distrust and excitement. A few low murmurs fromHepworth, bursts of grief from Lady Clara, and dead silence on the partof Rachael Closs, attended the first disagreement that had ever set thestepmother and daughter in opposition. 

When they reached home, Clara, her face all bathed in tears, and herbosom heaving with sobs, ran up to her room, without the usual kiss or"Good-night. "

She was bitterly offended, and expressed the feeling in her own childishfashion. 

Rachael sat down in the hall, and watched the girl as she glided up thebroad staircase, perhaps hoping that she would look back, or, it may be, regretting the course she had taken, for her face was unutterably sad, and her attitude one of great despondency. 

At last, when Clara was out of sight, she turned a wistful look on herbrother. 

"She will hate me now. "

Her voice was more plaintive than the words. The confidence of thatyoung girl was all the world to her; for, independent of everythingelse, it was the one human link that bound her to the man she loved withsuch passionate idolatry. Her kindness to his child was the silver cordwhich even his strong will could not sunder, even if he should wish it. 

Hepworth saw her anguish, and pitied it. 

"Let her go, " he said, stooping down and kissing his sister on theforehead, which, with her neck and arms, was cold as marble. "She isdisappointed, vexed, and really indignant with us both; but a goodnight's sleep will set her heart right again. I wish we had neverchanced to come here. "

"Oh, Heavens! so do I. "

"Rachael, " said Hepworth, "what is it troubles you so?"

"What? Is it not enough that the child I have made a part of my own lifeshould quarrel with me and with you, because of me, for a stranger?"

"No; because her own generous nature assures us that the evil will dieof itself before morning. This is not enough to account for the factthat you quiver as if with cold, and the very touch of your foreheadchills me. "

"Do I?" questioned Rachael. "I did not know it. My cloak has fallenoff--that is all. "

"Mamma Rachael!"

They both started, for leaning over the banisters was the sweet, tearfulface of Lady Clara. 

"My own darling!" cried Rachael, lifting her arms. 

Down the staircase sprang that generous young creature, her feetscarcely touching the polished oak, her hair all unbound and rolling inwaves down her back. Struck with sweet compunctions, she had broken fromthe hands of her maid, and left her with the blue ribbon fluttering inher hand, while she ran back to make peace with the woman who was almostdearer to her than a mother. 

She fell upon her knees by Rachael, and shook the hair from her face, which was glowing with sweet penitence. 

"Kiss me, mamma Rachael, not on this saucy mouth of mine, but here uponmy forehead. I cannot sleep till you have kissed me good night. "

Rachael laid one hand on that bright young head, but it was quiveringlike a shot bird. She bent the face back a little, and pored over thefeatures with yearning scrutiny, as if she longed to engrave every lineon her heart. 

Something in those black eyes disturbed the girl afresh. She reached upher arms, and cried out:

"Don't be angry with me, mamma Rachael, but kiss me good night, and askGod to make me a better girl. "

Instead of kissing her, Rachael Closs fell upon her neck and broke intoa passion of tears such as Clara had never seen her shed before. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE OLD PRISONER. 

In America again. Yes, fate has swept most of the characters of ourstory across the ocean; but one remains behind to whom the kind heartmust turn with more solemn interest than the young, the beautiful, orthe lordly can inspire. 

No changes had fallen upon that bleak, gloomy prison, whose very shadow, as it lay across the dusty road, streamed out like a pall. Human crimebrings human misery, and that, crowded together and stifled under theheel of the law, is a terrible, most terrible thing. 

In the midst of this desolation, that old woman had lived and sufferedfourteen years, without a complaint, without once asking for thefreedom, which would have been so sweet to her, even of her God. She hadsinned deeply--how far, she and the Almighty, who knows all things, alone could tell; but she had borne her punishment with much humility;in her quiet way, had made her presence in that dreary place a blessingto those more wretched than herself. 

During that long, weary time many a poor prisoner had felt the comfortof her presence near her sick couch and her grave. Kind looks hadcheered other desponding souls when words of compassion were forbiddento her lips. 

One day this woman sat at her task sewing on some heavy prison garments. A skein of coarse thread hung about her neck, and a steel thimble wasupon her long, slender finger, where it had worn a ring about the nailwith incessant use. 

She did not look up when the matron entered the room, but worked on, with steady purpose, not caring to see that strange gentleman who camein with the matron, and stood looking kindly upon her. 

"Mrs. Yates. "

The old woman lifted her head with a suddenness that almost shook theiron spectacles from her face. Her eyes encountered those of thegentleman, and she stood up meekly, like a school-girl aroused from hertask, and remained, with her eyes bent on the floor, waiting for the manto pass on. He did not move, however, but stood gazing upon hersnow-white hair, her thin old face, and the gentle stoop that had, atlast, bent her shoulders a little, with infinite compassion in his face. 

"Mrs. Yates, why do you stand so motionless? How is it that your eyesturn so steadily to the floor?"

The old woman lifted her eyes slowly to that calm, thin face. She didnot know it, had never seen it before in her life; but it was so seldomany one spoke to her, that a soft glow of comfort stole to her heart asshe looked, and two great tears rolled from under her spectacles. Thenshe remembered that he had asked something. 

"In prison, here, we get a down look, " she said, with patheticsimplicity. 

"But you will look in my face now. "

She did gaze at him earnestly; but shook her head and dropped her eyes, for the force of habit was still upon her. 

"I do not know you, " she murmured. 

"Did you then expect some friend?" asked the gentleman. 

"I have no friends, " was the sad reply. 

"Does no one come to see you?"

"Years ago my son used to come and his wife, too; but they are bothdead. "

"Poor woman!"

She looked up again with a glance of earnest surprise. She was so unusedto pity that the compassionate voice brought a dry sob to her throat. 

"Are you content here? Tell me. "

"Yes, I am content. "

Her voice was low, but inexpressibly mournful. 

"I know the crime for which you were committed, " said the gentleman, "and have read the case over. Tell me, were you guilty?"

The old woman lifted her eyes slowly, and replied:

"Yes, I was a guilty woman. "

"But were you, before God, guilty of murder?"

She met his eyes steadily. He saw a quiver of pain sweep over herfeatures, and the thin lips began to stir. 

"He is dead, my innocent, my honest son. Nothing can harm him now. Ihave not suffered in vain. Before God I was not guilty of murder, butterribly guilty in taking this crime on myself: but it was to save him, and I cannot repent, I cannot repent, and in that lies double guilt!"

The stranger searched her features keenly as she spoke. Perhaps he wasprepared for this answer; but the light that came over his face was fullof compassion. 

"Have you done with me?" questioned the old woman, in the meek, sadvoice that had become habitual to her. "Perhaps you will not believe me;but God knows!"

The man turned from her and stepped into the matron's room. 

The old woman sat down upon the bench from which she had arisen, tookthe coarse needle from the bosom of her dress, where she had fastened itwhen spoken to, and threaded it again; but her hand shook a little, andthe thread baffled her confused vision. Then the strange gentleman cameback again, smiling, and with moisture in his eyes. 

"My good woman, " he said, "put up your work. You did not know it, but Iam the Governor of New York, and your pardon has just gone to thewarden. "

The needle dropped from one quivering old hand--a thread fell from itscompanion. 

"Pardon for me!"

Her lips were white, and the words trembled from them one by one. Shedid not comprehend that this man had given her back to the world. 

"It is true, " said the matron, weeping the glad, sweet tears of abenevolent heart, "His Excellency has pardoned you. This very hour youare free to leave the prison. "

"God help me! Oh! God help me!" cried the poor old woman, looking aroundat her rude work and seating herself among it. "Where can I go?"

The Governor took some money from his pocket and laid it in her lap. Then he went hastily from the room. 

The matron sat down upon the bench, and clasped the withered hand inhers. 

"Have you no friend?"

"None. "

"No duties left undone?"

The old woman drew herself up. Duties last longer than friends. Yes, shehad duties, and God had taken the shackles from her limbs that she mightperform them. Freedom was before her and an object. She arose gently andlooked around a little wildly. 

"I will go now. "

The matron went out and returned with a bundle of clothes and a blackbonnet upon which was some rusty crape; a huge, old-fashioned thing thatframed in her silver-white hair like a pent-house. The very shape andfashion of this bonnet was pathetic--it spoke of so long ago. The blackdress and soft shawl with which she had come to the prison were a littlemoth-eaten, but not much, for they had been carefully hoarded; but thepoor old woman looked with a sigh on her prison-dress as it fell to thefloor, and wept bitterly before she went out, as if that gloomy mass ofstones had been a pleasant home to her. 

Slowly, and with a downcast look, the old woman went out of the prison, up through the rugged quarries, where a gang of men were at work, dragging their weary limbs from stone to stone, with the listless, haggard effort of forced labor. Some of these men looked up, as shepassed them, and watched her with bitter envy. 

"There goes a pardon, " they said to each other; "and that old woman withone foot in the grave, while we are young and strong! Freedom would beeverything to us; but what good will it do to her?"

So the poor old prisoner passed on, sadly bewildered and afraid, like ahomeless child, but thanking God for a mercy she could not yet realize. 

There was one place to which she must go. It might be empty anddesolate, but there her son had died, and she had seen the roof of hisdwelling from the graveyard when they let her come out from prison tosee him buried. 

She knew the road, for her path led to the grave first, and after thatshe could find the way, for every step, so far, had been marked by apang, to which her heart was answering back now. 

At sunset, that day, some workmen, passing the village burying-place, saw an old woman sitting by a grave that had been almost forgotten inthe neighborhood. 

She was looking dreary and forlorn in the damp enclosure, for cloudswere drifting low in the sky, and a cold rain was beginning to fall; butthey did not know that this poor woman had a home-feeling by that grave, even with the rain falling, which belonged to no other place on earth. 

A little later, when the gray darkness was creeping on, this same tallfigure might have been discovered moving through the rough cedar pillarsof the Yates cottage. There was no light in the house, for no human soullived beneath its roof; but a door was so lightly fastened that she gotit open with some effort, and entered what seemed to her like thekitchen; for the last tenant had left some kindling-wood in thefireplace, and two or three worn-out cooking utensils stood near thehearth, where they were beginning to rust. 

When she left the prison, the matron had, with many kind words, thrust aparcel into the old woman's hand. Knowing her helplessness, she hadprovided food for a meal or two, and to this had added some matches andcandles. 

In the gray light which came through one of the windows, she untied thisparcel and found the candles. It seemed to the forlorn creature as if amerciful God had sent them directly to her, and she fell upon herknees, thanking Him. The light which she struck gave her the first gleamof hope that her freedom had yet brought. She was at liberty to build afire on that dark hearth, and to sit there just as long as she pleased, enjoying its warmth. The rain that began to rattle down on the low roofmade her shelter more pleasant. She began to realize that even in suchdesolation liberty was sweet. 

She built a fire with the dry wood, and its blaze soon filled thekitchen with a golden glow. Her garments were wet, and a soft steamarose from them as she sat, enveloping her in a gray cloud. Theloneliness might have been terrible to another person, but she had beenso long accustomed to the darkness and gloom of a prison cell, that thisilluminated space seemed broad as the universe to her. 

After her clothes were dry, the old woman lighted her candle and beganto examine the house. The parlor was almost empty, and a gust of windtook her candle as she opened the door, flaring back the flame into herface. The wind came from a broken pane of glass in the oriel window, through which a branch of ivy, and the long tendril of a Virginiacreeper had penetrated, and woven themselves in a garland along thewall. A wren had followed the creeping greenness and built her nest inthe cornice, from which she flew frightened, when a light entered theroom. 

The old woman went out disappointed. The thing she sought was not there;perhaps it had been utterly destroyed. The man who had promised to keepit sacred, lay sleeping up yonder in the graveyard. How could she expectstrangers to take up his trust? But if the object she sought could notbe found, what was the use of liberty to her. The one aim of her lifewould be extinguished. She took up the candle and mounted a flight ofnarrow stairs which led to the chambers. 

They were all empty except one small room, where she found an ironbedstead, on which some old quilts and refuse blankets were heaped. Behind this bed, pressed into a corner, was an old chair, covered withdust. 

When she saw this, the light shook in her hand. She sat down upon thebedstead, and reaching the candle out, examined the old chair, throughits veil of cobwebs. It was the same. How well she remembered that nightwhen her own hands had put on that green cover. 

The chair was broken. One of its castors dropped to the floor as Mrs. Yates drew it from the corner, and the carved wood-work came off in herhand; the cushion was stained and torn in places, but this dilapidationshe knew had not reached her secret. 

She took the chair in her arms and carried it down to the kitchen. Someof the brass nails dropped loose on the stairs, but she took no heed ofthem. All she wanted was some instrument with which she could turn thericketty thing into a complete wreck. In the drawer of a broken kitchentable she found an old knife, with the blade half ground away. This shewhetted to an edge on the hearth, and directly the little brass nailsflew right and left, a mass of twisted fringe lay on the hearth, whenthe old woman stood in a cloud of dust, holding the torn rep in herhand. It dropped in a heap with the fringe, then the inner lining wastorn away, handsful of hair were pulled out from among the springs, andthat casket with a package of papers rustled and shook in the oldwoman's hands. 

Mrs. Yates trembled from head to foot. It was many long years since shehad touched heavy work like that, and it shocked her whole frame. 

The dull monotony of sewing upon prison garments had undermined all hergreat natural strength. She sat there panting for breath, and white tothe lips. The excitement had been too much for this poor prison woman. 

She sat like a dazed creature, looking down into the casket which layopen in her lap, with ten thousand rainbow fires leaping out of it, asthe blaze in the chimney quivered and danced and blazed over thediamonds. That morning the old woman had crept out of prison in hermoth-eaten garments, and a little charity money in her bosom. Now afortune blazed up from her lap. 

There was money, too, a purse heavy with sovereigns, dropped there fromthe gold contained in that malachite box, from which all her awfulsorrows had sprung. She gathered up these things in the skirt of herdress and sat brooding over them a long time, while the fire rose andcrackled, and shed warm floods of light all around her, and the rainpoured down in torrents. She was completely worn out at last, andthought itself became a burden; then her head fell back upon the ruinedcushions of the chair, which held her in a half-sitting position, as theheaviest sleep that ever came to mortal eyes fell upon her. 

Still the rain poured down continually upon the roof and overran thegutters in torrents. Up from the darkness of a hollow near by, the rushand roar of a stream, swollen into a torrent, came through the beatingstorm like a heavy bass voice pouring its low thunders through a strainof music. The great elm tree at the end of the house tossed itsstreaming branches, and beat them upon the roof, till a host of warriorsseemed breaking their way through, while the old vines were seized bythe wind and ripped from the sides of the house, as the storm seizesupon the cords of a vessel, and tears them up into a net work of tangledfloss. 

The old woman who had left her stone cell in the prison for the firsttime in fourteen years, heard nothing of this, but lay half upon thefloor half on the broken chair, with the broad blaze of the fireflashing over her white hair, and kindling up the diamonds in her lap toa bed of living coals. She was perfectly safe with those treasures, evenin that lonely house, for in the pouring rain no human being was likelyto go about from his own free will. But one poor fellow, whose child wasdesperately sick, did pass the house, and saw the blaze of a firebreaking through a window, where the shutters were dashing to and fro ontheir hinges, and found breath to say, as he sped on in search of adoctor:

"So the cedar cottage has got another tenant at last. I wonder who itis?"

When the man went by to his work, the next morning, he saw the shuttersswaying to and fro yet, and wondering at it, went into the enclosure, inhopes of meeting some of the new inmates; but everything was still, thedoors were fastened, and through the kitchen window he saw nothing but aheap of ashes on the hearth, and an old chair, torn to pieces, standingbefore it. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE OLD COUNTESS. 

When the old countess of Carset threw out her flag from the battlementsof Houghton castle, it could be seen from all the country around, forthe grim old pile was built upon the uplands, and the gray towers roseup from the groves of the park like the peaks of a mountain. 

For many a long year that broad flag had streamed like a meteor over theintense greenness of oaks and chestnuts; for, when the head of the housewas at home, the crimson pennant was always to be seen floating againstthe sky, and over that sea of billowy foliage. The old lady of Houghtonhad not been absent from the castle in many years, for she was achildless woman, and so aged, that a home among her own people was mostbefitting her infirmities and her pride. 

One day, as the sun was going down behind those massive castle towers, filling the sky so richly with gold and crimson, that the red flag waslost among its fiery billows, an old woman stood on the highway, with ahand uplifted to shade her eyes, as she searched for the old flag. 

There was dust upon her leathern shoes and on the black folds of heralpaca dress, for she had walked from the railway station, and the roadswere dry. 

"Ah, how the trees have grown!" she said, mournfully, dropping her hand. "I never, never thought to be so near Houghton and not see the flag. Ismy lady dead?"

The old woman was so distressed by the thought, that she sat down on abank by the wayside, and over her came that dry, hard foreboding, whichforbids tears to old eyes, but holds the worn heart like a vise. Thus, with her eyes fixed on the dusty road, she sat till all those brightclouds melted into the coming night; then she looked up and saw thegreat red flag streaming out against a sea of purplish gray, as it haddone when she was a girl, seventy years ago. 

"My lady is alive. She is there. Oh! my God! make me thankful!" sheexclaimed, standing up in the road. "Through all, I shall see heragain. "

So she moved on, carrying a leathern travelling bag, worn and rusty, inher feeble hand. Along the highway, up to the gates of that noble park, she travelled with the slow, toilsome step of old age; but when she cameto the gates they were closed, and her voice was so feeble that itfailed to reach the lodge, from which she could see lights gleamingthrough the twinkling ivy leaves. 

In patient disappointment the old woman turned from the gate, and walkedon half a mile farther, for she knew of a small public house where anight's lodging could be obtained. She reached this low stone buildingafter dark, and entered it quietly, like a gray ghost. 

It was a strange guest to enter that tap-room, with her dusty garmentsand her old satchel. The villagers, who were taking their beercomfortably, lifted their eyes in astonishment at her sudden appearance, and they rounded with wonder, as she passed through the room and enteredthe kitchen naturally, as if she had belonged to the premises all herlife. 

No one in the house remembered the old woman. A curly-headed girl namedSusan, had flitted like a bird about that kitchen the last time she hadentered it, and now, when a man's voice called out "Susan!" she startedand looked around in a dazed way, expecting the bright eyed girl wouldcome dancing through the door. But instead appeared an elderly woman, with quantities of coarse black hair, smoothed under her cap. A linenapron, large and ample, protected her stuff dress, and a steelchatelaine, to which were suspended scissors, a needle case and tinymoney box rattled at her side. 

"Well, what is to do now, Stephen?" said the landlady, brushing somecrumbs from her apron, for she had been cutting bread. 

"Not much, only look sharp. Here is an old body just come off the tramp. Ah, there she sits. See to her while I mind the bar, for she seems alittle above the common, and is quiet. "

The landlord sank his voice as he made the communication, and, after aglance at the old woman, went back to his guests, while the matronaddressed Mrs. Yates. 

"Ye will be wanting something, no doubt. Will it be tea or a cup of aleposset?"

The old heart in that bosom stirred with a tender recollection of longago, as this almost forgotten dish was mentioned, a dish so purelyEnglish, that she had never once heard it mentioned in her Americanlife. 

"I will thank you for a posset, " she said, taking off her bonnet andsmoothing her milk-white hair with both hands. "It is long since I havetasted one. "

"Yes, " answered the landlady, "there is more refreshment in a cup ofwarm posset, than in quarts of tea from China. Wait a bit and you shallhave one of my own making; the maids never will learn how to curdle themilk properly, but I am a rare hand at it, as was my mother before me. "

"Aye, a good housewife was your mother, " said the old woman, as tenderrecollections stirred in her bosom, "for now I see that it is littleSusan. "

"Little Susan, and you know of her? That was what they used to call mewhen I was a lass, so high. "

"But now, what is the name you go by?"

"What name should a woman go by but that of her own husband? You havejust seen the master. The neighbors call him Stephen Burke. "

"What, the son of James Burke, gamekeeper at the castle?"

"Why, did you know him, too?"

"Aye, that did I. A brave young fellow he was, and every one at thecastle up yonder--"

The old woman checked herself. She had not intended to make herselfknown, but old recollections had thronged upon her so warmly, that itseemed impossible to keep silent. 

"You speak of the castle as if you knew about it, " said the landlady, eyeing her askance. 

"And no wonder, " answered the old woman; "people have told me about it, and I was in the neighborhood years ago, when you were a slip of alass. "

It was strange, but this old woman, since her entrance to that room, hadfallen back upon phrases and words familiar to her lips once, but whichhad not made any part of her speech for years. There was a home sound inthem that warmed her heart. 

"Did ye ever know any of them up yonder?" asked the landlady, as sheplaced a broad porringer before the fire, and poured some milk into it. 

"Yes. I have seen the countess, but it was long ago. "

"May-be it was when the young lady was at home. Oh! them were blithetimes, when young Lord Hope came a courting, and we could see themdriving like turtle doves through the park and down the village; or, walking along by the hedges and gathering hyacinths and violets. It wasa sorry time, though, when he took her away for good and all. "

"Is the young lady living near this?" inquired Mrs. Yates, with aneffort. 

"Near this, my good woman! Why, she has been dead these many years, andLord Hope had been married to his second wife ten years, when my firstlass was born; but he lives at Oakhurst, and never comes here now. Noone, in these parts, has seen his second lady, for the countess wassadly put out with the marriage, and all her household was forbidden tomention Lord Hope's name before her. She never got over the death of ourown young lady in foreign parts, off in America among the red Indians, who tomahawk people, and no one asks why. This was where Lord Hope tookhis wife and child. Can any one wonder that our countess could notforgive him, especially when he came back home with a new wife, andstood out that his daughter should never come to Houghton, till our oldlady up yonder was ready to be gracious to the new woman. "

"So the child was never at the castle?" inquired the old woman. 

"No one hereabouts has ever seen her, though we are told that she is abeautiful young lady, sweet and pleasant, but with a will of her own. The old countess sent for her once, for she must be heiress of Houghton, you know; but she sent back word that nothing could entice her into ahouse where her stepmother was forbidden to come, and this so offendedour countess, that she has taken no notice of her since. "

While she was talking, the landlady poured a measure of frothing aleinto the porringer, and became all at once silent. The delicate art ofcurding the milk into whey took up all her attention. Thus the old ladywas allowed to drop into a fit of thought, from which she was aroused, with a start, when the hostess poured the warm posset into a china bowland began stirring it with a heavy silver spoon, as she called out:

"Come to the table, grandame, and sup the posset while it is hot. You'llnot get its fellow till I turn my hand to another for ye. Come, come!"

Mrs. Yates drew her chair to the table, and took up the silver spoon, eagerly. Poor woman! She had travelled all day without tasting food, andthe posset took her from a very painful train of thought. 

The hostess sat down at one end of the table, smiling blandly over thekeen appetite of her guest. With her arms folded on the white cloth, andher ruddy face bending forward, she went on with her talk. But thistime she turned from the castle, and began to ask questions, for thepresence of this singular old woman in her house had fully aroused hercuriosity. 

But the traveller was on her guard now, and escaped these bluntquestions with quiet adroitness. When they became oppressive, she arosefrom the table and asked permission to seek her bed, as the day's travelhad left her tired beyond anything. 

The hostess took a candle from the table and led the way up stairs, somewhat baffled, but full of kindly feeling. There was something aboutthe manner and speech of this old woman that set all her warm-heartedinterest afloat. Who was she? From what part of England had shetravelled with that rusty little bag and those thick-soled shoes? Thatquiet manner and gentle voice might have belonged to any lady of theland. 

In the midst of these conjectures the quiet old woman reached out herhand for the candle, and with a soft "good-night, " closed thechamber-door. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE OLD COUNTESS AND HER SERVANT. 

The next morning Mrs. Yates was early at the park-gate. She found notrouble in passing through now, and was soon in the avenue, making slowprogress toward the castle, under the shade of those vast oaks andchestnuts. The way was long, and the avenue swept upward with what, tothe old woman, was a toilsome ascent. The bag, which she carried in herhand, was of some weight, too, and the cramped inaction of so many yearshad rendered walking a slow and painful process. 

At last she stood in full view of that grand old building--a castle ofthe olden times--kept, so far as possible to elegance or comfort, in itsponderous mediæval grandeur. But Madam Art had softened all its ruderfeatures. Plate-glass was sunk into those thick walls; circular rooms inthose twin towers, commanded a splendid view of the valley, over whichthe castle was built. The broad stone terrace connecting the towers, andfronting the main building was connected with a velvet lawn by a forestof hot-house plants, that clung around the stone parapet in a sumptuousgarland of vines and flowers, that shed a soft and delicious fragranceover everything in and around the building. 

Across this lawn and over the stone terrace the old woman toiled towardthe main entrance. She was beginning to tremble now with somethingbeside weariness. Her satchel bore down the feeble hand that carried it, till it dragged along the stones with a low, rasping sound, as sheclimbed the terrace-steps. She lifted the ponderous bronze knocker, andlet it fall from her shaking hand with a crash that startled herself, and brought a man, all glittering in silver gray and scarlet, to thedoor, where he stood, with his insolent lips ajar, waiting to know whatmiracle had brought that forlorn creature to the grand entrance ofHoughton Castle. 

"I wish to speak with the countess. "

That sweet old voice could not counteract the effect of her dress andworn satchel. The parted lips of the man in scarlet fell together, anddrooped scornfully down at the corners. 

"There is a proper entrance for servants and village-people, " said thishigh functionary, with his powdered head thrown back. 

"I know, " answered the woman, quietly; "but I wish to see my lady, anddo not care to seek her from the servants' hall. Go to her and say thatHannah Yates, an old servant of the family, is below, waiting to seeher. "

The man hesitated. Then the old woman stepped softly into the hall, passing him so suddenly that he drew back aghast. 

"If you will not go, I must find the way for myself, " she said, still ina voice so gentle that he could take little offence at it. 

Her composure rather disturbed the man, who gave his powdered head atoss, and mounted the broad oaken staircase, with an indignant swell ofthe chest. Through a long passage, carpeted with the thickness of forestturf, he went, giving forth no sound till he opened a door in one of thelower chambers, and, sweeping a curtain of crimson silk back with hisarm, announced the name that old woman had given him at the door. 

Something lying under the rich colors of a great India shawl movedquickly; the shawl dropped to the floor, and a little old woman sat upon the couch where she had been resting. 

"Yates--Hannah Yates? Did you say Yates, Henry?"

"That was the name, my lady. "

"An old woman like me?"

"Old enough, my lady; but Heaven forbid I should say like your ladyship. I could not force myself to do it. "

"Bring her here, Henry. "

The door closed, and the old countess drew herself gradually upright. 

She was a pale, little woman, with hair as soft and white as thedelicate lace that fell like a spider's web over it. The child-likehands, which lay in relief among the folds of her black-satin dress, were withered in their whiteness, like the leaves of a frost-bittenlily. They were quivering, too; and now that she was alone, you mighthave seen that delicate head begin to vibrate with a slow, perpetualmotion, which had been stopped a moment by the surprise which had fallenupon her. She sat with her eyes on the curtain, which shut the door fromview. The trembling of her head extended to her whole body, and hersmall feet pattered freely on the carpet, like those of a child in theimpotence of sickness. 

As she looked the red curtain was lifted, and into the luxurioussplendor of that room came a tall, old woman, who was trembling likeherself, and stood in her presence, apparently afraid to look up. 

The old countess arose from her couch, trampling the India shawl underher feet, and moved with feeble slowness toward her strange visitor. 

"Hannah Yates!"

At these words the down prison-look that had fallen upon Hannah waslifted from her, and those large gray eyes were bent on the littlepatrician with a look of intense mournfulness. 

"My mistress!"

"Hannah Yates, I never expected to see you again on this earth, and nowyou come before me like a ghost. "

"Ah, my mistress, " answered the old servant, with pathetic humility. "Iam a ghost of the woman who once loved and served you. "

"And I? Look upon me, Yates. How have God and time dealt with yourmistress? Has my head been respected more than yours?"

They stood for a moment looking solemnly at each other--that tall, stately woman, born a peasant, and the delicate, proud, sensitivepeeress, whose blue blood rolled through a series of dead greatness backto the Conqueror. The contrast was touching. Both had begun to stoop atthe shoulders, both had suffered, and they were as far apart in stationas social power could place them; but a host of memories linked themtogether, and the common sympathies of humanity thrilled in the heartsof both with such pain and pleasure that, unconsciously, the littlewithered hand of the countess clasped that of her old servant. 

"Come in, Yates, and sit down. You are trembling, poor old soul! Theworld must have gone hard with you when the touch of my hand makes youshiver so. Sit down. We are both old women now, and may rest ourselvestogether. "

So the woman, whose last home had been a convict's cell, and the ladywhose head had always been sheltered beneath the roofs of a palace, satdown and looked, with sad timidity, at each other. Still the feeling ofcaste was strong in the servant. She had drawn an ottoman up to thecouch, and placed herself on that; but not until she had taken the shawlfrom the carpet, and placed it around her mistress, did she thus sitdown, as it were, at her feet. 

"Where did you come from, Hannah Yates?"

"From America. I came from the ship three days ago. "

At the word America the old countess shrank back, and held out herhands, as if to avoid a blow. After a little she spoke again, but it wasnow with a voice sharp with pain. 

"Yates, did you in America ever know anything of my child?"

The anguish in that voice startled Hannah Yates, and her old facewhitened. How much did the mistress know? If little, perfect candormight kill her. She had not come there to wound an old woman with thehorrors that had darkened her life; so she answered, cautiously:

"Yes, I saw Lady Hope more than once after she came to America. "

"Thank God!" exclaimed the countess. "I may now learn how and when shedied. "

"I was not with her when she died, " answered the servant, in a lowvoice. 

"But you saw her before?"

"Yes, I saw her often. "

"And the child?"

"Yes; the child was with me a good deal. "

"Yates, was my child happy in that strange land?"

"How can I answer that, my lady?"

"Did you see Hope there?"

"Once, only once, and that for a moment. "

"And you can tell me no particulars. You have no information to give mewith regard to the woman who is Lord Hope's wife?"

"Of her I know but little. Remember, my lady, I am but a servant. "

"You were my child's nurse. I never looked on you as a common servant, but rather as a faithful friend. So did my poor child. When I learnedshe was in the same country with you and her foster-brother, my heartwas somewhat at rest. But her letters were so studied, sounsatisfactory; yet there was nothing in them of sadness or complaint. Only this, Yates, she never mentioned her husband, not once! I shouldhardly have known that he was with her but for the letter in which hetold me that I was a childless old woman. "

Mrs. Yates drew a long, heavy sigh. She understood now that the secretof that awful tragedy in New York had been kept from her old mistress, and resolved that it never should reach her--never while her will couldkeep back the horrible truth. 

"My lady, " she said, with an effort, "there is one thing whichour--which my young mistress bade me bring to you if--if she should notlive to place them in your own hands herself. It is this which broughtme across the ocean. "

As she spoke, Mrs. Yates took up the leathern satchel, which lay againsther feet, and opened its rusty clasp with her trembling hands. She drewforth a casket from the scant garments it contained, and, still kneelingon the floor, opened it. A blaze of diamonds broke up from the box. Theold countess uttered a feeble cry, and clasped two quivering hands overher eyes. 

"She was troubled about bringing them out of England, and sent them toher foster-mother with this letter. "

"Is there a letter? Yates, give it to me!"

Mrs. Yates reached forth the letter, which had begun to turn yellow withage. 

The countess took it, and attempted to open her glasses; but thoselittle hands trembled so fearfully that she could not loosen the goldwhich clasped them in. 

"Read it for me. I cannot! I cannot!"

Two great tears trembled out of the pain in that aged heart, and fellupon her cheeks like frost upon the white leaves of a withered rose. 

Hannah Yates read the letter--a sweet, touching epistle, full ofmournful affection, which that murdered lady had written only a few daysbefore her death, when some presentiment of coming evil was no doubtupon her. The diamonds were her mother's, she wrote, and had onlycrossed the ocean with her because of the haste with which the voyage toAmerica had been arranged. Fearing for their safety, she was about tointrust them to her foster-mother, who had promised to bring them backto England with her own hands, if any evil should fall upon her, or ifher sojourn in America was protracted. 

"The jewels which belong to the Carset estate, and the child, which willinherit them, I entrust to my dear foster-mother, when I am gone, and Isometimes think that we may never meet again, my mother. This good womanwill bring the diamonds, which I will not have endangered, and will tellyou about the child, dearer to me than my own life, nay, than my ownsoul! Tell Lord Hope, if he should seek to take her, that it was thedying wish of his wife that her child should pass at once into theprotection of her own most beloved mother, when Hannah Yates brings herto England. I think he will not deny this to a woman who has loved himbetter, oh! how much better! than herself--who would die, if she could, rather than be in the way of his happiness. Give him this letter. Ithink he will not deny the last request I may ever make of him. I willnot say farewell, my mother, because the gloom that is upon me in thisstrange land may be only the homesickness of a heart separated fromthose it loves. But, if this is given to you by my foster-mother, knowthat a cloud of gloom has settled down upon me forever. "

This much fell upon the ears of the countess as she held her breath andlistened. 

When Hannah Yates folded the letter, she felt that a gleam of angry firebroke into the eyes bent upon her. 

"Yates, " said the countess, sharply, "read the date of that letter. "

The old servant read the date. 

"Fourteen years and more! Why was that letter kept from me so long?"

"I could not bring it. "

"I know you were not young even then, Yates; but your son, my ownprotege! Surely, when my poor child gave you this charge, she gave moneyalso? Why was the child kept from me and sent to that man?"

"Yes, there was money; but my son could not come. We had no power tobring her. "

"Then Hope took her from you by force?" questioned the countess. "Whereis your son, Yates? He was wrong to permit it!"

"With my young lady. "

"Dead! Then you, also, are childless?"

Hannah Yates remembered how the news of her bereavement had reached herin that stone cell which was cold as a grave, and shuddered while thelady in her palace questioned her. Then the old prison-look fell uponher, and she sat motionless, with her eyes upon the floor, sayingnothing. How could she explain to that proud lady the bondage in whichshe had been held?

"Ah! if you had come earlier, " said the countess, "the child of my childmight have been here! That man would not have dared to keep her! Shewould not have been taught to return my advances with insolence by hisevil wife. "

"I _could_ not come before, " repeated the old woman, humbly. 

"And now it may be too late. "

"God forbid!" said the old woman. "No! no! He will show me how tocomplete my task. It is for that I have been kept alive. "

"Yates, you are brave and faithful. I was wrong to question you so. Forgive me, old servant. "

Mrs. Yates took the child-like hand held out to her and pressed it toher lips. 

"I have tried, dear mistress. "

"Go, now, old friend, and let me have time to think. Only this iscertain, we do not part again. "

"Mistress, that cannot be. I have yet a task to perform. It may be many, many miles to travel. When that is done, I will come back and spend thefew days left to me here. Oh, it seems like home--it seems like Heavento sit within the sound of your voice once more! But I must depart atonce. "

"Where, old friend?"

"I do not know yet; but God will direct me. "

"As I trust that He will direct me, " answered the countess, lifting hereyes in momentary prayer. "Yates, you will never know what fearfulsuspicions have haunted me--how hard and bitter they have made me. Oh, had this letter come earlier!"

"I could not! I could not!"

"I know that, knowing you. "

Hannah Yates lifted her grateful eyes for a moment, and dropped themagain. 

"Now that I am free from the weight of these, " she said, lifting thecasket in her hands, "the toil of my errand will be less. "

The countess looked wistfully into the box, and shook her head. 

"I have been unjust. I have accused that woman falsely. Until thismoment, Yates, I have not hesitated to proclaim my belief that the womanthey call Lady Hope had possessed herself of these diamonds as she hadwon my daughter's husband. This is a wrong which wounds me to the soul. It must be atoned for. "

Hannah Yates moved toward the door, but heavily, and with the reluctanceof a woman whose strength had been overtasked. The old countess satgazing upon the jewels. How trivial and worthless they seemed to hernow! Yet the retention of these very diamonds had been a great cause ofoffence against Lord Hope's second wife. How unjust, how cruel she hadbeen in this! Was it possible that, in other things, she had beenequally mistaken? She took up her daughter's letter and read it over. The first shock of its reception had passed away, and nothing but thequivering of the head remained of the fearful agitation that had shookher little form like a reed. 

Hannah Yates stood near the curtain, regarding her with a look ofyearning sympathy. How much she had suffered--how terribly she hadstruggled to save that delicate creature from deeper sorrow--no humanbeing but herself would ever know; but the thought filled her heart withinfinite tenderness. She stepped back to the couch, took the hand whichlay in the lap of her old mistress, and kissed it. 

The old lady lifted her eyes from the letter. They were full oftears--those painful, cold tears which come in such scant drops to theaged. 

"Your hands are cold; you look tired. Ring for some wine and biscuit. That poor, white face is a reproach to your mistress, Yates. "

"Yes, I will take some wine and bread before I go--it will make mestrong; but not here! not here!"

Again the old countess turned to that letter, motioning with her handthat Yates should stay; but the old woman did not see that gentle motionof the hand--her eyes, also, were full of tears. 

When the Countess of Carset had thrice perused her daughter's letter, she laid it down, and resting her hand tenderly upon it, fell intothought. 

She was a proud but just woman, on whose haughty power old age hadfallen like dew, softening all that was imperious, and shading downstrong personal pride into thoughtful mercy. 

But for some injustice that she had to repent of, this simple, affectionate letter, coming as it were from the grave, would havearoused nothing but tender grief. It contained no complaint of the manshe had married--did not even mention the governess, who now filled herplace; and the possibility that she had terribly wronged these twopersons dawned steadily upon her. 

She looked up at last, and spoke to Hannah Yates; but there was noanswer. The old woman was on her road to the railroad station, burdenedonly with a secret she dared not reveal, and the gold which had beensaved with the diamonds. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE EARL'S RETURN. 

Days passed, and Caroline heard nothing of the new friend she had made;but one day Eliza brought her a letter which had come, inclosed in onefrom Margaret, who had left town with her mistress so suddenly that shefound no time to say farewell. 

This was the letter which broke down so many hopes for the unhappy girl:

 "MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND--

 "For that you always will be, so long as I have a pulse in my heart or a purpose in my brain! It does not require an eternity for two young girls like us to become firm friends; but it will take more than that to destroy the faith and love we feel for each other. I know that you will believe every word that I say, though I may be compelled to seem cruel and faithless. I cannot come to see you. They tell me it might offend my father. I cannot ask you to his house, because it _is_ his, and I have no authority in it. But the time will come when I shall have a house of my own, and then no guest shall be so honored. Why do I love you so? Is it that I remember something? Or has any person told me that you and I have slept in each other's arms, and breathed upon the same pillow, with an old woman bending over us--a noble-faced old woman, with gray hair, and a queenly way of carrying the head? Have you any remembrance of a woman like that? Do you remember a hot, red fire, streams of water gushing over it, a ladder, a crowd, and great pipes coiling like a tangle of huge snakes along a street full of people? I do--and this no one has ever told me. 

 "I want to ask all these things in person. You are from America. I was there once, and after that fire I remember the ocean and a great black ship, which sent banners of smoke over us day after day. 

 "Then Oakhurst. I was not four years old then, but my life began in America, so far as I know of it. 

 "I cannot help you now; but if you hate the stage so much, be firm, and madame cannot force you upon it. Besides, I am determined to redeem my pledge; so, if it can be done in no other way, I will just have an early time set for my marriage with Mr. Closs, and then you shall come to us if any one attempts to oppress you. 

 "Pray do not suppose that any one here dislikes you. On the contrary, Lady Hope admits that you are charming. The trouble is that here, in England, there is so much prejudice against the stage. I cannot advise you, having broken down so miserably in my promises; but I shall not be helpless forever, and when I have power you shall share it. 

 "If she insists, if the worst comes to the worst, run away, and come down here--I mean into the neighborhood. I have plenty of pocket-money, and drive my ponies just where I please. Margaret will help us. 

 "I am sure you will forgive me that I cannot do all I promised. It does not grieve you more than it humiliates me. To think that I should offer so much and perform nothing! But it is not my fault, nor is it the fault of any one here. 

 "Believe in me, trust me, and love me, for I will deserve it all. 

 "Yours affectionately, "CLARA. "

Lady Clara wrote this letter on the very night of her return toOakhurst. That much she insisted on doing. Less, she said, would becruel treachery. 

Neither Lady Hope nor her brother were disposed to interfere, and so thelittle missive went, carrying both hope and pain with it. 

It was some days before Hepworth Closs was able to make his entire peacewith the young lady. She could not find it in her heart to oppose herstepmother, whose sad, heavy eyes touched her sympathy; but it waspleasant to tyrannize over a man so much older than herself, whom lovehad made her slave. 

With him quarreling was delicious, and she was in no haste to cut herenjoyment short. But even the pleasure of tormenting one's lover has itsreaction; so one day, as the sun went down, pouring a flood of crimsoninto the bosom of that old cedar of Lebanon, Clara relented a little, and allowed Hepworth to kiss her hand. It was impossible to hold outlonger, with all the leaves quivering in that soft air, and the littlebirds hiding away among them, chirping to each other, and setting asweet example to the lovers. 

Of course an ardent man, very much in love, is not likely to restcontent with the touch of his lady-love's hand after he has been keptin quarantine four or five days. Hepworth was ardent, and desperately inlove; so he took advantage of her soft relenting, and drew her close tohis side, laid her head against his heart, and, with his cheek touchingthe thick waves of her hair, began to talk of the future, when theywould be all in all to each other. 

Clara shut her eyes, and allowed her head to rest so close to herlover's heart that it rose and fell with its strong beating. She lovedthe music of that full, warm pulse, and a smile parted her lips as shelistened. 

Thus they rested awhile in silence, she, carried into a dreamy elysiumby the swell of those full heart-beats; he, calmed by the stir of thecedar-leaves, looking into her face, and wondering, in the humility oftrue affection, how that bright young creature had ever been won to lovehim. He bent his head down softly, and kissed the blue veins on hertemple. 

"Are you sure, very, very sure, that you love me, Clara?"

She reached up one arm, wound it about his neck, laid her cheek againsthis, and whispered:

"Don't you think so?"

"Lady Clara! Mr. Hepworth Closs!"

It was a man's voice, stern and clear as the clash of bells. Both thelover and the girl sprang to their feet. 

"Father!"

"Lord Hope!"

For a moment the two men stood face to face. They had changed sincetheir last parting; still that was but dimly seen in the light of ayoung moon, which was rising over the trees as the rich crimson fadedaway. 

Hepworth saw that all the wild passion of those times had died out ofthat face, leaving it calm and hard; but other change was concealed bythe silvery quiver of light that fell upon it through the leaves. 

Hepworth was the first to speak. 

"My lord, you have received my letter, I trust?"

"Yes--and came at once to answer it. "

"By your tone, by your manner, I should fear--"

"While this young lady is by, we will not speak of your fears, " said theearl, with a slow motion of the hand. "Clara, you will find your--LadyHope. She will, perhaps, be glad to hear that I have returned. "

"Not while you meet me and--and Hepworth in this fashion, papa. I don'tlike it. One would think you intended to make trouble. "

"Foolish child! Go as I tell you. "

"Not while you look at me like that. Do you know, papa, that you haveforgotten to kiss me, or even shake hands; and that is a thing I neversaw you guilty of before. "

Clara drew close to the haughty man, and turning her mouth into ahalf-open apple-blossom, held it up to be kissed. 

The earl put her aside gently, but with firmness. 

"Go to Lady Hope, as I bade you, " he said. "This is no hour fortrifling. "

Clara stood motionless. All the color had left her face, even to thelips. 

"Papa, are you in earnest?"

"In earnest? Yes. "

"And you mean to refuse this gentleman?"

"Undoubtedly I mean to refuse that gentleman. "

There was an emphasis of fine irony laid on the last word, whichHepworth felt with a sting of indignation; but he controlled himself, inrespect to Clara's presence, and stood aloof, pale and stern as the manbefore him. 

"I will go, " said Clara; "but, before I leave you, let me say onething: I love this gentleman. But for that, he never would have spokento me or written to you. It was not his fault, or of his seeking. He hadnot been here a day before I loved him without knowing it. Now, all theworld may know it for aught I care, for I never will marry any otherman!"

Lord Hope did not reply to her, but turned to Hepworth. 

"You have done honorable work, and in a short time!" he said. "I was notaware that Lady Hope would entertain her relatives in my absence, andwith this result. "

Hepworth did not answer then, but turning to Lady Clara, reached out hishand. 

"Let me lead you to the house, " he said. "After that I can meet LordHope on more equal terms. "

Clara took his arm; but her father interposed. 

"I will take charge of the lady, " he said, with haughty coldness, drawing her arm within his, and leading her to the terrace, where heleft her and returned to the cedar. 

"Now, sir, let us conclude this matter at once. You ask the hand of mydaughter in marriage. I refuse it. You are here under my roof anunexpected and unbidden guest. From this hour you cease to be welcome. "

"My lord, had I never known you in the past, never served you in anunlawful desire, you would not have dared to address me in this fashion. If you and I meet to bandy insults, it is because the past has left nomutual respect between us; but I have this advantage over you; the sinswhich have drawn on me even your contempt have been long since repentedof, while yours, compared to which mine fade into innocence, seem but tohave hardened into pride. "

Lord Hope smiled. 

"Of what crime does Mr. Hepworth Closs charge me?"

"I make no special charge, Lord Hope; but there is an old woman inAmerica suffering the penalty of a crime which she nevercommitted--which you know she never committed. "

"The law decided otherwise, if I remember rightly, " answered the earl, in a quiet, calm voice. "But even if it did not, does that relate to thequestion in hand?"

"No, no, and I am to blame in mentioning it--Heaven knows I wish tothink the best! I admit, my lord, your prejudices against me would havebeen just when we knew each other so well; but I was very young then andcan fairly claim to have worked out an honorable redemption from thefaults of my youth. Believe me, I have won more than a respectableposition among men; have wealth from my own exertions enough to satisfyeven your wishes. True, I have not the rank to match yours; but therewas a time when you thought it no disgrace to mate with my family. "

Lord Hope was moved out of his proud calm now. He lifted his hand with asuddenness that was threatening, and cried out:

"Peace, sir! I have heard enough of this!"

"But I must remind you again that Lady Hope is my only sister, and inthese insults you degrade her. "

"Degrade her, when she is my wife!"

These words were drawn out with proud emphasis that stung Hepworth likea wasp. 

"My lord, " he said, "I will bear much from you, because I once lovedyou, but more from the fact that you are my sister's husband and _her_father; but I warn you not even by a tone to cast reproach or slur uponyour wife. She became such against my wishes and in spite of my protest. That lady has all the elements of greatness within herself. "

"What right had you to wish or protest?"

"The self-same right that you have to drive me from your daughter. Youdid not heed my wishes, why expect me to prove more delicate?"

"Because I can enforce what I wish, and you could not. "

"How?"

"By asking Mr. Hepworth Closs to leave Oakhurst at once, and byproviding against all chance of his coming here again. "

Closs turned very white, and his hand clenched and unclenched itselfwith passionate force. 

"My lord, this is a cruel insult, which I have not deserved!"

All at once the earl turned, with some show of feeling, and lookedHepworth steadily in the face. 

"Hepworth Closs, listen to me. If I seem cruel and unmanly, it isbecause I wish to be kind. The hand which sweeps a moth from itscircling around a candle, must seem very cruel to the poor insect. Itell you, fairly, Hepworth Closs, it is not so much pride of birth orpersonal dislike that prompts me to deny my daughter to you. But she isheiress in entail to the Carset title and Houghton Castle, a nobletitle, without support, unless the old countess makes her heiress, bywill, of her personal estates. By marrying your sister, I mortallyoffended this old lady. Rachael has been, from first to last, thespecial object of her dislike. Lady Clara has added to this by refusingto visit Houghton unless her stepmother is received there also. Thisquarrel may throw one of the richest inheritances in England out of myfamily, and all from my unfortunate marriage. "

"Your unfortunate marriage!" exclaimed Closs, hotly. 

"How could it be otherwise?" answered Lord Hope, sadly. 

There was something in Hope's voice that touched Hepworth Closs withfeelings akin to those he had felt for the proud young man years ago. 

"This was the language I used to my sister the night before she becameyour wife, " he said. 

"Oh, my God! if she had but listened--if she had but listened!"

"Lord Hope! do I understand? Has your marriage with Rachael Closs cometo this?"

"Hepworth, we will not discuss this subject. It is one which belongsexclusively to Lady Hope and myself. "

"But she is my sister!"

"Between a husband and wife no relative has claims. "

"Lord Hope, I was once your friend. "

"I have not forgotten it. Unfortunately for us both, you were. I do notsay this ungratefully. On the contrary, I am about to appeal to that oldfriendship once more. You ask for my daughter. To give her to a brotherof Rachael Closs would be the bitterest insult I could offer the oldlady at Houghton. It would close our last hopes of a reconciliation. Theestates, in doubt now, would be eternally lost. I cannot afford this. Oakhurst is strictly entailed; I am heavily in debt, so heavily, that weare compelled to practise the most harassing economy. From me Clara willinherit nothing; from her grandmother worse than nothing if she diesoffended with us. I am told that she is relenting--that she has beenheard to speak kindly of Clara. Can you ask me to insult her over again, knowing all the wrong I have done her, all the ruin it would bring on mychild?"

"What can I do?" exclaimed Closs, who felt the reason of this appeal. "How can I act generously to you--fairly to her?"

"Go away. She is young, volatile, capricious, but generous as the day. Be open with her; tell her why you leave Oakhurst and how impossible itis to return. "

"But there is one wild hope for me--the possibility of gaining this oldlady's consent. "

Lord Hope smiled in pity of the forlorn idea. 

"You may as well ask the stars of heaven to fall. "

"But it may chance that I can plead my cause with her. "

"Then your best argument will be that I have driven you ignominiouslyfrom Oakhurst, " said Lord Hope, with fine irony in his smile. "She willforgive much to any man I am known to dislike. "

"My lord, I love your daughter so entirely, that it is impossible for meto give up all hope. Leave me this one gleam, or, failing in that, giveme such chances as time may bring. "

Again Lord Hope answered with that keen smile. 

"I withhold nothing from you but my consent. "

"But, if Lady Carset gives hers?"

"Then I can safely promise mine. "

Again the smile came, and pierced Hepworth like an arrow. 

"Now I will intrude here no longer, " he said, taking his hat from theground where it had been lying. 

"It is better so, inhospitable as you may think me for saying it. LadyHope will be grieved, I know. "

"I am her only relative, " said Closs, with deep feeling. 

"I know it; but we are all making sacrifices. I am, certainly, inwishing you farewell. "

Hope reached out his hand. It was clear he wished Closs to go withoutfurther leave-taking. Closs understood the motion. 

"I will not pain my sister with a farewell. Explain this as you please, or say that I will write--unless that is prohibited. As for the younglady, I shall never seek her again under your roof; but the time maycome when I shall assert the right which every man has to choose forhimself, and win the lady of his love, if he can. Meantime, Lady Clarais free as air. Tell her so. "

With these words Hepworth Closs turned resolutely from the house inwhich he had tasted pure happiness for the first time in his life, andwent away. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER. 

Lady Hope was in her own room when Clara came in, pale and breathless, with news of her father's return. A cry broke from the woman, sothrilling in its exquisite joy, that it won Clara even from aremembrance of the harshness with which her lover had been received. Inthe birth of her own love, she found intense sympathy for the intensepassion that seemed to consume her stepmother like a living fire. 

"Oh! mamma Rachael, do you love him so much, and is this love nothingbut a torment?" she said, kneeling down at the woman's feet, and tryingto draw that wild face down to hers. "He is so cruel, so cruel, I almosthate him. "

Lady Hope pushed the girl from her. 

"What? Hate him?"

"Then why don't he love you more?"

"He does love me; how dare you question it?"

The words were harsh, but Rachael's voice faltered in uttering them, andthe gloom of a hidden doubt broke into those great black eyes. Clarasaw the look, and her heart ached with sympathy. 

"Then why does he stay from us so long?"

"Ah, why!" answered Rachael, and the two plaintive words sank deep intothat young heart. 

"And why does he treat Hepworth, your own brother, so cruelly?"

"Has he done that? Oh, no, no!"

"Yes, mamma Rachael. We both love him _so_ much; but he is very hardwith us just now. I thought he would love Hepworth for your sake. "

"Ah! I thought so too. It was my last dream. "

"And my first, " said Clara, with girlish tears in her eyes. "He was veryangry--they were both angry. I think he meant to insult Hepworth anddrive him away, knowing how proud he is, and he will do it. Oh, mammaRachael, I am so miserable!"

"Miserable!" cried Rachael, looking gloomily into that fair young face. "Poor child! you have no idea what misery is. God forbid that you evershould!"

"Is not this misery? Papa against me, Hepworth looking so proud andstormy. You. Oh! mamma, I feel for you so much. Indeed, you look moreunhappy than I am; but it is hard. "

"Hush, dear! That is your father's voice. "

"Yes, how low and cutting. I cannot stand it. He is coming this way. Iwill go to my room. "

For the first time in her life, Lady Clara shrank from meeting herfather. 

"Do not leave me yet, " said Rachael, passing swiftly toward the window. "They are together still. I cannot see their faces, but they both standup sternly in the moonlight. What can they be saying?"

"Something harsh, I know. Lord Hope, when he came up so still andstern, did not seem like my father. His face looked like marble. Hewould not kiss me, and--and put me aside, when I offered, as if I haddone something terribly wrong, in just getting naturally in love withthe most splendid fellow that ever lived. I should think he mightremember when he fell so desperately in love with you himself, and havesome mercy on a poor little girl. " Here Clara seemed to catch a restlessinfection from Rachael, and joined her in a quick, unequal walk up anddown the room, pausing now and then to dash the tears from her eyes, orgaze in wonder at Lady Hope's face, which bore an expression she hadnever seen in all its gloominess till then. 

All at once Rachael paused in her walk, and taking Clara in her arms, looked at her with such earnest tenderness, that the girl hushed hersobs to listen. 

"My darling, do you love him so much?"

"Better than my father; better than you. Oh! forgive me, but it isso--better than my own life. I think it is worship, not love, dearestmamma. "

"Great heavens! what trouble I have brought upon us all! Oh why, why didhe come here!" cried Rachael, beginning to pace the floor again, clasping her hands and tearing them apart, as if angry with herself. "They were such friends once, and loved each other like brothers. Howcould I think it would turn out like this? I so needed him--this onebrother; had such hope in his influence, but it is all over. "

"What is all over? You will not permit it? You will not let him be sentaway?"

"How can I help it? What power or influence is left to me?" answeredRachael, desperately. 

"Oh, mamma Rachael, will you fail me? You!"

"Hush! he is coming. I hear his step on the terrace. "

How that dusky face lighted up. That woman trembled all over under thesound of that man's tread. He was coming to her, there in the room, inwhich they had once been so happy; coming to her, perhaps in anger. Thatwas nothing. Anger itself would be Heaven, compared to the coldpoliteness that had sometimes almost frozen her to death. She turned toClara. 

"Go, my child. I will see your father alone. "

Clara went to her room. Through the window which looked out upon thelawn, she saw Hepworth Closs come out from the shadow of the cedar, andwalk swiftly toward the avenue. By the proud lift of his head, and thosequick steps, that seemed to spurn the earth he trod upon, she knew thathe had parted from her father in anger, and threw up the window. 

"Hepworth! Hepworth! Stop! Stop! and tell me where you are going!"

He did not hear her, the storm in his heart was too violent. He had beendriven forth from his sister's roof with a cool politeness that wasinsulting. The commonest courtesies of life had been denied to him, bythe man who had once been his friend. He scarcely thought of Clara, then, a sense of burning indignation swept everything else from hismind. 

Clara leaned from the window, trembling with sudden apprehension. Was hereally going? Had her father treated him with indignity? Was he givingher up without a struggle or a word of farewell?

While she asked herself these questions, Closs disappeared among thetrees in the park, and was swallowed up in the black shadows. 

"He shall not go!" cried the girl, in wild excitement. "He shall not bedriven away by papa, or any one else! Where is my jacket? What has thatgirl done with my hat? Ah! here, and here!"

She huddled the shawl around her, tossed the little sailor's hat to herhead, and, opening the chamber door so swiftly that it made no noise, darted down stairs, and, avoiding the principal entrance, reached thelawn by leaping from one of the drawing-room windows, where she paused amoment to draw breath. But no time was to be lost. At the rate Hepworthwas walking, he must now be well on his way to the lodge. The avenueswept away from the house in a grand curve. She knew of a path throughthe trees which would lead her straight to old Badger's lodge. It wasshadowy and lonesome, but what did she care for that? No deer everbounded down that path more lightly than Clara went. She did not stop tothink of propriety, or of her own object. Her heart told her thatHepworth had been driven from the house, perhaps thinking that she wouldsanction the outrage; for it was an outrage, even if her own father haddone it. He should not go away, believing it possible for her to proveso base. 

On she went, eager, breathless, with the streamers floating out from herhat, and her white sacque flying open, fairly racing through themoonlight, like a frightened fairy. 

As she came in sight of the lodge, the clang of an iron gate fallinginto position, brought a cry of dismay from her lips. He had reached thehighway. Dared she follow him there?

Clara came out into the avenue, panting for breath. She could hear hisquick steps upon the road. How terribly fast he was walking toward thevillage. Yes, he was surely going that way. 

Old Badger stood in the lodge door, shaded by a trailing drapery of ivy, and saw the young lady standing there in the moonlight, wringing herhands and absolutely crying. In his astonishment he addressed Julesconfidentially, as she lay on the stepping stone at his feet. 

"It is the young lady as sure as you live, old girl, and she's afollowing that handsome fellow as just left a golden sovereign in myhand, Jules. Something has happened up yonder, Jules. The master hascome back and found out what you and I knew all the time. If thathandsome brother of my lady hasn't got a ticket-of-leave, I lose myguess; but what are we to do with the young lady, old girl? That is whatis a puzzling me just now. "

Jules arose, stretched herself, and threw out one paw as she settleddown again, when Badger broke out in a glow of admiration. 

"Right, Jules. In a matter where the sects are concerned, you are trueas a clock. I'll show myself; I'll help her. "

Jules gave a faint yelp, which brought Clara to the door. 

"Oh, Badger, you here! Go and call him back. Here is some money; runlike a deer; tell him I want to speak with him--must speak with him. It's about Lady Hope; but no matter. Why don't you start, Badger? It'shalf an hour since I first told you. "

But Badger did not start. He stood a little way from the door, examiningthe money she had given him, by the moonlight, and muttering to himself;when the impatient girl broke out again. 

"A shilling! Was it only a shilling I gave you? How provoking! I thoughtit was gold. Well, start! start! and I'll make it a sovereign--two, three--only bring him back!"

Old Badger went off with a rush now. Ordering Jules to stay with theyoung mistress and mind the gate, he made swift progress down the road. 

"I say, sir! I say! Halloo! I say!"

Hepworth checked his rapid walk, and looked back. Badger came up with arun, feeling that some extra exertion was necessary, when so much goldlay in the question. 

"There is a person--well, a lady--a young lady--who wishes to have youturn back, sir. She is waiting at the lodge, sir; and I promised tobring you back, dead or alive, sir--dead or alive!"

Hepworth felt his heart give a great leap. Was it possible that Claracould have followed him? or was it Lady Hope?

"A lady!" he said, "and at the lodge?"

"A young lady--such as isn't commonly seen following young gents bymoonlight; but come, sir, she is waiting. "

Hepworth turned at once, and retraced his steps. Clara saw himapproaching the gate, and swinging it back, ran to meet him, with tearsstill quivering on her anxious face. 

She passed Badger, who was resolved to earn his money at least bydiscretion, and moved in great haste toward the lodge, never oncelooking back, as in honor bound, he told Jules in his next confidentialconversation. 

"Oh, Hepworth, how cruel! how wicked! Tell me truly, were you goingwithout a word?"

Clara had clasped both hands over her lover's arm, and was slowlyleading him back, with her face uplifted in sweet reproachfulness tohis, and drawing deep, long sighs of thanksgiving that she had himthere, chained by her linked hands. 

"I do not know. How can I tell? Your father has dismissed me from hishouse. "

"He has? I thought as much; and thinking so, came after you--but only tosay that I love you dearly--ten times more since this has happened--andnothing on earth shall ever make me marry any other person. "

Hepworth looked down into that generous face, and his own took a softerexpression in the moonlight. 

"Your father is against us, " he said. "I think it must be open defiance, or separation--at any rate, for a time. "

Clara's face clouded. She loved her father, and was a little afraid ofhim as well; but that was nothing to the passionate attachment she feltfor Hepworth Closs. She would have defied the whole world rather thangive him up; but open disobedience was a terrible thing to her. All atonce she brightened. 

"Some day, you know, I shall be my own mistress. We can wait. I am soyoung. When I am Countess of Carset, come and claim me. No one can standbetween us then. "

She spoke firmly, and with the dignity of deep feeling, standing uprightand looking bravely into his face, as if she were a peeress already, andwas ready to pledge all the honor of a long race of ancestors for thefaith that was in her. 

"Ah, if you were only the bright, handsome girl you seem, with nodignity to keep up, no belongings but your own sweet self, how gratefulI should be! From this night, Clara, we would never part. "

"Oh, if it were! If I hadn't anything to expect! But, no! My oldgrandmother will be sure to leave me everything she has, just out ofspite, when all I want on earth is my liberty, and the love that belongsto me. How I should like to--"

"To what, Clara?"

"Nothing--only I was thinking how jolly it would be just to tie on myhat, button my jacket, and go off with you to America, where peoplecan't die and leave you titles and things; but it is of no use thinkingof such a thing. It would break mamma Rachael's heart; and she needs meso much. "

Hepworth caught his breath. The thought had been in his mind. But forhis sister, I think he would have proposed it. 

"Do not tempt me, darling. We cannot abandon her. "

"Oh, no, " answered Clara, pouting a little, "I didn't mean anything ofthe kind. Of course, we have got to part now; I know that. "

She clung to his arm more closely, and made him walk slower. Both theirfaces grew pale and sad in the moonlight. She could not speak because ofthe sobs that came swelling into her throat. He was silent from a bittersense of bereavement. After those few weeks of entire happiness, was heto be driven into the cold world again, leaving the angel of hisparadise behind?

They were drawing near the gate now. Hepworth would not pass into theboundaries of a man who had wounded him so grievously, so he paused bythe park-wall, snatched her to his bosom, kissed her lips, her eyes, herhair, blessing her with his soul, promising to find her again, to befaithful, begging her to love him and no one else, until he broke awayfrom her and fled down the highway, dashing the tears from his eyes ashe went. 

She called after him. She ran a few paces with her arms extended, entreating him to come back; but he would not hear. All his bravemanhood had been taxed to its utmost. He knew well enough that to goback was to take the girl with him, and he was not selfish enough forthat. 

So poor Lady Clara watched him, till he passed quite away into theshadows, with her back against the wall, and her hands hanging downloose, as they had fallen after her last cry. Then she crept slowly backthrough the gate, which Badger had left open, and away into the depthsof the park, crying as if her heart would break. 

Badger saw her through the diamond-shaped panes of the lodge-window, andmuttered:

"Poor thing, she has forgot the gold; but never mind, it will come. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

Lady Hope stood in the middle of the room, breathless. The supreme joyof her husband's presence drove every other feeling from her heart. Sheforgot her brother, her step-child, everything, in the one thought thathe was near her. But, was it certain that he would come? How manymonths, nay, years, had passed since he had entered that room, once sodear to him that no other apartment in that spacious mansion seemedpleasant? She had allowed nothing to be changed since those days. Yearby year those silken hangings and crimson cushions had lost theirbrightness and grown threadbare; but he had pressed those cushions andbeen shaded by the curtains, and that gave them a brightness and gloryto her which no stuffs of India or cloth of gold could replace. 

She knew that he was offended, and doubted. But would he come? His stepgrew slow; he paused. Would he retreat at last, and leave her there, inan agony of disappointment?

No--after a moment's hesitation, the steps advanced. The very certaintyof his approach suffocated her. She had not deemed herself so weak. Allthe strength left her frame. 

She sank down upon a couch near the window. The moonlight fell over herlike a veil of silver tissue, and through it she looked like the RachaelCloss of New York. 

Lord Hope tore away the silvery veil with his presence, for the shadowof his tall person fell across it, throwing the woman back intodarkness. 

But the light which he took from her slanted across his face, andsoftened it back to youth. Rachael reached forth her arms. 

"Oh, Norton! have you come back again?"

Her voice vibrated between passion and pathos. Her trembling limbsrustled the silken garments around her. 

He stood looking at her, not sternly, but with grave sadness. It wasnearly two months since they had met, but he did not advance, or evenreach out his hand. Then she cried out, in a burst of bitter anguish:

"Oh, Norton, will you not speak to me?"

"Yes, Rachael, " he said, very gently. "I came to speak with you. "

Lord Hope advanced through the window. No lights were burning, for inher sadness Rachael had thought the moonbeams enough. 

She moved upon the couch, looking in his face with pathetic entreaty. 

He sat down after a moment's hesitation, and took her hand in his. 

Awhile before that hand had been cold as ice, but now a glow of feverishjoy warmed it, and her slender fingers clung around his with nervousforce. She was afraid to loosen her clasp, lest he should leave heragain. 

"Ah, Norton! you have been away so long, so long!"

"Has that made you more unhappy, Rachael?"

"More unhappy? God help me! have I any happiness beyond your presence?"

"I sometimes think that we two might be less--"

Lord Hope paused. The hand in his seemed turning to marble. 

"In mercy, do not say that, Norton! Surely you cannot return love likemine with hate so cruel!"

"We will not talk of hate, Rachael. It is an unseemly word. "

"But you are angry with me?"

"No, the time has gone by when I can be angry with you, Rachael. "

"Oh! have some mercy upon me, Norton, and tell me how I have lost yourlove--for you did love me. "

"God only knows how well!" answered the man, with a throe of bitterpassion breaking up the calm he had maintained. 

"Tell me, then--tell me again! It is so long since I have had a happythought! I will not be put off so! Now that you are here, in this room, with my hand in yours, I will not let you go! Tell me, Norton--oh, tellme why it is that you have changed so completely? This question hauntsme. I dream of it in the night; I think of it all day long. Answer me. Though the truth cleave my heart, I would rather hear it! Why have youceased to love me? Why is it that you can leave me so?"

"Rachael, I will answer you so far as this: I have not ceased to loveyou. "

The woman uttered a cry, and fell down upon her knees at her husband'sfeet, in a storm of wild and happy tears. He raised her up, bent forwardas if to kiss her, but drew back with a heavy sigh. She felt him recoil, and the shudder which chilled him reached her also. 

"You love me, and yet shrink from my touch! Ah, me! what has dug thisgulf between us?"

"It is the work of our own hands, " he said, with strong emotion. "It isyour curse and mine that we must love each other, Rachael--love eachother, and yet be apart. "

"Apart! Oh! will there be no end--no season--"

"Yes, Rachael, when we can both repent that we ever did love each other. Then, perhaps, a merciful God may forgive us the great sin which hasbeen our happiness and our torment. "

"But you love me? You _do_ love me?"

"A thousand times better than my own miserable life!"

"And you speak of torment! Who shall ever dare say that word again toRachael Closs? When they do, I will answer, 'He loves me! he loves me!'"

The woman sprang up, exulting. Her hands were clasped, her face wasradiant. It seemed impossible that unhappiness should ever visit heragain. 

"Poor woman! Poor, unhappy woman!"

Hope took her hand in his, and drew her down to his side. She wasshaking like a leaf in the wind. For the moment, her joy seemedcomplete. 

"I cannot believe it! Say again, 'Rachael, I love you. '"

"Have I not said that it is your curse and mine?"

"Oh, Norton! how cruel, with that sweet word sinking into my heart, after pining and waiting for it so long! Do not withhold it from me, orthink of it as a curse. "

"Hush, Rachael! You are only exulting over Dead Sea fruit. It is allashes, ashes. Words that, up to this time, I had forbidden to my lips, have been said, because of a terrible danger that threatens us. Rachael, did you know of the letter Hepworth sent me?"

Rachael was a brave woman, even in her faults, and would not denyanything. 

"Yes, he wrote the letter here, " she said. 

"And you sanctioned his pursuit of my daughter?"

"Yes, Norton. I loved him; he was my only relative. That he might livenear me was the last forlorn hope of my life. Before you condemn me, remember how few people exist in this world for me to love. I have nofriends. I was so cold, so dreary! There was nothing left to me but yourchild and this one brother. How could I part with either of them? Thatwas to be utterly alone!"

Lord Hope checked this pathetic plea. It shook his resolution, and thatwith a vigor she could not understand. He looked her steadily in theface. 

"Rachael Closs, could you have given up my child to that man?"

Rachael fixed her wild eyes on the face turned upon her so sternly. 

"Why, why?"

"Had you no thought of the ruin it would bring upon her?"

"Ruin? Did you say ruin?"

"Could you see that innocent girl's hand in his without thrills ofpainful recollection?"

"Why, he loves her; she loves him. "

"So much the more painful. "

"What do you mean?"

Her lips were white now, and the teeth gleamed and chattered betweenthem. 

"Have you no dread that he will bring that one event perpetually beforeus?"

Rachael shook her head. 

"Does nothing tell you that he was mixed up in that tragedy?"

"What should tell me of that? It was the crime of a miserable oldwoman. "

"Still you understand nothing of that which is a continual pain to me. "

A burst of hysterical laughter answered him. The nerves of that womanwere undoubtedly giving way. 

"You are mocking me. It is only fiends who torment their victims. Youare my husband, and should know better!"

"Rachael Closs, control yourself!"

"I am not Rachael Closs!" cried the woman, fiercely. "You would not havetreated her so. It is Lady Hope you are putting to torture. Oh, Norton!what have I done to you? What have I done to you that you should mock meso?"

"I wish to save my child--to save myself. "

"Well, is that all? She shall never speak to Hepworth again. Yes, whatis my brother, or anybody in the world, compared to one smile from myhusband?"

"And you will help me to reconcile Clara to that which must be?"

"I will do anything, everything that you wish, only do not leave meagain. "

"But I must sometimes go out. "

"And I cannot go with you. Rachael Closs is not good enough for yourhigh-born friends. Lady Carset has put her ban on your wife, and thenobility of England accept it. But for this I might have been thecompanion of your visits, the helpmate of your greatness--for I have thepower. I could have done so much, so much in this great world of yours, but that old woman would not let me. It is cruel! it is cruel! Youwould have loved me now as you did at first, but for her. "

Lord Hope took Rachael's hand in his. 

"Ah, Rachael!" he said, "if you could but understand the love which canneither be cherished nor cast away, which pervades a whole life, only todisturb it! Between you and me must ever come the shadow of a woman wecannot talk of, but who stands eternally between us two. Even in thefirst days of our passionate delirium I felt this viperous truthcreeping under the roses with which we madly hoped to smother it. Thethought grew and grew, like a parasite upon the heart. It clung to mine, bound it down, made it powerless. Oh, would to God the memory of thatone night could be lifted from my soul! The presence of your brotherhere has brought it back upon me with terrible force. But, thank God, heis gone!"

"Gone! What, my brother? Am I never to see him again?"

"Not unless you wish to drive your husband from his own house. I willnot be reminded, by any one connected with that night, that it was themad passion of our love which drove that most unhappy woman from herhome, her country, and, at last, into her grave!"

Rachael sat with her glittering eyes fastened on his face. She longed toask a question; but it seemed to freeze upon her lips. But, at last, shespoke:

"Do you repent that love, then?"

"No! no! Would to God I had the power to repent! but I cannot, Rachael, with you by me!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE STORMY NIGHT AND SUNSHINY MORNING. 

Lady Clara found her way into the house unnoticed, and stole back to herown room, weary and heart-sick from the excitement she had passedthrough. 

For more than an hour she sat by her window looking out upon themoonlight which flooded the lawn, and the dense black shadows of thetrees beyond. 

The stillness gradually hushed her sobs into a sad calm, and, withoutother light than that which came from the moon, she crept into her bed, and lay there, as if buried in a snow-drift, cold and shivering fromexhausting emotions and exposure to the night air. 

She could not sleep, but lay thinking of the man who had been drivenfrom the house that night, wondering where he was, and when, upon theearth, she would meet him. 

All at once she started up and uttered a faint cry. Some one had passedswiftly through her door, and was approaching the bed. She saw the face, as it crossed the window, and sank to the pillow again. 

"Mamma Rachael, is it you?" she gasped. 

Lady Hope sat down on the edge of the bed. She seemed deathly cold; butthere was a far-off look in her eyes, as the moonlight fell upon them, which seemed unnatural to the girl. 

Clara put back the bed-clothes and reached out her arms; for Lady Hopewas in her night-dress, and her feet were uncovered. 

"Come into bed, mamma Rachael; you shiver so. "

Lady Hope took no heed, but arose slowly from the bed, and, going to adressing-table, poured some water from a ewer that stood there, andbegan to wash her hands. 

Clara could see her in the moonlight, and sat up in the bed, afraid andwondering. 

"Mamma, mamma Rachael, " she faltered, terrified by the sound of hervoice, "why are you staying out in the cold like that?"

Lady Hope shook the drops from her fingers, and leaving the table, beganto pace the floor. At last Clara sprang from the bed and took hold ofher. 

Every nerve in the woman's body seemed to quiver under that touch; sheuttered a shrill cry, and clung to the girl to save herself fromfalling. 

"Come to the bed with me, mamma. Your hand is cold; it touches mine likesnow. That is right; put your arms around me. Poor, poor mamma! how yourheart struggles! There, there; the chill is going off. We will get eachother warm; for we love each other, you and I, mamma Rachael; nothing onthis earth can change that!"

Rachael allowed herself to be taken to the bed; but she trembledviolently. 

"You are troubled about Hepworth; but I have promised--I do promise. Papa, nor all the world to help him, could change me. Besides, there isanother thing; we both love him; that would make us cling together, ifnothing else, " said Clara. 

"Ah, there it is--there it is! Hepworth is gone, and neither you nor Imust ever see him again!" answered Rachael. 

"But we will! He loves us. I will marry him some day, if I live. "

"Oh, no, no! That can never be! Never! never!"

Rachael was fearfully agitated. Clara tore her form from those clingingarms. 

"What! you?--you turned against us--you!" she exclaimed, pushing Rachaelback from her pillow, and sitting up in the moonlight. "Has my fatherdriven us all crazy?"

"Hush, child, hush! I have been thinking of that. It seems to me that Iam mad already. Be kind; oh, be kind! Do not urge me on. To-night I havehad such thoughts!"

The girl was frightened; for Rachael was bending over, and the fire ofher great black eyes seemed hot as it was terrible. 

"Great Heavens!" she cried, "what has my father done to you?"

Rachael had exhausted herself. She lay down, panting for breath; herlips were apart; the edges of her teeth were visible; she did notanswer. 

Clara forgot her own cause of offence, and laid her hand over thosewide-open, burning eyes. 

"Poor mamma Rachael! now try and sleep. I never saw you so nervousbefore. Did you know it? you were walking in your sleep. "

The cool touch of that hand soothed the woman. Clara felt the eyelidsclose under her palm; but a heavy pulse was beating in the temples, which resisted all her gentle mesmerism for a long time; but, after awhile, the worn frame seemed to rest, and Clara sank down in wearysleepiness by her side. 

When she awoke again Lady Hope was gone. It was the dark hour of themorning; the moon had disappeared from the heavens; the shadows, indiffusing themselves, spread out into general darkness. 

"Ah, I have had a weary dream, " she murmured; "I have heard of suchthings, but never had anything dark upon my sleep before. How real itwas! My father home, Hepworth gone, my mother in this bed, trembling, moaning, and, worst of all, against me and him. Ah, it was a terribledream!"

She turned upon her pillow, full of sleepy thankfulness, and the nextinstant had deluded herself into a tranquil sleep. 

A rapid fall of hoofs upon the avenue shook the stillness. Nearer andnearer they came; then a clang of the great bronze knocker at theprincipal entrance awoke her thoroughly. 

The girl listened; her dream was fast taking shape, and she knew that itwas a reality. Had this untimely arrival anything to do with it? A knockat her chamber-door, and her father's voice answered the question. 

She was to get up, and prepare for a journey at once; her maid waspacking already. 

What was it? What had happened? Lord Hope forgot that he had not toldher. The old Countess of Carset had sent for her. She must prepare tostart at once for Houghton. 

Clara sprang up, ready to offer battle to the old countess a second timein behalf of her stepmother. 

While she was being dressed, Lord Hope stood in the corridor without, reading the delicate, upright characters in which the old countessclothed her thoughts. 

 "MY LORD:--Circumstances have happened of late which convince me that I have been hasty and unjust to your wife, and have taken offense too readily from the independence exhibited by your child, my grand-daughter. It is my desire to atone for this, as the men and women of our house have ever atoned for injustice. The infirmities of old age, and more than ordinary ill-health forbid me to visit Oakhurst, which might, perhaps, be properly expected of one who admits herself to have been in the wrong; but, perhaps you and Lady Hope will permit Lady Clara to come to me here a few weeks, in which time, I trust, she will learn to know and love her grandmother. 

 "Presuming upon your generosity, I have sent my steward and my own maid, that she may have proper protection on her journey. After my grand-daughter has been at Houghton long enough to feel that it is to be her home in the future, I shall expect the pleasure of a visit from you and Lady Hope. 

 "LOUISA, Countess of Carset. "

Never, since the day in which he brought the first Lady Hope home, abride, had such intense satisfaction filled the earl's heart as thisletter brought him. 

Involved, as he was, with pecuniary difficulties, harassed about hisdaughter, humiliated by the silent rejection by which the nobility inthe neighborhood had repudiated his wife for so many years, thisconcession so nobly made by the old countess, was an opening of goodfortune which promised a solution of all these difficulties. It had, intruth, lifted a heavy burden from his life. 

With the letter in his hand Lord Hope went to his wife's dressing-room, where he found her, hollow-eyed, and so nervous that a faint cry brokefrom her as he entered the room. 

She felt the loss of her brother terribly, notwithstanding what seemedto be a ready concession to the harsh treatment he received, and hersleep, as we know, had been restless and broken in the night. 

She was cold and shivering, though the weather was warm, and hadwrapped a shawl, full of richly-tinted colors, over her morning-dress, and sat cowering under it like some newly-caught animal. 

Lord Hope felt that his inhospitable expulsion of her brother, and thecruel conversation that had followed it, was the cause of this nervousdepression, and his heart smote him. With the letter open in his hand hewent up to her chair, and bending over it, kissed Rachael on theforehead. 

A smile broke over those gloomy features; the heavy eyes lighted up; shelifted her face to his. 

"Oh, you do love me--you do love me!"

"My poor Rachael! how can you permit words that sprang out of the gloomymemories which Hepworth brought to trouble you so? Come, smile again, for I have good news for you--for us all. "

"Good news! Is Hepworth coming back?"

"Forget Hepworth just now, and read that. "

Lady Hope took the letter and read it through. When she gave it back, her face was radiant. 

"At last--at last!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Norton, this will lift me to myproper place by your side. Now, now I will make you proud of me! Thesepatricians shall learn that all great gifts do not spring frombirth--that genius has a nobility which can match that given by kings. "

Rachael started up in her excitement, flung the shawl away, and stood apriestess where she had just cowered like a wounded animal. 

"Now we shall be all the world to each other, and walk through thisproud life of yours, fairly mated. Great Heavens! after a night like thelast, who could have expected such a morning? But Clara, you will lether go?"

"She is preparing to go now. "

"My girl--my bright, beautiful girl! She has always been the angel in mypath. But for her, this might never have come. But we cannot give herup--not entirely. You will not consent to that?"

"If we do, it will be only for a time, Rachael. The countess is veryold. "

"Yes, it will not be for long, and we can trust Clara. I will go to hernow. She will need my help, and every minute she stays under this roofis a grain of gold which I must not lose. Oh! Norton, this is gloriousnews that you have brought me! What can have wrought this change in theold countess? I am going to Clara now. "

As Lady Hope opened the door, Clara stood upon the threshold, ready forher journey. She knew that this letter was the first that her father hadreceived from Lady Carset for years, and was curious to know itsmeaning. She could not remember when Lady Carset's name had been spokenin that house without bitterness, and was astonished to hear thecheerful animation with which it was spoken now. 

"Am I really to go, papa? Do you wish it? Is mamma Rachael willing? Letme read the letter, please. "

Lord Hope gave her the letter, and replied as she was reading it:

"Yes, my child, it is but right. The old lady is your nearest femalerelative. "

Here Clara reached out her hand to Lady Hope, but kept her eyes on theletter, reading and listening at the same time. 

"And you think it best, mamma?" inquired Clara, folding the letter. "What a delicate, stately hand the old lady writes! You don't object?"

"Object, Clara! No, no. I long to part with you, for the first time inmy life. "

"In some things, " said Lord Hope, "the old lady has been cruelly dealtby. Say this from me, Clara. The concessions must not rest all on oneside. "

"Of course, papa; I will tell her, if you desire it. But why did she notask you and mamma at once? It is awful lonesome going to that grim oldcastle by myself. "

"It is only for a few weeks, " answered Rachael, hastily. "But, dearchild, you must not let this old lady stand between you and us. She mayhave more to give, but no one on earth can ever love you like us. "

"Don't I know it? Is that the carriage? Dear me, how things are rushedforward this morning! Am I all right, mamma Rachael? Kiss me once more. What! tears in your eyes? I won't go a step if you don't stop crying!What do I care for Lady Carset, a cross old thing, and old as thehills!"

"Clara, I hear the carriage. "

"So do I, papa; but what's the use of hurrying?"

"I wish your grandmother to know that I hold no enmity by my promptnessin sending you. "

"Oh, is that it? Well, good-bye, mamma Rachael. One morekiss--again--again! Now, good-bye in earnest. "

Lady Hope left the room to hide her tears. Clara followed her father tothe carriage. 

"Poor, poor mamma! How pale and ill she was last night! Oh, papa, dokiss her good-bye for me just once again, when you go back. "

Lord Hope turned a smiling look upon the girl, and she added, half inexcuse:

"It breaks my heart to leave her so. "

Lord Hope did not answer, but folded a cloak around his daughter, helpedher into the carriage, and took a seat himself. 

Margaret was already seated by the coachman. 

"I understand well enough that I am not to travel with my young lady onher journey, " she said; "but, so far as her way lies toward London, I amgoing. My sister wants me there, and I do just as lief be in a tomb asstay at Oakhurst when Lady Clara is away. So, as she is willing, I shalljust leave her at the junction, and go up to London. That I can do inspite of the crabbed old thing at Houghton, who wants her at first allto herself. "

This was said in confidence to the coachman, who muttered somethingunder his breath about feeling uncommonly lonesome when MistressMargaret was away from Oakhurst. 

Directly after this the carriage drew up at the station, where agrim-looking woman of fifty stood ready to receive the young lady fromthe hands of her father. 

It was not often that Lord Hope was known to exhibit any violentemotion; but Clara felt that he gave way a little when she threw herarms around his neck in parting--and Badger, after he opened the gate tolet his master pass through, observed to Jules that something out of thecommon must be going on up yonder, for all night people had been goingin and out like ghosts, and the master seemed like another man. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

AFTER THE FAILURE. 

When Caroline reached home, after that involuntary retreat from thetheatre, she went to her own room with Eliza, and falling upon the bed, lay perfectly still, so exhausted and crushed, that she scarcelybreathed. She had disgraced herself, and she had seen _him_. 

Alas, alas! he had witnessed her defeat, her bitter humiliation!

Why had she not told him before, that her mother was an actress, asinger, of whose reputation he had heard; that her own destiny must beguided by this woman, and could hardly have a higher aim than she hadalready reached. He would think that she had deceived him, and she had, but with no premeditation. She had honestly intended to tell himeverything, but the suddenness of their departure from Italy hadrendered all explanation impossible. What could she do but hide herselfforever from him and the whole world? She forgot the bursts of applausethat had followed the first effort of her voice, and sank everythingtogether in one sweep of bitter shame. 

"My darling! my poor darling!"

It was Brown who had crept into her room, crest-fallen and drooping, like a man stunned by some heavy blow. Caroline started up. 

"Oh! my friend! You are sorry for me, yet I have disappointed you so; myheart aches! my heart aches! but what can I do?"

"Never mind, " answered the tender-hearted man. "It was the fright, stagefright--a terrible thing; but it seldom comes twice. Why, that woman, your mother I mean, broke down over and over again, but the parts wereso small, no one observed it enough to clap or hiss, while you sang likean angel, up to the very minute you fainted. I never saw anything likeit. "

Caroline sank back to her pillow, moaning. She was still in hertheatrical costume, and its glitter sickened her. 

"Don't take on so, " persisted the kind musician. "It was not a failure. No one will consider it so. On the contrary, it can be made to tell, and your next appearance will be an ovation. "

Caroline started to her elbow again. 

"My next appearance! and you say that! You! you! Oh! Mr. Brown, I didnot think you would turn against me!"

"Turn against you, my child?" Tears trembled in the man's voice, and thewords quivered on his lips as he added: "My poor darling. Do you notknow that old Brown would die for you?"

"Then keep me from the stage; snatch me from a life that I loathe. Itell you, all this is against my nature. I have no genius to carry meforward, no ambition, no hope. Oh! that is gone, quite. "

"But it is an honorable profession, " faltered Brown, in his distress. "Think how many noble geniuses have found immortality on the stage. "

"I know it, I know it well; but they were led that way, heart and soul, while I have no wish for fame or anything that it could bring. What doesa woman want with immortality--above all, a poor young girl like me, whose very heart trembles in her bosom, when a crowd of strange eyes areturned upon her, as they were on me to-night?"

"But you will soon get over that. "

"No. I never shall. This one night has broken up my life, and well nighkilled me. Let what may come, I will starve rather than tread that stageagain. "

"Hush! dear, hush! This passion will make you worse. "

"But I mean it, Eliza, and I say it here and now, when you and Mr. Brown, the only friends I have on earth, are standing by. Think for me, Eliza, and you also, my kind, kind guardian!"

"Ah, if I had the power, " said Brown, answering Eliza's appealing lookwith a mournful shake of the head; "but the madame will never give herup. "

"She must, " said Caroline, kindling with desperate opposition: "I am nother slave. God does not give up the soul and conscience of a child toher mother. "

"Especially one who never did a thing for her child, but left her forothers to bring up, " broke in Eliza, uttering a bitter truth, in herangry pity for the girl. "Mr. Brown, all that I have got to say is this:you and I must stand by this young cretur, let her do what she will. Sheis more our child than hers. I stand by that. If she don't want to puton this splendiferous dress again, why it shall not come within a rod ofher. If her heart is set against singing on the stage, we are not thepeople to see her dragged there against her will. You stand by me, I'llstand by you, and we'll roll ourselves like a rock in that woman's way, if she attempts to force our child into the theatre again. "

"But how can we oppose her? She has the power. We have not, at thismoment, five pounds among us. "

Eliza's face fell as if it had been suddenly unlocked. 

"No more we have, and in a strange country, too, " she said, dolefully. 

Here Caroline joined in. 

"But I can teach. If I please all those people, surely I can teach. "

"Sure enough!" said Eliza, brightening a little. "What do you say tothat, Mr. Brown?"

"We must take time. Perhaps there will be no cause for trouble. When itcomes in earnest, you shall not fight alone, Eliza. So comfort yourself, my child. The old man would rather beg for bread on the highway than seeyou forced to anything that is so distasteful. Now try and sleep. "

Brown bent down and smoothed the girl's hair with his hand. Then heturned from her with tears in his eyes, and crept out of the room. 

Caroline followed him with wistful eyes until the door closed. Then sheturned to Eliza. 

"Oh! Eliza, do this one thing for me, if you can. Let, let no one comein to-night. I can endure no more. "

"They'll have to knock me down and trample on me if they do, that isall, " answered the hand-maiden. "My gracious! How I wish we were in ourown little house again up in Sing-Sing. "

"Oh! if we were!" sighed the girl. "Why did we ever leave it?"

"Because we were a couple of born fools, that's why!" answered the maid. "Born fools! and I the biggest, the oldest, the most outrageous fool ofall! Wasn't we independent? Couldn't you have took scholars, and Iwashing by the dozen? Hadn't we the sweetest little garden in that wholetown? such cabbages, such onions, and lettuce headed like cabbage, andtender as--as flowers! Whenever I get sick over these French dishes, Ithink of that garden, and the cow, and the shoat that knew me when Icame to the pen with corn in my apron, and gave a little grunt, as ifI'd been his sister. Then my heart turns back to the old home, like asunflower, and I say to myself, You perposterous old maid, you! what didyou let that poor young thing come from under that honest roof for? Youwas old enough to know better, if she wasn't; but you had an idea ofseeing the world, of dressing up and being a lady's maid, of hearingwhole crowds of young men stamp and clap and whistle over that innocentyoung cretur. You didn't think that she might faint dead away, and--andbe brought home heart-broken. Home, indeed! as if this box of gildingcould be a home to any American woman! It's perposterous!"

Here Eliza broke off with a half-uttered word on her lips, for herspeech had brought the old home back so vividly to the heart-sick girlthat she was sobbing upon her pillow like a child. 

A little bustle down stairs, a knock at the door, and, as Eliza ranforward, Olympia pushed it open and came in. 

She saw Caroline prostrate on the bed, with that delicate robe wrappedaround and crushed under her, and the lace shawl falling from the pillowto the carpet, like a trail of frost. 

The sight urged her into one of those quick passions that sometimesthrew her whole household into consternation. 

"Heavens! what extravagance!" she cried. "Does the creature know thatlace like that is worth its weight in diamonds? A silk robe, too, whichcould not be purchased out of Paris, tumbled up in a wad, and one massof wrinkles! I see! I see! the revenues of a duke would not meet suchextravagance! Get up! Get up, I say! and if you must make a goose ofyourself, do it at less cost!"

"Hush, madam! she's sick! She's broken-hearted!" retorted Eliza, turningfiercely red and planting herself before the shrinking girl. 

"Well, she must break her heart in something less costly than a Frenchdress worth thirty pounds, and point lace that cannot be got at anyprice! Just get up, my young lady, and do your crying in less expensivecostume! The proper dress for tragedy is white muslin, but just now anight-gown will do. "

Caroline arose without a word, and began to undress herself. She nolonger shrank or trembled, for the indignant blood rushed to thesurface, and pride gave her strength. Eliza took the robe as she cast itoff, and folded it with an emphatic sweep of her hand. 

"A pretty mess you have made of it, " said Olympia, tossing the laceaside with her foot, and tearing it on the buckle of her shoe, "withyour perverse obstinacy--broken up the most splendid debut I ever saw onany stage, and making yourself and your failure the town's talk! if thecritics had not been my friends, the whole thing would have been utterruination; and here you are, with cheeks like flame, looking as haughtyas a duchess. "

"I am not haughty or perverse, " said Caroline, wiping the hot tears fromher eyes, "but weary and ill. "

"Ill! with that color?" sneered Olympia. 

"It is fever, " Eliza broke in. "Ten minutes ago she was white as thepillow. You are making her worse and worse, I can tell you that. "

"And I can tell you that impudent tongue will lose you a good placewithin the next ten minutes, if it is not bridled and well curbed. Istand no nonsense from servants. Understand that!"

Caroline cast an imploring glance on her maid, who dashed both handsdown upon the dress she was folding, and ground her teeth in silentrage, as Olympia finished the threat with a little snap of her slenderfingers. 

"What was the matter with you? I have had no chance to ask, with yourcountesses and duchesses swarming about, as if you had someacquaintances that your own mother could not reach! What came over you?I will know!"

"I was faint and frightened, " said Caroline, in a low voice. "The wholething broke me down. "

"But there was something else. I will know it!"

Caroline was silent. 

"Will you speak, miss?"

"I have nothing more to say. You could see how ill I was. "

"But not the cause; it is that I wish to understand. "

Caroline sat down on the side of her bed and remained silent, with hereyes on the floor. She had no answer to give. 

"Will you tell the truth, or must I search it out? I was watching you; Isaw your eyes and the man whose glance struck you down. "

Caroline gave a start, and covered her face with both hands. 

"What have you in common with young Lord Hilton?"

The hands dropped from that burning face, and two great, dilating eyes, in which the tears stood, were turned on the angry woman. 

"Young Lord Hilton! I do not know him. "

The words came faintly from the girl's lips--she was bewildered. 

"Why did he drop his glass and bend over the box with that look in hisface, then? Why did you start and trample back on your train? Why didyou give him that piteous glance just as your eyes closed? The audiencemight not have seen it, but I did, I did. "

"I--I do not understand, " faltered the girl. 

"Do not understand, miss!"

"How should I, not knowing the person you speak of?"

"Don't lie to me, girl! I am an old bird, and have had my own flightstoo often not to understand a look when I see it. You have met that manbefore--I don't know where or how, but you have. "

"You speak of a person I never saw or heard of, " answered the girl, trembling with inward doubt; "how can I tell you anything about him?"

Olympia almost believed her, and, for once, her acute penetration wasbaffled; but a doubt remained, and she turned to Eliza. 

"If you know anything about this, tell me now; it will be better for herand for you. "

"I haven't anything to tell, Mrs. Olympia; not a thing!"

"Was any one admitted to the house near Florence?"

"Yes, ma'am, there was. "

"Well, a young gentleman?"

"Yes; one young un, and another, older. "

"Who were they?"

"The man who taught her how to speak Italian and the music fellow. "

"Only those two?"

"Not another soul came or went while we stayed in that house. "

"And she conversed with no one on the way?"

"Not a soul. "

Olympia turned to go out. She was not convinced; having no truth inherself she found no power of faith in others; but, for the time, theblunt honesty of the servant and proud sincerity of the girl silencedher, and she went out, muttering:

"I shall get at the bottom of it yet. "

Then Caroline turned to Eliza:

"Can it be? I saw no other. "

"I haven't a doubt of it, " said Eliza. "I always mistrusted him for anEnglishman. "

CHAPTER XX. 

LORD HILTON TAKES SUPPER WITH OLYMPIA. 

She had fallen ill. The prima donna of a single hour was lying inOlympia's bijou of a house, struggling with a nervous fever. The wholetown had been made aware of the mournful fact; for the manager hadspread the news broadcast through the journals, thus displacingdisappointment with such overwhelming sympathy as the distress of beautyand genius is sure to excite. For more than a week, now, the prevailingtopic had been this young girl; first the promise of a brilliant debut, then the momentary triumph and sudden breakdown; now came the news ofher illness, true, in so much that she was seriously ill, butexaggerated into a romance which gave her out as dying with a shock of atoo sensitive nature. 

Olympia sang gloriously to crowded houses. In the romance woven aroundthis young girl her parentage had been hinted at, and the practicedwoman of the stage had managed to turn the public rumor into popularityfor herself. 

She had taken up the opera where Caroline had sunk down, and carried ittriumphantly forward, filling the world with admiration of herself andsympathy for the girl. 

On the morning when Caroline's illness was made public, some young menwere seated in the window of a club-house, and one of them threw downthe Times with an impatient movement. 

"So we are not to have this new singer again to-morrow night or thenext, " he said. "Here is Olympia's name in the bills, while the other isill with something on the brain or nerves. "

"All a sham, to enhance the public interest, I dare say, " answeredanother, taking up the journal. "There is nothing these musical peoplewill not do for popularity. But it really was not needed here; the girlhas beauty enough to carry her forward, even without her glorious voice. For my part, I am all in a fever to see her again. "

A young man sat in this circle, apparently occupied by the panoramadrifting through the streets. As the conversation went on, the colorcame and went in his face, and his eyes began to burn; but he saidnothing, while the others went on:

"Who is the girl? what is her real name? Some say she is an American;others, that she is Olympia's own daughter, to whom all names are alike;but, then, where was the woman Olympia born? Now and then a word dropsfrom the pretty lips which is purely American; but then she has been allover the world, and has gathered something from all nations, so that onecan never make a true guess about her. "

"Does this girl look like her?" inquired one of the young men, who hadnot been at the opera last night. 

"No, not exactly, " was the answer. "She is taller, more queenly, infact; quite a different style. This new girl is superb. "

"While Olympia is simply bewildering, changeable as the sky, erratic asa comet. We all understand Olympia. "

The young man, who had kept silent till now, joined in the conversation, but his voice was constrained, and a little husky. 

"Who is this woman, Olympia?"

The other young men laughed at the question. 

"Who is Olympia? Why, the most bewitching, unprincipled, delightful bitof wickedness that has been thrown on the world for years. Don't tell usthat you are to learn anything of Olympia at this time. "

"I have heard of her, and seen her too, but only as a singer. What I askis about her life, her principles, her character as a woman. "

"And you ask that of us, my dear fellow? What nonsense! Have we not saidthat she is an actress?"

"Well, what then? An actress may be well-principled, honest, honorable, and modest, too, as any woman living. I asked if this woman, Olympia, the patroness, mother, or what you will, of this new singer, is one ofthese?"

"Don't ask any of us to endorse or condemn Olympia. We know that shegives the most delicious little suppers in the world, sings like asiren, smiles like an angel, and gets more and more fascinating as shegrows older, as fruit ripens with age. No one ever thinks of asking herhow old she is, or where she was born. It is enough that her beauty isin its summer, her voice perfect, and that she, who perhaps reigned overour fathers, holds us as her slaves. As for honor, dignity, principle, and all that, my dear fellow, who ever expects such things in a womanlike our Olympia?"

"Yet she has had the training of this new singer. "

"Training? Why it is said that the girl is really her own daughter. "

"I heard you say as much, " answered the young man, drily. 

Then another voice broke in. 

"You seem so much interested in these people, Hilton, --why not go andsee for yourself? I will introduce you. "

"When?"

"To-night. The Olympia has a little supper after the opera. "

"But I thought the young lady was ill. "

"Oh! that will make no difference. Olympia is a woman to enjoy herself, if Death sat next door. She will be certain to have her little supper. Will you go? Is it an engagement? If so, I will send her a note. "

"Yes, I will go. "

That night Olympia held high festival at her pretty house, whichoverlooked one of the loveliest parks in London. Among her guests wasyoung Lord Hilton, the grandson of one of the proudest old earls in thekingdom. 

Olympia was delighted at the presence of this man, who had never beforebeen lured into her circle. 

She had another reason for her satisfaction. The look which haddisturbed her still preyed on her mind. She had a keen desire to learnhow far it had relation to the young girl who lay ill up-stairs. Inorder, if possible, to inform herself, she selected the young man to sitnext her at table, and artfully led the conversation to the night ofCaroline's failure. 

"You were present, " she said, "that night. Was ever success moreperfect, or failure more complete? It drove me wild!"

"I was present, " said Hilton, very quietly, for he felt her eyes uponhim with that slow, sidelong glance that has so much cunning in it, andthis put him on his guard. 

"She was coming out so magnificently, " said Olympia, still vigilant, butwith the white lids drooping over her eyes, "when, all of a sudden, hervoice broke, and she fell. It must have been something in the audience. "

"Perhaps, " said the young man; "but what? I was looking at her all thetime, and saw nothing. In fact, the house was very still. I have seldomseen a crowd so breathless. "

Olympia turned one long glance on that face, and saw it was immovable inall the strong, but finely-cut features. Her suspicions grew weaker now, and she gave her attention more generally to the guests, who werebecoming a little impatient of the exclusive attention paid to LordHilton; but the craft of this woman was as deep as her feelings weresuperficial. She could not quite throw off the idea that, in some way, this very person had been the cause of her defeat, and that his visit toher house that night would end in some effort to obtain an interviewwith the young creature who lay so ill up-stairs. 

But she was mistaken. Hilton asked no questions, made no effort to drawher out, but drifted into the general conversation pleasantly enough, until the supper was near its close, and the wines had begun to do theirwork. 

Then the entertainment swept into an orgie; tongues were loosened, eyesbrightened and swam in moisture. 

Snatches of bacchanalian songs broke from the laughing lips of Olympia. 

She had been in a little awe of her new guest; but now her real naturebroke out. Her wit sparkled like the champagne with which her red lipswere continually moist; her eyes shone under the droop of those longwhite lids. She grew confidential with the young noble, and was easilyled by the cool, versatile man, into conversation that she would havestubbornly avoided earlier in the evening. In one of her bold snatchesof song she rounded off with a rollicking impromptu, which carried allthe richness and force of her voice with it. This threw the wholecompany into a tumult of applause, but Hilton sat quietly and looked on, with a smile of supreme contempt quivering about his lips. 

"Ha, " said Olympia, filling his glass with her own hands, "you neitherdrink nor care for my singing. It is only the youth and beauty of mydaughter that can move Lord Hilton. "

Her daughter! The face of the young man turned white, and his lipsclosed sharply. He looked at the woman by his side, the flushed cheeks, the soft, slumbrous eyes, with absolute repulsion. He hated the verythought that the young creature he had found, like a bird, in that sweetItalian home, could belong in anything to a woman like that. Still, shehad, in her reckless inadvertency, called her daughter, and though thevery idea drove the blood to his heart, it was only by a cold pallorthat the shock this one word had given to him was visible. 

"Your daughter is very beautiful, " he said, in a low voice. 

"Did I call Caroline my daughter? Oh, well, it is no matter--the truthwill out sometime, though I would rather wait till her success isassured. When she becomes famous, I shall glory in claiming her; but letme warn you, it is a secret as yet. You will understand. One does notcare to own a girl as tall as that while the gloss is on one's hair. Nothing but the most wonderful success will induce me to acknowledge herbefore the world. "

"But if she is your child--"

"I have said that she is my child; but it is a secret, and I did notmean to talk about it. Tell me, now, did you discover no likeness?"

"I did not observe. "

"Still, they think her so beautiful. "

Lord Hilton made no answer. The conversation had become irksome to him;but some person at the table took the last word from Olympia's lips andrepeated it aloud. 

"Beautiful! You must be speaking of our new prima donna. In my opinionshe is perfect; but you, Lord Hilton, have only seen her from thestage--can form no idea of her loveliness, or of her voice either. Therewas nothing, the other night, that could compare with her singing at ourlittle supper here. Besides, her beauty, to be appreciated, must beseen close. There is not a fault in her face or form, I can assure you. "

Lord Hilton's face flushed angrily, then a slow whiteness crept over itagain, and he bent his head, unable to speak. The task he had imposed onhimself had become terribly painful. 

Olympia was not particularly pleased with this high praise of another, though all her ambitious hopes lay in the success of the person on whomthese encomiums were lavished. She began to shake up the sparkles in herwine by swaying the glass to and fro with her hand, and a sullen frowncrept over her face. 

"She is obstinate as a mule, " she muttered; "tall and proud asLucifer--not at all like me. But they will rave about her beauty, justas if she were more likely to live than to die. "

"What did you say?" cried Lord Hilton, sharply; "die! die! Is there anydanger? Is she so ill?"

Olympia lifted her sleepy eyelids and flashed a suspicious glance athim. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed; "are you there! I thought so. "

"You are not answering me, " was the cold reply. 

"You asked if there existed any danger, and I answer, yes. Did you thinkwe were practicing stage effects in the journals? My poor Caroline isill--very ill. "

"And what made her ill?"

"What made her break down, after such glorious promise? Why, after shesang before my friends here, as fresh as a lark, and drove them all sowild that I, Olympia, was almost overlooked? There never were suchexpectations; but see how it ended--a total failure, and brain fever. "

"Did you say brain fever?"

The young man scarcely spoke above a breath. 

"Yes, it is on the brain, or the nerves, I am not quite sure which; butthe doctors look terribly grave when I ask them about her, and speak asif she would die. "

"Would to God she might die!" exclaimed the young man, trembling fromhead to foot with a burst of agitation that would not be suppressedlonger. 

"What--What?" exclaimed Olympia, starting back in affright. The glassfell from her hold, and a rivulet of amber-hued wine flashed along thesnow of the table-cloth while she sat gazing upon the young lord. 

"Excuse me; I was thinking of something else, " he said, with a strongeffort of self-control. "May I presume on your favor, and steal away, now? The rest will not miss me, I think. "

Olympia nodded her head hastily. The spilled wine was dripping on herdress, so she started up, and Lord Hilton withdrew while she was shakingthe drops from its silken folds, and creating general confusion by herlaughing outcries. 

Lord Hilton looked back as he crossed the passage, and shuddered at thepicture of riotous luxury that supper-table presented. 

"And she was among them, in a scene like that, " he said, as the doorclosed after him. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

ON THE WAY TO HOUGHTON CASTLE. 

At the junction of the railroad where Margaret changed cars for London, a young man, who had just arrived by the train, took the seat leftvacant, and arranged himself comfortably for a protracted journey. LadyClara watched him with some interest, and more than once caught a glancefrom his fine eyes as they wandered from the pages of his novel anddwelt upon her own bright face. Clara had been left to her own deviceswhile preparing for her journey, and the antique attendant who had beensent to protect her was grievously scandalized by the jaunty littlesailor's hat and double-breasted jacket which she had selected for hertravelling costume. But the woman had been bred to almost abjectsubservience, and had no idea of venturing upon spoken criticism oradvice. She was greatly troubled, however, about the impression thissingular costume might produce on her old mistress, and felt reallyshocked when she saw the half-puzzled, half-amused expression of theirfellow-passenger's face, as his eyes first encountered the futurecountess. 

By-and-by the old woman fell into deeper consternation, for she began toremember that handsome face, in spite of the brown beard that curvedlike a bow over the upper lip, and swept down toward his bosom in soft, silken waves that a child would long to bury its little hands in. 

"It is Lord Hilton, the grandson of the old earl, " she muttered, insilent consternation; "and to see her like this, after all the mistresshas been planning, is terrible to think of. "

The young man had been so much occupied with the younger and prettierface that any regard for that of the old servant was impossible; butafter a while his eyes fell on those hard outlines, and he gave a startof recognition which made the old lady move restlessly in her seat. 

"Why, Mrs. Judson, is it possible that I find you so far from home!" heexclaimed. "What can possibly have come over the old lady that she iswilling to part with you for a journey long or short?"

"My lady is not so well as we were when you left this neighborhood forforeign parts, my lord. Indeed, I am much afraid you will find hergreatly altered. She is now almost entirely confined to her room. "

"I am sorry to hear that. Lady Carset is, after all, an aged woman; butit would be mournful to see her broken down. Let me think. She is quiteas old, if not older, than my grandfather, is she not?"

"There is not a year between them, I have heard my father say, " answeredJudson, with a prim consciousness of the delicate subject they hadtrenched upon; "not that I know of myself. "

"Certainly not. But my grandfather--it is some weeks since I heard ofhim. "

"The earl is quite well, my lord. He was at the castle only last week, and spent a long morning with my lady. "

"Indeed!" muttered the young man. "That probably accounts for my summonshome. "

"She had been uncommonly anxious for a long time, and at last sent forhim to come and see her. "

"Very natural. They are old friends. "

"Then, my lord, she sent me on this journey--not that I came alone. Thesteward is on the train. My lady would not permit her grand-daughter totravel with but one attendant. "

"Her grand-daughter?"

"I beg pardon, my lord, but this young lady is Lord Hope's daughter. "

Hilton lifted his hat and met Lady Clara's look of smiling surprise witha courteous bend of the head, but her quick eye caught the sudden glowthat swept his face, and wondered at it. She wondered still more when agrave expression followed the blush; and, instead of making himselfagreeable, he opened the novel that lay on the seat, and seemed to beoccupied by its pages, though she remarked, with an inward chuckle, thathe never turned a page. 

After a while the young man laid down his book, wearily, and Clara sawhis chest heave slowly as he breathed a long, deep, but unconscioussigh. 

"He is in trouble, like me, " was her quick thought. "Perhaps hisgrandfather is a hard, cruel old man, and drives everything he loves outof doors, without caring how he may feel about it, or perhaps--"

Clara might have gone on conjecturing all sorts of possibilities; butthat moment the train stopped at a small town, and close by the stationshe saw an old woman, with a pile of crimson-cheeked peaches and somepears on a table beside her. An exclamation broke from her, and sheleaned eagerly forward just as the carriage-door was unlocked. 

"Oh, how splendid! such peaches! such pears!" she exclaimed, feeling inthe pocket of her sacque for some loose money, which she usually carriedthere. "Oh! Margaret--"

Here she turned to the woman next her, and blushed with vexation whenshe remembered that Margaret was no longer there to take her commands. 

"Dear me! I forgot. No matter. Oh, mercy! what have I done?"

She had done nothing but what was most likely to obtain her object, forLord Hilton had pushed open the door, leaped out, and in a minute or tworeturned with his hands full of the peaches and pears she had craved so. She was blushing scarlet when he came back and dropped the lusciousfruit into her lap, as if they had been acquainted fifty years. 

"Oh, you are too kind! I did not mean--I did not expect; but please eatsome yourself. Here is a splendid one. Mrs. Judson, take pears orpeaches, just as you like--delicious!"

The mellow sound of this last word was uttered as her white teeth sankinto the crimson side of a peach, and for the next minute she saidnothing, but gave herself up to a child-like ecstasy of enjoyment, forthe road was dusty, and this luxurious way of quenching her thirst wasfar too sweet for words. Besides, her companions were just as pleasantlyemployed. She saw the young man wiping a drop of amber juice from hisbeard, and wondered where the Abigail found her self-command as shewatched her slowly peeling one of the finest pears with a silverfruit-knife which she took from her traveling satchel. 

"Splendid, aint they?" she said, at length, leaning forward and tossinga peach-stone out of the window, while she searched the golden andcrimson heap with her disengaged hand for another peach, mellow andjuicy as the last. "I had no idea anything on earth could be sodelightful. We had breakfast so early, and I do believe I was almosthungry. Oh, how pleasant it must be when one is really famished!"

Here Clara cast another peach-stone through the window, and began totrifle with a pear, just as Judson cut a dainty slice from the fruitshe had been preparing. Clara laughed, and reached a handful of fruitover to the gentleman who had made her a gift of the whole. He receivedit cheerfully--in fact, it was quite impossible for any man under thirtyto have spent a half hour in that young girl's society without feelingthe heart in his bosom grow softer and warmer. 

"What a lovely day it is!" she said, tossing off her hat, and leaningforward, that the wind might blow on her face, which at the moment hadall the sweet blooming freshness of a child's. "I wonder if the countryis as green and fresh as this, where we are going?"

"Ah, I can answer you. It is far more beautiful. Houghton Castle isamong the hills. The park is like a forest, and in the valley you cansee a river, winding in and out like gleams of quicksilver. A grand oldplace is Houghton Castle, let me answer you, Lady Clara. "

Clara shook her head, and drew back in her seat. 

"I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that the dear old lady could justtake the title and the castle with her. "

She seemed very much in earnest, and pulled the sailor's hat down overher eyes, to conceal the tears, that were filling them with moisture. 

Lord Hilton was surprised. He had certainly intended to interest theyoung lady by a description of the noble place that would some day behers. 

"Ah, wait till you have seen Houghton. It is one of the finest oldstrongholds in the kingdom. The only wonder is that Cromwell, thatmagnificent old hypocrite, happened to spare it. When Lady Carset standsupon her own battlements, she can scarcely see the extent of her lands. A very wealthy lady is the old countess. "

Clara all at once began to wonder how it happened that the man wasgiving her so much knowledge about her own near relative. How did heknow that her information did not equal his own?

"You live near Houghton, I suppose?" she said. 

"Yes; when the flag is up, we can see it plainly enough from mygrandfather's place. "

Clara brightened out of her momentary depression. If she were compelledto stay long at Houghton, it would be pleasant to meet this handsome andpleasant young man. How kind he had been about the fruit. With whatgenial sunshine his eyes dwelt upon her, as he sought to interest herabout the place to which she was going. Judson was not so well pleased. She had some doubts of the propriety of permitting these young personsto drop into such familiar conversation, with no more impressiveintroduction than the chance courtesies of a railroad car. 

True, she had known the young man when he was quite a child, and likedhim, as well as her prim habits and narrow channel of thought wouldpermit; but nothing in her experience had taught her how to act in anemergency like that. 

The young people had given her no opportunity for reflection, butplunged into an acquaintance at once. The whole thing troubled hergreatly, but what could she do?

There they sat, face to face, eating peaches together, talking of thescenery, laughing now and then, again and again half quarreling, as if adozen years had ripened the acquaintance between them. It quite tookaway her appetite for the fruit, and she clasped her little silverknife, with a helpless sigh, and dropping both hands into her lap, wondered what on earth she could do, and of course did nothing. 

The young people forgot all about the prim Abigail, and went on withtheir conversation; but after awhile a shade of sadness crept over boththose young faces. Their hearts wandered off into serious reveries, andfor a time they became unconscious of each other's presence. 

Clara was thinking of that night, which now seemed far, far away, butwas, in fact, scarcely twenty-four hours back in her life--of the wordsthat were spoken, the promises given, and sealed with kisses, whichseemed burning on her lips even yet. 

Oh! where was he now, the man whom she loved so entirely, and whosehumiliation made her heart ache, and burn with sorrow and wrath everytime she thought of it? Would he hold to his faith with her, after suchscornful treatment from her father? Where would he go? Where was he now?He had been a wanderer always, and had found himself sufficient tohimself. 

After he saw her the first idea of rest and a permanent home had openednew vistas of hope to him. He had found the one thing that had hithertobeen denied to his existence--found it only to be driven from the lightthat had dawned upon him, like a trespassing dog. 

Clara's heart swelled as she thought of all this, and all at once theprim Abigail was astonished out of all propriety by a burst of sobs fromthe corner in which Clara had retreated. 

The young man looked up and came out of his own melancholy thoughts, just as Mrs. Judson had drawn forth her smelling-bottle and was pressingit upon the girl, who averted her face and sobbed out, piteously:

"Oh! let me alone--please let me alone!"

Judson retreated backward to her place in the opposite corner, while theyoung man motioned her to remain quiet, and let the pretty creature sobout her grief unmolested. 

At last Clara had wept her sudden burst of sorrow away, and becameconscious of her own strange conduct. She pushed back her hat, drew thesoft gauze streamers across her eyes, and burst into a sobbing laugh, exquisitely childlike, but which Judson could not in the leastunderstand. 

"I'm afraid I am getting homesick, " she said. "I never was so far fromOakhurst before, and, until this morning, you know, I had never seeneither of your faces, but all that need not make such an absurd baby ofme. "

Mrs. Judson unfolded a fine pocket handkerchief and held it toward thegirl, with the most anxious look possible to imagine. 

"Wipe your eyes, dear young lady, wipe your eyes. We are coming toHoughton, and I would not have you seen with that face for the world. "

"Yes, " said the young man, looking out, "yonder is Houghton Castle. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE OLD COUNTESS. 

"I will see her now, Judson. " The old lady of Houghton came out from herdressing-room as she said this. 

She had a little cap of gossamer lace and silver ribbon on that shakinghead, and tied a girdle of silken cord around the floating folds of hercashmere morning robe, which would better have concealed the attenuatedfigure underneath, had it been permitted to float loose, as it had done. But the dainty old lady still felt a stir of feminine pride in hertoilet, and though the exertion took away all her strength, she had madethese pretty additions to her dress, rather than meet her grandchild, for the first time, in the disarray of an invalid. 

"I will see her now, Judson. "

She repeated this, panting for breath, as she sank down to the couch inher favorite tower-chamber, and took the delicate handkerchief of laceand cambric, on which Judson had just dropped some pungent perfume. 

Judson left the room; directly the red curtain parted again, and behindthe grim waiting-maid came a young girl, flushed with excitement androsy with perfect health, but so strangely dressed that the old countessuttered a little exclamation of surprise, mingled perhaps with a littledispleasure. The jaunty hat with its blue streamers, the double-breastedjacket, glittering with buttons, took away her breath. 

Lady Clara hesitated a moment, took off her hat hurriedly, like anaughty boy, and came forward with an easy step, as if she had been in aforest, and the high heels of her pretty boots trampling down wood moss, instead of the tangle of flowers in that sumptuous carpet. 

The old lady sat gazing on her full half a minute. The girl flushedcrimson under the steady look of those brown eyes, turned around andgave her hat a toss to Judson, who let it fall in her astonishment atthe audacious act, and came forward, half-indignant, half-crying. 

"Grandmother!"

As that fresh, young voice fell upon her, the old countess reached forthher hand. 

"My child!"

The old voice was faint, but kind. Lovely as that young creature was, she brought sadness and disappointment with her. The prejudice of yearsis not easily swept away from the mind of an aged woman, whatever herstrength of character may be. This girl was the step-daughter of thegoverness she had so long detested, and she seemed to bring theatmosphere of a hated place with her. Perhaps she had expected a morestately bearing in her daughter's child. 

A chair had been drawn up to the couch by the thoughtful Judson, and thecountess made a gentle motion that her grand-daughter should occupy it. 

Clara sat down, feeling nervous and very miserable; for those eyesfollowed her with mournful curiosity, which the high-spirited girlmistook for criticism. 

"I dare say that I am not so handsome or so good as my poor mother was, but she loved me dearly, everybody says that, and for her sake you mightbe glad I am here, grandmother, especially as you sent for me. "

As Clara said this, tears swelled from those blue eyes that had beenslowly filling, and dropped to her cheeks like rain upon damask roses. This appeal, so childlike in its passion, lifted the old countess out ofher seeming apathy. She arose, laid her hands on that young head andkissed the flushed forehead. 

The moment Clara felt the touch of those tender lips, she threw botharms around the shadowy old woman, and broke forth. 

"Oh, grandmother, grandmother, don't stop to think about it, but let melove you! I want to so much, for without that I shall be awfullyhomesick. "

The old lady's heart beat as it had not done for years. Never, since heronly child went forth from those proud walls a bride, had any one daredto claim her love, or speak to her as one free soul speaks to another. In the haughty isolation of her rank, she had almost forgotten thatequality could ever be claimed of her. The very audacity of this cry foraffection stirred the old lady's pride like a trumpet. 

"There speaks the Carset blood, " she said, appealing to the grimhand-maiden who stood by; "always ready to give and bold to claim justrights. My grandchild is of the true stock, you see. God bless her andlove her as I will!"

"There, now, that is very kind of you, grandmamma, and you are just thedearest, sweetest and queenliest lady that ever made a poor girl happy, when she was, in fact, homesick as death. The truth is, mamma Rachaelspoils me so completely with her great love, and--but, oh! I forgot youcan't bear mamma Rachael. Dear me! I am always getting into scrapes. Does that belong to the Carset blood, I wonder?"

The waiting-maid stood petrified when the old countess broke into asoft, pleasant laugh, at what she deemed the insolent familiarity ofthis speech. "Did you hear that?" she exclaimed, wiping the moisturefrom her eyes, and increasing the vibrations of her head. 

"Who but a Carset would dare ask such questions? Getting into scrapes, child; why there never was a family so reckless or so independent. Thatis, I speak of the males, remember! the ladies of the house--but youwill see in the picture gallery, and judge for yourself. No commonplacewomen can be found among the Carset ladies. Some of them, my child, haveintermarried with Royalty itself. You are the last of the line, LadyClara. "

Clara turned pale. She thought of Hepworth Closs, and how far he wasremoved from royalty; but with no thought of faithlessness in her heart. She was very sure that the next Lord of Houghton would wear neithercrown or coronet--but, like a wise girl, she sat still and said nothing. 

The old countess was very feeble. Notwithstanding the excitement, whichleft a tremulous pink on her withered cheeks, the strength began to failfrom her limbs. Gathering up her feet upon the couch, she closed hereyes. 

When she opened them again, Lady Clara was bending toward her with alook of tender anxiety that went to the old lady's heart. A soft smilestole over her lips, and she held out her hand. 

"Go to your room, my child. "

Clara stooped down and kissed that delicate mouth with her own bloominglips. 

"Sleep well, grandmother, " she whispered; "I will come back againby-and-by, after I have seen the other ladies in the picture-gallery. "

Clara picked up her hat, and was going out on tip-toe, when Judson laida long, lean hand on her arm, and addressed her in one of those shrillwhispers, which penetrate more surely than words. 

"Don't wear that thing into my lady's presence again, " she said. "Didyou see her eyes, when they first fell upon it?"

"What, my poor little hat? Has grandmamma really taken a dislike tothat? I am so sorry. "

The old countess opened her eyes, and rose on one elbow among hercushions. 

"Let the child alone, Judson. The hat is well enough, and she lookedvery pretty in it. "

"Nobby, isn't it, grandmamma?" said Clara, tossing the hat to her head, and shaking down the blue streamers; "and I'm so fond of it. "

"Judson, " said the old countess, "do not attempt to judge for yourmistress at this time of day. No one but a Carset could wear a thinglike that, without looking vulgar; but you saw what an air she gave it. "

Judson was astounded. She had absolutely trembled, when that round hatcame into the room, in defiance of the faint protest which she hadventured to make. 

"I was afraid, my lady, that a dress like that might set you against theyoung lady. "

"Set me against my own grandchild, and she so unmistakably a Carset! Iam surprised, Judson. "

"I am sure there was no idea in my mind of giving offense. She is apretty young lady enough. "

"Pretty! Are you speaking of that charming young creature, with the airof a duchess and the heart of a child, only to say that she is pretty?"

"Did I say pretty, my lady, when I think her so beautiful?"

"All the more beautiful, Judson, for not being so tall as some of theladies of our house. She owes nothing to size. Perhaps you haveremarked, Judson, that those of the purest Carset blood have never beenlarge women. "

A sweet, complacent smile quivered around those old lips, as thecountess settled back among her cushions. She, a petite creature, hadCarset blood in her veins from both parents, and in her youth she hadbeen distinguished among the most beautiful women of England. She wasthinking of those days, when those withered eyelids closed again, andthey followed her softly into her sleep, which the grim maid watchedwith the faithfulness of a slave. 

Meantime Clara went into the long picture gallery, and there among acrowd of statues, and deeply-toned pictures by the old masters, made theacquaintance of her stately ancestors, and of the ladies who had one andall been peeresses in their own right--an access of rank, prized almostlike a heritage of royalty by the old lady in the tower-chamber. 

No one had gone with the young heiress into the gallery, for, with herchildish wilfulness, she had preferred to go alone, and single out theCarset ladies by their resemblance to the old countess. 

All at once she stopped before the picture of a lady, whose face struckher with a sudden sense of recognition. She looked at it earnestly--thegolden brown hair, the downcast eyes, the flowing white dress. Acrossthe mind of that wondering girl, came the shadow of another woman upona white bed, with hair and eyes like those; but wide open, and to herlips came two words, "My Mother!"

CHAPTER XXIII. 

EXPLANATIONS AND CONCESSIONS. 

It often happens that a proud, austere person, so grounded in opinionsand prejudices as to be considered above and beyond ordinary influences, will all at once, give heart and reason up to passionate or capriciousfondness for some individual--often a very child--and yield everythingto persuasion when reason is utterly rejected. 

Indeed, few people like to be convinced; but the strongest mind everbestowed on man or woman finds something gratifying to self-love in thepersuasive enticements of affection. 

This singular moral phenomenon astonished the neighbors and household ofLady Carset when she gave herself up, with the abandon of a child, tothe caressing young creature, who had, it seemed, appeared in her hometo win her back from the very brink of the grave, and make the sunset ofher long life brighter with love than the dawn had been. 

There was nothing in the young girl which did not seem beautiful to theold relative. Her originality, which made the well-trained servantsstare, seemed the perfection of piquant grace to one whose fastidioustastes had been an example to the whole neighborhood. In her estimationLady Clara could do nothing which was not in itself loveliest and best. The old lady had been so long without an object of affection, that herlove of this girl became almost a monomania. 

"I have an atonement to make, " she would say to herself in excuse forthis extraordinary and most pleasant subjugation; "for years and years Ihave driven this young creature from me because of what, I am almostconvinced, were unfounded suspicions against her father and that woman. It is but just that I should accept my grandchild with generousconfidence; and she deserves it--she deserves it. "

After reasoning in this fashion awhile the repentant old lady would rackher brain for some new device by which this bright creature, who hadcome like a sunbeam into her house, might be persuaded never to leave itagain. It was not altogether the selfishness of affection that actuatedthis honorable woman. It was hard to believe that a Carset could haveacted unjustly, or even be mistaken; but, once convinced of that, hervery pride insisted on a generous atonement. Never in her life had shebeen so humiliated as when the sight of those diamonds convinced her ofthe cruel charge which she had maintained for years against a personinnocent of the offence imputed to her. She remembered, withcompunction, how much harm she had done this woman, whose greatest faultnow seemed to be that Lord Hope had married her. 

Her own example had sufficed to exclude Lady Hope from the society towhich her husband's rank entitled her, and her open expressions ofdislike had cast a ban upon the stepmother, which had, to an extent, reacted on her own grandchild. 

These thoughts troubled the proud old peeress a long time before shegave them expression; but, one day, Clara sat by her, looking a littlesad, for, now that the excitement of her first coming was over, shebegan to think of Hepworth Closs--to wonder where he was, and yearn forsome news of him to a degree that clouded her whole bright being like afeeling of homesickness. 

"Poor child!" thought the old lady, while her soft, brown eyes dweltupon that downcast face, as it bent over a piece of embroidery in whicha cactus-flower formed the chief central glory; "how weary and troubledshe looks! No wonder, poor thing! half her time is spent here with astupid old woman, shut up so long from the world that she is but dullcompany for any one. I wonder if the thing which is upon my mind wouldreally make her happy?"

"Clara. "

The girl started. She had been so lost in thought that those bright eyeshad been watching her some minutes, while she unconsciously pursued herwork, and indulged in a reverie which was shadowed upon her features. 

"Clara, you have not told me much about your stepmother. "

"But I think of her; I was thinking of her then. Indeed, indeed, grandmamma, I always must love mamma Rachael, for she has beeneverything that is good and kind to me--I only wish you could understandhow kind. If I know anything it is because she taught me. "

"Among other things, perhaps she taught you to hate that cruel old LadyCarset, " said the countess, a little suspiciously. 

"No, grandmamma, no. She never said anything to make me dislike you; butI did--it was terribly wicked; but how could I help it, loving her so, and knowing that it was you that stood in the way of all she mostdesired in life? Remember, grandmamma, I had never seen you, and I lovedher dearly. It was hard to see her overlooked and put down by people whowere not fit to buckle her shoes, all because you would not like her. "

"And you will always love her better than the cruel old lady?"

"Cruel! How can you? There never was a sweeter, kinder, or more lovelyold darling in the world than you are! but then she is good, too, and sounhappy at times, it almost breaks my heart to look in her face. "

"And you think I have made her so?"

"I think you might make her very happy, if you only would, grandmamma. "

"Would that make you happy, little one?"

The old lady reached out her little, withered hand, and patted Clara'sfingers, as they paused in her work, while she spoke. The girl's facebrightened. She seized the little hand between her rosy palms, andpressed it to her lips. 

"Oh, grandmamma! can you mean it?"

"I always mean to be just, Clara. "

"Then you will be very, very kind to her?"

"Does your father love this woman?"

"Love her? Oh, yes! but this thing has come a little between them. Shehas grown shy of going out, while he must be in the world; and all herlife seems to vanish when he is away. Sometimes it makes my heart acheto think how much she loves him. "

"But he loves you?"

"Almost as much as mamma Rachael does. He was never cross to me butonce. "

"And then?"

Clara turned pale, and took up her needle. 

"I would rather not talk about that just now. You might be more angrythan my father was. "

"It would be very difficult for me to get angry with you, little one. "

"But you would, if I were to be very obstinate, and insist on having myown way about--about something--that--that--"

The old lady's face grew very serious. She understood, these signs, andthey troubled her; but she was feeble, and shrank from any knowledgethat would bring excitement with it. 

"Some day we will talk of all that, " she said, with a little wearyclosing of the eyes. 

Clara drew a deep breath. See had been on the verge of making aconfidante of the old lady, and felt a sense of relief when the subjectwas thus evaded. 

The countess opened her eyes again. 

"Clara, " she said, "bring my writing-table here. We will not troubleourselves to ring for Judson. "

Clara dropped her embroidery, and brought the sofa-table, with all itsexquisite appointments for writing. The old lady sat upright on hercouch, took the pen, and began to write on the creamy note-paper hergrandchild had placed before her. Clara watched that slender hand as itglided across the paper, leaving delicate, upright letters perfect as anengraving, as it moved. When the paper was covered, she folded themissive with dainty precision, selected an envelope, on which hercoronet was entangled in a monogram, and was about to seal it with aring, which she took from her finger; but recollecting herself, she drewthe letter out, and handed it to Clara, with a smile that kindled herwhole face. 

Clara read the letter, threw her arms around the old lady, and coveredher faces with kisses. 

"Oh, grandmamma, you are too good! Do you--do you really mean it? Ah, this is happiness!"

"You shall help me make out the invitations. There was a time whenHoughton had no empty chambers. It will go hard, my dear, if we cannotfind entertainment for your father and the lady he has married. On thatday, Clara, I will present you to the world as my grandchild andheiress. "

"Not yet! oh, not yet! Wait till you know more of me. "

"Hush! hush! This is not my only object. If I have wronged yourstepmother, or neglected your father, the whole country shall see that aCarset knows how to make reparation. Lady Hope, too, shall be presentedto my friends as an honored guest. This entertainment will be my last, but they shall find that the old countess knows how to receive herguests. "

"Grandmother, you are an--an--. You are just the sweetest old lady thatever drew breath! If you were to live a thousand years, I should loveyou better and better every day! To see you and Lady Hope together willbe splendid! And they are to stay at Houghton a month. By that time youwill love each other dearly. "

Clara took up her work again, but the needle flashed like a thread oflightning in her unsteady fingers. She could not work after thisglorious news. 

The old lady smiled blandly, and sank down among her cushions, exhausted. 

"Go out and take a walk in the park, " she said, observing that Clara wasfluttering over her embroidery like a bird in its cage. "It will do yougood, and I will try to sleep a little. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

DOWN BY THE BROOK AMONG THE FERNS. 

Clara put on her hat and wandered off into the park, as happy as a bird. 

She had found the dearest old fairy godmother. She saw a glorious lightbreaking in upon the life of her stepmother, and out of all thisgenerous conduct in the old countess sprang a vague hope that she mightyet be won to sanction her marriage with the man of her choice. 

She took no heed of the way, but wandered on, treading the earth like asylph, and breaking into little snatches of song whenever the birds inthe branches put her in mind of it. She was descending into a little, ferny hollow, with a brook creeping along the bottom, along which anarrow footpath ran, when the crackle of a broken branch, and the quicktread of a foot, made her pause and look at the opposite bank, downwhich a young man was coming, with more swiftness than he seemed todesire, for he only saved himself from a plunge in the brook by leapingover it, with a bound that brought him to Clara's side. It was LordHilton. 

"Forgive me, if I came near running you down, " he said, with laughter inhis eyes, and taking off his hat; "it was neck or nothing with me, afterI once got one downward plunge. I inquired for you at the castle, andthey told me that you had just gone out of sight in this direction, so Ifollowed and am here. "

Clara held out her hand, with the sweet, joyous laugh of a pleasedchild. She was very happy, just then, and he saw it in her eyes. 

"But you have been long in coming, " she said. "I told grandmamma aboutour journey together, and she has been expecting you at Houghton everyday. "

"And you?"

"Of course, I have been dreadfully disappointed. Are you aware that itis more than a fortnight since you bought those peaches for me?"

"But you will approve my reasons for keeping away, when I tell you whatthey are. "

"Perhaps--I doubt it; but tell me. "

"You will not be angry?"

"No. "

"Not if I tell you the plain truth like an honest man?"

"I love the truth. Why should it offend me?"

"Lady Clara, I have almost resolved to make a confidante of you. "

Clara brushed some fallen leaves from a rock, near which they werestanding, and sat down, motioning him to take the vacant place by herside. 

"There--now let us begin. "

"Do you guess why I did not come before, Lady Clara?"

"No--I have not the least idea. Perhaps you did not like me, or wereshocked with my hat; poor thing, it is getting awfully shabby. "

"Shall I tell you?"

"Of course; why not?"

"Because the old gentleman over yonder and my lady at Houghton, had settheir hearts upon it. "

"Set their hearts upon it. How?"

"They have decreed that I shall fall in love with you, and you with me, at first sight. "

Clara stared at him a moment, with her widening blue eyes, and thenbroke into a laugh that set all the birds about her to singing in ajoyous chorus. 

"What, you and I?"

"Exactly. "

"But you have more sense. You could not be induced to oblige them. Ifeel quite sure. "

"But why, pray? Am I so very stupid?"

"No; but you are so very kind, and would not do anything so cruel. "

Lord Hilton laughed; he could not help it. 

"But why would it be cruel?"

"Because--because it would get me into trouble. Grandmamma is a lovelyold angel, and to oblige her I would fall in love with fifty men if itwere possible, especially after what she has done to-day: but it is notpossible. "

"And the old gentleman at the opposite side of the valley is good asgold, and I should like to oblige him; and sometimes I feel as if itcould be done, so far as I am concerned, but for one thing. "

"And what is that?"

"Lady Clara, if I had not been fatally in love already, I should by thistime have adored you. "

The color came and went in the girl's face. She tore a handful of fernsfrom the rock, and dropped them into the water at her feet; then shelifted her eyes to the young man's face, with the innocent confidence ofa child. Her voice was low and timid as she spoke again; but the ring ofmodest truth was there. 

"Lord Hilton, I am very young; but in what you have said, I can see thatyou and I ought to understand each other. You love another person--I, too, am beloved. "

A shade of disappointment swept the young man's features. He had notwished this fair girl to care for him, yet the thought that it wasimpossible brought a little annoyance with it. 

"And yourself?"

"I have permitted a man to say he loved me, and did not rebuke him;because every word he spoke made my heart leap. "

"But will the old countess consent?"

"I thought so--I hoped so, till you startled me with this idea aboutyourself. Oh! be firm, be firm in hating me. Don't leave the wholebattle to a poor little girl. "

"Perhaps I shall not feel all your earnestness, for there is no hope inthe future for me, with or without consent. I can never turn back to thepast, though I am not villain enough to lay a heart which contains theimage of another at any woman's feet, without giving her a fullknowledge of that which has gone before. The love which I confess toyou, Lady Clara, was put resolutely behind me before we met. "

Quick as thought a suspicion flashed through the girl's brain. Sheturned her eyes full upon the handsome head and face of the young man, and examined his features keenly. His hat was off; he was bendingearnestly toward her. 

"Lord Hilton, you sat in a box in the opera next to us on the night whenthat young American singer broke down. I remember your head now. Youwere leaning from the box when she fainted; her eyes were turned uponyou as she fell. She is the woman you love. "

"Say whom I loved, and Heaven knows I did love her; but she fled from mewithout a word, to expose herself upon that stage. I thought her thedaughter of a respectable man, at least; when I am told in everyclub-house, she is the nameless child of that woman, Olympia. I wouldnot believe it, till the actress confirmed the story with her own lips;then I learned that her home was with this woman, and that she, acreature I had believed innocent as the wild blossoms, had used herglorious voice for the entertainment of her mother's Sunday eveningparties. "

Lady Clara grew pale, and her eyes began to flash. 

"You are doing great wrong to a noble and good young lady, " she said, ina clear, ringing voice, from which all laughter had gone out. "You areunjust, cruel--wickedly cruel--both to yourself and her. I have nopatience with you!"

"Do you know Caroline, then? But that is impossible. "

"Impossible--what? That I should know the daughter of Olympia? But I doknow her. There was a time, I honestly believe, when we were childrentogether, cared for by the same nurse. This I can assure you, LordHilton: she was not brought up by the actress; never saw her, in truth, until she was over sixteen years old, when the woman, hearing of hergenius and beauty, claimed her as a chattel rather than a child. "

"Are you sure of this, Lady Clara?" inquired the young man, greatlydisturbed. 

"I know it. The poor young lady, brought up with such delicate care, educated as if she were one day to become a peeress of the land, took aterrible dislike to the stage, and, so long as she dared, protestedagainst the life that ambitious actress had marked out for her. Thatnight you saw her she was forced upon the stage after praying upon herknees to be spared. Her acting, from the first, was desperation. She sawyou, and it became despair; and you could doubt her--you could leaveher. Lord Hilton, I hate you!"

"I begin to hate myself, " said the young man in a low voice; "but evennow, what can I do? What power have I to wrest her from the influence ofthat woman?"

"What power? The power of honest and generous love. Ask her to marryyou. "

Lord Hilton answered with a faint, bitter laugh. 

"Ask her to marry me, and, with that act, proclaim myself a beggar! Itell you, Lady Clara, there is not upon this earth a creature sodependent as a nobleman with nothing but expectations. Were I to followyour advice the doors of my home would be closed against me. I shouldhave a title, by courtesy, to offer my wife, and nothing more. Shewould, perhaps, be compelled to go on the stage to support me--a poorsubstitute for these two vast estates which these old people hope tounite in us. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

HOW LADY CLARA GOT HER OWN WAY. 

Lady Clara turned on the young nobleman with glowing anger. 

"Lord Hilton, " she said, "it is the land they are thinking of; but anearthquake may swallow it before I will sell a corner of my heart attheir price. I am only a girl, Lord Hilton, and, perhaps, this ancestralgrandeur seems less to me on that account; but the noblest possessionthat can be given to me is liberty--liberty of heart, limb andconscience--liberty to love and hate--though I do not hate any one verymuch--but to love that which is splendid and good without regard toanything else. The grandest thing upon the face of the earth, LordHilton, is to own oneself. If I were a man no one should own me but thewoman I loved. "

Was the girl inspired? You would have thought so from the sparkle thatcame into her eyes, like sunshine striking the dew in a violet--fromthe quick, generous curve of her lips, and the flush of color thatrushed over her face. 

Lord Hilton looked at her with such admiration as would, perhaps, havemade obedience to the wishes of his family an easier thing than hedreamed of; but he knew something of the world, and had, more than once, searched the female hearts that came in his way, for the gratificationof vanity alone. He read the one before him on the instant. 

"The man you speak of is without these advantages, " he said. "Iunderstand--they are a wall between you and him. "

"No. This morning my grandmother told me that I was to be her heiress;but I entreated her to take time. Before she decides, I wish her tojudge of this man as he is, without prejudice or favor. Then she shallknow all, and if she is willing to endow us with her wealth, there neverwas so grateful a girl as I shall be; but, if not, I will fall upon myknees, kiss her dear old hand, thank her for what she has done, and goaway to America, where a man's talents and energies can work outsomething that will answer very well for a patent of nobility. "

"And you will carry this out? give up the title?"

"The title! Ah, that may be of value in America, " answered Clara, with alaugh full of good-natured scorn; "those things, they tell me, are at apremium out yonder. "

"Brave girl! You shame me by this generous energy. "

"Shame you? not at all; only I happen to know that there is somethingworth living for besides the things we hold so precious. A man, braveenough to work out his own career, has taught me that real greatness isnot always hereditary. Ah! if you could only think so, too, LordHilton, you would understand that there is nothing on earth so sweet asthe love for which we make sacrifices. "

"What a strange girl you are, Lady Clara! Up to this time you haveseemed to me only a very pretty and very capricious child--a charmingchild, truly, but--"

"There it is again, " cried the girl falling back into her naturalmanner; "everybody will insist on treating me like a child. Oh! how Iwish I was a little taller, like--like Caroline!"

Lord Hilton started, and a flood of recollections came back uponhim--that soft Italian sky, a flight of vine-draped terraces, and, onthe steps, that tall, beautiful girl watching for him. In this picturehe forgot Olympia and everything that had repulsed him. 

"I shall never think of you as a child again, but as her friend--herearnest, kind, noble friend!"

"And so I am. Oh! if I were a man, and loved her--"

"Well, what would you do in my place, supposing yourself a man, LadyClara?"

"This is what I would do: The old gentleman over yonder has a generousheart, I dare say. I would first make my peace with that noble girl. Itwould not be easy, I can tell you, for she is proud as an empress; butshe would be forgiving in the end, and for that I should adore her. ThenI would take her by the hand, lead her up to that kind old nobleman overyonder--for I dare say, he is like my blessed grandmother, proud asLucifer and kind as an angel--and I would just tell him the truth, laythe whole case before him, and either take his blessing on two bowedheads, or throw down my title, gather up all that honorably belonged tome, and carry my youth, my knowledge, and my energies into a countrywhere no man would question whether my wife had Olympia's blood in herveins or not. This is what I would do, Lord Hilton. "

"Lady Clara, I thank you. "

Lord Hilton reached out his hand, smiling, but there was moisture in hiseyes. 

"And you will do it?"

"First, Lady Clara, I must have her forgiveness for doubting her--forbeing a coward. Where is she now? Can you tell me?"

"Ill, very ill, battling breathlessly with that woman, who stillpersists on her reappearance. You can save her from it. Will you?"

"No wonder you ask the question, Lady Clara, I have not deserved greatconfidence. But one thing; these are strange confessions that we havemade to each other; let them rest inviolate between us. We shall befriends. Let the world think us more, if it likes. "

"With all my heart. And now, good-by. I am going back to the castle. "

When Clara reached the castle she found a letter waiting for her. It wasfrom Margaret, who was still in London, at Olympia's house. 

Clara read this letter with a very thoughtful face, and went at once toLady Carset's room, with the letter in her pocket and painful anxiety inher heart. 

Lady Carset had come out of her sleep, wonderfully refreshed andcheerful. 

The effort which she had so generously made to make atonement for whatshe considered the one mistake of her life, gave to her own heart afeeling of exquisite rest. The company of her grandchild also had let awhole burst of sunshine into that princely old castle, and its mistressseemed to have grown young in its warmth and brightness. She had beenthinking of the girl ever since the sleep left her eyelids, and now, when she came in, with her sweet face clouded, the idea that had beenfloating in her brain took form. 

"You seem troubled, Clara, " she said. "Did the great, wandering old parkfrighten you with its loneliness? Sit down, darling, and we will talk ofsomething I have just been thinking of. "

Clara sat down on the foot of the couch, and taking the small feet ofher grandmother into her lap, began to smooth and caress them with herhand. 

"I am an old, old woman, my darling, and not over strong, so it isimpossible for me to make a companion to you. "

"Oh, but I love you so much!"

"I know, dear; but would you not like a companion of your own age--somenice young lady, who could go with you into the park, share the prettyphaeton, and help drive the ponies I have ordered for you, when I amtaking my rest here?"

"Oh, grandmamma, who told you what was in my mind? how could you haveguessed it? Can I--may I? Grandmamma, I know the very person!"

"She must be well-educated and well-bred. "

"She is a lady about my age, but handsomer. "

"I will not believe that, Clara, " said the old lady, smiling. 

"But she is--taller, more queenly. You will like her so much! Besides, she is in such trouble. I will tell you all about it, grandmamma. "

Then Lady Clara told Caroline's story; how she had been brought up by agood man, believing herself his child, until he and his good wife died, and, just as she grew into womanhood was claimed by the actress Olympia, who was determined to force her upon the stage, from which she shrankwith a loathing that had made her ill. Lady Clara did not mention thename of Daniel Yates, because it had made no impression upon her, if, indeed, she had heard it; but she succeeded in interesting the oldcountess, and it was decided that Caroline and the servant who had clungto her so faithfully should be sent for. 

When Lady Clara left her grandmother's room, the face that had been soclouded was radiant, for, after having all her anxieties swept away, asit seemed by a miracle, she had ventured upon a positive request, whichmade her breath come short as she made it. 

With some adroitness, and a talent that would have made her fortune onthe stage, she brought the subject round to Lady Hope, and from her tothe fact that she had an only brother, who had travelled in foreignparts for years, but had just come back to England, and had been atOakhurst. 

The old lady listened with gentle attention, but did not divine Clara'swishes by intuition as she had before. 

"He is mamma Rachael's only relative, and she loves him dearly, " saidClara. "I think she would always like to have him with her. "

Even this gentle hint did not arouse the old lady, who was falling backinto a pleasant lethargy, so common to aged persons. 

"You would like him yourself, grandmamma, " continued Clara, gettinganxious; "he has seen so much, and talks so well; besides, he knowseverything about horses, and taught me so many things about managingthem. "

"Indeed!" said Lady Carset, arousing herself, for she had been asplendid horsewoman in her time. "It would be a great comfort if we hadsome one besides the groom to advise with about the ponies. Then, wemust have a couple of saddle horses for you and the American young lady. Would this young gentleman--Is he young, Clara?"

"Not very, " answered Clara, blushing quietly, and drooping her head tohide the fact, as the old lady took up her sentence again. 

"I suppose not. So, as your stepmother might be pleased, what objectionwould there be to inviting this gentleman to the castle? When Lady Hopecomes, I would like to have as many of her friends here as possible. Houghton will seem more like home to her. As for you, Clara, it willalways be your home, so we must try and make it pleasant. Write theletter for me, child, and invite the gentleman here. "

It was this conversation that sent Lady Clara out of her grandmother'sroom with that radiant face. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE QUARREL AND THE LETTER. 

"Take your choice, young lady, take your choice! Either consent to haveyour name on the bills for Monday night, or leave my house, bag andbaggage, one and all of you! Either obey me or go! I wash my hands ofthe whole affair. "

Here Olympia rubbed one soft white hand over the other, and shook themapart, as if she were already washing off the annoyance that proud girlhad given her. 

Caroline was deathly pale. She had grown thin and languid with theillness that still hung about her. Around her enlarged eyes lay faint, purplish shadows, that deepened their sad expression; but, with all herweakness, a look of settled resolution lay on her face. 

"Be it so, then!" she said, with pathetic sadness. "If my own mother--"

"Mother? Hush that! I don't believe a word of it! Brown may talk, andswear that he never lost sight of you, but he needn't tell me! Mydaughter! why don't you glory in the stage, then? Why don't you go downon your knees and thank me for that voice? Don't dare to call me mothertill you can learn how to obey me!"

"I cannot obey you in this. If you drive me out to perish in the streetI will not!"

"Then into the street you go! Let Brown try his hand at earning a livingfor you. It is more his duty than mine. "

Caroline turned a wild, wistful look on the woman as she said this; thenshe moved a step toward her, and the tones of her voice, as they camethrough her white lips, were mournful and stormy, like wind over snow. 

"What do you mean, madam? What is it that you insinuate?"

"Only this, " answered Olympia, with a malicious laugh. "As you areresolved--as you never will be anything to me again, and are determinedto throw away all your advantages, I think the truth will bring downyour pride a little, and so mean to give it just for once. I really dosuppose that you are my daughter--else, where did you get the voice youare giving to the wind? But, if you are, that man Brown is your father, for he was my husband once. "

Caroline stood looking at the woman, white and still, her large eyeswidening, all her features in a tumult. Then she fell upon her knees, covered her face with both hands, and cried out:

"Oh, my God! is this good man my father? Are these the thrills of joythat a child knows for its parent?"

A man who had opened the door of Olympia's boudoir was arrested on thethreshold by these words. 

Olympia saw him and sank to a chair, laughing maliciously. 

"Ask him, " she said, pointing to the man; "ask him. Don't look soastonished, Brown. I have told her all about it, and you see how whiteit has made her. She does not seem to relish you for a father much morethan she does the stage!"

Caroline dashed the tears from her eyes, and arose, with a smilebreaking through the scattered moisture. 

"Not like him! He has always been kind, good, generous. I did not needthis to make me love him. Father, _my_ father! how many times I havecalled you so, but this is real! Oh, God be thanked that you are myfather!"

"Ask him how he intends to support you, " broke in Olympia, washing herhands over again in dumb show, and drawing in her breath till it hissedthrough her white teeth, as if a snake had crept up from her bad heart. 

"I _will_ support her! God helping me, I will! Don't feel down-hearted, my poor child. You shall not be ashamed of me. For your sake I will doanything. I can go into an orchestra. "

"What! I ashamed of you, my father? Why, it gives us to each other. Ihave something in this wide world to love!"

Brown's eyes filled with tears. He was trembling violently. 

"Father, my dear father!" murmured Caroline, drawing close to him, witha feeling that he was all the friend she had in the world, "do not lookso troubled. This gives me such joy that I cannot bear to see tears inyour eyes, my father. "

Brown did not speak; he had no power of voice, but stood, with her handsin his, looking into her face in pathetic silence. 

Olympia arose. 

"It is a pretty scene, and well acted, " she said; "but I am tired ofbeing sole audience. When you have settled upon anything, I shall havethe pleasure of bidding you farewell. I must go to rehearsal now. When Icome back, it will be convenient to have the house to myself. I give alittle supper this evening, and I remember you do not exactly approve ofmy little suppers, and, for the world, would not shock the young lady!Good morning, Caroline. Good morning, Brown. You see our prettyexperiment has failed, and we have got to part again. I think this timewill be forever!"

Olympia swept out of the room and entered her carriage, looking like abaffled fury. 

Then those two were left together, and for half an hour they sat, looking at each other with sad, wistful eyes, talking of the past insnatches, till slowly and sadly their minds turned to the future, andthat looked blank enough to them. What could they do? Olympia had neverbeen generous to her daughter or the agent. They had neither money norvaluables. How were they to live, even for a week?

"I can, perhaps, obtain a situation in some orchestra. "

Poor Brown spoke under his breath, for he knew well enough that Olympiawould never permit him to earn his bread in that way, so long as herinfluence in the theatres could prevent it; but it was the only hopefulidea he could think of, and so he suggested it with despondinghesitation. But, to the young girl, there was encouragement even inthis. 

"And I can take pupils. You remember the young lady that came to me thatnight in the dressing-room--Lord Hope's daughter?"

"Remember her!" exclaimed Brown, brightening all over, "I should thinkso! When she turned her face upon me and said, 'Don't be so anxious, sir. She is better now, ' I longed to fall down on my knees and worshipher!"

Tears came into Caroline's eyes. Her nature was noble and full ofgratitude. She could endure wrong and cruelty without weeping, butgenerous and kind actions melted her heart. 

"Ah, how good she was; we can trust her, my father. "

How falteringly, and with what pathos she used this grand old word now!Before, she had done it in affectionate play, but now, a solemn feelingof tenderness thrilled the syllables, as "father" dropped from her lips, and made the heart swell in his bosom with a tremulous response. 

"She will speak to Lady Hope, and they will recommend pupils to us. Oh, if we could only go back to Italy!"

As this exclamation was on her lips, the servant in blue and silver camethrough the door with a salver in his hand, on which lay a letter. Theseal and monogram had struck his eye, and he brought the missive in withan excess of ceremony that would have been laughable at another time. Hebrought the letter to Caroline. She tore it open, and an eager, almostwild look of thankfulness swept over her face as she read it. 

"Oh, father, father! See what the good God has done for us!"

The servant, who lingered in the room, was so astonished at hearing thatsacred name used with thanksgiving or reverence in Olympia's house, thathe dropped the silver tray and stood open-mouthed regarding the younglady. 

"Read it! read it! Oh, this will be Heaven to us. Remark, please, youare to come with me and Eliza. Let us start by the very next train. "

It was Lady Clara's letter, which, of course, contained an invitationfrom the old countess. Clara had added a little hospitality of her own, and suggested that Brown should come to Houghton for awhile, and giveher music lessons--she was getting so out of practice. As usual, thegirl had her way, and that letter was the result. But Brown's face grewthoughtful as he read. 

"What is the matter?" inquired Caroline, anxiously. 

"But how are we to get there?"

All the anxiety that made Brown's heart heavy under this good news, broke out in these words. Caroline's face clouded, and her voicefaltered. 

"Let me call Eliza and Margaret; perhaps they can point out something. "

She rang the bell, and directly both the maids were informed of thedilemma they were in. 

What was to be done? It was impossible to remain a day longer inOlympia's house. The thought was intolerable. Margaret and Eliza stoodlooking at each other in blank helplessness. What was to be done? All atonce Margaret gave her head a fling and brightened all over. 

"Never mind, " she said, with one of her old coquettish gestures. "I may, I may--who knows?"

Without further explanation the girl went up-stairs, got out her mostbecoming hat and feather--for she had never been restricted, like anEnglish servant, in such matters--wrapped a scarlet shawl over herflounced dress, and, after practising a little before the mirror, camedown with a glittering parasol in her hand. 

"Eliza, just come here and see if my pannier is looped properly, " shesaid, giving that article a shake as she looked in at the door. 

Eliza came out of the room, grim as ever, and gave the pannier adiscontented jerk or two. 

"Now what are you up to?" she inquired, curtly, for she was sometimes alittle scandalized at her younger sister's coquettish airs. 

"Never you mind, only tell me one thing, honest. Look at me. Ain't Iabout as good looking as I ever was? If I am, tell them to wait till Icome back. "

"Don't ask me!" was the curt answer. "Of course they'll wait, becausethey can't help it. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

MAGGIE CASEY MEETS HER OLD LOVER. 

Margaret Casey called a cab, and ordering it to drive to Morley's, Trafalgar Square, betook herself to rearranging her toilet. Shere-clasped a pair of heavy gold bracelets around her wrists--at any ratethere was enough of gold in them to make a dashing display--and settleda splendid shawl pin to her own infinite content, then she shook out thefolds of her dress, and settled down to serious meditation. 

Certainly she did not appear much older than when her good looks hadbeen a temptation to Matthew Stacy, which came very near deprivingHarriet, the cook, of her pompous husband. Excitement had brought backthe youthful color to her face, and a spirit of benevolent mischiefkindled all the old coquettish fire in her eyes. Indeed, take heraltogether, the air of refinement, which she had obtained as a lady'smaid, and a certain style that she had, might well have made Mrs. Matthew Stacy look about her when Margaret came out in force, such asmarked the dashing lady who descended from that cab, just lifting herdress enough to reveal glimpses of a high-heeled boot, and an anklethat Matthew Stacy recognized in an instant, for nothing so trim anddainty had ever helped make a footprint in his matrimonial path, you maybe sure. He was standing on the steps at Morley's, with a white vest onand his heavy chain glittering over it like a golden rivulet. 

"What! No! yes! On my soul I believe it _is_ Miss Maggie!" cried theex-alderman, stepping forward and reaching out his hand. "Miss Casey, Iam in ecstasies of--of--in short, I am glad to see you. "

Maggie bent till her pannier took the high Grecian curve as she openedher parasol, then she gave him the tip end of her gloved fingers, andsaid, with the sweetest lisp possible:

"How do you do, Mr. Stacy? It is ages and ages since I have had thehonor of meeting you. How is Mrs. Stacy and the--and the--"

"Thank you a thousand times, Miss Casey; but--but--in short, Mrs. Stacyis the only person about whom you need inquire. There wasanother--forgive the outburst of a father's feelings--but a little gravein Greenwood, that long, tells the mournful story. "

Here Alderman Stacy measured off a half yard or so of space with his fathands, but found the effort too much for him, and drew forth his pockethandkerchief. 

"Forgive me, but may you never know the feelings of a father who--who--"

"How distressing!" said Margaret, waving her head to and fro, until hereyes settled on a window of the hotel. 

"But do control yourself. I think that is Harriet--I beg pardon--Mrs. Stacy, at the window, and your grief may remind her of her loss. "

"Mrs. Stacy! Mrs. Stacy!" faltered Matthew. "Miss Maggie, would you haveany objection to stepping a little this way? It is so unpleasant for ayoung lady of your refinement to stand directly in front of a hotelfilled with gentlemen. Beauty like yours is sure to bring them to thewindows in swarms, as one may observe, and I--I have enough of the oldfeeling left to be jealous, miserably jealous when any man dares to lookupon you. "

"But I come to call on your wife, Mr. Stacy. "

"She is not at home, I do assure you. She has been shopping since--sinceday before yesterday. "

Margaret's eyes twinkled. 

"Then, perhaps, I had better go up, and wait for her?"

Margaret was bright, but even here her old lover proved equal to theoccasion. 

"My dear Maggie--excuse me, Miss Casey--I do assure you my lady hastaken the parlor-key with her. She will be so disappointed at not seeingyou!"

"It is unfortunate, " said Maggie, playing with her parasol; "because Iwas in hopes of having a few words with you, and that would be improper, I fear, without her. "

"My dear Miss Maggie, not at all--not at all. You have no idea of thequantities of women that prefer to see me alone. Indeed, sometimes Ithink Mrs. Stacy is a little in the way. Just walk quietly along, miss--not before the windows. Excuse my infirmity, but there are somefeelings that one never can throw off. Hold that elegant parasol beforethat lovely face, and I will be with you in a twinkling. The park is notfar off. One moment, while I run up for my cane. "

Margaret allowed herself to be persuaded, for the last thing in her mindhad been to see Mrs. Stacy. Like those other ladies Matthew had boastedof, she very much preferred to see him alone, and would have beengreatly annoyed had Harriet, in fact, appeared at the window. 

So, making a merit of her own wishes, she slanted her parasol toward thehouse and sauntered down the street, while Matthew ran up-stairs, panting for breath, and, entering his parlor, looked anxiously towardthe window. 

"Matthew, dear, is that you?"

Matthew's foreboding heart revived. That mumbling term of endearment, coming, as it were, through a mouthful of cotton wool, reassured him. Hestepped to the sleeping-room door, and found Mrs. Stacy, with her headburied in the pillows and her feet thumping restlessly on the quilt. 

"What is the matter, my love?"

"Oh, Stacy, dear, such a sudden take-down! My old neuralgia. Matthew!Matthew! don't leave me! I feel as if I was just a goin'!"

"Oh, nonsense, dear. All you want is plenty of quiet. A good, long sleepwould bring you around in no time. Just snuggle down in the pillows, andtake yourself off to sleep till I come back. "

"Are you going? and me like this? Oh, Matthew!"

"You can't feel it more than I do, Harriet, dear; but I must go down tothe bankers with this bill of exchange. Ten thousand dollars isn't to becarried round in a man's pocket safely. Besides, there is a specialmessenger just come up from the bank; so I must go, you see. But itbreaks my heart to leave you so--indeed it does!"

"Oh, if it's about money, I do not mind. That is a thing which must beattended to. But Stacy, dear, don't let them keep you long; but go atonst, and right back. "

"The moment those rich old fellows will let me off--the very moment, dear!" cried the model husband, waving his hand airily toward the bed, and taking up both hat and cane; "so try and sleep. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JUST FIFTY POUNDS. 

Mrs. Stacy, thus reminded of her own needs, began to moan softly amongher pillows, and called out to the walls and windows that she wished, ifthat pain was going to keep on so, that she never had been born. If itwasn't that she had the very best husband that ever drew breath, shewould just give up, and want to die; but for his sake she would try andworry through. 

Stacy was far out of reach both of the moans and this conjugal tributeto his goodness, for he had hastened to join that bank messenger who, somehow, took the form of his old sweetheart, and shaded him now andthen with a coquettish bend of her parasol. 

"Found your cane, " observed Maggie, glancing at the ponderousgold-headed affair in the hand of her old lover. 

"Oh, yes; no trouble; had just stood it up in a corner of the parlor. "

Maggie laughed a little under the cover of her parasol, but kept adiscreet silence about the locked door until she was snugly seated inthe park, with Stacy crowded close to her side. 

"Ah, " he said, heaving a sigh that lifted the white vest like asnow-bank, "this is something like happiness! If you could only knowwhat your haughtiness has driven me to--but it is no use trying to makeyou understand! Look at me, Miss Maggie! _Am_ I the same man that adoredyou so? Don't answer. I am, I am, for--Harriet, forgive me, I love youyet--I love you yet!"

"But you left me, Mr. Stacy. "

"Rather say the furies driv me. I wasn't myself. It was another fellowthat woman married: the true man staid with you, and here he is, justthe same as ever, if you would only believe it--but you won't, youwon't!"

"How can I believe it, Mr. Stacy, after abandoning me so?"

"But not till you driv me to it--not till you had slapped my face withthat precious little hand. "

"Mr. Stacy, I--I'm glad you care for me a little, because I want a greatfavor of you. "

Stacy sat upright in the iron seat, and pulled down his white vest witha couple of jerks. 

"A favor, did you say?"

"Yes, a great favor. "

"And what may its nature be, Miss Maggie?"

"Mr. Stacy, you are a rich man. "

Stacy was troubled. To deny his wealth was a terrible sacrifice ofvanity--to admit it might be exposing himself to depredation. 

"Well, yes, " he said at last, "I am rich. No one in New York would doubtthat; but over here one has such trouble in getting funds, youunderstand. It was only this morning Mrs. Stacy wanted money for alittle shopping, as she called it; but I couldn't give it to her--uponmy soul I couldn't. "

"Then, it would be of no use to ask you for a loan of twenty-fivepounds, as I thought of doing. "

"A loan of twenty-five pounds, my dear Maggie! Five hundred pounds wouldnot be too much, if I were only in New York; but here in London, whereAlderman Stacy is not known, I could not raise even the miserable sumyou want--I could not, indeed. "

Maggie's eyes began to flash, for she understood the meanness of thisman, and despised it; but she thought of that anxious group in Olympia'sparlor, and resolved to have the money. 

"Still, considering everything, I think you will try to oblige me. "

"Don't ask me. It wounds my manhood to refuse; but let us talk ofsomething else--those dear old times--"

"No, " said Margaret, unlocking one of her bracelets, and closing it witha vicious snap. "If you cannot let me have it, I will go to your wife. "

"My wife? You go to my wife! Why, she hates you like pison!"

"And I am not very fond of her; but I want this money, and she will haveto give it me. "

Stacy pulled down his vest again, and broke into a mellow laugh. 

"Well, I _should_ like to see you try it on! What would you say to her, Maggie?"

"I would say: Mrs. Matthew Stacy, you and I were fellow-servantstogether in New York, where the lady was murdered; and for some days, you and I, and the person you have married, were left in charge of allthe valuable property that house had in it. One of those nights I wentaway, leaving everything in its place. When I came back again thewardrobes had been plundered, the bureaus broken open, the wine-cellarpillaged. "

Matthew Stacy had been growing crimson while Maggie spoke. He put up ahand to his throat, as if something were choking him, and tore open abutton or two of his vest; then he gasped out:

"Miss Maggie, Miss Maggie, do you mean to insinuate that I or my wifeHarriet--"

"I don't mean to insinuate anything, because what I say I know. You andyour wife took these things. I knew it at the time; I can prove it now. "

"Prove it fourteen years after?"

"Some things do not wear out--jewelry and India shawls, for instance. Iwas at the Opera not long since. My sister, who used to come and visitme so often, is a little in that line, and I used to show her all theshawls and splendid dresses our mistress used to have. Well, that nightat the Opera we both saw your wife, sitting by you, with the best shawlthe madam had, on her own shoulders. We knew it at a glimpse. Thereisn't another just like it to be found in England or America. Thatshawl, Matthew Stacy, is worth thousands of dollars, and your wife, Harriet Long, the cook, was wearing it. "

"Margaret! Margaret Casey, you had better take care. "

"I have taken care. This woman had a gold-mounted opera-glass in herhand that we both can swear to. Besides that, she had a little watch ather side, set thick with diamonds. That watch she took to a jeweller tobe mended. It is in his hands yet. When I leave this seat, it will be myfirst business to make sure that she never gets the watch again. "

"But it is fourteen years--time enough for anything to be outlawed. "

"I have asked about that. Crimes are not like debts--they cannot beoutlawed, Mr. Stacy. "

"And you could find it in your heart to hunt down an old sweetheart likethat, providing all you say is true? I wouldn't a believed it of you, Maggie. "

"It seems to me that sweetheart just now refused to lend me twenty-fivepounds. "

"Refused! No, he did not refuse. "

Matthew caught his breath, and changed his wheedling tone all at once. Anew idea had struck him. 

"But, supposing what you say is true, there isn't any one in England toprosecute--"

"Yes, there is the lady's agent. He sat by you when we first saw theshawl. Mr. Hepworth Closs. "

Matthew Stacy sprang to his feet, perfectly aghast. 

"And you have told him?"

"Not yet; but I mean to!"

"You mean to--"

"Yes, I do!"

"That is it--that is it--the self-same cretur that left the print of herfingers on my cheek, and of herself on my heart. It is her who wishes tocast me to the earth, and have me stamped on by the law. Oh, MaggieCasey, Maggie Casey, I wouldn't have believed it of you!"

"And I wouldn't have believed you capable of refusing me fifty pounds!"

"Fifty pounds! It was twenty-five, Miss Margaret. "

"Yes; but I've changed my mind. One does not want to be refused amiserable sum like that. I've doubled it. "

"But I did not refuse; I only wanted to put the subject off till we hadtalked of old times--I didn't refuse you by any manner of means. Youhadn't told me anything about yourself--how you came here, and what youwere doing, or anything that an old lover's heart was panting to know. "

"Well, I will tell you now. I have been, ever since that time, in thefamily of a nobleman, as a sort of half servant, half companion to hisdaughter. "

"You don't say so! Then what on earth can you want of twenty-fivepounds?"

"Fifty. "

"Well, fifty it is, then. Between us, that was all I hesitated about;twenty-five pounds was such a pitiful sum for you to ask of me. Youdidn't understand this noble feeling, and almost threatened me; but notquite, and I'm glad of it, for Matthew Stacy is the last man on earth togive up to a threat. I hope you will believe that, Miss Margaret. "

"Fifty pounds!" said Margaret, lifting a tuft of grass by the roots withthe point of her parasol. 

"Did I dispute its being fifty? Certainly not. Now just say how you willtake it--in gold or Bank of England notes?"

"Notes will do. "

"I'm glad you said that, because I happen to have the notes about me, "answered the alderman, drawing out a plethoric note-case, and countingthe money with terrible reluctance. "Here we are; just the sum. Now tellme, were you really in earnest about its being fifty?"

"Just fifty, " answered Margaret, counting the money on her lap; "justfifty. "

Matthew heaved a grievous sigh, and stood up. 

"Now I suppose that little affair is settled forever?" he said, workingboth hands about the head of his cane, while he eyed the girl askance. 

"I said fifty pounds, and fifty pounds it is, " answered Margaret. "Nowlet us be going. "

"But you mean to act fair?"

"I mean to act fair, and return your money. "

"Oh, I don't mean that, I don't want that! It was the other affair; youcould not do anything so cruel. "

Margaret turned short round and faced the stout man, who was trembling, abjectly, from head to foot. 

"Mr. Stacy, I have kept silent fifteen years and rather over. If I havenot spoken before, you may be certain I never shall. I wanted this moneyvery much, indeed, and shall repay it with less thankfulness because ofthe mean way in which I forced it from you. Your wife may wear her shawland watch to the end, for any harm I mean her. Good morning, Mr. Stacy. "

Stacy stood just as she left him, thrusting his cane into the turf. 

"And she wouldn't have done it after all. What a confounded fool I havemade of myself! Two hundred and fifty dollars, and gold up to one-fortyat home, which makes another clean hundred. What a mercy it is shedidn't ask a thousand, though! She took the starch out of me, throughand through. I should have handed over anything she asked. "

As Stacy was walking from the park, now and then giving a punch to theturf with his cane, in discontented abstraction, he nearly ran against aman who had just passed the gate, and, looking up angrily, saw HepworthCloss. The poor craven turned white as he saw that face; but Hepworthwas in haste, and took no heed of his agitation. 

"You are just the man I most wanted, " he said. 

"What--what--me? Is it me you wanted?" stammered Stacy, smitten withabject terror. 

"Yes; you are an American, and will understand the value of Americanbonds. "

"American bonds! Surely, Mr. Closs, you will at least give me a chanceof bail? I tell you it is all false! That creature isn't to be believedunder oath. "

"I have no idea what you mean, " said Closs, a good deal puzzled; "butyou evidently do not understand me. I am about to leave England, andhave a monied trust to settle before I go. There is a reason why it isinexpedient for me to act in person. I wish to pay the money, but giveno explanation. Will you act as my agent in this?"

"Is--is it--that estate you are just settling up?" asked Stacy, belowhis breath, for he felt as if the earth were about to swallow him. "Isit that?"

"I can give you no explanation. This money came into my hands years ago. I invested it carefully--doubled it over and over again; but now I wishto give up my trust. I have it here in American bonds, fifty thousanddollars. "

"Fifty thousand!"

"Just that. I wish you to take this to the young lady, to whom itrightfully belongs, and place it in her own hands, with the simplestatement that it is hers. Will you oblige me in this?"

"First tell me who the young lady is. "

"Lady Clara, the daughter of Lord Hope, of Oakhurst. "

"The daughter of a lord! My dear sir, I shall be too happy!"

"But there is a condition. I do not wish the lady to guess where thismoney comes from. You must be understood as the agent, who has investedand increased it from a small property left in New York by a relative. This will work you no harm, but, on the contrary, win for you favor andgratitude from as noble a lady as ever lived. "

"Will it get an invitation to Oakhurst for myself and Mrs. Stacy? Thatis a thing I should like to mention incidentally, to the Board ofAldermen when they give me a public reception in the Governor's Room. Will it bring about something of that kind?"

"That I cannot tell. The young lady is not now at Oakhurst, but with hergrandmother, at Houghton Castle. It is there you will find her. "

"Houghton Castle! Why, that's the place I saw mentioned in the CourtJournal. There is to be tremendous doings at Houghton Castle beforelong; a grand entertainment, to which all the grandees, far and near, are invited. What if this fifty thousand dollars should get me and Mrs. S. An invite? That would be a crusher. "

"It is possible, " said Closs, controlling the fierce beating of hisheart. "Come to my hotel in the morning, early. I am anxious to get thistrust off my mind. "

Stacy promised, and the two men parted, the one elated, the otherdoubtful, harassed, and painfully disappointed; but the very next dayafter Matthew Stacy left London for Houghton, Hepworth Closs received aletter, which put all ideas of a voyage to America out of his mind. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

OLYMPIA'S DEFEAT. 

Olympia stood, panic-stricken, in her fantastic little boudoir, when shereached home and found a note from Caroline, bidding her farewell, andstating that, not being able to comply with her wishes, she had acceptedthe other alternative, and left her house forever, in company with herfather and the old servant, who had been so faithful to her. The notebreathed of sadness and sorrow at the manner of her leaving, and, iffirm, was entirely respectful; but it said nothing of her plans, nortold where she was going. 

Now, Olympia thought that she had provided against the possibility of achoice between her cruel commands, by depriving both Caroline and herfather of all means by which they could leave her. She had gone out, certain of the girl's forced submission, and came back to find her gone. She crushed the note in her hand, flung it down and stamped upon itfuriously; for it seemed as if half a million of gold had melted downinto the bit of paper, which she could only trample under her feet inimpotent wrath. 

"The viper! the ingrate! the thing made of iron! Oh, if it were her! ifit were her! I would trample her through the floor! Where did she getthe money? He had nothing--she had nothing. I thought I had chained themto me by their poverty; then I came home, so exhilarated by this greatoffer from the manager--and she is gone! So beautiful! and such a voice!Gone! gone! Oh, what a loss!"

Here Olympia, who had never known what self-control was, flung herselfon a low, silken couch, heaped with cushions, like a divan, and began topound them with her little fists, and spurn them with the soiled whitesatin slippers, in which she had been to rehearsal. This burst ofhysterical fury would have brought down the house had she plunged intosuch naturalness on the stage. But she started up, and after snatching amosaic card-receiver from her footman, and dashing it against a marblestatuette of Venus coming from the bath, thus demolishing what littledrapery the poor thing was trying to make the most of, came partially toherself and demanded what the fellow wanted. 

The footman, shivering under his blue and silver, pointed to a cardwhich lay on the carpet. 

"Why don't you pick it up?" cried Olympia, stamping her satin slipperinto a cluster of roses, that seemed to disappear from the carpet. 

The man took up the card and handed it to her, with a reverence sohumble that she longed to trample him down with the mock roses, and gethim out of her sight; but, as he towered above her a foot or two, theprocess seemed difficult, so she ordered him out of the room, and lookedat the card. 

"Lord Hilton! Dear me!"

Olympia made a dash through the silken curtains, ran into the hall, justas Lord Hilton was leaving the door-step, and called him back. 

He followed her into the boudoir, telling her the reason of his visit ashe went. 

This inflamed her anew, and she turned upon him savagely, but with someattempt at self-restraint. 

"You wished to see Caroline? the ingrate! the viper! the raven with anightingale's voice! You wish to see her? Why? This is singular. Ithought she was a stranger to you. No! Then, where did you meet?"

"I have seen the young lady frequently in Italy. Will you please to haveher informed that I am here?"

"Informed--I! Well, my lord, this is droll! No such person is in myhouse. I could no longer tolerate her. She is gone. "

"What! Your daughter?"

"My daughter! Did I ever say that? Ah, I remember--it was after one ofour little suppers, when one gets liberal! But this ingrate was nodaughter of mine, but my protege--something to fasten the heart on, asone loves a Skye terrier. Her father was a poor man--very poor, almostdegraded, you understand--so, in my unfortunate munificence, I liftedher out of her poverty, gave her some of my own genius, and took her tomy bosom, as Cleopatra took the asp; and she stung me, just in the sameway, villainous ingrate! This girl has treated me shamefully. I had made_such_ an engagement for her--such concessions--carriage for herself, dressing-maid always in attendance, a boudoir for her retirement, private box, everything that a princess might ask; bills almost madeout, and when I come home, she is gone. Read that note, my lord; it liesthere at your feet. Read it, and tell me if you ever heard of such baseingratitude. "

Lord Hilton took up the crumpled and trodden paper. His eyes eagerly ranover its contents, and brightened as they read; while Olympia prowledaround her boudoir, like a newly-caged leopardess. 

"Read! read!" she said, "and then say if anything so ungrateful everlived. No, no, my lord, she is no child of mine. I wash my hands ofher--I wash my hands of her!"

Here Olympia laved her white hands in the air, and went through aprocess of dry washing in the heat of her promenade up and down theroom. 

"And have you no idea where the young lady has gone?"

"An idea! How should I have ideas? You have read her letter. Well, thatis all. "

Lord Hilton folded the note, and softly closed his hand over it. 

"Then I will no longer trouble you, madam, " he said, holding back thecurtain, while he bowed himself through the entrance. 

Olympia watched the crimson curtains close over him, standing, with someeffort at self-control, in the middle of the room. Then she broke into afresh paroxysm, shattered a few more ornaments by way of appeasing herappetite for destruction, and plunged down among her cushions in a fitof shrieking hysterics that brought the whole household around her. 

A knock at the door--another visitor--brought Olympia out of her fit, and turned her general rage into spite. 

"Show them in--show everybody in! If they want to see how I bear it, letthe whole world come!" she cried, spreading her hands abroad. 

The man who went to the door obeyed her, and brought in an old woman, whose anxious, tired face might have won sympathy from a stone. Sheentered that glittering room without excitement or any appearance ofcuriosity, and when Olympia, in coarse and spiteful irony, bade her sitdown in one of the easy-chairs, she took it quietly. 

"There is a young lady staying with you, madam, that I wish to see. Ithink she is known by the name of Brown. "

"Brown? Brown? There is no such person here. How dare you come troublingme about her, the ingrate, the asp, the--the--"

"It may be that the young lady may still be called Yates. She bore thatname once. "

"Yates? Brown? Brown? Yates? I know nothing about them. Don't go on inthat fashion, questioning; for I won't hear it! Who are you that darescome here with such names? I do not keep a lodging-house. I am Olympia!"

"But there was a young lady here--the one I wish to see, " said the oldwoman, with calm persistence. 

"Well, and if there was?"

"I have very urgent reasons for wishing to find her. "

"Well, perhaps you will, who knows? Needles have been found in haymows, but I wasn't the person to pick them up, and it strikes me that youwon't be more fortunate. "

"But I must see this lady!"

"If you can find her, certainly; but she is not here, and never islikely to be again--the wretch--the viper!"

"When did she leave here, madam?"

"When--when? What is that to you? Am I come to the pass that I cannotturn a viper into the street without being questioned by every old trampthat prowls about? I tell you the creature you call Brown--"

"Caroline Brown, " said the old lady, gently. 

"Well, the creature you call Caroline Brown, then, has gone from myhouse forever. I neither know nor care what has become of her. "

The old woman arose, and walked close to Olympia. 

"You have forgotten me, Olive Brown. It is a long time since you broughtthat helpless little child to me. "

Olympia turned white, and, turning, fiercely ordered the servants fromthe room. 

"Who are you? What are you?" she faltered. "What tempted you to call meby that name, and they standing by?"

"I am named Yates. Years ago you brought a child for me to care for. "

"Oh, it is the child again! I tell you, on my honor, she has left myhouse, I do not know where she has gone. "

"Are you certain, madam?"

"Certain! Yes--yes. She left my house only this morning. "

"Then I will go in search of her. Will this never end?" sighed HannahYates. 

"Stop! stop!" cried Olympia. "Promise to say nothing of that name. Promise!"

"I am only wanting to find the young lady--not to harm any one. "

"But it would harm me if you told that. Brown! Brown! Think of Brown fora stage name! Can't you understand that it would be death to me? Half mypopularity lies in the fact that no one can tell who or what I am. Now, do be silent, that is a good old soul, if it is only for _her_ sake; foryou know, in spite of the way she has served me, everything I have ormake will go to my child in the end. I am ready to make it worth yourwhile to be quiet. "

Here Olympia took out a portemonnaie and unclasped it. The old woman putthe glittering thing aside with her hand. 

"I do not take money, " she said. "All I want is to find her. If she isgone, I must search farther. "

Then, with a meek bend of the head, Mrs. Yates left the room and thehouse. 

 * * * * *

Lord Hilton went out of that house, relieved by the denial of Olympiathat Caroline was her daughter, but in other respects cruellydisappointed. The greatest and most generous wish of his life was tofind the young girl, and atone for the cowardice which had made himavoid her for a time. He had resolved that the fact that she wasOlympia's child should not prevent him acting this manly part; but whenthat degradation was lifted from her by the woman's own words, his heartwas set free from an intolerable weight, and went back to its old lovewith a happy rebound. He remained in London some days, spending the timein vain efforts to learn something of the beautiful fugitive, and thenstarted back to the neighborhood of Houghton Castle, bitterlydisappointed. 

For some distance, after he entered the railroad carriage, Lord Hiltonwas alone; but at the junction, where he had formerly met Lady Clara andher maid, a gentleman and lady entered the carriage, and sat downopposite him. There was something singular about the lady; her large, black eyes illumined the whole face with a glow of proud triumph thatseemed to have uplifted her whole being. It was this brilliant seemingof happiness which at first baffled Lord Hilton; for after the lady hadbeen seated awhile, she probably began to feel the restraints of astranger's presence, for a fit of thoughtful lassitude crept over her, and her eyelids began to droop. 

He remembered the face, now. One night he had seen it at the opera, leaning against the crimson lining of the box, paler by far than now;but the beautiful outlines were the same, though that face had beenstill and passive, while this was irradiated even in its rest. 

Turning his face from the lady, Lord Hilton encountered a face that heknew in the tall and distinguished-looking man who accompanied her. 

"Lord Hope, this is a pleasure, " he said, holding out his hand. "Thelast I heard of you was in Scotland. "

"Yes, we found the shooting good, and staid longer than usual; but Ifancied you were down at the old place. "

"And so I was, but these railways send a man from one end of theuniverse to another so rapidly that one does not know where to datefrom. I have been up to London for a day or two, and am on my way backagain. "

Here Lady Hope lifted her slumberous eyelids, and was introduced. 

The sweet, alluring smile that we have seen on the face of Rachael Closshad come back to it now. 

"I should almost have known Lord Hilton, " she said, "from Lady Clara'sdescription. She was indeed fortunate in chancing upon you for atravelling companion. "

"I have that great kindness to thank you for, Hilton, " said Lord Hope. "Clara's letters were full of your adventures on the road and atHoughton. I did not know that you had left the neighborhood, though. "

"I think myself more than fortunate, " said Hilton, addressing Lady Hope, "in having the honor of introducing two such ladies to the castle, for Itake it you are going to Houghton. "

"Oh, yes, of course; it was impossible to refuse Lady Carset. We shallbe at the castle some time, I am glad to say. "

How her magnificent eyes flashed. The very bend of her head was regal, as she thus announced a triumph she had been toiling for ever since shehad become Lord Hope's wife. 

The scorn of that old woman at Houghton, had been the bane of herexistence. Like an interdict of the Pope in olden times, it had kept herapart from the people of her own rank, as an excommunication would havedone in past ages. But all this was removed. As it would seem by amiracle, the bitter prejudices of that old lady had given way, andthrough the broad doors of Houghton Castle, she was invited to take herplace among the peeresses of the land. 

This had brought back the fire and bloom into Lady Hope's life, and whenLord Hilton leaned out, as he had done with Lady Clara, and exclaimed, "There is Houghton, " a glorious smile broke over her features. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE FAMILY MEETING AT HOUGHTON. 

The train which took Caroline and her party down to Houghton, reachedtheir destination just as the sun was setting over the glorious oldtrees of the park, and trembling in golden brightness in the ivy thatclung to those twin towers. 

Scarcely had they left the train, when a basket-carriage came dashing upto the platform, and a young lady sprang out, tossing her reins to adainty little tiger, who sat behind, erect and decorous, knowing himselfto be an object of general attention. 

"So you are really here. I am so glad to find you! All right, thisway--jump in; don't be afraid, the ponies are gentle as gentle can be. Here we are, never mind the others. There is a carriage on the way forthem; but, of course, I got here first; always do. Give me the reins, Joe--now for it. "

The little carriage wheeled around, and Lady Clara looked back, noddingto Brown, as her ponies took the road in full speed. 

"Nice old fellow, isn't he? I am so glad to get him here, for I am goingback on my music terribly. "

"Did you know he is my father?" said Caroline, in a gentle voice. 

"No!"

"He is, indeed. I never learned it till yesterday; but it does not seemstrange, for no father was ever more gentle or kind than he has beensince the first day I knew him. "

"And Olympia--she is your mother, no doubt?"

"Yes; she is my mother. "

"All right, we needn't talk of her! it isn't of the least consequence. You must not speak so sadly. I dare say she is a good enough person; butyou don't know how to manage her. For my part, I rather like her; butthe old gentleman is just lovely! I am glad he _is_ your father; becausehe can take care of us so properly, and grandmamma will like it, I know. I have got you a chamber next to mine. Our dressing-rooms open into eachother, and they are both near grandmamma's apartments. Dear old lady, she is just the kindest, sweetest, loveliest mite of a woman you eversaw; like a darling old fairy. Won't you love her?"

They drove along now for some distance in silence; but as they mountedto the uplands, where Houghton stood, Caroline began to take a livelyinterest in the scenery, which was both grand and beautiful in thatregion. Away toward the horizon, at the upper end of the valley, wassome large building, whose gray walls and oriel windows were just nowburning in the golden fires of a magnificent sunset. 

"What place is that?" said Clara, repeating the question her companionhad asked, "Oh, that is Keath Hall, and may some day belong to LordHilton, a friend of ours. "

Caroline felt her breath taken away, she had no power to speak, whileLady Clara sat smiling pleasantly to herself. The poor girl felt likespringing out of the carriage, and fleeing to the uttermost parts of theearth, rather than be in the neighborhood with a man who had scorned herso. 

"Lord Hilton is not there now, " said Clara, with the innocent quietnessof a kitten; "something has taken him to London or Italy, I believe; buthe is very pleasant, and I like him well enough to be sorry about hisgoing. "

Caroline breathed again; but her face was very sorrowful and her heartheavy, during the rest of the drive. 

The size and splendor of that vast building almost terrified the girl, who had been brought up in that little cedar cottage. She gave noindication of this in her manner, but walked by the side of her friendthrough that spacious hall, with its bronze statues, suits of armor andbossed shields, as if no meaner roof had ever sheltered her. 

"Come, " said Clara, as the young traveller took off her tiny hat, andbegan to smooth the hair back from her temples. "I am so impatient tohave grandmamma see you. That will do--that will do. Come, now. "

The two girls went out together, Clara leading the way, and directlystood in the dim light of Lady Carset's chamber. 

"Grandmamma, I have brought my friend to pay her respects, " said Clara;"only to pay her respects, for, of course, she is famished; but I felthow glad you would be, and brought her directly up here. "

The old countess arose from her chair, and came forward holding out herhand. She did, indeed, seem like a fairy godmother, with that soft lacequivering over her snow-white hair, and those great diamonds blazing onher tiny hands. 

"I am glad to see you, Miss--Miss--"

"Miss Brown, grandmamma. "

"Oh, indeed! well, I am very glad to welcome you, Miss Brown. They tellme you have a fine voice. I should like to hear it some day, when youare not tired. "

"If my voice will give you pleasure, lady, I shall, for the first timein my life, be grateful for it, " said Caroline, so impressed by thissweet old lady's kindness, that she longed to throw both arms about her. 

"What, what? I did not hear distinctly. Oh, it is the voice they tell meof, which thrills the heart with its sweetness; was not that what yousaid of it, Clara? No wonder people like it. I do. "

The old lady still held Caroline's hand--her delicate fingers clung toit, with the loving tenacity of a child. She looked up to the beautifulface with eager, wistful curiosity; but the light always came dimly intothat chamber, and its rich draperies of lace and brocade threw theirshadows over Caroline; besides, those old eyes were dim with age, or shemight have been troubled that such dangerous beauty should come into herhouse in the form of a dependant. As it was, she allowed the two girlsto depart, without dreaming that a more beautiful woman than hergrandchild had almost been put upon a level with her. 

Two or three days after this, Lord and Lady Hope arrived at the castle, and the old countess, for the first time, saw the woman who wore thecoronet which had once belonged to her child. It was beautiful to seethat proud lady--for now you could decide that she had been veryproud--preparing herself to receive this woman, whom she had hated andwronged so grievously. She stood up in her tower-room when Rachaelentered it, her black satin dress trailing far out upon the floor, theyellow old lace fastened over her bosom with a cluster of diamonds, anda handkerchief of delicate lace in her hand. 

There was a little more motion of the head than usual, and that was allthe evidence she gave of extraordinary emotion. 

Lady Hope came to the door, leaning on the arm of her husband; but, onthe threshold, she abandoned his support, and came forward by his side, apparently calm and self-possessed; but a proud fire shone in thoseblack eyes, which would not be quenched. 

"I have sent for you, Lady Hope, because I thought that the most openand honorable way of acknowledging the wrong I have done you, and ofasking your forgiveness. "

The old countess folded her arms over her bosom, and bent, in her proudhumility, before that beautiful woman whom she could never, never love. 

Rachael Closs forced back the triumph that swelled haughtily in herbosom, for the old lady's acknowledgment fired her heart like burningincense; but she bowed her head, as if she had committed the fault, andturning to her husband, appealed to him:

"I cannot--I have no language in which to say how this kindnessoverwhelms me. Pray tell her from this hour I forget that she has notalways thought so kindly of me as I have deserved. "

Lord Hope was greatly agitated. The keen eyes of that old lady, as theyturned upon his face, troubled him. His very lips were white as heattempted to open them, not to utter the elegant speech suggested by hiswife, for his heart seemed to break forth in a single sentence:

"Countess, have the justice to blame me if any wrong has been done toyou or yours. As for this lady, no more devoted mother ever lived thanshe has been to your daughter's child!"

A burst of sobs arose from the other side of the room, and Lady Claracame forward, her face wet with tears, her mouth quivering. 

"Indeed, indeed she has! Oh, grandmamma, do _love_ her, because she hasbeen so good to me and everybody else!"

Lady Carset reached forth her hand gently, and with delicate cordiality;but there was no yearning of the heart there, such as had marked herreception of that young girl. 

Lady Hope cared very little for this. She had attained the great aim ofher life in this recognition; anything like warmth of affection wouldhave been as irksome to her as it was impossible to the old countess. She took the little hand, pressed her lips upon it, and retreated fromthe room, keeping her face toward the old lady, as if she were retiringfrom the presence of a queen. 

The old countess stood up bravely, and bent her delicate person with theexquisite grace of a lady of the olden time, as her guests disappeared. The moment they were gone she turned to seek her couch; but her limbslost their strength, her feet became entangled in the satin train, andshe would have fallen to the carpet but for Lady Clara, who sprangforward and held her up. 

"Dear me, how you tremble! Oh, grandmamma, don't! I never saw you crybefore. It breaks my heart!"

The poor old lady was trembling in all her limbs, and crying like achild. It had been a hard cross for her feebleness to take up when sheadmitted that man and woman to her presence. It seemed as if her owndead child had stood between them, and with shadowy arms striven to pushthem apart. 

"I have done no more than my duty, " she said, with a piteous smile. "Itwas hard, very hard. Still a Carset must not allow any wrong to gounatoned for, and about those diamonds I did wrong her. "

Clara did not speak. She was frightened by the agitation into which thisscene had thrown the old lady, and only besought her to rest; butstrong, nervous excitement is not so easily pacified. The countessconquered her tears, but the couch shook under her nervous trembling. Then Clara ran to her own apartments, and came back to an adjoining roomwith Caroline, whose voice had a power of soothing which even excitementcould not resist. 

"Begin to sing--something low and sweet, " she whispered. "I will leavethe door ajar. "

Then Clara stole back to her grandmother, and directly a soft strain ofmusic stole into the room, almost unnoticed at first, like the perfumeof flowers, but growing into harmonies so full and swelling, that thewhole atmosphere seemed flooded with it. 

The old countess listened; the faint breath paused upon her lips, hereyelids began to quiver, and her little withered hands stole up to herbosom and rested there in a tremulous clasp. 

"It is a heavenly voice. My child is not angry with me. Oh! how sweetlyshe tells me so! how sweet--how sweet!"

And so she fell asleep after awhile--all the trembling gone, all thepain swept from those delicate features. Then Caroline came in and satdown by Lady Clara, smiling over the gentle work she had done. The oldlady opened her eyes once, and, reaching out her hand to Caroline, whosat nearest, murmured:

"You are not offended with me, child?"

"She takes you for me, " whispered Clara, "and is dreaming, I think. Letus be very still. "

So the two girls sat together, and guarded the gentle slumber into whichthe old countess had fallen, with loving solicitude. She seemed to feeltheir loving presence even in sleep, for a heavenly smile stole over herface, and occasionally she whispered as if answering some pleasant voicethat came stealing through her dreams. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

DOWN AMONG THE FERNS AGAIN. 

Lady Carset had extended numerous invitations to her old friends, and itwas understood that Lady Hope would represent the head of the house anddo the honors. This compliment was partly in atonement for the wrongthat had been done Rachael Closs, and partly from the infirmities ofextreme old age, which rendered it even dangerous for the old countessto entertain her guests in person. 

For the first time in her life, Lady Hope was in her true element. Theweight of an intolerable restraint had been lifted from her. She wasmistress of one of the most splendid establishments in all England, noteven for a time, for would it not descend unbroken to a step-daughterwho worshipped her? Was not the will which settled this already made, and she as good as mistress there during her whole life? She had thoughtOakhurst a noble possession, but it dwindled into insignificance whencompared with the splendor of Houghton Castle. Very seldom in the worldhad the ambition of an aspiring woman been so suddenly and completelygratified. It had been all like a dream to her, but now she felt thereality, with an exultation of spirit that took ten years from herperson, and a weird burden from her heart. This great happiness sprangout of two grand passions--love and ambition. 

The first was gratified in this--Lord Hope was a changed man--a shadowhad been swept from his path--hidden shame had changed to uncheckedpride. The woman he had married, because of an overpowering love, wasnow in a position to fascinate society with her beauty, and win itshomage with her genius. They had come out from the shadow and were inthe broad sunshine. 

All his old fondness returned; she could tell it by the elasticity ofhis step, by the proud uplifting of his head, by the very tones of hisvoice. 

She had thirsted for greatness, and it was hers. She had pined for theold love, and it had come back to her. No wonder the carriage of thiswoman was lofty, and her voice full of music. No wonder that the richcoloring of her youth returned, and her eyes took back their velvetysoftness. 

At this period Rachael Closs was at the pinnacle of her hopes. She couldscarcely understand that this lofty position had not always belonged toher. To dispense almost regal hospitality came to her as the mostnatural thing on earth, and as each day brought some noble guest to thecastle, she received them with more finished grace and a deeperconsciousness of power. 

Of course, at this time, Lady Clara was most frequently with herstepmother, for the old countess would have it so, and Caroline took herplace very frequently in the tower room, where she felt herself to bemore than welcome. Indeed, the old lady seemed almost as fond of her asshe was of the bright, generous heiress. Caroline would not consent tomingle with the gay crowd which kept up a brilliant carnival all daylong in the park, in the vast drawing-room, everywhere, except in thatone old tower where the countess spent her quiet life. At the grandfestival she had resolved to come forth and do the honors of her owncastle, but until then she contented herself by receiving her guests, and then pleasantly turning them over to the splendid woman who filledher place with such consummate ability. 

This arrangement threw Caroline almost constantly into the seclusion ofthe tower apartments, and it so chanced that she had not once met LadyHope, who was, in fact, unconscious of her presence in the castle. 

Clara remembered, with some trepidation, the rebuke which had been givenher, regarding her liking for this girl, and, not caring to provoke arepetition, did not mention the fact of her residence at Houghton. Thusit chanced that neither Lord Hope or his wife knew of the independentstep their daughter had taken. 

Lady Clara had evidently something on her mind one day, for she gave upa ride to the hunt, a thing she had set her heart upon, and came afterCaroline to take a long walk in the park with her. Caroline went gladly, for her heart was aching under its broken hopes, and as the excitementconnected with her new home died out, a sense of bereavement anddesolation came back. She was, indeed, very wretched, and Lady Clara sawit. Perhaps this was the reason she took her protege out for thatpleasant walk in the park. 

When the two girls reached that hollow through which the brook ran, andwhere the ferns grew, Clara became suddenly conscious that Caroline mustbe tired. 

Perhaps she was. Caroline, in her listlessness, did not care to askherself about it, but sat down on a fragment of rock, as Clara directedher, and fell to watching the brook with her sad eyes, as it creptthrough the ferns and gurgled over the pebbles at her feet. 

Meantime Clara had wandered quietly up the hollow, and disappeared insearch of something which grew a little way off, she said. So Carolinewas not to move till she came back, unless she wished to be lostutterly. 

Caroline liked the solitude, and the cool ripple of the brook soothedher. She was rather sorry when a footstep on the forest turf heraldedthe return of her friend; but she looked up with a welcoming smile, andsaw Lord Hilton, her Italian teacher--the man who had told her more thanonce that he loved her better than his own life!

She did not cry out, or rise from her hard seat, but sat still, lookingat him in mournful quietness. What was he, what could he ever be, toher? A nobleman of the realm, and the Olympia's daughter!

He came down the bank and seated himself by her side. 

"Caroline, have you no welcome to give me?"

She looked at him with a gleam of excitement in the sadness of her eyes. 

"You know who I am, and I, alas! know that you are Lord Hilton, " shesaid, with a touch of pathetic pride. "How can I welcome you?"

"Have you, then, ceased to love me, Caroline?"

Her pale face flushed, her eyes kindled. 

"Is this a question to ask me?"

"Yes--because I have never ceased to love you, and never shall. "

"Not when you are certain that I am the daughter of--of--an actress?"

"Not if you were the daughter of fifty actresses, Caroline! I have beensearching for you, in London, everywhere. More than once I inquired atOlympia's door. "

"You!"

"Indeed I did; but she would give me no information. "

"She could not. I left no word. "

"And now that I have found you, Caroline?"

"My name is Brown, Lord Hilton. I am, in truth, the daughter of thatgood man whom you supposed my father. "

"And of Olympia?"

"Yes, they were married and--and divorced before she became celebratedand took the name of Olympia. "

Caroline said all this with a feeling of self-torture that took all thecolor from her face. The love of Lord Hilton seemed an impossibility toher, and she gave him the hard truth, under which her heart waswrithing, without a reservation of pride or delicacy. 

"It is of very little consequence whose daughter you are, " said theyoung man, tenderly, "so long as I love you, and am, with God'sblessing, resolved to make you my wife. "

"Resolved to make me your wife!"

The words came one by one from her lips, in measured sadness. She knewthe thing to be impossible, and uttered the words as if she had buriedsome beloved object, and was mourning over it. 

"I repeat it, Caroline. There is no change in my love--no change in mydetermination. All that I felt for you in our sweet Italian life liveswith me yet. "

Caroline turned her eyes full upon him. An expression of pain brokethrough their mournfulness. 

"It was impossible!"

That was all she said; but he knew how much agony the words had cost bythe whiteness of her lips. 

"But why, " he pleaded, "if we love each other, for you love me yet?"

"Yes, I love you!"

Hilton threw his arms around her, and kissed her cold face in atransport of thankfulness. 

"Then, why not? We were betrothed in Italy, when I believed you Mr. Brown's daughter, as I do now. "

"But I did not know that you were an English nobleman, and heir to alarge estate. "

"Is that a crime, Caroline? Besides, you need not trouble yourself aboutthe estate. When I ask you in marriage, that is given up. "

She turned to him suddenly, and held out her hands. 

"Are you, indeed, ready to give up so much for me?"

"I am ready to give up everything but my honor, " was his reply. 

"I am only a poor girl, with no honor to hold but my own; but you shallnot find me less generous than you are. "

He kissed her hands in passionate gratitude. 

"Ah, darling, I knew--I knew that it must end so. "

She forced her hands from his clasp. 

"You misunderstand me. I love you better than myself! better than mylife! Do believe it! And for that reason we part, now and forever! Icould not live through another hour like this!"

"Caroline!"

"I know it is hard; my own heart is pleading against it. But there issomething which forbids me to listen. "

"Caroline, I will not permit this! It is unnatural, cruel!"

"I know it! I know it! Still it is our destiny. Nothing that has beensaid, or can be said, will change the fact of your birth and mine. Donot, I implore you, press this matter farther. It is hard to fightagainst my own heart and you. Spare me and let me go!"

Caroline arose and absolutely fled from the man she loved. He did notattempt to detain her, but walked away slowly, half offended--but moreresolved on making her his wife than ever. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

OUT AMONG THE TREES. 

Not far from the glen, loitering up and down a secluded forest-path, Caroline met Lady Clara, and, by her side, the young man whom she hadmet that night at Olympia's supper party. This took her by surprise, andshe turned into another path, where a sheltered garden seat invited herto rest. 

Lady Clara had not seen her companion, and was too much occupied for anythought regarding her. She was talking earnestly to Hepworth Closs, whohad refused Lady Carset's invitation to take up his quarters at thecastle, but was staying at the public house down in the village, untilafter the festival, at which Clara still refused to be introduced assole heiress of the broad domain on which they stood. 

"Let us be patient, " she said. "I cannot distress this kind old ladywhile she is so disturbed and so feeble. Let things take their coursetill she is strong enough to endure this additional agitation. She wasgreatly pleased with you that morning when you called. By degrees shewill learn to like you; and when she finds that Lord Hilton has no ideaof joining the estates by a marriage with her heiress--a thing which Iknow she has at heart, but she has, as yet, only given me warning bymost delicate insinuations--your proposal will not disturb her so much. "

Hepworth Closs had learned the great lessons of patience, and loved theyoung girl by his side too sincerely for any protest against what was, in fact, a necessary delay; so he answered her kindly;

"So long as we are not entirely separated, Clara, I can bear anything, even your father's hostility, which, after all, is but natural. "

"But that, too, will be swept away by grandmamma's consent; and I amsure she loves me so much that, with patience, that may be obtained. Besides, there is your sister, eager for your interests and pining foryour society. "

"Poor Rachael! How does she bear the honors heaped upon her up yonder. "

"Like an empress. Indeed, I never saw her really happy before. My fatherhas all at once taken to adoring her. No wonder! Happiness has made herso grandly beautiful, so dashingly brilliant in all she says and does. The new duke, who has just come down, is so taken with her that hescarcely leaves her side. "

"I am glad of that, " exclaimed Closs. "If ever a woman was born tocontrol society, it is Rachael. Does she know I am here?"

"I have not told her yet. It will be time enough when all this tumultabout the heirship has abated. And perhaps it will be best to let papafind it out in some natural way, when he will, I hope, be anxious torecognize you as Lady Carset's guest, and make atonement for hisharshness at Oakhurst. "

"What a wise little diplomat you have become, Clara!"

"Yes, I think so. It is just beginning to dawn on me that rash action isthe worst kind of selfishness; how, just by a little kindness and agreat deal of love, I, a harem-scarem girl, who never stopped to thinkin my life before, have reconciled an old family feud of fifteen yearsstanding, brought Lady Hope triumphantly to Houghton, and swept ever somany cares out of my father's way, besides all the little pleasantnessthat my coming has given to the old countess. I wouldn't boast in thisway to any one else, Hepworth; but these things make me proud andhappy, so I tell them to you, as I whisper it to myself. When I firstcame here, it was with the resolution of appealing to grandmamma againstLord Hope's opposition to us, and, if she went against me, to throw upeverything, and set them all at defiance. But one must have a hardnature to attempt such harsh measures with that sweet old lady. It wouldbreak my heart to leave her--wound my conscience to give her a moment'spain. As for her title and her wealth, I tell you, honestly, they areencumbrances I do not want. A thousand times, rather, would I have herconsent, with that of my father, and freedom to go with you where wepleased. I want no greatness or power for myself, unless it comesthrough the man I love; but for you, Hepworth, I am ambitious, and wouldrather a thousand times go to America, and share the honors which yourown genius would be sure to win, as plain Mrs. Closs, than stay here asmistress of Houghton, a countess in my own right, and you onlyrecognized as the husband of Lady Carset. "

The hot color came and went in her lover's face as Clara spoke out thethoughts that haunted her about the future--his own thoughts expressedthrough her girlish lips. He turned suddenly, took her hands, and kissedthem both with passionate warmth. 

"Oh, if they would but give you up with nothing but this gloriousfreedom, I should not have another wish on earth; but they are about tobury you so deep beneath their wealth and titles that I may not be ableto find my love when I ask for her. "

Clara smiled. 

"You shall never ask for me that I will not come. There is not in allEngland wealth or honors enough to buy me out of your reach. Only let uswait patiently a little while longer. "

"Sweet child! generous woman! Jacob never served more faithfully for hislove than I am willing to wait for mine. Only this, we must not be keptapart. "

"We will not be kept apart. Our souls belong to each other. No person onearth shall enthrall them. "

"Then I am content; all the more because I know what utter desolationabsence is. Ah, Clara, it seemed like an opening from Paradise when youwrote me to come here! Heaven knows where I should have been now but forthat blessed note!"

"But you are here, safe and well, for which the good God be thanked!Everything has happened without disappointment to any one, unless it maybe Caroline's mother, the handsome Olympia. She is furious, Lord Hiltontells me. I am a little sorry for that poor woman. Of course, she wasn'tjust as she should be to Caroline, but I can't help liking her, afterall. There that dear girl sits, like patience on a monument, waiting forme. I wonder what has become of Lord Hilton?"

Here Lady Clara and her lover separated; she joined her friend, whosegarments were visible through the green of the leaves, and he walkedtoward the village, very happy, notwithstanding the uncertainty of hisaffairs. 

As Hepworth entered his room at the inn, he was accosted with boisterousfamiliarity by Mr. Stacy, the New York alderman, who expressed thebroadest astonishment at his presence there, and was anxious to know ifit would break up his own mission to the castle. 

Hepworth reassured him on this point, and gave some additionaldirections, which the alderman accepted with nods and chuckles ofself-sufficiency, that were a little repulsive to the younger and morerefined man. 

"I understand Matthew Stacy is to be 'A Number One' in the wholebusiness--sole agent of her mother's trust; by-the-way, who was hermother?"

There was a shrewd twinkle in Stacy's eye as he asked this, whichHepworth comprehended and met at once. 

"Her mother was the first Lady Hope, the only daughter of Lady Carset, up there at the castle. She died in America while travelling there withher husband, about fifteen years ago. "

All this was plain and simple. The alderman drew a deep breath, and theshrewd twinkle went out of his eyes. 

"To tell the truth, " he said, "I was thinking of that poor murderedlady, Mrs. Hurst. You know there was a little girl at the inquest thatwould have been about the age of this young lady; for I took a peep intothe peerages, after you opened this matter, and I thought possibly thatMrs. Hurst and Lady Hope might be--you understand?"

"What! Identical! Did you mean that?"

"Well, no, not exactly identical--she was respectable enough--but thesame person. "

"But you forgot, Mr. Stacy, telling me that the young lady who appearedas a singer in the opera that night was that very child. "

"By Jingo! you are right! I did that same. Of course--of course. Whatwas I thinking of? How she did sing, too; ten thousand mocking birds inher throat, all piping away at once. What was I thinking of? Now, Mr. Closs, while I'm gone--for I mean to strike while the iron is hot--justhave the goodness to look in on Mrs. S. , she will feel it a compliment, being a trifle homesick and lonesome down here. But tell her to keep astiff upper lip; there isn't many ladies, not even your barronessers andduchessers, that shall outshine her at the grand party up yonder. "

"The grand party!" repeated Hepworth, in amazement. "Are you invitedthere?"

"Not just yet, but of course I mean to be. One good turn deservesanother, Mr. Hepworth--I beg pardon--Mr. Closs, and if I take this pileup to Castle Houghton, it is no more than fair that the young lady givesme an invite for myself and Mrs. S. Turn about is fair play, all theworld over, Mr. Closs, and I don't mean to lose my chances. Some menwould ask money for all this, but I am ready to put up with an invite. Mrs. S. Has set her heart on it. Ask her to let you see that red velvetdress that she got made on purpose, and the panier. Don't, by any means, forget to ask her to show you the panier; it's tremendous, I tell you. "

Mr. Stacy stood for a moment longer, shaking the links of his gold chainup and down in one hand, as if he had something else to say, but notremembering what it was, he disappeared, and was soon driving, in thebest carriage he could obtain, toward Houghton Castle. 

Lady Clara was in her own room scolding, persuading, and comfortingCaroline, when a card was brought to her, and she read, withastonishment, the name of "Matthew Stacy, Esq. , Ex-Alderman, New York. "

"Who is this person?" she inquired. 

"Haven't the least hidea, my lady; he asked for yer leddyship, andwould, on no account, see any one else, yer leddyship. "

"Where is he now?"

"In the small drawing-room, yer leddyship. "

Clara went down, excited by the painful curiosity which always disturbedher when she met any person from America. What could he want?

Alderman Stacy arose as she entered the room where he was sitting, andmade three profound bows in the different stages of her advance from thedoor, then he sat down in a light chair. The delicate India carvingbegan to creak under his weight, and he sprang to his feet again, looking over his shoulder at the combination of azure silk and lace-likeebony in awkward consternation. Then he took another chair, all cushionsand softness, in which he sank down luxuriously, and began to fidgetwith his chain. 

"You are from New York, Mr. Stacy--I think it was on your card?" saidClara, commencing the conversation. 

"Yes, exactly, my--my lady--Empire State; besides that I have a littlebusiness with you--pleasant business, I may undertake to say; money, mydear young lady. Money always is pleasant. What ancient poet is it thatsays, 'money makes the mare go?' which means, I take it, that it drivesmen and women--I mean gentlemen and ladies--just alike. So I call itpleasant news, when I tell your ladyship that I have got a pile of itfor you--American bonds, payable in gold. "

"Money for me--for me?"

"No wonder you are surprised. The amount was an astonisher for me when Icame to reckon it up. At first it was a mere nothing, only a fewthousand, but gold, in my hands, grows, grows, grows, and now, my dearyoung lady, that little heap left by your lamented mother--youunderstand--"

"Left by my mother, and for me?"

"Yes, your lamented mother, the first Lady Hope, a lovely woman, butdelicate, very delicate; carried off by consumption at last. Well, justbefore her death she sent for me--we were great friends, you know. Beingalderman, in fact, president of the board, I had an opportunity to offerher some municipal civilities, such as the use of the Governor's room toreceive her friends in, and the freedom of the city. I assure you shehad the broadest liberty to ride where she pleased, especially in theCentral Park. Then we took her to the institutions, and she had a lovelydinner on Blackwell's Island, for I was hand in glove with thecommissioners. I don't tell these things to boast of 'em only to explainhow she came to trust me as her executioner--I beg pardon--her executor, and send for me just as her spirit was taking flight. "

"Oh! please tell me of that--of her--I do not care about the money, "cried Clara, interrupting this pompous tissue of falsehoods, with tearsin her eyes. "You saw her, you talked with her?"

"Often and often. "

"Oh, tell me!"

"Not just now, young lady. Business is business, and we must not getthings mixed. Some other time, after your great party, for instance, Ishall be too happy, for Mrs. Stacy and I shall stay in the village, tillafter that august occasion; but now I come on business, nothing short, and I am in a hurry to get these ten thousand pounds Americangold-bearing bonds off my stomach--I beg pardon--conscience. Here, mylady, is the pile of bonds. Every one will bring the tin when itswanted, no mistake about that. "

Here Mr. Stacy laid a package of bonds in Lady Clara's lap, and stoodwith a beaming face, regarding her puzzled look, as she examined them. 

"And these are worth ten thousand pounds?" she said. 

"Exactly. "

"And left to me without reservation or condition, by my mother?"

"Exactly. 'My dear friend, ' said she, 'you will find somewhere aboutthree thousand pounds in the bank. That money I leave in your hands, forI have faith in you, Stacy. That money is sure to grow, and when mydaughter, Clara, gets to be about eighteen or so, pay it and theincrease over to her in my name; tell her to keep it for her ownindependent use; to say nothing to Lord Hope or his wife--I mean if heshould marry again--but to use it just as she pleases, without regard toher grandmother or any one else. ' These were the directions your motherleft with the money, and I hope you will make sure to abide by them, mylady. "

"I will remember every word you have said, " answered Clara, whose facewas beginning to brighten under a new idea, and the bonds were becomingvery precious to her. "But is there nothing I can do in return for thiskindness?"

"I expected this. That was just what she said, 'My friend, ' says she, 'there will be no such thing as paying you in specie for the service youwill do my child; but she will be a lady of rank, Mr. Stacy, and as suchwill know how to return your kindness, and entertain you with the best. Though dukes and princes should be her guests, she will have pride andglory in introducing her mother's faithful friend to them all. Yes, himand that splendid woman, who is your wife, the friend of my bosom, ' saysshe; 'and if you ever go to England, be sure to take your wife along, then you'll have a chance to learn what British hospitality is in thewalls of Houghton Castle, my own birthplace. '"

"My mother has promised nothing in my power to perform which shall notbe done, " said Clara, a good deal puzzled by all that she heard, andquite at a loss to judge of the social status of her visitor. But thegreat fact remained--her mother had trusted him; he had brought her alarge sum of money, which nothing but the most honorable integrity wouldhave prevented him keeping for his own benefit. The man who could sofaithfully render back an important trust, must be worthy even of hergrandmother's hospitality. 

The moment Mr. Stacy had bowed and stumbled himself from the room, Clararan to Lady Carset, and obtained an invitation for M. Stacy, Esq. , andlady, to the entertainment which was now close at hand. With thatinvitation, went a large package directed to Hepworth Closs, in which aletter was enclosed, requesting him to take such legal steps in herbehalf as would secure the amount contained in the American bonds to Mr. Brown, the father of her dear friend, Caroline. "I know that she wouldrefuse the independence for herself and her father, if I were to pressit upon her; indeed, she has already done so, when I only hinted at thematter; but when it is secured irrevocably to her father, she mustsubmit to being made comfortable in spite of herself. The money is mineto use exactly as I please, and this is my pleasure. Pray help me tocarry it out. There is no need of consulting that dear old man, Brown, whose welfare I seek quite as earnestly as I do that of his daughter;for he is just the sweetest and dearest character I ever knew, and Iwould give the world to see his blessed old face, when he firstdiscovers that he is a rich man. Tell me all about it. Be very carefuland delicate in your management of this business, and say nothing untilyou have put it out of your power or mine to revoke what will make methe happier in the giving than they can be in receiving. When we meet Iwill tell you how this money came to be mine; but before then, I trustit will be in the possession of another. What do I want of Americanbonds? I think it would offend my dear old fairy-grandmother if I tookthem, and I know you will approve what I am doing. "

Closs read the letter with a smile of pleasure; but when he took up thebonds again, his face clouded. 

"Can I never wash my hands of that poor lady's money, " he said. "Do whatI can, it will come back to me. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE BALL AT HOUGHTON. 

The night arrived at last in which Lady Carset was to do the honors ofher own castle, and receive the highest and brightest of the land inperson. A range of boudoirs and saloons, connected with the statedrawing-room, were thrown together, and united in one splendid vista bysilken draperies and hot-house plants, which formed noble wreaths andarches over each entrance, filling room after room with brightness andfragrance. 

The conservatories had been stripped that night, that their treasures ofrare exotics might brighten the splendor of those rooms, and soften theancestral grandeur of the vast entrance hall. They wound in massivewreaths around the carved balustrades of that broad oakenstaircase--were duplicated over and over again in the height and breadthof those noble mirrors. They formed a blooming border around the oakenfloors, black with age and bright with polish, of the dancing-rooms. Thegilded orchestras were interlaced with them, and, in every group ofplants or clustering wreath, jets of gas twinkled out like stars, casting tremulous shadows from the leaves, and lending a richer color tothe blossoms. 

When the first carriage load of guests came sweeping across the stoneterrace, Lady Carset left her dressing-room, and, leaning on the arm ofLord Hope, took her place in the central drawing-room, with gentledignity, and stood, with the gaslight quivering around her, touching upthe richness of her purple garments with golden ripples of light, andstriking out rainbows from the great Carset diamonds, which held, andgathered up the woven moonlight of her lace shawl on those dainty, sloping shoulders and delicate bust, which had not known such ornamentsfor years. A ripple of these noble jewels ran through the soft waves ofher hair, and held the tuft of Marchant feathers and lappets of gossamerlace back from her left temple, whence they floated off gently into thesnow of her hair, scarcely whiter than it was. A lovelier representativeof the grandest aristocracy on earth, or a more dainty lady of the oldentimes, had never, since its foundation, done the honors of HoughtonCastle. But the sweet old lady was already forced to exert all herstrength, that nothing should fall short of the old hospitality on thisthe last fête she ever expected to give. 

Lady Clara had followed her, half dancing, half floating down that broadstaircase, jerking blossoms from the plants as she went, and formingthem into a tiny bouquet for her grandmother. Her dress was just onecloud of silvery whiteness. A little cluster of moss rose buds on theleft shoulder, and another in her belt, were all the ornaments she wore. She had insisted, with almost passionate vehemence, that no mention ofher heirship should be made that night, and the old lady consented withreluctance, but appeased her own impatience by a grand festival to allher tenants and retainers in the park, where nothing had been omittedwhich, in feudal times, was considered proper when the heirship ofHoughton was proclaimed. Still, in words, the old lady had kepthonorable silence, and no one, even from the grandeur of theentertainment, had a right to more than guess that the general heirshipwas settled on Lord Hope's daughter. 

In fact, this entertainment was ostensibly given to Lord and Lady Hope, and the old countess had taken up the sparkling weight of all thoseCarset jewels, that all the world might know that they had come backhonorably into her own possession. It was a splendid and most delicateway of acknowledging herself in the wrong. 

Before the guests had commenced to arrive in any numbers, Lady Hope camefloating into the state drawing-room, with a noble cactus flowersweeping backwards from the left side of her head, and resting upon themassive braids of her hair, which curved upwards like a helmet, from herneck almost to the forehead. Chains of large rubies encircled her neckand arms, harmonizing with the cactus blossom, but forming a boldcontrast to the amber silk of her dress, which swept far back upon thepolished floor, and took the light as birds of Paradise fling offsunshine from their plumage. A beautiful and right queenly personage wasRachael Closs that night, as she moved across the floor and took herplace by the little countess, who looked up and smiled gently when shesaw that Lord Hope's wife appeared in the old family rubies, which shehad presented to her that morning. 

One bright glance at Clara, another of sparkling triumph at Lord Hope, and Rachael gave herself up to the brilliant duties that lay before her. This night was to be the crowning success of her life. 

The guests swept through the great entrance, and into the drawing-roomnow, in crowds and groups. Music sounded from half a dozen gildedorchestras, and the oaken floors of that old castle began to trembleunder the feet of many dancers, as they kept time to the music, and sentout a soft undertone of conversation. 

Lord Hope opened the ball with the élite of the élite. Lord Hilton ledLady Clara into the same set, at which the old countess nodded her headand smiled. She observed that the young nobleman bent his head, andlooking in the bright face of her grandchild, was talking earnestly toher, at which the dear old lady smiled again, and put up her fan, thatno one might observe how pleased she was. 

This was what Hilton was saying:

"And she would not come down, fearing to meet me? This is hard, LadyClara!"

"No, " answered the girl, reaching out her hand for a ladies' chain, andbreaking from it in haste. "It is not altogether that; she says that itis impossible to be of us--that her birth forbids it, and any attempt atequality could only end in humiliation. I cannot persuade her out ofthis idea: entreat as I would, she refused utterly to come down. Then Igot grandmamma to urge it, and she did it beautifully, but it was nouse; and there the poor darling sits all alone, hearing the music andour voices, as prisoners in their cells listen to bird songs throughwindows in the walls. It is cruel! Why can't people be born all alike, and go up and down according to their own merits, I wonder?"

"That is an American idea. You must have picked it up there in yourinfancy, Lady Clara. "

"I should not wonder. Some day I mean to go back there and see whatsocial equality is like. "

"Oh, you will find no place on earth where your title will be of so muchvalue, Lady Clara, " said Hilton, laughing. 

"Well, that is because the Americans respect history, and associate uswith the great deeds of mutual ancestors. It is the romance of traditionthat interests them; for they are great readers, these Americans, andknow more of us, as a people, than we do of ourselves. We represent thewarriors and the statesmen which they have clothed in the poetry ofgreat deeds. If the nobility of this day disappoints them it is our ownfault. When they learn that our greatness consists only in titles, weshall have little homage merely for them. "

"What a strange little creature you are!"

"Yes, rather. It is our turn now. "

After a little there was another long pause in the dance. Then Hiltonwent back to the subject nearest to his heart. 

"You could not possibly persuade her to come down--not here, but intosome of the less public rooms?" he said. 

"Impossible. She would not think of it. "

"Cruel!"

"Yes, I think so; but then, I would do exactly the same thing. "

"What makes you start so, Clara?"

"Don't you see? There is Mr. Closs going up to grandmamma, and papastanding close by her. Why, Lord Hope is speaking to him! How good! howkind! They are both smiling; now, now, do look on mamma Rachael'sface--she sees them, and happiness makes her splendid! He is coming thisway. Understand now, I shall dance with him just as often as I can, andyou are to help me if I get into any trouble. Thank Heaven, this set isover!"

"You are complimentary, " laughed Lord Hilton. 

"So I am; but you don't mind it. Here he is. Let me introduce you beforehe takes me off. Lord Hilton, Mr. Closs. "

The next moment Clara was whirling through the room, with HepworthCloss' arm around her waist, and her hand on his shoulder. She kept herword, and spent half her evening with him, managing to escapeobservation as much as possible, and thus secured a few hours of supremehappiness. 

Lord Hope had received his brother-in-law with gentlemanly ease. Howcould he help it, not being master at Houghton?

Besides, he was disposed to cast off all responsibility with regard tohis daughter's choice of a husband, and leave everything to the judgmentand pride of the old countess, who happened to like Closs, and was notaware how much of that evening he spent with her grandchild. 

Rachael was in ecstasies. She loved her brother dearly, and his apparentreconciliation with her husband lifted the last cloud from her heart. Itseemed to her that night as if she had nothing to wish for. 

The old countess stood to her post bravely, until after the supper-roomshad been thrown open and the gay crowds had passed in and out again; butwhen the dancing had recommenced and the conversation around her grewbrilliant and a little confusing, she turned suddenly pale, and wouldhave fallen, but that Lady Clara, who stood near, sprang forward andthrew both arms around her. 

"She is better; she can walk now. I will go with her, " cried the excitedyoung creature. "Papa, you shall help her up-stairs, then I will takecare of her, " she added, seeing how helpless the old lady was. 

Lord Hope almost carried the old lady up-stairs. Then Clara called aloudfor Caroline Brown, who came out from her chamber, and, between them, they led the old countess into the tower-room. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE OLD WOMAN WANDERS BACK AGAIN. 

Old Mrs. Yates had left the railroad station two miles back, and waswalking wearily along the high road toward the village, which lay, as itwere, at the feet of Houghton Castle, like a spaniel crouching at thefoot of its mistress. At the station and all along the road she hadobserved an unusual commotion. Carriages in an unprecedented number werewaiting for special trains, which came in more than once that day forHoughton Castle. 

All the vehicles in the neighborhood were in motion, dashing to and fromthe village inns, the castle, and a neighboring town, whereaccommodations for a great access of people could be obtained. 

Hannah Yates was more than once nearly run over and driven back to thebanks of the highway by those flying vehicles, where she stoodhalf-terrified, half-curious, looking after them in wistfulastonishment. 

What could this tumultuous movement mean? Was it a wedding--but of whom?A funeral--the old countess?

No, no! Destiny could not be so cruel. Besides, there was no such eagerdriving or smiling faces when the head of that castle was taken from itsbroad portals to the family vault. It must be some festival, and she wasyet in time. 

At an abrupt curve of the road the old woman came suddenly upon a fullview of the castle. It was all ablaze with lights, and rose up from theembosoming trees like some enchanted palace upon which a tempest ofstars had rained down in all their heavenly brightness. The broadfaçade which connected the tower was flooded with noonday light, and shecould discover groups of people moving to and fro on the stone terracein front, rendered so small by the distance that they seemed unreal andfairy-like. Down to the verge of the park and upward, curving throughthe woods, she could trace the chestnut avenue by wreaths of coloredlanterns that blazed from tree to tree like mammoth jewels chaining themtogether. Now and then a carriage broke to view, sweeping along themacadamized avenue, clearly revealed by the light that fell around it. 

Never in her life had the old woman seen such splendid commotion aboutthat stately building, yet she could remember many a festive scene inits old walls, when crowned princes had been entertained there with adegree of splendor scarcely exceeded in their own palaces. 

As the old woman stood gazing upon this scene, a countryman, passingalong the highway, paused near her to get a sight of the castle. 

"What is going on up yonder?" inquired the woman, drawing toward him andspeaking in his own broad dialect. 

"What is't at yon castle? An' who mon you be that donna know that theoud lady up at Houghton is giving a grand blow-out to her gran'child, Lord Hope's daughter, an' to Lady Hope, as people thought she wouldnever abide in her sight?"

"And is Lord and Lady Hope at the castle?"

"Aye, an' the young lady, too--her that the oud countess is o'er fondof; but the young 'un is a right comely lass, an' the oud 'un might gofurder and fare worse. "

Mrs. Yates gathered the woolen shawl she had travelled in about her, andwent hastily down the bank on which she had been standing, so excitedthat all the weakness of age seemed to have been suddenly swept fromher. 

She had intended to sleep in the village that night; now she bent hersteps resolutely toward the castle. 

As she came out of the chestnut avenue, keeping upon the turf and amongthe shadows, all of the glory of that illumination broke upon her. 

The broad terrace, flooded with light--a fountain, directly in front, shooting up a column of liquid crystal thirty feet or more, where itbranched off, like a tree of quivering ice swayed gracefully in thewind, and broke up in a storm of drops that rained downward, flashingand glittering through that golden atmosphere to their source again. 

Above this rose those grand old towers, garlanded with colored lampsthat wound in and out of the clinging ivy in great wreaths and chains oftinted fire, which harmonized with the quivering foliage, and floodedthe fountain, the terrace, and all the neighboring trees with a softatmosphere of golden green. 

Here and there the gray old stonework of the towers broke through, revealing glimpses of the giant strength which lay hidden underneath;and over the right hand tower, from a flag-staff turned around andaround with star-like lights, the broad, red banner, with which theCarsets had for centuries defied their enemies and welcomed theirfriends, floated slowly out upon the night wind. 

Hannah Yates saw all this, and knew, by the music which thrilled the airaround her, that the revel, whatever it was, had commenced; for a soundof pleasant voices and sweet laughter came through the open windows, andfrom the depths of the park--where an ox had been roasted whole thatday, and wine and beer had flowed freely as the waters of thefountain--came subdued sounds of a waning festival, which had beengiven to the tenantry and villagers. The gaiety of the castle wasanswered back from the park, and harmonized by that of the workingpeople who tilled all the broad lands around it. 

When the old woman heard these answering sounds she felt that an heiressto all this greatness was acknowledged that night, for when lordsgathered in the castle, and tenants in the park, it was usually toacknowledge the rights of a coming heir, and she could not believe thatall this had been done in honor of Lady Hope. 

Hannah Yates lost all the unnatural strength that had brought her amongthis splendor. She knew that it was scarcely possible that she couldspeak with Lady Carset that night, if she could, indeed, gain admittanceto the castle; but she went around to a back entrance, and so made herway, unseen, to the tower-chamber, which opened into Lady Carset'sdressing-room. There she sat down and waited, hour after hour, until atlast the door opened, and the old countess came in, walking feeblybetween two young girls, one of whom she had never seen before, but theother made the sinking heart leap in her bosom. 

When the old countess entered, the lights in her room were shaded, butthey struck those masses of jewels in the snowy whiteness of her hairand upon her bosom with a brilliancy that revealed the gray pallor ofthat aged face with painful distinctness. 

Hannah Yates arose from the shaded place in which she was sitting, andcame forward to support her old mistress. 

The countess looked up, and a faint smile flickered across her face. 

"Ah! Yates, is it you?"

Mrs. Yates made no answer, but took that frail form in her arms andcarried it to the couch. 

"Take them off! take them off! They are heavy, ah, so heavy!"

The old lady put a waving hand to her head, indicating that it was thediamonds that troubled her. 

Mrs. Yates, who had performed this office many a time before, unclaspedthe jewels and laid them on a sofa-table close by, then she removed theburning stones from that oppressed bosom, and unclasped them from theslender arms, while her mistress lay struggling for breath, with hereyes fixed on that kind old face with a look of touching helplessness. 

"Give me water, " she whispered. 

Caroline ran for a goblet of water, and held it to those white lips. Thecountess drank a swallow and then called out:

"Wine! wine!"

Wine was brought, and she drank a little. 

"Go, my child, " she whispered, seeing how anxious and pale Claraappeared, in spite of the cloudy softness of her dress. "Go to your roomand get some rest. Ah, me! how all this wearies, wearies!"

The two girls hesitated. There was something in that sweet old face thatkept them spellbound. The old lady saw it, and reaching forth her hand, drew them, one after the other, down to her lips, and kissed them. 

"Good-night, good-night!"

How softly those gentle words fell from her lips. With what yearningfondness her eyes followed those young creatures as they wentreluctantly from the room, looking back in wistful sorrow, as they lefther in the care of Yates. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

LADY HOPE IN THE CASTLE. 

Lady Clara had been dancing, talking and receiving such homage as wouldhave satisfied the ambition of a princess. She had managed to snatchtime to exchange many a sweet word and bright look with her lover, andwould have been happy in delicious weariness, but for the suddenindisposition which had fallen upon her grandmother. As it was she couldhardly realize anything, but gave way to intense weariness, and almostfell asleep as Margaret was undressing her. 

But Caroline had been alone all the evening, within hearing of thelaughter, the music, and feeling the very tread of the dancers in everynerve. She was young, ardent, and naturally felt a craving wish for theamusement she had resolutely denied herself; now, less than ever, couldshe feel a desire for sleep. Instead of seeking her room she wanderedoff to a wing of the castle, in which the picture gallery stretched itssilent range of dead shadows, and tried to throw off the unaccountableexcitement that possessed her, by walking up and down the long gallery. 

The late moon was shining through the windows, and a crowd of dimlyoutlined figures, in armor or sweeping garments, looked down upon herfrom the walls. 

Why this strange spirit of unrest had sent her to that gallery she couldnot have told, but it was there still, urging her on and on, she couldnot tell where, but walked swiftly up and down, up and down, as ifstriving to weary herself in a desire for the slumber that seemed tohave fallen upon every human being in the castle. 

As she was walking thus wildly, a footstep, not her own, disturbed her. She stopped to listen--made sure that it was some one advancing, anddrew slowly back toward the wall, hoping to shelter herself among thelow-hanging pictures. 

The moonlight, from a neighboring window, lay full upon her as sheretreated across the room, with her face turned down the gallery, andher breath hushed in fear. She saw, coming toward her, now in shadow, now in broader light, a lady, in garments of rustling silk, sweeping farback on the oaken floor, and gleaming duskily, amber-hued in theimperfect light of a small silver lamp which she carried in her hand--abeautiful lady, with rubies on her neck and in her hair. The lamplight, for a moment, concentrated on a face whose weariness was overborne byslumbering triumph, which poised her head like that of a newly crownedempress. 

Caroline stood for the moment fascinated, then made a swift retreat, forshe saw those great, black eyes turned full upon her, and fled in apanic. 

A shriek--the crash of a falling lamp, and a mass of dusky draperyhuddled together on the floor, brought the girl out of her covert. Something must have happened--the lady had hurt herself--perhaps couldnot arise from want of help. She went down the gallery, passing firstone window then another, taking the moonlight from each, when the fallenlady uttered another cry, sprang to her feet and fled down the gallery, leaving her lamp overturned, with the wick still burning. 

Caroline took up the lamp, and placing it on a bracket, left thegallery, vexed with herself for the fright she had occasioned thisstrange lady by wandering about so heedlessly in the dark. Still shecould not sleep, but went to her own room and sat waiting there for themorning to dawn. 

Perhaps an hour after Caroline left the picture gallery, a figureclothed in white from head to foot, came through an end door, walkingfirmly through the darkness, and touching the floor with the noiselesstread of her naked feet. She walked straight to the silver lamp and tookit from the bracket. Now her face was revealed. It was Lady Hope. 

She held the lamp before her, and moved on very slowly, looking aheadthrough the darkness with those wide open, staring eyes. 

After that, when all the fires of that vivid illumination had burned outin the park, and were quenched in the castle, a bright star seemedwandering up and down the vast building; now at one window, then atanother, lighting it up with fitful gleams, then leaving it in darkness, and appearing again in some far off casement. 

Once or twice the form of a woman in white cast its cloudy outlineacross the plate glass of an unshuttered window; but no person was inthe park to observe her, and she wandered on with a lamp in her firmhand, which brightened over the pallid outlines of her face, and kindledup her night drapery like sunshine over drifted snow. Up and down alongthe corridors, and through the long drawing-room, the figure swept, carrying her lamp, and moving noiselessly over the floor with her white, naked feet. 

Upon that unconscious face a look of deep pain had stamped itself inplace of haughty triumph, and the wide open black eyes had a far-offlook, as if their glance could penetrate the walls and the very skybeyond. 

On and on the woman wandered, till she came to a closed door in one ofthe corridors. Here she paused, laid her right hand on the silver knob, and turned it so noiselessly that, when the door opened, it seemed likethe action of a ghost. 

The room was darkened from even the faint light of the stars by sweepingdraperies of silk, which glowed out redly as the lamp light fell upon itin flashes, as if suddenly drenched with wine. 

A high ebony bedstead stood in the centre of this noble room, canopiedhalf way over, and draped like the windows, so that a red gleam fellupon the whiteness of the counterpane as the light of that lamp fellupon it. 

A man lay profoundly sleeping on this bed--a handsome, middle-aged man, whose thick brown beard showed soft gleams of silver in it, and whosehair, though waving and bright, was growing thin on the top of his head. 

The man appeared to sleep heavily, and a smile lay on his lips; but alook of habitual care had written itself on his forehead, and his mouthwas surrounded by stern, hard lines, that seemed graven there withsteel. 

The woman stood by this sleeping man, gazing on him with the far-offlook of a ghost. She turned at last, and set the light down on aconsole, where it fell less distinctly on the pillow where that head waslying. Then she crept back and sat down on the side of the bed, so closeto the unconscious sleeper that her shadow fell across him. Slowly, asif she had been touching a serpent, her hand crept stealthily towardthat which lay in the supine carelessness of sleep on the whitecounterpane. She touched it at last, but started back. A blood-red stainfrom the curtain fell across it as her bending form let the light streamthrough the silk. 

The woman drew back and passed her left hand quickly over that which hadtouched the sleeping man. Again and again she rubbed one hand over theother, muttering to herself. 

Then a look of passionate distress came to that dark face, and, going toa marble table, on which a silver bowl and pitcher stood, she pouredsome water into the bowl, and plunged the hand with which she hadtouched that sleeping man into it. The splash of the water aroused him, and its icy coldness shocked the woman out of her unnatural sleep. Sheturned around wildly, with the water dripping from her hands--turned tofind herself in her husband's chamber, with his astonished eyes fixedupon her as he sat up in bed. 

"Rachael!"

She did not answer him, but stood gazing around the room in wildbewilderment. How came she standing there? By what spirit of love orhate had she been sent to that silver basin?

"Rachael, is anything wrong? Are you ill?"

The woman began to shiver. Perhaps the ice cold water had chilled her. 

She looked down upon her hands as if the red shadow haunted her yet, butall she saw were drops of pure water rolling down her slender fingers, and falling one by one to the floor. 

"I do not know!" she answered, in cold bewilderment. "Something drove meout from the bed, and sent me wandering, wandering, wandering! But how Icame here, alas! Norton, I cannot tell you. "

Rachael shivered all over as she spoke, and, as if drawn that way bysome unseen force, came close to Lord Hope's bed, and sat down upon it. 

"Oh, I am so cold--so dreary cold!"

An eider down quilt lay across the foot of the bed. Lord Hope reachedforward and folded it around her, very gently, murmuring:

"My poor wife! poor Rachael! You have been dreaming. "

"No; it was not all dreaming, Norton. I did see--no matter what; but itwas something that terrified me out of all the joy and glory of thisnight. I must have been fearfully worn out to sleep after that; but thelamp, which I left behind me, is burning there, and my hands were in thecold water, trying to wash themselves, when you awoke me. I must havebeen in that fearful picture gallery again. "

"You have courage to go there at all, Rachael!"

"I got there without knowing it. The rooms have been so changed I lostmy way, and took the wrong corridor, and there I saw--"

"_Her_ picture. "

"Was it that? Oh! was it only that?"

"It is there--her picture--life size; and so like that I would not lookon it for the world. "

"But what carried me there, Norton? On this night, too, when I have beenhonored, as your wife should be for the first time! when her mother hastaken me by the hand and lifted the cloud from my name! Ah, Norton!Norton! it was glory to me when I saw your eyes kindle, and answer backto mine, as the noblest of the land crowded round to do me homage. ThenI knew that the old love was perfect yet. Oh, Destiny is cruel, that itwill not let me have one perfect day!"

"After all, it was but a picture. Why allow it to distress you so?"

Lord Hope took her hands in his. She did not shrink from his touch now, as she had in her abnormal sleep; but he felt her palms growing warm, and saw the light coming back to her eyes, where it had seemed frozen atfirst. 

"And you love me? I was sure of it to-night. That was my chiefest glory. Lacking that, what would the homage of all the world be to RachaelCloss? I was thinking this, when _that_ seemed to start up before me, and whispering to myself, 'He loves me! he loves me! he loves me!' likea young girl; for I have seemed very young to-night. Why not? A gloriouslife lies before us. You will now step more fearlessly forward, and takeyour place among the great men of the earth, --while I--I will beanything; charm stones, work miracles, to win popularity and lay it atyour feet. 

"Say that you love me once more, Norton, and then I will creep back tomy pillow, the proudest and happiest woman on earth--for, after all, itwas only a picture!"

Rachael Closs had hardly done speaking when a cry of distress rangthrough the neighboring corridor, the door of Lord Hope's chamber wasflung open, and a pallid face looked in. 

"Come--come at once! My lady is dying!"

Round to other rooms came that cry of terror, arousing those twogirls--the one from her sleep, the other from her mournful vigil--anddrawing the family together, in pale groups, into the tower-chamber. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER. 

The old countess was not dying, but dead. Hannah Yates, who had watchedher faithfully, did not know when the last faint breath left her lips;but she became conscious of a solemn stillness which settled upon theroom, and bending forward, saw that soft gray shadows had crept overthat gentle face, up to the hair of silky snow, and down to the slenderthroat, till it was lost in the purple splendor of that festive robe. 

There she lay, tranquil as a sleeping child, with a calm, holy smilebreaking through the shadows, and her little hands meekly folded overthe gossamer lace on her bosom. 

Upon a marble table close by lay the jewels she had worn--a glitteringand neglected heap of fire, which gave out more light than the shadedlamps that threw their beams brightly on them, and shed tender moonlighton that lovely old face. 

The family were slowly gathering in that death-chamber, where Clara andCaroline were clinging together in bitter grief, and old Mrs. Yates waskneeling with her face buried in the purple of her mistress' robe. 

Lord Hope came in at last, followed by Lady Hope, who, even in thatsolemn place, could not suppress her pride as her eyes fell on LadyClara, whom she recognized as the heiress of all that gentle lady hadleft. But Lady Clara saw nothing of this. The poor girl was weeping outher passionate sorrow in the arms of her friend, who bent over her withsuch tender sympathy that her face was almost concealed. 

As Lord Hope advanced toward the death-couch, old Mrs. Yates arose andstood before him. When he had last seen her she was an old woman, but inthe prime of her strength; now her shoulders stooped, her hair wasentirely white, and she faltered in her walk. He reached out his hand toher. She did not appear to observe it, but said to him, in a quietvoice:

"My lord, I am glad to find you here. God has so ordered it that I wastoo late for her. She could not hear what I had to say, but you mustlisten in her stead. "

"At the proper time, Hannah; but we must not talk of worldly things inthis presence. "

Lord Hope bent his head reverently toward the pale form upon the couch, and the old woman also bowed down her face meekly, as she had learned tobow her head in prison; but she answered, with gentle firmness:

"No--that which I have to say must be told now, and in her deadpresence. Since God has forbidden me to bring doubt and sorrow on herlast moments I thank Him for it, but you must listen. "

"Not now--not now, " answered Hope, quickly. He was disturbed by thesight of this old woman, whom he had believed to be buried for life inan American prison; but he had learned the great art of self-control, and gave no indication of the shock her presence in that room gave him. 

His first impulse was to get Lady Hope out of the apartment. She hadnever seen Mrs. Yates, but he was fearful that some mention of her namemight renew the nervous agitation from which she had but just recovered. 

"Come with me, Rachael, " he said, in a low voice. "I will take you toour room, for this is a painful sight. Then I will return, alone, tohear what this person has to say. "

Lady Hope was willing to leave a scene which filled her with gloom. 

Whispering to Clara that she would come back and watch with her when theold woman was gone, she twisted a corner of the black lace shawl, whichcovered her head, around her throat, and went away, glad to escape thatstrange old woman, against whom she had taken one of those suddenantipathies which were common to her. 

"Dear me! I look almost as deathly as she does, with all these shadowson my face, " said Lady Hope, as she stood before the mirror in herdressing-room, and unwound the black lace from her head. 

She was correct. What with fatigue, and the black shadows flung by hershawl, the best friends of this proud woman would have recognized herwith difficulty. 

She turned for her husband's answer, but found that he had left her atthe door. All rest was broken up for her now; in fact, it was almostmorning; so she began to pace the room to and fro, thinking, withexultation, of the honors and wealth that had poured in upon her familyby that gentle old lady's death. 

Meantime Lord Hope had gone back to the death-chamber, where Mrs. Yatesand the two young ladies were waiting. 

The old woman arose from her knees when he came in. 

"That which I have to say, Lord Hope, relates to you, first of all, nowthat my dear old mistress is gone. When the first Lady Hope came toAmerica, her little girl, then between two and three years of age, wasplaced in my son's family, and under my charge, as her mother had beenwhen a child. She had reasons, which you will understand, for wishingthe child to pass as the daughter of my son; so we gave her his name, and she was known everywhere as my grandchild. 

"We had another little girl, about the same age, the daughter of Mrs. Brown, an actress; fair, like your child, and very pretty. This child, Caroline Brown, was almost given to us; for, after the first year, wenever saw her mother, or received anything from her. One night Ireceived a note asking me to come down to one of the theatres, and meeta person who had business with me. There was no name to the note; but Isupposed it must be from Mrs. Brown, and went. But no person was thereto meet me, and I went home disappointed. That night Lady Hope died. "

Lord Hope, who had been anxious and restless, drew a deep breath; for heunderstood, by the slow caution of the old woman's speech, that shemeant to reveal nothing which his anxious and listening daughter mightnot hear. 

"My lady left a letter behind her, with some money, and the Carsetdiamonds, which she charged me to deliver, with my own hands, here atthe castle. 

"She had fears about her daughter--anxieties, which I need notexplain--and besought me to keep the little girl; to educate her, andconceal her identity until she was eighteen years old, when I, or myson, should take her back to England, and allow her to choose her ownway of life. 

"I had talked this matter over with my lady, and gave her a solemnpromise to protect her child, and the honor of her name, with my life, if that were needed. The very night of her death Lady Hope gave all thepapers necessary to the recognition of her child to my son. He broughtthem home, and, while the children were asleep, we two pledged ourselvesto protect your child from everything that her mother feared, and tosecure for her all that she hoped. 

"My lord, we kept our oaths. He died, broken-hearted, under the terribleburden which we took on ourselves that night. I lived, carrying it withme, till my shoulders are bowed, and my hair white with old age. 

"The next day, while _she_ lay dead, a fire broke out in the house wherewe lived. Our rooms were high up; the flames and smoke mounted sosuddenly that it was impossible for us to escape by the stairs. The twolittle girls had crept into a corner of the room, and sat crying there, with the fire and smoke rolling toward them. I had secured the box, inwhich were Lady Hope's jewels and papers, and swung it over myshoulders, then snatched up your child. "

Here the two girls, who stood, pale and trembling, by the window, uttered a simultaneous cry. 

"I remember! I remember!" they said, each to the other, then clungtogether and listened. 

The old woman scarcely heeded this interruption. 

Lord Hope looked toward the window, so bewildered that he could neithersee nor hear anything distinctly. 

Mrs. Yates went on:

"I called on Daniel's wife to bring the other child. Firemen andcitizens were climbing the ladders and leaping in at the windows. Oneman sprang into the room and out again, while I waited for my turn. Hehad something in his arms huddled up like a bundle--pushed me aside andtook my place on the ladder. Then Daniel's wife came to me, wringing herhands and crying. She could not find the child. 

"But I had the one most precious to me in my arms. The flames drove meforward, and I let myself down on the ladder. Your child was safe. Iknow now that the man who pushed me from the window saved littleCaroline Brown and brought her to you. She has since been known as yourdaughter. I saw her in your arms on board the steamer. Last night shewas recognized as grand-daughter of Lady Carset. "

"But the other--my own child?"

"I had no means of telling you the truth at the time, and, after that, would not do it. The child, I knew, would be a safeguard to littleClara. You would not inquire for her while supposing her in your ownpossession. But we took one precaution--that of giving her the name ofCaroline, which was sure to prevent inquiry. After that she was knownas Caroline Yates, and, until my son's death, thought herself his child. I never lived with them after that, but saw her from time to time, though she never noticed me or knew of the interest I took in her; but, year by year, I saw her grow up, until my son died. Then I lost allknowledge of her. 

"One day I was free to look for this dear child, and went to the cottagewhere my son's will had secured her a home. It was empty. She had goneaway with some singing woman and a person named Brown, who had been hermusic-teacher. 

"The woman had claimed to be her mother, and was known on the stage asOlympia. "

"Go on! go on!" exclaimed Lord Hope; "I am listening. "

The two girls in the window were listening also. As they understood thisstory more and more clearly, their arms tightened around each other anda look of unutterable affection beamed upon their faces; but that of thegirl known as Lady Clara glowed with a look of generous self-abnegation, while her companion was troubled, and almost sad. 

"Go on! go on!"

"I left America at once on learning this, bringing Lady Hope's papersand Lady Carset's jewels with me. Olympia was in England, and, no doubt, your daughter was with her. First I came here, and gave up the trustthat had become a heavy, heavy burden. Then I went in search of my younglady. The time had come when she might claim her title and her rights, without violating her mother's directions. After much search, I foundOlympia's house, and inquired for the person known as her daughter. Shetold me herself, and with bitter anger, that she had no daughter. Iknew the woman, and attempted to make her comprehend that I wished tofind the young lady for her own good; but this flung her into a passionof rage, and she ordered me from the house. Then followed an attempt tobribe me. Still I kept up the search, and at last traced the girl theycalled Caroline Brown to this neighborhood. "

"To this neighborhood!" exclaimed Lord Hope. "Where? where?"

"My lord, up to this time you have only the word of an old woman, whohas suffered under great reproach for all this. I know that the identityof a nobleman's child and the transfer of a great inheritance cannot beso proven. But here is the letter, which Lady Hope gave to me, andanother that she wrote to you on the day of her death. Poor, poor lady!She was very sad that morning, and would undertake the letter at once. God seemed to warn her of what would happen in the next twenty-fourhours. "

Lord Hope took the papers which the old woman handed to him, and there, in the presence of the dead, gathered a confirmation of all Mrs. Yateshad told him. 

The paper had grown yellow since it was blotted with the tears of awoman he had once loved. No wonder it shook his hand as he read. 

"And this girl, my daughter, where is she?" he cried, with a passionateoutburst of grief. 

The girl known as Lady Clara came out from the shadows of the windowcurtains, and made an effort to draw Caroline with her; but she shrankback and stood alone, trembling violently. 

"Papa!"

"Oh, my poor, poor child! How will you bear this?" cried Lord Hope. 

"Trust me, dear, dear papa--for I will call you so. Nothing can breakmy heart, if you and mamma Rachael will love me yet; for the rest, I amglad, so glad, that I am no longer a lady, and am left without a guinea. This is to be really free!"

"Ah, poor child, how can we ever part with you?"

"Your own daughter will not begrudge me a little love; and, after all, Ido belong to mamma Rachael more than she ever can. That is something. Besides, it is from me that you must take your daughter, for I broughther here. Ask her if I did not. "

The young girl was smiling, but tears stood in her eyes, and her lipsquivered as she spoke. 

"Come with me, father, and I will give you to her. It is hard, but Iwill. "

She led Lord Hope across the room, drew back the curtain, and let in thesoft gray light of that early dawn upon the trembling young creature whostood there. 

Lord Hope shook in all his limbs when he saw that face. The eyes full oftears seemed to reproach him as _hers_ had on that fatal night. 

He reached out his arms, with a convulsive heaving of the chest, andfaltered out:

"Forgive me! forgive me! for I have bitterly repented. "

He did not kiss her--he dared not even touch her forehead in that solemnpresence; but he laid one hand on her head, rested his own upon it, asking that forgiveness of God which her heart gave, but could onlyexpress by pathetic silence. 

Then the old woman came up to the window, and stood there, waiting. 

When Lord Hope fell back against the window-frame, strengthless fromexcess of feeling, she laid a hand upon the girl's shoulder, and, turning her face gently to the light, gazed upon it with tenderscrutiny. Then she said, talking to herself:

"It is her face! It is her face!"

"And you are Daniel Yates' mother. How I shall love you! Oh, how I lovedhim!"

Then the old woman's face began to quiver, and her large gray eyesfilled with the slow tears old age gives out with such pain. 

"Yes, child, you must love me a little for your mother's sake. "

"And for the sake of that good man, your son, who was a father to me. How often he has told me that, if there was anything grand or good inhim, it came from the best mother that ever lived! 'Some day, ' he oncesaid, 'God may be merciful and let you know her. Then remember that shehas nothing left but you. ' I do remember it, and no child ever loved agrandmother better than I will love you. "

The old woman lifted up her head from the gentle embrace thus offeredher, and turned to her dead mistress. 

A smile, soft as that hovering about that cold mouth, came to her lipsand eyes. 

"God is very good to me. Are the angels telling you of it, my oldmistress, that you smile so?"

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE NEMESIS. 

The last tender words were still lingering on the lips of Mrs. Yates, when the door opened and Lady Hope stood upon the threshold. 

She had become restless beyond self-control in her own room, and cameback to the death-chamber, wondering what detained her husband there solong. She had thrown the lace shawl from her head entirely; but it fellaround her shoulders, shading her bare white arms and beautiful neck, which the amber-hued dress would otherwise have left uncovered. Framedin the doorway she made an imperial picture. 

"My lord, " she said, advancing to her husband, "what detains you here solong?"

Old Mrs. Yates stepped forward with a scared, wild look; a gleam ofanger or fear, bright as fire, and fierce as a martyr's faith, shot intoher eyes and broadened there. She came close to Lady Hope, facing her, and laid one hand heavily on her arm. 

The haughty woman drew back, and would have shaken the hand from herarm, but it clung there with a grip of steel. 

"Lord Hope, is this woman your wife?"

"His wife! Yes, old woman, I am his wife, " cried Rachael, pale withindignation; "but who authorized you to ask?"

The old woman did not heed her scornfulness, but turned her eyes uponLord Hope, whose face was already white with vague terror. 

"Is she your wife--the woman who was called Rachael Closs?"

"It is Lady Hope, my wife. Why do you ask?"

"_Because it was this woman who murdered your first wife, Lady Carset'sdaughter!_"

More than the stillness of death settled upon that room. The two girlshushed their sobs, and clung closer together in awful silence. The manand the woman, on whom these words had fallen like a rock hurled fromsome great high stood living and human, but struck into marble by asingle blow. The man could not move; the woman did not seem to breathe. Hannah Yates went on, her voice low, but ringing out clear anddistinctly like a funeral knell:

"On the twenty-first of June, now more than fifteen years ago, I sawyou, Lord Hope, come out of a house in Forty-third Street, in New York. 

"You know the house, and can never forget who lived in it. That day Ihad carried your child to see its mother, and left word at home for myson, Daniel Yates, to go after her; for I had business with a woman atone of the theatres, and was not sure of coming back in time. The womanI expected to see was not there; but it took me a long time to walkback, and it was about ten o'clock when I reached the house inForty-third Street. Thinking it possible that Daniel might not have comehome from his work till late, I was crossing the street to go in andinquire about the child, when the front door opened, and you came downthe steps, with a fierce, angry air, such as I had seen many a time onthis side the water. I knew that your presence in that house could haveno peaceful meaning, and went over. I had a latch-key, and did not needto ring. 

"The hall was dark--everything was still below; but a sound of weepingand moans of distress came from my lady's chamber. I went up and foundher in the dark, lying across her bed, trembling dreadfully. Sheshrieked when I bent over her, and it was not till I got a light thatshe would be satisfied that it was only me. Then she sat up, and, in arapid way, told me that you had been there after the child, and wouldhave it but that the little creature had crept away and could not befound anywhere in the house. She must have got into the street, and youwould find her, or she might be lost. She begged me to go at once andlook for the child, and wanted to go with me; but I would not let herdo that. I took her arms from my neck--for, in her joy at seeing the oldwoman, she had flung them there--made her lie down on the bed, and wentaway, promising to come back if I did not find the child; but, if I did, it was to be carried to my own house, as she was afraid to trust it nearher. With this understanding I left her to search for the little girl. 

"She may have crept down to the basement door and be hiding under thesteps, I thought. Of course, the little thing would be afraid to go outinto the streets. So the first thing I did was to run down into thearea. In my haste I had left the door ajar, and bethought myself to goback and shut it, but while I was searching the area a woman ran up thesteps and, pushing the door open, went into the house. 

"At first I thought it was one of the servants, for they all appeared tobe out, but she had on a striped India shawl, such as ladies wore intravelling, and a straw bonnet, from which the veil had blown back. These were not things worn by servants; besides, her air and walkconvinced me that this woman was of another class. As she entered thedoor I saw her face for a single moment, but long enough to show me thatI had never seen it before. 

"The child was not in the area. I rang the basement bell, meaning toquestion the servants, but no one answered it. Then I hesitated where togo next, and as I stood in the shadow of the steps thinking the matterover, this same woman came through the door, shut it without noise, andran down to the pavement. I saw her face clearly then, for the streetlamp was bright. It was that of the woman by your side, Lord Hope. "

Rachael Closs turned a pallid face upon her husband. 

"Will you permit this woman to go on? Is this hideous lie a thing formy husband to encourage by his silence? Who is this audacious woman?"

Lord Hope attempted to speak, but his white lips seemed frozen together. 

"I am Hannah Yates, the nurse of that murdered lady; the woman who hasgiven fourteen years of her life, rather than have scandal fall on thehusband her foster-child loved, or the awful truth reach her dear oldmistress, who died, thank God, without knowing it. "

"And you listen, my lord, to this woman, a confessed murderer, and, nodoubt, an escaped convict?"

"He _must_ listen, and he must believe! How did I know that he was in mylady's house that night, and the moment of his leaving it? How did Iknow the very words he used in attempting to force the child from her?No human being but himself and the poor lady, whose lips were coldwithin an hour, knew of anything that passed between the husband andwife the last time they ever met on earth. "

"But you might have overheard--no doubt were listening--if my lord wasindeed in that place at all. This is no evidence, even if a woman, convicted by her own confession of a crime she now seeks to cast uponanother, could bear witness. "

Rachael Closs spoke out clearly now, and her eyes, shining with theferocity of a wild animal at bay, turned full upon the old woman whoaccused her. 

The old woman put a hand into her bosom and drew out a small poniard. Rachael Closs gave a sharp gasp, and snatched at the poniard, but theold woman held it firmly. 

"Lord Hope, this has been in your hands a hundred times. When did youpart with it? To what person did you give it? Your crest is on thehandle; her blood rusts the blade. "

Lord Hope lifted both hands to conceal the horror that was on his face, to shut out the weapon from his sight. 

"Oh! my God! my God! spare me more of this!"

The proud noble was shaking from head to foot. The veins swelled purpleon his forehead. The sight of that slender weapon swept away his lastdoubt. Lady Hope shrank back from his side, but watched him keenly inher agony of guilt and dread. Her proud figure withered down, herfeatures were locked and hard, but out of their pallor her great eyesshone with terrible brilliancy. Her husband's hands dropped at last, andhe turned a look of such despairing anguish upon her that a cry brokefrom her lips. 

"You--you condemn me?"

Lord Hope turned from her, shuddering. 

"You know! you know!"

He remembered giving her this poniard on the very day of her crime. Hehad been in the habit of carrying it with him when travelling, andthough sharp as a viper's tongue, it, with the daintily enamelledsheath, was a pretty table ornament, and she had begged it of him for apaper cutter. He had seen the sheath since, but never the poniard, andnow the sight of it was a blow through the heart. 

"I picked it up by her bed that morning, after the murder. There is aperson in the castle who saw me take it from the place where it hadfallen. If any one here doubts me, let them ask a person called MargaretCasey--let them ask her. "

That moment the door of the room opened, and Hepworth Closs stood on thethreshold. He had been informed of Lady Carset's illness, just as he wasleaving the castle, and came back only to hear that she was gone. Thescene upon which he looked was something worse than a death-chamber. 

"Ask him if he did not see this poniard in her room while she layunburied in the house. "

Rachael turned her eyes upon her brother--those great, pleading eyes, which were fast taking an expression of pathetic agony, like those of ahunted doe. 

"And you--and you!" she said, with a cry of pain that thrilled the heartof her wretched husband. "Has all the world turned against me? Oldwoman, what have I ever done to you that you should hunt me down so?"

Hepworth Closs came forward and threw an arm around his sister's waist. 

"What is it, Rachael? Who is hunting you down?" he said, tenderly. "Noone shall hurt you while I am near. "

She turned, threw her arms around his neck, and covered his face withpassionate kisses. Then she turned to Lord Hope, held out her pale handsimploringly; and cried out in pathetic anguish:

"Oh, do not believe it! Do not believe it!"

But Lord Hope stepped back, and turned away his face. She knew that thismotion was her doom. 

"Let me look at the poniard, " she said, with unnatural gentleness. "Ihave a right to examine the proofs brought against me. "

Hannah Yates gave her the dagger. She looked at it earnestly a moment, laid one hand upon her heart, as if its beating stifled her, then liftedthe other and struck. 

"Now, my husband, will you kiss me? I have given them blood for blood, life for life!"

She fell in a heap at her husband's feet, and while death glazed overher eyes, reached up her arms to him. 

He fell upon his knees, forgetting everything but the one dreadful factthat she was his wife, and dying. His face drooped to hers, for the lipswere moving, and her eyes turned upon him with pathetic anxiety. 

"It was love for you that led me to it--only that--Oh, believe--beli--"

"I do! I do!" he cried out, in fearful anguish. "God forgive me, andhave mercy on you!"

She struggled, lifted up her arms, drew his lips close to hers, and overthem floated the last icy breath that Rachael Closs ever drew. 

Then the young girl, who had loved this woman better than anything onearth, sank to the floor, and took that pale head in her lap, moaningover it piteously. 

"My poor mamma! my darling mother! Speak to me! Open your eyes! It isClara--your own, own child! Her eyelids close--her lips are fallingapart! Oh! my God, is she dead?"

She looked piteously in the face of Hepworth Closs, who had knelt by herside, and asked this question over and over again:

"Is she dead? Oh, tell me, is she dead?"

Hepworth Closs bent down, and touched his lips to the cold forehead ofhis sister; then he lifted Clara from the floor, and half led her, halfcarried her, from the room. 

Then Lord Hope stood up and turned, with a shudder, to the old woman, who had been to him and his a fearful Nemesis. 

"Hannah Yates, " he said, "you have suffered much, concealed much, and, from your own confession, are not without sin. "

"True, true, " murmured the old woman. "I have sinned grievously. "

"Therefore, you should have shown more mercy to this unhappy woman. Butthe suffering and the wrong was done to shield this girl from what youthought an evil influence, and save from reproach two noble houses, towhich she belongs--for her face tells me that your story is true. Sparethe memory of this most unfortunate, if sinful woman. Spare the highname and noble pride of the old countess, who beseeches you--her veryface seems to change as I speak--for silence and forgetfulness. Thatwhich you have done in love, continue in mercy. Let this miserablescene, with all that led to it, rest in sacred silence among us. Thepersons who have suffered most are now before a tribunal where noevidence of yours is wanted. Look on your old mistress, " he continued, pointing toward the death couch, "and let her sweet face plead with you. Had she lived--"

"Had she lived, " said the old woman, "I should not have spoken. Deathitself would not have wrung from me one word of what her daughtersuffered. But the woman who murdered her came suddenly before me. It wasa power beyond my poor will that made me speak; but hereafter no word ofthis shall ever pass my lips. No evil story of suffering or bloodshedshall ever go forth about a lady of Houghton while I can prevent it. "

Lord Hope bent his head, and made an effort to thank her, but he couldnot speak. 

"Leave me now, " said the old woman. "Let no servants come near theseapartments, save two that can be trusted here with me. Some one sendMargaret Casey and Eliza, her sister, here. Now leave me, Lord Hope, andyou, Lady Carset. You can trust the old woman alone with these two. "

Before noon, that day, it was known in all the country around that theold countess, Lady Carset, lay in funeral state in the royalguest-chamber at Houghton Castle, for the long red flag was floatinghalf-way down its staff, and a hatchment hung in mournful gorgeousnessover the principal entrance between those two massive towers. 

But farther than the flag could be seen, and swift as the wind thatstirred it, went the strange story that the beautiful Lady Hope had beenseized with a violent hemorrhage of the lungs while standing by thedeath couch of the old countess, and had died before help could beobtained. 

After this, another wild rumor took wing. The young lady who had beensome weeks at the castle was only an adopted daughter of Lord Hope, and, consequently could not become heiress of Houghton under the will or byentail. The daughter and heiress was at the castle, stricken down withgrief at the double loss that had fallen upon her since her arrival fromabroad, where she had been educated. With a feeling of delicacy that didher honor she had declined to appear as the acknowledged heiress at thefestival given to Lady Hope, feeling that it might interfere with hergrandmother's independent action with regard to the vast property at herdisposal, if she allowed herself to be proclaimed thus early as thechosen heiress, which she now undoubtedly was. The will had been read, and, with the exception of a considerable legacy to Caroline Brown, theadopted daughter, and provisions for the servants, young Lady Carsetcame in for everything. 

Alderman Stacy took this story back to America, and described hisreception at Houghton Castle with such glowing colors--when theassembled board were at supper one night, in a pleasant, socialway--that one of the fathers proposed forthwith to draw up a resolutionof thanks to young Lady Carset for the hospitality extended to theirillustrious compeer, and forward it, with "the liberty of the city, under the great seal of New York. " At the next meeting of the board thisresolution was carried unanimously--in fact, with acclamation. 

Months went by, twelve or more, and then the trees around that grand oldstronghold blazed out with lights again. Two fountains shot their liquidbrightness over the stone terrace, at which the people from far and nearcame to drink. One sent up crystal, and rained down diamonds, as it haddone that night when the old countess died. The other, being of wine, shot up a column of luminous red into the air, and came down in a stormof rubies. 

The people, who caught the red drops on their lips, and dipped thesparkling liquid up with silver ladles, knew that a double wedding wasgoing on in the castle, and clamored loudly for a sight of their ladyand her bridegroom. 

After a little, the windows along the façade of the building were thrownback, and a gay throng poured itself into a broad balcony, thatprojected a little over the stone terrace, where the wine was flowing, and the eager people crowding forward for the first look. 

Foremost came Lord Hilton, leading Clara--Lady Carset--by the hand. ThenHepworth Closs stepped forth, and on his arm a bright, sparkling littlefigure, in a cloud of gauzy silk, and crowned with white roses, whosmiled and kissed her hand to the crowd, while her little feet kepttime, and almost danced, to the music, which broke from terrace andcovert as the bridal party appeared. 

Standing a little back, near one of the windows, stood two gentlemen, one very old and stricken in years, who leaned heavily on his cane, andlooked smilingly down upon the multitude swaying in front of the castle;and well he might, for two of the finest estates in England had beenjoined that day, and from horizon to horizon stretched the united landswhich the children of his grandson would inherit. 

The other gentleman, standing there with the sad, worn face was LordHope, who leaned heavily against the window-frame, and looked afar offover the heads of the multitude wearily, wearily, as if the days ofmarrying and giving in marriage were all a blank to him. When the youngbride, who had given up her name, title and fortune willingly toanother, came up to him at the window, she laid her hand tenderly on hisarm, whispering:

"Farewell, father, farewell! I am not the less your child because of theblue blood, for she cannot love you better than I do. Will you not shakehands with my husband, father?"

Lord Hope lifted his heavy eyes to Hepworth Closs, saw the features ofanother, whom no one ever mentioned now, in that face, flung both armsabout the bridegroom, shaking from head to foot with tearless sobs. 

A little while after a carriage drove from Houghton to the station, andin two days a steamer sailed with Hepworth Closs and his wife, with thatkind and faithful man, her father, for New York. 

Just as they were about to sail, an old woman came quietly into thesecond-class cabin, paid her passage, and rested there, never coming ondeck till the steamer landed. Then she gathered up her effects in acarpet-bag and went ashore. 

That night a fire blazed on the hearth at Cedar Cottage, and thedilapidated furniture in the various rooms was arranged in the kitchen. 

About six months after, this old woman was found dead upon an ironbedstead up-stairs, and the neighbors held a consultation about buryingher at the expense of the town; but, on searching the rooms, plenty ofEnglish gold was found to have kept her comfortable for years. Then someone remembered that a convict, discharged from the prison not many yearsago, was said to be the mother of Daniel Yates, a good man and excellentcitizen, and they decided to bury the poor old convict by his side. 

There is a very prosperous firm in New York, which has stood the shockof gold corners, and railway crashes, with the firm resistance of heavycapital and business integrity. It is the firm of Closs & Brown. 

The younger member is an active, shrewd, generous man, full ofresources, and capable of wonderful combinations. 

The other superintends the in-door business, and makes himself veryuseful, in a quiet sort of way, in keeping things straight--nounimportant position in a business house, let me assure you. 

As for Caroline--Mrs. Hepworth Closs--you may see her, any fine day, dashing faster than the law allows, along the avenues of Central Park, holding a pair of white ponies well in hand, while she chats and laughswith her husband, glorying in him, and exulting in the freedom which shegained in losing a grand title and estate. 

THE END. 

 MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS. 

 Each Work is complete in one volume, 12mo. 

 THE OLD COUNTESS; OR, THE TWO PROPOSALS. LORD HOPE'S CHOICE. THE REIGNING BELLE. A NOBLE WOMAN. MARRIED IN HASTE. WIVES AND WIDOWS; OR, THE BROKEN LIFE. THE REJECTED WIFE. THE GOLD BRICK. THE CURSE OF GOLD. THE HEIRESS. FASHION AND FAMINE. PALACES AND PRISONS. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. SILENT STRUGGLES. MARY DERWENT. THE WIFE'S SECRET. THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS. RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY. MABEL'S MISTAKE. DOUBLY FALSE. 

 Price of each, $1. 75 in Cloth; or $1. 50 in Paper Cover. 

 Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place, postage pre-paid, on receipt of their price by the Publishers, T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 306 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA.