"Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell,Heaven never summoned from the depths of hell."
"Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell,Heaven never summoned from the depths of hell."
Mr. Stone broke the momentary silence by saying, in matter-of-fact tones:
"It is natural, I suppose, to a man of your seemingly nervous temperament, to be a little upset at not meeting your father; but, in my opinion, life is too short for sentiment, especially when wasted as in this case, for your father, according to cablegram sent us, is improving, and is, I dare swear, kicking his heels about St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, waiting impatiently for your return."
"Yes, Uncle Timothy, yours is the practical view of it; sentiment is, or should be, a monopoly of the poets; self-interest, with pounds, shillings and pence, are good enough for us."
"Margaret means to convey, Mr. Charles, that you should be thankful to Providence that you have been spared to come to us; to a land, also, flowing with milk and honey, ready to your hand and purse," said her aunt, sanctimoniously adding, "How is religious life in Toronto?"
"Religious life?" he said, half dazed, wholly absorbed in the thought that he was to be held in bondage by that stony-eyed woman with snake-like hair—his Medusa.
"Alas, I fear you are dead in sin, Mr. Charles. You do not even know the meaning of my words. I have heard that New York is the most wicked city in America, and you, I fear, frequently go there to participate in the pleasures of sin. I dread to allow my niece to go out, even as your wife; it was only the other day I read, copied from one of your newspapers, that at Tahlequah, which I suppose is near you, that a Chickasaw Indian was arrested by a deputy United States marshal with three assistants; the company camped on the prairie, with the exception of the marshal, who, riding on, reached his goal; waited there until weary, he rode back, and what did he find? The entire posse with heads cut off, and the Indian fled. America must be a very Sodom and Gomorrah. But I see you are not listening to me, Mr. Charles. We have a saintly young man here, the Rev. Claude Parks, whom I must ask to influence you to a better frame of mind, with an intense gratitude to Providence for the favors about to be showered upon you."
Thus did Miss Stone give vent to her feelings to unlistening ears. Fond of hearing her own voice, it mattered little to her that she received no replies but to be told impatiently that "he was ill," and to be compelled to waste the eloquence she seduced herself into believing she possessed, upon a man with now his hands pressed upon his feverish brow, now his eyes fixed on vacancy, now upon the entrance as though he would fain flee, incensed her almost to rage; during the absence of Mr. Stone and his niece she had determined to improve the occasion, and so read him no end of lectures. The two absent ones, after a few minutes' whispered conversation in the library, had crossed the lawn to a neat cottage where the clergyman in charge of the Bayswater Mission existed on one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. As they stepped through the flower beds, which the moon rising in unclouded splendor lit with her soft white light, Miss Villiers in cold, hard tones, said:
"Yes, you are right; he showed his hand, and of how much he loved me at first sight, as he asked in that scared way for my sweet sister, but bah! such maudlin folly in our wasting our precious moments overhisfeelings in the matter; they are of no more consequence than are the blades of grass we crush beneath our feet in reaching our goal; let him laugh who wins, even though the goal be reached by a foul."
"Yes, the sooner we hold the lines the better; he has not spirit enough to be a runaway horse."
"Let him but try, there is the curb bit and halter."
"Oh, you need not tell me, Margaret, that you will have him well in hand. Yes, and before that paradise of fools, the honeymoon, is over," laughed her uncle sardonically.
"Yes, the grey mare will be the best horse this time; but what a blessing his father is laid low; it would have been all up, when he saw how cut up our precious Charles is. I did hope, had they come over together, they might have been shrewd as their Yankee neighbors, and gone in with us. Now, if his father should die, we have nothing to fear; if he lives, we must exercise our wits, that is all. And, now, as to your little fiction as to the telegram summoning you away at daybreak, where will you stay?"
"Oh, anywhere, in some quiet cheap boarding-house in East End, London; perhaps Tom Lang's."
"I suppose it's soft of me, uncle; but I may not have a quiet word with you again. You must mind, I mean what I say. You must pay aunt one hundred pounds per annum for her own requirements and beloved mission work, though what she gives would not buy salt to their porridge, unless to that of her pet parson himself."
"When you know this, Margaret, why make such an ass of yourself as to give it her; for, in my opinion, she is hoarding."
"It is in the blood; but you are a monopolist," she said sententiously as, merely tapping on the door of the cottage, they enteredsans ceremonie, meeting the Rev. Claude Parks in the hall, who, shaking hands with both, said: "I had some calls this evening, but expecting you in, postponed them. At what hour to-morrow am I to tie the knot?" he asked smilingly.
"Never put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day, Mr. Parks; you may take that for your text next Sunday," said Miss Villiers decidedly.
"Nothing like it, Parks," said her uncle in oily tones, rubbing his hands.
"I shall give you another," said the curate rejoicing in his coming fee. "'If, when done, 'twere well, 'twere well 'twere done quickly.' Do you desire me to return with you?"
"Yes," said Miss Villiers, "and at once, if we are to act on our joint quotations, for it is only two hours until midnight; come, get your robes of office, and let us be off."
Thus it was that the ways and means did duty, the curate standing much in awe of Miss Villiers, as well as of Miss Stone; some saying the latter was his curate, others facetiously protesting that he was hers. And so she considered him not as the ambassador of Christ, but as a paid servant of her own, for so does too often the Anglican Church pay its clergy only sufficient for a dinner of herbs; knowing that man, be he priest or sinner, being a dining animal, has, at a weak moment, a craving for the "stalled ox," and if his appetite be too strong for him, sells himself, like Esau, for a "mess of pottage."
But now to return to Miss Villiers and her uncle, with the Rev. Claude Parks, as they make their entrée to Broadlawns and its oak drawing-rooms.
"Rev. Mr. Parks, Mr. Babbington-Cole, of whom you have heard us speak, from Canada," said Miss Villiers; and Bengough's modern curate of the conventional type flashed across the memory of poor Cole. He was a meek young man, though a true Christian, who spoke in a monotone, his hair parted, to a hair, in line with the bridge of his nose, and wearing his hands meekly folded.
After their going round and round the barometer, English and Canadian, Miss Stone said, primly:
"It matters little whether the poor carnal bodies suffer from the cold. I fear, out there, souls are cold unto death, starving for spiritual life and heat. I have been telling Mr. Babbington-Cole, and I feel sure you will coincide with me, Mr. Parks, that with so many infidels and wild Indians in his land, they should have their lamps trimmed and burning."
"You are always orthodox, Miss Stone," chanted Mr. Parks, meekly. "You look ill, Mr. Babbington-Cole; was the sea too much for you?"
"Yes, and now my head is in a whirl. I feel as if I am in for brain fever. Would to God I had remained in Canada," he answered feverishly.
"Tut, tut; a night's rest will set you up," said Stone hastily. "You Canadians are pale in any case, looking as though you feed on gruel."
"Cablegram, sir," said Simon, tapping at the door.
"It's for you, Babbington-Cole," said Stone, handing it.
"From my father's medical man," said Cole nervously, as, on reading it, he returned it to the envelope, and was about pocketing it, when Miss Villiers said, putting out her hand:
"I presume we may see it."
Cole, though with visible reluctance, handed it to her, when she read as follows:
"St. Lawrence Hall,"Montreal, 25th Sept."ToC. Babbington-Cole, Esq."Typhoid fever left; but taken cold, sore throat; looking most anxiously for the return of yourself and Mrs. Cole.Pray don't delay."John Peake, M.D."
"St. Lawrence Hall,"Montreal, 25th Sept."ToC. Babbington-Cole, Esq.
"St. Lawrence Hall,"Montreal, 25th Sept.
"ToC. Babbington-Cole, Esq.
"Typhoid fever left; but taken cold, sore throat; looking most anxiously for the return of yourself and Mrs. Cole.Pray don't delay.
"John Peake, M.D."
"John Peake, M.D."
"Too bad, too bad; but you may yet find your father quite well," said Stone, with assumed feeling.
"'In the midst of life we are in death,'" said Miss Stone. "I trust your father has not been a careless liver, Mr. Charles; as a young man, I remember he was much given to the things of the world."
"My father is no smooth-tongued hypocrite, but has a truer sense of religion than many representative men and women in our church of to-day," said Cole, warmly; while thinking, but for his mistaken sense of honor, I would not now be in this abominable fix.
"You will, I am sure, be anxious to return at once, Mr. Babbington-Cole," said Mr. Parks, in measured tones. "And as the first step towards it, as it grows late, if you will arrange yourselves, I will proceed at once with the service."
"To-night!" exclaimed the victim.
"I think it best, Babbington-Cole," said Stone, firmly, "for you are not the only one who has received a telegraphic message this evening; mine summons me away at daybreak for the Isle of Wight, on urgent business; and as you have crossed the pond to marry my niece, what do you gain by postponement?"
"By delay," said Miss Villiers, fixing her stony eyes on him, as she motioned him to stand beside her, "by delay we may miss seeing your father alive."
"True," said Cole, "and I must find him alive to explain all this," he added, with feverish haste. And while the service was said in monotone by the clergyman, so intent was he in performing hidden rites of vengeance upon his bride for the pantheon of hideous idols she was making him walk through life in, that he was deaf to the words:
"Wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded wife?"
And the first caress he received from his bride was a pinch, sharp and telling; he said, excitedly:
"Take it all for granted, Mr. Parks, I am really too ill to take part."
At the words, "I pronounce that they be man and wife together," etc., muffled footsteps and the noise of panting breath is distinctly heard, and a pale woman, who had evidently come from a distance, with flying feet entered; the clergyman only seeing her, the others having their backs to the entrance; but she nears, staying her feet to listen as she hears the words which add another couple to the long line of loveless unions, her hurried breathing falls on the ears of those present. All turn round. Miss Villiers eyes her menacingly, while Miss Stone and her brother simultaneously point to the door, as she interrupting Mr. Parks' congratulations, says in heart-rending tones of despair:
"Yes, I will go, for I am too late, too late, alas! for my poor young mistress and my oath to protect her." And she vanished noiselessly.
The fetters securely fastened, Mrs. Babbington-Cole said, wrathfully:
"A lunatic asylum is the only fit home for Sarah Kane." Turning to her new-made husband, she says explanatorily, "an old servant, and a crank. Uncle Timothy, you had better see her caged up somewhere, or pay her off, and dismiss her."
"Yes, I must; we can't have a madwoman going about like this."
"Alas! how ungrateful of Sarah," sighed Miss Stone. "I fear the seed we have sown fell on stony ground, Mr. Parks."
"I fear so, indeed," echoed Mr. Parks, as he departed, his heart gladdened on thinking of the good British gold in his pocket; and from Mr. Stone, mean though he was, it was worth paying a sovereign to become the possessor of a yearly income of two thousand pounds. The poor bridegroom thought not of the parson's fee, which, had he wedded a woman of his own choice, he would have paid with an overflowing heart, he, poor fellow, being as generous as morning sunbeams on a beauteous June day.
The ceremony over! the fraud consummated! the bird snared! the man fettered! all joy in living, all hope in his heart crushed by a woman. Cole since hearing the solemn words of the agitated woman, felt as he threw himself into a chair, burying his head in his hands, as he leaned forward elbows on knees, as though did some one put a knife to his heart he would be grateful; he felt feverish and his brain throbbed as it had never throbbed before. Starting to his feet, he said brokenly, "It is now my turn to dictate; you will excuse me, Imusthave time to think,and in solitude;I go to my own apartment."
"You had better have some supper with us first to celebrate the event," said his bride, jocosely, for she feels triumphant.
"No, I thank you, food would choke me, and I am in no mood for revelry."
"You had better, Babbington-Cole," said Stone (who never offered a meal that he had to pay for), "you had better; an empty stomach is a cold bed-fellow."
But he was gone. Six ears sharp as needles listened to the sound of his retreating footfalls, slow and heavy, in ascending the stairs; they heard him go in and lock his door.
"A loving bridegroom," said Stone, malevolently. "You have evidently made an impression, Margaret."
"As you did on my sainted step-mother, when she spurned your offer beneath her feet, history repeats itself, most affectionate of uncles."
"'The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity,'" said Miss Stone, reprovingly; "let us show a Christian spirit, and prove we are thankful everything is settled; we have worked hard for it, and have a right to partake of the feast prepared for the wedding party."
"Had you not better call your recalcitrant spouse, Margaret," said her uncle, as they repaired to the dining-room and seated themselves; "perhaps you do not know that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
"No, I shall not disturb his peaceful slumbers; by leaving him to himself he will the sooner come to his milk. For a beggarly eight hundred-dollar clerk—Colonial at that—he does not show gratitude as he should for a three thousand pound per annum wife.".
"I agree with you, Margaret, but I doubt not you will bring him to a more Christian frame of mind," said Miss Stone, dwelling on each mouthful of veal-and-ham pie with the relish of an epicure.
"Alone once more, thank God!" said Cole to himself in despairing tones, throwing himself on to a sofa of stiff, cold horse-hair; "and now to collect my unwelcome thoughts," he sighed wearily, now walking restlessly to and fro, now flinging himself down, lying perfectly still.
Some one says that "locality is like a dyer's vat." This room assigned to Cole would in itself have lent a gloomy, funereal aspect to one's tone of mind, from the cumbrous bedstead of dark mahogany to the darkest of hangings and carpet, every article as cold and polished as the black hair-cloth furniture. No pretty feminine knick-knacks, no bright pictures, nothing to relieve the eye.
"Alone," he groaned, "yes, but for how long? She will, I expect, think she has the right to come here; had she forced her hateful presence upon me to-night I feel that reason would have fled. What could my father have been about to sell me like this? But there has been some devil's work. He has been deceived, and I have been completely hemmed in by the moves of the miscreator circumstance, the cablegram of his physician to them and to myself to-night. She a modern Medusa, to be a panacea for him or any one! Poor father, how you have been duped. That they are all playing some devil's game is clear even to my throbbing brain, no wonder that ever since I set foot on England's shore I have had a terrible presentiment of evil hanging over me, and now the very worst has come to pass: they have roped me in. I have given her, that awful woman, my name! God save me from madness! Hist! what sound was that? They come! and yet the hideous midnight revelry is still on below; but they come, a tap! Jove's thunderbolt, or Vulcan's hammer would be of no avail. I shall feign sleep."
"And what does our Diogenes find to say?" said Mrs. Gower, gaily, as on the night of the 9th November she gathered a few friends to supper, after an evening at the Grand Opera House. "Come, Mr. Dale, like a good man, confess that Mrs. Langtry is worth letting your tub go to staves for."
"Well, on the whole, yes. I think she has improved."
"Improved! but I suppose one must be content with even such admission from you."
"But, my dear lady, when a man has seen the best that London, Paris, and New York can put on their theatre boards, what you in Canada offer is merelypour passez le temp."
"Yes, I suppose one grows to feel like that; but I am glad I have yet a few sights to see, if, by seeing everything, one loses one's zest for anything."
"But you surely do not admire her choice of plays?"
"No; but I do really deem her a born actress, as clever as she is charming."
"One could easily see, Mrs. Gower, that you got the worth of your ticket in emotional feeling," said Mr. Smyth, laughingly, "for you visibly trembled when 'ex-Captain Fortinbras' made his triumphantexposé."
"Malevolent wretch! a thrill of horror did run through me, as well as of pity for his unfortunate victim."
"My feelings are not so easily acted upon," said Mrs. Dale. "I was very coolly watching to see if she could disentangle herself from the villain's clutches, and her arms from her odious lace sleeves."
"The latter absorbed me," said lively Mrs. Smyth; "if I had such arms I should never cover them, not even in mid-winter; you ought to pay more for your ticket than we do, Elaine, you get more—more feelings—than we do."
"Yes, I must trouble you for some more oysters, Mr. Dale; 'nerve tissue is expensive,'" she laughingly answered.
"Her gowns, her robings, were in perfect taste," said Buckingham.
"Yes, Oscar Wilde would have breathed a sigh of satisfaction," said Mrs. Gower.
"Speaking of our color-blending pet," said Mrs. Dale, "he wishes his baby was a girl; he says girls drape so much better."
"Just fancy a thing like that living in our stirring times, and calling itself a man," said Dale, contemptuously; "picture him beside the two liberated Chicago Anarchists."
"Poor fellow! he would feel badly had the Communists the control of his wardrobe," said Mrs. Gower.
"His would be a capital garb for a surveyor," said Mrs. Smyth; "I wish Will would adopt it."
"Then would surveyors be on the increase when his measure would be taken," laughed Mrs. Gower.
"Lilian has vivid recollections of my last home-coming, when I was a mass of sticky York mud to my knees," said Smyth.
"I remember, Dale, you were disgusted at the Emma-Juch concert by reason of large hats and small chatter," said Buckingham. "What did you think of the manner of the audience to-night?"
"I think that, on the whole, when one considers the antecedents of the moneyed people of Toronto, that they behaved themselves better, showed more consideration for the feelings of others, in fact, ignored their fine feathers—remembering that they were not the only occupants of the theatre—better than at any other gathering of 'beauty and fashion' (in newspaper parlance), that I have made one at."
"Yes; so I thought," said Buckingham; "and at the theatre, one escapes the worrying nuisance of recalls, as felt at Toronto."
"I wish some star in the concert world would have the courage to insert after her name, no encore," said Mrs. Gower, "for though we do recall, it is astonishing howennuyeuxthe best numbers are in repetition."
"Will did an awfully daring thing at the Carreno-Juch concert," said Mrs. Smyth, eagerly; "we had seats immediately behind the Cawsons; and you know, Elaine, what a rude, boisterous——"
"My dear," said her friend, in mock reproof; "they are in society! have, of course, the dollar, and, perforce, are fashionable! what in poor people we should designate as rude and underbred, we must call in the Cawsons, and that ilk, 'quite the thing, you know;' but proceed,ma chere."
"Well, Will fidgetted, and they chattered across each other in audible remarks, on acquaintances in the audience, on a luncheon they were to give, as to the war-paint of a lady friend who had been presented to Queen Victoria, when I, the meanest of her subjects (I use the words figuratively, as Burdette says), pitied royalty; but the climax was reached when in Raff's 'Ever of Thee,' a particular favorite of Will's, the 'unruly member' was heard with renewed vigor, when this husband of mine rose in his might, and to his feet, saying audibly, 'Come, let us try if the low price seats hold better-bred people.'"
"Bravo! bravo!" cried Buckingham.
"Very well put," said Dale; "short a time as I have been in Toronto, I have observed that for culture and refinement one must look to the people who live on modest incomes, or salaries; middle class is a phrase I find no use for. In this country there are the 'vulgar rich,' whose 'rank is but the guinea's stamp,' and well-bred poor; there are impoverished gentry, with an innate refinement showing in their too often struggling descendants; there are the moneyed people, lacking what filthy lucre cannot buy, namely, good breeding, and who never weary in parading their jewels, furniture and fine clothes."
"Very true," said Mrs. Gower; "I have frequently thought at some of our large social gatherings, that it is a pity one's blood cannot be analyzed instead of one's gown."
"What a resurrection there would be," said Buckingham; "not a few would long to pocket their own heads."
"A sympathetic artiste must feel any want of oneness in her audience," said Mrs. Dale; "I should throw my roll of music at them and retire."
"At which, dear, they would only give their unwearied cry of 'encore,'" said her hostess; "it is very evident we are all at one in a very decided distaste for mongrels; but, Mr. Buckingham, during your run on the Kingston and Pembroke rail you missed hearing the Rev. Jackson Wray."
"Yes; did he please you?"
"Extremely; both in his sermonizing and in his lecture on George Whitefield; he is eloquent, and his imagery and figurative language charmed me."
"Indeed; in that case I regret to have missed him. Did you hear him, Dale?"
"Yes, and though I regret the not being at one with Mrs. Gower in all things," he said, smilingly, "must say he pleased me not."
"Pleased you not!" echoed his hostess; "then I abandon you to your tub; the scholarly, the literary world, would be a desert did your sweeping criticisms prevail."
"But how so, Dale? one would almost make sure of finding in him a rather superior excellence, knowing that he holds a pulpit in such a city as your London."
"Granted, Buckingham; but not only at London, but over the whole Christianized world, mistakes are to be found in the pulpit."
"Oh, no, Dale, I cannot go with you; 'tis in the pew that mistakes exist."
"I go with you there, Buckingham," he replied, wilfully misunderstanding him; "the pew system is selling out the Gospel by the square foot," at which his friend laughed.
"Mr. Dale," asked Mrs. Gower, "do you never allow the critic within you to go to sleep, allow your really generous nature full play, and give yourself up to enjoyment?"
"I do; for instance, now, here is a real enjoyment; but, pray, do not dub me a critic."
"I fear I must in some of your moods; but see, the mere word, or the silvery chimes of midnight, are lending wings to your wife, and Mrs. Smyth: they are deserting us. Are you examining the heavens, dear?" she says, following Mrs. Dale to a window.
"Look quick, Mrs. Gower, he won't see you if you peer through the slats; and how awful! in among the bushes, out in that torrent of rain, there is a——"
"Don't alarm Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, quietly, who had neared them unnoticed; "if there is anyone loitering about, let me open the shutters and window, and step out."
"Good night, Mrs. Gower," called Smyth, from the hall; "our carriage stops the way, and if I don't make a move, Lil never will," he says, meeting her.
"Mr. Dale is too fascinating," laughed his wife. "Good night, Elaine; Will thinks he hears baby crying, or he would not stir."
"Nice little baby, don't get in a fury 'cause mamma's gone to a play at the theatre," sang Smyth, jokingly.
"Did youreallysee anyone, Mrs. Dale?" had asked Buckingham, in a grave whisper.
"I really did; the—but hush, she returns."
"You look pale, Mrs. Gower," he said, kindly, "put me up anywhere to mount guard over you for to-night."
"Oh, no, I thank you, not for worlds," she said, nervously; but recovering herself, added, "you know I have Thomas, and Mrs. Dale may only have seen a shadow, like a cloud which will pass."
"Clouds sometimes precede a storm."
"But not always," she says, with a sudden resolve, "for if Mrs. Dale will stay with me all night, she will be its silver lining."
"Indeed, I shall with pleasure," she said, eagerly, adding, in mock condescension, "Good night, Mr. Dale."
"What do you mean, Ella; our cab is here?"
"I am going to stay with Mrs. Gower, Henry, so good night, dear; an extra blanket and night-cap must be my substitute," she said, as he kissed her good night.
"Good night, Mr. Dale; you are keeping up your character for generosity," said Mrs. Gower.
"Come along, Dale," said Buckingham, glad of the arrangement; "I shall be with you as far as the Rossin House."
"Oh, Henry," called his wife, as he was entering the cab, "don't forget the schools are on for to-morrow; Mrs. Gower says to come up at one, to luncheon; don't forget Garfield and Miss Crew; and tell Miss Crew to send me first thing, by electric despatch, 82 Yonge Street, my plum walking dress, and bonnet to match, and——"
"No more, dear, please; you should have given it to me in manuscript form, I fear I shall not remember it."
"Poor Capt. Cuttle, when found make a note on," said Mrs. Gower, jokingly, but rather nervously, peering out, in and among the dark bushes.
"I'll coach him," laughed Buckingham.
"Etc., etc., etc.," called out Mrs. Dale, as the hack rolls away.
As the friends turn from the door, Mrs. Gower herself seeing to the fastenings and putting the chain on, Thomas said:
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but can you step this way, please?"
"But, Thomas," she said, trying in vain to battle with her fate.
"Yes ma'am, I know it's a shame to be a pestering of you at this hour, but it's——"
"Very well, Thomas, I shall attend to it; excuse me, dear Mrs. Dale, for a few moments, and then we must really go to bed."
"That's all right; I know what the calls upon a housekeeper are."
Quick as a flash, on the exit of her hostess, the portière hangings are drawn, the gas at one end turned out, the window flown to.
"Yes, my lady crouches there still, and—yes, that is he on the kitchen steps; the light from the window points you out to me, my dear cupid—done up by a west-end tailor; the door opens, which shows me my kind hostess; and now for the woman—for ferret out this mystery I shall—for in some way, unknown to me, this gentleman and follower are worrying the life out of my friend."
With a waterproof on, noiselessly she opens the window and shutters; a step and the veranda is reached; with beckoning hand she endeavors to attract the attention of the woman, but without success, as she is wholly absorbed in watching the door by which the man entered. Afraid of attracting attention by calling out, she twists a couple of buttons off her waterproof, throwing them on to the gravel walk; her object is gained and defeated simultaneously, for the woman, taking fright, makes for the gate, at which Tyr, who had made his exit on the man making hisentrée, swift as a deer, ran barking after her; but she is safe outside the gate, at which Mrs. Dale quiets Tyr, who has come up to her, rubbing his cold nose to her still colder hands. And now to make another attempt. In a few moments the gate is reached; yes, the woman is standing under the shade of a tree on the boulevard, the lamplight falling full upon Mrs. Dale.
"Down, Tyr, be quiet; down, I say. Come here, young woman; don't fear, I only wish to speak to you."
"I won't go there; let me alone, for I warn you, I am a desperate woman," she growled, in threatening tones, Tyr making a dash to be at her.
"Come here, Tyr, it's all right. But what is your trouble? If you will only trust me, I feel sure I can help you," she says, breathlessly, for she does not wish her friend to miss her.
"You help me!go away with your smooth serpent tongue; away to that other hussy, in her silks and jewels, robbing an honest woman of her——"
But her sentence was never finished, for the man is coming; and quick as a deer she is out of sight.
Mrs. Dale is quietly seated by the cheerful grate, apparently absorbed in "Cleveland's winning card," as given inJudge, when her hostess returns, looking sad and troubled.
"I don't know how it is I feel so nervous to-night, dear," she said, seeing to the window fastenings; "I am so glad you are with me, but you will find me very doleful."
"Not a bit of it, Mrs. Gower; I am no relation to an acquaintance of mine, who is not content unless one is making a buffoon of oneself for her especial delectation."
"I fear she would cut my acquaintance in my present mood. I am going to ask you a favor, dear; it is to call me Elaine; I shall feel less alone in this big world, and can talk to you more freely, hearing my Christian name. I dare say it is a childish fancy for a woman of my age, but——"
"But me—no buts. Elaine, we are true friends, and you have some secret trouble which I ought to share, else, what use is my friendship to you; you will tell it me, dear?" and the pretty Irish eyes look up into the dark ones bending over her with a questioning look.
"Tell me first, dear, did you recognize anyone in the garden to-night?"
"I did, Elaine."
At this, covering her face with her coldly nervous hands, she said, brokenly:
"God help me, I am driven by the winds, and tossed; I must sleep on it to-night, and if I feel strong enough, tell you all to-morrow."
"That's right, and to insure your being brave enough, you must take the best tonic, sleep; so let us mount," she said affectionately, rising and taking her friend's arm.
"Very well, dear; and the dropping rain shall be my lullaby in wooing the god of slumber."
It was no heated fancy of a half-delirious brain of our poor friend, Cole, that he had heard a tap on the gloomy door of the east chamber, at Broadlawns, on the night he was snared by the huntress; held by the fetters of a loveless union with Margaret Villiers; but he paid no heed to the stealthy tap, repeated whenever the revelry below was loudest; but as silent as the grave, he almost holds his breath as he watches the door, a look of agony in his tired eyes, which throb as does his head in neuralgic torture; but now, his strange midnight visitor, as if driven to desperation by his silence, says through the keyhole:
"For heaven's sake, let me in!"
But no response; he will trust no one under the roof of this hateful place, to which he has been trapped, in which he has lost his freedom, in which the terrible conviction has seized him that he is going to be laid low by the fell hand of sickness. What is that? Yes, he sees a slip of paper passed under the door; his midnight visitor is evidently bent on obtaining an interview; pale as a ghost, and trembling in every limb, he creeps noiselessly to the door, picks up the paper, and reads the following words:
"I am the woman who came intoo lateto stop your marriage;your own friends, who are far away, would tell you to see me. For God's sake, let me do what I can for you, evennow."
But for her wording, as to his "friends far away," he would have paid no heed; he remembers now, in a dazed sort of way, amidst the medley he has been in ever since his arrival, that there was some woman who appeared, was maligned, and vanished, all in a few seconds. Yes, if he could only feel sure the oak door only separated him from one not in league with his enemies, as he now feels them to be, the lock would be immediately turned; but, should it be a fraud whereby to obtain admittance for the terrible woman he has wedded, and whom he loathes and fears at the same time; and so, with his cold, nervous hand upon the lock, he hesitates, when she again appeals a last time through the keyhole.
"I must go, and leave you to your misery, if you will not open the door; they are preparing to come up stairs."
At this, the dread of loneliness, the craving for sympathy, with the sinking feeling of sickness coming over him, the natural instinct of self-preservation impelling him to risk something in endeavoring to secure one friend to be about him if he cannot shake off this feeling of intense lassitude, low spirits, head and brain on fire, and throbbing as with ten thousand pulses, cause him with a sudden fear lest she should go, to turn the key, when noiselessly, a pale woman with an intensely sad expression in her whole countenance, and prematurely grey, enters.
"Poor fellow! and a kindly, handsome face, too; what a sacrifice! God knows how willingly I would have saved you; but their moves were hidden from me," she said piteously, in a low whisper, gazing into his face tearfully, while taking his hands in her own.
In the reaction he flung her off, saying, brokenly,
"Why were you not in time? What trust have you broken so, blighting my very existence? Out upon you, woman, you may go and leave me to despair."
"No, no, I must stay; Iwillstay; you are ill, but will be more calm; though withher! God help you, you will never find peace, never be at rest."
And throwing her apron over her face, she, too, sank on to the sofa where he was; but he is, after a few moments, quiet again, and drawing the covering from her face, which she has used as if to shut out the view where all, all is misery to the last degree, she turns to look at him; both hands white, cold and trembling, cover his face, through his fingers drop scalding tears, silent tears of woe.
"Do not give way so, sir. Poor fellow, you are indeed to be pitied, away from your home, away from your own land. They sent me off to London on messages—to get me out of the way—for some things for Miss Villiers, as then was."
"Don't remind me. God help me. Swear, woman, swear!" he said excitedly, "to stay by me to get me well; quick, for my inner consciousness tells me I shall be, nay am, ill; elucidate this mystery, is it money they want, how can I escape? swear, swear to stay by me in this place, smelling of brimstone. Swear!" he continued, forgetting time and place, as he raised his voice, only remembering his wretchedness.
"For heaven's sake try to calm yourself; they have heard you, they come; not a sound; they will turn me out, and you will have only them. I conjure you, curb yourself; not a sound." And taking both his hands to her knee, with motherly tenderness, seeks by gently stroking or holding them in hers to soothe him to even momentary calm.
"I say, Cole, are you sleeping?" said the voice of Stone, turning the handle. "You should have been down with us; we have been feeding like fighting cocks."
"I am sure I heard him talking," said Margaret. "Mean fellow he is; feigning sleep."
"Good night, Cole, or rather, morning; pleasant dreams," said Stone, malevolently.
"Look, uncle, at aunt rolling into her bed-chamber; veal pie and stout will be her nightmare. Good night, spouse," she said, through the keyhole.
At this, Sarah Kane had great difficulty in quieting him. "I kiss my hand to you"—for she is hilarious; a glass of beer, a change of name, three thousand per annum secured, have been a powerful stimulant.
"It's my belief he heard every word we said, but wouldn't give in," said her uncle, as they went along the hall.
"Of course, he did, the mean pup; but never fear, I'll make him knuckle under."
"That you will," he said, chuckling.
When all is again quiet at Broadlawns, Charlie Cole and Sarah Kane again breathe more freely.
"Tell now,now," he says feverishly, "how I am to get away from here and without, remember, that woman? You will have to stay by me, for I am too ill, God help me, to act alone."
"First, you must undress and get into bed; my, but you are weak!"
"I am; please take this key and unlock my trunk; I am not equal to any exertion."
"Were you ill crossing the ocean, sir?"
"I was, but nothing like this; the medical attendant on board said I must have some mental worry which preyed even then upon my bodily health."
"Your name, Charles Cole, how well I remember it," she said, reading it on his linen. "My poor dead mistress and friend trusted me—God help me if I have seemed unfaithful to my trust. Perhaps I should have found out and followed my young mistress, but Silas and I thought I had best watch her interests here. God pity me," she said tearfully, falling upon her knees. "Good Lord, watch over her, lead my steps to her, for I have failed in preventing their black deeds here; so I shall go to America to try and find you, poor, dear, wronged Miss Pearl."
Here Cole, with a groan of weakness and dizziness, falls half undressed upon the bed, at which Sarah Kane flies to him, takes off his boots, assisting him to get under the clothes.
"Poor, poor feet, like ice," she says pityingly; "I must do something for him. Heaven help him among such a horde of cruel hearts; I must at any risk go down and get a foot warmer. Poor fellow, so gentle and amiable-like, he deserved a better fate, and should have a physician at once; but the mind, the poor sick mind, as well as body, how will that be calmed? There, there, don't mind anything; try to sleep. I am going down stairs to get a foot-warmer for you."
"No, no," he said nervously, "you must not leave me."
"I have listened in the hall, and they are all snoring, sleeping heavily after the late supper. I must, indeed, sir, see to the warming of your feet; it will only take me five minutes; please consent, for your own sake."
"Well, go; and I will lock the door after you, lest the wretches come in," and attempting to sit up he feels too weak, falling backwards with a heavy sigh.
Sarah Kane, now really alarmed, slips off her shoes, silently unfastens the door, making a speedy exit; passing the doors of the sleepers without detection, not so though on entering the servants' wing—the cook and man-servant seeming both restless, she hesitates, then on with flying feet accomplishes her object, bringing also mustard; up again this time, not risking the back stairs and the servants, the front stairs, which, being thickly padded, cover her footfalls.
Back again, she finds him staring fixedly at the door in terror, lest any but herself should appear. She now applies the foot-warmer, also putting mustard plasters to the nape of the neck and pit of the stomach.
"You look tired," he said languidly, "but I cannot say go and rest, I am not brave enough."
"I am accustomed to do without sleep. I nurse many sick. Since my poor mistress died, and they sent sweet Miss Pearl out to the States, I have no regular duties here, but thought it wise, as they did not bid me go, to stay on and watch them. They often quarrel over my being here, Mr. Stone wanting to drive me out, Miss—I mean—but no, never mind—there, there," stroking his hands, "the aunt and niece thinking, and true, that I know too much. It's a fact, sir, but I have not known how to check them for all. God help me, but when I see you well and away from this home of the Pharisee—this place with a heart of stone and a tongue of oil, or evil, as it suits—I must see what is best, even so late."
And so the poor, half-distracted thing talked on and on, often in a disconnected sort of way, but her tones were soothing.
"Go on," he said, opening his eyes; "what trust have you broken," he repeated, "bringing me to this?" Here he grew excited, but, evidently too weak to talk, said languidly, putting her hand to his brow:
"Feel that, their work," he said feverishly, "and in part yours, as you have not exposed them; why have you not?"
"What would the world heed had I,in their employ, lifted up my voice against them? they are all Pharisees, all strict church-goers, and would turn the wrath against myself, for I do not make loud prayers, their hypocrisy driving me to my closet, instead of to the be-seen-of-men sort of religion; no, no one would have believed me, though I think now of one who would, and he is Dr. Annesley, of the city. I have erred in judgment, but never thought they would marry you to Miss Villiers; nay, look at it calmly, if you can, sir, and get well sooner. My father was an attorney, but rogues fleeced him, and I was penniless; my late mistress took me here, and I was her friend and confidant, for they were cruel to her and her child. Silas Jones and I knew of Miss Pearl and yourself, and Silas said——"
"Yes, Silas Jones shall hear of how we found his precious Sarah Kane alone in a man's bedroom," sneered the coldly cruel voice of Mrs. Cole, entering, and not making a seductive picture in bright green dressing gown, with large purple flowers, her hooked nose as red as her high cheek bones, her awful eyes fixed, staring and stony, her uncle and aunt following.
"Oh dear, oh dear! Heaven help us! I forgot to lock the door when I brought the poor fellow the foot-warmer," thought Sarah Kane, distractedly.
"I thought I heard a jabbering going on before you called me, Margaret," said her uncle, savagely.
"How dare you bring disrepute on a virtuous home by coming to a man's bedroom at night, and alone, Sarah Kane?" asked Miss Stone, quivering with rage at being disturbed after her late supper.
"Sarah Kane, go and pack up, and see that you develop no light-finger tricks; you leave Broadlawns at daybreak," hissed Margaret, between her teeth.
"Please let me stay, ma'am, until Mr. Cole recovers; indeed, indeed he is very, very ill."
"That ismyaffair—go!" and she points to the now open door.
"She has been kind to me, she must stay; I am too ill for her to leave me; if she goes she must take me," said Cole, sitting upright, his pulse rapidly rising.
"We don't harbor women of her stamp," said Margaret, beside herself with rage at her having gained the ear of Cole; she would willingly have torn her limb from limb.
"Get out of here, and atonce, Sarah Kane, unless you would have me use violence," said Stone, savagely; for from the words of Cole he sees she has made a favorable impression.
"I implore you not to go and leave me here," said the sick man, excitedly; "my brain is on fire. I am weak and ill; oh! by everything you hold sacred, stay by me and nurse me; if not, I go too, if I have to crawl to the door;" and he attempted to rise.
"This is nonsense, Cole; she must go; I have wanted to turn her adrift before this. We shall procure you a medical attendant at once; though, I think, did you take a berth in a steamer immediately for America, it would be best, and set you up all right, especially with Margaret as nurse. Sarah Kane, what are you waiting for?"
"For the impetus of someone's foot, I presume," sneered Margaret.
Sarah Kane, with a pitiful look at Cole, her lip quivering and whole frame trembling, prepared to leave the room, saying, as she smoothed his pillows:
"Try and keep calm, sir, you will get well all the quicker, and I shall go and tell Silas Jones, and see if he can help you."
At a sign from Margaret, her uncle followed her from the room, when she said, hurriedly:
"I am going to give the wretch permission to remain until morning, to prevent an interview with Silas Jones; after breakfast, you say you will drive her in to Mrs. Mansfield's. We have never let her know she wants her, but now she will be capital bait; Sarah Kane will bite, and so be hooked, when you can lodge her for safe keeping at Tom Lang's, who, if needs be, may give her the luxury of a straight-jacket."
"I feel inclined to say No, and kick her out at once; otherwise, yours is a good plan."
"It is the only gag to fit the case; but out of that roomshe shall go. She may go and pack up. I'll show them who is mistress."
"Yes, do; besotted fool, that Cole is, to have turned us against him. You don't think that viper will go to Silas Jones at daybreak, do you?"
"No; his shop won't be open until seven. By that time cook can have an early breakfast for you, and you will then at once drive off to London, and if Silas Jones comes prowling around here after her, leave him to me, that's all," she said, cruelly, returning to the sick room.
"Go to your room at once, Sarah Kane, pack up your things, and be ready to leave this house at seven sharp; go," she said, stamping her foot. "Don't pollute us by your presence any longer."
"I pray of you to let me stay and nurse him; I will do just what you wish, spare you from fatigue, be no trouble, only let me stay," she cried, imploringly.
Margaret turned her stony gaze upon her. "Put her out, Uncle Timothy, or I shall."
"Get out, woman," he said, taking her by the shoulder, Miss Stone shoving her, and saying:
"Be thankful, hussy, you are getting off so well."
"At your peril send her forth; it will be the worse for you all when I recover, if you do," said Cole, with the utmost excitement.
"Keep cool, Cole; you don't know what a viper we have harbored. I am only going to take her to a Mrs. Mansfield's, and, if she can speak so much truth, she will tell you she is a friend of hers," said Stone, vengefully.
"You are heaping coals of fire on the viper's head by taking her there, Timothy," said Miss Stone, wonderingly.
"Is this person a friend of yours, Sarah?" asked Cole, forlornly pressing both hands to his throbbing temples. "How cruel they are to send you from me. Do you know of a good physician, Sarah?"
"Oh, yes, sir; Dr. Annesley, of London; he——"
"Hold your prate, Sarah Kane, and mind your own business," cried Margaret, trembling with rage. "Get out of here," and with a smart push she is outside and the key turned.
For a few moments Sarah Kane stood irresolute, when the clock struck three.
"Yes, that will be best," she thought, "but I have no time to lose," and, quickly flying to her own apartment, she hurriedly packs up, but not the handsome wardrobe willed her by her late mistress, of which she knows not, but simply her own modest apparel; this she places in two trunks, weeping silently the while for the evil come upon the poor sick man in yonder east chamber, for her own forced desertion of him into the cruel hands of the inmates at Broadlawns, for her own undefined plans to find her young mistress, and endeavor to reinstate her in the fortune willed her, which she is in doubt now that the law will give her, as she has not married Charles B. Cole. She weeps on, as she thinks of the fearful fraud that has been committed; for here is Mr. Cole married! actually married to Miss Villiers, in Sarah Kane's estimation, the most wicked woman that lives, when he had been the intended husband of her sweet, gentle Miss Pearl.
"Woe, woe, that I did not go to Dr. Annesley, and tell him of the prolonged absence of Miss Pearl, instead of watching here, or to a lawyer; but I dreaded their fees, as they have paid me no salary for five years, nor can I claim it, as they told me if I staid I should get nothing. I have erred in judgment. God help me and that poor sick man. Yes, I must slip away and tell Silas. It is fortunate Mary is with him still, or they (if by some mischance they miss me) might again make occasion to malign me as to going to see a man; how easily those smooth-tongued hypocrites can take away one's character, and they doing the real harm all the while. My grey ulster and hat will not be too heavy; it is quite a cool morning, and being up all night, and supperless to bed, makes me feel chilly. How surprised Silas and his sister will be. I know he will want me to marry him at once, but I feel too old and grey; but, as he says, so I have told him for years; and he has waited and waited until the clouds at Broadlawns would lighten, and now they are blacker than ever. Kind Silas, good and true Silas, what will you say to this terrible marriage of poor Mr. Cole to awful Miss Villiers?"
And now her expeditious fingers having set her house in order, her grey hair rolled back from her brow, her small, regular features, sensitive mouth, and good blue eyes looking wan and anxious, locking her door, she slips down the back stairs, and out into the chill dulness of an October morning. In fifteen minutes she knocks at the house of Silas Jones, the front room of which he calls his shop, selling in a quiet way stationery and current literature. The city clocks are ringing the last quarter before four, and Mary is the first to hear the unusual sound on the knocker at that early hour. Waiting to hear it repeated, she lifts the window, when, at Sarah Kane's voice calling Silas, they both hasten down to open the door.
"Dear me, Sarah; what's up?" said Mary, kissing her. "What a scare you gave me!"
"You have been up all night, Sarah," said Silas Jones, reproachfully, leading her in, as he again locked the door. "However, as this is the earliest kiss I have ever had, I shall not scold you too much; but whom have you been looking nearer your own grave for this time, Sarah? You have been nursing again, I suppose, and are returning to Broadlawns?"
"How you chatter, Silas, dear; Sarah can't get in a word edgeways," said Mary, kindly, but curiously.
"I was only giving our Sarah time to catch her breath, she has been running and is cold," he said, rubbing her hands. "Make her a hot drink over the spirit-lamp, Mary, please."
"The very thing, Silas, dear; what a good man you will make our Sarah; here, drink this, Sarah, and promise to marry Silas this day week (my wedding-day too, Sarah), for indeed, you want someone to make you stay in your bed o' nights."
"Yes, Sarah, dear, Mary is right; for it's my belief the wretches at Broadlawns wish to see you in your grave, seeing as you know too much."
"Oh, Silas, that young man, Mr. Cole, came; and they have married him to Miss Villiers, instead of our sweet Miss Pearl," blurted out Sarah, in trembling tones.
"You don't say, Sarah; what a fearful piece of wickedness," cried Mary, with distended eyes.
"I am not surprised at any villainy on their part," said Silas, with knitted brows. "Let me see, the will reads, on Miss Pearl coming of age and marrying young Mr. Cole, she inherits all (so Dr. Annesley told me, and, by the way, he sent me word he wants to see me); well they have got rid, the de'il knows how, of Miss Pearl, and this ugly vixen marries the man to inherit; bad business, their having similar Christian names; so it's from there you come, and not from sick nursing? Tell us all, dear."
"Well, Silas, that's just what I ran here for, for they've as good as turned me out, at least, I am to go at daybreak, and——"
"Did they dare to turn you out, you a lady born, though their drudge—faithful in nursing, faithful in your housekeeping. Shielding them, when you could have put the blood-hounds of the law on their track, hoping things would right themselves in this very marriage; but to Miss Pearl—turn you out, after wasting your youth and mine in a martyr's life, to see that right was eventually done to the innocent daughter of your dead friend, growing literally grey in this self-imposed duty, while we both lived lonely lives apart, when they should be in a felon's dock for breach of trust; never mind, it is my turn now, they shall be exposed, and compelled to disgorge; Miss Pearl must be found, Mrs. Mansfield may know something."
"Mrs. Mansfield, yes, Silas, that is where Mr. Stone is going to drive me at seven sharp this a.m., and, oh dear, it is near six; I must hasten back, else they may make me black in Bayswater, for they have called me a hussy to-night, Silas, because I went to poor Mr. Cole's bedroom, who is very ill, and he was sorry when they turned me out, Silas, for he knows he has fallen into their net, and he is ill in mind and body; God help him. He is kindly and handsome, is yielding and pliable, and so an easy prey; he was to have met his father, he tells me. Ah, he would have saved him, but he is ill, he learned on his arrival, and away off across the sea at Montreal; but I had to come and tell you, Silas, for I missed you last evening, when they sent me to the city, so I should be out of the way, and alas! I came back too late to save him," she said, tearfully.
"Don't go near them again, Sarah," said Mary, sympathetically.
"Yes, Sarah, that's it; stay with us, and we will pet and nurse you, and you will be my wife."
"No dears, I could not remain inactive so near poor Mr. Cole; he hates them as his enemies, it is best for me to go to Mrs. Mansfield, I shall be near Dr. Annesley, and must see what can be done; you will come and see me at Mrs. Mansfield's, so good-bye, now, dears."
"I shall come to the city to-morrow, Sarah, so look out for me, dear," he said, buttoning her ulster.
"You shouldn't be parting us at all, Sarah," said Mary, tearfully.
"But only for a few days, Mary."
"You must marry me this day week, Sarah, dear, for somehow I feel as if evil will come to you parted from me; promise, it will bridge the time," he said, following her out into the grey morning light.
"I promise." And there and then, in the dim gaze of the earliest bees in life's hive, she is pressed to his loyal heart.
The knowledge that, with the morning, her friend would look for a confidence as regarded the intrusion by a man into the grounds of Holmnest on the evening previous, unless, indeed, by fencing she could ward off such confidence, caused Mrs. Gower to pass an almost sleepless night; and so, with the natural desire to put off the evil day, she arose later than usual, lingering over bath and toilette. But now in warm morning robe of a pretty, red woollen material, with ecru lace rufflings, she is worth a second look; though her thoughts are sad, for under the dark hair on her brow, her eyes wear a wistful expression, and on her sensitive lips is almost a quiver of pain, as she stands at her window, looking mechanically on the familiar scene.
"He always looks up," she thought, as a gentleman passed, "and must now either reside in the neighborhood, or take it in in his morning outing. How a lonely woman notices any seeming interest taken in herself. I have not seen much of him since poor Charlie Cole went away, and strange; but I miss his face if I don't see him for some days. I remember telling Charlie of a dream I had of this very man, and hisbéte noir, Philip Cobbe. That reminds me again of my promised confidence to Mrs. Dale, it was weak in me to make any such promise—I, who have never had a confidant, even when a girl. I have met some who would have been staunch and true enough, I feel sure, but I never thought heart secrets were altogether one's own; and as to this chatter over men's kind or loving attentions to one, is just about the meanest thing a woman or girl can be guilty of. It is sufficient to deter men from being commonly civil. I have known women prate and boast by name of those who have paid them the highest compliment a man can, that is of asking them to be their wife; yes, I positively shrink from meeting my kind, little friend, Ella Dale, she has a positive craving for knowledge," she thought, with a half smile; "and had she been Eve she would have cut short the eloquence of the serpent's tongue, and have succumbed, merely out of curiosity. And yet she is a dear little woman, craving to be 'trusted all, or not at all,' and meaning good to me; and perhaps I should be less lonely did I empty my griefs into the lap of another's mind; but again, in confiding in a married woman one confides in her husband also. It is natural, but, at the same time, not altogether pleasant; but at that peremptory ring I must give up dreaming here, or my 'Madonna of the Tubs' will be giving me notice."
"Good morning, dear. Pardon my not having been down to welcome you," she said, warmly, finding her friend and the morning papers ensconced in a rocker by the grate, Tyr stretched on the rug.
"I have just come down, Elaine, and have had my mirrored reflection as company, and don't I look comical, encased in this dressing gown you lent me? Won't I have to eat a substantial breakfast to fill it out?"
"All right, dear, if my seraph of the frying pan condescended to fill my orders, we have bloaters on the menu."
"I am ready for them, Elaine, and feel bloated already," she said, as they seated themselves at table.
"I wonder what kind of a day we shall have for your review of the city schools? Old Sol does not seem to have made up his mind whether to laugh or weep," said Mrs. Gower, as she touched the bell to remove the fruit.
"I hope he will be good enough to weep over some other city, for I am sure Henry will not bring my waterproof."
"But Miss Crew will, she seems so really thoughtful. What do you intend doing with her when you place Garfield at school?"
"That's just what I am in a quandary about. I like her, for she puzzles me."
"What a droll little creature you are, Ella; you have a perfect craze for working out problems, even to a woman," she said, laughingly.
"Now you mustn't think, Elaine, that my interest in you has the remotest connection with the mystery at Holmnest," she said, opening her blue eyes in apparent innocence, but in reality her words being a reminder to her hostess.
"The mystery at Holmnest? What a tragic sound you give it, it makes one's flesh creep, but I have not forgotten how large-hearted you are, dear, when you do not forget, 'Share ye one another's burdens.'"
"Yes, you must tell me all, Elaine, and I feel sure that with, or without the advice of Henry, your trouble will either vanish or lighten by your sharing it with me."
"Yes, perhaps so," she said gravely; "but we must not spoil our breakfast, and the play of knife and fork. My little tragedy must be the afterpiece this time."
"As you will, Elaine, but don't bear it too long alone. Tragedy is heavy. How cozy and home-like breakfasting with you is after hotel life."
"I am glad you think so, Ella."
"Your dark leather chairs and handsome sideboard look well against the brown paper on the walls, and oh, you won't mind telling me who hung your drapings,portièrehangings, and all that, they are in such good taste."
"Murray did them for me; it was a case of two heads being better than one, where I was at fault he set me right."
"Your home is small, but all so home-like, except for one great want, a man to hang his hat up in the hall as your husband, and a child to call you mother."
"Quite a tempting picture, Ella," she answered, a little sadly, "but 'l'homme propose Dieu dispose."
"Take the man, when he proposes, Elaine; I cannot bear to see you alone."
"That is my advice to my friends also, Ella; but, speaking of living alone, will you and Miss Crew come to me when you place Garfield at school, and during the absence of Mr. Dale north-east with Mr. Buckingham; say you will, it won't be for long."
"It's the thing above all others that will please me, Elaine. Excuse my Irish blood, but I must give vent to my feelings by giving you a hug," she said, merrily, as they rose from table.
"Angels and ministers of grace defend us, Elaine, here's a lady visitor; and now that her umbrella is down, I see Mrs. Smyth. But, fond as I am of her, I wish her back to her home, for I wanted the morning alone with you."
"You are both looking charming, it's a pity I am not a gentleman caller, but what lazy people you are," said lively Mrs. Smyth.
"Now that I have emerged from the under side of Fortune's wheel, I do believe I am growing epicurean," said Mrs. Gower, gaily.
"Don't I look too sweet for anything, Mrs. Smyth?" said Mrs. Dale, promenading up and down the room; "haven't I grown stout?"
"But you are all uneven," laughed Mrs. Smyth.
"Now, that is cruel, Mrs. Smyth; 'tis 'love's labor lost,' after having utilized all the mats, towels and pillow-shams in my bedroom as stuffing, to be simply told I am uneven."
"Stuffing never goes down with me, Mrs. Dale," laughed Mrs. Smyth.
"It's a good thing for us you are not a man," said Mrs. Dale, demurely.
"Women all angles would cry 'hear, hear!'" laughed Mrs. Gower.
"But you don't ask me what brought me in this morning."
"No, I am too glad to have you; but is it a call of a mouth full of news?"
"Yes, which I shall stuff you with 'as pigeons do their young.'"
"Me, too!" piped Mrs. Dale.
"Mr. King is in town, Mrs. Gower; there, I thought I should electrify you, but you don't seem to care."
"I do, for we shall now have news of the Coles."
"And is that all you will welcome him all the way from Ottawa for?"
"That is all, Lilian; these little flirtations,pour passez le temp, soon burn themselves out."
"What a funny woman you are, Elaine; sometimes I can't make you out at all."
"Don't try to, dear, when I puzzle you; life is too short for problem-solving, though our little friend here doesn't think so. But did Mr. King name the Coles?"
"He did."
"Thank you, Thomas," said Mrs. Gower, receiving her letters, which had been put in the letter-box by the letter-carrier.
"One moment, you will excuse me, dears, while I run my letters over." One marked "Immediate," she read to herself as follows:
"The Queen's, Wed. Eve., Nov. 9th."My Dear Mrs. Gower,—It is with extreme pleasure I again find myself in the same city with yourself, and am anticipating with intense eagerness an interview. I go west to-morrow p.m., so shall go up to Holmnest in the morning."As ever, yours devotedly,"Cyril King."Mrs. Gower,"Holmnest, West Toronto."
"The Queen's, Wed. Eve., Nov. 9th.
"The Queen's, Wed. Eve., Nov. 9th.
"My Dear Mrs. Gower,—It is with extreme pleasure I again find myself in the same city with yourself, and am anticipating with intense eagerness an interview. I go west to-morrow p.m., so shall go up to Holmnest in the morning.
"As ever, yours devotedly,"Cyril King.
"As ever, yours devotedly,"Cyril King.
"Mrs. Gower,"Holmnest, West Toronto."
"Mrs. Gower,"Holmnest, West Toronto."
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! he may be here any moment, and I am in a quandary as to what I shall do with him. This little settling up of one'saffaires de cœuris distasteful, but I have not been a bit to blame here," she thought, quietly tearing up the note, and making a holocaust of it.
"Oh, I can assure you, Mrs. Dale, she had scarcely any waist covering at all," said Mrs. Smyth, in disgust, "she looked simply dreadful."
"Who is the woman this time, dear?" asked Mrs. Gower, amusedly, as she fastened some camellias to her gown; "what fair one are you throwing mud at now, Lilian?"
"Oh, that Mrs. St. Clair. Miss Hall walked down with me as far as College Street this morning, and she says, or rather mouthed, for she is too full of affectation to speak plain, but managed to convey that Mrs. St. Clair's dress began too late during the Langtry season. Her dress wascouleur de rose(what there was of it), no sleeves, well there was an invisible band, Miss Hall said (I wondered at her, the way she talked, as she is so thick there). Now, what do you think of Mrs. St. Clair, Elaine?"
"I think that she would be the cynosure of all eyes—men's, for she is very fair to look upon."
"But, Elaine, she is enamelled! Miss Hall's description reminded me of how an American paper describes such—as if they in their opera boxes sat in a bath tub."
"Oh, that's hard," said Mrs. Dale; "who was she with, and was the boy Noah ready with his pinchers?"
"No, it was that horrid boy's night off, I suppose, for his father was on duty; the little wretch nearly gave me cancer; the two Wilber girls and our Mr. Buckingham were the party; oh, Elaine, it's most absurd, but Mr. Buckingham is the 'foreign count' gossip said Mr. St. Clair is jealous of."
"I am not surprised; all Grundy's scandal brews are a froth of lies, Lilian."
"But itistrue that Mrs. St. Clair flirts and enamels."
"If so, she is very pretty, and has a husband with an eagle eye—and," she added gaily, "a son with claws that even you speak feelingly of."
"Well, good-bye, it is getting near our dinner hour, I must off; and, as I live, here is the King from Ottawa; you are here opportunely to play gooseberry, Mrs. Dale; oh, I must tell you, you know, how quiet Mrs. Tremaine is. Well, she went back in the dark last Sunday evening for her dolman, it was so cold, but when she hung it over the front of the pew it proved to be the Captain's trousers!"
"How do you do, dear Mrs. Gower?" he said withempressement, his strikingly handsome face aglow with pleasure.
"'Mrs. Dale, my friend, Mr. King,' from the tower-crowned city, dear."
"And you come to a spire-crowned one, at which, Mr. King, don't become unduly elevated."
"I am in the heights," he said, with a swift glance at Mrs. Gower.
"Then beware of the attraction of gravitation," laughed his hostess, thinking, "I shall have to do a little fencing, I can see by his face."
"Excuse me, Elaine, I see my family are arriving."
"Quite a cavalcade, Mr. King," she said, gaily.
"And mercy me, that young monkey is on horseback, while the driver is giving his attention to bell ringing; I must fly. May I bring them upstairs, Elaine?"
"Certainly, dear; and as your colony will want you all to themselves, send Miss Crew to the drawing-room; she will be happy with the piano."
"How handsome he is; I wonder if he thought me uneven," mused Mrs. Dale, as she left the library.