CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 History Department 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2246.L4T3 
 
 That pretty young girl; a novel /by Laur 
 
 3 1924 021 993 013 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924021 99301 3 
 
THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 LAURA^J£AN LIBB"^ 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 •MISS MIDDLETON'S LOVER," AND "A FORBIDDEN 
 MARRIAGE." 
 
 Copyrighted, 188;, 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURA JEAN LIBBET 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 NEW ,YQRK 
 
 THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 
 
 THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPAC^Y 
 1SS9 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 fltHfTWB PASS. 
 
 I. What Happened at Midnight t 
 
 11. Some Find Love a Blessing — Others a Curse... 13 
 
 III. The Tragedy in Trevalyn Park 23 
 
 IV. A Strange Bridal Eve 30 
 
 V. Is He Innocent or Guilty?.. 39 
 
 VI. A Startling Confession 46 
 
 VII. Love Took Up the Glass of Time 55 
 
 VIII. A Path Strewn with Thorns 64 
 
 IX. " Are You Content to Marry Me, Knowing that 
 
 1 Abhor You?" 72 
 
 X. Fate's' Decree *. 82 
 
 XI„«i5rtlSS^REVALYN MEETS WITH A SURPRISE 8g 
 
 XIIBShei^s False as She is Fair '.. 97 
 
 XIItT^I^I^.. 104 
 
 XIV. A Spy 113 
 
 XV. The Lovers 120 
 
 XVI. Thorns Amid the Roses 127 
 
 XVII. Lawyer Caldwell Meets With an Accident.... 137 
 XVIII. The Great Unknown Who Electrifies Judge 
 
 and Jury by His Powerful Appeal 145 
 
 XIX. Fate Has Been Against Me From the Cradle to 
 
 the Grave 154 
 
 XX. My Lorlie i6i 
 
 XXI. Promise Me Through All the Years that May 
 Come and Go, that You Will Never Forget 
 
 Me 168 
 
 XXII. No Woman Should Marry a MaO Whom She 
 
 Does Not Love...1 i7S 
 
 XXIII. The Earl of Dunraven Was Slain uy My Hand 182 
 
 XXIV. I Had Faith in Your Love All the Dark Way 
 
 Through 187 
 
 Miss Laura Jean libbey vrishes to notify her 
 readers and the public that she claims and has 
 copyrighted but the three novels entitled: 
 
 MISS MIDDLETON'S L.OVEB, 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE, 
 
 AND 
 
 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Each book contains her portrait. Neither book ia 
 irenuinely Laura Jean Libbey's latest book unless 
 it contains said portrait. 
 
 ^TKKOOP, HAL1.KNBBCK & Co., PBlirrBI18, 131 FVbTON ST,. N. ^ 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 To the public and the critics who have received my 
 former books, " Miss Middleton's Lover " and " A Forbid- 
 den Marriage," cordially, I wish to say that I ai^^piteful. 
 
 I can but hope this work will meet with like favor. 
 
 The construction of a novel is not the easiest of tasks— 
 for that book has never been written which will pleasa 
 everyone. 
 
 That a novel can do much good or much harm in the 
 world cannot be disputed, for it finds its way to the fireside 
 of the mansion and cottage alike, and is the silent com- 
 panion which serves to mold the character and future of 
 many a young girl for good or for evil ; and, therefore, it is 
 a pleasing thought to the novelist that what has been writ- 
 ten has pointed out a strong moral and led no youthful 
 mind astray. 
 
 Some claim that human life should be painted as it is s. 
 that wickedness should be written up as it is found in 
 every-day life, that the unwary may know where the shoals 
 and quicksands lie. 
 
 I hold this should not be. 
 
 Dissection is good for science; but the world at large 
 would scarcely be benefited if doctors should unfold the 
 secret horrors they know concerning the human family. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This holds good with authors as well. Ignorance of 
 wicked ways is bliss, therefore 'tis folly to be wise. 
 
 The candor of one woman who has read my books 
 amuses me. She writes me she " would be better pleased 
 if my heroes had more sand and less of the angel about 
 them, then they would be more true to nature," as she has 
 by experience found the world of men — and young girls 
 would know these lords of creation as they are. 
 
 Agajj^ say, this should not be. 
 
 Th^nJ)piest epoch of a young girl's life is the day- 
 dreams she has of the lover who shall come to her some 
 day, and of the roseate future stretching away beyond. 
 
 I should not like to destroy those girlish fancies. It is 
 not pleasant to lihink of white doves coming to the muddy 
 pool to drink j it is less pleasant to contemplate innocence 
 drinking at the fountain of knowledge — of the world, 
 worldly. 
 
 I add, in conclusion, that I write of men as I find them 
 ^loyal, noble, and brave, with a chivalrous reverence for 
 true womanhood, and who hold that purity in woman is 
 the rose-bloom which jewels her existence. 
 
 Laura Jean Libbey. 
 
 472 Putnam Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., 
 July 25, 1889, 
 
THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDKIGHT. 
 
 " There are songs enough for the hero 
 Who dwells on the heights of fanie • 
 I sing for the disappointed. 
 For those who missed their aim. 
 
 I sing with a tearful cadence 
 For one who stands in the dark, 
 
 And knows that his last, best arrow 
 Has bounded back from the mark. 
 
 There are songs enough for the lovers 
 
 Who share love's tender pain ; 
 I sing for the one whose passion 
 
 Is given, and in vain. 
 
 For the hearts that break in silence 
 
 With a sorrow all unknown ; 
 For those who need companions. 
 
 Yet walk their ways alone." 
 
 E. w. w. 
 
 " Do you wish for anything else, sir ? " asked the host 
 of the Queen's Inn, as he set down the pens, ink and 
 paper on the table in room No. 24, which the mysterious 
 guest who had but just arrived had rang for. 
 
 There was no answer ; the stranger did not turn fit)m 
 the window, where he stood gazing intently out into the 
 moonlit night — gazecj, without seeing. 
 
 I 
 
2 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 The old innkeeper looked curiously at his guest as he 
 stood there, with his profile clearly defined against the 
 background of the dull red, looped-back curtain. The 
 face was clearly cut, with handsome features, dark blue 
 eyes, straight brows, and the lips, half hidden by the fair, 
 drooping mustache, were well shaped. His head was 
 proudly set, covered with fair hair, waving from a broad 
 white brow. The figure was tall, well knit, finely formed, 
 with a certain careless, easy grace about it, as he stood 
 leaning against the casement. He was as handsome and 
 comely a young Englishman as one would care to see. 
 
 The old innkeeper repeated his question, and the 
 stranger wheeled suddenly around just as the man 
 reached the door. 
 
 " Hold ! I do want something more," he said huskil)'. 
 " I want you to return here in an hour's time for two 
 letters. I shall in all probability — be — asleep — so do 
 not knock ; enter with your pass key. You will find the 
 letters on the table. I wish them mailed at once. Can 
 I trust that you will attend to this matter faithfully? " he 
 asked, with a touch of wistfulness in his voice. 
 
 " To be sure you can, .sir," responded the mian, bowing 
 himself out of the room. When the door closed after 
 him, the stranger threw himself down on a chair by the 
 table, burying his face in his hands. 
 
 " That is the list human face that I shall ever see," he 
 muttered, drawing his breath hard. For some moments 
 he sat thus, and the deep silence of the room was broken 
 only by his hard, measured breathing, and the ticking of 
 a small clock on the mantel. 
 
 " Why should I hesitate over this matter ? " he rumi- 
 nated, lifting his white, haggard face from his hands. " A 
 man can die but once ; what matters it whether it is now 
 or years hence ? " 
 
 As he muttered the words, he drew a revolver from his 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 3 
 
 breast pocket and laid it down on the table before him. 
 His hand travelled again to his breast pocket — an inner 
 one, this time — and he drew from it a small leather case ; 
 with trembling fingers he pressed the spring and the lid 
 flew back, disclosing by the dim, flickering candle-light 
 the face of a woman, young and marvellously fair. Be- 
 neath the portrait, in a graceful, girlish hand, was written 
 the name^ — Helen. 
 
 Long and earnestly he gazed upon the pictured face. 
 The slow, measured strokes of the clock as it chimed the 
 half hour recalled him to the knowledge of how swiftly 
 time was passing. 
 
 " What I have to do must be done quickly," he mut- 
 tered, drawing the candle nearer him. 
 
 With hands that trembled despite his effort to maintain 
 his self-control, he took the card portrait from its frame 
 and held it over the flame. In an instant a ruddy blaze 
 lighted the plain, sombre room. The card burned close 
 to the white fingers that held it, then fell in a charred 
 mass to the table. A passing breeze from the window 
 caught them up, and scattered them about the apartment 
 like a gust of black snow-flakes. His lips quivered, and 
 his eyes grew moist as he watched them ; that was all the 
 sign he gave of the great emotion that he was keeping in 
 abeyance with an iron will. 
 
 Hurriedly picking up the pen he commenced his letter. 
 It was addressed to Captain Eugene Moirtgomery, Kent, 
 England, and read as follows : — 
 
 " My Dear Friend Eugene : — 
 
 " When you read what I have written here, 1 shall be 
 no more ; but death, even by one's own hand, is easier to 
 face than dishonor. 
 
 " By the time this reaches you, all London will be 
 shocked by. a crime which has been laid at my door. I 
 
4 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 will give you a rksumi of the whoie affair, and you shah 
 judge, as the world will judge from the facts here stated, 
 whether I am innocent or guilty. 
 
 " It is useless going into detail as to my boyhood ; 
 who knows better than yourself how happy it was — 
 and cloudless. When I came of age I made great reso- 
 lutions as to the future, and I meant to keep them — 
 Heaven knows I did. My poor father called me Arthur, 
 after one of our ancestors who saved a king's life by his 
 bravery. I have not been a worthy descendant of the 
 Arthur Douglas who received in his own breast the sword 
 meant for his liege lord. Men will condemn the crown- 
 ing act of my life as the act of a coward, but you could 
 refute such charges, remembering how we have faced the 
 foe together on many a battle-field. In the thickest of 
 the fight I never faltered, even when shot and shell fell 
 like hail-stones around, us, cutting down our comrades like 
 reeds before the storm on all sides of us. We lost sight 
 of each other, you and I, when I was exchanged into 
 the th regiment. 
 
 " I went to Branlea, that garden spot of England, with 
 a comrade, on my furlough. That event was the turning 
 point of my life ; for there I met Miss Helen — the daugh- 
 ter of Squire Trevalyn, a wealthy country gentleman, 
 whose villa adjoined that of my friend's. 
 
 " It would take the words of a poet to tell you what 
 Helen Trevalyn was like ; tall, slender, when I looked at 
 her, the words of Tennyson always occurred to me : 
 
 " ' A daughter of the gods divinely fair 
 And most divinely tall.' 
 
 Her face was a reflex of what her life had been — pure as 
 a lily. Her sweet loveliness revealed no trace of human 
 passion — there was nothing to mar the calmness of girl 
 hood. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 5 
 
 " I never rested until I had secured an introduction te 
 her, and from that moment my life seemed to grow com- 
 plete, for 1 had met the one, out of the whole world of 
 women, whom I would care to make my wife. 
 
 " I believe the same element lives in all love stories ; 
 the more I was with Helen, the deeper grew my love for 
 her ; her name was the last on my lips at night. I saw 
 her sweet face in my dreams, and when morning broke 
 ray first thought was of her. She was so proud, so shy, 
 so reserved with me that I never felt sure whether she 
 cared for me or not. 
 
 " Matters might have gone on in this way for an in- 
 definite period, had not an event happened that changed 
 the whole course of affairs in Helen's home. It came 
 about in this way : 
 
 " One day, while the squire was away in London, a 
 telegram came to the villa for Helen. How well I re- 
 member it ! Helen and I were standing in the orchard 
 together under the blossoming apple trees, when one of 
 the servants brought it out to her. 
 
 " ' Of course, it must be from papa," she said, tearing 
 open the envelope, ' but how strange, he never sent me a 
 telegram in his life before ! ' 
 
 " Her dark eyes glanced over it, then the smile died 
 from her face and the light from her bonny eyes, and she 
 grew pale as death. 
 
 " ' Helen ! Miss Trevalyn ! ' I cried in alarm, ' 1 hope 
 you have heard no bad news ? ' I would have given my 
 life to have saved her a moment's pain. 
 
 " ' The news this telegram contains has broken my 
 heari. It says my father has just married a young 
 and beautiful girl, and that they have started on the 
 10:20 express for home,' she sobbed piteously. 'Oh Mr. 
 Douglas ! I — I — can hardly credit it. Do you really be- 
 lieve it is true ? ' and she handed me the telegram to read. 
 
6 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " ' Yes, it must be true, Miss Helen,' I answered, as I 
 read it, and handed it back to her. 
 
 " ' Home will never be the same to me again, afiler 
 they come,' she said, bravely stifling back her sobs. 
 ' IE it had been a woman of his own age, perhaps I might 
 not have minded so very much, Mr. Douglas, but oh ! 
 how could my father have married a young girl to fill 
 my dear, dead mother's place ! I am sure she does not 
 love him — how could a young girl love an old man ? ' 
 
 " I did my best to comfort her, advising her to look at 
 the bright side of the affair. 
 
 " The squire and his young wife arrived late that after- 
 noon, and on the next day I saw young Mrs. Trevalyn. 
 When my eyes fell upon her, I was fairly rooted to the 
 spot. I recognized her instantly as Fifine, the gay little 
 Parisian who took London by storm, three or four sea- 
 sons ago. You remember her, Montgomery, and the 
 sensation she created, and the reputation she haci of 
 being as heartless as she was charming. Duels were 
 fought for her, and fortunes lavished that impoverished 
 princes. 
 
 " You can well understand my amazement, Mont- 
 gomery, when the grand old haughty squire introduced 
 Fifine to me as his wife. 
 
 " ' It cannot be possible that he does not know who 
 and what she was,' was the thought that flashed through 
 my bewildered mind, and I felt hotly indignant that he 
 had brought that creature to the villa to be the associate 
 of Helen ; for of course he knew — he must know, for 
 every man in the habit of visiting London knew Fifine, at 
 least by reputation. I determined to find out if such a 
 thing could be possible — that he did not know. 
 
 " That evening when we were smoking our cigars 
 together out on the porch, — out of hearing of the ladies, — 
 I ventured the leading remark : — ' I cannot rid myself of 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIUNIGHT. J 
 
 the thought that I have met your wife before, Squire; 
 her face seems very familiar.' 
 
 He did not start, or look confused as I imagined he 
 would. 
 
 " ' It is hardly probable,' he answered. ' Evelyn was 
 governess to some little children ; the family lived in the 
 suburbs of Kent ; she was never away from the town but 
 one week in her life. That week she was visiting friends 
 in London, and there by chance I met her. It was a 
 case of genuine love at first sight with both of us, and we 
 were married straightway, for the family she was living 
 with intended going abroad that very week and taking 
 her with them, she told me ; so I secured my prize at 
 once, Mr. Douglas,' he added, ' and I am very proud of 
 my young wife.' 
 
 " How cleverly the old squire had been duped ! But 
 I felt incapable of the delicate task of unmasking the 
 woman he had just wedded. No, no ; let some one 
 ■ else's lips unfold the story to his incredulous ears. 
 
 " As you can readily imagine, Helen did not take to 
 young Mrs. Trevalyn, and Fifine certainly had no love 
 for her husband's haughty, beautiful young daughter. 
 From the moment the young step-mother crossed the 
 threshold she commenced as she meant to end, — played 
 havoc with everything in and about the villa. 
 
 " Then commenced such a reign of extravagant expen- 
 diture that the good people of Branlea were not a little 
 startled and anxious for the squire, and sorry for Miss 
 Helen, and wondered how it would end. Young Mrs. 
 Trevalyn entertained royally. Her/SUs would have paid 
 tha price of a king's ransom. Her jewels were the finest 
 money could buy, and her dresses were the envy of even 
 duchesses. Her equipages were magnificent, and her 
 yacht the talk of the whole country around. It seemed 
 that the fond old squire could refuse her nothing ; the 
 
j THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 idolatry he lavished upon her was something marvellous to 
 those that witnessed it. And, while his love for his 
 young wife increased, the chasm widened between him- 
 self and his only child. 
 
 " One day I found Helen sobbing under the trees. In 
 a moment I was by her side, kneeling in the long grass at 
 her feet. 
 
 " ' Helen ! ' I cried hoarsely, ' you are not happy here. 
 Let me take you away from this place. I love you — be 
 my wife ! ' I like to look back on that scene, and 
 remember, how after long pleading, I won from my dar- 
 ling the shy acknowledgment that she did care for me, 
 and when I left her that evening, and walked home in the 
 starlight,- the happiest heart that ever beat in a man's 
 breast beat in mine, for Helen had promised to be my 
 bride, as soon as I returned for good from the army. 
 
 " The days that passed during the next four weeks 
 were to me like a dream of heaven. I spent much time 
 with Helen, planning for our future, — where we should 
 live and where we should go on our honeymoon, and talk- 
 ing over the hundred and one all absorbing things that 
 interest betrothed lovers. 
 
 "At this important epoch of our lives, young Mrs. 
 Trevalyn invited friends down from London for a few 
 weeks sojourn, and among them was the Earl of Dun- 
 raven. I trembled for the old squire when I heard that, 
 for I remembered that when Fifine first came to London 
 Dunraven was her most devoted cavalier, and that she 
 was desperately fond of him was no secret. 
 
 " ' How would it end ? ' I asked myself, and a sud- 
 den consciousness of gloom seemed to oppress my heart. 
 It was the coming event in the background, which cast its 
 dark, grim shadow over the future. 
 
 " But the trouble I had foreseen with the coming of 
 Dunraven, for the squire's young wife, took another and 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 9 
 
 a more alarming shape ; he fell desperately in love with 
 — my Helen. That Helen was betrothed to me, did 
 not seem to affect his infatuation for her in the least ; and 
 her evident dislike for him, and avoidance of him on 
 every possible occasion, only seemed to give the more 
 zest to his determination to win her from me. 
 
 " Matters grew so desperate at last that I challenged 
 him to a duel, despite Helen's tears and entreaties not to 
 put myself in his power. 
 
 " To my surprise the wealthy earl sent back word that 
 he declined to meet me, for the reason that he was a 
 dead shot, and that it was really a pity to take from me 
 my life as well as my sweetheart. 
 
 " When I received that word, in the heat of my passion 
 I swore before my friends if he would not meet me in 
 honorable combat that I should feel myself justified in 
 killing him on sight ! I found too, that young Mrs. 
 Trevalyn was bitterly opposed to Dunraven's infatuation 
 for her beautiful, haughty step-daughter, and the first 
 kindly feeling that ever stirred in my heart for her, went 
 out to her for that ; although I knew it was only 
 prompted by jealousy. No woman is pleased to see an 
 old lover interested in another face, even though- he is 
 beyond her reach forever, so strange is a woman's heart. 
 To hide her wounded feelings, young Mrs. Trevalyn 
 plunged still deeper into the whirlpool of social gayeties, 
 and I noticed now that the old squire began to look very 
 troubled. 
 
 " But surely it was not becaus» he had discovered that 
 Dunraven was an old friend of his wife's, for the squire 
 and the earl were the greatest of friends, and inseparable 
 companions. 
 
 " I saw but one way of ending Dunraven's determina- 
 tion to win Helen, and that was to marry my darling 
 at once and take her away, and, as every throb of 
 
lO THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 my darling's heart was for me, she consented, bless 
 her! 
 
 " At this time. Squire Trevalyn was taken violently ill, 
 and his best friends were denied admittance to the sick- 
 room, all save Dunraven. 
 
 " I felt that I had every right to be admitted to the 
 squire's presence, and my consternation was great to find 
 myself refused admittance at the very threshold of his 
 apartment by one of the servants, and to hear that it was 
 the squire's request that I should not enter. 
 
 " Even Helen was invisible during the three days that 
 followed, despite my earnest notes declaring that I 
 counted the long dragging hours until I should see her 
 and clasp her dear white hands in mine. 
 
 " Suddenly, to my great joy and relief, Helen sent for 
 me one aftenoon, and I hastened quickly to the villa. 
 I was shown by the servant into the drawing-room. I 
 looked eagerly around. No graceful form sprang from 
 behind the velvet portiere to meet me with outstretched 
 hands, no rosy, blushing face was turned expectantly 
 from the sunlit window ; the room was quite empty. 
 
 " ' Tell Miss Helen I am here,' I said impatiently. 
 Half an hour passed, yet Helen did not make her appear- 
 ance ; but presently I heard light footsteps, and I knew 
 it was Helen, for her approach was always heralded by 
 the faint odor of violets. 
 
 " I sprang from the sofa on which I had been seated 
 and advenced to meet her with eager warmth and open 
 arms, but to my surprise she shrank from me with a 
 pained, scared face. 
 
 " ' You must not touch me, Arthur,' she whispered, 
 standing before me white as a marble statue. 
 
 " My arms fell motionless by my side. Was I mad, or 
 dreaming ? Had I heard aright ? I asked myself, look- 
 ing wonderingly at her. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. II 
 
 "'Arthur,' she murmured piteously, raising those 
 lovely dark eyes to my face, ' I have that to tell you 
 which must be told quickly, and you must believe too 
 that it is no jest ; every word comes from the depths of 
 my heart. It is this, Arthur ; you and I must part. I 
 give you back your betrothal ring, for your bride I can 
 never be.' 
 
 "Ah, me ! how soon Dead Sea fruit is turned to ashes 
 at our touch. A great poet has said : 
 
 " ' Pleasures are like poppies spread — 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
 Or like the borealis trace — 
 That flits ere you can paint the place ; 
 Or like the snowHakes on the river, 
 A moment white, then gone forever.' — 
 
 " ' Helen,' I said slowly and with great emotion, ' do 
 you remember the lines of an old poem we read together 
 in a book a few days since ? Do you wish me to repeal 
 them and apply them to you ? ' 
 
 " ' Good-bye forever, my darling. 
 
 Dear to me even now. 
 Though I give you back your promise 
 
 And release you from your vow ! 
 I have learned that the love I sought for 
 
 Had been given away before. 
 And I know that love in your nature 
 
 Is " love forevermore." 
 Yet I wish you had not answered 
 
 In words so tender and fair. 
 For I could have borne it better. 
 
 Though it had been hard to bear. 
 If you had but told me truly 
 
 That your heart was given for aye, 
 I should not have known the sorrow 
 
 That crushes my soul to-day. 
 
12 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 •• ' Yet why should I weakly blame you 
 
 For the thoughts in my bosom hid ? 
 'Twas my own fond heart that led me 
 
 To love you as I did. 
 And now 1 must hide my sorrow 
 
 As I hid my hope before. 
 And put it away in silence 
 
 To be spoken of no more ; 
 For, since I know I possess not 
 
 The love that had been such prize, 
 Shall I wait till my idol crumbles 
 
 To ashes before my eyes ? 
 No, rather farewell forever ! 
 
 And long may the love-light shine 
 On the fairer path you have chosen — 
 
 It will beam no more on mine. 
 
 '* ' Better if Death had robbed me, 
 
 For then I could love you still ; 
 Your mem'ry would have nerved me 
 
 To work with a stronger will. 
 Now is my dream but a sorrow, 
 
 And. my heart hath a sense of shame, 
 Rememb'ring the empty promise 
 
 And the love that was only a name — 
 Rememb'ring the flowers of joy 
 
 That brought a fruition of pain. 
 And the happiness that I held for an hour- 
 
 I held it and lost it again. 
 I embarked my soul's best treasure 
 
 To drift on a boundless sea ; 
 I have gathered life's fairest blossom — 
 
 There will come no fruit for me ! '" 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 SOME FIND LOVE A BLESSING, OTHERS, A CURSE. 
 
 " ' Stop ! ' sobbed Miss Trevalyn, ' you torture me, I 
 cannot bear it ! '- A thunderbolt falling from a clear sky, 
 or a volcano suddenly bursting beneath my- feet could 
 not have shocked me more than the words that fell from 
 Helen's lips. 
 
 " ' It is quite true, Arthur,' she repeated huskily, ' we 
 must part' 
 
 " I looked at her in bewilderment. It was no girlish 
 jest, I was beginning to comprehend ; the sad, dark eyes, 
 which had great circles under them, were too serious for 
 that. Had she heard anything regarding me ? I won- 
 dered. No, it could not be that ; my life, thank Heaven, 
 had been as clear and open as the page of a book. 
 
 " ' You are trying to get up a sensation to frighten me, 
 my dear Helen, to test my love for you,' I said quietly. 
 
 "'Hush, Arthur!' she cried, 'it is quite true, oh 
 believe me.' 
 
 " ' I think, Helen,' I retorted, ' that I need ask Heaven 
 for patience ; you have promised to be my wife, and now 
 you tell me that some barrier has arisen between us to 
 part us. You are cruel to me.' 
 
 " ' Hush, Arthur ! ' she cried again, ' I — I — cannot— 
 bear it.' 
 
 " ' Helen, this is aill nonsense,' I declared impatiently, 
 ' I will not hear one word more. Nothing under Heaven 
 
 13 
 
14 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 shall take you from me, I promise you, for I love you too 
 well for that. I could not endure the thought even of life 
 without you. You have agreed to be my wife, and not for 
 anything in this world would I consent to release you, do, 
 pray, plead, say what you will.' 
 
 " She only looked at me sadly, tears falling like rai« 
 down her pale cheeks, answering that it could' never 
 be. 
 
 " My anger overpowered me. ' You could never 
 have loved me, Helen, or you would say with me, that 
 nothing but death should ever part us,' I cried. 
 ' Remember, 1 did not ask you for the happiness of a few 
 j'ears, the content of a few months ; my whole life is at 
 stake. If I lose you I would be adrift for life. But you 
 would not do that, you would not have encouraged and 
 accepted me if you had intended to throw me over.' 
 
 " I tried to take the little white hands in mine that 
 were clutched so tightly together, but she resisted me. 
 
 " ' You must try to believe me, Arthur,' she repeated 
 piteously, ' we must part ; but all through your life yon 
 will know that you have — my — my — liking — if not — my 
 love,' she added faintly. 
 
 " I started back as though she had dealt me a heavy 
 blow with one of those lily white slender hands, and a 
 laugh that sounded havdly human even to my own ears, 
 fell from my lips. 
 
 " ' Your liking ! ' I repeatEd, with bitter anger, ' what 
 word is that to give me t I ask for your love and you 
 speak of liking! Sun and moon, heat and cold, night and 
 day are not more opposite than love and liking. One is 
 strong — the other weak. I ask you to answer me plainly. 
 Have you deceived me ? Have you encouraged me with 
 false hopes, false smiles, false words, which you never 
 meant ? ' 
 
 " ' You frighten me, Arthur,' she said with quivering 
 
SOME FIND LOVE A BLESSING, OTHERS, A CURSE. 1 5 
 
 lips and tear wet eyes, ' you will be sorry in time to come 
 that you have spoken so angrily to me.' 
 
 " ' I am sorry now,^ I answered with hasty repentance. 
 ' Can you not see, Helen, that I am half mad with won- 
 der and dismay ? But really, dear, you do not mean it, 
 you cannot look at me and mean that we are to part ! ' 
 
 " ' I do mean it, Arthur,' she said, with pitiful bravery. 
 
 " I looked long and steadily into the white, beautiful 
 face. ' Helen,' I cried, ' can you, whom I have believed 
 little removed from the angels, be that most detestable of 
 all women — a coquette ? You have made yourself the 
 sunshine of my life, won from me the deepest love that a 
 man can give to a woman. You have taken my whole 
 heart from me. You have made yourself a necessary 
 part of my existence. And now you would have me 
 believe that I am nothing to you. 
 
 " ' I want an answer,' I went on sternly. ' I have a 
 right to demand it. Tell me the truth, Helen. Have you 
 purposely befooled me ? Has it all been a farce, an ac- 
 tual lie ? I cannot believe that you have been duping and 
 deceiving me for this one end and aim. I ask you once 
 again, my dear, take back the cruel words you have 
 uttered. Look up into my face and tell me that our 
 betrothal shall be broken only by the stronger, more holy, 
 more beautiful tie, the marriage bond, which will give you 
 tome to love and to cherish until death parts us. What 
 is your answer, Helen ?' 
 
 " She took off her betrothal ring slowly and laid it in 
 my hands. 
 
 " ' There is an insurmountable barrier between us, 
 'Arthur,' she said gravely. ' I can give you no other rea- 
 son. Your path and mine lie widely asunder through life. 
 Try to realize it.' 
 
 " ' You are my promised bride, and now you tell me 
 some mysterious reason prevents you from marrying me. 
 
1 6 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 I repeat that Heaven must send me patience to listen to 
 such words. You can have no such reason ; such an 
 argument seems weak and foolish. It is all a pretence or 
 subterfuge. I am speaking harshly to you, Helen, I can- 
 not help it. I love you too well to think of losing you 
 with calmness.' 
 
 ''Suddenly an idea came to me and I caught her arm 
 in a strong grasp, so strong and fierce she could not turn 
 from me and escape the earnest gaze of my searching 
 eyes. 
 
 " ' Helen ! ' I cried hoarseh', ' answer me this : Have 
 you dismissed me to make way for another lover } ' 
 
 " She raised her beautiful face, white, with the pallor of 
 death upon it, to mine. 
 
 " ' Yes,' she answered desperately, choking down a 
 sob. 
 
 " ' Will you tell me the name of the man ? ' I asked, 
 wtth a voice husky with suppressed emotion. 
 
 " ' I am to marry the Earl of Dunraven,' she answered, 
 mechanically. 
 
 " I recoiled from her as though the words had stung 
 me. I turned from her without another word and strode 
 away with the heart in my bosom, colder, and heavier 
 than a stone. My sorrow seemed too great, too severe to 
 bear. I took the little golden circlet she had worn, and 
 which I stiU held clenched in my hand, and threw it far 
 from me with a laugh that sounded like nothing human. 
 
 "'Thus do I fling away Helen Trevalyn's love,' I 
 cried. ' She has blasted my life, but I am not the first man 
 whose life has been wrecked by a woman.' 
 
 " On the very next day the report reached me that at 
 the end of a fortnight, Helen was to marry the Earl of 
 Dunraven. 
 
 " In this long letter, — the last one I. shall ever write 
 you, Montgomery, — I have kept to plain facts, that you 
 
SOME FIND LOVE A BLESSING, OTHERS, A CURSE. 17 
 
 may not be misled in your judgment oi the crime which 
 followed, and of which I am accused. What would it 
 avail me now to keep the truth back ? Nothing. But let 
 me continue. 
 
 " This report, which I knew was but too true, almost 
 drove me mad. How can I describe the fortnight that 
 followed. I plunged with a recklessness that surprised 
 even myself into vice. I drank myself into forgetfulness, 
 and for days and nights the happening of the world about 
 me seemed like a dazed dream. If there be a hell 
 blapker than that into which I plunged body and soul, 
 man has not dreamed of it, nor language painted it. 
 
 " Weird imageries filled my brain, a thousand tunes 
 more horrible than those which hauiited the brain of poor 
 Poe. One great desire seized me, — the longing to 
 throttle the man who had won from me the only object 
 that made life worth the living — to crush with my own 
 'hands the foul life out of him, and send his soul with all 
 its blackness, down to Hades, for the fiends to gloat 
 over 
 
 " But the days did not linger ; they seemed to fly swift 
 winged from me, and at last Helen's wedding day 
 dawned. 
 
 " All the night before I had paced the floor of my room 
 like one demented. I called so often for brandy and 
 soda, that the servant who answered my summons grew 
 alarmed 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon for making so bold as to speak to 
 you about this, sir,' he said, earnestly, ' but really, Mr. 
 Douglas, I fear for you — you are taking too much.' 
 
 "I raised my right arm and felled him to the floor for 
 his impertin«nce in daring to criticise my actions. 
 Bring what 1 require, and make no comments,' I cried, 
 hoarsely, and the man hastened to do my bidding. 
 
 " How I passed this day of all others seems like a con- 
 
 a 
 
1 8 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 fused dream to me when I look back at it. I must hava 
 imbibed heavily, for unconsciousness — a draught from the 
 waters of Lethe — overpowered me, and the shades of 
 night had fallen when I awoke and realized that the 
 hour was soon approaching which would see my Helen 
 another's bride. What pen can portray the agony of that 
 thought. An insane desire came to me to try to prevent 
 the marriage even at the eleventh hour. 
 
 " Oh ! if I could but see Helen once more — only a 
 moment — God ! how I would plead with her to abandon 
 Dunraven and fly with me ! 
 
 " Full of this thought I caught up a pen and wrote a 
 note to her, and these were the words of it : — 
 
 '"My Darling Helen: — This infamous marriage with 
 Dunraven must not— shall not take place to-night. I cannot 
 give you up. The very thought of it makes me desperate. 
 God only knows what power Dunraven holds over you, to force 
 you, whose heart is wholly mine, into this accursed marriage. 
 I cannot understand it. Helen, in heaven's name reflect upon 
 what you are about to do before it is too late. No good will 
 come of it. Mark well my words. I passed him by on the street 
 yesterday and the insolent smile on his lips as his eyes met 
 mine almost drove me to madness. I felt like slaying him. 
 Helen, come down to the south gate ; I must see you, if but 
 for one moment. If you fail me, remember whatever happens 
 will be all your fault. 
 
 " ' Your loving, devoted, but desperatt 
 
 "'Arthur,' 
 
 " I concluded to take it to the villa myself and bribe 
 one of the maids to put it into Helen's hand. 
 
 " How my hands trembled as I put on my hat. My 
 courage failed me and my heart sank — there was so much 
 at stake, — sp much to be won — or lost! 
 
 " To steady my nerves I poured out a glass of brandy 
 and swallowed it at a single draught. It made my heart 
 
SOME FIND LOVE A BLESSING, OTHERS, A CURSE. 19 
 
 glow, and diffused warmth through my whole frame, and 
 before I left the room I took another and another yet, 
 — and hurried from the house. A dim realization came 
 to me of what a beautiful night it was, as I walked along. 
 Many a time had I walked with Miss Trevalyn under the 
 trees on just such moonlight nights. 
 
 " ' Should I never walk with her there again .' ' the 
 agonizing thought seemed to turn my brain to fire as it 
 shot through it. A sort of frenzy seized me as I reached 
 the villa and saw how it was illumined from garret to 
 basement. I stood quite still, leaning my arms on the 
 post of the south gate, and looked and listened intently. 
 Such strange fancies came to me, the wind murmuring 
 and soughing among the pines seemed to whisper : 
 ' Miss Trevalyn 's bridal eve,' — the crickets chirping in 
 the long grass seemed to be telling each other about 
 it. 
 
 " One of the maids chanced to pass that way— she 
 must have been a new attach^ of the house, I never 
 remembered having seen her face before. I bribed her to 
 take the note to Miss Trevalyn. 
 
 " It seemed to me that I stood for centuries at the old 
 south gate waiting for Helen to come to me ; but the 
 moments dragged their slow lengths by, still no Helen 
 came. 
 
 " I opened the gate and walked with unsteady steps 
 iUp to the house. The ground seemed undulating under 
 my feet, and as I wall^ed along, I often struck out my 
 hand and grasped at the rose branches to steady my feet, 
 but I did not feel the pain of the long, sharp thorns. 
 
 " A clock in an adjacent belfry pealed slowly the hour 
 of seven, and I realized it was an hour yet to the time 
 appointed for the ceremony. I walked slowly around the 
 house, without aim or object, pulling my coat collar 
 up about my neck and my slouch hat over my eyes that 1 
 
20 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 might escape recognition if any one of the servants 
 should chance to pass me by. 
 
 " The wedding guests had long since begun to arrive, 
 and soon, a large concourse of people had assembled. 
 I knew that by the babble of voices. There was a small 
 room off from the drawing-room that opened out upon 
 the terrace. A rear stairway connected it with Helen's 
 apartments and it was set aside for her use. 
 
 " Some subtle instinct drew me thither. I peered into 
 the room from the window, through the thick net-work 
 of interlacing vines, and I saw Helen in her bridal 
 dress there. I tried to call out to her, but my tongue 
 seemed paralyzed. I heard with vivid distinctness all 
 that passed within the room, for the window was open. I 
 did not intend to do such a dastardly thing as to listen, 
 because the thick vines screened me out there in the 
 darkness, but some subtle, iiresistable power held me 
 spellbound. I had not the power to move away or make 
 my presence known, even though I was so near my 
 Helen — mine alas ! no longer. 
 
 " Rachel, Miss Trevalyn's maid, was with her ; she 
 was talking with her, saying earnestly : 
 
 " ' Oh, Miss Helen, do not weep so bitterly ; all the 
 wedding guests will see, even through your bridal veil, 
 how red and swollen your eyes are. I entreat you, for 
 appearance' sake. Miss Helen, try— try to calm your- 
 self.' 
 
 "And as she spoke, Rachel bent pityingly over the 
 slim figure half buried in the depths of the large, plush 
 arm-chair, and attempted to gently but firmly remove the 
 girl's hands from her lovely, tear-stained face. 
 
 ♦' A bit of printed paper fluttered from Helen's lap to 
 the girl's feet. Rachel picked it up, and glanced at it. 
 ' Poetry,' she said, stopping short under the chandelier, 
 and murmuring the verses half aloud. As they fell on my 
 
SOME FIND LOVE A BLESSING, OTHERS, A CURSE. 21 
 
 Strained ear, I recognized them as lines I had sent to 
 Helen in other days. How cruelly the words stabbed 
 my heart as I listened to them out there in -the dark 
 ness. 
 
 " ' 'Tis sweet to feel in this sad world of thang-e. 
 
 Where selfishness and pride so much abound. 
 That there is one, however wide we range. 
 
 To greet us lovingly when home is found- 
 One whom we know will faithful be till death, 
 
 Whose heart-throbs play in concert with our own,. 
 Whose love will bless us till our latest breath, 
 
 To whose pure bosom falseness is unknown. 
 
 " ' The famished wretch who droops his head with shame, 
 
 May be relieved by any passer-by ; 
 The ardent youth who hungers after fame, 
 
 Has always hope of feasting presently. 
 But, oh, to feel that we are all alone, 
 
 That love's sweet cup has vapored to the lees, 
 That there is no heart we can call our own — 
 
 This is a hunger nothing can appease. 
 
 " ' To wander on without a ray of hope. 
 
 To find no respite even in our sleep. 
 Life's sun extinguished, in the dark to grope, 
 
 And hopeless through this world to creep ; 
 No balm for us, no medicine can cure — 
 
 The ailing is beyond the reach of art — 
 All other hunger strong men may endure, 
 
 Except the weary, dreary hunger of the heart." 
 
 "Rachel looked at Helen with great compassion on 
 her rugged face. 
 
 " No one in this wide world had more cause for tears. 
 •' I am to marry one man to-night, while every throb of my 
 heart is another's' moaned Helen, rocking herself to and 
 
22 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 fro, adding desperately in a low, choking voice : * Death 
 would not be so hard for me to face.' 
 
 ' ' Can nothing be done to avert the marriage ? ' 
 queried Rachel, shivering. ' It is awful to stand at the 
 altar with a man if you feel lilce that in your heart toward 
 him,' she added bluntly. The many years she had spent 
 in the service of the family, gave Rachel the privilege of 
 expressing her mind freely when she chose. 
 
 " ' There is only one thing that could save me,' replied 
 Helen hoarsely, and with an hysterical laugh more cruel 
 to hear than the bitterest of sobs; 'only one thing, my 
 death or Hector Dunraven's within the hour, and as 
 neither the one or the other is likely to happen my fate 
 is sealed.' And as she spoke she rose from her chair 
 and paced excitedly up and down the room, her bridal 
 robes trailing after htti. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN TREVALYN PARK. 
 
 " As Helen paced the room rapidly to and fro she 
 caught sight of her face reflected in the mirtor, as she 
 passed it, and stopped short, — its ghastliness appalled her. 
 
 " She was aroused from her contemplation by a light 
 tap at the door. It was one of the servants bearing a 
 huge bouquet of white roses, with Mr. Dunraven's card 
 attached. I knew it must be from him. 
 
 " Helen Trevalyn turned awaj from it with a shudder. 
 Still the girl at the door lingered. 
 
 " ' What do you want, Sara ? ' she asked impatiently. 
 
 " ' If you please, Miss Helen,' began the girl, ghding 
 up to her side and speaking in a low whisper : ' there is 
 a man at the south gate who declares he must see you if 
 only for a moment. ' It is imperative,' he bade me say. 
 I told him this was your wedding night and that you was 
 dressing for the ceremony. With that he grasped my 
 arm so tightly that I cried aloud with the pain of that 
 iron clutch. 
 
 " ' Give Miss Trevalyn this,' he said, thrusting a note 
 into my hand, ' and tell her I will wait for my answer 
 here.' 
 
 " The girl did not add that I had given her a pound 
 note to insure the quick delivery of the message. 
 
 " Helen's white hand closed quickly, tremblingly, over 
 the envelope, and the next moment the girl Sara had 
 quitted the room. 
 
 «3 
 
24 THAT I'KETTV YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " ' Rachel,' said Miss Trevalyn, turning nervously to hei 
 maid, ' leave me for a little while. I will ring for you 
 when I want you.' 
 
 " For some moments after the door had closed upon 
 Rachel she stood by the mantel, her head resting on her 
 irembling hands, her heart beating with emotion, I was 
 quite sure. She knew the writing but too well. As soon 
 as she could command, herself sufficiently, she tore 
 open the envelope and drew forth the note, and slowly 
 she read it through — once — twice. She looked very 
 pale. 
 
 "'I cannot see him again,' she sobbed under her 
 breath, ' it would make both of us but the more un- 
 happy.' 
 
 " ' Poor Arthur, my poor boy ! he wants to make a last 
 appeal to me against this marriage, but it would be quite 
 useless, for it .must go on, though it breaks both 
 Arthur's heart and mine. No : it is best not to see 
 Arthur again.' 
 
 "The little ormolu clock on the mantel chimed the 
 hour of seven, warning Helen that time was swiftly pas- 
 sing. There was another tap at the door. She thrust 
 the note in the pocket of her dress, and in answer to 
 her. ' Come in,' her father entered. 
 
 " With a little cry Helen sprang to his side, and fling- 
 ing her arms about his neck hid her face on his breast. 
 
 " ' Helen,' said Squire Trevalyn, tremulously, eagerly, 
 ' do you think it will be for the best, dear ? It is not toe 
 late yet to stop this marriage if you think — ' 
 
 "•Hush, papa!' interrupted the girl, laying her white 
 fingers over his lips, and bravely keeping back the sobs. 
 ' I will marry the Earl of Dunraven.' 
 
 " ' I am not worth the sacrifice, Helen,' he muttered 
 weakly. ' I should not permit you to make it. I am a 
 rich man, but all my gold will not buy him off. Oh, 
 
THE TRAGEDV IN TREVALYN PARK. ZJ 
 
 Helen, 1 jelen ! your sacrifice is horrible to me, but 
 would it not be more horrible still if the world knew that 
 I— that I—' 
 
 " Squire Trevalyn stopped short and looked at his 
 daughter. His face was convulsed with agony ; he was 
 utterly incapable of finishing the sentence. 
 
 " ' Would to God Dunraven and I had never met,' he 
 cried hoarsely ; ' he has been my evil genius,' and with 
 that the old squire laid his head on Helen's shoulder and 
 wept like a child. 
 
 " ' Helen,' he whispered, raising his head suddenly, ' I 
 am going to make a last appeal to Dunraven to-night to 
 spare you. I will watch for him at the gate and talk to 
 him in the grounds where no one can hear what 
 passes between us ; walls have ears, servants always 
 listen.' 
 
 " ' Oh, father,' sobbed Helen, ' it would be useless ; 
 there would only be but another quarrel between you and 
 Mr. Dunraven.' 
 
 " The squire tore her white arms from his neck, and, 
 heedless of her entreaties to keep out of Dunraven's path 
 hurried from the room with a white face and clenched 
 hands, and with a look of such utter desperation in his 
 eyes that it haunted her for many a long and bitter day 
 afterward. 
 
 " ' Hector Dunraven will only mock poor papa for his 
 pains,' sobbed Helen ; ' he is as relentless as death 
 itself,' and with those words Helen abruptly left the 
 room, and that broke the icy chain that seemed to bind 
 my senses. 
 
 " I think I called out to her, but my memory is much 
 confused on this point, — then suddenly I turned from the 
 window and crept down the path. I took my clasp knife 
 from my pocket, to cut one of the branches of the 
 bushes to whittle — you know that is a habit of mine when 
 
26 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 under great excitement. I held the knife clutched tightly 
 in my hand, when, glancing ahead I saw the Earl of 
 Dunraven walking swiftly iv;) the path. 
 
 "In an instant all the blood in my body rushed to my 
 crazed brain ; my head whirled. I stood quite still in the 
 
 shadow of a tall tree and watched him approaching me 
 
 nearer — nearer — nearer — an instant more and the man 
 who had robbed me of that which was dearer than my 
 heart's blood would be abreast of me ; we would stand 
 iace to face in the impenetrable darkness of the huge 
 trees. 
 
 " God ! how my head whirled. A score or more Earls 
 of Dunraven seemed advancing, but I felt brave, my 
 blood was on fire. I could face an army of them ! How 
 triumphant and devilish all the faces seemed as they 
 drew nearer — nearer, whirling with lightning like rapid- 
 ity around me." 
 
 '■ Then there followed a horrible blank in my mind. 
 Time stood still ; the brandy by this time had fully over- 
 come me. As God in Heaven is my judge, I do here 
 most solemnly swear that I have no recollection of any 
 incident whatever that happened after that. 
 
 " Hours afterward, I found myself on the platform of 
 the depot. It was still night. I saw a train approach- 
 ing and boarded it. I did not know which way it was 
 going — it was of little moment to me. I went to the 
 extreme end of the route which was at this little 
 hamlet. 
 
 " As I stepped from the train I bought a London 
 paper, and with trembling hands turned toward the 
 column containing the marriage notices, and as I did so, I 
 noticed that which had entirely escaped my notice before 
 — there 7vas a heavy stain of blood on the palm of my left 
 hand, but my mind was too much absorbed by other 
 matters to pay any heed to this fact just now, for a head- 
 
THE TRAGEDY IN TREVALYN PARK. f] 
 
 line in the paper, so startling that it fairly took my breath 
 away, caught my eye. It read : — 
 
 " ' THB DASTARDLY MURDER OF A BRIDEGROOM ON HIS 
 BRIDAL EVE BY A JEALOUS 'RIVAL.' 
 
 " It is useless to enter into detail regarding the four 
 column article. In substance it was to the effect that 
 the Earl of Dunraven had been found dead in Trevalyn 
 Park on the preceding night, near one. of the tall syca- 
 more trees in the walk that led to the south gate, half 
 an hour after the time appointed for his marriage to Miss 
 Helen Trevalyn, daughter of Squire Trevalyn, of Tre- 
 valyn Villa, and the greatest excitement had prevailed 
 upon the finding of the body. 
 
 "A few were of the opinion that the deceased had 
 committed suicide, owing to the fact that a knife was 
 found by his side ; while others were firm in the belief 
 that a murder most foul had been committed. 
 
 "The doctor who was called to view the remains found 
 a wound caused by a knife, six inches from right to left, 
 extending across the throat to a point under the left ear ; 
 the upper portion of the windpipe was severed, and the 
 jugular vein, as well as the muscular branches of the 
 carotid artery, were divided. 
 
 " The doctor was emphatic in his belief that the wound 
 had not been self-inflicted. Had it been so, the hand 
 inflicting so peculiar a wound could not have escaped 
 being marked with blood. The knife was found near the 
 right, hand in such a position as to indicate that it had 
 fallen from it. The arms were folded across the chest, 
 the right hand resting on the left,— M.? back of the knife 
 being toward the person of the deceased. There was no 
 blood on the hands, arms, or chest. 
 
 " ' All the circumstances concurred in showing,' the doc- 
 tor held, ' that an attempt had been made to make this 
 
28 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 appear an act of suicide, for neither during nor after tlie 
 cessation of rigidity, could this spasmodic condition of 
 the muscles of the hand be simulated. In no case ' he 
 insisted, ' was it possible to give an appearance of grasp- 
 ing similar to that which is occasionally found after death 
 as a result of cadaveric spasm and rigidity, and last, but 
 by no means least, from the very position of the wound, 
 he stated emphatically that the fatal gash had been 
 inflicted by a person holding the knife in his left hand.' 
 
 "Then the serving maid confessed to receiving a note 
 from a stranger at the south gate within that hour for 
 Miss Trevalyn, and one of the grooms about the place 
 revealed the fact that he had seen me -standing under the 
 very tree before which the body was found, a little while 
 before, cutting a branch from the tree. He could not 
 be mistaken about my identity for he knew me well. 
 And they wrung from my poor Helen's lips that the note 
 handed her. was from me. 
 
 "And thus was the stigma of murder fastened upon 
 me, from circumstantial evidence most damningly clear. 
 
 " And now, Montgomery, dear, faithful, tried and true 
 old friend, I reach the culminating point of my letter — 
 aye, my confession : — 
 
 " I say solemnly, and call God to witness the truth of 
 my words, 
 
 " I do not know whether my hand is stained with a 
 fellow-creature's life-blood — or — not. I have not the 
 faintest knowledge of what transpired from the moment I 
 saw the Earl of Dunraven advancing up the path, until. I 
 found myself at the railway depot, boarding the train. 
 
 " By the memory of my sainted mother, now in Heaven, 
 and all I hold dear in this world, and by my hope of sal- 
 vation in the next, I solemnly call God to witness the 
 truth of my assertion when I say, I believe myself to be 
 innocent of this foul crime. — innocent as a babe, and yet, 
 
THE TRAGEDY IN TREVALYN PARK. 2g 
 
 Heaven pity me, / am not sure, and this hell of conflict- 
 ing doubt into which my soul is plunged is driving me 
 to madness. 
 
 " One of two fates is before me ; the madhouse — or — 
 the gallows. I cannot live and suffer the one or face the 
 other. 
 
 " I have bought a revolver, and within the hour after 
 the ink is dry upon this page, my soul will be ushered 
 into eternity, and God may i'everse the verdict of man as 
 to whether I am innocent or guilty. 
 
 " Good-by, old school-fellow, good-by, old comrade, 
 who has stood by me on the battle-field in many a fierce 
 encounter. Good-by, faithful friend, whose face is before 
 me, earnest with sympathy, in this the last hour of my 
 life. I meant to write but a page, but my thoughts 
 flowed so freely that I have covered many pages. I have 
 but one request in conclusion to make, and that is, judge 
 me not too harslily, temper mercy with justice, and when 
 you think of me, — if ever, — always think of me kindly 
 and at my best, even though my sun has set in eternal 
 darkness. 
 
 " Yours through time and eternity, 
 
 "Arthur Douglas." 
 
 The young man signed his name to the above long 
 letter with a steady hand, sealed and addressed it ; then 
 drew another blank sheet toward him, and commenced 
 the following in a hand that trembled slightly : 
 
 " My Dearest Helen : — 
 
 But fate destined that he should get no further; his 
 elbow accidently touched the trigger of the revolver lying 
 on the table, there was a deafening report, a flash, and he 
 fell forward, face downward, on the table, his life-blood 
 crimsoning the letter he had but just commenced, and 
 holding the pen still in his hand. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A STRANGE BRIDAL EVE. 
 
 The deafening report of the revolver brought the 
 inmates of the hostelry with alacrity to the stranger's 
 door. They found it not only securely locked, but bolted 
 upon the inside. Three or four of the strongest men put 
 their shoulders to the paneling and the next instant it 
 had fallen in with a crash, and they sprang over the 
 threshold into the room, and even the stoutest hearted of 
 ihem shrank back at the sight that met their gaze. 
 
 " There is life here yet," exclaimed the old innkeeper, 
 when he had torn open the stranger's coat and vest and 
 applied his ear over the region of the heart. " It still 
 beats ; we must send for a doctor at once." 
 
 When the village doctor arrived, and had examined his 
 patient, he looked grave enough. " The man has missed 
 death by a hair's breadth," he said, " and I am by no 
 means certain that it will not prove fatal within the next 
 twenty-four hours ; the wound is an ugly one." 
 
 There were no cards, no papers about the stranger to 
 prove his identity, and it was deemed best to send a tele- 
 gram to the party indicated on the envelope of the sealed 
 letter acquainting him of the facts, retaining the letter for 
 possible identification. The dispatch was accordingly 
 sent, and late that night, a gentleman who stated that he 
 was Eugene Montgomery,, arrived at the hostelry. 
 
 The letter was handed him, and as he perused page 
 after page his grief over his friend's trouble and the rash- 
 
 3° 
 
A STRANGE BRIDAL EVE. 3 1 
 
 ness of the act which cuhtiinated it, knew no bounds. 
 " I shall remain with him until he is out of danger — or 
 dies," he said hoarsely ; adding, " Pray do not let this 
 affair be noised about." They noticed that Mr. Mont- 
 gomery always alluded to the injured man as 'my friend,' 
 but particularly avoided mentioning his name. 
 
 He did not die, however, at the expiration of the time 
 designated by the doctor, and for days thereafter his life 
 hung suspended by a single thread as it were. We will 
 leave him fighting the battle of life or death and return 
 to the scene he pictured so vividly in his letter as having 
 transpired that fatal night at Trevalyn Park in Branlea. 
 
 When the body of the Earl of Dunraven was discov- 
 ered beneath the sycamore tree, the household was thrown 
 into great trouble and confusion. When the announce- 
 ment was made that the wedding would not take place, 
 most of the guests left the villa without being aware of 
 the true cause. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn first heard the terrible intelligence of 
 Dunraven's tragic fate from her maid's lips. She stood 
 quite still, looking at Rachel with a face pale as marble, 
 her hands clutched together so tightly that the pink nails 
 sunk deep in the tender palms, but she never felt the 
 pain of it, her agitation was so great. 
 
 " Does — does — papa know about it ? " she asked in an 
 awful whisper. 
 
 " It was he who sent me to tell you about it. Miss 
 Helen. 
 
 " Where is papa ? " asked Miss Trevalyn in that same 
 low, intense voice. 
 
 " In his study," replied Rachel. 
 
 " I am going to him, Rachel," said Miss Trevalyn, and 
 all heedless that she wore her bridal -veil and wedding 
 dress still, she hurried precipitately from the room and 
 down the long corridor. Pausing breathless before her 
 
32 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 father's study, she knocked nervously, but there was no 
 response, although she could hear her father's step pacing 
 up and down within. She turned the knob, but the door 
 was securely fastened from within. 
 
 " Father," she called, " let me in, it is I — Helen." 
 
 Cautiously the bolt was slid back after long moments 
 of anxious waiting and Squire Trevalyn opened the door. 
 A cry of terror broke from the girl's lips as her eyes fell 
 on her father's face, it was haggard and ghastly. Years 
 passing over him could not have aged him more com- 
 pletely than the havoc of the last hour had done. 
 
 " Come into the room and close the door after you, 
 Helen," he said in a whisper ; " be sure and close the 
 door tight." 
 
 The girl obeyed. 
 
 " Oh, papa, is it quite true, — are you sure there is no 
 mistake, — is the Earl of Dunraven really dead ? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered, sinking tremblingly in the nearest 
 seat, "yes, he is dead — and you — will — not have to 
 marry him now." 
 
 Helen raised her tear stained face. " Papa," she 
 whispered slowly, " who did it ? " 
 
 " Who did it; ? " he repeated vaguely, " why, how should 
 I know, child ! — Don't look at me in that searching way, 
 Helen ; you unnerve me." 
 
 Helen threw herself on her knees before her father and 
 caught his hands in hers. " Oh heaven, papa ! are you 
 sure you do not know who did it ? " she sobbed wildly. 
 " Tell me, confide in me." 
 
 " You will not have to marry him now, Helen," he mut- 
 tered, "you are saved!" 
 
 It was true Helen Trevalyn had not loved the man she 
 was to have wedded within that hour. She had often 
 prayed that she might die and be freed from him ; but 
 she had never desired his death. She repelled the 
 
A STRANGE BRIDAL EVE. 35 
 
 thought that this tragedy, so terrible in itself, brought 
 freedom too her. She was too genuinely shocked to feel 
 that relief had been brought to her by so atrocious an act. 
 
 " Did you see the Earl of Dunraven after you left me, 
 as you declared you intended doing, papa," whispered 
 the girl, in a voice that sounded hardly human. 
 
 " Hush, my dear, hush ! " cried the squire, " you will 
 arouse the whole house talking so loud. No one must 
 hear, Helen. Go and see if there are no servants prying 
 about the corridor, or listening at the key-hole, and I will 
 tell you about it." 
 
 " There is no one listening, papa,' replied Helen, 
 huskily ; adding, " Your servants are above playing the 
 part of so mean a thing as an eavesdropper." 
 
 " It is the servants who always betray family secrets," 
 he muttered. " They must not hear what I say to you 
 to-night, Helen. Look into the corridor and be sure that 
 there is no one about ; then come back and listen to what 
 I have to say." 
 
 To gain time, to collect her scattered senses as well as 
 to humor him, Helen obeyed, opened the door and looked 
 up and down the corridor, then re-entered the room, 
 closing it, and relocking it, and taking her place once 
 more on the hassock at her father's feet, she laid her 
 trembling little hand on his arm. " Papa," she said 
 gently, " there is something terribly wrong ; won't you 
 confide in me ? " 
 
 Squire Trevalyn raised his gray, haggard face, and 
 looked into the beautiful, pleading, girlish one. 
 
 " Oh, if I dared tell" you, Helen," he moaned huskily. 
 " But no, it must not be ; your verdict might be against 
 me, you might hate me and that would kill me ! " 
 
 He rose abruptly from his chair, and paced hurriedly 
 up and down the length of the room, with his liands 
 clenched, and great drops of moisture gathering on his 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THAT PRETTV YOU>fG GIRL, 
 
 brow ; then as abruptlj' sank down in his chair again, 
 covering his face with his trembling hands, and, strong 
 man though he was, he bowed his head and wept like a 
 child. 
 
 " Oh, Helen, if I dared confide in you, child," he 
 repeated, adding earnestly, " though the whole world 
 should turn against me, would you be true — steadfast 
 and true ? " he asked hoarsely. 
 
 Turning her beautiful eyes upon him she answered, 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If you will register a vow to me that you will never 
 divulge one word of what I may say to you here and now, 
 I will tell you my story," said Squire Trevalyn. " But 
 you must swear to me that you will never repeat one word 
 of it to any human being." 
 
 Pale and trembling, Miss Trevalyn looked at her father. 
 " I am afraid," she said. " I have never sworn in all my 
 life. Let me promise that I will do as you wish, papa. 
 That will meet the case as well. I shall keep my word." 
 
 " No, you must swear it, Helen. For the rest of my 
 life I shall trust no one — neither man, woman or child. 
 Every promise made me shall be bound by an oath ; you 
 need not tremble, child, many people take oaths." 
 
 " But if I should ever have cause to break it ? " the girl 
 asked piteously. 
 
 " That is the very thing," he said. " How could I be 
 sure of your eternal silence when you are not even sure 
 of yourself .? You must swear not to reveal one word of 
 my story under any cause or circumstances ; then I shall 
 rest content, for you will always bear in mind the punish- 
 ment that will follow if you do not keep your oath." 
 
 The girl's fair face grew as pale as the petals of a 
 white lily. " If you cannot trust even me (who would 
 die for you) without an oath, I — I — will take it, papa," 
 she said slowly. And he was satisfied. 
 
A STRANGE BRIDAL EVE. 35 
 
 " You are sure there is no one listening, outside, 
 Helen ? " he asked anxiously. " A chance word, over- 
 heard, might ruin me, child," he gasped, and she saw him 
 tremble like an aspen leaf. 
 
 " Quiet sure, papa," she said. 
 
 "Let me look down into your beautiful eyes, and it 
 will give me power to proceed, my darling," he "said 
 tremulously. He took her little cold hands in his, caress- 
 ing them a moment in utter silence. 
 
 " I hardly know how to begin, Helen," he said huskily, 
 " but I suppose it is the better way to break into the sub- 
 ject at once." 
 
 " Yes, that is the best way, papa," Miss Trevalyn 
 agreed. 
 
 He laid one trembling hand on the dark, curly head, 
 looking wistfully down into those beautiful dark eyes. , 
 
 " You have promised to trust and believe in me," he 
 said solemnly, " no matter what comes, no matter how 
 great the shock ! " 
 
 " I shall always believe in you, papa," she answered, 
 just as solemnly. "My affection is as true as steel, as 
 faithful as the unswerving magnet to the pole, I say with 
 Moore : 
 
 " ' Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, 
 Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here. 
 Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast ; 
 And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. 
 
 " ' Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same, 
 Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame ? 
 I know not, I care not, if guilt's in thy heart, 
 I know that I love thee whatever thou art. 
 
 " ' Thou hast called me thine angel in moments of bliss. 
 And thine angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this ; 
 Through the furnace unshrinking thy steps to pursue, 
 And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too.' 
 
36 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " God bless you, my beautiful daughter," murmured 
 the squire, crushing back the great lump that rose in 
 his throat. After a moment's pause, he went on 
 slowly : — 
 
 " You remember when I lay ill unto death and sent for 
 you, Helen, telling you when you came to my bedside 
 that the Earl of Dunraven had asked your hand in mar- 
 riage and that he held the power to cast me into prison if 
 — if — you — refused ? " 
 
 " How can I ever forget that hour, papa," the girl 
 sobbed. 
 
 " I did not tell you what power Dunraven had over 
 me, although you beseeched me on your knees to tell 
 you, child, and, like the heroic daughter you are, you 
 offered yourself as a sacrifice, darling," said the squire 
 tremulously, "trusting blindly to my word that it was 
 the only thing that would save me. The hour is come in 
 which I must make a clean confession, Helen, — but, oh, 
 child, try not to despise your poor father, but think as 
 kindly of him as you can. 
 
 " My trouble dates back to threfe weeks ago to-night, 
 my darling, and — and — I would give my very life's 
 blood to blot it out. 
 
 " But to get at the root of the matter, dear, — we — we — 
 have been living very extravagantly of late, and rich man 
 though I was, the constant drain was beginning to tell 
 upon my purse. I found to my great consternation one 
 day that I was on the verge of bankruptcy, Helen, and 
 the terror of the revelation drove me nearly distracted. 
 I could not sleep or rest at night with the horror 
 of impending evil hanging over me, and — and I took 
 chloral, my darling, to deaden my senses into forgetful" 
 ness. 
 
 " One night, soon after I had taken the usual amount, 
 one of the servants announced the Earl of Dunraven, on 
 
A strAnge bridal eve. 37 
 
 particular business. I, knowing my condition, should 
 have refused to see him, but in that one instance I did 
 not, and on this one thread hangs all the misery we are 
 enduring now. To make a long story short I ordered 
 that the earl should be shown to the library, and in a 
 little while I joined him there. I took a little more than 
 the usual amount of chloral to brace up my nerves, and 
 went down to' meet him. The overdose instead of mak- 
 ing me restful, as usual, produced quite an opposite 
 effect upon me. I had not been in the earl's presence 
 long ere he drew from me by adroit questioning the 
 whole story of my indebtedness and the slippery preci- 
 pice on which I stood." 
 
 " ' Why suffer such embarrassment when a few strokes 
 of the pen will gain you comfort,' whispered Dunraven 
 in my ear. ' You have wealthy partners ; why not use 
 them to tide you over your present difficulty ? ' 
 
 " ' They are prospecting on my land for a vein of ore,' 
 I muttered ; ' if they strike it, I shall be a rich man for 
 life, if not — ' 
 
 " ' Always look on the bright side of a question,' sug- 
 gested Dunraven ; and against my better judgment I 
 listened to him and consented to take a glass of wine 
 with him. You know the old saying, my Helen, 
 
 " ' When wine is in, wit is out.' 
 
 " I have a distinct recollection of all that passed after 
 that. Dunraven produced two blank notes, and by his 
 persuasion, God pity me, I filled them out, attaching the 
 names of each of my two partners to them, and with this 
 forged signature thus obtained, Dunraven took his leave, 
 carrying the checks with him. 
 
 " When my brain grew clearer I realized what I had 
 done and I almost went mad with horror. I sent for 
 Dunraven and begged him on my knees to give me back 
 
38 TttAt PRETTY YOUNG GlfeL. 
 
 the checks to which I had unwittingly forged my partners' 
 names. 
 
 " 'There is one, and only one condition on which I will 
 return them to you, intact,' he said suavely, ' and that is, 
 to secure for me your daughter Helen's hand in marriage. 
 You can influence her to marry rae, if yovi will. Re- 
 fuse, and a felon's cell awaits you for life ! ' " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 IS HE INNOCENT OR GUILTY? 
 
 Helen Trevalyn listened to the squire's remarkable 
 confession like a woman turned suddenly to marble. 
 
 Her face was as white as the wedding robe that trailed 
 about her, as she cowered upon the hassock at his feet. 
 
 The squire wiped the beads of perspiration from his 
 brow, and without waiting for his daughter to speak went 
 on hurriedly : 
 
 " It seemed to me, Helen, when I listened to those 
 words from Dunraven's lips, that disgrace and death 
 would be easier to bear than accept his terms. Oh, child, 
 you will never know, I cannot picture to you in adequate 
 language the terrible battle I had with myself ere I could 
 bring myself to the point of appealing to you to sacrifice 
 yourself for a crime committed by me, and which I would 
 rather have died than divulged to you. And while the 
 preparations for the wedding went on and I noted day 
 after day how the roses were fading from your cheek, 
 Helen, and the light from your eyes, I felt as though I 
 were going mad. 
 
 " Twice I pleaded with Dunraven to spare you, but he 
 only laughed mockingly in my face." 
 
 " ' Hear me once for all, Squire Trevalyn, and here- 
 after let there be no repetition of this scene,' he retorted 
 threateningly. ' I love your daughter, and all is fair in 
 winning the woman you love. She should never have 
 found happiness with another man. I would have slain 
 
 4? 
 
40 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 him at the very altar first. Be satisfied with the fact that 
 you are giving her to a man ,who worships her/ 
 
 " ' Your love is but a curse to my Helen,' I cried hotly, 
 ' for, God pity the girl, she loves another.' 
 
 " ' Even though she hated me I would not relinquish 
 the power that will give her to me,' he declared vehe- 
 mently, ' for I have all the future years of companionship, 
 in which I hope to win her to care for me. Better actual 
 hatred at the start, than indifference.' 
 
 " ' I have not lived a life of exile from all womankind, 
 but I have been no worse, I dare say, than many a man 
 of the world, despite the reputation I have gained, 
 because I sunned myself in the smiles of pretty women 
 as long as their faces pleased me. It will be with your 
 daughter when we are wedded, as it was with the nymph 
 who drew back her dainty skirts in horror, as the monster 
 named sin sued for her favor. You know the rest. She 
 found him 
 
 * ' A monster of such dreadful mien 
 To be hated, need but to be seen, 
 Yet, seen too oft, familiar with his face 
 Is first endured — then pitied — then embraced. 
 
 In short, I have the hope that your daughter will end by 
 adoring me, my dear squire,' he added mockingly. 
 
 " Oh, Helen, how can I tell you how I passed the days 
 that followed up to this, your wedding night. I — I — 
 could scarcely keep my hands from Dunraven's treacher- 
 ous throat as he sat at my table, or walked by your side, 
 and to-night — " A violent spasm shook the squire's 
 frame, and for a moment he was incapable of further 
 utterance. 
 
 Helen crept up to him closer still, in great alarm. 
 She had never before seen her genial, cheery hearted 
 father worked up to such a state of agitation. 
 
IS HE INNOCENT OR GUILTY? 41 
 
 " But what happened to-night, papa ?' ' she sobbed pit- 
 eously. "•Tell me, did you meet Hector Dunraven when 
 you left my presence a little while since, father ? Oh, tell 
 me!" 
 
 " I was getting to that, Helen," muttered the squire. 
 " Yes, I met him. I went down the road apiece to watch 
 for him, and at last my vigilance was rewarded. I saw 
 his carriage whirling up the road, but before I had time to 
 intercept it, it dashed through the entrance gate. I fol- 
 lowed. As the earl stepped from the coach I touched 
 him on the arm. 
 
 " ' I should like a few words with you,' I said, and with 
 a muttered imprecation, he went with me. 
 
 " ' Now,' said he impatiently, as we turned into the 
 secluded path that led through the sycamore grove, 
 ' what is it, squire ? You have chosen a poor time in 
 which to expect me to spend time in talking with you. I 
 am already late for the ceremony.' 
 
 " ' I have brought you here to make a last appeal to 
 you, Dunraven,' I cried. 
 
 " He put out his hand to thrust me aside with an inso- 
 lent laugh. I caught his arm in a vise-like grip. 
 
 " ' You shall listen to me,' I cried. ' Attempt to move 
 from where you stand and I — I — will kill you,' I cried 
 excitedly. 
 
 " Of what need to tell you all I said, darling ! We had a 
 bitter quarrel, — and — ajid — listen, Helen, I told him that 
 he must leave the country within twenty-four hours or — 
 or — that I would not be responsible after that, for I 
 might kill him on sight. 
 
 "'I have always something about me with which to 
 defend myself, Squire Trevalyn ! ' he retorted, and quick 
 as a flash reached for son^ething in his breast pocket, but 
 I was quicker still, and felled him with one blow from my 
 right arm, and then I — Great Heaven I Helen, what noise 
 
44 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GlRt. 
 
 was that ? " exclaimed the old squire, quivering with ter- 
 ror. 
 
 " It was nothing, papa, only the leaves tapping against 
 the window-pane," returned the girl. 
 
 " I tell you there is some one behind those silk cur- 
 tains, Helen ; run over to the window and see.'' 
 
 " Just to satisfy you, I will do so, papa , but you will 
 see that there is no one there," said Miss Trevalyn, glid- 
 ing quickly to the window, but as she reached it, she found 
 to her terror, a man crouching behind the silken folds. 
 
 She did not shriek out, or utter any cry as many 
 another young girl might have done. Shesimply said in 
 a low, hoarse, intense voice : 
 
 " You are right, papa, there is a man here ! " 
 
 " Some spy has overheard all that I have said to you, 
 Helen," shrieked the squire, springing from his chair. 
 
 The man calmly came forward, holding up his hand 
 with a gesture commanding silence, 
 
 " My presence here is easily accounted for. Squire 
 Trevalyn," he said gravely. " I am a detective, — of the 
 Scotland Yard force, of London. I had private business 
 in Branlea, which accounts for my presence at this most 
 opportune time in your village. I am the Mr. Harper 
 whom you included with your friend Huxham among the 
 wedding guests. I was present two hours since when the 
 body of the Earl of Dun raven was found in the grounds, 
 and immediately set on foot investigations on my own 
 account to trace the murderer. I thought that I had 
 every reason to fasten the crime upon a Mr. Arthur 
 Douglas, and I stepped into the library a little while 
 since to put the points together and lay out my plan for 
 tracing his whereabouts, when you entered, and hastily 
 dispatched a servant with the message that your daughter 
 must come to you at once. I remained quiet through 
 curiosity to see — without being seen — the young lady, 
 
IS HE INNOCENT OR GUILTY? 43 
 
 for whose sake one lover met death and the other wears 
 the red stamp of Cain on his brow, when lo, your startling 
 revelation held me spellbound. A chair moved at the 
 most critical point of your narrative and my presence — 
 which under the circumstances and in accordance with my 
 calling was perfectly justifiable — was made known to you, 
 and," continued the detective fixing his piercing gray eyes 
 on Squire Trevalyn's death-white face, " at the aspect 
 the case now assumes, it is for me to determine' whether 
 this murder was committed by Arthur Douglas, — or by 
 yourself. Squire Trevalyn." 
 
 A shriek from Helen caused Mr. Harper to realize 
 that he had spoken too plainly. The girl had fallen face 
 downward in her bridal robes at her father's feet. But 
 he was equal to the emergency. Quickly raising the girl in 
 his arms, for the squire had sunk down helplessly on the 
 nearest seat, incapable of speech or action, he laid her 
 upon the settee and laved her face with ice-water, in the 
 mean time hastily touching the bell. 
 
 " Your young lady has swooned," he said to the servant 
 who answered the summons. " Squire Trevalyn wishes 
 you to take her to her room and summon her maid." 
 
 " Master looks quite as much as if he needed attention 
 as young Missis," exclaimed the man. " Look, sir, the 
 squire is in a fit ! " 
 
 The detective was just quick enough in stretching out 
 his right arm to keep the squire from falling. 
 
 " It is an apoplectic stroke," he said hurriedly ; " you 
 are right, my man, a doctor must be summoned at once. 
 I think I will take my leave at once. This is no time for 
 the intrusion of strangers." 
 
 A week rolled its slow length by ere Helen Trevalyn 
 awoke to a realization of what was transpiring about her. 
 She awoke to find herself in her own bed, with faithful 
 Rachel bending over her. 
 
44 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " What is the matter, Rachel ? " she asked, wonderingly, 
 as she opened her great dark, lovely eyes, gazing in 
 bewilderment around her. " Why am I here? Havel 
 been ill ? I have had such horrible dreams ! " Then 
 suddenly a cry^ang sharply, piteously, through the 
 room. 
 
 " O God ! Rachel, I remember all that happened last 
 night ! Where is papa ? " 
 
 " It was not last night that it happened, dearie," said 
 old Rachel ; " it was a week ago. You have been lying 
 ill here ever since." 
 
 " But papa ! " cried Helen, sitting up with bated breath 
 in the bed. " Where is he .' " 
 
 Rachel hid her face in her hands, but with all her 
 strength Helen Trevalyn clutched at them and tore 
 them from it. 
 
 " Tell me, Rachel," she said. " This suspense is kill- 
 ing me." 
 
 " You are not strong enough to bear it. Miss Helen," 
 cried Rachel, distressedly. " Oh, how am I to tell 
 you ! " 
 
 " Tell me quickly, Rachel," whispered Miss Trevalyn, 
 in a voice that sounded like nothing human. Rachel 
 took her poor little hands and stroked them pityingly. 
 
 " Your father, the squire, was taken very ill on that 
 awful night. Miss Helen, and the doctor, who was sent 
 for, says he is suffering from aberration of the mind. 
 But it is only temporary, dear Miss Helen, believe that. 
 He will be all right one of these days, never fear ; the 
 doctor bade me tell you that." 
 
 Helen Trevalyn sank back upon her pillow, uttering 
 no moan — no cry. She had expected to hear Rachel say 
 that her father had been arrested, charged with the mur- 
 der of the Earl of Dunraven. 
 
 But was he guilty ? Oh, God in heaven ! how could 
 
IS HE INNOCENT OR GUILTY? 45 
 
 she harbor such a question in her heart and live. It 
 almost seemed to take her breath from her body. And 
 if her father were innocent, did not all the proofs, which 
 she had heard the servants discussing on that fatal night, 
 point to Arthur Douglas, the man she loved better than 
 her own life, as Dunraven's slayer? Which did it? was 
 the agonizing cry in her heart, which her lips dared not 
 ratter. 
 
 "And Arthur — Mr. Douglas — Rachel, have they found 
 any trace of him ? " she asked fearfully — eager, yet dread- 
 ing the answer to her question. 
 
 " No," said Rachel, adding warmly, " though the whole 
 world cried out, trumpet-tongued, that Master Arthur 
 was guilty of that awful crime, I would not believa it. 
 He loved you better than life itself, Miss Helen ; but he 
 loved honor better still. I feel -sure in my heart that 
 Arthur Douglas is innocent." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A STARTLING CONFESSION. 
 
 " Let me go mad ! 
 Sweet Heaven, forgive weak thoughts ! If there should be 
 No God; no heaven, no earth in the void world — 
 The wide, grave, lampless, deep, unpeopled world." 
 
 . " If this be all, 
 And other life await us not, for one, 
 I say, 'tis a poor cheat, a wretched failure, 
 A stupid bungle ! I for one protest against it. 
 And would hurl life back with scorn." 
 
 " Rachel," said Miss Trevalyn, controlling her quiver- 
 ing voice as best she could, " help me to dress. I am go- 
 ing to papa." 
 
 Rachel tries to combat this decision, for she knows 
 how weak the girl is, and what a shock it will be to her 
 to see her great, strong, cheery father sitting in his arm- 
 chair babbling empty nothings. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Trevalyn ? " asked Helen. " Is — is— ^ 
 she with papa ? " 
 
 Rachel's brows drew together in a deep frown. " No ; 
 madame left the villa this morning to recruit her health 
 and strength, she said, by a little trip to the seashore. 
 She declared that the excitement she has undergone for 
 the last week, together with sitting up alternately with 
 you and your father, as well as having the whole care of 
 the house on her mind, has nearly driven her distracted 
 
 46 
 
A SfARTLmo CONFESSION. 47 
 
 and that if she didn't go away she would be sure to fall 
 sick too. But bless me, Miss- Helen, it isn't true about 
 her sitting up losing a minute's sleep on account of your 
 poor pa or yourself — that's all talk, as the trained nurses 
 we had will agree. 
 
 " I don't like to tell any tales, Miss Helen, but I do 
 say that it was the scandal of the neighborhood as to how 
 she took on about the Earl of Dunraven's death — quite 
 as much as you, his intended bride, might have done — 
 and the report was about that she and the earl were 
 lovers once." 
 
 " Impossible ! " murmured Helen. 
 
 " You would not think that if you had seen the way she 
 took on when the body was brought into the drawing- 
 room, throwing herself down on her knees beside it, and 
 kissing the pale lips, and crying hysterically that she 
 wished she could die too, — and she the squire's wife. It 
 was shocking ! Why, the doctor who came to examine 
 the wound had to fairly drag her from the room by en- 
 treaties and coaxing." 
 
 Helen's beautiful face grew white and troubled as she 
 listened. She scarcely knew what terrible denouement to 
 look for next. 
 
 " I will go to papa, Rachel ; help me to dress," she said ; 
 and finding her young mistress firm in her resolve, the 
 maid complied. 
 
 Squire Trevalyn was sitting in his arm-chair on the 
 porch, in the sunshine, she told Helen, and there Helen 
 sought him, gliding swiftly to his side and clasping her 
 arms aboiit him, her tears falling like rain on his face. 
 Ah, how greatly her father had changed during this ter- 
 rible week, she thought, in agony too great for words. 
 There was no smile of welcome for her, no word of loving 
 greeting from his lips, and in the wondering „glance of 
 the eyes that met hers, there was no gleam of recognition. 
 
48 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GtRt. 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! this is more than I can bear ! " sobbed 
 Helen wildly, as she flung herself on her knees before 
 hitn and buried her face on the arm of his chair, 
 
 " Hush, my dear," muttered the squire, " you must not 
 interrupt me, I say, the worst is yet to come ; but you 
 will never forsake me, you will shield me. There is aome 
 one listening, Helen. Go and lock the door and come 
 back quickly and I will tell you all while I have the 
 strength." The old squire would repeat these words over 
 and over again. He never got further than that, and they 
 filled Helen with the keenest terror. 
 
 Meanwhile, a great reward had been offered by the 
 Earl of Dunraven's aged mother for the apprehension of 
 her only son's murderer. " I will give half my fortune," 
 she telegraphed to the chief magistrate of London, "to 
 track the slayer of my son down, and see him expiate his 
 crime upon the gallows, — aye, the whole of my fortune, if 
 need be ! " 
 
 " Mr. Harper, one of the cleverest men of the Scotland- 
 Yard force is already at Branlea," remarked the inspector. 
 " He will succeed if any one can." 
 
 At the end of his tenth day at Branlea, Mr. Harper 
 sent a lengthy telegram in cipher to his superior officer, 
 and the contents of it was a revelation to that gentleman, 
 versed as he was in crime in all its forms in the great city 
 of London. 
 
 Mr. Harper had certainly not been idle. Like a care- 
 ful general he laid out the plan of his campaign, and went 
 systematically about it. " By unearthing the murderer of 
 the Earl of Dunraven I would be a rich man for life," he 
 ruminated, rubbing his hands softly together, " but never 
 before haye I ever found so complicated a case as this " — 
 and the same question that troubled Miss Trevalyn was 
 ever upon his lips — which is the murderer of Dunraven, 
 Arthur Douglas, or Squire Trevalyn? The circumstan- 
 
A STARTLING CONFESSION. 49 
 
 tial evidence against eitlier is most conclusive, or could it 
 have been done by a woman's hand — and, if so, could it 
 have been done by the same hand that penned a letter 
 which Dunraven had received on the day he died ? 
 
 On the night of the tragedy Mr. Harper had ascer- 
 tained that the earl had been stopping at the village 
 hostelry instead of at Trevalyn Villa, and, therefore, he 
 found it a much easier task than he had at first believed 
 it would be to gain access to the suite of rooms the earl 
 had occupied, through his valet, John Burton, in the 
 hope of finding a possible clew. The detective was 
 about turning away in despair when his eye suddenly 
 caught sight of a crumpled bit of paper, half-singed, lying 
 in the cuspadore. 
 
 " Ha ! " he said aloud, " what have we here ? " and he 
 smoothed out the twisted sheet, and found it to be a frag- 
 ment of a letter, and evidently in a woman's handwriting. 
 This was certainly an important find. He perused the 
 bit of paper slowly, carefully — then held it out to the 
 valet. 
 
 " Do you know who sent this letter to your master, and 
 when he received it ? " he asked, fixing his keen gray eyes 
 on the man's face. 
 
 "An hour before he started for Trevalyn Villa," an- 
 swered the man, " I found it on the floor of his room.. It 
 had been thrust in under the door, but I could not find 
 out who had placed it there. I gave him the letter, and 
 as he glanced at the writing on the envelppe, a volley of 
 curses fell from his lips. ' I am never to hear the last of 
 this woman ! ' he said with a frown. ' There is an old, 
 trite, and true saying, Burton, which is carrying its lesson 
 heme to me, and it is this — " The pleasaat follies of our 
 youth turn into scourges which lash us in after life." 
 Never were truer words uttered by tongue or pen.' 
 
 " The frown deepened on his face as he read the letter. 
 
A STARTLING CONFESSION. 51 
 
 It is quite scorchirjg enough to light my cigar with," he 
 said, laughing grimly at his own pun. He twisted it up 
 and held it over the gas jet, lit -his cigar with it, and 
 tossed it, burning just as you found it, into the spittoon." 
 
 "Had you no curiosity to learn the contents of the 
 letter .■' " queried Harper, fixing his keen, bright eyes on 
 the valet's immovable face. 
 
 " It would have done me little good, sir, to be curious, 
 for I can neither read nor write," he answered stolidly. 
 
 " Ah," muttered Harper, thoughtfully, " another woman 
 in the case, eh ? " With the quick intuition of those of 
 his calling, he was able to guess pretty accurately at the 
 general import of the letter, as he read the fragment 
 slowly through. ^ 
 
 This was certainly a new and very important clew, and 
 the detective set himself to work with a will to get at the 
 bottom of this new mystery. 
 
 He readily surmised that the earl had been in " the 
 other days," as she had phrased it, a lover of this woman. 
 And the fact that she had sought an appointment with 
 him on the night of the tragedy, within the grounds of 
 Trevalyn Park, was conclusive evidence that the place 
 and its bearings were familiar to her. Was the writer of 
 that letter one of the servants of the Hall ? 
 
 This idea seemed to fasten itself on the mind of the 
 detective. There was but one way of determining this 
 satisfactorily, and that was to gain an entree into the old 
 squire's household in disguise, and see for himself if any 
 one of the female inmates' handwriting corresponded 
 with this on the fragment of the letter. 
 
 Fate aided him. It so happened that at this all-impct 
 tant time, the gardener, who had been an attacM of the 
 Hall for many years, was detailed to take charge of the 
 squire, and a new gardener was advertised for, to take his 
 place temporarily. 
 
52 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Among the many applicants who applied for the posi' 
 tion, Miss Trevalyn selected a heavy-set, dark-bearded 
 man, awkward enough in his manners, but seeming to 
 possess a fund of knowledge on the subject of flowers 
 and fruit, and how to care for them. 
 
 "My father used to superintend this branch of the 
 establishment," said Miss Helen, tears filling her dark, 
 beautiful eyes ; " he took great pride in the flowers. 
 
 " I shall take great pains with them. Miss," returned 
 the man, respectfully touching his cap. 
 
 The tragedy at Trevalyn Hall had been a nine 
 days' wonder ; now public excitement was on the wane, 
 though the people marvelled much that the detective, 
 Mr. Harper, had given up the case so easily and gone 
 back to London, while some others averred he had 
 not given up the hope of the magnificent reward 
 offered, by any means, but had gone in search of young. 
 Mr. Douglas, and that that young man's fate was as good 
 as sealed. 
 
 The Dunraven horror might not have died out of the 
 public mind so quickly, had it not been for a newer and 
 fresher tragedy that startled Branlea into still greater 
 excitement. This time it was the giving way of a dam, 
 inundating the entire lower portion of the village that 
 nestled in the green valley. 
 
 Owing to the numerous freshets, an unusual thing for 
 that season of the year, the little babbling rivulet that 
 had turned the lazy mill wheel was swollen into a mighty 
 cataract that came rushing down the steep hillside like a 
 fierce, roaring sea one night, carrying death and destruc- 
 tion in its path — sweeping the little cots that nestled on 
 the daisy bordered hills before it like the merest egg shells 
 on the bosom of an angry ocean. When the sun arose 
 the next morning, its pitying light fell upon half a hun- 
 dred families, houseless, homeless, and suffering from all 
 
A STARTLING CONFESSION. 53 
 
 the horrors that dread provety is heir to, when overtaken 
 by such calamities. 
 
 In this trying ordeal Helen Trevalyn was like an angel 
 of mercy to the oppressed. " I am going to do that which 
 papa would bid me quickly do, if he could be made to un- 
 derstand what was going on around him," she said. The 
 girl put aside her. own sorrow heroically and ministered 
 to the afflicted. Every available room at the Hall was 
 put into use to give temporary shelter to the homeless. 
 
 In the midst of this, Thomas Blake, the new gardener, 
 proved himself a stanch friend of the poor sufferers. 
 He had been quietly circulating a subscription paper for 
 the aid of the destitute mill hands, and his powers of per- 
 suasion were so eloquent that there were very few people 
 in all the village of Branlea who did not put down their 
 names for every cent they could possibly ailord to give, 
 even to every servant at Trevalyn Hall. The money was 
 quickly raised, and the amount turned over to the proper 
 relief authorities, but Thomas Blake still retained the 
 subscription paper. Miss Trevalyn's name headed the 
 list. 
 
 Often in the seclusion of his own room, the detective 
 examined over and over again each different signature 
 there, and slowly shook his head. " No woman in this 
 house, and no woman in Branlea, wrote that letter to the 
 Earl of Dunraven," he concluded. 
 
 Now that his mission in regard to the servants at Tre- 
 valyn Hall was ended, he should have left the place, yet 
 he lingered still. The week under that roof had proven 
 worse than a death-warrant to the handsome young 
 detective, for he had learned to love Miss Trevalyn with 
 a love that actually frightened him, it was so intense. 
 
 The pleasure of being near her, listening to her sweet, 
 serious voice, was so great for him that at times it was 
 actual pain, and he wondered where it would end for him. 
 
54 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 It was heaven to him to walk by her side and look at hej 
 face as she examined the flowers, and thanked him in her 
 gentle, considerate way for the pains he was taking with 
 her father's favorite roses. More than once he saw the 
 traces of tears in her dark eyes, and he would have given 
 his life to have brushed them away and whispered words 
 of comfort to her. His keenest trials were during dinner 
 hour in the servants' hall. Whenever they spoke of the 
 squire's daughter it was always with the deepest pity. 
 
 " She is wearing her young life out grieving over Mr. 
 Arthur," said Rachel, her maid. " She loves him still, 
 despite all the proof that miserable detective who was 
 here brought forth of his guilt on the night of the 
 tragedy. But he has never written one line to her to 
 assure her of his innocence, or let her know of his where- 
 abouts, and it is breaking the girl's heart. But it will all 
 come out right some day, I feel sure," Rachel added, 
 " and he and Miss Helen will marry each other and find 
 happiness at last." 
 
 Every one around the table chime'd in heartily that 
 they hoped it would be so. Every one did I say, — ah 
 well, I must make a correction there. There was one to 
 whom the very thought of Helen Trevalyn marrying 
 Arthur Douglas was more cruel than a death-blow. One 
 who sat pale and silent as he listened ; it was the detec- 
 tive. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "love took up the glass of time." 
 
 Up to the present time in his life Hubert Harper, the 
 young detective, had had but one ambition in life, and 
 that was to reach the highest round on the ladder of 
 fame that could be reached in the -profession he had 
 chosen. 
 
 He had never given a second thought to any woman. 
 He had laughed grimly at the fever men call love, and 
 had wondered that it could sway the lives of the most 
 sensible of men even as the wind sways the leaflet. The 
 class of women, too, with whom his profession threw him 
 in contact, did not elevate his opinion of the sex, and at 
 five and thirty he had gone through the battle of life 
 without even a scratch from the lance of love, and now, 
 suddenly, a new element had come into his existence, and 
 because of it he could not tear himself away from Tre- 
 valyn Hall. 
 
 The secret of Hubert Harper's life was, that he loved 
 Helen Trevalyn with the force of his whole heart and 
 soul, — loved her silently, desperately, hopelessly. He 
 never dreamed of any return. He was content to lavish 
 his adoration on her, to pour out the love of his soul at 
 her feet. He had never dared to raise his eyes with love 
 to her face. He worshipped her as pagans do the far-off 
 bright stars. He was not one of those who delude them- 
 selves. He never said to himself that he had talents, 
 and that he would work until, by his success, he should 
 
 55 
 
S6 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 win her ; but his love was so great that he was content to 
 give all and look for nothing in return. It was the very 
 madness of love. If Miss Trevalyn had bidden him give 
 her his life, he would have laid it down with a smile on 
 his face. He gave her all — he asked nothing,- he was 
 content to live in her presence as flowers live in the sun. 
 
 He asked for nothing but permission to serve her to 
 
 live and die for her. He was content if from time to 
 time she gave him a smile, a kind word, or even a kind 
 look — if she allowed him to do something for her that 
 required both time and skill. 
 
 It was not a presumptuous love, for he had never dared 
 to touch even the hem of her dress. Once, in giving her 
 a rose his hand touched hers, and it seemed to him that 
 even that slight touch almost drove him mad. Her 
 beautiful face bent over the same flower beds with his 
 own, her hair brushed his cheek ; he trembled then like a 
 man seized with ague. She raised her dark, proud eyes 
 to him at once. 
 
 " Are you ill ? " she asked. 
 
 He answered " Yes," and with unsteady steps he left 
 the garden, entering the house. 
 
 " How mad — how worse than mad I am ? " he cried. 
 " Dear Heaven, how is it to end, this love of mine ? " 
 
 He saw no end to it but death. Well, many a man 
 had died for less ; many a man had loved his life through, 
 and met with reward. His fate was so different. 
 
 " Only let me live, and, living, love her 1 " he would say 
 to himself. 
 
 The days glided into a fortnight, and still Hubert Har- 
 per remained at Trevalyn Villa, disguised and in the 
 humble position of under gardener. His chief in London 
 was becoming impatient with him, he well knew, for twice 
 he had received a cipher telegram from him, demanding 
 to know what kept him so long at Branlea. 
 
"love took up the glass of time." 57 
 
 " What if I should answer ' A pretty young girl,' " 
 smiled Harper, grimly, as he muttered the words to him- 
 self. 
 
 Miss Helen's favorite resort was the lilac walk, and 
 here he would see her sit for hours, with her white hands 
 lying loose in her lap, gazing dreamily off in the distance. 
 
 " Her thoughts are with him" Harper would say to 
 himself fiercely, and a sharp pang of jealousy, deep and 
 bitter, would shoot through his heart. And then, there 
 would spring into his mind a desperate resolve to sepa- 
 rate Miss Trevalyn and the man she still. loved, if it were 
 in human power. There was but one way in which it 
 could be done effectually, and the very thought of that 
 one way made Harper catch his breath hard. 
 
 He had evidence enough to involve young Douglas in 
 the Dunraven murder, and whether innocent or guilty, 
 such evidence as he could bring forward must convict him, 
 and then he could never be anything to Helen Trevalyn 
 in this world or the next. 
 
 When this thought first came to Harper, he put it from 
 him with a horrible shudder, asking himself if he had 
 gone suddenly mad to harbor such fancies, but the more 
 he allowed himself to think of the subject, the more fasci- 
 nation the idea, cruel as it was, had for him. He could 
 have seen the man whom Helen Trevalyn loved, suffer 
 on the gallows — even though he were as innocent as a babe, 
 ef the horrible crime brought against him — than have seen 
 him free to woo and win her for his bride. His love for 
 the squire's daughter was a species of worship that bor- 
 dered on idolatry. It had been with him as with the 
 poet who said : 
 
 " Some day upon the highway going, 
 Or on the hilltop or the plain. 
 We see a face without our knowing, 
 And life is never the same again. 
 
58 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " We hear a voice that thrills our being 
 
 With nameless yearnings, speechless pain ; 
 Our souls are quickened into seeing, 
 And life is never the same again. 
 
 " The past has vanished as in vision. 
 With all its shadows, clouds and rain ; 
 We enter upon paths elysian, 
 
 And life is never the same again." 
 
 His life, up to the time he had met Miss Trevalyn, had 
 been so busy that he had never felt the want of some one 
 to love and some one to love him ; nor felt one thrill of 
 yearning when he looked on and saw how happy other 
 men were in the sweet, hallowed influence of home-life, 
 with a wife to love, and perhaps children to love him. 
 
 He had thought men extremely unfortunate in being 
 " tied down," as he had always phrased it. Now he 
 understood that when a man really finds himself in love, 
 marriage is the Alpha and Omega of his thoughts, the one 
 aim, the ambition, the hope of his life. He could under- 
 stand now what was meant by the pathetic lines : 
 
 " ' Strangers but a week before 
 Giving pleasant word for word, 
 Smile for smile, and nothing more ! 
 Can you tell what look or tone 
 First this tide of feeling stirred ? 
 What strange tremor broke the calm 
 Of our friendly greeting .... gave 
 Such tremulous, wild delight 
 In the meeting of the eyes 
 And the touch of palm to palm ? 
 All the gladness of good-day, 
 All the passion of good-night ! 
 Was it, then, a swift surprise 
 To your soul as to my own ? 
 
"love tooK Up tHE Glass op time." 59 
 
 Did you watch the words, unsaid, 
 
 On my lips, .... and dream awake 
 
 All the long night for my sake — 
 
 Lost in fancy's eager bliss 
 
 At the phantom of a kiss ? 
 
 Was it not enough for years — 
 
 Wealth enough to last to death ? 
 
 What strong love beyond control — 
 
 What so blent us, soul with soul. 
 
 Pulse with pulse, and breath with breath.' " 
 
 As his love for Miss Trevalyn grew, his bitter jealousy 
 of Arthur Douglas increased ; and nothing could have 
 been more fatal than that, for he held the young man's 
 very life in his hands, as it were. 
 
 At this important epoch in the state of affairs, young 
 Mrs. Trevalyn returned to the Hall. It so happened 
 that up to this time, the detective had not met the 
 squire's wife. 
 
 On the night on which the wedding was to have taken 
 place, it was given out that young Mrs. Trevalyn was too 
 ill to join the guests and witness the ceremony, and she 
 was not able to leave her room to be present at the 
 coroner's inquest. Immediately after the removal of the 
 body of the unfortunate young earl, Mrs. Trevalyn had 
 left the Hall, " utterly prostrated by the shock," the ser- 
 vants said. 
 
 It was without particular interest that Harper learned 
 one morning, that the squire's wife had returned late the 
 previous night. 
 
 " I for one am none too pleased," said Sara, one of the 
 maids. " There will be twice as much work to do. She 
 always turns things topsy-turvy, and nothing suits her. 
 She hates roses quite as much as Miss Helen loves 
 them." 
 
 " Let me give you a word of advice," she said turning 
 
6o THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 to Harper, " because you are a new gardener Here. 
 Don't attempt to argue with her. If she says black is 
 white, or white is black, let her have it her way, and if 
 she says water runs up hill, you must not know that it 
 don't. Why, the old squire don't dare to say that his 
 soul is his own, when she 'is about. But then, if old 
 men will marry young women, they must not complain if 
 they find they have wedded a Tartar. These gay 
 young women are not the kind that will cater to the 
 whims of a cranky old man, as the squire ought to have 
 known." 
 
 Harper strolled out on to the lawn, his thoughts too 
 busy with quite another subject to pay heed to more of 
 the servants' gossip. 
 
 Suddenly he was aroused from the reverie into which 
 he had fallen, by the sound of light footsteps and the 
 frou-frou of a woman's skirts on the thick grass. Turn- 
 ing quickly, with beating heart, for he thought it must be 
 Miss Helen, he saw, standing beside him, a slender, 
 beautiful woman in mauve mull and lace. 
 
 " Who ordered you to make a flower bed here in the 
 center of the lawn ? " she asked, imperiously. — " No 
 doubt this is Miss Trevalyn's work. She has taken ad- 
 vantage of my temporary absence to have this done, 
 but I shall — " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was never uttered, — the lace 
 handkerchief and the book she carried dropped from her 
 nerveless hand. 
 
 " What do you mean by staring at me in that fashion ? " 
 she demanded, in a voice that was a strange mixture 
 of fear and anger. 
 
 For answer, Harper uttered simply the name Fifine. A 
 gasp fell from her lips, she started back in terror, the 
 light died from her eyes and the color from her lips. 
 
 " Fifine," repeated Harper hoarsely, " what in the 
 
"love took up the glass of time." 6i 
 
 name of heaven are you doing here ? It cannot be pos- 
 sible that you are Squire Trevalyn's wife, that he has 
 married j)'(7«/" 
 
 She raised her ghastly face with desperate courage and 
 looked into the keen eyes regarding her so intently. 
 
 "You have evidently made a mistake," she said, 
 calmly. " I am Mrs. Trevalyn, but not 'the person you 
 have named." 
 
 " You are indeed Fifine," said Harper impatiently. 
 " Step this way to the rose arbor and I will show you 
 how useless it is to deny your identity to me." 
 
 " I — see it is useless to deny it now," she said, faintly, 
 " for I recognize you in spite of your disguise. Those 
 keen, piercing eyes can belong to but one man — to Mr. 
 Harper, the- Scotland-Yard detective, and I ask, what 
 are you doing here .■' " 
 
 " Your naturally shrewd judgment should tell you 
 that, Fifine," he answered. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Trevalyn, now. Please be so good as to 
 remember that, in addressing me in future," she said, 
 haughtily. 
 
 " Do not attempt to do the fine lady with me, Fifine," 
 returned Harper. " It is ridiculous and a waste of time. 
 But to be honest with you, I am not looking for you this 
 time, unless," and he looked at her keenly, " I find that 
 yoa are mixed up with the murder of the Earl of Dun- 
 raven in some way." 
 
 She fell down upon the nearest garden seat, shivering 
 with terror. 
 
 " And now, since 1 find that you are here, I have an 
 idea that you do know a little something about it. You 
 are not the woman to stand calmly by and see the man 
 you love wed another; you would kiU\i\m first, Fifine." 
 
 Quick as a flash the idea occurred to him that the 
 fragment of burned letter in his pocket-book was prob- 
 
02 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 ably in Fifine's hand writing, and he decided upon a bold 
 move. 
 
 "It would have been like you to have written him, 
 urging an appointment, and, if he was fool enough to 
 comply, he would have rued it.'' 
 
 " Prove that I wrote him if you can," she cried vehe- 
 mently. "I say I -did not 6.0 it. Why should you come 
 here, suspecting me 1 Why must I be always persecuted 
 and hunted down ? " 
 
 " We gauge the present by the past. History repeats 
 itself. So do the acts of fair women, it is safe to pre- 
 sume," he answered. "Whenever you found yourself 
 cornered in the past, Fifine, you were wise enough to 
 make a clean breast of the whole affair. I should advise 
 you to do so in this case. All , the denials in the world 
 will not sustain your assertion that you did not make an 
 appointment with the earl on that fatal night when this 
 proof exists," and as he spoke he drew from his pocket- 
 book the bit of charred paper and held it up at arms' 
 length before her eyes. " Will you — can you deny that 
 this is your writing .' " 
 
 He never saw such terror on any woman's face before. 
 She arose hurriedly, her face white as death. " Come to 
 the arbor," she said. " I cannot talk to you here ; a dozen 
 pairs of eyes might be watching us from the house." 
 
 Silently he followed her to the rose-arbor indicated. 
 He leaned against one of the pillars and watched her 
 with folded arms, as she flung herself down on one of the 
 chairs, covering her face with her hands, sobbing as 
 though her heart would break. 
 
 " Of what use to deny that I wrote that letter ? " she 
 said at length. " You would find out that I did sooner 
 or later." 
 
 " Did Dunraven come to the place indicated ? " asked 
 Harper. "Remember, the truth will serve you best." 
 
"love took up the glass of time." 63 
 
 " Yes," she whispered in an awe-stricken voice, " he 
 came." 
 
 " What happened then ? " asked the detective. " Did 
 you quarrel ? " 
 
 " I — I — was late at the trysting place," she sobbed. 
 " When I reached the spot where the tall sycamore grew 
 my foot slipped in some slimy substance, and I fell, and 
 in falling my hands struck the body of a man cold in 
 death. God help me ! I did not know until almost an 
 hour afterward that it was the body of the Earl of Dun- 
 raven. Hushing my terrified screams I hurried with 
 headlong haste back to the house, and then I found to 
 my horror that my hands and my dress were covered with 
 blood." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A PATH STREWN WITH THORNS. 
 
 " I HAVE told you the plain truth,',' declared l^Trs. Tre- 
 valyn, facing the detective calmly. "Now take what 
 steps you like. I can see for myself that matters look 
 dark against me, but for all that I solemnly declare to 
 you that I am innocent." 
 
 But even as she spoke her eyes drooped uneasily 
 beneath the fixed, searching gaze bent upon her. 
 
 " What name do you call yourself by here .? " she asked 
 suddenly, and he answered, " Thomas Blake." 
 
 " I shall have to put the name down ; I should never 
 remember it," she said, drawing a«memoranda, to which 
 was attached a pearl and gold pencil, from her pocket, 
 and, to the detective's great astonishment, he saw her 
 jot down the name — holding the pencil in her left 
 hand. 
 
 Used as he was to surprises, this certainly overreached 
 them all. Up to this point he had believed the squire's 
 wife imprudent, but innocent of the crime which involved 
 her in its web. But here a new and startling denoument 
 stared him in the face. For it had been clearly demon- 
 strated at the inquest that the blow had been struck by 
 a person holding the weapon in the left hand. 
 
 To say that Harper was dumfounded and bewildered 
 at this turn of affairs is putting it rather mild. Here was a 
 startling clew brought to light which was wholly unlooked 
 for. All night long Harper paced the floor of his room 
 
 64 
 
A PATH STREWN WITH THORNS. 65 
 
 trying to sift the hardest problem that had ever cQme to 
 him to solve, 
 
 " One of these three people murdered the Earl of Dun- 
 raven in Trevalyn Park on his bridal eve. Now the 
 question was, which of the three was guilty," he mused. 
 
 In the first place, no man in the wide world could have 
 had more cause to hate the earl with a deadly hatred 
 than Arthur Douglas. Was there not the bitterest of 
 blood between these two rivals for Miss Trevalyn's hand, 
 and furthermore, had they not agreed that if ever they 
 met again they would shoot at each othey on sight ? Was 
 not Douglas at the south gate where the earl must pass 
 on this fatal bridal eve, and at the identical hour in 
 which the tragedy had occCirred ? and last and by no 
 means least, the knife with which the deed had been 
 committed bore the initials A. D., and the young man's 
 disappearance only made the case the blacker against 
 him. So much for Arthur Douglas' case, and now in 
 regard to Squire Trevalyn. 
 
 The squire's cause ^or hating the earl was quite as 
 strong as that of young Douglas. Had he not heard 
 from his ambush behind the curtains on that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night, the squire's confession to his daughter 
 Helen, of how he dreaded the man who had the power of 
 sending him to a felon's cell — through the forged 'p&^exsf 
 which he always carried in his breast pocket, to hold as a 
 sword over the squire's head if emergency demanded it. 
 And the price he asked for giving them up, was his.beau- 
 tiful daughter's hand in marriage — of their bitter quarrels 
 in consequence — and of how the squire went down the 
 sycamore walk on that fatal night to make one last 
 appeal to the earl to spare his child, and of the terrible 
 altercation between them that finally ended in blows. 
 The squire had discovered his presence in the room just 
 as the words which the detective was listening breath- 
 5 
 
66 THAT PRKTTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 lessly to hear trembled on his lips, and of course thej 
 were not uttered. 
 
 And now, another clew, and one certainly as puzzling 
 as either of the other two, branched out in quite a differ- 
 ^ent direction. No wonder Harper was mystified. Here 
 was a woman who had loved Dunraven with all the pas 
 sionate love of an unbridled nature — who had loved him 
 so well that his desertion of her had almost broken her 
 heart, and at length the reaction — hatred — set in, and 
 that intensity of feeling that caused her to write him that 
 she would rather see him lying dead at her feet than wed- 
 ded to another woman. Truer words were never uttered 
 than these, 
 
 " Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." 
 
 She warned him in her note that he should never lead 
 Miss Trevalyn to the altar, and warned him solemnly that 
 if he did not meet her in the sycamore walk at the time 
 she designated, he would rue it. It seems that he went 
 to the trysting place at the hour appointed, and she con- 
 fessed to having seen him there. 
 
 Now the question was ; Which of these three dealt the 
 Earl of Dunraven the fatal blow with the left hand? 
 
 If it was this woman, how did she come in possession 
 of the knife bearing the initials of Arthur Douglas, and, 
 first and foremost, which of these three met the unfortu- 
 nate earl first ? The three could not have been at this par- 
 ticular spot in the sycamore walk at the identical moment, 
 or two of them could not have helped being witnesses to 
 the tragedy. No, this last theory was impracticable. He 
 was convinced that Dunraven and the assassin were alone 
 together at the time the fatal blow was dealt. 
 
 Harper was a sagacious man, but in the face of the dif- 
 ficulties which bestft his path at every step, he found him- 
 self no nearer the solution of this puzzling case at the 
 
A PATH STREWN WITH THORNS. Sf 
 
 end of a fortnight, than when he took hold of the affaii 
 in the beginning, 
 
 " But it is an ill wind which blows nobody good," 
 quoted Harper, leaning his head on his elbows, that 
 rested on the window-sill, and looking thoughtfully out 
 into the moonlight distance. Had it not been for this 
 affaiT, fair Helen Trevalyn would never have been in my 
 power. He repeated the last three words over musingly 
 to himself. 
 
 Yes, she was certainly in this man's power, for, one 
 word from him would bring the father she loved so well 
 to the gallows, "When should he break this state of 
 affairs to her ? " he mused. 
 
 Fate brought about a way sooner than he anticipated. 
 Miss Trevalyn went over to the village the next 'day, and, 
 as her own pony was lame, there was no other course 
 left than to ride her father's horse. Sultan. When he 
 heard that Miss Trevalyn had ordered this horse saddled, 
 Harper was filled with alarm, and begged her to permit 
 him to accompany her. 
 
 " You are very kind," replied Helen, " but I assure 
 you Sultan is perfectly safe. I have ridden him before," 
 and she turned away from him with a quiet dignity that 
 admitted of no further argument. 
 
 Harper watched her quite out of sight. " God ! how I 
 am growing to love that girl day by day," he said, turning 
 away, " but the dream I am indulging in is madness, for 
 I am nothing to her — nothing ! " 
 
 Would she be so very angry with him if she knew he 
 had dared to love her, he wondered vaguely, and he 
 thought of the lines he had read somewhere : — 
 
 " You who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name, 
 First seek an object worthy of your flame ; 
 Then strive with art your lady's mind to gain ; 
 And last provide, your love may long remain." 
 
68 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " All women are content that men should woo — 
 She who compjains, and she who will not do ; 
 Rest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove; 
 Not to be hated for declaring love.'' 
 
 " Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
 Love gives itself, it is not bought, 
 Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
 Its deep, impassioned gaze ; 
 It comes, the beautiful, the free. 
 The crown of all humanity, 
 Jn silence, and alone, 
 To seek the elected one, 
 No one is so accursed by fate, 
 No one so utterly desolate, 
 But some heart, though unknown. 
 Responds unto his own ; 
 Responds as if, with unseen wings. 
 An angel touched its quivering strings. 
 And whisper in its song, 
 ' Where hast thou stayed so long ? ' " 
 
 The sun sank low in the west, but, to Harper's con- 
 sternation Miss Trevalyn did not return. To make the 
 matter all the worse, he could see that a heavy storm was 
 brewing, and that it would overtake the girl unless she 
 had set out for home an hour before. Harper's anxiety 
 increased to such an extent, when he heard the distant 
 peals of thunder reverberating through the darkening 
 sky, that he could not resist the impulse to walk down the 
 road a short distance and see if he could see her com- 
 ing. 
 
 Suddenly he recollected that the little bridge, some 
 two miles distant, was undergoing repairs ; the men had 
 commenced work on it late that afternoon. It would be 
 a wise precaution to. meet Miss Trevalyn on the othei 
 side of it and advise her to go by the other road. As he 
 
A PATH STREWN WITH THORNS. 69 
 
 reached the bridge, he heard in the distance the sound of 
 horses' hoofs, and a sound accompanying it that made 
 his very heart almost stop beating. It was a piercing 
 cry, in Miss Trevalyn's voice. The next instant he 
 beheld the horse Sultan, emerging around the curve of 
 the serpentine road, with Helen swaying to and fro in the 
 saddle like a slender leaf in the gale. The bridle had 
 snapped asunder, and Miss Trevalyn had lost all control 
 of the spirited animal, who was plunging and dashing 
 madly up the road at a headlong pace. 
 
 Harper could see that it was only a question of a few 
 brief instants ere the terrified girl would be dashed from 
 the saddle, meeting certain death by striking one of the 
 trees that lined either side of the road. 
 
 Harper's face paled as he saw her danger. In an 
 instant he had made up his mind what course to pursue. 
 He would save her life or he would die in the attempt. 
 
 On, with the speed of .the wind, came the coal-black 
 horse, and again a piteous cry floated on to Harper's 
 ears, and that cry ner\'«d him for the terrible ordeal that 
 followed. 
 
 He saw that the maddened animal must pass within a 
 yard from the point where he stood, fairly rooted to the 
 spot, and, if it should swerve a single hair's breadth in 
 his direction, the plunging iron hoofs would crush him. • 
 
 With a white, determined face, he wound his left arm 
 firmly around the trunk of- a tree, and stood calmly wait- 
 ing to grasp the bridle of the infuriated steed with his 
 strong right arm as it plunged past him. 
 
 The few seconds that passed as he awaited the terrible 
 instant seemed the length of eternity. He realized but 
 too well that upon his agility and strength hung this 
 lovely young creature's life. 
 
 Nearer, nearer, dashed Sultan, with his terrified bur- 
 den — one brief instant later he was abreast of the detect 
 
79 THAT PRKTTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 tive. And in that thrilling moment a strong hand 
 grasped one of the rings attached to the bit. 
 
 There was a powerful lunge forward that nearly tore 
 Harper's strong right arm from its socket. 
 
 If his left arm had not been wound so firmly around 
 the trunk of the tree, we should have had to record a 
 tragedy ; as it was, the powerful hand that held the ring 
 of the bit brought Sultan back upon his haunches ; he 
 had recognized a master hand, and the next instant he 
 stood paiiting and quivering, but docile enough, by the 
 roadside. 
 
 But in that backward plunge Helen had lost her bal- 
 ance, and would have fallen headlong from the saddle 
 had not Harper loosened his grip from the horse, and 
 held out hiserms just in lime to catch her, and the slim, 
 girlish figure that rested for one brief instant a dead 
 weight against his heart, made the blood course like fire 
 through every fiber and vein of his whole being. 
 
 Involuntarily his arms tightened closely about her. 
 The soft hair brushed his cheek. But as she struggled 
 out of his arms she dropped down among the blue bells 
 at his feet. 
 
 " I am not hurt," she said, smiling with difficulty as he 
 leaned over her, his face white with fear. " Don't look 
 so frightened ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " he answered, hardly above his breath 
 and very devoutly, for the words came from the very 
 depths of his heart. " When I saw the horse throw you 
 I thought — I — thought oh ! (with a shudder) "I don't 
 know what I thought. But are you quite sure you are 
 not hurl ? " 
 
 "Quite," she answered. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " he persisted. 
 
 To prove how perfectly intact she was. Miss Trevalyn 
 attempted to rise, but as she did so, her face grew 
 
A PATH STREWN WITH THORNS. 71 
 
 slightly distorted with a look of pain, and she sank back 
 on her bed of blue bells. 
 
 " I am not quite sure either ; I seem to have done some- 
 thing to my foot — sprained the — the — ankle or — or — 
 turned it." 
 
 " Does it pain you ? " Harper asked. 
 
 " Yes, a little," She admitted. 
 
 " I wish I could suffer all the pain of it for you, Miss 
 Trevalyn ! " he ejaculated fervently, and regretted the 
 words the moment they were spoken, for she looked at 
 him with startled eyes. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 "are you content to marry me, knowing that I 
 
 ABHOR YOU ? " 
 
 Harper bit his lip and looked at her ; the words were 
 spoken, so what is the use of wishing them unsaid ? 
 
 " The question is, how am I to get home, do you 
 think?" asked Helen. "The horse has no doubt 
 reached the villa by this time, and I — I am afraid I cannot 
 walk." 
 
 Harper bent over her wistfully, flushing a little. "You 
 cannot walk," — this very positively, adding earnestly — 
 " will you let me carry you to the villa ? — I am very 
 strong." 
 
 Helen reviewed the matter in her own mind and saw 
 that there was no other course, and so consented. He 
 lifted her very gently. Gold could net be more precious 
 to him than the burden he held in his arms. Helen 
 could not help but notice how they trembled. 
 
 " I am tiring you," she said anxiously. " I am sorry — 
 oh, so sorry." 
 
 He did not dare risk her displeasure by telling her 
 that those were the happiest moments of his life, and 
 despite his regret for her pain, he could not help thanking 
 fate for the sweet boon the accident gave him of holding 
 her so close to his throbbing heart. 
 
 They made the distance at last, but not without 
 several rests by the wayside. The storm had come down 
 upon them in earnest now, and both were drenched by 
 
 72 
 
WOULD YOU MARRY MB WHEN I ABHOR YOU ? 73 
 
 the down-pouring rain, despite the fact that Harper had 
 taken off his coat and insisted upon wrapping it about 
 Helen. 
 
 " How can I ever thank you for the service you have 
 rendered me to-day ? " said. Helen, as he set her down at 
 last, in the corridor of the villa. " You have saved my 
 life, I feel sure ; but for your presence there, ^should 
 ■have been hurled headlong against the tree and killed. 
 I shall be most grateful to you— always. If money 
 will reward you, Mr- Bhke, you shall be amply repaid 
 ~for your kindneax" 
 
 He drew back elid looked at her. " Do not offer me 
 money for a service of this kind, Miss Trevalyn," he 
 said huskily, " you hurt my feelings." 
 
 " I am sorry then that I offered it," responded Helen 
 gently. " I only wished to show you how much I appreci- 
 ated and valued your services." 
 
 " Miss Trevalyn, Helen ! " he whispered, clasping her 
 hand suddenly in his. " Shall I tell you the reward, and 
 the only reward I would take ? ,Oh, do not turn from me, 
 listen to me 1 I am not what I seem — an humble gardener 
 — I am Mr. Harper, the detective, and I have learned to 
 love you, Miss Helen, with a love that is so intense it is 
 eating my very life away day by day. I must speak, 
 though this is neither the time, piace, nor is it under the 
 right condition, — but you are so gentle you will listen to 
 me. I am not a poet but, oh, this I say unto you : 
 
 " Perchance if we had never met, 
 I had been spared this vain regret — 
 This endless striving o forget ; 
 And yet, I could not oear the pain 
 Of never seeing thee again ! 
 I think of aU thou art to me ; 
 I dream o^ what thou canst not "be | 
 My life i,' curst with thoughts of thee; 
 
74 THAT PRETTY YOUNG OtRiU 
 
 But still I own —I love but thee. 
 Blessing or curse whiche'er thou be ; 
 Oh, be as thou hast been to me 
 Forever and forever." 
 
 The knowledge that this man standing before her was 
 not wh^the seemed,— a quiet, humble gardener,— but was 
 in reality the detective whose sudden .disappearance 
 caused her so much anxiety and fear for many a long day 
 on her father's account, filled her with terror too great 
 for words and struck her literally dumb. 
 
 " Let me tell you all that you are to me, before you 
 ring for your servants to come to your assistance," he 
 murmured hoarsely. 
 
 Looking into the face of the man before her, Helen Tre- 
 valyn saw she was in the presence of a great passion — 
 a great earnestness, a tragedy, that could have but one 
 ending. Before she could rise, he was kneeling by her 
 side. A heart of stone might have pitied him. 
 
 He was kneeling by her side — his whole soul in his 
 Ryes and on his lips. 
 
 " Thank Heaven," he said, " the time has come at last. 
 My beautiful love, my queen among women, how have I 
 waited so long for this opportunity ! " 
 
 Miss Trevalyn made one effort — she tried to withdraw 
 her hand from his clasp ; she tried to rise and stem with 
 one word the torrent that came from his lips ; she might 
 as well have tried to stop the flowing of a summer tide 
 with a gesture of her hand. She was in the presence of a 
 master, and for the time she had to submit. " Mr. Har- 
 per," she contrived to say, " I do not understand. I — " 
 
 " There needs no understanding," he cried. " None, 
 I have to tell you in words what I have told you already 
 a hundred times in a hundred different ways ; I love you 
 with all my heaif ! I know no other word, there are none 
 
WOULD YOU MARRY ME WHEN I ABHOR YOU ? 75 
 
 which can tell how dearly or how much all my heart, my 
 soul, my life goes in those few words, ' I love you.' " 
 
 The very vehemence of his passion startled her, a veiy 
 flame ol love seemed to glow in his face ; his eyes were 
 full of fire. He was looking with wistful, longing eyes 
 into her face. 
 
 " I have read," he cried, " of the desire of the moth 
 for the stars ; the pure, bright stars, shining in tiie far-off 
 heaven, far from the moth as you, in your fair loveliness, 
 in your queenly grace, are from me ; but I love you so ! 
 Oh, listen to me 1 Love could bridge over even such a 
 distance as lies between heaven and earth. Some men 
 have many loves, I have but this one ; some men worship 
 many fair faces, i only love yours ; some men fritter 
 away the strong love of a life ; I give all mine to you." 
 
 She tried again to take the white, jewelled hand from 
 his ; she might as well have tried to stop the lava that 
 flows from Mount Vesuvius. 
 
 "Most men who have lived as long as I have done 
 have loved some one ; they have memories of a fair-haired 
 little sweetheart, or of some sweet face, kissed under the 
 mistletoe. I have no such mernories ; my heart holds 
 you, and only you. It is for that I ask some return, 
 because I bring you the whole^ unbro|cen, strong, passion- 
 ate love of my heart. 
 
 "See," he continued,; " I have known many women, 
 many have smiled upon me, but your face is the only one 
 that has ever haunted me. It is because of this — because 
 my heart has been cold and hard to all others, that it is 
 so devoted to you ; men bring many offerings to the feet 
 of the woman they love. I offer you everything I have 
 in the world. Ah, Heaven ! what more can I give you.' 
 I wish 1 could change my heart, which beats only for 
 you, into a rose, and let it die in your hand. I give 
 you all that a man can give to the woman he loves— 
 
76 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL* 
 
 my soul and my life. I would live only for you. If 
 you will love me, if you will marry me, there will be no 
 limit to my ambition. I feel great powers within me ; 
 I feel that if my heart rests in your love that I could do 
 great things. In that soft, sweet hand of yours I lay my 
 heart and my life ; my ambition to be ruled by you ; my 
 soul to be guided by you. You are so good, so spirituelle, 
 your thoughts are so noble, your soul simple yet so beau- 
 tiful, that if you would lay your hand in mine,. you would 
 be my guardian angel taking me to heaven ! " 
 
 When he paused for a moment, overcome by the vehe- 
 mence of his own words, she had no answer. Something 
 of the responsibility attending a great passion had struck 
 her, and had struck her dumb. 
 
 " Mr. Harper," said Helen, as soan as she could find 
 her voice, " I pray that you will say r.o more — you have 
 astonished and perplexed me. While I am deeply con- 
 scious of the honor you have paid me, — the most sincere 
 that man can pay to woman, — I say to you that it can 
 never be, — it is impossible." 
 
 " Why impossible ? " he asked, hoarsely. 
 
 ": Because I could never care for you," she answered 
 gently. " No woman should marry a mart whose affection 
 and society are not absolutely essential to her peace of 
 mind and heart. Mine is in no degree dependent on you." 
 
 He looked at her with a sudden dangerous gleam in 
 his eyes, that was not pleasant to contemplate, and a 
 hard grim laugh broke from his lips. " Ah, if you only 
 rrn!iztd. Miss Trevalyn, how very dependent you are on 
 me for your peace of mind" he retorted, coming a step 
 nearer her, " you would not dismiss me after that cold, 
 haughty fashion, I fancy." 
 
 She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes, " I 
 do not understand you," she faltered indignantly. 
 
 " I hold the fate of Squire Trevalyn, as well as the 
 
WOULD YOU MARRY ME WHEN I ABHOR YOU ? 77 
 
 man whom you love in my hands," he answered. "Have 
 you forgotten the squire's confession, which I overheard ? 
 Ah, Miss Trevalyn, you can make an angel or a devil of 
 me. I swear to you by everything you hold dear, that 
 you shall never call Arthur Douglas husband. 
 
 " Now listen to me. My business here was to hunt 
 down the party who murdered the Earl of Dunraven, and 
 bring the assassin to the gallows. I have done the 
 former, and it remains for me to do the latter, and claim 
 the large reward offered. But, since I have been under 
 this roof, a wild hope sprang into my heart that I might 
 gain a still greater reward than money, if — if — I — were to 
 let the guilty party go free. ' Love is the power behind 
 the throne,' it is said, Miss Trevalyn. We have all heard 
 the stories of the fair faces of women that have infatuated 
 kings, and for whose, sake even mighty empires were over- 
 thrown. I used to marvel at that in the past. I wonder 
 at it no longer, — I can understand now the full meaning 
 of the old saying, that, ' when a man loves, he would sell 
 his very soul, if it were the price, to purchase the affec- 
 tion of the woman his heart craves.' Do you understand, 
 Miss Trevalyn, — his reputation, his honor, aye, his very 
 soul he would give up for the woman he loves. And such 
 a love I have for you." 
 
 Helen's face had grown as white as death. It almost 
 seemed to her as if the breath was leaving her body. " If 
 — I — refuse you," she said, in a voice quivering with 
 fear, " what would you do ? " 
 
 " I have said you could make of me an angel or a 
 devil," he reiterated, " If jou refuse me, I do not care" 
 what becomes of me, or what I do. I shall make the 
 most of my knowledge, and— the consequence will be 
 either Squire Trevalyn or Arthur Douglas will swing for 
 the murder of Dunraven. Marry me, Miss Trevalyn, 
 and I will shield your father, and save the man you love. 
 
yS THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 It all rests with you. I am the only man living wh« 
 holds the evidence that would convict either of them. 
 For your sake, I would seal my lips in eternal silence. I 
 leave their fate — as I leave my life and my happiness 
 with you. Think again, if you would not rue it, if you 
 persist in refusing me." 
 
 "You torture me — I cannot bear it," she sobbed, 
 wringing her hands. " Oh, why — why would you persist 
 in marrying one who would abhor you ! " He sprang 
 eagerly forward, but Helen held up her hand, drawing 
 back from him with such a gesture of scorn that he could 
 not mistake it. Then, for half a minute, she was" silent ; 
 not from want of words, but because she had so much to 
 say that she hardly knew where to begin. He took 
 advantage of her silence. 
 
 " Miss Trevalyn," he began, " may I hope that you 
 have a favorable answer for me ? " 
 
 She drew her graceful figure to its full height, and 
 looked at him proudly, steadily. 
 
 " I have heard all my father's story," she said, " and it 
 is needless to add that I believe him guiltless; and now, 
 let me ask, is there no way of saving him without sacrific- 
 ing me ? " 
 
 " No," he replied ; " for in so doing I would lose my 
 only chance of winning you. For your father's sake you 
 will not send me away. That, if not my great love for 
 you, should plead for me. Will you give me one word of 
 encouragement, Miss Trevalyn ? " 
 
 " I cannot," she said, turning away. 
 
 " Then you decidedly refuse me ? '* he said, with low- 
 ering brow. 
 
 Suddenly there came to her the memoiy of the squire's 
 agony as she knelt in terror before him listening to his 
 story. How he stretched out his hands to her to save 
 him. Could she send this only chance of help far 
 
WOULD YOU MARRY ME WHEN I ABHOR YOU ? 79 
 
 from him, and look the terrible consequence in the 
 face ? 
 
 " Stay, Mr. Harper," she said, hurriedly, bowing her 
 dark, curly head on her hands. She was silent so long 
 again that he drew near to her, saying : 
 
 " If you send me from you, it will be a death blow to 
 your father." 
 
 He never forgot the stormy beauty of the girlish face 
 raised to his. For years afterward that picture was before 
 him. The lovely, slender figure in the pearl gray robe, 
 that fell about her in graceful folds, the spray of scarlet 
 blossoms at the white throat and twined in the meshes of 
 the nut-brown curls, and the background of plush amber 
 portibres. 
 
 " Do you think it manly to force me into a marriage 
 because I love my father so dearly; — because- it is the 
 only way in which I can save him ? " she asked with 
 sudden passion. 
 
 " It is my only chance of winning you, as I have said, 
 Miss Trevalyn," he replied, " and I seize the opportunity." 
 
 As he spoke he had attempted to take the little hand 
 that was lying on the back of the chair, to which she had 
 been clinging for support, for she would not take the seat 
 he placed for her. 
 
 She withdrew her hand as though he had suddenly 
 touched it with fire ; and then, with a strangely frank 
 smile, she looked at him. 
 
 " How-can you ask me to marry you when I shrink from 
 the very touch of your hand ? ' she asked with a shudder. 
 
 " You will learn to love me. I feel sure of it." 
 
 " Are you content to marry me," she asked, " knowing 
 that I despise you, that I look upon you with the utmost 
 contempt .? " 
 
 And he saw the tight clenching of the little white hand 
 and the hot flushing of the fair young face. 
 
80 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " I will not argue the matter with you, Miss Trevalyn," 
 he said, frowning darkly. " Know this and let it suffice: 
 I would win you if I could, at whatever Cost, on anv 
 terms." 
 
 For some moments she was silent, evidently struggling 
 with her anger, and then she said slowly : 
 
 " I repeat that you are doing an unmanly thing in forc- 
 ing me to marry you. You leave me no alternative, I 
 will make those terms as difficult for you as I can," she 
 cried with flashing eyes. " I will be your wife, because I 
 am driven to it, though I hate you. You must know 
 the truth. You will have secured me, but you shall not 
 even touch my hands. No word of \6\e shall ever cross 
 my lips to you. We shall be together, yet further apart 
 than strangers. Are you satisfied to claim me as the 
 price of saving my father on those teriiis ? " 
 
 He looked at her. She was so royally beautiful in her 
 
 scorn, so fair in her bitter anger and defiance — so much 
 
 more winning — even so than any other woman in her 
 
 -complaisant mood — that he could have given his life even 
 
 for that victory. 
 
 , She looked at him as though she were driven at bay ; 
 then took out her little jewelled watch and looked at it, 
 as though to intimate that their interview was at an end. 
 
 He rose at once. 
 
 " I do not know that I need remain longer," he said. 
 " I will come again when your anger has cooled to dis- 
 cuss the matter of our marriage." 
 
 He would not notice the shudder that passed over her, 
 and how her whole figure seemed to shrink and cower as 
 a flower before a burning blast of wind. 
 
 " Au revoir, my dear," he said, "not good-by." 
 
 And he laughed, and the slight inflection of malicious- 
 ness in that laugh sent a hot, indignant flush to her face 
 
 She bowed and turned abruptly away, and. a moment 
 
WOULD \UU MAliKi Jv.E WHEN I AEHOR YOU? 8l 
 
 after, limping painfully, she groped her way to her own 
 room like one stricken blind, tears falling down her 
 cheeks like rain. 
 
 " Is it a dream — a horrible dream," she murmured, " or 
 is this miserable creature really me ? The very sunshine 
 seems blotted out, and the world all cold and drear; O 
 God ! now I am parted from my lover forever. The 
 golden future we planned for ourselves is not to be. Ah, 
 the pity of it — the pity of it ! " 
 
 She remembered the story of a beautiful youn^ queen 
 wliom fate had parted from her love, and was forced, fOi 
 j.olitical reasons, into wedding another, whom she had 
 uever seen, but whom she had heard of since she had 
 been a little child with much dread. The feast was 
 gotten ready, and the royal guests assembled, but the 
 bride elect was long in coming. When they went to her 
 room they found the door locked. They forced it open, 
 and there, on her knees, they found the hapless young 
 queen, arrayed in her bridal robes, cold and dead. In 
 her hands they found the portrait of the lover she had 
 loved so well — and lost. And they knew that in bidding 
 him a last farewell her heart had broken. 
 
 The story had made a great impression on Helen when 
 she first read it, and for many a day it haunted her mem- 
 ory. Would her heart bieak on her bridal eve like that 
 of the hapless young queen ? 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 fate's decree. 
 
 B«Ioved ! thou art the being, 
 
 IVAo art my destiny ; 
 Star of my life — my fate's henceforth, 
 
 To love, and love but thee.- 
 
 What pen could adequately portray the grief that 
 filled Miss Trevalyn's heart when she looked the fate 
 that lay before her squarely in the face ? Where was 
 the God she ,had always prayed to since she had been a 
 little child at her mother's knee, that He did not put 
 forth His potver and save her from this terrible sacrifice 
 on the altar of duty ? she wondered. Her life had b.een 
 as pure and spotless as the leaves of a lily. Did the 
 God she had believed in, take no cognizance of this in 
 selecting her for a martyr .' 
 
 " Oh ! if I but had some one to confide in — some one 
 to go to for advice," murmured the girl, wringing her 
 fair hands together in bitter anguish. But no; there was 
 no one to whom she could go with this fatal secret, and 
 ask for guidance. No one in the wide world. 
 
 It is said that trouble rarely travels singly. Helen 
 found the old saying quite correct. Her step-mother 
 made things disagreeable for her no-w that the squire 
 was practically helpless to see to his daughter's wel- 
 fare. 
 
 In the childlike state in which the squire had settled 
 into, he seemed to depend wholly upon the services of 
 
 82 
 
fate's decree. 83 
 
 his young wife, and this was a state of affairs highly dis- 
 pleasing to young Mrs. Trevalyn. g 
 
 It cut Helen to the heart to see llW sharply and 
 impatiently her step-mother answered w^n the squire 
 spoke to her, in his mild, hesitating way. * 
 
 " Oh, if you would but be more gentle with him," said 
 Helen, in a quivering voice, turning quickly away to hide 
 her tears, "you might nurse him back to health and 
 strength with a little patience." 
 
 Young Mrs. Trevalyn's eyes flashed angrily. "I did 
 not marry an old man to wait on him," she said sneer- 
 ingly. " Let him call the servants to fetch him what, he 
 wants, and, an short, to look after him. I am getting 
 tired of this sort of thing." 
 
 Miss Trevalyn flushed, then turned deadly pale. 
 " Pray let me administer to j)oor papa's wants ; it would 
 be such a pleasure to me. Do not call the servants," 
 she said earnestly. 
 
 " A well old man is bad enough, but a sick old man to 
 Be tied to, is simply unendurable," declared the young wife. 
 
 " Pardon me," said Helen, white to the lips, '' you 
 should have considered the possibilities of such con- 
 tingencies before you married my father. It is cruel to 
 think and speak of his hapless condition as you do. If 
 you would but forbear speaking of him in that disparaging 
 way in my presence I should be very grateful." 
 
 " Do you mean to dictate to me in my own house as 
 to what I shall do pr what I shall not do. Miss Tre- 
 valyn 1 " screamed her step-mother wrathily. " Have a 
 care, young lady ! you are venturing on delicate ground." 
 
 Helen rose hastily and quitted the room to restrain 
 the retort which sprang to her lips. She walked out 
 into the grounds, and it seemed to her that the rose- 
 laden winds cooled the burning tears that coursed down 
 her cheeks. 
 
84 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " In — her — own — house ! " repeated the girl bitterly, 
 clenching her hands tightly together. " Yes, it is that— 
 she speaks truly, and lam the interloper, here — not she, 
 and there is not a moment in the day that she does not 
 remind me of this fact in one way or another. If it were 
 not for poor father I would not remain under this roof 
 an hour longer. Heaven pity me ! I am growing 
 utterly reckless as to what becomes of me, now that this 
 marriage with Mr. Harper is definitely settled." 
 
 There was the sound of a step behind her, and, turning 
 quickly about, Helen found herself standing face to face 
 with a tall, bearded stranger. 
 
 " Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Helen 
 Trevalyn?" he asked, raising his hat with a profound 
 bow. 
 
 " Yes," she responded, with a nervous start. 
 
 Ever since her father had confided to her the bitter 
 secret that was to make all his after life a curse to him, 
 the girl had not known one moment of peace despite the 
 detective's assurance tha^he was the only person who would 
 ever dream of connecting Squire Trevalyn's name with 
 that most unfortunate affair. Whenever a stranger 
 approached the house, the dread that it was some one 
 who by some chance knew of the squire's presence in the 
 sycamore walk that night, and had come to proclaim his 
 knowledge and cause her father's arrest, was always 
 present with Helen. 
 
 For a moment, the stranger, all forgetful of his errand, 
 stood quite still and looked at the young girl before him. 
 He had heard that Miss Trevalyn was very beautiful, 
 but her fair spirituelle beauty exceeded what his fancy had 
 painted by far. 
 
 " You wished to see me, sir ? " interrogated Miss 
 Trevalyn, and those words recalled him to his senses. 
 
 " I beg to introduce myself by saying that I aip Eugene 
 
fate's decree. 85 
 
 Montgomery, of the Queen's service. I am the bearer 
 of a letter to you — ^from — Mr." Arthur Douglas," he said, 
 and as he uttered the words he looked keenly into Miss 
 Trevalyn's face. He saw that she turned very pale and 
 caught her breath with a quick gasp. 
 
 Taking a letter from his breast pocket, he handed it to 
 her. 
 
 " I will come an hour hence to see if you have an 
 answer for me," he said. 
 
 " I beg that you will come into the house, and wait," 
 she suggested: " I — I — can read the letter through in a 
 very few moments." 
 
 " I should much prefer the privilege of strolling 
 through the grounds and smoking my cigar," he declared. 
 
 " Do so, by all means," assented Helen, adding " You 
 will find me in the rose arbor yonder, whenever you 
 choose to return." 
 
 Mr. Montgomery bowed and turned away, although he 
 would have given much to have been able to have slood 
 beside the girl and watched her face as she read the lines 
 Arthur Douglas had penned and committed to his care 
 for safe delivery. 
 
 When he had disappeared among the trees, Helen 
 repaired quickly to the arbor, and there, with trembling 
 hands broke the seal of the letter from the one man, of 
 all the world of men, whom she loved. It ran as 
 follows : 
 
 " Dearest Helen :— 
 
 " I earnestly entreat that you will read my letter through 
 and if you cannot find one kind thought in your heart for me, at 
 least do not despise me utterly. I am writing this on, what 
 up to a few days ago, I imagined would be my death bed, 
 I have been to the very brink of eternity, but a strange fate 
 held me back and bade me linger in the hard, bitter world that 
 I was so anxious to leave. 
 
86 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 " Before you proceed further with my letter to you, I praj 
 you to read over carefully ilie one cucloscd, which explains my 
 life from the hour you and I parted; up to the present moment, 
 — and then finish this : " 
 
 The letter enclosed which he referrred to, was the one 
 written to his friend, Eugene Montgomery, on the night 
 which he thought would be his last on earth, and which 
 the reader will remember as a complete resumd of his 
 strange experience on the evening of the murder of the 
 young Earl of Dunraven, and the pitiful sqpitence that 
 closed it, in which he called upon heaven and the angels 
 to bear witness to the heart-rending fact that he did not 
 know whether he was innocent or guilty of the crime. 
 
 Helen Trevalyn trembled like an aspen leaf as she 
 reached the last line, and then turned again to Arthur's 
 letter. 
 
 " Now you know all, my darling," it ran, " and my after fate 
 rests with you. If you have faith in my innocence, and believe 
 in me, it will give me courage to face the world, and do battle 
 with it, and wade through seas of blood if need be, to estab- 
 lish the innocence in which you put your dear faith — and to 
 discover beyond the possibility of a doubt, who slew the Earl 
 of Dunraven. 
 
 " If you find me innocent, will you give me the hope of 
 claiming the dear hand that was pledged to me before the earl 
 came between us .' A man must have something to hope for, 
 — something to work for,^some one to love and be loved by,— 
 to make life worth the living. 
 
 " I would have come to you and plead my own cause but 
 that I am still too weak to leave this place: In the desperation 
 of the moment I sought to take my own life, but a power higher 
 than my own will saved me from self-destruction. My friend, 
 Mr. Montgomery, who will deliver this to you, will bring me my 
 answer. He tells me they are searching for me. I would 
 have given myself up to the authorities long since, but for his 
 earnest entreaties. 
 
fate's decree. 87 
 
 " You know all, now, my Helen, and I ask, — what course do 
 you advise me to pursue? I will be guided entirely in this 
 matter by you. 
 
 " Do you give me the hope of winning you, despite all that 
 has occurred, or do you doom me to eternal misery ? The 
 very thought brings so much woe to my heart that I banish it 
 quickly. You hold my fate in your hands, my Helen — will 
 yonr answer bring life or death for me ? 
 
 " Yours, through all time and eternity, 
 
 " Arthur." > 
 
 Helen's tears were falling thick and fast on the letter 
 iy the liflie ste had reached the last line. "What 
 should she say to him, — how should she answer him ? " 
 was the question Miss Trevalyn asked herself, in an 
 agonized murmur over and over again as she clutched the 
 letter tightly in her hand, and the terrible thought 
 assailed her once morCT— which, — ah heaven 1 which was 
 guilty of the murder of the Earl of Dunraven? Her 
 father — or — her lover ? " 
 
 How long she sat there, battling with her conflict- 
 ing emotions, Miss Trevalyn never knew. She was 
 startled at length by a footstep on the gravel walk 
 outside the arbor, and the" next instant Mr. Eugene 
 Montgo,mery stood hat in hand before her. He saw 
 that she was very pale and that her eyes bore traces of 
 tears. 
 
 "You are come for my answer," she said steadily, 
 " and — and I have none to give, other than this : — All is 
 over between Mr. Douglas and myself forevermore — the 
 past cannot be bridged over." 
 
 " That is a very hard message to take back to him, 
 Miss Trevalyn," said Mr. Montgomery, earnestly. 
 "Could you not be induced to think better of it, and give 
 the poor fellow some hope to cling to ? " 
 
 "I repeat that that is all the answer I can give Mr 
 
8S THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Douglas," said Helen faintly. " He must be content 
 with it." 
 
 " Would you not prefer sending a written message by 
 me ? " suggested the gentleman. 
 
 " No," returned Helen, " a verbal one is quite as 
 weU." 
 
 He bowed and turned away. He never knew 1;hat long 
 before the ech8 of his footsteps died away, the girl had 
 flung herself face downward in the violet studded grass 
 crying out to heaven that her heart was breaking for 
 sending so hard a message to the man she loved. 
 
 " Arthur 1 Arthur ! " she moaned, " though you be 
 guilty — I — I — could love you still." 
 
 " Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds." 
 
 "It is a great pity that Mr. Arthur Douglas is un- 
 worthy of so much love and devotion," said a sneering 
 voice at her side. 
 
 Helen sprang to her feet with the utmost consternation 
 and found herself standing face to face with the man 
 whose promised bride she was. 
 
 " Have — you — stooped to so despicable an action as 
 to spy upon my actions and play the part of eaves- 
 dropper ? " she asked in a voice ringing with scorn, and 
 before he could find an answer, she asked coldly — " What 
 brought you here ? " 
 
 " I answer truthfully in saying that I had no thought 
 of spying upon your actions," he returned flushing, add- 
 ing slowly, " I came in search of you, and find you here 
 on your knees weeping and bemoaning the loss of you; 
 old lover." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MISS fREVALYN MEETS WITH A SURPRISE. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn looked into his face, sharply. " You 
 are quite sure you have but just come ? " she interrogated, 
 wondering if by any possible chance he had met the 
 stranger who had but just left the arbor. 
 
 " Quite sure," he repeated. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn would have given much to have asked 
 that question — but dared not. After a few moments' 
 pause she asked nervously, "And now that you have 
 found me, may I ask what you want with me, sir ? " 
 
 He drew nearer her, looking with eager admiring eyes 
 on the beautiful face so coldly proud. " If you were less 
 haughty with me it would be easier to talk with you, 
 Helen," he said. 
 
 He waited a moment, but as she made no answer he 
 continued : — " I am obliged to leave this place on Wed- 
 nesday next. This is Monday, and, of course, I cannot 
 consent to leave you behind 'me, so that will necessitate 
 the consummation of our marriage much sooner than we 
 arranged for. The ceremony must be performed — to- 
 morrow." 
 
 A cry of dismay broke from Miss Trevalyn's lips. " I 
 protest against this coercion," she cried. "I resent it 
 most bitterly. Heaven knows I hated you deeply enough 
 before, but now — " 
 
 " Stop ! " he cried, " you goad me too far. There is aj 
 limit to even my patience and endurance. Repeat those 
 
 89 
 
90 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 words, and I swear to you I shall declare this marriage 
 off. My next siep will be to uiiiiiask the squire by plac- 
 ing him in custody of the oificers of the law. Either sub- 
 mit quietly to the decree, or state that you refuse. It is 
 becoming a matter of indifference to me, I assure you." 
 
 A piteous, wailing cry fell from the girl's lips. 
 
 " Remember there is no coercion in this matter. You 
 are at perfect liberty to do as you choose, Miss Tre- 
 valyn." 
 
 "You know J cannot but choose to submit," she 
 sobbed, " for my father's sake." 
 
 " Well, when can the ceremony take place ? " he asked, 
 frowning impatiently. 
 
 " It matters little to me," she retorted, bitterly ; " as 
 soon one time as another, since the cruel sacrifice must 
 be made." 
 
 " Will to-morrow, at this time, suit you ? " he askSd, 
 briefly. 
 
 "She nodded wearily, turned abruptly away, too proud 
 to let him see the tears that gathered in her dark eyes. 
 " Make what arrangements you will. If my life must be 
 spent with you, a day's or a week's respite will not 
 matter much," repeated the girl huskily. 
 
 His eyes gleamed darkly as he looked at her. How 
 he longed with all his soul to tear away that barrier of 
 cold pride behind which she had intrenched herself and 
 trample it beneath his feet, to drag this queenly girl 
 down to his level. What a revenge he would take upon 
 her for scorning him and his love so bitterly. He would 
 make life one long torture for her — ^for 
 
 " Next to love revenge is sweet." 
 
 he told himself. 
 
 He had settled it that the wedding should take place 
 the following afternoon. 
 
MISS TREVALVN MEETS WITH A SURPRISE. 9 1 
 
 " I will have carriages to the door at three precisely, in 
 the afternoon," he said, rising. " Will that suit you ? " 
 
 Miss Trevalyn bowed coldly. 
 
 " Good afternoon, my fair Helen," he said, throwing 
 her a kiss most gracefully from his finger tips, which she 
 did not so much as deign to notice. " Rest assured I 
 shall be punctual." 
 
 It was not until after Mr. Harper had turned and left 
 her that Helen's courage, which she had made such an 
 effort to preserve, gave way utterly. 
 
 " Oh, God ! " she cried, raising up her white hand, and 
 sobbing to Heaven in the very fulness of her over- 
 wrought heart, " would tha* there was no to-morrow for 
 me." There was a smothered moan and a heayy fall, 
 which brought Rachel hurrying to the arbor with all pos- 
 sible speed. 
 
 " The Lord have mercy ! " she cried, with a gasp. " I 
 thought I heard a crash in the arbor. It is Miss Helen, 
 lying prone on her face, and in a dead faint." 
 
 Raising the slight figure in Her strong arms, Helen was 
 taken back to her own room at once, placed in bed, and 
 restoratives applied. Then the dark eyes slowly opened. 
 
 "You fainted, my" dear," said Rachel. 
 
 She wondered why the girl turned her face to the wall 
 with as bitter a cry as ever fell from human lips. 
 
 All night long Miss Trevalyn paced the floor of her 
 room, crying out *^o herself that she wished the light of 
 morning would never break. At last day dawned pink 
 and golden over the eastern hills, the birds sang joyously 
 in the branches of the trees, the sun shone with a golden 
 radiance of the waking earth — all nature seemed as joy- 
 ous as though a human heart was not destined to be 
 broken ere yonder sun should set. 
 
 " It is morning," murmured Helen, locking her hands 
 tightly together as she stood by the window, " and my 
 
gz THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 wedding day. Yes, ere yonder sun shall set I shall I ,vp. 
 been sacrificed as the price of my poor father's safety, his 
 honor, and perhaps his life I" 
 
 In her girlish, rosy day-dreams of the past — before this 
 dark and awful shadow had fallen upon her — she had 
 wondered what her wedding day would be like ; for it is 
 always the grandest epoch of a fair maiden's life. 
 
 She had pictured it all out to herself, as young girls 
 will; how particular she would be over her toilet; how 
 wondrous happy she would be ; and how her heart would 
 beat, her cheeks crimson, and her eyes brighten as the 
 propitious hour drew near. 
 
 Ah me ! those were only dreams 1 How different the 
 reality was ! 
 
 Fate had parted her from the man she loved, and now 
 she was to wed another, one whom she hated and feared. 
 Without the bond of love between them, how desolate 
 her future would be. 
 
 Meanwhile Eugene Montgomery, the faithful friend, 
 who had been fortunate enough to catch the outward 
 bound train, Was rapidly speeding on toward the far off 
 hamlet where Arthur Douglas lay, slowly convalescing 
 from a dangerous illness. •■ 
 
 " How shall I ever give him Miss Trevalyh's message," 
 he ruminated ruefully, " he is hardly strong enough to 
 bear it — and yet, the most cruel thing I could do would 
 be to "encourage false hopes. I would rather have faced 
 a dozen bayonets on the battle-field than encounter the 
 pain in his eyes when I tell him , the result of my 
 mission." 
 
 It was evening when he reached his destination. 
 Arthur Douglas was listening with pitiful impatience foi 
 the sound of his comrade's step on the stair, and ai 
 Montgomery threw open the door a glad cry of " Thank 
 Heaven, you are come at last I " broke from his lips. 
 
MISS TREVALYN MEETS WITH A SURPRISE. 93 
 
 "You have seen my darling — Montgomery!" he mur- 
 mured eagerly. "Give me her letter! I — I — have re- 
 strained my impatience long hours ! It is cruel to keep 
 me waiting another instant." 
 
 "My poor Arthur," said Montgomery huskily. He had 
 been endeavoring to frame what he had to say in suitable 
 language during his entire journey, but he- got but ths 
 more hopelessly mixed up. 
 
 " Did you see Helen ? " questioned Arthur eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," he said, hesitatingly, 
 
 " And you brought me back a letter from her ?" he in- 
 terrogated, with confident expectancy. 
 
 " No," returned Montgomery, thinking to himself what 
 a bungling mess people made of it who attempted to 
 mediate between parted lovers. "Miss Trevalyn gave 
 me no written message for you, Arthur — only a verbal 
 one, and it is this-^that you can be nothing more to her 
 — that she is done with you forever ! " 
 
 Arthur Douglas fell back upon his pillow as. though he 
 had been shot. 
 
 '' D it ! " muttered Montgomery, springing for- 
 ward in great consternation. " I knew I should make a 
 mess of this affai* It takes a woman to tell any- 
 thing of this kind, and take the sting out of cruel 
 words." 
 
 " Did — did — Helen — say that ? " moaned the sick man 
 " Oh, my God ! is there not some mistake ? " 
 
 " I wish to Heaven that I could have told you anything 
 else," burst out Montgomery, "but I had to give you her 
 message, Arthur, hard as it was." 
 
 "There is but one construction to put to it," moaned 
 Arthur Dougjas, burying his face in his*^ hands, " Helen 
 believes me guilty I I wish to God you had let me die 
 instead of nursing me back to life when you came here 
 and found me so ill ! " he cried, fiercely. 
 
94 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " Try to be calm, Douglas," urged his friend. " Re- 
 member another relapse in your case would be fatal." 
 
 " Would to heaven that T never left this bed alive ! " he 
 cried, with bitter recklessness. " What would life be worth 
 to me — without her ! Do you remember, Montgomery, the 
 lines that were written about a man whom they parted 
 from the woman he loved ? They come back to me now ■ 
 as I lie here, and never were words more applicable to 
 my case. Listen to them, Montgomery, as near as I can 
 recall them they run something like this : — 
 
 " ' I know that the sentence of death is written 
 
 Against our love by the hand of fate ; 
 I know all the joy of our lives is smitten 
 
 A deadly blow by the direst hate ; 
 That our pleasant past with its mem'ries tender, 
 
 Its dreams and its hopes, which they deem a crime, 
 They would banish from us as the sunset's splendor 
 
 Is banished by darkness at evening time ! 
 
 " ' But my heart rebels with fiercest passion, 
 
 It will not submit to their stern decree ; 
 Love cannot be slain in murd'rous fashion — 
 
 Like a giant it struggles for mastery. 
 Though they bury it deep in their deadly malice, 
 
 Crushing out as they think its latest breath, 
 Yet with strength renewed — as from blood-filled chalice — 
 
 It will rise to prove that love knows no death ! 
 
 "'If love is a crime — a sinful passion — 
 
 Why then should a God, so good and so wise 
 Have moulded our hearts in such wondrous fashion 
 
 That nothing but love e'er satisfies ? 
 If it be a sin, and only repenting 
 
 And firmly forsaking brings pardon divine, 
 Then my soul must be doomed to woes unrelenting. 
 
 For no change e'er can come to a love such as mine I ' " 
 
MISS TREVALYN MEETS WITH A SURPRISE. 95 
 
 " Douglas, my dear fellow, do not excite yourself," ex- 
 claimed Montgomery anxiously ; " excitement is bad foi 
 you. When the doctor comes he will find you much 
 worse if you go on like this." 
 
 Montgomery's predictions were verified. By midnight, 
 Arthur Douglas grew so alarmingly worse that the old 
 doctor who attended him was sent for in all haste. 
 
 " If he pulls through it this time, it will be a miracle," 
 he said, gravely shaking his head. " He must have had 
 some great shock to bring this state' of affairs about." 
 
 As the long hours dragged their slow lengths by, it 
 was a hard sight to see him tossing in delirium feverishly 
 upon his bed. Two attendants beside Montgomery lin- 
 gered at his bedside, and they looked at each other pity- 
 ingly — for they were tender-hearted women — to hear him 
 plead with some one not to refuse his hand although it was 
 stained with blood-. And then again he fancied himself 
 on the gallows, looking down at the gaping crowd standing 
 below, crying out in a loud clear voice that before his 
 God he could not say whether he was innocent or guilty. 
 
 " Such strange thoughts for the poor young man to 
 have," said one of the women, laying her cool hand on 
 his feverish brow. He drew it down to his lips and 
 kissed it fervently, imagining it to be Miss Trevalyn's 
 hand. 
 
 "Helen, my darling!" hewhispered fondly, "I knew 
 you loved me still. Come nearer, let me fold you in my 
 arms, Helen, while I whisper these words, so sweet and 
 true. 
 
 " ' Love me if I live I 
 Love me if I die ! 
 What to me is life or death, 
 So that thou be nigh? 
 
 *" Ah ! what is there I could not 
 For thy sake endure? 
 
9^ THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " ' Kiss me for my love ! 
 Pay me for my pain ! 
 Come 1 and murmur in my ear 
 How thou lov'st again 1 ' " 
 
CHAPTER Xir. 
 
 SHE IS AS FALSE AS SHE IS FAIR. 
 
 At midnight the fever seemed to reach its height, and 
 by the time morning brolse cold and gray over the hills, 
 it had spent itself, and once again Arthur Douglas 
 became conscious of events that were transpiring around 
 him. He found his faithful friend, Montgomery, seated 
 by his bedsid.e. 
 
 " I think you will pull through this relapse all right, 
 my boy," said Montgomery, cheerily, " but you want to 
 take care not to let this thing occur again, — you — you 
 were wrong in permitting your sorrow to get the best of 
 you. Face the troubles of life like a man." 
 
 " Life has little enough attractions for me now," sighed 
 (Arthur, " but my grief shall not overpower me. That the 
 one I love believes me guilty is a thought more bitter 
 than the pangs of death to me. She has dealt not only 
 my heart, but my pride a terrible blow. From this, 
 moment I shall do my best to try to forget her if it lays 
 within human powef. 
 
 " ' No longer I follow a sound, 
 No longer a dream I pursue, 
 Oh, happiness-— not to be found, 
 Unattainable treasure adieu.' 
 
 " I shall go back to the army and in the heat of battle 
 find oblivion from the agony of my own thoughts. 
 "Perhaps my darling was right after all," he rumi- 
 7 97 
 
gS THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 nated, " in refusing to clasp a hand that may be stained 
 with a stain so deep and horrible that all time cannot 
 efEace it. Better that I never look upon her face again 
 than see her turn from me in horror too great for words ; 
 that would kill me, strong man though I am. From this 
 hour the name of Helen Trevalyn shall never again pass 
 my lips." 
 
 " You will be wise if you adhere to this resolution," 
 said Montgomery. 
 
 In the mean time, at this same hour of the ?arly morn- 
 ing a strange event was taking place at Trevalyn Villa. 
 
 Since early dawn, a motionless figure had been stand- 
 ing at the open window, with hands clasped and eyes 
 gazing out into space, too intent for seeing. 
 . " To-day will see the beginning of the bitter end," 
 muttered Helen, pressing her clenched hands tightly 
 over her heart. "Ah, well, the sooner it is over the 
 better it will be for me, perhaps. The reality of stand- 
 ing at the altar with Hubert Harper to-day, cannot be 
 much worse than the dread of it." 
 
 The air of the house seemed to choke her, and putting 
 on her hat, Helen went down into the garden all heedless 
 of the dew. How long she sat on her favorite seat by 
 the fountain she never knew, she became suddenly aware 
 that there was an unusual commotion in the house, by the 
 rushing about of the servants. Rachel, her maid, came 
 hurrying up to her with a white, scared face. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Helen," she cried, wringing her hands, " do 
 come into the house quickly ; there is something terribly^ 
 wrong in master's rdom ! " 
 
 Miss Trevalyn quickly preceded the gitl to the squire's 
 apartment. She met Peters at the door. 
 
 " What is the matter with father ? " she asked, anx- 
 iously. " Is he ill ? " 
 
 " He is — dead, ma'am," answered the man, huskily. 
 
SHE IS AS FALSE AS SHE IS FAIR. gg, 
 
 A low cry broke from Miss Trevalyn's lips. 
 
 " Dead 1 " she echoed. " Oh, Peters, it cannot be ! 
 When I left him last evening he was alive ^nd well ; 
 surely death could not have claimed him so suddenly." 
 
 " He is quite dead, ma'am," returned Peters. " Last 
 night he paced the floor of his room for long hours after 
 the house was still and dark; it was a habit he had 
 fallen into of late. When I came to him a little while 
 since I found him seated in his chair by the window. 
 One glance at his stark, white face, and I knew the truth 
 — the squire was dead ! " 
 
 Miss Trevalyn fled like a startled swallow past him up 
 to the arm-chair in which a still, straight figure sat erect, 
 with folded hands', and a smile, cold and bleak, frozen on 
 the white face. She flung her arms around that still 
 form with an awful cry that made those who heard it weep 
 tears of pity for her, and kissed the rigid lips that give 
 back no answering caress. She dropped her arms from 
 their clasp about him, and drew back 'and looked at him. 
 Could this be her father ? Could this be the father who 
 always had a smile for her and a tender caress, sitting by 
 the window so cold and still .'' A feeling of credulity stole 
 over her. She looked at him steadfastly, a great, awful 
 amazement in her dilated eyes. Was this the father whom 
 she remembered so well since infancy as the great prop 
 of her young life ? Could this be he ? — this white, awful, 
 beautiful statue ? 
 
 She fell down at his feet besieging heaven to let her 
 die too ; and it seemed to the girl that the best part of 
 her died then and there. Who has not felt this awful, 
 grief-stricken feeling as they stood gazing on the face of 
 a loved one cold in the icy embrace of death .■' A mighty 
 desolation filled her heart. How can the world go on 
 the same, she wondered, dully, if he be taken . from it ? 
 But is he dead ? Surely, it must be some awful dream 
 
IpO THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 from which she will awaken presently. For the first time 
 in her life she felt a bitter rebellion toward the God who 
 could thus smite her. 
 
 There was the sound of footsteps approaching. It was 
 Rachel. She tried to lift the girl up from her knees but 
 Helen resisted her. 
 
 " Come away, poor dear ! you are breaking your 
 heart," she said. " Try and be calm ; all your wild grief 
 cannot bring him back." 
 
 " Let me stay — I, am doing no harm here," the girl 
 answered, dully, but Rachel was firm, and, half carry- 
 ing the slight form, she drew her gently from the 
 room. 
 
 In the corridor, she came face to face with her step- 
 mother, who had just returned from a morning drive. 
 " Helen, can it be true that the squire is dead ! " she 
 cried, hurrying breathlessly up to the girl. 
 
 " Yes," answers Helen with a sob ; she tried to say 
 more but could not,' the words stuck in her throat. 
 
 " Dead ! Dear me ! " cried young Mrs. Trevalyn. 
 " How badly I shall look in a widow's cap ! and-^and 
 sombre black gowns make one look so old." 
 
 " My lady ! " exclaimed Rachel, " see how your words 
 are hurting the squire's daughter." 
 
 " That recalled young Mrs. Trevalyn to her senses. 
 Without a look at Helen's death-white face, she hurried 
 past her to her own boudoir, which was in the opposite 
 direction from where the squire was. 
 
 " God forgive her for being so heartless as to think of 
 her good looks in an hour like this," muttered Rachel, 
 indignantly. 
 
 At that moment a stifled cry broke from Helen's lips, 
 for, looking up, she saw Mr. Harper rapidly approach- 
 ing her, and a great nervousness seized her, for she saw 
 that he had thrown off the disguise of the gardener and 
 
SHE IS AS FALSE AS SHE IS FAIR, lOI 
 
 appeared once more before her as — Mr. Harper the 
 detective. 
 
 He gained Helen's side and with a low bow attempted 
 to take her hand. 
 
 " You may go, Rachel," she said, to her maid, " I — I 
 will see this— gentleman — alone.'* 
 
 Waving him into the drawing-room opposite. Miss 
 Trevalyn followed,, closing the door after her. 
 
 " Why are you here ? " she panted, drawing back with 
 loathing from his outstretched hand. 
 
 " Is this not rather a cool reception from the woman 
 who has promised to be my bride within the next few 
 hours ? " he asked reproachfully. 
 
 " That has occurred which causes me to say that the 
 marriage will never take place now," she said lookirfg at 
 him mechanically. 
 
 "You are pleased to indulge in innuendoes, Miss Tre- 
 valyn he cried angrily. " You dare not refuse to live up to 
 your part of the contract knowing how fully your father, 
 the old squire, is in my power. One word from me and 
 he would swing from the gallows. Surely it should be 
 unnecessary_ to remind you of this fact." 
 
 " You can never hurt him more," she answered, " for, 
 my father died this morning; he is beyond your power 
 now." 
 
 Something very like an imprecation broke from the detec- 
 tive's lips. Could it be possible that the cup of happi- 
 ness which was so near him was to be dashed from him 
 just as he was on the point of grasping it ? He would 
 not believe that the fates which had always aided him 
 would play him so hard a trick now, when all of the hap- 
 piness of his future was at stake. He was used to think- 
 ing in all cases with the rapidity of lightning, and, in this 
 propitious moment he was not at a loss for a ready 
 reply. 
 
I02 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " Be it even so, that the squire is dead, that will not 
 lessen your obligation in this matter, fny dear Miss Tre- 
 valyn," he said coolly, adding slowly, " I am sure you 
 could never see his name dragged through the mire, by 
 having him branded before the world as the murderer of 
 the Earl of Dunraven." 
 
 The girl's breast rose and fell convulsively. Those 
 words, the covert threat against her dear dead seemed to 
 scorch her heart, as they fell on her ears. She seemed 
 in that moment a changed being, all in an instant to turn 
 from a terrified girl to a self-reliant, defiant woman. She 
 took a" step near him and looked at him steadily with 
 those dark proud eyes of hers. 
 
 " You could never prove that charge against my father 
 even if you did bring it against him," she said in a low, 
 intense voice — " I defy you to do it." 
 
 " I heard his confession and you heard it," he retorted. 
 " I would summon you before the court and compel ypu 
 to repeat the story we both listened to, which would coin- 
 cide in every particular. Your testimony alone, my 
 dear Miss Trevalyn, could not fail to lay this tragedy at 
 his door." 
 
 " You could not force me to utter one word of what 
 passed between my father and myself on that memorable, 
 night. You might cast me into prison for cpnterapt, you 
 might torture me on the rack, — as they did victims in the 
 olden days, — ^you might kiUm&, but never, not even in 
 the hour of death would I break 'the oath with which my 
 father bound me that night — to never breathe one word 
 of what I heard from his lips. *I repeat that you are 
 powerless. You cannot hurt the dead, and therefore to 
 sacrifice myself by marrying you, abhorring you as I do, 
 would be a crime. I decline to discuss the matter fur- 
 ther and beg you to respect my grief by leaving me at 
 once with my dead." 
 
SHE IS AS FALSE AS SHE IS FAIR. 103 
 
 Hubert Harper's face was a study as he arose to his 
 feet. 
 
 " Listen to my words and heed them well, Miss Tre- 
 valyn," he said harshly. " If you send me away from you 
 I shall make you rue it to the last day of your life." 
 
 " It is unmanly to 3t'empt to intimidate a defenceless 
 woman," replied Miss Tre.vaiyn, opening the door for him 
 to pass out 
 
CHAPTER Xill. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 I am the key that parts the gates of fame ; 
 I am the cloak that covers cowering shame ; 
 i am the final goal of every race ; 
 1 am the storm tossed spirit's resting place. 
 
 ' The messenger of swift and sure relief, 
 Welcomed with wailing and reproachful grief j 
 The friend of those who have no friend but me, 
 1 break all chains and set all captives free. 
 
 I am the cloud that, when earth's day is don 
 An instant veils an unextinguished sun ; 
 I am the brooding hush that follows strife. 
 The waking from a dream that man calls — life ! " 
 
 Two weeks had gone by since tne memorable day of 
 the squire's death. 
 
 He had been laid at rest with all >.onor beside the 
 dear wife who had gone on years beiore, and it filled 
 Helen with the deepest emotion to see how the whole 
 country for miles around turned out to {lay homage to 
 his memory and follow him to the grave v,'i\h tears in 
 their eyes, low voices recounting here and there, '' what a 
 shining example his life had beeri," 
 
 How the people had loved him! Ah, Heaven! 
 how cruel it would have been to have dragged his name 
 through the mire of dishonor and crime. Helen trembled 
 like an aspen leaf when she contemplated it. 
 
 104. 
 
DEATH. i 05 
 
 There was one thing that troubled Helen not a little 
 as the days dragged their slow lengths by, and that was 
 the vague wonder as to what had become of Mr. Harper, 
 the detective. He had vanished as completely from her 
 view since the morning on which she had held that last 
 and memorable interview with him, as though the earth 
 had slowly opened and swallowed him. Had he given 
 up the quest as easily as this ? she often found herself 
 wondering. It certainly looked like it. Still one is 
 alv^ys more in fear of a foe who strikes from under 
 cover than one who strikes at you boldly above board. 
 
 For days and nights after the old squire had been laid 
 at rest Helen would walk the floor of her room in poig- 
 aant agony too dee^ for words, for the thought had come 
 to her, would she never meet the father she had loved so, 
 up there i God had written in his holy book that "the 
 murderer shall not enter the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 Standing face to face with the story of his confession, the 
 girl had told herself that it must surely have been he who 
 struck down the earl in a moment of frenzy. In these 
 moments of bitterness and pitiful loneliness how her heart 
 yearned for the lover whom she had sent from her ! She 
 remembered the address given her by his friend, Mr. 
 Montgomery, how he had said that her Arthur was ill 
 and among strangers. If she could but go to him and 
 nurse him' back to health and strength. 
 - But they could never be anything to each other again, 
 never, for was not she the daughter of — a criminal ? She 
 always told herself this in a whisper, and with a grSat 
 burst of sobs, ruminating, — " that not even to Arthur 
 would she ever acknowledge the secret which was buried 
 with the old squire in his grave, for, no matter what his 
 sin had been, he was her father, and his memory was 
 sacred to her. She had loved him through all, better 
 Hian her own life; 
 
Io6 THAT PRETTY YOUNG CIRL. 
 
 So great was her yearning to go to Arthur in his illness 
 that ^t length she confided to Rachel her plan to go and 
 nurse him. 
 
 '•Oh, Miss Helen, "i cried Rachel,"! never dreamed 
 that you knew where young Mr. Douglas was. When 
 did you hear from him ? " 
 
 " A few days before father died," confessed Helen. 
 
 "You were very wige not to mention to any one but 
 me, about knowing his whereabouts, for, rest assured, 
 that sneak of a detective is still searching for hiin," 
 declared Rachel. 
 
 Squire Trevalyn's estate had been settled up with less 
 delay than is usual in such cases. It was found that he 
 was badly insolvent, and his propCTty was mortgaged 
 for far more than it was worth. Everything was swept 
 away, save a small tract of land which had been deeded 
 to the daughter, Helen, years before. 
 
 Few people ever found out that the most of the squire's 
 property had vanished in the purchase of numberless sets 
 of diamonds at fabulous prices for the young wife, who, 
 at the earliest moment, and all undreamed of by the fond 
 old donor, converted them quickly into cash, which netted 
 her at the time of his death, a snug little fortune, which 
 was securely and secretly invested in a distant bank. 
 
 The friends of Fifine in other days, who knew of her 
 marriage to the supposed rich old country squire, and who 
 always thought of her with great envy thereafter, now 
 laughed uproariously when they read that he had died 
 poor, leaving his fair, young widow but a meagre inheri- 
 tance. They considered it quite a fine joke upon the gay 
 Fifine to be taken in so neatly by a poor old man, and they 
 did not marvel much when they read in the last paragraph 
 that young Mrs. Trevalyn had mysteriously disappeared. 
 
 Every one around and about Branlea felt sorry foi 
 Miss Helen. What would she do now? they wondered 
 
DEATH. 107 
 
 This was soon . settled ; they learned that Miss Treva- 
 lyn, accompanied by her faithful maid, Rachel, who was 
 determined to share her fortunes whferever they might 
 lead, pay or no pay, intended leaving Branlea for a few 
 weeks to assuage her grief after all that she had passed 
 through, and at the end of that time, she was to retijrn 
 and take her -place as teacher in one of the village 
 schools. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn and Rachel left Branlea the following 
 week, ostensibly for London, but when they reached the 
 cross-roads some eighty miles distant from Branlea, they 
 took a train in quite another direction from the great 
 foggy metropolis. 
 
 This plan had been carried out according to Rachel's 
 shrewd ideas, to throw people off their track, as she 
 laughingly explained to the bewildered Helen when they 
 were enroute, adding, that it would never — never have 
 done for them to have gone straight to Bethelwald, where 
 young Mr. Arthur was. But alas ! Ah me ! 
 
 " The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 Gang aft a-gley," 
 
 as the Scottish" poet tells us. So it happened in this 
 case ; for neither Rachel nor Helen noticed an oldj 
 shabbily dressed man who boarded the same train with 
 them at Branlea, who took a convenient seat near them, 
 so near thafhis sharp practised ear took in fragments of 
 much of their whispered conversation, and who also 
 changed at the -cross-roads, taking the train for Bethel- 
 wald when they bought their tickets for that destina- 
 tion. 
 
 That they were being kept under close surveillance by 
 this seemingly deaf old man, never once occurred to eithei 
 Miss Trevalyn or her maid. 
 
 It was dusk when she reached the Queen's Inn. 
 
Io8 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Already the lamps had been lighted, and shone with a 
 ruddy glow athwart the path that led to the front 
 door. 
 
 The curtains of an upper apartment had been closely 
 drawn ; but Helen could see the shadows of dark forms 
 flitting to and fro across the room. 
 
 "Was he worse?" she wondered, "-and was that 
 Arthur's room ?" 
 
 Feeling very much like an intruder, Miss Trevalyn, 
 followed by Rachel, turned the knob of the door and 
 entered softly. 
 
 Some one was seated by the window — his face resting 
 on the sill. At the first glance Miss Trevalyn knew who 
 it was, and called to him softly: 
 
 " Mr. Montgomery ? " 
 
 He lifted his head with a quick start, and saw her 
 standing there ; in a moment he was beside her. 
 
 " I knew you would come ! I believed it from the 
 very bottom of my soul. He is worse. But now," he 
 added hopefully, " he will be saved ; you will draw him 
 back from the very borders of the other world. Come to 
 him quickly. Miss — every moment is precious." 
 
 " Who is with him now? " asked Helen, drawing back 
 as they reached the door. 
 
 " Only one of the nurses," replied Mr. Montgomery. 
 " We imagined him convalescing at one time but he took 
 a bad turn and is lower than ever before. The doctor left 
 some little time since, promising to be' with us again 
 shortly, but — he — he — told me that his presence would be 
 unavailing — for nothing more, within human power, could 
 be done for Arthur Douglas. 
 
 " I could not endure it sitting by his bedside and, 
 hearing him call on you to come to him — without weep 
 ing, and — and I went from his bedside that he might not 
 see my tears." 
 
DEATH. 109 
 
 Miss Trevalyn pushed open the door softly, and stood 
 on the threshold. 
 
 " Enter — alone — it is best so," whispered Mr, 
 Montgomery to Helen, adding .- " Call me when you want 
 me." 
 
 Helen heard the door close softly after her, and knew 
 she was standing alone, in the presence of the man she 
 'oved. 
 
 She advanced toward the couch timidly, and with 
 trembling hands drew aside the heavy curtains from it, 
 and the light from the shaded night-lamp fell with a 
 softened glow on the white face 'on the pillow. 
 
 " Helen," murmured the sufferer, wearily, as he moved 
 his arms restlessly about, " are you never coming, dear ? 
 Oh, love, if you knew how patiently I have waited for 
 you." I 
 
 Miss Trevalyn took off her hat and sack, and drew her 
 chair close up to the bedside and sat down. 
 
 Oh, how changed he was — handsome still, but sadly 
 changed ; and sitting there, holding his hands clasped 
 in hers an impulse stirred in her heart to bend over 
 him and kiss the lips that called on her name so 
 earnestly. > 
 
 A heavy sigh broke from her lips. 
 
 The sigh awoke him ; he opened his eyes with a start, 
 murmuring her name. 
 
 " I am here, Arthur,'' she murmured, faintly. 
 
 He held out his arms to her, with a passionate cry : 
 
 " Helen — thank God, you have come to me — at last." 
 
 Arthtir Douglas raised his dim eyes to the lovely face 
 of the girl he worshipped so madly, and tears filled them ; 
 a low moan broke from his lips. He held her hand 
 clasped tightly, looking at her with an expression — wistful 
 and appealing — that she never forgot. 
 
 " I am dying, dear," he whispered, huskily, " but my 
 
1 10 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 soul would not leave its mortal tenement until you came 
 to jne — so great is the love I bear you. Bend your sweet 
 face nearer that I may see you ; I can die content now 
 that you are with me. 
 
 " Oh, Helen, how I wish that I could take you across 
 the dark river of death with me. It almost seems that I 
 cannot die and leave you here." 
 
 Even at the portals of the tomb the ruling passion of 
 his life held its own. 
 
 "Oh, Helen," he murmured, "you will never realize 
 how dearly I have loved you — loved you with all my 
 heart and soul — idolized you. The words I use to 
 express it seem cold. Ah ! how I wish they could burn 
 their way to your very soul ! " 
 
 The very vehemence of his worshipful adoration 
 startled her. 
 
 He looked at the beautiful little hands, white as lily 
 ;eaves, which he held. 
 
 " Oh, little hands that hold my heart ! " he sighed.- 
 " Do you remember how I kissed these hands, Helen, 
 under the blossoming apple boughs on the day you prom- 
 ised to be my wife ? kissed them with my whole soul in 
 each burning kiss, knowing they were mine — all mine." 
 
 A shiver shot through her heart ; she made an effort to 
 draw her hands from his grasp, but he held them the 
 tighter. 
 
 " In you were centred all my hopes, my ambitions, and 
 dreams of a brilliant future, Helen," he said, patheti- 
 cally. 
 
 The pathos that trembled in his voice and shorfe in his 
 eyes could not help but touch her. 
 
 " Helen," he went on, " will you think of me when I 
 am gone ? Will you come to my grave, and, as you kneel 
 there remember the words I am saying to you now? 
 The heart that beat with a love surpassing all others will 
 
DEATH. Ill 
 
 lie cold and still ; but you will remember, my darling, 
 that in life it beats only for you, my own true love — my 
 love who was so soon to have been my wife." 
 
 " Don't, Arthur, don't ! " she sobbed, " I cannot bear 
 it!" 
 
 Every word he uttered was like the sharp blade of a 
 dagger in her heart. 
 
 The words on her lips were arrested just then by the 
 entrance of the doctor. 
 
 The doctor's surprise was great at seeing a young and 
 beautiful girl sitting by Mr. Douglas' bedside. He hur- 
 ried forward in the greatest of alarm, but Rachel, who 
 had followed him in, laid a detaining hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 " She was his betrothed bride ; she knows all about the 
 dangerous fever, and does not fear it. Her place is at 
 his bedside," she said. 
 
 Hearing this, the doctor offered no remonstrance to 
 Miss Trevalyn's presence there; still he looked greatly 
 troubled. But, as he approached the bed, and bent over 
 his patient, his face cleared, and a cry of surprise broke 
 from hisfclips. 
 
 "There is a decided change for the better," he de- 
 clared decisively. " I think he will live." 
 
 " I knew it,',' murmured Mr. Montgomery brokenly ; 
 "you have drawn Arthur back from the dark valley of the 
 shadow of death by your presence — back to life and the 
 world from which he was .slipping." 
 
 " After a good deep sleep he will awaken refreshed," 
 said the doctor. "For the first time during his illness 
 his mind seems to be perfectly at rest ; see, he has 
 dropped into a peaceful slumber, with a smile on his 
 lips." 
 
 Miss Trevalyn couW not find words to thank God for 
 His mercy, her heart was so full of gratitude. 
 
112 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Who is it that says, " a prayer granted is sometimes a 
 curse ? " 
 
 The time was coming when she who loved Arthur 
 Douglas best would say it was the greatest pity that he 
 had not died in this illness ; he would then have died 
 with her hope of heaven infolding him. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A SPY. 
 
 " Thou wilt choose the path of fame. 
 And barter peace to gain a name. 
 But when honors most increase, 
 Thou wilt mourn departed peace. 
 May it ere be won again ? 
 Ask thy hearts nor ask in vain," 
 
 " You walk the sunny side of fate, 
 The wise world smiles and calls you great. 
 The golden fruitage of success 
 'Drops at your feet in plenteousness ; 
 And you have blessings manifold ; 
 Renown and power and friends and gold, 
 They build a wall between us twain 
 That may not be thrown down again. 
 Alas, for I the long time through 
 Have loved you better than you knew." 
 
 The shabbily clad stranger who had travelled in the 
 same coach with Miss Trevalyn and her maid from 
 Branlea, also found occasion to put up at tUe Queen's Inn 
 when he reached Bethelwald. After partaking of a, 
 particularly hearty meal for so feeble an appearing old 
 mail, he repaired to the porch to enjoy a smoke. He 
 was not ill-pleased to find his host there, engaged in the 
 same favorite pastime= 
 
 " Few strangei-s happen this way, I should imagine," 
 8 113 
 
114 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 he ventured, after they had been talking for some time 
 on indifferent subjects. 
 
 " Not many," assented the old innkeejDer, "«but just 
 now the house is full, and of quality, too. We have two 
 very fine gentlemen here, and really I shouldn't be a bit 
 surprised to learn tbjt uhey were Id.Ss or dukes, or some- 
 thing like that. One of them has been very ill indeed 
 since he has been here. Twice we thought it would be 
 all up with h'm." 
 
 " What does he seem to be suffering from ? " inquired 
 the stranger. 
 
 " The gentlemen don't want it to get noised about, but 
 I don't mind if I do tell you'' responded the innkeeper. 
 " They want to make me believe it's an accident, as came 
 very near doin' him up — ^but I opine that he tried his 
 best to commit suicide — the first night he came here." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the stranger with a show of interest 
 in his keen gray eyes. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " pursued Jhe venerable host, and 
 straightway he proceeded to give his new guest a com- 
 plete resumd of the whole affair, adding in conclu- 
 sion : 
 
 " A fine young lady from up country has come to-night 
 to nurse him through it. She is his sweetheart, I am 
 sure, by the way they wept and embraced when she 
 came into the room and went up to the couch. Did you 
 speak, sir .' " asked the innkeeper suddenly turning to 
 the stranger. 
 
 " No," returned the other shortly. " Go on with your 
 story. I am interested in it." 
 
 *■• There is nothing more to tell, sir, save this : that the 
 lady's maid hinted to my good woman that there might 
 be a wedding here, when the young man grew better and 
 that when her young mistress left this place, it might be, 
 as — the young gentleman's bride." 
 
A SPY. 115 
 
 The stranger had risen hastily from his seat and com- 
 menced pacing rapidly to and fro across the porch. The 
 unintelUgible words he was uttering, were like so much 
 Greek to the old innkeeper. Shortly after, he took up 
 his light and sought his room. After fastening the door, 
 he proceeded to digest himself of the blue goggles he 
 wore, together with the gray wig and beard, and Mr. 
 Harper stood revealed before the small mirror that con- 
 m)nted him. 
 
 " It is always a safe rule to follow, if you are hunting 
 a man down, to keep careful surveillance upon the 
 woman with whom he is in love, and, sooner or later she 
 will lead you to her lover when she imagines all interest 
 in his whereabouts has lulled down. I have kept close 
 guard over the post-office at Eranlea, and I am positive 
 that no letter passed between them. How she dis- 
 covered wh6re to come to him is — to me — an enigma, 
 which I shall not attempt to solve at present. 
 
 " So she intends to marry the young gentleman, and 
 leave this place — his bride, does She ? Ah, well, my fair 
 Helen, the fates have decreed otherwise, as you shall 
 soon deterijiine. I have sworn that you shall never 
 marry Arthur Douglas, and you shall see how easily it 
 can be prevented. What are a hundred, aye, a thousand 
 lives that are at stake in the issue of a great battle ? 
 Why then, should I hesitate even for an instant when 
 th£ great battle of my life is to be fought — for the life of 
 one man who stands in my way .' I am as squeamish as 
 an old woman over this affair. Let me be content with 
 the knowledge that Douglas will be given the opportunity* 
 to prove his innocence of the crime laid at his door — if 
 he can." 
 
 For a week. Harper watched the progress of affairs 
 keenly. It was an easy matter to gain access to the 
 room by ind\«;ing the old innkeeper to allow him to carry 
 
Il6 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 ice- water to the sick-room when it was called for, to gel 
 a look at the pretty young girl and the supposed lord, 
 and the innkeeper was only too glad of his services in 
 this respect. 
 
 He could' scarcely restrain his jrage when he entered 
 one day and saw Helen sitting by the couch holding 
 Arthur Douglas' hand. Montgomery on one side of her 
 and faithful Rachel on the other. 
 
 By the end of a week, after Helen's arrival, ArtWix 
 Douglas' recovery was so rapid that the doctor agreed 
 that he could with perfect safety leave Bethelwald when- 
 ever he felt strong enough to undertake the journey. 
 Three days after this decision the innkeeper informed 
 Harper that the wedding which he had spoken to him 
 about had been arranged to take place that very 
 night. 
 
 A quiet smile lit up the face which the heavy gray 
 beard and the blue goggles almost concealed. 
 
 "Indeed," he said, as he saw that the old innkeeper 
 was looking for some reply. 
 
 " Yes," declared his informant, " and a long wedding 
 journey they intend to make of it." 
 
 " Where do they go .' " asked Harper, with apparent 
 indifference. 
 
 " They take the midnight train direct for London," 
 explained the innkeeper, ■" and there, they will be just in 
 time to catch the out-going steamer ' Servia,' which goes 
 to America. I hope they will have a happy life of it — the 
 bonny gentlemen and that pretty young girl." 
 
 Again the old innkeeper noticed the odd smile that 
 passed over the stranger's face and wondered at it. 
 
 " At what time do you say that they have arranged for 
 the marriage to take place ? " he asked impatiently, and 
 the reply was :^=—" At nine to-night." 
 
 Harper looked at his watch. It wante^ twenty min- 
 
A SPY. 
 
 117 
 
 utes to ten, a.m. He replaced the watch in his pocket, 
 and, crossing the porch, strolled leisurely down the walk. 
 When he was' beyond' sight of the old innkeeper, he 
 quickened his pace with great alacrity, and scarcely took 
 time to breatiie until he found himself at the telegraph 
 office at the station. 
 
 Again a ,ong cipher telegram was flashed over the 
 wires to tl.e chief in London, then, very leisurely, he 
 returned to the inn to await future developments. 
 
 Helen and Arthur Douglas were standing hand in hand 
 together at tlie window as he advanced up the path. 
 
 " Poor old man," murmured Helen, compassionately, 
 " see how he is bent with the weight of years, Arthur. 
 He w^s talking with Rachel yesterday and told her that 
 'he was all alone in the world' — those words made me 
 feel great compassion for him." 
 
 " Perhaps it is selfish, but I can think of no one but 
 ojrselves and our own great happiness, my Helen," said 
 Arthur, fondly pressing the little white hand he held. 
 
 " I can scarcely believe at times that heaven is about 
 (0 answer my only prayer — of giving you to me, darling. 
 Oh, Helen, what a noble life I intend to make of my 
 future, for your dear sake. I would have foregone my 
 hope of heaven, to have purchased such joy. You can 
 tell by that how dear you are to me." 
 
 " Hush, Arthur," responded Miss Trevalyn, reproach- 
 fully, " there is no happiness so great in this world, that 
 we should wish to bartej the hope of heaven for it." 
 
 ',' It is rather a cowardly thing to do, — steal away from 
 my native land with the .shadow of a crime hanging over 
 me, — but now that I have your assurance that, from the 
 depths of your heart you look upon me as innocent, I 
 have )'ielded to your entreaties, and to my friend Mont- 
 gomery's, by adopting the course he has mapped out for 
 us. But I never shall feel at rest in my conscience until 
 
Il8 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 all the world knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, just 
 who slew the Earl of Dunf aven. How you are trembling, 
 Helen dear." 
 
 " Never refer to it again, Arthur," she murmured with 
 a half sob ; you — you — gave me your promise you would 
 not." 
 
 He raised the little white hand reverentially to his lips. 
 " Your will shall ever be my law, Helen," he said gravely. 
 " If the subject brings you so much pain, I will not men- 
 tion it again. You are sure you will not regret marry- 
 ing — a poor man, dear ? " he asked wistfully. 
 
 " Am I not quite as poor as yourself now ? " retorted 
 Helen, with a tearful smile. " I am no longer Miss 
 Trevalyn, the prospective heiress, — and, but for this 
 marriage, would now be Miss Trevalyn, the village 
 teacher." 
 
 " We will begin life with only love for our capital, 
 dear," said Arthur, " but we will be happy, for we have 
 each other." 
 
 How little the lovers dreamed as they stood there 
 together, looking out into the bright warm sunshine, and 
 talking over their plans for the future, that this was the 
 happiest hour they were ever to know. It is well for us 
 ofttimes, that we cannot lift the curtain of the future and 
 peer beyond the portals of the present into the vast dim, 
 unknown realm, toward which we are drifting with each 
 pulsation of life's wheel. 
 
 Slowly the hands o£ time moved that day, but at last 
 the sun sunk in the west, the dusk of evening crept, up 
 and settled slowly into the darkness of night; one by 
 one the golden hearted stars came out and fixed them- 
 selves in the blue heavens, and as the hours rolled by, 
 the time set for the wedding that evening, drew nearer. 
 
 The ceremony was to be performed in the living- 
 room, which was the best apartment the Queen's Inn 
 
A SPY. iig 
 
 afforded. And at fifteen minutes before nine, the 
 minister arrived. 
 
 The surroundings and occasion admitted of little cere- 
 mony, and a few moments later, Miss Trevalyn, wearing 
 iier travelling dress, and leaning upon Mr. Montgomery's 
 arm entered the room, followed by Rachel' and all the 
 attaches of the inn, to whom a wedding was certainly a 
 novel sight to witness. 
 
 Arfhur Douglas was already there, conversing with the 
 minister. He advanced with beaming face and out- 
 stretched hands to meet Helen — and, obeying a sudden 
 impuTse he stooped and kissed the lovely lips which were 
 colorless as snowdrops. " Courage, Helen, my darling ! " 
 he whispered, " a few moments more, and you will be all 
 my own." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE LOVERS. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn raised her bright, blushing face timidly 
 to her lover's, and, drawing her hand fondly within his 
 arm he led her up to the old minister who stood patently 
 awaiting the pleasure of the bridal couple as to when the 
 ceremony should begin. 
 
 Helen was presented to the old minister by the happy 
 bridegroom-elect, and after the exchange of a few pleas-, 
 ant words they took their places before him. 
 
 But the ceremony which would have joined together 
 those two who loved each other so fondly, was not des- 
 tined to proceed further than this, for at that moment a 
 ringing sound of horse's hoofs fell upon their ears and 
 the sound of men dismounting at the porch outside, and 
 an instant later, four men wearing the garb of officers of 
 the law pushed aside the wondering crowd about the 
 door and filed quickly into the room headed by Harper. 
 
 " There is your man," he said, pointing to Arthur 
 Douglas ; " do your duty." 
 
 " What is the meaning of this interruption, gentlemen } " 
 asked the minister mildly, seeing that both groom and 
 bride were too agitated to speak. 
 
 One of the officers of the law stepped forward, laying a 
 heavy hand on the shoulder of the man who stood 
 motionless by Miss Trevalyn's side, his face as white as 
 it would ever be in death. 
 
 " There will be no wedding here to-night," said the 
 
 120 
 
THE LOVERS. 121 
 
 officer, "for this gentleman, Arthur Douglas, is wanted 
 at Branlea to answer to the charge of murdering the 
 Earl of Dunraven, on the night of June 12th, in Treva- 
 lyn Park." 
 
 The effect these words produced upon the throng gath- 
 ered about the door to witness the marriage was some- 
 thing like an electric shock. 
 
 A murderer ! That fair-faced, handsome young man, 
 standing by the side of his bonn)', blushing bride-eleci ! 
 Surely there must be some mistake ! and they gathered 
 eagerly about the pnncipals in this unexpected drama 
 in real life which was being played before their eyes, 
 crowded eagerly forward, despite the command to " stand 
 back I" The bride-elect had swooned. 
 
 Sobbing as -though her heart would break, faithful 
 Rachel bore Miss Trevaiyn from the room. At first she 
 thought that the terrible ordeal through which she had 
 passed had killed her young mistress. But no 1 the 
 heart beat faintly, the pulse of life had not stopped yet. 
 Ihwas not destined that Miss Trevaiyn was to leave this 
 world of trouble so soon. 
 
 Although they'did everything in their power to revive 
 her, it was long hours ere she opened her eyes to con- 
 sciousness. Rachel was bending over her stroking the 
 dark -curls back from her, pale face. Miss Trevaiyn 
 reached out and caught her hands, clinging to them with 
 a bitter cry. 
 
 " *rell me ! where is Arthur, Rachel ? '' she sobbed 
 wildly. " Did — did — they — take him away ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Rachel, striving to keep back her 
 own emotion and control her hu.sky voice. 
 
 "Tell me all that happened, Rachel," she moaned. 
 
 " Oh, not now. Miss Helen," she entreated, " you are 
 not able to endure it." 
 
 " I could not endure the suspense of waiting another 
 
122 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 moment for you to tell me, Rachel," she persisted. 
 " Don't you know that suspense kills quicker than any- 
 thing else ? Tell me all — I will try to be very calm. It 
 seems' to me that I can bear anything now, I — I have 
 suffered and borne so much since — papa — died." 
 
 With tears in her eyes and her voice husky with 
 emotion, Rachel told her how they tore Master Arthur 
 from her side, though he fought them desperately as she 
 was being carried from the room, and sought to kiss her 
 cold lips and clasp in his arms for the last time tlie girl 
 who was so soon to have been his wife, and from whom 
 they were parting him — perhaps forever. 
 
 "But Mr. Harper, that despicable detective, who 
 tracked him down, hurled him back," added Rachel 
 indignantly, " and they hurried Arthur off on the mid- 
 night train. They have reached Branlea by this time 
 and have dbnfined him in the Branlea jail, and there he 
 must remain until the September Assizes." 
 
 Rachel is quite right ; the girl has not strength enough 
 to bear this cruel intelligence calmly. The fountains*of 
 her soul are altogether brokAi up within her, and she 
 falls to weeping mightily ; and but for that weeping, she 
 would perhaps have died, some say ; but I think not. 
 For why should grief, being our natural element, kill us 
 any more than the dew the flowers, or the air the 
 birds ? 
 
 " Oh, if we could but save him, Rachel ! " she cried 
 vehemently. " We must try. He is innocent." 
 
 " i am sure of his innocence," declared Rachel. "Oh, 
 Miss Helen," she added earnestly, " if we could but 
 secure the services of Mr. Caldwell, the eminent lawyer, 
 who has the reputation of being the most clever in such 
 cases of any lawyer in all London. He could open his 
 prison doors, speedily, and set him free if any one 
 could." 
 
THE LOVERS. 1 23 
 
 The name of ]\fr. Caldwell, the famou^ London lawyer, 
 was not unfamiliar to Helen. She had often heard the 
 squire remark upon his wonderful success in gaining the 
 most difficult cases for his clients. She knew too that 
 this man was famous in many countries ; he was an inde- 
 fatigable and earnest worker, arid so important were his 
 services deemed that phenomenal fees were frequently 
 paid to secure them. 
 
 " Wealthy, and held in almost exaggerated esteem for his 
 abilities, it was confidently predicted that the highest 
 honors of the state were in store for him, and it was 
 ungrudgingly admitted — so far above his peers did he 
 stand — that the loftiest office would be dignified by 
 association with his name. As leader of a forlorn hope 
 he was unrivalled. He had an insatiable appetite for 
 obstacles ; criminal cases 6f great moment, in which life 
 and liberty were in imminent peril, and in which there 
 was a dark mystery to be solved, possessed an irresistible 
 fascination for him. Labor such as' this was afforded 
 him the keenest pleasure. -The more intricate the task 
 the closer his study of it ; the deeper the mystery the 
 greater his patience in the unravelling of it ; the more 
 powerful the odds against him the more determined his 
 exertions to win the battle. His microscopic, penetrat- 
 ing mind detected the minutest flaw, seized the smallest 
 detail likely to be of advantage to him, and frequently 
 from the most trivial thread he spun a strand so strong 
 as to drag the ship that was falling to pieces to a safe and 
 secure haven. His satisfaction at these achievements 
 was unbounded, but he rarely allowed an expression of 
 exultation to escape him. His outward tranquillity, even 
 in supreme crises, was little less than marvellous. His 
 nerve was of iron, and to his most intimate associates his 
 inner life was a sealed book. 
 
 " If we could but secure the services of Mr. Caldwell, 
 
124 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Rachel," sobbe4 Miss Trevalyn, " but, I am afraid he 
 would want more than we could pay him. Arthur is 
 poor, you know, and I — I — am reduced to almost want. 
 I will earn the money teaching and — " 
 
 There was a tap at the door. 
 
 " A letter for Miss Trclvalyn," said the little maid. 
 
 Rachel took it from her hand and carried it to hei 
 mistress. 
 
 " From — Mr. Caldwell ! " Helen gasped, as she rah 
 her eye over the brief type-written page. It read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " Miss Helen Trevalyn : 
 
 " My Dear Madam : 
 " I am requested by my clients, Messrs. Mitchell and 
 Haynes, to negotiate with you for the purchase of a 
 tract of land owned by yon, lying directly south of 
 Trevalyii Park. I am instructed to offer you the sum of 
 fifty thousand pounds for the same. The property has 
 acquired new value, owing to the fact that a valuable vein 
 of ore has been discovered in this vicinity, and it is but 
 just for me to inform you that this vein extends the entire 
 length of the parcel of land owned by you. I take pleas- 
 ure in adding that the price offered you, we consider very 
 fair for the purchase of the same. 
 
 " Trusting that we may hear from you in reference to 
 this matter at an early date, and that you will look with 
 favor upon our proposition. 
 " I remain, Madam, 
 
 " Very truly yours, 
 
 " Donald G. Caldwell." 
 
 Helen looked at her faithful maid with streaming 
 eyes. 
 
 "How cruel I was to ever doubt that there was a 
 God," she cried. " Surely, Rachel, if was an all-seeing 
 power who has sent me this wealth in this propitious 
 hour of need ! 
 
 " How little poor papa or I thought of that same tract 
 
THE LOVERS. 1 25 
 
 of land in other days. It will make a rich woman of 
 me for life, Rachel, but I will give it all, every penny 
 of it, to set Arthur free. But — but — Rachel, I cannot 
 think how Mr. Caldwell found out that I was here .■■ " 
 
 "Don't you see by the envelope that it was sent to 
 Branlea," replied Rachel, " and only yesterday I wrote 
 to Branlea post-office ordering all your mail forwarded 
 here. I — I — thought you would want your letters, if 
 there were any th»re for you, before you started off on 
 your bridal trip. That's how it happened." 
 
 " We must go at once to London, and see Mr. Cald- 
 well," decided Helen. 
 
 It was a little past noon on the following day when a 
 coach stopped in front of a London Court, in which was 
 Lawyer Caldwell's office. 
 
 Pen in hand, his keen, shrewd face full of deep 
 thought^ the famous counsellor sat at a large, square 
 table, deeply engaged in reading a parchment deed that 
 was spread out before hnn. He was oblivious to every- 
 thing except the sheet at which he was looking. He 
 started when his clerk opened the door suddenly and 
 announced that a lady wished to see him on very partic- 
 ular business if he were disengaged, at the same time 
 placing before him Miss Trevalyn's card. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the lawyer, " the very person I was 
 thinking about. Show her in at once, John." 
 
 A moment later Miss Trevalyn stood before him. 
 
 Hard and impressible man of law though he was, Mr. 
 Caldwell was just a little startled at the fair vision of 
 girlish loveliness standing before him, and not a little 
 bewildered too, as he took in in the first keen, sweeping 
 glance, that her eyes were red and swollen with tears. 
 
 He placed a chair for her with a low bow. " You 
 received my letter. Miss Trevalyn, I infer," he said, " and 
 I am much "pleased, I assure you, to hear from you so 
 
tzS THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 soon, and in person, regarding the land I wrote you 
 about. The finding of the vein of ore was purely acci- 
 dental ; it will prove a bonanza for you, my dear young 
 lady. Let me congratulate you on your good fortune in 
 owning that land." 
 
 Miss' Trevalyn, who had sunk down into the seat indi- 
 cated, looked at him with great tears shining in her 
 lovely dark eyes. 
 
 " Oh, sir," she faltered piteously, "it is not about the 
 — the — land that I wished to see you. You can have it 
 at the price you mentioned. I am come to see you on a 
 far more important subject than that, on a matter where 
 a human life is at stake. You have heard, I am sure, of 
 the tragedy that — that — took place at Trevalyn Park 
 some few weeks ago. All London was excited over 
 it." 
 
 " You mean the murder of the Earl of Dunraven ? " he 
 asked kindly, noting her great agitation. 
 
 " Yes," she faltered, with a quivering sob. " I wish to 
 engage you to defend the young man who has just been 
 arrested, charged with the crime, for he is innocent, sir ; 
 only set him free and I will give you my entire fortune— 
 and — and — bless you to my latest breath." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THORNS AMID THE ROSES. 
 
 Lawyer Caldwell looked at the lovely tear-staiucd 
 face of the pretty young girl before him with much 
 sympathy, 
 
 " My dear child," he said, " I thank you for the con- 
 fidence you seeiM to repose in me. I will do my best 
 certainly, tut I cannot assure you with what success. I 
 am familiar with the case as detailed by all the London 
 papers.' I read too, in last night's dispatches that the 
 young man, Mr. Arthur Douglas, had been apprehended 
 and taken back to Branlea, just as he was about being 
 united in marriage to you. It is he, of course, to whom 
 you refer." 
 
 " Yes," replied Helen, " and I repeat, sir, he is inno- 
 cent. I tell you I know he is innocent 1 " (this vehe- 
 mently) " for — " The sentence ended in a gasp. The 
 young lady turned so deadly pale that the lawyer sprang 
 quickly to her side fearing she was about to swoon. She 
 recovered herself with a powerful effort, and for a 
 moment, the lawyer's calm steady gray eyes caught and 
 held the terrified glance'of the startled dark ones. 
 
 " Great God 1 what had she been about to say ! " was 
 the thought that flashed through Helen's brain. She 
 had always heard that the famous lawyer before her was 
 a great mind reader. " Did he know that she was just 
 about to declare that she knew Arthur Douglas to be 
 innocent, for — she — knew — ivho — committed — the — crime f" 
 
 127 
 
128 THAT PRETTY YQUNG GIRL. 
 
 Noting her great agitation, the lawyer easily turned the 
 conversation into other channels, and shortly Miss Tre- 
 valyn regained her self-possession to a great extent. 
 Before she left Mr. Caldwell's office she had his promise 
 that he would undertake the defence, and this meant a 
 great deal from London's famous cout.sellor : and he had 
 agreed too, to run up to Branlea in the early part of the 
 'ollowing.week to see Mr. Douglas, relative to the all- 
 -mportant affair. 
 
 Helen left the office with tears standing m her eyes, 
 and the memory of her earnest pleading ihat he would 
 exert every power to save Arthur Douglas, haunted him 
 for many a long houi; after. 
 
 " Miss Trevalyn is the noblest, grandest woman I 
 have ever met," he mused, and his hard, grim, bachelor 
 heart grew strangely tender. " If I had known such a 
 woman as that, life might have gone differently \Vith me 
 in my early days. I might have had home, wife and 
 children. Heigho 1 how foolish I am to allow myself to 
 yearn all at once for these things now ; " and even 
 though he said that, he bowed his head and wept at the 
 thought that when his last hour would come, it would be 
 the hand of strangers that held a cup of water to his lips ; 
 no one would shed a tear for him, his memory would be 
 kept green in no loving heart, no childish hands would 
 plant roses over his grave, the money he had hoarded 
 and made a god of would go to endow public institutions 
 for the benefit of people who had never known him and 
 who cared still less about who or what he had been, so 
 long as they reaped the harvest of the gold he had toiled 
 so hard and so patiently to accumulate, and he thought 
 of that sad plaint of Shelley's : 
 
 " Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save. 
 From the cradle to the grave, 
 
THORNS AMID THE ROSES. 129 
 
 Those ungrateful drones who would 
 Drain your sweat — nay, drink your blood ? 
 Have ye leisure, comfort, calm. 
 Shelter, food, love's gentle balm ? 
 Or what is it ye buy so dear 
 With your pain and with your fear ? 
 The seed ye sow another reaps ; 
 The wealth ye find another keeps ; 
 The robes ye weave another wears ; 
 The arms ye forge another bears." 
 
 Lawyer Caldwell looked long and earnestly at his face 
 reflected in the mirror, when he reached his lodgings 
 that day. 
 
 His hair which had once been so dark and luxuriant, 
 was now heavily streaked with silver threads ; he noted 
 it — and for the first time in his life — with bitter 'regret. 
 The dark eyes were faded, and the marks of time, which 
 had dealt none too kindly with him, had seamed his face 
 with unsightly lines under the eyes and about the mouth. 
 He certainly looked every hour of his nine-and-forty 
 years. 
 
 " It is too late to hope for love now" he sighed. " No 
 woman would love me, for myself. I must not allow my 
 mind to indulge in foolish fancies over what might have 
 been, or to think of sweet Helen Trevalyn; she can 
 never be anything to me — never ! But ah ! — heaven help 
 me — how it would please me to know that she thought of 
 me in the light of a true friend." 
 
 Suddenly a strange idea came to him, and he did not 
 put it from him, but mused over it until at last it became 
 his constant thought. 
 
 It was the middle of the following week ere he reached 
 
 Branlea, and without waiting to taste food or drink (so 
 
 deep was the interest in- this case), he drove straightway 
 
 to Branlea jail. He had more than ordinary interest in 
 
 9 
 
130 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 seeing the prisoner, and awaited with some curiosity his 
 first glance at him. 
 
 Lawyer Caldwell formed instantaneous impressions of 
 the people with whom he came in contact. He was a 
 careful phrenologist and studied faces very accurately. 
 This gave him a knowledge of persons, and a power over 
 them which he could never have possessed in any other 
 way. He was wont to say : " Half of the people in the 
 world went wrong, making most grievous mistakes sim- 
 ply through ignorance in not making themselves familiar 
 with this great study,'' and to agree with a great author 
 of the day who has said : 
 
 " The face, as a whole with its accompanying expression, 
 reveals one's nature and animal propensities. It likewise 
 shows whether the faculties are active or passive, while 
 the head shows their size and proportion to one another. 
 Every feature of the iace has its appropriate manifesta- 
 tion. The forehead portrays the amount of intellect. 
 The chin tells us how much persistence, ardor, intensity 
 and the kind of affectionate desire one possesses. The 
 mouth shows how much affection one has — whether 
 friendly, sociable, warm-hearted or the reverse. The 
 nose represents the selfish traits and propensities — those 
 qualities of mind that make men bold, fearless, aggres- 
 sive, far-seeing, defensive, determined and accumula- 
 tive. 
 
 " Although every person has a distinct character, yet 
 there are certain types of character, and every person 
 belongs to one or another, or, at least, partakes more of 
 the qualities of one- than another; so that when you 
 understand a certain type, you have the key that will 
 unlock the door to the general character of every person 
 belonging to that cast or type. In addition to this, there 
 are certain principles which lie at the foundation of 
 human nature, and the existence or manifestation of 
 
THORNS AMID THE ROSES. 131 
 
 these principles will be perceptible, to a greater or less 
 extent, in the formation of individual character. One 
 is, that size and quality are a measure of power ; another, 
 that no faculty or organ can display its full power until 
 fully developed and properly exercised ; another, that 
 coarseness or fineness, or in other words, the texture of 
 the human body, is indicative of a like condition of the 
 mind. 
 
 " A fine mind is always indicated by a fine organization. 
 As well look for the sun to shine at night, as to see ele- 
 gance, taste, refinement and delicacy of thought in one 
 whose body is rough, coarse and common. The skin of 
 such a person should be pur€-looking, soft, even, and of 
 fine texture. The hair should likewise be very fine and 
 soft. Mind moulds and rules the body, and not the body 
 the mind ; therefore, if the mind is not finely organized, 
 neither is the body. By fineness of mind, the largest and 
 most active organ or organs of the brain will determine 
 the general tone or character of conversation. Thus, if 
 approbativeness is the ruling faculty, the social conver- 
 sation of those possessing it will be chiefly about them- 
 selves, their own business and social affairs, or those 
 relatives, friends and acquaintances they may feel it to 
 be a credit or benefit to themselves to speak of. If 
 araativeness and conjugality are the largest they will talk 
 much about the opposite sex, courtship, marriage and 
 love-affairs in all their various phases. What people 
 think about the most, Hiey like to talk about when they 
 have the opportunity. 
 
 " All the moral organs have their signs more or less 
 expressed in the physiognomy, and especially in the 
 conduct and attitude. Conscientiousness imparts a grave 
 and even stern expression to the face. Hope imparts a 
 sort of cheerfulness ; in one with a good degree of the 
 vital temperament, it inspires a marked sprightliness in 
 
132 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 the play of the features, and buoyancy and life in the 
 attitudes, and so on. 
 
 " These principles and these manifestations are the 
 same throughout the entire human race ; so that if we 
 once understand them and carefully apply them, our 
 deductions and conclusions will be correct in every 
 instance." 
 
 Lawyer Caldwell was as we have said, an acute reader 
 of human nature, and for that reason, looked forward 
 with considerable eagerness and curiosity to his meeting 
 with Arthur Douglas. 
 
 At last, he stood before the door of his cell, and a 
 moment later the turnkey flung it open, saying in his low, 
 measured tone, " No. 23, your lawyer is here, and wishes to 
 speak with you." A young man who had been sitting on 
 the only seat the narrow cell contained, rose quickly, and 
 looked eagerly at the visitor. 
 
 " I have been expecting you, Mr. Caldwell," he said, 
 with eager wistfulness. " Pray enter and be seated." 
 
 The lawyer gave him a quick, keen glance. The tall 
 handsome figure and frank, open countenance impressed 
 him favorably, as well as the deep, well modulated tone 
 of the speaker's voice. 
 
 His critical examination was : 
 
 An amiable face, loving mouth, soft, gentle eye, a 
 refined nose, strong moral brain, good intellect, and 
 decidedly strong affections ; wins the world by his ten- 
 derness and affection, though he is a man of talent, and 
 especially has he sympathy and human nature, hence his 
 perfect personations of sympathetic character. Organ of 
 friendship large ; organ of destructiveness decidedly 
 small. 
 
 A well-balanced physiognomy and phrenology ; the 
 splendid chin shows strong vital power and eminent 
 social tendencies, while the nose indicates refinement, 
 
THORNS AMID THE ROSES. I33 
 
 precision, criticism, self-reliance, and his forehead, easy 
 adaptation to his circumstances and surroundings. A 
 large brain and harmonious temperament, a good moral 
 development. 
 
 " You have been in the fresh air and sunshine," said 
 Arthur Douglas. " Could you not have brought in some 
 for me ? " 
 
 "There is but little sunshine in this dreary place," 
 replied Donald Caldwell. " I have hastened to you. 
 The assizes are iixed for the twelfth ; we have no time to 
 lose." 
 
 " The assizes ! " he cried, his face growing colorless 
 even to the lips. " I cannot realize it, Mr. Caldwell ; it 
 seems to me like a hideous dream — a nightmare — a hor- 
 ror that I cannot face ! Do you mean to tell me that I, 
 Arthur Douglas, must stand and take my trial in a 
 crowded court on a charge of murder ? " 
 
 "It is so, unfortunately," replied the lawyer; "but, 
 remember, trial is not conviction — people are acquitted 
 as well as condemned. Will you sit down, Mr. Douglas, 
 and let us begin business at once ? I want to draw an 
 outline of your defence this morning." 
 
 "How can it be my defence," he said, indignantly, 
 " when I am innocent ? " 
 
 " I want to prove your innocence," answered the law- 
 yer, quietly, " and I can do it best from your own lips. 
 Will you sit down, Mr. Douglas, and we will begin." 
 
 He still stood looking' at him with dreamy eyes. The 
 turnkey had left them together. 
 
 " I remember seeing you once at the great banquet in 
 London," he said, suddenly. " Did you see me ? It was 
 last Christmas." 
 
 " Yes," replied Lawyer Caldwell, " I seldom forget a 
 face, — I remember you, you sat opposite me at the table. 
 I saw you," 
 
134 THAT PRfiTTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " Did you think, then, that it would ever be your fate 
 to defend me on a trial for murder ? " 
 
 " Heaven knows that such a wildly improbable thought 
 never crossed my mind," he replied. 
 
 "I remember," he continued, "looking at you; you 
 were talking to the Duke of Hess, and I thought what a 
 clever face you had. I never dreamed that I should 
 stand in a prison cell with you for my only friend." 
 
 " We must open the doors of the cell," said -the lawyer, 
 trying to spea}c cheerfully. " Will you sit down, Mr. 
 Douglas?" he asked again. "I have much to say to 
 you. I consider that in a great measure your life is in 
 your own hands, for it depends entirely on the defence 
 which you will enable me to make for you." 
 
 He drew his chair to the table and placed on it differ- 
 ent papers and closely folded documents ; he sat oppo- 
 site to him, fear and anger in his eyes. 
 
 " As the case stands in its bare details," he said, " with- 
 out any defence, I am bound most sorrowfully to say, it 
 is against you, Mr. Douglas. The question is, on what 
 grounds shall I conduct the defence ? You have a good 
 case of your own, no doubt ? " 
 
 " I have none," replied Arthur. " I have no defence." 
 
 " No defence ? " repeated Lawyer Caldwell. 
 
 "None, except my own word. I did not do it; I am 
 perfectly innocent of all knowledge of it," replied Arthur 
 in a firm voice. 
 
 The lawyer looked perplexed. 
 
 " You must have more to say than this,'' he cried ; 
 " the unravelling of the mystery must lie in your hands." 
 
 " It does not," answered Arthur, firmly. " I know 
 nothing of it. I did not do it ! It is absurd to think 
 that I, who have never injured any human being, who 
 have never inflicted pain on anything created; I, who 
 have turned aside in my path lest I should tread upon a 
 
THORNS AMID THE ROSES. 
 
 135 
 
 worm ; that I could have murdered — a crime so black and 
 horrible as to be rare even in this wicked world. Even 
 supposing that I could be black enough in heart and soul 
 to have done such a thinjg — what interest had I in such a 
 deed ? " 
 
 "The world says you disliked him," said Lawyer Cald- 
 well. 
 
 " That is quite true," he replied,^ calmly. " I disliked 
 him more than any man I have ever met." 
 
 " The world says you cared for — or I may say plainly — 
 you loved the woman the Earl of Dunraven was to wed ; 
 and the world kindly adds that was your motive for the 
 murder." 
 
 For one moment lawyer and client looked steadily into 
 each other's eyes ; they seemed to read each other's soul. 
 Then a spasm of pain passed over Arthur Douglas' face 
 and his lips quivered. 
 
 "We had better sp^ak plainly," he said. "You are 
 here to defend me. Have you already judged me ? " 
 
 "My dear Mr. Douglas, be reasonable," replied the 
 lawyer, " We are strangers to each other. If 1 had to 
 judge from your face I should say you were inpocent as 
 an angel. The defence in your case has been put into 
 my hands. I must judge from the circumstances that 
 surround the case. One thing is quite certain in a 
 matter of this kind,' it is the best and wisest policy always 
 to tell your own lawyer the perfect truth. Knowing it, he 
 still takes the greatest interest in clearing you. "Knowing 
 it, he is forewarned and forearmed ; at no point of the 
 case can anything unforeseen turn up and perhaps spoil 
 the whole line of his defence. It is better, wiser, more 
 politic in every sense and way that the lawyer who holds 
 the defence in his hand should know the exact and per- 
 fect truth." 
 
 There was silence again for some minutes, and the 
 
136 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 prisoner's face grew more troubled. Donald Caldwell 
 went on : 
 
 " A lawyer knows almost as much of human nature as 
 a doctor or a priest. Nothing surprises him, nor should 
 any one be afraid to make a full confession to him. It is 
 the safest and the only plan." 
 
 The troubled face drooped still lower. The lawyer's 
 kindly heart was deeply touched. 
 
 " From what you have read of the case, Mr. Caldwell, 
 from what you have heard, will you tell me what you 
 yourself think — do you judge me innocent or guilty ? " 
 
 "That is hardly a fair question," replied the lawyer. 
 " As I have said, if I judged you from outward appear- 
 ances, I should say ' innocent.' If I judged you by the 
 bare newspaper report, I should say that appearances 
 were decidedly against you. My business is to find out 
 the truth and then do the best I can for you." 
 
 The troubled look seemed to clear from Arthur Doug- 
 las' face. 
 
 " I will tell you the truth," he said. " I cannot com- 
 pel you to believe it. l feet that I am innocent of this 
 crime as yoji are. I am as innocent of any knowledge or 
 complicity in it as you can be ; and I call Heaven, my 
 only refuge, to witness the truth of what I say. I will 
 tell you my story — surely the strangest one that man ever 
 had to tell." 
 
 And this he proceeded to do, and at the close of it. 
 Lawyer Caldwell found himself wondering whether indeed 
 the young man was innocent or guilty. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LAWYER CALDWELL MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. 
 
 For some moments after Arthur Douglas had ceased 
 speaking, Lawyer Caldwell sat looking intently from the 
 window. Suddenly he turned to his client, saying 
 earnestly : — 
 
 " I am more puzzled now than I was when I first un- 
 dertook the case. I see no motive for the crime. I can 
 see no solution of the mystery. It is all perfectly incom- 
 prehensible to me ; I see no grounds of defence. Ap- 
 pearances are against you, but all the evidence that can 
 be brought against you is purely circumstantial. It is a 
 difficult case." 
 
 " I see it," said Arthur Douglas, sadly ; " but it is hard 
 for me, Mr. Caldwell. I have done nothing on earth to 
 deserve it. I am most certainly as innocent of all 
 knowledge of the crime as an angel from heaven could 
 be. It is bitterly, cruelly hard that I should have to 
 suffer for what must be either the sin of another, of 
 an accident. Do you think, on such evidence as will 
 be brought against me — do you think that any jury would 
 condemn me ? " 
 
 " I do not like to "arouse your fears, neither do I wish 
 to give you any false hopes," the lawyer gravely replied. 
 "The case, as it stands against you, certainly looks 
 desperate. I had hoped, in listening to the story of your 
 life, that I should hear something which would at least 
 be the groundwork of my defence, but the story is bare 
 
 137 
 
138 THAT VRETTY YOUNG GlfeL. 
 
 enough ; but for all that I will do the best I can foi 
 you." 
 
 While this interview was taking place in the Branlea 
 jail, one quite as thrilling was transpiring in the drawing- 
 room of Trevalyn Hall, that morning; 
 
 With the unexpected resources which Miss Trevalyn 
 suddenly found herself possessed, she was enabled to 
 purchase back the old home which had been the home of 
 the Trevalyns for generations back, — and here she was 
 once more installed as the jpung mistress, — with Rachel 
 and all the old, faithful retainers about her. 
 
 No words could tell how she missed the old squire. 
 If she had known the whereabouts of her stepmother, 
 she would have written her, that she might still have a 
 home at Trevalyn V-illa if she felt so disposed, for the 
 sake of the love the poor squire had borne her in the 
 past, so forgiving and benevolent was the gentle heart 
 that beat in Helen Trevalyn's bosom. 
 
 Since her return to Branlea, all her thoughts and 
 hopes were centred in this one aim — to secure the free- 
 dom of the man she loved. On this eventful morning of 
 which we speak, Helen had been much disturbed by a 
 card that had been handed her. It bore the name of 
 Hubert Harper. On the back of it were the pencilled 
 words : " Please believe that it would be for your inter- 
 est to see me. Miss Trevalyn." 
 
 "Shall you go, Miss Helen?" asked Rachel, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " I suppose I must," answered the girl. 
 
 Mr. Harper was standing at the Wndow, with his back 
 turned to her when she entered the room. At the sound 
 of her silken skirts on the velvet carpet he wheeled sud- 
 denly about, advancing with outstretched hands to meet 
 her. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn drew back with cold pride. 
 
LAWYER CALDWELL MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. 139 
 
 "You wished to see me," she said haughtily. " May I 
 ask that you will make this interview as short as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " You still hold out as stiffly as ever against me, I 
 see," he said, with a lowering brow. 
 
 " Did you come here to renew the subject of your last 
 interview with me ? " asked Miss Trevalyn with superb 
 anger, rising hastily from the chair on which she had 
 seated herself. 
 
 " I came to make a last proposition to you, Miss 
 Helen," said, Harper coolly. "You defied my power, 
 and now you see what that power has accomplished. No 
 one on earth could save Arthur Douglas — but myself." 
 
 "How could you save him?" breathed Helen, in a 
 low voice, catching her breath hard. 
 
 " Promise to marry me and the way shall be made 
 clear to "you," he returned eagerly. "Refuse,^and the 
 law shall take its course. Your great London lawyer 
 might as well attempt to beat back the ocean waves as 
 to snatch young Douglas from the fate that awaits 
 him. 
 
 "Then how could you accomplish it .' " repeated Helen, 
 in a voice husky with intense repressed emotion. 
 
 For the first time in his life, the usual-ly shrewd,' calrh 
 detective lost his head, replying quickly : " I know of a 
 woman for whom the case would look quite as dark as it 
 does now for Douglas. Marry me and I swear to you I 
 will throw open the prison doors and set him free." 
 
 "And if I still refuse your offer.?" murmured Helen, 
 in a hard, constrained half-whisper. 
 
 " Then I shall not raise one finger to keep him from 
 hanging 1 " declared Harper. 
 
 " According to your own words you know Mr. Douglas 
 to be innocent, arid you believe that there is some woman 
 connected with the affair. I shall tell Mr. Caldwell of 
 
140 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL, 
 
 these remarks," declared Helen; "they may aid him 
 materially." 
 
 All in a flash Harper saw his mistake in making this 
 fatal admission. 
 
 " I advise you not to mention it, my dear Miss Tre- 
 valyn, for that would bring out the lady in the case, 
 whom I would give my life to shield." 
 
 " You could not mean — you dare not insinuate — that — 
 that—" 
 
 " I regret that I can say no more on the subject," he 
 declared. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn's face turned deadly white. " My 
 God ! " she cried, recoiling, uttering the words in a 
 faint, awful whisper, " surely you could not be so cruel as 
 to think that /was — the— the — " 
 
 " I repeat that I have nothing more to say on the sub- 
 ject," replied Harper, with a low, mocking bow. " Mr. 
 Douglas' fate lies in your hands — you can save him — or 
 — not — as you decree." 
 
 " Leave me ! " cried Miss Trevalyn, " you torture me 
 beyond words! Your presence another moment here 
 would kill me." 
 
 " I go," returned Hubert Harper, " but remember this : 
 if you would save Arthur Douglas, yoU must recall me 
 before it is too late. You understand that would mean 
 that you will be — my wife." Without another word he 
 bowed himself from her presence. 
 
 This interview proved too much for the strength ot 
 Helen's overwrought nerves ; ere the sound of his foot- 
 steps had died away, she had fallen to the floor in a 
 deep swoon, and there Rachel found her some time 
 later. 
 
 Who shall attempt to describe the days that followed, 
 for each day brought the trial of Arthur Douglas near«». 
 Miss Trevalyn visited her lover in Branlea jail regularly, 
 
LAWYER CALDWELL MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. 141 
 
 and those who witnessed these interviews and the jjarting 
 of the lovers described them as heart-rending. 
 
 Much to Harper's wonder, the day of trial came and 
 he had not heard one word from Miss Trevalyn. People 
 came to Branlea to hear the trial from all parts of Eng- 
 land. It was the general topic of conversation. There 
 had been nothing like the excitement it created in Bran- 
 lea for years. Even the best friends of Arthur Douglas 
 shook their heads, and told each other that they dared 
 not think what the result might be. They predicted too, 
 some terrible denouement if Miss Trevalyn persisted in 
 coming to hear the trial and being near her lover when 
 the verdict was announced. Even Lawyer Caldwell 
 tried to remonstrate with her against this step. 
 
 " My place is by his side," she said, raising her dark, 
 tear-wet eyes to his face, " and — and — if — they pronounce 
 him guilty, I will fall on my face dead." This was tlie 
 very thing the lawyer feared. 
 
 Lawyer Caldwell had worked incessantly for his client, 
 his days had been given up to preparing his line of argu- 
 ment, his nights had been without sleep. He had pre- 
 pared a most elaborate and exhaustive defence ; he had 
 the firmest faith in his innocence, and yet he despaired 
 of the result. Everything was against him, and in his 
 favor there was nothing to say. If ever circumstantial 
 evidence went against any one, it was against Arthur 
 Douglas. He had but the faintest hope ; he had had 
 repeated interviews with him, and at each one he had 
 started some fresh theory, only to find it useless. 
 
 No one connected with that memorable affair ever for- 
 got how dark and cloudy was the morning of this day 
 which was to prove so eventful. Before noon a few rain- 
 drops, like .angels' tears fell. This certainly did not look 
 very comforting and hopeful to Arthur Douglas. B}- 
 noon the largest concourse of people had, gathered within 
 
142 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 the narrow limits of the court-room that was ever banded 
 together beneath one roof in Branlea. And then began 
 the trial that was to end in life or the death of the hand- 
 some, calm-faced young man who occupied the prisoners' 
 box. 
 
 The evidence was strong ; no one else had even a 
 faint dislike to the hapless young Earl of Dunraven. 
 The crime had not been committed for booty ; his jewelry 
 was lying about, but not even a ring had been touched. 
 There was no possible motive to be assigned save 
 jealousy ; there was no one jealous but Arthur Douglas. 
 
 So argued the prosecution ; so thought the jury ; and 
 in defence what was there to be said ? But from the 
 first it was noticed that the evidence was telling against 
 him. The jury had to steel themselves, as they listened. 
 
 Yes, the evidence had told against him ; one could 
 read it in the faces of the jurymen, which grew graver 
 and sadder — in the face of the judge, which was sorrow- 
 ful with a great sorrow — in the weeping eyes of women 
 and the bent brows of stern men. 
 
 Only one man had noticed the entrance of a woman, 
 who had edged her way into the crowded court-room, 
 keeping the long cloak she wore tightly folded about her, 
 and her veil drawn closely over her face^taking her 
 seat near the door — and that was Harper, the detective. 
 
 " If it isn't Fifine, by all that is wonderful ! " he mut- 
 tered under his breath. " I was sure this trial would 
 draw her here as a needle to the magnet. He circled the 
 room until he stood directly behind her, but she was too 
 interested in watching, and listening with breathless 
 -attention to every word that fell from the prosecutor's 
 lips to pay heed to anything else transpiring around her. 
 " I shall know just where to put my hands on you if I 
 want you, my fair Fifine," he muttered with much satis- 
 faction, as he leansid back against an adjacent p6st and 
 
LAWYER CALDWELL MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. 1^3 
 
 gave himself up to watching the proceedings of the tn'al 
 again. 
 
 "That pretty young girl," as they had styled Helen 
 Trevalyn, was quite as much an object of curiosity as the 
 handsome ■ prisoner himself. She sat quite erect, her 
 fair, sweet face white as snow, her dark eyes lowbred and 
 drenched with tears, her little clasped hands trembling 
 in her lap. The vast crowd did not wonder as they 
 watched her, that each of these two lovers should have 
 fought so bitterly to have won her. 
 
 No one knew the thoughts that were struggling in the 
 girl's mind as she listened to the fatal evidence against 
 her lover, which was strong. People of unimpeachable 
 veracity came forward and said that they had heard the 
 prisoner threaten that he would slay the deceased if he 
 took from him the woman he loved ; and those words, 
 spoken by him in the mad frenzy of jealousy, meaning 
 nothing then, had a very different and far more horrible 
 sound when repeated in a court of justice. He had been 
 heard to threaten the Earl of Dunraven on different 
 occasions. A dozen witnesses could swear to the ill- 
 feeling there was between the two. There was a hush in 
 the crowded court-room when the great criminal lawyer, 
 Donald Caldwell, took his stand to open out the defence. 
 But as he uttered the first few words, every one noticed 
 that there was something terribly wrong with him, his 
 face paled, his hands shook, and the usually sonorous 
 voice was low and husky. He had barely finished the 
 first sentence ere he threw up his hands and fell heavily 
 to the floor stricken with apoplexy. 
 
 There was a great furore, when he was carried from 
 the room. Despite their grave fears for the brilliant 
 lawyer, they were equally as anxious for handsome Arthur 
 Douglas, and for the young girl who looked on with a 
 look of terror in her eyes. 
 
144 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 The presiding judge was just about to adjourn the 
 great trial, on account of Lawyer Caldwell's sudden ill 
 ness, when an extraordinary event happened. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE GREAT UNKNOWN, WHO ELECTRIFIES JUDGE AND JURY 
 BY HIS POWERFUL APPEAL. 
 
 I can but own my life is vain, 
 
 A desert void of peace ; 
 I missed the goal I sought to gain, 
 I missed the measure of the strain 
 That lull's Famels fever in the brain 
 
 And bids earth's tumults cease. 
 
 At this important juncture, a stranger rose hastily from 
 among the crowd and begged that the trial might be 
 permitted to go on, and that he might undertake the 
 defence for just one hour's time. 
 
 "I am a lawyer," continued the stranger, "and 'know 
 more about this case, perhaps, than any living man. 
 Lawyer Caldwell not excepted. I have travelled hun- 
 dreds of miles to be present to-day. All I ask is one 
 hour's time ere the case be adjourned." 
 
 The presi(Kng judge hesitated a moment, and in that 
 moment the cry of the people, urging that the strapger 
 might be heard, certainly influenced him. It was plainly 
 evident Lawyer Caldwell would never again plead before 
 an earthly judge, and the fate of the prisoner, Arthur 
 Douglas, could hardly be in worse shape. He decided to 
 let the stranger .proceed for the defence. At this, a loud 
 murmur of approbation ran through the room. 
 
 The stranger did not impress the people very favorably 
 at first glance ; his face was too pallid, his dark restless 
 W MS 
 
146 t&AT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 eyes had a strange gleam in them, and his hair and 
 whiskers were too black and bushy. But in all the annals 
 of the law no more brilliant defence has ever been 
 recorded than that made by the stranger in favor of 
 Arthur Douglas. It was a masterpiece of eloquence, of 
 subtle reasoning, of close argument. People listened 
 entranced : they would have so listened all day. He 
 spoke for four hours, and the attention of his hearers 
 never flagged. 
 
 He took the points that had been brought against him 
 one after the other, and, in the opinion of many, com- 
 pletely demolished them. 
 
 It was an argument never forgotten by those who 
 heard it for its astonishing force, its keen wit, its bitter 
 satire and its subtle pathos. The eloquence of this 
 silver-tongued orator astounded his hearers, and as he 
 warmed with his theme his words stirred the hearts of 
 the people as the whirlwind stirs the leaves of the trees. 
 Women wept, and tears came to the eyes of strong men. 
 And then the stranger made an appeal to the jury 
 for Arthur Douglas' life, that fairly electrified them. He 
 warned them against being led by appearances, by cir- 
 cumstantial evidence, and left the life of Helen Trevalyn's 
 lover in their hands. And when the grand, sonorous 
 voice ceased, there was scarcely a dry eye among that 
 vast concourse of people. » 
 
 After the summing up of the judge, the jury retired to 
 consider their verdict,^ As Arthur Douglas watched them 
 leave the court, his very life seemed to go with them. 
 " Guilty," or Not Guilty ? " He would soon know his fate 
 — freedom or the scaffold stood before him. A few 
 minutes, or a few hours, and he should l^now. His eyes 
 had grown dim and sightless, a confused murmur 
 filled his ears. Said one stranger to another in the 
 crowd : 
 
THE GREAT UNKNOWN, 1 47 
 
 "I would not have been on that jury for the world. 
 I have been present during the whole trial ; I have heard 
 all the evidence, yet, if it were to save my life, I could 
 not tell whether that man is innocent or guilty. I have 
 never heard evidence so evenly balanced. I cannot tell 
 whether Arthur Douglas is a clever, designing criminal, or 
 a cruelly injured man. 
 
 -At last the sunshine of that September day faded, and 
 a dull yellow light filled the court. When the jury went 
 out to consider their verdict, the prisoner, white and cold 
 as death, was led from the dock. The jury were absent 
 for more than an hour, and when they returned it was to 
 a scene no one ever forgot. Through the large windows 
 could be seen the darkening sky, and the hoarse murmur 
 of the crowd surrounding the court could be plainly 
 heard. Tier after tier of eager faces was lifted, all eyes 
 were bent in one direction. The gas had been lighted 
 and threw a curious, livid hue on the hundreds of assem- 
 bled faces. The one object of interest was the slender 
 figure of Helen Trevalyn, who still sat quite erect, her 
 hands clasped, her fair, sweet face white as snow, her 
 blue eyes lowered and drenched with tears, her lips 
 closed like the bud of a white flower — surely the most 
 pitiful figure ever seen on earth. 
 
 Oh, heaven ! that the agony of it did not kill her ! The 
 jury returned. The suspense and excitement were some- 
 thing terrible. One wild prayer went from her heart to 
 her lips — one prayer, that heaven would take pity on her, 
 and spare her her lover's life went up to the great White 
 Throne. 
 
 Slowly they took their places, and then the question 
 was asked that meant life or death to Arthur Douglas. 
 
 " How say you, gentleman of the jury — do you find the 
 prisoner guilty or not guilty ? " 
 
 There was a moment's silence ; one might have heard 
 
148 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 a pin drop ; in the whole of that crowded court there was 
 not a sound. 
 
 " Guilty ! " was the word that fell like a death-knell— 
 and the eager expectation gave way to a murmur of 
 dismay. 
 
 " Innocent, I say, and I will prove it 1 " cried a voice 
 that sounded like nothing human, and Miss Trevalyn 
 sprung to her feet, quivering with intense excitement. 
 " Hear me ! " she cried. " I say he did not kill the Earl 
 of Dunraven. f know who did it." 
 
 This thrilling announcement did not produce the effect 
 upon the people that she expected. Only one woman 
 seemed to hear it — a woman dressed in black — who wore 
 a long silk cloak and a dark veil drawn closely over her 
 face. She half rose from her seat, and those about her 
 heard her utter a frightened g^sp, tlien she sunk down 
 again shivering as with a sudden chill. It was — young 
 Mrs. Trevalyn, incognito. 
 
 People turned pitying glances upon Miss Trevalyn. 
 
 " I knew how it would end," one said to the other, 
 " the verdict has turned the girl's brain." 
 
 Gently they led Miss Trevalyn from the crowded room 
 though she pleaded vehemently to be allowed to speak. 
 Even the judge refrained from rebuking the girl for 
 this outbreak, out of pity for her great grief. And the 
 people said when they saw her swoon and fall back into 
 the arms of Rachel, her faithful maid, that, "uncon- 
 sciousness was a boon from heaven to her in this dread 
 hour." 
 
 As for Arthur Douglas, he walked with a firm step from 
 the crowded room. 
 
 Every one noticed how visibly the stranger who had 
 made such noble efforts to save Arthur Douglas was 
 affected when the jury brought in the verdict of 
 "guilty." 
 
THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 149 
 
 " I did my best to save him," he muttered, in a husky 
 voice to one of the bystanders, and, turning away he was 
 suddenly lost in the crowd. 
 
 It seemed to Helen Trevalyn that life ended for her 
 that night. She prayed heaven that she might never see 
 the dawn of another day. " My brain is turning, 
 Rachel,." she moaned, as she paced the floor rapidly to 
 and fro, wringing her hands. " I have often thought with 
 wonder what people must feel when they are going mad ; 
 now I realize it all. Oh, Rachel, they are taking him 
 from me, and — and — he is innocent, I tell you he is inno- 
 cent." 
 
 " I believe that too," sobbed Rachel, " but oh. Miss 
 Helen, twelve good and honest men see things different 
 from what we do." 
 
 " He is innocent," reiterated Helen Trevalyn. " If 
 they kill him, I shall die too, as Juliet died when death 
 took her Romeo from her." But Rachel thought this was 
 only an idle threat. 
 
 The fortitude of Arthur Douglas himself was some- 
 thing wonderful. But no one knew how, when he 
 reached the narrow confines of his cell again, he broke 
 down utterly, and throwing himself upon his narrow cot 
 gave vent to tears such as only strong men can shed in 
 great crises of their lives. 
 
 And thus his friend Montgomery found him when he 
 sought him a little later. 
 
 " For myself I do not care," he said with desperate 
 calmness at length, " but I grieve for my Helen, bless 
 her! This blow aimed at me will strike her too. 
 Through it all she has faith in my innocence, Mont- 
 gomery. Ah, was there ever a love as true, as steadfast, 
 as noble as hers ? " 
 
 "She is indeed a noble girl," responded Montgo- 
 mery. 
 
I go THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " If I could have lived I would have devoted my life to 
 my darling," he went on huskily. " You cannot realize 
 the awful sensation a man feels, when, in the midst of 
 youth, health and strength, he knows that he must die. 
 That all unprepared his soul is to be ushered into the 
 great eternity beyond, that awaits us all sooner or 
 later. 
 
 " If one is brought face to face with death from sick- 
 ness or accident, it is not so terrible to await the end 
 calmly and with fortitude ; but to await a death like this 
 acts like madness on the brain. To look out and see the 
 sunshine, knowing that you will see it rise and set but a 
 few short days, is a feeling that I cannot fully describe, 
 it is so appalling. A thousand times I have went over in 
 my mind every detail of that awful night's occurrence, 
 and again I solemnly assert to you that I cannot tell 
 whether I am indeed innocent — or — guilty. It is this 
 uncertainty that brings with thoughts of death the cruel- 
 est sting. 
 
 " Promise me, Montgomery, that you will be a brother 
 to my Helen after — I — am — gone. Poor girl! she will 
 almost break her heart grieving for me at first — but after 
 a time the bitterness of her grief will wear away. 
 
 " We bury those we love best, grieve for a time widi a 
 mighty grief, and then as the years roll on, we forget 
 them ; perhaps it is better so. A great writer has some- 
 where said : — 
 
 ■* I now, as my life grows older, 
 
 And mine eyes have clearer sight- 
 That under each rank Wrong, somewhere 
 
 There fies the root of Right. 
 That each sorrow has its purpose — 
 
 By the sorrowing oft unguessed. 
 But as sure as the sun brings morning. 
 
 Whatever is — is best. 
 
t»E GREAT UNKNOWN. ijj 
 
 * I know that each sinful action. 
 
 As sure as the night brings shade. 
 Is sometime, somewhere, punished. 
 
 Tho' the hour be long delayed. 
 I know that the soul is aided . 
 
 Sometimes by the heart's unrest. 
 And to grow, means often to suffer — 
 
 But whatever is — is best. 
 
 " I know there are no errors 
 
 In the great Eternal plan. 
 And all things work , together 
 
 For the final good of man. 
 And I know when my soul speeds onward 
 
 In the grand Eternal quest,- 
 I shall say, as I look back earthward. 
 
 Whatever is — is best.'' 
 
 For a moment both were silent ; suddenly Arthur Douglas 
 said : — " I should like to thank the man who conducted 
 my defence so grandly, who is he ? " 
 
 But no one could tell, nor could any trace of him be 
 found. He seemed to have vanished as completely as 
 though the earth bad opened and swallowed him. 
 
 When they told Arthur how bitterly the stranger had 
 taken his defeat in attempting to save him, great as 
 Arthur's grief was, he could not help but wonder at it. 
 " I cannot understand," he said thoughtfully. 
 
 " Nor can I," returned Montgomery. 
 
 "You say he is a sjranger here," continued Arthur, 
 " but it strikes me that I have seen him before, — .some- 
 time, somewhere in my life. Those dark, restless eyes 
 are strangely familiar." 
 
 " I think that is only your fancy," said Montgomery. 
 " No one around here seems to know him." 
 
 Arthur Douglas was too troubled to fix his thoughts on 
 any subject for any length of time, and after spending an 
 
152 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 hour or so with him in the vain hope of consoling him, 
 Montgomery took his leave. 
 
 From the first he had been a firm believer in Arthur 
 Douglas' innocence, but, like Lawyer Caldwell, he was 
 baflSed at every point in his atte^ipt to establish it. He 
 was quite powerless, — he could do nothing ; and the time 
 was drawing near when the last and most terrible act of 
 the tragedy was to take place. He left no stone un- 
 turned — but what could he do ? He sifted all the evi- 
 dence over and over again. It was no use; nothing 
 seemed to be of the least avail. 
 
 But, great as Montgomery's grief was, it was as nothing 
 compared to the agony Helen Trevalyn suffered as the 
 days dragged their slow lengths by. No one was sur- 
 prised to learn, at length, that she was very ill, — and for 
 a time her life was despaired of. It was pitiful to see 
 her, in her delirium, hold out her white arms and call for 
 her lover, and wonder why he did not come to her. 
 Heaven was kind to her that she did not realize that the 
 lover who would have given his life's blood for her was 
 withheld from her by cruel iron bars. 
 
 Montgomery made a valiant fight for his friend's life ; 
 a petition was drawn up and numerously signed praying 
 that, as the evidence against Arthur Douglas was wholly 
 circumstantial, the sentence might be commuted ; but the 
 Home Secretary saw no cause for interference and the 
 law was to take its course. 
 
 Every one hoped that the fatal day would come atid go 
 without Miss Trevalyn knowing it. Faithful Rachel, 
 who watched over her young mistress, prayed for it. But 
 Heaven knew best in not granting her prayer, and on the 
 morning of that never-to-be-forgotten day, Helen Treva- 
 lyn opened her eyes to consciousness. 
 
 For a moment, seeing Rachel bending over her she 
 was quite bewildered. " Have I been ill ? " she in- 
 
THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 153 
 
 •quired faintly, but before Rachel could answer, a cry so 
 wild and bitter that it terrified her broke from Miss 
 Trevalyn's lips, and clutching at her hands she shrieked 
 out in terror. " For the love of heaven tell me quickly 
 — has the fatal day passed ! or has it not yet come ? " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FATK HAS BEEN AGAINST ME FROM THE CRADLE TO THB 
 GRAVE. 
 
 Not one could tell, for nobody knew, 
 Why love was made to gladden a few, 
 And hearts that would forever be true, 
 Go lone and starved the whole way through. 
 
 Rachel hesitated. "This is the day, Miss Helen," 
 
 she said, "but it has not taken place yet, not until eleven 
 
 . o'clock — it is only eight in the morning now. I had 
 
 hoped that you would not know until all is over. Heaven 
 
 comfort you. Miss Helen ; try to bear it." 
 
 Miss Trevalyn turned her face to the wall with the bit- 
 terest moans that ever were heard. 
 
 It is intense grief like this that kills, as Rachel well 
 knew, and she said to herself that she must use strategy 
 to secj^re for poor Miss Helen release from her bitter woe 
 by giving her a potion that would produce a deep sleep. 
 Surely it would be a mercy to sleep through these dread 
 hours. 
 
 Slipping a vial from the stand which stood beside the 
 couch, Rachel poured a few drops from it into a glass of 
 water, little knowing that Helen had been watching her 
 movements through the mirror on the opposite wall and 
 divined her intention at once, and she was by no means 
 surprised when Rachel approached her, glass in hand, a 
 moment later, and begged that she would take a draught 
 of cold water, she looked so feverish. 
 
 ^54 
 
PAtE Has been against me. 155 
 
 " I will take it if you will fetch a piece of ice for it," 
 said Helen, .and Rachel hurried out of the room at once 
 to execute her order. 
 
 The door had no sooner closed behind her, then Helen 
 stretched forth her hand, and, grasping the goblet, tossed 
 its contents into a cuspadare close ,by. 
 
 Rachel was surprised to find the goblet empty wh^ 
 she returned with the ice. 
 
 " You were gone too long," said Helen, evasively. 
 
 " She will sleep soon," thought Rachel, looking com- 
 passionately down on the beautiful white face, and she 
 asked gently : " Is there .anything more that I can do for 
 you. Miss Helen ? " 
 
 " Yes ; leave me to myself," replied Helen, " and do 
 not come to me until I ring for you." 
 
 Rachel drew the blinds and lowered the heavy silken 
 curtains, shutting out the sunlight, then stole softly from 
 the room. The sound of her footsteps had scarcely died 
 away ere Helen sprung tremblingly from the couch and 
 commenced robing herself, weak and ill though she 
 was. 
 
 " Rachel would have tried to prevent me from going 
 out if she knew of it," she murmured through her sobs, 
 "but it must be done — it is a matter of life and death. 
 I must save the living at the expense of the reputation of 
 the dead." 
 
 " I shall go to Branlea jail, and there tell my father's 
 story, and then they will say that he, and not Arthur 
 Douglas— murdered — the — Earl of Dunraven. I cannot 
 sacrifice my lover even to shield the honor of the dead. 
 The hour has come when I must speak. You shall not 
 die Arthur, love, if I can save you by any human power. 
 Even if my father was innocent, the charge cannot harm 
 him now." 
 
 Nobody noticed Miss Trevalyn slip quietly from the 
 
IS^ THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 house, Stagger down the garden path, and pass out on to 
 the high road. Her route to the village lay through the 
 dense copse wood that skirted Branlea. It seemed to 
 Helen that intense excitement kept her up, weak as she 
 was, as she walked along. 
 
 She had traversed scarcely, half the distance through 
 iJie thick, dark wood, when she heard that which caused 
 her to stand quite still. It sounded like a low moan of a 
 human being in great pain. Helen listened intently, and 
 from the dense copse wood to the right the sound was 
 repeated. 
 
 Miss Trevalyn was braver than most young women ; 
 thrusting aside the branches she peered through them, 
 and saw a man lying there beside a fallen log. 
 
 " Thank God, for the sight <5f a human face ! " he cried 
 as he saw her, adding faintly, " water — water, for the 
 love of heaven, I am dying with thirst and pain, and 
 water within sight yonder." 
 
 Miss Trevalyn felt no fear ; hastily taking off her straw 
 hat, for there was nothing else to be utilized, she filled it 
 with the cooling water and brought it to him, and knelt 
 down among the tall ferns and daisy-studded grass, hold- 
 ing it to his white, parched lips. He took a long draught 
 and it seemed to revive him. 
 
 " For three days and three nights I have lain here," he 
 gasped. " I was coming through the wood when the ter- 
 rible storm came on ; the lightning felled a great tree in 
 the path before me. I sprang aside, but I was not quick 
 enough ; one of the great branches struck me. My left 
 ankle and my arm is broken ; above my heart there is a 
 cruel wound, too, and I have lain here three days slowly 
 dying, minute by minute, with the slow, awful, torturing 
 pain of it. 
 
 " I know you ! " he cried suddenly, between his heart- 
 rending moans. " You are that pretty young girl from 
 
FATE HAS BEEN. AGAINST ME. 157 
 
 Trevalyn Vi]la,— the girl that the Earl of Dunraven was 
 to have wed. Do you know me ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Helen, " you are the brave, unknown 
 lawyer who did so nobly in the defence of Arthur Doug- 
 las." 
 
 "But I could not save him," he moaned, "fate was 
 against me. I — I have counted the hours as I lay here, 
 and when the day dawned — this fatal day — when they are 
 to take the life of Arthur Douglas on the scaffold — I — I 
 thought I should go mad." 
 
 " Heaven bless you for the interest you have taken in 
 hifn, sir," sobbed Helen. " I will thank you with my 
 latest breath for it. I am on my way to save him now, 
 sir; every moment is precious, and I will send people to 
 aid you, sir. You shall be taken to Trevalyn Villa to be 
 nursed back to health and strength. 
 
 " It would be all useless to remove me, I can as well 
 die here as anywhere," moaned the stranger, " but send 
 some one here to me quickly. It is I — not you — who can 
 save Arthur Douglas from the gallows to-day for, listen 
 Helen Trevalyn, bring all the people here to hear my 
 confession, while yet there is breath enough left in me to 
 confess it. If was I who murdered the Earl of Dunraven . 
 on his wedding night.' 
 
 A wild cry broke from Miss Trevalyn 's lips — she drew 
 back aghast, and looked at the stranger with dilated 
 eyes. 
 
 At that moment there was a sound of carriage wheels, 
 and to Helen's intense joy she saw two gentlemen ap 
 preaching, one of whom she recognized as the judge of 
 the court, and his companion one of the lawyers con- 
 nected with the recent trial, and a man on the driver's box. 
 
 " Surely it must have been the hand of Gqd that sent 
 them in that direction in this propitious hour," Helen 
 told herself. 
 
158 THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 With an eager voice she called to them, and in a 
 moment they were kneeling in the long grass beside the 
 wounded man, and to them the stranger repeated the 
 words which had produced such a startling effect upon 
 Miss Trevalyn. Both the judge and the lawyer were 
 equally affected. 
 
 " I shall have time to tell my story," repeated the 
 stranger, " for the sun shows me that it cannot be much 
 more than the hour of nine, and — the — the — man — I must 
 save is not doomed to die until eleven." 
 
 " You must make your story brief," said the judge. 
 " Moments are precious." The judge turned and whis- 
 pered hastily to his coachman and in an instant that indi- 
 vidual was off like the wind. 
 
 " You need not send for the authorities to take me into 
 custody," said the stranger, noticing the action, "for 
 before they could arrive, I shall be where man's power 
 cannot harm me, for men cannot pursue me beyond the 
 gates of death." 
 
 " Be brief with your confession," urged the judge 
 again. " Moments are passing swiftly — you must realize 
 that. Are you willing for the lady to hear ?" he asked, 
 turning uneasily toward Miss Trevalyn. 
 
 " Yes, the story concerns her — at least the end of its" 
 replied the stranger, speaking with difficulty. 
 
 The lawyer gave him a draught from a flask he had 
 in his breast pocket, and the liquor revived him wonder- 
 fully. 
 
 " In the first place I am not what I seem," he said, and 
 raising his right hand he tore off the dark hair and 
 beard he wore, asking slowly, " Does any one here recog- 
 nize me now ? " 
 
 A low cry of amazement broke from Miss Trevalyn's 
 lips. " John Burton, the Earl of Dunraven's valet," she 
 gasped. 
 
FATE HAS BEKN AGAINST ME. 159 
 
 " I cannot believe what the man says," returned the 
 lawyer, " he is suffering from an hallucination. He could 
 not have , murdered Dunraven, for the evidence is too 
 strong against Arthur Douglas." 
 
 "Listen well to my story and then judge which of us 
 did it," returned Burton, stolidly. 
 
 Still they were incredulous, but he proceeded. 
 
 "It is nearly ten years now since first I met the Earl 
 of Dunraven, and a darker day for me never dawned," lie 
 commenced. " I am not John Burton ; my name is 
 Rodney Woodson. I live at the Crags, near Edinburgh, 
 at least I did live there until my old mother died. Siilce 
 then one place in the world has been the same as another 
 to me. I was but a young man of twenty then ; I worked 
 in the mines earning my bread by the sweat of my brow. 
 
 " From the time I could remember, I' was cursed with 
 an ugly face, so ugly indeed that women turned from me 
 with a shudder and children ran from me screaming with 
 affright. It grieved me sorely, for, could I help it, be- 
 cause the Lord had made me ugly ? I had not one re- 
 deeming feature, coarse, bristling red hair, cross eyes, a 
 broken nose, fangs of teeth, and blotches of freckles, 
 
 " I was always destined to fill with horror and repulsion 
 th^ heart of every one who looked upon me. Every one, 
 cM I say ? Ah, there was one. Heaven bless her ! who 
 who did not look upon me as a human monster, and that 
 was Lorlie, 'the miller's daughter, 
 
 " But let me tell you Why this was : from her early 
 infancy Lorlie had been blind. I saved her when she 
 was a little toddling cliild from falling in the river Morne, 
 and ever after her gratitude to me knew no bounds. I 
 watched Her grow day by day and year by year, and I 
 loved her with a love such as few men know. And on 
 the day she was sixteen, the thought first came into my 
 bead of making her my wife. 
 
l6o THAT PRETTY YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 " She loved me in her sweet girlish way, I was full 
 sure. She would never know how ugly of face I was, 
 and how people shrank from me, and, GodT forgive me 
 for it-^there never was a day that I did not thank heaven 
 that my Lorlie was blind. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how fair sweet Lorlie Vayne was ; 
 it would take a man cleverer than myself to describe the 
 sweet dimpled face framed in curling golden hair, and 
 the great blue eyes. It was hard to believe, by those who 
 saw her for the first time that, in those pansy blue' eyes 
 there was no sight." 
 
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