Ireaeure Room COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON FLOWERS MEMORIAL COLLECTION DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY DURHAJvI, N. C. PRESENTED BY W. W. FLOWERS Treaewre Room MRS. HALLIBURTOFS TROUBLES. A NOVEL. By Mrs. IIENHY WOOD AUTioR or "THE CHANNINGS," "EAST LYNNE," A:c., i!tc. VOLXTMK 11. RICHMOND: AVEST ifc JOHNSTON, Publishers, 145 MAIN STREET. 1865. PRINTED BY GEO. P. EVANS & CO., WHIG BUILDING, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA. '/- i MRS. HALLIBFRTON'S TROUBLES. ■♦ ^ CHAPTER 1. A UOLK DUk; BT STARLIGMi : Ham Halliburton, was supposed to be in exist- * ence . ; Cyril looked up, with wonder marked on his ' face. The conversation at Mr. Dare's dinner table ; < Docs Del' es say th-.re are two suoh cloaks .=' a,fain turned upon the loss of the cheque, and the , ^^\^^ -^^ proceedings thereon. It was natural that it ; .That there are two such cloaks ^^ppears to be should turn upon it. Mr. Dare's mind was full ,^j, jj^^igpytj^hle fact,' replied Mr. Dare. 'The of it; and he gave utterance to various conjee- j ^i^^ ^.j^^j^ ^^g pg^^jji^^g ^^p^jj^^ the Halliburtons' tures and speculations, as they occurred to ! ^^^3^ j^^j ^jg^j Samuel Lynn went up to him jt ' •In sr le of what they gay, I cannot help think- .-^j^^ ^^^^^ parading tout seul— alone V inter- ing thul it must have i^cen William Halliburton,' ij.yp^g^j ^^^ signora Varsini, with a perplexed he remarked with emphasis. 'He alone was in 1 ^^^^ the countinghou»e when the cheque disappeared; | ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^-^^ and the ;;f -^ci, changing it at White's, is proved j .^j^,^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ i„ i^^ Madcmoi-selle,' said to bear ln«. strongest possible resemblance to him ;,yjp Dare, continuing the account of Samuel at all ev^inls, to his (ircss. The face was hidden Lynn's adventure. 'Thus the fact of their being — aiof )urse it woi . 1 -JC. People who attempt ^^^ ^,^,3,^, i^ ^jj^^blished,' he proceeded. 'Still, to pass . r stolen cheqi 5, take pretty good care ; ^^^^^ ^^,1, nothing; unless the owner of the other thatth.i. features ar-: ..ot seen.' : has access to Mr. Ashley's counting-house. I 'But w no hesitate? 1> bring t home to Halli- pointed this fact out to them. But Delves- burton .' inquired Mis. Dare. . which is most unaccountable— differed from me; 'They all do — as it seems to me. Ashley won't and when we parted, he expressed an opinion, hear a word; laughs at the idea of Halliburton's with that confident nod of his. that it was not being capable of it, and says we may as well ac- Halliburtcn's cloak which had been in the mis- ruse himself. That's nothing; as Cyril says, Mr. chief at tl.c butcher's, but the other.' Ashl J appears to be imbued with the idea that .What a thundering falsehood !' burst for'.h Halliburton can do no wrong; but now Delves Herbert Dare. has veer«d round. He shifts the blame entirely ..9,-^,. ^^-^^^ jyj^. Dare, while all around the off Halliburton.' table stared at Herbert's excited manner. 'Upon whom do«s he shift it." asked Anthony ^ Herbert had the grace to feel ashamed of his I abrupt and intemperate rudeness. 'He has , ij j,cg your pardon, sir; I spoke in my surpri»r. Dare 'He won't say,' replied Mr. Uare grown mysterious o^er it since the afternoon; I mean'that Delves must he telling a falsehood, nodding and winking, and giving no explanation, jf he seeks to throw the guilt ort Halliburton. He says he knows who it it who possaspcs the The very fact of th" fellow's wearing a strange •eeond cloak.' cloak such as that, v. hen he went to get rid of the H 'The second cloak !' The words were a puzzle cheque, must be proof positive of Halliburton's I to most at the tabU, and Mr. Dare had to explain guilt.' A bat another cloak, similar to that worn by Wil- 1 'So I tbiik/ acquioicad Mr. Dar^. k o 46109 '■i Mils. HALUBURTON'S TKOUBLM. •What sort of a cloak is this that you laugh at, and call scarce?' inquired the goTerness. 'The greatest scarecrow of a thing you can conceive, JVIademoiselle, responded Mr. Dare. 'I had the pleasure of seeing it to-day on Hallibur- ton. It is a dark green-and-blue Scotch plaid, made Tery full, with a turned up collar Jined with red, and a bit of fur edging it. ' 'Plaid.? Plaid ."repeated Mademoiselle. 'Why it must be ' 'What.'' asked Mr. :).ire, for she had stopped. •It must be yery u^'ly,' concluded she. But somehow Mr. Dare took an impression into hi» mind that it was not what she had been about to say. 'What is it that Delves says about the cloaks .>' eagerly questioned Cyril, t cannot make it out.' 'Delves says he knows who it is that owns the other, and that it was the o'her which went to change the cheque at White's.' 'What mysterious words, papa,' cried Adelaide. 'The cloak went to change the cheque!' 'They were Dein-s' own words,' replied Mr. Dare. 'He did seem remarkably mysterious . tverit." •Is he going to hunt up the other cloak?' re lumed Cyril. 'I conclude so. He was pondering over it for some time before he could remember who it was that he had seen wear a similar cloak. When the recolh ction came to him, he started up with _ surprise. Keen men are these police officers,' added Mr. Dare. 'They forget nothing.' L. 'And they ferret out everything,' said Herbert, with some testiness in his tone, 'instead of wasting time over vain speculations touching cloaks, why does not he secure Halliburton ? It it impossible that the other cloak— if there is an- other—could have had anything to do with the affair.' 'I dropped a note to Delves after be left me, recommending him to follow up the suspicion on Hallibnrton, whether Mr. Ashley is agreeable or not,' said Mr. Dare. eager to do. i He rose when the rest did, looked about for a I pair of large scissors, and gllc^r' ^jth them up ; the staircase, _v» eyes and ears - the alert, lest there should be any watching i.. . No iv :r.an oeing in that house had the sligh -st kr.owiedge of what Cyril was about to do, or that ! . ^^^ I going to do anything; but to Cyrils r- ' science, it seemed that all must be oii out. Ktole f in. blue It T A candle and the scissors in his hand, he up to Herbert's chamber, and locked himsr Inside a closet within the room hung a dar;.- camlet cloak, and Cyril took it from the hoc , .. had a plaid lining; a lining of the precise pattern and colours that the material of William Halli- burton's cloak was composed of. The cloak was of the same full, old-fashioned make; its collar was lined with red. tipped with fur; in short, the one cloak worn on the right side and the other worn on the wro.,g side, could not have been told apart. This cloak belonged to Herbert Dare; oc- casionally, though not often, h- went out at dusk, wearing it wrong side outermost. It was he, no doubt, whom Sergeant Deives had seen wearing one. He was a little taller than William Halli- burton, lowering above six feet. What his mo- tive had been in causing a cloak to be lined so that, turned, it should resemble William Halli- burton's, or whether the so lining it had been ac- cidental, was only known to Herbert himself. With trembling fingers, and sharp scissors that were not particular where they cut, Cyril began his task-the taking out of this plaid lining. That he had worn it to the butcher's, and that he feared It might tell tales of him, were facts only too apparent. Better put it out of the way for ever ' Unpicking, cutting, snipping. Cyril tore away at the lining, and at length got it out, the cloak suf- fering considerable damage in the shape of cuts and rents, and loose threads. Hanging the cloak up again, he twisted the lining together. He was thus engaged when the handle of the door was briskly turned, as if some one essayed to enter who had not expected to find it fastened. Cynl dashed the lining under the bed, and made a »P"ng to the window. To leap out ? surely not: for the fall would hare kill.d him. But he bid wr MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. nearly lo«t all presense of mind in his perplexity ^^ She stared at it in astonishment great as Hcr- and fear. /bert had done, and threw off a volley of Burprisc Another turn at the handle, and the steps went ; 'n her foreign tongue. But she was a shrewd on their way. Cyril thought he recognised them [ woman. Ay, never was there a shrewder than for the housemaid's, Betsy. He supposed she^Biar.ca Varsini. Mr. Sergeant Delves was not a was going her evening round in the chambers, j bad hand at ferretting out just conclusions; but Gathering the lining under his arm, he halted to J she would have beaten the sergeant hollow. -L--1- --■''/ «Tenez;' cried she, putting up her forefinger in i thought, as she gazed down at the cloak. 'Cyril What should he do with it— this tell-tale thiii^ : '.■ did this.' He could not eat it; he dared not burn it. There ^ 'Cyril !' was no room, of tho'^e which had fires, where he i She nodded her head. think. His chest heaved, his hands shook, nnd^ his face was white might make sure of being alone; and the smell of; it, burning, would alarm the house he to do with it? You stood it out to me that you did not come What was ( in on Saturday evening and go out again between ; ten and eleven ' 'I did not,' interrupted Herbert. 'I told you Dig a hole and bury it, came a prompting; •voice within him; and Cyril waited for no better jtrut^h, but you wou suggestion, but crept with it down the stairs, and / out to the garden. \. Seizing a spade, he dug a hole rapidly in an | unfrequenied place; and, when it was 'ai'g^ I comprehend ?' ■enough, thrust the stuff in. Thet. he covered it | _; _ ' Id i.ot believe me.' 'But this cloak went out. And it was turned the plaid side outwards, and your cap was on, tied down at the ears. Naturally I thought it was you. It must have been Cyril ! Do you over again, to leave the spot apparently as he found it. *I wish those .-"urs would give a stronger light,' 'How myste- 'No, I don't,' said Herbert, riously you arc speaking" 'It must have been Cyril who robbed Mr. Ash grumbled Cyril, looking up at the dark blue can- j lej-' opy. 'I must come again in the morning, I sup- 1 pose, and see that it's all safe bring a lantern.' Mademoiselle!' interrupted Herbert, indig- It wouldn't do tojnantly. 'Ecoutez, mon ami. He was blanched as Now it happened that Mr. Herbert Dare was ,^hite asa mouchoir, while your father spoke of , . ♦„ „„,,„„j fkot pvpnino- His in-' it at dinner — and did you see that he could not bound on a private errand that evening, his in , , .. , , .;', ,, . r^ •, ,,t i tention was to go abroad in his cloak while he | eat .' "You look guilty, Monsieur Cynl,' I said executed it Just about the time that Cyril was | to myself, not really thinking h.m to be so. But, putting the finishing touch to the hole, Herbert | be persuaded it was no other. He must have . . u- r.^^^ f^ n-Af ti,P rlmlr taken the paper-money— or what you call it— and went up to his room to get the cloau. , , ^, , ,11 '^ . . , ,. wTi ijt V. t /Come home here for your cloak and cap to wear, To get the cloak, indeed! Wb.. H^^b^r^^^j^.j^ ^^^ ^^ .^ ^^^ gold, thinking it would lened the closet-door, nothing save the mutilated; ,^ , ,t . ,u„ „i„„i,. .k„* op 'fall on that other one who wears the cloak: that ohiert iust described, met his eye. A torn, cut/ oojeci jusiaescM , j ; William Hal I cannot say the name; c'est thing, the threads hanging from it in jags. No-^ . i thing could exceed Herbert's consternation as stared at it. He thought he must be in a dream Was it his cloak.' Just before dinner, when he / . 'trop dur pour les levres. It is Cyril, and no other. He has turned afraid now, and has torn the lining ,- out. came up to wash his hands, he had seen his cloak { Herbert could make no rejoinder at first, partly hanging there, perfect. He shook it, he pulled ; through dismay, partly through astonishment. 'It Hi» cloak it certainly was;; cannot have been Cyril !' he reiterated. it, he peered at it but who had destroyed it ? A suspicion flashed ] 'I say it is Cyril,' persisted the young lady. 'I into hii mind that it might be the governess. He { saw him creep up the stairs after dinner, with a made but few steps to the school-room, carrying/ candle and your mother's great lartjc scissors in the cloak with him. ■ his hand. He did not see me. I wai in the dark, The governess was sittingthere, listless fenough. ; looking out of my room. Depend he was going Perhaps she was waiting for him. 'I lay, Mademoiselle,' he began, 'what on! earth have you been doing to my cloak?' to do it then.' •Then, of all blind idiots, Cyril's the worst !— ■if he did take the cheque,' uttered Herbert. 'To your cloak !' responded she; 'what should ', 'Should it get known, he is done for, and that for I h»ve beeri'doing to it ?' ; life And my father helping to fan the flame !' 'Look here,' he said, spreading it out before J The governess shrugged her shoulders. 'I not her. 'Who or what has done this? It was all ; like Cyril,' ihc said. • I have never liked him Tight when I went down to dinner.' 'since I etm«.' MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. •But you will not tell against him !' cried Her- ) The brandy-and-water was brought, and Mr. bert, in 'ear. ( Dare joined his risitor in partaking of it. He 'No, 1.0, no. Tell against your brother ! Why j agreed with him that the night was cold. But should I .' It is no concern of mine. Unless peo- \ nothing could Mr. Dare make of him. So often pie meddle with me, I don't meddle with them. J as he turned the conversation on the subject in Cvril is safe, for me.' hand, so often did the sergeant turn it off again. 'What on earth am I to do for my cloak to- Mrs. Dare got tired of listening to nothing; and nigiht?' debated Herbert. 'I was going— going | she departed, leaving them together, where I want it.' | Then changed the manner of Sergeant Delves. •Why you want it so to-night ?' asked mademoi- 1 He drew his chair forward; and bent towards Mr. selle, sharply. Dare. •Because it's cold,' responded Herbert. 'Thej 'You have been urging me to go againstyoung cloak was warmer than my overcoat is.' >' Halliburton,' he began. 'It won't do. Hallibur- 'Last night you go out, to-night you go out, to-^ ton no more fingered that cheque, nor had any morrow you go out. It is always so now !' > thing to do with it, than you or me had. Mr. 'I have got a lot of perplexing business upon^ Dare, don't you stir in this matter any further.' me,' answered Herbert. 'I have no time to see' 'My present intention is to stir it to the bot- about it in the day.' \ tom,' returned Mr. Dare. Some little time longer he remained talking | 'Look here,' said the sergeant in an undertone; with her, partially disputing. The Italian, from \ q am n.jt obligated to take notice of offences that some cause or other, went into an ill-humour, /don't come legally in my way. Many a thing and ^aid some provoking things. Herbert, it J has been done in this town- ay, and is oeing done must be conftssed, received them with good tem- j now — that I am obliged to wink at; it don't lay per, and she grew more affable. When he left J right in my duty to take notice of it; so I keep her, she offered to pick the loose threads out of / my eyes shut. Now that's ju"»t it in this case. So the cloak, and hem up the bottom. 'long as the parties concerned, Mr. Ashley, or 'You'll lock the door while you do it?' he urged. White, don't put it into my hands officially, I'm 'I will take it to my chamber,' she said. 'No- 1 not obligated to take so and-so into custody, or to body will molest me there.' |act upon my own suspicions. And I won't do it Herbert left it with her, and went out. Cyril \ upon suspicions of my own: I promise it. If I am went out. Anthony had already gone out. Mr. ! forced, that's another matter.' Dare remained at home. He and his wife were ; 'Are you alluding to Halliburton !' conversing over the dining-room fire in the course '. 'No. You are on the wrong scent, I say.' of the evening, when Joseph came in. -'And you think you are on the right one ?' 'You are wanted, please, sir,' he said to his 'I could put my finger out this night and lay it jjjggjgj. I on the fox. But I tell you, sir, I don't want to, •Who wants me.'' asked Mr. Dare. | unless 1 am compelled. Don't you compel me, •It's policeman Delves, sir.' j ^^- ^^a^^' ^^ ^" ^^« P^OP^^ »" ^h« '^orld.' 'Oh, show him in here,' said Mr. Dare 'I hope J Mr Dare leaned back in his chair, his thumbs something will be done in this,' he added to his; in his waistcoat arm-holes. No suspicion of the wife. 'It may turn out a good slice of luck for ( truth had come across him, and he could not un- ine.' I derstand either the sergeant or his manner. The Sergeant Delves came in. In point of fact, he / latter rose to depart, had just returned from that interview with the ; 'The other cloak, similar to young Hall ibur- butcher, where he had been accompanied by Mr. ' ton's, belongs to your son Herbert,' he whispered, Ashley and William. ^ as he passed Mr. Dare. 'It was his brother Cyril •Well, Delves, did you get my note >' asked Mr. /^ who wore it on Saturday night, and who changed Dare. 'the cheque: therefore we may give a guess as to 'Yes, sir, I did,' said the sergeant, taking the ^ w^ho took the cheque out of Mr. Ashley's desk, neat offered him. 'It's what I have come up ; Now you be still over it, sir, for his sake, as I ahout.' j shall be. If I can, I'll call at your office to- 'Do you intend to act upon my advice ?' ? morrow, Mr. Dare, and talk further. White •Why— no, I think not,' replied the sergeant.^ must have the money refunded to him, or /le won't •Not, at any rate, until I have had a talk with | be still.' you. '/ Anthony Dare fell into a confused maze of 'What will you take?' ( horror and consternation, leaving the sergeant to •Well, sir, the night's cold. I don't mind a sup / bow himself out. Mrs. Dare hoard the departure, of brandy-and-water.' ] and returned to the room. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. ' •Well,' cried ihe, briskly, 'is he going to ac-; his bouse to that of Monsieur Colin, the French cuse Halliburton?' ' |: master. William, sociably inclined by nature, Mr. Dare did not answer. He looked up in a ^ had sometimes dropped in at one or other of the beseeching, helpless sort of manner, as one who < houses. He would find Robert East labouring at is stunned by a blow. ' ^i' books much more than he need have laboured •What is the matter?' she questioned, gazing at -had some little assistance been afforded him in him closely. 'Are you ill >' [ his progress. William good-naturedly undertook He rose up shaking, as if a trembling (it were ■; to supply it. It became quite a common thing on hin>. 'No— no.' for him to go round and poss an hour with tht- •Perhaps you are cold,' said Mrs. Dare. 'I Easts and Stephen Crouch, asked you what Delves was going to do. Will he The unpleasant social features of Honey Fair accuse Halliburton ?' thus obtruded themselves on William Hallibur- 'Be still!' sharply cried Mr. Dare, in a tone of ton's notice; it was impossible that anybody, pain. 'The matter is to be hushed up. It was passing much through Honey Fair, should not be not Halliburton.' struck with them. Could nothing be done to res- I cue the people from this debased condition ?— and ^^^ ) a debased one it was, compared with what it might \ have been. Young and inexperienced as he was, j it was a question that sometimes rose to Wil- CHAPTER II. A PRESENT OF TEA-LEATEI. How went on Honey Fair ? Better and worse, better and worse, according to custom; the worse prevailing over the better. Of all its inhabitants, none had advanced so well as Robert East. Honestly to confess it, that is not saying much, since the greater portion, instead of advancing in the world's social scale, had retrograded. Robert had quitted the manu- factory he had worked for, and was now second foreman at Mr. Ashley's. He was also becoming through self-perseverance an excellent scholar in a plain way. He had one friend to help him, and that was William Ila.liburton. The Easts had removed to a better house; one of those which had a garden in front of it. The ; Fishers had never come out of the workhouse, and Joe was dead. The Crosses, turned froflti theirhome, their furniture sold, liad found lodg- ings; two rooms. The Masons, man and wife, passed their time agreeably in quarrels. At least, Ham's mind. Dirty homes, scolding mothers, ragged and pining children, rough and swearing husbands! Waste, discomfort, evil. The women laid the blame on the men; they reproached them with 'sotting' away their evenings and their mo- ney at the public-house. The men retorted upon the women, and said they had not a home fit for •a pig to come into.' Meanwhile the money, whether earned by husband or wife,tcfnt. It went somehow, bringing apparently nothing to show for it, and the least possible return of equivalent good. Thus they struggled and squabbled on, their lives little better than one continuous scene of scramble, discomfort and toil. At a year's end thev were not in the least bettered, not in the least -aised, whether socially, moially, or physically, from what their condition had been at the year's beginning. Notliing had been achieved; save that they were one year nearer to the great barrier which separates time from eternity. Ask them what they were toiling and struggling for. They did not know. What was their end, their aim ? They had none. If they could only that it was agreeable may be assumed, for the j rub on, and keep body and soul together, (as tjuarrels were going on perpetually. The chil- \ poor Caroline Mason was trying to do in her (Iren were growing up without training, and Caro- ; garret,) it appeared to be all they cared for. line — ah! I don't know that's it of much good i xhey did not endeavour to lift up their hopes or asking after her. She lived in a garret alone. J their aspirations above that ; they were willing She had lived so a long while; and she worked j ^q to go on until death shouUl come. What a her fingers to the bone to keep body and soul to- ! nfe ! What an end ! gether, and went about with her head down. The j a feeling would now and then come over Wi'- Carters thrived; the Brumms also, better than < liam that he might in some way help them to a:- they used to do; and the Bufflcs so excellently , | tempt better things. To do so was a duty which that a joke went about that they would be retiring I seemed to be lying across his path, that he might on their fortune: bat the greater portion of Honey i pj^jj \i up and make it his. How to set about it. Fair was full of scuffle, trouble, and improvi- jtia tnew no more than the man in the moon. Now dence. Und then disheartening moments would come William Halliburton frequently found himself ! upon him. To atUmpt to put the renovating in Honey Fair. It wta tUc most direct road from ■ broom to the evili of Honey Fair, «rr«MeQ » J MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBL^^. far more formidable task than the cleansing of the stables of Augeas could ever have appeared to Hercules. He knew that any endearour, whether on his part or on that of others, who might be far more experienced and capable than he, would be utterly fruitless, unless the spring to exertion, to strive to do better, should be first born within themselvei. Ah, my friends! the exerting aid of others may be looked upon as a great thing; but without self-struggle and self- help, little good will be effected. One evening, in passing the house partially oc- cupied by the Crosses, the door was flung vio- lently open, a girl of fifteen flew shrieking out, and a saucer of wet tea-leaves came flying after her. The tea-leaves alighted on the girl's neck, just escaping the arm of William. It was the youngest girl of the family, Patty. The tea-leaves had come from Mrs. Cross. Her face was red with passion, her tongue loud with it; the girl, on her part, was insultingly insolent and abusive. Mrs. Cross had her hands stretched out to scratch, or tear, or pull hair, as might be convenient, and a personal skirmish would inevitably have en- sued, but for the accident of William's biding there. He received the hands upon his arm, and contrived to detain them there. 'What's the matter, Mrs. Cross?' 'Matter!' raved Mrs. Cross. 'She's a idle, impedent, wicked huzzy — that's what's the mat- ter. She knows I've got my gloving to get in for Saturday, and not a stroke'll she help. There be the tatcr dishes a-lying dirty from dinner, there be the tea-cups a-lying from tea and touch 'em »he won't. She expects me to do it, she do, and me with my gloving to find 'em in food ! I took hold of her arm to make her do it, and she turned and struck at me, she did, the good-for-nothing faggot ! I hope none on it didn't go on you, sir,' added Mrs. Cross, somewhat modifying her voice, and stopping to recover b/eath. 'Better that it had gone on my coat than Patty's neck,' replied he, in a good-natured, half-joking tone; though, indeed, the girl, with her evil look at her mother, her insolent air, stood there scarce- ly worth his defence. 'If my mother asked me to wash tea-things or do anything else, Patty, I should do it, aild think it a pleasure to help her,' he added, to the girl. Patty pushed her hanging hair behind her ears, and turned a defying look upon her mother. Hid- den as she had thought it was from William, he saw it. •Yon just wait,' nodded Mrs. Cross, in answer as Hpfiant. 'I'll make your back smart by-and - by.* Which of the two was the more in fault .' It '. was hard to say. The girl had never been brought ; up^ tv know her duty, or to do it; th« motbw, ' from her earliest childhood, bad given abuse and blows; no persuasive, kind words; no training. Little wonder, now Patty was growing up, that shoturned again. It was the usual mode of ma- ! ternal government throughout Honey Fair. In ; these, and such like cases, where could interfer- lence or counsel avail, unless the spirit of the ; mothers and the daughters could be changed ? William walked on, after the little episode of the tea-leaves. He could not help contrasting these homes with his home; their life with hit life. He was addicted to reflection beyond hit years, and he wished these people could be aroused to somewhat of improvement both in mind ' and body. They were jo living for no end; they ; were toiling only to satisfy the wants of the day ! — nay, to stop the wants, more than to satisfy ; them. How many of them were so much as ; thinking of another world? Their turmoil in ; this was too great for them to cast a thought to I the next. •I wonlsr,' mused William, as he stepped to- ; wards M. Colin's, 'whether some of the better ' conducted of the men might not be induced to [come round to East's in aa evening? It might be a beginniag, at any rate. Once wean the men from the public-houses, and there's no knowing what reform might be effected. I would will- ingly give an hour or two of my cven'ngs up to them!' His visit to M. Colin over, he retraced his steps to Honey Fair, and turned into Robert East's. It was past eight then. Robert ai: . Stephen Crouch were home from work, and were getting out their books. Charlotte sat by, at work as usual, and Tom East was pulling Charlotte's head towards him. to whisper something to her. 'Robeit,' said William, speaking impulsively, the moment he entered, 'I wonder whether you could induce a few of your neighbours to come here of an evening?' •What for, sir ?' asked Robert, turning round from the book-shelves where he stood, searching ; for some book. •It might be so much better for them. It might lend in being so. I wish,' he added, with sudden ; warmth, 'we could get all Honey Fair here !' 'All Honey Fair !' echoed Stephen Crouch, in ' astonishment. •I mean what I say, Crouch.' 'Why, sir, the room wouldn't hold them ! Nor a quarter of them; nor a tenth !' William laughed. 'No, that it would not, speaking practically. There is so much discom- fort around us, and — and ill-doing — I must call it so, for want of a better name — that I lometimei wish we eould mend it a little.' 'Who mend it, sir?' ♦Anybody that would try. You two'—*ddre»»- MRS HAr.LTBTTRTON'S TROITRT.ES. ina: hoth tVic me colIectiTe'y — 'might hi^lp to wa^'is It If voii couid fie'1in;e a f«-w round (iusf it would be a great thing.' 'There'd never he any good done with the me.> tak« them »•* a whule, sir. They are an ini' ra- t.eaoyc'inti: lot, not carinir to ht hetier.' 'That's jn«t it, Crouch. They don't. care i be better. But they might be taught to care i would be a most des^irable thing if Money Fai could be brought to spend its evenings as yoi spend yours If the men g;ive up spending then money. a"d reeling home after it: and the worm > kept tidy hearths and civil tongues. As Chat lotte does,' he added, looking round at her. •The e's no denying that, sir.' 'I think something might be done. By degree;- you understand; not in a hurry. Were you i< take the men by storm — to sjy, 'We want you ti lead changed lives, and are going to show yoi. how to do it,' you would make your movement for nothing, and get laughed at into the bargain. Say to the men, 'You shan't go to the public- house, because you waste your time, your nione> , and your temper,' and, rely upon it, it would have the same effect as if you spoke to the wind. Bu get them to come here as a sort of agreeabh change, an invitation out, if you can understant that, and you may secure them for good, if yoi. make the evenings pleasant to them. In short. give them some employment or attraction thbi will outweigh the attractions of the public-house.' 'It would be a good thing,' said Stepheti Crouch, musingly. The^ might be for trying it rise up of themselves then.' 'Ay,' spoke William, with enthusiasm. 'Once let them find the day-sprintr within them8elve>, the wish to do right, to be elevated above wha' they now are, and the rest will be easy. • Whei once that day-spring can be found, a man is made. God never sent a man here, hut he irn planted that within him. The difiicuity is, tt awaken it.' '.\nd it is not always done, sir,' ^aid Chariots lifiing her face from her work with a kindling •ye, a heightened colour. Slit had found it. 'Charlotte, I fear it is rarely done, instead of always It lies pretty dormant, to judge by ap- pearances, in Money Fair.' William was right. U is an epoch in a mari'* life, the finding what tie liad n<>t inaptly called the day-spring. Self-e«teem. self-reliance, the cour- age of long-continued paticice, the strivinu to make the best of the mind's goO'* gifts — all aie born of it. He who possesses it may soar t • a bright and ahappj lot, bewisg ia mi^i — m*j he 9 al'a\s hear it! — the rest ani^reward promised tT.-.a't.-r. ' At any r.|jld come. .Andrew Brumm. ' *Ah Ae would «nd ijlad,' replied Robert East. Me is different from many of them. I know nothe' (hat would, sir; and that's Adam Thor- rroft ' (7tiarlf little use the men's doing anything /TJr them- -elves ' 'Charlotte, I say thrra's ro knowing where ihe work may end, once begun,' he gravely inswered. The rain, which had been threatening all the '■vening, was coming do-vn preity smartly as Wil- liam walked through Hone} Fair oit his return. Standing against a shutter near his own door, ivas Jacob Cross. 'Good night, Jacob,' said Wil- liam. • 'Good night, sir,' answered Jacob, his air a sullen one. 'Are you standing in the rain that it may make vou gro*, as the children say .'' asked William, in his ever pleasant tone 'I'm a-standing here 'cause I have got nowhere •'Ise to stand,' said the man, his voice full of re- -entment. '1 be turned out of our room, and I !iave got no money for the Morned Kara.' 'A good thing you have not,' thought William. 'What has turned you from your room." be asked. '1 be turned out, sir, by the row there is in it. Our Vlary Ann's come h 'me.' 'Mi-ry \nii .'' repeated William, not quite un- de'^t-uiding '(Jnr Mary Ann, uhal took and married I'«d Tvrretl A fine market she have brought ber puis to !' 'VVb"l ^ 98 she done.'' fiucslioned William. <8hc Ssre done eocu^h,' wrathfullj iMWttW y A It jaA8. HALLIBURTON'S TJlOUBLai. Cross 'Wetoljjhcr when f^he married Tyrrett i something going on there interesting and pleM- that ht^ was nothing but a jobber, at fifteen shilOnnl' lings a-wcek—»»hich it's all he was. sir as >oi, 'Crouch and Es^t don't want me.' know. "VVaii.- I SMj. toh.r. Someb-dyheti... I 'Ye*, they do. They will be only too glad if Bor him'll turn up." Her mother lays •' VVa.l. ' ; vou, an^i a lew more intelligent men. .lill join Other. «ys"V*ai,r No. not she; the Kills be ai. t .m. Try it, Cross. There's a warm room to in.rryng mad. Well. ,f,e took her own wa> it in at all .vents. hdJ nothing to pay.' •hewoni,i,.ke,l:a.,dthej.gol m.rne,l. and s. .a,,, u', a,, ,ery fine for them East's! We up upon nothing. Neither of 'em had sar.d J,, „n't have their luck. Loolc at me ! Down in tw. penny piece; and Ben. him fond of the pub ? the world ' lie; and our Mary Ann. her fond of laziness and \ vVill.am put his hand on the man's shoulder, finery, and not. knowing how to keep house m. < Why should yon be down in the world." more nor her younoiMer laity did.' -Why should ir repented Cross. ,n surprise. William remembered the liiile interlnde c j ■ 8ec:.u>e I be.' he lo.Mcaily answered. thateren.ng in which Miss Patly had played he. | -That is not the reason. The reason is. be- part. Jacob continued — > *lt was all fine and sunshiny with 'em for a few ' days or a ftw weeks, till the novelty wears oH. i and then they finds things going cranky. Th. | money ,;.a, begins to run short; and Mary Ann J .,„, ^„„,„ „„, ,,,j ^„„ ^.^ she finds that Hen like, hi, glass; and Ben. I, Vould it not be better to wish to'i.ve" findsthatshcsju^tadoll. with no gumption n. { '.\ot such a life as mine.' management inside of her. They qmirrels- naterally, and they comes to us to setile it. • Y., \. ,„ust be a better hfe. And why need u.ur life was both red-hot for the harp-ain " save I >«ui.. • u, -, t? ... uie nargain. sa_\s I, .411. „e go mi.serabie.' You gain fair washes; vour youmustj.stmakethebe.torit.andofonean.j^if, earns money. Altogether I suppose you other. And so they went bark: and it have ,„,„i have t«enty-six or iwent^-e.ght shillLs gone on tiiilhi8.qu.irrelling continual. And now Ig^t . J fe » ""gs lll^7. '"'1'. '" '"' !:"' ""' '""' '''' '''' J '^^'^ ^^^--^'^ "« ^^'-f^ -i'h i'.' b""t forth (Vo.s. thrlchlldf H H ;" ' ^'"' ^'''V'r '^ ""^'^^ ^--^y -"-'-- Afore the m.ddle of three children and a black eye. a-vown.g a, she'll ^^e week comes, it's all gone.' stop at home, and won't go back to him auain ,, * • ■ i 'You spend some at the Horned Ram, you lusc you do not try to rise.* 'It's no use trying.' 'Have you ever tried !* 'Why, no! How can I try .'' 'You wished just noiv that you were dead, uuld it not be better to wish to live.'' '.Not such a life as mine.' 'But, to wish to live, would seem to imply that And she and htr mother's having words over ii, and the babbies is a-squalling— enough, the noise is, to raise the ceiling off, and I comw away oui of it. I wish I was dead, I do!' Jacob's account of the ngise was scarcely ex- aggerated. It pentirattd to where thiy .-rood ' two or three h-aises olf. William had ni..vct. i 1 know.' said William, not in a leproving tone, but ' a joking one. '.She squanders away in rubbish more than that.' was Jacob's aifswer — with a turn of his 'hiimh towards his house, and not at all an hon- .111.. ble stress upon the 'she.' •loser, that the umbrella might give (W. o.rtoi ' '^"^ ^'.^ ""^^'""^ satisfactory to show for, in iU shelter. 'Not a very sens ble wish lUt oi'^'^;?' '"^^" °^ y^"' '^'"^ *"°'^^'- P'*"' ^^^ yours, is it, Cro8.v>' remarked he. T^./m ' . u v , . ^ -r t ,, . . . . , J '1 d not be back'ard— if I could see one to try,' I have wished it lon^. ..ir. sensible or not sen Js,id he, after a pause. Bible. 1 sldves away my days, and have got no-/ v i, u ,. ,,■ tning but a pigsty to step into at home, and j '^"^ .^u ^^""f *'' ' to-morrow angry words in it. A niee plaee, that i./f,, J «^-""g- «"d ' will go in with you to East's. If tired man! I can't aflord the public more „„, ^•" ^^"''ot ««^« »nj better way you can spend a three or four nights in a week; not that, always. \ ^'^T"' *''"'"«; ^"' "°^' •'"''^' ^^' ™* "^ * They b. getting co.ky at the beer->hops, now-a- i ""'"^ '"^ '^"' '"^ '^''^*'" """'^ '* ^^ ^"" '^^ ^^'^ days, and won't give no trust. Wednesday thi. i ' ^ ^'""'"'^ ^"'' -'^'^^^^^y' g" '^^ ""t evening, i.; Thursday, to-morrow; ^>iday, next night: i '""'''". "7''' '^". "'."»^'- Vou can't tell all that three nights, and me without a shelter to put n.y ^ T^ »':'*'^/'-»'» •'- •" time. 1 know of one thmj head in!' J- ; that will.' •I should like to takf. vou to one to-mor.ow ^ .W^iu^^V^"*-' ''"'■' night,' said William. 'Will you go wi h me ^' ' ^^' ^^""^ ""'"'' °^ "^"^''"^ yourself dead, .„,. , . ,, you will uet to think life short, fo*r the good you •Where s it to.'' ungraciously asked Cross. I f,,.,^ j,, j^ , 'To Robert Ea-.i's. You know how he and ■ He went on his way. Jacob Cross, deprived fknueti 5jw»d th«ir •reninifj. Tauro's »twaya ^ ot the umbreiia's shelter, stoud in ih» raia aM ^- lUlB HALLIBURTON'S TRO¥BLM. 11 fo're, and looked afler him indulging his leflcc- bert. I knew it «ou1d put him np. and there '• ', II. .tiling 1 like half so much n» to t»/e the Darei^ •He is a young man. and things wears iheiri H'-'h^rl snet-red. "Ai.d he owe. it partly t« bright side to • im But he have got a crdial ] VVihia.n," I went on, • f..r if Frank's a brilliant way with him, and don't look at folk, as if the> Scholar, William's a brilliani.r'" ••William J. ., Hailiburtuij a brilliant scholar!"' stormed scorn- wax dirt. < ,, L . L • .». *And that had been the origin of the holding^iul Herbert. -H^s he learnt to be one in tba soiries at Robert Kast's. By -legrecs ten or aiegg-lub? So long as he know, how glote. ara dozenmentook to go, and— what «asniore— io;made, thai's enough for him. What doe. fc« like to go, and to find an in'erest in it. It was a j wm,1 with the acquirements of gentleman ?" Up Tast improTcmentupon the Horned Ram. CHAPTER Til. UKNRT ASHLEt's OBJICT IK LIFE. ( loukud Mi^s .Vliiry.her colour rising, her eyea Sflash.ng ShewsRut h»-r drawing: at which, by ^ the way, she makes a poor hatid; nothing to b» {couip-*red to Anna Lynn. '•William HalliburtoB ^ has fo gotten more than you ever learnt, Herbert i Oitro ■' cried she; "and there's more of the true ^gentle. nan in his little finger than there is in your '/ whole body." '•There's for you, Herbert Dare,'' 'wh'stUd [;"bul it's true, lad, like it or not ai On one of the warm bright days that we some- ■ ^^^ ^^^. „ H^^beit teas riled.' times g. tin the month of Fenrua.y, all the more I ^ ^^^^^^^ ^.^ ^^^^ a, he concluded, and br.ehtf.um thei. cont.asito it'*" P'^'^^'^S *'"^'''-' i f„,,k^.d i.p ai \V ,l|,am. A gleam of light like m W.lli.m Hallihuiion was ualking home to tea ^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ int , William', eyes; a ting- from the ...anulactory. and overtook Henry A.h-; ^.^^ ^^^ ^^ ^.^ ^^^^^^^ ley limping -long. Henry wa> bcl.w the middle' ^^^^^ ., ^^.^^ ^^^^^^ sharply, for William did height, and slight in form, with the san.e beanti- ! ^^^^ .^^^^ you , othing to .ay ?' ful face that had marked his boyhood, delicately , ^^^ ^^^ ge„e.ous of Miso Ashley.' refined in feature, bright in colour; the same two! .^ ^^^^ .^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^ j^^^,, ^.^^^^ upright iii.e, o( pain, kn.t in the smooth white|^^^^^^ ,. ho appeared to be in one of his fitful ^r^"^- moods; 'who is to know whether things will turn •Jii.tthe man I wanted, said he, linking his ^^^ _^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^.^^^ .^ ^, .^ ^^^,^ ^^ ^^^^ arm wi-hin William's. 'You are a good help up ; ^^^^ objection have you to coning home with a hill, and I am tired and hot. ' me for the evening ' Thai's what I mean.' •Wrapped up in thatroat, with its fur lining,, " , • . . I should think you are! 1 hare dofled my ele-'; 'None. I can give up my books for a mght. gan. Cloak, you see, to day' book^o-mas y-u lh.uk me. But they w.ll «- •Is it off to the British Museum?' ; pect rae at Kast s. William laughed. '1 have not had time to i 'H^ppy the man that expectelh nolbmj ! re- . , ^sponded Henry. 'Disappoint them. 'I am glad I met with yon. You must come| • "Aa for disappointing them, I thouldn't %o hon.e to tea with me. Well' Why are you ' murh mind, but I C4n't abide to disappoint my. hesitating? You have noennagemei.t." 'self,'" returned William, quoting from Gold- •Nothing more than usual. My studies ' J smith's good old play, of y»hich both be and •You «re studymad !' interrupted Henry Ash-^ "-"^7 '^ere fond. ,, ^ ^■ ley -What do >ou want to be? A Socrates?; 'You don't m^an to .ay it would be a d...p. .^j . , r^ I . w Jpointment t« vou, the not giving ine lesson or An Admiral Crichton>' , »^ . . ' ^ . u ,* .i' j .iu .1 r A ki- I »^<>nt fn, K* a iit^fiil whatcvcT it It, to thosc Working chap.! ul'er»a 'Nothing so formidable. 1 want to oe a useiui • " »^ , ; Henry Ashley. ■ , , ir — -,— ,.»»..,i:.i,»,i nn» ' 'Not a* you would count disappointment. When 'And Tou makesTOur.eir an tccomplishrd one, 'J " . . )n . I, „ .k. To^^.r.., I do not ret round in an hour. It seems a. a nnol a. a preliminary ftep. Mary took up the fencing- •"""». • ^,' ' •' , u k . no— .o. of lo»l. kn"**' Ibe men like to .ee me; and I am •tick. for you yesterday Herbert Dare was at ' " , l . f « I, ;. t.bmir him tn h« - alwM J. fearing that we arc noi »ure of ihcm. our house — some freak is taking mm to oe a J " pretty constant Tisitor just now-and the talk ' 'You speak as though your whola M>d» wart ia turned upon Frank. 'You know,' broke off the busin.s..' retur.ed Henry Ashlej. Henry in his quaint way. '1 never use long woids '[ think my heart i. in it.' when short ones wi4l serre: you learned ones Henry looked at him wi.tfully. and bii Un» would .ay "co-Tersation. " Mr. Keating had gre* .erioiis. 'William, I would gi»« all I aa ■aid to mv father ihal Fr.nk Halliburton wa. a worth, preaent, atid to come, to cbaaf* place* brilliaat •cholar, »ad 1 reuUed il 0T«r lo Her-< with you.' iJ u MRS. HALLirURTON'S TROUBLES. 'To change places w.lii nicl' ec .oed Will,a>ij, VVilli.im calmly continued. 'But, if you did so, in Terjr surprise. juu might no longer have to complain of tbe *Yes; for. you have an ohject in life. Y"U want of an ol)jf-cl to live for.' may h>4ve many. To be usclui ui jour genera- Al this moment ihey came in Tiew of William's tion is ofie.' , homo. Mrs Halliburton happened to be at one 'And so may yon hare o'jects in life.' of ih<-. windows. William nodded his greeting, 'With ihis encumbrance 1' He stamped his and Henry raised his hat. Presently H«nry be* lame leg, and a look of kc-eri vexaiion seitk-d it- ; gan again: self in bis face. 'You c^n go foi th iiiu) the world ; 'Pray, do you join the town in its gratuitous with your strong limbs, jour unbroken health; ! opinion, that Henry Ashley, of all in it, is the you can work, or you can play; you can be ac- proudest amiil the jirouil .'* tive, or you can be still, at will. But what am i ? '1 do not find you proud,' said William. A poor weak creature; infirm of temper tortured, 'You! As far as you and I are concerned, by pain, condemned half my days to the monot- comparatively, I think the boot might be upon ony of a sick-room. Compare my lot with [ the other leg. Y'ou might set up for proud over yours!' ;me.' •There are those who would cfcoost your lot in j William could not help laughing. 'Putting preference to mine, were the option given them,' 'joking aside, my opinion is, Henry, that your relumed William. 'I must work. It is a duty s shyness and sensitiveness are in fault; not your laid upon me. You can play.' j pride. It is ) our reserve of manner alone which 'Thank you! How r' | has caused Helstonleigh to take up the impres- •I am not speaking literally. Every good and * gion that you are unduly proud. ' pleasing thing; thai money can purchase is at} 'Right, old fellow !' returned Henry, in an em- your Command. You have but to ei joy them, so ) phaiic tone. 'If you knew how far I and pride far as you may One, sulfTing as jou do bears stand apart— but let it pass.' not upon him the respo isibiiity to use his time, ; Arrived at the entrance to Mr. Ashley's, Wil- that a healthy man does. L ts, in thi-t world, | |iam threw open the gale for Henry, retreating Henry, are, as 1 believe, pretty equally bal- , himself. 'I must go home first, Henry. I won't anced. Many would envy you your calm life of' be a quarter of an hour.' repose ' .; Henry looked cross. 'Why on earth, then, did 'It is not calm,' was the abrupt rejoinder, 'it j you not go in as we passed .' What was the use is disturbed by pain and aguravaied by temper; j of your coming up' here, to go back again ?' and-and-tormented by unc rlainly ' j .j ^j.^^^^^j^j ^^ ^^^ ^^^ j^^,pi„^ ^^^ , 'At any rate, you can subdue the one.' \ 'So it was. but— there ! don't be an hour.' •Which, pray:' , As William walked rapidly back, he met the •The iemi>er. Henry —dropping hl.^ voice — 'a -„,„■„„ „/- ,v,„^ . ,. „ ou j iv.f ' ■' rr o , , { carriage oi Mrs Ashley. She and Mary were Tictorj over you»ovvn temper may be one of the ' ■„ .,. .t . , , j, j . ■ j u- u ^ ■' ■' , mside. Mrs. Ashley nod>led as he raised his hat, few obligatii'ns laid upon vou. „ . vi .„„ „j . u „ -.i. i j '' , . * ... ,, , 1 ^"d Mary glanced at him with a smile and a 'I wish 1 could live for an object, grumbled Henry. 'Come round with me to East's sometimes.' She had grown up to exces- heightened colour, sive beauty. A few momenjjS, and William met beauty of 'I— dare say " retorted Henry, when he could | another stjle ■ Anna Lynn. Her cheeks were find his amazea tongue. 'Tnank y..u again, Mr. ihe same flushed, dimpkd cheeks of her child- Halliburton. ■ hood; the sam. sky-blue eyes gleaming from he- W.illiam laughed But hfe soon resumed his ; tween their long dutk lashes; the ^ame piofusion seriousness. 'lean understand that for you, the , of 5,,!^^ brown hair; the same gentle, sweetly favoured son of Mr. Ashley, icareu in your re- .^ modest nidm.ers. William slopped to shake hands finement and exclusiveness ' , ,,,j,j, [,gr •Enshrined in pi ide — the failing that Helston- 'O-il alone, Anna ." leigh is pleased lo call my biseiii. gsin;.-litlt. red , 'I am on my way to take tea with Mary Ash- under care and coddling so greai, UihI the viiry , ley.' winds of heaven are not suffered to visil n») face ! 'Arc you.' We shall meet there then.' too roughly !' was the imprluous intei rnpiion of ^ 'That wiH be pleasant. Fare thee well for the Henry Ashley. 'Come! brin^ it all out. Don't, present William' from motives of delicacy, keep in any of my j She continued her way. Wil' n ran in home, faults, or virtues, or advantages !' J and up to his .-.hamber Dressing himself hafctily, •I can understand, I say, why you are -illir, ' 3 went to the room where bis mother sat, aod tobr«akthrougb the reserve of your ho*- .at jod before her. MKS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 1» 'Does my coat fit, mother?' < William edged himself on to the lofi, so as to 'Wny, where arc you going?' «he asked. 'cover Hem y from tlie gaze ot any eyes that *To Mrs. Ashlt-y's. I bare put on my new j might be directed to him from the other part of •oat. Does it fit ? Itieemseasj' — ihrowing up{ the room. 'J like Anna rery much,' he said, in his arms. ^ f a clear, low tone; 'almost as 1 miglit like a bis-ter; •Yes. it fits. I think you are getting a dandy. [ but I have no love for her, in the sense jou would Go along. I must not look at you too long.' ; imply— if 1 am not mistaking your meaning. And •Why not?' he asked in lurprise. ;i never shall have.' •Lest I grow proud of my eldest son. And I; Henry looked at him wistfully. 'On your would rather be proud of his goodness than hisl honour?' looks.' s 'Henry! was there need to ask it? On my William, laughing, gave his mother a farewell ' honour, if you will, kiss. 'Tell Gar 1 am sorry he will not bare me; 'No, no; there was no need: you are always at his elbow this evening, to find fault with his | truthful. Bear wiih me, William ! bear with my Greek. Gobd-bye, mother dear.' ; infirmities.' In truth, there was something remarkably no- ; 'My sister, Anna Lynn might be, and welcom«. ble in the appearance of William Halliburton. ^ My wife, never.' As he entered Mrs. A-^hley's drawing-room, the •; Henry did not answer. His face was growing fact seemed to strike upon Henry with unusual ^dan^p with physical pain, force, who greeted him from his diptaat sofa. ;; 'You have one of your spasms of suffering 'So, that's what jou went back for ! — to make ^ coming on!' breathed William. 'Shall I get you yourself look like a buck !' he called out as Wil- ; anything?' liam approached him. 'As if you were not well/, 'Hush! only eit there, to hide me from them: enough before ! Did you dress for me, pray.'' > and be still.' 'For you !' laughed William. 'That's good !' William did as he was requested, sitting so as 'In saying "me," I include the family lot,' re- ; to screen him from Mrs. Ashley and the rest. He turned Henry, quaintly. 'There's nobody else to \ held his hands, and the paroxysm, sharp while it dress for^' ; lasted, passed away. Henry's very lips had 'Yes, there is. There's Anna Lynn.' > grown white with pain. Now, in good truth, William had no covert, . 'You see what a poor wretch lam!' meaning in giving Ihii answer. The words rose to ;; '1 see that you suffer,' was William's compas- his lips, and bespoke them lii;htly.- Perhaps he i sionate answer. couid have given a very diff.rent one had he j 'From henceforth there is a fresh bond of been compelled to speak out the inmost feeling of / union between us. for you possess my secret. It his heart. Strani^e, however, was the effect on ' jg what no one el.*e in the world does. William, Henry Ashley. He grasped William's arm with ; ihaCs my object in life.' emotion, and pulled his face over him as he lay. William did not reply. Perplexity was crowd- 'What do you s:.y? What do you mean?' jjng on his mind, shading his countenance. •I mean nwthing particular. Anna ii here.' \ 'Well!' cried Henry, beginning to recover his 'You shall not evade nie, gasped Henry. 'I ; equanimity, and with it his sharp retorts. 'What must have it oui. now or later. What is it (hat ', are y<aid, atouMng from a reverie, flush into the invalifl's paie checks, and he moved ; *Theic may be difficulties else* heie. She niust his face so that the light did n.>i fjll up..ii ii. not marry out of their own society. Samuel Lynn •I'll have 11 out, I say. Wnat is Anna Lynn to is one of the strictest members of it.' your' 'Rubbish! Samuel Lynn is my father'* ser- 'Nothing,' answered William, a smile paKing vant, and I am my father's son. If S^miiel should his lips. take a straight- iaced fit, and bold out, why, I'll 'What is she to you?' reiterated Hearj, his turn broadbrim.' toM ptiafuUj Mneat. ^ •Samuel Lyoo it nj ftttitr'a Mrrtat!' la that aOlB. HALLIBURTON'S TAOUBLSI. Tery fact, Willitm saw cause to fear that it 'We are by ourselves. Patience; it does not much might not b« *uch plain sailing with Mr. Ash.ey, matt«-r,' he would say; 'the chiid say* she i» as Henry wished to anticipate. He could not cooler without it.' But had Samuel Lynn sur- help looking the doubts he f«lt. Henry obserTed mi-^ed that Anna was in the habit of discarding it it. : on everjl possible orca>tian when she was from •What's the matter again?' he peevishly asked, home, he had been as severe as Patience. At Mr. 'I do think you were born to be the plague of my Ashley's, especially, she would sit, as now, with- lif* ! My belief is, you want her for yourself.' , out it, her lovely face made more lovely by the •I am only anxious for you, Henry I wish you aid of its falling curls. Anna did wrong, and she •ould have assured yourself that it would go knew that she did it; but she was a wilful girl, well, before — before allowing your feelings to be and a vain one. That pretty, timid, retiring irrevocably bound up in it. A blow, for you, manner concealed much self will, much vanity; night be hard to bear.* though in some things she was as easily swayed ♦How could 1 help my feelings .>' retorted as a child. Henry. *I did not fix them purposely on Anna She disobeyed Patience in another matter. Pa- Lynn. Before I knew anything about it, they tience would say to her, 'Should viary Ashley be bad fixed themselves. Almost before I knew opening her instrument of music thee will mind that I cared for her, sh« was more to me than not to listen ta her songs: thee can go into an- the sun in the heavens. There has been no help other room ' for it at all, I lell you So don't preach.' ; 'Oh, yes, Patience,' she would answer; *I will •H ve y u spoken to hei .>' ; mind ' Henry shook his head. 'The time has not come. ( But, instead of not listening, Miss Anna would 1 must make it rii-ht with the master before lean place hersrif close to the piano, and drink in the itir a step; and 1 fear it is not quite ripe for that, son^;* as if her whole heart were in the music. Mind you don't talk." j Music had a great effect upon her; and there she William smiled. 'I will mind * j would sit Mitran< ed, as though she were in some 'You'd better. If that Quaker society got a t,right Eyium. She said nothing of this at hint, there's no knowing what hullabaloo they'd home; und the deceit was wrong. * make. They might b* for reading Anna a pub-; They were sitting down to tea, when Herbert lie lecture at Vieeting; or get Samuel Lynn to Dare came in. The hours for meals were early TOW he'd n )t give his consent.' ! at Mr Ashlej's: the medical men deemed it beit •I snould argue in this way, were I you, Henry ■: for Henry. Herbert could be a gentleman when With my love so firmly fixed on Anna Lynn ^e chose; good-looking; a so; quite an addition to I beg your pardon. Miss Ashley.' J a drawn. g-room. He took his stat between Mary William started up. Mary Ashley was stand- 1 and Anna, ing close by the sofa. Had she caught the pur- 1 'I say, how is it you are not dining at home this port of the last words.' j evening.'' a.sked Henry, who somehow did not re- •Mamma spoke twice, but you were too busily ^g^'^ the Dares with any great favour, engaged to hear' >aid Mary. 'Henry, James is\ 'id'ned in the middle of the day,' was Her- waiting to wheel your sofa to the lea-table.' jbert's leply. Henry rose. Passmg his arm through Wil 'The condescension ! I thought only plebeians liam's he approached the group The servant |'''d '►•al- James, i, there a piece of chalk in the pushed the sofa after them. Standing together | f'«"S«? I "'"*t chalk that up.' were MHry Ashley and Anna. They pre.-ented a '. 'Henry ! Henry !' r. proved Mrs. Ashley, great contrast. Mary wore an evening dress of | '«»' let Mm talk, Mrs Ashley, 'said Herbert, glittering silk, its low body trimmed with rich | with supr. me good humour. • Iheie's nothing he white lace; white lace hanging from its drooping | I'kes so well as a wordy war.' »leeves;ar.d she had on ornaments of gold Anna} 'Nothing in the wond,' arquiesced Henry, was in grey merino, high in the neck, closed at f Especially with Herbert Dare.' the wrists; not a bit of lace about her, not »n or- } nament; nothing but a plain collar of white linen. / •Catch me letting her wear those Methodistical ^ things when she shall be mine!' thought Henry. ^ •I'll make a bonfire of the lot.' > But the Quaker cap.' Ah! it was not there./ Anna had continued her habit at home of throw- ^ ing it off. as formerly. Patience reprimanded in / LAnoHiNo, talking, playing at proverbs, earn- xain. She was Dot seconded by tJamusl Lynn, i'lng and payiDg; forfeits, it was a merry group in CHAPTER IV. attbrlt'i riSLD Mftl. llALLlfiUlllX>If'S TftOOfiUBB ]: Mrs. AshVy'g «>f«win(j.rrtom. That lady hpr«e!f ;! '-hanpef? nvy plans with re»pc«'f to this T.^oni was not joinmic in the merriment. She sat npnit jourocj. In^iCid of iie" patching you, ft 1 had at a -mall tahle, ^ome worb in her hand, •peak-, thought of, I helievt- I fihall send ."*amuel Lynn/ - ing a word now ard then, and smiling to ht rself j Mr. Ashley paused. William did not imme- in echd to some unusual hurstn of laughter. It|diately reply. was surprising th;4l only five Toices could make; 'Samuel Lynn's experience ii greater than •uch a noise They were sitting in a circle: Mary ' yours. It is a new thing, ard he will see, belter Ashley helween WiHiain HHllibiirion sni) Her- than you could co, what can and what cannot be bert Dare, ^nna Lynn btt*'en Herhert D;tre)done.' and Henry Ashley, Henry and William side by/ 'Very well, sir,' at length answered William. side. ' 'You speak as though you felt disappointed,' Time, in these happy moments, passes rapidly. J remarked Mr. Ashley. In due course, the hands oi th«- Frt-nch clock on; William did feel disappointed. But his incen- the mantelpiece pointed to talf-past eight, and , t'TC to the feeliig lay far detper than Mr. Ash- its silver tones rung out the chimes. They were ley supposed. '1 should like to have gone, sir, at the end of the game — Herbert Dare standing' very much. But — of course my liking, or not in a corner, sent there to pay the penalty of the| liking, has nothing to do with ii. Perhaps it it last forfeit — and just settling themselves to com-;! as well that 1 should not go,' he resumed, more mence another. The striking of the hall-hour; in self-soliloquy, as if he were trying to reconcile ar used William, and he g'anced towards the| himself io the disappointment by argument, than clock. I in observation to Mr. Ai'iley. 'I do not see how •Half-past eight! who would have thought it ?| the men would have got along without ate at I had no idea it was so late I must leave youj East's.' just for half an hour,' he awn door. Henry brok« into a 'wordy war ' as Herbert/ William stood still, nailed as it were to the Dare had phrased it earlier in the evening. Wil-^spoi, looking alter his master. A most unwcl- liam smi ed, and overruled him in his quiet way / cume idea had flashed over him; and in iKe im- •They tiold my promise to go round this eve- ^ pulse of the momcni he followed Mr. AsbJey, Ring,' he said. 'I gave it them unconditionally ^speaking it out. Even in the night's obicurity, 1 must just step there to tell them i cannot come \ his emotion was perceptible. — if that's not a eontradiction. Don't loi k so | *Mr. Ashley, the suspicion cast on me, at tb«» cross, fieiiry.' ^time that cheque was lost, has nolljeen the cause 'Of course, you don't mean coming back,' re- ^ — the cause of your declining to intrust me with •entfully spoke lleury. 'When you get there, ^ this commission.'' there you'll stop.' Mr. Ashley looked at him with lurprite. But •No; I have told you I would not. But if 1 Uhat William's agitation was all too real, causing let them expect me all the evening, they will be;*^^^" ^>'S breath to be impeded, his words uneven, looking and waiting, at,d do no good.' . te would have laughed at him. He went out as he spoke, and quitted the I 'W.iliam, I think you are turning silly. There house. At the front gate, as he reached it, Mr '^^ "° suspicion cast on you.' Ashley was coming in. Mr. Ashley had been to ''^'°" ^^''^ "^'"" ''"■'"•■'^ '" ^^* ""•""• "'' J^" the manuf4Ctory; he did rot often go after tea. ^'^" """ 'f'''''*"" '" ™* *° ^«^" ^n^ Jo" *' re •Going already, William." Mr. Ashley ex- '*^""?''^ '^'^ ' ^" "^^ inculpated.' was Wil- , J • . r ; liam 8 impulsive answer, claimed, in an accent of surprise. { '^ I 'Spoken to you ! where was the need .' Whv, 'Mot for long, sir. I must ju.t look in at William, my whole life, my daily intercouri^ with you, is only so much proof that you hava my East's. •Is that scheme likely to prosper.' Can you keep the men •' 'Yes, irideail, I think so. My hopes are strong ' •WrII, ihera's nothing like hope,' answered Mr Ahley, »ith a liugh 'But 1 shall wi ndei full confidence. Should I admit you to my home, to the companionship of my chiidreo, if i l>ad do better frtiih in you tfi»n that?' 'True,' said William, beginning to recover himself 'It was a thought Ih^t flatbed over me, if you do keep Ihcm William,' he added, after sir, when you said I was not to be sent on tha a slight pau««, his tone < hanginic to a busiiie>-k journey. 1 should not like you to doubt me; I one, '1 have a few Hoids to say to you. I was could scarcely live under it. ' about speaking to you iti the counting-house this 'William, you re^/runcbed me with not baTisg •ftvnitfwu, but •wnwlbiug put it aside. 1 hart sirrrH m ' 16 MRS. HALf^rBURTO^f'S TROUBLES. 'I beg your parflon, sir. 1 never thought rf tuch a Itiin:.^ as reproai;ti. 1 would nol presum to do it ' 'I have not stirred in the matter,' resiimeri Mr. A-hley 'A very di^QLcrceable su^picior' arises in my mind at time><, a-* to how the cheqii< went: and I do not choose to stir in it. Have jun any (iuspicion on the poinir' The que-tion took William by purprioe. H- stammered in his answer; an unusual thing fo> | him to do. 'N o.' j 'I ask if you have a suspicion ?' quietly repeated > Mr. Ashley, in a tone of meaning, as if hit tools < William's answer for nothing, or had not hear" ^ it. ■; William spoke out then readily. 'A suspicion f has crossed my mind, sir. Hut it is one 1 should ]■ 'not like to impart to you.' ^ 'Thit'i enoui^h. 1 see. White voluntarily 5 took the loss of the money on himself. He rami ? to me to say S"-, therefore, I infer that it has ii ; some private manner been refunded to him. Mi j Dare veered round and advised me not to investi ^ gate the affair, as I was no loser; Delves hintei the same; altogether, I can see through the thini pretty clearly, and 1 am content to leave it alone. Are you satisfied ? If not ' •Mr. Ashley broke off abruptly. William wailed. •So don't turn foolish again. You and T now understand each other. William !' he emphati cally added, 'I am getting to like you almost as I do my own children. I am proud of you; and I ] «liall be prouder yet. God bless you, my boy !' i It was so very rare that the calm, dignific' | Thomas Ashley was betrayed into anything likf ; demonstrativeness, that William could only stan. '/ and look. And while he looked, the door closei ', on his master. He went away with all bis speed, calling in ai his home. Were the truth to be told, perhap- William was quite as anxious to be back at Mi Ashley's, as Henry was that he should bt Scarcely stopping to lay a word of greeting, hi opened a drawer, took from ic a small case c- fossils, and then searched for something else something whicli appaieiilly he could not find. •Have any of jou seen my miccoscope ?' he asked, turninji to tlie group at the table bendinj: over their books. Jane looksd round. 'My dear, I lent it to Pa- tieiiee to-day. I suppose she forgot to bring i! back. Gar, will you go and ask hc-r I'or it.'' •Don't disturb yourself, Gar,' said VViHiam. 'i am going out. !'JI a»k Patience mys.-.lf. * Patience was alone in her parlour. She re turned hiro the microscope, saying the reason sht ; bad a»t f»i it ia wm, that ih« had oot had tuna '■'- use it. 'Thee art in evening dresg!' she re« i.Trked to Willuirn. 'I am at Mrs. .A«h!e\''. f have only come out r>r a few minutes. Thank you. Good night, Patience.' 'Wait thee a moment, William. Is Anna ady to come home .'* •Vo, that she is not. Why .>' 'I want to send for her. Samuel Lynn is ^pending the evening in the town, so I must send 'rrace. And I don't care to send her lata. She will only get talking to John Pembridge, if she ^^oi-s out after he is home from work.' William smiled. 'It is natural that she should, I suppose. When are they going to be married?' Shortly, ' answered Patience, in a tone not juite so equable as usufil. Patience saw no good in people getting married in general; and she was vexed at the prospect of losing Grace in particu- ar. 'She leaves us in a fortnight from this,' the continued, alluding to Grace, 'and all her hougtits seem to be bent now upon meeting John Pemtiridge. Could thee bring Anna home for me.'' 'With pleasure,' replied William. 'That is well, then. Grace does not deserve lo go out to-night; for she wilfully crossed me to- ■* lay. Good-evening, William.* The fossil case in his hand, and the microscope in his pocket, William made the best of his way to Honey Fair. Robert East, Stephen Crouch, yrumm, Thornycroft, Carter, Cross, and some 'lalf-dozen others, were crowded round Robert's ruble. William handed them the fossils and the iiiicroscope; told the men to amuse themselves with them for that night, and he would explain iiore about them on the morrow. He was ever ■ nxious that the men should have some object of anusement as a chief point on these evenings; inything to keep their intcrttst awakened. Before the half hour had expired, he was back it Mr. Ashley's. The proverbs had been given ip, and Mary was at the piano. Mr. Ashley had •ecn accompanying her on his flute, on which nstrument he was a brilliant player, and when 'Villiam entered, she was singing a duet with Herbert Dare. Anna — disobedient Anna — was s»^ated close, listening with all her cars and heart to the music, her up-turned countenance quite a sight to look upon, in its rapt pleasuro. 'I think you could sing,' spoke Henry Ashley to her, in an under tone, after watching bar while the song lasted. Anna shook her head. •! may not try,' she "aid, raising her blue eyes to him for one rao- inent.and then droppirig tbem. 'he time may come when you maj/ returned Hwry, in a daoper wkiaper. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 17 You might have She made no answer; she did not lift her ej«5; but the fiim'est possih'e stnile parted her rn-'N lips — a smile wliicli seemed lo express a 'eU-jcon- Bciousnpss that perhaps that tinie mii^ht come. And Henry, shy and- sensitive, stood apart and gazed upon her, his heart beating. . - ^ 'Y.>.m}r lady.'s.M ' Am I not idle, William ?' she said. William bent" to ki^s her. 'There's no need for you to be anything but idle now, m jther.' •No need! William, you know belter. There's great need that, none shouM be idle; none in all the world. Out I have a bad headache to- night.' ' William,' called out Gar, * they brought this round for you from Rasl'b. Toung Tom carae .vith it.' It was the case of fossils and t>ic microscope. Willi.im did not under>laMd. 'Honour bright, > William observed that they netd not have sent alwajs,' said he. 'But what do you mean ?' 'You'll not get making love to her as you go home!' William could not help laughing. He turned his amused face full on Henry. 'Be at rest. 1 would not care to make love to her had I fuU leave aiid license from the Qt/aker bociety, granted me in public conclave.' ihtm, a« he should wanltln'in there flu the tijrxt evening. • Pdtienre said she tiud nothadtiroe lo use the microscope,' he continued. 'Itliuikl will take it in lo her. I supposw she ha« been buying linen, and wants to see if the threads are even.' ' The Lynns will be gone to bed at this time,' ^aid Jane. ' Not t •-night. I have but just seen Anna home 'Do you think I did not see her hrlghtcnei! ! 'rom Mrs. Alhley's; aid .Vlr. Lynn is gone out countenance when you told her she was to g- ', 'o supper.' home with you.'' retorted Henry. ) , He turned to leave (he room with the micros- • I saw it. loo. I coiclud.. she wa<< pleased thai | ■'"f'^' "^"^ ^" '^" '"°'*'"S "^ ^''« ^ '^^ '''• ""'^ ^*'"*^ her fitlier wa* not coming r.,r her, liule undul. ) i''« l-an of it. A few minutes, and William final- fulthing! However It may have been, rely upoii j ^ went out. it the brightening was not for me,' Patience came to t4ie door, in answer to hit 'knock. She thaiikt'd him for the microscope, and Pressing his hand warmly, with a pressure thai ^ ^^^^^ ^ n,i„me or two chatting. ' Patience was no false friend ever give, W.lliam hastened away . j ,-0,,^ „f gossip; there was no denying it. It was time. Herbert Dare and Anna had nof ' Good « Will Ihee not walk inr* wailed (or him, but were evcr so far ahead. j • jjot now,' he said, turning away. • Very poliW of you !' cri.d Wjlliam, when he ; nighi, Patience.' cauilii them up. • Anna, bad you gone pitching: ' G.»od night to theci Thee »end in Anna, olf lb It part of the palti thai Ihey are mending, pli a«e. Sti« id haviiij( a prelt/ loog talk with Iby •nd^brokeo your b»«d to ihm road, I should bava mother.' ]8 MRS. HALUBt5RT02f 'S TROUBLEa. Willlitn WM At ft !oM. • I saw Anna ia from , together! and tliought after thonghf Crowded on ■ Mr. Ashley's.' ' his ruind; one idea, due remembraucei- chasing • She did hut ask whether her father was home, , another, ftnd then ran through the houve,' replied Patience, i Was this the explanation of. the plaid cloak, • She had a message for thy mother, she said, from \ whjch had paraded slralthily on that very field-. Margaret Ashley.' . path, during the past winter? There could not • Mrs. Ashley do6s not send messages to my j be a doubt of it. .A.nti was it in this manner that mother,' returned William, in -some wonder. ; Anna's Qying absences from home were spent— • They have no acquaintance with each other— ! absences which sl^, in her U[iptirdonay« deceit, beyond a bow, in passing.' .: had accounted for to Patience by saying that she ' She mu.-)t have sent her one to-night— why else was-with Mrs. Halliburton.' Alas for Anna! should the chi d go in to ddiver it.-' persisted ' aIus for all who deviate by ^in untruth from the Patience. ' Not but that Anna is always running : straight path of rectitude ! If the misyuided into thy hoQse at nights. I fear she must trouble , child — she was little better than a cUild-»-could thy mother at her class.' ; but have setju the future that was before her j. It She never stays long enough for that,' replied i ^^.y bave been very pleasant, very romantic to William. 'When she dot- s comfe in — and It is j gtgal a march on Patience, and pace cut there, all not often — she just opens the door; ' How dost ' ,n,jgpg„(jen4, in the cold, chattering to Herbert thee, friend Jane Halliburton.'' and out again ' ! Oare; listening to his protestations that he cared •Then thee can know nothing about it, William. /(-jj^ ^f,{jQj^ j„ 11,5 ^^j-ij but herself; never had I tell thee she never stays less than an ho.ur, a>'d L^^gj]^ never should care: but it was laying up for she is always there. I say to her that one of | ^^^^^ ^ ^^y ^^ reckoning, the like -f which had these evenings thy mother may likely b« hinting ; ^^^^^^ c^^^..■^ p„ ^ ^^J^„g jj^aj^ Wi'i.ja. te* med to her that her room will be more acceptable than her company. Thee send her home now, pease.' William turned away. Curious tliou.hi.-» wt.rt passing through hii mind. Th:it Anna did not go in, in the frequent way Patience intimated; iha! she rarely stajed above a minute or two, h« knew. He knew— at least, tie fell perfectly suie that Anna was not at thi« house now; h.jd not been at it. And yet Patience said ' Send hei home.' » , , . • Has Anna been here.' he asked, when he went in. •Anna.' No.' N6t just that moment, to draw observation, bm presently, William quitted the room, and wen' into the garden at the back. A very wnpleasaii' suspicion had arisen in his mind. It might no' have occurred to him, but for certain glance> which he had observed pass that evening be tween Herbert Dare and Anna— g'sncc* of con fidence— as if they had^aprivHte mutual under standing on some point or other. He had no' understood them ih^n : he very much feared hi was ahout to understand theni now. Opening the gate leading to the field at t' 1 back, commonly called Alterly's Pield, he looke. cautiously out. For* a moment or two he roiil- »ee nothing. The hedge was thirk-n either side, and no living being appeared to be undernt-ath its to tnke it all in at a glance; and, rising tuinultur oi/siy over other unpleasant thoughts, came the lu i;e ubrance of Henry Ashley's misplaced and ill started h ve. With another deep breath that was more like a rroan — for Herbert Dare never brought good to anybody i^i his life, and William knew it — Wij- iiam set olf towards them. Whether they heard iiie footsteps, or whether they deemed the time or parting had come, certain it was that Ileibert : vvas gone before William could reach them, and ; \nna was speeding towards her home with a i^lit and fleet step. William placed himself in ler way, and she started aside with a scream that v«-nt echoing through the field. Then they had ■ ot heard him. 'William, is it thee.' Thee hast frightened me learly out of my senses.' 'Anna,' he gravely said, 'Patience is waiting or you.' Anna Lynn's imagination led her to all sorts of uitastic fears. 'Oh, William, thee hast not iren in to Patience!' she exclaimed, in a fit of embling. 'Thee hast not been to our house to eek 11 el' They had reached his gate now. He hailed, .Hid tO(jk her hand in his, his manner impressive, his voice firm 'Anna, I must speak to you as I shade. But he saw farther when his eyes became | would to my own sister; as 1 might to Janey.had acc'istomed to the obscurity. ' «he lived, and been drawn into this undesirable Pacing slowly in company, were.Herhert D.^re j imprudence. Though, indeed, 1 should nit then and Antra. Now moving on, a urw steps; now j s-peak, but a.t. What tales are ih.-y that Heibert stopping to converse more at: .^ase William I>-"e i.s,deceivifg you witi. ' drew a dp.'p breath. He saw q;i!c « nough lobe -Hast thee been in to Patience.' Hasttbeebeen eur« this Wfcs notth« first time they had so paced 1 iu t« Patience ?' reiterated Acna. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 19 •Patience knows nothing of this. She thinl<* I lio not care to mttt him. Cfin thee not beliey* you are at our house. I ask jou^ Anna, what -me ?' foolish tales Hfrherl Dar*- is deceiving y.iu with? ■ He did believe her, implicitly. Her eyes were Anna— relieved on the score of her flight— . streamirg d..wn Avjih tears; her pretty hands shootc her head petiiUntly. 'He »•* not deceiving ■ ching about him. He did like Anna very much, me with any. He would not deceive." a..d hewould not diaw down vexation upon her, 'Anna; hear me. His very nature, as I bc'ieve, i if it rould be avt.ided with expediency. i^ deceit. I fear he has little truth, little honour ; ;! will rely upon you, then, Aiina. Believe me, with him. Is Herbert professing to — to loveywu.' ! ypy could notpick out a worse friend in all Hel- *I will not answer thee aught. 1 will not heai i stonleigh, than Herbert Dare. I Lave jour thee speak against Herbert Dare.' ( word >' 'Anna,' he continued, in a lower tone, 'you' 'Yes. And I ha>M} thine.' . ought lo be afraid of Herbert Dare. He is not a j He placed her arm within his own, and led her good man.' • , \lo the back door of her house. Patience wai How wilful she was! 'It is of no use thy talk- ! standing at it. *1 liave brought you the little ing,' she reiterated, putting her fingers to her iruant,' tie said ears. 'Herbert Dare is good. 1 will not hear *lt is well thee hast,' replied Patience. 'I had thee speak agaifist him.' jjustopeiitd the door to come alter her. Arma, Then Anna, as you meet it in this way, I must ihee ait worse than a wild ttiing. Running otl in inform your father or Patience of what I have this manner !' seen. If you will not keep yourself out of harm's It had not been in William's way to see much way, they must do it lor you.' of Anna's inward qua'ities He had not detected It terrified her beyond everything. Anna could her deceit; ht. did nuC know that she could be nn- have died rather than suffer her escapaxle to get truiluul when it suiltd her so to be. He had firm to the ears of home. 'Mow can thee talk of faith in her word, never questioning but it might barm,. Williarin .» What harm is likely to come to be cl. pended upon. Ncveitheless, when he came me? I did no more harm talking to Herbert i'iiie afiei v«ard9 to reflect upon the matter, he deemed hert, than I did, talking to him in Margaret A-ii- it ii,if.ii oe his duly to give Patiei.ce a little word ley's drawing-room.' ' , of cum. ion. And this he could do without com- 'My d''>' ^•^'Id, you do.not underslaiiJ things,' promising Anna, hoanswc. 'The very fact of your stealing' He contrived to see Patience alone the very from your Lo.i>p to walk about in this manner, next day. She began talking of their previous however innocent it maybe in itself, would do evening at the Ashleys. you incalculable hafm in the eyes of the world. 'Yes,' observed William, 'it was a pleasant Aud I am quite sure that ii no shape can Herbert evening. It would have been all the pleasanter, Dare bring yon good, or conduce to>ourgood. though, but for one who was there — Herbert Tell me one thing, Annai.Htive you learnt to Dare.' care much for him :' / '1 do not admiro the Dares,' said Patience, in a •I don't care for hirh at &11,' responded Anna. , frijgid tone. •No! Then why walk about with him.*' } 'Nor I. But I observed one thing. Patience — 'Because it's fun to cheat Patience.' ' that he admires Anna. Were Anna my sistur, I 'Oh, Anna, this is very wrong, very CpoHsh. shoulcHiot like her to be too much admired by Do you mean what you say — that you do not care Herbert Dare. So take caie of her.' , for him.'' Patience looked steadily at him. William con- 'Of course I mean it,' she ansNvered. 'I think tinned, his tone dropped to a confideoli<«l one: he is very kind and pleasant, and he gave me a 'You know what Herbert Dare is said to be, pretty locket. But thai'.') all, William, tliee will not Patience — fonder of leading people to ill than to tell upon me.'' she continued," clinging to Ins arm, good. Anna is giddy-->-as you yourself leil her her tone changing to one of imploring entreaty, twenty times in a day. 1 would keep faer care- as the terror, which sh« had been endeavoring to fully under my own eye. 1 would not even allow hide with li^ht words, returned upon her. •Wil- her to run into our house at nighl, as she is fond liam!' thee an kind aiid obliging— thee will not of doiog.' he added, with marked emphasis. 'Sbt tell upon me! I will prom'se thee never to meet is as iafe there as she i» liere; but it u^iviDg her Herbert Dare again, if thee will not.' i a taste of liberty that she may not be the bnier •It would be for your own sake, Anna, that I ■ for iif the en^. When she comes in, send Orac* should speak. How do 1 know that you would with her, or bring tier your -ell; J will b«« her keep your word ?' ho/ne again. Tell her she is a frowo-up vuuof '1 give thee my promise that 1 will ! I will not lady now, and it is not proper vhul tbe bbouid go meet Herbert D*t9 in this way again. I tell the« nut uoattaoded,' be ooacluded, Uughiug so MRS, HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. thank thee kindly, Wiliiam.' CHAPTER V. «WHliam, I do not quite understand thee. Hast ( What l>ad William thought, what had Patience thee cause to say ihisr' ,' said. cOuld they i.ave Known that this likuig was. •All I say, Patience, is— keep .her out of the ^aiieady" implanted in Anna's heart beyond rtcal ! way of possible harm, of uncJesirable friendbhips. \ Alas ! that it.shouid have bi;e.n so ! Quiet, child- Were Anna to be drawn into a tikinij for Her- i ish, timid as Anna outwardly appeared, the bert Dare, I am surfr it would not be uf^reeabie to ;-slrongest affection had I een aroused in her heart Mr. Lynn. He would never consider the Dares | for Herbert Dare — wa> filling it to its every crev- a desirable family for her to marry into. -' | ice. These apparently shy, sensitive natures, 'Marry into the. family of the Dares!' inter- ! are sometimes only the more passionate and way- rupted Patience, hotly. 'Are' thee losing ihy | waid within. One evening, a few months pre- senses, William .'' . < viously, Anna was walking in Atterly's Field, •Thrse likings sometimes .lead to marriage,' [behind their house. Anna had been in the habit quietly continued William. 'Therefore, I say, | of wal'king thr.re— nay, of playing there— since keep her away from all chance of forming such. |She was a cnild, and she would as soon have as- Believe me, mv advice is good.' ! sociated harm with their garden as with that field. ,, ,, , r , , I » I J J u ♦' ., Farmer Atterly kept his sheep in it, and Anna M thmk I understand, concluded Patience. M ) , . ^ •' ' "^ ■ ' 'had run about as long as she could remember ; with the little lambs. Herbert Dare came up ac- ,cidentaliy — the path through it, leading along at ! the back of the houses, uas public, though not ; much frequented — and 1 e spoke to .Anna. Anna . knew him to say 'G lod-day' when she passed him ; in the street; and she now and tjien saw him at ( Mrs. Ashley's. Herbert stayed talking with her LOOKiKa mro the saop windows. a few miuules, and then went on his way. Some- . , - , . , ' how, from that time, he and Anna encountered A VERT unpleasant part of the story has now ' , , ,, . , , , t 1 , , rr . . ,■ • each other there pretty frcquei.tlv; and that was to be touched upon. Unpleasant things occur in , •,,,.,. yy ." ^ , ... . .' . , , . ■ ! how the hking grew. If a qualm of conscience real life, a. id if true pictures have to be given oi < j m- . ^ .• ., ^ ... ,, . ' . . ■ , i crossed MissAnna at times that it was not quite the world as it exists, as it goes on its round, day , ,, ... /. i j < j ,u * ' , * , ' •' , the thing for a joung lady to do, thus to meet a by day, the mention of Ihem cannot lie wholly < 4, • . t. ■ »i i. ..l •' •' ' . , •' ; gentleman m secret, she conveniently sent the ^^^^ '^ ' ; qualm away. That harm should arise from it in Ctfitain v/ords of William Halliburton to Pa- \ any way. never so much as crossed her mind for tience had run in this fashion: 'Were Anria to be j a moment; and to do Herbert Dare justice, real d,rawn into a liking for Herbert Dare, I am sure '.harm was probably as far frora his mind as from 'it would not be agreeable to Mr. Lynn. He ' hers. He grew to like her, almost as she liked would never consider the Dares a desirable family ! him. Herbert Dare did not, in the sight of Hel- for her to marry into.' In thus speaking, Wil- ; stonleigh. stand out a model of all the cardinal liam had striven to put the case in a polite sort ; virtue.^!; but he was not all had. Anna believed of form for the ears of Patience. As to any ^ him all good— all honour, truth, excellence; and probability of ma-rriage between one of the Dares ; her heart had flashed out a rebuke to William and Anna Lynn, he would scarcely have believed | when he hinted tjiat Herbert might not be a par it within the range of possibility. The Dares,. ; agon. She only knew that the very sound of his one and all, would have considered Anna far be- , footstep made her heart leap with happiness; she neath them in position, while the difference of re- ; only knew that to her he appeared everything ligion would on Anna's side be a bar. The worst ; that was bright and fascinating. Her great dread that William had contemplated was the 'liking' < was, lest their intimacy should become kno»n, he had hinted at. Fie cared for Anna's welfare ; and separation ensue. That separation would be and comfort as 4ie would have cared for a §is- ! inevitable, were her father or Patience to be- ter's, and he believed it would not contribute to ( come cognizant of it, Anna rightiy believed. her comfort that she should become attached to |. Cunning little sophist that she was! She would Herbert Dare. But for compromising Anna— and , fain, persuade herself that an' innocent meeting he had given. his word not to do it— he would < out-of-doors was justifiable, where a meeting in- have spoken'out fully, that there was a danger of ^ doors was not practicable. They had no ac- this liking supervening, if she met him as he; quaintance with the Dares; consequently, Her- feared she had been in the habit of ooing. Cer-| bert could plead no excuse for calling in upon tainly he would not have alluded to the remote I them— none at least that would be likely to stand possibility of marriage, the mention of which ■ patent with Patience. And so the young ladjr had 60 scared Patience. ( reconciled her conscieoce in the b«*t wa; the MRS. HALLIBTTRTOIf "S TROUBLBS. Bl could, stole out as often as she was able to meet M dar« not stay talking to Ihee, Herbert. Pa- him. and left discovery to take care of Itself. i tience, she'll be liki-,ly sending Grace after me, . Discovery came in the shaps of William Hal- ; finding me so long away. But I was obliged to liburton. It was bad enough; but far less alarm- tell thee this, lest thee should be coming again, ihg to Anna than it might have been. Had her Fare thee well !' father dropped upon her, she would have run Passing swiftly from him, Anna went on her away'and fallen into the nearest ditch, in her way. Herbert did not choose to follow her in terror and consiernation. the public street. She went along, poor child, Though guilty of certain trifling inaccuracies — with her head down and her eyelashes glistening, such as protesting she "did not care' for Herbert It was little eUe than bitter sorrow thus to part Dare — Anna, in that interview with William, with Heibert Dare. fully meant to keep the promise she made, not to Patience was standing at the door looking out meet him. Promises, however, given under the for her when she came in sight of home. Pa-' influence of terror or other sudden emotion, are tietice had given little heed to w hat William Hal- not always kept. Jt would probably prove so : libui ton said the previous night, i)r she might not with Anna's. One thing was indisputable— that have sent Anna into Helstonleigh alone, in point where a mind could so far forget its moral recti- of fact. Patience had thought Witliam a little tudo as to practice deceit in one particular, as overfancilul. But when, insiead of being home Anna was doing, it would not be over-scrupulous at four o'clock, as she ought to have been, the to keep its better promises. ; clock slruck five, and she had not made her ap- Auna's thoughts for many a morning latterly, ' pearance. Patience began to think she did let her when she arose, had been, 'This evening 1 shall have her liberty too much. see himj' and the prospect seemed tp quicken her \ «Now, where has ihee been .'' was the saluta- fingers, as it quickened her heart. But on the : lion of Patience, delivered in a tone of acrimony, morning after the discovery, her fir.'t ihought) *I met so many people, Patience.i Theybta^ed was, '1 must never see him again as I have done. ( to talk with me.' How shall I warn him not to come." That he) Brushing past Patience, conveniently deaf to would be in the field again that evening, unlci,s her subsequent reproofs, Anna flew up to hercw.i warned, j^he knew: if William Halliburton saw /room. When she came down her father had him there, a quarrel might ensue between them; , entered, and Piiuence was pouring out the tea. at any rate, an unpleasant scene; Anna de- f ivVill thee tell thy father where thee has scended, feeling cross and petulant, and inclined Jbeen:' to wish William had been at the bottom of the \ The command was delivered in Patience's sea before he had found out what he did find out driest tone. Anna, inwardly tormented, out- the previous evening.. wardly vexed, burst into tears. The Quaker 'Where there's a will, there's a way,' it is said, .looked U;) in surpr se. Anna Lynn contrived tbat day to exemplify \i. > Patierce explained. Anna had left home at Her will was set upon seeing Herbert Dare and ; three o'c ock to execute a little commission: she she did see him: it can scarcely be said by acci- ; might well havf been home in three-quarters of dent. Anna contrived to be sent into the town ;an hour, and she had only made her appearance by Patience oh an errand, and she contrived to ^ now. linger so long in the neighbourhood of Mr. Dare's ; 'What kept thee, child." asked her father, office, gazing in at the shops in West Street (if 'I only looked in at a shop or two,' pleaded Patience had but seen her!) that Herbert Dare Anna, through her tears. 'There were the prct- passed. tiest newengravings in at Thomas Woakam's' If 'Anna!' Patience had wanted me to run both ways, she 'Herbert, I have been wailing in the hope of should have said so.' seeing tfiee,' she whispered, her manner timid as Notwithstanding the little spice of impertinence a fawn, her pretty cheeks blushing. 'Thee must pef ping out in the last sentence, Samuel Lynn not come again in the evening, for I cannot meet saw no reason to correct Anna. That she could ^j,gg I' be ever wrong, he scarcely admitted to his own •Whv so ?' asked Herbert. heart. 'Dry thy tears, child, and t;.ke thy tea,' 'William Halliburton saw me with theo last said he. 'Patience wanted thee, maybe, Tor some night, and he says it is not rigtit. 1 had to give household mailer; it can- wait to another oppor- him my promise not to meet thee again, or eloe lunily. Patience,' he added, a« if t<» drown the he would have told my father.' ' ' sound of his words and their remembrance, 'we Herbert cast a word to William; not a compli- my stiirts in order.'' mentary one. 'What business is it of hit ?' he 'Thy shirts in order.'' repealed Patience. Allied. ) 'Why does thee uk that ?' 38 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 'I should not have asked it without reason,' re- ; troubled with thee,' was the answfjr of Satiiuel turntid he. 'Will thee ptease give me an an--L)nn; but the tone of his voice spoke of anything s^er;' • j'rather than dissatisfaction. Why is he sending •Therold shirts are as much in order as thlnjrsjthee as .well a'* myself?' .. ■ begmnif.g to wear ean be,' replied Patience. 'Tl7^ » He told me he thought it might be beat that new sriiris I eannot say much about Tney will .you >*hould.show me the markets, and, introduce not be finished on thii side Midsummer, unless me to the skin njerchants, as I should probably Anna sits t 'There was nothing, that I am aware of, to 'I don 't kno.w that,' said Mr. Lynn. 'Had they' call for the information,' observed the Quaker, in been ready, child, I mif^ht have wanted them now. ; his usual dry manner. 'I went there two or Iaing)inga jyuiney.' ' ,; three times on my own account when I was ia 'Is it the French journey thee has talked of; business for myself. Did the master tell thee once or twice lately .''imerposed Patience. ^when he should expect us to start?' •Yes,' said Samuel Lynn. 'The master was J 'Not precisely. The beginning of the week, I speaking to nie about it this afternoon. We were I think.' interrupted, and I did not altogether gather when \ 'I have been asking my father if he cannot take he wjshes me to start; but I fancy it will be im- ^ me,' put in Anna, in a plaintive tone, looking at mediately ' ' iWilliam. 'Oh, father, could thee not take me?' . '; 'And I have answered her, that she may as well The intei-rtiption came from Anna. ' Her blue|ask me to take the Malvern Hill.*,' vras tlie re- eyes were glistening, her cheeks wer6 crimson; ;! joinder of Samuel Lynn. 'I could as likely take a journey in the interior of" France wore charms J the one as the oi.her.' fOr her as great as it did for Cyril Dare. All the/ Likely or unlikely, Samuel Lynn would have way home from West Street, she had been think- Uaken her beyond ail doubt—- taken her with a ing.bow she should spend her miserabie home /greedy, sheltering grasp— had he foreseen the re- days, d*-barred of the evening snatches of Mr. ^ suit of his leaving her, the grievous trouble tb.at Herbert's charming society. Going to France ' was to fall upon her head, would be something. '? ■ 'Thee will drink a dish of tpa with ys this eve- 'I wish I could take thee, child! But thee art< ning, William?' uware thee might as well ask me to lake the;! n ,^33 Patience who spoke. William hesi- Malvern Hills.* |! tated, but he saw they would be pleased at his In her inward eonviction, Aiina believed shejdoingso. and he sat do.v a.. The conversation migiit. Before she could oppose any anse up betimes, lo institute the. ceremony. / Their house contained Ihf same accommodation jin^ideasdid Mrs. Halliburton's, with tins addi- !; lion — that the open gmret in the Quaker's had i been partitioned off" into two chambers. Patience / slept in one: Grace had occupied the other- The \ ihree bedrooms on the floor underneath were \ used, one by Mr. Lynn, one by Anna; tlie other was kept as a spare room, for any chance visitor; Itie 'best room' it was usually called. The house ■ belonged to Mr. Lynn. Formerly, both houses 1 had belonged to him; but at the time of his loss he had sold the other to Mr. Ashley. I The ablutions were in full play. Hester, with I a pail, and mop, and scrubbing-brush, and other I essential requisites, was ensconced in the top chambers; Anna, ostensibly at her wristband stitching (but "the work did not get on loo fast), was singing to herself, in an ur«ierlone, in one of the parlours, the door safely shut; while Paiience was exercising a general superintendence, giving an eye everywhere. Suddenly Iherti ectioed a loud noise, as of a fall, and a scream resounded liroughout the house. It appeared to come ftom > A.hat they usually called the bedroom floor. I Anna flew up the first stairs, and Hester Dell flew ;! lown the upper ones. At the foot of Ihe garret ' lairs, her head close against the door of Anna's ^ hamber, lay Patience an'l a heavy bed-pole. In ^ itlempting to carry the pole down from her room, ; he had somehow got it entangled with her legs, ' iiid had fallen heavily. { 'Is the house coming down.'' Anna was begin- < ing lo say. But she stopped in consternation / \ hen she saw Patience. Hester atttmpted to ) ,nck her up. , ': 'The capnot raise oje,' Hester. Anna, child, ,; thee ii.ust, not attempt lo touch me. 1 fear roy \ .eg is br ' ) Her voice died twaj, her eyes closed, and a i ivid due, as of deaih, overspread Jkt count«- > arice. Anna, more ler.ified ihan she had ever ■ .«eii in her life, flew round lo Mr*. Hallihuiloiis. I Dobbs, Irbin her kilch«n,»a«r b«rcoming-»**w 1 !M MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TAOUBLBS. thft yonng fflce streaming down with tears, heard ■ the short cries of alarm' — and Dobbs stepped out. ; •Why, what on earth's the matter do^?' asked she. " I Anna laid hold of Dohbs, apd clung to her; : partly that, to do so, S'-enifd some protection in ; her greyi lertor. 'Oh, D bbs, come into Pa-^ tietice!' she cried. ■ 'I -think she's dying.' : • The voice, rising to a shriek in its uncon- ' trolled eaiotlon, reached the ears of Jane. She | came forth from the parlour. Dobbs was then ; running in to Samuel Lynn's, and Jane ran also,.^ CCTuprehending nothing. ; Patience was reviving when they got in. All her cry was, that the> must not ::,iove her. Onf of her legs was in some manner doubted undt i her, and doubled over the pole. Jane felt a cer- tain conviction that it was broken. ♦Who can run the fastest.'' she asked. 'Wi must get Mr. Parry here. Hester waited for no further instructions. Sht caught up her fawn-coloured shawl and her gre^ bonnet, and was off, putting them on as she ran Anna, sobbing wildly, turned ard hid her face O' Jane, like one who wants to be comforted. Thf n hor mood changing, she threw herself down be side Patience, the tears from her own eyes fall ing on Pdltence'8 face. •Patience, dear Patience, can thee forgive me I have been wilful and naughty, but i never meat to cross thee really. I did it only to teas,e thee: loved thee all the while.' Patience, suffering as she was, drew down th repuit.nt face to kiss it fervently. '1 know it dear child; 1 know thee. Don't thee distress th) self for me. ' Mr. Parry came, and Patience was lifted U| and carried into the spare room. Her leg wh broken, and badly broken; the surgeon called it compound fiactuie. So there was an end to the gfand scheme d cleansiug for a long while to come ! Patience la; in sickness and pain, and Hester had to tnake hi the first care. Anna's spirits rev.ved in a day o; two. Mr. Parry said a cure would be effected ii time; that the worst of the business was the Ion. confinement for Patience"; and Anna forgot ht dutiful fit of repentance. Patience «)OM/rf be we I again, would be about as before; and, as to th. present confinement, Anna rather grew to loot upon it as the interposition of some good fair.) spirit, who must have taken her own liberty un- der its special protection. Whetber Anna would have succeeded in elud ing the vigilance of Patience, up cannot be. told she certainly did that of Patience down. Anni. had told Herbert Dare thai he was not to pay -. vHit to AtUrlj'l field H*^> <*' •»!>««* *»•' ^ P*' one; but Flmbc rt Dare was about the last persbto to obey snch advic-e. Had William Halliburton remained to be — as Herbert termed it — a treach- erous spy, there's no question but Herbert would have striven to set his viirilance at defiance; with the absence of Wjllinm, the field, both literally and fiiiiiraiivfly, was open to him. In the ab- sence of Samuel Lynn, it Was doubly open Her- . bert Dare knew perfectly well that if the Quaker once got the slightest inkling of his private ac- quaintance with Anna, it would be effectually put a stop to. The wearing a cloak resembling Wil- liam Halliburton's, on his visits to the fiey, had been the result of a bright idea. It had suddenly •courred to Mr. Herbert, that if the Quaker's yn>. eyes did by mischance catch sight of the •loak, promenading some fine night at the back •f his residence, they would accord it no particu- ar notice, concluding the wearer to be William Hal iiburton taking moonlight exercise at the back if his residence. Nevertheless, Herbert had imed his visits so as to make pretty sure that Samuel Lynn was beyond view, safely ensconced n Mr. Ashley's manufactory; and he had gener- '. Ily succeeded. Not quite always, as the reader undwg. Anna was of a most persuadable nature. In efiance of her promise lo William, she suffered I' rhett Dare to persuade her agi.in into the old v«tem of meeting him. Guileless as a child, lever giving thought to wrong or to barm — be- nnd the wrong and harm of thus clandestinely •ealing out, and that wrong she ccnvtniently ig- nored — she saw iiothing very grave in the doing . Herbert could not come in-doors. Patience vould be sure not to welcome him; and therefore, he logically argued to her own mind, she must o out to him. She had learnt to like Herbert •are a great deal loo well not to wish to meet im, to talk with him. Herbert, on his part, had earnt to like her. An hour passed in whispering o Anna, in mischievously untying her sober cap, nd letting the -curls fall, in laying his own hand ■ jndly on the young head, and telling her be ared for her beyond every earihly thing, had rown to be one of his most favourite recrea- lons; and Herbert was not one to deny himself -ny recreation that he took a fancy to. He in- ended no harm to the pretty child; it is po!t 'I am getting on nicely. I have done al) tl» was always in the ascendant. Herbert had bt-en ' stitching, and nearly the plain part of tlie bodies; introduced to Anna Lynn at Mrs. Ashley's, and \ I shall soon be at the gathers. What did she lay^ that threw a son of prestige round ber; she was -to thee last night.'' also enshrined in the respectaMc Quaker body of | »she said, "Go to the parlour, Hester, and see the town; but for thcbe facts for being who sin- j v^hethcr Anna does not want a light." And I .was, Herbert might have bten less scrupulous in j came and could not fii.d th^e. And then she said his mode of behaviour to her He would not— it j i,,ee wast always running into the next door, may be as well to say he dared not — be otherwi.se \ [poubling them, a^ i she would not have it done, than considerate towards Anna Lynn; but, on the / Thee came in just at the time, and she scolded other hand, be would not have de«med her worthy ] d^^p • to hecome his wife. On the part of Samuel T 'Yes, she did,' resentfully spoke Anna. 'I tell Lynn, he would far rather have seen his child in J ihee, Hester, she's the worst fidget breathing. I her coffin-, than the wife of Herbert Dare. Tht- i _;ive ihee'my word, Hester, that 1 had not been young Dares did not bear a good name in Hel-;^,nside the Halliburtons' door. 1 had been in ihii Btonieigh. j rarden and in the field. 1 had been cloie at work In this most uncertain and unsatisfactory sta'e j ^^\i jay » of things, what on eartn-as Dobbs had said to; .j^ot ^^itc all day, dear,' interrupted Hester. Anna-did Herbert want w:th her at all.' Far,> ^j,,^^ ^^ ^^^^j^^ ^^^^ ^p^^^^^^^^^ ^,f „,^,„ t„ jbe far better that he had allowed Anna to fall inj,,^^;]^ ^^ f^^ ,, ^^^ ^„ ^^ble. 'Thee had Ahy with the sensible advice of William Halliburlo, - ,.^^^^^^ ^^^^1^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^„ .^ ^^^ morainf, -•Do not meet him more.' It was a sad vity; and ' ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^.^^^^^ ^^.^^^ .^ ^^^ afternoon.' it is very probable that Herbert Dare regretted .: | .^^^„^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^^ p^^^ ^^ ^h, afterwards, in the grievous misery it entailed. ^ ,, ^^^^^^^^^ Anna, 'and I wanted some fresh Misery to both of them; and without positive il ) ^_^ ^^^^^ .^ yf^^,^,^ the crin,e." conduct on the part of either. >' ^ • , . ,, , . . Tctt j » n ., . , , . .J ' Cr me, dear It's only natural. I.'^TbadDot But that time had not come yet, and we are / ^' "' ' •' , ,. • .. . , ^ t_ . r o If I u , < mv erran( 8 to eo upon, and «o eol the air tiitl only at the stage of Samuel Lynn's absence an<' '"' ''"' ^ . . ^. .. . r> .- > u I 1 A ^ ^ * I. . * .i» > A-av. I'd like myself to run in the field, when roy Patience 8 broken leg. Anna had taken to stca / -^aj, » « j > / out aguio; and her wits were at work to concoc ; **""'^ was done. a plausible plea for her absences to Hester Del, \ • 'So would anybody else, except Patience,' re- thai no undesirable Ules might be carried to Pa- r^orted Anna. 'Wester, look Ihee. When the tienee. | aiks after me again, tbee but no need to tell Ur, J 96 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. should I have run out. It oijly fidgets her, and ^ had been in it a long while, had been sinking 8he is not well enough to be fidgeted. Thee tell | into it, in fact, deeper and deeper. He had. her I a in at my sewing. But 1 ean'l be sewing^ managed to stave it off hitherto in some way or for ever, Hester; I must have a few minutes') other; but the time to do that much longer was holiday from it now and then. Patience might'going by. He was not given to forethought, •haye cau?e co grumble if I ran away and left it in < it has been jireviously mentioned; but he could the day.* . jnot conceal from himself that unpleasantness 'Well, dear, I think it is only reasonable,'; would ensue, and that speedily, unless somethipg slowly answered Hester, considering the matter could be done. What was that something to be ? over. 'I'll not tell her thee art in the garden | He did not know; he could not imagine. His fa- again;for8he must be kept i/ant}uil, friend Parry \^^^^ protested that he had not the means to help says.' < him; and Herbert believed that Mr. Dare told the 'Showasjustasbadwhen I was a little glrl,!^'""^^- ^°^ *^=^- ^^- ^^'^ ^"^^ ^^ ^^® «'°^"- Hester,' concluded Anna. 'She'd not let ^le ^ '"^''"'^"^ *° ^*^*^'«"'- If he had, it would have run in the garden afone then, for fear I should J '''™^ ^° ^^* «^'"^' "^ ^^ ^' ^'^ ^'"^^P ^^'^^^ ^is eat the gooseberries. But it is not gooseberry j'°"'' ^' ^^ ^^''^' ^^"^ ^'^'""^^ ^^'^-■ 'season now.' . • ' Anthony passed the end of the walk. Whether 'All true and reasonable,' thought Hester i ^® »^^ ^^^^^^^^ or not, certain it M'as, that he j)g]j^ . -turned away from his direction. Herbeat. lifted A J iu 1 J . ■ J ^ ■ /. . ', his eyes, an angry light shininj in them. He And so the young lady contrived to enjoy a fair < . .... &J & „ u i. ^i . * « -u»-» f lu . Ki ^ I, ,. t^ ^ I. ,, Jifted his voice also, angry, too. share of evening liberty. IV ot but that she could ? > & j» have done with more, had she known how to get \ 'Here, you ! Don't go skulking off because you it. And as the ^eka went .n, and the cold <«ce me sitting here. I want you.' weather of the early spring merged into summer i Anthony was taken to. It Is more than proba- days, into more genial nights, she and Herbert' ble that he vras skulking off, and that he Aod seen Dare grew bold in their immunity from discov-J; Herbert, for he did not particularly care then to ery> and. scarcely an evening passed but they 'come in contact with his brother. Anthony was might have been ssen, had anybody been on the'; in embarrassment on his own izore; was i:l.at watch.-in the field of Farmer Atlerly. Anna had; ease from more cause? than one; and when the got the length of taking his arm now; and there ' mind is troubled, sharp words do not tend to they would pace under cover of the hedge. Her- ^soottie it. Little else than sharp words had been bert talking, and Anna dreaming that she was in | exchanged latterly between Anthony and Her- Eden. /bert Dare. / It was no temporary ill-feeling, cross to-day, ^ ^^ ; pleased to-morrow, which had grown up between J them; the ill-will had existed a long while. Her- ;; bert believed that hiii brother had injured him, had CHAPTER VII. ] v^ilfully played him false, and his heart bitterly _„. „^„v„...'. .......x.^.n^, ' presented it. That Anthony was in fault at the be- THE GOVERKEIS S EXPXOITIOK. ; •' • /ginning, there was no doubt. He had drawn Herbert Dare sat enjoying the beauty of the j Herbert unsuspiciously — unsuspiciously on Her- April evening in'the garden of Pomeranian Knoll. | ben's part, you understand — into some mess with He was hoisted on the high back of a garden J regard to bills. Anthony was fond of 'bills;' Her- bench, and balanced himself astride on it, the tip } bert, more wise in that rei;pect, had never med- of one toe resting on the seat, the other foot died with them: his opinion coincided with his dangling. The month was drawing to its close, father's — that they were edged tools, which cut and the golden beams of the warm setting sun both ways. 'Eschew bills if you want to die upon streamed right athwart Herbert's face. It might jyour own bed,' was a saying of Mr. Dare's, fre- be supposed that he had seated himself there to | quenlly spoken for the benefit of his sons. Good bask in the soft, still air, in the lovely sunset: in | advice, no doubt. Mr. Dare, as a lawyer, ought point of fact, he hardly knew whether the sun | to know. Herbert had held by the advice; An- was rising or setting — whether the evening wa? | thony never had; and the time came when An- fair or foul — so buried was he in deep thought, | thony took care that his brother should not. in perplexing care. j In a period of deep embarrassment for An- The particular care which was troubling Hei- { thony, j •. .ad persuaded Herbert to sign two bills bert Dare, -was one which has. at some tim(f| for him, their aggregate amount being large; as- or other, troubled the peace of a great many of < suring him, in the most earnest and apparently w. It was pecuniary embarrassment. Herbert ( truthful manner^ that the money to meet them, M118. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 37 when due, was already proTided. Herbert, in J —so far as anybody not personally interested in his good nature, fell into the snare. It turned! the matter could be supposed to gather it— that out not only that the bills were not met at all, | Herbert had given oU'eiice to the goTerness lat- but Anthony had so contrived it that Herbert . terly, by not going to the school-room for what sJiould be responsible, not he. ^lerbert re-; he called his Italian lessons. Of course he could garded it as a shameful piece of treachery, and /not be in two places at onca; and if his leisure he never ceased reproaching his brother. An-^hourafterdinnerwas spent in Atterly'sfield, orin thony, who was of a sullen, morose temper by jgoing to Atterly's field, it was impossible that he nature, resented the reproach; and they did not < could be in the school-room, learning Italian of lead together the most comfortable of lives. The ^ the Italian governess. bills were not settled yet; indeed, they formed;! She came down upon him full sail. The rao- part of Herbert's most pressing embarrassments. j;ment Herbert saw her, he remembered having This was one cause of the ill-feeling between 'given her a half promise the previous day to pay them, and there were others, of a different na-^, her a visit that evening. 'Now for it!' .thought ture. Anthony and Herbert Dare had never been J he to himself, cordial withepch other, even in childhood. < 'Why you keep me waiting like this.'' began Anthony, called to, advanced. 'Who wants to > she, when she was close to him. skulk away?' asked he. 'Are you judging me by J. 'Have I kept you waiting?' civilly returned yourself?' \ Herbert. 'I am very sorry. The fact is, made- •I hope not,' returned Herbert, in a tone of the moiselle, I have a good deal of worry upon me. most withering contempt and scorn. 'Listen to ^ and I'm fit for nobody's company but my own to- me. I've told you five hundred times that I'll ^"^6^^. You might not have thanked me for my have some settlement, and if you don't come to J"*''' ^ad 1 come.' it amicably, I'll force you to come to it. Do you \ 'That is my own look-out,' replied the govern- hear, you? I'll force you to it.' •Vry it,' retorted Anthony, laugh; and he coolly walked aw«y. (688. 'When a gentleman makes a promise to , . ,me, I expect him to keep it. I go up to the •VrT it.' retorted Anthonv, with a mocking/ ,' , ' , . -^ r •. t •» i au iry IV, iciwitcu u „, "5 school-room, and I wait, I wait, I wait! Ah, my , poor patience, how I wait ! 1 have got that copy Walked away, leaving Herbert m a towering >^(. ,^^^^^^^,3^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ n]ie io sec. rage. He felt inclined to follow him; to knock j yy^jj ^^ come?' him down. Had Anthony only mfit the affair in )'._.. ,, ,^, • r •,. wt i j """ . , , / Vc- . t. J u ' Herbert thought he was in for it. He glanced a nroner spirit, it had been different. Had he/ .,• * i . » .u . u a i>iuv^i op I , / ^^ jjjg setting sun— at least, at the spot where said: 'Herbert, I am uncommonly vexed — 1 11 see ;, . j u r * i j i u i _ aaiu, nciucii, la ^ \, , fl- i », ./-Uhe setting sun had been, for it had sunk below what can be done, or words to that enect, nail { ,,.,., . , waai uau uc u uc, ' < ihe horizon, leaving only some crimson streaks the stine on his brother 8 mind would have been;. ..nrui^uju rr_- uie auug uu ii.» ui ., , . ^ hn the grey sky, to tell of whafc had been. Twi- removed; but, to taunt Herbert with having to ' " •' .-^ , .n j. ' "^ • ' ,., , , ° Hight was rapidly coming on, when he would de- pay— as he sometimes did— was nearly unbeara- ; ^ »^ •' " ■ t ,u ^ ■' , „ , ,^ r A .1. I . u part to pay his usual evening visit: there was ble. Had Herbert been of Anthony's temper, he »' ^. !^ ''..,, ^ m j .u ,, , , . . •. u ui ;no time, he decided, for Tasso and the gorern- would have proved that it was unbearable. L„„ But Herbert's temper was roused now. It was , the toss of a die whether be followed Anthony] and struck him, or whether he did not. The die was cast by the appearance of the Signora Var- sini; and Anthony, for that evening, escaped. It was not very gallant of Herbert to remain where he was, in the presence of the governess, astride upon the garden bench. Herbert was feel I'll come another erening,' said he. 'I have an engagement, and I must go out to keep it.' A stony hardness settled on the young lady's face. 'What engagement ?' she imperatively de- manded. It might be thought that Herbert would hare been justified- in civilly declining to satisfy her ing angry in no common degree, and this may curiosity. What was it to her? Apparentfy he have been his excuse. She came up, apparently deemed otherwise. Possibly he watf afraid of an in anger also. Her brow^ was frowning,^hcr com- outbreak. pressed mouth was drawn in to that extent that 'What engagement! Oh— I am going to play its lips were hidden. : » Pool at billiards with Lord Hawkesley. He is Not that the governess could be supposed to '" Helstonlcigh again.' occupy any position in the mind or heart of Her- 'And that is wh.it you go for, erery evemng— bert Dare, except as governess; governess to his to pii.y biliiardfl with Lord Hawkesley ?' she r«. sisters. Herbert would probably have said so,;*"™^*^. her eyes glistening omineusly. had you asked him. What j/i« might have said,! 'Of course it is, mademoiselle. With Hawkes- is a different matter. Sha looks angry enough to ley or other fellows.' say anythiDg juet now. The fact appeared to be , 'A lit, !' curtly responded madciaoisello. n^ MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. •I My,' cried Herbert, laughing good-humour-:; what it was worth— flitted over He^ert Dare's odiy, 'do you call that orthodox language." ■ f face. 'You ate very wise,' said he. *lt nothing to you what 1 ogII it,' she cried,/ 'Take care of yourself, mon ami ! C'esttout.' clipping her words in her vehemence, as she was;! 'Now, mademoiselle, what is the matter, that apt to do when excited. 'It's not with Milord -yo" should look and speak in that manner.'' h« Hawkesley, it's not to billiards that you go ! 1^ asked, still in the same light, good-humoured know it is not.' ^ < tone, as if he would fain pass the affair away in 'Then I tell you that I often play at billiards,' ; a joke. 'I'm sure I have enough bother upon me , cried Herbert. 'On my honour !' j without your adding to it.' 'May-be, may-be,' answered she, very rapidly. ^ 'What is your bother?'- •But it not to billiards that you go every evening. \ 'Never mind; it would give you no pleasure to Every evening !— every evening ! Not an eve- } know it. It is caused by Anthony— and be hanged Ding now, but >ou go out, jou ^'O out! I bought j to him !' Tasso— do you know that I bvugUt Tasso .'— tfiat 1 1 'Anthony is worth ten of you !' fiercely re have bought it with my money , tliat you may have > spouded mademoiselle, the pleasure of hearing me read it. .s you said-- j .finery one to hi, own liking.' carelessly re asyoucali.t? bhould I spend the money, had Waited Herbert. 'It's well for me that all the I thought you would not come vhen 1 had got itj„,>„n j„„. „ ♦ .u- i j, ■ , .... ,j ^ . ,, &"•• ^'••<, world does not think as you do, mademoiselle.' —would not caqe to hear it read !' / Had she been in a more genial mood, Herbert^ Mademoiselle looked as though «he would like would have told her .that she was a simpleton forj *° ^^^^^^'^- 'So !' she foamed, drawing back her spending her money so; he would have told her '''""^'^^s. ^'P^ 5 ''^°^ ^hat your turn is served, Bi- that Tasso, read in the original, would have been i ^^^"^ ^^'^"^^ "^^^ j"*^ ^'^ s«"t *<* tb« enfer ! to him uninleiligible as San^orit. He had a faint j ^^^'^'^■^°'^> "^on camarade, je te dis.' remembrance of saying to mademoiaclle that he | 'Garde your voice,' replied Herbert. 'The •houid like, to read Tasso, in answer to a re'hiark I ^°*^^ yonder will think it's thundering. I wish that Tasso was her favourite of the Italian poets: j niy.turntcos served in more ways than one. What but he had only made the observation casually, Particular turn do you mean.' If it's the buy- without seriously meaning anything. And she '"^ of Tasso, I'll purchase it of you at full bad been so foolish as lo go and buy it! ' ' P^ice. ' •Will you come this evening and hear it begiin.'' ^® could not help giving her a little chaff. It ■he continued, breaking the pause, and speaking ^^^ ^^^' *'*^ ^''"'^ have called it— chaff Exact- rather more giaciously. ''"S people fretted his generally easy temper, and 'Upon my word and honour. Bianca, Ican't to-1 ''^ """ beginning to fear that she would detain night,' be answered, feeding himself, between the *'"" "°^'' " "^"^ *°" ^^^^ ^° '^* ^""''• two^the engagement made, and the engagement ^"^' °" ^^^ latter score he was set at rost. Bought to be made— somewhat embanassed. 'I | With a few words, spoken in Italian, she nodded will come another evening; you may depend upon i ^'^'' ^^^^ angrily at him, and turned away. Fierce me.' ^ I words? in spite of their low tone, Herbert was •You say to mc yesterday* that vou would come \ ^"'"''' ^"' ^''^ ''°"'*^ "'^^ ^^^^^ °"e of them. Had this evening; that '1 might depend upon you. r^® *^^"Sht them all, it would have been the same, Muchjoucare!' so far as his understanding went. Excellent as .1. » T ij *i. 1 ir A J the Signora Varsini's method of teaching Italian •But I could not help myself. An engagement i „..„ u„„„ u„ . , , . ^ V ,j S A* ru- u- J ""ay have been, her lessons had not as yet been •rose, and I was obliged to fall in with it. I j ^^ry efficient for Herbert Dare. ' She crossed her hands before her, and weat was, indeed. I'll hear Tasso another evening. ,_.,,.,, . ' ( -^"»' «-iwoaou iicr nanus ueiore ner, ana went 'You will not brerjik your paltry engagement at Jn^n fk„ „.,,i, .,. .. .u . . VII- J . 1 J * 1 J I /-,, 0"^" the walk, taking the cross path to the billiards to keep your word to a lady ! C'est ! u„,;^„ -p^^^^^a- * • u. l . . ,. ,, *^ ^ ^ . house. Proceeding straight up to the school- 'f,V»- .1. .u K. . , .. ., rr u room, she met Cyril on the stairs. He had ap- t-.t.snotaltogether .hat 'replied Herbfrt, p.^ently been dressing himself for the evening getting out of the rep,w.-h in the best manner he and was going abroad to spend it. The governess could. •! have some business as well.' L.o,io.hf oh,.,,.* k^i;j ev n j l- • ., , J caught abrupt hold of him, pulled him inside the She fastened her glistening eyes full upon him. \ school-room, and closed the door. There was an expression in them which Herbert j «! say, mademoiselle, what's that for." asked neither understood nor liked. -C'est tr6.s-bi&re had departed, she put on her boots and mounted the gate again; IJut she was not so agile this time, and a spike entered her wrist. Bindiqg her handkerchief rou..d it, to stop the blood, she returned to Pomeranian Knoll. Five hundred questions were showered upon her when she entered the drawing-room, looking calm and impassable as ever. Not a tress of her elaborate braids of hair was out of place; not a fold awry in her dress. Much wonder had beea excited by her non-appearance at tea: Minny had drummed a waltz on her chamber door, but mademoiselle would not open it, and would not speak. '1 cannot speak when I am lying down with those vilaine headaches,' remarked mademoi- selle. 'Have you a headache, mademoiselle?' asked Mrs. Dare. 'Will you have a cup of tea brought up?' Mademoiselle declined the tea. She was not thirsty. 'What have you done to your wrist, mademoi- selle?' called out Herbert, who was stretched on a sofa, at the far end of the room. 'My wrist? Oh, I scratched it.' 'How did you manage that?' •Ah, bah ! it's nothing,' responded mademoi- selle. CHAPIER VIII. THE QTTARRBL. ; It is a grievous thing, when ill-feeling arises 'between brothers, that that ill-feeling should be cherished, instead of being subdued. But such was the casa with Anthony and Herbert Dare. By the time that the sunny month of May came ;in, matters had gro,wn to that pitch between :thera, that Mr. Dare found himself compelled to ; interfere. It was beginning to make things in ! the house uncomfortable. They would meet at ; meals, and not only abstain from speaking to each other, but take every possible opportunity of showing mutual and marked discourtesy. No positive outbreak between them had as yet taken place in the presence of the family; but it was only smouldering, and might be daily looked for. ; Mr. Dare, so far as the original cause went, 'blamed his eldest son. There was no question I that Anthony had been solely in fault. It was a dishonorable, ungenerous, unmanly act, to draw : his brother into trouble, and to do it plausibly and deceitfully. At the present stage of the af- fair, Mr. Dare saw occasion to blame Herbert more than Anthony. 'It is you who keep up the ball, Herbert,' he said t^ira. 'If you would suffer the matter to die away, Anthony would.' 'Of course he would,' Herbert replied. 'He has got his turn served, and would be glad that it should end there.' It was in vain that Mr. Dare talked to them. A dozen times did he recommead them to 'ahake MRS. HALUBURTON'S TROUBLES. 31 hfinds and make it up.' Neither appeared inclined < Mr. Dare, speaking. for the general benefit, but to take the advice. Anthony waa sullen. He | not to uny one in particular, would have been content to let the affair drop | Minny dropped the subject. 'Your dress is quietly into oblivion; perhaps, as Herbert said, /turned up, Adel^de,' said she. had been glad that it should so drop; but, make < Adelaide looked languidly behind her, and a the slightest move towards it, he would not. ,> maid, who had followed them down-stairs, ad- Herbert openly said that he'dnoi shake hands. If^ vanced, and put to rights tbe cpfractory dress; a Anthony wanted him ever to shake hands with.; handsome dress of pink, glistening witli its own him again, let him pay up. j richness. At that moment Anthony entered the There lay the grievance; the 'paying up. ' The '; hall. He had just come to dinner, Sind looked in bills, not paid, were a terrible thorn in the side of / a very ill-humour. Herbert Dare. He was responsible, and he knew ^ 'How late you'll be !' he cried, not one hour from another but he might be ar-;; 'Not at all. We shall get there in an hour.' rested on them. To soothe matters between his;; They swept out at the door, Mrs. Dare and sons, Mr. Dare would willingly have taken they Adelaide. Mr. Dare was about to follow them, charge of payment upon himself, but he had posi-l^hen a sudden thought appeared to strike him,, tively not the "money to do it with. In point of ; and he turned back and addressed Anthony, fact, Mr. Dare was growing seriously embar- •; 'You young men take care that you don't get rassed on his own score. He had had a great j quarrelling with each other. Do you hear, An- deal of trouble with his sons, with Anthony inji-hony?' particular, and he had grown sick and tired ol > 'I hear,' ungraciously replied Anthony, not helping them out of pecuniary difllculties. Still, | turning round to speak, but conlinuin?: his way he would have relieved Herbert of this one night- 1 up-stairs to his dressing-room. He pro.jably re- mare, had it been in his power. Herbert had I yarded the injunction with slighting contempt, been deluded into it, without any benefit to him- / '"r it was too much in Anthony Dare's nature so self; therefore Mr. Dare's will was good, could'j 'o regard all advice, of whatever kind. Never- he have managed it, to help him out. He told ' iheless it had been well.that he had paid heed to Herbert that he would s e what he could do aftei ; t- It had been well that that last word tohisfa- a while. It was an intensely hot day; far hotter than is; her had beSn one of affevtion ! The dinner was served. Anthony, in tWb ab- eustoraary at tbe eeason; and the af tern v>on gun ? -"cnte of Mr. and -Mrs. Dare, taking the head. streamed full on the windows of Pomeranian ', t\o8a, with a show of great parade and ceremony, issumed the seat opposite to him, and said she ^hould be mistress. Minny responded that Rosa ^as not going to be miitrees over her, and the ;overnes3 desired Miss Rosa not to talk so loud. the dignity Mrs. Dare had al !; itathcr derogatory checks, these, to ', and her daughter^ ;; 'f a'mistress.' Knoll, suggesting thoughts of July, instead o May. A gey party — at any rate, a party dressec I in gay tttire — were crossing the hall to enter a j carriage that waited at the door. Mr. Dare,,' Mrs. Dare, and Adelaide ways been given to gay attire had caught the taste from her. They were going < Herbert was not at table. Irregular as the to dine at a friend's house, a few miles' dislanc* j .oung Dares were in many of their habits, tlley from Helstonleigh. Tf.c invitation was for seven < vere generally home for dinner. Minny won- o'clock. It was now striking six, the dinner-hour / lered aloud where Herbert was. Anthony replied at Mr. Dare's. j .hat he was 'skulking.' Minny, lookinc: half melted, haii perched her- \ 'Skulking ." echoed Minny. self upon the end of the balustrades to watch tbt { 'Yes, skulking,' angrily repeated Anthony. He departure. • <• quitted the office at three o'clock, and ha« never •You'll fall, child,' said Mr. Dare. / "cen near it sir.ce. And the governor left alfour!' Minny laughed, and said there was no danger \ ''C added, in a tone that seemed to say he consid- of her falling. ' f red that also a f,r evancc. Are we to have any itra wherries for dinner,'^ 'Where did Herbert go to.'' asked Rosa, mamma r' asked Minny. 'Tou will have what I have thought proper to order,' replied Mrs. Dare, in rather a sharp tone. | She was feeling hot, and cross. Something had ' put^r out while dressing. I 'I think you might wait for strawberries until < they are ripe in our own garden; not buy them io 'I don't know,' responded Anthony. •! only ifnow that I had a double share of work to do.' Anthony Dare was no friend to work. And the laving had to do a little more tlian be would lave done, had i^Icrltert remained a' his post, bad isfgravated his tettipor considerably. 'Why should Monsieur Herbert go away and the ihopt without any regard to cost, 'interposed I leave you bis work to do.'' inquired t.'^e gover. 33 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. ness, lifting her eyes from her plate to An- j screamed out with laughter at his had French, thony. ^"'J mademoiselle smiled. 'You get on in French 'I shall take care to ask him why,' returned ; like you do in Italian, Monsieur Herbert,' cried Anthony. ; she. And that is what you call — backwai-d.' •It is not fair that he should, ^ eon tiaued made- i Herbert laughed good-humouredly. He did moiselie. 'I'd not have done it for him, Monsieur 'i not know wha't particular mistake he had made; Anthony.' • ; Uruth to say, he did not care. They withdrew, ^ ;,|ie manner of a French one. The door was at thing else. Mademoiselle V'^arsini called hei / nc end of the room; the window at the other, back, and. ordered her to her ssat: she would not ;! Anthony was in too quarrelsome a ruocd to re- pcrmit 80 great a breach of di>ripp!ine. Cyti > ;ia in silent lonsc. He began the skirmish by de- and George, who vyere not under the control oi ' ..anding what Herbert meant by .bsenting him- mide'moiselte, gulped down a glass of wine, am. > elf from the office for the afternoon, and where hastened out to keep an' engagement. It was ti > ic had been. His resentful tone, his authorita- very innocent one; a great match at cricket hao / tive words, not being calculated to wjn any very been organized for the cvt.'ning, by some of Ih' ^, civil answer. old coilege boys; and Cyril and George wer< ^ They did not win one from Herbert. His tone amongst the players. It has never been men-;; .v as resentful, too; his words, were -coolly aggra- tioned that Mr. Ashley, in his strict sense of jus ■> vating. Anthony was not his master; when h© tice, had allowed to Cyr.il the privilege of spen('- < wyg, he Joight, perhaps, answer him. Such WM ing bis evenings at home, five nights in the week, ^ iheir purport, as ho did to William Halliburton. / A hot interchange of words ensued. Nothing The rest remained at table. Minny.per force:;: more. Anthony remained at the table; Herber^t, Rgsa, to eat an unlimited quantity of oranges;^ half in, half out at the window, leaning against Mademoiselle Varsini, because it was the custom \ its frame. When Joseph returned to put things to remain But mademoiselle soon rose and ^ in readiness for Herbert's dinner, they had sub- v^itbdrew with her pupils; Anthony was not j sided into quietness. It was but a lull in the showing himself to be a particularly sociable ' storm companion He had not touched the des.scrt: but I seemed to be drinking a good deal of wine. Joseph placed the dessert nearer Anthony's end of the table, and laid his cloth across the " . r ;^ ^ .V, ™ ti„ K„ .^1>ther end. Herbert came inside the room. A<»theY were going out of the room, Herbert ' . t u i. AS inej wci b & ..... S 'What a time you are With the dinner, Joseph !* cried he. 'One would think it was being cooked.' 'Cook's warming it, sir.' 'Warming it!' echoed Herbert. 'Why couldn't she have kept it warm ? She might be sure- 1 ^should be home to dinner.' She was keeping it warm, sir, but^ifJKn- bust-led in. 'Now, then, take care!' cried he: for iVlinny, paying little attention to her way, had gone full butt at him. 'Oh! Herbert, can't you see?' cried she, dole- fully, rubbing her head. 'What made you so late ? The dinner's gone away.' ^ «It can be brought in agahi,' replied Herbert, > carelessly.. 'Comme il est chaud !' n 'est-ce pas, Uhony ordered it to be put away.' mademoiselle ?' ' T NoW, the man had really no intention of mak- This last was addressed to thfe governess. Rosa i-nr mischief when he said this: that it might MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 33 crossed his mind. lie M'as onl}- anxious that he and his fellow-servant, the cook, should stand free of blame; for the young Dares, when dis- pleased with the servants, were not in the habit of sparing them. Herbert turned to Anthony. .' 'What business have you to interfere with my i dinner? Or with anything else that concerns me ':' * 'I choose to make it my business,' insolently retorted Anthony. At this juncture Joseph left the room. He had finished laying the cloth, and had no cause to stop in it. Better perhaps that he had stopped ! Surely they would not have proceeded to extrem- ities, the brothers, before their servant! In a short while sounds, as if both were in a terrible state of fury, resounded through the house from the dining-room. The sounds did not reach the kitchen, which was partially detached frfm the house; but the young ladies heard them, and came running out of the drawing-room. The governess was in the school-room. The noise penetrated even there. She also came forth, and saw her two pupils extended over the balustrades, listening. At any other time made- moiselle would have reproved them: now she crept down and leaned over in company. •What can be the matter.'' whispered she. 'Papa told them not to quarrel !' was all the answer, uttered by Minny. It was a terrible quarrel — there was little doubt of that; no child's play. Passionate bursts of fury rose incessantly, now from one, now from the other, now from both. Hot recrimina- tion; words that were not fitted for unaccus- tomed ears — or for any ears, for the matter of that — rose high and loud. The governess turned ! pale, and Minny burst into tears. I •Somebody ought to go into the room,' said ' Kosa. 'Minny, you go ! Tell them to be quiet.' | '1 am afraid,' replied Minny. ! 'So am I.' ' A fearful sound: an explosion louder than all the rest. A noi<>e as if some heavy weight had been thrown down. Had it come to blows? Minny shrieked aloud, and at the same moment Joseph was seen coming along with a tray, and Herbert's hot dinner upon it. His presence seemed to impart a sense of courage, and Rosa and Minny flew down, fol- lowed by the govertifss. Herbert had been knocked down by Anthony. He was galhennu himself up when Joseph opened the door. Gath- criffg him«rlf up in a tempest of passion, his while face one living fury, as he caught hold of a knife from the table and rushed upon Anthony. But Joseph wai too quick for him. Tha tnar^ cause ill-blood between the brothers, never j dashed his tray on the table, seized hold of Her- bert, and turned the uplifted knife downwards. 'For heaven's sake, sir, recollect yourself!' said he. Recollect himself t'.ien.' No. Persons, who put themselves into that mad state of passion, cannot •recollect' themselves. Joseph kept fast his hold, and the dining-room became alive with shrieks — with sobbing tears. They proceeded from Rosa and Minny. They pulled their brothers by the coats, they implored, they entreated. The women servants came fly- ing from the kitchen, and the Italian governest asked the two gentlemen in French whether they were not ashamed of themselves. Perhaps they were. At any rate, the quarrel was, for the time, put a stop to. Herbert flung the knife upon the table, and turned his white face, savage still, upon his brother. 'Take care of yourself, though !' cried he, in a marked tone: •I swear you shall have it, yet.' They pulled Anthony out of the room, Rosa and Minny; or it is dilTicult to say what rejoinder he might have made, or how violently the quar* rel might have been renewed. It was certain ihat he had taken more wine than was good for him; and that, generally speaking, did not im- prove the temper of Anthony Dare. Mademoi- selle Varsini walked by his side, talking volubly in French. Whether she was sympathizing or scolding, Anthony did not know. Not particu* iarly bright at understanding French at the best of times, even when spoken slowly, he could not, in his present excitement, catch the meaning of a single word, filtering the drawing-room, be threw himself upon the sofa, intending to smooth down his ruffled plumage by taking a nap. Herbert meanwhile had remained in the dining- room, smoothing down liis ruffled plumage. Jo- seph and the cook were bending over the dtbrii on the carpet. When Joseph dashed down hit tray on the table, the dish of potaloei bad bounded off; thereby, both dish and potatoes coming to grief. Herbert sat down and made a good dinner. His was not a sullen temper; and, unlike Anthony, the afl'air once over, he wai looa himself again. Should they come in contact again directly, there was no telling how it would <;;id, or what might ensue. His dinner over, be went by-and-by to the drawing-room. Joseph had Just entered, and was arousing Anthony from the >*le<;p he had dropped into. 'One of the waiters from the Star-and-Garter has come, sir. Ho soysi Lord Hawkealey has sent nim to say that the gentlemen are waiting for you.' •I can't go, tell him,' responded Anthony, ^■peaking as bo looked, thoroughly out of sorti. I am not goiog out to Qight. U^fv! Jo*rph '' H«W! J 34 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. for the man was turning away wilh the mes- 1 the dining-room window, Joseph. 1 can't think sage. ; how you could have been so stupid last night.' 'Sir?' ' 'Sir, I assure you 1 left it undone, as usual,' 'Take these, and bring me my slippers.' ; replied Joseph. 'It must have been master who ■ 'These' were his boots, which he, not very po- ; fastened it.* litely, kicked off in the ladies' presence, and *ent ,' 'Well, take care that it does not occur,' said flying after Joseph. Tiie man stooped to pick ' Herbert, 'I expect to be in between ten and them up, and was carrying them away. ; eleven; but I may be later, and I don't want to •Here l^what a hurry you are in !^ began An- '""g JO" "P again. ' ' thony again. 'Take lights up to my chamber, 5 Herbert went swiftly down the stairs and out, and the brandy, and some cold water. I shall 'choosing his egress by the way, as it appeared, make myself comfortable there for the night. 'that he intended to enter— the dining-room win- This room's unbearable, with its present com- 'dow. Joseph proceeded to Anthony 's chamber; pany. • " ; and the governess returned to her frightened pu- This last was a shaft levelled at Herbert. He \ P''s in the drawing-room, did not retort, for a wonder. In. fact, Anthony - 'A la bonne heure !' she said to them. «Mon- afforded.httic time for it. Before the words had Jsie""" Herbert is gone out, and I beard him say to well left his lips, he had quitted the room. Her- / Joseph that he was gone for the evening.' bert began to whistle; its very tone an insolent;! 'Then it's all safe!' cried Minny. And She one. / began cancing round the room in her gladness* It appeared nearly certain that the unp1eas3nt-| 'Mademoiselle, how pale you look.' ness was not yet over; and Rosa audibly wished j Mademoiselle had sat down in her place before her papa was at home. Joseph carried to An- \ the tea-tray, and was leaning her cheek upon her thony's room what he require(}, and then brought' hand. She was certainly looking unusually the tea to the drawing-room. Herbert said helpaie. should take tea with them. It was rather un- 1 'Enough to make me,' she said, in answer to usual for him to do so: it was very unusual for J Minny. 'If there were to be this disturbance Anthony not to go out. Their si»ters felt sure often in the house, I would not stop in it for dou- that they were only staying in to renew hostili- \ bje my apjioinUmnl. It has giTcn me one of those ties; and again R,osa almost passionately v/ished \vilaine. headaches, and I think i shall go to bed. for the presence of her father. \ You will not be afraid to stay up alone, mesdem- It was dusk by the time tea was over. Herbert J oiselles?' rose to leave the room. 'Where are you going?' 'There is nothing to be afraid of now j' promptly cried out mademoiselle, sharply, after him. answered Rosa, who had far rather be without 'That's my business,' he replied.notintoocon- her governess's company than with it. 'Don't ciliatorya tone. Perhaps he took the question j «'* "P ^o^" "^' "'^^^'"°'S®'''^-' to proceed from one of his sisters, for he was out- \ 'Then I will go at once,' said mademoiselle. side the door when it reached him. And she wished them good night, and retired to ■'He is going into Anthony 's room,' cried Rosa, I ^'^'^ c^^a'^'^er. turning very pale, as they heard him run up;- stairs. 'Oh, mademoiselle, what can be done ?^ I think I'll call Joseph.' ; *** •Hush!' cried mademoiselle. 'Wait you still > here. I will go and see.* ; CHAPTER IX. She stole out of the room and up the stairs, > intending to reconnoitre. But she had no time. :■ akna ltnn's dilemma. Herbert was coming down again, and she could > only Blip inside the school-room door, and peA) '> ^^ ^^^ ^ ^^'''^^ ^^*'^^"°- ^"^ °^ *^°'^ ^"°»* ^ gnats hum in the air, and the trees are at rest. out. He had evidently been up stairs for his f'^''' ^''^"'"^' *^^^ ^^'^ '''"'^^''"^'^""S'"''^''®" cloak, for he was putting it on as he descended. > a., , . , , • , v . .i. < Ine (lay had been intensely hot; the evening was 'The cloak on a hot night like this! 'said mad- little less so, and Ann% Lynn leaned over the emoiselh, mentally- 'He must want to disguise J gate of their garden, striving to catch what of ""^® ■ ^freshness there might be in the coming night. She stopped to listen. Joseph hnd come up the ; The garish day was fading into moonlight^the stairs, bringing somell.ing to Anthony, and Her- ^distant Malvern Hills grew fainter and fainter bert arrested him, speaking in a low tone. ( on the view; the little lambs in the field— getting •Don't l«t there be any mistake to-night about ^gre^t lambs now, some of^ them— had long lain MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. S5 down to lest; and the Thursday eveninc; bells ; bell, a bell that boomed out over the city every came chiming pleasantly on the ear from Hel- night for ten minutes before ten o'clock. The stonieigh. ^ sound startled Anna. She had indeed overstayed • 'How late he is to-night!' murmured Anna. 'If; iier time, he does not come "soon, I shall not be able to stay ; 'Oue moment, Anna,' cried Herbert, as she out.' • V7as preparing to fly oflT. 'There can't beany Even as the words passed her lips, a faint ; such hurry. Hester will hot be going to bed yet, movement might be distinguished in the obscurity | on a hot night like this. I wanted you to give of the night, telling of the advent of Herbert | me back that book, if you have done with it. It Dare. Anna looked round to see that the win- ! is not mine, and I have been asked for it.' * dows were clear from prying eyes, and went forth J Truth to say, Anna would be glad to give it to meet him. j back. The book was Moore's 'Lalla Rookh,' He had halted at the usual place, under cover ', and Anna had been upon thorns all the time she of the hedge. The hedge of sweetbriar, skirting I had been reading it, lest by some unlucky mishap that side garden into which the Signora Varsini l it might get ta the sight of Patience. She thought had made good her en/ree, iu the gratification of i it everything that was beautiful; she had read her curiosity. A shady tfralk, and a quiet one — i pages of it over and over again; they wore for very little fear there of overlookers. \ her a strange enchantment; but she had a shrewd 'Herbert, thee art lute !' cried Anna. I suspicion, that neither the book nor her reading it 'A good thing I was able to come at all,' re- s would be approved by Patience, sponded Herbert, taking Anna's arm within his ' '^''^ bring it out to thee at once, Herbert, if 1 own. '1 thought at one time I must have re- , can,' she hastily said. 'If not, I will give it the© main<'d at home to chastise my brother An- ■ ^o-morrow evening.' t^o°y-' j 'Not so fast, yifiung lady,' said Herbert, laugb- 'Chastise thy brother Anthony! 'repeated Anna iog, and detaining her. 'You may not come in astonishment. j baobi I'll wish you goodnight now.' Herbert, for the first time, told her of the un- j .jjgy, please thee let me go. What will Hes- pleasantness that existed between his brother and i ter say to me?' himself Ho o'id not speak of the precise cause; Scarcely giving a moment to the adieu, Anna but simply said Anthonv had behaved ill to him, ; ^„„j „,^„„ „•,. r, r . . .v. > , , ' ' J I- . u, J • ^P^° along wiih swift feet to the garden gate, and drawn down upon him trouble and vexation. ; n , .u . i. • . ■ . . „ „ II I fi u » , ,j u 1 i'Ut the moment she was inside that separatinir Anna was all sympathy. Had Herbert told her * u,^^;„„ „» i u i , j ., • . .^ ' . , ^. „ u J I • u -J . . .u , barrier, atid had tuined the key, she began— I ttle the ofience bad lam on his side, not on Anthony's, ! J- ,„^Ki„., . I, ♦ i . . ... • / ' dissembler that she was- to step on sow y, n a her entire sympathy had still been his. She i deemed Herbert everything that was good, and careless, nonchalant manner, looking up at the (sky, turning her head to the trees, in no more great, and worthy. Anthony— what -Itte she,, " ,, .. .. " — •'"'■" '^""' f f I ■ .v.^AA .,^. I bo '^""y apparently than if bed time were three knew of him— she did not like. . „„„„„- ei u j n , t^ ,. hours off. She had seen Hester Dell standing at » 'Herbert, maybe he will be striking thee in se- the house-door, cret, when thee art unprepared.' 'Child,' said Hester, gravely, 'thee should not 'Let him !' carelessly replied Herbert. 'I can stay out so late as this.' strike again. I am stronger than he is. I know j «it is so warm a night. Hester.' one thing— that either he or I must leave my ; .But thee should not be beyond the premises, father's house, and get lodgings out— we can't ; PaHence would not like it. It is past thy bed stop in it together.' I time, too. . Patience's sleeping-draught has not •It would be he to leave it, would it not. Her- 1 j.ome,' she added, turning to another subject, bcrt.' Thy father would not be so unjust as to , -Her sleeping-draught not come!' repeated turn fhec out for thy brother's fault.' J Anna, in surprise. '1 don't know about that,' said Herbert. 'I ex- 'it has not. I have been expecting the boy to pect it is I who should have to go. Anthony is knock every minute, or I should have come to the eldest, and my mother's favourite.' see after you. Friend Parry may have forgotten Anna lifted her hand, in her innocent surprise, it ' Anthony the favourite by the side of Herbert?; 'Why, of course he must have forgotten it,' She could not understand how so great an anom- • said Anna, inwardly promising to give the boy a alism could be. ^ sixpence for his forgetfulness. 'The medicine Interested in the topic, the time slipped on and nlwajs comes in the morning. Will Patience on. During a moment of silence, when they sleep without it. '' had halted in their walk, th^y heard strike out 'I fear me not. What does thee think? Sup- from Hclstonlcigh what wni called the ten o'clock pose I were to run for it?' 36 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. •Yes, do, Hester.' They went in-doors, Hester shutting the back door and locking it. She put on her shawl and bonnet, and was going out at the front door when the clock struck ten. 'It is ten o'clock, child,' she said to Anna. ; 'Thee go to bed. Thee need not sit up. I'll; with enthusiasm. 'But I always felt afraid of Hester's finding it and carrying it up to Patience. Patitnce would be angry, and she might tell my father. That is why I am glad to give it back to • thee.' 'Why did you not lock it up ?' asked Herbert. 'I did lock it up. I locked it in my work-table takethelalch-key with me and let myself in.' (drawer. But I forget to put my keys in my •Oh, Hester! I don't want to go to bed yet,' ; pocket: 1 leave them about anywhere. I should returned Anna in a grumbling tone. 'It is like a ! have been out with it sooner, but that I could not »umm«r's evening.' ; find the keys.' 'But thee had better, child.' urged Hester. Ta- . Anna was in no momentary hurry to run in ticnce has been angry with me once or twice, say- "o^- I^e^ter was safe for full twenty minutes ing I sufler thee to sit up late. A pretty budget ^o '^^^^^ therefore the haste need not be so great. «he will be telling thy father on his return. Thee j She knew that it was past her bed-time, and go to bed. Thy candle is ready here on the slab, it'^^t Patience would be wondering (unless by p J . , . , i great good forUme Patience should have dropped Hest"er departed, shutting fast the door, and ' '^^'^^P') ^^^y '^^ ^'^ »«* go in to wish her go'od carrying with her the latch-key. Anna, fully ; night. But these reQcctions Anna conveniently • J .L ^ r • J Tj » <• .r 1 „„ „_fia:nored, in the charm of remaining longer to convmced that friend Parry's forgctfulness, or ; °„ , ' , „ , , ^i. . u .r u . .u . u the boy's, must have been designed as a special talk about the book. She told Herbert that she favour to herself, went softly into the best par- P^'l ^^e" ^°Py'"S ^'^^ engravings, but she mu.t lour to get the book out of her pretty ,vork- P"^ the drawings in some safe place before Pa- ,. > I tience was about again. 'Tell me the time, _ * , 1 1 „q A^.,., „„„ii „„+ please,' she suddenly said, bringing her chatter to But the room was dark, and Anna could not j ' ' . •' > o » find her keys. She believed she had left her j ^ standstill. . , , , . ^ keys on the top of tlus very work-table; but feel ! ^^^'^^'^ took out his watch, and held its face as she would, she could not put her hands upon | towards the moon. 'It is twelve tainutes past them. With a word of impatience, lest, with all ; ^^' her hurry, Herbert Dare should be gone before ; she could get to him with the book, she went to the kitchen, lighted the chamber candle, spoken of by Hester, as placed ready for lier use, and carried it into the parlour. Her keys were found on the mantel-piece. She unlocked the drawer, took from it the book, blew the candle out, and ran through tho garden to the field. Another minute, and Herbert would have left. He was turning away then. In truth, he had not in the least expected to see Anna back again. 'Then you have been able to come!' he ex- claimed, in his surprise. Then I must be going in,' said Anna. 'She could be back in twenty minutes, and she must not find me out again.* Herbert turned with her, and walked to the gale; pacing slowly, both of them, and talking still. He turned in at tiie gate with her. And Anna made no demur. No fear of his being seen. Patience was as safe in bed as if she had been chained there, and Hester could not be bacl^ quite yet. Arrived at the door, shut as Anna had left 'it, Herbert put out his hand. 'I suppose I must bid you a final good-night now, Anna,' he said, in a low tone. 'That thee must. I have to come down the : garden again to lock the gate after thee. And 'Hester is gone out,' expb.incd Anna. 'Friend j Hester may not be more than three or four min- Parry has forgotten to send Patience's medicine, | yt^g longer. Good-night to thee, Herbert.' and Hester has gone for it. Herbert, thee only \ .Let me see that it is all safe for you, against think! But for Hfster's expecting Parry's boy \ you do go in,'' said Herbert, laying his hand on to knock at the door, she would have come out ; the handle of the door to open it. here searching for me ! She said she would. I ; ^o open it? Nay: he could not open it. The must never forget the time again. There's the \ jj^n^le resisted his efforts. 'Did you lock it, book, and thank thee. I am sorry and yet glad \ y^nna.'' to give it thee back.' j ^„na. smiled at what she thought his awkward. 'Is that not a paradox !' asked Herbert, with a \ ness . 'Thee art turning it the wrong way, Her- smile. 'I do not know why you should be either i bert. See !' sorry or glad: to be both seems inexplicable.' He withdrew his hand to give place to hers, 'I am sorry to lose it: it is the most charming j and she turned the handle, softly and gently, the book 1 have read, and but for Patience I should j contrary way; that is, she essayed to turn it. But like to have kept it for ever,' returned Anna, ! it would not turn for her, any more than it had MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. for Herbert Dsfre. A sick feeling of terror rushed over Anna, as the conviction of the truth grew upon her. Hester Dell had returned, and she was locked out ! In good truth, it was no less a calamity. Hes- ter Dell had not gone far from the door on her errand, when she met the doctor's boy with his basket, hastening up with the medicine. 'I was just coming after it,* said Hester to him. 'What- ever brings thee so late ?' 'Mr. Parry was called out this morning before he had time to make it up, and ho has but just come home,' -was the boy's reply. 'Better late than never,' he somewhat saucily added. 'Well, so it is,' acquiesced Hester, who rarely gave anything but a meek retort. And she turned back home, letting herself in with the latch-key. The house appeared precisely as she had left it, save that Anna's candle had (Jisappcared from the mahogany slab in the passage. 'That's right ! the child's gone to bed,' soliloquised she. She proceeded to go to bed herself. The Quaker's was an early household. All Hester had to do now, was to give Patience her sleep- ing-draught. 'Let me see,' continued Hester, still in soliloquy, 'I think I did lock the back door.' To make sure, she tried the key and found it was not locked. Rather wondering*, for she cer- tainly thought she had locked it, but dismissing the subject the next minute from her thoughts, she locked it now, and took the key out. Then she continued her way up to Patience. Patience, lying there lonely and dull with her night-light, turned-her eyes on Hester. ♦ ♦Did thee think we had forgotten thee. Pa- tience ? Parry has been out all day, the boy says, and the physic is but this minute come.' •Where's Anna ?' inquired Patience. 'She is gone to bed.' 'Why did she not come to me as usual ?' 'Did she not come ':' asked Hester. 'I have seen nothing of her all the evening.' 'Maybe she thought thce'd be dozing,' observed Hester, bringing forward the sleeping draught, which she had been pouring into a wine-glass. She said no more. Her private opinion was, that Anna had purposely abstained from the visit, lest she should get a scolding for going to bed late, her usual houf being half-past nine. Neither did Patience say any more. She was feeling that Anna might be a little less ungrateful. She drank the draught, and Ilcslcr went to bed. And poor Anna? To describe her dismay, her consternation, would be a useless attempt. The doors were fast — the windows were fast. Herbert Dare essaycil to soothe her, but she would not be soothed. She sat down on the stop of the back door, and cried bitterly; all her apprehension being for the terrible scolding she should get from Patience, were it found out; the worse than scolding she might get, if Patience told her fa- ther. To give Herbert Dare his due, he felt truly vexed at the dilemma, for Anna's sake. Could he have let her in by getting down a chimney himself, or in any other impromptu way, and so opened the door for her, he would have done it. 'Don't cry, Anna,' he entreated, 'don't cry! I'll take care of you. Nothing shall harm you. I'll not go away,' The more he talked, the more she cried. Very like a little child. Had Herbert Dare known how to break the glass without noise, he would have taken out a pane in the kitchen window, and so got to the fastening, and opened it. Anna, in worse terror than ever, begged him not to at- tempt it. It would be sure to arouse Hester. 'But you'll be so cold, child, staying here all night ! ' he urged. 'You are shivering now. Anna was shivering: shivering with vexation and fear. Herbert thought it would be better that he should boldly knock up Hester; and he suggested it: nay, he pressed it. But the pro- posal sounded more alarming to Anna than any that had gone before it. It seemed that there was nothing to be done. How long she sat there, crying and shivering and refusing to be comforted or to hear reason, she could not tell. Like half the night, it seemed. But Anna, you must remember, was counting time by her own state of mind, not by the clock. Suddenly a bright thought, as a ray of light, flashed into her brain. 'There's the pantry window,' she cried, arrest- ing her tears. 'How could I ever have forgotten it.' There is no glass, and thee art Strong enough to push in the wire.' This pantry window Herbert Dare had known nothing of. It was at the side of the house, thickly surrounded by shrubs; a square window frame, protected by wire. He fought his way to it amid the thick shrubs; but to get in proved a work of time and dilTiculty. The windojv was at some height from the ground, the wire strong. Anna sat on the door-step, never stirring, leaving him to get in if he could, her tears falling yet, and terrific visions of Patience's anger chasing each other through h«r mind. And the night went on. 'Anna '.' She could have shouted forth a cry of delight as she leaped up. He had got in, bad found bis way to the kitchen window, had gently raised it, and was softly calling to her. Some little diffi- culty yet, but with Herbert's assistance she was safely landed inside, a great tear in ber dress 38 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TilOUBLES. being the only damage. He had managed to get ' succeeded by an evening gathering, and it was a light by meuns of some fusees in his pocket, and had lighted a candle. Anna sat down on a chair, her fare radiant through her tears. 'How shall lever thank thee.'' He was looking at his fingers, with a half se- rious, half mocking expression of dismay. The wire had torn them in many places, and they } nearly one o'clock when they left the house to return. It wanted but f.ve minutes to two when the carriage stopped at their own home, and sleepy Joseph opened tlie door to them. 'All in bed.'' asked Mr. Dare, as ho -Ijustled into the hall. 'I believe so, sir,' answered Joseph, as care- were bleeding. •! could have got in quicker had Icssly as he could speak. Mr. Dare, he was I forced the wire out in the middle,' he observed, '. aware, alluded to his sons; and, not being by any •but that would have told tales. I got it away means sure upon the point, Joseph was willing to from the side, and have pushed it back again in ; evade further questioning, its place as well as I could. Perhaps it may cs- ; Two of the maids came forward^the lady's cape notice maid, as she was called in the family, and Betsy. How shall I ever thank thee?' was all Anna Betsy was no other than our old friend, Betsy could repeat in her gratitude. ', Carter: once the little maid-of-all-work at Mrs. •Now you kcow what you must do, Anna,' said • Halliburton's; risen now to be a very fine house- he. 'I am going to jump cut through the win- ^ maid at Mrs. Dare's. They had sat up to attend and be off home. You must shut it and ' upon Mrs. Dare and Adelaide. oow, fasten it after me: I'd shut it myself, after I'm 1 Mr.' Dare had been a long while in the habit out, but that these stains on ray fingers would go [ of smoking a pipe before he went to bed. He on the frame. And when you leave the kitchen, 1 would have told you that be could not do without remember to turn the key of the door outside. I J it. Did business or pleasure Jake him out, he found it turned. Do you understand .' And now | niust have his pipe when he returned, hotyever farewell, my little locked-out princess. Don't | Idte it might be. •How hot it is!' he exclaimed, throwing back his coat. 'Leave the hall door open, Joseph: I'll sit outside. Get me my pipe.' Joseph looked for the pipe in its appointed rest- ing-place, and could not see it. It was a small, say I have not worked wonders for you, as the good spirits do in the fairy tales.' She caug'nt his hand in her glad delight. She looked at him with a face full of gratitude'. Her- bert Dare bent down end took a kiss from the up- turned face. Perhaps he thought he had fairly j handsome pipe, silver-mounted, with an amber earned the reward. Then he proceeded to swing j fnouth-piece. The tobacco-jar was there, but himself through the window, feeling delighted !; Joseph could see nothing -of the pipe, that he had been ab!e to get Anna out of the di- J '^^^ ■ ^ remember !' exclaimed Betsy. •Mas- te^^had left it in the dining-room last night, and I lemma. Before Helstonleigh arose the next morning, a startling report was circulating through the city, the very air teeming with it. A report that An- thony Dare had been killed in the night by his brother Herbert. V CHAPTER X. THE COMMOTION. Thl Streets of Helstonleigh, lying so still and quiet in the moonlight, were broken in upon by the noisy sound of a carriage, bowling through them. A carriage that was abroad late. It wanted a very short period to the lime when the church clocks would boom out the two hours ' ;^-~^-;;;--;^;-^"^--^-;;j;°;:^^-j;.^ ' after midnight. Time, surely, for all sober peo- ple to be in bed ! The carriage contained Mr. Dare, his wife, and daughter. They went, as you may remember, to a dinner party in the country. The dinner was ; put it under the sideboard when I was doing the room this morning, intending to bring it away. : I'll go and get'it.' I Snatching the candle irom Joseph's hand, she ; turned hastily into the dining-room. Not, how- ; ever, as hastily as she came out of it. She burst out, uttering a succession of piercing shrieks, I and laid hold of Joseph. The shrieks echoed ' through the house up-stairs and down, and Mr. 1 Dare came in. I 'Why, what on earth's the matter, girl .'' cried j he. 'Have you seen a ghost?' •Oh, sir! Oh, Joseph, don't loose go of me; Mr. Anthony's a-lying in there, dead!' 'Don't be a simpleton,' responde'd Mr. Dare, staring at Betsy. Joseph gave rather a less complimentary re- primand, and shook the girl off. But, all in a mo- rose up before his mind's eye tlie vision of the past ' evening: the qnarrel, the threats, the violence between Anthony and Herbert. A strange ap- prehension seated itself in the man's mind. •Be still, you donkey !' he whispered to Betsy, MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 39 his voice scarcely audible, Lis manner subJued • to meekness, which, ol itself, spoke of dread. ; I'll go in and see.' Taking the candle, he went into the dining-room. ' Mr. Dare followed. The worst thought thai oc-^ cured to Mr. Dare was, that Anthony might have ! taken more wine than was good for him, and had ] fallen down, helpless, in the dining-room. Un-,: happil}', Anthony had been known so to trans-; gress. Only a week or two before but let , that pass: it has nothing to do with us now. ; Mr. Dare followed Joseph in. At the upper end of the room, near the window, lay some one on the ground. Wot close to the window, in the ' space between the uppercornerof thcdiningtable ; and the angle made by the two sides of the room It was surely Anthony. He was lying on* his side, his head thrown back, and his face up- turned. A ghastly face, which sent poor Joseph's pulses bounding on with a terrible fear as he looked down at it. The same face which had ' .scared Betsy when she looked down. .' •He is stark dead !' whispered Joseph, with a; shiver, to Mr. Dare. ' Mr. Dare, his own life-blood seeming to have ] stopped, bent over his son by the light of the can- ' die. Anthony appeared to be not only dead, bul | cold. In his terrible shock, his agitation, he ^lill ; reEftmbered that it was well, if possible, to spare ' the sight to his wife and daughter. Mrs. Dart; and Adelaide, alarmed by Betsy's scirams, had ; run down-stairs, and were now hastening into the '■ room. *Go back! go back 1' cried Mr. Dare, fencing ■ them away with his hands. 'Adelaide, you must j not come in ! Julia,' he added to his wife, in a tone of imploring entreaty, 'go up-stairs, and keep back Adelaide.' He half led, half pushed them across the hall. Mrs. Dare had never in all her life seen his faci- as she saw it now — a face of terror. She caughi the fear; vaguely enough, it must be confessed, for she had not heard Anthony's name, as yet, mentioned in connexion with it. 'What is it." she askeii, holding by the balus- trades. 'What is there in the dining-room .'' *I don't know what it is,' replied Mr. Dare, from between his white lips. 'Go up-stairs! Ade- laide, go up-stairs with your mother.' Mr. Dare was stopped by screams. While he was preventing immediate terror to hia wife and dau^hlcr, the lady's maid, her curiosity exritco beyond repression, hnd slipp«M| info (h^ riinin.r. room, und pcpp« d (,. she had expcttci) : have slated; what sLtc umI .-.t.e was s'» iar wors.*^ than her wildest fears that she lost sense ol everything, save the moment's fear; and shriek after shriek echoed from her. One entire scene of confusion ensued. Mrs. Dare tried to force her way to the room; Ade- laide screamed, she knew not at what; Betsy be- gan bewailing Mr. Anthony, by name, in wild words. And the sleepers, up stairs, came flock- ing outof their chambers, with trembling limbs and white faces; any garment, that came upper- most to hand, flung upon them. . Mr." Dare put his back against the dining-room door. 'Girls, go back! Julia, go back, for the love of Heaven ! Mademoiselle, is that you ? Be so good as stay where you are, and keep Rosa and Minny with you.' 'Mais, qu'est-ce que c'est, done.'' exclaimed mademoiselle, speaking in her wonder, in her most familiar tongue, and, truth to say, paying little heed to Mr. Dare's injunction. 'Y a"-t-il du mal-heur arrive?' Betsy went up to her. Betsy recognized her as one not of the family, to whom she could ease her overflowing mind. The same thought had occurred to Betsy as to Joseph. 'Poor Mr. An- thony's lying in there dead, mamzel,' she whis- pered. 'Mr. Herbert must have killed him.' Mademoiselle, thus startled, shrieked out ter- ribly. Unheeding the request of Mr. Dare, un- mindful of the deficiencies pr want of elegance in her costume, which consisted of what she called a peignoir, and a borderless calicq night- cap, she flew down to the hail. And, takihg ad- vantage of a minute's quilling of the door by Mr. Dare, she slipped into the dining-room. Some of the others slipped in, and a sad scene of con- fusi'in ensued. WKat will) wife, governess, ser- vants, and jchiJdren, Mr. Dare was powerless to stop it. Mademoiselle went straight up, gave one look, and staggered back against the wall. V 'C'est vrai!' she muttered. 'C'est Monsieur \nlhony.' 'It is Anthony,' shivered Mr. Dare. 'I fe.ar — [ fiar violence has been done him.' The governess was breathing heavily. She looked quite as ghastly as did that upturned face. 'But why should itbcr' she asked, in English. 'Who has done it.-' Ah, who had done it! Joseph's frightened fare seemed to say that he could tell if hexlared. Cyril bounded into ihe room, and took hold of onn of the arms. But he let it fall again. •It is rigid !' he gaj^ed. 'Is he dead : Father, he can't be dead !' Mr. Dare hurried Joseph from Ihe room— h«T- 1 him across the hall to the door. He, Mr. ' re, seemed so ai;tt^ted as scarcely to know \v.j;ti he was ahi' Somewhat curious to say, Mr. Glenn was the usual medical attendant of the Dares. Joseph explained as well as he could, that Mr. Anthony had been found lying on tlie dining-room carpet, to all appearance dead; and Mr. Glenn de- scended. ^ 'Anything up at your place.-" asked a police- man, who had just come by on his beat. 'I should think there is,' returned Joseph. 'One of the gentlemen's been found dead.' 'Dead !' echoed the policeman. 'Which of them is it?' he asked, after a pause. •Mr. Anthony.' 'Why, I saw him turn in here about half-after eleven,' observed the oflicer. 'He is in a fit, per- haps.' 'Why do you say that ?' asked Joseph. 'Because he had been taking a drop too much. He could hardly walk. Somebody brought him as far as the gate.' Mr.' Glenn had hastened on. The policeman followed with Joseph. Followed, possibly, in the gratification of his curiosity; possibly that he deemed his services might be in some way re- quired. When the tv/o got into the dining-room, Mr. Glenn was kneeling down to examine An- thony, and sounds of distress camc' shrilly on their ears from a distance. They were caused by the hjsterlcs of Mrs. Dare. 'Is be dead, sir?' asked the policeman, in a low tone. 'He has been dead these two or three hours,' was the reply of Mr. Glenn. But it wai no fit. It was not anything so inno- > cent. Mr. Glenn found that the cause of death was a stab in the side. Death, he believed, must /have hecn instantaneous; and the hemorrhage ; was chiefly inward. A few stains there were on the clothes outside; not much. ; 'What's this ?' cried Mr. Glenn. |; He was pulling at some large substance on which Anthony had fallen. It proved to be a cloak. Cyril — and some others present— recog'- nised it for Herbert's cloak. Where was Her- bert? In bed? Was it possible that he could, sleep through the noise and confusion that the house was in ? 'Can nothing be done ?' asked Mr. Dare of the surgeon. Mr. Glenn shook his bead. ♦He is stone dead, you see; dead, and nearly cold. He must have been dead more than two hours. I should say nearer three.' From two to three hours ! Then that would bring the time of Jiis death to half-past eleven o'clock, or thereabouts, close upon the time that the po- liceman saw him returning home. Somebody turned to ask the policeman a question, but he had disappeared. Mr. Glenn went to see what he could do for Mrs. Dare, whose cries of dis- tress had been painful to hear, and Mr. Dai'e drew Joseph aside. Somehow he felt that he dared no^jj question him in the presence of witnesses; lesti) any condemnatory fact should transpire to bring the guilt home to his second son. In spite of the sight of Anthony lying dead before him, in spite of what he had heard of the quarrel, he could not bring his mind to believe that Herbert had been guilty of this most dastardly deed. 'What time did j'ou let him in ." asked Mr. Dare, pointing to his ill-fated son. Joseph anstfrered by a sort of evasion! 'The policeman said it was about half-after eleven, sir.' 'And what time did Mr. Herbert come home?' In point of fact, but for seeing the cloak where he did see it, Joseph would not have known whether Mr. Herbert was at home yet. He felt there was nothing for it but to tell the simple truth to Mr. Dare— that the gentlemen had been in the habit of letting themselves in at any hour they pleased, the dining-room window being left unfastened for them. Joseph made the admission, and Mr. Dare received it with anger. »I did it by their orders, sir,' the man said, with deprecation. 'If you think it was wrong, per- haps you'll put things on a better footing for the future. But to wait up every night till it's pretty near time to rise again, is what I can't do, or anybody else. Flesh and blood is but mortal, sir, ) and ciauld'nt stand it.' Hits. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 41 •-But you woi-e not keptup like that?' cried Mr. ] •! do not think he would,' earnestly Bpoke Mr. Dr}n. j Dare. •iTes, sir, I was. If one of the gcnt'emen | 'No, no, no!' said mademoiselle, her voice wasn't out, the oth^r would be. I told them i; i rising with her emphasis. 'He never kill his was impossible 1 could be up nearly all night ano hr<»ther; he not enough mechani for that' every night, and rise in the mormng jusl Hit | 'Perhaps he is noi cume in?' cried Mr. Dare, _^same, and do my work in the day So tiioy took j catching ut the thought. to have the dining-room window left open, and i Betsy Carter answered the wor^s. She bad came in that way, and I went to rest at my proper | stolen up in the general restlessnets, and halted hour. Mr. Cyril and Mr. George, too, they are j there, taking to stay out.' j 'He must be come in, fiir,' she said; 'else how •The house might have been robbed over and ; could his cloak be in the dining-room ? They are over again,' exclaimed Mr. Dare. -.aiing that ii's Mr. Herbert's cloak which was 'I told them so, sir; but they laughed at me ! ""^'^r '^'r- Anthony.' They said who'd be likely to come through lh« grounds, and up to the windows and try them . At any r;ite, sir,' added Joseph, as a final excuse. •they ordrred it done. And that's how it is, sir. that I don't know what time either Mr. Anthon; or Mr. Herbert caiue in last night.' Mr. Dare said no more. The fruits of tin mode ill which his sons had been reored wei> coming heavily home to him. He turned to g> up stairs, to the chamber of Herbert. On lli< bottom st;iirs, swaying herself to and fro in he •What has Mr. Herhert's cloak to do with his v^omiiig in or n■ &" "•■ "j j t> i luMurds the enirance gale.' •I hoped fact; as Mr Dare approached. •Ithed^ad." \- 'Wearing i.is cloak ?' Mr. Dare shook his head. ■ 'Wearing his cloak,' assented Betsy 'The surgeon says he has been dead ever since | '« ^^^ ^»"^ enough in it.' Oie beginning of the night.' > T'-e words seemed to carry terrible conviction ' 'And vionMeur Herbert— is he dead?' | •» l^'® '"""' °^ ^'''- ^'"■«- L'nwillmg to believe *Ht dead I' repeated Mr. Dare, in an accent ol ! ' I alarm, tearing pu»sib y, she might have a motivi f for Ihe question. 'Wliat should bring him also dead? Mademoiselle, why do you ahk it?' 'El, me, I don't know,' she answered. *I am bewildered with it all. Why should he be dead, and not the other? Why should either be dead .^ Mr. Dare »aw that she did look bewildered scarcely in her senses. She h>d a thick whii- handkerchief in her hand, and was wiping ili, inoisture fiom her scarcely less white face. 'Did you witnes^s ihc quarrel between them; 'he Kirl, he sought Joseph, and asked him. •Yes, for certain,' Joseph answered. 'Mr. ilerbert, as he was coming down stairs to go out, slopped to speak to me, sir, and he was fastening his cloak on then.' Minny ran up, nearly bursting with grief and terror, as 8^•c laid hold of Mr. Dare. 'Papa! i)8pa' is it true?' she sobbed. 'Is what tiue, child r' 'That it was Herbert ? They are saying so.' 'Hush!' said Mr Dare. Carrying a candle, be .vent up to Herbert's room, bis heart aching. That Herbert could i-leep through the noise was he inquired, supposing that she bad done so, hj \ 'urprising; and yet, not much so His room was her words. I nore remote from the house than were the rest, 'If I did, I not tell,' she vehemently answered, {-""^ looked to the back. But, had he slept her KoAlish less clear than usual. 'If Joepl. ; '^'''ough it? When Mr. Dare went in, he was say— I hear him say il to )ou just now— iha Uling up in bed, awakine, or pretending to Mon.^eur Herbert took a knile tu hi« broth, r, . I "^'iike, from sleep then. The window, thrown not K've testimony to il. \Vh»t artair is u oi ? '*"^'' "!""• ""J have contributed to deaden any mine, that 1 should tell against one or the other ' -""fd •" l*'" house. 'Can you sleep tbroucb lbi», Who did it— who killed him?' she rapidly con •' Herbert." cried Mr. Dare. tinu-id. 'It was not Monsieur Herbert. No — 1 Herbert ttuppd, and rubbed his eyes, and stared will say always that it was not .Monsieur Her- again, somtiliins '•''« pn« i° " maze. 'Is that bert. He would not kill bis brother' .jou, father r' be presently cried. 'What is it.'' MftS. HALLIBCRTOIT** TKOOBLBi. •Herbert,' tftld bii father, in a low tone of pain, of dread, 'what hare you been doing to your bro- ther?* Herbert, ai if not understanding the drift of the question, stared more than ersr. '1 have done nothing to him,' he presently said. 'Do }ou mean Anthony?' 'Anthony is lying on the dining-room floor, killed— murdered. Herbert, tc/»o didit7' Herbert Dare sat motionless in bed, looking Btterly bewildered. That he could not under- stand, or was affecting not to understand, was erident. ' Antbot.y is — what do you say, sir !' 'He is dead; he is murdtred,' rtplied Mr. Dare. 'Oh, my son, my son, say you did nut do it! for the love of heaven, say yuu did not do it !' And the unhappy father hurst into tears, and sunk dowi on the bed, utterly unmaQDed. CHAPTER XI. The grey dawn of the early May morning wa' breaking over the world — over the group gath ered in the dining-room of Mr. Dare. That gen tleman, his surviving sons, a stranger, a police- man or two, and Sergeant Delves, who had been summoned to the scene. Sundry of the house- hold were going in and out, of their own leiAtteus, curious accord, or by summons. The sergeant was making inquiries into the facta and details o'l the evening. Anthony Dare — as may be remembered — had retired to his room in a sort of sullen spirit, re- fusing to go out, when the message came to hini from Lord Hawkesley. It appeared, by whai was afterwards learnt, that he, Anthony Dare, had made an appointment to meet Lord Hawkes- ley and some other gentlemen at the Slar-and- Garter hotel, where the viscount was stayiiig- the proposed amusement of the evening beint cards. Anthony Dare remained in his chambei solacing his chafed temper with brandy-an> water, until the waiter from the Star-and-Garu appeared a second time, bearing a note. I'r.. note Sergeant Delves had found in one of ih pockets, and had it now open before bim. it ra. aa follows: — •Dear Dare — We are all hero waiting, an. can't make up the tables without you. What o you mean by shirking ui? Come along, and dun ba a month ovar it. Yours, •Hawkeslst.' Thli Bote had prsrailed. Anthony, poisibl^ i repenting of the solitary evening to whieh he ^ had condemned himself, put on his boots ag^in, \ and went forth: not — it is not pleasant to have to record it, but it cannot be concealed — not sober. s Me had taken ale with his dinner, he had taken I Hine after it, he had taken brandy-and-water in his room; and the three combined had told upon him. On his arrival at the Star-and-Garter, he four.d six or seven gentlemen assembled; but, in- sti ad of sitting down there in Lord Hawkesley's room, it was suddenly decided to adjourn to the lodgings of a Mr. Brittle, hard by; a joung Oxonian, who had been plucked in his Little Go, aid was supposed to be reading hard to avoid a second similar catastrophe. They went to Mr. Brittle's and sat down to cards, oyer which i>randy-and-water and other drinks were intro- duced. Anthony Dare, by way of quenching his thirst, did not spare them, and was not particu- lar as to the sorts. The consequence was, that be j soon bf came most disagreeable company, snarl- '. ing with all around; and, in short, unfit for play. f This contrttemps put the rest of the party out of ^ sorts, and they broke up; but for that, they might i probably have sat on till morning light, and that \ poor Unhappy life been spared. There was no / Knowing what might have been. Anthony Dare \ was in no fit state for walking alone, and one of I'hem, Mr. Brittle, undertook to see him home. ( Mr. Brittle quitted him at the gate, and Anthony ' Dare stumbled over the lawn and gained the ;; house. After that, nothing farther was known '■ So far as this would not have oet-n known, b t j that, in hastening for Delves, the policeman had I come across Mr. Brittle. It was only natural ^ that the latter, shocked and startled, should bend > his steps to the scene; and from him they gath- ^ ered the account of Anthony 's movements abroad. i But now came the difficulty. Who had let {Anthony in? Nobody. There was little doubt i that he had made his own way in through the J dining-room window. Joseph had turned the key ^'of the front door at eleven o'clock, and he had ^ not been called upon to open it until the return i it Mr. and Mrs. Dare. I'he policeman who hap- S ened to be passing when Anthony came home*— ^ f r it may be more correct to say, was brought- > Dine — testified to the probable fact that he had I iiiered by means of the dining-room window. i : he man had watched him; had seen that, in- < >tcad of making for the front door, which faced i 'Jie road and was in view, he had stumbled across J ihe grass, and disappeared down by the side of >e house. On this side the dining-room window .IS situated; therefore it wa^ but reasonable to '.appose that Anthony had so entered. *Had you any motive in watching bim?' asked Sergeant Delves of this maa. Mms. HALLIBURTON'S TAOVBLBI, ^ '!folhing particular, except to »ee that he did thin)? nor nobody from the time I looted the front not fall,' was the reply. "When the gentleman )door till master and missis came home,' reiter- who brought him home loosed his arm, he to.d -ated J scph. 'Let me repeat it ten times over, I him, in a joking way, not to gft kissing the couldn't say it no plainer. If 1 had heard either {round as he went in; and I thought I'd watch ; of ihe gentlemen come in, I should have gone to him, that I might go to his assistance it he did) 'em to see if anything was wanted. Specially to fall. He could hardly walk; he pitched about,' Mr. Anthony, knowing that ha was not sober trith every step. ' •Did he fall .'' when he went out.' Two points appeared more particularly to •No; he managed to keep up. But I should Strike on the mind of Sergeant Delres. The one think he was a good five minutes getting over the ;: was. that no noise should hare been heard; that grass plat.' •Did the gentleman remain to watch him.'' J a deed like this could hare been committed in, a* .it appeared, absolute silence. The other was, •No, not for above a minute. He just waited >ihat the dining-room window should have been to see that he got safe over the gravel path on to ; found fastened inside. The latter fact was con- the grass, and then he went back.' ;' firmatory of the strong suspicion that tha offender •Did you see anybody else come in? About < was an inmate of the house. A person, not an thattime.'— or before it. >— or after it. > J inmate of the house, would naturally have ei- The man ahook his bead. •! didn't see nobody j caped by the ope* dining-room window; but, to else at all. I shut the gate after Mr. Anthony, i do this, and to fasten it inside after him, was an and I didn't see it opened again. Not but what | impossibility. Every other window in the house, plenty might have opened and shut it again, and j every door, had been securely fastened; some in gone in, too, when I was higher up upon my :■ the earlier part of the evening, some at eleven ^****' /o'clock by Joseph. Herbert Dare voluntarily ac- Sergeant Delves called .Toseph. 'It appears j 1^0 wiedged that it was he who had fastened the uncommon odd that you should have heard no < Jming room window. His own account waa— noise whatever.' he observed. *A man's move- 'and the sergeant looked at him most narrowly ments are not generally very quank when in the, while he gave it—that be had returned home state described as being that of young Mr Dare. ; late, getting on for two o'clock; that he had come The prohabilitv is, that he would enter the in through the dining-room, and had put down dining-oom noisily. He'd be nearly sure to fall ) the fastening of the window. He declared that again the furniture, being in the dark.' ^he had not seen Anthony; that if Anthony had •It's certain thai I never did hear him ' replied been I) ing there, as he was afterwards found, he, Joseph. •We was shut up in the kitchen, and I ^ Herbert, had not observed him. But, he said, so was mostly nodding asleep from the time I locked ; far as he remembered, he never glanced to that up at eleven till master came home at two. The 5 part of the room at all, but had gone on through two girls were chattering loud enough; they was , the room on the other side of the large dining- at the table, a-making up caps, or something of jtab'e; between the table and the fireplace. And, that. The cook, she went to bed at ten; she was ) jf he had glanced to it, he coulrf have seen no- ^^^^- f thing, for the room was dark. He had no light, •Then, with the exception of you three, all the ,' and had to feel his way. household were in bed ?' ' ; .,,, •.,,., / 'Was It usual for tha young gentlemen to fasten •All of 'em— as was at home,' answered Jo- ; tha bolt of the window.?' Sergeant Delves asked seph. 'The governess had gone early, the two; of Joseph. And Joseph replied that they some- young ladies went about ten. Mr. Cyril and Mr. . times did, sometimes not. If by any chance Mr. George they went soon after ten. They came ; Anthony and Mr Herbert came in together, then home from cricket "dead beat," they said, had : they would fasten it; or if, when the one came in, some supper, and went to bed soon after it.' jhe knew that the other was not out, he would •It's not usual for them— the young men, I equally fasten it. Mr. Cyril and Mr. George did mean— to go to bed so early, is it.^ asked Ser- not come in often by that way; in fact, tbey were ^not out so late, generally speaking, as were their geant Delves. •No, it isn't, except on cricket nights,' an- ! brothers.' swered Joseph. 'After cricket they generally .prrcisely so.' Herbert aasented, with reference come home and have supper, and don't go out to the fastening. He had fastened it, believing again. Other nighU they are mosUy sure to be »,„ brother Anthony to be at home and in bed. i When he went out the previous evening, Anthony out late. •And you did not bear Mr. Herbert ooaw in .>' ^.d already gone to his room, expreaaiog bis ie- •Rergaant Delvn, I aaj that T never heard no- teetieD not to quit it again that night. 44 MRS. HALL! BURT cr TROUBLES. Sergeant DeWes inquired — no doubt for rea-geant; though what puzzled him and what did eons of his own — whether this expressed inieii-Miol puzzle him had lo be left to coi.jectiite, for tion on the part of Anthony could be testified to J he gave no clue. No weapon iiad been found, by. anybody besides Herbert. Yes. By Joseph, { The policemen had been searching tbon ughly by the governess, by Rosa and Minny Dare; all ; the room, partially the house; but had cooieupon four had heard him say it. The sergeant would } no instrument likely to have inflicted the wound, not trouble the joung ladies, but requested to ; A carving-knife or common table-knife had been speak to the governess. (snpuested, remembering the previous orcuire? cei The governess was indignant at the request', of the evening; but Mr. Glenn's deciiUd opinion being made. She was in und out amongst them ; wa-, lh»t it must have been a very different in- wilh her white face, in her many-colourtd peig- ■,strument;some slender, sharp-pointed, two-edged Doir. She had bet n upstairs and partially ; blndfe.Jie thought, about *ix itiches in length, dressed herself; had discarded the boiderless cal- / The most suspicious evidence, referring to ico night-cap and done her hair, aud put on the ; Herbert, was the cloak. The sergeant had es- peignoir again, and come down to see and to lis- ' amined it curiously, with drawn-in lips. Herbert ten. But she did not like being questioned. ^disposed of this, so far as he was concerned — 'I know nothing about it,' she said to the ser- ; that is, if he was to be believed. He said that geant, in answer, speaking vehemently. 'Whatf he had put his cloak on, had gone out in it as far should I know about it.> 1 will tell you nothing. \ as the entrance gate; but hndinij it warmer than I went to bed before it was well nine o'clock; I ; was agreeable, he had turned back, ttnd flung it had the headache, and I never heard anyihiug /on the dining-room table, going in, as he had more till the commotion. Why you ask me .'' J come out. through the wij.dow. He added, as a 'But you can surely tell, ma'am, whether or! little bit of confitmatory te^timorly, that he re- not you heard Mr. Anthony say he was going to ] membered seeing the cloak begin to slide off the his chamber for the night;' remonstrated the ser- J table again; that he saw it must fall to the geant. Aground; but being in a hurry, he would not stop •Yes, he did say it,' she answered, so vehe-r to prevent it, or to place it heller, mently as to impart a shrieking sout.d to her J The sergeant seemed never to take his eyes Toice. 'He said it in the salon. He kicked off; from their sidelong glance at Herbert Dare. He his boots, and told Joseph to bring his slippers, ( had gone to work in his own way; hearing the and lo takebrandy-ar.d-waler to his room, (or he ^ ditferent accounts and conjectures, silling this bit should not leave it again that night. I never J ,.f evidence, turning about that, holding a whis- thought or knew that he had left it, uoiil I .-aw/ pcred colloquy with the man who had been sent him lying in the dining-salle, and they said he, to examine Herbert's room: holding a longer was dead.' whispered colloquy with Herbert himself. On •Was Mr. Herbert present when he said he the departure of the surgeon and Mr. Brittle, should go to his room for the liighl.'' '1 who had gone away together, he had marched to 'He was present, I think; I think he had come /'the front and side doors of the house, locked in then to the salon. That is all 1 know. I made^ihem, and put the keys in his pocket. 'IVobody the tea, and then my head got bad, and Iwenl^goes out of this here without my permission,' to bed. I can tell you nothing further.' ;! quoth he. > 'Didyouhear any noise in the house, ma'am."! '^*'^" ^® ^^°^ Mr. Dare aside. 'There's no 'No. If there vas any noise I did not notice 'mistake about this, I fear,' said he, gravely, it. 1 soon went to sleep Wn»re is the u^e ofj Mr. Dare knew what he meant. Tie himself your asking me these tlinjis.' You 5-hould ask j v/as growing grievously faint-hearted. But be those who sat up. I shall be sick if, you msike J would not say it; he would r.ot let it be Keen that me talk about it. Nothing of this ever arrived 'he cast, or could cast, a suspicion to Herbert. 'It in any family where 1 have served before.' j appears to me that— that— if poor Anthony was The sergeant allowed her to retire. She went in the staj.e they describe, that he may have sat to the stairs and sat down on the lower step, and down or lain down after entering the dining- leaned her cheek upon her hand, all she had done > room, and dropped asleep,' observed Mr. Dare, previously. Mr. Dare asked her why hhe did | 'Easy, then — the window being left open — for not go up stairs, away from the confusion arid some evil midnii£ht housebreaker from the street bustle of the sad scene; but she shook her head ', to have come in and attacked him.' She did not care to be in her chamber alone, she \ 'Pooh !' said Sergeant Delves. 'It is no mid- answered, and her pupils were shut in with Mad- 1 night housebreaker that has done this. We have ame Dare and Mademoiselle Ad^-laide. j g difficult line of duty to perform at times, us po- It it poaeilrlo that one thing puzzled the ser* \ lice; and all we can do to soften matters, is to go MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. to work as genteelly as is consistent with the law./ to it. The churches struck half-pait one as I I'm sorry to have to say it, Mr. Dare, but I hare came through the ttwn.* feii obligated to order my men to keep a look-out ' 'Where did you stay ?* on Mr. Herbert.' ; 'Well — I can't say,' replied Herbert. A cold chill ran through Mr. Dare. 'It could ' Mr Dare grew agitated. 'You must say, Her- not have been Herbert!' he rejoined, his tone one ^ btrt,' he hoarsely whispered, 'or take the coDse- of wailing pain, almost of entreaty. 'Mr. Glenn quences ' says it could nut have been done later than half- ' 'I can't help the consequences,' was Herbert's past eleven, or thereabouts. Herbert never came : answer. 'Where I was last night is no matter to home until near two.' ) anybody, and 1 shall not say,' •Who is to prove that he was not at home till; 'Your not saying— if you can say— is just folly,' near two.'' )' interposed the sergeant 'It's the first question •He says he was not. I have no doubt it can ^^'^ magistrates will ask when you are placed be- be proved. And poor Antheny was dead more '°'*^'^*'" than two hours before.' f Herbert looked up angrily. 'Place me before ,xr 1 , . J • J o 4 r\ 1 '• t^"* magistrates!' he echoed. 'What do you •Now look you here,' cried Sergeant Delves,; , ,- • . «. • "-•■ «« j"" r..ii k I r . u r k' .Ryi mean .' xou will not dare to take me into cus- falling back on a favourite phrase of his. 'Mr. ) , Glenn is correct enough as to the time of the oc-' v l currence; I have had some experience in death ^ 'y."" ^*^* ,^"° '" <="«t°'Jy this half hour,' myself, and I'm sure he is not far out. But letf^^^^''^ ''"^"'■ned the sergeant, thatpa.s. Here are witnesses who saw him alive "erbert looked terribly fierce. •! will not at ha If- past eleven o'cUck. and you come home •"^'"" '° ^^"^ '"dignity,' he exclaimed. 'I tcill at two and find him dead. Now let your son "°'- Sergeant Delves, you are overstepping— ' Herbert just state where he was from half-past; 'Look here,' interrupted the sergeant, drawing eleven till two. He says he was out; not near something from some part of his c]o(hes;and Mr. home at all. Very good. Only let him mention Herbert, t. his dismay, caught sight of a pair of the place, so that we can verify it, and tind, be- handcuffs. 'Don't you force me to use them,' yond dispute, that he ira5 out, and the sU'picion said the ofiircr. 'You are in custody, and must against bim will be at an end. But he won't do )go before the magistrates; but now, you be agen- this.' 'tieman, and I'll use you as one.' •Not do it ." echoed Mr. Dare. ' 'I protest upon my honour that I have had nei- •He tells me, point blank, that he can't and he l^^^'' ^^^^ "O"" P"^ '° ^^is crime !' cried Herbert, in won't. I asked him.' |agitation. 'Do you think I would stain my hand .. _ , . , , .with the sin of Cain.'' Mr. Dare turned impetuously to the room ' where he had left his second son-his eldest son ; '^^^'* " ^^^^ «" JOur hand.'' asked the ler- now 'Here, Herbert'-he was beginning. But P^^"'' ''«"'^'ng forward to look more closely at theoflaccrcut short the words by drawing him :^^'''^''''*'* ^"S*"- back. ) Herbert held them out, openly enough. 'I 'Don't go and make matters worse,' whispered ,^^» doing something last night which tore my he; 'perhaps they'll be bad enough without it. fingers,' he said. •! was trying to undo the fast- Now, Lawyer Dare, jou'll not turn obstinate, en'^gs of some wire. Sergeant Delves, 1 de- fer I am giving you a bit of friendly advice. You ^'^'"® *° y°" solemnly, that from the moment and I have had many a transaction together, and ^^^^ ™J bro'hrr went to his chamber, as wit- I don't mind going a bit out of my way for you, ""'^s have slated to you, I never saw him, until as 1 wouldn't do for other people. The worst ""1 ^^^]'^^ brought me down from my bed to tee thing your son could do, would be to say before ,'*''" 'J'"? aead.' them chatiering servants that he can't or won't '^°" ^'^*^ * •'"'f* o" him not many hours be- tell where he has been all night, or half the '""'■''' 7°" ''"°'^' '"''. Herbert ' ni(jht. It would be self condemnation at once. 'It was done in the heat of passion. He pro- Ask him in private, if you must ask him.' voked me very much; but [ should not have used ,it. No, poor fellow! I should never have injured him. ' Mr. Dire called hit son to him, and Herbert answered to it. A policeman was sauntering after him, hut th% sergeant gave bim a nod, and the man went back. 'Herbert, you say you did not come in until near two thiit morning i' 'Well, you only m«ke your tale good to the masristratf-s,' was nil the answer of the Sergeant. 'It'll he their aflfair at soon as you areafore 'em — n'^'t mine ' Herbert Dare was handed back to the police* 'Neither did I. It wanted about twenty minutes I man; and aa aooa aa tbe Justice-room opened. MM. BALLIfiVKTOIM moVBUl^ w»8 conT«yed before the magistrates— all, »■ the ', 'It Anthony dead? It h' lergeant termed it — in a genteel, gentlemanly Uhee?' Borl of way. He wai charged with the murder^ of his brother Anthony. -Aona ! what bait Anna bad dropped the shirts and the buttoDf. Her blue eyes had closed, her lips and cbeeka To describe the commotion that orersprcad J '>'»d K'-o^" ^lJ'»«. *>" ^»"^» f*" powerle«s. 'c;he is fainting!' shouted Gar, as he ran to support her. 'Gar, dear,' said Patience, 'thee should not tell ill news quite so abruptly. Thee hast made m* feel queer Can thee stretch thy hand out to tko bell.' It will bring up Hester.' Helstonleigh would be beyond any pen. Th*- > college boys were in a strange state of excite- ; ment; both Anthony and Herbert Dare had been | college boys themselres not so Tery long ago. I Gar Halliburton — who was no longer a college \ boy. but a supernumerary — went home full of it. | HaTing imparted it there, he thought he could ( not do better than go in and regale Patience with | the news, by way of divtrtisatmtnt to her sick| bed. •May I come up. Patience .'' he called out from > the foot of the stairs. 'I hare got something to | tell you.' ( Receiving permission, up he flew. Patience,/ partially raised, was sewing with her hands,) which she could cocitrire to do. Anna sat by ' Hilstonleich could not recorer its equanlm- the window, putting the buttons on some new ; '^J- ^«'" ^''^ •» be«n •<> '"wdely shaken. Inci CHAPTER Xn. COMMITTED FOR TSIAL. shirts. ; her mouth and blue eyes alike opening. 'He was murdered iu their dining-room in the night,' went on Gar. intent only on his tale. 'The town is all up in arniit; jfou never saw such an uproar. When we came out of school just now, we thought the French must have come to invade us, by the crowds there were in the street. You couldn't get near the Guildhall, where the exam- ination was going on. Not more than half a dozen of us were able to fight our way in. Her- bert Dare looked so pale; he was standing there, guarded by three policemen ' 'Thee hast a fast tongue. Gar, interrupted Pa- tience 'Dost thee mean to say Herbert Dare was in cu-stody ?' 'Of course be was,' replied Gar, faster than before. 'It is he who has done it. At least he is accused of it. He and Anthony bad a quarrel yesterday, and it came to knives. They were parted then; but he is supposed to bare laid watt for Aatkovy in tbe sight ud killed btm.' dents there had been as startling; crimes of as { dei-p a dye; but, taking it with all its attendant \ circumstances, no occurrence, in tbe memory of I the oldest inhabitant, had excited the interest that I was attaching to the death and assumed murder of Anthony Dare. The station in life of the parties, above that in which such unhappy incidents are more generally ! found; the eons,picuous position they occupied in the town; and the very uncertainty— the mys- tery, it may be said — in which tbe aSair was I wrapped, wrought local curiosity to the highest I pitch. I Scarcely a shadow of doubt rested on the pub- ( lie mind that the deed had been dune by Herbert > Dare. The police force, actively engaged in searching out all the details, held the same opin- ion. In one sense this was, perhaps, unfortu- nate; for when strong suspicion, whether of the I police or of the public, is especially directed to I one isolated point, it inevitably tends to keep ) down doubts that might arise in regard to other quarters. It seemed scarcely possible to hope that Her- I bert was not guilty. All the facts tended to the assumption that he was so. There was the ill- > feeling known to have existed between himself and his brother; the quarrel and violence in the dining-room not many hours before, in which J quarrel Herbert had raised a knife upon him. I 'But for the opportune entrance of the servant Joseph,' said the people one to another, 'the murder might have been done then.' Joseph had stopped ill consequences at the time, but he had not stopped the mouth of Herbert — the threat he k»d uttered ia bis pMiioB— itiU to be reresged. flALLIB0ll¥Ol«f TAOVBLm. <7 Ttrribly thoia words told now attinit Herbert D»re.* Another thing that told against him, and in a most forcible manner, was the cloak. That he had put it on to go out; nay, had been seen to go out in it by the housemaid, was indisputable; and his brother was found lying on this Tery cloak. In rain Herbert protested, when before the mag- istrates and at the coroner's inquest, that he re- turned before learing the garden gates, and had flung this cloak into the dining-room, finding it too hot that erening to wear. He obtained no credit. H-^ had not been seen to do this; and the word of an accused man goes for little. All ominoufi, these things — all telling against him, but nothing, taking them collectively, as compared with his refusal to state where he was that night. He left the house between eight and nine, close upon nine, he thought; he was not sure of the exact time to a quarter of an hour; and he nerer re- turned to it until nearly two. Such was bin ac- count. But where he had been in the interim, he poiitirely refused to state. It was only his assertion, you see, against the broad basis of suspicion. Anthony Dare's death nust have taken place, as testified to by Mr. Glenn, somewhere about half-past eleren; whi was to prove that Herbert at that time was not ai home ? 'I was not,' Herbert reiterated, when before the coroner. 'I did not get home till between half-past one and two. The churches struck the half hour as I was coming through the town, and it would take me afterwards some ten minutes tc get home. It must have wanted about twenty minutes to two when I entered.' •But where were you ? Where had you been? Where did yon come from ?' he was asked. 'That I cannot state,' he replied. 'I was out upon a little business of my own; business that concerns nobody; and I decline to make it pub- lic.' On that score nothing more could be got from him. The coroner drew his own conclusions; the jury drew theirs, the police had already drawr them, and very positive ones. These were the two facts that excited the in of Sergeant Delves and his official colleague« with all their searrhing, they could find o< weapon likely to have been the one used; atK' they could not diiirover whsre Herbert Dare had gone that evening. It happened that nobody r membered to have seen him parsing in the town early or late, or, if they had seen him, it h;i< made no impression on their memory. The ap pearance of Mr. Dare's sons was so common ai occurrence that no especial note was likely tc ksT* b—m take* •/ it. Ii«rt>«^ declared tka in passing through West Street, Turtle, the aue> tioneer, was leaning out at hit open bed-room window, and that he, Herbert, had called out to him, and asked whether he was star-gazmg. Mr. Turtle, when applied to, could not corroborate this. He believed that he had been loi king out I at his window that night; he believed that it might have been about the hour named, getting on for two, for he was late going to bed, having been to a supper party; but he had no recollec- tion whatever of seeing Mr. Herbert pass, or of having been spoken to by him, or by anybody e. When pressed upon the point, Mr. Turtle ^acknowledged that his intellect!, might not have ' neen in the clearest state of perception, the sup- . per party having been a jovial one. \ One of the jury remarked that it was very I singular the pt isoner could go through the dining- > room, and not observe his brother lying in it. The ^ prisoner repl'cd that it was not singular at all. >Thtf room was in darkness, and he had felt his >. way through it on the opposite side of the table to that where his brother was afterwardi* iound. ; He had gone straight through, and up to his > chamber, as quietly as possib'e, not to disturb the t^ house; and be dropped asleep as soon as he was ^nbed. ) The verdict returned was 'Wilful murder < (gainst Herbert Dare;' and he was committed to ^>he county goal to take his trial at the a^^sizes. \ Mr. Dare's house was beyond the precincts of > 'he city. Sergeant Delves and his men renewed J their inquiries; but they could discover no trace, / »'iiher of the weapon, or of where Herbert Dare ^ had passed the suspicious hours. The sergeant was vexed; but he would not allow that he was / beaten. J 'Only give us time,' said he, with a character- I istio nod. 'The Pyramids of Egypt wam't built !ijp but stone by stone.' Tuesday morning — the morning fiied for the i funeral of Anthony Dare. The curious portion of Helstonleigh wended its way up to the church- , yard; as it is the delight of the curious portion of II tonn to do. What a sad sight it was I That lark object, covered by its pal!, carried by the ( iiiendants, followed by the mourners — Mr. Dara, I ind his sons Cyril and George. He, the father, / icnt his face in his handkerchief, as he walked i lehind the coffin to the grave. Many a man ii I ilelstonleigh enjoyed • higher share of et-ieem j 4nd respect than did Lawyer Dare; but not one rasent, in that crowded churchyard, but frit for im in his bitter gncf. Not one, In ut tiupe, but I I'll to bis beaits core the fate of the unhappy \nthony, now, for weal or fur woe, to aiis»«r I ttlorc hi/ Maker for his life on earth. That same ^ ^ay, TuMdaj, witoeued ibe return ef Sanad «6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. Lynn and William Halliburton. They arrived in ' the eyenirig. and of course the first news they were greeted with was the ail-prevailing topic! Fevr thir:g< caused the ever-composed Quaker to betray much surprise; but William was half- etunned with the news. Anthony Dare dead — j murdertd — buried that very He had improved in looks; and yet those looks. < with their true nobility, both of form and Intel- ^ lect, had been scarcely capable of improvement •', Nevertheless, it was there, and Mr. Ashley had ^ been struck with it. '] ♦I cannot say,' he replied, aroused by the qucs ;■ tion. 'The facts appear most conclusive agains ', him; but it appears incredible that he should &« ^ have lost himself. To be suspected and commit- ;! ted on such a charge is grief enough, witnoul tht ^j reality of the guilt.' < •So it is,' acquiesced William. <; 'We feel the disgrace very keenly — as all must ^ who are connected with the Darea in ever to re- ) mote a degree. I feel it, William: feel it as a ) blow. Mn. Ashley being the cousin of Anthonj | Dare.' i •They are relatives of ours, also;' said William > in a low tone. •My father was the first cousin oi Mrs. Dare.' Mr. Ashley looked at him with Burprise| 'Youi father the first cousin of Mrs. Dare !' he repealed •What are you haying?' •Her first cousin, sir. You have heard of ol' Mr. Cooper, of Birmingham ?' •From whom the Dares inherited their money Well?' Mr. Cooper had a brother and a sister. Mrs Dare was the daughter of the brother; the sisie married the Reverend William Halliburton, an my father was their sod. Mrs. Dare, as Juli Cooper, and my father, Edgar Halliburton, boll resided together for some time under their uncle '> roof at Birmingham.' A moment's pause, and then Mr. As^'ley la; his hand on William's shouldtir. 'Then Ih . brings a sort of relaiionsihip between us, Wil liam. 1 shall have a right to feel pride in yi;. BOW.' William laughad. But fait cbeek Hushed witL the pleasure of a more earnest feeling.. Hit greatest earthly wish was to be appreciated by Mr. Ashley. •How is it I never heard of this relationship before?' cried Mr. Ashley. 'Was it purposely concealed ?' •It is only within a year or two that I have known of it,' replied William. 'Frank and Gar are not aware of il yet. When we first came to Helstonleigh, the Dares were much annoyed at It; and they made it known to my mother in so unmistakable -a manner, that she resolved to drop all mention of the relationship; she would have dropped the relationship itself if she could. It kvas natural, perhaps, that they should feel an- loyed,' continued William, seeking to apologise for them. 'They were rich and gteut in the eyeg >f the town; we were poor and obscure.' Mr. Ashley was casting his recollections back- wards. A certain event, which had always somewhat puzzled him, was becoming clear now. •William, when Anthony Dare — acting, as he said, for me — put that seizure in your house for rent, it must have been done with the view of 1 riving you from the town?" •My mother says she has always thought so, sir.' 'I see; I see. Why, William, half the inher- itance, enjoyed by the Dares, ought justly to have been your father's !' 'We shall do as well without it, in the long run, sir,' replied William, a bright smile illumin- ing his face. 'Hard though the struggle was at the beginning !' •Ay, that you will !' warmly returned Mr Ash- ley. The ways of Providence are wonderful ! Yes, William — and I know you have been taught lo think so — what men call the chances of the vorld, are all God's dealings. Reflect on the (Mrcumstances favouring the Dares; reflect on vour drawbacks and impediments! Tdey had wealth, popition, a lucrative professioi.; every hiii:r< in fact, to aid them on, that can be desired •y a family in the middle class of life; while you ^lad poverty, cjjjscurity, and toil to contend with. IJut now, look at what they are! Mr. Dare'i noney is dissipated; he is overwhelmed with em- )arra!)Sment — I know it to be the fitct, William; 'Ut this is for your ear alone. Folly, rcckltss- less, irrcligion reign.in his house; his daughters are lost in pretentious vanity; his sons in somc- hing worse. In a few years ihey will have gote ! >wii — down. Yes, 'added Mi. Ashley, pointing 4'ith his finger to the floor of his counlii;g-house, lown to llie dogs. I can see it coming, as sure!y IS that the sun is in the heavens. You and they -ill have exchanged positions, William; nay, you aod yours, unless I am greatly mistaken, will b« MltB. HALLIBURTON'S TROtfttLSA. 4d in a far higher position than they have everoccu- son to push,' he added, an espressioB of sft8, under your convoy, •Myself, for in*tance.'' quietly put in Mr. Ash- ^ ^''''^'"- ^^ ^^J ^° ^''^ good, in more ways ley. than one ' , 'Ves, indeed.' answered William, lifting his [ '^ «'•" «""« ^o Henry this evening, air. I must earnest eyes to his master. 'Were it possible ;•"'[« hmi, though, for half an hour, to get rou.d that I could ever attain to be as you are, sir, in ; ° "* ' all lnin^s— in ch«racter, in po!.ition, in the esti- | 'Your conscie.nce is engaged, I see. You know malion of my fellow-citizens— it would be suffi- ] ''hat Henry accused you of, the last time )ou left cicnl ambition for me, and I should sit down con- ^'™ 'o 6^ to East & .' tent ' 'Of being enamoured of Charlotte,' said Wil. •Not you,' crifrd Mr. Ashley. 'You would ) liam. laughing in answer to Mr Ashley 's smile. then he c jsvi.ig your thoughts to the serving jonr ^ • I will come, at any rate, sir, and battle the other •aid fellow-citizens in Parliament, or some such . matter out with Henry.' exulted virion. Man's nature is to soar, you | know, it cannot rest. As soon as oneubjectof| atul)iliori 18 attained, others are sought after.' 1 'So far as 1 go. we need dot discuss it,' was Wiliam's answer. 'There's no chance of my I CHAPTER XIII. ever becoming even a »ecotid-rate manufacturer; let alone whai you are, sir.' \ AiRoisKDHrART. 'The next be.»t ihmg lo being myself, would ' , . , , , .... ... ,,,,.• . ' If it were a hop«>Ie8S lat-k attempting to de- perhaps be thdt ot being my partner, William.' ... , ,, : T ' _ . . . scribe the constrrnation of H< Iflonleigh at the The voice in which his master spoke was so , , , . . ,. - , «. > ,,,. , r , ,. I a . ; death of Anihoiy Dare, far more difficult wou d significant, that Wi liam felt his face nuah U) ^ , . , ,. . , ,, , ., . . , , . j It be t.i depicture that ol Anna Lynn. Believe crimson. Mr Ashley noticed it. H l . i. . . j i u , ^ . , , . "^ „ Herbert tfuilly, Anna did not; she could scareely 'Did that ambition ever occur to you.'' . ^ , ^ , , , ■ ^ ., . ™,. . . , ■ , have believed that, had an angel come down •No, sir, never. That honour it looked upon . . «• •• n /• • j , - ^ , ^ ' from heaven to aflnm it. Her stale of mind wat as being destined for Cyril Dare.' . u i • .. «ii j ° ■ not t» be envied; suspense, sorrow, anxiety filled 'Indeed "calmly repeated Mr. Ashley. 'If you j,, causing her to be in a grievous stnte of rest- couldWansfonn your nature into Cyril, 1 do not |e„„e8B. SU had lo conceal this from the eyrt say but ihai it mi^l.t b-.' ^,f Patience; from the eyes of all the world. For 'He expecti it himself, sir.' one thing, she could not get at the correctpar- ' Would be be a worthy associate for me, think you.'' inquired Mr. Ashley, bending his gaze full on William. ticnlara; nenspaprrs did not come in her way, and she shrunk, in her self-consciousnett, from asking. Her whole being — if we may dare to William mude no reply, perhapt none was »ay it here— was wrapt in Herbert Dare; father, expected, for his master resumed — ; frirnds, home, country; she could have sacrificed 'I do not recommend you to indulge that par- 'hrm all to save him. She would havi". laid down ticuiar dream of ambition; I cannot s^.e suff]- her life for his. Hi r looI srns'w»« di'-'or'id, ci'jnll) far io'o iht future, it i^ my intentK.n ti) licr judgm- rit va-yt'L she sbw p.i««ni(j cvcDtt. putb you loaewiitt ea io lb« w«rid. I iiart bo ' oet wttb tht eyii of ditpaMi*a ', 'If a witness went forward and declared it nodded to me from the window. I did not like It , now, would they release him ." beckon to thee.' 'Impossible He is committed to take his trial 'I am sorry to have been so stupid, Anna, at the assizes, and he cannot be released before- Whatisit.'' i oand It is exceedingly unwise of him not to de- •Thee hast heard what has happened — thai | clare where he was that evening — if he can do dreadful thing! Hast thee heard it all .'' |so.' •1 believe .so. All thai is known.' 'Where do the public think he was.' What do •I want thee to tell it me. Patience won't twll. i they say ?' of It; Hester only shakes her head; and I an '1 am afraid the public, Anna, mostly think afraid to a>k Gar. 1 hn tell it to me ' •It would not do you good to know ii, Anna,' In gravely said. 'Belter try and not think ' 'William, hush thee I'she feveri-hly exclaimed 'Thee knew lliere was a a friendship bct«tei me and hm. . If 1 cannot learn all there is to b learnt, I shall die.' William look ' down at the changing cheek the eyes full of pain, the trembing hands, cla>pt in their eagerness It might be bett»-r to telJ he. than to leave her in this stale of su-pense. William, there is nobody in the wide worh that knows he cared fir me, but thee,' she ini- ploriHf^ly resumed. 'Thee must tell me; the. must tell me !' ^' that he was not outany where. At any rate, alter eleven or half-past.' 'Then they are very cruel !' she exclaimed in i tone of pas- ion. 'Do they al think thair' 'There may be a few who judge that it was as e sa\s; tfiat he was really away, and is, conse- inenlly, innocent.' 'And where do they think he was?' eagerly re- eated Ai.na again. 'Do they suspect any place A here he might have been?' William made no reply. ^iW^^^ "ot at all ex- peditnt to impart to her all the gossip or surmises h, Wil iam, tell me what is thought! Tell 'Yes. All. Then, and since. 1 have liut bean ne, I implore thee! Thee cannot havf me in snatches of -the wicked taie.' j this trouble. Where is it thought he was." He obeyed her; teliin^ her all the necessarv ! He took her hands; he bent over her as ten f .CIS, suppressing ^ome few of the details. Sin | derly as any brother could have done; he read all leaned against the garden-gate, listening in si \ too surely how opposite to the truih had been her lence.her face turned from him, looking ihiougl | lormer assertion to him— that she did not care for the wooden bars into the field 'Why do they not believe him?' was her firs' comment, spoken sharply and abruptly. 'Hesaj he was not near the hou.se al the time t e aci Herbert Dare. 'Anna, child, you must not agitate yourse]£.in this way; there is i:o cause for it 1 assuie you I d" not know wh«>re it is thought Herbeit Dare must have been done: why do they not btlitvi S uay have been that ni.^ht; neither, so lar as can bim*'' Ibe learnt, does anybody else know. It is th«{ J(/A^'*^^'*>-*^*^ MRS. HALLIBTTRTON'S TROUBLES. 51 chief point— where he was — that is puizling the ; Mrs. Bufflfe kept her handi still in the soapsuds, town.' j and projecied her hot face over the tub to an- She laid her head down on the gale again, , swer. closing her eyes, as in very weariness. William's ; 'Matty, tell Mary Ann Tyrrett as the promised heart ached for her. J faithful lo bring me bomeihing nff her score this 'He may nol be guilty, Anna,' was all the con- > week, but I've not seen the colour of it yet.* solatioii he could fini to offer, i^ >^''*^-**-- 'She says as it s to put to his head,' called back 'jVay not be guilty!' she echoed, in a tone of ; Matty, alluding to the present demand. 'He's pain. iHe is nol guilty. William, 1 tell thee he ^ bad abed, and have fainted right off.' is not. Dost thee think 1 would defend him if J 'Serve liim right,' responded Mrs. Buffle. 'You he could do so wicked a thing.'' ' may give her the vinegar, Matty. Tell her as it's He did not dispute the point with her; he did i a penny farthing. 1 heered he had been drinking not tell her that her assumprion of his innocence \ 8ga'"»' she added to herself and the washing-tub, was inconsistent with facts. Presently Anna *^"^ '^'"^ ^''•'^^'f ^"W" in the wet road the night resumed. | afore last, and was found there in the morn- * »> hy must he stop in gnal till the trial .' There \ '"S-' was that man who stole the skins from Thomas ^ Later in the day it happened that William Ashley — they let him out, when he was token, ■ Halliburton was jassiing thiough Honey Fair, until the sessions came on, and then he went up 2i" 'I mny lint stay longer. There's He-ter com- ' "^^"^ 'Who says he is .>' ing t'> call me in. I rely upon thee to telt me anything fresh tliat may aii^e,' she said, lifting her beseeching eyes ti his. 'One wonl, Anna, before you go. And jet I 'The doctor sa^s it,.l believe, sir. I must say he looks like it. Mary Ann sent for me, and I have been down to see him.' 'Why, what can be the matter with him.'' see how wor^e than useless it is to say it to you \ "*'*'*'^ William; 'he was at work the day before now. You mu>t fotgel Herbert Dare.' , jesteiday.' •I ^ha.l forget him, William, when I cease to '. 'H-- was at work, sir. but be could not speak, have memory," she vvhi-pered. 'Never before | they tell me. fur that illness that has been hang- [ Thee wilt keep my counsel ':' \ '"S ^^oni him so long, and settling on his chest. I 'Truly and faithfully.' I "T''*^ "'K^'^ "f^^r 'saving work, ioMead of going I 'Fare thee well. William; I have no friend but ' ^°"'® ^'"^ geiting a basin of gruel, or something llj^gg » ; of that, be went to the Horned Ram, and diank ! She ra*n swiftly into their o^n premises. Wil- ; ^^^[^ »'^" *^« couldn't keep upon his legs.' liam turned to pursue his way to Mr. Ashley's, the thought of Henry Ashley's misplaced atiach- ' With his chest in that stale .'' 'And that was nol the worst,' resumed Char- ment lying on his mind like an incubus. CHAPTER XIV. OKE DTIKO IK HONET FAIR. \ loite. 'It had been a wet day, if you remember, i sir, and he somehow strayed into Oxlip Lane, j and fell down there, and lay till morning. W bat with the drink, and what with the exposure to the wet, his chest got dangerously inflamed, and ! DOW the doctor says he has not many hours to J live. ! '1 am sorrj to hear it,' cried William. 'I» b» I sensible.'* f 'Too sensible, sir, in one sense,' rep ied Char- Mas. BvrrLE stood in what she called her loHe. 'The remor.o upon him u dreadful. He •back'us,' practically superintending a periodical jg .aying that if he had not misspent his life, be wash. The day was hot, and the steam was hot, m,ght have died a good man, instead of a bad and as Mrs. Buffle rubbed away, she began to one.' think she should never be cool again. William pas-ed on, much concerned at the 'Missis,' shrieked out a young Toice from the news. His way led him past Ben Tyrrell's lodg. precincts of the shop. 'Ben Tyrrell's wife says ings, and he turned in. .Mar) Ann »ai kobbiDK will you let her have a gill o' vinegar.' Be 1 to and wailmg, in the midsl of as many curious and serve it?' condoling neighbours as the kitclieo would con- The words came from the small damsel who tain. All w. re in full gossip— as might be cx- wu bad ID to bdp OD cleaaiagaavi wasbiogdayB. pected. Mrs. Cross bad taken boiu* taa tbi«« 59 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLJW. little children, by way of keeping the place : quiet; and the .-iclf maa was lying in the room : get better. You are above* surrounded by several of his fellow-work- j chest, and ' men, who had heard of his critical state. Som« of the women sidled off when William entered, rather ashamed of being caught ciiatter- ing vehemently. It was remarkable the defer- ence that was paid him, and from no assumption of his own — indeed, the absence of assumption may have partially accounted f',r it. But, though ever courteous and pleasant with them *I hope not,' said William. •! hope you wiU to bare a blister on your '?Jo he ain't, sir,' interrupted one of the men. 'Darwin won't send it.' •Oh, yes he will, if he is properly asked. They are gone again to him. Are you in much pain, T-jrrett?' t ;- 'I'm in a agony of pain here, sir,' pointing to his chest. 'But that am't nothing to my in'ard. pain, my pain of mine. Oh, iMr. HaUibur- lil, he was a thorough gentleman; and the work- ton, you're good, sir; you haven't got nothing ing class are keen di^tinguishcrs 'Why, Mrs Tjrreit, this is sad news,' he said •Is your husband to ill ?' ' 'Oh, he must die, he must die, sir!' she an- to reproach yourself with; can't you do no- thing for me.' I'm a-going into the sight of my , Maker; and he's angry with me !' In truth, William knew not what to answer. swered, in a frantic tone. ' Uncomfortabiy as ■ Tyrrett's voice was as one wai) of anguish; and they had lived together, the m.e for an asylum! U was the ; try, sir, I can't, for there's my past life a-'ising prospect before her. 'He must die anyways; but;; up afore me. i have been a had roan; I have he might have lasted a few hours longer, if I 'never once in all mj life tried to please God.' The words echoed through me stillness of the room; echoed with a sound ominous'y awful. could have got what the doctor ordered. William did not understand. •It was a blister and some physic, sir,' ex- 'J^evtr onee to have tned to pUase God! Through- plained one of the women 'The doctor wrote ',oui a whole life, and throughout all its blessings ! it on a paper, and said it was to be took to the [ 'l have never thought of God,' he continued to nearest druggist's. But when they got it there, \ reiterate 'J have never cared lor Him, or tried Darwin said he couldn't trust the Tyrretts. and j to please Him, or done the least thing for Him. the money if they wanted the ^ And now I'm a-going to face his wrath, and I they must send things.' ; can 't h«-lp myself ! S'»n'^ ^e spared, sir; I feel that the world's for him. As to them druggists, tbey be some of f »" "P "^i^h me,' was the rtjoi.der. 'I'm a-going 'em a cross-grained set. unless you goes with the', <""'• »"*i there's nobody to give me a word of money in your hand.' jcomfurt! Can't ^ou, sir.' I'm a-going away, William asked to see the prescription. It was ; produced, and he read its contents — which he was : as capable of doing and understanding as the best physician in Helstonleigh. He tore a leaf from / bis pocket-book, wro'e a few words on ii in pen cil. folded it with the prescription, and desired L Jltl^~'Zl''i '.,,., z lortn lyrreti, i one of the women to take it to the chemist's^, j ..l .• , . , < had the time ci aeain. He then went up to the sick room. ■ W 11" h Tyrrett wai lying on a flock mattress, on an '^ience from the arguFng of topics so momentous, ugly bedstead of brown wood, the four posts ;^„ not ^q^g^Uo ^^e emeigency. Who was.' He •ticking up naked. A blanket and a checked |^,d „hat he could; and thai was to despatch a blue cotton quilt covered him. His breathing ■ ^e-ssage for a clergyman, who answered the lum- terribly laboured, his face painfully anxious. J m^n, ^jth ,ppcd. '/ and God's angry with me !' William leaned over him. 'I can but say as 't Charlotte East did,' he whispered. 'Try and find ;,your Saviour. There is mercy with him at the eleventh hour.' i have not got the time to find him,' breathed in an agony. 1 might find him if I ive me; but I have not got it.' William, shrinking in his youth and incxpe- William approached him. bending his bead, that^ it might not strike against the ceiling The blister also came, and the medicine that ^bad been prescribed William went home, hop- •I'm a-going, sir !' cried the man, in a tone as^ ing all might prore as a healing balm to the sick uxi«Hi M hit Um; *l'm a'^ouis at lut.* ; man. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. A fallacious hope. Tyrrett died the following ) 'Ay, I do fear it was so,' replied William. 'Poor morning. When William went round on his mis- 'Tyrrett's existence was divided into three pha- sion of inquiry, which he did early, he found j ses — working, drinking, quarrelling; dissatisfa'c' him dead. Some of the men, whom he had seen : tion attending all. I fear a great many more ia with Tyrrett the previous night, were assembled '< Honey Fair could say the same.* in the kitchen. ? The men's consciences were pricking them; •He is but just gone, sir,' they said. 'The wo- ■ some of them began to stand in an uncomfortable men be up with him now. They have took his fashion on one leg. TArytippled //let/ quarrelled; wife round a-schreeching to her mother's. He s they /lod been known to administer personal cor- died with that there blister on his chest.' 'Did he die peacefully?' was Wiiliam's ques- tion. rection to their wives on provocation. 'Times upon times I asked Tyrrett to come round in an evt-ning to Robert Ea&t's,' continued •Awful hard, sir, toward the la^t; a-moaning, i William. 'He never did come. But 1 ran tell and a-calling, and a-cienching of his" hands m ' you this, my men; had he taken to pa»s his eve* mortal pain. Hi» lister, she come round — she'* nings there twelve months ago, when the society a hard one, is that l.iza Tyrrett — .Tfid she set on at the wife, a-«aying it was her fault that he'd have been a hale man now, instead of lying there took to go out a driiikini^. That ihcre pardon!; dead ' couldn't do nothing with him,' conclttded the; speaker lowering his v«.ice. I Willum's breaih stiiod -till. 'No!' I The man shook his head. 'Tyrrt-lt weren't in/ <'U>si«n, as you don't seem to like the name. Had a frame 1/ ii.ihd fi r it, sir. He kep' crying oui Tjrrell tak»*n to I. ke rational evenings, instead of a.> he hud led a ill life, and never thought of God , public-houses, it would have made a wonderful — a. d iheiu was his last words, li ain't happy, difference in his mode of thought, and the dider- sir to die like that. It have quite cowed down ence in conduct would have followed Look at u* as wa^ with him: one g« is a-ihinking,sir, what his father in-fiiw. Cross. He was living without sort «>f a place it may be, t'other hide, wliere he s hope or aim, at loggerhends with his wife and -as they call it— was first formed he might ve been a hale man now, instead of lying there ad ' Do you mean as he'd have growed religious, ?» 'I lell you we will put religion out of the dig- a gone to.' ; with ihe world, and rather given to wish himself William lifted his head, a sort of eager bope;u but m a tea-cup of water to the p-Mt river that 54 MRS, HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. runs through the town; and it is as well to be pre-; puffs it out again. And then again— there 'd be pared for it. Now, the next five 1 am going to ; the passing through the shop, obslricting of tb« get round to Easts 's, are you.' j custom.' 'Us, sir:' ^ 'Of course there would,' assented William. •Every one of you: although I believe you have ^ 'We must try for that failure in the rear, after been in the habit of complimenting your friends, i all.' whogolhere, with the title of 'milksops.' I want| to take you this evening. If you don't like it, ^ you know you need not repeat the visit. You will^ — '■ ♦♦♦— — come to oblige me, won't you ?' / They said they would. And William went out j satisfied, though he hardly knew how Robert East / would manage to stow the new comers. Not ', many steps from the door he encountered Mrs. ( Bufile. She stopped him to talk of Tyrrett. \ CHAPTER XV. FRUITS COMING HOME TO THE DAREI. 'Better that he had spent his loose time at East's, nor at the publics,' remarked that lady. •It is the very thing we have been saying,' answered William. *I wish we could get all Honey Fair there ; though, indeed, there's no room for more than we have now. 1 cast a long- ing eye sometimes to that building at the back, which they say was built for a Mormon strong- hold, and has never been fitted up, owing to a dis- pute among themselves about the number of wives each elder might appropriate to his own share. The Pyramids of Egypt grew, in the courie of time and by dint of dense labour, into pyramids — as was oracularly remarked by Sergeant Delves; but that official's exeitions, labour ai hard as he would, grew into noihing — when ap- plied to the cause to which he had compared the p>ramid8. All the inquiry, ail the searching brought to bear upon it by him and hit co-adhe- rents, d;d not bring to light aught of Herbert Dare's nioveuients on that fatal night Where he had passed the hours remained an impenetra- ble mjstery; and the sergeant had to coiifesis him- ' Disgraceful, greedy pollagists!' struck in Mrs Buffl-, apostrophising the Mormon elders. 'One^^*'"' ^o''^"- H*^ '^a'"*^' "o^ unnaturally, to the husband is enough to have at one's fireside, good-j conclusion that Herbert Dare was not anywhere, ness knows, without being worried with 'em un-| «» ^^' «» ^^e outer wor.d w:.s concerned-thai he -. ., . > / had been at home, committinn « he mischief. A „ ' . , ^, .. , •• 1XTU- „ i».._u conclusion which the sergeant had drawn in the •That IS not the question,' said Wilham, laugh-; . ^ ■. . . u y . , u ti.,..'. ' first onset, and it had never been shaken, ^ev- ine- 'It IS. how many wives are enough. How-/ , , . .. . , I u ■ M „o« fv,„ k,,;i,(;,wr Pu.fTuiil ; ♦^r'^heless, it was his duty to put all the skill and ever, I wish we could get the builoH)g. f^astwill^ - « , , , ,. ^ have to hold the gathering in his garden soon.' ; ^'^^^ «f '^^ ^°<==»' Po'"^« <^°'-<^« '"t° ««'*"»' «"d 'There s no denying that it have worked good ; ^^^^ ^'''^^ '"^"i"-'^* ^•^^^ '"^de. Every house of in Honey Fair,' acknowledged Mrs. Buffle. Mt i '■"^*='-'«'"'n«"t '" '^>« ^''y- «<" whatever nature- i.n't alone the men that have growed more re-i ^^-^^f'^"- ^""ight be a billiard room, or an oys- spectable, them as have took to go, but their ■ ^"■^^'"P; ^^''^'her it might be a grand hotel, or wives too. You see, sir, in silting at the public-; ^^ obs'="''e public-house-was visited and keenly houses, it wasn't only that they drank themselves ;q"«8^i"ned; but nobody would acknowledge to quarrelsome, but they spent their money. Now ; ^'^vi'-g seen Herbert Dare on the particular eve- their tempers is saved, and their money 'seaved.^ "'"S- 1° s^iort, no trace of him could be un- The wives, they see the benefit, and in course ; ®^'"^"*"; they try to be better behaved theirselves. Not' 'Just as much out as I was,' said the sergeant but what there's plenty of room for improvement; to himself. And Helstonleigh held to the same still,' added Mrs. Buffle, in a tone of patronage. / conviction. •It will come in time,' said William. 'What! Pomeranian Knoll was desolate; with a deso- we must do now, is to look out for a larger ( lation it had never expected to fall upon it A foom' shattering blow had been struck Mr. and Mrs. 'One with a chimbley in it, as '11 draw.'' sug- Dare. To lose their eldest son in so terrible a zested Mrs. Bufiie. • { manner, seemed, of itself, enough of agony for a 'Oh, ves. What would they do without fire on i whole lifetime. Whatever may have been his a winter's night? The great point is, to have ! faults — and Helstonleigh knew that he was some- things thoroughly comfortable.' ! what rich in fauits— he was dear to them; dearer 'If it hadn't been for the chimbley, I might | than her other children to Mrs. Dare. Herbert have offered ipur big garret, sir. But it's the j had remarked, in conversing with Anna Lynn, crankiest thing ever built, is that chimbley; the ' that Anthony was his mother's favourite. It was mioute » handful of fire's lighted, the smoke 1 lo; she had loTed him deeply, sh* bad been bJin MlOi^ MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES sc to his failings. Neit>ier Mr. Dare nor his wife ' was amongst the religious of the world; religious reflections, they, in common with many others in Helslonleigh, were content to leave to some re- mole deathbed. But they had been less than human, worse than heathen, could they be insen- sible to the fate of Anthony — hurled away with 1 his sins upon his head. He was cut off suddenly { from this world, and — what of the next? It was ' a question, an uncertainty, that they dared not ; follow; and they sat, one on each side their deso- ; late hearth, and wailed forth their vain an- guish. This would, in truth, have been tribulation suf- ficient to have overshadowed a life; but there was more beyond it. Hemmed in by pride, as lh» Dares had been, playing at great and grand ui , Helstonleigh, the situation of Herbert, putting J aside their fears or their sympathy for himsell i was about the most complete checkmate thai j could have fdllen up<>n them. It was the cup oi humiliation drained to the dregs. Whether h« ; shoulri be proved guilty or not, he was throw i, ] into prison as a common felon, awaiting his tria | for murder; and that disgrace could not be wipi r! ! out. Did they believe him guilty? 1 hi-y did n'" know themselves. To suspect him of such a i crime, was painful in the last degree to their feel ings; bul — vvhy did he persist in refiising to stal' > where he was on the eventful mghi? There wa' ' the point that staggered them. | A dr^p gloom overhung the house, extendinj to all Its inmates. Even the servants went abou i with cad faces and quiet steps. The young ladie- \ knew that a calamity had b»en dealt to then ) from which they should never wholly recovei ' Their star of hrilliance, in its liltie sphere i t } liglit Ht HeNtonlei^h, had faded into dimness, ii \ not wholly gone down beneath the horizon j Should Herbert be foui^d guilty, it could nevci ; rise again. Adelaide rarely spoke; she appeared to possess some inward source of vexation oi ' grief, apart from the general tribulation. At "> least so judged the Signora Varsini; and «he ' was a shrewd observer. She, .Miss Dare, spent i most of her time shut up in her own room. Rosa' and Minny were chiefly with their governens. They were gttting of an age to feel it in an equal degree with the rest. Rosa was eightei-n, and had begun to go out with Mrs. Dare and Adelaide. Minny was anticipating to go. It was all >toppi-d now — visiting, gaily, pleasure; and it was felt as a part of Vt misfortune The first shock of the j occurrence sutjsidid, the funeral over, and Ihc family .-etlled down in its mourning, the govern- e-8 exacted ih< jr studies from her two pupils as belore 'Ihej were loth to re ci»mntttice ihcm, and appealed to their mamma. 'It wm cruel of mademoiselle to wish it of them,' they said. M .demoiselle rejoined that her motive was any- thing bul a cruel one; she felt sure that occupa- tion for the mind was the best counteractian to grief. If they would not study, where was the use of her remaining? she demanded. Madame Dare had heller allow her to leave. She would no without notice, if Madame pleased; she should be (tlad to get back to the Continent. .They did not have murders there in society; at least she, mademoiselle, had never endured personal expe. rience of such. Mrs. Dare did not appear will- ing to accede to the proposition; the governess was a most efficient instructress; and six or twelve months more of her services would be essential to the tuining out of her pupils, if they were to ie turned out as pupils ought. Besides, Mr. Sergeant Delves had intimated that the Signora's testioiony would be necessary on the trial, and therefore she could not be allowed to depart. Mr. Dnre thought if they did allow her to depart, hey might be accused of wishing to suppress evi- lenre, and it might tell against Herb rt. So mad«moise|le had to resign herself to remaining. ■ Fres birn,' she equably said, 'she was willing — I nly the )oung ladies musit resume their lessons.' A mandate in which Mis Dure orquiesccd. Sometimes Minny. who was jjiven to be incor- rigibly idle, would burst into tears over the trou- i)le of her work, and then lay it upon her distress tuching ihe uncertain fate of Herbert. One day, ipon her doing this, the governess broke out harply — 'He deserves to lie in prison, does Monsieur Herbert!' •Why do you say that. Mademoiselle ?' asked Minny, in a resentful tone. 'liecause he is a fool,' politely returned made- uoi-elle. 'He say, does he. not, that he was not iom« at the time. It is well; bul why Woes he .ot say where he was? I think he is a fool, me.' •You may as well say outright, mademoiselle, ihat you think him guilty !' retorted Mmny. 'But I not think him guilty,' dissented made- moiselle. •] have said from the first that he was not guilty. I think he is not one capable of doing such an injury to bis brother or to any one else. I used lo be great frit-nds with .Monsieur Herbert once, when I gave him those Italian lessons, and I never saw to make me believe his disposition was a cruel.' In point of fact, the govtrness, more explicitly than any one else in the hou»e, had declared all ;ilotig her belief in Herbert's innocence. Truly and sincert ly she did not believe him capable of -o grievous a crime. He was not of a cruel or rrvengeful ditpntition: certainly not one to li»! in .^'Hit, anu attack another snvagily and fecretlv. ah* hmi narar bcliavad that he was, and would :>€ MAS. HALLIBURTON'S TROtJBLM notbelicTe itno"ar. Neither had his family. Ser- geant Dekes's opinion was, that whoevet had at- tacked Anthony had lain in wait for him in ttu- dining-room, and had sprung upon him as he er tered. It is possible, however, that the same point staggered mademoi-elle that staggered tin- rest — Herbert Dare's refusing to state where he was at the time. Believing, as she did, that he could account for it if he chose, she deemed her- self perfectly justified in applying to him thf complimentary epithet you hare just heard. She expressed true sympathy and regret at the un- timely fate of Anthony, lamenting him much and genuinely. Upon Cyril and George the punishment also fell. Wiih one broiher n >t cold in his grave, ano the other thrown into jail to await his trial foi murder, they could not, for shame, pursue theii amusements as formerly, and amusements to Cyril and George Dare had become a necessii\ of daily life. Their friends and companions wen- growing shy of them — or else they fancied it Conscience is all too suggestive. They fancied people shunned them when they walked ahmji the street: Cyril, even, a-< he stood in Samue' Lynn's room at the manufactory, thought ih. men, as they passed in and out, looked askance ai him. Very likely il was only imagmati^^n George Dare had sat his heart upon a commi.s sion; one of the m<-mbeis for the city had mad< a half-promise to Mr Dare, that hei would 'sr.« what could be done at the Horse Guards.' Fail- ing available interest in that quarter, George wa^- in hopes his father would screw out ip«.ney to purchase one. But, until Herbert should bt proved innocent (if that time should ever arrive,) the question of his entering the army must n main in abeyance. This state of things alto- gether did not give pleasure to Cjril and Georg- Dare. But there was no remedy for it, and they had to content themselves with sundry private ex- plo^-ions of temper, by way of relief to their minds. Yes, the evil fell upon all; upon the parents, and upon the children. Of course th«-y, the lat- ter, suffered nolhinej in comparison to Mr. and Mrs. Dare. Unhappy days, resilesp nights, were their portion now: the world seemed to be grow- ing too miserable to live in. 'There must be a fate upon the boys!' Mr. Dare exclaimed one day, in the bitierncss of his spirit, as he paced the room with restless steps, his wife sittint; moodily, her elbow on the centre table, her cheek pre-sed upon her hand. 'Unless there had been a fate upon them, tbey never could have turned out as they have.' Mrs. Dare resented the speech. In her un- happy fram* of mind, eh8? And as lo being alone, gree. For ail I can lell.he may stand at it how.'; ihc Qual»er Lynn went.' Mrs. Dare lool^ed scared. 'What has he done?' ; 'But, at ihe first on^et, jvhich was tho time I she asked, tier tone growing timid. j spoke, Mr. .Ashley's intention w»s to despatch '1 say thai I have kept these things from you (only one — Halliburton. He said that Cyril's I wish I could have kept ihein always; but it ^ waul of steadiness would always have been a bar Bcems to me that ex^iosure is arising in manj ^ lo his thinking of him. Shall I go on and en- ways, and it is better you should be prepared for ) lii;hten jou on the other point — the chequer' Mr. it, if it uMist come. I awake now in the morn- j Dare added, after a pause. ing to apprehension; I am alarmed throughout;! 'Y — es,'she answered, a nervous dread caus- the day at my own shadow, dreading what un- ' ing her to speak with hesitation. Had she a fore- known fate may not be falling upon them. Her- J shadow of what was coming.' ■ bert in peril of the hangman: C>ril in peril of a ■■ 'It was. Cjril who took it,' said Mr. Dare, forced vojage to the penal colonies.' • :! dropping his voice to a whisper. A sensation of utter fear stole over Mrs. Dare. ■' ♦Qviii l' she gasped. For the moment, she could not sp\ak. But. she) 'Our son, Cyril. No other.' rallied her powers to defend Cyril. ^ Mrs Dare took her hand from her cheek and 1 thn.k Cyril is hardly used, what with one J leaned back in the chair. She was very pale, thing and another. He was to have gone on that < .^e was traced to White's shop, where he French journey, and at the last moment he w&? : ehaiigcd the cheque for gold. He had put on pushed out of it for Halliburton. I felt more \ Herbert's cloak, the plaid lining outside. When vexed at it, almost, than Cyril could, and 1 spoke ) ,,e began to fear deiection, he ripped the lining a word of my mind to Mrs. Ashley.' /out, and left the cloak in the slate it is— now 'You did.' . jj, t^ig possession of the police. Some of the 'Yes. I did not speak of it in the light of dis- [-^^^^ ^^^j ^^g ^ave been sewn up, 1 suppose by appointment to C^ril, the actual fact of not tak- \^^^ ^j- j^e servants; 1 made no close inquiries, ing the journey, so much as of the vexation he-pj^^j ^.j^gl,^. ,,e ^^^^^^ ^.jth a passing shiver, experienced at being supplanted in it by one :,^j.^ ,^„ t^,^,^ ^,f ^^^^ sons, if it were able whom he — whom we all — consider inferior to ^ . , himself, Willi.-,mJlalliburt6n. 1 let Mrs. Ashkj °. How did you know it was Cyril ."breathed Mrs. know trial we regarded it as a most unmerited '„ " • Dare, and uncalled-for sii'ht; and I took care lo drop a ^ ,t-. ta , » " ' ' 'From Delves. . hint that wc believed Halliburlon to have been) .r\ ,^ \ t\ „i \,^^,^ in* I 'Delves! Docs /le know it? ruilly in that cheque affair. 5 .,, i a i .k„ .„.,«:„ u,.t,i;.,». 4V_ —.-• o J ^ > i]\^ does. And the man is holding the secret Mr. Dare pau.-ed. 'What did Mrs. Ashley ;„„t gf consideiation for us. Delves has a good say r he presently a^ked. / f.^art ^t bottom. Not but what 1 spoke a friendly 'She said very little. I never saw her so / word for him when he was made sergeant, it all frigid. She iulimated that Mr. Ashley wasa^lclls.' eompetcnt judge of his own busines.'^ ' ^ 'And Mr. Ashley?' she a«ked. •I mean as to th* chsque?' interrupted Mr. J 'There is l.ltle doubt that .Ashley has some Djpg_ '-uspicion: the very fact of his not making a tlir •She was more frigid over that than over the ; '" '^ proves that he has. It would not please him oth.T. She preferred not to dihcuss it, she an-^'l'^^ a rc'ative— as Cyril is— should stand his swered; who it might be, stole it, or who not.' ', l''^' ^^^ felony.' ,T . L. I .u ■..in,'' 'How harshly yf.u put it!' exclaimed Mrs. •I can set you right on both points, »aid Mr. ' . ' D.o 1 . 1 • ■ ri- ; Dare, bur»ting into tears 'Felony!' are. 'Cyril came to me, complaining of beini: i ' . * •' ......r . ,, ' 'Nay, what else can I call It?' superseded in this Fieiich journey, and I con, „ ' . .. ,^ , .. _, .•...■ . .t . "i 1 J . / Theie endued a pause. Mr. D.ireresumrd t>is plied with his request that I shou d go and re- / ,- „,„,.,„....., . ,, . . , i restless pacing; Mrs. Dare sal with her liandkcr- monstrate^i'h .vlr. Ashlry — being a sim.dctoi J ' " <-,..,.,.,.,.»:„. M- 4 » , if I .... >■;' ief !•> licr (ace. Prtseniiy sho looked up.' ^ 10' my pains. Mr. A-hicy inf j i never had entcrtainci the slightest inlentjon oV 'They said it was if.lhburlon's cloak ihal Iha despatching C)ril, and why Cjril should i.avt P*^*"**"" ^^'o *''<' *'"^ 'o change the cheque?* taken up the n.4i.)n, he r.iuld not tell. Mr Asli- 'It was not Halliburton's. It ^u% Herbert's ley c.mti.iucd to ssj that he did nut consider Cj- turned inside out. Herbert knew DolhiOifOf ii, ril of sufficiectly steady conduct t* iotrusl abroad for i questioned hira: ho had gone out that night, aloa*— — ^ I laavin^ bin cloak hui|;iDg in iiis doMt. I aaka4 8 88 IdftS. HALLlBtJRTOWg TROrJSl.KS. bim how it happened that his cloak, on the in- ; side, should resemble Halliburton's, and he said ■ it was an aecider.lal coincidenct!. 1 don'l believe ; him. 1 entertain little doubt that it was con- . trived with a view to the enacting of some mis- J eiiief other, I live, as I. say, in perpetual dread of new ; troubles turning up.' Bitter, most bitter were those revelations to Mrs. Dare; bitter had they been to her hubband. CHAPTER rVL AV UULY VISION, Mr. Dare had not taken upon himself the le- ,'ith a View to me enacting oi some nus- ; j . r i Tj-.-k„-. „ >« ii i.. v.^i 5 J hints not delicate; then, by speaking out broadly land fully. It is not pleasant to tell your client, I in so many words, that he will be hanged and no- \ thing can save him, unless he compels you to it. I Herbert Dare compelled Mr. Winthorne. All in I vain. Mr. Winthorne found lie might just as I well talk to the walls of the cell. Herbert Dare Dare, 'I have asked myself whether the money we inherited from old Mr. Cooper may not have wrought ill for us, instead of good.' 'Have wrought illr' •Aye! Brought with it a curse, instead 6f a blessing.' She made no remark. ; declared in the most positive manner, that he had 'He warned us that, if we took Edgar Halli- ■• been out the vvhiole of the time stated— from burton's share, it would not bring us good Do • ^alf-past eight o'clock, or thereabouts, until you remember how eagerly he spoke it.' We did j nearly two; and from this declaration he never take it,' Mr. Dare added, dropping bis voice to ^g served. the lowest whisper. 'And I believe it has ju.t ' ^^ winthorne was perplexed. The prisoner's acted as a curse.' ) .. r , ^ u ■ J assertions were so uniformly earnestj bearing so •You are fanciful !' she cried, her hands shiver- 1 apparently the stamp of truth, 'that he could not ing, as she raised her handkerchief to wipe her j ^jj^i^gji^^g jji„j. or rather, sometimes he believed, pale face. > -jj^fj sometimes he doubted. It is true that Her- •No; there's no fancy in it. We should have | ^^^.^,3 declarations did wear an air of entire done well to attend to the warning of the dying j^ruth; but Mr. Winthorne had been engaged for Heaven is my witness that, at the time, such a |^^i^i„^, offenders before, and knew what the as- thought as that of appropriating it to ourselves, \ gertions of a great many of them were worth, never crossed my mind. We launched out into | ^own deep in bis heart he reasoned very muclf expense, and the other share became a necessity < gft^j. ^^^ manner of Sergeant Delves. 'If he had It is that expense which has ruined our chil- Wjeen absent, he'd confess it to save his neck.' He dren.' Laid so to Herbert. •How can you say it." she rejoined, lifting her „,,,,,, ,. ^u u 1 n . ^^ r Herbert took the matter, on the whole, coolly, hands in a passionate sort of manner. , u . j *• .u u •• v a a I he had done so Irom the beginning. He did not •It has been nothing else. Hsd they been reared Ljgljgyg ^^^^^ ^^-^ n^^l^ ^^^ ^^g^jj^ jq jeopardy. moreplainly,th<;y would not have acquired those ,^,,gy,j,^gygj. ^^j ^^^ guilty,' was his belief, extravagant notions which have been their bane. ^^ ^^^1^ ^^t avoid standing bis trial: that was a Without that inheritance, and the style of living calamity from which there was no escape: but we allowed it to entail upon us, the boys must ^^ steadily refused to look at its results in a som- have understood that they would have to earn ^^^ jj ^^ money before they spent it, and they would have 1. ^yt.. to- "•' . . ,, . .L u 1 T 1- )i, 'Can you tell me where you were.'' Mr. Wm- nut their shqylders to the wheel. Juha,' he con- , •' ..,.,,,,.. tinned, halting by her and stretching forth hi J ^horne one morning impulsively asked him, when troubled face until it nearly touched her,-, .jt p""« ^^^ '''"'^^^'"g ^o its close, might have been well now, well with them and 'I could if I liked," replied Herbert Dare. 'I with us, had our children been obliged to buffet ; svppose you mean, by that, to throw a shaft of with the poverty to which w© condemned the | discredit on what I say, Winthorne; but you are HaUiburtoni. ' 1 wrong. I eould point out to you and to all Kelt- MR«. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. iO tonleigh where I was that night; but! will not. 'altogether die out, were he really required tore- I have my reasons, and I will not.' ; duce it to practice, flerbert Dare was but hu- 'Tnen you will fall,' said the lawyer. 'The man. After July had come in, and the time to very fact of there being no other quarter, save! the period, fixed for the opening of the assizes, yourself, on which to cast a shadow of suspicion,! might be counted by hours, then his courage b«- will tell against you. You have been br€d to the ^ gan to flinch. He spent a nif^ht in tossing from law, mutt see these things as plainly as I can ; side to side on his pallet (a wide dillerence be- put them.' ^tween that and his comfortable feather-bed at •There's the point that puzzles me— who itcan< home), during which a certain ugly apparatus, to have been who did the injury. I'd give half my ^ be erected for his especial benefit within the walU remaining life to know.' • t'"'*^'' ^'^^ ''»»< 'between the cloisters and the county hanged by the neck until I was dead.' | prison; and found that by dint of taking the short •Ah, but I was not doing either,' said Herbert. | ^^ ^^'""'"Sh the back streets, tearing along at th. 'Then there's the less reason for your persist- 1 '^.^"^"'^ P^^'^-^' ^"^ knocking over every obstruc ., u r u . . J lion — human, animal, or solid — that miebt un- iBff m the observance of so much mystery.' }- . , . , . . , "I'h"' "" . ] fortunately be m theirpath, they could do the dii- •My doing so is my own business,' returned j t^^^^e i„ ^^^^ ^i^^^^^ Arriving rather out of Herbert. jwind, it's true: but that was nothing. Four •No,it is not your own business,' objected Mr- j„i„^,teg , jheydid not see their way clear. If Winthorne. 'You assert that you are innocent of ^^e curtain descended at nine, sharp, as good be the crime with which you are charged ' . | f^^jy ^-^^^^^ ^^^ler the hour, as four, in point of •I assert nothing but truth,' interrupted Her-^ practical fact. Bal the H.lstonleigh college boys i — as you may sometime have heard remarked b»- bert. 'Good. Then, if you are innocent, and if you? fore-were not wont to allow difficulties to over- can prove your innocence, it is your duty to your; ^,3,,^^ them. If there was a p .ssible way of family to do it. A man's duties >n this life arefgetUn^ ihrough obs.ades, they were .sure to find not owingtohim^elfalone: above all, a son's. He;,t. Consultations had been anxions. To request owes allegiance to his father and mother; hisf the head-master to allow them as a favour to de- consideration for them should be above his consid-f p^ri five or (en minuies before the usual time, •ration for himself. If you can prove your in- ; would be worse than useless. Ii'was a question nocence it will be an unpardonable iin not to^oj whether he ever would have acceded to it; but it; a sin inflicted on your family.' j there was no chance of it on that morning. •I can't help it.' replied Hr.rbcrt, in hii obsti- ; Neither could the whole school he taken sum- nacy. I have my reasons fornot speaking, and 1 1 marily with stomachache, or croup, or any other shall not speak. ! excruciating malady. nece<-»i(ating compassion •You will surely sufl'er the penalty,' said Mr. and art early dismissal. Ttiey camo to the r«- Winlhernc. ' hoIvc of applying to the official who had under hit •Then I must suffer it,' relumed the prisoner. ' charge the cathedral clock; or. as thry phrased But it is one thing to talk, and another to do. ; n, "coming overthe clock-man.' By dii.lof coax- Many a brave spirit, quite ready and willing to' jng, or bribery, or some other element of peraua- undergo hanging in theory, would find his hearlf sion, they got this functionary to promi»« to put fail and his less shake, would find hit bravery < the clock on eight minutM on that parti«HlarM«ra- 6» MRS. HALLIBDRTO:?'S TROUBLKSL Ing. And it was done. And at eight minutes ; As much indulgence as it was possible to allow befora nine bj the sun, the cathedral clock rung to a prisoner was accorded to Herbert Dare: in- cut iiS nine stroiies. Bui, instead of the master deed it may be questioned whether any previoui li ting his finger — the signal for the boys to tear prisoner, incarcerated within the walls of th« forlQ— the toaster sat quiet at Ins tlcbk.aiid never U-.ounty pn»on, had ever eig.iyed so much. The gave it. He sat until ihe eight ipiniUes had gone governor of the prison and Mr. Dare had lived by, when the other churches in the town gave on indmale terms. Mr. Dare and his two elder out their hour.; he sat/our mbiutes after that: and! sons had been familiar, in their legal capacity, then he nodded them their disiiiisfcai. The twelve | with both its civil and criminal prisoners; and the minutes had seemed to the boys like twelve hours. | turnkeys had often bowed Herbert in and out of Where the hitch was, th-y never knew; they > cells, as they now bowed out Mr. Winthorne. Al- never have known to this day; as they would lell ! together, what with the governor's friendly feel- you for themselves. Whether the master got an Ijj^g^ and the turnkeys' reverential one, Herbert iiiklmg of what was in the wind; or whether, by I D^re obtained more privileges than the common one of the extraordinary coincidences that some- < pyi, of prisoners. The message was at once ta« limes occur in life, he, for that one morning, al- ken to Mr Winthorne, and it brought that gen- lowed the hour to slip by unheeded — had not | iig^an back, heard it strike— they could not lell. He gave out | 4 have made up my mind to tell,' was Herbert'i no clue, then, or afterwardj. The clock-man < i^i-ief salutation when he entered, protested that he had bccnlru;;: had not breathed J .^ very sensible resolution,' replied the-Iawyer. a hint to anjbody living of the purposed advance- < doubts, however, crossed his mind as he spoke, ment; and the bpvs had no reason to disbejieve ! ^y^giljej. Ihg prisoner was not about to set iJ]> him. However it might have been, they could not I soj^jg plea which never had place in fact. As altar it. If was four minutes past nine when they jsgr^eant Delves had, Mr. Winthorne had arrived clattered ■ptU-mdt down the schoolroom steps. \ .^^ ^^^ fij-m belief that there was nothing to tell. Away they tore, full ot fallacious hope, out at the L^ygn?. gaidhe. cloisters, through the cathedral precincts, along S .rpj^^t is, conditionally,' resumed Herbert the nearest streets, and arrived within the given | j^j^^g q^ would be of little use my saying I wai four minutes, rather than over it. Alas, for hu- 1 ^t such and such a place, unless I cotild briiig for- man expjctatioas! The prison was there it is j ward confirmatory testimony.' true, formidable as usual; but all trace cf the) »0f course it would not.' morning's jiibiipe had passed away. *IVot only^ «Well; there are witnesses who could give this had the clusf actor been remove.l, hut also that ^^^ji^f^gjory evidence; but the question is, will ugly apparatus which Herbert Dare had dreamt ^ jf,^.y ^^ willing to do it?' of. r/ial might have afforded, ihcin some gratifi-< .What motive or excuse oould they have for cation to contemplate, failing the great sight. The;; j.gfyj.ij,g;, returned Mr. Winthorne. 'When a college boys, struck dumb iij the first moment^ r^]jo^^..ci.eature's life is at stake, surely there is with their disappointment, gave vent to it at^ „q-jjjjj„ g^ i^g^ ^^ }jun„anily, as not to come for- length, in three dismal groarj*, the echoes of J ^^j^^.j ^^j g^ye it, if it be in his power.' which might have been heard as far as the catho-| «Circumstances alter cases,' was the curt reply dral. Groans not intended for the unhappy mor-J^r {jerbert Dare. tal, then beyond hearing that, or any other earth- j .^Vas it your doubt, as to whether they would ly sound; not for the officials of the county pn-jcoa^g forward, that caused you to hesitate at son, all too quick-handed that morning, but given , ^^^Y^n„ ^n them .'' asked Mr. Winthorne, some- as a compliment to the re.-^pected gentleman at^^j^j^^^ ,,yj pleasant in his tone. that time holding the situation of head-master.' SN'ot altogether. I foresaw a difficulty in it; Herbert Dare remembered this; it was risingJI f(#esee it still. Winthorne, you look at me up in his jnind with strange distinctness. He (with a face full of doubt. There's no cause for himself had been one of the deputation chosen to ', it — as you will find.' •come over' the clock man, had been the chief? 'Well, go on,' said the lawyer; for Herbert had persuader of that functionary. Would the cbl-Utopped. lege boys hasten down if he were to • In spite \ 'The thing must be gone about in a very cau- of his bravery, he broke off the speculation with Uious manner; and I don't quite see how it can be a shudder; and calling the turnkey to him, he des-; done,' resumed Herbert, slowly. 'Winthorne, I patched a message for Mr. Winthorne. Was it^ think I had better make a confidant of you, and the remembrance of his old schoolfellows, of < tell you the whole story from beginning to end.' what thftj would think of him, that effected what/ 'If I am to do you any good, I must hear it, I wt vth^r eoaaideratiod had been able to effect? 'expect. A man can't work in tke dark.' MlUi. MALLICUHTON'fl TROUBLBS. CI CHAPTER XVII. iEROEANT DELTES 'LOOKI VP. 'Sit you down there then, «nd I'll begin. ^ 'Ho vras after no good, I know,' nodded the ser Though, mind — I tell it you in confidence. It's not ; gcant oracularly. for Helstonleigh. But you will ste the cxpe-; Mr. WiniKornc raised his eyebrows, and diencyof being silent when you hare heard it.' ^slightly jerked his shoulders. The movement j may have meant anything or nothing. He did not ♦•♦ \ reply in words. \ Sergeat Delves fell into a reverie. He roused /himself from it to take a searching gaze at the i lawyer. 'Sir,' said he, and he could hardly have I sppken more earnestly had his life depended on iit. 'Tell me the truth out-and-out. Do you, Thi following Saturday was the day fixed for '-,,.-„if /.^^^ ,.„ ,„^,, . . , ■' ' o J ■> yourselt, Irom the depths of your own judgment, the opening of the commission at Ilelstonlcigh. '• believe Herbert Dare to have been innocent" It soon came round, and the streets, in the af- ; .Delves, as truly as that you and I now stand ternoon, wore their usual holiday appearance. ; here, I honestly belieVe that he had no mor«uto The high sherifTs procession went out to meet the ; j^ ^-^^^ ^is brother's death than we had ' ^ judges, and groups, stood about waiting and; .^hen I'm blest if 1 don't take up the other watchmg for its return. Amengst other people ^^ent !' exclaimed Mr. Delves, slapping his thigh, blor-k.ng up the way, might be observed the portly / .j ^ij j^ink of it once, but I dropped it again, so person of Sergeant Delves. He strolled along, ,^^6 was I that it was Master Herbert.' ■eeming to look at nothing, but his keen eye was ; «VVhat scent is that." everywhere. It suddenly fell upon Mr. VVin-> «r nr^ir ho-o ' .o;j «».« , .v ^ -i ■' .,.•',. ^ , , , L-ook here, said the sergeant— 'but now it's thorrie, who was picking his way through the J ^v fum «r, ^.o-r, -^r.,, .-. k j i mi ' ,,,,. . , roy turn to warn you to be dark* There was a crowd as fast as he could pick it, apparently m a ' y^^^g ^„^^„ ^^^ A^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ hurry. Hurry or not. Sergeant Delved stopped ^ the murder, when he wai going down to the him, and drew him to a safe spot beyond the reach Star-and-Garter. It's a young woman he did not •f curious ears. behave genteel to, some time back, as the ghost 'I was looking for you, Mr. Winthorne,' cried j gays in the sori£. She met him that night, and Delves, in a confidentail tone. I say^this tale, > she gave him a bit of her tongiie; not much, for that Dare will succeed in establishing an alibi, is he wouldn't slop to listen. But now, Mr. Win- it-reliable .'' ; tharoe, it has crossed my mind ro-iny times, •Why— who the mischief can have been setting - whether she might not have watched for his going that afloat.'' returned the lawyer, in a tone of ^ home again, and followed him; followed him the utmost astonishment, not unmixed with vex- . right into the dining-room, and done the mi«- ation- ; chief. I'll lay a guinea it was her !' added the •Dare himself was my informant,' replied the \ sergeant, arriving at a hasty conclusion. •! shall •crgcant. 'I was in ihe prison just now, and saw | look up again now.' him in the yard with the turnkey. He^alled mo * 'Do you mean that young woman in Honey aside, and told me he was as good as acquitted.' / Fair." asked Mr. Winthorne. •Then he is an idiot for his pains. He had no ' '^^*^ «o. Her, and nobody else. The doubt right to talk of it, even to you.' / ^'^s crossed me; but, as I say, I was so certain it '/am dark,' carelessly returned Delves, j ; w»b the brother, that I did not follow it up.' . .. • 1 .,, . ,L rv J I.J > 1 •«. ' 'Could a woman's feeble hand inflict such in- don t wish ill to the Dares, and Id not work itto . . , , , , ujun-i »uwu id ■ . f .. ij . II , i_ ; juries.' debated the solicitor, 'em; as perhaps some of them could tell yo«,' he / added, in a significant tone. What about this 'Feeble be hanged !' politely rejoined the ser- acquiltal that he talks of." geant. 'Some women have got the fists of men; 'There's no doubt he will be acquitted. He , *"•* ^^^ strength of 'em, too. You don't know will prove an o!i6i.' 'em ai we jjo. A desperate woman 'II do any 'Is it a got-up alibi V asked the plain-speaking 'bing. And Anthony Dare, remember, had not sergeant. ^ 'No. And at far aa T go, I would not lend my- •elf to the getting up of a falsity.' observed the aolicilor. 'Ho has said from the fir/"!, you know, that he wa^ not near the house at the time, and ■0 it will turn out.' 'Has he confessed where he was, after all his '. have, you'll have Iramt not to go by look/, ttanding out ?' nsnir.'s Caroline Mafon.' 'T«i: to me. It will be diaclMtd at the trial.' ' At that moment the cathedral bells rang out got his force in him that night.' Mr. Winthorne shook hit head. 'That girl hat no look of ferocity about her. I should quctlioD its being she. Let's see — what it her name .'' 'Look'.' returned the irrgeant. 'When have had half at much to do with penplei i> gf MRS. HALLIBTTRTON'S TROUBLES. giTing token of the return of the procession, the ( 'You don't?' advent of the judges. As if the sound reminded 'No, I don't. Why should one brother kill an* the lawyer of the speed of time, he hastily spo.l ; other?' on his way; leaving the sergeant to use hi» eyes j 'Very true,' coughed the sergeant. 'But »om«- and ears at the expense of the crowd. J body must have done it. If Herbert Dare did 'I wonder how the prisoners in the jails feels?' ^ ""t, who did ?' remarked a woman, whom the sergeant recog- J 'Ah! who d.d? I d hke to know.'she p.si.on- nized as being no 'other than Mrs. Cross. She J ately added. 'He had got folks in-this town that had just come out of a warehouse with her sup-^^wed him grudges, had Mr. Anthony Dare.', ply of work for the ensuing week. . ] 'If ^J vision didn't deceive me, I saw you 'Ah. poor creatures ?' responded another of the J talking to him that very same night,' earelesily group, and that was Mrs. Brumm. «! wonder ;, observed the sergeant, how young Dare likes it?' \ 'Did you see me?' she rejoined, apparently ag 'Or how eld Dai e likes it-if he can hear 'em ^ much at ease as the sergeant himself. '1 had to all the way up at his office. They'll know their^do an errand at that end of the town, and 1 met fat5*80on, them two.' ^bim, and told him what he was. I hadn't spoke In the 'close vicinity of this colloquy was a j to him for months and months; for years, 1 think, young woman, drawn against the wall, under the ^ I. had slipped into doors, down entries, anywhere shelter of a protecting doorway. Her once good- J to avoid him, if I saw him coming; but a feeling looking face was haggard, and her clothes were J came over me to speak to him then I'm glad I scanty; for this reason, perhaps, it was, that she J did. I hope the truths I said to him went along appeared to shun observation. Sergeant Delves, ^ »rith him to enliven him on his journey I' apparently without any other design than that of ^ 'Did- you see him after that, later in the even- working hii way leisurely through the throng, ing?' resumed the inspector, putting the question edged himself close to her. sociably, and stretching his neck up to obtain a 'Looking out for the show, Miss Mason ?' ^^^^ of something at a distance. Caroline turned her spiritless eyes upon him. ^ 'No. I didn t,' she replied. 'But I would, if 'I'm waiting till there's a way cleared for me to J I had thought it was going to be his last. 1 'd have ir »u u „:tv>«„t ^iiahino- ocrn inst (^ bade h iiii remember all h IS Kood works where he eet myself through, without pushing againsi^ . ,,, , . ^ ., ,. , ■ ,, ■' , . „;„„,,„„ „f Vm What's the / was going to. I'd almost have went with him, I folks, and contaminating ot em. vvnai s xne r,,*', .,, . j^.u , ■»;, ) would, to have heard how he answered for them, show to me, or me to it? ' »>, » 'At the last assizes, in Marcb,when the judges |UP ^nere. came in, young Anthony Dare made one in the| Caroline Mason glanced upwards to indicate streets, looking on,' resumed the sergeant, chat-.' the sky, when a loud flourish of trumpets from tine affably. '1 saw him and spoke to him. And; the advancing heralds sounded close upon them, now he is gone where there's no shows to see.' \ As th-y rode up at a foot pace, they dropped , $ their trumpets, and the mounted javelin-men She made no reply. ^ ■,,,,, a ,y. u .u • i- • , < quickly followed them, bearing their javelins in 'The women there,' pointing his thumb *t the. ^^^ ^ ^^^^.^^^ ^^ ^^^. ^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^.^j^. group of talkers hard by, 'are saying that Her- ^^^ ^^^^^ advanced the beautiful equipage of the bert Dare won't like the sound of ^he college '^ ^^^^ .^^ ^^^^^^ capari.oned. with silver. •h«iu Hev me! Look at them young toads ot ) ° r . • j • ■• l, /• n Dells. ney,iuo. i^uu* - j t> .^.( UnJy one of the judges was m it; he was fully «.r.llPo-p bovs. iust let out of college !' broke on < •' -.i u • . a college uoj», J usi. i«sw "" & ♦ f 4U ( robed: a fine man, with a benign countenance. A the sergeant, as a tribe of some twenty of the| ^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^^ ^^ .^ ^^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^.^^ ^^^ ^^^^ king's scholars came fighting «"d elbo'vuig j .^_ ^^.^ ^^^ ^ ^^.^^ ^^ ^^.^^ ^^.^ ^^ .^ ^ their way through the throng to the front. / ^.^^ •Thev arc iust like so many wild colts? Maybe | ' ^. , . ,...,/. . u V, f r»„..« ;» nn«r /^.^ctino- hisc Sergeant Delves' attention was distracted for the pr soner, Herbert Dare, is now casting nis ? *• ,.,,,, . ■ n ^ 1 14 .K^ .;^« ,«K«n tift maf'.P nnp of a" i"9^a"t. and when he looked round again, Car- tboushts back to the lime when he made one oi , . ,. j u • . u* , . r „„ fn^„, /.ona o= thev hp o me Mason had disappeared. He just caught the band, and was as free I rom care as they ue. ^'^' • j- v ''"' ' , sight of her in the distance, winding her way Ifs not so long ago. ^^^^v. through the crowd, her head down. Caroline Mason asked a question somewnai o abruptly. 'Will he be found guilty , sir, do you | 'Did she do it, or not?' cried the sergeant, in J^p, ' I self-feolilbquy. 'Go on, go on, my lady, for the The sergeant turned the tail of his keen eye \ present; you are a-going to be a bit looked after.' upon her, and answered the question by asking j How did the prisoners feel, and Herbert Dare anolber. 'Do you?' amongst them, as the joyous sounds, outside, fell She shook her head. 'I don't think he was upon their ears: the blast of the trumpets, the guilty.' iweet melody of the bells, the stir of life: p«n«' i*R8. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLEf, 63 trating wiUiln the walls of the city and county prisons? Did they feel that the pomp and show, run after as a holiday sight, was but a crviel ad- vent to them? — that the formidable and fiery vision ill the scarlet robe and flowing wiff, who sat in the tine carriage, bending his serene face upon the mob, collected to stare and shout, might prove the pronouncer of their doom ? — a doom that should close the portals of this world upon them, and open those of eternity ! CHAPTER XVMI. THE TRIAL. TcESDAT morning was the day fixed for the trial of Herbert Dare. You might have walked upon the people's heads in the vicinity of the Guildhall, for all the town was wishing lo get in to hear it. Of course but a very small portion of the town, speaking relatively, could get its wish, or succeed in fighting a way to -a place. Of the rest, some went back to their homes, disap- pointed and exploding; and the rest collected outside, and blocked up the street. The police had tbeir work cut out that day, while the jav- alin-aien, heralding in the judges, experienced great difiiculty in keeping clear the passages. The heat in court would be desperate as the day advanced. Sir William Leader, as senior judge, took his- seat in the criminal court. It was he whom you saw in the sheriff's carriage on Saturday. The same benignant face was bent upon the crowded court that had been bent upon the street mob the same the penetrating eye, the same the grave, calm bearing. The prisoner was immediatelj placed at the bar, and all eyes, strange or fu miliar, were strained to get a look at him. The} saw a tall, hsndsome young man, looking tnc gentlemanly to stand in the felon's dock. H« was habited in deep mourning. His countenance, usually somewhat conspicuous for its cleai brightness of complexion, was pale, probably from the moment's emotion, and his white hand- kerchief was lifted to bis mouth as he moved for- ward; otherwise he was calm. Old Anthony Dare was in court, looking far more agitated than did his son. Preliminaries were got through, -\nd the trial began. •Prisoner at the bar, how say you ? Are you guilty, or not guilty ?' Herbert Dare raised his eyes fearlessly, and pleaded in a firm tone — 'Not Guilty!' The leading counsel for the prosecution, S«r- geant Seeitall, stated the case. His address oc- cupied some time, and he then proceeded to call witnesses. One of those first examined was Betsy Carter. She deposed to the facts of having sat up wiih the lady's-maid and Joseph, until the return of Mr. and IVlrs. Dare and their daughter, and. to having then gone into the dining-room with a light to get Mr. Dare's pipe, which sho had left there in the morning, when cleaning the room. 'In moving forward with the candle, I saw something dark on the ground,' continued Betsy, who, when her primary timidity had gone off, seemed inclined to be very communicaiive. *At the first glance, I thought it was one of the gentlemen gone to sleep there; but when 1 stooped down with the light, I saw the face was dead. Awful, It looked!' •What did you next do?' demanded the exam- ining counsel. 'Screeched out, gentlemen,' responded Betsy. •What eUe?' •I went out of the room, screeching to Joseph in the hall, and master came in from outsi(ie the front door, where he was waiting, all peaceful and ignorant, for his pipe, little thinking what there was so close to him. I screeched out all the more, gentlemen, when I remembered the quarrel that had took place at dinner that after- noon, and I knew it was nobody but Mr. Herbert ihat had done the murder.' The witness was sharply told to confine her- -.elf to evidence. •It couldn't be nobody else,' retorted Betsy, who had a tongue, once set going, that was a match for any cross-examiner. 'There was the cloak to prove it. Mr. Herbert had gone out in Lhe cloak that very night, and the poor deadgen- ileraan was lying on it. Which proves it must iiave come oti'in the sculUe between 'em. The fact of the quarrel, the facts connected vvith the cloak, as well as all other facts, had )een mentioned by the learned sergeant, Seeit- tll, in his opening address. The witness was |uestioncd as to what she knew of the quarrel; )ut it appeared that she had not been present; consequently could not testify to it. The cloak -he could say more about, and spoke of it confi- dently as Mr. Herbert's. 'How did you know the cloak, found under the dead man, was Mr. Herbert's .=' interposed the piisoner's counsel, Mr. Chattaway. •Because 1 did,' returned the witness. »J ask you how you knew it?' 'By lots of tokens,' she answered. •By the shiny black clasp, for one thing, and by the tears and jags in it, fur another. Nobody im^ nev«^ l>relcnded ii was not the cloak, have tlit-y ' 1 h/i^s >eeii it Litj times banging up in Mr. Herbert's closet.' 64 MAS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 'You saw the prisoner going out in it that eve- ning ?' •Yes, I did,' she answered. *I was looking out at Miss Adelaide's chamber windovr, and 1 saw him come out of the dining-room window and go off towards the front gates. The gentlemen often went out through the dining-room window, in- stead of at the hall door.' •The prisoner says he came back immediately, and left his cloak jn the dining-room, going out finally without it. Did you see him come back.'' *No, I didn't replied Betsy; •How long did you remain at the window.'' •Not long.' 'Did you remain long enough for him to cross the lawn to the front entrance gates, and come back again.' •fCo, 1 don't think I did, sir.' •The court will please take note of that an- swer,' said Mr. Chattaway, who was aware that a great deal had been made of the fact of the housemaid's having seen him go out in the cloak. 'You quitted the window, then, immediately.'' 'Pretty near immediately. I don't think 1 stayed long enough at it for him to come back from the front gates — if he did come. I have never said i did, have 1?' she resentfully con- tinued, •What time was it that you saw him go out." 'I hadn't took particular notice of the time. .It was dusk, I was turning down of my beds; and I generally do that a little afore nine. The pest room 1 went into was Mr. Anthony's.' 'The deceased was in it, was he not." 'He was in it, a-slretching full length upon the sofa, little thinking, poor fellow, that he'd soon be stretched down below, with a stab gashed into him. He had got his head down on the cushion, and his feet up over the arm at the foot; all comfortable and easy, with a cigar in hit. mouth, and some glasses and things on the table near him. "What are you come bothering in here for?" he asked. So I begged his pardon; for you see, gentlemen, I didn't know that li« was there, and I went out again with my pail, and met .Joseph a-carrying up a note to him. A lit- tle while after that, ho went out.' The witness's propensity to degenerate into gossip appeared to bcgreat. Several times she was stopped; once by the judge. 'Of how many servants did the household ol Mr. Dare consist.'' she was asked. 'There were jour of us, gentlemen.' 'Did you all sit up that night?' . . 'All but the cook. She went to bed.' •Arid the family, those who were at home, wen to bed?' •All of themi sir. The governess went early j she was not well; and Miss Rosa and Mist Minny went, and the two young gentlemen went when they came home from playing cricket.* 'In point of fact, then, nobody was up but you three servants in the kitchen." 'Nobody, sir.' 'And you heard no noise in the house until the return of Mr. and Mrs. Dare ." 'We never heard nothing,' responded Betsy. 'We was silting quiet in the kitchen; nie and the lady's-maid, at work, and Joseph asleep. We never heard no noise at all.' This was the substance of what was asked her. Joseph was next called, and gave his testimony. He deposed to having fastened up the house at eleven o'clock, with the exception of the dining- room window; that was left open in obedience to orders. AH other facts within his knowledge h« also testified to. The governess, Signora Var- sini, was called, and questioned upon two points: what she had seen and heard of the quarrel, and of the subsequent conduct of Anthony and Her- bert to each other in the drawing-room. But her testimony amounted to nothing, and she might as well have not been troubled. She was also asked whether she had heard any noise in the house be- tween eleven o'clock and the return of Mr. and Mrs. Dare. She replied that she did not hear any, for she had been asleep. She went to sleep long before eleven, and did not wake up until aroused by the commotion, arising from the finding of the body. The witness was proceed- ii^g to favour the court with her own conviction that the prisoner was innocent, but jvas biought up with a summary notice that that was not evi- dence, and that, if she knew nothing more, she might withdraw. Upon which she honoured the bench with an elaborate curtsy, and retired. Not a witness .throughout the day, gave evidence with 'Uore entire equanimity. Lor5 Hawkesley was examined; also Mr. Brit- tle — the latter coming to Helstonleigh on his Hubpcena. But to give the testimony of all the witnesses in length, would only be to repeat what IS already related. It will be sufficient to extract a few questions here and there. 'What were the games played in your rooms .hat evening ?' was asked of Mr. Brittle. 'Some played whist; some 6car(6.' 'At which did the deceased play ?' •At whist.' ''' 'Was he a loser or a gainer?' 'A loser; but to a very trifling amount. We vere playing half-crown points. He and myself ,) ay< d against Lord Hawkesley and Captain ilellow. We broke up because fae,thedecea6ed|l was not stt£iei«atiy sober to play*' MAS. MALUflllRTON'S TROUBLES. 6fi 'Was h« sober when he joined you?' •By no means. He appeared to have been drinking rather freely; and he took more at my rooms, which made him worse.' ; •Why did you accompany him home?' I 'He was scarcely in a fit state to proceed alone; > and I felt no objection to a walk. It was a fine < night.' \ ' 'Did he speak, during the evening, of the dis- j pute which had taken place between him and his brother?' interposed the judge, 'He did not, my lord. A slight incident oc- < curred as we were going to his home, which it • may be perhaps as well to mention ' j 'Tou must mention everything' which bears upon this unhappy case, sir,' interrupted the judge. Tou are sworn to tell the whole truth.' •I do not suppose it does bear upon it directly, my lord. Had I attached importance to it, 1 should have spoken of it before. In passing the turning which leads to the race-course, a man met us, and began to abuse the deceased. The deceased was inclined to stop and return it, but I drew him on.' 'Of what nature was the abuse?' asked the counsel. 'I do not recollect the precise terms. It was to the effect that he, the deceased, tippled awaj his money, instead of paying his debts. The man put his back against the wall as he spoke; he appeared to have had rather too much him- self. I drew the deceased on, and we were soon out of hearing.' •What became of the man ?* •I do not know. We left him standing against the wail. He called loudly after the deceasen to know when his bill was to get paid. 1 judged him to be some petty tradesman.' •Did he follow you?' 'No. At least we heard no more of him after- wards. I saw the deceased safely within his own gate, and left him.' •What state, as to sobriety, was tb« deceased in then?' 'He was what may be called half-seas over,' replied the witness 'He could talk, but his words were not very distinct.' 'Could he walk alone ?' 'After a fashion. He stumbled as he walked.' 'What time was this ?' 'About half-past eleven. I think the half-horn ■truck directly after I left him, but I am no quite sure.' 'As you returned, did you see anything of the man who had accosted the deceased?' 'Not anything.' BtrtDfo to sty, the rary man ibui ipokan of, 9 was in court, listening tq the trial. Upon hear- ing this evidence given by Mr. Brittle, he volun- tarily put himself forward as a witness. He said he had been 'having a sup,' and it had made his tongue abusive, but that Anthony Dare had owed him money long for work done, mending and making. He was a jobbing tailor, and the bill was a matter of fourteen pounds. Anthony Dare had only put him off and off; he was a poor man, with a wife and family to keep, and he wanted the money badly; but now, he supposed, he should never be paid. He lived close*to the spot where he met the deceased and the gentleman who had just given evidence, and he could prove that he went in home as soon as they were out of sight, and was in bed by half-past eleven. What with debts and various other things, he concluded, the town had had enough to rue in young Anthony Dare; still, the poor fellow didn't deserve such a shocking fate as murder; and he would hare been the first to protect him from it. That the evidence was given in good faith, there was no doubt. He was known to the town as a harmless, inoffensive man, addicted, though upon rare occasions, to take more than was good for him, when he was apt to dilate upon his grie- vances. The policeman who had been on duty that night near Mr. Dare's residence, was the next witness called. 'Did yoii see the deceased that night?' was asked of him. 'Yes, sir, I did,' was the reply. 'I saw him walking home with the gentleman who has given evidence — Mr. Brittle. I noticed that young Mr. Dare talked thick, as if he had been drink- ing.' 'Did they appear to be on good terms?' 'Very good terms, sir. Mr. Brittle was laugh- ing when he opened the gate for the deceased, and told him to mind he did not kiss tha grass; ')r something to that effect.' •Were you close to them ?' 'Quite close, sir. I said "Good-night" to th* deceased, but he seemed not to notice it. I stood and watched him over the grass. He reeled ai he walked.' 'What time was this?' 'Nigh upon half-past eleven, sir.' 'Did you detect any signs of people moving ivithin the house ?' 'Not any, sir. The house seemed quit* still, .ind the blinds were down before the windows. ' 'Did you see any one enter the ^ate il.at nirht besides the deceased ^ 'Not any one.' 'Not the prisoner?' 'Not any one,' repeated th« policemM. m MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 'Did you see anything of the prisoner, later'; 'He will not tell you." between half-past one and two, the time he al-- 'He declines t6 do so. But, the witness added, leges as that of his going home ?' i with emotion, 'he has denied his guilt to me from •J never sav/ the prisoner at all that night, ^ the first, in the most decisive manner: and I sol- air.' ^emnly believe him to be innocent. Why he will 'He could have gone in, as he states, without 'not state where he was, I cannot conceive; but your seeing him?' interposed the prisoner's coun-^ not a shade of doubt rests upon my mind that he sel. ^ could state it, if he chose, and that it would be 'Yes, certainly, a dozen times over. My beat ^ the means of establishing the fact of his absence." extended to half-a-mile beyond Mr. Dare's.' !^ I would not assert this, if I did not believe it,' One witness who was placed in the box, crea-S said the witness, raising his trembling hand, ted a profound sensation; for it was the unhappy ' 'They were both my boys; the one destroyed was father, Anthony Dare. Since the deed was com- ^ mj eldest, perhaps my dearest; and I declare that mitted, two months back, Mr. Dare had been ^^ I would not, knowingly, screen his assassin, al- growJDg old. His brow was furrowed, his cheeks ^ though that assassin were his brother.' were wruikled, his hair was turning of a whitish < The case for the prosecution concluded, and grey, and he looked, as he obeyed the call to the $ the defence was entered upon. The prisoner's witness-box, like a man sinking under a heavy 5 counsel— two of them eminent men, Mr. Chatta- way himself being no secondary light in the fo- rensic'world — laboured under one disadvantage, as it appeared to the crowded court. They ex- erted all their shrewd eloquence in seeking to di- vert the guilt from the prisoner: but they could not — distort facts as they might, call upon imagi- nation as they would — they could not conjure up 'Personally, nothing,' was the reply. '1 was j ^^e ghost of any other channel to which to direct suspicion. There lay the staggering point, as it weight of care. Many of the countenances pres- j ent expressed deep commiseration lor him. He was sworn, and various questions were asked him. Amongst others, whether he knew apyttiiug of the quarrel which had taken place between his two sons. not at home.' •It has been testified that when they were | had lain throughout. If Herbert Dare was not parted, your son Herbert threatened his brother, guilty, who was? The family, quietly sleeping Is he of a revengeful disposition?' . ' in their beds, were beyond the pale of suspicion; 'x\o,' replied Mr. Dare, with emotion; 'that, ij^^e household equally so; and no trace of any can truly say, he is not. My poor son, Anthony, midnight intruder to the house could be found, was somewhat given to suUenness, but Herbert ^^ ^^» ^ g^'^^® stumbling block for the prisoner's never was.' \ counsel; but such stumbling blocks are as nothing •There had been a great deal of ill-feeling be-p,'^ ^" ^f P"' P"^"'^^!'- , ^*' ^^ ^'^ ^/- ^hattaway ,, /• 1 . , L .• , (disposed, or seemed to dispose, of every argu- tween them of late, I believe.' . .v, . ,j . ,, ■ . .u rJ^u , ,, , /mentthat could tell against the prisoner. The 'I fear there had been.' ; i^ .. , i ..u j- ■ ^ , . , , ,- , . presence of the cloak in the dining room, from •It IS stated that you yourseli, upon leaving ... , . .,° , , , , , '^ . ° / which 80 much appearance of guilt had been de- home that evening, left them a warning not to ■; . , , ^ , ■ .. ^ ,. . w 5> ^duced, he converted into a negative proof of m- ^ ' ' ^nocence. 'Had he been the one engaged in the 'I believe I did. Anthony entered the house /.struggle,' argued the learned Q C, 'would he as we were leaving it, and I did say something to have been mad enough to leave his own cloak him to that effect.' < there, underneath his victim, a damning proof of 'Herbert, the prisoner, was not present?' guilt? No! that, at any rate, he would have •No. He had not returned.' conveyed away. The very fact of the cloak 'It is proved that he came home later, dined,) being underneath the murdered man was a most and went out again at dusk. It does not appear/ indisputable proof, as he regarded it, that the that he was seen afterwards by any member off- prisoner remained totally ignorant of what had your household, until you yourself went up to.' happened— ignorant of his unfortunate brother's his chamber and found them there, subsequent to ^ being at all in the dining-room. Why ! had he the discovery of the body. His own account is, ^ only surmised his brother was lying, wounded or that he had but recently returned. Do j'ou know/ dead, in the room, would he hoi have hastened to where he was during his absence ." < remove his cloak out of it, before it should be •No.' ?seen there, knowing, as he must know, that, from •Or where he went to?' J the very terms on which he and his brother had •No,' repeated the witness, in a sadly faltering | been, it would be looked upon as a proof of bis tone, fur he knew that this waa tbo one weak | guilt?' The argument told well with the jury — point in the dtfence. {probably with the judg«. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 67 Bit by bit, so did he thus dispose of the auspi- 1 modest garb, peculiar to the sect called Quakers, cious circumstances: of all, save one. And that ; not more modest than the lovely and gentle face, was the great one, the one that nobody could get^ She does not take the oath, only the affirmative over; the refusal of the prisoner to state where I peculiar to her people. ,, . he was that night 'AH in good time, gentlemen ; 'What is your name? commenced the pni- of the iurv,' said Mr. Chattaway, some murmured! oners counsel. , . , , ,. ,. . ,.„, ,>,_ r.mi«<5inn was! That she spoke words in reply, was evident, words reaching his ear that the omission was .^. ,. . ^ I ,. ^u , . ,,„„ -nmino- tn that by the moving of her lips; but they could not be deemed an ominous one. '1 am coming lo mai i j » r > j later; and I shall prove as complete and distinct J heard. , ., . , , !„♦ tr. . I. limit in nn 1 ' You must Speak Up,' lotcrposed the juflge, in a an ahbi as it was ever my lot to suDmii lo an / f r> r j o » enlightened court.' The court listened, the jury listened, the «pec- tators listened, and 'hoped he might.' He had spoken, for the most part, to incredulous ears. tone of kindness. A deep gasping for breath, an efiTort that even those around could see its pain, and the answer came. 'They call me Anna. 1 am the daughter of Samuel Lynn.* 'Where do you live?' •I live with my father and Patience, in the London Road.' •What do you know of the prisoner at the bar?' A pause. She probably did not understand the sort of answer required. One came that was un- expected. '1 know him to be innocent of the crime of When the speech of counsel ended, and the time | which he is accused.' came for the production of the witnesses who j 'How do you know this?' were to prove the alibi, there appeared to be | 'Because he could not have been near the spot some delay. The intense heat of the court had : at the time' been growing greater with every hour. The j 'Where was he then?' beams of the afternoon sun, now sinking lower \ 'With me.' and lower in the heavens, had only brought a j But the reply came forth in so faint a whisper, more deadly feeling of suffocation. But, to go ( that again she had to be enjoined to speak louder, out to get a breath of air, even had the thronged | and she repeated it, using different words, state of the passages allowed the movement, ap- 1 'He was at our house.' peared to enter into nobody's thoughts. Their j 'At what hour did he go to your house .J* CHAPTER XIX. THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALIBI. suspense was too keen, their interest too absorb ing. Who were those mysterious witnesses, that would testify to the innocence of Herbert Dare? A stir at the extreme end of the court, where it joined the outer passage. Every eye was 'It was past nine when he came up first.' •And what time did he leave ." •It was about one in the morning.' The answer appeared to create some stir. A late hour for a sober little Quakeress to confesi strained to see, every ear to listen, as an usher to. came clearing the way. 'By your leave there— | 'Was he spending the evening with your by your leave; room for a witness !' \ friends ." The spectators looked, and stretched their * «No.' necks, and looked again. A few among them ex- J «Did they not know he was there.'' perienced a strange thrill of disappointment, and i 'No.' felt that they should have much pleasure at being ) 'It was a clandestine visit to yourself, then ? allowed the privilege of boxing the usher's ears, ' Where were they.'' for he preceded nobody more important than j A pause; and a very trembling answer. 'Thej Richard Winthorne, the lawyer. Ah, but wait ' were in bed.' a bit! What short and slight figure is it that Mr. | 'Oh ! You were entertaining him by yourself, Winthorne is guiding along' The angry crowd j then ." have not caught sight of her yet. , She burst into tears. The judge let fall bit But, when they do— when the drooping, shrink- ; glasses, ai though under the pressure of some an- ing form is at length in the witness-box; her eyes noyance, every feature of his fine face expre»- never raised, her lovely face bent in timid dread , sive of compassion; it may be, his tlioughu bad jhen a murmur arises, and shakes the court to ' flown to daughters of his own. The crowd stood iU foundation. The judge feels for his glasses— with open mouths, gaping with undinguiatd ai- rarely used— and puts thtm aToss his nose, and toni«hment, and the burly Queen's couMel pro- g&zea at h«r. A tair girl, alUrcd in the limple, i cccded. 63 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLDS. 'And 80 he prolonged his risit until one o'clock t in the morning ? ' J '1 was locked out,' sho sobbed. 'That is how ; he came to stay so late.' ! Bit by bit, what with questioning and cross- < questioning, it all came out: that Herbert Dare had been in the habit of paying stolen yisits to i the field, and that Anna had been in the habit of | meeting him there. That she had gone in home 1 on this night just before ten, which was later than she had ever stayed out before; but, finding I Hester had to go out to get the medicine for Pa- 1 tience, she had run to the field again to take a \ book to the prisoner; and that upon attempting to | enter, soon afterwards, she found the door locked, i Hester having met the doctor's boy, and come | back at once. She told it all, as simply and ' guilelessly as a child. \ 'What were you doing all that while? From} ten o'clock until one in the morning?' } 'I was sitting on the door step, crying.' \ 'Was the prisoner with you?' \ •Yes. He stood by me part of the time, telling me not to be afraid; and the rest of the time — more than an hour, I think — he was working, at the wires of the pantry window, to try to get in.' j 'Was he all that while at the wires f j 'It was a long while befor<' I remembered the pantry window. He wanted to knock up Hester, } but I was afraid to let him. I feared she might tell Patience, and they would have been so angry with me. He got in, at last, at the pantry win- dow, and he opened the kitchen window for me, and 1 went in by it ' ,. i 'And you mean to say he was all that while, j till one o'clock in the morning, forcing the wires i of a pantry window?' cried Seigeant Seeitall. j 'It was nearly one. I am telling thee the ) truth.' j . 'And you did not lose sight of the prisoner; from the time he first came to the field, at nine o'clock, until he left you at one.' 'Only for the few minutes — it may have been four or five — when I ran in and came out again ) with the book. He waited in the field.' \ 'What time was that?' | 'The ten o'clock bell was going in Helston- leigh. We could hear it.' 'He was with you all the rest of the timer' 'Yes, all. When he was working at the pantry window 1 could not see him, because he was round the angle of the house. Not a minute of 1^ the time but I heard him. He was more than an ^ hour at the wires, as I have told thee.' :i •And until he began at the wires ?' / 'He was standing up by me, telling me not to be !; afraid. ' j; •All the time. You affirm this.' ^ 'I am affirming all that I tty to thee. 1 am speaking as before my Maker. * •Don't you think it is a pretty confession for a young lady to make?* She burst into fresh tears. The judge turned his grave face upon Sergeant Seeitall. But the Sergeant had impudence enough for ten. 'Pray, how many times had that pretty little midnight drama been enacted?' he continued, while Anna sobbed in distress. 'Never before,' burst forth a deep voice. •Don't you see it was a pure accident, as she tells you ? How dare you treat her as you might a shameless witness?' * The interruption — one of powerful emotion- had come from the prisoner. At the sound of his voice, Anna started, and looked round hur- riedly to the quarter whence it came. It was the first time she had raised her eyes to the court since entering the witness-box. She had glanced up to answer whoever questioned her, and that was all. 'Well?' said Sergeant Seeitall, as if demanding what else she might have to communicate. 'I have no more to tell. 1 have told thee all I know. It was nearly one o'clock when he went away, and I never saw him after.' •Did the prisoner wear a cloak when he came to the field that night ?' •No. He wore one sometimes, but he did not have it on that night. It was very warm—' But, at that moment, Anna Lynn became con- scious that a familiar face was strained upon her from the midst of the crowd: familiar, and yet not familiar; for the face was distorted from its natural look, and was blanched, as of one in the last agony — the face of Samuel Lynn. With a sharp cry of pain — of dread — Anna fell on the floor in a fainting fit. What the shame of being before that public court, of answering the search- ing questions of the counsel, had failed to take away — her senses — the sight of her father, cogni- zant of her disgrace, had effected. Surely it was a disgrace for a young and guileless maiden to have to confess to such an escapade — an esca- pade that sounded worse to censuring ears than it had been in reality. Anna fainted. Mr. Win- thorne stepped forward, and she was borne out. Another Quakeress was now put into the wit- ness-box, and the court looked upon a little, middle-aged woman, whose face was sallow, and who showed her decayed teeth as she spoke. It was Hester Dell. She wore a brown silk bon- net, lined with white, and a fawn-coloured shawl. She was told that she must state what she knew, relative to the visit of Herbert Dare, that night. •I went to rest at my usual hour, or, maybe, a trifle later, for I had waited for the arriral of MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 69 gome physic, BCTer supposing but that the child, Anna, had gone to her room before me, and was safe in bed. I had been asleep some considerable time, as it seemed, when I was awakened by what sounded like the raising of the kitchen win- dow underneath. I sat up in bed and listened, and was conyinced that the window was being raised slowly and cautiously, as if the raiser did not want it to be heard. I was considerably startled, the more so as I knew I had left the window fastened; and my thoughts turned to housebreakers. While I deliberated what to do, seeing I was but a lone woman in the house, save for the child Anna, and Patience who was dis- abled in her bed, I heard what appeared to be the Toice of th« child, and it sounded in the yard. I went to my window, but I could not see anything, it being right over the kitchen, and I not daring to open it. But I still heard Anna's voice: she was speaking in a low tone, and I be- lieved I caught other tones also — those of a man. I thought I must be asleep and dreaming; next I thought that it must be young Gar from the next door, Jane Halliburton's son. Her other sons I knew to be not at home; the one being abroad, the other at the University of Oxford. I delib- erated could anything be the matter at their house, and the boy have come for help. Then I reflected that that was most unlikely, for why should he be stealthily opening the kitchen win. dow, and why should Anna be whispering with him? In short, to tell thee the truth' — raising her eyes to the judge, whom she appeared to ad- dress, to the ignoring of everybody else — •! did not know what to think, and I grew more dis- turbed. I quietly put on a few things, and went softly down the stairs, deeming it well, for my own sake, to feel my way, as it were, and not to run headlong into danger. I stood a moment at the kitchen door, listening; and there I distinctly heard Anna laugh — a little, gentle laugh. It re- assured me, though I was still puzzled; and I opened the door at once.* Here the witness made a dead pause. 'What did you see when you opened the door?' asked the judge. 'I would not tell thee, but that I am bound to tell thee,' she frankly answered. '1 saw the pris- oner, Herbert Dare. He appeared to have been laughing with Anna, who stood near him, and he was preparing to get out at the window as I en- tered.' 'Well? what next?' inquired the counsel, in an impatient tone; for Hester had stopped again. 'I can hardly tell what next,' replied the wit- ness. 'Looking back, it appears nothing but con- fusion in my mind. It seemed nothing but con- fiiiiooattbttime. Anna cried out, »pd bid her face in fear; and the prisoner attempted some explanation, whi<;h I would not listen to. To see a son of Anthony Dare's in the house with the child at that midnight hour, filled me with anger and bewilderment. I ordered him away; I be- lieve I pushed him through the window; I threat- ened to call in the policeman. Finally, he went away.' 'Saying nothing?' 'I tell you all, I would not listen to it. I re- membered scraps of what he said afterwards. That Anna was not to blame— that I had no cause to scold her or to acquaint Patience with what had happened— that the fault, if there was any fault, was mine, for locking the back door so quickly. I refused to hear farther, and he de- parted, saying he would explain when I was less fierce. That is all I saw of him.' 'Did you mention this affair to any one ?' asked the counsel for the prosecution. •No.' •Why not?' •The child clung about me in tears after he was gone, giving me the explanation that J would not hear from him, and beseeching me not to acquaint Patience. She told me how it had happened. That upon my going out to see after the sleeping- draught for Patience, she had taken the opportu- nity to ran to the field with a book, where Her- bert Dare waited; and that upon attempting to come in again, she found the door locked.' •You returned sooner than she expected ?' 'Yes. I met the doctor's boy near the house, bringing the physic, and I took it from him and went home again directly. Not seeing Anna about, I never thought but that she had retired to bed. I went up also, trying the back door as I passed it, which to my surprise I found unfas- tened.' 'Why to your surprise ?' 'Because I had, as I believed, previously turned the key of it. Finding it unlocked, I concluded I must have been mistaken. Afterwards, when the explanation came, I learnt that Aana had un- done it. She clung about me, as 1 tell thee, sob- bing and crying, saying, as he had said, there was no cause to be angry with her; that she could not help what had happened ; and that she had lat crying on the doorstep the whole of the time, until he had effected an entrance for her. I went to the pantry window, and saw where the wires had been torn away, not roughly, but neatly; and I knew it must have taken a longwhile to accom- plish. I fell in with the child's prayer, and did not speak of what had occurred, not even to Pa- tience. This is the first time it bai escaped my lips.' 'So jou deemed it dctimbje to conceal tucb an to MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. adventure, and give the prisoner opportunity to ' and wondering, believed Patience must be de- renew bis midnight visits?' retorted the prosecu- 1 mented; that the message could have no founda- tine counsel ^'°° '° truth. Nevertheless, he bent his steps to •What was done could not be undone,' said the \ the Guildhall, accompanied by William Hallibur- witness. 'I was willing to spare the scandal S ton, and was witness to the evidence.. He, strict to the child, and not be the means of spreading and sober-minded, was not likely to take up a it abroad. While I was deliberating whether to more favourable construction of the facts gene- tell Patience, seeing she was in so suffering a rally, than the town was taking up. It may be state, news came that Herbert Dare was a pris- guessed what it was for him. oner. He had been arrested the following morn- He sat now on a bench in the outer hall, cur- ing, on the accusation of murdering his brother, ! rounded by friends, who, on hearing the crying and I knew that he was safe for several weeks to i scandal whispered, touching a young member of come. Hence I held my tongue.' The witness had given her evidence in a clear, J straightforward, uncompromising manner, widely their body, had come flocking down to the Guild- hall. When they spoke to him, he did not appear to hear; he sat with his hands on his knees, and his head sunk on his breast, never raising it. Richard Winthorne approached him. •Miss Lynn and her servant will not be wanted again,' said the lawyer. 'I have sent for a fly.' The fly came. Anna was placed in it by Mr. Winthorne; Hester Dell followed; and Samuel '■ Lynn came forward and stumbled into it. Stum- -v/mjf ""^u i "'" ^v^^w. ^w^^...- . . .-—-----, j j^j^^ , j^ .^ ^^^ proper word, he appeared to have the man of law, came to our house in a fly this j ^ ^^^ ^^^^ »^ J^^^ ^._ ^^^_ _ »'*' afternoon, and brought us away with him. By some remarks he exchanged with Anna, when we were in it, I found that she had known of it ; this day or two. They feared to avert me, I sup- pose, lest, maybe, I might refuse to attend.' 'One question more, witness. Did the prisoner wear a cloak that night ?' iir Vinnicp. in n flv thiS ) no power left to pick his legs up. 'Thou wilt not be harsh with her, Samuel,' whispered an influential Friend, who had a kind, benevolent countenance. 'Some of us will con- fer with thee to-morrow; but meanwhile, do.not be harsh with her. Thou wilt call to mind that i she is thy child, and motherless.' Samuel Lynn made no reply. He did not ap- pear to hear. He sat opposite his daughter, his allowed to withdraw. Richard Winthorne went j eyes never lifted, and his face assuming a leaden, in search of Samuel Lynn, and found him seated ghastly hue Hester suddenly leaned from the on a bench in the outer hall, surrounded by gen- door, and beckoned to William Halliburton, tlemen of his persuasion, many of them of high 'Will thee please be so obliging as to go up standing in Helstonleigh. Tales of marvel, you ^ith us in the fly ?' she said in his ear. 'I do not know, never lose anything in spreading; neither like his look.' are people given to place a light construction on William stepped in, and the fly was driven public gossip, when they can, by any stretch of away with closed blinds, to the intense chagrin of imagination, place a dark one. In this affair, the curious mob. Before it was out of the town, however, no very great stretch was required. William and Hester, with a simultaneous move- Thetownjumped to the charitable conclusion that tnent, canght hold of the Quaker. Anna Anna Lynn must be one of tbe naughtiest girls screamed. under the sun; imprudent, ungrateful, disobedi- 'What is it?' she uttered, terrified at the sight cnt; I don't know what else; had she been guilty of his drawn, contorted face, of scattering poison in Atterly's field, and so 'It is thy work,' said Hester, less placidly than killed all the lamb.s, they could not have said or she would have spoken in a calmer moment. 'If thought worse. All joined in it, charitable and thee hast saved the life of thy friend, Herbert uncharitable; all sorts of ill notions were spread, Dare, thee hast probably destroyed that of thy and got taken up. Herbert Dare, you may be father. ' very sure, came in for his share. They were close to the residence of Mr. Parry, The news had been taken to Mr. Ashley's man- and William ordered the fly to stop. The sur- ufactory, sent by the astounded Patience, that geon was at home, and took William's place in Richard Winthorne had come and taken away ( it. Samuel Lynn had been struck with paraly- Anna and Hester Dell to give testimony on the sis. .rial of Herbert Dare. The Quaker) perplexed j William was at tbe house before thej vrn*, MRS. HALUBURTOIf « TftOWBLES. 71 preparing Patience. Patience was so far restored to bealtb herself as to be able to walk about a little; she was very lame yet. They carried Mr. Lynn to his room. Anna in her humiliation and shame — the having to give evidence, and such evidence, in the face of tjixat public court, had been nothing less to her — ftfe^ to her own chamber, and flung herself, dressed as she was, on the carpet, in desperate abandon- ment. William saw her there as he passed it from her father's room. There was nobody to attend to her, for they were occupied with Mr. Lynn. It was no moment for ceremony, and William entered and attempted to raise her. 'Let me be, William — let -me be. I only want to die.' 'Anna, child, this will not mend the past. Do not give way like this.' But she resolutely turned from him, sobbing more loudly, 'Only to die — only to die !' William went for his mother, and gave her the outline of the tale, asking her to go into the house of distress, and see what could be done. Jane, in her utter astonishment, sought farther expla- nation. She could not understand him in tlie least. 'I assur* you, I understand it nearly as little,' replied William. 'Anna was locked out through some mistake of Hester's, it appears, and Her- bert Dare stayed with her. That it will be the means of acquitting him, there is no doubt; but Helstonleigh is making its comments freely.' Jane went in, her senses in a maze. She found Patience in a state not to be described; she found Anna where William had left her, reiterating the same cry, 'Oh, that I were dead— that I were dead!' Meanwjiile the trial at the Guildhall was draw- ing to its close, and the judge proceeded to sum up. Not with the frantic bursts of oratory per- taining to those eloquent gentlemen, the counsel, but in a calm tone of dispassionate reasoning. He placed the facts concisely before the jury, not speaking in favour of the prisoner, but can- didly avowing that he did not see how they could gel over the evidence of the prisoner's witnesses, the young Quaker lady and her maid. If that was to be believed — and for himself he fnlly be- lieved it — then the prisoner could not have been guilty of the murder, and was clearly entitled to ao acquittal. It was six o'clock when the jury retired to deliberate. The judge, the bar, the spectators, sat on, or stood, with what patience they might, in the crowded and heated court. On the fiat of tbosr twelve men hung the life of the prisoner; whether he was te be discharged an innoceol tnan, or bung as a guilty one. lUpoBiDg in the pocket at Sir William Leader was a certain little cap, black in colour, innocuous in itself, but of awful signifi- cance when brought forth by the hand of the pre- siding judge. Was it destined to be brought forth that night .> The jury were coming in at last. Only ah hour had they remained in deliberation, for seven o'clock was booming out over the town. It had seemed to the impatient spectators more than two. What must it have seemed to the prisoner } They ranged tiiemselves in their boi, and the crier proclaimed silence. 'Have you agreed upon your rerdict, gentlemen of the jury?' 'We have.' 'How say you, gentlemen, guilty or not guilty?' The foreman advanced an imperceptible step, and looked at the judge, speaking deliberately — 'My lord, we find him Not guilty.' CHAPTER XX. X COUCH OF PAIK. 'William, I have got my death-blow! I have got my death-blow !' The speaker was Henry Ashley. Four days bad elapsed subsequent to the trial of Herbert Dare, and William Halliburton saw him now for the first time since that event. What with mind and body, Henry was in a grievous state of pain; all William's compassion was called forth, as he leaned over his couch. It has been hinted that Helstonleigh, in its charity, took up the very worst view of the case that could be taken up, with regard to Anna Lynn. Had she gone about with a blazing torch and set all the houses on fire, their inhabitants could not have mounted themselves on higher stilt!". Somehow, everybody took it iip. It was like those apparently well-authenticated political reports that arrive now and then by telegram, driving the Stock Exchange, or the Paris Bourse, into a state of mad belief Nobody thov-ghl to doubt it; people caught up the notion from one another as they catch a fever. If even Samuel Lynn had looked upon it in the worst light, bring- ing to him paralysis, little chance was there that "thers might gazo. throujjh a brighter glass. It had half killed Henry Athley; and the words were not, in point of fact, lo wiJ) t,* iher ounded. 'I have got my deatb-blow .' I have got lij death-blow !' 'No, 70U have oot,' w m William'* uiawer. 'h 711 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES: is a blow— I know it— but not one that you can (bed in the next room with the door open. There^ not outlive.' | nobody I can rave myself out to but you, "and you •Why did you not come to me? Four whole i must let me do it, unless you would have me go days, and you have never been near the house !' | quite mad. I hope I shan't be here long to be a 'Because I feared that you would be putting j trouble to any of you !' yourself into the state of agitation that you are j .;<^illiam did not know what to say. He be- now doing,' replied William, candidly. Mr. 'Keved there was nothing for it at present but to Ashley said to me on the Wednesday, "Henry ;' let him 'rave himself out.' 'But I wish,' he said, has one of his bad attacks again." I knew it to,' aloud, in continuation of the bent of his own be more the mind than the body, this time, and I ] thoughts, 'that you would be a little rational over deemed it well that you should be left in quiet. *> it.' There's nobody you can talk of it to, but me.' \ 'Stop a bit. Did you ever experience a blow 'Your staying away has not served your pur- /like this?' pose, then. My father came to me with the de- < 'No, indeed.' taili, thinking to divert me for a moment from^ '■Then don't hold forth to me, I say. You do my bodily pain; never supposing that each word ^ not understand. It was all the joy I had on was as a dagger plunged into my very being. My ^ earth.' mother came, with this scrap of news, or the ', 'You must learn to find other joys; other ' other scrap. Mary came, wondering and eager, '/ 'The despicable villain !' broke forth Henry, asking information at second-hand; mamma was ;; the heat-drops welling up on his brow, as they mysterious over it, and would not tell her. Mary :; had welled up on Anna's when before the judge; cannot credit ill of Anna; she has as great aj'the shame-faced, cowardly villain! Was she trust in her still as I had. As I had! Oh, Wil-j;not Samuel Lynn's child, and my sister's friend? liam ! she was my object in life ! She was all my ', What possessed the jury to acquit him ? Did they future — my world — my heaven!' \ think an end of rope too good for his neck?' 'Now you know you will suffer for this excite- ;; «He was proved innocent of the murder. If he ment,' cried William, almost as he would have /has any conscience ' said it to a wayward child. ;; 'What's that?' fiercely Interrupted Henry Ash- He might as well have talked to the wind, j ley. 'JJe a conscience! I don't know what you Henry neither heard nor heeded him. He cen- ^ are dreaming of. Is he going to stop in Helston- tinued, his manner as full of agitation as his heigh:' mind / 'I conclude so. He resumed his place quietly 'I am not as other men. You can go forth, all / in his father's office the day after the trial. He is of you, into the world, to pursue your pleasures, ;; in London now, but only temporarily, your amusements. I am confined here. But what j; 'Resumed hi& place quietly. What was the mattered it? Did I envy you? No. While I ;; mob about, then ?' had her to think of, I was happier than you.' < rpj^g question was put so quaintly, in such con- 'Had this not happened, it might have gone ^fljing simplicity, that a smile rose to William's cross for you in some other way, and so have', face. 'In awe of the police, I expect,' he an- come to the same.' ^swered. 'The Dares, while his fate was uncer- 'Andnowit is over,' reiterated Henry, paying; tain, have been rusticating in the shade. Cyril no attention to the remark. 'It is over, and gone;< jgld me to-day, that now that the accusation was and I— I wish, William, I had gone with it.' ;! proved to have been false, they were "coming 'I wish you would be reasonable.' ;; out" again.' 'Don't preach. You active men, with your | 'Coming out in what? Villainy?' multifarious objects and interests in life, cannot 'He left the "what" to be inferred. In gran - kBOW what it is for one like me, shut out from | desr, I expect. The established innocence of the world, to lovt. I tell you, William, it j Her ' was literally my life; the core of my life; my all. \ 'If you apply that word to the man, William I am not sure but I have been mad ever since.' ' Halliburton, you are as black as he is.' •I am not sure but you are mad now,' returned William remembered Henry's tribulation both William, believing that to humour him might be of mind and body, and went on without the the worst plan he could adopt. shadow of a retort. 'I dare say I am,' was the unsatisfactory an- 'I apply it to him in relation to the crime of 'Four days, and I have had to bury it all which he was charged. His acquittal and jre- *^«i'inme' I could not wail it out to my own lease have caused the Dares to bold up their TiUow at night; for they concluded it was one of heads again. But they haTO lost caste in Htl- my bad attacks, and old nurs» w^is posted in the \ itonleigh.' ants. HALLfBURTOIf « TftOUBLBB. 73 'Caste !' was the scornful ejaculation of Henry ' resumed Mary. 'How can he have done it? Ho Ashley. 'They never had any caste to lose, is not like one who poes out into the world — who Does the master intend to retaiu Cyril in the man- ': has lo meet with cares and checks^ You do not Ufactory." J speak,' she added, looking at William. 'Is it 'I hare heard nothing to the contrary. If he f thai you will not tell me, or do you know no- retained him while the accusation was hanging 'thing.'' over Herbert Dare's head, he will not be likely ( William lowered his voice. 'I can only say to discard hinu now it is removed.' ; that, should there be anjlliing of the sort you 'Removed!' shrieked Henry. 'If one accusa- / mention, the kinder course for Henry — indeed, tien has been removed, has not a worse taken its j the only course — will be, not to allow hitn to place }' > perceive that you suspect it. Conceal the iHs- 'VVould it be just to visit on one brother the > picion both from him and from others. Remem- sins of another.'' ) Oer his excessive sensitiveness. When he sees 'A nice pairof brothers they are !' cried Henry, ioause to hide his feelings, it would be almost as in the sharp, petulant manner habitual to him, | death to him to have them penetrated.' when racked with pain. 'How will Samuel Lynn ' *I think you must bo in his full confidence,' ob- likc the company of Cyril Dare by his side in the J served Mary, looking at William, manufactory, when he gets well again ."' I 'Pretty well so,' he answered, with % passing William shook his head. The considerations pmilo. were not for him. They were Mr. Ashley's. / 'Then, if he has any secret grief, will you try 'You heard her give her evidence.'' resumed ^ ^nd soothe it to himr' Henry, breaking a pause. i 'With all my beot endeavours.' earnestly spoke 'Most of it.' \ William, But there was not the least apparent 'Tell it me.' / lecessily for his taking Mary Ashley's hand be- 'No, Henry; it would not do you good to hcar;i*een his own, and pressing it there while he it.' ;said it, any more than there was necessity for 'Tell it me, I say,' persi.sted Henry, wilfully. ; that vivid blush of hers, as she turned into the 'I know it in substance. 1 want to have it re- »^'"*w'"6-''ooni- peated over to me, word for word.' > But you must be anxious to hcarof Anna Lynn. • But » ^ Poor Anna! who had fallen so terribly into the Henry suddenly raised his hand and laid it on \ ^'^^ '^ooks of the lown, without really much de- William's lips, with a warning movement. He ^^rving it. It was a most unlucky eonhttempn, turned, and saw Mary Ashley. ! ^^^ having got locked out; it was a ^till more un. •Take her back to the drawing-room, William,' fortunate sequel, the having to confess to it on the public trial. t"he was not a pattern of goodness. he whispered, 'i can bear nobody but you about ; . . r j i j . . .. ,1 . k„ .r . ^. .. . ■ ' It must be confessed — had not yet attained to be me now. Not yet, Mary,' he added aloud, mo- .. -. ji tu .„. f„ ,i„m ...... , , , /that perfect model, which expects, as of a right, tioniNg rus sister away with his hand. 'Notnow.'! , • ,1 1 .1 1 „j..„ c^.^ -, ■' . . . . '^a niche in the muridane saintly calendar. She Mary halted in indecision. William advanced to her, placed her hand within his arm, and ltd tly was repreheiisibiy vain; she delighted in plague- ) ing Patience; and she took to run out into the her, somewhat summarily, from the room- -' ^ ■ . i . i, j u r u .. 41 > u. i^..i ,, ... •; ; fieM, when it had been far better that she bad 'I am only obeying orders, Miss Ashley,' soid , • 1 .u 'ru . ^i^h^m a. , ._,. ■' " , , .•'' ; remained at home. The running out entailed de- he. 'They are lo see you back to the drawing-^ . j . • t. . •. . 1 j .k > •^ •' ^ 'celt and some storie?; but it entailed nothing room.' ' .,,.... ■ L ,- ,- . . , ; worse, and nelbtonleigh need not nave set its ic- 'If Henry can bear you with him, he mights . , , , ■' ( '^''® back up. -. ,' . ,. ,. ; Never had there been a more forcible illustra- ' You know what hit whims and fancies are. ■ r .1. u ./-• j u 1 _ . ^ . ^ . . • lion of the old saung, 'Give a dog a bad name, when he IS sunering. ' < , , ... ... ,,,. ,, . . , . ; ind hang him, than in this instance. When 'Is there not a particu'arly good underrfandine ... ,, n ,1 .. j . u « .1 . n u . . ,•,. , ^ "» ti lu'Ti "'"""H& , William llalihurlon hs»d told Aina that Herbert between you and Henry .' she pointedly a»kcd. ■ ,.. . , .. u j j . v. J * J Br«^u, Q^j-c was not a good man, liiat he did not bear n 'Yes; we understand each other perfectly. ' , go^,j name, he had told her the siricl iiuth. Fcr 'Well, then, tell me — what is it that i?* the mat- inal >ery reason a private intimacy with him wa4 ter with him this lime.' I do not like in my so j u' de-irahle, however ii.noct^iit it nifthi be, how- to mamma, biicause she might call nie fanciful, I trver innocent it tra«, in il-e:f; »> d for that very but it appears to me that Henry's illness i» more (ea«m iliil ll.Uion'eiich look ai 11 tl.rougit tBtoky on the mind than on the body.' ]»p«ctarlc«. I!..d -l.u been l«ckidont all nighl, William made no reply. ; instead of hair a one, with ^olll« body in belter 'And yei, 1 cannot imagine it poriible for ' odour, HcUloolei^h bad not put up it« •eorsfol Henry to have piokad up any anaoyancaor fri»f,' artti. 18 T4 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TR0UBLE8. Not a soul seemed to cast so tnuch as a good '■> lest a public reprimand should be i/» store for her, word or a charitable thought to him in the mat- delivered at meeting: on First Day; but she saw ter Did he des-rvc none? Huwevrr thought- { no reason why everybody ehould continue croii less or reprehens bit- his conduct wa«, in drawing | with her a.t home. Anna into 'hose field promenade*, when the ex-\ She happened to be alone with her father when plosion came he met it as a ger^iiemsin. Many ujhe first recovered consciousness. Some fifteen one, more renowned for the o:ii(Unal graces thai ) lays had elapsed since the trial But for the fact was Herbert Dare, might h;.\e sp'iken out at once j of her being with him, a difficulty might hare and cleared himself at 'he expeii>ie of makini J b^en espprierced to get her there She dreaded known Anna's unlucky escapade. Not so he. A ^ his anger, his reproach, more than anything. So doubt may have b» en upon hm that, wtre it be- j ong as he Jay without his senses, knowing her trayed, Hclstonlei^h mii;ht be for casting a tairi | lot. so long was she content to sit. watching. She on her fair name; and he strove to save it. Ff' / vas seated bv the b';dside, in her usual listless suflVred the brand of murdf rer to be attached to < altitude, her head and her eyes cast down, when him — tie languished for many weeks in prison a^- jher father's hand, not the one affected, was sud- a common cri-iinal — ail to save it. Me all bii' Plenty lifted, and laid upon her's. which rested on went to the scaflbid to save it. He might have Hhe counterpane. Startled, Anna turned her called Anna and Hester Dell forward at the in- ^^aze upon him, and she saw that his intellect* quest, at the preliminary examination before the ^ ivere restored. With a suppressed cry of dis- magistrales, and thus have cleared himself; but ^ may, she would have flown away, but he clasped he would not. While there was a chance of his / his fingers round hers, innocence being brought to light in aiiy other;! 'Anna!' manner, he would not call on Anna. He let tht ^ She sunk down on her knees, shaking as if in odium settle upon his head; he went to prison ; ;in ague fit, and buried her face in the clothes, hoping that be should be exculpated in some dif- < Samuel Lynn stretched forth his hand and put it ferent way. There was a generous, chivalri*' ^ on her head. feeling in this, which Helslonleigh could not un- \ «Thou art my own child, Anna; thy mother left derstand, when emanating from Herbert Dare. ^ 'hee to me for good and for ill; and 1 will stand and they declined to give him credit for it. Thex f ^y thee in thy sorrow.' preferred to look at the afTuir altogether in a dif-'. She burst into a s'orm of hysterical tears. He ferent light, and to lavish hard names upon it. let it have its course; he drew her wet face to Every soul was alike; there was no exception; |his, and kissed it; he talked 1o her soothingly, Samuel Lynn, and all el-e in Helstonleigh. [never speaking a single word of reproach; and They caught the epidemic, I say, from one an- 'Anna overgot her fear and her sobs. She knelt other. jdown by the bed still, and let her cheek rest on '.the counterpane. / 'It has nearly killed me,' he murmured, after a ♦ »» jWhile. 'But I pray for life; I will struggle hard :'to live, that thee may'st have one protector. l Friends and foes may cast reproach to thee, but CHAPTER XXL ^ I will not.' ] 'Why should they cast reproach to me, father f' A RAT OF LIGHT. li returned Anna, With a little spice of resentment. ^'I have not harmed them.' The first brunt of the edge worn off, Anna <; .jjo, child, thee hast not; only thyself. I will grew cross She did not see why everybody ^ help thee to bear the reproach. Thou art my should be blaming her. Wl at had so sadly pros-;! own child.' tr«ted herself was the shame of having to ap-< .But there's nothing for them to reproach me pear before the public court; to stand in it and ; with,' she reiterated, her face pushed deeper give her evidence. The excitement, the shame, ; into the counterpane. 'It was not pleasant to combined with the terrifying illness of her father, .'stand there— but it is over. And they need not brought on, as Hester told her, through her, had ; reflect upon me for it.' ' sent her into a wild state of contrition and ', 'What is over.' To stand where?' he asked, alarm. Little wonder that she wished herself ^ 'At the Guildhall, on the trial.' dead. '(^ «It is not that that people will reproach thee She sat, for the most part, in her father's room, .with, Anna. It was not a nice thing for thee; never moving from his bec'side, unless disturbed ■: but that, in itself, brings no reproach.' from it; never speaking; eating only when food ; Anna lifted her bead wonderingly. wub put before her. Anna was in grievous fear t 'What does, then ? she uttwed. ma. HALLIBURTON'S TAOUBLES. 7g He did not answer. He only closed his eyes, 'had a tolerably bufy time of It. He had ajsumed a deep groau bursting from the very depths of his ' Samuel Lj nn's place in the manufactory by Mr. heart. It came into Anna's mind that he must 'Ashley's orders, hend of all things, under the be thinking of her previous acquaintance with J master. Cyril ground liis teeth at this; he looked Herbert Dare; of her stolen promenades in the ;upon it as a slight to himself; but Cyril had no fieid by twilight. 'power to alter it. •Oh, father, don't thee be angry with me .''she '; William found Mr. and Mrs. Ashley alone, implored, {he tears streaming down from her ; ^''^'^J *" o"^- He sat with ihem a few min- eyes. 'it was no harm; it was not, indeed. Thee ;"les, talking of Anna, and then rose to go to tho might have been present always, fi>r all the harm chamber of Henry, there was, and I wish thee had been. Why should! '^^^^ '" ^^^^^^ evening?' he inquired, thee think anger of it? There was no moreharu. ^ *^" ^'"^ ^«^'*y fractious,' was the reply of Mr. in my talking with hJm now and then in the field, i ^^^'^^ •William, you have great influence over than there was in my lalkirigwith him in Marga-;^^*™- ^ W'*^ 3°" could persuado him to give vay ret Ashley's sitting-room.' ^'^^s- ^^ is not ill enough, so far as we can see, Something in the simple words, in the tone, in ^'" '^^^P ^'» room; but we cannot get him out of ( I* f the manner altogether, caused the Quaker's' heart to leap within him. Had he been making; Henry was in one of his depressed moods, ex- a molehill into a mountain? Surely, yes! But /'"^^'^^'^ dispinlt;d and irritable, what else he would have said or done, what ; '^'^» ^o >"" ^a^e come !' he burst forth as Wil- questions asked, cannot be known, for they were ''^"^ entered. 'I should be ashamed to neglect a interrupted by a visit from William Halliburton. ^'^'^ fellow as you neglect me. If I were well Anwa stole away. '^"'^ strong, and you ill, you would find it differ- ' ent ' William was full of hearty congratulation on / * the visible .mprovement-ihe, so far. restoration i '^ ''""'^ ^ """ ''**®'' acl^nowledged William. to^lth. The Quaker murmured some half- 1!^^™"'=' ^J""" ^°°'' "P ^ "^l'« °^ ^y t'™«. «nd I inarticulate words, indicating sometbitg t^ the 1''^^^^^^ ";"*" '''''°5/°'"« '^'°"'«» "' the drawing- effect that he might not have been ill, but fori r^^ %, , » 1 • • _ r .u .1 I ! 'Of course? was the fractious answer. 'Anv. taking up a worse view of the case than, as he!, , , . ^j " « •mw.iuus auswcr. Any- . ,■ . .. ,, •, J 'body before me. believed now, it really merited. > ^ ,„,,. , . .. 1 J , 1 • u- ' '°a"'"el Lynn is a pre8tdealbeller,'conlinued William leaned over him; a glad look in his / VViiiia... .f4;. ,,.;„ i ; , . i, , . , . , . ' vvjiiiam. "His minil is restored eye; a glad sound \a his low voice. ' ', «„•..„ „„„„ , ,., . , J ' ^ Henry received tiie news ungraciously, making 'My mother has been telling Patience so to- ; no rejoinder; but his sid« was iwitd.ing w.ih day. She, my mother, is convinced now lhat|pain. 'How is s/if ?' he asked. Ms the shame very exaggerated blame was cast to Anna. It ; fretlmg out her life?' was foolish of her, of course, to fall into the/ .Aot at all. She is very well As to shsme— habit of running to the field; but the locking out | as you call it-I believe she has not taken much mitjht have happened to any one. My mother 'to herself. ' told me this, not half-an-hour ago. Shehasseen; Ml will kill her: you'll see. The sooner the and talked to Anna frequently ihis last day or ; belter for her, I »honId say ' two, and has drawn her own poMlive d. ducHoni ;' W,l|,.m sat down on the edge of the sofa, on My mother is vexed with herself for having fallen ; which the invalid was lymg. -Henry. Id .et you into the p -puar blame.' right upon a p..,nl. if I thought it would be ex •A,!' uttered Samuel Lynn. 'There i, blame ,p,dient You do go into fi„ c.f exciteoeot .J abroad, then? I thought there was.' ,g,,^l^ ,hat it is dangerous to^peak.• 'People will come to their senses in good lime,' ; 'Tell out anythinjr jou have to tell. Tell mf was William's answer. '.Never doubt it.' jifyou choose, that the house is on fire, end I The Quaker raised bis feeble hand, and laid it I must befitchcd out «( the window to escape it. upon William's. ; It would make no i.i.prcssipo upon mp. My 6ti of 'The Ashley's— have they blamed?' /exciJCmenl have passed away with Aor;a Lyuft.' 'I fear they have.,' was tho only reply he could ; 'My news r* lale^ to Anna.' a make.in his strict truth. i 'What if .i does? She has pataed away /'•r' •Then. William, thee go to them. Go to ibcm f m«.' now, and set them right.' ' MIelstonlcigh, in its n.ual hasly fashion of He was already going, for he was engaged to jimping to concIusioi»,%»s j..mptd lo a false the Ashleys that evening. Between Henry Ash-'; one,' continued WillUL. ±Tbere has been no ley, the men at East's, and his own studies, whici. grounds for the gnat^Mie cakt to Aaaa: except k« would Dot wholly oeglect, WiiUaio't eveDUigi , la l^e miDdt of a cbaritMle public' 76 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TftOtJBLfiS. id holiday, the other was out. Some- very charitable ovation Helstonleigh was be-^ ^^^^^ ^.^^^ ^j^j^ ^^^ ^^^^^^,^^^ ^^^j^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ .towing upon Anna Lynn. He met it with a j p^^p,^ ^^^^ g^„^j„g ^^^ ^^ ^^^ j,^^^^ Mr. Dare storm of indignation; he bade them think as bad < , , • . .u <■ 4U • j /• " o ' J leaned against the corner of the window-frame, i) im as ey o ., i .1 { matching the passers-by, his hands in his pockets, i'urke if they liked; but to keep their mistaken j j u, . ■ 1 1 u„f„ _ / ' ., ' ,. , ^ and a blank look on his face, tongues off Anna. What with one thing and an-/ ,, ,. , , . . rr ,^ , ° . ,, J , jj u • ♦ ' ' I ou say you can t help me, sir,' Herbert con- other, some of the scandal-mongers did begin to^ . f ■'■' ' think they had been too hasty, and withdrew their, ;^ ,, ' , , , ^ . ^ „ / .» f \ ^ '/ 'You know! can't; sufficiently to do any good,' censure. Some (as a matter of course,) pre- ^ , ., t^ .r . , . - , ^ , , , ,.,, J • • • J J- /returned Mr. Dare. 'I am too much pressed for Jerred to doubt still; and opinions remamed di-( ,^ ^ , . ,. ... ^ money myself. Look at the expnses attending "lleistonleigh took up the gossip on ^"ot^^r f ^^^'J^^'j^^^"^ ^^^f embarrassed enough before. score — that of Mr. Ashley's sending Samuel j <^" ° P j • Lynn abroad, as his skin buyer, for an indefinite J '^^ ^''^"'^^ ^o me, too, that you want me gone period. 'A famous trade Ashley must have, toi ''■°'" ^^'■®-' go to that expense!' grumbled some of the en-j '^ ^*^« °°t '^^'^ »"'' ^^"^"7 responded Mr. vious manufacturers. True; he had a famous' ®* trade. And if he had not had one, he might have < ''^"^ ^old me the other day that it was my sent him all the same. Helslonleigh never knew : presence in the oflBce which scared clients from the considerate benevolence of heart of Thomas ; Ashley. The journey was fully decided upon;! ^r. Dare could not deny the fact. He had and Samuel Lynn had an application from a mem- \ ^^''^ ''• ^'^^^'"^ •"«''«' ^« ^^^ ^*^°"6^^ ''' ^"'^ '^'^ ber of his own persuasion, to rent his house, fur- 5 """• '^ ^*""°t ^^'^ ^^^^ «^^« '^ " ^^^^ '* '^"P" mshed, for the term of his absence. He was glad ; *"« *'"«"'* ^^^y-' ^« '"'"J"'"**^- '^^ ^*^« °<>* 10 accept the accommodation. p''"* « ^°^«" '" «'"'^«' ^^^ ^"^'• But, before Mr. Lynn and his family started, 'It is a slack season of the year.' Helstonleigh was fated to sustain another loss, in 'Maybe,' shortly answered Mr. Dare. 'Slack the person of Herbert Dare/ Herbert contrived | as it is, there's some business astir, but people tu set somo sort of a niusion intrusted to kim < are goios elsewhere to set it done; those, too, MRS. HALUBURTON'S TROUBLES. 77 who have never, for years, been near anybody 'Fifty pounds.' but us. The truth is, Herbert, you fell into bad ! 'I can't do it, Herbert,' was the prompt an- odour with the town on the day of the trial; and »wer. that you must know. Though acquitted of the ; * I must have it,' if I am to go,' was Herbert's murder, all sorts of other things were laid to firm reply. 'There arc two or three trifles here your charge, Quaker Lynn's stroke amongst the ; which I will not leave unsettled, and I cannot go test.' ; over there with pockets entirely empty.* Fifty 'Carping sinners !' ejaculated Herbert. ' pounds is not such a great sum, sir, to pay to get 'And I suppose it turned people against the of- ( rid of me.' fice,' continued Mr. Dare. 'My belief is, they Old Anthony Dare knit bis brow with perplex- won't come back again as long as you are in it ' ; ity. He supposed he must furnish the money, 'That's precisely what I meant )ou had hinted though he did not in the least see how it was to to me,' said Herbert. 'Therefore, I thought I be done. had better leave it. Pattison says he can get me The matter settled, Herbert took his hat and this berth, and I should like to try it.' ; walked cut. The first object his eyes alighted •Fou'// not like to turn merchant s clerk,' re- . on outside was Sergeant Delves. That worthy, peatcd Mr. Dure, wiih empha-is. pacing ihroueh the town, had brought himself to '1 shall like it better than being nailed for debt an anchor right opposite the office of Mr. Dare, here,' somewhat coarsely answered Flerbert. 'It and was regarding it, lost in a brown study. The is not so agreeable at home now, especially in scrge.ant was in a state of discomfiiure, touching this office, that I should cry to stay in it. You : the affair of the late Anthony Dare. He had have changed, sir, amongst the rest, many a day lost no time in looking after' Miss Caroline Ma- through, you don't give me a civil word.' ;8«.»n, as he had promised himself; and the »e- Again Mr Dare felt that he had changed to • quence had bren — defeat. Without any open stir Herbert. When he found that he — Herbert — on the part of the police — without allowing Car- might have cleared himself at first from the. ter- oline herself to know that she was doubted the rible accu'ation of fratricide, had he so chosen, sergeant contrived to put himse.f in full posses- instead of allowing the obloquy to rest upon him- sion of her movements on that night. The result self and his family for so long a period of time, proved that she mu-t be exempt from the sus- he had become bitterly angry. Mrs Dare and the picion; or, as the sergeant expressed it, 'was out whole family joined in the feeling, and Herbert of the hole;' and that gentleman remained at sufl'erefl. fault again. •As to civility, Herbert, I must overget the Herbert crossed over to him. 'What are you soreness left by your conduct first. You acted looking at, Delves.'' very ill in allowing the case to go onto trial. If >[ wasn't looking at nothing in particular,' was you had no objection to sit down quietly under the answer. 'Coming in sight of your office, it the crime yourself, jou had no right to throw the natuially brought my thoughts back on that un- disgrace and the expense upon your family.' satisfactory business. I ne\er was so baffled be- 'If it were to come over again, I would not,' fore.' acknowledged Herbert. 'I thought then I was : 'It is very strange who it could have been,' ob- acting for the best.' ; served Herbert. 'I often think of it. ' •Pshaw!' was the peevish ejaculation of Mr. ' 'Never so baffled before,' continued the ser Djpg ; gcant, as if there had been no interruption to bis •Altogether,' resumed Herbert, •! think I had °'^" ''"'^'- '^ <=°"'*^ *'™ost f'^^® '•een upon my better go away. After a time, something or other "^^'^ =*^ ^^® *'™« ''"** ^^« murderer was in the may turn up to make things smoother here, and ^°^^^' ^^'^^'^ '*'^' '^J "nd yet ' then I can come home again; unless! find abetter '"Tou could have been upon your oath it was I,' opening abroad. I may; and I believe I shall like living there.' 'Very well,' said Mr Dare, after some minutes' silence. 'It may be for the best. At all events. interrupted Herbert. 'It's true. I could. But you had yourself chiefly to thank for it, Mr. Herbert Dare, through making a mystery of your movements it will give time for things hero to blow over. If ^^^^ "'^^^- ^^^^^ J"" ^'=™ cleared, my mind you don't find it what you like, you can but come ^"'•"«'^ '<> ^^»^ g'""': ""'^ ^^»^* ^ '"""'"l. ^»» "^ i° ' back.' 'I shall be sure not to come back, unless I can square up some of my liabiliiies here,' returned Herbert. 'You must help me to get there, sir.' •What do you want?* asked Mr. Dare- •What girl.'' interrupted Herbert. •The one in Honey Fair; your brother An- thony's old »wretheart. It wasn't her, though; I have got (he proofs. Charlotte Eshi had got her I to ber bouse on that erenios, aod kept liar till ^g MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUK.EB, twelve o'clock, when she went hdme to bed in; with him— he alone held the key to its cause— her garret. Charlotte's a-going to try to make 5 was William Halliburton. something of her again. And now I am baffled,^ William's influence over him was very great; and 1 don't deny it.' 'he yielded to no one, not even to his father, aa 'To suspect any girl is ridiculous,' observed • he would yield to William. Henry gave the reins Herbert Djre. 'No girl, it is to be hoped, would ' to his tongue, and said all sorts of irritating possess the courage or ihe strength to accomplish Uhings to William, as he did to everybody else, such a deed as that.' ] It only masked the deep affection, the lasting •You don't know 'em as us police do,' nodded J friendship, which had taken possession of his the sergeant. 'I was asking your father only a '■ heart for William. day or two ago, whether he could make cock- J 'Let me be; let me be,' he said to William on© sure of his servants, that they had not been in J day. in answer to a remonstrance that he should it ' ; rouse himself. 'I told you that my life bad passed 'Of our servants .'' interrupted Herbert, in sUr- \ out with her J prise. 'What an idea !* 'But your life has not passed out with her,' ar- •Well, I have gone round to my old opinion — ■ gued William; 'your life is in you, just as much that il was somebody in the house,' returned the ^as it ever was. And it is your duty to make some sergeant. 'But il seems the servants are all on ) use of your life: not to let it run to waste— as the square. 1 can't make it out.' J you are doing.' •Why on earth should you !^uppose it to be any \ 'It does not affect you,' was the tart reply, body in the house?' questioned Herbert, in con-? 'It does very much affect me. I am grieved to feiderable wonderment. ^see yeu hug your pain, instead of shaking it off; •Because I do,' was the answer. 'Us police; vexed to think that a man should so bury his see and note down what others pass over. There j days. It is an unfortunate thing that nobody is were odds and ends of things at the lime that 'cognizant of this matter but myself.' made us infer it; and I can't get it out of my ^ 'Is it though !* retorted Henry. 'You are a fine jjjj„(j » ^ Job's coiAforter, you are !' •It is an impossibility that it could have been a ;; 'Y'es, it is. Were it known to those about you, resident of the house,' dissented Herbert. 'Every ^ you would not for shame lie here, and indulge r#- one in it is above suspicion.' ' i'grets after an imprudent and silly girl.' , - .. ^- Lf i,„_„ Uoon >' Qclrp.1^ Henry flashed an angry glance at him from his 'Who do you fancy it might have been.'' asJreo .^ , ^, .rr i j r n . r ' . ,, , „, „„ if Ko toUJipH to ^ soft dark eye. 'Take care, my good fellow! I the sergeant, abruptly, almost as it he wished to^ . , ... i, . r j ,f . j n i ■ ri u . . f „,, ;r,^o„f.nii= onawpr ' Can Stand .'■ome things; but I don't Stand al. ' surprise Herbert out of an incautious answer. , ,. . j » n • i i. . ^ . , , . . ^ II u- .,.= / 'An imprudent, silly girl, who does not care a But Herbert had nothing to tell him; no sus- , . ^ , ... „ , , „,.,,. x)ui,ociucit ■ ''^ b ..f'rush for you,' emphatically repeated William; nicion was on his mind to be surprised out ot. 'II ' i , .,, • j j «. .• picion wds uii Mia . ... .• , ■; 'whose wild and ill-judged affection is given to I could fancy it was, or might be, any particular, .u • r. .• ,-, 1 coiiiu irtut.j II. " , o , .,, /another. Was there ever infatuation like unto individual, I should come to you and say so, with- ;. ^^^^^ ^^ out askine.' he replied. 'I am as much at fault ', J ' , . r .u u oui asuiiig, iitpicp. , ,. L.^ 'Have a care, I tell you!' burst forth Henry, as vou can be. Anthony may have made slight ; . . • u* j *u .u- . j» as you odu uc. « I .•;,.. ,^ , ?. ; 'By what right do you say these things to mc?' enemies in the town, what wiih his debts and his; •' .. r j j r ■ . j .u * enemies iii m^ ' . ' ^„«>^;„c^ I say them for your good— and I intend that temner, and one th ng or other; but no enemies u ,j <• i *t ivk , i •/■ iciupcijciiiuw t, .,.,,. ,. , /you should feel them. When a surgeon's knife of that terrible nature — capable of killing him. ir , ... ... ° , . 01 xnaiieiriuic iiauu ^ o probes a wound, the patient groans and winces; wish I could see cause for a reasonable suspic- f^ . •. ■ j . u- f wisn 1 couiu .CO ^.xuo "^ but It 13 done to cure bim.' ion,' he added with emotion. 'I would give my \ . ^^^ ^^^ ^ ^^^ ^^ eloquence !' sarcastically re- right arm'-stretching it out-'to solve the mys-, .^.^^^ ^^^^^^ .p.^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^,^ ^^^^.^^ ^^ ^^^ tery. As well for my sake as for my dead bro-^' ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ the anticipated shine out of Frank !' ther's ' ' > . ., . T ■ \.t. A J' "Answer me one plain question, Henry. Do you 'Well, all I can say is, that I am right down, . u . a t s . u i vyeii,aiii j > ° still cast a hopc to Anna Lynn .'—to her bccom- upon my beam ends,' concluded the sergeant. ; .^^ ^^^^ ^.^^ ., Meanwhile Henry Ashley was getting little; i, • i «• it u* u- iYieanwmio ^^ J . . . . r « ' With a shriek of anger, Hepry caught up bit better He had fa en into a state of utter pros- ; * •. a • .J , v .u • .ot-i oeuer. no ua .,.■,..,, i,- ^ slipper, and sent it flying through the air at Wil- tration. Mental anguish had told upon ^im { ^.^^^ J^^^^^ K,^rli1v nhd his Dhvsical v/eakness was no doubt : bodily, ana nis p. jsi a v,im,plf 'What's that for." equably demanded William, creat; but he made no effort to rouse himseJl. ,......,.. ^ . .■ J- ^. u- „- i,oiroi««o,i nr. dodging his head out of the way. He would lie for hours, his eyes half-closed, no-; & » •' ticingnoone. The medical men said they had j 'How dare you hint at such a thing? I told seen nothing like it, and Mr. and Mrs. Ashley : you there were some things that I'd not stand. Is grew alarmed. The only one to remonstrate jit fit that one who h«B figured in eueb an mc** MJlft. HALLIBimTON'S TROTTBLES 79 ptide should be mad« the wife of an Ashley? If, CHAPTER XXIII. we were left by our two selves upon the earth, II 1 J 1 J i r •. i»-l »„f ^„»>„ « LOSS FOR POMERANIAN KNOLL. all else gone dead and out of it, la not marry v her. ' j Pomeranian Knoll had scarcely recovered its 'Precisely so. I have judged you rightly. ; equanimity after the shock of the departure of Then, under this state of things, what in the ; Herbert Dare for foreign parts, when it fwund it- name of fortune is the use of your lying here and | self about to be shorn of another inmate. Her- thinking of her?' I bert, what with one thing and another, had •I don't think of her,' fractiously returned ! brought a good deal of vexation upon the paler- Henry. 'You are always fancying things.' •You do think of it. 1 can see that you do. I should be above it,' quaintly continued William. . 'Go and pick up my slipper.' •Will you come down to tea this evening?' •No, 1 won't. You come here and preach up nal homo; Helstonleigh also had not been hold- ing him in any extensive favour since the trial; and that home was not sorry that he should ab- sent himself from it for a time. But it cetlaiDly did not bargain for his announcing his departure one night, and being off the next morning. this morality, or divinity, or whatever you may J A week or two after his departure, the Sig- please to term it, to me; but, wait and see how ;■ nora Varsini received a letter with a foreign post- you'd act, if you should ever gel struck on the | mark on it. The fact was nothing extraordinary keen shaft as I have been.' . jp itself; the signora did occasionally receive let- 'Come, let me help you up.' iters bearing foreign post-marks; but this one •Don't bother. I am not going to get up. , threw her into agitate of commotion, the like of I ; which had never been witnessed. Pushing Ih© At that moment, Mr. Ashley opened the door, letter into the deepest pocket of her dress when His errand likewise was to induce Henry to leave ^ it was delivered to her, she finished giving the his sofa and his room, and join them below. ;. mu^ic lesson to Minny, which she was occupied Henry could not be brought to comply. j upon, and then retired to her room to peruse it. 'No. I have just told William. I cannot think ; f,^^ this she emerged a short while alter, w ith why he did not go back and say so. Heonly stops / ^ jong fr^^e of consternation, uttering frantic here to worry me. There ! get along, William: .gj^^^^lgti^^^ jyj^g Dare was quite alarmed, and come back when you have swallowed enough ; vVhatever was the matter with mademoiselle ? **^- .' 'Ah, what mis^re! what desolation! what Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's arm, as ■ ^J.■^^^^g nouvelles ! The letter was from her aunt they walked together along the corridor, and ■ j,, pg^jg, who was thrown upon her deathbed; brought him to a halt. 'What is this illness of/ ^^^ she, mademoiselle, must hasten thither wiih- Henry's ? There is some secret connected with < ^^ jgiay. ]f ghe could not start by a train that lay, she must go by the first one on the next. She was dd'-olce to leave madame at a coup; her iieart would break in bidding adieu to the young ladies; but necessity was stern. She must make her baggage forthwith, and would be obliged to it, I am sure, and you are cognizant of it. J must know what it is.' Mr. Ashley's tone was a decided one; his man- ner firm. William made na reply. •Tell me what it is, William.' •I cannot,' said William. 'Certainly not with- ; madam7for her salary out Henry's permission; and I do not think he ^ .. r^ . , ^, ■ .,.,,. < Mrs. Dare was taken — as the saying runs — in a will give it. If it were my secret, sir, instead of ^ ^ cu u j . j . . .u i •• ; heap. She had not cared to purt with mademoi- Helle 80 soon, although the retaining her entailed „,.,,,,, . ^ 'an additional expense, which they could ill af- The mind. I think the worst is over. Do not hit, I would tell it at your bidding.' •Is it on the mind or the body ?* tpeak to him about it, I pray you, sir.' 'William, is it anything that can be remedied ? By money? — by any means at command?' 'It can never be remedied,' replied William, earnestly. 'Were the whole world brought to bear its help upon it, it could do nothing. Time and his own good sense must effect the cure ford in their gradually increasing embarrass- ments and htraitening means; but thn cliitf point that puzzled lier was the pajing up of the salary. Between thirty and forty pounds were due. There appeared, however, to be no help for it, and 'she applied to .Mr. Dare. •You may as well ask me for my head as for Then 1 may as well not avk about it if I cannot ^^'^ •"°™ »° '^''y.' '^" that gentleman • n-ply. aid. You are fully in his confidence?' ^^'*"'""8 »>« '^^ '^"''"'''1 """^ '° ^'"^ l^"*";- ^" •Yes. And all that another c.n do. I am doing ^"'^- "Tell her tou will send it afUr h..r. if .he We have a battle daily. 1 want lo gel him out of 'i»"»^ 6°' thiaapathv.' Mrs. I;.irc "-hook her head. It would not be •Oh, that jou could!' •pirated Mr. A»bley. of Iha Uast um, the was sure. MidamoisalU 80 MRS. BALLIBURTOIf 'S TRCmBLfiS. yr&i not one to be put off in that way, or to depart^ possession of his arm, and pounced into Robert without her money. ^ Kast's, before Henry well knew where he was. How Mr. Dare managed it he perhaps hardly \ He sat down, apathetic and indifferent, after nod- knew himself; but he brought home the money al j'ding carelessly to the respectful salutation of the night, and the governess was paid in full. On ^ men. •! must give just ten minutes to them, as I the following morning tiiere was a ceremonious jam here,' observed William. 'You can goto learetaking, loud and suggestive on the part of f sleep the while.' mademoiselle. She saluted them all on both ^ The ten minutes lengthened into. twenty, and checks, including Mr. Dare, and promised to ;. Henry's attention was so far aroused that he: write every week, at least. A fly came to Iht ^ ;arae to the table in his impulsive way, and began door for her and her luggage, and George Dare ; lalking on his own account. When William was mounted the box to escort her to the station. ; ready to go, he was not; and he actually told the Mademoiselle politely invited him inside; but he ; nen that he would come round again. It was a had just lighted a cigar, and preferred to stop ; .;,reat point gained, where he was. J fcsmall beginnings, it has been remarked, make •1 say, mademoiselle,' cried he, after she was S ijreat endings. The humble, confined way in seated in the railway carriage, 'if you should ; .vhich the class had begun at Robert East's; the happen to come across Herbert, I wish you'd teli • >'ague ideas of William upon the subject; the him ' f Joubting ones of East and Crouch, were looked Mademoiselle interrupted with a burst of in , ,ack upon with a smile. For the little venture dignaiion. She come across Monsieur Herbert { ,ad swollen itself into a great undertaking — an What should bring her coming across /liw? Mon- j undertaking that was destined to effect a revolu- sieur George must be fou to think it. Monsieus ;; ^on throughout the whole of Honey Fair, and Heibert was not in Paris, was he.' She had un > night probably even extend to Helstonleigh itself, derstood he was in Holland. ;! , jje drawback now was want of room; numbers •Oh, well, it's ail on the other side of th- i ^,ere being kept away by it. Henry Ashley did Channel,' answered George, whose geographica ;; ^ again; and, finding that books of the right notions of the Continent wore not very definiit ^ ^juj ran. short, he, the day afler h'n second visit, •Perhaps you won't see him, though, mademoi < yryte off an order for a whole cargo, selle; so never mind.' ;; j^^ Ashley was in a stale of inward delight. Mademoiselle replied by telling him to tak. < vnything to rouse him.' 'You think it will buc- care of him.elf; for the whistle was sounding ^^^^i^at movement, do you, Henry." he care- George drew back, and watched the train oi ^ ^^. „tj^gj.ygjj^ | mademoiselle nodding her farewell to him trou < , , , , , ,, „,.,,. ° i 'It'ssafetosucceed, was the answer. William, . . ., .^ ri 1 i 1 • u ' /ilh his palaverinir, has gained the ear of th6 And that was the last that Helstonleigh saw (w "'""" f* t" f , « ,,• : ,. ^ , ,, .. .1 o V o lows. 1 don't believe there's William Halli-; Mrs. Dare's Italian governess, the bignoia Var m ,. k^ ^ ^a^a . . , . ,^ .^ . , < urton's equal in the whole world!' he added, sini. He stonlei^h might not have been any ti i I ^. ^ ,. c ■ i.- .■ »mi. ovisioi. o.g ^ , ^ ,^ •'„ ^ ;iih enthusiasm. 'Fancy his sacrificing his time] worse had it never seen the brst of her. iVir> < , , ,, l t:. . i, in r* ^""^ . , o such a thing, and for no benehl to himself ! It Dare, after her departure, suddenly remeiubert. < ° f r ■, , i/ih.„».h. ' . ., , , . , . . u 1 J \ V 111 bear a rich crop of fruit too. Jf 1 have the that mademoise le had once told her she had nc >.,,,. , , /. r ,„,;^ *"'*'■ ,. .., ,j .L ^ :ft—l'il give you along word for once — of ratio- ' ft sinele relative in the world. Who could lhl^ > ' 7, • <• r »rii • ,.,:ii ko ,^^,.^1 a single ician / I'lalion, this reform of vVilliam 8 will be more I aunt be. to whom she was hastening.' I ■ . r «» I aunt uc, lo "i " , . J xteusive than we now foresee.' And Henry Ashley.' As the weeks and th 5 . ^. , „ x- • .. I . u- ', One evenine. the way m which Honey r air months went on, Henry began to rouse himse <. "'"'' '-'"^"n'gi t"c "«j ^•' .. . • .• .1 ixr II u 11 ( jiiher liked to upend Us Sundays was under dis- from his prostration; his apathy. William Hall. ) * i"^' "»^" "h •'..,, J . r ♦ . II .1. . •. > ussjon; namely, the men m smoking; the women burton made no secret of It to Henry, that It wa j ua lu.i, ■ « , j, c ... , J . (I • <• • jialtern y and dirty; the children nghting and •uspecled he was sullering from some inwaro ,"*"•'"" J . * ' /.' ° f „ , L L 1- J .1 t u u jfuuarrcinir in the oirt outside. William Halli- rrief which he was concealing, and that he had 4"'»"^''"b •>■■■< '^ « i . . ,/• , . , .1 • » u ^4 A ui ( viuiton was askinec them in a hall-earnest, riall- bsen questioned on the point by Mr. Ashley < ^'""■"" "*' *»-'>^" 6 ' , -J »r-ir If u II I J iokinir manner, what particular benent they •You know,' said William, •! shall have no re- J '"*'"& i»ji..i<=i, y .. .,0 .j ,/.,,, I 1 e J found in It, that it should not be remedied? Could iiousce but to lell, uoiess you show yourself a '"'"'"'""''""'" ' . 1 • -, ,/• , . . /r .v.- I > ihev impi^rt its n easures to liimr 11 so— — •ensible man, and come out of this nonsense.' t ' J * 1^ It alarmed Henry: rather ihan have his seen- His voice suddenly faker«;d and stopped.; feeling* betrayed for the family bent fit, he coulu Standing just inside the door of the room, a| have died. In a grumbling and discontented so. 1 iuset spectator and listener of the proceedings, of mood, l^e got about again, and resumed his idl. j vas '1 hon.ss A.hley. 1 he men followed the bent occupations (such as they were) as usual. Om jf William's gaze, saw who was amongst tbem,| •vening William •nliced him out for a walk, held \ aud r»s» ia respectful silenM. MM. HALLlMRTON'a 14lOir»LlM^ 8.1 Mr. Ashley eeme forward, signing to William { 'William, it is a relief th*t 1 must hftV». Sineft to continue. But William's eloquence had j my suspicions, that ti.ere was a hecrel, were coiv died out, leaving only a heightened colour in iisj finned, I cannot tell you what improbable fan- place. In the presence of Mr. Ashley, whom he I cies and feari have noi run not in my bram. For loved and respected, he had grown timid as a i prostration so excessive to have overtaken him, child. ione would almost thiik he had been guilty of 'Do you know,' said Mr. Ashley, addressing S murder, or some other unaccountable crime, the men, 'it gives me greater pleasure to see you ; You must relkv* my m nd. which, in spite of my here, than it would do were I to hear that you ^ uncontrollable fancies, 1 do not doubt the truth had come into a fortune." j will do k will make no difference to any one; They smiled and shook their heads. 'Fortunes I it will only be an additional bond between myself didn't come to the like o' them.' |and you; and you, ray almost son.' 'Never mind,' replied Mr. Ashley; 'fortunes ,< William's duty rose before him, clear and dis- are not the best gifts in life.' ^tinct. But when he spoke, it was in a whisper. He stayed talking with them some little time, ^ 'He loved Anna Lynn.' quiet words of encouragement, and then with- ', Mr. Ashley walked «n without comment. Wil- drew, wishing them good luck. William de- / Mam resumed. parted with him; and as they passed through Ho-;; 'Had that unhappy affair not taken place, ney Fair, the women ran to their doors to gwze ; Henry's intention was to make her his wife, pro- after them. Mr. Ashley, slightly bent with hi^ /jded you could have been broujtht to consent advancing years, leaned upon William's arm, but ills whole days used to be spent, I believe, iri his face was fresh as ever, and his dark hair / Janning how he could best invent a chance ol showed no signs of age. William, erect, noble: ihtaining it.' his height greater than Mr. Ashley's, his fure- ' 'And now :' very sharply asked Mr Ashley, head broader, his deep grey eyes strangely earn- ■; 'Now the thing is at an end for ever. Henry's est and sincere; and a flitting smile playing on hi* f ^ood sense has come to his aid; I suppose I mav lips. He was listening to Mr Alhley's satisfac^ sny his pride -his self-esteem. Innocent of ac- tion at what he had witnessed. \ lual ill as Anna was in the affair, there was suf- •Hnw long d'lyou intend to sacrifice your eve- \ licient reflection cast upon her to prove to Henry nings to them ?' i that his hopeful visions could never he carried •It is no sacrifice, Mr. Ashley. I am glad to j .ut. That was Henry's secret, sir and 1 almost do it. I consider it one of the best uses to which / feared the blow would have killed him. But he my evenings could be put. I intend to enlisi i is overgetiing it' Uonry for good in the cause, if I can.' > Mr. Ashley drew a deep breath. 'William. I •You will be an ingenious persuader if you do,' J thank you. You have relieved me from a night- returned Mr. Ashley. 'I would give half I am j mare; and you may forget having given me ihe worth,' he abruptly added, 'to gee the boy take an I confidence if you like, for it will never be abused, interest in life.' i What are you going to do about space .'' he con- •It will be sure to come, sir. One of these days ] linued, in a different tone. I shall surprise him into reading a good play to | 'About space, sir?' the men. Something to laugli at. It will be a ' tfor those proi6,^6s of yours, at East's. Thry beginning ' J ^^^^ ^^ ^^ ,o 5^ tolerably confined for ii , there. ' •He is very much better,' observed Mr. Ashley. ; .y^, gnd that is not the worst.' said Wilnam. •The listless apathy is going.' ; .yj^.^ j,^ asking to join every day, and ir.ey can 'Oh, yes. He is all but cured.' j ^^^^ t,g ,3h^n in.. •What was it, William.-' | -/can't think how you manage to get so many William was taken by surprise. He did nf i — a'd to keep them.' ans>»er, and Mr Ashley repealed the question. 'I -uppose Ihe »h>-f secret is, that their int»T- 'It is his secret, sir; not mine.' ; -st enter* ml') it. We c nttiy^ to keej. iiimi i.p. 'You must confide it to me,' said Mr Ashley.* 'loo|;.h rnough, 'replied Wijliem. with a debAiioi; will) JiimselT wbal he augfu to do. , lau^. 'Setuti it wm T«ry stucb in X^9 Mti4i* 11 83 MRS. HALLIBTRTOW'S TROtJftLES. tion of the famed picture taken of the good Dr |'A srhool where I might become a junior auiat Primrose and .' is lauiily— useless — i went ariO of-S ant,' suggest' d Gar. '• 'r any family who would fi-red a rent (or ii — only a trifling sum. it i> tnie;^ iuk«- me lo reatl with Iheir scms? If 1 only teamed but if our fipfs but kept it from duii.p, one would ; my fo..d, it wi>uUl be >-o much the less weight thitik the builder might have bt-tti glad to let it, ;u|i peculiar to the family. •What did he say ?' \ So thai, altogcttier, Gar was in spirits, and did *He stood out for thirty pounds. But that's ;■ not by any means ^-ut on Eup« rfluous mourning for more than 1— than we can aliord' 5 a gent.eman who had died in the backwoods of •And who was going to tin.l the money? You:' j Canada, although he was bis mother's brother. VVill'am hesitated-, but did not see any way out ■, of the dilemma. > 'Well, sir, you know it is a sad pity for the ^ <•» good work to be slopped, through so insignificant) a triQe a.s want of room.' > •I think it IS,' replied Mr. Ashley. "You can ^ CHAPTER XXIV. hire it to-morrow, and move your forms and ta- •', hies and books into it as soon as you like. 1 will > Mils ashlet's offer. find the rent.' ', The words took William by surprise. <0h, Mr. \ '^*«^-' '^'^'^ M-*- Ashley, M have received an Ashley, do jou really mean i. ?' i ^^'^ «<" °'arrir.ge for you.' -D II „ -.5 I. I ,n „„ .1 r.,.,„..„,i ; A soiDcwhai abrupt announcement to make to 'Really mean It? It is little enough, compared / • f^ .,, , , J . . f „ 1X7 ii,„„, i a young lady, and Mr. Ashley spike in the gravest with what you are doing. A lew ye^rs, William, , j i? ." , r . . , ij I , I ; ,, ! tone. Ttiey were seated round the breahfast ta- and your name maybe gieai m Idelslonleign. ; ■' You are working on for it.' $ *»'''' ^^^'^ ^^ ^'^^ «'Otne.'s side, who was pour- William walked with Mr AsMey as far as his', ing o»l t^^« coHVe Mary looked surprised, rather house, and then turned back lo his own. He J a"'"^'^''' ^'^^ ^hat was the only emotion discerni- found sorrow there. Not having been home since ? ^^« '» *"='' countenance. dinner time, for he l,ad laken leaatMr Ashley s.j '^^ is fine to be you, Miss Mary!' struck in he was unconscious of some tidings wbich had \ "^'"-y' ^''^'-''^ ^"jbody could speak. 'Pray, .if, been brougt.t by the afternoon's. post. Jane sa. ^^'" '=* '*'« veniurer?' and grieved while she tohl him. Her brotl.e, '^^ assures me that his happiness is bound up Robert was dc»d. Ve,y rarel) indetd did sh. J •" his offer beini^ arc»-pted.' resumed Mr. Ashley. hear from the New World; Margaret appeared t. f' '"'^"''y ^^ ^^^^ •"^''-'e'^ '« »S*"''« me also that be too full of cares and dom^siic bustle to writ. \ ^^''y's ^''S. Of course all I can do is to lay th« often. She mi^hl not have vvriiten now, but t. ^ P'-"P"sal before her' tell of the deuih .d Robert. i '^^'^'-"^ '=* '' ^^^^ >'»" "« ^^^^''"^ ®f' Thoma.." .1 u I .-.., o e .,,oi;.v,oo ;„ o ,,; ;«.. , r; interposed Mrs. Ashley, unable until then to find 'I have lo-l inyseit sumeiimes in a vision ol ' '^ •' • D K . I ,. „•„. > ^^.A i.r... .„;fi. „'hertongue, and speaking with some acrimony, seeing Kobert home asiani, said Jane, with a) " ' *^ =* •' ..... I . .» ;'Ido not consider Mary old enough to be mar- sigh. 'And now he IS gone ! ' . r, , . . .. l J. , ,. , ,„,.„.• '^r^ed. How can you think of saying such thmes •He was not niairied, was he? asked William ^ u f u j» •No. Ifcrhenevet got on very well. Never ^ .Neither do I, mamma,' said Mary with a laugh. to be at his ease.' ^.j ^j^g ^y ^jj^j^g ^ere too well to leave it.' Gar came in noisily, and inferruptud them.> 'And while you are talking sentiment, my cu- The death of an uncle whom he had never seen, ; riosily is on the rack,' cried Henry. 'I have in- a 'd who hrfd liv«?d thousands of miles away, did ) quired the name of the bridegroom, and 1 should not appear lo Gar to be a matter calling for any ( like an answer.' especial amount of grief. Gar was in high spirits j « Would-be,' put in Mary, on his own account; for Gar was going to Cam- ■ .Mary, I am ashamed of you,' went on Henry, bridge. Not in all the pomp and grandeur of an \ .j blush for your ill-manners. Nice credit she unlimited purse, however, but as a humble sizar. '( joes to your bringing up, mamma ! When young Gar, not seeing his way particularly clear, had ; ladies of condition receive a celestial ofifer, they been wise enough to pluck up the courage and 5 behave with due propriety, hang their heads with apply for counsel to the he-id master of li.e col- i a blush, and subdue their speech to a whisper, lege school. He had lo.d him that he meant to ; And here's Mary — look at her — talking out loud, g« to college, and how he meant to go, and he and making merry over it. Once more, sir, who a^ked Mr. Keating if he could help hiin to a sit- ' is the adventurous' gentleman ? Is it good old Ufttion, where he might be useful between terms. 1 General Wells, our gouty neighbour opposite, afRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. SS who is lifted in and out of his chariot for his ' 'Did Cyril say how he meant to provide for daily airing? I have told Mary repeatedly that Mary, if he obtained her?' asked she, wiih an she was setting her cap for him.' amused look. 'It is not so advantageous a proposal in a finan- 'lie did not touch upon ways and means,' rc- cial point of riew,' observed Mr. Ashley, main-- plied Mr. Ashley. 'I concluae that he intended taining his impassibility. 'It proceeds from one \ I sfiould have the honour of keeping them both.' of my dependents at the manufactory.' ' Henry Ashley leaned back m his chair and Mary had the sugar-basin in her hand at the ^ laughed, moment, and a sudden tremor seemed to seize ■! 'If this is not the richest joke I have heard a her. She set it down, but so clumsily, that all ; long while, ('yril Dare, the kinsmHh of Her- the top lumps fell off. Her face had turned to a , bert, the beautiful. C!on-found his im-pu-dence !' glowing crimson. Mr. Ashley noticed it. \ 'Then you decline the honour of the alliance, Mrs Ashley only noticed the sugar. JMary.^' said Mr. Ashley. 'What am I lo te'l 'Mary, how came you lo do that ? Very care- '; him ?' less, my dear.' ' ( 'What you please, papa. Tell him, if you likf, Mary set herself meekly to pick up the lumps, Uhat I would rather have a chimneysweep. I the flush of crimson giving place to pallor. She i tcould, if it came to a choice between the two lifted her handkerchief to her face, and held it \ How very senseless of Cyril to ttiink of such a there, as if she had a cold. thing.' 'The honour comes from Cyril Dare,' said Mr. \ 'How very shrewd, I think, Mary— if he could Ashley. ; o"'y have got jou,' was the reply of Mr. Ash- •Cyril Dare!' | ley. •Cyril Dare!' | 'If!" SJUcily put in Mary. In different tones of scorn, but eachexpressing | Henry benioverihe taole to his sister. it most fully, the repeti.ion broke from Mrs. Ash- j q tt^il jou what Mary. Y..u go this mornins ley and Henry. Mary, on ibe contrary, recov- 1 and offer yourself ly our gouty friend, the gene"- ered her equanimity and her counltnancc. She ral. He will jump at it, and we'll get the banns hughed out, as if she were glad. | put up. We ca not, jou know, bu subjected to •What did yousdy tohim, papa.?' f such shocks as ihe-e on ^our accoun»; itisunrea- •I gave him my opinion only. That I thought sonable to expect us to be I a>si.re 30U it will he iiad mistaken my dauuhler, if he einertamed be the moM effectual plan lo 8«l Cyrih Dare, and hopes ihat she would lisieo to his suit. The ihose i.f his tribe, at rest. No, thank you, question rests with )ou, Mary.' ma'am,' turning to Mrs. Afhley— 'no more cof- 'Ob. papa, what nonsense! rests with me ! '^ce- This has been enough breakfast for me.' Why you know I would nevrr have Cyril Dare.'i 'Who is this.'' a>ked Mr. Ashley, as footsteps A smile crossed >lr. Ashley's face. He proba- ' wer«5 heard on the gravel walk, biy had kfio*n it. ■ Mrs. Ashley I. lied her eyes. •Cyni Dire!' repeated Mary, as if unable to 'it is William Mai iburton.' overcome her astonisnment 'He musl have 'William Hallinurlun !' echoed Henry. 'Ah turned silly. I would not have Cyril Dare if he if yon could have pul his heart and intellects into were worth his weight in gold ' Cyril's sKin, t.o>v, it niight 1 a ve done.' 'And he musl be worth a great dea' more than He spoke with ihai freedom of speech which bis weight in gold, .Mary, before I woulJ c.nseiit characterized him, and in vshich. from his infirm- loyournaving him,' quiet y rtjoioed Mr. Ash- ity , he had not been checked. No one made any lej-' reniaik in answer, and Wiiham eniert-d. He had •Hive him !' echoed Henry. 'If I feared there come tu ask some business qjesiion of Mr. Ash- wai a dangT of the daughter of all the Ashleys ley. so degrading herself, I shoul 1 bribe cook to make 'I will walk down with you,' snid Mr. Ashley, an arsenic c*ke. and cut the young lady u portion 'and see to it, then. Take a >cal, Wi.^iam.' myself, and stand by while she ate it.' u-n. would be half so foolish as Cyril Dare was, cried 'We have had a letter from Cambridp, this Mary, with spirit. Mrs. Ashley, relieved from any temporary fesr of losing Mary, was going on with her breakfast it CMBlort. morning. From Gsr.' •And how does Mr. Gar gat on >' atked Henry. •First rale. He takes a leaf out of Frank's book; detcmiotd toieeao difficulties, rnmk'w 34 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. letlers are always clieering. I really believe he j 'To be his wife.' cures no more (or I'eing a berviii.r.llian lie wou'd ; 'Oh!' The strange sound -was not a burst of lor wearing a hat ai Ctirisi church. All his wish \ indignation, or a groan of pain, it was a mixture is to gel on; he looks lo the future.' \ of both. William thrust his head out of the win- •But he does hi> dulj 4U the piesent,' quietly rc-| dow. marked Mr Ashley. | 'He actually asked the master for her yester- Wiliiam smiled. | day !' went on Henry. 'He said his heart, «r •It IS ihe oii'j way to insure the future, si"*-.! jiver, or some such part of him was bound up ia Frank and Gar have been learning ihal all their | her: as she was bound up in him. Fancy the livts.' I honour of her becoming Mrs. Cyril!' Mr. Ashley, telling William not to get the fid- j William did not turn his head; not aglimpse of gets, for lie was i ot ready yet, withdrew lo the! his face could be caught. 'Will she have him?' nxL room with his wile. They had some weight)! he asked, at length. (J.uiiiestic mailer to settle, touching a dinner party . ; The question uncommonly exasperated Henry. Henry linked his arm within William's, and drew I 'Yes, she will. There! Go and congratulate him to the window, throwing it open to the early spring sunshine. Mary remained at the break- fast table. 'What do you think Cyril Dare, the presuming,- has Imd the conscience to ask.*" began he. her: You are a fool, William.' The sound of his angry voice, not his words, penetrated to Mary's ears. She came forward. 'What is the matter, Henry?' 'So he ia a fool,' was Henry's answer. 'He •I know,' replied William. «I heard him say j wants to know if you are going to marry Cyril he should ask it yesterday.' ; Dare. I tell him yes. Nobody but an idiot •The deuce you did !' uttered Henry. 'And you | ^«"'';,*^^^^ ^'^'^^ '^•'. , , „ , ,., ^, , , J 3, ( William turned, his face full of an emotion did not knock him down ?' , ,, . ■ . , i- ,„ 1 V. J I \xr „ u „„,. k.,o;„ooo «f Uhat Henry had never seen there: a streak of 'Knock him down ! Was it any business ol ,.,,,. ., i scarlet on his cheeks, his earnest eyes strangely "" 'You might have done it as my friend, 1 think, j troubled. And Mary .'-her face seemed to have A slight correction of his impudence.' (borrowed the scanet, as she stood there, her ; head and eyelashes bent, •I do not see that it is your business either, ; ^^^^^ ^^^j^^ ^^^^^^ g^^^ ^^ ^„^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ returned William. Mt is Mr. Ashley's.' , ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^j^^,, ^^^^^^ 3,^^ ^^3„^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^. «0h, indeed ! Perhaps you would hke it car- | ^^^ j^j^^^j^ j^ contrition for having spoken so ricd outr' ■ openly of his sister's affairs? Not at all. Whist- •l have no right to say it shall not be ' | ,j ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^ renowned comic song of the •Thank you ."chafed Henry 'Mary, h^called ; ^^^^ ^^„^j .^^^^ SteamArm.' out to his sister, 'here's Halliburton recommend- ' ^^_ ^^^, .^ ^.^ ^^ iig that that business, we know of, shall be car- jj^ head. •! am ready, Wil- ried out.' William only laughed. He was accustomed to > Henry's exaggerations. i 'It is what Cyril has been expecting for years,' i said he. ; Henry gazed at him. I •What is — what are you talking of?' j •The being taken into partnership by Mr. Ash- '• ley.' •Is it that you are blundering over? Does he expect it?' continued Henry, after a pause. 'Cyril said yesterday, the firm would soon be Ashley and Dare.' William touched Mary's hand in silence by way of adieu, and halted as he passed Henry. •Shall you come roand to the men to-night?' 'No, I shan't,' retorted Henry. »I am upset for the day.' * He was half way down the path when he heard himself called to by Henry, still leaning from the window. He went back to him. •She said she'd rather have a chimney-sweep than Cyril Dare. Don't go and make a muff of yourself again.' William turned away without any answer. Mr. Ashley, who had waited, put his arm within bis, 'Did he, indeed ! He had better not count and they proceeded to the manufactory, upon it 80 as to disturb his digestion. That's pre- 'Have you heard this rumour, respecting Her- sumption enough, goodness knows; but it is a flea- bert Dare, that has teen wafted over from Ger- bite compared to the other. He has asked for many within the last day or two?' inquired Mr. Mary. It ia true as that we are standing Ashley, as they walked along, here ' 'Yes, sir,' replied William. William turned his questioning gaie on Henry. 'I wonder if it is true?' He did not understand , | William did not answer. William's prirate *Aitwd for ber for wbat i What to do?' j opiaion was, that it was true. It bad btea tol- MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 6S erablj well autheDficated, A rumour that need ■ shoald Beem so, Cyril did not know, Cyril's itar- not be very .specifically enlarged upon here. Hel- ing was occasioned by that fact; he had never stwnleigh never came to the bottom of it: never been promoted to the honour of thus walkit;g fa- knew for certain how much of it was true, and miliarly with Mr. Ashley. Jn fact, for the mas- how much false, and we cannot expect to be bet- ter, a reserved and proud man with all hi' good ter favoured than Helstonleigh, in the point of qualities, to link his arm within a dependent's, enlightenment. It was not a pleasant rumour, astonished Cyril considerably, and the late governess's name was umiccounta- When they entered, Cyril was at work in his biy mixed up in it. For one thing, it said that apron, standing at the counter in the master's Herbert Dire, finding commercial pursuits not room, steady and assiduous, as though he had congenial to his taste, had given them up, and been there for the last half hour. The master was roaming about Germany. Mademoiselle came in, but William remained in Mr. Lynn's also. It was a report that did not do credit to room. Herbert, or tend to reflect respectability on his 'Gobd morning, sir,' said Cyril, family; yet Mr. Ashley fu'ly believed that to that 'Good morning,' replied the master, report he owed the application of Cyril with re- He sat down to his desk and opened a letter gard to Mary, strange as it may appear at the that was lying on it. Presently he looked up. first glance, to say it. The application had as- 'Cyril!' tonished Mr. Ashley beyond everything. He 'Yes, sir. ' could only come to the conclusion that C^ t il must 'Step here. ' have entertained the hope for some time, but had Cyril approached the desk, feeling what a lady been induced to disclose it prematurely. So pre- mig^hi call nervous. The decisive moment was maturely — even allowing that other circumstances come: should he be provided for, for life; enjoy were favorable — that Mr. Ashley was tempted to a good position and the means of living as a gen- laugh. A man without means, without a home, tieman .' Or would his unlucky star prevail, and without any definite prospects, merely a work- consign him to -he did not quite foresee to what? man, a^ may be said, in his manufactory, upon a *I have spoken to Miss Ashley. She was ex- very small salary, it was ridiculous in the ex- cessively surprised at your application, and begs treme for him to offer marriage to Miss Ashley, to decline it in the most uneqiiiv<.ral manner. Mr Ashley, of upright conduct in the sight of Allow me to odd a recommendation from myself, day, was not one to wink at folly, any escapade ihat you bury in oblivion the fact of your having like that, now flying about Helstonleigh as at- made it.* tributable to Herbert, would not be an additional Cyril hesitated for a moment, and looked fool- recommendation in Cyril's favour. Had he hast- isli 'Why r' he asked. ened to speak 6f/bre it should reach Mr. Ashley's 'Why?' repeated Mr. Ashley. «I think jou ears.' Mr. Ashley Ihouglit so. An hour after could answer that query for yourself, and save Cyril had spoken, he heard the scandal; and it me the trouble. I do not wish to go too cloi-ely flashed over his mind that to that he was in- into facis and causes, past and prtscnt, unless you debtcd for the premature honour. Cyril would desire it. One thing you must be palpably aware have liked to S' cure his consent before anything of, Cyril, that such a proposition Irom you to my unpleasant transpired. danghier was entirely out of place. 1 should have rejected it point blank yesltrday; in fact, in the As Mr. Ashley came in view of the manufac- ,.,„„..:ea r.f ,» « »,„™„ it i i - •' .surprise of the moment, I nearly spoke out more tory.Cynl Dare observed him Cyril was loung- p,^i„,y ^^an jou would have l.ked, but that I ing in an indolent manner at the entrance door., ^f.^^^^t it i% well for you to have Mi»s Aobley'. exchanging greetings w ith the various passers-by. ^^^^-^^ „ ^^1, ^^ ^^ „^„ , He ought to have been inside at his business; but „,. , u. . f 1 ,.i .„ ,k n^^-.i o- e 1 'Why am 1 rejected, sir.' coDlinued CTril. oughts went for little with Cyril. Since Samuel •' •* '^^^^ \^jtit. Lynn's departure, Cyril had been living in clover; ^''- Ashley waved his hand with dignilj. 'Re- en j>y ing nearly as much idleness as be liked, turn to your employment, Cynl. It is q-jite suf- William assumed no authority over him. though ficient for you to know that you are rejected, full authority had been given to William over the without my going into motives and rcasoLs. Tbtj manufactory in general; and Cyril, save when he "^'B^^ "«*• ^ '*J' *»« palatable.' jusi happened to be under Mr. Ashley's eye, Cyril did not venture to preis it further. He passed his time agreeably. Cyril stared as the returned to the counter, and stood there, (utensi- master came in view, and then whisked in, his bIy going on wiih bis worU, and boiling over with spirits going down a little. To teo the matter ia.;e. The master sat some little time lurger, aod thus walking confidentially with William, seemed ilicn left the room. Soon after, Wiilmm c^b* ia to »sg\it uafATOurably to his luit; thou{h wbj it HU •y cau^bt Lfae emplojmeiit of Cjril. 6S MRS. HALLIBtRTON'S TROinSLBSl '' 'CyrH/ cried he, hastily advancing: to bim, 'you or opportunity, Cyril found himself whirled back- mu't not make up those tiloves. I told you yes- wards by a hand as powerful; and a Toice of terday not to touch them.' stern authority was demanding the meaning of A dangerous speech. Cyril was not unlike the scene. touchwood at that moment, liable to go ofiF into a flame at the -slightest contact. 'You told me! 'he burst forth. 'Do you think I am going to di. what you choose to tell me? Try it on for the future, ' that's all. You tell vie ." '■ *Tney are the very best gloves, and must be ; sorted with niceity,' returned William. 'Don't! you know that the sortiog of the last parcel was found fault with in London ? It vexed the mas- ter; and he desired me to do all the sorting my- self, until Mr. Lynn should be at home.' •I choose to sort,' returned Cyril. The hand, the voice, were those of the matter. CHAPTER XXY. THS EXPLOtlOK. What is the meaning of this, Cyril Dare." Had C>ril supposed that the master was so close at band, he had subdued his passion to something short of striking a blow. He flood •But you must not sort in the face of the mas- | against the counter, his brow lowering, his eye ter's orders; or, if you do, I must go over them again.' •That's right; praise up yourself!' foamed Cy- ril. "Of cou'se you are an efficient sorter, and I am a bad one.' •You might be as good a sorter as anybody, if j you chose K) give it proper time and attention. What a temper you are in this morning. What's the mailer.'' 'The matter is, that I have submitted to your rule long enough, but I'll do it no longer,' was the reply of Cyril, whose anger was gathering strength, and whose ill feeling towards William, down dt-ep in his heart from long ago, had had envy added to it of late. furious; Will^^m looked angry too. Mr. Ashley, calm and dignified, waited for an answer. None came. Cyril was too excited to speak. •Will you explain it.'' said the master, turning to William, 'fighting in my counting-house!' •I cannot, sir,' replied William, recovering his equanimity. 'I do not understand it. I did noth- ing to provoke him, that 1 am aware of It is true I said 1 must go over the gloves again that he bad made up.' 'What are those gloves, flung there.'' •I was showing them to him — that they were not fit for firsts.' 'Thfcy are fit for firsts!' retorted Cyril, break- ing his silence, 'i know I did not put a pair ia William made no reply. He carefully swept ) that was not.' the djzens that Cyril bad made up farther down | r^he master went and picked up the gloves him- the counter, that they might be in a stronger > geif. Taking them to the light, he turned them light. i about in his tiands. •What's that for ." cried Cyril. 'How dare you , .j g^ould put two of these pairs as sf con'^s, and meddle with my work.' They are done as well Jo^g ^j, thirds,' remarked he. 'You must have as you can do them, any day.' been asleep when }ou put this one among the •x\ow Where's the use of your going into this ! firsts,' he continued, indicating the latter pair, passion, C)ril •' What s it foi .' Do you suppose | and speaking to Cyril Dare. 'It has a ddW in I go over jour work again for pleasure, or to fii:d i it.' fault? i do it because the master has ordered) 'Of course you will uphold Halliburton, sir, me to make up every dozen that goes out; and if | whatever he may say. That has been the case R you do it fir.xt of all. it is sh«er waste of time. See here,' added William, holding two or three i pairs towards him, Hhese will not do for firsts.' Angry C^ril! He was quite beside hinwelfi with passion. It was not this triflmg matter in the daily business that would have excited him; ; but Mr. Ashley's rejection, his words altogether, bad turned Cyril's blood into gall; and this was made the outlet. He da« ^'^''^e me to give you my instruciioos ptr- be put upon a belter footing, one of us must | tonally upon the point, that there may be no n.is- II J understanding for the luiure. Wl,iticM-r diifc- •Then, as it has come to this explosion, I say ' *'""« he may see fit to give, jou w ill n-ceive ihem the same,' struck in William. Mt is high time /'""«' him, as you would from myself. 1 invest that things were put upon a better footing. Cy- ril, you have forced me to speak, and you rou^i take the. consequences Sir,* turning to the mas- ter, 'my authority over the men is ridiculed ii. their hearing. It ought not to be.' 'By whom .'' demanded the master. 'You can a-k that question of C}ril, sir.' The master did ask itof C^ril. 'Have you done this.'' •Possibly 1 have,' insolently returned Cyril. •You know you have,' rejoined William. 'Onlj liim with full and complete power. And fn all ; Miy absences from the maiiufaciory, whether ihey s may be of an hour's, a dnys or any longer du- ration, Mr Halliburton is its master.' They touched their hair, turned and went out ^:is far as the servinn-room, collecting thereto •' paused a moment, his lips quivering angrily, and j ^""^ ^*« ''"t Cyril put in the back-ground by then flung open the counting-house door. i t^is .' As ba and I found his son — you — had served mt faithfully, was upright in conduct and in heart- one, in short, whom i could thoroughly confidi ill « by, then he should have the preference ovti any other. So much I did say, Cyril, but no more.' 'And why won't you give me the preference, sir !' Mr. Ashley looked at him, apparently in sui prise that be couid ask the question. He bent his, head forward, and spoke in & ]ow tone, batooe full of meaning. •Upright in conduct and in heart, I said, Cyril. It was an insuperable condition.' Cyril's gaze fell before Mr. Ashley's. His con- science may have been pricking him, and he had the grace to look ashamed of himself. There en- >ril is not qualified for it. And ' •I do not think he will Should he do so, the | 'Cyril declares he will never enter the place doors are closed to him. He has left of his own \ again, so Iohr as Halliburton is in it.' accord, and I shall not allow him to return.' ': 'Cyril never will enter it again,' quietly re- 'I am very sorry,' remarked William. 'It has < joined Mr. Ashley. 'Cyril and I have parted. I been partially my fault. ' 'Do not make yourself uneasy. I have loler- akd €<■ ril Dare here; have allowed him to remain on snfTer.ince; and that is the best that can be said of it.' •He may feel it as a blow.' 'As a jubilee, you mean. It will be nothine less to him. He has hated the manufactory witj. / will give you his wages for this week, now that vou are here; legally, though, he could not claim them.' Mr. Dare looked sad— gloomy. It was only 'vhat he had expected for some time past. 'You promised to do well by him, Mr. Ashley; to take him into partnership.' • You must surely remember that I promised no- all his heart from the moment he first entered it, : thing of the sort,' said Mr. Ashley. 'I have been and is now, if we could see him, kicking up hi.s > telling the same thing to Cynl. All I said-and heels with delight at the emancipation. Cyrii; a shrewd, business-man, as you are, could not Dare my partner!' i fail thoroughly to understand me,' he pointedly William continued his work, saying nothing. ;:added-'was, that I would choose Cyril in pre f- Mr. Ashley resumed. :;erence to others, provided he proved himself 'I must be casting my thoughts around for a fit' vvorthy of the preference. Circumstances appear substitute to succeed to the post of ambition Cj- : to have worked entirely against the carrying out ril coveted. Can you direct me to any quarter, ^ "^ the idea, Mr. Dare. William'' '' 'What circumstances?' Mr. Ashley was now standing at William'- ' Mr. Ashley did not immediately reply, and the side, looking at him as he went over the glove- ■ question was repeated in a hasty, almost an im- left by Cyril. He saw the red flush mount to hi- < 'crative tone. Then Mr. Ashley answered it. face. Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William'- j 'I do not wish to say a word that should uone- shoulder, and spoke in a low tone, full of em.. I es^arily hurt your feelings; but in a matter of tion. ^►lUMness I believe there is no resource but to •It may come, my boy; my almost son! And ; peak plainly. The unfortunate notoriety ac- when Thomas Ashley's head shall be low in th. J.juired. in one way or other, by your sons, has grave, the leading manufacturer of this city ma\ / -^ndered the name of Dare so conspicuous that, be William Halliburton.' J ere there no other reason, it could never be ai- A considerable rapping at the door with a thici ' • ciated with mine.' stick interrupted the master's word*. He lurne ^ 'Conspicuous ? How ?' interposed Mr. Dare, to behold Mr. Dare. It appeared that Cyril hs' / ly^P Ashley would not have believed the wordii by chance met his father in the street almost im I ^^^^ uttered as a question, but that the answer medialel) afi«^r goin^ out; he had voiunteend i i ^,^^ evidently waited for 'You atik k ^j^j «.surely 1 need not remind you. The »r«n- had come, as he said, to learn the riphts of it. ; jgi which, in more way* than one, attached to William left the roorn. He could not avoi ', .\nihony— though I am sorry to allude to him, remarking the bowed, broken down appearamrt ^^^p fellow, in any such way; the circumitancrj of the man Mr. Ashley related thcparticular^. ^^,^^^1^^^,,^ trial of Herbert; the ' and the listener was obliged to arknowledge tha' .. , »« r^ • Herbert was innocent,' interrupted Mr. Dare. •Innocent of the murder, no doubt; as innocent ts you or I. But people make free with his nsme m other ways; had often madi- free with it And in..k at this last report, wafted o»er lo ui from Germany, that is juttt now tstoiu-hmg the city '.' ■Haug bim for a aimpietoo!' burst forth Mr. Dare. 'It is til »o much diicrediton the nam*— on iU« Cyril had been lo blame — had bee#loo hasty. 'I confess it appears so,' he said. *He must have been led away by temper. But, Mr. At^ilei you ought to stretch a point, and make a conce* sion. We are kinsmen.' 'What concession.'' •Discharge William Halliburton. Things can never go on smoothly between him and ^yril. Stretch a point to oblige us, and send him away.' n 99 MAS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. family altogether,' concluded Mr. Ashley, as if ^advice. He repeated to-day, that you and Mm. his sentence had not been inlerrupled. so wild an idea?' 'I said the notoriety i^ivon by your sons to the i 'Perhaps you would like to call it a presump- uaine of Dare" would bar its association with Muous one.'' chafed Mr. Dare, mine. In §aying"your son?," I include.d Cyril J 'I do call it so,' returned Mr. Ashley. 'It can hlms-elf. He interposes the greatest barrier ol 'be regarded as nothing less; any impartial person all. Were the rest of them of good report iii 5 Aould tell you so. I put out of the discussion al- thc sight of day, Cyril is not.' j together the want of means on the part of Cyril; ^•What'.i the matter with him.'' asked Mr. f 1 speak of its suitability. That Cyril should have Dare. ', aspired to an alliance with Mary Ashley was pre- 'I do not care to tell you. A great deal of it ^ --umption in the highest degree. It has displeased you must know.' <; me very much, and Henry looks upon it in the 'Go on,' cried Anthony Dare, who was lean- j ''fjht of an insult.' ing forward in his chair, his chin resting on his i 'Who's Henry^' scornfully returned Mr. Dare. stick, like one who sets himself calmly to hear 'A dreamy hypochondriac ! Pray, is Cyril not as the whole. ^ well born as Mary Ashley .'' 'C3Til'8 private conduct is bad. He ' < 'Has be been as well reared.' Is he proving 'Foilies of youth only,' cried old Anthony. J that he has been .> A man's conduct is of far more 'He will outlive them.' j importance than his birth.' •Youth's follies sometimes end in "manhood's 'It would seem that you care little about birth, crimes,' was the reply. 'I am thankful that my jor rearing either, or jou would not exalt Halli- son is free from them.' ^burton to a level with yourself.' iir ir ».. „„j A.wK^i^,, rko..^ ««„„!,;,,«, 5 The master fixed his expressive eyes on An- • Your son !' returned Anthony Dare, coughing? '^ J down his slighting tone. 'Your son is one apart. ^ He has not the health to be knocking about. young men are worth anything, they are sure to ; be a bit wild.' A frown passed over the master's brow. 'You 1 are mistaken, Mr. Dare. Young men who are; ■ thonyDare. Halliburton's birth is, at any rate, T/.^)as good as your family's and mine. His father's mother and your wife's father were brother and ; sister.' Old Anthony looked taken by surprise. 'I don't know anything about it,' said he, somewhat . ,/.,,< roughly. 'I know a little of how he has been worth anythmg keep themselves from such folly. ;„.^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^.^ brothers.' Opinions have taken a turn. Society is becom- ^ .g^ ^^ ,^. ^^.^ j^^ j^ .j ^.^^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^ ing more sensible w.th the world s increased en- ,^ ^,^^ ^^^j^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ .^ ^^^ ^^^^ , lightenment; and ill conduct, although its pur- J .^j,^, ^^^ ^^^^ j,^^„ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ,, ^^. suer may be a fashionable young man, is begin- z , •„„. u » .u - . -i * .rru J ^ . , , /'Claimed old Anthony, in astonishment. 'They nine: to be cal ed by its right name. Wou d you'll „„„ „ . . ,„ ... ., mu u _ * ^ , J have not been bred as gentlemen. They have not believe 'that Cyril has, more than once, come here ) , „ j „„„„„u ,„ „„f , •' ' (■ tiad enough to eat. -I hesitate to say the word, it is so ugly a one- -p^e concluding sentence elicited an involun- drunk .^^ Drunk, Mr. Dare!' t^^^ j^^^t^ f^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ .^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^ want does not appear to have stinted their "^ ^^' ^ growth, or injured them in a physical point of 'Then he must have been a fool for his pains,' j ^j^^,. he rejoined, a touch of sarcasm in his was the angry retort of old Anthony. ^ ^^^^^ .^hey are fine grown men; and, Mr. Dare, •He is untruthful; he is idle; he is deceitful— ^ they are geni^emcn, whether they have been bred but I do not, I say, care to go into this. Were i as such or not. Gentlemen in looks, in manners, you cognizant of the application Cyril made to ^ and in mind and heart.' me yesterday, respecting my daughter.'' | «I don't care what they are,' again repeated old 'I don't know tif any application.' ^Anthony. 'I did not come here to talk about •He did me the honour to make her an ofier of ^^^'''"••^"' about Cyril. Your exalting Hallibur- mirria^e ' I '°" '"^° ^^^ general favour that ou^ht legiti- ,., , , . , /mutely to have been Cyril's, is a piece of irijus- Old Anthony hfted his head .harply, not J ^i,,, Cyrii says jou have this morning aimounced speakmg. The master continued: J publicly that Halliburton is the master, under •He said yesterday that he was acting by your ^ you. It is a flagrant injustice.' MRS. HALLIBURTON '3 TROUBLES. M *No man living lias ever had cause to tax me looked wonderinglj at mo in return, 1 casually with injustice,' impressively angwefed Thomas 'added that there was no cause to put Mr. Cyril to Ashley, '1 have been far more just to Cyril than an employment lie paiticularly disliked, while ho he deserves. Stay — "just" is a wrong word. I could call upon East to hilp him, or in case of have been far more lenient to him. Shall 1 tell J necessity, upon Mr. Halliburton. Never think you that I have kept him on here out of compas- ; again, Mr. Dare, that I have been unjust to sion, in the hope that the considerate way injyourson. If 1 have erred at all, it ha« been on which I treated him might be an inducement to jlhe side of kindness.' him to turn over a new leaf, and discard his ] Tj,erc was a long pause. Anthony Dare prob- faults.' I would not turn him away to be a town's / ^ly was feeling the kindness, in spite of him- talk. Down deep within the archives of my fg^jf^ ^ racmorv. mv own sole knowledge, I buried the > v j . i • e • % ■ iv/.j,uijr "" t> > 'What have you had to couiplam of in luni great fault of which he was guilty here. He was ,.^^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^J young— and I would not take from him his fair fame on the very threshold of his commercial 'Not of any more robberj— but of his general y, Sconduct a great deal. He is deceitful — he has ' 'Great fault ?' hesitated Mr. Dare, looking half appeared here in the stale I have hinted to you- -. , J he is incorrigibly idle. He probably fancies, be- , ' Thomas Ashley inclined his head, and lowered cause I do not take a very active part in the man- his voice to a deeper whisper. .agement of my business, and my work-people, . . , , , ,) that 1 sit here with my eyes shut, seeing little and 'When he robbed my desk of the cheque, 1, ., ru* j ti- J 1 . 'knowing less of what goes on around me. He is fancv Tour own suspicions of him were to the ; .• n • . i i » r n liiii^j juui u».ii ou ^ jessentially mistaken — I am cognizant of all — at full as much awakened as mine. / , , , o i t luii us luui-ii a.T, )much so, or nearly as much so, as Samuel Lynn There was no reply, unless a groan from An- i ^ould be, were he at his post sgain. Look at thuny Dare could be called such. His hands, Tj,J5 go^tjng of Ihe gloves, for in^ance— the very supporting his chin, reatcd on his stick still. Mr. jihing about which the disturbance occurred just Ashley resumed — jnow. Cyril can sort, if he pleases; he is as capa- 'I became convinced, though not in the first , ^je of sorting ihem properly as I should be— pcr- bJush of the affair, that the transgressor was no 'hgpg more so; but he does not do it: and every other than Cyril; and I deliberated what myjdozen he attempts to make up have to be done course should be. Natural impulse would have | over again. In point of fact, he has been ef no led me to turn him away, if not to prosecute. The - real use here; for nothing that he attempts to d«. latter would scarcely have been palatable towards i will he do well. A fit hand to fill the post of one of my wife's kindred. What was I to do j manager ! Taking ail these facts into considera- with him.' Turn him adrift without a character? | jjq„^. added the master, 'you will not be surprised and a character that would get him any other Jihai an offer of marriage from Cyril Dare to my situation of confidence, I could not give him. I; daughter, bears an appearance Jillle rcmovcfl resolved to keep him on. For his own sake \\[f^,m i„>uK.' would give him a chance of redeeming what he , g^ .^ ^^^ ^„ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ may have done in a moment's thoughtless tempta- , ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ ^.^ ^^^ ,^.^ . ^^ , j^ ^,^ tion. I spoke to him privately. I did not tell j^^^^ ^,. ^^j^ pr^pecis. him in so many words that I knew him to be / . i, . j s, u u r .u v e . . ,, . ,, ■ , . .„„j ,u„4 'What IS he to do now?' broke from the lips cf cuiltv; but he could not well misunderstand that;, . ^ *^ *■ . . 1 J I .^M n.« u- ) Anthony Dare, my suspicions were awakened. 1 told him nis / •' conduct had not been good— not such that I could ' 'Indeed 1 do not know; unless he changes hii approve; but that I was willing, for his own sake, j habits he will do no Rood at anything.' to bury the past in silence, and retain him, as a ( 'Won't you lake him back?' last chance. I very distinctly warned him what J .jy„. unequivocally pronounced Mr. Aihlc>. would be the consequences of the smallest repe- ; .He has left of his own accord, and he musl abide tition of his fault; that no consideration for my-; by it. Stay— hear me out. Were 1 to allow him self or for him would induce me to look over it ij^ return, he would not remain a week; lam a second time. Thus he stayed on — I giving an certain of it. That Cyril has been acting a ptrt eye to his conduct continually, and taking due -to beguile me of my favour with regard to lho»« precautions for the protection of my propcity, foolish hopes of bi», there is no doubl. The and keeping fast my keys James Meeking re- / hopes gone, he would not ke»p up c^en the scm- ceived my orders that Mr- Cyril should never be>hlarice of good conduct; neither would he tul'- called upon to help pay the mrii,or to helpcount > niil to the rule of William Hallibudon. It i« thf packet's of half-pence; and when the man 'bt?t as it !■; he it gonr, and ho canno! r»lnm. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. My opinion is, that were the offer of return made ; all. He procured literary employment: writing to him, he would reject it.' ; a leading article for one of the daily papers, and Mr. Dare's opinion was not far different, al-' csntributing to sundry reviews, though he had pleaded for the concession. ' Gar, too, bad quitted Cambridge with unusual 'Then you will not make him your partner?' credit, though he was not senior wrangler. No- he resumed. < body but Gar, perhaps, knew that he had aspired •Mr. Dare!' < to that proud distinction, so it did not signify A 'Isuppo-e you will take Halliburton?' < more solid scholar, or one with a higher character 'It is very probable. Whoever I take must be ; in the besi sense of the term, never left the Uni- a man of probity and honour; and a gentleman,' , versity lo be ordained by the Bishop of Helston- he added, with a stress upon the word. 'William • leign — or by any other prelate on the bench. He llailiburtoh is all that.' '■ had a choice of a title to orders. His uncle, the Anthony Dare rose with a groan. He couldl ReverenJ Francis Tail — who. like his father be- contend no longer. '^fore him, had, after many years' service, obtained 'iVIy sons have been my banc,' he uttered from > a living — had olfered Gar his title. Buta clergy- between his bloodless lips. 'I wonder, some-j man in the county of Helstonieigh had also offered times, whether they were born bad.' jhim one, and Gar, thanking his uncle, chose •No,' said Thomas Ashley. •The badness has \ Helstonleigh. come with their rearing.' William's dream of ambition was fulfilled; the dream which he had not indulged; for it had J seemed all too high and vague. He was Mr. Ash- < ley 's partner. The great firm in Helstonleigh was 'Ashley and Halliburton. ' Ashley and Halliburton ! And the event had CHAPTER XXVI. /been so gradually, so naturally led to, that Hel- ^stonleigh was not surprised when it was an- MR. FRANK •'CALLED." (Hounced. Of course William received as yet buta fsmall share of the profit?: how small or how Akd now there occurs another gap in the story | '''^' ^'7°' ,'^'^°^"- . "f i^^«"'-'Sh racked its -a gap of years; and we have entered on ^l^^':^-'^'y^o get ^t particulars, and racked it in third and last part. ' '^^^°' ^^^ assumed beyond doubt: that rriu «• 4. iij • r 41, Ti ii-i . : a portion of the profits was secured to Henrv in The patient well-doing of the Halhburtons was ', ./.«»... . , "'^" <•" iicmj m .. c -,• .1 • . 1 n the event of Mr. Ashley s death, approaching fruition, their struggles were well- , ,1,.,,. ■' . . 1 4U J . 1 .u • . ^ William was now virtually the sole roaster of nigh over, and they were ready to play their part, ^ "<.- ^uio uja»it.j oi for success or for failure, in the great drama of life. Jane's troubles were at an end. the business. Mr. Ashley had partially retired from the raanufaclory: at least, his visits to it ; were of occurrence so rare as almost to amount There was not space to trace the life of Frank > to retirement. Samuel Lynn was the manager, and Gar at the Universities, to record word by^asof old; William had assumed Mr. Ashley's word how they bore onward with unflinching.; place and desk in the counting-house-the master perseverance, looking to the goal in view. Great , Mr. Ashley had purchased an estate, called Deof- praise was due to them; and they won it from;! fam; and there he and hl.s family had gone to re- Ihose who knew what hard work was. Patiently ;; side. He retained his old house in the London and steadily had they laboured on, making them- j Road, and they would visit it occasionally, and selves into sound and brilliant scholars, resisting ; pass a week there. The change of abode did not the temptations that lead so many astray, and bear- j appear to give unqualified gratification to Henry ing the slights and mortifications incidental to; Ashley. He had become so attached to Wil- their subordinate position. 'I'll take it out, when '/ liam that he could not bear to be far away from I am Lord Chancellor of England,' Frank would ; him. In the old home William's visits had been say, in his cheejjng way. Of course Frank had;daily-or rather, nightly; in this he did not see always intended to go up for honours; and of; him so often. Mary Ashley was not married— to course Frank gained them. He went to Oxford jthe surprise of Helstonleigh; but Mary some- as a humble servitor, and he quitted it a man of ^ what obstinately refused to quit the paternal note. Francis Halliburton had obtained a dou-| home. William and his mother lived on to- ble-first, and gained his fellowship. ^gether in the old house. But they were alone He had entered himself a student of the Mid- j now; for he could afford to keep up its expenses, die Temple long before his college career was ;: and he had insisted upon doing so; insisted that over. The expenses of qualifying for the Bar | she who had worked so hard for them, should are high, and Frank's fellowship did not suffice fori have rest, now they could work for her. MRS. HALUBURTON'S TROUBLES. 33 Yes, they had all worked; worked on for the ; for it. Make a friend of God. Do that, and fight end and gained it. Looking back, Jane won- {your way on, doing your duty, and you will find dered how she had struggled on. It seemed now iihe goal— as the sons of Mrs. Halliburton did. next to an impossibility that she could have done Jane was sitting alone one afternoon in her it. Verily and truly she believed that God alone ^parlour. She was little changed None, looking had borne her up. Had it been a foreshadowing ' at her, could believe her old enough to be the of what was to come, when her father, years mother of those three great men, her sons. Not back, had warned her on the very day her mar- ^ that Gar was particularly great; he was but of riagc with Mr. Halliburton had been fixed, that the middle height. Jane wore a silk dress of it might bring many troubles upon her? Perhaps shaded stripes, light and dark green; and her hair so. One thing was certain: that it had brought looked as smooth and abundant as in the old days them, and in no common degree. Ikr. the trou- ; of her girlhood, [t was remarkable how littlo bles were surmounted now; and Jane's boys were her past troubles had told upon her good looks; turned out just as well as though she had had a howilittle she was ageing. thousand a year to bring them up upon. Perhaps g^e saw the postman come to the door, and better. : Dobbs brought in a letter. «It'.s Mr. Frank's writing,' grunted Dobbs. Perhaps better ! How full of force is the sug- : gestion ! I wonder if nobody will let this history ; •'^"« °P«"<^^ 't- «"^ '""""'^ ^^""^ ^'^^^ ^^^d been of the young Halliburtons read a lesson to them ? .'ca^'^^-' Half his care was over. Many a student, used worse by fortune and the ; iMt darling Mother— I am made into a bar- world than he thinks he deserves, might take it rister at last. I am; and I beg you will all re- to himself with profit. Do not let it be flung ceive the announcement with appropriate awe away as a fancy picture; endeavor to make it and deference. I was called to-day; and I in- your reality. A career, worked out as theirs tend to have a photograph taken of myself in my was, insures success as a necessity. «Ah !' you :%vig and gown, and send it down to you as a con- may think, 'I am poor; I can't hope to achieve : firmation of the fact. When you see the guy the such things.' Poor! What were they .' What's wig makes of me, you will say you never saw an that you say .= 'There are so many difficulties in ugly man before. Tell Dobbs so; it will gladden the way!' Quite true; there are difficulties in her heart; don't you remember how »he used to as- the way of attaining to most things worth having; gure us, when boys, that we ought to be put in a but they are only put there to be overcome. Like glass case, as three ultra specimens of ugli- Ihe hillocks and stumbling-blocks in thai dream ^ggg ? that came to Mr. Halliburton when he was dying, ,t .»,„ii „„. „ . ^ . .u t. l , , , , . , . L 'I shall get on now, dearest mother. It may be they are placed there to be subdued, not to be i:,,i,. .,., k;ii „.«,ir „, «„, k. . .u ' / •' ' , ■ , r • ■ II a lutle uphill work at first; but there s no fear. shunned in fear, or turned aside from in idleness. . f. , ^ , . „,. ', ..•./• 1 A nrst-rate law-firm have promised me some Wbatever may be your object m life, work on ; . . '^ , . ,. . ,. _ uu-.i.j I briefs; and one of these speedy days I shall in- for it. Be you the heir to a dukedom, or be your ; ...,.,,, , , , , ,,.,.-, 1- . evitably take the ears of some court by storm — heritajre but that of dai y toil, an object you .. • . i • . .. i .u . ■ '' "' . "^ . the jury struck into themselves with the learned must have: a man who has none IS the most mis-' „,,„._,,. ...,„„„j:„„ „i,.„. ,„.,„„ „^ ,u u counsels asiounamg eloquence, ana the bar erable being on the face of the earlh. Bear man- .,.,^, „„j ,v,«., .«.. r ...„_r- _ j ? j . •^ dumb — and then my fortune's made. I need not fully onward and get the prize. The toil may be ,„.,„„,.„,.,„.„,., , l n . • l ■^ t> r J igji yoy what circuit I shall patronize, or in how hard, but it will grow lighter as you advance; the ^^^^^^ ^ ^^^.^^ afterwards I intend to be leading impediments may be disheartening, but they are .^. ^^^ , ^j„ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^.^^^ .^ ,.^^^ not insurmountable; the privations may be pain- ^^j,^„ , ^^ ^^ ,^ ^^^ ^^^,j^ ^^^„ ^^ ^,^^^^^^ ^^^ ful, but you are working on to plenty; the temp- comfort of my dear mother. William is not going tationsto indolence, to flagging to that many- to do everything, and have you all to himself, headed monster, sin, may be pulling at you; but .^^,^j„g ^^^^^^ W^Uizm, ask him if he cannot they will not stir you from your path an inch, un- „.,„„.„„„ „v..„„« ii» .• ,i . t . ■' . , ■ .-T . I , get up some chance litigation, that I may have less YOU choose to let them. Only be resolute; ,._ . , ■ /• <■ . ■ , •' .1 J . . u , . tne honour of appearing for him next as»izc». only regard trustingly the end, and labour for it; j,„ j^ .^ ^„ ^^^^^ ,^ ^^^ ^^ and it will surely come. It may look in the dis- .j,^^^ ^^^ tancc so far off that the very hope of attaining it if . . • seems but a vain chimera. Nerer mind; bear hopefully on, and the distance will lessen palpa- Jane started up from her chtir at the newt, aU biy with every step. No real good was tvcr at- most like a glad child. Who could ^he g«l to tained in thii world, without working for it. No share it with her ? She ran into the next bo\i*p real good, as I honestly believe, was cTcr gained, to F'aliencp. Patience limped a little in ber walk unless God's blessing was with the cndearoun 1 still; she would limp always. A&aat io b«r sober 94 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. CHAPTER XXVn. GLIMPSB or A BLISSFUL DREAM. A rRETTiER-place than Deoffam Hall could not well be conceived. 'For its size,' carping people would add. Well, it was not so large as Wind- Quaker's cap, the border resting on her fair fore- head, looked up from her drawing, and Jane im- parted to them the news, and read the letter. 'That is nice,' said Patience. 'It must be a weight off thy mind.' 'I don't know that it ij that,' replied Jane. *I have never doubted his success. 1 don't doubt it | gor Castle; but it was no smaller than the bish. still. But I am very glad.' : op's palace at Ilelstonleigh— if it has been your 'I wish I had a cause to try,' cried Anna, who; good fortune to see that renowned edifice, had recovered all her old spirits and her love of/ Deoffam Hall was a white, moderate-sized, mod- chatter. 'I would let Frank plead it for me.' ^ ern-built villa, rising in the midst of grounds 'Will you come back with me, Anna, and take j charming to behold; grassy lawns smooth as vcl- tea?' said Jane. 'I shall be alone this evening.;; vet, winding rivulets, groves of trees affording William is gone over to Deoffam Hall.' , ^shelter on a summer's day. On the terrace be- •ril come,' replied Anna, beginning to put up ',. fore the windows a stately peacock was fond «f her pencils with alacrity. Truth to say, she was j spreading his plumes, and in the small park— it just as fond of going out and of taking off her cap , ^^^g ^ut a small one— the deer rubbed their ant- that her curls might fall, as she used to be. She ■; [g^s on th« fine old trees; the deer and the pea- had fully recovered caste in the opinion of Hel-jcock being the especial pets of Henry Ashley. stonleigh. In fact, when the reaction set in. Hel- ^ Deoflam itself was an insignificant village; a few stonleigh had beea rather demonstrative in its J: gentlemen's houses and a good many cottages expression of repentance for having taken so | comprising it. It was pleasantly and conve- harsh a view of the case. Nevertheless, it had ? niently situated; within a walk of Helstonltigh been a real lesson to Anna, and had rendered her [ for thogg ^^o likeel walking, or within a short more sober and cautious in conduct. | drive. But, desirable as it was as a residence, Dobbs was standing at the kitchen door as they | Henry Ashley was rather addicted to grumbling went in. 'Dobbs,' said Jane, in the gladness of j at it; he would wish himself baek in his old home, her heart, 'Mr. Frank is called.' . | Qne lovely morning in early summer, when 'Called?' responded Dobbs, staring with all her ; they were assembled together discussing plans for might. \ the day, he suddenly broke into one of his grumb - 'Yes. He was called yesterday !' j ling fitg. .you bought Deoffam for me, sir,' h© •Him called !' repeated Dobbs, evidently doubt- ( ^^^ beginning, 'but ' ing the fact. 'Then, ma'am, you'll excuse me, \ .j ^^^^^^ j^ f^^. ^y^^jf ^^^ ^^^^ mother.' in- but Pm not a-going to believe it. It's a deal more \ terposed Mr. Ashley. likely he's gone off t'other way, than that he's i .Qf ^^^^^^ g^^ ^^ descend to me afterwards called to grace. , — you know what I mean. I have made up my Anna nearly choked with laughter. Jane ) ^j^^^ .^j^^^^ ^j^^^ ^j^^^^ ^j^^jj ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^j ^^.^^.^ laughed so that she could not at once speak. ( ^^^^ ^^ ^j^^ ^jj^j^^^j^^ ^^j, j^ stuck out here, all 'Oh, Dobbs, I don't mean that sort of calling. , j^^ njygeif and the peacock, with you and the mo- He is called to the Bar. He has become a bar- ^ ther gone, I should I don't like to outrage rister.' , your feelings by saying what I might do.' 'Oh— that,' said Dobbs, ungraciously. 'Much; 'There's Mary, 'said Mrs. Ashley, good may it do him, ma'am !' ] «Mary ! I expect she'll be gone into fresh 'He wears a wig and gown now, Dobbs,' put j quarters by that time. She has only stopped here in Anna. 'He says his mother is to tell thee that ( go long out of politeness to me.' it makes an ugly guy of him, and so gladden thy | ^^^^ j.^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ , ^^.j^ ^^^ ^ g,^^ ^^ li®*rt.' ; her bright face. A lovely picture, she, in her •Ugh!' grunted Dobbs. ^ i delicate dress of summer muslin. .We will make hini put tnem on when he | .j ^eH evervbody she is devoted to me.' went comes down won't we ! Dobbs. i thee'd hke his ^^ .^-^.^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^.^^ , ^ nicture in them, he'll send it thee.' Lu . u V ■ . m ah j . . piciuic lu 1. . . , . r^ , . .r that handsome girl. Mary Ashley, does not get • He'd better keep it,' retorted Dobbs 'I never ^^^^.^^ ,„ cries Helstonleigh. Mary, my dear. I yet saw no good in young chaps having their pic- L^^^ ^ .^ ^ ^^ extensive as it turs took, Miss Anna. They be vam enough * without that. Called ! That would have been a new flight, that would, for hinv.' can be, so I don't fear to increase it. ''My sis- ter get married?" I say to them. "Not she! she has resolved to make a noble sacrifice of herself I for my sake, and lire at home with me, a Tegta| i' rirgin, and see to the pudding,' MRS. aALLIfiVRION'S TllOt?BL£8 9i The smile left Mary's face— the glow re- ; 'This rejection of cTerybody. You have had mained. •! do wish you would not talk nonsense, ; three good offers ' Henry! As if Helstonleigh troubled itself to ' 'Not counting the venture of Cyril Dare,' put make remarks upon me. It is not so rude as you ! in Henry. are.' ; 'And you -say "No" to all,' concluded Mrs. 'Just hark at her?' returned Henry. 'Helston- ■ Ashley. 'J fear you must be over-fastidious.' Icigh not trouble itself to make remarks ! When ; 'And she's growing info an old maid, and ' you know the town was up in arms when you re- j 'Be quiet, then, Henry. Can't jou leave me in fused Sir Harry Marr, and sent him packing. J peace." Such an honour had never fallen to its luck be- ! .^y jcar, it is true.' cried Henry, who was in fore- that one of its fair citizens, born and bred, - „„^ ^f ^^■^ j^^^i^^ ^^^^^ .qj. ^^^^^^ j ^^^^ ^^^ •houW get the chance of becoming a real live My ; ^epi count of your age since you were eighteen ^^' j — it wouldn't be polite to do so; but my private Mary was cutting a pencil at the moment, and j conviction is, that you are four-and-twenty this cut the point off. 'Papa,' cried she, turning her j .,.,., -,,m„„- . hot face to his, 'can't you make Henry talk \ sense ? — if he must talk at all 'If I were four-and-thirty,' answered Mary, 'I'd not marry Sir Harry Marr. I am not oblicrtd Mrs Ashley interposed. It was quite true that | to marry, I suppose, am I ?' Mary had had, as Henry phrased it, a chance of I: «My dear, nobody said you were,' said Henry, becoming a 'real live My Lady;' and there lurked j flinging arose at her, which he took from his in Mrs. Ashley's heart a shade of grievance, ol \ button-hole. 'But don't you see that this brings disappointment, that she should have refused the ;; ,ound my argument, that you have resolved to honour. She spokerathersharply, taking Henry's ; make yourself a noble sisterly sacrifice, and stop part, not Mary's. ^ at home with me. > Don't you take to cats yet, 'Henry is talking nothing but sense. My opin- \ though ?' ion is, that you behaved quite rudely to Sir j Mary thought she was getting the worst of it, Harry. It is an offer that you will not have again, ; ^^^ q^j„^j ^^^^ ^^^^ Soon afterwards Mrs. Mary. Still,' added Mrs. Ashley, modifying her ^ ^ghley was called out by a servant. tone a little, 'it is no business of Helstonieigh's; ^ ,r^.j • ^ r « -n. .i.- .,. , , , ,, , ij . J 'Did you get a note from vVilIiam this morning, neither do I see whence the town could have de- < . ., , . r t , , ( sir.'' asked Henry. ^ rived its knowledge.' ' ™* 'As if there could bo any news stirring, good i or bad, that Helstonleigh does not ferret its way | to!' returned Henry. 'My belief is, that Henry took and told,' re. torted Mary. 'Yes,' replied Mr. Ashley, taking it from his pocket. 'He mentions in it that there is a report current in the town that Herbert Dare is dead.' •Herbert Dare ! I wonder if it's true •' 'It is to hoped not. I fear he was not very fit '1! what next.'' cried Henry. 'As if I should „ ,. ,„ ^;„„ :„.„ Uoi=«„ni«:»K .r^ .h.ii ■' (10 die. 1 am going into rlelstonleign, and shall tell of the graceless doings of my sister! It is u ui u > '' ° . , , , , probably hear more, bad enough to lie under the weighty knowledge ' .r\i, i • . j • > r» . v ^ » J o 'Oh I are you going m to-day, sir.' Def^patch °°'^*®'^-' William back, will you ?' 'And as if I should ever consent to marry Sir \ ,^ ^^^.^ ^„^^^ ^^ Harry Marr!' returned Mary, with a touch of , ^^^^ ^^^^f^^^^^^ her brother's spirit. '.Mary,' said .Mr. Ashley, quietly, 'you seemed to slip out of that business, and of all question- ing over it, as smoothly as an eel. I never came to the bottom of it. What was your objection to Sir Harry." I 'Objection, papa.'' she faltered, with a crim- poned face. «I — I did not care for him.' 'Oh, that was it, was it-' returned Mr. A»h- ley. 'Is it always to go on so, my dear?' asked her mother. Poor Mary was in sad confus^ion, scarcely mowing whether to burst into anger or into :eart. 'What do you mean, mammn .' rcr "go They may be busy at If so, I am sure he will not leave it.' 'What a blessing if that manu factory were up in the clouds!' was Henry's rejoinder. 'When I want William particularly, it is sure to be— tlial manufactory!' 'It is well William does not think as you do,' remarked Mr. Ashley. 'Well, sir, he must certainly think Samuel Ljnn a nonentity, or he would not slick himself fo closely to business. You never applied your- self in such a way.' 'Yen, 1 did. But you mu<>t please to rrmem- lycr, Master Henry, that the case* are not on a parallel. I was head and chief of all, accounta- ble to ooRC. Had I choien to take a twrlve- Q)ODlI)'« holiday, tod'Ut the business (o, it would ^6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. have been tny own affair exclusively. Whether! 'He has got on as he deserved. He will be a the business went right, or whether it went ! worthy successor to you, sir: a second Thomas wrong, [ was accountable to none. William is (Ashley; a far better one than I should ever have not in that position.' [ been, had 1 possessed the rudest health. There's 'I know he is often in tlie position not to be had j only one thing more for William to gain, and then when he is wanted,' was Henry's reply, as he / 1 expect he will be at rest.' listlessly turned over stoic books that Jay on the 'What's that?' table. *0h, it's no concern of mine, sir. If folks can't 'Will you go into town with me.'' ; manage for themselves, they need not come to '1 could not stand it to-day. My hip is giving me twinges.' 'Is it? I had better bring back Parry.' lie to help them.' Mr. Ashley looked keenly at his son. passed to another topic. Henry 'No I won't have him, unless 1 find there's; 'Do send him here, sir, when you get in; or actual need. The mother knows what to do with ^else drive him back with you.' , me. I dont suppose it will come to anything; J 'I shall see,' said Mr. Ashley. 'Do you know and I have been so much better of late.' ; where your mother went to?' 'Yes, you have. Although you quarrel with! 'After some domestic catastrophe, I expect. Deiffam, it is the change to it — the air of the ;: Martha came, with a face as green as the pea- place — that has renewed your health, you un-' cock's tail, and beckoned her out. The best din- grateful boy !' / iier-service come to grief, perhaps.' Mr. Ashley's eyes were beat lovingly on j Mr. Ashley rang, and ordered the pony car- Henry's as he said it. Henry seized his father'.-- ^ iiage to be got ready: one bought chiefly for hands, his half-mocking tone exchanged for ont '• Henry, that he might drive into town. Before he of earnestness. j started, he came across Mary. She stood at one 'Not ungrateful, sir — far from it. I know the /of the corridor windows up stairs, and had evi- value of my dear father: that a kinder or a bet- ^, dently been crying. ter one son could not possess I shall grumbk- J 'What is your grief, Mary r' on to c^y life's end. It is my amusement. Bi!t|; She turned to ttie sheltering arm open to her, the giumbluig is from my lips only: notlf-om m} /and tried to choke the tears down, which were fractious spirit, as it was in days gone by.' ^ agaiu rising. '1 wish you and mamma v^oujd not 'I have remarked that; remarked it with detpi ieep so angry at my refusing Sir Hairy Marr.' thankfulness. You have acquired a victory ovei that fractious spirit.' 'For which the chief thanks are due to Wi liam Halliburton. Sir, it is so. But for him, i is most probable I should have gone, a discui tented wretch, to the — let me be poetical for onc« — silent tomb: never seeking out either the ligl. or the love that may be found in this world.' Mr. Asnley glanced at his son. He saw tha he was contending with emotion, although he hai reassumed his bantering tone. 'Henry, what light — what lover' 'The light and the love, that a man may tali. into his own spirit. He — William — told mi years ago, that 1 might make even my life i. pleasant and a useful one; and measureless wa 'Who told you 1 was angry, Mar_y ':' 'Oh, papa, 1 fancied so mirs moining. Mamma s angry about it, and it pains me. it is as though ;0U wanted me gone.' 'My dear child! Gone! For our comfort I rjould wish you might never go, Mary. But for .our own, it may be different.' '1 do not wish to go,' she sobbed. '1 want to uay at home alwajs. It was not my fault, papa, I 1 could not like Sir Harry.' 'You should never, by my consent, marry any lie you did not like, Mary; not if it were the teaieet match in the three kingdoms. Why this .istress, my dear? Mamma's vexation will blow ver. She thought — as Henry tells us — to see jou converted into a "real live My Lady." "My ttc ridicule least upon him for it. But I have ^ laughter, Lady Marr!" It will blow over, found that he was right. When William cam. ; child.' to the house one night, a humble errand-boy, senl \ Mary cried in silence. 'And you will not let by Samuel Lynii with a note — do you reraembei !■ me be driven away, papa? You will keep me at it, sir.' — and offered to help me, dunce that 1 was, tiome, always?' with my Latin exercise— a helR I graciously con- ■ ..vjr. Ashley shook his head. 'Always is a long descended to accept— wc little thought what a , jay, Mary. Somebody may be coming, less dis- blci-sing had entered the dwelling.' tasteful ilian Sir Harry Marr, who will induce 'We little thought what a brave, honest, indom- ^ you to lea^e it.' itable spirit was enshrined in the humbh; trrand- ( 'No, never, papa!' cried she, somewhat more boy,' continued Mr. Ashley. j vehemently tha^i the case seemed to warrant. itim. MALLiBVUTOxNM TIlOOBLlkK. 91 'Should anybody be asking you for me, you can jinghabits ! Old Dare, too, unl«u I tm uilUktH, tell them "No," at once; do not trouble to bring ; is on his last legs.' the news to me.' > 'Js he ill .'' inquired Mr. Ashley. •»5ivi/body, Mary ." | *No; no worse than usual; but I nerer saw a •Yes, papa, no matter who. Do not drive me i man so broken. I alluded to the legs of his away from you.* j prosperity. Talk about reports, though,' and He stooped and kissed her. She stood at the > Captain Chambers suddenly wheeled round on window still, in a dreamy attitude, and watched the carriage drive off with Mr. Ashley Presently Henry passed. 'Has the master gone, do you know, Mary?' •Five minutes ago.' 'I hope and trust he'll send back William.' It was striking half-past two when Mr. Ashley entered the manufactory. Samuel Lynn was in his own room, sorting gloves; \Villiam was in the counting-house, seated at his desk. His, now William, 'there's one going the round of th« town to-day about you.' •What's that ?' asked William. 'Not that I am 1 dead , I suppose, or on my last legs ?' •Something better. That you art goin| to marry Sophy Glenn.' William looked all amazement, an unutad smile stealing over his lips. •Well, I never?' uttered he, ustog a phrase just formerly Mr. Ashley's; the very desk from wh.chM^*".'" ^"^^^ '" Helstonleigh. 'What has put , ( that in ihg^ irxarn'a \\om\ >' the cheque had disappeared; but William took a more active part in the general management than Mr. Ashley had ever done. He rose, shook bands wiih the master, and placed a chair for him. The 'master' still he was called; indeed, he actually was so; William, 'Mr. Halliburton.' that in the town's head .'' •You should best know that,' said Captain Chambers. 'Did jou not, for one thing, beau Vliss Sophy to a concert last ni^ht ? Come, Mas- ter William, guilty or not guilty .>' •Guilty of the beauing,' answered William. •! A short while given to business details, and ^^^'^^ «» the Glenns yesterday evening, and then Mr. Ashley referred to the report of Her- ^^^^^ ^^^^ starting for the concert; so I accom- bert Dare's death. Poor Herbert Dare had never panied them. I did give my arm to Sophy.' returned from abroad, and it was to be feared he | 'And whispered the sweet werds, ••Will you be had been getting lower and lower in the scale of J my charming wife ?' society. Under happier auspices, and with dif-j «No, that 1 did not,' said William. ^Afidldare- ferent rearing, Herbert might have made a hap- j say 1 shall never whisper them to*V^ Woman pier and a better man. Helstonleigh did not j born yet; if it will give Helstonleigh satisfaction know how he lived abroad, or why he stayed ( to know so much.' there. Possibly the free and easy continental life j .you might go farther and fare worse, than in had become necessary to him. Homburg, Baden- Baden, Wiesbaden, wherever there were gaming- tables, there might be found Herbert Dare. Thai he must find a living at them in some way, seemed pretty evident. It was a great pity. 'How did you hear that he was dead?' inquired Mr. Ashley. •From Richard Winthorne,' replied William. •I met him yesterday evening in Guild Street, and he told me a report had come over that Her- bert Dare had died of fever.' taking Sophy Glenn, I can tell you that. Master William,' returned Captain Chambers. •Re- member, she is the lucky one of the three sisters, and had the benignant godmother. Sophy Gleon counts five thousand pounds to her fortune.' When Captain Chambers took bis departure, Mr. Ashley looked at William. 'I have heard Henry joke you about the Glenn siirls— nic6 little girls they are, too. Is there any ihing in it, William ?' 'Sir! How can you ask such a thing?* 'I think, with Chambers, that a man might do As William spoke, a gentleman entered the room, and interrupted them— a Captain Cham- \ «'orse than marry Sophy Glenn.' bgfg, ! 'So do I, sir. Rut I shall not be the man.' •Have you heard that Herbert Dare's dead? I ' ^^^'l' ''^ink it is time you contemplated. one- was h,s first Rreetirg. 1 ^^^'^ °[ '^"^ •*"•*• Y"" '^'" •°°'' ''• ^'^J J"" •Is it certain ?' asked Mr. Ashley. of age.' ' Yei, sir, but I do not intend to marry.' •Why not?' asked Mr. Ash.'ey. 'Because — I fear my wikhes would lead me to Hoar too hi|ih. ThMt is, I — I— mean — ' He >.i*poke. It wore a n-nrng expression. Mr. Ashley 'Come, I will help you. Is it the charming-man- ; changed his tone. nered Dobbs ?' J, .-.ir ,,• ', * j -j ^v ** _ ( 'William, I cannot decide this matter, one way \ or the other. You must aik Mary to do that.' Amused, he look his hand from his face. 'Well, sir — no.' 'Sir!' 'It cannot be Charlotte East, because she is < married.' | 'If Mary chooses to favour you more than she William seemed as impervious as ever. The j does other suitors, I will not forbid her doing it. master suddenly laid his hand upon his shoulder. Only this very day she begged me, with tears, to and confronted him face to face. j keep all such troublesome customers away from 'Is it Mary Ashley?' jher; to refuse them of my own accord. But it The burning flush of scarlet that dyed his face, ! strikes me that you may as well get an answer even to the very roots of his hair, told Mr. Ash- 1 from herself.' ley the truth, far more effectually than words William, his whole soul in his eyes, was gazing eould have done. There ensued a pause. Mr. at Mr. Ashley, He could not tell whether he Ashley was the first to break it. | might believe; whethei he were awake or dream- •How long have you loved her?' I ing. 'For years — that has been the wild dream of | 'Did I deliver you a message from Henry?' my aspirations: one that I knew would never be I realized,' he answered, suffering his eyes to meet i for a moment Mr. Ashley's. j •Have you spoken to her of it?* \ 'No, sir,' was the abstracted response. 'He wants you to go ovtr to him. I said I would send you if you wfre not busy. He it not very well to-day.' MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLfiS. 9f •But — Mr. Ashloy — did you mean what you said ?' 'Should I have said it had I not meant it?' was the quiet answer. 'Have you a difficulty in be- lieving it?' The ingenuous light rose to William's eyes, as he raised them to his master's. •I have no money,' he whispered. 'I cannot settle a farthing upon her.' 'You have something better than money, Wil- liam—worth. And I can settle. Go and hear what Mary says. You will catch the half-past three o'clock coach, if you make haste.' William went out, believing still that he must be in a trance. His deeply buried dream of the long past years; was it about, indeed, to become reality ? But in the midst of it, he eould not help casting a thought to a less pleasing subject — the Dares. Herbert was young to die; he was, no doubt, un- prepared to die; and William sincerely hoped that the report would prove untrue. The Dares were going down sadly in the social scale; Cyril especially. He was just what Captain Cham- bers had called him — a scamp. After leaving Mr. Ashley's, he had entered iiis falhcr's office; as a temporary thing, it was said; but he had never quitted it for anything else. A great deal of his time was passed in public-houses. George, Svhose commission never came, had gone out, some two or three years ago, to the port of Syd- ney. His sister .Tulia and her husband had set- tled there, and they had found an opening for George. William walked on, thinking of the Dares' position and of his. CHAPTER XXVHL WATS AND MEANS. Whin William reached DeofTam Hall, he found Henry Ashley alone, lying in the drawing-room, the sofa near the open window. 'That's good !' cried he. 'Good of the master for scndmg you, and of you for coming ' 'You don't look well to-day,' observed Wil- liam. 'Your brow has the old lines of pain in it.' 'Thanks to my hip, which is giving me threat- ening twinges. What's this report about Dare ? Is it confirmed ." 'Not absolutely. It was Winthome told me Captain Chambers came into the manufactory, and spoke of it this afternoon.' 'I dare say it's true,' said Henry. •! wonder if Anna Lynn will put on weeds for bin ?' he sar- castically added. 'Quakers don't wear weeds.' 'Teach your grandmother,' returned Henry, lapsing into one of those free, popular phrases h« indulged in, and icas indulged in. 'How you star© at me ! Do you think I am not cured ? Ay; yean ago.' 'You'd have no objection to see Anna marry, 1 suppose." 'She's welcome to marry, for me. You may go and propose to her yourself, if you like. I'll be groomsman at the wedding.' 'Would the alliance give you pleasure?' Henry laughed. 'You'd deserve hanging in chains, if you did enter upon it; that's all.' 'I have had one wife assigned tome to-day,' re- marked William. 'Whom may she be?' 'Sophy Glenn.' 'Sophy Glenn?' 'Sophy Glenn. Chambers gravely assured no that Helstonleigh had settled the match. He, Chambers, considers that I may go farther and fare worse. Mr. Ashley said the same.' •But what do ynu say .'' cried Henry, rising up on his sofa, and speaking quite sharply. 'I? Oh, I shall consider of it.' At that moment Mary Ashley appeared on the terrace outride; a small basket and a pair of scis-. sons in her hand. Henry called to her. 'Are you going to cut more flowers?' '•■ •Yes. Mamma has sent the others away. She said ihey were fading.' Seeing William there, she nodded to him, her colour rising.' •I say, Mary — he has come here to bring some news,' went on Henry. What do you suppose it is." 'Mamma has told me. About Herbert Dare.' 'Not that. H^ is going to make himself into a respectable man, and marry Sophy Glenn. He came here to announce it. Don't cut too muoh of that syringa; its sweetness is overpowering ia a room.' Mary walked away. William felt excessively annoyed. 'You are more dangerous than a'child!' he exclaimed. 'What made ytiu say that?' And Henry, like a true child, fell back, laugh- ing aloud. 'I say, though, comrade, where are jouoffio?' he called after William, who wai Icavitig the room. 'To cut the flowers for your sister, of course.' But when William reached Mary Ashley, she had apparently Torgotlen her errand. Standing in a dark spot against the trunk of the acacia tree, her face was wh(,tc and still, and the basket lay on the ground. She picked it up, and would have hastened away, but William caught her hand and placed it within his arm, little leu agi- tated than ithe was. 100 MRS. HALLIBUR'V>N'S TKOUBLlfiSt 'Not to toll him that news,' he whispered. *I ( self silent and neutral. As he sat there raminat- did inc/Otd come here, hoping to solicit one to be I ing, he heard the distant sound of the pony car- my wife; but it was not Sophy Glenn. Mary, ridge; and, taking a short cut. met it in the park, you eanuot miital^e what my feelings have long Mr. Ashley handed the reins to his groom, got ^g^g r I out, and gave his arm to Henry. •But— papa?' she gasped, unable to control her 'How are you by this time?' emotion. 'Better, sir. Nothing much to brag of. ' He looked at her; he made her look at him. '1 thought William would have been with you. What strange, happy light was that in his earnest I Is he not come?' eyes, causing her heart to bound ? 'Mr. Ashley \ 'Yes, he is come. But I am second with him sent me to you,' he softly whispered. | to-day. Miss Mary's first.' Henry lay and waited till he was tired. No | 'Oh, indeed !' returned Mr. Ashley. William, no Mary; no flowers; no anything. Had i 'They are gone off" somewhere, under the pre- they both gone to sleep ? He arose; and,*taking j te^^ of cutting flowers. I don't think the flowers his stick, limped away to see after them. But he | were quite the object, though.' searched the flower garden in vain. He stole a glance at his father as he spoke. In the sheltered shrubbery, pacing it leisurely, But he gathered nothing. And he dashed at once as closo together as they could well be linked, I into the subject he had at heart, were they; a great deal too much occupied with \ 'Father, you will not stand in theit light! It each other to pay attention to anything else. The j wHl be a crushing blow to both, if you do. Let basket lay on the ground, empty of all, save the scissors. 'Well, you two are a nice lot for a summer's day!' began Henry, after his own fashion, and using his own astonished eyes. 'What of the flowers?* him have her! There's not a man in the world half as worthy.' But still Mr. Ashley made no rejoinder. Henry scarcely gave him time to make one. ♦I have seen it a long while. I have seen how Halliburton kept down his feelings, not being Mary would have flown, but William held her ; sure of the ground with you. I fear that to-day lightly, and led her up to her brother. He strove | they must have overmastered him; for he has cer- to speak jestingly; but his voice betrayed his j Mainly spoken out. Dear father, don't m:ike two .. > of the best spirits in the world miserable, by™ .TT V 11 -4 1, .,_ .•„4,v «« c!„„u„ ( withholding your consent!' •Henry, shall it be your sister, or Sophy! , • . «t a ui . - v •*! "^ o \ 'Henry,' said Mr. Ashley, turning to him with „ , , , .,,. ., ,. , ( a smile, 'do you fancy William Halliburton is •So! you have been settling it lor yourselves, » ■' "1 ... . .,, •^ , . , , 4 u • V, Tvi- . i one to have spoken out without my consent? have you! I would not be in your shoes. Miss , .u- u i a u j .r.-j • •» . , , , ^, * I iu J u It V, II J.. Henry s thin cheek flushed. •Did you give it Ashley, when the parental thunderbolts shall de- -^ , , . ....,, Z _, ^, . , ^ a ... » him? Have you already given it him ?' scend. Was thu what you flung the baronet over ■' •' " for? There never was any accounting for taste i 'I gave it him to-day. I drew from him the in this world, and there never will be. I ask j fact of his attachment to Mary; not telling him you where the flowers are, and I should like an I '" so many words that he should have her, but „„, , ' i leaving it for her to decide. answer. j " •I will cut them now,' said William. •Will ! •Then it will be; for I have seen where Miss you come?' he asked, holding out his arm to j Mary's love has been. How immeasurably you Henry. have rt lie ved me!' continued Henry. 'The last •No,' replied Henry, sitting down on the shrub- half hour I have been seeing nothing but perplex- bery bench, 'I must digest this shock first. You < ity and cross-grained guardians.' two will be enough to cut them, I dare say.' 'Have you ?' returned Mr. Ashley. 'Tou should They walked away towards the flower-garden. \ have brought a little common sense to bear apon But ere they had gone many steps he called out, i the subject, Henry.' and they turned. 'But my fear was, sir, that you would not •Mary! before you tie yourself up irrevocably, 'bring the common sense to bear,' freely spoke I hope you will reflect upon the ignominy of his , Henry. being nothing on earth but a manufacturer. A> •You do not quite understand me. Had I en-" pretty come down, that, for the Lady Marr who^tertained an insuperable objection to Mary's be- might hart been!' ^ coming his wife, do you suppose I should have He vrt* in one of his most ironical moods; a;; been so wanting in prudence and forethought as sure sign that his inward state was that of glow- ,'^ to have allowed opportunity for an attachment to ing satisfaction. This had been his hope for years; ripen? I have long believed that there was no °~liiaplai> it may bviaid; but be had kept faim-^man within the circle of my acquaiatance, or ASRS. HALUBURT«W'S TROHBLES, m without it, so deserving of Mary, except in for- tune; Iherefore I suffered him to come here, with my eyes open as to what might be the result. A Tery probable result, it has appeared to me. I would forgive any girl who fell in love with Wil- liam Halliburton.' •And what about ways and means.'' •William's share shall be increased, and Mary will not go to him dowerless. They must live in our house in Helstonleigh; and when we want to go there we must be their guests.' 'It will be the working out of my visions,' said Henry, in a low, deep tone. '1 have seen them in it in fancy; in that very house; and myself wiilj them, my home when 1 please. I think you hare been planning for me, as much as for them.' 'Not exactly, Henry. I have not planned. I have only let things take their course. It will be happier for you, my boy, than if she had gone from us to be Lady Marr.' •Oh ! if ever I felt inclined to smother a man, it was that Marr. I never, you know, brought myself to be decently civil to him. There's no answering for the vanity of maidens, anS I thought it just possible he might put William's nose out of joint. What will the mother say ?' 'The mother will be divided,' said Mr. Ashley, * smile crossing his face. 'She likes William; but she likes a title. We must allow her a day or two to get over it. I will go and give her the tidings now, if Mary has not.' •Mary is with her lovier,' returned Henry. •She can't have dragged herself away from him yet.' Mary, however, was not with her •lovier.' As Mr. Ashley crossed the hall, he me^er. She stopped in hesitation, and coloured viVldly. •Well, Mary, I soon sent you a candidate; though it was in defiance of your express orders. Did I do right ?' Mary burst into tears, and Mr. Ashley drew her face to him. 'May God bless your future and his, my child !' 'I am afraid to tell mamma,' she lobbed. 'I think she will be angry. I could not help liking him.' 'Why, that is the very excuse be made to me I Neither can I help liking him, Mary. I will tell mamma.' Mrs. Ashley received the tidings, not altogether with equanimity. As Mr. Ashley had surmised, she was divided between conOicting opinionn. She liked nn-i admired William; but the equally liked and admired a title and fortune. 'Such a position to relinquish — the union with Sir Harry !' •Had the married Sir Harry we should bare lott her,' taid Mr. Aibley. ,' •Lost her!' •To be sure we should. She would ^ve gone ; to her new home, twelve' miles on the other side '^Helstonleigh, amidst her new connections, and ; have been lost to us, save for a formal visit now and then. As it is, we shall keep her, at her old home.' 'Yes, there's a great deal to bo said on both sides,' acknowledged Mrs. Ashley. 'What does Henry say ?' 'That he thinks I have been planning to secure ; his happiness. Had Mary married away, we — ! when we quit this scene — must have left him to ; his lonely self; now, we shall leave him to them. ^Things are wisely ordered,' impressively added ; Mr. Ashley; 'in this, as in all else. Margaret, let '/ us accept them, and be grateful.' j Mrs. Ashley went to seek William. 'You will ; be a loving husband to her,' she said with agita- vtion. •You will take care of her and cherish ;her.>' ; •With the best endeavours of my whole life,' . he fervently answered, as he took Mrs. Ashley's ' hands in his. \ It was a happy group that evening. Henry <) lay on his sofa in complacent ease. Mary pulled down beside him, and William leaning over its 'back, while Mr. and Mrs. Ashley sat at a dis- ;tance, partially out of hearing. ( 'Have you heard what the master says." asked ; Henry. 'He thinks you have been getting up I your bargain out of complaisance to me. You are I aware, I hope, Mr. William, that whoever takes ' Mary must take me r' • •I am perfectly willing.' 'It is well you are! And — do you know where ] you are to live ':' i William shook his head. 'You can understand 'how all these future considerations have weighed ;me down,' he said, glancing at Mary. I 'You are to live at the house in Helstonleigh. It's to be converted into yours by some patent process. The master had an eye to this,! know, when he declined to take out any of the furni- ture, upon our removal here. The house is to be yours, and the run of it is to be mine; and I shall grtimble tiway to my heart's content at you both. What do you answer to that, Mr. William.' I don't ask her; she's nobody.' 'I can only answer that the more you run in it, the better pleased we shall be. And we can stand any extent of grumbling.' 'I am glad you can. You ought to by this time, for you have been pretty well seasoned to it. So, i in the fUslstonleigh house, remcmlier, my old I rooms are mine; and I iotend to be the plague of (your lirei. After a time— »ay it be a Iodj lot MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. time !— I suppose it will be ««Mr. Halliburton of) be decided when they met at William's wedding. Deoffam HalJ." ' Frank was getting on well; better than the ordi- 'What nonsense you talk, Henry!' \ nary run of aspirants; he had come through Hel- •Nonsense ' 1 shall make it over to you. Catch J stonleigh two or three limes on circuit, and had me sticking myself out here in solitary state to picked up odds and ends of briefs at it. the admiration of the peacock! What's the mat- j Meanwhile William took possession of Mr. ter with you now, you two? Oh, well, if you \ Ashley's old house and the wedding day ap- turn up jour noses at Deoffam. it shall never be \ proached. Besides her boys, Jane had another yours. I'll leave it to the eldest chickabiddy. | visitor for the time; her brother Francis, who And mark you, please! I shall have him named \ came down to marry them. Perhaps because the "Ashley." and stand his godfather; and he'll be ! Vicar of Deoffam had recently died. He might mine, and not yours. I shall do just as 1 like have come all the same, had that gouty old gen- -.1. .L u 1 1 1. :f tko.. ««iin« o apnvi^ anH tleman been still alive, with the whole lot. if they count a scoie, ana j , , ,, .,^ o. . i. spoil them as much as I choose.' . i All clear and cloudless rose the September sun •What h the matter there?' exclaimed Mrs. j o° Deoffam; never a brighter sun shone on a Ashley, perceiving a commotion on the sofa. i redding. It was a very quiet wedding; but few Mary succeeded in freeing herself, and went guests bemg mviUd to it. Mary, in her white ... J /. .Momn^o T think Hpnrv lace robes and her floating veil — flushed, timid, away with a red face. 'Mamma, 1 ininK Henry ; , . . , , . , • , . u • ♦ ^<-v,;„ «,;r,ri I Ho ia taikinir so lovely — stood with her bridesmaids; not more must be going out of his mind ! He is talking so J absurdly.' •Absurdly! Ham!' William laughed, rate Was what I sai(J absurd,^ Wil- 'tt was premature, at any lovely than one of those bridesmaids; for one was Anna Lynn. Anna Lynn! Yes; Anna Lynn. To the lasting scandal of Patience, Anna stood in the open church, dressed in bridesmaid's clothes. Mary, 'nenry stretched up his hands and laid hold of ^ho had not been permitted the same intimacy Williani's. 'It is true what Mary says-that I ^ith Anna since that marked and unhappy time, .u • ^„t ^f «.« ,v,;r,H sjr. T QTYi. with but vi'ho had loved her all along, had been al- must be going out of my mind, bo 1 am. wiin . , . , . . , * u u e r k , 1 lowed by Mrs. Ashley to choose her for one 01 her •' ^* I bridesmaids. The invitation was proffered, and But the report of Herbert Dare's death proved j Samuel Lynn did not see fit to decline it Fa- to be a false one. i tience was indignantly rebellious; Anna, wild with delight. Look at her, as she stands there! j flowing robes of white around her, not made af- ■ -<**■ ter the primitive fashion of her robes, but in the (fashion of the day; and her falling hair shades her carmine cheeks, and her blue eyes seek mod- estly the ground. A fair picture; and a danger- ous one to Henry Ashley, had those old feelings i of his remained in the ascendant. Cut he was CHAPTER XXIX. THE DREAM REALIZED. THEapproachingmarriageof William Hallibur- cured; as he told William; and he told it in ton gave rise to a dispute. A dispute of love, truth. though, not of bitterness. Frank and Gar con- A short while, and Anna would want brides- tended 'which should get their mother. William | maids on her own account; though that may be no longer wanted her; he was going to a home of j speaking metaphorically of a Quakeress. Anna's his own. Frank wished to lake larger chambers, j pretty face had pierced the heart of one of their where she would find accommodation; he urged S male body ; and he had asked for Anna in marriage, half a hundred reasons; his grievances with his ( A very desirable male, was he, in a social point of laundress, and his buttonless shirts. Gar, who | view: and female Helstonleigh turned up its nose was in priest's orders now. had remained in that | in envy at Anna's fortune. He was considerably same first curacy, at a hundred a year and the i older than Anna: a fine-looking man and a wealthy one. engaged in wholesale business. His name was Gurney; his residence, outside the city, was a handsome one, replete with every comfort; and he drove a carriage-and-pair. He had been for some time a visitor at Samuel Lynn's, and Anna had learned to like him. That his object in visiting there could only be Anna, everybody parsonage house to live in. He said he had been wanting his mother all along, and he could not do without her. Jane inclined to Gar. She said she had a no- tion that old ladies— how they would have re- belled at hearing her call herself old !— were out of place in a young barrister's chambers; and she | 01 place lu a ju""6 """•■^••>'* " '- - (-- ° _ ,. .-. , . had a further notion that chambers were but com- had been sure of, his position being so superior iMtlws quarters to liTe in. The question was to i to Samuel Lynn's. Everybody but Anna. Some- MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. lOB how, since that past escapade, Anna had not cast a thought to marrying, or to the probability of anybody's asking fier; and she did not suspect his intentions. If she had suspected them, she might have set herself against him; for there was a lit- tle spice of opposition in her, which she loved to indulge. However, before that suspicion came to her, she had grown to care for him too much to play tlie coquette. Strange to stay, there was something in his figure and in the outline if his face, whicfi put people in mind of Herbert Dare; but his'features and their expression were quite different. It was a most excellent match for Anna; there was no doubt of that; but it did not afford com- plete satisfaction to Patience. Patience felt a foreboding conviction that he would be a great deal more indulgent to Anna than she considered was wholesomely good for her; Patience had a misgiving that Anna would be putting off her caps as she chose, then, and would not be reprimanded for it. Not unlikely; could that future bride- groom, Charles Gurney, see Anna as she stands now I for a more charming picture never was seen. WUIiam, quiet and self-possessed received Mary from the hands of her father, who gave her away The Reverend Francis Tail read the service, and Gar, in his white canonicals, stood with him, after the new fashion 01 the day. They 'il soon be for having as many clergymen as bridesmaids! Jane's tears dropped on her pearl-grey damask dress; Frank made himself very busy amongst the bridesmaids; and Henry Ashley was in his most mocking mood. Thus they were made man and wife; and Mr. Tait's voice rose high and echoed down ihe aisles of the little old church at Deoffara, as he spoke the solemn injunction — •Those whom God hath joined together, let HOT MAN PUT ASl'NDER.' Helstonleigh's streets were lined that day, and Helstonleigh's windows were alive with heads. It was known that the bride and bridegroom would pass through the town, on the first stage of their bridal tour, whose ultimate destination was to be the Continent. The whole crowd of the Ashley workpeople had gathered outside the manufac- tory, neglecting their afternoon's work; a neglect which Samuel Lynn not only winked at, but par- ticipated in, for he stood with them. As the car- riage, which was Mr. Ashley's, came in sight, its four horses urged by the postilions to a sharp trot, one deafening cheer arose from the men. William laughed and noddt-d to them; but they did not get half a good view of the master's daughter beside him: nothing but a glimpse of a flushed cheek, and a piece of a white Teil. Slouchlof ,>t the eorn«r of a »treet, in a leedj coat, his eyes bloodshot, was Cyril Dare. Never did one look more of a mauvais sujet, than he, as he watched the chariot pass. The place, now occupied by William, might have been his; had he so willed it and worked for it. Not, perhaps, that of Mary's husband; he could not be sure of that, but as Mr. Ashley's partner. Abttercloud of disappointment, of repentance, crossed his face as he looked at them. They both saw him standing there; did Mary think what a prom ising husband he would have made her? Cyril flung a word after them; and it was not a blessing. Dobbs had also fluRg something after them, and in point of time and precedence this ought to have been mentionediirst. Patience, watching from her window, curious as everybody else, had seen Dobbs come out with something under her apron, and take up her station at the gate, where she waited patiently for just an hour and a quar- ter. As the carriage had come in view, Dobbs ; sheltered herself behind the shrubs, nothing to be ! seen of her above them, but her cap and eyes. ; The moment the carriage was pa^t, out flew I Dobbs te the middle of the road. Patience's im- ! pression being that she was going to hang on bo- hind. No such thing. Bringing forth from their I hiding-place a pair of shoes considerably the J worse for wear, the one possessing no sole, and ; the other no upper-leather. Dobbs dashed them i with force after the chariot, very much discom- [ posing the man-servant in the rear, whose head ] ihey struck. I 'Nothing like old shoes to bring *em luck,' ! grunted Dobbs to Patience, as she retired in j doors. 'I never knew good come of a wedding , that didn't get 'em.' © : '1 wish them luck, the luck of a safe arrival I home from those unpleasant foreign parts,' em- ' phatically remarked Patience, who had found her ; residence amongst the French nothing le»i than a ! species of terrestrial purgatory.' CHAPTER XXX. THE BISHOP • LETTER. A DAT or two after the wedding, a letter was delivered at Mrs. Halliburton's residence, ad- dressed to Gar. Its seal, a mitre, prepared Gar to find that it came from tha Bishop of Helston- leigh. Its contents proved to be a mandate, com- manding his atlcnddnre the following morning at the palace at nine o'clock. Gar turned nerrotu. Had be lallM under bis bishop's displeasure, and wai at>out to be repriuumded ' Mr. Tail ba4 104 MRS. HALLIBURTON •« TROBBLES. gone back lo London; Gar was to leave on the< 'That I am not. I put by all I can. It ii true following day, Saturday; Frank meant to stay on | that I don't live upon dry bread and potatoes six for a week or two. It was his vacation. | days in the week, as you know we have done; •That's Gar all over !' crie4 Frank, who had but I take care that my expenses are moderate. perched himself on a side table. 'Gar is sure to It is the keeping hare-brained follies at arm's go to the dark side of things; instead of the length that enables me lo save.' bright. If the Lord Chancellor sent for me, I 'And now, Frank, for another question. What should set it down that my fortune was about to made you send me that hundred-pound note .'' be made. His lordship's going to present you 'I shall send you another soon,' was all Frank's with a living, Gar.' s answer. 'The idea of my gaining a superfluity of ._,,,, J,, , 4 J #1 iT]iTu„* :„♦„„„„*' money, and sending none to my darling mother.' •That's good!' retorted Gar. •What interest s .„ V. , ,,,,,, u .. ^ • -.u •* T wL^u V u •, \ 'But mdeed I don't know what to do with it, have I with the bishop :' ' ^ r i r j ^ • -w . ,TT , 1 1 u > < Frank. I do not require it.' •He has known you long enough.' [ ^ 'As he has many others. If the bishop inter- ^ 'Then put it by to look at. As long as I have ested himself for all the clergymen who have ; brains to work with, I shall think of my mother, been educated at Helstonleigh college school, ht J Have you forgotten how she worked for us? I would have enough upon his hands. I expect it j wish you would come and live with me.' is to find fault with me for some unconscious of-j Jane entered into all the arguments why she fence-' Adeemed she should be better with Gar. Not the •Go it. Gar— you'll get no sleep to-night.' i least of them was, that she should still be near •Frank, I must say the note appears to be a / Helstonleigh. Of all her sons, Jane, perhaps un- peremptory one,' remarked Jane. < consciously to herself, most loved her eldest; and •Middling for that. It's short, if not sweet.' ; to go far away from him would have been another Whether Gar got any sleep or not, that night, > trouble, he did not say; but he started to keep the appoint-^ By-and-by they saw Gar coming back. And ment punctually. His mother and Frank re- ^ jjg jj^ ^qj JqqJj j^g jf |jg jjjjj ^gg^ receiving a rep- mained together, and Jane fell into a bit of quiets pjmand; quite the contrary. He came in nearly talk, over the breakfast table. ag impulsively as he used to do in his school-boy •Frank,' said she, 'I am often uneasy about | days. you.' < 'Frank, you were right ! The bishop is going to •About me !' cried Frank, in considerable won- 1 gjyg me a living. Mother, it is true.' derment. > «But about the living.'' cried impatient Frank, telling you the truth,' he added earnestly. 'Do/ «I am telling you, Frank. The bishop said he you think we could ever fall away, from such ^ ^ad v/atched us grow up — meaning jou, as well training as yours ? No. Look at what William ^ _and he felt pleased to tell me that he had never is; look at;. Gar; and for myself, though I don'i^seen anything but good in either of us. But I like to boast, I assure you, the Anti-ill-doing-§o- 1 „eed not repeat all that. He went on to ask me ciety — if you- have ever heard of that respected < whether 1 should be prepared to do my duty zeal- hody might hoist me on a pedestal at Exeter > ously in a living, were one given to me. I an- Hall, as their choice model. You don't like mj '^ swered that I hoped I should — and the short and ioking! Believe me, then, in all seriousness, | the long of it is, that I am going to be appointed that your sons will never fail you. We did not < to one.' battle on in our duty as boys, to forget it as men. ( 'Long live the bishop !' cried Frank. •Where's You taught us the bravest lesson that a mother | the living situated — in the moon." can teach, or a child learn, when you contrived j 'Ah, where indeed? Guess what living it is, to impress upon us the truth that God is our wit- ^ mother.' ness always, ever present.' | 'Gardear, how can I;' asked Jane. 'Is it a Jane's eyes filled with tears'; not of grief. She ( minor canonry ?' knew that Frank was speaking from his heart. They both laughed. It recalled Jane to her ab- ' And you are. getting on well?' sence of mind. The bishop Lad nothing to do 'What with stray briefs that come to me, and , with the bestowal of the minor canonr'es. Nei- my literary work, and the fellowship, I make six < ther could a minor canonry be called 'a living,' or seven" hundred a year already.' ^ i\ 'I hope you are not spending it all." •Mother, it is Deoliam.' •Deoffam! Oh, Gar!' MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. lo: 'Yes, it 13 Deoftam. You will not have to go^ far away from Helstonleigh, now.' 'I'll lay my court wig that Mr Ashley has had his fingers in the pie !' cried quick Frank. But, in point of fact, the gift had emanated CHAPTER XXXI. A DTtNO CONFEtSION. Meanwhile William Halliburton and his wife ^uL, ... ,,u.ui ui i<»i,i,, 1..0 5.1. ..» ..'had crossed the Channel. Amongst oihor letters from the pre ate himself. And a very good gut > .... r .1 u „ .u *^ , . ^ written to convey news of them home, was the it was-four hundred a year and the preU-est,)^^, j-^^. j^ ^^^ ^^_^^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^j^_ parsonage house within ten m.Ies. The br.ll.ant > ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ scholarship of the Halnburtons, attained to by J ^ )road a week or two. 'Hotel du Chape.ait Rouge, Dunkerquf, } September 94th. ^ My Ever Dear Mamma: •You have heard from William how it was that their own unflagging industry, the high character ■ they liad always borne, had not been lost upon ^ the Bishop of Helstonleigh. Gar's conduct as/ a clergyman had been exemplary; Gar's preach- > ing was of bo mean order; and the bishop deemed ■ that such a one as Gar ought not to be overlooked. ;«'e altered our intended route. I thought the The day has gone by for a bishop to know noth- ;««a-s'de so delightful that I was unwilling to ing of the younger clergy of his diocese, and hej '^ave .t, even for Paris and we determined to of Helstonleigh had got Gar Halliburton down J «•«"««'" «" ^''^ c"=»st' especially as I shall have in his preferment book. It is just possible that > "^^'•''' opportunities of seeing Paris with William, the announcement of his name in the local papers, < Boulogne was crowded and noisy, so we quitted as having helped lo marry his brother at DeoHam.; '^ '■°'' '««^ frequented towns, staying a day or two may have put that particular Jiving in the bish-|'" * P''*^®- ^« «'«"t »» Calais and to Grave- op's head. Certain it was, that a fciv hoursaft^r^ ''"^^5 also to Courbourg, and to Cassel-the two the bishop read it, he ordered his carriage, and \ '''"" »"* «" 'f^^ ^o^^^- T^^e view from Cassel- went to pay a visit at De.flam Hall. During \u> i ^''''^'^ ?«" "»"«' "^^^ confound with the Ca.sel of stay betook Mr. Ashley's arm» and dreiv him ; Germa-.y-is magnificent. We met some Eng- outon the terrace, very much as though he wished | '•^'^ P<^"P'« «" t''« ^"'"'"'^ "^ ^^^ '^'"' ''"'^ ^^^y to lake a neur view- of the peacock. i''^'^ "« t^'® English called it the Malvern of ,, , . ,. . I . .- ... ,. t . 1 France. I am not sure which affords the finest •I have been thinking, Mr. Ashley, of bestow- . /.,,,., m. ,1, . • u. ** ■" < view, Cassel or Malvern. They say that eighty towns or villages may be counted from ii; but I ing the living of DeoHam upon Edgar Hallibur ton. What should you say to itr' 'That I should almost feel it as a personal fa vour paid to myself,' was the reply of Mr. Ash ley. ; cannot say that we made out anything like so : many. We can see the sea in the far distance — as we can, on a clear day, catch a glittering glimpse fiH)m Malvern of the Bristol Channel. •Then it is done. 'said the bishop. 'He is young, > p^e view from some of the windows of the but I know a great many older who are less de-jgauvaee Hotel was so beautiful that I was never '^"''"g-' Jiired of looking at it. William says he shall 'Your lordship may rely upon it that there are f how me better views when he takes me to Lyons few men, young or old, who are so intrinsicallj '/ .tnd Annonay, but I scarcely ihink there can bo deserving as llie Ilalliburtons.* '', 'letler. At a short distance rises a monastery of •I know if,' said the bishop. 'They interested ; '"e order of La Trappe, where the monks never me as lado, and 1 have watched them ever since / ^P'^a'''» '^^^'^ ^^^ "memento mori" when they meet And ihal is how Gar became vicar of Deof- ; »-ach other. Some of the uses of the hotel were fsixn. '; i»rimilive; they gave us table-spoons in our cufl'ee 'You will be trying for a minor canonry, now, ' ""P* ''^'" breakfast. Gar, 1 suppose, living so convenient for it,' ob- ; 'f''"*'™ <^*«*«' ""^ came to Dunkerque, and are u i> J /^ . 1 1 • /■ , Hue des Capucins. It is a fine and verr clean old I- rai k. 'The Reverend Gar must look out for . ^ , , « „ „,. ^ , . J I ... ' fortified town, with a statue of Jean Bart in the a canonry; not a minor. And he won t sloi • there. When I am on the woolsack, in my plact ' '^''^'^'" °'^**"' P''"' ^'''" '''='" ^"'' '* *" *^""''^' in Ihe Lords. Gar may be opposite lo me. a'^"^ '^"^ ™"''** '' *'*''^ '" '*' ''" Wednesdays "itiritiial neer ' ' and Saturdays, as it is at Ht-lstonleigh. Such a 'jnnc 1-ughed. as did Frank. Who ^^^^U^o'>,At6%cf,x^f,ov^yUB^»\nri^^\^^iht^omtr^^^ though ? It ali lay iu Uie future. 14 *now-white caps quite shine in the «un. I cannot /tell you how much I like to look at these old ] Flemiab towns ! By moonlight, i^y look •xticWj 106 &ms. HALUBUKTOiX'S TJR-OUBLfiS. like the towns you are familiar with in the old j she answered. "The Belgian doctor said if I had pictures. Ttierc is a large basin here, and a Jong '■ a change it might do something for me, ar.d I came harbour and pier. One English lady, wlion^ we j here: it vvas the same to me where 1 went. But it met at t'lc table d'hote, said she had never been ; did me harm instead of good. I got worse directly to the c:i(i of the pier yet, and she had lived in i I came; and tlie doctor here said 1 must not move Dunk*!rqae four years. It \yas loo far for a walk, j away again, the travelling would injure me. What she said. The country round is fiat and poor, and j mattered it.' As good die here as elsewhere," the lower classes mostly speak Flemish. | That she had death written plainly in her face, •On Monday we went by barge to a place called | was evident; nevertheless, William essayed to Eergues, four miles off. It was market day there, say a word of hope to her: but she mteirupted and the barge was crowded wiih passengers from i him. "There's no recovery forme; I am sure to Dunkerque. A nice old town with a fine church. ; die; and the lime it's to be hoped, will not be They charged us only five sous for our passage. J lona: in coming, or my money will not hold out." But I must leave all these descriplioi.s until I get j She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone shocking to home, and come to v/hat 1 have chiefly to leil i hear: and before I could call up aay answer, she you. ; turned lo William. "You are the William Halli- 'There is a piece of enclosed ground here, called ; — I never could say the name — who was at Mr. the Pare. On the previous Saturday, which > Ashley's with Cyiii Dare. May I ask where you was the day we first arrived here, I and William havedescended in Dunberque?" "At IheChupeau were walking through it, and sat dawn on one off Rouge," replied William. "Then, if 1 should the benches facing the old tower. 1 was rather ' send there lo ask you to come and speak with tired, having been to the end of the pier — for its me, will you comer" she continued. "I have length did not friglhen us. Some one was seated '/ something that I should l*ke to tell you before I at the other end of the bench, but we did not take ) die." Williain informed her we should remain particular notice of her. Suddenly she turned ' a week; and we wished her good morning and to me, and spoke: "Have I not the honour of see- ', moved away into another walk. Soon aftt rwprds, ing Miss Ashley?" Mamma, you may imagine \ we saw a Si-,ter of Charity, one of those who go my surprise. H was that Italian governess of the Ubout nursing the sick, come up to her and lead Dares, Mademoiselle Varsini as they used to call ! her away. She could scarcely crawl, and halted her. William interposed: I don't think he liked J to take breath between every few steps. her speaking to me. I suppose he thought of that ■; «This, I have told you, was last Saturday. story about her, which came over from Germany j This evening, Wednesd.iy, just as we were rising He rose and took me on his arm to jhove away ] from table, a waiter came to William and called "Formerly Miss Ashley," he said to her: "now \ him out, saying he was wanted, it proved to be Mrs. Halliburton." But William's anger died i the Sister of Charity that we had seen in the away— if he had felt any— when he saw her face j park; she told William that Madame Varsini was I cannot describe to you how fearfully ill she j near death, and had sent her for him. So Wil- looked. Hereheeka were white, and drawn, and I liam went with her, and I have been writing this hollow; her eyes were sunk within a dark circle;! to you since his departure. It is now ten o'clock, and her lips were open and looked black. "Are .^^d he is not yet back. I shi.ll keep this open to you ill?." 1 a-ked her. "J am .so ill that a few days tell you what she wanted with him. I cannot will be the finish of me," she answered, "The > imagine. doctor gave me to the falling of the leaves, and | « Past eleven. William has come in. He thinks many are already strewing the grass: in less than she will not live over to-morrow. And I have a week's time,"from this, I shall be lower than | kept my letter open for nothing, for William will they are." "I.s Herbert Dare with you ?"inquired j not tell me. He says she has been .talking to William— but ho has said since that he spoke \ him about herself and the Dares; but that the in the moment's impulse; had he taken thought, ] tale is more fit for papa's ears than for jours or hp would not have put the question. "No, he is ■' mine. not with me," she answered, in a shrieking angry | «My sincerest love to papa and Henry. We are tone. "I know nothing of him; he is just a ; go glad Gar is to be at Deo.lam !— and believe vagabond on the face of the earth." "What is it \ me, my dear mamma, to be your ever-loving and that IS the matter with you ?"' William asked her. \ dutiltil child, "Th 'If 1 can aid you in any way I shall be happy When William went out with the sister, she s^^^d ready,' was William's answer, spoken sooth- conducted film to a small lodging in the Rue Na- 'ingb'- 'i think you are very ill.' tionale, a street not far from the hotel. The ac- ' ^"^'^^ doctor was hero this afternoon. "Ma commodation appeared to consist of a small ante- ;^'^^'''®»'' said he, "to-morrow will about end it. room and a bed-chamber. The Signora Varsini ^ ^"^ "^e too weak to last longer; the inside is was in the latter, dressed in a peignoir, and sit-<6one. ling in an arm-chair, supported by cushions. A ■ 'Did he speak to you in that way?— a medical washed-out, faded peignor, possibly the very one^^*'**' she had worn years ago, the night of the death oil 'He is aware that I know as much about my Anthony Dare. William was surprised; by the ^ own state as he does. He might not be so plain sister's account he had expected to find her in / with all his patients. Then I said to the sister: bed, almost in the last extremity. But hers was'! "Get me up and make the bed, fur 1 must see a a restless spirit She was evidently weaker, and; friend" — and I sent her for you. I told you t her breath seemed to come in gasps. William J wanted you to do me a little service. Will you sat down in a chair opposite to her; he could not; do it?' see very much of her face, for the small lamp on J '^f I can.' the table bad a green shade over it, which cast ^ Mt is not much. It is this,' she added, drawing its gloom on the room. The sister retired to the; fro™ underneath the peignoir a small packet, antcrroom and closed the door between with a sealed and stamped, looking like a thick letter, caution. 'Madame was n6t to talk much.' For}'^'" J^u undertake to put this surely in the post a few moments after the first greeting, she, «Mad- petraiort the almost impossibility of pointing ac- passion and natural emotion. llcusalion to any, seemed now accounted for; and 'Then what are you speaking of!' asked Wil-'^ a conviction that she was speaking the dreadful liara. 'It is an impossibility that Herbert could J truth fell upon him. Involuntarily he recoiled have killed his brother.' '; from her. 'He caused him to be killed.' ;: .He used me ill; yes, he used me ill, that William felt a nameless dread creeping over j kicked Herbert!' she continued in agitation, him. 'What do you mean?' he breathed. ,<(He told me stories; he was false to me; he Tsend that letter, which you have taken charge ^^ cocked at me ! He had made me care for him; of, to Herbert the bad; but he moves about from ', [ ^aied for him— ah, 1 not tell you how. And place to place, and it may never reach him. So \ ^^g^ ^^ turned round to langh at me. He had I want to tell you in substance whal is written in [ ^^^ amused himself— pour faire passer le temps! ' the letter, that you m^y repeat it to him when ; j^^^ ^^j^^ ^^^ ^-^^^ ^^ ^ ^j,^,^,^. ,,^^ ^^^^ ^^^ you come across him. He may be going back ^o y^^^ g,^^ ghastly, and she began to twitch liltc Helstonleigh some day; if he not die off first wiihf^^^g ^^^^ i9*go''ig '"to a convulsion. William his vagabond life. Was it not said there, once, < ^^^^ alarmed, and hastened to her support. He that he was dead?' •Only for a day or two. It was a false re^ port.' 'i could not help it, much as his spirit revolted from her. 'And when you see him — in case he has not^ 'Y a-t-il quelque chose qu'on peut donner h madame pour la soulager!' he called out hastily had that packet-you will tell him this that I am \ ^^ ^^^ ^j^^^^^ j„ ^^^ ^^^^^ now about to tell you.' | The woman glided in. 'Mais oui, monsieur- •What is its nature?' asked William. \ Madame s'agite, n'ebt-ce pas?' 'Will you promise to tel! him ?' \ 'Elite s'agite beaucoup.' 'Not until I first hear what it may be,' fear- j The sister poured some drops from a phial into lessly replied William. 'Intrust it to me, if you ' a wine-glass of water, and held it to those quiv- will, and 1 will keep it sacred: but I must use my • ering lips 'Si vous vous, agitez comme cela, own judgment as to imparting it to Herbert Dare. ) madame, c'est pour vous tuer, savez-vousr' cried It may be something that would be better left un- { she. said.' ! 'I fear so, too, added William in English to the 'I do not ask you to keep it sacred,' she re-|invalid, 'It would be better for me not to hear joined. 'You may tell it to the world, if you /this, than for you to put yourself into this state. please; you may tell it to your wife: you may; She grew calmer, and the sister quitted them. tell it to all Helstonleigh. But not until lam William resumed his seat as before; there ap- dead. Will you give that promise?' ; peared to be no help for it, and she continued •That I will readily give you.' i her tale.' •On your honour?' 'I not agitate myself again,' she said. 'I not William's truthful eyes smiled into hers. 'On ; tell you all the details, or what 1 suffered: a quoi my honour— if that shall better satisfy you. It' bon? Pain at morning, pain at mid -day, pain at was not necessary.' ) night; I think my heart turned dark, and it has She remained silent a few moments, and then \ never been right again ' ^ burst forth vehemently, 'When you see him, that \ 'Hush, Mademoiselle Varsini ! The sister will cochoDi that rautrien * hear you-' MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 109 •What matter ? She not speak English.' ^ 'I really cannot, for your sake, sit here, if you| put yourself into this slaie,' he rejoined. \ 'You must sit; you must listen ! You have ' promised io do it,' s^he answered. ; 'I will, if you will be rationally calm.' •I'll be Calm,' she rejoined, the check having J driven back the rising passion. 'The worst is'; told. Or rather, I do not tell you the worst — < that mauvais Herbert ! Do you wonder that my ! spirit v^as turned to revenger' Perceiving somewhat of her fierce and fiery na- ' ture, William did not wonder at it. •! do not: know what I am to understand yet, 'he whispered./ •Did i/OH^ — kill — Anthony?' ■ She leaned back on her pillow, clasping her! hands before her. 'Ah me! I did! Tell him' Eo,' she continued again passionately; tell him < that 1 killed Anthony — thinking it was him.' j 'It is a dreadful story !' shuddered William. '; 'I did not mean it to be so dreadful,' she an-/ swered, speaking quite equably. 'No, 1 did not;! and 1 am telling you as true as though it were my ; confession before receiving the 6on dt£i<. I only, meaiit to wound him ' / •Herbert?' <. •Herbert! Of course; who else but Herbert?'^ she reloiied, giving token of another relapse., •Flad I Cause of anger against that pauvre An- thony? No, no. Anthony was sharp with the; rest sometimes, but he was always civil to me; i > never bad a luisword with him. I not like Cyril;' but I not dislibe George and Anthony. VVbyj^/ why,' she continued, wringing her hands, 'did Anthony come forth from his chamber that night and go out, when he said he had retired to it for; good? That is where all the evil arose.' 'Not all,' dissented William, in a low tone. 'Yes, all,' she sharply repeated. '1 had only meant to give Mr. [leiberC a little prick in the; dark, just to repay him, to stop his pleasmit visits to that field for a term. I never thought to kill him. I liked him better than that, ill as ne was behaving to me. I never thought to kill him; I never thought much to hurt him. And it would not have hurt Anthony, but that he was what you call tipsy, and fell on the point of the— —' '< •Scissors?' suggested William, for she had stopped. How could he, even with this confes- sion before him, speak to a lady — crone who ought to have been a lady— of any uglier weapon ?' 'I had something by me sharper than scissors. ISut never you mind what. That, so far, doe^ not matter. The little hurt I had intended fur Her- bert he escaped; and poor Anthony was killed. There was a long pause. William broke it, speaking out his thoughts impulsirely. •And yet you went to Rotterdam afterwards to make friends wiiti Herbert!' 'When he write and tell me there good teach- ing in the )fl. ice. could 1 know it was untrue? Could I know that he would borrow all my money from me? Could I know that he turn out a worse ' 'Mademoiselle, I pray you, be calm.' •There, then. I will say no more. 1 haveout« lived it. But I wish him to know that that fine night's work was liis. It was the right man who lay in prison for it. The letter I have given you may never reach him; and I ask you tell him, for his pill, should it not.' 'Then you have never hinted this to him?' asked William. 'Never. 1 was afraid. Will you tell him?' •] cannot make the promise. I must use my own discretion. I think it is very unlikely that I shall ever see him.' 'You meet people that you do not look for. Un- til la.-t Saturday, you might have said it was un- likely that you would meet me.' •That IS true.' Now that the excitement of the disclosure was over, she lay back in a grievous state of exhaus- tion. William rose to leave, and she held out herhand to him. Could he shun it— guilty asshe had confessed herself to him? No Whowashe, that he should set himself up to judge her ? And she was dying ! •Can nothing be done to alleviate your suffer- ings?' he inquired in a kindly tone. 'Nothing. The sooner death comes to release me from them, the better.' He lingered yet, hesitating. Then he bent closer to her, and spoke in a whisper. 'Have you thought much of that other life ? Of the necessity <>f repentance — of the seeking earn- estly the pardon of God ?' •That is your Protestant fashion/she answered with equanimity. 'I hove made my confeaeion to a priest, and he has given me absolution. A good, fat old man he was, very kind to me; he saw how I had been tossed and turned about in life. He will bring the 6on Jteit to me the last thing, and cause a mass to be said for my soul.' •I thought I had heard you were a Protestant.' •I was either. I said I was a Protestant to Madame Dare. But the Roman Catholic religion is the most convenient to take up when jou are passing. Your priests say they cannot pardon sins.' The interview occupied longer in acting than it has in telling, and William returned to the ho- tel to find Mary tired, wondering at his abKence, and a letter to Mrs. Ashley — which you havw been favoured with the sight of— lying on the ta- bic, awaiting its eoDclusioa. 119 - MRS. HLLAiBU ETON'S TROUBLES. •You are weary, my darling. You should not io a man's hand, two boys in surplices with have remained up.' lighted candles, and the singing priest with his 'I thought you were never coming, William 1 ] open book. Eight men, in while corded hats and thought you must have gone olT by ^he London ; black cloaks, bore the coffin on a bier, and there steamer, and left me here! The hotel omnibus i was a sprinkling ef impromptu followers— as took some passengers to it at ten o'clock.'' . \ there always is to these foreign funerals. As the William sat down on the sofa, and drew her to 'dead was borne past him on its way to the ceme- him; the full tide of thankfulness going up from ; tery, William, following the usage of the country, hisheartthatall women were not as tlie one he lifted his hat, and remained uncovered until it. had just left. jhadgoncby. 'And what did Mademoiselle Varsini want with ] And that was the last of Bianca Varsini. you, William? Is she really dying?' ; »I think she is djing. You must not ask mej what she wanted, Mary. It was to tell me some- / thing — to speak of things connected with herself;, ♦•♦ and the Dares. They would not be pleasant to i your ears.' ;; 'But 1 have been writing an account of all this/ CHAPTER XXXII to mamma, and have left her letter open, to send j word what the governess could have to say tOj;r ihe downfall of the d&hes. you. What can 1 tell her.' j , . .,..., 'Tell her as I tell you, my dearest: that whati ly ^^^ a winter s morning, and the family have been listening to is more fit for Mr. Ash- J Pfy round the breakfast table at Wilham Hal- , , .. /• _ v„„» » Miburton's looked a cheery one, wnh (heir ad- ley's ears than for yours or hers. • , r i c a J r »» j Mary rose and wrote rapidly the concluding J J^n^^ls of ^ good fire and good fare. Mr a^d lines. William stood and watched her. He i Mrs. Ashley and Henry were guests. And I can , , . ^, , , 'tell you that m Mr. Ashley they were entertain- laughed at the 'smear.' '• i ,k .u i,- u u •«• r .f . /■ i- „,;»!, «»^ r,oTir mmp vpt • I ing HO Icss a personagc than the high sheriff of 'I am not familiar with my new name yei, i> » ^ ^ => , M A ui )f t ; the county, was signing "Mary Ashley." mu ♦, • . j r u -o- *u . .T, ■ . w It .k« ^1-1 r.«,v.o ;f vnii ' The gentlemen nominated for sherins, that •Would you go back to the old name, if you ^ & <• u , . , • u u .. , ^ ., 'year,for the county of Helstonleigh, wh V n 1^ /had gone up to the Queen, were as follows : ' . J • *v, J... 4ho»«o,.o ^ Humphrey Coldicott,~ Esquire, of Coldicott Saturday came round again: the day they were ! ^ ^ > i » to leave— iust a week since they came, bince the / ... V iv* ti ^ r .v. r % •^ J , rriu ^ «„ir;r,n. .,r. Sir Harry Marr, Bart. , of the Lvnch J encounter in the park.. They were taking an \ ^^ v ■ r r» «• u n . . . 1 . u -.„,,„;„ i«.., Thomas Ashley, Esquire, of Deoffam Hall; early walk in the market, when certain low ,, • / V A . a, ■ i\x . r u . „ o,^,,^ir .,r.nn thpir Pirs And Her Majesty had been pleased to prick the sounds, as of chauntuig, struck upon ineir cars. j j «- »- A funeral was coming along; it had just turned ] '^"<''' "ame. . . . , ^v, ^F at v\r,i nt flip nthpp' Tne gate of the garden swung open, and some out of the great church of fet. Lloi, at Uie oiner , ... . .u i .u . .u i- u r>i Tw^f « ««<.iihv f.mpral- ofe came hastily round the gravel path to the corner of the Place. Not a wealthy lunerai— J . j * .u u j <..u quite the other thing. On the previous day they ^^'ou^e. Mary who was seated at the head of he had seen a grand interment, attended by its dis- jtable, facing the window, caught a view of the tinguishing marks; seven or eight banners, as jvisUor ^are " she exclaimed many priests. Some sudden feeling prompted | t is Mis. Dare, she exclaimed. ,,,,,• . 1 u <-„.«>.,»i ihi. wfjB nnrthp^ 'Mrs Dare !' repeated Mr. Ashley, as a peal at Wi ham to ask whose funeral this was, ana ne / ^ ^ ,, ^ ,, j , ^.^ ■" ..,/,, J u • • f„.K,.r^b..pnpr u'howaq stand- the hall-bell was heard. 'Nonsense, child !' made the inquiry of a shopkeeper, w no was siana-;: ..,.., ^, , / 'Papa, indeed it IS.' ing at her door. / , , . , . u • . i n» » j u *" . „ /. « ^ 'I think you must be mistaken, Mary,' said her 'Monsieur, c'estl'enterrementdune6trangere..j^^^^^^j ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ scarcely be abroad Une Italienne Ion dit: Madame Varsmi. '.^ ^^.^ ^^^^^ ^^^^, •Oh, William ! do they bury her already." was i .^^^ ^^^ disbelievers all !' laughed Mary. 'As the shocked remonstrance of Mary. 'It was only ^ .j. j ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ j)^^^ , gj^^ ^^^ loolfing yesterday at mid-day the sister came to you to say ? ^^^^^^ ^^^ flurried. ' she had died. What a shame!' ; Mrs. Dare, looking indeed scared and flurried, 'Hush, love! Many of the people here under- 1 g^jne into the breakfast parlour. The servant stand English. They bury quickly in these coun- ; haj been showing her into another room, but she tries.' ^put him aside, and appeared amidst them. They stood on the pavement, and the funeral i What brought her there.' What had she come came quickly on . On« black banner borne aloft | to tell them ? Alas ! of their unhappy downfall . MitS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. Ill How the Dares had contrived to go on so long, without the crrfsh coming, they alone knew. They had promised to pay here, they had promised to pay there; and pt-ople, tradespeople especially, did not much like to begin compulsory measures to old Anthony Dare, he who had lor so long swayed his sway in Helstonleigh. His profes- sional business had almost entirely left him — per- haps becituse (here was no etlicit-nt head to carry it on. Cyril was just what Mademoiselle had called [Herbert, a vagabond; and Cyril was an ir- retrievable one. No good to the business was he —not half as much good as he was to the public- houses. Mr. Dare, with wiiile hair, stooping form, and dim eyes, would go creeping to his of- fice most da)s; but his memory was leaving him. and it Mas evident to all that he was reiapsin. into his second childhood. Lalleily they had lived entirely by privately disponing of their portabii efiects — as Honey Fair used to do when ilfelloui of wuik. They owed moiiC) everywhere; rerit. taxes, servants' wages, large debts, small debts — it was universal. And now the landlord had pui ill his claim after the manner of landlords, and i had brought on the climax. They were lilerailx without resource; they knew not whtre to turn, they had not a peony piece, or the worth of it,ii the wide woild. Mrs. Dure, in the alarm occa sioricd Liy the unwelcome visitoi — for the land lord's man had made good his enlrimce that morn ing — came flying clT' to Mr. Ashley, some extrav agant hope floating in her mind that help might be obtained from him. 'Here's trouhle ! Here's trouble i' she ex claimed by way of salutation, wringing her hancl^ frantically. Tkey rose in consternation, believing she musi hnve gone wild. Willinm handed her a chair. 'Theie, don 'I come round me,' she cried, as shi Hung tierscif into il. 'Go on with your break- fast. 1 have concealed our troubles until I am heart-sick, and now they can be concealed no longer, and I have come for help to you. Don'i press anything upon me, Mrs. William Hallibur- ton; lo allempl to eat wculd choke me !' aho sat there and ciitsrcd on her grievances. How ihey had long been without money, had lived l«y credit, and l^y pledging things out ol their house; how they oAtd more than she could tell; how Ifiat a 'horrible man' had come into their hoUT that m<.Tiiin^, an emiisary of tlie landloid. 'Whii! ;tic- AC to do"* f-hc wailed. 'Will j('U help iisr .Mr. s morning in the Guildhall.' •In your oflicial capacity,' remarked Mrs. Dare, in not at all a pleasant tone of voice. '1 forgot that you preside at it. Hyw very grand you have iiecome!' 'Very grand, indeed. I think, ron'idtring the low estimation in which you held the glove mao- ufaclurtr, Thomaa Atbley,' be anf^crrd, witba U2 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROBBLES. good-huhioured laugh. 'I will call upon your^ husband in the course of the day, Mrs, Dare.' ) She turned to Williaca. / 'Will you return with me? I have a claim upon ' you,' she reiterated eagerly. ; He shook his head. I 'I accompany Mr. Ashley to the meeting.' .' She was obliged to be satisfied, turned abruptly, '■ and left the room, William attending her to the > door. • > •What d'ye call that r' asked Henry, lifting his / voice for tlie first time. < •Call it ?' repeated his sister. 'Yea, Mrs. , Mary, call it. Cheek, I should ;; say ' •Hush, Henry,' said Mr. Ashley. ', 'Very well, sir. It's cheek all the same,/ though.' I As Mr. Ashley surmised, the misfortune had; already got wind, and the unhapjiy Dares were, besieged in their huuse that day by clamorous ; creditors. When Mr. Ashley and William ar. ; rived there, fur they walked up at the conclusion | of the public meeting, they found Mr. Dare j seated alone in the duiing-ioom; that sad dining- j roam which had witnessed the tragical end ol | Anthony. He cowered over the fire, his thin | hands stretched out to the blaze. He was not al- 1 together childish — but his memory failed, and he | was apt to fdll into fits of wandenng.i Mr | Ashley drew forward a chair, and sat down by > him. ' I •1 fear things do not look very bright,' heob-< served. •We called in at your office as we came< by, and found a seizure was also put in there.' ' •There's nothing much for 'em to take but tl l \ desks,' returned old Anthony. j 'Mrs. Dare wished me to come and talk mat < ters over with you, to see whether anything couU \ be done. She does not understand them, sh. ] said.' i 'What can be done — when things come tosuci ' a pass as this?' returned Anthony Dare, lifting! > his head sharply. 'That's just like women — ^ "seeing what's to be done!" I am beset on al / sides. If the bank sent me a present of three oi l four thousand pounds, we might get on again J But it won't, you know. The things must go — I and we must go. I suppose thej'Jl put meiiw prison; they'll get nothing by doing it ' '/ He leaned forward and resltd his chin on hi-j stick, which was suelchtd out before him b> j usual. Prc^eiiliy he resumed, his eyes and word^ '/ alike wandering: 'He said the money would not bring us good i ^ we kept it. And it has not; it has brought o i curse. I have told Julia so twenty times since > Anthony went. Only the half of it wa« ours, you know, and we took the whole.' 'What money." asked Mr. Ashley, wondering what he was saying. 'Old Cooper's. We were at Birmingham when he died, I and Julia. The will left it all to her, but he charged us ' Mr. Dare suddenly stopped. His eye had fallen on William. In these fits of wandering he lost his memory partially, and mixed things and peo- ple together, in the most inextricable confu- sion. 'Are you Edgar Halliburton?' he went on. 'I am his son. Do you not remember me, Mr. Dare." 'Ay, ay. Your son-in-law,' ntfdding to Mr Ash- ley. 'But Cyril was to have had that place, you know. He was to have been your partner.' Mr. Ashley made no reply. It might not have been understood. And Mr. Dare resumed, con- founding William with his father. 'It was hers in the will, you know, Edgar, and- that's some excuse, for we had lo prove it. There was not time to alter the will, but he said it was an unjust one, and charged us to divide the money, half for us, half for you; to divide it to the last halfpenny. And we took it all. We did not mean to take it, or to cheat you, but somehow the money went; our expenses were great, and we had heavy debts, and when you came after- wards to Helsionleigh and died, your share was already broken into, and it was too late. Ill-got- ten money brings nothing but a curse, and that money brought it to us. Will you shake hands and forgive?' 'Heartily,* replied William, taking bis wasted hand. 'But you had to struggle, and the money would nave kept struggle from you. It was many thou- ands.' 'Who knows whether it would or not?' cheer- ily answered William. 'Had we possessed money to fail back upon, we might not have struggled with a will; we might not have put out all the exertion that was in us, and then we should never 'lave got on as we have done.' 'Ay; got on. You are looked up to now; you have become gentlemen. And what are my boys? ' The money was yours.' | 'Dismiss it entirely from your regret, Mr. ] Dare,' was the answer of William, given in true •ompassion. 'I believe that our not having had ii may have been a benefit to us in the long run, raiher than a detriment. The utter want of money may have been the secret of our suc- ■css ' 'Ay,' nodded old Dare. 'My boys should have been taught to work, and they were oaly taught; M»S. flALLlBCRTON'S TROffSLflS. 113 to spend. We must have our luxuriee in-doors, cannot get teaching, they may fltiil •«m0 other forsooih, and our show without; our servants and employment. Work of some hott.' our carriages, and our confounded pride. What "Work ! shrieked Mrs. Dare. 'My daughters has it ended in ?' j work !' What had it ! They made no answer. Mr. Dare i 'Indeed , I don't know what else is to he done, ' remained still for a while, and then lified his J he answered. 'Their education has been good, haggard face, and spoke in a whisper, a shrinking | and 1 should think they may obtain daily leacl.- diead in his face and tone. ) ing; perhaps sufficient to enable >ou to livu •They have been nothing but my cursei. It; quietly. 1 will pay for a lodging for you, an 1 was throng fi Hi-rbert that she, that wicked for- | give you a trifle towards housekeeping, until yoL; cign woman, murdered Anthony.' j can turn yourselves round.' Did hf! know of that ? How had the knowledge | 'I wish we were all dead !' was the response oi" come to him? William had not betrayed it, save; Mrs. Dare. to Mr. Asiil«y.aiid Henry. And ihcy had buried i Mr. Ashley went a little nearer to her. 'Wh.!! the dreaflful secret down deep in the archives ol ' is this story your husband has been telling abou. their breasts. Mr. Dare's next words disclosed ' the misappropriation of tiie money that Mr the puzzle. Cooper desired should be handed to Edgar Halli- •She died, that woman. And she wrote to Her- t>urton r' bert on her death-bed, and made a confession. 1 She clapped her hands upon her face with e He sent a part of it on here, lest, I siippi-se, we j low cry. 'Has he been bctrajing thai ? What might be for doubting him slill. But his conduct \ will become of us ? — what shall we do with him i led to it. It is dreadful to have tuch sons as j If ever a family was beaten down by fate, it Is mine !' ours.' His stick fell to the ground. Mr. Ashley laid!. Not by gratuitous fate, thought Mr. Ashley, bold of him, while William picked it up. He \ 'ts own misdoings have brought the fate upon it. •Where is Cynlf he a-ked aloud. 'He ought to bestir himself to help you, now.' •C^ril !' echoed Mrs Dare, a bitter bcowI ri«ing to her face. *IIe help us! You know what Cy- ril is.' As thry went out, they met Cyril. What a contrasl the two cousins presented side by side'. — he and Wiliiam might be call«.-d Huch. The was gasping for breath. •You arc not well,' cried Mr. Ashley. •No — I think I am going. One can't stand these repeated ^hocks. Did 1 see EJgar Hiilli- burton heie.' I thought he was dead. Ih he come for his money ?' he continued in a shivering whis- per. 'VVe acted accoiding to the will, sir; accord- ing to the will, tell him. He can >-ee it in Doc- tors' Commons. He can 'l proceed against u> — | one— fine, noble, intellectual; his countenance he has no proof— let him go and look at the j setiinii forth its own truth, candour, honour; mak- ^ill • iiig the best, in liis walk of life, of the lalfiitnen- •We had better leave him, William,' mur- 1 ''""•''*•'' l" ^''"> by God. The oiher— slouching, mured Mr. Ashley. Our presence onl> exciies | «1'''.V. all but ragged; his oflensive domgs fhown hjm ' too plainly in his bloated face, his red c^es, hit In the opposite room sat Mrs Dare. Adelaide unsavoury breath: leiling his talents and his days passed Kill of it as ihey entered. Never befor- | run to worse than waste; a burden to l.i-iiself ard had they remaihel how sadly worn and faded she ' i'» those around hint. .A'd Tcl, i'l Ihkir boyhood's looked Her later life had been spent in pining days. h' had karned to reflect itiat it mighl be possible j 'I ihiirk not, sir. Adam and Robert will be that one phase of a lost soul's punishment after j there, of course, but I can't well leave the baby.' .death, will lie in remembering the dutie? it ought ! 'Nonseuse, Charlotte!' exclaimed William, to have pei foroK d in life. Ttiey knew, without \ 'What harm will the baby take? Are you afraid any « ttort of r» flcrli*)n, that ii is a (cmembraiice > of ils running away .'' whicii makes the >ting of many a deathbed, f'or- j 'Ah, sir, you don't unda'stand babins yet.' merly. Honey Fair had believed (ihose who; 'That has to come,' laughed Mr. Ash ey. thought about it.) that their duties lu this world ! 'i understand enough of babies to pronounce and any duties whicn lay in preparing for the • that one a most exacting baby, if you can't leave next, were as wide apart were trusted not to do these things; and they took ■' the trust to themselves, and were proud of it./ CHAPTER XXXIIT, Believe me, you may train a chdd to do -this, if j you will. ' '/ As they passed the houHR of Charlotte Ea<:<, she, Okce more, in this, the nearly concluding was turning in at the gariJen g;iit; and, slundinj} , chapter of the history, are we obliged to take at tbe window, dandiins a baby, was Caroline < notice of assiiie Saturday. Oace meie h^d the ASSIZE TIME. Itlia. HALUBURTON'S TROUBLES. Ill high sherifTs procession gone out to receive the -;niust understand that they arc the workmen bo- judgts; and nevi-r had the cathedial bells run^r '/ l^igin^^ to my manufactory.' out more clearly, never had the streets and win-^ Bit his eyes were dim as he leaned forward dows been so crowded. :| and acknowledged the greeting. Such a shout A blast, shrill and loud, from the advancing ' followed upon it! The judges, used to shouting heralds, was borne on the air of the bright Match , «s they were, had rarely heard the like, so deep afternoon, as the cavalcade advanced up East ' aNdJieartlelt. Street The javelin-men rode next, two abreast, / 'There's genuine good ft-eling in that cheer,' in the plain dark Ashley livery, the points of thei; :|*'iiiiJ Sir William Leader. 'I like to hear it. It javelins glittering in the sutishine, harOly able to; '* more than lip deep.' advance tor the crowd. Little cared they to-day ! The dinner parly for the jui^ges that night wm for the proud trumpets, for the javelin-bearers, ', S'^t^n ^^t the deanery. Not a more honoured guest for the various attractions that made their delight ^ ''ad ft than the high sheriff. His chaplain was on other of these days; they cared but for thai ', ^'''ih him, and William and Frank were also •tately equipage in the rear. Not for its foui ,'S?"e&t3. What did the Dares think of the Halli- praiicirig horses, for its shining silver ornaments. ^ burtons now i * for list portly coachman on the hammer-cloth, not ) The Dares, just then, were too much occupied even for the very judges themselves; but for the )' with their own concerns to think of them at all. master of that carriage, the high gherifl", Thomas' They were planning how to get to Australia. Ashley. j Their daughter, Julia, more dutiful than soma He sat in it, its only plainly attired inmate. | '^""K^^'e- 8 might prove Ihcmsclvts, had offered an The soarlet robes, ihe flowing wigs of the judges, j ^''-^''""' '° '"-''" fi»t^'e«" and mother, if they would were opposite to him; beside him were tfie rich ; ^° °"^^ ^** '^3*^"*>'- ^^^^ sisters, she wrote word, black silk robes of his chaplain, the vicar ol i *^""'^ '•'"^ R^"*^ *'''^"'^'<^"3 ^h*^'"^ as governesses— Deolfam. A crowd of gentlemen on fiorseback j P''"^'*^'j' in time fii.d husbands, followed— a crowd that Hels^ionleigh had rarel) ;; They were wi!d to go. They wanted to get seen. William was one of them. Tne popular- J '^^^'^y ^^'^^ morliryins Ilelstonleigh, and to try ity or non-popularity of a high s-heiiff may be^ ^''^''" ^""^"'•'' '" ^ ""^ w"'"''^- The passage money judged of from the number of his attendants,! *"" ^''^ ^'^'"^""j'- Ju'ia had not sent it.po.ssibly wlieu he goes out to meet the judges. Half Hel- 1 "°^ supposing they were so very bad off; bhe did stoiileig'i had put itself on horseback that day, to i""''*'""^ >«^ of the last finish to their misfor- do honour to Thomas Ashley. ; '""cs- How could they scrape together even ,. •,-.... .enough for the cheapest class, the steerage .> Mr. Occupying a conspicuous position in the street'.. ,, , . ■ , ^ , . ., V, . , , ' ., , , , .Ashley s private belief was that he .ahould have were the A»hley workmen, (lean and shaved,' <•,,... ,, . . ,.,. , J .. u . ':; to furnish It. Ah— he was a good man. they had surreptitiously convened their best coat.* > a , . . . .. , . ■ ,1 .i p , ,' out. day morning ro.se to the ringing again of to the manufactory; and, with the fir^t pea o ' l.^ „ ,i „j i u ,i u •■ .i . .. & & & ,,,.■;., , . , . ahe cathedral bells— bells that do not condescend the colh-ge bells, they had rushed out, dressed— ^ , , , . ,. r . I /to ring, save on rare occasicns— telling that it every soul — leaving the manufactoiy alone in its> ■; , , . ,, . ... , , , , ,, . . L r. m »vas>ome dijy of note III HeNtonlcigh. It was a ziory, and bamuel Lynn to take care of it. The , e , . ,. ° ... . , ,, u H> J nne day, sunny, and veiy waim for March, and •hout they raised, as the sheriH » carriage drew ^ ., ,.,, . . , ., , . r 1 ■ .1 r .. tlie glittering east window refltcted its colourg near, deafened the street. It was out of all m»n- . . , . ... ^ . . ... „ U|)on a crowd, such as the cathedral had rarely ner of etiquette or precedence lo cheer the sherifl '. i. j .i r . ■ ■ , . Men assembled within Its wans for divine service, when in altenOance ou the judges; but who could .u .u • • ^ . . . L i »T *r » . . rr,. . even on those thronging days, assize Sundays, be angry with them. > Not Mr. Ashley. Their; rp, . . .. , ,. ^ , ,.°,,. , .-.J /. r I. '/ The procession extended nearly all the lenc lordships looked out astonished. One of the' /■ . . . . 1 r o t«;-ii- , . ( way from the grand entrance gates to the choir, judges you hare met before— Sir William Leader; .. ,.,. . . , . -,. , / .. " ,, I . ,- ' passing through the body and the nave The high the other was Mr. Justice Keeiie. > . sib e lliat Gar's hia black gown, so contrasting with the glare aud j sermons should not be practical; and the congre- glitter, marking him out conspicuously. galion bepan to tliitik they had been mistijktn in The organ had burst f«rih as they eritered the | tteir estimate of what a young man could do. great gates, simultaneous^ly with the ceasii-g of j He told the judges where their duty lay, a? (ear- the ringing bells, which h;.d heen sei.dii^g iheir ; K-sly as he lo:d it to the college boys , as t e toW melody over the city. Wiih sorire'd.fficuliy places j ii to all; he told them that tt'ie golden secret of were found for thuse of nolo, bm maiij a score jsucct^ss arid happiness in this life, lay in the failh- stood Ihatda-y. The bishop had gone on to his | ful and earnest peilormance of the duties that throne — and « ppositc to him, in the archdeacon's j crow di d on their path, striving on uiiwei)rit dly, stull,the appointed place for the preacher on as- ; whatsoever those duties mi^^hi be, whether pitas- size Suridays, sal the ^henti's chaplain. Sir ? ant or painful; joined to implicit reliance on. and William Leader was shown to the dean's stall — ^ trust in God A plainer serDK.n was never Mr. Justice Keene to the sub dean's— the dean , preached; in manner he was remaikably calm sitting next the one, the high sherili" next the j and impressive, and the tone of his voice was other, William Halliburton was in a canon's < quiet and per.-ausive, just as if he were speaking stall; Frank— handsome Fiank— got a place | to them. He was li«teried to with breathless in- auidst many other barristers. And in the ladies' ^ terest ihrDUghoul; even those gentry, ihe college pew, underneath the dean, sealed v»iih the dean's ' boys, were for once beguiled into lit-lerung to a 'vife, were Mrs. Ashley, her daughter, and Mrs. | sermon. Jane's tears were droppi/ig ii.cessiuilly , Halliburton. " < and she had to letdown her white veil lo hide The Rev. Mr. Keating chanted the service, M'n-'m; like that day, years ago, when she had let putting out his hei.t voice lo do it. They had thai ; f''»w" t-er black crape veil lo hide them, in the line anthem, 'Behold, G..d is my salvation.' Very I oflice of Anthony Dare. Difleient tears Ihis jjood were th6 services and the singing that day. ■ l""* • •yhedean, the piebendary in residence, and Mr. \ ^ he sermon lostrd just half an hour, and it Keating, went lo thn communion table for the had seemed bui a quarter of one. The bishop commandment*, and thus the service drew to an then rose and gave the blessing, and the crowds end. Aslhey were conducted back to their stall, '/began lo file out. As the preacher was being a verier with hi-, silver mace cleared a space for i marshalled by a verger through the choir to take the sheriff's chaplain to ascend Ihe pulpit stairs, his place in the procession next the high sheriff, the preacher of tbe day. ; ^^r- Keating met him and grasped h s hand. How the college boys gazed at him! But a , *You are all right. Gar,' he whispered, 'and I lort while before, speaking' comparatively, he ' ^m proud of having cducaied you. 1 hat sermon ad been one of them, a college boy himself, , «'" tell home to some of the drones.' ime of the seniors (juniors then) had been) 'I knew he'd astonish 'em !' ejaculated Dobbs^ ^chool-fellows with him. Wow he was the Rev. • who had walked all the way from Deottam to see Edgar Halliburton, standing there, chief person- ; the sight, to hear her master preach to Ihe calhe- :igefor the moment in that calhedrah To iheldral, and had fought out a place for herself hoys' eyes he seemed to look dark; save on assize | «'ght in front of the pulpit. 'His sermons hain't Sundays, they were accustomed to see only white fi"^d up with bottomless pits, as is never full robes in that pulpit. | enough, like them of some preachers be.' 'Too young to give us a good sermon,' thought \ That sermon and the Rev. Edgar Halliburton lalf the congregation, as they scanned him. were talked of much in Helstonleigh that day. Nevertheless, they liked his countenance; it had | Rut ere the close of another day the town was .T grave, earnest look. He gave out his text, a | ringing with the name of Frank. He had led— verse from Ecciesiastcs— I te, Frank Halliburton! A cause of some im- •Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with , portance was tried in the Msi Prius Court, in thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor j which the defendant was Mr. Glenn, the surgeon, knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither ; Mr. Glenn, who had liked Frank from the hour thou goest.' j he first conversed with him that evening at his Then he leaned a little forward on the cushion; ! house, now so long ago — a conversation at which and after a pause, began his sermon, which lay i you had the plea'^ure of assisting — who had also before him, and worked out the text. j the highest opinion of Frank's abilities in bis ^ It was an admimbls discourse, very practical; j profession, bad made it a point that his case MRt. HALLIBURTON'! TROUBLES. 117 should be intrusted to Frank; Mr. Glenn was not ' with him. The girls make a great deal of us, deceived; Frnnk led admirably, and hiseloq'jence , too. That is how i first knew Maria.' quite took the spectators by storm. What was of 'Then I suppose you see something of the more importance, it told upon Mr. Justice Keene judge." and the jury, and Frank sat down in triuoiph aud ; 'Oh, dear,' laughed Frank; 'the judge and I won his verdict. are upon intimate terms in private life; quite •I told you I should do it, mother,' said he ;^'"°"''^s- "^o" "'""'^ "o^ think it, though, if you quietly when he reached DeoflTam that night, after ^^^^ "]^ bowing before my lord when he sits in his being nearly smothered with congratulations. -^'^ "^'S- Sometimes I fancy he suspects.' •You will live to see me on the woolsack yet.' ' 'Suspects what ?' T 1 uj au ft kji u A t tx. i 'That 1 and Maria would like to join cause to- Jane laughed. She often had laughed at the >„„,.„„ n... tj«.,u i ru i . . „ ■ ^ f gether. But 1 don t mind if he does. I am a fa* same boa? .^.g„_ p/^,,,^^ j ^.^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ j ^^^,^ 'Yes. as a stepping-stone.' v •, think you would choose any but a nice girl, a 'And you still get on weH ? seriously speaking ! good girl ' now, Frank.' ; 'Stop a moment, mother; you will meet the •First rate,' answered Frank. 'This day's judge to-morrow night, and you may then picture work will be the best lift for me, though, unless Maria. She is as like him as two peas.' lam mistaken. I had two fresh briefs pushed ^^ 'How old is she, Frank .'' into my hands as I sat down,' he added, going off/ 'Two-and-twenty. / shall have her. He was in a laugh. 'See if I make this year less than ajnot always the great Judge Leader, you know, thousand I' < mother— and he knows it. And he knows that •And the next thing, I suppose, you will be ^ eveiy body must have a beginning, as he and my thinkifg of getting married?* ^ lady had it. For jears after they were married The bold barrister actually blushed. ( he did not make five hundred a year, and they had •What nonsense, mother — marry, and lose my !'to 'i^e upon it. He does not fear to revert to it, fellowship !' ', either; he often talks of it to me and Bob — a sort •Frank, it is so: I see it in your face. You 1°*" ^'"^' ' suppose, that folks do get on in lime, must tell me who it is.' ' ^^ *^'"^ °*" Pat'ence. You will like Sir William / Leader.' 'Well, as yet it is no one. 1 must wait until J v«o t„., . u „ * o- m-,,- , -. . ■' .. „ J . . . . . . ^ Yes— Jane would meet Sir William on the fol- liiy eloquence, as they called It to-day m court, IS ' /v,ii„„. „• v, /• .. . u . l ■' ^ J r . -.u u u,- J .L , •o'low"? n'fffit, for that would be the evening of more an assured fact with the public, and then 1 ,u. „„„„ j „.„ . • . • l .i . , , ^ ... * ' . . ', 'he grand entertainment given by the high sheriff may speak out to the judge. She means waitmg > ^o the judges at Deoffam Hall, for me, though, so it is all right.' ) '<' ^ j .^ CHAPTER XXXIV. THE HIGH sheriff's DI.VNER PARTY. ••she.'" •Maria Leader.' Jane looked at him doubtingly. 'Not sir William's daughter?' 'His second daughter.' 'Is not that rather too aspiring for Frank Hal- liburton?' William HALLiniRTON drove his wife over in •Maria does not think so. I have been aspiring the pony carriage in the afternoon; they would all my life, mother; and so long as I work on for dress and sleep at DeofTim. They went early it honourably and uprightly, I see no harm in and in driving past Deoffam vicarage, who should being so.' be at the gate looking out for them, but Anna. 'No, Frank— good instead of harm. How did Not Anna Lynn now, but Anna Gurney. you become acquainted with her.'' ' 'William, William, there's Anna!' Mary ex- 'Her brother and I are chums; have been ever claimed. 'I will get out here.' since we were at Oxford. Bob is at the Chan-; He assisted her down, and they remained talk- eery bar, but he has not much nouse for it— not ing with Anna. Then William asked what he half the clever man that his father was. His ; was to do— wait with the carriage for Mary, or chambers are next to mine, and I often go home ; driv* on to lh« hall, and walk back for her? 116 MRS. HALLIBURTON'* TROUBLES. •Drive to Ihe hall,' said Mary, who wished to : shakes his head at me and laughs; bilt I think he stay a little while wiih Anna. *Bul, WiMam,' will listen to me.' she added, as he got in, 'don't let my box go into Seeing what she did of the change in Anna'* the stables ' ; dress, Mary thought so too. Not but Anna's ♦With all the finery,' laughed William. j things were still cut sufficiently in the old form to , •It contains my dinner dress,' Mary explained bespeak her sect: as they, no doubt, always would to Anna. 'Have you been here long ?' be. •This hour, 1 think,' replied Anna. 'My husband 'When art thee coming to spend the day with had business a mile'or two further on, and drove ! me, as thee promised ?' asked Anna, me here. What a nice ga.den this is. See— I \ 'Very soon: when this assize bustle shall U have been picking Gar's flowers.' j o^^""- .TUT, ■ »i TT iiu . 5» i,„j TMo„«^ 'Itow gay you will all be to-night!' 'Where IS Mrs. Halliburton?' asked Mary. .„ ^ . , •_. .« .r^ .T^ ^v. I, ■ L . ..1^ ,^, r.^ A\^n,,fa in I How formal, you mean, said Mary. 'To en- 'Dobbs called her in to settle son>e dispute m . . , ■' ■' , ^, , . , , , r» uu „.>„.. ot f..nai.t..vop tc'"''*'" judges when on circuit, and bishops and the kitchen. I know Dobbs is a grtat tyrant over .. . . , . . . ., , , ., , deans, IS more formidable than pleasant It is a that new housemaid; ... „,. . , , ir A f -J stale dinner to-night. When 1 saw papa this 'But now leil me about yourself, Anna,' said . • j . .i * . i v , , , .,) morning, 1 inquired whether we were to have the Mary, drawing her down on a garden bench '1 ) . ,. ° ^ j • *u j- • . •" ° - ;javelin-men on guard in the dining-room. Anna laughed. 'Do Frank and Gar dine have scajcely seen you since you were married. How do you like being your own mi>tressr' •Oh, it's charming!' cried Anna, with all her old childish natural manner. 'Mary, what d^ st thee think.' Charles lets me sit without my there.'' 'Of course. The high sheriff could not give a dinner without his chaplain at mamma's band to .•>ay grace,' returned Mary, laughing. William came back; and they all remained nearly for the rest of the afternoon, Jane regaling ,, , , , them with tea. It was scarcely over when Mr. •Inded. yes. One day Pdlience called when we ^ • u- • ■ luut-u, jca. v^. c wa,j Gurney drove up in his carnage: a large, open were ai dinner, i had not got so much a3abit|^ _. _ _.,^ _ _„. f,.„ ., „„ u..i,:„.. .u. of cap on, and Patience she looked so cross — but caps- Mary laughed. •To the great scandal of Patience!' she said nothing, for the servants were in waiting. When they had left ihe room she told Charles that she wassurpristd at his allowing it — that I was giddy enough and vain enough, and it would only make me worse. Charles smiled— be was eating walnuts; and what dost ihee think he an- He— but 1 don't like to tell thee,' broke carriage, with a seat for the groom behind, the horses very fine ones. He came in for a few minutes; a very pleasant man of nearly forty }ears; a handsome man also. Then he took pos- session of Anna, carefully assisted her up, took the seat beside her, and the reins, and drove off. William started for the Hall with Mary, walk- ing at a brisk pace. It was not ten minutes' dis- Bwered: u'o .,ui. j^ ^^.. - - . .„._..... — , - j tance, but the evening was getting on. Henry off Anna, covering her face with her prelty | ^^^,^^ ^^, ^^^^ ^^\^^^ ^^^^^J ^^^ ^^^J^ hands. •Yes, yes, Anna, you must tell me.' i Ashley met them as they entered, and began j upon them in his crossest tone. 'Now, what have you two got to say for your- •He told Patience that he liked to see me | ^^^^^^ , ^^^^^ j ^^p^^^ ^^^^ ^^ wm:im, to without ^he caps, and there was no need for my | ^^^^ ^^^ afternoon with me; the mother expecU wearing them until 1 should have children old | ^^^^. and nothing arrives but a milliner's box. enough to set an example to. | ^i^j ^,^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ appearrnce when it's pretty Anna took off her straw bonnet as she spoke, ; jjg^r time to go up to embellish !' and her curls fell down to shade her blushing j ,^^,^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ vicarage, Henry; and I don 't cheeks. Mary wondered whether the 'children' ( ^^^.^^ mamma could want me. Anna Gurney was ild have lovely faces like their mother. She ;^^^^^ , had never seen Anna look so well. For one thing, she had rarely seen her so well dressid. She j wore a slone-cololired corded silk, glis^tening) with richness, and a beautiful white shawl that* must have cost no end of money. - •I should always let my curls be seen, Anna,'| said Mary; there can be no harm in it.' •Rubbish to Anna Gurney! Who's Anna Gur- ney, that she should upset things. 1 wanted Wil- liam, and that's enough. Do you think you are to have the entire monopolising of him, Mrs. Mary, just because you happen to have married him." Mary went behind her brother, and playfully 'No that there can't, as Charles does not think ; put her arras round his neck. 'I will lend him to so' emphatically answered Anna. 'Mary,' ; you now and then, if you are good,' she whig- dropping her voice to a whisper, 'I want Charles , pered. n«t to wear those straight coaU any more. He 1 'You idle, inattentire girl ! The mother wanted MRi. HALLIBURTON'S TROyBLES. lis you to cut lome hot-home flowen for the dinner- ; table.' I •Did she? I will do it now. ' ! •Hark at her ! Do it now ! when it has been ^ done tt'is ble!«sed hour past; William, I don't in- 1 tenrl to show tu-night ' } 'Why nol?'a-ktd William. Mt is a nuisance to change one's things; and my side's nut over clever to day; and the un- grateful delii qiiency of you two has put nic out of sorts allogeiher,' answered Henry, making up his catai()f;iie. •Cfiidcmning one to vain expecta- tion, aiid to fret aiid fnaie over it! 1 shan't show; \ WiJiain must represent nie.' i *Ycs, you will show,' replied William. 'For j you know that your not doing so would vex Mr. i Ashley.' \ •A nice lot you are to talk about vexing! You don't care how you vex me.' } William K«-ntly took him by the arm. 'Come; along to your room now, and I will help you with i your things. Once ready, you can do as you like ] about appearing.' I •You treat me just like a child,' grumbled j Henry. •! say, do the judges come in their | wigs.^' - j Mary burst into a laugh. ! •f{ecause that ca?e of stuffed owls had better be ] ordered out of the hall. The animals may be ■ lo'jked upon as personal.' I •1 hope there'* a good fire in your room, * Henry.' \ •There had better be, unless the genius which j presides over the fires in this household would | like to feel the weight of my dihlcy, and his son. They w«:re talkuig of the Hailiburtons. Sir William knew a good deal of their history from Frank. •It is most wonderful !' Sir William was re- maiking. •Self-educated, self-supporting, and to be what they are !* •Not altogether self-educated,' dissented the dean; "for the two younger, the barrister and clergyman, were in the school attached to my cathedral; but self-educated in a great degree. Tlifi eldest, my friend's son-in-law, never had a lesson in the classics subsequent to his father'a death, and there's not a aiore finished scholar in lh»i county.' •The father died and left them badly provided for,' remarked Sir Wiilijni. •He did not leave them provided for at all. Sir William,' corrccied ftlr. .Ashley. 'He left no- thing, literally iiothinp, but the furniture of the small house they rented; and he left .some iriflinr debts. Poor Mrs. Halliburton turned to worlc with a will, and not only contrived to support them, hut brought tkg|#up to be what you see lofiyinii'ded, honourable, educated men.' The judge turned his eyes on Jane. She «at on a distant sofa, talking with the bishop. So quieM||M| so lady-like, nay — so attractive— she looked sll in the rich pearl-grey dress worn at William's wedding; not in the least like one who has had to toil hard for bread. •I have heard of her— heard of her worth from Frank,' he said, with emphasis. »Sho must he one in a thousand.' •Onoltt*^^ft million. Sir William,' burst forth Henry Ashl*y. 'When they were boys, you could not have bribed them to do a wrong thing: neither temptation nor anything else turned them frnm the right. And tl.py would not he turned fr«)m the ^i^ht now, if 1 know anything o( them. ' The j'jdi;e walked up to Jane, and took the ••at, by her, juit vacated by tb« bishop. niOi MWS. HALLIB0IITOW8 TRODBLES. 'Mrs. Halliburton,' said he, 'you must be proud , she ans^vered: 'my trust in God. Times upoa of your BODS.' ', times, Sir William, when the storm was beating Jane smiled. *I have latterly been obliged to about my head, I had no help or comfort in the take mv self to task for being so. Sir William,'; wide w'orld: I had nothiiij; to lurn to but that. I •he answered. ^never lost my trust in God.' •To tasi< ! I wish I had three such sons to take i- . ^nd therefore God stood by you,' remarked myself to task for being proud of,' was the an-'j^^g judge, in a low tone. 8wer 'Not thai m-ne are to be complained of; .^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^p^^ ^^ but ihey are not like these. , 'on. 1 wish,' she added, earnestly, 'that all the •Do you think Frank will get on .> she asked ^^^,^, ^^^,j ,^.^^^^ that same great lesson that I ^'™- have learnt. I have— I humbly hojje I have — " 'It is no longer a question. He has begun to, ^^^^ ^nMed to teach it to my boys. 1 have tried rise in an unusually rapid