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[8432.
"LOVE'S A TYRANT!
a Botiel.
RY
ANNIE THOMAS
(MRS. PENDER CUDLIP),
Author of "Denis Donne,  Theo Leigh,  Played Out, "Eyre of BleaJon,
 Allerton Towers,'' etc., etc.
LONDON:
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO.,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE,
i 889.
THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS
CONT ENTS.
PAGE
i.  Where is Your Kingdom ?  1
ii.  For His Own Good !  15
hi.  All Connie, and no Cross ! '. . .25
iv. Laura Payne 38
v. The Honourable Olivia 44
vi. In the Afterglow .... . 53
vii. Because I Love You G2
viii. Love Leads to Madness ...... 09
ix. Restless , . 81
x.  I Gave Them to Him I . . . . . .90
xi. In the Dark 1 . 98
xn. For His Sake 1 107
xiii. "Love in Sequel Works with Fate . .118
xiv. A Bold Stroke 130
xv. "It Passes all Understandi- g . . . .140
xvi. Miss Ovid and a Goth . .... 150
xvn. Mrs. Sackville Gives Advice 103
xviii. A Bitter Bridal . 170
xix. Premonitory Symptoms ...... 180
xx. "Capricious .... ... 193
xxi. "Perhaps One Day He'll Trust Me . . .199
xxn Marcus is Heroic .... 208
xxin. Wicked and Weak ! .218
xxiv. A Strain at Mount-Hawke 229
xxv. "Can I Help You? 234
iv CONTENTS.
PAGE
xxvi. The Appearance of Evil ...... 247
xxvii.  Why not, Olivia ? 252
xxviii. Olivia is Firm 261
xxix. "Is it — Murder? 269
xxx. The  End ' for Laura .... . 277
xxxi. At Darglery . 284
xxxii. In Cockington Lane .291
xxxiii. Seeking Diversion 300
xxxiv.  Marcus, let us Have it Otjt !  . . . . 307
xxxv. Olivia is Right 315
xxxv r. Better so 323
"LOVE'S A TYRANT!
CHAPTER I.
 where is your kingdom ? 
 This is Hols worthy ! This is our station, Marcus,
and here's the old Colonel's dog-cart waiting for
us.
"What a jolly stretch of moor away to the
left! the air's like champagne; can't we walk,
and send our luggage on in the trap ?
 It won't do to appear ready to lag on our
way. The Colonel is a tine old boy, but apt to
feel slights before they're offered; he'll feel it to
be one if we don't use the speediest means of
gaining his portals. You're highly favoured, let
me tell you, Master Marcus; as a rule, the Colonel
shows a grim front to men young enough to be
attractive to his pretty niece and lovely daughter.
 Evidently I'm not considered attractive enough
to be dangerous; but no matter, Marcus Gfwynn
laughed, as he stepped on to the platform im-
patiently. Then, as he was more deliberately
followed by his older, staider companion, he added—
"But you're right; we had better not walk, as
1
2
 love's a tyrant ! 
he has sent the trap; moreover, the mention of a
pretty niece and charming daughter has made
speedy locomotion desirable in my mind. Tell me
more about them, or, rather, tell me something
about them, for I've heard nothing yet.
"Not before the groom, the elder man muttered;
 he's one of those faithful servitors who are sure
to go and misquote and make mischief out of any
remarks on the family. Good-day, Lawson; the
Colonel and family are all well, I hope.
 Quite well, sir; young ladies out riding as
usual ; they're going to fall in at Avon wick,
they told me to tell you, and Miss Constance said
she ' hoped you'd appreciate the compliment at its
true value.'
 I shall make no mistake about it. Miss Con-
stance might have spared herself the trouble of
sending me such a message, the elder of the two
travellers said, with such cold anger in his tones
that the man he had addressed as  Marcus
looked round at him in surprise in time to see
a bitter black frown on his brow, which he
banished abruptly as he felt his young companion's
gaze.
 Miss Constance Brymer is rather disposed to
fear that her scantiest courtesies may be misunder-
stood, he explained lightly.  She never forgets
that she is an heiress and a beauty, and that
mortal man is liable to error where such as she
are concerned. She's afraid that even such an old
fogey as I am may presume to adore her if she
seems to be a little kind.
 You've forgotten your caution to me, Conway.
Ah ! here comes the finishing touch to an already
perfect scene ; by Jove ! I've seen nothing to
equal that in the Row this year.
As he spoke, two ladies on horseback had
 love's a tyeant ! 
3
trotted into view in a field on their left, and
clearing the hedge and bank, had dropped into the
road a few yards ahead of the dog-cart. The latter
was immediately pulled up, and Mr. Conway, all
smiles and suavity in a moment, was presently
introducing  his friend and ward, Mr. Marcus
Gwynn, to a couple of the fairest young Dianas
that had ever gratified his passionate love of the
beautiful.
The two girls wheeled round and rode along
one on either side of the dog-cart, and without
a shade of either shyness, constraint, diffidence, or
hauteur, began doing the honours of their own land.
"We came out to meet you, Mr. Gwynn, be-
cause we were so afraid Mr. Conway would forget
to point out the hollow oak, and the wayside
cross, and the view over Avon Yale, and the
Three Barrows. He hasn't a proper respect
for our scenery, and—can you believe it ?—after
having been here every autumn for the last—how
many years is it, Mr. Conway ?—ten, I believe !
he doesn't remember which is the Western Beacon,
and which is Brent Hill. Such forgetfulness, such
ignorance, is unpardonable in the eyes of us west-
country people.
 I have never forgotten Hanger Down, at any
rate, Conway said quietly and Marcus Gwynn
saw that the face of the girl who had spoken
the rebuke grew scarlet with a sudden angry
blush.
 Why, Connie, what's the matter ? the other
girl cried, inopportunely.  What is there in
Hanger Down that Mr. Conway should remember
it so well, and that you should get so red
about it ?
 Miss Brymer is annoyed at my having so sue-
cessfully disproved her assertions as to my forget-
4
 love's a tyrant ! 
fulness of all the places of interest in the neigh-
bourhood.
 Here's the wayside cross, Miss Brymer inter-
rupted.  Do you sketch ?  she went on, addressing
Marcus Gwynn.  I make every one who can
draw sketch the cross and the hollow oak for
me. The oak by moonlight is lovely. We'll
bring you up here again after dinner.
 Oh, and to-morrow we are going up on the
moor trout-fishing, papa and all of us. Mr. Conway
and papa are going in the dog-cart with the rods
and the luncheon. I hope you like fly-fishing ?
But never mind if you don't; we can sketch and
read and get rid of the time deliciously. Don't
you think so, Mr. Gwynn ?
 I am sure of it, he answered, rather raptur-
ously for so recent an acquaintance, as he looked
from the pretty fair face of the speaker to the
far prettier and more piquant one of her cousin.
 Now look to your right, Mr. Gwynn, right
through the gateway up that avenue of beeches.
Isn't that a vista! Aren't those dear old pillars
well worth coming from London to see ?
 I would have come from the other end of
the world to look at them, Marcus said, enthusi-
astically.
 But you're not ooking at them, you're looking
at me, and that's foolish, with that avenue of
beeches before you. Belle, please to ride on, and
to the charm of the landscape add the beauty of
thy grace; doesn't Longfellow say something like
that somewhere ? 
 ' And to the charm of the poem lend the
beauty of thy voice,' Marcus quoted, rashly.
 Now look at Miss Hillier, sir, she's going to
take the hurdle on the lawn, and a prettier jumper
than the bay and a prettier rider than our young
 love's a tveant ! 
5
lady you'll not see anywhere, the old groom
struck in, pointing excitedly, as he spoke, to the
graceful pair who were harmoniously popping over
the hurdle in the distance, but Marcus Gwynn's
eyes were still riveted on the girl who remained
by the dog-cart.
"My Make Haste jumps quite as well, Lawson,
she was saying, deprecatingly; "it's only because
Bayleaf is a daughter of the soil that you always
pretend to think her better than my dear little
wild Irish girl. You shall decide on their respec-
tive merits, Mr. Gwynn. Make Haste and I will
follow Belle's lead, and if you don't admit that
Make Haste jumps as neatly as Bayleaf, the
relations between us will be strained for some time
to come. Then she went off with a graceful
parting salutation, carrying Marcus Gwynn's heart
with her.
Their host, Colonel Hillier, was waiting for them
at the entrance door of one of the most pictures-
que and pleasant houses in Devonshire. An old
red-brick house, with its roof broken by many a
gable, turret, tower, and chimney, and with a long
stretch of frontage to the south that was particu-
larly conducive to the growth of the many-hued
roses that clambered wildly over it. Virginian
creeper and its glowing relation the amphelopsis
had it all their own way over the western end of
the quaint old house. And on two sides of it a
formal terrace walk was the fitting resting-place
and promenade of a couple of grand, yellow grey-
hounds and a pair of gorgeous peacocks.
In fact Glade, the old family residence of Colonel
Hillier, was as perfect a type of the good old
English home of an unpretentious, thoroughbred,
dignified, proud, not too well-off English gentleman
as can be seen in any corner of the land. From
6
 love's a tyrant I 
its iron-bound oaken front door to the rafters of
its nethermost attic everything about it was solid,
true, perfect in the fulfilment of its apparent pur-
pose, time-worn or stained as the case might be,
and harmonious with the harmony that is only
born of time. That its present owner was con-
siderably poorer than his forefathers had been was
a regrettable misfortune, not a reprehensible fault.
His poverty was more than balanced by his jealous
pride in all that appertained to himself and his
possessions, and those who said that Colonel Hillier
was a discontented or unhappy man in his seldom-
disturbed seclusion at Glade made a comical mistake.
 That man might be a millionaire if he pleased,
Mr. Conway found time to whisper to his ward as
they drove up to the old hall door and were
greeted simultaneously with gracious words from
the Colonel, weird shrieks from the peacocks,
and interrogative barks from the greyhounds.
 Marble on his land, my boy, that's worth a
king's ransom. You look after the daughter, and
owe me a debt of gratitude for the hint.
 The daughter would be the most charming girl
in the world if the niece didn't exist 
"The niece doesn't exist for you, Marcus, his
guardian muttered;  she's pledged over her hand-
some little head and ears to another man. Be
prudent, my dear boy. Consult taste and ex-
pediency, and see the daughter's charms. Glade is
looking more beautiful than ever, Colonel Hillier ;
allow me to congratulate you on the prosperous
aspect of everything. I feel it in the atmosphere;
you are working that green marble quarry at last.
The handsome, Roman-nosed, well-bred Colonel
raised his eyebrows and hands in affected humble
deprecation.
 Far from it, Conway, he said;  I have sold
 love's a tykant ! 
7
the right of working my marble quarry to my
enterprising niece. Connie will manipulate the
marble, as she does everything else that comes
into her hands, to the best advantage of her
fellow-creatures.
 She has bought the right of working it ?
 She has, indeed! And liberally has the dear
girl remunerated me for the resignation of a right
that I should never have exercised. Here, Hill,
take Mr. Gwynn's luggage up to the brown
tapestry room, and tell the young ladies to come
in their habits to afternoon tea; we don't care
to wait while they change into any less becoming
garments.
 As if we required such a reminder! and,  As
if we didn't know that we look best in our
habits! two bright young voices cried as their
owners stepped forward. And then Mr. Gwynn
had to sustain a brisk fire from two pairs of elo-
quent lips.
 Mr. Gwynn, say, didn't my Bay leaf take that
hurdle and bank as if she'd known them all the
days of her life, whereas she had never looked at
them before ? 
 And didn't Make Haste slip over as if she
thought she was on the level, Mr. Gwynn ? Really
I didn't know she had risen to it, till I looked
down through dim distance and saw a shadowy
hurdle far away below me. Make Haste can jump,
and no mistake. Mr. Conway, you look incredu-
lous. Let me entreat you to ride Make Haste to-
morrow, and give her her head. You'd find your-
self in high latitudes in no time.
 It is kind of you to remember my fondness
for horse-exercise, Conway retorted grimly, and
Marcus Gwynn exclaimed simultaneously,
 I thought you had never been on a horse in
8
 love''s a tyrant !''
3^our life. What was the memorable occasion, Miss
Brymer, on which my guardian displayed a fond-
ness for riding ? 
The girl laughed with a sort of merry malice
that was an infinitely attractive thing in the eyes
of the man at whom she was not laughing, Mr.
Conway glowered rather grimly both at her and
at his ward.
 Is Connie reminding you of the header you
took into the meadow-brook the day the old roan
tried to take you over it ? Colonel Hillier
asked carelessly.  Pay no attention to the young
people's impertinence, Conway; they think that
we old fellows are fair game for their fun.
 Miss Brymer knows that I am delighted to
contribute to her amusement in any way—even
at the cost of being made to look ridiculous,
Conway replied. But though he smiled as he
spoke, and tried to sustain an expression of frank
and manly toleration for the exuberant spirit of
youth, the expression speedily flagged, and was
succeeded by one of sour gloom.
 What can make old Conway hate that charm-
ing girl ? old Conway's ward mused, as he looked
quickly from his guardian's face to the brilliant
sparkling one of the most fascinating girl whom it
had ever been his fortune to meet. "Fancy not
taking a joke in good part when it's uttered by
such a pair of lips! he went on thinking, and in
his heart he felt contemptuous pity for the man
who had outlived the faculty of being charmed by
the charming frivolity of girlhood.
They were sipping their tea soon in the soft
shady light of the oak-panelled drawing-room,—a
room rich in corners and nooks, and deep window-
seats cushioned and curtained into seductive seclu-
sion; a room rich in Old English and Oriental
 love's a tyrant ! 
9
china, in Indian cabinets and Persian rugs, all of
which, however originally gorgeous the hues of the
latter, were now so well toned by time, that they
harmonised with furniture that had been new when
the last James was king.
 How could he ever have thought a modern
drawing-room anything but uncomfortable and in-
congruous ? Marcus asked as he found himself
seated in a window recess far apart, it seemed,
from the others, with the daughter of the house.
It is true that he would have preferred having the
niece of the house as the companion of his retire-
ment. But at this stage this young man was
modestly contented with the goods the gods gave
him. Accordingly he submitted to the fate which
adjudged him the daughter with a good grace, and
talked to her with animation, while he let his eyes
and thoughts wander off to her cousin.
"I owe my guardian a debt of gratitude for many
things, Miss Hillier, but for nothing more than
the introduction to your father, which got me the
invitation to Glade.
 You don't owe him much on that score. He
told papa you were in such a whirl of gaiety in
London, that you'd find Glade monotonous.
 A whirl of gaiety in London in September ?
Old Conway is forgetting the times and seasons ;
he didn't really make such a mistake, did he ?
 He said it, at any rate; and from what he
wrote to papa, Connie, and I expected to find
you a fatigued society young man, who would
contrast Connie and me to our disadvantage with
the smart young ladies you had left behind
you.
"The only true count against me in your in-
dictment is that I'm 'young,' that is, I am twenty-
four; but I certainly am neither a ' fatigued,' nor
10
 love's a tyrant ! 
a 'society' man; nor do I contrast you and your,
cousin disadvantageously with any human beings;
nor do I find Glade monotonous.
 Four-and-twenty, are you ? Why is he your
guardian still ?
 By my father's will, not by my own, I assure
you. My father wanted me to have a long minority,
so I'm not legally of age till I'm twenty-five.
Then—it will be in December—I come into my
kingdom, such as it is.
 And where is your kingdom ?
A quickly checked smile flitted over his face as
he answered,
 In London.
 Oh dear! that doesn't sound interesting. I
want the boundary lines of the kingdoms of people
I like to be well defined.
 Thanks for the unconsciously implied compli-
ment, Miss Hillier; let me hasten to assure you
that the boundary lines of my kingdom are un-
commonly well defined. I can't encroach an inch
to the right or left on my neighbours' territory.
Nor can they encroach on mine.
 And do you, shall you always live in your
London house?
 I've never lived in it, nor shall I ever live
in it.
"You'll let it when you come of age, do you
mean ? That's a pity, she said, sagely;  a London
house is a delightful thing to have of one's very
own for the season, I should think; we only go up
into lodgings for six weeks, and papa always
grumbles at the ghastly rent he has to pay. Where
do you generally live ?
 Since I left Cambridge, two years ago, I've
travelled.
 Oh, how I envy people who have the power
 love's a tyrant ! 
to travel, to go anywhere and everywhere they
like for pure pleasure, Miss Hillier said, with a
touch of self-pity in her tones ;  my travelling has
been so limited: once to Boulogne, when papa
was even poorer than he is now, where we stayed
for two years, once to Paris for a fortnight, and
since then up and down to London once a year.
After hearing this you won't be surprised to find
me very local.
 If staying at home much and travelling very
little has made you what you are, the recipe is
one other girls would like to use. But let me
tell you at once, Miss Hillier, I haven't travelled
for ' pure pleasure,' as you call it. I have travelled
for business.
 You've been abroad with pencil and paint in search
of the picturesque you mean ? You're an artist ? 
"Not I. Not an artist by profession, at least.
I won't take shelter meanly under the shadow of
the many canvases I've spoilt in many lands. I
was an ambassador from 
"An ambassador! No, you're too young. Don't
try to trade on my local ignorance, she inter-
rupted, laughing.  You've been attache to some
embassy. What a delightful life! If I had been
a man instead of a mere useless young woman,
I should have gone in for diplomacy. Where
were you ? What adventures have you had ? Tell
me all about it. Connie and I have guessed you
to be a dozen different things, but never what
you are.
 No, never what I am, I'm sure, for I am head
partner in a large drapery establishment in Oxford
Street, Miss Hillier, he said, in low, horribly mor-
tified accents.  My guardian should have spared
me this; he led me to understand that he had
explained my position before I permitted myself
12
 love's a tykant ! 
to accept Colonel Hillier's invitation. My travels
have been on behalf of my house. At least, Miss
Hillier, admit that I have been candid as soon as
it was possible for me to be so.
She bent her shapely head in gracious, proud
acknowledgment of the justice of his plea.
 You must not think me snobbish, Mr. Gwynn,
if I acknowledge that I am both surprised and
sorry ! Yes, there, the truth is out. 1 am sorry
that your calling in life isn't more congenial; not
that exactly, but more befitting to you. But you
are the same guest we welcomed so warmly just
now, and I can't make my meaning quite clear
without telling the truth. I dislike Mr. Conway
more than ever for having let papa invite you in
ignorance, and for having allowed you to come
unaware of that ignorance. But I'm glad you're
here, Mr. Gwynn, and I hope you echo the senti-
ment. Now, at least, it is all clear light in the
atmosphere between us.
He was a handsome young fellow to whom she
addressed these words, tall and well built, with a
brave manly face and carriage, and a manner that
had already moved many a woman to regard him
tenderly. But he felt that in this girl's frank
kindliness there was not a touch of sentiment. She
offered his wounded, mortified sensitiveness the
compensation and solace of her comradeship and
understanding of him should he need it, offered it
to him as a man might have offered it, though
perhaps more delicately.
 And I should be a coward if 1 could regret
any invitation, even if it were made of malice
prepense, that had made me acquainted with you,
he said heartily, and as she rose up and moved
away she replied, encouragingly,  That's well.
After dinner, remember, we are going up to the
 love's a tykant ! 
13
wayside cross, for you to sketch it by moon-
light. Then she followed her cousin out of the
room, and Marcus Gwynn drew nearer to his
host and his guardian, and tried to listen
interestedly to a vehement political argument that
was sustained apparently by Mr. Conway for
the sole purpose of irritating the Colonel
who had fixed principles, whereas his adversary
had none.
Accordingly when the Colonel, who was a
thorough Conservative, staunchly advocated the
cause of the late Liberal member in the coming
general election, because he was a Unionist, Mr.
Conway jeered at what he was pleased to call a
vacillating policy, and declared himself in favour
of an out-and-out Radical who had just been put
forward in opposition to the Liberal candidate who
asked for re-election.
 I care nothing about the ' united' kingdom,
Hillier, and I haven't the smallest prejudice in
favour of my views, such as they are, being re-
presented by a ' gentleman,' as you have. I'm
above, or beyond, class prejudices, and the only line
of poetry I carry about with me for purposes of
quotation is the grand one—
'A man's a man for a' that.'
 All through it I've been ready to lay down
my unworthy life for my Queen, Colonel Hillier
responded gently;  and only a gentleman, he
added more firmly, u could possibly represent my
views in Parliament or elsewhere.
 Your new member—for Hill will be at the
head of the poll in the teeth of all your bigoted
opposition—is an excellent fellow; he makes no
secret of having carried a mason's hod profes-
sionally half-a-dozen years ago.
14
 love's a tyrant ! 
 An excellent fellow, and admirable mason, no
doubt, assented Colonel Hillier,  but no more a
fitting member of the legislature than any other
labourer or tradesman.
 You would exclude all men connected with
trade from the House, sir ? Marcus questioned
eagerly, and Colonel Hillier held his head half an
inch higher as he answered:
"Hot all men 'connected' with trade—noblemen
with the best Norman blood in their veins are
levelling themselves down to the spirit of the age
—but all men who by birth, breeding, habit,
tradition, and association, are tradesmen.
 All such men as myself, in fact, Colonel
Hillier, Marcus put in quietly.  I fear that my
guardian has, out of misplaced consideration for
me doubtless, allowed you to misunderstand my
position 
 Stop, Mr. Gwynn; whatever the position, the
man who fills it is a gentleman, the old Colonel
interrupted, with his most superb air, and, in spite
of a disapproving frown from Conway, Marcus
went on more rapidly,—
 I fill it like a man, I trust, honourably, and to
the best of my ability. I am the head of a large
linendrapery firm in Oxford Street, Colonel Hillier,
and I thought you knew this from my—from Mr.
Conway, when you invited me to Glade ?
The younger man stood, heated and flushed
now, before the cool, composed, searching glance of
his host. The ordeal was a sharp one, but it lasted
only for a moment or two.
 I did not know it then, Mr. Gwynn, or I
should not have invited you. I know it now, he
added, with charming, hearty courtesy,  and
repeat my invitation with greater pleasure than I
felt in giving it at first.
love's a tyrant ! 
15
CHAPTER II.
"for his own good!
 A draper ! Are you sure, Belle ?
 Quite sure; there was no buried joke in the
statement. He made it in bitter earnest, and was
unfeignedly and horribly mortified at having to tell
me what Mr. Conway ought to have told papa at
first.
 Then 'are things what them seem, or is visions
about ? ' A draper ! and he looks like a duke ! 
"Not a bit like the only duke we've seen,
Connie, for His Grace of Welford is little and
limp, and has a low forehead and a long upper
lip. This man looks like Lancelot, tall and comely,
graceful and gracious and gay 
"You've discovered a good deal more than
I have about him. 'Tall and comely,' I admit he's
that; 'gracious' he can't well avoid being to the
ladies of the house he's staying in; but 'graceful
and gay' he most distinctly is not! I thought
him constrained and absent, as it becomes a man
to be who feels he has obtained admission into an
exclusive circle under false pretences.
Pretty Constance Brymer stepped haughtily and
elastically about her room as she uttered these
sentiments; and Belle her cousin, listened and
laughed at her.
 Do you know, you remind me of Pauline, of
poor Adelaide Neilson's Pauline, when .she dis-
covers her Claude is a clod and not the
Prince.
"That's just the one bit of Pauline that I could
let to the life; when she relapses into the supinely
]6
 love's a tyrant ! 
infatuated, forgiving woman my sympathies flee
from her. How malignant of Conway to have
foisted this young draper upon us, and how mean
of the draper to have come !
"Papa invited him, and he accepted the invita-
tion believing that papa knew him to be a—in
business.
 Belle, beware ! You're falling in love with
him! I'm sure of it, or you wouldn't be shrinking
from speaking of him as the draper he is; it's dis-
tasteful, of course, but if you haven't the courage
of your opinions before, what will it be after ?
"' Before' what ? ' After' what ?
 Before you marry him.
 Connie, it's not like you to be silly and coarse;
you're both now, Belle Hillier said indignantly,
and the next moment Constance Brymer found
herself alone, for her cousin had quitted the room
precipitately.
 She's taking it too seriously. And so are you,
Constance Brymer, you fool!  the girl said to
herself. "Can this be Conway's revenge upon me
for having refused him ?—to bring a man in trade
here to conquer my heart, and sting my pride ?
No! I don't believe that even Conway would be as
bad as that. It's only a woman scorned ' who does
furiously malignant things out of revenge;' a man
must be more generous, and' after all, I've never
' scorned' Mr. Conway; I only told him in other
words that crabbed age and youth should not wed
together.
The dinner gong sounded as the girl's soliloquy
reached this point, and gave her no time for further
reflection on the subject of Mr. Conway's possible
motive in bringing a tradesman,  a draper, who
might be a duke, as she had said, into their
midst. Punctuality was one of Colonel Hillier's
 love's a tyrant ! 
17
favourite foibles. He had several others, but this
was a cherished one, and the one who ran counter
to it was one upon whom he never smiled again.
Consequently now Constance hurried down to put
in an appearance in the drawing-room for a
moment, before she had given herself time to come
to a decision with regard to the manner it be-
hoved her to adopt and sustain towards Mr.
Marcus Gwynn.
 Not that it matters a bit how I behave to him,
but it's a positive calamity that I have not had
time to put Belle on her guard; she's such a kind-
hearted susceptible goose that, if the young man
means mischief, she will surely fall a prey to him,
she thought as she advanced into the room and
took in at a glance the position of the  bold in-
vader towards the family, and of the family
towards the  bold invader.
Colonel Hillier was courteously entreating the
stranger with his best manner, entertaining, or
striving at least to entertain, him with the latest
absorbing local interests ; and Bella was standing
by, silent, but evidently shyly pleased by the effort
her father was making to show distinctive friendly
consideration to his guest.
As to the guest, he looked handsomer and more
at ease than ever.  How can he dare to be so
perfectly the right man in the right place when we
are what we are, and he is a ? No! she
couldn't constrain herself to form the obnoxious
word in her own mind even, for at the moment
Marcus Gwynn turned his head and looked at her;
looked at her with such honest admiration in his
eyes that she forgot her half-formed resolution to
hold him at moral and social arm's length instan-
taneously.
At the same moment her uncle was saying,  Mr
2
18
 love's a tyrant !
Gwynn, will you take my niece ? Conway, Belle
falls to your lot as usual, and Constance Brymer
found herself walking into the dining-room with
her hand resting on the bold invader's arm.
She had looked superbly well in her habit, but
how much more beautiful she looked now in her
dinner dress, her smooth neck and arms almost
gleaming in their ivory pallor under the soft lamp-
light. Constance Brymer had not the milk-and-
roses beauty of complexion which distinguished her
cousin, Isabel Hillier; but her smooth, creamy
skin had no taint of sickliness in its colourless
uniformity; and the deep blue eyes that shone
through long curled black lashes were bright with
high health, and higher spirits. Her thick dark
chestnut hair had a few rich bronze gleams in it
as it reposed in soft, artistically disposed rolls on
the top of her head. Her throat was straight and
full, rising freely from splendidly modelled shoul-
ders, which in turn sprang from a waist that was
slender without being attenuated. Her hands were
small and delicately shaped, not transparently white,
with rosy-tipped fingers, like her cousin Bella's,
but creamy-tinted, like her face. Her mouth was
sweetly moulded, not coldly chiselled; a mouth
that was made to be kissed and to utter loving
words, and her little ears were set just in the right
place, and very close to her head.
Not a line in the drawing of either face or figure
was out of harmony, and each rapidly changing
expression of feeling seemed to suit her best.
Altogether, a girl calculated to bewitch many men
by her beauty, and to retain her influence over
them by her charm and intelligence. Altogether,
a girl who was likely to make him rue the day
he had set foot in Glade, Marcus Gwynn felt.
Opposite to him sat Belle Hillier, but her
 love's a tyrant ! 
19
bright blonde prettiness, her large blue eyes and
curly, pale-gold hair hardly commanded his regard
for an instant. She had been very sweet in her
kindness and graceful ladylike tact when he had
made the disclosure about his true status which
his guardian ought to have made for him, and he
admired her for it, and was grateful. Bub of what
avail was her sweet kindness while he remained in
the dark as to her cousin's feelings about the
matter? And how was he to fathom those feelings
without resorting to Belle for aid ?
These speculations caused him to be rather silent
for the first few minutes after they were seated
at table, and when he spoke it was not to the
one who already absorbed all his thoughts and
interest.
 The ' hunter's moon' favours our sketching ex-
pedition to-night, Miss Hillier; the wayside cross
will be an inspiration under such a light.
Belle blushed and brightened visibly as he
addressed her. Depression had been her portion
for the last few minutes, for unconsciously she was
a trifle aggrieved that Constance should have
been apportioned to the man with whom she, Bella,
and she only in the house, had a perfect under-
standing. "Poor fellow! he would have been much
happier sitting by me, knowing that I know
everything and don't mind it a bit, than he is
by that cool, unkind Connie, she had thought
resentfully, and in her resentment she had re-
fused her favourite soup, and snubbed Mr. Conway's
languid attempt to open a conversation with her.
 Why, Bella, it's the first time I've ever seen
you refuse Palestine soup since your babyhood;
and, my dear girl, I may add it's the first time
I've ever known you speechless for two consecutive
minutes.'
20
"love's a tyrant!
"Tastes alter. I neither want to talk nor to
take soup to-night, Belle had replied; and then
she had relapsed into depression until roused by
Mr. Gwynn's remark about the  hunter's moon 
and wayside cross.
"I think the moon will look so well from the
bow-window in the drawing-room to-night, that I,
for one, shall not be tempted to go out in search
of better effects, Constance put in, looking warn-
ingly at her cousin as she spoke. But Belle either
did not see or disregarded the warning, for she
answered buoyantly,
 Then I must take the sole responsibility of
guiding you to the best point for the sketch, Mr.
Gwynn. My cousin's taste would be the best, but
since she won't go, you must put up with mine
alone.
 I am sure it will be faultless, he said heartily,
and Connie felt her heart throb with indignation,
possibly at the audacious way in which this man
from the city was daring to make advances to
Miss Hillier, of Glade.
 Belle has a cold, uncle; surely it will be un-
wise for her to go out to-night ? she said quickly,
but Colonel Hillier was striving to discern what
was missing in the sauce which accompanied his
salmon cutlet at the moment, and so it came to pass
that his niece's application to his parental authority
.was not only unheeded but unheard by him.
 Why endow me with a cold that isn't mine,
Connie ? Bella as'ked blithely. Her spirits had
risen unaccountably in a minute. The girl felt that
boundless possibilities of happiness were almost
within her grasp, and without staying to try and
analyse one of them she gave herself up to the
enjoyment of the sparkling will-o'-the-wisp sensa-
tion that thrilled her.
 love's a tyrant ! 
21
 As usual, Miss Brymer must
' Reign, and reign alone,
And always give the law,
And have each subject to her will,
And all to stand in awe,'
Mr. Conway said, laughingly, "You two will have
to subdue your enthusiasm for art by moonlight
if she wills it otherwise.
 How can you put it so ? the girl cried, re-
proachfully;  how can you try to make me appear
a detestable mixture of autocrat and wet blanket!
Belle, do I ever try to interfere with you or any
one else ? I only thought that just to-night 
She paused in painful embarrassment, and oddly
enough, as her embarrassment deepened, so did
Belle's undefinable sense of happiness decrease, and
Mr. Marcus Gwynn's sensitiveness as regarded being
in a false position lessen.
 As you are a gracious sovereign, it is only
fitting that you should reign absolutely; consent
to countenance our proceedings to-night by going
with us, he said, so softly that only Constance
heard him. And only Marcus Gwynn heard her
whispered answer,
 I will.
His muttered thanks were uttered under cover of
a rambling fire of complaint from Colonel Hillier
anent the hanging of a leg of Dartmoor mutton.
 Another twenty-four hours, and it would have
been eatable, just eatable, Conway ! he was saying,
and then he added pathetically,  There's no
Devonshire mutton, cream, or butter to equal that
which I get from Tucker, in the Strand, when I'm
up there.
 Up there always meant London with Colonel
Hillier, who, a country gentleman and county mag-
22
 love's a tyrant ! 
nate from necessity, was a veritable cockney and
clubman by taste.
 Father insults his moor-fed flocks, and my dear
deer '-eyed Jerseys on every possible occasion,
Bella pouted.  You shall see our dairy to-morrow,
Mr. Gwynn, and after that I shall think badly of
you if you ever taste Tucker's cream again.
"Belle and I could earn our living by going
about to different exhibitions as dairy-maids, if
needs be. I suppose you never saw a cow milked
or butter made in your life ? 
 Indeed, I have often enjoyed that privilege,
Marcus Gwynn said merrily
 Where ? At the ' Aylesbury Dairy,' or at
Welford's place, or the e Healtheries' ? All that
counts as nothing ! Confess, you've never seen real
cows milked by real dairy-maids in a real country
place.
As Constance asked the question she saw a swift
glance of amused intelligence pass between Marcus
Gwynn and his guardian, and in a paroxysm of
annoyance she added:—
 Mr. Conway and you evidently see some joke
in my ignorance of your experience; if there is
anything that we really ought, as moderately well-
informed people, to know about you in relation to
cows and dairy-maids, pray enlighten us, and for-
give our stupidity in having taken you for what
you seemed to be 
 And that is ? he began.
"A gentleman! she answered, throwing her head
up with indescribable haughtiness, "who would not
go partners in any mystery or joke that was meant
to bother or beguile two mere country girls.
u If you will let me, I will bare my whole life,
my whole experience, my whole heart, to you
to-night, he muttered fervently, and though ,no one,
^'love's a tyrant!
23
save the girl he addressed, heard him, he felt con-
scious immediately of having been idiotically emo-
tional in having so spoken to a stranger.
 It must have sounded like an offer ! "What an
ass she must think me! he said to himself, not
venturing to turn his eyes in her direction, from
a mortifying sense of self-sought humiliation. Had
he looked at her he would have seen that she was
to the full as embarrassed as himself, only plea-
surably so.
And all the while Belle Hillier was thinking
what a pity it was that Connie should let her
pride of station trample down her ordinarily strong
sense of the courtesy that was due to every guest
at her uncle's table. Quite a pang of disappoint-
ment assailed the gentle heart of the daughter of
the house at the sight of that obvious incom-
patibility, that entire want of sympathy, which
existed between the cousin she loved and the
stranger whom she already liked so much ! so very
much ! It occurred to Bella that she must as
soon as possible win Constance to show a kinder
front to the gentleman who looked like a duke,
and said he was a draper, "or else my father will
claim her on his side, and vote against me, Belle
thought, colouring consciously as she thought it, in
dismay at the way in which she had let her
hopeful imagination run away with her.
WThen the two young ladies were passing out
presently, Mr. Conway, who was deferentially hold-
ing open the door, bent forward and said in a low
voice to Constance Brymer—
 Will you give me a song to-night while the
people with a rapturous feeling for art go out to
study effects of moonlight ? 
 I can't. I'm one of the people who are going
out to study effects, she answered aloud, passing
24
 love's a tyrant ! 
nimbly out of earshot of his snappish retort that
he "had hardly supposed she cared to be the
proverbially superfluous third.
The two girls stood in the dimly lighted
drawing-room, wrapped up in fleecy white Shetland
shawls, close together on the rug in front of the
glowing woodfire, openly expectant of the same
person, yet in reality farther apart than they
had ever been in their lives, and secretly conscious
of a great gulf being fixed between them and the
realisation of their respective hopes.
"I wish Mr. Conway would come with us, Belle
began;  I see you would rather not be thrown
on the other one, and I can't promise to take him
entirely off your hands if we three go out
together.
"I don't want you to take him off my hands,
Constance said steadily.
"But you think it rather derogatory to your
dignity to have to make talk for him, or to enter-
tain him; now confess, don't you ?
 I would rather have to deal with Mr. Conway's
ward, than with Mr. Gwynn's guardian.
 Would you really! I'm astonished at your
saying that, for you know all about Mr. Conway;
you know he's a gentleman born and bred, and
you know that he holds the position of a well-
born, well-bred gentleman 
 I know he's a barrister, and I know he's legal
agent for two or three noblemen; and I know that
he's a self-seeking, cynical, unscrupulous man of
the world.
"Not all that, Con—not so bad as that, surely?
Belle expostulated nervously, for she wished Con-
way for this night, at least, to be tolerable in the
estimation of her cousin. But Constance disregarded
the expostulatory tone, and went on vehemently,
t( love's a tyrant !
25
 And I feel him to be a false friend and guardian
to this young man; therefore to-night, when we
stroll out to the wayside cross, I shall leave you
to the congenial society of the man of good birth,
breeding, and position, while I, for his own good,
will make a study of the other one, whom he has
led into a false position. Don't be afraid that I
shall say or do anything that may hurt Mr. Gwynn's
feelings, Belle; he will be quite safe with me, I
assure you.
As she uttered her promise the men came in,
and after a growling protest from Colonel Hillier,
who disliked being left alone when he had strung
himself up to the pitch of endurance of society, the
four started on their walk.
 For his own good, I'll keep him away from
Belle; she's inclined to like him already, and uncle
would never hear of that. What madness or
malice on Conway's part to bring this distinguished-
looking draper upon us! This was Miss Brymer's
reflection as she stepped out into the moonlight,
with Marcus Gwynn by her side, "where, for his
own good, she resolved to retain him during the
walk.
CHAPTER III.
"all connie, and no cross!
 Mr. Gwynn, trust to me, and I'll take you a
short cut to the cross, that the others have missed.
The path is rugged and boggy, but if you follow
me quite closely you won't slip, or if you slip it
will be on to soft ground and you won't hurt
yourself.
26
"love's a tyrant !
 I'll risk hurting myself for the sake of being
able to follow you 
 I'll lead you very straight, she interrupted.
 And now that you've shown such confidence in
me, show a little more, and tell me why you
thought it necessary to invent such a romantic
fiction for my cousin Miss Hillier's benefit.
 As what ?
 As that you are a—were in trade ? 
"There was no romance and no fiction in the
statement I made to your cousin, he said gravely.
 I am in trade; my father and grandfather were
in trade before me^ 
 Yet your name is ' Gwynn,' and you don't look
as if it were possible for you to stand behind a
counter and be obsequious. Don't tell me you
have ever done it.
 My name is Gwynn, and I have never stood
behind a counter in my life; is your conscience a
little easier now for having stooped down to speak
to me on terms of equality ?
"You are laughing at me, the girl said, in a
slightly offended tone, drawing herself up statelily
as she stepped along by his side.  You forget
how exclusively, narrowly perhaps, girls in the
position of my cousin and myself are brought up
in the country : we are not like the daughters of
the first county aristocracy, who are up in London
constantly, where their local prejudices and rustic
crudities get worn off and rubbed down. We run
in a little circle out of which we daren't move, and
into which we only welcome those who step down
from a higher platform. In fact, I have always
felt that we are country snobs of very much the
same order as Thackeray's immortal Major and
Mrs. Ponto. We speak with admiration of the
graceful way in which Lady Warlock is kind
 love's a tyrant ! 
27
enough to suppress her yawns in church, and we
are highly appreciative of the maternal zeal of the
Duchess of Welford which prompts her to drive her
prettiest children to the meet in a model wag-
gonette with a pair of matchless ponies. But we
are surprised and disgusted when Mrs. Hacker, the
hard-worked wife of our under-paid vicar, falls
asleep in the midst of one of her husband's ser-
mons. And we regard Mrs. Lorme, the doctor's
wife, as an intolerable nuisance for bringing her
children with her when she calls at Glade, though
we know she has neither governess, nurse, nor
trustworthy servants to leave them with. Now
you know what kind of people we are.
 I know one thing, he said warmly,  and that
is, that you neither snub Mrs. Lorme's children
when they come here, nor slavishly admire Lady
Warlock's suppressed yawns. I am not at all
afraid of you, Miss Brymer.
 Don't trust me too far. I'm a very weak sister,
but 1 have a certain amount of strength. I know
my own weakness. Old names, long descent, family
traditions, traits, relics, superstitions even—all
these things hold a powerful spell for me. I am
proud to feel that we have always been gentle-
men ! poor often, but gentlemen always!
 Your ancestral hands have never been sullied
by trade, in fact.
"Never, never, never!
 Yet here you are walking and talking fami-
liarly with a tradesman ! Your family traditions
and superstitions have but a feeble influence over
you, I fear.
 It's just because they are so potent with me
in reality that I dare ±o disregard them in seeming.
 In fact, you are so firmly fixed on your pedestal
of hereditary pride of birth and position that you
28
 love's a tyrant ! 
dare to play at being on terms of equality with
me or any other tinker, tailor, or draper ?
 Exactly so.
 And I am so steady on my lower level that
I dare to look up at you and don't dread turning
giddy. What happy terms we are on, are we not ?
Now, as we are both so fearless, I will venture
to ask you—and I am sure you won't hesitate to
answer me—Why did you do me the honour of
selecting me for your companion in this solitary
stroll in preference to my guardian, who is ' a
gentleman,'—if never having soiled his hands with
trade makes him one ?
 Shall I tell you honestly ?
 You will tell me honestly or not at all.
 So I will. Well, I had three reasons. The
first was, for your own good ; I wanted to keep
you apart from my cousin; the desire of the moth
for the star, generally leads the moth into the
candle-flame, where he perishes ignominiously. The
second was, I hate Mr. Conway, and had no intention
of being left alone with him. The third was, I liked
you, and felt curious to find out more about you.
She spoke very steadily, with no more agitation
or emotion in her voice than she would have ex-
hibited had she been announcing her liking for a
horse or a dog. For the rest the kindly light—or
rather want of it—prevented his seeing the burning
blush that was almost scorching her face.
 Do you think you have found out much more
than I confided to your cousin ?
 I am sure I have, she said quietly.
 Anything satisfactory ?
 Most satisfactory to me, she laughed.
 Will you tell me what it is ?
"No, no, I shall leave you to make the same
discovery for yourself, and then perhaps you will
love's a tyrant ! 
29
tell me. Here's the cross; the others can only he
half round the side of the hill yet; will you
begin to sketch ? 
 If you will lean on the cross so  (he adjusted
one of her arms on the piece of grey old granite
as he; spoke),  I will begin, but you must look
at me steadily all the time, and I'll talk to you
to keep you quiet.
 It was not in the programme that I should
come into the sketch.
"It has been in my programme all this time, I
can assure you.
 What presumption, when at first I had no
intention of coining! 
 Involuntary presumption; I so wished you to
come that I believe I willed you to do so.
 Not at all. I only came for your good, and
to take care of my cousin; don't you understand ?
Two girls together can do a dozen things that one
girl may not do alone.
"Why do you hate old Conway?
 I ask you the same question, Mr. Gwynn.
 At last you have made a mistake about me,
Miss Brymer. I don't even dislike him. I am
only tired of him and of his interference in my
affairs.
 Does he control your affairs ? 
"To a certain extent, yes.
 Can he do what he likes with your money ?
 In my interest only he can; oh! in that way
he's a very good old fellow; he looks after my
interests much too closely; until this year he only
allowed me five hundred a year.
 Did you want more ?
"Naturally I did.
 Why ?
"To spend.
30
 love's a tyeant I 
 How ?
"In a thousand ways.
 Did you want to many ? Five hundred a
year was a very good income for a bachelor, for
such a boy as you must have been; or did you
want to marry ?
"Frame your question in another way, and I'll
answer it; say, Do you want to marry?'
 Well, if you did, you do still, I'll suppose for the
credit of your constancy; do you want to marry ?
 I do, he was saying fervently when Belle
Hillier and Mr. Conway came panting up.
 How did you get here ? Bella began eagerly.
 Mr. Conway and I thought you had turned back
after we had loitered about in uncertainty for a
long time ; we might have been here ever so long
ago ; how did you miss us ?
"We came as the crow flies, by a short stony
path that has severely tried my Langtry shoes;
nevertheless we saved time as you will perceive !
the sketch is begun! observe the result of coming
by a short cut!
Bella went over and stood by Mr. Gwynn, view-
ing the sketch in the bright moonlight.
 It's all Connie and hardly any cross, she
pouted;  it's not a bit what I wanted.
As she murmured her little plaint poor Belle
stepped aside, a little aloof from them, half hoping
that they would explain and apologise to her
for the mistake that had been made in the execu-
tion of her wishes as regarded the sketch. But
instead of this Connie retained her graceful pose,
and Gwynn went on putting in line upon line,
touch after touch, uninterruptedly! They were
absolutely unconscious of her annoyance ! absolutely
unconscious that they were doing aught to annoy
her! And yet she had been the one who had
 love's a tyrant !
31
received his first confidence—that confidence which
might have seriously affected his position in their
midst. She had received his confidence, and shown
herself bravely deserving of it! She had proposed
the sketching expedition by moonlight! She had
shown herself courageously and unconventionally
ready to bear the whole burden of the guest who
had been led into a false position by Mr. Con-
way's thoughtlessness ! And having done all these
things, she was left to feel herself unconsidered and
unnecessary, if, indeed, not altogether forgotten!
For the first time in their relations with each
other, for the first • time in her fife, Belle -Hillier
was conscious of a sore, sad sense of inferiority to
her cousin.  She has had a brighter fife, and so
her heart and her mind and her manner are all
brighter than mine, and men all prefer brightness
to sober staunchness in women, she thought, dis-
contentedly; "besides, Con has money and I have
none, and perhaps the habit of his fife makes him
keen about money.
She was generous enough to reproach herself
immediately for entertaining such a sentiment, and
in her remorseful mood she sank into still lower
depths of self-depreciation.
 He would be a poor artist and a poor kind
of creature altogether if he wasn't entirely absorbed
by Connie as she looks now, she thought, as her
eyes rested with genuine, affectionate admiration
on the amateur model, who retained the graceful
position in the perfect fight in which she had been
posed by the master-hand to which she already
rendered obedience. Then, with a shai-p wrench,
Bella tore the liking that would soon have dawned
into love out from her heart, and resolved to help
them both, should they ever need her help, on
their respective paths towards one another.
32
 love's a tyrant ! 
Contemporaneously with her resolution an en-
elrtiy opposite one was being' formed by Mr.
Conway.
 Those young people must be divided with as
little delay as possible, he said to himself;  I've
always liked the boy for his mother's sake, but if
Connie likes him for his own I must sink him.
Idiot that he is to clash with me, when at a
word from me to her father he might have Belle
without the shadow of opposition. But Constance
Brymer shall never be wife to any other man than
myself while I live.
"Marcus, he cried out aloud, "if the crash
comes in your business house, that as a prudent
man I am always prepared to expect, you may
recoup your fortunes with your pencil, I should
think.
"As a prudent man you might have made your
pleasing suggestion more privately, Marcus
answered, gaily, "however I'll accept it—if Miss
Brymer will promise to be my model occasionally.
 I'll do anything to help  Constance was
beginning, when Mr. Conway, appearing not to
notice she was speaking, put in—
 By the way, that was a charmingly pretty
little girl you were always painting last year; what
has become of her, do you know ?
There was a pause of about four moments in
reality, but it seemed an hour to Constance
Brymer, before Marcus answered, coldly—
' She is living with my mother.
"Really, now, I never knew that, Mr. Conway
said, speaking in impressive tones, that grated on
the nerves of at least two of his hearers;  I've
been meaning to ask you about little—little
Let me see, what was her name ?
 How deeply interested you must have been
 love's a tyrant ! 
33
about a person whose name you can't remember,
and for whom you have forgotten to inquire since
last year, Constance said, impatiently, moving from
her place by the cross as she spoke.
 Ah! Miss Brymer ! you should have stood a
minute longer, Marcus said, reproachfully.
 Should I ? I'm not a professional model, remem-
ber; I've not had the training that had been the
portion, probably, of your pretty little model of last
year, whose charms you reproduced so constantly.
 Thank heaven you haven't had her training,
poor girl.
 What has made Laura go into retirement with
your mother ? had she fallen upon evil days, that
she could quit the delights of town ?
"You have remembered a part of her name, at
least, Mr. Conway; your memory is improving,
Constance said, satirically, while Marcus Gwynn
answered—
 I can't give you her reasons for going to my
mother, or my mother's reasons for taking her; but
there she is, I hear, settled at Thorpe.
 What havoc she'll work in the heart of the
curate of the parish, Mr. Conway laughed, affect-
edly;  Laura Payne will keep her hand in,
there's ncr doubt about that.
 Is Thorpe a country village ? asked Constance.
 Yes, a charming, prosperous, pastoral little place
in Norfolk, the greater part of which is owned
by our young friend here.
 Mr. Gwynn ! How could he pretend to be a
—only a tradesman ? 
 That's his modesty, and let me add his pride;
be won't merge the memory of his father, the
draper, in the existence of his mother, whose
maiden name he has taken in order that he may
inherit the Norfolk property; he is a very nice,
3
34
 love's a tyrant ! 
attractive lad, Miss Brymer, but I hope he is not
going to disappoint his mother.
To this last remark, uttered in an effectively
lowered tone, Constance was the sole unwilling
listener. Unintentionally she had dropped a few
paces behind the other two, with the person whom
she least liked in the world, and in punishment, it
almost seemed, of her want of purpose, this person
said something that gave her the most poignant
pain, though she vainly reminded herself that
it did not concern her in the most remote
degree.
 How is he likely to disappoint his mother?
Why should you fear he is likely to disappoint
her ? What is his mother like ? tell me.
 The story of ' how ' and ' why ' he is likely
to disappoint her is a long one, and could not
be easily told by me to you. But Mrs. Gwynn
can be easily described. She is a good, hard
Christian, rigid in her views, rigorous in her judg-
ment of herself and others, more inclined to justice
than mercy as a rule, and fearfully, foolishly fond
of her only son, our young friend yonder.
"Not a pleasant woman? Constance said, medi-
tatively.
"Yes, a very pleasant woman when she is not
over-anxious about Marcus; not but what there are
many excuses for the poor woman's over-anxiety,
for he is the ' son of his father,' and she, worse
luck, was his father's wife.
 Why do you say that, Mr. Conway ? Why
do you try to give me a bad impression of a man
I've seen for the first time to-night and of his
father, whom I never saw at all ?
 Did I convey that impression to you ? It
was involuntarily done, I assure you; perhaps I
too vividly remember that as Marcus is now, so
 love's a tyrant ! 
35
was his father when he first crossed the path of
a woman who was then as beautiful and attractive
and happy as you are now.
 And that was Marcus's mother ? 
 It was.
 And wasn't hers a happy life with her husband ? 
Mr. Conway shrugged his shoulders.
 She was a loving, proud, true, faithful wife ;
she could not brook a rival.
 And did he give her one ?
 He was open to flattery, and being wealthy
and artistic, women, who were unworthy to clean
his wife's shoes, flattered him.
"And made her jealous?
"Embittered her life and made it a failure when
it ought to have been such a success.
 Did you know her before she was mar-
ried ? 
 I did, slightly.
 And liked her better than you did your friend
who married her ?  she asked quickly.
 And liked her better than I did my friend
who married her, he echoed.
 ' Embittered her life and made it a failure
where it ought to have been a success.' What an
awful thing to have to say of a man whom you
called ' friend.' 
 I only hope I may never have to say it of
another man whom I call friend, Mr. Conwa}>-
said, sadly, and then before Constance could ques-
tion him he added—
"Don't ask me to explain myself, Constance. I
go on hoping against hope, and, maybe, my
responsibilities will be at an end before I have
cause to rue the day I assumed them.
 Oh, don't talk in that mysterious way; say
outright you think Mr. Gwynn is going to the bad
36
 love's a tyrant ! 
that is what you mean. What is this Laura
Payne like ?
 Why do you associate his possible downfall
with her name ? 
"You have led me on to do it, she said, indig-
nantly, and before he could  put things before her
in a proper light, as he eagerly asserted he wished
to do, she had left him and joined the pair in
front.
 I have been asking Mr. Conway to tell me
something of Laura Payne, your beautiful model of
last year, she began impetuously, and when
Marcus Gwynn replied—
"Let me tell you all there is to be told about
poor Laura, Miss Brymer, Miss Brymer felt very
much ashamed of herself.
 My desire to know about her comes under the
head of vulgar curiosity, does it not ? But you'll
be lenient to a country girl's crude curiosity about
a lovely model who goes to live with the artist's
mother, won't you, Mr. Gwynn ?
 If I can stimulate your curiosity and get you
to take a real interest in Laura Payne, I shall
be glad.
 Honestly, yes, I see, you mean it, and so what-
ever comes, here on my own dear moor where
I've never had a mean thought or told a lie in
my life, I pledge myself to take a real interest
and be a real friend to Laura Payne. This with-
out knowing her, Mr. Gwynn, and only because
you seem to think her worthy; it's rather Quixotic
I know, and I've no doubt that you and Belle are
both laughing at me, but one must be weak now
and then, and I suppose I am weak about the
idea of Laura Payne. There's something about her
name and her having been your model and now
being your mother's companion, that's suggestive
 love's a tyrant ! 
37
of a little romance. Tell us what she is like, if
words can do her justice; sketch her in and give
us an idea of her colouring.
 I don't feel a bit curious about her, thank you,
said Belle, stiffly.  I would much rather hear
about your mother, Mr. Gywnn.
 Only, said Connie, softly,  we can hardly ask
Mr. Gwynn to make a sketch of his mother for
our amusement.
"When we go in I'll show you my sketch-book,
you'll find several studies of Laura in it, Marcus
Gwynn was saying when Mr. Conway put in—
 Yes, she has served you many times, both as
saint and sinner.
"Another of Mr. Conway's enigmatical more than
meets the ear remarks, Marcus laughed.
 I hate buried meanings, Constance said, im-
patiently.  What is the plain English of that last
speech, Mr. Conway ?
"The plain English of it, said Marcus Gwynn
"is that I've painted Laura Payne as 'Vivien'
and ' St. Mary Magdalene.'
 Then I suppose she is very, very lovely ?
Belle questioned, and for answer Marcus quoted
 Sir Lancelot's words when he sees  Elaine
float by him, to  Camelot, dead:
 Ah ! me, she has a lovely face,
God in his mercy send her grace.
38
 love's a tyrant ! 
CHAPTER IV.
laura payne.
At the same time that Marcus Gwynn was sketch-
ing a wayside cross, with a lovely girl leaning
upon it in the moonlight on the borders of Dart-
moor, another equally lovely girl in a far-off
county was sketching out a plan of action for
herself in which he bore no inconsiderable share.
During the whole long day—and a day in the
country spent with a lady was inevitably a dole-
fully lonely one to Laura Payne—she had been
the watchful, attentive, industrious companion only.
But at length the late dull dinner had come to an
end, and Mrs. Sackville, Marcus Gwynn's mother,
had retired to her boudoir to write and read and
think, leaving her companion to her own devices
in the drawing-room.
It was the only hour of the twenty-four in
which Laura Payne found life endurable at Thorpe.
The severe strain by which she kept up the
appearance of being contented and grateful, and
agreeably interested in the domestic routine, and
line art needlework was relaxed then. The Laura
Payne whom Mrs. Sackville knew vanished, and
the real woman came into active existence and
worked what mischief she could.
On the present occasion, as soon as she heard the
door of the boudoir, which was at some distance
from the drawing-room, shut, she stepped out
through an open French window into the garden,
and ran along a dark side avenue withi the speed
and sure-footedness of one well accustomed to tread
it. Before accompanying her to her destination,
and discovering what her mission was, a brief
 love's a tykant ! 
39
glimpse at the past and present of her patroness
and employer, Mrs. Sackville, will help to a better
understanding of the position of affairs.
Twenty-six years before the actors in this little
drama were introduced to you, the Honourable
Helena Gwynn had outwardly infuriated, but in-
wardly intensely gratified, her father and family
by marrying Mr. Sackville, the head of a rich
London drapery establishment. By the marriage
she secured to herself such care, consideration, love,
and luxury as she had never even dreamt of in
her wildest dreamings in her debt-encumbered, reck-
lessly-mismanaged, dilapidated Irish home. But
though her husband paid her father's debts, and
his money patched up and made passably pleasant
the decayed and damp ancestral baronial hall
wherein her neglected childhood and prosy girl-
hood had been passed; though through Mr. Sack-
ville's wise munificence, her brothers, the Honour-
able Brian and the Honourable Marcus, were given
commissions in good regiments and sent out to
India, while her sisters were becomingly clothed
and given those two seasons in London which
resulted in their making the brilliant matches they
did; though all these things, and many more which
need not be chronicled, were done with  the
draper's money, the Honourable Helena was never
suffered by her noble family to forget that she had
married a draper, and so derogated from the dignity
of all that appertained to Lord Mount-Hawke, of
Mount-Hawke, County Kerry.
In those days, when the marriage was a new
thing and all the Gwynn clan were battening on
the Sackville money, and bewailing the Sackville
connection, the Honourable Helena had been be-
witchingly pretty, and her beauty, and her conde-
scension in having stooped to conquer him, made
40
 love's a tyiiant I 
her husband rather slavish to her fine, strong, im-
perious Irish will. Also, in spite of her exercising
this will pretty freely, she really loved and was
touchingly grateful to the man who had picked her
out of the dank atmosphere of an impoverished,
proud, obscure, ill-regulated Irish home. And so
the alliance turned out so well that the friends on
both sides who had prophesied all manner of misery
from the match were feeling rather disheartened
and doubtful as to the beneficence of that Provi-
dence which could watch over the happiness of the
scion of a noble Irish house when united to a
mere tradesman !
These murmu rings against the tactless orderings
of a Superior Power were of no consequence what-
ever, while they were made in remote Irish wilds
to the innumerable hangers-on who were relatively
benefited as largely as the owners of Mount-Hawke
itself, by the London trader's filthy lucre. But
when the Honourables Kathleen, and Honor, and
Mina all married well, came to London for the
season, and carried all before them in society as the
three prettiest young matrons of the day, then Mrs.
Sackville, to whom they owed all their success,
began to feel out of it, and to wince accord-
ingly.
She was a true as well as a good woman though;
and though she smarted under some slights she
received from her high-born family and friends, she
never turned and tried to socially scald her husband
in turn. But she did what in effect was almost
worse ! She first held herself aloof from the friends
among whom he had been brought up, and then
grew jealous of some of the utterly inferior women
to herself with whom he continued friendly.
And as she grew jealous she grew cold and re-
signed, and so unsympathetic to the handsome,
 love's a tyrant ! 
41
clever, active, genial-natured man who had thought
himself splendidly rewarded by the gift of her
hand, for his generosity in rebuilding the fortunes
of her father's house.
Then all her pride, all her love, all her hopes for
here and hereafter, were concentrated on her boy.
He became the pivot on whom her every thought
turned. His talent, his good looks, his well-bred
bearing, his sense of honour, his lavish lordly
nature, all these were surely attributes with which
he was endowed through her ? And so, at last,
when her brother Marcus came home a distin-
guished soldier, married a rich widow, and declared
his nephew Marcus his heir, Mrs. Sackville lent
an eager ear to the suggestion that the boy
should take their family name for his uncle's pro-
perty in Norfolk, and be known as Marcus Gwynn.
But as the boy grew up, long before his father
died, it became evident that though his good looks
increased, and his talents, sense of honour, and
his magnificent largeness of nature intensified, he
was indisputably the son of his father. "Like him,
too, in the way in which he gets all women to
love him, his mother avowed in jealous agony to
her sisters who, while they revelled in the boy's
beauty and grace, frankly regretted that he did
not owe it to their side of the house.
 But it's something that he will always be
known as a Gwynn, Helena, and when, please
God, you're left a widow, you can just both of you
turn your backs on the memory of the House, and
come back among your own people.
 With the money from the House in our hands
to ensure our welcome ?
<£ Ah! well, my dear! what did you marry for
but it, and it's thankful we all are that you've got
your heart's desire, and that Mr. Sackville keeps
42
 love's a tyrant ! 
so much in the background. Marcus must go into
the army, and belong to good clubs, and people
will never think that the money a Gwynn spends
comes from the House -of Sackville and Co. It
won't be half bad to get a dispensation and marry
him to Mount-Hawke's girl; she's growing up for
him nicely.
 I'm afraid Marcus will neither be sent into the
army nor married to his cousin to please us, his
mother said complainingly when this proposition
was made. But still, though she seemed to despair
of it, she nourished it in her heart, and at the
time of Marcus's visit to the Hilliers of Glade, it
was the paramount desire of her mind that her son
should marry her niece, the Honourable Olivia
Gwynn, and so unite the family and the fortune.
It may seem a mere detail to remark here that
in the days before the rich young Mr. Sackville
had been introduced into their tattered and torn
midst at Mount-Hawke, his friend Mr. Conway had
fallen desperately in love with the sweet, noble
young Irish wildflower, Helena. In those days,
he, even he, had determined to achieve a good
position, amass a fortune, and marry a wife who
could fill the one and spend the other creditably.
He saw his way to the position and fortune
clearly marked out, for he was agent to two or
three large and important properties, and was in
addition lawyer to the Local Board and Improve-
ment Committee of a flourishing and rising sea-
port town. A well-dowered wife would have been
a desideratum certainly, but Helena Gwynn's
beauty and birth were preferable. So he proposed
to her and was refused! Hence his interest in
her son, our hero!
Mrs. Sackville, as she sat writing to her
favourite niece, Olivia, with* the soft light^ of the
 love's a tyrant ! 
43
reading-lamp falling becomingly upon her, is as
well worth looking at as any of the younger pretty
people who are depicted in these pages. Her dark
hair and grey eyes, her small, oval, olive-skinned,
clear-complexioned face, her small head, and mobile,
smiling, rather large mouth, are Celtic, all of them.
Celtic, too, is the wave of colour and emotion
which passes over her face as she writes the
words—
 Marcus has promised to come home for October,
and, unless you are here to help me to entertain
him, I fear I shall not keep him long. Have you
seen any account of his last picture accepted at
the Grosvenor Gallery, and praised throughout the
press ? It's called ' Sage and Siren,' the old Vivien
and Merlin story you know, and though I detest
the subject, I delight in the picture. The ferns you
brought me last year are all dead. This dry
Norfolk air suits them as little as it suits me. I
shall be rejoiced to resign the reins here to Marcus's
wife and retire to a Dow's house in a milder
climate. Marcus is staying with an old gentleman
at Glade, in Devonshire, fishing and sketching.
Your father must let you come very soon. I
enclose a little cheque for you to provide yourself
with a winter costume of grey velvet and chin-
chilla furs. Marcus prefers harmonies to contrasts,
and I think his taste may safely be relied upon. A
white Limerick lace dress, and plenty of Robinson
and Cleaver's beautiful linen, my child. The pure
white lace is to be preferred, 1 think, to the
modern tints of cream and ivory, and I believe I
am right, for Marcus endorses my taste.
 I forgot to tell you that I have secured a
pleasant companion at last, a Miss Payne. She
answered my advertisement, and curiously enough
when she came I founchfrom her that she had been
44
 love's a tyrant ! 
reduced to sitting as a model to several artists, for
remuneration. Among others she has sat to Marcus;
but he was not instrumental in getting her here,
nor had she the faintest idea he was my son until
she had been in the house a week or two.
While Mrs. Sackville was writing this to her
niece, Laura Payne was perched on a gate at the
end of the avenue, her beautiful face radiant with
its least holy expression, bent down over the
honestly impassioned one of a young man, who
stood in front of her, holding both her cool, firm
little hands, in his tremulous feverish ones.
 I almost bless you for having come to meet
me again, he was saying;  and you're so dis-
trustful or something, that you pretend it's an
accident!
 Poor Charlie, so it is, and a bad accident for
you, I'm afraid, she cried, but she made no
resistance when he lifted her hands to his lips
and kissed them desperately. Though at this junc-
ture she would hardly have married the young
farmer, with whom she was love-making so auda-
ciously, to save her life, it thrilled her deliciously
to see that she had the power to stir him visibly
to what she considered his stolid depths. So she
called him "Charlie in a loving voice, and let him
kiss her hands till they smarted under his lips.
CHAPTER V.
the honourable olivia.
The  little cheque  to which Mrs. Sackville so
casually alluded in her letter to her niece Olivia
Gwynn, being for a hundred pounds, brought a
 love's a tyeant ! 
45
fair amount of chastened joy into the see-saw
household at Mount-Hawke.
It chanced to be one of the periods where "here
they went down ! down! down! These times of
depression indeed recurred more frequently and
lasted longer than those of their going  up ! up !
up! On the whole, the epithet see-saw can scarcely
be said to adequately describe the out-at-elbows
establishment of the premier South of Ireland
Baron.
A dripping wet autumnal day, when the mists
envelop the tops of the hills and do away with the
idea of space, when the sodden leaves fall down
bruised and withering, and proceed to decay forth-
with without making an effort to Le crisp and blow
about, when the sun relaxes his eternal struggle
with the clouds, and lets his leaden-lined victors
lower gloomily over us, unrelieved by the faintest
gleam from himself, is not, the most equable and
contented individual among us must admit, an in-
spiriting or invigorating day, wherever it has to
be passed.
But given the necessity of passing it in an ill-
conditioned house in the South of Ireland, a house
wherein pride, and ill-temper, and poverty hold
equal sway, and the obligation becomes an ap-
palling one.
Brian Gwynn, Lord Mount-Hawke, the eldest
brother of that Honourable Helena, who had done
so well for herself and her family by marrying Mr.
Sackville, had not been wise in his generation, as
his brother Marcus had been. Instead of coming
home from India a distinguished soldier, and
marrying a wealthy and weak widow, he had come
home undistinguished, save for his capacity for
spending money and taking nips, and had married
an impecunious and extravagant beauty, in distress
46
 love's a tyrant ! 
at having been humiliatingly jilted by one of his
brother-officers. Having made her Lady Mount-
Hawke and placed her at the head of a home that
was horrible to her from the hour she entered it,
he conceived that he had fulfilled his whole duty
to man and womankind, and let the world roll
on, bestowing what buffets it pleased upon his wife
and children as it revolved, without let or hin-
drances from that  prince of good fellows, Lord
Mount-Hawke.
Why she had married him was a problem easy
of solution. He was good-looking and attractive,
free with the money he had not got, the owner
of a demesne that had been in the family for gene-
rations (she looked upon it merely as an enlarged
pigsty, when she came to live in it), and the
wearer of an unquestionably well sounding title.
But why he married her was a mystery that
baffled the understanding of all his familiars. For
beyond that beauty-of-youth which was her portion
when he met her first, and which was far from
excelling that of her compeers with whom he had
the opportunity of contrasting her, Lady Mount-
Hawke had not a single quality or qualification
that fitted her to be the wife of a rentless, rest-
less, reckless Irish lord.
In the first place she was trim, neat, orderly,
and fastidious in all her own habits. But her own
habits were strictly limited by her physique and
intelligence, both of which were delicate and un-
equal to any severe or unaccustomed strain. The
dirt and disorder, the disarray and dilapidation
which reigned conjointly in unholy supremacy in
her husband's home—that high-sounding  Castle
of which she had meant to be such a graceful
Chatelaine—struck her dumb and diffident on her
first arrival. And unfortunately she never re-
 love's a tyrant !
47
covered either her powers of speech, nor of ex-
pressing dignified displeasure.
 It is all too ghastly, she would say with a
shudder, as she sauntered about supinely from one
unsatisfactory room to another. But she lacked
the courage to grapple with the ghastliness, and
so her children were born and bred and brought
up in it.
A glimpse at the breakfast-parlour at Mount-
Hawke on the morning on which Mrs. Sackville's
letter reached her niece Olivia will help to reveal
something of the inner life of the family, and of
the real nature of the girl whom his mother
wanted Marcus to love and marry.
Half-a-dozen noisy boys and girls, ranging from
nineteen to six, swarmed round the table and about
the fire, where Olivia, the eldest, was vainly trying
to toast some bread without burning it, for her
mother's breakfast. Lady Mount-Hawke herself,
in a Liberty silk Watteau morning-gown, that had
seen better days, but that was scrupulously clean
and tidy compared to her surroundings, leant de-
jectedly on the table, hopelessly regarding a coffee-
pot that would not pour properly because its
strainer was choked, and a large jug full of rich
milk that was undrinkable because it had been
burnt in the boiling.
 Norah gets worse and worse! the bacon is a
mass of cinders and the eggs are musty. What
an astonishing thing it is that not one of our hun-
dred hens can lay a fresh egg, she was saying
dispiritedly when the butler, in a seedy coat whereon
string supplied the place of buttons in two glaring
instances, came in with the letter bag, and all the
young Gwynns fell upon and emptied it.
"How can you, Olivia, when there's never any-
thing in it but bills from London and threats
48
 love's a tykant ! 
from the tenants ? Lady Mount-Hawke said re-
proachfully; hut she flushed and smiled rather
cheerfully a minute later when Olivia waved the
cheque before eyes that had grown dim in the long
search for brighter conditions than those under
which Fate had condemned her to languish.
 A whole hundred pounds to do as I like
with, the girl cried enthusiastically.  Come round
and listen, boys and girls, while I tell you what
we'll do with it.
"I know what you'll do as soon as papa comes
in ; you'll have to hand it over to him, and I wish
you joy of the beautiful white Limerick lace you'll
be able to buy with the change.
"Nonsense, Brian, the money is sent for my own
use, and so, of course, after mamma has had her
choice, the rest is for me—to divide with you.
 I won't touch a penny, it would be robbing
you, my child, Lady Mount-Hawke said, pathe-
tically; but for all that Olivia had her way, and
fifty pounds of the aunt's gift filtered its way
through the housekeeping-purse into the pockets
of patient local tradesmen, and servants who had
long waited for their wages.
 And Carline can have the term's singing lessons
now, mamma, and surely two pounds ten of it
might go for the ten sketching lessons Mr. Turner
would give dear little Cosy, and 
 You are bound to get the harmony in grey
velvet and chinchilla that may cause you to find
favour in the eyes of our critical cousin who hails
from Oxford Street 
 Brian ! how can you be so mean as to say that,
when we're taking the money that hails from the
same place ?  Olivia stormed out.  I'm in one mind
to send the cheque straight back to Aunt Helena, and
tell her that her nephew sneers at her son 
 love's a tyeant ! 
49
^  My dear girl, don't do anything so injudi-
cious, Brian interrupted with much solemnity ;  it
would be a fatal step, for the gentleman who has
been kind enough to collar our name, might see
the letter and stop further supplies; besides that,
the boy added heartily,  Aunt Helena is a dear
woman, and I wouldn't hurt her feelings about
Marcus, who's one of the best fellows out, for the
world.
 And won't I have a glorious time at Thorpe ?
and don't you be surprised, Brian, if you're asked
there for the October shooting; so just go straight
off to Cork to-morrow and order a shooting suit ;
butter-muslin will make up just as well for me
as Limerick lace, mamma, she went on eagerly, as
she saw that her mother was about to protest
against the way in which she proposed employing
the funds that had fallen upon them as unex-
pectedly as a gift from heaven.  Aunt Helena
will be short-sighted about the difference in tex-
ture, and will never ask a question, and Marcus
always clothes the women in his pictures in limpy
garments, so he will be satisfied, a sentiment
which was fully endorsed by all the junior mem-
bers of the family, and so it came about that, in
spite of the inability of the coffee-pot to pour its
contents out properly, and the obtrusive evidence
the milk gave of having boiled over on a smoky
peat fire, the breakfast came to an almost hilarious
conclusion.
Freckled, fair, and rather fat, the Honourable
Olivia Gwynn was just the last girl in whom at a
cursory glance one would expect to find many of
the heroic qualities. Yet chinchilla furs and grey
velvet, white lace dresses and exquisite lingerie
were as dear to her heart as to the hearts of any
of her sister women, and still being dear to her
4
50
 love's a tyrant ! 
heart, and well and honourably within her reach,
she cheerfully resigned them for the greater good
of the greater number of her kith and kin.
In spite of the freckles—and they were many
—and the fat which was liberally disposed over
both face and figure, Lord Mount-Hawke's eldest
daughter was indisputably comely. Her round,
plump, freckled visage was nearly always adorned
with a broad, honest smile, that won for her the
pet name of  Mealy potato  from her frank and
free-spoken young brothers and sisters. And though
the  sapphire's rays  did not  cease to shine 
when she smiled, nor when  big, bright tears came
o'er her eyes of blue, did they resemble "violets
steeped in dew, still they were sweet and kindly
eyes that watered freely when those she loved
sorrowed, and sparkled brilliantly at the thoughts
of happiness for herself and others.
In fact, she was as sound and sweet a child
of nature as were the birds in the air, and the
flowers that grew where they listed in the luxuri-
ant, weedy old garden. It may be added that she
was as uneducated as the former, and as untrained
as the latter. But for all that she was the
Honourable Olivia Gwynn, and she knew that in
the marriage market her cousin Marcus would be
held to have the best of the bargain if she became
his wife.
Her father—degenerated into a slovenly old pig
by this time—heard of the cheque and invitation
with fatuous self-satisfaction.
 It's the old story over again—history repeating
itself, he grinned.  Helena wants to graft her
boy on to a noble stock, and doesn't care what
price she pays for the honour; his father did the
same thing, and mighty little satisfaction he had
out of the transaction, I'm thinking.
 love's a tyrant ! 
51
"No, I should imagine you Gwynns had the best
of it as far as Mr. Sackville was concerned/' his
wife acquiesced, foolishly.  Still I should be sorry
to see Olivia handed over for so much ready
money, as your sister was. If we give her to
Marcus he must give us an equivalent—he must
drop trade entirely, sell out of the business, and
settle here near us, where I can have the comfort
of my girl's society; it's the only comfort I'm ever
likely to have on this wretched Irish soil.
 And you're likely to have it about the same
time Marcus Gwynn sells out of the business, Lord
Mount-Hawke chuckled;  why would he be doing
anything of the sort ? To sell out of the business
would be to decrease the only power he has—
money ! To settle here would be to efface himself,
for his trading capabilities would have no scope,
and though there are so many country gentlemen's
places vacant, he couldn't fill one of them ! Livy
must make up her mind to live at Thorpe, I'm
thinking.
 And I'm thinking, papa, that after all you're
saying I shall be ashamed to look my cousin
Marcus in the face.
"I'd look him in the face, and get him to look
in mine if I'd your chances, Livy, Cosy inter-
rupted. Cosy, the friendly, family abbreviation for
Catherine, was possessed of greater personal charms
than had fallen to the share of her elder sister, and
in addition to the fairer face and finer figure, she
was endowed with an irresistible gift of self-posses-
sion and affable audacity. She it was who was
put forward to tame threatening tenants and diffi-
cult duns, when either disagreeable visitant mani-
tested himself bodily at Mount-Hawke. And she
it was whose keen eyes and steady hand steered
the nearly wrecked family bark through the danger-
52
 love's a tyrant ! 
ous waters of discontent and distress and disaffec-
tion which frequently threatened to overwhelm
it.
 I would if I had your chances, Livy, she went
on, standing before her amused father, dauntless
and determined, repeating her former asseveration
with cool energy,  I'd make him follow me back
here into the very heart of our difficulties, and
when he had grasped them all, I'd make him
grateful to me for giving him the chance of
relieving them, and then, if there was no one I
liked better in the way, I'd marry him.
 And it would never occur to you that he
mightn't want to marry you ? Olivia asked with
angry contempt.
 Indeed no, any more than it would occur to
himself, Cosy answered, with fine consciousness
of power, and Olivia felt her heart glow with satis-
faction at the reflection that this all-conquering
young sister of hers was not the one selected by
her Aunt Helena, to pay a visit to Thorpe, and
dwell for many weeks under the same roof with
cousin Marcus.
Deep in that conscious heart was buried the
glorious secret that she loved him dearly for him-
self. Loved him for his manliness and kindness,
his goodness and brightness, and for those good
looks which, in her estimation, dwarfed the claims
of Adonis. Of his money, of his power of endow-
ing the wife he eventually chose with all the things
that are dear to women's hearts, she never, to do
her justice, thought for a moment.
But, alas for her, there was another who loved
him with equal disinterestedness, and far more
fervour and warmth! And this other Marcus
Gwynn already thought the  fairest in the face
of all the women who dwelt on earth.
 love's a tyrant ! 
53
But in ignorance of this last crushing fact,
Olivia continued to make such preparations as she
could for that visit to England which she felt pro-
phetically would be the event of her life. As the
hundred pounds were melting daily in the heat of
her affectionate desire to give pleasure with it to
all her family, these preparations were on a more
limited scale than had been intended by her Aunt
Helena. In fact, beyond the harmony in grey
velvet and chinchilla which she did achieve after
some compunction, the wardrobe of the Honourable
Olivia was like some old china, interesting rather
on account of its antiquity than its beauty. Still
she packed it up with a light heart and departed,
broader smiles than had beamed over it before on
her honest face, the object of the hearty, openly-
expressed envy of her sister Cosy.
CHAPTER VI.
in the afterglow.
The colour of the whole country was gorgeous
in these September days. Virginian creeper glowed
like fire on garden walls and cottage gable-ends,
and the woods that clothed the hill-sides were
compact masses of every shade, varying from pale
gold to fiery crimson. At the same time the
fields, full of the seldom chronicled beauties of the
humbler flat pole cabbages and turnips, held their
own stoutly with the woods and gable-ends, as
far as colour is concerned.  Peacock blues and
greens to be seen in perfection, must be looked for
—when the bird itself is absent—in fields of cab-
54
 loye's a tyrant ! 
bages and mangolds late in September in that
peculiar warm lemonade atmosphere which brings
all vegetation in Devonshire to such rank luxuri-
ant perfection.
There was every excuse to be found in the
beauty of the second summer that was smiling
upon them for' the pertinacious and indefatigable
way in which Constance Brymer and Marcus
Gwynn devoted themselves to sketching. He as
an artist, and she as a woman gifted by God's
grace with a good appreciative feeling for art, would
have been without justification had they neglected
to go out and study the ever-changing effects of
light on the moors, and the imperial tints of the
rapidly-decaying foliage. But their reasonable de«
votion to the service of the search for beauty in
common things, their absorbed pursuit of it, their
resignedness to the want of sympathy manifested by
the others, the way in which their favourite oc-
cupation rendered tbem independent and appeared
to isolate them happily in a little world of their
own, were one and all sources of bitterness and
nausea to Mr. Conway.
The truth is he was in a second summer too!
a second summer of feverish heat, wherein he
seemed to be passing over burning fiery sands,
where no water was to assuage his parching thirst.
In other words, he was selfishly, passionately,
pitilessly, unholily desirous of getting Constance
Brymer for his wife. He called it being  in love 
with her to himself, but his love was a lustful
thing from which the higher nature of the girl
recoiled involuntarily.
That he took out a portion of his hell upon
earth in these days of delightful dalliance between
Constance and Marcus is satisfactorily certain. To
see the eyes he was always trying to look into, so
 love's a tyrant ! 
55
sweetly tenderly watchful of another man was
torture to him. Over again he tasted the bitter-
ness which had been his portion when Marcus's
father had won the young Irish girl without any
trouble, while he (Conway) had worked in many
an insidious way for her favour without avail for
many a month. But the bitterness was intensified
now by the- knowledge that he was playing an
altogether hopeless game. That as he had been
not only unloved but unliked at the beginning by
Constance, so was he daily growing less lovable
and likable. And not only that, but the power
of love on his own side would soon decrease! He
was being thwarted, cheated, defrauded he almost
felt, of a just prerogative by this  brute of a
boy, as he was beginning to term Marcus to
himself. He almost brought himself to believe that
had he not been weak enough to let Marcus get a
footing at Glade, Constance would have surrendered
to his perseverance, would have been touched by
his passion, and the pain the baffling of it caused
him. He felt that he could have played the part
of lover more gallantly had the younger man not
been there to see the effort and the failure, and
without much effort of his own to succeed!
Those hours which Marcus Gwynn and Con-
stance Brymer passed together in that happy second
summer time—the last happy time they knew for
a weary while — were hours of red-hot torture
and temptation to the wretched man whose evil
passions, coldly cultivated all his life, revenged
themselves by turning and rending him now with
fiery force. And every day she whom he hungered
for with the cruel appetite of a half-starved hyena,
grew more regardless of him and his power to
harm, and more reliant upon the omnipotence of
her lover and her love.
56
 love's a tyrant ! 
Foi Marcus Gwynn was her lover, and she
knew it as well as he did himself, though he was
unavowed still. He had taken no unfair advantage
of her generous desire to treat him a little more
kindly than she would otherwise have done, had
she believed him to be quite her equal. For as
yet she knew nothing of the side of his house
which most men would have mentioned, even if
they had not vaunted it. He had spoken of his
mother often; every man honourably in love with a
girl speaks of his mother to her. But he had
never told her that his mother was an Honour-
able, and his grandfather a Lord! Time enough
to tell her these things, in which, true woman as
she was, Constance would assuredly find much
satisfaction, when he had won her fairly and fully,
as his father had won his mother before him, as
a man in trade.
But though Marcus Gwynn did not bring the
noble side of his family to bear upon Constance, he
brought every power with whicli God had gifted
him as a man to his aid in winning her. He
wooed her with the fervour and force that leaves
a girl in no painful doubt as to the reality of a
man's regard for her. He anticipated her wishes.
He sought her on every possible occasion. He
made her understand that though his aims and
ambitions had never been low, they had grown
higher under her influence. Above all, he let her
see that he loved her for herself, and not for that
poor fortune of hers which she was wont to accuse
of being the lure which had brought other lovers
to her feet.
About his disinterestedness in this respect she
could entertain no manner of doubt. Once when
she was expressing a fear to him that her uncle,
Colonel Hillier. was suffering money matters to
 love's a ttkant !
57
prey upon his mind, and letting his inability to
keep up Glade as his ancestors kept it up before
him distress him, Marcus had said—
 If you would .divide your fortune and settle
half of it upon your cousin Belle, I believe you
would all three be happier.
"My uncle wouldn't let Belle accept it unless I—
was quite independent of it in some other way, she
answered, quickly, blushing brightly as she spoke.
 Supposing you were independent of it—as you
will be I hope and feel sure—will you promise
to make the poor old boy's latter days sunshiny
in the way I suggest?
 That I will, she, said, heartily, and he whis-
pered—
 Thank you, Connie.
By this it will be seen that though he was not
her avowed lover, yet he had so nearly attained to
that coveted position that he ventured to interfere
in that exceedingly delicate matter, the disposition
of her property. And Constance, instead of being
offended, felt prouder than before of having won
.the love of so liberal a lover.
One day he got up with the determination to
speak and make her answer, and seal his fate
and hers before he went to rest that night. But,
as it happened, the opportunity was denied him,
for the first time since he came to Glade. The
weather was responsible for the upsetting of his
plan in the first place, and it came about in this
wise.
 We ought not to neglect such an invitation as
the sun is giving us to-day, Colonel Hillier said
at breakfast. The windows were open, and far
away as the eye could reach Dartmoor stretched
away, reflecting, as in a mirror, every tint in the
sky above it. Patches of gold from clumps of
58
 love's a tyeant I 
gorse, dyeing purple and brown heather and ferns,
blue-grey spaces over which earth-bound clouds
seemed to flit in imitation of those in the heavens
above. All these were so many eloquent prayers
to them to go out into free space and live a day
in the open.
 How shall we arrange ourselves ? Miss Hillier
asked, when it was decided that the whole party
should drive up on the moor as far as Dartmeet,
and there, at the junction of the two Darts, try
their luck and test their skill with their rods on
the exquisitely delicate little moor trout.
 There's the waggonette, or shall we go in two
dog-carts ?  Colonel Hillier replied.
 The waggonette, by all means, it would be
unsociable to separate on such an excursion as
this, Mr. Conway said, suavely, but he watched
Constance as he said it, and felt savage at the
unrestrained look of disappointment which clouded
her face.
 I should say the two dog-carts, Marcus put in,
 or, better still, we can ride, can't we ? he added,
appealing to Constance with an open directness
that nearly maddened Conway.
 Certainly we can, she was saying, when Bella,
to whom the prospect of a day on the moor in
a dog-cart with her father and Conway was not
wildly interesting, put in, complainingly—
 That's a little too bad, Connie, when you know
my Gee is lame; saddles never keep with wheels
I've always noticed; we shall see nothing of you
from the moment we leave the lodge-gates till we
meet here at supper. Papa, don't let them be so
unsociable; let us all go in the waggonette!
 Gladly, dear, Connie laughed, feeling that
Marcus was her own, and that she would be able
to have as much of his society in the future as she
 love's a tyrant !
59
pleased;  the waggonette by all means ! I'll order
it; don't waste any more time over breakfast. Mr.
Conway, I make you responsible for the rods and
flies. Belle, you see to the rugs and wraps, and
I'll go to the larder and help cook to pack the
hamper. Oh! the letters! what a nuisance it is
we didn't get off before the post came in. If
any of you dawdle over your correspondence this
morning the day will be lost.
She gathered her own letters up as she spoke,
and was leaving the room when an exclamation
from Conway arrested her attention.
 By Jove ! Marcus, he cried in apparently ir-
repressible agitation,  but this is a staggerer !
Your confidential clerk has turned out a fraudulent
defaulter; he's been forging your name, too,
and 
 Shall we discuss these business matters alone ? 
Marcus cried, starting up, and as Constance saw
how hard he struggled to keep his composure, and
not bring confusion into their social midst, she
almost resolved to spring to his side, and claim
her right to help and comfort him !
But she was checked by a relieved sigh from
Conway.
 It's not so bad as I thought, he began ex-
plainingly, throwing the letter which had conveyed
the news to Marcus as he spoke,  the cheque to
which he has forged our friend's name is for a
trifling amount; I read the figures three hundred
at first, but I see it's only thirty.
"As that's the extent of the injury he has done
me, we won't let the news of it spoil our picnic on
the moor, Marcus said cheerfully to Colonel
Hillier. He felt at the moment as if he would
have been grateful to any man who had forged his
name for thrice the amount, for had not Constance
60
 love's a tyrant ! 
by a look identified herself with his anxiety, and
openly shown that whatsoever affected him affected
her also?
The fishing gear was neatly made up, and the
luncheon hamper was quickly packed, and Con-
stance and Marcus, the two first to be ready, stood
waiting for the waggonette and the rest of their
company, just inside the hall door.
 What a scare that man gave us just now; I
declare I feel more toleration for the fraudulent
clerk than I do for Mr. Conway, she said petu-
lantly, and Marcus, who was bending over her
hand buttoning her glove, pressed the hand, and
was on the point of asking for it, when Conway
slid out of the dining-room door, and said—
 He's not an interesting criminal by any means,
Miss Brymer; not at all the sort of man on whom
you would feel inclined to throw yourself and your
sympathy and diamonds, and red, red gold away.
He's rather bald, and short and stout; not at all
like our young friend here, who might successfully
demand women's suffrages even if he did happen
to be criminally unfortunate.
 That is just what he can never happen to be 
 The unfortunate clerk is only ' suspected' at
present, remember; he's not proved guilty. It
might happen to our excellent Marcus to be wrong-
fully suspected !  Conway went on in a half-
playful, half-taunting way that goaded Constance
into retorting—
 Now you are odious, Mr. Conway, not be-
cause you are suggesting a silly impossibility, but
because you are doing it to make me utter some
silly sentiment. Then, as Colonel Hillier and Bella
came out, Constance whispered to Marcus—
 I always drive on these occasions; be ready to
jump up by my side as soon as I take the reins.
 love's a tyrant ! 
61
But her object was fathomed and defeated by
Conway.
 I hope you'll take your groom, Hillier ?  he
said, anxiously, as the man who had brought the
waggonette stood aside for Constance to mount to
his place.  My nerves are not what they used
to be, and when I'm out for pleasure I dislike
being asked to hold on to the horses, when they're
taken out at some ostlerless rural hostlery.
So as the groom was taken, it was he who had
the seat by Miss Brymer, who still clung to the
reins, instead of Marcus, who had taken his place
just inside the door of the waggonette, while
Conway managed to appropriate the place of honour
close behind the driver, from which vantage ground
he was able to offer her innumerable small ser-
vices, the mere fact of having to refuse which
irritated her.
"If you offer me that fur cape again, Mr. Con-
way, I shall be tempted either to tear it to tatters
or to upset you in a ditch, the girl said at last,
exasperated by the pertinacity with which he
would, try to envelop her pretty shoulders in her
fur cape.  I am neither too hot nor too cold,
while you kindly let me alone, she said, with so
uncompromisingly repellent an air, that he drew
back mortified and morose, and remained silent and
thoughtful for the next two or three miles.
Silent and thoughtful, but with not one single
desire quenched, not one single baneful resolution
weakened. He looked very elderly, and rather
depressed and resigned in a thoroughly respectable,
unassuming, elderly way, and Marcus Gwynn, in
-the fulness of his youth and vitality, his good
looks, and almost assured success, felt genuine pity
for the  poor old boy, and wished that  Connie
would not snub him so.
62
 love's a tyrant ! 
 For, with all his fads and rather fatiguing con-
scientiousness, the young fellow thought,  he's
thoroughgoing, and a real good friend to me in
business matters. But he doesn't feel a snub
from a girl as a young fellow would, luckily
for him.
In entertaining which comforting reflection
Marcus Gwynn was as much mistaken as he was
about sundry other things.
CHAPTER VII.
because i love you.
Constance herself had a slight twinge of com-
punction for the impatient dislike she had allowed
herself to display towards Mr. Conway presently,
and as soon as she felt compunction she was
generous enough to express it.
 Do forgive my pettish incivility, Mr. Conway ,
the truth is, the cobs were pulling so hard at the
moment and my rings were cutting my fingers
so sharply, that I thought it more than probable
we should have gone over that bank at the turn
by the corner of the Clay-works tramway. Now
the danger is passed, and I've a clear road before
me I'll refuse the cape more politely. I really don't
need it, thank you. I will ask you to be kind
enough to hold it till we make our halt at
Dartmeet.
He stretched forward until he could look up'
into her glowing happy face.
 Why do you repulse me so invariably ? he
muttered,  why am I so repellent to you ? If I
 love's a tyrant ! 
63
were a leper you could not shrink from me more
determinately than you do.
 Indeed, you are mistaken, and please sit up,
she replied,  I can't manage the cobs while you
disturb and worry me, and they take advantage
of the least thing and pull, and then my rings cut
my fingers and make me miserable and almost
helpless. Please sit up.
 What's the matter, Con ? her cousin cried.
"Are you confiding to Mr. Conway that you're
tired of driving; if so, change places with me.
 Yes, gladly, Constance said, hastily, at the same
time trying to check her horses. Then it occurred
to her that after all the move would only result
in a change of evils, for Bella was sitting opposite
to Mr. Conway, and Constance knew, from
revolting experience, that he would take advantage
of the opportunity of steadily glaring into her face
without intermission until they came to their halt-
ing-place. This reflection caused her to drive on
rather desperately, at a pace that obliged Mr.
Conway to draw back into the waggonette as he
exclaimed, in some alarm,
 Don't you think you had better take off your
rings, you're so likely to let the reins slip ? Fast
driving on these rough roads is reckless foolhardi-
ness in my estimation.
 Connie knows what she's about, Colonel Hillier
said, contentedly; "you needn't be alarmed, she
won't upset us; still if you take my advice, my
dear, you'll take off your rings, before your poor
little fingers get wounded.
"Allow me to take charge of them, Mr. Conway
said, eagerly, far too eagerly for an elderly man,
more than one of the party felt. Bat Connie had
no alternative, for Belle refrained from holding out
a helping hand, and Colonel Hillier and Marcus
64
 love's a tykant ! 
were both out of reach. Accordingly the rings—
several massive gold ones and one magnificent
brilliant—were consigned to Mr. Conway's care,
and grasped by him with nervous, feverish haste.
 I thought good form forbade the wearing of
diamonds in the morning ? Excuse me, I merely
ask for information. I am ignorant of such
matters. Diamonds and the ways of fair gentle-
women are almost unknown things to me.
Conway made the remark with a gloomy pathos,
a subdued and settled melancholy air that was
essentially his own. And Constance, pitying him
for that ignorance to which he pleaded guilty so
dejectedly, condescended to explain the appearance
of the diamond ring at that hour.
 Oh, one can wear them any time you know,
now, they're never out of season, but I shouldn't
have worn that monster to drive in if I had re-
membered I had it on when we started. Uncle, I
forgot to tell you, I've made up my mind not to
have my diamonds reset. I'll wear them as my
mother wore them.
 Oh, Con ! they'd look three times as fine in
the razor-edge setting, Bella Hillier interrupted,
but Constance shook her head and declared they
 looked quite fine enough for her as they were.
 You don't mean to tell me you keep the
Brymer diamonds at Glade ? Mr. Conway asked
earnestly.
 That I do, and not in a strong box either,
the girl laughed. "Who's to take them, I ask?
They repose in comfort and luxury in the aromatic
recesses of an old Florentine cabinet in my room.
 Fifty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds ought
to be at your bankers, not at a lonely house in
South Devon, Mr. Conway said, gloomily.
 Uncle doesn't think so, do you ? Constance
 love's a tyrant !
65
asked, turning her head over her shoulder and
ppealing to Colonel Hillier,  he was my guardian,
you know, and he has never objected to my
keeping my diamonds to look at. The servants
have their safety at heart quite as much as I
have, and we have no burglars about.
 It's ill-advised, very ill-advised to keep them
carelessly as you do, Mr. Conway said, thought-
fully. Then presently he added, looking Marcus
straight in the face as he spoke.  For all you
know to the contrary your apparently devoted ser-
vants may be in league with some innocent-looking
acquaintance of your own, who, under pressure of
monetary loss and wrong, might be tempted to
become criminal '
 Conway's clearly suggesting that I shall try to
collar your diamonds in order to recoup myself for
the cheque my clerk has forged in my name,
Marcus said, laughingly, and Conway laughed
almost hysterically, as he repudiated the idea of
entertaining such a notion.
 Though with Princetown so close to us we
ought not to jest about crime, or joke about our
superiority to temptation; many a wretched man
eating his heart out in unavailing remorse in that
earthly hell owes his downfall and degradation
to one moment's ungovernable longing for some
fancied good or pleasure that, like Dead Sea fruit,
tempts the eye and turns to ashes on the lips
when grasped and tasted, he said, ceasing from
unseemly hilarity and becoming sadly serious in a
spasmodic way that made his companions feel
rather awkward.
 If the desire for diamonds drove a hitherto
respectable and high-principled man into burg-
larious ways, I should not pity him; he'd deserve
to eat his heart out in unavailing remorse in his
5
66
 love's a tyrant ! 
earthly hell, Marcus answered, and Mr. Conway
smiled contemptuously as he muttered,—
"' Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed
lest he fall.' I have known men of stouter moral
calibre even than yourself, Master Marcus, who
have fallen first into folly and then into crime, for
an equally glittering, but far more worthless thing than
a diamond, and that is, a fair, false woman's smile !
 How I detest stock phrases, such as ' fair, false
woman's smile,' Constance said, impatiently.
 I am unfortunate in not choosing subjects of
conversation that find favour in your sight, Miss
Brymer, Mr. Conway leant forward again aS he
spoke with sarcastic politeness, but his ejms which
were riveted on Constance's bonnie face expressed
a hungry rapacious admiration for her, which
Marcus Gwynn recognised for the first time.
 The old ass is in love with her, the younger
man thought scornfully; "all his semi-morbid,
semi-sentimental reflections about crime and the
causes that conduce to it, are merely striking illus-
trations of what he would wish her to understand
he would be ready to do and dare for her sake.
The poor old boy is very far gone, and, by Jove!
how Connie loathes him !
He was correct in all his assumptions, but inju-
dicious in allowing a certain self-satisfaction to
pervade the manner he displayed towards his
guardian.
"The young brute sees that I'm madly in love
with the girl and triumphs over me, being sure
of her himself. Curse him!—God forgive me for
all I shall be led by my love for her to do. If
I fall there will be no forgiveness for me. These
were a few of the thoughts that tossed and surged
about in Mr. Conway's mind, as he sat huddled
up in the corner of the waggonette close to Con-
 love's a tyrant ! 
67
stance's right elbow. But outwardly he was in-
tensely respectable, reserved, and calm, in a moody
way that was suggestive of some secret sorrow and
much pious resignation.
 Dartmeet at last!  Constance cried, joyously,
as they drove up to the little cottage where
shelter at least is attainable at all times though
food may be wanting.  What a relief, isn't it ? 
the girl went on,  our relations have been so
strained ever since the criminal element crept into
our conversation.
Marcus was holding out his hands to her, and
she was preparing to spring down from the box-
seat, as she spoke, but suddenly she checked her-
self. Mr. Conway had interposed, and extended
his arms to receive her.
 Stand back, Mr. Conway, she said, indignantly,
I don't want to balance myself a moment longer
in this shaky position, while the horses are being
taken out, and I don't want to knock you down;
stand back, please !
 My arms are strong enough to hold you, he
said, and there was a mixture of pathos and gloom
in his tones that had an indescribably irritating
effect on Constance.
 Strong enough to hold me!—perhaps so, if I
were weak enough to trust myself to them, she
said impatiently, and then as Marcus came nearer,
she put her hand on his shoulder and sprang to
the ground.
 Thank you, Mr. Gwynn; I was quite tired of
fluttering in mid-air.
 And glad to avail yourself of so powerful a
physical prop as Mr. Marcus Gwynn ?
 Yes, very glad, Mr. Conway, the girl said
firmly.
"Exactly so! 'gay youth loves gay youth,' till
68
 love's a tyrant ! 
satiety sets in ! then it is sometimes glad to turn
to trustier maturity.
 Is maturity trustier ? Constance asked, then
before Conway could answer, she added quickly,
 I doubt it; at any rate I admit I do prefer gay
youth.
The next moment she was running along with
Marcus by her side towards the meeting of the
two Darts, forgetful of everything save that the
sun was bright in the heavens above her, that
she was loving and loved! and that the man she
loved was by her side.
 Old Conway was prosier than usual this morn-
ing, Marcus remarked as he stood at the junction
of the two streams with Constance, alone in bliss-
ful idleness. They had made no pretence of taking
their fishing-rods. To each it was enough to be
with the other!
"I don't think he was prosier, but he was more
melodramatic than usual, and that's worse, Con-
stance replied, wearily.  That man, with his
gloom, and his sensitiveness, and his sardonic sug-
gestions, and his temptations and remorses, is a
little too trying for me to be patient with him, or
civil to him for ten consecutive minutes.
 I may as well confess that when he tries
to bring those attributes of his to bear upon you,
he exercises me equally, and the conviction that he
was trying to do so flashed upon me just now
as he was sketching out possible motives for
crime.
"He's always trying to do it. I wish, without
seeming bold or boastful, I could make you under-
stand how that man has wearied me, and worried
me, and made me feel both sick and savage by
his pertinacious pursuit of me. He's always saying
and looking things that make me feel foolish and
 love's a tyrant I 
69
furious, but he doesn't do or say anything that I
can quarrel with outright.
 Give me the right  Marcus was beginning
impetuously, when Mr. Conway's voice struck in
close behind them,
 I have brought you your rod, Miss Brymer ;
shall I return your rings to you now ?
"Yes.
"Then allow me to put them on.
And then before the girl could resist he had
grasped her hand and was putting one of the thick
plain gold rings on the third finger of her left
hand, saying mockingly as he did so,
"' With this ring, I thee wed,' and I can more
truly add, 4 with my body I thee worship.' 
 I loathe and hate such jokes, Constance cried
in rage and scorn, and almost shame, as she tore
her hand away from him.  How can you degrade
yourself by uttering such gross folly, Mr. Conway ?
How can you try to make a girl like me shrink
from and despise you who are old enough to be
my father ?
"Because I love you, he whispered as he pressed
nearer to her, and something in her face made
Marcus Gwynn long to throttle his guardian, though
he had not heard that gentleman's last words to
Constance.
CHAPTER VIII.
love leads to madness.
"Duncan Conway, you are a fool! Worse than
this, you are a sinful fool on the brink of a fright-
i ul fall. God help and forgive me! the temptation
70
 love's a tyrant ! 
is too great, the trial stronger than my strength!
the punishment will be proportionately heavy,
despite all my praj^ers.
This was what Mr. Conway was muttering to
himself presently, as he sat at the border of the
cloth that had been spread on a bank to form
their dining-table, his melancholy gaze fixed watch-
fully on Constance and Marcus who were openly
enjoying their luncheon and proximity to one
another. The miserable, self-engrossed man made
no effort now to keep up the appearance of taking
any interest either in his old friend Colonel Hillier,
or his "young pet, as he sometimes called her,
Bella. All his dark, dreary, semi-puritanical, semi-
passionate soul looked out devouringly on the
bright, handsome young pair whom he was ready
to sacrifice that soul to rend asunder. All his
intellect—and he had a fine one—was bent on the
elaboration of a scheme by means of which he
should separate Constance from Marcus Gwynn
without bringing odium or suspicion of any kind
on himself. His whole inward man was in revolt
against those outward conditions of religion, mora-
lity, and respectability which had all his life ap-
peared to environ him. And he knew that his case
was evil, and instead of striving to arm himself
by means of genuine repentance and hearty prayers,
ne sought to exonerate himself by invoking curses
on those who caused his weakness to waver to-
wards criminality.
In other words, he called down Heaven's wrath
on the  head of the woman who was tempting
him, though she was doing it unwittingly and
unconsciously; and on the head of the man who
was by sheer force of contrast making him (Duncan
Conwa}') more obnoxious in her eyes than he
would otherwise have been.
 LOVE'S A TYliANT ! 
71
"Am I 'a leper,' that you turn from me with
loathing ? he had asked her once in his exas-
peration. In justice to his personnel it is only fair
that his question should be answered in the nega-
tive by a description of him being given.
A spare figure, under the middle height, slightly
stooping, rather at the neck than the shoulders, as
if his head were always bent forward in eager
search and inquiry into something; a keen visage
with strongly accentuated features, over which the
brown, dry-looking skin seemed tightly drawn; a
pair of earnest, large dark-grey eyes that gazed
steadily and scrutinisingly, and generally coldly and
superciliously at all things; but that were wont to
almost flame when they rested on Constance
Brymer's rich womanly charms; a gentlemanly,
reserved, cynical manner and habit of address;
fastidious neatness in every detail of his highly
respectable black broadcloth suit; wiry acquisitive
hands, and, lastly, one of the fullest and most
sensuous underlips that ever man possessed as an
outward sign that he had a devil within him that
would take a great deal of conquering before he
could be effectually cast out.
For many women, this man, with his contra-
dictory manner, and eyes, and mouth, had held a
singular charm. His voice had a good deal of
melody in its melancholy well-modulated variations.
His sneer was always so aptly and neatly worded,
that it had a subtle fascination for those at whom
it was not directed. Believing, as he did, that all
women were to be won through their vanity, if
not through their senses, he fed the former liberally
with insidious flatteries, and compliments that
always had a crisp, judicious, truthful flavour about
them. Few people knowing him in these latter
days of affluence and quiet, easily-sustained fasti-
72
 LOVEvS A TTEANT ! 
diousness, suspected that in the days of his youth
he had nearly been submerged in the waters of
poverty and passion. Having seen and coveted a
beautiful girl in a lower rank of life than his own,
he had married rather than lose her. His marriage
had incensed his own family, who had left him to
 sustain his wedded happiness by his own exer-
tions, as they phrased it. Stung by this treat-
ment he had, while the love glamour lasted, let
himself sink on to a lower level, where for a time
love was enough with the proverbial bread and
cheese. But as soon as his low-born, under-bred,
illiterate, true-hearted wife bored him, he made an
aim for himself in his hitherto neglected profession,
his chief object in doing so being to forget her
and the romantic episode of their marriage as
completely as possible. Luckily for him, and happily
for herself, the poor woman saved him all trouble
by dying, and from that day he had soared sue-
cessfully, unhampered by any legal ties with
women.
But at last there dawned on his horizon one
who,* in her disregard of his desperate desire for
her, revenged all the lightly inflicted injuries and
scorns, the hard indifference and bitter shame-
repented-of disappointments he had inflicted upon
and shown to her predecessors.
The biter was bit ! the betrayer baffled! but,
alas! the destroyer was not destroyed yet!
 God will put a power in my hands that will
compel her to become my wife, he said to himself
impiously, as he watched Constance helping Marcus
to mix a lobster salad in happy unconsciousness of
the prayer that was being proffered against her.
"And when once she's my wife that puppy shall
never touch her hand again. Then he almost
writhed as he saw the puppy in question not only
 love's a tyeant !
73
touch it, but press it very unmistakably, as a
wooden spoon passed from her possession into Mar-
cus's, in the course of the correct mixing of the
mayonnaise.
They none of them had any special or over-
powering desire to pursue crime to its headquarters
at Princetown; but somehow or other the wish,
which in each individual was weak, seemed rather
strong when all expressed it, however faintly.
 It seems a pity as we are only about six miles
from the prison not to go over it, doesn't it,
uncle ?  Constance suggested; and Marcus seconded
her proposal at once.
"I have heard that it is quite too pathetic to
near the prisoners sing hymns in chapel. Do you
think we could get there for a service, father ?
Belle asked.
 There's very little pathos in the stories of the
majority of criminals if you come to inquire into
them, Mr. Conway said carelessly.  The ' interest-
ing criminal' is a being who only exists in ladies'
novels. The real article is a mere ignorant brute
of either the stolid clod, or bloodthirsty prize-
fighter type, if of the lower orders; and if of a
better class, he's usually a fool, as is proved by his
being found out. Briefly, they all deserve what
they have got in the way of punishment and
degradation. There's pathos if you like in the
story of the victims of either their fraud or their
brutality.
 You're not a very pitiful man, Mr. Conway,
Belle Hillier remonstrated. "You can't make any
allowance for a sudden fit of passion in which a
manslaughter may have been committed, or for the
temptation that a man out of employ, with perhaps
a starving wife and family, has had to commit a
burglary.
74
 love's a tyrant ! 
"Indeed, I have not a grain of pity for one of
them, he said sternly.
"How perfect you must feel yourself to be, Con-
stance said, turning her unsmiling face towards him
coldly. How he smarted under her accusing eyes !
Was it possible that already she fathomed ?
No; impossible! Her remark simply had refer-
ence to his vain, pertinacious pursuit of herself, for
which surely she at least ought to feel tolerance
and gratitude, even if she could not reciprocate the
feeling that prompted it.
 She shall feel it, or feign it, in time, Duncan
Conway, he told himself, and his eyes dilated as
he glared at her in the way she hated.
 Well, if you have no sympathy, no common
human pity or feeling for them, don't go and look
at the prison at Princetown ; stay here, and fish
by yourself, Belle said. But this he objected to
do, feeling that it was better to watch what went
on between Constance and Marcus, than to madden
himself with imaginary pictures of their  gentle
dalliance in their absence.
 I shall go, he said,  if only that I may be
near to have the chance of drying Miss Brymer's
tears if they fall too fast at the sight of some
young, good-looking malefactor working in chains;
but prepare yourself for a disappointment, Miss
Brymer ; the prison garb equalises personal appear-
ance wonderfully. Youth and good looks and
gentlemanly bearing are all levelled down to the
common convict cut by the common convict dress.
 I got the only notion I have concerning convicts
from the one who 'hugged' himself and frightened
poor little Pip into stealing from Mrs. Gargery,
in ' Great Expectations,' Constance said.  What
a dear, grateful fellow that convict was. Thanks to
him, I shall see possible good in every one of them.
 love's a tyeant I 
75
 Perhaps some day or other you may have
Marcus's forging clerk pointed out to you in a
gang, Mr. Conway went on with grim jocosity;
 the element of personal interest would come in
there; he would not be the rose, but he would
have been near it.
"It would kill me to see any one I'd ever
known there, Constance replied thoughtfully.
 Even if you had not liked or loved that
one ?
 Ah! I was only thinking of the liked and the
loved, the girl answered blushing; but looking
at him unflinchingly.  You said he would not be
the rose, and I only thought if it were the rose,
it would kill me.
 The rose being represented by ? he ques-
tioned, and checked himself as Constance said
coldly,
 You press enquiry too far, Mr. Conway ; you
forget that you and I have never been on such
friendly terms as would lead me to tell you my
closest secret before it's told to all the world.
 Sparring again with Conway, Connie ?  her
uncle asked.  Ton my word, Conway, if you had
been a young fellow, I believe you two would have
ended by falling in love; you're always halt
fighting.
 Yours is a remarkably happy suggestion, Con-
way replied drily,  put before us in the most
gratifying way for me. Aren't you going to take
the reins ? he added to Constance, as she got
into the waggonette and motioned to Marcus to
take his place by her side.
"No. I resign them to Belle; you will still
have a lady-whip to lavish your attentions upon.
How this moor mist damps one, she went on,
and then her little umbrella went up and interposed
76
 love's a tykant ! 
its thick surface between herself and Conway's
devouring glance.
Under cover of that friendly shade Marcus
showed her a letter from his mother he had not
had time to read before starting.
 Look here, he said, pointing out a passage in
it, and Constance read,
 You know how fond I am of having young
girls about me. I have sent for Olivia, not that
Miss Payne ever allows me to feel lonely, but
blood is thicker than water, and I long to have
my brother's child with me. You must soon come
home and help me to amuse her. If you come
home heart-free all the better, for I know Mount-
Hawke will give her to you gladly.
"Who's Mount-Hawke? Constance asked, while
a slight tingling sensation beset her.
"Lord Mount-Hawke, my mother's brother.
 Oh, and he will gladly give you his daughter,
will he ? 
 I shall never ask him for her, Connie. You
know that, he whispered, and the character of
the tingling changed from vexation to delight.
 You had better write and tell your mother so,
she laughed softly;  it may save disappointment.
 When I have told you something else, I
shall.
 What is she like—pretty ? 
 My cousin Olivia ? Oh, fairish. A dear little,
jolly, good-tempered, warm-hearted Irish girl.
 And the daughter of Lord Mount-Hawke, who
is your uncle. I don't think you could do better,
she said merrily. Her heart was very light. She
was not jealous of the dear little, jolly, good-tem-
pered, warm-hearted Irish girl, and she was glad
on the whole to find that Marcus had Lord Mount-
Hawke for an uncle, "though if he had spoken of
 love's a tyrant ! 
77
'my uncle, a costermonger,' it would have made no
difference to me now, Constance told herself;
nevertheless, in spite of this self-assurance, it was
distinctly gratifying to her to learn that through
the female line, at least, Marcus was of as good
birth and long descent as herself.
 I think I can do better, and have every in-
tention of doing better, and you're going to help
me in the good work, he murmured, and Constance
did not rebuke him for presumptuous assurance,
either by word or look. Unquestionably, if these
young people were not  engaged they were some-
thing that strongly resembled it.
 You are labouring under a delusion, Miss
Brymer.
It was Mr. Conway's voice that inharmoniously
struck in to the melody they were making.
 I am not, she replied decidedly. Her thoughts
were dwelling so entirely on Marcus that she
believed Mr. Conway's assertion was made with
reference to her lover, and naturally she resented
the libel promptly.
 But indeed you are, Conway repeated taunt-
ingly, as the girl lowered the umbrella and faced
him indignantly.
 You are labouring under the delusion that it
is raining, whereas there is not a drop of moisture
in the atmosphere.
"I put up my en-tout-cas to keep off something
besides the rain.
 There is hardly a breath of wind; you must
fabricate some other reason for blotting out the
view from your uncle, and occasionally damaging
both his face and mine with the points of your
umbrella.
 I won't fabricate a reason. I'll give the real
one. I put up my umbrella (if you will have the
78
 love's a tyrant ! 
truth) not to keep off rain and wind which is
not raining and blowing, but to shut out the sight
of you.
His eyes dilated now with unmistakable anger,
and his face grew flushed.
 There is as little judgment and discretion in
your rudeness as there is wit, Miss Brymer. Some
day perhaps you will realise this. Meantime, pray
resume your whispered conference with Mr. Marcus
Gwynn under the kindly shelter of an umbrella.
'Pon my word, Marcus, he added, with a harsh
laugh,  you young men are not very chivalrous
in your mode of making yourselves agreeable to
fair ladies. In my day we left philanderings and
whispering under umbrellas to our men-servants and
maid-servants.
 Gently, Conway, gently, Colonel Hillier inter-
posed, half-jokingly, but a good deal in earnest.
 The moor air is too keen for you, my friend, it
puts too sharp an edge on your temper.
"Let Mr. Conway say what he pleases to me,
uncle, I can take care of myself; and as whatever
he says or does won't alter my course a hair's
breadth, perhaps he will soon leave off saying and
doing things that are meant to put Mr. Gwynn and
myself at odds.
"You throw down your little glove with a very
pretty defiance; Marcus ought to be very proud of
such boldly-avowed partizanship. I don't think
even Laura Payne ever offered you more open
devotion—eh, Marcus ?
 Silence, sir! Marcus said, with such sudden
savagery that Constance started, and looked
at him with wide-open, inquiring, almost accusing
eyes.
"Please don't re-open any pages of the past if
you are going to quarrel over them, gentlemen,
 love's a tykant ! 
79
she said haughtily. And then she drew back into
the corner of the waggonette, averted her face from
Marcus, and gazed out over the open, pure, free
moorland in silence, till they rattled into Prince-
town.
It was Constance's first visit to a convict prison ;
and as presently gangs of miserable human beings,
linked together by the shameful chains of criminal
slavery, transformed for the hour into beasts of
burden, passed along, dragging after them monster
blocks of stone, or giant trunks of trees, a choking
feeling of this being surely wrong—of the punish-
ment being in excess of any offence, save the
taking of life—came over her*. But she subdued
all outward manifestation of emotion, either of pity
or horror, fearing that if she exhibited any it
might bring one of Mr. Conway's sneers upon
her.
 He's so rigidly righteous and ' unco' good,' that
he despises anyone who can feel sorry for an evil-
doer, she said to Marcus, as she surreptitiously
wiped away a tear after hearing the story of a
young fellow who was in for life for having rid
himself of a tiresome wife in too summary a
manner.
 What an awful existence, she said, as they
came out of the chain-room in which the young
man in question had his local habitation, "to have
to pass all the time God may leave him on earth
in keeping the chains and handcuffs bright that
other wretches like himself are to be put in!
"Your pity is misplaced as usual, Miss Brymer,
Conway, who was nearer than she imagined, put
in.  That miscreant who slipped out of the room
like a rat when we went in, and stood in the
corridor with his villanous face to the wall till we
had finished our inspection and made the ordinary
80
 love's a tykant ! 
meaningless remarks about things we don't under-
stand, is a cowardly murderer of the worst type.
He killed a woman under peculiarly blood-thirsty
and brutal circumstances.
"Then why wasn't he hanged, if he did it?
"Because another woman who loved him perjured
herself and sacrificed her soul to save him. A girl
swore to his having been with her under dis-
graceful circumstances, many miles away, at the
very hour his wife was murdered; so an explana-
tion was accepted by an intelligent jury that his
cruelty and previous rough handling, together with
her jealousy of him, had driven his wife to chop
her own head open with his hatchet, and they
brought it in manslaughter, and recommended him
to mercy!
 How can you tell it so sneeringly and bitterly ?
and how do you know so much about it?
 I was in the case, Conway said, carelessly,
shrugging his shoulders ;  but I didn't know he
was here, poor devil! Some day, Miss Brymer,
I'll show you the photograph of the girl who
perjured herself to save him.
"I would rather not see it.
 Really! I thought you would sympathize with
her, for, as I told you, at the time she fancied
she loved the fellow; she speedily got over the
fancy, and 
 Hers is scarcely a career to interest Miss
Brymer, Marcus interrupted; but Conway laughed,
and said—
 On the contrary, I have an idea her career
would interest Miss Brymer intensely. Who can
tell but that Miss Brymer may come across her
some day ? for the girl is clever, and has soared
into a sphere of respectability, I understand.
"love's a tyrant!
81
CHAPTER IX
restless.
Before leaving Princetown that afternoon on their
return drive, Mr. Conway got himself away to the
telegraph office, and dispatched the following tele-
gram:  To Miss Payne, Thorpe, Fakenham, Nor-
folk.—Send for him at once. Don't consult any
one. Make any urgent excuse.
This message reached Laura Payne at five
o'clock, and without any feeble hesitation or mis-
giving she sent a reply to it at once by the boy
who had brought it. But the answer was not ad-
dressed to Mr. Conway; it was sent to Marcus
Gwynn, and ran as follows :  Your mother needs
you. Come directly. Don't tell her you've been
sent for.
This reply reached Ivy Bridge about six, and
had then to be carried by a boy on foot a distance
of some miles over a rough road to Glade. Marcus
received it on his return from the long, dispiriting
drive back from Princetown. The bright, beautiful
promise of the morning had been exasperatingly
broken. First a drizzle, and then such a downpour
of lashing rain as South Devon may proudly claim
the copyright for producing and reproducing ad
libitum, had set in, drenching the whole party, in
spite of macintoshes and umbrellas.
There is no doubt about it ! Devonshire rain
has a wetting power that is probably unsurpassed.
In less favoured regions the rain either falls perpen-
dicularly from heaven, or slopes in one definite
direction;- but on the borders of Dartmoor it has
the peculiar property of glancing and gliding from
6
82
"love's a tyrant!
every point of the compass at one and the same
time. Doubtless this property is advantageous to
the ferns, which flourish exceedingly under this all-
round squirting treatment. Not being a fern,
Marcus Gwynn may be forgiven the utterance of
an unmistakable growl of discontent as he stood
dripping and soaking in the hall reading the tele-
graphic message from his mother's companion.
 Bad news, 1 fear, my boy ? Mr. Conway
asked, as Marcus flung the telegram down.
 My mother is ill, I'm afraid; I suppose I ought
to go off to-night, Marcus said, ruefully; but Mr.
Conway, after reading the message, scoffed at the
notion of such prompt action.
"Not at all, I should say. Miss Payne's anxiety
about Mrs. Sackville makes her peremptory. Still,
I think you will be justified in waiting till the
morning. What do you say ? he added, abruptly
turning to Constance, who had been listening atten-
tively to the disjointed sentences which told her so
little, while apparently engaged in ridding herself
of her streaming wraps.
 As I don't know what the message is, I can't
possibly give advice as to whether it should be
attended to or not.
 Will you read it ?  Marcus asked, humbly
holding it out like an olive-branch; and Constance
took it between the tips of her fingers, as if it had
been contaminated by actual personal contact with
the person she was beginning to loathe—Laura
Payne.
 It reads to me like a nasty, crafty, intriguing
message, she said, reflectively;  if your mother
is ill, this Miss Payne ought to have said so dis-
tinctly, then your course would have been clear;
you would have swum to the station if there had
been no other way of going to-night. As it is,
 love's a tyrant ! 
83
I should say she had some purpose of her own to
serve in sending for you and keeping it secret.
 Poor Marcus!  Mr. Conway sneered,  the ropes
are being pulled in opposite directions by fair
hands too strongly, aren't they ? If you do go off
to-night, Miss Payne will have had a very pretty
triumph 
 Miss Payne be—confounded ! I am only think-
ing of my mother, Marcus said impatiently. "My
poor mother, if she is ill 
 Surely, if she was ill, your cousin would have
let you know ? Constance suggested.
 Undoubtedly she would, Marcus, though, of
course, Laura Payne is omnipotent; still, I think
you may rest assured that Miss Gwynn would
have written to you had Mrs. Sackville been in
any danger.
 I must be off first thing in the morning,
Marcus said, looking at Constance imploringly ; and
under cover of her uncle's kindly volley of orders
about the dog-cart to catch the 9.15 train the
next morning, Constance managed to say unheard
by all but Marcus,—
"I'll be down to give you some coffee at half-
past seven, and as she said it, in spite of the
alarming telegram about his mother, Marcus's heart
grew wonderfully light.
It was the only opportunity they had of speak-
ing together privately that evening. During the
remainder of it, until the party broke up and
retired to their respective rooms, Conway kept
close to one or other of them, and Marcus resolved
to make no attempt to ask her the definite all-
important question till he met her alone at half-past
seven the next morning.
 She knows what I mean, and she means yes,
or she wouldn't have offered to be down to give
84
 love's a tyrant ! 
me coffee, the young fellow thought joyfully; and
as he pressed her hand at parting he said signifi-
cantly,  Dream of something pleasanter than burg-
lars. I mean to, and mean to make the dream
a pleasant reality soon.
 I'll obey you, she laughed ;  at the same
time, in case gruesome visions of the convicts
should disturb me in the night, I shall sleep with
Belle.
 And dream of me, my darling, he whispered,
as he bent low over the hand lingering so con-
fidingly in his own. Mr. Conway saw the gesture
and marked the confidence and kindness of that
lingering clasp, though he could not hear the
whispered words. And his heart grew hotter with
passionate love and fierce jealousy, and his purpose
gained in subtlety and strength.
A curious phase of feeling set in for Marcus
Grwynn when he found himself in bed that night.
He grew feverishly dissatisfied with himself for
two things that he had left undone, though his
conscience was clear enough as to his motives in
both cases.
 I ought to have fixed my fate with Connie,
and have gone off to my mother to-night, he
kept on repeating mentally ; and though he could
not adduce a single reason for this change of judg-
ment in either matter, it was strongly pressed home
upon him that he had been a laggard both in love
and duty, and that he would regret it.
 That beastly cold rain has given me influenza;
it's no use trying to sleep it off, he said im-
patiently, springing out of bed at last.  Feverish
probably; I'll go and get a book. As he was
saying this he was hurriedly getting into dressing-
gown and slippers, and lighting a candle with a
view to taking a tour in search of some sleep-
 love's a tyrant !
85
inducing light literature. At the same time he
was more than half disinclined to set forth on a
nocturnal ramble in another man's house, chiefly
for the reason that he knew there were several con-
scientious dogs on the premises, who were apt to
make night hideous with their howls at the sight
of an unwonted light, or sound of an unauthen-
ticated footstep.
 There's that beast Faust has possession of the
mat at the foot of the stairs, he went on medita-
ting; "he's bland enough by daylight, but I shall
leave a leg and an arm or two behind me, I'm
afraid, if I'm not careful. However, a book I must
have, so Faust must be passed. I can only hope
that, having been left to himself to-day, he has
bullied the servants into stuffing him to such an
extent that he hasn't much appetite left for me.
Scuffle will be amenable to softer influences.
Connie always says Scuffle is entirely in sympathy
with her.
As he thought this he felt elated and forgot
Faust and his possibly carnivorous impulses; for
Scuffle was Constance Brymer's pet dachshund, and
Scuffle was in perfect sympathy with his mis-
tress.
 What a climate they indulge in here, in their
English Italy, he thought with a shiver, as he
came out from his "room and stood ,in the long
corridor, which ran from east to west of the old
house, for a minute. The gale which had been
gathering in force since the sun went down was
now at its height. It came down raspingly from
the Dartmoor hills, and went screeching through the
valleys. The sturdy fir-trees even that stand about
in round and square clumps on the hillsides, bent,
shivered, and groaned, and almost uprooted them-
selves under the ungovernable advances of the
86
 love's a tyrant !
wind; and incessantly, monotonously, with mad-
dening perseverance, the rain came lashing down
from every quarter of the heavens upon this
favoured corner of the earth—this fairest western
county of England!
Damp and decay in a,11 around he saw, even by
the flickering candle light. The house was well-
built and well-warmed, but stout walls and roaring
fires are but feeble adversaries when opposed to
that mightiest of South Devon magnates—damp.
Devonshire rain has a penetrating power that mer-
ciful Providence has denied to other rains. The
granite of the county stands no chance against its
insidious advances. Brick offers a fairly stout
resistance, but the  rain that raineth every day
is the stronger power. While, as for stucco, it
had better give up the game at once, and retire
to a drier climate.
Glade was well-built and well-warmed. In de-
fence of the first portion of the statement con-
cerning it the following facts should have due
weight. Glade was the result of the best thought-
out designs for defying  damp  of several eminent
architects. One had pinned his faith on "the stone
of the county  which proved to be thirstily absor-
bent, and mocked him. Another had wasted space
in insisting on eighteen-inch walls with a cavity
between I These being hollow conveyed sound in
a way that the architect never intended, and the
servants exceedingly disliked. Fires burnt steadily
and brightly in slow combustion grates in every
room in the house, and a huge Tortoise stove
made the corridor comfortable by day. Never the-
less, when Marcus Gwynn got leisurely out of his
bedroom into this corridor that night, the general
impression conveyed to his mind was that a
charnel house and the residence of a country
 love's a tyrant ! 
87
gentleman in South Devon, had certain points of
similarity at night.
The thickly-carpeted corridors did not re-echo
to his footsteps as it is the wont of some uncul-
tivated passages to do, neither did the stairs creak
as he descended them. Nevertheless he felt dis-
tinctly ill at ease, and his conscientious scruples
against roaming about another man's house in the
watches of the night strengthened with each step
that brought him nearer to Faust.
For Faust was a dog of an exceptionally sensi-
tive and highly-wrought temperament. His mother
had been one of the most magnificently ferocious
and powerful of bloodhounds, while his father
hailed from no special class, but was good-
naturedly believed (by his owner) to have  real St.
Bernard blood in him."' Whatever doubts there
might have been about his blood, the bones and
muscle, the unwavering fidelity and directness of
purpose, the rapid way in which he arrived at an
antagonistic conclusion against everyone who did
untoward things at unwonted times, were indis-
putable qualities which had made Faust senior
famous, and much feared, and disliked in his day.
These qualities he had transmitted to his son, the
handsome, gentlemanly creature who was sleeping
at full length on a big sheepskin mat at the foot
of the stairs down which Marcus Gwynn was
coming in search of some sleep-inducing light
literature.
Faust was a splendid fellow ! His pose, as he
reared his great head and looked at the coming
man with blood-shot eyes, was grand. But there
was something disheartening in the way in which
he half rose, and, instead of slobbering good-tem-
peredly began licking his heavy hanging lips dry.
 Poor old Faust! Good dog then, Marcus
88
 love's a tyrant ! 
began; then, conscious of the feebleness of this
style of address to a dog who was not evincing
the slightest disposition to budge one inch, he
added, with manifestly affected hilarity—
 Get up, old chap; come on and protect me from
the ghosts in the library 
An unmistakably angry snarl checked him.
Evidently the dog was not in a mood to be amen-
able to any friendly influences this night, so, after
one more faint protest, Marcus backed up-stairs,
bestowing soft words and engaging smiles on the
now morosely growling Faust all the time as he
did so.
 I suppose it's necessary in these remote regions
to keep dog-fiends in houses where there's any
property, he thought tolerantly, as he turned a
corner on to the landing, and cut himself off from
Faust's blood-shot vision ;  but they ought to be
taught to draw the line between friends of the
family and burglars.
He was about half-way down the corridor on his
way back to his own room as he thought this, and
was loitering slowly, unwilling to go back to book-
less sleeplessness till the morning.  Serves me
right for not having started off to my mother at
once, he thought discontentedly.  Ass that I was
not to have settled it with Connie, only Conway
always seemed to come in the way—poor inop-
portune old bore. If Faust had not played the
part of obstructionist I might have got hold of one
of the colonel's standard books, and read myself
off to sleep in ten minutes! As it is—hullo !
Mudie to the rescue! I never rejoiced in the
sight of his yellow tickets so heartily in my life
before.
He had come opposite a door which stood more
than half open, as his reflections reached this point,
 love's a tyrant ! 
89
and through the opening a little table, piled high
with volumes bearing the yellow labels with which
we are all so familiar, was plainly visible. To step
into this room, turn over the books, and speedily
select one that promised well, judging from its
opening chapter and its author's name, was the
work of a minute or two only. Then he looked
round the room into which he had, as he felt
now that it was too late, unwarrantably entered,
and his heart fell.
It was evidently the young ladies' boudoir, and
Scuffle would probably be out upon him in a
moment, asking his intentions in that penetrating,
heart-rending whine which Scuffle always employed
whenever in doubt or fear.
A pretty little room,  showing evidences of
Connie's taste on every side! his lover's eye was
observant of that fact at once. A well-appointed
writing-table, several well-filled bookcases, com-
fortable chairs, flowers and ferns in abundance, a
few good engravings on the walls, a few good
copies from the antique in bronze and marble, half
a dozen bits of old Japanese china, and a total
absence of all frivolous ornamental prettinesses,
were the dominant characteristics of the room. He
was enjoying the aspect of the room, tracing Con-
stance's taste in every detail and sympathising with
it, when a slight movement in the inner room re-
called him to himself. It was probably Scuffle, the
faithful and fussy, on guard in his mistress's
chamber. In another moment he might confidently
expect Scuffle at his feet, and that not in a sub-
servient manner, for Scuffle, a worm by day, an
 abject  of the most crawling description and
boneless order, was apt to turn at night, when
surprised or startled, into a noisy and pugnacious
assailant of every thing or person that he fell
90
 love's a tyrant !
over in his blundering and headlong career from
any one place to another of imaginary greater
safety.
 Surely, though, the little beggar will know me
and not bark, Marcus thought, hurriedly gathering
the volumes he had selected to himself and turning
to get out of the room. But he had a momentary
difficulty in doing this, for there were three or four
doors in the room, and each door was shrouded
by a heavily falling curtain. However, after nearly
entering a large cupboard hung round with dresses,
he made his way to the right doorway at last,
and was passing through, out into the corridor,
when his progress was arrested alarmingly, and
that not by Scuffle.
CHAPTER X.
 i gave them to him ! 
No it was distinctly not by Scuffle, the weak
and cringing  little gentleman in brown, that
Marcus Gwynn found his passage from the sanctum
of the lady of his love barred. It was by a spare,
short man, in that most undignified garment, a
night-shirt, with list slippers on his feet, and an
undoubtedly genuine expression of alarm in his
dilated, glaring eyes, and nervously working
visage.
 Good Heavens! Marcus ! you here at this hour
of the night ?  Conway gasped out, flaring his
candle spasmodically up towards Marcus's face as
he spoke, and showing signs of embarrassment that
 love's a tyrant ! 
91
vere rather uncalled for and exaggerated under
-he circumstances, Marcus thought.
 I might echo your remark justifiably enough,
)nly I won't be idiotic enough to question such
m incontrovertible fact, Marcus said gruffly;  I'm
Here as you see, I came to take these books.
What the , what brings youu here ?
 Don't swear at me, don't swear ' Conway
replied hurriedly,  there's something awful in an
oath, and my nervous system is so much out of
order that violence shatters me.
 You're too old to play such tricks as these,
Marcus laughed,  running about a draughty house
in a gale of wind, with nothing on but your night-
gear; it's too absurd, really; and Marcus finished
his sentence with an involuntary and prolonged
chuckle that appeared to put the finishing stroke
to Mr. Conway's confusion and mortification.
"Do for mercy's sake stop that giggling, Con-
way whispered severely,  you'll bring the whole
household upon us by your thoughtless noisy con-
duct. I am here because—because  he paused,
and Marcus, pitying his forlorn appearance and
shivering frame, suggested kindly,
"Because you heard me, I suppose, and your
mind running on Princetown and its inhabitants,
instantly conceived the idea that a burglary was
being attempted. 'Pon my word, old fellow, I
congratulate you on your pluck! 'Your strength
must have been as the strength of ten' when you
summoned up moral courage enough to face even
a possible burglar in that scanty attire.
 Don't make quotations, I hate them, Conway
snapped.  Let us get back to our respective rooms
as soon as possible, and be thankful to Providence
that no one but ourselves has seen us here to-
night.
92
 love's a tyrant ! 
 You may be, Marcus laughed, as his guardian
stalked off with an assumption of dignity that
was cruelty nullified by the sparse drapery and
down-at-heel slippers, "but I'm rather comfort-
able, thank you, under the conviction that I am
very fully and becomingly equipped. Good-bye,
I shall be off in the morning, before you're
down.
"After taking your coffee from Miss Brymer's
hands, Conway growled, "and being sped by her
last hospitable services on your journey to—Laura
Payne.
"None of that; a joke's a joke, but "Marcus's
stern reproval was cut short by his guardian's
shutting his bedroom door abruptly, and after one
exclamation of annoyance Marcus got himself back
into his own chamber, where he read for
five minutes and then slept soundly till the
morning.
At a quarter to seven he woke, tubbed, finished
his packing, and was down in the dining-room at
the very minute appointed by Connie to give him
his parting cup of coffee! But in the place of
Constance Brymer a sleepy servant stood at
the head of the table, and in answer to his
inquiry—
 Isn't Miss Brymer coming down ?  he was
told,—
 No, sir, Miss Brymer hasn't slept well, and
doesn't feel well enough to see you.
 Has she sent a note, a message ? he asked
eagerly.
"No, sir, only she's not well and can't come
down.
 Take this to her, Marcus said, desperately
scribbling a few words on a piece of paper and
hurriedly putting them in an envelope. He was
 love's a tyrant !
93
agitated and perplexed by this unexpected check.
Last night she had been so sweetly fearless and
fond! And now !
Now he had only a few minutes, and she would
not share them with him, would not even send
him word that she regretted her inability to do
so. Hardly knowing what he was doing he had
scribbled hastily—
 See me for a moment, darling ! And now that
the servant was gone he feared they would seem
cruelly presumptuous to Constance, and regretted
not having written more deferentially.
But his regrets were vain, as he would have
known could he have followed the servant's progress.
At the top of the back stairs the servant to
whom he had delivered his note, met the house-
maid, on whom the note was  served with as
much trouble almost as if it had been a writ.
 I can't stay to run about with no notes for
Miss Connie with all the hot water jugs to fill and
the stairs and passages to be swep' down before
light, the housemaid Sarah grumbled. But the
parlour-maid was half way downstairs by this time,
so Sarah put the note down on the chair just
inside the corridor door while she ran off to get
hot water, and while she was absent Mr. Conway,
who was restlessly pacing up and down the
corridor, picked it up, read the direction and—
pocketed it!
So when the dog-cart came round to take him
to the station, Marcus was still waiting in vain
for an answer to his parting request. But "time
was up the groom sent word to say, and the
only poor satisfaction he got from his messenger
the parlour-maid, who passed him hastily in the
hall, was that "if there was any answer Miss
Brymer would be sure to send it.
94
 love's a tyrant!
So, after all, he left Glade with his heart heavier
than he had ever felt it before. And though he
was an affectionate son, the heaviness was not on
account of his mother! Further! heavy as his
heart was, it was as a feather compared to what
it would have been, had he known of what he
was deemed guilty in the mind of Constance
Brymer.
True to her promise of the night before, Con-
stance had roused herself from happy sleep at six
o'clock that morning, and, leaving Belle undis-
turbed, had crept quietly to her own room, where
she had made a highly satisfactory morning toilette
and seen with pleasure that the result was such as
would* ensure her leaving a  last impression 
on Marcus, that would compete favourably with
that she had made on him at first.
In tailor-made dress with a stitched hat of
the same material on her head, and a short jacket
ready to slip on in her hand, she came out from
her bedroom at about seven o'clock into that room
from which Marcus had borrowed the novel the
night before. The sight of the old Florentine
cabinet in which she kept her diamonds made
her think of her ring, and as it was half in her
mind to drive Marcus herself to the station, she
quickly slipped it off her finger, and taking her
key from her pocket was about to unlock this
cabinet and put the ring with its sister gems,
when she was staggered at discovering the cabinet
was already unlocked. In another minute she
had made a still more appalling discovery! The
jewel cases were there, but the diamonds were
gone!
Her first impulse was to cry out and alarm the
house ! Her next to go and consult Marcus !
Rushing from her room she was about to pass
 love's a tyrant !
95
Mr. Conway who was coming along the corridor,
with a hasty salutation, when her intention was
defeated by his catching her by the arm and
exclaiming,
 Miss Brymer! Constance! for God's sake speak
to me ! What has happened to shock you so ?
"I must go on. Come if you like. I must tell
Marcus, she cried, struggling to free herself, but
he grasped her arm more firmly and repeated,—
 Tell me what has shocked you so terribly;
tell me.
 My diamonds are gone, stolen, she gasped out;
 do let me go, Marcus is I must go and tell
Marcus.
 Stop! as you love yourself and him, he
muttered sternly, drawing her into the room she
had just left, the room in which the old Florentine
cabinet had guarded the jewels so long and faith-
fully. "Tell me, what have you discovered? When
did you discover it ?
She told him clearly, briefly, succinctly. In
two minutes he was in complete possession of
all her facts.
Then he spoke. In a low level tone that sent
every word straight to her understanding; moving
from her only so far as enabled him to shut the
door and stand against it, he said—
 Listen, Constance Brymer ! Last night I heard
an unaccustomed sound in the house, I came out
into the corridor and saw—nerve yourself—Marcus
Gwynn creeping out of this room. Listen still!
Heaven only knows what I suspected, or how
miserable, amazed, and horror-stricken I was 
 You dare  she was beginning passionately,
but he silenced her by a gesture.
"I dare nothing, I am too utterly crushed. I
only tell you what I saw. I leave you to draw
96
 love's a tyrant ! 
your own deductions. In the middle of the night
Marcus Gwynn came creeping out of your room
like a thief; where were youV'
He asked it so peremptorily that in spite of her
indignation she stammered out,—
"I slept with my cousin Belle, as I said I
should, you remember.
 In the dead of night Marcus Gwynn crept like
a thief from your room ; this morning your
diamonds are gone! Will you rouse the house,
sound the alarm, and take the thief (whoever he
may be, he can't be far off), red-handed? I am
a strict lover of justice! I have no sympathy
with interesting criminals; shall I take you down
now to tell the story of your loss to Marcus
Gwynn?
She stood up, fair and furious, her hands held
out before her to keep him off, for he was ad-
vancing upon her as he spoke.
 I am hateful to you, revolting to you, he
said, savagely.  Even now, while you are smart-
ing under the knowledge that your lover may
be branded as a dastardly thief, you shrink from
me as if I had injured you, and are panting to
get to him. Verily, Miss Brymer, he went on
with inconceivable bitterness,  you women play
the Mephistophelean part better than ever in these
days. You are tempting me now to help you to
shield your lover's name, tempting me 
 I don't want you for an ally; Marcus Gwynn's
name is safe enough, she said, dauntlessly.
 Girl! woman 1 do you believe in his innocence
still, and defy me to prove him guilty ? he ground
out the words, melodramatically between his teeth
in a way that would have made her laugh, had
not what was dearer to her than her life been
at stake As it was, her sense of humour strug-
 love's a tyrant ! 
97
gled wearily with the sickening presentiment that
sorrow would soon blunt all her faculties for fun
or pleasure of any sort.
 You believe him innocent, you love him still ?
You love him so passionately (curse him) that you
prefer to believe him innocent against the evidence
of your senses and my eyes. Do you dare me to
tell my story to the world ? I saw Marcus Gwynn
leave Miss Brymer's room like a thief in the middle
of the night. The next morning her diamonds
were gone! How would this story sound ?
"Tell it and try, she said, suddenly dropping
her warding-off hands, and speaking calmly; "I
should tell my story afterwards. It is a short
one, interesting only to myself. I gave him the
diamonds!
As he fell back a pace or two with a subdued
groan of mingled surprise, relief, fear, and fury,
Constance Brymer passed him with such a look
of haughty contempt and aversion in her eyes as
he never forgot or forgave.
"I gave them to him, she repeated, letting each
word fall clear and distinct like shot upon his
ear. "Now, do your worst!
 You have silenced me for ever, he recovered
himself sufficiently to say, hurrying after her; but
she slipped past him, and getting into her own
room, locked the door. Then falling upon her
knees with a moan and a stifled cry, the exceeding
bitterness of which sounded like the death knell
of all hope in her own ears, she prayed to God
to forgive her the lie that she had told.
While she prayed, Marcus in vain impatience
was waiting for her answer to the note which Mr.
Conway picked up and secreted when he came
into the corridor from his interview with her in the
room where the now empty Florentine cabinet stood.
7
98
 love's a tyrant I 
CHAPTER XI.
in the dark!
Marcus Gwynn had plenty of time to reflect on
the transitory nature of the majority of pleasurable
conditions of existence on his way up to London.
But none of his reflections led him anywhere
near to the correct solution of the riddle of Con-
stance Bymer's conduct that morning.
The fact was, he was so utterly astonished, so
entirely unprepared for the cool, contemptuous
indifference expressed towards him by the girl's
absence this morning,—by her studied, unexplained
avoidance of a farewell interview. He was so
entirely unprepared, the surprise was such a cruel
one to spring upon him at such a moment; but
it could not have been accident, it must have
been by design that she had offered him this
parting slight, in place of the parting pledge which
he had gone to bed the night before hoping and
expecting confidently to win from her.
 She must have harked back to her old pre-
judices—those 'class prejudices' to which she so
frankly pleaded guilty when she first knew that I
was the son of a draper, he told himself. And
then he tried to think scornfully of her,—tried to
despise her narrowness,—tried to convince himself
that she had been a bold, audacious flirt of the
most unscrupulous order. And failed, signally,
in thinking of her as anything but the bravest,
truest-hearted, best, dearest, and prettiest girl he
had ever known, or was ever likely to know.
But—what could have happened to keep her
away from him that morning, when her last
 love's a tyrant ! 
99
words to him on the previous night had been
an offer to come down and pour out his cup of
coffee ? Could she have heard anything against
him ? Ridiculous! where there was nothing to
hear; nothing, at least, that might not be said
of any man who had lived in the midst of the
world's temptations for twenty-four years! No-
thing dishonourable, nothing vile, nothing base,
stained his soul, or rendered his hand unfit to take
her spotless one into his keeping.
No! Slander would be powerless to harm him.
Could it then be but caprice, her own caprice,
which had made her seem to play him false ? He
scouted this notion, as he had the previous one,
almost as soon as he entertained it. Had it been
serious illness the servants would surely have told
him, or Bella Hillier, his faithful friend. Bella
would have come down and given him a ray of
intelligence, and a scrap of comfort. It was al-
together inexplicable. His only consolation was
that he could write, and she could answer him.
The mystery would soon be unravelled, and she
would know best how to console him for having
compelled him to take this journey in doubt but
not in despair.
He wasted no time in London but went on by
the first train the Eastern Counties line put at
his disposal, after his arrival from Devonshire.
Not having a time-table for that month in that
special year, his biographer finds it impossible to
say at what hour he left London. But it is
certain that he arrived at Fakenham at that
wretched period when the night is dying more
or less miserably in the pangs of giving birth
to the dawning day. And when he had reached
Thorpe the only servant who was awake and about
was the poultry-woman, who had caught a good
100
 love's a tyrant ! 
deal of the cackling and fussy manner of the
hens whose eggdaying duties she supervised.
 Lor' a' massey me, bor! she wheezed out,
as Marcus came upon her suddenly just as she
emerged from a hen-house with an apron full of
eggs, he having taken the shorter path through the
back premises in his anxiety to get home. Then
recognising her master she amended her form of
salutation thus, as she curtseyed low and cracked
an egg or two in her polite endeavour to do him
proper homage,—
 Reer glad I am to see you, sir, but not one
of them mawthers in the house is up yet.
 How is my mother ? How is your mistress,
Lizzie ? he interrupted, and Lizzie Rowe smiled
and bridled and broke another egg or two as she
answered,
 Your mother is pretty well, sir, but the one I've
got to take my orders from and look up to as
my missus have been queerer than usual. 'Miss
Laura,' I says to her at the noon hour yesterday,
' lauk, you're that pale that it's my belief you're a'
frettin'.' 'No, Lizzie,' she says 
 Never mind what she said, knock up the
servants, Marcus interrupted savagely, and the
guardian of the poultry interest at Thorpe hastened
tumultuously to do his bidding. But long before
any of the Thorpe domestics could be roused from
their slumbers a light pair of feet tripped down
the stairs, the door was opened with unbungling
noiselessness by a deft pair of hands, and, as Marcus
Gwynn stepped across the threshold of his own
house, he was welcomed by Laura Payne.
He did not want her. The pretty half-sup-
pressed intense interest she seemed to display un-
willingly in him rasped his nerves and gave him
the sensation of being netted in with threads of
 love's a tykant !''
101
cloyingly sweet sugar. Do all he could without
being absolutely and almost brutally brusque he
could not pass and get away from her. She hung
about him like an enervating atmosphere, and as
she moved about there was wafted from her a
perfume, the faint spiritual essence of a perfume
which he had once loved and revelled in, and now
hated and revolted from. He remembered Con-
stance and her everlastingly fresh bouquets of
Neapolitan violets and late Bouquet d'Or roses,
and physically he sickened of Miss Payne at
once.
Yet how enthralledly he had admired her, and
how cleverly she had worked the vein of his ad-
miration! Never exhausting it or using it up too
greedily in one direction. But just bringing up
some of its purest gold to the surface, and then
using the same as capital to work other veins of
a similar order in the minds of other men.
And now, though she was "lovelier than ever,
—his manly and artistic taste told him that,—he
recoiled from her. And she saw it.
He hardly noticed that she called him  Marcus
and then half apologised for doing so, murmuring
that her  excuse for the familiarity must be that
in the dear old studio days he had always been
'Marcus.'
"Damn the old studio days; tell me how my
mother is, will you, please, Miss Payne, and, no
thank you, no coffee,"—with a vivid heart-rending
recollection of that cup which Connie had prof-
fered and never given,— coffee would make me
sick. Phaugh ! Everything about this place seems
to make me sick, he added impatiently, as she
shut the breakfast-room door and wafted more of
the unforgotten, unwelcome perfume towards him.
 Don't be impatient, she said reproachfully,
102
 love's a tyrant ! 
marking the impatience and clearly understanding
the cause of it.  I am trying to pull myself
together in order to tell you in a few words all
you want to know. Still you might exercise a
little restraint, and show a little consideration for
me. I have been up all night, I am tired out, but
I thought you would rather hear from me than
from servants.
 My dear Miss Payne, what is there for me to
hear ? Marcus asked, stamping about the room,
goaded almost beyond endurance.
 Only this, that Mrs. Sackville -has made one of
her sudden recoveries, and if you let her know
that I sent for you, she will regard me as an
alarmist and dismiss me; send me back to—to 
 Then my mother is not ill ?  Marcus inter-
rupted in unqualified relief.
"Not now, but when I wired to you I was
anxious, very anxious.
 You did right in sending for me, he conceded
generously, "thank you. I think I will have the
coffee now, but your message frightened me.
 And dragged you away from good sport, I
fear; plenty of pheasants in that part of Devon-
shire, aren't there ? 
He had become moody and self-absorbed, but at
her question he roused himself and replied laughingly,
"Dragged me away from good sport? Well, yes,
Miss Payne, but I was not much after the
pheasants.
 What game were you after then ? she asked
quickly, and he answered absently,
 Oh, none at all. I'm not keen on sport, you
know. A lovely country is quite enough for me.
I did a good deal of sketching. By the way, you
must have got my address from my mother. Didn't
she wonder a little why you asked for it?
"love's a tyrant!
103
It seemed to her guilty conscience that he was
scrutinising her face closely and suspiciously as
he asked this; whereas, in reality, he was not
even thinking about her. He was only wondering
whether or not his mother had any idea that he
had been sent for, and thinking that if she had
remained in complete ignorance of the possibility
of his appearance there, she might get an upsetting
shock when she saw him.
 I—I got your address from your cousin, she
stammered out presently.  She told me. I mean
I asked her; that is, I heard her say one day
that you were staying with the Hilliers at Glade.
He laughed good-humouredly.  How you zig-
zag round a simple point, Laura, he said.  Why
shouldn't you have known my address as well as
my Cousin Olivia ? I thought, perhaps, he added
in perfect innocence and unsuspicion,  that you
might have heard from Mr. Conway that we were
there. He always takes a great interest in you,
you must know 
 That's more than I take in Mr. Conway, then,
she spat out viciously.  Who is the woman he
is after there ? 
 Poor old boy! Marcus laughed merrily.  I'm
afraid he's sighing in vain this time. You under-
stand how he fancies himself in love with every
pretty face he sees ? Well, this time it's more
than a pretty face, and a little more than fancy
on his part, I'm afraid, for the face will never
smile acquiescently upon him. Now I'll go to
my room, and if you'll kindly piepare my mother
to see me, I'll go to her presently.
He passed her as he spoke, taking no more notice
of her than he would have taken of the housemaid,
had the housemaid been in her place. And his unin-
tentional neglect roused all that was vengeful in her.
104
 love's a tyrant ! 
 The face has evidently smiled acquiescently on
you, or you wouldn't sneer so triumphantly at
JVI r. Conway's failure; not but what I'm glad he
has been snubbed, she added with undisguised
malicious satisfaction,  an elderly man's would-be
gallantries are sickening spectacles to the women
who won't be the object of them.
 Why, I thought Conway and you were staunch
friends ? Marcus paused to ask in astonishment
at this outburst; and Laura Payne tossed her
lovely head, and drew down the corners of her
lovely mouth contemptuously as she repeated his
last words—
 Friends!
As Marcus crept quietly upstairs in order not
to disturb his mother before she had been properly
prepared by Laura Payne's tact and kindness to
receive him, he breathed a hearty prayer that
Laura Payne might be speedily removed to some
other sphere where her tact and talents could
find fitting employment. He knew little or nothing
about her save that she had been a  model,
and had a  history before she became a model.
But all his best and strongest instincts revolted
now at her being in his mother's house, the com-
panion of his fresh, crystal-minded young Cousin
Olivia. For the first time it occurred to him to
suspect that "Conway had had a hand in getting
her there. Yet, what object could Conway have
had in doing this ? It was impossible to conjee-
ture, and he had other and nearer and dearer
subjects to consider now. So he put Laura Payne
away from his thoughts, and fell back into miser-
able meditation on all the possible  reasons why 
Connie had been so cruelly cool about him on the
morning of his departure from Glade. It never
struck him that she had not received his note, for
 love's a tybant ! 
105
the parlourmaid had told him  Miss Brymer
would send an answer if there was one. Nor
did it occur to him for a moment to suspect that
his -guardian would seriously intervene between
Constance and himself. He thought "the old boy
was foolishly fond of her, but that was all. He
did not realise that the man whose rivalship he
regarded as a contemptibly ridiculous thing, had
spread a net for him, the meshes of which would
fetter his feet and cause him to stumble horribly
and fall sometimes for many a day to come.
Meantime, a sort of suppressed stir in the house,
an unusual running hither and thither for no
special purpose on the part of the ordinarily self-
possessed servants, had roused Olivia much earlier
than she liked being roused from her healthy,
hopeful, happily-dreaming slumbers. Her immediate
impression was that "Aunt Helena must be ill; so,
slipping into a dressing gown, she made her way
with naked feet and hair all tousled and streaming
down her back, as fast as possible to Mrs.
Sackville's bedroom. Here she was met by the
spectacle of Mrs. Sackville sitting up in bed,
listening eagerly to the suave account Laura Payne
was giving her of the  totally unexpected appear-
ance of the young master of the house. Rather
to Laura's relief, she was not called upon to
greatly garble facts or invent or propound any
ingenious theory to account for his coming. Mrs.
Sackville was perfectly convinced in her own mind
that he had come to help amuse Olivia as she
had asked him to do. Accordingly, not being in
the least astounded herself, she thought Miss
Payne's expressions of surprise at Mr. Gwynn's
arrival, and her endeavours to explain the  situa-
tion, savoured rather of presumption.
Now presumption was a thing that this excellent
106
 love's a tyrant ! 
lady could badly brook in any one. So when her
niece came rushing in, Mrs. Sackville turned her
face towards Olivia and nodded to her confiden-
tially, saying,  Well, he has come, dear, as I
thought he would, at once. No more dull days
with an old woman for you now, Livy dear.
Marcus has come!
There was no doubt about the girl's feelings on
the subject. Her plump, laughing face crimsoned
with a happy blush, and her bare feet carried
her swiftly to the side of the bed in order that
she might the more conveniently bestow a hug
of sympathy and affection on  his mother, more
than her own aunt.
 Aunt Helena, it's too much like a fairy tale,
isn't it now ? Here's the finest morning we've had
for the week, and Marcus home to enjoy it with
us. But I haven't been dull one minute with you,
and you know it. Miss Payne, I wish I was like
you, dressed and decent to be seen this minute.
 Yes, my dear Miss Payne, how is it that you
get up so early ? but I know without your telling
me. My servants are a little lazy in the morning,
and you overtask yourself in order that I may
find everything comfortable when I go down, Mrs.
Sackville said unsuspiciously. And Laura accepted
the undeserved praise in her best deprecating
manner.
 I try to do something to show my gratitude
to you, she said, and she looked so pathetically
beautiful as she said it, that Mrs. Sackville felt
almost sorry that she—the mother of a son—should
have engaged so attractive a companion. But
one look at Olivia's smiling visage reassured her.
 Livy has a heart of gold, and Marcus will
see it shining in her face, she thought. And
then she kissed Olivia, and in a whisper directed
 love's a tyrant ! 
107
her to be very, very neat in her dress that morning'.
"No ribbons, no lace; just your tailor-made dress
and linen collar and cuffs, dear, she ordered; and
Laura Payne, hearing the counsel, though it was
whispered, laughed in her heart, knowing well
how futile the endeavours of the neatest toilet
would be to engage the attention of Marcus
Gwynn.
 As it is, he shall look at me more than he
does at the Honourable Olivia, she told herself;
 but his heart won't be with either of us, it's with
that girl in South Devon—the girl Conway has
tried to keep dark from me.
CHAPTER XII.
for his sake!
The first sharp, piercing agony was over, and
only a dull, dead pain left in its place when Con-
stance came out of her room and faced the family at
breakfast, on the day Marcus Gwynn left Glade.
The expressions are not exaggerated. It was
agony—such agony as the girl could hardly endure
to live through—to think she had found out the
man whom she had put upon a pedestal, and wor-
shipped as a woman only can worship once in
her life, to be a mean, cowardly thief! Still,
mean and cowardly -and utterly and altogether un-
worthy as she thought he was, Connie could not
endure the idea of his vile, low, ungrateful crimi-
nality being made public. To hear other people
denounce him, as she felt it would be only righteous
and just he should be denounced, would have
stabbed her to the heart. So she would keep the
108
 love's a tyrant ! 
secret of her lost diamonds from the rest of the
world, and continue to declare to Conway (the only
person who knew they were gone) that she "had
given them to Marcus.
 And even he doesn't believe me, she thought
despairingly,  but he won't make war to the knife
between us by telling me so, and while he pretends
to believe me Marcus will be safe. Oh, Marcus!
And then her tears welled out in bitterness—the
bitterness of helplessness and undeserved misery
and sorrow and secresy—as the thought of how
ready she had been a few hours ago to give the
thief, not only her diamonds, but herself.
She would have stayed in her room all day, re-
gardless of the comments such a course of conduct
would have called forth, had it not been for the
craving she had to wring some binding words of
promise from Mr. Conway. She felt madly eager
to make him pledge himself, by all he held holy,
never, by word or sign, to revert to the crime;
and at the same time that she wrung this promise
from him she must be careful not to let him treat
it is a crime, or see that she regarded it as one.
In fact it was her own weakness that she must
pray his chivalry to keep from the knowledge of
the world ! Altogether it was a tangled yarn
which she held in her hand. The threads of
the story of her life were in a cruelly complicated
condition.
Happily for her, when she did get herself down
to the breakfast table, her uncle was already ab-
sorbed in the columns of the Western Morning
News and the prospect of a speedy general election,
and Belle had her letters.
Belle always had an interesting correspondence
on hand about something or other. It was either
on the subject of one old schoolfellow going out
 love's a ttkant !
109
into the world as a governess, or another going
out to India as a wife, or else on the equally ab-
sorbing and vital one of material for a dress direct
from the manufacturers, or plush threeha'pence a
yard cheaper than she had ever met with it before!
On the present occasion it was neither material for
dresses nor old schoolfellows that engrossed Belle's
strongest interests; it was a letter from an aunt,
the wife of a retired general officer, who resided in
Plymouth, and occasionally gave the Glade girls
dazzling glimpses of the glory and havoc of military
life in periods of peace and pleasure.
Her letter to Belle this morning contained a
proposition that obliterated all recollection for the
time being of their late guest, Marcus Gwynn.
Belle had prepared herself to fall in love with him
on the first evening of his arrival—prepared herself
bravely against very adverse elements. But he
had not shown himself grateful for the heroic en-
deavour she had made to throw down class pre-
judice in her own mind. On the contrary, he had
either been unconscious of it, or else had taken
it for granted. At any rate he had not responded
to it with grateful affection and humility, but had
lifted his eyes above her, and fixed them on
Constance! So now, though Belle always retained
a kindly feeling for him, there was no lively re-
collection of the fact that he had been and was
not present in her mind this morning, to temper
and tone down the satisfaction she felt in being
invited to spend a week in Plymouth, in order to
attend a ball to be given by a crack regiment
and a concert at which the queen of British-born
songstresses was to sing.
Conway was not down yet! Constance's first
sensation when she grasped this fact was one of
relief. Then the pitiableness of her own condition
110
 love's a tyrant !
struck her dolefully. What a ghastly prospect
stretched out before her if such a small thing as
the absence of Conway, a man to whom she
had been simply indifferent hitherto, gave her tern-
porary cessation from aching mental pain ! As she
seated herself at the table, and tried to lift the
cup of coffee which Belle gave her, with a shaking
hand, she could hardly suppress a groan at the
thought of her own crushed, mutilated happiness.
Luckily Belle was self-absorbed, and the colonel
engrossed by politics, and the mere effort to
drink her coffee and deport herself as usual acted
as a mental tonic. Presently she was listening to
Belle's news with a calm demeanour, and actually
forcing herself to give advice on the subject of
the ball-dress.
 Aunt Mildred says she's so sorry she couldn't
get an invitation for you, too, Con, Belle said
apologetically; and Constance deprecated the apo-
logetic tone by a shake of the head and a shrug
of the shoulders.
 I think I'm tired of balls. I never want to go
to another, she said quickly, and as she said it
Conway came slowly into the room.
 Coffee and everything else quite cold, I'm afraid,
Conway, Colonel Hillier cried, and then he added,
looking round the table, "by the way our young
friend is off, I suppose ?
 Marcus Gwynn left at half-past seven, Con-
way answered grimly.
 I hope one of you girls saw that he had some
breakfast before he started.
•' Connie did, father, at least she said—didn't
you, Connie ?
"I was lazy, not down in time, Constance said,
growing paler with each word she uttered, and
feeling a ghastly inclination to let herself slide
 loyb's a tyrant !
111
away under the table into unconsciousness, but
the knowledge that Conway's eyes were fixed upon
her stimulated her into making a supreme effort
to maintain self-control.
 What would he say about Marcus ? she kept
on asking herself,  would he speak affectionately
of his ward, as it had been his wont to do, or
would he cruelly mark by his manner how that
ward had fallen in his estimation ? She could
not restrain herself. Looking up, piteously, im-
ploringly, at him, she said,
 I must make my apologies to you for my
inhospitable neglect of your friend.
 Do you think he deserved such attention at
your hands, Miss Brymer ?  he replied, in the
solemn, hollow tones that were more hateful than
ever to Constance this day.
 Deserve it! of course he did, Belle said
briskly,  Marcus Gwynn is just the one man I've
met with who does deserve any amount of atten-
tion at the hands of women, for he'd never pre-
sume upon it, or boast about it. I hope he'll come
to Glade again before long, don't you, Connie ?
"I—oh! I would like a change of visitors, I
think.
 Connie I you capricious, fickle little wretch !
you shan't pretend about it, Belle Hillier said
reproachfully, "much as we all like Marcus Gywnn,
you like him best of all, and you shan't pretend
not to wish to see him back here.
Colonel Hillier lowered his paper and looked
over it at his niece for a moment or two. Perhaps a
recollection of the days long ago, when he had loved
and ridden away, swept across his mind. At any
rate, as he recalled his glance from her and bent
his eyes upon the column he had been reading, his
vision was obscured, and he was thinking—
112
1 LOVE'S A TYRANT ! 
 Poor girl ! poor girl! he meant nothing then,
after all! I never thought Connie would have
been hard hit by a fellow who didn't care for her.
Meantime, Mr. Conway was saying slowly and
heavily, as if clouds were lowering over the mind
that suggested the words:—
 Marcus Gwynn ought to be much flattered at
the interest that is • felt in him by a family whom
he will probably go away and forget forthwith.
 Is he apt to do that sort of thing ?  Belle
said quickly. "No! I don't believe it of him, do
you, Con ?
But Connie was speechless; while Mr. Conway
went on,
 You don't believe it, Belle ! Well, time will
test my words. I tell you that you have probably
seen and heard the last of Marcus Gwynn. Miss
Brymer, shall I open the window ? Are you
faint ?
 I am not  she was beginning, but he
stopped her by opening a French window that
led into the garden.
 I am sure you will be better for a little fresh
air, he went on, pertinaciously, offering her his arm.
 Please don't try to take me out in procession,
she said, irritably, but she got up and walked
hastily out into the garden as she spoke, and he
followed her, while Belle stayed behind wondering
what it meant.
 You must exercise more self-control than this,
Conway said as he overtook Constance in a laurel-
hedged side-path.  Think for a moment! His
safety or your reputation will suffer unless you can
command yourself.
 What did you mean by saying he would go
away and forget us all ? she questioned angrily.
 Isn't it the one mercy I can show him ? to
 love's a tyrant !  113
account for his never coming here, in such a natural
way ? He is selfish ; all young men are. Having
got what he wanted here, I tell you he will forget
Glade and you!
 What did he want ? she asked, desperately.
 Money, or money's worth.
 How do you know he has got it, she saia,
savagely now.
"You told me yourself you had given him the
diamonds. I have your word for it.
 Oh! I forgot that I had told you; how mean
you are to throw my confidence back in my face
in this way.
"Look here, Constance Brymer, he said, sternly,
"I will make an end of this at once. Your love
for that man is so strong that it will conquer
and ruin you, unless it is wrestled with. For
your own sake hear my prayer, that you will give
yourself into my safe keeping.
"That I never will do.
"Are you so determined? Well, I'll plead a
stronger claim. Unless you give me the right to
protect your name, I will have Marcus Gwynne
exposed as the cowardly thief he is.
 I tell you I gave him my diamonds,'' the girl
panted out,  let him alone—oh ! let him alone ! 
 Constance !  He clasped his thin, hot hand
round her wrist, as he spoke, and she thought
unwillingly of eerie tales she had heard of the
devil's burning touch.  Constance! if I am to
seem to believe that story, if I am to let the
wrong-doer go unpunished by man, if I am to
baffle justice, and spare your name and his, I
must have my reward !
She drew her hand away from him with a
gesture that could not have expressed more loathing
if he had been a gorilla.
8
 love's a tyrant ! 
 How can I reward you ?  she said feebly,
trying to smile as if at the absurdity of the idea,
but inwardly conscious of such blood-curdling
sensations as must, she knew, be apparent to him.
 How can I reward you ? And why should I
reward you ? she added more feebly still.
 'How?' By becoming my wife. I place my
heart and hand, my purse, all, everything, com-
pletely at your disposal to do as you like with!
The way to reward me is to accept my offer. As
to, ' why' you should do it, I leave the answering
of that question to your own discretion.
 I could not make you happy. Ask something
else, she pleaded faintly, feeling her repugnance to
him strengthen as he encompassed her more closely
in the toils of his perseverance, threats, and
promises.
 There is nothing else, nothing else ! other
women—fairer women even than you, Constance
Brymer, would not deny me what I ask of you.
 Don't speak in that melodramatic way, she
interrupted passionately,  it makes me wild with
rage and shame; what have I ever done that you
should pester me with offers of love, that I shrink
from and am mortified by  she stopped abruptly,
drawn up erect, closely pressed in against the
compact laurel hedge, and he had approached her
so nearly that she felt his breath upon her face.
And his breath was horrible to her, revolting,
sickening in its warmth and want of freshness!
 You are ' mortified ' by the offer of it, are
you ? Believe me your refusal of it will cause
you far more mortification by-and-bye if you are
not careful. No I am not threatening you, he
added hastily as he marked the indignation which
shook her whole frame,  I am not threatening,
I am only reminding you.
 love's a tyeant !
115
"' Reminding me' of what ?
 Of the fact that both you and your lover are
in my power to a certain extent. Come, Con-
stance, he added with an abrupt change from
his air of gloomy earnestness to one of friendly
confidence,  be kind to me, give me my heart's
desire, and your secret shall be safe with me.
 My secret, she repeated, vaguely feeling as if
a fog were settling down over her in which she
would be liable to be lost.
 Your secret! which is after all no secret to me.
Listen to reason! Perhaps I am an egotistical
selfish man. I am but human—but I love you, I
love you with a passion that makes me young
again, and I want you for my wife. If you will
give yourself to me I swear that I will never
again refer to the diamonds or your loss of them.
I swear it solemnly. But if you refuse me I
swear with equal solemnity that I will do my
utmost to bring the thief to justice, I mean to
expose and ruin Marcus Gwynne.
 Stand back, do stand back, Constance cried,
her eyes flashing and her colour rising,  do you
want the gardener to see you bullying and annoying
me, as you wouldn't dare to bully and annoy
one of my uncle's servants ?
 I shall stand before you thus !  (he crossed
his arms over his mean-looking, narrow chest as
he spoke),  until you have given me my answer.
Look to yourself, or rather look to Marcus Gwynne
if your answer is in the negative. Will you marry
me and lay the miserable story of your stolen
diamonds to rest for ever ? Think ! when you are
my wife your relations will not have the right or
opportunity of vexing you with enquiries and
speculations about them; you will be freed from
all importunities concerning them, for 7, the man,
116
 love's a tyrant I 
the only man in the world who will have the
right to demand an explanation of their disappear-
ance from you, will never make the demand.
Think!
She looked wildly, despairingly, to the right
and left, an almost uncontrollable inclination to
knock him down and escape from him for ever,
assailing her. Then a timely recollection that she
could not escape from or avoid his presence with-
out calling forth almost an unappeasable curiosity as
to her reasons for doing so, flashed into her mind!
And with this came a dreadful terror for Marcus.
Suddenly she grew quite quiet, and stood a
caught and tamed creature before him.
 Will you give me that promise in writing ? 
she asked.
"I will at once. He took a pocket-book briskly
from his pocket as he spoke, and began writing,
but Constance interrupted :—
"Not in pencil; it must be in ink.
"In ink, then. Come back to the house, and
let me tell your uncle at once that we are
engaged.
 Ah! not yet, she said, shrinking away from
him.  I haven't said it yet. I am free still.
 So am I, he answered coldly;  free to ruin
Marcus Gywnne if I like. Be wise, my fluttering
bird; fold your wings and come to me.
 If I do marry you I shall never love you, that
you know very well; but I'll tell you a harder
truth still—I shall never even like you.
"But I shall be your husband, holding your
dearest secret, and, by the power of it, forcing
you to make a fair show of decent liking for me,
Constance, at first; and in time, in time, he went
on piteously,  the seeming may become a reality.
You may learn to love me when you realise how
 love's a tyrant !
117
deep, how desperate, how daring my love for you
is. Let me seal our compact with a 
He clasped her in his arms, and kissed her on
her mouth, and in that moment Constance felt as
tarnished and lost a creature as any poor wander-
ing daughter of sin in the streets can feel. From
the depths of her sorrow-stricken, shame-burdened
soul the words rushed out, as she wrenched herself
from her future husband's embrace:—
 I wish I had died yesterday, happy and
good.
Ten minutes after this Constance was in posses-
sion of a written promise from Conway that if
she would marry him he would never again refer
to the loss of her jewels to any human being. That
he would never by word or sign associate Marcus
Gwynne with their disappearance, and finally that
he would never mention the subject of them to
Constance herself.
 My cousin Belle shall witness this, she said, as
he finished writing and signed it.
 Will you take her into your confidence ? he
asked in surprise.
 Only to this extent, that I have consented to
marry you on condition you keep a promise
written there.
He laughed in a strained, gloomy way that was
infinitely irritating, as he thought of how little that
promise which she would never dare to make
public, would bind him when once he was
married.
 Will she sign without wanting to read it ?''
he asked.
 Yes, Constance answered frankly;  she will
be so much shocked and disgusted at hearing that
I'm going to marry you, that she won't think of
anything else.
118
 love's a tyrant ! 
The event justified her prophecy. When Belle
did hear it, she staggered to a seat and sat quite
still, gazing at her cousin in horrified silence for a
minute.
Then she broke out into exclamations of doubt
and disgust:—
 It can't be, Con. My darling old girl, are you
mad ? Is it because Marcus Gwynne has gone with-
out Oh ! Connie, don't be so mad, don't be
so impatient; he will write directly, or come. He's
not gone altogether; I feel it.
 I only pray I may never hear of or see Marcus
Gwynne again, Constance said, with due coldness.
 Just do as I ask; sign this ; it's a little promise
Mr. Conway has made me. Come !
So Belle followed Constance into Conwaj^'s pre-
sence, and then, with intense vexation, signed the
paper as witness to—she knew not what.
 Now you can tell my uncle, Constance said
imperiously.
CHAPTER XIII.
"love in sequel works with fate.
While Marcus Gwynne was tubbing, and after-
wards explaining more or less lamely to his mother
the reasons why he had put in an appearance so
unexpectedly at Thorpe, his cousin Olivia was
decking her beauties for his eyes to the best of
her ability.
Palpitation of the heart is not, as a rule, con-
ducive to the artistic execution of a good design.
Nor was Olivia's palpitating organism an exception
to this rule. Her design was admirable! It was
 love's a tyrant !
119
nothing less than this. To carry Marcus's taste by
storm by the sheer force of neatness and propriety
of costume, against the overwhelming powers of
Miss Payne's personal charms.
The design was good! But the Irish girl had
no life-long habits of neatness, much less of
fastidiousness and delicate scrupulousness in matters
of the toilet to call to her aid. She hurried over
what she regarded as matters of details, and so the
result was that when she took her place at the
breakfast-table opposite to him, Marcus's first im-
pression concerning her was that her collar was
crooked. His second, that the way she dressed her
hair was suggestive of the possibility of its tumbling
down over her shoulders in reprehensible confusion
the moment she moved quickly. And his third,
that he  would certainly get Connie to take the
poor little girl in hand and teach her the difference
between dressing and merely getting into clothes! '
The Honourable Olivia had failed signally, in fact,
in pleasing his eyes, despite her best endeavours,
and the girl was sympathetically conscious of her
failure at once, and was saddened by it. Still she
responded with sweet good-temper to his greeting,
though to her sensitive ear it almost conveyed a
reproach.
 I have hurried you all unpardonably this morn-
ing, I'm afraid, Olivia. You ought to have punished
me by making me breakfast alone. Not that Miss
Payne looked hurried—or anything but perfectly
prepared at every point for any emergency, he
added, smiling rather approvingly, as Laura came
in, in her morning wrapper of brown cashmere, that
fell back and opened subtly in front, and at the
throat and wrists, just, and but just, disclosing
visions of its quilted pink silk lining.
 You're a continuation of the breakfast-table
120
 love's a tyrant ! 
decorations, Miss Payne—that's good, Marcus went
on commendingly, as Laura passed his cousin and
took her place at the head of the table, and began
pouring out the colfee and tea. And then Olivia
noticed for the first time that a number of little
glass vases were dotted about—containing brown
oak and beech leaves, and a few sprigs of pink
geranium.
 My taste in such trivialities is unerring; my
judgment has been well cultivated, you know that,
Laura said significantly, and there was something
in the way in which she emphasized one word in her
last sentence that jarred on Olivia's honest nerves.
 Do you mean that my cousin himself taught
you to do table-decorations, Miss Payne, because it
sounds like that, she said simply, and Marcus felt
himself colouring with annoyance, while Laura was
aware that a small gleam of conscious triumph
came into her eyes.
 I can't put in a claim to the honour of having
taught Miss Payne how to make a table pretty,
Olivia, he said lightly.
 But you can put in a very fair claim to the
honour—if it be one ?—of having taught me how to
dress myself to suit a room and how to arrange a
room to suit myself, Laura said laughing, while
the Honourable Olivia gazed from one to the other
of her companions in obvious bewilderment.
 I'm sure you are one to profit by any lessons
you may have had, Marcus said gravely. And
Laura felt that she had again gone a step too far
in trying to trade on any former relations that
had existed between herself and the son of her
present employer.
 He means to keep me at arm's length; he's
afraid of even such poor, harmless little ghosts as
I could raise, scaring his wild Irish cousin, and his
u love's a tyrant I 
121
new goddess in Devonshire. But for all his careful-
ness and cowardice I'll make him compromise him-
self with me in a few days in a way that will
make each individual hair on their virtuously inane
heads stand on end. As far as the men go,
Charlie's my darling! But Marcus has the money.
And I shall want all he's got to make up to me for
this penal servitude that I've endured for months
now.
To her credit as an actress on the boards of the
great theatre of The World, be it known that while
these bitter thoughts and low resolves were cours-
ing through her brain she kept up a light fire of
easy chatter, and seemed the most unreflecting child
of the hour that could be conceived.
 Yes, I never forget what I've once learnt, Mr.
Gwynne. An artist told me once that the com-
bination of colours he liked to see me in best of a
morning was brown and pink, so I spend a good
portion of my poor little substance in brown and
pink tea-gowns.
 That artist had a lovely taste, I'm sure, Olivia
said, honest admiration of the other girl's splendid
beauty in her eyes and her tones.  I wish some-
one—you're an artist, Marcus, why won't you ?—
would take the trouble to teach me what I look
best in.
 Oh! I'm sure Mr. Gwynne feels that you
look well in everything, Laura replied politely,
but Olivia felt that the politeness was a treacher-
ous thing.  Besides, she went on with cattish
suavity,  there is a good deal of artistic negligence
in your costume already; you show a little bit of
collar on the left, and leave the band of your dress
in all its unadorned severity on the right, for
instance; and there's nothing monotonous even
about your slippers, for a rosette reigns on the toe
122
 love's a tyrant ! 
of one of them still, while the other I picked up
as I came downstairs.
She held the rosette out with laughing, malicious
civility towards Olivia as she spoke. But the
young Irish lady, though her collar was awry,
and her shoes did not correspond in every detail,
was more than a match for the insolent pretender.
The Honourable Olivia Gwynne was true to the
gentle blood, the courteous traditions of her race, as
looking her tormentor full in the face with her
brave true eyes, she said without a shadow of
resentment:
"Thank you for picking up my lost rosette, Miss
Payne; but I wish you hadn't shown me up as
such an untidy girl before my cousin! he'll dis-
like me for it.
 That he won't, Olivia, gentling his voice to
those tones that seem to speak of a tender perfect
understanding between the speaker and the spoken-
to. Unfortunately in this case the speaker gentled
his tones because he had a perfect understanding
of the motive which had actuated Laura Payne's
remark, and in his desire to snub her, he soothed
too sweetly the uncalculating, impetuous little girl
—to Olivia, he had become all-in-all in the course
of the last five minutes.
Unfortunately, also, the uncalculating little cousin
accepted the soothing far more readily than Laura
did the snub. It amused the latter young lady, in
fact, that any man should be weak enough to
think that she could smart under any lash that was
not used for the correction of her personal vanity,
or seriously ponder over any consequences that did
not affect her purse. That Olivia should feel
pained by her (Laura's) spite, or Marcus disgusted
at it were matters of no moment to Miss Payne.
For she understood Marcus Gwynne well enough to
 love's a tteant ! 
123
feel confident that his disgust would never make
him do anything that might be detrimental to her
interests. He was too generous to injure however
much he might disapprove of her.
Accordingly now, she accepted his rebuking glance
as light-heartedly as Olivia did his comforting
words. Indeed, she contrived by a quick flashing
smile to convey the impression that she understood
Marcus much better than his cousin did. An im-
pression of which he was conscious, which was not
pleasing to him, and which he was perfectly power-
less to combat. An impression which quite un-
necessarily gave Olivia a few preliminary pangs of
the jealousy which was to be her portion hereafter.
His first day at home was pleasant in spite of
his anxiety about Constance Brymer. She would
get out of that capricious mood, which was so
unnatural to her, very soon, he assured himself
as he made excuses by the dozen for her coldness
and neglect on the morning of his leaving Glade.
If he did not hear from her in the course of the
next day or two, he would write again, and in
the meantime he would get his mother and cousin
Olivia accustomed to the idea of the queen of his
soul coming to reign at Thorpe.
Two or three days slipped away, and still Corn-*
stance made no sign, and in spite of his sanguine
temperament Marcus Gwynne grew more than a
little uneasy. Yet still he went on making excuses
for her to himself, arguing that as he had never
found quite the right opportunity for making
mention of his feelings towards her and his hopes
respecting her to his mother and Olivia, so she
might be fluctuating and hesitating, and letting the
precious days slide away, in doubt as to how to
best break the thin veil of ice which at present
intervened between them.
124
 love's a tyrant ! 
But while he was waiting for a word from her,
and thinking about her frequently, he passed the
time away pleasantly enough to all outward seeming,
between Olivia and Laura Payne. The latter sue-
ceeded in disarming any suspicions he might
have entertained when he first came home as to her
desire to entrap him into a flirtation, or an "under-
standing, or anything else of a sentimentally love-
producing nature. And as she was bright and
beautiful, and as he really wished her well, he grew
kinder in his manner to her in proportion as she
assumed an air of deference and reserve towards
him.
In fact it would have been an unnatural part
for Marcus Gwynne to play, that of either cool,
stern censor or materialised conscience to the girl
who seemed to be so earnestly and honourably,
so steadily and so dully trying to live down the
remembrance of her lighter less praiseworthy past.
He believed in the fair surface view of herself
which she now showed to him. He was pitifully
glad that she had found such a sanctuary as his
mother's house. And he would have been ready to
condemn himself of the vital sin of putting a
stumbling block in a weak sister's path, if by
any cold or unsympathising word or act of his, this
struggling, repentant woman should be made to
hesitate or fall back from the upward course he
believed her to be pursuing.
Miss Payne almost came to the conclusion at
times that Marcus was a foeman who was distinctly
 not worthy of her steel! In the first place
he would not pose as a  foeman at all, but
rather as a kind, considerate acquaintance who
seriously desired her well-being so long as the latter
could be compassed quite apart from himself. And
in the second place he would no more be lured
 love's a tyrant ! 
125
into love or the semblance of love "with her, than
he would be piqued or goaded into antagonism.
The situation became depressingly monotonous, and
though she would have patiently endured any
monotony with the prospect before her of becoming
mistress of Thorpe, she chafed a good deal at the
necessity of being uniformly bright, entertaining,
and agreeable to a man who barred that prospect
to her.
 Bright, entertaining, agreeable, and uniformly
cheerful and able in the discharge of every domestic
duty that devolves upon her. That was what Mrs.
Sackville said of Laura Payne to Marcus and
everyone else with whom she happened to discuss
her remarkable companion. Marcus nodded manly
unconditional assent to the commendation, in his
manly unsuspicious way, and frank, fair, fat Olivia
tried to glow with responsive enthusiasm—and
failed !
There was a good deal of  go  about the life at
Thorpe at this time; more animation and variety
than Marcus had ever known in his mother's house
before. That this blessed change was due in a great
measure to Miss Payne was obvious. She had the
supreme art of making commonplace events in the
everyday routine of ordinary household life interest-
ing. She made a visit to the dairy quite a pastoral
pleasure; for the dairy under her supervision became
absolutely picturesque in its always damp red-
brick cleanliness. She could turn the churn as un-
waveringly, and make up the cool yellow solid butter
as skilfully as time-honoured Lizzie Rowe. And
she showed a practical insight into the business of
getting the best market value for the butter that
made Mrs. Sackville long to increase her stock of
Jersey cows, while Marcus made her his model once
more for the hackneyed subject of "Hetty in the
126
 love's a tyrant I 
Dairy. Olivia could neither work the churn nor
make up the butter, and when she equipped herself
for the dairy in thick shoes and short petticoats
she looked square and stunted, instead of looking
picturesque. She was conscious of these shortcomings,
and conscious also that her cousin Marcus, though
he esteemed her and regarded her affectionately,
though he trusted her, and appealed to her on
questions of principle and honour, did not admire
her in the slightest degree!
The consciousness of this last fact on the part
of a woman regarding a man whom she has
fatuously put upon a pedestal and fallen down
before in loving worship, is invariably crushing,
and subversive of all successful endeavours on her
part to make the best of herself. Consequently as
poor Olivia had this consciousness to the full ex-
tent of its bitterness, she failed to impress herself
upon Marcus as anything beyond a "good-natured,
dear little girl, to whom it behoved him to be
extra kind and attentive, whenever he thought
of being so.
It was rather strange that Mrs. Sackville, whose
heart was firmly set upon the marriage of her son
to her niece, should have been satisfied with the
way things were working during Marcus's first week
at home. But she was satisfied, more than satisfied,
indeed sanguine! Like many another mother she
made the fell mistake of thinking that what was
her own heart's desire, must be the heart's desire
of her child! that what she knew to be best for
him, he must also feel to be best for himself!
Accordingly she ignored all poor Olivia's heart-
sick efforts to keep herself in the background, and
was carelessly indifferent to the familiar attitude
Marcus was allowing Laura Payne to assume
towards him !
 love's a tyrant ! 
127
An attitude to which Marcus himself was as
profoundly indifferent as he was to everything and
everyone save Constance Brymer, who still, though
a week had passed, had not offered him any ex-
planation of her change of conduct.
 Come for a walk under the south wall with me,
Marcus.
The speaker was Mrs. Sackville, standing wrapped
up in her sweet, old-lady-like grey silk and squirrel
fur cloak, just outside the French window of the
dining-room, where Marcus was still loitering over
his letters and his breakfast.
He rose promptly to obey her. The girls had
gone their respective ways for an hour or two,
and as it was not his mother's custom to come
downstairs so early, the young master of the house
had been looking forward rather dolefully to a
period of dull solitude. At noon he was pledged to
drive Olivia and Miss Payne to a recently restored
show mansion about nine miles distant; until noon
his mother's company would be a boon, none the
less prized because so rarely bestowed at this time
of day.
"These ruddy October days are very lovely, very
inspiriting, Mrs. Sackville began as she laid her
hand on her son's arm, and led him on towards the
sunny old pear-tree walk. "December will soon be
upon us, and then—I hope I may resign the reins
here.
"My dearest mother! you mustn't think of turning
out, whatever happens, he answered rather con-
sciously, thinking of Constance, and half wondering
whether she would like a mother-in-law in the
house or not.
 But, indeed, I'm thinking with very happy
seriousness of turning out, as you call it, Marcus.
You will soon marry, I hope and pray, and I'm not
128
 love's a tyrant ! 
going to be either a leaning-post or a stumbling-
block to your dear little wife.
 Ah! he said, laughing a little confusedly, and
colouring under the influence of mingled feelings of
youthful modesty and manly ardent passion, "you
don't know her yet; but she's not at all the sort
of girl to want a leaning-post, and I'm sure I can
answer for her that she'll never think you a stumb-
ling-block, mother.
"Not know her yet! she exclaimed, letting that
unfortunately chilly air, which had so frequently
nipped her husband's confidence, creep over her.
 Surely I do, Marcus, or one of us has greatly,
miserably misunderstood the other.
 I confess I don't understand you now, he said
doggedly, for the bare idea of anyone attempting to
drive him towards matrimony with any other
woman in the world than Connie Brymer made
him indignant and rebellious.
His mother looked up at him sharply, and recog-
nised with pain the same expression of vexed deter-
mination "to have his own way, which she had
so often seen in her husband's face when she had
been complaining of or objecting to some of his
lady friends whom she "would not know.
 Shall I speak plainly, Marcus ? When I wrote
and asked you to come here and help me to enliven
the dulness of Thorpe life for Olivia, I said, 'if you
come heart-free, I know Mount-Hawke will give
her to you gladly.' After that, you could hardly
have misunderstood me ! 
 But I didn't come home heart-free, he replied.
 Then you should not have come at all, or  (she
added the clause with a sudden quick remembrance
that it was his own house to which her son had
come) "as soon as you came you should have
undeceived Olivia.
 love's a tyrant I 
129
H I have never deceived Olivia yet, therefore it
will be difficult to undeceive her. She's a dear
little girl! I like her as a cousin, but there never
was an idea of her being anything else, even before
I knew the girl I now mean to marry.
 Mean to marry! Has it come to that ?
 Well, we're not engaged, Marcus began ex-
plaining.  You should have been the first to hear
of it, mother, if we had been properly engaged; but
it was nearly the same thing, and I should have
settled it all if I had not had to come off home in
such a hurry.
Then he stopped, remembering that he stood
pledged to secrecy respecting Laura's telegram.
 Who is the lady ? Mrs. Sackville asked coldly.
Not that she felt either cold or hard towards her
son, but he had disappointed her, and it was the
unfortunate nature of the sanguine, impressionable
woman to feel chilled and stultified, and to show
a frozen surface whenever she was disappointed in
a project that was dear to her. Now this project
of seeing her brother's daughter united to her own
son had been very dear to her, and her disappoint-
ment was proportionately cruel.
 A niece of Colonel Hillier's, a girl you'll adore,
mother, when you know her.
 Indeed! Colonel Hillier seems to have quite a
stock of marriageable and adorable nieces. Is she
a sister of the young lady who is going to marry
Mr. Conway.
 A sister !—going to marry Conway ?  Marcus
interrupted vaguely.
 Yes, yes ! his mother replied impatiently, draw-
ing herself up, and wrapping her cloak more closely
around her as though Conway was a disagreeable
atmosphere from which she wished to protect her-
self,  Why he should think it necessary to
9
130
 love's a , tyrant ! 
mention his projected marriage to me, I cannot
imagine. I have never taken the slightest interest
in Mr. Conway's private affairs.
 What has he mentioned to you ? Tell me,
mother, Marcus faltered. His mind already shrank
intuitively from hearing what his heart told him he
might be compelled to hear. His reason told him
that was a monstrous impossibility, which the
second-sight of love showed him was already an
accomplished fact!
.  Tell me, mother, he said, with the petulance of
overwhelming anxiety and confusion of mind, and
his mother's face grew full of tender sympathy for
him about she knew not what as she answered,—
"He had to write to me about your coming of
age. I had the letter this morning. He says
flippantly, ' Tell Marcus that I am about to assume
the guardianship of a far more interesting person
than himself. I am to be married very shortly to
a niece of Colonel Hillier's—a Miss Brymer.'
 He lies, Marcus shouted fiercely.  Mother!
Constance Brymer is the girl I love. I'll go at
once and see what devil's mischief he is about.
CHAPTER XIV.
A bold stroke.
To resolve to go away at once and see for himsel
"what devil's mischief his former guardian and
friend was working for him and the girl he loved,
was one thing; to carry this resolve into immediate
execution was another and more difficult matter.
Calm reflection was not possible just then to the
young man who felt himself tricked, wronged, and
 love's a tyrant ! 
131
cheated, but all in an undefinable way against
which he could not fight. But enforced reflection
showed him that to rush off and present himself
before Constance with no better reason for his
sudden and uncalled-for appearance than that he
had heard she was going to marry Conway, would
be a crude, not to say futile and feeble proceeding.
The manner of his departure from Glade did not
warrant such a manner of revisiting the place. If
this horrible iniquity was really coming to pass,
then it had been hatching when he was with her,
while she was fooling him! And as it was in
black and white in the letter his mother had re-
ceived from Conway that morning, it was mere
credulous faith in Connie's outspoken loyalty which
made him now and again declare that  this
horrible iniquity was a mere fabrication of a
frightened lover's fancy.
As he had said nothing about Constance to his
mother previously, it was difficult to do so now.
So difficult, indeed, that he did not attempt the
task, putting off all her inquiries with the rejoinder
that  there was a mistake somewhere, and he'd
tell her all about it one day.
 But what mistake can there be, Marcus ? she
urged pertinaciously.  This girl, this Miss Brymer,
is actually going to be married to that man; so it
is impossible, quite impossible, that she could have
been aware that you loved her. Thank God that
it is so, my son; for had she known it, with this
fate before her, what a regretful woman she would
have been all her life.
"I can't talk about it, mother. I can only feel
that Conway's an old scoundrel.
 Marcus ! but that's strong language. Your father
never permitted himself to even harbour such a
thought as that about Mr. Conway, though your
132
 love's a tyrant 1 
father knew that his friend once had the presump-
tion  she checked herself. She would neither
seem to boast that she had rejected Conway as her
own lover, nor show her scorn of him to her son.
But Marcus was not giving a thought to what
she was saying about Conway in relation to his
father and herself. He was only thinking how he
should soonest arrive at the truth. How he should
wring it from Conway, or win it from Constance.
And as he brooded in silence over his inexplicable
position, his mother longed to bid him be sensible,
and find peace and comfort with her single-minded
niece, about whom there was no shadow of turning.
As they paced up and down on the smooth yellow
gravel walk under the high old red-brick wall that
was covered with fruit trees, there came several
little interruptions to their solitude that he hardly
noticed then, but that he remembered afterwards
with a certain sense of doubt and suspicion.
The head gardener came by, an elderly man who,
conceiving his own office to be by far the most
important of any held at Thorpe, naturally attri-
buted the gloom on his young master's face to the
scanty late pear crop. Accordingly, he halted and
began explaining, with maddening perspicuity, the
reason why it had only been  profitable for the
future, and in the proper order of things that
those pear trees should have failed this year.
 I put every one of them trees in myself, Master
Marcus, so there's no one to blame. You take
comfort with that,—no one to blame; if I hadn't
a put them in myself I should ha' said 'twas
sinful neglect as did it; but I put them in myself,
and when a man's done a thing hisself there's no
one to blame and nought to be said.
 I'm afraid Mr. Gwynne is not alive to all we
have suffered from the loss of late pears, Green,
 love's a tyrant I 
133
Mrs. Sackville answered for her son, and the gar-
dener touched his hat respectfully enough, but went
on his way, mentally accusing his unobservant
young master of having got  into rickety ways in
London, which suspicion he murmured to all and
sundry who met him for an hour's friendly converse
at the village ale-house in the evening, where it
was met by another rumour that was almost an
asseveration, which emanated from the Thorpe car-
penter, who kept company with the parlour-maid,
and which was to the effect that  Miss Gwynne wor-
shipped the ground her cousin trod on. But he
had no eyes, nor ears, nor thoughts for any but that
Laura Payne, who was no better than the parlour-
maid herself, nor half so good, perhaps, if truth
was known.
After the gardener had passed, the cook strolled
by on her leisurely way to the herb-bed at the end
of the south wall. And with her Mrs. Sackville
paused to discuss some dishes which cook had not
completely grasped yet, which had been ordered for
a dinner-party on the following day. And, absorbed
as he was in his angry bewildered grief, Marcus
could not help noticing how continually the woman
quoted Miss Payne, doing it in a sychophantish way,
as if it were meant to please her hearers.
 Not that I need trouble you, mum, for Miss
Payne have that bitiful taste that she always tell
me the right flavour when she've once tasted a
dish. What we should do without Miss Payne in
the house is more than I can say.
"Miss Payne is always anxious to do her duty
and to please me, Mrs. Sackville said gently and
firmly;  she knows what I like in the curry and
what I like in the rissoles; you need not ask
me now, cook. Don't be heavy-handed with pepper
and salt, the rest I leave to Miss Payne.
134
 love's a tyrant ! 
 And I may take what she says about what
Master Marcus likes, the woman asked with what
was meant to be a smile of amiable understanding.
In Marcus's present frame of mind he resented
it, as a horribly familiar leer.
 I wish you would make Miss Payne do her
own work with the servants, mother, and not let
them come out here and bother us about it, he
said tempestuously, and as the cook went off huffed,
and conscious of having expended her shot in the
wrong direction, Lizzie Rowe appeared, more flushed
in face and floundering in gait than usual.
"I told Miss Payne I should come direct to you,
mum, without no go-betweens and false-witnesses
between us, she began in her flustered, fussy way,
the way that she had caught from her feathered
friends apparently.  Young women will be young
women I know, no one knows it better than I;
though if I'd my day to go over again 
 What is it, Lizzie ? her mistress asked sharply.
Lizzie's moral history as narrated by herself was
not edifying.
 Men they be bad enough, Lizzie went on,
bristling with professional fury,  but I don't hold
with dogs; they I can't abide. When a man comes
courting, leastways near a poultry yard, he should
leave his filthy beast of a dog at home. Five of
my black Spanish and two of my best Dorkin's
killed last night—and I do say Mr. Charles Salter
ought to know better.
The woman paused panting, and as she paused,
Laura Payne ran up, smiling and bright, light of
foot and of heart apparently, but in reality in a
nervous tremor under the sickening conviction that
she had been nearly found out, and possibly was
already exposed in her true colours to Mrs. Sack-
ville.
u love's a ttkant !
135
 Pray pardon me for interrupting you, she began
courteously, drawing on one long tan gant de subed
with fastidious care as she spoke,  but Lizzie has
made a blunder 
 Not I, Miss Payne, the woman was beginning
shrilly, when Mrs. Sackville held up her hand for
silence, and said,
 I can't hear complaints this morning, Lizzie,
poultry-yard grievances must be kept for the
kitchen. Go away now, if you please. Where is
Olivia ? she continued graciously to her com-
panion as the defeated Lizzie shambled away.
"Will you let her know that Mr. Gwynne will be
ready to start at twelve ?
 He must be ready now if that's the case, Laura
said;  you have walked much longer than usual
this morning! Mr. Gwynne, you have charmed your
mother into forgetting fatigue. Two turns on this
walk generally tire her, and this morning I have
watched you take twenty at least.
 My son and I have had much to speak about;
he will be of age so soon now. I have to give an
account of my legacy here at Thorpe, where I
hope (she said this with a little tremble in her
voice that was misunderstood by Laura)— where
I hope I shall soon be succeeded by a worthier
queen.
"No; long may you reign here, mother, Marcus
said vehemently. He had not misunderstood her.
He knew that the tremble in his mother's voice was
caused by no selfish dread of her own declining
power, but rather by her sympathy with the dis-
appointment she had seen him wince under just now.
"Allow a mere dependant to echo the sentiment;
long may you reign here, dear Mrs. Sackville,
Laura said with pretty pathos. And then they
all three walked into the house together, while
136
 love's a tyrant ! 
Lizzie Rowe glowered at them from a side entrance
and soothed herself with the reflection that she
should "find her mistress alone one day, when
she would such a tale unfold regarding what she
termed  Miss Payne's ' esplanades' as would
make Mrs. Sackville's matronly flesh creep.
"I know what comes o' meeting young men after
dark on the sly, Lizzie admitted to herself; "and
if she don't get into trouble with Mr. Charles
Salter she's a wiciouser, young, good-for-nought, ne-
cromancing mawther than any in the parish. It's
more than flesh and blood can stand, and he
bringing of his great blaring dog along with him,
when he comes kissin' and huggin' o' that stuck-
up piece in her silks and satins that sniff her nose
up at any poor girl in the place that makes a slip.
Ah! you may go a-leering and peering up to Mr.
Marcus, but he shan't touch you with a pair of
tongs, yer deceitful hussy.
Lizzie delivered herself of this speech aloud,
regardless of whosoever might be within ear-shot.
The good creature was galled on two points ! The
one was that Laura Payne had spoken in strong
condemnation of the promiscuous manner in which
the rural population was increasing in the village.
The other was that a dog belonging to Mr. Charles
Salter had been seen in her poultry-yard! And
as Lizzie had "slipped, as she called it, five or
six times, and was the mother of a healthy, hungry
tribe of  chance children, as they are euphoniously
designated in the eastern counties, and as the
poultry-yard was her stronghold, the vantage ground
on which she could really take a blameless stand
fearlessly, it was but natural that the strongest
passion within us, that of  self-defence, should
have been aroused in her.
 She jeers at the likes o' me, and while she's up
w love's a tyrant i 
137
to the same 'esplanades,' as ruings such as we, her
sweetheart's dog kills my best layers and my
fleshiest table-fowls.
While Lizzie fulminated against the shallow pre-
tender to a better place, and a higher morality than
she (Lizzie) herself aspired to attain, Marcus, under
pretence of getting ready for the drive, had gone to
the library, and written to Constance Brymer,—
 My mother has heard from Conway to-day.
Constance ! he is surely mad to say what he does,
or I am mad to even fear it may be true! My
own love, forgive me, and tell me that it's false.
 Your faithful
 Marcus.
He felt better as soon as he had written his
brief protest, as one always does feel after doing
something definite when in suspense or misery.
His spirits rose as he pictured Constance reading
his note, and laughing at the folly of the fears to
which he alluded. Conway had written the bold
lie to give him a shock. It was curious, but on
looking back over the incidents and general  tone 
of the last few days at Glade, Conway had evinced
a good deal of spite towards Marcus. It had
been subdued by the exigencies of social life natur-
ally, but it had been  spite. Yes, rather ill-
natured, not to say malignant, spite, nevertheless.
"Poor old jealous ass! the young man ejaculated
as he sealed his letter; "he wants to keep me
out of the way, while he's losing more time in
1 wooing, in watching and pursuing,' the ' light that
lies in Connie's eyes has been his heart's undoing.'
But, my good sir, you won't be in it a bit the
more for my being out.
He had been rattling on aloud, but now he
138
 love's a tyrant I
paused abruptly, for Laura Payne bad come in
swiftly, and was close by his side before be could
collect himself. She was looking flushed and
furious, but handsomer than ever, he thought, as
she sprang up to him, exclaiming in a low voice,
 Is it true ? Your mother tells me—but—is it
true ?
"Do you mean about Conway? he said, drawing
his arm away from the hand she had placed on it.
"Yes, yes; don't stop to quibble now—is it
true that he is going to marry that girl ?
Her eyes fell upon the envelope which Marcus
had just addressed to Miss Brymer, and, as they
did so, she went on quickly,
"You are writing to her too! Surely, surely,
you can't care for a girl who can even think of
him ? Marcus! won't you speak to me kindly,
won't you let me try to comfort you ? I saw
when I came to you in the garden just now that
you were distressed, and when Mrs. Sackville told
me that Mr. Conway was going to marry Miss
Brymer 
 Don't speak of her, please, he said quietly,
picking up his letter.
 She's too good for me to mention, is she ? She!
the girl who prefers Conway to you. Ah! don't
be angry with me, don't turn away, Marcus, she
pleaded; "if I forget myself, if I press myself too
much upon your notice, think why I do it, and
pity me 1
She was looking splendidly handsome now, her
glorious figure swaying slightly towards him, her
well-shaped arms outstretched to him, her lovely
face in all its sumptuous beauty, all its impassioned
earnestness, bent near to his own.
But she did not tempt him for a moment.
"Why should I pity you? he asked indifferently.
 love's a tyrant I 
139
 You are a thousand times better off here with my
mother, safe and well cared for and treated, than
you were when I knew you first. You used to
ask her to ' pity' you then, because of the ' tempta-
tions' to which you were subjected as a model,
and I did heartily. But now! what would you
have ?
 Your love !
She clasped her hands over his shoulder, and
bent her head down upon them before he could
prevent her. But in a moment he had shaken
himself free, as if she had been a reptile.
 I pity you now, he said gently,  for making
such a mistake as to ask for what it would be
impossible to give you even if I—even if there
were no other reason 
 And what reason is there ? she cried passion-
ately. "That girl! the girl who can marry Conway
while yon even think of her. Marcus, you could
make what you pleased of me, I 
"You forget that I have never had or feigned
one particle of love for you during all the time I
have known you, Laura.
"But you have thought me beautiful, you have
told me so 
"I have and do, and I hope your beautiful face
will win you a good husband some day. In the
meantime, I respect my mother too much to make
false love to her companion.
He went to the door and held it open for her
to pass through, and as she was going she made
one last attempt (she had posed as  Vivien 
remember). Clasping her hands she stood before
him, her graceful figure bending in an attitude of
supplication which she had copied from a French
print of the Magdalene, her glorious face half
turned from him.
140
 love's a tyrant 1 
"I know I am not worthy to be your wife,
Mr. Gwynne, but 
 Hush! Marcus interrupted,  if I believed
what you say of yourself in your recklessness, 1
should say you were not worthy to be with my
mother.
"Dog-cart's ready, sir, a servant said, coming
forward, and Laura had no alternative but to go
out, baffled for a time.
CHAPTEK XV.
"it passes all understanding.
"Now you can tell my uncle, Constance had said,
when she had secured the paper containing Conway's
promise, "never again to allude to her diamonds, or
to the manner of their disappearance. She had
secured the paper with his signature boldly attached
to it, and Belle's falteringly scribbled beneath, as a
witness, and now she was in haste to complete her
part in the miserable, humiliating compact, by
letting her uncle know what she had done. When
once he knew, when she had lived through the
expression of his dismay, she would feel "more
secure of herself, she fancied. There would be no
"going back then. However appalling the path
which stretched out before her might look, she
would be compelled to tread it without hope of
escaping to the right hand or the left.
 Only tell me why you've done it ? Oh! Con,
only tell me how he has made you so—so dread-
fully weak, Belle pleaded earnestly, regardless of
the presence of the gentleman whose success was
so repugnant to her. But an impatient refusal from
 love's a tyrant 1 
141
Constance to "say a word about it, and a scowl
from Mr. Conway checked her.
"Your astonishment makes you crudely impolite,
Miss Hillier; your cousin is quite a free agent. If
she prefers marrying me to cultivating a sickly
romance about a man who will be perfectly happy
presently in the more congenial society of his
favourite model, why should you try to make her
discontented ? Constance, my darling! tell Belle
that you do prefer me.
Constance had been leaning back in her chair
trying to still and steady her limbs and her brain,
for now that the strong tension of the last few
hours was relaxed, and she felt that she held
Marcus's safety in her own hands, she was trembling
with miserable nervous weakness. But as Mr.
Conway spoke to her, she started up cool and firm
outwardly, consumed by a fire of rage and helpless-
ness within!
 Please to call me ' Constance' only, Mr. Con-
way; anything more affectionate sounds too dis-
gustingly ridiculous from you.
"Tell your cousin that you do prefer me. Let
me hear it from your own lips, Constance, he
answered frigidly.
"Nonsense, the girl cried sharply; "it's enough
that I am going to marry you. Belle and I never
talk sentimental twaddle to one another. Oh, dear!
why won't you go and tell my uncle and get it all
over. I can't stand much more worry; I—you'll
kill me before you marry me, Mr. Conway, if you
stand and stare at me, and keep on putting up
expressions of affection and reproach like signals.
She sprang up from her chair, and walked quickly
out of the room when she had said this, and Belle,
after asking him angrily, "what it all meant, and
not waiting for an answer, ran after her. And
142
 love's a tyrant !
then Conway sat down, and wiped his forehead
which felt heated, and wrung his hands which felt
clammy, and muttered three or four times,  I have
had a merciful escape! a providential delivery!
May I be a better man for it; may I live to show
my gratitude by sincere repentance! May I be
preserved from ever falling so terribly again!
Altogether had anyone been by to see him then
his aspect and words would have seemed and
sounded rather like those of a criminal who had
escaped justice by the skin of his teeth, than those
of a man who had just won a promise of marriage
from a woman whom he coveted for his wife.
 By Heaven's blessing, her money will make a
new man of me, and remove all temptation far
from me. And as for Marcus! he'll never know,
he'll never suspect, and so never suffer! I shall
make my jealousy of him the reason for keeping
them entirely apart, and as he can't hear it from
her, he will never know, never suspect.
It was a long time before he could compose and
control himself. The foreshadowing he had of what
the consternation and amazement of Colonel Hillier
would be when he heard the news, made the sue-
cessful suitor strangely reluctant to go and tell of
his success. He could not banish the memory of
that look of aversion which Constance had levelled
at him when he called her "my darling. "If she
looks at me in that way often she'll make me
contemptible, he told himself angrily. And then
his thin haggard face flushed, and his eyes flamed
as he pictured a manner in which Constance might
possibly deport herself towards him when she was
his wife. And as the mental picture was painted
in with cruel power upon the canvas of that future
into which he was staring, he almost repented!—
almost resolved to make atonement and reparation !
 love's a tyrakt ! 
143
Almost! but not quite ! For another picture
speedily blurred out the one painted in by fleeting
penitence. In feverish fancy he saw Constance fond
of him, and affectionate in her manner towards
him !—her soul and face unclouded by any linger-
ing regrets for Marcus G wynne. He felt impatient
for the time to come when he should go with her
into society, and see other men envy him the
possession of so fair and young a wife. And then
his exultation received a slight check, as the con-
sideration of what their home life would be forced
itself upon him ?
Would this bright-natured, high-spirited girl be
content with the rather monotonous domestic round
he would wish to run? Would she care to make
the well-appointed home he meant to give her
beautiful and graceful, chiefly for the pleasure of
his eyes ? Or would she be restless and dissatisfied
in the home atmosphere, and develop an insatiable
craving for forms of amusement for which he had
no taste ? He felt himself quivering all over with
jealous indignation as he pictured the possibility
of her trying to amuse herself in some clique whose
ways were uncongenial to him, and by whom he
would be considered slow and an outsider. He felt
resentful against Time for having withered him,
and deadened his powers of being pleased and
pleasing. He shrank in anticipation from the sneers
of the world, should his wife ever show her indiffer-
ence, or goad him into betraying how he smarted
under it! And then he remembered that he still
had to tell her uncle that Constance had promised
to make him the happiest of men!
He would like to have had Constance with him
when he made the communication to Colonel Hillier,
as her presence would surely have the effect of
moderating her uncle's expressions of whatsoever he
144
 love's a tyrant 1 
might feel on the subject! But it was quite use-
less, he knew, to entreat her to grant the interview.
So at last he nerved himself to the performance of
the duty which other people would make distasteful
to him, and went in search of his old friend.
Colonel Hillier had passed a busy morning in his
farm-yard, superintending the re-roofing of some cow-
sheds, and the re-paving of his model pigsties. The
work would naturally have gone on better without
his supervision, which consisted mainly of suggest-
ing alterations in his own original plan, and
hindering the workmen, first to hear what they
had to say about it, and then to make them listen
while he proved conclusively that they were wrong.
Still the sense of being employed in a healthful
and active manner was agreeable to him, and he
had the further satisfaction of feeling that he was
materially conducing to the well-being of his cows
and pigs. Accordingly he met Mr. Conway in a
fresh, good-humoured way that was very encouraging.
 Where have you been all the morning, Conway,
wasting your time over the newspapers instead of
being out in this gloriously fresh air ? Just look
at my new plan for draining these pig-houses. A
little care in their construction you see, will enable
the man, if he's decently clean and careful, to keep
the pigsties as sweet as the drawing-room.
 Is the pork of a clean pig better than that of
a dirty one ? If not, I shouldn't try to instil ideas
of refinement into my pigs' minds.
 I like to have everything about me well
groomed and pipe-clayed, the colonel laughed, and
then Conway linked his arm in his friend's and
drew him out of the yard.
"We have known each other for many years,
Hillier, he began.  I may say, we have been
firm and trusty friends for many years, isn't it so ?
 love's a tyrant ! 
145
 Certainly 1 Undoubtedly we have, said the
colonel, rather surprised at the. unwonted solemnity
with which Conway was opening the conversation.
 I am now going to put that friendship to the
test. I am going to ask for a precious gift at
your hands 
He paused in some embarrassment as he saw the
growing perplexity in Colonel Hillier's face, but
the next moment he hurried on.
 It's no use beating about the bush, or trying to
prepare you gradually for the news. The fact is
I have proposed to and been accepted by Constance
Brymer. Wili you give your niece to me ?
 Will I give ! What are you talking about ? 
Colonel Hillier had thrown off all trace of the
agriculturally-minded country gentleman, and was
the stiff proud old soldier officer only as he asked
this. He had drawn his still fine figure up to its
grandest height, and as he looked down at the
shorter man beside him, that man felt his physical
insignificance with smarting keenness. Reminding
himself, however, that it was only in physique that
he was dwarfed by Colonel Hillier, and that in the
matter of breeding he was equal to his friend, and
in the matter of brains a giant compared to him,—
reminding himself of these things he recovered his
mental balance, and answered coldly,—
 I spoke plainly enough. I asked if you would
give your niece to me.
 You are not asking this seriously ?
 I am asking it seriously, for I shall prefer
marrying with your approbation. Your ' consent'
it is not necessary to ask. Constance is of age
and has promised herself to me.
"Then! by Heaven, there must be some foul
influence at work, Colonel Hillier said excitedly.
 No, Conway, I am not 'forgetting myself.' 1
10
14jS
"love's a tyrant!
am remembering my duty to my sister's child. I
am remembering what you are and what Constance
is. You are not a fit husband for her. Knowing
you as I do, respecting you as I do, I will go
so far as to say that. I still repeat, you are no
fit husband for a gay, light-hearted, pleasure-loving
girl like Connie. You, with your morbidly gloomy
religious views, your cynical contempt for, and dis-
like to, what you look upon as frivolous amuse-
ments, your distrust of human nature, your disbelief
in human kindness, your deadened faculties of en-
joyment,—you, to dream of becoming the husband
of a young girl whose heart is as unsullied by
sorrow as her mind is by doubt!
 It's no dream, but a strong reality, as you
will find when you hear what Constance has to
say about it. I confess to "being hurt and disap-
pointed, Hillier, at the tone you have taken. But
as you withhold your approbation we must marry
without it.
The old colonel walked along by his companion's
side in silent melancholy meditation for some time.
Then he said,—
"Deal fairly with me, Conway ? Tell me, hasn't
this sudden unaccountable result been brought about
by her disappointment at that young fellow's de-
parture ? I am old and unobservant, but still it
has been borne in even upon my blunted percep-
tions that there was more than a common passing
liking between Constance and Marcus Gwynne.
And now he has gone away, gone away without
speaking out to her, under the influence, I firmly
believe, of some wretched misunderstanding that a
few words might have happily cleared up. And
you attack her at the moment of her sore weak-
ness, and win her because she fancies herself slighted
by the man she loves.
 love's a tyeant !
147
''Your description of the causes of my success
is not flattering, Conway said drily.  I give you
permission to ask Constance whether or not she
has given herself voluntarily to me. See her at
once, before I can have any opportunity of biasing
her mind, of using either persuasion or threats, as
you seem to think me capable of doing.
"No, no, not threats! the colonel hurriedly pro-
tested. "You would never degrade yourself by
' threatening' a woman, I'm convinced. Moreover
the^e is nothing about which you could threaten
her. I know her too well, God bless her, to imagine
that.
 Nevertheless I would rather you questioned your
niece and received her assurance that there has been
no undue influence exerted, Conway said coldly.
Then he went on savagely,  I believe you would
rather have given her to that young Jackanapes
—the son of a draper.
 And the grandson of Lord Mount-Hawke,
Colonel'' Hillier interrupted proudly.  You forget,
what I do not, that the highest and noblest qualities
of race are transmitted through the mother as well
as through the father. Marcus Gwynne need never
blush for his parentage on either side, or for his
own manner of fulfilling whatever position in life
he may be placed in, I'm sure of that.
 Your niece, apparently, is not so sure of it,
Colonel Hillier, for she has commanded me never
to mention Marcus Gwynne's name before her; and
if she desires to blot him out from her memory
and life, we are bound, I think, to grant her desire.
They had got back to the front of the house
as he said this. Makehaste stood ready saddled at
the bottom of the steps, and Constance was coming
through the doorway in her habit. Her face was
very pale, her eyes had dark circles round them.
148
 love's a tyrant !
The corners of her pretty mouth drooped dejectedly.
At sight of her uncle and her lover, however, a
hot colour came back to her cheeks, and a smile
that had not a tinge of hilarity in it flickered
feebly over her face.
u Are you going alone, Connie ? Where is
Belle ?  her uncle asked quickly.
 Belle is I can't tell you what Belle is
doing, uncle; she's not inclined to ride to-day,
and I am.
 Let me speak to you, my child, before you go,
he interrupted eagerly.
 No, no, uncle, better not, she began irreso-
lutely, then with a quick gesture of her gloved
hand she wiped away some tears that she hated
herself for shedding, wiped them away in haste
surreptitiously. Her uncle saw the action, and the
sight of it made him feel wonderfully tender to-
wards his only sister's only child.
 Please yourself, Connie, but you would please
me much better if you stayed and talked this
affair out at once, he whispered, as he stood ready
to help her up on her horse.
 All that there is to be said, Mr. Conway must
say for me, she replied in the same tone.
 Then you really mean it ? he asked sadly and
sternly. It seemed to her ear attuned to ultra-
sensitiveness now through her consciousness that
her conduct must appear to him both wilful and
weak.
 I really mean it. Oh, uncle, don't keep me
standing here any longer, I do want a gallop! No !
my uncle will put me up, she exclaimed, with a
look of unmistakable aversion as Mr. Conway came
a step nearer and looked as if he would like to
give her a hand into the saddle. Then she rode off,
waving her hand in farewell to the two men who
u love's a tyrant 1 
149
stood watching her till Makehaste trotted sharply
out of sight.
 I don't understand it! I don't understand her
or you either, Conway, Colonel Hillier said, shaking
his head as they turned back into the house.  It
is either an affair of monstrously, yes, monstrously
quick growth, and will perish in an untimely way
as all prematurely developed things do, or you
have not treated me fairly. You have been work-
ing in the dark.
 I claim the right which is every free man's to
win the woman he loves as best he can, Conway
said, bitterly.
"Pshaw! love! Leave the question of love and
love's rights to youngsters, Conway. Your day
is done as well as my own. A friendly, a fatherly
interest I can well understand your taking in the
girl you've known from her pinafore days; but
love !—in the manner you mean—it's ridiculous ! 
"It can do no good our prolonging this conver-
sation, Mr. Conway said, testily.  If 1 know any-
thing of women (and in spite of your superior inches
I flatter myself that women have revealed them-
selves to me as freely as they have to you) your
niece will redeem her word by marrying me; and if
I know anything of myself I will make her a
happy woman and be a good husband to her.
 Pray understand that I don't fear your being
guilty either of cruelty or infidelity towards her,
Colonel Hillier said scornfully.  The incongruity
of the thing is what makes it shocking in my
eyes. I tell you honestly, Conway, I suspect
there is some mystery at the bottom of this un-
natural engagement, and I shall do my best to
unravel it.
 You have my permission to put your niece on
any mental rack you like. I don't think you'll
150 "love's a tyrant!
extort anything detrimental to my cause from
her.
 It passes all understanding, said Colonel
Hillier with sorrowful solemnity.
CHAPTER XVI.
miss ovid and a goth.
Charles Salter sat upon his strong, well-built
hunter in the corner of a field that was bordered
on one side by the high road from Falcenham to
Thorpe, every vein distended, every nerve quivering
with passion.
For along that high road a minute ago, a dog-
cart had been driven at a dashing rate of speed
that was suggestive to the ignorant onlooker of
the hilarious and eager spirit of youth and happi-
ness, and at the same time the ringing mirth-laden
voices of two of its occupants had fallen jarringly
upon his ear.
His sensations will be understood when it is told
that in the driver of that dog-cart he recognised
Mr. Marcus Gwynne, and in the owner of one of
the joyously vibrating voices, the girl he almost
worshipped, Laura Payne herself! that wonderful
Miss Ovid, who had so successfully taught a Goth
like himself the art of love !
 It's only natural! the miserable young fellow
admitted to himself, as the dog-cart disappeared.
 Mr. Marcus would take any girl's fancy, and she
would make any fellow love her—how could he
help himself? But last night! after last night I
felt sure of her, fool that I was.
The farm labourers, who were at work with
 love's a tyrant 1 
151
harrow and tormentor, cleaning the lately ploughed
land close to him, looked up and grinned at one
another as he rode off presently; and as soon as
he was out of hearing told some succulent bits of
gossip which Lizzie Lowe had liberally given out.
"The young master's sweetheart's after the squire
hisself, I heered; knawed'un in London tliey do
tell; and he means to marry her, face of all his
mother do say, said one.
 That ain't it, Bill Reynolds ; it's the lord's
daughter, his own cousin, that the squire's going
to marry. Bless your heart, you don't think Mr.
Owynne would pick up with our young master's
fancy gal ? A. pretty booty she be surely, if all
they tell me be trew, and I ought to know, for
my own cousin, Lizzie Rowe, bide up at Thorpe,
'tending the hens.
"She's as fit for the squire as she is for our
young master, and what I say is, she ain't fit for
no honest man, to be out in the dark woods at
night with one feller one night, and driving gay
as you please with another the following day.
"I'd just as lief see the bold-faced mawther
missus of the manor, as missus of the farm. Mr.
Charles desarve just as good as Mr. Gwynne, and
Mrs. Gwynne ought to hear what a varmint she's
so good to.
"'Tain't no matter for any one to tell her if the
squire marries her, and makes her a lady, said
a cautious one, and then they shook their heads
in stolid submission to the inevitable, and went
on with their labours.
Meantime the dog-cart sped along on its four
■ high wheels, behind the pair of spanking cobs, at an
exhilarating pace, and Marcus, comforted by the
conviction that his letter was already on its way
to Constance Brymer, recovered his spirits, and
152
 love's a tykant I 
with them his sense of satisfaction in the society
of his two companions.
After all, he reminded himself, Laura's was a
very venial offence against prudence, good taste,
and himself. She was only rash in loving him at
all (probably many other girls did the same thing
in secret!), and reckless in openly manifesting her
unfortunate preference. Doubtless she couldn't help
it. There were no influences of blood and breeding
at work in her to help her to self-restraint. It
behoved him to show merciful toleration to the
weakness she had developed. So he half turned
his head frequently to address her, and let his eyes
show forth the admiration he felt for the bright
beauty that was so trimly bound in tailor-made
fawn-coloured costume and toque.
As for Olivia, who sat by his side, in spite of
what his mother had said, he was conscience clear
in all the efforts he made to please and seem
pleased by her. Her clear, truthful, honest face,
tenderly as it turned towards him on the smallest
provocation, or without any provocation at all
indeed, told him plainly that she was quite hope-
less about him, quite resigned to occupying no
higher place in his heart than that which any
man may place at the disposal of a true-hearted,
straightforward, plump, unexacting little cousin.
So as his spirits rose under the conviction that
soon it would be all clear light between Constance
and himself, he made Olivia happier for the hour
by giving her many little crumbs of sympathy, and
intimate understanding, and brotherly kindness for
her to peck at. For instance, it was sweet, passing
sweet to her to hear him say, with reference to
the recently restored show-mansion they were about
to visit, that "for his own part he preferred the
picturesque beauty of Mount-Hawke.
 love's a tyrant ! 
153
"The winding drive by the river, Livy, there is
nothing like it in flat Norfolk, is there, dear? Do
you remember how I used to carry you across
on the big stones above Hawke Falls, and how
angry my aunt used to be when you went in
with your starched frocks damped out by the
spray ?
Yes, Olivia remembered all these things, and
remembered with vivid pleasure evidently, for the
rose tints deepened in her fair  mealy-potato 
face as she answered,—
"And do you remember the salmon-leap up by
the weir, Marcus ? Didn't I nearly destroy myself
that day when I would sit there in the wet all the
time, till you landed the biggest salmon that's ever
got out of the Hawke ?
"What a pretty picture you must have made in
a damped-out frock, shivering! Laura Payne put
in kindly. "Nothing hangs so gracefully over a
nice, well-rounded figure as a wet petticoat; skinny
mortals would shrink from being seen in such a
trying vestment. But you can afford to recall your
appearance in it, Miss Gwynne, you're not skinny.
 Ah! I know you mean I'm too fat to be grace-
ful, Olivia said serenely. "I used to fret about
it when I saw that all the women you put into
your lovely pictures were slight, Marcus; but
fretting didn't make me thinner, and now I'm just
contented to be what I am.
 And what ' you are' is so exactly what you
ought to be, that I pray you'll never change; I
couldn't afford to lose a bit of you, Olivia; you
must always be just exactly what you are now, to me.
 You mean in spirit and feeling, Marcus ? That
I'll be sure and certain always, always; but, she
added with a laugh, through which her entire lack
of all vanity and self-conceit shone forth radiantly,
154
 love's a tyrant !
"I shan't he able to help getting fatter and freck-
lier as I get older, and the summers come. I won't
be losing my name of 'mealy-potato' till I'm a
wizened old woman, I'm thinking.
 I don't think you'll be ' wizened,' Laura sings
out from the back-seat. "But why should you
talk about what you'll be in old age while you're
still younger than I am ? Oh ! I hate to think
of it, she added, with a shudder in her voice
that made them turn to look at her,  I won't think
of what I may look like by-and-bye. Mr. Gwynne !
do you think I shall grow ugly when I am old ? 
"It seems impossible, he replied courteously.
"But you mean that it is possible, she exclaimed
excitedly.  How awful! how truly awful! To
think of my eyes being bleared, and my skin
wrinkled, and my figure shapeless, is maddening.
How have other women kept their beauty to
extreme old age?
"By leading lives of peace and contentment, I
fancy; try the plan, Miss Payne, he said, smiling,
but serious.
And Laura shrugged her shoulders as she replied,—
 Unfortunately one wants the aid of one's fellow-
creatures in order to lead a life of peace and
contentment. My fellow-creatures destroyed my
peace for me before I had learned to be selfish enough
to maintain it at any cost to others. As for con-
tentment, do you think I'm in a fair way to find
it here, at Thorpe ?
She asked the question with a little air of
simple reliance on him that was exasperating.
 Not knowing what would content you, I
can't offer an opinion, he said coldly, as they
drew up in the courtyard of the show-mansion, and
Laura found time to whisper as he helped her to
step down from the dog-cart,—
 love's a tyrant ! 
155
"If you would let me make you happy, I should
find such perfect contentment as would keep my
good looks fresh till I died.
 Take care! you're stepping in the mud, Marcus
interrupted savagely. To be pursued, flattered,
fawned upon, made love to by a woman whom he
was fast learning to despise as heartily as he once
had pitied her, was abhorrent to the chivalric
nature that was now seeking to doubly refine and
purify itself, in order to become worthy of the
woman he adored with a completeness of adoration
that satisfied him she was worthy of it. He could
not bring himself to utter idle words of flirting
courtesy to the bold beauty who was trying to
compass the downfall of his stedfast loyalty by the
direct attack upon his artist's admiration for that
faultless form in which her faulty, false soul dwelt.
He could not bring himself to treat her with the
quiet friendly consideration he would otherwise have
shown towards her, now, since she had, with such
bold, coarse hardihood, avowed her passion for
himself. His taste and his honour alike revolted at
the idea of the woman who was trusted and well
regarded by his mother going out of her way to
prove to him that she was unworthy of that trust
and regard, while at the same time she forced him
to feel that it would be unchivalrous on his part
to betray her. For Laura, who was an adept in
the art of facial expression, constantly assumed one,
when she could attract and rivet his gaze for a
moment, which seemed to say,—"It is for love of
you that I have degraded and made a fool of my-
self. At • least respect the weakness of which you
are the cause.
Accordingly his inner sentiments concerning her,
and her elaborately portrayed sentiments respect-
ing him, forced the unfortunate Marcus into the
150
 love's a tyrant !
false position of seeming to be entirely engrossed
by his cousin. In order to escape from Laura
Payne's compromising glances and occasionally
whispered words, be sedulously kept close to Olivia
during their progress through the long galleries
and suites of rooms. The pictures that pleased her
were the ones before which he resolutely lingered,
and when his own superior judgment in such
matters compelled him to halt before a landscape
that Olivia had passed by without notice, it was
the unartistic young Irish lady whom he called
back, and for whose sympathetically observant
admiration of what pleased him he asked, instead of
the more appreciative and critical Laura.
When this last incident occurred, Laura, who had
turned a corner under the impression that the others
were close to her, had no excuse for leaving the
painstaking guide and going back to her com-
panions. The corner she had turned brought her
into a wide gallery, which ran round the organ-
room, and the walls of this gallery were hung with
pictures with which the guide had been familiar
from her infancy, and about which she could dis-
course glibly.
 If you take a seat on this sofy, miss, you'll
get a bootiful woo of what is held to be the finest
picture belonging to the Old Collection; it's called
1 Charlotte Corduroy,' and it show that lady in the
ac' of striking a gentleman dead in his bath. It
really took place in foreign parts, she went on
chattering to her unwilling listener, between whom
and the entrance into the corridor in which they
had left Marcus and Olivia, her well-kept person
barred the way.
 The gentleman out there is an artist; do call
him to see this beautiful picture, Miss Payne urged
speciously, for lowly as she rated Olivia's chance
 love's a tyrant !
157
in comparison with her own, it was agony to the
passionately jealous woman that he should be alone
with another woman, while she was by herself in
such close proximity.
 Law, love you, miss! they be happy enough, her
guide said, with discernment and heartless, good-
humoured indifference.  Sweet-hearting is better
than looking at pictures; but as you've no young
gentleman to keep you company just now, you can't
do better than look along these walls.
So piqued by the woman's unintentional antago-
nism to her claims on the only man within her
reach, Laura rose up, resolving to assert herself.
 The young lady may be happy enough ! Young
ladies often don't know what's bad for themselves,
do they ? But if you wish to please the gentleman,
you'll bring him on here to look at these pictures;
and we are taking up so much of your time, too.
Mr. Gwynne told me that you get crowded with
people to see the place on fine days.
 So we do, miss, there's parties waiting below
now. And that's young Mr. Gywnn, of Thorpe, is
it? A cousin of mine works for Mrs. Salter at the
Manor Farm, and she've told me about the young
lady Mr. Gwynne's ma have got over from Ireland
for him to marry. Yonder is the young lady, I
make bold to suppose ? 
 The young lady in there is Mr. Gwynn'es
cousin, nothing more, Laura Payne said with unac-
countable irritability. Then regardless of the fact
that her own words might tell against her in other
quarters she added scoffingly—
 I could tell you a very different story if I
liked, and give you a much nicer bit of gossip to
carry back to your cousin at the Manor Farm.
Something in the air of swaggering vulgar
assumption—that never-to-be-shaken-off air of under-
158
 love's a tykant ! 
bred  early days struck the woman for the first
time with the conviction that the beautiful, beauti-
fully-dressed young being before her was not a lady,
 not a lady, at least, of the sort of that other
one in the corridor. And out of the fulness of
the heart she spoke,—
 I've been a puzzlin' about you, miss—I knew
you wasn't one of the gentry of the neighbourhood,
but your stylish dress and ways misled me.
You're the young person that is keeping company
with Mr. Charles at the Manor Farm. And a fine
young man he is! And a good husband you'll
have as ever fell to mortal woman's lot; and I
hope, miss, that when you come to be missus at
the Manor Farm, you'll not bear it against my
cousin who's dairy-woman that she've let her
tongue run about Mr. Gwynne. And—lor! now
only to think on it!—that you should be the Miss
Payne that wait on Mrs. Sackville, and be going
to marry Mr. Charles Salter !
The woman was deep-chested, loud-voiced, and
fluent in the delivery of her spontaneous expres-
sions of wonder, doubt, and pleasure ! Before Laura
could arrest the stream of local gossip, Marcus
Gwynne and Olivia had slipped into the gallery
behind the well-meaning cicerone's powerfully pro-
portioned person. Before she could disown and dis-
avow all knowledge of or interest in Mr. Charles
Salter, Marcus was saying,—
 You have not treated us as friends, Miss Payne.
I am sorry to have heard such interesting good
news concerning you from a stranger.
 Oh, it's not true !  Laura interrupted so savagely,
that the woman who had innocently exploded the
mine started, and sniffed, and looked aggressively
at the "ill-tempered assuming young person. "It's
not true,.Mr. Gwynne; don't listen to such absurdity.
 love's a tyrant ! 
159
 Mr. Charles Salter think it true anyhow, if
you're Miss Payne what wait on Mrs. Sackville
of Thorpe, the woman put in with meditative
malice.  Not that I or anyone else who wish Mr.
Charles well, could wish it true, if you're ashamed
of it when you get among gentlefolks, Miss Payne;
so I blame my tongue for having uttered the words
which have shown you forth. And, if you please,
sir, there's other parties waiting below, and I must
give you over to the gardener for the hot-houses
and conservatories as soon as I've shown you these
pictures.
It was but dull, heavy work, the sight-seeing after
this little explosion. Olivia was puzzled and mysti-
tied, but being unconscious of evil she was un-
suspicious of its existence in her immediate
atmosphere. Marcus was feeling outraged, indignant,
and humiliated beyond the powers of all words to
describe!  What had there been in his life or
conduct, he asked himself searchingly,  which
could have encouraged this woman to throw herself
at his head, while she was allowing rumour to
associate her name with that of good, honest
Charlie Salter! And as her name was associated
with Charlie Salter's it could only be in one way—
and that was, honourably! And how could it be
 honourably  associated with Charlie's after her
dishonourable propositions to himself (Marcus), only
a few hours ago ?
As for Laura herself, she was in the heart of
the maze into which she had penetrated of her
own free will, and had no clue by means of which
she could get out again. Marcus in complete
possession of the fact of her pertidy towards Charles
Salter by reason of her passionate proffers of affec-
tion for himself (Marcus), and Charles Salter in a
capital position for having the full truth borne
160
 love's a tyrant ! 
down upon him with a fair wind from two
quarters at least! The imbecility of the dog who
dropped the bone while grasping at its shadow was
as nothing to hers.
Moreover, after this she could not delude herself
with the hope or expectation that Mr. Gwynne
would allow her to remain at Thorpe. And if she
left Thorpe and was not received at the Manor
Farm! Hardened as she was, her brain almost
reeled at the prospect which this last possibility
conjured up! So in order to retain the appearance
of composure and nonchalance before Olivia, she
had to keep a rigid silence, as they walked about
gardens and conservatories that seemed endless and
monotonously alike to her.
It added to the difficulties and helplessness of the
situation too, to hear that Mr. Conway was going
to be married.
11 The sanctimonious prig! she said to herself
in a rage.  He'll say, Get thee behind me, Satan!
if I apply to him now. Unless  A brighter
prospect loomed before her luxury and pleasure-
loving soul as she thought the thing she would
not even word to herself. And in a minute she
had thrown off her transient fit of dismayed doubt.
 But in the meantime I'll pit myself against
everyone who attempts to come between me and
Charlie, and if I choose I'll be Mrs. Charles Salter
of the Manor Farm before a month is over our
heads, and every wretched slavey who has gossiped
against me shall be turned off the premises, she
promised herself vindictively, as she looked with
unclouded eyes, and a suave smile on flushed and
happy Olivia, beaming over all her plump visage
with delight at being with Marcus, and Marcus
being so kind and devoted to her.
A little note conveyed by the hands of a little
 love's a tyrant ! 
161
boy who could not read, reached Charles Salter's
hands that day, just as he and his mother rose up
from their tea in what was called the  keeping-
room at the Manor Farm. It was from Laura,
and it summoned him to their usual trysting place
that evening at nine o'clock.
"By that time Mrs. Sackville will have gone to
her rooms, and the cousins will be spooning, and
oblivious of my existence, she wrote, and her
reference to the relations between the cousins made
him so happy that he almost determined to take
his mother into his confidence! But he thought
better of this. Laura would have to show herself
 kind, and affectionate, and considerate to his
mother, and  interested  in the farm-house life, for
a time, before it would be quite prudent to declare
his intentions concerning her at home. Perhaps
after to-night, he might induce his mother to invite
her to spend a day with them, "and at the end
of that day mother'] 1 love her nearly as well as
I do myself, he thought, hopefully.
But all his prudential resolves were shattered by
Laura herself. Hitherto she had been vacillating,
and tantalisingly unable to be definite with him.
But this night she was definite enough! She met
him with outstretched arms and uplifted lips.
Her eyes sought his searchingly  for answering
looks of love, he thought; in reality to try and
discover whether he had  heard anything yet, and
her words harmonised in warmth with her manner.
"Charlie, if those people up there (she waved
her hand in the direction of the Thorpe house)
 marry, Mrs. Sackville will have a daughter to look
after her, and won't want me. I realise now
what it will be to leave this place—and you.
 But when you leave this place you'll come to
me, won't you ? he said impulsively, and her arms
11
162
 love's a tyrant ! 
clasped his neck more closely, and his head sank
lower, and he was shorn of his strength by a kiss
from his Delilah on his crisp curly hair, as she
answered,—
 Yes, my own, only love ! I will come to you
as soon as you like. But, Charlie, I'm only a poor
dependant up there remember, so you must make
all the more of me. Come and tell Mrs. Sack-
ville to-morrow that we are going to be married
at once, before they have time to give me notice
to look out for ' another situation.'
"Do they treat you like that! he asked
indignant and surprised, for somehow or other his
previous impression had been that Laura was held
in high esteem at Thorpe.
And then she told him a well-woven tissue of
lies, implying and insinuating that Marcus had
pursued her with offers of admiration and affection
that were an insult to her, that she had spared
him out of regard to his mother's feelings, but that
now he was making her life unbearable at Thorpe by
reason of his ill-concealed revengeful enmity and dislike.
 And my tongue and hands are tied, she said
pathetically;  for his mother has been kind to me
always, and that fat, little, simple-hearted cousin of
his adores him. I can't hurt either Mrs. Sackville
or Olivia Gwynne; but if you hear Mr. Gwynne
speak disparagingly of me you'll know what weight
to attach to his words.
 If I ever heard Mr. Gwynne speak disparagingly
of you I'd twist his neck, he said, furiously, and
he did not see in the moon-light how deadly white
she grew.
 My own true knight! my own love!  she mur-
mured;  we must both keep the secret I have
confided to you. I ought not to have told you,
but how cmild I deceive you, Charlie ? 
 love's a tykant !
163
 I wish I could get you out of that house at
once, he said, gloomily.
 There's no help for it. I must stay there till
we are married. Don't worry yourself; as soon
as he knows we are to be man and wife Marcus
Gwynne will not interfere between us.
"He shall know that to-morrow, and if after
knowing it he 
 Hush, hush ! no threats. Now, good-night; our
last' secret' good-night.
"You're not going yet, Laura; give me a few
minutes more, he pleaded.
But she had gained her point and had the first
word with Charles Salter, and now she was feeling
cold and tired, and intensely anxious to get back
to Marcus Gwynne! Every moment passed with
the handsome young farmer seemed leaden-winged,
as she thought of the possibility that even now !
—even now! her beauty might have power over
Marcus.
So she affected to grow coy, and frightened, and
prudent, and succeeded in making Chai'lie more
madly in love with her, and in escaping from a
tete-a-tete that had grown tedious.
 How I hate his thick boots and country-cut
clothes! What a Goth he is ? she thought, as
she sped along the path towards Thorpe and its
master.
CHAPTER XVII.
mrs. sackville gives advice.
The agitation of the morning consequent on the
receipt of Conway's letter, and the interview with
her son which had followed it, had. not been bene-
164
 love's a tyrant ! 
ficial to Mrs. Sackville. The truth that she was
to be disappointed in that desire which was
nearest and dearest to her heart, namely the union
of her only son with her brother's eldest daughter,
had been brought home to her. And not only had
she to suffer the disappointment in her own person
for herself, but she suffered it vicariously for that
innocent young pretender, Olivia!
 To think that I should have got the dear
child, my own brother's daughter, over here to be
rejected and humiliated by my son! the gentle
Irish lady thought penitentially, as she settled
herself in her own room among her own books
when the three young people had started for their
drive to the show-mansion in the morning.
Now night had come, and she was still mur-
muring the weariful refrain to herself in the soli-
tude,—
 My own brother's daughter !—that I should
have been the instrument of her humiliation!
Thus she wailed in bitterness, for it seemed to
her that her motive in inviting her niece must have
been patent to the girl herself, and being thus patent
to her the girl had come, thereby showing her
willingness to accept a fate which it now seemed
certain would never be offered to her! As she
thought of these things Mrs. Sackville allowed
herself to entertain a feeling of bitterness towards
this unknown Miss Brymer who had followed up
her first offence of winning Marcus's heart, by the
far grosser sin of throwing him over for Mr.
Conway.
"No really good girl would marry such a man
as Conway, whatever inducement of place and for-
tune he might hold out to her, of her own free
will, after knowing that Marcus cared for her, the
mother argued, and she argued truly, though she
 love's a tyrant ! 
165
was very far from knowing the worst side of
Conway. To her, out of deference to the fact of
her being the sister of a nobleman, and the mother
of the man, whose money matters he had managed
for several years greatly to his own advantage, he
had sedulously shown the best of himself. But
even that best was unpalatable to Mrs. Sackville.
It was too "rigidly righteous and 'unco' good, too
grimly condemnatory of those faults which she, in
her pure-minded leniency was wont to regard as
venial follies merely, in Marcus. Honestly she
believed Mr. Conway to be a man of good moral
character, but she disliked his religious views, or
rather his manner of manifesting them. He elimi-
nated all charity out of the judgment he was apt
to prophesy would overtake other sinners. There
was, in short, a large element of cruelty in his
creed, and the knowledge that there was this,
mingled with that intuitive feeling she had that
the man she knew was not the real man, made
her son's guardian the last man in the world
whom she could patiently contemplate as her son's
rival, even in the case of a girl whom she did not
desire her son to marry!
But!—if Marcus, in disgust at being supplanted
in the affections of the girl he loved by  such  a
supplanter, should turn for solace to Olivia, and be
brought to see the comfort and advisability of
marrying her! Then, indeed, out of evil would
have come good, and Mrs. Sackville would bring
herself to smile in a friendly way on Conway,^ and
the extraordinary young girl who had preferred
Conway to Marcus.
Her heart which had been anxious and fluttered,
the latter physically as well as mentally all the
day, grew calm and cpiiet as she contemplated this
possible outcome of the sorry situation. Her
166
 love's a tyrant !
brow cleared as the cloud lifted from her heart,
and the face that turned to meet him when Marcus
presently opened the door and came in for his
customary last words for the night was a happily
serene one.
 I won't disturb her by any suggestions of
there being a decided lack of propriety in Laura
Payne's goings on to-night, at any rate, the young
man thought as he came into the soothing atmos-
phere of his mother's composure, but as he thought
it she asked him,
 What are the two girls doing, Marcus ? I have
been expecting Miss Payne for the last hour, to
take my list of shopping commissions for to-morrow.
She starts for Pakenham so early that I like to
discuss the housekeeping list overnight.
 I don't know, mother; she has not been with
us.
"Olivia and you have been singing? Mrs.
Sackville questioned brightly.
 A little, but chiefly talking; she's a dear sympa-
thetic little girl.
 What call have you made on her sympathy ?
I hope you haven't been speaking of Miss Brymer's
extraordinary conduct ? I hope that Livy will
never know of your infatuation for that girl.
 As far as I am concerned myself all the world
may know of it, he said bravely;  but I couldn't
have spoken to-night of my love for Constance
Brymer without touching on the subject of the
mystery that envelopes her changed manner to me,
and the falsehood Conway has written to you about
her to-day. But both will be cleared in a day or
two, I'm sure, and then I know I may claim
cousinly sympathy and congratulations from my
warmhearted little cousin.
"Poor girl! you certainly expect a good deal of
 love's a tyrant !
167
devotion from her! But you are right! however
her own heart may ache, she will rejoice if yours
is happy; her unselfish nature will always assert
itself.
 Her nature is ' unselfish ' I am sure of that; but
I have done. nothing to cause her heart to ache,
nor is there any great magnaminity in her
rejoicing in my happiness—when it comes, he said
half laughingly. But at this Mrs. Sackville shook
her head.
 You must understand, Marcus, that Olivia is
one in a thousand! I do not accuse you of having
consciously done anything to waken that true
gentle heart, and cause it to betray itself, but
well! I will say no more; her secret must be held
sacred, and never again be discussed even between
ourselves.
 My dear mother, you are doing your best to
make me feel that I have unconsciously behaved
like a scoundrel to a girl I love as a sister. If I
didn't feel sure that you are mistaken I should be
ashamed of myself, and as unhappy as any fellow
would desire to be who could trifle with Olivia.
As it is, I'm sure you exaggerate both my charms
and her susceptibility to them. I should be a
vapouring conceited ass if I believed for a moment
that such a girl as Olivia would give her heart to
me before I sought it.
 There is more in manner than in words, Marcus;
the most maidenly reserve is consistent with a girl's
heart escaping from her own control before the
man has put the definite question, Will you
marry me ? to her  Mrs. Sackville paused
suddenly, for the door had opened quietly, and
Laura Payne had come into the room.
She look flushed, excited, but splendidly beautiful
as she came forward. The last sentence had reached
168
"love's a tyrant!
her ears, and she made no doubt but that they
bore reference to herself. Probably Marcus ^ had
been speaking against her to his mother ? Insinua-
ting something unpleasant about Charlie Salter
perhaps ? Well, if he had been doing so the dis-
closure which she now resolved to make at once,
would effectually close his lips, and the lips of all
who were inclined to look askance at her relations
with the young farmer.
 I hope you have not wanted me ? she began,
addressing Mrs. Sackville with her most plausibly
suave air.  The fact is, I went for a stroll after
dinner. And I have had an adventure which is
likely to—which must influence my whole life.
Here she paused, hoisted the flag of bashfulness
for an instant, and then went on,
 Dear Mrs. Sackville, Mr. Charles Salter met
me,—how fervently I must bless Heaven for that
chance meeting!—and he has asked me to be his
wife. Am I not a lucky, happy girl ?
"You are indeed, for I hear on all sides what an
excellent young man, what an admirable son he is,
Mrs. Sackville said heartily, and Marcus gallantly
forbore to remind the adventuress of the way she
had  denied Charles Salter in the morning, since
now she  confessed him so absolutely.
 An admirable son indeed!—my only fear is
that his mother will not take it well. Save for
your kindness, Mrs. Sackville, I have no credentials.
A word spoken in idleness against me now may
detach the man I love from me; unless you stand
by me I may lose all I have just gained, for envy
and malice will find many things to say against
the unknown girl who has won the prosperous
young farmer.
Her words were addressed to his mother, but
Marcus well understood that they were meant for
 LOVE'S A TYliANT ! 
169
him. Why, since she had taken such an effectual
step for removing herself from his path, should
he not give her the comfort and assurance her soul
craved ?
 I think you may rely upon it that neither
envy nor malice will try to pollute Charlie Salter's
ears about his future wife, he said kindly, and
Laura heaved a quick sigh of relief before she
answered,
 Thank you, Mr. Gwynne, for speaking in that
way of Charlie; it shows that, at least, you think
highly of him, and wish him well.
 And I am sure you must be convinced that my
son thinks the same of you, Mrs. Sackville put in
with her grand air of gentle reassuring condescen-
sion. And at this Marcus saw that Laura turned
her head aside, and bit her lip to subdue a smile
which might have seemed inopportune to her
patroness. A moment after she looked at him with
undisguised triumph. His words had, as he in-
tended they should, conveyed a distinct promise to
her, and she had no farther fear of any interference
on his part between Charlie Salter and herself.
When he was gone, she sat herself meekly down
by Mrs. Sackville's knees, and painted an idyllic
picture of what she meant her life in a farmhouse
as a farmer's wife to be. As Mrs. Sackville listened
to the pure and pleasant pastoral, she thought what
an extremely fortunate young man Mr. Charles
Salter was to get such a wife.
"Her face might well have made her fortune in
another and higher sphere; she is capable, and
clever; without much education it is true, but she
will refine and elevate his home, without herself
being too ' fine' to do her duty, this good lady
thought. This being exactly the impression of
herself and her intentions which Laura desired to
170
 love's a tyrant !'
make, she may fairly be congratulated on having
achieved what she called "an all-round success
this night.
The following morning Mr. Charles Salter came
and declared himself fully and frankly to Miss
Payne's employer and temporary guardian, receiving
all Mrs. Sackville's congratulatory speeches with
manful stoicism. But when Marcus met him with
hearty words and outstretched hand, the young
farmer seemed impatient and embarrassed, in such
confusion of mind, indeed, that he did not see his
landlord's hand, and so failed to be reassured of
Marcus's integrity by the firm honesty of his
grasp.
Quick to notice the affront, Marcus hastily put a
wrong construction upon it, or rather attributed it
to a wrong and lesser cause than that which Charlie
Salter believed existed.
 Shouldn't wonder if some kind interfering friend
has told him that she was my ' model' once, and
he is annoyed that I know her ' past' was humbler
than her ' present.' Poor fellow! for his sake I
heartily wish I knew no more evil of her than this
—that her beauty has often been an inspiration to
my pencil, Marcus thought, as Charles Salter
mounted and rode off in a manner so abrupt as
to be churlish. Then his thoughts reverted to
Constance, and the extraordinary misapprehension
that must have arisen in her mind concerning
him before she could have brought herself to treat
his note of farewell with this cold, crushing cruelty
of silence !
 Never mind, though, I'll have an answer from
the dear girl to-morrow about Conway's fabrica-
tions, and an explanation of everything, I feel
sure, he told himself hopefully. But in spite of
this self-reassuring statement, he could not keep
 love's a tyrant !
171
himself in an equable frame of mind. Fits of
buoyancy were all too quickly succeeded by fits of
depression, and in these latter moods Olivia's
unobtrusive, uninspired, unconditional sympathy
was very soothing to him. He had been  dear
Marcus to her ever since she was a little tiny
child! That he was a "dearer Marcus than ever
to her now, might possibly be a source of pain
to her bye-and-by, but was too pathetically pleasant
to him now for him to take himself to task very
severely about it.
He had told himself that Constance would answer
him by return of post; he had been sure of it, and
his confidence in her promptitude was justified.
Two mornings after the receipt by Mrs. Sackville
of Conway's letter, Marcus held one from Con-
stance in his trembling hand. As he touched the
paper she had touched a thrill passed through him,
a thrill that was partly exquisite pleasure in the
thought that he held the answer her heart had
made to his, partly—not  doubt,  no, not  doubt
surely, but only, a too anxious lover's fear!
The next moment he had steadied his nerves to
open the letter, and read the words of love, and
This was what he read:—
"The only thing you can do for me is to efface
yourself from my life. I shall never write to,
speak of, or look at you again. My own prayer
is that you may never cross my path. My
marriage will take place immediately, but even if
that were stopped by a miracle it would not affect
my resolution respecting you. I am writing in
despair; in despair of making you understand how
entirely I am alienated from you.
"Constance Brymer.
172
 love's a tykak r! 
These words puzzled as much as they enraged
him. That they were genuine he could not doubt
for a moment. He knew her writing too well
to suspect a forgery. But what mysterious agency
has been at work between them to change the girl,
who only a few weeks ago had loved him with
such a proud open love, into a woman hating him
and despising him with almost demoniacal hatred
and contempt ? What had caused the change ?
Who had wrought the devil's work ? The answer
burst from his lips aloud, spontaneously,—
"This is Conway's doing. I'll see them both, and
make him eat the lie, whatever it may be.
He could not trust himself to see his mother
and either answer or evade her questions yet. His
mind was in too chaotic a condition, his soul was
too turbulent, and his own conjectures as to what
had caused the hideous change in Constance too
crude and wild, for it to be possible to tolerate a
word on the subject from any one else who was
equally in the dark. His one clear idea was that
he must see both Constance and Conway without
a day's delay, that he would force the man to
speak the truth, and the woman to listen to it!
And after that ? Well, after that, when she found
him as worthy as ever of her love,, she would, she
must love him again, and the hard words she had
written should be as if they had never been penned
or thought. Truth and the speedy and succinct
telling of it must prevail! But until it had
prevailed, he felt that the less the reigning
powers of darkness were spoken about the
better.
So his portmanteau was packed, and all his
preparations made for his journey back to Glade,
before he encountered his mother's anxious, inter-
rogative glance.
 love's a tyrant !
173
 Y es, I have had a letter from Constance
Brymer, mother; don't ask me what she says.
She writes in a way that shows me I must see
her at once, if we are not to be miserable and
separated for the rest of our lives. I am going
off to Glade at once.
 She is engaged to Mr. Conway, then ? She is
ready to let you go.
 She is the victim of some infernal conspiracy,
]ust as I am.
 Only you are faithful to your love and trust
in her, whilst she is weak enough to distrust you !
Ah! she is unworthy of you, Marcus; believe it,
let her go ! 
 I may be compelled to do that, he said sadly,
"but what I shall never be able to do will be to
let my love for her go,—that will be with me all
the days of my life.
 Ah, my boy! so other men have said and
vowed before you. And sometimes their love has
lasted till age has dimmed the beauty or the charm
of the face whose fairness won them in youth;
but this doesn't often happen, I think. If they
lose the lady they are only right to find another
object on which to lavish the love she has not
prized. It's oftener the case, though, that the wife
a man wins in her youth is the woman who
wearies him most in his maturity. Don't talk to
me of the ' lasting' nature of the love of man ! I
pity your present heart-ache, my poor boy. But?*
you are—the son of your father. Your heart will
not ache long for this Constance Brymer.
 I am the son of my father, and he loved the
wife he won in his youth beyond everything in
the world till the day of his death, Marcus said
quietly.
 My dear Marcus, it is not becoming that I
174
 loye's a tyrant ! 
should discuss such a point with you, she anwersed
more coldly than she felt.  I do not complain of
my lot as a wife, who failed to entirely fill and
entirely satisfy her husband's heart. It is the
common lot of wives, I believe. What was there
in me that I should have been more highly
favoured than most women ? 
 Only this, that there was something that entirely
filled and entirely satisfied my father's heart.
Judging by the way he treated you, the confidence
he showed in you, and the way he always taught
me to adore you, Marcus said soothingly, and as
he spoke he stooped and kissed her forehead, and
whispered,  Good-bye. Pray that I may come back
happier than I go away, mother.
 I will, even though it is but a dubious course
you're pursuing, Marcus. Mr. Conway has this
girl's promise, and you ask me to pray that you
may have the strength to make her break it.
 A bad vow is better broken than kept.
 May Heaven bless you, and make you happy
in the end, whatever the end may be, she said,
clasping him round the neck with a sudden burst
of warm affection, that touched him deeply.  May
you have your heart's desire, and gain the girl you
love; and, oh, Marcus ! when you have won her,
when she has been your wife for years, don't let
her see that you are tired of her, don't give
smiles and civil words, and show thought and
consideration for every one but the one who must
bear whatever treatment you choose to bestow upon
her. But you will never do this, my boy. It's
only a mean nature that turns ill-tempered towards
the one woman who can't escape from him. Ah !
but how many men have mean natures and black
tempers in middle age that only their wives know
about!
 love's a tyrant ! 
175
"I shall never be a coward nor a bully to the
woman I marry, Marcus said, and his mother,
looking in his face, knew that he spoke the
truth.
Considering her own experience with Marcus's
father, it was strange that she should have spoken
with such intense feeling on the subject of the
misery caused by that greatest curse of married
life—the possession of a black temper by the one
who dares to display it in the domestic circle. Mr.
Sackville had never given her an angry word, look,
or thought, from the day he married till the one
he died. But she had very often seen a sister
whom she loved, and a friend with whom she
sympathised, shiver and shrink beneath the black
looks, and the rough or cold words from conjugal
lips. And she realised what an agony of mingled
rage, mortification, and wounded tenderness a
woman must endure, who knows that the brute to
whom she belongs would not have the courage to
so treat any other than his wife—his legal slave.
There is, probably, in most married lives an
unspoken conviction on both sides after a few
years' mutual bondage, that it is not  worth
while any longer for either to make a struggle
to show only the  fairest side of their respective
 manners  to the other. But an ill-tempered man
is not satisfied unless he can keep his "foulest
well in view of his wife. He may "row or
"nag, or "fuss his servants ;• but if he tries their
patience too severely, or stings their pride too
deeply, they can retort and leave him. But the
more severely his wife's patience is tried and pride
wounded, the more impotent she becomes, for she
loses the power of displaying that air of indiffer-
ence which is the only effective armour against
his splenetic arrows. A man who is cowardly
176
 love's a tyrant !
enough to vent his disappointments, failures, or
losses on his wife, is also cowardly enough only
to do so when he sees that it  hurts her If
she can ever succeed in impressing her indifference
to his glum sulks or rough rudenesses upon him
he will leave her in peace, and look out for a
fresh victim to the Moloch of his temper. In fact,
as indifference well spiced with selfishness is a
woman's most efficacious suit of armour, so "sensi-
tiveness is the throwing down of shield and
buckler, the surrender of all chance and hope of
guarding himself against the scorpion stings of
temper, or the crushing hand of domestic tyranny.
CHAPTER XVIII.
a bitter bridal.
As the dog-cart which had brought Marcus Gwynne
from the station drew up in the dank darkness of
a November night at the door, a present iment that
his action would shortly be proved to be a futile
one flashed across his mind.
He hurriedly strove to reassure himself by re-
minding himself that the long journey and equally
long abstinence, together with that inevitable de-
pression, which was the result of the atmosphere
would naturally cause him to be dismally fore-
boding. But when, in answer to his sharp, im-
patient ring of the bell, the door was opened by a
maid-servant, with a candlestick in her hand, and
as much surprise in her visage as her stolid mind
could express, he felt confident that his journey
was in vain.
Rapid inquiries for Colonel Hillier and both of
 love's a tyrant ! 
177
the young ladies, elicited the information frotn the
girl that  all the family was gone to London for
Miss, Constance to be married, and that she (his
informant) didn't know their address, but perhaps
cook could tell him, as cook had the sending on
of the letters.
He followed the girl into the cold, dark drawing-
room, and tried to collect his faculties while she
went to summon cook. But mortification, disap-
pointment, perplexity, and, above all, the deadly
fear that Constance would be sacrificed to a cruel
mistake and Conway before he (Marcus) could save
her, made his mind mere chaos, and his words and
manner incoherent when cook at length came.
Finally, . after many stammering efforts at cross-
questioning on his part, and much well-meaning but
circumlocutory answering on hers, he arrived at
the knowledge of the following facts.
First, that  no one could ' make up' what had
come over Miss Connie; 'twas like witchcraft the
way Mr. Conway—an old fellow who ought to
have been thinking of something else at his time
of life—had overwrought Miss Connie and got her
to marry him. Secondly, that it  was Miss
Connie's own wish to be married in London, and
Mr. Conway's will that they should be married at
once. Thirdly, that  both the young ladies had
gone off as if to a funeral instead of a wedding
with their faces swollen with crying. Fourthly,
that "special orders was left that their address was
not to be given to Mr. Gwynne, even if he went on
his bended knees to ask for it. Fifthly, that
cook "shouldn't take any notice of that order, as
it was given by Mr. Conway, whom she regarded
as a mixture of ' cuckoo and snake in the grass.'
And lastly—"Lor, Mr. Marcus, don't give way now,
but just go up to London; here's the Colonel's
12
178
 love's a tyrant !
address, and don't let that old varmint Conway
spoil our dear young lady's life for ever 1 And
the woman, as she spoke, put Colonel Hillier's club
address into Marcus's hand.
 You just wait while I get you a bit of supper,
and then go back to the station and catch the
first train you can. We've noticed a many things
in the kitchen, but we've only named them among
ourselves; but I don't mind telling you, sir, that
Mr. Conway's no fit husband for Miss Connie; and
if I could help you to stop it I would. 'Twas
pitiful to see her the day you went away, and
there was he following her about like her shadow,
and all of us knowing you were her real sweetheart
all the time, and not one of us able to say a
word.
 Have you heard what day is fixed for the
wedding ? he managed to ask when she had
put some supper before him.
"Let me think. No; I have not heard the day
named. But Mr. Conway left here a fortnight ago;
he had to live in a parish fifteen days, they said,
as Miss Connie wouldn't be married here at home
— n
 A fortnight ago! Then the fifteen days are
up, Marcus almost sobbed. Then he rose and got
himself under control before he added, "If she is
married you must never let it be known that I
came here hoping to see her; it might make
things haider for her to bear. If she is not
married yet, and I can see her, we will both
remember what you have done and said to help
me to-night.
If a piece of red gold did pass from Marcus's
hand to cook's at this juncture, it was not to that
that cook's hearty ejaculation,  God bless and
prosper you, sir, and make you in time to save
 love's a tyrant ! 
179
dear Miss Connie from a horful lot was due, but
rather to the fact that her womanly heart warmed
to this sight of what she called "a handsome young
true lover.
Over and over again, as he wearily travelled
up to London by a slow and frequently stopping-
train, did Marcus Gwynne tell himself that he would
be  too late, and that it was  all over. But
though he told himself this, and believed that he
meant it, and was in a measure resigned to it,
hope still reigned in his heart in reality, and his
journey was not made in despair.
But when he had bathed and breakfasted, and
got through the hours between the time of his
arrival in town and that at which he could present
himself at the Army and Navy Club, hope took
an abrupt leave of him. Colonel Hillier, he learnt,
 came to the club daily, but his private address
was not known there. So Marcus stood foiled,
within five minutes' walk of the lodgings in which
Constance Brymer was aching out the last few
days of her unmarried life.
The girl seemed to be oppressed by a hideous
nightmare. Two or three times, under the influence
of Belle's pertinacious inquiries, or her uncle's
tender puzzled sympathy, Constance was on the
verge of confession. But somehow or other her
courage invariably failed her, and instead of
making matters clearer to them, she made the
mystery of why she was acting as she did more
mysterious still, by her checked utterances and
desperate stubbornness.
"There is nothing to tell, I have no explanation
to give, she would say one hour, and the next
she would plead to Belle, "Don't ask me why I do
it, dear, I have a reason, of course; should I make
myself miserable for life without one ?
180
(t love's a tyrant ! 
"Has it anything to do with Marcus Gwynne?
Belle would ask, and Constance would stoutly
assert,
 Nothing, nothing! If he came and told me
now that I must marry him or die, I'd choose
death. I would indeed, Belle ! No ; I'm not
piqued or anything silly of that sort, and I'm not
jealous of that girl who was his model.
 Then it's Mr. Conway who has set you against
Marcus ?
 Not altogether, and not intentionally at all.
If he has smitten Marcus hip and thigh,
Marcus handed him the weapon wherewith to do
it.
 What shape was the weapon ? Belle asked
speciously, but Constance's briefly confidential mood
was over.
She had been firm in insisting upon a strictly
private wedding. None of the friends of either of
the contracting parties, with the exception of
Colonel Hillier and Belle, were. asked to the cere-
mony, or even permitted to know the day or church
at which it took place. Under such circumstances,
it was only natural that the bride should be
married in a travelling dress and go away from
the church door, and so she was not called upon
to account for not wearing her diamonds.
The wedding morning dawned in darkness and
drizzle. And poor Constance woke from her weary,
restless sleep to find that in an hour or two she
must be prepared to meet her fate. During the
few days of their sojourn in London Mr. Conway
had called continually, and desperately disagreeable
as his presence was to them all, they could none of
them, in either reason or courtesy, refuse to receive
him. But to his annoyance and bitter mortification
Constance would never see him a]one.
 love's a tyrant I
181
Now the hour had nearly come which would give
him the right to command her company where
and how and as frequently as he pleased, and the
revolting nature of the compact she had made was
being realised by her with fullest, most horrible
force.
She was dressed in her plain dark tailor-made
cloth costume; her trunks were packed and corded,
and her heart was almost standing still in dread
expectation of the summons that must come.
There were dark rims of sorrow round her eyes,
her face was more than pale; it was pallid with
soul and heart sickness, and her once graceful,
erect, luxuriantly rounded and elastically lithe figure
was looking shrunken, weak, and limp. The change
in her, more apparent than ever this morning, smote
Belle, as she came into the room for a few last
loving words, with sudden sickening fear.
"Connie, dear, she cried, putting her arms round
her cousin's neck,  you are ill, really ill, I'm sure.
It would be monstrous of Mr. Conway to take you
away to-day, she added vehemently as Constance
tried to speak, but failed by reason of the quivering
of her lips, and then sank down on a chair in order
to save herself from falling faint on to the floor.
 If the thought of it nearly kills you, what
would the . reality do ? Break it off now even,
darling, let me go to him.
"No, don't interfere; it would only bring greater
misery on me, and not me only, others would
suffer, Constance gasped ; then, seeing the look of
horror and doubt on Belle's face she went on,
 Don't add to my trouble by either questioning me,
or conjecturing anything, Belle; just try to believe
that I am marrying Mr. Conway because I wish
to marry him. Other women have made such
marriages before me, and lived to be moderately
182
 love's a tyrant ! 
happy. Now, don't speak; uncle is calling us
My time has come.
She got up, and, with feet that seemed lead-laden,
and legs that threatened to collapse at every step,
tottered rather than walked out of the room and
downstairs to the carriage that was waiting at
the door. As she tried to pass her uncle without
looking in his face, he put his arms round her,
kissed her, and between sobs that he could not
check he said,
 God forgive us all. I feel as if a great iniquity
had come to pass, and as if I have been a traitor
to my sister's trust and my sister's child.
 Try to think of me as a very commonplace
young woman, who is contented with a common-
place lot, uncle, she faltered, and the dreary effort
she made to smile was more pitiful than any regret-
ful words would have been.
 Before I can do that I must lose all understand-
ing of you, and all love and sympathy for you,
my poor child, he said gravely. And then Con-
stance stepped hurriedly into the carriage, Colonel
Hillier and Belle followed her, and in a few
minutes they reached the church where priest and
bridegroom awaited the bride, and no prototype of
the youDg Lochinvar intervened to save her.
Then the solemn words were spoken which made
Duncan Conway and Constance Brymer man and
wife.
There followed immediately a wordless parting
between Connie and those who had been like father
and sister to her. And then the unhappy pair
went off on life's journey together, while, their
sorrowful work in London finished, Colonel Hillier
and Belle prepared to leave for Glade at once. .
"I'll just look in at the Club and see if there
are any letters for me; you may as well drive
 love's a tyrant ! 
183
round that way with me, Colonel Hillier said to
his weeping daughter. So they went round, got a
budget of letters, and among them one from Marcus
to the Colonel.
"For Heaven's sake let me see you before Miss
Brymer marries Conway. There has been foul
play somewhere, and she and I are the victims
of it. Don't delay if you love your niece and
value her happiness.
 Yours faithfully,
"Marcus Gwynne.
The address given was at an hotel close by,
and thither Colonel Hillier drove instantly. Marcus
was in, absently glancing over the morning papers
in the reading-room. He looked up as he heard
his name uttered, and got his blow from Colonel
Hillier's looks before the latter could utter another
word.
 She's married ! God help me! I'm too late!
the poor young fellow gasped as he sprang to his
feet, and advanced to meet the kind trembling hand
that was held out to him. And the answer he
received sounded unceasingly in his ears for many
years.
 I gave her and her happiness away not half an
hour since. If I had known you loved her, Con-
way should never have wrung her from us, but I
thought you had played fast and loose with her,
and driven her to desperation. My poor lad, as
you didn't speak to her in time, bear it like a
man.
 Not speak—but I've written—written twice,
Marcus stammered miserably.  I wrote the morn-
ing I left Glade; I wrote to her again when
Conway wrote and vaunted his success to my
184
 love's a tyrant ! 
mother; and the answer I got—see the answer I
got (as he shoved Connie's unmerciful letter into
her uncle's hands).  Still I wouldn't give it up,
though that letter was like a blow from a sledge
hammer on the head; it nearly stunned me. But
I went off to Glade at once, only to find that you
had all gone, and forbidden the servants to tell
me your address.
 That must have been Conway's doing, Colonel
Hillier interrupted.
 It was the scoundrel—yes, he is a scoundrel,
Colonel Hillier, and I'll unmask him yet; he has
been a treacherous friend, a false guardian, and he'll
be a devil of a husband to a girl like Connie. He
has plotted and lied, how or in what way I don't
know yet. But I'll track him down and give him
his deserts.
 If he has done anything that is punishable,
remember Connie is his wife now, and must bear a
portion of the punishment, Colonel Hillier put in
hoarsely.
 His wife! ah! I can't think of her as that,
Marcus groaned.  Heaven forgive me if I'm
wrong, but I'll separate them if I can. I'll free her.
"Marcus, the old Colonel broke in sternly; "you
are speaking now like a fool and a scoundrel, not
like the true, honourable gentleman you are. My
boy, my boy, remember! you can neither separate
nor free Constance from her husband, and leave
her an honourable woman still. Forget her and
forgive him! 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay,
saith the Lord.'
 I shall do neither the one nor the other,
Marcus said gloomily.  But you're right, sir; I can
never do a thing that might throw the shadow of
a stain on the soul of a girl who's as purely
white as one of our lady's lilies. But it's a bitter
 love's a tyrant ! 
185
waking from my first and only love dream, lie
added sadly.
"There are more bitter things in life than such
a waking, Marcus. My poor girl's fate is one, for
instance. You will have no hateful companionship
forced upon you daily, hourly, as Connie will. You
have money, youth, freedom, talent, and (I think)
ambition. In time you will rejoice in some other
woman's love. Cheer up, and come and speak to
Belle, she is in the carriage at the door; and don't
forget that you'll always be welcome at Glade.
So alternately stimulating and soothing him
Colonel Hillier roused Marcus into making such an
effort to obtain control over his feelings, and resig-
nation to the situation in which Conway's machi-
nations and Connie's rashness had placed him, as
would surely result in the mastery he gained over
himself being a sustained one. Nevertheless it was
a sharp and stinging trial to him to see Belle, and
to read the sympathy she felt for him in her eyes
and voice. Few men can bear complacently the
discerning gaze of one who knows all about it,
while in the first flush of a disappointment that
makes the heart and taste and fond fancy ache
alike. Marcus, not being one of these few, felt
very much as if he had been scalded when Belle
said,—
 This has been the most miserable morning of
my life, Mr. Gwynne. I'm quite sure Connie can
never love the man she has married, aren't you ?
 I dare not venture to offer an opinion, he said,
looking down, and getting first very red and then
very white. And Belle, watching him, and seeing
these changes,  knew all about it more thoroughly
than ever, and was more than ever filled with
rao-e and regret about this untoward step Connie
had taken.
186
 love's a tyrant 1 
CHAPTEK XIX.
premonitory symptoms.
While Marcus was away on his miserably unsuc-
cessful mission, matters progressed very pleasantly
with Laura Payne.
True to her always kindly instincts, Mrs. Sack-
ville resolved to show the beautiful girl who had
served her so faithfully, as she believed, such honour
as would ensure her a warmer welcome from her
lover's mother than that lady might think fit to
accord if left entirely to herself. Accordingly Mrs.
Sackville went over and made a little state call—
taking the honourable Olivia Gwynne with her—
on the stiff old mistress of the Manor Farm.
With subtlety and farsightedness, Mrs. Sackville
had arrayed herself in her richest robes, and driven
over in her brougham behind a pair of handsome
horses, instead of driving herself in her tiny pony
trap as she would have preferred doing if she
had not desired to impress Mrs. Salter. She chose
her hour with discretion also, managing to arrive
just at that mid-afternoon time when she knew
Mrs. Salter would have done her house-wifely tale
of bricks for the day, and be sitting with her
afternoon war-paint on.
The daily round of the farm-house life was an
open volume to the lady of the manor. She knew,
for Mrs. Salter had often told her, on what days
Mrs. Salter baked, churned, washed, ironed and
mangled, and gave the various rooms a thorough
turn-out. At four in the afternoon on this special
day of the week experience told her that Mrs.
Salter in her second-best cap and gown would be
seated in what was known as the keeping-room,
 love's a tyrant !
187
with a basket of work before her, and the Norwich
Gazette in her hand. But on this occasion her
former experience of the manner of her reception
was not repeated. Mrs. Salter was not visible for
full five minutes after Mrs. Sackville and her niece
had been shown into the keeping-room. And when
she did appear unto her guests, she was in her
morning cotton, and tears !
She was a comely old lady—as was natural in
the mother of such a son, but this day her face
was inflamed by crying and passion, and the words in
which she greeted Mrs. Sackville were unmistakably
hostile to that lady's kindly intentions of exalting
Laura Payne in her future mother-in-law's estimation.
 Good afternoon, Mrs. Sackville, I hope you'll
excuse me for keeping you waiting in this way, but
no doubt you've heard of the sad trouble I'm in
on account of Charlie ? Ah! what we mothers have
to go through with our sons even if we rear them !
It's enough to make his father turn in his grave,
that it is!
Here Mrs. Salter broke down, and sobbed angrily
and effusively, while Olivia regarded her with open-
eyed pitying wonder, and Mrs. Sackville with a
tolerantly reprobatory air.
 I have come to congratulate you on your son's
engagement to a very sweet and beautiful young
girl, in whom I take the greatest interest. I have
heard nothing of any trouble, Mrs. Salter. No
accident, I trust ?
 Accident? no indeed !  the mother interrupted
hotly, as she motioned her honoured guest to a seat
on the good old-fashioned, high-backed, square sofa,
that was a great feature in the keeping-room.  No
' accident' about it. The sly young minx has
planned it all cleverly enough, for she has got
my son to promise she shall be his wife before he
188
 love's a tyrant ! 
has even spoken to his mother about it. I can't
think well of a girl who acts like that, Mrs. Sack-
ville, and above and beyond that I can't think well
of a girl who meets a young man evening after
evening on the sly, as I am told, now that it's
too late, she has been in the habit of meeting
Charlie.
 I think you must be mistaken about that;
Miss Payne rarely leaves the house and never the
garden of an evening, Mrs. Sackville answered
decidedly, forgetting that she was answering for
Laura solely on the strength of that young lady's
own report of herself.  And surely now that she
is to be your daughter you will not allow anyone
to gossip about her to you ?
 There's a good deal of truth in gossip very
often, Mrs. Sackville.
"In good report yes, but in evil report I like to
think there is often not a single grain. At any
rate put what I tell you about Laura in the balance
against what others have said. Believe me, your
son is a most fortunate young man. Laura has
beauty and household cleverness to a rare degree.
"We know nothing of her, Mrs. Salter grumbled.
"I feel that my son Charlie ought to have chosen
a wife who could point to her people with as
much pride as he can point to his.
"You will come and see her, and give her your
motherly blessing, won't you ? Mrs. Sackville
pleaded, and at this Mrs. Salter sighed heavily, but
palpably relented a little. It was agreeable to her
after all to have it in her power to say bye-and-
by that she  should have stood out against Charlie's
infatuation if it hadn't been for Mrs. Sackville,
who begged and prayed of her to give her con-
sent.
"I don't think she'll care to see me, and as
 love's a tyrant !
189
for giving her my 'motherly blessing,' I'll wait
till she's Charlie's wife to do that, she said em-
phatically. "I've seen many a slip 'twixt cup and
lip, and I shan't be sorry to see a slip here, for
whatever you may think of Laura Payne, Mrs.
Sackville, I feel she's no fit wife for Charlie.
 You will be agreeably disappointed when you
come to know her, Mrs. Sackville said, smiling
resolutely. You see it was not her son who was
going to marry this girl about whom gossip had
arisen!
Mrs. Salter shook her head in dissent with equal
resolution, but Mrs. Sackville would not be dis-
heartened.
"You will see how capable she is when you call
and see her in my house. She manages everything
at Thorpe. I hope to keep my niece with me
when your son takes Miss Payne away, but you
won't be such a perfect housekeeper as she is for
some time to come, will you, Livy dear ?
 That I'll never be, I'm afraid, Aunt Helena,
Olivia avowed lightheartedly. The young Irish
lady had no envious longing to emulate that
"household cleverness, which was held to be such
a meritorious thing in Laura's case. And this not
from any false sense of superiority to dull domestic
details, but really because she had never been
taught to appreciate a well-worked scheme of organi-
sation in her own home. It never occurred to Lord
Mount-Hawke's daughter that management may be
made to supply the place of money to a certain
degree. She put down all defects in the Irish home
department to want of means, and thought that
Laura was an object of congratulation merely in
that the money to order a household was hers to
command at Thorpe. For herself poverty would
always be her portion probably, for its reign was
190
 love's a tyrant ! 
likely to be a long one at Mount-Hawke, and she
could not bring herself to look out for a way of
escaping from it by a matrimonial road. Having
let her heart go out in all its youthful strength
and freshness to Marcus, she could never let it
decline upon a lesser man, though Marcus would
have none of her. So the straitened way being
hers perforce, why need she regret the lack of that
capability in herself which could only be exercised
in paths of plenteousness ?
When Mrs. Sackville and her niece drove back
to Thorpe, the' former carried with her a promise
from Mrs. Salter that she would "call over and
see Miss Payne on the following day.
 I'm an old-fashioned body and calling has
never been in my way, but I'll go and see her
to-morrow, and if I can approve of her, I'll do
all I can to help her to be a good wife to my son,
and a good mistress of the Manor Farm.
 Her own mother could have done no more than
that, Mrs. Sackville had answered applaudingly, and
at this Mrs, Salter had lapsed into a mournfully
suspicious mood, shaking her head dismally and
observing with a sigh that so far as she  could
ascertain from Charlie, no one knew who the girl's
mother had been.
At tea that evening, from the vantage ground
behind the neatly arrayed tray and hissing urn,
Mrs. Salter announced her intentions to her son.
"To please Mrs. Sackville, and because no one
shall have it in their power to say I am not doing
my full duty, whatever the inconvenience to my-
self, I shall go and see Miss Payne to-morrow, Charlie.
 Thank you, mother, he was so hearty and
affectionate and boyish in his way of responding to
her concessions that motherlike, she felt impelled
to make a further one on the spot.
"love's a tyrant!
191
 And if I like what I see, I shall ask her to
come and spend a few days here. Your father's
mother invited me here to stay a week when I
got engaged to your father, and my mother drove
me over herself in her own pony chaise, and left
me with old Mrs. Salter for a week, as a great
favour. For as she told old Mrs. Salter (your
grandmother that was) she—my mother I mean—
didn't hold with girls staying too much with their
young men's friends. A young woman's place is in
her parent's home till her husband takes her to
his.
 But my young woman hasn't got any parents,
Charlie laughed.
 Ah ! Mrs. Salter sighed,  more's the pity!
more's the pity! It was very different when I
got engaged to your father. Mother drove me
over here in her own pony chaise, and even the
cow boys knew who I was, and how I had been
brought up, before I set foot inside the Manor
Farm.
 I don't suppose that the cow boys knowing all
about you added very much to your happiness, or
made father any fonder of you, said Charlie, laugh-
ing good humouredly.
 I can't say; it's always well for a man to
feel that his wife is respected by those about
him.
 I shan't be sure of my cow boys, but I shall
be of Mrs. Sackville, and I think I care more for
her opinion than I do for the cow boys'.
 Mrs. Sackville does seem to think most highly
of her, Mrs. Salter granted. The truth is the
local-minded portion of Mrs. Salter's judgment was
biassed, and that very considerably, in favour of
the girl of whom  Mrs. Sackville, of Thorpe, spoke
highly. But the unerring maternal instinct would
192
 love's a tyrant ! 
assert itself, and this bade her beware of the dashing
craft who hailed from some unknown port, and
hoisted no authenticated colours. So though she
did admit that  Mrs. Sackville seemed to think
most highly of Laura, she hastened to add,—
 But Mrs. Sackville is as likely to be deceived
as any one else who trusts to appearances only. I
don't deny that Miss Payne is well-grown and
pretty to look at, and I've no doubt she's pleasant
to speak to, and she's very smart and tidy in her
ways. But you want more than that in a wife,
Charlie, as you'll find when I'm not here to look
after things. You want a wife who'll be up in
the morning to see the girls do their work in the
house, and to make up the butter herself, even if
she doesn't churn it. Can Miss Payne do that, I
should like to know ? 
 That she can, he declared eagerly;  she manages
the dairy at Thorpe; you must see that dairy,
mother! it's a picture.
"Ah ! she goes in and plays at working in
pretty dresses, I've heard ; she turns the churn and
handles the butter in her dainty hands when anyone's
looking on, but the maids have to do it all when
my young lady has no one there to show off* to.
But even if she's handy in the dairy, and I don't
doubt but that she can be when she likes, there's
hundreds of other things that a girl should be
able to do, before a prudent man would think of
making her mistress of a farm-house. Can she
cure her own bacon, and put down preserves, and
make pastry and bread ? If she can't she had better
not come here, for such things have to be done,
and you ought not to think of keeping a proper
cook for many a long year. And the poultry
here's a little fortune, but that's only because I
know the sorts to keep. Does she know the differ-
 love's a tyrant I 
193
ence between the breed that's best for the table, and
the one that's best for laying ? not she indeed!
"Perhaps not, mother, but Laura will soon learn,
and you'll help to teach her, won't you ? he said,
with unfailing good temper. But to this, though
she was inwardly gratified at his saying it, Mrs.
Salter replied,—
"1 shall not be here to interfere, Charlie, for
that's what Miss Payne would call it. There can't
be two mistresses at the Manor Farm, and it will
be your wife's right to be mistress, so I shall go!
Oh, I don't mind for myself, it's what I've always
looked forward to, but I hoped you'd bring some
one here who would keep things just as I kept
them, not one who'll want to play the lady. But
then, if it is to be, it will be, for all I may say.
And if it's not to be 
 Don't follow that out, I can't stand it, mother,
he said, starting up and speaking almost roughly in
a state of ungovernable agitation that appeared un-
reasonable even to himself the next moment. Then
he added more quietly,  If it's not to be, you'll
never have any call to trouble about me any more,
mother, but let's drop it now. Only keep your
word, and go and see Laura to-morrow.
CHAPTER XX.
 capricious.
As Mr. and Mrs. Conway drove away from the
church in which they had been tied together and
had the knot blessed, four or five loitering idlers
raised a cracked and feeble cheer in what was
13
194
"love's a tyrant!
well-meant honour, but sounded like sneering
mockery.
 They expect something for that. They imagine
I shall throw them a few coins in recognition of
their kindness in making a disturbance exactly at
the moment one most desires quiet, Mr. Conway
remarked as he crossed his arms on his chest, and
leant back in his corner of the carriage. Constance,
meanwhile, had fallen limply back into hers, but
the harsh grating laugh with which Mr. Conway
wound up his speech rasped her nerves so pain-
fully, that her restful position became untenable.
 Give them what they expect; do one kind
thing to-day, she said; and the moment she had
spoken these the first words she had addressed
to him since she had vowed before God to "love,
honour, and obey him, she repented herself of
them.
He took some small silver change from his
pocket and flung it among a group of boys, who
were revolving along head over hands on his side
of the carriage.
 See how readily I gratify your lightest wish,
however ungraciously you express it, he said,
leaning forward to look hungrily into her face.
Her impulse was to turn that face away from
him, for the expression of his thought-worn brow,
hollow cheeks, passionate eager eyes, and sensuous
mouth had never been more distasteful to her. She
conquered her impulse however, and looked back
at him steadily.
"Constance, I will go on as I have begun; your
lightest wish shall be gratified, your wildest whim
obeyed, if only 
 I have few wishes, and no whims, she inter-
rupted.  There is no need for you to make either
promises or conditions.
 love's a tyrant ! 
195
He flung himself back in a fit of uncontrollable
exasperation. She had spoken quite calmly, and
there was nothing in her words at which he could
take exception. Nevertheless, they were words that
had a scorpion's power of stinging in them.
"I am glad to hear you have no 'whims;' and
having just made the most solemn promises man
can make to woman, you are right in reminding me
that no more are needed. But I am as sure you
have a ' wish' as I am that it will be needful for
me to impose conditions upon you before I gratify
it.
She made a gesture in deprecation of his con-
tinuing the subject—a gesture that was full of
impatience and weariness, of mortification and
misery But they still had five minutes before
they could reach the station, and these five minutes
of solitude could not be better employed than in
showing her the way she should go, when they
got (as they inevitably must) mixed up with their
fellow-creatures again.
"One of your wishes, your strongest wish, in
fact, is that nothing may ever transpire relative
to Marcus Gwynne and—your diamonds. He made
a momentary pause before, and gulped after, utter-
ing the two last words, but Constance had turned
her eyes to the window on her side, and was un-
conscious of the transient emotion.  The condi-
tion, he went on masterfully,  on which I shall
gratify this wish of yours is, that you do not
attempt to keep me at arm's length. Of your own
free will you have married me against your uncle's
advice. You shall justify that free will by your
manner to me now and henceforth, or 3
 Don't threaten, she interrupted ;  don't—don't
degrade us both more than we are degraded already
by threatening me.
196
 love's a tyrant ! 
The carriage stopped, porters pressed for-
ward, there was noise and confusion ; but amidst
all the hubbub Mr. Conway found time to
say,—
"I was merely going to tell you that when your
manner to me ceases to be affectionate and dutiful,
Mr. Marcus Gwynne will be called to account for
the way in which the diamonds which you say
you have given him, came into his possession. I
am not to be bought at any paltry price you may
think sufficient for me. I am not going to be the
laughing-stock of our friends and acquaintances.
You are famed for your agreeable manners, viva-
city, and light-heartedness. I will have the full
benefit of these pleasant qualities of yours in our
domestic life, or Marcus Gwynne and the public shall
know the reason why.
She could not speak; she could only stand statelily
still on the platform and listen to the words he
hissed into her ears. But when they were fairly
off on their journey to Scotland, she managed to
make him understand that she would try to please
him in every way, so long as he never referred to
a subject that was full of pain to her.
 And you will love me ? you will soon learn
to love me ? he asked, getting close to her side,
and whispering with hot breath into her ear, while
his eyes seemed to be greedily devouring her. For-
tunately the presence of fellow-passengers restrained
him from further demonstrations. So she compelled
herself to endure, and to promise to try to do
what he asked.
The place in which they passed the first three
weeks of their married life was a secluded, wildly-
beautiful eea-side village in the old kingdom of Fife.
What charm Pittenweem held for Mr. Conway was
a mystery to his new wife. But the truth was
 love's a tyrant ! 
197
that in this old-world fishing-village on the sea
coast he had wooed and won his first wife many
a year ago, and now both the ambitious and senti-
mental parts of his nature were pleased in some
subtle way by revisiting the place as a prosperous
man, and the husband of a cultivated young
beauty.
The hours which Constance passed sitting under
the shelter of the shelving rocks, gazing out over
the sea abstractedly, or looking at the picturesque
highly-perfumed fishing-boats and people interestedly,
were not unpleasant ones to her. She passed them
by herself generally, for Mr. Conway had a reason-
able dislike to running the risk of rheumatism,
through exposing himself either to the November
drizzle, or the cutting draughts which came hur-
riedly round the many corners of the old rows of
red-roofed houses. But there was neither peace nor
pleasantness for her in the many excursions he
compelled her to make to  points in the neigh-
bourhood which were familiar to him many years
ago-
It was intolerable weariness to her to drive with
him alone, even amidst the loveliest scenery, and
Nature does not look her loveliest in November in
Scotland any more than she does anywhere else.
And the intolerable weariness changed to active
bone-aching fatigue very often, when the drive
over and the point gained, he would insist upon
her getting out of the dog-cart, and exploring some
of the historic craigs or caves over which  Macduff
is said to have scrambled, and in which he hid
himself from  Macbeth.
One day standing on Elie rocks looking over the
Firth of Forth, she saw the sun flashing on the
greenstone of the little Isle of May, and out of
the idle yearning for a change, rather than from
198
 love's a tykant ! 
any desire to see it nearer, she proposed that they
should hire a fishing-boat and crew, and go over
to it. But to this scheme Mr. Conway demurred.
In the first place he had a well-rooted and rea-
sonable horror of the sea on the Scotch coast in
November. In the second place he had no asso-
ciations, pleasant or otherwise, with the Isle of May.
In the third place he preferred originating plans
for the disposal of their days himself, and feared
that if he gave in tb her independent action here
in the wilds, Constance might assert and strive
to maintain her right to it when they got back to
the haunts of men. And lastly he knew that a
dinner at the Pittenweem inn would be ready for
them at six, and that if they went to the Isle of
May the chances were greatly against their returning
to Pittenweem till the following day, when the
dinner would he spoiled. Accordingly he refused
to brave the voyage, and dragged Constance up to
the top of Trincraig Point instead, where Constance
got into conversation with some fishermen who
were watching the sea with the patient, unceasing,
loving interest with which the fisher-folk in every
clime do watch the element by, which they
live.
From these in the course of a desultory conver-
sation they learnt that there was a pilot station
and lighthouse on the island, and that sometimes
artists stayed at the former, and made  pictures
of Anstruther Point. Indeed one had gone over
only the day before. If the lady liked to look
through the telescope he offered her. the fisherman
had small doubt but that she could make out the
figure of the painter standing there to the right
of the lighthouse.
Mrs. Conway applied her eye to the glass, looked
long and steadily in the direction indicated, doubt-
 love's a tyrant ! 
199
less saw what she was looking for; then stood aside
quietly while her husband took her place.
 Confound the fellow ! he has moved out of
sight, Mr. Conway grumbled.  I suppose it's
some one from an illustrated paper. If you like
we'll go over to-morrow, Constance, and if we
find him an agreeable fellow we'll ask him to dine.
It will be a charity here.
 I don't feel disposed to be charitable, she said ;
 and I don't care to visit the island now; it looks bleak
and desolate. I have seen enough of it from here.
 Capricious! but even your caprices are inter-
esting, the elderly bridegroom murmured ad-
miringly. But at the same time he made up
his mind that if, as he conjectured, the artist on
the island were an envoy from an illustrated
journal, he would be worth something in the way
of companionship in this remote region, and would
agreeably vary the monotony of the dinner-hour
occasionally. Accordingly, interesting as Con-
stance's caprices were, he chose to disregard them
now, and so without consulting her he chartered a
boat for the following day to take themselves and
their luncheon' basket to the Isle of May.
CHAPTER XXI.
 perhaps one day he'll trust me.
The morning after Mrs. Sackville's visit to the
Manor Farm, Laura Payne came down to breakfast,
her cheeks tinted with the hue of the pomegranate
flower, her eyes gleaming like stars, and a
magnificent diamond glittering on her engaged
finger.
200
 love's a tyrant ! 
 Ah! what a lovely ring! and hasn't Mr. Salter
taste too!  Olivia exclaimed as the two girls took
their seats opposite one another at the table. "I'm
glad he hasn't given you turquoise, or opal. The
first's common, and the last is unlucky. I've
always said if I couldn't have a diamond—if the
man was too poor to give me that—I'd have a
plain gold ring for my engagement ring, and be
married with it afterwards.
 Yes, Laura assented,  Charlie knows that I
hate both turquoises and opals, and that I love
diamonds. But don't say anything about this ring
before the old lady when she comes to-day; she
would think a diamond such reckless extra-
vagance 
 Ah! but a man may be forgiven for being
recklessly extravagant just once when he's engaged
to a girl like you !  Olivia interrupted admiringly.
The amiable little Irish aristocrat had always ad-
mired the beautiful waif who hailed from nowhere
in particular; and at this particular juncture Olivia's
heart was overflowing with gratitude because the
beautiful waif was putting herself so entirely out
of Marcus's way. So, feeling full of admiration and
gratitude to Laura, she expressed what she felt, and
what she felt from the bottom of her unenvious,
generous heart was, that Laura deserved all the
most beautiful adjuncts to her beauty which could
be showered upon her by the hand of man! by the
hand of man properly engaged, and pledged to
her, that is.
Laura smiled.
 Many people will think Charlie an awful fool,'
she said, as she looked at the flashing gem on her
finger.
"For giving you that ring? Oh no!
 For having anything to do with me; and when
 love's a tyrant ! 
201
I let myself ' think,' I'm very much inclined to
agree with ' many people.' 
 You shouldn't say that. My Aunt Helena is
pleased, and though I don't know Mr. Salter yet,
I'm very glad 
"Do you know why you are glad that he is
going to be good enough to remove me to another
sphere ? Laura questioned sarcastically.
 Because I think you'll he happy there with
him.
 Dear Miss Innocence! Laura laughed,  is that
your only reason ? I think I could find another for
you if I tried. But never mind! Who else is glad
that I am going to be married to Mr. Salter?
 Marcus—my cousin Marcus is; Aunt Helena
heard from him to-day, and he says, ' Tell Miss
Payne that I am sorry I shan't be at her wedding
if it comes off soon. I am going up to Scotland
sketching for three months.' 
 Odd time of year to choose for a sketching
tour in Scotland, Laura interrupted;  and I fail to
detect the joy you imply that he feels in the
fact that Charlie Salter means to marry me.
"He says he hopes you'll be very happy and
make Mr. Salter, who's one of the best fellows
in the world, a good wife.
 Complimentary to Charlie, but not to me, Laura
said, rising suddenly from the table. Then she
laughed rather harshly as she added,—
"And what reward shall I have if I do 'make
him a good wife,' as they phrase it ? A home in a
remote farm-house, enough to eat and drink, and
a dull round of duties to perform daily ! It's not
such a particularly brilliant lot that I need be
dazzled by the prospect of it.
 I should call it a brilliant lot, to marry the
man I loved, and have a comfortable home, and
202
 LOVE'S A TYRANT ! '
be able to do what I liked to make him happy in
it. But then I'm different to you, Olivia said,
with frank humility.
 Yes, you're different to me, Laura sneered.
 You can afford to say such things; more than
that, you can afford to feel them! You're a 'lady'
born and bred ! you've been led ' away from,' not
' into,' temptation all the days of your life! If
you have anything like poverty to endure, you're
admired and extolled for enduring it; if good fortune
befalls you and such as you, you're not expected to
grovel on the earth in gratitude for it. But I, who
have sprung from the mud, will never be able
to quite clear myself from it. I am expected to be
perpetually in a state of humble gratitude for the
meagrest blessings that fall to my share.
 Such as Mr. Salter, the Manor Farm, and that
diamond ring, Olivia put in good-humouredly.
 Ah! you're very well off, Miss Payne, and you
know it, and only just say these things to make
me run over the list of your successes.
 What sends. Marcus Gwynne to Scotland now ?
Laura asked abruptly.
 He is going to sketch.
"Pooh! Laura said contemptuously, "he is
going to try and get over a heart-ache. A girl he
was in love with has married an old wretch.
 What do you mean ? and what do you know of
my cousin's affairs ? and please never speak of
them to me, Olivia interrupted calmly and
haughtily.
 Really I beg your pardon, Miss Gwynne, I
thought you knew already that Mr. Conway had
married the young lady with whom Mr. Gwynne
fancied himself in love.
 If I had known it I shouldn't have spoken
about it to you. I should have remembered too
 love's a t ye ant !
203
well what was due to my aunt and my cousin to
have spoken about it to you! and so now I must
ask you, to remember it.
She spoke very gently and quietly, though her
lips trembled, and her cheeks burnt with a hot
painful blush. But there was such dignity about
her manner of making these requests that Laura
could not disregard it. She smiled insolently, but
said not a word, and under cover of her silence
Olivia quickly recovered her outward composure.
But inwardly there was a considerable tumult.
Hope and love were both sorely wounded, but pity
and generous sympathy were almost as severely
exercised. If she ached for herself as she acquired
the knowledge that all this time while she had
been nursing her fond vain delusions concerning
him, Marcus had been nursing similar ones about
another girl; she ached even more painfully for his
disappointment. But she was so love-loyal to the
least wish of Marcus, that she made up her mind
at once never to let either his mother or Marcus
himself know that she had acquired this knowledge
which Laura had ruthlessly forced upon her.
 Perhaps one day he'll trust me, but until he
or Aunt Helena tell me themselves, they shall
never know I've heard it. Will she come here
I wonder ? Aunt Helena says Mr. Conway has to
come. What will they be like, I wonder ? and
will the sight of her hurt Marcus ?
The poor love-laden, disappointed, kindly heart
of the Irish girl kept on pondering over these
questions for a long time that morning. But it
never occurred to her to "wonder where or how
Laura had become possessed of the unwelcome in-
formation which she had given. There was no
latent talent for intrigue in Olivia. She was only
too apt (for her own peace of mind) to accept
204
 love's a tyrant !''
every statement made to her as true. Her credu-
lity, though it involved her in much misery, never
mixed her up with meanness. Accordingly, though
her loving hopes had been given a fall, while all
Laura's avowed ones seemed on the point of being
realised, Olivia bore the lightest heart from the
breakfast room presently.
Laura Payne went back to her own bedroom to
read over for the twentieth time a letter she had
received that morning. It was from Mr. Conway,
and it was written at Pittenweem.
"Believe that in all I have done, I have acted
for the best both for you and myself. It was in-
evitable that our friendship should come to an end !
You readily agreed that it should when I first
proposed that you should go to Thorpe as Mrs.
Sackville's companion, and, if possible, marry Mrs.
Sackville's son eventually. That you have failed
in accomplishing this latter end is not my fault.
You taunt me with being ''stingy and mean.' In
reply to this accusation, couched in language that
has the trail of the garrison town street about it,
I send you a diamond ring that will at any time
command such a price as will keep you from
privation should you ever again be thrown entirely
upon your own resources. You see I have but
little faith in your faithfulness and stability, and
though I know nothing of the man you are going
to marry, I venture to prophesy that you will get
tired of him before many years have passed over
your handsome head. Therefore I provide you with
what will command a maintenance for you when
you need one.
"But you must attend strictly to my injunctions
concerning this ring. On no account whatever let
it be known that you have received it from me.
Keep it under secure lock and key; show it no
 love's a tyrant !
205
one; speak of it to no one; keep it for your hour
of need, and should it unluckily be found in your
possession, let it be understood that it came into
your possession many years ago. For your own
sake, obey these directions.
She laughed aloud as she finished reading the
letter, and waved her hand with the flashing
diamond on it triumphantly before her exultant
eyes.  Poor conceited, used-up old hypocrite !  she
said to herself; "he's afraid of his,'moral' character
being called in question if 'twas known he gave
her a diamond ring! Lor bless his timid heart;
the girl he picked out of Plymouth streets don't
want instructions from him as to how she's to
account for having a valuable diamond ring in her
possession, and as for locking it away and not
wearing it, the man must be in his dotage to think
I should obey such directions. I'll make Charlie
choke off all their inquiries, and think me a sensi-
tive angel into the bargain for not liking to talk
about it.
About noon that day Charlie Salter rode over to'
apprise his betrothed of the honour in store for her
in the shape of a call from his mother that after-
noon. She was standing in front of the house in a
waterproof ulster and deer-stalker hat picking
chrysanthemums, looking bright and neat under the
November drizzle, as only a girl who is seasonablv
and fittingly dressed can look.
His eyes danced with delight as they fell upon
her. The thick-soled, well-shaped shoes, the natty
tight headgear, the closely-fitting ulster that came
to the edge of her dress and just cleared the ground
were one and all perfect in their suitableness to
the weather and her occupation. Dressed thus he
foresaw she would always be able to get about
the poultry-yard, and actively supervise the dairy
206
 love's a tyrant 1 
and laundry-work—both dairy and laundry being
out-buildings at the Manor Farm. Moreover those
stout, well-shaped shoes would carry her well over
ploughed fields and damp meadow lands when he
wanted her to walk over the farm with him.
 This is just the rig I like to see of a morning,
Mr. Salter began approvingly,— a dress that you
could trot all round the yards in without looking
messed up. A girl should never wear fal-lals
and ornaments in the mor Halloo! what's
this?
 This was the diamond ring on Laura's pretty
hand, which was held out to him in laughing
challenge at the moment.
 Draw the line at ornament please, Charlie. I
grant you all you say about fal-lals, and costumes
that crumple. But I have rather a weakness for
ornaments if they're good and strong enough to
endure a little usage, and this ring I have a special
affection for, so probably you'll see me wear it
constantly.
"You've got it on the engaged finger, haven't
you? who gave it to you? he asked jealously, and
she sobered her tones and looked pathetic as she
replied,—
"It was my mother's. In all my times of tribu-
lation and want I have clung to this, and now I
can wear it without being compelled to drag a pain-
ful bit of family history forward in order to
account for it. Everybody will think it's your
gift to me, you know, Charlie, as I wear it on the
engaged finger.
 Every one will know that I shouldn't have
been pretentious fool enough to go in for a
diamond, he said rather gruffly. But Laura
smoothed him down with a pretty caressing touch
on his arm and a smile on her lips that would
 love's a tyrant ! 
207
have tempted him to kiss them, had he not been
deterred by the thought that he could be seen from
the windows.
"Your mother must have been a rich woman to
own such a jewel as that.
 Probably she was as ignorant of its real value
as I am. She came of a good stock, and owned
many good things once on a time. But they went
from her by degrees, and this ring was all she
had to leave her only child.
 Are there any of your father's family left ?
"None, not one! she shook her head decidedly
as she said it, and he hesitated for an instant,
fearing that she would think him unduly curious,
before he asked,—
 Where did you live when you were a child ?
 Oh ! in many places, she said quickly;  don't
talk of my childhood, it wasn't a happy one. My
father deserted my mother, and she and I just
lived how and where we could. Sometimes we had
bread-and-butter, sometimes dry bread, and oftener
no bread at all 
 And she stuck to the diamond ring through
it all 1—By Jove! that was plucky of her! he
interrupted.  Did it come from her own family ?
or did your father give it to her? it's in a rare
old setting, Charlie Salter put in appreciatively.
"I was never quite sure, Laura replied diplo-
matically. "It was one of the many things that
I never liked to question my mother about; you
see, Charlie, she was like me—not bad to look at;
poor and proud. You treat me as I felt my mother
wanted to be treated; don't ask many questions
about the diamond; be glad that I have got it,
as I was glad my mother had it before me.
 I'll never ask you a single question that it
would pain you to answer, ray dear, he said
208
 love's a tyrant i
gravely;  but there are some things a man must
ask his wife, and you'll never deceive me in
answering them, will you, Laura ? Tell out the
truth to me always, however much you maj'' fear
it may hurt me; never try to smooth over an
unpleasantness with an untruth.
"What a homily ! and all because I can't tell
you where my poor mother got her diamond ring,
the girl laughed. But Charlie Salter still looked
serious. Brilliant as it was, there was an ugly
look about that diamond ring to him, and,  un-
reasonably as he himself admitted, he conceived
an antipathy to it, and an aversion to seeing it
on Laura Payne's finger.
CHAPTER XXII.
marcus is heroic.
Mr. C'onway did not mean to be tyrannical in the
matter, and had no idea that he was doing more
than overrule a whim of his wife's, when he made
Constance get into a boat that he had chartered
for the Isle of May. But the poor woman felt
herself a slave, and a terribly frightened one into
the bargain.
She had pleaded and objected, and both her
pleas and her objections had been disregarded. He
could not believe her to be the coward she de-
clared herself to be on the water, and the presenti-
ment against going which she avowed she felt, was a
piece of superstitious absurdity which he scoffed at.
Accordingly they started about noon on a sea
like a mill pond, with the intention of sailing
across to the little island. But the light wind that
 love's a tyrant ! 
209
was up at first soon failed them, and to Constance's
infinite relief the boatmen had recourse to their oars.
Presently however the treacherous wind rose up
from another quarter, briskly at first and then
boisterously; and the sea got choppy; and moment-
arily the oarsmen's work grew palpably more and
more difficult.
Louder and louder howled the blast over the
winter sea, and higher and higher rose the waves
in response. Their rate of progress seemed to be
about an inch an hour according to Constance's
computation, and the island which she now prayed
to reach speedily appeared to recede in spite of
their strenuous efforts to approach it. It was like
a hideous nightmare, and she feared that it was
one from which she would never wake and find
themselves in safety.
Terror kept her motionless and silent. Ner-
vousness had a totally opposite effect on Mr.
Conway.. As soon as the real danger became
apparent to him, he commenced fidgeting about
the limited space he could find, and garrulously
lamenting that he had not attended to his wife's
entreaties that the expedition should be given up.
At length a stern and peremptory order from the
boatman who was steering, to the effect that, unless
he sat still, he'd have them all at the bottom of
the sea in a minute, reduced him to a state of
passive obedience and misery.
 I'm not fit to die! he moaned piteously, and
Constance, in her great compassion and the tender
tolerance that was horn of the feeling she had
that their last hour was come, put her hand in
his gently and whispered,
"We are none of us fit to die; let us pray that
^•q ma.y be spared till we are made so.
 If He will mercifully spare us I will make
14
210
"love's a tyrant'!
amends for my past sins, I will make restitution,
I will confess the wrong I have wrought to my
fellow-man, he faltered, clasping her hands des-
perately.  Constance! forgive me ! I sinned to gain
you—it was love for you that made me do it;
Marcus Gwynne is innocent, I took your 
A great wave broke over the boat and washed
away the rest of his attempted confession. When
they could see again they found themselves up to
their waists in water, but safe, still in possession of
their oars, and almost close to the island. Another
minute and the pilot boat which was being manned
and launched would reach them! But before that
minute expired another large wave had reared
itself and broken over them. The boat was upset
and they were all struggling in the angry, cruel sea.
One wild cry as she struck the water rose from
Constance's lips. It was her last conscious effort.
Then all was a blank !
Had the blank lasted for an hour or for a
hundred years ? and was this eternity ? she found
herself hazily wondering as she opened her eyes at
last. Was this Paradise ? ah! yes, for that was
surely Marcus G-Wynne's voice. She made an effort
to raise her head and look round to satisfy herself.
But it was too much for her, and again she de-
parted to the realms of blissful unconsciousness
and irresponsibility.
Of course it was merely the pilot house and
not Paradise in which she and the companions of
her disastrous voyage were lying. The pilot boat
manned by its own plucky crew, and with a volun-
teer for the dangerous service on board in addition,
in the person of the artist, had gone out gallantly
to the desperate work of rescue. And by the
irony of fate Marcus Gwynne was the one who
pulled Mr. Conway into the boat, while Constance
 love's a tyrant ! 
211
was saved by one of the boatmen who had come
across with them.
It was too tragically bewildering for any senti-
mental pangs to assail Marcus Gwynne's soul as he
stood by the insensible forms of the woman he
loved best in the world, and the man he most
disliked and distrusted. He was surprised and con-
fused, anxious and sorry, and utterly uncertain
of what would be the best course for him to
pursue, when the husband and wife came to them-
selves and realized his presence. But no senti-
ment mingled with these sensations. They had
both been too near tasting the sting of death for
him to dare to think of either the love he bore
the one, or the hate he had for the other.
Accordingly, when the restoratives that he applied
as assiduously to Mr. Conway as to Constance took
effect on the latter, and she came back to the clear
knowledge that she was still in the land of the
living instead of that  land o' the leal of which
she half believed herself a denizen at first, there
was no agitation in the tone in which he said—
 Thank God you're all right now, Mrs. Conway;
don't try to speak. Just lie quite still and quiet,
and I'll bring you news of your husband in a
minute.
 He is saved from that awful sea ? she asked.
And then she added in a whisper,  I should like
to go and help him—to go and thank God with
him for His great goodness in preserving us.
Marcus moved away quickly, and signed to one
of the boatmen.
 Stay by the lady; don't let her move till I
come back. It would hurt her and shock her too
much to see her husband as he is now, he
whispered. And then he went to the further aid
of the man whose life he had saved.
212
 love's a tyrant 1 
For Mr. Conway was alive, though still perfectly
insensible. In addition to the angry buffeting of
the waves, he had received a nasty cut above the
left temple from the keel of the boat that had gone
out to succour them, and his face was covered with
blood and brine, and smeared by the muddy though
kindly hands that had tended his wounds. Un-
doubtedly he was about as unattractive an object
in his pallid, grimy unconsciousness as the eyes of
woman could light upon. But it was not his
appearance which made Marcus shrink from the
thought of showing him (Mr. Conway) to Con-
stance now. It was that, knowing her generous
nature and kindly heart well as he did, he dreaded
their being wrung by the knowledge being forced
upon her abruptly that her husband was in a
hopeless condition. Mysterious, miserable as the
marriage had been, Constance was not one, he
knew, to experience any sense, however secret, of
relief at the prospect of its being disannulled by so
sudden and sad a death. Whatever sins and
offences Mr. Conway might have committed against
either his wife or his ward, there was no room in
their hearts now for any other feeling concerning
him save sympathy for his physical suffering should
he live, and fear that he was in mortal danger,
which not even the most unceasing efforts on his
behalf might avert. There was nothing unrea-
sonable, unnatural, or morbid in Marcus's manner
of viewing the matter. The man had robbed
him of the wife he wanted, and by so doing had
laid waste the fairest portion of his life. But the
man was but mere man! And Marcus thrilled
with a variety of emotions, among which human
sympathy with the awfulness of the dread sum-
mons, should it be given to the mere man now by
his Creator, had a foremost place. The strongest
"love's a tyrant!
213
impulse within Marcus GWynne's breast, in fact,
was to do his best to prolong the life that barred
his own road to happiness.
The storm was soon over, and the angry waters
settled down; and after a time a small steamer
was engaged to take them all back to the main-
land. But Mr. Conway remained insensible to the
change, and to all the precautions that were taken
to ensure his safe removal and well-being, and
Constance was in too prostrate a condition herself
to take the direction of affairs into her own hands.
So it happened that Marcus had the charge of his
lost love and her husband forced upon him by
a series of fortuitous and commonplace circum-
stances.
But when Mr, Conway was relegated to the
care of a couple of doctors, and Mrs. Conway to
that of the landlady of the hotel—when a telegram
had been dispatched to Colonel Hillier, and in
fact all that was to be done had been done—then
Marcus had time to regret impatiently that these
circumstances had arisen, and to wish with all his
heart that any other than himself had helped to
save the Con ways from a watery grave.
His first impulse had been to get away at once
without seeing Mrs. Conway again. But after-
reflection told him that there would be something
both cowardly and churlish in such a proceeding.
Unpleasant as a meeting between them must of
necessity be when they were not taken away from
the contemplation of themselves by overpoweringly
agitating and alarming circumstances, it behoved
him as a man to endure the meeting if she desired
it.
He no longer wanted to find out the cause of
her fancied grievance against him. It was too late
now for explanation to bring about the end that
214
 love's a tyrant ! 
had once been all-in-all to him. In fact, as
Conway's wife, she would probably be a happier
woman if she went on thinking ill of him (Marcus)
than if it could all be clear light between them
again. No! distinctly he had nothing to gain,
nothing to hope, from an interview. Nevertheless,
if she desired it, he was bound as a gentleman to
accede to her wishes.
And after a few hours, with mingled sensations
of desire and dread, she did decide upon an inter-
view between herself and the man she had loved
so desperately, that even the belief that he was a
thief had not had the power to utterly eradicate
that love.
 I hope she won't hark back and try to ex-
plain, Marcus thought, as he walked resolutely,
but rather slowly, towards the room in which she
was waiting tor him. He had a vague feeling that
he could bear it all much better bye-and-by if she
behaved in a commonplace, every-day manner, just
as a mere Mrs. Conway who had reason to be
grateful to the man who had saved her husband's
life should behave. At anyrate he would keep the
fact of her merely being  Mrs. Conway well
before his mind's eye the whole time, and would
try to treat her as if their acquaintance had only
commenced the day before, on the occasion of his
fishing her husband out of the water.
But his good resolutions nearly failed him when
he found himself in her presence, and saw how
pitiably weak, nervous, and shattered she—the girl
who had so recently been the embodiment of high
spirits and health—had become. There was more
than embarrassment in her manner of addressing
him. She got up from her chair and came a step
or two forward, her cheeks flushing and her hands
extended. This she did, actuated by a vivid recol-
 LOVE's a tyrant !
215
lection of the love she had borne for him in the
past, and of the gratitude she owed him for his
gallant work of yesterday. Then she grew pale,
paused suddenly, and let her hands fall down by
her side. And this she did under the influence of
the vivid remembrance she had of that plausible
story of her husband which had branded Marcus
Gwynne as a thief!
But that story could not be true. No; one
piercing, searching glance into his honest eyes, and
proudly, boldly held-up face convinced her in a
flash that she had been the victim of a cruel delu-
sion, and that Marcus Gwynne was as innocent of
the degrading offence imputed to him as she was
herself. Quickly in the wake of this conviction
came the resolution to make him such amends as
she could, to reinstate him in her friendship at
least, and  never, never, never to let him guess
of what she had suspected him.
The relief she experienced as  the truth that
he, the man she had honoured with her love, was
innocent was so intense, so enthralling, that she
entirely forgot the man she had honoured with her
hand, and so was saved the pang for the present
of having to shift her suspicions from Marcus to
Mr. Conway. It was quite enough for the moment
to feel that Marcus Gwynne stood before her, holding
his head up, and meeting her eyes unshrinkingly.
It was relief unspeakable to feel a heaven-born
consciousness that she was not called upon to despise
him.
So her next step was perplexing to the man
whose most fervent current aspiration was that she
would conduct herself as a commonplace and con:
ventional Mrs. Conway should, and leave the past
alone.
 Can you ever forgive me for that senseless
216
 love's a tyrant ! 
letter? she began, and her lips trembled alarm-
ingly, and she had to blink away a few tears.
Alarming symptoms these to the young man who
had bound himself in honour not to allow his
feeling to have fair play for a moment.
 Pray don't mention it, Mrs. Conway. I am
the one who ought to apologise. I was an imper-
tinent puppy to write as I did. You are less
alarmed about your husband to-day, I trust. The
doctor has just told me that he hopes all danger
is past, and that in a few hours Mr. Conway will
be in a fair way of recovery.
 Anxious! Oh, yes; I should be shocked if
he didn't recover. I can't say much about it yet,
I have been so dreadfully frightened and unnerved.
But I must say something to you. I may never
see you again after to-day. I want you to forgive
me for that letter, and to believe that it was
written by a half-maddened girl under the influence
of a miserable mistake ?
She caught her breath with alarming quickness,
and her voice sank to a low whisper. It was very
hard for Marcus to remember that she had a hus-
band in the next room, and that she was  only
Mrs. Conway now. Nevertheless, hard as the
task was, he accomplished it, and the only response
the signs of her uneradicable interest in himself
evoked from him was the gentler tone in which he
s^tid—
 Pray don't distress yourself—and me—by re-
ferring to anything that has taken place before—
before yesterday, shall I say?
"I can't be cold-blooded and cautious enough to
obey you, she interrupted hotly. "Putting every-
thing else aside, I behaved with unpardonable folly
and insolence to you even if you had been only
a guest, nothing more, in my uncle's house, j
 love's a tyrant ! 
217
promised to come down and give you your cup
of coffee the morning you left, and I didn't do it.
Don't you wonder why ? 
She rose up as she spoke, and came nearer to
him.
 I wore myself out in vainly conjecturing
your reason at the time ; perhaps now I had
better not know it.
His words fell upon her like a cold shower-bath,
but they braced her, and recalled her to a full
sense of what was most fitting for the present.
 You are right, you had better not know it,
and I had better not remember it. Now you
shall go away carrying with you all the best
gratitude that God has put into my heart, grati-
tude that may find fuller and better expression
than this, perhaps, some day.
 Shan't I stay till your uncle comes ? Let me,
on the chance of being of use to you.
 No, no; go away now, and feel that you left
me a happier woman than you found me. The
heaviest load it's ever had to bear has been taken
from my heart.
 What was the load ?
 Ah ! if I told you that I should tell you what
you declined to hear just now—the reason why
I behaved as I did. And for me to tell and you
to hear would be dangerous to us both, Mr. Gwynne,
for we are but human and 
"I'd go to the Arctic regions and remain there
all my life rather than hear anything that could
endanger you, he interrupted, and then he stood,
hat in hand, waiting for his dismissal.
She passed him hurriedly and stood by the door,
opened it, turned half round toward him and said,
as she toyed nervously with the handle,—
 I am going to Mr. Conway now, there I shall
218
 love's a tyrant I 
stay while you're here; we shan't meet again; but
just remember this, that nothing, nothing will even
make me regret that happy time we had together
at Glade. I shall be glad of it all my life, I shall
remember every minute of it all my life, and I
shall be better for it all my life.
 Thank you, he said gratefully, and then he
stopped; for the difficulty of remembering that she
was "merely Mrs. Conway now was increasing
every moment.
However, he had the courage of endurance, and
this enabled him to remain within her reach
should she need him, until her uncle arrived to
take care of her, and aid her in removing the
strained, shrivelled-up, battered-about form of her
husband back to their own home in a London
suburb. There for a long time of nerve and muscle
racked anguish, Mr. Conway tried the skill of
various doctors, and the tempers of several hospital
nurses. At length he took the promised turn for
the better (?) and began to loiter along the road
of convalescence, and to try the patience of his
wife.
CHAPTER XXIII.
wicked and weak!
Mrs. Salter went to Thorpe to see her future
daughter-in-law with her mind as strongly pre-
judiced against that young person as was the
mind of Jacob's mother against the presumably
intriguing- daughters of Heth. She left Thorpe
with her prejudices strengthened, though she strug-
gled against them as vigorously as it was possible
 love's a tykant !
219
for a just and discerning woman and a good mother
to do.
That the girl whom her son had selected to
succeed her, his mother, in the honourable position
of mistress of the Manor Farm was winningly fair
in the face and altogether good to look upon,
Mrs. Salter did not hesitate for a moment to admit.
But she distrusted the studied grace of Laura's
movements, the smoothness of her speech, the
laboured attention and care that had evidently
been bestowed upon every detail of her dress
which could heighten her charms! But above and
beyond all these things she distrusted the diamond
ring.
The old lady had found it impossible to evade
Laura's greeting kiss, but she had responded to
it very coolly. So coolly, indeed, that Laura at
once prepared herself for that contest with his
mother's will, upon which she felt convinced she
would sooner or later have to enter. But until
the combat was forced upon her, or at least until
she felt that it would be desirable to enter upon
it, she sheathed her sword in a velvet scabbard
and proceeded to attempt to disarm Mrs. Salter
with honeyed words.
 This is more than kind of you to come so soon
to tell me you'll have me for your daughter, she
began, and Mrs. Salter stiffened herself as she
answered,—
"It was my duty to please my son by coming
to see the girl who is to be his wife, he tells me.
And now that I see you it's my duty to tell you
that I hope I shall never again see you dressed in
a way that is so unbecoming to one in our station
in the morning; and as she spoke she laid her
hand on that one of Laura's on which the diamond
flashed.
220
u love's a tyrant ! 
 This ring is an heirloom, Miss Payne began
steadily.  I have explained why I value it, and
why I love to wear it, to your son. And then
she went on to repeat the little fiction she had
invented concerning the ring and her mother, and
old Mrs. Salter listened to her, and was silenced
though not convinced.
"You'll find it in the way when you're making
up the butter, and being handy with the rolling-
pin or dusting-brush bye-and-by, she said drily.
Then because she had promised her son that she
would do it she gave, sorely against her better
judgment, an invitation to Laura to spend a week
at the Manor Farm.
"At the end of that week we ought to know
each other well, and I trust love each other, too,
Laura said, as timidly as she could constrain her-
self to speak, and Mrs. Salter replied grimly,—
 I've no doubt but that we shall find out
several things about each other that we shan't
quite like ; but it takes longer than a week for
me to know any one 'well,' and longer still for
any one to know me, as you'll find. I am no
more given to sudden friendships than I am to
holding with sudden loves; but I can promise you
this, if you make my son as good a wife as he
deserves, you shall have no reason to complain of
me as either a friend or your mother-in-law.
 I won't be unreasonable and expect too much
of you, Laura said calmly, and after this it was
rather a relief to both of them when Mrs. Sack-
ville and Olivia came in, and harmonised the
meeting.
Before Mrs. Salter left it was arranged that
Laura should go to the Manor Farm on the follow-
ing day for a week. She was eloquent in her
expressions of anticipated delight; but Charlie's
 love's a tyeant ! 
221
mother went home with a strong feeling of disap-
probation of the projected alliance, expressed in her
face and established in her heart.
"That ring never came from her mother, and
there's no truth in her. But it's no use my
speaking to him now ! all I can hope is that my
boy's eyes may be opened while she's with us.
"Mrs. Salter is a woman of sterling worth. What
a happy, peaceful life you will have at the Manor
Farm, Mrs. Sackville said warmly to Laura; and
the latter subdued the inclination she had to make
a derisive grimace by a strong effort.
 She is very narrow, she is quite vexed that I
should wear this ring, she said, sorrowfully; and
Mrs. Sackville, looking at the ring for the first
time, opened her eyes in surprise.
 Mr. Salter has been very extravagant, she
remarked.
 Ah ! but you see a man only gets engaged to
his first love once in his life; he assures me I am
his first love, Laura answered gaily; but all the
time she was regretting that she had not made the
ring  an heir-loom from her mother to Olivia at
breakfast, in which case the same story would have
done for Mrs. Sackville now.
 As it is, if Mrs. Sackville and Mrs. Salter
should ever compare notes about it, I shall be in
a hole, she thought, and she almost resolved to
leave off wearing the brilliant temptation till such
time as she was no longer the most prominent
figure on the canvas of this social life around her.
Almost resolved! but as she did not know that
there was danger as well as difficulty involved in
the possession of that ring, she did not "quite do
go. Accordingly it remained upon her finger, and
Charlie Salter tried not to revolt at the sight
of it.
222
 love's a tyrant ! 
When Marcus Gwynne attained his majority, Mr.
Conway was still too ill and shattered in mind
and body to be able to give an account of his
stewardship. Accordingly a thorough investigation
into the affairs of The House was deferred, and
Marcus entered upon the management of his own
share of the business without knowing precisely
how he stood.
However, he speedily cleared the financial atmos-
phere of doubt, and then made the disagreeable
discovery that the balance at his bankers was but
a small one, and that cheques had been drawn
avowedly on his behalf by his guardian for many
thousand pounds, of which he had never had the
handling of a shilling. To add to the bitterness of
this discovery, he could never forget for a moment
that this guardian was now the husband of the
woman who was still the dearest being on earth
to him (Marcus). Nor could he escape from the
recollection of the further fact that the husband's
published dishonour would be the wife's disgrace
in the eyes of the world. Could he bring this
about? Could stern justice demand that he should
bring the offender to book, and help Mr. Conway's
sin to find him out? A thousand times "No he
told himself, as the' picture of Constance's dear
head, bowed in bitter, undeserved shame, presented
itself vividly before his mental vision.
But though he chivalrously made up his mind
to forego his just revenge, and endure his losses
passively for her sake, he also sensibly made up
his mind to cut himself adrift entirely from all
communication with the Conways in the future.
He loved the wife too well, and (now) hated the
husband too heartily for there to be safety for
any one of the three if they revolved in the same
orbit. He felt that it was needful for the preser-
u love's a tyrant !
223
vation of all that was highest and best within him,
that he should put some engrossing interest, some ex-
acting barrier between himself and thoughts of Connie.
Work! work! work! This was the form in
which the engrossing interest and exacting barrier
first shaped itself out before him. The work of
his business house—of that drapery emporium of
which he had spoken with such proud humility to
Bella Hillier and Constance in those dear bygone
days at Glade—would get on quite as well without
as with his personal supervision, now that he had
given it a fair trial. But there was other work
that he had neglected of late, which would grate-
fully repay him a hundred-fold directly he returned
to it with heart and force! And this was his
art-work,—the painting which he determined now
to make his profession, and to labour at unceasingly
as if his daily bread depended on it!
Hidden away behind his avowed designs of
making his art-life a shield and buckler against
retrospective regrets, or moody meditations concern-
ing the past and Mrs. Conway, another impulse
stirred him into striving to make himself famous
by his pencil and brush. Mrs. Conway would
surely see his works, should they become public.
And it would be good to show her in them that
she had not been mistaken in her estimate of him,
good to make plain to her in an honourable open
way that still would have the magic spell of secret
understanding and appeal about it, that he was
worthy of the regard she had felt for him; and
though that regard might no longer be shown to
him, that he was not weakly deteriorating because
of its withdrawal.
He dared not trust himself to put the sketch he
had made of Constance leaning on the wayside
cross in the silvery light, of the moon, on a big
224
 love's a tykant ! 
canvas, and paint it as he had felt and seen it.
To do that would be to let his thoughts dwell
upon her too intensely, and too glorifyingly. So
he put the sketch away till age should have
withered her, and custom tamed himself down to
indifference to her infinite variety.
But before he could lay down the lines for the
future in a definite direction, it was necessary that
he should go home.
Go home and face his mother with the intelli-
gence which he knew would be so disappointing
to her affectionate, unselfish heart, that her regency
would be undisturbed. Go home and try the
soothing power that Olivia's sisterly affection held
for him.
He experienced a sense of relief directly he found
himself in the home atmosphere, and without
searching deeply into the cause, he attributed it
to Laura Payne's absence. Her curiosity or sym-
pathy would have been equally distasteful to him
at this juncture, and any allusion made to Mrs.
Conway would have been specially unbearable. But
in reality, though he told himself that the lessened
sting of disappointed hopes and baffled love was
owing to Laura's absence, it was Olivia's presence
that wrought the soothing spell and exercised the
healing power. The girl had so entirely uprooted
all idea of ever winning him for her lover, and
had at the same time so cultivated and nourished
her own love for him, that she played the rdle of
comforter and comrade by "heart. And presently
her self-abnegation was rewarded by Marcus's relin-
quishment of his plan of self-exilement, and, further,
by his telling her the  whole story (as far as
he knew it himself) of his own failure and Conway's
triumph.
Once more when this state of things set in did
u love's a tykant ! 
225
Mrs. Sackville permit herself the indulgence of
those hopes and anticipations which had been
rudely destroyed by her son's "infatuation, as she
termed it, for Constance Brymer. Once more she
rejoiced in the probability of a union between the
son who was so dear to her and her brother's
daughter.
It has just been stated that Miss Payne's absence
was believed by Marcus to be an important factor
in his present condition of peaceful satisfaction.
And it must now be explained why she was away
from Thorpe, though she was neither a guest at,
nor the mistress of, the Manor Farm.
After that week's visit to old Mrs. Salter, during
the continuance of which she (Laura) had walked
most circumspectly, she had suddenly become rest-
less and unsettled, and had pleaded, in explanation
of this change of demeanour, an earnest and
irrepressible desire to go back to Plymouth to see
some of her relations before she took upon herself
those engrossing matronly duties which would
virtually separate her from them for all time. The
feeling itself was so laudable, and her manner of
expressing it so prettily pathetic, that Charles
Salter felt that it would be gross churlishness on
his part to oppose her inclination, or raise obstacles
in the way of her gratifying it. Moreover, Mrs.
Sackville, touched by the gracefully pretty, well-
mannered young woman's frank acknowledgment
that her  friends were low down in the world now,
so low down that she could never ask them to the
Manor Farm to disgrace old Mrs. Salter and
Charlie, was on Laura's side in the matter. So,
though old Mrs. Salter shook her head disapprov-
ingly, and gave vent to the opinion that "the
friends who might disgrace the Manor Farm were
better left unvisited by the future mistress of it,
15
226
"love's a tyrant!
Laura went. The real reason for her going was,
as may readily be suspected, very far away from
the avowed one. That week at the Manor Farm
had shown the ignorant, passionate, beautiful, luxury
and pleasure-loving creature, that there would be
no freedom, no scope, no life for her at the Manor
Farm. She foresaw that she would be deprived of
all amusement save the one of adorning her pretty
person, and even that would be a circumscribed
and tame one when no one but her own husband
and the plough-boys and cow-boys would witness
the result.
Laura Payne had endured the monotony of
Thorpe with outward patience for two reasons. The
first was, that she had not the wherewithal to keep
her, even in penury, if she left it. The second was,
that until he had actually repulsed her she had
nursed the hope of trapping Marcus Gwynn into
marrying her. But now there was no possibility of
an ambitious future being realised. However placidly
she put up with the monotony of the Manor Farm,
she hated its daily routine of common-place duties
which, however admirably performed, would leave
her in precisely the same unimportant place at the
end of the year as at its commencement. She re-
volted from the simple, honest, straightforward
clear-minded people who lived it contentedly. She
had wallowed too long in the mud of low  plea-
sure and excitement for the peace and beauty,
the safety and wholesomeness of the career she was
about to enter upon to have any charms for her.
The glare of gas in either street or theatre shone
with a more attractive light for her than either
the beams of summer sun or silvery moon that fell
on cornfields, broad meadow lands, and gardens
running over with fruit and flowers. She had not
a single resource within herself to fall back upon
"love's a tyrant!
227
in hours of dulness—and her days would be made
up of such hours she felt. She could not write a
line without the aid of a dictionary. She had
never read a book more than half through in her
life; not even that "kitchen-literature which deals
exclusively with the loves of dukes and dairymaids,
of marquises and maidens fair who emerge from
workhouses and gutters to be immediately elevated
to the peerage. She did not know a note of music.
She could sing, but only by ear, in an untrained
way that she knew betrayed her lack of all culture,
and that, therefore, she- was too clever ever to
attempt before people. She loathed all kinds of
work, more especially all such work as soiled her
hands, or necessitated her getting up early in the
morning. It must be admitted that she deserved
them; but it is also true that the pains and weari-
ness she endured during her visit to her future
mother-in-law and husband were almost purgatorial.
She had falsely professed a rapturous regard for
the duties and labours of the mistress of a farm
house, and both Mrs. Salter and Charlie took her
at her word, and gave her every opportunity of
performing the duties of the situation she was
destined to fill. It was winter now; but they
called her up at five o'clock in order that she
might be down to make the butter at six. Bread-
baking day seemed to recur constantly. Fowls
to draw and pluck yere put into her unwilling
hands. She was taught how to dissect a pig, in
order that she might teach possibly ignorant ser-
vants by-and-bye. She was put to darn fine linen
table cloths and Charlie's socks. She was inducted
into the mysteries of room cleaning on the good
old thorough system, which ordains that whether
scrupulously fresh and undefiled already or not,
every hole and corner of so many rooms shall be
228
 love's a tyrant ! 
scrubbed and dusted and re-arranged each week.
She was put to dust the inexpressibly precious old
family china that filled several large cupboards, and
was never used, but that still had an indisputable
claim to be kept clean. The keys of the hen-
houses were put into her hands, and she was com-
pelled to go out and run the gauntlet of frousi-
ness and fleas while she collected the eggs. Being
what she was, it was a small wonder that at the
end of a week she had come to the conclusion
that  Charlie was not worth it, and that she
 must get out of it some way or other.
But all the time he was enchanted with her
 aptitude for all matters that concerned his
calling, and (in spite of the odious diamond ring)
more in love with her than ever.
In spite of her affectionate desire to see her
mother's kith and kin, Plymouth saw her not.
London life—of a certain sort—engulphed her like
a whirlpool. The enforced restraint which circum-
stances had compelled her to exercise over herself
at Thorpe, was succeeded by a reckless abandon
that made her regardless of consequences, while the
money which the pawning of her diamond ring pro-
duced lasted. When that was exhausted, she ap-
plied to the donor of that ring for more. And
this brings the story of these people's lives up to
the period of Mr. Conway's partial restoration to
health and work.
While Laura was revelling in the slums of
unworthy diversions and dishonourable pleasures,
Charles Salter was wasting his manhood in despair,
both at having lost her and being unable to force
people to believe charitable things of her. He
had a hard fight for it all round, and the one he
had to battle with most fiercely was—himself.
"love's a tyrant!
22&
CHAPTER. XIV.
A strain at mount-hawke.
Things were going badly at Mount-Hawke. But-
chers and bakers, dressmakers and milliners, wine
merchants, and a hundred other purveyors of the
necessaries of life, were imperative in their demands
for the money which Lord Mount-Hawke could
not screw out of his tenantry, either by kindness
or coercion. The whole situation was highly dis-
agreeable to Lady Mount-Hawke and her daughters;
but these latter would have endured it with more
equanimity if their father had not in proportion
as his creditors grew impatient with him grown
impatient with his girls for not marrying.
 What are your daughters about, my lady ? he
would inquire of his brow-beaten, helpless wife,
with almost ferocious sarcasm. u They have good
blood and breeding, and yet they fail to succeed
as their mother succeeded before them. Am I to
maintain them all their lives ? Can't they persuade
any rich fool to marry one of them ?
 They are never given a fair chance, Mount-
Hawke, she would expostulate feebly. On which
Lord Mount-Hawke would snarl and swear and ask
her,  What she called Olivia's visit to her Aunt
Helena's ?
 A glorious chance, Lady Mount-Hawke, if the
girl only had the wit and wisdom to avail herself
of it. Marcus Gwynn is a good lad and a gentle-
man! thanks to my brother the boy bears our
name, and thanks to his father the boy has plenty
of money wherewith to keep up the name. It's
come to this, let me tell you, that the Honourable
230
 love's a tyrant ! 
Olivia Gwynn may do a thousand times worse than
marry her cousin, the draper's son.
 Livy can't ask him to marry her, Mount-
Hawke.
 Really now. Can't she ? he answered mimick-
ing her accents; "then she had better come home
and try this country. I'll give the girl a chance.
We'll give a ball, fill the house 
Lady Mount-Hawke held up her hands in horror
and deprecation.
 Give a ball when we can't pay for the band
the people would dance to, or for the supper they
would eat. Are you mad, Mount-Hawke ?
 Not at all, only desperate. The man who has
bought the old demesne of the Geraldines wants to
get into our sphere, and he can only do it through
a wife. He shall be asked to the ball, and take
his chance with Olivia or Cosy.
The mother shuddered.
 Who and what is this man ?  she asked.
"His name doesn't signify; it's Hubbard, I
believe, but he's confidently reputed to have
made a fortune of a million by a 'liver pill' or a
' corn plaster,' or both. He's a splendid employer;
he won't be shot just yet, for he's remitted three
years' rent on his estates, and knocked off 20 per
cent, on the rents of the future. But he'll be
popped at from behind a hedge in time, when he
can give them nothing more and is tired of build-
ing model cottages, that they rapidly turn into pig-
sties. I want to be civil to him, and you and your
girls must follow my lead. So Olivia had better
come home at once. She's more tractable than Cosy.
 What is this man to you ? Lady Mount-
Hawke asked peevishly; but the next moment
peevishness vanished, and her heart sank down to
dismal depths as her husband answered,—
"love's a tyrant 1
231
 A man who will discharge my liabilities, set
me on my legs again, exorcise the demon 'Bailiff'
from my house and mind provided he can marry
the daughter of Lord Mount-Hawke, of Mount-
Hawke Castle. There, you have got at the root
of the interest I take in him. See that your
daughters and yourself cultivate the possibilities
that may spring from that root.
She dared not disobey him, and she dared not
discuss the probable consequences of either her
obedience or disobedience with Cosy. There was
no knowing how Cosy might take it. The girl was
equally capable of defying her father and destroy-
ing Mr. Hubbard's pretensions to an alliance with
their noble family at one blow, or of marrying the
latter gentleman the following week. The only
thing, indeed, that was consistent about Cosy was
her capriciousness. Lady Mount-Hawke knew that
she could find comfort in, and take counsel of, her
eldest daughter only.
But again, supposing Olivia's affections to be so
irrevocably settled upon her cousin Marcus, that
even her gentle spirit would rise in revolt at the
idea of purchasing the re-habilitation of the fortunes
of Mount-Hawke at so heavy and degrading a
price. What then ? Lady Mount-Hawke's soul
quailed within her as she contemplated the family
feuds that would convulse their poverty-stricken
midst. She grew seriously ill from the tension to
which her nerves and heart and brain were sub-
jected. And so presently Cosy, feeling that she
could not keep all the domestic details in her strong
young grasp, and nurse her mother at the same time,
telegraphed to Olivia to come home without an
hour's delay.
She did this, not from any selfish desire to
evade a portion of the burden of extra labour laid
23Z
 love's a tykant ! 
upon herself, but from a really generous disinclina-
tion to let her elder sister slide away into the
limbo of  unimportance in the family. Cosy had
gathered from friendly gossip, and from her mother's
spasmodic partially suppressed, partially confiden-
tial hints, that Mr. Hubbard, the new millionaire
owner of the Darglery estates was to be had by
any acquiescent young lady of sufficiently aristo-
cratic birth and position to lift him into the ranks
of the upper ten by allying herself with him. Cosy
had also gathered that the pecuniary rewards to
such an acquiescent and aristocratic girl would be—
the worldly salvation of her father's impecunious
house, at the lavish hands of a man who (irrespec-
tive of his wealth) might more fittingly have mated
with their local grocer's daughter. Nevertheless,
after having looked all these facts well in the face,
Cosy came to the practical conclusion that the pill
was one which one or other of Lord Mount-Hawke's
daughters was in honour bound to swallow without
making a wry face about it. Olivia was the elder,
and should have the first chance of trying the
alleviating efforts of  gold galore  on a disappointed
and mortified spirit! Accordingly she telegraphed
to Olivia, and then told her father and mother
what she had done.
She was a brave, as well as a sagacious and
capricious girl, this second daughter of Lord Mount-
Hawke's; and so when her father snarled at her
for  wasting her pocket-money in sending tele-
grams when a letter would have done just as well,
she gave him her reasons for having been guilty of
the extravagance fearlessly,
 A telegram will be shown to Aunt Helena
and Marcus. Livy's so timid that she would have
kept a letter to herself; but they'll see the telegram,
and see that she's sent for and really wanted at home.
 love's a tyrant ! 
233
 And you think their knowledge of that fact
will repay you for your telegram ?
 I do, papa. I think Aunt Helena will be so
sorry that Livy has to come back to the—to the
strain here, that she'll work on Marcus to speak
out at once if he's ever going to speak at all; and
if he's never going to speak, why, then Livy had
better come home at once and settle Mr. Hubbard.
The girl lifted her dark-lashed blue eyes to her
father's face when she said this, and he asked
uneasily,—
 What do you know about Mr. Hubbard ?
 Not much; but you mean us to know more
of him, don't you ? 
"Your mother has been chattering, he said
angrily.
 Ah! no, papa. My mother is too broken-hearted
at the way things are going in our poor house to
trouble herself to speak of our rich neighbour. But
she tells me that when she is well again we are to
have a ball here, and that Livy and I must do
our best to please you by trying to please Mr.
Hubbard! I know what that means, so I've sent
for Livy. If she fails to please him and you, I'll
try what I can do.
"On my word, you are a nice out-spoken young
lady, Miss Cosy ! 
 I am when it suits me, papa; but I can also
hold my tongue to some purpose, and I'll promise
that I won't say yes to Mr. Hubbard till he makes
food terms for my family ; I always play fair, so
won't rest till Livy's had the first chance with
him. But she'll fail; and then I shall play to
win, and the more difficult the game is the better
I shall like it.
 Ah! you haven't seen the man yet, her father
said, with rather a grim smile.
234
 love's a tyrant !
 But I've seen Darglery, she said, with a little
toss of her pretty vivacious head,  and I've seen
something too of what comes of marrying a hand-
some fascinating gentleman, who lets his house go
to decay and his daughters go badly dressed because
oh papa, papa ! I was a little beast to say
that, but I didn't mean it as an offence, it's only
that I'm so sorry for you and my mother, that I
want you to feel I understand it all, and will help
you if I can ; and if I have to play the game I'll
win Darglery, and then good-bye to worry and
distress here if money can cure it.
Lord Mount-Hawke turned away. He did not
like his daring daughter to see how deeply all that
was affectionate and wicked, desperate and self-
sacrificing, in her bold speech affected him. So he
turned away without a word, and Cosy jumped
to the hasty conclusion that her father was hypo-
critically pretending to feel shocked at the senti-
ments which would actuate the very line of
conduct he desired her to pursue.
"Papa's but a sham after all, she thought; "if
there's a bit that's real about Mr. Hubbard, I'll
respect it, if Livy turns him over to me.
CHAPTER XXY.
"can i help you?
Cosy's telegram answered its chief purpose. It
recalled Olivia to the dilapidated home of her
forefathers, the once powerful Gwynn's of Mount-
Hawke, without an hour's unnecessary delay. But
it failed of its secondary subtle purpose, it did not
create such a condition of feeling in Marcus's breast
 love's a tyrant !
235
as to lead him to speak the definite words which
Cosy had hoped he would be led to utter.
"I can hardly endure the idea of my poor girl
travelling alone now; but of course it's her plain
duty to go ; and, indeed, poor child, she'll not
know a minute's peace till she is with her mother,
Mrs. Sackville said plaintively to Marcus; and
Marcus, whose travelling nerves were in excellent
order, and who had no sentimental fears as to the
.cause of Laura Payne's disappearance, replied,—
 Olivia will be right enough, mother; you weren't
afraid for her to come over alone.
 That was before I realised the dangers that
beset an unprotected girl travelling alone on a long
journey. I shall always think, until I hear on
good authority that it was not so, that poor Miss
Payne has been entrapped or coerced away—to her
destruction, perhaps.
"There was very little persuasion or force needed
to get Miss Payne to take the downward path, I
fancy, Marcus replied, carelessly.  I don't believe
that anything has ' happened to her' against her
will.
 My dear Marcus, you can't suppose that she is
staying away in this mysterious manner of her own
free will ? It would be incredible, and she just so
happily engaged.
 I don't care to speculate about Miss Payne's
motives, or present manner of life. For Charlie
Salter's sake, I hope she may never be seized with
the whim to retrace her footsteps. It's one of the
ill-turns Mr. Conway has done me, the getting
her here at all 
"Do be charitable, Marcus.
 I held my tongue charitably enough while she
was here, and I thought she was struggling up-
wards; but now I'm free to say, since she has cast
236
 love's a tyrant !'
herself down again, that she was not fit to be in
your house, mother. If she's come to grief on her
long journey, it's of her own seeking. Olivia's off
at once, isn't she ?
"Yes; she wants to catch the evening train for
Chester 
 Poor little Livy, I'm sorry she has to go back
to Mount-Hawke, Marcus interrupted, with a
sudden access of pity. "I wish I could help them;
but I can hardly offer my uncle, Lord Mount-
Hawke, the loan of a few thousands to square
home matters temporarily, and there's nothing else
that I can do, is there, mother ?
Mrs. Sackville sighed.  If your heart does not
prompt you—nothing.
 My heart doesn't prompt me, he answered,
smiling. Then he added, a little savagely,—
 Olivia's too good a girl to be offered the
'remnants that remain' of a man's love and faith;
if I offered to marry her it would be out of pity.
She'll soon meet with some fellow who'll take her
out of the mire of Mount-Hawke out of love I
hope.
 She will rather find her happiness in doing her
duty in what you pleased to term the 'Mire of
Mount-Hawke,' than in making a marriage of con-
venience with no heart in the bargain, Marcus, his
mother said, reprovingly. But in spite of all her
suggestions and reproofs, Mrs. Sackville had the
pain of seeing her niece depart without having
been called upon to listen to any words of love or
promise from her cousin Marcus.
It was a tedious, long journey; but, in spite of
her anxiety about her mother, Olivia felt thankful
that so much time was granted her in which to
review and revise the feelings and emotions which
 love's a tyrant !
237
had been called into play at Thorpe, before a
demand was made upon them afresh by the
home difficulties at Mount-Hawke. No thought of
Hubbard, either as an unwelcome suitor or the
saviour financially of her family, clouded her
horizon. The man had as yet no place upon the
canvas of her mind. He had only just come into
her part of the country when she left it, and she
had never heard either his position or want of it,
his name or his means discussed. But what did
dim the vista through which she looked onward to
her home was the thought of how that home life
was crippled, how her invalid mother's comforts
were curtailed, how Cosy's high spirit was prema-
turely developed and over-strained by the want of
a little of that "mere dross which was so lightly
regarded in the establishment at Thorpe ?_
 If only I could give papa some pleasure and
poor mother some peace, the girl thought despon-
dently;  but I'm only a fat, good-tempered girl,
without any of Cosy's cleverness, and all I'll be
able to do when I get home will be to be one
more to be waited upon and fed.
Unquestionably, from the point of view of her
humility, the outlook was not an inspiring one.
It was raining when the open car, which had
been sent to meet her, drew up at the bottom of
the stately flight of steps that, grass-grown as they
were, still gave dignity to the entrance to Mount-
Hawke Castle. Cosy and the boys came flying out
bare-headed to meet her, and the first words she
heard brought such a ray of sunshine into her
heart that damp and depression disappeared as if
by magic.
"Mother's better; coming down to afternoon tea
to do honour to your return, Livy, Cosy cried.
238
 love's a tyrant !
And then they poured a tumultuous and incoherent
stream of questions and answers backwards and
forwards upon one another, and imperceptibly the
 home atmosphere enwrapped her soothingly.
"The head-gardener thought of giving an hour or
two to digging up these weeds, Livy, one brother
laughed, as he pointed to some hardy wildings that
had forced themselves through the interstices in
the stone steps; "but we told him you were fond
of floral decorations, so he left them to go and try
to exchange a pig for some chickens to be roasted
for your dinner presently. We're getting mighty
clever at Mount-Hawke, I can tell you. We often
turn a pig into three courses and a desert; at least,
we do it as often as Barney can catch the pig and
find his way into the market.
 Be quiet now, Maurice! Barney's got his
butler's coat on this minute, and knows nothing of
the ' man who takes the pig to market' and brings
home the dinner. It's the work of the world that
I have with those boys, Bivy, Cosy went on
brightly, as she led her sister up to Lady Mount-
Hawke's room; "they won't remember that Barney
likes a thick veil dropped between his morning
personality and his evening one. And to-night
we're all to be elegantly oblivious of our diffi-
culties, and to pretend there's been no effort at all
about getting up the quiet family dinner to which
papa has asked his new neighbour and friend, Mr.
Hubbard.
 Isn't Mr. Hubbard the new man at Dargler}^ ?
Olivia asked; but she did not wait for her sister's
answer, as Lady Mount-Hawke's door opened, and
the still graceful, but painfully fragile mother came
gliding rapidly out to meet the daughter who
comforted her heart more than all the rest of her
children.
"love's a tyrant!
239
 Ah! don't begin about that dreadful man the
minute the dear child comes into the house, Cosy!
Lady Mount-Hawke began, injudiciously. Then she,
remembered that neither of the girls knew any-
thing of the plans their father had made for their
establishment and his own prosperity, accordingly
she tailed off rather feebly.
"Not but that I am delighted, indeed, that your
father should have such a friend and neighbour as
Mr. Hubbard, who is kindness itself; but I don't
even want his name to come between Olivia and
me to-night. Why, you've grown taller, Olivia! or
is it slighter that you are ? Then Lady Mount-
Hawke embraced her daughter with such unmistak-
able love and admiration that Olivia felt thoroughly
happy, and almost pretty.
The  boys were not a bit in their father's con-
fidence in the matter of the hopes and expectations
he entertained about Mr. Hubbard and one or other
of his daughters. This  new man at Darglery
had neither interest nor charm for the young
Gwynns. His past was an open book, his present
was deadly unattractive, and they were neither
curious nor mercenary enough to speculate as to
his future. It was a whim that passed all under-
standing why their father should ask a man who
knew as little of society as he did of sport to his
table. But it was a whim that did not trouble
them greatly. Neither they nor the sisters upon
whom they were chiefly dependent for their
evening's amusement would be called upon to make
time fly for Mr. Hubbard. So, on the whole, it
was rather a good thing that he was there to
monopolise Lord Mount-Hawke's attention on the
first evening of Livy's return.
The one utility man who combined the duties of
hind, butler, valet, coachman to her lactyship, and
240
"love's a tyrant!'
minister of finance, poor old Barney O'Shea, was
heavily put to it this night. It was long since
anything even dimly resembling a dinner party had
taken place at Mount-Hawke; and though Mr.
Hubbard was the only guest, still it taxed Barney's
resources heavily to display the table fittingly.
None but himself knew what diligent search he
had to make through piles of ragged fine damask
table linen before he could find a cloth and
serviettes that were fairly free from holes. Nothing,
it may be remarked, was degraded by a darn. But
holes with a few fine threads of flax around them
were not at all a convenient or attractive foundation
on which to build up the superstructure of massive
silver and heavy cut-glass which still remained
to testify to the departed splendour of the once
wealthy and hospitable Gwynns.
When the guest appeared, "Was he worth the
effort ?  Was the game worth the candle ? were
the questions asked of him ©r herself by nearly
every member of the household. Mr. Hubbard
came in a comfortable brougham, drawn by a pair
of comfortable horses; but he himself was so emi-
nently uncomfortable that a feeling of pity pervaded
the breasts of the gentler majority who beheld him.
The new owner of the old Darglery demense
was the reverse of the presumptuous, pretentious,
pompous plebeian whom the young Gwynns had
expected to see. He was, on the contrary, a timid
retiring small man who was obviously painfully
alive to the fact that as an individual he had no
manner of right to be at Mount-Hawke in the
character of a guest. He wore his well-made clothes
awkwardly. He limped a little in his well-fitting
boots. He had a nervous habit of blinking his
short-sighted eyes; and he nearly wept with gratitude
when Olivia gave him a London paper to look at
"love's a tyrant!
241
before dinner was announced as  served by Barney,
as it gave his hands a purpose in life for the moment.
"Poor beggar, he isn't bumptious; and that's the
most I'll say yet about him, Maurice said to his
sister late in the evening when Lady Mount-Hawke
had retired, and Olivia and Cosy were about to try
whether want of practise had impaired their duet-
singing powers or not. "He treats our poor old
tarnished, frayed-out furniture with such respect
that he'll only sit on the edge of the chair, though
he comes fresh from all the gorgeous upholstery
that's been emptied into Darglery.
"Poor Mr. Hubbard; how kind papa is to ask
him here, Olivia said, innocently.
"You pity him for being so rich that the old
aristocracy make up to him for his money? My
dear Livy, no one would make up to him at all
if it were not for the dross.
 He doesn't enjoy his money or being made
up to, Olivia whispered. "Just look now. Papa
has gone to sleep in the middle of a sentence,
and Mr. Hubbard doesn't like to look as if he
had left off listening. Come and talk to him,
Cosy!
"It's you're first turn, you're the eldest, Cosy
answered; and in unconsciousness of her sister's
meaning, Olivia crossed the room to the relief of
the embarrassed guest.
"Papa so seldom sees his friends now that he
has got into the way of dozing every evening,
she began, courteously; "you will forgive him,
won't you ? Do you like photographs of scenery ?
(Mr. Hubbard was struggling with the clasp of
an album.)  Here are some lovely ones of the
places about here. There's one of Darglery itself
that I must show you—of poor Darglery when it
was in decay you know, before you restored it.
16
242
"love's a tyrant!
He could have fallen on his knees and worshipped
her for her kindness as she rescued him from the
slough of embarrassment into which he had fallen,
by her kindly courtesy. He forgot that he, was
an eligible millionaire! He thought of himself only
as the obscure retail chemist of a little English
country town who had by good luck made a for-
tune. Not so very long ago he had often run out
bare-headed to take the orders of the squire's and
rector's wives, when their carriages stopped at his
door. And now here was the Honourable Olivia
Gwynn, the eldest daughter of Lord Mount-Hawke,
of Mount-Hawke Castle, showing him photographs
and otherwise trying to entertain him.
He felt that he must do something for her in
return, otherwise he would simply collapse under the
weight of an honour unto which he was not born.
"I'm very fond of photography, he began,
blinking at her gratefully.  I do. a good deal
in that way. Will you let me give you some
of Mount-Hawke ? they are retouched and very
superior to anything you have here.
The daughter of Mount-Hawke flushed consider-
ably, but remembered  who and what this man
was as she constrained herself to answer,—
"Thank you, .1 love Mount-Hawke; any view
of it, whether well or ill done, would be precious
to me.
"I'll take dozens for you, Miss Gwynn, he said,
seriously. "You just choose the points you think
it looks best from, and name them to me, and you
shall have a set retouched that'll beat any you've
seen yet 
 You are kind, the girl interrupted heartily.
 My dear old home! I love every bit of it 
"You do? he questioned, eagerly. "Well, I
hope you'll see it done up soon, done up creditable
"love's a tyrant!
243
to the family. You 'love every bit of it,' do you?
Lor! the place ought to be the proudest place in
Ireland, Miss Olivia, when you say that.
 It used to be the grandest place in the county;
you'd not think that now, would you ? I suppose
it is that we Gwynns used to be richer than we
are now. I used to wish I was a boy that I
might go to India and work and fight for a
fortune, like my uncle Marcus did, and then come
home and make Mount-Hawke beautiful again.
But I'm only a girl, and can't do it.
 Can I help you ? He tumbled the words out
so abruptly and fervently that Olivia was startled
back into embarrassed reserve.
"Oh! no, no! No one can 'help' us. I mean we
don't want—that is, we couldn't take help from a
friend; it must be one of ourselves that must
restore Mount-Hawke.
She did not speak proudly or haughtily at all,
but with a gentle air of conviction in the Gwynn
superiority that was pathetic but subduing.
 And you could never bring yourself to look
upon me as one of yourselves, could you now ?
he asked, dejectedly.  I know it, Miss Gwynn,
I understand it; lor! I shouldn't have done as
well as I have done in life if I hadn't known my
place, and my place will never be among such as
>ou.
 Oh!' Mr. Hubbard, what a horrid little snob
you must think me, Olivia cried, crimsoning with
contrition and confusion. "I didn't mean you a
bit more than I should mean a duke, and 
 Ah! Hubbard, excuse me; I'm afraid I have
been dozing for a moment or two, Lord Mount-
Hawke broke in opportunely, waking up from a
sound half-hour's nap. "No, really! must you be
going so early ? Well, if so let me express the
244
"love's a tyrant!
hope that this first visit may be only the forerunner
of many others; have my girls been singing to
you ?
Mr. Hubbard was spared the necessity of replying
at length to his host's remarks, for sleepy Barney
appeared at the moment and announced Mr.
Hubbard's carriage, and he hastened to get himself
away from what he termed to himself  the
highest society he had ever moved in. He was
conscious that he "moved uneasily in it, conscious
that he had erred in expressing a wish to "help
the Honourable Olivia Gwynn. Nevertheless, in
spite of that consciousness, the wish remained in
full force, and indefinitely outlined schemes for the
restoration of the ruined Gwynns disturbed his
waking thoughts, and muddled his sleeping ones
during the hours of the night.
In the course of the half-hour of confidential
gossip between the two sisters that night, Cosy
managed to say, carelessly,—
"Is Marcus Gwynn likely to visit us soon,
Livy ?
"I'm afraid not, Olivia said, shaking her head
dejectedly.
"Isn't he? Well, if he waits a few months
before he comes he'll see Mount-Hawke looking
rather different to what it does now.
 What's to happen to it ?
 Mr. Hubbard's to happen to it, through the
mediumship of the Honourable Olivia or the
Honourable Catherine Gwynn. I may as well tell
you at once if you don't marry him I shall, and
then he will make Mount-Hawke pleasant for papa
and mamma, and safe for Maurice when he comes
to the title.
"What, marry that man! No, Cosy, not for
"love's a tyrant!
245
fifty Mount-Hawkes, and each of the fifty doubly
dear to me, Olivia said, with a tremble in her
voice, and a good deal of indignant colour in her
face.
"Very well; if you won't, I will. I am glad I
spoke to you to-night, dear; because now that I
know your views I won't let him waste time on
you any more. One can see with half an eye that
he likes you best, but that's of no consequence.
He shall take and retouch photographs by the
thousand for you if you both wish it. 1 won't
grudge you his time and attentions when I'm Mrs.
Hubbard of Darglery.
"You unnatural, mercenary little horror! You
said he made you feel sick at dinner because he
fidgeted on his chair, and looked as if he thought
either papa or Barney would bite him when he
was afraid to eat any of the unknown substances
that were set down in French on the menu; and
yet!—you'd marry him !
Cosy nodded her head in easy acquiescence.
"That's exactly it; you see, one of us has to
do it, and you say you wouldn't do it for the sake
of fifty Mount-Hawkes; now I'll do it for the sake
of one Mount-Hawke (that's magnanimous), and
one Darglery and all the appurtenances thereof
(that's selfish). Now I've been very candid with
you, will you be the same with me ? Is my well-
beloved cousin Marcus ever to be transformed into
my better-beloved brother-in-law ?
"Never, Olivia said, succinctly and sadly, and
Cosy looked the commiseration she dared not express.
"We are to lunch at Darglery the day after to-
morrow, she explained presently.  Papa, two of
the boys, you and I. Mamma can't stand driving
in an open car this damp weather.
"Can't she go in the old landau; the excitement
246
"love's a tyrant!
of seeing Darglery in its new clothes would do her
good.
 My dear, you don't understand, one of the old
pair of browns we used to drive died of despondency
last November, and the other is dead lame. But
mamma shall have a dear little brougham and horse
of her own as soon as I get to Darglery as Mrs.
Hubbard. So as mamma wants change of air
dreadfully, and peace of mind, and a lot of other
nice things that only money can give, you'd better
make it clear to Mr. Hubbard without delay that he
need no longer blink alluringly at you, but that I
am quite ready to meet his gaze without flinching.
 Without flinching! and you're so pretty, Cosy,
and some young man will see that you are soon,
if you'll be patient.
 Patient!  Cosy repeated, impatiently.  Patient!
it's not all for myself that I'll do it. I don't like
floppy gloves and boots that are ventilated in the
wrong places, and I don't like wearing frocks that
are up to my knees for a week, because the one's
that have been lengthened are at the wash; and
I don't like never going to a dance because poor
mamma hasn't the money to buy a few yards of
tulle and long gloves to cover my young arms,
which would be whiter if the top of my ordinary
gloves and the bottom of my sleeves didn't always
refuse to meet. But it's not all for myself that
I'm going to marry Mr. Hubbard instead of waiting
for the imaginary young Apollo at whom you
hinted just now. A good deal of it is for Mount-
Hawke, and that dear boy Maurice. But a lot of
it is for poor mamma. Then Cosy stopped for
want of breath, and cried angrily; not because she
felt angry, but because she repented herself of
having pleaded her real motive for making* the
sacrifice she contemplated.
"love's a tyrant!
247
"I could go through with it all ever so much
better if they all think me a self-seeking, mercenary
little cat, than if they are sorry for me at all, the
girl thought, as she wiped her eyes in the petulant,
surreptitious manner in which people do wipe away
the tears they despise themselves for shedding and
detest others for seeing. And Olivia, without
understanding the source of Cosy's tears, wept too
with unquestioning sympathy.
CHAPTER XXVI.
the appearance of evil.
Mrs. ConwAy's first married home had been all
that her taste desired in the matters • of situation,
accommodation, and decoration. It was a corner
house in one of those South Kensington terraces
that stand on ground that not so very long ago
was called Brompton. It had a larger conservatory
than any of its neighbours, owing to the fact of
its being a corner house; and in this conservatory,
in spite of all things that had gone contrary to
her desires, she spent many happy hours.
Indeed, it must be admitted, though her marriage
had been a loveless one, and though all her highest
and most womanly instincts had revolted against
the man she bad married, that she was not a
miserable woman by any means. After that dra-
matic meeting and semi-explanation with Marcus
Gwynn in Scotland, she had reasoned herself
round to a standpoint from whence she could
as clearly discern her own shortcomings as she
could those of her husband. She could not re-
248
 love's a tyrant ! 
spect him; but she did bring herself to make
allowances for him. And though she detested
the treacherous game he had played to win her,
she believed that he had played it out of
genuine (even though selfish) love for herself,
irrespective of what she had, and the social status
she represented.
Trouble and disappointment, in fact, had made
Connie very tolerant. The conviction of her utter
inability to alter the past, made her treat the
present wisely and cautiously. So, in common with
many another weary and disappointed, helpless and
generous-natured woman, she lived her life as if
she liked it; and Mr. Conway, watching her
jealously and warily, saw no reason to repent him
of the guile by which he had won her.
He felt sometimes as if he was having his reward
for all he had done and dared when he saw his
beautiful wife followed and flattered, and still
mindful of him and of his wishes regarding the
going away early from places where she was well
amused and he was bored. She never made him
ridiculous. She never marked the difference of age
between them by capering at balls while he was
compelled to bloom an unnoticed wall-flower She
was friendly and pleasant to the few old friends of
his own date who still remained to him. She took
such pride and pleasure in the perfect ordering of
her house that not even Colonel Hillier and Belle
could detect anything like dissatisfaction beneath
the smooth surface. Above all, she neither sought
nor avoided mention of Marcus Gwynn, as she
had vowed she would do before her marriage.
He felt sometimes as if he was having his reward.
But there were other times, and these were of most
frequent recurrence, when he almost howled aloud
in anguish of spirit, as he repeated over and over
"love's a tyrant!
249
to himself some of the Psalmist's most passionate
denunciations of the ungodly, who flourish in their
wickedness in this sphere. He was remorseful and
miserable; but not penitent to the point of making
confession of the sin that had beset him. So he
nursed his secret and salved his morbid vanity by
telling himself that his wife knew nothing of the
crime he had committed in order to gain first a
hold over her, and then, through that hold, her hand
in marriage; and sought distraction from the stings
of conscience, by sinning afresh in a new direction.
The winter was long past, and spring was giving
place to her warm, bounteous, luxuriant, sister
summer, when the first jar was given to the
enforced peace Mrs. Conway had maintained in her
home life.
She was about to leave the Row at the Apsley
House end after her morning ride, when the sight
of Marcus Gwynn, smiling and raising his hat to
her, arrested her outward progress. Her heart and
face both lightened at the sight of him, but her
pulses beat no quicker, and the tone in which she
greeted him was as firm and void of emotion as
even her husband could have desired.
"You in town, Mr. Gwynn! Mr. Conway told
me you were going to Munich to study!
"Instead of which I am passing through town
with my mother on our way to Ireland.
"Oh! indeed; are you going to your uncle,
Lord Mount-Hawke ?
"Yes; we are bound for Mount-Hawke.
"I remember your telling me about your uncle
and his daughter the day we went to Princetown,
Mrs. Conway said quietly, and Marcus knew that
the blood was mounting visibly to his forehead as
she spoke.
 It was my cousin Olivia that I spoke about to
250
"loves a tyrant!
you. Her sister is the heroine of the hour. We
are going over to her wedding.
"Your cousin Olivia is still . Who is that,
Mr. Gwynn? she looks as if she recognised you;
what a lovely woman!
Marcus looked up quickly, and there, driving
slowly past them in a prettily appointed Yictoria,
he saw Laura Payne.
She nodded and smiled at him, and for a moment
he stood in deadly dread of her pulling up and
addressing him, and insisting on shaking hands
with him. Meantime, he merely raised his hat
stiffly, and she passed on.
 Who is she ? Connie persisted.  I've seen
her before, surely! Ah, no. I remember now; I've
seen several sketches of her done by you. Isn't
she, or wasn't she, your favourite model, Laura
Payne ?
"Take a turn up the Row, and I'll tell you
how she has behaved to a capital fellow down in
Norfolk. When you've heard the story and grasped
it in conjunction with what you've just seen, you
won't wonder at my cutting her.
So the pair turned and rode slowly up the Row,
and the lovely woman in the Yictoria watched
them.
 That woman must be his wife, she said to
herself, smiling viciously; "she must be the beloved
Constance, for whose sake Marcus Gwynn flung me
off as if I had been a serpent. Ah, Master Marcus!
you're above knowing me because of my question-
able appearance; but you're not above flirting with
Conway's wife behind his back.
She turned and laughed out loud, and gloated
over the sight of the man who had scorned her, in
a position that might be misunderstood, and that
could readily be construed to -his disadvantage.
"love's a tyrant!
251
And as she turned—her little carriage being drawn
up near to the railings—her eyes and a diamond
brooch and pendant which she wore conspicuously
flashed upon the pair she was thinking about.
Marcus looked another way. But Constance's eyes
were riveted on the jewels, which she recognised
as her own, of which she had been robbed, and
with an exclamation she could not check, she
pointed them out to Marcus.
"They are my diamonds, she said. "I am sure
of it; I lost them, and, and—didn't speak to any
one about it at the time.
 Lost your diamonds ? and didn't care to speak
about it!  Marcus echoed in perplexity.
"No; and you never could understand if I
told you the whole story, so I'll only tell you this.
My diamonds were stolen one night, and I was
stupid enough to be afraid to speak about it to
anyone,—not even Bella knows. I was in such a
' maze,' as the people say in Devonshire, that I
was a cowardly fool.
 When did this happen ? Marcus asked, bending
towards her and speaking anxiously. They were
riding slowly up the Row, keenly watched by the
woman who wore the diamonds which were the
subject of their conversation, and she drew her
own conclusions from the sight of Mrs. Conway's
flushed agitated face, and Marcus Gwynn's earnest
impressive manner.
"He's a nice one to pretend to be shocked at
me, she muttered to herself; "he makes love to
his neighbour's wife, and turns up his nose at me
because I let a stranger's husband make love to
me. They're all alike, the brutes!—one law for
the men and another for the women about every
sin and crime that can be committed. Well, old
Conway shall be able to give his wife a pleasant
252
 love's a tyrant !
evening, and he'll have me to thank for enjoying
the power; out of evil comes good. Doing the old
idiot the good turn of putting his wife under his
thumb will put him more under mine.
She interrupted her soliloquy to give the order
 home, for she expected the  old idiot about
whom she had been speculating to lunch with her,
and she resolved to please his palate with her best,
while she poisoned his mind against his wife.
CHAPTER XXVII.
 why not, olivia ? 
When, after a good deal of ineffectual persuasion to
tell him all she "knew about the diamond robbery,
Marcus Gwynn parted with Mrs. Conway, he re-
solved to commit an egregious blunder.
Not that he considered the course of action to
which he was about to commit himself in the light
of a blunder at all. Since Mrs. Conway would not
give him any information, he determined to tell
her husband that Laura Payne was in possession
of jewels which Mr. Conway's wife had recognised
as those she had lost. According to his idea it
was the only step possible for him to take. As
she would not help him to aid her, he would put
it into her husband's power to do so, adverse as he
was to holding any intercourse with that gentleman.
Accordingly when Mrs. Conway went home from
her ride, Marcus made all haste to stable his
horse, get into a hansom, and have himself driven
to Conway's office. To his disappointment Mr.
Conway had gone out, and  would not be back
"love's a tyrant!
253
at the office again for the day, the clerk believed
As he gave this information Marcus saw him ex-
change a meaning grin with one of his fellows,
and they saw that he did so, and became preter-
naturally grave instantly.
 Do you mean that Mr. Conway has gone
home? he asked quietly.
Again a slight smile struggled over the clerk's
face as he replied,—
 No: I suppose it's business you want to see
him on ?
 Important business.
 Ah, then I'll give you the address where you'll
find him. The Keg, Wisteria Road, St. John's
Wood. We have orders to send on any telegrams
or important messages that may turn up to-day.
Our lad's just going off with one now. You can
send a note by him.
 Thank you. I won't write, Marcus said thought-
fully. Then he thanked the man for his infor-
mation, and got himself out of the office.
"He won't write. If he goes old Conway will
flare up at us 
 We'd nothing to do with it; it was you who
gave the address, the others interrupted. Then
they laughed, and seemed to think that it was a
very great joke that Mr. Gwynn should "catch the
boss at The Keg.
Mr. Conway was lunching much to his satisfaction
on sundry delicacies that Laura Payne had ordered
her clever little French cook to prepare; and Laura
Payne, looking very lovely in a sapphire blue silk
tea-gown, was sitting opposite to him when Marcus
Gwynn's hansom dashed up to the garden door.
Laura had neatly narrated the events of the
moriling for her friend's entertainment. She had
made him laugh over a description of a wholly
254
"love's a tykant!
imaginary accident which had not happened. 5 and
she had made him what he considered justifiably
savage with his wife. In the height of his
savageness, however, he had a certain feeling of
satisfaction. If Constance flirted openly, audaciously,
and desperately, as Laura described her as doing,
then he certainly need not suffer pangs of remorse
on account of The Keg and its contents. For a
woman, a wife, to ride in the Row with an old
lover was a heinous offence, a shameful, brazen,
aggravating indiscretion which ought to cause his
own sin to be leniently looked upon. "Constance
will have much to answer for, was his unspoken
thought. "If I had not heard this of her, I would
have struggled to free myself from these bonds of
sin. As it is I am sorely tempted, and my wife
has weakened me, so that I cannot say, ' Gfet thee
behind me, Satan.'
It was rather comforting, on the whole, to be
able to say these things to himself. His once
uncontrollable passion for Constance had toned
down considerably since she had been his wife;
and in his innermost heart he knew that she was
as pure as snow and as true as steel. This
knowledge spared him the pangs of jealousy, and
at the same time Constance's conduct justified him
in professing to be jealous. As he regarded the
situation from this point of view, his appetite for
the savoury delicacies increased, and he enjoyed
them and himself much.
Presently Marcus Gwynn's card was brought to
him, and on it was scribbled,  Most important;
must see you at once! Conway rose from the
table trembling, white, and haggard. His sin had
found him out, he felt, and in his terror he grew
utterly off his guard.
 I can't see him ! I wont  he began, stam-
"love's a tyrant!
255
mering; but Laura did not wait to grasp his
meaning. She had caught a glimpse of Marcus
coming up the garden path; and under the mis-
taken impression that he had come to see her, she
flew to meet him before Conway could restrain her.
With the diamond pendant still on her neck she
rushed into his presence, leaving the dining-room
door open. As Marcus gazed towards her in blank
bewilderment, he looked beyond to where Conway
stood, ashen-faced, shaking in every limb, clutching
for support at the back of a chair, a found-out,
foolish old reprobate of the most contemptible order.
As soon as his eyes lighted on the spectacle
Conway involuntarily offered of abject shamefaced-
ness, Marcus read the whole story aright, and
knew why Constance had suffered her loss in
silence. He felt sickened and stultified. Bad as
he had believed Conway to be, he had not thought
of such depths of baseness as this, that he had
robbed his wife to enrich his mistress. He could
not combat the iniquity; he could not fight so
ignominious a foe.
 I came to tell you that this woman was wearing
jewels your wife tells me she has been robbed
of, he said, walking straight up to the exposed
hypocrite, speaking so sternly that Conway cowered
lower than before. "Mrs. Conway would not give
me any clue she withheld all information from
me, save the bare fact that she had been robbed
of her diamonds. 1 came to tell you this woman
was wearing them; and I find you with her,
you base little hound! seeing your wife's jewels
sparkling on a shameful neck!
He turned and walked out of the sin-defiled
precincts; and Conway fell on his weak, trembling
knees, and tried to pray that his wife might be
kept in ignorance of what he termed his sad fall,
256
 love's a tyrant ! 
while Laura stood by and laughed and jeered at
him for being such a coward.
 Your wife not know it, indeed! Of course he'll
go to her at once and tell her the whole story.
Why shouldn't he ? I would if I were in his
place; and then if she has a grain of pluck she'll
divorce you, and you'll have to marry me. I'm
glad it has come to this. Don't blubber like a
whipped schoolboy! I tell you I'm glad, rejoiced,
that it's all out! You pitiful thing! you don't
care enough for her to care a bit in reality about
losing her; and she'll marry Marcus Gwynn, and
you'll be ten times happier with me than you've
ever been with her. Oh, get up and leave off that
cant! You've been bad all along! What's the use
of making such a fuss just because Marcus Gwynn
has found out how bad you are ?
 How shall I face her after this ? moaned he.
"Don't face her! said his bolder fellow-sinner;
"take me to Paris; let the otheis do their worst.
The house is yours. Send some one to pack your
clothes, and we'll go to Paris. You'll see how I'm
admired there, and you'll be proud of me, as you
ought, seeing that I'm content to stick to such an
old fellow as you are.
 I believe you have a devil, Laura, he said
solemnly. But for all this belief he allowed himself
to be comforted by her; and though he could eat
no more luncheon, his nerves gradually quieted
down, and he was restored to his normal condition
of external calm gentlemanliness.
Inwardly he would have been more at rest had
he but known the truth, which was that not for
all the good the world could offer him would
Marcus Gwynn have put himself within reach of
Constance while the knowledge of her husband's
scoundrelism was so freshly in his mind. Further
"love's a tyrant!
257
interference could do no good, he knew; and harm
should never come to Constance through him. So
he gratified his mother, beyond the power of words
to describe, by showing great eagerness to get on
to Mount-Hawke without further delay.
That same night Mrs. Sackville and Marcus
crossed to Ireland vid Chester, and Mr. Conway
crossed to Calais with Laura Payne.
 Business takes me abroad, he wrote to his
wife.  As it is of vital importance, it may detain
me for several months; the messenger who takes
this has orders to pack all my clothes. You need
not trouble yourself to interfere with him. I find
you amuse yourself so well in my brief absences,
that I have no doubt you will be equally successful
in doing so during my more prolonged ones. Put
no faith in any statements Marcus Gwynn may
make to you. I offer you this caution for your
own sake. He is unscrupulous, and for his own
ends will try to pervert your judgment and set it
against me. Then he signed himself her  affec-
tionate and anxious husband! And there was the
end of the tragedy of errors which had commenced
down at Glade.
Mount-Hawke had quite a gala air about it.
Cosy had gone on her way unflinchingly, and
unflinchingly she compelled Mr. Hubbard to go on
his towards the performance of those promises for
which she had bartered herself. It must in justice
be added that Mr. Hubbard went willingly enough.
From the day he had asked for and won Lord
Mount-Hawke's second daughter, Mr. Hubbard had
felt prouder of himself than he had ever conceived
it possible he could be of so insignificant an atom
of humanity. The girl had taken generous pains to
show him that she respected him, and thought his
17
258
 love's a tyjrant ! 
goodness and kindness a fair match for her noble
birth and unblemished youth. There was no old
romance to crop up in her mind, and overshadow
the sober joy she felt in being of real use to her
family. Cosy had never frittered away emotional
feeling on any human being, not even on herself.
She had always had the habit of looking at things
as  they were, not as they  ought to have
been, or "might have been, had everything been
different to what it was. She had never flirted
herself into a fancy for any man, chiefly because
there had never been any man of her own con-
dition near her to flirt with. So now she could
marry Mr. Hubbard with a clear conscience and a
stout heart. He was elderly and vulgar, but he
was honest, true, and liberal; and Cosy had lived
a life that made her keenly appreciative of these
qualities.
Mrs. Sackville and Marcus arrived four or five
days before the wedding; and already, as has been
said, Mount-Hawke wore quite a gala air. It is
wonderful what a transformation can be effected
in the look of a house if paint, paper, and new
carpeting be applied to it with a judiciously lavish
hand. Mr. Hubbard had given his bride-elect to
understand that she could draw on her pin-money
of two thousand a year from the date of the day
of her engagement; and Cosy had gratefully and
frankly availed herself of his kindness, and had
taken him with her to help choose the materials
with which she proposed to brighten up her father's
dilapidated house.
 Once we're married it shall be done thoroughly;
it will be a daughter's offering to her father then
and won't hurt his lordship's feelings, Mr. Hubbard
said, humbly and wistfully; and Cosy held her
hands out to him, and told him that she  would
 love's a tyrant !
never make him sorry for marrying her—never,
never!
Darglery was much less in the girl's mind during
these days than people thought. There were times
when she enjoyed the prospect of being mistress of
the place; but far more did she enjoy the power
that was hers now of smoothing the daily life at
Mount-Hawke. Cosy gentled considerably under
the influence of the sense of her responsibilities and
recently acquired importance. If there had been
something mercenary and unworthy in the way in
which she had used her fascinations in order to
attract a man for the sake of his money, there was
nothing despicable in her manner of treating him
and the situation now that she had attained that
end. In point of fact, Cosy had ceased to despise
Mr. Hubbard. He was not young, and he was not
polished or in any way a man of the world ; but
he was honest and straightforward, honourable,
truthful, generous, and very fond of her. On the
whole, she was justified in saying, when her Aunt
Helena half congratulated and half pitied,—
 Thank you very much, Aunt Helena. Yes, I
believe I shall be very happy; I have no disturbing
back thoughts, and Mr. Hubbard will let me do a
great deal of good for them all here.
On the day of the wedding, when the bride and
bridegroom had gone away, and the guests were
dispersing, Marcus asked Olivia to get away from
the turmoil, and go for a walk with him through
the woods to the river-side. There were still leaves
enough left on the trees to afford them plenty of
shelter from the autumn breeze, and the mossy
banks of the river were so invitingly soft and dry
that they sat down and watched the gurgling
river in silence for some time,—at least Olivia
watched the river, and Marcus watched her face,
260
 love's a tyrant !
and noted thereon sundry lines which had not been
there when she left Thorpe. The roundness of
youth had left her, in fact; and though her figure
was more graceful and her face more interesting
from the change, Marcus felt sorry to see it.
 Are you fretting at losing Cosy ? he asked, as
he saw her try surreptitiously to wipe away a tear
or two with her filmy handkerchief, having pre-
viously tried to blink them away.
"Not exactly. I did fret a good deal at first,
when she said she'd marry him, because she seemed
so flippant and frivolous about it; but she soon got
to be serious, and to respect the goodness and
generosity that's in him. Seeing poor mamma so
much happier, too, reconciles me to the marriage.
I think, considering all things, that Cosy will be
contented and happy, and that I may be glad for her.
"One of the things that you may consider an
alleviating circumstance is that Cosy has not cared
for any one else, I understand ?
"That's just it, Olivia answered earnestly; "if
she had, of course it would have been wicked to
have married Mr. Hubbard; she wouldn't, she
couldn't have done it!
 You couldn't have married him, for instance ?
Olivia's pallor vanished before a burning blush;
but she said very steadily and quietly,—
 I could not; you are right.
 And why not, Olivia ?
He laid his hand on hers as he spoke, and felt
that she was trembling; but he leant forward and
forced her to look him in the face.
 I can give no answer to that question, Cousin
Marcus.
 But you shall, and to another and more im-
portant question also. You couldn't marry Hubbard
because you have cared for, and do still care for
"love's a tyrant!
261
me. But you'll marry me now, dear, though I have
cared for some one else, won't you ? And please
God I'll make you happy.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
olivia is firm.
As Marcus Gwynn and Olivia walked back to the
house, they both felt that their story was written
in their faces, and for a wonder the man felt the
least concern that this should be the case. He
certainly had harboured no thought of such a
climax when he had invited her to walk down
to the river. But the climax, now that he had
unexpectedly reached it, was not hampered by any
unpleasant doubts or reflections. He knew all
there was to be known of Olivia, all that one can
ever know of any human being, save oneself. He
knew that she had suffered a strong affection for
him to establish itself in her heart long ago in the
days of their boy and girlhood, and that this
affection had never wavered for an hour. He knew
that she was entirely unselfish, and would be
happy in any walk of life, provided she believed
him to be happy too. He knew that his action
would give unqualified happiness to his mother,
and that his uncle, Lord Mount-Hawke, would
be intensely gratified at having him for a son-in-
law. Above all, he knew that his feeling for
Constance would die a happier death when it
became his duty to nourish and cherish the one
he entertained for Olivia into stronger life. So
knowing all these things, he was very well satisfied
that the climax had been reached so easily and in
262
 love's a tyrant !
such a matter-of-fact way, although he had hardly
intended it.
But Olivia, on the contrary, though she had
gained the proffered heart and hand of the only
man to whom she had ever given a single loving
thought, was not so well at ease in her mind. She
was keenly and nervously alive to the fact that
it was something she had said which had brought
the honour she had dreamt of and longed for
hopelessly upon her. She had a restless humiliating
conviction that if she had not been weak enough
to let fall those two traitor tears, Marcus would
not have thrilled with that sudden pity, under the
influence of which he had' spoken. She stung
herself by recalling all he had told her of Con-
stance Brymer's grace and beauty, and intellect
and charm. And like many another wife, she told
herself that she could but fail to please and satisfy
a taste which had been developed and gratified by
so incomparable an old love. In short, proud as
the position of being publicly engrafted into his
life and enthroned within his heart would be, her
innermost consciousness told her that it would be
a shaky one.
Accordingly, as they crossed a portion of the
lawn on which there was no welcome shade cast,
and on which they were clearly outlined for the
scrutiny of a group of Gwynns and guests who
were assembled on the upper terrace, Marcus looked
by far the more complacently elated of the two.
Indeed, Olivia did not look elated at all, but
rather frightened. Her feet seemed weighted and
her knees shook, and she was aware that she was
walking in a feeble, uncertain way that made her
wish people wouldn't look at her.
Something in her son's direct tender glance at
her made Mrs. Sackville feel that the end she so
"love's a tyrant!
263
desired was attained. An irresistible impulse made
her call Olivia to her where she sat under the
shelter of' the window-awning. The day had not
been one of unmixed pleasure to Mrs. Sackville.
Her buoyant Irish nature enabled her to throw
herself with sympathy into the universal hilarity
which seemed to be the portion of all Lord Mount-
Hawke's family and friends, but it was an effort to
do so, the real spirit was lacking. The truth is
her sister and their sons and daughters and the
present generation of the neighbours about Mount-
Hawke were nearly strangers. Already, too, she
missed the services which Laura Payne had scrupu-
lously yielded to her for so long, and Olivia's
unselfish, unremitting attentions were no longer
solely at her aunt's disposal as they had been at
Thorpe. . Of course, this was natural. Olivia was
the only grown-up daughter left, and her domestic
and social duties in her father's house were multi-
farious; nevertheless, though it was natural it was
hard.
Again, there was the feeling that when she went
back to Thorpe she could not, in justice to Olivia,
ask the girl to go with her, and her life at Thorpe
without Olivia, and possibly without Marcus, would
be a sadly lonely one. During the earlier years of
her marriage she had not gone much into county
society for two reasons. One was that some people
had halted a little dubiously before cultivating Mr.
Sackville. The other was that she had halted far
more decidedly and stood away on the opposite
course from those people who had so dubiously
doubted. But now time had made her less exacting
and less antagonistic. She was a wealthy well-born
widow, and her son the peer of any one she knew.
If only he had given her a daughter, with what
pride she would have made the effort to go into
264
 love's a tyrant !
society and see them take their places, and see
Thorpe assume its rightful position as a well-occu-
pied gentleman's house in the county. '
Instead of this she had been telling herself
dismally this day, she would soon have to go back
to her own home alone !
Now Marcus came forward with his cousin, and
looked at her with that clear, happy, sunny,
eloquent smile in his eyes, that perhaps only the
mother of a son can read aright, and the whole
prospect was changed. She called Olivia to her
and the rest of the party, who were laughing and
talking too noisily to take any notice of the half-
tones in the picture before them, and who probably
would not have noticed them even if more quietly
engaged, had a surprise. For Mrs. Sackville, for-
getful of every one's presence or regardless of it,
thinking only of the happiness and security she
felt for her son, and the satisfaction she felt for
herself in this certainty of having a daughter after
her own heart in her old age, put her arms round
Olivia's neck and kissed her heartily.
 Never has a mother given a blessing to a son's
choice more joyfully, my darling Livy! My dear
daughter, may God bless you.
Poor Olivia—covered with hot tears and blushes,
and almost incapable of standing by reason of
being overwhelmed with awkward embarrassment
and the  chaff, which was instantly showered
upon her by her young brothers—made no attempt
to reply. As soon as she could free herself from
her Aunt Helena's embrace, she turned and ran
into the house, leaving Marcus to bear the brunt
of the astonishment and congratulations which were
liberally poured upon him.
But Marcus was quite equal to the occasion.
The climax had come upon him quite unexpectedly,
 love's a tyrant !
265
but he was glad that it had come. Some men
might have thought his mother's action rather pre-
mature. But Marcus was quite contented that the
matter should be made public at once, and arranged
without his having to go and make an avowal of
it to his uncle. As it was he was able to smile
quite cheerfully, and without any embarrassment,
as he said to Lord Mount-Hawke,
"My mother is so delighted that she has taken
the pleasant task of telling you out of my hands.
It's rather hard on you to be asked to give away
another daughter on Cosy's wedding-day, isn't it ? 
 Not at all, my dear boy, Lord Mount-Hawke
answered with engaging frankness.  It's the
greatest pleasure I'll have given myself for a long
time the day I'll hand Olivia over to you. Then
he went on to laugh at his sister for her sharp-
sightedness, and to confess that for his part he had
thought  little Livy had given up all hope of
catching her cousin, and resigned herself to being a
disappointed young lady, which was not exactly
the way Marcus cared to have the matter spoken
of now that  little Livy was his future wife,
though he knew there were several grains of truth
in the statement.
So out of Cosy's sacrifice for her family had
come this great good to her sister already. The
young hero of the family, Marcus Gwynn, had
surrendered to the fate they desired for him through
Cosy's unseen agency on Cosy's wedding-day.
There was one point, when all the other prelimi-
naries were arranged that had to be arranged,
before Olivia could enter upon her new life, on
which the girl stood firm.
She could be firm when she pleased when there
was a principle at stake, or when the interests of
those dear to her were concerned. She was very
266
 love's a tyrant !
firm now. The wooing had been unpremeditated
on Marcus' part. She was sure of that. There
should be no hasty wedding.
As was only right and proper on Marcus' part,
there was a good deal of flatteringly portrayed
anxiety to be married without delay, or with as
little delay as possible. The matter of the trousseau
was one that could be settled, he understood, in a
day or two, or a week at most, if Olivia went
over to London and saw about it herself. And why
shouldn't she go with his mother, since her own
mother was still too invalidish to knock about?
Thus he argued earnestly, with what looked like
impetuosity. But Olivia was very sober about it.
"I shall get my things in Dublin when the time
comes, she said.  I'm a Nationalist to this degree,
that I'll spend all the money I can in my own
country. When mamma is better we'll go to Dublin
together, and begin to see about ordering my things.
 But, my dear Livy, these dreary delays look
very much as if you wanted to defer the evil day
of marrying me indefinitely, Marcus said seriously.
 Marcus! Ah! you know it's not that; you
know if I only thought of myself I'd like to marry
you this minute; but I think of you.
 I hope you do, dear; may I ask what it is
you think about me that makes you hesitate to
marry me ? 
"I want you to be sure, quite sure before you
marry me, Marcus. You'll know better what your
real feelings are in a little while when you go
away from here. Now you think—I'm sure you
do think it, dear Marcus—that you love me because
I love you so much. But you'll know when you
don't see me constantly, and feel sorry for me.
And when you do know, I'll be married to you as
soon as you please.
"love's a tyeant!
267
And from this position the positive little girl,
whom he . had always suspected of being rather
characterless before, would not budge an inch in
spite of the most earnest entreaties from both
Marcus and his mother.
 My dear Livy, I thought you would have
been glad to make Marcus happy as soon as
possible. He has had much to unsettle him, poor
boy; you should not trifle lightly with him now.
 It's just that, Aunt Helena. If I were sure I
should make him happier all through by marrying
at once I'd do it, but he isn't ' sure' himself yet.
I know he has had much to unsettle him; and
when he's away from here, if he knows that he is
sure himself that I can make him happier, you
. sha'n't have to complain of me for ' lightly delaying
the marriage any longer.'
 But, Olivia, it's always a risk to send a
lover away from you ^or no tangible reason, when
you might have him transformed into a husband
and go away with him at once.
 I think I'll run the risk now, while he can
alter if he feels that he can't help it. By-and-bye,
if we were married and he found he had been
mistaken, he would never let me feel it if he could
conceal it from me. But he'd be unhappy, and as
he couldn't conceal anything of that sort from me,
think what 1 should be.
So Olivia settled it with her lover and his
mother. But when she came to deal with her own
parents on the question of delay she had much
harder work.
"You're acting like a fool—excuse me, Livy—
now, when you might settle yourself comfortably
with the man you love at once, you put stumbling-
blocks in his path, Lord Mount-Hawke said
angrily.
268
 love's a tyrant !
 I want to be more than ' comfortable' with
Marcus, papa. I want to be happy and at peace
and before I can be that he must be sure of his
own wishes.
 I did him the simple justice of believing that
when he asked you to marry him he wished you
to do so, Lord Mount-Hawke replied, with a grim
smile.
 So he did when he asked me, the girl answered
eagerly;  I was quite sure he wished it then, or I
wouldn't have said yes. But now I have had time
to think for him, and I've made up my mind that
he shall have time to think it all out for himself,
by himself; don't be vexed now, papa. I know
I'm right.
 I know that you're an over-conscientious little
humbug, and that you'll be very likely to fool
away the best chance you're ever likely to have if
you're left to yourself.
 If this one is taken from me I shall never
think of another. You don't understand, papa; this
is everything to me. I can't enter upon it lightly
as I should have done months ago if I had not
watched Marcus through — through a trouble he
had.
"You mean when that girl jilted him and
married Conway. Well, she's been rightly punished.
Old Conway has run away with a girl called
Laura Payne, so Mrs. Conway can get a divorce
if she likes. Take care she doesn't do it while
Marcus is still free.
 What she does is nothing to me; it's Marcus I
have to think of, Olivia said rather sadly. But
the very argument her father had used to weaken
her determination only served to strengthen it the
more.
So presently Marcus went away with his mother,
 love's a tyrant !
269
and after spending a month at Thorpe he was
startled by the receipt of a telegram from Colonel
Hillier summoning him to Glade.
CHAPTER XXIX.
"is it—murder?
 Marcus, I feel sure that it is something fresh
about that wretched man Conway, or his unhappy
wife, Mrs. Sackville said impatiently, when her
son showed her Colonel Hillier's telegram.
 I'm afraid of it myself.
"Then don't go ; in justice to Olivia and yourself
don't mix yourself up with Mrs. Conway's affairs.
If she has countenanced her uncle's appealing to
you, now that she is unprotected by her husband's
presence even, I think it most reprehensible ! almost
unpardonable indeed.
 My dear mother, she's the last woman in the
world to countenance a reprehensible appeal to
any one, especially to me. If it has anything to
do with her, you may be sure she knows nothing
about her uncle's telegram, and that she is not
at Glade.
 Think of Olivia, Marcus! What will she feel
when she hears that you have gone back to
Glade ? 
 I hope she will feel satisfied that I am doing
the right thing, and acting as a gentleman.
 She will feel that you are being led into tempta-
tion. Marcus, when you offered yourself to your
cousin you ought to have made up your mind
resolutely to have done with those Devonshire
270
 love's a tyrant ! 
people, who have caused you so much unhappiness
already.
 As far as I can make it out, it isn't ' those
Devonshire people' who have caused me unhappi-
ness, it's that old reprobate Conway.
"Olivia will be more apt to associate you with
Vlr. Conway's wife than with the man himself.
 Olivia will never do anything ungenerous.
 Her judgment may be just, though severe.
 I shall always abide by her judgment, you
may depend upon that, mother, and then Mrs.
Sackville sighed despondently, and Marcus walked
up to his room and began to pack his portmanteau.
In another hour he was on his way to Glade.
His way to the station took him past the Manor
Farm, at the farm-yard gate of which Mrs. Salter
was standing. He was driving rapidly by when
his name, uttered by her in a tone of eager anxiety
checked him. He pulled up, and seeing that she
was coming towards him with outstretched nervous
hands, and a general air of distress and bewilder-
ment, he jumped from the dog-cart, and walked
out of ear-shot of his groom before he spoke to
her.
 Mrs. Salter, is anything wrong ? • he asked
anxiously, and* the poor woman broke into an open
sob as she answered,
 Charlie's gone, Mr. Gwynn ! Where, I don't
know; why, I don't know. He has not been home
for three days; and to-day, in to-day's paper, I
read—Oh ! how can his mother say the words—of
a murder in Paris.
She stopped, choked by agony and sobs, and
Marcus gasped out in a non-comprehending way,
 A murder in Paris! What has that to do with
Charlie, or with you ? 
"Ah ! God knows.—God only knows. Mr. Gwynn,
 love's a tyrant !
$71
my son was unhappy when he left. He has been
unhappy for months—ever since that vicious ser-
pent Laura Payne left him. Come in and I'll
show you the paper, show you what I fear and
why I fear it.
 I must come—but I shall lose my. train if I
do! Can I help you if I come? he asked half
hesitating—as he thought of the Glade people—
following her as he saw her anguish.
She picked up a paper from the table in that
keeping-room in which Mrs. Sackville had pleaded
for her consent to her son's marriage with Laura
Payne, and pointed with her poor trembling old
finger to a paragraph, which ran as follows, copied
from a Paris telegram to a London paper:— An
appalling tragedy has just happened. An elderly
gentleman named Conway, has been found dead in
his bedroom at The Grand. Suspicion has fallen
on a young Englishman, whom it appears was
formerly engaged to the woman who has lately been
living with Conway as his wife. He declares his
innocence and protests that he feels the utmost
horror and indignation against the perpetrator of
such a crime. But appearances are against him.
For a full minute Marcus Gwynn was dumb.
A thousand thoughts rushed through his brain, but
not one of them held a suspicion of Charlie Salter.
At last he spoke; grasping the poor miserable
mother's hand, and ringing out words that pulled
her out of the slough of despair.
 Of course Charlie is innocent of the crime, and,
nowever much appearances are against him, he
shall be proved so. Don't let yourself have a
doubt about him. I'll wire to the police authori-
ties to-day that I'll be in Paris to-morrow in
order to be of assistance to my friend Mr. Salter.
Cheer up, Mrs. Salter; your son is no more guilty
272
"love's a tyrant!
than I am. I shall take a detective with me, and
Laura Payne shall have the full benefit of his atten-
tions. Charlie will come back with me in a few days,
please God. Meantime go to my mother, she'll share
my faith in Charlie I know, and comfort you.
Every nerve in Mrs. Salter's face quivered as he
spoke, and when he had finished, she took his
hands and covered them with kisses, and blest
him passionately for having given her hope, and
for believing in her boy!
 I must go now, he said gently,  I shall lose my
train else; the sooner I go the sooner I shall be
with poor Charlie.
Then she let him go, hurried him away in fact.
And he by dint of putting one of his fastest horses
along at its best pace, caught his train after all.
He was in London by one o'clock, and took the
next train down to Devonshire. It chanced to be
an express, and he reached Glade at a not alto-
gether unreasonable hour. There he heard full
confirmation of the terrible story he had read in the
morning's local journal. And there he found the
widow of the murdered man.
 I made my uncle send for you, she said to
him, gravely,  that you may explain to him a
circumstance that may help to clear up any mystery
there may be, and so help to prove the guilt or
innocence of the suspected man. Tell him first
about our seeing that woman in the park, wearing
some of my diamonds. And then I will tell you
how and when those diamonds were stolen. I have
confessed it all to my uncle—my mad suspicions,
my almost criminal reticence, my weak credulity
and cowardice. And when you have told him what
we saw, he will draw the same inference as I do,
I think.
And then Marcus took up the parable, anA
 love's a tyrant !
273
without seeking to colour Colonel Hillier's opinions,
told how after seeing Laura Payne wear those
lost diamonds, of which Mrs. Conway would give
him no account, he had followed up Mr. Conway
with the view of putting him on the track. Told
of how he had followed Conway to the house in
St. John's Wood, and found him to be the villain
he had long suspected him of being. And when he
had finished, Colonel Hillier said,
 If he has been murdered it is by the woman
for whom he thieved, and lived a lie.
Then Constance told the tale with which readers
of this story are already acquainted; told it all
out, turning her eyes bravely on Marcus even
while she was saying how she had suffered
herself to be deceived into believing—or rather
fearing—that he had been the culprit. Then she added,
"You can never forgive me, Mr. Gwynn, I
know that. I know too well how relentless I
should have been against you, if you had ever so
cruelly maligned me in your mind.
"Can it be possible that women are less generous
—or just—than men ? For I have already for-
given you, Mrs. Conway. The evidence against
me was very plausible; it was a small wonder
that you allowed yourself to be frightened into
being deceived. Then his face flushed as he
realized how precious his honour must have
been to her, since she had bartered herself
away in order that it might not be publicly
demolished.
A silence fell upon them for a few minutes, a
silence that was broken by Bella Hillier, the least
interested of the party.
 How has that marriage turned out that you
were going to, when Connie met you last in
London ? she asked.
18
274
 love's a tyrant !
"Very well, I believe; my cousin Cosy is a
very sensible girl, and having made up her mind
to marry Hubbard, she made up her mind also to
show people that she respects him, and is a happy
woman. He's a liberal, good old fellow, and Cosy
is able to gratify her heart's desire, and help her
family largely.
 Is she prettier than her sister, the one I've
heard you speak of most ? Mrs. Conway asked,
and then Marcus remembered that Mrs. Conway
was probably still in ignorance of his engagement.
The recollection of this fact embarrassed him, and
he answered at random—
"Yes, much prettier; but Hubbard preferred
Olivia at first—at least, they say so.
 And she wouldn't have him ?
"He didn't make her an offer, because she stood
away from him directly she saw it, Cosy told me.
I—I don't know whether or not you have hap-
pened to hear that I am engaged to my cousin
Olivia ?
Perhaps only a woman who is called upon to
listen to these words from the lips of the only
man she has ever loved in all her life, can realize
what sensations beset Constance. She nevei
winced outwardly, though she felt that her uncle
had given her one swift sympathetic look, and
that Belle was flushing as furiously as if she had
been Marcus's old love, who now learnt that she
was supplanted. She forced herself to sit very
still, and presently compelled herself to say very
calmly,
 I am glad to hear that you are going to marry
Miss Gwynn. You gave me the impression of her
being a sweet, good girl, and I know your mother
wished for the marriage, and consequently must be
delighted.
"love's a tyrant!
275
She was aware that there was something strained
and unsympathetic, not to say hard, in these
phrases. Indeed, they were not at all the words
she had intended employing when she began to
speak. But her brain, and heart, and mind were
all weary and over-taxed, and now on the top of
it all had fallen this blunt blow of unacknowledged
disappointment.
 You must allow me to offer my congratula-
tions, Colonel Hillier said, stiffly;  I knew
something of Lord Mount-Hawke some years ago.
Has he sons ?
Marcus told him that Lord Mount-Hawke had
sons, who would probably go into the army now
that more prosperous days had dawned at Mount-
Hawke. And again there was an awkward silence.
When it was broken the subject of Marcus's pro-
jected mission to Paris was re-introduced, and
nothing more was said about his engagement or the
Honourable Olivia while he remained at Glade.
But when he was gone—he departed at such an
early hour in the morning that it rather resembled
a late one at night, and negatived the possibility
of his seeing either of the ladies—Constance
tackled the topic courageously.
 Do you think it was much of a blow to me,
Belle, to hear from Marcus that he is engaged ?
 You stood it splendidly; better than I did.
I couldn't have spoken to save my life, I believe.
But vou dropped out your congratulations like
chilled shot.
"Too much like 'chilled' shot, I'm afraid. How-
ever, I had no alternative. If I hadn't spoken in
that way I couldn't have spoken at all. And then
he would have thought my heart was breaking, and
he would have been sorry for me, and there
would have been complications, which for Miss
276
 love's a tyrant ! 
Gwynn's sake are much better avoided. But !
Oh ! life ! .
"Your life would have been as pleasant as it's
healthy and well supplied with the good things of
it if it hadn't been for this unfortunate affair, and
series of mistakes about Marcus Gwynn. I should
rather feel inclined to say, ' Oh! love! what a
nuisance you are,' and to quote the words of the
old song,
' Love's a tyrant and a slave,
A torment and a treasure;
Having it we know no peace,'
than to lay all the blame on living
"You've left out the last line of the verse—the
qualifying line, ' Wanting it, no pleasure !' and
the second verse runs,
' Would I shun it if I could ?
Sooth, I almost doubt it!
Faith ! I'd rather bear its pain
Than live my life without it.'
Then both girls laughed, but tears mingled with
Constance's effort at merriment. She could joke
about her disappointment, but it was a bitter dis-
appointment nevertheless.
It must not be supposed from this admission that
Constance Conway had speculated in her own
mind about her own chances of happiness in the
future with Marcus Gwynn, as soon as she heard
of her husband's tragically sudden death. But
unconsciously the knowledge pervaded her mind
that she was now free, that the barrier was re-
moved that had existed between herself and Marcus.
She would not let her mind dwell on the fact,
and on the possibilities it threw open. But the
fact remained, and not being a memoryless idiot,
she could not forget it entirely.
After a few hours she schooled herself to speak
"love's a tyrant!
277
of him as an excellent friend, who was doing her
real good manly service by going to Paris, to try
and clear' up whatever of mystery there might be
as to the manner of her husband's death. At the
same time she declared that she was convinced that
his chief interest in the affair concerned the unfor-
tunate young man who was suspected of being
the murderer.
 I believe it will turn out to be that Laura
Payne, for whose sake he stole your diamonds,
Belle said bluntly, and Colonel Hillier declared
that there was  much to be weighed and balanced
in the matter before he would offer a decided
opinion.
No one hinted at the possibility of suicide.
CHAPTER XXX.
the "end for laura.
Laura Payne still occupied the beautiful suite
of rooms at The Grand, in which she had been
settled by Mr. Conway, but she occupied them
sorely against her inclination now, and experienced
the sensations of a caged bird to a disagreeable,
not to say alarming, extent.
Her first impulse, immediately on the fact of
Conway's death being made known, had been to
quietly quit the hotel, and so unassumingly to
mingle with the rest of the world as to leave no
trace behind her. But this, though she was not
placed under arrest, she was not permitted to do.
Courteously, but firmly, she was given to under-
stand that the friendly eye of the police would
278
 love's a tyrant !
never be off her for a moment, until Charles Salter's
innocence was established, or guilt proved. Her
evidence would be all important, she was politely
informed. And her tongue curled into the roof of
her mouth as her ears received the information and
passed it on to her mind. Up to the present her
story had never varied. She declared that Charles
Salter had come abruptly, unannounced into their
room while Mr. Conway and herself were dining.
That he had hurled every opprobious epithet that
the tongue of one man could apply to another
at Mr. Conway, beginning with hoary reprobate, and
descending to regions of condemnation that had
better not be printed. That he had gone on to
denounce Conway as one whom the wrath of God
would "surely sweep away from the earth suddenly
and violently. That she in her terror—though
Salter never uttered a word of either reproach or
abuse to her—had fled to the safety of her bed
chamber. And that when four or five hours after-
wards she had gone to seek Mr. Conway in the
little salon to which they were in the habit of
retiring after dinner, she found him lying on the
sofa dead!
In favour of Charles Salter, as opposed to this
evidence there was only this solitary bit that
seemed hopeful—one of the guests at the hotel
deposed to having seen the handsome young Eng-
lishman come out from the room in which the
guilty pair had been dining immediately after
Madame Conway had fled in a fright, and some
hour or so before Mr. Conway had come out and
crossed the corner into the little salon. On the
other hand, Laura swore that she had heard the
sound of angry voices issuing from this salon, and
that she had been afraid to go into it, until several
hours' silence had reigned.
"love's a tyrant!
279
When Marcus Gwynn arrived and asked to
see her, he ordered—after a consultation with the
advocate for the prosecution—that he should be
ushered into the woman's room without any notice
being given to her, and that a detective who under-
stood English should accompany him in the char-
acter of a friend of the suspected man. Already
a medical analyst had discovered the presence of
a large quantity of prussic acid in the dead man's
body. But no trace of any phial or vessel con-
taining, or having contained this poisonous agent
had been discovered in any one of the rooms he
had occupied. Laura Payne had at once told her
story, and thrown suspicion upon Charles Salter.
And at first her frantic expressions of grief for
Conway, and wild regret that he should not have
lived to keep her in the luxury she loved—dis-
armed suspicion and effectually diverted it from
herself.
But now a feeling was growing up against her,
both in the minds of the police and the public.
Others, besides the one who had first spoken,
came forward and declared to having seen the
young Englishman leave the room almost simul-
taneously, certainly not more than a second or two
after Laura had done so. And now her desire to
"get away and hide her misery, as she expressed
it, quickened these suspicions, and Laura Payne was
not far away from being arrested when Marcus
Gwynn arrived.
As he entered, she jumped up from a large
chair in which she had been lying back, trying to
sleep, trying to read, trying to forget that she was
nearly frightened to death by the siLvv&illctnce that
was being exercised over her.
"What have you come for? she began. "How
do you dare to force yourself into my room ? I am
280
"love's a tyrant!
in heavy trouble, and I know that you don't come
as a friend.
She tried to speak angrily, but failed. Her voice
shook, her throat got hoarse, and her lips dry and
parched, and he saw that she could hardly stand.
 Sit down. I come as a friend of Charles
Salter's; quiet yourself, and tell me all you know
of this wretched business. Your doing so may
save him, and I don't suppose you want his death
at your door also.
 You're a brute, Mr. Gwynn, she said fiercely.
'You don't think that the death of the one whose
hand fed me lies at my door, do you ? You can't
think me such a fool as to have killed the goose
with the golden eggs!
 Tell me all about it, Marcus repeated, and by
degrees he elicited this one further fact from her.
Mr. Conway had only two days before his death
converted all the jewellery of which she was
possessed wrongfully into cash, and this money he
had given into her hands. She had nothing further
to expect from him while he remained abroad, but
he had promised to return to England and resume
work in a few days.
Marcus did not tell her that was a point against
her, but the conviction that it was so flashed across
her directly she had spoken, and she gasped out,
 For mercy's sake don't tell that I have told you
that, either of you gentlemen must know that it
didn't make any difference to me, but other people
might misjudge me, and I have suffered enough—I
am suffering enough now to think that I must be
taking my hell out on earth, without being mis-
judged and perhaps punished more. Mr. Gwynn,
befriend me and try to make them go away from
here. I've told all I know.
 Perhaps if you showed us the room in which
"love's a tyrant!
281
Mr. Conway died—it's been kept intact, I under-
stand—we might help you better.
She whitened to her lips.
 It's hard for me to go into that room, she said.
 Haven't you been in it since that night ?
 Only once, she shuddered pitifully,  to put
away a few of my own things—I didn't touch
Mr. Conway's.
"Are you sure that you never saw Mr. Conway
alive again after you left the two men in your
dining-room ? 
 I am sure  she was beginning, when a
curious expression on the detective's face stopped
her.
 Do you dare to doubt me ? she stormed
out.
 Can you recall the last words Mr. Conway ever
uttered to you ? 
 How should I ? Something about the dinner,
I suppose. He used to talk a good deal about
what he was eating.
 Did he not use these words, Madame—£ I
have just told Laura that I repent and will
make reparation to my wife, and that I will leave
her with enough to live on to keep her from sin
and want, but no more. I have vowed to sever
this fatal connection, and I owe it to you to
acknowledge that my sin has been brought home
to me by your words, hard and cruel as they
were' ?
 Who heard him say it ? she stammered out.
"No one, that I'm aware of. What I have
quoted to you is a fragment of a letter which he
wrote to Charles Salter after he had a stormy inter-
view with you some time after Mr. Salter's visit.
This letter, signed and addressed, Mr. Salter has
tried to suppress, fearing that it may incriminate
282
 love's a tyrant !
you. But the law will not so studiously try to
spare you, Madame. Your position would have
been a better one had you not spoken so many
falsehoods.
Her position at that moment was on the floor
at their feet—an insensible heap of hideous vice
and beautiful clothes. Her position when she came
out of her swoon was that of a prisoner charged
with the wilful murder of her paramour.
For criminating evidence had accumulated against
her. On searching her person a small silk bag was
found stitched into the inside of her corset, and
this bag contained a quantity of pulverised glass,
strongly impregnated with prussic acid. She had
ground the phial, the contents of which had been
found in Conway, to powder—and it exploded all
her schemes and ruined her.
Brought to England, tried and found guilty, she
passes from these pages into the dread solitude of
that prison on Dartmoor, having been mercifully
condemned as a criminal lunatic.
It was not until the two young men—Marcus
and Charlie Salter—were on their way back to
England that the former learnt how Charlie had
been led to pay that fatal visit to Conway, and
the wretched woman who had obtained such a
direful influence over them both.
 I got a letter from her one day—poor creature!
I can't curse her for her wickedness when I think
of what her fate and punishment will be, but it
was a she-fiend's work, that letter, Mr. Gwynn.
It told me the lies that maddened me against Mr.
Conway, and I daren't speak to mother about them
—if I hadn't been a coward in that direction some
of this mischief and misery might have been spared
to us all. She said that Conway had entrapped
her away under pretence of getting her into a
 love's a tyrant !
283
situation as travelling companion to a rich lady,
and that he had deceived her from point to point
till she was ashamed to come back to Thorpe and
me. And now she said he had left her at that
hotel, pretending that the rich lady would come
there for her, without any money. She said she
knew no one in Paris—lived the life of a hermit—
and had no money to pay for the poor little meals
she was obliged to have to keep body and soul
together. And she wound up by asking me to
send her fifty pounds. ' That's not much to do
for the woman I wanted to marry the other day,'
I said to myself. And then I thought, ' better go
to the poor thing! and marry her out of her
struggles and wretchedness, and bring her home, and
let who will dare to scout her.' Yes, Mr. Gwynn,
I was fool enough to think of doing that when I
left the Manor Farm to go to Laura Payne.
t( Well, then I went—and found her as you've
heard. Diving, wallowing in her successful vice
with the vile old wretch who has gone to his last
account. I let fly at him with my tongue, and if
he hadn't been such a shrivelled up old creature
I should have gone at him with my fists. As it
is I never touched him—or spoke a word to her.
But that's the story, sir.
 Thank heaven the story is ended, as far as
you're concerned, said Marcus.
 Not quite, Mr. Gwynn! I shall carry the
marks of it to my grave. I'm not going to ask
a decent girl to look at me after this. I've been
the toy of a harlot—and she's broken me.
 And a good woman will mend you again some
day—soon.
 Then that woman will be my mother, Mr. Gwynn.
 Ah ! Don't you be so sure about that. I'll see
you a sound man yet, Salter!
284
"love's a tyrant!
 I don't want to talk any more about that part
of the affair, Mr. Gwynn. What's become of the
widow ? Poor thing, this will about break her up
if she cared for him.
 It will if she cared for him.
 Do you know her, Mr. Gwynn ? I suppose
she's an elderly lady. At that time of life to find
out that her husband's been a wicked brute and
has been murdered by her rival at the last is
uncommonly hard.
 Mrs. Conway is not elderly, Marcus said,
awkwardly. Then he added with irrepressible
enthusiasm,
 She's the loveliest and best woman that ever
stepped. Don't speak any more about her to any
one, Salter, if you'd oblige me.
Charles Salter put his hand out by way of pro-
mise and pledge.
 I understand, Mr. Gwynn. She's a widow !
But you're engaged.
CHAPTER XXXI.
at darglery.
Mrs. Hubbard, the "Cosy of other days, was
home from her wedding tour. The honeymoon had
been a period of practical unalloyed pleasure to the
young Irish girl, whose travels had hitherto
been limited to a trip to Killarney or Glengariff,
and an occasional day or two in Dublin when funds
were forthcoming. But the travelling joys were as
nothing compared to the brilliant happiness of being
the absolute mistress of Darglery.
Darglery was really a grand old place, and well
"love's a tyrant!
285
deserving of the pride and affection with which she
regarded it. Its towers and massive arched
entrances, its long terraces bordered by marble
ballustrades and vases—full now, these latter, of rare
flowering shrubs—its stately rooms and arched
ceilings, all spoke to the young mistress's love of
grandeur and beauty.
The furniture which had been, as Maurice Gwynn
expressed it once,  emptied into Darglery, was
costly and handsome as money could procure, and
as comfortable as the art of upholstering man
could devise. Cosy loved comfort, both for herself
and those dear to her. The heavy style, rich in
material, gorgeous in colouring, suited the house;
and the bride's taste soon lightened the internal
arrangements into absolute beauty. The army of
servants under her command were thoroughly in
tone with the light-hearted lady who brought an
atmosphere of youth and pleasure into the hitherto
dull house. Cosy, though she dressed like a duchess
and spent money like a millionaire, had no false
sense of dignity, and never deigned to  put on
frills by way of reminding people that her hus-
band and herself were the greatest money powers
in the county. She flew all over the house as
blithely as a bird, as she directed and redirected
her willing slaves how to arrange and rearrange the
countless objects of art and beauty which she had
accumulated in her travels. In fact, Mrs. Hubbard
was an enthusiast about her home and her beauti-
ful belongings, and as she owed them all to her
husband, she rendered her gratitude and attentions
in a heart-whole willing manner that made the
humble-minded elderly gentleman supremely content
and happy.
Of all her happy days—and there had never
been a break in their continuity since her marriage
286
 love's a tyrant !
—those were the happiest when her own people
came over in strong family force for several hours.
To drive her mother over the exquisitely kept
grounds in the little pony phaeton,—to see hei
brothers riding Mr. Hubbard's handsome horses,—
to know that her father had a balance at his
banker's now,—that her brother Maurice was to
have his heart's desire and go into the army, and
that her younger sisters were having instruction in
various accomplishments which want of means had
denied to herself,—and to feel that she had gained
all these good things for them, was bliss unutterable
to Cosy.
This one, on which we renew our acquaintance
with her, was one of these intensely satisfactory
days. The Mount-Hawkes were to come to lun-
cheon. Mr. Hubbard and Olivia were going to
devote the afternoon to photography, and Lady
Mount-Hawke had to be shown the new furniture
and decorations of a suite of rooms which Mrs.
Hubbard had appropriated for the use of Marcus
Gwynn and Olivia when they should visit Darglery
as man and wife.
"And I hope that will be soon, she said to her
husband, as together they strolled up and down a
terrace that ran along in front of the windows of
these rooms, waiting for the arrival of the con-
tingent from Mount-Hawke.
"I don't quite understand why the marriage is
deferred indefinitely, Mr. Hubbard remarked.
 No, nor any one else in their right senses.
Olivia wishes him to have time to change his
mind, they say; but it can't really be that/'
 Mr. Marcus Gwynn's name appears in con-
nection with a very sad thing that has just hap-
pened in Paris, Mr. Hubbard said, hesitatingly.
He had only seen- the paragraph in question about
 love's a tyeant !
287
ten minutes before, and his perplexity was great.
Should he put the paper out of sight and say
nothing about it, if he found the Gwynns from
Mount-Hawke knew nothing of Marcus's tragic trip
to Paris? Or should he take Cosy into his confi-
dence, and trust to her discretion to either suppress
or communicate the information? He settled the
question in the way that has been narrated before
Cosy had been with him five minutes.
 Marcus's name !—in Paris! show it to me this
minute, Cosy cried, in great excitement.  Livy
knew nothing about it yesterday—she said she
hadn't heard from Marcus for a fortnight. Show
it to me! Oh! I see, and she began to rapidly
mutter over half aloud the words that described Mr.
Conway's death and the circumstances attending it.
 Then she's a widow! Cosy said, with such
an air of consternation, that Mr. Hubbard rushed at
the conclusion that she was speaking of Olivia,
and that her mind was unstrung by anxious
sympathy.
 Olivia a widow! No, no, my dear, he said
soothingly; "besides, it's not your cousin Marcus
who has been murdered, it's 
"Mr. Conway, and I believe the world's well rid
of him. All the same, I'm awfully, awfully sorry
that he's out of the way, for now she's a widow,
and Olivia will be thinking that Marcus will be
wanting to marry her.
 I don't quite understand, Mr. Hubbard said,
humbly conscious of a total inability to grasp
the subject.
 How should you till I tell you ? The widow
is the girl Marcus was in love with till—well I
suppose till she married Mr. Conway. He told
Olivia all about it when he was very bad, but I
believe he had quite got over it when he proposed
288
"love's a tyrant!
to Olivia. Livy has never said much about the
matter to me or to any one else, but she's said
enough to show me that she'll think Marcus will
want to go back to his old love now if she will have
him. Poor Livy! I wonder has she seen this in
the paper ? If she hasn't, how shall I tell her ?
"Your kind heart will teach you the way when
the time comes, he said, admiringly. In Mr.
Hubbard's opinion, this young wife of his was a
closely packed parcel of all the noblest qualities.
This opinion manifested itself so openly that Cosy
developed many which had been dormant in her
character previous to her marriage, and this greatly
out of her ardent desire to justify the grandly flat-
tering estimation in which her husband held her.
So now when he said that her kind heart would
teach her the best way of breaking the troublous
news to poor Olivia, she resolved that if sisterly
words of counsel, comfort, and hopefulness, could
lighten Livy's burden, she would be eloquent in
their utterance.
Presently she was put to the test, for they came
from Mount Hawke, a happy hilarious party, who
were evidently still in ignorance of Marcus's last
adventure.
 Cosy, you're not looking well, my child! Lady
Mount-Hawke said, as her married daughter
greeted her with a far more sober air than Cosy
had ever worn before.
 Cosy, if you leave off being a tomboy and put
on matronly frills I'll disown you for my sister,
Maurice added, but Olivia said nothing. She
detected the first touch of unhappiness which had
appeared on Cosy's face since her marriage, and
feared that the proverbial strained relations which
are popularly supposed to exist between May and
December, had set in.
 love's a tyrant !
289
"I'm very well, and I'll be ready to go out and
school a colt over some hurdles with you by-and-
by, Maurice; my matronly frills aren't one bit
starchy, but we've just been reading of the death
of a man we've often heard of in Paris—Mr.
Conway.
 He was Marcus's guardian, Lord Mount-Hawke
said, with affable interest.  Dead, is he ?—well,
we all must go.
 But he's gone so sadly, papa, Cosy said, sorrow-
fully, for she saw that Olivia was listening, and
that her eyes looked desperately anxious, and her
mouth was quivering.
"Now Livy and I will leave you to read the
account of it, she added, with an effort at bright-
ness, "while we go and look over the rooms that
I've had rearranged for Mr. and Mrs. Marcus
Gwynn when they honour us with a visit. Come
away, Livy. Mamma, you just rest here in this
warm corner, and look at the view till you hear
the luncheon-bell. Come away, Livy.
She almost ran in her eagerness to get Olivia
away from the observation of the others, and Olivia
followed, conscious of there being something very
unusual in Cosy's manner to-day, but not regarding
it much, being absorbed in the contemplation of
the momentous fact that  Constance was a widow ! 
 Now, Cosy began, throwing open a door with
an air, "this will be your own room, Olivia,—your
own room, where Marcus and you can come and
read and write your letters, and just be to your-
selves when you please 
"I wonder does Marcus know yet that Mr.
Conway is dead, Olivia interrupted; and then
Cosy got hold of her sister's hands, and half pushed
her back into the recess of a plump armchair, and
then kneeling before her said,—
19
290
 love's a tyrant !
 I'll tell you all about it, Livy, and you just
sit still and listen, and when I've told you, you
must write a kind letter to poor Marcus at once;
you must write and make him feel that you
sympathise with him at once, or you'll be hurting
him dreadfully, poor fellow !
Olivia's eyes opened wider and wider as her sister
spoke. But she said nothing, the subject must be
thought out by herself, she knew, not talked out
with Cosy.
"Now listen, and I'll tell you all about it, Livy,
Mrs. Hubbard went on affectionately; "and don't
let yourself feel one little bit vexed with Marcus,
for he's a grand fellow. And then Cosy poured
out the whole story, so far as the newspaper had
told it to her. Then she paused, partly for want
of breath, and partly for a reply. And Olivia
made none.
"Won't you say one word, Livy? the married
happy sister said to the miserable unmarried one.
"Won't you say what you'll do?
 I shall say nothing, Olivia said, quietly ;  and
when I see Marcus he'll settle me about what I'll
do.
 You won't be jealous of him about her, will
you ? Cosy asked anxiously, and there came a
look into Olivia's face that banished all idea of such
a paltry passion as jealousy existing in her mind,
as she answered,—
"I'll never be jealous of Marcus, don't you fear
that. And now, Cosy, we'll get back to mamma,
and don't look troubled for me, dear,—I've felt it
all along that God would be good, and make Marcus
know before he married me.
"If he doesn't know that he loves you best after
all, and that you're worthiest of it, however much
of a beauty she may be, he's a fool, and I'd like
"love's a tyrant!
291
to tell him so! Cosy cried, springing up red and
indignant. But Olivia shook her head, and told
her more impetuous sister that "As it was every-
thing to her, and nothing to any one else, no one
must say a word ever to Marcus about it. He
would be ' true' to her she knew, and whatever
the truth might be, she would glory in him for
telling it to her.
Then they went back to the family group on the
terrace, and the family group being composed of
people who were really warm-hearted and affec-
tionate, no one spoke to Olivia, or before her, of
that sensational affair in Paris in which Marcus
Gwynn had been mixed up.
The following day Olivia had a long letter from
Marcus.
CHAPTER XXXII.
in cockington lane.
Marcus Gwynn had been accustomed for so many
years to look upon Olivia as his dear little cousin,
about whom he need not trouble himself to think
very often during the long intervals of his not
seeing her, that it is not surprising that he relapsed
into the habit now. His time, his thoughts, his
energies, his heart-felt interests, were all engrossed
and aroused by the sad and degrading circumstances
which surrounded his first love, and left her standing
the central figure, pure and free!
He would have revolted from the idea of neglecting
Olivia, and have scorned and loathed himself if the
possibility of being false to her now had presented
itself to his mind. But he nearly forgot her
292
 love's a tyrant !
existence, and when a man does this with regard
to the woman who ought to be the dearest, and is
to be the nearest object to him in life, that woman
is apt to feel chagrined at least.
When Marcus had accompanied Charlie Salter
home, and witnessed the meeting between the
mother he had left in such an agonized plight and
the son he had brought back to her, bearing a
stainless record of chivalrous love and faith, he
conceived a strong regard for the young fellow.
 Charlie Salter's about the noblest gentleman Pve
ever known, Marcus said to his own mother after-
wards.  On my word, when I think of that fellow
going over to Paris gallantly to rescue and marry
that girl, I feel that I wish I had a sister to give
him who'd reward him for what he must have
suffered when he discovered that wretched Laura
to be what she was.
"I admire him more than I can say, Marcus,
Mrs. Sackville acquiesced;  but at the same time,
if those are your views, I'm glad you haven't a
sister.
 I've found him out to be about the very best
friend I can have in this or any other neighbour-
hood, Marcus went on.  I'm not going to let him
mope or look upon himself as an embittered man
because that Jezebel of a girl has done her best
to ruin him, body and soul. He wants change. I
shall get him away with me for a bit, yachting.
 You're not going to cross in your yacht, are
you, Marcus?
Marcus had recently become the owner of a very
fast and fascinating racing yacht, of about forty
tons, called the Ghost.
 Crossing to where ? asked Marcus.
 To Ireland, of course. You'll be going to Mount-
Hawke soon! she said, sharply.
"love's a tyrant!
293
 Oh, ah! yes, to he sure I shall; but, a—fact is,
I've asked Charlie Salter to join me at Cowes,
where the Ghost's laid up, you know, mother, and
then we'll get to Torquay and coast along to Fal-
mouth and on to Mount's Bay, and probably over
to the Scilly Isles. Just a bit of a cruise that will
pull us together; and I can assure you, mother,
we both need it.
"I'm sure you do, my own boy, she said feel-
ingly;  but won't you go over and see Olivia
first ?
 I'd rather see her after the cruise. She's not a
ridiculously emotional girl by any means; but if
she saw me now she might think I looked ill
and unhappy, or some nonsense of the sort. The
fact is, that ghastly time in Paris took it out of
me more than I knew.
 What does Livy say about your going to Mount-
Hawke ? She must long to see you, poor child ? 
"I haven't heard from her for some days. Then
he remembered that he had not written to her for
three weeks, and added remorsefully,—
 The truth is, mother, I had no time to read
or write any other letters than those that con-
cerned the subject, till I got poor Charlie Salter
home—Olivia's among the rest. But she's always
written cheerfully, and not expressed any anxiety
or annoyance. Oh! it's all right.
 It is that Olivia will never cause you any
anxiety or annoyance, dear brave, faithful-hearted
child, his mother said, vehemently. "Marcus, if
you love her, give up this cruise—at least till
you've seen Olivia.
 If you wish it, and she wishes it, I will, he
said, cheerfully; and then he sat down and wrote
that long letter which Olivia received the day after
her visit to Darglery.
294
"love's a tyrant!
Though he had not written to her himself, it
had never occurred to him to think that Olivia had
been in ignorance of what was happening. His
mother knew why and where he was gone from
Mrs. Salter. But his mother had studiously avoided
mentioning the Conways in her letters to her niece.
Marcus took it for granted that Olivia saw and
read all the daily papers, and they reeked with
details of the crime. Accordingly, when he thought
of her at all, it was of her being rather apathetic,
and lymphatic, and he forgot to write to her!
But now that he was reminded, he wrote ex-
haustively—nevertheless still assuming that she
knew all about it, and had known all about it
from the first. He dwelt lightly, and in a con-
science free manner, with the episode of his visit to
Glade, but made really a thrilling picture of his
time in Paris. He enlarged on the goodness and
greatness of Charlie Salter's character; and finally
put it to her as a dear good sensible girl, whether
she would not rather that he went on this mission
of mercy which was to begin at Cowes, and em-
brace the coasts of Devon and Cornwall and the
Scilly Isles, than that he should go to Mount-
Hawke at once ?
To this letter, Olivia replied  so sensibly he
thought.  She was sure the cruise round the
coast of the west of England, and across to the
Scilly Isles, with such a dear good man as Mr.
Salter had shown himself to be, would do him a
great deal of good; and she was further sure,
that whatever he thought it best to do was best.
He would be so glad, she knew, to hear that
Cosy was not only happy and comfortable herself
but that she was making Mr. Hubbard happy
too. She had never seen or heard a word about
the Conway tragedy till the day before she got
 love's a tyrant I 
295
his letter. She was at Darglery when she heard
it, and Cosy was so good to her. She should pray
for fair winds for the Ghost every night, and she
was his loving little cousin, Olivia!
No one saw the scalding tears which fell from
the girl's eyes as she wrote this letter. No one
imagined that it cost her any effort to say as she did.
 I've had such a nice letter from Marcus. Poor
ooy, it's all true that the papers said, and he's
going for a cruise from Cowes to the Scilly Isles,
to get over it, for he's had a terrible time—taking
Mr. Salter with him.
- "He'd better have come over here, Lord Mount-
Hawke remarked, but Olivia did not seem to hear
her father's expression of opinion.
"I've had a jolly letter from Olivia, mother,
said Marcus, "and she wishes me to have my little
cruise before I go to Mount-Hawke evidently.
Dear little girl! I'll take her with me, I hope,
next year, if she likes yachting.
"Really wishes it, Marcus?
 Really wishes it, and seems awfully pleased
that I'm going to take Charlie Salter with me,
Marcus answered complacently, and Mrs. Sackville
was silenced though not convinced, and Marcus
pursued his preparations for the cruise with re-
newed energy, and a clear conscience.
They joined the yacht at Cowes, and after sailing
round the island, and driving and walking over a
great portion of it, Marcus's interest in the Isle
of Wight flagged.
"Cowes is the deadliest hole, until 'the week'
approaches, he explained to Charlie Salter;  wouldn't
you like to get to Torquay, and look at the Devon-
shire coast ?
"Very much, but I haven't seen a bit too much
of Cowes yet.
296
 love's a tyrant !
"You'll like Torquay better, and as for Dart-
mouth and Falmouth, they're both of them glorious
in their respective ways. We should have a fair
wind for Torquay if it's like this to-morrow, so I
vote we sail at eight in the morning,—what do
you say ?
Charlie Salter, who was really perfectly in-
different as to place just at present, provided he
could be with the one person from whom his
bruised and battered spirit did not shrink, said:
"All right.
"Devonshire's a lovely county. I must show you
something of Dartmoor; shall we leave the yacht at
Torquay, and have a tramp over the moor for two
or three days, Charlie ?
"It would do me good, the life on board is
making me fat and lazy, Mr. Gwynn. Then he
remembered having heard wonderful tales concern-
ing unwary travellers over Dartmoor, who had
slipped into bogs that presented a perfidiously
fair and solid appearance, and had not succeeded
in slipping out again.
"You know your way about, I suppose?—you
know Dartmoor well.
"Not very well, but we'd go on beaten tracks.
Black will tell us where to go.
"I should like to see Plymouth, Charlie said,
humbly. He was ashamed of himself for wishing
to see the place in which Laura had told him she
had lived in sweet seclusion with her mother. But
Marcus was quite unsuspicious. He was not
thinking about Laura in connection with Dartmoor
and Devonshire, but about that other sacrificed,
splendid unhappy girl, who had taught him all
he knew about either.
Circumstances and treacherous inclination were
taking him into the vicinity of the place where he
"love's a tyrant!
297
had first met Constance. But he had no weak
intention. The probability of her being at Glade
still, was a probability he did not permit himself
the luxury of contemplating in connection with the
other luxury of himself visiting Colonel Hillier.
He had no hope, no desire, no plans regarding her.
Nevertheless, he was glad that his course was
Devonshirewards, and there could be no possible
harm in writing a line to the Colonel, just saying
that he should be in Torquay harbour for a few
days, and should be happy to give Colonel Hillier
a cruise!
So he posted his line that same night of his
arrival, and the following morning when they had
both done justice to the salmon cutlets and stewed
kidneys, the poached eggs, lobster and other trifles,
which go to the* making up of a yacht breakfast,
the two young men started for a long day's tramp.
Marcus's programme was to "do the Cockington
lanes first, then strike into the high road again,
walk to Totnes, lunch at the  Seven Stars Hotel,
take the steamer down to Dartmouth, and back to
Torquay by train at night. Charlie would better
have liked to have made straight for wild Dartmoor
at once. The sweet, soft, lazy, luxurious loveliness
of Torquay oppressed and tired him, and when he
got into the Cockington lanes he could hardly
breathe. But he uttered no word of complaint,
for after all what did it matter ? he was in the
company of his best friend, and that friend
seemed to like strolling between high hedges in
the heat.
Presently Marcus seemed to grow more alert,
and to be on. the look out for something, and at
last he said in a low tone of intense satisfaction,
 By jove! here we are.
There they were certainly, in a very pretty
298
 love's a tyrant !
bend of the lane, with overhanging trees meeting
over their heads, and forming an aisle-like avenue
in front of them. On the one side a cottage and
a shed, on the other side a cottage and a  linney "!
Truly a very pretty picture, but had Mr. Gwynn
come all the way from Torquay to see this only,
that he should pause as one who has reached his
bourn? Scarcely had Charlie Salter thought this,
or something very like this, when Marcus explained
himself:
"A long time ago, I was shown a sketch of this
turn in the Cockington lane by a friend of mine,
I thought it so good that it was agreed we should
come together, and that I should try my hand at
it. The artist has not been able to keep the ap-
pointment, so I must set to work on mine alone.
 So Mrs. Conway paints ? Charlie thought
sagaciously, but he only said,
 While you're at work, I'll stroll on and have a
look at the little church in the park—you'll get
on faster alone, Mr. Marcus.
"Five minutes will do for me—I only want a
rough sketch. I don't think I shall ever work it
up in oils now.
 Oh! you will, Charlie said encouragingly, turn-
ing round to give a brief separation nod as he
started on his ramble alone. Then as he sauntered
on, he fell to thinking what a strange thing it
was that "Conway, the villain, should have been
the man to bar the way to happiness to both
Mr. Gwynn and himself.
 I wonder if the one Mr. Gwynn is grieving
after is as worthless as the one I've lost, he thought.
 I swear I'll never look at a pretty woman again
—or an ugly one either, with eyes of love, for that
matter.
He had come into the park close by the little
"love's a tyrant!
299
church as he thought this, and it rather annoyed
him to see a pretty woman sitting there reading,
while a lady in deep mourning, whose face was
bent down over a sketching-block, and whose
features he could not distinguish, sat beside
her.
A little dog sprang towards him barking
viciously, and the reading girl looked up to say,
"Call Scuffle back, there's a dear; he's harrassing
a tripper.
The voice was soft and pleasant, the mouth
sweet and tender looking. Charlie forgave the
owner of such a voice and mouth the disparaging
allusion to himself, on the spot. He stooped down,
lifted the little dog away from his boot, on to
which it had fastened, and placed it gently on
the grass about a yard from its mistress's seat,
saying,
 You must forgive me for having disturbed you,
but Scuffle sticks to my boot like a burr; will
you hold him now ? 
He asked this in order to get a glimpse of the
resolutely held down face, but the lady in deep
mourning did not gratify him.
 Take Scuffle, dear, she said quietly, without
raising her head, and then added:  I am sorry
he annoyed and detained you, he must not do
it any longer.
 Come here, you reprobate, the girl who had
been reading said, advancing upon Scuffle; "what
a nuisance you are. But she did not seem to
think him a nuisance as she smiled graciously
upon Scuffle's casual acquaintance, who had already
forgotten that he had but just vowed never to look
at a pretty woman again.
Just at that moment he heard Marcus Gwynn
shouting out,
300
"love's a tyrant!
 Charlie! Charlie Salter! come along, we shall
not make Totnes by lunch time, if we loiter along
at this rate.
As he shouted back in response, he saw the
two ladies look up startled and agitated, and heard
one of them say,
 That's Marcus Gwynn ! 
The next moment, Marcus came swinging along
into their midst.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
seeking diversion.
Marcus Gwynn eame upon the scene, and was an
extremely clearly defined figure. The two ladies
saw him and realized him perfectly, but the sun
was in his eyes. Charlie was walking forward to
join him, and he was impatient to get on the road
to Totnes. These three causes had the effect of
making him quite oblivious of the presence—or
rather of the personality of the two ladies. Ac-
cordingly he turned in what looked like a careless
and light-hearted manner away from them, whistling
as he went.
 If we don't look sharp, we shan't do Dartmouth
to-day, old fellow, he said to Charlie, as the latter
came up to him. "I've an idea, that by the time
we've had something to eat at 'The Seven Stars,'
we shall be glad to get back to the ship. Did you
get into the church ?
"Didn't try to, Charlie replied laconically, "a
little dog came worrying about my legs, and by
the time I had got rid of him, you came along.
"People shouldn't keep beastly little dogs at the
 love's a tyrant !
301
entrance to show places, Marcus said disgustedly;
"those little dog^s are active as fleas, and bite rather
more viciously sometimes.
 This chap didn't bite, he let me pick him up
and deliver him to his mistress.
"His mistress being the woman who dusts and
shows the church, eh ?
"His mistress being one of those ladies you saw
there.
"I saw some people, but I didn't see they were
ladies, Marcus said indifferently, as they walked
rapidly along the road, whistling cheerfully still,
and speculating a little as to what reply his letter
would call forth from Colonel Hillier.
"One was an awfully pretty girl, Charlie Salter
said, after a prolonged silence; "a regular English
rose!
"Ah!
"Had those real blue eyes that you don't often
see, you know.
 Oh!
"A regular bit of sunshine in her own home, I
should say.
 Exactly!
"Perhaps you don't admire that style of girl, Mr.
Gwynn ? Charlie said, rather nettled at finding
his glowing description so indifferently received.
"I do immensely, my dear fellow; what style of
girl is it, Charlie?
"Why, what I've been telling you about, and
you've been pretending to agree with me without
hearing a word, Charlie said, looking injured.
Then as Marcus looked at him laughingly, and
gave vent to a whistle expressive of suppressed
mirth and perfect understanding, Charlie laughed
too, guiltily, and again they went on their way
thoughtfully and silently for a while.
302
"love's a tyrant!
Meantime, the two ladies had discussed the two
men,—their motives, and manners exhaustively.
"Marcus didn't recognise us, Con. I'll run after
him.
 Belle! you shall do nothing of the kind, Mrs.
Conway said, getting up and taking firm hold of
Belle Hillier's arm.  Not recognise us!—of course
he did, and did what was perfectly right in turning
away without appearing to do so. Perfectly right.
He knew it would have been painful for me to see
him, after that miserable Paris business.
"The other was a very handsome fellow, wasn't
he? Belle said, thoughtfully.
"Was he? I didn't notice.
 Oh! very handsome, one couldn't see him for
a moment without seeing that.
 After all, now I come to think of it, Mr.
Gwynn might have spoken to me, or, at least,
taken off his hat.
"Why, Con, a minute ago you said he was per
fectly right to pretend not to recognise us. Who
can the other one be ?—one of his cousins, perhaps.
Anyway, he's wonderfully handsome.
"Yes, probably one of 'my uncle Lord Mount-
Hawke's' sons, Constance said, her lips trembling,
and as much of a sneer on them as she could
command to appear against Marcus; "one of the
Honourable Olivia's brothers, no doubt. Perhaps the
whole family are touring with him.
 He looked older than Marcus ! Belle said
thoughtfully.
"Please don't let us distress ourselves about them
any more, Mrs. Conway said, imperiously. Then
after a minute she resumed,
 He stopped dead short, when he came near
"That was because Scuffle struggled away from
 love's a tyrant !
303
him, and he had no excuse for coming nearer. I
thought his manner very polite.
 I am speaking of Mr. Gwynn, said Mrs.
Conway.
"Oh! yes. I was thinking for a moment of the
other one, Belle said hurriedly.  I wish I , had
ruD after Marcus Gwynn. It seems so horribly
cold and stiff to be so near to him after all, and
not to speak to him.
"Not colder and stiffer than he wished us to
be.
 Perhaps he didn't see us, Belle said, ex-
cusingly,  the sun was in his face, and he has
never seen you in widow's dress, Con ?—how should
he have known you? I wish you had never put
on the odious black sham.
Constance sighed. Perhaps the same wish was
in her own heart. However, she said nothing.
"I begin to feel sure he didn't recognise us,
Belle resumed presently.  Connie! what will you
give me, if we ever see Marcus Gwynn again, and
find out that my solution of the mystery off his
manner is the correct one. I warn you, Miss Con,
if I meet him again I shall speak to him.
"Perhaps it will be better to leave it till we
meet his wife.
"You don't know that he's married.
 I feel sure of it, from his manner to-day.
He may have heard something about me, and pro-
bably as he's devoted to her now he has promised
her that he'll never speak to me again.
"I wouldn't think so meanly of Marcus as that,
if I were you, Con ?
 Why not ? Devoted to her, as he is most likely,
he'd do anything to make her happy.
"Marcus couldn't be devoted to a girl who tried
to get a mean promise from him. I wish I had
304
"love's a tyrant!
rushed after him just now, then I should have
found out who his friend is.
 I thought we had settled between ourselves that
his friend was one of the Honourable Olivia's
brothers. Probably they never lose sight of him.
"No, because he spoke of them as boys who
were going into the army. This man is older than
Marcus.
 Perhaps, Constance said, her face growing very
white, "he is the man who was thought guilty at
first—the man who was once to have married that
horrible woman, Laura Payne.
 Perhaps he is, Belle said, ecstatically.  Oh! I'm
ever so much sorrier now, that I didn't go after
Marcus. I should like to have spoken to Mr.
Salter, so much.
 What taste! pining for intercourse with a man
who could contemplate marrying such a woman as
that.
11 Dear Con! men as well as women are liable
to make mistakes about marriage! 
 I scarcely need to be reminded of that; you
need not there, Belle, let's have done with the
topic. We are nearly quarrelling, and all about a
man who has cut me, and another man who
wouldn't know you the next time he saw you,
and neither of whom we shall probably ever see
again.
 I think he'll know me, if he ever sees me
again, quoth Belle, "anyway I should know him—
and he must be nice to be with Marcus Gwynn.
Mrs. Conway made no answer. Perhaps she was
reminding herself that when she first saw Marcus
Gwynn, Mr. Conway was with him. Certainly
this was a distinct argument in refutation of
Belle's statement. But Mrs. Conway did not
advance it.
"love's a tyrant!
305
When she spoke again it was to say,
"Don't let us say a word about having seen
Mr. Grwynn to the Colonel ? I'm sure he'd be
annoyed.
 I'm sure papa would go and look him up at
once, Con, and so are you, Belle said warmly,
 but if you want me not to tell, I won't!
"I want you not to tell uncle; this has been
quite painful enough. I don't want another lesson.
 Oh ! dear! Belle said petulantly,  second
thoughts are not best, I'm sure. My first impulse
was the right one, I ought to have rushed at
Marcus, who didn't see us, and shown him that at
least we wish to be friendly with him.
"Ah! but you don't know what Olivia wishes!
and he's her property now, Mrs. Conway said,
with a little laugh in which there was more bitter-
ness than mirth. Then she went on making
murmuring statements relative to the satisfaction
she in common with all Marcus Gwynn's other
friends must feel in his having made such a wise
choice.
 Would you like to see her when she's Mrs.
Marcus Gwynn ? Belle asked bluntly.
 I should—if she makes him happy, Constance
said humbly, at which Belle turned away her head,
smiled, and asked again,
 Would you like to see her ? No, Con, especially
if she made him happy, the sight of her would
be horrible to your unregenerate heart. Now!
don't get up on stilts of proper feeling with me,
please. ' Do I not know thee to the bone, my
sweet ?' as Swinburne makes Chastelard say to
Mary Queen of Scots. Besides Marcus will never
be made 'happy' by anyone but you—and you
know it.
 It's shameful, it's immoral, to speak in this
20
306
 love's a tyrakt ! 
way of a man who's almost married—and it's worse
in me to listen to you, Constance said hotly.
Luckily they had reached the  Strand, at this
juncture, and the break made by hailing a  midge,
and ordering themselves to be driven to their
temporary home in Petitor Lane, diverted their
minds from that rock on which their amiability
was wrecking itself—Marcus's engagement.
Totnes is both picturesquely and historically
interesting. There is in and around it the most
wonderful intermixture of quaint early-English
architecture and wild beauty. Paved streets and
green lanes and fruit gardens go tumbling up and
down hill in the most fascinating manner. And
ferns reign everywhere in beautiful supremacy and
abundance. Its steep old street leading from the
Dart Bridge to the top of the town is one of the
most difficult and dangerous civilized hills down
which to drive a two wheeled dog-cart in Devon-
shire. You feel that between bricks and mortar,
and in full sight of a countless number of your
fellow-creatures, you are courting destruction in a
manner that is absolutely suicidal as you drive
along. The sensation is a curious one. At each
step taken by your horse, you imagine that the
dog-cart containing yourself and friends is going
to turn a somersault over the horse's back and
head. But the law of compensation works! For
when you reach the bottom of the hill, there is
that neatest and most comfortable of hostelries,
 The Seven Stars Hotel.
Now let me whisper in your gentle ear, thou
lover of salmon. Ingratiate thyself with the head
ostler of the good old hotel, and persuade him to
supply you with salmon from his own  weir
or  leap, or whatever the abiding place of his
particular portion of the Dart salmon may be
"love's a tyrant!
307
called. Then crimp your salmon and boil him, a
pint of water to a pound of fish, and eat him
with no other sauce than this water which has
rendered him what you will find him to be.
Treated thus, I am sure you will admit that the
salmon of the Dart is a worthy rival of the
salmon of the Dee !
At any rate Marcus Gwynn and Charlie Salter
declared that the salmon so served, which formed
part of their luncheon at "The Seven Stars, was
a worthy and dainty dish to set before a king,
even. Accordingly it may be surmised that they
went off for their tour through the little town in
a well satisfied frame of mind. Disposed to be
contented with the present—resigned to the past,
and unmindful, in the anxious sense of the word,
of the future ?
But not so!
The recollection of that bonnie face which he
had likened unto  sunshine would recur to
Charlie Salter, and counterbalancing the pleasure
that recollection gave him, was one full of pain,
as he reflected that his passion for the far more
beautiful face of the she-fiend who had nearly
destroyed him, rendered him unworthy of the love
of such an one as he had seen this morning.
CHAPTER XXXIV
"marcus, let us have it out!
 'Pon my word, now this is an extraordinary
coincidence! said Colonel Hillier, looking up from
the perusal of a letter, the following morning at
breakfast. "Here's a note from Marcus Gwynn,
308
 love's a tyrant !
sent on to me here from Glade; he's here in his
yacht, or rather, lies in Torquay harbour, and he
wants me to go for a cruise with him.
 Oh, indeed! said Mrs. Conway, who was his
sole companion. Sea air made Belle very sleepy
between the hours of eight and ten in the morn-
ing; and the villa they rented at the end of Petitor
Lane was very near the sea, just above Babbi-
combe and Watcombe Bays, in fact.
 Singular he should be here, isn't it ? the old
gentleman went on, delightedly. "He'll cheer us
up, and give us all something to do. I was think-
ing just now, as I was dressing, that, after all, as
one doesn't know a soul here, one might as well
be back at Glade.
 Quite as well, even better, Constance agreed,
with energy. "Why not let us go back to Glade
at once ? I'm longing to be at home again.
 You wouldn't go just as Marcus Gwynn has
turned up, would you ? Colonel Hillier said, with
some signs of vexation.  On my word, Connie,
after all he has done in your service, that would
be a rather ungracious return.
"Uncle"—she struggled against the emotion which
was nearly choking her— can't you understand ?
The most gracious thing I can do to Mr. Gwynn
is to put myself out of his way. Remember!
he is either married, or just going to be married
to a girl who would not have been his wife if I
had not been weak and wicked enough to marry
Mr. Conway!
Colonel Hillier looked at his niece, and thought
how pleasant it would be to have her charming
presence still in the Petitor Villa, even though
Marcus Gwynn had come to Torquay; thought
even how good it would be to go yachting round
the coast comfortably with the three young people
"love's a tyrant!
309
of whom he was so fond,—his daughter and niece
and Marcus Gwynn; thought further, that it was a
thousand pities that the  little Irish girl should be
a barrier between two young people so eminently
adapted to one another, as Marcus and Connie.
But though he thought these things, he was above
all things a gentleman, and so the little absent
Irish girl's interests were sacred in his eyes.
"You're right, quite right, my dear, he said,
heartily. "I'll go down and have a bit of a sail
with Gwynn this afternoon, and say nothing to
him of Belle and you being here.
 Thank you, uncle !
"But—er—in case he asks if Belle and you are
here ?
 He won't make any inquiries about me, I
feel sure of that; he may ask if I'm well, but
replying to that question will not involve the
necessity of telling him that I am here.
Colonel Hillier sighed, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I thought I knew something about women,
but I confess myself at sea about you, Constance.
Why should relations continue to be strained
between you now that you know he is going
to be married and settled comfortably ? While
he wore the willow for you I can understand
you're being constrained and unhappy; but really,
now 
"I'm a fool to give a thought to him, I know
that, Mrs. Conway interrupted in such a tumul-
tuous inconsequent way, that her uncle stared at
her in surprise too deep for words. Under cover
of his silence she went out of the room, and he
started for Torquay to keep his appointment, and
go for a little cruise with Marcus Gwynn.
The wind was fair, and the sun was bright and
310
 love's a tyrant !
encouraging, and all the appointments of the yacht
were eminently comfortable, not to say luxurious.
No better caterer than Walsh the Steward ever
provisioned a ship. It was not at all extraordinary
therefore, that by the time luncheon was over,
Colonel Hillier had expanded into a genial mood
that induced forgetfulness of Mrs. Conway's inter-
dictions.
They had made Bigbury Bay rapidly in the
morning; but the wind had declined to change
as it had been anticipated it would do, and now
they were beating back against it slowly.
 We shall dine at sea this evening, Marcus
said;  seven-thirty's our hour, and we shan't be
back in the harbour till nine.
"Delighted, my dear boy; but I'm afraid Belle
and Connie will be anxious about me.
Marcus laughed.  They won't know at' Glade
whether you have landed or not, sir.
 They're not at Glade, they're here with me
in Torquay.
 Did they come up with you this morning ?
he asked, quickly.
"No, no; we've been staying at St. Mary Church,
a suburb of Torquay, for the last three weeks; your
letter was sent on from Glade. I only got it this
morning, and answered it in person.
"Why didn't Mrs. Conway and Miss Hillier come
with you ? it wasn't friendly, Marcus said, re-
proachfully. Then he added, almost angrily,  What
have I done, that they should treat me as a
stranger ?
 Stranger! oh dear no! not at all, Colonel
Hillier said, uneasily. "The fact is, this wretched
business of her husband's death by unfair means,
and the publicity of it all, has upset poor Connie
very much. She shrinks from seeing any one; by
 love's a tyrant !
311
the way, I remember now, she specially charged
me not to say anything about her being up here
with us.
 Then she specially shrinks from seeing me ?
Marcus half questioned, half asserted.
"Not at all, not at all! Colonel Hillier ex-
plained, eagerly.  How nasty and choppy this sea
is, Marcus. I never was a good sailor; if I could
go below, and lie down now 
He rose up staggeringly and pallid as he spoke,
and—a veil shall be thrown over him for the
following three or four hours. When they had
anchored he emerged, looking a mere wreck, so
shaken by the storm that had raged within him
after having lunched not wisely, but too well, that
Marcus felt it would be but ' common humanity'
to see him home.
About eleven o'clock that night, when Colonel
Hillier had been warmed and soothed, and gently
medicined back to comfort and sleepfulness in his
own chamber, Marcus Gwynn and Mrs. Conway
stood at one of the bay-windows in Petite Torre,
looking out over Babbicombe Bay.
The lady had only recently come from minis-
tering to her uncle's ailments; and Marcus had
waited for her last report of the poor old patient,
"in order, as he said, "that he might take a clear
conscience back to the Ghost.
They were alone, for Belle, who was not much
use as a nurse, had gone out through the little
door at the end of the path on to the cliffs, to
show Mr. Charles Salter the little stretch of silver
sand that is known as Oddicombe Beach. And
he being of an adventurous spirit, had persuaded
her to clamber down the rocky path in order that
they might look at the lights of Teignmouth and
Dawlish, which some one had asserted were plainly
312
"love's a tyrant!
discernible across the water, an assertion Charlie
Salter doubted, and was at some pains to refute,
judging by the time it took him to see the lights
satisfactorily from Oddicombe Beach.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Conway and Marcus stood look-
ing out on the fair scene that was lying before
them bathed in moonlight.
"I assure you, poor dear old uncle is quite him-
self again, she was saying; "the way in which
he tries to impress upon me that the choppy sea
is responsible for all the mischief is rather amusing.
How thoughtless Belle is, she's keeping your friend
out there, and I am sure you want to get back to
the yacht.
"Indeed, I don't. I mean I'm in no hurry. Do
you know who my friend is ? I had no time
when we came in to introduce him properly.
 I am sure he is Mr. Salter, she said gravely.
 Poor Mr. Salter, he must have felt curious to see
the wife who was left for Laura Payne. When are
you to be married, Mr. Gwynn ?
 I—I hardly know, he said, in some confusion.
"Olivia has delayed the marriage, not I.
 I feel sure of that. It will be for your welfare
and happiness to be married. I feel I may talk to
you almost as a sister might without offending you.
And when you are married where will you live ? 
 Oh ! about for a time, and then at Thorpe.
 Thorpe is the Norfolk place ?
 It is.
 And how about your business ?
 It's well looked after, I have a capital manager.
 It's the business by which you chiefly live,
isn't it? she asked.
He assented.
 Now it seems to me that you owe more to
it than you pay, she went on warmly;  it brings
"loves a tyrant!
313
you money, and money helps to bring you con-
sideration. I should like to think of you as look-
ing after your business interests yourself, Mr.
Gwynn. Ever since I have known you, you have
been in pursuit of some Will-o'-the-wisp, some
fancied interest or pleasure which has turned to
ashes on your lips. Now you are idling your time
away yachting when you haven't earned the leisure!
Why don't you go daily to your office for several
months of every year, instead of frittering away
all your best time, and talents, and strength ?
 You'd turn me into a mere tradesman.
 I would like to see you take a true earnest
interest and have a thorough understanding of
the trade by which you live. Your father did it
before you.
 He did.
"And he was as true a gentleman as ever lived.
 He was.
"Be like him, Marcus, she said, earnestly; "follow
your calling, superintend your own affairs and the
people you employ and for whom you are respon-
sible. Do cease from this life of continual effort to
'get rid of the time' merely. You will enjoy
your holiday now and again ten times more than
you do now, when all your days go in holidaying.
 I really came out this time hoping to do some
good to poor Salter, Marcus pleaded;  he's too
good a fellow to be let slip into gloom for the
rest of his life.
 Did he love that wretched woman so much ? 
"He did.
 He'll get over it, she said, suddenly;  men
always do, and the last love is generally the best,
the fittest as well as the best loved.
 Now, you are cruel, Mrs. Conway, he said,
reproachfully.
314
 love's a tyrant !
 Am I ? it is the last thing I meant to be.
Marcus, let us have it out. I felt hurt and indig-
nant yesterday when I thought you cut me, and
I was mean enough to imagine that you had given
your cousin—that you had given Miss Gwynn
some sort of promise you would do so. Now
I know better, and now I want you to tell me
that you will be glad to see me and your wife
friends.
 If you wish to show her friendship, she will,
I am sure, meet you halfway. Poor Olivia! she's
the humblest-minded girl  then he paused and
sighed heavily.
 Why do you draw a long breath, as if you
had some misery on your mind that must remain
untold ? she said, impatiently. Then she added
abruptly,  When are you to be married ?
 When ? Oh ! when Olivia is satisfied that I
know my own mind about the matter.
"She should not doubt you. You are too much
of a gentleman to have asked her to marry you
before your mind was thoroughly made up.
 I thought so myself at the time.
"And you know it now, and I know it too.
Now, Mr. Gwynn, will you go in search of my
cousin and your friend, and then we'll say good-
night, for I want to shut up the house and get
my uncle quiet.
 May I call to-morrow to inquire for the
colonel ?
 No, Marcus ; when you come to see me again
you must bring your wife with you, and then I
will give you both a hearty welcome. Send Mr.
Salter to inquire for uncle to-morrow. And now
good-night. Good-bye.
He took her hand and held it for a moment or
two in silence, and then he went out on to the
"love's a tyrant!
315
cliffs to look for Belle and Charlie Salter, telling
himself that life with Olivia would be slate-
coloured at the best, and that his first love would
be his last.
 Poor Olivia, poor little girl, he said half
aloud several times.  I'll never make a sign, but
she'll know fast enough that I've spoilt my own
life and Connie's too through having been a drift-
ing idiot that unlucky day by the river. She,
poor little girl, would have got over it very likely
if I hadn't found it easier at the moment to com-
fort her than to leave her feeling desolate. Then
he thought of what his life might have been, surely
would have been, with Constance, and the pity he
had been expressing for Constance was abruptly
transferred to himself.
 What a hurry you're in, Mr. Gwynn; it's quite
early yet, said Charlie Salter, when Marcus met
them; and Belle told him frankly that he must
have become very credulous if he believed that
Constance really wanted to turn him out so soon.
CHAPTER XXXV.
olivia is right.
Marcus Gwynn was iil-pleased with himself, con-
sequently he looked crookedly at the world. That
business house from whence he derived the larger
portion of his income had made some unfortunate
investments lately. Fashion had decreed that some
material which it had hysterically proclaimed to be
 the only wear for a fortnight, should suddenly
be condemned to the limbo of "badly worn
things. And this very material—plush, or velvet,
316
 love's a tyrant !
or satin, whichever it might be—had but the other
day engrossed many thousands of Marcus Gwynn's
spare cash. This was but the fortune of war.
But at the time it seemed a terrible trouble to
Marcus, and made him unreasonably exasperated
vdth his chief buyer. This gentleman, who
thoroughly appreciating the value of his own
services, and was quite unaccustomed to be treated
unreasonably, broke his connection with the firm,
and opened a rival emporium on his own account,
which speedily engulphed customers who had been
regular sources of income for untold years to the
house of Sackville. Added to this, the land in
Norfolk was not returning tenfold to his bosom as
it had been wont to do. And his mother was
pressing the point of his being married and settled
at Thorpe before the winter set in.
 Even if I am married, he wrote in reply to
this, "I shall not settle at Thorpe for many a long
day. I find the business is going to the dogs, so
I shall take a house in one of the western suburbs
and go up to the office every day. I am tired of
an idle life, and as Olivia would not appreciate a
wandering and artistic one, she must be content to
see me go off to the city every day in pursuit of
my calling.
This he wrote to his mother a day or two
after his last conversation with Mrs. Conway. And
Mrs. Sackville, reading between the lines, saw dis-
satisfaction in every word of it.
How could he help looking crookedly at the
world, when a post or two before this he had had
a letter from Lord Mount-Hawke, which was a
strong reminder to him of his obvious duty to
Olivia ?
 As soon as your wedding is over—and the sooner
it's over the better I shall be pleased, Lord Mount-
 love's a tyrant !
317
Hawke wrote, with what Marcus considered brutal
frankness,  I am going to take Lady Mount-Hawke
abroad. Your aunt's health is failing fast, and as
the Hubbards intend to winter at Nice, we shall
go with them in order that Cosy may look after
her mother.
"That means that poor old Hubbard is to pay
the piper; but that's neither here nor there,
Marcus thought. And then he set himself to con-
sider what sort of answer he should return to his
uncle.
 The only thing I can do, he said wretchedly
and recklessly to Charlie Salter, "is to wire and say
I'll cross at once in the yacht; and then when they
get me there they can settle things as they please.
 You'll find it rough crossing in the yacht, won't
you ? Charlie said, for America had just sent over
the first of a series of promised gales, and even
in Torquay Harbour the Ghost was uneasy.
 The breeze will serve to blow the cobwebs
away, Marcus replied, carelessly. "The little ship's
as fit as she can be, and I shall turn up at Mount-
Hawke in better tune if I go over in her, than if
I go over in one of the rollers from Plymouth.
Why not come with me, Charlie ?
 I'm wanted on the farm, Mr. Gwynn, Charlie
said.
 Are you going up to the Hilliers' to-day ?
Marcus asked, and Charlie said he was, hurriedly.
 That's right, old boy, Marcus said cordially
without any apparent reason, whereat Charlie
Salter looked gravely foolish.
 Tell Mrs. Conway that my uncle has sent for
me, and that I am going over at once in the
yacht, will you?
 Going to be married ? Charlie asked, with a
stare.
318
"love's a tyrant!
 That's as they like when I get over there.
Everything shall be exactly as they wish. Miss
Gwynn has been only too good and patient with
me while I've been roaming about on other people's
business. Now it's her turn to take my life into
her hands and mould it as she will.
 From all you've told me she will mould it very
pleasantly for you, Charlie remarked, contentedly.
Poor Charlie! His thoughts were not with Marcus
Gwynn just now. They were concentrated on that
star who had arisen at Petite Torre for him, on
that girl who was  shining down the black, bad
impression left upon his mind by that scorching
light—Laura.
A favouring breeze sprang up during the night,
and the Ghod sailed for Queenstown Harbour with
its owner on board, leaving his guest, Mr. Salter,
at Torquay. Somehow or other the latter's duties
on the Thorpe Manor Farm did not recall him for
several days after Mr. Gwynn left him. And
these days were chiefly spent on the cliffs above
Oddicombe and Watcombe Bays, to whose beauties
Miss Hillier took a real pleasure in introducing
Marcus Gwynn's friend.
And in turn, in fair exchange, Charlie Salter
took a real pleasure in describing the manner in
which his mother and himself had lived their lives
at the Manor Farm previous, to the Laura Payne
epoch. About this last he was very silent, passing
it over as a burnt-out bit of his life, and taking
up his story again quite cheerfully with a record
of the time he had passed with Mr. Gwynn in the
yacht.
The Ghost had a rough time of it in crossing.
The bright encouraging breeze that had sprung
up on the morning of her sailing out of Torquay
"LOVES A TYRANT!
319
Harbour, turned to a gale just as she sighted the
Longships, and gave her a spasmodic period across
the channel. Fortunately both Marcus and the
Ghost were excellent sailors. Nevertheless, both the
yacht and its owner were a good deal out of gear
by the time they anchored in Cork Harbour.
They had been sixty hours crossing, and the
anxiety of  the family expressed itself in the fact
of Maurice Gwynn's being in Queenstown to receive
either his cousin or the first tidings of him. The
attention appeared to Marcus to be "uncalled-for,
and he had a general feeling of being taken in
charge, as he seated himself in the railway carriage
that was to take them up to the little station at
Darglery, where it was appointed that the Mount-
Hawkes and Hubbards should receive him.
As the train drew up at the station, Marcus
looked up and saw an open carriage and a little
brougham, and out of the window of the latter
Olivia's face, flushed with agitation, was peeping.
At the same motion Mrs. Hubbard jumped from
the carriage, and, with a cry of "Dear old boy,
here he is at last, ran over to meet him; but
Olivia remained where she was.
He met Cosy with a hearty kiss and an ex-
pression of the genuine pleasure it was to him to
see her again. Then he went on to Olivia.
Struggle as hard as he would he could not
constrain himself to show the same smiling, cheerful
front to his bride-elect as he had displayed to
her sister. He was fond of Olivia, he earnestly
desired to spare her feelings and make her happy
in every way. But he could not compel himself
to look that which he was not—an eager, happy
lover.
Moreover, he knew that Olivia was watching
him with those clear, unselfish, discerning eyes of
320
"love's a tyrant!
hers, and reading the truth. It roused all that was
generous in him, to know as he did that as soon
as she realised the truth the poor little girl would
break the chains that were so dear to her and set
him free, though in doing so she might break her
own heart. He scorned himself for being so poor
an actor now, when he would have given halt
he possessed to pourtray the same feelings for her
that she expressed for him so spontaneously and
involuntarily. But he could not do it. All he
could do was to take her face between his hands,
kiss it, which action freed his face from her search-
ing eyes for a few moments, and tell her she was
a  darling girl to have come to meet him. Then
he got into the brougham and greeted his aunt
and flung himself into a conversation respecting her
ailments and the trip abroad, which it was hoped
would cure them.
"You really ought to lose no time, he said;
"the summer is nearly over, and you ought to be
out of this country before the autumn rains come
on. When do you all think of starting?
 That will depend on Olivia, Lady Mount-
Hawke said, smiling. Her nephew Marcus had
always been a favourite, and the prospect of
having him so soon for a son was delightful to her.
Her mind was quite undisturbed by doubts such
as beset poor Olivia. That it was a real old-
fashioned love affair dating from their boy and
girlhood, the good credulous lady firmly believed.
So now she said that their going abroad would
 depend on Olivia, with a cheerful conviction that
she was saying something that was peculiarly
agreeable to both the young people.
But the effect produced was not at all that which
she had anticipated. Olivia gave a choking sigh,
and turned her face resolutely to the window, but
"love's a tyrant!
321
not before her mother had seen the tears start into
the girl's eyes. While all Marcus could manage to
say after an embarrassing silence, was,—
 I am sure Olivia won't do anything to delay
you, aunt; and you'll soon get all right when you
get into a warmer climate. Sunshine and Cosy
will do wonders for you.
 Cosy was never such a good nurse as Olivia,
Lady Mount-Hawke floundered on. "From the
time Livy was able to toddle she was always
ready to wait on her mother, and a girl
who'll do that will wait well on her husband,
Marcus.
"I'm sure of that, Marcus said, trying to look
enthusiastic at this prospect of developing Olivia's
talent for nursing, and then Olivia, who had sub-
dued her inclination to cry, turned round, and
began to question Marcus about  dear Aunt
Helena! calling him  Cousin Marcus two or
three times in the course of the conversation in the
most natural way possible.
He knew what was coming. He had felt from
the moment his eyes met hers at the Darglery
station that it must come. Yet now his nerve
failed him, and if begging her on his knees to spare
him would have kept her silent he would have
prostrated himself and prayed for a reprieve.
He had been three days at Mount-Hawke, and
during those three days he had seemed to fall more
naturally as of old to the portion of the boys than
to that of Olivia. Maurice was always at hand.
Olivia was never "there when Marcus was alone.
Still she always seemed at rest and cheerful when
he did see her in the family circle, and he began
to think that she was going to let things take
their course, and spare him the humiliation of
21
322
 love's a tyrant !
rejecting him because he was not  true. But now
he knew that it was coming, and after it how
should he face them all ? How should he face his
own mother?
He was sitting on the sill of an open window
smoking a cigarette, and reading the newspaper
in a desultory manner, when he was roused from
his passive acceptance of things by Olivia's entrance,
and her first words,—
 I am so glad to find you alone, Marcus, for
there's something I must say to you.
He rose at once and took her hands, and was
going to give her a kiss, and try to tell her that
it was her own fault she didn't find him alone
oftener. But she drew back her head and checked
him.
"I've kept away all this time because I wanted
to think well before I spoke, Marcus. Now I'm
ready, and you must listen to me. You must be
my dear Cousin Marcus all the rest of your life,
as you've always been—nothing more. You didn't
know when you asked me to marry you, dear.
Now you've seen her again, and you love her
best; love her as you can't love me. It's so, isn't
it ? Oh! I know you'll tell me the truth now.
He hung his head; he hated himself. He would
have died to make Olivia happy at that moment,
but he would not tell a lie.
 I shall never see her again, he stammered out
at last. "I honour and love you, dear. I shall be
a better man with you than without you. For my
mother's sake forgive me and take me.
 Aunt Helena loves us both too well for her to
wish that I should do you a cruel wrong for her
sake, she said, gently, "and for the rest—well—
Cosy can make papa think anything right. She
shall tell him, and they'll all be the same to you,
 love's a tyrant !
323
Marcus, ana so will I, just as I've always been
after a little bit, and Constance will think all the
more of you when she hears that you couldn't help
being true to her.
She was out of the room and out of his reach
before he could stop her, and he was left alone to
meditate on his freedom, and to reflect as col-
lectedly as he could on the turn affairs had taken.
How should he face his aunt and uncle after
this? How he could not tell himself, but it would
have to be done, and that directly. He would not
stay in the house another hour under false pretences.
If his uncle kicked him out of the house he would
bear it; he would bear all possible odium that
might be cast upon him silently. But how should
he ever face Olivia after this ?
He got up and went out and strolled aimlessly
about, fancying that he was looking for Lord Mount-
Hawke, and wishing with all his heart that Olivia
had been less discerning and less generous.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
better so.
A girl has many more agreeable duties to perform
in life than that of acquainting her parents with
the fact that her engagement, which had their
hearty approval, is broken off.
As a rule, if the man has been the one to sever
the chain, or, in higher language, to jilt her, she
has at least the comforting conviction that her own
people will regard her more in sorrow than in
324
 love's a tyeant ! 
anger. But if she has put herself off the pedestal
which an engagement to make a prosperous
marriage has placed her upon, then woe unto her!
She must necessarily have a terrible tumble in the
family estimation. In their hearts, according to
their lights, they will, one and all, be either
sneering or snarling at her. They will look upon
her with eyes that tell her plainly they regard her
as a peach off which the most delicate bloom has
been brushed. And by-and-bye perhaps they will
laud and glorify the charms and discretion of the
girl who succeeds her, and takes that which she
has idiotically rejected. This is the rule; there are
of course exceptions to it. But Olivia had small
hopes that hers would be an exceptional case as
she parted with Marcus, and realised that it was
her duty to let her father and mother know the
truth without delay.
For a cowardly minute or two she thought 01
going to Cosy, and bringing her back to break the
intelligence. But the braver spirit of determination
to herself endure all the unpleasantness that might
arise from her action soon prevailed.
She was not a quick-minded girl, but she was
essentially a clear-minded and truthful one. It
never occurred to her to try to gloss over dis-
agreeables by an evasion, or to save herself from
discomfiture by a suppression. So now, though she
shrank from the task, she quite naturally resolved
to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth to her father and mother.
Therefore it was not with an idea of giving
herself time to think out any formula of confession
that might win her absolution from her parents
that she delayed going to them. It was only be-
cause she dreaded the anger and annoyance they
would feel, whether they expressed it openly or
 love's a tykant !
325
not. So she set off to walk through the stableyard
to the poultry houses, feeling as if she owed them
(her family) the poor compensation of making herself
useful by picking up some fresh eggs.
There was a good deal of excitement in the
stableyard, caused by the arrival of a high-spirited,
nearly thoroughbred mass of horse flesh in the
shape of a famous huntress known as the "Fiery
Cross, which had come as a present to Marcus
Gwynn from Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard. Poor
Olivia's heavy heart throbbed with pleasure as she
heard the news from her brother Maurice, and
learnt that there was nothing going for money in
the country that could compare with this glorious
mare. It did not strike her that the Hubbards
were making an ottering to their brother-in-law that
was soon to be, not to Cosy's, cousin Marcus.
 What have you done with Marcus, Livy ? her
brother asked. "I'm all over the place looking for
him. As a matter of fact, Maurice had only
"looked for Marcus in the tan-run while taking
the Fiery Cross over some hurdles.
 Somewhere in the house, I think. I'm off to
the hen-houses, she said, running off; and Maurice
muttered that "they were the most sensible pair
of lovers it had ever been his lot to meet with.
Egg-collecting was not an engrossing occupation
this day. Olivia soon found herself back in the
house, close to her mother's door—her hand on the
handle of it even.
 I hope mamma's alone! she almost prayed as
she went in. But that hope was dashed to pieces
instantaneously, for there sat Cosy, radiant in pearly
silk and laces, on her way to a flower show.
 I'm telling mamma Marcus and you ought to
show yourselves at it together, child, the younger
married sister said patronisingly to the elder spinster
326
"love's a tyrant!
one. "It's a shame to shut yourselves up—it's
defrauding the neighbourhood! Engaged people
ought to go about, to give others the opportunity
of saying a fresh series of nice and nasty things
about them.
"I want Livy to make her selection from these
patterns to-day, Lady Mount-Hawke put in, with
a happy air of being quite overcome by the business
of choosing the materials for the trousseau dresses.
As she spoke she pushed large packets of white
satin, silk, cut and uncut velvets, and other essen-
tially snowily-bridal materials across the table
towards Olivia.
Then all Olivia's enforced composure and meek
heroism gave way, and she cast her arms round
her mother's neck, clinging to and kissing her
throat as she had often done in her childhood, and
sobbing out,—
 I shall never want them, mamma—never!
never ! never ! Say you're not augry.
"Not angry, poor dear; but I'll have to tell your
father, Livy! And oh, my child! if I could have
been spared his looks when he hears it, poor
timid, terrified Lady Mount-Hawke gasped out;
while Cosy "went verbally for the absent Mrs.
Conway in a way that must have made that lady's
ears tingle.
Meantime Marcus had faced his uncle at an
inauspicious moment.
The Fiery Cross, which had long been coveted
for his own stables, had, Lord Mount-Hawke just
learnt, now come into the possession of the family
through Mr. Hubbard's munificence to Marcus.
Now Lord Mount-Hawke knew his nephew well.
After the utterance of a few frank, well-chosen
words from his own noble lips of congratulation,
slightly savoured with regret, Marcus would not
 love's a tyrant !
327
remove the grand Irish mare from her own
country.
 The boy has never gone for the turf, and
Livy's been taught by her mother to hate it; he'll
leave the mare here for the boys, and we'll win
a pot of money on her in steeplechases.
Then, as he was settling things thus pleasantly
for himself in his own mind, Marcus came up, was
shown the grand gift from Darglery, and was heard
by his uncle to mutter wild words to the effect
that he  couldn't accept it.
Then he gave his reasons for his acceptance of
the present being an impossibility  under the
circumstances, which he explained as coherently
as his crest-fallen, conscience-cumbered mind would
permit of his doing.
"And you mean to tell me you've let a girl go
because in a fit of jealousy she has offered to
release you ? his uncle asked.
 I haven't quite made you understand Olivia's
position. Heaven knows I am as willing to fulfil
my engagement as ever I was. As willing, did
I say ? Indeed I care more for her at this moment
than I ever did before!
"I will speak to my daughter, Lord Mount-
Hawke interrupted, in colder tones than Marcus had
ever heard from his uncle's lips before.  I should
have thought, Marcus, that you understood that a
marriage with the Honourable Olivia Gwynn is
not to be knocked up and off at the whim even of
Miss Gwynn herself. I will speak to my daughter.
She shall act as a noble Irish lady should, and I
need not remind you that you are the son of a
noble Irish lady also—that you are of our
blood.
"And that will revolt at the idea of a girl
being coerced into marrying me, Marcus began.
328
 love's a tyrant ! 
But Lord Mount-Hawke turned away in silence
and left him.
Ten minutes later Olivia was receiving an order
from her father to  come into the library with
him and shut the door.
No one ever quite knew what took place at
that interview; but when it was over Lord
Mount-Hawke's eyes were rather redder and
more swollen than his daughter's, and when he
parted with Marcus that night it was as if a
father were parting with a son whom he
honoured.
But for all this Olivia had been stedfast, and
her last words to Marcus were those by which
the family had to abide.
 You'll never think of me except as a cousin
again, please, Marcus, and your wife will like me
all the better when you tell her how quick I was
to find out that you never could care a button for
me in any other way.
Marcus went back to London vid Chester. He
had no heart for crossing in the Ghost, yachting
seemed frivolous to him just then. He sent a
brief explanation to his mother, but made no sign
of the change that had come over his destinies to
his friends at Glade. He felt it to be as much
Olivia's due that he should decently mourn that
dead engagement for a period as that he should
have worn black for herself if she had died. He
busied himself with the organisation and details
of the business which had simply been the goose
that laid golden eggs to him hitherto. So the
winter and spring passed &way with a rapidity
that amazed him when he thought about it, for-
getting that monotony makes time fly faster than
any other agency.
 love's a tykant !
329
He often heard from his mother of the move-
ments and health of the Mount- Hawke family. But
she never mentioned Olivia especially. Sometimes
his cousin Cosy wrote him long, lively letters.
But she too generalised about her own people,
merely describing their life as an altogether bright
and pleasant one. These circumstances made him
half hope sometimes that Olivia had forgotten him,
and was going to be very happy with some one
else. Half hope this only. He was not sufficiently
unselfish yet to wholly hope that she had alto-
gether blotted him out.
He had heard nothing of the Glade people either
for many months, had not received either message
or letter from one of them from the evening on
which he had parted with Mrs. Conway in the
bay-window that overlooked Babbicombe beach.
So it came upon him as a stupendous but singularly
pleasant surprise when he got a letter from Charlie
Salter, one day, asking him as a particular
favour to run down to Glade that day week to
be present at his (Charlie's) marriage with Isabel
Hillier.
"Some people think she's marrying beneath her,
Charlie wrote, "but she differs with them, and her
father and cousin, bless them! are on her side.
Both Belle and I will be the happier for your pre-
sence at our wedding; if you come we shall have
all the friends we really value around us.
Marcus went!
The quiet little wedding was over, and the bride
and bridegroom had gone out into the world toge-
ther, to learn that "little more which man and
woman may learn of one another before they
settle down to the business of life at home.
330
 love's a tyrant ! 
There had been no party to entertain at Glade
on the occasion, and Marcus had consequently
dropped into position almost as a member of the
family from the moment of his arrival the night
before. Constance had been very kind and friendly
to him, but as yet no word had been said relative
to Olivia and the broken engagement. But now
he felt that the time had come when he must
speak about these things. For he was alone with
Mrs. Conway, and she was assuming in the easiest
way possible that he would be leaving by an
evening train.
 It was so good of you to come down for this;
it has made those two dear young people so much
happier to feel that you approve of what they've
done. They have improved each other vastly since
their engagement. Belle has gained in depth and
solidity of character, and he has softened under her
graceful influence, and struggled hard to cultivate
himself. I believe they will be happy. They are
both above all vain aspirations for social advance-
ment, and will be splendidly contented in their
own sphere.
"As we shall be, I trust, Connie, Marcus said,
taking her hand. "You must hear me now, it's
my turn—I've won the right to speak through
patient waiting. You know all that I can tell
you about my cousin Olivia ?
She bowed her head.
"There must be no more waiting and no further
mistakes between us, Constance. Let me tell you
the whole story now. Olivia set me free soon
after I left Torquay last year. Do you know that
I have schooled myself to wait all these months
before coming to you, in order that I might make
you feel sure how deeply I respect her, and how
dearly I love her, as a sister, almost ?
 love's a tyrant !
331
"I know it all, she said quietly. "Olivia and
I know each other well.
He stared, and repeated her last words.
"Yes, Marcus, she has been staying with us
during the winter. She wrote for your mother
and invited me to Thorpe when Belle went up at
"Christmas to stay with old Mrs. Salter. I went,
and brought Olivia back with me.
 Is she here now ? Marcus asked eagerly;
and the tears came into Constance's eyes as she
answered,—
"No, this place is too cold for her; she is very,
very ill and weak, and the doctors say her only
chance is to take a long sea voyage, so Lord
Mount-Hawke means to take her to Australia, but
she won't go until 
She paused, and Marcus filled in the words.
"We are married. I know her dear generous
heart so well, Constance; there shall be no more
delays, no more wretched slips and misunderstand-
ings between us, shall there, my darling, my only
love ? you will be my wife now ?
There were no more delays or misunderstandings,
and before long Olivia had the only happiness that
was left to her—that of seeing the only man she
had ever loved made supremely content by his
union with another woman.
Theirs was a sober wedding, too, for the chief
feature at it was his frail and delicate cousin Olivia,
who was to be hurried away to Australia im-
mediately after the marriage, in order that the fleet
horseman, Death, who was pursuing her, might be
distanced for a time. But love is such a cruel
tyrant that he rarely holds the cup of joy to the
lips of one without simultaneously forcing another
to drain the dregs of bitterness.
332
 love's a tyrant ! 
So it happened that, having lived just long
enough to see Marcus happy and safe at last,
chiefly through her influence and exertions, Olivia's
spirit gave up the battle, and the voyage to
Australia was never taken.
She had gone to the Better Land.
THE END.
THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY TRESS.
7
USE
UEBiG OOMPAWY'S
EXTRACT OF MEAT
For Flavoring, Strengthening and Improving Soups,
Sauces, Gravies and lade Dishes.
V Ask for the COMPANY'S Extract,
and see that it bears Justus yon |
Liebig's signature in BLUE ink
across the label.
KMC •' WEI) AMI I'KTs ! Kl> HV K|)MI Nil EVAN'S, RAC<t»L'EI i'oCKT, II EE I sfKEEI l.oNDON. MI.