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 THE MAN OF MARK.
 
 THE 
 
 MAN or MAE K, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 EICHAED LANGDON. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1866. 
 
 [The ngUt of Translation and Beproduction are Seserved.']
 
 LOBTDOK: 
 
 SAVJIl AJTD EDWABDS, PBINTEES, CEANDOS-SIBBET, 
 
 COVENT-GiBDEN.
 
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 The deep golden rays of the setting sun, as 
 
 :. it sank in dying splendour behind a range 
 
 of purple, sea-girt mountains, fell upon the 
 
 lofty towers of a castle embowered amid 
 
 v^.dark green woods. From a broad gravel 
 
 . walk before the entrance-hall of the castle 
 
 >v the smooth-shaven lawn sloped gently down 
 
 2 for some distance ere it was abruptly termi- 
 
 i^3 nated by a precipitous wall of rugged rock, 
 
 5 which rose up from the deep blue waves 
 
 ^/ calmly sleeping at its foot. All along the 
 
 \ ledge of the precipice, where the lawn met 
 
 ^ the rocky boundary, a strong parapet wall 
 
 ^ was erected to guard from danger the steps 
 
 VOL. I. I 1
 
 2 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 of those who walked near the cliffs. At 
 several points of the iron-bound coast the 
 parapet was formed into a small circular 
 enclosure, round which rustic oak seats were 
 placed, while in the centre of the open space 
 were piled up masses of different coloured 
 rocks, climbing over which were numerous 
 parasitical plants. From each of these places 
 of vantage the eye of the spectator ranged 
 over a noble prospect. Before him spread 
 out, like a vast azure plain, an illimitable 
 expanse of ocean. Towards the distant hori- 
 zon a large island, whose majestic coronet 
 of heath-clad mountains was now burnished 
 by the beams of the evening sun, rose up in 
 lone grandeur from the deep. As the eye 
 glanced along the rugged shore it dwelt 
 upon range after range of lofty mountains, 
 which stretched far inland till they were 
 lost in clouds and mist. Overhead the deep- 
 ening blue of a summer sky told of the 
 imperceptible approach of twilight, as a rich, 
 rosy blush, cast over the face of heaven.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 3 
 
 faded away into the sombre hue of the 
 shadows of eve. 
 
 Eeclining on a seafc close by the brink of 
 the precipitous cliffs, a man in the prime of 
 youth was listlessly gazing across the waves 
 all gilded by the reflection of the glowing 
 skies. Clustering locks of dark brown hair 
 fell over his forehead, and the pallid hue of 
 his face seemed to tell of studies prolonged 
 far beyond the midnight hour. His form 
 was rather slender, and the whiteness of his 
 liands, the studious care with which his 
 dress was arranged, and the indolent atti- 
 tude in which he lay, — all appeared to indi- 
 cate a person of luxurious, if not effeminate 
 tastes. His dark eyes wore an expression 
 of settled melancholy, which was not 
 belied by the other features of his coun- 
 tenance. Seemingly his reverie was not 
 of a very cheerful nature, for once or 
 twice he almost bit his lips in endea- 
 vouring to stifle some secret emotion, and 
 at such times his hands became clenched 
 
 1—2
 
 4 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 througli involuntary sympathy witli his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Yes !" at length he exclaimed, starting 
 up, ''it is this inaction that hears me down, 
 that leads my thoughts ever towards that 
 dreadful subject. Could I even cease to 
 dwell upon the horrid memory — could I 
 persuade myself that the day I have so 
 often prayed for is past, as it surely must 
 be, all might be well." 
 
 The fast sinking sun warned him that it 
 was time to turn his steps towards the castle, 
 and he saw parties of the guests, who had 
 been strolling about the extensive pleasure- 
 grounds, slowly sauntering in the same 
 direction. Several of them seemed to be un- 
 used to the striking grandeur of the scenery, 
 and constantly turned to survey its many 
 beauties. The lawns, walks, and shrub- 
 beries, laid out as they were with consum- 
 mate taste, formed of themselves a delightful 
 prospect. Herds of deer scattered over the 
 distant glades gave animation to the land-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. O 
 
 scape, and a deep, smootUy flowing river 
 wonnd tlirougli a part of the demesne. 
 Bridges were thrown across the stream at 
 different points, each one of hewn stone 
 with massive balustrades, at either end of 
 whicli were groups of statuary. Two or 
 three open summer-houses in the shape of 
 temples, their roofs supported upon graceful 
 columns of diflbrent orders of architecture, 
 offered a cool retreat from the heat of the 
 sun. 
 
 The interior of the castle fully realized 
 the anticipations of splendour which its 
 palatial aspect externally would naturally 
 lead the visitor to expect. An immense 
 entrance -hall, lighted up with subdued efiect 
 by two lofty and richly stained glass win- 
 dows, had to be traversed ere the grand 
 flight of stairs which led to the reception 
 looms could be reached. Both hall and 
 staircase were constructed of dark green 
 marble, and the massive bronze balustrades 
 formed a harmonious contrast in colour.
 
 b THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Every door which opened on to the stau's 
 and hall was of ebony inlaid with gold 
 devices, and a very fine effect was produced 
 when the magnificent bronze candelabra, 
 disposed at intervals along the walls, were 
 fully lighted up. Extending from the top 
 of the staircase was a noble picture gallery, 
 of great length and proportionate loftiness, 
 adorned with countless gems of ancient and 
 modern art. Statues by the first sculptors 
 in Europe were ranged in two rows along 
 each side of the gallery, and so highly 
 polished was the oak floor that it almost 
 reflected the various works of art on the 
 walls. Four small octagonal rooms opened 
 out from one side of the gallery, each fitted 
 up as a sort of lounge, where visitors might 
 recline after they were tired of gazing at 
 the pictures and statues. One of these 
 rooms had its walls and ceiling entirely 
 composed of mirrors of difierent size and 
 shape, which reflected the landscape without 
 in its endless variety of aspects. Another
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 7 
 
 was in a similar way inlaid with pieces of 
 mother-of-pearl, a third was entirely pan- 
 elled with every possible variety of polished 
 woods, and the fourth was similarly fitted 
 np with beautiful specimens of crystals, 
 pebbles, and marbles. 
 
 Leaning out of the window in the last- 
 mentioned chamber was a lady, who might 
 have been one of the innumerable figures of 
 Venus which adorned the gallery, dressed 
 in the costume of 1864, so finely moulded 
 were her limbs. Her face, though good, 
 was not seen to advantage in profile, and a 
 profusion of wavy auburn tresses concealed 
 the contour of her] graceful neck. But her 
 marvellous hand — so soft, so dimpled, so 
 delicately marbled in its ivory whiteness 
 with faint blue veins — ^how shall it be de- 
 scribed? Men had been heard to declare 
 that its touch thrilled them with a strange, 
 electric throb of delight which they could 
 not account for, and, when aided by a glance 
 from her deep hazel eyes, rendered them
 
 8 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 helpless instruments of her will. The atti- 
 tude in which she stood was a strikingly 
 graceful one, and the evening costume she 
 wore allowed her finely formed arms and 
 shoulders to be seen to great advantage. 
 A simple gold bracelet was bound round 
 each of her wrists, and one superb diamond 
 ring sparkled on her left hand. Her dress, 
 pure white, but of very rich material, was 
 disposed over her person with evident care, 
 and this, added to her rather studied pos- 
 ture, increased her statuesque appearance. 
 
 Ida von Borgern was the only child of 
 the baron of that name, and she and her 
 father might now almost be considered as 
 part of the establishment of the owner of 
 these splendid halls. Aubrey De Vaux, for 
 he it was who called this fair domain his 
 own, had some years since met the baron 
 while travelling abroad, and invited him to 
 visit his ancestral residence in Scotland. 
 The visit resulted in the baron being in- 
 duced, partly through friendship and partly
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. \) 
 
 from other considerations, to remain always 
 at the disposal of his friend, either as a 
 traveling companion or a confidential ad- 
 viser to whom private affairs could be en- 
 trusted. People wondered how this singular 
 connexion had been formed, and various 
 were the solutions of the problem offered to 
 appease vulgar curiosity. The baron, how- 
 ever, was inscrutable, and evaded with ex- 
 cellent address any attempts to fathom the 
 mystery. He was a man of gentlemanly, 
 even refined manners, and had little in his 
 bearing or appearance to indicate his foreign 
 birth. Long intercourse with the better 
 classes of society, both in England and the 
 Continent, rendered him a most agreeable 
 companion and an invaluable aid in a 
 country house. Frequently, when Mr. De 
 Vaux was summoned away on his own 
 private business, he would leave the baron 
 in charge of his extensive household; and 
 the latter being known to be completely in 
 his friend's confidence, a most efiicient check
 
 10 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 was established. Indeed it was absolutely 
 necessary that some one, besides De Vaux 
 himself, should have the surveillance of his 
 vast possessions, where so much must needs 
 be delegated to others. 
 
 When the Baron von Borgern first became 
 the favoured friend of Aubrey de Vaux, his 
 daughter Ida was but a golden- haired girl 
 of some sixteen years old, very shy and 
 silent. But the six years which had elapsed 
 since that period till the time our story 
 opens, had intensified and strengthened the 
 native force of her intellect. Deeply ob- 
 servant of all that went on around her, and 
 by her position thrown very much on her 
 own resources for entertainment and infor- 
 mation, she made no great figure in that 
 society where her place was but uncertain 
 and ill defined. Mr. De Vaux's enormous 
 wealth, reputed talents, and winning address 
 made him sought after in the very highest 
 circles. Consequently, when his hospitable 
 mansions were thrown open in return, few
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 11 
 
 there were who held aloof from them because, 
 as yet, there was no lady to preside over 
 such a splendid home. But the toleration 
 extended to the baron by the highly born 
 ladies who were frequent guests of Aubrey 
 De Yaux was by no means always accorded 
 to his daughter. Not that anybody ven- 
 tured to behave with ill-bred hauteur to a 
 girl of so ladylike and unpretending appear- 
 ance as Ida when Mr. De Yaux was present, 
 but she had often to endure little slights 
 and annoyances when she was unavoidably 
 left alone with these illustrious dames and 
 their exquisitely fashionable offspring. With 
 gentlemen, however, the case was very dif- 
 ferent, for there was something in the tones 
 of her voice and the calm witchery of her 
 singular eyes that made them willing to 
 linger long by her side. But, as Ida was not 
 unaware of the unpleasantness such atten- 
 tions might cause, she rarely encouraged 
 them. Sometimes she kept entirely to the 
 suite of apartments which she and her
 
 12 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 father occupied, for days at a time, only 
 joining the general circle of guests at the 
 special invitation of Mr. De Yaux. 
 
 For the first three or four years since the 
 baron and his daughter came to stay with 
 him, Aubrey had never thought of, or treated, 
 Ida otherwise than as his friend's pretty, lady- 
 like, but rather shy and immature girl. Cir- 
 cumstances had occurred, however, which 
 changed the current of his feelings towards 
 her ; and Aubrey sometimes almost trembled, 
 he scarce knew why, when he felt Ida's calm 
 but keen eyes fixed upon his. Although 
 living under the same roof they seldom 
 were thrown together, except when they 
 met in the general circle ; and De Vaux 
 rather avoided, for reasons of his own, any 
 very intimate or direct communications with 
 a young, attractive girl, placed in the deli- 
 cate position of the baron's daughter. 
 
 Ida was leaning out of the window, her 
 cheek lightly resting upon her left hand, 
 while in her right was a gauz}^ cambric
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 13 
 
 handkerchief. She watched Aubrey De 
 Vaux, who was moving listlessly across the 
 soft mossy lawn with his eyes on the 
 ground, as though still in a dreamy reverie. 
 All at once, when he had just stepped on to 
 the gravel walk, she allowed her handker- 
 chief to escape from her hand, and, floating 
 slowly downwards, it fell lightly on the 
 ground in front of Aubrey. He stooped 
 down to pick it up, and read the word 
 " Ida" fancifully embroidered on the border. 
 For an instant his face changed its ex- 
 pression — a change marked by the lady who 
 watched him — and he looked up as she pro- 
 nounced his name in a low, subdued voice. 
 
 " Excuse my troubling you, Mr. De Yaux ; 
 but might I ask you to bring it up to 
 
 When he entered the room she still stood 
 by the open window, nor did she move 
 forward to meet him, but her lips parted 
 with a smile of singular sweetness as he 
 restored the handkerchief.
 
 14 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 "You are early dressed, Ida; have you 
 not been enjoying your usual evening 
 walk ?" said Aubrey, not moving away, as 
 Ida almost expected, but throwing himself 
 down on a damask ottoman. 
 
 " No ; I have been watching the sunset 
 from here — I did not care to go out by 
 myself." 
 
 " I am glad you are coming down to- 
 night, Ida," said De Vaux ; " you so seldom 
 join the dinner party." 
 
 These simple words, uttered in what to 
 most people would have seemed a conven- 
 tional tone of courtesy, caused a faint — a 
 very faint — blush to tinge Ida's cheek ; but 
 an instantaneous flash of joy lighted up 
 those wondrous eyes of hers. 
 
 " "Well, you know, Mr. De Vaux, I feel 
 rather lost in such a large company of 
 strangers ; and then I am not familiar with 
 their topics of conversation." 
 
 " Little do you lose, indeed !" replied her 
 companion, bitterly. " Great deprivation is
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 15 
 
 it to be unaware that Lady Olivia was a 
 week ago forced by her mother to accej^t 
 Lord Frederick; that Sir Arthur has at 
 length fulfilled the world's expectations by 
 running off with Lady Vereker Varnish ; 
 that the Marquis of Glittersham is about to 
 retire to the seclusion of the Continent for 
 some years in consequence of his recent 
 losses on the turf; and similar important 
 announcements !" 
 
 While Aubrey. was talking, Ida could not 
 help wondering at the unusual style of his 
 conversation, so different from the taciturn 
 manner he generally adopted towards her. 
 When he ceased, instead of replying in a 
 similar strain, she merely looked at him for 
 a few moments with a sort of fixed melan- 
 choly interest, and a scarcely perceptible 
 sigh escaped her lips. 
 
 *' Ida ! you are unhappy," said De Vaux, 
 in a strangely altered tone of voice, starting 
 up at the same time. " Yes, I have long 
 suspected this; I see it all now. These
 
 16 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 noble ladies, who honour my poor house by 
 condescending to make it a hotel for them- 
 selves and their retinues, cannot allow within 
 their illustrious circle one of equal birth and 
 far superior breeding, merely because she is 
 an unknown foreigner. Do you think I 
 have not marked narrowly their treatment 
 of you, Ida ? As if I valued their favours 
 a jot, or all the languishing glances of their 
 sweetly disinterested daughters, who might 
 possibly be brought to smile upon the last 
 of the De Vauxs with a hundred thousand 
 a year ! Why, in a fortnight I mean to 
 close these doors for ever, and seek in dis- 
 tant lands the peace and happiness I cannot 
 find in this." 
 
 Aubrey paced through the room as though 
 consumed with devouring rage and passion, 
 but, all at once, he stopped, and taking Ida's 
 hand in his gentlest manner, said, in a voice 
 of the greatest calmness, and with a languid, 
 lisping drawl — 
 
 " Pray excuse my excessively bad breed-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 17 
 
 ing, Ida, in allowing my feelings to get the 
 better of me. I hate any one to get excited 
 in my presence, and talking loud is fatiguing 
 in this hot weather." 
 
 " Oh ! dear, no," she replied, with a slight 
 laugh, " I never supposed that your feelings 
 were getting the better of you. I imagined 
 that you were practising one of the scenes 
 out of the * Provoked Husband' for the 
 theatricals next week. You looked the 
 character to perfection; but if you mean 
 to dress for dinner, I am afraid that we 
 have hardly time for another scene." 
 
 " By the way, Ida, I quite forgot that I 
 have something here for you ; this is your 
 birthday, you know." 
 
 Again her eyes lighted up with that quick 
 flash of joy which Ida could not subdue as 
 she did her voice. 
 
 " How kind of you, Mr. De Vaux ; but I 
 never imagined that you remembered such 
 an unimportant anniversary as poor Ida's 
 birthday." 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " All !" he returned, bending over the fair 
 girl before him till his face nearly touched 
 hers, and speaking in a whispered tone of 
 almost endearing fondness — " you little 
 know how often I think of you 1" 
 
 He marked the faintly rising blush again 
 and the slightly tremulous accents, as she 
 said, " You are too good to me, indeed you 
 are ; I do not deserve this/' 
 
 " What, this bauble ?" returned Aubrey, 
 taking up a superb diamond necklace, glit- 
 tering with costly gems — " why, you have 
 only to ask me for what you wish, and it 
 is yours." 
 
 " A thousand thanks for this lovely pre- 
 sent," said Ida ; " but, indeed, it is far too 
 handsome for me to wear. Oh 1 Mr. De 
 Yaux, this is too liberal of you ; why, no 
 lady in the castle has such a necklace as 
 this," she continued, holding up the spark- 
 ling ornament, and turning it round and 
 round till each gem glittered in the faint 
 sunlight.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 19 
 
 " Don't speak of it, Ida ; it is not worth, 
 thanking me for; one day I may be able 
 to do something worthy of your grati- 
 tude." 
 
 " Oh, I have a small request — a very 
 trifling one, certainly — will you grant it ?'* 
 said Ida, eagerly, yet striving to look calm 
 and unconcerned. 
 
 " Let me hear it, fair lady, and if it is in 
 my power you shall be gratified." 
 
 " Well then, I heard some of the ladies 
 projecting a cotillon for this evening, will 
 you refuse to dance it ?" 
 
 " Why, how can it possibly please you to 
 deprive me of a harmless waltz ? But if 
 you wish it — I shall certainly refuse/' 
 
 " Even if Lady Mildred Beauchamp 
 should press you ?" 
 
 " Lady Mildred is rather irresistible, cer- 
 tainly ; but I shall be true to my word." 
 
 " Au revoir, then," said Ida, bestowing 
 her sweetest smile upon Aubrey as she left 
 the room. 
 
 2— z
 
 20 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " I have long suspected this," he mur- 
 mured, as he watched Ida's fine figure pass- 
 ing into the picture-gallery; "but it must 
 be stopped. Foolish girl, to allow such a 
 vain chimera ever to occupy her thoughts ; 
 she betrayed it distinctly when I purposely 
 spoke sentiment to her ; yet there is some- 
 thing about her that puzzles me, and warns 
 me not lightly to contemn one who has a 
 powerful will, and will certainly prove her 
 strength some day. Beauchamp, Deloraine, 
 and other men about town, who habitually 
 laugh at women's love, have confessed to 
 me that a touch of Ida's hand and a glance 
 from her eyes thrills through them. Yet 
 how cautious she is ; no one, except myself, 
 notices her manner with men. I believe 
 the women all think her shy and stupid ; 
 even I can't always stand a full gaze from 
 these singular orbs of hers. She is afraid 
 of Lady Mildred's beauty, I see, and wants 
 me to pique her by refusing to join the 
 cotillon ; well, I am not sorry, because that
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 21 
 
 haughty damsel is making powerful advances 
 just now/' 
 
 The guests shortly after this were all 
 seated in the large dining-room, partaking 
 of a repast as sumptuous as the extravagant 
 splendour everywhere visible throughout 
 the castle would lead one to expect. Every 
 dish was of massive gold plate, and delicacies 
 from all parts of the world were offered in 
 endless variety. Handsome pages with 
 powdered hair, in the costume of the ISth 
 century, bore gold salvers in their hands 
 piled up with the rarest Oriental confec- 
 tions and the most luscious preserved 
 fruits of China. Ida was seated next to 
 Lord Deloraine, and nearly opposite to 
 them was Lady Mildred Beauchamp, con- 
 fessedly the beauty of last London season. 
 
 " Why do you come so seldom among us. 
 Miss Ida?" demanded Lord Deloraine of 
 his fair companion. " Has our society so 
 little charms for one whose absence we all 
 deplore ?"
 
 22 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " What would you have me do, my lord? 
 Do you think that Lady Mildred, and all the 
 great ladies I see round the table, would 
 thank me if I was to offer my society to 
 them in the morning rooms ?" 
 
 " It is jealousy, miserable envy," returned 
 the nobleman, with an admiring glance at 
 Ida ; " they feel that you cut them out, and 
 how they hate to see De Vaux attentive to 
 you. 
 
 " Why should such beautiful creatures 
 be envious of the poor nervous foreigner, 
 whom kind Lord Deloraine is always so 
 good to?" said Ida, in her most musical 
 tones, and with her sweetest smile. 
 
 " Because they are afraid that the vicinity 
 of the poor foreigner may be dangerous to 
 De Vaux's peace of mind, and they are all 
 excessively anxious to add to his mental or 
 personal comfort," returned Lord Deloraine, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " How little do you fine gentlemen, with 
 your grand airs and worldly wisdom, under-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 23 
 
 stand our easy, pliant natures ! No doubt 
 you all think that I, who find simple happi- 
 ness in my books, my music, and my canary, 
 passing weeks at a time without seeing any 
 one except my father, would like to be 
 courted and feted like Lady Mildred Beau- 
 champ there. You probably believe, too, 
 that the great triumph of my life would be 
 achieved if I were to become the wife of 
 Mr. De Vaux, when in reality such a destiny 
 would be to me a life of splendid misery. 
 Now, tell me. Lord Deloraine, have I de- 
 served this ? Have my looks, actions, 
 words, ever warranted you in drawing this 
 conclusion ? I ask you, because you have 
 always been my friend ?" 
 
 Ida uttered these words in low but rapid 
 tones, yet scarcely looking at the gentleman 
 she addressed, and all the while with her 
 eyes bent on the gold-lettered carte before 
 her. Lord Deloraine was a little taken 
 aback at the sudden appeal made to him, 
 and although he was by no means satisfied
 
 24 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 that Ida's notions of earthly felicity were 
 centred in her bird and lier music, he was 
 too well-bred to hint at his scepticism on 
 this point. What his reply might have been 
 it is difficult to conjecture, for, in addition 
 to his attention being distracted by a 
 mpreme de volaille of exquisite flavour, Lady 
 Mildred, who did not choose that Ida should 
 engross his conversation, bent over the 
 table to put a series of questions about the 
 forthcoming theatricals. Ida gave a glance 
 at the haughty beauty, and a faint sneer for 
 an instant curled her lip as she turned round 
 to answer some commonplace remark of the 
 gentleman who sat on her other side. 
 
 When the lengthened banquet had reached 
 its termination, and the gentlemen, after 
 having indulged to the full in the costly and 
 rare vintages which Mr. De Yaux's cellar 
 afforded, reappeared in the drawing-rooms, a 
 simultaneous move was made to the apart- 
 ment fitted up as a theatre. Aubrey De Vaux, 
 being an enthusiastic lover of music, had
 
 THi3 MAN OF MARK. 25 
 
 among his large establishment a private band 
 of musicians of first-rate talent. It was his 
 custom to make them perform a select pro- 
 gramme every evening for the amusement 
 of his guests. Frequently, too, when the 
 concert was over, he would arrange a series 
 of tableaux vivanfs, and the splendid ward- 
 robe of dresses, illustrating the costume of 
 every nation in the world, was brought into 
 requisition. The theatre was fitted up with 
 every appliance the most luxurious taste 
 could devise. For the accommodation of the 
 audience, large easy chairs, covered with the 
 richest crimson damask, were ranged in rows 
 facing the stage. The walls and ceiling 
 were of a pale azure hue, and the various 
 deities of the heathen mythology were 
 lightly and gracefully depicted on them by 
 a skilled artist. Large mirrors were fixed at 
 intervals in the walls, and between each 
 stood a statue of purest marble, while above 
 every mirror was a crystal chandelier glit- 
 tering with innumerable pendent drops.
 
 26 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Delicious perfumes pervaded the theatre, 
 diffused from several silver censers which 
 depended from the ceiling, and nothing was 
 wanting that could minister to the delight 
 of the senses. The proscenium was adorned 
 with the most elaborate devices ; the drop 
 scene represented a sunset view of one of 
 the most beautiful scenes on the Mediter- 
 ranean, and the orchestra was skilfully con- 
 cealed from observation. 
 
 ''Well, Lady Mildred," said Mr. De 
 Vaux, as he seated himself by that lady's 
 side, " I hope the programme is to your 
 mind to-night, not too classical." 
 
 " Yes, I think it will do," said the lady, 
 glancing at the embossed card presented to 
 her. " There is not so much Beethoven as 
 usual; but, I forgot, he is your favourite 
 composer." 
 
 " Favourite ! — I care for no one more than 
 another ; tell me who is your favourite, Lady 
 Mildred, and he shall be mine," said Aubrey, 
 sinking his voice low, and looking full into
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 27 
 
 her dark eyes. He had been drinkmg deeper 
 than was his wont that evening, and there 
 was a flush upon his cheek, and a singular 
 expression in his eyes that made Aubrey 
 De Vaux reckless of what he uttered. 
 
 " Ah, now, I see you mean to be pleasant 
 to-night," said Lady Mildred, inclining 
 towards Aubrey till her softly-rounded ivory 
 shoulder almost touched his, and laying 
 her fan lightly on his arm. " Why are 
 you so changeable ?" 
 
 "Pity me, then, most beauteous Lady 
 Mildred, that nature has made me wayward 
 and inconstant to all save one. Yet what 
 do I gain for my devotion — does it yield me 
 one joy unalloyed with a mixture of sad- 
 ness ? Oh, that I could change places with 
 you, that I could barter my satiated feelings 
 and exhausted fancies for your fresh inno- 
 cence of mind ! In other words I am a 
 martyr to ennui — my father was to gout ; 
 alas, there is nothing perfect in this 
 world !"
 
 28 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 There was a mixture of sentiment and 
 sarcasm in Aubrey's words which displeased 
 Lady Mildred, who had hoped for something 
 more in accordance with her wishes from 
 such a glowing commencement. But her 
 object was not to be gained by any affecta- 
 tion of displeasure, so she replied, with an 
 arch look : 
 
 " Here is a disclosure, indeed — ^the proud, 
 clever, gloomy, Mr. De Vaux confesses to 
 his peace of mind having been disturbed by 
 some unknown charmer ; do let us hear who 
 it is." 
 
 " Can you doubt who it is whose lovely 
 form haunts my dreams, and disturbs the 
 calm of my waking hours — ^you, who reign 
 undisputed queen over all the beauties of 
 Mayfair ? Oh, cruel one thus to trifle with 
 my feelings !" 
 
 Lady Mildred did not know how to re- 
 ceive this rhapsody, and would have been 
 much better pleased had De Yaux expressed 
 himself in a more intelligible fashion, so
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 29 
 
 she merely looked down and adjusted lier 
 bracelets. 
 
 " Eeally I can't understand you to-night, 
 Mr. De Vaux; you are excessively enig- 
 matical." 
 
 " The fact is, I indulged in a glass of 
 maraschino after dinner, and that liqueur 
 always disarranges my intellects ; but I am 
 at this moment speaking sober truth, when 
 I say that I wish I could divest myself of 
 my whole worldly means and possessions, 
 and pass the rest of my life in some se- 
 cluded village at least fifty miles from any 
 railway." 
 
 " So far as that goes, I daresay some 
 kind person could be found accommodating 
 enough to relieve you of the little encum- 
 brances you speak of ; but I should imagine 
 that you would be pretty well tired of the 
 jDeaceful village in about a fortnight." 
 
 " Not if I could induce one gifted with 
 every charm of mind and grace of person, 
 who combines in her own exquisite self that
 
 30 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 consummate union of the True, the Beau- 
 tiful, and the Good, so vehemently sought 
 after by the whole range of philosophers, 
 from Plato down to Mr. Martin Tupper, to 
 share my happy home," replied Aubrey, 
 with an ardent glance at Lady Mildred. 
 
 "Ah, but where could such an one be 
 found?" returned the lady, modestly, yet 
 with a pleased consciousness that none other 
 than Lady Mildred Beauchamp could be the 
 perfect personage indicated. Unquestion- 
 able, therefore, was her disappointment 
 when Aubrey said, in a thoughtful tone — 
 
 " Where, indeed ! Not in this hemi- 
 sphere I fear ; but hush, what a savage I 
 am to talk through this lovely movement !" 
 And he languidly threw his head back upon 
 the cushion, and, closing his eyes, seemed 
 intensely absorbed in the harmonious an- 
 dante of the Italian symphony. 
 
 Lady Mildred felt deeply mortified, and a 
 flush of rising anger crimsoned her cheek, 
 as she gave a haughty look of displeasure at
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 31 
 
 Mr. De Vaux's imperturbable countenance ; 
 a glance joyfully noted by Ida von Borgern, 
 who had been keenly watching them from 
 the opposite side of the theatre. The con- 
 versation was not renewed as long as the 
 concert lasted, and soon after they all ad- 
 journed to the dancing saloon, where waltz- 
 ing commenced to the music of the band. 
 
 " Come, Lady Mildred, the cotillon is just 
 beginning ; you dance it, of course," said 
 Lord Deloraine, who was passing by with 
 Ida on his arm. 
 
 " Yes, I think I shall, but I must get a 
 partner first." 
 
 " Oh, here is De Yaux," exclaimed his 
 lordship, as Aubrey came up; " he is looking 
 for one." 
 
 " No, I don't mean to dance this even- 
 ing," said that gentleman. 
 
 " Will you refuse me, Mr. De Yaux, if I 
 ask you to join the cotillon ?" said Lady 
 Mildred, in a low, almost a reproachful 
 tone.
 
 32 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Even Lady Mildred Beaucliamp oiust I 
 refuse. When I have said this I have said 
 all," replied Aubrey, with a low bow as he 
 moved away. 
 
 Exquisite as was the lady's sense of mor- 
 tification at being thus foiled, she was too 
 proud to show it, but merely gave a cold 
 stare of surprise at De Yaux's retreating 
 form ; and said, with a smile, to Lord 
 Deloraine — 
 
 " What manners these parvenus have ! 
 Did you ever know such a strange man, 
 Lord Deloraine? Now, if I had asked 
 you, how differently would you have be- 
 haved." 
 
 "Ah! Lady Mildred, you know I would 
 do anything for you ; I am, indeed, your 
 slave. May I be allowed the next waltz ?" 
 -* * -* * 
 
 That night, when all was still in the 
 castle, Aubrey opened his chamber window, 
 and stood upon the stone balcony, from 
 which he could survey the calm sea, now
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 33 
 
 silvered by the soft summer moon. His 
 brow was troubled, and be heeded not the 
 tranquil beauty of the lovely scene on which 
 he looked. 
 
 " Where," he murmured, " shall I find 
 happiness ? Everything around me speaks 
 of unbounded wealth ; my slightest nod is 
 obeyed. I meet no one who does not pro- 
 fess the deepest friendship ; the loveliest of 
 Avomen reserve their sweetest smiles for me 
 — but all in vain. My life might be one 
 continued scene of splendour and triumph, 
 and no honours that I might seek would be 
 refused me. All my political friends assure 
 me that I possess vast capabilities for public 
 life. The Prime Minister himself, one of 
 the haughtiest men in England, con- 
 descended to solicit me to accept a very 
 high office. Of what avail would be honours 
 showered upon me ? Would they throw a 
 veil of oblivion over the dreadful fear which 
 haunts my waking hours and robs my 
 slumbers of repose ? Where is the potent 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Tna«:ician that would exorcise the horrid 
 phantom that ever flits before my vision ? 
 I, so young, so nobly favoured by fortune, 
 so richly endowed with every earthly 
 blessing, to be thus condemned to suffer 
 the deepest tortures of hell 1 My breast 
 overflows with tenderness ; I feel the fondest 
 emotions of love throb through every vein, 
 yet I dare not gratify the irrepressible long- 
 ings of my soul. I adore the beauties of 
 nature, and worship her with all a poet's 
 ardour. All day long I can wander through 
 the woods or by the river's brink, and dis- 
 cover fresh loveliness in each waving 
 bough, each teeming rill. Nature has 
 cursed me, too, with a vivid imagination, 
 and I involuntarily picture to myself scenes 
 of Arcadian sweetness, whose charm consists 
 in the perfect innocence and peace of mind 
 of their happy inhabitants. Even now I 
 see before me an exquisite mirage of the 
 mind. It is the balmy horn* when the first 
 hues of twilight are blending with the de-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 35 
 
 dining evening sun ; a rich humming music 
 from the countless insects glancing amid 
 the clustering lime trees fills the air. In 
 the midst of a lovely green sward, all 
 fringed round with trees clad in the bright- 
 est robes of summer, stands a cottage mantled 
 over with honeysuckle and ivy. The gentle 
 breeze fans the rose bushes, and wafts their 
 fragrance up to heaven. A delicious calm 
 pervades the whole scene; not a sound is 
 heard to jar upon the ravished senses save 
 the faintest rustle of an unseen rivulet. 
 One young, beautiful girl alone breathes 
 life over the picture, who stands at the open 
 cottage window. Her dress is of spotless 
 white, her cheek faintly tinged with red, 
 her eyes of a lustrous hazel hue, her hair 
 glossy as violets steeped in dew — a maiden 
 moulded for princes to love. Let me kiss 
 the foot of her snowy robe, and ask her to 
 love me. Oh, God ! why must I toi-ture 
 myself thus ? Do I dare to pollute such a 
 peaceful scene with my hated presence ? 
 
 3—2
 
 36 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Did that maiden but know what I bear within 
 my bosom, would she not rather die this 
 instant at my feet than suffer me to touch 
 the hem of her garment?" 
 
 * * * *
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 One sunny summer's afternoon two young- 
 persons of different sexes might have been 
 seen seated under the boughs of an old oak 
 tree, which grew at the extremity of a strip 
 of common land, near the picturesque village 
 
 of H . Some five-and-twenty summers 
 
 might have passed over the youth's brow, 
 while the age of his companion seemed at 
 least five years less. Her fresh, open 
 countenance was a true type of English 
 beauty ; but although her dress indicated 
 that she moved only in the middle ranks of 
 life, there was a delicacy in her looks and 
 a grace in her motions that showed an 
 inborn refinement of nature. The artless, 
 yet thoughtful, blue eyes were bent on her
 
 38 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 companion's face with a seemingly intense 
 interest, and one hand was unwittingly 
 toying with two long curls of fair glossy 
 hair that escaped below her simple head- 
 dress. Where they sat was a comparatively 
 secluded spot, though from it could be seen 
 at a little distance the neat cottages, each in 
 its trim garden, the old-fashioned but hos- 
 pitable looking inn, the venerable church, 
 surrounded by dark green yews, and the 
 imposing manor-house, that overlooked the 
 quiet village below. Not two hundred 
 yards off, but concealed by an intervening 
 bordering of trees, flowed on smoothly and 
 silently a broad clear river, whose grassy 
 banks, now decked with the flowers of 
 summer, were reflected in the limpid 
 stream. 
 
 " You ask me where I learned all these 
 things," said the young man — whom we 
 will call Edward Mih'oy — " where should 
 I, but from my own observation r Doubt- 
 less I have read much, but reading will not
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 39 
 
 alone suffice ; it is tlie serious study and 
 earnest thought resulting from it that 
 enable the mind to form and give expres- 
 sion to its ideas." 
 
 " Then, how unfit am I to talk to one so 
 clever and so learned !" answered his compa- 
 nion, with a sigh ; " but you have promised to 
 show me the way to improve myself. Oh ! 
 I should like so much to be able to read 
 all the beautiful works that you can, Mr. 
 Milroy !" 
 
 " And so you shall in time, Mary. May 
 I call you Mary? — it is such a simple, 
 pretty name.'*' 
 
 " Yes, do, if it pleases you, Mr. Milroy," 
 said Mary, with a faint blush. " I shall 
 look forward with such delight to your 
 instructions; but I am afraid you will be 
 wearied by my questions and out of temper 
 at my stupidity." 
 
 ''No fear of that. Mary, trust me ; I am 
 sure you will prove an apt scholar. But I 
 want to know what has awakened all this
 
 40 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 sudden spirit of inquiry in you. Is it 
 a hastily-formed resolution, or a steady 
 impulse, urging you to seek after the 
 truth?" 
 
 " I don't think I can answer that, just 
 yet, at least ; and even if I tried, I am sure 
 I could not express myself so that you could 
 understand me. But if you care to hear 
 it, I will tell you all I can remember of m}^ 
 life as far back as my memory will carry 
 me, and you can form your own opinions 
 from this," said ^the young girl, casting a 
 modest yet eager glance into her com- 
 panion's face. 
 
 " Please go on, Mary ; I am all atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " My earliest recollections go back to the 
 farmhouse my parents lived in, surrounded 
 on all sides by bare moors, with a few trees 
 scattered here and there. But they both 
 died, and I was left an orphan so soon after 
 my mind began to receive any impression 
 from what was passing around me, that I
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 41 
 
 liave only the dimmest remembrance of 
 even tlieir personal appearance. Sometimes, 
 when I am alone in my room at nights, 
 my thoughts wander back to these childish 
 days and scenes, and indistinct pictures 
 flit before me. I seem to recollect the 
 farmyard where I pla3^ed at hide and seek ; 
 the little brook, in which I used to delight 
 to wade ; the barn, where I used to watch 
 wonderingly the rude winnowing-machine ; 
 and above all, the round shed, where the 
 old horse that turned the thrashing-mill 
 worked. As I had no brothers or sisters 
 my playmates were the children of the 
 neighbouring farmers; and our favourite 
 spot was in a sort of hollow near the brook, 
 where there were some large moss-grown 
 stones and rocks. My father and mother 
 were a quiet, grave, elderly couple, but I 
 am sure they idolized me ; and they were 
 always unhappy when I was long out of 
 their sight. Then the great change came, 
 and they both died witliin a few weeks of
 
 4^ 
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 one another. Child as I was, I felt a ter- 
 rible sickenino^ sorrow when day after day- 
 passed and I never heard the fond voices or 
 the well-known footsteps." — Here Mary's 
 voice faltered, and the gathering tears filled 
 her eyes ; which her companion observing, 
 he, with true delicacy of feeling, withdrew 
 to a little distance, and busied himself in 
 culling some of the wild flowers that grew 
 on the grassy bank. 
 
 " See ! here are some pretty violets, 
 Mary ; let me offer you a few. Now, please, 
 go on w^ith your story — you don't know 
 how much 1 am interested." 
 
 " Well, then, I came to this village to 
 live with my aunt, and have continued with 
 her up till now. She is a very reserved 
 person ; and, from having many troubles to 
 vex her, has become more silent and care- 
 worn than ever, so that for years past I 
 have had no one of my own age to hold 
 communion with or to seek sympathy from. 
 It is this that I have so desired — some one
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 43 
 
 to talk freely to and to gain instruction 
 from, for I am anxious to do right — but 
 have so many doubts and fears. I have no 
 proper religious feelings, I know that I am 
 selfish and inconsiderate; my ideas and 
 aims are vague and unsettled; my wishes 
 and thoughts are too often silly and sense- 
 less, if not worse. You can understand all 
 this, Mr. Milroy, can't you ?" 
 
 *' Ah ! that I can, Mary. From the 
 sketch you have given me of your past life 
 and present position, I think I can fill in 
 the details with tolerable exactness. Listen 
 to me for a few minutes and I will complete 
 the outlines of your character from your 
 own remarks and the observations I have 
 formed since we first met, and you will tell 
 me if I am correct." 
 
 " Do, if you please ; I should so much 
 like to hear what you will say." 
 
 " Judging from what I have seen, I feel 
 sure you have an ardent enthusiastic spirit 
 and an anxious temperament, that prompt
 
 44 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 you to look forward, in place of resting 
 content with your present position. Situ- 
 ated as you have been, with no one to guide 
 your aspirations or mould your character, 
 you have fallen back on the books you 
 possess for instruction or consolation. No 
 doubt, too, you have indulged your fancy in 
 many pleasing illusions, and often pictured 
 to yourself radiant scenes of ideal happiness. 
 Yielding too much to this seductive, but 
 dangerous, pleasure, a reaction sets in, and 
 the disappointment of cherished hopes must 
 be the result. Possessed of a mind, and 
 gifted with ideas, infinitely more refined 
 than those with whom it is your lot in life 
 to associate, you recoil from the necessity of 
 mingling in their commonplace amusements, 
 and thus have come to prize the pleasures 
 of solitude. I know well what pain it must 
 cause one full of highly wrought, delicate 
 feelings, to be condemned to the society of 
 the illiterate though kindly yeomen of an 
 agricultural district. Therefore, when he
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 45 
 
 whose heart beats with kindred emotions, 
 and who has had better opportunities of 
 cultivating the small powers nature has 
 given him, crosses your path, you naturally 
 attach far greater weight to his words than 
 they deserve, and would trust implicitly to 
 his guidance." 
 
 "Oh! that I would!" interrupted the 
 impulsive girl ; " for there is something in 
 your voice and features that tells me you 
 would never mislead me. Besides, what 
 motive could you have but in advising me 
 for the best ?" 
 
 " Ah, Mary ! there the innocent heart of 
 the unsophisticated girl spoke ; for little do 
 you know the baser feelings by which those 
 who have been accustomed to the ways of 
 the world are swayed, and how easily you 
 might be lured on to your destruction." 
 
 ''I do not understand you — ^how could 
 I?" inquired his companion, looking art- 
 lessly into the stranger's eyes as she awaited 
 his reply.
 
 46 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Pray heaven you may not, some day !" 
 he replied, with a sad smile. " But tell 
 me, are you pleased with the character I 
 have drawn ?'"' 
 
 "That indeed I am — only it is much too 
 favourable. You have said nothing about 
 my faults, and I must hear these." 
 
 " Come now, Mary, you are too exacting. 
 I can only speak of what I have seen ; you 
 must first let me discover the spots upon 
 my sun," said Milroy, with a courtly grace, 
 as though he were paying a compliment to 
 some haughty, fashionable beauty, instead 
 of a simple, rustic girl. Something in his 
 manner and tone of voice attracted Mary's 
 attention and turned her thoughts into a 
 new channel, for she suddenly said — 
 
 " How is it that you talk so little about 
 yourself, Mr. Milroy ? I have told you all 
 my humble story, and now it is only fair to 
 expect something of yours in return." 
 
 The stranger changed colour slightly at 
 these words, as he replied —
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 47 
 
 " My life has been an uneventful one, 
 and a few words will suffice to run over its 
 brief details. I, too, am an orphan, and 
 early lost the guardianship of kind parents, 
 who left me an humble competence, which 
 I have struggled to improve as best I 
 might. For several years I lived in the 
 great metropolis and gained a modest living 
 by toiling for ten hours a day in the office 
 of a solicitor ; but, being intensely fond of 
 a country life, I began to weary of the close 
 confinement and terribly uninteresting work 
 I had to perform. During my few moments 
 of leisure I ardently devoured those books 
 my slender means enabled me to become 
 possessed of, and thus acquired the small 
 amount of knowledge that you so greatly 
 over-rate. Occasionally, too, I made fugi- 
 tive effi)rts of a literary nature, and, after 
 many disappointments, was so fortunate as 
 to be admitted as a contributor to one of 
 the periodicals. This connexion was of 
 great value to me; and, hating the life of
 
 48 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 drudgery I passed during tlie day, I re- 
 solved to quit London altogether and depend 
 upon the subsistence I might gain by my 
 pen, added to the little competence I de- 
 rived from my parents. Thus I was enabled 
 to gratify my cherished love for a quiet 
 country life, and I took up my abode in a 
 secluded village in a neighbouring county ; 
 and in one of the excursions I sometimes 
 make on foot from there, I was so happy 
 as to meet you, Mary. The rest you 
 know." 
 
 " There seems a good deal of resemblance 
 in our lives hitherto, and our tastes in 
 many respects agree. How curious that 
 we should have met ! But T must tell my 
 aunt of our friendship, for I know it is not 
 right that we should walk together every 
 evening without her knowledge. And stay 
 — there is six o'clock striking ! — she will be 
 w^ondering where I am." 
 
 " What ! — going so early, Mary ? Must 
 I see you no more for another day ? Will
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 49 
 
 you be here at this hour to-morrow 
 night ?" 
 
 " I hardly know what to say, for I feel 
 that I have not acted quite properly in 
 withholding from my aunt all knowledge of 
 our friendship." 
 
 '' Do not let that trouble you. I wish to 
 avoid all appearance of deceit, and would 
 prefer that I should make the acquaintance 
 of your relative. I shall call at your cottage 
 to-morrow forenoon, and then you can get 
 your aunt's sanction to our meetings for 
 the future." 
 
 " Good-by, then, Mr. Milroy." 
 
 " Adieu, dearest Mary !" said her com- 
 panion, who gazed fondly after the fair 
 young girl, until a turn in the path con- 
 cealed her from his view. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " What's this I hear ?" said Lord Delo- 
 raine to Lady Mildred Beauchamp, as they 
 met on the croquet ground on the forenoon 
 of the day following the events narrated in 
 our first chapter, — " De Yaux about to leave 
 this country and retire to the Continent for 
 Heaven knows how long !" 
 
 "So it was mentioned at the breakfast- 
 table, though no one seemed to know from 
 where the rumour originated, and as usual 
 Mr. De Vaux was not present to be appealed 
 to on the subject. By the way, that is one 
 of his strangest peculiarities, never con- 
 descending to show in the morning, and 
 letting any one do the honours of the break- 
 fast-table. Does he watch the stars all
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 51 
 
 night, or hold communioix with the spirits 
 of the air like Manfred, that his morning 
 toilet is hardly got over when many people 
 dine ?" 
 
 " Yes, everyone wonders what he can 
 possibly do with himself, as there is always 
 a light to be seen in his room, however late 
 one may have been keeping it np in the 
 smoking room, for you know he never 
 dreams of expecting that the whist or bil- 
 liard parties should break up when he re- 
 tires." 
 
 " That must be what gives him such a 
 frightfully pale colour, which, combined with 
 his dark, melancholy eyes, quite realizes 
 one's idea of a vampu-e," observed the 
 lady. 
 
 " Ah, that is all in his favour — at any 
 rate in the eyes of your sex. Lady Mildred. 
 I know you can't bear colour in a man, and 
 that is where I labour under such a serious 
 disadvantage. It is only when I have got 
 a splitting headache after a severe dinner at 
 
 4—2
 
 52 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 the Trafalgar that my visage is at all ' sick- 
 lied o'er with the pale cast of thought/ " 
 
 "Come, that's rather successful, Lord 
 Deloraine. I didn't think you were so well 
 up in ' Hamlet.' Now Mr. De Vaux is eter- 
 nally horing one with quotations, and I 
 never knew a man so fond of talking." 
 
 " You must allow he does it well, how- 
 ever," said the gentleman ; '' one may safely 
 call his conversation brilliant, when he 
 chooses to exert himself and is in his best 
 vein. I allow that when he is trifling with 
 the newest beauty in her first season he 
 seems to pride himself upon the amount of 
 clever nonsense he can rattle through, witli 
 that everlasting grave face of his all the time." 
 
 " Yes ; but what I complain of is the 
 condescension in his tone on such occasions, 
 and the patronizing way in which he offers 
 any amount of devotion, so long as he is 
 not put to the slightest trouble or exertion. 
 Then he is so ridiculously effeminate in his 
 tastes, and appears always in such agony of
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 53 
 
 mind lest he should soil his hands, which, 
 I allow, are ceiiainly wonderfully white. 
 There is nothing manly ahout Mr. De Yaux, 
 either in his habits or his pleasures; he 
 doesn't shoot, for a gun, I believe, generally 
 leaves black marks on the fingers ; he 
 doesn't hunt, because he is afraid, and not 
 one of the superb animals in his stable is 
 ever mounted by its owner ; he doesn't play 
 rackets or cricket, as it might bring on 
 palpitations of the heart — positively he 
 seems too lazy and listless to do anything 
 actively wrong, although he is very nearly 
 an infidel in religion." 
 
 " A pretty little picture of poor De Vaux 
 you have drawn. Lady Mildred ; it is very 
 evident that he is slightly out of your good 
 graces just now. Come, I think you are 
 rather hard on him, for you will allow he 
 entertains in princely style ; there is nothing 
 incomplete in his establishment, and the 
 guests do precisely as it suits them. Every 
 visitor's taste, in the way of exercise or
 
 54 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 amusement, is studied by the trained staff 
 of servants De Vaux keeps in liis employ- 
 ment ; and then, did any mortal ever sit down 
 to such a table ? Why, the chef has, I be- 
 lieve, fifteen hundred a year — an Under- 
 Secretary of State's income — and what mar- 
 vellous wines !" 
 
 " Yes, marvellous they must be, Lord 
 Deloraine — at least, to judge by the effect 
 they seem to produce upon Mr. De Yaux ; 
 I declare I don't think he ever rises from 
 table quite sober — look, for instance, at his 
 behaviour last night." 
 
 " Well, I cannot defend him there. I 
 allow he had taken a very large quantity of 
 wine ; but you know that sometimes he does 
 affect a singularity of manner, and a pecu- 
 liarity of conversation which is very apt to 
 mislead those who do not understand hi& 
 ways, and they might possibly suppose 
 that he had been indulging somewhat 
 too freely. As for his shooting, cricket- 
 ing, and hunting, his excessive short
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 55 
 
 sight incapacitates him for the two first, 
 and, owing to a fall he once got from his 
 horse, the doctors warned him that, as he 
 had seriously injured his head, he must 
 avoid all violent exercise for the future. 
 His physical strength is undeniable '' 
 
 "And so is his moral weakness," inter- 
 rupted Lady Mildred, with a sneer, when 
 her charitable remarks were brought to a 
 conclusion by. some of the other guests 
 arriving on the ground to take part in the 
 exhilarating and highly intellectual game of 
 croquet, upon which a celebi'ated author has 
 recently wTitten an elaborate treatise to 
 prove that this driving about of painted 
 wooden balls over damp grass calls into 
 play some of the most delicate powers of 
 the eye, judgment, brain, and mind, and 
 that billiards, whist, and chess must "pale 
 their ineffectual fires" before this latest im- 
 portation from the French. 
 
 " Come, Mildred, you will be on our side, 
 and Lord Deloraine, too," said the Honour-
 
 56 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 able Miss Blanche Conyers, a delicate blonde 
 beauty of the most fashionable type, but 
 withal of a peculiarly sweet expression of 
 countenance, and gifted with a smile that 
 would captivate an adamantine heart. 
 
 "Is it true, Blanche, what I hear about 
 Mr. De Yaux ?" said Lady Mildred. " He 
 seemed to be taking you into his confidence 
 last night while the dancing was going on, 
 and possibly you can explain the cause of 
 his sudden departure." 
 
 " Not, I, indeed," replied the fair beauty, 
 with a laugh ; " our conversation last even- 
 ing related to nothing more confidential 
 than the distinctive features of British ferns, 
 which, you know, I am collecting just now. 
 Mr. De Vaux surprised me by the intimate 
 knowledge of botany he seemed to possess, 
 and even had the Linnsean names of plants 
 at his fingers' ends ; I never met anybody 
 who explains these dry subjects in such an 
 attractive manner." 
 
 " What an uncharitable world it is," ob-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 57 
 
 served Lord Deloraine ; " Miss Conyers and 
 De Vaux are deep in tlie mysteries of natural 
 history, and tliey are at once convicted of 
 an outrageous flirtation." 
 
 " Why, here comes Mr. De Vaux himself!'' 
 exclaimed Miss Conyers ; "it is not often 
 that he honours the croquet-ground with 
 his presence." 
 
 " Good morning, De Vaux," said Lord 
 Deloraine; "you have just come in time to 
 tell us if it is true that you are off to the 
 other extremity of Europe at a moment's 
 notice. Miss Conyers declares it is non- 
 sense, and that you are only giving this out 
 because you mean to withdraw from the 
 world for six months to write a history of 
 British flora, to be dedicated to her." 
 
 "Now, Lord Deloraine, take care what 
 you say," laughingly exclaimed Miss Con- 
 yers ; "I shall tell Flora Montresor what 
 you said about her waltzing last night, if 
 you go on this way, and your nice little 
 arrangement there will be spoilt."
 
 58 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " I did not think tliat my motions were 
 of sufficient importance to interest in the 
 slightest any of my fair friends," said De 
 Vaux. "However, I promised Miss Con- 
 yers some peculiar specimens of ferns which 
 are only to be found in one of the Eussian 
 provinces, and I mean to select them my- 
 self." 
 
 " Well, Blanche, you ought to be highly 
 flattered," said Lady Mildred, " it is not 
 everyone who would go some thousands of 
 miles to pick a few plants for a lady's 
 herbarium." 
 
 " The age of chivalry has returned !" ex- 
 claimed Lord Deloraine. 
 
 " What nonsense we are all talking," 
 said Miss Conyers, "and was there ever 
 such a morning for croquet. How much 
 more time are we going to waste ? It is all 
 your fault, as usual. Lord Deloraine ; I shall 
 certainly tell Flora Montresor." 
 
 The croquet party was now formed, but 
 it did not include De Yaux, who pleaded
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 59 
 
 letters to write as an excuse for not playing, 
 and taking one of the broad turf walks that 
 led through this portion of the pleasure- 
 grounds, lie turned his steps towards the 
 mansion-house. At one turn of the vralk a 
 pretty rustic summer-house was erected, 
 which was a favourite resort of Ida von 
 Borgern, who would bring her book and her 
 work, and sometimes pass the whole fore- 
 noon in this cool retreat. This morning 
 she had early repaired to her accustomed 
 seat, and was deep in a volume of Grerman 
 poetry when Mr. De Yaux passed. Light 
 as his step was, it caught the lady's ear, 
 who looked up, and her features suffused 
 with a sudden glow of pleasure when she 
 saw who it was. 
 
 " Good morning, Ida ; at your favourite 
 occupation, I see. Which poet are you 
 reading now — Schiller? I know you love 
 his works ; I confess I cannot quite compre- 
 hend your German authors ; they are too 
 dreamy and mystical even for my taste."
 
 60 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Indeed, I always fancied tliat you en- 
 joyed works of a Highly imaginative nature, 
 and I think you once told me that you 
 sometimes pass hours and hours in the most 
 fanciful and airdrawn reveries." 
 
 " I cannot deny it ; and a very dangerous 
 habit it is — one that grows upon you, and 
 leaves the mind in a listless and exhausted 
 state, after frittering away so much precious 
 time." 
 
 " Alas ! Mr. De Yaux, why is it tliat you 
 will not turn your rare talents to any practical 
 use, instead of allowing the heyday of your 
 youth and energy to glide silently away? 
 Pardon my boldness in thus speaking, but I 
 know it is not in your nature to take 
 offence at what is said in innocence and 
 good faith." 
 
 " Ah ! Ida, there you touched a chord 
 that often vibrates in my breast, and far 
 better would it have been for me had I been 
 early surrounded with those who would have 
 pointed out my many and grievous faults and
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 61 
 
 shortcomings, and not flattered me to the top 
 of my bent. Too late now, I find out, that 
 those who are born to inherit lavish gifts of 
 fortune rarely hear the language of^ truth. 
 Young as I am, I take no interest in tlie 
 ordinary pursuits and avocations of those 
 with whom I associate, and with difiiculty 
 can bring myself even to attend to business 
 arrangements and affairs of personal and 
 pressing importance. I wish I could take a 
 flying leap over the next forty years of my 
 life, and awake some morning to find myself 
 a thoroughly domestic, gouty, tamed down, 
 stout elderly gentleman/' 
 
 " And would you willingly give up all the 
 romance and passion of youth, its generous 
 sensations and thrilling joys, to slumber on 
 into a gradual and listless decay ?'' 
 
 " Bah ! don't talk to me of thrilling joys, 
 Ida ; such high-wrought and dramatic feel- 
 ings I have long been a stranger to. They 
 may suit young ladies at your sentimental 
 time of life well enough, I daresay."
 
 62 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Ida did not like the rather slighting tone 
 of this last remark, and answered with some 
 warmth — 
 
 " Pray, Mr. De Vaux, is it a sign of great 
 weakness in our sex to admit that we do 
 take some rational interest in what is pass- 
 ing around us, and are capable of appre- 
 ciating and enjoying the blessings which 
 Providence has vouchsafed to us ?" 
 
 "I feel the force of your rebuke, Ida," 
 said her companion, with a grave and cour- 
 teous inclination of the head, '* and I mean 
 to take into serious consideration the de- 
 sirability of effecting a reformation in my 
 ways. By the way, I intend to set off for 
 St. Petersburgh this day week, and I hope 
 to have the pleasure of your and the baron's 
 society during the trip ; my new steam- 
 yacht is to arrive in the bay to-morrow, and 
 I think you will find it most comfortably 
 fitted up." 
 
 '' St. Petersburgh !" exclaimed Ida, with 
 unfeigned surprise ; " what is the meaning
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 6S 
 
 of this sudden move, with a house full of 
 guests, too ? Surely you are not in 
 earnest." 
 
 " Never more serious in my life," answered 
 Aubrey ; " every one leaves my house this 
 week, and it may be a considerable time 
 before I return. The fact is, I shall move 
 about a good deal now ; I want some 
 healthy excitement, and, as j)eople when 
 they get on in the world talk of setting up 
 their carriage, I think I shall set up a wife, 
 and also (what I have long had in view) a 
 private balloon." 
 
 " You are in a very flippant humour this 
 morning, Mr. De Yaux," said Ida, seriously, 
 and looking wistfully at the former ; *' I 
 don't like to hear you talking of such a 
 sacred tie as marriage in so trifling a 
 manner. May I tell you that, in my poor 
 judgment, if j^our wayward feelings would 
 own allegiance to some woman who would 
 love you as you ought to be loved, all this 
 instability of character would be changed."
 
 64 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " And how do you know tliat I am not 
 deeply attached to some one already, to 
 whom is poured out all the adoration I have 
 to bestow?" 
 
 Ida looked down for a moment as she 
 replied — 
 
 " I fancy, from your whole manner and 
 conversation, that you have hitherto only 
 looked upon our sex as pleasant objects to 
 trifle away a few passing hours with. Be- 
 sides, the world must have seen or heard of 
 any real attachment or preference shown by 
 you; in your position such things can 
 hardly be concealed." 
 
 *' Possibly not ; but you may be very 
 sure I do not mean to publish to the world 
 the name of the girl who wins my affec- 
 tions ; on the contrary, I should take great 
 pains to conceal this and mislead every one. 
 And now I must say good morning, for I 
 escaped from the croquet party on the plea 
 of letters to write, and it wont do to let any 
 of them find me here."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 65 
 
 De Vaux turned away, leaving Ida in a 
 very thoughtful mood, his latter words 
 appearing to her to have a certain signifi- 
 cance. The truth was that Ida had for 
 some time past allowed herself insensibly to 
 be drawn within the sphere of attraction 
 that seemed to encircle Aubrey de Yaux. 
 Owing to the peculiarity of his disposition 
 and the singular bent of his character, it 
 depended entirely upon the mood he was in 
 whether he would exert his rare powers of 
 fascination and act the thoughtful, polished 
 host to perfection, or affect a sort of sullen, 
 lazy indifference. Sometimes, too, when 
 the whim seized him, he would set himself 
 to produce a favourable impression upon 
 some one wliom at another moment he would 
 never notice, and his vanity would be gra- 
 tified if he saw that he was successful. 
 Kever having been accustomed to place the 
 smallest value upon what the world was dis- 
 posed to say of this capricious behaviour, its 
 censure or approval were alike unheeded b}^ 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 him. Generally lie took but little notice of 
 Ida von Borgern, though always jealously 
 observant of the reception she met with from 
 his fashionable guests, for he looked upon a 
 slight given to her as a mark of personal 
 discourtesy to himself This being the case, 
 whenever Ida attended the general circle she 
 was received with perfect politeness, though 
 without cordiality, and she emerged from 
 the solitude of her own apartments as seldom 
 as possible. Still she and De Yaux had 
 many opportunities of meeting, and he 
 always enjoyed a tete-a-tete with Ida, as on 
 such occasions he was sure to hear something 
 original and different from the inane talk of 
 his fashionable guests. These brief inter- 
 views were dearly prized by Ida, and she 
 could not repress the feelings of ripening 
 affection which now began to be awakened 
 in her heart. When she was alone, her 
 thoughts naturally turned towards De Vaux, 
 and she delighted to picture to herself scenes 
 of pleasure in which they were to be brought
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 67 
 
 togetlier. Not that she had yet allowed all 
 her affections and hopes of happiness to 
 centre npon Anbrey, for her love was still 
 dormant in her bosom ; but she could not 
 conceal from herself the growing pain with 
 which she marked any instances of more 
 than ordinary attention he might show to 
 the fashionable beauties who happened to be 
 his guests. Aubrey had noticed this, and 
 consequently had been more reserved in his 
 intercourse with Ida of late, but his habitual 
 indifference and indolence prevented him 
 thinking much of the matter. 
 
 5—2
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 It was nearly noon when Milroy repaired to 
 the cottage where Mary and her aunt lived, 
 to pay his promised visit. Their abode was 
 situated not far from the common, but in a 
 quiet and unfrequented spot; and a large 
 elm tree, which grew in the small garden in 
 front, threw its shadow completely over the 
 pretty residence. A rough sort of seat was 
 formed round the shaggy stem of the old 
 tree, and this was a favourite resort of 
 Mary's on a summer evening, with a book 
 for her companion. She carefully tended 
 the little garden, with its few modest and 
 simple flowers, and trained the honej^suckle 
 and scarlet-runners to spread themselves 
 over the walls of the cottage. There was a
 
 THE MAN OF MAKK. 69 
 
 pleasant portico, completely grown over with 
 ivy and creepers, with seats on both sides, 
 and all. enclosed by trellis work, up which 
 the green and fragrant plants clustered. 
 
 The morning being fine, Mary and her 
 aunt were both in the garden in front of the 
 cottage, and Mary w^as busy picking up 
 weeds that interfered with the growth of her 
 flowers, while her relative busied herself 
 with some needlework. 
 
 " Well, Mary, I must say you take great 
 pains with the garden ; it is not your fault 
 if we have not a lovely display before the 
 summer is over. I think you should do 
 more needlework, however, for this is much 
 more likely to form an occupation for you 
 hereafter than cultivating flowers." 
 
 " Oh ! but aunt, I do so love working at 
 my flower beds, and you know how pleasant 
 it is to be out of doors this warm weather ; 
 besides, I have nothing else to do at 
 present." 
 
 " Yes, child, that is all very well ; but I
 
 70 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 should like to see you making your own 
 dresses or bonnets, because, remember, you 
 have very little to depend on when I am 
 gone, except the small sum your poor father 
 was able to leave you and my own humble 
 competence." 
 
 "It is very long, dear aunt, to look for- 
 ward to, I hope, and by that time I shall 
 have gained wisdom to guide me." 
 
 " Seriously though, Mary, you must be- 
 think yourself of what you would do if it 
 pleases the Almighty to take me away soon ; 
 you know how subject to illness I am, and 
 how little bodily strength I possess. What 
 I should like would be to see you well 
 married ; but you seem to care nothing 
 about the neighbouring farmer's two sons, 
 who are considered steady and well-doing 
 young men. Living in our quiet cottage, 
 apart from the villagers' circle, we see so few 
 people that your chances are small, and I 
 don't suppose that young artist, who has been 
 here occasionally, has much to marry on."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 71 
 
 "Give yourself no uneasiness about liim, 
 aunt, for we very seldom meet ; and wliile I 
 cannot say I dislike liim, still lie is merely 
 an ordinary acquaintance. I met another 
 gentleman lately" — here Mary involuntarily 
 blushed slightly, though her aunt did not 
 observe her confusion — " whom, I think, you 
 would like ; indeed, he wishes to know 
 you. 
 
 " And who is he, Mary ? Take care, my 
 good girl, you do not know what a wicked 
 world this is, and no good can come of your 
 associating with those who are your su- 
 periors in position." 
 
 " Still, I think you will like the gentle- 
 man, aunt ; he is so good, so clever, and his 
 manners are most winning," said Mary ; and 
 again her colour heightened as she spoke in 
 Milroy's praise. Her quiet and unob- 
 servant relative could not forbear from 
 raising her head from the work she was busy 
 with, as her niece descanted upon the un- 
 known stranger.
 
 72 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " I fear, child, you are too romantic, and 
 pick up many foolisli notions from these 
 books you seem so fond of reading. What 
 have you got to do with poetry ? Such fine 
 writing is only fit for lords and ladies, who 
 can sit on their sofas all day long and make 
 others work for them. Depend upon it you 
 would be much better employed in house- 
 hold duties, cooking the dinner, churning 
 butter, or learning to make home wines, 
 than filling your head full of nonsense 
 about love, beauty, and pleasure. I wish 
 you would read your Bible more : that book 
 you never can consult too often, and I hope 
 that your religious duties are fulfilled with 
 the true earnestness of faith." 
 
 Mary listened to her aunt's admonitions 
 in silence; indeed, she was somewhat sur- 
 prised at what she heard, for it was most 
 unusual in her relative to talk to her on 
 anything beyond their ordinary domestic 
 topics. In fact, Mary always thought her 
 aunt neither observed nor cared much what
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 73 
 
 she did, and in consequence she never af- 
 fected to assume any great interest in the 
 ordinary domestic details of the cottage. 
 Uncertain what to reply, she felt rather re- 
 lieved when Milroy, who, according to his 
 promise, came to see Mary's only relative 
 and protector, appeared at the wicket that 
 afforded entrance to the garden. As soon as 
 he observed her, Milroy noticed the con- 
 fusion visible in her looks, and guessing the 
 cause, did not wait for Mary to speak, but 
 raised his hat, and introduced himself to her 
 aunt. 
 
 " My name is Milroy, and I believe I have 
 the pleasure of addressing Miss Forester's 
 aunt. Your niece and I became acquainted 
 by accident, and I trust I may be permitted 
 to visit your cottage as a friend." 
 
 " You are welcome, sir, to our humble 
 home ; we are but poor, still it has pleased 
 Providence to give us a comfortable shelter 
 for our heads. Will you not walk in and 
 rest yourself?"
 
 74 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 There was a composed and serious tone 
 in Janet Forester's demeanour that suited 
 her grave and respectable appearance, and 
 her language, though simple, was never 
 coarse or vulgar. 
 
 " Thank you, I think I can be very com- 
 fortable here," said Milroy, seating himself 
 on the edge of the strip of grass near Mary's 
 feet ; " it is so cool and pleasant out of 
 doors to-day, that one likes to get as much 
 of the open air as possible." 
 
 " And have you been long in these parts^ 
 Mr. Milroy ?" said Janet Forester, who had 
 laid her knitting down, and meant to find 
 out who this young man was that Mary 
 spoke so highly of. 
 
 " Not above three weeks, though it is 
 such a beautiful neighbourhood that I think 
 I shall come here for a time. I am so fond 
 of the country, that I like to pass a great 
 deal of my time in it, and I mean to take a 
 cottage near this and Hve here as much as 
 possible."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 75 
 
 " Have you no business affairs to occupy 
 yourself with, as I should think you would 
 find it dull?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I write for periodicals, and hard 
 work it is too, 1 assure you ; besides, I have 
 constantly to be in London in connexion 
 with a new literar}^ undertaking. A life of 
 total idleness would soon make one weary, 
 and deaden the enjoyment I now feel in 
 quiet rural retirement." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Mih'oy, we lead a most re- 
 tired life; as our means are too small to 
 enable us to mix with the well-to-do families 
 about here ; but we shall be always glad to 
 see you," said Janet, who was a good deal 
 taken with the stranger's gentle mode of 
 address and good appearance. It was 
 evident, from his manner, that he admii*ed 
 her niece, and she could not select a more 
 desirable suitor for her hand, if he had sufB.- 
 cient means to support a wife. Of this 
 there seemed little doubt, and Janet had 
 such entire confidence in Mary's good prin-
 
 76 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 ciples as to feel sure slie would never allow 
 Milroy to approach lier with other than 
 honourable proposals. 
 
 " Thank you," said Milroy, pleased with 
 the reception he had met with; "if my 
 society can enliven your dull moments I 
 shall be only too glad to do my utmost for 
 your amusement." 
 
 '' Do not expect to see anybody when you 
 come but ourselves, for no one hardly ever 
 crosses the door — unless it be the clergyman 
 or Mr. Lawrence," added Janet, after a 
 moment's hesitation. 
 
 "And who is he, may I ask?" inquired 
 Milroy, with some quickness, while a slight 
 change came over his countenance for a 
 moment. 
 
 "A gentleman — an artist, I believe — 
 whom I met much in the same way I 
 did yourself," said Mary, who noticed 
 the change that passed across her lover's 
 face. 
 
 " As I live, here he is !" exclaimed Janet.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 77 
 
 " How strange that we should be talking of 
 him at the very moment !" 
 
 This was said as a young man of tall 
 figure, with dark close-cut hair, and keen 
 grey eyes of a restless expression, walked up 
 to the garden gate. Seeing Milroy he hesi- 
 tated, and was on the point of passing by 
 when Janet said — 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Lawrence ; this is a 
 fine day for your picture of the old Hall." 
 
 When he was thus addressed, Lawrence 
 could do nothing else than reply in the same 
 civil manner. 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Forester, this is in- 
 deed a pleasant morning; you will excuse 
 my coming in — in fact, you seem engaged," 
 he added, with a quick look towards 
 Milroy. 
 
 "Kot at aU," said Mary; "Mr. Milroy 
 is, like yourself, quite an accidental ac- 
 quaintance. Will you not sit down for a 
 little?" 
 
 There was no resisting this invitation,
 
 78 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 and the young man came in and leant 
 against the tree near which Mary sat, but it 
 could easily be seen that there was an 
 awkwardness and constraint in his manner. 
 He had not known Mary long, but the few 
 interviews he liad with her sufficed to 
 inspire him with an ardent admiration for 
 the beautiful and artless girl. He told 
 Mary that his parents lived a few miles 
 from the village, and held themselves rather 
 aloof from the neighbours, and that they 
 did not wish their son to associate with the 
 families of the substantial yeomen who in- 
 habited the district, as they fancied he 
 possessed talents that might bring him into 
 the notice of those much their superiors in 
 position. Indeed young Lawrence showed 
 some promise as a landscape painter, and 
 stated that he had received instructions 
 from a master in London, who advised him 
 , to make art his profession, as he considered 
 his talents lay in that direction. 
 
 It was evident that Milroy was discon-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 79 
 
 certed by tlie other being invited to remain, 
 for lie rose up immediately and took bis 
 leave — not, however, before he had closely 
 scanned the appearance of the person he 
 instinctively looked on as his rival. His 
 departure was a great relief to Lawrence, 
 who now placed himself by Mary's side. 
 
 " I see you have made a new acquaint- 
 ance, Miss Forester," he said, with a 
 jealous glance towards Milroy, who had 
 nearly disappeared from sight. 
 
 " Yes ; and a very agreeable person he 
 is," replied Mary, a little coldly ; " I hope, 
 aunt, we shall see more of him." 
 
 " I have no objections, Mary," said her 
 aunt, "as I confess his appearance and 
 manner rather take my fancy." 
 
 " He is a stranger to this neighbour- 
 hood," remarked Lawrence, who was waiting 
 for an opportunity to say something to the 
 other's disadvantage, without allowing his 
 motive to be too apparent. Just then 
 Mary's aunt went into the cottage, leaving
 
 80 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 the two by themselves, and Lawrence moved 
 still nearer to Mary, who, in consequence, 
 drew herself slightly back. 
 
 " I imagine Mr. Milroy has not been 
 here very long," she replied ; " but really I 
 do not see why you should be so suddenly 
 interested in him." 
 
 " Well, naturally enough, I think ; seeing 
 the intimate terms you all seemed to be 
 upon, I wondered who the stranger was, 
 and where he came from." 
 
 " And pray, Mr. Lawrence, are any ac- 
 quaintances my aunt and I may form to be 
 made known to you, whom I first spoke to 
 about three months since ?" inquired Mary, 
 with a rather displeased air. 
 
 " Oh 1 pardon my apparent rudeness, dear 
 Miss Forester ; but I had hoped you would 
 understand the reason why everything and 
 every one about you has such a keen 
 interest for me" — here Lawrence hesitated, 
 and the colour mounted up to his forehead, 
 nor did he finish the sentence he began
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 81 
 
 with SO much animation. The truth was, 
 he had upon his lips the declaration of his 
 hitherto concealed love for Mary, but her 
 cold manner prevented him from going 
 farther at present. They had met a good 
 many times since Lawrence first made 
 Mary's acquaintance, as he sought every 
 opportunity for that purpose ; but she had 
 never, by word or look, given him the 
 smallest encouragement. Indeed, it was 
 only the previous week that the inexpe- 
 rienced girl, ignorant of the customary in- 
 dications by which love first declares its 
 presence, had noticed anything in Law- 
 rence's behaviour or words that betrayed 
 his secret passion. When this took place 
 the discovery pained her, because she had 
 hitherto looked upon Lawrence as a pleasant 
 acquaintance, and admired his sketches and 
 paintings, which he took great delight in 
 submitting to her notice. His conversation, 
 too, was intelligent, for his was no vitiated 
 or vulgar mind, and its best sentiments 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 were called forth in the presence of the ghi 
 who had won his heart. Mary was no dis- 
 sembler, and felt that, as she could never 
 return Lawrence's love, their intercourse 
 must cease ; and it was with the view of 
 intimating this that she wished him to stay 
 this morning. Although she had not 
 known Milroy for a longer period than his 
 rival, while she felt conscious that the former 
 took a warm interest in her, still he had 
 never made any declaration of love. On 
 the other hand, Mary, from the first moment 
 Milroy crossed her path, had been irre- 
 sistibly fascinated by his singular grace of 
 manner and impassioned words. 
 
 "You seem to have very few friends 
 about here, Mr. Lawrence," remarked Mary, 
 not knowing very well what to say. 
 
 " I do not care to know the commonplace 
 people who live about us ; their manners 
 and ideas alike are distasteful to me," re- 
 plied the young man. 
 
 " Surely this is unnatural," returned
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 83^ 
 
 Mary, " and must only make you enemies 
 among those from wliom you might gain 
 both advantage and pleasure. But if you 
 do not care to join in the field-sports and 
 gatherings of our neighbours, why not settle 
 in some large town, where you could either 
 pursue your profession of a painter or follow 
 some other one ?" 
 
 " Can you not guess the reason why ? 
 Suppose I am unable to quit a neighbour- 
 hood which I confess I do not much care 
 about, because there is one living there who 
 has it in her power to fix my destiny either 
 for good or evil." 
 
 " I do not like to hear you talk in that 
 way, Mr. Lawrence ; it is wicked and absurd 
 both, to say that any one on earth has this 
 power." 
 
 " Ah ! I see you misunderstand me ; the 
 influence I talk of is of a softer nature than 
 this; and I cannot help feeling that you 
 must be aware who it is that has this 
 power." 
 
 6—2
 
 84 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Mary was a good deal agitated, and felt 
 her nervousness increasing as Lawrence grew 
 more pointed in his remarks. Both of them 
 lacked the courage to speak boldly out what 
 was on their minds : and every minute Mary 
 felt less able to intimate the hopelessness of 
 his suit. In truth, it is a most painful duty 
 to perform, this having to dash to the ground 
 hopes that have taken possession of a loving 
 heart. Yet it only prolongs the ultimate 
 agony which must otherwise be sustained 
 by the victim to his own too fond aspira- 
 tions, and the shock is rendered all the more 
 poignant. Equally painful is it to confess 
 that our affections have been misplaced, and 
 to have to own that the being who once 
 moved to ecstacy our inmost emotions, now 
 has lost that magic power. Oh ! the gnaw- 
 ing and bitter disappointment, when we 
 awake from what has proved but a transient 
 dream of felicity, to feel that we deliberately 
 set up an idol in our hearts to whose sway 
 we have become faithless. Keen are the
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 85 
 
 pangs which must be experienced by any one 
 save a systematic and cold deceiver, who, 
 knowing that some gentle being only draws 
 the sweetness of her existence from the man 
 on whom her affections are set, still feels 
 that he cannot give his heart in return. 
 
 It was a great relief to Mary's mind when 
 her aunt, who thought the young people 
 had been left alone long enough, appeared 
 at the cottage door, thus preventing any 
 further recurrence to the subject ; and shortly 
 after Lawrence took his departure.
 
 86 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 The castle of Invermay was now deserted 
 by all the gaudily-plumed birds of fashion 
 who the week before had flaunted in its 
 gorgeous apartments ; and the yacht that 
 was to convey Aubrey and the two myste- 
 rious foreigners, who were his constant 
 guests, to the distant shores of Eussia, was 
 all made ready for their departure. It was 
 a bright morning, towards the end of sum- 
 mer, and the deep green leaves faintly 
 rustled in the breeze that fanned the waters 
 of the bay into gentle ripples. Overhead 
 the birds were gaily singing amid the warm 
 sunshine, and the hardy shepherd was glad 
 to seek a shady spot to shelter him from 
 the burning rays of the sun. Scarce a
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 87 
 
 fleecy cloud moved across tlie broad blue 
 sky; and the lofty mountains that rose 
 up behind the castle showed no passing 
 shadows over their towering sides. 
 
 De Vaux gave orders that all should be 
 in readiness to start soon after mid-day, 
 being anxious to take advantage of the 
 favouring breeze, and had now strolled to 
 one of his favourite haunts at the foot of 
 the cliffs. Here, reclining on the soft sandy 
 beach, he seemed to give himself up to deep 
 contemplation. Many had been the com- 
 ments made upon the sudden resolution he 
 adopted of setting sail for the bleak Eussian 
 shores. He tried to account for the vague 
 spirit of restlessness which impelled him to 
 take this voyage, and wondered what he 
 should do when he arrived at his destina- 
 tion. As yet he had proposed no plans to 
 himself, having not even taken the trouble to 
 ask for a single letter of introduction. All 
 he wished for was a total change of scene ; 
 and he appeared to have conceived a sudden
 
 88' THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 dislike towards those fashionable friends 
 among whom he had hitherto been con- 
 tent to pass his time. And yet now he 
 looked wistfully round upon each well- 
 remembered spot, as though he were leaving 
 them never to return; and a feeling of 
 sadness began to oppress his mind. He 
 could not help reflecting with bitterness 
 how his life had been wasted, what splendid 
 opportunities were wantonly thrown away. 
 Aimless and supine, he allowed the best 
 days of vigorous youth to ebb away without 
 one effort on his part to redeem from ob- 
 scurity the proud name he bore. If ever 
 he was recalled to mind, it would be for 
 some act of thoughtless extravagance, or 
 to demonstrate how such consummate ad- . 
 vantages of position and worldly wealth 
 might be frittered away. He asked himself, 
 what incentive had he to give up his time 
 to the dull drudgery of political occupa- 
 tions, and to demean his proud spirit by 
 courting the suffrages and approbation of
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 89 
 
 the vulgar crowd? Had lie lived in tlie 
 Middle Ages in all probability lie would 
 have been found heading a magnificent 
 crusade, and seeking under the burning 
 skies of the East the renown that fortune 
 might afford. To a mind constituted like 
 De Yaux's, partial success and mediocre re- 
 sults would be more galling than absolute 
 failure ; he must either take the world by 
 storm, or perpetrate a splendid fiasco. 
 
 Presently the captain of the handsomely- 
 appointed yacht moored in the bay came to 
 warn De Yaux that it was time to start. 
 When they reached the castle, the baron 
 and his daughter were found waiting to 
 proceed to the vessel fully equipped for a 
 lengthened cruise. The former, whose ac- 
 quaintance we have not made before, was a 
 tall, quiet, gentlemanly -looking man, rather 
 past the middle period of life. There was 
 an air of courteous affability in his manner 
 that easily accounted for his being the 
 favourite he was, while an unmistakeable
 
 90 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 appearance of decision in the well-cut 
 features, indicated liis ability to act with 
 great firmness when necessary. Ida was 
 dressed lightly and becomingly ; and the 
 excitement caused by the prospect of a long 
 and pleasant voyage lent an additional 
 charm to her expressive countenance. 
 
 "Well, baron, you and Ida are ready, 
 I see," said De Yaux. " I hope I have not 
 kept you waiting." 
 
 "Oh, no; we have just finished putting 
 up the multifarious articles one always takes 
 on a sea voyage, not one-tenth of which 
 probably will ever be removed from the 
 packages in which they are so very carefully 
 stowed," replied the baron, as he left the 
 room to look for his cigar-case. 
 
 " And my fair Ida, I trust, has not for- 
 gotten to take her most sparkling jewels, 
 and her prettiest costumes, for St. Peters- 
 burgh is a gay capital, as you must know," 
 continued De Yaux. 
 
 " Why, I thought you meant to live in
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 91 
 
 perfect seclusion, and gather Eussian ferns, 
 keeping entirely away from tlie busy haunts 
 of ^the capital of the Neva," said Ida, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " We will have a little of both, Ida. I 
 am sure you would not thank me for con- 
 demning you to the ice and snows of that 
 northern region unless your time was to be 
 varied by some light relaxation." 
 
 "Oh, the charms of novelty will be suffi- 
 cient for me ; for there is nothing I like 
 more than travelling through new scenes, 
 and observing different customs and man- 
 ners from our own. I know, too, how 
 unsettled your fancies generally are at first, 
 and how you will pass from one interesting 
 spot to another, only never allowing the 
 effect produced by the previous one to take 
 clear hold of the mind." 
 
 '' Take care, Ida, that you are not raising 
 up a bright series of anticipations which 
 may never be realized ; for only suppose I 
 change my mind, and shunning anything
 
 92 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 like excitement or pleasure, settle down in 
 some unfrequented and desolate province." 
 
 "I know quite well that an uncertain 
 disposition like yours is capable of any 
 sudden caprice ; but I trust you will have 
 sufficient consideration for your guests not 
 to force them to adopt a course which 
 naturally implies a total deprivation of any 
 pleasure the journey we are taking may 
 afford," said Ida, in a somewhat cold, proud 
 tone. 
 
 " A reproof, indeed, from Ida von Borgern, 
 the patient and incomparable female philo- 
 sopher, who was equally at home in a 
 drawing-room or a desert ! " returned 
 Aubrey, in an ironical tone. "You must 
 perfect yourself in your professed stoicism, 
 believe me, before you turn round upon 
 me in this manner. No ; you young ladies 
 had better stick to your crochet and after- 
 noon tea and scandal, not presuming to 
 dabble in anything more ideal than love or 
 the consolations of religion."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 93 
 
 By this time Ida had fully recovered her 
 equanimity, and answered quietly — 
 
 " I like to provoke you to a little anima- 
 tion, Mr. De Vaux ; anything is better than 
 that stagnation of intellect into which, I 
 fear, you would soon sink if I were not at 
 hand occasionally to stir the sluggish stream 
 your mind too often represents. Now, what 
 you really want is a troublesome shrew of a 
 wife, who should be perpetually trying to 
 domineer over the spoilt Mr. Aubrey De 
 Yaux, and inflicting ceaseless annoyance 
 upon her would-be morose and gloomy 
 lord." 
 
 " Upon my word, Ida, I think I must 
 positively take matrimonial orders. It is in 
 every sense a more respectable mode of life, 
 and removes one out of the reach of many 
 snares and temptations, to say nothing of 
 the happiness marriage ought to insure. I 
 often think what an utter waste of life is 
 the existence one leads at present; week 
 succeeds week, and nothing worthy of being
 
 94 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 remembered is ever performed. Is any one 
 the better for my presence on the earth, 
 and would a single friend be found to 
 breathe a sigh or drop a tear over my 
 grave r 
 
 " Indeed, there would be very many, if 
 you only invited confidence and sympathy 
 by seeming to place some value upon un- 
 selfish attachment and disinterested regard, 
 or rather if you could be brought to beheve 
 that such feelings exist. By isolating your 
 afiections within the cold citadel of an 
 affected cynicism, you repel all attempts to 
 wean you to a more genial course of action, 
 and deliberately exalt the mechanical func- 
 tions of the brain above the warm impulses 
 of the heart." 
 
 Aubrey could not help being struck with 
 the thoughtful tone of Ida's remarks, and 
 he felt, too, the justice of her reproof. He 
 had more than once been surprised by the 
 evidences of deep reading and observation 
 her conversation evinced, for her apparently
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 95 
 
 retiring nature prevented Ida from ever 
 making any public display of the consider- 
 able powers of mind she possessed. In 
 short, he began to believe she was gifted 
 with talents of no mean order, and no longer 
 to be treated, as hitherto, merely as a ro- 
 mantic girl. 
 
 "My fair mentor, you are right,'' re- 
 turned De Yaux, " and I own it is a real 
 misfortune for me that I seem to have been 
 unable to awaken feelings of tender regard 
 and sympathy in some kindred bosom ; but 
 there is hope yet." 
 
 Ida could not repress a sigh as she an- 
 swered, " How can you tell whether this 
 has not already been done — indeed, is it not 
 far more likely that you have but to select 
 one from among the many who are only too 
 anxious to win your affections ?" 
 
 It was impossible to mistake the fond 
 look with which these words were accom- 
 panied, and so sweet was the expression 
 beaming in Ida's beautiful eyes, that De
 
 96 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Vaux could not help feeling a certain degree 
 of fascination. 
 
 "Now, you flatter me, Ida; lout you 
 must allow tliat vanity is not one of my be- 
 setting sins. I have no doubt that my for- 
 tune and position could easily purchase me 
 a bride with all the beauty that men most 
 prize, but this is not the love that I want. 
 Eather would I select some unnoticed fair 
 one from a sphere of life that would insure 
 her being free from the taint of mere mer- 
 cenary motives, and with that unsullied 
 purity of mind which those nurtured in the 
 lap of fashion never possess." 
 
 '* I can understand this, for the worldly 
 advantages fortune has bestowed on you 
 make you independent of those paltry con- 
 siderations which sway so many on the 
 question of marriage. But your fastidious 
 notions of delicacy and refinement would be 
 shocked by anything approaching vulgarity, 
 such as a bride selected from the ranks of 
 life you seem to indicate might display."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 97 
 
 " I admit the faint probability there is of 
 encountering one who will come np to my 
 standard of perfection, but I believe such a 
 gem might be found. Nature is impartial 
 in her gifts, and I see no reason why a 
 simple cottage girl may not be blessed with 
 as sweet a disposition, as loving a heart, as 
 any princess. The jewel needs only the 
 hnishing polish of culture and art to shine 
 with as pure a lustre as the brilliant already 
 enhanced by the advantage of a perfect set- 
 ting." 
 
 " In all this I quite agree with, you, and 
 do not wonder that, with these ideas, you 
 hesitate before uniting yourself to one who 
 might prove unworthy of the love bestowed 
 on her. I dare say you are amused at me, 
 with my inexperience in the ways of the 
 world, presuming to offer you advice on 
 such a momentous question," said Ida, 
 laughing. 
 
 '' 'No, indeed I am not, because I like to 
 hear the sentiments of one who is uninflu- 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 enced by slavish, and commonly received 
 opinions, and by her peculiar position a 
 passive and perfectly disinterested spectator 
 of passing events." 
 
 These words sent a strange pang through 
 Ida's heart, because she could never indorse 
 their purport, and had allowed herself to 
 be allured by a dazzling but treacherous 
 phantom towards dangers she little ima- 
 gined. However, she had little time now 
 for reflection, as the captain of the yacht 
 sent word that everything was in readiness, 
 and he was anxious to get under weigh. 
 Half an hour afterwards the trim, vessel, 
 taking advantage of a favouring breeze, 
 swept gently round the headland at one 
 extremity of the bay, and, ere long, became 
 a mere speck on the horizon.
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 The meetings between Milroy and Mary 
 Forester generally took place in a grassy 
 glade in the wood not far from her aunt's 
 cottage, and he was accustomed to look for 
 her about midday, this being the iime she 
 was most at leisure. His encountering 
 Lawrence at the cottage, and the apparently 
 friendly footing on which the latter seemed 
 to stand with its inmates, had somewhat 
 disquieted Milroy, and he was anxious to 
 learn all about the young artist. Accord- 
 ingly the next day he repaired to the usual 
 place of rendezvous, and had not been there 
 very long before he caught sight of Mary's 
 advancing figure among the trees. Joyfully 
 running to meet her, he eagerly scanned her 
 
 7—2
 
 100 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 features to mark any unfavourable symp- 
 toms, but this scrutiny was unnecessar}^, for 
 tbe pressure of her hand, and the artless 
 expression of fondness in her eyes, unmis- 
 takably told their tale. 
 
 " And how are you this morning, dear 
 Mary?" he began; "I hope you had plea- 
 sant dreams last night — indeed, I am sure 
 you must, for you look so bright and happy." 
 
 " Yes, I had a beautiful dream,'' she re- 
 plied ; " but when I awoke I seemed to have 
 forgotten it all. This is always the case 
 with my dreams, however ; and perhaps it is 
 as well, for I suppose you will think it a 
 great waste of time to try and remember 
 them." 
 
 " Well, I daresay your days are not so 
 fully occupied that you cannot afford to 
 spare a short time for such an innocent 
 amusement," said Milroy, smiling. " I 
 hope, however, you have not to be back so 
 early as usual to-day, for I want to take a 
 long walk."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 101 
 
 " My aunt knows I have gone to meet 
 you, so I can remain a little longer; you 
 see I am very honest, and tell her all I do. 
 Is there anything improper in our walking 
 in the woods alone in this way ; do people 
 do such things in the great world you tell 
 me of?" 
 
 Milroy was amused at the naivete of 
 Mary's question and the innocence of mind 
 it evinced. It was this guileless openness 
 and simplicity, so fresh and winning, that 
 had gained his heart. 
 
 " A good deal depends upon the age and 
 character of the person with whom you 
 happened to be taking these woodland 
 rambles, Mary, dear. Now, if I were a 
 venerable old gentleman, with gold spec- 
 tacles, and a thick umbrella under my arm, 
 the world would see not the slightest im- 
 propriety in my being intrusted to accom- 
 pany a beautiful and modest young girl in 
 her walk through the woods." 
 
 " Then I am afraid you mean that it is
 
 102 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 not quite riglit our going about by ourselves 
 in this way," said Mary, seriously, and with 
 a downcast look ; " but still my aunt does 
 not mind, and she would never allow me to 
 do anything wrong. I feel quite safe with 
 you, too, Mr. Milroy; I am sure I would 
 trust myself anywhere under your protec- 
 tion," she added, looking up sweetly into 
 her lover's face, and gently clasping his 
 proffered arm. The most hardened profli- 
 gate could not have seen that confiding look 
 of exquisite purity without feeling some 
 emotion. 
 
 " You may well trust me, dearest, for I 
 would stab any one to the heart who dared 
 to injure a hair of your head," replied Mil- 
 roy, vehemently ; and he strode on silently 
 for a few minutes, softly pressing the arm 
 that clung to his own. Mary felt proud of 
 her protector, and then, indeed, experienced 
 the full tide of ecstacy that throbs in the 
 veins of the woman who abandons herself 
 to the exquisite delights of a first and fer-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 103 
 
 vent love. She seemed bathed in an atmo- 
 sphere of perfect joy, and felt a sort of 
 languid sensation, which made it deli- 
 cious to lean on the man she had made the 
 idol of her heart. All consciousness of 
 aught except the ethereal passion of the 
 moment vanished away, and though Milroy 
 had never yet told her how fully her feel- 
 ings were reciprocated, still a kind of sym- 
 pathetic electric current appeared to pass 
 between them which revealed to Mary that 
 she was beloved. It is this wondrous sense 
 of perfect abandonment to the joy of the 
 moment, this disregard of any chilling con- 
 tingencies or prudential considerations, 
 which constitutes the sweetest charm of the 
 newly-felt rapture that pervades the lover's 
 frame. Why should we seek to mar the 
 divine bliss that attends this first glimpse 
 into the realms of Paradise, and suffer the 
 mind to be for one instant distracted by 
 cold or sordid calculations ! How greatly 
 is the miserable being to be pitied who has
 
 104 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 not a soul that can be moved by love, 
 wbose benumbed and stagnant sensibilities 
 refuse to be kindled into warmth even by 
 the witchery of woman ! The man has lived 
 in vain who has never loved; and though he 
 may pass along the pathway of life heedless 
 of the roses that shed their fragrance around, 
 he will assuredly ere long enter upon those 
 dreary solitudes where no flowers can ever 
 bloom. 
 
 It was some time before either of the 
 lovers spoke, as Mary was fully absorbed in 
 the enjoyment of sensations so novel, and 
 Milroy still hesitated before avowing what 
 he really felt. 
 
 *' I have one favour to ask you, Mary, 
 dear, and it is that you will call me Edward ; 
 I think we know one another well enough 
 now," said Milroy, at length. 
 
 " Indeed I will," replied Mary, eagerly. 
 " I like the name so much, and it seems so 
 cold always to call you Mr. Milroy." 
 
 " Now we understand one another, and
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 105 
 
 you must always come to me when you are 
 in any doubt or difficulty," said the latter. 
 " I shall be very exacting, and feel that I 
 could listen to you for hours." 
 
 " I am only too anxious for you to know 
 everything that passes in my mind, Edward ; 
 but, indeed, very many of my thoughts are 
 of you, and I am never tired of remember- 
 ing all your kind words." 
 
 " Oh, you do think of me sometimes 
 during my absence, Mary," said Mihoy, in 
 a slightly absent tone, for he was inwardly 
 debating what course to pursue as to 
 making his sentiments known. 
 
 " Think of you sometimes !" exclaimed 
 Mary, her open, truthful eyes fondly resting 
 on her lover — " when rather are you out of 
 my thoughts ? At least, that is, you know 
 I cannot help often thinking of you, 
 Mr. — Edward, I mean," continued Mary, 
 timidly ; and a deep blush overspread her 
 face when the full import of what she had 
 said came home to her mind.
 
 106 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 "Dear, good girl," said Milroj, impul- 
 sively, " what a treasure your heart will be 
 to the man who wins it !" 
 
 Not a word did Mary utter ; but no one 
 could mistake the deep meaning of the silent 
 gaze with which she regarded Milroy, say- 
 ing more eloquently than the most impas- 
 sioned phrases — "Ah, Edward, why do you 
 trifle with my feelings by afiecting not to un- 
 derstand what, in the excitement of the mo- 
 ment, I have just divulged ? I am naturally 
 open-hearted, unskilled in the art of dis- 
 sembling ; and if I have betrayed my secret, 
 for pity's sake do not take advantage of this 
 to buoy me up with false ideas, but rather 
 at once destroy my peace of mind for ever 
 and tell me that I am deceived in my love. 
 Then can I lie down and die ; for why need 
 I live longer now that the hopes w^hich led 
 me on to pure happiness are ruthlessly 
 dashed to the ground !" 
 
 Milroy could not withstand that gaze ; it 
 dispelled at once the chilling, selfish doubts
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 107 
 
 tliat hung like unwholesome vapours about 
 his heart. The clear rays which streamed 
 from the eyes of a pure-minded girl in a 
 moment burst through the misty clouds 
 that obscured his better judgment. 
 
 " I must go on ; the die is cast !" he 
 muttered to himself; then, exclaiming aloud 
 as he firmly clasped the gentle hand that 
 lay mthin his own — 
 
 " Mary, you shall know all — you shall 
 know that I love you. I cast aside all re- 
 serve now, and tell you this with the full 
 knowledge of what it will lead to, for you 
 are, indeed, worthy of all the devotion I can 
 offer. In doing this I make a sacrifice you 
 will at some future time understand; at 
 present, let me quaff to the full the nectar 
 draught which a merciful Providence offers. 
 Dearest, you can form no estimate, from 
 what you know of me, of the real nature of 
 my love. Now I can really enjoy the sweets 
 of life ; with you by my side I wish for no 
 more."
 
 108 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Milroy spoke in a quick, excited tone, and 
 there was a strange, almost an unearthly 
 fire in his eye, which Mary, even deeply 
 moved as she also was, could not help no- 
 ticing with a sort of shudder. It was but a 
 momentary, though a singularly wild glare, 
 and had scarce appeared ere it died away 
 into a glowing gaze of inexpressible tender- 
 ness. Mary saw the change, and her sur- 
 charged bosom was relieved by a deep sigh, 
 followed by some tears of soul- felt joy, which 
 she tried to conceal by bending her eyes to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Why do you weep, my sweet pet," said 
 Milroy, noticing Mary's emotion. 
 
 " Because I feel so happy, dearest," she 
 replied, looking up in her lover's face with a 
 glance so full of gentleness and beauty as to 
 thrill through his heart. 
 
 As she spoke she laid her head close upon 
 his breast, and they both, by one impulse as 
 it were, seemed to register a vow of unal- 
 terable love. They leaned against a venerable
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 109 
 
 oak tree, whose gnarled trunk was encircled 
 by a few green tendrils of ivy, and whose 
 hoary branches had cast their shade over 
 many generations of lovers long since 
 mouldered into dust. Neither wished to 
 speak; it was so delicious to feel the 
 throbbings of each other's heart, more 
 eloquent even than the ardent glances of 
 their eyes. 
 
 "My beautiful Mary, what are you 
 thinking of," said Milroy, as he imprinted 
 his first kiss on her soft cheek. 
 
 " I was almost wondering, dearest Ed- 
 ward, if all this can be true ; it seems to me 
 like a dream, and yet, silly girl that I am, 
 do I not read in your eyes that it is all true. 
 And you are now mine, and nothing can 
 ever separate us 1 Oh, w^hat joy there is in 
 this thought !" 
 
 " Yes, love, I am indeed yours ; but," 
 added Milroy, compressing his lips for a mo- 
 ment as though to repress some disquieting 
 thought that rushed across his mind, " you
 
 110 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 know that I must be absent occasionally for 
 a little time to come." 
 
 A disappointed expression crossed Mary's 
 face at these words, and her voice was 
 tremulous as she replied — 
 
 " But may I not go with you, Edward, 
 dear, when'you leave again ? Surely I shall 
 not be in the way ; I promise to do all you 
 tell me. Oh, say that I can !" 
 
 Milroy was touched to the quick by the 
 imploring tenderness of Mary's words, and 
 bitter was the inward emotion he felt, for 
 well he knew they must part very soon for 
 a long period. Indeed, it was partly the 
 knowledge that his stay here was so uncertain, 
 and his return might be so long deferred, 
 that prevented him from declaring his love 
 to Mary ere now. 
 
 " My own Mary must dry her eyes," he 
 began, soothingly, " and not make herself 
 unhappy. She knows that, till I return to 
 make her my bride, the days and hours will 
 be to me at best but weary and full of gloom.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. Ill 
 
 It will only be for a few short montlis, and 
 then, when once more the voice of spring 
 summons the birds to carol amid the young 
 leaves, and the first flowerets scent the 
 morning air, I will hasten to clasp my Mary 
 to my bosom." 
 
 Poor Mary's tears still continued to flow, 
 and a sad reaction began to set in after the 
 bewildering ecstacy she had just experienced. 
 Mih'oy, who was a keen observer, and had 
 studied the human countenance well, was 
 grieved when he remembered that he could 
 at any rate have concealed for a short space 
 longer the fact of having to leave the 
 village. Come what might, he resolved that 
 the brightness of the moment should no 
 longer be overcast. 
 
 " Cruel one that I am thus to play with 
 you," said Milroy. " Believe me, now, Mary, 
 when I say, that henceforth we shall never 
 be parted; without you I cannot live." 
 
 In an instant the sunshine again beamed 
 in Mary's face, and she gazed with rapture
 
 112 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 on her lover. Fondly did slie return tlie 
 gentle pressure of his arm, and her cup of 
 joy once more overflowed. 
 
 " Oh, Edward, how changed do I feel even 
 since this morning. I could sing aloud for 
 pure happiness, and my blood seems to dance 
 through my veins. Even the leaves seem of 
 a more beautiful green than they were when 
 I left the cottage, and the song of the lark 
 high above our heads is doubly sweet. I 
 want no books now, my attention would 
 every instant wander to you, dearest. I 
 shall sit still and think of you each minute 
 of the day I have to myself." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Mary, this is too much ; 
 you must not make me vain. Everything 
 in moderation, for if you go on so fast as 
 this you will exhaust your love, and then, 
 when we are married, I shall be sorry you 
 have lavished it away." 
 
 ''Never fear for me, Edward; my love 
 will last for ever, and so will yours, too, dear 
 — will it not ?" said Mary, with an arch look.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 113 
 
 " Can you doubt me, sweetest ?" replied 
 Milroy, again kissing tlie willing lips placed 
 so temptingly close to his own. 
 
 "Now, I can tell you all my thoughts, 
 Edward, and confide everything to your 
 keeping ; you will look kindly upon all my 
 faults I hope, and show me how to do right. 
 I will keep a diary, as you told me I ought, 
 and write down every idea as it occurs to me, 
 that you may see the progress I make. You 
 know, dear, I must try to be worthy of so 
 clever and gifted a husband as you, for I 
 dare say you will want to go and visit your 
 friends in the great city of London, and I 
 must not let the simple country girl put you 
 to the blush by her ignorance." 
 
 " My own Mary, you will soon know as 
 much as I do; and only think how de- 
 lightful it will be for me to guide your mind 
 towards fresh channels of thought, and, to 
 the best of my poor ability, show you the 
 ■way to cultivate your understanding. In 
 the meantime let us think of nothing but 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 love; let me sun myself in the light of 
 your eyes, and revel in the sweets of a first 
 passion/' 
 
 Milroy's words at times contrasted 
 strangely with the apparent calmness and 
 gravity of temperament which at first he 
 seemed to wish to impress upon Mary. 
 This day, however, he had appeared under a 
 different character, and there was at times 
 a singular wildness in his words, and a 
 vague abstractedness in his demeanour. He 
 seemed to have made up his mind to yield 
 to the impulse of the moment, stifling as it 
 were the disquieting fancies and saddening 
 recollections that threw their ominous 
 shadows over the present happy scenes. 
 
 Mary was so wrapped up in the new- 
 born transports of joy that had been un- 
 folded to her, as not to observe the occa- 
 sional symptoms of suppressed emotion 
 which Milroy displayed. They were now 
 over, and the lovers strolled on through the 
 woods indulging in sweet communion of
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 115 
 
 thoughts and fond interchange of confidences 
 sacred to the new relation in which they 
 stood to one another. The hours sped 
 rapidly on, and the shades of evening begin- 
 ning to close in, warned them that it was 
 time to part. A last lingering embrace they 
 took ere Mary crossed the little brook that 
 ran before the cottage ; and Milroy arranged 
 to meet her at the same hour on the morrow. 
 Mary gazed after him till his form was lost 
 in the gloom of the wood, and inwardly 
 breathed a prayer of gratitude for fche 
 dawning joys that had so suddenly burst 
 
 upon her. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Milroy paced his chamber that evening 
 in deep meditation ; his books lay un- 
 touched, and even the writing materials he 
 had spread out were left unheeded. A 
 strange reaction must have set in to cause 
 his features to wear the terribly haggard 
 look of anxiety they now had. Where was 
 the transient flush of joy that lighted up his 
 
 8—2
 
 116 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 dark eye when Mary innocently revealed 
 her love that afternoon ? What meant this 
 sudden paroxysm that sought to wrench 
 asunder the golden chains which he had 
 linked round the trusting heart of that 
 pure girl? 
 
 ''What have I done?" he exclaimed, 
 unable to bear his feelings any longer. 
 '' Why did I seek this happy solitude only 
 to bear woe in my train ? I have won the 
 heart of a beautiful and confiding girl, and 
 evoked a spirit in her bosom seemingly of 
 radiant loveliness ; but ah ! too soon will 
 it prove her ruin. Fool that I was not to 
 tear myself away when I saw what must 
 come. Fool did I say ! nay rather I acted 
 as a monster, a murderer, who for the sel- 
 fish gratification of a momentary passion 
 destroys another's happiness for ever. And 
 all this to take place when I was endeavour- 
 ing to withdraw myself beyond the reach 
 of temptation, and carrying out a plan I had 
 well deliberated on ! Must I now abandon
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 117 
 
 her, and desolate tlie fair flower whicli has 
 sprung up so suddenly, and blossomed so 
 sweetly ? For her sake I ought ; and the 
 blow may bruise, but will not so utterly 
 crush, this fond girl, as if it came upon her 
 when her hopes have taken deeper root. 
 Cursed be my evil lot, that prompts me to 
 mar the prospects which otherwise were so 
 serene. Delay and doubts now will but 
 deepen the injury I have wrought, therefore 
 let me summon all my fortitude to dethrone 
 the idol I had suffered to usurp the place 
 of reason. Henceforth my heart must be 
 dead to all feelings of love ; I must wrap 
 myself up in a panoply of frigid isolation, 
 and close my ears to the tender sighs of 
 passion." 
 
 It was late ere Milroy sought relief from 
 his troubled thoughts in slumber ; but when 
 he did, he could not shut out from his 
 wearied brain the tormenting phantoms 
 that chased away the [repose he vainly 
 courted.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 Life on board a well-appointed yacht is one 
 round of indolent enjoyment, seasoned with 
 the zest of ever-changing novelty in the 
 scenes past which the voyagers tranquilly 
 glide, unless when a continuance of dead 
 calms causes the trim vessel to rock idly on 
 the gently heaving ocean. As long as the 
 land is close under the bows an ever- varying 
 panorama passes before the eyes of those 
 luxuriously reclining among the cushions 
 that are strewed over the deck. The rip- 
 pling sound of the dancing wavelets against 
 the yacht's sides makes a sweet and sooth- 
 ing music which falls lightly on the ear; 
 green fields, smiling in their summer vest- 
 ments ; long reaches of white glistening
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 119 
 
 sands ; jutting promontories of rock, fantas- 
 tically hung with seaweed, or standing out 
 in dark relief against the surrounding 
 verdure; fishermen's cottages, with the 
 blue smoke curling upwards from the roof, 
 and the ruddy children playing by the door ; 
 occasionally a ruined castle, frowning in 
 lone grandeur over the quiet waters of a 
 sheltered bay; anon a white lighthouse, 
 with its sharply-cut walls and trimly kept 
 garden at the back, standing like a friendly 
 guardian to watch over the mariner's safety ; 
 perhaps a wave-washed village, with its 
 cottages sparkling in the sunbeams ; and 
 the small cluster of masts denoting the 
 harbour which shelters the imperilled fish- 
 ing-boats, when the storm arises — all present 
 a prospect of ever-changing interest and 
 novelty. Glancing to the other side of the 
 vessel, the voyager's eye wanders over a 
 broad expanse of blue ocean, with bright 
 shining patches of sunlight intervening 
 between the dark hue of the surface, faintly
 
 120 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 rippled by the light breeze. A passing 
 cloud hides the face of the sun, and in an 
 instant the waters assume a leaden-coloured 
 tinge, but soon again smile into the same 
 lustre as before ; here and there a rock-bound 
 islet rises out of the deep, barren it may be 
 of all herbage save the few scanty blades of 
 grass and grey lichens that scarcely yield the 
 seagull materials for her simple nest; towards 
 the far-off horizon a dim haze throws its 
 deceptive veil over the faint line where 
 the sky and waters seem to meet; occa- 
 sionally a passing ship, with every sail set 
 to catch the favouring breeze, gives variety 
 to the monotonous waste of waters ; or a 
 cluster of fishing-boats may be seen, their 
 busy crews intently watching the sunken 
 nets which yield them a frugal subsistence ; 
 high over the mast's head the seafowl wheel 
 their circling flight, every now and then a 
 solitary bird sinking with a sudden splash 
 into the waves, while others are calmly 
 floating on the surface, basking in the
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 121 
 
 warm rays of the sun. All these various 
 objects strike the beholder's eye as he lolls 
 at ease on the deck^ and fill his mind with 
 a succession of pleasant tranquil thoughts, 
 the true dolce far niente of delicious 
 reverie. 
 
 Of course this picture has its reverse, 
 when angry storms lash the sea into fury, 
 and the blinding rain drives all below save 
 those who watch over the safety of the 
 yacht ; but this only makes the succeeding 
 fair weather more enjoyable. Then, if the 
 vessel is within reach of land, the captain 
 will take care to moor her in some sheltered 
 and secure anchoring place, where she will 
 ride out the gale unharmed. While bad 
 weather lasts, the voyagers make themselves 
 comfortable in the well-appointed cabin, 
 where books, selected with discrimination, 
 or portfolios of sketches and engravings, 
 offer food to the mind, and cards, chess, 
 music, or letter-writing, fill up the intervals 
 of time both pleasantly and profitably.
 
 122 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 With a genial party of friends, and so 
 many appurtenances of enjoyment at hand, 
 there is no excuse for weariness or ennui ; 
 and even the lowest form of animal grati- 
 fication, in such a yacht as we have been 
 describing, is certain to be insured — namely, 
 an irreproachable cuisine. What more need 
 be wished for ? Here are luxurious quarters, 
 pleasant company, a perfect table, abundance 
 of mental recreation, and, above all, full 
 liberty fco roam wheresoever is agreed upon 
 — all provided for the yachting party. 
 Strangely must those be constituted who 
 cannot derive both health and enjoyment 
 under such agreeable circumstances. 
 
 The yacht's course, by Mr. De Vaux's 
 orders, was kept as near the land as pos- 
 sible in order that the party on board should 
 see the beauties of the coast. Being a fine 
 mountainous seaboard of Scotland along 
 which the favouring breeze was rapidly 
 taking them, the views were often pic- 
 turesque and grand. Ida proved herself a
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 123 
 
 very fair sailor, and seemed to experience 
 nothing unpleasant in the lively tossings of 
 the yacht as she bounded lightly over the 
 waves. "With her sketch-book ever at hand, 
 she would occasionally take a rapid pen- 
 cilling of some rugged mountain outline 
 that struck her fancy; and, when tired gazing 
 at the views, turned over the leaves of some 
 of her favourite authors. The baron con- 
 sumed endless numbers of cigars, indulging 
 the while in those cloudy reveries the fra- 
 grant weed is supposed to engender ; indeed 
 at all times he was a man of few words, 
 though, when he spoke, his conversation 
 was sensible and to the point. De Yaux 
 sometimes read, and often sat near Ida, call- 
 ing her attention to such scenery as struck 
 his fancy. Then he would pace the deck, 
 and even take the helm for a spell, watching 
 with interest those evolutions of the sailors 
 consequent upon a change in the yacht's 
 course or a stiffening of the breeze. 
 
 On several occasions they came to anchor
 
 124 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 in one of the numerous inlets of the sea 
 which promised a view of some fine scenery, 
 and landed to take a short excursion on foot. 
 It made a pleasant variety to be able to 
 tread the heathery slopes of those wild val- 
 leys far beyond the route of tourists, and 
 rarely visited even by the hardy shepherd. 
 The days sped rapidly past, and ere long the 
 coast began to change its character, for they 
 had now rounded the extreme north of Scot- 
 land, and were about to strike across the 
 North Sea for the shores of Norway. It 
 was Aubrey's intention to run a little way 
 up one or two of the fiords of that iron- 
 bound coast, and then shape his course for 
 the Baltic. 
 
 Ida was greatly pleased with the Nor- 
 wegian fiords, which amply fulfilled the ex- 
 pectations she had formed of them, and re- 
 gretted they had not a longer time to spend 
 in examining those remarkable arms of the 
 sea. The simple character of the few pea- 
 sants they saw during their short rambles
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 125 
 
 on shore made a favourable impression upon 
 her. She would like to have taken some 
 lengthened tours inland, but De Vaux now 
 gave orders to hurry on with all speed to 
 Elsinore, at which town he expected to find 
 letters of importance. 
 
 It was a pleasant, warm evening when 
 the yacht entered the harbour of this famous 
 seaport, and as soon as she had taken up her 
 moorings a boat was despatched for the let- 
 ters. Ida had few correspondents, and 
 therefore took little interest in the departure 
 of the messenger. Aubrey was standing 
 silently by the helm watching the gradu- 
 ally sinking rays of the sun as they faded 
 from the higher portions of the town. He 
 was thinking of Ida, for during the voyage 
 they had naturally been thrown greatly to- 
 gether, and many traits in her character had 
 been developed which he never observed be- 
 fore. He could not blind himself to the 
 fact that she was beginning to regard him 
 with feelings somewhat warmer than mere
 
 126 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 friendship, although Ida flattered herself 
 that he had no notion of their existence. 
 These symptoms might have passed un- 
 noticed had his attention not been called to 
 them by the tell-tale blush that always tinged 
 her cheeks when they first met in the morn- 
 ing. Still, the sensation was not a disagree- 
 able one, to feel that a young and beautiful 
 girl cherished a secret passion for him, al- 
 though it would one day entail a scene when 
 it was necessary to dissipate the fond illu- 
 sion. Indeed he felt that the sooner this 
 was done the better, but, with Aubrey's ac- 
 customed irresolution, he preferred to let 
 matters go on as they were. This vacilla- 
 tion and infirmity of purpose had been 
 his greatest bane throughout life. 
 
 After a while the messenger returned, and 
 delivered to Aubrey the packet of letters he 
 had been expecting. Several of them he 
 perused in silence, but the next, written in a 
 lady's delicate hand, drew from him an excla- 
 mation of surprise. It contained an intimar
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 127 
 
 tion that the writer's father, who was Au- 
 brey's cousin, and almost the only relative 
 he had left, was on his deathbed, and ur- 
 gently wished to see De Yaux, as he had an 
 important communication to impart. 
 
 " This is unfortunate, Ida," he exclaimed ; 
 " here is a letter summoning me to go and 
 see a relative of mine who is just dying, 
 and I hardly know what to do about it." 
 
 " I think you should start at once, if you 
 feel it your duty to go," said Ida, with the 
 generous promptings of a compassionate 
 heart. 
 
 " But what will become of you, and how 
 will you spend the time m a strange town 
 until I return ?" 
 
 " Oh, papa will take care of me, and we 
 can make some excursions into the country. 
 I should like to see something of Den- 
 mark." 
 
 " Let me see ; how long will it take me 
 to go by steamer to England and return. 
 I may not get a vessel for some days ; then
 
 128 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 I suppose it requires two or three days to 
 reach the Thames, and after that I have to 
 go to the West of England where my cousin 
 lives. At any rate I could not be back under 
 three weeks : now will you not grow very 
 impatient if you have to stay here that 
 time?" 
 
 " Do not think of us at all ; only consider 
 your dying relative who makes this last re- 
 quest. Papa and I will wait here as long 
 as you like, and I dare say we shall find 
 plenty to do." 
 
 " Very well, Ida, I shall send a boat 
 ashore to learn when the next steamer for 
 England sails." And De Yaux turned 
 away to give the necessary orders. 
 
 The prospect of Aubrey's departure threw 
 a dulness over Ida's spirits, but she strove 
 hard to appear cheerful. Having lately passed 
 almost every hour in the day in his society, 
 and he appearing to enjoy sitting by her 
 side as she sketched, or reading aloud to 
 her as they reclined on the deck, it was not
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 129 
 
 easy to reconcile herself to a sudden break 
 in so much happiness. 
 
 Ida sometimes reflected that it was foolish 
 of her to nourish the secret passion for De 
 Vaux she found it impossible to subdue, for 
 she had a consciousness how hopeless it 
 must be. Could it be otherwise, when she 
 remembered how so many proud, beautiful, 
 and highly -born girls had striven to entangle 
 him in their wiles. And yet she, a simple 
 and unnoticed- dependent, presumed to covet 
 so splendid a prize as the love of such a man. 
 Much need had she of sober reflection after 
 the dangerous temptations she had been sub- 
 jected to, and the departure of De Yaux for 
 England gave her an opportunity that might 
 be turned to the best use. 
 
 It was ascertained that the English 
 steamer happened to sail the very next day, 
 and Aubrey soon made his preparations for 
 departure. The baron was to remain in 
 charge of the yacht during his absence, and 
 Aubrey promised to let them know by the 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 earliest opportunity wlien he might be ex- 
 pected back. That evening, and most of 
 the following morning, Aubrey was engaged 
 in writing, and about noon started for Eng- 
 land.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Now tliat Milroy liad declared his love 
 Mary liad free scope to revel in her new- 
 born sensations, and indulge in day-dreams 
 full of pictures and scenes coloured with the 
 glowing tints of a youthful fancy. She had 
 awakened to a new sense of existence, and 
 could not help wondering if there lived 
 another girl so thoroughly happy as she 
 was. Her destiny in life seemed to be ful- 
 filled ; her future lay clearly revealed to her 
 eyes; she had been told by the man to 
 whom her heart was given that all this 
 intensity of love was returned; this was 
 sufficient, and nothing now remained but 
 to wait till they should be united never 
 again to part. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 With feelings sucli as these, it is not sur- 
 prising that on the following morning Mary- 
 could eat little breakfast, seemed dreamy 
 and abstracted, and did not answer when 
 spoken to. Her sole wishes were that 
 twelve o'clock would come, that being the 
 hour when Milroy promised to call for her. 
 As soon as possible she escaped to her room, 
 and sitting down on a chair looked out of 
 the open window in the direction where she 
 knew Milroy to be. Fragrant with the 
 sweet odours of wild flowers, and musical 
 with the matin carollings of the birds, the 
 soft breeze dallied amid her glossy curls* 
 What a rare prize was the warm trusting 
 heart so freely offered by this devoted girl ! 
 However pure may be the love of those 
 brought up to regard marriage as a sacred 
 duty, and nurtured in the refinements of 
 polished life, there is always a certain faint 
 colouring of conventionality inseparable from 
 the position they occupy, and the doctrines 
 inculcated from infancy, that detracts from
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 133 
 
 the perfect loveliness of the picture. But 
 here was an instance of a woman yielding 
 up her whole soul to the man she loved, 
 abandoning herself a passive instrument to 
 his will ; for at his bidding she would almost 
 sacrifice her religion, her hopes of salva- 
 tion, everything that she held most dear. 
 She knew no future, even beyond the grave, 
 without him; she could think of nothing 
 else than his fond words ; his image was for 
 ever before her eyes. 
 
 Punctually to the appointed hour Milroy 
 came to the cottage-door, and Mary, her 
 heart beating tumultuously, flew to meet 
 him. Oh ! the thrilling sensation of joy 
 she felt as his lips touched hers. They 
 wandered forth into the sunshine, and thence~ 
 through the shady glades of the forest, until 
 they emerged upon the sea-beach, near where 
 the river we have before mentioned dis- 
 charged its waters into the sea. Sitting 
 down on a soft bank of white sand, under the 
 shade of a lofty rock, they talked the hours
 
 134 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 away as only lovers can. No pen could 
 transcribe the conversation of lovers at sucli 
 a time as this — or rather, the attempt 
 ought not to be made. Every one will 
 admit that the sentiments uttered, and the 
 wishes formed, are wildly enthusiastic, ex- 
 aggerated, and extravagant. Excess of 
 passion leads to weakness, and no one would 
 willingly lay bare the secrets of lovers in 
 the first flush of their ecstacy. Mary was 
 so absorbed by the joy of the moment that 
 she did not mark the haggard look on 
 Milroy's features, or the faint tremulousness 
 of his hand. At times, too, he felt a sort of 
 chill come over his spirit; but, ere long, 
 these uneasy symptoms had vanished away 
 in the presence of the affectionate girl whose 
 heart beat against his own. 
 
 The rapidly lengthening shadows first 
 warned the lovers that it was time to part, 
 and with slow, lingering steps they turned 
 towards home. Milroy had intended to tell 
 Mary that it would be necessary for him to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 135 
 
 leave the neighbourliood for a time ; but 
 knowing well what effect it would have upon 
 her overwrought feelings, he could not bring 
 himself to make the disclosure. This 
 thought ever and anon flung its baleful 
 shadow across the brightness of the moment, 
 mingling the drop of gall with the sweet 
 waters of love. Then pressing Mary to his 
 side with renewed tenderness, he stifled the 
 disquieting reflection. He resolved to be 
 perfectly happy — at any rate, for that day — 
 and, after awhile, all trace of uneasiness had 
 disappeared. And so the hours sped on till 
 the long summer's day came to an end. 
 
 ^ tJc "^ /J> 
 
 Milroy took leave of Mary at the cottage 
 door, promising to be back at the same time 
 to-morrow ; and, with sad foreboding, turned 
 his steps homewards. Mary sat down by 
 her window, and watched his figure as long 
 as he was in sight; then leaning back, 
 thought over the happy day she had passed. 
 Her reflections were in a little time dis-
 
 136 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 turbed by the unwelcome appearance of the 
 young artist, Lawrence, who could not bear 
 any longer to remain in suspense, and had 
 come to learn his fate. Directly she saw 
 him it occurred to Mary for what purpose he 
 had come ; and a more inopportune moment 
 he could not have chosen, when her whole 
 mind was filled with the thoughts of his 
 rival. However, she deemed it best to un- 
 deceive him as quickly as possible ; and as 
 her aunt happened to be out they had an 
 opportunity for some undisturbed con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I happened to be passing by," began 
 Lawrence, with a beating heart, " and just 
 looked in to see how 3'ou were. This has 
 been a delightful day, has it not ?" 
 
 " Yes, it has,'' replied Mary, rather 
 coldly ; " and I suppose you have been 
 taking advantage of it for your drawing." 
 
 " No ; I have done nothing in that way. 
 The truth is, I have not much heart for my 
 work now."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 137 
 
 "Indeed! Why should this be, Mr. 
 Lawrence? Surely you cannot change so 
 suddenly without some reason." 
 
 "What if there be a reason?'' he con- 
 tinued, with heightening colour and rapid 
 utterance, " that changes the whole current 
 of my existence, filling me with torturing 
 doubts and anxieties. You must — ^you shall 
 know all now !" 
 
 Mary felt that the sooner this painful 
 scene was over the better, although she was 
 sorry for the disclosure she must make of 
 the hopelessness of Lawrence's suit. She 
 was nervous and agitated, too, after all the 
 novel excitement of the day; and only 
 hoped Lawrence would soon leave her in 
 peace. 
 
 " Well, let me know what you mean, Mr. 
 Lawrence, at once, for my aunt will soon be 
 in, and she will wonder at our being alone 
 together again," said Mary, determined to 
 bring matters to a crisis. 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence, indeed!'' exclaimed the
 
 138 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 young man, bitterly. " Oli ! Mary; have 
 yon no kinder name for me than this ? Can 
 it be that you have not, ere now, read my 
 secret, and guessed my love? Yes, my 
 deep and passionate love for you, which has 
 consumed within me from the first moment 
 we met. I had intended not yet to have 
 revealed this secret, until I might dare to 
 hope that you would learn more of my 
 character, and possibly look favourably on 
 my suit. Oh ! tell me I have not loved in 
 vain ; do not drive me to the lowest depths 
 of despair 1" 
 
 There was a tone of melancholy fore- 
 boding in the young man's words, as though 
 he anticipated the reply that was to crush his 
 hopes for ever, which rather touched Mary ; 
 but her resolution was formed from the 
 first, and her reply was calm and de- 
 cided. 
 
 " I must answer at once, and for ever, 
 Mr. Lawrence — I cannot, can never love 
 you. Even apart from any other conside-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 139 
 
 ration, I have this day pledged my heart 
 irrevocably to another." 
 
 Mary's words, cold and clear, came with 
 withering effect upon the unfortunate young 
 man, utterly precluding the faintest vestige 
 of hope. There was no mistaking their 
 purport; and the announcement that her 
 affections were given to another proved how 
 completely his chance of ever gaining a 
 more favourable verdict was gone. It was 
 this circumstance, too, which imparted addi- 
 tional keenness to his misery, adding the 
 pangs of jealousy to those of disappointed 
 love. He buried his face in his hands, as 
 though to hide the bitterness of the emotion 
 he felt; and Mary could not help being 
 touched by his sorrow. 
 
 "Then I must abandon all hope?" he 
 said, at length looking up, '"'and pass a 
 wretched life of despair. You will at least 
 let me know who is my successful rival. But 
 why need I ask ; I suppose it must be that 
 Milroy. I saw him here two days ago."
 
 140 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 The blush that rose to Mary's face clearly 
 showed that his surmise was correct. 
 
 " I do not see that you have any right to 
 require me to answer your question," re- 
 plied Mar}^, with a trace of anger in her 
 tone ; " but I scorn concealment. You 
 have guessed rightly who the person is I 
 spoke of." 
 
 " Enough, enough ! I wish to hear no 
 more," said Lawrence, rising ; " only I 
 should like to see my rival, to congratulate 
 him on his success !" 
 
 An unmistakeable intensity of hatred in 
 the mocking manner in which these words 
 were uttered, frightened Mary, who re- 
 marked also the livid look of rage on Law- 
 rence's features. 
 
 " Oh ! you would not seek to harm him ?'* 
 she said, almost imploringly, apprehensive 
 of what might ensue if the two met. 
 
 " Harm your lover : harm the man who 
 has won your heart I" replied the other, 
 with a bitter sneer. ''Surely I am in-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 141 
 
 capable of such conduct ; besides, I dare 
 say he is well able to protect himself." 
 
 Without another word, Lawrence left the 
 cottage, and had disappeared ere Mary, who 
 felt anxious and alarmed, she scarce knew 
 why, could make any reply. As it was, she 
 trembled visibly, and dreaded lest her aunt 
 should return and see her agitated state. 
 Bepose was absolutely necessary to calm her 
 nervous excitement, for during that day her 
 bosom had been torn by most conflicting 
 emotions. Poor Mary ! she who could not 
 bear to give a moment's uneasiness to any 
 one, had been compelled to inflict a terrible 
 blow upon a man she had no cause to dis- 
 like. Still it was forced on her, and he 
 might be very sure with sorrow and 
 reluctance.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 The waning moon had arisen, and flung her 
 pale rays over earth and sea, silvering the 
 hoar ruins of an ancient feudal keep that 
 had for centuries crowned a rugged preci- 
 pice of great depth overhanging the mouth 
 of the river. Each mouldering battlement 
 and ivy-hung tower stood out clearly de- 
 fined against the sky, and deep shadows 
 obscured those portions of the building that 
 were not reached by the mellow light. 
 Originally of great extent, the dilapidating 
 hand of time had now destroyed large por- 
 tions of the castle walls, but enough re- 
 mained to show the lordly proportions they 
 once attained. Large square courts, car- 
 peted with grass, occupied the interior
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 143 
 
 spaces, from which vaulted flights of stairs 
 gave access to the battlenieiits above ; long 
 narrow corridors, pierced with small oblong 
 windows, branched off from the different 
 staircases leading to the various halls and 
 apartments, where, in ages past, high revehy 
 had been held, or deeds of horror and violence 
 done. In some of them the vast yawning 
 fireplaces still remained comparatively un- 
 injured, and square openings in the walls, at 
 regular intervals, showed where the massive 
 beams forming the roof had once stood. It 
 was a scene where imagination loves to picture 
 the time when those chambers were filled 
 with the motley groups they sheltered in 
 days long since gone by. The dauntless 
 knights, the proud and courtly ladies, the 
 trim pages in gay liveries, the troops of 
 inferior retainers, all gathered round the 
 noble host who presided at the banquet, 
 rise up vividly to view. The merry laugh 
 which followed the keen jest ; the responsive 
 sigh from some fair one who hears a soft
 
 144 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 tale of love from the gallant cavalier by her 
 side; the strains of music mingling with 
 the voices of the revellers ; the acclamations 
 that followed some favourite toast — all, all 
 are stilled for ever. Standing alone in that 
 deserted court, no sound breaks upon the 
 stranger's ear save the faint rustle of the 
 fitful breeze amid the ivy leaves, and the 
 hollow murmur of the restless waves as they 
 beat upon the rocks far below. 
 
 Built as the castle was on the verge of the 
 precipice, many of its windows overlooked 
 the waves, and were guarded by iron bars, 
 now all corroded with rust. Down in the 
 face of the rock narrow slits, with cross- 
 bars in front, showed where the vaults 
 and dungeons were situated. Terribly sug- 
 gestive were those grim and scanty aper- 
 tures of the dark and lonesome caverns, to 
 which they lent a feeble light. Immured 
 in those living tombs, the wretched captives 
 might breathe their prayers to heaven, or 
 yell out deep curses of despair, but no
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 145 
 
 human voice could ever respond : the peal- 
 ing of the thunder-storm, or the roaring of 
 the ocean in its fury, fell but faintly on the 
 doomed prisoner's ear. 
 
 At one angle of the basement wall, facing 
 the sea, a small square enclosure afforded a 
 coign of vantage whence a watch could be 
 kept over the coast on either side of the 
 castle. The walls guarding this court were 
 of great thickness but moderate height, and 
 near the centre of the outermost battlement 
 an embrasure was formed, protected by 
 massive iron bars, over which the sentinel 
 might safely look down upon the beach be- 
 low. "When the tide was at its extreme ebb 
 point only a narrow margin of strand was 
 visible, but generally the base of the preci- 
 pice was covered by the waves. Eound the 
 court itself a strong banquette of masonry 
 was built, as it seemed to have been judged 
 important that a fire could be directed upon 
 any enemy venturing to attack the castle 
 from the sea. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 A solitary stranger was now slowly pacing" 
 tlie interior of the court with measured tread, 
 as if in deep thought. It was Edward Mil- 
 roy who kept watch so late, and whose steps 
 woke the slumbering echoes of the old tower. 
 He had only a few days before visited the spot 
 for the first time, but its weird, ruined aspect 
 struck his fancy, and evoked recollections of 
 other scenes. Something in the solemn an- 
 tiquity of the venerable ruins, and the per- 
 fect seclusion of the spot from the outward 
 world, with its busy tide of life, harmonized 
 with the emotions by which he was at pre- 
 sent swayed. Here he might muse for hours 
 without a chance of any one breaking in 
 upon his retirement, and each time he visited 
 the castle the impression was deepened. 
 Even during the daytime, when the bright 
 sunshine lit up the dim corridors and 
 streamed through each vaulted chamber's 
 narrow window, there was an impressive 
 stillness which could not fail to strike the 
 most stolid visitor. It was not as though
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 147 
 
 the castle stood surrounded by cottages and 
 corn fields — a relic of the past in the midst 
 of the dwelling-places of a hard-working 
 population — ^for in such a site the hum of 
 the outer world jars upon the ear of the artist 
 or poet who strives to avail himself of the 
 ideas the scene calls forth. For a consider- 
 able distance around, a barren common 
 thickly covered with gorse intervened be- 
 tween the ruins and the richly wooded 
 country beyond. Emerging from the woods 
 the visitor had to cross this heath before he 
 could gain the castle to enjoy the noble sea- 
 view to be obtained from its battlements. 
 A few sheep scattered over the common tried 
 to pick theu' scanty grazing from such por- 
 tions which the furze had not overrun, and 
 in the noonday heat of the sun sought the 
 shade of the castle walls. To gain an en- 
 trance the visitor first passed through a 
 small postern gate ; as the principal doorway 
 had been for many years built up. All the 
 outermost walls were in a good state of pre- 
 
 10—2
 
 148 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 servation, and any gaps caused by the 
 masonry having given way had been filled 
 up, the lord of the manor wishing to arrest 
 as much as possible the gradual decay of so 
 fine a specimen of ancient baronial splen- 
 dour. 
 
 Alone amid the mouldering walls and long 
 deserted courts paced Edward Milroy. It 
 was an hour and a spot in which few men 
 save those of the most fearless nature would 
 care to find themselves. Although owing 
 to the situation of the castle, far removed 
 from any path travellers were likely to take, 
 there was little danger to be apprehended 
 from mere midnight marauders, still the per- 
 fect impunity with which a deed of lawless 
 violence could be committed was plainly ap- 
 parent. As it was, a terrible interest at- 
 tached itself to the very court in which Mil- 
 roy now stood, though he was ignorant of 
 the horrid tradition. Many years since an 
 unfortunate gentleman, who was riding at 
 night along the neighbouring road, with a
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 149 
 
 considerable sum of money on his person, 
 was waylaid by highwaymen who infested 
 the district. Being a strong and courageous 
 man, he made a determined resistance, but 
 was overpowered, dragged off his horse, and 
 robbed of the gold he incautiously carried. 
 Enraged at his stubborn defence, and hoping 
 to prevent any chance of future identifica- 
 tion, the brutal assailants bore their helpless 
 victim to the old castle, where, in the very 
 court before-mentioned, they completed their 
 crime by murder. Thinking to hide all proofs 
 of the foul deed, they threw the body over 
 the iron rails of the embrasure into the 
 waves beneath. A large reward was offered 
 by the relatives of the unhappy traveller for 
 the apprehension of those implicated in his 
 murder, and, one of the band turning king's 
 evidence, the whole crime was divulged, and 
 the murderers brought to justice. Thus, 
 after nightfall the ruins were shunned by 
 such as had to cross the common, as though 
 they feared the spectre of the murdered man
 
 150 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 miglit suddenly appear; and even during 
 tlie daytime few cared to loiter alone in the 
 remote enclosure where the deed was perpe- 
 trated. 
 
 Milroy drank in the tranquil beauty of the 
 scene, undisturbed by those dismal ideas 
 which might have forced themselves on his 
 mind had he known what a dark tragedy 
 had been enacted in that very spot. He 
 watched the moonbeams quivering on the 
 gently-heaving ocean, and thought of the 
 pure-minded girl who had given him her 
 love. One or two bats were wheehng their 
 silent flight above his head, and at intervals 
 the shrill whoop of an owl resounded from a 
 tower at the other end of the castle. He had 
 not meant to extend his walk thus far, but, 
 tempted by the beauty of the night, had 
 strolled on and on until he reached the ruins. 
 Accustomed to walk abroad when most men 
 retire to rest, he preferred those paths which 
 were least frequented. To those possessed 
 of restless, unquiet dispositions, there is
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 151 
 
 something wonderfully sootliing in tlie si- 
 lence of night when the curtain of sleep has 
 descended upon the world. No disturbing 
 and rude sounds of vulgar labour, or ordi- 
 nary domestic life grate unpleasantly upon 
 the ear, but everything is hushed into a 
 solemn stillness. More especially is this the 
 case when one is standing under the open 
 canopy of heaven, at a distance from any 
 human habitations, and surrounded by the 
 mementoes of bygone generations. No place 
 is more suggestive of thoughts such as these 
 than the ruins of a castle on the sea-shore 
 by moonlight, and the least sound or motion 
 is magnified tenfold when all around is dark, 
 tranquil, and mysterious. The ear is acutely 
 alive to the slightest motion of even the 
 smallest animal, and what during ^the day 
 would ^^pass unnoticed, at midnight is in- 
 vested with a singular and intense inte- 
 rest. 
 
 Slowly up and down the narrow court did 
 Milroy pace. At last he stopped, and, lean-
 
 152 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 ing over tlie iron grating, looked down upon 
 the calm ocean far below. The moonbeams 
 resting upon the mouldering bastions and 
 towers gave a spectral hue to some of the 
 more prominent objects, and a heated imagi- 
 nation might easily have fancied that the 
 shades of their former inhabitants hovered 
 round the spot. 
 
 All at once the sound of a footstep fell 
 upon Milroy's ear with perfect distinctness, 
 and it appeared to come from a distant part 
 of the ruins. There was no mistaking the 
 sound; it was a firm, decided footfall, al- 
 though instantly afterwards the previous 
 death-like stillness pervaded the castle. 
 Milroy listened intently, while his heart in- 
 voluntarily beat quicker, but all was silent 
 as the grave. Many minutes passed, and 
 still the same awful, almost unnatural, quiet. 
 He began to think it must only have been 
 fancy, when once more the mysterious tread 
 woke the slumbering echoes. This time it 
 was repeated, and it became evident that
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 153 
 
 some unknown person was moving in the 
 direction Milroy now stood. Again the 
 sound stopped, and all was still. Milroy, 
 though a bold man, could not help feeling 
 startled, and instinctively grasped still 
 tighter in his hand the stout oaken staff 
 he carried. He wondered who the mys- 
 terious visitant could be, for the hour and 
 the place seemed to render it certain that 
 his moonlight ramble would not be dis- 
 turbed. Evidently it was no one who 
 wished to conceal his motions, or to steal 
 upon him unobserved, for no care was taken 
 to avoid the noise necessarily made in walk- 
 ing amidst the mouldering debris. Milroy 's 
 first impulse was to advance and accost the 
 stranger, who, Hke himself, thus wandered 
 abroad while others reposed, but on second 
 thoughts he refrained. Nearer and nearer 
 drew the footsteps until at length the figure 
 of a man appeared in the clear moonlight 
 standing on a projecting point of the castle 
 rock, about thirty yards from where Milroy
 
 154 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 was. The stranger remained motionless 
 for a few minutes, and was turning away 
 when he caught sight of Mih'oy, who, on 
 his part, recognised the young man Law- 
 rence, of whom Mary had spoken. 
 
 Not for a moment did Lawrence hesitate 
 when he' saw before him the man who had 
 supplanted him in the affections of the girl 
 he lovdd; but instantly quitting the spot 
 where he stood, in a few seconds had gained 
 the enclosed court, and was face to face with 
 Milroy ere the latter had recovered from the 
 surprise occasioned by so unexpected a 
 rencontre. The unhappy youth had wan- 
 dered about, he scarce knew whither, since 
 his interview with Mary that evening; 
 and being a person of wild and excitable 
 disposition, he did not wish to appear 
 before his friends in this disturbed state, 
 lest his secret should be discovered. It 
 was strange that fate should have brought 
 the rivals together at so unlikely a spot 
 and hour for meeting; but thus it was,
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 155 
 
 and who could tell what the issue might 
 be? 
 
 "We have met before, I think/' said 
 Mih'oy, calmly, not knowing to what cause 
 to attribute the ill-concealed hate visible in 
 Lawrence's countenance, though a suspicion 
 of it did cross his mind. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, we have ; and you must 
 remember in whose company it was," re- 
 turned the other with a bitter sneer. 
 
 The whole truth was now evident to 
 Milroy, who replied quietly, resolving not 
 to force on a quarrel. 
 
 " Like myself, I presume, you are fond of 
 a stroll by moonlight ; but I certainly did 
 not expect to find any one in these lonely 
 ruins at this hour of the night." 
 
 " Doubtless, it must be delightful for you 
 to take a moonlight walk, but I wonder you 
 have no companion. Surely the girl whose 
 love you have won would have been only 
 too happy to be with you," said Lawrence, 
 in the same bitter tone.
 
 156 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 "Wliat do you mean, sir?" demanded 
 Milroy, with rising temper. "That is a 
 subject on which I will have no jesting." 
 
 "Well, at any rate the laugh is on 
 your side," returned the other; "but per- 
 haps I may be even with you some day." 
 
 " Without further preface, I am to un- 
 derstand that we are rivals in love," said 
 Milroy, with perfect composure ; " well, be 
 it so. The lady has, I think, given her 
 decision, and I am perfectly content with 
 the verdict. As it is now growing rather 
 late, and I am some distance from home, I 
 have the honour to wish you a very good 
 night." 
 
 With these words, uttered in a tone of 
 calm courtesy that was doubly galling to 
 the man who was smarting under the pangs 
 of rejected love, Milroy was about to step 
 down from the embrasure, against whose 
 sides he had been resting, when Lawrence 
 seized his arm, and took up a position to 
 prevent his departure.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 157 
 
 " Stop, sir ; we do not part thus," said 
 Lawrence, in an excited tone. " I have a 
 right to demand from you an answer to 
 certain questions, and here I stand to enforce 
 that right." 
 
 Milroy drew back, and folding his arms 
 across his breast, leant with his back against 
 the iron grating of the embrasure, and sur- 
 veying Lawrence from head to foot, replied 
 with an air of composure and perfect 
 politeness — 
 
 '' I am disposed to make every allowance 
 for the present unfortunate circumstances in 
 which you are placed, and will be happy to 
 afford you any satisfaction in my power ; 
 but I must request you to be brief." 
 
 Lawrence strove hard to control his 
 passionate fury, for he was conscious how 
 great a disadvantage it placed him under in 
 dealing with so cool an adversary. It was 
 a strange sight at that solemn hour of the 
 night, in those lone ruins, all flooded with 
 the pale moonlight, to see those two men
 
 158 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 standing face to face in that narrow court. 
 Then the horrid tradition that hovered over 
 the spot — the bloody struggle that these 
 stones had once witnessed — gave an intensely 
 dramatic interest to the scene. 
 
 " I will not detain you long," began 
 Lawrence, with tolerable quietness of 
 manner, though his words grew more im- 
 passioned as he proceeded; "but as we 
 may perhaps never meet again, I wish to 
 avail myself of this opportunity. To be 
 brief, then, let me tell you that I too loved 
 Mary Forester with all the passionate ardour 
 of a first love. Oh ! the rapture that I felt 
 when first she seemed to smile upon my 
 suit, for I mistook the kindly sympathy 
 she evinced in my pursuits for emotions of a 
 more tender nature. I would dwell for 
 hours upon the memory of some simple 
 words which appeared to me — fool that I 
 was — ^to indicate that I occupied some place 
 in her thoughts. Miles and miles would I 
 walk, and long hours would I wait, only to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 159 
 
 catcli a momentary glimpse of the dear girl ; 
 in short, I loved her with the most pas- 
 sionate devotion. Blinded by my love, I 
 never perceived that it wa^ not returned ; 
 and only this day did I learn the fatal truth 
 that renders my life a miserable void, and 
 will assuredly drive me from my home a 
 vagabond and an outcast !" 
 
 Here the unhappy youth could not con- 
 ceal his emotion, but covering his face with 
 his hands, was silent for some minutes. 
 
 Mih'oy did not utter a word, remaining 
 motionless as before; but he really felt 
 touched with pity for the suffering he wit- 
 nessed. 
 
 Well would it have been had Lawrence 
 allowed his grief to have spent itself, and 
 reason again to assert its sway, but his evil 
 passions once more gained the ascendant. 
 
 "This is childish," he exclaimed, "but 
 it is over ; and now I demand from you an 
 answer to this question — are your intentions 
 towards that innocent girl honourable ?"
 
 160 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 The reason Lawrence put this question 
 was because there was something in Milroy's 
 appearance indicating that he moved in a 
 superior grade of life to that of the pretty 
 cottage girl, whose heart he had won ; thus 
 engendering the suspicion that honourable 
 marriage was not his object. Though his 
 love had been rejected, still the young artist 
 cherished such feelings towards Mary as to 
 render her welfare and honour objects of his 
 tenderest solicitude. 
 
 Well meant as was Lawrence's intention 
 in demanding from Milroy an answer to his 
 question, it had an unfortunate effect upon 
 the latter, who replied, haughtily — 
 
 "What can you take me for, that you 
 imagine I would condescend to tell you 
 what my motives may be ? What right or 
 authority have you to constitute yourself 
 the guardian over that girl's interests? 
 Surely, you had a tolerably plain intimation 
 from her that any further acquaintance or 
 communication between you should cease,
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 161 
 
 and I desire to hear notliing more on tliis 
 subject." 
 
 Maddening in the last degree to Lawrence 
 was the cool tone of superiority in which 
 these words were uttered, and he felt in- 
 spired with the bitterest hatred and ani- 
 mosity towards his successful rival. A 
 vague and horrid longing to be revenged 
 for the ignominious slight which he had sus- 
 tained took possession of Lawrence's mind. 
 He seemed suddenly indued with super- 
 natural strength, and felt as though, with- 
 out much effort, he could crush Milroy 
 beneath his feet. Not a jot cared he for 
 the consequences that might follow any deed 
 of violence, so long as this newborn feeling 
 of vengeance was gratified, for his reasoning 
 faculties were obscured by the tumultuous 
 passion of the moment. The demon was 
 at his elbow whispering revenge, and no 
 guardian angel stood near to stay his hand. 
 They were miles from any human beings ; 
 it was an hour when sleep seals all eyes, 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 and no earthly witness could ever summon 
 liim before the dread tribunal of justice. 
 Not a sound was to be heard throughout 
 the old ruins, for even the wakeful owl 
 from the distant watch-tower had ceased 
 her melancholy whoop, and the ocean below 
 was slumbering as an infant in its cradle. 
 Far up in the sky the clear lamp of night 
 diffused a wan and ghostly lustre over earth 
 and sea, and its rays streamed into the long- 
 deserted court where those two men stood 
 face to face. Naught stirred save the little 
 bat, which still wheeled her silent, but rest- 
 less flight over their heads. 
 
 Drops of cold perspiration stood on 
 Lawrence's brow, and he shuddered in- 
 wardly as he felt the horrible spell of the 
 fiend pervading his spirit. And yet he was 
 not stealing with noiseless footfall upon his 
 slumbering victim, as the guilty Thane of 
 Fife approached his aged monarch ; for there, 
 erect and facing him, was Edward Milroy, 
 a man in the prime of youth and strength.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 163 
 
 " Then, I understand you still refuse to 
 satisfy me ?'* said Lawrence, in a hollow and 
 strangely altered voice. 
 
 " I again repeat, that I do not admit 
 your right to say a single word to me on 
 the subject ; and if you persist in such a 
 coTU'se, I can only award such insolence the 
 chastisement it deserves," replied Milroy, 
 scornfully ; and drawing out his cigar-case, 
 bent slightly to one side as he struck a light 
 against the iron rail at his back. 
 
 These words were scarcely uttered ere 
 Lawrence, taking advantage of the other 
 being off his guard, sprung at his throat 
 with a tiger-like rush, and by the weight of 
 his body added to the impetus of the attack, 
 forced Milroy completely over the low iron 
 railing before-mentioned as guarding the 
 mouth of the embrasure. It was the work 
 of an instant; and such was the violence 
 with which Lawrence threw himself on his 
 hated rival, that both were very nearly pre- 
 cipitated into the sea below. As it was, 
 
 11-^2
 
 164 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Milroy barely contrived to grasp the lowest 
 iron bar with one hand, so arresting his fall, 
 and the next moment seized it with the 
 other, while he vainly sought some point of 
 vantage on which to plant his foot, in order 
 to swing himself to a place of safety. But 
 to his horror, he found that he was dangling 
 in mid-air, for immediately below the stone- 
 work of the embrasure the rock shelved 
 inwards, thus rendering it an impossibility, 
 without help from above, for any one in his 
 fearful position to regain a foothold. One 
 despairing glance he cast down at the per- 
 fectly still sea far beneath him ; but though 
 he was a good swimmer, the plunge from 
 such a dizzy height must be certain death. 
 The tide was at its full flood point, and there 
 was ample depth of water, free from any 
 sunken rocks, at this particular spot, but the 
 drop down would be at least a hundred feet. 
 Each rugged point of rock and fragment of 
 wall was as distinctly visible in the clear 
 moonlight as though it had been midday,
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 165 
 
 but Milroy souglit in vain for any mode of 
 extrication from his impending fate. 
 
 " Cowardly villain !" he gasped out, look- 
 ing upwards at Lawrence, who watched the 
 struggles of his hated rival with unmoved 
 countenance. "Will you allow me to 
 perish thus? Do but stretch over your 
 hand and I swear solemnly that not a 
 whisper of this will I ever utter to living 
 soul." 
 
 Not one word did Lawrence reply, but 
 the steadfast and stony, yet horribly tri- 
 umphant expression in his face, held out 
 no hope that he would take pity on his 
 victim. 
 
 "Will money, wealth, anything tempt 
 you?" again demanded Milroy, who now 
 felt his strength fast ebbing away. 
 
 Still the same unmoved, determined look — 
 promises, entreaties, or curses, were but too 
 evidently all alike vain. All that he 
 uttered was — 
 
 "Wealth! Fool, do you think money
 
 166 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 would tempt me ? Yon do not know who 
 I am !" 
 
 " Then, may the curse of a dying man 
 cleave to you for ever 1" hissed out Milroy, 
 whose exhausted strength was but too 
 apparent in the gradually relaxing grasp 
 with which his hands encircled the rusty 
 bar. He gnashed his teeth in the agony of 
 the moment, to think that the bitterness of 
 death was so near and he so helpless to 
 arrest his doom. Could his foot but find 
 the narrowest fissure, or even the least 
 roughness in the treacherous and slippery 
 rock, he had yet a chance of safety. All 
 was in vain, and he only expended the feeble 
 remnants of his strength in the frantic efforts 
 he made. Besides, was not Lawrence keenly 
 watching this terrible death struggle with cold 
 remorseless eye ; and if he saw the slightest 
 chance of the unhappy man clambering up to 
 his former position, would he not hurl him 
 headforemost into the deep ? As Miboy 
 swung helplessly over the fatal abyss, years
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 167 
 
 of anguish seemed compressed into these 
 few terrible moments; each evil deed was 
 magnified tenfold ; and he then too late 
 remembered the solemn admonitions and 
 warnings of his youth. The thread of life 
 was about to be cut, but how ill prepared 
 was he for death ! Visions of paradise, with 
 angels in pure white robes, and golden 
 harps in their hands, shot for an instant 
 across his reeling brain, followed, alas ! b}^ 
 awful thoughts of the "worm that never dies, 
 and the fire that is not quenched." Then, 
 some innocent scenes of childish days would 
 start up, and he seemed to hear once more 
 the beloved tones of a mother's voice. Well 
 remembered faces appeared before his eyes, 
 and they wore a sorrowful expression, as 
 though upbraiding him for opportunities of 
 good neglected, or wanton injuries done. 
 Milroy's face was in itself a horrible 
 spectacle : his tongue protruded from the 
 foaming mouth; naught but the bloodshot 
 whites of his eyes vv^ere seen wildly rolling
 
 168 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 about; tlie cold sweat of his death agony 
 poured over his ghastly pallid cheeks ; each 
 knotted vein on his clammy forehead seemed 
 distended almost to bursting; and his 
 breath was with difficulty drawn in deep 
 gasping sobs. It was an awful and a 
 sickening sight, one over which tlie pen 
 need no longer dwell with harrowing 
 detail. 
 
 Still Milroy retained his presence of 
 mind, though all hope on this side of the 
 tomb seemed gone ; and with one last effort 
 he steadily poised himself, bringing both 
 feet close together, so that his body was in 
 a perfectly perpendicular position; then 
 with an involuntary ejaculation of prayer 
 he relinquished his hold of the iron rail, 
 and the next instant, cleaving the still air 
 with a great rush, dropped like a leaden 
 weight into the sea. 
 
 A sudden reaction of feeling now came 
 over Lawrence, and, when it was too late, 
 he wished he had stretched forth a saving
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 169 
 
 hand. He dared not look over the fatal 
 parapet, but as he heard the great splash 
 in ihe calm, moonht sea, turned away in 
 horror from the spot, and fled through the 
 old castle — an outcast and a murderer !
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was a bright warm morning, and tlie 
 Baron and Ida were seated on the deck of 
 the yacht watching those busy sights which 
 the harbour of a thriving port generally 
 presents. Ida usually worked at some 
 trifling article of elegant embroidery, but 
 this morning she brought up a book from 
 the cabin ; while the Baron, as usual, was 
 enjoying one of his full-flavoured Havannahs. 
 Most of the men had obtained leave of 
 absence, and were spending their time, as 
 British yacht sailors generally do on shore, 
 in carousing at the cheap taverns, which are 
 the curse of seaport towns, and quarrelling 
 with one another when they were tired of 
 fighting with the promiscuous herd of
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 171 
 
 foreign tars whom tliey encountered. Idle- 
 ness and drunkenness unfortunately seem 
 to go hand in hand — at least, in the case of 
 those who man what may be called the 
 pleasui-e navy of England — and this phase 
 of nautical character is especially apparent 
 in the yacht hands of the northern portion 
 of our island. There is no more picturesque 
 and beautiful yachting waters than are to 
 be found all along the western coast of 
 Scotland, and nowhere are crews more 
 marked by the unfortunate characteristics 
 we have mentioned. However, so long as 
 the Earon was not brought into collision 
 with the local authorities he did not care a 
 jot what manner of roistering pleasures his 
 friend's sailors indulged themselves in; 
 while on board the yacht, of course, the 
 strictest order and discipline were main- 
 tained. 
 
 "What should you like to do to-day, 
 Ida?'' observed the Baron, as he lighted 
 a fresh cigar.
 
 172 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 "Well, papa, I think I should like a 
 ride. We might go along that road where 
 we were obliged to turn back last time for 
 the rain, and I don't think we need be 
 afraid of getting wet to-day." 
 
 " With all my heart, my dear ; only let 
 me know when you wish to start, that the 
 boat may be ready in time. I think in our 
 next ride we shall have De Yaux for a 
 companion — at least, in his letter this 
 morning he talks of being here by the end 
 of this week." 
 
 Ida's countenance flushed with a sudden 
 glow of joy at these words — a change which 
 the Earon noticed, although he made no 
 remark at the time. Aubrey had been gone 
 now upwards of a month, and during that 
 period he had only written once or twice to 
 the Baron. In fact, his letters usually were 
 rather curt, for he disliked the trouble of 
 writing ; although, when he took pains, no 
 one could dash off a more interesting and 
 neatly-expressed epistle. The days seemed
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 173 
 
 to Ida to pass very slowly since his de- 
 parture; and she now had a good oppor- 
 tunity of examining her heart, to probe the 
 feelings she entertained towards De Yaux. 
 There was no disguising the truth : she 
 had allowed her imagination to dwell so 
 much upon his image, and had associated 
 him with all that gave its sweetness to her 
 very existence, that her future destiny 
 almost was dependent on Aubrey. 
 
 The day was well suited for a ride — ^not 
 too hot, for the bright autumn season had 
 now set in, tempering the atmosphere with 
 cooling breezes; all the woods that here 
 overspread the landscape were gilded with 
 the glowing tints which paint the decay of 
 the leaf with beauty ; in the orchards, each 
 apple-tree was decked with golden fruit, 
 awaiting the time when they should be 
 stripped of their treasures. Already had 
 the somewhat scanty harvest been gathered 
 in, and the busy peasants were securing the 
 stacks from the dreaded gales of a northern
 
 174 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 winter. The finely undulating country 
 through which the Baron and Ida rode 
 was well calculated to strike the tourist's 
 eye, with its venerable woods, teeming 
 orchards, picturesque thatched cottages, 
 clean villages, and rich pasture-lands. As 
 they passed along the single street, forming 
 generally the whole extent of the village, no 
 annoyance was experienced from the vulgar 
 curiosity too often called forth by the ap- 
 pearance of foreigners, even in countries 
 boasting of their intelligence and civiliza- 
 tion. No peasantry in the world is more 
 docile and warm-hearted than the Danish, 
 and their simple virtues might well be 
 imitated by the ignorant and turbulent 
 population of our own manufacturing dis- 
 tricts. 
 
 " How do you like the sort of life we are 
 leading, Ida?" remarked the Baron, after 
 they had ridden some distance in silence, 
 and were now proceeding slowly up a shght 
 ascent.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 175 
 
 " Why do you ask this, papa, with such 
 a serious air?" answered his daughter, 
 laughing ; " I am afraid I don't think 
 enough of the future, but only too much of 
 present enjoyment." 
 
 " You see, Ida, dear, you are now at an 
 age when we must consider what is to 
 become of you supposing I should happen 
 to be carried off. Our position with De 
 Yaux is a peculiar one — in fact, what an ill- 
 natured world probably terms ambiguous ; 
 and it is absolutely necessary that, in the 
 view of any unfortunate contingency, you 
 should have a protector and guide." 
 
 " Very true, papa, dear ; but you are in 
 the prime of life, and never have a day's 
 illness — and such, I fondly hope, may long 
 be the case. It was only the abruptness of 
 your question about my present life that 
 surprised me a little, for I know what 
 tender anxiety my welfare causes you." 
 
 " Now you can understand better my 
 fear of what the ill-natured world may say
 
 176 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 of you in connexion witli Aubrey De Yaux. 
 You are an inmate of his house, of course 
 under my immediate eye and protection; 
 but the time may soon come when it might 
 be necessary for me, acting in your interests, 
 to break off the closeness of my intercourse 
 with De Yaux." 
 
 Although she strove to hide it, the Baron 
 could not help noticing the change that 
 was too apparent in his daughter's coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " I don't see what particular business the 
 world has with our private arrangements 
 with Mr. De Yaux," replied Ida, with a 
 beating heart. " Surely we are not bound 
 to take the opinion of those with whom we 
 have no concern upon such a question." 
 
 " But, my child, can you not see another 
 danger — one that peculiarly affects you? 
 De Yaux is young, handsome, and, when 
 he chooses, particularly fascinating in his 
 manner ; and I think your own good sense 
 must point out to you that it is not ad-
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 177 
 
 visable you should be too much thrown in 
 his way. Suppose, only for a moment, that 
 you should allow yourself to take too tender 
 an interest in — ^in short, to love this man — 
 look what unhappiness would be in store 
 for you." 
 
 The blood rushed into Ida's cheeks at 
 those w^ords of her father's, for it was 
 evident he had penetrated her secret. She 
 did not know how to act, as he had hardly 
 ever spoken to her on any of those delicate 
 subjects which only a mother or an elder 
 sister can fully enter into. Indeed, the 
 Baron was in general little disposed to 
 discuss with Ida anything more important 
 than the usual topics which an easy tem- 
 pered, middle-aged gentleman is accustomed 
 to converse upon with his daughter. He 
 had so long been used to consider her a 
 mere child, and indeed saw so little of her 
 amid the gaieties and splendours of De 
 Yaux's princely establishment, that he even 
 felt a little strange and awkward to find 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 himself touching upon a subject so delicate 
 and difficult to handle. Not only this, but 
 he was absolutely ignorant of the qualities 
 and depth of his daughter s mind, so little 
 mutual confidence and interchange of ideas 
 had ever passed between them. Having 
 been always under the care of a governess, 
 Ida was seldom brought in contact with her 
 father, except in presence of this lady or 
 some of the constant succession of visitors 
 who filled De Yaux's residences. Conse- 
 quently this yacht voyage had done more 
 to open up his daughter's character and dis- 
 position to the Baron than years of previous 
 opportunities and experience, and he had 
 learned enough to cause him some uneasi- 
 ness. He fancied he detected an under- 
 current of subtle and imperious self-will 
 below the seeming outward simplicity and 
 pliability of Ida's manner. There was a 
 mixture of candour and evasive reticence in 
 her conversation and remarks which puzzled 
 her father, who now greatly regretted his
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 179 
 
 culpable negligence in not taking more in- 
 terest in her early development and educa- 
 tion. The truth was, Ida had, by being 
 left so much alone, and having free access 
 to De Yaux's large and admirably selected 
 library, acquired and fostered a taste for 
 deep study and meditation, which, coupled 
 with an original turn of mind, resulted in 
 moulding the girl, who most people thought 
 merely shy and artless, though handsome 
 and interestiag, into a woman of quick, 
 varied intellect, and powerful character. 
 Although she regarded her father with all 
 those feelings of affection natural to her 
 sex, still she had formed no very high 
 estimate of his powers of mind — because 
 any one could see that the Baron was a 
 mere man of the world, rather indolent, and 
 fond of pleasure. Consequently she had 
 not sought to open up the secrets of her 
 heart to him, and rather depended on her 
 own judgment in determining her course of 
 action on different occasions. Therefore 
 
 12—2
 
 180 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 she was a good deal surprised to find that 
 her father had divined the state of her 
 feelings towards De Vaux, for she was 
 almost unwilling to own to herself that her 
 love for the latter really existed. 
 
 " Well, hut dear papa," answered Ida, re- 
 covering her composure, " how could you 
 suppose I should he so silly and vain as to 
 imagine Mr. De Vaux ever looks upon me 
 as anything more than a young girl full of 
 romance and nonsense, if in fact he ever 
 thinks of me at all ?" 
 
 "Yes, Ida, that may he very true, hut 
 suppose you should allow yourself to he car- 
 ried away hy any romantic, foolish ideas, 
 and form hopes of happiness which, of 
 course, can never he realized. I fondly 
 trust you have far too much good sense 
 ever to he led by any girlish notions of 
 love to nourish a secret passion which most 
 certainly must cause you great misery 
 eventually." 
 
 The Baron did not wish Ida to think he
 
 THE MAN OF MAUK. 181 
 
 really believed that slie loved De Vaux, but 
 only intended to convey to her, as delicately 
 as possible, a hint that he suspected the 
 former too often occupied her thoughts and 
 longings. Therefore he meant to say no 
 more upon the subject at present ; but Ida's 
 curiosity was awakened, and she resolved to 
 find out, if possible, whether De Vaux had 
 asked her father to mention this delicate 
 matter. 
 
 " Surely, papa, Mr. De Vaux himself 
 gives me credit for more sense than to ima- 
 gine I could indulge in any idle day-dreams 
 of winning the heart of one whom all the 
 fashionable beauties in England have in 
 vain tried to captivate ?" said Ida, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " I cannot tell what De Vaux thinks of 
 you, or whether he would care to interest 
 himself in such little things as the extrava- 
 gant fancies you young ladies are too apt 
 to revel in," said her father, gravely 
 smiling.
 
 182 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Oh, I tliouglit you and he might per- 
 haps have been talking about me over your 
 evening cigars, because it is only natural 
 that Mr. De Vaux, having seen me grow up 
 from a mere child, should feel some interest 
 in my future." 
 
 "So he does, Ida; I am satisfied he 
 would like to see you comfortably settled 
 in life, and I own this is my ardent wish 
 also." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Ida, with mock 
 gravity, but an arch expression beaming in 
 her fine eyes, " have you and he been so 
 hard-hearted as to plot together to take 
 away my liberty ! Dreadful thought, that 
 perhaps some horrid Eussian 'eligible' may 
 be set on by you to lay siege to this 
 trembling little heart !" 
 
 " Never fear, my charming Ida, I can 
 answer for it that you will soon tame this 
 bearish wooer and lead him with a silken 
 thread. But seriously, Ida, have you ever 
 thought of marriage and its duties, because
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 183 
 
 if we sliould happen to encounter any one 
 you believed likely to make you liappy I 
 would throw no obstacles in the way ?" 
 
 " To tell the truth, papa, I have given 
 this subject very little consideration, and as 
 I am always, to use the hackneyed phrase, 
 'as happy as the day is long,' you may 
 suppose I do not wish to change my po- 
 sition." 
 
 " You must think seriously over what I 
 have been saying, however," replied the 
 Baron, " and we can recur to it again. As 
 I said before, it will be necessary when we 
 return from this Eussian tour to lay down 
 different plans of living, even if I continue 
 my connexion with De Vaux." 
 
 " Oh ! dear papa, let us enjoy the present; 
 we do not know what clouds may overcast 
 the future. For my part, all I ask is a com- 
 fortable house to live in, with beautiful 
 scenery around, plenty of books, and a few 
 real friends to make a little society." 
 
 " Come, Ida, I must say your ideas of a
 
 184 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 happy life are very ordinary and prosaic, but 
 I can't lielp suspecting that your clever 
 fingers could trace a much more glow- 
 ing picture than this sober outline. Still 
 I should wish to add to your simple plea- 
 sures by all means in my power, and I only 
 hope you remember that you have but to 
 seek me if you are ever in the slightest 
 doubt or difficulty, and whatever a father's 
 watchfulness and love can suggest will 
 guide my decision." 
 
 With these words the Baron rode forward 
 at a more rapid pace, thus putting an end 
 to their conversation for the present. He 
 resolved for the future, however, to make 
 his daughter more of a companion than he 
 had hitherto done, and indeed could not 
 help reproaching himself for neglecting her 
 society to mingle always with the giddy, 
 heartless set that De Yaux gathered around 
 him. Ida, too, on her part, felt that her 
 father was in earnest in what he said, and 
 saw that, as a matter of duty, she ought to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 185 
 
 seek his counsel and advice more than she 
 had done. She required some guiding in- 
 fluence — gentle but firm — to control her 
 wayward and much too imperious will, for 
 the w^ant of this timely sway threatened to 
 involve her in unknown difficulty and 
 danger. Of all the perils that surround a 
 pure-minded w^oman's path, one of the 
 worst is having too much self-reliance on 
 her own judgment, and if to this be added 
 a certain degree of contempt for the opinion 
 of those to whom properly she ought to 
 look for guidance, she wanders on the verge 
 of a treacherous abyss where the first false 
 step may seal her doom for ever.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 With fond and anxious expectation Mary 
 Forester waited for the hour to strike that 
 would tell her Milroy was at hand. The 
 conflicting agitations she had undergone 
 the previous day contributed to give a tinge 
 of sadness to her thoughts as she awoke 
 from somewhat troubled slumbers, but the 
 fresh morning air and bright sunshine made 
 aU nature smile, and her spirits rose as the 
 time of their meeting approached. Her in- 
 terview with Lawrence had much to do 
 with this, as she really felt for the genuine 
 emotion he displayed, and hoped the wound 
 might soon heal. Too many women might 
 only have triumphed at his woe, but Mary 
 was cast in a very different mould. But
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 187 
 
 it was only natural that she should endea- 
 vour to put away any painful recollections, 
 leaving the cold shade of sorrow to bask in 
 the warm beams of fully requited love. 
 
 Unusually irksome seemed the little house- 
 hold duties Mary had to perform for her good 
 and kind, though terribly formal and pre- 
 cise aunt. The round-faced, good-natured 
 country girl, who acted as maid-of-all-work 
 in the cottage, wondered what was the 
 matter with her young mistress. Mary 
 often talked to this girl, and to the best of 
 her abiHty tried to improve her by incul- 
 cating carefulness in conduct, neatness in 
 dress, and other little details. She would 
 frequently read to her when the work 
 was done, and on Sunday evenings made 
 the girl repeat hymns and texts. For Mary 
 had a deeply religious and inquiring spirit, 
 and it was only her shyness and timidity 
 which baffled the village curate when he 
 paid his occasional visits to the cottage. In- 
 deed these visits would have been made much
 
 188 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 oftener, only that the Eeverend Wilfred 
 Massey was himself afflicted with a sort of 
 constitutional bashfulness, more especially 
 apparent when Mary was present. Not 
 that he wished to avoid the performance of 
 his ministerial charge, for he was enthusi- 
 astic in his profession, and especially fond 
 of parish work. Yet while his heart was 
 earnestly given to his duties, still it was 
 not so engrossed by them as to exclude the 
 softer influences that might unwittingly be 
 brought to bear upon so tender an organ. 
 But more of this hereafter. 
 
 A state of expectancy is always an anxious 
 one. No matter whether we strive to pre- 
 occupy the mind with certain fixed objects 
 on purpose to wile away the sluggish 
 moments that drag wearily along, one's 
 thoughts inevitably, as the needle to the 
 pole, return to the original subject. We 
 take up a book, but any amount of wisdom 
 and wit, printed in the choicest typography 
 on the thickest of " toned" paper, is simply
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 189 
 
 choice typography to us, and "nothing 
 more." The mind imbibes no sense either 
 of pleasure or pain from what we read, but 
 still it is a relief to close the volume. No 
 better results follow if we try a violent 
 remedy, and resolutely sit down to solve a 
 problem in the Sixth Book of Euclid, or to 
 prove the binomial theorem. We can settle 
 to nothing ; and the best thing is to take a 
 walk or ride out on horseback, always pro- 
 vided the day be fine. If it be wet the 
 case is ten times worse, for, of all the dreary 
 methods of killing time ever discovered, un- 
 questionably the most dismal is to watch 
 the meanderings of rain-drops down one's 
 window panes. No doubt there are degrees 
 of weariness even in this particular instance ; 
 for, of the two, one would prefer on a wet 
 day to look out of a window in a pleasant 
 country house, overhanging, we will suppose, 
 some picturesquely wooded valley, with a 
 foaming torrent rushing through its midst, 
 than to peer disconsolately at the pitiless
 
 190 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 rain from one's dark dining-room window 
 in a "quiet" street, while a damp organ- 
 grinder, two doors off, is remorselessly sere- 
 nading the neighbourhood with the strains 
 of '^xlome, sweet home." 
 
 With as much patience as she could 
 muster did Mary await the approach of 
 Miboy ; but she found it impossible to sit 
 quietly at her needlework, as usually was 
 her wont. Fearful of attracting the obser- 
 vation of her aunt, she strove to seem en- 
 grossed in her simple occupation, but in 
 vain. The stitches all seemed unaccount- 
 ably to go wrong, and the needle oftener 
 found its way into her finger than the neat 
 trimming at which she was engaged. Oc- 
 casionally, too, a sigh escaped from her 
 bosom — a manifestation of feeling, by the 
 way, only to be tolerated from one in her 
 situation, for it is a most unpleasant habit 
 to acquire, and justly lays a man, at least, 
 open to the keenest ridicule. Poor Mary, 
 however, might well be excused fbr show-
 
 THE MAN OF MAKK. 19 L 
 
 ing lier suppressed emotion in so innocent a 
 manner ; and most men would have given a 
 great deal to liave drawn forth such a sigh 
 from this beautiful and pure girl. 
 
 " Do you know, Mary," said her lunt, 
 suddenly looking up, "it is a long time 
 since we promised to go and see poor 
 Mrs. Eedgrave, who is, I hear, worse than 
 ever ; and I think we can't do better than 
 walk over this fine day." 
 
 A terrible disappointment this was to 
 Mary, and her colour came and went so 
 palpably that her aunt noticed the 
 change. 
 
 "Why, child, what is the matter with 
 you the last day or two?" continued the 
 latter. "You don't seem yourself at all; 
 " you are not ill, I hope ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, aunt ; but I feel " 
 
 Here Mary stammered and stopped, not 
 exactly knowing what to say; for though 
 her aunt by no means appeared to disap- 
 prove of Milroy's acquaintance, she hesitated
 
 192 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 to confess what had taken place between 
 them. 
 
 "Well, and what do you feel, Mary? 
 You had better tell me, and perhaps I can 
 cure you without the doctor's aid." 
 
 Mary's love of truthfulness and the natu- 
 ral openness of her character at once pre- 
 vailed, and she resolved to confess all to her 
 aunt. 
 
 " You will not be angry with me, dear 
 aunt," began Mary, coaxingly, " if I confess 
 I have a little deceived you ?" 
 
 "Not unless you have done something 
 very wrong ; but indeed, Mary, I believe 
 you never could be guilty of anything 
 downright wicked. I trust I have watched 
 over your moral principles too carefully." 
 
 "The truth is," said Mary, blushing 
 deeply, " I am in love — and now you know 
 what is the matter." 
 
 " In love, indeed !" exclaimed her aunt, 
 surprised that the symptoms should have 
 escaped her notice, although the good
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 193 
 
 woman had a very shrewd suspicion who it 
 was that caused them ; " and who has 
 brought this about — Mr. Lawrence, I sup- 
 pose r 
 
 " No, aunt ; I thought you knew I never 
 liked him much. Can you guess no one 
 else?" 
 
 " What !— not Mr. Milroy, surely ?" said 
 Mrs. Forester, with, for her, positively a 
 sly look, as if a new light suddenly flashed 
 across her mind. 
 
 The silence that followed these words 
 and Mary's downcast looks of modest con- 
 fusion plainly confirmed her aunt's sur- 
 mises. Nor was her prudent relative at all 
 sorry at the prospect of Mary being com- 
 fortably settled in life, provided she could 
 ascertain that her lover was in a position to 
 maintain a wife. She had been much im- 
 pressed in Milroy's favour ; and, though it 
 was only a few days since she had seen him 
 for the first time, it was tolerably apparent 
 on that occasion that Mary and he were no 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 strangers to each other. Knowing, too, 
 what young girls are, it did not much 
 astonish her that Mary should not have 
 confessed their very first meeting, and asked 
 permission to continue the acquaintance. 
 Although sorrow had the effect upon Mrs. 
 Forester of rendering her silent and reserved 
 in manner, still she could overlook the 
 innocent romance of an inexperienced girl, 
 while at the same time she would strongly 
 disapprove of any clandestine communica- 
 tions being carried on against her express 
 orders. But from the very first, when 
 Mary told about Milroy, and had presented 
 him to her aunt, she distinctly countenanced 
 their meetings, for her niece asked permis- 
 sion to go each time the lovers made an 
 appointment. What now remained to be 
 done was to have an interview with Milroy 
 herself, and ascertain from his own lips 
 what were his intentions and prospects. 
 
 " Then we need not call in the doctor, 
 Mary," said her aunt with a smile; "we
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 195 
 
 can leave it to some one else to cure you. 
 Ahj well ! I was much the same at your 
 age, and so I must not complain." 
 
 " You remember, aunt, you rather took a 
 fancy to Mr. Milroy the first time you saw 
 him?" said Mary, slightly hanging down 
 her head. 
 
 " So I did, child — I own it. As far as I 
 have seen, Mr. Milroy is everything that 
 can be desired ; but, of course, now I shall 
 require to find out all about him. I must 
 say, however, he gives one very little chance 
 of doing this, for I never heard him say a 
 word about his past life ; and, the only time 
 he mentioned the subject, he spoke rather 
 vaguely of his present occupation." 
 
 " Depend upon it he will satisfy you on 
 these points," replied Mary, eagerty. ^' Why 
 should he wish to make any concealment ? 
 Besides, he has told me all about himself, 
 and you know he is the soul of honour, 
 scorning anything underhand or surrep- 
 titious." 
 
 13—2
 
 196 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Mary's entliusiasm was but natural, and 
 her aunt resolved to take the earliest oppor- 
 tunity of questioning Milroy. It may 
 seem to most people somewhat strange that 
 she should allow a girl of so attractive an 
 appearance as Mary to take long walks 
 with a gentleman ; but Mrs. Porester had 
 the most perfect confidence in her niece's 
 purity of mind and propriety of conduct. 
 There was something, too, about Milroy 
 that convinced her he would not take any 
 advantage of an artless girl's love; more- 
 over, Mrs. Forester having all her life been 
 among simple-minded, pious people, remote 
 from the haunts of luxury and vice, was 
 slow to attribute wickedness to those of her 
 fellow-creatures who seemed removed from 
 suspicion. Her reserved and dreamy nature, 
 too, contributed to warp her judgment in 
 many respects, rendering her less attentive 
 to prudential considerations than might be 
 quite desirable in one who had so precious 
 a charge to watch over.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 197 
 
 " I am glad you have told me what has 
 taken place, Mary," said Mrs. Forester; 
 "for the next time I see Mr. Milroy I 
 can come to an understanding with him." 
 
 "Then you wont have to wait long," 
 replied the [niece, with a bright smile, " for 
 he will be here very soon, and I know he 
 means to ask your permission to marry me." 
 
 " I must say he has been pretty quick in 
 making up his mind, considering that you 
 can scarcely have known one another more 
 than a month." 
 
 " Oh ! but, dear aunt, I know his noble 
 heart as if we had been brought up from 
 childhood together. You should hear him 
 talk about poetry and music ; and his voice 
 is so rich and beautiful when he repeats the 
 passages and quotations I love to hear. 
 Then what fire there is in his eyes at times, 
 yet they can express the most melting 
 tenderness. I raay well be proud of 
 him !" 
 
 "Well, my dear child, I pray heaven
 
 198 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 for your sake that all may end happily. 
 Only I have been accustomed to so much 
 disappointment and misery in this life that 
 I always like to look at the dark side of 
 everything as well as the bright." 
 
 "Now, auntie dear, you shall only look 
 at the bright side to-day, for I feel so full 
 of joy that I could sing aloud for pure hap- 
 piness. I can't stay in the house any 
 longer this lovely morning, so I shall run 
 to meet some one, and bring him before 
 you to speak for himself," exclaimed Mary, 
 merrily, bounding out of the room to put on 
 her bonnet. 
 
 Mrs. Forester resumed her knitting with 
 something like a sigh, as she inwardly 
 hoped that all might go well with her 
 niece ; and presently the latter passed out 
 of the garden-gate on her way to meet 
 Miboy. Mary's feeling of sadness had 
 been dispelled by the delightful anticipa- 
 tions of their meeting, and her step never 
 was so elastic, or her whole bearing so full
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 19^ 
 
 of glee. The spot to which she repaired 
 was a smooth comer of green sward, spread- 
 ing round the foot of a venerable beech- 
 tree, situated at a turning of the path 
 leading to the cottage. Here they had sat 
 together a few evenings before, watching the 
 summer moon gradually rising from the 
 horizon ; from this point the course of the 
 footpath could be traced for nearly a mile, 
 so that Mary would be enabled to see her 
 lover while he was yet afar off. Accord- 
 ingly she sat down on the soft grass, and 
 took out of her pocket the refractory sewing 
 materials, by way of giving her hands some- 
 thing to do, while her fluttering heart 
 throbbed with expectation. Slowly, very 
 slowly did the time pass, and many an 
 anxious glance she cast along the footpath 
 to catch the first glimpse of Milroy. Work- 
 ing was impossible ; every stitch went into 
 the wrong place, and the pretty trimming 
 was again laid aside. She looked at her 
 watch, and saw that it wanted but a few
 
 200 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 minutes till the appointed hour should arrive, 
 but still there was no sign of her lover's 
 approach. An irrepressible longing to see 
 him made her start to her feet, and hastily 
 proceed along the path she knew he must 
 take. Each moment her feverish expecta- 
 tion and impatience increased, and she 
 strained her eyes in the hope of discovering 
 Milroy, but in vain. Then stopping sud- 
 denly, she tried to think calmly how foolish 
 it was to flurry and agitate herself in this 
 manner when very possibly he might have 
 approached the cottage not by the usual 
 track, but from some other direction. It 
 was now nearly half-an-hour beyond the 
 time at which he promised to meet her, 
 and hitherto he had always been at the 
 appointed place with scrupulous punctuality. 
 Betracing her steps, and doing the utmost 
 to regain her composure, Mary soon found 
 herself back again at the cottage. Eagerly 
 did she listen to catch the sound of his 
 voice, in case he had already arrived, and
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 201 
 
 her aunt had kept him to talk over the 
 necessary matters they would require to 
 consider. Quite still and silent was all 
 within the cottage ; and as every door and 
 window was wide open to admit the warm 
 summer air, she must have at once heard 
 any voices. Presently, , coming closer, she 
 could see her aunt sitting placidly knitting, 
 apparently having never moved since she 
 went out, so it was evident Milroy could 
 not have been there ; because Mrs. Forester 
 would have either kept him, or made him 
 go to meet her niece. Unobserved, Mary 
 stole quietly to her room, and closing the 
 door tried to reason with herself how foolish 
 it was thus to give way to her impatience. 
 What more natural than that Milroy might 
 have been delayed by some letter to write, 
 or possibly a call in the neighbourhood to 
 make ? At any rate, there was no use thus 
 agitating herself without a cause ; so she 
 strove once more to build gay castles in the 
 air, but with little success. Her eyes in-
 
 202 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 voluntarily filled with tears, and she begau 
 to feel like a petted child, who, hoping to be 
 brought forward with pride, is suffered to 
 remain unnoticed in the background. 
 Ashamed of this weakness, she took up a 
 book, and tried to pass away the time in 
 reading ; but after turning over a page or 
 two she threw the volume aside. 
 
 More than an hour had now elapsed 
 since Milroy should have been at the cottage, 
 and as Mary could no longer remain by 
 herself, she again sought her aunt. The 
 latter was much surprised to see the traces 
 of tears in her niece's eyes, and to hear the 
 tremulous sobbing tones of her voice. 
 
 " What is the matter, Mary ?" she said ; 
 " why you look as if you had heard some 
 terribly bad news." 
 
 "I am so disappointed that Edward is 
 not here, aunt," replied Mary, striving to 
 speak calmly, but with indifferent success. 
 
 " Is he much past his time, then, that you 
 are so impatient ?"
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 203 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he ought to have been here 
 an hour ago; and I am sure something 
 must have happened. He never did this 
 before/' 
 
 " Nonsense, Mary; what put it in your 
 head that anything is wrong? Surely, he 
 may for once be a little behind time 
 without disturbing your peace of mind so 
 much." 
 
 "I cannot help thinking some accident 
 must have occurred," said Mary, • in a 
 mournful tone. " I feel an indefinite fore- 
 boding of evil ; yet why should I thus 
 anticipate misfortune? — he was in perfect 
 health yesterday. Tell me, dear aunt, that 
 it is all right," she continued, leaning on 
 Mrs. Forester's shoulder, and giving way 
 to a flood of tears. 
 
 "Don't agitate your self, my dear child," said 
 her aunt, distressed to witness Mary's grief. 
 " He will no doubt be here shortly. Stay 
 here a moment and I will look along the 
 path, in case he may be in sight even now."
 
 204 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Oh, do, aunt ; tliat is so kind of you," 
 replied Mary, still sobbing bitterly. In 
 truth the sudden reaction of feeling from 
 the height of delicious anticipation to the 
 gnawing sensation of unexpected disappoint- 
 ment was too much for Mary, more espe- 
 cially after the events of the previous day. 
 By the time her aunt returned she had 
 dried her tears, and was altogether in a 
 calmer frame of mind, therefore could the 
 better bear her mortification. 
 
 " No signs of him yet I see by your looks, 
 aunt," said Mary, trying hard to seem 
 cheerful. 
 
 "Don't think anything more of Mr. 
 Milroy at present, Mary ; it will be all the 
 pleasanter for you when he does come, and 
 you can make him stay so much the longer. 
 Depend upon it he will have some good ex- 
 cuse, but you may scold him to your heart's 
 content if he has not. You must keep up 
 your spirits, child, and not let any man think 
 that his breaking an appointment would
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 205 
 
 liurt you so much. When I was your age 
 I would have hated that anybody should 
 know they could interfere with my peace of 
 mind. Even my poor dear husband, when 
 he was courting me, never imagined that I 
 should break my heart if he had proved 
 faithless — yet I should have," said Mrs. 
 Forester, sadly, as a long, dormant train 
 of recollections was awakened in her 
 breast. 
 
 " Well, aunt, I mean to forget Edward 
 for the present," said Mary, with assumed 
 gaiety ; " and I think we had better go to 
 Mrs. Eedgrave, leaving a message for him 
 to wait till we return. It will punish him 
 for being so late in keeping his appointment, 
 and I shall pretend to be excessively angry 
 when I return." 
 
 " A very good idea," returned Mrs. 
 Eorester; "the day is so pleasant that I 
 shall enjoy the walk, and the fresh air will 
 do you all the good in the world." 
 
 " Put on your shawl and bonnet then,
 
 206 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 aunt, for I am all ready," said Mary, start- 
 ing up, and in a few minutes more they 
 were botli on tlie road to Farmer Eed- 
 grave's.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 Near the centre of the extensive woods we 
 have spoken of, which extended for many 
 miles in circumference round the village of 
 
 H , was a small stone quarry, long 
 
 since disused, and far removed from any 
 public road or pathway. The trees, which 
 were unusually densely planted at this part 
 of the forest, completely overshadowed the 
 quarry, forming an impervious gloom rarely 
 penetrated even by the mid-day beams of 
 the sun. What remained of the excavation 
 scarce deserved the name of a quarry ; in- 
 deed originally it was a mere working for 
 some temporary purpose, and evidently had 
 soon been abandoned. A deep pool of inky 
 black water, always calm and unruffled as
 
 208 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 the surface of a draw-well, almost entirely 
 filled the quarry. The trees grew close up 
 to the brink, and some of them inclined over 
 the treacherous-looking water, while their 
 branches interlacing formed a screen over 
 the spot. Not a reed or weed found a 
 resting-place in the slimy bottom of the 
 pool, and neither sun nor moon was ever re- 
 flected in its dark bosom. No silver trout, 
 with its shining speckled breast, ever glanced 
 amid the icy cold water, which was never dis- 
 turbed save when an occasional horse-leech 
 or toad darted at their insect prey. An in- 
 describable air of gloom and desolation per- 
 vaded the noisome spot ; every object seemed 
 black and unhealthy ; no flower wafted its 
 scent over the lonely tarn, and the songsters 
 of the woods were silent as they skimmed 
 across its dark surface. 
 
 Seated on a block of stone overhanging 
 the ponci, with his eyes fixed on its black 
 depths, was John Lawrence. His brow was 
 haggard, his feet sore and weary, his clothes
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 209 
 
 soiled, and his hands bleeding and torn. 
 Hardly once had he rested his limbs since he 
 rushed away from the scene of the horrid 
 tragedy of the previous night. On, on he 
 ran all through the hours of night and the 
 cold grey dawn of the morning, as though 
 the spectre of Milroy was on his trail, until 
 he reached this lone corner of the forest, 
 where, for a time at least, he might hope to 
 be secure. 
 
 It was now nearly twelve o'clock, but 
 neither bread nor water had passed Law- 
 rence's lips, and he began to feel very faint, 
 but there was little chance of satisfying his 
 wants unless he ventured from his present 
 concealment. Thirsty as he was, he turned 
 with loathing from the slimy stagnant pool 
 at his feet, and he knew of no spring near 
 at which to moisten his parched lips. His 
 brain reeled, and seemed to burn within his 
 throbbing temples, and he was almost 
 frightened by the ghastly look of his 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 countenance as reflected in the black waters 
 of the quarry. 
 
 Then a new train of thought occurred to 
 him, and vague ideas of self-destrction 
 crossed his brain. Here was a secret nook, 
 remote from the haunts of men, and his 
 body might repose peacefully in the still 
 cool depths into which he gazed so wist- 
 fully. It needed but one resolute spring to 
 end for ever an existence which could now 
 only be dragged on in ignominy and 
 wretchedness. Then, at once and for ever, 
 on this side of the tomb, he would elude 
 the terrible pangs of remorse — the gnawing 
 throes of a guilty conscience. And yet in- 
 stinctively he shrunk from passing the dread 
 portal of death while his faculties and 
 strength still remained, and his life was 
 not demanded by the stern emissaries of 
 justice. 
 
 Slowly he rose up, resolving no more to 
 give way to thoughts of self-destruction, 
 for the present at least, and taking a narrow
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 211 
 
 pathway which led to the quarry, he walked 
 along in the hope of finding some wood- 
 man's cottage where a little refreshment 
 could be procured. The path wound through 
 the woods, which, as the quarry was left 
 behind, became more open, and in many 
 places rich glades of mossy verdure offered 
 a delightfully soft carpet to the foot-sore 
 wanderer. At last, to his great joy, he 
 came to a small limpid brook of cool water, 
 which crossed one of those grassy dells, and 
 he took a long, delicious draught from the 
 spring. Close to where he stood the turf 
 formed a sort of smooth natural basin, ad- 
 mirably suited for spreading a sylvan repast. 
 Indeed it seemed as though it was hkely 
 to be resorted to for that very purpose, for 
 as Lawrence, having slaked his thirst, was 
 about to set forward once more, he was 
 startled by hearing voices, evidently close 
 at hand, and proceeding from a numerous 
 party. Lawrence looked round in despair 
 for some place to conceal himself, for he was 
 
 14—3
 
 212 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 well aware Ms appearance was such tliat it 
 would instantly attract great attention, if 
 not suspicion. There happened to be a 
 grove of very thickly planted alder-bushes 
 close to the brook, and he had barely time 
 to dash in and crouch down amid the leafy 
 undergrowth when the foremost of the 
 cavalcade appeared. 
 
 There was a large and gay throng, some 
 riding and some on foot, and apparently 
 this spot had been selected for spreading 
 their al fresco re23ast, and forming a ren- 
 dezvous where all could meet. All the 
 usual features of a pic-nic were unmistakeably 
 visible. There were exquisite specimens of 
 female loveliness and fois gras, serving-men 
 and Strasburg pies, matrons and mayonnais, 
 cavalry officers and cold punch, civilians 
 and champagne, all literally jumbled up 
 together, as every one was doing duty in 
 transporting the substantial dainties from 
 the carriages some distance off to this shady 
 retreat for the delectation of the etherial
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 213 
 
 beings in mauve, violet, and lavender, whose 
 soft musical laughter put to silence the 
 nightingales of the grove. Wonderful was 
 the change which came over the landscape, 
 so lonely and still but a few minutes be- 
 fore. All the lady riders were dismount- 
 ing, each dutifully attended by a watchful 
 cavalier, while grooms, footmen, and coach- 
 men bustled about, laden with cloaks, ham- 
 pers, umbrellas, dishes, knives and forks, 
 and all the innumerable adjuncts of a well 
 organized fUe champetre. The warm, yet 
 pleasant-tempered sunshine greatly height- 
 ened the gay aspect of the scene, and a soft 
 breeze, just sufficient to steal kisses and 
 perfume from the rosy lips of the houris in 
 hoops dotting the green glade, faintly 
 rustled amid the trees. 
 
 Cowering down beneath the bushes and 
 furze like a wild beast in his lair, faint, 
 hungry, with bleeding hands and deathly 
 pale face, was the trembling fugitive. He, 
 too, had often taken part in gay scenes
 
 214 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 similar to that of which he was an unwilling 
 spectator ; and it seemed a cruel fate that 
 mocked his present anguish and remorse by 
 forcing a sight such as this on his attention. 
 How was he to steal away unperceived from 
 his retreat, for an accident might easily 
 reveal his figure to some of the party ? 
 Cushions and cloaks were being arranged 
 by the servants for such as did not choose 
 to join the strollers through the woods ; 
 and on one smooth plat of turf some enthu- 
 siastic votaries of the dismal pastime of 
 croquet had commenced operations with 
 the inevitable wrangle about partners and 
 choice of mallets, which forms the usual 
 prelude to the two hours' medley of 
 flirtation, mild cheating, and very small 
 talk, which is the only tolerable part of the 
 game. Presently the peculiar clack, clack 
 of the mallets striking the balls — a sound 
 now familiar to all ears — was heard, 
 mingling with the silvery laughter of half- 
 a-dozen perfectly-dressed, fashionable sirens.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 215 
 
 Famislied as Lawrence was, lie liad to 
 endure the torments of Tantalus, for almost 
 by stretching out his hand he could reach 
 a whole array of cold pies, tongues, lobster 
 salads, and innumerable other herbaceous 
 and carnal dainties. Extricate himself from 
 his humiliating position he must, even 
 although it should entail his being dis- 
 covered, and accosted. It was possible for 
 him to steal away unperceived by forcing 
 his way through the thick bushes into the 
 woods beyond, but the noise he would neces- 
 sarily make was almost sure to be heard. 
 However, anything was better than the 
 ignominy of being discovered like a guilty 
 eavesdropper; so he cautiously put aside 
 the branches, and tried to get his body 
 through the undergrowth. Fortunately 
 for him, the noise made by the croquet 
 party, the clattering of champagne bottles, 
 knives and forks, and plates, and the 
 rippling of the brook, drowned the cracking 
 sound he made, as the twigs broke on either
 
 216 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 side of his body ; and in a few minutes lie 
 once more found himself alone and unseen. 
 Hastily arranging his dress, and wiping the 
 dirt from his hands and face, he plunged 
 into the thickness of the forest, avoiding 
 any beaten tracks, in case he might en- 
 counter some of the pic-nic party. After 
 awhile he seemed to have placed such a 
 distance between himself and the scene we 
 have been describing that all chance of 
 discovery was at an end. Still his hunger 
 was unassuaged; and it was certain that 
 his strength could not hold out much 
 longer without some stimulating refresh- 
 ment. 
 
 In a little time he struck upon a road 
 which led through this part of the woods, 
 and walked along beside it in the hope of 
 coming to some cottage. Presently a small 
 straggling hamlet, consisting of little more 
 than half-a-dozen houses, appeared in sight, 
 and Lawrence stopped to consider how he 
 should proceed. Once more adjusting his
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 217 
 
 tangled hair, and striving to assume an easy, 
 unembarrassed air, he boldly stepped on to 
 the road, and walked towards the village. 
 Some little children, with bright, ruddy 
 cheeks and curly white heads, were playing 
 near a gateway, and they placed their fat, 
 chubby hands up to their eyes to have a 
 better look at the strange gentleman. Poor 
 unconscious innocents, they little knew the 
 guilty thrill this simple gesture caused to 
 shoot through Lawrence's frame. He in- 
 wardly cursed them for noticing him at all, 
 fearing that their simple glance might draw 
 additional observation to the travel-soiled 
 wayfarer. 
 
 As he passed the village smithy, where 
 one or two labourers were collected, he 
 suddenly felt himself tapped; on the 
 shoulder ; in an instant his blood ran cold, 
 and his trembling limbs nearly gave way, 
 as though an ofiicer of justice had laid his 
 hand upon the fugitive. But it was nothing 
 more than an honest countryman, who
 
 218 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 pointed out that lie liad dropped his hand- 
 kerchief some little distance back. Without 
 even thanking him, in his agitation, Law- 
 rence hurried on to a modest hostel, entitled 
 the " Eose and Crown,'* where, for a time, 
 he hoped to be at peace. 
 
 " Blest if that ere ain't a queer chap," 
 remarked the countryman who had been 
 polite enough to call Lawrence's attention 
 to his loss. " Well, I suppose the napkin 
 been't a very valuable one." 
 
 " He looked like as his money gear was 
 rather low," observed his companion ; " and 
 his trousers wouldn't be the wur o' a stitch 
 here and there." 
 
 Lawrence entered the old-fashioned, 
 modest inn; and a buxom, good-natured 
 country girl came forward to serve him. 
 
 "What can I have to eat?" said Law- 
 rence, in thick, husky tones, at the same 
 time flinging himself on a bench in one 
 corner of the room, comparatively screened 
 from observation.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 219 
 
 " Cold boiled beef, sir, is all the meat 
 we have in the house," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, let me have some," he answered, 
 almost in a savage tone, observing that the 
 girl was surveying his figure with womanly 
 curiosity, which was natural enough, for it 
 was seldom that any one in the guise of 
 a gentleman stopped at the " Eose and 
 Orown." 
 
 When he was once more alone, Lawrence 
 shrunk into a corner of the room, and taking 
 up a newspaper a week old, all stained with 
 beer marks, he hid his face behind its shel- 
 tering columns. To his great relief, there 
 was no one in the humble coffee-room, and 
 his eyes involuntarily wandered round the 
 walls, taking in all its simple details at a 
 glance : one or two gaudily-coloured prints, 
 in the very rudest and most elementary 
 form of pictorial art, were hung over the 
 mantelpiece, which was further garnished 
 with two small stucco heads of their Eoyal 
 Highnesses the Prince and Princess of
 
 220 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Wales, shining with all the sticky brilliancy 
 of several coats of varnish, recently laid on ; 
 a large delf jug, full of very dusty and 
 decayed-looking artificial flowers, formed the 
 central ornament on the chimney-piece ; and 
 the only other decorative objects were two 
 framed placards, profusely gilt and glazed, 
 setting forth in elaborate and variegated 
 letters the fact, that Bass and AUsopp's 
 ales could be had on the premises ; and the 
 mystic hand and triangle were prominently 
 developed on the respective scutcheons of 
 these eminent benefactors of the human 
 race. The furniture of the room was 
 characterized by the most Spartan sim- 
 plicity, the benches and tables being rough 
 and unpainted, while the floor was much 
 worn away in several places. 
 
 Presently the girl brought in a tray 
 with some meat, bread, and a jug of beer. 
 Pouring out a large glass of the latter, 
 Lawrence enjoyed a long and refreshing 
 draught, and thankfully devoured the simple
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 221 
 
 fare set before him. Again the girl gave a 
 curious glance at his person and dress, but 
 this time he did not notice her scrutiny. 
 He had ^scarcely finished his frugal meal 
 when two sturdy countrymen came into the 
 room, and took their seats at one of the 
 tables. Lawrence at once caught up the 
 paper and put it before him, so as to hide 
 his face ; and again his torments re-com- 
 menced. Presently he moved the paper a 
 little to one side, and observed that one of 
 the men was staring fixedly at him. 
 Natural as this was on the part of the 
 rough, sturdy peasant, it once more caused 
 a guilty tremor to agitate Lawrence. It 
 was intolerable to be seemingly regarded 
 with suspicion by each person he encoun- 
 tered ; for to Lawrence's diseased ^ brain, 
 the simplest gestures or looks conveyed a 
 sinister meaning. Although he still held 
 the newspaper before his face, he felt sure 
 the man's eyes were peering at him; and 
 yet he did not dare to show any annoy-
 
 222 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 ance, which might only attract additional 
 observation. 
 
 Wearied and sick at heart, Lawrence 
 called for the buxom, cheery waiting- woman, 
 and asked if he could have a bed-room for 
 that night. His request was at once 
 answered in the affirmative; and the girl 
 went upstairs with him to point out the 
 room he was to occupy. Jaded, anxious, 
 and scarcely able to conceal his increasing 
 nervousness, brought on by the fatigue and 
 terrors of the previous night, Lawrence 
 slowly followed, and when the bed-room door 
 was opened, at once sank into a chair with 
 an irrepressible air of exhaustion. This 
 motion again attracted the notice of the 
 kind-hearted girl, who was inwardly taken 
 with the dark-eyed, pale-faced young man, 
 who now spoke so quietly and sadly, 
 quite different from his first words to 
 her. 
 
 "Are you quite well, sir?" she made 
 bold to inquire, as Lawrence still continued
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 223 
 
 silent ; " because I fancy you look as though 
 you were in pain." 
 
 These few words were said with modest 
 hesitation, but all a woman's touching ten- 
 derness of heart spoke in each sympa- 
 thizing accent. 
 
 Surcharged as was Lawrence's breast with 
 concealed emotion, this kindly interest in 
 an unknown stranger deeply touched his 
 heart, more especially as he expected now 
 to find every man's hand turned against 
 him. Involuntarily a tear started to his 
 eye, and his voice was evidently affected as 
 he replied — 
 
 " Thank you ; I have come a long way, 
 and do not know this neighbourhood — ^in 
 fact, I met with a httle accident," he con- 
 tinued, with some confusion, for he felt 
 the girl must be wondering what it could 
 all mean. 
 
 " Indeed, sir ; I hope you are not much 
 hurt," said his warm-hearted companion, 
 "for there is no doctor nearer than six
 
 224 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 miles off. Had I not better give you a little 
 brandy ?" 
 
 " No, I thank you ; I shall rest here for 
 a little, and will ring the bell if I want 
 anything," answered Lawrence, who felt 
 inexpressibly moved by the kindly interest 
 of the honest girl. So much were his 
 feelings stirred, that he felt as though he 
 could weep like a child, yet must he sternly 
 repress the smallest manifestation of sorrow. 
 No, this man was no cruel murderer, no 
 cold-hearted, scheming villain; and it was 
 sad to see a fine character blasted by yield- 
 ing to a momentary impulse of 23assion. 
 
 When the servant left the room, Law- 
 rence carefully fastened the door, and fling- 
 ing himself on the outside of the bed, for 
 the first time felt a slight sensation of 
 relief. It was so pleasant to rest his weary 
 limbs, and, closing his eyes, he calmly re- 
 flected upon what course he must now pur- 
 sue. Soon a languid feeling of drowsiness 
 crept over his senses, and he was about to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 225 
 
 settle liimself to sleep, when he remembered 
 the door was not locked. Starting up, he 
 turned the key; and then, happening to 
 glance out of the window, to his dismay he 
 saw two of the county police conversing 
 together right opposite the inn door. At 
 once he felt a terrible misgiving as to what 
 errand had brought them to his present 
 retreat ; and again the horrors of his situa- 
 tion returned in full force. It seemed as 
 though some mysterious agency was at 
 work to prevent his escape, and that the 
 myrmidons of justice were already on his 
 track. 
 
 Sleep was now out of the question in the 
 face of this new danger; and Lawrence 
 anxiously watched the constables from his 
 window. To his excited imagination they 
 seemed to be talking earnestly, and he 
 fancied they more than once directed sig- 
 nificant glances towards the very window 
 from behind whose partially drawn blind he 
 was peering ; their countenances, too, ap- 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 THE MAN OF MARK. ' 
 
 peared to have a determined, resolute look, 
 as though, they were conscious of having an 
 important duty to perform. Lawrence 
 almost felt impelled to come forward and 
 give himself up into their hands ; for what 
 use was it to drag on a wretched existence, 
 hunted like a chased hare, until he was 
 compelled to succumb from mere exhaustion. 
 Yet, again, the irrepressible desire to cling 
 to life as long as the faintest hope remains, 
 so powerfully implanted in the human 
 breast, urged him to elude his pursuers; 
 and, as yet, they had made no sign, but 
 still stood in the roadway conversing with 
 one another. At length one of them 
 stepped up to the inn door, and the next 
 moment Lawrence heard him enter the 
 public room, while his companion moved 
 slowly along the road. 
 
 "With restless misgiving of mind, Law- 
 rence deliberated what to do in the face of 
 this fresh complication. His resolution was 
 quickly taken, and quietly unlocking the
 
 THE MAN OP MARK. 227 
 
 door, he descended a few steps of the flight 
 of wooden stairs until he could see into the 
 public room; there was the officer, seated 
 on one of the benches, with a mug of beer 
 before him. This was reassuring, for it was 
 not likely that a criminal, whose apprehen- 
 sion was eagerly sought, would be allowed 
 to remain unmolested in the place to which 
 he had been tracked, while one of his pur- 
 suers comfortably refreshed himself, and the 
 other kept entirely out of the way. Still it 
 might be a ruse to lull suspicion, only to 
 make his capture more easy and safe ; and 
 therefore the greatest caution was necessary 
 to withdraw from the menaced danger. 
 
 Assuming a bold, unembarrassed air, 
 Lawrence sauntered slowly past the public 
 room, noticing, however, that the constable 
 scanned his figure intently, and said to the 
 servant girl, whom he met — 
 
 " You will understand that I engage the 
 bed-room for this night, at least. I am 
 now going out, but will return in two or 
 
 15—2
 
 228 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 three hours, when I should like some re- 
 freshment." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I will take care it shall be 
 ready. I hope you feel better now, sir," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "Thank you, I do," was all Lawrence 
 said, as he passed out at the door on to the 
 dusty road. 
 
 Where now to turn was his next con- 
 sideration, for all hope of finding even a 
 temporary refuge in this retired hamlet was 
 at an end. Bitter it was to taste th.e sweets 
 of repose for a brief moment, and then, ere 
 tbe dust and beat of the previous weary 
 hours had been wiped from his brow, to 
 have once more to drag on his miserable 
 flight. Yerily, the accursed brand of Cain 
 was striking into his soul ; and he strode 
 sadly on — a vagabond and a wanderer over 
 God's earth ! 
 
 It mattered little now which path he 
 took, for he began to feel reckless of detec- 
 tion, and only instinctively sought out the
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 229 
 
 shade of the woods, where he had least 
 chance of encountering any of his fellow- 
 creatures. Before he left the village he took 
 the precaution of purchasing two loaves of 
 bread and a small bottle of spirits, as he 
 meant to remain in solitude for a few days, 
 until a reasonable chance offered of escaping 
 unobserved from this part of the countr}^ 
 altogether. Could he only gain some large 
 seaport town he would take his departure 
 for a foreign land, where he might reason- 
 ably expect to be beyond the reach of 
 justice. But it was weary, weary work, this 
 threading his way through the lonely woods; 
 and every now and then Lawrence sank 
 down in sheer physical exhaustion. 
 
 Longer and longer grew the shadows of 
 the tall trees, as the evening sun gradually 
 sunk in the west, and the worn-out traveller 
 was now far from human habitation. He 
 anxiously sought for some refuge where he 
 could pass the night, and obtain the repose 
 so necessary to recruit his strength. A sort
 
 230 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 of rocky ravine lay to his right hand, down 
 which he now turned, examining the open- 
 ings in each bank as he went along, to find 
 any shelter suitable for his purpose. At 
 length he stopped before an old ash tree 
 growing out of the bank, beside whose stem 
 was a mass of broken rocks, forming, in one 
 place, a sort of cave. On closer inspection, 
 Lawrence found that there was a hollow ex- 
 cavation sufiiciently deep to contain his 
 body, and it was not a spot likely to attract 
 observation from without. It was by mere 
 chance that he noticed it, for some wild- 
 briars and ferns almost completely hid the 
 entrance to the cave. Fortunately the in- 
 terior was quite dry j and Lawrence pulled 
 up a quantity of fern leaves, which he 
 strewed about, forming a clean dry surface 
 to lie upon. Then, going to the small 
 brook that coursed quietly through the pic- 
 turesque ravine, he cooled his hands and 
 face by plunging them in its clear water. 
 This done he returned to the cave, and.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 231 
 
 forming a pillow of his cloak, stretched his 
 weary limbs on the fern leaves, and in a few 
 minutes was buried in slumber. 
 
 Poor, miserable wretch ! — ^he slumbered 
 indeed, but horrid dreams marred the sweets 
 of repose; and one pale, ghastly form 
 seemed ever to hover before his eyes, glaring 
 at him with cold glazed orbs from between 
 the rusty bars of an iron grating !
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Aubrey De Vaux was punctual in return- 
 ing tlie very day lie liad indicated to tlie 
 Baron, and gave immediate orders to get up 
 steam the first thing in the morning, and to 
 proceed on their voyage. It was rather 
 late at night when he arrived on board the 
 yacht, and, whether from fatigue or illness, 
 he was unusually taciturn. He greeted the 
 Baron and his daughter with the utmost 
 courtesy, but his features never once relaxed 
 into a smile, and he said not one word on 
 the subject of his journey to England. The 
 Baron, understanding his friend's humours, 
 did not attempt to draw him from his 
 studied reserve ; but Ida, who was not pre- 
 pared for this unwelcome change, tried to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 233 
 
 induce him to talk, but in vain. The few- 
 words he spoke were on the most ordinary 
 topics, and presently he withdrew to his 
 own cabin, thus precluding any further con- 
 versation that night. 
 
 In the morning Aubrey did not appear 
 at the breakfast table, and, when that meal 
 was over, he sent a message to the Baron 
 to request that he would come and see 
 him. 
 
 " Grood morning. Baron," said De Vaitx, 
 when the former made his appearance ; " I 
 have rather a headache, and so you must 
 excuse my troubling you, but I want to 
 know how you passed the time in my 
 absence." 
 
 " Very pleasantly indeed, thank you," re- 
 plied the Baron. " Ida and I used to make 
 short excursions into the country; and, the 
 weather being fine, we saw a good deal." 
 
 "And how does Ida get on? Did you 
 sound her upon that subject?" 
 
 " Yes, I did ; and I am grieved to see
 
 234 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 that the foolish girl has been allowing her 
 silly fancies to run away with her judgment 
 — just as you feared. However, I spoke very 
 seriously to her, and I hope that a little re- 
 flection will soon set matters to rights, for 
 I think she has good sense and some share 
 of firmness." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said De Vaux ; " it was a 
 mere passing flight of romance, and I was 
 wrong to be so much alone with her during 
 the voyage, after noticing what was going 
 on. However, that is easily remedied now ; 
 for I must tell you. Baron, I mean to hurry 
 on to St. Petersburgh as fast as steam and 
 canvas will carry me — and, once there, to 
 plunge into the gaieties of the capital. I 
 want a total change of scene and people, and 
 I must have excitement. My spirits are a 
 good deal depressed, and I am glad we have 
 but a short time longer to be on board 
 the yacht, for I cannot stand the con- 
 finement." 
 
 "Well, a few days more will see us in
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 235 
 
 the Neva, and you will find the capital full 
 of fashion and splendour. It is some years 
 since I have been there, and I well remem- 
 ber its glories; but this is not the gay 
 season, and you must wait till the spring of 
 the year for the full tide of revelry and 
 dissipation." 
 
 " Indeed ! I am sorry for that, as I 
 wanted an immediate change," said De 
 Vaux; "but at any rate we will go to 
 Moscow and other large towns ; and I dare- 
 say, one way or another, the time will pass 
 away." 
 
 " Never fear that you will not be fully 
 amused, for there is much that is certain to 
 interest you in many parts of the country." 
 
 " By the way, I mean to look out for 
 some suitable husband for Ida — that is, 
 with your permission,'' said Aubrey, with a 
 smile ; " and you must allow it to be under- 
 stood that I am responsible for her marriage 
 portion." 
 
 " Indeed, De Vaux, your generosity has
 
 236 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 been so great that I hardly know what to 
 say," replied the Baron, who was interrupted 
 by Aubrey — 
 
 " Come, we will not dispute about trifles. 
 You know as well as I do what my wealth 
 is, and that I have no relative I care for to 
 inherit it. I mean to astonish the good 
 citizens of St. Petersburgh by showing them 
 how an Englishman can spend money ; and 
 I wrote to Mr. Lambert to send six of my 
 finest carriages, with horses to match, by 
 the first steamer." 
 
 " In ten days you will know all the 
 grandees in the capital, at this rate. Of 
 course you will call at the English embassy, 
 and, as you are acquainted with Her Ma- 
 jesty's representative, the rest is easily 
 done." 
 
 "I should like you to engage me — say 
 for three months — the finest residence that 
 you can secure ; and I may as well tell you 
 that, as the whim pleases me, I mean to 
 spend at least fifty thousand pounds during
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 237 
 
 that time. Tlie fact is, I am not well, and 
 intend to do a little amatem' doctoring, and 
 what I prescribe is — excitement," said 
 Aubrey, with almost a sad smile. 
 
 "You know best, De Vaux, what re- 
 medies will be most efficacious ; — but don't 
 you include matrimony among the specifics 
 in your pharmacopoeia ? Now, to my mind 
 you would be acting more wisely to look 
 out for some Eussian princess, since your 
 own countrywomen don't seem to have much 
 power to effect a cure." 
 
 A singular expression came over De 
 Vaux's countenance at these words of the 
 Baron's, and he heaved a slight sigh as he 
 replied — 
 
 "Ah! Baron, I am afraid I am fated 
 never to taste the sweets of wedded life; 
 but then I escape the bitterness, which too 
 often forms a considerable ingredient in the 
 hymeneal draught. But let us not talk of 
 this just now, — indeed, you know I have 
 peculiar theories on this subject — and rather
 
 238 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 tell me liow I shall best astonish the 
 Eussian fashionable world, no matter at 
 what cost." 
 
 " It will certainly be rather an expensive 
 process, for the Eussian nobility do things 
 themselves on a grand scale ; however, I 
 daresay we shall manage to strike out some 
 novelties. The first week or so must neces- 
 sarily be taken up in putting your house in 
 order, presenting your letters of introduc- 
 tion, and other preliminaries. Then I 
 should take the initiative, and issue invita- 
 tions to all the elite for a grand ball, at 
 which the ambassador's wife can do the 
 honours." 
 
 " A capital idea ; it shall be done at once, 
 and I will get his excellency to excite their 
 curiosity by whispering mysteriously that 
 his friend is an eccentric Englishman, enor- 
 mously rich, and who has come to St. Peters- 
 burgh because he is utterly dlase from the 
 ejSects of half a dozen London seasons. 
 Then he can insinuate that they must not
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 239 
 
 mind my appearance and manners, tliat you 
 never can judge from my exterior, &c. &c., 
 and the people will all rush to see some new 
 and singular specimen of humanity. I tell 
 you. Baron, I expect to create a sensation," 
 said Aubrey, laughing. 
 
 "As you seem to have quite made up 
 your mind to carry out this idea," replied the 
 Baron, " I think there is no harm in doing 
 it thoroughly. Although I must take the 
 libert}^ of an old friend to say that some 
 time hereafter you may regret having wasted 
 such an enormous sum of money, still, if 
 you are resolved to gratify your humour, 
 there is no help for it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I quite understand," returned 
 De Vaux, a little impatiently ; " but, my 
 dear Baron, my mind, I assure you, is made 
 up on the subject. ISTow, how are we to get 
 through the time till we sight Cronstadt ? 
 Oh, yes ; I mean to try my hand at writing 
 a play, so I must get up my dramatis per- 
 sonceJ'
 
 240 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 " Then I shall leave you undisturbed to 
 your reflections, and tell the captain to press 
 on all the canvas he can carry," said the 
 Baron, as he left the cabin. 
 
 ^ -jf -x- -K- 
 
 During the rest of the voyage Aubrey 
 kept a good deal to his own cabin, and, as 
 the weather proved somewhat stormy, this 
 partial seclusion did not seem so very 
 marked. Still Ida noticed that a great 
 change had taken place in him as regarded 
 herself. He never now sought an oppor- 
 tunity, as before, of talking with her alone, 
 and even when they were together, he 
 either remained quite silent or made only 
 the most ordinary and trifling observations. 
 But, indeed, her father took care that he 
 should invariably be present when Ida and 
 De Vaux were on deck, so as eflectually to 
 prevent anything like a tete-a-tete, which, 
 he knew, would be distasteful to the latter. 
 The Baron never again recurred to the sub- 
 ject of conversation he had with Ida on the
 
 ^ THE MAN OF MARK. 241 
 
 occasion of their last ride together, and she 
 did not particularly care that he should. 
 Indeed Ida began to be convinced, after 
 mature reflection, that her father was right, 
 and that no good would be gained by cling- 
 ing to the fond illusion which had taken 
 possession of her heart. Still it was no 
 easy matter to uproot what had almost 
 grown to be part of her nature, and she 
 could scarcely help hoping on. Aubrey's 
 capricious behaviour and uncertain disposi- 
 tion contributed to this result, for it was 
 impossible to predict what turn his humour 
 might take. With all her pride of character, 
 too, Ida confessed to herself that, although 
 she knew De Yaux was so apt to play with 
 woman's affections, yet a few fond words 
 from him could send a thrill of delight to 
 her heart's core. 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 The Eeverend Wilfred Massey was one of 
 the most amiable of men, and liis heart 
 overflowed with kindness towards his fel- 
 low-creatures, which characteristics were 
 abundantly evidenced by his demeanour and 
 conversation. He was tall in person, and 
 of the requisite degree of slimness for a 
 curate, as it is not seemly that a mere neo- 
 phyte should assume the portly dimensions 
 suitable only to a dignitary of the church. 
 His hair was light in colour, corresponding 
 to the benignant blue hue of his eyes, and 
 the intellectual pallor of his countenance 
 added further to his interesting and en- 
 gaging appearance. There is no doubt that 
 a blooming, healthy complexion has rather a
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 243 
 
 prejudicial effect upon some minds, and a 
 ruddy curate is a little suggestive of sport- 
 ing and fox-hunting propensities. Not that 
 Mr. Massey's external attributes conveyed 
 an impression that he disapproved of inno- 
 cent, manly recreation of a reasonable na- 
 ture. When he spoke, a pleasant smile 
 generally hovered about his lips, and there 
 was something winning in his soft and 
 gentle voice. There was a very perceptible 
 degree of modesty in his demeanour, espe- 
 cially towards his female parishioners, and 
 he greatly preferred to lead their thoughts 
 towards a better world by dwelling upon 
 the unspeakable delights of heaven rather 
 than dilating on the tortures of hell. He 
 aspired to wean their affections gradually 
 from the dangerous fascinations of the world, 
 and to fix them upon immortal joys — not to 
 bring about a mere temporary fit of de- 
 spondency and remorse by terrifying threats 
 or denunciations. 
 
 Thus it was that Mr. Massey's visits 
 
 16—2
 
 244 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 were always welcomed by his parishioners ; 
 and the most stolid agriculturist, with a 
 mind incapable of anything more exalted 
 than fat cattle and mangold wurtzel, at least 
 always listened to him with respect and 
 attention. All the ladies of the village 
 thoroughly appreciated the young curate, 
 and showed a most praiseworthy anxiety to 
 have the benefit of his spiritual admonitions. 
 This gratifying tribute to the excellency of 
 his counsels was at times somewhat embar- 
 rassing to Mr. Massey, for, having a large 
 district to attend to, his time was fully occu- 
 pied. However, no one ever heard a mur- 
 mur from his lips, and his ready smile and 
 kindly exhortations were at the disposal of 
 all. 
 
 The afternoon being warm and pleasant, 
 Mr. Massey went out to enjoy a walk, and 
 he took the path through the woods which 
 led to Mrs. Forester's cottage. He had not 
 been above six months in this parish, con- 
 sequently was not on very intimate terms,
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 245 
 
 as yet, with any family in it. But he had 
 from the first been struck with Mary's 
 beauty of person, although he could form 
 little idea of her mental qualifications from 
 the few formal visits he had paid to the 
 cottage. Both being naturally somewhat 
 shy, their conversation consisted necessarily 
 of rather formal topics, and Mrs. Forester 
 was invariably present on such occasions. 
 Had it not been for this, Milroy would have 
 found a formidable rival in the earnest and 
 enthusiastic curate, whose personal qualities 
 were exactly calculated to captivate a girl 
 of Mary's ardent, inquiring temperament. 
 
 When Mr. Massey drew near the cottage 
 it suddenly occurred to him that it was a 
 little time since he had seen its inmates, 
 therefore he resolved to pay them a visit. 
 He felt the faintest possible tremor agitate 
 his frame as he knocked at the door, which 
 he was somewhat puzzled to account for. 
 In answer to his inquiries, the girl informed 
 him that Miss Forester was within^ but not
 
 246 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 her aunt. After a moment's hesitation, and 
 a perceptible increase of the unaccountable 
 flutter at his heart, the curate entered the 
 cottage, and was shown into the parlour, 
 while the girl ran to tell Mary who was 
 there. Little need was there of this, for 
 Mary rushed to her window the moment 
 she heard Mr. Massey's knock, in the joyful 
 hope that Milroy had come at last. Deep 
 was her mortification when she perceived 
 who the visitor was, and the unconscious 
 curate could never have presented himself 
 at a more unpropitious moment. However, 
 she made haste to lay aside her walking 
 attire, and, after glancing in the looking- 
 glass, proceeded to the parlour where sat 
 the expectant Mr. Massey. 
 
 " Good morning. Miss Forester," he said, 
 as she entered ; "I hope you have both 
 been well since I had the pleasure of calling 
 here last." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Massey, we have," was 
 the reply.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 247 
 
 "This has been a delightful day; have 
 jou been out at all?" continued the curate, 
 venturing a very safe remark, not being par- 
 ticularly reassured by Mary's downcast 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes, I went out with my aunt to call 
 upon Mrs. Eedgrave, and have just re- 
 turned. My aunt went afterwards to see 
 another friend, and will be sorry to have 
 missed you." 
 
 " Oh, it is of no consequence, Miss 
 Forester ; I will call again. The truth is, 
 I did not come out with the intention 
 of seeing you to-day, but, finding myself 
 so near, I thought I might as well look 
 in." 
 
 This admission slipped out quite by acci- 
 dent, and it was .precisely what Mr. Mas- 
 sey did not intend to make, so it had the 
 immediate effect of causing him to feel un- 
 comfortable and uncertain what to say next. 
 Mary, too, was silent, for she was absorbed 
 by a new idea, which was nothing less than
 
 248 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 to ask Mr. Massey's consolation and advice 
 in lier present distress of mind. She was 
 naturally of so artless and trutliful a dispo- 
 sition, that she considered that those whom 
 she regarded with feelings of duty and re- 
 sj^ect ought to be made aware of any occur- 
 rence likely to influence her future in life. 
 Had she known Mr. Massey longer, or if he 
 had been an older man, she would have ex- 
 perienced no difficulty in confessing her 
 feelings and present sorrow, but a natural 
 degree of bashfulness made her hesitate be- 
 fore entrusting so delicate a matter to a 
 comparative stranger, even though he stood 
 to her in the solemn relation of spiritual 
 adviser. Yet, were the ice once broken, 
 Mary felt that it would be a relief and con- 
 solation to tell all to the kindly and sympa- 
 thizing young clergyman, whose benign 
 countenance seemed to invite such confi- 
 dence. 
 
 "How do you like this neighbourhood, 
 Mr. Massey," at length said Mary,
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 249 
 
 timidly; "you can judge by this time, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 "I like it exceedingly, Miss Forester," 
 replied the other, his face brightening at 
 this indication on Mary's part that she 
 wished him to remain. " The scenery 
 round about is beautiful, the village people 
 are orderly and well conducted, and I have 
 already made many kind friends/' 
 
 " I am glad you find it so pleasant," said 
 Mary, " for along with all this there must 
 be a great deal of hard work to do. Still 
 I think the life of a village clergyman, 
 under such circumstances as you speak of, 
 must be a very delightful one." 
 
 " It is indeed," replied Mr. Massey, " and 
 I would not change places with any of my 
 brethren in town charges, however advan- 
 tageous, in a worldly point of view, it might 
 be for me. To me it is the greatest joy in 
 the world, setting off on a fine summer 
 morning to make my customary visits. 
 The beauties of nature seem doubly sweet
 
 250 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 when I am endeavouring, to tlie best of my 
 poor ability, to minister to the wants of my 
 fellow-creatures." 
 
 " This I can well understand, but you 
 must often have to witness very sorrowful 
 scenes, and I should think they would leave 
 a sad impression on your mind. It must 
 be dreadful to see the agonies of a dying 
 sinner and the grief of heart-broken rela- 
 tives." 
 
 " True," replied the curate, rapidly warm- 
 ing at the turn the conversation had taken, 
 "but there is the blessed opportunity of 
 snatching a soul from the flames, of point- 
 ing out to the affrighted sufferer that all is 
 not yet lost. Tell me what human pleasure 
 or reward can equal the consciousness of 
 having been the humble instrument of Pro- 
 vidence in rescuing a fellow-creature from 
 everlasting woe ?" 
 
 " Happy must you be, Mr. Massey, that 
 are thus influenced, for I am afraid there 
 are too many in the world who are swayed
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 251 
 
 by other motives in the good deeds they 
 seek to perform. At least," added Mary, 
 modestly, " I must speak for myself in this 
 matter." 
 
 " No, Miss Forester, I cannot believe this 
 of you, for the little I know of your disposi- 
 tion warrants me in drawing quite an oppo- 
 site conclusion." 
 
 " I would it were true," replied Mary, 
 sadly, " for of late I have been led by cir- 
 cumstances to examine my motives of action 
 upon different occasions, and I am sorry to 
 have to confess that I found nothing but 
 weakness and irresolution." 
 
 "But you must remember," said the 
 curate, kindly, "that you are very young 
 and inexperienced, having, I presume, lived 
 here alone with your aunt, and knowing 
 little of the world except what you derive 
 from books. Eest assured that, at all 
 times, what advice or information I can 
 offer is at your disposal; and nothing 
 will afford me greater pleasure than to
 
 252 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 dispel any doubts under which you may 
 labour." 
 
 " One great weakness that I feel, Mr. 
 Massey, is being unable to bear disappoint- 
 ment calmly. When I have built my hopes 
 upon some object, I am angry and petulant 
 if they are not realised." 
 
 The curate could not help smiling at the 
 naivete of this admission, so thoroughly in 
 keeping with the winning simplicity of 
 Mary's character. 
 
 " This weakness. Miss Forester, I assure 
 you, is shared by us all, for it was only the 
 philosophers of a bygone age who could 
 witness the destruction of their cherished 
 schemes without emotion. Of course, we 
 must guard against any undue paroxysms 
 of sorrow and anger ; but, so long as human 
 nature remains what it is, these disturbing 
 influences are sure to be felt by all. We 
 can only pray to acquire a control over our 
 angry passions; and one of the surest 
 symptoms of success in this object is
 
 THE MAN OF MARlv. 253 
 
 tlie fact of our acknowledging their ex- 
 istence." 
 
 " Well, then, there is some hope for me," 
 replied Mary, "because I freely own that 
 disappointment, of all things, is what I can 
 least bear patiently." 
 
 It was now on the tip of her tongue to 
 touch upon the delicate subject of her en- 
 gagement to i\Iilroy, if it were only to find 
 out whether Mr. Massey knew, or had ever 
 heard, anything of the former. But a 
 feeling of diffidence, which can be easily un- 
 derstood, contributed to seal her lips upon 
 the subject, at least on this occasion. She 
 might be very sure that Mr. Masse}" would 
 afford her plenty of opportunities of renew- 
 ing their conversation, although an engage- 
 ment elsewhere forced him now to take his 
 departure. Even Mary, preoccupied as her 
 mind was with her recent disappointment 
 and sorrow, could not help observing that 
 the curate grasped her hand and looked in 
 her face in a manner he never did before.
 
 •254 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 When he was gone she was once more left 
 to speculate and fret as to the cause of 
 Milroy's non-appearance, and it seemed 
 almost a certainty that she must give up 
 hope, for this day at least. 
 
 And so the weary hours passed away, 
 and Mary's despondency grew deeper and 
 deeper. 
 
 * * * *
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was tlie soft twilight hour, and the 
 balmy atmosphere lightly quivered as the 
 last lingering sunbeam faded away, to shed 
 its lustre on another and a brighter world. 
 Not a breath of air raised the flowerets that 
 drooped with the evening dew; no sound 
 was wafted to the leafy glades of the 
 darkening woods. A solitary nightingale, 
 concealed amid the clustering foliage, alone 
 gave voice to the peaceful landscape, and 
 her rich melody echoed amid the long drawn 
 aisles of the forest. Thin columns of blue 
 smoke wound up into the grey twilight air, 
 and the peasant returned to his cottage to 
 share the well- won pleasures of home with 
 her who lightened each weary hour, and
 
 256 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 sweetened the bread of honest labour. The 
 little prattler, so loved and so lovely, 
 climbed upon his father's knee, kissing his 
 rough unshaven cheek, — and the happy 
 labourer thanked heaven for all the mercies 
 shown to him. What a bright and beauti- 
 ful picture of English peasant life did this 
 peaceful scene present — the simple, but 
 scrupulously clean cottage ; the tidy, fresh- 
 coloured, proud mother; the strong, sober, 
 fearless, and devout father — one of nature's 
 true nobility, though no more than a poor 
 son of toil ; the lisping infant, with its arms 
 clasping a parent's neck ; — and all around 
 the green and sylvan solitude. 
 
 Yet a little distance off, in a neighbour- 
 ing glade of the forest, was another scene, 
 which presented a sad contrast to this happy 
 picture. There too was a cottage, clustered 
 over with ivy and many twining flowers, 
 with its trimly kept garden once so care- 
 fully tended by sweet Mary Forester, but 
 now, alas ! weeds began to creep over the
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 257 
 
 neat and tasteful parterres. Sick at heart, 
 worn out with weariness and bitter disap- 
 pointment, was the once joyous and blithe- 
 some girl, who so lately bathed herself in 
 the flowing tide of a pnre and passionate 
 love. 
 
 Six days had elapsed since Milroy took 
 his last fond farewell at the very spot where 
 Mary now sat ; and, from that hour to this, 
 she had heard neither from him nor where 
 he had gone. He was to have returned the 
 following morning, as we have seen, but the 
 evening waned, the night passed away, and 
 still he came not. Each succeeding morrow 
 brought renewed hopes, which buoyed 
 up Mary's spirits for awhile, but ere even- 
 ing they gave place to an ever-increasing 
 anguish of mind. Lawrence's last words, 
 as he rushed from her presence on that 
 well-remembered night, often recurredj to 
 Mary with a terrible significance ; and she 
 called to mind, too, the look of intense 
 hatred his features wore when she confessed 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 lier love for Milroy. Yet her guileless 
 nature could not understand the possibility 
 of Lawrence attempting any harm towards 
 his rival ; and, with innocent tenderness of 
 heart, she had even meditated writing the 
 former a letter to mitigate the severity of 
 the blow she unwittingly was compelled to 
 bestow upon the unfortunate young man. 
 Still at times a strange, mysterious dread 
 lest anything sinister could have occurred 
 to Milroy, crept over her mind, and she re- 
 solved to satisfy herself by requiring Law- 
 rence to come to the cottage and tell her all 
 he knew. She only waited till the week 
 had elapsed, although a natural repugnance 
 to have any further communication with 
 the young artist made her most reluctant to 
 write to him. 
 
 Mary Forester sat upon the mossy bank, 
 spangled with bright- coloured wild flowers, 
 where last she parted with Milroy. It used 
 to be a favourite spot with both of them, 
 and those vows of adoration, which sounded
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 259 
 
 SO sweetly when tliey were poured forth with 
 all Milroy's impassioned utterance, had been 
 breathed in her ear under the very tree 
 beneath whose venerable boughs she now 
 reclined. 'The roses had well-nigh faded 
 from Mary's wan cheek ; the sparkling lustre 
 of her beautiful eyes was dimmed with 
 tears; her gentle bosom ever and anon 
 heaved with uncontrollable emotion; and 
 even the light zephyrs of eve seemed to 
 chill her trembling frame. Wliere now was 
 the bounding elasticity of movement with 
 which she would spring up at the approach 
 of the loved one, where the radiant glow of 
 joy that suffused her features as she heard 
 his step in the distance ? — Grone, gone for 
 ever. There she sat, dull, motionless, 
 and well-nigh heart-broken, yet still faintly 
 hoping against hope, and meekly bowing 
 her spirit to meet her approaching fate. 
 
 Deeper and deeper fell the shades of night 
 upon the lonely forest glade, and slowly 
 Mary rose to return to her once happy 
 
 17— z
 
 260 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 liorae. One glimmering star already ap- 
 peared in tlie dark grey horizon, and the 
 rosy after-glow of the glorious sunset had 
 long since faded away. 
 
 At the instant Mary rose to her feet, and 
 turned to go homewards, a crackling sound 
 of some one treading upon dried leaves and 
 broken twigs startled her, and, in another 
 moment, a man stepped upon the narrow 
 pathway, and then stood still. His sudden 
 appearance and singular manner gave Mary 
 a terrible fright ; but the knowledge, that 
 she was close to her home somewhat re- 
 assured her. At first, owing to the dim, 
 uncertain light, she did not recognise his 
 face. His features, too, were of a ghastly, 
 ashy pallor, his eyes deep sunk in his fore- 
 head, his dress soiled and disordered, and 
 evidently the man was under the influence 
 of some strong excitement. 
 
 It was John Lawrence, the murderer of 
 Edward Milroy ! 
 
 Trembling in every joint, she scarcely
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 261 
 
 knew wlij, Mary gazed at him in silence, 
 waiting until he should announce wherefore 
 he had sought her presence unasked. They 
 stood almost touching one another, so that 
 she had instantly discerned who it was 
 after the first sudden shock of alarm and 
 surprise. She felt, too, an inward pang of 
 sorrow as she marked Lawrence's terribly 
 wasted appearance, his hollow cheeks, and 
 the desolate and miserable air which charac- 
 terized him at this moment. There was a 
 strange lurid light in his glittering eye that 
 forcibly contrasted with the cadaverous hue 
 of his blanched face. 
 
 For a little time neither spoke ; but Mary 
 was the first to break the silence. 
 
 "I wished to see you, Mr. Lawrence," 
 she began, in nervous accents, although she 
 did her best to appear calm and at ease ; 
 " and had intended to write you a few lines, 
 but now this is unnecessary.*' 
 
 " Be brief with what you have to say, 
 Mary Forester," answered Lawrence, in
 
 262 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 husky, hollow tones, " for my time here may 
 not be long; but I can anticipate it is 
 of" — here his voice faltered, and grew 
 more tremulous — "of Milroy you would 
 speak ?" 
 
 " You have guessed right," said Mary, 
 eagerly. " Oh ! do tell me if you know 
 anything of his movements; I have not 
 seen him since last I parted with you." 
 
 At these words Lawrence's forced calm- 
 ness gave way, and uttering a deep groan, 
 he buried his face in his hands, while his 
 whole frame trembled with suppressed 
 emotion. 
 
 Mary mistook the nature of his agitation, 
 and her gentle woman's heart was touched 
 at his apparent grief She reflected that 
 this young man had loved her deeply, and 
 had told his love manfully and honourably. 
 He pursued no tortuous and devious paths 
 towards this end, but approached her with 
 the candour and frankness of a fervent and 
 ingenuous passion. Eemembering her own
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 263 
 
 misery during the past week, she could 
 deeply sympathize with that fearful search- 
 ing, scorching sorrow, which flames like 
 hell-fire within the bosom of one who has 
 loved from the innermost depths of his 
 soul, and loved in vain. 
 
 Laying her hand lightly upon Lawrence's 
 arm, Mary said, soothingly — 
 
 " Do not give way to your feelings thus — 
 do not, for my sake. Let us forget the 
 past, and pray that the future may bring 
 happier days for both of us. We can, at 
 any rate, always be friends." 
 
 The well-remembered, endearing accents 
 of the woman he had loved but too well, 
 under other circumstances would have fallen 
 like dew upon Lawrence's ears, but. now 
 they dropped like burning lava. Little did 
 she dream of the awful disclosure he came 
 to make ; for, tortured into madness by the 
 agonies of remorse, he resolved to inform 
 Mary of his guilt. Drawing himself back 
 from her, he gently put her hand away.
 
 264 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 "Toucli me not!" lie gasped out; "lay 
 not a finger upon my accursed form ! but, 
 before all is over, may I beseech your 
 forgiveness ?" 
 
 His wild incoherent words sounded 
 strangely and ominously in Mary's ear. 
 
 " What mean you ?" she said ; " what 
 have I to forgive ? — oh ! tell me quickly. 
 Edward is well, surely? — Mr. Milroy I 
 mean — do you know ?" 
 
 Suddenly she ceased speaking, for when 
 she named Milroy a visible shudder passed 
 over Lawrence's frame, and again he groaned 
 heavily. 
 
 "Mary Forester," he said, solemnly, 
 " look at me. Here, in the face of heaven, 
 I confess " 
 
 What more he meant to say Mary knew 
 not, but something in her fixed vehement 
 stare, and intense expression of countenance, 
 made Lawrence pause ere he uttered the 
 fatal words. He could not bring himself 
 to commit a double murder, for knowing
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 265 
 
 what a woman's heart is, he dreaded lest 
 the terrible announcement he came to make 
 should have too deadly an effect. 
 
 " Speak, for God's sake !" exclaimed 
 Mary, eagerly ; " what is it you would say ? 
 — is he ill, or gone away from here ? Oh, 
 no ; he never would leave me thus. Oh ! 
 Lawrence, by all you hold sacred and dear, 
 tell me if you know anything — stay, you 
 could not have injured him ?" she added, as 
 if a vague suspicion for the first time crossed 
 her brain. 
 
 " To-morrow night, at this same hour, 
 you shall know all," said Lawrence, feeling 
 that this painful scene was unfitting him 
 for another awful deed, that was to be per- 
 formed ere the fast waning moon had passed 
 away from the dark empyrean. 
 
 Without another word he turned away, 
 and the next instant his form was lost in 
 the gloom of the forest. 
 
 Mary, too, walked rapidly homewards, as 
 this unexpected interview had awakened a
 
 266 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 new train of thought in her mind ; and she 
 felt that a solution of the doubts which 
 surrounded her seemed to lie with 
 
 Lawrence. 
 
 * * * « 
 
 Unseen by Mary Forester or John Law- 
 rence, a man, muffled in a dark cloak, had 
 been a witness to their interview. Favoured 
 by the deep shade cast by the lofty trees, 
 he was enabled to approach so close as to 
 hear every word which passed between the 
 two. Carefully screening himself from ob- 
 servation behind the seamed trunk of a 
 venerable elm, the stranger listened with 
 intense interest to the conversation. He 
 riveted his eyes upon Mary, watching each 
 motion she made with a lynx-like gaze, and 
 eagerly drank in every syllable she uttered. 
 When the interview was over he cast a 
 long, lingering look upon Mary's retiring 
 form, and then followed rapidly in the path 
 of John Lawrence. Keeping just suffi- 
 ciently far behind to prevent any little noise
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 267 
 
 liis steps made from reacliing the latter's 
 ears, the stranger bore down on Lawrence 
 with the xmerring track of a sleuth-hound. 
 
 Lawrence took a narrow and unfrequented 
 pathway which wound through the woods, 
 and his tread was measured and slow. He 
 walked as though he had some fixed, settled 
 purpose to carry out, never once turning his 
 head, or even casting a glance into the dark 
 glades on either side of the path. Within 
 the wood every sound was now hushed and 
 still; the thrush had ceased his gushing 
 melody, and the nightingale, too, was silent, 
 but at intervals the faint and plaintive note 
 of the turtle-dove floated on the night air. 
 Wliere Lawrence now walked was a remote 
 and unfrequented part of the wood, and no 
 woodman's cottage sent forth its friendly 
 ray of light to cheer the wanderer on his 
 lonely path. Too dim and lustreless was 
 the uncertain light of the moon to penetrate 
 the thick gloom, but seemingly Lawrence 
 knew the road well, for he never hesitated
 
 268 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 in his course. And always stealing on- 
 wards from behind was the dark mujSled 
 form of the mysterious stranger, who crept 
 with noiseless vampire step after the unsus- 
 pecting LawTence. Occasionally a sudden 
 rushing noise broke the dead stillness of the 
 gloomy wood, as a roosting wood-pigeon, 
 startled by the sound of footsteps, flew from 
 its nest until the intruders should be gone. 
 Eut soon again the same deathly calm, 
 hushed as the solemn depths of some vast 
 catacomb, pervaded the forest. 
 
 All at once Lawrence stood still, and, for 
 the first time, peered anxiously round in 
 every direction, as though to make sure 
 that he was quite alone. That same mo- 
 ment his unseen pursuer halted also, know- 
 ing from the cessation of the slight noise 
 Lawrence's footsteps caused, that the latter 
 had paused in his advance. Some heavy 
 clouds now totally obscured the face of the 
 moon, effectually veiling even the feeble 
 radiance cast by the pale crescent of night.
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 269 
 
 At that instant an unutterably sad wail was 
 borne along the dewy air, apparently from 
 some wakeful hound afar off, whose melan- 
 choly howl slightly startled Lawrence and 
 interrupted the train of his thoughts, for 
 presently he slowly resumed his onward 
 path. Faithful as his shadow followed the 
 dark spectral figure, like an Indian warrior 
 on his enemy's trail. 
 
 They now had but a short way to tra- 
 verse ere the woods ended and the faint path 
 emerged upon an expanse of common land. 
 This was the same track of heath which 
 stretched round the old ruined castle we 
 have before mentioned, and a rough, ill- 
 kept cart-road separated the woods from the 
 common. When Lawrence gained this 
 road he again stood still, seemingly irreso- 
 lute which direction to take. The muffled 
 stranger, who so warily dogged his steps, 
 also stopped. Just then the clouds glided 
 over the face of the moon and once more 
 her wan light shone upon the earth.
 
 270 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 Vague and mysterious was that impulse 
 which irresistibly drew Lawrence on to the 
 old castle, the scene of so fearful a drama only 
 six nights since. It might well have been 
 supposed that the tomb itself could offer no 
 greater horrors for him than those moulder- 
 ing walls which witnessed the dreadful 
 tragedy. But it is often the case that a 
 horrid fascination attracts to the fatal spot, 
 even though the ghastly spectre of the mur- 
 dered man might be there to demand atone- 
 paent for the foul crime. The grave might 
 give up its dead from the depths of the great 
 ocean, and the shade of Edward Milroy 
 glare with glazed and soulless orbs upon 
 the daring intruder, but a demon spell was 
 at work and Lawrence once more moved 
 onwards through the misty light. 
 
 Caution was now necessary on the part 
 of his stealthy pursuer, to prevent Law- 
 rence from detecting that he was followed. 
 Nearly a mile of open common had to be 
 traversed ere the castle walls could be
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 271 
 
 gained, and, tliongli tlie moonliglit was 
 feeble wliile the air was thick and heavy, 
 still it was possible to distinguish objects 
 some distance off. Sound, too, would travel 
 farther than in the dense wood through 
 which they had just passed, and there was 
 nothing to conceal the stranger from obser- 
 vation should Lawrence suddenly turn 
 round. Consequently he allowed the latter 
 to advance until his figure was almost lost 
 to view, when he started in pursuit, picking 
 his steps with the utmost circumspection. 
 More than a quarter of a mile was gained, 
 when all at once the stranger struck his 
 foot against a stone with sufficient noise to 
 cause Lawrence sharply to turn his head. 
 Instantly crouching down among some low 
 furze bushes which abounded at that point, 
 the former anxiously waited to see if he was 
 observed. After a few minutes, however, 
 Lawrence, who fancied the noise proceeded 
 from some stray animal, again slowly strode 
 on, nor did he pause until the darkly-frown-
 
 272 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 ing walls of the old castle loomed, solemn 
 and hoar with antiquity, in the grey, cold 
 moonlight. 
 
 Then, for the first time he seemed to 
 shudder inwardly, as each thrilling memory 
 of that awful night vividly recurred to his 
 mind. Straight before his eyes was the 
 narrow postern door, deep sunk in murky 
 shade, black as the grim portal of a charnel 
 house, through which they had both gone ; 
 yes, both passed through that gloomy arch- 
 way but only one returned — and where was 
 the other ? 
 
 Well might he pause, for many a mur- 
 derer who will boldly face the doom he has 
 called down upon his own head in the broad 
 light of day, pales away into a crouching 
 coward when, alone and unassailed, he finds 
 himself at night near the scene of his crime. 
 But the accumulated horrors of the last six 
 days had nearly unsettled Lawrence's reason, 
 and his fevered mind seemed almost to de- 
 rive some consolation by forcing itself to
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 273 
 
 return to tlie actual realities of that fatal 
 night. His agony was too bitter to be 
 borne, but he acknowledged that the retribu- 
 tion was only the meet reward of so black a 
 crime. Oh, love ! thou glowing, radiant 
 passion, in what a dark and awful cata- 
 strophe does thy rosy dream too often end ! 
 Lambent as a sunbeam, thy blushing dawn 
 steals softly over the path of the rapt votary, 
 but, as he hails the swiftly approaching 
 effulgence of thy dazzling meridian, may 
 not the thunderbolt be at hand that closes 
 his career for ever ! 
 
 With faltering steps Lawrence passed 
 through the narrow postern gate, and slowly 
 moved onwards amid the masses of moulder- 
 ing debris that filled the interior of the castle. 
 The atmosphere here was denser, for a mist 
 hung over the sea, whose moaning surge 
 could now be heard, and the massive walls 
 cast a murky shade all around, which the 
 waning moonlight but faintly illumined. In 
 some places Lawrence had actually to feel 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 his way, and it was with difficulty that he 
 avoided st ambling over the numerous ob- 
 stacles that intercepted his path. The mea- 
 sured rise and fall of the tide was now more 
 distinctly audible as the waves broke upon 
 the sea-beach and gurgled in the hollows 
 and crevices of the rocks. Again sounded 
 in his ears the shrill whoop of the wakeful 
 owl, who kept watch from her lonely tower. 
 Save that the moon was but a thin sharp 
 crescent of silver, and the air more hazy and 
 cold, it might have been the self- same night 
 when he and Milroy had their death-grapple 
 upon these very battlements. 
 
 Lawrence's pulse throbbed wildly, his 
 heart beat as though it would burst, and his 
 parched tongue clove to the roof of his 
 mouth, when, little by little, he neared the 
 fatal spot. A cold sweat bedewed his fore- 
 head, his limbs trembled as though he had 
 suddenly been struck with paralysis, and his 
 whole appearance was that of a man suffer- 
 ing from excess of physical terror. Then
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 275 
 
 wliy was it that he had persistently sought 
 out this dreaded scene ? — why had he not 
 fled to the uttermost parts of the earth 
 rather than come wilfully to tempt the 
 ghost of Edward Milroy to demand ven- 
 geance at his hands ? Was it in expiation 
 and atonement for so dark and hideous a 
 crime that the unhappy man forced himself 
 to return to the scene of the foul tragedy, 
 ere yet the moon had passed away that 
 gleamed on the glazing eye of his helpless 
 victim ? 
 
 Step hy step, with a seemingly unerring 
 instinct, followed the mysterious stranger, 
 who now drew his cloak over his face until 
 his features were almost entirely concealed. 
 As Lawrence approached nearer to the, fatal 
 court, the scene of a double murder, his 
 silent follower somewhat diverged from his 
 course until he gained a portion of the 
 battlements that overlooked the spot. Here, 
 completely screened from observation by the 
 dark shadow of one of the old towers, he 
 
 18—2
 
 276 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 calmly watched Lawrence's motions. The 
 latter at length gained the goal he had re- 
 solutely set before him, and rested his trem- 
 bling limbs against the walls of the court, 
 almost in the identical position in which 
 Milroy stood six nights before. But he 
 durst not look at the narrow embrasure lest 
 a ghastly, pallid face should be seen above 
 the rusty bars, glaring at the intruder with 
 its fixed and glassy eyes, 
 
 Lawrence now bent his head upon his 
 breast, and tried to pray. 
 
 "Oh God !" he murmured, " what agony 
 have I suffered — how swiftly hath thy ven- 
 geance overtaken me ! A few days back 
 and I walked this earth young, joyous, full 
 of youth's energy and hope, while now I 
 crouch beside these ruined walls a fugitive, 
 an outcast, and a murderer. And how has 
 this terrible change been wrought in me — 
 what strange combination of circumstances 
 has brought about my ruin and damnation ? 
 Love! Ay, and a pure and honourable
 
 THE MAN OF MAEK. 277 
 
 passion too — no unholy lust and base pur- 
 pose had a place in my heart. Had it been 
 so, when I found that another was preferred 
 before me I might have given a passing 
 sigh over the ungratified passion of the 
 hour, and soon found consolation in some 
 fresh adventure. Yet how has this fond 
 attachment — or rather, this blind adoration 
 — ^been rewarded? I was rejected, despised, 
 and slighted for an unknown stranger. I, 
 with my prospects, my birth — but stay, she 
 knew not who I was. Well, it were of 
 little avail now that she did, and all that 
 remains for me is to fill a secret grave, 
 where no one can point a finger of scorn at 
 the felon's tomb. Weak fool that I was to 
 give way to the frenzied impulse of the 
 moment, to wreak my vengeance upon a 
 hated rival ! What had this man done to 
 me that I should basely stain my hands 
 with his blood ? It was no fault of his that 
 he was preferred to me~~he took no dis- 
 honourable advantage of • a trusting girl ;
 
 278 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 he did not seek to fix a quarrel on me, and 
 to lasli me to madness by any display of 
 triumph. "We met by some mysterious co- 
 incidence when my brain was fevered, my 
 reason subverted by excess of rage, disap- 
 pointment, and sorrow — and my evil demon 
 being at hand to prompt the horrid deed, I 
 yielded to the tempter. Let me no longer 
 pollute with my breath this calm atmo- 
 sphere — let not the morning sun, which 
 brings gladness and peace to all good men, 
 beam upon the midnight murderer. Mur- 
 derer ! Yes, let me repeat that awful word 
 which even now, methinks, the foul spirits 
 — ^who seem to beckon on me with their 
 shrivelled, grisly lingers — are hissing in my 
 ears. Stay : ere all is over, let me try to 
 breathe a prayer — ^let not my last accents 
 be words of blasphemy and madness !" 
 
 The unhappy man sank upon his knees 
 and wildly clasped his hands, as he poured 
 forth some incoherent expressions of prayer. 
 
 During the time in which he reasoned
 
 THE MAN OF MAKK. 279 
 
 with himself how it was he committed the 
 fatal deed, the -anseen stranger keenly 
 watched every motion he made. And now 
 this mysterious figure silently drew nearer 
 and nearer to the wretched Lawrence, until 
 he stood upon an angle of the parapet- 
 wall almost directly overlooking the court. 
 With his arms folded across his breast, his 
 cloak thrown back, and his hat partially 
 raised from his forehead, allowing a full 
 view of the stern, determined countenance, 
 he surveyed the prostrate figure at his feet 
 with a singular, fixed gaze. Once more a 
 shrill note of the restless owl sounded in 
 the cold air, and again the bat wheeled her 
 noiseless flight round the fatal spot. 
 
 All at once the screech-bird ceased her 
 whoop, and instead there came, trembling 
 faintly at first, but swelling gradually on 
 the ear, from some distant churchyard, the 
 deep tones of a bell. At the first stroke 
 Lawrence started, but did not lift his head ; 
 and as the last note gradually died away
 
 280 THE MAN OF MAKE. 
 
 he drew forth a pistol, and placed it at full 
 cock ; then closing his eyes, which for an 
 instant he had opened, he pressed the 
 muzzle to his hreast. 
 
 " Heaven forgive me !" was all he said, 
 in low, gurgling accents ; and instanta- 
 neously the sharp report followed, re- 
 echoing from wall to wall, and from battle- 
 ment to battlement, throughout the old 
 castle. 
 
 As Lawrence drew out the fatal weapon 
 the stranger s]3rang down from his position 
 of vantage; but if he intended to have 
 arrested the suicide's hand it was too late. 
 The trigger was pulled by Lawrence at the 
 exact moment the other rushed forward; 
 and all he could do was to raise the prostrate 
 form and endeavour to stanch the gushing 
 torrent of blood. Lawrence had completely 
 turned round after delivering the shot, and 
 his face was almost hidden by the dark 
 shade of the wall, while the stranger's was 
 exposed full to the moonlight. His hat,
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 281 
 
 too, liad fallen off, allowing the latter's 
 whole countenance to be seen ; and some 
 obscuring clouds had now passed away from 
 the moon's orb, rendering more brilliant the 
 previous dim light. 
 
 Just then Lawrence, w^ho was lying quite 
 still, as though the paralysis of death had 
 already fastened on his limbs, opened his 
 bloodshot eyes, and fixed them upon the 
 stranger's face. Strange was the effect of 
 what he saw upon the wounded man, for he 
 instantaneously raised both hands to his 
 eyes, at the same time shrinking back with 
 the wildest gestures of terror. 
 
 " Away, horrible vision !" he burst forth ; 
 " let me die in peace ! Oh, God ! might I 
 not have been spared this awful sight 1" 
 
 Again his head sank, for his strength was 
 fast becoming exhausted, and it seemed as 
 though the ^dtal spark would soon be 
 extinct. He was now quite unconscious, 
 and the stranger, who had partially suc- 
 ceeded in stopping the flow of blood, placed
 
 282 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 his body against the wall, having first 
 folded up his cloak so as to make a pillow 
 for Lawrence's head. The former paced up 
 and down the narrow court, apparently de- 
 bating within himself what to do. In a 
 few minutes he appeared to have made up 
 his mind, and, casting a last look at the 
 apparently lifeless figure before him, turned 
 his back upon the ghastly spectacle, and 
 sped rapidly through the castle. 
 
 As he passed out of the postern gate, and 
 stepped on to the barren heath, once more 
 the thrilling screech of the owl resounded 
 amid the ruins, and the hollow surge of 
 the sea was faintly heard chafing against 
 the rocks.
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Our story now passes over a period of six 
 months, during wliich time Aubrey De 
 Vaux had been restlessly wandering about 
 from place to place — now remaining a week 
 in a town, then going a fortniglit into the 
 country, exploring its rugged scenery, and 
 getting an insight into the manners and 
 customs of the inhabitants. Immediately 
 on his arrival at St. Petersburgh he had 
 taken for a year one of the finest palaces in 
 the fashionable part of the city ; but as it 
 would be some time before the season com- 
 menced, he left the Baron and Ida to make 
 things comfortable, while he made a tour 
 about the country. It soon got whispered 
 abroad that an immensely rich Englishman
 
 284 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 had come to take up liis abode in the 
 capital, and much curiosity was shown to 
 find out who he was. But the Baron and 
 Ida kept very quiet, and did nothing in the 
 way of making any acquaintances until De 
 Yaux himself should return. 
 
 When he did come back it was the month 
 of February, and everything had been 
 arranged so that he should at once find 
 the doors of the fashionable world open to 
 admit the wealthy stranger. His friend, 
 the ambassador, had easily managed this ; 
 and this evening was to witness Aubrey's 
 first introduction to the elite of St. Peters- 
 burgh, at a grand ball given at the British 
 embassy ; which scene we will now present 
 to the reader. 
 
 Carriage after carriage rolled up to the 
 door of the ambassador's palace, and set 
 down the guests, who were closely wrapped 
 up in thick fur cloaks to guard against the 
 intense cold. The moon shone brilliantly, 
 and flashed upon the accoutrements of the
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 285 
 
 soldiers who kept guard near the doors. 
 As soon as the entrance-hall was gained, a 
 flood of light dazzled the spectator's eye, 
 and a delightful warmth pervaded the air ; 
 magnificent exotics diffused a delicious per- 
 fume around; lines of liveried ofiicials ushered 
 up the visitor to the reception-rooms ; and 
 the band of one of the crack regiments 
 was stationed in the vestibule to play 
 a choice selection of music as the guests 
 arrived. 
 
 A still more brilliant scene awaited the 
 guests when they gained the large ball- 
 room, at one end of which the host and 
 hostess received their friends. It was a 
 long and lofty apartment, lit up by hundreds 
 of variegated wax candles in candelabra of 
 the most classic and elegant devices, and 
 was thronged with a gay multitude of the 
 fashionable society of the capital. The wax- 
 lights flashed in a thousand rays from the 
 costly gems glittering on many lovely 
 women ; and rich silk and brocade dresses
 
 286 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 rustled as their fair wearers wheeled round 
 in the mazy waltz. 
 
 Aubrey De Yaux was not dancing the 
 waltz, but stood beside the beautiful young 
 
 Countess Z , whose wit, raillery, and 
 
 bewitching voice had captivated her staid 
 husband, an elderly capitalist, immensely 
 wealthy, but stolid, taciturn, and business- 
 like. Aubrey's appearance had little 
 changed since we saw him at his baronial 
 castle, in the commencement of our story. 
 Although he had travelled a good deal, and 
 been exposed to all sorts of weather since 
 his departure from Scotland, his features 
 still retained the rather effeminate look 
 which characterized them at that time; 
 the same singular pallor was observable 
 on his countenance, and there was even 
 yet a more melancholy expression in his 
 large dark eyes than was before notice- 
 able; his glance, too, was more uncertain 
 than ever ; and his lips never wore a smile, 
 but were invariably tightly compressed, as
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 287 
 
 tliougli to stifle some secret emotion. But 
 there was a restlessness in his motions, 
 unlike the former languid indifference he 
 displayed ; and his hair was cut and parted 
 differently from the way it used to be 
 worn ; although, except by those who knew 
 him intimately, those little changes would 
 never have been observed. 
 
 " And what do you think of our cold 
 northern climate and dull, damp country, 
 after your bright, clear English skies, Mr. 
 De Vaux?" demanded the fair countess, 
 with an arch twinkle in her merry eyes. 
 
 " Ah, you must not be too severe upon 
 our dreadful, foggy old England," said 
 Aubrey. "I admit the delicacy of your 
 satire, but you know the sun does ^ot 
 always shine even where the Countess 
 
 Z makes the earth smile with her 
 
 presence." 
 
 "Well, the icy atmosphere of the last 
 week has not frozen up the spring of com- 
 pliments which wells from Mr. De Vaux's
 
 288 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 lips," returned the lady, alluding to the 
 strain in which his companion had been 
 talking since they were introduced. 
 
 The truth was, Aubrey was not quite at 
 his ease this evening. It was the first time 
 he found himself in the society of polished 
 women for many months past, for during 
 the time he was roving about from place 
 to place, he had been out of the way of 
 social intercourse with his fellow-crea- 
 tures, and, in consequence, a little rust was 
 visible. 
 
 " I forgot that you must be so surfeited 
 with pretty speeches, that compliments 
 sound very insipid in your ear," returned 
 De Yaux ; " but you must remember I have 
 been wandering far away from civilized 
 haunts of men for months past." 
 
 "Yes, I will make some allowance for 
 that ; but tell me, what do you think of 
 our Eussian beauties ?" 
 
 "Well, they decidedly come up to my 
 expectations, for I confess they are very
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 289 
 
 lovely, and I like their style mucli better 
 than that of our London belles." 
 
 " By the way, who is the young lady who 
 is always of your party ? — indeed, she and 
 her father live with you, don't they?" 
 
 " Oh ! they are old and great friends 
 of mine. I asked them to join me on my 
 visit to Eussia; it is so stupid living 
 alone." 
 
 " She is very handsome. I wonder 
 you don't fall in love with her; it must 
 be dangerous having such a charmer always 
 near you." 
 
 "There is little chance of that ever 
 coming about; you must remember I 
 have known her since she was a child." 
 
 " Therefore you imagine there is no pos- 
 sibility of your ever loving her. I do 
 not see your reason in this, Mr. De 
 Vaux." 
 
 "Poor Ida! she is a good, clever girl, 
 and will be very well off. I wish to get a 
 husband for her, but he must be something 
 
 VOL. I. .19
 
 290 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 out of the common run of men, for 
 I assure you she is no ordinary girl." 
 
 At this juncture some one came to claim 
 the countess's hand for the dance; and 
 Aubrey sauntered away, scanning with cri- 
 tical eye the row of young Eussian beauties 
 who adorned the raised dais which ran 
 along one side of the room. Seeing Ida 
 Von Borgern seated by herself, he gave her 
 his arm, and conducted her to a side room, 
 where refreshments were served; and a 
 sofa just large enough for two happening to 
 be vacant, they had an opportunity for some 
 undisturbed conversation. 
 
 "And how is my fair Ida?*' began 
 Aubrey, who had just swallowed a tumbler 
 of champagne, and was in the humour for 
 one of his periodical fits of flirtation, half- 
 serious, half-jesting, which, above all things, 
 contributed so greatly to buoy Ida up with 
 false hopes. 
 
 " Do you know, Ida, you are looking very 
 lovely to-night," continued DeVaux, without
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 291 
 
 giving her time to answer ; " it is evident 
 tlie northern climate has not robbed your 
 cheeks of their roses." 
 
 Indeed Ida was looking surpassingly 
 beautiful this evening. Her rich pink silk 
 dress, heavily trimmed with deep edged lace, 
 fell about her full form with statuesque 
 grace, and her wavy masses of hair were 
 bound with a light coronet of diamonds, a 
 recent gift from De Yaux. Gently inclining 
 towards him, her exquisitely- shaped shoul- 
 ders and arms were fully exposed to view, 
 and the wonderfully tender expression in 
 her eyes would have melted a heart of 
 adamant. Her passion for him, instead of 
 diminishing by absence, had only increased, 
 and she now began to feel more reckless of 
 the consequences of his reading her secret. 
 She had observed, ere now, that her glance 
 had often a singular effect upon Aubrey, as 
 though she acquired some mysterious mas- 
 tery over him when he was under the spell 
 of her deeply expressive eyes. To-night 
 
 19—2
 
 292 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 there was an unwonted fire and power in 
 her gaze, and Aubrey almost felt fascinated 
 by its mute and sympathetic influence. 
 
 " It is a long time since you have paid 
 me a compliment, Mr. De Vaux," said Ida, 
 with some hesitation ; "I almost began to 
 think you had forgotten me altogether." 
 
 " No ; there you wrong me," exclaimed 
 Aubrey, with vehemence ; "I swear you are 
 very frequently in my thoughts. Stay," he 
 said, abruptly, " I will no longer have you 
 call me Mr. De Vaux. Do, dear Ida, from 
 lienceforth drop that absurd formality." 
 
 " Well, I will, if you promise to be very 
 good and obedient," said the lady, with a 
 sweet smile, and another glance from her 
 eyes that thrilled through De Yaux's 
 frame. 
 
 " Let me hear it, then — do, please, my 
 own Ida," said Aubrey, with increasing 
 warmth. 
 
 " Aubrey, Aubrey — it is a name I like !" 
 said Ida, glancing down at h^r fan ; " what
 
 THE MAN OF MAKK. 293 
 
 do you say, Aubrey?" she continued, 
 again raising her eyes and fixing them on 
 his. 
 
 " Now I love it as I never did before," 
 said Aubrey, and, turning round, asked for 
 another glass of champagne. "When this 
 was served him he held it up to the light 
 and then quafied it down, as though he 
 wished to prolong the stimulus it gave. 
 " How delicious this tastes ! — it is seldom 
 that I enjoy champagne." 
 
 " You seem very happy to-night ; per- 
 haps the smiles of that beautiful countess 
 have raised your spirits above their usual 
 level. I see you so seldom now that I must 
 make the best of this opportunity," said 
 Ida. 
 
 " I have certainly been leading a vagrant 
 life lately, but now, for the next few months, 
 I am fixed here ; so we shall see a great deal 
 of each other," answered De Vaux. 
 
 " Do you find your expectations realized 
 of the benefit you were to experience by
 
 294 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 the change and novelty of your present 
 life ?" 
 
 " I fear not, Ida ; you see before you the 
 same fickle, wayward, inconstant Aubrey 
 De Vaux, whom in happier days you used 
 to chide for wasted energies and valuable 
 time ill spent." 
 
 " Why do you say ' in happier days ?' 
 What change has come over you ? What 
 expectation is unfulfilled ? — is any fond illu- 
 sion dissipated?" 
 
 " All is against me — each hope is dashed 
 to the ground. Turn which way I may, 
 nothing but sorrow and disappointment are 
 my lot. Wine 1 wine ! — give me more 
 champagne," said Aubrey, turning round to 
 the attendant. His countenance was flushed, 
 his eye rolled wildly, and Ida noticed an 
 unusual expression in its dark depths. 
 
 Unknown to those around him, Aubrey 
 bore a terrible secret in his bosom, the 
 faintest hint of which he never dared 
 breathe to mortal soul ; but, like the Eoman
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 295 
 
 of old, had to preserve a calm exterior wliile 
 his vitals were being consumed slowly but 
 surely. This hidden mystery was the cause 
 of much that was eccentric and inexplicable 
 in his conduct; and the unbidden spectre 
 would stalk before his eyes in the very 
 midst of those hours when most he aban- 
 doned himself to unrestrained enjoyment. 
 Thus now, when Ida's soft form touched his 
 own, and the magic influence of her loving 
 eyes held him spell-bound for the moment, 
 the insidious cankerworm gnawed at his 
 heart's core. 
 
 " Dear Aubrey," said Ida, unable to con- 
 ceal the intensity of passionate fondness her 
 voice revealed, " why do you withhold all 
 knowledge of what vexes you from those 
 who might bring comfort to your troubled 
 spirit? Now do tell me what it is that 
 causes you such disquiet? Surely it is 
 woman's truest mission to pour balm upon 
 the bruised feelings of man." 
 
 " Selfish and inconsiderate that I am !"
 
 296 THE MAN OF MAKK. 
 
 exclaimed De Yaux, " why do I thrust my 
 sorrows "upon your gentle bosom ? No, Ida, 
 I cannot consent to relieve myself of any 
 portion of my misery by imparting it to 
 you. I do not know what has led me to 
 say thus much, only it is dreadful to have 
 to smile upon the world when one's life's- 
 blood is drop by drop ebbing away." 
 
 "Is it any actual physical disease that 
 preys upon you ? If so, your wealth could 
 purchase all the skill of the physician's art. 
 I fancied the pain you alluded to was en- 
 tirely mental." 
 
 " You are right, Ida — but oh ! I would 
 rather undergo any amount of mere bodily 
 suffering than the constant corroding agony 
 of the mind. Listen to me, Ida, and pity 
 me, but seek not at present to penetrate my 
 secret. Some day, I solemnly swear, you 
 shall know all. All my wealth, my worldly 
 advantages, and envied position, I would 
 surrender to-morrow to the man who could 
 relieve me of my burden. Music, exquisite
 
 TBE MAN OF MARK. - 297 
 
 to others, has no charms for me ; the mate- 
 rial world, with all its splendour and beauty, 
 cannot conceal the phantom from my gaze ; 
 even women, let them exert to the full 
 their wondrous witchery, can only make me 
 forget my lot for a brief moment. And 
 you," he continued, sinking his voice low, 
 and passionately returning her ardent gaze, 
 " you would seek to share the weight of my 
 sorrow, to raise the dull film which over- 
 spreads my hopes ? No, sweet one 1 you 
 shall live and be happy ! Forget all this — 
 it is a mere paroxysm of the moment. I 
 tell you I am trifling with your feelings, 
 amusing myself at your expense — hate me 
 for it, leave me : I am not worthy of the 
 regard of so sweet a heart." 
 
 These last words were uttered in a half- 
 mocking, half-serious voice ; but there was 
 a peculiar expression in Aubrey's eye which 
 could not deceive Ida. She was convinced 
 something was wrong, for it was inconceiv- 
 able that a man with the talents she knew
 
 298 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 De Vaux to possess could think it worth his 
 while persistently to waste Ms whole life's 
 energies in frivolity and idleness. 
 
 " No, Aubrey ! you shall not put me off 
 in this way ; I must compel you to tell me 
 what this hidden sorrow is that sits so 
 heavy on your heart. Eemember, I am an 
 old friend, for it is nearly seven years since 
 you first made the acquaintance of the shy, 
 silent, foreign girl, wlio now asks you to 
 place trust in her discretion. What is it 
 that goads the diseased mind to the verge 
 of insanity but constantly brooding over 
 fancied woes ? It is inconceivable that you, 
 apparently on the pinnacle of happiness, 
 without a cloud to mar your bright destiny, 
 can really be the victim to so much unseen 
 misery." 
 
 " Let us think no more of it," said 
 Aubrey, with forced gaiety ; " of course it 
 is all mere whimsical fancy. Unhappy, in- 
 deed ! I feel light as air, and long to wheel 
 round with you, dear Ida, in a waltz. You
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 299 
 
 know you dance waltzes to perfection. My 
 fingers shall clasp your taper waist, and our 
 hearts shall beat time to the music. I do 
 love a waltz," he continued, throwing his 
 head back and speaking with half- closed 
 eyes — " one floats round in dreamy delight, 
 just faintly conscious that a tender form is 
 leaning on our arm.'* 
 
 " And is this the way you would put me 
 off from seeking to know more of your secret 
 trouble ?" said Ida, reproachingly ; " but the 
 time may come when all sympathy may be 
 too late." 
 
 " This gay and festive scene, Ida, is not 
 the place for such gloomy talk. Life is 
 fleeting fast away, and why need we dwell 
 upon dismal topics. What a pretty air is 
 that they are playing ; I do not remember 
 hearing it before ; will you have a turn with 
 me before the band stops ?" 
 
 " At any rate you cannot say that I in- 
 troduced the subject you complain of; it is 
 out of place I know, but this is not the first
 
 300 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 time we have talked of solemn matters in a 
 ball-room." 
 
 *' What have you and I, two young spirits 
 in the full tide of the world's prosperity and 
 smiles, to do with anything solemn ? ' Let 
 us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die !' " 
 exclaimed De Vaux, with a reckless, mock- 
 ing air, as he drank off a glass of cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 "It is not for me to play the saint, 
 Aubrey ; but I should not have expected 
 you to quote such an awful text so lightly. 
 No, we are both bad enough. Heaven knows, 
 but do not let us mock our Maker in pure 
 wantonness." 
 
 " I ask your pardon, Ida, for the thought- 
 less slip I made, but that is one thing which 
 my conscience does not reproach me with. 
 I never wilfully jested with sacred subjects ; 
 on the contrary, I have a particular horror 
 of it ; no one can say that I ever openly and 
 ostentatiously paraded my wickedness in the 
 face of the world."
 
 THE MAN OF MARK. 301 
 
 " No, that I never heard alleged, and in- 
 deed you are generally very guarded in your 
 expressions ; that made me wonder at your 
 saying what you did." 
 
 " Now that you have pardoned my error, 
 Ida, I think we may join the waltz. I feel 
 suddenly inclined for some active motion ; it 
 is tantaliziDg sitting here when so divine an 
 air is inviting us to dance." 
 
 Aubrey half-playfully placed his arm 
 round Ida's waist and gently drew her from 
 the sofa; at the same time his eyes met 
 hers with a glance of intense meaning. It 
 was a look that boded no happiness for Ida, 
 although she could not understand its ex- 
 pression. Hitherto he had merely been 
 playing with her, as a temporary relief from 
 ennui and in mere wantonness of purpose, but 
 a terrible danger was awakened by the very 
 increase of influence she seemed this even- 
 ing to have won. To a mind such as 
 Aubrey's, unsustained by any lofty prin- 
 ciple of duty, the feeling of honour which
 
 302 THE MAN OF MARK. 
 
 should have invested with a peculiar sacred- 
 ness the daughter of his friend, might at 
 any moment be overwhelmed by the impulse 
 of passion. He had been the spoilt child of 
 fortune, and was accustomed to gratify every 
 whim which a wayward fancy could suggest, 
 without any regard to consequences. Cer- 
 tainly, up to this time, he had endeavoured 
 to evade the dangerous fascination which 
 Ida unquestionably exercised, and more than 
 once thought of putting an end to the ano- 
 malous position in which he stood with the 
 Baron and his daughter, by no longer having 
 them inmates of his house. But, somehow 
 or other, things always went on as usual, 
 and a mysterious destiny seemed to draw 
 Aubrey and Ida still more closely within 
 the circle of its influence. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDOK : 
 
 8AVILL AND EDWABDS, PBINTEBS, CHAirDOS STBEIT, 
 
 COYEKT OABDEir.