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THE LIBRARY
OF THE
CLASS
BOOK
INVERSI
国
​OMNIBUS ARTIBUS;
UN
MINNESO
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8124322
00
Old Myddelton's Money.
A NOVEL.
66
BY
MARY CECIL HAY,
AFTEOR OF THE ARUNDEL MOTTO;" NORA'S LOVE TEST
LEGACY;" VICTOR AND VANQUISHED;" HIDDEN PERILS
ON THE THRESHOLD;" "BACK TO THE OLD HOME;" ETC.
(C
"C
66
"
11 66
"
THE SQUIRE'S
A SHADOW
NEW YORK:
GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, PUBLISHERS,
17 TO 27 VANDEWATER STREET.
8124322
00
·
f
Old Myddelton's Money.
CHAPTER I.
More water glideth by the mill,
Than wots the miller of.
Titus Andronicus.
A STRETCH of highway lay white and level in the dusk of
the September evening, and on its margin stood a low red
tavern, whose glory departed with the last stage-coach, and
which crumbled to ruin as slowly, but as surely, as did its
grand old neighbor there behind the ivy-weighted walls of
Abbotsmoor. For a whole mile this wall extended before it
was broken by the iron gates through which a view was
gained of the lodges and the sombre avenue; and under this
wall, in the September twilight, a traveling-carriage rolled
upon the wide, white road.
Within a few yards of the iron gates the horses were pulled
up. The postilion, sitting square upon his saddle, looking
straight along the road, as a well-trained post-boy should; the
man-servant, seated with folded arms upon the box, had his
eyes fixed upon the roadside tavern half a mile ahead; and
neither of the men turned his head one inch when the car-
riage-door behind them was opened from within. No change
upon their faces showed that they even understood why the
horses had been stopped.
A gentleman descended leisurely from the chaise, turned
and addressed a few low words to some one within, and then
closed the carriage-door again quietly. The gentleman stood
in the shadow as he gave his order to the servant-stood in
673669
10
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
the shadow as he paused for a moment to watch the retreating
vehicle-and was in the shadow still as he walked up to the
gates of Abbotsmoor and tried them. Locked. Four gates
there were in all, a high pair in the centre, and a single nar-
row gate on either side, but all locked.
He stood for a few moments looking round in the dusk, and
then whistled a call. The summons was answered at once.
An old man came limping from the lodge, and scrutinized the
visitor suspiciously, as shrewd old men will do when their
sight grows dim.
"I heard the call, sir. I'm sharp enough to hear, but my
sight fails me, so I can't tell who it is."
"A stranger and a traveler," the gentleman answered from
without the gates, as the old man fumbled with the rusty
keys, "and anxious, on his way past Abbotsmoor, to see the
house."
'It's late for that," the old man muttered, with a feeble
effort to turn the key in the lock; "we get but few visitors
at any time, but they never come after sunset-and no
wonder."
"You've opened this gate a thousand times, I dare say, but
I fancy I can do it better. Let me try."
As the stranger spoke, he put one hand through the bars,
and turned the key with ease: then he laughed a little at the
old man's surprise.
"My ears are sharp to hear the difference in voices," the
lodge-keeper said, eyeing his visitor with keenest interest as
he entered the park; but my eyes won't recognize faces
now. Your voice has a home-like tone to me, sir, so I know
it's English, though there's a richness in it that reminds me
of the foreign countries I used to visit with my old master.
And yet I ought to know the tongue of the Far West, when
my own father was an American."
"Surely," the visitor said, "you have no need to lock the
gate behind us. Who would enter here in the dusk?”
"Who, indeed?" questioned the old man, surlily. "No,
sir; it was only habit. Such habit clings to a man after ten
years of it."
"Ten years?" the stranger was pausing within the gates,
and looking thoughtfully on among the shadows of the heavy
trees; only ten years? Then you were not here at the time
of old Mr. Myddelton's death?”
<<
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
11
"Not I, sir-thank Providence for that! I was in Ger-
many at that time, with my own old master. It was only
after my eyes and limbs failed me that Mr. Haughton-the
family solicitor, and a family connection, sir-put me here to
keep the keys. It wasn't a post many cared to fill; it isn't a
post many would care to fill-even half-blind cripples like
myself-now that such a dark name rests upon the place."
"Who lived here at the time of the murder?"
The question was asked coolly, and the questioner's eyes
did not come back from their gaze among the shadows.
"The woman who kept the lodge then, sir, died not long
after the murder."
"Then all you know of that time is from hearsay only?"
"From hearsay only, sir. Who would wish to know it any
other way?"
"Who, indeed ?”
The dusk was deepening in the park, and the shadows lay
a little weirdly about the waters of the lake. The old man
looked with curiosity after the strange gentleman as he saun-
tered up the avenue, quite slowly, as it seemed, yet with a
step which was far from purposeless or listless.
"It's a queer hour to come and view the place. Mostly
people choose broad daylight when they come to see the spot
where old Myddelton was murdered.” So the old man mut-
tered, while the stranger went slowly on toward the great
desolate house, over whose history a veil of gloom and mystery
hung.
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Co
"It almost seems," this visitor whispered to himself, as he
passed up the silent avenue, as if the mist of guilt upon
the place, and this heavy lethargy of isolation and disuse,
had wrapped themselves about me, since I passed those gates.
The horrible paralysis that stayed all life and motion in this
spot, has touched me too; or why do I not clearly follow out ·
this plan, as I have followed others in my life? What is this
feeling upon me which seems to stop me here at the very
spot? Not to-night,' it says. Why not to-night? It is but
the first link of a chain I have to follow link by link to its
end. Can I begin too soon? This inexplicable feeling is-at
any rate unworthy of a thought."
,
As he argued thus with himself, uttering the thought aloud
in the evening silence, he raised his hat, and for a few min-
utes carried it in his hand as he walked on up the neg-
lected, grass-grown avenue. The evening breeze rustled the
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12
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
green branches overhead, and with lazy enjoyment he lifted
his face to meet it. It was a dark, grave face, full of de-
termined purpose, yet most striking at that moment with its
look of intense patience-not the spurious patience born of
listlessness or indifference, but a steadfast, manly patience,
born it might have been in a great repentance, or it might
have been in a great wrong. It was a face which could wear
other expressions, far different from-if not warring against
-the quiet, manful power of enduring and forbearing, so
plainly written there; but at that moment, raised among the
dusky shadows, this was its only look.
The avenue at Abbotsmoor was nearly two miles in length,
for though, as the crow flies, it would have been scarcely a
mile from the lodge to the great front entrance, yet the ap-
proach was so curved and twisted that it doubled the dis-
tance. In old times neighboring squires used to urge on old
Mr. Myddelton the advisability of forming a new approach,
straight as an arrow, from the lodge to the house; but their
advice was laughed at grimly, and the old avenue kept its
winding way.
So it happened that the visitor was within a hundred yards
of the house itself when he caught his first glimpse of it.
He made no stop in his thoughtful, unhurried walk; but
there grew a look of keen intentness in his eyes, and there
started into sudden life a line of deep and harassed thought
between his brows.
"In spite of the changes," he said to himself, his full gaze
on the house, “I shall remember it all more clearly on this
spot."
The scene which lay before him was grand even in its utter
desolation, and picturesque even in its heavy, haunted gloom;
for on neither the empty building nor the untrodden grass
lay any trace of that deed which had made this spot a shunned
and isolated one.
"In this weird light, and at this lonely hour," the stranger
whispered to himself, "I shall see it just as it should be
seen."
There were no steps to mount, no terraces to tread. The
mansion stood low on the wide, level park, but it was none
the less a grand and an imposing structure, viewed from that
last point in the irregular avenue.
The visitor trod, more slowly now, across the lawn, up to
the wide oak doorway (locked securely against his examining
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
13
hand), then slowly on past the long row of windows belong-
ing to the ground floor, the shutters of which were so heavily
barred. He counted them as he sauntered past the front of
the house-eight between the door and the corner. Involun-
tarily he stepped back a few paces and counted the eight upon
the other side. As he did so, a sound, indefinite and hardly
audible, reached him from the shrubbery beyond the lawn-a
sound so faint that it might well have been laid to imagina-
tion only, but a sound about which the listener, after a min-
ute's pause, felt no doubt at all.
"A cough," he said, with lazy sarcasm, "strangled and
stifled, but a cough unmistakably; and, more than that, a
man's cough, and still more than that, a cough I've heard
before."
Then he sauntered on. The rank grass over which he
stepped was heavy with dew, yet often he stopped where it
was longest, and stooped to gather a blossom from the wild
flowers which overran the neglected lawn. So he passed from
the great front entrance round to the south end of the house,
turned and loitered past the servants' premises at the back,
then turned another corner and continued his walk, a little
more slowly, beside the shuttered windows on the north side.
At one, the last in the row, he made a pause, not as if in un-
certainty and doubt, but with a settled purpose. First he
examined it critically, measuring with his eye the height and
width, and its depth from the ground; then he turned his
back upon it, and took in, with a keen, full glance, the scene
before it the stretch of lawn, the bordering of shrubbery
beyond, and the crowd of grand old elms towering above it
and still further on. For at least ten long minutes he stood
so, his eyes-dark gray eyes, holding the rare beauty of deep,
clear thought-earnestly scanning the dusky scene, and an
utter stillness and vigilance in the easy attitude.
If any eyes could have been watching from among the over-
grown laurels opposite, this was a picture not to be easily
forgotten or understood-so lonely and so still the scene, so
easy yet so full of purpose this solitary figure. But why
should any watchful eye have been hidden there among the
darkening laurel leaves?
The long, thoughtful minutes were spent at last, and the
lonely visitor turned to leave Abbotsmoor. One last glance
before he entered the avenue, and the scene was photographed
on his mind indelibly. The wide, high frontage of the
S
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14
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
house; the rows of windows heavy with dust and cobwebs,
their shutters closely barred, yet cracked in many places; the
wide door, scratched and scarred, while a rank, unmanage-
able branch of ivy had fallen across it, as if to form another
heavy bolt; grass growing in the cracks of the stone steps
just as it grew between the embrasures of the windows; wild
flowers and garden flowers tangled together among the weeds
and grasses; uncut and unnailed creepers, perishing help-
lessly upon the ground, where they seemed struggling to es-
cape the ill-fated house. All the ravages of wind and
weather, all the heavy footprints of time and devastation, all
the rank fruit of neglect.
"There is a rookery overhead," said the stranger, as he
gazed, "and it is impossible but that sometimes the sunshine
finds its way here, and the birds sing. It was an English
home once, and years hence it may be so again, although old
Myddelton's heir"
A sound again, subdued and hushed almost in a moment,
yet the keen ear had detected it, and the swift, sportsman.
like glance had discovered a figure watching stealthily from
among the trees. A few steps on the long tangled grass, and
he was beside this figure, looking down upon it with cool,
ironical curiosity.
"Are you here on your own account, or are you sent by
your employer?”
The man he addressed did not answer. Perhaps that stifled
cough was stopping him; but perhaps that quick gasp of his
breath was sudden fear.
"This is the second time I have caught you watching me,
and I have a fancy for its being the last. A spy can expect
only one treatment, and here it is."
His left hand was fast on the man's collar; with his right
he broke a branch above his head, and the next thing of
which the listener was aware was a particular sensation of
smarting and stinging in his shoulders, and a general sensa-
tion of smarting and stinging throughout his whole system.
Grinding his teeth with rage and shame, he rose from the
spot to which he had ignominiously been hurled, and looked
after his chastiser with an ugly scowl upon his smooth, sleek
face.
"This sort of thing," he muttered between his teeth, "a
man never forgets.”
"
OLD MYDDELTON'S. MONEY.
15
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1
An aphorism few would deny at any time, but one which
certainly could not be denied by those who boasted the ac-
quaintance of Bickerton Slimp, confidential clerk in the office
of Lawrence Haughton, attorney-at-law in the town of Kin-
bury.
(6
I shall be even with him yet!"
Such was the magnanimous conclusion arrived at by Mr.
Slimp, before he dragged his injured person down the avenue
in the wake of his assaulter.·
This assaulter had, in the meantime, reached the gates, and
the old lodge-keeper held one of them open for him while he
took a crown from his purse.
(6
Good-night," he said then, genially. "Lock the gate
after me, so that you may lock in all other marauders.”
The old man chuckled as he turned the rusty key.
"There's only myself, sir, to lock in." And the words
were true, for. Bickerton Slimp's modes of ingress and egress
had been nobly independent of lock and bolt, and, though
they necessitated a creeping progress unsuited to an upright
man, they had their advantage in being known only to him-
self.
看
​*
The low red tavern-over the door of which, through ruth
and revelry, the sign of the "Myddelton Arms" had hung
for fifty years-felt that evening just a shade of the impor-
tance which, according to its own popular legends, belonged
to it in the old coaching days. The arrival of a private trav-
eling carriage, with emblazoned panels and white silk lining,
was not by any means of daily occurrence, and made the lazy
hostler put down his pipe with such impetus that it broke into
half a dozen pieces. The entertainment of a lady traveler
was still less a circumstance of daily occurrence, and made the
fidgety hostess nervously and petulantly remark to herself, as
she threw her soiled apron behind the door, "Sure as ever
there's nothing in the house, somebody's safe to come!"
"You'll be wishing for tea, ma'am," she suggested, coming
blandly forward a minute afterward, to forestall any idea of
dinner which might have lurked in the traveler's mind, "a
wholesome knife-and-fork tea, as we call it? I've as nice a
cold ham as ever was boiled; and with some eggs-
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16
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
L
"Thank you," the lady answered, passing through the door
which the landlady held open; "anything you have. I am
sure it will be nice, as you say.
""
CC
Only for one, ma'am?"
The fact was self-evident, and the useless piece of enumer-
ation on the part of the landlady only the effect of habit, but
she looked surprised when with the answer came a vivid
blush.
•
Tea was served in the shadowy, low-ceiled parlor, where a
newly-lighted fire struggled into existence, and added con-
siderably to the shadows, but nothing to the light or cheeri-
ness; when there came the heaviest blow which the landlady
of the "Myddelton Arms " had felt for many a day. The
cold boiled ham-emphatically the piece de resistance of the
inn larder-was gracing that long table in the parlor, and she
had displayed there everything edible or ornamental which the
inn could furnish forth, when a gentleman arrived, walked
coolly into the inn and ordered-strange to say-tea for one.
No need for the landlady to forestall him with the suggestion.
Whether or not it was his habit to dine late, the order for tea
came promptly enough from his lips to-night.
"He doesn't look hurried or even hungry," thought mine
hostess, gazing nervously up into his face; will it do to ask
him to wait? He looks kind, and a gentleman," was the next
nervous thought; "will it do to tell him how I'm situated?"
At that moment the gentleman smiled-smiled almost as
if he understood her.
"Perhaps your room is engaged?"
That made it easy. The landlady's lips were unsealed, and
she did tell him exactly-and rather circumstantially-how
she was situated. As he stood listening, leaning against the
window of the little bar, he took a crimson leather purse from
his pocket, and held it in his hand. Her eyes fell on it as
she spoke, and she noticed that it was old and rather shabby,
but that it was a peculiar purse, and handsomer than any she
had ever seen before.
"If the lady will allow me to join her at tea, it will save
trouble, will it?"
So he asked, opening the while one of the pockets of the
purse, and drawing a card from it.
"Yes, sir, if, as you say, she will."
Mine hostess made this observation rather absently, gazing
at the many pockets of the purse, and trying to read the
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
14
name which was stamped in gold upon the leather inside the
flap.
"On second thoughts, I will not send a card; it can make
no difference. Say a stranger asks this favor of her.
As he put back the card a sudden quizzical smile came into
his eyes.
"What sort of a lady is she?"
"Well, sir," began the landlady, meditatively, "I should
say, if I was asked, that she's an invalid. She looks white
enough to have just come from a sick-bed, and she's hardly
strength and energy to move about: she doesn't look cheerful
either. I should say, ill in mind and body; that's what I
should say, sir, if I was asked."
Perhaps the stranger thought she had been asked, and that
he had been answered, for without further words he turned
away and walked to and fro within the circumscribed limits
of the bar, until mine hostess reappeared with an expression
of intense relief on her countenance.
"The lady sends her compliments, sir, and will be very
happy if you will join her. I'll take fresh plates and a cup
in at once. I'm very glad it's arranged so, as you're in a
hurry."
Her mind being thoroughly at ease, and the arrangements
propitious, mine hostess could afford to bring out a little of
the gracious and accommodating loftiness of the stage-coach
period.
The door was hardly closed upon her guest when another
customer arrived at the "Myddelton Arms," but this time
the landlady felt no nervousness in the prospect of the enter-
tainment, for the face of Mr. Bickerton Slimp was well
known in the tavern bar, and the voice of Mr. Slimp had a
familiar, even confidential tone when it addressed mine
hostess.
"Well, Mrs. Murray, no need to ask you how you are; you
look as blooming as usual. I've snatched a few minutes to
call in, you see. Ah, if your snug hostelry was but a little
nearer to Kinbury, what constant visits you would have from
yours truly!"
"You aren't looking well, Mr. Slimp," remarked the land-
lady, gazing critically into his face.
"Oh, yes, yes, quite well," he answered, with a movement
of the shoulders which he intended for a gesture of depreca-
tion, but which had the appearance of an experiment to test
18
!
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
+
-
their muscles, "but tired a little. The old man has kept me
very hard at it to-day."
The old man, indeed!" smiled the listener, with a friendly
tap upon the narrow shoulder of Mr. Slimp. "Why, Mr.
Haughton cannot be more than forty, if he's that. His sister
was born the same year as me, that was in '29, and he's
younger by two years at the very least. Well, if we were born
in '29, and this is "71, aren't we forty-two? And can you
call him an old man?"
T
"Ladies are never old," smiled the lawyer's clerk, insinuat-
ingly; "but in these degenerate days, Mrs. Murray, our em-
ployers get dubbed old men, without reference to the year in
which they chanced to be born.”
"When you set up for yourself, then your clerks will be at
liberty to speak of you as an old man, though you can scarcely
be-let me see more than Mr. Haughton's age.
This mine hostess said with a sly relish, for Bickerton
Slimp affected a youthful air and youthful garments, and few
ventured to remind him of his age. Even she could not have
done so without that dainty allusion to his "setting up for
himself," the centre of the labyrinth in which he plodded;
the bourne to which he fancied craft and cunning were his
surest guides.
He smiled again; he had a bland, stereotyped smile, which
he considered a mighty weapon with the fair sex.
"Just so; and you shall rebuke my clerks as sternly as you
please, on condition that you always smile upon me. Is-
dear me, what was I going to say-oh, is the parlor vacant
this evening?"
ور
Mrs. Murray was a little surprised at the question, and a
little surprised that Mr. Slimp still stood on the chilly bricks
in the little hall, and did not take his own seat in the bar,
and light his pipe. But she was not sorry for an excuse to
tell him about those two guests who were drinking tea_to-
gether now from her best china, and she did so at large. The
lawyer's clerk listened smilingly, nor did he attempt to speak
himself until the narration was quite over. Then he asked
her coaxingly to mix him a glass of whiskey punch, and enu-
merated the different ingredients he required with a culti-
vated taste which would have done no discredit to a Yankee.
"Just mix it so, Mrs. Murray, if you please; and do it
yourself, to give it its proper flavor. You are quite sure you
havo Angostura bitters in the house?"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
19
Mrs. Murray stepped within the bar, and left the lawyer's
clerk still standing beside the parlor door. The mixing of
the punch, even with all its requisites, would not take more
than two minutes, so he had no time to spare. With a loud,
demonstrative carelessness, he opened the parlor door and en-
tered the room, stood a moment transfixed with astonishment
when he found it occupied, uttered a meek and very elaborate
apology to the lady for having assumed the room to be empty,
and backed from it with slow-very slow deference.
"I just opened that door to see what time it was," he
explained, as he entered the bar and took up his glass with a
beaming smile upon his face; "I knew my watch was wrong,
but did not know how much. I cannot depend upon your
kitchen clock; but that time-piece upon the parlor chimney I
depend upon implicitly, and always did."
"Were they at tea?" inquired the hostess, her curiosity
stronger than her pride.
"Not-exactly." Mr. Slimp answered the question with
unction, but whether this was the effect of the whiskey, or of
what he had seen, was not evident. "Not-exactly; they
were standing together on the hearth, Mrs. Murray, looking
very interesting indeed."
"Why, they are strangers!"
"Ahem! So we are given to understand, if we choose."
"But"-Mrs. Murray's very breath was taken away by the
covert insinuation-" but you say they were standing together
on the rug. Were they talking, or shaking hands, or any-
thing?"
、
"Not-exactly," Mr. Slimp answered again, as deliberately
as before. "In fact they were standing there in utter silence,
which is the suspicious part of it all. Do you think that if
they were strangers to each other they would stand so, with-
out speaking? No, my good friend; they would have been
seated at table, and talking amiably.
Mine hostess put on an air of worldly wisdom equal to Mr.
Slimp's, and not to be behindhand in other qualities, re-
marked, with more vivacity than veracity, that she had
"suspected so all along."
The next moment she had left the bar, for the parlor bell
had rung, and she always liked as she expressed it-to
answer her own bells.
"It's for the carriage, Mr.
in at the bar on her return.
1
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Slimp," she whispered, looking
"I must go and tell the serv-
..
20
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
晶
​ants; they are having supper in the kitchen. I left `the girl
to see to them.”
"Wait, Mrs. Murray," called Slimp, in a subdued, eager
voice; "I will go round to the yard myself, and order the
horses to be put to."
S
It was almost dark in the yard now, and, although it im-
peded his examination, it certainly afforded Mr. Slimp the
opportunity of conducting it unperceived. The hostler of the
"Myddelton Arms" was glad to see Mr. Slimp, and to con-
verse with him; but the postilion, when he came briskly out
and took his seat, and the gentleman's gentleman who stood
quietly by until the horses moved, and then followed them to
the front door of the inn, exhibited a little more surprise at
the effort he made to enter into conversation with them, and
discouraged those efforts with cool civility.
The carriage lamps were lighted, the horses fresh and
restive. The breath of the near horse actually fanned the
cheek of Mr. Slimp when he leaned against the house looking
on. The lady for whom the beautiful carriage waited came
slowly and timidly from the parlor, while the gentleman, who
was indebted to her for his accommodation, followed her leis-
urely. It was natural, of course, that he should see her to
her carriage. She bade good-evening to the landlady, wrapped
her cloak tightly about her, drew a soft wool veil down over
her face, and took her seat. One of her hands was full of
flowers, a curious mixture of wild flowers and of cultivated
blossoms run to seed; the other she offered to the gentleman;
and he, standing at the carriage-door, took it, and quietly
wished her good-night. After a moment's pause he went
back into the inn parlor. Mrs. Murray had performed her
last courtesy, and the horses had made a few steps forward,
when he came out again, and spoke up to the servant on the
box-seat, while the postilion drew in his eager horses.
"Your lady left this purse behind her in the tavern.".
The servant stooped with a touch of his hat and took the
purse; the gentleman stepped back, and the carriage went on
its way.
But Mrs. Murray had not regained her breath yet.
In her officiousness at something having been left behind, she
had gone close up to the lamps, and so she saw that the purse
he handed to the lady's servant was the purse she had last
seen in his hands when he took his card from it, the worn
crimson purse, with the many pockets, and the name stamped
in gold.
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
21
"Don't you think that she seems very nervous and deli-
cate, sir?"
Mine hostess made this inquiry merely out of curiosity for
his reply; but felt very little enlightened when that was given.
"I do, indeed."
For nearly an hour he stayed at the inn, and for this hour
Mr. Slimp's life was a burden to him. The cool, half-quiz-
zical eyes of this man who had thrashed him, seemed follow-
ing him everywhere, for the sole purpose of making him
uncomfortable and ill at ease. Once or twice the embryo at-
torney became so seriously depressed that he resolved to start
at once for Kinbury, but he never carried out the resolution.
He had a plan to work out with which a sudden departure
might have interfered, and, besides that, it might almost
have looked like fear-strange and unnatural hypothesis after
that scene among the trees at Abbotsmoor.
It was quite an idle hour which the stranger spent at the
roadside tavern, but he did not apparently object to wasting
it. Wherever he stood or sat; to whomsoever he talked;
with whomsoever he laughed; if he did not laugh or speak at
all; lounging and loitering there with utter indolence, yet
with a grace which had no listlessness or supineness in it-he
pursued the luckless clerk with this cool, amused gaze of his.
It was never angry; it was far from insolent; it was only a
gaze of quiet amusement. But perhaps the contempt which
Mr. Slimp read in it was not all born of his imagination.
only, though certainly the threat he read there was. The
handsome, amused eyes held no threat for such a pitiable ob-
ject as the man who had cringed and fawned under an up-
raised arm.
CHAPTER II.
"A girl who has so many wilful ways,
She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him,
Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise,
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze,
A little better she would surely make him."
THE "Myddelton Arms" stood on the highway about a
mile and a half from Kinbury, and at about the same dis-
tance on the other side the town lay the small estate of Deer-
grove, sheltered at the back by the grove which originally
22
C
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
gave it its name, and against which the walls of the house
stood out with dazzling whiteness, but unsheltered in the
front, where its windows glistened in the noonday sun, un-
broken and unrelieved by any waving leaf or blossom, and
where the flower-beds, so perfect in their outline, stared thirst-
ily up in summer days, and watched for the cool, coy shadows
of the passing clouds.
"But it does not signify much," as one of Mrs. Trent's
visitors said to herself, walking slowly up the smooth and
well-kept lawn; "they grow no flowers here but those that
love the glare."
The summer had passed its middle age, yet the round beds
were gay in their scarlet and yellow robes. It was still quite
warm and pleasant in the dusk of the September evening, so
the young girl sauntered slowly up the drive, thinking how
beautiful it would be in the grove behind the house, where
the twilight was so dim and silent.
´Within the house a man-servant had shut the daylight from
one room, and was lighting it, as he had been skilfully trained
to do, to show off at their best the snow-white damask, the
glittering plate, and, above all, the faces and figu os of the
ladies of the house. In the drawing-room on the opposite
side of the small, paved hall, the daylight was still allowed to
linger.
A moderate-sized and modernly furnished drawing-room,
suggestive of ample means and luxurious taste, but with one
vague, inexplicable want. This deficiency might not have
been felt by many of those who met here, but, to those who
recognized it at all, it was evident in everything the handsome
room contained, or rather it was so ever-present there that it
made itself felt in spite of all those attributes of ease and lux-
ury, or of art and literature, which this drawing-room at
Deergrove held. It peeped from the glistening blue curtains,
and lay on the deep white rug. It nestled among the silken
cushions, and lingered about the laden tables. It stared
back from the vivid, well-framed pictures on the walls, and
echoed even from the gleaming keys of the grand piano.
It was only one of the four occupants of the room who,
that evening, was conscious of this vague sense of something
wanting. If it had been possible for the others to feel it, the
void could not have existed.
A group of four, sitting at ease, with very little of the air
of expectancy usual to the waiting minutes before dinner.
:
23
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
The hostess reclined in a wide easy-chair beside one of the
bay windows. She was a large, languid woman, elegantly
dressed, but possessing in her handsome face that great want
which all her house held. She had three claims to individ
uality, and three only-a fine figure, a great ambition, and an
overweening pride in her only child. And Mrs. Trent was
performing her own peculiar mission as she sat smiling upon
her daughter and her guests, and bringing in, at every op-
portunity, dainty allusions to her titled acquaintances. În
the corner of a small couch near her reclined her daughter
Theodora, leaning forward gracefully from the cushions, while ·
her long skirts of green satin lay in rich folds upon the white
rug. Her hair, of pale brown, was dressed high upon her
head, as was the fashion of that year, and a butterfly of gold
and emeralds shone with almost dazzling lustre among the
plaits above her temple. Her features were clearly cut and
regular, like her mother's, and her eyes were of the same
light blue, but her lips were still more haughty in their
curves, and even a little colder in their rest. A handsome
woman undeniably was Theodora Trent, yet in her faultless
features that guest, to whom her face is turned so often, sees
that one vague deficiency which is about him always in this
house.
Upon the rug, with his elbow on the chimney-piece, and
the fingers of one hand toying with his silky, pale mustache
and whiskers, lounged Captain Hervey Trent, nephew of his
hostess and the husband selected for her only daughter-not
simply because he was so sure to inherit old Myddelton's
money, but because he was in every way suitable for a son-
in-law. Handsome and elegant, he graced society, and would
add to her daughter's popularity; easy and indolent, he would
not be likely to rebel against the will of a mother-in-law.
There
Decidedly Captain Trent was a handsome man.
never was heard a dissentient voice when that fact was
asserted, while no one was more thoroughly aware of the
truth than Captain Hervey Trent himself.
He was twenty-five-his Cousin Theodora's age exactly-
and boasted the regular features and blue eyes which charac-
terized the Trents; he stood five fect ten in his boots, and
measured the approved number of inches across the shoulders,
and, beyond all this, he possessed equally the power, and the
time, and the inclination to dress to the very perfection of
what he termed "good form." He was a man with a
:
Mad
24
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
musical, passionless voice, and white, listless hands, able to
bear with no unhandsome grace the burden of himself and
the boredom which surrounded him, and to go through life as
a gentleman should who rightly understands the exigencies of
"good form," and. can utterly ignore so vulgar an abstract
idea as emotion.
ד
A great contrast to her nephew, was the one guest whom
Mrs. Trent entertained this evening-so great a contrast to
them all, indeed, that not for years were they to comprehend
the unreached heights and unsounded depths of a nature such
as his. Nineteen women out of twenty would unhesitatingly
have pronounced Captain Hervey Trent the handsomer man
of the two; not one woman out of twenty could have lavished
on Hervey Trent one tithe of the thought, and curiosity and
admiration which were won from them-sometimes even
against their will-by Royden Keith.
We have seen him before in the evening dusk at Abbots-
.moor. Theodora Trent had seen him before, but his face
'was still a riddle to her, as it had been from the first, and as
it was still to be. It was a grave face when at rest, with its
strange mixture of power and patience-a face full of deep
and concentrated thought, but with never a shade of gloom
upon it, or trivial fretfulness: a face that could be only
brave and fearless, whether shadowed by that depth of
thought, or brightened by the rare smile which Theodora
tried to provoke. Its skin was so browned by the sun, the
moustache and the short hair were so thick and dark, the
lashes so long, and the teeth so white, that many took Royden
Keith for a native of Southern Spain or Italy. But that idea
vanished after the first few minutes, and most especially
when he spoke. Though puzzled a little now and then by
the trace of foreign travel, no one could help being struck by
what was essentially English in him; the straightforward
glance of his eyes, clear-judging and far-seeing, and the
voice, which, whether ringing to anger, falling to quiet irony,
or softening to pathos, was, despite an accent or an idiom,
picked up unconsciously in foreign lands, most thoroughly
English.
He was sitting opposite Miss Trent, his elbow on a table
near the couch on which she sat. She looked from him up
to Captain Trent, and down to him again. Even her unob-
servant eyes were puzzled by the difference in the attitudes
of the two young men; and she turned for the last time from
·
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
25
1
•
her cousin's leaning form, and the slow motion of his hands,-
to the tall, well-knit figure which, though full of strength
and activity, was yet capable of an ease and stillness almost
remarkable.
"And can you really mean, Mr. Keith," she said, dropping
her fingers on a cabinet portrait of herself which lay upon the
table beside her, "that you-have never been photographed
before?"
66
Why 'before?" asked Royden, extending his hand for
the picture.
""be-
""
"After all, I am rather glad," she mused, smilingly;
cause now your first photograph will be taken with us.
"How will that happen, Miss Trent?"
"I will tell you," she answered, watching his face as he
examined the portrait. "On the day of our picnic at Ab-
botsmoor, a little French photographer, who lives in Statton,
is to be there with his camera and take us all, with the old
mansion for a background. Now you see why I am glad that
will be your first portrait."
66
Hardly." Mr. Keith said this quietly, as he bent over
the picture, and Theodora looked in vain for a smile.
"Interesting scene," remarked Captain Hervey, raising his
blue eyes slowly from the rug; "Lady Lawrence requires the
picture, I believe; at any rate, she has proposed it through
her lawyer. The dramatis persona are to be old Myddel-
ton's relations, and the scene his ruinous estate: An elegant.
group and cheerful surroundings-eh, Mr. Keith?”
“I do not know all old Mr. Myddelton's relations."
..
"You know the chief of them, Mr. Keith," Theodora an-
swered, unconscious of the vanity of her words, and of the
smile which accompanied them; and you shall see them on
Thursday at Abbotsmoor. You will not be too proud to be
photographed among them, will you?"
"Without being one of the family, ought I to be included
in the picture?"
There was an intonation that baffled Theodóra, and she
looked up uneasily.
"Certainly; I shall insist."
She said this with her sweetest smile, and a certain manner
which many young ladies of the present age affect-a gracious
condescension and self-assertion which, in the last century, it
would have taken a middle-aged matron of the highest society
to make bearable, but which now is chosen and assumed by
26
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
many who, while they speak with open contempt of their fast
or unformed sisters, fail to see where they themselves have
overstepped the lily-bordered path of fresh and simple girlhood.
"One other member of old Myddelton's family you will see
here to-night, Mr. Keith," remarked Mrs. Trent, in a tone
which seemed to entreat his leniency for the person of whom
she spoke; "she is a niece of mine, and cousin of my daugh-
ter's, though she belongs to quite the other side of the house
-on that "quite" Mrs. Trent laid a deliberate emphasis.
"We like to ask her here occasionally to show her a little so-
ciety. She is a grown-up girl now, and not unpresentable; so
I do all I can for her, and allow her as close an intercourse
with my daughter as my daughter chooses to admit."
"Poor little Honor," added "my daughter," with a laugh
of particular complaisance. "She is a thorough Craven, as
">
was-
""
"A thorough coward?" Royden asked, when she so al-
ruptly paused.
"Oh, Mr. Keith," laughed Theodora, pleasantly, " "you
know what I mean. At least, you do not know, of course.
Why should you be expected to know anything about old
Myddelton's family? But this is how it is. Old Mr. Myd-
delton, you must understand, had one brother and one sister,
both a good deal younger than himself. The brother married
a Miss Craven-quite a portionless girl-and the sister mar-
ried very well. She did not agree with her brother as a young
girl, and went out with a friend to India, where she married
Sir Hervey Lawrence, a very rich old baronet of an excellent
family. This marriage pleased her brother immensely.'
""
"Had neither brother nor sister any children?"
66
"The only child of old Mr. Myddelton's brother," put in
Mrs. Trent, considering, perhaps, that her daughter's gene-
alogical powers had been taxed to the utmost, was the mis-
erable and abandoned Gabriel, of whom, of course, you have
heard and read; we will put him out of the conversation at
once, if you please. There was no other child, and Lady
Lawrence had none at all; so the remaining relations, or
rather connections, are only the children of Sir Hervey Law-
rence's brother and sister, and Miss Craven's brother and sis-
ter."
"The brother and sister of Mrs. Myddelton's husband, and
the brother and sister of Mr. Myddelton's wife; do I under
stand that aright?" inquired her guest, quietly.
•
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
AM
"Yes, that is it, exactly," put in Miss Trent, hastening to
take the conversation upon herself again. "Now see how
plainly I will describe them to you. Sir Hervey's sister had
two sons-my father, and Hervey's father-and his brother
had one daughter, Mrs. Haughton, of the Larches, near here.
She and her husband died years ago, but the son, Mr. Haugh-
ton, is a solicitor in Kinbury, and Miss Haughton keeps his
house. Well, then, on the other side "-Miss Trent illus-
trated her narrative by the action of her jeweled fingers, and
Mr. Keith seemed ready to follow her "Miss Craven's
brother and sister had each an only daughter. The brother's
daughter is to be here to-night, and the sister's daughter is
Phoebe Owen, a silly girl, who tries one's patience more than
Honor does.”
<<
Then, except yourself, Miss Trent, all the relations of
Mr. Myddelton are orphans-or rather, I should say, as Mrs.
Trent did, the connections, for I fail to trace one single tie of
real relationship."
Yes, all orphans; but how funny it is," laughed Theo-
dora, "to speak of Mr. and Miss Haughton as orphans!
Why, he is almost a middle-aged man, and she is older. He
is the guardian of Honor and Phoebe, who have lived at the
Larches ever since they left school."
"Mr. Haughton is a very clever lawyer," interposed Mrs.
Trent, languidly; "but we do not visit, save just occasion-
ally, to keep up appearances. They move in a different circle
from ours.
در
"I don't believe they move at all, mamma," smiled Theo-
dora; "they stagnate, I think, and Jane Haughton looks
like a curiosity when she goes out anywhere."
"After all that rigmarole, Mr. Keith," remarked Captain
Hervey, from his position on the rug, do you feel ambi-
tious of being one of the group to be photographed in front
of Abbotsmoor for Lady Lawrence's benefit? For the pict-
ure is to be sent to her ladyship as a delicate attention from
her heirs.' ""
"A rather incongruous addition to the family group,'
smiled Mr. Keith.
""
"But I am bent upon having you among us," insisted Miss
Trent. And, when she appealed to her mother, Mrs. Trent
smiled assentingly, though even she could see how silly and
inconsiderate was the request.
IS
28
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
ť
"Theo," remarked Captain Trent, breaking in upon the
silence which followed her speech, "it is just five minutes to
seven. You should speak to Honor Craven about being in
good time."
"I did, Hervey, and she says you told her that it was not
comme il faut to be too early anywhere."
"I think the child is anxious to learn, Hervey," remarked
his aunt, placidly, "and you are helping her to lose her
gaucherie."
Reading Captain Trent's handsome, lazy smile, a suspicion
crossed Royden's mind.
"But I will judge for myself," he thought; and just at
that moment the drawing-room door was opened to admit the
girl who had been so long sauntering from the Larches to
Deergrove.
"Miss Craven.'
""
Theodora rose to meet her cousin, but with such a very
slow grace that the girl had come among them all before her
hand was taken.
Royden looked up to see this "child" whom Captain
Hervey was graciously instructing, and rose, prepared for his
introduction. From that moment until he took his place op-
posite her at the dinner-table, he did not think of sitting
again.
For the few minutes before the butler announced dinner,
she chatted with no appearance of even seeing how her two
cousins held themselves aloof from her, and with no mauvaise
honte in the frank occasional glance she gave to Royden Keith.
In vain he looked for the gaucherie; in vain he looked for a
glimpse of the anxiety for Captain Hervey's instruction; he
only saw a young and beautiful girl, whose manners had a
free and natural grace which was as far removed from Theo-
dora's languid elegance as is the flight of a swallow in the air
from the gliding of a swan upon the water.
With curious intentness he watched her through those wait-
ing minutes, and the study seemed a fresh one to this man
who traveled over half the world, and studied the beauty of
so many races; and who, though a little more than thirty ·
years of age, had lived a wider, larger life than most of the
gray-haired men he met.
Honor Craven rose when the servant announced the din-
ner, for which Captain Trent had been anxiously waiting;
ľ
fo
7:
101
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
-29
and for the few moments that she stood there in the daylight.
Royden's eyes were fixed upon her. She was a girl of appar-
ently eighteen or nineteen years of age, slight and tall, with
a figure rounded to the perfection of womanhood, yet possess-
ing the supple grace and freedom of a child. Her dimpled
arms and neck shone with a smooth and silky whiteness
through her transparent dress. Her hair-rich, soft hair, of.
bright chestnut brown-was twisted into a coil high upon her
head; and, though no one could see how, the ends fell natur-
ally into loose rich curls-as they do when Honor lets it down
at night-still every one could see the soft, natural wave,
where it lay across her forehead, and was brushed from
her smooth white temples. Her eyes were gray, long, and
beautifully shaped, ready in an instant to brighten to a sunny
smile, and ready in an instant, too, to darken to a grave and
tender sympathy. Her nose was small and straight; and her
white and even teeth would have given beauty to any smile,
even without the flash of the brilliant eyes.
(6
"5
All this he saw, yet he could not even have attempted a
description of Honor Craven's face, because its rare and
matchless beauty was a beauty not of form and tint alone.
'Hervey, I must entrust both the young ladies to you.'
Mrs. Trent said this with a wave of the hand in Honor's
direction, intended as a gracious encouragement for the girl
to come forward and share with Theodora the ineffable ad-
vantage of Captain Hervey's support across the hall. Then
the hostess laid her plump hand on Royden's sleeve, and,
under his silent escort, followed the young people as near as
the length of Theodora's train would allow. The few re-
marks she made were bland and comfortable ones, yet was she
all the time keenly aware of a little scene enacted before her;
and the sight brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips, and
a thought which was compassionately pleasant.
"Poor child, she always feels de trop with Hervey and
Theodora."
Mr. Keith, too, had been watching the three figures in
front; and, though no smile stirred his lips, there was a
glance of keen amusement in his eyes, for Honor had refused
Captain Trent's arm, and was walking in her own way to the
dining-room, with a pretty, quiet nonchalance which she did
not attempt to hide or disguise. There were two feet at least
of space between Captain Hervey's unoccupied arm and the
small gloved hand of the girl; and the watcher behind would
1
30
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
fain have seen whether Captain Trent comprehended this
behavior in the pupil who was so eager to be initiated by him
into the mysteries of "good form," and who knew nothing
of "society" save what he kindly exhibited before her; but
the back of Captain Trent's fair head alone was visible, and
that at all events was unruffled.
"My nephew offered you his arm, Honor," remarked Mrs.
Trent, as she motioned the girl to the solitary seat on her left
hand; "you should have taken it, my dear."
"Should I?" questioned Honor. "You will be tired pres-
ently of telling me what I should do or leave undone; won't
you, Mrs. Trent?"
"Not if you try to learn," was the benignant reply.
"Theodora and I will be patient with you to the end, and
Captain Hervey is really anxious to see you study appearances.
His eye, of course, is offended by awkwardness, but otherwise
he is, I'm sure, pleased to see you always."
66
66
Hervey," the girl said, turning her eyes fully upon her
cousin, as he took his seat at the foot of the table, when
shall I cease to offend your eyes, so that that delightful time
may come when you will be pleased to see me always?"
"I am pleased to see you now," remarked Hervey, with
lazy patronage; "I was saying to Theo, only this morning,
that your manners were very much improved."
"At least," observed Miss Trent, indifferently, "you said
they were a pleasant contrast to Phoebe's.'
66
"Only this morning," echoed Honor, with wilful miscon
ception; "I'm glad you only said it that once. Unfortunately
you have not taken so much trouble with Phoebe as you have
with me," she added, stooping to inhale the fragrance of the
flowers beside her plate; you must make allowance for us
both, but especially for her.'
"Phoebe Owen, Mr. Keith," said Miss Trent, turning to
Royden, who sat beside her, "is the only one of Mr. Myddel-
ton's relations whom you do not know now.
""
""
66
Except-
در
It was Honor who began the sentence, and stopped, blush.
ing vividly, even painfully.
66
Except?" Mr. Keith echoed, interrogatively.
"Honor, what pleasure can you find in dragging up forbid
den subjects?" inquired Mrs. Trent: and Honor understood
the hidden anger in the smooth, soft tones.
te
T
}
othe
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
31
"
ނ
Hervey looked down upon his soup-plate, and Theodora at-
tempted to quench her cousin with a glance and a curl of
her lip; but Mr. Keith waited for his answer.
"I was going to say," Honor remarked, looking fully into
his questioning eyes, while the bright pink faded slowly into
its own delicate hue again, "except my own cousin, Gabriel
Myddelton. I forgot that his name was never mentioned
here. And I-I don't know why I should have spoken of
him to-night. At home he is talked of only with horror and
contempt. When I mention him, even myself, it is simply
in utter bewilderment."
"Why?"
For a moment she read his face with a frank, gentle gaze,
and then she dropped her eyes again, and answered, very
quietly:
66
I can see that you know why."
"Please don't bring up that horrible and detestable story
again," exclaimed Theodora, with a well-feigned shudder;
we are not hardened to it by hearing it perpetually, as
Honor says she does at home."
(6
(C
No, Mr. Myddelton's murder is not quite a perpetual
topic of conversation even at the Larches, Theodora," said
Honor, speaking fearlessly, though her beautiful eyes had a
great wistfulness in them.
"Mr. Keith," remarked Miss Trent, to change effectually
the subject of conversation, "what a splendid horse you were
riding to-day, and how tired he was! From where had you
ridden ?"
"From home.”
Theodora glanced up with a start. One word or look of
encouragement from him, and she could ask the question to
which she longed to hear the answer, "Where is your home?"
But there came no word or smile of encouragement, however
slight, and she was fain to content herself with having
achieved her primary object, and turned her guest's attention
from a name which she would have given much to be able to
expunge from the family tree.
Yet had Theodora quite succeeded, after all? She had
shown her hatred of the subject; Mrs. Trent had skilfully
withdrawn from it; Hervey had languidly ignored it; Honor
Craven had blushed with a keen sense of pain or shame at
mentioning it; yet no sooner had the servants left the room
than this dreaded topic was uppermost once more, and even
}
1
t
32
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
being handled by each one of the little group with an appar
ent indifference. Was it because Gabriel Myddelton was now
spoken of only as old Myddelton's nephew, and not as a friend
or relation of any one present? Or was it because there was
one strong will present, which, without evidence of its power,
could lead where it chose, and chose thus?
"If I am really to go with you to Abbotsmoor," Royden
said, "I'must first hear the entire story of old Myddelton's
murder, or what interest will there be for me in the place?
Miss Trent, will you tell it?"
"I suppose I must, if you ask me," she answered, smiling;
"but it is a very horrible story to tell, and I am not sure
that I shall be able to get through it. Honor, you look as if
you were prepared to interrupt me in every sentence. Eat
your grapes, please. Must I really tell it all, Mr. Keith?"-
and again she looked up, smilingly, into the handsome, dark
face.
"If you will-unless your cousin will help you."
He did not mention which cousin, but Honor very sud-
denly began to attend to her grapes.
CHAPTER III.
He alone whose hand is bounding
Human power and human will,
Looking through each soul's surrounding,
Knows its good or ill.
1
-WHITTIER.
"I KNOW, Mr. Keith, that you have not been in this part
of the country very long," Miss Trent began; "but still you
must have heard of old Mr. Myddelton. You must have
heard how he saved and accumulated his wealth until the
very mention of old Myddelton's money became a proverb
conveying an idea of unlimited riches.”
"Our uncle's existence was one long course of amassing and
hoarding," remarked Honor, speaking almost absently, while
her clear, listening gaze was fixed upon Theodora's face,
"and I think the people about Abbotsmoor are quite right
when they whisper that wealth-acquired and used so-must
bring the very reverse of a blessing to its possessor.
{
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
33.
"Its probable possessors do not happen to think so," put
in Captain Trent, lightly.
"They know, of course," added Royden Keith, as he
raised his wine-glass slowly to his lips, "that it depends upon
themselves, and upon their use of the wealth."
j
"You really want to hear the story of old Mr. Myddel-
ton's murder, do you, Mr. Keith ?" inquired Miss Trent, as
she deliberately pealed the peach which she could not stop to
taste; leaning forward a little, so that when she turned to Roy-
den she could see the expression of his listening face. "I
wish you had seen Abbotsmoor before I told you. We shall
be there on Thursday, and I will show you the window through
which the murderer forced his way."
"I have seen Abbotsmoor; I know the window," remarked
Royden, calmly.
Miss Trent looked round, surprised.
(C
Oh, I did not know," she said, vexed it would seem.
"Then Lady Somerson, I suppose, anticipated our picnic?
That was very unkind of her, because I told her of it two
weeks ago.
""
"No, I went alone," said Royden, in his cool, grave tones.
"One evening, as I passed the lodge, I was tempted in to see
the gloomy old place.
""
"You will not think it a gloomy old place on Thursday,"
observed Theodora, with her most charming smile.
"But
I must get on with my story, or you and Hervey and mamma
will be bored to death."
For an instant Royden glanced across at Honor, as if won-
dering why she should not be bored, too. The girl's look of
eager, yet sorrowful interest, was answer enough.
"I told you, didn't I, that old Myddelton's brother had
one only son-Gabriel? He was educated for no profession,
because, of course, he was known to be his uncle's heir.
After his parents died-they died when he was quite a child
-he lived entirely at Abbotsmoor. His uncle did not send
him to college; and he wasn't very well educated, was he,
mamma?"
.
"As I remember him," remarked Mrs. Trent, indifferently,
"he was a quiet, gentlemanly young man, amiable, and easily
led, but with a pernicious habit of arguing certain matters
with his uncle. At that time, I never imagined what awful
passions lay beneath this quiet demeanor; still I always, even
then, considered him inexcusably ungrateful for what was
i
34
OLD MYDDELTON'S "MONEY.
done for him, of a moody nature, and sadly deficient in refine-
ment of taste. He could not bear the restraint of a regular
life at Abbotsmoor; indeed he made no secret of the fact that
the order and punctuality of his uncle's house were irksome
to him."
"But order and punctuality were not all, Mrs. Trent," put
in Honor, speaking with quiet earnestness. "I have often
heard that life at Abbotsmoor was utterly sordid and utterly
solitary."
"And Gabriel Myddelton," remarked Royden, refilling
Theodora's glass with great leisureliness, without one glance
into Honor's face, "was perhaps by nature neither utterly
sordid nor utterly solitary."
59
"He proved himself both to no mean extent," returned
Captain Trent.
"He proved himself," added Theodora, with a slow eleva-
tion of her eyebrows,
66 a hundred thousand times worse than
that; and it is no wonder-is it, Mr. Keith?-that we are all
ashamed of even belonging to the family of Gabriel Myddel-
ton."
"Miss Craven, I believe," said Royden, "is the only one
at all allied to him. How does she bear the heavy yoke of
such a connection?”
-
As he gazed into Honor's face, he saw her cheeks burn;
and knowing the color must be born either of a great pain or
a great shame, he turned the question aside.
66
Now, Miss Trent, what a long time we hover on the verge
of that murder!"
66
'Honor, do not interrupt me again," said Theodora, once
more taking up the thread which it pleased her to fancy that
IIonor had broken. "C Well, Mr. Keith, once Gabriel and old
Mr. Myddelton had a quarrel, and it ended in Gabriel's either
being turned out of the house, or voluntarily leaving it. A
message was sent at once to summon Mr. Myddelton's law-
yers the firm in Kinbury was Carter & Haughton in those
days; now Mr. Haughton (I told you he was one of old Myd-
delton's relations and Honor's guardian) has the whole busi-
ess. Well, Mr. Carter came, and Mr. Myddelton made his
will, leaving his property, as I told you, to his sister, Lady
Lawrence, to be, by her, bequeathed among his connections.
The lawyer was at Abbotsmoor nearly all day, and when he
left the house at last, he met Gabriel returning to it. They
stopped a little time talking, and Mr. Carter, being a silly,
Ma
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
35
chatty old gentleman, told Gabriel of the will he had just
left in his client's secretaire, and which would leave him pen-
niless instead of a millionaire; adding a word of advice to
him to try to regain his old position before it was too late.
"Then they separated. That night-oh, this is a dread-
ful story to tell!" cried Theodora, interrupting herself with
a clasp of her white hands. "I wish you had not asked me,
Mr. Keith."
66
Perhaps some one else will finish the story for you," he
suggested.
But Theodora had no real desire for another to take her
place as long as she could win-even by this story from which
she pretended to shrink-a claim on his undivided attention.
"No, I will go on, as you wish it," she said, acceding
gracefully. "Next morning old Mr. Myddelton was found
murdered in the wood beyond the shrubbery; the window of
his room had been forced open, the lock of the secretaire
wrenched, and the will was gone; and, more than that, upon
the carpet lay Mr. Myddelton's candlestick and the velvet cap
he always wore in the house, and on both were stains of
blood."
66
GEN
Judging by those premises," remarked Royden, "Mr.
Myddelton had been struck within the room by the thief who
had stolen the will; he had followed the thief across the lawn
and through the shrubbery to the wood. Here there must
have been another struggle, which ended in the old man's
death. Was that the general supposition?"
"It was exactly so," returned Hervey, "and proved, of
course, to have been Gabriel Myddelton's act."
"It was easy to prove that," put in Mrs. Trent, with
languid contempt. Gabriel was caught in an attempt to
leave England; and in the bag he carried were found frag-
ments of the missing will. Of course there could not be a
doubt after that, but, even if there had been, it was dispelled
upon the trial.”
"Whose evidence in court could go beyond the forcible fact
of the destroyed will being found in his possession, and his
being caught endeavoring to escape?”
!
"But Mr. Keith, there was even further evidence, and
that doomed the man at once," replied Theodora.
The
counsel for the prosecution brought forward a girl named
Margaret Territ, who lived with her father in a cottage on
the outer border of the wood, and she had terrible evidence
36
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
to give, though she had with much trouble been prevailed
upon to give it. On that evening of the murder, she said,
Gabriel Myddelton had gone to their cottage, and told them
of his quarrel with uncle. He had told them of old Mr.
Myddelton's having made a will to disinherit him, and even
where it was put. Her father could prove this, the girl
added, for he had been present, and had waited to cheer
young Mr. Myddelton a bit before he went to the mines,
where he was on night-work. At night, when she was sit-
ting alone in the cottage, Gabriel came again, very quietly and
cautiously, she said, his face white and scared, as she could
see by the firelight, for he would not let her light a candle.
He asked for water to wash his hands, and when he had
washed them, he opened the back door of the cottage and
threw the water on the soil; then he drew off his white wrist-
bands, crushed them in his hand, and burned them to ashes
in the fire; and then he borrowed from her an old coat of her
father's. The poor girl seems to have unquestionably done
all the wicked fellow asked her; and she had even promised
to hide or destroy the coat he left behind him.
But I sup-
pose her father's sense of justice came to her aid, and pre-
vented her fulfilling her promise. The coat was shown on
the trial, and there, on one shoulder and on one wrist, were
stains of blood."
"Stronger evidence was never brought against a prisoner.
Of course they hanged him?"
"He was convicted, certainly," replied Theodora, "but he
escaped."
A little silence fell upon the group, and then again Roy-
den's voice coolly and easily broke the stillness.
"How about the will, Miss Trent?"
مي
"Fortunately," explained Theodora, with as much emphasis
as her constitutional languor would permit, "Mr. Carter had
a duplicate of the will, so that it did not signify about that
copy having been destroyed by his client's nephew."
"If Mr. Carter had but told Gabriel that," exclaimed
Honor, involuntarily, “nothing need have happened.
"Or rather," added Hervey, "the old lawyer might have
been murdered, too."
"Exactly," assented Royden, with a nod of prompt acqui-
escence. How did Myddelton manage the escape from
fail?
66
""
T
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
37
}
"Oh, pray do not begin another long story about that
wicked young man, Theodora," cried Mrs. Trent, smiling
graciously upon her guest. "You are wearying Mr. Keith.
What interest can he take in such an account of crime and
craft?"
"It does interest me, Mrs. Trent," her guest answered,
with grave courtesy: "I-have been a barrister, and such
things still interest me keenly.
""
"Have been a barrister!" echoed Theodora, wonderingly,
and not too politely. "How strange that seems! I only
mean," she added, in graceful confusion, "that you seem so
young to talk of what you have been-in a profession, too,
where a man must bring the experience of years to follow it
successfully; besides
""
But Theodora stopped there; she could not add aloud the
wonder how he had traveled so much, and was so rich and
idle now, if his profession had only been that of a barrister.
"If you have been a barrister, Mr. Keith," said Hervey,
gazing curiously at him, "I wonder you are not au fait in
this story of young Myddelton's trial and escape."
"I have heard of it, but no one ever gave me the particu-
lars exactly as you have done. I did not read a word of it in
the papers at the time."
"That was odd."
"Very odd," assented Royden, lazily; "besides which, an-
other thing strikes me as odd. You said that Gabriel Myd-
delton was weak and cowardly; if so, how did he manage his
escape after conviction? Such a thing would, I should im-
agine, requiré skill and courage."
"I think," said Theodora, hastily putting in a reply,
"that when you hear the particulars of his escape you will
see that it was chiefly managed for him-he had but little
need of skill and courage himself."
"But who would care to run such risks for a condemned
criminal?"
<<
"I think you will see when I tell you the story,” replied
Miss Trent; but you must wait for that until we are at
Abbotsmoor on Thursday. Mamma will not object then;
will you, mamma, dear?”
"Even I have never heard the whole story of Gabriel's es-
cape," said Honor, breaking her attentive silence; "but of
course it was Margaret Territ, or her father, who planned it,
and helped him,
""
38
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"You were but a little child when the murder was com-
mitted,” observed Royden; "you do not, I suppose, remem-
ber Gabriel Myddelton?"
"No, it was ten years ago, and I was only eight; but I've
seen the picture at Abbotsmoor."
"A weak face, had he?"
"I can hardly say. It is very boyish, I think, and deli-
cate."
""
It does not remind you of the Chamber of Horrors at
Madame Tassaud's?"
"Oh, no!" she answered. Then her pretty laugh broke
off suddenly, and her eyes darkened with an anxious wistful-
ness. "Mr. Keith, do you feel sure that
my cousin Gabriel
was guilty of that theft and murder?"
She could not help her eyes betraying her longing that he
should contradict this fact-which no one yet had ever
doubted; nor could he help that one bound which his heart
gave, when he saw how she waited for his answer.
"There seems no room for doubt," he said.
"The flight
and escape are both terrible stumbling-blocks to any belief in
Gabriel Myddelton's innocence.”
"Oh, no," she interrupted, eagerly, though her tone was
very low.
"You forget, Mr. Keith, that the escape was
after the conviction. It was too late for any innocence to
save him then, even if-
""
"Even if he had been innocent-yes," returned Mr. Roy-
den; "but I see no loop-hole of escape from such a verdict
as the jury brought."
"And you think he was guilty?"
There gathered a strange, warm light in Royden's eyes as
he answered her with quiet earnestness:
"You must let me answer this question on some future
day. I have not even heard the whole history yet.
""
You shall hear it at Abbotsmoor on Thursday," put in
Theodora, graciously, "and then you will see as I told you
-all old Myddelton's connections together-of course except-
ing Gabriel."
""
“And
"Of course excepting Gabriel," assented Royden.
about the property? It, I suppose, went as was willed; and
Lady Lawrence holds the power of dividing it among you, or
bequeathing it to one alone?"
"Yes, it rests with her entirely; and at Christmas she is
coming over to make the acquaintance of all the family, pre-
}
I
39
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
•
•
paratory to making her will. We receive these messages
through her solicitors in London, for she herself never writes
to any one of us.
""
"She is a widow, I presume?"
"Yes, and she has been a widow for many years, with no
family of her own.
""
"A good thing for us," put in Captain Hervey, placidly,
"for you must own there are plenty of us to choose from."
"And both her possible heirs," added Theodora, with a
little quiet malice, are named after her husband or herself.
Old Sir Hervey Lawrence belonged to this neighborhood, you
see; and so we have Hervey Myddelton Trent here, and Law-
rence Myddelton Haughton at the Larches."
"And all we girls have Myddelton for a second name," put
in Honor, laughing.
(6
Strange of Lady Lawrence to wait so long before she
comes to visit her family or her native place.
""
"She never liked Abbotsmoor," Mrs. Trent replied. "I
believe she never liked England; and I'm sure she did not
care for her brother."
(6
Suppose she never comes, but leaves her money to Indian
charities?" said Honor.
"She dare not," retorted Theodora, quickly.
"She is
bound to leave it as Mr. Myddelton arranged, either to one of
us, or to some of us, or to all of us.'
""
"Who is the most likely to inherit it?" questioned Royden,
coolly.
66
“I should certainly never dream of the other side the
house-
""
"Do not hesitate to say it, Hervey," observed Honor, in his
pause. "You mean that she will never acknowledge the
Cravens. I don't think she will, Mr. Keith. Mr. Myddel-
ton was very angry with his brother for marrying my aunt.
The Cravens were poor, and always had been poor; and—it is
to be surmised they always will be poor."
"You are evidently grieving for that."
"Yes," she answered, with no shade of grief in her eyes.
"I should love to be rich-I think.”
"Strange thing," mused Royden, "that the old squire
should at last shuffle off the responsibility of his wealth
upon his sister. Has she been using the money since his
death?"
40
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"No; it has been accumulating, luckily for us," replied
Hervey; "indeed, it was accumulating for years before his
death. Old Myddelton's money is more than a million in
hard cash now, independent of the landed property."
66
Lady Lawrence may very well divide such wealth as
that."
"Yes, of course she may, Mr. Keith," assented his hostess,
languidly; "but still I fancy she will choose an heir, and that
will naturally be Hervey.
""
66
'But Mr. Haughton is as nearly related to her, is he not?"
Oh, she will not think of him," interposed Captain Trent,
superciliously; "he is a regular snob, settled down into a
pettifogging country lawyer, and almost as mean as was old
Myddelton himself."
"Suppose you were to recollect the fact that he's my
guardian, Hervey," observed Honor, quietly.
"That would make no difference," returned Captain
Trent, laughing. "You know very well how little you think
of him.'
""
A vivid, painful blush rose to the girl's cheeks, and even
Royden could see that she had not the power of contradicting
that last statement.
"Perhaps," he said, "Lady Lawrence may choose an
feiress in preference to an heir. She might very naturally
wish for a young relative to live with her, as she has no
daughters of her own."
"So I often say," spoke Mrs. Trent, blandly; "and it
pleases me to think how admirably my daughter is fitted for
the post.
>>
'More than the others?"
Theodora turned to Mr. Keith in blank astonishment when
he uttered that cool question; but the sight of his handsome,
careless face disarmed her quick suspicion.
"As for the others," she said, with a deprecatory gesture of
her hands, "Jane Haughton would grind and save like an
exaggerated female copy of old Myddelton himself, and
Phoebe would spend all his money on her person."
"It is a small person to spend a million on," observed
Honor, with a quick flash in her eyes, half of anger, half of
questioned Royden, his own eyes full of
amusement.
"And-
laughter.
ور
1
41.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
:
"The only other niece is Honor," said Theodora, hurrying
over the words, "and I'm sure she would not have an idea
what to do with the money; should you, Honor?”
"Yes. I would live all alone in a splendid house, with no
one to order me about."
"What a childish idea," said Theodora, with a curl of her
lip.
"And I would do good to others, for I could afford to pay
for a master in deportment, and so relieve Hervey from his
most onerous duty."
"You are right. Such wealth should have some such
noble end in view," said Royden, with a laugh of quiet irony.
"Gold is, as we all know, 'Heaven's physic, Life's restora-
tive,' but we also know there are other virtues it can possess.
"There is one evil it cannot cure, " observed Honor,
puzzling a little over his tone, but answering it merrily, "and
that is our family failing-avarice. I often think how readily
Lady Lawrence will recognize us all as Myddeltons, when she
sees us crowding eagerly about her, and paying court to the
riches which she holds in bond for some of us.
""
"All the women of Blois are freckled and ill-tempered,
quoted Royden, rising as Mrs. Trent rose.
Honor paused where she stood, and forgot every practical
answer to Captain Hervey's catechism on the exigencies of
society.
މ މ
"How do you mean, Mr. Keith ?”
He smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, and an-
swered her, while Mrs. Trent and Theodora swept ominously
past.
"A lazy traveler in Blois, who found his landlady freckled
and ill-tempered, wrote his experience so: All the women of
Blois are freckled and ill-tempered.""
"I hope, Honor," remarked Mrs. Trent, as the girl entered
the drawing-room, "that you may some day grow to under-
stand what is required of you when you are the least impor-
tant person in company. I despair of ever teaching you.
""
"Suppose I learn that thoroughly, and then find I am not
always the least important person in company," said Honor,
with a mischievous glance from under her lashes, "I shall
have all to unlearn, and a fresh lesson to begin. Oh, dear
ne! how pleasant it would be if one need only act on in-
stinct!"
42
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"If I were a girl like you, Honor," put in Theodora, with
an exaggerated expression of despair, and perhaps not very
strict adherence to truth, "I should feel very grateful to
those who tried to train me."
"Under those circumstances, it might almost be a good
thing if you were me," was Honor's dry and ungrammatical
rejoinder, as she took as comfortable a seat as Mrs. Trent and
Theodora allowed her, and settled herself to gain as mach en
joyment as possible from the inevitable dissertation on dress.
"It would be rude to take a book and entertain myself
with other people's thoughts," she mused, when at last Mrs.
Trent succumbed to her after-dinner somnolence, and Theo
dora posed herself in an attitude of graceful indolence, “but
I am apparently at liberty to indulge in my own-such as
they are.
""
There was a circular mirror on the wall opposite her, and
between the candles burning on each side of it she could see
the fireside group; the elder lady sleeping in her chair, com
fortable and handsome, and the younger one almost as mo-
tionless, with one ringed hand supporting the fair, regular
face, round which the mirror showed such gorgeous setting
of silk and gold.
In each of us lurks some vein of true genius. Though
sometimes so slight that, in the gloom of unappreciation, or
the glory of a greater light, it is not scen, the golden thread
is pretty sure to be there.
Theodora Trent possessed no brilliant talent or versatile
powers. She had no depth or force, or strength of charac-
ter, but she had that one slender filament in her nature, and
knew its power. She understood exactly how far the splen-
dor of dress was needed to give effect to her shallow, toneless
beauty; and in this matter, which was her one deep study,
she was thoroughly and, indeed, to a certain extent, danger-
ously, skilled. At every ball she attended (and Miss Trent
favored all she could, both in town and country) she was
looked upon as a formidable rival by many a prettier and
brighter and better girl; and not a few of the young men who
stood up with her to dance felt proudly conscious of having
won the most admired partner in the room. What wonder?
The face is, after all, but a trifling part of the whole; and
who could miss variety and brightness there, when they found
it in the manifold adornments which Theodora carried so
wall?
-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
43
}
Honor's eyes lingered on these two figures, hardly glancing
or a moment at her own, so still and white.
"Suppose," she mused idly to herself, "that were the mir
ror of Lao, and reflected the mind as well as the person.
What should I see? Not much," she added, with a half-
smile, still unconsciously ignoring her own image; "there is
not much in either Mrs. Trent or Theodora which it would
need Lao's glass to reflect."
As she thought this, still with her eyes upon the mirror,
the door behind her was opened, and another figure was added
to the group on which she gazed. Then an involuntary and
rather puzzled feeling rose in her mind, that this figure had
given a new character to the picture in the glass.
"Now," she said, letting her fanciful thoughts run on, "if
it were but the glass of Lao now !”
Most probably Royden Keith would have objected to enter
the room at all if that circular mirror had been the magic in-
strument she thought of, but, being the harmless reflector it
was, he sat down opposite it with the greatest ease, and was,
to all appearance, totally unconscious of its very presence on
the wall.
Mrs. Trent, wide awake now, graciously called Honor over
to sit beside her while she sipped her tea; and then entreated
her daughter to sing a duet with Hervey, and to persuade Mr.
Keith to sing with her, too.
Theodora did sing with her cousin, once or twice, and then
once or twice alone; then once or twice with Mr. Keith, but
Honor had not been asked, when, feeling the neglect acutely,
she rose and said that she must go home.
"Jane told me to be early," she explained, standing before
Mrs. Trent, with a fading flush upon her cheeks. And just
then the mirror gave back a lovely picture, while Royden
Keith stood waiting for his hand-shake. There was no in-
tentness in his gaze, yet for all his life this picture lived un-
blemished in his memory.
G
>,
"This is a new idea, Honor, observed Captain Trent,
coming forward with a shade of annoyance on his face.
Why should Jane's wishes be paramount? Are they not
alone at the Larches to-night?"
66
"I hope so."
"Whom are you afraid of finding at home?" inquired
Theodora, wondering why Mr. Keith smiled, when of course
he could not understand anything about Honor's home.
84
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"I know," drawled Hervey, with his lazy smile; "it's li
tle Slimp."
"Yes," echoed Honcr, demurely; "it's little Siimp."
"Slimp-Slimp? I have surely heard that name before,"
put in Royden, with a great amusement in his eyes. "I al-
most think I have had the honor of seeing the gentleman to
whom the name belongs; a man of huge proportions and
frank expression of countenance; a man without fear, or
guile, or why are you laughing, Miss Craven ?”
If you had tried to describe the exact opposite of the Mr.
Slimp I know," said Honor, "you could not have succeeded
better."
"Indeed! Then please describe to me the Mr. Slimp you
know."
"Not I, Mr. Keith," laughed the girl, "except to tell you
that, like Slender, he hath but a little wee face, with a little
Fellow beard-a Cain-colored beard.""
،، And you do not like him?"
"Like him!" The shy, proud color was rising again,
under Royden's steadfast gaze. "Not one atom!" she said,
as she gave her hand to Mrs. Trent. And in that tone of
prompt contempt she dropped the subject.
"If you are walking home, you will, I hope, allow me to
walk with you, Miss Craven."
Theodora looked up in surprise. One of the man-servants
had always been sent to attend Honor back to the Larches
after an evening at Deergrove. Surely that was sufficient,
without Mr. Keith offering his escort.
"That is unnecessary," interposed Captain Hervey, stop-
ying as he loitered toward the door; "I am going with Miss
Craven."
"And you, Mr. Keith," said Theodora, advancing with
er gracious smile, "must stay and play that game of chess
which I have set my heart upon. See how early it is, and I
am ready. Good-night again, Honor."
"Mamma,” said Theodora, an hour later, when the mother
and daughter were left alone together, "you must ask Mr.
Keith to stay with us for a week or two; he is only at the
hotel, you know, and you might quite properly do it while
Hervey is here."
Mrs. Trent's breath came for a minute in hurried gasps.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
45
ļ
"Theo," she said, "I have been surprised at you all even-
ing; I am doubly surprised now. Pray do not let Hervey see
this sudden and ridiculous infatuation."
"Hervey will never see anything in me which is ridicu-
lous," was Theo's complacent rejoinder; "but, mamma, you
must own how immeasurably superior Mr. Keith is to the
men one generally meets."
"And, after all, what do you know of him?" inquired the
elder lady, pettishly.
"This," replied the younger one, as if the subject was at
pleasant one to her, and she were quite willing to linger over
it. "We know that he is a thorough and perfect gentleman,
to whom society has evidently thrown open her doors. We
know that he has traveled a great deal, and seen a great deal,
and is very clever. We know how different he looked from
all the gentlemen at the Castle the other night, and how
jealous the girls were about him, and we see how womanish
he makes Hervey look. And we know," concluded Theodora,
moving her head slowly before the glass to catch the light
upon the jeweled butterfly in her hair, "that he is very
rich.'
"Theo, my dear," urged Mrs. Trent, cautiously-for, like
all weak and indulgent mothers, she dreaded her daughter's
displeasure being turned directly against herself" of course
you can enjoy Mr. Keith's society while he stays in this neigh-
borhood, but you will be most unwise if you excite Hervey's
jealousy. Mr. Keith may be a rich man I do not doubt-
but what would his wealth be compared with that which
Hervey is likely to inherit? Remember, Theo, that my heart
is set upon your making a good match. It is," concluded
Mrs. Trent, pathetically, "the only aim for which I care to
live."
"All right, mamma," returned Theodora, brusquely; "I
will take care that your aim is attained. I will not quarrel
with Hervey; but I will do as I like just at present.
">
Royden Keith had, like his fellow-guests, walked to Deer.
grove that evening, and now was walking back to Kinbury
It was a pleasant autumn night, and he went leisurely and
thoughtfully along the highway, until he entered the town
close to the hotel where he was staying. Then he quickened
his steps, for in front of the lighted entrance there stood a
01
46
7
JLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
7
tax-cart and a foaming little thorough-bred which he knew.
A servant man in a livery of white and green-a livery we
have seen before at the roadside tavern near Abbotsmoor--
touched his hat from the driver's seat as Royden passed into
the vestibule of the hotel, while another servant, in the same
livery, came forward to meet him.
"What is it?” asked Royden, as he pleasantly returned the
man's respectful greeting.
"A letter, sir.
"Any orders to yourselves?" inquired Royden, as he took
the letter.
"No orders, sir, except what you should give us."
"Then go back at once. Say I am coming to-morrow.
Take something at the bar, and send Morris to do the same;
then drive back at once. Good-night."
"Seated in his own room, with the lamp lighted and the
shutters closed, Royden read the letter. The writing was
clear and the lines uncrossed, but yet it took him a long time
to read; for the sheets of paper were large and transparent,
as if the letter had come from, or was destined for, some dis-
tant country.
When he had finished, and replaced the two thin sheets
within their cover, he rose and rang his bell.
"I want," he said, when the door was opened by a grave,
middle-aged man in black, "to speak to Edwards. Send
him up here, will you?"
9
"2
"Yes, sir."
"Are the other men gone?”
*
"Some time ago, sir."
The groom, whom his master had called Edwards, donned
his livery hastily when his master's valet summoned him.
"I know what it is," he muttered, "a gallop all the way
to the Towers and back. That's just like him."
"If you mean he'd take the gallop himself and think noth-
ing of it, you're about right," returned the valet, curtly; "but
unless that is what you mean, you are a good way off being
right; for he isn't one to send his servants galloping about
when they ought to be in bed."
66
'No, he isn't generally," acquiesced the groom, a little less
sulkily; "but it does make one cross to have to dress again.
Do I look all right now, Mr. Pierce?"
The "gentleman's gentleman," smiled with generous con--
descension. "You are a vain, churlish fellow." it said, as
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
plain as smile could speak; "but what else can one expect in
a groom-and so young a one?"
He smiled still more when the groom returned to him in ten
minutes' time, brisk, alert, and good-humored, as he had been
in his master's presence.
"If it's just like him,' for the master to drive his men
about inconsiderately and inconsistently," the valet remarked,
aloud, "I wonder why they should look as if they felt all the
pleasanter for their interviews with him. He doesn't quite
treat you as if you were cattle-eh, Edwards?"
"He's going off at dawn," explained the groom, ignoring
that question; "I'm to have Princess saddled by the first
glimpse of daylight. He's writing now, and told me to tell
you not to stay up. He'll be back to-morrow afternoon, he
says. Where do you think he's going, Mr. Pierce ?"
"I know," said Pierce, quietly, as he turned away; "he's
going home."
"Home!" echoed the younger man, when he was left to
himself. "I don't know much, p'raps; but I do know what
""
that means.'
CHAPTER IV.
I do not love thee, Dr. Fell-
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this alone I know full well,
I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.
-TOM BROWN.
Ir was no very new thing for Captain Trent to be walking
with Honor Craven along the road which lay between Deer-
grove and the Larches; but something seemed to strike him
as new in the performance to-night.
"You are not talking at all, Honor," he said at last, when
the reason of the novelty dawned upon him. "What a very un-
usual thing! t does not show nicely-regulated manners to
talk a good deal at one time, and say nothing at all at an-
other."
66
Hervey," said the girl, pausing suddenly in her walk, and
turning her eyes upon him so that he could see their laughter
in the gloom, "don't you lecture me when nobody is present.
48
=
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
When Mrs. Trent and Theodora are by, it affords them great
pleasure to hear you, so I don't mind; but when we have no
Audience we will have no performance, please. On those oc-
nasions-being, as they are, very few and very far between-
we will imagine ourselves on an equality. Now we will talk
as much as you like, for I shall soon be at home. Hervey,
who is Mr. Keith ?"
"Why do you want to know?" inquired Captain Trent,
peaking sharply, but whether in consequence of Honor's in-
troductory speech or of that last question was not clear.
"It does not signify; I can find out from Lawrence.”
"He is as likely to be an adventurer as not," suggested
Hervey, spitefully; "looking after Theodora for her fortune,
and for her expectation of a share of old Myddelton's money.
"I should have thought you old enough to know a true
gentleman when you met him," observed Honor, with pro-
voking gravity. And, if he really is come to woo Theodora,
what shall you do?"
66
"Why?" he asked, his tone a trifle harsh, either in anger
vr self-consciousness.
✓
"Because you are to marry her, you know."
"Do not say "you know,' Honor; it is unnecessary and in-
elegant, and I do not know, though you do, it would seem.
Of course I do; everybody knows it."
""
"Of course I could win her if I chose," mused Hervey,
omplacently, "if that is what you mean by everybody know-
ing I am to do so."
Honor's laugh rang fresh and clear on the night air, and
aturally it roused Captain Hervey's languid wrath.
"It is most childish to laugh at nothing, as you do, Honor."
66
+
Only yesterday you told me it was childish to laugh at
verything. You are inconsistent, Hervey, if you guide me
t once in opposite directions."
No answer, so he put the question direct.
"Do you think Haughton will marry a rich wife?"
"I hope he will."
re
Why?'
"If Mr. Keith wins Theodora and her fortune," remarked
Hervey, presently, with an idea of stern retaliation, "what
vill Lawrence Haughton do? Because everybody knows, as
'you say, that Lawrence is to marry a rich wife if he marries
nt all."
·
KAR
?
49
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
i
"Because," she answered, with a tightening of her lips,
"he won't be at all happy if he does-men never are who
marry for money—nor will she. It is you who are laughing
at nothing now, Hervey."
"Your notions of the world seem to be gleaned from novels.
Why do you not wish he would marry a penniless wife, just
to spite Jane?"
Because-Jane would break the heart of the penniless
f
wife."
"Honor!"
"Yes, I'm here."
"Why, you have tears in your voice! Are you so unhappy
at the Larches ?"
"I was not thinking of myself," returned Honor, hastily.
"Don't grieve for Phoebe," said Hervey, in a tone of relief,
"she doesn't feel these things. It is far harder for you,
Honor, to bear the love of the man you scorn, than it is to her
to bear the scorn of the man she loves-poor girl!"
"Hervey! how dare you speak so?" cried Honor, passion,
ately. "You know nothing about this-about Phoebe or
about me. I will not allow you to talk so to me of my cousin,
or of myself. Do not ever again pretend you can teach me
how to be a gentlewoman, for you do not yourself know how
to be a gentleman. Go back! I'm quite safe; I would rather
not have you."
CC
66
My dear Honor," he began, in his most plausible tones,
you should try not to be so hasty. Why should I not men
tion what, to use your own words, everybody knows? Phoebe
makes no secret of her infatuation for Lawrence, and Law-
rence makes no secret of his indifference to her, so why should
I? You make no secret of your indifference to Lawrence, and
he certainly makes no secret of his infatuation for you, so why
should I?"
"It is most ungenerous," said Honor, hotly; and then she
maintained perfect silence for the rest of their walk.
The Larches was a sombre, red brick house, standing a lit
tle way from the road, and separated from it by half a dozen
yards of brick wall between two white gates at either end of
the curved drive which passed the front door. At this door
Honor stood in the darkness, wondering rather anxiously who
would let her in. Hervey had left her at the gate; but,
though she did not know it, he was lingering there, waiting
to see her safely into the house. He had not long to wait
50
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
C
2
the door was opened promptly to her summons, and he saw
her enter the lighted hall.
"It was Haughton himself who let her in," muttered Cap-
tain Trent as he walked away. "She will be vexed if no one
else has waited up for her: and certainly it cannot be by
Phoebe's own choice that she has left Haughton to do it
alone."
He hastened on now, "whistling as he went, for want of
thought," and by this time Honor and Mr. Haughton had
entered the warm and lighted drawing-room.
<<
Every one gone to bed!" she exclaimed, a note of keen
vexation in her tone. ،،
'Why did not Phoebe sit up for me?
She promised she would, and I am as early as Jane bade me
be."
"I told Phoebe to go to bed," returned Mr. Haughton,
gently taking off the soft white shawl which Honor had worn
under her dark cloak. I chose to wait for you, and I did not
need any one to keep me company."
Honor glanced at him for one moment as he stood in the
full light, and then she quietly pushed away the chair he had
drawn up to the fire for her.
Honor's guardian was a man of forty, a little above the
middle height, but so broadly built that he looked below it.
His hair was thickly streaked with gray, and his mustache-
gray, too-was heavy and coarse; his face habitually shrewd
and callous, and his eyes habitually keen and restless; for any
other expression which might be upon his face to-night, or at
other times when he was alone with Honor, was not its cus
tomary one. He was a powerful man, both physically and
mentally; a man who seemed to have his passions and his
words completely under his control, and who, if he had not,
might be, perhaps, a dangerous man to thwart or anger. His
clients spoke of him as a safe and self-concentrated lawyer, as
hard to understand as to bend; a clever fellow, whose soft,
white fingers could unravel, in that constant silence of his,
the most intricate knot in law. But there was one inmate of
his house who knew him in two characters, and who put no
trust in either.
"I have coffee ready for you, Honor," said Mr. Haughton,
taking the coffee-pot from the fire and carrying it to the table
where stood one solitary cup; "I know it will refresh you
after your walk.”
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
51
V
"Thank you," said Honor; but her voice, for all its gen-
tleness, was utterly indifferent, and Lawrence Haughton
noticed this.
-
"Have you had a pleasant evening?" he asked, rather
nervously pursuing his unwonted and womanish task.
"A little better than usual," she said, quietly; "but I am
very sleepy, Lawrence. May I go to bed?"
Just wait until you have drunk this coffee, dear. I
made it myself, on purpose for you, and I have kept it hot,
and fancied you would enjoy it.”
He had come up to her then, with the cup in his hand, and
she could not turn away. She took it with a little laugh,
fresh and sweet.
"You look odd at that task, Lawrence.
Why did you
attempt it?"
"Because it was for you," he said, with a subdued eager-
ness in his tone. "There is no task I would not attempt for
you, Honor."
"I hope there is," she answered, very gently; "and please
let Phoebe keep her promise next time, and sit up for me,
Lawrence."
"C
Any one but me," he said, a dark flush rising in his
face; "yet my only pleasure through this day has been the
anticipation of these minutes, when I should have you here
to talk to me, and look at me, as you rarely do when you have
others to see or speak to.”
There was silence between them then, while he tried to
school his tones to easy indifference such as hers, and while
she wondered childishly whether her guardian's culinary
achievement was known to his sister, whose one strong idea
was that it was he who ought to be waited on by all the house-
hold.
"Who was at Deergrove to-night, Honor?"
Lawrence was standing against the mantel-piece, watching
the face of the girl beside him; and it seemed as if, when she
answered the question, his gaze grew more intent and even
stern.
"Only one gentleman-Mr. Keith. He is staying at the
Royal Hotel in Kinbury now; he has been visiting Sir Philip
Somerson at the Castle. I do not know whether he stays for
the shooting, or because he likes the neighborhood. Do you
know him, Lawrence?'
1
52
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"As much," returned Mr. Haughton, apparently making
an effort to speak easily, "as I do any other idle young fel-
low who comes to stay in the town for a time, professedly for
the Abbotsmoor fishing, or shooting, or what not-that is
all."
"I will say good-night now, Lawrence."
He put down the empty cup, and then took her offered.
hand. "Good-night," he echoed; "how you hasten to utter
it! Nothing I can do or say ever tempts you to linger with
My beautiful child, my favorite, if you would only con-
sent to learn one lesson from Phoebe!"
me.
"I am too old to learn," said Honor, defying the pain
which such words always gave her, in spite of their frequency.
"Oh, Lawrence, I wish you were as sleepy as I am! You
would hurry me off, and I should be so grateful to you after-
ward."
"C
Honor," he said, looking longingly in her sweet, pure
face, and still holding her hand tightly in his own, years
ago, when you were a little one-my favorite then as always,
and even then the very sunshine of my life-you used to bring
your good-night kiss and lay it softly on my lips. Do you re-
member? And do you remember how I would never let
Phoebe kiss me afterward? No, of course you do not. You
were but a child; what could you know of such feelings, or of
the dreams that were my very life-breath even then, and
which you are trying now to kill for me?"
"If you could guess how unhappy you make me by talking
so, Lawrence," the girl returned, still very gently, "I think
you would not do it so often. Let us be just what we were in
those times you have been talking of-cousins, as it were, or
ward and guardian, which you will-but do not talk of other
love between us. It is impossible. You know it, and you
have known it always, if you would only own it to yourself.
You know, too, that I have no home but yours; and, if you
were generous, you would not take every opportunity of mak-
ing me unhappy with this worn-out subject. Oh, why," she
cried, her hands clasped closely to her breast, "should you
have given me this passion you call love? You knew I never
could love you.
You have yourself told me how I would not
go near you when I first came here, a little child! You have
told me how your sister tried in rain to teach me to admire
you, and Phobe tried in vain to teach me to worship you, and
you yourself tried-oh, so much more in vain!-to teach me
66
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
53
to love you. Knowing all this, why do you speak to me so
often, as you have done to-night? What right have I given
you ?"
"None. I have taken the right," said Lawrence, his
breath quick and hard. "Your pride and indifference,
through these ten years, have only made my love all the
stronger-never mind why; we cannot understand these
things-but you are a woman now, and must repay me for
these years of pain and waiting, Honor. This long and
slighted love of mine shall win a return. You cannot crush
or kill it, for it is stronger than yourself, and will conquer
""
you.
،،
"I shall go away from here if you ever speak to me so
again," said the girl, with a flash of wrath in her eyes;
I must pass it by as something too-too trivial for notice."
or
"And I," returned Lawrence, speaking as sternly as he
ever could to her, "shall never leave off telling you of my
love until you own your love is mine at last.'
""
66
She walked quietly from the room even while he spoke;
but he followed her, eager to do something for her even then.
Why, Lawrence," she said, taking her candle from his
hand, and by an effort speaking in her old tones, just as if
that interview had never been, there is a light in your room!
Who is there?"
66
Only Slimp," returned Mr. Haughton, looking with an-
noyance toward the line of light from the door of his private
yoom. "He has a deed to copy for me, and he's late over it.
Never mind him; he will not be here for breakfast."
Those are good tidings," said Honor, emphatically; and,
glancing at the door with an inimitable mimicry of Mr.
limp's normal expression, she ran lightly and noiselessly up-
stairs.
Mr. Haughton, smiling at the remembrance of her comical
grimace, watched her till she turned out of sight, and then
ntered his own room, the stern and watchful man of busi-
ness now, the unmoved man of the world.
CC
You have all your instructions, Slimp; so you can go to
bed when you like. There will be breakfast for you in this
room at seven, and you will be gone before I come down."
(6
Very well, sir," was Mr. Slimp's unquestioning assent.
But he looked as if he understood an omitted margin to the
words; and, if Honor had been there, she might have looked
in vain for the deed he had been copying.
·
12
O
54.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
L
"Do the Temple thoroughly; study the records, and
leave no stone unturned. I have written on the back of
this card a few headings to remind you, and on the other
side is the name. Keep the card carefully-I had trouble
enough to get it."
Mr. Slimp took it from Mr. Haughton's hand deliberately;
read the penciled instructions through with still more delibera
tion; then turned the card round, and read the name en
graved upon the other side-"Royden Keith."
*
CHAPTER V.
HERMIA.-I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
HELENA. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
HERMIA.-The more I hate, the more he follows me.
HELENA.-The more I love, the more he hateth me.
-A Midsummer Night's Dream.
“
ASLEEP, Phoebe ?"
At the sound of Honor's bright voice, and at the sight of
her face round the half-opened door of Phoebe's bedroom, a
head sprang from the pillow, and an eager whisper bade her
come in and shut the door.
So Honor came in and shut the door obediently; then, put-
ting her candlestick down upon the dressing-table, and taking
up an easy position on the bed, with her back against the
iron foot-rail, she looked across into her cousin's face, and
remarked, sententiously, that she was back again. And then
her wakeful eyes went wandering round the little, untidy
chamber, as if it were all strange to them, with a shadow in
them deeper than their wonder-a shadow which now and
then did fall upon their brightness at odd times and in
familiar scenes, as if, even yet, the life which had been hers
ever since she could remember, had its dark, inscrutable cor-
ners which she searched in vain.
There was little to gaze upon in this bedroom of Phoebe's,
so it was no wonder that the girl's eyes soon came back to the
face opposite her, and rested there.
¦
"Why, Phoebe," Honor said, then, "you have been cry-
ing!”
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
55
Phoebe was sitting up in bed, with her hands locked about
her knees, and her broad, Dutch-looking face-rather pretty,
but soulless and self-absorbed-was flushed and stained with
tears.
66
Crying?" she stammered, and both the repetition of the
word and the mortified gaze betrayed the dependence and the
self-consciousness of her character. "Why should you say
so?"
"I am led to that conclusion by the sight of tears. Am I
as wise as that doctor's assistant who knew his patient had
been eating horse because he caught sight of the saddle under
the bed?"
"I did cry," replied Phoebe, plaintively, "because Law
rence would not let me sit up for you, as I'd promised, and
because he hardly spoke to me all the evening.
"What a relief!" remarked Honor, devoutly.
'Not to me," sighed Phoebe; "you know it isn't."
"Yes, I know-I do know," rejoined Honor, pitifully, for
how could she help pitying the girl who could perpetually
court sympathy for having, unasked and with utter absence
of pride or even self-respect, laid her shallow heart at her
guardian's feet? Yes, I know, Phoebe, and I only thought
of myself when I spoke. But I do really believe that some
day you will say, with me, that it is a relief when Lawrence
does not speak."
""
66
""
"I never should," said Phoebe, with a sigh. "I'm not so
surprised that he takes no notice of me when you are here;
but when you are away it is worse. He does not talk at all
then; he hardly stays in the room with us. Oh! Honor, I
wish I didn't care! But I do; and-do you think he will ever
be different?"
"I hope so, in many ways," said Honor, sagely; "but I
think, if it ever came to happen that he offered his love to
you, Phoebe, you would see, all at once, that it wasn't worth
taking. Has it been very dull for you then, poor little Frau ?”
one of Honor's pet names for her Dutch-visaged cousin.
"Jane was as cross as she could be," spoke Phoebe, emphat-
ically; "and she said lots of unkind things about your going
to Deergrove, till Lawrence stopped her; he said afterward
she was never to say anything about you before Mr. Slimp."
"Oh! he was here I forgot that!" cried Honor, with a
soft little laugh. "I saw him, I caught a delightful glimpse
of him through the half-closed door-sitting so."
M
56
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Phoebe laughed-though in a rather spiritless manner-at
her cousin's quaint imitation of Mr. Slimp's attitude; and
then Honor turned the subject delicately from that complaint
which Phoebe delighted to outpour.
"Stop a moment, Phoebe. Give me time to get down from
the bed, and I'll give you a rare representation of Theo's man-
ners to-night; especially of her reception and her farewell."
The ceremony of greeting and speeding a decidedly poor
relation-whose part in the scene was of course purely im-
aginary-was performed with perfect gravity, though its lu-
dicrous side was evident from the laughter which chased
away all Phoebe's discontent. Then followed a slight exhi-
bition of Captain Hervey's languid deportment, and the ele-·
gant sleepiness which Mrs. Trent could always manage to
maintain, undisturbed by the keen watch she kept upon her
daughter, and the frequent lessons she vouchsafed to Honor.
Then Honor ceased her acting and took up her candlestick.
"If you and I were rich," mourned Phoebe, plaintively,
"and could dress and talk grandly, they would behave quite
differently to us, Honor. They wouldn't invite us to Deer-
grove just on sufferance, one at a time, as they do now when
they have a place vacant, to make us small and patronize us,
and pretend they are doing a very noble and compassionato
sort of thing to their poor relations.
""
"That will do, Phoebe. Never mind that old grudge,
returned Honor, brightly. "I never let them treat me like
a poor relation, and I can often glean a little amusement
there."
"I cannot," sighed Phoebe; "they quench me entirely. I
always come home miserable, and wishing I was rich, and
beautiful, and admired, that I might pay back Theo for her
scornful ways. Honor, do you ever have day-dreams about
being rich p
"Often. Such gorgeous dreams they are; and I'm so beau-
tiful in them, and wear such matchless dresses, and have
horses, and carriages, and servants, and a magnificent castle
of my own, and I feed all the poor, and have all the sick
cured, and everybody idolizes me, and I'm presented to the
queen-so," explained Honor, sweeping her muslin skirt along
the shabby drugget, in the performance of a wonderful cour
tesy; "and all the ladies and lords in waiting whisper that
there never was such a lovely person seen before, even at
court,"
*
=
L..
57
:
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
"Perhaps they're not allowed to whisper when the queen
is by," put in Phoebe, her practical nature stumbling here.
"I'm quite certain that the Earl of Essex often whispered,"
returned the younger girl, with confidence; "and Anne
Boleyn was just the one to whisper a great deal when she was
a maid of honor; and so they whisper in my dreams, and
everything is wonderful and beautiful there, Phoebe; but I
never care about crowing over Theo-she isn't in the dreams
at all."
Phoebe had so thoroughly taught herself to lean upon
Honor's deeper, brighter nature, that it gave her generally a
curious air of dependence and submission to her younger
cousin, totally at variance with her superiority in point of
years. But there were times when she roused herself to a
fleeting priority, on the basis of her freedom from those de-
ceptions encouraged by a disposition so dreamy, credulous,
and speculative as her cousin's. At such rare moments she
would believe implicitly Jane Haughton's favorite axiom that
"Honor had not a grain of sterling common sense," and in-
vest herself abundantly with that oft-misnamed commodity.
Such a moment followed Honor's soft voice-painting of her
childish dream.
C
"You always go into impossibilities, Honor. I think only
of what may be."
Impossibilities! While the white-clad figure, in spite of its
dingy background, and the scant light thrown upon it, was
so purely beautiful. Impossibilities! While the eyes were so
full of truth, and trust, and courage, for the time to come,
and that time to come was so safely hidden beyond a golden
mist made up of possibilities!
"You know Lady Lawrence may leave us a share of her
wealth," added Phoebe, apparently aggrieved. "She ought
not entirely to forget us girls, and leave it all to Lawrence or
Hervey, or even both.'
29
Honor's laugh rang out merrily.
"I am afraid we are all alike," she said; "all building our
futures on old Myddelton's money. Oh, what tottering fab-
rics! But your mentioning Lady Lawrence reminds me of
something else, Phoebe. The Abbotsmoor picnic is fixed for
Thursday, and the photograph, with Abbotsmoor itself as a
background, is to be sent to Lady Lawrence in India."
/6
"Oh, how nice!" cried Phoebe, ecstatically. May we all
choose our own postures, and by whom we will stand or sit?
律
​658
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
What shall I wear? Oh, Honor, I have not any nice dress to
go in."
→
"Have you not?" asked Honor, always such a gentle, help-
ful receiver of these lugubrious and spasmodic expressions of
Phoebe's anxieties respecting her wardrobe, and the deficien-
cies therein. "How is that? I thought we should wear the
dresses we had for the bazar at Somerson Park."
"You can; yours looks all right," whined Phoebe; "and
of course you will, because everybody said that it suited you;
but I cannot. Mine is as torn, and as soiled, and as shabby
as ever it can be, and I'm sure I would not disgrace myself
by putting it on.
""
Phoebe had risen in her excitement, and taken the dress
from its drawer, and now she threw it contemptuously on the
bed before Honor.
"It was very pretty at first, I know," she said, "and no
one would believe you had done all the planning and trim-
ming, for they looked like French dresses. But you must
own, Honor, that I could not wear it now."
If you like," said Honor, slowly, not questioning Phoebe's
right to have spoiled the dress, while her own-bought, and
made, and worn at the same time-was fresh and unsoiled,
"if you like, Phoebe, we will wear our black silks."
"Black silks at a picnic!" exclaimed Phoebe. "No, in-
deed. But it was a kind offer of yours, Honor," she added,
remorsefully, "for your dress is almost as good as new, and
you look so lovely in it. But I'll tell you what you might
do"-this in a tone of anxious coaxing-"you might get
Lawrence to give us money for a new one each. Tell him
how we have not five shillings left of this quarter's allowance.
He will not refuse you, Honor."
"I would go in my very oldest dress sooner than ask for a
new one from him," returned the younger girl; "I always
keep within my allowance for that very reason.
""
Phoebe's eyes filled; they were gentle, rather prominent,
light gray eyes, with a fountain very near them; but still
these ready tears had always the same effect upon Honor; and
when Phoebe said ruefully, "He would not give it me, or I
would ask for myself; but he never refused you," she kissed
her quietly, and said she would ask their guardian for the
dress, and did not blame her, by one word, for the selfish use
she made of her guardian's favorite.
12
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
59
"i shall sleep comfortably now," observed Phoebe, shaking
up her pillow. "Good-night, Honor, dear; though you
have not told me much about Deergrove. Was there no guest
but yourself?"
"Only one," said Honor, from the open doorway; "but—
go to sleep, Phœbe.”
For," added the girl to herself, as she closed the bedroom
door behind her, "if I speak or think again of that other
guest, my thoughts will go off once more to Gabriel Myddel-
ton and that often-told story which I heard again to-night.
How plain it was that Mr. Keith saw no way of accounting
for the murder but by Gabriel's having committed it! How
curiously he asked if a doubt had ever been entertained as to
Gabriel's guilt, and no one could say 'Yes!"
~,
Next morning, from a feverish dream, in which old Myd-
delton was murdering Mr. Keith, and she and Gabriel-just
as he might have walked out of the picture at Abbotsmoor-
stood looking on, Honor was roused by the clanging of the
shrill bell, which was wont, at eight o'clock A. M,, to sum-
mon the occupants of the Larches to break their fast upon.
the sternly simple viands which Miss Haughton's ingenuity
and economy had suggested.
"Late again," remarked that lady, as Honor entered the
breakfast-room half an hour afterward, sweet and fresh as a
summer rose on which the dew-drops sparkle, and with that
clear light within her eyes which could not have shone there
if the soul behind had not been free from taint of vanity or
selfishness.
Mr. Haughton half rose from his seat as Honor came up to
the table, but, with a sudden change of purpose, he drew his
chair closer, and began to carve the cold meat-pie before him.
His sister passed by the girl's bright "good-morning," and
poured out her tea with a rigid displeasure stamping every
feature. Jane Haughton was certainly not one of those whose
presence at any time makes sunshine in a house. Hers had,
on the contrary, rather the effect of February sleet, or a
November fog; but in the early morning this was peculiarly
noticeable.
"A real wet blanket," Honor thought, as she took her cup
from Jane's hand, "would have a far more soothing effect,
すっ
​ta
1
:
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
60
#
?
Conversation at the Larches was never very warm and gen-
eral, especially at breakfast, but certainly this morning, as
on many another morning, Honor tried her best to make it
SO. She chatted of her visit last night, and described the
dinner to Jane, undeterred by that lady's stoniness of aspect.
She gave Phoebe an account of the dresses, the new books she
had seen, and the new duet she had heard, undisturbed by
Phoebe's distracted attention and surreptitious signs to her
not to forget her promise; and she retailed to Lawrence the
chief points of the conversation.
"That other guest," remarked Mr. Haughton, "must have
been vastly edified by so much talk of old Myddelton and his
connections, especially after the speech I heard old Mrs. Payte
make to him a day or two ago."
"What was that?"
"She said old Myddelton's relations could be nothing but
money-loving and cowardly."
66
"Oh, what a falsehood and a shame!" cried Phoebe, always
ready to reply to him. Suppose she knew you had over-
heard that, Lawrence?"
"I believe she did know," he answered, carelessly; "she
does not care who overhears her sour speeches.
"What did Mr. Keith say?" inquired Jane.
"Do you suppose I cared to listen?"
“It must be satisfactory to him," said Honor, quietly, “to
feel that he has not been deceived in his estimate of us.
There is plenty of cowardice and love of money among us."
"There may be these qualities among us," replied Law-
rence, looking into the girl's eyes, "but there is neither of
them in you, Honor."
((
They belong to the very name of Myddelton," returned
Honor, with a hot, vexed blush, for nothing distressed her
more than such a speech from him in presence of his sister
and poor little Phoebe, "and he sees how we all hate each
other in our hearts, and he knows we shall hate each other
until Lady Lawrence's will is read, when we shall immedi-
ately concentrate all our hatred upon her heir.”
">
"It's all Gabriel Myddelton's fault," sighed Phoebe, "that
these dreadful things are laid to our charge; but, Honor, you
knew very well that it is only the Trents who hate-"
Phoebe broke off abruptly in her speech, for Mr. Haughton
had left the room, and she had something far more important
to urge upon Honor than any want of affection in the Trenta,
**
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
61
* Go now," she whispered across the table; "remember
your promise, Honor."
Honor put her chair back into its place against the wall.
according to one of Jane's most strictly enforced lessons-and
left the room, too.”
In the hall, as she paused in her extreme unwillingness to
enter Lawrence's study, Phoebe rushed out to her, almost
breathless in her eagerness.
"Make haste, Honor," she cried, pushing her cousin
toward the door of Mr. Haughton's study, "he may go off in
a hurry. Why should you dawdle when you know he will do
it for you? This is too unkind of you, Honor."
"Take your hands away; leave me to open the door my-
self," said Honor, with a quick catch of her breath; "I will
not be dragged to do what I have-promised."
When Honor entered the room, her guardian was locking
the drawers of his writing-table. He had taken the key from
the last and put the bunch into his pocket before he saw her
or heard her quiet tread. Then he stepped back to the
chimney-piece and looked at her with a pleased smile-quite
willing, evidently, that she should detain him as long as she
chose.
،،
'Please, Lawrence," the girl began, simply, "will you let
Phoebe have a little money this morning?"
"No. I have told Phoebe a hundred times that if I go on
permitting her to overdraw her allowance, she will grow more
and more extravagant, and will not be able to extricate her-
self."
Honor could not see that this impatient retort was chiefly
evoked by his sudden disappointment in finding that it was
for some one else's sake that she had sought him; she only
saw that he looked firm in his refusal.
"I have told her this a hundred times," he repeated:
"and I will not trouble myself to tell her again. She is ab-
surd and wasteful in her expenditure. Tell her to do as
you do; you have the same allowance, and you always
look
"Jane says if there were another person in the house like
me she would be driven wild."
"A pretty safe speech," sneered Lawrence; "the if is a
huge one. Jane's reason for the feeling, poor old girl, iş
not inscrutable, though. You forgive those speeches, Honor,'
he added, in another tone, "when you remember how jeal-
4
-
62
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
ously she guards my affection? You can understand why she
is harder to you than to Phoebe! She is not afraid of Phœ-
be's ever supplanting"
"Phoebe is a great deal smaller than Jane; why should Jane
be afraid?"
"C
Laughing, always laughing," muttered Mr. Haughton.
"Is life to be all a jest for you?”
A soft, quick shadow fell upon the girl's face. She was but
eighteen, and an orphan. Into no mother's listening ear and
loving heart could she whisper the doubts, and hopes, and
longings which troubled or cheered her. Upon no father's
arm had she leaned through all her girlhood; no father's
strong and steadfast love had guided and taught her. And
.beyond! What awaited this girl whose generous aims and
impulses were all thrown back upon herself in this cramped
home? What awaited her beyond? Was life to be all a jest?
No wonder that such a swift, sad shadow fell upon her face
like a foreboding.
"Let Jane say what she will, Honor," spoke Lawrence, ex-
tending his hand to her. "You shall be denied nothing
while I am master here."
"I was not thinking of Jane's speech," she said, rousing
herself from that moment's inexplicable sadness, and moving
a little back from the outstretched hand. "Will you give
Phoebe the money, please, Lawrence?"
"No," he answered, angrily, but very slowly, as he gazed
into her face; "but I will give it to you if you like."
"I do not want it," began Honor, in haste, but he went on
after her interruption, as if he had not hesitated.
"You may do as you like with it, of course; spend it for
Phoebe, if you choose, or give it to her to spend. I do not
care what is done with it afterward. How much is it to be?
Is this enough?"
He had taken two sovereigns from his purse, but he held
the purse still open.
"Phoebe only wished for one," said Honor, in her proud,
quiet tones.
"I did not ask Phoebe," returned Mr. Haughton, closing
the purse, and once more holding his hand toward Honor,
with the money in it; "take them, Honor. Of course Phoebe
bade you ask, but come at whose bidding you will, you know
that I never could refuse a request of yours. Some day, per-
haps, the favors you come to ask will be for yourself, as they
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
63
tased to be in old times. Take it. Why do you wait so
long?"
Slowly and daintily, with barely a touch of her soft, white
fingers, she took the gold coins from his palm.
66 Thank you, Cousin Lawrence.”
"Cousin Lawrence!" he echoed, angrily. "You are skilled
in wounding, Honor, and I am a stone, of course, and cannot
feel or see. I am not supposed to know that you avoid
touching my hand, when you do it with such gentle grace. I
am not supposed to know that you shrink from any obliga-
tion to me, when you thank me so prettily. Cousin! Bah!
that one word is hateful to me from your lips.”
"Is it?" asked Honor, gravely.
66 Would you
have me say
Uncle Lawrence? Would this sound better: Thank you,
Uncle Lawrence?"
"Is that all the payment you will give?" inquired Mr.
Haughton, his anger giving way to amusement, as it generally
did when he talked with her.
Yes, that is all," she answered, speaking to him just as
she used to do when she was a child, and had not learned the
secret of why it was she to whom he always listened, and she
whose company he always sought.
he always sought. "Phoebe will repay her
own debts.",
"I want no thanks from Phoebe," he interrupted, moodily,
"Let her have her ribbons, and flowers, and foolery, and be
content. Do not send her with her gushing thanks to me.
What is it? What makes you look so hurt and proud? The
old story, eh, of my duty to Phoebe as her guardian-of my
unkindness of her wasted affection, may be? I do not know;
I am not to blame in the matter; you can testify to that,
Honor. Do not turn away. Listen for one moment, my
little favorite. You can set everything straight. Phoebe
shall have what she likes, dresses and feathers to satiety-
ything, if you will give me what I want."
"I could not, Cousin Lawrence," said Honor, with a de-
mure shake of the head, "because what you want is a con-
tented mind.”
1
Then she gave him her bright little daring nod, and,
leaving him, ran up-stairs with the news for which Phoebe
was so anxiously waiting.
"We'll walk into Kinbury this afternoon and buy the
dress," exclaimed Phoebe, in a rapture of delight; "and we
S
64
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
$
shall be able to make it ourselves to-morrow, and so can spend
all the extra money on trimmings."
"Yes," said Honor, kindly, knowing on whom the cutting,
and the trimming, and the chief work would fall; "yes, we
can do it to-morrow, and have it all ready for Thursday
morning; and on our way home this afternoon we will call at
East Cottage. Now I am going to see if I can help Jane.
""
CHAPTER VI.
She doeth little kindnesses,
Which most leave undone or despise;
For naught that sets one's heart at ease,
And giveth happiness or peace,
Is low esteemed in her eyes.
-LOWELL.
WHEN Miss Owen's all-important purchases were made,
Honor made one which excited Phoebe's curiosity amazingly,
Yet it was only a packet of wools of various shades and colors,
and a roll of fine canvas.
"Why carry it?" Phoebe asked, as Honor took this parcel
in her hand. "Let it be sent with the other things.
""
"No," whispered Honor; "it is not large enough to be in
convenient-I wish it were.
""
On their way home the girls stopped before a low, white
cottage, standing in a long garden, where flowers, fruits and
vegetables grew promiscuously.
"Oh! do not go in here," exclaimed Phoebe, pettishly.
"Mrs. Payte is such a disagreeable old woman, and Mrs. Dis.
browe so dull and depressing. Come along, Honor; they
""
haven't seen us.
Honor had unfastened the gate by this time.
"If you wish to walk on, Phoebe, do," she said, "and I wil
overtake you."
But Phoebe had no wish to walk on by herself, and, more-
over, the thought struck her that, if they loitered here, per-
haps Lawrence might overtake them on his way home from
his office. So she followed Honor up the garden path.
A small, sharp-faced old lady, in a broad-brimmed hat and
leather gloves, stood on the gravel path before the cottage
windows, leaning on a garden hoe, which looked heavy and
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
65
1
cumbersome in the tiny hands of this small, old lady. Her
bright, shrewd eyes shone steadily from under the brim of her
ugly brown hat as she watched the girls coming; but her thin
lips broke into no smile of welcome, and she advanced no step
to meet her visitors.
Behind her, at the open window of the cottage parlor, sat
another lady, totally different in appearance, though probably
of the same age. Both were widows; yet, while Mrs. Dis-
browe wore the dress which belongs to life-long widowhood,
little Mrs. Payte had decked herself in an inartistic combina-
tion of colors. Both were at least seventy years of age; yet,
while Mrs. Disbrowe lay in her large chair, calm and tran-
quil, as sweet old age should be, and with the soft, white hair
and patient eyes which a sweet old age should wear, Mrs.
Payte's small figure stood firm and erect, and her keen, quick
eyes and mobile features had still the restlessness and strength
of youth.
It needed no second glance to tell that the government of
last Cottage was on the shoulders of the smaller lady, and
that the invalid sitting at the window in the September sun-
shine was fully and humbly aware of this. The old ladies
had not been particularly reticent about their private or per-
sonal affairs; so it was no secret in the village that the rooms
at East Cottage had been taken not only to benefit Mrs. Dis-
browe's health, but because Mrs. Payte found it convenient
to stay here at present to economize. It was on that very
bject that Mrs. Payte was speaking to her friend, when the
garden gate opened to admit the girls.
"We have been here nearly two months," she was saying,
"and I don't see any improvement in your health, Selina;
indeed, I think you lie down more than ever, and I'm sure, on
such a morning as this "-Honor was near enough now for
iner quick young ears to catch every word-"you might as
well exert yourself a little. I hate to see people giving them-
selves over to thorough indolence. Here's Honor Craven-
she'll tell you how pleasant it is out-of-doors."
66
"It is quite as pleasant at the open window, Mrs. Dis-
browe," said Honor, with a gentle smile into the patient's
worn face, as she went up to the window and took the in-
valid's hand- quite as pleasant"-this with a little em-
phasis, half in fun and half in earnest, as she turned again.
to shake the leather-gloved hand which Mrs. Payte extended
leisurely.
Tag
2
34
66
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
驾
​"I'm very poorly myself," asserted the small old lady,
with a defiant expression in her every feature which the
brown hat shaded; "only no one ever notices. As for Selina,
she never thinks any one suffers but herself; and she-why,
she sleeps all night like a top, and I may toss and sigh, and
she hears nothing of it. If I could sleep as she does, I
wouldn't call myself ill. Dear me, Honor, you need not
look at her in that sort of sickeningly compassionate way.
If she could hear every word, it would not hurt her, but she
cannot. She gets deafer every day, and only hears me when
I shout at the top of my voice. You needn't be afraid of
hurting her. Do you wonder that my patience is exhausted,
when you see how lackadaiscal she is-eh, Phoebe?"
66
Indeed, I do not," said Phoebe; for of course it was easier
and wiser to concur with the sharp-tempered old lady, when
Phoebe knew the invalid could not hear.
"You know very well how worried I am with her, and
how my patience is tried-don't you, Honor?”
"I see how her patience is tried, Mrs. Payte," the girl
said, softly. "To lighten her suffering, if that were possi-
ble, or ease the tedium of her days, could hardly be worry
for any one to whom the opportunity is given.
"Dear me!" exclaimed the old lady, shrilly.
think you envied me the pleasant occupation."
"One would
"I think I do," said Honor, thoughtfully; "I so often
and often think of her-how she is suffering hour after hour
without hope of ease, yet without complaint, and I do so
long to be able to do something to make the pain more bear-
able"
99
""
""
، ،
"I verily believe you mean it," was the slow retort, as Mrs.
Edna Payte looked with keen scrutiny into the girl's earnest
face; you look as if you did. Well, we shall soon see how
hollow that idea is, for I give you leave from this moment to
take what share you will of this tedious and enervating occu-
pation. There--now you won't make that speech again, I
fancy.'
"May I come when I like?" inquired Honor, earnestly.
May I do whatever I can, to cheer her or relieve her? May
I really, Mrs. Payte?"
::
"You may do whatever you choose," returned the old lady,
with complacent contempt; "we shall soon see how little that
will be, now the way is clear for you. We are all anxious
enough to walk up the straight and thorny path to heaven'
+
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
6F
1
so long as we cannot find it; but as soon as ever it lies there
right before our eyes, like the side of a precipice covered with
briers, why, then we sneak back again, and leave off talking
about it. Well," after a pause, why don't you contradict
me, child, and say how sure you are that you can tread safely
among the adders, and the tangles, and the pitfalls?”
(6
"I dare not," said the girl, softly; "but you will not take
back your promise?"
"Not yet," replied the old lady, smiling cynically into
Honor's beautiful, earnest eyes; "I shall wait till I see the
ashes of all your high-flown resolutions. There, that's enough
of such nonsense. What's the news in Kinbury, girls?"
This was one of Mrs. Payte's unvarying questions, and
Phoebe was prepared for it, and took a keen enjoyment in
pouring into such willing ears all that she could tell of small
news-the only giant among the items being the description
of her new dress.
"Whose taste was it?" inquired Mrs. Payte, curtly, and
Phoebe eagerly appropriated the credit, confessing, though
without any malice, that indeed Honor wanted her not to
have the fashionable mixture of pink and blue.
"If it is the fashion, have it," remarked Mrs. Payte, with
terseness. "What is Honor's taste compared with fashion?"
"So I said," exclaimed Phoebe, delighted; "and I do not
see why one should dress dowdily at a picnic, though I'm sure
I don't want to vex Honor, because she's going to help me to
make it."
66
-
Certainly, don't vex her for your own sake," advised
the old lady, in those four last words hitting carelessly upon
the mainspring of Phoebe's character.
"Is your allowance greater than Honor's, Phoebe ?" inquired
Mrs. Disbrowe, when the chief points of conversation became
apparent to her.
(6
""
No, we have the same.
"Then I'm afraid you will always be behindhand, and
always wanting help," was the quiet reply; "for don't you
remember what George Herbert says, Who cannot live on
twentie poundes a yeare cannot on fortie.""
"That's nonsense, of course," said Phoebe, "and it is not
many girls who have to dress on forty pounds a year as we
have."
"Never mind," put in Mrs. Payte, encouragingly; "you
may be rich enough some day, so it is worth while running
6.8
←
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
short now.
Lawrence ?"
Have you heard anything lately from Lady,
Yes," cried Phoebe, eagerly; "she is to be in England,
before Christmas, and we are all to meet her in London. She
is preparing now to leave Calcutta."
That's right," remarked Mrs. Payte, with an air of real
anticipation. "I've a great wish to see this sister of old
Myddelton's, and I may have a chance, if she comes to Eng-
land. I like to come across a thoroughly wicked old woman.
"Is Lady Lawrence a thoroughly wicked old woman?" in-
quired Honor, laughing.
""
"Of course, being old Myddelton's sister and Gabriel's
aunt. But you girls mustn't think of that. You must look
upon her as a goddess or angel, whichever you like. Re-
member, she has a million to will away, as well as landed es-
tates and princely incomes. You write affectionate epistles
to her, eh?”
"I write every month," said Phoebe; "we all do. I dare
say the Trents write oftener, and I am sure Lawrence does;
but she never writes back, though she sent us her picture.
She's a very grand and clever-looking person, enormously
stout, and with smooth, dark hair."
"Mean people are always stout and clever," remarked Mrs.
Payte, sententiously. "Do you write to her, Honor?”
"I have not lately," the girl answered, her eyes far off
upon a horseman coming slowly along the turnpike road
toward Kinbury. "I did when I was a child, just as the
others do, for Lawrence ordered it; but I don't now.
""
"A bad result of being your own mistress," grumbled Mrs.
Payte. Why was it?"
.،
"She never answered our letters," Honor said. She did
not care for us; so how can we care for her?”
"The others do, don't they?"
Phoebe laughed.
"Care for her? why, of course not, Mrs. Payte. We're
only trying to make ourselves agreeable to her."
"To be sure-that's what I mean. Most natural it is; and
Honor should not hold herself aloof. Well, it isn't too late
yet, that's one good thing. Take my advice, and write her
a long, flattering, fond letter. Don't think about whether
you really love her or not-that's not the question. She has
money to leave to some of you, and, without caring a button
about her, you may ingratiate yourselves. Young people
*
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
69
seldom care much in reality about old women, and a little
pretense is fair enough in such a case as this."
அது
"That's what I say, and all of us," assented Phoebe, with
a ready burst of heavy laughter, "all but Honor.”
"All the same, Honor must own it is true, if she has any
honesty at all," persisted the old lady, taking off her hat for
a moment to smooth her small gray curls, and looking, the
while, into Honor's face with ironical scrutiny.
(C
No; I do not own it, Mrs. Payte," the girl said, shaking
her head, with her pretty, gentle smile. "I do not own that
pretense is fair, and I do not own that young people do not
care for old women."
"Well, I have seen more than you have, and I've a right
to say it. Who is this?"
The abrupt question made the invalid start, and Honor
looked round to see the cause of it. At the cottage gate
stood the horseman whom, a few moments ago, she had
been watching. He dismounted, fastened his horse to the
gate, and then walked leisurely down the narrow path, three
dogs following closely at his heels, evidently aware that they
were not to go beyond the limits of the box-border.
"You've been riding a long way, Mr. Keith," began Mrs.
Payte, with her usual abruptness, when he offered her his
hand.

"Forty miles at least since day-break," was the brief re-
ply. But Mrs. Payte, without exactly knowing why, consid-
ered it a stumbling-block in the way of further questioning.
She went through an elaborate ceremony in her introduction
of Phoebe, and then turned to repeat it for Honor's benefit;
but, to her surprise, she found Mr. Keith and Honor shaking
hands.
One minute afterward Honor had slipped away. Feeling
that her presence would not be missed just then, she went to
perform one errand on which her mind was bent, and which
she always did perform in her visits to East Cottage. Hurry-
ing round to the back-door, she entered a small kitchen, neat
but barely furnished, in which a young woman sat sewing
near the lattice window, a heavy pair of crutches beside her
chair.
IND
"Alone, Marie?" questioned Honor, coming softly up to
the chair and leaning over it.
"Yes, alone, Miss Craven," said the sick girl, her pale face
brightening unspeakably as she raised it to the beautiful one
*
17
NO
→
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
ܚܐ
V
above her. "The lady's servant is sitting in the front
kitchen; she always does. She says this one feels like a well,
and-and, as they pay for it, she has the right to sit there.
"And have you given up the right to sit there, too,
Marie ?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Craven; they pay for those rooms. But I
do very well here."
"Marie, you remember telling me that you thought you
could get a little money by designing for woolwork, but could
only do it by working the pattern, not by drawing. Well,
see here."
The parcel was brought from Honor's pocket, and the two
girls' heads bent over its contents-the beautiful face whose
suffering was all to come, and the worn one whose bitterest
sufferings were past.
For nearly half an hour Honor Craven sat in the little back
kitchen, cheering, by that half-hour, the girl's whole day,
and giving her pleasant thoughts and memories to last her
till the next time the bright voice should greet her from the
open doorway. Then she rose to go.
"I am coming here oftener now, Marie," she said, giving
her gentle little hand to the lame girl, as she would have
done to any lady in the land. "I suppose your father will
soon be in. You will not be alone much longer. How is he
getting on, Marie ?"
"About the same, Miss Craven," replied the girl, feeling
the reality of Honor's interest. "He has an order for the
photograph at Abbotsmoor on Thursday, and he took only
one likeness yesterday, and his room in Kinbury is expensive.
Poor father!"
(C
Oh, he will soon get better now, Marie; never fear. I'm
so glad it is he who is to take us at Abbotsmoor."
"It is through Sir Philip Somerson. I do not think Mrs.
Trent would ever have thought of it. And father says Mr.
Keith has ordered a picture, but whether that's through Sir
Philip or not, he doesn't know."
It was of the old photographer that they were talking in
the garden, when Honor joined them again, and found Roy-
den Keith leaning against the open window beside which Mrs.
Disbrowe lay, and Mrs. Payte and Phoebe sitting on the gar-
den seat without.
"It is a stupid idea altogether, I think," the little old lady
was saying, when Honor came quietly up and stood among
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
71
them. "How can you have the picture complete without
having Gabriel Myddelton in it, and who would care for a
picture where he figured? Rubbish altogether I call it, and
Lady Lawrence is a senseless old woman to want it."
66
Perhaps it would be possible," said Royden, with the
flash of keen amusement which sometimes shone so swiftly in
his steadfast, handsome eyes, "for Verrien to copy Gabriel
Myddelton's picture first, and then arrange the head among
the others, that the photograph might include him too."
"None of the others would sit in that case," observed Mrs.
Payte, tersely.
66
Why? Cowardice was his inheritance, not an acquired
fault. What is your crest, Miss Craven?"
"A pair of heels," said Honor, smiling a little at her own
inexplicable blush, as she owned to the inheritance, "and the
motto below is from the Musarum Delicio. You know the
lines:
"He that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day.""
"The inheritance of cowardice," said Royden, smiling into
her eyes.
"And Gabriel's mother was a Craven. What is
the legend of the crest?"
"Our earliest ancestor," said Honor, "once engaged in
single combat, and when he found the fight going against
him, saved his life in a paltry manner, by crying Craven
before the sun went down. Knights were allowed, in those
days, to end the fight so, to their dishonor."
(
"I call it a wise and prudent measure, too," said Royden,
laughing, as he turned to the sick lady within the room;
"there are worse crimes in the world than crying Craven'
before the sun goes down. Don't you think so, Mrs. Dis-
browe?"
'Indeed I do," she answered, gently smiling as she met his
gaze. (It is a gaze I like to meet," she had said to Mrs.
Payte only that very morning, as they talked of Royden Keith.
"I wish I thought that was poor young Myddelton's only sin."
"He was a Myddelton. How could you expect him to be
other than what he proved himself?" interrupted Mrs. Payte,
contemptuously. "If he ever could turn out a good man, it
would be now that he has forfeited his name and his riches.
The hope of stepping into such a fortune has made others sin
besides Gabriel Myddelton, and is making others sin, and will
*
O
2
↓
\ */
12
OLL MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
make others sin; and the possession of such wealth would
spoil many a man, and woman, too. It is beyond my power
to imagine whom it would not spoil.'
""
The sharp eyes under the broad hat went from Honor's face
to Phoebe's and back again to Honor's; Mr. Keith following
their gaze, still leaning idly there against the window, with
the three dogs waiting at his feet.
It was the little old lady herself who broke the pause which
followed her last words.
"I have a great wish to go to Abbotsmoor. I suppose I
must pocket my pride and ask for an invitation.'
""
"Will you go in my place, Mrs. Payte," cried Honor, im-
pulsively, and let me stay with Mrs. Disbrowe?”
66
"Now, Honor, how can you be so silly?" explained Phoebe.
"You know how angry Lawrence would be."
"Will you," said Royden, turning his eyes quickly from
Honor's vexed face, "let me drive you there, Mrs. Payte? I
am invited to bring a friend; please to be that friend."
There was a little blunt demurring, but it was arranged,
nevertheless, and the old lady seemed as well contented as she
ever seemed about anything.
They chatted a little longer, and then Royden prepared to
go.
"What a beautiful fellow this greyhound is?" said Honor,
laying her hand lightly on the glossy, dun-colored head.
"What is his name, Mr. Keith?”
"Lachne," he answered, as he offered her his hand; "that
means the glossy-coated; and this little terrier is Leucos,
which means gray; and this spaniel, Labro, which means
furious. Can you remember after whose dogs mine are
named ?"
"Yes-Acteon's," she answered. "Have you fifty?"
"Only these three now," he said, rather gravely; "trusty
old friends whom I have had with me many years.
""
"And from whom you would not like to part, especially
this beautiful greyhound?"
"No; I do not know what would tempt me voluntarily to
part with Lachne."
From East Cottage, Royden Keith rode on into Kinbury,
and, dismounting at the door of the hotel, gave his horse to
his groom.
She is tired enough," he said; "take her in, Edwards,
and bring me round Robin Hood in half an hour's time.'
22
· OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
73
"Saddled, sir?" inquired the groom, betraying a little of
his astonishment; for had not his master been in the saddle
almost since daybreak?"
"Saddled, of course," returned Royden, as he mounted the
hotel steps.
ì
"I did not expect you back so soon, sir," said Pierce, fol-
lowing Mr. Keith to his private sitting-room; "you ordered.
dinner at eight. Will you lunch so late as this, sir?"
"I lunched three hours ago," said Royden, as he took his
letters from the chimney-piece, with his back to the valet,
who seemed stirred a little from his usual middle-aged grav-,
ity. "I lunched at the Towers. Send me a glass of wine,
that is all." 6
Following the waiter, who, with the mathematical precision
of waiters, set the wine and biscuits before Mr. Keith, came
Pierce once more into his master s presence.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, making a show of re-
moving the things from the table, "but are all well at the
Towers?"
"All well, thank you, Pierce."
"And everything going on as it should do, sir—as it would
if you were there ?"
"Just as it would if we were there," amended Royden,
smiling at the man's real, though hidden, earnestness.
"You seemed to be summoned so hurriedly, sir, I thought."
"Not summoned at all," said Mr. Keith, as he poured him-
self a glass of sherry.
"No illness of the lady's, sir?"
"No."
p
.
Royden put down his empty glass and took up another
letter. The servant lingered still, but the solemn decorum
of his face and manner hid the keen and anxious interest he
felt in his master's answers.
"Leave those, Pierce," said Royden, looking up from the
paper in his hand; "I am going out again in a few minutes."
Riding again this evening, sir?"
CC
"Riding again this evening-yes," he answered, smiling a
little now. "But I am only going round
the Abbotsmoor
woods, and shall be back to dinner. Poor Princess is tired
out, but Robin will be fresh and fleet."
"The dogs seem tired, too, sir," said Pierce, wondering at
the run their master had given them that day.
74
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Then they need not come; they shall make their own
choice. N-o," mused Royden, slowly tearing the letter in
his hand; "I will take Lachne only.
25
Pierce looked in vain for any apparent reason for this
change of purpose.
"To save trouble, I suppose," he thought. "There's al-
ways a scene if he tries to leave the greyhound behind."
So Royden Keith, ten minutes afterward, rode from Kin-
bury to find the answer to that doubt he had expressed at
East Cottage.
"I do not know what would tempt me voluntarily to part
with Lachne.”
CHAPTER VII.
The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well: but civil,
count; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.
-Much Ado About Nothing.
MRS. PAYTE stood with the girls at the gate of East Cot-
tage, watching Royden as he rode away.
"Do you like him, Phœbe?" she asked, abruptly.
"He is very handsome," Phoebe acknowledged, in a tone
of praise as warm as she ever bestowed on any one save her
guardian.
،،
"He's not a man to go through life with his hands folded,"
remarked the old lady, tersely. Honor, why are you star-
ing up the road? You won't call him handsome, I know-
not you. Unless a man has languishing manners like Captain
Trent's, and can look at you lackadaisically under his eyelids,
and talk in a lazy whisper, you haven't much to say in his
favor. Ah, I see why you are staring; here they come!
Sound the trumpet, beat the drum! What a delightful con-
junction! They remind me of Prior and Swift, who used to
walk round the parks together-Prior to make himself fat;
Swift to keep himself lean."
C
Honor's eyes had to come back from their distant gaze to
see the two advancing figures, and then she turned to Phoebe
with a smile.
"I declare I did not know," said the old lady, "that Law-
rence Haughton and Hervey Trent were such close friends.
What bond of union lies between them?"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
775
"It must have been Hervey who joined Lawrence on the
road," suggested Phoebe, for I'm sure Lawrence would not
overtake and join Hervey of his own accord."
{
And pray why not?" inquired Mrs. Payte, sharply.
"Would not Mr. Haughton like to be the means of benefit-
ing a young man whose mind is peculiarly alive to good in-
fluences?"
&
Phoebe looked into the old lady's face astonished; but never
for more than a minute at a time did she trouble herself to
study Mrs. Payte's moods.
The gentlemen came up to the gate just then, and stopped,
with a look of pleasure as well as surprise; but, after that
first moment, Honor could see that Lawrence was in one of
his moods of smothered ill-humor.
66
Walking home, are you?" said the old lady, her shrewd
glance impeded by the brim of her ugly brown hat.
"What
enterprise! But I must stop you here. Look upon East
Cottage as a half-way house the traveler's rest-and when
you leave, I will let you take your wards with you, Mr.
Haughton. Now, Honor, run and order the tea-table to be
brought out."
There was no hesitation in Hervey's mind about accepting
this invitation, and though Lawrence paused for a moment,
he did not refuse.
"I like to have young people round me," observed Mrs.
Payte, particularly addressing Hervey, as he threw himself
languidly on the garden seat; "it gives me life and vigor.
As one grows old and feeble, one likes to study enviously the
strength and energy of youth."
"Does one, Mrs. Payte?" inquired Captain Hervey, politely,
as his lazy eyes rested on the small wiry form before him.
"I should have thought it would have bored one."
"Mr. Haughton, you must not bring your business face
here, please; we do not want to make our wills, or draw up
our marriage settlements quite yet. We only want to fritter
away an hour in nonsensical tea-drinking. Stupid, don't you
think?"
"One wasted hour cannot signify very much," the lawyer
answered, indifferently.
"Perhaps not, only the difficulty to me is to determine
which of our hours are wasted. Now, Selina?"
Mrs. Disbrowe rose from her seat in the window, for Honor
had come for her and had brought Hervey to earry the easy-
76
OLD --MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
chair. Mrs. Payte stopped in her own occupation to watch
this proceeding, but afterward made up for the lost time by
extra snapping.
"She says she likes to have young people about her," fret
ted Miss Owen, aside, to her cousin. "If so, why is she so
cross?"
"Now, girls," cried the little old lady from her seat, "we
are waiting for you. Go to your separate trays-Honor to the
coffee, and you, Phoebe, to the tea. There will be a knight
for each of you.
""
Mrs. Payte leaned back in her seat after this speech, and
waited for the division of labor, watching almost as if she
had an interest in it beyond what Theodora Trent called her
unwarrantable interference in everything."
46
"Hervey," said Honor, simply, "will you please to wait
upon me?"
The sharp eyes under the brown hat went swiftly up to
Lawrence Haughton's face, and the thin lips of this cross old
lady stirred a little just at their corners.
"Mr. Haughton, I patronize your end of the table, and
Phoebe's tea. I look upon coffee as a lingering poison for a
bilious constitution like mine. Your vaunted air has done
me no good so far."
Honor glanced at the real invalid who never spoke of her
ailments, and grew even more gentle in her attentions.
"Hervey," she said, "did not Mrs. Trent tell us last night
that Lady Lawrence said Kinbury air would kill her?"
"I dare say," assented Hervey, languidly. "I rarely recol-
lect what she says.
>>
"In that particular matter, Lady Lawrence's opinion en-
tirely coincides with mine, then," said the old lady, smiling
graciously in answer to Hervey's words, "though in other re-
spects I fail to learn any good of her. You are more privi-
leged, I presume; you are sure to hear the best points of her
character."
Then I should like to be told which are the worst," ob-
served Mr. Haughton, bluntly.
"I suppose, Mr. Haughton," mused the old lady, as she
sipped her tea," that it is you who have the greater chance
of her favor; you are so clever, and so well understand the
value of money.'
"It would be rather a dangerous thing for you, Lawrence,
said Honor, when he turned to her. "Don't you remember
21
***
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
My...
1
•
·
Little, the miser? He saved forty thousand pounds, and
when at last the doctor told him he must spend a little and
take wine, he died in the act of drawing the first cork. How
much better it would have been if he'd gone on saving and
left the wine alone."
"You are a ridiculous child," snapped Mrs. Payte. "Mr.
Haughton, will you kindly bring me another cup of tea from
Phoebe?"
Phoebe had been gazing regretfully into his angry face, and
perhaps the little old lady had noticed this. When tea was
over, and Honor was again enlisting Hervey's aid for the in-
valid, Mrs. Payte had managed to keep Lawrence on the seat.
beside her. Phoebe hovered about for a time, but she was so
very coolly and persistently kept at arms-length that she was
obliged to fall back and join Honor and Mrs. Disbrowe in the
sitting-room.
"Captain Trent is exerting himself unusually," observed
Mrs. Payte. "I suppose he will presently exert himself suf- .^
ficiently to marry.
"I suppose so."
""
"Theodora Trent will make him an excellent wife," she
continued, pushing her hat back a little and smoothing her
tiny gray curls, "and a stylish wife, which is all-important.
That being the case, and their marriage a settled thing, I
don't like to see him dancing attendance-I mean sauntering
attendance-on Honor Craven."
A flame of fiercest scarlet rushed into Lawrence Haugh
ton's face.
"And I am afraid," resumed the old lady, placidly, "that
the day of Hervey's marriage will be a heavy day for you. I
have heard that Miss Trent is always received at the Larches
with open arms.
""
"Pray whose arms open to receive her?" inquired Law
rence, with undisguised scorn.
"Miss Haughton's; and they say Mr. Haughton's, too,
though he would not confess it for a thousand pounds.
66
""
Why should I lie for a thousand pounds?"
"This is only what I have heard," explained the old lady,
apparently anxious to impress this fact upon him; "you will
excuse my mentioning it.
He bowed a sulky acceptance of her apology.
"There is no preventing idiotic things being said," he
muttered. "I never believe a word I hear."
D
778
Y
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
/
C
"Nor do I," returned the old lady, soothingly, "not a
word; and I know that some day I shall have the pleasure of
offering my congratulations on your marriage with Phoebe
Owen--a nice, lively girl, with plenty of smiles and agreeable
sayings. I suppose, in the event of your inheriting old Myd-
delton's money, you would sell your practice, Mr. Haugh-
ton ?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Payte had just answered by a smile full of sympathy,
when the garden-gate swung upon its hinges, and a cherry
voice saluted the party.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Romer," called Mrs. Payte, in her
brisk, shrill tones, "for my young visitors were just leaving
""
me.
The Rev. Walter Romer, Rector of Statton (the village to
which Deergrove and the Larches and East Cottage be-
longed), was a cordial, hearty old gentleman, who equally en-
joyed tending his spiritual flock and farming his arable
land; a practical farmer as well as a practical Christian; a
man with a clear business head and a warm, unselfish heart;
a man at once shrewd and frank; at once provident and gen-
erous; worldly in just those varied senses of the word in which
it is safe for a good and upright pastor to be worldly, while
this is the world in which his help is needed.
"I understood from my old clerk," he said, after his warm
greeting all round, "that Mr. Keith was here."
"He only stopped for a few minutes as he rode past,” ex-
plained Mrs. Payte, while more than one present noticed the
frown gathering on Lawrence Haughton's brow. "What do
you want with him, Mr. Romer? Wasn't he at church last
Sunday?"
،،
66
Probably somewhere," returned the rector, laughing,
listening to a better fellow than myself. No; the fact is,
he was to have come out to-day for some fishing, and I wanted
to ask what had prevented him There was a freshet this
morning of a couple of feet down the river, and I'm vexed he
missed his sport.
""
"Are you?" questioned Mrs. Payte, in her quickest tones.
"Do you mean to say now, Mr. Romer, that you understand
that man?"
"Well, he emphatically does not wear his heart upon his
sleeve. And yet I think??
"What, Mr. Romer?"
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
79
¿
It was Honor who put in the question gently, when he
paused.
"That there is no inconsistency in his wearing the motto
which belongs to his branch of the Keith family: I own no
nobility but the soul-nobility enough, eh, Miss Honor?"
"Excuse me," put in the lawyer, chillily, "but how have
you discovered his branch of the family, if, as you insinuate,
he is a man who rigidly guards his own secrets?"
66
Ah, you know him, I see, Haughton," smiled the rector,
"for that is his nature, and yet I did not assert it. My im-
portant discovery was made by very simple means—I read
the motto on his seal. Well, and how is the garden going
on, Mrs. Payte?"
66
Every ripe apple gets stolen before I'm down in the
morning."
66
"It is too bad," said the rector, suppressing his laugh at
the complaint, for which he had been thoroughly prepared.
Everything always goes wrong with the garden, doesn't it,
Mrs. Payte? The hens used to dig up the seeds, and eat the
currants as they came.
""
،،
"Every one," assented the little lady, promptly; "though
I wrapped each bush in muslin, like a ghost.
""
"And the birds ate all the cherries," continued the rec-
tor, sympathizingly.
"Every cherry. The little thieves would come rushing out ·
of the tree in my very face-whole regiments and boarding-
schools. Yet look at Selina, throwing crumbs to them at
this very moment, to defy me. A nice set they are to en-
courage-savage, selfish little creatures. You once watch
them when you feed them, and I dare vow you'll never feed
them again. A father will hop off with the family dinner
from under the very nose of his hungry wife and children,
and a grown-up daughter will snatch the bread and butter
from between her old mother's very teeth. Bah! a nice race
they are to befriend."
The rector turned away to hide his laugh, wondering how
any one who grumbled so persistently at everything under
the sun could yet take such a keen, unwavering interest in
the affairs of others.
"I must go in now," he said, "to have a chat with Mrs.
Disbrowe, and then to see Marie, poor girl! I shall overtake
you young people presently. What do you think of the
weather, Haughton? Don't the clouds form rather too high?
30
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
You smile at my anxiety, but if you'd a sprinkling of bank-
notes lying out in a field, bound to lie there for a certain
time, you would not relish the idea of rain and wind."
"Even without that simile, I understand your anxiety
about your harvest, Mr. Romer," said Lawrence, coldly, as
he stood at the gate waiting for Honor to return from bidding
good-bye to Mrs. Disbrowe.
But when she came, all his scientific arrangements were
knocked on the head. At the very last moment, Hervey fore-
stalled him, and took his place at Honor's side, as he could
not have done if the girl herself had not purposely aided his
design. But to walk apart with Phoebe, as Honor evidently
had intended to do, was an alternative which Lawrence
Haughton did not for an instant entertain; he sauntered up
to Honor's right, as Hervey staunchly kept his position on
her left, and walked so, dropping now and then a crumb of
conversation to Phoebe at his right hand, but chiefly watching
surreptitiously the face upon his left, until the rector over-
took them, and with frank diplomacy soon established him-
self at Lawrence Haughton's place beside his favorite. Then
Phoebe's guardian fell moodily back beside her, and enter-
tained her on the way home with blunt monosyllables only.
"I think," said the girl, when she had exhausted all her
lively subjects of conversation, and still ransacked her brain.
for more, under the delusion that she was amusing her com-
panion, "that Hervey Trent would rather be with Honor
than with Theodora; and I think Honor likes him very
much."
Rubbish! She is always laughing at him."
"Yes, I know," granted Phoebe, unwillingly; "but then
that is all good-humoredly done, and he does not mind it a
bit, although he always does lecture her when Mrs. Trent and
Theodora are by. I don't know why they should go on in
that way, nor how Honor can ever choose to walk with him,
when she might walk with you, Lawrence.
""
If Phoebe had had any idea of the storm she had invoked,
she would not have tripped quite so happily past her guardian
when she reached the Larches at last; but Phoebe Owen was
not gifted with the power of seeing below the surface in any
single matter whatever.
Lawrence was ill-that fact appeared to be patent to Miss
Haughton the moment she met her brother in the hall, as she
invariably did; and Lawrence apparently found it less trouble
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
81
to assent to this than to clear his gloomy brow, and shake off
the sullen silence which pressed upon him. Nothing at din
ner pleased him, and nothing that was said elicited a smile,
or even an amiable word.
"You are very poorly, I am afraid, Lawrence," fretted
Jane, pathetically; "I knew it would be so this morning when
you took those mushrooms.’
"It is your head, Lawrence, I can see," said Phoebe, softly;
"I will fetch my eau-de-Cologne.
""
"Nonsense!" cried Jane, authoritatively; "it is not the
head, and I know what will do him more good."
""
But Phoebe had rushed off for her scent-bottle.
"Foolish girl!" muttered Jane, following her stiffly; "as if
I did not know best what is the matter with my own brother!"
"You never offer scent, or stimulant, or sympathy, Honor,
said Lawrence, when they two were left; and now his tone,
though vexed, was neither rough nor sullen. "Why don't
you tell me what is the matter as they do?"
"Don't they remind you," asked Honor, as she took a rose-
bud from one of the vases on the table, "of the shoemaker in
The Relapse,' who told Lord Foppington that he was mis-
taken in supposing his shoe pinched him?”
Lawrence laughed as if he had not been poorly for a year.
"There is no deceiving those beautiful eyes of yours," he
said. "Give me that rosebud; pin it in my coat yourself, and
that will cure me.”
But, with the utmost care and deliberation, she fastened it
in her dress.
*C
"2
There, Lawrence, just drink this, and you'll be all right,'
said Jane, entering fussily with some mixture in a glass.
You ought to have come home early and nursed yourself;
you are so neglectful of your health."
"I've read somewhere," remarked Honor, sedately, "of a
young captain of marines who was shot in the arm in battle,
and when he asked permission to go below to have it ampu-
tated, he apologized for leaving action for such a trivial
occasion;' he was like Lawrence.
6
66
""
است .
""
Exactly," assented Jane and Phoebe in a breath, having
heard the words, but being in much too great a fuss to notice
the tone.
"For pity's sake, sit down, both of you!" cried Lawrence,
in sudden, inexplicable anger. "Take these womanish con-
diments away.
"
O
Y
82
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Captain Hervey Trent, all unconscious of any of Mr.
Haughton's feelings toward him, pursued his way to Deer-
grove that evening, in a state of placid satisfaction, chiefly
with himself, but, in a secondary degree, with one or two
other people; and what he pondered as he went was betrayed
by a few words which even passed his lips as he opened the
gate at Deergrove.
<
66
I hope that, when I and Theodora are married and set-
tled here, Honor will still be living close by us-not married
to Lawrence, detestable idea, that!-but still living there, or
equally near us. I shall take care always to be kind to her;
she is troublesome, of course, but I don't object to taking a
little trouble for her."
When her visitors had all left East Cottage, Mrs. Payte
heaved a sigh which sounded very like an expression of relief,
but still it was with her usual eager briskness that she ques-
tioned Mrs. Disbrowe on various speeches, which she must
very well have known were intended only for that lady's
private ear.
"I
"I guessed as much," she ejaculated, as complacently as
if she had been drinking in a string of compliments.
saw that Mr. Haughton was out of temper with me, and
that Captain Trent was bored to death, and that that little
Dutch-faced girl only stayed with me because her guardian
did. And Honor Craven was disgusted with all I said to
you.'
"No!" put in the invalid, anxiously.
"Yes," returned Mrs. Payte, with that shrewd glance of
hers, which showed how hard it would be to deceive her.
"She was whispering to you about me just before they went."
"She only said," answered the sick lady, with a smile of
pleasant recollection, "she thought you did not mean your
words to be hard and sharp, as-I said they were."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
83
}
CHAPTER VIII.
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
-CYMBELINE.
LEAVING Kinbury, Royden Keith rode along the high-
road toward Abbotsmoor; past the wall that skirted the park,
and past the high hedge bordering the wood. Then he turned
aside into a lane which ran at right angles with the highway
and bordered the wood on the other side. He rode slowly
here, not only because the lane was rough and deeply rutted,
and Robin Hood of his own accord slackened his dainty steps,
but apparently because Robin's master had no wish to hasten
now.
""
C
He had ridden about a mile up the lane when he drew
bridle, for he had come upon a solitary cottage, just at a turn-
ing in the lane. The walls were propped, the thatch torn,
and the windows patched with paper; but a curl of thin, blue
smoke from the broken chimney rose against the dark back-
ground of the Abbotsmoor woods, and Royden, seeing this,
dismounted without a moment's hesitation. Fastening Robin
to an alder-bush which grew beside the rickety garden-gate,"
he walked up to the door of this desolate-looking little
dwelling, and knocked upon it with his riding-whip.
"It has been a comfortable dwelling," he said to himself.
"Can all the cottages on the Abbotsmoor estate have been
left to fall to ruin when they would, as this one has?”
There came no answer to his knock, but, just as he stepped
back to assure himself again of the presence of smoke that
should betoken human occupation, an old man came round
the corner of the cottage, with a spade upon his shoulder.
He had evidently been at work in the garden behind, and so
had not heard Royden's summons.
"What is it?" he inquired, suspiciously.
"I want to ask you," said Royden, in his pleasant, high-.
bred tones, "a few questions about this cottage and its late
tenants. If you will answer them for me, I shall feel very
much obliged to you.
The man put down his spade, and leaned upon it as he
stood. Royden, resting his arm upon the branch of a stunted
apple-tree, looked toward the cottage-door, as if he would
84
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
rather have gone within, gloomy and desolate as the place
might be.
""
Have you lived here long?" he asked, when he saw that
he was expected to hold his interview there.
"I dunno what you call long," returned the old man,
sulkily; "I've lived here better'n seven year-will that do
ye?"
66
You took the cottage, did you not, from a man named
Territ?"
"Not I."
"Did you not? I understand he was living here about
ten years ago.
He was a miner, and he had a daughter
named
""
"I know her name," put in the old man, scraping the sole
of his boot upon the spade he held. "If that's all ye want,
I can tell ye that—sir.” The last word was added, appa-
rently against the speaker's will, as he glanced at the face
and figure opposite him. "Her name was Margit. I've
beerd of her. She married from this cottage, and went with
her husband to the county town. I've heerd nothin' of her
since then. What should I hear, if she's a respectable
'ooman, and stays at home?"
"Then you did not know either of them personally?"
"Not I."
"Do you happen to know the name of Margaret's hus-
band?"
"No-I never heerd it. That's a fine dog' yourn, sir-
fleet as the wind, I'll warrant. No, I don't trouble about my
neebors' name—not I. Margit married a town chap, and I
know none o' them. Is there anythin' more you'd care ta
ask?" added the old man, still gazing critically at the grey
hound, which sat waiting at his master's feet.
(6
Margaret's father-is he dead?”
"Dead! Years and years ago. A fine horse that at the
gate, sir-is it your'n?"
"Yes, it is mine," said Royden, pleasantly; "but, before
I mount him, just let me look round your cottage kitchen,
will you?"
"Ye're welcome," said the old man, in anything but a
gracious tone. "There's naught to see in there, but if ye
like to take the trouble, why ye can."
Saying this, he stuck his spade into the soil among his cab
bages, and opened the door o the cottage.
น
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
85
Desolate as the little dwelling had looked from without, it
was far more desolate, to Royden's eyes, within. Everything
bore evidence of poverty, and nothing breathed the presence
of a woman's care or thrift. But whether it was only of this
that Royden was thinking, as he stood and looked round the
bare and gloomy kitchen, no one could judge.
"The door leading into the garden at the back you have
had fastened up, I see.
The old man glanced with rude astonishment up into the
grave, dark face.
دو
"You know the place, then, do ye?"
yd.
66
"From hearsay," was the quiet answer; "I have heard of
this cottage, of course. Who that has heard of old Mr. My
delton's murder has not heard of this cottage of Territ's?"
Ah, sure, it was talked a deal of at the time, I s'pose?"
"Gabriel Myddelton "the visitor was slowly treading
the cottage floor as he spoke-"threw out there, they say,
the water in which he washed his hands after the murder,
and in the fire there he threw his wristbands, stained with
blood. I see. You do not happen to know, I suppose, where
he hid his coat?"
vi
"Lor' bless me, what should I know of such things?"
ejaculated the old man, with a pious horror of the subject.
"I'd do better to forget that any murderer was ever in here
at all. I didn't ever trouble to ask where the coat was found,
or anythin' of the kind, not I."
"It was Margaret, I believe, who hid it, but I have never
heard whether it was she or her father who brought it to
light."
"Maybe, maybe," returned the old man, absently; "I
never troubled to question anythin' about it. Girls are great
ijjits sometimes. She may a-wanted to screen that young
Myddelton; but I dunno-I dunno."
Royden was leaning against the rickety little table in the
centre of the kitchen, his eyes bent upon the small wood fire,
his face full of deep thought, and one hand resting absently
upon the greyhound's head. The old laborer stood watching
him with a puzzled scrutiny. No figure like this had ever
stood with him before upon his cottage hearth, and the very
novelty of it worried him.
"He don't take on impident," he thought to himself, "nor
he don't attempt preachin' and such like, but I don't see any
good comin' here pokin' into that old murder that everybody's
86
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
•
forgotten. That's a fine dog, though-there's no doubt about
him."
Judging by the stress the old man laid on that last pronoun,
there did exist a doubt about the dog's master, who rose now
from his easy position and turned his eyes from the fire, with
an appearance of having suddenly awakened to the present,
from some long thought which had held him.
"Thank you," he said, offering his hand to the astonished
occupant of this comfortless dwelling; "I have wanted to see
this cottage ever since I heard the story of the murder. There
is very little to see, as you said; still I'm much obliged to you
for showing it. Good-night."
Quietly, and unobserved even by the old man's watchful
eyes, he put a sovereign down upon the table, then retrod the
little garden path, and mounted Robin.
"A nice evening, sir; you'll have a pleasant ride."
The old laborer had not seen the sovereign, yet his tone was
changed. It was even respectful, though he could not have
told what it was in his visitor which had caused this involun-
tary change. Royden did not notice it. Touching his hat
kindly, in answer to the old man's awkward bow, he rode on
up the lane at a trot.
-
No other cottage, and no other human being, came into
sight until, a mile farther on, he reached a stile, over which
a woman was climbing, with a heavy sheaf of wheat upon her.
head and a baby in her arms. Royden waited until she came
down into the lane and turned to go his way; then he spoke.
"You are heavily laden to-night. Let me carry the little
one as far as we are going on the same way."
He took the child and made her snug before him on the
beautiful black horse, while the mother watched him, looking
half afraid, until she saw the proud delight of the little girl
so safely held in her grand position.
"You have been gleaning, of course," said Royden, making
his horse's steps suit the pace of the tired mother.
""
"Yes, sir.
A little pause. Royden's motive in talking was not to pass.
the time away, but to make the wisest use of it.
C
I have just been," he said, breaking the pause as soon
as he could, "to that ruinous cottage on the outskirts of the
Abbotsmoor woods; do you know it? The Territs used to
live there-a miner and his daughter, who made themselves
"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
87
}
1
well known at the time of the trial of old Mr. Myddelton's
murderer."
"I remember, sir," replied the woman, respectfully; "at
least I remember a little about it. Margaret Territ married
just after, but I needn't tell you that, sir; those who know
about the murder-at any rate about the escape-must know
about Margaret's marriage.
"Is her husband living now?”
€
ور
"No, sir; at least I oughtn't to say even that for certain,
for I only know what my ears pick up by chance. Margaret's
living somewhere in this very neighborhood now, sir, I be-
lieve. I've never seen her, but I've heard she came back
here some bit ago as a widow. It may be many miles off that
she is, but I don't know; people talk about her as if she was
somewhere round about here."
"You are sure she is a widow?" questioned Royden.
"They said so, sir, when she came; that's all I know.'
"You do not really belong to this part, I suppose-I mean
you have not lived here all your life?"
"No, sir, only since my marriage, four years ago. I
come from Wales, but my husband has always lived here,
and he knows no more about the Territs than I do. The
old man was hurt in a mine, and was a long time dying.
I can't tell you why Margaret should have come back to live
about here. She was left a widow with just enough to live
upon."
39
"And you cannot tell me what her husband's name was?”
queried Royden.
"No, indeed, I can't, sir; and I'don't know who can. It
never seems to have been let out, or else it was never cared
about. That's our cottage, sir, across the field, and we turn
up here. Thank you kindly."
She took her little girl from Royden's arms and went on
her way, the child crying to go back, and the mother sooth-
ing her; while Royden rode quickly on, crossing meadows,
and following lanes, until he had left Abbotsmoor miles be-
hind, and found himself on a small, rugged heath.
"I ought," he mused, glancing around him, "to be able
to get back to Kinbury without retracing the way I have
come. How will it be? Kinbury lies over there, due east,
so if I cut off a corner of the heath and push straight
on, I can hardly miss my way, though I must necessarily be
late."
•
-88
OLD MYUDELTON S MONEY.
When he had cut off the corner of the heath, he stopped
in surprise. At this spot two high hedge-rows ended ab-
ruptly, and between them the grass grew rank and untrod
den. A narrow, hedged-in strip of scanty pasture-land it
might have been, but Royden's quick eye detected at once
that this had been a lane. Was it passable now?
Just then he caught sight of a man crossing the heath at a
little distance, and, riding quickly up to him, he questioned
him.
"He was a farmer, young and well to do, but he spoke in
a tone of quiet respect as he glanced with shrewd criticism at
horse and rider.
"I'm almost a stranger here myself," he said, "but I have
heard these lanes spoken of as impassable. When the line to
the mine was cut, it made those old lanes useless, so new
roads were made, and those by-ways have been allowed to run
to seed, as you see. I don't think I would attempt to take
them, if I were you; you want a stiff north-country pony for
such an experiment, not such a horse as that."
"Thank you, but I think I will try," said Royden.
"Pure perverseness," muttered the farmer, left to his soli-
tary walk again. "He's sure to have to turn back again."
Along that grass-grown track between the high hedgerows
Royden rode, the steps of his young horse constantly impeded,
and its head tossed impatiently under this unusual treatment.
"Where can we be?"
'The exclamation broke from Royden when, after half an
hour's slow riding, he reached a chained but broken gate
which stretched like a terminus across the rough, forgotten
way. Robin, at all events, could not pass this padlocked bar-
rier.
"The question is," mused Royden, "can I venture to leave
him here for a time, or must I turn now? I would rather go
on if I could, and see if there is any cottage hereabouts where
they remember—”
The thought was broken by a rustling in the hedge, and
presently there emerged into the lane a ragged, hatless child,
with a look in his bright eyes, half of fear and half of defi-
ance.
CC
+
Trespassing!" said Royden, looking coolly down upon
"What are you going to do with the nuts?"
Nuts, sir!" the lad echoed, with the innocent look of one
well versed in falsehood. "What nuts?"
him.
<<
}
89
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
"These," said Royden, touching with his riding-whip one
after another of the pockets which bulged from the lad's
shabby garments.
"Oh! those," said the boy, brought sturdily to bay;
"mother'll sell 'em."
"What will your mother get for a handful-sixpence ?"
"Bless ye, no, sir; threepence, maybe."
'Well, I will give you sixpence for the first handful, and
you shall see how cleverly my dog can crack and eat them."
To the boy, grasping his sixpence in one hand and supply-
ing
with the other the nuts which Lachne deftly cracked,
those ten minutes were minutes of perfect enjoyment; but
they faded into insignificance when the crowning joy was
given.
Royden, suiting the
"If I tie my horse to this gate," said
action to his words in his prompt, cool way,
"C can you watch
and take care of him till I come back? Don't come too near
him he isn't used to little lads; but you've watched a horse
before now, I dare say, and if you do it well this time, I have
some loose shillings in my pocket which may find their way
into yours.
The boy's eyes widened and brightened under his shaggy
hair.
""
"Yes, sir; I've tended horses afore now, sir," he said, with
a friendly nod. "Will you take the dog, sir?"
"He will do as he likes," said Royden, as he climbed the
gate and walked on.
But the boy's doubt was soon settled, for the greyhound
darted over the gate, and was close beside his master in a
moment.
Through two or three fields Royden had walked, when he
found himself in a small, three-cornered patch of meadow,
shut in entirely by two hedges and the embankment of that
single railway line to the mines, which was the cause of the
way being so neglected and forsaken.
Will there be a little nook beyond the line," questioned
Royden to himself, "or does it open presently to the high-
way? I suppose I had better not go on from here this even.
ing. Ah-great Heaven!"
St
For, before his eyes, a child sat on the high embankment,
its figure clearly outlined against the evening sky, and in his
ears the panting of a fast-approaching engine sounded with a
deafening portent. Where was it? Which way was the tram
90
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
3
coming? How far away was it? How soon would it rush
over the spot on which his eyes were fastened too eagerly for
him to see aught else? Soon-in one minute, perhaps, it
might be. The sight of the great engine would give the child
one awful moment of panic, in which it would be helpless in.
its horror; then the train would pass on, and there would be
no child sitting there against the evening light, but scattered
on the rails-
A thousand impossibilities darted into Royden's mind, as
he stood and saw the child playing there in its utter uncon-
sciousness, while Death came rushing on; a thousand impos-
sibilities, while, below all, was the awful consciousness that
human aid was powerless here. But, for all that, it was only
through one breathless second that he stood there. In the
next he was again the man who had faced danger and death
too often to be made a woman by it, even when it came in
such a form as this, and he knew that his own arm was power-
less to help or stay it.
His resolution was as swift as thought. One quick, low
whistle, a swift, firm gesture of his hand, a keen, eager look
upon his face, which the intelligent eyes that watched it
seemed to understand-then Royden stood alone; and the
greyhound-literally now "fleet as the wind"-sped across
the field, and up the embankment. The impulse of the
child, as the animal darted up to him, was to fly in the oppo-
site direction, and this saved him; for in one instant he had
fallen down the steep embankment on the opposite side of the
line to that up which Lachne had sprung. To have seen the
mighty, panting engine bearing down upon him would have
paralyzed the child in every limb; to see the hound rush to-
ward him gave him just the terror which urged flight, and
he had fallen before the train rolled past.
Royden's eyes were strong and fearless, and had looked on
death close and bravely more than once; but there glistened
something womanish on their lashes when he stood upon the
line after the train had passed, and saw something scattered
there, which bore no likeness now to the greyhound which
for years had kept as faithfully beside his master as he had
kept that day.
•
Royden murmured no words of praise or pity as he stood
looking down upon these ghastly fragments; and, keenly as
he mourned his favorite, there rose no bitter query in his
mind, "Had the life of a neglected child been worth this sac-
you
7.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
91
rifice?" There are some minds in which such questions never
can have birth.
Royden turned away with one deep, quiet sigh, stifling the
memories of old days through which this dog had been his
only companion, a faithful and a constant one, always watch-
ful and always true. His care was wanted now for the child
whom Lachne's death had saved. So, struggling bravely with
his thoughts, while his heart was heavy, Royden lifted the
unconscious child, a boy of five or six years old, and saw a
deep cut across his low, brown forehead, and one lock of fair
hair lying upon it, stained with blood. Tenderly-almost as
if the strong arms had been used to such a task-Royden car-
ried him to where, about a hundred yards away, a cottage
stood alone under a giant poplar. As he approached it he
saw that a woman was standing shrinkingly against the wall,
gazing at him with a kind of vacant terror as he advanced.
"Can you," asked Royden, wondering at the expression on
the woman's handsome, care-lined face, "direct me to the
home of this child? He has had a fall, and I want to leave
him with his mother."
The woman raised both hands and touched the child very
gently, but she did not move her eyes from Royden's face-so
full of grave and quiet kindness then.
"I
'Your child?" he asked, pitifully, as he watched her.
am very glad; and, if this is your home, let us go in now."
"I saw," she said, still without moving, "but I could not
stir. I could not run. I could not even pray. I saw him
sitting there, and the engine coming-coming-close upon
him. Then I saw him-saved. This scratch
This scratch"-laying her
finger softly on the cut-"is nothing to me, because, in that
one awful moment, I saw him-dead!"
CC
(6
Come," said Royden, gently, but not offering now to
give the child to her; we want warm water to bathe his
face."
It was he, though, who led the way into the cottage, and
when the mother had followed him in, she only fell on her
knees beside the little cotton-covered couch on which Royden
had tenderly laid down the child.
"I saw it," she cried again, laying a soft brown hand upon
the boy's cut forehead, as if to hide the stains she would not
yet remove. "I saw death rushing to seize my child, and
then I saw him-saved!"
LA
:.
$2
素
​OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Gently Royden touched her on the shoulder, and told her
what few mothers would have required to be told.
"It is not want of love," he whispered to himself. "Poor
thing-poor mother! Will solitude work this, or has it been
a shock ?"
For a whole hour he waited with the mother and her child
-her only one, that fact was plain to him without a word;
her only one, and she a widow. Then he rose to go, for the
little boy was sleeping calmly, with a soft bandage round his
head, and the mother's wide and puzzled eyes had found the
blessed relief of tears.
"There are one or two things that I want to borrow
of you," said Royden, then, "and a few feet of your waste
ground."
She understood in a moment, and through the next hour's
bitter work she helped him almost as efficiently, and quite as
silently, as a man could have done.
"Such sights as this would make most women shrink and
faint," thought Royden, "but not this woman. Can her
dim eyes have looked on such a sight before?"
"Thank you for all your help," he said, aloud, “and for
that quiet spot you chose for my dog's grave. I will come
again some day to see the little lad. He will soon be all
right, and I fancy he will never again push his way through
difficulties and obstacles up to the railway-line."
"Never again," the woman returned, in her dreamy way,
her undrooping vacant eyes still fixed upon Royden as he
stood in the low cottage kitchen. "I have not thanked you
yet," she faltered; "I cannot."
"Your thanks are due elsewhere," said Royden, gently,
"not to me."
A few minutes more he lingered, hardly liking even yet to
leave her in her sorrow and loneliness; and then-for the
first time since he had seen the child's unconscious figure sit-
ting against the evening light, while he heard the panting
engine close upon it-there rushed back into his mind the
motive of this search of his.
"I have been to-night," he said, "to that cottage beyond
the Abbotsmoor woods, where Territ, the miner, used to live.
He had a daughter, I believe. Do you happen to remember
them at all?”
"No, no."
•
OLD MŸDDÉLTON'S MONÉŸ.
98
The woman's answer came clear and quick, and her eyes
grew startled in their unmoved gaze.
"Do you not? I am particularly anxious to meet with
some trace of this girl-girl, I say, but I am thinking of what
she must have been ten years ago. She is a woman of thirty
now, I should think."
No answer, and Royden went on, his gaze a little more in-
tent, his thoughts awaking to suspicion.
"You do not happen, you say, to have heard where she
lives now, or even her name?"
"No, no.
"Can you tell me whether the Christian name of any of
your neighbors is Margaret? It would help me if you could
tell me even so little as that.”
دو
Her startled gaze deepened a little, her lips shook even as
she compressed them firmly, her hands were locked before
her as if the tension gave her strength to stand.
"I have no neighbors."
"Thank you; then it is useless to ask you more.” Roy-
den said this very quietly, but a shrewd ear would have
detected the undertone. "Good-bye," he added, and his
eyes were kind in their gaze, and hid the thoughts that lay
below.
The woman stood quite still for a few minutes after he had
left, and then she turned with a shiver to the fire, murmur-
ing the name to herself again and again.
"Margaret Territ! Margaret Territ! What could he want
with her with Margaret? She died-many years ago-ten
years ago-quite suddenly she died, on the day of that trial.
He was guilty of murder, they said. Ah, that was a double
murder! No wonder she died-poor Margaret!"
The simple, dreamy smile with which she had been looking
down upon her sleeping child gave place to one which, swiftly
as it sped, looked pitifully out of character upon the worn
face-a smile of caution which amounted to cunning.
"He saved my child-I remember that; but he shouldn't
have spoken of Margaret.
"}
On the strip of carpet on her hearth, with her chin in her
palms and her eyes upon the fire, the woman sat for more than
an hour, buried so deeply in thought, that when at last the
child awoke, and roused her with its sudden cry, she sprang
to her feet with a shriek of fear, and gazed in horror round
the cottage walls.
•
94
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
F
CHAPTER IX.
"Friend or brother,
He forfeits his own blood that spills another's."
Ir was the day of the Abbotsmoor picnic, and Phoebe Owen,
with a care-encumbered expression of countenance, added the
finishing touches to her elaborate toilet.
66
"I don't know how it is," she fretted, looking at herself in
the glass as she put on her tall hat, with its pink roses and
blue feathers, but whatever way I do my hair I always look
the same. I learned this new way from Theodora, and it
doesn't make me look any better-does it, Honor?"
Thus appealed to, Honor answered, with pleasant rashness,
that it was not at all a good thing for girls to be altered by
the way they did their hair; and then she put her head gravely
on one side, to criticise the plump little figure which she had
so patiently and brightly assisted to adorn.
"Well," inquired Phoebe, anxiously, "what will they think
of it?"
"I can imagine the rector's eyes when he says, 'Phoebe,
my dear, what a very secular costume!"
66
'You are always laughing, and seeming as if you weren't,
Honor," said Phoebe, pettishly. But for all that, now that
the arduous performance was over, and she could see the start-
ling tout ensemble in the glass, her own lips broke into a grati-
fied smile. 66 Lawrence will see that I have made the most
of the money he gave me, won't he, Honor?"
"Indeed he will; but I must run off. Think of me here
in my dressing gown at five-and twenty minutes past twelve,
and Lawrence ordered the wagonette for half past!"
"But you see," put in Phoebe, unwilling even yet for her
cousin to go,
"Lawrence will wait for you and not be angry,
and he makes such a fuss if I am late. Is Jane ready-and
how does she look ?"
·
"Very nice," replied Honor, shortly, for she never would
allow any of Phoebe's spiteful remarks on Miss Haughton's
personal appearance. Hard and suspicious as Jane Haughton
might be to her young kinswoman, this young kinswoman,
on whom nature had lavished her fairest gifts, had never a
word to say against Jane's appearance.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY:
95
I
In her temper, I mean," explained Phoebe. "There's
Lawrence calling! Here we are, Lawrence!" she cried, rush-
ing past Honor and down the stairs. "At least here I am,'
and Honor won't be a minute.'
""
ور
Without even a thought of Phoebe's selfishness, Honor ran
lightly into her own room, and five minutes afterward sprang
down the last few steps into the hall, alighting unexpectedly
beside Lawrence as he paced to and fro waiting for her.
"Oh! Lawrence, I did not see you! I fancied you would!
be fuming on the box of the wagonette."
"<
I chose to fume here instead," said Lawrence, trying to
assume a sternness which he could not feel while she stood
beside him in her bright and girlish beauty. "Sit on the
box beside me, Honor, and the man and the hamper shall go
inside."
With only a light shake of the head for answer, Honor
stepped up into the wagonette, and Mr. Haughton followed
her, to Phoebe's great delight.
"I thought you were going to drive?" remarked Jane.
"No," he answered, curtly. "Take the reins, Hare."
It was scarcely half an hour's drive from the Larches to
Abbotsmoor, yet the wagonette was the last vehicle which
drew up before the empty mansion, where all the guests
were gathered, some dismounting and others standing about.
There was Theodora, resplendent in green and white grena-
dine, lingering near the dog-cart, from which Royden Keith
was assisting little Mrs. Payte to alight. There was the
jovial rector, waking the sleepy echoes of the place with his
hearty laugh, while his comely wife went in and out among
the party, dispensing sage but unheeded advice on the sub-
ject of hampers. There was Captain Trent, sauntering to
and fro, and vouchsafing languid instructions to the men-
servants from Deergrove. There was Mrs. Trent, in heavy
bronze-colored silk, making strenuous use of her eyes and fan.
There was Lady Somerson, courteously apologizing for the ab-
sence of Sir Philip, and making herself quietly and unobtru-
sively pleasant, as high-bred ladies sometimes do. There was
Pierce, in possession of a huge luncheon basket; and there
was little Monsieur Verrien, arranging his camera in front of
the house, and weighed down by a greater amount of anx
iety than pressed upon the rest of the company conjointly.
The photograph must be taken first," asserted Miss
"Who will fetch Monsieur Verrien ?"
Trent.
2
96
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Monsieur Verrien came up, and began at once the "busi-
"of the day.
ness
"Pardon, mesdames et messieurs," he said, accosting the
whole party in a vague, nervous way, not knowing who took
the lead, but did Lady Lawrence say she would have the
facade with the group?"
"Yes, the facade with the family clustered there."
"Thanks, monsieur. And now will you kindly tell me
who I am to take?"
He happened now to address Lady Somerson, and she drew
back smiling.
"Almost every one but myself," she said.
4
His speech passed on to the next lady, little Mrs. Payte, in
her broad brown hat and old-fashioned alpaca dress.
"Not me.
Bless the man, does he think the whole neigh-
borhood is peopled with old Myddelton's kindred ?"
"He is a foreigner," explained Lady Somerson, gently;
"and almost a stranger here."
"Oh! I know all about him," said the small old lady, with
a grunt which greatly amused some of the bystanders; "but
I wish somebody would put it to him in his native tongue
that Lady Lawrence, whoever she may be, did not ask for
my portrait."
Again the little photographer's question passed on, and this
time was intercepted by Royden Keith, who shook his head
and smiled.
"No, monsieur," he said, in his courteous way; "I, too,
must be left out of your picture."
"You don't scorn the idea of being one of our family quite
as Mrs. Payte did," remarked Theodora.
He stood back, watching the little Frenchman arrange his
group, and Mrs. Payte, chatting volubly all the time, took up
her station near him. Lady Somerson and the rector stood
nearer the photographer, apparently more interested.
"Theodora Trent looks very well in that position," re-
marked Mrs. Payte, her shrewd eyes glistening as she watched
the preparation for the photograph; and she knows it.
16
It was at that moment, as Verrien walked back toward his
camera, that Theodora, with a smiling glance, beckoned to
Royden that she wanted him. Mrs. Payte looked sharply up
into his face, and saw him shake his head and bow.
"How kind of her!" she said, feelingly. "She would have
you in the photograph, if possible. It will make a hideous.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
9%
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picture," she continued, presently, with placid enjoyment of
her idea. "Look at Hervey Trent's lackadaisical attitude,
and Mr. Haughton's assumption of careless ease. That blue
fabric on Phoebe's head will come out as a huge white blem-
ish; and just notice the amount of space Theodora's skirts
occupy. Lady Lawrence will know a great deal about them
from that photograph, won't she? How is she to know, for
instance, that Miss Trent made all the arrangements to suit
herself, and that Honor Craven, standing so prettily there
against the house, is laughing the whole notion of the thing
to scorn? Bah! I have no patience with any of them."
"So I see, Mrs. Payte," said Royden, laughing. "Per-
haps, if you had the patience, the picture would not seem
quite so hideous."
"Maybe. For goodness' sake, let us walk about till that
farce is over!"
They had strolled quite half a mile from the house, when
Royden gave an imperceptible start and stood still.
This is I have heard of this oak," he said, as
they stopped before a splendid oak tree on the outskirts of
the park.
3
X
Mrs. Payte looked up into his face, and then higher, among
the branches of the oak.
"Of course," she returned, sharply; "everything about old
Myddelton's place has been well talked of."
"This tree must be a thousand years old," Royden con-
tinued, moving nearer, "and it is hollow."
"How quick you are!" observed the old lady, as she
tripped round the tree. "You spoke before you had seen
the opening."
She was stopping then in front of an aperture four or five
feet high, and a couple of feet wide.
"What a huge trunk!" she said, looking in over the foot
of bark which still remained and formed a kind of stile at
the entrance to the cavity. This hollow would dine a dozen
people. I like to see these old trees on an old estate; but I
don't like this estate; do you, Mr. Keith?"
"I should," replied Royden, walking quietly on at the little
lady's side, "if I could see it utilized and beautified; with a
man's hand and heart at work about it, and a woman's brighie
sweet presence."
"Can you fancy it?"
“Yes.”
}
98
ÕED MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
O
"Bah!" said the old lady, answering brusquely Royden's
quiet word. "How can old Myddelton's money cause any-
thing but evil, when we remember how it was garnered ?"
(6
Very easily," returned Royden, gazing on the empty
house which lay before them. Can we possibly hold that
heathenish idea of there being a curse on old Myddelton's
money? Do you believe that his wealth-if well and humbly
used would not do the good that other money could; and-
if, as I said, nobly and generously used-return in blessings
on the giver?"
"No-old Myddelton's," opposed Mrs. Payte, sturdily.
"I remember once reading an epitaph, which ran in this way:
"
That I spent, that I had;
That I gave, that I have;
That I left, that I lost.'
So you see how old Myddelton managed? He spent little, so
he had little; he gave none, so he has none; and he left much,
8 he lost mightily. How I hate the very idea of wealth
when I think of it! See, they are beckoning to us. Dinner,
I
suppose-always the key-note of a picnic."
The cloths were spread in the shade of the avenue trees,
under which a merry group had gathered when Royden and
Mrs. Payte came up.
'The photograph was taken, and now there was nothing
mure for them to do but enjoy themselves just in their own
idle way, and, first of all, by lingering over the meal, for
which every one was ready. Theodora's management of her
own personal affairs was, as usual, excellent, and viewed from
her stand-point, thoroughly successful. She took her seat
between Royden Keith and Hervey Trent, and was waited
upon to her heart's content. Whether all the others fared as
well, signified very little, indeed, to her.
Phoebe never did succeed in her mild diplomacy, so it was
no surprise to her to find herself at a quite impassable dis-
tance from her guardian, who was assiduously waiting on
Honor, and chafing very visibly at Honor's reception of his
service. Captain Trent, too, dovetailed in his mild attentions,
but these Honor received with equally careless composure.
It was rather a difficult part to play, this of Captain Hervey's.
With Miss Trent's presence and requirements so persistently
asserted, and her eyes seldom letting any one of his acts es-
cape them, his straying inclinations were somewhat difficult
of accomplishment.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
99
1
Whatever Royden's part might have been, he played it with
perfect ease, sometimes humorously, but at all times quietly
and easily. He had stories to tell now and then, short and
pithy experiences, which, though his own, never contained
repetition of the objectionable personal pronoun. So well he
told them, too, that even those-and there were more than
one-who wished to slight them and him, could not do so;
they were drawn, against their wills, to listen to his stories.
So well he told them-his voice perfectly grave, and no smile.
stirring his lips, though his eyes might be full of fun-that
he never was interrupted to the ruin of the story, or had to
shorten it ignominiously. But once he made a sudden pause,
and finished abruptly.
"That wasn't the real end of the adventure, Mr. Keith,'
said Theodora, excitedly. "Please don't imagine that you
can take us in so easily.
""
"You are wise, Mr. Keith," Mrs. Payte remarked. "In
this place and this company you never intended to intrude a
touching episode, though I do believe you would tell that even
better. What is it you have there, Miss Trent?”
Theodora had looked with such unutterable insolence at the
old lady during her interruption, that every one felt a little.
startled by the cool conclusion being addressed particularly to
her.
"Tartelettes au fromage a la creme,” replied Theodora,
with languid frigidity.
"Good to eat?"
Theodora passed the dish back to the footman behind her,
without deigning a reply. But the glance, intended as it was
for utter annihilation, missed its aim.
"In our young days, Mrs. Payte," put in the rector, class-
ing himself genially with the old lady of three-score years and
ten, "we had not found out the vast advantages of these
French abbreviations."
"Abbreviations! Is gelee au vin an abbreviation of 'jelly?"
Pooh! in my young days we called a spade a spade, and we
called affectation folly."
Except that the sayings of such a small and meanly-clad
old lady must necessarily be vulgar in the extreme, and below
the notice of refined and elegant minds, this suggestive speech
would have met with a crushing retort from Miss Trent; but,
being so, it was only consigned to a deserved oblivion, and
Theodora graciously continued her efforts at entertainment,
700
OLD MYDDELTON´S MONEY.
But at intervals during the day she relieved herself by won-
dering why that common and sour-tempered little being
should ever have been allowed to come among them; but was
always on her guard as to the recipient of this wonder, be-
cause she was perfectly aware in wliose escort she had arrived.
"Hervey, my dear," said Mrs. Trent aside to her nephew,
before they separated after dinner, "the more Theodora shows
her dislike to that chattering old person, the more Honor
Craven chats with her. You should tell the girl what bad
taste this shows; she will desist then.'
Acting complacently on this suggestion, Captain Trent, not
at all unwillingly, drew Honor aside to speak seriously to her.
"Thank you, Hervey," she said. "How good it is of you
to think of these things even at a picnic!"
6
Hervey told her graciously that of course he always thought
of these things,' and then had the mortification of seeing her
escape from him as swiftly as possible, and straightway join a
group in which the obnoxious old lady was a prominent figure.
"Now we are going over the house."
Two or three voices said it at once, and a general move was
made. Jane Haughton rose and shook the crumbs from her
lap, heaving a sigh over the abundant remnants of the feast.
Pierce, who during the dinner had been worth two or three
of the other men put together, was quietly waiting on one
solitary man who dined among the avenue trees at a little
distance.
"Will he repack his hamper or waste it? All the nicest
things here are what Mr. Keith brought. Silly extravagance!"
With her mind under this pressure, Jane Haughton put up
her parasol, and moved stolidly forward, as one prepared to
do her duty by viewing the house. Honor ran up at this
moment and joined the group.
"Where have you been?" inquired Jane.
"Only talking to Monsieur Verrien. I said he could go
over the house, too, as it was open. He would like to see the
pictures.
"He can go with the servants when we have been," rc-
marked Theodora, coldly.
66
""
'Suppose we make an arrangement," proposed the rector,
"and then we needn't feel dependent on each other. We
meet here—is it not so?-at six o'clock, for tea, and for our
start homeward."
OLD MYDDELTON'S →
101°
MONEY.
"Not homeward," put in Theodora, taking the words from
Mrs. Trent. "You are coming to Deergrove then, please;
we want to finish the day with a dance. You all promise to
come?"
The "all" was uttered certainly, but it was only to Royden.
Keith that she chanced to turn just in that interrogatory
pause. He did not seem to notice this, and the general ac-
ceptance of Theodora's invitation was hearty enough. Mrs.
Payte, who certainly had not been particularly addressed,
even if included, thanked Miss Trent in a very marked man-
ner, and expressed herself as most happy.
"Have you license to shoot over the Abbotsmoor estate,
Mr. Keith?" asked Honor, as they walked on toward the
house.
"Yes."
"The steward is a niggardly fellow," put in Lawrence
Haughton. "How do you think he served me last year?
He sent me a present of game-a brace of birds and a hare, I
think-and I, of course, sent him a note of thanks. A few
months afterward, he came to me to settle a little private
matter of his by law, and when he received my bill he brought
it to me, entreating me to remember the game. I did, and
let the bill go. In another month he sent me a bill of this
blessed game by a man who was to wait for the payment.
""
"What did you do?" inquired Mr. Keith, laughing.
“While his man waited, I sent a clerk to his house with
my bill to wait for payment."
"You were quite equal to the occasion," remarked Honor,
turning to join another group.
"How horribly dismal it looks!" cried Phoebe, pausing on
the threshold of the great echoing hall. "I daren't venture
in without some strong escort. Lawrence, will you take me
through?"
He took her in, and returned to join Honor.
So instinctively she shrunk from him, that, noticing it
herself, she tried to laugh off the involuntary gesture of re-
pugnance.
"I am a real Craven," she said; "I must hover in the rec-
tor's protection."
And, to Mr. Romer's intense amusement, she kept beside
him through all the dusty rooms and staircases, on which the
cobwebs hung as thickly as the leaves hung upon the an-
102
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
cient trees without. But, in spite of her words, Honor d
no shadow of craven fear within her inquisitive eyes.
They reached the portrait-gallery at last, but found it diffi-
cult to examine and criticize the pictures, until they became
accustomed to the heavy semi-light.
"Mrs. Payte," said Honor, leaving the rector now, and
linking her arm in that of the small old lady, "you have
never seen the pictures before. Come and let me show you
Gabriel Myddelton.”
They stood before the portrait for a few minutes in silence,
and by that time the others had joined them-all anxious, it
would seem, to examine this one picture.
"What a young face it is!" said Lady Somerson. "This
portrait must have been taken some time before he quarreled
with his uncle.”
"That was one year
"The date is 1860," read Lawrence.
before the murder. He was nineteen, then."
"It is a handsome face," observed Mrs. Payte, her hat
pushed back and her head elevated, that she might get a good
look at the picture; "but I thought that Gabriel Myddelton
was fairer; more, for instance, like Captain Trent."
"No," said Lady Somerson; "he was dark. A little more
like-Mr. Keith, only not so tall, nor so finely built, nor so
-handsome."
""
"Or rather not so old," put in Royden, laughing, as he
frankly met her scrutinizing gaze. "Mr. Haughton, I have
never heard how Gabriel Myddelton escaped from jail.
"Have you not?" remarked Lawrence, haughtily, ignoring
the evident question put to him.
"Will you kindly tell me?"
"The escape was managedy the girl whose evidence had
gone to hang him, and by he, lover, who, as ill fate would
have it, was warder in the county jail.
""
"As ill fate would have it. Yes?" said Royden, with a
curious tone.in the question, half of scorn and half of amuse-
ment.
"The man got admission for the girl to see Myddelton,
put in Mr. Romer, noticing Mr. Haughton's surliness, "and
she passed into the condemned cell in profuse tears. She was
seen to walk out to the dog-cart that waited for her, and then
to pass back again, and out again. There was a confused ac-
count of these passings to and fro, as if the jailers had been
off their guard, taking little heed of her in her tears. At any
""
!
fi
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
103
#
rate, the condemned cell was empty next morning. Gabriel
Myddelton was gone, and the warder knew nothing about it.
They dismissed him, of course, as, without his connivance,
the girl would have been closely watched, as well as the pris-
oner; but nothing could ever be proved against him, and the
mystery never has been solved. Several people met Margaret
Territ driving alone to the jail, and several met her driving
back, still alone; but the fact remained. Old Myddelton's
murderer never was seen after her visit."
}
دو
"A clever escape," said Royden, with a quiet smile.
،،
Why, Mr. Keith, what credit you give the miserable
young woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Trent. We know hardly
anything of the escape. How do you know it was clever?"
True, Mr. Haughton favored me with a very few particu-
lars," assented Royden, coolly.
66
From that time Margaret Territ has been literally lost to
the world,” continued the rector; "and I feel' sure that we
can never know any further particulars of Gabriel Myddel-
ton's escape.
"Unless we some day hear them from Gabriel Myddelton
himself."
“Oh, Mr. Keith," cried Theodora, "please don't talk of
such a thing! Come-why have we stayed so long before
this horrid portrait, and why talk so much about a wicked.
felon ?"
"I suppose," said Royden Keith, addressing Mr. Haugh-
ton, in a clear, marked tone, "that there is no doubt about
Gabriel Myddelton's having been, as Miss Trent says, a
wicked felon? You would, doubtless, well investigate the
facts."
66
Supposing Gabriel Myddelton to be innocent," Mrs.
Payte struck in, drowning Lawrence's scornful retort,
"would he have old Myddelton's money?"
"Impossible, even if he came back and acquitted himself.
The money was willed from him.
""
"Phoebe," whispered Honor, as they moved from before
the picture," Mr. Keith is quite sure that Gabriel did mur-
der old Mr. Myddelton. I can see he is."
-
"Of course," replied Phoebe, carelessly; "who ever doubt-
ed it?"
"and
"That's pretty," exclaimed Mrs. Payte, standing opposite
a heavily-framed painting of a young girl and a pony;
I declare, it reminds me of our dinner. Why is that?"
104
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
"Because it is the same sweep of park, Mrs. Payte," ex
claimed Honor. "This is the spot where we dined, and the
pony and the girl stand just between where we were and the
front of the mansion. Do you guess that it is the portrait of
Lady Lawrence when a girl? She was not fifteen when she
went out to India, you know."
"I'd rather see a likeness taken later," spoke Mrs. Payte,
curtly. "That tells nothing of what she would be now."
"We have a sketch of her taken lately," said Honor.
"She is tall and stout, with smooth, black hair, and a placid,
serious face."
"I don't like that sort of old lady," objected Mrs. Payte,
moving away impatiently, and leaving Honor to wonder á
little at the bad taste of this speech from one who was so es-
sentially different.
"It certainly is a beautiful park," said the little old lady,
stopping before one of the gallery windows.
"What do you
intend to do, Mr. Haughton, if you inherit Abbotsmoor?"
"Let it," replied Lawrence, promptly.
"And you, Miss Owen ?"
*6
Certainly let it," returned Phoebe, delighted to echo her
guardian's answer."
"And you, Miss Trent?"
"Pull it down," said Theodora, "and build a handsome
and modern mansion, raised on terraces."
Cs
Wise," assented the old lady, as she passed the question
"You, Captain Trent, doubtless agree with Miss
on.
Trent?"
"I suppose so," replied Hervey, lazily; "but I should soon
cut down whole acres of the timber."
'Wise, too. And you, Miss Craven?"
"I never thought about it, but I should-restore it, I sup-
pose, " said Honor, smiling at the question; "restore it,
and
""
"And what?" inquired the old lady, sharply.
"And try to make the old place, and even the old name,
honored again."
"Gabriel has rendered that impossible," interposed Law-
rence.
"Quite impossible," assented Mrs. Payte; "and your idea
is childish, Honor. I should have said, if I had been you,
pull it all down, and leave not one stone upon another."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
105
"I declare, Honor," whispered Hervey, when the group
was scattered again," that little old creature has done nothing
but grumble and make herself disagreeable all day. I shall
tell her so, presently."
"Which will be making yourself much more disagreeable,
Hervey."
They strolled for some time longer through the great gloomy
rooms, admiring and finding fault, chattering and criticising,
Theodora's sarcasm excited very often by Honor's fresh de-
light over what she called trifles, and little Mrs. Payte pop-
ping always just into that very group where she did not seem
to be wanted.
So closely had Lawrence Haughton followed Honor through
that day, and so merry had she been, that it was a great sur-
prise to Royden Keith, late on in the afternoon, to come upon
her seated in one of the staircase windows alone, and with a
wistful earnestness in her eyes as she looked out over the
park.
"It is a beautiful estate, Miss Craven," he said, as he
paused beside her, looking intently, and rather quizzically,
down into her face. "Are you wishing it were yours?"
66
No," she answered, in a tone as grave as the beautiful
young face; "I am only wondering how any one could have
fived here such a life as old Mr. Myddelton lived. And "
"And?" he questioned, gently.
O
"And wondering if such a life could ever be led here
again ?"
"Heaven forbid!"
She looked up into his face anxiously, and he met the gaze
with one of fearless confidence.
"I have no fear," he said; "I see no cloud upon old Myd-
delton's home now, and no blight upon his wealth.”
Then she smiled, still looking up into his face; and some-
how it seemed as if that gaze, or the few words, had given
each a quiet confidence in the other.
...
$
106
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
CHAPTER X.
He little thought when he set out,
Of running such a rig.
7
-COWPER.
THE tea-tables had been hurriedly carried in from the park
to the great hall, and the guests had gathered there in haste;
those, at least, whom the suddenly lowering clouds had warned
in time.
"It was very lucky we were so near," said Theodora, look-
ing down complacently upon her thin, crisp dress.
"Very," assented Phoebe, with most heartfelt emphasis;
"only it is a pity Honor's away.
66
>>
"Is Honor away?" asked Captain Trent, looking out upon
the fast-falling rain. "What a bore for her!"
"Dear me, dear me!" grumbled Mrs. Payte, moving rest-
lessly about. "How silly of the child to run off in that way,
with no water-proof, or galoches, or umbrella!"
One or two laughed, recalling the picture of Honor, as
they saw her last, in her pretty summer dress, and with the
bright sunshine around her; but others were too much vexed
to smile.
"Where did you see her last, Phoebe ?" inquired Lady
Somerson; and every one waited to hear the answer.
/
"I saw her last at one of the side entrances," explained
Phoebe. "I knew she was going about the park to-to hide
from Lawrence, and Lawrence came up just then and asked
her where would she go, and she said nowhere; and as soon
as ever he was gone, saying he would be back in a minute,
she ran off. Afterward he came back, and went to find her;
but I don't think he has, Honor is so quick.
""
"Miss Owen, if you will kindly tell me which are Miss
Craven's shawls and umbrella," said Royden, turning over a
pile of wraps which lay in the hall, "I will find her."
"I think," interposed Theodora, in a raised, distinct tone,
"that we can safely trust Honor to find her way here. She
knows the park well, and you do not, Mr. Keith."
But Royden answered lightly that he was used to finding
his way, and donning his loose overcoat, and carrying a closed
umbrella and the blue water-proof which Phoebe had given
him, he started. He had a strong idea that Honor would be
M
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
107
taking shelter in the hollow oak on the outskirts of the park,
and though he had no motive for the surmise, he was not
mistaken. In the sombre gloom within the hole of the great
oak he saw the girl's bright face looking out, with a doubtful
expression, as if the enjoyment of the position were somewhat
questionable, but yet to be staunchly maintained. Royden,
smiling at the wet figure in its heavy frame, handed her the
cloak, and told her she might venture to the house in that
and under the umbrella.
"I am not coming," she said; "I am thoroughly soaked.
I was wet through before I could reach this shelter, and I
shall be scolded and laughed at."
"Let me help you on with your cloak," was Royden's only
response, as he held it at the opening of the tree.
"No one
will see anything but the cloak. May I come in?”
(6
Go
No," said Honor, drawing back, "I won't be seen.
back to your tea, Mr. Keith; and presently, when you are all
busy starting, I'll slip up and take my place; then I shall
""
escape-
She stopped suddenly; but Royden guessed what she wished
to avoid. It was not difficult for him to imagine either Miss
Haughton's corrections, Miss Trent's sneers, or Miss Owen's
exclamations.
"Very well, I will wait for you here," he said, coolly.
So, leaning against the tree in silence, he waited, while she
grew uncomfortable in her snug retreat, and, from being
amused at seeing him there in the rain, grew vexed, without
understanding that this vexation was another name for anx-
iety.
Your hat is spoiling, Mr. Keith," she said at last, with a
sense of injury upon her.
"Is it?"
He took it off and examined it leisurely, while the rain
fell heavily and slowly upon his uncovered head-such a
handsome head!
"It will bear a little more," he added, replacing it.
"I wish you would go back," she began again, presently;
"I'm quite comfortable, but you are not.”
<<
I think I have the better position," maintained Royden,
coolly. "Your atmosphere has a mustiness about it which
I do not envy. ""
Another pause.
T
6
108
3
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
""
"Do go!" exclaimed the girl, pettishly. "Everybody will
be wondering where you are, and there will be such a fuss!"
"I like a fuss," said Royden, quietly; "and so do you.'
،
"I can
"Indeed I don't!" asserted Honor, in hot haste.
not bear a fuss. What do you mean, Mr. Keith?" she asked,
venturing forward a little in her den.
"What makes you
say I like a fuss?”
"I see you do."
"You are very unjust!" cried Honor, rousing herself into
a state of wrath which she all the time knew to be utterly
childish. "You say it just because you want to be in the
house. Please to go."
"I will," said Royden, calmly, "when I want to be in the
house."
"You are quite wet," cried Honor, calming down a little,
and feeling very small and powerless to impress him in any
way with her own anger.
"Yes. Are you as wet?"
"Oh, much wetter, of course.
had nothing over this thin dress."
A look of anxiety, swift as thought, passed over Royden's
face; but his next words were rather more leisurely even than
they had been, and therefore, of course, more successful.
The others will be amused, Miss Craven, to see you in
there. Mr. Haughton is coming toward us now. Don't stir
yet. Captain Trent is walking in this direction, too. Now
you may enjoy the pleasure of a fuss."
Without another word, Honor stepped from the hollow tree
her blue cloak failing to hide the limp appearance of her
Iress and spoiled hat-and coolly Royden took his place be-
side her.
+
Co
You have an overcoat. 1
دو
"How do you feel now?" he inquired presently, glancing.
lown upon her.
""
"Hungry, thank you.
"I wish he hadn't come," she said to herself, petulantly;
"I would rather any one else had found me."
Yet, when she joined them all, under a heavy fire of sym-
pathy and astonishment and blame, she looked up into Roy-
den's quiet, amused face, and-so variable is a woman's mind.
-wished they had all treated the matter just as he had
treated it.
"Oh, Honor, I'm so glad I did not come!" exclaimed
Phoebe, ruefully.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
109
>
"So am I," returned Honor, pleasantly, as she looked from
Phoebe's showy dress down to her own wet garments.
"This sort of thing adds considerably to the expense of a
picnic," observed Jane Haughton.
"Don't take any more notice, please, Jane," whispered the
girl, in real and earnest entreaty, as she took her tea stand-
ing in her cloak; "my dress was not new, and I dare say it
will wash."
"Come, Honor," put in Lawrence, "I must put you on
more than that cloak.'
"I don't want more," said Honor, shrinking from his
touch. "Oh, Lawrence, how I do hate to be taken care of
in this way," she added, as he hovered about her. "I like to
be forgotten. It is such a relief to feel that nobody knows or
cares anything about one."
Not by very many was Honor the only one who, in im-
patient youth, has felt this strongly, because the care they re-
ceived was not the care they loved. And they do not think
that there may come a time when all such random words will
sting with a keen, reproachful memory.
"You shall have a dress of mine when we reach Deergrove,
Honor," said Theodora, looking with placidity on the girl's
limp figure. "Oh, Mr. Keith, see how wet your hat is; it
left quite a little pool when you took it up. That's through
Honor-how vexatious!"
M
"Most vexatious," assented Royden, looking critically down
upon the wet hat.
"As an Englishman, this disaster touches
me in a sensitive spot."
“Are you really an Englishman?" inquired Theodora, evi
dently glad of this vent for a little of her overflowing but sup.
pressed curiosity.
"Is it not proved by my anxiety for my hat? Hat-worship
belongs to no other nation. Don't you notice in England
how a man's first and deepest care is always bestowed upon
his hat?"
1
<<
Especially in church," added Mr. Haughton, flippantly.
"Before he seats himself he breathes into it a prayer for its
safety—and that's about the only time he looks really devout .
through the service."
'But, though you may be really an Englishman, Mr.
Keith," persisted Miss Trent, "you must have been very
much abroad."
✓
110
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
✩
"Yes. Don't you think, Miss Craven, that your hat is in
as bad a plight as mine? It does not look nearly so tall as
Miss Owen's now. ""
"Phœbe thinks a hat cannot be too tall for her," remarked
Mr. Haughton, superciliously.
"Very wise, Miss Phoebe," said Royden, gravely. "Pad--
dy's tall hat was the means of saving his life, if you recollect.
A bullet passed through the top of his high hat. There,"
said Paddy, complacently, as he examined the hole, if I'd
had a low hat, that bullet would have gone right through my
head.' We should always choose tall hats, shouldn't we, Miss
Owen ?"
·
No suspicion crossed the mind of any one of his reasons for
talking thus.
Honor," said Mrs. Payte, when the rain was over, and
the carriages were coming around to the door in the gathering
twilight,take this large shawl of mine; I have wraps
enough. You are coming with us in Mr. Keith's dog-cart-
you and Mr. Romer. Lady Somerson and Mrs. Romer are.
snug together in the Somerson carriage, and we go so fleetly
behind those beautiful horses. And then," added the little
lady, betraying her motive, "you can stop at the Larches and
change your dress.”
"Oh no," said Honor; "I-___"
'You dare not venture-eh?" enquired the little old lady,
shrewdly.
CC
Theodora says she will lend me a dress," amended the
"Yes, so she will," remarked Mrs. Payte, dryly, "and a
nice baggy old thing it will be. Don't I see how she is enjoy-
ing the idea of it, even now? She won't let you rival her to-
night, be sure, child. Never mind, there's a beaut
""
"Mrs. Payte," put in Theodora, appearing at that moment,
and graciously addressing the little old lady, of whose very
existence she had all day endeavored to be unaware,
"would
you not like to change places with me for the drive to Deer-
grove? You will meet the wind in the seat you occupied in
coming, whereas mine is a sheltered seat."
"This is a thoughtful idea of yours, Miss Trent," returned
the old lady, meditatively, "nevertheless, I like the seat I
occupied in coming."
"But you would be so comfortable, mamma says, in our
carnage.
""
girl.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
111
1
Į
"I shall be comfortable in Mr. Keith's, thank you."
"It is so chilly to-night," urged Theodora. "Had you not
better change your mind?"
"No, nor my place," said the little lady, emphatically.
"I shall drive back as I drove here, thank you-behind Mr.
Keith's splendid horses, and side by side with him.
He is a
clever man, and we get on admirably; now and then talking-
Shakespeare and the musical classes, and now and then coo-
ing and billing, like Philip and Mary on a shilling.' No, I
have no wish for a change.
،
""
Theodora's head was at a lofty elevation when she turned
away, and her muttered "Odious!" was not confined to her
own ears alone.
"Her exertions for my welfare are unselfish," observed Mrs.
Payte, dryly, "and her motive inscrutable."
.
"Honor Craven was so bent on being driven by you, Mr.
Keith," remarked Theodora, as he assisted her into her car-
riage, "that we other girls had no chance at all, even if we
had wished it.”
"Which, of course, Miss Trent, you did not."
"But of course I did," she pouted, declining to see that
he wished to drop the subject; only all girls are not so for-
ward as Honor."
66
"Miss Craven," said Royden, with proud quietness, "has
not even yet consented to take that vacant seat in my dog-cart
-I wish she would."
No word further could Theodora say. She leaned back in
her corner of the carriage, and during the drive hardly uttered
a sentence, either to her mother or to Hervey; her only con-
solation being the thought that, in the garb destined for her,
Honor Craven would present a spectacle slightly at variance
with the dainty figure which she had always mildly chafed to
see about the rooms where she wished to reign, but which,
since she had known Royden Keith, excited every jealous and
spiteful passion in her languid nature.
చ
"There-that will be our last glimpse of Abbotsmoor for a
time," said the rector, speaking to Honor with rather unusual
gravity, as the dog-cart rolled smoothly under the trees of
the avenue; "it is a beautiful place, and I hope the tragedy
we have been recalling to-day will be the last to throw its
shadow over it."
She turned and looked up into his face, surprised.
ĭ
112
-OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
:
*****
"Of course it will be the last, Mr. Romer. What other
could there be?
((
My dear," said the rector, in a thoughtful tone, which
told. Honor that something had vexed him that day, "there
will be tragedies enacted so long as jealousy and envy are al-
lowed to be unbridled passions. Let us do our best to keep
ur hearts free from them."
"
CHAPTER XI.
So love does raîne
In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous warre,
He maketh warre; he maketh peace againe,
And yet his peace is but continual jarre;
O miserable men that to him subject are!
>>
-SPENSER.
THE daylight had quite faded when the picnic party
reached Deergrove, and the rain had made the air so chilly
that they were not sorry to see fires in the handsome, un-
homely rooms.
..
""
Of course you must change your dress, Honor, re-
marked Theodora, joining her in the hall.
"Come up to
my room.
Honor was not there long. Almost as soon as the other
guests, who had been up-stairs only to wash their hands, was
she down again, supping her tea at the drawing-room fire;
and, of all the involuntary laughter which her appearance
provoked, her own was the most full of merriment; although
she knew there was many a dress Theodora might have lent
her, of which the misfit or unsuitableness would have been
scarcely perceptible, while in this it was very painfully so.
"Theodora, my dear," blandly commented Mrs. Trent,
leveling her glass," "how odd Honor looks in that dress."
Theodora smiled a gentle assent, but forbore to press her
advantage just then.
Still, Honor, even in her questionable garb, was not to be
repressed. It almost seemed as if she had determined that,
in defiance of the unpicturesque and unbecoming dress, she
would be to-night the rival whom Theodora fancied she had
annihilated; yet such an intention was in reality far from her
thoughts. In her girlish light-heartedness, and in that intense
*
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
113
power of enjoyment possessed by those who are endowed with
a keen perception, alike of the beautiful and the ludicrous,
Honor's merriment was real merriment, and therefore infec-
tious. Random she might have been in her fun, but flippant
never; nor did one word of unkindness pass the laughing lips.
'I like to see young people capable of thoroughly enjoying
themselves," observed Mrs. Payte to the rector, as he joined
her on the couch. "Is it the remnant of an age that's past,
or is it the foreshadowing of an age to come? Look at Theo-
dora Trent, the model of this age. Why, she might have.
been in her present position for a hundred years, for any
freshness it possesses for her."
(6
"The age does very well," said the rector, asserting the
truth good-humoredly. "Honor may look as bored and lan-
guid as Miss Trent, when she has been in society as long."
"Watch Mr. Haughton throwing straws against the wind,'
said the little old lady, after a pause. "He was mad with
Honor just now, and when he had spoken to her he took up a
book to pretend to read, and his hand shook as I only fancied
a man's hand could shake in a novel. I'm glad to see that
Hervey Trent looks more in his element here than he did
about the rooms at Abbotsmoor.”
୫
17
"Probably because the carpets were up at Abbotsmoor,'
laughed the rector. "Trent is pre-eminently a carpet-
knight."
""
"Pre-eminently," repeated Mrs. Payte, her shrewd eyes fol-
lowing Captain Hervey's slight, inert figure; "and I remem-
ber an old Spanish proverb which says a soldier had better
smeil of gunpowder than musk."
"Theodora, my dear," spoke Mrs. Trent, acting as prompted
by her daughter, and as cleverly as long practice could make
her, "
can we not have a little music? Suppose you set the
example?"
Theodora demurred, of course; but when her mother's re-
quest had been backed anxiously by others, she took her seat
at the piano with slow grace, and waited for a few seconds
with folded hands, as if for an inspiration. But Miss Trent
knew well what she intended to sing before her mother's
request had been uttered.
After her performance, Captain Hervey acceded to the
general demand for one of his songs, and went through it very
creditably. Then-for neither Mr. nor Miss Haughton under-
stood a note of music-Phoebe was prevailed upon to delight
114
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY."
4
the audience with her two hundredth rendering of a certain
reverie, whose gliding course halted a good deal under her
plump little fingers, and whose dreamy train of thought was,
to say the least, jerky; but it was, of course, pronounced a
pretty thing-when over.
"Miss Craven, do you not sing?"
Mr. Keith, in the very middle of Theodora's coaxing de-
mand for a song, had turned to the girl whom Miss Trent
had hitherto ignored.
"I am not a good singer," said Honor, in her frank, bright
way; "I have always been more fond of trying new music
than of carefully practicing.
""
"You read music very easily, then?" he asked, smiling.
“Yes—that is, easy to me; but-
""
"But you will sing with me?"
"Now, Mr. Keith," pleaded Miss Trent, from the music-
stool beside them, "please come; I am going to accompany
you.
""
"Thank you," said Royden, a great deal more heartily than
he would have said it two minutes before, "I am ready; and
Miss Craven is going to sing too. We will have the first duet
we find."
As he spoke, he took up a copy of "Faust," and opened at
an early duet between Faust and Marguerite-a duet which
is, perhaps, not in that opera alone, but in all operas, un-
equalled in its graceful tenderness and its intense love.
The guests were silent, and some of them gathered about
the piano, listening in rapt astonishment.
"One more!" cried Lady Somerson and the rector in a
breath, when the last notes had died away. "One more duet
from the same opera!"
Royden turned the leaves, and asked Honor if she would
sing the one to which he pointed. She nodded brightly, and
Theodora, reading the rather difficult accompaniment with
moody intentness, began again. There was no pathetic ten-
derness in this music, only the pathos of a wild and passion-
ate despair; and when the last note had ceased, Honor felt a
sudden, heavy sadness seize her.
"I wish," she thought to herself, with inexplicable long-
ing, "that we had sung that first. I wish the other had
come last. That was so beautiful and happy-this is so sor
rowful, so sorrowful!"
$
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
115
Of course Theodora insisted on Mr. Keith's singing duets
with her afterward, while Honor was very glad to sit apart,
unnoticed; and when at last Royden sang alone the exquisite
tenor solo, "Versa nel mio "—so much more beautiful and
tender, if well sung to a piano, than it is upon the stage-she
bent her head upon the book she pretended to read, and
silenced Hervey, almost with a sob, when he began whisper-
ing to her. But when all the music was over the mood left
her.
"Honor "—it was some little time after this, and Mrs.
Payte had caught the girl standing, gazing silently at Theo-
dora and her mother-"what are you puzzling over?"
"I was wondering," Honor answered, without hesitation,
"how I should entertain it, if I were rich-at least how I
should try to do it. What a silly idea it was!" added the
girl, with sudden recollection.
(6
Very silly," acknowledged the old lady, speaking so
loudly that the color mounted in Honor's face. "But, by the
way, that reminds me that I have a little fortune-teller up-
stairs, in my satchel. Mrs. Disbrowe-poor thing! all her
little vagaries are excusable-made it, and asked me to bring
it to amuse you.
All I want to know is, who's to believe it?
You'll see how inappropriate the mottoes are sure to be.
Fetch it, Honor, and let's see what it tells us. This is the
sort of thing to be silly, if one should ever be."
(C
'Oh, yes, let's have our fortunes told!" cried Phoebe,
ecstatically, while Honor ran up-stairs.
53
"Yes, certainly our fortunes," seconded Theodora, with a
little approach to energy. "Mr. Keith, you'll have yours
told?"
C
Remember, I do not make the mottoes, or quite under-
stand them, or at all believe in them," said Mrs. Payte, as
Honor laid the satchel in her lap. "I brought the little
fortune-teller because Selina said you might glean an atom of
fun out of it."
The toy which the old lady took from her bag was a doll
dressed gypsy-fashion, in the folds of whose many-colored and
voluminous paper skirts lurked what the girls looked upon as
“fortunes.”
She laid the little figure on her knee, as she sat in her seat
beside the fire, and made the young people wait at à respect-
ful distance. She had in her hand a tiny gold pencil-case,
which she used now and then, but always unobserved.
116
OLD MYDDELTON'S`MONEY.
(C
Now, who comes first?" she asked. "Is it you, Mise
Trent?"
You can tell me mine first, if it is likely to be
"Yes.
true."
"Suitable, let us say," amended the old lady, without
glancing up. "You have the first choice of the numbers.
There are but nine here altogether, so they will just go
round."
"I choose number one," said Theodora, with her slow,
conscious smile.
"Number one," repeated Mrs. Payte, very deliberately, as
she pulled out a dark-blue fold of the many-colored skirts.
This is what is said on number one: "The hearts of old gave
hands, but our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.' I really do
not know," continued the old lady, still without looking up,
"what poet Selina has taken that from, but you see how in-
applicable it is, don't you? Am I to read any more?"
"Oh! yes, please," cried Phoebe, while one or two of the
others were silent, wondering over Theodora's choice.
"Then you choose," said Mrs. Payte, looking observantly
up into Phoebe's face, "any number from two to nine.
"Seven," called Phoebe, with an excited little clasp of her
hands; "seven is lucky, you know."
.،
Seven," echoed the fortune-teller, drawing out a pink
fold. "This is what is written on seven: 'It is in woman as
in soils—there is a vein of gold sometimes which the owner
wots not of.' That's an idea of Swift's, if I rember rightly.
What do you think of it?”
"I don't call that a fortune," said Phoebe, ruefully.
(6
Now," continued Mrs Payte, smiling, as she refolded the
pink paper, "who comes next? You, Miss Haughton?”
"No, indeed."
"Yes, please, Miss Haughton," urged Royden, in his
pleasans tones; let us all take our turn."
66
"I think it nonsense," returned Jane, coldly: "but, if I
must be as foolish as all the others, I'll say nine.”
"Nine-nine-I can hardly read nine," muttered the old
lady, bending over a yellow fold. "It is a couple of lines
from Tennyson:
'Dark is the world to thee-
Thyself art the reason why.'
I suppose," she muttered, "it isn't to be expected that ary
single one will be appropriate. Now, Honor, it is your turn.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY:
114
}
Of course yours won't be suitable either. Stupid institution,
isn't it? Choose your number-any one from two to eight,
except seven, which is taken."
"Eight, please. What color is it, Mrs. Payte?"
"Don't be impatient and inquisitive," retorted the old lady,
glancing shrewdly up into the girl's bright face, as she drew
out a strip of sky-blue from the gypsy's dress.
"This is all there is to read to you:
She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed,
She is a woman, therefore to be won.'
A bit from King Henry VI.' How absurd!"
"Yes-very absurd," said Honor, laughing; but she
blushed a little, too, when she had met the eyes of Mr. Keith.
"What a hit!" ejaculated Captain Trent.
"Give me as
true a hit, Mrs. Payte. I say number three. I wonder no
*
one has chosen number three before."
"Do you?" said Mrs. Payte, absently, drawing out a white
fold of the thick glazed paper. "We will conclude-shall
we?—that it has been specially reserved for you. Here it is.
Listen: I am not settled yet in any staple condition; but liv
wind-bound off the Cape of Good Hope, expecting some gentle
gale to launch me out. That's a quotation from Howell; silly
man to lie there, eh?-wind-bound off the Cape of Good.
Hope."
66
Perhaps old Myddelton's money has that to answer for,"
said Honor, in a tone of deep consideration.
"Why, Honor, you baby!" remarked Theodora, "you
speak as if this rubbish were true. Mr. Keith, you will not
be so silly as to try any number, will you?"
"I cannot settle to anything," said Royden, with gravity,
"until I know my motto. Please, Mrs. Payte, give me num-
ber five."
'Yes, you can have five," assented the old lady, drawing
out a crimson paper; "but-but-let me see, I can scarcely
detect the meaning of this. It is Byronic- Manfred,' I
fancy:
6
'I feel the impulse, yet I do not plunge;
I feel the peril, yet do not recede;
And my brain reels, and yet my foot is firm.'"
"Why, Mr. Keith," cried Theodora, a few minutes after-
ward, "how silent you are over your motto! It might be
your destiny, for the grave look upon your face."
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
"Now, Mrs. Payte," exclaimed Phoebe, "please read `Mr.
Haughton's."
"Will you choose your number, Lawrence?" asked Honor,
rather enjoying the idea; and at her words he chose it.
"Number six, if I really am to choose,"
"Number six," repeated Mrs. Payte, musingly, as she
slowly-very slowly-opened a green paper. "Dear me, this
is all that's said on number six:
Love he comes and love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries-
Longest stays when sorest chidden,
Laughs and flies when pressed and bidden.'
I have heard that verse before, so have you, of course. Well,
is that all?"
"I am going to choose a number for Mrs. Payte herself,
said the rector, laughing; "and by that we shall judge how
true her axioms are. Now, Mrs. Payte, I choose four for
you; please read it.”
The old lady opened a brown fold of paper, and bent to
read, with her eyes full of laughter.
""
"This is rather trying," she said, looking sharply up into
the surrounding faces.This is what it says:
'Whether she knows the thing or no,
Her tongue eternally will go,
For she has impudence at will.'
To begin with, it is a distortion of Gay's lines, which were
originally applied to the masculine gender; and, to end with,
its inapplicability is as apparent as in the other cases.
goodness' sake, burn the creature, some of you!"
For
"Mrs. Payte," asked Honor, a suspicion darting across her
mind, are the numbers really there?"
“
The old lady raised her head, and eyed Honor sternly.
"Of course they are there. Take it and see.
""
She was quite right: the verses exactly answered to the
numbers every one had chosen; and it never entered into
Honor's head to conjecture when the penciled figures had
been added over the quotations. "Thank you," she said,
handing back the toy; "it is very odd."
"Honor," interposed Theodora, evidently tired of the sub-
ject, “we are going to dance now. You are fond of perform-
ing dance-music, so I suppose you will play first."
Honor took her seat at the piano, and at once struck up a
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
119
!
valse. Mr. Keith, as in duty bound, offered his arm to Theo-
dora,
On and on went Honor, until her fingers ached; then she
stopped with a rich, swift chord, and turned on her stool,
smiling to picture the sudden stop; but Theodora and her
partner were the only two who had kept up so long as the
music.
"How spiteful of you!" whispered Miss Trent, coming up
to her alone. "You stopped on purpose, because I was en-
joying it."
"I thought every one was enjoying it-except me," said
Honor, naively; "but my wrists gave way.
""
"Will you dance now, Miss Craven ?"
Theodora turned, her eagerness evident through all her
studied composure.
"You will offend Honor, if you take her away from the
piano, Mr. Keith. Her musical strength lies in dances."
"And in singing as Marguerite," added Royden, with a
smile into Honor's yes.
"Oh, I did that very badly," said Honor, turning swiftly
away; "I will do this better."
And without another moment's pause, she played the open-
ing bars of the Lancers. Then followed other dances, and
still Honor was allowed to keep her scat at the piano. Once
or twice Lawrence, in his stiff, stern way, proposed that some
one else should take a turn; but not very eagerly, for he did
not care to dance, and he could be more sure of having her
near him while she played. Once or twice Captain Trent
sauntered to her side, and whispered what a cool thing it was
of Theodora; but he had not the courage to venturo this re-
mark to Miss Trent herself, so its only effect was a comical
expression from Honor as she played on. Once or twice the
rector took Phoebe to the piano and proposed a division of
labor, but Honor knew how Phoebe bungled over dance-music,
and so she only nodded smilingly, and still played on.
And
once Mr. Keith, in the hearing of all the room, inquired
coolly if it was not the turn of some one else to play.
"If I offered to play," explained Theodora, in a low tone,
"Honor would not let me. She objects to dancing in boots
that are not her own. ""
(<
I see," said Royden, with a quizzical gravity in his eyes.
But in another moment he was to see quite the opposite
side of the picture. Little Mrs. Payte marched up to the
*
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
120 ...
****
piano, and declared, in a tone which there was no gainsaying,
that Honor would much oblige her by resigning.
"I never heard such ugly things as these tunes of the pres-
ent day!" she said. "Let me show you what was called
dance-music when I was young.
""
Honor rose with evident relief and pleasure, but first.she
looked questioningly into the old lady's face.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Payte, that you do not say it because
I have looked tired or discontented ?"
"Sure," she rejoined, tersely, and sat down at once.
Lawrence rose from his lounge behind the piano.
"You will dance with me, Honor?"
"Yes," she said, so brightly and readily that Royden
"saw" a little more clearly still through the excuse of the
boots.
**
"Honor, how odious this music is!" observed Theodora,
pointedly, when the valse was over. "I cannot dance to it.
"Can you not? Oh, I can.
Mrs. Payte was far more determined about not giving up
her occupation at the piano than even Honor had been. She
sat there, tripping through the old-fashioned airs, with her
wrists very much elevated, and her fingers very light upon
the keys; but no one save the daughter of the house uttered
word against the performance.
"I can dance merrily to those quaint old airs, can't you?"
asked Honor, appealing daringly to Theodora. "And I never
knew any one keep better time than Mrs. Payte. How kind
it is of her!"
And Honor evidently felt every word she said, for, in all
her happy excitement and restless enjoyment, she never for-
got to thank the old lady, and offer earnestly to relieve her.
"Go on," nodded the little pianist, working away inde-
fatigably. "I like it. I don't intend to be turned out in
favor of your new-fangled style. Go on."
Honor indeed went on, and the brighter and merrier she
grew, the more coldly supercilious were the glances bestowed
upon her by Miss Trent; the more appalling was Miss Haugh-
ton's gaze of disapproval; the more Iwrence expanded in
her smiles; the more Hervey caught himself up in his correc--
tions and lectures, as if he feared her sudden flight from their
midst; the more Phoebe raised her eyebrows with mild astom -
ishment; the more Mrs. Trent made languid remarks of a
pleasure at "girls who let their spirits run away with them
+6
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
121
€
the more Lady Somerson smiled behind her hand-screen, fol-
lowing with her eyes the light, restless figure, which was so
beautiful despite its ill-fitting dress; and the more Royden.
Keith studied, with quiet amusement, the changing face of
this girl, who seemed as yet to possess so little knowledge of
the world which had set its seal upon his thoughtful face.
.
"You do not often see girls make themselves ridiculous,
just as Honor does to-night, do you, Mr. Keith?”
Theodora had paused beside him as he leaned against
the chimney watching the dancers-watching one especially,
as Miss Trent plainly saw. He looked down and answered
her, his eyes growing full of fun as their intentness van-
ished; he looked down and answered her truthfully, but as
he would rather have died than answer her, if he could
have foreseen how and when she would report and distort his
words.
"Very seldom."
"That is what I cannot understand in Honor's nature,"
continued Theodora, placidly insinuating the wide contrast
in her own; "her perfect incapacity for any serious thought
and feeling. She is rather pretty, and, as Hervey says, she
is amusing sometimes; but she is not at all one you could
fancy at the head of an establishment, or, indeed, moving in
any wider range of society. As mamma says "_Theodora.
was gaining courage from the uncontradicting face-" any
man would be unwise to bestow a strong affection upon Honor,
if he expected depth of affection in return; do you think so,
too?"
"That it would be unwise for some men to bestow a strong
affection upon Miss Craven? Yes."
It was at this moment, just as Theodora smiled assent to
his words, that Honor herself came up to them, with Law-
rence following her to entreat her hand for the next dance.
"Honor, you are making yourself rather oddly conspicu-
ous, are you not?" inquired Theodora, in a would-be whisper.
"We were wondering to see you."
Honor glanced up into Royden's face with a gaze of swift
and pained inquiry, while the soft pink deepened in her
cheeks.
"Honor bright."
So he answered quietly, with his rare smile; but, when the
two words had been thus involuntarily uttered, a dusky flush
rose in his face, and his eyes, meeting hers, asked pardon for
122
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
the jest. No one had noticed her blush, or the sudden
brightening of her eyes, but every one could see that no words
of his had vexed her.
Lawrence led her off in pride again, and the young face
was once more the brightest and the happiest in the room.
For a while Lawrence Haughton's jealousy lay sleeping, but
his sister redoubled the keenness of her watch, and Theodora
redoubled her quiet words and glances of contempt. By
force of contrast, Miss Trent appeared almost genial to Jane
and Phoebe that night. Jane was so harmless in her easy-
chair, and Phoebe so insignificant in her small, gushing amia-
bility, that Theodora Trent, in her graciousness, could afford
to patronize these two unhurtful guests; only repaying her-
self by a few sleepy words of jesting contempt, uttered now
and then beyond their hearing.
Only Mr. Keith and Captain Trent received any amount of
attention from the daughter of their hostess, and though Her-
vey was quite aware of the inferior quality and quantity dealt
out to him, he did not fret over it. He could not, just yet,
feel any unpleasant consciousness of inferiority in the presence
of his possible rival, perhaps from the fact that Hervey Trent
was too thoroughly an artificial man to appreciate the intense
reality of Royden's nature.
"Mr. Keith "-little Mrs. Payte, from her seat at the
piano, without turning her head, called him as he passed
near, and he paused, standing beside her; it was a lull be-
tween the dances, and her fingers were striking only a few idle
chords" were you going to ask Honor to dance?"
"No."
Why not? Because of that clumsy dress Theodora chose
to lend her, or the boots that do not fit?"
،،
"No," he answered, rather gravely, following the moving
fingers on the keys, "not for that reason."
She is as pretty in her ugly gown," resumed the old lady,
energetically, ""as Theodora in her falbala.
"Falbala!" he echoed, laughing.
that word! I heard it last in Spanish America."
"How strange to hear
"It's a common enough word," rejoined the old lady, tes-
tily, "among those who are not solely English. It belongs to
Spain and Italy and France-don't fancy it peculiar to South
America, pray-and it is more natural to me than the stupid,
distorted word 'furbelows,' which these girls use. Isn't it
sad,” she added, with a quick change of tone, and a keen,
3
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
123 ·
upward glance, "to see Honor Craven exciting herself so
childishly, in spite of Captain Trent's repeated reprimands?"
"Captain Trent is not wearing himself out," said Royden,
in a leisurely tone. Captain Trent is one of those lucky
individuals who are able to stroll through life."
66
"And they are the wisest, too," asserted Mrs. Payte, with
unmistakable emphasis. "Why should men gallop through
life-as some do?"
"Or trip through it-as some women do?" said Royden,
with a smile.
"Or stalk through it—as some other women do?" added
the old lady, with a sly, swift glance at Miss Haughton.
"Have you asked her to dance?"
"Yes, I have asked Miss Haughton, and she refused me-
as you did."
"For my reason, probably. One evening of dancing would
leave me like the Dutch skipper who came home so thin that
his wife and his sister could not both look at him at the same
time. Ten minutes ago," she presently resumed, playing a
little louder, "I heard Miss Haughton wondering to Miss
Trent why she invited that disagreeable little Mrs. Payte
here. And on whom do you think our hostess laid the in-
iquity ?"
"Ön me, if she did me justice," said Royden, pleasantly.
"Yes, on you. I was your guest for the day, she said, and
I of course was obliged to be invited. How do
How do you feel?”
"Decidedly better."
"Then now you are going to ask Honor Craven to dance
this valse? I remember a tune that will set her feet flying,
even in big boots."
"Why do you wish it?" he asked, rather gravely, as
his eyes went swiftly across the room in their search for
Honor.
"For two reasons. She is a good dancer-old women are
not always so blind as you imagine-and I want you to have
one thoroughly pleasant dance before we go. Honor's height
will just suit you. Go and try."
He turned at once and went, his eyes still fixed upon her in
her distant corner, and a great pleasure and anticipation in
their depths. He came up to her just as she stood, alone and
quite still, against the open door; and he saw that her face
for that moment had lost its brilliant merriment, and her
beautiful eyes were full of quiet thought.
•
124
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Are you very tired?"
He spoke quietly, but his voice scattered the thought in a
moment.
،،
No, not tired," she said, and simply and unaffectedly she
put her hand within his offered arm.
"This is the last dance, I believe. Will you give it to
me?"
She only smiled without a word, and they took their places.
It was a long valse; Mrs. Payte's busy fingers went from one
old air to another untiringly; yet among all the dancers,
strange to say, it was Honor who stopped first-Honor who
had seemed so restless and unwearying.
(6
I had no idea I was so tired," she said, her hand trem-
bling in his clasp; "let us stop now."
Royden looked down, an anxious surprise in his eyes.
"Was it painful to you to dance with me?"
She shook her head, and laughed. It was a gesture of
curious self-reproach, and the laugh was a little forced.
"No, no," she said, "but-I do not know how it was—
there came a sudden pain; swift enough, for it is gone now;
but it was heavy and miserable, like a foreboding.
"Rest for a moment here at the window. See what a beau-
tiful night it is!"
She heaved a soft little sigh, possibly in her relief because
he had not laughed at her childish and almost supersti-
tious idea, possibly in thorough enjoyment of the rest and
calm.
The dancing for a long time went on behind them, as they
stood in silence looking out on the dim autumn night; but it
stopped at last.
"Are you rested? Are you quite rested?"
As he spoke, he softly touched the hand that lay upon his
arm, and she looked up with a smile to meet his questioning
eyes.
(6
Quite rested, and that pain is gone.'
He did not answer, but she knew that some strong emotion
which she could not fully comprehend found utterance in
that one slow, long-drawn breath.
The valse was over, and Mrs. Payte's shrewd eyes were
turned from the piano. She saw the dancers separate and
mingle with the other occupants of the room, breaking then
into groups of twos and threes, with here and there perhaps
one solitary figure left out, as was her own just then, though
↓
در
1
OLD MYDDÉLTON'S MONEY.
125*
the brisk little old lady did not give that fact the faintest shadow
of regret. She took her isolation so little to heart, that she
found herself able to cull a racy amusement, as usual, from
the remarks which her keen ears received in an illicit man、
ner.
"What makes you look so absent, Honor?"
"I am not absent," said the girl, turning her head from
Lawrence Haughton when he joined her with these words.
"I said you looked absent, which is true."
"What does it signify how I look ?" she asked, appealing
to him with a sadness underlying her impatience. "I wish
you would not look at me, Lawrence-why should you?”
"Let me look at whom I may," he answered, moodily,
"it is always you I see; and that sudden thoughtful fit after
your last valse was, to say the least, unlike you, Honor,
and-
""
"Now I must go and thank Mrs. Payte for playing for
¡me."
"The
"For you?" rejoined Mr. Haughton, sulkily.
thanks are due from Theodora and her mother. Leave it to
them, Honor.'
""
"Trust Honor to make acquaintance readily with low peo-
ple," remarked Theodora to Captain Trent, as she sauntered
with him up to where her mother sat. "Doesn't she look
absurd laying herself out to that old-to that extent?" cor-
rected Miss Trent, uncomfortably conscious of Royden's
presence.
"Yes-oh, yes, of course," assented Captain Hervey, obey-
ing very readily his cousin's command to look at Honor.
"She looks pretty, doesn't she? Very pretty.
Very pretty.
course, you are right, Theo."
But, of
""
CHAPTER XII.
Seal up your lips, and give no words, but-mum.
-Henry VI.
THE offices of Messrs. Carter & Haughton, solicitors, were
opposite the Royal Hotel, in the most important street in
Kinbury. The situation was as decidedly the best situation
in the town for a lawyer's office, as Mr. Haughton was him-
self the most prosperous lawyer; and the rooms were so fur-
nished and arranged as to give the visitor an impressive idea
AL
AL
126
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
*
of the wide and select practice of the firm. Not that Law-
rence Haughton had any partner now, but among the old
clients Mr. Haughton's offices were still the offices of the
firm, and Lawrence Haughton himself but a representative
of it.
These offices consisted of three rooms. A small one on the
ground-floor, furnished with a huge double desk, two high
stools, two maps, two odd chairs, and two jocular and rather
idle clerks, who spent six hours of every day chatting to-
gether, and between whiles either performed in an upright
hand upon Lawrence Haughton's foolscap, or drew up, with
elaborate care, essays and notes, to be read, amidst great ap-
plause, at the meetings of the Kinbury Young Men's Literary
Association.
At the top of the short flight of stairs, two rooms opened
on a lobby, and the one to the back of the house was Mr.
Slimp's office, a room in which that pallid little gentleman
conducted his own business as well as his employer's, and
very much subdued the spirits, while assisting in the legal
education of Mr. Haughton's articled clerks. This was by
no means an uncomfortable or meanly furnished room; nor
was Bickerton Slimp ignorant of the art of taking his ease
there, while he hatched his mean and petty plans; but the
sanctum of the lawyer himself was Mr. Slimp's favorite rest-
ing-place, and on the morning of the day after the picnic at
Abbotsmoor he was standing there on the rug, with an ap-
pearance as nearly approaching to ease and at-homeness as
it was in the power of his small and angular person to as-
sume.
This private office of Mr. Haughton's was a large front
room overlooking the vestibule of the Royal Hotel opposite,
and no one glancing round it could fail to be impressed by the
apparently limitless extent of the business intrusted to Law-
rence Haughton, solicitor. How many secrets he must have
held in his grasp, touching the well-known names so promi-
nently displayed! How much he must have known of those
families which Kinbury-with a wide appreciation of ancestry
-called its “good families!" And, beyond that, how evident
it was that he had in his keeping money as well as secrets.
Yet the clients, looking ever so closely, could detect no sign
of lavish or needless expenditure; and shrugging their shoul-
ders, would pronounce Lawrence Haughton a true Myddelton
at heart, possessing inherently the old man's talent of amass-
} !.'
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
127
ing wealth-this being by no means an unpleasant reflection
for those whose fortunes were in his hands.
Lawrence Haughton had pushed his round-backed chair
from the writing-table, and leaning back, with his elbows
on the arms, he began to fold and unfold an empty en-
velope, an unmistakable sign that his conversation with his
chief clerk was over. Mr. Slimp had made a movement to
retire-a quite unusual proceeding with him, unless his mas-.
ter had shown this sign of having done with him.
"No evidence, you are quite sure, of such a name having
ever been upon the records?" repeated Mr. Haughton, some
suppressed excitement stirring his harsh tones.
"No proof at all, sir. A young Royden Sidney was called
to the bar in 1859, but left the profession within a year."
"That's no evidence," retorted Mr. Haughton, curtly;
"I found that out a week ago.
""
"That is the only mention of such a Christian name,"
continued Mr. Slimp, in his peculiar tones of mingled defer-
ence and assurance. "As for the surname, there have been
several Keiths, but not one since 1859."
"Then this journey," put in Mr. Haughton, impatiently,
has given you no further clew? You tell me now only ex-
actly what you told me on Tuesday night, when you returned
from London.”
"That is all I have been able to discover, sir."
Lawrence was silent for a minute, absently folding and re-
folding the paper in his hands, and seeing nothing of his
clerk's wily glance into his brooding face. Suddenly recol-
lecting himself, as it seemed, he wheeled his chair before his
writing-table again, and, nodding toward the door, took up
his pen.
Mr. Slimp walked softly across the carpeted floor, and
closed the door behind him, without a sound. He should be
summoned again, he knew, when any further plans were to
be mooted!
Half an hour after this, Mr. Haughton opened the door of
the chief clerk's office.
"I shall be out for ten minutes," he said; "no more.
He did not glance in at the lower office as he passed, but
the two clerks heard his step, and looked out to see which
way he went; more for the diversion of a gaze into the street
than for any lively interest they felt in the lawyer's proceed.
ings,
1*
?
128
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Into the Royal Hotel! What's up?"
"Bitter beer."
But it was no order for bitter beer which Mr. Haughton
gave as he walked into the vestibule of the Royal Hotel.
"Is Mr. Keith within ?" he asked of the waiter.
Now hotel waiters are, as a rule, quick and observant; and
the man to whom the lawyer addressed this question was no
exception. While he answered, "I believe he is, sir, but I
will fetch his servant," he was cogitating to himself in a very
different strain. "Lawyer Haughton hasn't put on that
friendly air for nothing. He's never been over to see Mr.
Keith before, and these aren't his usual grim tones."
He cast one more keen glance into Mr. Haughton's face
when he returned with Pierce, and then he went on into the .
bar with an unmoved countenance.
Royden Keith rose and put down his book when Mr..
Haughton, uninvited, followed the card Pierce brought in,
Royden offered his hand in his easy, courteous way; but
though he showed no evidence of it, he felt a great surprise
at this visit.
During the day before, both at Abbotsmoor and Deer-
grove, there had been no concealment in Lawrence Haugh-
ton's suspicion and avoidance of this stranger of whom oth-
ers had made so much; and Royden had felt and understood
the reason of this, as only a shrewd and sensitive man can
understand and feel. Therefore was this unexpected visit,
so far, a puzzle to him.
Mr. Haughton declined to take a chair.
"I am expected at my office in a few minutes' time," he
said, by way of excuse.
K
Then he paused. If, when he resolved upon this visit, he
had for one moment fancied it would be easy to sound Roy-
den Keith on the one subject which at present baffled him,
his first glance this morning into the young man's face con-
vinced him of his error. Even if possible, the task would
be far from easy.
"Our visit to Abbotsmoor yesterday," began Lawrence,
thinking it wisest to make a plunge at once, "very naturally
put Gabriel Myddelton into my thoughts. This morning I
find them returning to him, and so I have been looking over
what papers I possess relating to his crime."
"A humiliating task, I fear."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
129
"A very humiliating task," assented Lawrence, taking up,
with inexplicable heat, those few cool words of Royden's;
"but I am not here with the intention of blaming him. He
is as far beyond my blame as his crime is beyond my punish-
ment."
"Is his crime beyond your punishment?" inquired Roy-
den, with composure.
"If you find him, surely you can
hang him, even now.”
A flame of scarlet rose to the lawyer's brow, the very veins
of his face were swollen, when Royden, from his greater
height, glanced calmly down upon him, reading his suspicion,
but failing to read how this suppressed anger was caused by
the consciousness of his feelings for Gabriel lying bare before
the clear and quizzical eyes of this young man, whom he
could not read at all.
"A thought struck me last night "-Lawrence had, by a
strong effort, shaken off his impotent wrath, and was con-
tinuing the conversation with as much ease as he could as-
sume that Gabriel Myddelton might be in straightened
circumstances, and, if any one could tell us where he was, we
might be able to help him."
Yes?" questioned Royden, in the pause, his long, dark
eyes fixed coolly and steadily upon the lawyer's face.
"I thought, as you have traveled much, even, as I hear, in
America, you might, through your friends there, possibly
make inquiries for us.'
""
"I have one or two friends in America," returned Royden,
in his leisurely tones; "what do you wish me to ask them?"
E
"I thought, as I said, that you might possibly make in-
quiries among them concerning Gabriel Myddelton."
"You mean, if they can be trusted in such a case?”
"Of course, of course," exclaimed Lawrence, hastily, won-
dering why he could not frame his words here, and on this
subject, just as he could on matters of law in his own office;
"I mean, if you know any one who can be trusted."
"If I do," said Royden, slowly, "what then?"
-
"If, through them, we could send out help to Gabriel-
always providing that his identity were assured—we should be
willing to do so.
""
!
C
With these words, the lawyer raised his eyes boldly. The
younger man could hardly answer quite easily here, if hist
visitor's one-haunting and damning suspicion were well-
founded.
130
ད
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
-Y
"Have you, then, reason to believe that he went to
America?"
T
"I have reason to believe that he landed in Quebec; but I
did not hear this until it was years too late to be of service.”
"Too late to capture him?"
Again the hot flame of anger burned in Lawrence Haugh-
ton's face.
"Am I not trying," he said, " to help this most degraded
connection of my own?"
But for the eager, intense desire he felt to assure himself
of the correctness of this suspicion of his, Lawrence would
have uttered no further words on this subject. As it was,
though, he would bear any words his companion might choose
to say, rather than resign the chance of some day proving
him a convicted and escaped criminal.
*
4.
"I never spent a day in Quebec in my life," said Royden,
steadily studying the lawyer's hard, embarrassed face, so I
have unfortunately no friends there to whom I can appeal
on behalf of your generous plan. I have one friend, a miner,
in Peru. Shall I apply to him for possible tidings of your
cousin ?"
"Mr.. Keith," said the lawyer, in only half-concealed
anger, "it appears to me that you wilfully misunderstand
what I wish to say. Such conduct would make a suspicious
man fancy it more than possible that you yourself are cogni-
zant of Gabriel Myddelton's hiding-place.
ور
The one cool glance which Royden gave the face below him
read the whole depth and width of this man's vile suspicion;
but then the lesson had been slowly learned before that glance.
"You evidently understand the nature of a suspicious.
man," he said, with a smile.
،،
""
Will you tell me," inquired Lawrence, with a desperate
last appeal, "if you think you can be of any service to me in
this?"
"No, sir," rejoined Royden, gravely. "With all due def-
erence to you, and to the law you uphold, I would not, if I
could, be an agent-however remote-in leading a free man
into captivity.
<d
"You do not know, then, anything of Gabriel Myddelton?"
Nothing could more plainly have shown the desperate eager-
ness with which Lawrence Haughton sought to dive at a truth
which lay beyond his reach than this persistence in his ques-
tioning of Royden Keith, and laying himself open to the cool
-
-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
131
=
and proud rejoinders which galled him as no rough or angry
words could have done, and galled him with a hundred times
their force because they were uttered by this man whom he
suspected, yet against whom he could prove nothing. The
man, too, of whom-though he hardly comprehended even
himself the force, or strength, or meanness of the feeling-he
was acutely and bitterly jealous, with the smallest and most
despicable jealousy of which a man's mind is capable-meanly
jealous of the face and figure so superior to his own; selfishly
jealous of the luxuries and refinements the man possessed;
angrily jealous of the mystery which surrounded him; sav-
agely jealous, above all, of the power he seemed to possess of
winning a love for which other men might labor and sigh in
vain. No feeling less strong than this contemptible and over-
mastering jealousy and suspicion could have made Lawrence
Haughton lengthen this interview by a renewed attempt to
wring a grain of some convicting truth from his companion.
But he did so, and repeated and enlarged his question.
S
{
"I properly understand you-do I, Mr. Keith? You have
no knowledge of the hiding-place of Gabriel Myddelton? Let
me assure you that your information will be received in the
strictest confidence."
Royden's steadfast eyes seemed to Mr. Haughton to take in
his whole mind and person in their slow, haughty glance.
"What information, may I ask, sir?"
"Any information," rejoined Lawrence, with a last effort
of humility, "with which you may favor me about my cousin,
Gabriel Myddelton."
"When I have information which I wish to confide to you,
I will bring it you myself. I will not trouble you to seek it
so urgently."
"You offered, a few minutes ago," observed the lawyer,
seizing on his last faint hope of a stray advantage, "to make
inquiries of your friends in South America."
66
I will do so with pleasure. By what name may I inquire
for your cousin ?”
"By what name?" replied Lawrence, gazing half stupefied
into the cool, quizzical face above him, and wondering how
it was that every word this man uttered went to strengthen
his suspicion, yet every glance and tone to weaken it.
"Yes, that was my question, sir," returned Royden,
quietly. "For it is not customary, I believe, even in the
wilds of an unpopulated country, for a condemned criminal,
132
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
who has by stratagem escaped the grip of English justice, to
travel under his branded name. By what name, may I in-
quire for your cousin?"
"You know I cannot tell!" blurted the lawyer impotently.
"A nice mockery your offer is-you had better have made
29
none.
"Then I will withdraw it," said Royden, glancing at the
loor as a footstep approached it from without.
"Of one thing I am perfectly sure," stammered Mr.
Haughton, looking at his hat as if about to put it on, but
making no movement toward the door; "no gentleman would
speak as you have done to-day of Gabriel Myddelton and his
acts, unless he had personally known something of Gabriel
and those deeds of his."
"Come in."
The knock upon the door, and Mr. Keith's leisurely answer
to it, alone had broken the pause which followed the lawyer's
words.
"A letter, sir."
Pierce came up to his master with his noiseless step, and
the lawyer hesitated in his intention to leave, watching Mr.
Keith's hand as it took the letter from the tray the servant
held.
"Waiting?"
'No, sir-sent by a messenger belonging to Kinbury.”
Lawrence Haughton's eyes-sharpened not only by years of
practice, but by the distrust which every moment grew upon
him-rested greedily upon the envelope which Royden held,
without attempting to open; but they rested there in vain, for
all their keenness; and one fancy, which had been hovering
tauntingly about him, laid hold of Mr. Haughton's mind now
as a mortifying conviction. Below all the quiet, rather
assumed ease of the young man before him, lay a will far
stronger than his own, a power more dominant; and-above
all humiliating to the lawyer, who built so great pretensions
on his reserve a sight so much keener, and a knowledge so
much truer, that his motives and suspicions had all been laid
bare in this interview, which had shown him nothing.
Was it any wonder that Lawrence Haughton, being the
man he was, should suspect that an infamous truth lay
hidden somewhere, and should vow within himself that he
would drag this truth to light?
E
,
"OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
133
There was no sign of Royden's opening the letter, and Law-
rence had no excuse to stay longer.
"Good-morning, Mr. Keith," he said, and made rather an
unnecessary show of offering his hand.
"
Good-morning, sir," said Royden, with a slight, uncon-
cerned bow.
Before the lawyer had reached the vestibule of the hotel,
a sudden resolution formed itself from the jarring discords of
mistrust and jealousy which swayed his mind. Slowly ho
retraced his steps, and, following immediately on the slight.
est signal of his approach which courtesy allowed, he entered
Mr. Keith's room once more.
It was empty, but Mr. Haughton thought he would wait
for a few moments, so he sauntered over to the hearth, and,
as he framed to himself the speech intended for Royden's ear,
he stood with his eyes lowered.
Suddenly and swiftly a change came into his face. Stoop
ing upon the rug, and stretching forth his cautious white
fingers, he took something from the grate, and placed this
something within the crown of the hat he carried.
"I see how it is," he said to himself, in self-congratulation;
"he threw it there to burn, little guessing that the ashes
would tell secrets. I think I will not stay now."
But Mr. Haughton had, with miraculous suddenness, to
repress his smile of delight, and once more change his tactics,
when, as he turned to leave the room, he encountered Royden
Keith.
1
"I returned,” he said, with a little unusual suavity in his
harsh tones, "to beg that, if you think it dangerous in any
way to move in the matter of discovering Gabriel Myddelton's
name and place of concealment, you will not for a moment
think of doing so."
"Danger to himself or to me?" inquired Royden, in a tone
of quiet irony.
The old bewilderment was falling upon Lawrence Haugh-
ton's brain once more, but there was now the pleasant con-
sciousness of what he carried in his hat.
W
"Your question is odd," he said, with a curious smile.
For whom could there be danger, but for the felon him-
self?"
"Oh! that is the law, is it? Danger only for the felon
himself. That's well.
That's well. Then listen, Mr. Haughton. I did
not, as you are quite aware, promise you help in discovering
t
134
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
his name and hiding-place; your return, therefore, to insinuate
danger to him was unnecessary. But your courteous and
well-disguised insinuation of danger to myself has given a zest
to the idea for me, and I will now promise you to do what you
desire, and be myself the one to bring you and Gabriel Myd-
delton face to face."
"If you do, you know the consequence!" said Lawrence,
between his teeth.
“The consequence will naturally be the carrying out of that
long-delayed sentence of the law."
(6
Certainly. Though, as I said before," added Lawrence,
hastily, "if I knew him to be in a distant country, trying to
be a better man, I would wish to offer him help.
""
J
"You are generous," remarked Royden, dryly; and then
the two men separated.
"I know nothing more than I knew when I went in," mut-
tered the lawyer to himself, as he descended the stairs for the
second time; but still I have something now which may be
a proof."
Entering his own office, without having addressed either of
his clerks on his way, Mr. Haughton turned the key in the
door behind him. Then taking his usual seat before his writ
ing table, he cautiously drew the burned paper from his hat.
It was but a small torn piece which he had rescued, and it
was burned perfectly black, but upon it he could read, in
white, two written words.
.
"Science would explain this in a moment," smiled Law-
rence, locking the paper carefully in a private drawer, "and
tell why, as that peculiar paper burned to tinder, without en-
tirely crumbling away, and its whiteness turned to black-
ness, the ink should, on the contrary, turn from black to
white, and fulfil its mission still, by forming the words in its
strong contrast. But I do not need it explained by science.
Here the words stand, and that is enough for me. When
the time comes, they may be proof enough; and in the mean-
time they are safe here."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
135
(
{
"
CHAPTER XIII.
Unless you can swear,
Oh, fear to call it loving!
For life, for death,"
-E. B. BROWNING.
In spite of Mrs. Payte's sharp rebukes and muttered grum-
blings, Honor Craven acted upon the permission given her,
and spent much time at East Cottage, soothing and cheer-
ing as far as possible the wakeful hours of the invalid whose
only constant companion seemed so harsh and unfeeling. Yet
those visits to the cottage were by no means easy of accom-
plishment for Honor. Far from being her own mistress, to
spend there what time she would, and come and go as she
chose, there were continual difficulties put in her way, both
by her guardian and her sister. Lawrence selfishly forbade
her to be out after six o'clock, when he himself came home;
and Miss Haughton considered that there were a hundred
things she might be doing more useful and sensible than
"dancing attendance" on a perfect stranger.
(6
'Why don't you mend your stockings?" she would inquire,
when Honor, her morning duties over, would beg permission
to go.
، ،
ht
""
They don't want mending, Jane.'
"Well, Phoebe's always want double mending; so why
don't you help her?" would be the grumbling remark.
"Oh! let me go-do, Jane; Mrs. Disbrowe is so very ill,"
the girl would plead, without uttering one impatient word at
Jane's proposal, though she knew that Phoebe's mending al-
ways fell entirely upon her own quick fingers.
If at last she did succeed in getting off, she must-however
much she felt herself of use at the cottage-be home again for
the six o'clock dinner, or incur her guardian's moody dis-
pleasure, and in so doing bring down upon herself a perfect
torrent of tears from Phoebe, and Miss Haughton's blackest
looks and grimmest words. So this new task which Honor
had taken upon herself was not so easy a one as Mrs. Payte
seemed to fancy, when she would meet the girl's bright face
at the cottage window, and ask her sharply how many of her
day's duties she had left undone. The answer always had
been so truthful that even this skeptical old lady could not
✔
136
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
doubt the truth of the one which at last took the place of all
others
મ
"None left undone to-day, Mrs. Payte. I was up early,
and everything is done.
""
Sometimes, receiving this bright answer, Mrs. Payte caught
herself smiling into the girl's earnest eyes-but only some..
times. The answer generally met with a grunt of skeptical
surprise, and, but that Honor looked for no thanks, her heart
might have grown idle or rebellious in this task. But it
never did; and when a month was gone, and October was
drawing to its close, Honor was still fulfilling this one duty;
her soft voice and step untiring, and her gentle hands unfail-
ing, in their prompt and loving service.
One afternoon, when Honor reached the cottage-Miss
Haughton had kept her at home all the morning, darning
table-cloths with Phoebe, whose propensity was to keep a novel
under her work, and imbibe its contents surreptitiously while
her younger cousin worked-she found Theodora Trent with
Mrs. Payte in the cottage parlor. Miss Trent had made her
duty call as brief as possible, and now was relieved to feel that,
the ten minutes were over, and she might depart.
"I am very sorry to hear Mrs. Disbrowe is so ill; I hope
we shall soon have better tidings of her."
So she was saying, in her languid tones, when Honor en.
tered the room; and the cold wish, so impossible of fulfil.
ment, made the girl's heart feel hot and angry when she
heard it.
"I hope so," rejoined Mrs. Payte, curtly. "She's a good
deal of trouble to me, as you may imagine."
"Yes, I can imagine it," assented Theodora.
،،
Any one with sense can see how hard it is for me," con·
tinued the little old lady, waxing wroth at the thought, "yet
Honor never will own it. I only hope she will some day have
just such a place as mine to fill; she'll understand all about it
then."
The shrewd eyes raised to Theodora's face had an inexpli
cable twinkle in them; and Theodora, understanding that
Honor's conduct was deserving ridicule, laughed her short,
lazy laugh, and moved a little nearer to the door.
So Mr. Keith is going away again?”
The words stopped Miss Trent.
"Oh, no," she said, from a lofty height of superior knowl
odge; "he has been away and has returned."
I
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
137
!
86 Oh, that's it, is it? I thought he was going again; but
old women are not reliable authorities; the absurdity of their
tales is proverbial. I don't wonder he came back, the shoot-
ing here is so good; I don't wonder he goes away again, the
air is so vile. Mr. Haughton ought to invite him to the
Larches, Honor; he would like that."
On this quizzical speech fell Miss Trent's slow, cold ques-
tion as she looked from one to the other.
"How do you mean? Is Honor unwomanly enough to try
to attract Mr. Keith to the Larches?"
"Unwomanly," smiled Mrs. Payte; "is Honor unwom-
anly, you ask? I have not known her so long as you have;
please to answer your own question. I only said I thought
Mr. Keith would be very glad to visit at Honor's home."
"I think not," said Theodora, answering the quizzical
words with a suppressed eagerness which sounded almost like
fear; I happen to know, in fact, for Mr. Keith has ex-
pressed to me his opinion of Honor."
"What a curious thing," said Honor, laughing. "What
was it, Theodora ?"
"He said "—the words were uttered with but little com-
punction" that you were not a girl on whom any man could
bestow a strong affection. You were very well for an hour's
amusement, but any man would be a fool who offered you
anything more serious than a passing flirtation-something,
at any rate, to that effect. Dear me," exclaimed Theodora,
with a solo of laughter, "why do you look.so horror-stricken
over it? Others have made the same remark before. It is
your own fault that men think you vain and flippant; surely
his opinion need not have turned you white to the very lips,
need it? I told you for your own good.
""
"Don't be childish enough to undervalue what is told you
for your own good," remarked the old lady, placidly. "Miss
Trent, has Lady Lawrence acknowledged that photograph
which was so beautifully taken at Abbotsmoor the day we
were there?"
"Yes, and she admires it very much."
"She naturally would. When is she coming to England?"
"She will be here for Christmas, and we are to meet her in
London."
"Has she a house in London, or was it old Myddelton's?"
"It is her own, I believe," said Theodora, the subject of
conversation making even the speaker bearable-" a beautiful
"༔
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
mansion in Kensington. I am glad we are to meet her there;
I've been terribly afraid of her coming down here. It would
have been awkward for her to have appointed to meet us in
this neighborhood."
"Yes," assented Mrs. Payte. "Stay, Honor, that was
Selina's bell; I will go. Miss Trent, may I ask you to wait
for a couple of minutes?"
Even if Theodora had been inclined to refuse, the little
lady did not give her any opportunity; but she kept her
scarcely more than the allotted time.
"I wish to goodness," she exclaimed, coming in with a
heavy frown upon her face, "that servants were not, as a
class, such heaps of selfishness. There is mine gone for her
half-holiday, goodness only knows where, and Selina moaning
for a new medicine from Kinbury, fidgeting me till I don't
know what to do with myself. Servants have no right to ask
for holidays.
""
"Our servants never have them, unless we are away," ob-
served Theodora; "we think it a very unnecessary indul-
gence."
"It is an absurd indulgence!" fumed the old lady; “and
see how it leaves me in this case-alone in the house with two
helpless invalids, for that miserable girl belonging to the cot-
tage is of less than no use at all. Now, what am I to do? I
ought to go into Kinbury, but Selina is lost without me.
""
The faintest possible smile of contempt stirred Miss Trent's
lips. Could any invalid be lost without this chattering and
restless little worry? she thought. But she only said aloud,
"It is very awkward for you. Why is not the medicine sent?"
"She wishes for a bottle of a medicine she used to take.
Sick women are so fanciful! She thinks a dose of that would
give her a good night.
>>
Honor looked up brightly at the words.
"I will go, Mrs. Payte," she said; "the little trouble will
be well repaid by giving Mrs. Disbrowe a good night.
""
Miss Trent glanced at Honor with unconcealed surprise,
but evidently considered the matter beneath argument.
"You must not go, Honor, because how could you come
back?"
"Let me go," pleaded Honor, with the old bright self-for-
getfulness. I will come back with Lawrence in the wagon-
ette."
"You are sure you can do so?"
λ
C
A
•
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
139
****
-
.
"Quite sure," said the girl, knowing how pleased Law-
rence would be to bring her home.
She would not go in to Mrs. Disbrowe, she said, for fear of
the sick lady's begging her not to undertake the walk, and
she only nodded a quiet good-bye to Theodora. Then she set
out, singing softly to herself in the wide and unfrequented
road, to drown the memory of those words which Theodora
Trent had repeated to her.
"What difference does it make to me?" she said to herself at
last, with a funny little shake of the head, when she found
that the half-whispered song would not drown the words.
don't care an atom.”
"I
She asserted that fact distinctly twice over; and yet a faint,
tremulous pain seized the girl when Royden Keith, in sport.
ing-dress, and with his gun upon his shoulder and his dogs
around him, came through a gate before her, and out into
the road.
“He—the sight of him makes me feel very angry; I dis.
like him so!" she said, reasoning with herself in marvelous
wisdom, as the tremor passed and the flash of vivid color
faded. "I hope he will not wait for me-I do dislike him
so!"
It was an unnecessary speech, because she could plainly see
that Royden had not only waited, but was coming toward her.
He had a smile of pleasure on his face when they met, but,
before that, it had worn the sorrow of thorough disappoint-
ment. Every few days since his dog had saved the life of
that child who lived in the solitary cottage among the green
lanes, Royden had paid the mother a visit. But these visits
-though his voice was good to hear, and his face good to see
in her gloomy home, and though his thoughtful gifts were
luxuries, and his tenderness to the little child was now the
little fellow's one idea of happiness-brought a growing gloom.
instead of brightness to the mother's face. And this very day
he had found the cottage locked and empty, though on his
last visit no mention had been made of the probable de-
parture.
Royden mused deeply over the circumstance, recalling how,
on that last visit, he had once again talked of Margaret Ter
rit, and had noticed with what eager, petulant haste the
mother had turned aside the subject, hurrying to say, as she
had said before, that she had no neighbor Margaret-na
neighbor at all-and that she wanted none. Yet on the day
140.
魔
​OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
afterward she had left, and had taken her child no one knew
whither. How could Royden help musing upon this, and
feeling that the one clew which he had for a moment held
within his hand, was lost again? Still the smile broke in his
eyes as Honor came-very lingeringly-up to meet him.
"Not going into Kinbury alone, are you, Miss Craven?" he
asked, as his hand closed firmly over hers.
"Yes," said Honor, and she simply told him why.
"But this should not be," he objected anxiously, as he
made a sudden stop. "You cannot possibly walk back. Let
me send the medicine out to East Cottage.
""
"No, thank you," returned Honor, proudly; "I will go
because the commission was given to me, and I can come
home with my cousin. He has the wagonette in town."
Royden said no more. He could see how firm the girl's
resolution was, and, if he could not also see how delighted
she was with an excuse for displaying this pride, which was
anything but natural to her, why, it was not very much to be
wondered at, considering how little he knew of the private
confidences of Miss Theodora Trent.
"I felt perfectly abashed when you began to talk to me of
business in town, with that very business-like air, Miss
Craven," he remarked, as they walked on side by side, in
spite of Honor's proud and ineffectual little efforts to leave a
space of unoccupied highway between them. "Your tone
conveyed an unmistakable rebuke to me; I began to feel over-
whelmed with shame at being only on pleasure bent.""
6
Honor, feeling the incumbrance of unfamiliarity in her new
armor of pride, naturally made a strenuous effort to appear
very much at her ease therein.
1
"Captain Trent considers shooting very hard work," she
said, with her eyes far on before her, and a general expression
of entire ease and indifference. "I dislike him so," she
added to herself again, most persistently, and trying to take
into her face and figure an evidence of this.
"Then I ought to congratulate myself, I suppose," he said,
with a smile, that this will be for a time my last day's hard
work. I am going away to-morrow."
Angrily and silently Honor framed the words in her own
mind, "I am very glad-very glad indeed." But for all
that, there passed a little quiver across her lips, and for an
instant the steeples of Kinbury and the long stretch of white
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY141*
3
.
highway were wrapped in heavy mist. Then she spoke with
quiet unconcern.
"You must be very glad. Yours is rather a solitary life
here."
+
"Mine is always a solitary life."
By mistake-most mortifyingly by mistake-she looked up
to meet his eyes.
"I hope not," she said; and that was by mistake, too.
"It always has been," he answered, very low; "not quite
idle, and not unhappy, but always solitary. Within the
last few months there has dawned upon me the possibility of
its being different-a far-off possibility, but bright and beau-
tiful beyond my dreams. This since I knew you, Honor."
"He said you were not a girl on whom any man could be-
stow a strong affection." Honor had no need to bring these
words from her memory, to array them in giant strength
against those quiet words he uttered; the smart was too
recent. Her eyes looked clearly on before her still, and
her lip curled scornfully; but the eyes did not venture to
meet his, and the lip curled tremulously, as if its scorn werd
an effort.
"Miss Craven, I want to ask you if you will come and see
my home. Mrs. Trent has offered to visit me, and to bring
her daughter and her nephew. I had only to accept their
kindness; but I would plead for yours. They are coming
only for one day. Will you let me for that one day entertain
in my house the only one in all the world who can make that
home beautiful for me?"
"He said you were very well for an hour's amusement, but
that any man would be a fool to offer you anything more
serious than a passing flirtation."
Once more, with a deathless force, the memory came and
crushed the power of those earnest words he uttered. If only
it had not been just in this hour that she had chanced to
meet him!
.. Thank you, Mr. Keith, but I think I will not come.'
He stopped for a moment in his walk, looking down, with
a searching earnestness, into her face. It was such a pure
and innocent face, so thoughtful as well as bright, so quick to
read truth and earnestness, so thoroughly true itself, that he
knew he could trust the answer he should read there.
"He said you were not a girl on whom any man could be-
stow a strong affection." Those words were in burning let-
142
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
ters before her wide and angry eyes; at that moment he looked
down and read his answer.
For many minutes after that they walked in silence; then,
on the outskirts of the town Royden offered his hand
"It is good-bye, I suppose, Miss Craven. I will not tease
you by again asking you to come with Mrs. Trent; but, if you
change your mind and come, you will make me very happy-
for that one day at least.'
""
Ag
'You are very well for an hour's amusement-that's all."
With those words surging in her heart, Honor answered very
easily.
"Thank you again, Mr. Keith; but there is no likelihood
of my changing my mind, so I will say good-bye.'
""
He raised his hat, and turned into a shop near which they
had paused, his dogs following him, while Honor walked on
slowly up the quiet street. The young woman in the small
sadler's shop never guessed how little the gentleman needed
the dog-collar he bought. She knew him well by sight, and
had often looked out admiringly upon him as he passed the
window. He looked very handsome now, standing beside the
counter, examining the collars in silence, and she was glad he
took a long time to choose one. But her warm heart would
hardly have been glad, could she have read aright the sorrow
hidden at that moment under the heavy lashes of his eyes.
While he lingered here for Honor's sake, she walked on
through the town, clinging childishly and eagerly to one
thought:
"He said it; he did say it. Theodora told me so. It
doesn't matter that they do not sound like his words. It
doesn't matter that he does not look as if he would think them.
He did say it. Theodora told me so.”
The two junior clerks, who both nourished for Honor, in
good-natured rivalry, a harmless and romantic passion, sprang
from their stools when they saw her enter Mr. Haughton's
office, and volunteered, in a breath, to go themselves, when
she told them, after her pleasant greeting, that she wanted a
messenger sent with a note to a certain surgery.
"I will wait in Mr. Haughton's room," she said, "for the
answer.”
She had no sooner entered the lawyer's private office than
Mr. Slimp followed her, with a bland apology for his master's
absence:
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
143
t
"Mr. Haughton was summoned to a client who lives at
least seven miles away, Miss Craven, and I know it is his in-
tention to drive straight home from there, without returning
here again."
.
In vain did poor Honor try to hide her disappointment.
"I suppose there is a train this evening?" she said, taking
up a time-table with fingers that trembled with nervousness.
"The last train which stops at Statton leaves at 4:30, Miss
Craven," rejoined Bickerton Slimp, with great officiousness,
as he wheeled round Mr. Haughton's arm-chair for her, "and
it is now after five. How may I assist you?”
"Thank you, but you can be of no assistance whatever,"
said Honor, moving away from the offered chair.
"If I may take the liberty of suggesting that I walk back
with you," proposed Bickerton, smiling.
"But you may not take the liberty," said Honor, with
quiet unconcern.
"I fear, Miss Craven," smiled the little clerk, insinuatingly,
as he rubbed his hands softly together, "that I must be rude
enough to force my escort upon you. Mr. Haughton would
never forgive me if I allowed you unprotected to
3
"Send over to the hotel, if you please," interrupted Honor,
"and order a fly for me.
رو
Her tone was quite gentle, and even betrayed a little of the
timidity she felt, but there was in it a note of such unques-
tionable though quiet authority that Bickerton Slimp turned
and left the room at once to obey her orders. Whereabouts,
on his way to the hotel, another resolution crossed his mind,
he could not himself have told.
All through his absence Honor lingered at the window,
where she had taken her stand when Mr. Slimp had invited
her to the fire, and some one opposite, whom, in her absent
mood, she did not notice, saw her, and presently she was
aware that the bustling figure of Mr. Haughton's chief clerk
-well known to her-joined her at the window, evidently to
tell her something, which brought a startled fear into her
face.
Prompt in all he did, Royden Keith walked down-stairs
and out into the hotel yard, from which he had watched Mr.
Slimp emerge. A few steps brought him to where one of his
own grooms stood chatting with an hostler, and a few words
explained his question.
1.44
ÓLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Mr. Slimp, sir," replied the hostler, touching his hat at
every other word, "came over just to say he supposed we
had no fly at home just now."
"And had you?
1
?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you happen to know if Mr. Haughton is at his office?"
"He is not, sir. He drove away early to-day. I took the
carriage round myself, and he said he should not be back."
Royden walked straight to Mr. Haughton's office, and up-
stairs with the junior clerk to Lawrence Haughton's private
room.
•
"Miss Craven,” he said, not noticing Mr. Slimp's discom-
fiture at his appearance, nor seeming to notice how she
trembled and shrank back, as if afraid of herself now that he
had appeared, "I came across to ask you if you will take a
seat in my dog-cart. I am sending it "-with the refinement.
inherent in him, Royden ignored the proposal of going him-
self—“into Statton, and my man can give the medicine in at
East Cottage, and drive you on to the Larches. I am afraid.
they will be anxious at both places until you arrive, and so is
it not a pity to linger here?"
"I was waiting for a fly," said Honor, her quiet voice fal-
tering a little; "they are out at present, so I am watching for
one to return."
"There is a fly in the hotel yard now, at your service, if
you prefer it," said Royden, without a glance toward where
Mr. Slimp stood, cowering a little in his miserable attempt at
"Do you prefer it?"
ease.
"Mr. Slimp told me-understood," said Honor, watching
curiously the face of her guardian's clerk, "that they were
engaged, and that I could not have one."
"Mr. Slimp told you so," returned Royden, with calm
irony, "but did not understand so. You shall go as you
choose, Miss Craven. Do you prefer a fly?"
"Yes, if you please," said Honor, a mist of tears gathering
at last in her eyes; so like a child she felt just then, because
she longed to let him decide for her and act for her, yet re-
belled against this longing with tearful petulance.
"Mr. Slimp," said Royden, "will go across again, and
this time will bring you the cab.'
""
Not very comfortable were the feelings of Mr. Bicketon
Slimp as he left the office, his only relief being the discovery
that Mr. Keith was following him.
´OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
146
By the time the fly was ready to leave the hotel yard,
Honor was at the outer door of her guardian's offices, but her
heart fell to see that it was Bickerton Slimp who stood beside
the hired vehicle, waiting for her. Just as she had taken.
her seat, however, Mr. Keith came up.
“Is it so,” he asked, closing the door quietly in the clerk's
very face, as he was on the point of entering; "is it so, Miss
Craven, that you need no escort now?"
"None," she said, eagerly, as she saw what was the clerk's
intention; "none, please.
""
'I think,” he reflected, in his leisurely tones, "that it
hardly seems worth while to send my carriage out, now that
this is going; and so may I beg you to allow my man the
seat on the box here? He shall be no hinderance to you—
a little help, perhaps, in guiding and arranging with the
driver."
॥
"Thank you" said Honor, quick to read all kind and gen-
erous motives.
"He is here now, and will be much obliged for the seat,"
observed Royden, as he stepped back from the closed door
and raised his hat. Then, with great relief, Honor watched
Royden's valet mount the box before her.
66
Stop nowhere on your way, Pierce, even for a minute.”
"No, sir."
The fly drove on, and Royden turned away, with just one
glance of coolest scorn, not unmixed with amusement, at the
baffled little clerk. It was a look which recalled to Bicker-
ton Slimp that (to him) unpleasant evening at the Myddel-
ton Arms, when, after his severe castigation, he had been so
coolly followed by the quizzical amusement of those long gray
eyes.
<<
"I haven't forgotten," muttered Bickerton, clenching his
fists, as he mounted the office stairs again; and this will
make me doubly remember. I shall be more than even with
him yet-more than even.
The threat was heavy and portentious, so it was small won-
der that the wiry little form shook under it.
:
i.
146
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
CHAPTER XIV.
Thousand serfs do call me master-
But, oh love, I love but thee.
-E. B. BROWNING.
"HONOR CRAVEN-Come with me to-day to call upon a
friend at a distance. Mrs. Disbrowe provokes me beyond
endurance by being too ill to make herself useful in any way.
I shall be at the station at one o'clock. Mind you are punc-
tual; I hate unpunctuality, which is only another name for
insult. Never mind about your best bonnet, but be sure you
have on a clean collar.
EDNA PAYTE.”
Honor, laughing a little over this letter, went to seek Miss
Haughton and beg the holiday.
"If you like to lower yourself by being at the beck and call
of every old woman in the village," remarked Jane, with a not
very strict adherence to fact, "I have nothing to say against.
it. Please yourself."
"Thank you," said Honor, her very tone betraying how,
for her, the chiefest and purest pleasure was won by pleasing
others.
66
Going with old Mrs. Payte!" exclaimed Phoebe, when she
found her cousin dressed ready to start, and surreptitiously
enjoying bread and butter beside the kitchen fire. Well, I
do wish you joy, Honor. And going without your luncheon,
$00!"
(6
"Yes; and without the faintest idea of where I'm going, or
whom I am going to see," observed Honor, gravely discussing
her mild repast.
"How lovely you look!" blurted Phoebe, unable to restrain
her admiration.
"Good-bye, little Frau."
Mrs. Payte was impatiently pacing the station platform
when Honor arrived, and she turned sharply on the girl with
a reprimand. But somehow the anger left her eyes when they
rested on the beautiful face and figure.
"I don't know how it," she mused, half closing her
shrewd eyes;
"Theodora Trent dresses more handsomely and
,יך
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
147
-
1
expensively, and Phoebe Owen more showily, yet they never
look as Honor does; she is like an exquisite picture. "Of
course you're late," she remarked aloud. "It's old-fashioned
to be punctual. Well, never mind; next century it will be
old-fashioned to be late. Now here's the train.
Find me a
corner seat, with my back to the engine. What's the mat-
ter?" asked the little old lady, from her corner seat, as the
train rolled on. "Is my bonnet all on one side?"
"No, indeed," said Honor," ashamed of being caught in
her long gaze; "I was only thinking how very nice you look."
"Ah, I thought something surprised you," observed Mrs.
Payte, with a complacent glance into the window beside her,
as if it were a mirror. "You miss my brown hat. I left it
at home for to-day. It's against my principles to wear a
brown hat in Friesland. You know what happened to the
traveler who did?”
"No," said Honor, smiling, "I don't, indeed.”
"Well, then, you ought to know it, though I can't say that
I do. At any rate, he tried to go through Friesland in a
brown hat, and he couldn't; but whether he escaped with his
life or not, I really forget.
""
*
"What do they wear in Friesland, then?"
"Wear! It would take me all our journey to tell you.
Knitted caps; then high silk skull-caps; then metal turbans,
and then large flaunting bonnets. What's the use of laugh-
ing? It's the custom of the country."
"Do you know I should have fancied" and then Honor
stopped, blushing.
-
"Fancied what?"
"That you," resumed Honor, daringly, though the shy
blush deepened, "would have been the very one to choose a
brown hat for Friesland, to show the Frieslanders how little
you cared for their opinion.
""
"Should you?" questioned the old lady, very slowly, as she
favored Honor with a long and trying gaze.
That particu-
larly brilliant idea of yours is founded on the fact of my going
to the Abbotsmoor picnic in my gardening hat and gown.
How very little discrimination children possess! Now amuse
yourself; I want to read the deaths.”
"Langham Junction! Change here for"
"Oh, my goodness, Honor!" cried Mrs. Payte, rousing her-
self in great excitement. Perhaps we have to change, too.
Guard, guard!"
66
148
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
1
ነ
#
The guard came up to the carriage door, too much accus
tomed to the frantic excitement of lady passengers even to
smile.
"Do we change here for Westleigh-Westleigh Towers?
I don't think this was the name of the station, and yet I
forget."
You can reach Westleigh Towers from here," the guard
said, politely, "but it's a very long drive, ma'am. This train
stops at Westleigh, two stations on; that's best for you."
"We are to be met, so pray direct us rightly,” observed
Mrs. Payte, settling herself in her seat again.
"If the carriage from the Towers is to meet you, miss,
the man said, addressing Honor now, "it will be at Westleigh
station. It's often there, and they wouldn't be so silly as to
send here, unless it was to meet a train that went no farther
than the junction."
"Thank you.
>>
""
""
"How officious those railway men are!" remarked Mrs.
Payte, pulling up the window, sharply. "Why didn't he
say 'Yes' or 'No' at once, and have done with it? There,
don't argue for them, pray. Here are the papers full of ar-
guments-except the deaths. Now look out for our station.
What!" she cried, when Honor roused her presently. "West-
leigh already? Are you quite sure? Make inquiries.
Honor pointed to the name, painted in huge letters on a
board above the platform.
""
"Oh, nonsense! one can't trust those things," grumbled
the old lady, fussily. "Ask a porter."
Honor asked a porter, her eyes full of irrepressible laugh-
ter. Yes; that was Westleigh, and a carriage was waiting.
Honor looked a little curiously at this carriage when she
saw it outside the station gate. It was a long barouche, and
the coachman on the box, and the footman who held the door,
were dressed in a handsome livery of white and green.
"I have-where have I seen that livery before?" thought
Honor. "Mrs. Payte, have I ever seen this carriage at your
door?" she asked, as they drove on, the servants being so far
before them, in the long carriage, that there was no fear of
the conversation being heard.
'Never."
"Have I seen the servants at your cottage?" she continued,
still puzzled.
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONĖY.
149
{
"No; what should bring them to my cottage? My being
met so to-day is no proof that I've a visiting list of aristo-
crats; don't imagine it. I know no more of Westleigh Tow-
ers at this moment than you do; but I like the owner of it,
and when he asked me to go to-day I said I would. There's
no mystery about the thing at all. Where are we turning?
Oh, this, I suppose, is the park.
""
"I-I-wish I had not come," Honor faltered, nervously,
as she gazed before her.
For miles the park stretched around them, wooded and
undulated, crossed by its silvery stream, and flecked by its
roaming herds of deer; but almost close to them rose the
Towers, built in solid stone, and with the faultless proportions
of the best time of Gothic architecture; and Honor's eyes
were fixed upon one figure, standing then upon the white
steps waiting for the carriage.
"Mrs. Payte," she said, below her breath, "whom have
you-come to see?"
"Mr. Keith, child. Don't you see him?"
"He lives here, then, alone?"
<
"He lives here, certainly," returned the old lady, with a
grim little smile. "As for alone,' that's a question I can't
answer. I have heard something about an old lady who lives
with him; but whether it's true or not, and whether, if it's
true, she's any relation or not, I'm sure I cannot say.
may possibly see her to-day.
I wish I had not come.
We
""
<<
""
Fortunately Mrs. Payte did not chance to hear that last re-
mark, for she was fussily preparing to alight; and now Roy-
len Keith stood beside the carriage door, and Honor's hand
was in his.
"I am so glad to see you," he said, with quiet heartiness.
"How d'ye do? You seem to have a house full of visit-
ors," observed Mrs. Payte, in a breath, as she glanced toward
the windows.
(6
Only old friends-whom you have met before.”
"Oh!"
This news seemed to mollify the old lady considerably, and
she walked placidly into the midst of these "old friends,"
more than one of whom had stared, with a feeling deeper and
more dangerous than curiosity, to see her driving up in such
style, and bringing Honor with her. Theodora Trent turned
from the window, with her teeth tight upon her underlip.
!
150
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"For her to come!" she thought. "How meanly it has
been arranged!"
"Theo, my dear," whispered her mother, startled, "that
horrible little woman's sharp eyes are upon you, and I believe
she would tell anything to either Mr. Keith or Hervey. Don't
let her have cause to say you are jealous, my dear. Show
your superiority over Honor. She will hardly know how to
conduct herself in such a magnificent place as this, while you
will show yourself quite at home."
But even this delicate maternal compliment could not
soothe Theodora's ruffled feelings, and she had great difficulty
in regaining her calm and gracious bearing. She felt baffled
and angry, as she had never felt before in all her life. For
weeks she had been looking forward to this day; and so
strongly had she hinted to Mr. Keith that she should have
more pleasure in her visit if she did not meet her own rela-
tions at his house, that she felt quite sure she should not be
subjected to the mortification of seeing Honor there. Yet
now, just when the pleasure of the day was beginning, that
odious old woman-with whom Miss Trent never had had,
and never could have, a moment's patience-had been received
as an esteemed guest, and had brought Honor.
What a day it was! When Honor described it that night
to wondering, envious little Phoebe, the description read like
a page from the "Arabian Nights.
፡፡
I really cannot tell why it seemed so beautiful, and
bright, and pleasant. It was Mr. Keith's doings, I suppose;
for, after all, the lovely rooms, and pictures, and flowers, and
silver, and china, and the lots of servants and space, were not
the real cause. The laughter and enjoyment were quite real.
Everybody did exactly what they liked, and had exactly what
they liked; and in the park a band played splendidly all the
time. Yes, it was very pleasant; and-I suppose Mr. Keith
made it so.
در
Honor was right. The real pleasure of the day was owing
far more to the host than to the beauty or the luxury of his
house; yet few of the guests could have defined-any more
distinctly than Honor did-how this could be.
"Keith," said Sir Philip Somerson, shading his eyes with
his hand, as he stood upon the steps before the chief entrance
to the Towers, and looked across to a distant wooded spot in
the park, "there is a string of people passing-quite a crowd.
What does it mean?"
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
151
"They are the mill-hands," said Royden, "going home."
"What! making a thoroughfare of your park?”
29
"Yes; it saves them quite a mile, and is a pleasant walk."
"By Jove, you are a reckless fellow to allow it!" exclaimed
the baronet, though he watched the passing figures with a
good deal of interest. They will take all kinds of liberties
presently, and expect you, I should not wonder, to throw the
whole park open to them-perhaps you do?”
(6
در
"Now and then in summer time," said Royden, laughing
at the abrupt question. "To see their enjoyment of that
day is worth something, I can assure you.
"Bad precedent," observed Sir Philip, vexed to find that
his words would not sound so sharp as he meant them to do.
"I once threw open Somerset Park for an excursion, and the
snobs cut off five hundred of my young trees for walking-
sticks. I have kept my grounds to myself since then."
"The cases are different, Sir Philip. They were strangers
to you, and most probably not the poor.

66 I suppose you mean to insinuate," laughed the baronet,
"that these poor fellows, with their overworked wives, and
children, and sweethearts, would scorn to take advantage of a
Wait and see.
patron they were fond of.
""
He strolled away then, with the rest of the company, enjoy-
ing a little desultory chat here, and music there; now a game,
at which he would laugh as heartily as a boy, and now a grave
discussion on a work of art or scientific specimen.
"Mr. Keith," called Lady Somerson, from one of the mul-
lioned windows, "that sandy bay would be a favorite resort of
mine, if I lived here.
29
.
"I fancy not," said Royden, joining her, "for you would
soon learn its treachery. There are times when the tide comes
sweeping into the bay with an almost sudden rush. It is two
miles in width; and, unless you can be quite sure of the tide,
and have a fleet horse, it is dangerous to venture there. I once
rode home that way from the junction, when the train did not
come on to Westleigh, but my horse was fresh and the tide on
the ebb."
"You will surely never do that again, Mr. Keith," put in
Mrs. Payte. "Just fancy any one standing at this window,
and watching you start across those sands. You know that
a couple of miles is not accomplished in a breath, however
fleet your horse may be; and a year's agony might be con
152
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
densed into five minutes, for any one watching you from here
any one who cared for you.
>>
There is no fear," said Royden, laughing.
29
"No fear of your riding home along the coast again,'
smiled Theodora, "or no fear of any one being frightened to
sco it?"
،
"That's it," laughed Sir Philip. "Keith knows that only
a wife would be frightened; so, to save her fear, he will not
bring a wife here at all. He says, like Benedick, One wom-
an is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; an-
other virtuous, yet I am well; but, till all graces be in one
woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.' Is not that
it, Keith?"
"Yes."
"But shall you ever find such a one?" inquired Mrs.
Trent, with an effort at motherly interest, and a struggling
effort, too, to discriminate between the jesting and the ear-
nest."
"Such a one as whom?”
CC
66 I mean "began Mrs. Trent, in reply, but then halted.
"We all mean," interposed Mrs. Payte, without any hesi-
tation at all, that we are dying with curiosity to know what
sort of a wife you intend to bring to this matchless home.”
“Rich she shall be,' quoted Royden, his eyes full of
laughter as he looked down into the little lady's eager face;
"what comes next? Oh, I know-wise, or I'll none; vir-
tuous, fair, mild, noble, of good discourse, an excellent mu-
sician, and her hair shall be of what color it please God.'
"""
T
"She is to be rich to begin with, is she, Mr. Keith ?" smiled
Theodora, feeling herself, in that respect, at least, the only
eligible person present.
(C
Yes, rich first of all. It is a word with a wide meaning,
Miss Trent. That gong is summoning us to tea; will you
come?"
-
They saw again that he wished to put a stop to the conver-
sation, and so they sauntered on, talking of other things.
At the far, dim end of the picture-gallery, Honor stood
alone, gazing in rapt admiration on a marble statue of Leda,
bending over the water's brink, and looking down with won-
dering earnestness upon the graceful swan which bore to her
the spirit of the monarch of the gods. A light and faultless
figure, with hands clasped and head bent forward, pausing
among the flowers on the water's brim, listening, yet starting
•
3
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
153
back a little, hesitating, yet smiling coyly; pleased almost as
if the Olympian deity had wooed her in his own form. Honor
stood with her back to the window, and through the stained
glass above her fell a richly-tinted light upon the chisseled
figure; so beautiful, she thought, so passing beautiful! But
some one, advancing along the carpeted gallery, saw the rich
warm light lie on the living figure, too, and gave no thought
to the beauty of the lifeless one.
"Miss Honor, why did you creep away from us while we
stood talking a few minutes ago?"
"I wanted to look once more at that," she said, daintily
leading Royden's eyes from her face, where she felt the color
rising, hard as she strove to prevent it.
"And you were weary of our talk," he said, with gentle-
ness; "it shall never weary you again. Of my own will I
would not have mentioned that subject to-day. Since you
and I walked into Kinbury together that afternoon, even a
thought of marriage has never entered my heart. It never
oan again. You know the answer to all their jesting ques-
tions. You know whom I love, and whom alone I could ever
ask to be my wife, and live with me in this solitary home.
You have told me, Honor, that this longing of mine is never
likely to be fulfilled, and, knowing this, you understand what
a lonely life mine will be. Is it not so?""
Oh, why had he come to her? Why had he come just then,
when her thoughts were full of him, as they used to be be-
fore Theodora repeated those words of his. Why had he
spoken of this again-here, in his own home, where, with all
his power, he was so gentle and so kind? Why, above all,
would her heart beat even now at the slightest tone of his
voice?
Slowly and emphatically did Honor insist on repeating to
herself his speech to Theodora, but even then the old spirit
of anger was scarcely invoked with strength enough for
armor.
"Where is everybody gone?" she asked, looking down the
long gallery with apparent unconcern, as she moved away
from before the statue.
"Honor, I will never speak to you of this after to-night.
Only let me ask you the question once more, now in all ear-
nestness. If you think you might care for me at some future
time, tell me to wait, and I will ask you again. Seven years'
waiting would be nothing to me. if, at the end of seven years,
154
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
you could lay your hand in mine, and say you loved me then
and would be my wife. Waiting! How could I think wait-
ing hard," said Royden, drawing his hand wearily across his
brow "when, if you say 'No,' to me to-night, all the years I
have to live will be but waiting years?"
"She does very well for an hour's amusement, but no man
could bestow on her a strong affection."
The unforgotten words started out clearly and distinctly
before Honor's mental eyes. He to speak so of her, and then
to mock her with this question!
"I wonder where Mrs. Payte can be?" she said, with the
greatest nonchalance. Don't let us talk on this subject any
more, please, Mr. Keith. Where are we going now?"
"Down-stairs, where they are having tea-if you like."
"Yes; I like anywhere where other people are.
of being alone."
I'm tired
"And with me?”
·
Honor's heart beat with a strange, sudden pain; born of
the consciousness that all real weariness would lie on the
paths he did not tread with her. But it was better so; be-
sides, it was too late now; and he had said those terrible
things of her to Theodora.
Despite these thoughts-perhaps, indeed, owing to these
thoughts-Honor was one of the merriest of Mr. Keith's
guests during that sociable and luxurious tea; and Theodora's
eyebrows were so constantly raised in supercilious astonish-
ment that Mrs. Payte whispered to Honor a serious doubt as
to whether they could ever again assume their original posi-
tion.
"She has a hundred extra airs and graces on to-night. She
would have no objection to reign as mistress in such a place
as this, Honor; but I hope he will not choose her. Come,
are you ready? We have staid late enough.'
""
"I am ready-quite ready," the girl said, almost eagerly.
"I have enjoyed this day very much," observed the old
lady, while she put on her bonnet, and Honor stood waiting
for her in the warm and beautiful chamber. "Mr. Keithi
has made it very pleasant, but then, of course, any wealthy
man could. L'argent fait tout."
"Hardly," said Honor, staunchly enough now. Every one
could not have done it, even with the argent.'
""
"Don't argue, child. I'm generalizing. Il y a fagots et
fagots. I know that; but I'm accustomed to say what I mean.
{
!
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
165
Even if Captain Trent had been our wealthy host to-day,
wouldn't he have made us all happy?"
Honor laughed merrily.
"At any rate, he would not have made us unhappy," she
said, her thoughts flying from him to the one who had the
greater power.
46
No, and I can tell you he chooses a good safe part. It's
far easier not to act at all, than to act well; and he's pretty
safe. Now come down."
The maid-servant, who had lingered at the door when Mrs.
Payte declined her services, led them down-stairs again to the
great hall, and then disappeared. One moment afterward,
Honor missed her handkerchief, and, turning unobserved, she
ran lightly up the stairs again. She could easily, she fancied,
find her way to the room she had just quitted; but when she
reached the gallery from which the chamber door opened, she
paused, forgetting whether the maid had led them toward the
right or left.
"I think I remember," she said to herself, presently, and
hurried noiselessly to the right. "Certainly this was the
outer door."
It was a red cloth door, and moved on a noiseless spring.
Stepping through, Honor found herself in a small ante-room,
and, opposite her, another door stood open. For a few
breathless seconds Honor stood rooted to the spot, gazing
fixedly through this door into the room beyond-an elegantly
and luxuriously furnished room, with books, and music, and
ornaments in profusion, with a soft, beautiful work scattered
about, and flowers in a perfect wealth of loveliness. But
Honor's eyes dwelt only upon a figure which stood within her
sight upon the hearth, dressed in girlish white. A lady, very
pale and fragile-looking, but with the light of some happy,
tender thought upon her face.
"It is her home," felt Honor, gliding from the room
with her hands locked in an agony of which she was just then
unconscious; "and she is thinking-of him. What a long,
loving, happy thought it was!"
Swiftly and lightly retracing her steps, Honor saw her hand-
kerchief at last, and stooped to pick it up. Then she joined
Mrs. Payte once more, and no one guessed what pain lay at
the girl's heart.
"Good-bye," said Royden, as he stood at the carriage door
in the gathering darkness.
156
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Good-bye, " she said, with one long glance into his
face, reading it with piteous earnestness, there in the fading
light, and finding no shade of sin or shame upon it.
"Good-
bye.
""
"Well, I must say," observed Mrs. Payte, breaking in
upon Honor's silence as they drove to the station, "I ex-
pected the old aunt, or great-aunt, or grandmother, or what-
ever else she may be, would have shown herself to-day, to
do the honors to the lady guests. She can surely have no
reason for keeping herself hidden, like that wife of Mr.
Rochester in Charlotte Bronte's novel. What made you start,
child?"
"It is cold," said Honor, drawing her shawl about her,
and shrinking a little in her corner of the carriage.
"Humph! you're not generally a cold subject," retorted
the old lady, brusquely. But she said nothing till they
were in the railway-carriage, when she promptly and kindly
fell asleep.
CHAPTER XV.
Ha, ha! It will speed, it will speed, it will speed;
Resistance is vain-we are sure to succeed.
·Carillon National of the French Revolution.
HONOR found her guardian waiting for her at the Kinbury
station, although Mrs. Payte had left word that they would
drive home from there, as the train did not stop at Statton.
At East Cottage, Honor waited to hear tidings of Mrs. Dis-
browe. Then she walked on with Lawrence in the quiet
moonlight, her heart still so heavy that she could scarcely
follow his words.
But when she was again with Jane and Phoebe in the com-
monplace rooms at the Larches, these sad and dreamy
thoughts were necessarily dispelled, and then she longed to
put away, with them, all mention of Royden's name. But
this she found impossible. Phoebe asked a hundred questions
about him and his home; Lawrence brought the subject for-
ward again and again, contemptuously, and yet as if with
some purpose; while Jane spoke of him with surly inuendoes,
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
157
hardest of all to bear. At last Honor, having kept silence as
long as she could, turned defiantly upon them.
"You don't any of you know him better than I do, if so
well. Then how dare you speak of him so?"
Jane fixed her eyes upon the girl, in stolid astonishment;
but Lawrence rose, and paced the room in wrath.
"Your ideas are utterly childish, Honor," he said, trying
in vain to suppress the anger of his tones. "He has deceived
you just as he has deceived every one else."
"That is a falsehood, Lawrence," she affirmed, quietly..
"It is not a falsehood," he returned, losing all control over
himself. He is here under false pretenses. You are cred-
ulous, and fancy him the honorable man he would appear to
be. I know him to be the very reverse."
"I know him as an honorable man," the girl said, steadily;
but she knew full well in what a different tone she would
have asserted this before that night.
"You will see," muttered Lawrence, savagely. "I shall
have evidence to prove it soon, and I can assert it anywhere."
"You ought not to have asserted it even here, to us, unless
you had evidence to prove it," she remarked; but the uncon-
cern now was an effort to her.
66
"I will have my proof before I tell everything, even to
you," said Mr. Haughton, pausing before her. My news
will stagger you, I dare say, but you will know then, as I do,
that he is not an honorable man. 59
"I hope," observed Honor, smiling coldly, "that in this
search for proof of a man's dishonor you have the inestima-
ble advantage of Mr. Slimp's assistance.
"By Heaven"
رو
"Hush, Lawrence!" pleaded the girl, grave and gentle
again. "When you utter that word so heedlessly, I am
afraid to think how heedless your thought of it must be."
"What do you think, Honor?" put in Phoebe, hastening to
drown this speech, lest it should offend her guardian,
"Mr.
Stafford brought us definite news to-day; we are to meet
Lady Lawrence in her London house on the first of Deccm-
ber. Don't you feel excited, Honor?"
"This fuss will hinder me in collecting my proofs," ob-
served Mr. Haughton, "but the short delay will not signify."
"Did you walk over and see Mrs. Disbrowe this afternoon,
Phobe?"
"No."
A
1
158
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Oh-and you promised me! She has been alone almost
all day."
"And if she has," remarked Jane, "it does not oblige you
both to become her slaves. Phoebe is idle enough, Honor,
without your teaching her to be more so. How is that? You
have two handkerchiefs in your hand. What silly extrava-
gance to carry two at a time?"
"I did not know I had two," said Honor, good-humoredly.
"Have I taken up one of yours since I came in?"
"Mrs. Payte gave you one when we stopped at the cot-
tage," remarked Lawrence. "She said she found it at West-
leigh Towers, and it had your name upon it; don't you rec-
ollect her saying so?"
""
"Then the other, I suppose-
began Honor. But then
she stopped suddenly, with a burning color in her checks.
The handkerchief she held was the one she had picked up in
the gallery at Westleigh, just after leaving that room where
she had seen a lady standing alone beside the fire; and now
her eyes had fallen upon a name embroidered daintily across
the corner- "ALICE."
،
I have brought this one by mistake," she said, putting it
back into her pocket; while the color faded from her cheeks,
and left her face, for one moment, white even to the lips.
was very careless.”
66
I
S
"Theodora Trent's, I suppose," grumbled Miss Haughton.
"It is a stupid habit of hers to drop handkerchiefs about.
Mind you send it back, Honor."
But, in spite of this order, when Honor at last found her-
self alone in her own room, she locked the handkerchief safely
away.
""
"It will be better so," she said to herself, with a puzzled
thoughtfulness on her face; "better so than have to tell what
I saw.
It will be quite safe, and no one will ever know.'
Hour after hour, Honor lay awake that night, thoughts
crowding upon thoughts, and words which she had heard
that day haunting her with unresting persistency, as words
will often do through those night hours when, if sleep will
not come, memory is so keen, and thought so painfully in-
tense.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
159
!
CHAPTER XVI.
The most delicate of all pleasures consists in promoting the pleasures
of others
-LA BRUYERE.
THE day was rapidly approaching on which old Myddel-
ton's relatives were to meet Lady Lawrence in London, and
the excitement among them was general, though very differ-
ently betrayed. Mr. Stafford-Lady Lawrence's lawyer-had
been again in Statton, to complete his arrangements for the
meeting, and Theodora had made much of him at Deergrove.
This excitement helped Miss Trent to bear the absence of
Royden Keith, whom she had not seen since the day she had
spent at Westleigh Towers. Phoebe's effervescence knew no
bounds when she discussed Lady Lawrence and her will; and
Mr. Haughton himself could not quite hide or subdue his
mingled curiosity and expectation.
"In the midst of all this to-do," remarked Mrs. Payte,
rousing herself from a nap by the fire, when Honor, one day,
walked softly into Mrs. Disbrowe's sick-room, "I only won-
der you waste your time and energy here.
time and energy here. Selina does very
well without you, child; and you ought to be rehearsing what
your behavior in London shall be—as the others are."
With only a quiet smile and nod, Honor passed on to the
bedside, and took her seat beside it; talking to the invalid for
a time, undisturbed-much to her surprise-by the restless
little old lady at the fire.
"How do the preparations go on for this grand event,
IIonor?" inquired Mrs. Payte, at last, unable to keep a longer
silence. “There is but a fortnight, you know."
In her low, pleasant voice, Honor told a few particulars
which she thought would amuse the sick lady, but they evi-
dently did not satisfy the healthy one, being totally devoid of
malice and even ridicule.
"Did Mr. Stafford help you at all, by warning you of any
of Lady Lawrence's eccentricities or hobbies ?"
"A little," laughed Honor. "He advised us all to dress
very simply and quietly, as she is particularly neat in her
taste; and he advised Lawrence and Hervey to be genial and
unaffected."
ܢ ܕ
*
-160.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
2
"Ah!" said Mrs. Payte, with a chuckle of enjoyment,
"that's good! So thoroughly against nature-eh? How will
Theodora Trent bear to dress simply, and Phoebe quietly?
And how can Mr. and Miss Haughton be genial, and Captain
Trent unaffected? I should like to be in the green-room when
you all dress for the stage. What shall
you do?"
Nothing, Mrs. Payte; why should I?”
"Because you'll be a goose if you don't."
"" I?
"Then I shall be a goose," said Honor, laughing. "Don't
you think Lady Lawrence would rather see us as we are than
acting for the occasion?"
K
"What will she know about the acting? Her lawyer won't
tell her he has put you on your guard, never fear. Take ad-
vantage of his help, child, and act and dress as he proposes."
"No," said Honor, shaking her head merrily, "for he did
`not tell it as a message to us. She expects us all to be natural
before her."
"But what does that matter?" insisted the old lady, in ris-
ing wrath. "He gave you the gratuitous benefit of his expe
rience; never mind whether it is treachery on his part or
not-take the benefit. If you don't, you will lose your
chance."
"It is better that I should lose it by being known as I am,
than gain it by being thought what I am not," said Honor,
as she smoothed the pillows for the restless head beside her.
Well, I don't happen to think so," grumbled Mrs. Payte,
noisily poking the fire; "but you must please yourself, I sup-
pose. What dress shall you wear? Not that new gray one,
with the crimson slashing all about it?"
66
"Yes," laughed Honor. "That is my best dress, Mrs.
Payte; and as you know-if I must own such a humiliating
fact-I am rather proud of it!"
"
"You learned the style from a picture, I should fancy.
"Yes," said the girl, blushing under the shrewd glance
the old lady turned so suddenly upon her; "it was a picture
that you and I saw-that we all saw-at Westleigh Towers;
but it is quite near enough to fashion not to look odd."
"Odd!" echoed Mrs. Payte, with a curious little grunt. "I
think you look particularly odd in it; and, as for fashion,
just cover yourself with flounces from top to toe-no matter
where you put them-and you are sure to be in the fashion.
But what about the others? It is more in their nature to
dress smartly than yours. Will they hide it?"
ú
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Yes."
"Then you will have a double disadvantage by comparison
with them. See what a silly baby you are, rushing headlong
against your own interests. Never mind whether you like
the old woman. Why, bless me, her individuality is sunk;
she represents more than a million of money—think of it!
By the way, how is your guardian feeling just now toward
Mr. Keith ?"
The sick lady, on whose hand Honor lay, felt the start it
gave, and wondered a little, as she lay calm in her weakness.
"He he""
"I know," put in Mrs. Payte, brusquely, "he gave me a
hint of it one day, unconsciously. He thinks Royden Keith
is a man not to be trusted.”
"He thinks," said Honor, the low, startled voice giving
words at last to the horrible conviction of Lawrence's mean-
ing, which had stolen by degrees upon her, "that Mr. Keith
has at some time committed an act which-which proves him
not what he seems to be."
"When?"
"I do not know."
"Well, I do, then. It was 'in the reign of Queen Dick.'
All those likely things occurred in her reign, and when you
und it in your English history, we will discuss its events, but
Not till then."
K
Q
"I cannot think," rejoined Honor, sadly, "why Lawrence
hould ever dream-
-
"He never does," was the sharp retort. "Lawyers never
dream; they are far too clever. By the way, Honor, tell us-
Just to amuse us what your keen-witted guardian says of
us. Begin with Selina.'
•
"What could he say of her," answered Honor, smiling,
though she did not like the question, "but that she was
most amiable?"
Mat
"Bah! To say a woman is amiable is to deny her any
character at all, to make her at once a nonentity in mind,
body, and estate. Go on. What does he say of me? I know.
I have heard him say that I am a snappish vixen, and a self-
ish dabbler in other people's affairs."
→
ون
"He has not said that to me," said Honor, gently.
The old lady's eyes softened a little, but there was certainly
no softening in her next speech.
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
7
"I dare say he is saying it now to somebody. At any
rate I heard him say it to Theodora Trent. What a good
thing it would be if we had her here now, to nurse Selina!
She would be a nice one by a sick-bed, eh? I should like,"
continued the little lady, warming her feet busily by turns
upon the fender, "to take an Asmodean flight now, and look
down through one or two roofs."
(C
Why?" asked Honor, in wondering amusement, while
ven Mrs. Disbrowe, having caught the quick words, smiled
a little.
(6
}
Now, then, child," retorted Mrs. Payte, without answer-
ing the last question, "what are you poking about for? It
is no use putting things ready to her hand-either books or
flowers or scent. Bless you, Selina never raises a finger to
help herself! What in the world is it you are looking as if
you wanted now, Selina?"
(6
Nothing," said the sick lady, in her low, soft tones, and
with no appearance of resenting the harsh questions of her
companion.
"Nothing!" echoed Mrs. Payte, with supreme contempt.
"Mysterious nothing! How shall I define thy shapeless,
baseless, placeless emptiness? Some poet or professor says
that, and I'm no wiser than he, and cannot give you what I
cannot define, and what has no shape, nor base, nor place.
Where are you going, Honor?"
"I shall not be many minutes," the girl said, as she looked
round, to be sure that the invalid could miss nothing. "I
am only going to see Marie."
"Don't be long. Don't waste your time there.”
The little kitchen, where Marie lay on the poor couch be-
lore the fire, was clean and neat in its bareness, and the
French girl's pinched face lay upon a snowy pillow. The pil-
low was a present from Honor herself, but the whiteness and
purity of everything were Marie's own.
"Have you had any dinner, Marie?" asked Honor, gently
drawing the fine lace-work from the girl's wasted fingers.
"I did not want any to-day, Miss Craven; and I did not
care to leave my work."
"You work too constantly," said Honor, as she laid it
aside. "Your father tells me you are at it at five o'clock in
the morning, and never leave off until bed-time. It is too
much, Marie. Now chat with me while I get you a cup of
tea."
/
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
163
;
Moving brightly about the little kitchen, Honor prepared
the meal with a deftness which put a happy amusement into
the sick girl's tired eyes; and-watching her, and listening to
her, and talking to her, as Honor led her on to do-she for-
got her pain and weakness, and even her constant labor and
poverty. So when the tea was ready at last, and Honor sat
at the table and waited on her, chatting as if she would not
give time to think, Marie caught herself now and then actu-
ally laughing.
"Does Mrs. Payte's servant help you a little now?” in-
quired Honor, when at last she rose to take her leave.
"Yes, she does, indeed, Miss Craven-a little. She is
growing rather kind to me; but Mrs. Payte-is she not odd?
can never understand her."
"No, it is not easy, indeed," smiled Honor. "When will
your father be home, Marie?"
"Oh, he is away, Miss Honor. Did you not know ?"
'Indeed, I did not."
.
"I thought you would, Miss Craven, because he was sent
for by Mr. Keith a week ago."
Marie made a pause here, without knowing it, wondering
at the softened brightness of Honor's eyes.
"A week ago, Miss Craven, he read an advertisement for a
photographer's assistant, a long way off-more than thirty
miles and father fancied he might do, because he under-
stands his work so well; so we managed to get the money for
his railway ticket, and he went. They-they told him, be-
fore they asked him a single question, Miss Honor, that he
was too old; and so he walked home, for he had no other
ticket. It was quite the middle of the night when he came
in here, so jaded and white I hardly knew him, and his boots
all worn to the ground."
"Then where is he now, Marie?" asked Honor, her eyes
dim with pity.
P
O
"Now, Miss Honor," the girl said, in a brighter tone, "ho
i
is at Westleigh Towers. Mr. Keith seemed to have heard of
his disappointment, though father himself did not know how,
and the very next day he sent for father to go over there with
his camera, as he wanted several photographs taken, and
father was to go prepared to stay for a time. Oh! Miss
Honor, he was just like a boy that day, and-and yet was
ashamed before me of being so happy, because-poor father!
-I was not going. As if it was not more to me than going
}
164
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
myself, for him to go! Miss Honor," added the girl pres-
ently, seeing the tears slowly gather in Honor's beautiful eyes,
"father sent me a likeness of Mr. Keith. Perhaps he ought
not to have done it, but he did; he knew I should not show
it about, but keep it sacredly, and value it, so he sent it.
Will you see it, Miss Craven ?"
"No, thank you, Marie," said Honor, quietly.
Oh, do!" urged Marie, drawing the photograph from be-
tween the leaves of a book which lay beside her on the couch,
and unfolding it from its silver paper. "Do look, Miss
Honor. I think father has taken it beautifully."
So Honor took the picture in her hands, but it was many
minutes before the figure grew distinct before her misty eyes.
The photograph had evidently included Royden, without his
knowledge. He was sitting in deep thought, his eyes fixed
gravely on the fire, his dogs lying about the rug at his feet.
To one who did not know him, it was the photograph of a
very handsome man, thoroughly artistic in the unconscious
grace of attitude.
But to one who knew him, it was far
more than that. To Honor, the face, in its thought and pa
tience, and yet in its power and strength, for that minute
seemed to be really with her.
"Well, Honor, how much longer are you going to stay
here?"
She gave back the likeness with a stifled sigh, yet was glad
to be called away before she could speak of it.
"I am coming, Mrs. Payte, in one minute.'
The little old lady was pausing at the kitchen door, evi-
dently considering that to tread beyond the threshold would
contaminate her, and holding her handkerchief to her nose,
as if the air of the clean little room were poisonous.
"That lazy girl always detains you when you come here,"
she grumbled, holding her shabby brown dress about her
ankles, lest the floor should sully it. She never exerts her-
self for any one; why should you exert yourself for her?"
،،
"Mrs. Payte," cried Honor, her eyes brilliant with sudden
passion, "you are unjust, and I will not listen to such words
of Marie in her helplessness and her pain. She never detains
me. I stay here because I like to stay. I am very glad when
I can stay with her, and it does me good, because she is so
patient and so gentle. She would exert herself for every one,
if she were able, and be far more usef to me, if I were ill,
than ever I have been to her,"
رو
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
165
The little old woman in the door-way had dropped her dress,
and was breathing the plebeian air in gasps. She had seen a
flash of Honor's anger before, but never passionately roused
as now. And to hear her class herself so humbly with that
poor creature! How beautiful she looked, too, with one hand
Ïying gently on the head of the sick girl!
66
"You don't look at all likely to be ill," chuckled the old
lady, so how can we judge? Are you coming away now?”
"I will follow you," said Honor.
Left again, she stooped beside the couch and comforted
Marie, who was trembling still in her nervous fear. Then,
when she had brought a smile at last to the pallid, troubled
face, she rose to go. Mrs. Payte met her fiercely in the door-
way of Mrs. Disbrowe's room.
I
-
"" Do you recall all you said to me before that woman?"
"I am very sorry I spoke so hastily," said Honor; "but I
cannot recall a single word I said."
"Very well," retorted the old lady, turning swiftly away,
"don't! Are you going home now?”
"Not unless you wish it. I have an hour's liberty still.
Will you let me stay?"
"Oh, stay, by all means, or I shall be favored with Selina's
groans all evening. What does the doctor say about that girl
down-stairs? Will she get well?"
"I fear not," said Honor, pitifully. "He says she needs
care and rest, and ease and nourishment; and all these things,
we know, are beyond her reach."
"He orders her port wine, I suppose, and beef and mut-
ton-doctors always do when their patients are poor. If you
can stay, child, I'll put on my shawl and make a call or two."
Honor," said Mrs. Disbrowe, smiling, when the restless
little lady had bustled out of the room, hard as she is her-
self, she takes care that her servant shall help that poor girl;
and now, I dare say, nourishing things will be sent in to her.
Edna is very strange, but I understand her."
Honor, almost unconsciously, breathed a sigh of relief. The
one great pain, to her generous and compassionate nature, was
the feeling that this patient invalid had, for her only com-
panion, one who was so hard, and cross, and dissatisfied. To
know that this thought need not harass her now, was a relief
indeed; and for the remainder of her stay at East Cottage she
was as bright as one of those rare sunbeams which looked in
now and then at the calm, submissive face upon the pillows.
·
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
CHAPTER XVII.
But t'other young maiden looked sly at me,
And from her seat she ris'n;
Let's you and I go our own way,
And we'll let she go shis'n.
-Berkshire Ditty.
"MRS. PAYTE.'
Mrs. Trent's eyes turned languidly to her drawing-room
door when this visitor was announced that afternoon, but she
made no advance to meet her.
"A cold day," she remarked, indifferently, as she touched
the little old lady's hand with her soft fingers.
"Cold, is it?" returned Mrs. Payte, looking inquisitively
at Theodora, who was making an elaborate process of collect-
ing her wools before she rose. "I did not notice. I feel hot
enough myself, for I have been put out."
Utter silence. Such a plain hint that the feelings and
temperature of Mrs. Edna Payte were matters of supreme in-
difference to the ladies at Deergrove, that the bold little visitor
herself for a moment was non-plussed-only for a moment,
though.
"Yes, I have been put out," she resumed, sitting-for her
-unusually still, and making strenuous use of her eyes, "by
Honor Craven."
"Indeed!"
A faint and languid sign of interest at last.
"She is at my house now, dancing attendance, forsooth,
upon my sick friend; but it is not that nonsense which put
me out. It was her ridiculous determination not to make any
effort to be agreeable to Lady Lawrence when she arrives.
Bless me, why should one of the family-however insignifi-
cant a one-retire, and leave greater chance to the others?”
"Why, indeed ?"
This was all Theodora could say, in the very decided pause
which the rapid little speaker made; but her face was grow-
ing full of interest now.
"Why, indeed, as you say, Miss Trent?" resumed Mrs.
Payte, a little more slowly; "although, of course, for your
sake I could almost wish that Honor would persist in her ab-
surdity, even so far as declining to go up to London at all to
f
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
167
meet her ladyship; because, if that were the case-I saw that
it struck you just now-you would have everything your own
way. Lady Lawrence would hardly hesitate to choose you be-
fore either Miss Haughton or Miss Owen."
"I think," put in Mrs. Trent, "that my daughter has
little to fear from the rivalry of any other member of our
family."
66
"I think not-oh, I certainly think not," returned Mrs.
Payte, with prompt decision. But then what can we tell
of the eccentricities of old Myddelton's sister? At any rate,
all that I have to say in the matter I have said now, I de-
termined to tell you, because you have always been so very
wishful to help Honor-she being your youngest relative, and
an orphan.
""
A pause again, so definite that Mrs. Trent nervously
rushed in to break it with a clear and stiff "Oh, certainly.'
"Yes," said the small old lady, with a quick nod. "Well,
then, you will urge upon her the necessity of going to Lon-
don amongst the earliest of you, and doing her best to make
herself agreeable to her great-aunt (if she is her great-aunt,
but I really don't understand anything about the connection),
that the chances of her being remembered in the will may be
as good as yours. I have done all I can do, and I leave it
now in your hands.”
>>
"Honor is not at all likely to forego her chance," said
Theodora, wishing in her heart that this blunt and staring
little visitor would leave.
"If she does, I shall now consider it entirely her own
fault," observed Mrs. Payte, almost blandly. Then, to the
great relief of both mother and daughter, she rose in her
bustling manner, and prepared to take her leave.
"I am grieved to be able to make so short a call," she said,
with apparent enjoyment of the idea, "but I wish, if possi-
ble, to pay another visit before it is dark, and in these
wretched country districts one's friends always live so far
apart. Good-bye. Then I may hope to hear a different de-
eision from Honor, after she has seen you."
Miss Haughton had just donned her black silk dinner
dress, and was beginning to listen for the sound of her broth-
er's return, and Phoebe was practicing a fantasia which was
to astonish him, when an unexpected visitor was announced
}
168
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONE.
"Mrs. Payte." The old lady made a longer ceremony of
her call here, though she had given herself exactly the same
mission to perform.
Jane received it with a strong disregard to its import, and
Phoebe (though she exclaimed several times, "Oh, of course
Honor must come," and " Oh, Lawrence would never go
without Honor," and " Oh, it was a shame to think of it
hardly followed the idea to the bottom, thought a great deal
more about the bow in her hair, and listened a great deal
more eagerly for the wheels of the wagonette.
"I feel sure," observed Miss Haughton, reverting to the
subject when the visit was nearly over, and the visitor had
dropped it, "that Lady Lawrence will make nothing at all of
her female connections. She will be, you know, one of the
wealthiest—indeed, the very wealthiest woman in England.
She will most naturally select an heir."
"C
"That seems the general opinion," observed Mrs. Payte,
carelessly; but, of course, I know nothing about it. Only
I should say, if she does wish to select an heir, she will be
tempted by the brilliant talents and sterling qualities of Mr.
Haughton; and yet-and yet," ruminated the old lady, pen-
sively, "Captain Trent is very accomplished, and of elegant
bearing, besides having the useful power-like a cat-of
lighting forever on his feet. He, too, seems to have a pretty
fair chance. Well, well, it's of no use our worrying ourselves
about it. I only hope, for the sake of justice, that, when the
day comes for meeting this formidable old millionaire, you
will all be there. Now, I must hurry home, or 1 shall be be-
nighted. If Mr. Haughton were here, I would get him to
escort me; as it is, I must go alone." And she went briskly
and cheerfully.
"She chose to come alone in the dusk," Jane said, rigidly,
when Phoebe ventured to ask whether it would not have been
well to send one of the servants with the old lady; "so I sup-
pose she is used to it."
66
They are all in a rare state of excitement," muttered
Mrs. Payte to herself, as she walked homeward in unusual
thoughtfulness, and with an unusually slow step. "And
it has been almost as good to me, after all, as an "Asmodean
flight."
Halloo, there!”
The exclamation came from Lawrence Haughton, as, in the
ས
ری
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
169
ľ
gathering darkness, he drove up close upon this solitary and
heedless pedestrian.
"Mr. Haughton, is that you?"
Lawrence pulled up his horse, and leaned down from the
wagonette, which he generally preferred to drive himself.
Mrs. Payte, I did not know you. It is late for you to be
walking alone.
""
"Yes, it is," was the prompt reply. "Please to turn and
drive me home; then you can bring Honor back.”
"Honor! Is she at your cottage so late?"
Lawrence was, beyond a doubt, very angry, and he turned
his horse without a word.
The servant held open the carriage door, and Mrs. Payte
was driven back to East Cottage in grim silence. But she
did not seem to mind it much, and her small, shrewd face
wore something very like a smile, when the lights of the cot-
tage fell upon it at last.
"By the powers!" she exclaimed-it was a vague oath, in
which the restless little woman could safely, and not against
her conscience, indulge-"Honor has got a bright and cheer-
ful-looking room up there; and I declare she is singing to
Selina! That is one thing Honor does well. Her voice is
not a machine, and she knows the difference between singing
and executing a song-I call it executing a song when girls
behead it of sense and feeling. Will you stay here, Mr.
Haughton," she continued, leading him into the fire-lighted
sitting-room, "while I fetch Honor?"
Barely two minutes had Lawrence sat moodily there, when
the old lady returned to tell him that she could not persuade
Honor to leave Mrs. Disbrowe, who was very ill and restless,
and was soothed by Honor's singing and reading, and even by
her quiet presence: "Mr. Haughton must please excuse her
to-night.
"I cannot excuse her," said Lawrence, roughly; "she must
come home."
رو
"I really fear she will not," replied Mrs. Payte; and fort-
unately the fire-light did not betray her mean enjoyment of
his wrath. "She is, as Mrs. Malaprop would say, as head-
strong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.' Shall I ap-
peal to her once more, or had I not better take your conscnt
for her to stay with my sick friend?”
"It is not right for her to stay away from home," fumed
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
Lawrence, in his selfish anger; "please tell her I insist on her
coming.
"I decline to tell her that," rejoined the old lady, with
sudden, quiet gravity, "and now I decline to urge even your
request. I hoped you would yourself think better of it, and
now, merely as a polite formality, Mr. Haughton, I beg you
to leave your ward here. She is very nobly and very tenderly
fulfilling a duty which has fallen in her way. Her presence
here is, beyond measure, pleasant and beneficial to a dying
woman, and still she is most unwilling to disobey her guard-
ian, or even disregard his wish. This being the case, I will
not vex her again with the choice, but will myself arrange
with you for her to stay here a little time."
It was a perfectly insignificant person who thus accosted
Lawrence Haughton, a person meanly clad and dingily sur
rounded, yet there was something in the words, or the tone,
or the bearing of the speaker, which kept his angry answer
back, and brought to his own reply a chilly but very evident
effort at politeness.
در
"I will drive here myself for Miss Craven in the early
morning, before I leave for my office," he said; "you will not
allow her again to set aside my order, I hope.
""
"I will leave it to her," Mrs. Payte said, calmly, as she
took him to the door. "I wonder," she added, to herself, as
she remounted the cottage stairs, "whether I shall find her
anxious about what he said ?"
Anxious about him! The old lady entertained no further
doubt upon this subject when she saw Honor beside that
quiet sick bed, brightening so inexpressibly those calm, last
hours.
CHAPTER XVIII.
By their advice, and her own wicked wit,
She there devised a wondrous work to frame.
-SPENSER.
AFTER Mrs. Payte had left Deergrove that afternoon, Mrs.
Trent and her daughter sat for some time in silence, continu-
ing their work just as if no interruption had occurred; but
presently Theodora broke the treacherous pause, and put into
words the thought which had been busy in the brains of both.
1
1
*
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
171
1
"What a difference it will make if Honor does not come!"
No explanation was needed of the where or when, as Theodora
knew. "I never did fear any one but Honor," she continued,
presently.
""
"You never had any occasion, my dear, even to fear her,'
remarked Mrs. Trent, not quite liking to take up yet the
thread that lay to her hand.
"Of course, mamma, you will not try to persuade Honor
to go against her will?"
I never persuade any one to do anything against their
will, Theo, my dear, as you know," observed Mrs. Trent,
serenely.
"And suppose we go a few days earlier than the others-
you yourself proposed it once."
"Did I?" questioned the lady of the house, meditatively.
"I dare say Hervey thought it well, too. And if Honor
does not arrive until you have won Lady Lawrence's regard
to yourself, my dear, why, we cannot help it."
"It will be Honor's fault for being late," returned Theo-
dora, suppressing a smile. "What shall we say if Lady
Lawrence questions us about her, mamma.
agreed.
We must be
""
"We can only give the experience we have had of her,"
replied Mrs. Trent, carefully folding the couvrette she was
knitting. "I could wish we had a better account to give of
the poor child. But I suppose she never will improve now.
The association with those vulgar people at East Cottage has
quite destroyed what benefit she had gained by our bringing
her into our own society. Even Hervey's patience must be
quite worn out. By the way, my love, you had better talk
this over with Hervey; he, too, I dare say, will be glad to be
in London before the Haughtons. Have you quite decided
about your dress, and do you feel sure you have chosen what
Lady Lawrence will like, as far as you can judge from Mr.
Stafford's account of her whims and fancies ?"
"Yes," said Theodora, rising at the sound of the dressing,
bell. "My dress will be quiet enough to suit her, I know.
How funny I shall feel in it, though!"
(C
"Never mind; it will be only for a little time," said Mrs.
Trent, in a consolatory tone. Lady Lawrence is to make
her will at once, you know; and then it will be all right.
You see, whether Hervey or you inherit, it will be the same
thing. Oh, yes, my love, we will certainly be in London
1.
172
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
first; for Lady Lawrence will see it as a delicate attention on
our part. Mind you speak to Hervey to-night!”
"Yes," thought Theodora, gliding up the stairs, with a
complacent smile upon her lips, "but I shall put it a little
differently to Hervey, for he is never keenly alive to Honor's
slyness until I have talked to him a little."
}
So, knowing this, Theodora talked to him a good deal, and
had the satisfaction at last of seeing that Captain Trent grew
thoroughly imbued with the consciousness of real wisdom hav-
ing directed all her arrangements. He languidly congratulated
her upon them, and expressed his appreciation of the advan-
tageous position to which her diplomacy pointed him.
-
Mr. Stafford had, in one of his visits to Deergrove, un-
guardedly betrayed the fact that Lady Lawrence would be in
London a few days before the first of December appointed for
the meeting with her young relatives. Therefore, why should
not the family at Deergrove employ that private information
for their own immediate benefit? Lady Lawrence would of
course be pleased with the attention, and would be glad per-
haps to hear a little about the rest of the family before she
saw them.
..
I see," said Captain Hervey, sauntering figuratively out
of the tedious conference. "The worst of it is, nothing can
be done without one's being so bored over it. Still, of course,
the possible result is worth fatigue. No fellow would object
to a little trouble to insure the success which you expect.
""
"And which you expect, Hervey."
"Oh, as to that, I expect it in any case. The old woman
wants an heir, and you don't suppose she'd choose Haughton!
No, I expect it in any case; but of course, Theo, I am at your
service in all plans that will make assurance doubly sure; only,
for pity's sake, let us have no fuss, and, above all, give that
snob Haughton no excuse for blowing up.
"Do you ever see me in a fuss?" smiled Theodora. "And
Mr. Haughton's tempers, my dear Hervey, can never lower
""
us.
"Except in our spirits," drawled Captain Hervey. "Now
this is all arranged, I hope, and dinner ready. As for Honor,
I don't believe a word about her staying here over the first of
December; she has far too much good sense."
"If she does stay," remarked Miss Trent," it will be en-
tirely by her own choice. Of course she can go with the
others if she chooses; indeed, I feel anything but confident
CAS
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
173
}
¿
that she will not. Although," added Miss Trent to herself,
as she slowly followed her mother and cousin to the dining-
room (Captain Hervey Trent objected to a position between
two ladies, and never was known to put himself into any po-
sition to which he objected), "if she does not, I think I can
promise that her coming afterward will be of very little avail."
It was at this same time that Mr. Haughton, with his sis-
ter and his ward, sat down to a silent dinner at the Larches.
Lawrence had not recovered the mortification he had met
with at East Cottage, both in Honor's rebellion and in Mrs.
Payte's unexpected tirade, and he was, if possible, more taci-
turn than usual. Phoebe, laying it all to Honor's absence,
shed a few silent tears over Honor's delinquencies, and made
a great many excited, but abortive, attempts at sprightly
conversation. Jane-laying it, as she laid all her brother's
ill-humors, on the weight and extent of the business he had
transacted during the day-took her own usual method (even
more abortive than Phoebe's) for restoring his equanimity,
and urged him to take nourishment and rest. From these
united efforts he escaped, almost before dinner was over, to
his own private room, where he generally drank his after-
dinner port in the society of his law-books and papers. But
to-night he took no books from the shelves and no paper from
his private drawers. He hardly glanced at the Gazette, though
he opened and cut it. He laid it down upon his knee with-
out having read a word, then leaned back in his chair, and
sipped his wine more frequently than usual.
His chafed and angry thoughts were at East Cottage still-
a humiliating confession, which he would himself have been
slow to make-and it seemed strange that presently they
should rush suddenly from there to the hotel in Kinbury,
where he had had that one interview with Royden Keith two
weeks before. Nor was the reason of their leap quite ex-
plained even when, at Phoebe's summons to tea-urged coax-
ingly through the closed door-he rose and threw aside his
paper, with a few muttered words.
10
"Honor was bewitched about him, I think, and that was
half the old woman's doing; though it's hard to see any mo-
tive she could have had in that. She shall repent it, though;
for Honor shall not go near her after to-morrow. As for
him, Honor never has seen any fault in him, but she shall see
a vile one now. I said I would wait until Lady Lawrence's
will was written, and this fuss over; but now I think better
܀
Agen
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
of that decision. I will show Honor that burned letter.
What will she think of him afterward ?”
Phoebe, waiting patiently in the hall, sprang forward joy-
ously to meet Lawrence, because she saw that he came from
his room with an expression of pleasant anticipation on his
face.
I
CHAPTER XIX.
Come sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
-A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Ir was the evening of the twenty-ninth of November, and
Mr. Haughton was leaving his last instructions with his head.
clerk. Mr. Slimp received the orders as usual, and pretended
not to be keenly aware that this was an extraordinary occa-
sion. But the young clerks below were making very merry
over the event, and greatly enjoyed their own keen and insa-
tiable curiosity.
Lawrence Haughton's reserve had been of little service to
him this time. There was hardly any one in Kinbury who
did not know that old Myddelton's family were to meet in
London on the first of December, for old Myddelton's sister
to make their acquaintance and her own will; and the junior
clerks in the lawyer's office were not the only men who had
betted, in a small way, on the result.
"In other respects, we are booked if Haughton returns a
millionaire," said one, willingly laying down his pen, after
two minutes' application.
"Can Slimp buy the practice, do you think?"
"If he bought it twenty times over, he wouldn't buy my
services; nor yours, if you're the man I take you for."
Number Two evidently was the man for whom Number
One took him, for he laughed so heartily at the notion of
Bickerton Slimp as a master that the conviviality consequent
on the notion even reached the ears-unintelligibly—of Bick-
erton Slimp himself.
"Good-evening to you both," said Lawrence, entering the
lower office presently, and offering his hand, coldly, to his
young subordinates.
"You leave to-morrow, then, sir?"
"Yes."
i..
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
175
!
"And have no idea, I presume, when you will return?"
"No idea."
"I'll tell you what it is," was the verdict, as Mr. Haugh-
ton's wagonette rolled from the office door; "he's in a rage
at the whole thing being so well known. He'd give anything
if he could escape going to dance attendance on the old lady,
though he'd not forego his chance-not he-for any consider-
ation whatever. But, as he has to go, he'd give the world if
he could go quietly up and manage the will himself, with no
prying eyes upon him."
This being, in effect, a not untrue epitome of Mr. Haugh-
ton's feelings, it can be readily imagined that when he en-
tered the Larches, and Phoebe met him with an excited re-
minder of the morrow's journey, his face lost none of its nor-
mal gloom and rigidity.
"We are all ready, Lawrence," the girl cried; "Jane and
I have packed everything. Oh, isn't it a good thing that
we are going at last? I used to think the day would never
come."
"It has not come now," said Lawrence, carelessly:
"Whose boxes are these?"
"Mine and Jane's"
"You are in time with your packing, at all events,” ob-
served Mr. Haughton, with dry sarcasm. Where are
Honor's?"
(C
..
They are not-oh, Lawrence," the girl broke off, seeing
how his anger rose when the doubt, which had always an-
gered him, grew into a certainty, "she will not come.
keeps to it, just as she told you, each time you scolded her.
She is quite firm, and really means not to go."
She
"Where is she?"
(C
'Up-stairs; you ordered her to be at home for dinner, you
know."
"Go and ask her to come to me at once in my own room."
Phoebe ran up-stairs eagerly. Her guardian had given her
a commission, and that, for the moment, was happiness
enough for Phœbe. Of course she was sorry that Honor
should be scolded, but then really Honor was behaving very
oddly, and it was no wonder at all that Lawrence should be
enraged.
"Oh, Honor"-meeting her cousin on the stairs, Phoebe
plunged into the very middle of the message-"I know he's
angry, and I know we shall be miserable, and all because
!
1325
}
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
of you. You ought to alter your mind, Honor; you know
you ought. You are to go to Lawrence now in his study. He
is so angry.
You know he said long ago that he would not
go without you. It is very selfish of you, Honor, and you
used not to be selfish."
"Lawrence never said he would not go, meaning it," re-
turned Honor, pausing on the stairs. "My going will do no
one any good, unless it be myself; my staying here may, and
so I stay."
"I dare say it is of no use our going at all now," whined
Phoebe. "The Trents have been there two days, and-and
I think it is no wonder Lawrence is cross. Make haste in,
Honor, and do say you'll go. I'll help you to pack."
"Oh, I can pack in a few minutes," smiled the younger
girl, looking back as she went on down-stairs. "When I
have done all I can do here, I can follow you at half an hour's
notice. I have no preparations to make."
"Don't stop," cried Phoebe, eagerly; "make haste to Law-
rence.'
It was but a short interview between Honor and her guard-
ian. She was firm in her resolve, though perfectly gentle in
urging it; and Mr. Haughton's anger and Mr. Haughton's
advice were equally unavailing.
(6
"I feel," said the girl, with a great thoughtfulness upon
her face, as if my duty lay here; so don't try to persuade
me, please, Lawrence."
He did try, though, again and again, but to no purpose;
and when Jane and Phoebe had become fidgety, and the din-
ner was growing cold, he came in and took his seat in such
evident ill-humor that no one ventured anything beyond a
casual and polite remark. Under these circumstances the
meal was a lugubrious one, and even Phoebe longed for it to
be over.
"Then you are not going to your own room this evening,
Lawrence?"
He had entered the drawing-room behind them, and his
sister turned to him in surprise.
"No," he answered, curtly, as he took the large arm-chair
always reserved for him.
Miss Haughton rang for the wine, which had as usual been
placed in her brother's room, and prepared her work with a
little greater zest. But, for all her anticipations, it was not
the lawyer's presence which brightened the evening, and Miss
#
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1 kyr
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Haughton would never have been tempted to own whose did.
It was as impossible for Honor not to brighten those among
whom she might be, as it would be impossible for the June
sunshine to lie upon the grass and leave it chill and cold.
Far from avoiding Lawrence, she-ignoring all memory of
that scene in his room-won him, in her own sweet, daring
way, to pleasant, idle fireside chat, and then even to laugh-
ter. Crowning triumph, she tempted them all to a game of
whist, conducted, it is true, upon most unorthodox prin-
ciples, but serving its purpose, perhaps, all the better for
that. Lawrence smiled upon Honor's bright little constant
jests, and Jane thawed in the laughter; she even forgot her-
self once, and showed her hand across to Honor, laughing
over it herself afterward, and bearing with great philosophy
the defeat of her own side.
Altogether the game, though, as whist, an ignominious
failure, was, as an impromptu amusement, a thorough suc-
cess; and when tea came in, the meal was no repetition of the
gloomy dinner.
Next day Mr. Haughton started with his sister and ward;
and Honor, standing on the station platform to watch the
train out of sight, felt her eyes grow dim. They had done
little to make the girl's home a happy one, or her life content;
but still they had made all the home she had ever known; and
there was a vague, sad feeling upon her that this first separa-
tion was the breaking up of the old life.
The fancy haunted her as she walked on to East Cottage;
and, to dispel it, she recalled Phoebe's excited face and man-
ner, and the great expectations of the whole party; mentally
wandering on then to the party from Deergrove, who, in still
greater excitement and anticipations, had left for London two
days before.
"It is strange," she mused to herself, with an unconscious
sigh, "to think of the great power that money has-and yet
how little it could do for some! Think of Marie Verrien in
her constant pain, lying awake night after night, coughing
and suffering! How trifling wealth must seem to her, com-
pared with ease and relief! And then Mrs. Disbrowe, lying
on the border-land in patient waiting. Looking back upon
her life, could she long for any power wealth would give?
And, looking on, could she see its power there ?"
"Bless me, child," exclaimed little Mrs. Payte, as she met
her at the cottage door, and apparently noticed nothing of
"
1
178
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
the girl's thoughtful sadness, "you haven't really come, have
you? Well, I must say I did not expect you.'
""
"I said I should come," was Honor's simple answer.
"Women may always change their minds, and I felt sure
you would change yours.
Are all the others gone up to
town ?"
"Yes; Lady Lawrence has probably arrived. If not, she
is to be there to-day."
"I know. Do you at all realize how foolish you have been?”
"No, Mrs. Payte," said Honor, gently. "I have thought
it well over-I did, indeed, from the first-and I feel that I
have done the only thing which I could feel happy in doing."
"Now," retorted the little old lady, fiercely, "you may
just as well not go at all. Your going will only be a morti-
fication. I wish you had not been so silly. Lady Lawrence
has a claim upon you, child."
"Hardly," remarked Honor, smiling.
"While Selina," continued the little lady, without conde-
scending to notice the interruption, "what claim has she?"
"The first claim now," was Honor's quiet answer.
CHAPTER XX.
Bootless speed!
When cowardice pursues and valor flies.
-A Midsummer Night's Dream.
HIGH and dark against the wintry sky, rose the massive
stone front of Westleigh Towers, sombre, silent, and majestic
on its height; while the huge rock out at sea, by force of
contrast, assumed almost pygmean proportions. Yet a mighty
rock it was, too, rising two hundred feet above the waves that
fretted at its base; a wonderful rock, haunted, in its inac-
cessible reccsses, by birds in thousands-puffins, cormorants,
gulls, and curlews-but never touched by human footsteps.
It had been a stormy day, and, though the storm had lulled
itself at last, the shoreward waves came panting in with
foamy crests, and chafed the sand and shingle with a peevish
restlessness. The waters covered to-night that treacherous
bay below the cliffs, heaving darkly in their sheltered strong-
hold, and swaying to and fro with a dull and muffled sound.
The moon was nearly at its full, but over its bright disk the
ļ
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
179
dusky clouds passed rapidly, obscuring totally its light, save
in the intervals between their flight.
The fishermen were
glad to leave their boats upon the shore to-night, and sit and
smoke beside their cottage hearths; and the servants at the
Towers gathered about their several fires, and laughed and
chatted, and forgot the cold and gloom without. A crowd of
servants, comely and well-organized, but rather a superfluous
number, it would seem, to those who knew how little was ex-
acted from them by the solitary master whom they were hired
to serve.
In one small room in the west wing of the Towers-warm
and bright to-night with fire and lamp-light-the little French
photographer was busy mounting his photographs; moving
now and then to the window that he might look out upon the
night scene when the moon should ride unclouded, and revel-
ing with all his artistic nature in its weird and stormy beauty;
then walking back to his work with a softened step and a look
of grateful wonder in his eyes as he glanced round the bright
and comfortable room.
"How beautiful it all is," he said, with a clasp of his
hands which proclaimed his nationality at once; "wild and
magnificent without, easy and luxurious within! Oh, Marie,
my cherished, you little guess what a life your father leads
just now; and monsieur has not said, even yet, that it is fin-
ished, this life of abundance and of pleasure for me. Oh, he
is good and generous! But," concluded the little French-
man, with a sudden, prompt resumption of his task, "this
is idle ingratitude, this dreaming of mine. I have one more
still to mount, and then I shall be at liberty for my nightly
letter to Marie. Ah, I forgot that negative I spoiled this
morning. I must see to that first."
Verrien took the glass up cautiously, and held it against
the light.
"Ah," he exclaimed, after a long, close gaze, "now I see
how it has happened.
""
It was a photograph of one portion of the great entrance-
hall at the Towers, and at a glance it was evident that the
negative was a defective one. True, the carving and the
frescoes were developed with almost as much artistic beauty
as is possible in a photograph. Every leaf, and fruit, and
flower in the fret-work, and every broad design in the mosaic
pavement, were clearly and tellingly defined; yet there could
be no doubt about the picture being a failure, and the little
180
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Frenchman's eager eyes had found the cause now. During
the seconds of exposure-the real and technical time of taking
a door in that part of the hall had been opened suddenly.
The whole thing was easily explained on examining the nega-
tive; yet it was long before Monsieur Verrien's eyes were
lifted; and, when they were, there was still a deeper puzzle
in them.
"I-I-did not know," he murmured to himself, drawing
his handkerchief tenderly over the surface of the glass,
"that
there was a lady here. I do not know why I should have
taken it so entirely for granted that there should not be a lady
here; it was absurd of me, to be sure. There there nat-
urally would be a lady here-naturally-naturally."
Monsieur Verrien repeated the word again and again with
growing emphasis, and yet he did not put aside the negative,
nor raise his eyes from that defective part.
"It was a lady's form-there is no mistake about that,"
he mused, softly and slowly; "a lady's, and a young lady's.
I wonder I wonder why I have never heard her spoken of
here."
Another silent gaze, and then the Frenchman made a rapid,
characteristic gesture of self-disgust.
"Is this my affair?" he muttered, in his broken English.
"Would these domestics, of their own will, talk to me of the
ladies of their master's house-me, whom they treat so well,
and who speaks so little to them—and need the monsieur him-
self inform me? Bah! it is absurd!"
66
As if to calm himself after this little ebullition of self-re-
proach, he put down the damaged negative, and began to
turn over and admire, for the hundredth time, the mounted
photographs with which he had undoubtedly been successful.
Ah, this is the one; this is my pride!" he cried, taking
one up with an extra tenderness in his hard, little, stained
hands. "This no one could have taken better-no one.
chose this aspect of the house, and I chose this attitude for
monsieur. How well he looks! He always does look well;
but still, I like this one beyond the others. How proud and
solitary the figure looks, and yet how beautiful and natural
there on his own threshold! Solitary! His life, for all its
generous goodness, does seem solitary: and yet if"
I
The sentence was not finished, but the Frenchman's side-
way glance at that dimly-developed figure in the spoiled nega-
tive betrayed the purport of what he had intended to stay,
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
181
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​""
"I will put it away," he said, presently; "it distracts me.
He was glad one moment afterward that he had done so;
for scarcely had he laid it out of sight when the room door
was opened and Mr. Keith entered. He came up to the table
at which the little Frenchman was at work, and half sitting,
half leaning there, watched him, chatting now and then in an
idle, pleasant way.
"I think, monsieur," said Verrien, presently, the words
having evidently been studied boforehand, and being uttered
now by an effort, "that, I have completed all the views you
spoke of, and when they are all transferred-to-morrow, I
mean, monsieur-I set out."
Royden, looking kindly and inquiringly into the photo-
grapher's anxious face, saw what this stay at the Towers had
been for him; and although, as Verrien said, all the intended
views had been taken, he answered promptly that there was
more to do, and he hoped Monsieur Verrien would stay a little
longer.
"Monsieur-Monsieur Keith "-the little foreigner was
standing before Royden, his breath hurried, and his face full
of pathos in spite of his dark features, and the tortoise-shell
spectacles pushed high on his bald head-"monsieur, I do
not know how to say it. Even in my own language I could
hardly say it as I mean it. But I have done the photographs
you wished for, monsieur; and if you order more, it is only
because-because I am poor, and you are pitiful."
Royden laughed merrily.
"You have not mastered our language yet," he said,
shaking his head. "Let me translate that sentence for you.
Say it after me: Monsieur, if you order any more, it is only
because I am successful and you are satisfied.' There-that
is what we call correct English."
(6
"Monsieur Keith, will you let me say just one word more?"
One," said Royden, smiling at Verrien's evident and
almost painful anxiety; "but only one.
""
"I meant to say that, if you had dismissed me a week
ago, you would have been most kind; but now I ought to be
sent
""
(
"More than one, and a waste of time, monsieur. Now
for business. Show me what you have taken to-day."
Royden's generous, kindly tact had, by this speech, set the
anxious and humble Frenchman at his ease again. Business
was to be transacted, and business was his province. Two
182
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
minutes afterward he was engrossed by the photographs, and
so excited by Mr. Keith's criticisms, and so happy in his
praise, that Royden could hardly help smiling at the sudden
change.
66
To-morrow," he said, at last, when he had made his
guest most thoroughly content, there are two important
views to take, and in the evening I shall be here as usual to
see them, and to decide upon the next. Now, Verrien, what
about home news? How is your daughter, for I saw you had
a letter to-day?"
}
""
"Yes, monsieur, a letter from Marie herself; she is just
the same-just the same, I know, though she writes chcer-
fully; and she is getting on quite well, she says, without me.'
A good thing," remarked Royden, understanding exactly
what the unselfish girl had said; "she will not be vexed then
at my keeping you longer. And how are the ladies at East
Cottage?"
"Mrs. Disbrowe is very ill, monsieur-fading fast to the
grave, Marie says, but quite content it is so, and nursed so
tenderly, monsieur, by Miss Craven-as Marie says."
"Miss Craven is not in London even yet, then?"
"(
No, monsieur.”
"And what about Mrs. Payte?"
"Mrs. Payte, monsieur," said the little Frenchman, with-
out a tone of interest in his voice, "is just as ever, Maric
says; so I suppose she is sharp and scolds-she always did,
monsieur."
2nd
"Not quite always," said Royden, laughing. "Have you
news of any one else in Statton ?"
"Only of Miss Honor, monsieur, as I said."
"Anything more about her, then?"
Royden asked the question in so easy a tone that it would
have taken a keener perception than Verrien's to distinguish
the interest that lay so deep below it, or to detect the fact
that all the news of Statton centered here for him.
With a pride that was almost comical in its intense solem-
nity, Monsieur Verrien drew his daughter's letter from an
inner pocket of his coat, and began to read aloud one long
passage devoted to Honor. The phraseology was ungram-
matical and disconnected, and the reader was obliged to make
continual pauses for the finding of his place among the small
scraps of paper which had been at Marie's command; but for
all that the father had a listener who, by quiet, concentrated
1
B
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
183
interest, increased tenfold his pride in his daughter's literary.
achievements.
"That is all of Statton news, monsieur," he said, gathering
the papers proudly into the envelope again; "you will not
care for the rest, as it is about the garden, and the cat, and
some old photographs of mine that she likes to look at, poor
child."
A little longer Mr. Keith stayed chatting with the French-
man; then, leaving him to write his letter home, he descended
the stairs, his thoughts still so busy with those trifling items
of news that, when he reached the open door of the room for
which he was bound, he paused a moment, as if he would re-
call his thoughts, and chase from his face some trouble which
he felt to be there.
•
It was a beautiful apartment which he entered, not very
large, but furnished with exquisite taste and a most thorough
appreciation of comfort. Reclining in a low chair by the fire,
sat an elderly lady in a lavender-colored silk dress, with lav-
ender ribbons in her cap. She rose when Royden entered;
and though she took her seat again at his request, there was
no rest in her attitude. The nervousness must have been new
to her, for it struck Royden in a moment.
"Are you alone?" he asked, gazing around the room.
"Has Alice left you, Miss Henderson ?"
The lady thus addressed had no need to reply. At the first
sound of his voice the curtains which hung before one of the
mullioned windows were moved aside, and a lady came from
the embrasure out into the room. "I am here, Roy," she
said, in a voice so low and timid that it seemed hushed in fear.
"I have been wondering where you were.
"Only in the green sitting-room, watching Verrien at his
work. Have you wanted me, dear? Have you been ill?
Or"-she had come into the full light now, and stood looking
anxiously at him-"frightened ?"
"Yes, frightened," she answered, almost in a whisper.
"I cannot bear to tell you, Roy, for you are worried so; but
still I must, because you can always make it right for us. I
am so weak and timid, and you are so cool and calm."
"What fresh worry have you now, Alice ?"
He had held out one hand to her when he saw the fear
which had overcome her-the fear with which she had not
either the spirit or the strength to battle-and she seized it
between her trembling fingers as she answered:
رو
184
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
+
"It is a man, Royden-a man who has been here before.
I have scen him once myself, in the dark here, prowling--a
small man in black-very small-thin, as well as short, and—
he is here to-night. I saw him first, Roy; and Miss Hender-
son has seen him. I took her to one of the west windows,
and we saw him go through the shrubbery; and now my maid
has seen him, too, and she says he has been here before. She
thinks he is a friend of one of the men-servants, but I do not.
I know he is here to spy. No man would haunt this house
but for that purpose. Oh, Royden, what shall I do?"
"Do not be afraid, dear. Show me where you saw him."
With an unhurried step, and a cool, rather amused face, he
walked up to the window at which she had been standing hid-
den when he entered, and he laughed a little when he met
her piteous eyes; but, for all that, there was something in his
face which, if she had been less weak and anxious for herself,
it might have frightened her to see.
Su
"There," she whispered, below her breath, as, closing the
heavy curtains behind them to shut out the light within the
room, she pointed with her finger, drawing back her hand
again timidly, as if afraid of even that slight movement.
"There just passing over the flower-bed! There-toward
the back of the house! I saw him quite plainly when the
clouds passed from before the moon-quite plainly, Roy, for
he had not time to hide among the trees. He is at the back
of the house now, somewhere; at least he has not passed back
where I could see him. It is the same man-indeed it is
who was here before. He was here to watch us then, and he
is here to watch us now-else why should he haunt the place?
Oh, Roy, do not be angry with me in this dreadful time! If
they find out!"
"My dear," he said, most gently, "why should I be angry
with you? And do you not know very well that we are not
going to let them find out? Though there is one thing," he
added, laughing, as he came back into the room, "which I
am going to let them find out.”
"Oh, Royden, you will be careful?”
"Very careful," he answered, laying his hand for a moment
reassuringly upon her shoulder; "very careful, dear, for your
sake; and you must be brave-for mine."
"Mr. Keith," said Miss Henderson, coming forward for
the first time, her voice betraying her own anxiety and unrest,
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ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
185
*
66
would it not be better to move no hand in this? Would it
not be safer and wiser? How do we know who this may be,
or what whispers may have got abroad?"
<<
'Oh, I know him," said Royden, throwing back his head
with a hearty laugh which did more toward giving them
courage than anything else could have done just then. "I
know him as a harmless little spy, whose power is certainly
not vested in his own person. You have no need to fear,
Miss Henderson-do feel assured of that; and, Alice, do not
tremble so. Sit here, my dear, and wait for my return. It
is just the night for fears and fancies, is it not? But we will
set them all at rest. Ah, it would have done you good, as it
did me, to hear the poor little Frenchman up-stairs talk of
the beauty of this wild night, and read to me of a woman who
has lived for ten years in constant acute bodily suffering,
working hard in poverty all the while, yet who writes from
her sick-bed that for him to be happy is the only longing
which her Father's mercy has let her feel. Alice, from such
hearts there are lessons for us to learn. Heaven grant we
may not waste its teaching when it comes in such dis-
guise.
>"
A
"You never could," she whispered; "and I am trying—oh,
I do try, Roy!"
He answered only with a kind and gentle smile, and then
he turned away.
All trace of this smile was gone before he reached the foot
of the wide, lamp-lighted staircase, and his lips were firm,
and his eyes dark with anger. The "gentleman's gentle-
man" and the portly butler (who ruled at Westleigh Towers
with a far greater and wider despotism than ever its master
thought to exercise) were enjoying a glass of punch together
before a great fire in the pantry, when the unexpected
entrance of their master surprised them.
"You are wise," he said, in his pleasant tones, as he walked
up to the fire.
"On such a night as this we have no excuse
for not keeping ourselves warm. I want to know, Evans,
whether all the house-servants are in-doors to-night."
"I fancy so, sir," the butler answered, putting a chair
toward his master. "Most of them are in the servants' hall.
Mrs. Hart is in her own room, and the house-steward is with
her this evening, and the lady's-maid, I think,"
"And the rest are in the hall?"
Yes, sir,"
(6
2
186
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
That will do. Draw your chairs to the fire again. I
thought I should need you, Evans, but, as Burton is here "
(Burton was the house-steward), "I will go to him.”
"Shall I fetch him, or send him to you, sir?"
"No: I want no fuss.
If the appearance of the master had caused surprise in the
butler's pantry, the surprise was ten times greater in the
housekeeper's room.
"Go into the hall for me, Burton," he said, quietly, return-
ing the respectful greetings; "I want to know if all the men
are there-men and maids, indeed. Find out if any one is
missing, and I will wait here."
He stood before the fire in the housekeeper's snug little
room, while she wondered what the master meant, and why
he should be anxious to know that all the servants were to-
gether. It was so unlike him.
But she had forgotten her passing sense of injury, and was
entertaining him to the best of her ability, when Burton re-
turned to say that one man was away-a new servant. He
was in the harness-room, his fellow-servants thought, as he
often sat there at night with the grooms. Should Burton go
or send to see after him?
"I will do it myself, I think," said the master, quietly.
"If I go through this west door, you can bolt it behind me.
Pausing at the great arched entrance to the stable-yard,
Royden turned and looked around. The wild gloom of the
night oppressed him unaccountably, and for the errand he
bad taken upon himself he had a strange and angry repug-
hance; yet at that moment, as he looked up among the heavy
clouds and away across the heaving sea, one memory rose and
filled his eyes with a warm love the memory of those words
which had been read aloud to him an hour ago, and which
told of Honor.
The harness-room, to which Royden at once made his way,
was a long room running at angles with the gateway. A large
fire blazed in the grate, but the only occupant now was a
young groom standing at a distance from the fire, and whistling
merrily as he trimmed and lighted his small hand-lantern.
A few words told all he had to tell. The man the master
sought had been there, but had left quite an hour ago. Yes,
he often did come in to have a chat, but he had not stayed
long to-night; in fact, some friend or relation had called for
him and taken him out,
"
:
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
187
No, the groom could tell nothing more. It was quite pos-
sible that the two men had gone to the village ale house, but
really he could not tell; he had not noticed this visitor who
had summoned his fellow-servant away; nor had he cared to
ask where they were going. He had only by chance heard
and understood that the man had been urged by this visitor
to go and make an evening of it. Perhaps the groom did
hot know, but thought it possible-they might be in Mat
Burke's cottage. Mat was quite deaf, and known to brew
good grog. Mat lived near to the Towers too; and, after all,
it was not very likely that they would go to the village pub-
lic, where the servants from Westleigh Towers were so well
known, and where every ore understood well enough how
little the master would like to hear of his men sitting there
at night to drink. No, it would not be the same as Mat's.
Mat was a quiet, honest man, and stone deaf; only his son's
brig brought over a cask now and then, and Mat made a sly
bit of money out of it when he could.
1
Quietly setting aside all offers of further information or
personal attendance, the master went back to the house. Ten
minutes afterward, with the fur collar of his long Russian
coat buttoned over his chin, he left the dark, wet avenue,
and, turning into the high-road, walked swiftly_on_against
the cutting northeast wind. Royden knew Mat Burke's cote
tage well, and, in spite of the scarce-broken darkness, made
his way direct to it. A torn cotton curtain was drawn before
the window, but Royden could see that the kitchen was
brightly lighted; and he could hear a voice he recognized-a
weak, raised voice, the sound of which made him pause for
a moment with a feeling of cold repulsion-utter his own
name with a laugh.
JORDA
He gave a prompt, loud rap upon the door, but in the same
instant he opened it, and, stooping to pass the doorway, en-
tered at once into the bright, untidy room. The sight of
three men drinking at the fire was no surprise to him; but
to those three men the entrance of the master of Westleigh
Towers was more than a surprise.
Mat Burke rose as quickly as his rheumatism would allow,
and pulling a lock of his white hair, began an abject and
long-winded apology for having again disobeyed his master's
orders, rambling off into an entreaty not to be turned out of
his cottage even this time. The young servant-man from the
Towers rose and stood back upon the hearth, his expression a
Die
188
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
ludicrous struggle between fear and defiance; but the other
member of the trio did not rise at all. He had been sitting
with his back to the door when Royden entered, and, after
one swift glance around, he had maintained his position, and
kept his face turned in the opposite direction. In this atti-
tude the short, pinched figure of Mr. Bickerton Slimp be-
trayed nothing of his sense of humiliation and defeat, or of
the malevolent designs which warred tempestuously within
his limited person; and his narrow, colorless face was void
of all expression.
Mr. Keith gave not one glance across at his own servant,
and only silenced the old man with a gesture. He stationed
himself at the small round table, and looked down upon the
lawyer's clerk. A long, steady gaze it was, and, though Mr.
Slimp made most praiseworthy efforts to appear uncon-
scious of it, there was an unmistakable evidence of its causing
him an unpleasant sensation.
"This is not a public bar. Are you here illegally, or are
you here as a friend?"
Several answers and several alternatives rushed through
the mind of Bickerton Slimp when this question was asked,
but he knew that, in order to keep up the role he had as-
sumed with these men, there was but one answer he could
give, if he gave any; so he gave none.
"As you do not answer, I presume my footman to be a
personal friend of yours."
"I met him to-night by chance," returned Mr. Slimp,
with affected ease.
"Did you? Chance has before taken you into my stable
yard, I believe, though it is considered rather difficult of ac-
cess to strangers. You must have such a very strong attach-
ment to your friend that I am induced to remove all impedi-
ments to your constant intercourse. I would not be ungen-
erous enough to separate two such close allies. As Mr. Slimp
values your society," he added, turning his eyes upon the
young man, who stood as far back as he could in the small
kitchen, "he is welcome to it; and as you have been willing
to place yourself at his disposal, do so entirely; for a divided
service is a treacherous service always. Go with your friend,
for I will have trusty men about me, and not sneaks. Now,"
he added, addressing the lawyer's clerk with easy scorn,
"you can pursue your inquiries and cement your friendship
undeterred by fear-to which feeling, I believe, you are not
-
*
J
(
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
189
1
*
quite a stranger. But you had better not trouble yourself to
seek another friend in my household. A personal castiga-
tion, however exciting, will hardly repay you the fatigues of
the journey which lies between here and your headquarters
in Kinbury."
A retort, laden with threats, reached Royden's ear as he
turned from the cottage, but fell most harmlessly.
He re-entered the Towers by the pcstern door, through
which he had gone out, and when he walked up-stairs again,
in his evening dress, and amidst the warmth and lamp-light,
there was no trace visible of his anger and disdain. On enter-
ing the room where he had first heard of Mr. Slimp's espion-
age, he saw the elder lady sitting unemployed before the fire,
just as he had left her; but the younger one was walking
restlessly to and fro between the window and the door. At
sight of Royden she started forward, her thin white hands
clasped eagerly.
(6
"Oh, Roy, I have been so frightened," she cried; so
frightened, and yet I did not know why."
Nor do I," he answered, lightly, while with great gentle-
ness he unlocked her strained fingers. "There was no need
of fear; and, beyond that, you promised me to be brave.
""
"And you?" she questioned, below her breath.
"I? I have discovered that one of the servants has a weak-
ness for straying in the darkness. Is that anything to cause
fear, Alice? Now play to me.”
"I wish," she said, wistfully, as she turned to the piano,
"I had not worried you, and given you this alarm for noth-
ing.
""
"Worry and alarm? I have had neither, dear. Now
play."
She went gladly, for she well knew that it was the only
means by which she ever could really soothe or even sympa-
thize with him. The elder lady, sitting opposite Royden at
the fire, saw his eyes close, and thought he was asleep. She
whispered this to Alice.
"You have soothed him to sleep, dear; I am glad, for he
seemed tired and harassed to-night.
But Alice knew he was not sleeping, and she only nodded
gently and played on.
""
"My dear," whispered Miss Henderson, at last, lifting one
of the thin hands from the key-board, "you must go to rest,
"
190
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
or you will be ill to-morrow after this fear and excitement.
Stay; shall I ring for tea? That will rouse Mr. Keith."
Royden opened his eyes, and lifted his head from its lazy
position in his clasped palms.
"Were you tired, Alice?"
"No, I am not tired of playing to you," she said, "I never
am, because you like it. I only wish I could do it better.
Somehow my fingers are so weak-like my health and my
spirit, Roy.
""
"Weak, are they?"-she was standing near him now upon
the rug, and as he spoke he took up her left hand-"it is
not nearly so thin as it has been-I am very thankful for
that-but I want to see it as it used to be; I want to see the
ring as tight as I remember it at first.”
With a sudden, irresistible impulse, she drew her hand from
his, and pressed her lips upon the plain gold ring which turned
so easily upon the third finger. And, while she held it so,
she burst into uncontrolled and piteous weeping.
CHAPTER XXI.
From the bed where now she lies,
With snow-white face and closed eyes,
She ne'er must rise again.
-PROFESSOR WILSON.
THE long December night was drawing to its close. A
covering of untrodden snow lent its white, hushed silence to
the scene. But that hush of death which is the deepest hush
of all, descended slowly, too, upon its silent wings.
In one hour more the dawn would break above the snow;
in one hour more the pulse of life would throb again through-
out the land. But for this waiting soul a fairer dawn would
break, and the fevered pulse would cease its throbbing.
66
Honor," whispered the dying voice, "you have been very
good; always patient, watchful, kind; and for all return I crn
only pray that God will bless you, dear, in his own way-in
his own way-which is best.
Mrs. Payte stood at the bedside of her old companion, firm
and upright. There was no abandonment in her grief; there
was even no appearance of the grief; but Honor knew it was
held back with iron will; and the girl, purposely leaving the
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
191
old friends together at times, knew, when she returned at
their call, and found the restless old lady bustling about as
was her wont, that it had not been so in her absence.
"Edna "—the failing voice faltered in its last appeal, and
the nerveless hands relaxed in their last clasp-"you have
been wise; I see it all plainly now, though I thought it wrong.
I have been a great trouble to you, Edna; but you have been
very good. I knew you best. Honor, she was always kind
and good to me; and now you will comfort her, you will help
her, you will love her?"
(6
Always.'
The word was uttered with all the earnestness of truth, and
Honor's hand closed firmly on Mrs. Disbrowe's nervous
fingers. But Mrs. Payte only muttered, curtly, that it was
better to make no rash promises, and then turned away and
stood beside the fire, with her back to the dying woman.
Softly fell the snow-flakes past the curtained window; softly
broke the dawn in the far east.
"Father, into thy hands "-Honor's low voice faltered, for
in the patient, watching eyes had broken the glory of the End.
Pure as the snow-flakes, softly flying downward, yet untainted,
rose the free spirit to which no taint of earth could ever cling
again. Fairer than the dawn beyond the hills, broke for the
patient, waiting soul, the Morning of Heaven.
"Is this "the girl's eyes were lingering softly on the eyes
she had so gently closed, and her tears were falling fast" the
end?"
"For us the end," Honor answered, turning and taking on
her breast the drawn and rigid face of the woman who had
lost her one companion, and looking into it the while with
the steadfast bravery of faith; "for her the beginning of the
bright and painless life.'
""
"Don't touch me as if you loved me! I have been hard
and exacting, rough and impatient. Leave me with her."
Through that hour's thought beside the dead no sound
broke the silence-no cry for pardon passed the stiff, dry lips;
Mrs. Payte's regret, after all, seemed to hold no remorse for
her own harshness. It might almost have been that that long
backward thought brought no remembrance of injury to the
dead.
The hour had barely passed, when Honor, entering softly,
took the old lady by the hand and led her down into the
warm sitting-room, where, though the blinds were drawn, the
▼
192.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY. -
morning light fell clear; where a bright fire sent its cheery
glow and pleasant hum to meet them, and where, on the
breakfast-table, lay one fresh, sweet rose, carrying its match-
less lesson of the Resurrection of Life.
Then it was, and not till then, that tears welled up sud-
denly in the shrewd eyes of this little old lady to whom grief
had seemed an impossibility, and she turned her face and hid
it on the cushions of the couch; while Honor-in her girl-
wisdom, knowing it was well such tears should have their way
-knelt beside her, soothing her only with mute caresses, and
the silent strength of sympathy.
"Don't stay with me, child. Of course I'm lonely, and of
course I'm heart-broken; but don't stay with me, or you'll
lose, beyond hope of recovery, every chance of a share in old
Myddelton's money.
This was Mrs. Payte's almost hourly plaint, during the
days that intervened between Mrs. Disbrowe's death and the
funeral.
"Of course I like you with me, child; but you ought to
go, for your own sake.”
Honor detected no selfishness in the speech. She saw that
the old lady's feeling of loneliness was unfeigned, and she
never hesitated in her own decision. Mrs. Payte had made
arrangements to leave Statton on the day after the funeral.
She had not quite decided where she should finally settle, but
for a time she was going among friends. Once away from
East Cottage, she said, where the rooms were haunted by
memories of her old friend, she should stand a chance of re-
gaining her spirits.
So, without a pang of selfish doubt or hesitation, Honor
made her plans, too. She would stay with the solitary old
lady through those few sad days at East Cottage, see her com-
fortably off upon her journey, and then feel at liberty herself
to join her relatives in London.
"I wish you had gone when the others went," whined Mrs.
Payte, as they sat together over the fire on the night before
the funeral; "I am sure you are regretting it at this mo-
ment. What claim had I upon you that you should deny
yourself for me?"
"I was not thinking of Lady_ Lawrence," said Honor,
gently. "I was thinking of Mrs. Disbrowe."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
· 193
se
""
"I know old Myddelton's sister will be enraged with you,'
continued Mrs. Payte, not heeding the girl's reply.
"Proba-
bly she will refuse to see you when you do go.
"Then I shall come back."
{
"And you don't regret it?"
The tone was sharp, and the glance was a suspicious glance;
but Honor did not notice either. "No, I do not—and never
shall-regret it," she answered, simply.
Then to her great relief, the subject was dropped for the
last time, and the old lady received, almost in silence, the
girl's sympathy and attention during that chilly day of the
funeral. Poor Selina," muttered Mrs. Payte, as she and
Honor entered the cottage after the dreary ceremony, "I
shall miss her greatly. There was plenty of good in Selina---
plenty; though she was weak and incapable. She was no re-
lation of mine; but I shall go to the expense of wearing
mourning for her when I find myself in a civilized neighbor-
hood, where I can get a gown made to fit. Till then this
will do very well. Eh, Honor?"
The girl's lashes were heavy with tears. Was this the only
requiem for one who had been so patient, and who had loved
so much?
"It was very thoughtful of you to put on a black dress for
to-day," continued the old lady, "but of course it was un-
necessary. Everybody knows that Selina was nothing to you.
If they had been at home at the Larches or at Deergrove,
they would have laughed finely. Now, child, let us have a
cup of tea and arrange about to-morrow. Somehow, I don't
care to part with you.
"We will not part until you leave Statton, Mrs. Payte,"
said Honor, gently, as they entered the sitting-room, and the
maid-servant came in to change her mistress' boots; "I shall
first see you off on your way to your friends."
Honor drew the old lady's chair and footstool up to the fire,
and handed her her tea. True, she was pettish, and selfish,
and complaining, but was she not old and solitary? And, in
spite of all her harshness, could not Honor see the lines of
grief and of anxiety upon her face?
Early next morning, Mrs. Payte, with her arm in Honor's,
was waiting on the station platform. She had found out
that she must travel by this early train, as she would have
to change at Langham Junction, she said, and might have to
wait there.
""
Y
194
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"I shall take hardly any luggage at all," she decided;
%6 what need? I shall get my mourning where I am going,
and of course I shall have to send back to East Cottage.
When I have made my plans, I shall let you have my address.
Now, what about yourself, Honor?"
"I shall go home after you have left, Mrs. Payte, but I
shall be quite ready to start by the mid-day train for London.
I have very little to take. We are not invited to stay with
Lady Lawrence, you know; only to meet her there for the
will to be made.”
"And you intend, after all, to go in that startling gray
and crimson dress?"
"Yes, Mrs. Payte; it is my best."
"Senseless child! when Mr. Stafford so particularly said
that old Myddelton's sister liked simplicity. Well, it's no
use arguing further about it. Where is that stupid woman
with my rug?"
The stupid woman-Mrs. Payte's very patient maid-servant
-came up with shawls and cloaks, and put them into a
first-class compartment with her mistress. She herself
then took her seat in a second-class carriage, provided with
a plentiful supply of cold chicken and claret for her own re-
freshment during her journey, and the train rolled slowly on
its way.
Honor returned to East Cotttage in the fly which had
taken them to the station. For more than an hour she
stopped to cheer and to help Marie Verrien, who was alone
now. After that she walked home to make her own prepara-
tions. They were quickly finished, as she had said; then the
servants (though they were on board wages) brought her in,
unasked, a mutton-chop and a cup of tea. So, by mid-day,
she was again waiting upon the station platform.
CC
"Why, my dear Miss Craven," exclaimed Mr. Romer,
meeting her there, "I thought you started this morning with
Mrs. Payte?"
66
Oh, no," smiled Honor; "she went by the seven o'clock
train. I am going to London, you know.
"Of course I know; that is why I felt sure you were gone,
Why, if you had taken her train to Langham Junction, you
would have caught the up express, and been in Kensington
before now."
66
Oh, what a pity!” cried Honor. "I never thought of
it, nor did Mrs. Payte."
T
195
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Ladies never do understand anything about trains," re-
marked the rector, merrily. "Now let me see you snugly
off."
He chose a seat for her, brought her a paper, had the water-
tin refilled, and saw that she was well prepared in every way
for her cold journey. Yet from that moment it was a miser-
able journey to Honor, for she could not find Lady Law-
rence's address. She remembered having had it in her hand
at the station, when she had been there in the early morning
with Mrs. Payte; she was quite sure of that, because the old
lady had read it, and had told her to be careful of it, saying
it was of too much value to be trifled with.
When she reached London, Honor earnestly interrogated
the porters, and even ventured out to question the cabmen.
Did they happen to know what house in Kensington had been
Sir Hervey Lawrence's, or in what house Lady Lawrence lived
now? (6
Though I am afraid you do not," added Honor,
naively, "for she has only just returned from abroad."
The men were willing enough to take her to find the house,
but in no other way could they help her. Lady Lawrence was
une dame inconnue; but they knew Kensington from end to
end, of course, and they would soon find the house.
A tedious two hours Honor spent, driving slowly from spot
to spot in Kensington; but at last her destination was found.
Her heart beat fast when the cab stopped-for good and all
this time-before a grand and lofty mansion. She had had
no thought yet but for her own carelessness and the awkward-
ness of her own position; so that now the meeting, which for
so long had been looming afar, seemed to have come upon her
with a sudden rush.
Q
M
In answer to the cabman's ring, two powdered footmen
came out to meet this visitor for Lady Lawrence.
"That is all my luggage, thank you," she said, while she
drew out her purse and almost shyly tendered a half-sovereign
to the powdered Colossus. "Will you pay him for me?"
The man bowed, and passed on the money, while an elderly
man in black led Honor up-stairs, and left her in the care of
a lady's maid, who looked almost a lady herself in her beauti-
fully-made black dress, with a delicate square of lace upon
her head, and a tiny apron of fine muslin with black bows
upon the pockets.
Almost unwillingly, Honor accepted her deft and silent
help. The girl longed to be alone for these few minutes,
It
196
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
was all so strange to her, and so oppressive. In the immense,
sombre house no sound broke the grand and dreamy silence;
and even the very tread of her own foot, soft and muffled,
seemed strange to her.
"I am ready," she said; and it struck her oddly that she
was schooling her voice to these new surroundings.
She followed the maid along the corridors, until a gentle-
man in black, carrying a white wand, met her, led her with-
out a word to the door where he stood, and throwing it open,
announced, "Miss Craven," in a clear, imposing voice.
At first Honor felt too shy and dazzled to look round. She
could only walk on into the high, long room, dimly conscious
of the presence of others. But presently, when she was
greeted by voices she knew, she recovered her old ease and
looked round for Lady Lawrence. Evidently Lady Lawrence
was not there, and she was simply among the old friends with
whom, or near whom, she had spent all her life.
Captain Trent came forward to meet her with only half-
concealed eagerness, and Lawrence Haughton watched her
keenly from where he stood, though too angry or too proud to
advance one step toward her. Mrs. Trent nodded from her
couch; Theodora exclaimed, with an incomprehensible smile,
that she knew Honor would take care to be in time, after all
her apparent indifference; Miss Haughton put out her hand
and let the girl kiss her; but Phoebe jumped up and gave two
kisses for Honor's one, delighting evidently in the inter-
ruption.
66
'Oh, we are so tired of waiting, Honor," she exclaimed,
impetuously; "it is so dull and disappointing; Lady Law-
rence has not left her room yet. She did not come at all till
we had been here for days and days. She had not reached
England, so even we were in good time, let alone Theo, who
was so much earlier. She came in tremendous style, rattling
up in a private chaise with four horses and four servants; but
she could not see us then, she was so much fatigued, and she
has not left her room since. Oh, I wish she would make
haste!"
"Then I am in time?" said Honor, really astonished.
Exactly in time, for we are to dine with her to-night;
and, if she does come in here before, as she is expected to do,
you will still be in time, you see.
""
"Lady Lawrence will decide that," said Theodora, her
harsh tone betraying a little of the mortification which had
↓
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
19%
for days been consuming her, "for Mr. Stafford came in this
morning for the names of all who were here, and especially of
those who had arrived first. Of course yours could not be
sent at all."
"Of course not," assented Honor, promptly.
"And I do not think," added Mrs. Trent, "that Lady
Lawrence will be very much pleased to find that her invita-
tion, and indeed command, has been set at defiance by the
very youngest of all her connections."
66
Oh, the youngest cannot much signify in any case," re-
joined Honor, merrily ignoring the contemptuous inuendoes.
"Mr. Stafford said," added Theodora, "that of course the
first arrivals had paid Lady Lawrence the highest compli-
ment; and he inquired particularly why one should be absent.
We had great difficulty in explaining your perversity.
""
"Had you?" questioned Honor, as she stood before the fire
warming her hands. "I should have fancied it easy. But
how strange you all look!"
"It is you who look strange in this house, Honor,” re-
marked Miss Haughton. "Do you not see how sombre every-
thing is? And do you not recollect what Mr. Stafford told
us about the simplicity of Lady Lawrence's taste in dress?
You heard it as well as the rest of us. If you choose to for-
get it, or defy it, you must take the consequences.
"I do not think," observed Honor, looking slowly round
upon the group, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes,
"that you-any of you look quite natural."
"We are trying to please Lady Lawrence."
"But I do not think she wished to see us feigning other
natures than our own, or even other habits; so I came as I
usually am.
رو
Lawrence rose from his lounge near one of the windows.
Ever since Honor's entrance, his eyes had been fixed upon
her. The young figure, in its bright and picturesque dress
and in its perfect ease, and the lovely face, so entirely with-
out self-consciousness, had come like a charm to him in this
sombre room and among these factitious surroundings; yet
now suddenly it began to anger him, as the presence of clear-
judging truth will ever anger masked deceit.
He turned and looked moodily and persistently out upon
the quiet wintry gardens. If this feeling of wrath against
Honor were to be encouraged, he knew he must not follow her
with his eyes. The influence which, even from a child, her
...
198
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
A
presence had exercised over the hard and austere man of the
world, could not be hidden while he watched the beautiful
changing face he loved so passionately.
•20
"How are the servants at home behaving, Honor?" in-
quired Miss Haughton.
Honor looked curiously for a moment at her guardian's sís-
ter. From her, at least, she had expected an inquiry for tho
poor sick lady whom she had stayed behind to nurse.
"Very well," she said, speaking rather heavily in her dis-
appointment. "Phoebe, I am sorry to say your bird is dead;
you forgot to leave any particular instructions-
"Hush!" exclaimed Phoebe, ecstatically.
""
66 What is that?”
She had arrested their attention in this manner a hundred
times before, but Honor did not know this, and so, of course,
she listened.
"I heard a step, I am sure," said Phoebe, apologetically,
when no sound reached any other ears; "and I thought it was
Lady Lawrence. Oh, Honor, what a pity about my bird!"
and for the space of six seconds Phoebe mourned her lost
Panary
Honor, how are the old women at East Cottage?" in-
quired Mrs. Trent, feeling that any news might serve to pass
the time.
Honor told her in a few words; then, for a time, silence
settled among them; and Honor, from her low seat near the
fire, surveyed the group in puzzled wonder. Hardly one of
them looked or acted as she had been accustomed to see them
look and act, and she tried to make the change clear to her-
self. Even Mrs. Trent had adopted the simple attire which
Lady Lawrence was supposed to affect, and of the whole group
perhaps the greatest difference was observable in her. To
miss the voluminous silks, the laces, flowers, and jewelry, was
to miss Mrs. Trent herself.
In Theodora the change was almost as great. She was a
different person without her brilliant toilets, with their mani-
fold minor allurements; but just at this time Honor could
note another change. Miss Trent's patience was exhausted.
'The languid placidity had given way to a worried peevishness
as a normal expression. Only now and then, with sudden
recollection and alarm, could she call back her complacency.
But her moods were too uncertain to retain it, and the fretful
look was resumed unconsciously,
ī
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
199
·
To Honor the whole thing was a comedy. Jane's rigidly
Quaker attire; Phoebe's studied simplicity-Phoebe, to whom
ribbons, and feathers, and frills had hitherto been the neces-
saries of life!-the affected genialty of Mr. Haughton's ex-
pression when sudden moments of recollection visited him;
and the utterly unsuccessful attempt of Captain Trent to be
devoid of affectation just for this once.
ging
So they sat at their several occupations, in the immense
room in which they seemed so few, where the rich glow of
fire-light fell upon a profusion of valuable Indian furniture,
and where the silence was as dreamy as was the silence with-
out, while the December afternoon drew to its close. So they
sat, minute after minute, waiting.
'How sick I am of expecting her!" observed Theodora,
speaking almost unconsciously, as she threw down her work
and moved to the window.
"Ah!"
But the door had been opened only to admit Mr. Stafford,
Lady Lawrence's lawyer. Though Miss Trent's first feeling
was disappointment, she could not but hail his coming as a
relief to the monotony, and she roused herself to engross
him. He chatted merrily among them for a time, and
cracked various good-natured jokes about his idle client.
"She takes an unconscionable time to sleep off her fatigue,'
he said; "but I suppose she will be really down presently.
She will dine with you to-night without fail. Ah-who
comes here?”
""
Two gentlemen entered the room as he spoke; one being
Lady Lawrence's chaplain, and the other a swarthy, fine-look-
ing young man, in an embroidered silk cap, a man who was
evidently Indian by birth, and who-though this certainly
was not evidenced in his martial bearing or foreign appear-
ance was Lady Lawrence's private secretary. His advent
was a treat for Theodora. She was keen enough to detect the
signs of "caste," and what a relief a little flirtation would be
in this tedious waiting!
About half an hour after the entrance of these two gentle-
men, and when conversation was getting lively and general in
the long drawing-room-though Mr. Stafford, the chief talker,
had been for some minutes absent-a slight old lady alighted
nimbly from a cab at the door of Lady Lawrence's mansion,
and much to the surprise of the powdered footmen, inquired
for Miss Craven. One of them gravely consented to inquire,
200
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
2
and, in consequence of this concession, the gentleman-usher
appeared again at the drawing-room, to inform Miss Craven
that a lady waited to see her.
(C
"The most curious little person I ever chanced to encoun-
ter," whispered Mr. Stafford, happening to return at that
minute. I would not go down to see her, Miss Craven, if
I were you. Had she been a real lady, the servants would
have been quick to see it, and she would have been shown in
here before me."
But Honor rose at once to go, though she had no need to
do so.
Almost before the lawyer's words were finished, Mrs.
Payte herself, in defiance of the usher's hesitation, appeared in
the high door-way, and, frowning a little, as if either the size
of the room or the glare of the fire-light dazzled her, stood
there for a minute gazing around her.
"A curious little person," well might Mr. Stafford say;
and never had she looked so curious as she did now. She
wore still the shabby black costume which she had assumed
for Mr. Disbrowe's funeral, and this was surmounted by a
broad-brimmed black hat, for which in June there might have
been some excuse, but which in December was ridiculous as
well as hideous.
•
Altogether, such a figure as this must assuredly have startled
the select and aristocratic neighborhood, and such eccentric.
shabbiness must be a new spectacle to the stylish and immacu-
late retainers in Lady Lawrence's household. Still, however
ludicrous the scene, this visitor's name was announced with
the same solemn and respectful gravity with which the others
had been favored.
"Mrs. Payte."
CHAPTER XXII.
“There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time."
*
THEODORA TRENT turned her back most unmistakably upon
that excited little lady, and began an energetic conversation
with the secretary, who listened and conversed most defer-
entially, but yet had an amused twinkle in his long Indian
+
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
201
eyes, as if he understood a little more than she expressed to
him.
"I wonder," she said, with well-feigned ignorance, "who
this person can be who has taken the trouble to seek Miss
Craven here? I always knew that Miss Craven was an odd
girl, and had odd acquaintances, but I should hardly have
supposed she would encourage them to follow her here."
The Indian bowed gravely. Her ladyship would be sur-
prised to find such a visitor here, doubtless, he said.
"I hope," put in Theodora, smiling, "that she will under-
stand it to be Miss Craven's affair entirely."
"Her ladyship shall be made to understand," he answered,
gallantly.
Then Theodora resumed her flirtation, with her mind at
ease.
"Honor," whispered Captain Trent, "dispatch her quickly,
for Heaven's sake! Just suppose Lady Lawrence came in
now!"
"Mrs. Payte," remarked Mr. Haughton, coldly, "I have
no doubt Miss Craven will come down-stairs to you.
""
"I don't want her down-stairs," retorted the old lady,
with all her characteristic brusqueness; "I want her here,
because I have heard there is a London lawyer here. Honor,
are you listening?"
"I am listening, indeed, Mrs. Payte," said the girl, who
had not only gone forward and clasped the old lady's hand,
but, because she saw the supercilious glances cast upon her,
held it still.
"Very well, my dear; then I will say what I want, and
you will help me. I found, on my way, that there was a
trifling law business which ought to be settled at once, now
poor Selina has gone, so I changed my mind and came to
London to get it done. Wasn't it lucky that I chanced to
keep Lady Lawrence's address this morning when you showed
it me? I have got rooms near here, for I must stay till it is
settled. I know you will call upon me-ch, child?
"Indeed I will, Mrs. Payte," said Honor, cordially.
،،
"And now I have another thing for you to do," resumed
the old lady, in a lower tone. "I want to find some lawyer
-a London man, else I should have appealed to my learned
friend, Mr. Haughton-who will do this business for me,
moderately as well as wisely. I heard there was a lawyer
here. Which is he?”
202
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
4
"The gentleman by the fire," whispered Honor, half laugh-
ing, "Mr. Stafford, of whom you have heard us speak at
Statton."
"Oh!"
"Shall I introduce you?"
"No, child; I had rather you arranged the matter for me.
I don't like strangers. Tell him I have need of a solicitor's
advice and services, but that I am anxious not to be led into
much expense. Ask him if, under those circumstances, he
would give me the benefit of his help."
Though Mrs. Payte possibly might be under the delusion
that she was conducting this conversation privately with
Honor, every word was distinctly heard by the other occu-
pants of the room, and this was made sufficiently evident.
Theodora gave a short, sarcastic laugh. Mrs. Trent mur-
mured an astonished "Dear me!" Hervey muttered a few
words, of which the only audible ones were, ""Pon my soul!"
And Lawrence Haughton turned away with an air of thor-
ough disgust.
Honor glanced shyly toward Mr. Stafford. If he would
but come forward, she thought. He must have heard just
as much, and as plainly, as the others had; yet he stood, to
all appearance, engrossed in conversation with the chaplain.
"Ask him," repeated Mrs. Payte, pettishly. "He will do
it for you-of course he will, because you are a possible heiress
of Lady Lawrence's."
"He will hear.”
""
"Oh, hush!" whispered Honor.
She moved toward him as she spoke, but Hervey inter-
cepted her.
"Let that vulgar little creature do her own work, Honor,"
he urged, in a low tone. "For goodness sake, dismiss her!"
But Honor went on, and standing shyly and earnestly_be-
fore Mr. Stafford, asked him if he would be so very kind as
to promise to help "her friend" in dealing with a question.
of law.
"I scarcely know what to say," returned the lawyer, look-
ing keenly into the girl's face, first through, and then over,
his glittering spectacles. But, after that hesitation, he added,
genially, "Yes, I will do it, Miss Craven."
"Thank you," she said, with unfeigned gladness, "thank
you. You hear, Mrs. Payte? Mr. Stafford promises.
""
"That's a relief," observed the old lady, without, however,
much evidence of gratitude. "I can manage now; and you
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
203
will come to see me? I don't ask any of you," she said, look-
ing round upon the group with inimitable effrontery,
"" be-
cause I don't feel quite sure that I have ever seen you before.
If I have, so great a change has taken place that it renders
recognition difficult. Honor, good-bye. I will give you my
address as soon as I am settled. You are sure you will call?"
"Quite sure, Mrs. Payte.'
""
"And now," concluded the old lady, with a shrewd, slow
glance around her, "I will wish you all a good-day."
She waited to note each separate reception of her farewell,
her dark little restless face full of keen observation. Only a
few vouchsafed any reply. Theodora took no more notice of
her presence than if, just then, she had been a stool upon the
carpet. Mrs. Trent slightly bent her pompous head, but did
not move her lips. Phoebe said "Good-morning,
as she
might have uttered a forced apology which she loathed to
utter. Captain Trent bowed his most formal bow, and Mr.
Haughton hurried through a rough "Good-day to you.
""
The other gentlemen bowed without a word, while Honor
walked to the door with her old friend.
.
"Don't come down-stairs," said Mrs. Payte, arresting her.
"This is not your own house, you know, child, and you had
better act as the others act. Turn back, and let me go my
way alone. Make haste, and you will have the fun of seeing
them smooth their ruffled plumes."
At dusk, when the servants came in to light up the room
and shut out the fading daylight, the spirits of every one rose,
and expectation grew keener every second. This was the
time Lady Lawrence had promised to join them, and there
was no fear of disappointment to-day. For the years of an-
ticipation as well as the week's waiting in London, they would
all be rewarded in a few minutes' time.
and
Every eye was on the watch; every ear was strained to the
uttermost; for it would be hard to catch the rustling of a
dress through these thick walls, or the fall of a step upon the
velvet carpet.
Complacency had returned now to every member of the
family, and smiles were ready to their lips. The influence of
this eager and expectant watchfulness had so wrapped Honor,
too, that when at last the door was thrown wide open, and a
voice announced " Lady Lawrence," she felt with what a sud-
den start and quiver she rose, as all the others rose, to meet
the advancing figure.
•
204
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
There was not one of old Mr. Myddelton's possible heirs
who was not, and had not for years been, familiar with the
portrait of his sister, the Anglo-Indian who was to be the ar-
bitress and distributor of his almost fabulous wealth, and on
whose return to England so many hopes were centered. All
were familiar with the sketch which had been sent them, as
well as with the girlish portrait at Abbotsmoor, and-built
upon these some had formed a fancy portrait of this impor-
tant dame, in whose power it lay to make them rich. Famil-
iar to all were the portly figure in its stiff, plain dress, and
the smooth, sleek face with its low braids of dark hair, its
sleepy, thoughtful eyes, its intellectual chin, and its wide and
firmly closed lips. Not one but knew this picture well, and
knew that this was Lady Lawrence whom they should rise to
meet. So there was not one who did not start back in visible
alarm and consternation when they saw that it was another
and a very different figure which entered after that slow an-
nouncement of "Lady Lawrence."
A small figure this, in a rich black satin dress, heavily
trimmed with crape, and wearing an exquisite little lace cap
upon the crisp gray curls; a small old lady, with keen eyes,
a dark, restless face, and lines of cynical amusement round
her thin, mobile lips.
"My dears, I am glad to see you all-very glad to see you
here, " she said, advancing toward them with her small
hands outstretched. "I have kept you waiting a long time,
and for that I owe you an apology. But I intend to defer it
until after dinner, and in the meantime how do you do, all
of you?"
If a thunderbolt had fallen in their midst, the family of
old Myddelton would have been less surprised, and would
have stood less breathless. There seemed no life or motion
left among them. On that quivering, joyous expectation
with which they had risen to greet Lady Lawrence, had fallen,
in one moment, an awful numbness, a maddening sense of
utter defeat, and helplessness, and despair, and, withal, a
bitter, stinging consciousness of what might have been.
For, instead of that imposing figure for which they had
looked, there had entered the tiny one which, half an hour
before, had come in to them in broad black hat and shabby
dress, to be disowned, and discarded, and insulted; instead
of the stranger they had looked for, had entered the insignifi-
cant person who, for months before that day, had lived
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
205
1
among them as a poor and unknown gentlewoman, able only
to afford cottage lodgings, but who, in this cottage home in
their midst, had had every opportunity of studying their
characters, while before her they had not cared to wear dis-
guise.
It was strange that now, in her handsome dress, and in her
own beautiful rooms, all could readily detect the inborn aris-
tocrat. Brusque, eccentric, excitable, she might be, but
still she carried with her the marks (and the consciousness,
too) of high birth and lofty position. A true patrician was
Sir Hervey Lawrence's widow; a true gentlewoman was old
Myddelton's sister. And yet to think it should be in her
hands that the fabulous wealth lay for distribution! Hers-
the thin, restless hands of this little old lady, whom, up to
this moment, they had known only as Mrs. Edna Payte!
CHAPTER XXIII.
"Will you lend me your mare to go a mile?"
"No, she is lame leaping over a stile."
"But if you will her to me spare,
You shall have money for your mare.
"Oh, ho! Say you so?
Money will make the mare to go.” .
""
-Old Glee.
LADY LAWRENCE stood beside the couch from which Mrs.
Trent had risen. She had not attempted to seat herself, and
none of those who had started up at the sound of her name
had moved from the attitudes in which their great surprise
had found them.
"I see," she said, as she glanced from one to another of
her startled guests, "that you did not expect to meet me
here. You cannot recognize my face and form with that por-
trait of Lady Lawrence which you all know so well. No
wonder, for I bought it-a fancy sketch, costing something
under fifty rupees-because it was as unlike myself as any
woman's portrait could be. I meditated, even then, this pious
fraud, and I knew the portrait would put you off the scent,
even if any chance speech or occurrence should afterward
awaken suspicion. I think no suspicion ever has been aroused,
and no plan could have worked better than mine has done. I
200
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
have heard from all of you such frank and undisguised opin-
ions of old Myddelton's sister, that no doubt could ever rest
in my mind. I never questioned your right to judge of her
without knowing her, but I chose not to judge you until I
did know you; a mere matter of taste. either way, and surely
we all have a right to our own opinions. I have gained my
knowledge, and I fear you are not so glad of having known
me before this meeting, as I am for having known you.
It was not your conduct to myself which was to be the test I
sought. I had a wider motive, which you will soon under-
stand. You are very kind to have met me here. I have de-
layed making my will as long as I think it safe to delay it. I
am an old woman, and you know, all of you, how another old
woman who had been my companion for twenty years has
died within the few months you have known me. True, I
am healthy-brisk and active, as most of you have remarked;
but a certain old proverb insinuates that a door on strong
hinges is not to be depended on. Remembering this, I have
determined to make my will without further delay. I shall
be glad of your presence, for I do not intend to omit one
name; so to-morrow morning, Mr. Stafford, we will be ready,
she added, with a merry sparkle in her eyes; "for, you know,
you promised, an hour ago, to settle this little legal matter
which brought me to London."
""
•
"Dinner is served, my lady."
With a certain dignity which seemed now to belong to
the old lady, in spite of her restlessness, she paired off her
guests.
Out of consideration for them, dinner had been thus early
and suddenly announced, to excuse dinner-dress, which
neither she nor the gentlemen of her household had as-
sumed.
Mrs. Trent, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, not only
mentally but (in consequence of her unusual attire) physic-
ally, too, left the room gloomily on the old chaplain's arm.
Jane Haughton, more rigid than ever in her mortification,
walked like a pillar in the escort of the cheery lawyer. Theo-
dora Trent tried to call up her old smiles for the benefit of
the Indian secretary, but her mind was too full of anger-an
anger which was wide, and vague, and directed against every
one but herself.
pro
"Mr. Haughton," said Lady Lawrence, her keen eyes
moving from one to another of the group, "I will trouble
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
204
you for your escort; and Captain Trent, you will doubtless be
proud to lead both these young ladies."
There was a curious pucker in the corners of her mouth
when she said this, almost as if she knew how unwelcome
this position had ever been to Captain Hervey.
The dinner was an elaborate and ceremonious meal, yet the
old lady's constant, easy chatter, and the genial and skilful
conversation of the gentlemen of the house, overcame the
heaviness which might easily have settled on the party. Be-
sides which, there were one or two of old Myddelton's rela-
tives who, in their pride, made a strenuous effort to appear
thoroughly at ease; and these efforts, though painfully evi-
dent, were not without a partial success.
After dinner, Lady Lawrence retired to her own room, and
her guests seemed all glad to follow her example. It would
be less unpleasant to sit alone by the fires in their chambers,
than to have to discuss together the events of the day.
Next morning Lady Lawrence appeared at breakfast, and
again made the meal a social and cheerful one. When it was
over she led the way to the library; and neither the chaplain,
nor the lawyer, nor the secretary, followed her now.
"I bring you here," she said, as her guests took their seats
about the room, and she herself appropriated a large chair
which stood beside a writing-table, to hear my intentions re-
garding my will. Mr. Stafford is with me for the purpose of
drawing it up, and he may possibly make that a long pro-
cess-lawyers always make everything lengthy and elaborate-
but we need not be delayed by that. I have promised Mr.
Stafford to give him notes of my wishes this morning. In
three days' time the will is to be complete, and he will read it
to me here to me and to any of you who wait to hear it. I
have promised him the directions at once, not only because I
want the fuss over, but also because I should think it unfair
to keep you longer in uncertainty, dancing attendance on my
whims. Whims I call them," added the old lady, with a
shrowd twinkle in her bright gray eyes; "but not quite idle
whims, mind. It is true that I have practiced a fraud upon
you, but it was with a purpose solemn enough to legitimatize
it. I have in trust an enormous sum of money, besides prop-
erty of other kinds, and this trust is not to be lightly dis-
posed of. So for this fraud of mine I offer no apology; those
among you who know that Lady Lawrence, coming in style
to Statton, would have found you only as Mrs. Payte, in her
}
208
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
nameless insignificance, found you, have nothing for which to
blame me. Those who have one nature for the poor and.
another for the rich-if there should be any such among you-
would not merit apology; so, as I said before, I offer none. I
have had good opportunities of studying my kinsfolk's dispo-
sitions, and those opportunities have been of inestimable
value to me. I am not quite a Myddelton at heart, and I
have a great wish that the family wealth shall be neither
squandered nor selfishly amassed. I want a pure and generous
hand to wipe away that curse which rests upon old Myddel-
ton's money, and I should like to think that, from the mo-
ment I give it up, the good which it shall do will bring a light
and blessing on it, and redeem this wasted time and power
abused. Now for the items," continued the little old lady,
dipping her quill into the ink, and scrawling a date upon the
blank white paper before her.
"You can help me considerably here, for I am not quite
sure of your baptismal names, and I wish to remember every
one. Of course, I naturally should. My greatest difficulty
at present"-as she spoke she raised her pen, and looked
quizzingly into the faces around her, reading their expres-
sions at a glance-" my greatest difficulty is in recognizing
you as the Statton friends who were so invariably hospitable
and courteous to the commonplace old woman at East Cot-
tage, and so kind and attentive to her sick companion.
Still, in this change I recognize the compliment paid to the
rich old aunt, and I appreciate it at its full worth. Mrs. and
Miss Trent, for instance," resumed the old lady, the cynical
lines deepening about her mouth, "how could I at first be
sure that I saw the ladies from Deergrove, who have hitherto
appeared so differently before me? But I understand the
respect they pay me, and that shall be remembered.
Phoebe Owen, too. Let me congratulate you, child, on
looking better in your plain dress than I ever saw you look
before. Surely for such a denial as foregoing your finery for
a few days, you deserve some recompense, and you shall be
recompensed.
Miss Haughton, yesterday evening, for the
first time, I saw you bestow a pleased smile of greeting on me.
It was at the moment my name was announced, and before
you had seen me. I was unfeignedly surprised to detect it,
and, though it should be the last as well as the first, it de-
serves to be remembered in my will. You, too, Mr. Haugh-
ton, were just then waiting with a smile for Lady Lawrence.
..
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
209
.
I caught a glimpse of it, and it made me forget how few
smiles you had, half an hour before, bestowed on the little old
woman who had intruded into your presence here. You are
a clever man, Lawrence Haughton, very clever-I have not
lived near you so long without discovering that-and I know
that the money I leave you will not be frittered away in any
rash, Quixotic manner. As for you, Hervey Trent, you
must of course be remembered, too, for the part you play sd
well is an expensive part. Pyramus is a sweet-faced man, a
proper man as one shall see in a summer's day-a most gen-
tleman-like man;' therefore you play well the part of Pyra-
mus. As for you, Honor Craven "the old lady's eyes swept
over the girl with the greatest_unconcern
you have vol-
untarily forfeited your place in Lady Lawrence's will, as you
are perfectly aware. Now, if you will excuse me for ten
minutes, I will write my directions for Mr. Stafford.'
C
..
""
It was a strange and puzzled silence which held the group
for those ten minutes-a silence freighted with anxious
thought, and broken only by the crackling sound of Lady
Lawrence's pen upon the thick white paper. Honor stood
looking out into the chilly garden, conscious of no feeling
beyond her great astonishment. Again and again, as through
the night before, she was going back to those days she had
spent at East Cottage, wondering why she had never sus-
pected any cause for Mrs. Payte's always inexplicable interest
in old Myddelton's family.
App
20
Lawrence Haughton took down a book and buried himself
in its pages, his face as inscrutable as was the face of Lady
Lawrence while she wrote. His sister watched him with an
anxiety which, for her, was almost eager.
Captain Trent, leaning back in his chair with an attempt
at his characteristic listlessness, looked over-with the great-
est unconcern for its contents a large album, which stood
on an ebony stand near him.
Mrs. Trent had brought in her wools, and was knitting
busily; but in her face there was a curious, restless watchful-
ness only equaled by that which glittered in Theodora's eyes
as, every two or three seconds, she raised them quickly and
surreptitiously, and fixed them upon the engrossed face of
the old lady.
It would be impossible to describe the thoughts of any of
the group, because over all still lay the shadow of selfish an-
ticipation. So much depended on the words which that quill
210
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
t
P
was forming! Until they knew them, how could they judge
of Lady Lawrence, or how could they form an opinion as to
their own parts in the past or future?
The ten minutes had stretched themselves to twenty, when
Lady Lawrence put down her pen, and raised her head with
a glance which took in the whole room.
That is finished," she said, in the quick tones which re-
minded them of Mrs. Payte. "Now let me read you my be-
quests."
Her motions were as rapid as her words, when she took
up, one after another, the sheets of paper which she had cov-
ered only on one side.
"To Mrs. Isabella Trent, of Deergrove-that name is right,
I know—I leave one thousand pounds, to defray the expenses
of a short and fashionable mourning for old Myddelton's sis-
ter. Though I do not suppose she will ever again be tempted
to lay aside her naturally expensive habits, I hope this sum
may be sufficient for the purpose. To her daughter, Theo-
dora Myddelton Trent-is that name correctly entered?"
"Quite correctly," answered Theodora, in a faint, anxious
voice.
I leave one thousand pounds, in acknowledgment of the
delicate attention she paid me in being here first to await me.
To Phoebe Myddelton Owen "-the busy voice paused after
each name, waiting for its corroboration, then continued, as
if uninterrupted-"I also bequeath one thousand pounds.
Her wardrobe is at present an anxiety to her, and this sum
will add fifty pounds a year to her allowance, and save her,
perhaps, from future debt and trouble. To Jane Myddelton
Haughton I leave the same sum, knowing it will be cautiously
and scrupulously garnered; and feeling that to be garnered
so-one thousand pounds is as useful as one hundred thou-
sand. To her brother, Lawrence Myddelton Haughton, I
bequeath two thousand pounds, with which he can speculate
(according to a fancy he has) for-his clients' benefit."
A flame of wrath rose in Lawrence Haughton's cheeks, but
no one connected it with anything beyond the natural anger
excited by this legacy.
"To Hervey Myddelton Trent," continued Lady Law-
rence, unmoved, "I leave the same sum. To one who has
been so confident of a large fortune, I know it will appear
trifling; but it may possibly supply him with cigars for the
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
211
term of his natural life—and a good cigar, he once told me,
was the essence of comfort.
1
"I think I have remembered you all, save Honor Craven,
and I decline, for reasons of my own, to accept her as a lega-
tee. There are other bequests here," continued the old lady,
glancing down one of the well-covered pages, "but they will
not interest you, referring as they do only to those who have
served me faithfully. As to the bulk of my property, and
the whole of old Myddelton's money-for these legacies are
to be paid from my own jointure-I have now to speak of
that. As you are aware, my brother's wealth has accumulated
to an almost fabulous extent; and now the fortune, destined
for the heir I choose, amounts to more than a million of
money, besides other property. You may judge, then, how
anxious I have been to return to England in time to choose
my heir, and how anxious, too, that I might meet with one
in whose hands this wealth would be-well, would be safe,
and I can scarcely say more than that. I knew that two of
my relatives were young men, and I felt that my choice would
lie between these two. I would choose a man of honest
thought-so I determined-a man of blameless life and ear-
nest purpose; simple, manly, natural; one who knew the
good that could be done with such vast wealth, and would be
brave and earnest to do it. So the curse shall be removed, I
said, and a blessing fall upon the money which I hold. And
if both are generous, upright men, the money shall be
shared.
"Lawrence Haughton and Hervey Trent, you know
whether I found you such men as I have described. Neither
of you has any idea of the true value of money-its highest,
noblest use, I mean-or the great responsibility it brings.
One of you would save and amass it as my brother did, serv-
ing his own ends the while, and using it only for his own
purposes; the other would calmly smile and sleep, and let it
all melt through his idle fingers. One would tyrannize over
the number of hirelings and dependents which such a posi-
tion would bring; the other would forget their very existence,
except as ministrators to his ease and comfort. Was it
strange that, seeing this, I should feel that I must look
around once more, and choose an heiress instead of an
heir ?"
"I did look around, thoughtfully and anxiously, among
my women relatives. I saw who would devote it to herself,
•
212
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
and I saw to whom another would give it. I saw who knew
no more than a baby that money was not all coined to be
spent on women's dress, and I saw who would grind her ten-
ants and servants, whatever number she might have. I saw
who was ready to pour into any strange ear complaints of
those who made her home, and I did not wish to feel that,
later on, just such complaints would be as naturally uttered
of myself; and I saw who treated her mother almost as her
slave, and I had no wish to choose one who presently should
treat me so.
"But I saw more," the old lady's eyes, which had been
bent upon the desk, were raised here, and every one could see
how warm and earnest they had grown-"I saw more, and
again I need not particularize. Those whom these caps fit
will feel them just the same, whether I distribute them or
not. I saw the dying bed of my old friend brightened by one
girl who had chosen to love us in our seeming poverty, and I
felt that I should like my dying bed-I am an old woman,
and such thoughts come naturally now-to be brightened just
so; by the same gentle and unwearying hands, by the same
sweet and loving voice, by the same good and pitiful face. I
saw one who was guided by simple duty, and that love which
is the truest love of all, in that it holds no thought of self. I
tried her in many ways; day after day I made fresh trials of
her patience, and her pity, and her love; and she came brave-
ly and brightly through all. Day after day I made fresh trial
of you-I would be equal and unprejudiced to the end. Did
I not test you all, even at the very last, with a faint hope of
finding you more kind and courteous here? You know with
what success I made that last trial. This "the little old
lady laid her right hand emphatically on the last sheet of
writing-" empowers Mr. Stafford to will all my own proper-
ty, minus the legacies aforesaid, with old Myddelton's money
entire, to Honor Myddelton Craven."
"No-oh, no-please!"
"Old Myddelton's money," repeated the old lady, unheed-
ing Honor's pleading tone, "I bequeath entire to Honor Myd-
delton Craven."
minų
A long and terrible silence fell upon the room after these
words. Honor's face was hidden in her hands; over the
others a different passion seemed to pass with every second.
"Honor knew the deception, I am sure. Honor has under
stood it all along.'
"1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
213
1
2
The words burst from Theodora's lips in a perfect torrent
of wrath. Lady Lawrence's eyes fixed themselves slowly, and
rather amusedly, upon her.
"Do not excite yourself unnecessarily, Miss Trent; it does
not become you. Unfortunately, Honor Craven's intelligence
in this matter was no keener than your own; and where yours,
and your mother's, and Mr. Haughton's were at fault, are
you surprised that Honor's should be? There, that is all I
need prepare for Mr. Stafford. Those who wish to hear the
will read will stay with me; to those who do not, if there be
any, I suppose I must say farewell to all save, at least,
Honor. She will, I hope, stay with the solitary old woman,
who needs her now and here, as sorely as she needed her in
that cottage where she first saw her. Possibly we may all
meet again. When we do, I hope that old times will be for-
gotten."
No need to say that Mr. Stafford was never called upon to
read his client's will.
CHAPTER XXIV.
"As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamored, do wish-so they might
But enjoy such a sight-
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.
*
*
*
*
*
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt i' the bud of the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
Oh, so white! Oh, so soft! Oh, so sweet is shi"
O
THE entrance into English society of the Anglo-Indian mill-
ionaire and her adopted heiress, was one of the grand events of
that year; when, after a few months' travel on the Continent,
the splendid mansion in Kensington was thrown open to the
London world, beautified to suit those fair spring days, but
retaining all its old substantial pomp and heavy splendor.
214
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
The old lady's shrewdness and eccentricities had almost as
much power as had her marvelous wealth, to make her one
marked out in any crowd; and Honor's beauty, with that
nameless charm of varying moods and girlish piquancy, made
her, even independent of her vast expectations, the star of the
season.
Although her introduction into the highest society of Eu-
rope had been so sudden, nothing in the girl's manner be-
trayed this. Just as much at her ease was Honor when pre-
sented at court, as she used to be when she performed the
imaginary ceremony in Phoebe's bedroom, stooping to make
her dress very long, and bringing down on her devoted head
the "How ridiculous!" evolved from Phoebe's common sense.
The freshness of her enjoyment, the thoughtfulness that ran
below her brightest speeches, the true self-forgetfulness, the
total absence of vanity or affectation, the perfect impossibility
of either spiteful or inane speeches, and, perhaps, above all,
her winning, watchful care of the old lady, her bright, ex-
haustless patience, and her constant tender remembrance of
her, were an irresistible charm about the girl, and it was lit-
tle wonder that hands and hearts were at her service every-
where. Little wonder that introductions were sought as
precious boons, and that, in the crowd which waited for her
smiles, men of the noblest name and highest rank-with those
who had won their country's honor, too, or won themselves a
fair, undying fame-should struggle eagerly.
GRE
It was in a strange spirit that Honor received this adula-
tion; sometimes to all appearance unconscious of it; some-
times brightly turning it aside; sometimes gently, and almost
pleadingly, resisting it; never proud of it; never meeting it
willingly, and never, above all, encouraging it.
"Honor," remarked Lady Lawrence one day-it was to
ward the close of the season, and the old lady, after one of
her crowded receptions, threw herself on a couch in her
dressing-room, and looked up quizzically at Honor, who had
just come in, pretty beyond words, in her dressing-robe of
quilted satin, with her bright brown hair let down, and curl-
ing heavily and richly at the ends-"Honor, do you regret
my decision for to-night?"
"Regret it!" echoed Honor, as she sat beside the old lady,
and leaned her head against the arm of the couch, with a
pleasant brightness in her eyes; "I will not say I am quite
certain, auntie, but I think that, even if you had left thẹ
-
•
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
牟
​215
choice with me to-night, I should have stayed at home. It
is after midnight now, and we have had a day of ceaseless ex-
citement. No, I am really glad we did not go to the duchess'-
ball."
"Nonsense, Honor. I know how thoroughly you would
have enjoyed it."
"I know I should," said Honor, her lips as well as her
eyes smiling now; "but I am enjoying myself here, too.
What a rare thing it is for us to have any time to sit alone
together!"
<<
Very rare "—the old lady's voice was low and grave, but
her eyes filled with a great tenderness as she put out one
hand, and laid it caressingly on the girl's head-"so rare
that it is of great value to me, my dear. Old people need
some pauses in the busy march when the evening time is
come. The present is not everything to them, Honor, when
the great future is so near."
Without a word, Honor took the little caressing hand
within hers, and held it fondly.
If I saw that your heart rested only in those gayeties and
excitements which I see that you pleasantly enjoy, I would
not take you away, my darling, even as I have done to-night;
but I know it is not so. Your love for your old aunt is no
hollow love. I lean upon it-ah, my dear, you hardly know
with what firm and pleasant trust I lean upon it. As little
as you could understand, in your simple truthfulness, how
severely I was making trial of you last year, so little can you
guess what your love was to me when it came so richly and
lavishly in my lonely old age.
""
66
""
"And you," said Honor, can never guess, auntie, what
your love has been to me, who never knew till now what a
mother's love was like. Ah! no; you can never guess.
"Honor ""
There had been a pause after the girl's low
words, and Lady Lawrence broke it now with a new tone of
anxiety in her voice. "Honor, one thing has struck me often
since we have lived together, and to-night I am going to
speak of it for the first time. I can keep no secret from you,
my child; not even this thought of mine, for I know it can
never obtrude itself as a barrier between my child and me.
I told you I felt weary to-night, and that it was natural for
an old woman to do so. It is that feeling-for it comes often,
dear, and will not be ignored-which brings me sometimes a
great anxiety for you. Only sometimes, for generally I can
<
216
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
J
feel strong and content, knowing in whose care you will
always be; but sometimes, as I said, and to-night is one of
those times. Of course I could not have this anxiety if I
knew I should leave you in a husband's care, but I have
noticed that such a thought as choosing among those who sue
for your hand seems as far removed from you as if you were a
young wife enjoying her first triumph, or even as if you had
told your seventy years, as I have. "Honor, tell me why this
is so?".
The girl's eyes had softened to a dreamy sadness, and the
smile had died utterly from her lips. "I-I cannot care
for them," she faltered; "not for one, I mean, more than
others. That is my only reason, auntie."
"The only one?"" The old voice faltered like the young
one; the dim eyes on the pillows had grown as wistful as
those radiant ones beside them. "Is that the only reason,
Honor? Do not wonder at my doubting it-do not be hurt
by my suspicion. If I did not know you so well, I might
read nothing in your eyes and tones; but I do know you well,
my dear, and I can see that the reason why no one, in this
new life of yours, has won this heart which is so true and so
worth winning, is because they were too late. Honor, for
months we have been separated from that old life of yours,
but we will bridge the separation over, if it would give you
happiness. For whom, in that old home, does your heart
yearn?"
"I should like to see Phoebe," a little amusement in her
low tones.
"Phoebe!" The exclamation was scornful, truly, but the
note of relief was audible. "Only Phoebe Owen? We will
manage that some day; but you know as well as I do, that
Phoebe would rather stay with Lawrence Haughton than come
to you. Is there no one else you long to see?"
No," said Honor, speaking very readily when she detected
the pain in the question.
"That is well; but I think that I never had any real fear,
Honor. You would never wed with either Lawrence Haugh-
ton or Hervey Trent."
"Never," said the girl, in simple and surprised dissent.
A long pause, and the words the old lady next uttered were
in a different tone.
Honor, how many times, during the season, have we met
Royden Keith, of Westleigh Towers? Very few times, eh?"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
217
*
"Very few."
The answer was so quiet and easy that there seemed no
cause for Lady Lawrence's swift glance into the face beside
her.
"Very few, as you say. How many times has be been
here?"
"Not once, auntie."
The answer was so slow and calm that there seemed less
reason still for the half-smile.
"Not once, as you say, Honor. When I was a poor, insig-
nificant old gentlewoman, sharp and shabby, Royden Keith
always behaved to me as a courteous gentleman; he was always
attentive and generous, thoughtful both for me and my sick
friend, and kind to both. When we lived in cottage lodgings,
he spared no trouble to himself if he could serve us; seeing no
shame in being the friend of such as we seemed then; bravely
facing ridicule to make our lives a little less cramped and dull
than he fancied they might be. And so patient and pleasant
was he always with-ah, my darling, my little darling, tears
at last! Yes, lay your head here-think it your mother's
breast, my child; fancy these your mother's arms about you,
and whisper it to me presently-only presently. I know so
much, that it will not take you long to tell. Dear, could I
have lived with you so long, and so closely taken you into my
heart, if my love could not teach me that secret? No, do not
look into my face just yet. I-I will wait a little. It has
brought back so many thoughts from that far past; and-and
from the future, dear, which may be so near, Honor, our sep-
aration will be hard to bear, but I think its chief terror will
be gone when I can leave you in his strong and tender care.
My darling, why those anguished eyes? Ah, we will let the
story rest to-night, and to-morrow all will be clear and bright
before us once again."
CHAPTER XXV.
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike.
-POPE.
LADY LAWRENCE and Honor spent the autumn of that
year in Italy. The old lady's health was fading slowly, and
so they went. It was no pain to either to leave England.
Each took her truest friend, and the absence involved no sad
and bitter parting.
218
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Since Honor had told her life's one secret to this warm,
motherly friend, the two had been, if possible, drawn more
closely together. To the old lady's comforting voice there
had come a tone of cheering hopefulness, too; and this hope-
fulness, ever since, had moved her on this subject.
"I have no fear," she said. "You did wrong ever to
credit as his such absurd words, Honor. I heard Theodora
Trent tell you, but I never thought you could believe them,
because I could not do so myself. But I think that will all
be made clear in good time. You are true and steadfast, and
there is time."
Such words as these she would say whenever-as only at
rare intervals-they would talk of Royden; and such words
she had been saying on that last day, when the sun glanced
brightly on the waters of the Adriatic, and the fair Southern
morning seemed to bring health and vigor with it.
"Honor, I could have left you in his care without one fear
or doubt; but it is not to be. Still, darling, wait and hope.
If you can never give your love elsewhere, I know that you
will never wed elsewhere. Be brave and true, my dear, in
either life. Remember the power I leave with you. Remem-
ber the great responsibility you hold, and, above all, remem-
ber Who alone can help and guide you."
This was the last time Lady Lawrence mentioned her
wealth, or Royden's name; and Honor never forgot the
words.
Before nightfall on that day Honor was alone.
Both Mr. Stafford and Lady Lawrence's chaplain were in
attendance upon her when she died, and they-with the
courier and the servants-took every responsibility and trouble
from Honor; yet that knowledge did not prevent Lawrence
Haughton hurrying over to Italy the very hour in which the
news of Lady Lawrence's death was received in England.
For the first few minutes Honor's surprise at seeing him was
a pleasant surprise, for she was in a strange country, in grief,
and this was a face from her old home; but after that his
presence only added every hour more and more heavily to her
grief.
His old, unwearying pursuit of her had been as nothing
compared with this new, eager courtship, which harassed and
distressed, and, even in all her heartfelt grief, angered her at
last beyond all words. His old pleas were more persistently
urged, and his old efforts were redoubled. She was his old
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
219
-
""
น
love, the only one for whom his hard and selfish heart had
ever yearned. She was even more beautiful now than she
had been in those old days, and she was marvelously rich-
"the richest girl in England," as he assured himself with
unctuous reiteration-and so to win her-to win her, while
other men tried so hard in vain-he could count no effort
poor Honor!-too mean or base.
So it was that, upon that journey home, when he was, as
Mr. Stafford and the old clergyman supposed, traveling with
them to be a comfort to his cousin, he struck the blow which
his suspicion and his jealousy had threatened long.
It was but seldom that Honor allowed herself to be alone
with him, so weary was she of the old plea, but on this day
she could not help it. He had urged his suit, of course
(what opportunity did he ever let slip?), but he had been slow
and cautious, evidently determined not to allow himself to
lose the command over his temper. Most firmly, yet very
quietly and wearily, Honor had answered him; and when at
last she rose to leave the room, the indecision which had
caused his mind to hesitate over this last blow all vanished,
and whatever wound his words could give was to be given
now.
Honor stood and listened, her eyes fixed wonderingly upon
his face, but, before he had finished, her cheeks had grown
as white as death.
"Why do you say this to me?" she asked, slowly; "why do
you come to me to talk of Royden Keith?"
"I hardly know," he answered, with an absurd assumption
of ignorance, "except that you used to be curious about him.
I thought you would be glad to know who he was."
"I did know who he was," she said; "I have known Mr.
Keith, of Westleigh Towers, for a long time."
Lawrence Haughton turned aside his head with a moment-
ary laugh.
"If you felt sure, Honor, you would hardly utter the as-
sertion so eagerly; and you really believe, as strongly as I do,
that Royden Keith and Gabriel Myddelton are one?"
"I do not!" she cried. "I never could- "But there
the words broke off, and the flash died suddenly out of her
angry eyes.
"You mistake your own feelings," said Mr. Haughton, în
his slow, convincing tones; "and I have no need to glean
proofs for you."
220
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Proofs!" she echoed; "you spoke of proofs before, when
you hinted at some sin you would lay to his charge. If you
have one to lay now, bring your proofs. You have none-of
course you have not-nor will you ever have; but I ask, How
dare you assert a gentleman to be a criminal from only your
own base, suspicious convictions? How dare you do it to
me? These are calumnies built on your own mean jealousy
and hatred of one who never injured you! Go from this
room, Lawrence; I am mistress here."
He smiled a little; a smile of bland consideration for her
youth and excusable petulance; a smile of pity for an ap-
parent infatuation; a smile which brought the passionate
crimson into her white cheeks.
There was a pause, then, while she tried to regain her
voice and ease, and while he, in cool defiance of her order,
stood gazing down upon her, with this maddening smile still
hovering on his lips.
"You take this information oddly, Honor," he said, at
last; "as if you had a most particular interest in Gabriel
Myddelton. It would be a pity if you had, because he is a
married man.
"Can cousins take no interest in each other if they are
married?"
Lawrence, in all his spleen and selfishness, started at these
words. The tone in which they were uttered was so heavy
with misery that the feigned lightness was almost terrible.
"What is it, Honor?" he said, advancing toward her in
sudden fear. "Do you feel ill?”
"Ill?-no! Have you-did you say-proofs of your last
assertion ?"
"No. No proofs yet, but I shall have them.”
"Shall have them!" she echoed, proudly.
"Then perhaps
your words may have some weight. Why did you not procure
them first? Will not one blow satisfy you, but you must
wound and wound, to show what pain can be?"
"Honor, you ought to be grateful to me for pointing out to
you where treachery
""
But she had left him then, and the words were useless..
"I shall never mention it to her again," he muttered, angry
with her, but doubly angry with himself, "until I can bring
in my hand the evidences of his guilt. How strangely she
took it all! Had she expected me to tell her that he was a
married man? As for his identity with the murderer of old
'
!
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
T
221
Myddelton, that hardly astonished her; she will believe it
presently, though she is so set against it now. It was the
last news which bore her down most, and yet somehow it
struck me that she was not unprepared for it. I wonder how
that could be. But my plan must work at last, and Honor
shall be made to listen to me."
It was the night of Miss Craven's return to England, and
the mansion in Kensington was lighted and warmed and care-
fully prepared for her, yet it was but a sad and solitary home-
coming after all. In every room, and through every minute.
of that long evening, Honor missed the step and voice and
smile of the old lady whom she had learned to love so well,
and who had given to her so generous and so trusting an
affection. True, every comfort and luxury awaited her, and
servants came and went at her bidding. Yet it was a dreary
home-coming after all, and the girl of nineteen, in her deep
mourning, looked so small and solitary in the large drawing-
room when Mr. Stafford joined her after dinner (leaving the
chaplain and the Indian secretary happy over the letters and
papers which had awaited them), that he plunged into what
he had intended only to say by and by.
"Miss Craven, what immense rooms these are! This one
wants at least half a dozen forms about it, and half a dozen
voices to break its stillness. And that reminds me
"it was
quite as well to say that that reminded him, as to say that
her black-robed figure in its solitude had reminded him-
"that it falls to me, now Mr. Haughton has left us, to pro-
pose that you engage a lady as companion, Miss Craven.
May I undertake the preliminary steps for you?"
"Not quite yet," said Honor, gently; "I will ask first if
my Cousin Phoebe will come and stay with me.
"You will write to her, then, or shall I go down to
Statton ?"
"No, thank you"- Honor hesitated unaccountably over
the reply. "I shall like to go down to Statton myself."
Mr. Stafford could not understand the tone.
}
"She is changed a good deal," he mused to himself,
"since I suppose since Lady Lawrence's death-and she
looks changed, too; not by her mourning, but by something
else. Unless it was Haughton's visit, I cannot make it out.
magg
222
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
There is some purpose in her mind, some decidedly real and
earnest purpose. What is it?”
"I trust," he added, aloud, "you had no ill news from
Statton in the letters you found here, Miss Craven ?"
"No."
66
"That poor little French photographer is dead, I hear."
Yes; and one of my other purposes for the journey to
Statton is to bring his daughter back with me. There is
abundance of room here, and I can take care of her, and per-
haps lighten her suffering a little."
"One of my other purposes," repeated the lawyer to him-
self, watching her rather observantly. "To fetch her cousin
if she will come, one purpose; to bring back the sick girl, an-
other; and what is the third? The important one, evidently;
I can see it in her face, poor child!”
The lawyer Lady Lawrence had chosen was a man of large,
warm heart, and just sufficient self-esteem to know how valu-
able was his advice and help.
So he said, in his kind tones, "If you have any purpose in
your visit to Kinbury in which my help can be of use to you,
my dear Miss Craven, I hope you know your old friend John
Stafford well enough to trust him."
She looked up into his face, in doubt only for a moment;
then a great relief shone in her eyes.
"Will you help me?" she asked, almost below her breath.
"I will, my dear young lady; believe me in this-I will."
The promise was prompt and spontaneous, but it was none
the less true for that; and she in a moment trusted it, and felt
what a support and rest this help would be.
"I am going," she said, her hands clasped in her lap, and
her lips trembling a little as the words passed them, "with
this purpose-do not laugh or scorn; ah! please do not, for
it is a purpose I cannot give up, though it will seem hopeless
to you-I-want to find the real murderer of old Mr. Myd-
delton."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
223
CHAPTER XXVI.
But when I plead, she bids me play my part;
And, when I weep, she says tears are but water;
And, when I sigh, she says I know the art;
And, when I wail, she turns herself to laughter.
-SPENSER.
HONOR's unexpected apperrance at the Larches a few days
after her return to England, had a very curious effect upon
Miss Haughton. If an opportunity had been given that lady
of declining to see her young cousin at all, she would gladly
have availed herself of it; but Honor guessed something of
this, and so sent no notice of her intention to visit Statton.
Mr. Stafford traveled with her to Kinbury, then she walked
alone to East Cottage, and Marie Verrien-but for the mourn
ing-dress, and for something in Honor's face which gave it a
new, sweet gravity-felt that Miss Craven might just have
walked in from the Larches to chat with her as in old times.
And this was really the millionaire about whom the village
had had so much to say, and of whose first visit here so many
wild conjectures had been framed. Marie gazed in wonder
greater even than her admiration. They had told her Miss
Craven had become one of the grandest ladies in England,
that she had visited all the kings and queens in Europe, and
that the greatest gentlemen in the world were wooing her.
Yet here she was, sitting quite naturally in the bare little
kitchen, and talking just as she used to talk. And-ah! was
it a dream? Surely it must be a dream!--she was proposing
to take back to her own beautiful, wonderful home the lame,
useless woman whom others thought a burden.
Was it any wonder that Marie, after that, could not utter
one single connected speech through Honor's stay? Honor
herself made all arrangements for the removal. A neighbor
who came in every morning and night to assist the lonely
young Frenchwoman, would help in this. The cottage could
be given up at once to the old man who had the lodgings,
and who, at her father's death, had expressed a wish to take
the whole cottage. So Marie was to be ready to leave Statton
on the next day but one.
After a bright hour for Marie, Honor continued her walk
to the Larches. The distance seemed nothing to the girl, so
224
i
ÓLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
busy were her thoughts, and so thickly memories crowded
about her. Ten years of life had been spent here in uninter-
rupted routine; then had followed the two great events of her
life. She had refused the only love she had ever prized or
valued, and had won the vast wealth which made her life so
different a one from that which they now lived, who had
formed her home in old days.
With her thoughts buried in those past times, she walked
slowly on along the highway, and those who met and knew
her stood to watch her out of sight, marveling because, like
the young French woman, they had built their own romances
of Miss Craven's coming to Statton some day with half a
dozen horses to her carriage, and men in scarlet riding beside
it, passing under arches of flowers and evergreens, to the
music of the volunteer band from Kinbury. And this was
the way she had come at last!
All unconscious of the disappointment she was causing,
Honor greeted these villagers with her bright words and
smiles, and seemed to forget just then that her home was
not among them as it used to be.
Before she reached the Larches, she was overtaken by the
rector, who hurried cordially up to her.
(C
"Mrs. Romer will be delighted," he said; you will come
and see her, Miss Craven? You will come and stay with us
a little ?"
66
"I should like it very much, Mr. Romer," said Honor,
with a readiness, and even gratitude, quite unexpected by
him; I only intend to be in this neighborhood two days,
and I am going now to the Larches-do you think they will
ask me to stay?"
"Promise to come to us to-day, Miss Craven, do! What-
ever they wish, let them know that you have given me the
prior promise."
"C
Yes, I will promise, Mr. Romer. I see that you feel sure
they will not care to see me, and I am very much obliged for
your invitation.”
And this was the return of the millionaire!
"Mr. Haughton has grown more morose than ever during
the last few days, Honor "-the old name slipped out so
naturally when he found her just his little favorite of old
days and Miss Haughton more wrapped up in her brother,
or herself, or both. It will not cheer you to stay there, my
dear »
+
រ
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"And Phoebe?"
"Phoebe is just what she always was, and probably what
she always will be. You are sure to have heard all about the
others," continued the rector, looking down into her face,
"as Captain Trent hurried to town to put himself at your
service.",
·
225
"C
Hervey's service," said Honor, laughing, "is pre-emi-
nently a summer pastime, Mr. Romer. It is not a wearying
process for him.”
""
"I suppose Lady Lawrence discouraged his visits?"
Yes, and he did not force them upon us.
"That was well; but it will be different now.
go to Deergrove to-day?"
"Oh, no!"
Shall you
"That is well, too. Mrs. and Miss Trent are not generous
to the memory of Lady Lawrence, or-
""
"Or to me," smiled Honor.
"Of course you are going over to see Abbotsmoor? You
will hardly know it."
"I hope not," she answered. “Mr. Stafford is staying in
Kinbury, and will drive over for me to-morrow. I intend to
spend a whole day at Abbotsmoor, as I want to go over the
Cottages as well as the house."
"The cottages, eh?" laughed the rector. "There will not
be much pleasure for you in that. The Abbotsmoor poor are
a benighted set."
"Then it is high time, is it not, that some one lived at
Abbotsmoor?"
دو
"High time, indeed, and a good day it will be for Abbots-
moor, Honor, when you go.
They had reached the Larches now, and the rector, with
a last reminder to Honor of her promise, opened the gate
for her.
She looked eagerly up at the bare windows of her old home,
as she trod the familiar drive to the front door. No sign of
any face looking out; and she knocked with a hand that
trembled a little.
The house-
Yes, Miss Haughton was in, and Miss Owen.
maid was a new servant, and did not recognize Miss Craven.
Miss Haughton entered the room presently, in her stiff
black dress (it was a matter of pride more than courtesy in all
old Myddelton's relations to assume mourning for Lady Law-
226
¦
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
}
S
rence), and held out her hand to Honor, as if offering the
limb for voluntary sacrifice.
"I concluded it was you," she said, in dull, cold tones,
which brought Honor's childhood back to her with a rush of
self-pity, though I wonder you have leisure or inclination to
return here.
<<
""
"I left London for the purpose of visiting Abbotsmoor,'
said Honor, honestly, "but I could not be so near, and not
come to see you. Are you quite well, Jane?"
The girl soon found she had set herself no easy task in
opening a genial discourse with Jane Haughton, and Phoebe's
entrance, after a time, was a great relief.
""
"Why, Honor!" exclaimed Miss Owen, rushing up to kiss
her cousin, "I had no idea it was you, else I should not have
waited a minute.'
"I shall leave you girls together now," observed Jane,
rising. “I shall send in a glass of wine, Honor, or are you
going to stay here this evening?'
With a great effort Honor thanked her guardian's sister for
this cordial invitation, and explained how her promise had
been given to Mr. Romer; then Jane, with great unconcern,
wished her good-bye and left the room.
66
Phoebe," said Honor, standing with both her hands upon
her cousin's shoulders, "will you come back with me?”
"Oh, Honor!" she faltered, and then stopped.
"Is it no?" asked Honor, sadly.
"I cannot come. ""
Looking down into the broad Dutch face, Honor saw a
vivid scarlet spread from chin to brow.
CC
"Phoebe," said her younger cousin, presently, "just listen
to me for a few moments. I can see from your manner that
Lawrence and Jane would be angry-scornful, too, most
probably—if you proposed coming to live with me; and now,
as in old times, you would not for the world act against Law-
rence's wish. And besides that," added the girl, gently, "I
suppose it is still happiest for you where he is. But if the
time ever comes when you think differently, Phoebe, remem-
ber what I tell you now. I shall be as glad to have you then
as I should be glad to have you to-day. Be sure to remember
this, dear little Frau; promise."
"Yes, Honor. It would be beautiful to live with you
in
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
227
}
}
such grandeur, and with no shortness of money, and scold-
ings, only-
66
99
Only you would rather wait," concluded Honor, kindly.
"But be sure and remember what I tell you, Phoebe."
"Oh, Honor!" sobbed Phoebe, with a new trouble,
rence is harder than ever now.
""
66 Law-
MAN
Of course the very mention of his name unsealed the
slightly guarded fount of Phoebe's tears, and they flowed
freely while she enlightened her old companion on the sub-
ject of her guardian's increasing indifference and general
moodiness.
"Since his return from London, Honor, a week ago, he has
been far, far worse.”
"Never mind him," said Honor, in her honest contempt,
as she recalled the reason of this. "Talk of some one else,
little Frau."
A long hour, which Phoebe did not make a very cheerful
one, the girls spent together; then they parted with a renewal
of that promise of Phoebe's, and a request from Honor that
when Mr. Stafford drove over from Kinbury next morning,
Phoebe would send him on to the rectory.
A pleasant reception awaited Honor at the rectory, and,
indeed, any little pleasure which she was to glean from the
visit to Statton was to be due to the cheery rector and his
wife, except that generous pleasure it gave her to see the in-
tense happiness of Marie Verrien in her preparations for de-
parture.
The day she and Mr. Stafford spent at Abbotsmoor was a
disappointing one. True, the house was growing comfortable
and beautiful, but then the girl's real motive for the visit
(that search among the cottagers for Margaret Territ) was as
much in vain as had seemed that search of Royden Keith's so
long before.
66
You must entirely give up your Quixotic idea, Miss
Craven," remarked the lawyer, as they drove back to Statton.
"Why, even if the woman could be found, she could not re-
move the guilt from Gabriel Myddelton. So do you not see.
it better to let the subject lie in its long oblivion ?"
С،
No," said Honor, with a regretful shake of the head, "I
do not see it better, Mr. Stafford, even now, when we have
tried all day and met with no success.
""
66
Well, I have given you my advice, my dear young lady;
but still I need not remind you I am at your service even in
this Quixotic search."
228
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
This was a gala evening at the rectory. Sir Philip and Lady
Somerson had heard of Honor's advent, and driven over from
the castle to spend this evening with her. And they all, did
their best to make this night a festival, just as if they under-
stood how little Honor had been welcomed among her own
connections.
Next day, with Mrs. Romer as her guest, she returned to
London, and Marie Verrien was installed in a pretty little
room, and which seemed to her a perfect fairy-land, contain-
ing, as it did, delightful devices for her comfort, pretty
things for her to look upon, and materials for many a differ-
ent and attractive work. What happy, placid hours Marie.
was to spend in this room! sociable ones, also, to which the
poor French girl had been but little accustomed. One or
two at a time the servants would come and sit and chat with
her, bringing her something to see, or to discuss, or to laugh
over.
Just as the servants in Royden Keith's household-follow-
ing their master's example, as servants usually will-had
been kind to, and considerate for, her father during that
happy visit of his to Westleigh Towers, so were Honor's serv-
ants, following her example, thoughtful for this afflicted girl.
But the brightest hours of all her life to Marie were those
which Honor herself spent in the pleasant room, entering
with her soft step and merry greeting, and sitting down, just
as if the rest and the change were as good to her as to Marie.
She would take the same interest as the sick girl did in a
new pattern, or a picture, or a book, and sometimes she would
sing to her, as dying ears had loved to hear her sing; while
at others she would sit in silent interest, gently wooing Marie
to talk of her father-ever the poor girl's one sweetest subject
of thought or speech.
It was at these times that Marie often and gratefully men-
tioned the name of Royden Keith, and it was at these times
that Honor's silence was so long and so unbroken.
-
Thus time sped on in the mansion at Kensington. Honor,
though going into no society, was still sought after most per-
sistently. Her mourning-dress was no armor against the con-
stant entreaties to join certain friends, "quietly;" to visit
just this old friend, who would ask "no one" to meet her;
to allow that old friend to visit her, only bringing a son or
brother, as the case might be, and "no one else." In her
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
229
}
quiet, pleasant manner-a manner which never could give
pain, whatever firmness it betrayed-Honor resisted these ad-
vances; and though she found it quite impossible to live as
quietly as she wished, she certainly lived as quietly as she
could. She had engaged a chaperon now, a stately widowed
Honorable," whose husband had held no moral claim to a
like title, but who, in dying, left her all he had his debts;
after the payment of which she was glad and grateful to ac-
cept Honor's generous offer. But Honor still hoped that
Phoebe would live with her; indeed, the feeling had grown to
a perfect certainty.
There was one person belonging to Honor's old home who,
through this winter, haunted her constantly, and this was
Captain Trent.
Since her return as no longer heiress, but possessor of old
Myddelton's money and Lady Lawrence's fortune, his atten-
tions had been unmistakable and increasing; and though she
invariably treated them as a jest when she was forced to no-
tice them at all, that fact had no power to weaken or dimin-
ish them. Sometimes, even in reality, they amused Honor,
for they were too selfish and too shallow to cause her a shade
of pain; and her bright laugh would break the silence of the
great house in the very midst of his most elaborate speeches
and most carefully selected pleas. His sighs and pathos she
turned into fun; his devotion altogether was a merry jest,
too trivial and too hollow to be aught else. Nevertheless, as
far as Captain Hervey understood the sensation, he felt him-
self to be thoroughly in love, and he played his part in that
capacity to the best of his somewhat limited power. But
still he could not make the part a manly one, nor prevent the
ludicrous element being that which always struck Honor first
and irresistibly.
Yet how was it, as Captain Hervey constantly questioned
himself, that his wooing would not speed? Other girls val-
ued his languid attentions, and met them so readily that he
had none of this sense of fatigue and defeat which he con-
stantly experienced with Honor. Other girls took the wit on
credit when they listened graciously to the words which issued
so correctly from under the silky moustache; other girls
laughed when he wished them to laugh, and questioned in
great interest when he waited for them to question; but
Honor really did necessitate his exerting himself in a most
unusual and uncharacteristic manner,
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
230
1
*
"And yet for all your disregard, I am sure I shall never
love any one else as I love you, Honor," he would urge, “and
as I have always loved you.
""
"Since you were rich '-why do you not finish your sen
tence, Hervey ?"
"It is too bad of you always to say that, Honor," he would
urge, "for it is not true. Indeed, I used to love you just the
""
same when I was
.. .
'Telling you about my probable marriage with Theo-
dora.' See, I have to finish all your sentences for you. Oh,
when you used to lecture me on my gaucherie, you were most
seriously in love with me, Hervey were you not?"
"Yes," answered Hervey, the more fretfully because he
knew how truly the girl had read him even then. "And you
could have no husband-choose where you might-who would
be more devoted to you, Honor; and we are connections, you
know, and we have known each other all our lives; and I am
not a bad-looking fellow, as other women say; and I should
make you a good husband indeed.”
"For a hot and idle summer mood," would Honor say,
when forced to answer this weak proposal; "but for sad
moods and heavy moods, and, above all, for earnest moods
and solemn moods, you would not make me a good husband
at all, Hervey."
Jaggatan
"But try me in earnest, Honor; do not take it always as
a joke."
“It is a joke,” the girl would say, in gravity; "and, if I
ever cease to take it as a joke, we could not be old friends,
because, however earnestly I beg, you will not leave off these
silly speeches."
No-Hervey was not to be rebuffed. As time went on he
only made himself more and more ridiculous in his unmanly
persistence; and, but for Honor's intense kindness to him as
to one-and the only one near her-belonging to her old life,
she would many times have been tempted to forbid him her
house.
But the strongest reason for not doing this was a mixture
of pity with her kindness, for there had stolen into her mind
a fear that his pursuits in town were not merely useless ones,
such as they used to be when in graceful indolence he
awaited landed estates and a million of money. Now Cap-
tain Hervey's magnificent expectations had dissolved in air.
He had all this time upon his hands; and the seven hundred
OLD -MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
231
+
-
a year, which had been a satisfactory income to trade upon
before the arrival of Myddelton's wealth; was a poor fortune
for a man of idle habits and expensive tastes. Those ac-
quaintances who, during the years of his great expectations,
had gathered around Captain Trent preparatory to support-
ing and guiding the millionaire, had, after their brief relapse,
gathered about him again now, to encourage him for his next
move; and-making him dissolute and extravagant like them-
selves, though they could not make him either so crafty or
so keen-they spurred him on in his pursuit of Honor.
If he could win her and all her wealth, he would be one
of the most important men in England, and certainly the
lion of society-they had not studied Hervey's nature for
their own purposes, without knowing its weak points-and
how he could laugh at the defeat of richer and nobler men,
he could win the beauty for whom everybody strove.
if
Thus they spurred him on, and his weak, selfish plans fitted
so admirably with theirs, that he learned his lesson easily
and well. And while the great move was pending, other
tasks were learned, into which he readily fell, seeing them
only as other forms of worship for his old idol of "Good
Form."
And in his worship, Hervey was slowly sinking to the level
of an habitual gambler when another London season began,
and Honor, obeying an urgently expressed wish of Lady Law-
rence's, opened in Kensington mansion, and once again en-
tered into society, to be more sought after and flattered even
than before, though so much more grave and quiet, and wear-
ing still no colors.
~
Every one noticed the indefinable change in her, the deep-
ening of that thoughtfulness which had ever lain below her
dainty merriment; but every one noticed, too, how there
still clung to her the old power, which she had ever possessed
in an intense degree, of both giving and enjoying happiness.
One morning early in the season, Honor sat poring over a
very unusual and rambling letter from Phoebe. It seemed
both to pain and please her, for, though the tears were stand-
ing in her eyes, she folded the letter with a smile when she
had read it.
"It is pitiful,” she murmured, "and yet I am very glad."
Then her thoughts wandered to others belonging to her old
home, and at last fixed themselves sadly upon Hervey.
232
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
،،
Gradually, all through the winter, he had been growing
more and more idle, and listless, and extravagant. Gradually
he seemed to be losing his self-respect; and, in the intervals
of his suit, he would entreat her to interest herself for a
capital fellow" he knew, who said she could, by a word, get
him a certain appointment for which he had a talent and a
wish; because the men in office would be glad enough to
have the opportunity of obliging her, and proud to do it, too.
Then when very firmly, though always kindly-she would
refuse all help that was not for himself alone, he, rehearsing
his lesson, would borrow for himself some sum, "just only
for a few days, Honor." At another time he would tease her
to allow him to introduce these friends of his, until she would
turn upon him with her old spirit, and tell him that their in-
fluence over him was quite enough to prove their worthless-
ness. But Hervey, impervious to hints, wearied her day
after day with the old story; and still, in her good-natured
scorn, she met it as a jest, because she wished to save hin
from what he might be tempted to seek.
She was thus thinking of him, with Phoebe's letter still in
her hand, when he came into her presence in a state as nearly
bordering on excitement as he could reach. Honor glanced
up and smiled. He had not been near her for two days, and
she fancied that he was at last trying to please her. But his
first words dispelled this fancy.
"I have been away for two days, Honor," he said, "and Y
declare it seems a year. They sent for me to Deergrove to
arrange about my taking a house for them. They are coming
for a couple of months. It is a great bore; but that is not
what I came to say. I find an invitation from Lady Somer.
son for to-night, and I want to know if you are going, Honor."
Yes; she is my oldest friend, you know."
(6
"I thought you would. How many dances will you promis
me?"
"One, as usual."
"Then I cannot go. It is hateful to be laughed at for
getting nipped whenever I ask you.
"Then why do you ask me?""
"Because I cannot help it when I am near you. But r
suppose I can help it when I stay away, so I will go with the
other fellows."
در
"Where?" asked Honor, gravely.
"To-oh, you would not understand."
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
There are
233
"I do understand," she said, and her voice was full of sad-
ness. "I have seen this habit growing upon you, Hervey. I
have seen it from the very first, and I tell you plainly now, as
I have tried to make you understand before, that you must
either give up that habit of play, or you must give up coming
here."
"I cannot help it," said Hervey, moodily; "I am so miser-
able always now. You will not listen to me, and people al-
ways taunt me for following you everywhere, to no purpose,
and you only laugh at me; and what can I do but amuse
myself some other way?"
"Very well," said Honor, with a quiet scorn in her grave
voice. "Go; only, in the leisure hours between your games,
do not come here."
"I never go farther than a gentleman should, Honor," said
Captain Trent, feebly grasping at her good opinion with what
had always been his strong argument. "You do not care to
see me, you know you do not," he added, plaintively; "else
I would do anything to win your good opinion."
66
"To win that," said Honor, quietly, you must leave off
these-I will not say, as you do, ungentlemanly, but most
unmanly-pursuits.
And if I do?"
"If you do, we are friends still, and you shall come as you
have been used to do.'
"But Theodora will be in town presently," said Hervey,
with a sigh of recollection; "and I am always so terribly
bored when I am not with you; besides-
""
"Besides what?" asked Honor, looking up with sudden
"Will you let the old habit hold you still?"
fear.
"Not if I can help it," he said, uneasily; "but sometimes
it is even necessary. 1 have more debts than I imagined,
and paying them off makes a sad hole in my paltry income.
I have so much time on my hands, too, and-Theo will be so
dull."
"Hervey," she said, "would you like an employment for
some of these wasted hours-employment (as you would say)
suited for a gentleman? If you would, and if you are really
steady and anxious in the wish, I will buy for you that bank
partnership Mr. Stafford told us of when you were here last.
Take these months, while Theodora is in town, for making
your choice; do not hurriedly do it. I will not bias you in
any way. If, when the time is over, you have not left the
1
234
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
old ways, or have decided you would rather have your time to
yourself, then we will forget this plan. If you have decided
that twenty-four hours in every day is too much time to
waste, and that easy, light occupation for five of these would
make the others pleasanter, and prevent your life being such.
a listless, drifting career; and if you feel that the extra in-
come which you need would be more honestly enjoyed by
being earned than by being robbed from others, why, then,
the partnership shall be yours. You cannot complain of your
income then, Hervey."
W
"Oh! Honor," he cried, astonished; "how good you are!"
"No," she said, shrinking a little from his excitement, "I
know that you used to-to depend upon inheriting what fell
so strangely to my lot, and I should like to do a little toward
making this up to you; only I want none of this money which
I hold in trust to be wasted, or, above all, used for evil pur-
poses. So you understand, Hervey, why I wish you to take
this time to think it earnestly over. I would not like you to
take this post, and then regret it; and I would not like you to
refuse it now, and afterward feel it beyond your reach if better
thoughts should follow. So remember, you have the time of
Theodora's stay to make your choice. I shall not see you
then so much-do not interrupt me, please-but, if you con-
tinue this horrible gambling, as I said, I will not see you at
all. If you do not, Hervey, we are old friends still; and this
is a home for you in leisure hours. At the end of the two
months bring me your choice, and it shall be all right at the
bank."
"Oh! Honor, how good you are to me!" he cried again;
"and may I come with you to-night?"
"Yes. Now tell me something of Kinbury and Statton,
Hervey; then I will give you my news. Did you go to Ab-
botsmoor?"
-
"Certainly. It is getting on magnificently. It will be a
beautiful place, or rather it is. But, Honor, what wonderful
improvements there are, independent of the house! I never
saw such comfortable cottages in my life, and then those alms-
houses for the Kinbury poor, and that one long, pretty build-
ing far away in the park. I really believe Romer made a fool
of me when he told me what that is. He said that you would
have it full of starved or hard-worked London people; that
when you saw those who looked as if they never awoke to any
day without its work and want, you would send them there.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
235
{
He said there would be a housekeeper and servants, and flowers,
and games, and everything for every season, and I did not be-
lieve it, Honor.”
"You ought always to believe your clergyman," smiled
Honor, while the color faded which had risen at his words.
"Now, what is your news, Honor?"
"You have soon finished. Never mind; I shall hear more
to-day, for-and this is my news, Hervey-Phoebe is coming
to live with me for always."
"For always!" echoed Captain Trent, with a pleading
glance, which Honor did not even see. "What on earth can
induce her voluntarily to leave Lawrence Haughton's home?
She will come to the ball, I suppose?" he added, his conver-
sation unconnected, as usual. Oh, Honor, do give me more
than one dance."
(6
(6
d
"I do not think," she said, quietly, "that I shall dance at
all, except that one dance with you. If I do, it will only be
because because some old friend may chance to be there and
to ask me. Come in and dine with us at eight; Phoebe will
be glad to see you. She arrives early in the afternoon. Now,
good-bye, for I am going to get a dress for her."
"May I not come?"
Certainly not."
"Then what am I to do, for I said if I came back I would
""
go-
“What a weak and helpless promise!" said Honor, sadly.
"Then come with me. Go and tell Marie the latest news
from home, while you are waiting for me."
So, for this time, she had rescued him from temptation.
Not by love, for her heart, with all its warmth of kindness,
could hold no love for this vain, weak cousin, but with the
generosity which was natural to her, the wide pity for all
weakness, and the longing to reclaim from sin.
236
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
:
CHAPTER XXVII.
Mothers all proffer their stainless daughters;
Men of high honor salute him "friend."
*3
M
-BARRY CORNWAL2.
LATE in the afternoon of that same day, Royden Keith
arrived at his hotel in Jermyn street. He had been at West-
leigh Towers for a few days, but had, according to a promise
to Sir Philip and Lady Somerson, returned in time for their
first ball. After dinner, as he sat over his wine, he opened
the letters which had collected for him. They were nearly
all alike in their messages, however differently worded, and
Royden laid them aside, one after another.
"These gracious invitations," he said to himself, "and the
gentle intimations that so many people are at home to me, are
all directed to Royden Keith, of Westleigh Towers. How
many of them did I receive twelve years ago!
?"
He pushed the letters and the enameled cards carelessly
aside; then, leaning his head upon his hand, he fell into
thought, so vague and visionary, that presently his eyes closed
and he fell asleep.
Five minutes afterward Pierce entered, with his noiseless
step, and looked upon his master curiously.
CC
Odd," the valet mused to himself; he has been over-
worked or overharassed at the Towers. One, if not both,
for it isn't like him to sleep-even after dinner. But it is
just as well he should; he has had a good deal of traveling
to-day, and will be up all night. But then what shall I do
about Mr. Haughton? I can keep him a few minutes, at any
late."
Pierce went out to Mr. Haughton's cab, and told that gen-
tleman that his master would be at liberty in ten minutes'
time; and having said that, he knew he must, at the end of
the ten minutes, admit the visitor into his master's presence
on his own responsibility.
Just as Mr. Haughton dismissed his cab, Captain Trent
strolled up and accosted him. As usual, Captain Hervey was
in no hurry, so Lawrence, for reasons of his own, elected to
spend these waiting minutes strolling to and fro with him.
(6
I had no idea you were in town," Hervey had said, after
F
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
2314
{
his rather astonished greeting. "Have you been to Ken-
sington?"
66
"No," returned Lawrence, very stiffly, "nor do I know
that I shall go. I hav
I havome to town on business-a word
you do not understand."
"What business?" inquired Hervey, languidly.
Lawrence smiled with scornful insolence. The notion of
enlightening Captain Hervey Trent on his business affairs
amused him somewhat.
"Are you not engaged?" he asked, perhaps for a reason of
his own, perhaps only superciliously turning aside the other
subject.
"Not until night," rejoined Captain Trent, with conscious
pride; "I am going to escort Honor to Sir Philip Somer-
son's."
"Who is likely to be there?"
"Oh, everybody, I suppose."
"I remember," said Lawrence, with a well-assumed indif-
ference, that fellow, Keith, who came to Kinbury for the
shooting, two Septembers ago, was very great at the Castle.
He will be there to-night, I suppose?"
"Sure to be, if he is in London," said Hervey, really in-
different at present upon the subject. "He is always asked
everywhere, so they say."
"I dare say in London, as in Kinbury, what they say is
generally a lie."
66
Captain Trent looked astonished into his cousin's face.
He could not understand the moody and vindictive tones,
though he did not associate them with what he himself had
said either of Honor or Mr. Keith. Therefore, in his usually
complacent drawl, he enlarged upon what he had already
said, and gave Mr. Haughton a graphic description of the
spirit in which Royden Keith was received into society; not
only as far as he himself had been able to observe it, but alsɔ
as far as—or perhaps a little farther than he had heard from
other men.
"I suppose," concluded Hervey, unobservant of the effect
of his words, there is no fellow who is considered so good a
parti this season. There are wealthier, I know, and men of
higher birth, of course; but, taking it altogether, there is no
one who can rival Keith with match-making mothers or mar
riageable daughters. He is attractive, they say, in a hundred
ways, besides being wealthy and of good position. He is un-
F
238
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
deniably handsome-for those who like that style," concluded
Captain Hervey, softly pulling his fair mustache; "and he is
clever, I suppose-people say so, at any rate-and he seems
up to all manly exercises, and has traveled a great deal.
Whatever it is," acceded Hervey, with graceful dismissal of
the subject," he is certainly as much thought of and sought
after, only of course in a different way, as Honor is; and
really, if I were not a privileged person in that quarter, Law-
rence, I should never get near Honor, so much in request is
she always."
Lawrence smiled a little grimly; he was not a man to be
taken in by Hervey's arrogant conceit, and knew Honor far
too well to heed the insinuation; but the very knowledge
which prevented any fear of Captain Trent made him feel all
the more what Hervey had told him of Royden, and made his
jealousy more keen and bitter in that comparison between
Honor and Mr. Keith.
•
"There's another matter which adds to Keith's popularity
here," said Hervey, though Lawrence had turned sharply
around, as if the conversation had become tedious; "that is,
the current report of the good he does on his estate at West-
leigh. I dare say the rumors are as much exaggerated as
other rumors-but they go down. Here you stop, do
you?"
Yes, Mr. Haughton decidedly stopped here. He had en-
joyed Captain Trent's society quite long enough, and even
Captain Trent himself would have been roused to a little anx-
iety if he had been able to perceive the harmful effect of his
words as a preparation for the visit Lawrence Haughton in-
tended to pay.
When Pierce entered his master's presence to announce Mr.
Haughton, Royden was wide awake`again, and had already
answered one or two of those letters which had contained
something more important than invitations. He glanced up
in surprise to see that Mr. Haughton personally followed his
card; then he slowly rose, with a grave, cold bow, and waited
for Mr. Haughton to speak.
"Doubtless you are surprised to see me, Mr. Keith.”
"Very rarely," said Royden, with his quiet courtesy, "does
anything surprise me, Mr. Haughton."
"When I saw you last, or rather when I last called upon
you," resumed Lawrence, plunging at once into the subject,
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
239
2
as if he saw how unnecessary any introduction would be, "I
made some inquiries, if you recollect, about your possible
cognizance of the hiding-place of Gabriel Myddelton.
39
"I recollect it well."
Mr. Keith had resumed his chair; but the lawyer had
pushed his aside, as if he saw an advantage in standing
sternly on the rug.
"Since then," he resumed, in his harsh, elaborate tones,
"I have myself obtained a clew to the present whereabouts
of-old Mr. Myddelton's murderer.”
A slight change in the handsome, dark face opposite-a
change to surprise, and even to fear, but so slight that Law-
rence, a moment afterward, could not feel sure that he had
seen it.
"You merit my congratulations," remarked Royden, coolly,
"in having at last achieved your object. Of course you know
- your clew to be worth following, or you would not waste your
valuable time.'
The lawyer was gazing with unfeigned astonishment into
Royden's face. In all his professional experience no man had
ever puzzled him as this man did.
"I would first ask you," he said, less for the purpose of
gaining time than in his desire to feel his way cautiously to a
certain point in the conversation, "whether you have not
yourself sufficient knowledge on this subject? If so, my in-
formation may prove wearisome.'
""
"No information on this subject," observed Royden,
frankly meeting the lawyer's supercilious gaze, "can be weari-
some to me, Mr. Haughton."
"Then I will tell you what I have heard." Lawrence
had seated himself at last, but he sat firm and upright,
determined to exhibit in every way the inflexibility of his
nature, and his gaze was so fixed that no change upon
his listener's face could escape him now. "I have heard
that Gabriel Myddelton is, and has been for some time, in
England."
No answer.
“In England,” repeated Lawrence, forcibly.
66
Rash," remarked Mr. Keith, with easy unconcern.
"Yet, ever since Gabriel Myddelton's story was related to
me, I have given him credit for a caution which amounted to
timidity."
T
240
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"And not only do I believe him to be in England," con-
tinued Lawrence, hardly able to suppress his wrath, “but I
believe him to be here-in London."
"Naturally," remarked Royden, with the utmost com-
posure. "It is considered easy to escape detection in a crowd."·
"He is not in London for that purpose," returned Law-
rence, with keen emphasis, "for before coming here he stayed
for a time close to the very scene of the murder."
'Still more rash!"
E
.
"In a very uncrowded country town," concluded Mr.
Laughton, with greater emphasis.
"Kinbury?" inquired his listener. And at this moment
there broke upon his lips one of his rare smiles-a smile
which certainly Lawrence Haughton could not understand.
"Yes, in Kinbury," repeated the lawyer. "Gabriel Myd-
delton was, I hear, staying during the latter months of the
year "71 at the Royal Hotel in Kinbury."
66
Strange," mused Royden, slowly raising his clear and
thoughtful eyes, for I was myself staying at the Royal
Hotel in Kinbury during that very time."
An inexplicable and ominous pause. Mr. Haughton's gaze
intent and watchful, Mr. Keith's questioning and a little
quizzical. The whole suspicion of the man before him was
read now, as well as the jealous, passionate purpose which
stirred him more than the suspicion. Yet Lawrence could
read nothing beyond the one humiliating fact, that his own
aotives and designs were comprehended fully and entirely.
But surely the fact he had just affirmed must stir this man
to the very soul. Could he attempt to keep up any deception
after this?
Waiting to see, Lawrence maintained a marked silence.
The pause would betray as much as any speech, and he would
rather his companion's words should break it. But Royden
had evidently no intention of breaking it.
(6
Yes," remarked Lawrence, having waited as long as he
could afford to wait in vain, "you were staying at the Royal
Hotel in Kinbury at that time. Is it odd that, knowing this,
and being unaware of any other stranger sojourning there,
too, I should connect in my mind the man of whose presence
there I heard, with the man whose presence there I saw?"
"I hardly follow you. Be distinct, if you please, in con-
sideration for my ignorance on this topic. With whose pres-
once did you connect mine?"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
241 ·
t
"With that of Gabriel Myddelton."
The words, especially the last two, were uttered with un-
usual distinctness. Lawrence, though conscious of reserving
in his own hands the final move for checkmate, did not enjoy
these constant preliminary checks which his companion dealt
him in so leisurely a manner.
"Gabriel Myddelton?" Royden repeated the name lazily,
stooping his head the while to pick up a letter which hal
fallen to the carpet-" was he staying in Kinbury during
part of September, October, and November, of 1871?"
"He was, so I am assured."
"Were you aware of it at the time?"
"I felt confident of it even then," returned Mr. Haugh-
ton, imitating his companion's manner, now that he felt it
was his turn to cry check; "but my proofs then were not so
strong and conclusive as they are now."
"May I inquire if they are quite strong and conclusive now?"
Mr. Haughton's face darkened perceptibly. This questione
touched his one weak point; the attempt to strengthen which
point had employed him, and held back this information, for
nine months.
66
May I ask you," repeated Royden, composedly, "if your
evidence now is quite strong and conclusive?"
Lawrence no longer hesitated over the answer which was
his move for checkmate.
"Yes."
"Then I wish you had told me at the time; I should very
much have liked to see him."
Lawrence rose to his feet in an outburst of wrath, which,
though he did not know it, was leavened heavily with fear
of defeat.
"What does this mean, this parrying of words?" he asked,
in his stern, harsh tones. "You make me speak out while
the hint would have been sufficient for any other man. From
your own deductions, if you cannot catch mine, Gabriel Myd-
delton was staying at the hotel in Kinbury while you were
there; yet one fact is gleaned from the hotel books-only one
stranger put up there for that unusually lengthy time. Then
you and Gabriel Myddelton are one."
He had said it at last. The suspicion of nearly a year's
growth had found language now, and neither the pallor nor
flush of conscious guilt had, in that moment, found its way
to Royden's handsome face.
F
}
242
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
I
"And you have your proof now?" he questioned, as he rose
and laid his fingers on the handle of the bell.
"I have my proof now," retorted Lawrence, staunchly, as
he stood upon the rug trying to shake off his uneasiness both
of face and attitude.
"That's good,” observed Royden, with the glimpse of South
America which sometimes peeped out in tone and accent; and
as he spoke he pulled aside the bell-handle.
"When you
make an assertion, it is good to be able to prove it. I con-
clude from your last remark, Mr. Haughton, that it was from
you I received, some time ago, an anonymous letter threaten-
ing me with the law if I did not leave this country. Yes, I
rang"-he had turned to the servant then, and his tones
were not more easy and unconcerned than they had been bc-
fore-"call a cab for Mr. Haughton. The answer to that
cowardly and unsigned letter," he resumed, when Pierce had
closed the door, "I will give you now. I do not choose to
leave any country at your bidding. You offered, I believe, in
that letter-I had not patience to read it through, but I un-
derstood so much-to keep this onerous secret of my identity
with the murderer of old Mr. Myddelton, of Abbotsmoor, if
I would leave England at once. But you threatened, if I
would not do so, to betray my real name to other members of
your family; especially-if I understand aright, this was a
very emphatic especially-Miss Honor Craven. I do not ask
you for your motive, because it has been clear to me from the
first, but I give you my answer once for all-I shall not in
any way, either by my absence or promise, pamper to your
own base ends and purposes. As for that one fact of my
identity with Gabriel Myddelton, bring your proof when you
are bold enough to repeat the assertion.
"I will," cried Lawrence, in a voice of suppressed rage;
"and remember that after I have left your presence to-day,
it will be too late for you to avail yourself of the immunity I
have offered you. I shall go from here at once to Miss
Craven I say to her first," amended Mr. Haughton, the
color rising in his moody face, as he brought forward this
untrue excuse, 66
as being now the most influential member of
the family; and I shall lay the whole deception before her.
From there I shall go-
""
"Your destination is a matter of no moment at all to me,
sir. And your cab is waiting.'
>>
"Then you refuse this compromise?" blurted out Lawrence.
gų a
ph
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY,
243
Deficient in proof as he felt himself to be, he knew that a
mutual arrangement would be a much safer and speedier
arrangement for him than the arduous following up of this
intangible clew.
"I refuse all idea of compromise with you, Mr. Haughton.
I do not even understand the term as applicable between us.
You are at liberty, so far as I am concerned, to go where you
choose, and to say what you choose. You have, for months,
been paving the way for this disclosure; pray finish the work
you have in hand. Need I remind you once again that your
cab is waiting?"
"You understand, then," observed the lawyer, with a hard,
long gaze into his companion's face, "that your real name
and character are known to me, and, before this day is over,
shall be known to others. After I have left you, it will be too
late for you to attempt further dissimulation."
"If you utter one word more of this kind to me, sir," in-
terrupted Royden, raising himself from his leaning posture
against the chimney, and facing Lawrence Haughton with his
long dark eyes aflame, "you shall answer it in a way you lit-
tle anticipate. Possibly your confidential clerk and ally has
informed you how he was punished for dogging my footsteps
practically as you have dogged them theoretically. Let his
example be a warning to you, for there is but one way of
dealing with dastardly insinuations."
"I shall consider now," exclaimed Mr. Haughton, his
clenched fist shaking in his wrath, and his lips compressed
and hard, "that you have brought upon yourself all that fol-
lows. I would, if you had accepted my very simple condi-
tions, have guarded your secret. If you had left England-
and no one knows better than yourself how dangerous for
you is every hour's sojourn here I would have buried the
truth as safely as you yourself could do."
"A lawyer, I believe," observed Royden, carelessly,
"understands the meaning of such a term as Misprison of
Felony."
"But-but," cried Lawrence, waxing hotter and hotter in
his rage at the insinuation, and because there dawned no sign
of acquiescence in the proud, still face opposite him, "if you
choose to persist in passing yourself off as a man of unblem-
ished character, and-
""
"Be silent, sir," interrupted Royden; "my character is
not in your hands to clear or blacken. I will thank you to
244
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
understand that our interview is at an end. I have no word
further to say to you, unless I express the hope that in your
further search for old Mr. Myddelton's murderer, you may be
able to secure a more able auxiliary than your cowardly little
clerk, and "Royden's eyes under their heavy lashes were
bright for a moment with quizzical amusement-" and a
victim more easily cowed, and duped, and driven than myself.
Good-evening.
""
With the last words he turned and sauntered to the win-
dow, opening the door as he passed it. The lawyer could not
fail to understand the scornful hint, and he walked toward the
door, his heavy step heavier than usual.
(6
Good-evening," he said, answering with a scorn equal to
Royden's, though savage instead of cool. "All which follows
this interview, you have brought upon yourself.
No answer from the figure standing at the window, and Mr.
Haughton left the room in a passion which, though sup-
pressed, boded a thorough willingness to inflict all the suffer-
ing which it lay in his power to give.
The soft dusk of the May night filled the room where Roy-
den sat; the letters were still unwritten, and the invitations
still lay unheeded. Pierce had twice been in to rouse his
master from his reverie, but Pierce's master was not to be
roused. And, if Lawrence Haughton could just then have
re-entered the handsome room, his feelings of mortification
need not have weighed so heavily upon that exhilarating con-
sciousness of approaching revenge.
"Nine o'clock, sir. Will you not dress?"
در
The valet had lighted up the rooms now, and knew it was
high time to disturb his master in earnest.
Royden changed his seat, and drew a sheet of paper before
him.
(C
"Not yet, Pierce," he said. I will ring in an hour's
time. If I ring twice I shall want one of the grooms to dis-
patch a telegram for me. I have not decided yet whether I
will go myself.
"But you promised to go, sir, and returned on purpose.
"Where?"
""
""
Pierce explained sedately. It had never struck him that
his master could have meditated any journey beyond the drive
to Sir Philip Somerson's London house.
Royden looked absently up from his writing while the ex-
planation was given. Then he said he had not decided
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
245
書
​With this unusually curt reply the valet had to be content;
but so unused was he to any changeable conduct in his mas-
ter, that his surmises were many.
"He returned on purpose for this ball," so the valet's
musings ended; "and I don't see what need have changed
his decision. I wish I hadn't promised Mr. Haughton ad-
mission until I knew it was the master's wish to see him. 1
always dread these telegrams for Westleigh, because I believe
he'd bear anything rather than harass her. I don't like that
quiet, haughty look of his to-night; it means suffering for
the master.'
""
CHAPTER XXVIII
We have received your letters full of love,
And in our maiden council rated them
As Bombast.
-Love's Labor Lost.
HONOR was holding a kind of festival at the Kensington
Mansion, on the arrival of Phoebe Owen. When it was pos-
sible, Honor always did make her welcome quite a festival;
and many an extra grain of pleasure and of happiness could
she thus infuse into the visits which were paid her. The
freshness and earnest cordiality of the girl's nature showed
themselves in a strong light this evening, while she devoted
berself with an almost comical excitement to make this ar-
rival a matter of rejoicing.
о
And even Phoebe, through all her wondering admiration of
Honor's grandeur, and in the midst of her own self-concen-
trated anticipations, could still notice how the old quaint
brightness clung to Honor still, and wondered, almost to an
earnest purpose, why Honor should make a fuss over the
coming of a poor cousin, when there were so many servants
in the house.
"Aren't we snug, Phœbe?"
The question came from Honor, as they sat at tea together
in one of her own private sitting-rooms-a bright and luxu-
rious apartment, glistening with satin and silver, and looking
like a fairy palace to Phoebe.
"C
Yes, very snug," she said; but the tone was almost dubi
ous in her wonder. Could it really be Honor looking so
1
246
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
lovely, and moving about so thoroughly at home in this beau
tiful house? And could it really be herself who was enter-
tained here so grandly, and yet made to feel as if she had
reached her own home?
T
"I hadn't any messages to bring you, Honor," she re-
marked, presently, with her characteristic want of tact;
"neither Jane nor Lawrence sent any, and I saw no one else
who knew I was coming."
"Were Lawrence and Jane at home when you left?"
"No; Lawrence went away yesterday. He said from the
first I was welcome to go where I chose. But Jane was at
home when I started, and she barely touched my hand. Oh,
Honor-
>>
And for the second time since her arrival Phœbe burst into
excited tears.
Quietly and soothingly Honor led the conversation away
from their old home, guessing how sore Phoebe's heart would
be at any reminder of her guardian's neglect. She never for
one moment suspected that Phoebe had come to her with any
hope of being nearer Lawrence than she had been in the chill
and distant reserve of his own house; she only understood,
what Phoebe herself told her, that the old home life had
grown unbearable, and that her cousin had come to her for a
refuge, both from Lawrence Haughton's morose neglect and
his sister's hard displeasure.
"As for Hervey," said Phoebe, a smile struggling through
her tears, as Honor led her to talk of the family at Deergrove,
66 we don't see much of him. He is always with you, isn't
he, Honor?”
"If so, he will be with you, too," smiled Honor; "
so you
will see. At any rate, he is going with us to-night to Lady
Somerson's."
"Oh, I cannot," gasped Phoebe, the old affliction strong
upon her; "I have no dress.”
"Wait and see," said Honor, with a kiss; "there are
some garments in your dressing-room, little Frau, which
we are going to investigate presently; and if you don't
look- ""
She had paused to take a card from the salver which a
footman, entering softly, handed to her. Her eyes had fallen
carelessly enough upon the name, but then they had darkened,
and, as she took up the card, her fingers covered it.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
247
"I will come to the library," she said, dismissing the man
with a glance. "I must go down-stairs for a few minutes,
Phoebe," she added, rising and holding the card still hidden in
her hand. "Take care of yourself until I come back in a
few minutes' time."
Phoebe nodded from her large arm-chair, still full of won-
der at the quiet, gracious bearing which seemed natural to
Honor now, while she was still just the bright and girlish
Honor of old days.
"If I had changed my dress I could have come, too," she
remarked, plaintively.
"It would be too bad if, in the very hour of your arrival,
you began helping me to receive my visitors; you will have
abundance of such tasks as that, presently. But see," Honor
continued, as the door opened again, "you are to have the
task of entertaining, after all. Hervey, I am glad to see you,
though you are very early. I said dinner at eight."
"I know," said Hervey, deprecatingly; "but you told me
I might come early, and of course you knew I should."
"I am very glad you came. Phoebe will give you some
tea while I run away for a minute.”
A lady has called to see her, I think," explained Phoebe,
as she took her place at the tea-table, with a new shyness
which gave her a new gentleness, too.
"No lady," rejoined Captain Hervey, moodily. "It is
Haughton, who is waiting for her below."
Phoebe raised her wide, round eyes in alarm, and forgot
Captain Trent's tea-a matter to which he was utterly indif-
ferent.
"Oh! Hervey," she stammered, at last, "he has come for
me!"
"Not he," said Hervey, quite indifferently, though without
his old lazy scorn of her speeches.
"Oh! what shall I do? I-I must see him; and yet, if he
takes me back to Jane! Oh, Honor will be so vexed if he is
come for me!"
"Less vexed, I should fancy," rejoined Hervey, anxiously
turning his eyes to the door, than if he had come for another
purpose. Don't fret, Phoebe," he cried, with kindness;
there is no fear of Lawrence taking you back to Jane."
She had collected herself then, and made an effort to do the
honors gracefully. Hervey Trent, standing upon the rug, and
longing for the return of Honor, had yet time to notice that
248
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Phoebe was not so heavy as she used to be, and that, perhaps,
if she dressed like Honor, and did not fall back on her old,
ecstatic tricks, but could, by some marvelous means, acquire
a composed demeanor, he should not object to take her under
his wing, just occasionally, when Honor particularly wished it.
"Of course it gives a man prestige to take Honor," he
mused; "and if Phoebe improves, she won't do much harm."
Wondering how far such improvement might be possible,
le condescended to exert himself a little during their tete-a-
tete; and Phoebe, too much astonished at any attentions from
her languid cousin to exert herself at all, pleased him more
than she could ever have done with her exclamatory style of
converse. So they were friendly and easy, as Honor had
hoped they would be, almost before she had closed the library
door behind her, and stood in the presence of her old guard-
ian, fresh from that mortifying visit of his to Royden
Keith.
་་
He stood looking from the window in the handsome library,
just as he had stood in his fear of looking at her when she
came, in her beauty and her freshness, to the wearied, morti-
fied watchers for Lady Lawrence; and just as he feared to let
the old weakness master him then, he feared to let it master
him now, but with a still more dangerous and guilty purpose.
Some faint fear of his purpose she gleaned from his face
when he turned to greet her, and for a moment she wished
she had not answered the request upon his card to see him
alone. Only for a moment; then her courage came back to
her, and she waited quietly for what he had to say.
"Honor," he began, making an effort to put aside one cer-
tain thought, and ask with ease a question whose answer
might make that thought unnecessary" Honor, all my letters
to you have been so long unheeded that I am come myself
Now for their answer.
"There is no answer," said Honor, quietly.
"No answer?" He repeated the words sharply, while he
moved toward her with a quick, impatient step.
"What do
you mean, Honor?"
- "I mean simply what I say," she answered, raising her
clear eyes to his face. "They all told the same old story;
and from the first, as you know full well, that story wearied
me beyond words."
"You were a petulant child then, Honor," he said, curb-
ing his voice with a strong effort; "you are a woman now,
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
249
and can appreciate such devotion as I offer-a man's strong
and deeply-rooted love, not a boy's wayward affection."
No answer in his pause, and he came still nearer to her on
the hearth, his chest heaving, his fingers clenched as his
hands hung beside him.
Honor, you will recall this day with pity for yourself, if
you send me from you with such an answer as you try to utter
now. I am not one to lightly give and take my love. It
must be successful, after these years of waiting, or I cannot
calmly stand aside and see my love give her hand to another
-as I have known idiots do. Why should I alone be misera-
ble when the misery is your fault? I have given you too
much to be patient at no return. I have not loved you for
your wealth-you know that; and you know it of no one else.
I loved you years ago. I gave you all the love I had, when
you were poor and almost friendless. Who else has done so?
Those men who fawn upon you now care nothing for yourself;
it is your wealth they court-
""
"Lawrence," she said, stopping him with an appealing
gesture, and a look of real pain upon her face, "please do not
talk of this. I must make once more my old request. You
were my guardian, and so I have borne from you what I
would have borne from no one else. But you must not speak
to me so again, or our friendship must be broken forever."
Keenly watching her as she spoke, he read aright-so well
he knew the face he loved-the hopelessness of his ambition.
And then the cruelty of his despair and jealousy rose up, and
took his words in its sole charge.
66
6. If you had listened to me, and answered me differently,"
he cried, "I would have spared you all I could. I would
have spared you every knowledge, and even thought, of crime
and deception. As it is, you shall know what I know; then
you will see, perhaps, whose love is worth accepting, and
then-ah, Honor," he cried, once more weak in his passion,
"it is not too late yet-I have not spoken. I never need
speak, if you will only promise at last to repay my years of
devotion."
"What have you to tell me of crime and deception ?"
She spoke firmly, but her hand had seized the back of a
chair beside her, and her eyes had gathered a terrible fear
under their drawn brows.
"What I will tell you to-night-now," he cried passion-
ately. "You have raised the fiend within me, and you shall
250
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
know all that I know, if—if you really refuse to listen to my
love."
So he broke off once more to plead, in the madness of this
selfish and ambitious passion he called love; and still she an-
swered him with kindness in her firm refusal.
br
Then, in the heat and anger of this blow, for which he even
yet was unprepared, there came from his stern lips that in-
formation on the effect of which he built his last desperate
hope that the one man whose name she never uttered to
him, yet about whom his suspicion and jealousy had wrapped
themselves with a strength and tenacity which might well
convince him of their truth, was the man convicted, cleven
years before, for the murder of the old miser whose wealth
she now possessed.
"The man who, from the cell where he lay under sentence
of death, had craftily escaped; and now, at large again, was
continuing his rascally career."
"You have told me this before," said Honor, "only per-
haps not quite so decidedly and circumstantially. I asked you
then for evidence to prove the truth of what you asserted."
"Yes, I told you before," exclaimed Lawrence, more hast-
ily than he would have done if he had felt full reliance on the
strength of the clew he had handled so eagerly and uncer-
tainly; "and, as it is the truth, I have told you again. I
feel myself your guardian still, Honor; and I cannot let you
be duped and deceived before my very eyes."
"There is no fear," said Honor, quietly; "and this you
know."
"I told you something else of Gabriel Myddelton, last time
we spoke of him," blurted out Mr. Haughton, never trusting
himself to pause between the speeches. "I told you he was
a married man, and that I can prove-unless he is guilty of
another crime, as base in some men's eyes as the murder itself.
Ah! you have guessed this?" he cried, excitedly, as he read
her face with shrewd intentness; "you are moved at last to
feel that you have counted among your friends a criminal and
a debauchee?"
"I was moved," said the girl, knowing how, for one mo-
ment, her courage had deserted her because her thoughts flew
back to that one day she had spent at Westleigh Towers-"
.""I
was moved by an old memory.
Please leave me now; I do
not want to hear another word of Gabriel Myddelton.
""
P
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
251
I
M
"Nor to see him again-do you, Honor?" cried Mr.
Haughton, in the excitement of his sudden, selfish hope.
"You must shrink even from looking on a man who forces
his way into society under false pretenses, with a false name
and false character-a reckless scoundrel, who dares his fate."
"Of whom are you speaking, Lawrence?"
He started at the cold, proud tone.
"Of Gabriel Myddelton, or Royden Keith-as you will."
"You say Gabriel Myddelton is daring his fate under the
false name of Royden Keith, of Westleigh Towers? Then is
the society in which he is received so blind, and dense, and
casily duped as that? Tell me how this name, and the estate
of Westleigh Towers, belong to Gabriel Myddelton? Would
not any account of the landed gentry show you the pedigree
of Royden Keith, of Westleigh Towers?"
"No," said Lawrence, with a ready sneer, "else do you
think I would have been for one hour in doubt? The last
possessor of Westleigh Towers, an old man in his dotage,
having no heir, left his estate and property to a young man
who paid him all sorts of interested attentions during the
last few months of his life. They met in Germany, where
old Mr. Keith died. He belonged to a good family, and the
young man to whom he took this idiotic fancy, and to whom
he left his name as well as his wealth, reaps the benefit of
that. What is stated as his previous name is, of course, of
no importance to us, as it was in his power to give any lie he
chose; and, as for the pedigree they may have chosen to in-
vent for this unknown, nameless fellow, why only an idiot
would rely upon it."
"Could you not trace it without regard to printed state-
ments?" asked Honor, carried away by her own earnestness.
،، Could you not prove Royden Keith to have been an honor-
able English gentleman before he took the honored name he
bears?"
"No," returned the lawyer, promptly; "no one could
prove that."
"Can no one, at any rate, prove who he was? for you havé
not done so, Lawrence.
"I have satisfied myself," returned Mr. Haughton, betray-
ing his own weak point by the very impatience of his reply;
"I can do no more.'
Ι
""
tr
In that case," said Honor, gravely, "I will have it
done."
'{'
252
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY:
He gazed at her steadily and keenly; but the swift thought
that she must be in jest could only live for one instant. He
read in her face the earnest purpose which (though he did
not know it) had been for so long quietly pursued; and he
saw that her motive was generous, and that her search would
be directed so that no shadow of suspicion should rest where
he had crowded it. Reading this, he saw more plainly than
he had ever seen them, even in his frequent moments of de-
pression, the flaws in his own evidence, and the yawning
chasm which broke his straight advance toward the longed.
for identification of old Myddleton's murderer with Royden
Keith.
"Honor," he cried, with a sudden, desperate appeal, as if
he felt his hold sliding from him, and knew that only truth
and justice could weigh aught with her, "let this subject
rest between us. He is not worthy of one thought of yours;
and-and, Honor, I will say no word of his crime again if
you will only give me the love I ask. He shall go uncon-
victed and unsuspected-I promise it, I swear it. No one
in England shall know that he is other than the man he
pretends to be, if you will only give me the answer I have
sought in those letters. Will you, Honor? Will you, my
darling?"
-
"Long ago I gave you my answer to those letters," she
said. "I have no other to give, now or ever; and you will
not, I trust, ever write such to me again, for I do not like to
have to burn my cousin's letters unread, and such as those I
must treat so."
.
"Then, if you burn my letters," cried Lawrence, pas-
sionately, "I must come myself, for you shall listen to me
at last. You shall feel that no one could ever love you as I
love you."
"That is enough, Lawrence. When I have found the
clew I seek, I will send to you."
"I could help you in this, Honor," he urged, eagerly;
"you will need such help as I can give. Take my services,
and I will promise
""
"No, thank you," replied Honor, gently; and she stood
with an unmistakable desire for his departure.
But, if he saw the hint, he did not take it. Once more,
and as desperately as if he felt it would be the last time, he
urged that wearisome plea of his, every repetition of which
he knew to be real pain to her.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
253
And still she parted from him kindly at last, remembering
that he was her cousin, and had been her guardian, and for-
getting, by a generous effort, that he was the selfish and
jealous suitor whose love-suit had been to her as fearful as
a siege."
CHAPTER XXIX.
I, then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pestered with a popinjay,
Answered neglectingly I know not what.
-Henry IV.
LADY SOMERSON's balls were always among the pleasantest
and most brilliant of the season, and no one felt that this
first ball of the spring of "72 would be an exception to the
rule. As host and hostess, Sir Philip Somerson and his lady
had no rivals. To their perfect courtesy and high breeding
they added a hearty geniality; to their thorough experience
of the world of fashion they added real freshness of enjoy-
ment; and beyond their abundant wealth and opportunities,
they possessed the tact to discern what elements would blend
in their assemblies, and form one gay and harmonious whole.
Dancing was never allowed to grow wearisome in Lady Somer-
son's house, but was as fresh and keen an enjoyment as it is
possible to be in May and June; music was never pressed
upon those who did not care either to listen or perform, but
was a treat and rest, as music should be. Conversation never
seemed to drag or droop, but brightly and pleasantly passed.
through the different groups.
(C
I should not wonder "so her ladyship had remarked to
her husband when discussing this ball"if it does not turn.
out eventually to have been the best ball of the season.
""
"Nor should I, my dear," assented Sir Philip, cordially;
"yours generally do."
But this was only an anticipation, and whether this had
been the best ball of the season could only be decided when
the brilliant rooms had shrunk into a dejected condition of
holland and cobwebs, and the tale of some few lives had been
told.
But who could dream to-night of cobwebs in these rooms?
Who could picture a weary ending to these lives?
254
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY..
2
"I think," mused Lady Somerson, looking round upon the
brilliant scene, with a dancing light in her kind eyes, "that
I never saw more happy faces."
"Mrs. Trent-Miss Trent-Captain Trent."
The start which the hostess gave was even perceptible to
the group around her, but in an instant she moved forward
to greet her guests, and her courteous manner betrayed
neither surprise nor want of cordiality.
Mrs. Trent and Theodora had been, from time immemorial,
invited regularly to Lady Somerson's balls, as country neigh-
bors of Sir Philip's; but on this occasion Mrs. Trent had
written her reply from Deergrove, regretting that she and her
daughter were not likely to be in town on that date. So
Lady Somerson, with a sigh that sounded laden with relief,
had given up all expectation of their society; and, forgetting
that the note had been so worded as to leave the invitation
open, had overlooked their possible presence until their names
were thus suddenly announced.
Of course she did not utter a word of surprise on seeing
these guests, but she did remark quietly to her husband that
she could not understand why Mrs. Trent and her daughter
should come up to London so suddenly: and that she did not
like what she could not understand.
Sir Philip laughed a little over her logic, only observing
that it was rare to find women doing what one could under-
stand.
"No, I do not like it," reiterated his lady, evidently
puzzled. "And I am vexed, too, that Mr. Keith is not
come. I suppose it is too late to expect him now."
Sir Philip laughed again.
"Of course he will come, for he promised. But why are
you so covetous? You have plenty of young men here now,
wealthy, young, and marriageable. There is the Duke of
Hartreigh; what more can you wish?"
"I wish for Mr. Keith."
The host and hostess separated then, and presently Lady
Somerson moved aside to speak to Captain Trent, where she
could not be overheard.
"The arrival of your aunt and cousin was a surprise, Her-
vey, " she said. "Had you known they were in London ?"
Had not the faintest idea," returned Hervey, raising his
fair eyebrows. "Only last night I left them at Deergrove."
"Indeed ?"
20
!
}
OLD MŸDDELTON'S MONEY.
255
Lady Somerson said no more, and to Hervey the word-and
her ladyship's glance-were totally devoid of expression.
(6
They telegraphed for me as soon as they arrived, and, of
course, I was obliged to go and escort them here, though
Honor had told me I might come with her."
"A disappointment," smiled Lady Somerson, "but soon
over. It was all one when you reached here."
"Not quite," began Hervey, and his hostess understood the
insinuation, though she thought it best to ignore it, because,
for the time, both he and Mrs. Trent were her own guests.
She walked away with a smile, her eyes following his fretful
gaze.
Honor Craven, her beauty matchless among many beautiful
and graceful forms, her dress unexcelled in its fairy elegance,
though no color relieved it, sat in a perfect crowd of solicitous
cavaliers, foremost among whom was the young duke, on
whom the hopes of so many mothers and daughters were
fixed.
The girl enjoys it," mused Lady Somerson, the smile
still on her lips; "and it is but natural to her girlhood that
she should. Yet in this adulation, constantly reminded as
she is of her surpassing beauty and her marvelous wealth, she
is just the girl she was in her guardian's home; always gen-
tle, and obedient, and unselfish; always bright, and perhaps
a little saucy. Yet even now I can see that she has not
reached her height of happiness. Yes, though she is the same
girl I loved years ago in her lonely orphanage, she has grown
years beyond me now, and I feel as if her life must hold many
a pain I could not comprehend; but it will hold joys, too—
joys, too, if God please.
""
Captain Trent had kept beside his hostess, and his face
brightened with the realization of his hope when she paused
in the coterie surrounding Honor, and the girl joined her with
delight.
{
But
"Listen! what a valse!" cried the hostess, presently, with a
mischievous glance at Hervey, who was making strenuous but
futile efforts to exhibit himself as a shining light in the jest
and badinage which made the group so merry a one.
"I
must not forget myself and linger here; but I shall return
presently to see if you have all found partners.”
And so saying Lady Somerson glided on, to assist shy men
and bashful maidens. The Duke of Hartreigh, in a state of
sudden excitement, apparently awaking to the fact that the
256
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
:
blissful hours were passing away, and he had not yet had one
dance, pleaded with Miss Craven for the honor of her hand.
Hervey came forward, more eagerly still, to claim now the
fulfilment of her promise to him; and a host of other part-
ners stood waiting for her refusal, that their own claims
might be advanced. Pleasantly, though promptly, Honov
declined his grace's arm; but his grace still hovered beside
her, finding a greater charm in her proximity than any which
the brilliant suite of rooms could otherwise afford him.
"Mr. Keith.'
""
In the midst of his flattering nonsense, the young duke
paused with a sudden surprise, which all his native courtesy
failed to hide; for, when the simple name of this late guest
had been announced, Honor's face had inexplicably, yet un-
mistakably, changed; over its glowing brilliancy a strange,
still look had fallen; her beautiful eyes had saddened, al-
though it was only for one moment that they had left hi
face; and her lips had met in a quivering compression. Now,
when she set aside his entreaties to dance, she did it even
more quietly than before; but he felt, beyond a doubt, that
this negative was decisive.
g
Ho
The duke stood moodily watching this late comer.
knew him well, and liked him very little, for in his presence,
as in the presence of no other man, the Duke of Hartreigh
felt a sensation of jealousy which was as unusual to him as it.
was unpleasant. Yes, he could even be jealous of a man
who looked so often, as he looked to-night, chastened in heart
and soul; because he always stood, as he stood to-night, pre
eminently distinguished even in a distinguished crowd.
"Honor," entreated Captain Trent, "do give me this valse
-you promised me one.
ور
"Do not ask me, Hervey," she urged, gently, and almost
sadly; "I could not valse just now.
""
A few of the hopeless satellites moved away to seek other
partners for the dance; and Honor, turning aside where her
eyes could not fall on Royden, let Hervey lead her where he
would.
It would be impossible to say exactly how it happened, but
as soon as Royden Keith and his hostess separated, he found
himself beside Theodora Trent, taking her outstretched hand,
and answering the many questions which flowed in succession
from her smiling lips. Mrs. Trent pointed her fan affably to
a vacant seat beside her, and Royden, in his easy courtesy,
ľ
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
257
took it, and entered into a merry ball-room conversation.
Acting up to her long education, the matron gradually drifted
from the discourse, leaving Theodora in her desired position.
Miss Trent chatted for a time on trifling subjects, using. all
ber powers of winning, for she would keep Mr. Keith beside
her at any cost. But even Theodora, in all her self-conceit,
knew that she dare not hope to keep him so for long, though
she might use every winning power she possessed. She had
resigned her one faint hope for this valse with him, but still
she thought she might delicately convey a hint as to future
dances.
"I know no band in London so pleasant to dance to," she
observed.
Theodora flushed uncomfortably.
"Nor I," he said, his eyes absently following the gliding
figures; "it surprised me to find you sitting, Miss Trent."
During the whole of
the last season the unpleasant consciousness had been dawn-
ing upon her that she was not so thoroughly what her mother
called successful in society as she used to be. Whether the
fretfulness, which in her nature was consequent on hope de-
ferred, had more effect upon her face than she wot of; or
whether fickle partners had grown a little weary of her super-
fcial beauty and shallow remarks; or whether the halo of old
Myddelton's wealth had not had something to do with her
previous triumphs, was not even known to Theodora herself.
The only fact certain was, that in spite of her regular features
and stylish toilets, in spite of her own talent and her mother's
Machiavelian skill, she was not unfrequently observed sitting
moodily aside now, while plainer girls took her old place
in the dances she was so fond of.
"I reserved this one," she answered, with her old disre-
gard for truth. "I shall have quite sufficient later on to-
vight."
"Doubtless," said Royden, quietly.
He was watching a distant group, and his eyes were grave
and intent. Theodora's followed them, then returned with
Angry swiftness.
"Do you notice, Mr. Keith "-she asked the question in a
soft, deliberate tone, looking into his face with a smile-
"how my cousin has been spoiled by her extraordinary ac-
quisition of old Myddelton's money? I remember her quite
nice, unaffected girl when she lived at the Larches, and had
{
258
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
only forty pounds a year of her own. Indeed, I grew quite
fond of her then, and asked her to come to our house--as you
may recollect."
The first time I met Miss Craven was at your house. I
recollect it perfectly."
Theodora glanced furtively up into Royden's quiet face.
His eyes were still on the distant group, and the easy tone it
was impossible to read.
"But now-
"added Miss Trent, then paused with a
slight, and not inelegant, gesture of disgust. When, in the
few seconds of silence which followed, the mortifying con-
sciousness forced itself upon her that both the gesture and the
insinuation had been lost upon her listener, she had recourse
to speech again. "Every one notices this change, I grieve to
say, Mr. Keith; and one can but regret that unexpected
wealth, and mixing in society to which she has not been ac-
customed, should have had such an injurious effect upon her."
"To what injurious effect do you allude?"
Theodora laughed softly, a laugh that was not good to hear.
"Now, Mr. Keith, you must have noticed the change in
Honor, and you ought to own it."
"Yes, I have noticed a change in Miss Craven.”
Miss Trent sought curiously for an explanation of the new
intonation in his voice, but sought in vain.
"Of course you have," she said, graciously betraying a full
comprehension; "many people remark upon it. Hervey
says it pains him very much."
"To all appearance," remarked Royden, in her interroga-
tory pause, Captain Hervey enjoys pain.
""
Theodora's lips were set in angry compression as she saw-
what she knew that he saw-how utterly and eagerly Captain
Trent was at that moment devoting himself to the girl whose
changed conduct had pained him.
"I think," observed Miss Trent, in a tone whose resent-
ment, though suppressed, was sufficiently evident to her
companion, "that you, Mr. Keith, must see-men are so
much quicker to detect weakness in our sex than we ourselves
are-how persistently Honor tempts my cousin to appear
everywhere in her shadow. Of course this is easy for her
now; Hervey sees how her wealth procures her everywhere
the services of all ambitious and money-loving men; and of
course he is pleased to appear in the train of the wealthiest
girl in England. But, though Honor understands exactly
F
<<
Art, VE
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
259
how it is, she flirts too openly with him. Why, he is forever
with her!"
"He is fortunate.
"I assure you he himself does not think so," put in Theo-
dora, with spiteful eagerness; "he thinks it often a great
bore; and besides that, he has a perpetual fear of her betray-
ing her want of education, and humiliating him in public.
When Honor was a girl at home, he very kindly instructed
her in the usages of good society, and now, having entered
society at last, she of course entirely depends upon him.
Indeed, I tremble to think what blunders she would perpetu-
ally make but for his constant and timely advice. Knowing
this, he is sorry to leave her unsupported."
"Do you think, Miss Trent," inquired Royden, leaning
forward in his seat, and bringing his eyes slowly from the
group he was studying, "that the Duke of Hartreigh and
those gentlemen whom we see hovering about Miss Craven
now, eager for a word or glance-men of title, wealth, and
celebrity—are all actuated by this generous feeling, or is Cap-
tain Trent a particular exception?"
66
Every one knows their motives," retorted Theodora, for-
getting her gracious languor in the sudden jealous fear which
seized her; she is the personification of old Myddelton's
money, you recollect."
"Oh!"
"Of course, as I said," resumed Theodora, wondering over
this short reply, "the temptation which she can offer is not
one which even Hervey can very well decline, though the
position bores him. Like other men, he is easily led on to
make his attentions conspicuous when he sees how very openly
they are encouraged. If you lay this to Honor's ignorance,
of course it is very generous of you; but I cannot help griev-
ing over the marked change in her, and regretting that she
has so little pride and modesty."
"As- ""
"As to give encouragement to a whole crowd of suitors,
and so demonstratively accept and parade in public the devo-
tion they offer to her wealth."
“I know more than one man, Miss Trent," observed Roy-
den, "who has devoted himself to Miss Craven, not only
without encouragement, but literally in the face of strong
discouragement and I believe Captain Trent to be doing so
at this moment."
Sta
4
260
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Theodora, whose gaze had been fixed on Captain Hervey's
leaning figure, raised her head with a swift, vindictive glance,
which she could not suppress in time.
"Honor Craven," she said, with cruel deliberation, “is, as
every one says, arrogantly proud of the money of which she
so illegally obtained possession; and is, besides that, a most
nnprincipled coquette.'
He had risen from his seat as she spoke, but waited beside
her until the last word was uttered; then answered with quiet
composure:
I
"On this subject it is utterly impossible for us to agree,
Miss Trent, so it is better that we should not speak of it.
consider Miss Craven as far opposed to your description as
light is opposed to darkness; and so you understand how I
must answer you; if I answer you at all on this subject.
""
He stood a moment or two after he had ceased speaking;
then, with a bow, he walked away.
It was as he passed on his slow way from group to group,
that presently he joined the coterie which lingered about
Honor; and she put her hand into his, and smiled her beautı-
ful smile. Yet, even in his first momentary glance, he read
the truth. Lawrence Haughton had told her what he threat-
ened to tell. Afterward, when he was alone, he tried in vain
to remember how he had read this fact. Her smile was not
flashing in its brilliancy as it used to be, and her words were
not prompt and piquant, as of old-yet it was not these facts
which told him. There had been no word or glance of sus-
picion or even of curiosity; no sign of coldness or repugnance;
yot, as Royden said to himself again and again in his solitude,
she had heard Lawrence Haughton's story.
It was because he saw this in her face that he stayed be-
side her only for a few minutes. Knowing what history she
had heard as the history of his past life, he knew that it
must be painful to her to feel him near her. Knowing how
this story had been told her, and by whom, he realized the
fact that evermore there must be an impassable barrier be-
tween them, and that it would be kinder to leave her un-
troubled by his presence.
The ball was only half over when Royden Keith bade adieu
to his host and hostess, sorely against their wish. But he
had not descended the staircase when Captain Hervey Trent
came up to him.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
261
"Keith," he began, with a rather eager assumption of
familiarity, "stay a moment, will you? Honor has been ask-
ing me where you were, and she will be pleased with me, I
dare say, if I take you to her. Will you come?"
"Thank you," returned Royden, showing no impatience
for the speaker; "but Miss Craven did not, I fancy, send you
to summon me.
"Oh! certainly not."
'If she had done so, I would have returned with you at
As it is, you must excuse me.
""
once.
"She did really wonder where you were," persisted Hervey.
"They were talking of something nobody seemed to know
anything about, and she said you would tell us, if you had not
left. I know she would be glad if I took you back with me.
Come."
Quietly, and in very few words, Royden resisted the warm,
familiar invitation; but still Captain Trent was not to be so
easily shaken off.
""
Why is it, Keith," he asked, very skilfully, as he fancied,
treading ground which led to the solution of a troublesome
speculation of his, "that you have avoided Honor all night?
Has anything occurred?"
66
Anything occurred!" repeated Mr. Keith, with a glance
of slow and grave inquiry into his companion's face; "I do
not understand."
"I mean," explained Hervey, not comprehending this
glance, "I mean you will not mind what I am going to say,
I hope" he added, blushing like a girl, although they
were in comparative solitude on the staircase, "I mean have
you, or, I should say, is there anything serious between you
and Honor? You won't mind my asking, because I really am
so anxious on this point.
M
رو
66
Any affairs of Miss Craven's which she wishes you to
know, she will doubtless tell you herself."
"But just assure me of that," persisted Hervey, with his
characteristic density; "it will not make any real difference to
you, and it might make a world of difference to me.
""
"I fail to see the possibility."
"Stop," cried Hervey, overtaking him as he walked slowly
down the stairs and linking one arm in his; "don't be vexed,
for after all it is a natural question, and would give you no
trouble to answer.' ""
262
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY."
I
No trouble! Just then, too, when he had formed the de-
termination never to seek her companionship again, even, as
it had ever been, only for a few minutes at a time.
"Let me, as the elder man, Captain Trent, advise you to
leave every man to manage his own, affairs without interfer-
ence."
But Royden's reticence and this advice availed him nothing.
Hervey Trent was so determinately bent upon setting his own
mind to rest upon this one important point, and so terribly
anxious to hear from Mr. Keith's own lips that Honor Craven
and he were nothing to each other beyond ordinary acquaint-
ances, that he intruded his company upon Royden up to the
last moment such a thing was feasible, and reiterated, in va-
ried forms, his urgent request to be enlightened.
His heart, sore and troubled in its newly-gained knowledge
of that barrier which, perhaps forever, must be reared be-
tween them, Royden answered with a sadness which was yet
free from sarcasm or scorn.
But up to the last instant, Hervey was impervious to this.
Each one of his selfish, persistent questions touched an open
wound, and Royden, but for the strong command he put upon
himself, would have shaken the young man from him with
contempt. But, though his heart was sore and troubled, he
bore this probing quictly, answering only with negligence
where he might have answered with passion and contempt.
CHAPTER XXX.
Over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.
-TENNYSON.
THAT London season was a perfect dream of delight to
Phoebe Owen. She had never been accustomed to indulge in
fancies of any kind, but if she had, the wildest flight of her
fancy could not have soared to such splendor, and ease, and
variety as that in which she reveled now in Honor's shadow.
But not until months afterward did she understand how much
more of this happiness and unmixed pleasure had been owing
to Honor herself than to the constant round of gayety and
brilliancy to which she gave the credit.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
263
•
Never had Honor's nature held a grain of selfishness, but
in this wealthy, courted life of hers the fact was more appar-
ent to Phoebe than it had been in those old days at the
Larches. Perhaps this was because Phoebe's perceptions were
widening a little, now that the one idol on which for years
they had been centred was-unwillingly, forsooth, but not
the less ruthlessly-being withdrawn; but perhaps it was be-
cause the power which now lay in Honor's hands was broad
and great. In any case, the Kensington house was a home of
almost unreal happiness and splendor to Phoebe, and the ex-
ample of her cousin's life was of untold benefit to her.
Nor was she the only one to whom Honor made the grand
old mansion into a beautiful and tempting home. From
what, by her bright, unvarying kindness, and gentle, stead-
fast help, she had rescued Hervey, he could only fully recognize
a year afterward, when he declared, with a humiliation which
was new to him, yet of which he felt no shame:
.
"I can often see the pitiful sight of idle men lounging
about town, who are only just what I myself should have
been if Honor had not saved me; and, if I could do for them
what she has done for me, I would; but, then, it is only the
few who can do it.”
Thus, for Hervey and for Phoebe, Honor made a home to
which they were brightly welcomed, and in its happy light,
and under her loving influence, the old idle and selfish habits
fell from them, too sickly to bear this pure, bright atmos-
phere.
But this was not all the good that Honor did, even in the
very heart of that world of gayety and unrest, while she
reigned a queen triumphant, wielding her three-fold sceptre
of beauty, youth, and wealth. Few who met her in the brill-
iant saloons, where she was ever the prominent figure-wor-
shiped openly as one whom it was natural to worship-could
have guessed where many hours of the day had been spent,
or how those hours had been used. Few could have guessed
what generous gifts had been distributed quietly by the small
white hands which it was a privilege to touch. Few could
have guessed what comforting and strengthening words had
been uttered by the lips whose smile was reward for hours of
indefatigable attendance; and few could have guessed how
anxious to do good was the girlish heart whose zest in all
amusements was as fresh as if that heart were not strong and
steadfast for its work in the solemn battle of life.
264
t
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
No; few could have guessed, although there were times
when the girl drooped wearily under the burden of her great
responsibility, and could almost longingly recall that old life,
whose only gleam of brilliance had been day-dreams of wild
and sweet impossibilities. Her dreams were of the future
still-poor Honor!-when she allowed them to come at all;
but her own was not the central figure now, as it had been in
those old times; indeed, her own was rarely there at all; and
these dreams were all gray, and chill, and lonely. Now and
then, but rarely, came back to her that autumn day when she
had walked beside Royden while he told her how he loved her;
or that evening, when, in his own home, she had turned with
negligence from the same story. But when such memories.
did come she stifled them as if they hurt her, and then re-
turned those haunting dreams of the future, in which she saw
him always alone, solitary and unhappy; watched and sus-
pected; always alone in the crowds which clustered about him,
and even in whose merriment he joined-a man standing
apart. So she saw him, chastened in heart and intellect; and it
was this constant haunting thought of his grave and solitary
life which brought that dreamy sadness to her eyes so often,
and kept at bay all thought of love and close companionship.
They met often. In the whirl of life into which both were
so eagerly tempted, it was impossible it should be otherwise;
but there was always now a barrier between them which,
though invisible, was inexorably impassable; and which it
must be impossible ever to pass again, because neither could
speak of it unless in that horrible alternative of Lawrence
Haughton's carrying his threat into execution, and making
his suspicion public. As yet Mr. Haughton had taken no
step toward this result, beyond one more threatening inter-
view with Honor, in which he had shown her the burned scrap
of paper which he had so long guarded under lock and key,
and of which he had before only told her. Honor, standing
opposite him, while he insisted on showing it to her, bent
and examined it, though apparently the scarred fragment pos-
sessed little interest for her. Lawrence could not see her
eyes, and waited so long in vain for any remark which might
betray her conviction or fear, that at last, in despair, he re-
minded her harshly of this incontrovertible evidence. She
raised her face slowly, and answered in her usual tones:
.
'Dear Gabriel-those are the words you bid me read; but
I see no interest in them, Lawrence. I might easily write
'OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
265
4
such words of my own Cousin Gabriel, if I chose to any
one," she added, with peculiar emphasis.
And then she turned away, muttering that the room was so
warm it made her feel faint; and putting her hand to her
head, she closed her eyes one moment, turning white as death.
"The letter," observed Mr. Haughton, while he watched
her narrowly, "was written to the man who calls himself
Royden Keith, and it is so commenced-dear Gabriel-in a
lady's hand."
"I do not think so," replied Honor, in that quiet tone of
dissent to which her old guardian should have been accus-
tomed now. "We women, as a rule, use capitals in such a
case. I think these words came in the middle of the letter."
"Yet
"Absurd," interposed the lawyer, with impatience.
even if it were so, what difference would that make? If she
must call him dear Gabriel' in the middle of the letter as
well as at the beginning, like a love-sick-
(
"I do not understand the necessity of discussing this,
Lawrence."
Yes, you do you must," he retorted; "and you would
be mad to pretend that there is any loop-hole for escape from
my conviction.
To address the one to whom you write as
'dear Gabriel' is a pretty incontrovertible proof that Gabriel
is the name of the person to whom the letter is sent. You
see it so yourself, as plainly as I see it."
"Gabriel is not a-a very uncommon name," said Honor,
and Mr. Haughton's hopes rose a, little, for he read the
anguish of suspicion which she tried in vain to hide.
The interview had not ended there, for the old suit had
been again desperately urged, and the old promise repeated,
in vain; but after this he had taken no further step forward
in his threatened bringing to justice of old Myddelton's mur-
derer; and Honor rightly surmised that her old guardian was
too astute a lawyer to make his accusation public until he
held an unbroken thread of evidence.
Sometimes Honor and Theodora Trent met in society, but
not very often, as there were limits to the circle in which
Mrs. and Miss Trent displayed their graces, and even within
these limits, Honor Craven's presence was cagerly sought.
Except for a passing regret that old ties and memories could
be so ruthlessly snapped by jealousy, it made no difference to
Honor when Theodora happened to be in the same assembly.
She invariably spoke to her, though no longer like an old
266
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
friend, as she used to do, for Miss Trent's marked glances and
inuendoes could not be misunderstood. If it had been possi-
ble, Theodora would have robbed Honor of the admiration
and the love she gained so easily; but being utterly impossi-
ble, Miss Trent was fain to content herself with dropping
casual and infectious hints, or expressing all that looks and
gestures could express. And it could hardly be that these
poisonous words and glances could fall as harmlessly on every
one as they had fallen on Royden Keith.
In those meetings, which were so brief between himself
and Honor, she was ever very quiet, just as she might have
been if she had feared to trust herself. And he, noticing
that always at his coming there would fall over her face a
I stillness which looked like weariness, made those meetings
fewer and more brief as the London season neared its zenith.
Even Phoebe noticed that this silence fell upon her cousin
even when she only mentioned Royden's name, and it taught
the girl a new experience, and even a new wisdom. Her
cousin, whose love and brightness had made the only sun-
shine her life had ever held, who was so much better, and
wiser, and brighter than herself, though five years younger,
had some soreness at heart in spite of all the splendor and
the luxury about her, in spite of her beautiful houses and her
hosts of lovers, in spite of her talents and her great beauty.
The only relief for sorrow of any kind, which had come
within the radius of Miss Owen's imagination, was reciproc-
ity; yet Honor did not avail herself of this. Whatever this
soreness at heart might be, Honor bore it silently and alone,
letting no shadow of her grief fall upon the path she had
made so bright for others. It taught the elder girl a lesson,
too, of patience and unselfishness; not unneeded, though
Honor's daily example had made her now a pleasant com-
´panion, sympathetic, if still excitable, and kind in her harın-
less pursuit of pleasure. She was, as Hervey told her one
day, in a tone of approval, which was equally new and pleas-
ant to Phoebe, "losing her gushing proclivities, and was won-
derfully the gainer by the loss."
Gadg
And Hervey meant what he said. He had forgiven her in-
trusion into the Kensington mansion, because, under Honor's
skilful management, he was made to feel only the pleasant
effect of her society; and it was impossible, seeing Honor's
treatment of them both, for him to dream of Phoebe as an in-
terloper. So, gradually he grew to believe what Honor had
-
-
>
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
267
meant him to believe, that it was altogether a pleasant ar-
rangement. True, there were still times when he wished for
nothing on earth so strongly as Phoebe's absence; but then the
feeling wore itself out, as Honor's conduct to himself still con-
tinued to keep all lover-like ambition at bay, and still more
rapidly wore itself out as Phoebe's silly moods grew rarer; as
common sense leavened her ecstacies, and the desire to please,
rather than charm, lightened her somewhat heavy and dis-
jointed converse.
So life went on in London, and Honor, ever working cease-
lessly and patiently to probe that secret of old Myddelton's
murder, was still gay, and sweet, and piquant in the society
in which she was courted, walking, as it seemed, ever bright-
ly in her path of roses, though the burden of a pain, unshared
and unspoken of, pressed upon her.
She had arranged to go to Abbotsmoor early in July, and
though Phoebe could not look forward with unmixed pleasure
to leaving the London world, which was so full of delight for
her, she could still find solace in the prospect of reigning with
Honor in the now beautiful mansion, which, in their child-
hood, had seemed to them an Aladdin's palace in its shroud,
behind whose rust and cobwebs slept a wonderful grandeur.
In this grandeur she was to be almost equal to Honor, and
there would always be guests and gayety, although Honor
would be sure to work there in carrying out those curious
projects of hers for the good of the poor, who had been so
long neglected by the possessors of old Myddelton's money
and estate, and even for the good of many who, in the great
city, struggled upon the hard highway of life, or fell and
fainted on the battle-plain.
·
“And in all these things I shall be useless," mused Phoebe,
not-to her credit-in her unwillingness to help, but in the
consciousness of her own incapacity.
66 But," and this was
her consolatory conclusion, "June is not gone yet.
""
The certainty of this fact was especially refreshing to her
on the morning before the ball which Honor was to give in
her mansion at Kensington, on one of the last days of that
hot summer month.
"It will be such a superb party," Phoebe exclaimed, in
rapture; "won't it, Honor?"
Honor, smiling, said she hoped so, and then dreamed over
it quietly, seeing most clearly among the crowd that one figure
268
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.“
which, in those dreams of hers, always seemed to stand apart.
Surely for this night he would come, she thought.
"We are going away so soon, and he has accepted my invi-
tation. Oh! he is sure to come."
Merrily all that day the girls ran about the great house,
taking such a fresh and childish pleasure in the preparations
that great was the astonishment of the solemn servants, as
well as of the workmen and women, who found it hard to ply
their hammers and needles with a beseeming gravity.
"What are you thinking of, Honor?" inquired Phoebe,
when they sat resting over their afternoon tea.
"I was recalling," said Honor, sitting lazily opposite her
cousin, who, in a state of pride and suppressed excitement,
presided over the exquisite little tea equipage, I was recall-
ing the parties-rare as old china-which we used to have at
the Larches. Weren't we always in a state of ferment, little
Frau? And wasn't our anxiety intense over our dresses?"
"Mine was," modified Phoebe, with honesty. "And do
you remember how angry Jane used to be when you produced
some unexpected game or luxury, on which you had surrep-
titiously spent all your pocket-money, hoping to glean a lit-
tle fun from it?”
"Such humble purchases, too," mused Honor, smiling.
((
They seem so now," returned Phoebe, looking round the
beautiful rooms, and thinking of the gorgeous and lavish
preparations for Honor's ball; "but we thought them tre-
mendous then, and Jane always pronounced them absurd and
ruinous extravagance.
""
"I remember once, before a dinnor party," said IIonor,
laughing, "I went into Kinbury and speculated in a box of
crackers. It was Christmas-time, and they looked pretty,
and might provoke a laugh, I thought. I hid them away
when I got home, only intending to bring them out at the
last moment, for fear of not being allowed to exhibit them;
but of course Jane found them, and forbid me to put them.
on the table. Picture woe like mine!"
"I remember," said Phoebe, growing dismal over even the
recollection; "and I cried, and told Lawrence, and he scolded
Jane, and ordered them to be put just where you chose, and
you were vexed with me, and hid the crackers. And don't
you remember, Honor, that we found them the autumn
after, and took them with us to the Statton Woods when we
went to sketch; and Hervey joined us.
Oh, you remember!"
Oh, you
OLD MŸDDELTON'S MONEY.
269
cried Phoebe, springing up to look if Honor's cup was empty,
"and he wanted to crack them all with you, and pretended
the mottoes were true. Such a contrast to Mr. Keith, who
came with him that day, and never offered to crack one with
you, but all the while turned to me. It was a novelty to
me," concluded the elder cousin, smiling, "because Hervey
was always eager to join with you in everything; and as for
Lawrence
""
But Phoebe paused there. Not even yet could she finish
calmly any allusion to her guardian's indifference to herself,
and undisguised love for Honor, though each day-as she her-
self was now aware-it was growing easier for her.
"How many dances have you promised Hervey for to-
night?" inquired Honor, simply for the purpose of turning
the conversation. And from that point the girls' talk
hovered merrily about the coming ball, until their sociable
afternoon rest was over, and they ran off again to inspect the
hanging of the silver lamps which gleamed in purity among
the flowers.
"All finished now," said Honor, smiling at Phoebe's ec-
static gestures when they paid their last visit to the reception-
rooms, which from end to end were like a fairy palace of brill-
iancy and beauty, with softly-treading servants moving here
and there like phantom forms which should vanish when the
dazzling figures of the guests should take their place.
" All
finished, little Frau, and this may be a very happy night."
"Why only may be?" asked Phoebe. Of course it will
be; every single person you care for has accepted your invita-
tion, Honor. Why are you doubtful?"
"Because," said the girl, bringing her lustrous gaze from
the vista of drapery and exotics, "because I feel that this
night must be very happy, or very-come, though, let us
decorate ourselves, little Frau, now that the rooms are deco-
rated," and she turned and raced away from Phoebe, just as
she used to do when they were children, and the sturdy limbs
of the little Frau had no chance against the speed of her wil-
lowy little cousin.
Though Honor's rooms seemed filled with guests that night,
for her there was one great vacancy. The girlish hostess, in
her bright loveliness and thoughtful cordiality, seemed happy
and content amidst her guests, yet her heart beat painfully as
every name was announced, and her eyes saddened for a mo-
ment in the silence which followed.
}
270
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Eleven- twelve-one-two-three. The dawning of the
June morning, and Honor's guests folding their cloaks about
them-or allowing their partners to do so-and telling each
other that they never had enjoyed themselves so much before,
or that they were tired to death, as the case might be. The
sleepy coachmen drawing up their horses in the wide and
silent street, where the fair light of morning fell already.
Four! The last guest gone; the last sleepy footman clos-
ing his carriage-door upon torn lace and crumpled flowers; and
the last sleepy coachman driving his horses from before the
lighted mansion. A chilly silence, which must have crept in
with the dawn, had fallen upon the gorgeous rooms. Phoebe
was actually shivering when she ran back into the deserted
ball-room to look for her cloak. In an instant her searching
gaze was intercepted.
"C
Honor," she whispered, hurrying anxiously up to where
her cousin sat with her face hidden among the pillows of a
couch. "Honor, darling, what is it? Honor, dear," she
pleaded again, in the silence, "what is it?"
Her vocabulary was not varied, but her tone was anxious,
and Honor raised her head and smiled.
"Is it," questioned Phoebe, inquisitive in all her sympa-
thy, "because Mr. Keith did not come?"
I am tired, Phoebe. I-think that is all."
•
66
"And no wonder you are tired, Honor, I am sure," ex-
claimed Miss Owen; such a splendid ball, and you did your
part so nicely, too. But still," she added, watching Honor's
efforts to cast off this dreamy sadness, "it is strange about
Mr. Keith. He accepted your invitation, and sent no excuse
afterward. Yet he has always been so courteous that if he
had known he could not come, I'm sure he would have-
""
'He did not care to come, I think," said Honor, and rose
as wearily as if half a century, instead of half a day, had
rolled over her since she had raced up and down the stairs
with Phoebe.
"Oh! Honor," cried the elder cousin, quite ready to turn
the conversation, "what a successful ball it has been! As
Hervey says, everything you arrange must be a success. He
says he never enjoyed a ball so much in his life, and though
my experience hasn't been very large, as you will say, I say
so, too, as seriously as he said it. How kind you were to him
to-night, Honor, and yet-___"}
"What?" asked Honor, absently, when she paused.
1
'OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
241
"I was going to say," replied Phoebe, "and yet you never
seemed before so utterly unconscious of his attentions, and
were only kind to every one the same.
""
1
"You were kind to Hervey, too, I'm glad to say, dear lit-
tle Frau," said Honor, ready, as she always was, to sympa-
thize with every feeling of others, let her own thoughts or
pain be what it would.
"To-morrow," whispered Phoebe, when the girls parted at
last in Honor's dressing-room, "Mr. Keith is to be one of
Lady Somerson's party for the Opera, and he will explain his
absence to-night.
<<
""
"Yes," said Honor, gently, as she returned her cousin's
kiss, and knew the words had been said to cheer her.
"Per-
haps he will."
It may have been that anticipation which had brought the
brilliance back to her eyes when she stood beside Phoebe's
bed, in the bright summer noon.
"Up already!" exclaimed Miss Owen, rising to a sitting
posture, and gazing astonished into the bright, sweet face.
"I have been up a long time," smiled Honor; "I have
been walking in the gardens. It is such a beautiful morning,
Phoebe."
"We have four engagements for to-day," cried Miss Owen.
"Oh! I'm glad you woke me, Honor. I will ring at once.
All that day there was an excitement about Honor which
puzzled Phoebe not a little; an excitement which made her
beauty dazzling to many eyes that night, when she sat in Lady
Somerson's box at Drury Lane, and waited, to all seeming,
only for the rising of the curtain.
""
"Honor”—Sir Philip was whispering to her from his seat
behind-"Keith was to have joined us here to-night, but I
suppose we shall be disappointed, as we were last night. Of
course, you understand his absence, though we do not?"
"No, Sir Philip."
A look of surprise passed between the baronet and his wife.
"Then who can do so?" wondered Lady Somerson.
""
"I-
But Honor's answer broke off into a subdued
exclamation as the orchestra struck up the opening bars of
the overture. "It is Faust!' I-I forgot."
6
Lady Somerson looked down wonderingly into her favorite's
face. She had no remembrance of that night at Deergrove
when Royden Keith had asked her to sing as Marguerite to
242
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
his Faust; and she could not understand why the girl's face
should grow so white and sad. Of course Honor had heard
the opera often, both abroad and at home, but never, as now,
had it brought back, with a vivid reality, that summer even-
ing when, in his quiet, masterly way, he had made her sing
with him, and made that singing different from all other sing-
ing she had ever joined in.
Lady Somerson grew unaccountably anxious and ill at ease;
and but that she saw Honor had no wish to leave the theatre,
she would willingly herself have forfeited the opera, that she
might take the girl away. No; though so white and still,
Honor sat engrossed, breathing softly, and drinking in, with
intense sympathy, the passion and the pathos of the music,
and of the scenes before her.
The curtain fell at last, and the hearts that had ached, and
the eyes that had wept, met each other with smiles and jests.
But Honor's face had not regained its color, nor had the
dreamy sadness left her eyes, though she received with pleas-
ant thanks the eagerly offered attentions of the gentlemen
who clustered into Sir Philip's box, hating each other piously
during the doubtful moments before Sir Philip came to the
fore, and frankly chose her an escort.
"You will go home with Lady Somerson to supper, Honor,
won't you?" whispered Phoebe. "She asked us because we
are going with her to Lord Selie's, and it will be so nice.
Will you?"
"If you wish it," said Honor, gently; and they went.
But Lady Somerson, in her kind-heartedness, saw more
than Phoebe did, and more than Hervey, who, to his delight,
was included in the invitation to Sir Philip's "opera supper.
She knew, too, what Honor would like; so, when the time
came for them to adjourn to Lord Selie's assembly (in which
she knew only too well that the old programme would be re-
peated, and that Honor must receive the ever-recurring
routine of flattery and pursuit), Lady Somerson coolly an-
nounced her intention of staying at home, smiling a little,
just as if she had done a clever thing, when she placidly re-
ceived Honor's request to stay with her.
""
As the girl's own chaperon was not of Lady Somerson's
party that night, Phoebe was placed under Sir Philip's es-
pecial care, but, at the last moment, she turned with a touch
of self-denial which Honor was quick to appreciate.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
273
"Let me stay with you," she whispered. " or let us go home
together. I can see that you are tired, and not well. I
would rather go home with you, Honor.'
"Why, my dear little Frau," said Honor, brightly, "I am
staying at home for my own pleasure, and it would be quite
spoiled unless you go for yours. Good-night. Good-night,
Hervey. No need to say I hope you will enjoy yourselves.
Captain Trent stood dubiously and dolefully beside her,
trying in vain to make her comprehend how impossible for
him was any enjoyment in which she did not participate, and
how much happier he would be to stay with her. But this
was Lady Somerson's house, and he had been invited with
the understanding that he was engaged afterward, as were
the whole party. So Hervey, still a salient worshiper of
good form, knew that such a communication would be in bad
taste.
Sir Philip Somerson had, for the first two minutes, won-
dered over his wife's change of plan, but her motive had then
dawned upon him, and he took Phoebe under his protection,
in his courtly, genial way.
When she and Honor were left alone together, Lady Som-
erson, moved by some uncontrollable impulse, put her arms
about the girl who, though so rich and idolized, was young
and motherless. Then she kissed her softly, and began to
chat in a tone which seemed quite easy in its intense kind-
ness.
and
"Now, Honor, darling, you and I are going to have a
quiet, enjoyable time, but I am so liberally endowed with
that essentially feminine virtue which laid Eden waste, that
I must take one step before I can experience any 'peace of
mind, dearer than all.' First of all I ring for tea; no two
women ever did sit down to spend a few hours together with-
out requiring tea, did they? But I am ringing for another
purpose, too, for I want to send a message of inquiry to Jer-
myn street."
She did not glance toward Honor either as she spoke or
while she gave the message to the footman, but, when she
did look, she fancied there was more of relief upon the girl's
face than surprise.
"Yes," she continued, standing at the tea-table, as the
door closed behind the servant, "I must satisfy my womanly
inquisitiveness, and I do not expect one of my own sex to
blame me-remember that, my dear."
כוּ
274
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.'
A whole hour passed before the man returned with his
tidings, and that hour the two friends spent pleasantly, as
two friends can spend an hour in ease and indolence, when
no gaunt secret or mist of suspicion and distrust hovers be-
tween them.
"What is it?"
The servant had returned, and Lady Somerson turned her
head lazily, as it seemed, for his message; yet she need hardly
have schooled her face, for Honor's eyes-lustrous in their
great and speechless anxiety-were fixed only upon this pos-
sible bearer of a message from Royden Keith.
"I saw Mr. Pierce, my lady, as you wished.
He was very
anxious. He had sent off one of Mr. Keith's grooms to
Westleigh Towers to inquire if his master was there, and
another to Kinbury; he himself was just coming here to see
Sir Philip even late as it is. He is alarmed, I think, my
lady, about his master."
"What do you mean? What did he say-exactly?"
Honor's eyes had not stirred from the man's face; her hands
were locked together in her lap, and her breath came quickly
and irregularly as she waited.
"He said, my lady, that last night, just as Mr. Keith was
going to start to Kensington, to Miss Craven's ball, a message
was brought him, which was to be delivered specially and pri-
vately to himself, and so which, of course, Mr. Pierce did not
hear. He said, my lady, that this message must have changed
all his master's plans, for he went out at once with the mes-
senger, never mentioning where he was going, or when he
should return. The messenger was a woman, my lady, which
Mr. Pierce thought very curious and suspicious; and he is
sure his master intended to return directly, because he only
put an overcoat on, and went as he was, in full dress.
he did not return, my lady-he never has returned."
Yet
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
275
$
¿
CHAPTER XXXI.
Suffer love: a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love
thee against my will.
-Much Ado About Nothing.
IN the pretty blue sitting-room, to which only a very few
of Miss Craven's friends ever penetrated, Phoebe Owen sak
next morning, looking out upon the passers-by, yet without
criticising or studying their dress, as it had been her wont to
do. In fact, she only looked down upon them by force of
habit, and hardly saw them as she did so. There lay a new
novel on the window-seat beside her, but for almost an hour
its pages had not been turned.
Phoebe was thinking. It was a new art she had acquired,
and it sat rather unfamiliarly upon her, but still the power
lent her fair Dutch face a charm which it had never pos
sessed while all her thought had been concentrated on her
own shallow plans. Phoebe could feel now how those old
years had been wasted; and while she felt, as she often did,
that the evil could never be undone, she was unconsciously
undoing it. That regret for her own selfish and useless girl-
hood had only fluttered regretfully through her thoughts to-
day, for they had been centred in loving anxiety upon her
cousin.
"I cannot understand it," she mused, leaning her head
upon one plump hand, "I wish I could, and I wish I could
help her.
But somehow it seems as if no one could help her;
while she, even in her own anxiety, seems helping us all. She
never even pretended to go to bed last night-this morning,
I mean, for I was late returning, though Honor had promised
to wait for me at Lady Somerson's. I went to bed and fell
asleep at once, never guessing that Honor was not in bed, too.
And her maid says she changed her dress, and sat quite still
in her own room, reading and thinking, until it was possible
to send for Mr. Stafford. Does she really think that he can
explain this mysterious disappearance of Mr. Keith? Why
should it alarm her-for that it does I am quite sure, though
she smiles and only says, 'Perhaps he was called suddenly
abroad.' As if that were possible, and his valet not even
know of it. How I wish Honor would come in here! She
said she would, so I will wait, but she is a long time. Mr.
276
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Stafford has been here an hour or more. I wish she would
come; but I wish, above all things, that I could help her.”
And the wish was earnest and unselfish, as few of Phoebe's
wishes had ever been before, and she had little idea-as she
mused of the change in Honor of the still greater, though
so different, change in herself.
Yes, I will wait, because Honor said she would come.
And for the twentieth time she took up her book to read,
while her eyes were raised to the door every minute, and her
ears were open for the sound of a light footfall.
Phoebe had said truly that the lawyer had been for more
than an hour closeted with Honor, but even when he rose to
go, he had not dispelled the puzzled sadness on her face, and
had gathered a great concern on his own.
،،
"It is too long ago, Miss Craven," he said, again and again,
most regretfully. Except in the very improbable case of a
confession from a possible murderer, no clew to hang sus-
picion on another can arise now. I have done all that can be
done, so far as I may say so, but I have not met with the
faintest shadow of success, and I fear I must add that I do
not expect ever to do so."
"You will not cease this effort you are making?" urged
Honor.
"I will not indeed," he answered, with gentle cordiality,
grieved to see what he thought such futile earnestness, know-
ing that, in spite of his great anxiety to serve her, he was
powerless to do so in this matter.
"I know you will not; I know you are very kind," she said,
wistfully and humbly enough to show that it was possible to
be young and beautiful and wealthy, yet to have the longing
of the heart unsatisfied; "and I feel that it will be possible-
only so very hard-to prove at last the innocence of Gabriel
Myddelton, my cousin."
""
With a new curiosity in his gaze, the old lawyer looked
down upon his client.
"It would be wiser, my dear Miss Craven, to let the matter.
rest. But as you evidently think otherwise," he added,
changing his tone when he saw her eyes sadden, "I will think
otherwise as far as I can-at any rate we will do all that is
possible. One of my clerks is at Abbotsmoor now, but as I
told you, his searches and inquiries seem utterly unavailing.
She thanked him for all his help and promises, and he
made a kind, vain effort to cheer her; then he went away,
´ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Bry
with his thoughts so full of the sad young face and earnest
voice that he started from his long reverie in surprise to find
that he had been driven two miles beyond his office door.
Left alone again, Honor tried to draw her thoughts away
from this haunting subject.
"I will go to Phoebe," she said, and yet she lingered in her
*solitude, struggling with her restlessness and uneasiness.
"You know whom alone I could ever ask to be my wife;
and knowing this, you understand what a lonely life mine
will be."
The words came back to her just as Royden had uttered
them at Westleigh Towers nearly two years before, and she
could not shake off their memory. She sat down to the piano
and began to play, hoping that the chords might silence
these words, but somehow they fitted to them all. Suddenly
she rose with a sigh of pain, for her hands and thoughts
straying after melodies she knew-had unconsciously fallen
upon the sad but exquisite funeral music of "Lucia di Lam-
mermoor," and its pathos and tenderness were more than she
could bear just now.
Covering her face with her hands, she tried to shame away
these haunting thoughts of Royden. She tried to bring him
before her as a man who lived with a false character, under a
false name and false pretences, but he would not live so in her
mind even for one minute, and she knew that, under all her
pain for him, most strong and steadfast was the longing to
see him.
"I will go to Marie," she said at last, rising and pushing
the hair from her white face; "she will wonder why I have
not been."
Marie Verrien rose from her work when Honor entered the
neat and pretty little room, and moved to meet her. This
she did each day now, to show, in eager gratitude, how her
strength was truly-though so very gradually-returning to
her, in her new life of ease and abundance.
"A little farther again to-day, Marie," said Honor, her
own sorrows set aside, as they always were, beside the sorrow
and the joy of others. "It is wonderful; you will walk
down-stairs soon.
"It is a little farther to-day, Miss Craven," said the lame
girl, looking proudly back along the few yards she had
walked. "I had grown frightened, wondering why you did
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
not come, and that made me walk farther, being so rejoiced
to see you coming in."
Honor gently led the girl back to her seat, then sat with
her, talking of her work, her reading, her thoughts, a hun-
dred things which cheered Marie and made the time pass de-
liciously, until the hour for the poor girl to be wheeled out
into the sunshine, as she was wheeled at Honor's wish every.
day, this change being an inexpressible treat to one who had.
so much of "lying still" in her life.
"You have been writing, I suppose, Marie?" said Honor,
pointing to an open desk, which had been a present from
Lady Lawrence to the girl whom she had often chosen, for
purposes of her own, to give hard words.
(C
No," Miss Honor," said Marie, with one of her frequent
attacks of shyness, "I have not been writing. I have only
been looking at my photographs. I have but three, but those
three I can never look at too often. You remember this,
Miss Craven ?"
As she spoke, she took from her desk a photograph Honor
had seen one day in the little kitchon at East Cottage, and
she laid it gently in Honor's outstretched hand.
"I have seen it," said Honor, hurriedly, and passed it
back.
But in the next instant she had drawn her hand toward her
again, and had bent her eyes gravely on the picture. There
sat Royden on his own wide, solitary hearth, with his dogs
about him, and a deep thoughtfulness within his eyes; and
as she looked, those words rushed back again, and filled her
eyes with tears:
"Knowing this, you understand what a lonely life mine
must be."
With a lingering gesture which was pitifully tender, she
laid the photograph back in its place. Then she took up an
inartistic portrait of Marie's father, and talked brightly and
pleasantly of the little Frenchman, until Marie's heart was
full of loving pride and pleasure; and until a servant came to
summon her, and Honor nodded a bright good-bye.
Phoebe was not alone when Honor joined her after Marie's
departure. Captain Trent had just been admitted, and was
now, like Phoebe, watching the door for Honor's entrance.
She welcomed him with all her old brightness, though not.
with her old raillery, and in a few minutes the cousins were
chatting pleasantly together, though Phoebe's curious eyes
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEYPEN
279
.
were not satisfied with Honor's smile, nor did the ears of Cap-
tain Trent deceive him when he missed some ring of bright-
ness in her tone. So thoroughly happy she made them in her
presence, though-as she always could do that they were
only half convinced of their fancies.
The Duchess of Hartreigh, a pompous old lady, whose one
strong effort through this season had been to forward her
son's eager courtship of the girl-millionaire, called at
luncheon-time, and so Hervey stayed too, and they had
quite a merry meal; but nothing would persuade Honor to
accept the duchess' urgent entreaty that she would take a
seat in her carriage for the Park, where-after allowing due
time for her shopping-the wily old lady knew that her son
would be waiting to join them.
"But you will go with us, Honor?" pleaded Phoebe, when
the ducal vehicle had rolled pompously away.
"Our pres-
ence was your excuse, so it will be quite natural for you to go
with us.
""
66
Quite natural," assented Honor, tiredly; "but I would
rather I do not care for that crowd in the Park to-day,
Phoebe."
S
Still, when she saw a cloud fall on Phoebe's face at this re-
fusal, she changed her mind. It would give her cousin real
enjoyment, as it always did, and the chief pleasure which
Honor's unselfish nature knew was that of rendering others
happy. So, with a smile and a kiss, she promised to go; and,
as they drove round and round the well-worn track-Hervey
only one now of the many gentlemen who sought a footing,
for himself or his horse, beside the splendid carriage-many
an envious thought and glance were given her by hearts far
lighter, and eyes that had never known such tears as Honor
had shed that day.
"May I come in to-night?" asked Hervey, when he parted
from them at the door. "I am under a promise to dine with
my aunt and Theodora, but may I come to you afterward?"
"smiled Honor; "you ought to stay with them.
suppose it is of no use my sending any message to Theo, she
has quite cut off an old acquaintanceship with us?"
66
I
"Lucky thing for you," put in Captain Trent, briskly.
"So has Jane," continued Honor, not heeding his remark.
"I have had such a very emphatic refusal of my last invita-
tion to her."
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OLD MYDNELTON'S MONEY.
ག
"Another lucky thing for you. I shall come, Honor,
please," he urged, with perseverance. "If the house is closed,
I can but go back to my own quarters.
""
CHAPTER XXXII.
1 will (he cried), so help me God! destroy
That viilain Archimage (the demon of indolence).
THOMSON.
}

HONOR and Phoebe were alone together when Captain Trent
came in, after his visit to Mrs. and Miss Trent in Harley
street. The girls had spent a quiet evening at home, and
though Phoebe had looked upon herself in the light of a vol-
untary martyr when she had insisted on staying at home be-
cause Honor would, she found she was very thoroughly enjoy-
ing the novelty of an unengaged night.
She looked into Hervey's face when he entered, and in a
moment betrayed her surprise, for it was evident that he had
been terribly excited.
Honor had looked up, too, when he entered, and saw the
change in an instant, but this change hardly seemed to sur-
prise her. The traces of angry excitement improved him,
and the restraint which he had evidently put upon himself
gave a new strength to his features and a glimpse of steady
courage to his face.
"Are they well in Harley street?" asked Honor, when,
without his characteristic languor, he had taken a seat beside
her.
"Yes, quite well-thank you, Honor."
.
The last words were uttered in his usual tone, but the first
were sharply, almost viciously, spoken. Then he fell into a
moody silence, while Honor wondered whether he wished to
tell them what was vexing him, or whether he might think
it an intrusion on his thoughts; and while Phoebe sat quite
still, and by the absence of her vague and gushing questions
showed to him, more plainly than aught else could have
shown it, the change which these last few months had
wrought in her.
"I was afraid you would have engagements for to-night,"
he said, presently.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
281
"Honor did not wish to go out," replied Phoebe, quietly,
"so. I would not.”
Another proof of the change in her, and Hervey was not
slow to appreciate it.
"I have had a nice evening," he said, sarcastically, be-
traying at once not only his willingness to tell all they wished
to hear about himself, but even his anxiety to do so.
"Honor, just think of my aunt seizing upon me directly I
arrived, and hinting-very strongly hinting, if it could be
called anything really short of plainly speaking out-that it
was high time for me to arrange about my marriage! She
supposed I should never be any richer-or a more desirable
husband-than I am now, and so it was childish to wait any
longer. Of course she had hoped that I should have been old
Myddelton's heir; but that since"
"Never mind," said Honor, quietly, when Hervey, stran
gling the words upon his lips, rose excitedly and paced to
and fro in the room. "It would be better not to tell us at
all, Hervey; but certainly do not repeat what relates to me."
"How she dare say it!" fumed Hervey. "I-it was no
wonder I lost command over myself, and told her a little-I'm
sorry now to remember how little it was-of my opinion of
her."
"Hush, Hervey-do not tell us that."
"I must," he cried; "I must tell you, Honor; I must tell
both of you, for the words seem bursting from me, and—and
there are resolutions struggling behind, which I must ntter
aloud to you. No one ever helps me but you, Honor-do let
me tell. Theo herself came in then, and-and I really do
not quite know what she said. She supposed that we were
to marry; she had always supposed it; and it was just as well
it should be now-a marriage in the season was a little less of
a bore than a marriage out of the season; and as it had always
seemed to be an arranged plan-bah! I can repeat no more of
her cold, selfish, heartless words. Honor, there has never
been one word of marriage uttered between us-never, on my
honor as a gentleman; and why should there be now, when
the prospect of à future spent with Theodora would hang
over me like a curse? I told her-
"Hervey," pleaded Honor, gently, "I wish you would not
tell us."
""
"I must," he answered, stopping to entreat her patience
by a glance, "At last," he went on, modifying his words
282
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
when he saw how thoroughly she was in earnest, "I will not
tell you all she said, for it is too contemptible even to be re-
membered; but I must tell you that I did not utter one
taunting reminder of her pursuit of Royden Keith, when
she taunted me of-taunted me, and stung me almost to
madness."
"Sit down, Hervey," said Honor, gently, "and ring the
bell, please. We will have one of the petits soupers you like
Bo much."
"Oh, Honor," he panted, standing before her for à mo
ment, "such a scene as that would have aroused any man.
To be expected to live all your life with a woman who cannot
utter one kind word of those who are dearer to you than life
itself, and to find so suddenly that you are as much to blame
as she! Oh, Honor, what a lazy, inert, selfish life I have led!
How can I blame Theodora for taking my bondage for granted,
when I made no effort to prove myself free? It all came to
me so wretchedly to-night; and, but for the lessons I have
learned in this dear home of yours, I should have been more
unmanly than I have ever been. But your lessons and your
help have not been all in vain, Honor; and though I grew
half maddened there, I did not speak a word that even you
might not have heard; and though, in my anger, I declared I
should tell you what they said of you, I have not done so-I
would not have done so even if you had not silenced me. As
for what Theo said of Phoebe-
""
"Does not your promise for silence hold good as regards
Phoebe, too?" inquired Honor, smiling, as she laid her hand
on Phoebe's.
"Yes. I told them I wished they could see how different
she was from-
""
"Come, Hervey, do ring. We are hungry. See how late.
it is; and Phœbe has been playing to me for hours."
"Honor always pretends she likes me to play to her," put
in Phoebe, deprecatingly; "but, of course, she only pre-
tends. Mine are all stupid pieces, and I play them generally
wrong, too."
"Phoebe," said Hervey, pausing Lefore her, and speaking
with a glimpse of simple, courageous earnestness, which
showed him in the colors of true manliness at last, "neither
you nor I can ever know why Honor is so good to us; for, in
old times, I galled her with my shallow patronage, and you
allowed her to deny herself perpetually for you. We-we
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
283
?
can only gratefully accept her goodness, and try-as I will try
harder than ever from to-night-to repay her in the way she
iikes best. Don't cry, Phoebe," he added, while the tears
were very near his own eyes too; "don't be offended with me
for the thoughtless words I have said to-night. Let us be
good friends always. May we?"
"Yes, yes," cried Phoebe, heartily, as she laid her plump
little hand in Hervey's proffered palm; "and you will not
think of me according to what Theodora says, Hervey?”
"Never. I will think of you only according to my own
judgment; or, better still, according to what Honor says."
You think of Honor," whispered Phoebe, softly,
your good angel, Hervey."
(6
"I do," he answered, thoughtfully; "I have cause to do
so when I recollect from what she saved me. I have tried to
be different-I have, indeed-but from to-night I will try
harder still. I will waste no more days in self-love and indo-
lence-no more. Will you take my hand, Honor, in registra-
tion of that vow?"
as
Mutely Phoebe sat and waited. After Honor's ready hand-
clasp and cheering words, would he seek hers, too?
Yes; he came toward her in this new, quiet earnestness of
his, and held his hand for hers.
"I think," said Phoebe, softly, "that you will not regret
this scene with Theodora, Hervey."
Nor did he.
The dainty little supper was quite a cheerful meal, while
still Honor's eyes were, as they had been all day, keenly and
painfully alive to every sound, and her eyes had a dreamy,
waiting look, lying behind their warm, bright smile.
The cousins were standing together, about to separate, when
the peal of the visitors' bell woke the silence of the house.
Honor, unconscious what she did, started back with one
quick, in-drawn breath; and both to Hervey and to Phoebe,
then, was it plain that she had dreaded tidings of some kind.
They saw her face grow deadly white, though the name an-
nounced was a friendly and familiar one.
"Sir Philip Somerson."
They saw her strive, as she went forward to meet him, to
hide the anxiety which burned almost feverishly in her beau-
tiful eyes. They saw that the baronet met her very gravely
and very pitifully; and, seeing this, they knew that the tid-
ings which he bore could not be happy ones.
284
OLD MÝDDELTON'S MONEY.
#
CHAPTER XXXIII.
He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small:
For the great God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
·
-COLERIDGE.
Two nights before this, Royden Keith, just as he had
finished dressing for Honor Craven's ball, had been inquired
for by a stranger.
"A woman, sir-and she will not give her message to me."
So Pierce had said, and Royden, without demur, had sent
for her to his presence.
"I am come, sir," said the woman, giving her message a
little hurriedly; "from one who is dying, and who prays to
see you first. She bade me give no name. I was only to say
this: Would you give further help to the mother whose child
you once saved?"
"I remember," said Royden, without any hesitation. "I
will come."
He did not give utterance to the surprise he felt at hearing
that the woman who had seemed to shrink from him each
time he saw her at Abbotsmoor, and had secretly eluded him
at last, to escape to London, had yet sought him out, and
sent for him in her last hour. He saw that this messenger
was in total ignorance of all save her own errand; and he saw,
too, that she was anxious to return. So he threw a loose gray
cloak over his evening dress, and followed her. She started
on in front, as if she knew only the task of acting as guide,
but he soon overtook her and called a cab.
"Please stop in St. Paul's Church-yard," she said to the
cabman, in a quick, business-like voice; and Royden wondered
how it could be that the timid, country-bred woman from
that cottage in the green lanes near Abbotsmoor, could have
voluntarily come to live in the very heart of the city.
"I told him to stop here," Royden's guide said, when they
left the cab, and turned into Dean's Court, "because the
wheels sound so noisy sometimes, however high up the rooms
may be. This way, please, sir.'
""
They walked for a few minutes along narrow thoroughfares,
whose only radiance was their tavern windows, then stopped
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
285
before a tall, gaunt house, whose lower windows were all
dark.
Following the light his guide carried, Royden climbed the
steep, bare stairs, flight after flight, until she stood before a
closed door and waited for him.
"This is the room, sir," she whispered; "I am not coming
in, but I will be ready if you want me. I live a few doors
lower down the street, but she and me" (pointing to the
closed door) "made friends a bit, finding trouble had visited
us both. I like to do all I can for her, just as I believe she
would have done it for me; so I'll wait below, sir, and be
ready if you call me. Margaret my name is-so is hers, and
that drew us together a bit, too. It takes no stronger a tie
than that sometimes to draw together two that, but for each
other, might starve up here, and die without a friendly word
or glance. Margaret, sir, don't forget."
She turned away without waiting for any answer, and
Royden looked after her pitifully. Surely here a helping
hand and heart were needed!
He quietly opened the door to which he had been guided,
and found himself in a small room, neat and clean, but hold-
ing no occupant. Opposite him another door stood ajar, and
when he had knocked upon that, a slow and heavy voice bade
him come in.
In this room a woman lay upon a small bed, facing the
open window, before which a candle burned steadily in the
heavy city atmosphere of the June night. In a moment he
recognized the face upon the pillows, though the cheeks were
gaunt and hollow, and the eyes (beyond their old hunted
look) had a feverish fire in their depths, as they rested fixedly
upon a child who lay sleeping in a tiny bed beside her own.
"I am come," said Royden, in his kind and quiet tones;
and he laid his fingers on the burning hand which rested
heavily upon the coverlet.
The dying woman's eyes turned swiftly from the child, and
fastened themselves upon the handsome, pitiful face beside
her. Royden drew a chair up to the bed, and sat thero
easily; just as if waiting were not wearisome to him.
"How is the boy?" he asked, pleasantly meeting the steady
gaze.
66
"Well," she answered, the word dropping slowly from her
dry lips. Well, but you saved him-only to be left-alone
-at last."
*
·
286
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
:
•
"Alone? Is there no one-
66
'No one," she answered; the words were a terrible effort to
her, as her eyes grew wider in their speechless questioning.
"What can I do?"
??
"Your kind neighbor," suggested Royden, his thoughts
wandering from the words he uttered.
"No," she answered, moving her hand backward and for-
ward in its heavy restless weakness. "I have no neighbors.
I was afraid of them. You mean the one who fetched you.
She is-poor-and sickly. It would be cruel."
"Do not fear, then," said Royden, very quietly. "Your
boy shall be taken care of; I promise this."
"He-he has a little money-a little his father's," she
said, a momentary feverish joy brightening her eyes, and
fading again as suddenly. "I shall not leave him in poverty.
But alone, and in this great world of"
"He shall not be alone," said Royden.
care and guidance while he is young, and
older.'
""
ས
"He shall have
help when he is
She did not answer this, and he even fancied that the
longing terrible in its keen anxiety-of her feverish eyes
grew more and more intense now that his promise was given.
Some anguished doubt was weighing on her mind, as he saw;
but how could he help to fathom it, unless he uttered words
which should betray his own suspicions?
"The money is there," she said, pointing to a worn bank-
book which lay beside her on the bed! "Take it-and--
dying I know you will keep your-promise. Two years
ago, when you saved him-I trusted you; I could not help
it; but when you asked me-
>>
A sudden pause, for her voice failed; but in the long silence
that searching gaze grew inexpressibly painful in its mute
questioning.
"Margaret," said Royden, bending above the troubled
face, and speaking very low and kindly, "you have something
to tell me which you ought to tell before you meet your
Judge in Heaven.”
A spasm of pain shot across the hot face, so rapid that in
one second it had passed.
"I-cannot- "the words faltered and fell brokenly now
through her stiff lips. "I cannot-nor dare-I meet-my
Judge."
3
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
287
}
}
1
!
If it had not been for this unexpected message, Royden
Keith would now have been participating in a scene of brill-
iancy and mirth most utterly opposed to this dying hour, and
he would have been gay among the gay. But he had no
thought now for that scene-no memory of it even. « His
post of duty lay before him here, and in that earnest, stead-
fast faith which belonged to him he was able to brighten and
cheer this dying bed, and gently lead the groping soul a little
nearer to its God.
"It is a mist," she said, raising one hand for a moment,
as if she would cut through the space before her, while Roy-
den whispered to her of Him who is always waiting to par-
don and save; who not only standeth at the door in His great
patience, but knocketh untiringly.
"I know He is there-I have known it for years, but I-I
want to feel His hand, to see His face, and-and something is
between us.
""
Again the words ended suddenly and shortly, in the raised,
feverish tones, and the mute, eager question of the dying eyes
spoke vaguely and miserably in the silence, a silence broken
presently by Royden's voice, as, on his knees beside the bed,
he pleaded with the Father for this troubled child. The
woman's hard, quick breath was softened as she lay and list-
ened.
"Oh! my dear Lord," she sobbed, when Royden's voice
was hushed, "accept that prayer for me.'
""
When he rose, he took a Bible which he saw lying open on
a chair, and softly read- to her the Saviour's precious words of
pardon and of promise. And while he did so, the eyes, which
he could not see, lost somewhat of their troubled fixity of
gaze, and there struggled into them a gleam of hope.
"She read to me," the woman faltered, with a faint gesture
toward the closed door, "but she read of other things. There
was always-the great white Throne-always; and I could
see Him there-a Judge, my Judge; and she read-it might
be only once, but I heard it afterward in every line-that all
liars shall have their part-ah! I forgot it all while you read.
I-I saw Him-a Father-ready to pardon me-waiting to
pardon me. I-shall see other things-clearly if-if you
help me still."
And while the quiet hours of the June night stole on,
Royden's own kind words, and those calm and wondrous
words he read, did help her.
288
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
The candle had burned down to its socket, and the faint
summer dawn was creeping through the open window, when
the neighbor who had fetched Royden entered with a cup of
tea for the sick woman. Instinctively he made a movement
then to leave the room, but suddenly all the wistful, troubled
eagerness returned to the wide eyes upon the pillow.
I
"You go, Margaret," the dying_woman cried, with an
entreating gesture; "let him stay. I-I have something to
tell him."
Yet still, when left again with Royden, she lay in silence,
and told nothing.
Then the hours crept on again, until the light fell straight
from heaven upon the dying face to which no sleep had come;
and to which no sleep would ever come again, until one last
touch should close the troubled eyes forever.
Just as Royden returned to the bedroom, after carrying
away the smoldering candle, the little boy awoke; and, wak-
ing just as he had fallen asleep, with a vague sense of misery
and loneliness upon him, he stretched out his hands to his
mother, and sobbed as if his little frame could not contain its
load of fear and grief. The mother, powerless in her weak-
ness, saw Royden take the child tenderly within his arms, and
heard the sobs grow faint and few at last upon his breast.
Then her long, watchful silence was broken sharply, a light
broke across the fixed gaze, and with sudden, feverish
strength, she rose in her bed.
"I want-a magistrate!" she cried, and clasped her burn-
ing hands. "It is all clear before me now. My child-it
was for my child I feared-but he will not suffer. I read
that in your face. Ah! God is good-so good—and it is not
too late! Let me-see-a magistrate!"
"I will bring one," said Royden, gently putting the child
out of his arms.
66
No, no," she cried again, "not you, for it may be too
late. Let her go. Call her; say 'Margaret,' and she will
come. Let her go.
She will understand, and she knows
London. She will manage, as she managed to-to bring
you."
Almost like one in a dream, Royden returned to the sick
room, after having dispatched the neighborly woman who
waited to be useful. Was the end of his long search near at
last?
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
289
1
"Will he be in time?" moaned the sick woman, when once
more he took his place beside her, and the little boy crept up
and climbed to lay his head on his shoulder.
I think so.
He will soon be here."
"But I am dying fast, am I not?"
Not for the world would Royden have concealed the truth
from one whose every breath might be her last; but he ut-
tered it so kindly, and touched with such faith upon the hap-
piness beyond, that a glance almost as peaceful as a smile
shone in her eyes when they met his.
"Let me bid him good-bye."
Royden laid the child upon the bed and turned away. That'
long, last parting between mother and son was most sacred in
his eyes.
"You have promised," she whispered, wistfully, when Roy-
den came presently to take the child from the bed.
"You
have promised to help him—that his life may be different
from his mother's. There is the book-it is but little-yet
his father wished-
""
"It shall be used wisely for him," Royden said, holding a
cordial to her lips when her voice failed. "Rest in perfect
peace. He shall never feel himself uncared for while I live.”
And now a real smile lighted up the thin, worn face.
"Now-if he will only come-in time-that is all.”
He came almost as she spoke-a light-hearted gentleman,
who looked upon all magisterial duties as the comedies of life;
and yet the dying woman's solemn earnestness infected even
him.
"I am much obliged to you for coming," she faltered,
humbly. "I will not keep you long. I know what to do-my
father told me. I"-moving her hand restlessly about the
pillows-"have it here. Margaret, where are you? I can
scarcely see. You put it here, when I bid you bring it from
my box-for me to burn-before I died. I meant to burn it.
I left it to the last; but I-meant to burn it-sealed as it is.
I cannot now. He saved my only child-he helped me, and
will help my boy. But for him I should have burned it, and
the truth could never have been known. Where is it-where
is it? My strength is going!"
Murmuring soothingly the while, the woman who had
brought in the magistrate moved the pillows one by one, until
she found a packet tied and sealed.
W
}
€ 290*
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
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(6
There, there," cried the dying woman, trying to grasp it
in her hot, weak fingers, and looking eagerly up into Roy-
den's face; "you will understand it. I do not forget how you
questioned me of Gabriel Myddelton-the questions from
which I fled. It is for you-let me leave it with you-but I
have something to do first. Father told me of it. In the
presence of a magistrate,' he said. Now I am ready."
$
Formally, with little need of help or direction; and clearly,
in spite of her failing breath and feeble tone, she took the
packet in her hands; and tenderly touching the Bible which
they gave her, she testified on oath to the truth of what the
documents contained. Then, with a sigh which sounded
almost happy, she gave the packet into Royden's hand, and
turned away her face.
The sun was shining high above the city roofs before the
last heavy breath was drawn. She had begged that the boy
might not see his mother die, so the neighbor who had been
so kind and anxious, carried him away to her own room, and
Royden was watching alone when the end came, for the doc-
tor had left her, knowing he had no power to do anything
further.
<di
Just as Royden closed the dim, wide eyes, the woman who
had called herself Margaret noiselessly entered the room.
"Gone!” she whispered, sadly. "She did not need me at
the last, then, but she needs me now. They are not kind to
her down-stairs-they never were. They shall not come near
her now.' 25
"Then can you and will you wait?" asked Royden, anx-
iously.
"I will be with her," she said, quietly, touching the white,
dead face. She was always solitary, but she would some-
times like me with her for a little even then. I would not
like her to be left alone at all now, and yet, when I have fin-
ished here, I must go back to my own room, to leave the lit-
tle boy safe, and do one or two things more.”
"I see," said Royden, as he left the inner room; "then I
will wait for your return.'
He wrote a few directions, to leave with his card: after
which he saw the mistress of the house, and took upon him-
self the responsibility of all expenses consequent on the death
of the poor solitary woman, and the temporary care of her
boy. Then, when he was left alone, knowing he had done
all he could do, and that his feelings, whatever they might be
...
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
291
A
on opening the papers given him, could not interfere with
this duty he had taken upon himself, he sat down in the outer
room, and broke the seal and cut the string of the packet
left with him.
It contained two separate papers, and though the hand-
writing on both was the same, the signatures were different.
One was unintelligible; the other, written evidently by the
hand which penned both papers, was, "MARGARET TERRIT."
CHAPTER XXXIV.
It is great sin to swear unto a sin,
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
-SHAKESPEARE.
ONE o'clock! The bell of St. Paul's clanged out the note
like the opening chord of a great military band and, in the
quavering key of an old man's querulous negative, a Dutch
clock upon the stairs of the lodging-house answered the single
note. There were more footsteps below than there had been
through the morning, for clerks were hurrying to their mid-
day meal, and, now and then, a porter hastened past with a
solitary chop upon a tray. For a few of the masters in those
grim offices did not leave their posts until the office-doors
were locked at five o'clock, and they came forth to dissolve in
the great misty crowd, and lose all identity, until, casting
anchor for the night in their several suburban retreats, they
assumed an especial individuality in a moment.
Country visitors were strolling to and fro in the Cathedral,
silent and open-eyed, but wearing, withal, the encumbered
and distrait expression peculiar to sight-seers who follow
conscientiously the beaten track. In the shadow of the great
dome, that inexhaustive process of shopping was pursued in-
defatigably, its linked sweetness drawn out to its longest
capacity. The confectioners were briskly aware that the
business of the day had begun in earnest for them now, while
wistful eyes feasted through the glass upon unattainable
luxuries.
But, like its shining herald, the day is earlier in the east
than in the west, and even then the guests who danced, and
laughed, and jested at Honor Craven's ball last night, had
黏
​1
292
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
not all risen, though the whirl of carriages had begun, and
the critical crowd at Burlington House was already leavened
with its dainty sprinkling of uncritical beauty and fashion.
Not a few among this crowd looked anxiously for a friend
- they missed last night; not a few (later on that day) to look
in vain among the faces and figures in the Park, for one whose
absence was as disappointing as it was inexplicable. Guesscs
were hazarded, varied and wide apart enough, yet none fell
near the truth; for who could guess that one of the idols of
this London season, watched for, waited for, longed for, sat
in an attic in this city thoroughfare, deaf to all sounds, and
blind to all sights around him, his grave eyes following, with
a terrible earnestness, the badly written words upon the paper
over which his head was bent? He had unfolded both the
papers, and his left hand lay upon the unread one, while his
mind grasped promptly, word for word, the one to which was
affixed the man's uncertain signature. And these were the
words it bore:
"I, the undersigned, Benjamin Territ, miner, living in
Abbotsmoor, and being dangerously ill, yet, nevertheless, pos-
sessing all my intellectual faculties, and finding that I am
soon about to appear before the judgment-seat of God, wish
to appease the remorse of my conscience, and to do an act of
justice, by retracting all I said upon oath against Gabriel
Myddelton, in my deposition made at Kinbury, as to his being
the murderer of his uncle, Squire Gabriel Myddelton, of Ab-
botsmoor. I declare before God that that deposition was not
true, and that I retract it with all my soul, before God and
before justice, and implore the Sovereign Judge, in His
mercy, to accept this retraction as being the whole truth.
"This, as well as the following confession, is written by
another hand, on account of my inability to write, from acci-
dents received in the mine; but it is signed by me in my cot-
tage at Abbotsmoor, on this fifth day of December, one thou-
sand eight hundred and sixty-four.
"On the seventh day of March, one thousand eight hun-
dred and sixty-one, young Mr. Gabriel Myddelton told me of
the quarrel he had had with his uncle, and how his uncle had
made a will which disinherited him. He often came to my
cottage, partly because he could never bear solitude, and my
company was as pleasant, perhaps, as that of any of the
farmers or cottagers upon the dismal estate; and partly be-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
293
cause I encouraged him, hoping that I could turn to account
the interest he took in my daughter Margaret. She was a
handsome girl, far above other girls on the estate, and to the
Manor there never came a young girl-face at all. If Gabriel
Myddelton would marry Margaret, I thought, I would even
promise to leave the neighborhood, for I knew the young
squire (easy-going as he might be) would not care to acknowl-
edge a miner as his father-in-law. I should be free to go
to what world I chose, and I would take care that Margaret's
husband provided me with the money I should need. And if
I grew tired of that life abroad, I could still come back and
have a farm here; for I knew young Gabriel Myddelton could
be easily intimidated.
"But on that day I speak of, he brought an appalling tale.
He had quarreled with his uncle, had been disinherited, and
had left Abbotsmoor forever. He told all this more to Mar-
garet than to myself, and the girl sat beside the window where
he stood, and looked as if something had turned her to stone.
But I sat behind and ate my supper slowly, and did not put
in a word. But for all that, when I got up from the table I
had made my resolution; and it was not my way-it never
has been to go away from any resolution I may have made,
whatever stood in the way.
"They were early people at Abbotsmoor, and I knew that
by ten o'clock the house was always silent and darkened for
the night. I knew the low window of the old squire's busi-
ness room-the corner window opening on the bit of level
lawn between the shrubbery and the house-and that window
I easily opened with my own tools. I remember that I rather
enjoyed the work, for I had not much cause to do anything
but hate old Squire Myddelton, and I did hate him heartily.
I doubt if there was a man, woman, or child on his estate
who did anything else; for what had he ever been to us to
make us feel otherwise toward him?
"I had but little trouble in forcing my entrance into the
room; very little even in opening the secretary where the
will lay; but just at the moment when I grasped the packet
and turned to effect my escape from the house, the inner
door of the room was opened, and there was the squire, ad-
vancing toward me with a candle in his hand. I acted on
my first impulse-what else could I do, in the surprise of the
moment? I acted on my first impulse, as I have done all
through my life. I dashed the candle from his hand, and
294
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
?
then-in the dense darkness, when I felt he could not recog-
nize me-I struck him one deadly blow from my hammer;
and, knowing it would do its work on the weak gray head, I
left him there upon the floor and escaped from the window,
with the will in my possession. I fled across the lawn, but
in the shrubbery beyond I paused a moment to secure the
parchment on my person.
Then came an instant's horrible
shock. The old man, whom I had left for dead, had pur-
sued me! He came up to me running, and I could see the
crimson streaks upon his face, and the thirst for vengeance
in his failing eyes-a fearless old man, in all his meanness.
I stood a moment facing him; then, with one well-aimed
blow, he lay dead upon the grass, and there was no stain of
blood upon my hands or clothes.
"I left him lying there, of course, and, hurrying through
the wood, reached my own cottage an hour afterward, from
quite an opposite direction.
"Gabriel Myddelton could better tell the rest, as his coun-
sel told it for him at his trial, when my words and Margaret's,
and the facts which others added, made the tale of no avail.
He had returned from Kinbury that night, to ask his uncle's
pardon. He had taken his way through the wood, intending
to gain admission to the squire's room through the very win-
dow I had opened, that the servants might not know of his
return at all, if his uncle did not forgive him. In the wood
he had found his uncle lying, and, astonished and alarmed at
what he thought must be a sudden illness, he had raised the
old man's head in his arms. What he saw I need not tell,
though I am dictating this confession as fully as possible, for
a relief to my burdened conscience.
"A horrible fear seized young Gabriel Myddelton that the
suspicion of this foul deed would fall upon himself. He saw
even then the chain of evidence against him which really
brought him at last to the cell of a doomed criminal.
"Timid as he was by nature, there was but one course he
could decide upon. He fled from that spot in the wood as
if his uncle's fate awaited him there; and he never stopped
in his flight until he reached my cottage, and found protec-
tion and help-as he fancied. He washed the blood from
his hands, burned his stained wristbands, and changed the
coaton which the old man's head had fallen and left its
traces.
66
Margaret told all this at the trial, and I stood by, and I
}}
OLD •
MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
295
1
knew the words would hang him. But he himself had an-
other explanation of the tale to give, and now I swear that
his was the truth; and ours, though in many respects true to
the letter, held a lie in every word.
"I helped him that night, simply that I might know where
he lurked; for, from the first, I had determined that sus-
picion must rest upon him. All my old plans were frustrated
by this unnecessary and inconvenient murder, and personal
safety now was my,one motive in every action. In my first
fear, I had begun to destroy the will, but now I thought of a
fiendishly skilful plan. The fragments of the will which dis-
inherited him should be found in his possession, and he should
be overtaken in his endeavor to escape. This, with what my
daughter and I could tell, would fix the crime upon him; and
not for a moment did the betrayal of his confidence weigh
with me, beside my terror lest my own guilt should be dis-
covered.
"The rest all followed as I had planned and foreseen.
What I have told is known only to myself and my daughter,
and I have heard her solemn oath that she will add her con-
fession to mine. After I had sworn to Gabriel Myddelton's
guilt-yes, from the very first-I grew a changed and mis-
erable man; and this excruciating daily death which I have
suffered since the clay fell upon me in the mine, is, I know,
but a just punishment for my crime.
Now-solemnly, as if in the presence of my God-I swear
that this is truth, and confirmed, upon oath, in the presence
of my daughter Margaret, in whose hands I leave it.
С،
(Signed)
BENJAMIN TERRIT."
G
Royden raised his head, and for a minute or two looked
dreamingly around the room. The door of the chamber of
the dead was locked, as he had left it. The sounds in the
street below were but faint and far-off. Without a change in
the intent gravity of his eyes, he leaned forward again in the
silence, and read the second paper.
66
Possibly these words will never be read by any eyes save
my own, for I only write them because my father extorted an
oath from me that I should do so, and leave them to be made
public after my death. With whom can I leave them?
Gabriel Myddelton, even if he is still alive, is too far away to
be either hurt or helped by this confession-even if it were
made public to-morrow, I am young and strong, and may
C
296
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY
C
wait years for death to visit me. And when it does, who will
be near me to bear this release to Gabriel Myddelton?
"But I have promised it shall be written, and I will keep
the oath my father made me swear, as I have kept the other
oath he wrung from me three years ago. The task of writing
his confession has been hard and sore, but to write my own
will be far harder. My father looks upon his bodily suffer-
ings as his punishment; but no punishment which could be
given me on earth could relieve me from the load of guilt
which has been secretly and slowly killing me since I met that
one glance of Gabriel Myddelton's, while the judge pro-
nounced upon him the sentence of death. My father almost
seems to feel that he is pardoned for his share in this vile deed;
I wish I dared to hope that when I stand upon that awful
threshold of the door of death, I might feel that I, too, am
pardoned. The weight of guilt has borne me down and iso-
lated me among my fellow-creatures, and it will weigh me
down and isolate me to the end.
•
"I have very little to add to my father's confession. What
I told at the trial about Mr. Myddelton's assuming a disguiso
at our cottage was true in every particular. What I did not
tell, was his confession to us, so honestly given, and which my
father has related. He threw himself upon our mercy, and
we betrayed him, and swore away his life. That thought
stings me, even now, with a pain worse than death!
"It was an unnatural and unencouraged thought of mine,
but I should have said, up to the day of that trial, that I
would have laid down my life for Gabriel Myddelton. Then
I proved its falseness by laying his life waste instead, and my
fear of my father's threats and anger, and my submission to
his command of obedience, are no excuse for me.
“I heard the sentence of death passed upon him. Through
three heavy days and wakeful nights I pictured him within
those walls, a convicted felon, and I thought my life had
burned itself out in the passion of that anguish, and that my
doom was sealed as certainly as his.
"I had a lover then who was warden in the Kinbury jail,
and though I had never listened to him before, I listened
now, for one plan and resolution had filled my mind. If he
would save Gabriel Myddelton's life-so I told him I would
be his wife when he chose. Ah! surely that was the least
that I could do for the man whose name we had blighted, an d
whose life we had lied away.
J
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
297
"6
'We helped each other, and until the last moment came,
no other thought was allowed to either of us. It was no new
thing to me to lie awake at night and think of Gabriel Myd-
delton, but it was new to him, and I saw the change telling
upon him, though I was proud to feel that no sense of either
fear or honor would turn him from my will.
"The day and the hour came at last, and though my face
was white as death that morning when I rose, I felt more
nearly happy than had felt since that night when Gabriel
Myddelton's confidence in us had been so vilely abused.
>
"My husband-he was my husband on the following day.
hired for me a large, low dog-cart, closed at the back, and a
fleet but very quiet-looking pony. In this cart I drove my-
self alone into Kinbury, and, calling a boy who stood in the
yard of the jail (a boy brought there by my husband for this
especial purpose, though he looked to be only idling there),
gave the pony into his charge. He stood steadily at its head,
his back to the door and to the vehicle, and I passed in with
the order my husband had obtained for me, and was admit-
ted by himself into the condemned cell. What could be
feared from me, when it was so well known that I had done
most of all to bring the criminal to that cell?
"I wore two shawls and two dresses exactly the same, one
concealed below the other; and under my skirt I had se-
creted a bonnet, vail, and gloves, precisely the same as those
I wore myself.
"My husband had been for days cleverly acting his part,
and his fellow officials now knew him to be thoroughly im-
bued with a disgust for old Myddelton's convicted murderer,
and a demonstratively staunch belief in the justice of his sen-
tence. So it was that no breath of suspicion attached to
either of us, and permission was readily granted me to see
Gabriel Myddelton, on the plea that I had lived near him all
my life, and we had been children together.
66
By skilful means, my husband attracted the turnkeys as
far as possible from the passage to the cell, though of course
they stayed where they could see me walk back to the dog-
cart. I passed out, and then passed back again into the
cell.
66 6
wiggl
<
Forgotten something,' muttered my husband, turning
carelessly away, but at any rate I'm glad she is going. Poor
lass! How bitterly she cries! Well, he was lord of the
manor, you see, on which she has lived all her life.'
T
398
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
"It was as I seemed to pass weeping from the cell, that my
husband, by a great effort, kept the attention of the men en-
grossed by describing and illustrating very elaborately the
breaking of the window through which the murderer had
passed into Abbotsmoor. Then, after a few minutes, a
sudden recollection struck him, and he turned sharply
round.
"Of course you are watching,' he said, suspiciously, to
one of the men.
"Of course,' was the answer, though the man's eyes could
not have done double duty. 'I've seen her pass backward
and forward two or three times, but she is back to the cell
now, and you had better go, for her time is up.'
<<
They watched my husband pass into the cell, and then
led me out, crying still. They watched him help me to my
seat in the dog-cart, and give me the reins, and asked me if
I feared to go alone. They all spoke kindly to me, and stood
to watch me drive away-alone-as I had come.
"And so the tale was told next day, by others who had
seen me. 1 had driven away alone, as I had come. How were
they to know that Gabriel Myddelton, dressed exactly as I
had been, lay hidden in the back of the low, old-fashioned
vehicle? That in that going to and fro, between the dog-cart
and the cell, there had been one time when my husband's
energies were put to their severest test, while a female figure
(weeping bitterly) had passed out and slipped into that wait-
ing cavity. It was just one minute afterward that my hus-
band fetched me, and helped me to my seat.
"I had a fresh disguise in the gig, and in that Gabriel
Myddelton parted from me, when I had driven him as far as
I dared to venture on the high-road to Liverpool.
"Not until late at night was the prisoner missed, and then
he was safe. My husband knew a man in Liverpool who
earned his livelihood by helping those who strove to get
abroad in secret, and he had been prepared and bribed. So
we heard from him of Gabriel Myddelton's departure for
America. Since then no tidings have reached me, and now I
know that they never will. I feel that after my death it will
be too late for this confession to benefit any one, yet I dare
not make it known before.
This is the declaration which I have sworn to make, and
to inclose with that which my father has dictated to me in
this, his mortal illness, and which he has charged me to makę
th
។
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
299
▼
public when I feel my own death drawing near. I must, he
says, confirm its truth upon oath, and leave it with a trusty
person.
"My husband is dead, my father dying; my little one seems
following them. What trusty person can be near me at the
end? So I have a feeling that some day. I shall destroy these
papers with my own hand. But I have written the whole
truth, as my Father in Heaven is my witness, and this is my
signature.
MARGARET TERRIT.
66
Signed this fifth day of December, one thousand eight
hundred and sixty-four."
CHAPTER XXXV.
If he has friends that love him,
"Twill set them weeping all.
·The Nibelungen Leid.
FOR a few minutes after Royden had finished reading, he
sat like one in a dream; then he slowly rose, and folding the
two papers, placed them carefully in the breast-pocket of the
coat which he had worn all night over his evening dress.
Then buttoning it, to guard as safely as he could the precious
documents, he went softly into the farther room, and, look-
ing down for the last time upon the dead face, gave one back-
ward glance along the marred life whose secrets had now been
disclosed to him.
A step in the outer room aroused him; gently laying the
sheet back over the worn, calm face, he went out to meet the
woman who was now at liberty to take his place. A few
minutes they talked there; and Royden waited, as if his time
were of little value. But when all had been said, and he had
left the gloomy house, he glanced up at the dial on St.
Paul's and hailed a passing hansom, as if his life depended
upon speed.
"To the Great Western station," he said, in his quick,
- clear tones. "A sovereign if you do it within fifteen min-
utes.”
"Out of the hubbub of the city, the man took the quiet, un-
frequented streets; the horse sped on with its inevitably un-
steady perseverance, and Royden was in time for the 2:40
train to Langham Junction.
}
300
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
!
1
¦
All through the journey he sat quite still in his corner of
the carriage, his thoughts intensely busy, while his heart was
full of gratitude and rejoicing.
"To see her face when I show her these!" he murmured.
to himself; "to think of the truth lying here at last in my
hand!"
So he was thinking-picturing the brightening of one pale
face at the tidings which he bore-when the train stopped at
Langham Junction, and he stepped hastily down upon the
platform.
"Where for, sir?"
"On to Westleigh by the 6:30."
Just in his cool, natural tones, Royden answered the ques-
tion; yet, as he did so, he glanced across to where the West-
leigh trains were wont to start, with an intense anxiety.
The Westleigh train left half an hour ago, sir.”
Half an hour ago—and that was the last! No later train
stopped at the little roadside station for which, at any time,
so few passengers were booked, save those for Westleigh
Towers. Royden Keith stood in hesitation just for two or
three seconds. The road from this station to Westleigh was
a long twenty miles, and the station-built only for the junc-
tion of the lines-was so far from the town, that he would
not be able to get a conveyance of any kind. True, it was
possible to reach the Towers more readily by taking a bridle-
path, which he had daringly taken once before, even though
for several miles it ran between the sea and the cliffs, and was
covered at high water. But then to walk this distance was
impossible, with the tide upon the flow; and he had no horse
here.
Yet now he had dreamed of Alice's glad reception of him,
and her untold gratitude and joy at the tidings he bore, the
tidings he had sought so long, and, having found at last, had
hastened to bring to her himself! Must he give up even now,
when he had come so far, and seemed so near her? No; not
even in such a case as this could Royden turn back from his
earnest purpose.
"There is a farm," he said to himself, as he stood recalling
an old house lying a mile or so along the cliff way,
<< where
can get a horse. On the high-road I may have to walk ten
miles before I can obtain one. I will manage it if it is within
man's power."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
301
{
It was within this man's power; and, an hour after the Lon-
don train had passed on its way northward, Royden rode from
the old farm where he had promptly bought a horse, which
its master had never hoped to sell so profitably. The animal
was young and strong, and fresh from its stable; and Royden
had mounted with a pleasant sense of its power and will to
carry him fleetly along the dangerous shore.
The master of the farm, as well as his old father, urged
Mr. Keith not to attempt the ride. The tide was treacher-
ous, they said, and the distance across the bay much greater
than it seemed. But Royden, shaking the men by the hand
in his quiet, cordial way, told them he had no fear, only a
great anxiety to get to Westleigh Towers that night, and
much confidence in his new horse.
"I know the way well," he added, in his pleasant, earnest
voice, and it is a grand June evening."
66
Two men stood watching him from the farm gate. He un
derstood a good horse when he saw one, there was no doubt
about that, and they had guessed at once that he must be Mr.
Keith. He was just what they had fancied the Squire of
Westleigh Towers.
"But," said the elder man, as they turned away after
watching Royden out of sight, "it is a dangerous feat he
tries to-night."
Royden knew this well. It was not in ignorance that he
started on that ride. But the horse that he had bought was
fresh and fleet, and the flood-tide two hours distant yet. Sit-
ting straight and firm in his saddle, his fingers tight upon
the rein, Royden galloped along the narrow and uneven path,
while the passengers he met looked after horse and rider won-
deringly.
On and on, while the sun slowly neared the water. On and
on, until it set, and Royden breathed a sigh of relief, for the
path had reached the shore at last. IIe paused one moment,
and gave a look around him-first over the fading sea; then
up the dark, precipitous cliffs; then higher still, beyond the
fading sunset streaks. When that moment's pause was over,
leaning forward in his saddle, he pressed his knees against his
horse's flanks, and dashed along that treacherous road beside
the sea.
Once or twice the young horse faltered in his pace; and
once or twice he slipped, and would have fallen but for the
*
302
´OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
3
strong restraining hand upon the rein; but still he made his
way bravely under the frowning rocks.
#
"On, good fellow, on!"
Now with caresses, now with strokes, did Royden urge him,
while the tide rose and rose. That bay was reached at last of
whose danger, at the flowing of the tide, he had told Lady
Somerson and Honor, as they stood at that window looking
down upon the spot. Ah, it was so near home! It almost
felt like having reached home, to have reached this well-
known spot, on which the windows of the Towers looked.
But it was two miles across the bay, and the tide was rising,
and a mist gliding northward from the sea, and slowly
shrouding horse and rider in its chilling, darkening embrace.
But for an instant, just before it reached them, Royden
strained his eyes to see the farther limits of the bay, and-ah!
yes, the waters lay seething there, falling back a little, and
glistening for a moment, then darkly lifting themselves in
their power, and swaying broad and deep across the only way
which lay before this solitary horseman.
Royden's hand fell gently on the horse's foaming neck, and
for a moment his eyes fell too, resting from that gaze which
had pierced the gathering darkness.
"There is no passage before us. If we can find no pos-
sible way inland, this hour means death for you and me—
poor fellow!"
Urging him on, now by cheering words, and now by sharp,
swift cuts, Royden rode to and fro within the arms of the
bay, searching among the rocks for a possible way of egress;
but the cliffs rose precipitous from the beach, and Royden
saw that any hope of passing them was vain, while the sound
of the waters, nearing the horse's hurrying feet, grew literally
deafening in its horrible portent.
Brave and strenuous efforts did the young horse make as
Royden led him backward and forward in this vain and futile
search; but the pace grew slower-into a walk at last; while
the tide rose and rose. So swiftly the waters rushed in at
last, sweeping over that wide crescent, hidden in the mist,
that in one second, as it seemed, horse and rider stood sur-
rounded in the flood-tide.
}
A
Then the frightened animal started wildly on his own
career, galloping backward and forward, to left and right,
without aim or motive; racing to and fro in the very madness
of his panic, as he tried to escape the grasp of the hungry
&
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
303
waters; racing to and fro until at last, quite suddenly, he
stopped in his wild gallop, stood trembling for a moment,
with his eyes wild and strained, while the waves broke under
his raised head, then, with a cry that was almost human in
its anguish, he threw his head back, and Royden knew that
he alone lived in that rush of rising waters, and that his only
chance of safety was to cling to his dead companion.
At first the effort to keep his seat engrossed all his ener-
gies, but gradually that tension relaxed, while now he held
one hand upon the breast of his coat, guarding that lately-
won paper in its grip. Dreamily, with a consciousness of
utter helplessness which was almost a relief after his restless,
feverish exertion, he floated on the surface of the tide; re-
calling brokenly, as one sometimes recalls a dream, how one
man, years ago, carrying an infant in his arms, had been
drowned within this bay; languidly wondering over the ex-
act spot, and morbidly trying to imagine the scene. Then
there came into his mind-still softly and vaguely-the story
of a wreck upon this coast, and, looking out to sea, he tried
to guess the spot where the ship had foundered, and wished
that he could float far out to sea, and fall just there.
-
·
One minute he was piercing the misty darkness with his
eyes, and calculating how long it might be possible for him to
live, and in the next he bent his head against the beating
spray, with a faint smile upon his lips, and dipping his hand
into the water, laid it upon his burning brow and lips. But,
through all, his fingers never once relaxed in their clasp upon
those papers he had borne so far in safety-so far!
Just before the dawn of the June morning a group of fish-
ermen slowly passed along the silent, dewy park to the locked
door of Westleigh Towers. They were men to whom this
beautiful park had been lent as holiday ground; they were
men who had learned to love the master who had treated
them as brothers, and not serfs; and so no cheek was dry-
when they trod noiselessly under the whispering leaves, bear--
ing him among them, still with his fingers tightly closed upon
the papers he had borne so far.
Gently and regretfully these men disturbed the sleeping
household, and, with hands that were delicate then, if they
had never been so before, they laid him in one of his own
beautiful rooms. And when a girlish figure crept in and
stood beside him, appealing mutely and tearfully för tidings,
A ན་
304
´OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
they whispered in hushed and broken tones, that, sailing past
the bay as the tide went down, they had found him there
upon his dead horse, benumbed and motionless, as he must
bave floated for three hours at least.
+
Benumbed and motionless! These were the words the men
chose, because they saw the fear and horror in the pale face
they gazed upon. But Alice knew what they left unsaid;
and when she bent above the prostrate form, seeking in vain
for some faint sign of life, a cry of terrible despair escaped
her parted lips.
White and still the brave face lay; nerveless and powerless
was the strong, tall form; yet still the wet, stiff fingers of the
right hand held their firm grip upon that packet, safely borne
through all.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Nothing can sympathize with Foscari.
-BYRON.
THREE weeks had passed since Royden Keith rose from
that long and death-like swoon, and, neglecting his sore need
of rest, returned to London only two days after he had been
brought home unconscious. But the tasks which had taken
F
im to town were all completed now, and he had come home
to wait. For three weeks he had fought with his terrible suf-
fering and weariness, when one day the slow afternoon train,
Jassing through Westleigh, deposited at that sleepy little sta-
tion two passengers, who had a more engrossed and business-
*ike air than the generality of people who halted at that rural
pot. They gave their tickets to the solitary porter without
glance toward him, and they walked from the station to-
ether without a glance beyond the few yards of dusty lane
which lay before them. One was a man of middle age,
broadly-built and well-dressed, but having the air of one who
lid not too fully comprehend the aim he had in view, or the
way in which that aim should be pursued. The other was a
small and wiry person, with ginger-colored hair and complex-
ion, and he decidedly did possess the air of knowing whither
he was bound, and on what mission bent.
<<
Is it far along this baking lane?" inquired the elder man,
without glancing into his companion's face.
?
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
305
}
દ
Only a brisk ten minutes' walk," rejoined Mr. Slimp,
rubbing his short hands together, as if in the enjoyment of a
private joke; " and if it took us ten hours, instead of min-
utes, the fatigue would be repaid us with interest.
}
Our
If it is not," replied Lawrence Haughton, morosely,
walk back cannot be too long, if that happens to be what you
mean."
Bickerton Slimp smiled affably. Perhaps this was to be
considered as a smart repartee of his employer's.
66
"This preliminary stroke will be over in a couple of hours,
now," he observed, adopting an impressive decision in hi
sharp, weak tones.
No reply from the lawyer, and the clerk continued, with
still more evident assumption of assurance:
""
"The fact is, the man has not a leg to stand on.
"I don't know," put in Mr. Haughton, with gloomy stiff-
ness; "I would not, even now, take too much for granted;
and if this last move does not answer
دو
.
"Not answer!" exclaimed Bickerton Slimp, coming to a
dead halt in his walk, "how can it help answering? What
can prevent its answering now? And the sum he will give
us to keep silence will set us going again more prosperously
than ever; after that, I'll engage that the firm shall become
the richest and the sharpest in the county."
1
"If he does not offer us this bribe," said Lawrence, with
no appearance of being carried away by Mr. Slimp's enthusi
astic anticipations, "the practice and something else with
it, too—cannot be saved, as you know."
C
"Of course I know," assented Bickerton, with a chuckle,
"but there happens to be very little substance in that but.
You seem unusually and rather uncharacteristically timid to-
day, sir; an unfortunate mood to have happened to fall into
just now, when we want all our sharpest wits about us. Mr.
Keith is no idiot, and even with truth and justice on our side,
we must look sharp to intimidate him."
The two men walked on in silence now, and to judge by the
expression of one, the truth and justice which had ranged
themselves on his side were not animating or encouraging
companions.
Here we are, ""
cried Mr. Slimp, at last, in an airy tone
of stimulation; "this is our gate. Now, Mr. Haughton,
don't you go and look down-in-the-mouth, or our game will
306
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
suffer, and our practice be nowhere. Depend upon me. I
shall look you up, and when you are at a loss you must just
leave the little affair in my hands."
·
The insolent familiarity of the confidential clerk was by no
means tasteful to the stern and concentrated nature of the
master, yet some consciousness of the man's power over him
kept all reproof from Lawrence Haughton's lips. So he
walked up the park in silence, Mr. Slimp acting as guide,
and showing a very suspicious knowledge of the place.
With an air of bustling_complacency, he advanced to the
great arched door of the Towers, and pulled the heavy iron
bell which hung beside it, while Mr. Haughton followed, not
by any means so thoroughly at his ease.
"Mr. Keith," demanded Bickerton, impressively, and the
door was opened wide upon the visitors; but the man who
ushered them in wondered a good deal what acquaintances of
the master's would come in this curt manner, without pre-
facing the name, or expressing the wish to see him; and he
confided this wonder to Mr. Pierce, by whom he passed on
the message.
So the valet appeared alone at the door of the room in
which the lawyer and his clerk waited.
His master was not well, he said, and would rather not be
disturbed, unless his presence was very particularly desired.
Lawrence Haughton, seeing that the man had taken this
course upon himself, answered, with angry sternness, that his
master's presence was very particularly desired, and that, as
his own time was valuable, he should be glad to have his
message delivered with promptness.
Pierce retired without further words, and Lawrence Haugh-
ton looked curiously around the beautiful room.
"Yes," he thought, with a feeling of self-gratulation al-
most equal to that in which Mr. Slimp was at that moment
indulging—"yes, he can afford to pay well."
When at last Mr. Keith entered the room, the self-gratula-
tion even of Mr. Bickerton Slimp was turned for a minute
into another channel. This man, who had horsewhipped
him on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, and who had often
goaded him to the very verge of madness by his haughty, un-
assailable scorn, and rather amused but always evident con-
tempt, was ill, and had been ill. He came slowly and wearily
into the room, and, leaning against the chimney-piece-not
-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
30%
i
from habit, but in real need of the support-he turned to
them a face which betrayed intense physical suffering.
There was much satisfaction to Mr. Slimp in that, for the
consciousness had not yet forced itself upon him that the face
betrayed just the old courage, and the strength which was so
firmly built upon great patience.
Lawrence Haughton made an effort to plunge at once into.
his errand, but the course was too thoroughly at variance with
his professional habits to allow him to do so. In his own
way, therefore the words curt and strong, the manner stiff
and elaborate―he apprized Royden Keith, there upon his own
hearth, that he, Mr. Lawrence Haughton, solicitor of Kin-
bury, possessed of all needful information in the case, was
then on his way to inform his government that Gabriel Myd-
delton, the criminal condemned eleven years ago to the gal-
lows for the murder of his uncle, Mr. Myddelton, of Abbots-
moor, had been tracked, through all disguises and false pre-
tenses, by himself and his confidential clerk, and was then in
custody of the police at Westleigh Towers.
"Here! Have you the police here?" inquired Royden,
looking around him.
66
1
They will be here in two hours' time, or less; at any rate,
they will be here before we shall choose to leave," said the
lawyer; adding, after a pause, as if the idea had just struck
him, "unless we are able to save you from this public degra-
dation."
He repeated the offer presently, more boldly and unmistak-
ably, tacking to it an impressive reiteration of the threat.
His courage was evidently equal to the occasion, and Mr.
Slimp (his mind at ease now on that score) felt that he might
stand aside and enjoy the scene. He had no fear for the suc-
cess of their plan, for was not Gabriel Myddelton standing
there in the utter silence of dejection, consequent on defeat?
And was he not incapable of raising his eyes, either in sur-
prise or contradiction?
"Have you nothing to say?" inquired Mr. Haughton,
impatient now for his crowning success.
"Nothing," rejoined Royden, still without looking up.
"You understand my present plans-at once to make pub
lic your crime and duplicity, in a quarter from which there
can be no appeal.'
"I understand."
دو
1
308
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
#
L
"And," continued Lawrence, his voice raised more and
more eagerly, "to have you taken into custody at once."
"I shall not attempt to turn you from your plan. I told
you once before, if you recollect, that I was willing you
should pursue it to the end, if you thought it prudent on your
own part.
""
"Then in little more than an hour's time you will be in
custody," cried Lawrence, unable to hide his gathering pas-
sion of disappointment: "and by this time to-morrow your
identity with the condemned murderer (who was, only by a
woman's craft, saved from hanging) will be a household word
all over England-in every home in which, under the cunning
mask of your wealth and your new name, you have obtained
a footing. But," continued Lawrence, with the crafty
assumption of friendliness which sat so ill upon him, "I am
willing to listen if it strikes you that this fatal publicity could
be in any way avoided- He hesitated, trusting that the
conclusion of the speech might be anticipated for him; but he
waited-in vain. "If not," he exclaimed, savagely, "I shall
let the law take its course. If not he repeated, em-
phatically, as if to oblige a reply.
""
""
"Is it by your wish, Mr. Haughton," inquired Royden,
with a brief glance toward the fidgety figure of Mr. Bickerton
Slimp, "that your clerk is present at this interview?"
"I have assisted and advised Mr. IIaughton throughout,'
struck in the embryo partner in the future firm, with a rather
abortive attempt at easy self-possession, "and I wish to see
him through it."
79
"You shall have that pleasure, then, with my hearty con-
sent. I only desired Mr. Haughton to understand that it is
not by my wish that you are made cognizant of the private
affairs of his own family. You have, as I am fully aware,
been for a long time engaged both for him and with him, in
his search, and I am quite willing that you should be present
at its conclusion; after that, I shail thank you to leave this
house at once, and to bear in mind that, if you attempt a
second ingress, I shall have you dismissed-by the shoulders."
A pause then, and Lawrence, in a sudden access of impa-
tience, reiterated his old threat, again insinuating the one
chance, from his own generosity and compassion, which re-
mained for his victim.
Royden broke the ominous pause which followed, speaking
in quiet, weary scorn:
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
309
"You intend, you say, to make public your conviction
that you have discovered Gabriel Myddelton, the murderer of
the Squire of Abbotsmoor? Let me save you from the un-
pleasant ridicule which you would incur by so doing. I have
read the document which proves that young Gabriel Myddel-
ton was innocent of the crime for which, eleven years ago, he
was tried and condemned."
"The-the-devil!" panted Lawrence Haughton, in un-
curbed passion.
"What do you mean?"
"I have seen and read," repeated Royden, calmly, "the
confession of the real murderer-one Benjamin Territ, miner,
of Abbotsmoor-confirmed by affidavit, that the document is
true upon oath."
"Where is the forgery?" cried Lawrence, his face convulsed
with wrath. "Where is this perjured scoundrel and his
lying document?"
"The document," returned Royden, too weary or too ill to
be roused to either passion or amusement, "with a complete
history of the case-verbatim et literatim-drawn up by a
famous solicitor, has been placed in the hands of the Govern-
ment, together with a petition to the Home Secretary." Roy-
len paused here, though only because his breath was short
and hurried; but in that pause Lawrence Haughton felt the
ground give way under his one spot of safety. "Before this
time," continued Royden, glancing from the lawyer to his
clerk, "the Home Secretary has communicated with the
judge-I felt that to be necessary, because judgment had
been formally recorded against Gabriel Myddelton on evi-
dence and the decision of a jury; which judgment is now, of
course, respited-I hope you follow me and Gabriel Myd-
lelton's innocence is established legally and technically."
"These papers," shouted Lawrence, his passion entirely
overmastering him, "are foul and lying forgeries!"
"On the contrary," put in Royden, his quiet tones broken
a little by evident suffering, "these papers, which prove the
innocence of Gabriel Myddelton, have been indorsed by the
Home Secretary, and now lie at the Home Office, at your
call, Mr. Haughton, or at the call of any one who desires to
witness the issue of this long-contested matter."
A pause again, while Mr. Haughton and his clerk strug-
gled with many varied and uncomfortable emotions, among
which was pre-eminent a very natural wish that they were at
that moment beyond the park gates of Westleigh Towers.
310
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"I will look into this," cried the lawyer, presently; "I
will soon lay bare this vile fraud."
Thus, as I said," continued Royden, as if he had heard
no interruption, "Gabriel Myddelton's innocence is legally
established with his Government. As for his friends-if he
has any-they must maintain what opinions they choose. But
you understand that the papers are at their call, too. I have
given you all particulars I choose to give. Now complete.
your long-cherished plan, if you think it well, Mr. Haugh-
ton."
"I am not easily hoodwinked," remarked Lawrence, sup-
pressing his passion by an immense effort, as he moved toward
the door; "and I will disclose this knavery."
Royden's eyes, with something of their old quizzical glance,
were fixed upon the uncomfortable figure of the little clerk,
and he did not seem to even hear Mr. Haughton's threat.
When his guests had left, he rose slowly from his leaning
posture, a smile crossing his lips as he pictured the very comi-
cal position in which Mr. Haughton would have been placed
if there had chanced to be a grain of truth in his assertion
that the police would follow him.
In the meantime, without uttering one word to each other,
the baffled lawyer and his clerk returned to Kinbury; after
which Mr. Slimp was dispatched to the Home Office, and Mr.
Haughton went through his books for the twentieth time,
reading on every page the one word-ruin.
Striving against his growing weariness, yet as composedly
as if he had been alone all the afternoon, Royden went out to
meet the carriage when he heard the sound of wheels. With
a smile of greeting, he helped the two ladies to alight, and
the younger one stood at his side until they were alone.
"Oh, Roy," she whispered then, "you are not getting
better; you are weaker and weaker every day, and I can see
how dreadfully you suffer. It is all because you fought so
hard against this illness just at first, when you felt you had so
much to do; and this was as much for my sake as
He stopped her with a touch of his fingers upon her lips,
and a pleasant smile of dissent, but by no words; and she went
slowly up the stairs and told her sorrow, as she always did, to
the old lady who awaited her.
در
"He is so kind," she sighed, losing suddenly the look of
pleasure which had brightened her pale face a few minutes
age and which would brighten it again when her thoughts
:: ::.
?
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
311
66
should go back to her one engrossing memory of those papers
now lying in a place of safety which she only vaguely knew as
a depository for those precious deeds, so thoughtful for
every one, so full of helpful, generous projects; and yet there
is this strange solitariness about him ever-a solitariness
which it seems as if no one could ever pierce.
""
"Wait, Alice-wait and see, my dear."
For this doubting thought, though a sad one, was a familiar
one with the elder lady, and one which she could only bear to
muse upon in silence.
{
What was the one thing which he lacked in his noble, use-
ful life? Could no one ever make his lot as bright as he ever
strove to make the lot of others?
"But while I wait," sobbed Alice, "he is ill; and it may
come too late."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
I know not how it is,
But a foreboding presses on my heart
At times, until I sicken. I have heard,
And from men learned, that before the touch
(The common, coarser touch) of good or ill,
That oftentimes a subtler sense informs
Some spirits of the approach of "things to be."
-PROCTOR.
THREE weeks had passed since Sir Philip Somerson had
brought Honor the tidings that Royden Keith had gone
home to Westleigh Towers on the day after her ball, and was
confined there by ill-health. Sir Philip and Lady Somerson
were now abroad, and Honor had heard nothing more. The
time was drawing near for the closing of the mansion in Ken-
sington, and the adjournment of its young mistress to Ab-
botsmoor. But who could foresee what lay between that day
and this July afternoon, when Honor Craven, as she sat
reading to Marie, was astonished by receiving the card of
Mr. Bickerton Slimp, on which was penned a request to see
her on the most important private business.
She acceded to this request without hesitation, for, thor- .
oughly as she disliked him, she could not forget that he be
longed indirectly to her old home and her old life,
>>
R12
*
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
When she entered the library, where Mr. Slimp awaited
her, she found him very much changed from the sleek and
fawning little sycophant he had always shown himself to
her. He stood humble and isolated in the centre of the
room, his clothes worn and dusty, the one word "failure
stamped legibly upon his person and manner.
-
Honor sat down, and waited for him to speak. It was not
long before he did so, though he was long in finishing what
he had to say.
Without any introduction, though with tire-
some circumlocution, he informed Miss Craven that he had
felt it his painful duty to come and lay before her a few par-
ticulars respecting the affairs of Mr. Haughton, as she was
unfortunately one among many whom he had defrauded; and
his (Mr. Slimp's) conscience would not allow him to rest
until he had striven to make up, in some measure, for faults
in which he (as Mr. Haughton's clerk) had been indirectly-
though most innocently-concerned.
It would appear that Mr. Slimp's conscience rather eagerly
sought rest; for, without a pause, he diverged from every
point obtainable from this centre, and rang a hundred changes
on the frauds his late employer had practiced, not only upon
her and upon the public, but (in a still greater and more in-
excusable degree) upon his ex-clerk himself-guileless and
unsuspecting.
Honor listened in silence-it was hardly worth while to in-
terrupt him—and he went glibly on; making himself plainly
understood, though in his splenetic excitement he made uso
of one or two expressions which were as Greek to Honor.
Above all facts, this one was urged and resented most: Mr.
Haughton had made a promise to his head clerk that at this
present date he would take him into partnership, and now he
backed out of the agreement; and this mortified ex-clerk,
having discovered that the practice of Haughton, Solicitor,
could not stand, had determined to take a special revenge for
the two-fold duplicity.
Mr. Haughton was now hiding from his creditors, and Mr.
Slimp happened to know his present concealment, and was
willing to betray it to Miss Craven-for a consideration. It
was then, and not till then, that Honor allowed him to see a
little of the scorn his words and conduct had merited; but
Bickerton was far too deeply bent upon his own aim to let
this interrupt his flow of pleasant confidence.
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
313
"Even if you decline to remunerate me for this useful in-
formation, Miss Craven," he said, insinuatingly, “I shall
still tell you. He has done worse than that to spite me, and
my turn has come now. He has done worse than this to
hundreds of people. If it had been only me he had injured
I would have been silent, but it is hundreds more,
and so my
duty is to bring him to justice.
""
"I do not wish to hear any of this," said Honor, indiffer-
ently, as it seemed; "it has no effect upon me at all.”
But still she sat quietly to listen, and Bickerton Slimp
could not read the agonizing effort it cost her to hear, and-
above all-to discredit what he said about her old guardian.
"Even if I did not betray his hiding-place," resumed Mr.
Haughton's would-be partner, "it would soon be discovered,
and he'd be hunted out. He isn't used to making himself
scarce at a moment's notice, and taking different characters
on different emergencies, as some are. There'll be plenty after
him, too-mad as bloodhounds when they know what he's
done. No, there's no doubt about his being soon taken, but
I thought it right to warn you first, Miss Craven; because if
you wish your old guardian let off, it will be easy work for
you; and, at the same time, if you think justice ought to be
dealt to him, you have only to say the word and make it
worth my while. I always was willing to do anything for
you-
"9
-
He pulled himself up in hot and sudden haste, for one
glance from Honor had been more than sufficient to remind
him on what dangerous ground he trod.
"No, there's no doubt that he will soon be taken, Miss
Craven, by one or other of the victims of his fraudulent
schemes," he resumed, more placidly; "and there are many.
I could not enumerate, if I tried, the deceits which he has
practiced. Many families, whose names even you could re-
memember, Miss Craven, are involved in ruin by him, though
they do not know it yet. He has embezzled money he had to
invest, and taken people in by sham mortgages. He has again
and again suppressed certain deeds, and effected the sale of
property previously mortgaged. More than one poor dupe
has let him have every pound she possessed, to invest or place
on mortgage, and the deeds have represented nothing but
forgeries. One poor widow thinks she has bought, through
him, the house she lives in, while it really belongs to a wealthy
builder in Kinbury-for Mr. Haughton suppressed one set of
(
Kn
6
314
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
deeds and supplied another. He has overdrawn his banking
account, and borrowed money which is due. No, there can
be no help for him, although his credit in Kinbury and the
neighborhood is so good that the crash may not occur just
yet; may not, I say, unless I take the matter in my own
hands. "My first move is to inform you, Miss Craven, that he
is hiding now at the Anchorite,' in Thames street, and if
you have any wish yourself to be the one to bring him to jus-
6
""
tice
!
Honor rose, her cheeks and lips white with anger.
"You forget to whom you are speaking," she said, her \
tones as quiet as usual, though her manner was unmistakable.
Mr. Slimp made an effort to regain the ground he had lost
by this one too daring step. Cunningly, long ago, he had
discovered both the one passion of his msster's life, and the
indifference with which it had been treated by his ward; and,
judging by his own contemptible feelings, he had imagined
that Honor might rejoice over an opportunity of repaying her
old guardian for the persecution she had suffered at his
hands. But this feeling could only last one minute, and he
knew that it had been injurious to his cause. Still he could
regain his ground, he fancied; and it was an unctuous satis-
faction to him to lengthen his confidence against his erstwhile
master. There was, too, the novelty of truth in so many of
these cheering disclosures of fraud and duplicity. But he
hurried now over the information, as if he feared its being
still more summarily cut short. He might well fear. Honor
had heard the one thing she wished to hear, and now no heed
was paid to any further word.
"That inn in Thames street is a capital place to get abroad
from, under foggy circumstances," Mr. Slimp resumed, with
spirit; and we can manage, if you really wish me to under-
take it."
"I will think of what you tell me," said Honor, quite
coldly, though she was actually trembling in her fear of this
man in his treachery; "I will see you again."
The fear, so proudly battled with, took the form in Mr.
Slimp's eyes of a new courage, and he gazed in servile admi-
ration on the girl's beautiful, easy figure, now that she seemed
to understand him at last.
"In the meantime pray fix upon your own price "- the
word was uttered in the very refinement of scorn, and Honor's
eyes swept over the narrow form of the little traitor before
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
315
her-"for secrecy, and I will purchase it from you-if your
terms suit me.
"To you, Miss Craven, a thousand pounds is scarcely worth
speaking of; therefore, you would not, I hope, think a thou-
sand pounds-
""
"To effect my purpose," said Honor, quietly, while she
raised her clear eyes fully to his crafty face, "one thousand
pounds would be too little. Make your own terms, and I
will see you here at this hour to-morrow.
""
An expression of immense self-satisfaction settled in Mr.
Slimp's face. He could afford now to be confidential even on
an almost extraneous subject.
.
"If poor Mr. Haughton's last move had not so signally
failed him, Miss Craven," he began, in a tone for which she
could have annihilated him where he stood, "the old and
well-established name and business would have been saved,
and his present difficulties never made public; but that last
move did fail, and he himself had no power of getting out of
his present scrape. He felt so very certain of the identity of
Mr. Keith, of Westleigh Towers, with the man who murdered
Squire Myddelton, of Abbotsmoor, eleven years ago, that,
even with only the very slight and presumptive evidence
which he was able to amass during almost two years of search
and inquiry, he went in person to inform Mr. Keith that the
whole proof was in his own hands, and that he would at once
give him over to the law as the condemned and escaped crimi-
nal, Gabriel Myddelton, unless he chose to buy his immunity
-you understand, Miss Craven? That move, as I said, most
signally failed; for-a humiliating fact which we first learned
in this interview-the innocence of Gabriel Myddelton is now
legally established; and I myself saw the documents proving
it. I came up to town on purpose, and read them all at the
Home Office."
"His innocence!"
Honor had no idea that the two words had passed her lips,
and after their utterance her silence was intense.
"And more than that," resumed Bickerton Slimp, with an
air of jaunty encouragement, "I do not, and never did, be-
lieve in the identity of Gabriel Myddelton with Mr. Keith,
of Westleigh-who, by the way, seems dying rapidly. Of
course I have helped-for my own purposes-in fastening the
suspicion upon him, but I never saw our way clearly to a
grain of tangible proof; and I always felt that if he had been
316
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1%
the man, whom, for eleven years, Lawyer Haughton has been
trying to hunt down, he could never have had such doubts
about him, or shown such hesitation and uncertainty in the
case. He is not one to be delayed by scruples, and I always
understood his one reason for not capturing his man, and the
solution of those days and weeks and months of doubt which
he underwent. If he'd had cause to feel sure in his own
mind, the capture would have been sharp work. As for me,
I doubted all along if this could be Gabriel Myddelton, and
now I'll take my oath it is not.”
;
The words all entered Honor's ears with a clear and almost
appalling distinctness, and her heart was wildly beating; yet
she stood there utterly unmoved until he departed, with an
impressive reiteration of his intention to be at her service
next day at that hour.
But the silence and the stillness left her when he left her.
She moved softly and restlessly about the great silent room,
repeating to herself those words which seemed to mean so
much.
"Not guilty! Gabriel's innocence! Not Gabriel-not Ga-
briel! Dying! And Gabriel innocent!"
Gradually her brain grew confused, and she lost the sense
of these reiterated words, while only that lately formed reso-
lution of hers held sway. She must see Lawrence; she must
see her old guardian to-night, for fear it might be too late.
Then there came over the girl a feeling of loneliness and
dread most unusual to her. She listened and longed for the
sound of Phoebe's return, while still she tried, with all her
strength, to throw off this new and miserable foreboding,
which had fallen upon her with such a terrible weight, and
under which she could not even hope.
What was it? What had brought this crushing weight.
upon her? Was it fear for Lawrence, or for whom? Had
it fallen upon her when she heard of her guardian's crimes, or
of Gabriel's innocence, or of that interview which one of Ga-
briel's cousins had had with the man on whom he laid so foul
a charge?
She battled with the feeling, striving to dissect it, that, if
possible, the action might dispel it.
"
"It could not be," she whispered to herself, "that a felon's
fate should be my guardian's now, as it was-it could not be,'
she moaned, strangling each thought as it forced its way to
her lips, "that there should be a fatal ending to the illness
‚¿‚m.
i
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
317
of one who has been wrongly judged. It cannot be! Oh! if
Phoebe would but come, and speak to me of other things!"
The house seemed so large and silent, and she so solitary,
that when at last Captain Trent came into the library unan-
nounced, she greeted him with an unfeigned gladness which
filled his heart with an exquisite delight as unexpected as it
was delusive.
"IIonor," he cried, his joy overmastering him, "are you
really glad to see me-are you really?"
"So glad!" she answered, speaking low in the gravity of her
Phoebe is away.
own engrossed thoughts.
""
The last few words could not damp him, for her greeting
had given him just the slight encouragement which was all
he needed; and once more-more urgently than ever, but for
the last time now-he poured out the old story of what he
called his unconquerable and unchangeable love. He never
guessed what pain he gave her, and she did not blame him by
one thought; because she saw that, as deeply as it was possible
for him to feel, he felt this.
Softly and kindly she answered him as she had answered
him often, but she saw how much more earnest he was now
than he had ever been before, and she saw that only one thing
which she could say could prevent this old scene being re-
peated. It would be well for Hervey. Once let him feel that
this love of his was hopeless, and he would quietly submit,
and live his new life still more earnestly; once feel that he
must take this first love from his heart, and he would seek
another love to take its place. No fear that Hervey's heart
would break in solitary suffering.
And for herself? Well, it would be best for Hervey, and
she could trust him now. She laid her right hand gently
upon his, and looked up into his face with a glance so earnest
and so true-so sorry for him, and so sorry for herself—that
he felt instinctively that whatever words she uttered would be
uttered solemnly from her heart, and must be sacred between
them for evermore.
"Hervey, I will tell you the truth to-night, while we are
here alone together, and then I know you will never speak to
me again as you have just done. It will save us both pain
afterward, for you will see how impossible it would be for me
ever to give you a different answer from that which I have
just given. I have no power to give my love to you, or to
·|
by Ma
318
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
nny one now, Hervey, for it was given long ago. We are
cousins and old friends, are we not? And when I tell you
this, I trust you with all my heart!"
=
The great astonishment which filled his mind was plainly
written in his face. Could this be possible? Honor, who had
never seemed to care for any one in particular, for whose love
so many strove, and to win whom no trouble could be too
great, no wooing too persistent! Honor to have given her
love away long ago! Why, long ago must be in those old
times in Statton, which, in Hervey's mind, had long been en-
tirely disconnected with Honor's present life. How could it
be, and to whom?
A sudden fear for her which a minute ago would have
appeared impossible, and a minute hence was to again appear
impossible-made him look down questioningly and almost
pityingly into her face. Ah, no, Honor could never have
given her love unsought and unreturned. In all his sadness
and despondency, he could almost have smiled at himself for
the fear.
'Do not ask me," she said, reading the question in his
eyes. "It is an old ache. Do not make me speak of it now,
Hervey. You will forgive me any pain that I have caused
you, because I bear a sorer still."
"Honor," he whispered, all the earnestness and manliness
of his nature rising up to meet this trust of hers, "thank
you for telling me this. As you knew it would, it has killed
all hope within me; but perhaps it is better so.
""
"Yes," she answered, with another gentle touch upon his
hand, as she dismissed the subject, "it is better so.
""
For a few minutes they stood in silence there in the
silence which only trusted friends can fall into-and then
Phoebe returned from her drive, bright and excited. Yet
though the three chatted pleasantly, and even jestingly, to-
gether, Phoebe-little astute as she was-could detect an un-
dertone of sadness in Honor's voice, and could read the new
look of quiet hopelessness on Hervey's face.
(6
Oh, Honor!" she cried, repeating various items of news
she had heard from the friends with whom she had been driv-
ing, "Mr. Keith is dreadfully ill at Westleigh; and, of course,
the girls say it is a punishment to him for having turned
hermit suddenly in the middle of the season, and buried him-
self alive in his castle on the coast."
7
-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
319
1
Phoebe's light voice ceased suddenly, and she left the room
as soon as she could, murmuring unintelligible reasons for
her absence.
Hervey had, quite by chance, been gazing at Honor while
these words were uttered; and somehow-though he never
afterward could make it quite clear to himself how it had
been-he read, in that moment, the one part of the secret
which Honor had not told; and it made him very silent, un-
til a question from Honor roused him.
"Hervey," she said, wistfully, "may I ask you to do
something for me?”
"Anything a hundred things!" he answered, eagerly,
while still the heaviness was in his tone.
"I want," she said, raising her clear, grave eyes to his, and
speaking very seriously, "to see my own cousin-Gabriel
Myddelton."
"Gabriel Myddelton!"
Captain Trent could only echo the name in his surprise.
"Yes, Hervey; he is innocent, and has been wronged, and
I long to tell him how sorry I am if I ever, even for a mo-
ment, felt he might be guilty.
""
"But, Honor, you do not know where he is.”
"No," she answered, with deep thought; "but still I
want this message borne for me. Will you undertake it,
Hervey? I can trust you best.'
""
"Dear Honor, of course I will; anywhere, to any one;
only tell me where, and to whom."
To Mr. Keith, at Westleigh Towers.'
But, Honor
""
""
66
She stayed his words of quick surprise.
"You wonder," she said, quietly, "why I should send
this message to him, and why wish you to deliver it yourself.
Will you wait for your answer, Hervey? Or am I asking too
much?"
"Too much!" he cried. "Why, I would take it to the
world's end for you, Honor!"
"Thank you; then that is all. Just say to Mr. Keith that
I have a great longing to see my cousin-my own cousin—
Gabriel Myddelton, and that I pray him to help me to do so.
That," she repeated, slowly and thoughtfully, is all."
He asked her no further question, and, when they sepa-
rated, he whispered, with an earnestness which was totally
unselfish⚫
820
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"I shall start early to-morrow, Honor, and I thank you
from the bottom of my heart for trusting me.
59
Honor had no need to invent an excuse for avoiding her
engagements that night. Who, looking into her white face,
could fail to see the pain she suffered? Still she pleaded so
anxiously for Phoebe to go, that Miss Owen consented, though
with great unwillingness at first, and drove away in her radi-
ance, leaving Honor standing at the hall window in the twi-
light, smiling a bright good-bye.
Half an hour after Phoebe had arrived at her destination,.
the large, closed carriage stood again before the door at Ken.
sington, this time waiting for the young mistress. She did
riot take her seat, as Phoebe had done, surrounded by a fairy
pile of gossamer fabric; but she came from the house in a
quiet morning dress, and taking her seat wearily upon the
wide silk cushions, she gave the order, "The Anchorite,
Thames street," just as she would have given it to Bucking
am Palace.
325
She had no room in her mind to-night for any thought of
what her grave and powdered servants might surmise. Law-
rence was not suspected yet, and she must see him before it
was too late. That was all she allowed herself to think.
Yet this haunting dread, this subtle foreboding, which she
had fought against so hard, held her still in its firm grip
And she gazed from the carriage window with a pitiful yearn
ing for some sight or touch which should dispel this feeling
for she knew it to be the presage of some evil or some agony
to come.
1
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A more glorious victory cannot be gained over another man than
this, that, when the injury began on his part, the kindness should
begin on ours.
-TILLOTSON.
HONOR'S carriage was being driven slowly up and down
before the inn to which Mr. Slimp had unintentionally
directed her, and she herself was making futile inquiries of
an obsequious waiter, when Lawrence Haughton entered the
house. He came in just as he used to enter his office, mood.
ily and silently, but still with his head erect and his step
eavily arrogant. There was no shabbiness in his attire, no
slouching in his gait, no cringing in his bearing, as there had
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
321
C
been in his ex-clerk's; but still, when Honor had followed him
up-stairs, and after a quiet tap upon the door of his private
sitting-room, had opened it before he had time to stay the
entrance of any one, she could plainly see-ay, though the
light was drearily dim-that he had a manner strangely at
variance with his old, self-contained assurance.
If she had not been so wrapped up in her own earnest pur-
pose, Honor would have been literally frightened by the effect
her sudden appearance had upon him. The swarthy color
left his face, and beads of perspiration stood thickly on his
brow.
"Honor!" he stammered, his voice hard and husky,
"Honor-you?"
Yes, Lawrence.”
"You!" he repeated, as if the shock had deprived him of
the power of further utterance, while his eyes clave to her
face in almost terrible.nervousness. "Here-alone?"
"Yes," she said again. "I, Lawrence, am alone, of course,
because I came on purpose to see you.
""
He drew toward him one of the unlighted candles which
stood upon the table, and taking a box of wax-lights from his
pocket, struck one after another, all equally clumsily.
"No, please," said Honor, staying his hand with gentle-
ess. "Don't you think there is light enough, Lawrence?"
He dropped the last match, and pushed the candlestick
from him; then he moved slowly, until he stood with his
back against the window, his eyes still riveted upon Honor,
who faced the fading light, beautiful in her gravity and ear-
nestness.
"Why did you come?" he faltered at last. "Is there not
humiliation enough in store for me? Of all the world, why
did you come?"
"I have come," she answered, quietly, "to ask my old
guardian to let me help him now.
He was fighting hard, as she could see, with the feelings
which mastered him; the consciousness of his plans being
baffled, his love lost, his ambition wrecked; and in her pity
she strove to forget everything save her old regard for him,
and her best memory of his care and guardianship. Looking
almost as she used to look in those old days, and speaking to
him almost as if he were her guardian still, she told him--
without reverting to any particular crisis in his affairs-what
the wished to do for him.
"",
322
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Kindly and anxiously she spoke, and, as he listened, the
faint, wild hope of her affection, which had existed in his
mind even to this hour, died a sudden and a hopeless death.
In her pure warm pity, and in memory of those old times.
when his home had been hers, she wished to rescue him from
poverty, and to clear his name from dishonor. But there
could never be a resurrection-day even for the friendship of
those old times.
"You know it all, then, Honor?" he asked, his lips stiff
and dry.
"Of course Slimp went to you at once with his
own story?"
"He came to me this afternoon; I hope it was at once, as
you say, because it will not be well to lose time, Lawrence."
"Time-I have no time left me," he muttered, doggedly;
"Slimp will have bruited my affairs all over Kinbury before
this time to-morrow. ""
"He is to do nothing until this time to-morrow," Honor
said; "then he will come to know my decision."
"On -? Your decision on?" questioned Lawrence,
hurriedly. "Has he been offering you the task of— ???
A
"Never mind what he offered," put in the girl, quietly;
"his offers, as well as his motives, are too despicable to oc-
cupy us for a moment. In his selfish haste he has done what
both you and I may some day thank him for doing. When
he comes to me to-morrow, Lawrence, I hope that you your-
self will see him. It will be kind of you to spare me another
nterview with him, and besides that, he will understand bet-
ter from you how unnecessary his interference will be."
“The little_dastardly thief!" muttered Mr. Haughton, be-
tween his teeth; "it is he who has been the one to tempt
me, and to lower me to this pass.
""
• 6
A poor tempter," said Honor, in quiet scorn.
،،
Ay, poor enough; but it is impossible to do business for
years with a wily, double-natured sneak, and not find his
guidance grow easy, whether one stands up against it at first
or not; especially," he added, with a flash of honesty, "if
one's own disposition is to grind, and save, and-speculate."
"It must have been that," interposed Honor, with a glance
of puzzled anxiety; "for you were never extravagant or reck-
less in your expenditures."
"No, I have no pleasure in spending on myself-or on any
one else," he answered, bitterly. "You know-for you often
said it in old times, Honor-that I saved my money just like.
30%
S
Mo
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
323
old Myddelton That it was which brought on the passion of
speculation; and see how it has ended. I am a ruined man,
and my only chance of even personal safety is cut off now by
a traitor who has been my abettor and encourager all along;
and who turned my ruling passion-avarice-to all his own
base ends."
"Why talk of him?" said Honor, gravely. "Think of
what you yourself wish to undo, Lawrence.
""
"It is too late," he said, and put one hand before his eyes.
"No, not too late, Lawrence, nor is there any risk for your
personal safety, as you say. You will be able to leave England
when you choose, and with your name unsullied. Tell me if
I have done what is right. It was so hard for me to know,
because you-and then Mr. Stafford-have managed these
Chings for me, and left me ignorant. Give me your advice
now, Lawrence. Will you have this uncrossed check upon
my banker here, and take the money yourself to Kinbury to-
morrow, or will you have this crossed check, and pay it in to
your account at Kinbury? Only tell me which, and the sum
is left for you to add.”
"I-I cannot," faltered Lawrence, brokenly.
"Yes, you can," she answered, with her pretty smile; "you
will not let a silly pride come between you and your old ward.
We have no need of a lawyer's help, have we?"
"No need,” he whispered, in the anguish of many mixed
feelings; "but I cannot take it. Oh! Honor, you do not
know the half of my deception."
"I think I do,” she answered, thoughtfully; "I think that
Mr. Slimp would rather tell me more than less."
"I must tell you, and tell you all," he persisted.
"Very well, Lawrence, but not until to-morrow; when you
come to-morrow you shall tell me all. Then justice will have
been done to those who have been wronged or are poor."
"Honor," he cried, moving in sudden haste from the posi-
tion he had so closely maintained, "how can I bear this-to
rob you even more than I have done? I cannot. I will go
away. I will go to-night, as I always meant to do. If they
capture me-if, led on by my own clerk, they bring me back
to face the law-it will be simple justice, after all; while this
-no, I cannot do you such a wrong.'
""
"The wrong has been done to others, Lawrence," said
Honor, sadly; "what I ask is, that you will repair it as far
as you are able,'
""
S
"L
324
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"As I am able!" echoed Lawrence, bitterly. "No, it is
you who would save me from disgrace and publicity, and I
cannot take more from you, Honor. I will leave England
to-night."
"Not to-night," she said, with gentle kindness, as she put
the check into his hand; "I shall not persuade you against
going, Lawrence, because you may think it best; but you
will not go under fear of pursuit, leaving those wrongs unre-
dressed, and bearing the terrible consciousness of having
injured those who trusted you.”
"But it is done."
Yes, it is done," she answered, sadly; "but we can make
amends. All must have what is due to them; and, Lawrence
-my dear old guardian-you can go then with a name which
is not hated and dishonored."
He stood unmoved while she laid the paper in his hand,
but she knew that this was the chill of agony, not indiffer-
ence.
If," she said, with a great effort to speak cheerfully at
last, "if Lawyer Haughton chooses to wind up his affairs and
go abroad, what wonder need it cause? Such things are al-
most of common occurrence now."
C
I can-I can sell my practice then," said Lawrence, with
a sudden break in his misery. "If I wait in England to
undo this evil, then the practice will be worth what it was
before, and I shall not be utterly penniless.
"That will be pleasant," she answered, with a smile.
"You will come to-morrow, Lawrence, and tell me if all is
safe and well. Now I must go.
""
"But," he said, with a change from his short-lived excite-
ment, "you could not do this, Honor, if you knew what had
been my last effort at degradation-you who always thought
so kindly of Gabriel Myddelton, and, through all, believed
him innocent."
"I do know," she said quietly, when he paused.
66
Slimp told you that, too, did he?" Lawrence Haughton
cried. "And did he tell you how I, like others, had been a
blind fool all along, and that Gabriel Myddelton was inno-
cent?"
"Yes, he told me that; and he told me "-the struggle it
cost her to say these words as she had said the others, was
most pitiful that you were mistaken when you thought
that Gabriel Myddelton had come home as Royden Keith."
(C
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
325
No answer; and she made the words a question, raising her
eyes longingly to his.
·
"Was that true, Lawrence?”
66
"I suppose so; but Heaven only knows," he answered, pet-
tishly. It has been a studied belief of mine for two years.
How can I root it out so suddenly?"
"But if he had been our cousin Gabriel, would you not
immediately have recognized him?"
"It is more than twelve years since I saw Gabriel Myddel-
ton," Lawrence answered, moodily, and unconsciously be-
traying his own doubts. "But remember, Honor," he added,
hurriedly, "that if he does prove to be Gabriel, and is inno-
cent, or even if Gabriel Myddelton eventually turns up, you
have nothing to fear. Old Myddelton's money was willed to
you, and no man on earth, even being a Myddelton, can claim
it from you. Remember that, Honor, my
""
But a sense of the fitness of things was able just then to
restrain even Lawrence Haughton. He could not see her
face plainly now, for the twilight had deepened to the first
darkness of the summer night, and the window was nar-
row and its panes not overclear, but he spoke with a change
of tone.
"Honor, forgive me; and you will remember what I say,
if I am not here. There is no flaw in Lady Lawrence's will,
and old Myddelton left her the power of bequeathing his
wealth, without any restrictions."
"Yes," she said, absently, as she offered him her hand,
"I remember."
He held it tightly in his own, while the old passion, rising
with a greater strength than ever, wrote its lines upon his
hard, stern face; and while he crushed back with a violent
effort the pitiable confession which rushed with almost con-
quering force to his lips.
"I shall see you to-morrow," he whispered, "for the last
time; and it might have been that
Then he broke ut.
terly down, and it was some minutes before he regained the
mastery over himself.
""
Not another word could he utter, as he took Honor down
and put her into the carriage, not even in answer to her
kind good-bye; and when she had driven out of sight, he was
still standing there upon the pavement where she had left
him, lost in a deep, regretful dream.
326
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
靠
​{
In spite of that cheery look and smile, Honor's heart was
very heavy as she drove home-and through all this doubt
would force itself: Was she fulfilling well the trust which her
great wealth had brought her? Only her own heart could
answer the question which it asked, but she knew that no
such hesitation could have stayed her in this visit to her old
guardian,
It was quite early in the afternoon of the next day that he
came to Kensington; and, in spite of the weight of shame
which bowed him down, when he begged her to let him tell
her of his delinquencies and debts, she saw a marked change
in him, which reminded her of one or two far back days in
her old home, when Jane and Phoebe had been away, and he
had tried to make his favorite happy without vexing her by
any sign or uttered word of love.
She interrupted him continually when he enlarged, with a
morbid self-torture, on the failure of so many of his specula-
tions, which, as she had rightly guessed, had been maliciously
exaggerated by Mr. Slimp; and they spent a not unpleasant
time together before the time for the clerk's visit.
"You will come up-stairs, Lawrence, when he is gone,
won't you?" Honor said, when she rose to leave the room at
Mr. Slimp's hour. "I shall wait for you. Phoebe is shop-
ping. I shall be quite alone."
une
She sat and waited for him, without offering to take either
book or work into her hands, her thoughts too deeply en-
grossed by her old guardian's possible future, and too in-
tensely anxious over it. But she had not long to wait, and
she turned with a smile when he entered.
"So soon, Lawrence! I am glad."
"Yes, he had no wish and no need to stay," said Mr.
Haughton, coming forward with a curious and uncharacter-
istic air of diffidence. He tried two or three different
experiments; he tried insinuations and threats and promises;
but from the first he saw his own mistake. Honor, you bade
me help him for you, if he were poor, but he is not poor. He
has carefully guarded his own interests always; and, though
he is baffled and mortified, it is, after all, his own doing, and
he has not left himself in any awkward circumstances-trust
him for that."
"Then we may dismiss every thought and memory of
him," said Honor, with a sigh of relief. "And now, Law-
rence, tell me more of your own plans.”
-
"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
321
✓
They sat together for a quiet hour, talking of these plans
and hopes. It was an hour which even Honor remembered
for years, while for him it was to be of life-long memory,
shining like a star in his gloomy past, and ever leading his
thoughts to those better things of which she spoke.
His eyes and lips had lost their hardness, when at last he
rose to say good-bye. Honor had heard Phoebe Owen's
return, and, with her hand upon the door, she stayed him.
"You will like to say good-bye to Phoebe, Lawrence?"
"No," he cried, hurriedly, "no; let yours be my last.
What is Phoebe's compared with
(C
66
Stay one minute, Lawrence," she interrupted, grieved to
see this momentary return to his old manner. 'I will tell
Phoebe, and yet I will have the last hand-shake. Phoebe was
once your ward, as I was. We have only an equal claim upon
you; and this, you say, is to a long good-bye.
""
And before he could answer, she was gone.
Phoebe," said Honor, watching her cousin's face rather
curiously as she gave her message, will you go and see
Lawrence? He is going abroad, and is come to bid us good-
bye. I shall come in to you presently. And suppose I order
tea? Lawrence will not stay and dine with us, but still he
may afford to idle away five minutes over a cup of tea.
"Is Lawrence really going abroad?"
The question came from Phoebe's lips freighted only with
súrprise. Honor saw this with a feeling of deep thankful-
ness. The time was come for which she used to long, and
Phoebe's inexplicable infatuation was over.
(6
Why is it?" inquired Miss Owen, standing placidly for
her maid to arrange her tunic after the inevitable crushing of
Why does he go so suddenly?"
the drive. 66
"You forget that we cannot expect now to be aware of his
plans until they are made public. If he had been intending
and preparing for this for months, we should not have known
it."
-
"No, I suppose not," rejoined Phoebe, with a ghost of a
sigh; "I'm ready. You won't be long, Honor?”
Honor smiled at the request. It was so unlike the old
times, when, to gain a few minutes of her guardian's sole at-
tention, Phoebe would have exercised herself in any harmless
stratagem. She waited only a few minutes, timing her en-
trance just as the footman carried in the trays; and Lawrence
did stay, and Honor's purpose was successful, for the parting
•
-328
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
=
7.
was an easy, natural parting, and Mr. Haughton's feeling was
that he had left the house of true friends, who had genially
and pleasantly entertained him; not that he had departed in
bitter humiliation, with coals of fire heaped upon his head.
This was Honor's intention, and she had, as usual, brightly
worked its fulfilment.
"Honor, how can it be?" cried Phoebe, when the two girls
were left together again. "To think that I have parted from
Lawrence, and yet am not broken-hearted! I can hardly be-
lieve it can you?-remembering how different things used to
be. I wish he would have told me what first induced him to
form this plan.
It was because Honor had feared such questions for him
that she had not left him long with Phoebe; but it would
seem that Miss Owen had made time for several.
""
"Jane will be pretty lonely at the Larches," she continued,
"but she will keep the house on, Lawrence says. Why, Jane
never had above a hundred a year of her own, had she,
Honor? Do you think she can manage to live at the Larches
on that? Lawrence says Slimp is in London now, and likely
to stay here. I wonder whether his leaving the office had
anything to do with Lawrence's decision; because I always
thought Slimp would stay in Kinbury all his life-didn't
you p
A
So the girl ran on, but Honor managed to evade her an-
swers; while every minute now, as night drew on, her ownl
anxiety grew greater and greater for tidings from Hervey, or
tidings which Hervey might possibly bring.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
It's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree.
-ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
CAPTAIN TRENT journeyed to Westleigh by the first train
from London, yet it was past mid-day when he pulled the
great iron bell beside the arched door of the Towers. From
the moment this door was thrown open to him a certain hush
upon the house made the contrast wonderfully strong between
this day and that merry one he had spent here before, when
old Mrs. Payte arrived so suddenly with Honor, and the house
had been filled with gayety and laughter
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
329
1
Yes, Mr. Keith was at home, the grave old butler told him,
and led him to a long, high room on the right of the hall-a
room in which the solitary figure of an old lady, sewing be-
side the window, looked almost like a doll's.
"Mr. Keith," she repeated, dubiously, as she came for-
`ward to receive Hervey's bow and inquiry; "he-yes, I have
no doubt he will see you; but he is far from well. You will
excuse the liberty I take, as an old woman, Captain Trent,"
-glancing at his card-"if I ask you not to let me summon
Mr. Keith if—if it is unnecessary or-
""
Hervey read the real anxiety in the pleasant face-to read
such thoughts as these was not impossible to him now-but
he could not guess how rarely had visitors lately brought any
pleasure to Royden.
"Indeed," he said, in what Phoebe called "his nice way,"
"I would not ask to see Mr. Keith at all if I felt that I were
bringing him worry or anxiety. Let me assure you that it is
quite the reverse.
Miss Henderson smiled, partly in relief, and partly in ac-
knowledgment of the courtesy of Hervey's manner.
"I will take your card," she said, and left him alone in the
long room.
در
Only a few minutes passed before Royden entered; and at
that moment Captain Trent experienced the greatest shock
he had felt through all his life, though he little guessed how
long the effect of this sudden shock was to hover about him,
and have its share in deepening the growing seriousness of
his own thoughts and feelings.
"My God, Keith!" he faltered, incapable of hiding this
pained astonishment, "have you been so ill?"
.
"I have not been ill," said Royden, quietly, as he took
Hervey's outstretched hand; "I mean, not worse than I am
now. If an illness is my doom, it is in the future, not the
past."
"Sit down," said Hervey, losing every trace of his old af-
fectation, as he drew forward a large arm-chair, and, taking
a seat himself to insure Royden's taking his, tried to remove
his frightened gaze from his companion's face-so worn and
pallid, and yet bearing still, even in its weakness, that won-
derful strength of patience and steadfastness which, far more
than any difference in features and form, made the contrast
between these two men so striking.
ļ
330
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"How are all my old friends, Captain Trent?” inquired
Royden, seeing much of the change in Hervey-for his glance,
though weary and feverish, had its old, keen power-and
wondering a little over it.
"All well," said Hervey, trying to talk easily; "I have
come as a messenger from one of them."
"Are Mrs. and Miss Trent in London still ?"
The question was oool and easy, and the listener could not
detect its motive.
"Yes," rejoined Hervey, with unconcealed indifference,
"indeed they are."
"And your other cousins?"
"Phoebe," replied Hervey, feeling his way gradually to the
message, "could not be better, I fancy; she enjoys three days
for every one she lives this season.”
"That is pleasant for her."
"But Honor," resumed Captain Trent, not succeeding in
his effort to be quite at ease, "does not seem well or happy.'
ور
No answer, and Royden's eyes were fixed upon the sunny
grass beyond the open window. But even Hervey could sce
that some thought had deeply shadowed them.
"And she bade me," continued Hervey, his voice taking
an earnestness which the memory of her words had brought;
(C
see you, Mr. Keith, and tell you this message; I must say
it in her own words-it will be easiest and best. She said:
6
Will you tell him that I have a great longing to see my own
cousin, Gabriel Myddelton, and I beg him to help me, if he
can.' That was her message, Keith, just as she intrusted it
to me. What answer may I take her?"
"You shall take her Gabriel's own answer, if you will," he
said, speaking sadly, after a slight pause.
"He will be grate-
ful for this message from the only one of all his house who has
ever spoken kindly of him, or doubted his guilt. He will be
very glad of it, especially if you deliver it yourself, as you
have done to me.
""
"But how would that be possible?"
"Would you go to him, if it were possible?"
"Yes-certainly.
I would fulfil Honor's wish to the
letter."
"Then, if you will stay with me to-night, I will give you
an address in Liverpool where, to-morrow, you will find Ga-
briel Myddelton; where now his wife is waiting to receive
him."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
331
"His-wife!"
"His wife," repeated Royden, quietly.
"For some time
she has been staying here with an old friend of hers, the lady
whom you met just now; but yesterday she went to Liverpool
to await the vessel in which her husband sailed from America.
His life is safe on English ground now, and he is glad to
come."
"How did he know?" faltered Captain Trent.
'I telegraphed to him the very hour his innocence was
proved. I hoped to go and greet him when he landed, but I
could not."
Hervey sat in silence, his thoughts growing tangled.
"This is all so strange," he said, when at last one of those
thoughts found words. "Can Gabriel Myddelton really be
landing in England to-day?"
"Really!"
"And married ?"
"And married, Captain Trent. Even with that brand
upon his name, he found one who would link her life with
his, and who-but that her health failed and he entreated
her to save it for his sake-would never have parted from
him.”
"And she has been here?"
"Yes, visiting me for some time; we are very old friends;
and Miss Henderson and she are very old friends, too. I
should have gone with her, as I said, if I had been better; I
hoped Miss Henderson would go instead, but she would not
consent to leave me. So Alice Myddelton went with Mr.
Romer-you have not forgotten what a good fellow your old
rector was, Captain Trent?"
"Indeed, I have not, although he was never very fond of
me."
They talked a little longer, but never alluded again to those
old days in Statton; and presently dinner was announced.
Royden took his place at table, but Hervey noticed that he
touched nothing on his plate, and though he talked a little,
Hervey could see that his strength was soon exhausted, and
that Miss Henderson grew painfully anxious.
With an unusual thoughtfulness, Captain Trent strolled
out alone after dinner, and, when he came in, he devoted
himself to the old lady, and left Royden to what rest he could
obtain.
¿
Q
332
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
Th
Captain Trent was ready next morning for the earliest train
to Liverpool-industriously and anxiously was he fulfilling
this trust confided to him-but, early as it was, Royden came
down into the hall as the horses drew up at the door.
"You will find no difficulty, I think," he said, with a
grasp of his hot fingers. "I am very glad that you are going,
and your cousin will be glad, too."
Honor, you mean?"
(6
'No; I mean Gabriel."
"Have you any message for Honor?" inquired Hervey,
hoping that he should not need to tell her how Mr. Keith
was looking.
"No," he answered, without a change of tone, for he had
schooled himself for this. "Her wish shall be fulfilled.
She will see her cousin, Gabriel Myddelton."
From the carriage Hervey looked back upon the two stand-
ing in old-fashioned hospitality to see him off.
"He looks-dying," mused Captain Trent to himself, with
an uncomfortable shudder, "and the old lady seems to know
it, too. She is not very wise, though, to show so plainly that
she knows it. Even the servants seem under a cloud. I
verily believe he has made them fond of him, in an old-fash-
ioned sort of style. They do not look like domestic machines.
How courageously he defied his illness last night, when he
went out to speak to those fishermen, and how he entered into
all they had to say, standing there, with his dogs about him.
I believe even the dogs are fretting to see him changed."
Hervey Trent did not arrive in Liverpool until a whole
day after the landing of the passengers from the Cunard
steamer, and he had little trouble in finding Gabriel Myddel-
ton at the hotel to which Royden had directed him. The
moment he met his cousin face to face, he knew him. It was
the face from the picture at Abbotsmoor; it was the face,
though so much changed, of the boy-cousin Hervey could re-
member playing with and always envying as heir of Abbots-
moor, and of old Myddelton's money.
-
Involuntarily, he held out his hand, and welcomed Gabriel
in tones that were unusually warm and genial for Captain
Hervey Trent. Of course Gabriel did not recognize him at
first, and, when he did, his welcome seemed much colder than
Hervey's; but this was only due to the reserve which had
grown upon him during his twelve years' banishment.
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
333
Beside his manner, that of Alice seemed almost cordial.
Perhaps much of her timidity had left her, now that she felt
her husband near her once again, and in safety; but perhaps
it was in contrast to Gabriel's dreamy reticence.
Hervey had just repeated again, word for word, the mes-
sage with which he had been charged, and Gabriel had an-
swered, with a gratitude which was almost touching, that he
would go in person to thank Honor, after he had seen Roy-
den, when a telegram was brought into the room.
It was addressed to Alice, but her fingers trembled so sadly
while she held it, that Gabriel gently took it and opened it
for her; Hervey, waiting beside them, felt his heart sink with
fear. The telegram was from Miss Henderson at Westleigh
Towers, and these were the words it bore:
"At Mr. Keith's request, I send this to stop your return
here. For you in your delicate health, and for Mr. Myddel.
ton, after his voyage, it would be highly unwise to come.
Ask Mr. Myddelton to let us know where you stay, and I will
write. Mr. Keith even wished me to leave him, too. It is
aggravated typhoid fever, Dr. Franklin fears, but he has tele-
graphed for further advice. We can easily guess by what it
has been brought on, and indeed by what accelerated since.
Of course I shall not leave. I will write, but do not be
alarmed if you do not hear very soon. Every minute of my
day is too little to give him."
..
Ob, Gabriel!" cried his wife, clasping her hands about
his arm when the telegram fell from his fingers, "what shall
we do? Oh, poor, poor Roy!"
،،
"There is but one thing for me to do," said Gabriel, with
intense sorrow in his face and voice; but, dear wife, where
can I leave you?”
"How do you mean
"That I must go to him; but I am such a stranger now in
my native land, that I cannot choose for you, except that--
as he says you must not go to Westleigh.
"5
Then Hervey came to the rescue.
"If Mrs. Myddelton will let me escort her to London," he
said, earnestly, "I am sure I could not take back to Honor
any better acknowledgment of her message.
Do you think so?" inquired Gabriel, eagerly. "You
know her best: do you really think so?”
""
Q
334
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"I am sure, very sure," replied Hervey, promptly; "here
is Mr. Romer; ask him, for he knows Honor, too.
It was readily settled, and Mr. Romer (who had invented
business in Liverpool most of that day, thinking his company
unneeded) seconded the idea so warmly, and made the ar-
rangements with such promptness, that the plan was carried
out almost as soon as proposed. Mr. Romer himself returned,
by his own particular wish, to Westleigh Towers; and though
Gabriel fancied he went as guide to him, the real reason was
the rector's earnest desire to be with Royden now.
They traveled only half way by rail, and then finding no
fast train would take them on, and no train at all would stop
at Westleigh that night, they posted; and having four strong
horses, they could see the castellated towers of Royden's
home rise before them in the melancholy light of the July
midnight.
Just at that hour, Gabriel's wife sat with Honor Craven in
the luxurious little dressing-room which (as well as the
chamber beyond, with its girlish trifles lying about, and its
soft pink hangings) had been hastily prepared for Alice, and
tried to tell her the story of her life.
"I can tell it to you," she had sobbed in her fatigue and
helplessness, when she had read the lovely, earnest face of
this new cousin, who met her so kindly, and made her so
wonderfully at home; "I wonder why."
"Because," said Honor, with her bright, sweet smile, "I
am the nearest relation your husband has; and should like to
be a near friend of yours.
""
There was a wonderful contrast between the two girls, as
they sat together before the pleasant little fire which Honor
had ordered because the midnight air was chill, and Alice
(partly in fear, and partly in weakness) had been shivering
down-stairs. Not in the features alone was this contrast
evident, but, more strongly still, in the natures which looked
from their eyes. The strength and steadfastness of the one,
the perfect oblivion of self and wide thought for others, and
the gentle helpfulness, no less than the rich and radiant
beauty, made more evident the nervous timidity, the shy mis-
trusting reticence, and the shrinking from responsibility, no
less than the fair, fragile prettiness of the other.
T
"I have not much to tell, but I wish I could tell it better.
What he has done for Gabriel I dare not speak of; Gabriel
must tell it for himself. His has been a long, long course of
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
335
kindness, which he practiced just naturally, as he does all
good things. Oh! if I could only tell of these kindnesses, for
me and for Grabriel-if I only could-but I cannot. Miss
Craven, what have I said to bring the tears to your eyes? It
was in Germany, nearly twelve years ago-you have heard of
the old gentleman who left his name and property to Mr.
Keith? It was just before that time that I met him first,
since (seven years before) we had been children together, and
near neighhors in an English county. He was a barrister,
though he was not practicing just then, and his name was
Royden Sydney. We went to America after that, on the same
vessel-he, and my father and I.
father and I. He was a very rich man
then, and going to the New World for pleasure. On that
voyage-
"Do not tell me to-night," put in Honor, with a gentle
caress, as she saw the tears gather in Alice's eyes.
"Yes, I would rather tell, please. On that voyage my
father died quite suddenly, and I was left entirely alone in
the world, for I had no other relation-I had even no
friend. What a friend he was upon that voyage, and
afterward, I never could tell you. His care and friend-
ship did not cease when we had landed, and it was only
through his help (exerted in so many ways) that I obtained
a livelihood, for my father's income died with him, and I was
almost penniless. One day I remember it as if it might
have been to-day-there appeared at the house of the gentle-
man whose wife had, at Mr. Keith's request, taken me to be
her companion, a young man who, not having found the mas-
ter at the office, had come on to the house, and been admitted
among us all. That very evening Mr. Keith (he was an hon-
ored guest there) had returned from Peru, and he happened
to be with us when this young man entered. I saw him
watching the scene keenly, and I felt that what he saw of the
new-comer he liked or recognized. The merchant would not
engage a clerk who came with no testimonials and no recom-
mendations, unless he could give security for two hundred
pounds. I saw the quiet, steady look deepening in Mr. Keith's
eyes-it was so sad to me to watch the anxious face of the
young man who, though evidently an English gentleman,
pleaded so urgently for this situation, that I watched Mr.
Keith instead-then presently he said he would pay the se-
curity down, and Mr. Hollys, the Boston merchant, could re-
-
ម
336
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
pay it to his clerk, when he dismissed him. From that time
abriel and I-
""
"I understand," said Honor, softly, when she paused.
"And we married soon," resumed Alice, wiping away her
tears hurriedly; "and we loved each other dearly, and were
very happy, though our lives have known many sorrows and
our hearts have often failed and fretted. But the greater
part have all been lightened for us by that one kind hand,
and our sorrow often turned to joy by him. Oh! how I wish
that I could tell you how!
"At last," she went on presently, folding her weak hands
in her lap, "my health failed, and Gabriel's heart seemed
breaking, because they told him that, to save my life, I must
be sent home to England, and he knew he dared not come.
He had told me all the story of old Mr. Myddelton's murder,
and of the trial, every word, before he won my promise to
marry him; and so, of course, I knew why we could not go,
for neither he nor Í had any English friends; but again our
one true friend came to the rescue, and he brought me to his
own beautiful home. That was two years ago, and I have
been getting better and stronger ever since. Now that Ga-
briel has come, I know that I shall soon be quite strong again.
I found, one day, in that foreign land, an old friend of my
mother's, who, through loss of her property invested in mines,
was living a struggling life out there; and-quite unthink-
ingly I told Gabriel, in Mr. Keith's presence, of how I
traced her. Royden remembered this-as he remembers all
opportunities for kindness-and, when the question arose
about my going to England, and he said he was returning,
and gave me that offer of a home, he begged that she should
come too; and-you know the rest. Our home at Westleigh
--Miss Henderson's and mine-has been a peaceful and a
happy one. No word or glance has ever told that it was not
ours equally with his; and for those two years he has tried,
ah! so earnestly and patiently, to clear Gabriel's name, that
my husband might come and live again in his native country.
Gabriel had told him the whole story when he so generously
offered me this home in England, for we thought it might
make him retract the offer. Yet how could we ever think.
that of him? It only made him determine-for he never
doubted Gabriel's version of the story, never-to trace out
the real murderer, if it were in man's power to do so.
know that he has succeeded, as no other man could; for, but
You

OLD MÝDDELTON'S MÕNEY.
337
for his pity and his help, Margaret Territ would have burned
that confession. Oh! how full my heart is when I speak of
him, and what can I ever do in return? What can I ever do,
but what the very smallest child he helps may do as well-
just pray my God to bless him."
Honor's head was bowed upon her hands, and it was not
until Phoebe tapped gently at the door to hasten her, that she
raised her face again; then Alice saw the marks of tears and
wished she had not told any sad tales to-night.
On the next day but one came the anxiously expected let-
ters, one from Miss Henderson and one from Gabriel, both
short and very sad.
Miss Henderson told of the fluctuating nature of Royden's
fever, of the skill of the four physicians, of the calmness of
the Sister engaged as nurse, and of the unfeigned sorrow of
the servants; finishing with the hope that Alice herself was
better, the letter being evidently a composition studied from
beginning to end, to keep up her spirits.
But Gabriel's was different. He told of the violence of the
fever, the awful suffering, and the intermittent attacks of
delirium; of the total absence of all rest or ease, the dis
couraging opinions of the physicians; the dullness of the
nurse, and the awkwardness of which he himself was pain-
fully conscious in his own attendance beside the sick bed.
Alice read this letter aloud, as she had read the other; but
suddenly, as she reached the end of the sad recital, she made
an abrupt pause.
“I—I—think I will not read the rest," she said, in her
nervous, frightened way; "it may grieve you, Honor.'
""
Honor gazed at her in mute surprise.
"Grieve me," she echoed, sadly. "Could anything grieve
ne more deeply than those words which you have just read!"
"This is about yourself-that is why I stopped," explained-
Alice, characteristically.
"Will you-read it, please?"
"You are sure you wish is?"
"Quite-quite sure."
Alice took up the letter again and read; and when she had
finished Honor answered, Thank you," very softly, while
Alice wondered over the nature she could not understand; for
these were the words she had read:
“Chieflv. in all his delirium, he calls one name—Honor.
an it be my cousin he longs to see? You had better not tell
338
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
her, perhaps, as it is very sad to hear it; and I would rather
not know that she has given him such a deep unhappiness as
I feel him to be suffering, when I listen to the tone in which
he calls her, or speaks to her. It makes this bitter watching
more bitter even than it need be; and oh, Alice, I feel now
for him-as I used to feel for myself-how impossible it is to
minister to a mind diseased. Do not tell her,' I said—and
yet I leave it to you. You will know best.”
A few minutes afterward Honor went alone into the library,
where Hervey waited to hear the tidings from Westleigh. He
started when she came in, for she might have passed through
a long illness since he had seen her last night. But she did
not wait for him to question her.
(C
'Hervey," she said, "I-do not look at me so; I am well
-I only want to speak to you, Hervey. Phoebe will tell you
of Gabriel's letter; I will send her to you. I am going on a
journey, and I want to know if you will come with me. You
took the same journey for me once before-for me then, not
with me.
Cousin Hervey, will you come with me now to
Westleigh Towers? Can you come at once-now please, Her-
vey, or we may be—too late.”
66
Honor, dear Honor, I am ready."
1
""
CHAPTER XL.
My shadow falls upon my grave,
So near the brink I stand,
-HOOD.
WHILE Phoebe was still telling Captain Trent of Gabriel's
letter, Honor re-entered the room, her hat tilted low over
her tell-tale eyes.
"Take care of Gabriel's wife," she whispered, her pulses
quickening as the carriage rolled past the window near which
they stood, and the restive horses were pulled up before the
door.
"I wish I had ascertained about the trains," fretted Her-
vey, as he followed the girls into the hall. "If there are
none now beyond Langham, I don't know what we shall do.”
"I have sent a groom on horseback," said Honor, quietly;
"and he is to telegraph on for post-horses. Good-bye, dear
little Frau."
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
339
Yet, for all her quietness, Hervey felt her hand tremble
on his arm when he led her out to the carriage, and through
the whole journey, though she sat so still and patiently, the
restlessness and the anxiety within her eyes were painful to
see. And, beyond this, there was another misery which
Hervey little guessed of. The consciousness of what might
have been, if she had doubted then, as she doubted now, those
words which Theodora Trent had represented as Royden's.
Doubted! Ah! no, she had never doubted, even then.
"I-I must have hated myself," she thought, "if I could
have believed him to have said them-even then. But hę
took me by surprise. She had only just told me, and-not
as if the words were- -a falsehood.
""
By Honor's wish, the chaise was stopped at the park gates
of Westleigh Towers, and she and Hervey descended. A little
crowd had collected at the door of the lodge; women who had
run from their cottages to hear the latest tidings; fishermen
who had walked straight up from the beach to hear of the
master before they entered their own homes; men and women
who had walked from the mills to-day around the high-road,
on purpose to hear what might be learned from the physicians,
as they drove through these western gates back to the station;
a homely throng, which drew back when the foaming post-
horses stopped at the gate, and-in spite of the anxiety upon
their faces-never obtruded an inquisitive word or glance.
Honor's sad eyes rested on them for a minute, then she moved
on with a hurried start, for she dared not trust herself to hear
the words which they might say.
"Hervey," she said, glancing up at the castellated towers
as they neared the house, "how silent it is!"
"Oh! that's nothing," asserted Hervey, promptly. "Of
course there's no band playing, and that sort of thing. My
dear Honor, what sound would you have?"
"It was so different when I was here before.'
"Of course, because the house was full of guests.”
“But even the dogs are gone!"
،،
"Yes, strange to say," returned Hervey, making an effort
to speak with a great deal of ease and unconcern, they per-
sist in standing or lying about the hall in a manner ridicu-
lously abject. As if they need conspire to make things more
dismal than they are! It is a mistake to cultivate dogs."
{
Royden's grave old butler showed no surprise when he
admitted the beautiful young lady, for whose coming no
ច
340
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
preparation had been made, but he was conscious of a great
astonishment filling his mind when he noticed how softly and
quietly she entered the sick-house, and how, as she followed
him across the hall, she stopped to speak by name to one of
Royden's dogs, and to lay her hand caressingly upon his
drooping head. "She, too," thought the old man, with a
glance into her anxious face, "is distressed about the mas-
ter."
He was standing then beside the door to which he had
led her, but just at that moment Mr. Keith's valet happened
to cross the hall, and Honor, who knew him well, paused,
her eyes full of mute and anxious questioning. But Pierce,
with only a silent bow, passed on. How could he stop there
in the full light-he, a man of middle age—with his eyes full
of tears?
+
(C
Hervey," whispered Honor, when the cousins were left
alone in the long drawing-room, "I saw a Sister of Mercy on
the stairs, and she-she had no hope in her face."
"They never have," asserted Hervey, glibly, "never, my
dear. They wouldn't be proper Sisters if they had."
Miss Henderson answered immediately the note from Alice
Myddelton, which was given her with Honor's card, and she
came in to greet Miss Craven with the most strong-minded
determination to give cheerful impressions generally, and to
report, with particular cheerfulness, of Royden. But Miss
Henderson was not by any means a strong-minded person, her
heart being some hundreds of years from its fossil condition;
and so it happened that the moment she met Honor's eyes she
broke down ignominiously, and cried like a child. And
Honor, holding both her hands, and kissing her now and then
in her gentle, pitiful way, cried with her, while Hervey kept
his face turned to the window.
But Miss Henderson had not come then from the sick-room,
and she herself was waiting anxiously for tidings.
"The physicians are in consultation," she said, "and only
the nurse in attendance-of course with Mr. Myddelton.
Pierce sent to London for Sir Edward Graham yesterday, and
he is here to-day, too, and brought another physician with
him. Pierce says Mr. Keith knew Sir Edward very well, and
often visited him in London. Dr. Franklin, of Westleigh,
has been here ever since the first alarm. But they all say the
same thing," sobbed Miss Henderson, again forgetting her
determination, that there is imminent danger in these rest-
less attacks of fever alternating with such death-like exhaus-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
341
.tion. I, through all those three or four weeks before the
fever asserted itself, was haunted by a fear of what was com-
ing. He said it was weariness-headache; he said sometimes
that it was nothing. But I knew he could not look so unless
-something else was near."
G
It was just at this moment that the room-door was
opened, and Honor, turning her eyes to see, started to her
-feet with a cry which sounded almost glad.
"Gabriel!"
He, too, had recognized her in that moment, and the
cousins met with both hands extended, while for that moment
there was a smile on each of their faces.
"Honor," said Gabriel, very quietly; "of course I knew
you, Honor."
She told him how she had longed to see him, and how glad
she was that he had come home, though-
"Yes," he said, finishing the sentence for her, sadly.
"Though it was so good to come home, this has turned the
pleasure into pain."
Then he tried to change his tone again, and tell her he had
recognized her in a moment from what Royden had written of
her, and how he thanked her for her trust in his innocence,
of which Royden had told him, too. But her thoughts would
scarcely follow these words, and he knew it.
"I am to await the physicians here," he said, only glancing
at his wife's letter, when Hervey gave it to him, but putting
it carefully into his pocket-book.
"She is well," said Honor, gently, "only so very anxious."
"She knows," he said, "that we are only watching here
to see him-die!"
"God is so good!" breathed Honor, softly.
66
"Mr. Myddelton," put in Miss Henderson, with a little
sternness in her tone, you always fear the worst-the very
worst." 1
"How can I help fearing," questioned Gabriel, betraying
the timidity which had been so fatal to him years ago, "when
I think what he has been to me and to my wife, and how
powerless I am now to help or give him ease?"
"Is he always unconscious?" asked Hervey.
፡፡
Always; as far as we can judge. He sometimes seems to
wake to a little quickened intelligence, but it is only to fall
back into the old vague or fevered wandering. Miss Hender-
son is right; I do fear the very worst. All my old nervous-
Q
842
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
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*
ness and mistrust came back to me in the presence of this
anguish. Yet I had fancied that these long twelve years, and
his help, and his example, had made me stronger and more
trustful. Honor, has Alice told you what he has been to us?"
"She
"To her," said Honor, every word an effort to her.
said you would tell me more-
would tell me more-some day."
"Let me tell you now, while we can do nothing but wait
here. There may come a time when I dare not speak of it;
when it will break my heart to recall, in words, his prompt,
unquestioning trust in my innocence of that crime which
banished me; his patient efforts to clear my name, and make
it possible for me to come home; his manlike forbearance
when suspicion rested basely even on himself; his true, ear-
nest help, through these twelve years; and, above all, that
simple, generous kindliness of his, which was the cause, at
last-as nothing else on earth could have been-of my inno-
cence being proved. Honor, I can only tell you now the
story of our first meeting, but even that will tell you much I
dare not speak of. You have heard of my escape from prison,
and the rumor (which was true) that I sailed from England
to America in an emigrant vessel. My steerage passage was
taken for me by the man whom Territ employed to see me on
board, and then I had just five shillings in my pocket, which
I slipped into his hand in gratitude when we parted. Neither
my watch nor my ring could I venture to sell, because the
Myddelton crest upon them might have led to my capture. I
had left them in Margaret Territ's care on the night I had
changed my coat at her cottage, but she had given them back
to me on my escape from the jail. She had offered me money
—all she had-but that, of course, I would not touch. Even
in America, and even to keep myself from destitution, I felt
I never should dare to part with my watch and ring, such a
terror of detection was upon me ever.
"That was a miserable voyage, even beyond the misery of
dwelling on the injustice which had forced me to the flight.
Of course, I naturally shrank from all companionship with
those about me, but I knew I should equally have done so if
they had been of my own grade. What fellowship had I now
with any man on earth? The poor wretches around me, hud-
dling together in poverty and uncleanliness, had more com-
panionship with one another than I had with any one under
that wide stretch of sky, which was all I cared to look upon;
for could I regret the shore I left behind, or build one hope.
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
343
W
upon the shore I was to reach? I know now how different
it might have been, even in that voyage; but it was, as I have
said, a time of acute and morbid suffering to me.
"One gentleman among the cabin passengers often spoke
to me when I was on deck, often spoke, indeed, to many of
us. Of all the state-room passengers, he was the only one who
could spare one of those idle hours on board for such as I, or
who had a cheery word to give us in our seeming roughness, or
hopelessness, or squalor. As good to me were those hours
he gave me as was the first glimpse of the Old Country's
hores a week ago-better, because sometimes, in the quiet
starlight, or the sunset time, he would talk of another shore
which was more surely home.
"When we landed at Levi Point, and I stood alone on
shore among the luggage-scarcely one article of which be-
longed to myself-hopeless and spiritless, and weighed down
with that sense of utter loneliness which I knew must be my
doom forever, this gentleman came up to me. His first-class
ticket was for Boston, he said, and as he was not going so
far, he would like me to take it, because he knew the third-
class emigrant trains were often a week upon the road. For
one minute I morbidly resented his cognizance of my poverty,
but in the next I humbly and gratefully accepted his gift,
knowing I could not have provided myself even with dry
bread through that week of traveling.
"When we stopped at Richmond, he sought me out again,
and-in spite of my workman's dress and sullen humor-took
me to dine, and talked with me as with an equal (yet as no
one had ever talked to me before), while we walked back to
the station at night-fall. The third-class train was just com-
ing in when we reached the station, and I remember well how,
for a few minutes, he stood back, and, rather sadly and in-
tently, watched the passengers as they crowded out upon the
platform. Then he left me, and, moving quietly and easily
among these poor tired creatures, he seemed to give help or
encouragement to all-God bless him! I believe it is natural
to him to do so. Honor, I remember once, when he had man-
aged to get tea for a forlorn little crowd (men who, like my-
self, had not a penny in their pockets, and women and chil-
dren who had not tasted food for four-and-twenty hours, be-
cause-like myself, too-they had not thought to store
for after use any of their last meals on board), I saw them
actually crying over him, and touching him with a reverence
-
Ma
344
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
*
which, in that time and place, was terribly pathetic. Could
I be ashamed if I, too, were so foolish?
"He left the cars at the last station before Boston, and
when he took my hand and bade me Godspeed, I could not
answer him a single word, because I felt that our paths of
life could never be crossed again. But I was to meet him
once more in a week's time. Can I ever forget that first
week in Boston? Each day was worse to me, I think, than
those I had passed in the condemned cell, under sentence of
death. Every hour of daylight I spent in my pursuit of
work, toiling along every street of the great city, and calling
in at every office and every store. I had no need of guide or
directory, for I would call everywhere; I would not miss a
single door until I either found employment, or fell by the
way.
"Those were days of literal starvation, Honor; and when
the darkness stopped me in my search, I could only creep
into a police-cell, and, with a tin of water for my supper, lay
myself down upon a board and try to sleep so; while other
men lay near me, poor and homeless as myself.
"Sometimes, with a faint chance of success, I was sent
from one store to another at a distance, but always after the
vain effort—I came back to the same spot, and went on from
door to door, never missing one, and often tempted, instead
of my vain request for work, to cry for a mouthful of food.
And often I was hurried back into the street with suspicion,
because so hungrily I had been watching the dollars changing
hands in the stores.
M
"Sometimes I met with men as weak and poor and hope-
less as myself, who had come from the Old Country with a
store of energy and money, too, but had sunk until they were
what I saw them, deep in poverty and gloom. And some-
times I saw men rich and prosperous, and was told that they
had worked their own way up, without the aid of capital or
friends.
"Sometimes I met with one of those who had sailed with
me, and he would tell me, perhaps, of his bitter home-sick-
ness, wondering that I did not own to that; wondering, above
all, why I should hurry past the post-office, where my own
countrymen, in crowds, waited eagerly for news of home. It
is a sad tale to tell you, Honor, at this sad time, but it will
soon be over now,
"
345
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"A week of this ceaseless work went past, and I was gaunt
and hollowed-cheeked; ill with almost constant ague, and
having the appearance, as I knew quite well, of being only
half-witted, in my nervous attempts to conceal the fact that I
was almost barefoot. At last, one day, came a change of
thought and plan which saved me.
"I was standing just within the door of a printer's office,
waiting for an opportunity of asking whether they would en-
gage me on what terms they chose, and leaning against the
packets of paper, ill, foot-sore, and famished, when a sound,
which had seemed to me the surging of waters about my head,
grew first into raised, distinct tones, then into phrases which
I could follow.
"Two men were comparing their early struggles for a live-
lihood, and recalling how one turning-point had brought them
each success at last. In my weakness, and with that surging
pain in my head, I could not follow the words quite distinctly;
yet this one thing I understood-my only chance of obtaining
employment was to seek it as a gentleman (what a mockery it
was to recall my old life now!) and as if employment were of
little value to me.
"I knew what the men meant, and I crept from the store,
and tried to rouse my failing energies to think out this
thought, and face my possibility of success. I was successful,
Honor; not because these men were right in their random.
assertion, and not because I acted my new part well, but be-
cause on that day Heaven was so merciful as to guide me to
the one who had helped and befriended me before.
"It was my last desperate chance, and of course I was will-
ing to stake upon it the little I possessed. I even dared the
possibility of being traced, for if it failed-what was my
freedom worth?
GRA
"In return for my watch and ring, I obtained a suit of
clothes in which I might begin my new search as a gentleman.
It never entered my head to doubt its being worth what I paid
for it, and I was truly grateful to the man who equipped me.
When he asked me to accept a shilling for my dinner, and,
following me to the door, said kindly that he should be very
glad to hear of my luck, I felt-in my new-born hope that
I could hardly thank him enough.
"If Alice told you of our first meeting, Honor, you know
the rest of my story. From the office of a rich stock-broker,
to whom that very day I applied for an engagment, I was
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346
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
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sent on to his private residence. It was the house in which
Alice lived as governess, and Royden Keith was visiting there
that very day. The master of the house heard all I had to
say, but told me decisively then that he could engage no man
for a post of trust without securities. He told me afterward
that he said it chiefly to get rid of me, thinking me sickly,
and unpleasantly persistent. Somehow just then Mr. Keith
seemed to take the arrangement of the matter quietly into
his own hands, and I was engaged. Ah! what a night of
gratitude and hope that was, and with what joy I walked two
miles next morning at daybreak to tell the tailor of my suc-
cess.
"When I had been in that office only one year, Honor, I
had won my employer's confidence, and the money was repaid
to Royden Keith which he had advanced for me.
Two years
afterward Alice and I were married, and for a wedding gift
my employer gave me the share in his business which it had
been my ambition some day to buy. Soon afterward he died,
and when news came to me three weeks ago that I might
come home, I was able to sell the business to my junior part-
ner, and bring home an income sufficient for our wants.
Honor, you see that it is not only my liberty I owe to
Royden Keith, but all that I possess, and-even my life, I
think."
Honor's eyes were covered with her hand; Hervey had
walked away again to the window, and there was utter silence.
in the room when Gabriel's voice ceased. But suddenly
Honor rose, her whole form trembling, for her listening ears
had caught the physicians' steps.
They all three came quietly into the room, two gentlemen
with white hair and grave, thoughtful faces, and one with
young but careworn features, and an unconquerable nervous.
ness, which yet betrayed no want of skill or decision. This
was Dr. Franklin, of Westleigh, and in a moment he recog-
nized Honor, whom he had often met at Statton Rectory.
When he had spoken to her, and was about to return to the
sick room with Gabriel, one of the elder physicians came for-
ward, making his shrewd guess with promptness.
.
Will you
"Miss Honor Craven," he said, as if he felt that in such a
scene as this there was no need of form, "I could hardly be a
London man and not know you by sight and name.
pardon my bluntness if I ask you one question ?”
→
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
347
She offered him her hand with a faint little smile, and
while he spoke he kept it in his own.
"Our patient, in his delirium, calls one name persistently,
not consciously, nor with any knowledge that he calls it, but
still at any moment it might be that he knew her. It is
Honor. Is she here?"
"Yes."
The girl's answer was a very whisper, but the old physician
heard it.
"I see.
And are you prepared to witness his acute and
restless suffering? Should you be afraid to see the frequent
changes of strife and exhaustion? Think well before you
speak, for your presence must either do great good or serious
harm."
"You will be unwise to permit it, Sir Edward," put in the
other London physician. It is not a post for her. It is
not a sight for one who has never seen life hanging by a
thread."
"I have great confidence," rejoined Sir Edward, with a
sign for his silence, "in a naturally fine and unimpaired con-
stitution. If he can only have a little sleep-
"If I may go," said Honor, raising her eyes to Sir Edward,
who read their bravery and patience through their yearning,
"I will do exactly what you bid me. I can be very still and
silent, and I am very wakeful. I am used to sickness; I am
used, even, to-death. Please to feel how steady my hand
is."
It was not Hervey only who turned away his eyes, as if the
pathos of her low words hurt him.
"Can you rest first?" Sir Edward asked, presently. "It
would fit you a little better for your watch.'
"The only rest that I can know," she said, "will be to
watch him."
"That is well," put in the strange physician, in a tone of
relief, as, for the first time, he removed his critical gaze from
her face; "it will be well, Graham; let Miss Craven go. For
her it is kinder to consent than to pretend to spare her; and
for him-we shall see."
""
"Thank you," she said, with touching simplicity. "I will
do exactly as you bid me. Hervey," she added, laying both
of her hands upon her cousin's, "you will tell them the doc-
tors let me stay? Give them my love and-take care of them.
Good-bye."
✔
Q
348
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
{
"I think," remarked Sir Edward, aside to his friend, "that
we shall not regret this step."
With Honor's parting words, and Gabriel's message to his
wife, and Miss Henderson's tearful assurance that she would
not let Miss Craven over-fatigue herself, and Sir Edward Gra-
ham's remark that Honor's presence was his strongest source
of hope for his patient, Hervey left Westleigh Towers that
evening.
"I cannot wait to see you after you have been-to him,
Honor," he said; "if it is as Dr. Franklin and Gabriel
fear, I dare not."
So he went, as Honor followed Sir Edward Graham to Roy.
den's chamber.
CHAPTER XLI.
Friendship often ends in Love, but
Love in Friendship—never.
-COLTON.
PHOBE OWEN had had an invitation for that night, which,
a little time before, it would have cost her a bitter pang to
refuse; yet she hovered kindly and cheerfully now about
Alice Myddelton, and entertained her pleasantly with desul-
tory chat, which, though it might not be of a deep or original
character, was yet varied withal, and sufficiently enlivening to
make these waiting hours pass easily for Alice.
Yet Phoebe was all the time listening anxiously for the
sound of wheels, or the visitors' bell, or the sharp, double rap
of a telegraph messenger. And when at last a cab stopped,
and a familiar step ascended the stairs, it was Phoebe who
sprang first to her feet, and it was Phoebe's eager voice which
uttered the first greeting and question.
"Oh, Hervey, we are so glad to see you! Where is Honor?
How is Mr. Keith?"
"No better," he answered, as he took her hand.
"No better," she echoed, mournfully. "Oh, Alice, think
of that, after our long waiting!"
But Alice had hidden her face and was crying bitterly; so.
Phoebe's energies were immediately devoted to soothing and
cheering her; and Hervey (totally at a loss himself) felt little
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
*
349
inclination to treat her excitement with his old languid con-
tempt.
To his great relief dinner was soon announced, and Phoebe
turned to him with a simple, but to him rather comical, as-
sumption of the matronly hostess.
"Will you take Mrs. Myddelton, Hervey, and I will fol-
low ?"
Of course he offered her his other arm, but she refused it,
with a remembrance of his old prejudice, and walked de-
murely behind them, with no anxiety about a cover not being
Jaid for Hervey, so long as any one of Honor's servants knew
that he was in the house.
To each one of the little party the presence of the servants
during the next hour was a relief. The restraint, and the
necessity for trivial subjects of conversation, were a prepara-
tion for what there was to tell and to hear, and a pause of
rest between the old suspense and the new certainty.
Hervey did his best to make the meal a pleasant one; and
Phoebe, at the head of the table, did her best to take Honor's
place; while the ease of both her guests, and the active court-
esy of one, proved that she had to a certain extent succeeded.
Yet could they not shake off the vague shadow of fear which
brooded among them?
"May I come?" inquired Hervey, as Phoebe and Alice
passed him at the door. "I have no wish to stay-if I shall
not intrude."
They nodded with a smile, and he followed them to the
drawing-room, for he was in reality anxious to get their ques-
tions all answered, and his messages delivered.
Had Gabriel no hope, Captain Trent?" inquired Alice,
without introduction, as she stood beside the widow, her
hands locked before her.
It is a very hopeless household just at present," he an-
swered, sadly; "but Honor said I must tell you that Sir Ed-
ward Graham has great confidence in Mr. Keith's fine and
unimpaired constitution, and thinks if he can sleep it may be
all right.
I fear the other doctors do not agree with him;
but still Honor told me to tell you that; and-and she asked
me to remind you that the issue is in kinder Hands than any
of ours, and that it-it is a life worth praying for," continued
Hervey, brokenly.
"Had Honor seen him?" asked Phoebe, presently.
C
2
!
350
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"Not before I left. I would not wait to see her afterward,
if I could have done so, because Miss Henderson told me that
if she lov-if she felt for him, the sight of his suffering would
be like death to her. I'm sure it seemed to have had almost
that effect upon your husband, Mrs. Myddelton. Now may
I try to give you his long message?"
"Phoebe!" cried Alice, as Phoebe moved toward the door
at these words, "please do not go. My husband's is no secret
message."
Phoebe stopped and turned, blushing as she met Hervey's
gaze, for it betrayed both his appreciation of her thoughtful-
ness and his pleasure at her return to the group.
The message was soon given; and then, in softened voices,
as they lingered together, they talked still of Royden. But
after the subject had been broken by the entrance of the
servants with coffee, they each avoided-perhaps in thought-
fulness for the others-a recurrence to it.
(C
Hervey," said Phoebe, very much appreciating her novel
position of the most useful and important member of the
party, were you not surprised when you heard that Law-
rence Haughton had gone abroad?"
،،
"Not so much surprised as I was when I called for my let-
ters a few hours ago, to find that Theo and her mother go
abroad to-morrow. My aunt sends me the information in time
for me to call-if I choose.
"And you will?" questioned Phoebe, with a quick and in-
explicable blush.
"Not I."
"Can you picture Jane alone at the Larches?" she asked,
with a perceptible lightening of her tone. "Honor is going
to ask her to Abbotsmoor, though she has so many times re-
fused to come here."
wid
"But have you heard the latest news of all?”
"About whom?"
"Your ex-guardian's ex-clerk. My man told me this even-
ing when I called at my rooms. It seems that the day before
yesterday Slimp wrote to Mrs. Trent (with whom Lawrence
had always had business intercourse), saying that, as he had
a private communication of great importance to make to her,
by which he could save her from heavy financial loss, he
should have the pleasure of waiting upon her immediately
after his letter. He drove to Harley street in a hired wago-
nette, and just as the driver pulled up the horse before my
•
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
351
aunt's door something frightened the animal, aud it shied
suddenly. Slimp had been leaning back in his seat at that
moment, his neck against the edge of the rails, and the sud-
den start in that attitude broke his neck. He lived for an
hour, and spent that hour in a vain and horrible effort to
speak-useless, of course; and no one will ever know either
what important information he had been going to give my
aunt, or what possible confession he might, in that last hour,
have wished to make. I don't know, of course,
"" concluded
IIervey, "but I fancy that the statement he wished to make
would have been a betrayal of somebody's confidence, for a
purpose of his own; but let us give him the benefit of the
doubt, as death overtook him so horribly."
"It was horrible indeed! I remember Lawrence told us he
was in London.”
"Yes, and, strange to say, my man saw him going from
here only a few minutes before he sent the letter to Miss
Trent. I cannot understand it."
Nor, of course, could either of his companions. Of the
only two who understood it, one was on the Atlantic, and the
other watching beside a sick bed.
Hervey Trent had decided to go back to Westleigh Towers
next day; so, before he left, Alice Myddelton went away to
write a letter to her husband.
"Shall you
"And you, Phoebe ?" questioned Hervey.
write to Honor?"
،، 'No, I think not. You can tell her all I could tell, and
she will not care to have to read letters now."
He was looking curiously at her, wishing he could have
heard or seen her reception of the news of Lawrence Haugh-
ton's departure, which she had told him so coolly.
"Phoebe," he asked, standing before her, and laying his
soft white hands upon her shoulders, "are you fretting?
"Fretting! How do you mean, Hervey?
"
"I mean-pardon me, Phoebe, because we
are such
old friends-I mean, are you sorry Haughton has left Eng-
land ?"
A real laugh ran through her lips.
"I did not care at all," she said, honestly; "I cannot even
understand now how I ever could have cared.'
""
""
"That's right.
"Why?" she asked, puzzled more by his manner than his
}
352
1
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
เ
words. "It would have been quite natural to have fretted
for my old guardian."
(i Quite. But still I would rather you did not."
"Why?" she asked, again.
“You would have fretted
still."
for him if you had loved him
"Of course I should."
"And equally, of course, I would rather that you did not
fret."
.
"I thought it unnatural not to feel it more," she said, only
vaguely comprehending Hervey's meaning, yet feeling a quiet
sense of happiness steal over her, as she read a new interest
in his face and tones.
"Phoebe," he said, presently, "do you think that any one
who has spent a good many years of his life loving one per-
son with all his heart would be wrong to end by loving some
one else?"
A
"Why should he be?" she questioned, simply.
“And do you think that you could trust any one who said
he loved you, if he owned at the same time that you were
not his first love, nor-nor loved quite in the same way?"
"I do not quite understand you," said Phoebe, her face
suffused with blushes. "Are you throwing back upon me
my old silly love for Lawrence?",
He smiled at the feeble little barricade through which the.
fire of her blushes frankly displayed itself. "I am telling
you," he said, growing more and more earnest, "of a love
for Honor which I have always nourished without a shade of
encouragement. I am telling you that now I know this love
to be most hopeless, and I am asking you if you think that,
having felt this love, I have any right to offer another love
elsewhere?"
It is not to be supposed that Phoebe understood his nature
sufficiently to see that he had never yet felt deeply enough
really to suffer, and that this affection was as likely to be last-
ing as his first ambitious and persistent love. She only said,
in a tone which gave him more hope than could any other re-
ception of his confession:
1
"No one could help loving Honor.'
""
"and you
"Thank you, Phoebe," he exclaimed, heartily;
see how hopeless that love is for me, because Honor's going to
Westleigh Towers shows that she loves some one else."
"Yes."
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
F
353
"And I feel as if I
&r I knew before," he added, softly.
had always known it."
(C
"I used to fancy it, but I was never sure until she heard
of his illness. And," she added, with a thoughtfulness which
was new to her voice, none of us who know Honor can be-
Jieve in the possibility of her loving a second time."
"I never dreamed of that, Phoebe; never.
away the old love forever.”
I have put
Another pause, and then he gently took her hands, and
holding them between his own, asked her one more question.
Phoebe, we know all about each other, don't we?-even
about those other loves which will never be anything more to
either of us—and we have been good friends, and we get on
well together. I am not quite the vain and idle fellow I used
to be, and with Honor's gift of the bank partnership, I shall
be able to take a comfortable house, and live in good style.
Phoebe, will you think this over, and when I come back tell
me if you would be my wife? I do not ask for your answer
now," he added, pitiless for her blushes, as he kept her there
before him, "because it would be unfair, as you have not
thought it over, and I have; but let your answer be Yes,
Phoebe.'
""
CHAPTER XLII.
"I-I forgot something I want to send to Honor," cried
Phoebe, and ran from the room in nervous haste.
"It was best to give her time," mused Hervey, encouraging
the pleasant consciousness that (won either now or then)
Phoebe's answer would be a happy little Yes.
"It was more
She is a good
fair, and she will tell Honor before I need.
little thing, and very amiable. I'm really glad she is not
handsome-like Theo."
I would not raise
Deceitful hope; but in His hand, even yet,
The issue hangs; and He is merciful.
-SOUTHEY.
A HEAVY, mournful silence brooded over Westleigh Tow-
ers, but this silence centred and culminated in the chamber
where Royden lay. It was lofty, like all the rooms at the
Towers, but not large. Though handsomely, it was but
*
+
por
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
slightly furnished, and the old carved bed on which he lay
was shrouded by no curtains.
Beside this bed sat Honor, in her soft white dress; lovely,
in spite of the pity and the sadness on her face. At the
window, Miss Henderson was spoiling her work with tears,
though she sewed on with a nervous persistency.
Shaded from the light, the dark worn face upon the pillows
moved to and fro unrestingly.
}
In the dressing-room beyond the half-closed door the nurse
sat waiting for a summons, and down-stairs the physicians
were again consulting; and still again reached that one re-
iterated conclusion:
If he could but sleep!
"Honor!"
The girl's head was raised, and she listened with drawn-in
breath. Again a moment of hope, and then her heart sank,
as it had sunk a hundred times before, for this was no rec-
ognition, only a part of the persistent and terrible delirium
through which she sat beside him in the awful actual pain of
her watching and her love, while she was unknown to him,
and unheeded.
"Honor Honor!" The whisper, in its intense and pas-
sionate entreaty, pierced to every corner of the room.
66. You
said you would not come-here--to my own house. But Mrs.
Payte-promised. Come, dear-let me show you-my home.
Why stay beside the statue-I remember-Leda and-and
who, Honor? We talked about it-you and I—and then you
said-you loved me. Ah! I thought the joy would have
killed me. But joy never kills-pain kills and fire.
your hand upon my head-Honor-and feel-the flame."
Put
But when she laid her soft, cool palm upon his brow, he
shrank from her touch, and cried how quickly the waves
rose.
"Honor-Honor!"
So the name, hour after hour, broke the silence; sometimes
whispered very low in his exhaustion, and sometimes uttered
passionately in fevered strength.
Yet when she knelt beside him, and met his restless eyes,
he only whispered, with a smile, that she was safe with him,
and he would bring Gabriel back.
Pleadingly, sometimes she called him by his Christian
name, stroking his hot and restless hands, or holding them
gently to her lips. But still he did not know her; and gaz-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
355
ing into her troubled face, would cry for Honor still. Some-
times he rose and pushed her from him with a sudden mo-
mentary strength; but sometimes he lay as motionless as
death, his eyes so unnaturally large and bright, fixed where
she could not follow them.
Scene after scene from his past life he lived again in this
delirium, but only a very few of them could Honor compre-
hend. She knew when he was cheering and encouraging
Alice; she knew when he was answering Lawrence Haugh-
ton's base suspicions, and she knew he was telling Gabriel
how surely his innocence would one day be acknowledged.
But worst of all it was to bear him hastening his horse
through the rising flood of waters, and to see him hold his
clasped hands for hours on his breast, guarding Gabriel's
secret.
Now he was pitiful, now angry, now troubled, and now
glad. Now he would lie for hours, as if wrapped closely in
one all-engrossing thought, and now he would wake the
echoes of the silent house with quick, clear laughter. It was
a terrible time for all the watchers, but far the most
terrible for Honor; and still that sleep upon which the phy-
sicians built their only hope seemed as far off as ever.
At last there came a day when Honor, watching as ever,
fancied she saw a change in the thin, dark face. Royden had
called her softly once or twice, and when her eyes met his, so
closely and so yearningly, his closed; and she fell upon her
knees and prayed that this might be sleep. Dr. Franklin en-
tered the room just then, but, after once glance, passed back
without a sound. Miss Henderson dropped her work, and
sat utterly motionless, as if a breath would wake him. Ga-
briel stopped on the spot where he had stood when Honor's
sigh arrested him; and Honor, still on her knees beside the
bed, hardly dared to draw her breath. Ah! such a relief it
had been to see the lids fall upon those wide and fevered eyes.
So, in hushed and breathless silence, they waited; no one
near the bed save Honor, who knelt just where his gaze could
fall upon her when he awoke. "If he awoke," as Dr. Frank-
lin said. So, minute after minute and hour after hour went
by, and Sir Edward Graham sent various telegrams to pa-
tients in London, and let the trains depart without him. For
more than a week now there had been no deeper hush at night
over the great house than there had been in the day; but to-
night the silence was so intense that that past silence seemed
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t
356
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
as nothing. Miss Henderson shuddered in her stillness, re-
membering Dr. Franklin's "If," and knowing the silence
could not be deeper-even then.
Gabriel Myddelton, leaning against the curtained window
in an attitude of intense stillness and watchfulness, never
inoved his eyes from that sleeping face. Would the waking
ever come? Would there be recognition at last in the fevered
eyes, and light on the dazed brain? Without the faintest
movement, Honor knelt beside the bed, her eyes patient and
beautiful even in their agony of fear, her hands clasped, and
her whole heart pleading with her Father.
So the hours passed on, and the silence of the room was
only broken by that fitful breathing.
"Ah!"
It was Sir Edward's voice, she knew, though it was only a
half-breathed whisper. She knew in an instant what it
meant, for she had herself seen something which prepared her
for it-Royden was awaking. Moved by an impulse which
she could not resist, Honor covered her face. After all that
had gone before, the suspense of these few moments was un-
bearable. A sudden pause in the fitful breathing; then one
word, uttered in an awed and wondering whisper:
"Honor!"
But that whisper told her that the light had come and that
he knew her.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Here she comes!
In the calm harbor of whose gentle breast
My tempest-beaten soul may safely rest.
-DRYDEN.
THE crisis had passed! Who can tell the magic of those
words, until-without one gleam of hope-they have watched
the fierce and awful contest between life and death?
It was not for many hours after Royden's recognition of
Honor, that they dared her to leave alone with him. A
whole night and day passed, while he lay quite still, his
breath calm now, though very faint; his eyes always following
Honor's form if she moved about the room, or cleaving to her
face when she was beside him. But when the quiet evening-
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
357
h
time came around once more, the two were left alone to-
gether.
Then her long and bitter repentance found words, and very
quietly, because all excitement was dangerous for him, and
very humbly, she begged him to forgive her that, though she
had loved him dearly for two years, she had been perverse and
doubting, and had let him fancy that she did not care for
him. Without mentioning Theodora's name, she told him.
just a little of the true cause of her avoidance of him; bu
the blame was all for herself in this confession. She told
him that never since that autumn afternoon, when he had
told her that he loved her, had she dreamed of any other
love; and that-even if he had not been true to her-she
must still have been all her life true to her own confessed
love. She told him that these last terrible days had shown
her that he had cared for her through all, but even the pain
which she had given him was less than the pain which she
had given herself.
All this, and more, she told him, her low voice stirred and
broken in its earnestness and humility; and though for so
long he did not answer her one word, she understood the love
and happiness which lay within his eyes, and the depth and
earnestness of those few words of gratitude which he whis-
pered while his wasted hands closed over hers.
Though slow, Royden's recovery was steady; and presently
the day came for Honor to leave him. He lay at the window
in his dressing-room, still very weak, though suffering little
pain now; and Honor, dressed to start, had come back to
linger with him to the last minute. As she came up to him,
he rose and walked a few steps to meet her.
"My sunbeam!" he said, "my captured sunbeam, how can
I spare you even for this little time?"
Because it is only for a little time," she answered, with a
smile for him, although the sorrow of this first parting sad-
dened her eyes.
C
-
"I have been trying," he said, as they stood together au
the window, his thin hands wrapping hers, and his great love
even strengthening his worn face, "to accustom myself to the
vacant chair, and to the knowledge that the form and face I
love are only here in memory.
""
"But I did not give you time to succeed, did I?” she
questioned, brightly. "I could not spare a minute from this
last hour."
358
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
•
>
"Honor my sweet, when will you come-home?"
Very simply and earnestly she answered, while the bright
pink spread softly from cheek to brow under his yearning
gaze:
"When you come for me, Royden."
"Even yet it seems too good to be possible," he said, with
a long-drawn breath, while his eyes left her face for the first
time, and strayed out among the plenteous summer leaves.
"For life to have been given back to me in such fullness;
and with it, the greatest blessing life can hold! A few min-
utes ago I almost fancied I was going to awake and find that
this had been the delirium of fever."
"That delirium," she said, touching his cheek softly with
her fingers, while a shadow stole into her eyes even at the
mention of it, "has passed forever, Roy, and God has given
us to each other."
And at her touch his gaze came back, and his weak arms
were folded about her, strong for that moment in their sense
of ownership.
A call under the open window, but Honor only looked
down with a nod and smile, while she tempted Royden back
to his couch.
"Hervey thinks, as he has come on purpose to fetch me,
that he must give me constant reminders of the time," she
said, with a laugh; "but I shall trust to Gabriel. He is
there with Hervey, and he says there is no need of haste."
"Gabriel knows how precious every moment is to me.
"It will be such a comfort to feel he is with you, Roy; and
I will take such care of Alice. But I want to ask you one
question before I go. May I?"
""
"So doubtful, is it not, my sweet?”
"I want," she said, her face and voice both full of earnest-
ness-" please to understand me, Royden-I want old Myd-
delton's money to go to old Myddelton's heir."
"Who is that?"
66
Gabriel, of course.
He is the only Myddelton; and h
ought to go back to Abbotsmoor, and make the old name
loved and honored there."
"Honor, my darling, the power to distribute this wealth
was put by old Mr. Myddelton himself into his sister's hands,
and she chose you. Gabriel was not disinherited.
to have the same chance as you all had,”
He was
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
359
;
"Yes; but he never had it, because of the injustice which
had banished him. But for that, Royden, I am sure that
Lady Lawrence would have been the very first to acknowledge
his prior claim."
"True, dear one; but the fact stands. She left it in no
whim, but with sound judgment, built on long thought and
observation."
"You are only tempting me, I think, or trying me,” she
said, with a pleading touch upon his arm.
"Am I?" he asked, with his rare smile.
"Yes; and I believe you really think, as I do, that Gabriel
Myddelton must have Abbotsmoor, and his uncle's wealth."
"His name is free now from reproach," said Royden, "and
can be borne uprightly. He has sufficient to buy a little
estate to hold himself and Alice, and to keep sorrow from
the door. He tells me that is the extent of his ambition.
So, even if you offered him this gift, you would only hear
him refuse it. For years he has believed in the old legend of
there being a curse on old Myddelton's money, and one can
see, even yet, the traces of his old timidity and self-distrust."
Royden, I'm sure you are jesting or teasing me. Gabriel
cannot really believe that old superstition; and does he know
now that you will help him? He cannot shrink from wealth
because of its evil, when you have unconsciously shown him
its good. Roy, you are the friend to whom he will always
listen, so you will join me in urging this?"
""
Honor, my darling, if anything could kill the old super-
stition in his mind, it would be the knowledge he is gaining
now of what old Myddelton's money has been in your hands."
"I have never even lived at Abbotsmoor yet," said Honor,
blushing vividly. "The work there has to be begun. I am
so glad it is for him to begin."
Is there anywhere you have lived where they could not
tell of help, and comfort, and relief, which old Myddelton's
money, passing through these gentle hands, has given? My
sweet, look up; I will not pain you even by words so true.
But, remember, the money was intrusted to you by one who
was deeply anxious for it to do good. And remember how
many noble and generous plans you have begun to work out."
"Gabriel is very earnest and very generous," said Honor,
softly, as she rose. "I know-as well as I know how un-
justly persecuted he has been-that he will wisely and kindly
use that wealth which ought naturally to be his. Abbots-
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OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
1
!
moor must be Gabriel's, of course; and Roy, I think you were
only tempting me in jest, because you know there can be
really no doubt about it.
"There can be really a great deal of doubt about it," put
in Royden, looking into her face with a pride which he tried
in vain to hide, as he maintained his argument still.
"" Ga-
briel will be the first to see this doubt, and all the world will
see it afterward.”
"Don't you think," she asked, softly, "that he will rather
see that duty bids him make the old name loved and honored
in the old home? Royden, I know you will help me to per-
suade him."
"I am afraid I shall," he said, looking down upon her
with untold love and pride. "And if Gabriel-does accept it,
I am quite sure that, in his gratitude and his new earnestness,
he will continue all you have begun. Ah! his summons
already. How soon it has come! And-and it will be so
selfish to fetch you back to me while I am such a
""
"When you come," she interrupted, laying her fingers on
his lips, "I shall be ready, Roy. Good-bye.
""
"And this parting is not sad!" he said, his thoughts rest-
ing for a moment on another "Good-bye" which she had
uttered long ago.
"Your love is mine now-mine forever.
Oh! my sunbeam, good-bye!"
CHAPTER XLIV.
"Es summt, es schwirt, und singt, und ringt."
SUCH a wedding it was!
Miss Trent tossed aside the papers when they reached her
in Baden-Baden, and, with much sarcastic embellishment,
told an English gentlemen that night at table d'hote, that Mr.
Keith, of Westleigh Towers, had outwitted the less diplo
matic candidates for old Myddelton's Money.
"On the 30th inst., at Statton, by the Rev. Walter Romer,
Honor Craven to Royden Keith, of Westleigh Towers."
This was the simple announcement which had been sent to
the leading papers; but it had not prevented the paragraphs
being longer and more glowing elsewhere. The wedding cere-
•
}
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
361
mony spun itself through an entire page of each of the rival
Kinbury papers, and the dresses and the jewels and the guests
were dissected in whole colúmns of various journals devoted
to rank and fashion.
Honor's dress was as elaborately described as if it had lent
the bride her beauty, instead of having borrowed its own from
hers-as a bride's should. The "charming galaxy of brides-
maids" had a hundred lines to themselves, over every one of
which the chief bridesmaid laughed heartily afterward; even
while the tears stood thickly on her pleasant Dutch face.
The "crowd of fashionable guests" were named separately,
and admired en masse. The village decorations had a minute
description, and the gifts were valued at a fabulous sum.
And as is the rule prescribed on such occasions-fewest
words of all were bestowed upon the bridegroom, the Kinbury
weeklies only touching upon his recent illness, and the Lon-
don dailies alluding casually to the probability of his leaving
his mark upon the times.
P
Sir Philip and Lady Somerson returned from abroad on
purpose to have their favorite married from Somerson Castle;
and it was in consequence of their determination that Honor
could not carry out her anxious proposal for a quiet wedding.
They filled their beautiful country seat with that "crowd
of fashionable guests" which the papers delighted to cata-
logue. They supported the "charming galaxy of brides-
maids" by a noble phalanx of young manhood. They em-
ployed the whole village in bearing flowers to and fro for the
decorations of the church, and park, and village street; and
yet they never fancied they had done enough to make this
wedding-day a festival.
And at Statton Rectory, both Mr. and Mrs. Romer laughed
heartily over Honor's impossible desire for a quiet wedding.
Royden had come the day before to stay with them, and
from early morning the village had been filled by Westleigh
people, who had traveled here to see the marriage of their
master. In spite of the five hundred walking-sticks which
had always rankled in Sir Philip's breast, he threw the park
cpen all afternoon to these men who cheered so heartily when
Honor passed among them in her youth and beauty, and
these women who so warmly prayed, "God bless him," when
Royden led her through the crowd.
Earnestly Gabriel Myddelton echoed the prayer, as he and
Alice walked from the church slowly, step by step, in the
362
•
ÖLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
"
+
long line of guests, while the joyous notes of the organ came
surging through the porch and followed them.
1.
Ay, God bless them both!" murmured the rector as the
bells clashed out across the autumn landscape, and there
came into his mind a few words of one of those poets whose
verses were but feebly linked about the memory of his college.
days:
1. 1
Naught but love can answer love,
And render bliss secure.""
No, it certainly had not been a quiet wedding, and Pierce
was not the only one who smiled at the notion, when the ex-
citement was at its ebb, and the traveling carriage rolled
down the avenue of Somerson Park, followed by countless
and curious missiles. Pierce sat beside the young Italian
courier, looking down upon the four gray horses and the scar-
let-clad postilions, but still he had an ever-ready word or
glance for the two women who sat together in the roomy
seat behind him; one of these being Marie Verrien, proud to
feel that she was as much Honor's maid as was the pleasant
girl who lavished constant care and kindness upon her, and
never allowed her to realize the fact that her employment was
merely an agreeable sinecure. This sojourn abroad-which
was to restore to Royden his old strength-was also to give
the finishing touch to the benefit which Marie had derived
from that life of ease and happiness which she had spent in
Honor's home.
CHAPTER XLV.
Oh! the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,
And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed
Around our incompleteness;
Round our restlessness His rest.
-E. B. BROWNING.
THEY are the Westleigh bells which are now having it all
their own way with the summer echoes, and telling their tale
to the wind and waves, which, in their turn, laugh over it
among the rocks and leaves.
Two months have passed since, from the tower of Statton
church, rang out the tidings of their marriage, and Royden
and Honor are on their way home to receive this greeting.
t
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
363
It breaks upon them brightly and musically as they drive
into sight of the high towers above the sea, but Honor turns
and hides her face upon her husband's shoulder then, be-
cause she sees that treacherous bay where he was found four
months ago, and carried home as dead.
.
The watchers see the carriage now, and a signal-gun is fired
out across the sea. Then, even more merrily still, the bells
peal out; and presently a band, which Royden himself organ-
ized long ago, among the "mill-hands," marches to meet
them. Now rises the cheering of hundreds of voices, and in
a few minutes the horses are gone; and, to the music of the
cornets and the voices and the bells-all harmonized by loy-
alty and summer gladness-their own people wheel the car-
riage to the door.
The upturned faces greet them in a mass, when they turn
and pause in the arched doorway. Royden thanks them for
their cordial greeting; and while they answer each sentence
with a deafening cheer, they notice how the very mention of
his wife brings a wondrous light into his eyes, beyond that
permanent light of his happiness which dwells there now.
And other friends have gathered within the Towers to
welcome Royden and Honor; friends whom we shall look
upon to-day for the last time.
There are Sir Philip and Lady Somerson, cordial as of old.
There is Mrs. Romer, bent, as of old, on making a favorite of
Honor; and Mr. Romer recalling, with a smile of self-con-
gratulation, how, from the first, he had acknowledged Roy-
den Keith worthy of a hearty and profound respect. There
is Sir Edward Graham, beaming as if he had never looked
on anguish such as that which he had witnessed in this spot
just three months ago. There is Dr. Franklin, uncharacter-
istically hopeful. There is the old Vicar of Westleigh, con-
fidentially asserting that there has never been such a scene as
this in the village since he came to live here, fifty years ago.
There is his young curate, in whose wake comes a grave lit-
tle lad who, for months now, has not only eagerly devoured
the lessons that he gives (the payment for which doubles the
young curate's salary), but has been with him ever in his
valks and in his work. The boy's face flushes and brightens
into perfect beauty when Royden, laying a gentle hand upon
his shoulder, tells Honor, "This is Margaret Territ's child,"
and Honor stoops and kisses him.
There are Phoebe and Miss Henderson, come together from
I
。
364
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
the Kensington mansion, where Phoebe is preparing for her
wedding, in a state of happiness unusually calm and quiet;
while Hervey makes ready that London house where she
will enjoy her drives and dresses-as well as better things-
and be thoroughly happy in her kindly, simple, and prosaic
way. There is Hervey, reading a new translation of his old
code of etiquette; the tones which used to be so slow and
faultless stirred and broken now, as he thanks Honor for that
gift of Deergrove which she bought for him and Phoebe when
Mrs. Trent saw it best to leave the old neighborhood-not
that Hervey values the little estate for its memories so much
as for its proximity to Honor's home; and because it is such
a relief to him to feel that he need not live only in London
all the year round; even though his new employment is easy
and pleasant to him. There is Gabriel Myddelton, inex-
pressibly happy as a well-employed country squire; proud to
hear the congratulations which are given him on the manner
he is carrying out-in earnest zeal-the work Honor began at
Abbotsmoor; and using wisely and kindly the half of old
Myddelton's money, which was all his cousin could succeed
in winning him to accept. There is Alice, well and strong
again, because no secret presses on her now, and her hus-
band's name is loved and respected.
So those belonging to the old life are all here, save four.
Mrs. Trent and Theodora are moving restlessly from place to
place upon the Continent; unforgiving (as those often are to
whom the wrong is due); and Lawrence Haughton's sister is
on her way to join him in Melbourne. At his first invita-
tion-honestly though curtly given-Jane left the house in
which she had grown to middle-age; sold the household gods.
which for years she had guarded so jealously, and sailed to a
new, strange world for the sake of this brother to whom
through good and evil-she had all her life clung faithfully.
Hard and cold she had been ever, but still there ran through
the flint this one pure vein of gold.
The silence of the autumn night has settled down upon the
Towers. Alone at last, Honor lingers at the window in her
dressing-room; the curtains drawn back, and the October
moonlight falling softly upon her, as she stands there, stili
and lovely, in her simple dress.
"Sweet, do you feel that this is really home?"
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY.
365
1
Royden has come up to her so quietly that his words seem
only a part of that long, happy thought.
"Our home, Roy; where your love will make me happy
beyond words; and where I will try"
And fail," he interrupts, kissing her tenderly, as she
nestles within his arms; "you have made me happy for all
time. You need never try again."
She does not turn her eyes from the moonlit sea, but they
are filled with a deep and full content. How can even she
herself, help feeling the difference her love has made in his
life, always so full of generous deeds and noble purposes, bul
now so full of happiness besides ?"
"What a welcome they have given us," she whispers, pres-
ently. "It filled my heart with deepest gratitude to see how
you have made your people love you; and I know how it is,
Roy. In your daily life and hourly intercourse with others-
I mean in little things as well as great, by trifles which so
many of us do not think of—you have won a love which only
such a life as yours can win, my husband, and which never
can be otherwise than warm and true."
66
Honor," he says, lifting her face, that he may read his
happiness within her eyes, do you know that Gabriel-and
not Gabriel alone has been speaking to me in just such
words of you? My darling, are you satisfied with all you
hear of Abbotsmoor, and the working of your plans and
projects?"
7
"Far more than satisfied."
"And you will let me help you here, in your own share
of the work?"
"C
Royden, as if I could ever think of anything good which
you have not thought of long before!”
"Do you remember that first day we spent at Abbotsmoor,
Honor, when it was deserted, and the shadow of a great crime
lay upon it? Do you remember how we talked of that old
superstition of a curse hanging over the miser's wealth, while
neither you nor I could guess in whose hands would lie the
task of scattering it?"
"Or whose would lift that shadow of crime from the old
name."
"The task is not finished, is it? It will only finish with
our lives. But can we not feel to-night, mine own dear wife,
that at last there rests a blessing only upon Old Myddelton's
O
366
OLD MYDDELTON'S MONEY-

Money; and that day by day, through all our grateful lives,
the blessing may grow and brighten?"
She laughs a happy little laugh, and lifts her arms and
clasps them softly round his neck.
Oh, Royden, who, in all the world, has greater cause to
try to make others happy than I, who am so happy and so
lest!"

812H322
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*
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UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
故事
​wils
812H322 00
Hay, Mary Cecil, 1840?-1886.
Old Myddelton's money : a novel.
3 1951 002 069 124 Y
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