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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: An American Woman, an electronic edition
Author: Swan, Annie S., 1859-1943
Publisher: Hutchinson & Co.
Place published: London
Date: 1900
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AN AMERICAN WOMAN " 'It must have been very sudden at the end?' he remarked" (p. 13). [frontispiece. Illustration at the front of Swan's "An American Woman" AN AMERICAN WOMANBY ANNIE S. SWAN( Mrs. Burnett-Smith)AUTHOR OF "A BITTER DEBT," "A STORMY VOYAGER," "WINDHAM'S DAUGHTER,"  "A VICTORY WON," "THE NE'ER-DO-WELL," "A SON OF ERIN," ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY D. MURRAY SMITH LONDON HUTCHINSON & CO. PATERNOSTER ROW 1900 PRINTED BY  HAZELL, WATSON, AND VINEY, LD.,  LONDON AND AYLESBURY Table of contents included in front of Swan's "An American Woman" Table of contents included in front of Swan's "An American Woman" Table of contents included in front of Swan's "An American Woman"CHAPTER IAT THE PARTING OF THE WAYSIT was the hour of sundown after a day of tropical heat. The sky, unrelieved by one soft touch of cloud, seemed like a burnished canopy overhanging the parched and drooping earth. For weeks the inhabitants of Boonville, Missouri, had longed for rain to refresh their parched fields and to wash clean the streets of their little town. The wooden houses in the suburbs, cracked and blistered by the sun, had lost the bright, fresh look which their spring coat of paint had given them. The meadows were brown and parched, and already, although it was but the last week in August, the trees were taking on the gorgeous hues of autumn.Boonville was a flourishing town in the centre of a great wheat-growing district. Some of the earlier settlers told marvellous tales of their pioneering days, when the virgin soil responded to the husbandman's touch with a miracle of growth. These days, however, were past, and people lived sober, common-place lives in Boonville as elsewhere. Fortunes were no longer lost and won at a bound, and some of the old stories were rather discredited by the younger generation, who found the tide of life in Boonville roll by sluggishly, and who longed for some of the excitement of which they sometimes heard.Boonville was a slow-going, peace-loving, and law-abiding place, and the community was a religious community. Indeed, the number of religious sects and meeting-houses was out of all proportion to the number of the inhabitants. There was a considerable German element in the town, which helped to solidify it and keep down lawlessness and disorder, for the Teuton everywhere makes a good settler, and sets a good example of sobriety and thrift and perseverance to all other nationalities. He is not enterprising, however, and we seldom find him among the pioneers of great causes, or among the heroes of great achievements.In Boonville there existed one fortune undreamed of by those who
knew the man who had made it, and it is with this fortune and its
spending that we have to do. In one of the outlying suburbs of the
little town, in a quiet, unpretentious line of suburban houses, each
standing in its pleasant garden, the road sheltered on either side by
a stately row of trees, which in summer lent a grateful shade and
always made a picturesque outline, there stood an unpretentious
two-storey, wooden house with a verandah running along the front and two sides. There was nothing about this house to distinguish it from the others in the avenue. It was unpretentious and homely without, the little lawn before the door was well kept, and the hanging baskets of flowers were in brilliant contrast to the more sober hue of the creeper with which the verandah was entirely covered. These baskets were carefully arranged to give the best effect, and seemed to indicate a separate and individual taste in some member of the household. In one respect the exterior of this house differed somewhat from the others, and that was in the drapery of the windows, which was very English in style, curtains of Nottingham lace falling in straight lines from ceiling to floor instead of being fantastically draped like the windows of its neighbours.In one of the upper chambers of this house on that hot and breathless August evening an elderly man sat propped up among his pillows, a poor, wasted shadow standing on the brink of the River of Death. The seal of the last enemy was stamped upon his sharpened features. His eyes had that hollow brilliance and his complexion that clayey look inseparable from approaching dissolution. He was a very uncouth figure, very tall evidently, and of massive build. He had a strong and, in some respects, a striking face—a high, intelligent forehead and a massive jaw—which betokened some intellectual power and immense strength of will. His hair was grey and straggling, as was the beard of some week's growth, which gave him a somewhat wild and unkempt look. A small writing-board was laid across his knees; upon this board were several papers, which he fingered nervously, trying to fix upon them the attention which already wandered far beyond his control.He was not alone in the room. Close by his bed sat his daughter, a young woman of four and twenty, tall and handsome, and as striking in her way as her father. She was like him, and yet unlike. She had the same strength and power in her features, and yet they were softened by an indescribable and winning sweetness which she had never inherited from him. The exact and fastidious neatness of her dress, notwithstanding its studied simplicity, was no incorrect index of the character of Lois Mortimer Penn. She loved her father dearly; but at that moment the natural grief over the immediate parting was overshadowed by something else. She leaned forward while he was speaking, and her face had an eager, almost a hungry, look upon it."So you will find, Lois," he said, in his thick, difficult voice, "that you are one of the richest heiresses in the States. I don't suppose there will be one richer unless you go among the Vanderbilts and the Astors! And all been made by one pair of hands—these hands," he said, stretching them out feverishly; and not a soul knows of it except Dwight Carter, in New York. I was wise enough to have nothing to do with the Boonville lawyers.""How much did you say, father?" asked the girl, with the same feverish eagerness."I can't give the exact sum, but it won't fall far short of five million dollars," said the dying man, with a quiet note of satisfaction in his voice."Five million dollars! Isn't that a million English pounds?" asked Lois."Yes, but American dollars ought to be good enough for you," he replied, rather irritably; "but there, I suppose you can't help it, it's the English strain in you. But take my advice, Lois, stop in your own country, and spend your money in it."The girl made no reply. Already her mind had soared in vision through space to a wonderful future, in which she should be the central figure, but it was not a future possible in Boonville, Missouri, nor indeed in any part of the United States of America."Take my advice," he repeated, "and marry in your own country, too, and keep it dark about what you have. Dwight Carter has my instructions; he will keep you straight if you do what he bids you. I'm not afraid that it will carry you off your feet, you have plenty of common-sense; but I hope you will not follow the example of so many of your country-women, and carry my hard-won dollars across the Atlantic to bolster up the rotten aristocracy of England.""But you would wish me to see England; my mother's country?" she said eagerly. "Remember it has been the dream of my life, and you have always promised to take me there.""And I would have done if I'd lived, my gel," said the old man, with assurance. "But I've done my duty by you, ain't I? You've had the best education that money could buy, and you're fit for any society. That's what I said to Dwight Carter last month, when I was telling him that your head was screwed on in the right way.""What was Mr. Carter saying about me, father?" asked the girl, with a quick toss of her head. "I know he doesn't like me. He may be a very good lawyer, but he's not a pleasant man.""He's a very straight one, Lois," said Mortimer Penn, with one of

his shrewd, lightning glances. "You take my advice and don't throw him

overboard.  Jist as long as you keep him aboard your ship will sail on smooth seas; and he can hold his tongue, which is the main thing. I wish now that I'd given you a chance sooner, so that I might ha' lived to see what you'd make of it. There ain't nothing you couldn't do wi' that face and them brains of yours if you lay your mind to it. If you'd been a boy you'd have doubled them five million dollars as fast as look at 'em.""Oh, but five million dollars is enough for any single man or woman to deal with at one time," said the girl, with a faint smile."A single man or woman," repeated Mortimer Penn, keeping his fast-dimming eyes on his daughter's hand-some face. "You're about right, I guess, but I don't suppose that you'll stop single long; and I'm wondering what figure of a man it is that my gel will fancy. I'm right glad, anyhow, you didn't take up in that way with Jasper Harewood."The hot colour flushed the girl's face, and she suddenly dropped it on the pillow close to her father's hand."Oh, don't be speaking like that, father. I can't think of anything at this minute but that you are going to leave me. What's money or anything else in the face of that?"An expression of rugged tenderness banished the shrewd, far-reaching look for a brief space from Mortimer Penn's face. She was all he had in the world, the legacy left to him by the English wife whom he had worshipped. He loved her as such men love—silently, passionately, and without any outward sign. She had been a dutiful daughter to him, loving him placidly; but the depths of her nature were as yet unprobed, although at times she felt the stirrings of passion in her, and longed for a fuller tide of life which should bring them into play. A more lonely personality than that brilliant and impulsive creature in the narrow American township could not well be imagined.Mortimer Penn was vaguely conscious in his dying hour that there was something about this child of his which he did not understand, or had never fathomed, possibilities in her nature which he had never dreamed of; and as they stood together at the last great parting of the ways, he felt all the stirrings of a father's heart towards her, and would have warned, protected, and sheltered her from the trouble to come. But the fiat had gone forth. Mortimer Penn must pay the debt of nature, and leave the child he loved to meet her own fate. That it was a fate likely to be made or marred by her own hands he felt assured, and he blamed himself for not having prepared her earlier for the great responsibility of wealth.He had been stricken down by a sudden and fatal disease at an age when he might very well have looked forward to an extended lease of life. He had been called upon hurriedly to set his house in order, and to make all the plans for his child's future with but little warning. In the short space allowed him he had done the best that had suggested itself to him, and he had only that day—the last documents being signed—informed his daughter of her real position."Carter has said that his wife would be glad to have you for the winter in their house in New York, Lois," he said, after a moment. "They are quiet folks; but for a time you would wish to be quiet. I think you should go there. You will not care for Boonville when you are left alone.""Boonville," she repeated, and her magnificent eyes gave a sudden flash. "I loathe the place. It has only been tolerable because I had you here. I don't know why such places are suffered to stand; existence in them is enough to grind the soul out of any one."At this impetuous speech Mortimer Penn faintly smiled. He was accustomed to her expressive and exaggerated phrases. He did not love Boonville himself, but it had served his purpose, and he felt no resentment against it."You will hold your tongue about matters here, I expect?" he said, presently. "But one thing I would like you to promise—that wherever you go in the future you will come back sometimes to look at the grave where your father and mother sleep side by side. Would that be too much to expect, my gel?"These words, which were not without their strong touch of pathos, banished for a moment the more selfish visions from the girl's soul. She flung herself across the bed in a very abandon of grief, entreating him not to leave her, realising for the first time how complete and terrible would be her desolation when what he spoke of should become an accomplished fact. She was one who kept her feelings under control at all times, and the very abandonment of her grief was a testimony to the hidden strength of her nature, yet it pleased Mortimer Penn. When a man is on his dying bed it is the heart that speaks, and he knows that it is only love—Divine and human—which can smooth the pathway to the tomb. That the child he idolised should thus passionately mourn him filled him with a strange and deep joy. He laid his hand with tenderness on her head, and an expression of peace seemed to chase the anxious furrows from his face.CHAPTER IIAFTERWARDSMORTIMER PENN died that night at the mysterious hour between darkness and

dawn. His daughter was alone in the house with him except for the German maid-of-all-work who helped in her stolid, kindly fashion, and did not trouble her mistress with exhibitions of hysterical distress, as she might have done had she been of a different nationality. Happily for herself, Lois was not of a nervous temperament. She had been motherless so long that she had been obliged to think and act for herself at an age when most girls are under direction and control. She made everything right in the death-chamber, even to the placing of some flowers above the still, folded hands; then she lay down to try and snatch such rest as was possible to her. She knew that she would need it for the duties and responsibilities of the new day.Next morning the drawn blinds of Mortimer Penn's house informed the
neighbours that his illness had had a fatal issue. The Penns had never
been on intimate terms with their neighbours; but a few kindly souls, feeling sorry for the lonely girl in the first shock of her bereavement, left sympathetic messages at the door which Gretchen duly delivered to her mistress.Lois was busy all the morning. The doctor called about ten o'clock, and remained some time with her, offering to do anything in his power to help her. He was not surprised that she seemed in no need of help. He had attended Mortimer Penn constantly during the last month, and had thus many opportunities of studying his daughter. That she was an interesting study Dr. Warner Miles did not deny. Her devotion and attention to her father were irreproachable. She was always pleasant and courteous to himself, and yet it seemed to Godfrey Miles that he got thus far and no farther. That morning he tried to lead her on to talk about herself and her future plans, but she politely evaded his questions, and when Dr. Miles found himself in the street once more, he was obliged to admit that he had learned very little for his pains.About noon, just after the working life of Boonville paused for the mid-day meal, a tall, slight man came hurrying up Boston Avenue, and with somewhat impatient hand pushed open the garden gate of Mortimer Penn's house. There was no sort of hesitation about his gait or demeanour. He walked up to the door of the house like one who had a right to enter. He would have knocked peremptorily, only remembering the presence of death in the house he subdued his eagerness, and contented himself with a gentle tap. While he waited the opening of the door he turned slightly round, and with his hands in his pockets and his hat drawn slightly over his brows to keep out the glaring noonday sun, surveyed the scene with an air of nonchalance, as if assured of his position. The casual looker-on would have pronounced Jasper Harewood as a good-looking fellow. He was very tall, and carried his slender figure with an easy grace. His face, with its rugged features and fresh complexion, was a pleasant enough one to look upon; but the keen grey eyes were set very closely together, and had a somewhat crafty and shifty expression in them, and the lips under the drooping moustache lacked firmness and strength. It seemed to him a long time until Gretchen replied to his knock, but Jasper Harewood never betrayed much outward irritation, but was always pleasant to those with whom he came into contact, thus earning for himself a reputation for amiability which he did not really possess."Good-morning, Gretchen," he said, when the stolid-faced maiden at last appeared. "I heard the sad news in the town. How is your mistress bearing up?""She is very well, sir. Please walk in," said Gretchen, and ushered
him without ceremony into the dining-room, where her mistress was
partaking of a light repast. She was not at all taken aback at his
sudden appearance, having indeed watched him come up the whole length
of the avenue. She rose and bent her head in greeting. Her face was
paler than usual. That might be accounted for by the trying event's of
the last twelve hours. She looked very unhappy and somewhat ill at
ease, and yet there was a look of determination in her eyes which might have put Jasper Harewood on his guard had he been quick enough to notice it."Good-morning, dear," he said gently. "I came the moment that I heard. I suppose that you were too much occupied this morning to send some one to tell me?""I didn't think of it at all, Louis," she answered, and she felt glad that he did not offer to kiss her. At that moment it is certain she could not have borne it without remark."It must have been very sudden at the end?" he remarked, as he leaned against the sideboard and looked at her steadily."Is not death always sudden at the end?" she asked, with a quick impatience and a curl of the lip which betrayed something of the inward irritation. "Dr. Miles told me yesterday that he could not live four and twenty hours. Why do you stare at me so?" she said, suddenly. "Won't you sit down and have something to eat? You can't have had any lunch, as I suppose you have come straight up from business?""Yes, I have. No, I won't take anything to eat, thank you, I am too much occupied thinking of you. Well, what are your plans now, Lois? I am waiting to hear them.""I have no plans as yet," she answered, almost rudely. "It is no time for asking such questions. I must have time to recover from the shock.""One thing I must ask, even at the risk of offending you," said the man, quietly. "I daresay you can guess what it is? Doubtless your father was concerned about your lonely estate. Did you tell him that you intended to constitute me your lawful guardian and protector?""No, I did not," she answered, and her face seemed to grow a shade paler. "My father disliked you so intensely, as you know, that to mention your name in his presence was sufficient to produce an excitement most hurtful to him in his weak state. What good would it have done to acquaint him with my folly? It would only have embittered his last hours, and perhaps estranged him from me, leaving me with only bitter memories instead of the happy ones I have.""This is all very well so far as it goes, Lois," said the man, coolly; " but you must not forget that I also have some rights which ought to be considered. I suppose, now that your father is dead, there is no reason why our engagement should not be proclaimed soon to Boonville and the world at large?""No reason, I suppose," she said, forcing herself to speak calmly, although the words would scarcely force themselves from her parched lips; "but you will give me a little time, Jasper. It would be most indecent to give occasion for talk at such a time.""Oh, yes; I'm not in a hurry," he said, easily. I suppose your father has left some property and some means?" was his next remark."A little, I think, but I know no particulars. The lawyers who were entrusted with his affairs live far from here. My father thought it wise not to have too many dealings with his own townsmen, thus his affairs did not become public property.""Well, it matters little to me whether he left fifty dollars or fifty thousand," said Jasper Harewood, "it is you I want. You have played with me too long, Lois, and I am determined that it shall come to an end.""It is cruel to come and torment me like this!" exclaimed Lois, with the first touch of pettishness she had shown. "You must understand that it makes me feel miserable now to think how I have deceived the best of fathers, who believed in me so implicitly.""Ah, yes," said Jasper Harewood; "but his prejudice against me was unreasonable, Lois, don't you think so?""I don't know. He said you were not a man to be trusted. If he had known of my folly I am sure it would have killed him.""When you speak like that, Lois, I can only draw one inference," said Jasper Harewood, and his brows contracted and the pleasant, careless look died out of his face, "that you regret the tie which binds us.""Oh, I was so young," she cried, rebelliously. "I do regret it. I would give twenty years of my life if I could undo it."That was not very pleasant hearing in the cars of a man who loved as Harewood did—passionately, intensely, yet with relentless selfishness."Have a care, my dear," he said, quietly. "It is easy to say things in a heat of anger, not so easy to forget them. I came to express my sympathy, and at the same time to say good-bye. I have to go on the business of my firm to-morrow to California and I shall be absent sit weeks at least. Perhaps by the time I return you will be in a better mood; then we shall come to some understanding."Lois Penn's face cleared, and she drew a long breath of relief. Six weeks! It was a blessed respite. It would give her time to think and to plan, and if possible to escape from the meshes of the net in which her girlish folly had bound her. Looking at the man before her, with his placid, but somewhat cruel, face, she shuddered, wondering that she had ever thought him divinely handsome, or imagined that she had really cared for him. She knew him to be not only weak but unscrupulous, and she expected no mercy at his hands. As yet there had been no open friction between them; that it must come sooner or later both knew, and perhaps they were relieved just for the moment that circumstances necessitated its postponement."I am sorry," she forced herself to say, with some assumption of regret, "that you will not be able to attend the funeral. Could you not postpone your departure until Friday at least? I am sure your absence will be remarked."He shook his head, pleased even at such a faint expression of regret."I can't. I have got my marching orders, and am due at Vancouver on a certain day; but you will write to me, Lois, promise me?""Oh yes, I will write, and you must think no more of what I have said, Jasper," she said, hurriedly. "Remember that I am unstrung. I have been alone all through this terrible night, and have had no sleep. I am sure that everything will be right, and that we shall be happy yet.""That is the only hope that sustains me," he answered. "But I must see you again before I go. If I come up this evening shall I find you alone?""Yes," she answered readily enough, although her heart sank at the prospect. "You know how few friends I have. I don't think there is one in Boonville I should care to have with me at this time.""But that is not right," he said, quickly. "Gretchen is no company for you. You ought to have some one to distract your thoughts.""I want nobody since I cannot have you," she said, with a fine stroke of diplomacy. "You know that people only bore me, and that they never understand me.""You are right there," said Harewood, with an odd smile. "I only wish I could say I understand you myself."With these words Jasper Harewood left the house. He had been in her presence about twenty minutes, and during that time had not touched her hand or spoken a word the whole world might not have heard. So great was her power over him that, though he entered the house with a very different resolve, determined to assert his position and his rights, he had not advanced a single step. He smiled grimly to himself as he went down the avenue with a long swinging stride, unconscious of the bitterness in the heart of the woman who watched him. No sooner was he gone than Lois went to her father's desk in the little business room, where everything reminded her of him. She sat down there, and, drawing pen and paper to her, wrote a letter to Mr. Dwight Carter in New York, acquainting him with the hour and circumstances of her father's death, and asking him to come to her without delay. At the same time she begged that the whole details of her father's circumstances and bequests should be kept with the utmost secrecy for reasons which she promised to lay before him when he should come to BoonvilleCHAPTER IIIA BUSINESS TALKFriday afternoon Mortimer Penn was buried in the bleak little cemetery
about two miles out of the town. There was a very respectable gathering of the townsfolk. They came to pay the last tribute to one who, though he had never been popular, had lived an inoffensive life, and made no enemies. He had simply chosen to surround his private life with a reserve which almost savoured of mystery. Since his wife's death especially he had discouraged entirely the visits of neighbours to his house: thus Lois had drown up in a very narrow and restricted atmosphere, which no doubt had done much to foster certain qualities which she had inherited from her father.Lois was very composed during these trying days. The bitterness of her separation from her father was really over. What she had suffered when she realised that death was at hand none knew. It seemed to her now that nothing else could greatly matter.Dwight Carter, the lawyer from New York, only arrived on the morning of the funeral day, and it was not until all was over and he was alone with the desolate girl in the empty house that he had an opportunity to speak with her. Although he had conducted the legal part of Mortimer Penn's affairs for a goodly number of years, this was his first visit to Boonville, and his first acquaintance with the daughter to whom Mortimer Penn had left his great wealth without reserve. She was a very different type of being from what he had anticipated. He had imagined that a girl reared in such a remote country town would be a person of small resources, and one ready to be guided and advised at every turn. He knew the moment he looked upon her as she stood—tall, stately, and composed—receiving the funeral guests, that he had made a mistake. Here was a woman who would direct rather than receive direction, and one, moreover, who would never be in doubt as to what course she should pursue. He looked forward to the inevitable talk with her with the liveliest interest.Lois herself was not less interested in him, knowing that to a large extent he would hinder or help in the future she had mapped out for herself. The outward man pleased her, and gave a feeling of confidence and hope. He was middle-aged, and his clean-shaven, strong-featured face, with the shrewd grey eyes, and the firm, determined, yet not unkindly, mouth, bespoke the prudent, far-sighted man of business. His manner was sincere, yet not cold. Lois felt an immense load lifted from her mind and heart, even before she had an intimate talk with him.The opportunity came after they had dined together and were sitting in the little drawing-room, which, in Dwight Carter's eyes, had an oddly unfamiliar look. It was entirely English in its conception and arrangement, though he did not mark that subtle difference between it and the drawing-rooms of his acquaintances."Now it is necessary that we should talk of business matters, Miss Penn," said the lawyer, as he sat down at the table opposite to her. "Of course, your father has acquainted you with the fact that he had an immense fortune to leave to you?""He told me so on the day he died, Mr. Carter," answered Lois."I suppose it was a surprise to you?" suggested the lawyer."Yes, it was. He had often told me, of course, that I should lack for nothing if he were taken; but there is a difference between that and a fortune.""It was a fortune made by perfectly legitimate means, my dear young lady," said the lawyer. "What I mean to say is, it was more honestly earned than many fortunes are in the States. I never knew a more honest, straightforward, and honourable man than the late Mr. Mortimer Penn."At this unexpected tribute the warm colour flushed the cheeks of Lois, and her eyes shone."To hear you so speak of him, Mr. Carter, is more to me than if he had left me ten fortunes. He was never understood in this place at least, neither understood nor appreciated.""That, I take it, was because he was a superior type of man. His intellect indeed in certain directions was something colossal. Had he enjoyed the advantages of education, America would have heard of him. As it is, he will be known as one of the great capitalists of the century.""Ah, but that is what I do not wish, Mr. Carter," said Lois, quickly, "and what he would not wish either, I am sure. There is nothing which would distress me more than to find myself advertised as any father's heiress."The lawyer looked at her in surprise. He was not accustomed to women of her type. His monied clients, especially of the fairer sex, enjoyed nothing better than the publicity and distinction which their wealth conferred upon them."May I ask what are your reasons for this admirable but unusual reserve?" he asked."Oh, they are many. Perhaps the chief reason is that I am very English in my tastes. My mother, as perhaps you know, was an Englishwoman, and she intensely disliked the publicity our newspapers give to private affairs. I suppose she taught me to dislike it, too. I never read a personal paragraph even about those whom I have never seen without inwardly protesting against it. Nothing would be more unwelcome to me than that I should be paragraphed in that style, but I am most anxious that it should not be known that my father has left me more than a competency."The lawyer looked at her keenly, stroking his chin the while, a habit of his when in deep and perplexing thought. He could not help wondering whether there was any other motive hidden beneath that calm exterior."I cannot but admire and respect your point of view, Miss Penn," he said courteously. "As far as I am concerned no one shall ever know whether your father left much or little; but at the same time, of course, you are aware that in taking up this attitude you will forego many of the pleasures and privileges attendant upon great wealth.""I do not wish to know anything of them, here at least, " she said, significantly.The lawyer at once caught at the words."Did your father mention to you that my wife and I would be pleased for you to winter with us in New York? We have one daughter, rather younger than yourself, but still not too young to be companionable."Lois shook her head."That is most kind. I appreciate your kindness more than I can tell you, and I shall be glad to take advantage of your hospitality for a few days on my way to Europe.""You intend to go to Europe, then, immediately?" he asked, with surprise."Yes, immediately. I have always desired very strongly to see England, the place where my mother was born. My father promised to take me, and would have done so had he lived.""He often spoke about it," assented the lawyer. "You would go, I presume, to your mother's relatives?"Lois shook her head."I don't know where they are. My mother had only one sister, of whom she lost sight after she came to America. I shall try and discover her; it will provide me with some occupation, and prevent me perhaps from feeling altogether a stranger in a strange land."Dwight Carter regarded her attentively, more and more interested, yet more and more perplexed."If you have neither friends nor relatives in England, I fear you will find it give you but a sorry welcome. You must have a companion or chaperon or something.""There is in the school where I was educated in Boston an English governess, friendless and poor. I have always wished I could do something for her. I shall only wait long enough in New York to find out whether she would care to accompany me to England."The lawyer bowed. To every suggestion of his she had her answer ready; obviously it was superfluous for him to offer advice or to plan for her in any way."Then, do you propose to come east at once?" he asked."Yes, on Monday. It will take me these few days to arrange matters. If, when you go home, you find that such a sudden visit would inconvenience Mrs. Carter in any way, you will not fail to let me know. There are plenty of hotels in New York, and I am not at all nervous about being alone.""Your self-control and courage do you credit, Miss Penn," he said politely. "I assure you in all my experience I have never met a lady of your age who appeared to me so thoroughly competent to manage her own affairs."Lois smiled."I was early taught self-control and self-reliance by my father," she said, quietly."Perhaps it will be time enough when you come to New York to discuss purely financial matters. You will, of course, wish to understand precisely how you stand, and to have some knowledge of the manner in which your money is invested.""I confess I am not ambitious in that direction, Mr. Carter," observed Lois, with a smile which relieved the somewhat hard expression of her face, and gave it a sweetness which Dwight Carter could not have believed possible. "One of the last things my father said to me was that I was to leave my affairs entirely in your hands, that it would not be necessary for me to ask a single question, and that just as long as I absolutely trusted you I should have no trouble."A gratified look came on the lawyer's face at this unexpected tribute."Your father honoured me with his confidence through a long period of years, Miss Penn; and in his will, as you have heard, he has recognised any services I have been able to render him in a very handsome manner, and far beyond my deserts. It will, of course, be very gratifying to me if you also place such unreserved confidence in me.""I shall only be too glad," cried Lois. "Unless you think it is necessary for me to understand certain things, believe me, you will find me most obedient up to a certain point," she added, with a smile. "I am afraid my father spoilt me by giving me my own way too much, and I have long been a law to myself.""You will be the better able to face altered circumstances," said the lawyer cheerfully. "Then the most important items yet to be discussed, and which we may very well leave until next week, are how you wish your remittances sent to you, and how much you will require?""Yes. I fear you will find me rather extravagant," said Lois, smiling again."Oh, I think that there will be a margin wide enough to cover even your extravagances," said the lawyer, with a bow. "Well, since matters are so far satisfactorily arranged, I think, if you will excuse me, I will not stay the night as I intended, but go back by the night train. If you are really in earnest about going immediately to England, can I make any inquiries about your passage?""I have already done so," she answered, to his great surprise. "They have reserved conditionally two state-rooms for me on the Campania, which sails on the twenty-third.""You have a wonderful capacity for arranging details, Miss Penn, and a still more wonderful faculty for making up your mind," he said. "Well, it simplifies everything. I foresee that I shall have much less trouble with you than with any other client, man or woman, rich or poor."CHAPTER IVA WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCEIT was a dreary wet afternoon. All day long the rain had fallen from the sullen skies, soaking the autumn dust into the roadways, and with the help of the merry west wind stripping the trees of their gorgeous dress. A row of tall houses overlooking Boston Common presented a somewhat dreary outlook with the most of their windows closed, as if the inmates had not yet returned from the mountains or the sea. The largest of the houses in this particular row stood a little apart from the others, and was surrounded by a pleasant garden enclosed by a high wall. It was a young ladies' seminary, one of the best-known and most exclusive in Boston. The house had been in the hands of painters and decorators during the entire holiday recess, and it was looking very fresh and bright without, although chaos still reigned within. Whitewashers and paperhangers were busy in all the principal rooms. Only the caretaker and his wife occupied the basement floor, but one of the attic rooms, which had little to recommend it but its wide sweeping view of the quaint and beautiful city, had been occupied all through the recess by one of the English governesses Mary Kestell.She sat at the open window looking out upon the beautiful common,
which the refreshing rain had washed clean of all dust and impurity;
and though she loved Nature in all her moods, she was too tired and
sad and hopeless that autumn day to rejoice in the benediction of the
rain. She was a middle-aged woman of plain, unattractive
appearance. She had a clever face, however, and those who loved her
might have found a certain charm in it hid from the chance
observer. Yet not many loved Mary Kestell. The hardness of her life,
with its continual drudgery and repression of self, had not only aged
her before her time, but caused her to keep her real self continually
in the background. There is no more melancholy creature than the
lonely, middle-aged woman without resources, whom a superficial
education has so poorly unfitted for the battle of life, and who sees
solitary old age approaching without prospect and without hope. Such
was the life of Mary Kestell, the only child of a poor, hard-worked
vicar in an English rural parish. She had been orphaned early in life,
and thrown upon her own resources. A relative of her mother's who kept
a successful school in Boston had offered her a post, which had been
gladly accepted. The arrangement, however, had given but small
satisfaction. Miss Kestell had found her mother's cousin to be a
highly educated and intellectual woman, efficient herself, and
exacting efficiency in others. She had been bitterly disappointed in her young kinswoman's capabilities, and yet the tie of kinship, which had long become irksome to both, still bound them together. Mistress Delamere was indeed shrewd enough to know that Miss Kestell was useful to her in a thousand ways as no other governess could have been. For instance, now she had left her in charge of the house to keep an eye over the tradesmen while she, with a few favoured pupils, was spending a delightful holiday in the Catskill Mountains. Hard work Mary Kestell did not mind, but the continual consciousness that she was inefficient, and not worth even the small salary her kinswoman paid her, had seemed gradually to rob her of her self-respect.Life had no prospect for her. She was a woman without hope, without love, one who merely existed from day to day, careless of what the next might bring forth. She was thinking of England as she watched the drip, drip of the pleasant rain upon the leaves. Somehow the sound seemed familiar, and brought back to her memories of the old days in the vicarage, where she had been, not only a person of some consequence, but one beloved for her own sake. The withering blight of the loveless years between had engendered in a naturally happy and contented spirit a feeling of quiet bitterness which she could not have analysed or described, but it was there. Sometimes it became active envy, when she saw others possessing less capacity for enjoyment than herself surrounded by all the good gifts of life, of which they took but little heed. She was thinking that in two more weeks the solitude which she had so much enjoyed would be over, and that the weary routine of another term's work would begin, when she was suddenly surprised by the sight of a closed carriage stopping at the gate. Surmising that it might be the parent or guardian of some prospective pupil, she rose hastily to see that she was in a fit state to receive them. She need not have troubled to look at herself in the little mirror; it was impossible for Mary Kestell to be otherwise than neat and ladylike in her appearance, even among the most untoward surroundings. When she heard the laboured step of the caretaker on the stairs she went out on the landing."Please, miss, that's a lady for you. She wouldn't give her name.""Are you sure she asked for me, Mrs. Morse, and not for Mrs. Delamere?""She asked for you, Miss Kestell, quite distinctly."Mary Kestell cast a hurried glance at the mirror behind her, and quickly followed the caretaker down-stairs to a small sitting-room which, with her own bedroom, was the only apartment in order in the house. When she opened the door with the somewhat timid, apologetic touch habitual to her, the first glance only showed her a tall and elegant figure, clad in deep mourning, standing at the window with her back to the door; but when the figure turned round she gave a little cry, and ran forward with outstretched hands:"Oh, my dear Lois, is it really you? How good of you to come and see me. Oh, I am so very glad to see you.""I am lucky indeed to find you at home, dear Miss Kestell," said Lois, as she took the governess's hands in hers, and bent down to kiss her with a very real affection. "But, you poor little woman, what have they been doing to you? Why, you look so old and sad, and your hair is quite grey. Where's the Delamere? and is she as much of a dragon as ever?"A faint smile flickered across Mary Kestell's grave face."She's just about the same, dear. She has gone to the Catskills, and, as you see, we are in a terrible muddle.""She has left you to superintend the workmen and clean up generally, I suppose?" said Lois, grimly."Well, you see I had nowhere to go, and it suited me quite well to remain in Boston, and I have enjoyed myself very much on the whole, indeed I have. I have been able to go out and come in just as I liked. You wouldn't believe how I have enjoyed the freedom.""But the loneliness, dear Miss Kestell, just think of that. If I'd only known you might have been with me at Boonville."Miss Kestell now for the first time observed the very deep mourning which her old pupil wore, and putting out her hand she touched her arm timidly."My dear, I am sorry to see this. I hope it is not worn for some one very near or dear to you?""For all I had in the world," answered Lois, and her brave, strong mouth trembled. "For my darling father. I am like you now, Miss Kestell—an orphan, a waif and a stray cast adrift on the sea of life.""Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so sorry for you," cried the little governess, her kind eyes overflowing. "Surely it was very sudden? You did not mention the last time you wrote to me that he was ill.""No, his illness was short. It has been a dreadful shock to me," answered Lois, quietly. "But won't you ask me to sit down? I have a great deal to say. May I go down and dismiss the carriage, and stay and have tea with you? Then you will go back to the hotel and dine with me, and perhaps by that time we shall have arranged everything.""Dine with you at the hotel!" repeated Miss Kestell, wonderingly. "Are you staying in Boston, then?""I must stay tonight. I have come down from New York only this afternoon. I am on my way to Europe, my dear.""On your way to Europe!" echoed Miss Kestell. "But before we say any more let me go down and dismiss the man. How delightful to have you here! I can scarcely believe my eyes, and I am so happy I don't know what I am doing."The tears stood warm and bright in the eyes of Lois after the little governess left the room. Here was a heart upon which she could depend. If only she could persuade her to throw in her lot with hers all the rest would be easy. She was full of hope that the proposal she had come to make would be accepted. She had been three years under Mrs. Delamere's roof, and many a time her heart had ached indignantly over the wrongs of Mary Kestell.In a minute or two she returned to the room, and with her own hands unfastened her visitor's handsome mourning wrap."How splendid you are looking, my dear, in spite of all you have gone through; and how you have developed. I always said you would grow into a handsome and beautiful woman, and I am right. Why, you look like a queen, or a princess, or some one equally distinguished.""Don't spoil me, dear," said Lois, gently. "Now, sit down here and listen to me, and you mustn't say one single word until I have finished, and then if you don't say the word I want—why, then, I don't know what I shall do; I shall be in despair."Much mystified Miss Kestell sat down on one end of the faded velvet couch, while Lois sat at the other. She had removed her gloves, and on her shapely hand there flashed one magnificent diamond ring, which chanced and scintillated with every movement of the finger it adorned. There was something about the radiant creature in her youth and beauty and rich attire which fascinated the little governess, though it made the contrast of her own colourless life and personality almost painful."My father died, Miss Kestell," began Lois, in a quiet, subdued voice, "only last week. I must not dwell upon it now. I hope that by-and-by we shall be able to talk many times of him. I feel sure that you and you only would be able to understand all he was to me. As you know, I am his only child. He has left me a large fortune, how much I will tell you some day. It is sufficient to say that I don't think it would be possible for me to spend it all, although I live to be an old woman. Some would envy me, but I feel at this moment that there could not be a more desolate and melancholy figure than I am. You have often heard me say how I hated Boonville. It was only my father who made it tolerable to me. I will never look upon the place again except for the purpose of visiting his grave. You know, too, that my mother was English born. I am on my way to England to try and find my mother's relatives. I hope to make my home there, too. You will be the first to admit that it would not be right for me to travel or to be alone there, and I have come today, dear Miss Kestell, to ask, nay, to entreat you, to cast in your lot with mine."A quick, nervous colour fluttered to Mary Kestell's pale cheeks, and her hands clasped and unclasped each other above the sober folds of her colourless gown."To cast in my lot with yours," she repeated, tremblingly; "but, my dear, my dear, I am not sure that I quite understand.""Oh, you foolish Kestell! you ought to understand without any explanation. I am afraid that you are willingly obtuse this time," cried Lois, in gentle banter. "Listen, and I will make it plainer. I am only three and twenty, and it is not considered the proper thing for an unattached young woman to travel about alone. Don't you see it is a chaperon I want—a sober, steady guardian? If you fail me, then I don't know what I shall do. The thought of having a stranger is hateful and terrifying, dear. Oh! do take pity on me. I am so rich that we shall never have to consider whether it shall be a dollar or only half a dollar we shall spend. If only you will come I will give you two hundred English pounds every year and everything else you require; and you shall do nothing, dear, but only lecture me and keep me in the straight path, for, oh! I do need it sadly, and there is no one I love on earth at this moment, but only you."CHAPTER VSUNSHINE AFTER RAINAS she uttered these words she slid down on her knees to the floor, and hiding her face on Miss Kestell's lap gave way to a sudden and uncontrollable burst of weeping. In the midst of her sore perplexity and surprise the innate tenderness of Mary Kestell's nature welled to the surface, and she soothed and comforted the agitated girl as if she had been her own."You have taken my breath away, my dear," she said at last when Lois had somewhat recovered herself, and apologised for her outburst, which indeed had surprised herself not a little. "Can it be true that you are asking me, a poor, obscure, miserable creature, to share such a glorious future?""Oh, don't put it like that, Miss Kestell. Believe me you will find the post no sinecure. I beg that you will forgive this outburst, these are the first tears I have shed. I thought myself stronger than I am.""Dear, the grief which has no tears is the grief which eats out the heart," said Miss Kestell, tenderly. "But you do wish me to give you an answer soon?""Yes, tonight," said Lois quickly, "because we must sail for England on Monday."Again the quick flush suffused the governess's pale face, and for the moment she could not speak. The prospect was enchanting. To return to her own land, and in such circumstances! It was almost as if the gates of heaven had opened!"But my cousin, Mrs. Delamere," she faltered, "would it be right to leave her on such short notice? She has at least given me shelter all these years."An expression of extremest scorn came on the face of Lois."Oh, yes; we will give her her due. She has given you shelter, but we will not say what you have given in return. I recognise your duty to Mrs. Delamere, Miss Kestell; and if you will only say you will go with me, I shall go tomorrow to wherever Mrs. Delamere is to be found—it is not such a serious journey to the Catskills—and make it all right, so that your going will not give one sting to your faithful heart."At these words, which indeed betrayed a thoughtful consideration far beyond her expectation, Mary Kestell, overcome by unspeakable relief and joy at the prospect, covered her face with her hands and sobbed audibly."You must forgive me," she said, brokenly; "but I have so long lost hope, and the thought of returning to my own land, and with you, dear Lois, is too much for me. Oh, I cannot, cannot believe it."It was an infinitely pathetic picture. For the moment Lois was unable to speak."I cannot promise you that you will not have anxiety and care on my account, hiss Kestell, because I know that I shall occasion you both; but one thing I can promise you—a life of ease and some of the brightness of existence from which you have been so long debarred."Mary Kestell did not speak. Once more her face was hidden in her hands, and her lips moved silently. Lois sat still, awed by her look and attitude, and guessing, although she dared not speak, that her spirit was in silent communion with the Unseen."What can I say, dear Lois, except that I shall be thankful and proud to go anywhere with you, even to the ends of the earth," she said at last, "and if faithful service and loving care can repay aught of my debt to you, then it will be paid.""Oh, hush," said Lois, "you don't know what you say. I am so unworthy. Perhaps if you knew me as I really am you would hesitate about accepting what I offer, but with you I feel that I shall be safe, and that everything will be easy.""What do you mean by everything?" asked Miss Kestell, somewhat uneasily. "I suppose as you are going to England you will desire to seek out your mother's relations?""Yes, that will be my first endeavour. I have no clue except some
old letters which contain the name of the village in which she was
born. We will go there together, you and I, and see what clue we can
find. Perhaps there may be some bearing my mother's name to whom some of my money might be useful; anyhow we must do our best to find whether there are any such.""Always the same generous and thoughtful heart," murmured Mary Kestell, and she looked with fond interest and pride on the face of the girl she had always loved. It was strange that during the three years Lois Penn had been under Mrs. Delamere's roof she had made very few friends. Her still, reserved nature had repelled any advances her companions had made, yet she had entirely won the affection of Mary Kestell. This was easily explained. Lois, more observant and discriminating than most girls of her age, had seen and resented the injustice done to the patient, industrious, hard-working English governess, and had shown her sympathy in a thousand delicate and considerate ways. Since her return to Boonville she had corresponded at odd times with Miss Kestell, and had always cherished the hope of meeting her again."I have a great many other plans, dear," said Lois, after a moment's silence, "and not only plans but ambitions, such ambitions! I am afraid you will never be able to follow much less to approve of them.""Perhaps one of them is to marry into the English aristocracy," observed Miss Kestell, with a whimsical smile.Often in the old days they had discussed this very point, and then Lois had been loud in her condemnation of such intermarrying. She shook her head, and a flush which Miss Kestell imagined to be indignation rose to her cheek."I am afraid my ambition must stop before it gets to that dizzy height, Miss Kestell," she said, "but I should certainly like to see something of English society, not from the outside, you know, but to be able to enter the inner circle. Is it very difficult?" she asked, wistfully. "You are English, and ought to know.""The best circles are always exclusive, of course," answered Miss Kestell, her thoughts reverting back to the great house of her native village where the family had lived in semi-state, and only admitted certain privileged ones within their gates. "You must not forget that I have been many years out of England," she replied; "but I am told, and indeed I have read many times that money is now all-powerful, and that so many of our noble families have fallen on evil days that they have been obliged to be less exclusive in their selection of friends.""I have read that, too," said Lois, "so you and I will amuse ourselves by watching the wonders done by the magic key of wealth.""But if you do not wish to marry well," said Miss Kestell, "I don't see what would be the object of it all.""Now that is a very narrow view, isn't it?" said Lois. "You know the theory that matrimony is the only career open to a woman has long since been exploded, and it is quite possible for an unmarried woman to be a power in the world, either in society or literature or art, or even in politics.""I should think politics would interest you, Lois," said Miss
Kestell, remembering her old pupil's keen interest and intelligence in the drier subjects of study. " But why not politics in your own country?"Lois made a gesture of dissent."Because the politics of a Republic, my dear, are rotten at the core. Besides, I have no interest whatever in the United States of America. I am English, English to the core, and if I can't make myself a position in England, then I will retire into obscurity.""If you want to take part in English politics, my dear," said Miss Kestell, much amused, "you must marry an English politican, there is no help for it."But again Lois shook her head, and rising quickly walked to the window, and looked out upon the dripping trees of the common."Isn't she a long time fetching that tea?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject. "Then we shall go back to the hotel and dine together, and arrange everything.""I am thinking of my cousin," said Miss Kestell, with some misgiving visible on her face. "I am afraid she will be very angry, and accuse me of ingratitude.""Oh, no doubt! but I am quite prepared for that, dear old Kestell; so don't trouble your head about it. It would be strange if Mrs. Delamere were not to exhibit some dismay at the prospect of losing her factotum; but I shall tell her that it is the duty of every man and woman to better themselves. By the bye, what is your salary here?"At this straight question Miss Kestell's face painfully flushed."I would rather you did not ask me, dear," she said, gently."But I will ask you, and I must insist on knowing. It will be a weapon to flourish in the face of the irate Mrs. Delamere. Supposing it to be twenty pounds; is it twenty pounds, Kestell?""You have guessed it, my dear; but it has not always been regularly paid."Lois said nothing, but as her eye fell on the shabby frock worn by the little governess her mouth took a long, stern curve."Well of course I shall not say anything about that, though, heaven knows, I think enough about it; but if I can say that you have been offered ten times as much as she pays, she will not be able to open her mouth, will she now?""My cousin is a very clever woman, Lois. She will find something to say.""Well, never mind. Let her talk as much as she likes, if it will do her any good," said Lois, lightly. "Now, though I don't think it at all necessary I shall go out to the Catskills tomorrow."Next day, accordingly, Lois went to the summer resort where Mrs. Delamere was enjoying a very good holiday at her pupils' expense, and a stormy interview ensued. Lois had not been wrong in her surmise that Mrs. Delamere would view with dismay the prospect of parting with one who was useful to her in so many ways. She was very indignant at first, and said some hard thins, which Lois felt glad did not fall upon Mary Kestell's sensitive ears; but Lois was very firm and very candid and straightforward in her remarks."Well, of course, it's a splendid thing for her," said Mrs. Delamere, at last, when she saw that Lois intended to take no denial: "but have you considered how very unsuitable she is for such a post? She has been in my house for a great many years, and though I admit her many excellent qualities, still I am bound to tell you that I have found her deficient in many ways. A young lady in your position ought to have a chaperon, one who would be able to guide and direct you in the new conditions of your life."At this Lois smiled."I should certainly quarrel with such an one as you describe in less than a week, Mrs. Delamere. It is Miss Kestell I want, and Miss Kestell I will have. Besides, I love her dearly, and I shall never forget her kindness to me during the three lonely years I spent in Boston."At this somewhat uncomplimentary remark Mrs. Delamere shrugged her shoulders."Well, well, if you regret this step, as I almost fear you will, pray remember that I Warned you. No, I have no message for Miss Kestell, except that I wish her to understand that if she leaves my house just now she cannot expect to come back.""She will not require to come back, Mrs. Delamere," answered Lois, stiffly. "I will make provision for her so that in case of my death she will be independent." So the two parted without regret on either side. On Monday the Campania sailed with Mary Kestell and her charge among the passengers in the saloon.CHAPTER VION ENGLISH SOILTHE voyage was uneventful, and to Miss Kestell at least not enjoyable. She was

 obliged to keep her state-room during the whole week; and though Lois was perfectly well, she did not mix much with her fellow passengers, nor did she make a single acquaintance on board. They did not wait even an hour in Liverpool, but speeded directly to London, arriving there in the golden haze of a September evening. At Miss Kestell's suggestion they drove to the Langham Hotel, which had been a name familiar to her in her youth as one of the famous London hostelries, and there they established themselves very comfortably and rested after the fatigue of their voyage.Mary Kestell was more and more amazed at the change in her former
pupil. She was no longer a girl, but a woman with a strength of mind
and a fixity of purpose which would allow no obstacle to stand in the
way of her ambition. Precisely what that ambition was Miss Kestell had
as yet only the vaguest idea. The subject had never been mentioned between them again since that day in the Boston schoolroom. One afternoon, however, as they sat together in the window of their pleasant sitting-roam which commanded the whole length of Portland Place, with the waving trees of Regent's Park in the distance, Lois spoke out something of what was in her mind."I have a great deal to say to you, Miss Kestell," she said, presently, "and perhaps it will be better said now. We have got to come to a complete understanding about our future.""Yes, dear, I have been wondering many times what you had in view, but I thought you would tell me in good time.""You are a very trusting person," said Lois, with an affectionate smile. "I am glad that you do trust me; it will make my task so much easier. I wonder what you will say when I tell you that Lois Penn has ceased to exist, that she has never come to England, but was left in the wilds of Boonville.""What can you mean, my dear?" said Mary Kestell, smiling a little, and thinking her pupil's words covered nothing but a whimsical fancy."I mean precisely what I say, dear, and I may as well make full confession at once. When we came here I entered my name as Miss Marsh Leyton.""Oh, Lois, how could you, and what did you mean by it?""I am beginning a new life, dear Kestell," said Lois, using the surname of her governess without any disrespect. Those in Mrs. Delamere's seminary who had loved Mary Kestell best had always called her Kestell as an affectionate abbreviation. "I want to shut the book upon that hateful Boonville existence. I want to forget that it even existed.""But you can't disassociate it from the memory of your father," suggested Miss Kestell, gently. "And I'm not at all sure that it is entirely respectful to his memory.""Oh, what can it matter to him, Kestell?" exclaimed Lois, quickly. "He would wish me to be happy, which I shall never be as long as I am reminded of that hateful place. Then I wish to be hidden from all who have ever known me. I wish to start on my new career unhampered. Do you understand?"Mary Kestell looked somewhat uneasily at the strong, handsome face opposite to her, and for the first time vague suspicion crossed her mind. Could it be possible that there was anything in the old life from which Lois was trying to escape? She fancied she saw some new lines of care upon the girl's broad brow, and at that moment her eyes seemed full of a vague trouble. Before, however, she could put a single question Lois went on:"I want to begin a new life, as I said, unhampered by any ties of the old. The moment my name begins to be known I shall be talked about as the heiress of Boonville. What could be more atrocious? Then all the busybodies will go prying into the past to see whether they can discover anything there to my father's discredit or mine. I propose to disappoint them of this relaxation. I see disapproval in your grave eyes, dear Kestell; but please to look me straight in the face and tell me what possible harm it could do anybody though I choose to call myself Marsh Leyton instead of Penn.""It can't harm anybody, of course," Miss Kestell admitted; "only it doesn't seem just right or quite respectful to your father's memory.""I am sure my father would not care in the least. Who knows him here anyhow?""Well, after you have done this, what then?" was Miss Kestell's next question."Well, I propose to enter English society as Miss Marsh Leyton. But the question is how to get into English society? You yourself have told me how very exclusive the best circles are, and I will have none but the best.""How is it to be managed then?" asked Miss Kestell, perplexedly regarding her pupil with a great and growing interest, such as she might have felt in the unfolding of some character in a drama."But you have admitted, too, dear Kestell, that money can do much. Surely it will be possible to find in this country some needy member of the aristocracy, who for a substantial consideration would be willing to introduce an American heiress?""Oh, yes, it is often done," said Miss Kestell, with a sigh; "but I don't think it is ever quite approved of by those whose opinion is worth having. But what is your object, Lois?""Don't you remember that I warned you what a lot of trouble you would have with me? Are you already regretting the step you have taken?" said Lois, evading the question by another."No, no; I am happier than ever I have been in my life, dear," replied Mary Kestell, and her soft, sad eyes overflowed; "and I am interested, but not a little puzzled, over this project of yours. Well, supposing you get some needy member of the English aristocracy, as you term it, to introduce Miss Marsh Leyton, what then?""Oh, then the future takes care of itself," said Lois, and her eyes shone at the prospect."Perhaps it may contain a Cabinet Minister," suggested Miss Kestell, slyly."Who knows? But we must not waste our time discussing unlikely possibilities, Kestell, and to descend to details—tell me how this sounds in your ears?"So saying she took from her pocket a small slip of paper and read aloud:"'Wealthy young American lady wishes to be received for a season into an English family of position—title preferred. Most liberal terms.' There, don't you think that sounds tempting?""Very, but—but I can't associate it with you, my dear," said Miss Kestell, shaking her head. "It does not seem as if you ought to descend to such a thing.""It's not descending at all, Kestell, but ascending, you dear, stupid old thing," said Lois, speaking with forced gaiety. "It is a perfectly fair and legitimate arrangement. I pay so much for certain guaranteed privileges. It is a business matter, nothing more. I buy my introduction to English society just as I bought my clothes yesterday from the store in the next street.""Yes, but it is not quite the same," said Miss Kestell, still doubtfully. "Then supposing that this little arrangement comes off, what becomes of me?""Why, they must take you, too. Don't imagine that I will go anywhere without you," said Lois. "That will be easily arranged, and just think of the fun we should have in our own apartments laughing over the foibles of our aristocratic entertainers."In all this there was something offensive to the good taste and good feeling of Mary Kestell, who was so thoroughly a gentlewoman at heart. She felt disappointed in the pupil she had so dearly loved. This scheming woman—she could call her nothing else—was a different being from the bright, frank, high-souled girl, of whom she had expected such great things."There is something about it, dear, I don't quite like. Of course you are your own mistress, and it is no business of mine to pass strictures on your conduct; but at the same time I can assure you, even out of my limited knowledge of life, that such arrangements are seldom satisfactory. They begin on a false basis, and there can be no mutual respect. May I suggest a little plan whereby I think you would be likely to accomplish your ambition as quickly, and certainly without any loss of self-respect?""What is that, Kestell?" asked Lois, with quick interest. "It never occurred to me that you could make any plan.""Well, let us go down to your mother's village, where no doubt her name is still cherished and beloved," said Mary Kestell, drawing a parallel between this place and her own native village. "If possible you might buy the old home, and settle down there in the place where you had some right in a sense to be. Then, as a householder, and perhaps as lady of the manor, you would acquire a position in your own right which would entitle you to an entrance into the very best society.""It is an elegant fabric, dear Kestell," said Lois, with a note of exceeding bitterness in her voice, "and one which does credit to your imagination, but unfortunately it's got to topple over in front of the sordid facts. My mother has no family history such as you have fondly imagined. She was merely a gatekeeper's daughter at the great house in her native village, and went out to the States as maid to the two young ladies. My father, who was in this country on some of his earliest business ventures, saw and admired her on the steamer, and persuaded her not to return.""But I thought part of your plan was to go into Surrey to find out your mother's people?""So it is, dear, and I still intend to carry out that part of my plan. If I can find any one belonging to her I shall certainly make myself known to them; but you see your suggestion is not feasible."They discussed the matter still more fully, and though Miss Kestell continued to express her disapproval of her pupil's plan, she saw that it was in vain.A few days later the advertisement which Lois herself had so carefully worded appeared in the Times and in certain society journals. At the same time another advertisement was inserted, offering a reward for any information regarding the relatives of the late Thomas Leyton, of Redhurst, Surrey. Then Lois sat down leisurely to wait results.CHAPTER VIIA GULF FIXEDON one of these golden September days Lois and her companion took a little journey into Surrey. They found the village of Redhurst to be within comfortable driving distance of Guildford, and Lois was enchanted with the beauty of the scenery, which, after the arid stretches of the Missouri plains, seemed a veritable Garden of Eden.Redhurst was one of the most picturesque of Surrey villages, built on the old English plan—round the village green—in a richly wooded country which, as yet, the autumn hues had scarcely touched. It was a quiet, sleepy, old-world spot; the quaint inn the centre of the village life; the spire of the picturesque church showed in the background against the trees; and continuing along the broad highway the traveller came suddenly upon the great gates of the manor-house, which seemed to overshadow and protect the place.Miss Kestell observed that the charm and peace of this quiet and
restful spot seemed to lay a hush upon the spirit of her
companion. She became quiet and thoughtful, and a look of tender sadness gave a new sweetness to her face."Oh, Kestell! is not this a lovely spot? If only one had been born here, I think it would be easy to be good."Miss Kestell shook her head."The temptations are fewer, perhaps, but it is nobler to meet and conquer temptation than to evade it.""I don't agree with you, Kestell. They are to be envied who never meet it. I can just imagine my mother here," she went on, presently. "It is exactly like her, and I seem to understand her to-day as I have never done.""But she felt at home in America, did she not?" asked Mary Kestell. "I have heard you say that she was very happy.""She was very happy, because where my father was it was home to her; but her heart never ceased to hunger for England. When I think of that hideous place where we lived, and compare it with this, the wonder to me is that she lived so long.""What are you going to do, dear?" asked Miss Kestell, anxious to divert her companion's thoughts from what was evidently a painful subject. "Do you wish to make any inquiries? Perhaps we'd better ask at the lodge; they will at least remember the name, and perhaps may be able to tell us something.""It seems like intruding, but something might be gained," said Lois, and with that they crossed the road and approached the entrance gate, but there the courage of Lois seemed to fail."Will you ask, Kestell? I feel so weak and helpless here to-day I can do nothing alone."Miss Kestell opened the side gate and approached the door, at which she tapped lightly. To her surprise there presently appeared on the threshold a young lady in a riding-habit, as dainty and winning a creature as eye could wish to see. She could not be more than seventeen, and her face, with its clear, fresh colouring and sweet, innocent features, was one calculated to attract, chiefly by reason of its great promise."What can I do for you?" she asked, and as she held her riding-skirt in her hand Mary Kestell caught sight of the finely arched foot, sure indication of her birth. "I am sorry to say that Mrs. Pigott is ill, but this is not one of the show days at the house.""Oh, we did not wish to see the house," answered Mary Kestell, quietly. "We only wished to ask a question about a family who at one time occupied this house.""Who is it you wish to know about?" asked the young lady in her sweet voice, which had yet a touch of imperiousness in its tone. "Perhaps I can tell you. I am Miss Escott."Miss Kestell hesitated a moment, and threw a backward glance at Lois, who to her relief immediately came forward as Miss Kestell had hoped. Had Lois held back and exhibited any hesitation in declaring herself, it is certain that she would have fallen never to rise again in Mary Kestell's estimation. At sight of the tall, elegant figure, with its commanding grace of mien, and the dark, handsome, even aristocratic face, Mildred Escott looked somewhat surprised and interested."My name is Marsh Leyton," said Lois. "I am an American. I have come to make inquiries about my mother who was born here. Her name was Dorothy Leyton."Instantly a look of the liveliest interest appeared on Miss Escott's face."Oh, that was years ago, before I was born, but I have often heard my mother speak of your mother's family. They were for a long time lodge-keepers here. Will you not come up to the house now? My mother will be charmed to tell you anything you wish to know. I am waiting for my horse. I may as well walk back with you. I shall perhaps meet it.""Thank you, you are very kind," said Lois, "and if it will not trouble you too much I shall be most grateful.""Oh, it will be no trouble. My mother is at home this afternoon expecting some friends to tea. I suppose you know that our name is Escott?""Oh, yes," said Lois, with a smile. "I have often heard it," and there was no trace of uneasiness or false pride about her demeanour.Never had Mary Kestell seen her more natural and more charming. After all her heart was sound;—many in her position would have been content to ignore her mother's lowly origin. Miss Kestell saw that Miss Escott was favourably impressed, and indeed it was scarcely possible to come in contact with—Lois without being influenced in some way by her strong personality. Presently they came within sight of the house, a typical English manor-house, presenting a picture such as the New World cannot give us. It spoke only of repose and assured position, and its quaint gables and ivy-clad turrets seemed to be encircled by a halo of happy memory. To Mary Kestell it had a familiar look. She had been brought up in the shadow of just such another ancestral home, and she knew with what stately peace the tide of life moved within its walls. The gentle, fair-faced girl walking by their side seemed part of the picture, a picture which Lois never forgot.They talked a little as they walked, conventional and commonplace talk; the perfect gentlehood of Mildred Escott's nature evident in her unstudied but successful endeavour to put the uninvited guests perfectly at their ease. Just as they came within sight of the wide, sweeping lawn before the door they saw the groom with the two horses in the distance. Miss Escott signed to him to wait, and herself ushered the strangers into the house. Lois felt a little awed and surprised by the sombre magnificence of the great oaken hall. She did not know that she stood in one of the finest specimens of its kind in England, a hall beloved of artists, and which connoisseurs came from all parts of the world to see. She only knew that the subtle charm of the place left an impression on her mind which was never afterwards effaced. Miss Escott took them at once to the drawing-room, a very large room, low-roofed, and panelled from ceiling to floor.It was quaintly furnished, and everything was draped in the old-fashioned English chintz, which gave it a homely and delightful look. Before a small writing-table at one of the long windows a lady sat, and when Miss Escott called to her she rose and came forward, looking somewhat surprised. She was of slight and somewhat delicate build, not striking in any way, and yet her manners had that ease and repose which cannot be imitated or acquired."Mother," said Mildred Escott, "I met these two ladies at the lodge, and I have brought them to you. They are asking for some particulars about the Leytons who used to live there. This is Miss Marsh Leyton. Her mother was Dorothy Leyton, of whom I have heard you speak."At these words a look of the liveliest pleasure overspread the face of Lady Escott."I am very pleased to see you," she said, kindly and frankly, and she suffered nothing of her inward amazement to show itself; but she could scarcely believe that the tall, handsome, aristocratic-looking girl could be Dorothy Leyton's daughter. "So you are Dorothy's daughter," she said, as she extended her hand. "I must welcome you, my dear, for your mother's sake. When I was a girl Dorothy and I were inseparable. You are not at all like her.""No; I was considered very like my father," answered Lois, and a strange emotion, for which she could not account, made her voice falter a little. "This is my friend, Miss Kestell. We had no intention of intruding upon you, Lady Escott, but I am anxious to discover whether my mother has any relatives living. I should like to help them if possible.""Your mother is dead, then, my dear?" said Lady Escott, softly, as she glanced at the deep mourning Lois wore."Oh, yes! many years; but my father has died only recently. I have no kindred in the world, and you will understand how it would please me if I could meet with any of my mother's relatives.""Will you not sit down, and I will tell you all I know of them, which is not much? The family was not large, as I daresay you know. It consisted only of your mother, a younger sister, and a brother, who, unfortunately, was killed in the hunting-field. The only one left is your mother's sister. She made an unfortunate marriage, and I know has been in straits several times.""Do you know where she is to be found?" asked Lois, quickly."The last I heard of her she was in London. I think Merriot—that is my housekeeper—has her latest address. She used to correspond with her sometimes, and once she came down here with her little boy for a rest and change. She has only one child, who is deformed—a great grief to her—but he is a wonderfully sweet child, and quite a genius.""Oh, I do hope I shall be able to find them. If it will not trouble you too much, Lady Escott, will you kindly ask your housekeeper to give me the latest address?"Lady Escott rose and rang the bell." 'I infer from what you say, Miss Leyton, that your father has left you comfortably off?' " (p.  59.) Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman""That is easily done. I infer from what you say, Miss Leyton, that your father has left you comfortably off?"For the first time a faint flush rose to the cheek of Lois. She detected in this question and the manner of its utterance the first indication on Lady Escott's part of the social gulf between them. She would not have put such a question to her equal; but she tried to overcome the slight resentment she felt, and answered quietly:"Yes, Lady Escott, my father left me more money than I shall ever be able to spend in this world.""Ah, then, what opportunities are yours, my dear," was the quick reply. "You have it in your power to make many people happy. There is no more powerful instrument in this world than wealth rightly used."She spoke these words naturally and sincerely, but Lois felt that, so far as Lady Escott was concerned, the power of wealth could neither impress nor influence her. She seemed to live above and beyond it; and the girl unconsciously bit her lip. It was her first lesson in the powerlessness of money to buy certain of the precious things of life. It was so sharp a lesson, although given with entire unconsciousness, that she had no desire to prolong her stay, and the moment that the address was given to her she rose and somewhat hurriedly took her leave, giving her thanks somewhat ungraciously, Miss Kestell thought, for the courtesy with which they had been treated."Perhaps we may meet again, Miss Leyton," said Lady Escott, pleasantly. "If at any time I can be of the slightest use to you pray command me, and I shall be very pleased indeed to hear whether you are successful in finding poor Mrs. Earle and her boy."Lois promised, but not graciously; and when they were without the door Mary Kestell breathed a sigh of relief."What is the matter with you, dear? You seemed to freeze up all of a sudden," she said the moment when they were beyond hearing. "I am sure no one could be more gracious and delightful than Lady Escott.""Oh, yes; but it was a mistake for me to go—a mistake I shall never commit again. She never forgot, or suffered me to forget, that I was only the lodge-keeper's granddaughter."CHAPTER VIIIPLANNING THE CAMPAIGNA SINGULAR oppression seemed to rest upon the spirits of Lois during the short train journey back to London. She scarcely spoke a word. During the month of their close intimacy, Mary Kestell had seen her young charge in many moods, and knew that she had many thoughts she could not share. But while she was surprised at the complexity of the girl's character the close companionship of the last few weeks had not lessened her love, for indeed Lois in her sweeter moods was a most lovable and winning creature, and her tender consideration and delicate thoughtfulness for the lonely Englishwoman was such as to awaken in her heart the deepest springs of gratitude. It was a new and sweet experience for the lonely woman who had been so long repressed, and who had felt herself only a cumberer of the ground, to find herself a person of some importance, one whose opinion was valued, whose wants were studied, and whose scruples were respected."You will not suffer your experience to-day to make you unhappy, my dear," she said, as they came once more within sight of the lights of London. "I would warn you that one in your position is bound to have some experiences which will wound your sensibilities. You must steel your heart against them.""Oh, I will. I do not mind in the least, dear Kestell," said Lois, speaking more brightly. "I was thinking just now about aunt and my poor little cousin. If only I am fortunate enough to find them, surely I shall be able to make life happier for them. I am wondering, too, when I am likely to hear anything about my other project. If all the members of the aristocracy are like the one we saw to-day, I am afraid my chances are but small."Miss Kestell smiled."Lady Escott belongs to the older-fashioned sort. A new aristocracy has sprung up in England during the last twenty years. It is with it I expect your future dealings will be."When they reached the hotel Lois was pleased to find a letter from the London agent in whose hands Mr. Carter had placed her affairs. It simply stated that he had several answers to the advertisement he had inserted on her behalf, and that he would be glad to receive a call from her at her earliest convenience. Over this information Lois was as pleased and excited as a child, and could scarcely restrain her impatience for the arrival of the interview.Next morning she drove with Miss Kestell to the chambers in New
Square, Lincoln's Inn, where Mr. Pemberthy was to be found. He had not as yet seen the interesting young client whom his friend Carter had recommended to him, and the circumstances surrounding her caused him to receive her with the liveliest interest. Ralph Pemberthy was a man still in his prime, one whose charm of manner and undoubted ability had won for him a very large practice. Lois, who was a keen reader of character, felt the moment she saw him that he was a man she could trust, and the first impression was never afterwards removed."Perhaps I ought to have called on you, Miss Penn; but I had so many appointments this morning I could not spare the time. I hope you had no objection to coming here?""Oh, no, I like it," answered Lois pleasantly. "I want to see everything in England, even a lawyer's office. You do not make drawing-rooms of your offices as our gentlemen do in New York," she said, with a slight, dry smile, as she glanced round the somewhat bare austere apartment where so many serious issues were settled. At this Pemberthy laughed, much amused at the remark, which he appreciated, having himself visited the States."I am glad to hear that you have had some replies," said Lois then. "I scarcely expected that you would have. Is there anything that you would think suitable?""Only one," answered the lawyer. "I have several here which you can read at your leisure, but they are really not worth your consideration. Will you be good enough to read this letter?"He handed to her a large square envelope slightly edged with black. As Lois turned it she observed the coronet on the seal, and her colour rose slightly."Lady Lyndon," she repeated. "What a pretty name. But there is not much in this letter, Mr. Pemberthy. She simply asks for further particulars.""Which I have given her, and she would like to have an interview with you if it could be arranged.""You will first tell me all you know about Lady Lyndon," said Lois, eagerly. "Is she personally known to you?""No, but the name is very well known in Ireland and also in England. Her stepson, Mr. Brian Lyndon, one of the Irish members, is creating rather a stir at present in the House by his fearless eloquence.""Her stepson. Has she any children of her own?""Only one son. She has no daughter, and would doubtless be glad to have companionship. It may interest you to know that she is a daughter of the old Earl of Bantry, one of the oldest names in the Irish Peerage. She is very poor, which does not surprise me, because these are very evil times indeed for all who have property in Ireland. I understand that she lives chiefly on her stepson's estate in Ireland, Ballymore, in the county of Wicklow.""But she comes to London, too? I should not like to be buried in the wilds of Ireland. It is English life I wish to study and to enjoy.""Oh, well, I think this would be all right. I have been making some inquiries, and I learn that until recently Lady Lyndon came regularly to town for the season. Of course, with the increased means which you would supply, she would be able to take a house, and let you enjoy the season to the full.""She would have the entrée to the best society, of course?" said Lois, with a touch of her father's shrewdness. Mortimer Penn had always tried to make sure that he got good value for his money."Oh, undoubtedly. Then, probably if Lady Lyndon had a house in town her stepson would make it his headquarters, thus you would get a glimpse of Parliamentary and political society, which some think is the most interesting of all.""It sounds very well. Don't you think so, Miss Kestell?" asked Lois, her eyes glowing with interest at the prospect. It seemed to her as if the way was opening up in quite a wonderful manner. "I should be very glad to meet Lady Lyndon if you will arrange it, Mr. Pemberthy," she said then; "but perhaps before I see her it would be as well for us to come to some understanding about the terms."The lawyer hesitated a moment."I have had a private letter from Lady Lyndon, Miss Penn, relative to this very point. The terms she mentions seem to be exorbitant, and I would suggest amendment.""What sum does she mention?" asked Lois, with a touch of imperiousness."Two thousand pounds, and all expenses to be borne by you.""That is to say that I should take the house and keep it?" said Lois, going to the point at once."Precisely," said the lawyer, finding it very easy to discuss matters with this eminently practical young woman."And pay Lady Lyndon two thousand pounds a year to act as my chaperon."The lawyer nodded."You state the case admirably, but I think this is too much.""I don't think so," was Lois' unexpected answer. "I don't see how she could do it for less; and if, after I have seen Lady Lyndon, we are likely to come to terms, the question of money need not stand between us for a moment."The lawyer bowed."It is for you to decide, of course, Miss Penn. I only volunteered my opinion," replied the lawyer, politely looking at her with more and more interest, not knowing which to admire most, her handsome looks or her strength and decision of character. He had been prepared for something very different, and had indeed been rather amused at the thought of a rich American coming to him on such an errand. But he saw that Miss Penn was not a person to be trifled with, and he promised himself that he would watch her career with interest."There is one other point I wish to mention before I leave, Mr. Pemberthy, and that is that I wish to be introduced to Lady Lyndon, not as Miss Penn, but as Miss Marsh Leyton. Leyton was my mother's name."Just as you will, of course," said the lawyer, politely, but Lois detected a puzzled look in his eyes."I need not go into any explanations, but I do not wish my doings in England chronicled in my own name. That would be undesirable for many reasons.""I quite understand," said the lawyer, having no doubt in his mind that it was undesirable relations of some sort that she wished to avoid. "There is no explanation necessary. Lady Lyndon will never ask any questions of that sort. I can assure you that all she is likely to be interested in is the monetary part of any agreement that may be made between you."At this Lois sighed, and Mary Kestell's face changed."I suppose it would be too much to expect anything else. So you would advise me to see Lady Lyndon, Mr. Pemberthy?" she said, as she rose."Certainly, if you wish to carry out your plan. From what I know and can learn of her, I think she would be suitable in every way. It would be a pleasant diversion to you to go sometimes to Dublin to the Vice-Regal Court, where, of course, Lady Lyndon is bound to be very well known."Lois' heart beat at the prospect. These words, the Vice-Regal Court, seemed to ring with alluring cadence in her ears, but Mary Kestell, richer in the experience of life, knowing what such things are worth, and how many high-toned words are but an empty sound, did not look either elated or pleased. They left the lawyer's office presently on the understanding that Mr. Pemberthy was to arrange an early interview with Lady Lyndon"Don't you think it was all very satisfactory, Kestell?" asked Lois, when they stepped out on to the clean, cool pavement which the autumn rains had washed. Already there was an autumnal feeling in the air, and the trees in Lincoln's Inn Fields were becoming sadly thinned."I have no doubt it is all right, dear," said Mary Kestell, in a low voice; "but——""But what, you dear old-fashioned mentor? There is something about it you don't like?""Precisely," said Miss Kestell, at once, "there is something about it all from which I shrink. I am not happy over it, Lois. I fear it will bring you but little satisfaction.""Well, I shall never be satisfied until I have tried it, Kestell," said Lois; "and, after all, it is a perfectly honourable arrangement. I pay Lady Lyndon so much for certain services rendered. What could be more just than that?""Oh, nothing. I don't find fault with the arrangements, only I am not happy in my mind about it," said Miss Kestell."I am sorry for that, dear; but no doubt you will get used to the idea. Now, let us take a hansom and drive to Pratt Street, Marylebone, to hunt up my poor relations. Perhaps that will be more to your taste?""Much more," answered Miss Kestell. Then they hailed a passing hansom, and drove off on a second voyage of discovery.CHAPTER IXHER MOTHER'S KINTHEY found Pratt Street to be one of the most unsavoury of Marylebone lanes. It was a Saturday morning, and the thoroughfare, not roomy at any time, was entirely given up to the costermongers who catered for the Sunday needs of the Pratt Street dwellers. It was a lively scene, which both Lois and her companion surveyed from the hansom with the liveliest interest. The driver of the hansom regarded it doubtfully for a moment, then informed his fare through the little window in the roof that they'd better get down as it was impossible for him to drive through. This they did, nothing loth, because on foot they would have a better opportunity of studying the new conditions of existence such as they had not dreamed of. Fortunately they were very quietly dressed, so attracted but little attention as they picked their way through the confusion of the lane. So interested was Lois in the costers' market that she forgot for a moment the object for which they had come, until Miss Kestell, touching her arm, pointed to the number for which they sought.It was a small doorway neat a tallow chandler's shop, and when the two ladies, holding their skirts above their ankles to escape contact with the indescribable rubbish of the street, entered it they were surprised that it was only the introduction to a small square courtyard shut in on every side by tall tenements which almost seemed to reach the sky. A few slatternly women sat on the doorsteps or loitered at the corners, interested in everything evidently rather than the household duties which might have been supposed to occupy their time and thoughts at that hour of the day. The usual tribe of gutter children played in the open space where one miserable stunted tree with a few green shoots at the top was surrounded by an iron railing, as if seeking to protect it against meddlesome hands. There was a touch of irony and also of pathos about this miserable tree, which Lois felt at once. She had often read of London slums, and here she was in the very centre and heart of one so exactly like the slums of her imagination that she almost felt as if she had been there before.Their appearance created quite a new sensation in Sewell's Court. The children stopped in their play to stare open-mouthed, while the women regarded theta with suspicious looks, as if they resented their intrusion."We'd better ask some one, hadn't we?" said Lois, and with that marched up to a group of women who stood at one of the tenement doors. "Good-morning," she said, pleasantly. "Would you kindly tell me whether a Mrs. Earle lives here?"The women exchanged glances, then one of the number answered:"She did live 'ere, miss, but she's gone.""Do you mean that she has left the neighbourhood?" asked Lois, whereat a somewhat strange smile passed from one to the other."She's left the neighbourhood sure enough, miss," answered the woman who had spoken, "and she's gone to one where there'll be no changes.""Do you mean that she's dead?" asked Lois, inexpressibly shocked."Yes, miss; on Michaelmas Day. She had a hard time of it afore she died with her sickly boy and her own bad 'ealth. I guess she warn't very sorry to throw it up.""And where is the boy now; can you tell me anything about him?" asked Lois, in a voice which her keen disappointment made somewhat curt and imperative."Oh! he's 'ere yet, miss," was the unexpected answer. "He's been taken care on by one as looks a sight more like being taken care oil herself.""Where is he to be found? Is he here?""Yes, miss, three storeys up, second door on the left, and you'll find him, I guess. Poor Willie don't go much from home.""Before I go up I should be glad if you would give me some further particulars," said Lois. "I understand that this poor lad is deformed, and that he can't help himself?""Gawd knows that's true, miss," said the woman."He's a hobject, and nothing more or less, and we all think that Clara had no right to take the burden of him on her own shoulders, which ain't broad enough nor strong enough to carry what she's got on her own account.""Who is Clara?" asked Lois, sharply."Clara, she's a horphan, miss, as has lived here getting her own livin' since she were a little mite. She works in a warehouse in the City where they makes hunderclothing. She and Mrs. Earle were pals as thought themselves above the rest of us, but we didn't bear them no ill-will, oh, bless you, no.""And do you mean to tell me that this poor girl has, unasked, taken upon herself the care of this poor child?""Yes, miss, that's what I do mean; but if you go upstairs Willie will tell you all about it. He don't go much from home summer nor winter, not he."Thus advised Lois thanked her informant and stepped with her companion into the doorway."This interests me, Kestell," she said, quietly, "more even, I think, than a possible interview with my Lady Lyndon."Mary nodded. She saw that the girl's heart was in the right place. Perhaps here would be found the antidote to the corroding influence of riches which she so greatly feared.The directions given by the obliging neighbour enabled them to find the door without any further questioning. It was closed, but in answer to their knock a shrill sweet voice bade them "come in." It was Mary Kestell who opened the door in obedience to the invitation. Lois herself felt oddly moved, knowing that she was about to come face to face with the last remnant of her mother's kindred, and the only relative, so far as she was aware, that she had upon the face of the earth. They found themselves in a narrow little passage, where a borrowed light from a window looking out upon the landing only seemed to make visible the gloom. Here, however, another door met them. It was partly ajar, and Miss Kestell, pushing it open, walked in, followed immediately by Lois. It was a large and not altogether unpleasant place for a living room. The floor was quite bare save for a little strip of faded carpet before the fireplace. It was very poorly furnished, but scrupulously clean, and on a small chair-bed set comfortably between the fireplace and the window in order to catch what sunlight cared to penetrate through the narrow window was the figure of an invalid boy, He was one of those of whom we speak tenderly as deformed. He had a great hump between his shoulders, and the poor little legs outside the coverlet were thin and stunted, but he had the most beautiful face, with a haunting, pathetic expression, which made a lasting impression on the hearts of the two women who now saw it for the first time. At sight of these unexpected and, in his eyes, magnificent visitors, the little hunchback struggled off his couch and stood before them, making an odd little bow, at the same time putting his hand to his forehead in soldier fashion, the only greeting he knew how to give."Oh, pray sit down, dear," cried Lois, in distress. "We don't want you to get up. We have only come to talk to you a little. I am afraid you are very ill.""Oh, no, miss," answered the child, with quite a bright expression. "This is one of my good days. I have been about tidying up all the morning against Clara comes back. I was only feeling a bit tired, and was lying down a bit.""Then you don't stay in bed all day?" asked Lois, sympathetically; and Mary Kestell, in the background, observed that all that was best and sweetest in the girl's nature was uppermost at the moment."Some days, miss, when I've bad days," answered the child. "Won't you sit down? The chairs is all quite clean, for I have just dusted 'em."He hopped about nimbly with his little crutch and got them two chairs. Lois was struck by the fact that lie did not appear to be in the least curious regarding them, and she wondered whether many visitors came to that sad little home."Do you have many people come to see you, Willie? Your name is Willie, isn't it?""Yes, my name's Willie, Willie Earle, miss. No, we don't have many people, only when Clara's aunt comes up from the country, and sometimes a lady from the mission comes; but that's near Christmas when it's time for the treats.""Clara is away all day, I suppose?" said Lois then. "When does she come home?""Oh, about eight o'clock, miss. She gets out at seven, but then, you see, it's a long way from St. Mary Axe to here. It takes her near an hour to walk.""Why does she walk? There are plenty of omnibuses and trains, are there not?""Yes, miss; but Clara says she can't afford to ride, and so she walks. She says that she likes to walk after being shut up all day, but she is so tired when she gets here, I do wish she could ride sometimes.""I want to hear something about your mother, Willie," said Lois, when she had persuaded him to sit down on the side of the bed. "It is not so long since she left you, is it?""It will be a year at Michaelmas," answered the boy, and his whole expression changed, his bosom heaved, and they saw that he only controlled himself by a great effort. Lois put out her daintily gloved hand and patted him gently on the shoulder."We don't want to pain you, dear," she said, very softly. "We are come to befriend you if we can. Tell me, did your mother ever speak of her sister who went out to America many years ago?"Willie shook his head."No, miss; I don't think she ever did, leastways not to me.""Well, of course, it was a great many years ago, and they never wrote. I am not surprised that she did not speak about her.""Are you mother's sister?" asked Willie, in a somewhat awe-stricken voice, for this sweet-looking lady in her elegant attire was a great revelation to him, and he feared to take the slightest liberty."No, my dear; but I am her daughter, so don't you see I am your cousin Lois?""My cousin! What's a cousin?" asked Willie, in a perplexed voice."Your mother and my mother were sisters, Willie, and that makes us cousins, don't you see?" she said, gently."Oh, yes," answered Willie, but the information did not appear to elate him in any way or even to interest him in the smallest degree. The hard conditions of his life had killed all expectation in his heart, and it never occurred to him that any change could take place in his circumstances or surroundings."Tell me, Willie," said Lois, persuasively, "would you like to go right away into the country to live in a beautiful cottage, perhaps by the sea, where you would have a little pony-chaise to go out in and it great many other things that you don't dream of now? Will you let me take you away and give you all these?""Wouldn't I said Willie, and his face shone at the prospect; "but not without Clara. You wouldn't want to take me away from Clara, because, you see, she's been so kind to me I couldn't live anywhere else without her?""Oh, but I think that could be arranged, too," said Lois, brightly. "When did you say Clara would be home? Not until the evening?""Oh, yes, miss. To-day is Saturday; she will come very soon now, that was why I was hurrying up so to get everything ready. She promised that if it was fine and I felt able we should go on the top of the tram right up to the edge of the Forest, so I guess she'd hurry home.""If she's to come so soon, Mary," said Lois, turning to her friend for the first time," perhaps we'd better wait until she does, and get the matter all settled to-day."CHAPTER XTHE POOR AND THE RICHAs she spoke there was the sound of a swift, active foot on the stairs, the door opened, and presently a cheery voice called out:"Are you there, Willie? Why weren't you at the window looking out?"By the time she had finished her sentence she was in the room, and her surprise at the sight of the two strange ladies was very great. She looked much taken aback."I beg your pardon," she said, hurriedly, "I didn't know nobody was here."Lois stood up and regarded her with a keenness of interest which
surprised herself. Clara Hawkins was a very ordinary specimen of the
London warehouse girl, thin and colourless, and badly dressed, the
signs of her long and depressing toil not lacking from her pale face
and somewhat heavy eyes. She had a very pleasant face, however, and
one person in the world at least thought her really beautiful, and
that was the orphan and helpless boy whom she had befriended, and to whom she had acted a mother's part at no little cost during the past year."Oh, Clara, such a thing has happened," cried Willie, hobbling over to her side, and clinging to her hand, his pale face eager and excited. "Do you know who this is? She says she is my cousin. I didn't know what a cousin was, but she has told me, and she says will I go right in the country and live in a beautiful cottage, and have a pony-chaise to ride about in.""And leave me, Willie? Oh, I hope not," cried Clara, sharply, and the real anguish of her heart was revealed both in her look and in the tone of her voice."No, because I've said I wouldn't go without you. Didn't I, miss?" asked the little hunchback, triumphantly, and somehow the picture struck Lois as being so pathetic that she could not restrain her tears. She was not emotional or demonstrative by nature, but never in the whole course of her experience had she seen a more moving sight than the hunchback boy clinging to the little London sempstress, the love between them glorifying both."Pray sit down," she said kindly, "and don't for a moment think I would ever seek to part you. What you have done for my poor little cousin can never be paid by me. I am the daughter of Mrs. Earle's sister who went to America many years ago. Perhaps she may have sometimes spoken to you about her, as I understand you were great friends.""Oh yes, miss. She used to speak a lot about her sister Dolly, as she called her.""Yes, that was my mother's name," said Lois. "She is dead, and my father also. Since I came to England I have been trying to discover my mother's relatives. It makes me very sad indeed to think that this is the only one left.""But he is a dear little chap," said Clara, warmly. "You have no idea, miss, what a little gentleman he is at heart.""I could believe that," answered Lois, and her glance was very tender as it fell on the hunchback's face. "Of course I cannot bear the idea of him staying in a place like this when I can afford to give him some comfort. I have no home of my own just at present to which I could take him; but I think I might get a little house in the country somewhere, perhaps by the sea, where he would have plenty of fresh air, and perhaps be helped towards recovery.""It would be a splendid thing for him, miss," replied the sempstress; "but it will break my heart to part from him.""But you needn't part from him unless you like. There will be plenty of room in the house for you. I don't know what your own earnings may be, but if you would be willing to come with him to take care of him I could promise you you would lose nothing by it."Clara Hawkins' face was a study. The grim monotony of her sordid life had never been broken by such a happening as this. It was like the fairy tales she had heard and read. She could scarcely believe that she had heard aright."Oh, miss, you're too good," she said. "Willie, do you hear? You and me to go in the country together and sec the real sea! Won't that be grand!"The glorified look on both their faces was a revelation to Lois. For the first time in her life she tasted the exquisite sweetness of doing good, and she felt a sudden quick rush of gratitude for the wealth which she had a power to use, if she willed, for the lessening of human care and suffering. Mary Kestell read that look aright, and in her quiet heart thanked God for it.They lingered some time talking of possible arrangements to be made in the future, and when they at last said good-bye they left sunshine behind, as well as some substantial tokens of their presence."What do you think of it all, Mary?" asked Lois, as they threaded their way back to Marylebone Road to call a convenient cab."I think it's wonderful, just wonderful, don't you?" said the old governess, softly."Yes, it is the sort of thing which restores one's faith in human kind—that is to say, if it happens to be lost.""I hope yours is not lost yet, my dear," observed Miss Kestell, quietly."Well, I don't know; sometimes I think it is. I ought to be a happier woman than I am, Mary. Our experience to-day has shown me what I have in my power—the chance to lessen the sum of human misery. Yes, that's it; but whether I shall rise to my responsibility is another matter. Well, now we must be getting back. I shall see Mr. Pemberthy on Monday, and get him to tell us where we can find a quiet, little sea-side place where we can send our charges. And now for Lady Lyndon and the other side of life."At four o'clock that afternoon a hired brougham, which, however, was so perfectly appointed that it might very well have passed for a private equipage, drove tip to the door of the Langham Hotel. There alighted from it the tall and stately figure of a woman past middle life bearing still on her face the traces of beauty for which in early life she had been famed. Her manner was that of the great lady—slightly imperious, and yet kindly condescending. She commanded the immediate attention of the servants in the hall of the hotel. She was expected in Miss Marsh Leyton's rooms, and was immediately shown up to the beautiful drawing-room which commanded the whole vista of Portland Place, with the waving green trees of Regent's Park in the distance.When she entered Lois stood up, and they exchanged bows, at the same time regarding each other with searching keenness. It was naturally a critical moment for both; on the first impression a good deal depended."Good-afternoon," said Lois, politely. "I am very much obliged to you for coming. Will you kindly sit down?""I am afraid I am a little early. Mr. Pemberthy mentioned half-past four," said Lady Lyndon, "but I had another engagement at five. I hope that it does not matter?""It does not matter in the least," said Lois, graciously. She admired Lady Lyndon, who had the true aristocratic look and bearing, though she was not as yet at all drawn to her. There was just a moment's awkward silence then; but Lady Lyndon realising that this was a business interview deemed it best to bring the matter to a point at once."Mr. Pemberthy has explained to me what you desire," she said, suavely, "and I hope that we shall be able to come to a satisfactory arrangement.""I hope so," answered Lois. "I am a little disappointed, however, to hear that you live in Ireland. I think I should have preferred an English home.""But that cannot matter very much," said Lady Lyndon, with a persuasive smile. "We are all so cosmopolitan nowadays, and, though my home is in Ireland, we need not confine ourselves to it entirely; but, after all, Ireland has many advantages—one is that you could enjoy a double season. I can assure you that life at the Vice-Regal Court is very pleasant, and then we could come to London after Easter.""I suppose there would be no difficulty about my introduction to the society about which you speak?" asked Lois."None whatever under my chaperonage," answered Lady Lyndon, with a touch of haughty assurance which Lois herself did not dislike, although it repelled Miss Kestell."When does the Irish season begin?" asked Lois."Just after Christmas," answered Lady Lyndon."Then we have three months at our disposal still. What would you propose to do with them, supposing that we came to an arrangement?""Well, I would suggest that you should return with me to Ballymore without delay. My two sons are there just now. My stepson, Mr. Brian Lyndon, is the member for Rosmoyne, and he is presently entertaining a number of Parliamentary friends at Ballymore for the shooting. I should think it would be a very good beginning if you would fall in with my plans.""What do you think, Mary?" asked Lois, turning to Miss Kestell appealingly.But Mary Kestell only shook her head."I must leave you to make this arrangement yourself, my dear. I would rather not advise."This speech caused Lady Lyndon to turn and look with some interest at the insignificant figure of the governess."Now I wonder who she can be," she said to herself. "I am afraid she's likely to be a thorn in the flesh.""Are your sons quite agreeable to our arrangement?" asked Lois, with some interest."I haven't yet mentioned it to them; but I am sure they will make no objection. My elder son is so entirely taken up with his Parliamentary interests and is so little at Ballymore that it can make but little difference to him. As for Terry, he is too young to be consulted. He is only a happy boy whom I am sure you would like."'I like what you tell me very much," said Lois, frankly. "At least we might try the arrangement for a year. That could not hurt any one.""Mr. Pemberthy has mentioned my terms, I suppose?" said Lady Lyndon, with an eagerness which she could not hide. After all she must not be blamed too hardly. The prospect of having two thousand pounds a year in her own right to spend as she liked was alluring to a woman who had felt the stings of poverty so keenly, and, as Lois had said, it was a perfectly legitimate arrangement if carried out on a purely business foundation; but it was the nature of Lady Lyndon to be crafty, to plan and to scheme, and to keep things in the background. She had not the smallest intention of communicating the real facts of her relation with Miss Marsh Leyton to her stepson, knowing right well that he would be certain to raise objections, in fact, that probably he would forbid it altogether; at least in so far as it concerned the family life at Ballymore. He could not of course prevent her chaperoning Miss Marsh Leyton in London, or even in Dublin, provided she did not ask for the shelter and countenance of his roof, but of these undercurrents Lois suspected nothing. She saw in Lady Lyndon only a needy member of the Irish aristocracy, who was willing to take money for certain privileges it was in her power to bestow on a rich but obscure young woman. Lois herself had sufficient knowledge of modern society to feel assured that it was only the initial steps that would have to be paid for, and that when she was once known to be a wealthy woman, all doors, save perhaps the most exclusive, would be thrown wide to welcome her.Mary Kestell listened with her face turned to the window, deeply disapproving. She belonged to the old régime, and she could scarcely disguise her contempt for Lady Lyndon, and her irritation with Lois for stooping; to what she in her heart of hearts believed to be a dishonest arrangement."Would there be any objection to my friend, Miss Kestell, accompanying; me," asked Lois, "supposing that I agreed to your suggestion to come to Ireland without delay?"Before Lady Lyndon could reply Mary Kestell turned sharply round.You need not ask the question, Lois," she said, decidedly. "I should not care to go. I would be much happier in the country with little Willie and his kind companion."Lois' face clouded."Well, that is matter for after consideration, I suppose," she said, lightly. Then turning to Lady Lyndon, she added, "I feel much disposed to close the arrangement at once. Mr. Pemberthy thought your terms exorbitant," she said, frankly; "but I am quite prepared to pay theirs, and supposing we get on together and agree to take a house in London for next season, I shall defray all expenses, and carry out all your wishes up to a certain point.""I am returning to Ireland next week, Miss Leyton," said Lady Lyndon. "If you could follow me the week after I shall be quite ready for you. By that time I shall have prepared the way for my guest; of course, a little diplomacy will be required.""I suppose it would not do to tell the bald facts of the case?" said Lois, with a smile in which there was a touch of sarcasm."It would not be expedient," answered Lady Lyndon, "at first, at least; afterwards it would not matter. I am aware that there are some who disapprove of such arrangements, and yet they are made every day in the circles in which I move. Our old families have fallen upon such evil days that something has to be done to save them from absolute ruin, and so long as it is only introducing a charming young lady like yourself of unexceptionable birth and large wealth to a society which requires both, why, if you ask me, I think that the advantages are almost equal."At this Mary Kestell smiled and shook her head.I see that your friend is not much in sympathy with us," observed Lady Lyndon, nettled by that smile, she could not tell why."Oh no, my dear Miss Kestell is a little old-fashioned perhaps. She remembers the days when the British aristocracy were not reduced to such straits; but she will get reconciled in time. As I tell her, I only wish to see the life as I would to go to see the play. If I am willing to pay for it, why not?""Exactly, my dear Miss Marsh Leyton," said Lady Lyndon. "You put it admirably. Your splendid common sense will ensure the success of any arrangement to which you are a party. Shall we regard it as settled, then?""Oh yes, if you will. Mr. Pemberthy spoke about some papers which would have to be drawn yip and signed," answered Lois. "I suppose, on the whole, it is better we should have some formal agreement. There is only one thing I would suggest, and that is, that we enter upon our compact for a year with a break at six months, which might be welcome if we did not pull together, or if there should be any disappointment on either side."CHAPTER XIPAVING THE WAYLADY LYNDON was on the whole highly satisfied with what had transpired. She had dreaded greatly her interview with the American heiress, fearing lest she should find her impossible; but to introduce such a beautiful and distinguished young; woman to society would not be difficult—nay, it would confer a certain distinction upon Lady Lyndon herself. She drove back to her own room troubled only on one point—her stepson Brian. How to explain Miss Marsh Leyton to him would tax all her ingenuity.He was now the head of the family, and, although he never failed in courtesy to his stepmother, a tragic past forbade that there should be any real intimacy or warm feeling; between them; but the love that Brian felt for his half-brother Terry made it easy for him to be kind to Terry's mother, and then they did not meet very often. Even when Lady Lyndon was in London, Brian had his own rooms either at his Club or elsewhere, and saw her but seldom; and when they were all at Bally more, there were generally other guests which prevented much intercourse. Brian Lyndon had no respect whatever for his stepmother. It was scarcely to be expected. She had proved herself to be a most unscrupulous, and even a wicked, woman, who would stop at nothing to gain her own ends. Lady Lyndon was shrewd enough to know that, though Brian never failed in courtesy to her, he recognised her true character, and could weigh her motives accurately; but it was a big stake for which she was going to play now, and she would do her best. "If only Brian were not such a fool," she said to herself, again and again, "he might marry this rich young woman, and his fortune would be made; not only is she rich, but she has ambition and style, she could achieve anything. If only Terry were ten years older."She only waited in town until the agreement, carefully drawn up by the astute Mr. Pemberthy, was signed and sealed, then she returned to Ballymore to prepare the way for the arrival of her charge. She laid many plans and drew out many diplomatic speeches to be addressed to Brian, which showed that she stood in real awe of him, as a scheming and untrustworthy nature will always stand in awe of the fearless and the honourable.She had gone to London to answer in person the advertisement she
had read both in the Times and in the Morning Post where it had appeared. There was no
doubt that to this prompt action she owed her success. She was so very
clever that she had not failed to drop some hint concerning her visit to London at that unusual season of the year. She had told Brian she was going to see the daughter of an old friend who had come from America. This in a manner paved the way for the other announcement. She arrived at Kingstown early in the morning, and having no temptation to linger in Dublin, which was deserted at that season of the year, she took the first train to the little Wicklow town which was nearest to her home.She had sent no intimation of her arrival, and, therefore, drove in a hired car from the station at Rathdrum to Glendalough. It was about an hour's drive, and a most enjoyable one in fine weather. It was one of the most beautiful of autumn days, the still sunshine of an Indian summer seemed to brood over the beautiful landscape, not a leaf stirred upon the trees, and no rude wind or withering frost had as yet touched the autumnal glory of the woods, even the bloom of the heather seemed scarcely dimmed. Lady Lyndon had not an eye for the finer beauties of nature, familiarity with which had somewhat dimmed the slight appreciation which she might once have had. She was glad that the day was dry so hat her journey in an open fly might be accomplished with the highest possible modicum of comfort. She had been exactly a week absent from her home. It was sad that her absence should have been so little remarked. She was now a woman considerably past her prime, but her cold, selfish nature had repelled friendship. There was not in all that warm-hearted country, perhaps, a woman with fewer friends. The daughter of her husband's old friend and neighbour, Captain Byrne of Killane, came but little now to Ballymore, and as neither her stepson nor her own son had married as yet, there was no feminine kindred to come about the old house. But this was no deprivation whatever to Lady Lyndon. She had a masculine nature, and one, moreover, which could live its own life, craving sympathy from none.About half a mile from Glendalough she beheld in the distance the somewhat bent and feeble figure of Father O'Hagan, the parish priest of Glendalough. He was about to pass with a distant salutation, having but little respect or liking now for the sometime mistress of Ballymore; but she signified to the car-driver that she wished to stop, and extended a gracious hand to the priest."How are you, Father?" she asked, with a somewhat solicitous smile. "I was only saying to the boys the other day that I must take you to task. You arc very remiss in your pastoral duties where some of your flock are concerned at least. How long is it since you paid us a visit at Ballymore?""My pastoral duties are scarcely needed there, Lady Lyndon," answered the priest, gently, but with a certain dignity which she felt, though she made no sign; "and I find much to do in the parish, and less strength, I grieve to say, than formerly for its accomplishment.""Ah, you work too hard, Father," said Lady Lyndon, with a slightly
playful touch. "If you would but take a leaf from the notebook of your
neighbour, Father O'Dowd, who rides to hounds with the best of them, and I don't think he is any the worse a priest on that account.""That may be, Lady Lyndon," answered Father O'Hagan. "I don't set myself up to judge Father O'Dowd or any of my brethren. Such sports have never had any temptation for me.""No, you have always crucified the flesh too much, Father, more I think than is necessary. I have been in England for the past week. Have you seen anything of my house party in the interval?""No, Lady Lyndon, except some of the gentlemen on the moors and hills occasionally, but I must go on. I have a meeting to attend in Rathdrum, and I shall need my time to get there punctually.""Aways on foot, Father," said Lady Lyndon, reprovingly."Ah, but that is my own fault," said the priest, "and I have promised the Squire that I shall ride in winter, thanks to him." So saying the priest touched his shabby old hat and walked on, wondering much why Lady Lyndon should have taken the trouble to have speech with him at all. She seemed in excellent spirits, and he wondered what new scheme for her self-advancement she had in view. Father O'Hagan was one of the gentlest and most charitable of men, but he had known Lady Lyndon more or less intimately for over thirty years, and her consuming, all-absorbing selfishness had been proved to him again and again. He speedily dismissed her from his mind, however, and gave his attention to the business awaiting him at Rathdrum, while she drove on towards the entrance to Ballymore, her plan of action becoming more matured. At the lodge she dismissed the car and walked up to the house, which she found quiet and deserted. She was informed on her entrance that lunch had been taken to the gentlemen at Slieve Beg, and that the brake was not to be sent for them until four o'clock in the afternoon. This was quite satisfactory, and after having lunched, Lady Lyndon rested in her own room until tea-time. She was in the drawing-room when the brake drove up to the front door. It contained her stepson, now the Squire of Ballymore, also her own boy Terry, looking very manly and happier than he had looked for many a day, and three Parliamentary friends of Brian's who had conic over for the pheasant shooting. Brian saw hiss stepmother at the window the moment they swept round the curve in the avenue. He was simply indifferent to her presence. She did not interfere with him or he with her, each observed towards the other a studied courtesy, but they were in no sense of the word intimate, nor was there any real understanding between them. It was impossible. Brian Lyndon was honest, straightforward, honourable to the core, disdaining the slightest approach to double-dealing or deceit. His stepmother, on the other hand, was never happier than when living in an atmosphere of scheming and plotting.Parliamentary duties kept Brian much in London, and even during the months of the recess he was very often visiting other constituencies. It was still stirring times in Irish politics, and the whole country was in a state of wild apprehension and unrest. During these enforced absences Terry made an excellent steward, looking after the interests of the place and the people with an understanding sympathy and ability for which Brian was deeply grateful. Between the half-brothers there was indeed the most perfect and loving understanding. Terry simply adored Brian, regarding him as a hero from every point of view; yet it was not what could be called a happy home. There was an absence of the finer touch, the indescribable and hallowing tenderness which only a loving woman can give to a home.Lady Lyndon was all smiles when she sailed down to the hall to pour out tea for her sons and their guests."So you have come back," observed Brian, without any warmer salutation. "Did you telegraph for the carriage? I am afraid you have been put to some inconvenience.""Oh, no; I simply got Matt Flynn to drive me up. What glorious weather you have been having for your sport," she added, turning to the others; "that is to say, if it has been as fine as in London. It was so warm there that we might have been cheated into the belief that summer had scarcely fled.""I hope that you enjoyed your visit, and accomplished its object?" observed Brian."Oh, yes, thank you; but I shall tell you about it by-and-by. I have a private word for your ear," said Lady Lyndon.Brian did not look elated, and, immediately turning to the men who were with him, resumed the interrupted talk concerning their sport. Lady Lyndon, who was anxious to get the whole matter settled without delay, watched her opportunity, and about six o'clock, as they were about to retire to dress for the evening, she waylaid him on the stairs."Just come in here, Brian, a moment, will you? I want to ask permission for something."He followed her up unwillingly to the inner drawing-room, and waited politely enough for what she had to say."I had a very pleasant visit, and I was charmed, positively charmed, with the dear girl I had to meet. She is as beautiful as her mother was, only she possesses, in addition, that indefinable charm which we meet with in American ladies of the higher type.""Indeed," said Brian, and waited to hear what was to come. Right well he knew that there was some ulterior motive behind his stepmother's well-chosen words."She is a charming girl, but so lonely. I felt so sorry for her. There she is stranded in London without a soul to take an interest in her but an old depressed-looking governess. She is very rich; but, as she pathetically remarked, there is so much that money cannot buy. I felt quite touched by her lonely position, and I hope, dear Brian, that I made no mistake in thinking that your kind heart would be the first to feel for her?""What do you want me to do?" asked Brian, bluntly. " 'You will not expect me, I trust, to pay very much attention to her' " ( p. 97). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman""Of course, I know you want me to do something or you would not have taken the trouble to tell me all this."You are always so delightfully practical and to the point, quite in the style of the best Parliamentary debate," said Lady Lyndon, with an affected little laugh; "but you are quite right in this instance. It is only a very small favour that I wish to ask—that you will allow me to invite Miss Marsh Leyton here on a little visit."Brian stood still a minute and looked at her intently. Somehow he had never been more assured of her insincerity. It all sounded plausible enough, but he could not account for the vague feeling of mistrust which possessed him."Of course I cannot have the slightest objection to your inviting a guest to Ballymore," he said, at length, courteously enough. "Pray ask Miss Marsh Leyton by all means. You will not expect me, I trust, to pay very much attention to her. I do not greatly affect ladies' society, as you know, but if she understands that, she is at liberty to come and enjoy herself as well as she can while she is here.""Oh, I should never dream of expecting you to do anything, dear Brian," said Lady Lyndon, effusively. "I scarcely hoped that you would give me permission to ask her. You have no idea what it will be to me to have a woman friend in the house. I daresay neither you nor Terry have ever thought for a moment how lonely and isolated I am here."Brian turned away a trifle impatiently. Of all her moods an affectation of pathos was the most objectionable in his eyes."That's all right," he said, roughly. "Ask Miss Marsh Leyton to come when she likes, and to stay as long as she likes. I forgot to tell you I may have to go to America next month. If so, I shall be absent about six weeks. In any case, you are at liberty to make your own arrangements, for I shall not be much at home."CHAPTER XIITHE FAITHFUL FRIENDHAVING given his permission, Brian dismissed the Marsh Leyton incident from his mind, but Terry thought a good deal about it.Terry was now of age, a tall, well-grown, handsome fellow, and a great favourite from one end of Glendalough to the other. He made a most capable and satisfactory steward of his brother's property. He brought love to the place and an understanding sympathy with the people to bear upon his other qualities, and the result was eminently satisfactory. He was considerate and helpful to the industrious and the well-doing, but the ne'er-do-weels and malcontents who made capital out of the woes which were so often of their own making obtained but little quarter from him. So the management of the estate was placed upon a more satisfactory basis than it had been for years, and even in those days, when the most frightful discontent and rebellion tore poor, unhappy Ireland from one end to the other, there was scarcely a murmur heard from one end of the sweet vale of Glendalough to the other."Who is this woman that Brian tells me is coming to pay you a visit, mother?" Terry asked the first opportunity."Really, Terry, you are almost as blunt as Brian, and though imitation is the sincerest form of flattery we know, still what sits well on him is quite objectionable in you. You ought to be better mannered.""Oh, well, who is the lady, if that will suit you better?" said Terry, good-humouredly.He always humoured his mother's little concessions to conventionality; it was the easiest way to keep the peace."I never seem to have heard anything about it before. Is she a new acquaintance?"There was no sort of ambiguity about Terry's question, and for a moment his mother was put out."She is a new acquaintance—that is, I never saw her before this week; but, of course, I know all about her family and her connections. I am sure you will like her.""Oh, I don't know about that," said Terry. "I think it's a bit of a bore myself having a strange woman coming to the house at this time when all the fellows are here; but, of course, if Brian doesn't object, it is no business of mine. When is she coming?""Next week—probably on Tuesday.""And will she stay long?""Oh, that depends, I suppose, on whether she enjoys herself and
likes the place. You always pretend to have a great deal of feeling, Terry; you ought to feel for her. She has no friends at all, and is quite alone in the world.""And has she no money either?" asked Terry, though with but a languid interest."Oh! I believe she has plenty of means. I did not inquire the length of her purse, but she lives and moves like a wealthy woman which I have every reason to believe she is. Her father was a rich American.""Oh, is she American?" asked Terry blankly, with visions of some of the American tourists he had observed at the Vale of Avoca and other Irish shrines looming unpleasantly before his mental vision."Yes, she is American, but you need not nurse your prejudice against America until you see her," said his mother, reprovingly. "At least, give her a chance. I assure you she is as different as could well be imagined from the American tourist whom I see you have in your mind's eye."Terry said no more; he could only devoutly hope that Brian and his guest would remain as long as possible so as to protect him from the "American woman," as he had already dubbed her in his mind.All unconscious of these undercurrents Lois made her preparations to begin her experiment, not assisted in any way, however, by Mary Kestell."If you will only say the word, Mary," said Lois one day, "I will write to Lady Lyndon and tell her you are corning with me. It is your duty, you know; you undertook to look after me.""Yes, I did, up to a certain point, Lois," answered Mary, quietly; "but when you take a course of which I disapprove I can only stand by. I will not take part in it.""I don't understand your objections," said Lois, rather sharply. "It's merely a business arrangement.""I consider it immoral," said Miss Kestell, without a moment's hesitation. "It is practising a fraud upon society.""That is a very lofty view to take of it," said Lois; "and, after all, society is not such an immaculate corporation. You know as well as I that society in every country is made up of many units, some of them distinctly undesirable.""Ah, that is not the point," said Miss Kestell, drily, "and two blacks never made a white; but there, there is no more use talking about it. I shall be very happy at Bonchurch with Clara Hawkins and Willie."Lois bit her lip. and for a moment her hot temper was in the ascendant. For the first time she met a quiet and decided opposition to her wishes which she did not find at all palatable. The most delightful and tender of companions, Miss Kestell could yet be steadfast and immovable where matters of principle were concerned. It was the one cloud in the horizon of the future, which seemed to roll fair and smiling before her eyes. Miss Kestell saw her change colour, and understood well what was passing in her mind; but she did not speak a word. Lois's irritation passed in a moment, however, and the more generous and reasonable part of her quickly rose in the ascendant."Of course I am bound to respect your scruples, Mary," she said, more gently, "even though I don't share them. Will you promise me one thing at least, that you will come if I want you?""I will come if you need me, certainly," said Mary, with a slight emphasis on the verb, "that is, if you are ill or in any trouble, which I scarcely for a moment expect. I have never seen you look better." A faint sigh escaped her lips as she regarded the tall, straight figure, and the beautiful mobile face. Such beauty was sure to work havoc in the hearts of men, and somehow Mary Kestell was filled with most gloomy forebodings concerning the future of her charge.Finding it was in vain to try and alter Miss Kestell's resolve, Lois said no more but herself accompanied them to the Isle of Wight the next day, and saw them installed in the beautiful little cottage facing the sea."I don't feel it just right to leave you here, Mary," said Lois the next morning as she stood at the window of the sitting-room drawing on her gloves while she waited for the carriage to convey her to the pier at Ventnor to catch the return steamer. "It is a lovely place, but to remain here all winter will be simply stagnation for you.""Oh, no," answered Miss Kestell, quickly. "I shall be quite happy except when I think of you—you have made such arrangements for our comfort and our amusement," she said, with a quick touch of gratitude. "Besides, I am never dull, as you know. It is enough for me to be able to rest, because I have never had a real rest for twenty years."The eyes of Lois filled. No one could touch her feelings more quickly than Miss Kestell, nor strike more truly the deeper and nobler chords of her nature. It was a mistake on Miss Kestell's part to leave her at this crisis of her life, but so we make mistakes at times, judging that we act for the best."It is just possible that I may not take kindly to life in an Irish castle," said Lois, lightly, "in which case I shall throw up the whole thing. Of course I shall be the loser by it financially, but that won't matter. One has always to pay for experience. Now you will write to me, won't you, once a week at least? Remember that your letters may be all I shall have to keep me in the straight path."At that moment the carriage drove up noisily to the little gate. In the pleasant garden revelling among the wealth of autumn flowers which still lingered in that sunny and sheltered spot, little Willie Earle, with the faithful Clara by his side, were living in an enchanted land. Their wonder and their gratitude were marvellous to behold; indeed it was more at times than Lois could bear. Miss Kestell drove with her to the pier at Ventnor, and there they parted. It was a somewhat painful parting, the shadow of which lay for some time on the girl's heart; but by the time she had reached London, the immediate prospect of her visit to Ireland began to engross all her thoughts. The next morning, when she journeyed to Holyhead to catch the Irish mail, she had lost sight for the time being of Mary Kestell's somewhat reproachful face and warning words.She was met at Kingstown by Lady Lyndon, who deemed it her duty to show every consideration to her guest. She had feared, almost up to the last moment, lest anything should happen to interfere with the arrangement which was to be of such immense benefit to her, and she felt a distinct sense of relief when she saw the tall, distinguished-looking figure of her expected guest on the deck of the steamer. She hastened on board the moment the gangway was lowered, and welcomed her most effusively."How very kind of you to come so far to meet me," said Lois, gratefully. "I had no expectation of seeing you here, and your directions about the journey were so explicit that I could not possibly have made any mistake.""Ah, under the circumstances I thought it only kind to come as far as Kingstown. It is a very easy journey, little more than an hour's run to our little town. Fortunately we have only a few minutes to wait for the train here, and then we shall go on. We shall be home in time for dinner."The luggage was quickly transferred to the railway platform, and very soon they took their seats and started out upon the latter stage of the eventful journey. Lois was interested in everything. Her father had often talked to her about Ireland, in which he had ever taken a sympathetic interest. He was a keen student of international politics, and the troubles of Ireland, which a section of the American people had made their own, had appealed to him in a curious manner, for he was a man not influenced as a rule by sentimental considerations; but the history and the romance of the Irish people seemed to have laid hold of his imagination, so that Lois did not in a sense come as a stranger to the country. She looked about her with the most intense interest, enchanted with all she saw. The late spring and summer had merged into a most beautiful autumn. There was scarcely a yellow touch on the trees, and the emerald green of the fields and meadows struck Lois as the most exquisite thing she had ever seen. When they came by-and-by to the magnificent coast line of Wicklow her admiration and enthusiasm for Irish scenery knew no bounds. Lady Lyndon was surprised and in a manner pleased. It was well that the first impressions should be agreeable, it made the success of her experiment more assured."We live in the midst of the most beautiful scenery in Ireland" she said. "People come from far and near to see Avoca and Glendalough. I am glad you are interested in fine scenery; I am sure you will appreciate ours.""If you knew what kind of scenery amongst which I was reared, Lady Lyndon, you would not be surprised at my enthusiasm," observed Lois. "It is the greenness and the freshness which impresses me most. I think Ireland richly deserves to be called the Emerald Isle."Lady Lyndon smiled somewhat indulgently, in no way displeased to find the girl whom she had imagined to be rather astute and far-seeing on their first interview very girlish, and even effusive in her expression of delight; and so they came in the cool and exquisite calm of the autumn evening to the picturesque little station at Rathdrum.An open carriage of a somewhat lumbering and old-fashioned design, but drawn by a pair of high-stepping grey horses, waited for them in the enclosure; a cart also was in readiness for the luggage, for Lady Lyndon had taken great pains to make the arrival of her guest auspicious, and had given explicit orders, which had been scrupulously carried out. The liveries were shabby Lois noted at once, but this was quite in keeping with the history of the family. Her heart beat high with anticipation and with pleasurable excitement as they rolled along the picturesque roads, a fresh panorama of magnificence seeming to unfold before them at every turn.CHAPTER XIIIIN AN IRISH CASTLELADY LYNDON had done her best to ensure the comfort of her guest. She had for the first time in her life given up her rooms to another. They were the best in the house, a large sitting-room with bedroom and dressing-room adjoining, facing the park. From the windows there were most delicious peeps of scenery, with the low green hills of Wicklow in the distance. Their furnishings were old-fashioned and shabby to a degree, but

they had a most comfortable and homely look, the very settees and chairs having a running pattern of the shamrock leaves on their covers which appealed at once to the imagination of Lois. While she was dressing Lady Lyndon had a small matter to decide, one which caused a perplexed line to appear on her brow. Before Lois was quite ready she tapped at the door."You have no maid, my dear?" she said, the moment the door was opened. "It is not often that a lady in your position dispenses with that luxury.""I have always been accustomed to wait upon myself," answered Lois, frankly. "I thought that you might be able to find me a maid if I should want one.""Oh, it is by no means a necessity," said Lady Lyndon, pleasantly. "Of course, to an old woman like me it would be a great burden to look after my own things. I have a faithful creature who has been with me for twenty years. She will be charmed to do anything you may require. It is almost the dinner hour. I thought I should like to tell you whom you will meet tonight. I think I mentioned that my stepson had some gentlemen here for the shooting, among them Mr. Sheldon, who represents a Scotch constituency, and is one of the most distinguished members of the Scottish Bar. He is rather an elderly man, and I am surprised at Brian's intimacy with him, but there, my stepson has never been a young man.""It will be most interesting to meet them all," said Lois, as she fastened a string of pearls round her stately throat. Lady Lyndon looked at her approvingly. Nothing could be more becoming or more fitting to the occasion than the gown of dull black silk with its elegant simplicity and absence of display. Lady Lyndon herself was a truly regal figure in her old black velvet with its fichu of real lace. So far as outward appearance was concerned the chaperon and her charge were well matched."There is just one thing I should like to say to you before you go down, my dear," said Lady Lyndon, a trifle hurriedly. "My stepson Brian is a very proud man, and in some respects peculiar. It would take too long to tell you the story. No doubt before you have been long here you will get to hear it all. He is a splendid fellow in many ways, and a genius, so they say, but he is full of prejudice, and he is as innocent of worldly wisdom as a baby. Had I told him the exact terms upon which you were coming here, of course he would have withheld his consent, and the house is his. I am in a most unfortunate and unfair position, and I dwell here simply on sufferance."Lois turned slightly towards her, regarding her gravely and patiently. She was not surprised. Neither did she resent it, as Lady Lyndon had feared for the moment. Indeed, her sympathy was entirely with this elderly woman, who apparently had known much trouble."Then, what does Mr. Lyndon understand?" she asked. "How is my presence here explained?""I have simply told him that you are on a visit as a friend of mine. I did not see that the actual terms need concern him. He lives very little here, and is going almost immediately on a political expedition to America.""I hope," said Lois, in a somewhat strained voice, "that Mr. Lyndon will not make himself disagreeable to me?"Lady Lyndon smiled."Brian is not a lady's man in any sense of the word, my dear; but he is a gentleman. You need have no fear on that head. It would have been quite easy for me not to have told you, but in this case I preferred to be quite open in the matter.""I am certainly obliged to you," said Lois politely."Of course the objection he would certainly have made would be quite reasonable, and such as you would easily understand. It is not pleasant for an old and honourable family to be so frightfully impoverished, although it is the fate of many. My brother, the Earl of Bantry, cannot afford to live on his own estate, and has to live in his Dublin house aft the year round. Talk of the sorrows of the poor! I tell you they are as nothing compared to ours."Thus adroitly Lady Lyndon managed to work upon the girl's imagination, and even cleverly managed to convey the impression that her presence at Ballymore was a favour received rather than bestowed. In this somewhat subdued mood Lois accompanied Lady Lyndon downstairs. When they entered the spacious drawing-room its only occupants were Terry and a grey-haired, shrewd-faced man, whom Lady Lyndon introduced as Mr. Sheldon. Terry was much surprised at the appearance of his mother's guest, and when she was introduced to him her smile captivated his impressionable heart at once. She seemed to him the most beautiful creature lie had ever seen in his life, and her manners were so quiet and unobtrusive that he felt an inward shame for all the things he had said about her. Almost immediately the door opened and Brian entered, accompanied by his other two guests. He had forgotten that Miss Marsh Leyton was expected that day, and a great surprise was visible on his face at sight of her."Miss Marsh Leyton has arrived, Brian," said his stepmother, suavely, and yet managing to convey warning and entreaty to him. "She has had rather a tiring journey, but is enchanted with our Wicklow scenery."Brian advanced to her gravely and extended his hand. There was no
cordiality in his greeting, but it was courteous enough. Even his
mother could find no fault with it. If he was struck by her appearance
he made no sign. From that first moment she was interested in him,
intensely interested. His grave, somewhat sad, face appealed to her
strangely. She detected in him a sincerity of purpose and a singleness
of aim, which were the qualities she most of all admired in a
man. Even his abrupt manner attracted rather than repelled her, and
when he offered her his arm to conduct her to the dining-room, she
took it, distinctly conscious of an odd thrill. In comparison with him
the other men did not interest her in the least, although she felt
drawn to Terry, and foresaw that in him she could find a friend. She
vaguely felt that the master of the house was hostile to her, that he
suffered her presence rather than enjoyed it, and this conviction
aroused in her all a woman's coquetry, and she determined that she
should compel his interest. She was a very wise and shrewd woman. She
did not commit her countrywomen's mistake of talking to excess, and
often flippantly, of things she did not understand. When addressed she
replied simply and without effort; but she did not convey a brilliant
impression, and no one present at that first moment dreamed of her
real nature. That dinner hour was

 "When he offered his arm to conduct her to the dining-room, she took it, distinctly conscious of an odd thrill" ( p.  112). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman"one of extreme tension for Lady Lyndon. No one knew what she suffered; Brian least of all guessed how much he had in his power.When the ladies withdrew and re-entered the drawing-room again Lady Lyndon was surprised to find some one there."Why, Mr. Parnell," she exclaimed, "how do you come here, and why were we not told?""Because I gave my instructions to Doolan, my dear Lady Lyndon," was his gay reply. "I wanted to, see Sheldon. He's here yet, I understand?""Oh, yes; and I have heard nothing of his going. Permit me, Miss Marsh Leyton, to introduce Mr. Parnell to you. I see that his name is familiar to you. This is a friend of mine from America, Mr. Parnell. She has come to pay me a long visit."Lois was for the moment unable to speak. She could scarcely believe that she saw before her the great Irish patriot for whom her father had entertained such a chivalrous devotion, and to whom he had sent many a handsome cheque for the support of the cause he had at heart."Marsh Leyton," said Parnell, as he extended his hand, his grave, inscrutable face wearing a somewhat puzzled look. "I have many friends in America, I know; but I cannot recall this name as familiar.""Oh, no; you do not know my name," murmured Lois, confusedly, regretting for the first time the false Position in which she had placed herself. In her father's desk she had found certain letters signed by the familiar name, and she knew that as her father's daughter she might have had some passport to the great man's interest."Is this your first visit to Ireland?" he asked, regarding her with his piercing eyes, admiring her beauty, and yet puzzled by her evident embarrassment.He had met many charming American women, and one of their predominant characteristics had appeared to him to be a perfect self-possession and assurance in all circumstances."Yes, I have never even been to Europe before. My whole life has been spent in an uninteresting little town in Missouri.""Missouri," repeated Parnell, musingly. "I have never been there, but I had a very good friend in a place called Boonville. His name was Penn. He has just died, unfortunately, at a time when we stand in need of all our friends. He left me a legacy of five thousand pounds, for which I am grateful, if only I could be assured that I had not inherited it at the expense of some one else.""Oh, I assure you you need have no feeling about that!" cried Lois, so hastily that both looked at her in surprise."Possibly you knew Mr. Mortimer Penn, seeing you come from the same State?" suggested Parnell, still more puzzled by her agitation."Oh, yes; he died a very rich man. The legacy you name would be but a drop in the ocean of his fortune.""Ah well, so much the better for me. Now, I suppose I have your permission to go downstairs, Lady Lyndon? It will be an auspicious moment, I think, to proffer my requests to Sheldon. If a man is to mellow at all, it should be over the walnuts and the wine," and with one of his courtly bows Parnell left the room, carrying with him a distinct impression that there was something interesting and puzzling about the young American woman.CHAPTER XIVTHE NEXT MORNINGLOIS turned to Lady Lyndon with sparkling eyes."I had no idea," she said, "that such a privilege should be mine.""Mr. Parnell is an old friend of our family," responded Lady Lyndon, graciously. "He and my stepson are inseparable. Of course you are aware that these are very trying times for Ireland?""I have heard so," replied Lois. "My own father had an immense interest in this country, and he regarded Mr. Parnell as the saviour of Ireland."Lady Lyndon shrugged her shoulders."Many call him by a different name. I have never mixed myself up with politics. I am old-fashioned enough to think women should keep out of them. When you have been here long enough you will see to what lengths the political woman can go.""It seems natural, does it not, to be interested in what so immediately concerns our fathers and brothers?" observed Lois, musingly."Yes, but when a man gets his living in the city his womenfolk don't exhibit any thirst to share it. Politics is but a means of livelihood to most. Why should any difference be made?" asked Lady Lyndon, drily."Oh, but the difference is there. Politics deal with national affairs in which all ought to be interested," maintained Lois."You are enthusiastic, my dear. Who knows, we may yet see you the centre of a political salon in England. Perhaps you may have a call to revive it.""I confess the picture appeals to my imagination," admitted Lois. "But it is not likely to do more.""Why not? Look at the social triumphs your countrywomen have achieved, and are constantly achieving. Wait until you have been through a season. I should be surprised at nothing."All this conveyed a subtle flattery which was very sweet to Lois, and her dreams that night were golden. She had suddenly been transplanted into a new world, the world more interesting than all others to her. The atmosphere and environment seemed to intoxicate her, ministering as they did to the more ambitious impulses of her being. She awoke early, and springing up drew her blinds to feast her eyes on the lovely picture spread before the windows. It was looking its loveliest, the autumn sun giving a deeper glow to the purple hillsides and lighting into flame the gorgeous tints on the trees. She dressed leisurely, and throwing a white wrap about her head descended the stairs, and passed through the open hall door into the freshness of the morning air. The dew was wet on each blade of grass, and hung in glittering drops on the heavy heads of the roses still blooming in profusion on the sunny gable of the old house. The stillness, the dignity and repose of the whole place impressed her more and more, nay, it stirred her heart and awakened in her an emotion for which she could not account. She came from a democratic country whose creed was that all men are equal, who scorn the prestige of ancient lineage and family, yet she felt that here was something it was impossible to ignore; nay, which must be reckoned with in the government of nations and the conduct of internal politics. These thoughts seemed to lie upon her in a great flood, giving to her face an unusually grave and thoughtful look.She slowly walked round the house, surveying it from every point of view. Then she turned down a little path through the shrubbery which led to the woods immediately behind the house. It was beautiful there. A brawling stream revealed itself, banked high with gorse and bracken, and spanned by a quaint rustic bridge, where she paused a moment, enraptured by the beauty and peacefulness of her surroundings. She was disturbed by the tread of a foot in her vicinity, and, glancing round almost in affright, for though very near the house, the place was lonely in the extreme, she found herself face to face with the man to whom that fair domain belonged, Lyndon of Ballymore.He appeared surprised, and somewhat at a loss for a moment."Good-morning, Miss Leyton," he said; then, recovering himself, "you are early astir.""And you also," she answered, with a smile. "I have always loved the morning hour. A hush seems to lie on everything, a hush which the day dispels.""I have felt it," he answered, surprised into giving some confidence of his own. "For that reason I never miss my morning walk, even in London. It prepares the mind for the day's work.""It must be something of a hardship to you to spend so much of your time away from this enchanting spot?" she said, pensively."When I am here I feel that, but once in London the impression dims. After all, there is a joy in being in the thick of the fight, at the heart of things, which one is never more conscious of than when in London."He felt more and more surprised at himself, but the sympathy of her eyes was compelling and irresistible. He felt that here was a woman of character and intuition beyond the average; lie wondered that she had made so little impression on him the night before."I think we had better go back. I believe I am right in saying the breakfast bell will ring in five minutes. You will find Lady Lyndon very punctual herself, exacting punctuality from her household and from her guests."She turned at once, ready to walk by his side, again conscious of his subtle power and attraction, which could not be accounted for by his face or outward appearance, which was at first sight undistinguished; nay, his face, which bore traces of a hard and anxious session, was sallow and plain, though his eyes somewhat lightened its extreme gravity of expression. Brian Lyndon did not take life lightly; those who knew him well and loved him best complained of his over-anxious and somewhat morbid turn of mind. Certainly his life was no easy one. His burdened estates, constantly appealing to him for what he could not give, the struggle and awful depression reigning in Ireland, the strained relations between his party and the English Government, all combined to weigh him down. And though he had been only two years in Parliament, already he was accounted one of the heads of his party, a man to be reckoned with and respected. These things, because of the manner in which they laid hold of him, had made Brian Lyndon an old man before his time. He was only six and twenty; he might have passed for forty at times. His stepmother was not far wrong in saying he had never been a young man."Have you been long in England?" he asked, politely, feeling that some further remark was expected of him."Only a few weeks. I suffered a great bereavement in the death of my father. I could not remain at home after it. I daresay you can understand the awful restlessness which pursued me?""Yes, I understand. Have you, then, no mother or other relatives?""When I came to Europe I thought I was a derelict without kith or kin on the face of the earth. I have discovered a cousin in London, so far as I am aware my only living relative.""I hope the newly found relative will be some comfort to you.""Perhaps I may be of use to him. He is a little hunchback boy. I found him in absolute poverty, dependent for the very bread he ate upon the charity of a little sempstress, on whom he had no claim but that of helpless distress."He looked at her with it sudden access of interest. Her voice, always sweet and exquisitely modulated, vibrated with the tenderest sympathy; her face expressed it not less eloquently."That you were enabled to relieve that distress must have brought you no mean happiness?"She detected the inquiring note in his voice, and knew that he desired to hear in what manner she had relieved it."I took a house for them at Bonchurch, in the Isle of Wight. They are in the care of my old governess. It is possible that something may yet be done for the boy, but first his strength must be built up.""You did not separate him from his first benefactor, then?""No. You would not think so meanly of me, surely?" she said, with a glance which in another woman might have been taken for coquetry."I had no thought in the matter beyond the curiosity of the moment," he answered, without a moment's hesitation, "and some might have deemed it wise to remove him from the old environment."'Ah, but it was a good environment," said Lois, softly. "Let me tell you. Clara Hawkins is a little Londoner sempstress earning, shall we say twelve or perhaps fifteen shillings a week? Because of the love she bore to the boy's mother she voluntarily undertook his maintenance. Perhaps the thing that struck me about it most of all was that she did not regard it as any particular deed of heroism, but rather as a matter of course. She seemed surprised that I or any one should make a fuss about it.""It is a moving story," he answered, simply. "In this case the unselfish devotion of the little sempstress has had its reward; but among the poor there are many cases of such incomparable service rendered without thought of fee or reward. Some day I should like to tell you the story of my own life."A gratified flush rose to the girl's face. She felt more intensely interested than she could express. She was in the mood to attach exaggerated importance to trifles, and it seemed to her that she had been transplanted into one of the select places of the earth, where all that was best and noblest in human nature had room to grow. From her dressing-room window Lady Lyndon observed the pair coming leisurely up the shubbery walk. She was not less pleased than surprised, and came down to breakfast in a very cheerful frame of mind, confident that her experiment would turn out more successfully than she had dared to expect.The morning was devoted to a further inspection of the house and grounds. Terry offered to show her that part of the domain in which he was chiefly interested—the stables, the kennels, and the home farm, the latter being his special hobby. His mother was delighted at the impression which her guest had made upon the brothers. She observed that at breakfast Brian, usually silent and preoccupied, addressed a good many remarks to her, and listened to her utterances with respect. All sorts of wild and ambitious projects chased each other through Lady Lyndon's busy brain. She saw the Marsh Leyton millions generously poured into the empty coffers of Ballymore, and she, as the proud originator of the scheme which had brought so much happiness to them all, participating in the general prosperity, and being placed for all time beyond the reach of the sordid care which had been the shadow on her heart for many a day.CHAPTER XVA LITTLE RIFT"I SHOULD like you to see some of our neighbours this afternoon," said Lady Lyndon the next morning. The first day had been entirely spent at Ballymore, and in the few hours she had devoted to it Lois had made herself mistress of the situation. The guileless Terry had hidden nothing from the bright, sympathetic, beautiful girl who had won his heart at first sight. Not that Terry had fallen in love with her; it was love of another kind. He was not impressionable, and, besides, had too much common-sense. He knew that so long as the affairs of his house were in such an uncertain and impoverished state marriage was out of the question.Immediately after lunch they set out in the old-fashioned park phaeton to drive from Glendalough to Rathdrum, and thence to call on the Lyndons' old friend and neighbour, Captain Byrne of Killane."I must tell you something about the family we are going to visit,
my dear," said Lady Lyndon as they came within sight of the unpretentious gateway of Killane. "Captain Byrne is the head of one of our oldest Wicklow families. He was in Parliament for quite a number of years, but gave it up from various considerations. I believe I am right in saying that the chief one was the lack of means, which is the nightmare weighing upon us all."She had so successfully appealed to the deepest sympathy of the girl at her side that involuntarily Lois, though not a demonstrative person, stretched out her hand and touched that of the older woman softly. During the short period of their acquaintance she had seen, of course, only the sweeter side of Lady Lyndon. She believed her to be what she seemed, a woman of high birth and ancient name, bowed to the earth by family misfortune, and by the terrible experiences through which her unhappy country was passing. That she was one of the most unscrupulous schemers in the world Lois never dreamed, and thus the early days of their intercourse were sweet to both."Captain Byrne is perhaps best known as the writer of a book of reminiscences which was issued about two years ago. I must give it to you to read. Competent judges, Mr. Parnell for instance, think that it gives a better picture of Ireland during the last fifty years than ever will be found in the pages of an ordinary history. We take a special interest in it, because my son Brian acted for a time as his private secretary, and I believe almost entirely re-wrote the book. The style is beautiful, and I am sure you will enjoy reading it.""How very interesting it all is," said Lois, with a quiet enthusiasm. "I can never be sufficiently grateful to you, dear Lady Lyndon, for having introduced me to such a circle.""Ah, well, my dear, the benefit is mutual," said Lady Lyndon, sincerely enough; "and you are so charming, and win such golden opinions everywhere, that my duties as chaperon are not only easy, but delightful."So in this amiable frame of mind they arrived before the plain, square, unpretentious house of Killane. Miss Byrne was at home, and they were at once taken up to the drawing-room where Aileen sat waiting for her father to come in for tea. She was very simply dressed in her favourite garb of Donegal tweed; but there was an air of distinction, and even of hauteur, about her which made a deep impression on Lois."I don't know whether the boys have told you, Aileen, my dear, of the charming guest who has come to beguile for a little the dulness of Ballymore," said Lady Lyndon, somewhat affectedly, as she kissed Aileen on both checks. "I knew that you would come and call as soon as you did hear, but in the meantime I took the liberty of bringing her over. May I introduce Miss Marsh Leyton?""Why, certainly," said Aileen, with her frank, bright smile, and she held out her hand immediately to Lois. A quick, keen glance passed between them, and in some subtle, indefinable way, for which neither could account, they felt themselves antagonistic to each other. For the first time since she had set foot in Ireland a chill seemed to strike to the American woman's heart. She felt that this bright, clear-eyed Irish girl was one who could see into the heart of things, and would not easily be deceived. We cannot understand or explain these strange intuitions. It is certain, however, that both were conscious of it, and that this consciousness gave a certain stiffness to Aileen's usually frank greeting."I hope you will like Ireland," she said, politely, but without any particular warmth. "I happened to know that Miss Marsh Leyton had come, Lady Lyndon, because Terry has been here to-day—in fact, he lunched with us, and I think he is out with father now at some of the cottages.""Oh, is that where the young rogue has been all the afternoon? I never know where Terry is, Aileen; he simply goes and comes as he will. We are shockingly irregular with our meals. Brian and his guests have gone to Castle Begg this morning to join Mr. Laffan's shooting party. We shall not see anything of them until the evening. I have been telling Miss Leyton that she must take our Irish manners for granted, since they are so little in evidence."Aileen smiled, and, bidding her guests be seated, rang for tea."We need not wait, because nobody knows when they will turn up. It is quite possible they may be at Avondale, but if they are, we shall probably see them crossing the fields presently.""Avondale is Mr. Parnell's home," said Lady Lyndon, graciously, turning to Lois. "It is quite near Killane—in fact, if you come to this window I can show you the roof of the house among the trees.""We think him looking so ill and worried," said Aileen, with a sigh. "He looks as if he were brooding over some terrible trouble; yet he says he is quite well, and laughs at our fears. Miss Marsh Leyton will scarcely understand how we regard him," she said, turning to the stranger somewhat apologetically. "He is the only hope of our unhappy country.""On the contrary, I understand it quite well," said Lois, eagerly, "I am an American, and in America, as you must know, Mr. Parnell is regarded as a hero. My father had the most intense and devoted interest in him.""Really," said Aileen, but her interest was languidly expressed. Again she was conscious of a vague, scarcely defined, distrust of the beautiful woman before her; in fact, had she put her suspicion in words, she might have said that it would not have surprised her greatly to learn that Miss Marsh Leyton was something of an adventuress, or at least an American woman of the most objectionable type. Terry's enthusiastic description had prepared her for her marvellous beauty, but it was not a beauty or a charm which appealed to Aileen, or made the slightest impression upon her. Simple and guileless herself, she yet had a wonderful insight into human nature, an instinct which was seldom at fault, and the longer she remained in Miss Marsh Leyton's company the stronger grew her impression that all was not right. Quick as lightning to respond to the somewhat inhospitable atmosphere, Lois did not appear at her best; nay, she became nervous and ill at ease, and Lady Lyndon was both surprised and disappointed in her. All were relieved by the entrance of the gentlemen. The old white-haired Captain's welcome somewhat took the edge off his daughter's coolness, and Terry, eager and interested to know what Aileen thought of their charming guest, came over to the tea-table beside her, where they could talk a little out of hearing."Well, what do you think of her? Isn't she a stunner?" he asked, in his boyish lingo, which he had never laid aside, for Terry was one of those happy creatures who would be a boy to the end of time, and the cares of manhood would not rob him of the light-hearted outlook upon life."She's very beautiful, certainly," said Aileen, glancing in Miss Leyton's direction as she put the hot water in the cups; "but——""But what?" asked Terry, jealously detecting the dry note in her voice at once."Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that," said Aileen, lightly. "It would not be fair to dislike a person actively at first sight; not possible, except in the case of very objectionable people. But I don't trust her. There's something there more than one sees at first sight. I should like to know more about her. How did she come here at all, Terry? I do not remember having heard your mother mention such a name in all the years I have known her.""Oh, that isn't at all surprising," said Terry. "She's the daughter of an old school friend of the mater's who married and went to America.""Is that so?" asked Aileen, meditatively. "It seems odd, though, that your mother, if she has been keeping up communication with them all these years, should never have mentioned the fact to any of us, especially when they were people of such large means.""What are you driving at, Aileen?" asked Terry, much puzzled. "This is not like you at all; you are always so jolly and nice to everybody."Aileen laughed."I don't know, I'm sure, perhaps I'm all wrong. Don't think any more about it, but take Miss Leyton her tea, and stay and sun yourself in her smiles, as I see you are dying to do.""Now you're making fun of me, Aileen, but I'll be revenged on you," said the lad, rising and taking the tea-cups in his hand. "It is not like you to be uncharitable. Why, even Brian, who doesn't take readily to new people, as you know, thinks Miss Leyton is charming. He told me himself she was one of the most interesting women he had ever met, so there!" Having discharged this bomb Terry departed, considerably nettled, to snake himself agreeable to Lois. The visit was not prolonged, as it might have been, had Lois not appeared so evidently out of sorts. Lady Lyndon was both puzzled and put out by it."What ails you, my dear? Don't you like the Byrnes?" she asked, quickly, as they drove down the avenue. "Everybody is charmed with them. They are our most intimate neighbours, the friends we see most of in the county, in fact, with the exception, perhaps, of Mr. Parnell.""Oh, I like them. I think Captain Byrne is charming," said Lois, quickly, "but I should be afraid of his daughter. She would make a most relentless enemy.""Aileen!" cried Lady Lyndon, much amused, "your impression doesn't say much for your discernment. Why, Aileen is one of the most gentle and womanly of Wicklow's daughters. If she has a fault I should say she errs on the womanly side. To hear you talk about her as a relentless enemy is too ridiculous. Excuse me, my dear, for being so outspoken, but the idea is so absurd I cannot help it.""My opinion is not altered, dear Lady Lyndon," said Lois, quietly. Then suddenly she changed the subject. "Is there any part of the road from which we can obtain a full view of Mr. Parnell's house?""Oh, would you like to see it? Well, let us go and call upon him. It's the easiest thing in the world. If he is not at home you will get a good view of the house. We have plenty of time. I did not stay so long as usual at Killane, because I thought you did not look as if you were enjoying yourself conspicuously.""I am sorry that I gave that impression," said Lois. "Certainly I did not feel at home with Miss Byrne.""Now, that is the oddest thing, I think, I have ever heard," said Lady Lyndon, musingly. "I don't think I have ever known a person of either sex speak as you do of Aileen Byrne. She is beloved by every one.""That may be," said Lois; "but I don't think she took kindly to me, and I shall not be sorry if we meet but seldom."CHAPTER XVIA FRIENDLY TALKTHE letters received by Mary Kestell in her quiet seclusion in the Isle of Wight were full of interest. Lois wrote every week, and gave such a faithful account of her daily life that Miss Kestell was enabled to enter almost as fully into it as if she had been on the spot. Indeed the record was so complete in every detail that it afterwards became of considerable use to those who were interested in that particular portion of the American girl's life. It was not long before Mary Kestell's eye, sharpened by love, detected a different note in Lois's allusion to Brian Lyndon. She wrote more frankly and fully concerning Terry, and her very reticence regarding the elder brother caused Miss Kestell to be on the alert. She was extremely careful, however, in her own letters not to let fall any hint of her suspicions. In some respects it might be a good thing if Lois were to find her fate in Ireland; but Miss Kestell felt that she would like to be on the spot herself for a little time, in order to see with her own eyes what was going on, and form some idea of how matters actually stood. A hint that she would much like to see Lois in her new home brought an immediate invitation from Lady Lyndon for her to pay a visit to Ballymore. There was no difficulty about leaving Willie Earle at Bonchurch. So long as he had the faithful Clara Hawkins at his side the little hunchback was all right. These three months had done wonders for him already. He had become strong and plump, and looked as different as possible from the stunted, miserable creature who had so wrung the hearts of Lois and Mary Kestell at their first meeting. As for Clara Hawkins, the refining influences of the new life had changed her completely, and brought out so many attractive personal qualities that Miss Kestell sometimes dreaded lest they should not be able to keep her long. Mary herself had made one or two friends in Bonchurch, and was happy and contented, as it was her nature to be anywhere.She travelled by night from Holyhead to Kingstown, and arrived there very early in the morning. By eight o'clock, However, Lois herself was on board the steamer, bidding her welcome with such exuberance of joy that Miss Kestell was entirely reassured, and blamed herself for ever having doubted her."There you are, and looking as sweet and angelic as ever, dear old Kestell," she cried, enthusiastically. "Tell me, did you expect to see me here?""No, indeed. You said nothing about it in your letter.""Ah, but I know what it is to arrive in a strange place and have no
one to welcome you. When I came Lady Lyndon met me here, and surely it was the least I could do for you. I came up last night and stayed at the Shelbourne. Now, would you like to go straight to Rathdrum, which we can do from here, or shall we stay a day or two in Dublin?""I think that I would rather go right on, dear," said Miss Kestell. "I understand from your letters that Dublin is not so far away but that Ave can come up another day to see the sights.""Oh, it is quite near, that is to say, it is only little over an hour's journey. Now tell me, how is the boy?""Oh, he is so well, Lois. We all hoped up to the last minute that you would spend Christmas with us.""Perhaps I may go back with you just for a week later on.""You have decided to remain, then, in the meantime?""Why, of course. I have never been so interested or so happy, I think, in all my life, Kestell," answered Lois, and indeed she looked it. Her eyes were glowing, her whole expression vivacious and bright."I have never seen you look so well, Lois," said Miss Kestell, quickly. "You have quite lost the American pallor, and acquired an English complexion.""An Irish one," corrected Lois, with a soft laugh. "If one did not look one's best in this beautiful country it would show the basest ingratitude, and I have done nothing but hunt and live out of doors since I came. Oh, it is a glorious life!""And you like the people as much as ever, Lois? Lady Lyndon has fulfilled all the conditions of your agreement?" said Miss Kestell, questioningly."Why, of course, she has—far more so. You see you have been proved a dismal croaker; but, there, I won't say a word—I am so precious glad to see you."Her eyes were bright with tears as she uttered these words in a voice tremulous with emotion. Mary Kestell was for the moment unable to speak. It was a matter of such intense joy and thankfulness to her to find the girl's heart not estranged from her in any way. They said no more until they were comfortably seated in the train which was to convey them to Rathdrum."Mr. Lyndon has returned from America, has he not?" asked Miss Kestell, with apparent carelessness, but at the same time keeping her eye keenly fixed on her companion's face.The colour rose ever so slightly in Lois's cheek."Oh, yes, he has been back some time. I am sure I told you so in my letter. He was only gone six weeks, though it seemed much longer to us at Ballymore. Do you feel as if you knew the people you arc going to meet, Kestell? I think I have told you all there is to tell about them.""My dear, I know them thoroughly, down to little Mollie Finnigan at the lodge. I have kept all your letters, and I read and re-read them, you have no idea how often. It has made me very happy, dear, that you have never thought it a trouble or a task to write so fully to me. It has made me happier than anything else."Miss Kestell was scarcely less interested than Lois had been in her surroundings as they sped towards their journey's end. She saw the scenery under more depressing conditions, however. A fine rain was filtering through the close, moist atmosphere, and a delicate mist hung in filmy clouds over the low chain of the Wicklow Hills, obscuring their picturesque outline entirely; but she saw enough to justify the enthusiastic descriptions which Lois had written of the new country where she seemed to be so abundantly happy, yet a vague feeling of depression seemed to steal into Miss Kestell's heart, a prevision of some trouble looming black and heavy on the horizon. She tried hard to shake it off, calling herself morbid and foolish, and as she listened to the girl's gay chatter of her doings, she assured herself it was all right. She had never become reconciled, however, to the change of name which Lois had decided as being necessary before she entered her new life. Oddly enough the same thought seemed to be in the minds of both as her next remark proved."Had I come to Ballymore under my own name, Kestell, I should have had an instant passport to Mr. Parnell's favour. You should hear with what respect and real kindliness he has spoken to me once or twice of my own father. It seems that for years before his death he was a supporter of the Irish cause both in America and here. Whatever his enemies may say, Mr. Parnell is grateful to such friends.""It seems a pity, Lois, considering all things, that you did change your name. I never did approve of it, and sooner or later your deception will have to be acknowledged.""Oh, don't call it by such a serious name, dearest Mary," cried Lois. "What does it matter what I am called? 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' I could easily explain the position I took up. That doesn't trouble me in the least.""Mr. Lyndon understands, I suppose, the terms upon which you are resident at Ballymore?"A strange cloud immediately overspread the girl's face."Well, no, Kestell; I think he doesn't yet. Now don't frown' but just wait, if you please, until you have been at the Castle a few days; then you will understand everything much better than I can tell you.""It is an atmosphere of deceit: nothing can reconcile me to that, Lois," said Miss Kestell, quietly, but in the old decisive way which Lois remembered of yore. "Mr. Lyndon, as master of his own house, is entitled to know all that goes on in it, and I should not be afraid to tell Lady Lyndon that if she broached the subject to me.""Oh, dear Kestell, I hope you will do nothing of the sort. You will mike awful mischief if you do," cried Lois, in genuine alarm. "When you speak like that I have more than a mind to ship you right back to Holyhead. Lady Lyndon has been more than kind to me, and we are all very happy together. I don't see why everything should be spoiled."Miss Kestell smiled somewhat sadly."You may trust me, my dear, to act for the best where your interests are concerned; but you know my views on the subject. I have never sought to hide them from you."In such talk—half-grave and half-gay—the short journey passed; and as the rain had ceased to fall when they reached the station, Lois gave orders that the old-fashioned carriage should be opened."The country looks so peaceful and so lovely," said Miss Kestell, as they seated themselves in the deep, comfortable seat, "one can scarcely believe in all the horrors of which the newspapers are full.""They are true enough, however," said Lois, with a sigh. "In this particular district not so much, perhaps, because we have landlords who show some consideration to their unhappy tenants.""Indeed," said Miss Kestell, with interest. "On Ballymore, for instance, does Mr. Lyndon make a model landlord?""Oh, yes; both he and Mr. Parnell are in the depths of poverty through trying to do their duty to their tenants. It is that, of course, which gives them their power in the land.""It is difficult to understand it all," said Miss Kestell. "To read the English newspapers one would think that Mr. Parnell and his followers were the movers of the most terrible sedition and anarchy."Lois smiled a somewhat still and sad smile."Ireland will never get justice from England. If you should happen to see Mr. Parnell any time during your visit, or to hear him speak, that will strike you, perhaps, more than anything.""What?" asked Miss Kestell, struck by the extreme earnestness with which the girl spoke."His hatred of England. It is not an ordinary hatred, but a deep-rooted part of his being Nothing will ever satisfy him but to see a separate Government in this country. Ireland governed by the Irish, in fact.""With himself at the head, perhaps," said Miss Kestell, too English in her thoughts and ideas to be in entire sympathy with this view, or even to understand it."And that horrible travesty of an English Court at Dublin," cried Lois, indignantly. "It is an insult to the Irish people. I wonder indeed that they don't pull it down by main force.""And yet if I remember aright, a season at this very Court you so heartily despise was part of your agreement with Lady Lyndon?""Ah, but then I did not know what I was talking about.""Perhaps not, but she did," said Miss Kestell, shrewdly."She is more moderate in her views, of course, than her stepson," said Lois, quietly; "but, even if I wished it, it would be impossible to be received at the Vice-Regal Court under the wing of Lady Lyndon. Mr. Lyndon is too ardent a supporter of Parnell to permit it."CHAPTER XVIIAN UNEXPECTED SUGGESTIONLADY LYNDON, who had sent the invitation to Miss Kestell at the request of her guest, by no means rejoiced over the prospect of the visit. She remembered too well the impression of the quiet Englishwoman she had carried away with her from that memorable interview at the Langham Hotel. The cool, quiet, penetrating glance and the irritating common-sense she had exhibited had proved that in her own quiet, unobtrusive way she was not a person to be trifled with. However, she could advance no reasonable objection to the visit, and could only hope that it would pass without disaster of any kind.Her greeting to Miss Kestell was courteous but not conspicuously cordial. This, however, had no effect upon Miss Kestell. The peculiar circumstances under which Lois had become an inmate of Ballymore reduced matters to a mere business platform, and Miss Kestell felt almost precisely as if she were being received in a hotel or other place of public entertainment. In this way she was more independent of the treatment meted out to her. She had come to see Lois, and also to satisfy herself as to how matters stood. Miss Kestell was only sensitive where those she loved were concerned. Her intercourse with Lady Lyndon was on a different footing, and she expected nothing more than ordinary courtesy.She saw no one but Lady Lyndon until they met in the drawing-room
before dinner. When she came down—a slight, unobtrusive, but
always lady-like, figure in quiet black silk—she saw that there
were four gentlemen and a young lady in the room with Lady
Lyndon. Lois had not yet come down. Brian came forward to greet her
with marked cordiality, differing much from the greeting he had
accorded to Lois in the same room three months before. Terry also was
not behind in pleasant cordiality, and just then no further
introductions were made. It was only in the course of the dinner that
Miss Kestell learned the identity of the grave, silent, handsome man
sitting on the hostess's right hand. Naturally it was in the master of
Ballymore that Mary Kestell was chiefly and absorbingly
interested. She sat beside him, and was thus able to study him at her
leisure. He was I not handsome, she admitted that at once, although he
carried his tall, spare figure well. His face was pale and grave
beyond his years, the features were a trifle harshly outlined, and it
seemed to Mary that his eye had a relentless gleam in it, and that,
while he might be a faithful friend, he would also make an implacable
foe. Her judgment of him, correct in some particulars, was entirely at fault in another. She did not attribute to him the depth of feeling he actually possessed, nor would she have believed, although she had been assured of it, that he had one of the tenderest hearts in the world.She was quietly observant rather than inclined for conversation that evening, which was well, for Brian Lyndon was evidently not in a mood to shine in conversation. He was still young enough and enthusiastic enough to throw himself heart and soul into whatever cause interested him. He had come so completely under the influence of his chief that he saw eye to eye with him down to the smallest detail. There was indeed an extraordinary friendship between them, considering the difference in their age and antecedents. It was nothing short of worship that Brian Lyndon had bestowed upon the extraordinary man who had first of all directed his energies into the political channel. Mary Kestell saw it in the quick glance of his eye as he tried to catch any remark which might fall from his leader's lips. Mr. Parnell himself seemed to be in a lightsome mood. She gathered from the conversation that it was the night of an important political meeting at Leeds, where Mr. Gladstone was expected to pass some strictures on the Irish policy and action, and though it was expected to bring matters to a crisis, the leader himself appeared to think but lightly of it."I fear I owe you an apology, Miss Kestell," said Brian Lyndon at last, suddenly remembering that he was paying but scant courtesy to the lady at his side; "but in these times we are apt to leave our social obligations very much in the background. You have come to-day, I understand, from England?""Yes, I left the Isle of Wight yesterday morning and came over by the night packet.""Your first visit to Ireland, I suppose?" he said then, and his eye travelled for a moment to the face of Lois, where she sat rapt and absorbed by Mr. Parnell's side.The keen and enthusiastic interest to which she was aroused brought out all the best points in her face, and she looked so regally beautiful that for a moment Miss Kestell was almost afraid. Beauty such as that must give a woman power and place in the world unknown to her less attractive sisters, and again it was the unspoken prayer of her heart that Lois would be led to use this undoubted power only in a womanly and upright way."How do you think Miss Leyton looks?" asked Lyndon, somewhat struck by the expression on her face, and with his quick intuition partly, understanding it."She is very beautiful," answered Mary, almost sadly. "I was wondering at the moment when you spoke to what end such beauty could be given. It must make a difference in a woman's life, of course. I am very anxious about her; she is the only creature I have to care for in this world."The manner of her speech more than her words struck Brian
oddly. Reticent to a degree himself, he did not usually invite or
obtain confidence from others, especially at a first meeting. He was a man difficult to know, and many disliked him for no other reason than that they could not penetrate the wall of stiffness and reserve by which he was surrounded. The few friends he possessed indeed were knit to his heart by hooks of steel. He revealed himself to very few, but those who had obtained a glimpse of his inner nature, with its depths of feeling and honesty of purpose, never swerved from their allegiance to him."You have known her from childhood, I suppose?" said Brian, with real interest."Well, not exactly, only since she came a girl of fourteen to finish her education at a boarding-school in Boston which was kept by a connection of mine," answered Miss Kestell, gathering from his words that Lois had not been conspicuously communicative concerning her early life."She is very clever. We all like her here so much, and Mr. Parnell admires her excessively," said Brian, with a slight smile, which directed Mary's attention to the rapid and brilliant talk in which Lois was then engaged with the man who only at a very rare time threw off the trammels of his invincible reserve. "She appears in a very short time to have become as Irish in her sympathies and interests as if she had been native born; but there is another Ireland across the sea," observed Brian, "and I have understood from Miss Leyton that her father sympathised very much with us, and gave largely of his means to the cause.""I believe so," said Miss Kestell rather faintly, for here she felt herself to be on dangerous ground. The whole situation was hateful to her honest heart. She had seen enough of Brian Lyndon to be convinced that he was a soul of no ordinary integrity, and she knew how fiercely he would resent the deceit which had been practised upon him, even if it was in a sense quite harmless. If it were true, as she feared, that Lois was interested in him beyond a mere friendly interest, then matters might be painfully complicated, how complicated Miss Kestell, even in her worst forebodings, had no idea. If she could have seen Lois in her more despondent hours, when her past like a black nightmare confronted her, pointing to an uncertain and a troubled future, she would have been overwhelmed indeed. She had no reason as yet to change her first opinion of Lady Lyndon. As she sat smiling and gracious at the head of her table, a handsome and imposing figure, Miss Kestell beheld only in her a crafty woman of the world, who would not be true in any relation of her life. What contrasts of character, and what depths of conflicting feeling were represented at that small dinner-table in the heart of green Wicklow on that autumn night, and how little any of them dreamed of the terrible experiences through which several of them were to pass before they were many days older.As was to be expected, Miss Kestell felt drawn at once towards Aileen Byrne. They were by nature akin. The sweet face of the Irish girl, which bore traces of the anxious times through which they were all passing, drew out Mary Kestell's sympathies at once, and as soon as they went to the drawing-room she sat down by her side, and they began to talk as if they were old friends. She was not long in the room, however, before she became oddly conscious of the quiet antagonism between Lois and Aileen Byrne. It puzzled and pained her, and she determined to ask Lois directly they went to their own rooms what it meant.For some time after the ladies left the room the talk at the dinner-table was entirely of political affairs, which it would not serve the progress of this history to relate. Entirely at home among these few faithful friends, Parnell talked with less restraint than was common with him. It was agreed that the answer which Mr. Gladstone's speech would require should be given at Wexford, where a great meeting was to be held two days later. Since Brian Lyndon had become a landowner in Ireland he had thrown himself heart and soul into the Irish cause. The subtle and indescribable power exercised over him by the leader whom he had met under such strange circumstances had bound him heart and soul to him in a deathless, but hopeless, struggle. He shared with him his hatred of England and English arrogance and power, and was regarded in Parliamentary circles as one of the most promising, as well as one of the most extreme, of the Irish members. His own position as an extensive landlord in Wicklow, and his attitude towards his tenants, which had impoverished him to such a degree that he had scarcely a penny piece in his pocket, had set him apart, as it were; and even his bitterest enemies could not find in his conduct or attitude towards his own people the slightest flaw. It was no bed of roses indeed being an Irish landlord in these dark and stormy days. The taint of sedition and rebellion was in the air, the people, long oppressed, clamoured now for they knew not what. The industrious and the well-to-do who were amenable to law and order were not allowed to prosecute their callings peaceably, but were under orders from this League and that, and no man could call his soul, much less his property, his own. Out of this harassed and unhappy state of affairs many evils were bound to arise, and even those who loved justice and mercy made many sad mistakes which time bitterly proved. When they rose at length to join the ladies upstairs, Mr. Parnell detained Brian for a final word regarding their journey to Wexford on the following day."By the bye what a charming woman Miss Marsh Leyton is," observed the leader carelessly, as he lit another match to finish his cigar, but though he spoke with apparent indifference, he keenly watched the effect of his words upon Brian Lyndon."Yes, she is most charming.""She is making a long visit, is she not?" observed Parnell then, "and she is taking as keen an interest in our affairs as if she were one of us.""It was fostered in her, I believe, by her father, who had an interest in the cause," answered Brian. "She seemed to entertain you at dinner?""She has entertained me mightily more than once. That is the sort of a woman, Lyndon, who might help us, provided she were bound to us more closely. I understand from Lady Lyndon that she has immense wealth, too. Is she no temptation to you?"Lyndon shook his head, and a faint smile curled his grave lips."I have not forgotten certain words of wisdom which fell from your lips on one of the first occasions we met at Avondale. Perhaps you have forgotten them.""What were they?""Well, you said that a man who wished to rise in the political life, or indeed to give his mind to any great cause, should steer clear of womankind; only thus could he concentrate his thoughts upon the work in hand.""Faith! did I say that?" said Parnell, with his silent laugh. "Well, in the main it is true. Where I am concerned it certainly is the only way, but circumstances might alter cases. Now, for instance, supposing you married this charming American woman, look what an immense relief it would be to you in a thousand ways. All your sordid cares would be at an end. You could carry out any amount of Utopian schemes on Ballymore and show the world what money judiciously applied can do. Then look what a help it would be to the cause."Brian listened, scarcely believing that he heard aright. Parnell spoke slowly and deliberately as if he had weighed the matter well."It would be despicable, sir, to marry from such motives as these. I can't conceive myself marrying in any circumstances, but certainly under these circumstances least of all," he said a trifle coldly."Then, she has made no impression upon you?" was the good-humoured remark. "With most young men the result of such proximity to a fascinating woman would be a foregone conclusion.""Terry would fall in with your little plan, I don't doubt," said Brian, and they both laughed at the suggestion. Presently Parnell changed the subject, but the impression of his words remained, a disturbing element, in Brian Lyndon's mind.CHAPTER XVIIIAN INTERESTED PARTYON the morning of October 9th Brian Lyndon left Ballymore for the
purpose of accompanying his chief to Wexford. If possible, he was more
reserved and preoccupied than usual at the breakfast table that day;
and though they all knew that the speech Mr. Parnell would make that
night would brim matters to a crisis, it was not mentioned at
all. Miss Kestell saw that Lois was in a subdued state of
excitement. Nothing surprised the quiet Englishwoman more than the
manner in which the girl had thrown herself heart and soul into the
affairs of the people whom she had known for such a short space of
time. She was indeed far more deeply interested than Lady Lyndon
herself. No one knew what Lady Lyndon's real political opinions were,
because she held her peace; but she secretly disapproved of her
stepson's extreme democracy, and had no sympathy whatever with the
oppressed and starving people. She was the same woman as she had been in the days when an eviction had been planned against certain tenants on Ballymore who were behind with their rents. Needless to say that was before Brian Lyndon came to his own. When Lyndon came out of the house he found Miss Marsh Leyton standing by the horse's head stroking it. Her face was averted from him, but he was struck perhaps really for the first time by the matchless grace of her figure. She wore a very English dress, a short skirt of black serge, and a shirt of some soft black and white material with linen collar and cuffs. The poise of her head as she leaned towards the beautiful creature in the shafts of the dog-cart struck Lyndon also, and he felt uncomfortable. The memory of Parnell's words the previous evening seemed to tingle in his cars with an odd sense of shame and irritation. She turned round when she heard his step, and flashed her glorious eyes upon him with a keen, sympathetic glance."Do you know what I was whispering to Biddy?" she asked, with a bewitching smile."How could I guess?" he asked, quite curtly."Well, I was just telling her what a very hard thing it is to be a woman. Now, there is nothing on this earth I should like so much as to go to Wexford with you to-day, and be present at the meeting to-night.""Oh, is that all?" said Brian. "Well, I daresay, if you had spoken sooner you might have been there very easily. I'm afraid now it is too late.""Oh, why didn't I speak before?" she cried, clasping her hands together. "Couldn't you wait? I shouldn't be a moment in getting ready.""I'm afraid I can't. I've run myself pretty short as it is; but why not come on by a later train, the meeting does not begin until eight o'clock? I'm sure Lady Lyndon would fetch you; or Miss Kestell and Terry would be delighted to escort you, I'm sure.""Oh, thank you, I shall come without fail. There will be ladies at the meeting, I suppose: but indeed I don't care if only you say I may come. Don't you agree with me that it is hard for a woman when she feels as I do about things to have to stand by inactively while others fight?""Well, you see, I have never been a woman," answered Lyndon quite gravely, and with no suspicion of mockery in his tone, "and it has always been a woman's lot to wait at home.""Yes, I know; but the time is coming when it will be all altered.""Some say it has come," said Lyndon, as he vaulted to his seat in the cart; "and they say that some of the lady orators speak very well, but I have never heard them myself. Good-morning. I shall look out for you in the evening."She stood a moment within the pillared doorway, and watched the trap until it disappeared round the sweep of the avenue, but Lyndon never looked back. He was annoyed with himself, and irritated against her. She was a distinctly disturbing element in his life, and at the present moment it was of paramount importance that he should concentrate every nerve and fibre of his being upon the perils of the hour, for no man knew what a day might bring forth.Mary Kestell had been a witness to this little scene from the quaint turret window of the drawing-room and she was puzzling over it when Lois entered the room."Oh, you are there, Kestell? I have been searching for you," she cried excitedly. "I have just been telling Mr. Lyndon that it is my heart's desire to go to Wexford to-night, and be present at the meeting. He says there is no reason why I shouldn't if I wish it so much. Will you come with me?""My dear, I don't know," said Miss Kestell, doubtfully. "Is it—is it quite safe?""Oh, quite, I'm sure of that. Of course there will be tremendous excitement, but if there was the slightest danger I'm sure Mr. Lyndon would never have given his permission for us to go.""But perhaps he didn't take you seriously, Lois?" suggested Miss Kestell."Oh, yes, he did. He said perhaps Lady Lyndon would accompany me, and if not, you and Terry.""I'm not at all anxious about it, I assure you," said Miss Kestell, a trifle drily. "I have read accounts of the meeting of Irish agitators.""Mary, if you speak like that again I will never forgive you,"
cried Lois, excitedly. "Irish agitators indeed. That's just the way
ignorant and prejudiced English people speak. If you knew as much
about Ireland and the Irish as I do now, you would have nothing but
sympathy for them. They are an oppressed and down-trodden people, asking only for their rights which nobody will give them; and as for that speech Mr. Gladstone made at Leeds, oh, I should like to hang him with my own hands.""Lois, Lois, do remember what you are saying," cried Miss Kestell, much shocked. "It is not seemly for you to get so carried away. In such a state of mind you are not really competent to judge the merits of any cause.""Oh, your English scruples and reserve make me wild," cried Lois, impetuously. "Although you see patriots like Mr. Parnell and Mr. Lyndon willing to give their hearts' blood for their country you never feel one thrill of generous sympathy."Mary smiled, not in the least hurt or vexed by this outburst, thinking she understood it only too well."Oh, I don't think they will be called upon to shed their blood just yet anyhow," she said drily."Nobody knows what may happen any day. Kilmainham gaol is full of innocent men who have done nothing but speak fearlessly and openly of their country's wrongs, and advise the Irish people to demand redress. Nobody knows whether they will come back safely from Wexford. Terry told me this morning that none of them would be surprised though Mr. Parnell were arrested at the meeting himself. But there, I must go and see whether Lady Lyndon will take me, and find out all about the trains. There is not a moment to lose."Lady Lyndon usually spent a quiet hour in her own sitting-room between lunch and tea. She had not taken the trouble to go down to see her stepson off, because in truth she was but little in sympathy with the object of his journey. It is not too much to say that had Mr. Parnell not been an aristocrat down to his finger-tips, of lineage as irreproachable as her own, she would long ago have discouraged his intimacy at Ballymore; but he had been an intimate friend of her husband, and had all along taken a friendly interest in her boys, yet she was in her heart of hearts opposed bitterly to every tenet of his career. She was indeed Conservative in every thought and action of her life, but her subordinate position at Ballymore now enforced her to hold her tongue, and even to simulate a certain cordiality of demeanour which she was often far from feeling. She had long since proved that her stepson Brian was not a man to be trifled with, and if he chose that his own friends should come about him in his own home, lie expected her to make them absolutely welcome; acid so many a time Lady Lyndon had to pocket her pride, and make herself civil and agreeable to people whom she regarded as the very dust beneath her feet.Lois gave an impatient tap at the door, and was bidden enter at once. She found Lady Lyndon lying at length upon the couch in her dressing-room with a novel in her hand, evidently bent on spending an idle day. This was worse than even Miss Kestell's somewhat disapproving interest."Oh, Lady Lyndon, pray excuse me disturbing you. I am afraid you will never forgive me when you hear what I have come to ask. I do so want to go to Wexford to attend that meeting, and Mr. Lyndon has just said to me before he left that there was no reason why I shouldn't go if I wished it.""Well, then, my dear, why didn't he take you?" asked Lady Lyndon, with an easy smile."He couldn't. You see, he has gone to join Mr. Parnell; and besides, of course, I wasn't ready. He suggested that we might follow by a later train, that is if you would kindly escort me."I won't do anything of the kind, my dear, I assure you," cried Lady Lyndon, without a moment's hesitation; "and very well my stepson knew it. I attend a political meeting, or rather a meeting of agitators, for it will be nothing else, my dear! You don't know what you're talking about. It might end in a free fight, as likely as not, before the meeting closes."These words, spoken in a quick, irritable voice, clearly proved to Lois that not only was Lady Lyndon entirely out of sympathy with the movement, but that she loathed and despised it. A look of blank disappointment settled on her face. It was impossible to urge the matter after such a decisive reply. Lady Lyndon was quick to see what a disappointment had been inflicted, and with her usual diplomacy she sought to smooth matters down."My dear, do let me dissuade you! I know more about these affairs than you can possibly do. It is quite unusual for ladies to attend political meetings in Ireland.""Mr. Lyndon did not seem to think so," said Lois, stoutly."Well, I grant that there will be a few of our sex present, but I should not call them ladies," she said, significantly. "In England, of course, it is a different matter. I assure you you would act nothing to interest or amuse you at such a meeting. You would simply hear a lot of politicians getting up and black-balling each other, never a very edifying spectacle. It might even imperil your present enthusiasm for Mr. Parnell if you heard him on the political platform.""I don't think it at all likely," said Lois. "I have never wished for anything, I think, quite so much in my life as to go to Wexford to-night.""Well, then, why not take your good old governess with you? and, I daresay, Terry will be only too pleased to act as escort. You can arrange it just as you please, but, pray, don't suggest anything to me so appalling as that I should appear at such a function.""Have I your permission, then, to make any arrangement possible?" asked Lois, eagerly."Why, certainly. If you can persuade Miss Kestell and Terry to go with you I haven't an objection in the world. Terry will know what hotel to take you to. You can't, of course, possibly get back before to-morrow afternoon.""Thank you," said Lois, and was off like an arrow to persuade Terry, and by two o'clock another party set out for Rathdrum Station en route for Wexford. Having expressed her candid opinion on the matter, Mary Kestell had not the slightest objection to accompany Lois, and she refrained from making any further remark to damp the girl's enthusiasm.CHAPTER XIXTHROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLETON the steps of the Royal Hotel at Wexford they were surprised to meet Aileen Byrne."Holloa, Aileen," cried Terry, blithely. "Nobody expected to see you here. I suppose your father brought you?""Yes, we have only just arrived," answered Aileen equally surprised."Then you must have come by the same train," said Terry, promptly. "How odd that we should not have seen you at Rathdrum.""We only got in at Wicklow," Aileen hastened to explain, as she extended her hand without cordiality to Miss Marsh Leyton. It was a curious thing that at that moment Aileen distinctly resented the appearance of the American woman in Wexford. She was an alien and an interloper, and it hurt Aileen somehow to think that she was allowed behind the scenes in any sense, or that she should have any knowledge of the inner workings of their affairs. This feeling, quite unlike any the gentle girl had ever experienced before, gave a certain hardness to her expression and a coldness of manner of which even Terry was conscious, although lie had not the remotest idea what caused it."It is very interesting for us to attend this meeting," said Miss Kestell, in her quiet, pleasant voice, and quite a new experience for us too.""When such tremendous issues arc at stake," said Aileen, bitterly, "it is something more to all of us than a new experience."So saying she passed them by, and without another word entered the hotel and ran upstairs."Now, what's the meaning of that?" said Terry, bluntly. "Aileen's got her back up. I don't think I ever saw her like that in my life. Something's happened to annoy her."He left the ladies sitting on the hall-seat while he went to the
office to secure their rooms. Lois had hastily whispered to him that
he need spare no expense, but get the best accommodation. Dinner was
ordered to be sent up as quickly as possible to their sitting-room,
and by half-past seven they had finished and were ready to proceed to
the meeting. When they got out at last to find the hall where the
meeting was to be held, they found a throng Surging in the
streets. Nothing struck Lois more than the quiet, orderly nature of
this Irish crowd. They looked like people awaiting a crisis. There was
an air of subdued repression about them, however, which was suggestive
of smouldering fires beneath. It was the same within the hall, a
living mass of eager, upturned faces waiting the arrival of the
speakers. The platform was still vacant when Terry, taking his ladies in by the back entrance, found them two chairs near the front. Punctually on the stroke of eight a tremendous outburst of cheering welcomed the speakers to the platform. The Chairman wisely did not detain the meeting long. It was Parnell they had gathered to hear, and for whose words they waited with an impatience there was no attempt to conceal. When he rose to his feet he was calm and self-possessed as usual, but there was a certain spirited and defiant look about him which added emphasis to the serious words with which he addressed them."You have gained something by your exertions during the last twelve months," he began; "but I am here to-day to tell you that you have gained but a fraction of that to which you are entitled, and the Irishman who thinks that he can now throw away his arms, just as Grattan disbanded the volunteers in 1783, will find to his sorrow and destruction when it is too late that he has placed himself in the power of the perfidious and cruel and relentless English enemy."At these words, delivered in the cool, measured tones of a man who had weighed each one well, a thrill seemed to run like an electric spark through the vast audience. There was a moment's tense silence before a thunder of applause proved that he had struck the key-note of defiance which suited the temper of the audience. Hitherto the leader had been all for moderation, in fact among those now suffering for their patriotism in Kilmainham gaol Parnell's extreme moderation had passed into proverb. It was the first time indeed he had evinced the slightest sympathy with the more drastic measures by which his countrymen had sought to show their position to the Government of Dublin Castle. It proved that he had come to the conclusion that desperate ills require desperate remedies, and there was no ambiguity about his words during the hour he held them in thrall. Sentence by sentence he dealt with the indictment the Prime Minister had brought against him at Leeds, and at the close the meeting rose en masse and cheered him to the echo. It was united Ireland in miniature, convinced of the tyranny and injustice of the English Government, and determined to fight for their rights to the last. The scene of the excitement was so tremendous indeed that Terry, nervous for the results when this seething and excited mass should pass into the streets, persuaded the ladies to leave the meeting hastily and return to the hotel. Lyndon had not spoken on that occasion, but he had been so entirely absorbed by the spirit of the occasion that he had not seen his brother and those with him, although they were sitting directly below him.As they walked back to the hotel Lois scarcely spoke a word. She was pale as death, her great eyes glowing like two lamps in her head. Mary Kestell saw that she was clean carried away by enthusiasm, nor did she wonder at it, for the eloquence and strange compelling charm of the man to whom they had listened had a bewildering effect even upon her sober English mind, and made her wonder if after all her view of the situation could be correct.A little later Lyndon and another Irish member sat down to a late dinner with Parnell in a quiet little hotel in an obscure street. It was not by any means a sociable meal. The effort the leader had made seemed to have taken all the energy out of him. He sat absolutely silent, and the two who were with him feared to make a single remark. At length Lyndon ventured upon a question which indicated the thought in the minds of both."Do you think, Mr. Parnell, that you are likely to be arrested after your speech to-night?""I think I am likely to be arrested at any time, so are we all. A speech is not necessary. Old Buckshot thinks that by making Ireland a gaol he will settle the Irish question.""Supposing they should arrest you, sir?" said Lyndon. "Have you any instructions to give us? Who would take your place?""Ah," he said, deliberately, as he raised a glass of champagne to his lips, "if I am arrested Captain Moonlight will take my place."Next morning the faithful trio returned to Rathdrum by an early train, and Parnell drove at once to Avondale, parting with Lyndon at the station. They were to meet again in a few days in Kildare, where another great meeting was to be held.Lyndon felt a curious sense of oppression on his spirits as he drove in the hired car along the familiar road to Glendalough. The year was now on the wane, a sharp frost had given the last flaming tint to the leaves still left upon the thinning boughs. All the fields were bare, and had that peculiarly desolate and neglected look which distinguishes them before they have responded to the winter's work. The air had in it the nip of approaching winter, and in the clear distance the Wicklow Hills stood out sharply against the sky, which had no softness in its hue.Lyndon was peculiarly sensitive to all Nature's moods, and the autumn had always a somewhat saddening and oppressive influence upon him. In the spring his spirits rose again and his enemies expanded; but now it seemed to him that the falling, leaf and fading flower were emblematical of the land he loved. Torn by internal strife, bought and sold by her own sons, ground under the heel of the oppressor, such was the picture of Ireland that presented itself to Lyndon's mind that October morning, and a bitter sense of the hopeless injustice of it all seemed to sink into his soul. The had no doubt that the utterances made at Wexford would bear fruit, and that probably the next few days would witness the leader placed under arrest. For himself he had neither fear nor care. His own arrest he had expected before now, and marvelled much that he had been allowed to escape. That did not trouble him at all. What did trouble him was the absolute hopelessness of the struggle. With all his enthusiasm, the immense reserve and clear-sighted common-sense which he believed he owed to his Scottish foster parents enabled him to see that, pitted against the mighty strength of England, they had but little chance, and that all their personal efforts would prove in the end but dust before the wind.In this mood he arrived at Glendalough. As he passed by the manse gate Father O'Hagan, now sore stricken in years and not the man he was, hobbled down his garden to have speech with him. Between these two there was the warmest friendship. To pay the finest consideration to old age was natural to Lyndon, and, besides, he loved the old man, and reverenced the many noble qualities which had made his name as parish priest of Glendalough known far beyond the limits of his parish. He stopped without hesitation and gave the old priest a brief epitome of the previous night's proceedings, then rode on to Ballymore. He dismissed the car at the gates, and it was only when he came within sight of the house that he began to wonder what had transpired after he had left on the previous day, and whether Miss Leyton had actually gone to Wexford. As he stepped within the door a servant crossing the hall waited to take his bag and to receive any orders."Where is Mr. Terry?" he asked."Oh, sir, lie has not come back yet from Wexford.""He went yesterday after I left, I suppose?""Yes, yer honour; he went with the ladies at two o'clock.""Oh, indeed; then where is Lady Lyndon?""In the morning-room I think, sir."Lyndon threw off his overcoat, and proceeded to the room where the family usually breakfasted, and there he found his stepmother poring over the pages of the Freeman's Journal, which gave a verbatim report of the previous night's proceedings. The perusal had not afforded her any special delight. She felt somewhat relieved, perhaps, to find that Brian had not spoken. She lived in dread of his public arrest, which she felt would be a scandal upon the name of Lyndon which would never be wiped out. Brian himself, however, regarded it from a different point of view."Good-morning!" she said, graciously enough. "How is it that you have come back alone? Where are Terry and Miss Leyton and her duenna?""I have never seen them. I have only heard this moment from Dennis that they actually did follow me yesterday. If they were at the meeting I did not observe them. Where did they stay?""I really don't know. I think Terry intended to go to the Royal, but it is just possible they might not get in, since I see from the papers there was much excitement in the town. Where were you?""At Connelly's in Delauncey Street," he answered.CHAPTER XXA FRIENDLY HINTLADY Lyndon turned to the paper in her hand."I have just been reading Mr. Parnell's speech. He need not be surprised to find himself in Kilmainham to-day or to-morrow.""I don't think he will be," replied Lyndon, easily. "In fact he expects it."Lady Lyndon shrugged her shoulders."And you?" she said, with a slight emphasis on the pronoun. "I feel glad not to see your name prominently mentioned here. Surely you do not covet arrest?""No man exactly covets the loss of his liberty," observed Brian. "At the same time if necessary he can endure it.""If necessary certainly," she repeated; "but who is to be the judge of the necessity? Some of us think there's a good deal of noise about nothing."Lyndon made no answer. Politics was a subject he would not discuss with his stepmother, chiefly, perhaps, because he knew there was not the faintest sympathy between them."I shall be rather interested to hear what impression the meeting made on Miss Leyton," he observed, presently. "It was a great night, and I never heard the chief speak with more convincing eloquence. He simply held the great throng in thrall.""Oh, she will be enthusiastic enough. She is more interested in Ireland and Irish affairs than any true-born Irishwoman among us.""She appears to be. How long is she going to stay?""Really I have not asked her," answered Lady Lyndon, nervously. "You would not wish me to do so?""Oh, no. It is a matter of no moment to me whatever," he replied."Would you have any objection to her remaining with me the whole winter, Brian? She will probably take a house in London for next season; but she has nowhere to go in the meantime, and, I know, would be very glad to stay here.""Oh, I have no objection, as I have said already," observed Brian, carelessly; "but at the same time I am bound to say I do not quite understand the arrangement. How did it come to be made at all?""Why, in the most natural way in the world, of course," said Lady
Lyndon, boldly. "When she told me she had nowhere to go for the
winter, what could I do but ask her to come and pay me a visit? I know
I ought to have asked your permission first; but it was difficult for me just to remember at the moment that I could not offer the hospitality of Ballymore without permission."This speech, intended to touch Brian on a chivalrous point, failed of its mark; at least he passed it over in silence, and, apparently tired of the conversation, presently went off to his own den. Lady Lyndon drew a breath of relief. A dangerous moment had been safely tided over. She felt more and more assured that if Brian knew the real terms upon which Miss Marsh Leyton had come to Ballymore he would put an end to the arrangement at once. She could only devoutly hope that he would soon depart on his American mission, and that the Parliamentary session would begin very early in the following year, so that the strain of the present situation might not be unduly prolonged.Having written and despatched some necessary letters, Brian went out on horseback, and called at Avondale; but lie did not see his chief, who was resting after the fatigue and excitement of the previous day. Loth to return without having accomplished something, he rode back to Killane, where lie found that Captain Byrne and his daughter had just returned from Wexford."We have just parted from the Ballymore contingent," said the old man, with great heartiness, as he shook Brian warmly by the hand. "Well, that was a great demonstration last night. The town is in a ferment of excitement. It is the first time the chief has expressed himself clearly on the subject. What do you think will be the upshot of it? Kilmainham, both Aileen and I are convinced without a doubt.""I don't think such an issue would surprise any of us," admitted Brian. "How are you, Hiss Byrne? I hear you were at the meeting, but I confess I did not see you.""No; I could see you were oblivious of all mundane things," said Aileen, merrily. "Terry says you did not even see him and the ladies in his care.""I assure you I did not," answered Brian, "I was surprised to hear that they had been present.""Were you?" asked Aileen, in rather a suspicious voice. "I understood from Miss Marsh Leyton that you had arranged the trip."Brian shook his head."All I did was to suggest, as I was leaving Ballymore yesterday, that if she were so very anxious to be present at the meeting she might get Lady Lyndon or Terry to take her. As for arranging, I never gave the matter another thought.""Well, it doesn't matter much," said Aileen. "Come in and have a cup of tea, and tell me how Mr. Parnell is after his exertion last night. Did you ever hear him speak with more power? He quite thrilled me.""He thrilled us all, I think," said Lyndon, quietly. "I was only wondering this morning after I had left him what it would all avail in the end. He is wearing himself out in the struggle, which appears to me even more hopeless than it was. What chance have we against all the pomp and power of England? We are only sacrificing valuable lives for a forlorn hope. It is impossible that Mr. Parnell can last long living at such high pressure as this.""That is not how a patriot should speak," said Aileen, reprovingly, at the same time with an expressive sympathy in her face which he felt in the innermost recesses of his being. "A patriot must never expect defeat nor count the cost.""Were it for myself I should not for a moment," said Lyndon, hastily, "but I cannot bear to see him sacrificed. We shall never look upon his like again. We should take care of him, and guard him as much as possible, he is so utterly regardless of himself. I am afraid that the next few days will witness his arrest.""Oh, they will never dare," said Aileen. "The whole of Ireland would rise as one man to be revenged."Lyndon shook his head somewhat gloomily. He had not been able to throw off the depression which had been with him all day, a prevision, not only of coming evil, but a conviction that the struggle in which they were engaged could have but one end."Mr. Lyndon," said Aileen, suddenly, "I want to understand why this American lady who has dropped down in such a strange fashion upon Ballymore should take such an intense interest in our affairs. I cannot help resenting it. Who is she? and why should she seek to become so entirely one of us?""You must ask Lady Lyndon, Miss Byrne. I confess I am a bit puzzled myself—in fact, I have been speaking of it only to-day."Aileen hesitated a moment. The intense dislike with which she regarded Miss Leyton tempted her to repeat a piece of gossip which at another time she would have disdained."I despise myself, Mr. Lyndon, for what I am going to say, but I must ask you if you have heard it rumoured that Miss Marsh Leyton is a paying guest at Ballymore? Is there any truth in that?"Lyndon coloured slightly, and his brow grew stern."I should say not a particle of truth in it. Who dared to hint at such a thing to you?""Well, I have heard it mentioned several times—at Castle Begg, for instance, last Saturday they said it was a fact. Of course I said I did not believe it and I felt sure that if it was the case you knew nothing about it.""A paying guest!" repeated Lyndon. "What on earth does that mean?"Aileen feared from the stern gravity of his look that she had made a mistake."Oh, you must have heard of it. It is some time now since it has become quite common in society, especially in England, for ladies of position to receive people like—well, like Miss Marsh Leyton, girls who have money, and who are anxious to obtain the entrée into really good society.""I think I have heard of it," observed Lyndon, slowly; "but to speak of such a thing in connection with my house is absurd. Lady Lyndon would never dare to do such a thing without my knowledge or consent."A curious look crossed Aileen's face."Lady Lyndon will dare a good deal," she observed, quietly, alluding for the first time to the tragic events of other years. "If I were you I should inquire into it. I bear Miss Marsh Leyton no ill-will, Mr. Lyndon, but I distrust her, and I think she is not altogether what she seems."Brian had not heard a more disturbing piece of news for many a day. For the time being it quite banished public affairs from his mind."I am very much obliged to you for mentioning this to me, Miss Byrne, and I shall make the fullest inquiry into it without delay.""But you will not mention my name, Mr. Lyndon? I have no desire to incur Lady Lyndon's displeasure, and it really is no business of mine, except that I would not wish to see Ballymore become a by-word in the county.""No, it shall not be made a public hostelry with my knowledge or consent," said Brian, and his face was pale, his jaw firmly set, indicating that he was in no mood to be played with. He rode back in hot haste to Ballymore, determined to be at the bottom of the matter without delay. He rode so fast that he overtook near the house the car containing Terry and the two ladies whose escort he had been. He raised his cap, but there was no cordiality in his greeting; and Lois saw at once that something had happened to displease him. She imagined, however, that perhaps the weight of public affairs lay more heavily than usual on his heart."Terry, will you take my horse round to the stable?" said Brian. "Miss Leyton, may I speak to you for a moment?"It had suddenly occurred to him that instead of discussing the matter with his stepmother he would put a direct question to Miss Leyton herself. Miss Leyton had scarcely assented when Lyndon gave a little start and changed colour. It was at sight of a car being driven rapidly up the avenue. Two men sat upon it, one in plain clothes and the other in a policeman's garb."Perhaps you had better go inside, Miss Leyton," he said, hurriedly. "I think these gentlemen have come to accomplish my arrest."CHAPTER XXIGOOD-BYELOIS stood still, and the colour came and went in her checks. She marvelled much that Lyndon took it so coolly; not a muscle of his set face moved, although it grew distinctly a shade paler."Oh, Mr. Lyndon," she cried, breathlessly, "surely it is a mistake? You will not allow them to take you without protest?""I have no alternative," said Lyndon, with a slight smile. "May I beg you to go inside while I interview these gentlemen?"At that moment Terry appeared round the gable of the house, and when he saw the car at the door and recognised its occupants, a look of blank dismay settled on his frank, open face. Thus dismissed a second time there was nothing Lois could do but retire into the house. She did so, however, with a bursting heart, and, hastening upstairs to the drawing-room, she burst in ready to vent her feelings to any one who would listen; but the great room was quite deserted. Lady Lyndon had not yet come downstairs from her afternoon rest, and as her new apartments were at the other side of the house she had not heard the arrival of the car. For this Lyndon at least was devoutly thankful. He knew that the inevitable had happened, and that his best course was to go quietly and without making the smallest fuss.The men politely touched their hats, and Sergeant O'Dowd, who was well known to Lyndon, approached him apologetically."I daresay you can guess our errand, Mr. Lyndon?" he said, quietly, "and I swear to you that I have never undertaken a job less to my taste.""That's all right, Mr. O'Dowd," answered Lyndon, with a smile. "In this case it is not the unexpected that has happened. I have looked for a visit from you before now. But what have I been doing lately? I did not open my mouth at Wexford last night, so it can't be the outcome of that meeting.""Oh no, sir. I have my orders, and I can't give reasons, even if I knew them, which in this case I don't.""That's all right, O'Dowd. Are we to pay a visit to Avondale on our way to the station?"The officer, quick to apprehend Lyndon's meaning, shook his head."No, sir, not to-day.""Well, I confess I can't understand what they want with me, especially after the demonstration last night. We were all certain of Mr. Parnell's arrest.""I haven't heard any word of it as yet, sir," answered O'Dowd.All this time Terry had stood by bursting with indignation and consumed by a burning desire to lay summary hands upon the officers of the law. His disturbed and indignant demeanour presented a sharp contrast to his half-brother's calm deportment."Are you going without a word of protest, Brian?" he whispered. "Just say the word and I'll give the beggars something they won't forget in a hurry."Brian smiled and shook his head, but at the same time cast an affectionate glance at Terry's face."I understand how you feel, my boy; but in this case discretion is the better part of valour, and I have the consolation of knowing that in Kilmainham I shall keep company with many a better man than myself. Will you wait, gentlemen, until I gather a few things together? Perhaps you will kindly step inside and take some refreshment? I shall not keep you waiting more than ten minutes."In this perfectly courteous and matter-of-fact manner did Lyndon accept the inevitable, and secretly ashamed of his errand O'Dowd reiterated that the job was none to his liking. Meanwhile, from the window of the drawing-room overhead, Lois had watched this brief colloquy, and when she saw that they all entered the house she ran along the corridor to Miss Kestell's room."Are you there, Mary?" she cried, excitedly. "Do you know what has happened? A terrible thing! They have come to arrest Mr. Lyndon.""Oh, impossible!" cried Miss Kestell, who, during the few hours she had been a guest at Ballymore, had been drawn in no ordinary way towards the master of the house. "Why do they want to arrest him? I'm sure no one could accuse him of being an enemy to law and order.""Oh no, but it is a part of the whole abominable system," cried Lois, wringing her hands. "Oh, there will be, there must be, a judgment upon England for her treatment of this unhappy country.""You are inordinately distressed," said Miss Kestell, soothingly. "You must stay here, and on no account let any one see you in this state.""Why not?" cried Lois, impetuously. "I don't care if the whole world knew what I think of him. He is a noble gentleman. Does it not move you in the least to think of these patriots willing to suffer anything, glorying even in imprisonment, for the sake of the country and the cause they have at heart?"Mary Kestell could not forbear a somewhat sad smile at this speech, which appeared to her exaggerated and unreal, the outcome of the personal distress of the moment. Somehow she could not take the matter seriously, and to see Lois wrought up into such a state of nervous excitement seemed to reveal to her only one fact—that her heart was given irrevocably and without asking into Lyndon's keeping. This was in itself to Mary Kestell a matter serious enough to throw the other into the background."Oh, how can you be so unfeeling, so unresponsive? How can you smile when even at this moment they may be putting handcuffs on him?""Oh, Lois, don't talk such nonsense. They will not take any such measures with Mr. Lyndon. He is not a common criminal, and from all accounts it would appear that life in Kilmainham is not so very irksome. The newspaper accounts seem to say that the prisoners manage to pass the time pleasantly enough.""Oh, of course they will say anything in English newspapers, anything that will belittle Ireland, or cast ridicule on this great cause. I am disappointed in you, Mary. I should have expected you at least to have some small sympathy with the oppressed instead of siding as you do with the oppressor.""I'm afraid I don't understand the question sufficiently to come to any judgment about it, Lois," said Miss Kestell, quietly, "and I believe that is the attitude of many thinking people towards the Irish question. I'm sure that this generation at least will never understand it.""Oh, it is simple enough for those who wish to understand," cried Lois, hotly. "They only ask to be allowed a voice in their own government, and liberty to live on their land under fair and just laws.""But they are divided against themselves, my dear," said Miss Kestell, quietly. "If they were agreed as one man about what they want, believe me they would not be long in compelling attention.""Well, we need not spend the time in such vain discussion. Will you come down with me and see what is going on? This will break Terry's heart.""Perhaps it would be kinder to Mr. Lyndon not to intrude at this particular moment," suggested Miss Kestell. "It is just possible that he may find the situation humiliating enough without any onlookers.""But would you allow him to go without a word of sympathy or farewell, Mary? He has been so kind to me since I came that I at least must try to see him and thank him for it.""I think, Lois," said Miss Kestell, quietly, "that it would be better if you did not see Mr. Lyndon in your present excited frame of mind. You might regret it afterwards."But these prudent counsels did not avail. Lois was determined to go down and see Lyndon before his departure. Miss Kestell was now seriously concerned lest Lois should betray herself in the excitement of bidding Lyndon good-bye under these exceptional circumstances. She had all an Englishwoman's dread of a scene, and she saw that in her present state of mind Lois was scarcely responsible for what she might say. She had no alternative but to follow her as she marched excitedly out of the room. A fortunate interruption occurred in the appearance of Lady Lyndon, who was just leaving her own room to go downstairs for tea."So you have returned?" she said, in her calm, cool voice, and it was quite evident from her look and tone that she knew nothing of what had transpired, or was even then transpiring, downstairs."Oh, yes, and have you not heard," cried Lois, excitedly, "they have come to take away Mr. Lyndon?""Come to take away Mr. Lyndon!" repeated Lady Lyndon vaguely."To arrest him, to take him away to gaol," cried Lois, nervously clasping her hands together. If she had expected sympathy or concern from Lady Lyndon she was mistaken. A look of high displeasure mounted to her face, and she made a movement of impatience with her hand."It is not more than lie deserves. He has brought it on himself," she said, sourly. "Where are they?""At the door. Oh, come down! Perhaps you may be able to dissuade them from their cruel purpose," cried Lois, earnestly. The shamed colour rose in Mary Kestell's face at these significant words, and in-voluntarily she grasped Lois by the arm."Oh, Lois, have a care; say nothing. It is a matter with which you cannot, dare not interfere.""I shall certainly not interfere," said Lady Lyndon, speaking as if Miss Kestell had addressed her. Mary was thankful to observe that she had taken no particular notice of Lois's agitated words.As they stood there looking at each other blankly they heard a sudden step on the stairs, and Lyndon himself appeared before them, attired in a tweed suit and with his cap in his hand. He did not look depressed or nervous. The mere fact of arrest troubled him not at all, except in so far as it left Ireland for the time being with one voice the less to defend her."I have come to say good-bye," he said to Lady Lyndon. "I have to take a journey and some enforced rest, that is all.""You are a fool, Brian," said Lady Lyndon, too seriously annoyed to observe her usual somewhat deprecating courtesy towards her stepson."That may be; but I shall have some good men to keep me company. Good-bye. I have tired their patience while I have been leaving my instructions with Terry.""Not compromising instructions, I hope," said Lady Lyndon, sharply. "One in a family under arrest is enough at a time.""One too many rather," was Lyndon's careless reply, as he held out his hand, which his stepmother touched but coldly.When he turned to Lois the look on her face struck him. She was very pale, and her eyes had depths in them no man could probe. She said nothing, but in that moment Lyndon guessed something of her deathless interest in him. It was a strange moment. Possibly had they been alone great issues might have been born of it. For the instant Mary Kestell suffered agony lest Lois should betray the secret of her heart."Good-bye," said Lyndon, mechanically. "I hope I shall find you here when I return.""Good-bye. God bless you," said Lois, and her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.So they parted, and the look on her face went with Lyndon into his exile, and made some sunshine in a place of gloom. When he was gone Miss Kestell drew her back hastily to their room and shut the door.CHAPTER XXIIWAITING HEARTSEVENTS followed quickly upon each other in these times. Two days after the

Wexford meeting Mr. Parnell was arrested in his bedroom in a Dublin hotel. Then the list of offenders seemed complete. Bereft of their heads, Avondale and Ballymore settled down into deepest gloom. Avondale was, of course, quite deserted, since Mr. Parnell abode there always in solitude. At Ballymore Terry had to go through the daily round, although his heart was bursting with indignant sympathy over the treatment meted out to his brother. Parnell in Kilmainham was a greater power than Parnell even on the platform at Wexford. In some subtle and mysterious fashion he managed to have his wishes and instructions conveyed to his followers, and the Government found that the meetings of the various leagues and organisations suffered no abatement in number or enthusiasm although their leader was prevented guiding and directing them by his own voice. But a deep gloom seemed to brood over Bally-more, a gloom which seemed to communicate itself easily to its inmates."Lois, I don't think the influence of this place is wholesome either for you or for me," said Miss Kestell one day, as they sat together in the great drawing-room looking through the rain-blurred windows upon the November mist, which lay like a pall upon the dripping trees in the park."If you are tired of it, Mary, then I suppose you will leave me," said Lois, rather absently. She was always more or less absent-minded now, brooding, Mary Kestell could see, almost continuously upon the absent Squire of Ballymore."Don't you think you might come back with me to Bonchurch for a week or two? That was the arrangement, you know, and I hope you will stick to it."Lois shoot her head."I will come at Christmas as I promised, Mary, but not before. No one needs me there.""Except me," said Mary, rather sadly. "I have been supplanted
soon. I am not complaining; but, oh! I should like to see the end of
this. There is something about it all which puzzles and saddens
me. What do you think is to be gained by remaining here? It would be
much better for you to be somewhere else, I mean in livelier
surroundings and seeing something of the world. We might even go
abroad, you and I; anything would be better than this. I am sure it is
bad for you, both physically and mentally," she repeated, with an
emphasis which showed how deeply she felt what she was saying. Lois listened with the same deprecating shake of the head."But it would be unfair to Lady Lyndon," she said at length. "You forget that I entered into an agreement with her for twelve months. I cannot break it just because such trouble has fallen upon them.""It would not be necessary to break the agreement," suggested Miss Kestell, mildly; "but surely you would be allowed to go away on a visit elsewhere.""I don't want to go, Mary, and that's the truth. I am very happy here and interested, interested in everything happening in Ireland.""Perhaps interested too much, Lois," said Mary, with a sigh. "That's why I am afraid to leave you.""What are you afraid of?" asked Lois, suddenly struck by the words."Well, I don't know to what lengths this new-born enthusiasm might carry you, Lois: but of one thing I am sure—it will not make you entirely forget your duties to others.""Oh, I hope not," said Lois, seriously.Miss Kestell hesitated a moment, and then put a direct question, which had frequently trembled upon her lips:"Lois, will you forgive me if I ask a question?""Why, certainly; ask me anything you like. When did you develop such an awe of me?" asked Lois; but her gaiety was somewhat affected. She was not entirely comfortable under Miss Kestell's searching eye."Have you given any money to the Irish cause?""I wish I could say yes, Mary," was Lois's unhesitating reply. She had expected an entirely different question, one of a more personal nature. "I made bold one day to ask Mr. Parnell if there was any way in which I could help.""What did he say?" asked Miss Kestell, with the keenest interest."Oh, he said he was not empowered to receive money for party purposes, but promised that if ever the time came when it was necessary he would not forget my offer."Nothing came of their talk, and the following week Miss Kestell returned to the quiet little home at Bonchurch and the unexciting companionship of Willie Earle and the faithful Clara. She had for the time being lost Lois, that is to say, she was so absorbed in her new surroundings and her new friends that her interest in the old had waned.The term of imprisonment was longer than any of them expected. The Irish prisoners spent the whole winter in Kilmainham, and it was not until the close of the spring that they were released. Lois went to Bonchurch as arranged to spend Christmas with those who were so intensely interested in her, and for whom she had done so much. She was very gentle and winning in her demeanour. Miss Kestell was greatly struck by the change; the old self-assertive manner had become strangely softened, and there was a wistful sadness in her look for which Mary was puzzled to account. It could not be altogether due to the fact that the master of Ballymore still languished in an Irish gaol. It appeared to point to something deeper and more hopeless; but her reserve regarding her own feelings was impenetrable, and though Mary made one or two attempts to obtain her confidence she was not successful. At the end of the second week in January Lois returned gladly to Ballymore. Terry met her at the station joyously as he might have welcomed a dear sister of his own."The time has seemed interminable since you went away," he said, as he wrung her hand. "I was beginning to be afraid you did not intend to come back, and, goodness knows, nobody could blame you, for Ballymore is a dull place to come to in these days, and not likely to be any better."The eyes of Lois were full of tears, and she looked through the blinding snowdrift which welcomed her home, thinking that she had seen nothing fairer or dearer than the hills and glens of Wicklow, then clothed in their wintriest garb."You cannot be more pleased to see me than I am to come back, Terry," she answered. During these sad weeks they had become Terry and Lois to each other, and it had forged a friendship between them which nothing would ever break. "I suppose there is no news?" she said anxiously."Oh, none from Kilmainham; of course I know you mean that. I had a letter from Brian yesterday. He writes in fairly good spirits, and they seem to pass the time not so badly. Oh, but it's a shame, and it will recoil on the heads of those who are responsible for it," he cried, hotly. "How did you leave Miss Kestell?" he broke off, suddenly. "I am afraid she bears us an awful grudge; in fact I know she does, because she told me so before she left Ballymore."Lois smiled somewhat indulgently."Poor old Mary—of course she feels it; but I could not live in that seclusion—it would kill me. I'd rather be here in the very heart of things. I am sure I must have an Irish strain in me somewhere. I could not love the country as I do except for that.""I'm sure it doesn't matter what you are. It's jolly glad we are to see you back again anyhow," said Terry, with unmistakable sincerity, and during the rest of their drive their talk was the intimate talk of those who have everything in common.Lady Lyndon also was pleased to see her guest return. Apart from the mere monetary advantage accruing to her from Miss Leyton's residence at Ballymore, she had become attached to the girl more disinterestedly than she could have believed possible. It was impossible indeed to live beside Lois without becoming either drawn to her or absolutely repelled by her. She was what is called "an interesting personality," one who would either make enemies or the most devoted friends."Well, my dear," she said, with the utmost cordiality, "the boy's mind will be relieved now. I have had a time of it with him, I assure you, he has lived in dread that you would not come back.""I'm only too glad to come back, dear Lady Lyndon," said Lois, almost affectionately."We have given you but a wintry welcome," said Lady Lyndon, pointing to the whirling snow."Ah, but I would rather spend a winter here than summer anywhere else," answered Lois, quickly. "Terry tells me there is no news from Kilmainham. I have been glancing over the English papers while I have been away. I dare not read them, they fill me with too much indignation."Lady Lyndon smiled. She was by no means so enthusiastic in the cause as Lois, but the girl's enthusiasm did not displease her, but rather the reverse, because it strengthened the whole position, and rendered it unlikely that Lois would desire to break the bond between them."I was wondering as I came across in the boat this morning, Lady Lyndon, Whether you would be of the same mind about the house in London for the season. I ought to have spoken of the matter before I went to Bonchurch. Perhaps you will not now care to implement that part of our agreement.""On the contrary, my dear, I have been hoping that you would not change your mind. Nothing could make me happier than to get a change from Ballymore. Heaven knows, it has been dismal enough for the last six months.""Well, shall we go back to London when the weather improves a little and look for a house? If I had thought of it, you might have come over and met me on my return from the Isle of Wight. It would have saved a double journey.""That's true," observed Lady Lyndon; "but it is early enough, I think, in these disturbed times. There is not the rush on house property that there used to be in the season, and it grows later and later. It would be quite early enough for us to go at Easter: don't you think so?""Well, I think I should like to be there at the beginning of the Parliamentary session," said Lois."Oh, well, of course, if you feel any interest in Parliament it would be as well to settle the matter at once.""But perhaps you would not care to leave Ballymore," said Lois, "so long as Mr. Lyndon is still in Kilmainham?""Oh, I assure you that would make no difference to me," answered Lady Lyndon, carelessly. "Brian is the victim of his own folly, and, anyhow, it would make no difference; for, of course, he will always live at his Club, and I daresay we should see very little of him."They talked for some time on the subject, and at last came to the conclusion that directly there was some improvement in the weather they would pay a visit to London together, and remain there until they found suitable quarters for the season.CHAPTER XXIIITHE BLOW FALLSON a beautiful summer morning Lois sat at the projecting drawing-room window of a house in Stratton Street, Piccadilly. It was one of the most delightful of May days, soft and bright, yet with a buoyancy in the air which is only felt in the early summer before the earth grows weary, and before the glory of its freshness is dimmed. From her window she could see across the busy thoroughfare a delicious peep of the Green Park where the turf was emerald-hued, while the lilacs and the flowering may lent their delicate variety to the scene.It was now two months since Lois had settled with Lady Lyndon in
their temporary London home, and surely the dream of the girl's life
was realised, for now she was a person of importance, an American
heiress under the wing of the most successful of chaperons, to whom
the doors of every great house opened without demur. Lady Lyndon had
done her part well. She had spared no exertion to make the deébut of her charge a success. This was no
hardship to her, since it could only be
a pleasure and distinction to introduce such a splendid creature to
society. Surprisingly few questions had been asked, and these few Lady
Lyndon had been able to dispose of with a skill which would have
awakened admiration in a diplomatist; but though the world would
unhesitatingly have said that Miss Marsh Leyton had everything the
heart of woman could desire, she did not look a particularly happy
woman that bright May morning. The sunlight flooding the whole
beautiful world was not reflected upon her face. It still wore that
expectant, wistful look which had told Miss Kestell for the first time
that she was supplanted. Seven long months had Brian Lyndon been
confined in a Dublin gaol, enjoying only such liberty in the open air
as was permitted within the prison precincts. The two hearts who
mourned him most faithfully and who longed for his return were his
half-brother and the American woman whose existence he had at one time
scarcely tolerated, and whose presence at Ballymore he had been
inclined to resent. During this period a constant correspondence had
been kept up between them. It began simply enough by Lois having had
to reply to some inquiry concerning the estate on one occasion when
Terry was absent from home. Something of herself had crept into that
letter—its womanly sympathy, rendered the more telling by
reason of the reticence by which it was expressed, had strangely
warmed Brian Lyndon's heart in his narrow prison room, and his reply
had been of a kind to provoke another response; and so there had grown
out of that simple beginning a corre-spondence which had been an inestimable comfort to them both. Beginning to write as mere correspondents the correspondence had gradually ripened into the intimacy of a perfect friendship. Lady Lyndon knew, of course, that it was going on, but she was too diplomatic a person to say anything. She could only watch the course of events, and hope that when her stepson should regain his freedom he would not crown the whole folly of his life by neglecting the good gift which he could have for the asking. Meanwhile, however, in many subtle ways she took care to foster and keep warm the girl's interest in the absent one, and did more than either of them dreamed to hasten the happy issue.The particularly sad look on the girl's face was perhaps the outcome of an immediate disappointment. The letter she had expected that day had failed for the first time for many weeks, and she was tortured by a thousand vague fears. So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that she did not see a hansom take a quick turn round the Piccadilly corner and draw up at the door, nor did she hear any unusual commotion in the house, and when the drawing-room door was hastily opened she did not even turn her head, expecting that either Miss Kestell or Lady Lyndon had entered; but suddenly a strange thrill shot through her from head to foot, a sense of magnetic, personal attraction, and she knew before she heard him speak that Brian Lyndon was in the room. She sprang up, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. She had intimately conversed with him through the medium of paper and pen for the last few months, but at that strange moment she felt that it was all unreal, and that they were no nearer being friends than they had been half a year ago."When—when were you released?" she asked, as her eyes travelled to his face, which bore some traces of his long confinement. He had that peculiar sallow paleness which belongs to those who for some reason or other have been shut out from the fresh light and air of heaven. He was thinner also, and altogether looked like a man who had been through some bitter experience."We were released yesterday," he said, and there was visible in his manner a slight restraint which he tried to shake off. For weeks he had anticipated this meeting, and now, face to face with the woman who had so greatly interested him, he knew that she was a great deal more to him than he had dreamed, and that the thing which men call love had come to him beyond recall."Yesterday! and you did not wire to us! How can we forgive you?" she said. "Won't you shake hands with me? Where have you been all night?""On the sea, of course," he answered somewhat gaily. "We were released at ten o'clock yesterday morning. Mr. Parnell went back to Avondale, and I to Ballymore; but I found no one there. Where is Terry?""Don't you remember Terry has gone to Scotland to salmon fish with the M'Neills?" she said. "You spoke of it in your last letter.""Why, of course I did," he said, passing his hand quickly across his brow. "I don't know how it is, but prison life has an effect upon a man's mind. I thank God it is over anyhow. I know of nothing which would sooner sap all the forces of a man's being than that horrible monotony."Oh, how you have suffered!" she cried, with a quiet intensity which indicated the feelings prompting it. "I live in England, but I hate and loathe it. I don't know why I am here. I am in a continual state of revolt.""It is good to feel that a man has a true friend like you," he said, sincerely; "and now, how can I thank you for the letters you wrote to me while I was in Kilmainham? I assure you they kept more than one lonely man there from too much brooding on ills that I fear can never be cured.""Oh, don't say that," said Lois, earnestly. "Surely all this suffering will not be for naught? It must bear its fruit one day. But, come, tell me how Mr. Parnell looks? Is he changed as you are?""Am I changed?" asked Brian, lightly, as he stepped across to one of the mirrors and eyed himself carelessly. "We had a fairly good time on the whole. They were very kind to us, and we had the inestimable privilege of intercourse with one another, which, of course, to ordinary prisoners is denied, so we must not be too hard on the powers that be."Lois tapped her foot impatiently on the ground."You may say what you will, but nothing will ever wipe out the outrage of your arrest. It is a crime, nothing less."Lyndon took a walk round the unfamiliar room, and suddenly it occurred to him to wonder anew regarding the odd relationship evidently existing between his stepmother and Miss Marsh Leyton. He had been long cut off from the ordinary affairs of life, and had given them but little thought; but now when he saw her in this beautiful house, which he knew could only be obtained at a great cost, he felt the same desire to probe the matter to the bottom."Do you remember on the day we parted, I had asked your permission to put a question to you?" he said, with a blunt suddenness which took Lois considerably aback."Yes, I remember," she answered, somewhat faintly, for a dread of she knew not what seemed to clutch at her heart, and she felt as if the whole beautiful fabric of her dreams and hopes was once more threatened with destruction."Have I still your permission to ask it?""Why, yes, ask me anything you like.""Will you tell me, then, exactly what relationship exists between you and my stepmother? I would ask her, but she would not tell me the truth. How did you first come to be a visitor to Ballymore?"Lois hesitated, and her face betrayed her agitation."Did Lady Lyndon tell you nothing?""On the contrary, she told me a good deal," answered Lyndon."May I ask what she did say?" said Lois."She told me that you were the daughter of an old friend, and that you had no friends in England, and that she wished to show you a little kindness. She asked if I had any objections to her inviting you for a few weeks to Ballymore, and, of course, I could have none; but as the time went on, and as there was no sign of your visit coming to an end (not that I desired it to come to an end, mark you)," he said, with emphasis, "I began to wonder whether my stepmother was not playing fast and loose with me in some way. It may strike you as strange that I should speak in such terms of Lady Lyndon, but if you knew the whole history of Ballymore you would not be at all surprised. Now, will you tell me frankly whether the representations made to me by Lady Lyndon were true?"For a moment Lois was silent. It was a desperate moment for her. She felt that upon the issue of the next moment perhaps her whole future might depend. She dared not prevaricate, however, or even deviate in the slightest from the truth. It was impossible to do so indeed, even had she been inclined, with those compelling eyes upon her face. To Brian Lyndon the very breath of deceit was hateful. Never in his whole life had he deviated a hair's breadth from the truth; even in some cases when his party had deemed it expedient to misrepresent certain facts, all that lie would do was to stand aside and hold his tongue. Lois had known him long enough to be convinced that this was one of his outstanding characteristics, just as absolute truthfulness was scarcely possible to her. It was the one flaw in her character; but it was the very one which would prove most obnoxious to Lyndon."No," she answered, in a low voice. "It was not true.""Then, will you be good enough to tell me the truth?" he said, and for the life of him he could not help the coldness of his voice. Perhaps the very knowledge that this woman was more to him than any other woman rendered him more relentless and searching in his questioning."It cannot be a breach of contract to tell you, although I can understand that Lady Lyndon will never forgive me," said Lois, straightening herself up and preparing herself for a struggle, if struggle there need be. "I came to England desiring, above all things, an introduction to English society. My father was a man of good position, though in the commercial world in America; but through him I could have no such introduction. The only thing I had at my back was the money he had left me. I had often heard and read of arrangements being made by my countrywomen and others to receive such introductions for a consideration. I simply advertised for what I wanted.""Advertised?" repeated Lyndon, and his jaw became firmly set. "And do you mean to say that my stepmother replied to this advertisement?""Yes, she did. We had an interview in London matters were satisfactorily arranged, and I came to Ballymore.""It is intolerable," said Brian, and all his hot anger blazed in

his eyes. "Understand that I do not blame you; but Lady Lyndon had no

right, no right, I say,



 " ' It was acting a lie,' he said" (p. 199). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman"to use my house and my name for such purpose. She shall render account of it to me."Lois was silent, terrified indeed by the look on his face."May I ask you if you came to Ballymore knowing that I was in ignorance of this arrangement?" was his next question."I came to Ballymore in entire ignorance of it," she answered at once. "Lady Lyndon simply told me what members were in the household, but I must confess that after I was in the house she told me that she had not been entirely frank with you about my visit; then I was powerless. What could I do? And, after all, was it so very grave an offence?"He turned upon her a look which she never forgot."It was acting a lie," he said, so stern in his righteous anger that he would not allow the appeal of her eyes to soften him. Then, without giving further opportunity for the conversation to be prolonged, he turned upon his heel and quitted the room.CHAPTER XXIVTRYING TO EXPLAINLADY LYNDON met her stepson on the stairs. She started as if she had seen an apparition."Brian!" she cried, breathlessly. "Is it possible it can be you?""Yes, I was released yesterday, and crossed last night," he said, and it was characteristic of him that, though he was very angry, he should thus state concisely the facts relating to his sudden appearance. "Is there a room where I can talk to you for a moment? I am a stranger in this house.""Why, certainly. Come in here," she said, stepping back to the landing and opening the door of a small room she used as a boudoir. She saw that something disturbed her stepson, but she did not for the moment connect it with herself or her guest."I have just heard from Miss Marsh Leyton the extraordinary and
unheard-of arrangement between you and her. Will you be good enough to
explain to me how you dared to make such use of my house without my knowledge or consent!"For a moment Lady Lyndon was entirely at a loss. It had come upon her so suddenly and unexpectedly that, though she had often mentally rehearsed such a scene, all the little set speeches which she had thought might have been successful in removing Brian's objections and smoothing down his anger disappeared from her memory, and she stood before him silent and abashed."Dear me!" she said at length, in rather a nettled voice, "this is an extraordinary manner in which to return. I don't like to be bullied, Brian.""It is not a question of bullying at all, it is the simple truth I want. I have just heard it from Miss Marsh Leyton. What I want to know is why you should have deceived me so abominably and placed me in such a false position?""Well, it is partly your own fault, Brian," she said, significantly. "You are such an uncomfortable, unreasonable sort of person to deal with that one requires to use a great deal of diplomacy even to get along without disaster. And why should you make a fuss because I introduce you to such a charming young woman? You cannot deny that she is charming; I have heard you say so myself.""If she had been ten times more charming than she is that makes no difference to the fact that she was brought to Ballymore under false pretences. I am not one to set much store by appearances, as you know, but when it comes to turning my house into a public hostelry, and making those who come under its roof pay for what they receive, upon my word I think it is time I interfered.""Now, Brian, do be reasonable?" said Lady Lyndon, imagining from Lyndon's somewhat quietened manner that the first heat of his anger had passed. "After all, was it so unpardonable a sin? Miss Marsh Leyton is quite irreproachable, and she has created nothing short of a sensation here."Lyndon made an impatient gesture of dissent."Again you are beside the point. I have not the smallest temptation to deny Miss Marsh Leyton's charms," he said, coldly. "What I find fault with is the manner of her introduction to Ballymore, and all I have to say about it is that she cannot come back upon the same terms."Lady Lyndon looked dismayed. The short London season would soon come to an end, and then the question of returning to Ballymore would have to be settled at once. During the last six months she had proved what a pleasant thing it is to live in such close proximity to wealth, and her own allowance, punctually paid through the lawyer, had given her a comfortable sense of independence to which she had long been a stranger. She had hoped that the attachment which she believed to exist between her stepson and the American heiress would arrive at some favourable issue before any awkward revelation. If Lyndon adhered to his present purpose she saw herself on the verge of returning to the old sordid manner of life, and yet she could not afford to break with him entirely. It was an awkward moment for her, and to a certain extent she was to be pitied. Perhaps Lyndon was needlessly hard, but the whole thing was hateful to him. A democrat at heart, perhaps he loathed more than most men the shams and hypocrisies of society as they were brought home to him from time to time, and the thought that he should even unwittingly have added to them filled him with disgust and indignation."You need not pretend that you hear of such an arrangement for the first time, Brian," his stepmother observed presently. "You know as well as I that it is being continually done; otherwise how can the sudden advent of so many unheard-of persons into society be explained? If you want names and cases, I can assure you I can furnish you with quite a long list, all names as much above reproach as ours. For instance, look at that young African girl who has come out under Lady Manton's wing this year. Do you suppose that she is there except on a financial understanding? My dear, I assure you that Manton himself admitted as much to me the other night at the American Embassy.""Such matters are no concern of mine," replied Lyndon, curtly. "All I have to say is that I will not be a party to any such fraud, for it is nothing else, and so far as Miss Marsh Leyton is concerned she is welcome to visit at Ballymore; but she must come as an ordinary guest—that is all I have to say about it. I suppose this house is hers?" he said, glancing round the small room which, however, was a gem in its way.He knew that the tenants of that very select and elegant house would have to pay dearly for the privilege of dwelling among its treasures."Why, of course. She has taken the house, and I am her guest—there is no deceit about that. I really think, Brian, that you are making a mountain out of a molehill, and standing in your own light besides.""In what way, may I ask?""Well, if you persist in being so disagreeable, and to say nothing of being rude, to Miss Marsh Leyton, you cannot expect her to be as interested in you as she has been. I assure you she has no need to trouble her head about any needy Irish landlord, there are plenty of moths fluttering round her candle already. I had a little dream of my own which I fear you have shattered.""What was it?" asked Lyndon, amused in spite of himself."Well, I thought that it might be possible to secure the Leyton millions to the name of Lyndon for ever," she said, boldly, "and I am sure that far unlikelier things have happened."She would have said more, but something in her stepson's look restrained her."It is a very pretty little romance which I shall be sorry to
destroy," he answered, curtly. "Please remember I am in earnest about
this; but I think I explained the position pretty clearly to Miss
Leyton herself, and probably she will be the first to take the
initiative. When will Terry be back from the M'Neills, do you know?""Oh, he's coming to-night. He's to arrive at Euston at seven o'clock.""Is he coming here, may I ask?""Why, of course. Why shouldn't he come here?""I shall meet him at Euston," said Lyndon, "and take him to the Club. We may return to Ballymore together on Friday night."He left her as abruptly and unceremoniously as he had left Miss Leyton, and a moment later she heard the outer door closed. It was some minutes before she recovered herself sufficiently to seek Lois in the drawing-room. It would require all the diplomatic skill she possessed to smooth over this difficulty, and a hot anger against her stepson burned in her soul. Lois had watched from behind the curtain the alert figure of Lyndon disappear into the throng of Piccadilly, and when she turned from the window she saw that Lady Lyndon had entered the room."Well, my dear," she said, quickly, "I understand that you have had a most unpleasant interview with my stepson. I must apologise for his manners. Unfortunately those who were responsible for that part of his training in his youth neglected it. If he spoke to you as he has just spoken to me I am afraid you will find it very hard to forgive him."Lois looked steadily at Lady Lyndon, admiring her even while she felt indignant."He certainly did not weigh his words; but I think he had some ground for his indignation, Lady Lyndon. It was a great mistake to allow me to come to Ballymore, as you did, without first consulting him. I might have been spared such a scene.""I apologise to you most humbly, Lois, and I agree with you. Perhaps I made a mistake; but you see for yourself the difficulties which hedge my unfortunate position. I am penniless, dependent for the very bread I eat upon my stepson. There are some who consider him the salt of the earth; but, while I do not wish to deny his many good qualities, I must say that he lacks the smaller graces which do so much to make life pleasant. I have felt my position keenly many a time, and I think I need not be so harshly blamed because I took the first opportunity of improving it."Lois was silent, sorry for the woman who in the even of her life occupied such an anomalous position; but her heart was still sore and smarting under the bitter words Lyndon had spoken, and she felt as if for the moment her one desire was to put an endless distance between her and all bearing the name of Lyndon."What are you going to do, then?" asked Lady Lyndon, after a moment of strained silence."I cannot do anything except remain here. I daresay Miss Kestell will come up from Bonchurch and keep me company, although she dislikes London heartily.""Then, you wish me to leave?" said Lady Lyndon."Has Mr. Lyndon not decreed that our arrangement must come to an end?" said Lois inquiringly."Oh, well, he raved a good deal; but I don't see that he has anything to do with it. He may forbid the arrangement to be carried out at Ballymore, but he cannot prevent our living together in London.Have you considered how very awkward it would be for you if I were to leave you so early in the season? It would make such a talk and question. I am sure it would hurt your position and prospects materially.""I am sure of it, too," said Lois; "but somehow I don't seem to care about it now—the whole thing is like Dead Sea fruit. I suppose it is with most things, better in anticipation than reality.""It is natural, I suppose, that you should feel so at this moment after the abominable way in which my stepson has treated you. There are some who admire that bluntness of speech, and call it strength and sincerity of character; but for myself I would prefer the insincerity if it was only kind.""He certainly hurt me very much," said Lois, "and I don't think I have deserved it.""No, indeed you haven't deserved it. He is most ungrateful after all your kind interest in our affairs, but he will live to regret it; in fact, I believe he will regret it before he is many hours older. If you will allow yourself to be guided by me, you will conduct yourself now precisely as if Brian Lyndon did not exist; that's the first thing that will bring him to his senses."Lois smiled drearily and shook her head. She was indeed weary at that moment of the whole world, and felt as if she would like to turn her back upon it and go back to the obscurity from whence she had sprung."Don't look so doleful, my dear, because a rough-spoken Irishman has forgotten the courtesy due to a lady. You can afford to despise it. A few months more and no doubt you will be able to look down upon him from a social height you don't dream of now."These words, which would once have filled Lois with the liveliest pride and hope, had now scarcely power to stir even a passing interest in her heart. The whole world had changed indeed because Brian Lyndon had regarded her with disapproval. The sun which had shone so bright an hour ago was now obscured behind a bank of cloud.CHAPTER XXVTERRY STATES THE CASELYNDON left the house in Stratton Street seriously disturbed in mind. As he walked back to his Club on the Embankment he could not banish from his memory the look which had been on Miss Leyton's face when he left her. Every word which had passed between them recurred with painful sharpness, and he could not but admit that he had been needlessly severe. After all she was not to blame; and when he recalled all that had passed between them during the last few months, a distinct sense of remorse was the predominant feeling in his mind. He arrived at the Club in time for luncheon, where, of course, he found considerable abstraction, being warmly welcomed back by his numerous colleagues. At three o'clock he walked across to the Houses of Parliament, and at the gate of Palace Yard he met his old friend Mr. Bremner of Halliwell."Hulloa," said the old gentleman in hearty surprise."When did you get out? There's no word of it in the papers this morning.""I saw that," answered Brian, lightly, "but we were released yesterday.""Parnell, too?""Yes. I am surprised there was no mention of that this morning."Mr. Bremner shrugged his shoulders."The ways of the Government are past finding out," he said, significantly. "You look as if you had been in their clutches. I came back from Scotland only this morning.""Oh!" said Brian, with a deep and keen interest. "Did you see my father and mother while you were there?" asked Brian, eagerly.By these sweet names did he still call his foster-parents, and during all the stress of his Parliamentary life he had never once faltered in loving duty and consideration towards them. Once every week he wrote a long and interesting letter to them, setting down in detail such parts of his public life as he thought they would care to hear, and there was no place where the master of Ballymore loved better to spend a quiet holiday than in the rose-covered cottage on the banks of the Spittal Water."Oh, yes, I saw them. They are well, but failing," said Mr. Bremner, kindly. "The old man is getting what we call 'little bookit' in the North. Perhaps you have forgotten the meaning of that old-fashioned word?""No, indeed I haven't," said Lyndon, with a smile. "I must try and
run down on Saturday to assure them that I am really all right. I suppose they have felt it a good deal—my arrest, I mean?""Indeed they have," was the quick answer. "It has told very much on poor Mrs. Fletcher."Then, as they slowly walked together across the Yard, they drifted into political matters of engrossing interest to their party. Lyndon, in company with the other Irish members who returned to their places in the House that day for the first time after their imprisonment, were warmly welcomed on their entrance; but great disappointment was naturally felt at the absence of their chief. Many thought that at such a crisis he ought to have lost no time in making his reappearance; but with one of those strange impulses which characterised him, and of which he never deigned to give the smallest account to his followers, he had elected to return quietly to his own home without indicating even to Lyndon when they might expect to see him in his place.At half-past six Lyndon left the House, and took a hansom to Euston to meet his half-brother. He was not only genuinely anxious to see him again for his own sake, but he wished to consult with him regarding the arrangements between his stepmother and Miss Marsh Leyton, which had so upset him. The train was punctual. Great was Terry's amazement when he alighted to see Brian standing on the platform in the flesh."Hulloa, old chap. I thought it was your ghost. When did they let you out?" he cried, joyously, as he clasped his hand warmly, not in the least ashamed of the genuine emotion which shone in his eyes,"Yesterday.""Yesterday!" repeated Terry, in astonishment; "but there's no word of it in the newspapers.""That doesn't alter the fact, my boy. You look well. I suppose you've had a fine week's sport?""Yes, I have. I have enjoyed myself immensely. Where are you staying?""At the Liberal Club," said Brian. "Where are you going?""I'm going to Stratton Street, of course, to the mater," answered Terry, without a moment's hesitation. "Haven't you been there?""Yes, I have, this morning; and that's what I'm here for, to speak about that extraordinary arrangement.""Extraordinary! A very jolly one I call it. I think it's a fortunate thing that Miss Marsh Leyton has taken such a fancy to us all, if you ask me for my opinion."This speech convinced Brian, if indeed he had ever had a moment's doubt about the matter, that Terry was in as complete ignorance as he had been of the relations existing between his mother and the Amercian guest."I suppose they're expecting you there," he said, a trifle coldly."Yes, they were to wait dinner for me, so I haven't any time to lose.""Then I'll drive with you as far as the door," said Brian, signalling to a hansom.Terry's portmanteau was thrown on the top, and in a moment they were off."A revelation has been made to me to-day, Terry," began Brian; "not a very pleasant one either. Has it ever occurred to you to wonder how it is that Miss Marsh Leyton has been at Ballymore so long, and why it is that she has shown such extraordinary kindness to us all?"Terry shook his head, looking much mystified."I never thought much about it at all," he confessed, frankly, "except that, as I said, I thought it was very lucky for us all that my mother had found such a splendid friend.""It has been a mere business arrangement, Terry, all along. It seems that Miss Marsh Leyton, an unknown Amercian woman, possessed of means, and very anxious to enter good society on this side, simply advertised her wants, your mother replied, the whole matter was arranged, and she came to Ballymore."Terry turned round and stared him blankly in the face. Then the colour rose high in his own."Oh, I say, Brian, draw it mild," he said, in a somewhat husky voice. What you say can't possibly be the case. My mother would never play it so low down all round.""She has done it, Terry, I'm very sorry to say," said Brian. "I had my suspicions before I went to Kilmainham. There was something about the whole thing I did not understand. Of course, had I been at home the fraud would have been discovered long ago. I put it straight to Miss Leyton this morning when I saw her.""You did!" cried Terry, aghast; "and she did not deny it?""No; she admitted it. Then I spoke to your mother.""Of course it was very rough on you, Brian. I can see that quite well; but I hope you weren't too hard on Miss Leyton, at least.I don't see that she could be very much blamed.""I was very angry, Terry, and I don't think I made any attempt to hide it.""She'd feel it awfully," said Terry, and his face wore a look of genuine distress. "It`s a horrible thing, of course, I admit that; but still I'm sorry you spoke like that to her.""You seem to take a warm interest in her," said Brian, rather drily. The very effort he was making to appear unconcerned increased the stiffness and constraint of his manner."Of course I do. I like her.I think she's one of the jolliest girls I have ever known; and the interest she has taken in you has made me quite ashamed many a time. She could not have been more concerned had she been our own sister.""That's very good so far as it goes, Terry," said Lyndon; "but you will admit that it is not a very pleasant thing for a man to discover that the hospitality of his house has been sold to the highest bidder, as it were, without his knowledge or consent.I I think I have some cause for indignation.""Oh, I'm not saying anything about that," said Terry, hastily, "it's an abominable business from beginning to end. All the same I wish you hadn't said anything to Lois. I know what you are when you are angry. You simply don't care a fig for people's feelings. What was the upshot of it?""Well, I simply told your mother that this arrangement, so far as I was concerned, must come to an end. That is to say, that Miss Leyton couldn't come to Ballymore on the same terms again."Terry said never a word, but his face was a study. Struck by the unusual silence, Brian turned round and looked at him."You seem to be feeling it very much, boy," he said, kindly."Yes, I do. I feel it horribly. Of course I know it is rough on you, but you're a man, and it doesn't matter. I'd like to know exactly what you said to Lois, and how she took it? Upon my word I'm afraid to go in.""I don't see why you should lay it so much to heart," said Brian, rather curtly. "After all, she is nothing but a stranger to us, a woman who has come from nobody knows where. I daresay she will find plenty of people willing to receive her on these terms, at least so Lady Lyndon assures me.""Then you don't care yourself? I mean it wouldn't affect you in the least suppose you never saw Miss Leyton again?"At this unexpected homethrust Brian stared straight before him, but his face, though Terry scanned it eagerly, remained quite inscrutable."I shouldn't like to say that exactly; but, after all, what has that to do with the case?""It has everything to do with the case," cried Terry, hotly. "Hasn't she been writing to you all these months you have been in gaol? I've seen some of your letters to her. After writing like that to her you'd never kick her out of your house, as it were.""Really Terry, you talk a little wildly," said Brian, a trifle coldly. "There is no question of 'kicking out', as you express it. Miss Marsh Leyton will be as welcome as ever at Ballymore, only she shall come on a different footing, that is all.""I thought it was all going to turn out so beautifully," said Terry, with a boyish frankness which amused even while it touched Brian."And how did you think it was going to turn out?""Well, of course, I thought you'd marry her. I`am sure she thinks so, too."Brian straightened himself up, and his face was ominous."In spite of all your devotion to Miss Leyton I don't think it is quite the thing for you to make such an assertion. I could take my affidavit that you are mistaken. Miss Marsh Leyton and I are simply friends. She is not the sort of woman to think that every man who comes across her wants to marry her. That's one of her particular charms."Terry smiled a smile of superior wisdom, which Brian well understood."Oh, well, if you know all about it it's all right, I suppose. She'll marry a Duke, or something of that sort, my mother says. There are plenty looking after her already. Perhaps I was a fool to hope or expect that such a jolly, bit of good luck could fall to the lot of a Lyndon of Ballymore."CHAPTER XXVITHE HOME OF HIS HEARTTHE half-brothers parted at the door of the house in Stratton Street, Brian curtly declining Terry's invitation to enter. Crossing Piccadilly he entered the Green Park, and took a slanting footpath, in which he found himself almost alone. Solitude was grateful to him; he was at that moment in a strangely disturbed state of mind. Perhaps the feeling uppermost was one of sharp irritation, because he knew now beyond a doubt that a woman had come between him and his life-work, and that the affairs of his country no longer occupied the first place in his heart. This in itself was undoubtedly sufficient to seriously disturb a man who had determined to act upon his chief's advice, and keep clear of feminine influence altogether. He knew that probably the next time he saw Lois he would speak words which would irrevocably alter his career and the whole complexion of his life. It need not be wondered at that he was in no haste to make such a vital change, or that, man-like, he sought about for some means of escape, or, at least, for some respite which would give him time to face the matter in all its bearings. As he crossed the park, then at its loveliest, a sudden feeling of home-sickness smote him. The rich fragrance of hawthorn and lilac recalled to him the beauty and the bloom by which the banks of the Spittal Water would be adorned. The twittering birds above brought back to him all the sweet sights and sounds of his boyhood, and an intolerable desire to look once more upon these scenes, to clasp once more the true hands of those who loved him, and who had never ceased to pray for him, swept over him like a resistless wave against which he was powerless. Mechanically he took a small timetable from his pocket and studied the north-going; trains. In a moment of time his resolve was taken, and at ten o'clock that night he was on the platform at King's Cross ready to take his place in the Scotch express.He was accustomed to hurried journeys and uncomfortable
quarters. He was yet young enough and strong enough to be in a manner
independent of his material surroundings, therefore he slept soundly,
and scarcely awoke until the train thundered through the tunnel below
the Calton Hill, and brought him to the grey skies and sombre spires
of Edinburgh. He took a leisurely breakfast, and about ten o'clock,
feeling rested and refreshed, and glad in a strange boyish fashion to
be free from all the trammels and excitements of his life, he took his
place in the slow-going train to Spittalhaugh. He enjoyed it
all—the leisurely progress of the train, its long stoppages at
each little country station, even the splash of the soft summer rain upon the window panes, all spoke to him in pleasant and familiar tones. His lot in life was now cast in many strange places, yet his heart told him that he was going home. The feeling grew upon him, until when he alighted at the familiar station he felt in a dreamy, half-intoxicated mood, which comes to us when the very deepest chords of memory are struck. He thought it strange that none recognised him, and yet it was not so surprising. He had left Spittalhaugh a raw lad, bearing in his outward appearance unmistakable traces of his homely upbringing; he returned to it a man who had responded perhaps more quickly than most to all the changed influences of his life. He had not an aristocratic bearing, it is true, but there was a certain dignity and even distinction in his manner, and a quiet self-confidence which impressed even those who saw him for the first time.Of a set purpose he avoided the busier streets of the town, and found his way to the old-fashioned cottage of his foster-parents by many circuitous paths. When he reached the familiar footpath which followed the windings of the Spittal Water until it brought him to the white gate of the cottage, the rain ceased and a blink of sunshine made a wonderful play of light and shade upon the exquisite greenery of the trees and the sheen of the winding stream. Whatever tragic happenings might distract the minds of men in the world beyond, here at least was no change, nothing but the quiet and sober charm of perfect tranquillity and immunity from care. It laid its deep hush on Brian Lyndon's perturbed spirit, and he felt he had indeed done well to come here to obtain some sympathy, and it might be wise counsel, in what he felt to be a crisis in his life.When he came to the gate he leaned upon it with his arms, and regarded the quaint little dwelling with affectionate eyes. But a few days ago he had been assured that all was well within, but he had that odd sense of apprehension so common to the exile who returns unexpectedly, and which caused him to defer the moment of entering; but presently Mary Fletcher came to the door to shake from the table-cover the dust which existed only in her imagination, and when she saw who was at the gate the cover fluttered from her hands, and was caught upon a dripping rose-tree, while she ran down the path with outstretched arms."Oh, Rob, my lad," she cried, falteringly, for he was still Rob to the faithful pair who, out of their love, had given to the nameless child the name they most revered. Is it your ghost? Oh, I was thinking of you this very minute, and wondering when the Lord would answer my prayer."Nearly a year had gone since Lyndon had seen his foster-mother, and it made his heart ache to see how in that year she had aged. The hair braided so neatly and smoothly on the meek brow was now white as snow, and it seemed to him that she had grown smaller and more fragile-looking, but the face was sweet as of yore; and though never at any time a demonstrative man, he took her right in his arms there and held her close, not caring who might see them; but there was none to see, only the birds who were at home in that old garden, and who knew themselves beloved of its inmates."Oh, my man, ye're changed," cried Mary Fletcher, when she held him at arm's length, and looked searchingly into his face. "That cruel gaol has made ye ten years aulder, Rob. When did they let ye out?""Only the day before yesterday," he replied."An' ye came right on here at once, my lad? Oh, it's a proud man John Fletcher will be this day; but come in, come in. I can never look my fill at ye, and to think ye havena forgotten the auld man and wife."Lyndon could make no reply because his heart was full, and it seemed to him, as he followed the drooping, fragile figure into the familiar house, that all the holy influences of his boyhood rose about him once more to comfort and to bless him. All the harassing cares of his life seemed to fall away from him, and he knew that in coming here to tell his tale that he had done well.Mary Fletcher was trembling very much when she got back to the kitchen, and was glad to sit down there to try to recover herself. She made no apology for bringing him right up to the familiar fireside. Only once had she tried to make a stranger of him by having a fire lit in the best room. She never forgot his look, nor his absolute refusal to go into the room even for a moment. The scorn with which he had regarded her little plan to do him honour had convinced her happy heart, as nothing else could have done, that he was in no manner changed, but was still the Rob of old."I saw Mr. Bremner yesterday," he said, as he drew up John Fletcher's big armchair and settled himself comfortably in it. "He told me that father is failing a little. I think I see a change in you.""Ou, ay, we are getting auld, ye ken, Rob," said Mary, in a voice as blithe as if she had been proclaiming their eternal youth. "Ye are a bit changed yoursel', my poor laddie. What it has been to John and to me to think of you being shut up in that terrible gaol——""Oh, it was not so terrible as all that," said Lyndon, smiling. "I assure you we were very comfortable indeed. You must not associate it with the little lockup at Sergeant Laidlaw's. We were very well treated indeed.""I shall never believe it, my man, not if ye were to tell me that fifty times over," said Mary, firmly; "but how is my other lad, Mr. Terry?""Terry's very well. I daresay he would have sent his love to you, but he didn't know I was coming. I saw him last night at seven o'clock, and I had not the slightest idea then that I should be in the train by ten.""Ye took it a' sudden like?" said Mary, with a twinkle in her eye."Yes, but I'm afraid I've come on a selfish errand. I've run my head up against a stone wall, mother, and I want you to tell me how I am to get round about it, or through it—perhaps that would please me better."Mary Fletcher looked puzzled, but that he should seek her advice in any dilemma was sweeter than honey to her thoughts."Ay, what's that, Rob? I'm only a plain auld wife, but it may be that the Lord will guide me what to say. What's the trouble?""Well, you know, mother, I have always said that I wouldn't marry, haven't I?"Mary Fletcher nodded, and sat very still. It was nothing of this sort she had expected, and it was in some sense a blow to her, as it must be a blow to every woman to hear that the boy who has been the very apple of her eye has found some one else to take her place."Well, I'm of the same mind still," he said, slowly; "but I've got a story to tell you if you have time to listen to it now.""It will be a queer day when I canna tak' time to listen to a story o' yours, Rob," she answered, promptly."But my father's dinner," said Lyndon, with a twinkle in his eye. "He'll be home in an hour, and, if I remember right, he doesn't like to be kept waiting.""Oh, it will be meat and drink to him to see you sitting in that chair, Rob, and it's all set a going. It will all be ready, never you mind. Now for your story."Briefly and concisely as possible, Lyndon related to his foster-mother how the American girl had come to Ballymore, and the whole occurrences of the past nine months, even up to his interview on the previous morning. She did not interrupt him by a single question or remark, but the eagerness of her interest was manifest in her rapt face and speaking eyes. She did not miss a single point, nor did she have to ask the smallest explanation, for, although her physical powers had failed, there was no abatement in her mental vigour or in her quick, shrewd intuition. She understood the whole matter as clearly as if it had been photographed before her eyes, and something more. She knew, by the very tones of Lyndon's voice, as well as by the deep intensity of his eyes, that his heart had gone forth into this woman's keeping, and that, whatever she might be, she had it in her power to make or mar his life. When he ceased at last, and turned anxiously to her for some expression of opinion, he was surprised that she did not speak. Quite suddenly she rose, and, going to his side, put her arm round his neck and pressed her cheek to his."My lad," she said, tremblingly, "she will be your wife, for I see that she has got your whole heart. Ye canna hide it from me that has nursed ye on my knee, an' fine ye ken that I am richt."CHAPTER XXVIIBEYOND RECALLLYNDON did not deny his foster-mother's assertion, because he knew in his heart of hearts that it was too true. Brought face to face as he now was with one of the most important events in his career, he felt a strange shrinking from it, almost a sense of humiliation, for it had been no mere manner of speech with him, but a fixed determination to remain unmarried, so as to be able to give his undivided attention to the cause he had so much at heart. Then there was another consideration which, at that moment, perhaps, loomed more largely before him than any other. To this he first gave voice."She is very rich, mother,"he said, when Mary Fletcher had gone back to her own chair, from which she surveyed him with an odd mixture of emotion and pride, "and you know how poor I am. Men will say of me that I am a fortune-hunter. Besides, I would rather not owe so much to my wife if I ever take one."At this Mary Fletcher smiled. She was only a simple country woman, but she was not without her own clear insight into human nature, and she understood, ay, to the uttermost, the pride which underlay this remark. She had met it before, though in a humbler walk of life. It was the embodiment of the old idea that man by reason of his sex should be the superior always, the bestower rather than the receiver of benefits."Now that's just like a man," she said; "but have you never heard, lad, of the love that makes light o' a' that? When you are man and wife you'll think nothing about the money, except maybe how ye shall best spend it, and though ye may be a poor man as ye say, as folk in your position are accounted, I would say that you would give her a fair exchange for her money, nay, that she would hae the best o' the bargain."Lyndon shook his head. Her logic was persuasive but not convincing."I can't make up my mind to it," he said, "and I have hardly patience to discuss it. I never wanted anything of this sort to come into my life at all. I never felt the need of it.""You're young, lad," said Mary Fletcher, quietly, "and to be young is to be independent. But look at me and John, for instance? Can you imagine what like the one would be without the other?""No, indeed I can't," answered Lyndon, without a moment's hesitation; "but that is an entirely different matter.""I dinna see where the difference comes in," observed Mary,
quaintly. "The day will come when ye will feel that it is your ain ye want by your side, and nae other. Take my advice and dinna let this guid gift gang by ye. If the lassie be all ye say, ye will be a fortunate man, Rob, and very sure am I that your father will say the same thing. But here he comes to speak for himsel'."Lyndon sprang to his feet and was at the door before the old man had crossed the threshold. The greeting between them brought the tears to Mary Fletcher's eyes, and she bustled about getting their simple meal laid, casting from time to time proud and loving glances towards the two men whom she loved best on earth.The press of public duty would not permit of Lyndon spending a long period with his foster-parents, and the evening of the next day saw him in the press and throng of London streets. He drove from King's Cross to his Club, dined simply, and then made his way on foot to Stratton Street. He did not hurry; nay, there was in his heart of hearts an odd feeling of reluctance. He would have deferred the visit or put it off altogether if he could, because something told him that it could have but one issue. He felt, however, that some apology was due to Miss Leyton for the manner in which he had spoken to her. Once convinced of his duty in any direction, that duty was as good as done. He never shrank from it simply because it was irksome or did not accord with his own inclination. He had admitted to his foster-mother, as to himself, that this woman was more to him than any other woman in the world, and yet no man ever looked less like an expectant or hopeful lover than Brian Lyndon, as he strolled slowly across the familiar Green Park, with his eyes bent on the ground, his whole appearance indicating the gravest absorption.It seemed to him that he came all too soon to his journey's end. The hour of nine pealed from many voiced bells as he crossed Piccadilly at the busy Stratton Street corner, then he quickened his steps almost as if he felt the sooner the ordeal was over the better. He expected nothing but that he would interrupt them at dinner, and when, in answer to his inquiry for Miss Leyton, he was shown to the drawing-room to find her there alone, he was inordinately surprised. She was not less surprised to see him. She rose quickly from her chair, not betraying the faintest sign of embarrassment, however, and received him coldly. It was a strange moment for Brian Lyndon when he found himself face to face alone with this woman, uncertain what issues the next hour might bring forth."Lady Lyndon and your brother have gone to the reception at the Speaker's house," she said, after she had bidden hire good-evening. "Did you not meet the carriage? They have just left.""No," he answered, "I saw nothing of it; but it does not matter, it is you I have come to see.""Indeed," she said. "I am afraid you do me too much honour."Her lip curled as she spoke these words, and she seated herself again, her flimsy black draperies falling about her in careless grace. She was very pale, Brian thought, or perhaps it was the contrast made by her sombre attire."I have come to apologise for what I said to you the other morning," he said, in his honest, straight-forward manner. "Of course I was very angry, but still I know I was unpardonably rude. I hope you will forgive me.""I have not thought about it," she said curtly. "It is a matter of no moment whatever."Brian felt wounded and disappointed by this speech, which he accepted in its literal meaning. So ignorant was he of the ways of women that it did not occur to him that this might be part of the armour by which a woman sought to defend her heart."I beg that you will forgive me?" he repeated. "It was quite unpardonable. In any case, you were not to blame in the matter, and when I think of the great kindness and sympathy I have received from your hands since the first day I saw you, I feel that I have been an ingrate indeed."She looked as she felt, immeasurably surprised, and her expression visibly softened."Oh, pray don't say any more about it," she said, quickly. "Of course I understand that the provocation was very great. Don't distress yourself about it; it will make no difference to me.""Has there been any talk about it since I left? Have you made any arrangement with Lady Lyndon?" he asked, lamely, feeling that never before had such an immense distance existed between him and this woman whom he loved.He loved her, but he did not know how to tell her, in fact, he did not dare. The man whose independence and daring self-control in circumstances the most trying had often made his colleagues marvel was here entirely at a loss, stumbling and silent in a woman's presence. It was an unwonted sensation for him, and one which made him chafe exceedingly."Have you been in town these two days?" she asked, feeling the silence irksome, and not having the remotest idea of the mighty thoughts it hid. "Your mother has been quite concerned about you. This morning Terry wired to Ballymore, only to be told that nothing had been heard of you there.""I have been to Scotland. I only returned this evening," he said."To Scotland!" she repeated. "To your old home I suppose?""Yes. When a man is on his beam ends, as I felt myself to be, he goes back, as he did in his childhood, to his mother's knee.""Ah, now you speak a language which I can understand," and the beautiful sympathetic look for which he had learned to watch and even to hunger sprang to her eyes again, banishing all their coldness and disdain. "Now speaks the real Brian Lyndon Whom I have been proud to call my friend."He took a turn across the room to the long window, which was open, and through which came the faint echo of the tide of life which rolled between east and west. The fragrance of the flower-laden balcony greeted him, making a lasting impression on his senses. From that night the scent of mignonette never failed to recall that hour to his memory down to the smallest detail.Utterly unconscious of the tumult in the man's mind, and only thinking that she had unwittingly given some further cause of offence, Lois leaned listlessly back in her chair, expecting momentarily his abrupt departure. The dream which had made beautiful all the dreary months of winter and spring had been ruthlessly shattered, and Lady Lyndon was dismayed at the complete collapse of her interest in passing events. Six months ago Lois Leyton would have given much to find her name among the elect invited to the Speaker's house, yet that night she had declined to go on the flimsiest pretext, and had beheld Lady Lyndon and Terry depart alone without a qualm. Suddenly Lyndon turned and crossed the room again. She lifted her eyes in languid inquiry to his face. Something in his expression struck her, and yet did not give her the faintest preparation for the words which followed."You have called yourself my friend," he said, simply. "I ask you to be something more. Will you be my wife?"Lois sat still one breathless instant, and then sprang to her feet quivering in every nerve."What—what are you saying?" she cried, almost wildly. "Did I hear you aright?""I am asking if you will be my wife," he repeated, almost humbly, and with none of the assurance which Terry's assertion might have been supposed to give him.She controlled herself by a great effort, clasping her hands nervously in front of her, and looked him straight in the face."For what reason do you wish to marry me?" she asked, in a voice as cold as ice. "Only the other day you told me in no measured terms what you thought of me and my conduct. I could have wished for solitude to try and forget those words. What is the meaning of this?""I hardly know myself," he answered; "what I do know is that you are the only woman who has ever given me a second thought. I had made up my mind not to marry, but you have shown me my mistake."Lois stood silent; mechanically she raised her hands and crossed them on her breast. It was a strange wooing, and, though it set her heart beating wildly with the happiness she had scarcely dared to hope for, she would satisfy herself to the uttermost before giving him the answer he craved."All that is good in its own place," she said, in a sharp, agitated voice, "but it does not answer the question. Why do you wish to marry me?""Because I love you," he said, and the words fell from him shamefacedly, while an unaccustomed wave of colour mounted high to his face.CHAPTER XXVIIIHEART TO HEARTSO Brian Lyndon entered a new world. It was a world such as he had never dreamed of even in his happiest thought, a world so full of sweetness and delight that it seemed to fill his whole being. He had believed and indeed often said that patriotism and ambition were sufficient for the needs of the soul, and that given power and opportunity to devote himself to these, no man need ask for more; but now he proved that among all the experiences through which the soul can pass there is none snore potent than love. He carried into his

wooing the reticence which distinguished him in all the other relations of his life. Had Lois been a different woman she might well have misunderstood, and perhaps have resented his demeanour. When he parted from her that night she did not see him again for two whole days. During that time she kept her own counsel, saying nothing even to Terry of what had passed between his brother and herself. On the afternoon of the second day about five o'clock Lyndon was announced. They were at tea in the drawing-room—Terry, as usual, acting the cavalier towards Lois, for whom he entertained the most chivalrous devotion. The colour flushed high in her cheek, and the light leapt in her eyes when the door opened to admit Brian. These signs Terry did not fail to observe, and a great passion of sorrow and indignation filled his honest heart. The knowledge that Brian was indifferent to the good gift which he could have for the asking filled him with indignation, and he could scarcely be as cordial as usual to his half-brother."Where have you been all this time, Brian?" he cried, quickly, trying really to divert Brian's attention from the outward and visible signs of the girl's embarrassment."I have been so very much engaged with Committees and what not," answered Brian, so lightly that Terry looked at him in some surprise. "Mr. Parnell came back yesterday, and I have been with him ever since."He shook hands with his stepmother in Massing, and then approached Lois, who gave him her hand, but scarcely looked at him. He held it closely a moment, and then raised it to his lips, an act which so astonished terry that he did not know where to look or what to think."I ought to have written," said Brian, in a low voice, but somehow I thought you would understand. Can you put a hat on and come out with me? It is quite early. I want to get into the open where we can talk."Lois rose at once and fled from the room. Then Terry, staring stupidly at Brian, said bluntly,—"Now, I should like to know the meaning of this?" Brian smiled such a smile as Terry had never seen."Why, it can have but one meaning, of course. Miss Leyton has promised to marry me.""What!" The exclamation came from Lady Lyndon, and she sprang up from her comfortable seat in the chintz-covered easychair with such haste and agitation that she spilled her cup of tea on the folds of her elegant tea-gown. In a moment Terry was on his knees with his handkerchief trying to repair the damage."It is quite true," said Lyndon, quietly. "Two days ago Miss Leyton did me the honour to promise to become my wife." Lyndon made this speech somewhat formally; but Terry, looking at him keenly, saw something in his face which was new, a softness of expression which betrayed something of the heart's inward tenderness."Well I never!" he said. "Two days ago! Mother, do you hear that?""Yes, I hear it, my boy," said Lady Lyndon, a trifle stiffly, "though I confess none of us would ever have guessed it. Of course no one expects anything from you, Brian; but I wonder why Lois did not tell me.""Oh, that doesn't matter, mother," cried Terry, joyously. "It's the fact we've got to rejoice over; but, upon my word, Brian, I don't know whether you want me to congratulate you or not.""That's just as you please, Terry," said Brian. "I have scarcely yet begun to congratulate myself.""But this is a most extraordinary thing!" said Lady Lyndon. "I can't believe it. Do you mean to say that you and Lois are engaged?""I believe that is what it is called," said Brian, whimsically; "but I'm afraid neither of us is very conventional.""I should imagine not," said Lady Lyndon, drily. "If you have been engaged to her for two days, to my certain knowledge she has never seen you in the interval; it seems to me somewhat lukewarm wooing. But there, if you understand each other it is no business of mine or anybody. May I be permitted to congratulate you, Brian, on this most unexpected and happy issue to an affair which has cost me a great deal of anxiety and worry, although perhaps you will find it hard to believe it?""Thank you," said Brian, quietly, and at that moment a servant appeared to say that Miss Leyton was waiting for Mr. Lyndon downstairs."Oh, she shan't escape me," cried Terry, and with one bound he was off downstairs, and caught Lois right in his arms as she stood soberly buttoning her gloves in the lower hall."Now, then, how dare you treat me in this manner, Lois?" he cried, in mock indignation. "To think you have been engaged to old Brian for two days and me not to know it! I wonder you are not too much ashamed to look me in the face."Lois laughed merrily, and surely never had sweeter sound fallen upon man's ears. Brian heard it as he came softly down the richly carpeted staircase, and his face softened into an amazing tenderness as he saw the attitude of his brother and the woman he loved. For these two were passing dear to him, how dear he was only beginning to realise, now that the other side of his being had been suddenly called into active life."I don't think I shall ever forgive you, Brian," said Terry, "and yet I am so glad about it I can't keep up any spite. Isn't she splendid, Brian? and aren't you grateful to me for opening your eyes to the fact? Don't forget, Lois, that it was I who fell in love with you first; but whatever Brian does don't be disappointed in him, Lois. He'll turn up trumps at the end, he always does."It was an inimitable touch; the boy's tender, impressionable Irish heart had more than once been slightly repelled by the impenetrable reserve of his half-brother's nature, which he now sought to soften to the woman who was to be his wife. It touched them both, but when Terry saw the look which passed between them he felt that he had made a mistake, and that Lois already had the key for which he sometimes had longed. So they passed out together, each sufficient to the other, and when the door closed upon them Terry sat down on the hall seat and covered his face with his hands, conscious of an odd sense of desolation and loneliness. He loved them both, but now they had no need of him, and, though he was honestly glad over it, he felt in a manner shut out."I'll go back to Ballymore to-morrow," he said to himself. "Tim Rafferty and Molly Malone will be glad to see me back, to say nothing of the dogs and the horses. Yes, Ballymore's the place for me.""We want to get where we can be quiet and talk," said Lyndon, as the door closed upon them. "Will you trust yourself to me for the evening? I have made arrangements to be free of the House to-night.""Take me where you like," answered Lois. "I will not ask a single question.""Then, what do you say to Richmond? We can drive there in little more than half an hour, and take a boat, then we can dine somewhere and come back at our leisure.""Oh, that would indeed be delightful," said Lois. They came to the corner as he said these words, and with a natural instinct to protect and take care of what was now to him the most precious possession on earth, Lyndon drew her hand through his arm. The touch thrilled them both, and made speech impossible for a moment; but remembering where they were, and half amused, half impatient at his own unspeakable folly, Lyndon hailed a passing hansom, and carefully put her in."I was afraid to come again. I wonder if you know why?" he said, bending to look into her face. She shook her head."I didn't think about it. I knew that you would come," she made answer."I was afraid, positively afraid, that I should come to find that I had made a mistake, or that you had discovered you had made a mistake. It is quite true, isn't it?""I think so," she answered, and her veiled eyes were full of the passionate light of love."There are a great many things to say," he said at length; "things which cannot be said in the rush and roar of London streets, or even within reach of any possible interruption. There are many things about myself I want to make clear to you. You don't know what a poor creature I am. I would not like you to marry me under false pretences.""That would be impossible," said Lois, but her voice was faint and low, and into her eyes a vague terror crept, for if his attitude towards himself was so unflinching, would he not require from her a like candour? "Why say anything about it at all to-night?" she said at length. "Let us be happy for one night—besides, I care nothing about the past, if you have any past. It is not an impossible or an ideal person I want; I am too full of faults myself."Lyndon was silent, marvelling indeed at the unspeakable sense of happiness which seemed to possess him. He had none of that small talk, that fulsomeness of compliment which is the current coin of lesser natures. His love was like a strong, deep flood carrying him along with it. It made him strangely silent. It was proof of the perfect affinity between them that Lois did not wish the silence broken—nay, she perfectly understood. The time for speech would doubtless come. It was sufficient for her now to be sitting by his side and to know that he had chosen her from among all others, that he had given her a love which had never been frittered away on other objects. She knew herself to be the first and the only one, just as she knew that she could not judge him by the common standard of men; his nature was rare in its candour and simplicity, his reticence was the reticence of one to whom the deepest feelings of the heart are sacred things to be hid from the vulgar gaze. And so the first chapter of their romance was a silent one.They came at length to the quaint, old-fashioned town, and alighted at the river-side. There Lyndon took a boat and pulled up stream until they came to a quiet reach where there were many little inlets offering tempting resting-places.Here Lyndon moored the boat, and then sat down opposite to her. The low branches of the overhanging trees almost hid them from observation. The stillness and charm of the whole place, with the wonderful play of the evening light upon the water, seemed to lay a hush upon their spirits."Here at least there is peace to talk. In the rush and roar of Piccadilly it is not easy to compose one's thoughts.""I don't think I want to talk," said Lois, dreamily, as she drew

off her glove and let her white, beautiful hand touch the cool ripple

of the tide. "I feel as if I wanted to sit here for ever and ever and

think of nothing."" ' Here at last there is peace to talk' "(p. 240). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman"CHAPTER XXIXWHAT LOVE CAN DOLYNDON made fast the boat, and looked at her for a moment in silence."What are you thinking of?" she asked, tilting back her sunshade a little, and meeting his brave, searching look."I was thinking how beautiful you are," he answered, simply. "I don't seem to realise it yet.""To realise what?" she asked, finding it sweet to prolong these moments which at least kept braver questions in the background."That you are here with me alone," he answered, "and that nobody can question our right to be together.""That is practically how I feel," she answered, "and why I say I should like to stay here for ever and ever.""But seeing that we are two responsible beings, and that there is so much to do in the world, we can only make the best of our few hours, and, after all, shall we not be together, please God, to the end of our lives?"He spoke these words quietly and reverently, but they gave Lois a slight shock. She had never given very much thought to religious questions, and certainly knew nothing of the great guiding principle of life and conduct. Since her birth she had veritably been a law to herself, the marvel was that with her temperament she had not long since made absolute shipwreck of her life."Why do you say that?" she asked, suddenly."Well, shall we not be together always?" he said, inquiringly."It is not that I mean, but why do you say 'please God?' Do you really believe that He has anything to do with it?""I do. Have you no belief?"Oh, I don't know," she answered, a trifle wearily. "I have never given much thought to these matters. Don't let us talk of them now at least. I want to hear something far more interesting. Tell me when you first began to feel towards me as you do now."Lyndon shook his head."That is a puzzling question; I don't think that I can answer it, because I don't know myself. It seemed to me that the whole thing came upon me in a revelation the other day after I left you; but I suppose it must have been there a good deal longer than I dreamed, and that is why I used to feel the day so dismal at Kilmainham when your letter did not come at the expected moment.""You didn't feel interested in me in the least when you saw me
first?" said Lois, with a little laugh. "I shall never forget how your
look froze me that night in the drawing-room at Ballymore, and how
persistently you ignored me at the dinner-table afterwards. I can never feel grateful enough to Mr. Parnell for having paid me sufficient attention to enable me to keep my self-respect. Have you told him of the folly you have been guilty of?"Lyndon shook his head."I have never mentioned the matter to a living soul, except my foster-mother. I wrote to her on Wednesday night after I left you. Did you know I had a foster-mother?""Oh, yes. I have heard the whole story again and again in the cottages and farmhouses of Ballymore.""If you know the story, then," said Lyndon, gravely, "it will perhaps help you to understand me better than anything else.""I have never found you difficult to understand," she answered, in a low voice. "The only thing which puzzles me is how you should ever have been drawn to me.""Being brought up among the people," continued Lyndon, taking no heed of the interruption, "my sympathies are entirely with the people; and when the wonderful change in my circumstances placed me where I am, I wondered how I was to reconcile my position as landlord with my democratic tendencies, but it has not been so difficult as I thought.""It has given you an immense power and influence," said Lois, her face kindling as it always did at any mention of Lyndon's career, which she idealised beyond what was necessary or wise."Do you know what a poor man I am?" asked Lyndon, presently, and there was in his look a suspicion of embarrassment which touched the girl unspeakably. "At Ballymore we live literally from hand to mouth. I never have a spare shilling; and there are heavy mortgages on the estate, not placed there by me. I found them when I took possession. You could not possibly make a worse match from a worldly point of view.""Oh, hush!" she cried, almost shrilly. "What is money? It is nothing, less than the dust beneath the feet.""Nay," said Lyndon, gently in its own place it is good and powerful, but, all the same, I wish for my own sake that you were poor.""I could make myself poor. I could renounce my fortune, and I have no doubt plenty would be found willing to spend it; but why should I? Just think what a joy it, would be to me to make Ballymore the ideal place it could so easily be made? Are the burdens very heavy?"Lyndon's brow clouded. It was a painful subject with him, chiefly because of its hopelessness. He saw no prospect in his lifetime of relieving his patrimony from even the smallest part of the burden resting upon it."It is not a pleasant subject, Lois, but you are entitled to know. The various mortgages on Ballymore amount in all, I believe, to about forty thousand pounds.""And I have exactly five million dollars," she said, whimsically.Lyndon stared, and regarded her in mute surprise."Are you speaking in earnest?" he asked, at last.She nodded."Yes, that is what they tell me I have, so you see it would be a charity to help me to spend a little of it, otherwise how can I help becoming a monster of selfishness?""Five million dollars! " replied Lyndon, slowly. "It is worse than I thought. You know what men will say of me, Lois—that I am a fortune-hunter.""They will not dare," cried Lois, with a sudden flash, "and if they did," she added, more serenely, "what difference could that make to you or to me?"There was an infinite caress in the tones of her voice as she spoke these words, and Lyndon felt his pulses thrill. Once more the thought that this peerless creature had given herself with such unreserve to him filled him with an intoxicating wonder and delight, but his pride kept him from a full realisation of the great gift which had come to him so unexpectedly. His behaviour was certainly not very lover-like, and had Lois been less discriminating she might well have found some cause of offence."If it will make you care for me more," she said, presently, "I will throw it all away.""Would you do that for me?" asked Lyndon, bending towards her, and imprisoning both her hands in his strong, nervous clasp."Don't you see there's ever so many people looking at us?" she asked, saucily, as her eyes flashed back their love-light into his."I don't care for the people; they don't know us nor we them. Answer me. Given the choice, Would you rather face the world with a poor man than be rich without him?""Try me," she whispered back. "It is only since I knew you that I have begun to live.""But I brought you here, not to talk such nonsense, although it is passing sweet," said Lyndon, by-and-by, "but to tell you all about my faults and my failings, to make a clean confession as it were, so that you may know the worst of me.""I know the best," she said, in a low voice, "and it tells me that there is no worst."He shook his head."I am moody, and bad-tempered, and needlessly severe sometimes," he went on, mercilessly. "I can only hope that out of the sweetness of your womanhood you will teach me to be different. When a man fights so long in a desperate cause he feels so much at home in the fighting mask that any other is unfamiliar to him. You will have everything to teach me.""Why will you speak as if you had all the faults and I were the perfect one?" she cried, with a strange touch of passion. "It may be—nay, I am sure it is quite the other way. Why don't you ask me something about myself? Don't you want to know anything about my other life? For all you know I may be a woman with a past."She lowered her sunshade as she spoke, and dropped her hand again into the cool ripple of the tide. He laughed aloud in the joyousness of a perfect trust."You a woman with a past! You!" he said, shaking his head. "Those interesting heroines generally carry some traces of their campaigns on their faces. Yours is beautiful and open as the day. The woman who could write as you wrote to me in those incomparable letters has no past except a record of womanly goodness and unselfishness. Will you write a letter to my foster-parents, Lois? Such a letter as you would write to them if you knew them to be my real parents? And will you promise that the first visit we shall make anywhere will be to them?"She made no answer, but her eyes, under the drooping shadow of her parasol, brimmed with tears."I should like to show it all to you—the scenes of the old life, the mill where I earned my bread, where I spent the hot, rebellious days of my young manhood, and where I learned to understand those who earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. Little did I think in those stormy days full of vague longing and hot rebellion what fortune had in store for me."The deep wellspring of happiness in his soul, which seemed to increase as he gave it voice, had the effect of making Lois yet more silent and pensive. A happiness greater than anything she had dared to dream of was hers. She was the chosen one from out the world of a man who stood head and shoulders above his fellows for integrity and ability. There was no elation in the thought, but a strange shrinking, a deep sense of unworthiness, and an unspeakable dread of the future."Why do you look so sad?" he asked, as he bent towards her again and imprisoned her hands."Do I look sad? Well, it is no wonder," she said, with an effort. "I am oppressed by a sense of my own unworthiness. You are so good and so true; I fear I am neither. Oh! are you sure you have made no mistake, that you will never regret it?""I am sure," he answered, gravely, his words convincing by reason of their very brevity and simplicity."And if, in the years to come," she said, falteringly,"you should find out that you have made a mistake, and that I am not all you imagined me to be, you will remember that I warned you, you will not be too hard upon me? I have everything to learn. I would like to be your comrade, to try and help you in the brave fight you are making. You have spoken of the money. Just think what a joy it will be to spend it on the cause you have at heart. You spoke of God a moment ago," she added, dropping; her voice almost in a whisper. "Perhaps he will allow me to atone in this way.""To atone for what, dearest?" he asked."Oh, for my long selfishness and carelessness of others. Believe me, Brian, I have thought of nothing all the five-and-twenty years of my life but myself alone. You have shown me how a higher ideal and larger sympathy can make one's nature great. I shall never be great, but at least you can teach me to be good."CHAPTER XXXHER TRIED FRIENDNEXT afternoon Lois left London for the Isle of Wight. The arrangement with Lady Lyndon about the Stratton Street house had occasioned a slight difference between Lois and Mary Kestell, and they had parted with some reserve on either side. There was no sympathy whatever between Lady Lyndon and Miss Kestell, and her position once assured Lady Lyndon had not taken any trouble to conciliate her, so the first visit Mary had paid to Stratton Street had not been a success, nor had it been repeated. Miss Kestell indeed was bitterly disappointed over the turn in the affairs of her charge. It had been a grief of no ordinary kind to find herself so quickly supplanted. Entirely taken up with her new friends, Lois had evidently no need of her, and during the last week or two she had been seriously considering the advisability of making some new departure on her own account. The life in the beautiful cottage at Bonchurch was ideally sweet and restful, but there Miss Kestell found herself also a superfluous person. Clara Hawkins, inordinately jealous of any new affection bestowed upon her charge, devoted herself to him with such assiduity that they were sufficient the one to the other. Miss Kestell was the head of the establishment, of course, but so far as the invalid boy was concerned he did not need her care.She was sitting in the garden that afternoon, thinking disconsolately that her life was empty and purposeless, when a fly drove up noisily to the gate. Through the overhanging branches of the trees she could just catch a glimpse of a woman's figure alighting, but she never for a moment dreamed that it could be Lois; but Lois it was, and when she opened the little wicket and came swiftly up the garden path towards her, Miss Kestell saw from her face that it was the Lois of old, her own dear girl who had come back to her again."Why, my dear, my dear, why didn't you let me know? What have you come for?""Oh, to beg you to forgive me, dear Kestell, for the way I have treated you lately, and to tell you all that has happened to me since you left London last month. It is such a lot that I don't know where to begin. But where are Willie and Clara? I must first see them, and then have uninterrupted peace to talk to you after I begin.""They have gone to picnic in the woods this afternoon. I intended
to have bone with them, but my head ached, and I felt too much
depressed. I should have been rather a damper on them, and, besides,
they don't need me. Willie doesn't want anybody, except his devoted
nurse, Lois, she has made herself necessary to him. Do you know what I was thinking just before you arrived?""I couldn't possibly guess, dear," said Lois, and her own new-found happiness made her regard her old governess with a tender consideration which she had not felt for a long time."I was thinking what a useless encumbrance I am and wondering whether it was not my duty for my own sake to turn out into the world again. This sort of life is very sweet and easy, of course, but it is bad, Lois, bad for every faculty of one's being, and it is not what I expected."Never before had Miss Kestell expressed herself so candidly. Perhaps had she not been taken unawares she would have been more reserved even then."It is all my fault, Mary," cried Lois, contritely. "I see how badly I have treated you; but don't you see one had to go through certain phases of experience, and I think that perhaps during the last six months it was better for me to be without you? Of course, I forgot the fact that you must feel it dreadfully, but it's all going to be altered. What do you think has happened?"Mary Kestell shook her head. She had long since decided in her own mind that there was no chance of a marriage between Lois and Brian Lyndon; she was therefore quite unprepared for the announcement."He has asked me to be his wife, Mary, and I am so happy I can scarcely bear it at times.""Who is he?" asked Miss Kestell, quizzically. "You forget that I am totally in the dark.""Why, Lyndon, of course, Brian Lyndon. Who else could it be?""Well, my dear, he is not the only man in the world," said Miss Kestell, with a smile. Then suddenly she threw her arms round the girl's neck, and held her close."My dear, if he loves you and you love him, I say God bless you both. He is a good man, and I think he is worthy of you.""Oh, don't say that, Kestell, that is how lie speaks. He will speak as if I was far above him, When it is all the other way. I should never be good enough for him, if I lived a thousand years. He is so noble, Mary, he has not one selfish or sordid thought. The only cloud upon his heart now, I believe, is that I am rich instead of poor. I don't think he will ever forgive me for that.""He will help you to make a wise use of your money, my dear," said Miss Kestell, quietly. "And when did this wonderful thing happen?""Only the other day; but let me tell you it all from the beginning. First he found out that I was a paying guest with Lady Lyndon.""Oh," said Mary, sharply, "and what did he say to that?""He was very angry, and said such things to me it nearly broke my heart. Then he went away. It was when he came back to apologise for some of the things he said, and to explain how much he had felt it, that we seemed all in a moment to understand each other.""And it is all made clear now, I suppose, down to the smallest fact. He even knows that your name is not Marsh Leyton?""Oh, no; he doesn't know that," said Lois, and her face fell. "The truth is, Mary, I have got so used to my new name that I have forgotten all about it."But you'll have to tell him, dear. Remember that the smallest concealment now might lead to complication and misery afterwards.""Oh, of course, I should never dream of hiding that. It was a mere oversight," said Lois; "besides, it would have to come out at the marriage. There is something I want to tell you, Mary, to tell you and ask your advice about before he comes down tomorrow.""Is he coming here?" asked Miss Kestell, with quick interest."Why, yes. Of course, he's coming to be introduced anew to the best friend I have in the world. Oh, Mary, how I love him. I could not have believed it possible to feel so about any human being.""He is your first lover, dear," said Mary, gently, for, though she was a solitary woman who all her life had been witness to the joy of others, but never partaker in it, she understood. "That makes all the difference. I should think he feels precisely as you do. He is not a man who has dissipated his power of loving upon many.""Oh, no; he has never, never been interested, even for a moment, in any one except me," said Lois, in a low, almost awe-stricken, voice. "It seems to me so wonderful, with his opportunities of meeting so many. It frightens me a little, though. Don't you think a man who has absolutely such a clear record would have very little pity for the weaknesses of others?"This question was put with so much earnestness that it made a somewhat painful impression on Mary Kestell's mind."I don't think that need trouble you, dear. So far as you are concerned he will not be called upon to exercise any of his stern qualities."Oh! but, Mary, you don't know. Once in the old life there was somebody. I could never explain it all to you, it is like a horrible nightmare to me now. I was so young and inexperienced, and he was a man of the world.""What was it, Lois?" asked Miss Kestell, with a sudden, sharp note of anxiety in her voice. "I always thought you were above all the ordinary weaknesses of girls. Perhaps it would ease your mind to tell me the story.""I do want to tell you. I came for the purpose of telling you," said Lois, feverishly, "and you will advise me. I will abide by your decision. Everything will depend on it, so you will not be too hard upon me, Mary?""I hard upon you, child? Is that what you have to say to me after all these years?" asked Miss Kestell, as she put up her hand and stroked the girl's cheek."Oh, forgive me, but I am so worried and miserable, distraught almost. It is a terrible thing this love when it comes as it has come to me, just like a great flood sweeping everything before it. It makes me think of things I have never thought of, questions of right and wrong, you know, and all that sort of thing. I have never professed to be religious or to take the smallest interest in religious things, but somehow it all seems so different now. I want to be good and to do nothing but what is right and best. You know what kind of a life I lived at Boonville, its appalling narrowness and monotony. When I went home from Boston at first, and realised what my future life was to be like, I think that for the time being I must have gone mad. My father was all the heart of girl could desire in many ways; but he was entirely absorbed in his business affairs, and it never seemed to occur to him that I could want anything beyond a comfortable house to live in and as many nice clothes as I liked to wear. He never stinted me in anything, although I never guessed that he was a tithe as rich as he actually was. I had few companions and no friends. After Boston the people of Boonville seemed so impossible that I did not make the smallest attempt to conciliate them, and so they loathed and hated me just because they knew nothing about me. When I was about eighteen, a man called Louis Harewood came to be the managing partner of a great company of mills, one of the chief industrial concerns of Boonville. He was as different from the narrow, ignorant-minded Missouri folks as could be imagined—handsome, polished, well-read, and, as I thought then, a perfect gentleman. He appealed powerfully to my imagination. You can understand what it was to me, with my love of books and music, to meet with a man who understood my longings and aspirations as well as my dissatisfaction with the conditions of my life. My father met him at the Club, and brought him up to the house. From the first moment of our meeting it seemed to me that we were friends, if not indeed something more. He had one of those magnetic personalities; he seemed to be able to attract and draw people to him. I was conscious of that on the very first day of our meeting. My father seemed to like him, and he came to the house on the friendliest of terms. Remember how young I was, and how susceptible to such an influence at a time when my whole soul was in revolt against the narrow trammels of my life. Do you follow me, Mary?""Yes, dear, perfectly," answered Miss Kestell, beginning to be oppressed by a vague dread of what she was to hear."He somehow made himself necessary to me. He guided my studies and helped me with my music. I have never known a better musician than he was, and the time came when I thought I could not live without him. After a time my father took an unaccountable dislike to him, being as much repelled as he had been formerly attracted. He told me quite curtly one day that he wanted to discourage Harewood's visits to the house. I asked why. He replied that it was sufficient for him to have his wishes made known, that I must respect them without asking any questions. He, however, assured me that he had the best of reasons for this decision, and he certainly made it quite clear to Harewood that he was no longer welcome at our house. You can imagine the effect this had upon a highly-strung and headstrong girl who imagined herself the heroine of a great passion. I continued to meet Harewood without my father's knowledge. When I look back upon it I am ashamed of my duplicity and of the manner in which I deceived him for more than a year. Perhaps I felt it the more because my father's confidence in me was so implicit and boundless. I firmly believe that if any one had told him of my conduct at that time he would not have credited it. Well, I need not linger too long. Matters went on, we were affianced lovers, and one day Harewood suggested that we should make a secret marriage. The idea appealed to my romantic imagination. Remember that I was then almost completely under the man's control, and that I imagined myself devoted to him. I knew as well as he did that my father would never consent to our marriage. He had repeatedly expressed his opinion of Harewood in no measured terms, and had deeply regretted ever having introduced him to me. I had also heard him congratulate himself because no mischief had been done, meaning that our intimacy had never advanced beyond the bounds of friendship. At last I consented to marry Harewood if he could arrange it successfully. Very soon we had our opportunity. My father was often absent from home for a week or ten days at a time, and there was no difficulty what-ever in planning our escapade. Harewood arranged all the details. He went into the next State and arranged all the necessary formalities, then I met him at a little station some distance from Boonville, and we proceeded to the town where we were to be married. On the way I underwent a strange revulsion of feeling, which did not fall far short of terror. I seemed to realise all in a moment that a man who could thus incite me on to deceive the best father ever a girl had could not be a good man, and that probably I was putting my head into a noose from which ere long I would gladly be released. If it had been possible I would have gone back to Boonville, but the train unfortunately made no stop until it came to the little town where he was waiting for me. When I saw him my terror for the moment vanished, and he was able to reassure me. He simply boarded the train on which I was, and we travelled on together to the town where he had arranged that the ceremony was to be performed. We arrived there somewhat late in the evening. He took me to the best hotel, and left me there saying that he would stay in a distant part of the town, and that we should meet early in the morning. I afterwards learnt that he had never left the hotel, and so, in the eyes of some at least, I was hopelessly compromised. I have never in my life spent a more wretched night than that. I never closed an eye in sleep, and by four o'clock I was up and dressed, feverishly waiting for the stirring life of the new day. By six o'clock I had swallowed a cup of coffee and a roll, and was on my way to the station. I suppose that by the time Harewood came down to breakfast I was half-way back to Boonville."Thank God," said Mary Kestell, in fervent tones. She had followed the recital with feverish eagerness, dreading what she should hear next.CHAPTER XXXIWHAT SHALL I DO?"BY noon I was in my father's house," continued Lois, not appearing
to notice the interruption. "I cannot tell you how I felt, just as if
I had escaped from a fowler. I knew that it was a merciful escape. One
cannot account for these things, but I seemed to realise in a moment
of time that my father's judgment of Louis Harewood was correct, that
he was an unscrupulous man, and I have no doubt in my own mind now
that he knew my father was possessed of considerable wealth. I lived
in dread of his return. If he were to come to the house and tell my
father of the folly I had been guilty of, I felt that nothing could
save me, and that he would insist upon my immediate marriage with
Harewood, although he disliked him so intensely. Three days passed,
and still he did not come. I did not know what I hoped for. One moment
I thought that when my father returned I would cast myself upon his
mercy and tell him all. I know now that that would have been the wiser
course. On the evening of the third day, however, as I sat at my sitting-room window, I saw Harewood come up the street. He had not been in the house for many weeks, my father having discouraged—in fact, practically forbidden—his visits. Gretchen—you remember Gretchen—faithful soul, came to me looking distinctly surprised. 'Mr. Harewood, Gretchen; I saw him come. Yes, you may bring him in. He wants to see me on a matter of business.' He came into the room just behind her, and the door was closed upon us. I had never seen him look as he looked then. He was rather pale, and both his lips and eyes seemed to my distorted imagination to express nothing but relentless cruelty."'Well,' he said, as he carefully closed the door and turned to me, 'you have played me a pretty trick.'"'I simply changed my mind, that is all,' I said, trying to speak lightly, and as if the matter were of small consequence, 'and you know a woman is always privileged to do that.'"'Granted, but in this case the change took place too late. Although you have come home now, our marriage can only be deferred—that is, if your reputation is to be saved.'"I looked at him somewhat wildly. I was very young, remember, and I had not given sufficient consideration to the consequences of the step I had taken. No one except Harewood knew that I had left Boonville or why, but I was totally at his mercy, the mercy of an unscrupulous and baffled man."'I don't see what difference it can make,' I said, proudly. 'I don't care if all the world knows where I have been. I simply made a mistake, and repented of it before it was too late.'"'If that is your view of it,' he said, significantly, 'then when all the world knows we shall see.'"'Surely you would not speak of it. Remember the story would not be to your credit any more than to mine.'"He laughed in derision."'A man's reputation is a different matter. It is not so frail a commodity; but I am waiting, Lois, to hear for what possible reason you have treated me like this.'"'Oh, it is easily enough explained,' I replied, quickly. 'I began to think of my father, of all his goodness to me. I could not bear the thought of deceiving him so completely. It would be much better to wait until we can win him to our way of thinking.'"His face softened slightly, and I was quick to see my advantage."'I am very sorry,' I said, quickly. 'Of course, I know it was not kind to treat you like that, but there is much to be said for me. You will grant that I am sure?'"'Well, it is a pity you had not thought of all these things before, Lois,' he said, in a gentler tone. 'It is a terrible disappointment to me, but you may rest assured that I shall never give you up.'"'Oh, I don't want you to give me up,' I said, feverishly. In my highly-strung state I would have said anything to get over the intolerable discomfort of the meeting. 'All I want is that you will have patience and wait until my father softens towards you.'"'I will do the best I can, Lois,' he said, suddenly. 'Will you look me straight in the face and swear to me that you will not throw me over altogether?'"I tried to put him off, but he was determined. I knew that in my heart of hearts I did intend to throw him over, because in some unexpected way it seemed to me that I had got a lightning glimpse into the man's selfish and treacherous nature, and I would have suffered anything rather than keep myself completely in his power. So I did as he bade me.""You swore, Lois!" cried Mary Kestell, in a low, horrified voice. "You took an oath which you knew you would only break?""What could I do, Mary? I was a desperate woman. Ah, it is so easy for you and others who have never been placed in such circumstances to judge. Don't you understand that I would have said anything to get rid of him?"Mary Kestell shook her head. Perhaps, as Lois said, it was difficult for her to understand or to judge of the circumstances now related to her, and which filled her with an unspeakable horror and dismay. At Boston she had regarded Lois as a high-souled and noble-minded girl, who would never have stooped to the smallest deceit. To find her with such a story behind her was a shock of no ordinary kind."How did it end?" she asked, feebly."Oh, it never had any end," said Lois, with a mirthless laugh. "The next day my father came, and Harewood and I continued to meet as lovers in secret. I had to go because he compelled me, always threatening me with exposure if I did not come. I was ignorant of the world or its ways, but he managed to convince me that if it was known that I had been away from home in his company for two days nothing would save me. Would you believe it, Mary? for three years that horrible double life went on right up to the day of my father's death.""And then?" asked Mary eagerly."He came to see me the day of my father's death, and assumed a proprietary right over me which I found most galling. By this time, I need hardly tell you, all the glamour he had managed to cast over me had disappeared. Not only had my infatuation for him died out, but I positively loathed him. I would cheerfully have taken my own life rather than become his wife. My only safety was in flight, and in concealing my identity, so that he would find it difficult, if not impossible, to discover me. So now you have the true explanation of my change of name, and of all the precautions I took against newspaper paragraphs and such like."Mary Kestell sank back in her chair quite overcome by this strange story, which seemed to her even more serious and alarming in its consequences than Lois herself had ever thought."So now, Mary, you, knowing all, have to decide how much or how little I shall tell the man I am going to marry."She leaned forward in her chair, with her elbows on her knees, her eyes full of the most intense pleading. That it was a matter of vital moment to her was more than evident. A vast pity for the girl whose waywardness had wrought such sad consequences was the thought uppermost in the good woman's mind."What does your own heart bid you do, Lois?" she asked, quietly."My own heart bids me hold my tongue for evermore," answered Lois, without a moment's hesitation. "You don't know how I feel about him—Lyndon, I mean. He is so noble and so true, the breath of deceit is hateful to him—how hateful I don't suppose you can ever guess. I know it, because though I have tried to speak to him more than once about the arrangement with Lady Lyndon, he always changes the subject. How, then, can I tell him what I have told you? He might give me up, Mary, and to lose him would be to kill me, nothing less."She spoke these words quietly, yet with an intensity of feeling which left no doubt in Miss Kestell's mind as to their truth."It is always best to walk in the straight path," she said, gently. "Even looking at it from the lowest standpoint it pays.""But, Mary, how could I bear to fall in his estimation? Last night I was with him on the river for hours; when I came home I was a different woman, a better woman, full of aspirations after every good and noble thing. I have never met any one in the least like him; he is so simple and sincere, and if I could explain my meaning to you, so guileless in his love of me. It is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. How am I to destroy or cause the faintest shadow on it? Oh! it is too rare and precious a thing; I cannot do it.""But that is the very reason why you ought to conceal nothing from him, Lois," said the other, quietly. "A baser man would be less deserving of your complete surrender. Take my advice, darling, and let there be no concealments. I have never been married myself, but I have seen a lot of matrimonial shipwrecks, more than one caused by the house being built upon a false foundation.""It will kill me!" repeated Lois, almost in a wail. "Oh, Mary, don't ask me to do it.""And then, coming down to more sordid considerations, Lois," went on Miss Kestell, quietly, "it is just possible that this man Harewood may seek you out and make use of the paltry knowledge he possesses to try and poison your husband's mind against you. Believe me, dear, it could be more difficult to explain it after than it is now.""But how can he possibly find me out?" asked Lois, impatiently."Oh, that is easy enough. A disappointed man thirsting for revenge will not allow anything to stand in his way. Besides, I presume you do not intend to marry Mr. Lyndon under an assumed name. You will at least be quite free and open with him on that point.""Oh, yes. I intend to tell him that to-morrow when he comes.""Well if he comes here to-morrow, Lois, let me tell him the story. Perhaps it would be less painful for you than to tell him yourself, and you can be assured that I will find every excuse for you, and make the way as easy as possible.""Oh, thank you, thank you. Let us leave it, at least, until he comes. But tell me first of all, do you understand what a horrible dread I have of losing him?"You care so very much for him, then?" asked Miss Kestell, wistfully."Care is not the word," answered Lois, as she rose to her feet and took a swift turn across the room. "It is simply my innermost being. I would lay down my life for him, and my highest desire is to be able to help him even in the smallest degree. It is an uplifting love, Mary. It has made me a better woman.""I see that. I believe that never were two better suited to each other, and it is because your prospects of happiness are so fair, dearest, that I would urge upon you the wisdom of telling him all.""If it was anything but that," cried Lois, with a shiver; "but, as Harewood said, it will be difficult to explain away that horrible escapade, and he did not treat me generously and chivalrously after all, because he stayed in the same hotel, although he had promised that he would go elsewhere. Oh, how could I ever explain that away, Mary?""Let me try," repeated Miss Kestell. "I am sure you would never regret it.""Well, shall we leave it until he comes to-morrow? Already I feel an immense relief because I have told you. I wish I had told you long ago."CHAPTER XXXIIIMPOSSIBLENEXT afternoon Lyndon arrived at Ventnor, where Lois met him, and they walked back together by the beautiful sea front to Bonchurch. It was an exquisite afternoon, the sunshine softened by a tender haze like a bridal veil. The air was balmy and delicious, laden with all the fragrant odours of the early summer."I have often heard of the beauty of the Isle of Wight," said Lyndon. "It is quite unlike anything I have seen before. Already you look the better for the change."The tender solicitude of his look and tone sank into her heart with inexpressible sweetness. She had so long lived an isolated, self-contained life, that to find herself of such surpassing interest to another was delightful by reason of its very novelty. The extreme reticence of her manner, while it undoubtedly made her personality more mysterious and interesting, had prevented her making many friends."Did you have a late sitting at the House last night?" she asked, looking up at him somewhat shyly, imagining that he looked paler than his wont."Yes, two o'clock this morning when we rose," he answered, lightly. "Some of our friends weary us and the whole House with too much talk.""How good of you to come here to-day when, I am sure, you had more need of rest," she said, gratefully."Is this not rest?" he asked, quietly. "I ask no better rest than to be an hour in your presence. I hope you found all those you are interested in quite well.""Yes! thank you. Miss Kestell is looking forward to seeing you. You remember her at Ballymore; but indeed you had very little opportunity of making her acquaintance."I remember her perfectly; a type of the English gentlewoman I had not met before. She interested me very much.""Oh! she's one of the best of women," cried Lois, enthusiastically. "But come, tell me what did Lady Lyndon say about your coming here?""Faith! if you didn't tell her I didn't," said Lyndon, with a smile."I didn't tell her anything about it," answered Lois. "I'm afraid we are too like each other in that respect. We shall make a good many enemies by keeping our own counsel so much.""Ah! there I don't agree with you," cried Lyndon, quickly. "There is more harm done in the world by speech than silence."They lingered long on the way, finding so much to say to each other that they were loth to permit any interruption; but it came to an end at last, and at sundown they arrived at the little cottage which, to poor Willie Earle's eyes, had seemed a nearer approach to heaven than anything he had dreamed of. Tea was over, of course, and Willie busy with his lesson books under the spreading yew tree, the faithful Clara keeping guard by his side busy over a bit of sewing, without which she never seemed to be quite happy; in fact, even yet poor Clara was not able to take the full meed of enjoyment out of her new estate. It seemed to her almost sinful to spend so many hours in idleness, and the thought that she was necessary to her darling boy scarcely reconciled her to her unaccustomed luxury. The new life had done much for the girl's outward appearance. The once pallid cheek was now softly rounded, and had the delicate bloom of health upon it. Her neat quiet dress showed the curves of a very pretty figure, and no one who knew the little sempstress of Marylebone could have recognised her now. When the gate opened Willie and she rose to their feet. Miss Kestell had told them who was expected, and Clara, with the true London girl's undying interest in a love affair, was in a state of the liveliest anticipation."Here they come, Willie," she whispered. "Oh my, ain't he a grand gentleman; but I don't think," she added, critically, "I don't think he's quite grand enough for her."Willie had no opportunity to reply, for the pair came quickly up the path between the budding rose trees, and joined them on the little lawn.—"Well, Willie, are you busy as usual? Let me introduce Mr. Lyndon to you. This is my poor little cousin, Brian, of whom I have told you so much."A vast pity arose in Lyndon's heart as he stooped to shake hands with the poor afflicted lad. He loved children in his silent, reserved fashion, and the sight of helpless suffering always appealed to him strangely. Willie Earle, who possessed to the full all the abnormal sensitiveness of his class, intuitively felt Lyndon's unspoken sympathy, and was at home with him at once."You have a nice schoolroom here, my lad," said Lyndon, as he shook him rather warmly by the hand; but isn't it rather late for lessons, and I thought Saturday was always a holiday?""Oh, it's holidays here all the time, isn't it, Clara?" said Willie, brightly.Then Lyndon held out his hand with equal frankness to the little sempstress in whom he had long been interested."So this is Clara," he said, kindly. "I seem to know Clara very well. It is a long time since I heard of her."Clara blushed at this unexpected recognition, and after a few more kind words Lyndon passed into the house where Mary Kestell was waiting to receive him. They dined together simply and informally in the quaint, low-ceiled, little sitting-room with the casement opening on the dewy garden. It was a delightful hour of restfulness and peace. There seemed to be no cloud or jarring note anywhere, and yet the heart of Mary Kestell was not at rest. She had passed a wakeful night thinking of the story which Lois had confided to her, and now that she was again face to face with Brian, it was borne in upon her that the honourable, indeed the only, way was to tell him all. She could, not, of course, do so without consulting once more with Lois, and as Lyndon's stay at the Ventnor Hotel was to be prolonged for several days, he would spend much of his time at the cottage, and no doubt there would be many another opportunity.After dinner Brian and Lois went out to the garden and sat in the natural arbour formed by the drooping yew tree, the branches of which had been cut so as to leave an open glimpse of the sea. Lyndon felt at peace with all men at that moment. He had not a desire unfulfilled or a care oppressing his heart. His great happiness made him silent. It was sufficient to be near the woman he loved, the woman in whose nature he had found the complement of his own. Deep emotions are not noisy, a great passion does not find its chief delight in a multitude of words."It is like being in another world," said Lois, dreamily. "We are out of the world here as completely as if we had been spirited away. Don't you feel it so?""Yes, I do; for the time being it is the rarest happiness," answered Lyndon. "But you would not wish it to last. Perfect idleness would soon pall, and there is something in the strife of the world which satisfies and uplifts the soul.""That is a man's view of life," she said, with a touch of wistfulness. "A woman is different. The strife of the world, as you express it, does not appeal to her; nay, she must bear it a grudge, because it steals from her so much time and thought of which she is jealous."The words struck Lyndon, and he turned round on his seat and regarded her earnestly."I hardly expected to hear words like that from you, Lois," he said. "One of the greatest joys of this wonderful experience which has come into my life has been the knowledge and assurance that I should have your perfect sympathy and encouragement in my public life and work.""Oh yes, oh yes," answered Lois, feverishly. "You will not find me lacking, only at times I shall grudge you to the work. You will not be hard upon me if I do? It should prove something to you."There was an irresistible look on her face as she uttered these words, to which there could be but one response. Lyndon put his arm about her slender shoulders, and drew her closely to his side, and for a long time there was nothing said."I have a confession to make to you, Brian," she said at length, and her voice was very faint and low; "but I will not say a word until you tell me that you forgive me, and that it will not make the smallest difference to you.""I think I can promise that," he answered, with a light laugh. "What is this terrible confession?""Perhaps you will think it rather terrible, you who are so sternly truthful; but I will hurry on and not keep myself or you in the least suspense. Well, what I want to tell you is my name is not Leyton at all, although it was my mother's name, and thus I am in some manner entitled to use it if I like. I am in reality the daughter of Mortimer Penn. You know the name, I think. He left some money to the Irish cause and a personal legacy to Mr. Parnell. Have you ever heard him speak of Mortimer Penn?""Yes, many a time, and I have seen the letters Mortimer Penn wrote to him. He must have been a remarkable man; but what did you mean by taking another name?" he asked, in a puzzled voice. "What was to be gained by it?""Well, you see, I didn't want all the newspapers paragraphing me and bracketing me with my father's millions, and so I thought if I came to England bearing a name that nobody knew, I should be allowed to live my own life without let or hindrance. It was a perfectly innocent deception which could harm nobody, and my lawyers in New York and London knew all about it. You don't think it so very dreadful, do you?""Oh no, any one is at liberty to travel incognito," said Lyndon, lightly."And you are quite sure that you would as soon marry the daughter of Mortimer Penn as the daughter of Marsh Leyton, who never existed?" asked Lois, anxiously."Quite sure," answered Lyndon. "I am sorry that you have given yourself any needless concern on this point.""Well, you see, you were so dreadfully angry about the other affair," said Lois, "I was afraid to tell you there was any other deceit.""Ah, the other was a different affair, it affected the honour of my house," said Lyndon, quickly; "but even there you were innocent. I could never associate you with deceit, your eyes are much too clear in their depths, they would betray you.""Do you think so?" asked Lois, with a somewhat nervous smile. "But, Brian, might there not arise certain circumstances in life when a slight deviation from the truth might at least be advisable if not justifiable?"Lyndon shook his head."That is sophistry, Lois, sophistry of the most perilous kind. Take my word for it, honest dealing open as the day is the best course for man or woman in all circumstances. To me there is nothing more despicable than the small deceits which I find men and women constantly practise. They have a most deteriorating effect on the moral nature, and I could not tolerate it in anybody belonging to me."Lyndon uttered these words in all good faith, simply an expression of his own cherished opinion. He never for a moment thought of the personal application which the girl at his side might take from them."You are so good, Brian, perhaps you have never been tempted, and so you would not have much sympathy or compassion for other mortals less highly favoured by nature, and whom circumstances might drive into another path?""There is always the straight way out, Lois, believe me," said Lyndon, "and I have sufficient experience of men and things already to be assured that, apart from any question of morality involved, honesty is always the best policy.""Yes. But suppose a case, now, Brian. If you were terribly afraid of losing the opinion of one you cared very much for, wouldn't that justify it?""I don't think so, because where there is love there ought to be complete trust and confidence. I can't conceive, for instance, of any circumstances in which there could not be perfect confidence between you and me. It would be an awful shock to me if I thought otherwise.""Oh, I shall never deceive you, you can be assured of that, Brian," she cried a little wildly, and, glad of the friendly darkness, she hid her face on his breast. Then for a time their talk was lovers' talk, with which we have no special concern. By the light of the solitary lamp within Mary Kestell sat with a book before her, of whose printed words, however, she had no comprehension. Her heart was with the pair outside, and she prayed more fervently than she had ever prayed in her life that Lois would be given courage and strength to hide nothing from the man she loved; but a great disappointment awaited her. When Lois bade her lover good-night at the gate and came back to her faithful friend, she threw herself on the sofa and buried her head in the cushions."Well, dear, you have told him? Tell me you have told him?" cried Miss Kestell, eagerly."No, I haven't," came back the muffled sound, "and I never will tell him, nor will you. From what he said to-night I have gathered that he would never, never forgive me. I dare not risk it; and you must keep my counsel, Mary, if you would save me from despair."CHAPTER XXXIIIFOR BETTER FOR WORSETHEY were married in St. Margaret's, Westminster, on a Saturday
morning in July, and though it was a very quiet wedding the newspapers
managed to convert it into one of the functions of the season. After
three years' strenuous political labour Lyndon was recognised as a
politician to be reckoned with. Though he had never in any sense of
the word been a society man, his sudden engagement to the American
heiress was made the occasion for a great deal of talk. The interest
of the occasion was further enhanced by the presence of Mr. Parnell,
who gave the bride away. Although there were few invited guests the
church was filled with a brilliant and distinguished throng. A few
minutes before the appointed time an unobtrusive carriage drove
rapidly up to the church gate, and the bridegroom alighted. He was not
alone, however. The moment he was on the pavement he turned to the
carriage door with the greatest solicitude to assist therefrom a
simple, sweet-looking little woman wearing a very quiet dress of dove-coloured silk and a grey bonnet tied with strings of priceless lace. Following her was an elderly man, whose appearance and attire proclaimed him a countryman. He had a fine, if somewhat rugged, face, to which his straggling grey hair made a somewhat pathetic frame. Lyndon's devoted attention to this pair caused a good deal of comment in the crowd, and when Mary Fletcher walked down the aisle of the fashionable church leaning on the arm of her foster-son she would not have changed places with any queen.Their seats had been reserved at the very front, and there they sat down together, reverently remembering that they were in the house of God. When the strains of the organ began to steal softly through the building, Mary stretched out her hand and laid it on her husband's, and there was a look on her face which he never forgot. It seemed to her that her heart's desire had been granted to her, and that she could say with Simeon of old—"Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace."Lady Lyndon was the next arrival, looking very handsome and stately in her costly gown, and wearing on her haughty face an expression of deep satisfaction, feeling assured that the star of the Lyndons was in the ascendant at last. It was no small part of her satisfaction to know that much of it was owing to her. Terry, the handsomest man in the church, stood beside his brother with a happy smile, and presently the notes of the organ swelled to a louder and fuller tone, thus announcing the arrival of the bride. Mary Fletcher turned her head quickly to catch the first glimpse of the woman who had already won her heart, the woman whom she had enthusiastically declared to be worthy even of Brian. They took their places quickly and without the slightest hitch, and in a very few minutes the irrevocable words were spoken, and the twain were man and wife. When the friends rushed forward with their usual congratulations John and Mary Fletcher sat still, not presuming to mingle in the gay throng, sure that their boy would not forget them. It was Lois who turned to them first. Stepping swiftly back from the altar steps she stooped over the pew rail with an indescribable and lovely tenderness on her face."Why don't you come and kiss me?" she asked, with a somewhat tremulous smile. "I have never known my mother; you must be my mother now."At these words the quick tears welled in Mary Fletcher's eyes, and forgetting for once the undemonstrativeness of her race, she clasped the radiant figure in her arms in a real motherly embrace. The next moment Lyndon himself was beside them, and surely in that proud moment John Fletcher and Mary, his wife, received their recompense full measure, pressed down and running over, for their kindness to the waif they had found on the doorstep in the whirling January blast. Not only had he remained true and tender to them in his heart of hearts, even in his changed estate, but now he delighted to show to his own world in what honour he held these simple folks.The two next to her sun and her sun's wife with whom Mary Fletcher felt herself most at home in all that brilliant throng were Terry and Lois's friend Mary Kestell. The moment he was released from his groomsman's duties, Terry constituted himself Mrs. Fletcher's cavalier, taking her down the aisle on his arm, and talking so much happy nonsense to her that she was almost ashamed of her mirth; and so the auspicious event passed off to the satisfaction of all concerned, and early in the afternoon the young couple set out by circuitous route to their own house of Ballymore."Now, what am I going to do with you, Mrs. Fletcher?" asked Terry, when the last handful of rice and the last slipper had been thrown. "Here I have had you on my hands all day. Brian told me I wasn't to lose sight of you for a moment until I put you in the train to go back to Scotland to-morrow. What shall I do with you? Will you let me take you to the theatre?"Mary Fletcher shook her head."No, my man, that I will not. I never have been in a theatre in my life, and I'm not going to begin here; am I, John?""You can please yoursel', my woman," said John, placidly. His mind was full of other thoughts. He was thinking how wonderfully the events of the last few years had led up to this happy ending; the wonder of it filled his whole soul so that he had no room for anything else. There could be nothing more delightful or more striking in its way than the perfect naturalness of that simple pair amid their unaccustomed surroundings. They had the true gentlehood which is independent of outward things, and so, in circumstances which to some would have been trying, they behaved with a natural dignity and grace which became them rarely well.As they lingered about for a few minutes in the spacious drawing-room of the house in Stratton Street, Mary Fletcher observed that Miss Kestell of all the throng looked sad and out of tune with her surroundings. She guessed that perhaps Miss Kestell was feeling as if she had lost her charge entirely. Something of the same regret in her own heart caused her to approach her with an understanding sympathy."You are looking very sad like, Miss Kestell," she said, in her timid, quiet way. "I am feeling that way myself. I never think that a wedding is such a joyful occasion as folk would make out.""It ought to be," said Miss Kestell, smiling in spite of herself. All day long she had been haunted by a value sense of apprehension. She felt almost as if there was a spectre at the feast, as if Nemesis waited in the background to avenge himself for the past."No doubt you will miss her—Mrs. Lyndon I mean," said Mary, proudly; "but I think she will not be one to forget her old friends; do you?"She put this question with a certain pretty touch of anxiety which caused Mary Kestell to smile in spite of herself."Oh, no, she will never do that. Whatever she may be, she is true to those she loves. I suppose I feel as an old maid would naturally feel on an occasion such as this—somewhat stranded.""I understand it perfectly," replied Mrs. Fletcher, with a quick, sympathetic look; "but that will pass away. They are a bonnie, well-matched pair. Did ye no' think so when ye saw them standing together in the kirk?"I have always thought so, Mrs. Fletcher," replied Miss Kestell, without a moment's hesitation. "He is a noble, splendid fellow. He will bring out all that is best in her."Oh, but she will help him, too," said Mrs. Fletcher, jealously. "I can never forget the speech I had with her last night when she came to see me at the hotel where we are stopping. If there be not a woman's heart yonder as full of love as it is possible for a woman's heart to be, then I have made a big mistake. Although he is not my son, I feel to him as only a mother can, and yet I say that I think she is the very wife for him.""God grant that it may be so, and that all may go well with them," and then with some abruptness Miss Kestell changed the subject by making an irrelevant remark about one of the guests. She was indeed in a highly-strung state which would not permit her to talk much of the matter lying so near to her heart. Meanwhile, the young couple whom so many good wishes followed were speeding towards Holyhead by the afternoon express."Of all the guests who were there to-day, Brian, do you know whom I admired the most?" said Lois."Those dear people from Scotland. Oh, I don't wonder you love them. Now I seem to understand you as I have never done yet.""Yes," answered Brian, "they are the salt of the earth.""And such manners," said Lois, enthusiastically. "Even Lady Lyndon was struck by them. I could see that at first she was not quite sure about paying them so much honour."Brian's lips curled slightly."Between Lady Lyndon and my foster-parents there could be but little in common," he said. "I am not surprised to hear that she had some scruples.""But it was the way in which they disappeared, Brian," said Lois, brightly. "She spoke to me repeatedly about their dignity and good breeding. They must come very soon to us at Ballymore, Brian.""By-and-by," said Brian, with a smile. "Remember you have only, belonged to me for an hour or two. I have got to get accustomed to the idea before we invite anybody to Ballymore." At which Lois laughed, well pleased."The only person, I thought, who looked depressed and out of sorts was Miss Kestell," said Lyndon, presently. "I rallied her about it. She looked quite like a person with something on her mind.""Oh, you must not be too hard upon her, dear old Kestell," said Lois, rather hurriedly. "Remember how much she has been with me, and, of course, she feels now that she must always take a second place. I assure you there was nothing else the matter with her but that.""She managed to convey a rather painful impression all the same," said Lyndon, whereupon Lois made haste to change the theme.CHAPTER XXXIVFROM OVER THE SEAONE fine afternoon in September, as the White Star Liner Majestic was preparing to leave her dock at New York, a late passenger arrived, and was just in time to join the steamer before she left her moorings. He had made a hurried journey across country in the hope that he might at the last moment find an abandoned berth in the Majestic. In this he had been fortunate, and there was a look of quiet satisfaction on his face as he set foot on the broad basis of the ship's deck. He looked like a man who had obtained his heart's desire, or, at least, one who saw it within his reach. He was an object of some interest to those who, having come on board early, were at leisure to watch and speculate concerning their fellow-passengers. The general impression was that he was good-looking, that he had a strong, clever face, but it was not one which attracted people, but rather the reverse.During the voyage he held himself aloof, not seeking to make friends with any. Although civil enough to any of the men who ventured to speak to him in the smoking-room or on deck, he was careful to keep to himself the nature of his occupation and the object of his voyage, and when the Majestic sailed up the Mersey not one man on board knew Louis Harewood a whit better than on the day they had seen him first. Not a soul regretted parting with him, or wished him good-luck as they went their separate ways. He seemed to be a person of ample means, and also possessed of considerable leisure. He put up at the Adelphi Hotel, and occupied himself for a day or two in making a survey of Liverpool and its immediate environs. At last, however, he announced to the manager of the Adelphi that he was going over to Ireland for a few days, and that he would leave some of his heavier luggage at the hotel, pending his return.It was a wet morning when he arrived at Kingstown, so that his first view of Ireland was a rather depressing one. Though a complete stranger to the country, he had evidently made himself very familiar with its topography, and had no manner of hesitation about the various steps of his journey. At the station he jumped into a car, and gave the order to drive to the Shelbourne Hotel, as if he had been familiar with it for years. Apart from the mere personal object of his visit to the distressed country, he had all a democratic American's keen interest in Ireland and Irish matters, and he knew a great deal more about her affairs than many of her own sons. He promptly entered into conversation with the man who drove him to the Shelbourne, but to his disappointment found him sulky and uncommunicative."So you won't have anything to say about matters at all, friend?" he said, gaily. "Well, if you don't want to talk I suppose you must hold your tongue.""Faith, an' it's only the man that can hould his tongue that's safe in thim days, yer honour," said the Jehu, with a somewhat knowing grin, which indicated to Harewood that perhaps he took more interest in public affairs than he cared to show.After a good breakfast and the luxury of a bath he went out fresh and eager to explore the sights of Dublin. In the evening over an after-dinner pipe with the manager he sought to obtain some information which would be of use to him in the mission he intended to undertake on the following day."Can you tell me how far it is to Rathdrum?" he asked."Oh, yes, sir, it isn't far at all; about forty miles—an hour and a half by train. That's Mr. Parnell's mother country. Perhaps you're one of Mr. Parnell's American friends, sir?" he said, inquiringly, remembering the American labels he had seen on his guest's luggage in the hall."No, I don't know anything about Mr. Parnell, except that I am an admirer of his from a distance, of course," answered the stranger. "So he lives near Rathdrum, does he? Perhaps I may have the privilege of seeing him while I am in the neighbourhood. Is he in Ireland just now?""Oh, yes, sir, at Avondale; it's only about a couple of miles from Rathdrum. Have you other friends in the neighbourhood?""Yes; I have come a long distance to see Mr Brian Lyndon, who, I understand, has a place in the neighbourhood."The manager smiled and nodded."A lucky fellow he's been, but I daresay you know all about it if you are a friend of his.""In what particular way has he been lucky?" asked the stranger, without committing himself."Well, he's been lucky all round, if I may put it like that; but there, if you are a friend of Mr. Lyndon's, I daresay you know all about his romantic history. It would make quite a novel; it's more interesting than any novel I have ever read.""Oh! I am not a friend of his. I have never met him. I have only come to see him on a business matter," observed the stranger, easily. "What is the romance of his life? I thought he was simply a country gentleman, and, of course, a politician, one of the few upon whom Ireland may absolutely depend.""He's all that, sir, and Mr. Parnell's right hand man besides; but, you know, it isn't so many years since he came to his own. He was old Sir Tom Lyndon's son by his first marriage, and there's no doubt, however it has been glossed over, that Lady Lyndon bribed the nurse to take him away so that her own son, might enjoy the place. He was taken to Scotland, and brought up there by a worthy couple until he got to manhood. Then, oddly enough, he came to take the post of secretary to Captain Byrne, one of the Lyndons' nearest neighbours, and while there the whole secret came out, and it was proved beyond dispute that he was the missing heir. There's a story for you now. It wouldn't be believed if it was written down in black and white in a book. I always say that.""Well, it has a kind of fairy tale ring about it," said the stranger, lazily; "but go on.""Perhaps you don't know, then, that Mr. Lyndon married a lady from your country, a very rich lady? They say that she could never spend all she has got. And she's beautiful, too. That's why I said that Mr. Lyndon was a lucky fellow. A good many envy him, I can tell you that.""The marriage took place only this summer, you say?""Yes, in July in London, at Westminster Abbey, I'm told; and Mr. Parnell gave her away. Oh, it was a great occasion, I can tell you, and there were rejoicings throughout the whole of Wicklow, where they are both great favourites.""Ah!" said the stranger, bringing his lips together with something like a snap. "How far did you say this place Ballymore was from the station at Rathdrum?"Oh, a matter of a few miles only; and you'll find plenty of cars waiting at the station; but there's no doubt they'll be meeting you from the Castle if you come so far to see them.""I am an uninvited guest, and a stranger to Mr. Lyndon as well,"
said Harewood, easily. "I could not expect such consideration at Mr. Lyndon's hands.""But I hope you aren't going to hurry away?" said the manager, politely."I shall not leave Ireland for a few days. To-morrow morning I shall go down to this place and have a look round. I shall leave my traps here. Is there a hotel or an inn of any kind where I could put tip supposing I wanted to stay a night?""Yes, sir. At the station hotel you'll find very comfortable quarters; but they're sure to entertain you at Ballymore as you have come so far. Since the new mistress came home there's no lack of anything, though they were poor enough before; but, as I said, never a man deserved his good fortune better than Mr. Brian Lyndon. I only wish we'd a few more like him."All this information was of considerable use to Harewood, in that it prepared his mind for the undertaking of to-morrow. Wherever he mentioned the name of Lyndon of Ballymore he heard the same story, particulars of his good qualities, and unselfish rejoicing over his good luck, but it did not appeal to him in the faintest degree. He knew that he had come to Ireland for the express purpose of shattering the happiness which seemed to be richly deserved and gratefully enjoyed. The demon of revenge had him in thrall, and he proceeded on his vindictive course with a quiet fixity of purpose which left no doubt of the hideous strength of the motives which prompted him.The sun shone out with unclouded brilliance as he took his seat in the train which was to bear him to his journey's end. After the night's rain the green and lovely country seemed richly to justify its title—the Emerald Isle. Accustomed as he was to the parched and arid stretches of the Missouri plains, the vividness of the colouring filled Harewood with an inexpressible wonder. He took the keenest interest in his surroundings, perhaps the more so that it was now the adopted land of the woman for whom he had so long cherished a hopeless passion, and who had played him so false. The beauty of the scenery increased as he neared his destination, and when he alighted at the picturesque little station which was now home to Lois Lyndon he stood still a moment in speechless admiration. The rich luxuriance of the woodlands, the vived green of sloping hills, the clear flow of the adjoining stream, all combined to form a picture which long remained in his memory even after it became only a humiliation, almost an insult, to remember it.His reverie was soon disturbed as he was pounced upon by the eager
Jehus each clamorous for hire. He declined all offers, however, and,
having left his bag at the station hotel, simply asked to be directed
to Glendalough, and set out on foot. It was just noon, he had the
whole day before him, and at the present juncture neither time nor
money were of any particular moment to him. He passed through the
quaint, dilapidated little town, taking it slowly, and looking with
keen interest at everything pertaining to it. It was characteristic of
him that he was able to keep more personal matters in the background,
and to take such keen and intelligent interest in the new and unaccustomed scenes by which he was surrounded. When he left behind the handful of houses, which the inhabitants dignified by the title of a town, and saw the whole landscape of surpassing beauty stretched before him, he drank it in with full meed of enjoyment.Although he had a mean, small, cruel nature, he was not without some of the finer and higher instincts, and natural beauty appealed to his senses perhaps more than most. He took his way in very leisurely fashion, pausing often to photograph some particularly enchanting bit upon his memory, and in the soft haze of the autumn afternoon he entered the lovely vale of Glendalough, and saw, although he knew it not, the great battlements of Ballymore crowning the adjacent hill. He stopped at the cross roads, as most pedestrians did, and while he sampled Mickey Malone's ale obtained the necessary directions for the last stage of his journey. Mickey was now left desolate in his old home, his daughter Nora having gone to join her lover in the new home he had made across the sea, but neither time nor circumstances could depress Mickey. He was as lively and ruddy as ever, as ready, too, to gossip by the hour to any one who would lend him a listening car. Whenever Harewood mentioned the name of Lyndon, Mickey promptly went into rapturous descriptions of the Squire and his wife, expatiating upon their happiness to such an extent that Harewood was glad to shut him up at length and leave the inn. Mickey naturally went with him to the corner, and directed him by the nearest footpath through the woods to the house, but this did not suit the stranger's mood, he intimated that he was not on visiting terms at the Castle, and only wanted to see the show places of the neighbourhood. Then he proceeded in the same leisurely fashion through the village, and approached the main entrance of Ballymore, where he stood filled with admiration, as many another sightseer had been, over the beautiful Florentine gates which guarded the entrance.CHAPTER XXXVHER NEW ESTATETHE Lyndons had now been at home for two months. One month they had spent in solitude, getting to know and to understand each other; now the house was full. Lois had bought a house for Lady Lyndon about five miles from Glendalough, a pretty little place where she could be absolute mistress; meanwhile, however, she was living at Ballymore until her own place was ready. Terry also was there, and Mary Kestell, nor was Willie Earle and the little sempstress forgotten. In the plenitude of her great happiness Lois felt that she must have about her the few who took a loving interest in her. The perfect happiness of these days had done much for Lois. Mary Kestell looked on in amazement, wondering at the new and beautiful traits constantly being revealed in her character. Her tender consideration, her setting aside of self, her apparent and indeed expressed desire to make the highest and noblest use of her wealth and her great position, indicated a thankfulness of spirit which surprised and touched Miss Kestell not a little.While rejoicing in the happiness and in the assured position of her charge, Miss Kestell had many a moment of sharp uneasiness. She had lived long enough to prove that sooner or later even the indiscretions and follies of youth have their punishment, and the vivid picture Lois had presented to her mind of the unscrupulous man who was the central figure of that long-past episode often returned to her imagination, which it considerably perturbed. She could scarcely believe that he would let her go so lightly, and she sometimes felt as if something must happen soon. Lois, however, was visited by no such presentiments. With her marriage she seemed to have thrown all her cares away; feeling herself strong and safe in the protection of the man who loved her, she scarcely gave her past a thought. That past, however, was not to be suffered to he buried; it had to be reckoned with sooner than any of them expected.As Louis Harewood stood before the imposing gateway of Bally more
examining the detail of the magnificent ironwork with all the keen
appreciation of an expert in such matters, the door of the little
lodge suddenly opened, and the bent and stooping figure of an old
priest emerged. Bidding the lodgekeeper good-day, he came through the
little side gate on to the roadway, and touched his hat courteously to
the stranger. It was no uncommon sight to behold a stranger looking
with keen admiration at the gates, which were among the objects of
interest in the neighbourhood. Father O'Hagan, always genial and
communicative regarding the glen in which he had lived so long and which he loved so dearly, touched his hat and gave the stranger a courteous good-day."You are admiring the gates as many do, sir," he observed, with his pleasant smile. "Splendid specimens of the Florentine art they are, I believe, although I am not versed in these matters myself. They were brought from Italy at great expense by the late Sir Tom Lyndon, and he was very proud of them.""They are certainly beautiful," said Harewood, without enthusiasm, but with a cold curtness of manner which might have repelled any one less genial and suspecting than the good old priest of Glendalough."You are a stranger in this neighbourhood, sir, I observe," he said, kindly. "I suppose that you have come to see the sights of our famous glen. I need scarcely ask whether you have been to the Seven Churches or to the shrine of St. Kevin, nor will you leave the neighbourhood without seeing the Vale of Avoca and the 'Meeting of the Waters?'""I have not come for sight-seeing, Father," said the stranger. "It is a matter of business which brings me to this neighbourhood, but I could not pass these magnificent gates without admiring them. They must have cost a king's ransom.""Oh, I think not. Sir Tom obtained them as a gift from one of the members of the princely house of Savoy. He was as much at home in Italy as in his own country and as much beloved.""That was the old Squire, I suppose?" said Harewood, briefly. "Does the present owner follow in his father's footsteps?"He knew what the answer would be before it came, but he took a curious delight in hearing again and again the praises of the man who had stolen from him the woman he loved. Such was his attitude towards the unoffending Lyndon, who had married his wife in all good faith, and in utter ignorance of the other life in which this man had taken part."Ah," said the old priest, and upon his benevolent face there shone an unmistakable light. "There are few, few like the present Lyndon of Ballymore. I only wish his father had lived to see him as he now is—in the zenith of his power and happiness. So long as Ireland has such sons as Brian Lyndon she cannot come to naught."The stranger's lip curled."I am not a reader of the Bible, Father," was his unexpected remark; "but is there not a text somewhere in its pages which says—'Woe unto you when all men speak well of you'? It seems to me that I have heard nothing but praise of this man since I set foot on Irish soil. From Dublin to Wicklow, and even here at his own gate, it has been nothing but a paean of praise."Something in the peculiar rasping quality of the stranger's voice, as well as in the vindictive glance in his eye, made the good old priest feel for the moment vaguely uncomfortable."It proves that I have not exaggerated in any way," he answered,
with dignity. "I assure you there are few men in public life actuated
by such pure and single-hearted motives.It is this purity of purpose
and fearless, as well as conscientious, performance of public duty which has won for him the universal respect by which you have been struck, and united to his great powers there is a humility of character and a devoted faith in God which, believe me, is the mainspring of all true influence and power."The stranger gave his shoulders a somewhat cynical shrug."That is the doctrine which your cloth commands you to preach, Father, and in this remote glen it is easy to practise it. It is a different matter out in the world where every man's hand is against his brother. But what of Lyndon's new wife? I hear that he has been but lately married. Is she likely to uphold him in this unique career of his?""I think so," said the priest, with more reserve than he had yet shown. "She is very rich, but she has none of the arrogance of wealth. Already she has made herself trusted and beloved among people who, taught perhaps by bitter experience, are not so ready as they once were to accept new friends.""So altogether it is an ideal ménage," said the stranger with an unconcealed sneer, and at that moment both were arrested by the sound of approaching carriage wheels."I have no doubt this is Mr. Lyndon and his wife," said Father O'Hagan, quickly. "They have been to the station at Rathdrum to meet some guests from Scotland."Father O'Hagan, who had expected nothing but that the stranger would stay to satisfy his curiosity regarding the people of whom they had been speaking, was considerably surprised when Harewood, after one glance in the direction of the coming carriage, hastily walked off in the opposite direction. The carriage rapidly approached. It contained Lyndon and his wife and John and Mary Fletcher, who now came to pay their second visit to Ballymore. The carriage stopped in the roadway while the gates were being opened, and Father O'Hagan, ever a welcome guest in that now Protestant household, leaned over the carriage door to greet them all. Lois glanced up the roadway in the direction of the retreating figure, swinging along the middle of the roadway in full view of all who cared to look. Something in his gait and figure caused a sickening chill to creep into her heart."Who is the man, Father O'Hagan?" she asked, trying to speak carelessly. "I thought I saw you speaking with some one at the gate?""So I was, Mrs. Lyndon. I found him admiring the beautiful gates when I came out of the lodge, and, as was natural, I stopped to have speech with him for a few minutes, thinking perhaps I might be able to direct him to the other sights of our glen; but I did not find him either receptive or sympathetic.""Did he say what he was doing in this neighbourhood?" asked Mrs. Lyndon, still keeping her eyes, in which a vague terror lay, fixed on the tall, slim figure, which had now slackened its pace, and was moving in leisurely fashion, but without once looking back."No, he did not, but I gathered from his look and from his tongue that he is one of your countrymen; but he did not appear to know you.""Did he not?" asked Lois, with a mirthless, unnatural laugh. "I am not surprised at that. I had not so many friends in America that even one would take the trouble to come all this way to see me. Why have you deserted us of late, Father? Won't you come up and dine to-night, and have a talk with dear Mr. Fletcher?"Father O'Hagan smilingly accepted the invitation, and they bade him good-bye as the carriage rolled on.It seemed to the good old couple from the banks of the Spittal Water that on their last visit they had failed to drink in all the beauty of the place which now owned their boy as master. Although September was on the wane the glorious autumn tints still remained untarnished, and the vivid green of the beautiful park through which they drove looked as if it had been newly touched by the wand of spring. Even in their sorest straits the Lyndons had never laid a desecrating hand on the patrimony which had been handed down through so many generations. Not a tree was felled throughout the vast domain. Even Lady Lyndon herself would rather have gone without a meal than fell a single tree; so while many another place perhaps as fair showed sad signs of the evil times upon which the Irish gentry had fallen, Ballymore remained intact. Even Lois confessed that there was not a single direction in which her money could improve its outward appearance; but already had been begun the work of improving and beautifying every farm place on the estate. Lois had impressed upon her husband that she never would be satisfied until every cause of complaint or discontent was removed. Very gradually Brian was getting accustomed to the idea of using his wife's money for this purpose, although at first he had not been able to bring his mind to it."Surely this place is bonnier than we thocht, John," said Mary, as she leaned forward in the carriage and watched the deer browsing in the green distances of the lovely park by which they were surrounded."I don't think it is changed one bit since you were here before, mother," said Brian, with a smile. "Ask Lois. I believe she never drives up this avenue without regretting that she cannot spend some money on it."Lois laughed, and laid her hand quickly on his lips."That is how he will tease me," she said with a smile, which, however, was only forced to her lips. The terrible dread gnawing at her heart made it a great effort for her to speak easily and naturally. "I believe he would be a happier man if I had come to him as the begger-maid did to Cophetua, only in the rags in which I stood.""Nonsense, lassie," said Mrs. Fletcher, as she covered them both by her admiring and delighted glance. "You leave him to me, I'll speak to him. Money when rightly used, as it is here, can be nothing but a blessing. Isn't that true, John?""That's it, my woman," answered John, but somewhat dreamily, for the unspeakable beauty of the place was laying its spell upon his responsive soul, and he was in no mood for gay chatter. He was overpowered once more by the wonderful way in which God had dealt with him and his. When he looked at Lyndon where he sat opposite him, his grave and noble face bearing the impress of the life he led, John could not but look back with a full heart to the days when the little lad had run barefoot to the school, and when Mary and he had often prayed, sometimes with tears, for grace and wisdom to guide him.CHAPTER XXXVIA GREAT DREADLYNDON'S wife was sufficiently mistress of herself to suffer no sign of her inward tremors to appear. She took gentle Mary Fletcher to her room herself, and even there did not seem in any haste to leave her. It seemed to Mary Fletcher when she had time to make closer observation of her son's wife that the colour which she had been pleased to see on her face at the station had most unaccountably fled."I am thinking ye dinna look so well, my dear, now I see you close," she said, somewhat anxiously. "You must take better care of yourself, and I will tell your man to look after you. You have far too many folk to entertain, and here we are come to add to them, which is not kind.""Now, dear Mrs. Fletcher, don't let me hear any more such treasonable remarks," said Lois, gaily, "and don't imagine that you are going to be entertained. You will be allowed to entertain yourselves perhaps more than you will like.""You just let us abe," said Mary confidentially. "John will ask nothing better than to be allowed to wander about the fields and dream of his poetry. He has not made any for a long time. I was telling him in the train that maybe he would get a new inspiration here.""I am sure I hope so. Only the other day Brian was showing me a little poem Mr. Fletcher wrote for him long ago before he left you. It is a most beautiful thing. Did you see it? He likened Brian to an eagle fretting because there were not heights high enough for him to reach.""I don't remember that particular bit, my lassie, but I have seen them all at some time or other. I thought that after John left off working at the mill he would write more poetry, but he says he misses the music of the shuttles and what not, and indeed I wouldna wonder but that he is right, for men are queer folk, my dear, and they never turn out as we expect.""Don't they, dear?" said Lois, much amused, as she affectionately undid the fastenings of Mrs. Fletcher's cloak. "Then, perhaps, I may expect all sorts of strange behaviour on my husband's part?"Mary laughed softly as she turned and laid her cloak on the bed."Ye will not be like the lave, my dear," she said quaintly, "if ye dinna find out something ye didna expect; but I thought when I got a glint of your face from the train window that ye seemed quite content.""Indeed, so I am," said Lois, with a sudden quick emotion. "I have never been so happy before in the whole of my life, but sometimes I am afraid lest it cannot last.""Oh, come, my dear, you must not look at it in that spirit," said Mrs. Fletcher, in gentle reproof. "Ye are young, and God wills that you should be happy, and ye deserve it, because ye have never let the deceitfulness of riches creep into your heart. It is long since I said to John that for one so young ye had much grace given to you.""Oh hush, dear Mrs. Fletcher," cried Lois sharply. "You don't know me or you would not speak like that. Sometimes I feel myself to be almost a fraud. It is so easy to be good and amiable when one has so much as I have to make one so. It would be both ungrateful and ungracious to be anything else.""That may be so, my dear," said Mrs. Fletcher, quietly; "but there are many who, in your position, would have behaved differently. For instance, where we are concerned. Is there another woman in all the world that would have treated us as you have done? You could not be kinder to us though ye were our ain.""Oh but, dear Mrs. Fletcher, even if I didn't love you as dearly as I do, I should not be allowed to treat you differently. You are the very apple of Brian's eye, both of you. His love for you is one of the most wonderful and beautiful things I have ever seen. I am sure he would cut off his right hand to save either of you a moment's pain."The bright tears glistened in Mary Fletcher's eyes at these sweet and soul-satisfying words."I admire him for it," went on Lois, quickly. "It shows he has a very tender heart. Sometimes when I have been just a little afraid of his sterner moods I have thought about him in relation to you, and then I feel that I ought not to fear him in the least.""Fear him!" repeated Mary Fletcher, in amazement. "My lass, you must not do that. It would be very bad for you and a great deal worse for him. There is nothing about Brian, I am sure, to make anybody fear, although I will say that I have seen him roused once or twice, and I have said to John I would not like to come against him then; but it is only evil-doing that rouses him. You must have noticed that?""Oh, yes; but I have sometimes thought him harsh in blaming some who have gone astray, and when I have spoken about extenuating circumstances he would not listen, or would say that nothing could excuse any deviation from the straight path.""Ah! but you will teach him charity," said Mary Fletcher, with a blithe smile. "Even the best of men are better of a good wife. My mind is easy about you and him and about your future, and it's a happy and a thankful woman I am this day."Lois stooped down from her tall height and kissed the placid, sunshiny face. Her eyes were smarting with bitter tears as she stepped out of the room on to the richly carpeted corridor, and there was a vague feeling of envy at her heart, envy of the life which had run its placid course nearly to the allotted span, a life for which the past had no sting and the future no terrors.By-and-by the little party had a merry tea together in the great hall, where the log fire burned and crackled merrily in the quaint tiled fireplace, casting all sorts of fantastic shadows across the sombre oaken rafters, and on the somewhat gloomy portraits of dead and gone Lyndons adorning the walls. This hall was one of the favourite bits of the Castle in the eyes of its new mistress. She had done something already to brighten it by sending for some rare and perfect specimens of Eastern rugs, of colouring so soft and harmonious that they seemed to be a part of a perfect whole. Here they gathered at all sorts of odd times—after breakfast to discuss the plans for the day, or after dinner to talk over what had passed. They were somewhat later than usual that evening. Almost immediately after tea they separated again and retired to their own rooms. The early darkness had fallen when Lois entered her dressing-room. Her maid, not expecting her so early, had not yet come up to wait upon her. Acting upon a sudden impulse Lois wrapped a dark cloak with a hood about her, and stole out of doors. It was a clear, sharp, bracing night, the Autumn chill distinctly perceptible in the air. The sky was the most lovely opal hue, with the stars already appearing in their myriads to add to the beauty of the night. Lois, however, took small heed of it. She sped across the park, avoiding the open sweep of the avenue, and rather keeping within the friendly shelter of the trees until she came to the lodge gate. A quick tap brought Molly Malone to the door."Oh, is it you, me lady?" she said, in surprise to see her mistress there alone in the darkness and so oddly garbed."Yes, Molly. I just ran out for a little breath of air before dinner, and I wanted to ask you whether you had seen any one loitering about this afternoon?""Yes, me lady. There's been a gentleman up and down and up and down before the gates ever since you druv through. I saw him through the window peeping and peeping, and at last I made bould to go out and ask him what he wanted. One is never shure in thim times," said Molly, as she quickly crossed herself, "whether it might not be some one seeking to harm the Squoire, God be good to him.""And what did he say when you spoke to him, Molly?" asked Mrs. Lyndon, with feverish interest. "You can easily understand my anxiety lest they should seek to do any harm to Mr. Lyndon.""Oh, but you needn't fear, me lady. When I wint out to spake to him, he seemed a dacent, civil spoken cratur that wouldn't harm a living sowl. He asked a lot of questions about yourself and the Squoire, which I answered as best I could, thinking no harm, and he guv me half a sovereign when he went away; he did indeed, and there it is, me lady. Perhaps I ought not to have taken it."Molly produced the glittering coin a trifle reluctantly from her pocket, and held it up before her lady's face; but she did not appear to notice it."But, Molly, tell me what kind of a man he was. I don't feel very easy in my mind, you can easily understand, on Mr. Lyndon's account, he has been threatened so often. Was he a young man?""So and so," said Molly, rather vaguely. "Young and good-looking—at least I would call him so—of a reddish colour, me lady, and with a pair of mighty purty eyes.""Did he speak nicely about us, Molly, or did he seem to feel bitterness against Mr. Lyndon?""Oh no, me lady, he spoke very swately. I don't think he meant any harm, and I wouldn't be botherin' yer swate head about him, me lady; beggin' yer pardon if I spakes too free."Lois faintly smiled and turned to go."How long is it since you had this conversation with him, Molly?""Faith! not so very long ago, me lady; a matter of half an hour maybe.""Don't you think I ought to send down one of the men from the house, Molly, just in case of any trouble?""Oh! I don't think so, me lady. I am sure the gentleman meant no harm.""Well, don't say anything about it to Mr. Lyndon, Molly. I'll tell him myself if I think it necessary. You'll keep a lookout and allow no one to pass the gates without stating their business.""Faith! and you may rely on Molly Malone, me lady," said Molly, fervently, and even after her mistress had bidden her good-night she stood for some few minutes at the gate and watched the flutter of her light dress in and out among the trees. Very soon, however, she was lost to view, and Molly retired to her comfortable fireside, thinking nothing but that the Squire's wife was entirely devoted to him, and anxious concerning his welfare.There was one part of the avenue where the boughs of the trees interlaced so thickly overhead as to make it dark even on the brightest starlit night. Finding the dew heavy on the grass, Lois kept to the gravelled road on her return to the house. Just as she entered the thickest shadow of the trees she became strangely and sickeningly conscious that she was not quite alone, that some human being was near her. She was not a nervous woman, but at that moment she was conscious of nothing but a sickening terror which made her feel inclined to cry out for the moment. She hoped that perhaps it might be her husband, who had missed her and come in search; but as she quickened her steps and presently emerged into comparative light, she saw a figure step off the turf and almost at her side, and at that moment she found herself face to face with Louis Harewood.CHAPTER XXXVIINEMESISWHEN she saw his pale, set face, with the slight, somewhat mocking smile curling the lips, all her nervousness fled, and her courage rose high and fearless. Face to face with the inevitable, she must meet and conquer it."Well," she said, curtly, "what do you want here?""Can you ask me, Lois?" he asked, as he folded his arms and looked at her steadily. "I have made a long journey to see you, although I cannot hope to be welcome.""No, you are right—you are not welcome," she answered, steadily. "Of what use is it to pursue me here? You are not usually obtuse, and you might have understood that when I left America as I did I had no intention of coming back, and that I wished to be done with the old life for ever.""Ah, yes, I had no difficulty whatever in understanding your motive; but unfortunately I could not take precisely the same view of the case as you. It is not so easy to cast the past behind you—there are some
 "'Well,' she said curtly, 'what do you want here?'" (p. 312). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman"forces in it to be reckoned with. You surely knew very little of me if you thought I would submit tamely to such cavalier treatment.""It was not more than you might have expected. How often did I tell you plainly that I regretted what had passed between us.""You might regret it," he answered, smoothly, "but you cannot wipe it out.""It was nothing," she said, quickly, "a foolish escapade of which any girl might have been guilty, and the folly of which she saw as soon as she gained more sense and knowledge of the world, that is all. You cannot say I deceived you, because I have not hid from you during the last few years that I no longer cared for you in the way you wish, in fact I never did really care for you in that way. I was too young to know what I was doing.""It's all very good to plead youth and inexperience," said Harewood, scornfully. "You have done very well for yourself. I should like to meet this wonderful husband of yours just to offer him my congratulations.""You can see him any day you wish," said Lois, without a moment's hesitation. "If you come up now I will introduce you to him.""Then, I presume, you have told him all about our long acquaintance?" said Harewood, inquiringly. He put the question with apparent carelessness, but all the time he kept his eye fixed on the face of the woman before him. He saw the colour waver in her cheek, and the flicker of her eyelids which indicated that he had given her a home-thrust."I have told him what I thought necessary," she answered, calmly. "It could not possibly interest Mr. Lyndon to hear the names of all the people I knew before I came to England.""Precisely," said Harewood. "Well, and supposing that I have come here, my dear, for the express purpose of making sure that you have not played fast and loose with him as you did with me? I might very well bear him a grudge, but you see I have quite a disinterested desire to see that you treat him better than you treated me. When will it be convenient, do you think, for me to call at the Castle and obtain the favour of a brief interview with him?"Lois stood still in silence for a moment, and a sickening band of
dread seemed to be closing about her heart. She had often pictured to
her imagination what a meeting such as this would be like, and what
would be its probable outcome; but now that she found herself face to
face with Harewood, and discerned in him a depth of vindictiveness and
a relentlessness of purpose such as left her no loophole of escape,
she felt for the moment almost in despair. To have this story told to
Lyndon would be to destroy all the happiness which had become such a
dear and precious possession to her. She felt that it was an ordeal
she could not face. Harewood, watching her keenly, read her thoughts
as if they had been written on the open page of a book. That moment
occasioned him the keenest enjoyment. She had made him suffer; he had
loved her with a lasting and passionate devotion, and not even the
most prejudiced could say she had treated him well. He knew that she was now in his power, and that he could cast a blight upon the vaunted happiness of which so many had spoken to him. As was natural, with such a load on her mind, she exaggerated the sterner side of her husband's nature, and had allowed her imagination to dwell upon it to such an extent that she believed if Harewood persisted in seeking an interview with him and gave him his own version of the whole story, it could have but one ending—she would have to leave Ballymore and all the sweet satisfying life behind her for ever. The thought smote her with such sudden anguish that her face became grey and drawn in the moonlight, and involuntarily she clasped her hands."You are vindictive and cruel," she muttered, quickly. "You know that I have long ceased to care for you, that even if I had remained for ever in America I should not have married you; why come here to torment me? You see what I am. It is mean, base, and cruel.""All these epithets might very well apply to your own treatment of me," he answered. "You promised to marry me again and again. You were my wife almost in the sight of Heaven. I gave you every consideration, indeed too much, and look how you have repaid me. When I returned from California it was to find you gone without a word of warning or farewell; you did not even leave the faintest clue behind. I sat down quietly under the insult, for it was nothing else, until I had time to look about me and make some inquiries. You were very clever, my dear; in fact your daring was worthy of a better cause; but as is the fate of most unscrupulous schemers, you over-reached yourself. I do not know, of course, what you may or may not have told this paragon of yours, but I have travelled five thousand miles to see him and to speak with him, and I assure you I do not intend to return balked of my desire."Lois was silent again, but he saw that her hand, working nervously at the fastenings of her cloak, trembled very much. She was for the moment absolutely at a loss, her pride urged her to defy him to the uttermost, and yet her heart made her weak. Her love for Lyndon was the very essence of her being, and she quailed at the thought of incurring his high displeasure, perhaps of being sent from his side for ever; probably had her feelings been less seriously involved she would have been able to meet and fight the man with his own weapons. He saw her hesitation, guessed at the conflict raging in her soul, and although he had loved her once, it did not move him to pity. He still smarted under the sense of the intolerable slight she had put upon him, and being neither generous nor great of soul, he could not forgive her and let her go. He must make her pay a little of the debt she owed him."May I escort you back to the house?" he said presently, with studied politeness. "Dusk has fallen early, but it is not late. Perhaps I could see Mr. Lyndon to-night, and yet be in time to catch a train back to Dublin.""Why do you wish to see him?" she asked, "Why do you wish to tell him that horrible story? It can do no good to him, still less to you. I am married; I can never be anything to you. Why not go and leave me in peace, then I shall at least remember you gratefully, and not with feelings of hatred, as I must do if you persist in torturing me like this?"In these words she gave herself completely away, and put herself for the time being in his power, because he gathered from them beyond doubt that she had never mentioned his name to Lyndon, or alluded in the slightest degree to the engagement which had at one time been between them.""That's all very good so far as it goes," he said, quietly; "that is to say, from your particular point of view, but where do I come in? You cannot say you treated me well. You made me a by-word and a laughing-stock in the place, to say nothing of any deeper feeling I may have had in the matter. It is only right that you should suffer a little now. Even you can scarcely say you don't deserve it."She leaned against the trunk of the tree nearest to which she stood, and gave herself up for one brief moment to a picture of what the next hour might bring forth if Harewood persisted in his determination to accompany her back to the house and seek an interview with Lyndon."You have done very well for yourself," he said, with a comprehensive wave of his hand towards the great turrets of the Castle, which stood clearly defined against the opal of the evening sky. "You are a very clever woman, and you are to be congratulated on your success. But there is always a fly in the ointment, isn't there? At this particular moment I am the fly. Did it never occur to you that you might have me to reckon with before very long?""Oh, why will you torment me so?" she cried, passionately. "My father warned me against you many and many a time. He said you were mean-spirited and ungenerous, and that you would never make me happy. Oh, now I know how right he was! I can't prevent you from seeing my husband if you will, but I know what the consequences will be. Will you not for the sake of the old time take pity on me, and leave me in peace? To persecute me as you are doing can satisfy nothing but the meaner part of your nature. Be merciful and generous to a woman whose greatest fault in your eyes was that she could not care for you as you wished.""And if I refuse, what then?" he said, inquiringly.Lois shrugged her shoulders, and drew her wrap more closely about her throat."If you refuse there is nothing to be said. Do you refuse?""I do," he said, deliberately.At that moment the faint, deep boom of the dinner gong came sounding through the stillness of the night."There, do you hear that?" she said, quickly. "I must be gone, they will wonder where I am, and I shall not be able to explain my absence. The house is full of guests. Will you not at least wait until we are alone?""No, I will not," he answered. "I am coming now, but I must come at your bidding. You can introduce me to your husband as an old friend whom you have met accidentally. Will you do that?"She looked at him in bewilderment, amazed at the audacity of his request, and yet feeling too weak and irresolute to combat it."Do you hear," he repeated, imperiously. "I wish you to take me up to the house now and introduce me to your husband and the other members of your circle as an old friend from America. If you do that, believe me you will best serve your own interests.""I don't know what you mean," she said, faintly, "but I have no alternative but to do it.""Then allow me to offer you my arm," he said, courteously, but she drew her cloak more closely around her, and drew back as if afraid of his touch."No, I will not allow you to touch me," she said, proudly. "I don't know what you are plotting in your heart against me, but whatever it is, perhaps we shall be quits before the night is over."CHAPTER XXXVIIIBROUGHT TO BAYSHE turned about quickly and began to walk towards the house, he
following with a curious look on his face. He was more surprised at
her action than he could have expressed. He did not for the moment
expect to be taken at his word, or perhaps he would have hesitated. He
did not know what it was to rouse a desperate woman. Lois was now
desperate, but not baffled. Brought to bay, she was full of the most
splendid courage and reserve, though her quiet, impassive face
betrayed nothing to the man following her. She took care to keep ahead
of him, and so in this strange fashion they arrived at the pillared
doorway of the house, from which the great swinging lamp shed a broad
shaft of light across the gravelled sweep. Even there she did not
pause, as he expected. As she pushed open the swinging glass doors,
and he dumbly followed her without a word of protest, he grimly felt
that now she had the best of it, for immediately he would find himself
in a position of extreme awkwardness, being introduced as the guest of a man with whom it was impossible he could ever be on friendly terms. He could not but admire her behaviour under circumstances the most trying. The great hall being quite empty, he called her softly by name, intending to bid her farewell there and then; but at that moment the old butler came out of the dining-room, looking inordinately surprised at the sight of his mistress so oddly attired and accompanied by a strange gentleman."Where is your master, M'Arthy?" she asked, as she removed the hood from her head and let it drop on the rich colouring of the rug at her feet.M'Arthy sprang forward to pick it up."He's in the drawing-room, ma'am. The gong has been sounded twice, and every one is wondering where you are."Ah!" she said, bringing her lips together with a sudden sharp pressure. "Go up now, and ask Mr. Lyndon to come down to me in the morning-room, then serve dinner at once, and ask Lady Lyndon and our friends to excuse us for a few minutes, as we have an important business matter to settle. Now, Mr. Harewood, will you walk this way?"She turned to him imperiously, as a queen might have ordered the meanest of her subjects. Harewood stared at her in amazement—her glittering eyes, her white, set face, and, above all, her calm, deliberate manner, all seemed to warn him of mischief—and he wished himself a thousand miles away."I had better retire, I think, Mrs. Lyndon," he said, quickly. "I am intruding at a most untimely hour, and keeping you from your friends and your dinner. Perhaps at some more convenient time I may have the honour of being introduced to your husband?""Oh, no, Mr. Harewood," said Lois, in a high, clear voice, "there is no time like the present. Please to follow me."There was a compelling power in her voice and manner which gave him no alternative but to obey. She swept across the hall, keeping as far from him as was possible, and opening a door in one of the corridors which led from the hall, signified to him that he might enter. It was the library of the house, a most beautiful and inviting-looking place, an ideal room in which to work or to dream. It had three long windows commanding the lovely stretch of woodland at the back of the house and the little brawling trout stream which was one of Lois's favourite bits in the land of her adoption and her love. She shut the door, and then with an odd little smile turned the key in the lock. It slipped in so noiselessly, however, that Hardwood never knew that he was for the time being a prisoner. When she had rid herself of him the wonderful composure with which she had borne herself seemed to suffer some shock. She clasped her hands tightly together, so that the clenched fingers seemed to be driven into each other, her lips convulsively twitched, and her eyes had a strange look of fear and anguish in them; and so Lyndon saw her as he presently appeared on the wide staircase, surprised beyond measure at the message which M'Arthy had just brought him."Great heavens, Lois! What is the matter?" and with one bound he was at her side, and had his arm about her, as if to shield her from all evil. She smiled up in his face, but it was a wan and ghastly attempt."Come in here with me, Brian, and I will try to tell you," she said, in a low, strained voice, and, clinging to his arm, she drew him into the morning-room."M'Arthy told Lady Lyndon," she began, with feverish inquiry, "that dinner was to be served, did he not? They must excuse us to-night. Something has happened, Brian, and I do not know what will be the end of it. Everything depends on you.""What are you talking about, dearest?" asked Lyndon.He was not easily alarmed or thrown off his guard, but his wife was beyond a doubt wrought up to a state of terrible excitement and distress, and something must have happened to account for it."You will know in a few minutes," she said. "The explanation is to be found in the library; but before we go there, Brian, will you take me in your arms and tell me again that you love me, that you never have loved anybody except me, and that whatever happens you will never quite cast me out of your heart?"She spoke with a pleading and indescribable pathos which stirred Lyndon's being to the very depths. He did not really know the strength of his love for the woman clinging to him so passionately. It was the very essence of his being. The love he had given her, never having been dissipated or spent in other channels, was like a great and resistless tide which swept everything before it. Ordinarily he was the most self-contained and undemonstrative of men, but even Lois was satisfied with his response, and when she lifted her head from his breast she said quietly,—"Now, let us go. I have strength to go through this ordeal whatever be its issue."Lyndon was like a child in her hands. He could not understand what she meant or what was about to take place; he could only follow her in wondering silence across the hall to the library door. As she hastily fitted the key in the lock, so oddly are we impressed by trivial things in our supremest moments, the thought uppermost in Lois's mind at that moment was that she had never seen the husband she adored look so handsome or so dignified. He was one of the few men who can wear the conventional evening attire with distinction, and his grave, clever face bore the seal of the upright and dignified life he led. So they came together into the room, and there, to Lyndon's inexpressible surprise, stood a man leaning against one of the bookcases with his arms folded, and looking perhaps as uncomfortable as it was possible for a man to look under any circumstances.Harewood had fancied before that Lois meant mischief; he knew it now. If he had expected to be introduced in the ordinary way to Lyndon, he now discovered his mistake. It was a curious moment. For the instant the three stood regarding each other, Lyndon waiting perplexedly for some explanation of this extraordinary scene. Through it all, oddly enough, not the faintest suspicion of his wife ever crossed his mind. His faith in her was as large and generous as his love; it was incapable of a single doubt. Knowing all this, what anguish it was to the woman who knew it to shatter it all at one blow none knew save herself."This man," she began, covering him by her look of scorn and loathing, "has come all the way from America for the express purpose of seeing you. He has something to tell you, but I will tell you the story first, and then you can judge between us."Lyndon folded his arms, and his mouth took a curve which his opponents knew. He never spoke, but with a simple inclination of the head turned slightly towards his wife to hear what she had to say. It was borne in upon him that it would be something affecting what was dearer to him than life, the sanctity of his home."I will be as brief as I can," said Lois, and her voice, though low and quiet, had a strange metallic ring in it, which indicated the immense strain she was putting upon herself. "I have told you a great deal about my past life, Brian, but I have never mentioned this man's name. Once he was my lover, and we were engaged to be married."Lyndon's brows contracted ever so slightly, but he gave no other sign how this unlooked-for announcement affected him."I was an only daughter, as you know," said Lois, "and I had few friends. When I returned from school at Boston I found this man"—and here her voice vibrated with ineffable scorn—"I found this man on intimate terms at my father's house—they were business connections—and apparently friends as well. He came a great deal. I was young and impressionable; I had no other friends. He was kind to me, and showed an interest in my pursuits; and when he began to make love to me I thought I cared for him in that way, too."The superb deliberation with which she spoke almost took away Harewood's breath. In a moment the tables had been turned upon him, and he found himself placed in one of the most awkward and humiliating positions it was possible for a man to occupy. If the ground could have opened and swallowed him at that moment he would have been thankful, but there was no escape, so he could only fold his arms, and with a nervous twitch of his lips wait for the dénouement."I was very young," repeated Lois, "and I did not understand. I promised to marry him, but for some reason I did not understand at the time my father would not sanction the engagement, and he forbade him the house. We continued to meet in secret, and at last he suggested that we should elope together, and be secretly married. I consented to this after long persuasion, and everything was arranged during one of my father's temporary absences on business. We arranged to meet at a railway junction some miles from Boonville, and to travel together to the next city where we were to be married; but when we got there, and I found myself alone in the hotel, and began to think of the consequences of the step I had taken, I realised in a moment I cared nothing for the man I had pledged myself to marry on the morrow. Something told me that my father's estimate of him was right, that he was selfish and cruel, and that if I married him I should be a miserable woman all my life. So strongly did this come home to me that, acting upon the impulse which nothing would set aside, I hurriedly left the hotel in the early morning and, taking the first train which came into the station, I left the city, caring nothing but to put as many miles as possible between myself and him. It happened to be an East-going express, which carried me beyond my own town; but that mattered nothing so long as I got away from him. At the first stopping-place I got out, and in the course of the day journeyed back to Boonville to my father's house. That is the whole story, Brian—a story which I know I ought to have told you before I became your wife. It is the story which he has travelled all these miles, he says, to tell you; and now I will leave you. What he may say to you I know not and I care not. Before God, my husband, what I have told you is the absolute and simple truth, believe it or not as you will."And so saying, without looking from one to the other, she turned about and glided silently from the room.CHAPTER XXXIX"ALL IS WELL"LYNDON waited until the soft closing of the door told him that they were alone. During the brief recital of his wife's story his expression had not seemed to change, although those accustomed to read the language of the features might have gathered from his some indication of what was passing within. As for Harewood, he was to be pitied. The moment the door closed Lyndon moved slightly so as to cover the man opposite to him with a full glance."You have heard what my wife has said," he said, and his voice had a curious ring in it of which Harewood was distinctly conscious. "I wish to have no further words with you. Will you be good enough to clear out of this house before I or my servants lay hands upon you?"Harewood smiled a ghastly smile."Mrs. Lyndon's recital of the story is in the main correct. "There

are one or two little items which she has forgotten, but they are of

such small consequence
 "He suddenly felt himself gripped by the coat collar and shaken like a rat' (  p.  329). Illustration included in body of Swan's "An American Woman"that I need not trouble to mention them, only she has done me an injustice. I did not wish to destroy the domestic peace of which I have heard such glowing accounts since I landed in this country, I simply wished to call and offer my congratulations. Mrs. Lyndon has misunderstood me, and so has led up to this unfortunate, and, for me at least, distinctly unpleasant, interview."Lyndon was not a passionate man, but his slow anger once roused was like a whirlwind sweeping everything before it. Although Lois had not entered into any details, the whole circumstances of the case and of Harewood's present attitude were as clear before his mental vision as if they had been photographed. Misled by Lyndon's apparently quiet and somewhat indifferent manner, Harewood was about to open his mouth again, when he suddenly felt himself gripped by the coat collar and shaken like a rat. Keeping him in his strong grip, against which Harewood was absolutely powerless to resist, Lyndon dragged him across the room, undid the fastenings of one of the long windows, and threw him out on to the terrace."Now, make yourself scarce," he said, "and the next time you set out to play the rôle of coward and cur take into reckoning first the manner of people you have to deal with." Then he banged the window, put in the bolts, and drew the heavy curtains close as they had been before. Lyndon dropped into a chair breathing somewhat heavily. The whole thing had happened in such a brief space of time that he had scarcely realised its full import. He was glad to be alone to bring some order out of the chaos of his thoughts. This extraordinary and unlooked-for occurrence had given him a severe shock, but he did not feel so bitter as might have been expected against his wife; nay, he was conscious of nothing at that moment but a vast pity for her. What had been painful enough for him must have been a terrible ordeal for her, and when he recalled her splendid courage—that of a wounded animal brought to bay—it seemed to take the edge off the disappointment caused by her lack of confidence in him. Not the shadow of a doubt regarding the truth of the story she had told him troubled him. He had sufficient experience of human nature to recognise the utterances of truth; her manner, even more than her words, had been convincing, and yet, while his heart was tender towards her, he shrank in some indefinable manner from the next moment of their meeting. He possessed, in an exaggerated degree, that hatred of scenes peculiar to the nationality in which he had been reared. If he had had his way he would have gone on as before, without permitting Harewood's name to be so much as mentioned between them, but he knew that to be impossible; and so, after having composed his own feelings in these few quiet moments, he rose and went in search of his wife. As he crossed the hall he encountered the butler with a tray."They have not finished dinner, I suppose?" he said, inquiringly."Oh no, sir! not half through," was the answer. "Will you come down now? They are keeping the things hot downstairs.""No, thank you. Your mistress is not very well; perhaps she may want something sent up to her by-and-by. I may come down before they are finished. By the bye, where is your mistress? Did you see her coming through the hall?""No, sir, I thought she was with you; and what about the gentleman, sir? Shall I show him out?""He has been shown out, M'Arthy," said Lyndon, with a curious smile. "Don't you trouble your head about him." So saying he left the old servant still somewhat puzzled, and made his way upstairs.Lois had taken for her own the suite of rooms which had formerly been occupied by Lady Lyndon. The boudoir only had been entirely refurnished, and this because Lyndon insisted. It was undoubtedly shabby. But as Lois had tried to explain to him, she loved the house as it was, and her chief desire was to preserve all its old traditions, and not make sweeping changes such as many women in her position would have desired and insisted upon. How grateful Lyndon was for this attitude on her part he had not been able to tell her. Although belonging to the Radical camp, he was Conservative enough in all matters regarding his personal and home life; indeed, often his wife rallied him, telling him that his theory and practice were two different things. He was not surprised to find the door of his wife's sitting-room locked. He tried it first, and then tapped lightly, but provoked no response."It is I, Lois," he called, softly. "Let me in." But there was no answer, and a vague dread stirred Lyndon's heart for the moment. What if in her highly-strung and nervous state his wife had brought this unpleasant incident to a tragic close? The thought terrified him. He knocked again more loudly, and then, bethinking himself of the other entrance into the room, he went quickly through the dressing-room, and was relieved to find the door of communication unlocked. The two candles still burning on the dressing-table revealed Lois lying on the couch with her head buried in the pillows. When she heard the door open, however, she moved and rose to her feet."Well," she said, with perhaps the faintest touch of defiance in her voice, "have you come to tell me I must go?"Lyndon smiled, and she could scarcely believe the evidence of her own eyes as she saw the expression on his face. Never had she seen more tenderness there."Is it possible," she said, tremblingly, "that you can forgive me, Brian?"He put his arms around her, and drew the poor dishevelled head upon his breast."I thought that you trusted me entirely, wife?" he said. "Have I, then, fulfilled my vows so poorly that you have nothing but fear of me in your heart?"She could not answer; she could not tell him that the last half-hour had been one of mute and intolerable anguish, during which she had bidden good-bye to all the joy which had been hers, during which she had faced the future without him, and therefore without love and without hope. To find herself there in his sheltering arms, and to know that the only shadow which had ever been between them was now beyond a doubt swept away for ever, seemed to lay such a hush upon her spirit that she could not utter a word."I did not dare to hope that you could ever forgive me, Brian," she said, at last, "nor can I believe it now until you tell me.""It is all past, dearest," he whispered; "and as for forgiveness, the only thing that grieves me about this whole unhappy business is that you could not have trusted me. Have I not been able to convince you even yet that nothing could alter my love or destroy my faith in you?""But, but," she said, falteringly, "I have done nothing to deserve it. Are you sure that you understood what I told you? and has he said nothing to cause you to doubt my truth?""I gave him no opportunity," answered Lyndon, and for the first time his face hardened. "When you left me I simply opened the window and threw him out, coward and cur that he is, to try and bully a woman. The only thing I did say to him was that the next time he wished to try on this little game he should make sure of the people with whom he had to deal.""He had no real grievance against me, Brian, except that I could not marry him. I was perfectly honest with him from the first; that is to say, after my eyes were opened and I escaped from him in time. I told him then that I could never care for him, and could never be his wife; but he persisted in holding me to the old promise made when I was a girl so young and inexperienced that I did not know my own mind.""Need we go back upon all this, dearest?" said Lyndon, with a grave tenderness.The subject was hateful to him, and he wished it buried at once and for ever."Oh, let me speak, let me try to justify myself so far at least in your eyes," she cried, passionately. "If you knew what I have suffered, how dreadful has been the thought that I was not worthy of you, you would bear with me for a little. I see now how wrong it was to conceal the whole story from my father. He compelled me to go on meeting him with threats of telling my father what had happened in his absence. You can understand how such threats terrified me. I know now that morbid dwelling upon them exaggerated their importance. My father was far kinder and more indulgent to me than I deserved, but in certain of his moods I feared him. Look at me, Brian, and tell me that you understand how I was situated? I want you to understand it before we bury it for ever.""Yes, yes, Lois, I see it all quite clearly. You made the same mistake with your father that you did with me—you did not think he loved you enough to forgive your folly.""I thought that he loved me so much that he could never forgive me for deceiving him," said Lois. "I do not seem to understand a man's nature, it is so different from a woman's; it seems larger and more generous somehow."At this Lyndon could not forbear a smile, but he did not permit her to see it. It had been too serious a matter for her, and he would not seem to make light of it."Well, then, dear, shall we leave this miserable subject? and are you going to dress now and come down and apologise to your guests for your treatment of them?"Lois shook her head."I could not face them tonight, Brian. You will make what explanation you think necessary."She withdrew herself a little from his clasp, and, standing directly before him, uplifted her eyes to his face. The passionate and adoring love reflected in their depths moved him strangely."Don't look at me like that, Lois," he said, quickly. "What I have done is nothing—just what any man would have done under the circumstances. I married you because I believed in you first, and loved you after—that is my opinion still. Is this the last shadow between us, then, and can we go on comfortably now without any more of these trying scenes?"He ended in a somewhat bantering strain, because he saw that it was the wisest way in which to treat her."I have tried very hard to be a good wife to you, Brian, but what I have done is nothing to what I will do for all you have done for me, and for this night most of all. There is not the faintest shadow on my heart now, except regret that I am so unworthy.""Hush, Lois!" he said, almost sternly. "You make me ashamed when you talk in this strain. I have done nothing that another man would not have done in my place. Now you must lie down and rest. I will tell them to bring up something to you, and by-and-by I shall come and see you again.""Will you ask Miss Kestell to come up to me, Brian—not just yet, but in half an hour or so? I want to be alone for a while to try and realise the happiness of which nobody can rob me now. Don't you understand," she added passionately, "how fearfully I have held it hitherto? The fear of what has happened tonight has been hanging over me like a nightmare ever since you taught me the meaning of love.""Yes, yes, I understand," he said, soothingly; "but it is all over now, and after tonight promise me we shall hear nothing more of it? We have many other interests, Lois. We need not trouble ourselves with a paltry matter such as this.""It shall be as you wish," she said, fervently. "I should like to tell you that Miss Kestell has known of this matter all along, and that when we were going to be married she begged me almost on her knees to tell you the whole story. I have tried once or twice, Brian; but when I heard you say, as you often do, that there is no excuse for any deviation from the straight path I have been afraid.""This will be a lesson to me also, then," said Lyndon; "and so, after all, this somewhat bitter experience may have its uses."And so, with renewed assurance of his tenderness and care, he left her. When Mary Kestell entered the room softly a little later she found her on her knees.THE ENDPrinted by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury