soever lawful, and of a triumph withal, like that of one who, after long toil and pain, sees the victory sure; and, even to him who was familiar with its every cadence, her voice sounded strangely sweet. 66 He was neither disquieted nor excited by the appearance of the post-cariole, for the Miller of the Dee himself was not freer of cares and ties than this jovial old bachelor. Club-gossip was about all his letters were likely to contain; and the papers could scarcely bring heavier tid "Caryl, was it very long ago when we parted at Grace Moreland's? It seems so yet I re-ings than that the tenner, invested on a friend's member, if you have forgotten, some words of mine-If you say to me, Come," I will come, and never repent it afterward.' I have not grown a coward since; and, though you would not then, you will-you must-dare to say it now." He did say it-perhaps not very intelligibly. Through the long anxious talk which ensued we need not follow. When Glynne reached home, several letters lay on his table, that had arrived by the second post. All, save one, he flung aside after a rapid glance at their contents: this superscription was in a firm, bold handwriting, though unmistakably feminine. Caryl held it in his hand for several seconds, unopened, as if irresolute: then he crossed the room, and held the letter over the flame of a spirit-lamp till it was reduced to ashes; and, as he dropped the last blackened fragment, he smiled rather scornfully. It was not a great sacrifice: nevertheless it was a sign that he intended to keep the guilty compact, signed that afternoon, fully and faithfully; for the letter, as you may have divined, came from Hunsden, and brought a slighted woman's final appeal. It had cost the writer much time and study, and tears not a few; for sweet Cissy Devereux had never before set her hand to an elegiac, though she had, doubtless, received a sufficiency. She had a right to reckon on her maiden effort being perused, if not appreciated. But the luck has not changed since the Heroides were penned; and the deserted loves of our day fare not much better than Phyllis or none. However, with this light-minded matron we can not condole. Let us only hope that the sharp lesson to her vanity, to say nothing of her heart, may be of profit, and that in aftertime memory may whisper, seasonably, Neu crede colori. CHAPTER XLV. promising two-year-old, had gone the way of other "certainties." The news, good or bad, would keep perfectly till after dinner; so, after a careless glance at the contents of the packet, he was putting them aside en masse, when a thought seemed to strike him, and he sorted the letters over again carefully. "It's devilish odd," he grumbled; "only one for him, and that not in my lady's hand. won't half like that; and-I don't half like it." He Somehow the keen edge was suddenly taken off his appetite; and when, lifting his eyes, he saw Ralph Atherstone crossing the meadow betwixt the house and the river with the long, sweeping stride that he himself, though hale and active for his years, had often envied, Charles Wroughton frowned instead of smiling, as he would have done a few seconds ago. Cheerily, however, he hailed his friend with the regular question, "Well, what luck ?" "Nothing to complain of, and not much to boast of, either," Ralph answered. "Seven fish, but not a twenty-pounder among them. I see the post has come in." And, with an eagerness contrasting strongly with the other's apathy, he turned over the letters one by one. A misgiving that he did not care to define made Wroughton betake himself within-doors without casting a glance over his shoulder; and it might have been ten minutes or so before he emerged again. On that same bench Lord Atherstone sat, his head bent and partially averted; so that, till the other came quite close, his visage remained unseen. The first glimpse of it made Wroughton start a pace backward. Men have been wounded, even unto death, and have suffered torture worse than any that wounds can bring, without their faces changing as Ralph's had changed. The steady light had gone out of the deep eyes; the healthy brown cheeks looked gray and wan; and even the firm lips seemed rather tense than set. "What has happened?" Wroughton spoke eagerly, but in a hushed voice, as men do who stand in presence of some great calamity. ON a bench, under the broad eaves of his fishing-lodge, sat Sir Charles Wroughton, watching, with a lazy appreciation, the play of the purple light through the hanging pine-wood; and, The other did not answer for a while. though his arms ached with the day's work-Though there breathed few prouder creatures it was all honest casting, not trailing, on that than Ralph Atherstone, it was not selfish pride river-jubilant over the landing of nine fair fish that made him loath to confide in that trusty out of eleven hooked, including one that might comrade. However, he took his part at last, possibly rank "King" of the season. Moreover, and held out the open letter, saying, certain savory steams issuing from within were "You-may-read.” any thing but an offense to his nostrils; and perhaps his chiefest anxiety at the moment was -lest he should be obliged to wait dinner for his comrade, or feed alone. His lips were parched and stiff, as from long drought; and he was forced to moisten them before he could form the three syllables separately. With a lowering brow, the other did as he was desired; but as he reached the end of the letter, his countenance somewhat cleared. After all, Hubert Ashleigh brought no direct charge: he only stated the Duke of Devorgoil's conduct, and how it must be accounted for, and prayed his cousin to hasten back to look after his own honor. So Wroughtonfighting hard against his own impressionsstrove to persuade himself that Lena's imprudence might have stopped short of guilt, and said as much. The Baron plucked his comrade by the sleeve and drew him nearer, till the other's ear was almost on a level with his own lips: his voice, though hoarse and low, was quite distinct now. "I think nothing of this," he answered, taking the letter back. "I promised her, long ago, that, if all the world accused her, I would never doubt till she herself told me it was time. She has told me; for, since we parted, she has not written one word." Against the terrible conviction of his manner it was impossible to argue, and in Wroughton's simple pharmacy there was no salve for a grief like this. A long, heavy silence ensued. At last"God help her!" quoth Ralph Atherstone. Now this intercession came not from an anointed priest, or devout Levite, or pious elder, but from a hard, heathenish old Philistine, with knees unpliable to prayer. But would the meekest of them have found it easy, while reeling under the bitter blow, to plead for the woman who dealt it? Moreover, in those simple words there was an utter hopelessness which stirred chords in Charles Wroughton's heart that had been still for many a day; he turned on his heel, and, for a second or two, meadow, wood, and river swam before him somewhat mistily. When he looked round again, Ralph had risen to his feet; the wanness had gone out of his face, and the cloud out of his eyes, and his lip was firm as ever. "I've no time to spare," he said; "for, of course, I start to-night. There's always the chance of a steamer at Trondhjem." Within the last few minutes Wroughton had found time to reproach himself for having tempted his friend out of England when such a crisis was imminent, though afterward he came to believe that the catastrophe could only have been deferred. "I'll go with you," he said, hastily; and he meant it, be sure. The Baron laid his hand on his old comrade's shoulder, thanking him with a dreary smile. "You may follow, if you will, for I fear you'll have little heart for the fishing after this. But -try and understand why I'd rather go alone." The other did understand, or, at least, he made no farther remonstrance, and the two went into the house together. An hour later, Lord Atherstone-having eaten and drunk sparingly—was ready for the road. "Do you think you'll be in time?" Wroughton asked, as he wrung his friend's hand at parting. It may sound a cruel question; but both these men were wont, in face of a certain disaster, to grapple with, rather than ignore it. "I've small hope," Ralph answered; "yet, if I come ever so late, there will be work for me to do." De He spoke with marvelous calmness, but the deadly glitter of his eyes was not hard to interpret. The listener guessed at once what manner of work was like, ere long, to occupy, the hand he still held, and what manner of stain was like to rest upon it before all was done. But he, too, was Philistine enough to maintain that the punishment of certain wrongs should not be left to Time or any other avenger. spite of conventional difficulties, and the "divine voice of the people," there are still places where a desperate man may set himself foot to foot with his enemy, in the bad old fashion; and-beyond the narrow seas, at least-there is sometimes a grave as well as a comic side to that ordeal. Wroughton knew that, within the last hour, a doom had gone forth against a guilty life almost as sure as if it had been pronounced from a judgment-seat; and he would no more have averted it than have withstood the hangman in his office. At any rate, to the crime, if crime it were, by his hearty farewell grip, he was made accessory. It is useless to describe Ralph Atherstone's journey. To those who have never been forced to undertake such a one, the picture would seem overwrought: such as have had the dreadful experience will need no limner, for few memories are darker and deeper in grain than these. Years, happy and peaceful, may pass before we forget how, as we sped along, whether sun or moon was shining, whether the skies were clear or murky, the face of nature wore always the same veil-how every hindrance by the way seemed to mock at our misery; albeit we were ever haunted by the thought that the sands, dropping so slowly through our glass, might be running out with awful swiftness in a darkened chamber far away-how, at last, despite that feverish impatience, the sick fluttering of the heart waxed so intolerable that we would fain have had a hundred more of the weary miles to trav el rather than be so near our journey's end— how, when we drew quite near, our hot, tired eyes were strained to catch the first sign of good or ill-how the heavy lids drooped, as if they would never lift again, when we recognized that there was nothing left to hope or fear. Yet, when at our dreariest, we had cause to thank Heaven if the horror awaiting us was nothing worse than death, Ralph at least was spared the torture of inactive delay. A Hull steamer started within a few hours of his reaching Trondhjem; and, though heavily laden for the coarse weather she encountered, the good ship plowed sturdily through the angry North Sea. But those five days scored on his face deeper lines than the last five lustres had left. It was not that he seemed aged or broken, and his features were of the type that, under sore sickness, hardly change: nevertheless, they were changed; and a gaunt, savage look possessed them, such as they had never worn when his mood was at the angriest. No wonder that, when Lord Atherstone reached home, he found none bold enough to set before him the bitter truth; and that only from the white, frightened faces around he guessed that he had, indeed, come-too late. CHAPTER XLVI. A CLEVER and influential backer of horses, when asked if he was going to Newmarket, answered, gravely, "It entirely depends on whether I can raise enough for my railway ticket." Having once surmounted this difficulty, he started full of confidence, and had a remarkably good week, on the proceeds whereof he wintered in much luxury. Some such large trust in Providence- or whatever other power the "plungers" believe in - probably induced Miles Shafton to travel down to try a promising five-year-old near Heslingford. Prompt payment was, of course, out of the question; but he thought a three-shilling stamp, with the promise of a share in future winnings, might possibly tempt the sporting farmer. At any rate, "looking over the brute could do no harm." However, the owner did not quite see things in this light so Miles sat in the anteroom of the barracks, where he had found quarters, brooding, with a sense of injury, over his fruitless journey, and striving to stimulate a moderate appetite with much imbittered sherry. An accommodating train that reached Heslingford just in time for dinner not unfrequently brought a visitor; but Frank Dacre's appearance was a surprise to every one there present. The new-comer seemed rather embarrassed than gratified by his noisy welcome, and, as soon as he could extricate himself, he walked straight up to Shafton and touched him on the shoulder. "Look here, buster," he said, "come outside for a minute; I've something to say to you." Miles tossed off the remainder of his bitters with a sound betwixt a growl and a groan. "What is it?" he asked, as he went out. "Bad news, of course? The Czar's broken down, I suppose." The other did not answer till the door was shut behind them. "Hard words won't mend it, old man," he said. "I shouldn't have brought a bit of idle scandal all this way. Black as it is, it's the truth, and you'd better face it; though, after all, it's no fault of yours, and I don't see what you can do." Looking into Shafton's bloodshot eyes, and remembering of what race he came, you might have guessed why so many dark pages were to be found in the annals of Blytheswold. "Don't you?" he asked, in a fierce whisper: "They've got a long start, but that don't mat ter. Never mind me, just now. I'll tell you what you can do, though. Go in there, and make what excuse you like for my bolting-so long as it isn't the right one-and meet me at the station, if you don't mean stopping here. I've something to do before the train starts; but I sha'n't miss it." Under ordinary difficulties his brain was apt to get muddled; but the shock, and that first gust of passion, seemed to have cleared it; for, as he strode away, he looked far more cool and collected than Dacre, whose face, as he stood there, was quite a study of perplexity. Perhaps you would never guess whither Miles Shafton's steps were bent. The leading idea in his mind was, of course, pursuit of the fugitives; for, knowing nothing of Hubert Ashleigh's letter, he could not tell how soon Lord Atherstone would be able to take his own part. But before the resolve had been five seconds formed, he bethought himself that his feet would be tied, unless he provided himself with the sinews of war. Looking at his own immediate resources, a fifty-pound note seemed to Miles utterly unattainable; though, with a week's notice, and through the usual "channels," he might possibly have secured ten times the sum. He doubted whether his mother could help him thus far; and, besides, though not often troubled by scruples, he loathed the notion of taxing her at such a time. Even if the will of his hosts had been good, he misdoubted their power to oblige him; and, besides, he had no mind that his family affairs should be discussed that night in the anteroom. He thought he saw a better way out of his difficulty than any of these; and, as he walked straight and swiftly toward Corbett's house, he was troubled by none of the qualms that usually beset a borrower. He remembered certain good-natured hints thrown out in old times; and, somehow, if it were necessary, he thought it would be easier to confide in Arthur than in his lightminded comrades. Miles was shown into the library, for the master of the house was in his dressing-room; from which, however, he presently emerged-as usual, in gorgeous array. If this man had been going to the scaffold, I believe he would still Miles staggered backward as if he had been have donned his purple and fine linen and struck, half lifting his clinched hand. jewels. There was a shade of surprise in his "It's worse than that-pretty near the worst that can be, I'm afraid. Your sister went off last night with Caryl Glynne." welcome; for the visit was, to say the least, unseasonable, especially as the two had met before that day; but the other did not leave him long in suspense. "I've no time for beating about the bush," he said. "I've come to ask you to lend me fifty pounds—or a little more, if you can manage it." Corbett was considerably taken aback: he had no idea of refusing; but at the word "lend" his professional instincts awoke, and he answered with professional hesitation. Corbett had the sense to lock himself in; but, for many minutes afterward he remembered nothing. He had a vague impression of Emma's knocking at the door, and pleading piteously for admittance, and of his having muttered "Well, I hardly know. Do you want the some excuse; but what words passed he never money to-night?" "I want it within the hour," the other retorted. "You'll guess why, when I tell you what I want it for. Here I may as well make a clean breast of it-there's a real bad business about Lena." knew. The suddenness made the blow more stunning; yet, of itself, it was sufficiently heavy. In some characters self-esteem is almost a ruling passion; and with Corbett now, even the sting of baffled desire was less keen than the Arthur's face crimsoned, and his lips worked consciousness of having been made the stalkingconvulsively. "About Lena?" The familiarity was quite unintentional: he was only repeating the words mechanically. 66 -- "Yes," the other went on through his teeth. "All the world will know to-morrow-if they don't know it already that she bolted last night with Caryl Glynne. Now I mean to have his blood, and I want money to hunt him down." Corbett dropped into a chair, covering his face with his hands: all at once he broke out into shrill hysteric laughter. There are few drearier sounds than that of a grown man's weeping; yet such merriment is worse to listen to. "Gone-with Caryl Glynne?" Arthur panted after a while, catching his breath betwixt each syllable; "and-you come to me for help? It's too absurd;" and he laughed again. horse of Caryl Glynne's designs, and of having been not only deceived but derided. No wonder that his wits-never of the stablest-went a-wandering. With so black a care peering over their shoulder, stouter horsemen than he have scarce sat saddle-fast. Nevertheless, he had not locked out his better angel. Few of us can afford to be judged after our intentions, and Arthur, remember-whether of his own free-will or no-had been kept from actual crime; and for his sin, whatsoever it was, he did then make sharp, if short, atonement. Moreover, it may be-for these things are mysteries-that for the sake of those innocents whose welfare was knit up in his, he met with mercy ampler than he deserved. Certain it is that he came forth from the chamber of his penance both better and wiser-so much wiser that, before he slept, he found strength to confess himself to Emma, neither concealing nor extenuating aught of the miserable past; and Shafton strode forward, and, gripping the oth-she--when love and pity had mastered jealous er's shoulder, thrust him back in the chair. shame found strength to absolve him. "You had best stop that," he said, savagelv. "What are you driveling about? shouldn't I-" Why But "Come to you?" he would have said. just then there flashed across the speaker's mind a sudden shameful conviction, and it became plain to him why, in his present strait, he ought to have sought aid from almost any living creature rather than from him who sat cowering there. There was no place for pity in Miles's heart just then; it was because he dared not trust himself near Arthur Corbett that he drew a pace backward; and as he stood there, with arms tightly folded, his eyes gleamed more felly than they had done when he first heard the ill tidings. "So that's it," he said, low and bitterly. "She fooled you, too, did she? There you needn't babble-I know, somehow, it was no worse, or my hands would be nearer your throat now. But I wish I had guessed it sooner; I wouldn't have wasted this half hour." It was long before the old genial light came back to Arthur Corbett's face, and perchance a kind of cloud thenceforth always tempered its sunshine; but not again, I think, till death shall divide them, will he wring from his true wife's eyes tears bitter as those she shed that night when there was none to watch her weeping. Manna distilling from a flint-stone, or a fountain of milk in the desert, would scarcely seem more curious phenomena than spare cash in certain purses. However, miracles will sometimes happen; and when Miles, on their journey townward, revealed his financial difficulty, to his intense astonishment he found his comrade able and willing to assist him. How those five crisp notes came into Frank Dacre's possession is entirely beside the question; it is sufficient to say that he "parted" without a pang. So, with one worry the less on his mind, Shafton betook himself to Gaunt Street. But little information was to be gathered there. Lady The banker started up, striving hard to com- Atherstone's own maid-tearfully incoherentpose his voice and face. could only testify to her mistress's having taken away absolutely nothing in the way of jewels or apparel; even the traveling-bag that always accompanied her stood locked in its place. The other servants could contribute no facts whatever, and Miles was in no mood to listen to their previous suspicions or presentiments. Mrs. Shafton, it appeared, though scarcely able to quit her room, had moved to a hotel hard by, and thither, despite the lateness of the hour, her son repaired. But neither here did he obtain any furtherance of his quest. Mrs. Shafton seemed utterly prostrated, both in mind and body, and it was hard to believe that she was the same woman who, all her life long, had shown so brave a front to trouble. That old one of "the last straw" is among the truest of proverbs. The weary journey may be very near its end, and the added load may seem absurdly trifling; but when the patient beast once sinks down with despair in its big bright eyes, despite of threats or caresses, it is like to lie there till the desert wind comes to bleach its bones. "Miles, it's useless arguing with you; but, before you act rashly, will you remember Lord Atherstone may be expected home almost hourly? Hubert Ashleigh, it seems, wrote to warn him at least a week ago. I heard this from Marian only to-day." Shafton started, and drew himself, as it were, together; like a bull who, while lowering his horns to charge, is dazzled by the glitter of the matadore's blade. Something quite distinct from the differences of age and station had imbued Miles with an awe of the man whose name he had just heard, and, even in the heat of his pas sion, he felt loath to take Ralph Atherstone's quarrel out of Ralph Atherstone's hand. As he stood gnawing his nether lip, it was plain he wavered. "A creditable thing, too," he grumbled"that the warning should have come from a country parson, with all of us to the fore. But it makes a difference. I'll hold on a day or so, anyhow, and only set the wires to work: that can do no harm, and may save him trouble." He paused here, and a shade of contrition came At Miles's angry question-"Didn't you sus-over his sullen face as he stooped to bestow a pect any thing?"-his mother's wan cheek flushed guiltily. "Not since I left Templestowe," she murmured. "I had misgivings at first, but lately -I can't tell why-I had begun to feel safe; and yet I ought to have guessed that something was wrong that last evening. She was so loath to leave me; and there were tears in her eyes when she kissed me-poor darling!" The other ground his strong white teeth audibly. "Poor darling! Then, in spite of all, she's your favorite still?" Isabel Shafton looked up with a flash of her old spirit; but the next instant her weary head drooped. "That taunt would hurt, if I deserved it," she said; "but you know best, Miles, which of my children I spoiled, and how I have been punished. I think I never can forgive Lena; but I can't help pitying, or-God forgive me, if it's wrong-loving her still." He felt he had been unjust, but wrath and shame made him cruel. "Be as charitable as you like," he muttered -"only one saint in a family's enough, and I don't mean to forgive. I suppose you can't help me to track them, mother; and perhaps you wouldn't if you could. Never mind, I'll manage it my own way." rough caress. "Poor mother! I've been a bit hard on you, I'm afraid; but, with one worry and another, I'm half wild. I won't keep you up any longer; you look half dead, as it is. Now try and sleep; you shall hear all that there is to hear to-morrow." That scant amends, though it could not stop the aching of Isabel Shafton's heart, assuredly helped to smooth her pillow. Early the next day, after obtaining renewal of leave, Miles began to track the fugitives, and it soon appeared that the trail was plain enough to be followed up even by a detective. If you remember certain scruples of Glynne's, you will perhaps understand why he took such slight precautions to mask his flight. He had used no disguise, and a double passage from Southampton to the Channel Islands was secured in his own name. These travelers were scarcely of the common tourist type; so they were easily traced from Jersey to St. Malo, and thence acrosscountry to Porhaix, a small coast town in Finisterre. Thus spoke the telegraph; for the tracker chose to remain in ambush, whence he could watch the "harbored" game till the huntsman should appear; and of all this, within an hour of his reaching home, Lord Atherstone was made aware. The Baron received the news-broken to him in Miles Shafton's rough, blundering waywith a singular composure; nor did he forget to thank the latter for his zeal, though he decisively declined his company to Brittany. She put out her weak, trembling hand, and caught him by the arm as he rose. Alas! before her wedding-wreath was faded, she had learned to read the augury of a certain look in a Shafton's eyes. For generations past it had been known throughout the country-side that, howsoever slack in other matters, they of Blytheswold were seldom laggards in their venge-ed with Ralph Atherstone will never be known, ance. Despite the faintness that nearly mastered her, her great fear enabled Isabel Shafton to speak calmly. VOL. XLIII-No. 253.-7 It was impossible to pursue his journey be fore evening. How that long, lonely day pass for his doors were locked till he descended to make a hasty meal before starting. It may be -for have not men drowsed at the torture-post? |