A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 458, 29 March 1890, Page 6

A Wonderful Woman.

By MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earlescourt’s Wife," “A Terrible Secret,” “ Lost for a Woman," •‘A Mad Marriage,” etoBOOK 11. CHAPTER XIII. THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW. Miss Herncastle’s audience had been increased by still two more. The Earl of Ruysland and Major Frankland, sauntering up the avenue, had also paused afar off to listen. Against the rose and gold light of the summer sunset, Miss Herncastle s tall figure and striking face made a very impressive picture. It was a pretty tableau altogether: Lady Cecil, fair, languid, sweet; my lady in her rich robes and sparkling jewels; Hose O Donnell with her small piquant face, literally seeming all eyes ; and the accessories of waving trees, luminous sky, tinkling fountains, and fragrant flowers. ‘Ah !’ Lord Ruysland said, when the spell was broken and he and his companion moved on once more, 1 what have we here ? A second-rate actress from the Surrey side of the Thames? Upon my life, so much histrionic talent is quite thrown away. Miss Herncastle (1 wonder if her father s name was Herncastle, by the by?) is wasting her sweetness on desert air. On the boards of Drury Lane, her rendering of Fontenoy would be good for at least two rounds from pit and gallery. Bravo ! Miss Herncastle!’ He bowed before her now with the stately courtliness of his youth. ‘I have read of entertaining angels unawares—are we entertaining a modern Mare, all unknown until now ?’ The covert sneer that generally embellished everything this noble peer said was so covert, that only a very sensitive ear could have caught it. Miss Herncastle caught it, and lifted her great grey eyes for one moment to his face—full, steadily. Something in the grave, clear eyes seemed to disconcert him —he stopped abruptly and turned away from her. 4 Gad !’ he thought, ‘ it is strange. Never saw such an unaccountable likeness in my life. She has looked at me a thousand times with just such a look as Miss Herncastle gave me now. Confound Miss Herncastle ! What the deuce does the young woman mean by looking so horribly like other women dead and gone ?’ He turned from the party and walked with a sulky sense of injury into house. But all the way up to his room, all the time the elaborate mysteries of the toilet were going on (and the mysteries of Lady Dangerfield’s herself were plain reading compared to those of this old dandy of the ancient regime), all the time these strong, steady grey eyes pursued him like an uncomfortable ghost. ‘ Hang Miss Herncastle!’ again the noble earl growled. 4 Cecil doesn’t look like her mother ; what business, then, has an utter stranger to resemble her in this absurd way ? It’B like living in the house with a nightmare; my digestion is upset for the rest of the day. It’s deucedly unpleasant, and, egad ! I think I must ask Ginevra to dismiss her, if she continues to disturb me in this way.’ Redmond O’Donnell had stood a little aloof, stroking his moustache meditatively, and gazing at the governess. A perfumed blow of a fan on the arm, a soft little laugh in his ear recalled him.

* “ And still he gazed,and still the wonder grew !” Is Miss Herneastle the Gorgon’s head, or is it a case of love at sight ? In either event let me present you and exorcise the spell.’ It was Lady Cecil’s smiling face that he turned to see. Lady Cecil, who with a wave of that fragrant fan summoned the governess to her side. ‘Miss Herneastle, take compassion on this wretched exile of Erin, and say something consolatory to him. He stands helplessly here and “ sighs and looks, sighs and looks, sighs and looks, and looks again.” Captain Redmond O'Donnell, Le Beau Chasseur —Miss Herneastle. ’

She flitted away as she spoke with a saucy, backward glance at Le Beau Chasseur, and up to her cousin Ginevra. ‘ Oh, if you please, my lady,’ with a little housemaid’s courtesy, • ‘ I have a favour to ask. Don’t banish poor Miss Herneastle to mope to death in the dreary upper region of the nursery and school-room. She is a lady—treat her as such—your guest treat her as a guest. Let her come to dinner.’

‘ Queenie 1 Miss Herneastle to dinner ! My guest! What Quixotic nonsense you talk. She is my dependant, not my visitor !’

‘ That is her misfortune, not her fault. Miss Herneastle is a lady to her finger tips, and fifty times cleverer than you or I. See how she interests all the gentlemen. Issue your commands, O Empress of Scarswood. She will make our heavy family dinner go olf.’ * Interest the gentlemen ! Yes, I should say so. She seems to entertain Captain O’Donnell and Sir Arthur Tregenna pretty thoroughly at this moment. Queenie, I don’t understand you ; you should be the last on earth to ask for much of Miss Herncastle. Where are your eyes ?’ ‘ln their old situation. You don’t understand me?’ Lady Cecil laughed a little, and glanced over at the two gentlemen to whom the tall governess talked. ‘ No, perhaps not —perhaps I don’t quite understand myself. Never mind that; perhaps I like Mi>B Herneastle—perhaps the spell of the enchantress is over me, too. We won’t ask questions, like a good little cousin ; we will only ask Miss Herneastle to dinner to-day, to-morrow, and all the to morrows ?’ • Well, certainly, Queenie, if you really wish it; but I confess I can’t understand— ’ ‘Don’t try, ma chere ; “ where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” Once a lady, always a lady, is it not ? and though Miss Herneastle be a governess to-day, she has seen something far different in days gone by. Thanks for this favour. Let your invitation be gracious, Ginevra, as your invitations can be when you like.’ She turned away and walked into the house. Her cousin looked after her with a perplexed face. "What could Queenie mean? Why, it was as plain as the roselight yonder in the west that Sir Arthur Tregenna was going to fall in love with her ; Sir Arthur Tregenna, who had come down here expressly to fall in love with Lady Cecil Clive; Sir Arthur, in whom all Lady Cecil’s hopes and ambitions should be centred. And here was Lady Cecil now begging that this inconvenient governess might be brought .forward, thrown into his society, treated as an. equal, and left to work her Circean pells. ‘ It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of —it’s absurd, preposterous. However, as I have promised, I suppose I must peiform. And what will Uncle Raoul say ? I shall keep an eye upon you this first evening, Miss Herneastle, and if I find you attempt to entrap Sir Arthur, your first evening will be your last.’

Miss Herncastle’s two cavaliers fell back as my lady appeared. The other gentlemen had gone to their rooms to dress for dinner; those two followed now. Captain O’Donnell’s share in the conversation had been slight, bub there was a look of conviction on his face as he ran up to his room. ‘lt is she,’ he said to himself; ‘there is nob a doubt about it. A nursery governess. Rather a disagreeable change, I should imagine, after the life she has left. What in the name of all that is mysterious can have brought her here ?’ Miss Herncastle listened in grave surprise as my lady tersely and curtly issued her commands.

4 lt is my desire, at the solicitation of Lady Cecil Clive, Miss Herncastle, that you dine with us to-day,’ she said, snappishly. ‘ There i 3 no necessity for any change in your di’ess. You are well enough.’ Miss Herncastle was robed like a Quakeress, in grey silk, a pearl brooch fastening her lace collar, and a knot of blue ribbon in her hair. She looked doubtfully at my lady as she listened.

‘Lady Cecil Clive wishes me to dine with you to-day, my lady ?’ she repeated, as though nob sure she had heard aright. ‘I have said so,’my lady replied, still more snappishly. 4 1 don’t pretend to understand, only she does, that is enough. Lady Cecil’s wishes are invariably mine.’ And then my lady, with her silken train sweeping majestically behind her, sailed away, and the governess, who had so signally come to honour, was left alone—alone with the paling splendour of the sunset, with the soft flutter of the July wind, with the twitter of the birds in the branches, and the peacocks promenading to and fro on the stone terraces. Those peacocks, with their stately strut and outstretched tails, bore an absurd resemblance to my lady herself, and Miss Herncastle’s darkly thoughtful face broke into a smile as she saw it.

l As the queen pleases,’ she said, with a shrug. * And I am to dine with the Right Honourable the Earl of Ruysland, the jLady Cecil, and two baronets. Some of us are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. lam one of the latter, it appears. I thought the power to wonder at anything earthly had left me for ever, but I wonder—l wonder what Lady Cecil means by this.’ Miss Herncastle, the governess, half an hour later sat down among this very elegant company at dinner. Sir Peter Dangerfield scowled through his eye-glassas he took Mb seat.

* What the deuce does this mean ?’ he thought, savagely; ‘ bringing the brats’ governess to dinner. To annoy me, nothing else ; that’s her amiable motive, always to annoy me.’ . Miss Herncastle found herself placed between the Earl of Ruysland and Sir Arthur Tregenna. The Earl, immaculately got up, spotless, ruffled snowy linen, tail coat, rose in his button-hole, diamond ring on his finger, hair perfumed, and hands white and delicate as his daughter’s own, looked the whole patrician Peerage of England personified in himself. And with all the suave gallantry of a latter-day Chesterfield he paid compliments and made himself eminently agreeable to the lady by whom he was seated. His digestion might be upset, his peace of mind destroyed by the proximity, but his handsome face was placid as a summer lake. ‘ Your reading of that poem waa something quite wonderful, Miss Herncastle, I give you my word. I have heard some of the best elocutionists of the day—on the stage and off it—bub upon my life, my dear young lady, you might make the best of them look to their laurels. I wonder now, with your talents and —pardon an old man—your personal appearance, you have never turned your thoughts in that direction —the stage I mean. It is our gain at present, bub it is the loss of the theatrical world.’ Miss Herncastle smiled—supremely at her ease. ‘ Your lordship is pleased to be complimentary or sarcastic—the latter, I greatly fear. It is one thing bo read a poem decently, and quite another to electrify the world as Lady Macbeth. I may teach children of nine to spell words of, two syllables and the nine parb3 of speech, but I fear I would receive more hisses than vivas on the boards ®f the Princess.’ By some chance she looked up as she finished speaking, and met a pair of dark, keen eyes looking at her across the table, with the strangest, most sarcastic look. Those cynical blue eyes belonged to the Irish-African soldier, Captain O’Donnell. He smiled as he met her gaze. ' Miss Herncastle does herself less than justice,’ he said very slowly. ‘A great actress she might never be—we have no great actresses nowadays but a clever actress, lam very sure. As to Lady Macbeth, I have no means of knowing, but in the character of Ophelia, now, I am quite certain she would be charming.’ Miss Herncastle’s steady hand was lifting a glass of champagne. The sudden and great start she gave overset the glass and spilled the wine. ‘ How awkward I am !’ she said with a laugh ; *if I commit such gaucheries as this, I fear Lady Dangerfield will repent having invited her governess to dinner. Thanks, my lord ; don’t trouble yourself; my dress has escaped.’ In the trifling confusion of the accident Captain O’Donnell’s remark passed unanswered, and it was noticeable that Miss Herncastle took care nob to meet those steel-blue eyes once again until the ladies left the table.

It was ho who sprang up and held the door open for them, and as she swept by last, she lifted her large eyes suddenly, and shot him a piercing glance. He bowed slightly, smiled slightly, then the door closed, and the gentlemen drew up, charged and toasted. It was rather remarkable that Sir Arthur Tregenna, usually the most abstemious of men, drank much more wine than anyone there had ever seen him drink before. Major Frankland, from his place at the end of the table, saw it, and shrugged his shoulders with sotto voce comment to his neighbour O’Donnell. ‘Used to bo absurdly temperate—a very anchorite, whatever an anchorite may be. I don’t know whether you have noticed, but all the men who have lost their heads for Ruysland’s peerless daughter and been rejected, have taken to port and sherry, and stronger still. It seems to be synonymous—falling in love with Lady Cecil, and falling a victim to strong drink.’ ‘Well, yes, it does, the chasseur re-, sponded. ‘ I remember Annesly Carruthers, in Paris, used to jump to his feet, half sprung, with flashing eyes and flowing goblet, and cry, “Here’s to La Heine Blanche — Heaven bless her 1” I wonder if that tipsy prayer was heard ? He took to hard drinking after she jilted him ; he used to be pretty sober before. There seems to be a fatality about it,’ the young Irishman said, reflectively, filling his own glass. ‘Powercourt drank himself blind, too, exchanged into a line regiment ordered to Canada, and he was seldom drunk more than three times a week, before shs did for him. I wonder how it is! She doesn’t order ’em to “ Fill the bumper fair; every drop they sprinkle o’er the brow of Care smoothes away a wrinkle,” you-.don’t suppose, does she ?’ . *1 don’t suppose Tregenna’s one of her

victims, certainly,’ responded Frankland. ‘ Lucky beggar! he’s sate to win, with his long rent-roll and longer lineage.’ ‘Ah ) awfully old family, I’m given to understand,’ O’Donnell said; ‘were barons in the days of Edward the Confessor and William the other fellow, Bub then La Reine Blanche has such a talent for breaking hearts and turning heads; and what a woman may do in any given phase of life is, as Lord Dundreary says, “ One of those things no fellah can understand.”’

They adjourned to the drawing-room, whence sounds of music already came wafted through the opeu window, but in the drawing-room they found Miss Herncastle alone. The soft, silvery beauty of the twilight had tempted the rest out on the lawn. Lady Cecil sat in her rustic chair, humming an opera air, and watching with pensive, dreamy eyes the moon lift its silver eickle over the far-off hills. And Lady Dangerfield and Rose O’Donnell eat chatting of feminine fashions and the last sweet thing in bonnets. The gentlemen joined them that is, with the exception of the Cornish baronet. Music wa3 his passion, and then Miss Herncastle had looked up with a telling glance and smile, and some slight remark as he went by— slight, bub sufficient to draw him to her side, and hold him there. The earl lingered also, bub afar off, and buried in bho downy depths of a puffy silken chair, let himself be gently lulled to sleep. Major Frankland, as a matter of course, joined Sir Peter’s wife, and Sir Peter, with a sheet of white paper, and some corks, on which moths were impaled, and a net, went in search of glow-worms. And Captain O’Donnell flung his six feet of manhood full length on the velvet sward at the feet of the earl’s daughter, the delicious sea-scented evening wind lifting his brown hair, and gazed serenely up at the starstudded sky. ‘Neat thing—very neat thing, Lady Cecil, in the way of moonrise. How Christian-like, how gentle, how calm, how happy a man feels after dinner ! Ah, if life could be “always afternoon,” and such turf as this, and such a sky as this, and one might lie at Beauty’s feet, and—smoke ! Smoking is useful among flowers, too —kills the aphides and all that, and if Lady Cecil will permit— ’ ‘ Lady Cecil permits.’ Lady Cecil said, laughing: ‘produce man’s best comforter, Captain O’Donnell ; light up and kill the aphides.’ Captain O’Donnell obeyed ; ho produced a cigar case, selected carefully a weed, lit up, and fumigated. ‘ This is peace—this is bliss ; why, oh why need it ever end ? Lady Cecil, what are you reading ?’ He took her book. ‘ Pretty, I know, by all this azure and gilding. Ah, to be sure, Owen Meredith —always Owen Meredith. How the ladies do worship that fellow. Cupid’s darts, broken hearts, silvery beams, rippling streams, vows here and there, love everywhere. Yes, ye 3, the old story, despair, broken vows, broken hearts —it’s their stock-in-trade.’

4 And of course such things as broken vows and broken hearts only serve to string a poetaster’s rhymes. We all know that in real life there is no such thing.’ 4 We know nothing of the sorb. Hearts are broken every day, and their owners not a wit the worse for it in the end. Better, if anything. “The heart may break, yet brokenly live on;” sighs and sings the most lachrymose of all poets, and I agree with him. Live on uncommonly well, and if the piece be properly cemented, grow all the stronger for the breakage.’ ‘ Captain O’Donnell speaks for himself, of course, and Irishmen’s hearts are the most elastic organs going. Give mo my book, sir, and don’t be so horribly cynical.’ ‘Cynical, am I ? Well, yes, perhaps I am cynicism is, 1 believe, the nineteenth century name for truth. Hallo ! what’s all this ? There’s my fellow Lanty, with a letter in his hand, and what has he done to Sir Peter ?’ ‘ Lanty—Lanty Lafferby ! How glad I am to see Lanty. He has murdered some of poor Peter’s beetles I’m afraid— the slaughter of the innocents over again. See how excited the baronet is over it.’ It was Lanty, and Lanty had murdered a beetle. He’had espied it crawling slowly along Sir Peter's nice white sheet of paper, and had given it a sudden dexterous whip with a branch of lilac and annihilated it. Sir Peter sprang to his feet with flashing eyes. 4 How dare you, sir ! how dare you kill my specimen, the finest I have found this summer ? How daro you do it, you muddleheaded Irishman ?’ For Lanby’s nationality was patent to the world. Lanty pulled off his hat now, and made the baronet a politely deprecating bow. ‘How dar I do it? Is it dar to kill a dirbhy cockroach ? Shure yer honor’s joking ! Faith I wish 1 had a shillin’ for ivery wan av bhim I’ve killed in my day; ib ; s not a footboy I’d be this minit. Begorra, I thought I was doin’ ye a good turn. Shure, ve seen yerself, it was creepin’ over the claiie paper, a big black, creepin’ divil av a cockroach.’

4 Cockroach, you fool! I tell you it was a specimen of the Blatta Oricntalis— the finest specimen of the Blatta Oricntalis I ever saw.’

•Oh, Mother o’ Moses !’ ‘ And you must come along, you thickheaded numbskull, after all the trouble I’ve had with it,and kill it. And only two days since it was born, you blundering bogtrotter !’

Mr Lafferty’s expression was fine, as he regarded the smashed cockroach and the little baronet with mingled .looks of compassion and contempt. ‘ Born, is it? Thim dhirty little bastes ! Bom! oh, wirra ! Maybe it was christened, too ! Faix, I wudn’t wondher at all 1’ ■ With which Lanty took his departure, and approaching his mistress, presented her with a letter and a bow.

‘ Miss Rose, alana ! a bit av a letther av ye plase. An’ meself’s thinkin’ from thim postmarks that it’s from the ould munseer himself, in New Orleans beyant.’ ‘ Lanty 1’ called the sweet, clear voice of Lady Cecil, ‘ come here, and tell me if you have quite forgotten the troublesome mistress of Torryglen, for whom you performed so many innumerable services in days gone by ? You may have forgotten, and grown cynical and disagreeable—like master like man—but I have not.’

She held out her white-ringed slim hand, and Mr Lafferty touched it gingerly, and bowed before that fair, gracious, smiling face, his own beaming with pleasure. ‘ For get, ye, is it ? Upon me conscience, my lady, the man or woman isn’t alive that cud do that av they tried. Long life to yer ladyship ! It’s well I remember yer beautiful face, and troth, it’s more and more beautiful it gets every day.’ ‘ Draw it mild, Lanty,’ Lanty’s master said, lazily; ‘we are not permitted to speak the truth to ladies about their looks, when, as in the .present, case, the simple truth sounds like gross flattery. . You may go now; and for the future, my good fellow, let Sir Peter Dangerfield’s black bee Fes alone.’

Mr Lafferty departed accordingly, giving the beetle-hunting baronet a wide berth, as ordered. The: next moment Rose came hurriedly over to. where, her brother lay, still lazily Bmoking and Btar-gazing, her open letter in her hand.

‘News from New Orleans, Redmond, a letter from grandpapa. Madame de Lansac is very ill.’

Tha twilight music, floating so softly, so sweetly out into the silvery gloaming, had ceased a moment before, and the two figures at the piano approached the open window, nearest Lady Cecil and the chasseur. Miss Herncastle had paused a second before joining the lawn party, something in the starry moonlit loveliness of the fair English landscape stirring her heart with a throb of exquisite remembranceandpain. Sir Arthur Tregenna—grave,’sombre—by her side, was very silent too. //oMJwellheiiked to be here, he alone knew; and yet his place was at the feet of yonder fair, proud peer’s daugh ter, thrice as lovely, thrice as sweet, as this dark daughter of the earth, the spell of whose sorcery had fallen [upon him. So standing, dead silent both, they heard the words of Rose O’Donnell. ‘Madame de Lansac !’—it was Redmond O’Donnell who spoke, removing his cigar and looking up— ‘ ill, is she ? I thought that handsome Creole was never ill. Nothing serious, I hope ?’ ‘lt is serious—at least grandpapa says so. Perhaps his fears exaggerate the danger. She is ill of yellow fever.’ ‘Ah! I should have thought she was pretty well acclimatised by this time. And our infant uncle, Rose—how is he? Lady Cecil, it is nob given to every man of eight-and-twenby to possess an uncle four years old. Such is my happy fortune. How is the Signor Claude?’ ‘Little Claude is well,’ his sister answered. ‘ Poor madame—and I liked her so much. Here is what grandpapa says: “Dear Marie, if there is any change for the worst I shall telegraph over at once, and I shall expect Redmond to send or fetch you out again. Claude has pined bo a shadow, and calls for Marie night and day.” So you see, Redmond, it may end in our returning after all. Still, I hope there may be no necessity. ’

Miss O’Donnell folded up her letter and walked away. Lady Cecil looked inquiringly at her companion. ‘ Marie ?’ she said. ‘ Your sister’s name is Rose, Captain O'Donnell, is it not ?’ ‘ Rose, yes; Rose Marie—called after her paternal and maternal grandmothers. Our mother was a Frenchwoman—l think I told you the family pedigree once before, didn’t I ?—and our grandfather is M. De Lansac, of Menadarva. When Rose went out there, to be brought up as her grandfather’s heiress and all that, the old French grandpere changed, without troubling Congress in the matter, the obnoxious Celtic cognomen of O'Donnell for the Gallic patronymic of De Lansac. In other words, Rose O’Donnell left Ireland, and twelve hours after her arrival in the Crescent City became Marie De Lansac.’ There was a faint exclamation—it came from the open window. The speaker and Lady Cecil both looked up, and saw that pretty tableau—the Cornish baronet and the nursery governess. ‘ You are ill, Miss Herncastle,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘ The night air, the falling due —’ He stopped. Ntf, my Lady Cecil! Lovely, gracious, high-born as you are, there never came for you into those calm, blue eyes the look that glows in them now for your cousin’s silent, sombre governess. He stopped and looked at her. It was nob that she had grown pale, for she was ever that, fixedly pale, but a sorb of ashen grey shadow had crept up over brow and chin, like a waxen mask. For one instant her lips parted, her eyes dilated, then, as if by magic, all signs of change disappeared. Miss Herncastle was herself again, smiling upon her companion with her face of marble calm. ‘ A neuralgic twinge, Sir Arthur.’ She pub her hand to her forehead. 4 1 am subject to them. No—no, you are very kind, but there is no need to look concerned. I am quite used to.ib, and it only means I have taken a slight cold.’ ‘And we stood here in a draught of night air. Shall I close the window, Miss Herncastle ?’ ‘ And shut out this sweet evening wind, with the scent of the sea and the roses ? No, Sir Arthur ; I may nob bo very sentimental or romantic—my days for all that are past—bub 1 think a more practical person than myself might brave a cold in the head and a twinere of tic doloureux, for such a breeze and such a prospect as this.’ ‘ At least, then, permit mo to get you a shawl.’

He left her before she could expostulate. She caught her breath for a moment—hard, then leaned forward and listened to the low spoken words of Lady Cecil. 4 Your grandfather’s heiress,’she was repeating, interestedly. 4 Ah ! yes I remember, you told me that also once before,’

‘ Did I ? I’ll tell you the sequel now, if you like,’ the Chasseur d’Afrique said. ‘ There is many a slip, you know, and old Frenchmen sometimes haveyouthful hearts. M. De Lansac suddenly and unexpectedly got married, six years ago—MasterClaude is four years old now, the finest little fellow from here to New Orleans, the heir of Menadarva, and the De Lansac millions. After her grandfather’s marriage—l don’t know how it was either—she and madame always seemed excellent friends, but Marie fell into low spirits and ill health, pined for the green hills of Ulster, and the feudal splendour of Castle, o’Don»ell—perhaps you remember the venerable pile, Lady Cecil—and wrote me to come and fetch her home. Her grandfather did not wish it. I did not wish it, I could give her no home equal in any way to that she wished to leave ; but when a wsman will, she will, and all the rest of it. Maria De Lansac, . like Marianne in the Moated Grange, was “aweary, aweary.” The result of many letters, and' touch feminine logic, was, that I obtained six months’ leave of absence, sailed the briny seas and— Finis.’

‘Not Finis, Captain O’Donnell; there is still a supplement. How is it you chanced to appear before us so suddenly here ?’ ‘ Ask Rose,’ Captain O’Donnell answered. * I never pretend to fathom the motives that sway the feminine intellect. She wanted to come to London —we came to London. She wanted to come to Castleford, Sussex—we came to Castleford, Sussex. Why, I don't know, and lam not sure that I have known any curiosity on the subject. Probably Rose knows, just as probable though she does not. As well Sussex as anywhere else. 1 received and obeyed orders. And ’ —Captain O’Donnell paused a moment and glanced up at the fair, starry face on which the cold moonbeams shone— ‘ and I can truly say I don't regret the coming.’ He flung away his cigar and sprang to his feeb. Lady Dangerfield, with her major, approached at the moment. ‘Queenie, are you aware the dew is fal" ling, and that night air is shocking for the complexion ? A little moonlight is very nice, but enough is enough, 1 judge Come into the house; we are going to have 100 and music.’.

She swept toward the windows, her trained dress brushing the dew off the wet grass, and her eyes fell upon two tall, dusk, statuesque figures there full in the moonlight. And over my lady’s face an angry frown swept, and from my ladys eyes a flash of haughty displeasure shot. ‘ You here still, Miss Herneastle ?’ she said in a voice of verjuice. ‘I imagined when the music ceased that you had gone to your room, Are you'aware, whether

Pansy and Pearl have gone to bed ? Be kind enough to go at once and ascertain. 4 And remain when you go,' the frown that concluded the command said. ‘ She swept by them, her shining laces wafting a cloud of mlllifleurs before and behind her, and Major Frankland, with a knowing half-smile on his lips, stalked after ike the statue of the commander. Miss Herucastlefell back—one appealing, deprecating, wistful look she cast upon Sir Arthur.

‘Good-night,’ she sighed, rather that said, and was gone. _ Lady Dangerfield was wise in her generation, but she had made a mistake to-night. A sudden dark anger had swept into the baronet’s eyes, a flush of intolerable anger mounted bo his brow. The lady lie ‘delighted to honour’ had been insulted, had been ordered from his presence and out of hi? room because—he understood well enough—because of him. His face changed, so darkly, so sternly, so angrily, that you saw how terrible this man, usually so calm and impassive, could be in wrath. The rest of the party enteied by the other windows. The lamps were lit, and Lady Dangerfield’s voice came shrilly summoning the baronet to 100. ‘ We are four—Major Frankland, Miss O’Donnell, Captain O’Donnell and myself. We want you, Sir Arthur, to make up our table.’ ‘ Your ladyship will hold me excused. I have no wish for cards to-night.’ The iced stateliness of that tone no words of mine can tell. Sir Arthur left his window, looking unutterably grim and awful, strode down the long room, flung himself into a chair, took up a photograph album and immersed himself instantly fathoms deep in art. Lady Cecil Clive, seated at the piano in the dim distance, heard, saw and smiled. My lady’s stare of angry amaze, Sir Arthur’s grimly sulky face were irresistible. As she glanced across the drawingroom, she encountered another pair of laughing eyes, that met and answered her own. Very handsome, very bright, very bold, blue eyes they were, in the head of Le Beau Chasseur. What rapport was there between these two ? Without speaking a word, they understood each other thoroughly. Sir Arthur Tregenna might wrap himself up in his dignity as in a mantle, and sulk to his heart’s content ; Lady Cecil might hold herself aloof, and play dreamy, sweet sonatas and German waltzes, looking like a modern Saint Cecilia ; the Earl of Ruysland might still slumber in that peaceful way which a quiet conscience and a sound digestion give ; Sir Peter might entomb himself in his study or make his nightly pilgrimage to Castleford—but the 100 party were the merriest party imaginable. Miss Herncastle appeared no more, of course ; Lady Cecil played on and on— Sir Arthur gazed and gazed at his pictures and never approached the piano. He had gob hold of a picture—Joan of Arc before her judges, and his eyes never left it. The face was strangely like that of Miss Herncastle—the expression of the great grave eyes, the compression of the sensitive mouth, the turn of the brow, the shape of the chin. And that night when Sir Tregenna went up bo his room, he carried Joan of Arc with him. It wanted just a quarter of twelve vvhen Redmond O’Donnell left Scarswood Park, and took his way on foot to the town. He had been offered a horse, he had been offered a bed, and had declined both. To walk on such a night was a luxury. He lib a Manilla, and went over the moonlit road with his long cavalryman’s stride. It was a perfect night, the sky small-blue, the stars golden and glorious, the moon sailing up serene in their shiny midst. Long shadows of tall trees lay black across the road, the hedge-rows in full blossom made the night air odorous, and, far or near, no living thing was to be seen.

Far or near! Redmond O’Donnell pulled up suddenly in his swinging pace, and looked away afield ; hi 3 sight was of eagle keenness. What dark moving figure was that yonder, crossing a stile, and vanishing amid the tall gorse? It wa3 a woman—more, it was familiar even at that distance. In a moment his resolution was taken. What woman was this out for a midnight ramble ? She must have come straight from Scarswood, there was no other habitation near. Captain O’Donnell set his lips, flung away his cigar among the fern and grasses, vaulted like a boy over the hedge, and in a moment was in full pursuit. The figure that had vanished in the shadows of the waving gorse, reappeared in the broad moonlit field. A woman

-no doubt about that now—a tall woman, walking swiftly, lightly, gracefully, as only young women ever walk. That stately stature, that poise of the head and shoulders, surely all were familiar. And a—quarter past twelve, alone and in haste. What mystery was here ? ‘ Some instinct told me six hours ago, when I tecognised her first, that something was wrong; I am convinced of it now. Something is wrong. What brings her here ?—of all people in the world, and in the character of a nursery governess. And where is she going at this unearthly hour of night ?’ Still she went on—still the unseen pursuer followed on her track. She never looked back ; straight, swift, as one who has some fixed end in view, she went on ; and still steady and relentless, determined and stern, Redmond O’Donnell followed in her track. Her destination was Bracken Hollow. It came upon him, seen for the first time, black and grim, buried among its gloomy trees —lonely and deserted. No lights gleamed anywhere about it; its shutters were all closed unutterably eerie and desolato in the white shimmer of the moon. But the nocturnal visitor opened the grim wooden gate with a key she carried, reloeked it, and for the first time paused to look back. She saw no one—the trees, and the shades, and the distance hid the pursuer; only the silver shine of the stars and moon, the boundless blue of sky, the spreading green of earth, and the soft night wind whispering over all. She turned from the gate, hurried up the grassgrown path, and vanished in the inky gloom of the porch.

Redmond O’Donnell emerged from the shadow of the trees, and approached the gruesome dwelling. He paused at the wooden gate, Avhich barred his farther advance, and gazed up at the black forbidding front. In his rambles over the neighbourhood he had never come upon this out-of-the-way place -it lay in a 3pot so remote, so unfrequented, that few ever did come upon it by chance. And those who knew it gave it a wide berth, for it bore the ghastly reputation of a haunted house. He stood, his folded arms resting on the gate, tall sycamores and firs burying him in their deepest gloom, and watched and waited for—he hardly knew what. Certainly not for what he heard - a long, wailing cry that came suddenly and hideously from tho upper part of the house. He started up. So blood-curdling, so unexpected was it, that for one moment his heart gave a great bound. It was followed by another, wild,, agonised—then dead silence fell.

Physically and morally Redmond O’Donnoll was brave to the core, and had given

many and strong proofs of his bravery; bub a chill, more like fear than anything he had ever experienced, fell upon him now. What hideous thing was this ? Was murder being done in this spectral house ? It looked a fit place for a murder—all darkness, all silence, all desolation. The unearthly cry was the same that once before had terrified Lady Cecil, but of that circumstance he knew nothing. What deed of evil was going on within these dark walls? Should he force an entrance and see? Would that dreadful cry be repeated ? He paused and listened five, ten, fifteen minutes. No, dead silence reigned. Only the flutter of the leaves, and the chirp of some bird in its nest, the soft rustle of the trees, the faint soughing of the wind—the 4 voices ’ of the night—nothing more. What ought he do? While he still stood there irresolute lost in wonder and a sort of awe, the porch door opened, and the mysterious lady he had followed appeared. A second figure, the bent figure of a very old woman, came after. The first was speaking. ‘ No, no, Hannah ; you shall not come. Afraid ! What nonsense ! The time for me to fear anything earthly is past. Nothing living or dead will harm me. I will reach Scarswood in less than threequarters of an hour, get in as I got out, in spite of all Sir Peter’s chains and locks, and to-morrow be once more my lady’s staid preceptress of youth. Hannah, Hannah, what a life it is ! Go back ; try to keep everything quiet; don’t let these ghastly shrieks be repeated if you can help it. How fortunate Bracken Hollow is thought to be haunted, and no one ever comes here by night or day !’ 4 We had a narrow escape nob long ago, for all that. It was one of the bad days, and the lady and gentleman heard. I put them off, bub it may happen again, and it will. It can’t go on forever.’ ‘Nothing goes on forever ; I don’t want it to go on forever. My time is drawing near ; little by little the light is breaking, and my day is coming. Until it does, keep quiet ; use the drug if there’s too much noise. I will return as speedily as possible. Now, good-night.’ She ran down the steps, walked with firm, resolute, fearless tread, down the path, and, as before, lingered a second or two at the gate. The old woman had gone back to the house, and the tall dark figure under the firs she did not see. She drew out her watch and looked at it by the light of the moon. * Half-past one !’ she murmured, * I had not thought it so late. It will be a quarter past two, then, before I reach Scarswood. ’ 4 And a very late hour for Miss Herncastle to be out alone !’ Obeying an impulse he could nob resist, . the chasseur emerged from the tree-shadows and stood before her. ‘ With her permission I will see her safely back.’ And then, with the bright light of the moon upon his face, Redmond O’Donnell removed his hat and bowed co Miss Herncastle. (To be continued.)