A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 466, 26 April 1890, Page 6

A Wonderful Woman.

B? MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earleacourt’s Wife," “A Ter/ible Secret,” “ Lost for a Woman,” “A Mad Marriage,” ©to-

BOOK 11. CHAPTER XVII. THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE. 4 1 tell you, madam, you shall not go l ‘ And I tell you, sir, I shall !’ 4 Lady Dangerfield, I repeat it, you shall never go to that disreputable woman s house in that disgusting dress.’ 4 Sir Peter Dangerfield, I repeat it, as sure as the night after to-morrow night comes, I will go to Mrs Everleigh’s masquerade in the costume of a page.’ And then husband and wife stood still, and paused for breathy and glared at each other, as much more devoted husbands and wives will do at times in the marital relation, I am told. It was three days after Sir Peter’s attack, and for two days the little baronet bad been sufficiently recovered to enliven the drawing-room with the brightness of his presence. All at once the solitude of his study had become unbearable to him ; his bugs, and beetles, his bees and butterflies afforded him no consolation. Lights, life, human faces, human voices, he craved them all day and night. And so it came about, in the first time of Lady Dangerfield’s experience of him, her husband had nothing to do but watch her and grow jealous. Horribly and ferociously jealous. He didn’t care a pin’s point in the way of love for his wife, but she was his wife, and as long as a lady is that, the gentleman whose name she honours has legal right certainly to most of her bender looks, whispered sentences, twilight walks, etc., etc. And Sir Peter got none of these, and Major Frankland got a great many. In reality, in her heart of hearts, if my lady possessed such an inmost sanctuary, she really cared as much for one as for the other. A fine fortune, a fine establishment, fine dresses, superfine dinners—these were the things my lady loved, above husband, child, or lover. Bub all these things she had, and Major Frankland was very good-looking, could flatter ceaselessly, knew the art of love a la mode to perfection, and was very willing to pay in tender glances, dreamy tete-a-tete, whispered nothings, for the excellent Searswood dinners, wines, horses, billiards, and the rest of it. And to do him justice, he did not know Sir Peter was jealous ; he meant no harm, only 4 this sort of thing ’ helped make the long summer days pass ; and if my lady liked to flirt, and Sir Peter did nob object, why shouldn’t he show his gratitude and become flirtee as well as any other man ? In a round dance my lady’s step suited him, their intellects were on an average, they knew the same people, liked to talk of the same things, both were welllooking, unexceptionable of dress and style —that is what it came to, and where was the harm ? Major Frankland did nob think of this—Major Frankland never thought at all if he could help himself. But that was the sum total of his and my lady’s platonic friendship. In a vague, hazy sort of way, Sir Peter had long been a chronic victim to a mild form of the green-eyed monster. All at once in these two days the mild, harmless symptoms became furiously aggravated, and the little baronet turned rampantly jealous. He had nothing else to do but watch his wife and her attendant cavalier, and he did watch them. He lost his fear of ghosts, his intorest in Miss Herncasble almost in this new phase of things. He sat in a corner with a big book, and glowered vengefully over the top of it at the placid face of the major and the vivacious face of his wife. .

Mrs Everleigh’s fancy dress party brought matters to a climax. Mrs Everleigh was an exceedingly charming lady of whom Castleford knew very little indeed, except that she was excessively rich, very fond of spending her money, and enjoying herself, and a divorced wife. Where Mr Everleigh-was, and why ho had put away the wife of his bosom, a great many asked and nobody answered. Mrs Everleigh herself-put her perfumed mouchoir to her blue eyes when the harrowing subject was alluded to called Mr Everleigh a bruce and herself a martyr, and left things in their general mistv and uncomfortable state of doubt. Butshe dressed elegantly, lived luxuriously, gave the most brilliant receptions far or near. The more fastidious ladies of the neighbourhood, Lady Cecil among them, fought shy of charming Mrs Everleigh. Lady Dangerfield and she became bosom friends at once. And this week Mrs Everleigh’s masquerade came off—the only thing of this kind that had been dreamed of —and my lady and the major were going. The major as the ‘Chief of Lira,’ gloomy and splendid, and misanthropical, in blaak velvet and plumes, like a mute at a funeral, and my lady was going as Kaled, Lara’s page—the devoted, the adoring Kaled. By the merest chance, for my lady never annoyed her nervous husband with these foolish trifles, he had discovered the ball, the costume, everything that he would have been much better without knowing, and his brimming cup flowed oyer! He flew into a passion ; his wizen little face turned purple with rage; he . absolutely swore; he stamped his small foot, and screeched forth in passionate falsetto, that my lady should not go. ‘And I tell you-1 shall !’ my lady retorted, also flying into a towering passion, and using none too ladylike language in her sudden fit of rage. * Don’t make a greater fool of yourself, Sir Peter Dangerfield, than nature has already made you. It’s no affair of yours. Attend to your bugs and horrid crawling things, your ghosts and your gambling. Oh, yes, I know where you were the night you saw the ghost under tho King’s Oak. I don’t interfere with your amusements—be good-enough not to interfere with mine.’

She had trodden on her worm so long that she had forgotten even worms sometimes turn. She had gone’ just a step too far. The purple hue of rage had left his face; it turned a ghastly yellow. He folded his small arms across his small chest, he planted his small feet resolutely on the carpet, and he stood and looked at her. ‘ You mean to go, then, Lady Dangerfield ?’ ‘ I mean to go, as surely as you stand there, Sir Peter Dangerfield.’ ‘ In this disgusting dress ?’

* You called it disgusting once before. I don’t perceive the disguisting. It’s a beautiful little dress, and I expect to look lovely in this.’ ‘ You mean to go to this disreputable woman’s house V

‘You said that before also. Sir Peter. Don’t let Mrs Everleigh hear you, or she may bring action against you for defamation of character. Her husband was a brute, and she had to leave him —nothing very uncommon in that—most husbands are. She has her own fortune, and she

enjoys herself in her own way. I suppose it is infamous for a woman who has ever had the misfortune to marry to presume .to enjoy herself after.’ ‘You mean to go to Miss Everleigh’s masquerade! You mean bo go in male attire ! —you the mother of two children ! a woman of thirty-five years of age !’ That was too much. Lady Dangerfield might have endured a great deal; bub this last insult - this cold-blooded mention of her age —no, she would not stand that. What right-feeling woman, indeed, could ? ‘ You little wretch !’. cried Sir Peter’s wife, and for a moment the words, and the tone, and the look, brought Katherine Dangerfield, and che conservatory, and six years, back vividly before him. 4 How dare you use such language as that to me ? If I never meant to go I should go now. Five-and-thirty, indeed ! I deny it; it is a base falsehood ! I shall not be thirty-one until next birthday. And I shall go to Mrs Everleigh’s, and I shall go as a page just as sure as Thursday night comes !’ 4 And yvitffiMajor Ftarikland, Gineyra ?’ 4 With Major Frankland—a gentleman, at least, who does not insult ladies to ; their faces by odious falsehoods about their age. Thirty-five, indeed ! I have no more to say to you, Sir Peter Dangerfield, only this

—I shall go!’ 4 Very well, Lady Dangerfield ’ —lie was yellower than ever—he was trembling with passion ; 4 then hear me. If you go to Mrs Everleigh’s as page to that man’s knight, then —remain with Mrs Everleigh—don’t come back here. I have endured a good deal; I will nob endure this. Go if you will; I shall nob lift a finger to prevent you ; bub—don’t come back. Scarsvvood is mine ; the mistresses of Scarswood have been honourable women always ; j’ou shall not be the first to dwell beneath its roof and disgrace it—that I swear !’ For once in his life he was eloquent, for once in his life he was dignified. He rose with the occasion ; in that moment you would almost have respected him. He tnrned and left the room. His wife stood petrified. Was she awake —was she asleep? Was this Sir Peter Dangerfield ? Could she believe her senses ? There was a second auditor to this marital outbreak—an auditor who stood almost as much surprised as my lady herself. It was Miss Herncasble, who had entered in the full bide of the discussion, and had stood, nob seeming to know exactly whether to go back or go on. My lady turned and saw her now.

4 Miss Herncastle !’ she cried in haughty anger. ‘ You—and listening ?’ 4 Not' listening, my ; lady, 5 Miss Herncasble answered, meeting her angry eyes steadily. 4 You told me this morning when the doublet was completed to tell you, and let you try it on. It is finished, and, obeying your orders, I came in search of you at once.’ For Miss Herncastle had been ordered to desert the school-room latterly, and turn seamstress in general to my lady. And it was Miss Herncastle who, with boundless taste and good-nature, had suggested the two costumes,and produced a little painting of Lara and Kaled. The major and Lady Dangerfield had both been charmed with the idea. The major was now up in London selecting his costume, and Miss Herncasble had ridden into town with my lady, silk and velvet, lace and feathers had been purchased, the governess and my lady’s maid had since sewed, sewed, sewed night and day. Miss Herncastle had such taste, such clever fingers, and was altogether a miracle of dexterity and cheerfulness. Lady Dahgerfiold’s ruffled plumage smoothed again. ‘So I did. And it is ready? But Sir Peter objects so strongly—is so disagreeable —sfcill I must run up and see it.’ A faint, derisive smile dawned upon the face of the governess, as she stepped back to let my lady pass her. 4 And when you do see it—trust me to persuade you to wear it. It will be an eaey task, despite the counsels of a hundred husbands.’ That was what that slight chill smile said plainly enough, as she followed my lady to one of the upper rooms.

The dress lay spread upon a bed—a shining vision of carmine silk, with ostrich plumes, gold braid and black velvet. My lady’s eye lit up like black diamonds, as she lifted the separate articles that composed the costume, and held them up to glisten in the sunlight. Millinery was the one thing, of all things earthly, that most closely appealed to this woman’s soul. ‘Oh ! —’ a long inspiration. ‘ Miss Herncastle, your taste is perfect—perfect; I never saw anything so lovely. And to think that preposterous little baronet says I shall not wear it. Delphine, take your sewing into your own room —I am going to try this on.’ Exit Delphine with a curtsey. My lady sinks into a chair. ‘Do my hair, Miss Herflcastle,’ she says, impatiently ; * I shall try it on at least.’ Miss Herncastle’s deft fingers go to work. Embroidery, costume making, hairdressing —nothing seems to come amiss to these deft white fingers. ‘ Now, my lady. No, don’t look in the glass yet, please. Let me dress you; when everything is on, then you shall look and see the effect.’ And.then Miss Herncastle set to work in earnest, my lady aiding and abetting. She had locked the door; profound silence, befitting the importance of the moment, reigned. Silken hose, buckled shoes, little baggy silken unmentionables, a doublet of carmine silk, all aglimmer with gold cord and lace and sparkling buttons; a little black velvet cloak, lined with deep rose red, seeming but a brighter shade of the carmiriei clasped jauntily a little to one side, and the one end flung back over the shoulder ; a little black velvet beret or cap, set on one side the black crepe hair, a long ostrich plume sweeping over the shoulder and fastened at the side by a -diamond aigrette ; a tiny rapier sot in a jewelled scabbard—that was the radiant, sparkling vision my lady’s glass showed her. In all her life, she had never looked so nearly beautiful as in this boyish travesty—in this glowing carmine silk, and lofty plume, and black velvet’:’ * Oh !’ she said no more—only that one long-drawn breath. She stood and contemplated the picture in silent ecstasy. * Ifc is perfect—it is beautiful,’MissHerncastle£murmured : ‘ I never saw your ladyship look half so well in anything before. It will hqthe costume of the ball.’

.* It is lovely—lovely,’my lady responded, still staring in an ecstasy ; ‘but Miss Herncastle, I have already told you Sir Peter has taken it into his imbecile head to object —to absolutely forbid. He calls the dress disgraceful—nonsense—and Mrs Everleigh disreputable. And you have no idea how disagreeable and how obstinate Sir Peter Dangerfield can be when he likes.’ Miss Herncastle smiled again that slight, chill, unpleasant smile.

‘ Have I not ? But I think I have. Men have peculiar notions on these subjects, and with a man like Sir Peter, it is much easier to let him have his way than to do combat. They will never yield an inch.’

• Give way! That meansto give up theidea of the ball - to submit to be tyrannised over —not to wear this exquisite dress, Miss Herncastle, do I hear you aright ?’ ‘You hear, but you do not understand. Of course you go to the ball-r-only—let Sir Peter think you don’t. It will be easy enough to deceive him. It may involve

a few falsehoods, but) your ladyship will not stickle ab that. You go to the ball in peace—and he goes to bed in peace, and what he never knows will never grieve him.’ * But how is it to be done ?’ Miss Herncastle paused a moment in deep thought, her brows knit. ‘ln this way,’ she said. ‘ Write to Major Frankland in London, and tell him when he returns bo Castleford, on Thursday evening, to remain in Castleford, at one of the inns, instead of coming to Scarswood. It is as much on his account as on account of the page’s dress that Sir Peter objects. You can tell Sir Peter, if you choose, that you have given up the idea—that Major Frankland has been detained in town. He will nob believe it, of course, but when the night arrives and he does not return, and ho sees you retire for the night, he will. Once in your room, you dress of course ; bribe the coachman to drive you quietly to Mrs Everleigh’s, and wait the breaking up of the ball. At Mrs Everleigh’s you meet the Major; he can keep quiet in the town all the following day, and in the evening come here as though direct,from the station. You will have enjoyed the ball, and Sir Peter be none the wiser.’

My lady listened in calm approbation, undisturbed by conscientious qualms of any kind. * A famous idea, Mias Herncastle,’ she said, as the governess ceased. ‘ What a head you have for plotting and taking people in. One would think you had done nothing else all your life.’ Miss Herncastle received this involuntary compliment with becoming modesty, that faint, derisive smile creeping for a second or two around her handsome mouth. But she was busy removing the page’s attire, and my lady did not see it. ‘lf you write to Major Frankland at once, my lady,’ she said, * I will take your letter to the post-office myself, and he will get it in time to-morrow. It will simply be doing a kindness to Sir Peter to keep him in the dark about the ball; his imaginary troubles about ghosts are quite enough for him at present.’ She placed writing material before my lady, and my lady, in her spidery Italian tracery, dashed off a page or two to the major, apprising him of the facts, of Sir Peter's unexpected disapproval and Miss Herncastle’s clever plan. Before it was signed and sealed, Miss Herncastle, in hat, jacket, and parasol, stood ready to take it into town. It would be a long, hot, dusty walk, but what sacrifices will not friendship make ? She took the letter, pub it in her pocket, and left the room and the house.

My lady watched her from the window out of sight, and somehow a feeling of distrust, that had always lain dormant there for Miss Herncastle, rose up and warned her to take care, r Wbat was ab the bottom of all this willingness to serve and please her ? She knew she disliked Miss Herncastle, and she felt that Miss Herncastle disliked her. What if she should betray her to Sir Peter, after all ? And Sir Peter had looked so uncomfortably in earnest when he had made that threat: ‘ You shall not be the first to dwell beneath the roof of Scarswood and disgrace it—that I swear !’ A cold chill came over her for an instant in the sultry summer air. What if she went? Wbat if Miss Herncastle betrayed her ? and what if he kept his word ? ‘lb would be wiser to give it up,’ she thought; *he might keep his word, and bhen—great Heaven ! what would become of me ? I will give it up,’ , She turned, and her eyes fell on the dress—the carmine silk, the diamond aigrette, the doublet, the beret, the rapier—all her good resolutions faltered and failed ab the sight. I won't give it up,’ she exclaimed, seting her little white teeth. ‘ I’ll go, and trust Miss Herncastle, and deceive the jealous, tyrannical little monster, if I can. What motive has she for betraying me ? and later, if he does find it out from any other source, his anger will have had time to cool. I would not miss wearing that dress, and having Jasper see how young and pretty I look in it, for a kingdom. Thirty-five years old, indeed ! Odious little dwarf ! I’ll go as surely as I stand here.’ Miss Herncastle walked into town over the dusty highroad, under the boiling July sun, and posted my lady’s letter. She returned weary, dusty, foot-sore, as the stable clock was striking six, and as she walked up the avenue, came face to face with Sir Peter and Captain O’Donnell. The littlecowardly baronebhad beenseized with a sudden and great fancy for the tall, soldierly, fearless Irishman. A confidant of some kind he must have. Frankland was out of the question—Sir Arthur he stood, like most people, in awe of—the 6arl would have listened suavely and sneered secretly ; O’Donnel therefore only remained. And O’Donnell suited him exactly ; he had nob a grain of fear in his nature —he had a cool head, a steady nerve, and he was intensely interested in the whole affair. O’Donnell had taken it up, had promised to investigate, did not believe it was a ghost, and Sir Peter breathed again. Both gentlemen bowed to the pale, tiredlooking governess. The baronet turned round and looked darkly and suspiciously after her.

4 Where has she been now ?’ he asked, distrustfully. ‘ What do all these long solitary rambles mean ? Don’t you see the likeness, O’Donnell, to the picture of Katherine Dangerfield ? You must be blind if you do not.’ ‘ Oh, I see a certain likeness,’ O’Donnell repeated, ‘ but nothing so marked as to be terrifying. By the bye, I was examining the photograph with a magnifying glass and I discovered a mark or scar of some kind on the left side of the face, right above the temple. Now, had Katherine Dangerfield a birth-mark there or anywhere else—the proverbial strawberry mark on the arm, or mole on the neck, or anything of that sort ?’ ‘ The line you saw was a scar—the scar of a wound that came pretty near ending her life. On the voyage out to India her nurse let her fall out of her arms ; she struck the blunt end of a spike, and gave herself a horrible gash just above the temple. I saw the scar a hundred times ; it wasn’t very disfiguring, and she never tried to conceal it. A white, triangular scar, that used to turn a livid red when she gob angry. O’Donnell listened thoughtfully. ‘ Humph !’ he said, 4 a scar like that it would be impossible ever to obliterate, even had she lived to be over eighty.’

4 Quite impossible ; bub why ?’ 4 Oh, only idle curiosity, of course. I noticed the mark, and it set me wondering what it might be.’ He paused a moment, his eyes on the ground, his brows knit in a thoughtful frown; then he looked up and spoke again, quite abruptly : 4 You told me, Sir Peter, she died in the house of a man named Otis, I think—a doctor who afterward removed to London. Do you know if this man still lives ?’ 4 1 know nothing about him. bub there is no reason to suppose that he does nob.’ 4 Was his Christian name Henry?’

Sir Peter paused a moment, and thought. 4 lt was Henry,’ he answered. 4 1 remember now. Henry Otis, that was his name.’ 4 Was he tall, spare, very light-haired, very sallow complexion and a stoop ?’ ‘Yes, he was. O’Donnell, have you seen him ? You describe him exactly. 4

‘I think I have. And she died in his house, and was buried from it you say ? How long after did he leave Castleford for London ?’ ‘I don’t remember exactly—some months, I think. There were people who said he had fallen in love with Katherine, and was miserable here after her death. She was buried from his house, and he erected that stone to her memory. Then he took his mother and went up to London.’ * He and his mother lived alone?’ * They did.’ * They kept a servant, I suppose ?’ Sir Peter looked ab him wonderingly.

‘ I suppose they did; it was not his mother who opened the door for me when I went there. O'Donnell, what are you driving at?’ ‘l’ll tell 3 r ou presently. If the servant who lived with them at the time of Katherine Dangerfield’s death • be still alive, it strikes me I should like to see that servant. One question more, Sir Peter, on another subject. Do you know a place some three miles from here—a dismal, lonely sort of house called Bracken Hollow ?’

‘Certainly I know Bracken Hollow.’ His voice dropped to a whisper, and he glanced half fearfully around.. ‘ Who in Castleford does nob ? Dismal and. lonely ! I should think so. Bracken Hollow is a haunted house.’

‘lndeed,’ the chasseur Baid, his. hands in his pockets, his face immovable ; 'it looks like it. I confess. And what manner of ghost haunts it, and who has ever seen him ? that is, supposing it to be a him. As far as my experience goes, ghosts are generally of the feminine gender.’

4 For Heaven’s sake, don’t talk in that way, O’Donnell,’ Sir Peter said nervously, taking his arm. ‘You don’t know what may hear you. Bracken Hollow is haunted ; most unearthly sounds have been heard there—heard by more than me, and not superstitious people either. A murder was committed there once, many years ago, and they say—’ - ‘ Oh, of course they say. That’s not evidence. I want to hear what actually has been seen.’

* Well-—nothing,’ Sir Peter responded reluctantly ; ‘ but 1 repeat it—horrible and unearthly cries have been heard coming from that house often, and by many people. ’ ‘ And none of these people investigated, I suppose?’ ‘lt was none of their business; they were only too glad to give it a wide berth, and go near it no more.’ ‘ Who lives at Bracken Hollow ?’ ‘ An old woman named Hannah Gowan. She was Katherine Dangerfield’s nurse in her youth, and Sir John pensioned her off, and gave her Bracken Hollow.’ ‘Whew — w — w—w !’ O’Donnell’s low, shrill whistle pierced the quiet air. ‘ Katherine Dangerfield’s nurse ! By George ! that accounts— he stopped. Sir Peter looked at him, all his neverending suspicions and fears aroused. ‘ Accounts for what ?’

O’Donnell halted in his slow walk, and laid his hand confidentially on the shoulder of the baronet, and looked calmly down into the baronet’s little wizen face.

‘Sir Peter,’ he said, gravely, ‘a light is beginning to dawn upon me ; the mysteries are lifting slowly, but, I think, surely. I can’t tell you what I think, wbat I suspect; I hardly can tell myself yet. All is confused—all is stranger than I can say ; but as in a glass, darkly, I begin to understand—-bo see the end. Wait —give me time. As surely as we both live, this strange mystery shall be sifted to the bottom, and the ghost of Scarswood, the ghost of Bracken Hollow exorcised. Now I am going away by myself to think.’ He turned and strolled away, leaving the petrified little baronet standing under the lime-trees, the picture of dazed and helpless astonishment.

The first room the young Irishman passed was the library; its windows stood wide open on the lawn ; it looked cool and dark, and deserted-a suitable place to think. He stopped in, let the sea-green curtains fall again, flung himself into a chair, his hands still deep in his pockets, his brow still knit in that reflective frown.

The room had seemed very dark, coming in from the glare of the sunset. As after five minutes he lifted his eyes from the carpet, he found that it was ?w>«dark. More, be found that he was nob alone —the library had another occupant—that occupant Miss Herncastle —Miss Herncastle asleep. Miss Herncastle asleep ! After the first instant’s surprise, he sat still and looked at her. It was easy enough to understand how she came to be here. She had passed the windows, as he had done - the dark seclusion of the library looked inviting, she, wearied and warm, had entered, and finding it entirely deserted, had lain down, and all unconsciously fallen asleep. She had removed her hat; one hand pillowed her head ; her face, with the light full upon it, was turned towards him. Pitilessly, searchingly, he sat and read that face. The straight, finely-shaped nose, the square-cub, resolute lips, the curved, determined chin, the broad, rather low, intellectual looking forehead. It was per fectly colourless, that face, even in sleep. And in her sleep she dreamed, for her brows were contracted, her lips moved. She looked fairer in her slumber than he had ever thought her awake. Who was she ? A strange woman, surely —a wonderful woman, if the dim, mysterious suspicions adrift in his mind were right. Who was she ? Helen Herncastle of London, as she said, or— An inspiration came to him—an inspiration that lifted him from his chair to his feet, that caught his breath for one breathless moment. The scar, on Katherine Dangerfield’s temple! - He hardly knew what he suspected as yet, wild, improbable, impossible things ; and yet he did suspect. Now, if ever, was the time to end all suspicions, and test the truth. Miss Herncastle wore her black hair nearly down to her eyebrows ; what easier now than to lift one of these shining waves, and look at the left temple—it was the side of the face uppermost. He advanced-he hesitated. Something in her helplessness —in the sacredness of sleep, appealed to his strength and his manhood, and held him back. It seemed a dastardly deed to do while she slept what he dared not awake. And yet it was his only chance. 4 1 may be judging her cruelly, shamefully,’ he thought; 4 if the scar is not there, I am. For her own sake I will look.’ He drew near—he stooped over the sleeping form; very gently he lifted the black waves of hair that covered forehead and temple. A full and noble brow he saw it was those bands of dead hair hid. Lifted off it altered her wonderfully, made her ten times more like the portrait of the dead girl. He glanced at the temple. Good God ! yes ! there was the livid triangular scar Sir Peter Dangerfield had described, just above the temple. He let the hair drop—he absolutely reeled for a second, and grasped a chair. He stood there thunderebruck, spell-bound, looking down at her, helpless to do anything else. Something in the magnetism of_ that strange, fascinated gaze must have pierced

even the mists of slumber. Without sound of any kind to disturb her, the eyelids quivered, lifted, and Miss Herncastle, wide awake in a second, looked up from the sofa into Redmond O’Donnell’s face. (To he Continued.)