A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 468, 3 May 1890, Page 5

A Wonderful Woman.

By MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earlescourt’s Wife,” “A Terrible Secret," “ Lost for a Woman,” ®‘A Mad Marriage,” etc-

BOOK 11. CHAPTER XVIII. ROSE O’DONNELL’S SECRET. For a moment—for an hour, it seemed to him —not a word was spoken. His dazed eyes never left her ; he stood almost like a man stunned.

She rose up on her elbow, returning his gaze. What did his face, its sudden pallor, showing white even under the golden bronze of his skin, tell her? Something in his eyes cowed her strangely—fascinated her also. She rose slowly up to a sitting posture and spoke, answering that fixed look : ‘ What is it?’ she asked. The sound of her voice broke the spell. He drew a long breath and was himself again. In dealing with this woman, who could be too subtle and too deceiving ? ‘ I have been experimenting in animal magnetism, Miss Herncastle,’ he said coolly ; ‘in other words, trying if my will, my mesmeric power, could master you. T found you asleep—sound asleep—after your walk, and I stood and looked at you and willed you to awake. You obeyed. A liberty on my part, perhaps, but the temptation was irresistible. You possess a very powerful will of your own, Miss Herncastle ; that mine can command it, is no small triumph for me.’

Something very like a flush passed over tho perfect pallor of Miss Herneastle’s face. Her great grey eyes flashed upon him with something more nearly akin to anger than anything he had ever seen in them before. But thorough self-command had long ago become second nature to her. Her sweet voice had all its wonted soft music when she spoke: ‘ I regret Captain O’Donnell has no better use for his time than watching me, and no better subject for his mesmeric experiments. The Lady Cecil Clive, for instance —did he ever try his mesmeric powers on her, I wonder?’ ‘No,’Captain O’Donnell returned, lying indolently back in his chair, and looking the very embodiment of handsome sang froid ; ‘ I don’t believe the Lady Cecil is a good subject; if she is, I leave her to her rightful owner, Sir Arthur Tregenna, when she can get him, which isn’t often of late. And speaking of watching you, Miss Herncastle, I must tell you I have done that once before, lately, on an occasion when I don’t think you saw me. Not intentionally as now, at least at first; afterward, I fear, I must plead guilty to the somewhat dishonourable charge. But then again, the temptation was very strong. And upon my word, Miss Herncastle, you are so very mysterious, so very interesting a lady—if you will pardon my saying so—that watching you more than repays one for his trouble.’

‘ Mysterious ! interesting ! I don’t know what you mean, Captain O’Donnell!’ ‘ Oh, yes, I think you do. You must be aware you are an object of mystery and interest to all in this house : if for nothing else, your startling resemblance to that dead girl, Katherine Dangerfield. And then there are the nocturnal walks to Bracken Hollott, a haunted house, whose ghost at least you don’t seem to fear- And then there are singular assignations, held in such very singular places. Who, for instance, but mysterious Miss Herncastle would think of giving a gentleman an interview in a—churchyard, at nightfall ?’ She set her lips in the line he well knew, and looked at him, hard, full, defiant.

‘You understand me, I think. Was it the night before last? Yes, it was. I left Sir Peter Dangerfield’s bedside—you remember I relieved you, and let you and Sir Arthur go. We had been talking, Sir Peter and myself, of the ghost —very strange affair that, by the way—of Katherine Dangerfield, dead and gone, also of the young man Otis, who fell in love with her, and in whose house she died. With my mind full of Katherine Dangerfield, her sad story and misfortunes, I went to Katherine Dangerfield’s grave. I thought I had the place all to myself—certainly I never dreamed of its being made a place for lovers' tryst—but I was mistaken. On my way out, between me and the gate two figures stood. Had 1 not recognised them —one of them, rather—l should have passed on, surprised a little at their charnel house taste, but no more. But I recognised them. If you will excuse me again, Miss Herncastle—there is no mistaking that graceful walk of yours, or that stately poise of the head and shoulders. I knew you ; I also, after a moment, knew the man.’

Her lips set themselves closer, in that thin, upleasant line ; her grey eyes still shone with that silent threatening glitter. ‘ Sir Peter had described him, and I heard you speak his name—Henry. Tall, sallow, thin, stooping, living in London, and named Henry. There was no mistaking—the man was Mr Henry otis, surgeon late of Castleford—the man from whose house Katherine Dangerfield was buried.’ first time in his knowledge of her, her face changed. It turned grey—a ghastly creeping grey, from brow to chin. For an instant the fearless eyes flnched. For an instant—then she arose herself again, and defied him. ‘ Well,’ she said, ‘ what next ?’ ‘I stood, as they say in novels, rooted to the spot, and yet with a sensation of relief. For one moment—only one, Miss Herncastle —I fancied your companion to be Sir Arthur Tregenna. I might have known better. It is possible for a man like that to swerve a little from the straight path of duty ; to stoop to deliberate dishonour—never.’ She smiled—a smile not pleasant to see. ‘ Dishonour ! an ugly word. For Sir Arthur Tregenna to meet me in private thus —would be for him—dishonour ?’ ‘ Most certainly, if he met you as a lover. And he is fast becoming that, though I doubt if he knovys himself yet. For Sir Arthur Tregenna, the plighted husband of Lady Cecil Clive, to meet you or any woman, in that way, would be dishonour.’ ‘The plighted husband of Lady Cecil Clive,’ she echoed softly still, with that gleaming smile. *I" beg your pardon, Captain O’Donnell, he is not, he never has been for one second that. And,’ her eyes flashed up now, in a sudden fire of triumph. ‘I have but to say it—and ho never will!’

He sat still looking at her, pale, and grave, and surprised. 4 Never has been ? Do you mean to say, Miss Herncastle, that Sir Arthur kas not been for years the pledged busb’dnd of Lord Ruysland’s daughter?’L* No, not for years, not for days, not for hours. ’• He is no more her plighted husband—than you are. Ah ! you feel that!’ She laughed bitterly 4 as she saw him wince. ‘ You have been, in the best years of her life, what he never was—Lady

Cecil’s lover. Oh, I know more than you think, Captain Redmond O’Donnell, of that little Irish episode six years old. You saved her life at the risk of your own, and fell in love with her afterwards. Very pretty, very romantic —a very old story indeed. I know, but Sir Arthur does not. He is not in love with Lady Cecil noiv ; do you think it will help love on to hear that story of her youth —that story she will never tell him ?’

Redmond O’Donnell’s taee had grown cold and set as stone. To the suppressed passion in her face, in her tone, in her eyes, he was deaf and blind. If he had been told Miss Herncastle was rightful heiress to the crown of England, it would have astonished him less —he would have believed, it more easily—than that, all unwillingly, she had learned to love him.

‘ You do Lady Cecil great injustice, Miss Herncastle,’ he answered, with chill sternness, ‘in bringing her nani6 into this discussion at all. You wrong her more by your confounded suspicions. Whether she is, or is not the betrothed bride of Sir Arthur Tregenna, this at least is certain there is no page in her past life that he and all the world are not free to read. More, perhaps,’ looking her straight in the eyes, * than all can say. I did her the service you speak of in Ireland, six years ago ; is there anything in that to conceal ? And there the “ story,” as you phrase it, begins and ends. Your suspicions are all unfounded, all unjust. Whatever my folly may have been in that past time of a most foolish youth, to her I have been ever an acquaintance—a friend, perhaps—no more. Gratitude she gave me—never more.’ ‘ Never more !’ She turned her scornful face away, and looked out at the opal evening sky. ‘ Ah, well, humility is a virtue but few possess ; let us cherish it when we find it in an Irishman, of all men. Repeat that version of the story—believe it if you will. And she gave you gratitude. What is it she gives Sir Arthur ? What is it he gives her ? Love, do you think ? But sho is an earl’s daughter, and brought up in the codes and creeds of her order She will, marry him and his ancient name and his long lent-roll, if ho asks her. IJ ! Y r ou talk of temptation, Captain O'Donnell —is there no temDtation, think you* hero for me?’

‘To what ?’ His cold oyes, his cold tones cut her like knives. ‘To blind and fascinate him, to make his life miserable, to put him from her, to make him a wanderer over the earth, to spoil the happiness of two lives ? That, perhaps, it is in your power to do —no more. If you think he will ever marry you —a woman of whomheknosvs nothing—a woman who,lam certain, has her own good reasons for hiding her past—you mistake him entirely. Sir Arthur is a very proud man ; he comes of a proud race. The baronets of Tregenna may have married governesses before now never adventuresses.’

She burned upon him with eyes of fire : ‘ Captain O’Donnell !’ ‘I have said it, Miss Herncastle—you force it from me. Do you think his infatuation will lead him into asking you to be his wife, before inquiring into your past ? Will that past bear inquiring into ? Sooner than see it, I myself would show you to him as you are.’ He was still lying back in the easy chair, his tone quiet, but his mouth, his eyes, relentless as doom. No grim old judge, with the black cap on, pronouncing sentence of death on the wretch in the dock, could have looked more sternly relentless than he.

Her whole mood changed ; the swift dark anger died out of her eyes, she sank slowly back in her seat, her hands folded before her, and looked at him. ‘Captain O'Donnell,’she said, and there was a strange, weary, wistful pathos in her voice, ‘ I asked you be f ore—I ask you again—what have I ever done to you that you should be the one to hunt me down ?’ Something in her tone—something in her look—dreary, forlorn—touched him in spite of himself.

‘And I answer again—nothing, Miss Herncastle. I have no wish to turn amateur detective, believe me. But Sir Arthur Tregenna is my friend—l cannot see him duped without raising my voice to warn. You have brought discord and wretchedness enough to this house already ; go and leave it, satisfied with what you have done. All that I suspect I shall keep to myself; and I suspect a great deal. But go ; leave Sir Arthur to his duty—leave Sir Peter free from ghosts, and if it is in my power to aid or help you in any way, command me. But all this plotting, this working in the dark, must end, or else— ’ He paused. ‘ Or else it is war between you and me—is that it, Captain O’Donnell ? You will devote your man’s strength and your man’s intellect to hunting down and driving from Scarswood one poor woman who has never harmed you —who earns the bread she eats, and who only takes the goods her gods provide. Very well, sir, war let it be. Do your worst—l will do mine. You have called me an adventuress—prove it, if you can. For your other insinuations, I pass them over in silence. The day may come when you will find I have been more sinned against than sinning; when even your spotless, peerless, perfect Lady Cecil may descend from her pedestal, and be known as she is. As she is. I repeat it, Captain O’Donnell. No need for you to battle on her behalf. By your own snowing, she is nothing to you. Do your worst, I repeatspy upon me how qnd when you choose, overhear ail I say, suspect every word and action, and repeat everything to Sir Arthur Tregenna. 1 tell you it will be labour lost —he loves me. You hear, most gallant of Irishmen, most courtly of gentlemen—loves me, and as surely as I will it, will one day make me his wife. Tell hitn this also, if you choose—it will be in keeping with the rest. And I thought you a soldier and a gentleman ! Let me pass, Captain O’Donnel —I have no more to say to you.’

Once again it flashed out, the passion he had awakened within her, the jealousy he had aroused, and he never saw it. He saw only an angry and utterly base woman at bay, and his heart hardened toward her. * In cne moment,’ he said. * Believe me, I have little wish to prolong this interview. I have given you your one chance, and you have refused it. It shall be no fault of mine if Sir Arthur Tregenna wbrks his own lifeloner misery. I warn you ‘ fairly—for his sake, for Lady Cecil’s, fu'r ; Sir Peter’s. I shall show you to them as you are. One moment more, Miss Herncastle, if you please. In overhearing your remark, in passing out of the churchyard I also heard you say, “Marie De Lansac is here.” Now, what has Marie De Lansac —Rose O’Donnell —to do with that man or you ?’ Iler hand was on the handle of the door. She turned to him, a smile of malicious triumph on her face and in her eyes. ‘ Ah !’ she said, ‘ you heard that, did you? What is Marie De Lansac tome?; Captain O’Donnell, you roe of ihe guilt of having secrets'and mysteries in my life'.' I wonder it Sir Peter Dangerfield knew every episode in my lady’s career ? I wonder if her papa and her friends are free to read every page in Lady Cecil’s life! I wonder if Redmond Q’Donnel knows every incident connected with bis pretty gentle sister’s ‘ New Orleans' existence ? What woman teils father, lover; brother— alii, Nob one among all the millions on earth.'

Captain O’Donnel, answer mo this : Did you ever hear from your sister’s lips the name of Gaston Dantree ?’ ‘ Gaston Dantree.’ The name had a familiar sound to him, but at that moment he could not tell where he had heard it—certainly nob from his sister. The derisive eyes of the governess were upon him ; he could not understand the mocking triumph of their glance. ‘I have heard that name,’ he answered, ‘ but not from Rose.’

‘I thought nob. Then I bell no tales. I keep my own secrets, and let others keep theirs. Captain O’Donnell, the dressingbell rings. I wish you good afternoon.’ She was gone as she spoke. Five minutes after, while he still sab there, mystified, annoyed, perplexed, an opposite door opened, and Lady Cecil came in.

She was dressed to-day in some pale, seagreen, filmy stuff, that floated about her like a cloud, a little foam of point lace here and there. A cluster of trailing grasses and half-crushed pink buds clasped the Bofb corsage ; trailing sprays of green, and a rose of palest blush, freshly gathered, adorned the light brown hair. She looked like a lily, a naiad queen, like a sea goddess, lacking the shells and sea-water. A more striking contrast to the woman who had left him could hardly be conceived. And she was not pledged to Sir Arthur Tregenna—had never been. For one moment a thrill of exquisite delight filled him at the thought—the next he could have laughed aloud at his own folly. ‘As though it could matter to me if tomorrow were her wedding day,’ he thought. ‘ Free or fettered, she -is Lord Ruysland’s daughter, and I am—a Captain of Chasseurs, with no hope of being anything else to my dying day.’ ‘ You here, Captain O’Donnell?’ she said. ‘ I did not know it. I came in seai’ch of ’ she paused, and a faint colour rose in the lily face. ‘They told me Miss Herncastle was here,’ she added, hastily ; ‘ they must have been mistaken.’

4 No,' the chasseur answered, coo’ly, ‘ they were not. Miss Herncastle has been here—with me. She only left a moment before you came in.’ The faint colour deepened in her cheeks. She turned and moved away again.

‘I wished to see her. It does not matter —it will do after dinner. You dine with us, I hope, Captain O’Donnell, or do you run away again at the sound of the dinnerbell ? You did it a day or two ago, and Ginevra was very angry.’

She spoke coldly, voice and manner alike unconsciously frigid. And without waiting for reply, she reopened the door and walked away.

‘ Miss Herncastle there—with him !’ she thought, a sudden, swift hot pang, that all Sir Arthur’s defalcation had never brought there, sharp at her heart; ‘it is well the days of duelling are exploded, or Sir Arthur might be tempted to call him out.’ She hated herself for the hot anger she felt. What was it to her ?—what could it matter to her with whom Captain O’Donnell chose to amuse himself ? He was nothing to her, of course—nothing. And she was less than nothing to him; all her beauty, all her witcheries were powerless here, and he took good care to let her see it. Bub that flush was still on her face, that sharp pain still beneath the sea-green corsage, beneath laces and roses, when she took her place at dinner. Captain O’Donnell dined with the family, the governess did nob. Ho looked at his sisoer across a ball epergne of flowers. She was talking to Squire Talbot, whom the soft, sad eyes and wistful little face had been enthralling of late, and wondered what Miss Herncastle could have meant. ‘ Gaston Dantree,’ he mused ; he recalled the name well enough now —Katherine Dangerfield’s dastardly lover, of course. He had been a native of New Orleans ; had Rose known him there ? Had her singular whim of visiting this place anything to do with him? The mere suspicion made him warm and uncomfortable.

‘ I’ll ask her after dinner,’ he thought, ‘ and she will tell me. Can he have had anything to do with the change in her ? the gloom, the trouble of her life, that has preyed on her mind, and broken her health ? And if so, how cornea Miss Herncastle to know it ?’

The ladies left the table, Redmond O’Donnell sab very silent and thoughtful during the ‘ wine and walnut ’ lapse, hefore the gentlemen joined him. Fate favoured him upon this occasion. Squire Talbot was turning Lady Dangerfield’s musio, and his sister, quite alone, with a web of rose-pink netting in her hands, sat in the recess of the bay-window. He crossed over and joined her at once. ‘ Rose,’ he began, speaking abruptly, 4 how much longer do you propose remaining in Sussex ?’ She looked at him, surprised at the sudden and unexpected question, a little startled by the dark gravity of his face. 4 Remain ? I— ’ she faltered and stopped. ‘ Are you anxious to go, Redmond? If so, of course—’

4 1 have no wish to go until the object that brought you here is an object accomplished, Rose. That you have some object in insisting upon coming to this particular place lam quite certain. More, perhaps I can partly guess what that object is.’ The rose-hued netting dropped in her lap, her great, dark eyes dilated in sudden terror. 4 Redmond!’

4 You have not chosen to make me your confidant, Rose, and I ask for no one’s secrets, not even yours. Still you will permit me bo ask you one question : Did you ever know Gaston Dantree ?’

Suddenly, sharply, without warning, the question came upon her. One faint, wailing cry, then her hands flew up and covered her face. He was answered.

No one heard that suppressed cry; the curtains of the recess hid them.

He sat and looked at her almost as pitilessly as he hacl looked at Miss Herncastle two hours before. In his stern justice Redmond O’Donnell could bo very hard —bo himself as well as to others.

‘I am answered,’ he said, ‘you have known Gaston Dantree. He was a Louisianian —you knew him >. in New Orleans. He disappeared here : at ford the last trace of him is to be found. Was it to discover that trace you came and brought me here ? 4 Look up, Rose,’ he said, sternly, ‘and answer me.’ She feared as well as loved h|m, Habitually he was very gentle with her, with all women, bub let that stubborn sense of right and wrong of his be roused and he became as iron. Her hands dropped at his stern command, her poor, pale face, all drawn and white with terror and trouble, looked up at its judge. 4 Tell me the truth,’ he ordered, his lips set. ‘lt is too lace for furbhur prevarication, You knew this man ?’ 4 1 knew him !'

4 ln New o‘rlekns, before he came here to court and desert, like the craven-hearted dastard he was, Katherine Dangerfield ?’ ‘ Yes.’ • '

His lips set themselves harder under his long q\pustaeho, his blue eyes looked stern as steel. ' • ‘ ' ' ■

‘ I said I asked for no one’s secrets, n.qb eveii yoursi I do, Itosp, Yfhat wa|he "tq you ?’ . : ' ' ' ' '

She drew away from him once again, hiding her shrinking face in her hands. A

dry tortured sob was her only answer. But her judge and arraigner never relented. * Was he a lover of yours ?’ She made a mute gesture of assent. ‘ A false one, of course ?’ ‘ Heaven help me-yes.’ A pause ; then—- * Rose, did M. De Lansac know ?’ ‘He suspected. He never knew.’ ' Did he favour Dantree ?’ *No : he forbade him the house.’

‘ And you—you, Rose O’Donnell, stooped to meet him in secret—to make and keep assignations. You did this?’ Again that sobbing sound, again that shrinking away of face and figure. It was reply enough. If Lady Cecil Clive had seen the face of the Redmond O’Donnell who sat in judgment there upon the sister he loved, she would have been puzzled indeed to find much similarity between it and the face of that otbor Redmond O’Donnell among the Fermanagh hills. He loved his only si3ter very dearly ; he had held her a ‘ little lower than the angels,’ and he found her to-day with a secret of deceit and wrong-doing in her life—found her false and subtle like the rest of her sex. Was there no truth in woman—no honour in man —left on the earth. He sat dead silent; it was bitter to him well nigh as the bitterness of death.

His silence frightened her, cut her, as no stinging reproach could have done. Once again she lifted her face, all white and piteous, to his. ‘ Redmond !’ she cried, with a great gush, ‘ why are you so hard, so bitter ? Why do you judge me so harshly ? I was very young ; I did not know what distrust meant, and I I loved him with all my heart. He said he loved me, and I—oh, Redmond ; it is nine years ago—l believed him. I was warned ; others—older and wiser, read him aright—told me it was the prospective heiress of M. Do Lansac’s millions he loved—not Rose O’Donnell. But I loved and trusted, and could not believe. I met him in spife of my grandfather’s commands, I received bis letters — to my shame I own it. Then our grandfather married—then Clarence was born, and I—learned the truth at last. It was all as they said —he was false, base, mercenary to the core, was the heir, not I, and he left me. Left me without a word, and came here to England. Still, without a word, he returned me my letters and picture. Then —the next thing I heard of him—l saw' the mournful story of Katherine Dangerfield in the English papers my grandfather received. From that time I have heard nothing—nothing. I should have told you, perhaps, but—it is not so easy a story to tell—the story of one’s own folly and humiliation.’ The soft, sad voice ceased; the pale, drooping face turned far away from him in the silvery dusk. But in his face there was little relenting, in his voice little softness, when he spoke. ‘ The folly of the past I could forgive ; the folly of the present no. That you took a girl’s fancy for a man’s handsome face, and were the dupe of false words, might be overlooked —is very natural in a girl of sixteen. That a woman of five-and-twenty should still cling to the memory of so despicable a wretch, still pursue him, and drag me, in my ignorance of your secret, into that pursuit— that I cannot forgive.’ He arose as he spoke, angry exceedingly, wounded, grieved inexpressibly. She seized his hand in a sort of desperation, and clung to it.

‘ Redmond, you—you don’t understand. It is not that. I don't care for him ; it is all I can do to pray to be kept from hating his memory, whether he be alive or dead. It is that—thatl—’ Hercouragefailedasshe looked up into that iron face. ‘ Redmond !’ she cried ; ‘ who has been talking to you—who has told you this ?’ ‘ Miss Herncastle,’ he answered. ‘ Your secret, it would seem, has all along been no secret to her. She bade me ask you two hours ago, what you knew of Gaston Dantree.’

‘Mies Herncastle!’ she could but just repeat the name in her ungovernable surp rise, ‘ Miss Herncastle,’ he repeated, still very coldly. 4 lf I were in your place, I think I should come to an understanding with that lady. It was against my will I ever came to England. If I had dreamed of your object, I certainly would never have set foot in it. But I trusted Rose O’Donnell. That is all over now—it is only one other lesson added to the rest. When your inquiries concerning Mr Gaston Dantree are at an end, let me know, and we will depart for France.’ Again he was turning away, hurt, angry, grieved beyond words to say. Again she caught his hand and held him fast.

4 Redmond ! brother —friend ! Oh, my God, why will you judge me so hardly ? I have deserved it, perhaps, but—you break my heart. If you knew ail I have suffered, you might pity—you might forgive.’ He withdrew his hand, and turned sternly away. 4 1 have told you—the past I could forgive easily ; the present I cannot.’ And then he was gone. For a moment she sat looking after him with eyes of passionate pleading. Then the pride of blood, latent in her, arose. He was hard, he was cruel, he was merciless. If he had ever loved, or suffered, he would not be so pitiless to her. I.anty was wrong——neither Lady Cecil nor any other woman had ever touched his heart of granite. She sat wounded humbled silent. Then all at once the recollection of Miss Herncastle flashed upon her. She had told him—she knew all. All! Rose O’Donnell turned white and cold from head to foot. Did Miss Herncastle know all ?

She rose hurriedly and looked down the lighted length of the spaciqus drawingrooms. Ho; Miss Herncastle was nowhere , to be seen. Shoqld she seek her in her room ? She stood for an instant irresolute, i. Squire Talbot espied her and turned to !’ cross oyer. She saw him in time—flight f was her only escape. She stepped through the open window and disappeared. The tall trees of the lime-walk stood up . black in the ivory light of the moon, j She turned toward it, then as suddenly stopped. For from its sombre shadows Sir Arthur Tregenna and Miss Herncastle walked. The meeting had been purely aooidental, on his part, at least. He had gone forth to smoke a cigar, and (was it by accident ?) Miss Hernoastle had unexpectedly appeared upon the scene. Her head was aching—she had come out for the air. A black laco scarf, artistically draped like a Spanish mantilla, covered her head and shoulders, one white, shapely hand held it in its place. A crimson rose, half shattered, gleamed above it in its place. She has never looked better in her life—Sir Arthur’s eyes pretty plainly tcfld bar that. And having 4 met by cnanoe the usual way,’ what more natural than that they should take a tiurn down the lime-walk together, 4 Do you return to the drawing-room,?’ Rose heard him say. 4 lt is beyond all com-, parison pleasanter here, but—’ 4 Rut Sir Arthur Tregenna may be missed,’ Mi.ss Hemoastle’s sweet voice supplemented, 4 Ho, Sir Arthur, I shall go to my room. Don’t let me detain you aa mstant longer, Thanks, again, ■ for the books and the music, and good-night.’

Music and books! He had been making her presents then—what would Lady. Cecil say to this ? She hade hjnj. good-night with

her brightest smile, waved a white hand in the pearly light, and turned with the slow, stately, graceful motion peculiar to her, and walked away. He stood, a strange erpression of yearning in eves and face, and watched the tall figure from sight. Then he turned reluctantly—Rose could see it—stepped through the window whence she herself had emerged and was gone. ‘ Miss Herncastle 1’

Rose O’Donnell’s clear voice, ringing along the silence, came to the ear of the governess. She had reached the King s Oak, and was standing, a smile on her lips, on the very spot where Sir Peter had seen the ghost. She turned at the sound of her name, the smile fading away, and confronted the speaker. ‘ You called, Miss O’Donnell ?’ ‘ I called, Miss Herncastle. I wish to speak a word to you. I will not detain you an instant,’ as the governess shivered ever so little in the soft night air. ‘ Two hours ago you bade my brother ask me what I knew of Gaston Dantree. Miss Herncastle, in my turn I ask, what do you know ?’ She looked more like her brother, as she spoke, than the governess had ever seen her. She came of a bold and bravo race, and some of the fire of that race shone in her eyes now. Miss Herncastle returned her gaze steadily. * You really wish me to answer that question ?’

‘Certainly, or else I had not asked it. Did you know Gaston Dantree in New Orleans ?’

‘I never saw Gaston Dantree in New Orleans in my life.’ 4 In England then?’ Miss Herncastle stood looking at her, making no reply. ‘You heard me?’ Rose O’Donnell repeated ; ‘ what do you know of Gaston Dantree and—and me ?’ Miss Herncastle’s lips opened to answer with that excellent brevity of speech that characterised her. ‘ Everything.’ ‘ Miss Herncastle !’

‘ It is your own fault, and your brother’s, Miss O’Donnell, since by that name you prefer to be known.’ ‘That name!’ she whispered the two words, came a step nearer, her eyes dilating, her face ashen white. ‘Miss Herncastle,’ she cried, ‘what do you mean ? What do you know ?’ ‘ This !’ the voice of the governess rose, her mouth grew set and stern— 'this —that if Gaston Dantree be alive, you are Gaston Dan tree’s wife !’ (To he continued.