A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 470, 10 May 1890, Page 3

A Wonderful Woman.

Bt MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earlescourt’s Wife,” “A Terrible Secret,’* “Lost for a Woman,” •• A Mad Marriage,” eto-

BOOK 11. CHAPTER XIX. KNIGHT AND PAGE. It was a noticeable fact—noticed chiefly by Sir Arthur Tregenna and Squire Talbot that neither Miss Herncastle nor Miss O’Donnell roturncd to the drawing-room. For Captain O’Donnell, he did nob even perceive his sister’s absence. He sat a little apart from the others, turning over a book of photographed celebrities, and never seeing one of them. One question was revolving itself over and over again in his brain until he was dizzy. Had Katherine Dangerfield died six years ago, or had she not? If she had not. who then lay in that quiet grave in the Methodist churchyard ? If she had, who then, in the nameof all that was wonderful, was Helen Herncastle ? He thought till his brain was dazed. Lady Cecil Clive, with Sir Arthur seated near her, glanced furtively across the length of the drawing-room at Redmond O’Donnell’s dark, tired face and sombre, blue eyes, and wondered, with a sort of awe. of what he could be thinking so intently and sternly. ‘There is bub one way,’ he said to himself moodily ; ‘ a way I hate to take, and vet—for everyone’s sake—for Rose’s—for Tregenna’s—for Sir Peter’s—it should be taken. If Katherine Dangerfield was buried six years ago, Katherine Dangrerrield cannot be here. My mind is made up.’ He rose with the air of one who shakes off a burden. ‘ I’ll wonder no longer. No possible harm can come of it, and it will put an end to this juggling ghost-seeing this mystification. I'll do 1/. And I’ll begin the first thing to-morrow morning.’ He took his leave and went home. It was a brilliant summer night, and, as he neared the fields, he stopped and looked suspiciously around. Bub if he looked for Miss Herncastle, no Miss Herncastle was to be seen. It was long past midnight when he reached the Silver Rose, but even then ho did not go to bed. He lit a cigar, and sat down by the open window to smoke and think. The town was very quiet, the lights all out—the stars and Captain O’Donnell had the peace and beauty of the sweet July night all to themselves. He sat there, darkly thoughtful, for over an hour. When he threw himself on his bed he had thought it all out; his whole plan of action lay clear before him. At ten o'clock next morning he began. He took his way through the town, to that pleasant cottage adjoining the churchyard wherein Katherine Dangerfield six years ago had died. ‘I have warned her,’ he thought, ‘and she will nob be warned. She must take the consequences now.’ A family, named Wilson, resided in the cottage at present—that much he had ascertained at his inn. They had taken possession the very week in which Mr Otis had left, and had been there ever since. Mrs Wilson, a rosy little matron, answered the door in person, and ushered her milibai’y visitor at once into the parlour. Captain O’Donnell’s business with Mrs Wilson was very simple. He understood that the servant woman who bad lived in the family of Mr Obis, six years ago, was now in the service of Mrs Wilson. His business was with that servant—could he see her a moment or two in private ? The little mistress of the cottage opened two bright, brown eyes in surprise, but answered readily in the affirmative. He meant Dorcas, of course—Dorcas had come to her with the house, and Dorcas was in the kitchen at present, and would wait upon the gentleman at once. Mrs Wilson went and Dorcas came—a stout, elderly woman, with an intelligent face.

* I wish to obtain a few particulars concerning the sudden death of a young lady in this house six years ago,’ the chasseur began, plunging into his subject at once. ‘ You remember her, of course ? Her name was Katherine Dangerfield.’ Yes, Dorcas remembered perfectly well, remembered as though it were yesterday. She had come to the cottage late in the evening a cold, dark winter evening it was—bo see the sick young man, Mr Dantree. Mr Otis himself had let her in. The next thing she heard, half an hour later, was Mrs Otis scream. Had rushed in. Miss Dangerfield was lying then on the sofa, white and still, and Dr. Graves said she was dead. ‘ You saw her dead ?’

« Yes, poor dear, and a beautiful corpse she made, calm, and white, and peaceful, and looking more as though she were asleep than dead.’ ‘ How long was she kept here before she was buried ’’ the soldier asked. * Only two days,sir, and she looked lovely to the last. I remember her well, lying in her coffin, with ilowerß all round her like marble or waxwork, and misses a-erying over her and master with a face like white stone. I saw it all, sir, saw the coffin-lid screwed down, saw her carried out, and a fine, respectable funeral she had all the gentry of the neighbourhood, poor dear young lady.’ ‘ Humph !’ Captain O’Donnell said, knitting his brows. Katherine Dangerfield had died then, and Miss Herncastle had nothing whatever to do with her, in spite of all the astounding coincidences. ‘ One question more, my good woman : how long after the funeral was it that Mr Otis left this place

for London ?’ * About a mouth, sir—yes, just a month. I think they would have gone sooner, but for the unexpected arrival of his cousin, the sick young lady from Essex.’ Captain O’Donnell had risen to go. At these last words he suddenly sat down again. ‘ The sick young lady from Essex. Ah ! I think this may be what I want to hear. When did you say the sick young lady v Ca ‘'on the very identical night of the funeral, sir, and most unexpected. I had gone to bed, and misses, she came to my room next morning before I was up, all white and in a tremble, and says to me, “ Dorcas, get up at once and heat water for a bath and then she sat down in a chair, looking fit to drop. I asked her if anyone was sick, and she said yes, a young lady who had come in the night, a niece of hers from Essex, and who was going to stop with them a few days. She begged me to keep it a secret. The young lady was weak-like in her intellect, and they would be obliged to confine her to her room. I promised not to speak of it, for misses she ■ looked trembling and frightened to death almost. And so she was all the time the strange young lady was in the house.’ ‘How long was that?’ *

‘ Not quite a fortnight, sir : and a sight of bother she made—all her meals took up : to her room, and misses a-trotbing up and down all day long, a-waiting upon her her self. ’ ‘ What is she like—this young lady ?’ Dorcas shook her head. ‘ That I couldn’t tell, sir. I never laid eyes on her, leastways except once. Master and misses they kept waiting on her, all day long, and misses she slept with her in the same room at night.’ * Bub you saw her once?’ ‘ Yes, sir, bub it was by an accident, and at night. I didn’t see herface. She never stirred out all day long, and at night I used to hear sounds of footsteps, and doors softly opening and shutting. One night 1 watched, I heard the house door shut softly, and directly after I espies master walking in the back garden with a lady on his arm. It was a cloudy sort of a night, .and I couldn’t see her very plainly—l couldn’t see her face at all. She was tall, and dressed in dark clothes, and—but this was only a notion of mine—if Miss Dangerfield hadn’t been dead and buried I should have said the height and figure were like hers.’

* Not quite a fortnight, sir : and a sight of bother she made—all her meals took up to her room, and misses a-trotting up and down all day long, a-waiting upon her her self.’ ‘ What is she like—this young lady ? Dorcas shook her head. ‘ That I couldn’t tell, sir. I never laid eyes on her, leastways except once. Master and misses they kept waiting on her, all day long, and misses she slept with her in the same room at night.’ * Bub you saw her once?’ ‘ Yes, sir, bub it was by an accident, and at night. I didn’t see herface. She never stirred out all day long, and at night I used to hear sounds of footsteps, and doors softly opening and shutting. One night 1 watched, I heard the house door shut softly, and directly after I espies master walking in the back garden with a lady on his arm. It was a cloudy sort of a night, .and I couldn’t see her very plainly—l couldn’t see her face at all. She was tall, and dressed in dark clothes, and—but this was only a notion of mine—if Miss Dangerfield hadn’t been dead and buried I should have said the height and figure were like hers.’ The blood rose dark and red over the sunbrowned face of the African sold'er. For an instant his breath seemed fairly taken away. ‘ Well ?’ he said in a tense sorb of whisper. Dorcas looked at him in surpri-e. ‘ Well, sir,’she said, ‘ the very next night after that the sick young lady ran away. I don’t know whether they had been keeping her against her will or not, but in the dead of night she ran away. When misses awoke next morning she found the bed empty, the dojr unlocked, and Miss Otis (they called her Miss Otis) gone, bhe screamed out like one crazy, and ran down in her night clothes to muster’s room. I saw him as he came out, and except when he looked at Miss Dangerfield dead in her coffin, J never saw him wear such a face, I declare it frightened me. tie searched the house and garden, but she was nowhere to be found. Then he set oft'for the station, and discovered (I heard him tell his mother so) that a ball young lady, dressed in black and closely veiled, had gone up to London by the very first train. The same day, he gob a telegraph despatch from London, and he went up at once. He came back in three days loooking dreadfully gloomy and out of spirits. His mother met him in the hall and said, “ Well, Henry, is she safe?” in a flurried sort of way, and he pushed her before him into the parlour, and they had a long talk. Miss Otis never came back, and two weeks alter master and mistress went up bo town themselves for good. That’s all, sir.’ It was quite enough. Captain O’Donnell rose again ; his grave face had resumed its habitual calm ; he had heard all he wanted —more than he had expected. He pressed a half sovereign into Dorcas’ willing palm, bade Mrs Wilson good-morning, and departed. His face was set in a look of fixed, steady determination as he quitted the cottage and returned to Castleford. He had taken the first step on the road to discoverycome what might, he would go on to the end now. The middle of the afternoon brought Lanty Lafferty to Scarswood Park with a note from the captain to Miss Rose. It was only a brief word or two —saying that he had gone up to London by the mid-day train and would probably not return for a cou pie of days. Miss O’Donnell was in her room suffering from a severe attack of nervous headache when this was brought her. She looked at the bold, free characters —then pressed her face down among the pillows with a sorD of groan. ‘ And I intended to have told him all today,’ she said, ‘as I should have told him long ago if I had not been a coward. To think that Miss Herncastle should have known from the first. Ah ! how shall I ever dare tell Redmond the pitiful story of my folly and disobedience ?’ That day—Wednesday passed very quietly ; it was the treacherous lull that precedes all storms. Miss Herncastle kept her room; she was putting still a few finishing touches to that lovely page dress. Late on Wednesday evening came from town a large box addressed to Major Frankland ; my lady and the governess alone knew that it contained Count Lara’s costume. My lady was on her best behaviour to her husband—go to the masquerade she was resolved, and brave all consequences. Sir Peter might never find it out, and if he die! —well, it would blow over, as other storms had blown over, and nothing would come of it. There were others who judged differently. Some inkling of what was brewing, something of what Sir Peter had said, readied the ears of Lord Ruysland, and Lord Ruysland had ventured in the most delicate manner to expostulate with his niece. The game was nob worth the candle—the masquerade was not worth the price she might pay for it. Better humour Sir Peter and his old-fashioned prejudices and throw over Mrs Everleigh. Ginevra listened, her eyes compressing—a gleam of invincible obstinacy kindling in her eyes. She was one of those people whom opposition only doubly determines to have their own way, ‘ That will do, Uncle Raoul. Your advice may be good, but I should think that three score years’ experience of this life had taught you nobody ever relished good advice. I’ll go to the Everleigh party —l’ll wear the page dress and snap ray fingers at Sir Peter Dangerfield. His threats indeed ! Poor little mannikin ! it’s rather late in the day for him to play the < role of Bluebeard. I shall go.’ The earl shrugged his shoulders and gave it up. He never argued with a woman. ‘ Certainly you’ll go, my dear—l knew perfectly well how useless remonstrance would be, but Cecil would have it. Go, by all means. Whatever happens I shall have done my duty. Let us hope Sir Peter may

never hear it.’ ‘ Your duty ! The Earl of Ruysland’s duty !’ his niece laughed contemptuously. * I wonder if all taat paternal solicitude is for me or himself ? If Sir Peter turns me out of Scarswood, you must follow Uncle Raoul! The dress is made, and my promise given. I shall go to the masquerade.’ Thursday came—that delusive quiet still reigned at Scarswood. When the afternoon train from London rushed into the Castleford station there appeared among the passengers Captain O’Donnell and Major Frankland ; and placid and patrician pacing the platform, the Earl of Ruysland. ‘ Ah, O’Donnell—back again. You don’t know, I suppose, that your sister is quite indisposed. I regret to say such is the case —nervous attack or something vague of the sort. How do, Frankland? On your way to Scarswood ? Permit me to accompany you there.' __ But the major drew back in some trifling embarrassment. He wasn’t going to Scarswood this afternoon ; to-morrow —ah he intended to put in an appearance. Would his lordship be kind enough not to mention having seen him at all ? ) The earl’s serene blue eyes were tranquilly fixed on the major’s face. ‘I understand,’ he answered, ‘you are down on the quiet—Sir Peter is to hear nothing of it until after the ball ? Is that your little game, dear boy ? You see I

know all about it, and my age and my rela- j tionship to Lady Dangerfield give me the j right to interfere. Now, my dear fellow, that masquerade affair must be given up.’ He took the young man’s arm, speaking quite pleasantly, and led him away. f Do you know why I took the trouble to drive four miles under a blazing July sun, over a dusty July road, bo wait five minutes in a stuffy station for the 2.30 express, dear boy ? To meet and intercept you—bo ask - you as a personal favour to myself, as an act of friendship to Genevra, nob to go to this faucy ball.’ ‘ My lord,’ interrupted Major Frankland, uneasily, *am I to understand Lady Dangerfield has commissioned you to—’ ‘ Lady Dangerfield has commissioned me to do nothing—has ordered me indeed to stand aside and mind my own business. All the same, I am Lady Dangerfield’s nearest male relative, and, as such, bound to warn her of her danger. Failing to impress her, I come to you. As a gentleman and a man of honour—as an old friend of poor Ginevra’s, you will perceive at once the force of what I say.’ ‘lndeed. You will pardon my stupidity if I fail to perceive it as yet.’ ‘it lies in a nutshell. Sir Peter Dangei’field does you the honour of being infernally jealous. That is an old state of things—this masquerade at that woman’s house has brought matters to a climax. He has told Lady Dangerfield that if she goes she shall not return, and, my dear Frankland, ho means it. They are both as obstinate as the very devil —she bo go, ho to separate irom her if she does. Now this a very serious state of things. She is wilfully blind bo her danger, but you will nob be. You are the only one who can prevent, this disastrous termination —on you we ail depend. Thero is bub one thing for you to do—don’t go. Stay ! —I know what you would say. You have promised—your dress is in the house—Lady Dangerfield will be offended, et cetera. Granted—-but is it nob better to break a promise that involves so much ? Is it nob better to temporarily offend Ginevra than ruin her for life? Frankland, as a man of the world, you cannot fail bo perceive that bub one course is open to you —to withdraw. Trust me to make your peace. In three weeks she will see from what you have saved her, and thank you.’ The gallant major gnawed his military moustache in gloomy perplexity. ‘ Confound the little bloke !’ he burst out. ‘lb isn’t that I particularly care to go to this masquerade junketing, but I know Gin —Lady Dangerfield has set her heart on it, and will be proportionately disappointed. Are you quite sure, my lord, that he means to carry out his absurd threat? that he —oh, hang it all ! he couldn’t separate from her for such a trifle as that.’ ‘ Could he not ?’ the earl answered quietly . ‘ I find you don’t altogether appreeiaio the force of such characters as Peter Dangerfield's. The obstinacy of a mule is gentle, yielding, compared to it. And, by Jove, Frankland, in b'ds case he will have grounds to go upon. Lady Dangerfield, against his express command, goes to a masquerade at the house of a woman of doubtful reputation, in male attire, and in the company of a man who has been her lover, and of whom he is monstrously jealous. He warns her of the consequences, and in her mad recklessness she defies them all. Egad ! if he does turn her out to-morrow morning, I tor one won’t blame him. You and Ginevra will act in every way, of course, as your superior wisdom may suggest. I have no no more to say, only this—if you and she really persist in going, I and my daughter shall pack our belongings and depart by the earliest train to-morrow. I have spoken.’ He turned to go. Still lost in dismal perplexity, still angrily pulling his ginger moustaches, still gloomy of tone, the badgered major spoke. ‘I say—my lord—hold on, will you? What the deuce is a fellow to do ? I can’t go off to London again, if that is what you mean—oh, hang it, no ! without a word of explanation or excuse, or that sort of thing. I can’t, you know —the thing is impossible.’ ‘ YV'rite a note —invent any excuse you please. Your nearest relative, from whom you have expectations, is in articule mortis, ; and demands vour presence to soothe his last hours. Anything will do —say what you please. She’ll be in a furious passion at the disappointment, bub you save her, and virtue is its own reward and all that. I promise to bring her to see matters in their true light in a week.’ ‘ My lord,’ the major.cried resolutely, ‘I must see her. I’ll tell her myself—l’m blessed if f know wlmb. But I won’t go to the masquerade —I promise you that.’ \ He stalked gloomily away as he spoke, leaped into a fly, and was whirled off in a cloud of dus'x The earl looked after him with a slight smile, in which his habitual sneer lurked. < ‘ Poor children —how vexed they are at losing their toy. He’ll keep his word, however —he’s not, half a bad fellow, Frankland—a tailor’s block, with an inch and a quarter of brain. Nothing is farther from my intentions than to permit a rupture between Ginevra and her imbecile husband, if I can prevent it. At least until Cecil’s prospects are defined more clearly ; and that day of reckoning must come very soon. As I said. Sir Arthur has run the length of his tether—it is high time to pull him short up.’ He turned to look for Captain O’Donnell, but Captain O’Donnell had disappeared. He had lingered an instant to speak a hurried word to a disreputable-looking fellow who had emerged from a third-class carriage—a cockney evidently of the lowest type —a singular-looking acquaintance for Redmond O’Donnell, the earl would have thought had he seen him. Bub he had not seen, and after listening to a brief direction given by the Algerian officer the fellow had touched his battered hat and slouched on his way. And in a very perturbed state of mind indeed Major Frankland made his way to Scarswood Park. What he was to say to

my lady, what excuse to offer, how to get out of his promise, he had not the remotest idea. What she would say to him he knew only too well. As the railway fly flew along he could see in prospective the sharp black eyes- flashing—hear the shrill voice reproaching the storm of rage and disappointment with which she would sweep from his presence and order him never to approach her again. And their platonic friendship had been so agreeable and Scarswood had been such a pleasant country refuge after the London season. Confound the little jealous baronet, and trebly confound him. What asses some husbands made of themselves for nothing at all. What should he say? He reached the park with that momentous question still unanswered and unanswerable. What should he say ? He bade the fly wait—he wanted to be driven back presently to catch the next up-train. What should be say? With his 4 inch-and-aquarter of brain’ in a whirl from the unwonted exertion of thinking, he walked up the avenue, and under the King’s Oak came face to face with Miss Herncastle. She was reading - she was alone. Major Frankland took off his crush hat, all,his flurry and guilt written legibly on his usually placid face. ‘ Aw—Miss Herncastle—how do ? Is—aw—is my lady at home ?’ * My lady is not at home, Major Frankland ; and if she had been’—Miss Hem-

castle’s large, grave eyes looked at him meaningly—-‘ you are the lasb person she would have expected to see at Scarswood this afternoon.’ ‘ Then you know— ’ * I know all about the note, warning you nob to appear here until after the masquerade. My lady is abseno to-day, with Lady Cecil and Miss O’Donnell, at an archery party at Morecambe, and Sir Peter is in close attendance. Do you think it wise to run counter to my lady’s commands in this fashion?’ ‘ Miss Herncastle, I—l’m not going. I’ve promised the earl. He’s told me all about the little baronet’s flare up, and threats, and all that nonsense, if Lady Dangerfield accompanies me to the masquerade. The party will be a very pleasant party, no doubt, as parties go ; bub it isn’t worth all that, and I’m not the sort of man to make family trouble. The earl wanted me to write an excuse, but I ain’t clever at that sort of thing. Gin—Lady Dangerfield—will be deuced angry, no doubt, and you’ll deliver it, and bake my part as well as you can, Miss Herncastle —hey ?’ With vast hesitation, many pauses, numberless a aw’s,’ and ‘ er’s,’ much pulling of the auburn moustache,the major gob out his speech. The lurking smile of amusement r. Miss Herncastle’s eyes he did not see. _ ‘ Major Frankland’s sentiments do him honour. Sir Peter is certainly rampant on this point, and unpleasantly in earnest. Here is my book, Major Frankland ; it will serve as a desk to write your note.’ * And—aw —you think my lady will make no end of-a row, don’t you, Miss Herncastle ?’ the major asked, wistfully. «I think she will bo annoyed, beyond doubt. You see-the dress is very pretty ; she lias quite set her heart upon going, and opposition has only made her more determined. Here is a pencil, if you have none ; and the blank page will do for your note.’ With an inward groan of apprehension, the major scrawled two dr three lines of incoherent excuse—he hardly knew what. He did not dare read it; he folded it up in the correct cockade fashion, and handed it to the governess. The man who hesitates is lost ; he burned bo go the instant he finished.

‘ You’ll give Lady Dangerfield this, Miss Herncastle, and be good enough to explain that it is solely for her sake, and against my will that I don’t go. Aw—thanks very much, and good-day.’ He bowed in his agitation with something less than his ordinary exquisite grace—walked back to the fly—jumped into his seat, and was driven off. Miss Herncastle, standing perfectly still, under the King’s Oak, watched him out of sight, then she slowly and deliberately tore the noto into minutest morsels and scattered them in a little white shower over the grass. « My lady shall not be disappointed of the ball upon which her heart is set, even for your scruples, major. No jealous husband shall prevent my masterpiece of millinery —the page’s costume - from adorning Mrs Everleigh’s ball. And whether you are in London or Castleford, Major Frankland, Count Lara shall danco with his Kaled tonight.’ My lady and her party returned from Morecambe in time for dinner. Sir Arthur was in attendance upon Lady Cecil, looking bored and distrait. Squire Talbot was hovering in the wake of Rose O’Donnell, whose small dark face had grown wanner and thinner than ever in the last two days, and who looked much fibber for a sick bed than an archery party. Miss Herncastle smiled again as she looked at her and the baronet—the one shrinking, the other brightening under her glance. In different ways the spell of her power was upon them Loth. . i.;', >-•

It hacl been agreed that the package in Major Frankland’s room should be sent to the Silver Rose after nightfall by one of the servants. Don’t disturb yourself about it, my lady,’ Miss Herncastle had said; ‘ l’ll attend to all that.’ She did attend to it by quietly concealing the box in her own room a little before the archery party returned. Sir Peter came to dinner ; quietly bub steadily he had kept his wife under surveillance ever since his discovery of the masquerade. He had shut up his study, his beetles and bugs—he had forgotten the ghost—the pilgrimage to the cemetery—his interest in Miss Herncastle—in this new interest. He had long groaned in spirit under his wife’s tyranny and flirtations. Now or never was the time to bring them all bo an end. He would watch her as a cat a mouse, and if in spite of ail she went to the masquerade in page attire, why go she should, and then— My lady understood it all, read him like a book, and her rebellious feminine blood rose instantly in revolt. Had death been the penalty she would almost have braved it now. Go she would, but she would be subtle as a serpent and throw him off the brack.

In the middle of the afternoon she was seized with a headache, a horrible headache, a vertigo—no doubt caused by too long standing in the hot sun ; she must go home at once. She came home with the whole ai’chery party in her wake. She was too ill to dress for dinner, but she made a heroic effort and went down. At table she could not eat a mouthful-after dinner in the drawing-room she was absolutely unable to hold her suffering head up. She must retire a darkened room—perfect quiet—a long night’s sleep—unlimited eau de cologne and sal volatile, these things alone could restore her. If they did not, then the family medical attendant must be summoned in hot haste from Castleford to-morrow. Her husband looked at her as she arose amid a low murmur of sympathy, her hand to her forehead—not a trace of rouge on the sallow pallor of her face—with the grin of a small demon. 4 Let us hope your headache will not prove so serious as all that, my lady,’ he remarked. ‘Your v’ertigo (how odd you never had a vertigo before) I am quite sure will be entirely gone to morrow.’ 4 He means mischief,’ Miss Herncastle thought, watching him over her cover. 4 He sees through her transparent ruse, and will follow her to the ball. The Fates are working for me as well as I could work myself.’ She glided unobserved from the room after my lady, and joined her in the violet boudoir. A substantial repast was spread here. Lady Dangerfield’s appetite was unexceptionable and she had had no dinner. In an instant every trace of headache and vertigo disappeared. The door was locked, the heavy curtain of violet cloth dropped over it, Lady Dangerfield sat down to refresh her inner ladyship, and Miss Herncastle produced the exquisite page dress. The idea of doubting Major Frankland’s appearing was too preposterous an idea ever to occur to her.

4 And you tnink—you are sure, Miss Herncastle—Sir Peter has not the faintest suspicion ?’ my lady asked, as she rose from the table, and placed herself in the skilful hands of her governess, to be dressed. Delphine had been dismissed as not sufficiently ‘You are perfectly sure he suspects nothing?’ 4 1 am perfectly sure of nothing in this lower world, except that I am in it,’ Miss Herncastle answered coolly; 4 but the probabilities are he does not. Major Frankland is in London —you are ill in bed of headache—how then can either of you be at the ball ? And it doesn’t seem likely he will accept Mrs Everleigh’s invitation

himself and go.’ Lady Dangerfield gave a fairib shriek. ‘ Good Heaven, Miss Herncasfcle ! what an idea !—Sir Peter go. Of course, he’ll not go—the very idea is absurd. I. don’t believe he ever attended a ball in his life, and he detests Mrs Everleigh much boo cordially even to cross her threshold. I wish you wouldn’t suggest such preposterous things—l was nervous enough before, you have made me a hundred times worse. Has the box gone yet ?’ ‘ The box is safely disposed of, my lady. Have no fears —Count Lara will be there.’ Her nimble fingers flew over her work. Lady Dangerfield’s short black hair was artistically curled over her temples and shoulders, and the little plumed cap set sideways thereon. The hierh-heeled shoes, with their glittering paste buckles, were on ; doublet, hose, cloak, rapier, scented gloves, all; the exquisite bint of rouge given to the cheeks, the eyes darkened, all the mystic ceremonies of the toilet gone through : and my lady, robed and radiant, looked in the full-length mirror, and saw a charming vision—all velvet, gold lace, flashing buttons, carmine silk, and waving plumes. Her sallowcheeks actually flushed under their rouge vegetal. 4 lt is exquisite —it is lovely !’ she murmured. 4 1 have not looked half so well in anything for years —it brings my waning youth back—l fancy it will surprise even Jasper. Now, Miss Herncastle, my cloak, and go down quietly and see if the fly you engaged at Castleford is in waiting. Find out if Sir Peter is in his study, too. Somehow I feel horribly nervous to-night.’ ‘I will ascertain,’Miss Ilerncastle’s soft voice answered as she moved noiselessly from the room. Horribly nervous. Yes my lady was that. Was it some dim presentiment that with her own hand she was flinging away tonight all that made the happiness of her shallow life ? If Sir Peter should eomo to the masquerade—if he should find it out. 4 You shall not live under my roof and dishonour it —that I swear !’ were not those the words he had used ? And he had been so quiet—he had looked so grimly in earnest. What if he found it out ? What if he kept his word ? She shivered a little under her cloak. Was it too late yet? Would it nob bo wisest to stop at the eleventh hour, forego the party, take off the lovely page’s dress and stop at — Miss Herncakcle, silent and swift, was back at her side. 4 The fly is in waiting. Sir Peter is in his study—the rest still are in the drawingroom—there is nob a soul to be seen. Now is your time, my lady, and make haste. Bub still for a second she stood irresolute. In that moment one word from Miss Herncastle would have burned the scale either wav. That word was spoken. ‘'Take one last look, my lady—is it not exquisite? Mrs Everleigh will be ready to expire with envy. You look absolutely dazzling in your Haled dress—you never wore anything half so becoming—Major Frankland will tell you the same. Now, then, my lady, quick.’ The scale was turned —the last hesitation over. From that moment until the grand denouement, came, Lady Dangerfield never paused to think. They descended one of the back stairways—they met no one. Miss Herncastle softly opened a turret door, and they glided through. They made their way in the dim starlight along the shrubbery, skirting a belt of dark woodland, and gained the highroad. In the shadow of a clump of beeches the hired fly waited. Another and my lady was in ; another and she was off as fast as a stout cob could carry her 4 on the road to ruin.’ In Mrs Everleigh’s stuccoed mansion, in Mrs Everleigh’s reception rooms, half a dozen lamps shone dazzingly o’er fair women and brave men. It was the usual scene — nuns and demons. 4 Friars of orders gray ’ in juxtaposition with brigands, hooded Capuchins flirting with ballet dancers, Levantine pirates waltzing with Queen Elizabeth ; negroes and flower-girls, Indian chiefs and Spanish donnas-all the grand personages of history and opera, a motley and bewildering spectacle—all masked. And over all clashed out the music. The air was heavy with perfume, the eye grew blind with light, and dazzle and colour. Among all the brilliant-robed throng there was nob one who excited more attention than the little glittering page, Haled. But where was Lara ? An hour had passed since the page’s arrival, bub the page’s master was absent still. And under tho silken mask an angry flush was rising at length over the page’s face. What could keep Major Frankland ? She flung herself into a seat as she asked the question—alone for a brief moment the first since the ball began. 4 Did ho not come down after all ? And how absurd I mu3t look—the page without the knight. I’ll never— ’ She stopped—some one had approached behind her unseen —a voice spoke low in her ear. 4 The Chief of Lara has returned again. Look up—my faithful Haled—my prince and paragon of pages—and welcome your knight and master !’ 4 The Chief of Lara,’ in the picturesque dress of a Spanish cavalier, stood behind her, his mask over his face. But for one instant she had not recognised Jasper Frankland’s well - known tones. 4 No—don’t reproach me, Ginevra, as I see you are going to do, and as I know I deserve. I couldn’t help it—only just gob downserious illness of my grandfather—ought to be by his bedside at this instant. Ah a redowa —my favourite dance. Come, Haled, let me look at you. A gem of a dress indeed—it ie exquisite. Come.’ He whirled her away, but for the first time in her experience the major’s step and hers did not agree. For the first moment or two they absolutely could not dance to-gether-then Count Lara seemed to catch it, and they whirled away to the admiration of all behoiders. 4 What is the matter with you to-night, Jasper?’ Lady Dangerfield asked, halfpettishly. 4 Your voice sounds strange, you don’t dance as you used—and—and something about you, I don’t know what, looks unfamiliar. Take off your mask, sir, and let me see you.’

4 Nob likely. A page must never presume to command his master. Rest assured that 1 am I, and at supper we will unmask, and become the cynosure of all eyes. Ginevra, your dress is absolutely perfect —there is nothing to equal it here to-night. 5 A passing domino caught the halfwhispered words, and paused to watch them. From that moment, wherever the knight or page went the black domino was sure to follow. It was an indescribably brilliant party. There was hardly a moment’s cessation in the whirl of dancing—the hours flew by like minutes—and Lara and his page never parted company for an instant, whether thev waltzed or walked, whether they sought the cool stillness of half-lit balconies and boudoirs, or plunged into the whirl of maskers. And still all. unnoticed —stealthily and sure as fate itself, the black domino followed, and watched, and bided his time. Thev wandered into a conservatory at last, filled with the moonlight, of shaded lamps, where the music came faint and faroff, and tall tropic plants reared their rich heads far above.

‘How hob it is—how noisy they are,’ j Kaled murmured, sinking into a moss-green ’ seat. * I must take off my mask—l shall look as red as a milk-maid when we unmask. In the ten minutes that intervene between this and supper, let me try and get cool if I can. He stooped over her with the whispered imbecilityhe knewwas expected of him, and fanned her with a palm leaf. « Shall I fetch you a water-ice ?’ he asked; it will help you to feel cool. You will have it eaten before we go to supper.’ She assented languidly. Her mask lay in her lap, and watching her with glittering eyes, the spectral domino stood in shadow of the palms. Count Lara’s garments brushed him as he went by—but Lara’s eyes had noticed him from the first. In a second Count Lara had vanished. My lady, looking flushed and handsome in her boyish travesty, fanned herself in the cool shade of a myrtle-tree. And behind the palms the domino waited. Both waited for what never came—the return of Count Lara. The moments passed on—the summons to supper was given—the masquerades were crowding to the supper-room, and still Count Lara did not appear. In a storm of wrath and impatience, my lady lingered—twice to-night he had made her wait—what did he mean ? 1 She rose at length when patience had ceased to be a virtue, and taking the proffered arm of an ogre, made her way to the supper-tables. The laughter and excitement were at their wildest—everybody was unmasked —everybody was making the most astounding discoveries everybody was present—everybody bub the exasperating Count of Lara. No, far or near he was nowhere to be seen. A dozen voices called his name ; no one could bell what had become of him. What was it she saw that made her leap from her seat with a low cry of fear, that drove the blood from her blanched cheeks ? She saw—for one instant, amid the crowd, the face— not of Major Franldand, but of Sir Peter Dangerfield, looking at her. For one instant only, then it too disappeared. (To be Continued.)