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ever took you into his confidence, Mr. acknowledged the lad's goodness, and menDrew ?” said Cleethorpe, turning upon the tioned his intention of receiving him back, lawyer shortly.
and " I really don't see why he should not “My dear sir-my dear sir," interrupted have done so," retorted the old gentleman. Mr. Drew, “you can say all this to me, be“The private affairs of some of the oldest cause I know your excellence of heart, and and noblest families in this country, sir, all that sort of thing; but if you were to talk are in my keeping; and I have never heard in this way to Messrs. Moss and Moss, of any one accuse me of betrayal of confidence. Thavies Inn, London, whom I shall inHowever, as it happens on this occasion, struct to get up the case, they would laugh the information I received was not from in your face! The idea of talking about Sir Geoffry; indeed, it has only just come proving our poor dear friend's intention. to my knowledge. This is not the first visit Facts, my dear sir, are what will go down in this young man has paid to his father since a case like this—facts, and nothing else !" Sir Geoffry has resided at Springside.” " Then you are not going to get up this
“How on earth did you learn that?" case yourself, Mr. Drew ?” asked the said Captain Cleethorpe.
captain. "In a perfectly proper and legitimate "No, I am not, Captain Cleethorpe," said manner you may be sure, said Mr. Drew, the old lawyer. “I have had little or no his red face redder than ever with excite practice, I am happy to say, in criminal ment.
business, and as this is a most important “No one questions that for a moment, case, I shall instruct Messrs. Moss, who are my dear sir,” said the Rector, quietly, certainly at the head of that branch of the “but it seems odd that you should be profession. I telegraphed to them just aware of a circumstance which is not now, and shall expect one of the partners known in the household."
down by the first train to-morrow morning. “Pardon me,” said Mr. Drew, “it is He will require to see all the witnesses, known in the household; to two members and this man Murphy, of whom we have of it at least. The fact is, my coachman is just spoken.” keeping company, as the lower orders call “You mean Riley, Mr. Drew.” it, with a girl who is housemaid here. The Very likely, Captain Cleethorpe. I am coachman happened to be in town when the not expected to remember the names of news of the murder arrived, and ran up the servants of all my clients. However, here with all the rest of the people. Here Mr. Moss will require to see him, and he saw the girl, who reminded him that above all Mrs. Pickering." some weeks since she had told him, as she “I am sorry to say that Mrs. Pickering was one day passing through the passage, still remains in a state of unconsciousness, she had heard a loud contention of voices; said Mr. Drage. the one being Sir Geoffry's, the other being “ That's bad," said the lawyer; “let us that of a stranger in the library, during hope she will be better in the morning. I which the bell was rung violently; that am very curious to hear what she has to she lingered to see the result, and finally say in this matter. Now, gentlemen, goodsaw Sir Geoffry's body-servant, Murphy, night. Mr. Moss will come straight to my or some Irish name, which I cannot exactly office, and I will bring him up here at once. recollect, show a young man to the door; Mr. Drew shook hands with the rector, that same young man she said she had just bowed to Captain Cleethorpe, and took his seen accused of the murder and taken departure. The other gentlemen were away into custody."
about to follow, when the butler presented That, left uncontradicted, would be an himself and said, “ That the young woman important piece of evidence," said Mr. who had been sitting up with Mrs. PickerDrage.
ing had come to say that the lady had just “It is indeed !” said Mr. Drew. “But opened her eyes
and mentioned Mr. Drage's what do you
mean by left uncontra- name, and hearing that he was in the dicted ? How could it be contradicted ?” house, she expressed a wish to see him im
“Suppose,” said Mr. Drage, with hesi- mediately." tation, “suppose it could be proved that “I will come at once,” said Mr. Drage, Sir Geoffry was sorry for having spoken to then muttered to himself, “Now I shall his son as he did on that occasion, that he learn the truth in this horrible affair !"
The light of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR Round is reserved by the Authors.
Published at the Office, 26, Wellington St., Strand, Printed by C, WHITING, Beaufort House, Duke St., Lincoln's Ion Fields.
face; you blush too much, and a bright the friend of her own memory that she
Only put your- He seemed as wretched this morning as self in my hands, and I promise you shall he had looked happy last night. He was have a title before a year is past."
pale and worn, and his dress was out of May listened in silence, glowing with order. the condemned blush, at the sudden reve- “You look as if you had been up all lation that she had been found so unpleas- night!" said May. ing. The startling promise with which “I have been up all night,” said ChrisKatherine finished her speech had not the topher, “but I shall now go and dress, so desired effect in elating her spirits. as to appear as if I had had my sleep like
“But I do not want a title,” she said, other people.” slowly, “and-and" _” She was well “ But what is the matter with
now? aware that Katherine was a skilful artist You know that you are going to be happy. of the toilet. “I like a clean face, and I | I was about to congratulate you,
your intend always to have one. If I am ugly face does not invite me.” as God made me, then I choose to remain "You are a true-hearted girl, and may ugly.”
the world never spoil you! I believe that "Who said you were ugly? Not I, I I have made one friend here at least."
But you are an obstinate, old- “ That is true, if you mean me," said fashioned little goody, and I don't mind May, kindly. “I would do anything in my telling you so to your face. The world power to help you out of your
difficulty. has gone round a few times since your But I have reason to believe that you
will respected Aunt Martha learned those very be happy before long. Indeed, I speak the prim notions which she has so faithfully truth. I wonder if I ought to tell youhanded down to you: what in her day “You ought to tell me everything-I was propriety is now mere affectation. have a right to know!” cried Christopher, However, promise that you will stay with eagerly. me, and I shall see about your conversion Well, then, she admitted to me last my leisure.”
night that she intended“I don't mind staying,” said May, “ Intended what ?" interrupted Chris
wish it so much. But I mean topher. “Intended to destroy me—to spoil to keep to my own way of thinking all the all
life? I saw it long ago, though I time.
strove to shut my cyes to it. It is coming So Katherine had her way; but her plan upon me now, and I deserve it.” was nevertheless not to be fulfilled.
“Why do you interrupt me?" said May, The next morning May was up early impatient in her turn. “I had good news and abroad among the flower-gardens. She to give you, and it seems you will not had got a letter from home which should have it." have been given to her last night. Aunt * Forgive me! But did you say good Martha bade her return without delay. news? My head seems confused. Did you “Paul has arrived,” wrote the old lady, mean to say good news ?” “and he wants to see you. At any rate, it “I understood from her,” said May,“ that is time for you to come home.”
she intends to be May was not so much astonished at the “ Did you ?” said Christopher, joyfully. news as she would have been but for that
" God bless you; you are a staunch friend. unpleasant conversation with Miss Arch- What a wretch I was to doubt her! What bold. So he was already come to seek an evil-thinking coward! No doubt she Katherine, and Katherine, if she had truth has a right to be capricious if she pleases. in her, ought to be wed to Mr. Lee within A girl like that does not readily throw hera month. What could be done for Paul; self away; but when once she makes up the good-natured boy who had been so her mind she is true as steel. I will not say kind to her in Dublin? The Paul described what thoughts were in my mind when I by Katherine had passed away from her met you ; but think what a ruined creature mind; becoming but one of the crowd of I behold myself, both in heart and in fortune, those fine lovers of Miss Archbold, of in my whole life's career, when the devil whom May had been hearing much since gets into my head and makes me fancy she she had come to Camlough. It was for may be false! I deserve to suffer well for
letting a doubt come near my mind. You most ordinary occasions, such as the long, will forgive me my disorder, and I will go silent, uneventful summer evenings of last and trim myself. After the night I have year; as if no sound were going to disturb passed I must appear like a savage.' the mute monotony of the hours but the
“ And you will tell me of your happi- click of her aunt's knitting - needles, the ness when it is fully secured ?” said May, ticking of the clock, the distant piping of as they parted; and she watched him some cow-boy in the valley, the wail of a stride away, big and glad, towards the sleepy plover shuddering in at the open house. Your six-feet men have not always window, or the sound of her own voice giant intellects, but they often carry very reading a chapter of Thomas à Kempis tender hearts.
aloud to Miss Martha in the dusk. May did not tell Katherine the chief A great glare had flashed over the hills, news of her aunt's letter. She could not and down the paths, and through the open speak again to Miss Archbold about Paul; door into the hall. As May reached the she only made known her aunt's wish that door, a long shadow and a quick step came she should go home, and after no little out of the blinding red glow, and opped difficulty she was suffered to depart. at the threshold. Here then, of course,
How small and simple her home looked was the visitor arrived: but not the lad after Camlough, and how wholesome Aunt whom May remembered. This was not Martha, in her clear-starched kerchief and May's merry friend. But it was Kathefair white cap! Paul was coming in the rine's handsome lover, without a doubt. evening. He had taken up his quarters in “Mr. Finiston!” said May, giving her a farmer's house a couple of miles away. hand. She could not say “ Paul” to this As May took off her bonnet at her own little important-looking gentleman. dressing-table, she saw her face looking “Miss Mourne!” said Paul, uncovering charmingly brightened up. In spite of his curls. He could not say “May” to Katherine's judgment, she was not quite a this dignified-looking maiden. But he held fright. What a glorious thing was joy the proffered hand as tightly as if he had which could thus burnish people's looks got at last what he had been in want of all She dared not look long enough to assure his life. And May was regarding him with herself that beauty had actually taken sympathetic curiosity, wondering if he had possession of her face. Katherine had told heard as yet the report of Katherine's apher that it was all mock-modesty for a young proaching marriage : and if so, how he woman not to think of her appearance. was bearing it. Miss Martha stepped out Bat Katherine lived in the world. Fine of the parlour, where she had been setting ladies bad, perhaps, little time for self- forth her dainties on the tea-table. respect, but people who were not fashion- “So you have been walking over your able had a great deal of leisure to perceive property all day,” said she to Paul. “May, when they were going wrong.
you go in and pour out the tea. I have So May bustled about her room, briskly had to do it for myself during the past putting herself and the chamber into the three weeks. I have just got her home, order which her fancy approved of. She and I intend to make her work. She has was wiser than she had been a month ago, been living like a fine lady among the inasmuch as she had got a lesson in coquetry magnates of the land.” for life; she was now going to profit by the Paul thought she looked a fine lady in lesson. A month ago she would innocently the finest sense of the word; excellently have dressed in her prettiest to meet Paul, fit for household work like the present, as without thinking why she did it, or that her quick hand flitted about the board, and she ought not to do it. Now, it could not her sweet face smiled at him and dimpled be done without taking away her ease. above the tea-pot. It was nectar and not This was not Camlough, so she need not tea which she handed him in a cup. She change her dress because it was evening. had a love-philter in her cream-ewer, this She kept on the thick white “
wrapper witch-maid of the mountains. Paul had, which had been fresh at breakfast-time until now, held three images in his mind, that morning; a crimson rose was already now they paled away and became faint for fastened in the bosom, and that might evermore. A little grey pelisse making stay. Nice braids of hair were nothing purchases in Dublin ; a maiden with outunusual, and there could not be any vanity stretched hands upon a bridge; a gracious in a pair of newly-washed hands. And so young gentlewoman holding parley with she took her way to the parlour, as on the a pedlar. These three young people had
been, successively, his loves ; now let swiftly mastered his fancy ; her
presence, them vanish, for their day had gone past. then, had been only the nearness of a They could not bear comparison with this lovely and luminous soul and body, full radiant tea-making creature, who could of kindred warmth and dreams. It was not hide her gladness that her friend had after he had left her that he remembered come home.
the strong breadth of her brow with all its Not a word was spoken about the miser girlish fairness, the deep fire in her
eyes, of Tobereevil. Paul shirked the subject, the sweet curves of her mouth, the tender and the evening was given up to his own firmness of her softly-moulded chin. It adventures abroad. The three friends was then that she seemed to show herself to sat all through the sunset, and far into him in the many changeful attitudes that the dusk, while Paul poured forth his her character could assume, without losing recitals, and the audience drank in every a line of strength or a curve of grace. word he spoke. The little parlour with On that warm July night Paul was deeply its queer fittings seemed paradise to this dipped in love. He had been parched in love-sick and home-sick wanderer. May his exile, and he had brought himself to sat opposite to him on a bench along the drink; but he was only the more athirst window. Two huge jars filled with roses after this first spicy draught. and sheaves of lavender stood between Miss Martha and May had walked a them, making a bank of scent and colour little way with him through the field-paths across which their eyes and words travelled. towards the moor. The twilight blurred and Miss Martha sat in her straight-backed blended the ghostly outlines of the ruins, arm-chair before the two, with her hands and garden and graveyard were wreathed folded in her lap, no knitting being toler- together in one gleaming, fragrant acre. able on this particular evening. The win- The warm wind swept over the uncut grass, dow was open, to the utmost folding back which had already the breath of hay, and of its latticed panes, and the climbing roses the river glinted in the hollow, under its were dipping over the strong brown frame- bending rows of trees. The moonlight work, and lying along the lintel. As Paul hung like a faint silvery veil along the told his foreign adventures, he felt himself moorland, and the lights in distant farmto be only some lucky Othello, or less houses shone like will-o'-the-wisps in a savage Feramorz.
He forgot that he was marsh. The weird watch-note of some a Finiston, and the heir of Tobereevil. sleepless wild-bird came floating up at inMay's eyes glowed towards him through tervals from the meadows. The sweet, the fading light, and he saw in her an em- mild summer beat in every pulse of the bodiment of all the fair hopes that had night. withdrawn him from the influence of his Very slowly, and with few words, the dreads and difficulties, that he might sit three friends had sauntered along. At the here at this hour in delicious peace at her gate that parted the farm-lands from the side. He saw in her here present all the open hills they touched hands, and said beauties with which his fancy had ever good-night. gifted her in absence; besides a tender “Well, my dear, and what do
think paleness of cheek when thrilled by grave of him ?” asked Aunt Martha, as the interest, and a spiritual abstraction of the women returned homeward. eyes at times, out of which he gathered May did not answer for a few moments. for himself the assurance that she could She was pacing a little in advance, with search far with him into whatever mys- her arms crossed on her breast, a trick teries might trouble him. And yet-he she had from childhood when in musing delighted to discover-he could call back humour. Two or three times her feet fell the
merry smiles and the laughter-loving on the grass as if to the rhythm of some dimples.
music that was solemn, but passing sweet, All these satisfactions he did not note on “Eh, Aunty?" she said at last.“ Did the moment, while he lingered in the dim you speak to me?” atmosphere of the parlour among the clois- “I was asking you what you thought of ters; but they were duly recalled and him, my dear.” gloated over as he walked home to his “Don't ask me to-night, then," said May, farm-house under the moonlight. While stopping suddenly, putting her hands on sitting by her side, within reach of her her aunt's shoulders, and looking frankly hand and the sympathy of her face, he and smilingly in her face; “moonlight could not analyse the charm which had so makes people mad, you know, and I might