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dreda would have forgotten to make her will. Or was it, I wonder, that when it came to the point, she could not bear to separate Athelstanes from Atheling."

"Is it a very grand place ?" asked poor Harry, dolefully.

"I never was there," Lelgarde answered. And there was a silence, broken at last by Harry, who rose and wished us goodnight.

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Perhaps it had better be good-bye, too,' he said, and for the first time in his life, I should think, he looked and spoke awkwardly; "you will probably be very busy.' "Not too busy to see you," replied Lelgarde, holding out her hand; and so he took it very gingerly, I noticed, not with an objectionable pressure this time, and she went on: "Our good fortune has found us both out on the same day. Will you come and see me at Athelstanes when you come back a great artist ?"

"Yes," he cried, eagerly, with colour rising, "yes, that is a bargain. When I come back a great artist, I will come and see you."

He looked at her-she at him.. It was high time for me to interfere.

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Good-night, Mr. Goldie," I said, with emphasis. He relapsed into awkwardness, bowed, and was gone.

Lelgarde was in flighty spirits, chattering and laughing over her new prospects, turning them and herself into ridicule, her cheeks so hot all the time, and her hands so chilly, that I never rested till I had coaxed her to come to bed. It was far on in the night when I woke with a start, to see her, by the light from the street lamps below, kneeling by the bed with her face hidden. It brought a painful recollection of a certain morbid phase of her childhood; but she was quite herself now, as I soon perceived quite herself, but crying bitterly. I called her softly by name, and she rose and flung herself down by me, and hid her face on my shoulder. I did not ask what was the matter: I knew better. I only drew my child into my arms, and soothed and kissed her, till her sobs abated, and she lay exhausted; then she whispered: "Do not mind, Joany, I ought to be very thankful-I am: but the old life has been very pleasant, and I do not like to say good-bye to it for ever."

CHAPTER II.

ALL that night I lay awake and thought hard. When Lelgarde had answered to Harry Goldie's question about Athelstanes, "I was never there," my conscience had

smitten me for letting the child unconsciously utter a falsehood. Lelgarde had been at Athelstanes, though all recollection of that visit, and, indeed, of almost every other occurrence of the first eight years of her life, had been swept away in a long, lingering, nervous fever, which had seemed at the time to threaten either life or reason. Thankful had my mother and I been to have our darling restored to us with no worse consequences than this loss of memory, and a train of nervous terrors, sleepwalking, frightful dreams, all the midnight miseries so well known to children and invalids. These last ill effects passed away in time, but the period preceding her illness remained a blank to Lelgarde, a blank which we were advised not to endeavour to disturb. But now it seemed to me that awkward complications might arise from her ignorance of that stay at Athelstanes, and, for the first time, I proposed to tell her of her illness, and of what had gone before. We were to pay a visit to Mr. Graves at twelve o'clock, and I resolved to speak before that; so, as we sat at breakfast, I began.

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My dear, I am going to tell you what will surprise you very much; you have been at Athelstanes before."

She looked at me in amazement. "Oh! never, I assure you, Joan; how could I?”

"Just after your father died, when you were between seven and eight years old. You know all his history."

"Yes, how he was in the army, and those two dreadful Miss Athelings and their father were his only relations, and would take no notice of him after he married our dear mother."

"True; but after his death, mother got a letter from the eldest Miss Athelingthe old squire had been dead some years then-offering to adopt you, and make their heires, on one condition, that our mother would promise to give you up entirely, and never see you again."

Lelgarde coloured scarlet.

you

"Do not tell me that mamma agreed to that," she said, in a choked voice.

"It was for your sake if she did, Lelgarde; and so you need not look so fierce about it: she thought, and, indeed, I thought too, that she had no right to take such a chance away from you.' "Did I go there then? I have quite forgotten it."

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"Yes, poor little thing, you went. Miss Atheling sent her housekeeper to fetch you, and we made up our minds that we

had given you up entirely; but, my dear, have you really no recollection whatever?" "None," she answered, "none-I think," frowning as if the effort to remember gave her pain.

"When some weeks passed, and we heard nothing of you, I could not rest without seeing if you were well and happy. I was under no pledge, whatever my mother might be; so off I set for Athelstanesa weary journey, all the way into Yorkshire the last part by coach. It was Providence that sent me there certainly. I arrived in the evening, and the coach set me down at the corner of a lane, from which I had to walk to the village inn." "Joan, how brave you were! You could not have been more than seventeen." .." Who would hurt me, do you suppose? If I was not old enough, I was at least ugly enough to take care of myself. As I trudged along in the dusk-it was winter -I saw a little figure coming towards me all alone, a little mite carrying a bundle." "Was it I? What could I be doing?" "When you saw me, you were in my arms in a moment, clutching my neck, sobbing, shaking all over. 'I am running away,' you said. 'I am running to you and mamma. I cannot stay here they frighten me to death! And, Lelgarde, whenever I hear the word terror, I think of your face then.”

"Don't talk about that," she interrupted, hurriedly, turning very pale, "I know the feel of it-I don't care to hear about it. Go on. What did you do ?"

"Do? I just gathered you up in my arms, and carried you back to the end of the lane. I had heard that the up-coach would pass there in an hour's time, and by noon next day we were with mamma again in the old lodgings that we lived in till she died."

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That is my brave old Joan! And

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stand that nothing more could be expected from her; and, since then, we have lived by our work, and a happy life on the whole has it not been, my pet ?"

Lelgarde was musing deeply. "Why was I never told this before ?" she asked at length.

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My darling, because we were advised to let your memory go to sleep as it was inclined to do. Nobody thought then that you would ever have to go to Athelstanes again."

I did not care to tell her that for months after her illness any momentary awakening of recollection would bring on a fit of nervous terror. The doctor said that there had evidently been some cruel shock to the nerves, and beyond that we could discover nothing.

"Then," said my sister, shivering, "it was what caused my illness, and not the illness itself, that has left me such a silly, easily-cowed creature, afraid of the dark, afraid of my own shadow. I have to thank my cousin Etheldreda for a great deal of very severe suffering."

"I hope God has-forgiven her," I said, but I am not sure that I meant that exactly.

"And my Cousin Hilda," Lelgarde went on, "why, as they were co-heiresses, did she never appear in the matter at all?"

"My impression is that Miss Hilda was a great invalid at that time, though it was not until several years afterwards that we heard by chance of her death. She must have died comparatively young, for I know she was many years younger than her sister, and Miss Atheling can hardly have been much over fifty."

"What a colourless, grim, grey life theirs has been!" said Lelgarde. "Joan, you ought to have told me this before, or for ever held your peace. You have given me a horror of the thought of my new home."

So I had done what I hated, only to be told that I had better have left it alone: and there was my darling, white and shaky as she used to be in those miserable childish days.

"Then came your fever, my poor little woman; you were in a fearful state by the time we reached London. Indeed, you must have been in the first stage of it when I met you, otherwise I doubt if any ill- "Well," I said, as cheerily as I could, usage could have driven such a timid thing" the colourless, grim, grey life is at an end as you were into the desperate act of run- now; you are going to introduce a new ning away." régime; and, as a beginning, make haste and get ready to go and talk wisely to your man of business. How grand that sounds!"

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What did Miss Atheling say? What had she done to me?"

"Miss Atheling simply gave us to under

The Right 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 Inn Fields.

THE YEAR ROUND

ALL

No.173. NEW SERIES.

A Weekly Journal

CONDUCTED BY

CHARLES DICKENS

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED

HOUSEHOLD WORDS

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SATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1872.

THE WICKED WOODS OF TOBEREEVIL.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "HESTER'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER XXVII. THE FAGGOTS BURN.

FOR Some days everything went on pleasantly at Monasterlea. May had doubts and fears about the bargain that had been concluded between uncle and nephew; but seeing that doubts and fears were not relished by Paul, she put them all away from her, and saw everything in the light by which he wished her to look at it. Paul paid frequent visits to Tobereevil, and took long walks and rides over the property, making himself acquainted with the scene of his future duties; which were first to be those of servant, and afterwards those of master. The affairs of Miss Martha's farm were rather neglected for the first week or so, but the old lady was right glad to give holiday to her new manager for any good reason he could show, and resumed her farming habits till such time as his various duties could be made to run side by side. There was no wearying, meanwhile, between the two lovers, of the joyous intercourse which they now tasted; of the blithe chatter which they carried on while roaming over hill and dale. There was no end to the leases which they granted in imagination, the comfortable cottages they built as they went along, the half-yearly debts of rent which they remitted to the long overtaxed families in which the father had broken a leg, or the mother was in a consumption. Such a thing as an eviction was to be heard of never more. And if May, in the midst of Paul's enjoyment of his make-believe power, felt a question rising like a trouble within her, "What

VOL. VII.

PRICE TWOPENCE.

will Simon, the miser, say to all these changes ?" the words were never spoken, and the question was crushed down again in her heart, where it lay; a little pain that would at times throb into a great one.

In the mean time the snow fell often and the nights were frosty, and the evenings had become very delightful in the little brown parlour. Ghosts had come into season, and Nannie's stories were in fashion in the kitchen, especially of an evening, when Bridget's gossips and sweethearts had come in to lend a hand with the churning. It was just at the close of one of the short dark days before Christmas, in the midst of a high storm, that a new and rough current came troubling the happy tide of human life at Monasterlea.

May had not gone out with Paul that morning, because it was to be a busy day with her, and a busy day it had been. There had been butter-making in the morning and baking in the afternoon, and the superintendence of these matters belonged to May. It was all over now, and she was expecting Paul; for Paul, as a rule, spent his evenings at Monasterlea. She was dressed in a long woollen robe of a soft plum colour, with dazzling white ruffles at her throat and wrists. She was standing by the fire, with a piece of needlework in her hand, but it was too dark to work. The shifting light of flames is a pleasant light to think by, and May was in a reverie, looking at pictures in her mind, whose colours were as fair as those of a rainbow. She looked a picture herself, as the fire illumined her dark braids of hair, and all the tints, and curves, and dimples of her face. Even in repose and by such light the face looked full enough of humour, and sweetness, and thought, and maybe passion, to make a painter's fame.

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She

looked a woman who could make the happiness of every creature who might come near her; but who could possibly break her heart. And even at this moment there was trouble for her in the air. The trees of Tobercevil were shrieking two miles away in the wind: and ill-luck came and knocked at the hall-door at Monasterlea.

May went quickly to the door, thinking it was Paul, and saw ill-luck standing waiting for admittance. It had a tall, buxom shape, with a riding-habit fluttering about the graceful limbs. There was some light hair streaming from a gleaming face whose beauty shone even through the shadows which almost hid it. There was a hat somewhat maltreated by the wind and sleet, with shrunken feathers streaming after the hair. Ill-luck had come in the shape of Katherine Archbold.

If you had spoken to May an hour ago about Katherine, it would have appeared, by her answer, that she had not seen, nor heard, nor thought of that young lady for a period that seemed as long as seven years. She would have remembered that she was a person who had ruined poor Christopher; but as Christopher had written several cheerful letters of late, and seemed to be doing well, May and Paul had lately made up their minds, in their passion for poverty, that Christopher would, in the long run, be much better without his money. She would also have remembered that Katherine was a person who had laid some claim to Paul's affections, and she pitied her in this, seeing that Paul had no liking for her. It is no untruth to assert that, for the past few weeks, she had utterly forgotten her existence, so completely had May been shut up in her own rosy world. And yet here was the splendid Katherine, standing dishevelled, like a storm-sprite, at the door of her little home. "Let me in, and don't look so amazed to sce me,' cried Katherine, in the light, amused tone which she had always used with May. 'For goodness sake shut the door, and give me a welcome. I think I deserve one after riding so far to see you."

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"And do

"Alone!" echoed May. father and mother know it ?"

your

"Perhaps, by this time," said Katherine, carelessly. But you know I never ask leave for what I do. I left a written message which they will find, no doubt. But first they shall have a fright.”

"How could you be so cruel?" burst forth May.

"There, little goody! Hold your tongue and don't scold," said Katherine, tossing off her hat. "I choose to punish every one who tyrannises over me. They are very safe, since they find I have not drowned myself, nor eloped with some bog-trotter, as they will have been wise enough to suppose. In the mean time, are you going to be my enemy or my friend ?"

"Your friend,' said May. "And I have no right to scold you, nor to pry into your affairs. Of course I think you wrong, but I also think you wet and tired. And your horse? Did any one take your horse?"

Katherine laughed. "I let him go at the gate," said she, "and he will trot back to Camlough."

"And terrify your parents?"

"Probably," replied Katherine. "For Heaven's sake don't stare so, but get me some dry clothes, as you said you would. They will send me some things presently, but I have brought nothing with me."

May said no more, but led her unex pected visitor away to her own chamber. It was the very same room in which she had dressed her once before, when they were children. It was the most whimsical room in the house, all nooks and angles, and from its sloping ceiling and the many twists in its walls, was peculiarly well suited to show off the gambols of the goblins which firelight will set capering. It had been made out of a bit of an old sacristry, and there was a rather grim and sorrowful ghost of a sculptured crucifix in bas-relief on the wall, all chipped and almost worn away by time; besides some cherubs' heads with curly locks and round cheeks, broken noses and pouting lips, clustered under the slantings in the corners of the ceiling. In the midst of these relics flourished all the little niceties which a girl loves to gather round her in her own particular sanctum. The guest having been arrayed in the prettiest gown she possessed, and placed in a comfortable chair at the hearth. May went down on her knees to make the fire burn more brightly. Bridget brought fresh fuel, and took a message to Miss

Martha.

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'Allow me," said Katherine, and she took the little bundles of sticks from Bridget's hand, and fed the flames with them, from time to time, as she talked. May sat on the hearth-rug and listened to her talking.

"You wonder, I suppose, what brought me away from home in such a hurry, and what made me come here to give my company to you? You are dying with curiosity, and yet you are too polite to ask."

Here Katherine cast a stick upon the blazing fire.

"You see my father and mother have pleased themselves to be angry with me. They are quite out of humour because I wish to amuse myself. It is beyond all reason their wanting to dictate to me. They sulked at me for a week about that Christopher. By the way, he came here and made a fuss, did he not ?"

"He came here and nearly died," said May. Katherine shrugged her shoulders and looked complacent, and another stick was tossed into the flames.

"Well, I can't help it. If people will be so silly, I am not to be held accountable. It was a pity to lose the money, but I did not think of that. People begin to think of money when they grow a little older. When one has had all that one could fancy it is not easy to learn prudence; and Sir John and Lady Archbold need not try to teach me now. I could not bring them to their senses without giving them a fright. They shall be frightened for twelve hours; till my maid shall find a letter, as if by the merest chance. And then they will send my trunks. They shall be very anxious to see me before they get me back again."

May was silent. With all her wish to be hospitable she could not find in her heart that she was glad of the chance that had brought Miss Archbold to Monasterlea. Katherine, meantime, fed the flames with a lavish hand, and the fire leaped and burned with a good roar in the chimney; and May looked up and suddenly saw that the sticks which the visitor held in her lap were those very wicked faggots which she herself had hidden out of sight and forgotten. It was not at all wonderful that Bridget should have found them and turned them to account; but May did not like to see them in Katherine's hands. A strange fit of superstitious bewilderment came upon her; she saw impish spirits dancing through the flames, and clambering up the smoke-ladders and mocking at her as if they had

from

overreached her. Turning her eyes the fire she saw Katherine's defiant face shining through the glamour made by the up-springing of the flames, and the downpressing of the shadows around her glittering golden head. At the same moment she heard the muffled sound of Paul's voice and steps in the outer hall. The sound seemed dim and far away, and did not break cheerfully upon the strange mood that had befallen her. Instead of that it mixed itself up with a sense of approaching danger which she was powerless to avert. The danger had come with Katherine, and was wrapped up in her; belonged to Katherine, and would work through her. She was the instrument of all the evil that was in truth haunting Paul. She had come as ill-luck to Monasterlea.

was

Sympathy with Paul's troubles making May superstitious. She was attacked by this terror as by a fit of sudden sickness; and making an effort to shake it off sprang up kneeling on the hearth.

"Hark!" said Katherine, dropping the faggots and holding up her jewelled finger. "There is the lover. Is he not the lover? How angry you were that day when I showed you to yourself! How you denied my penetration! Well, was I not right? Has not all that I predicted come to pass?"

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No," said May; "you were altogether

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"Is there, indeed. And you are both good and patient ?"

"We are both very happy," said May, simply.

"How nice to be looking on at such a pretty pair of lovers!" said Katherine. "So patient and so happy, in spite of a long, long engagement with a vague, vague ending! That is what I shall be doing while I am here. It will interest me extremely. You must introduce me to your Paul. I shall be civil to him for your sake, and he will like me I dare say. Perhaps he will remember having seen me before." He remembers you," said May, mechanically, with her eyes on a half-burnt faggot between the bars.

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