CHAPTER 1

Produced by David Garcia, Emmy and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

Transcriber's Note on the Text:

This book was written by a young girl. There are many spelling and

punctuation errors that have all been retained with the rare exception

of clear printer's error such as He,en on page 164. These three

corrections are listed at the end of the text. For each story, the title

was written on a separate page and then repeated on the next page. The

second of these was omitted to avoid redundancy for the reader. The

remaining text is intact, for example, on page 335, the chapter MR. HOSE

MAKES ENQUIRIES starts with a small letter, most dialogue has no

punctuation at the end and is often missing at least one quotation mark.

Missing letters in the original are denoted by asterisks in the text.

DAISY ASHFORD: HER BOOK

DAISY ASHFORD:

HER BOOK

A COLLECTION OF THE REMAINING NOVELS

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"THE YOUNG VISITERS,"

TOGETHER WITH "THE JEALOUS GOVERNES"

BY ANGELA ASHFORD

WITH A PREFACE BY

IRVIN S. COBB

[Illustration]

NEW YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

_Copyright, 1920,

By George H. Doran Company_

_Printed in the United States of America_

PREFACE

BY IRVIN S. COBB

The role of discoverer is pleasing, nearly always, and more especially

in its reactions is it pleasing. The actual performance of discovery may

be fraught with hardships and with inconveniences and even with perils;

as witness Christopher Columbus making his first voyage over this way in

a walloping window-blind of a tub of a ship and his last one back with

chains at his wrists and ankles; as witness Hendrick Hudson; as witness

Dr. Harvey's unfortunate position in the eye of constituted authority

after he had discovered the circulation of the blood; as witness the

lamentable consequences to whoever it was who, probably by the process

of eating a mess of miscellaneous wild fungoids, disclosed to a bereaved

family and a benefited world the important fact that certain mushrooms

were nourishing and certain toadstools were fatal.

To your true discoverer the compensations of his trade come when he

points with pride to the continent or the great natural fact or the new

author he discovered and cries aloud before all creation: "See what I

have found!"

So, aside from the compliment and the honor of it, I feel added

gratification and added pleasure that I should be invited to write a

foreword for the first American edition of Miss Daisy Ashford's second

book. You see, I claim the distinction of having been the first person

in America other than its publisher and my friend Mr. George H. Doran to

read the manuscript of that immortal work "The Young Visiters." If I did

not actually discover Miss Ashford, at the age of nine when she wrote

"The Young Visiters"--for indeed no one appears to have discovered her

then excepting perhaps her parents--at least I had a hand in discovering

her on this side of the Atlantic ocean at a time when mention of her

name, which now is so famous a name, meant nothing to the casual hearer.

After the lapse of nearly a year the event stands in my memory as

marking one of those hours of pure and perfect joy which come but too

rarely to human beings. At the request of Mr. Doran I read the

manuscript which he had just brought with him from Europe. I read the

story itself first and afterwards the preface, or foreword. This, I

think, was as it should be. By rights a preface however sprightly and

well done--and a preface by Sir James Barrie would have to be well

done--should be served with a book as cheese is served with a dinner: at

its finish and not at the beginning.

When I had read the story through to the last delicious sentence of the

last delectable paragraph and when I had caught up with my breath which

I had lost by laughing or rather when my breath had caught up with me, I

sapiently said to him:

"Publish it? Of course you ought to publish it. Aside from such sordid

considerations as the profits which are certain to accrue you owe it to

yourself as a responsible member of the human race to give this glorious

thing circulation among the reading public of North America. If I were

you I'd print thirty thousand copies in the first batch before I

released any copies among the reviewers or sent any copies as samples to

the trade. And after that I'd keep the presses running steadily in the

hope of being able to keep up with the demand which is sure to follow on

the heels of publication. This is almost the funniest book that was ever

written and it is all the funnier because the writer was so desperately

in earnest, so tremendously serious all the while she was writing it."

"It has made a big hit in England already," he said. "But over there

some people are saying that the author must have been a grown-up

person--that no child of nine could have written such a thing. The

suggestion is even being advanced that Barrie himself wrote it. I know

better, because I have seen the original script in a child's handwriting

on old and faded paper, and I met Miss Ashford some weeks ago in London

and I have had all the proof one needs that this is the authentic

product of a nine-year-old mind."

To which I said:

"No doubt some people will be saying the same thing over here and

they'll be wrong just as these English skeptics are and if they'll only

stop to think for a moment they'll know why they're wrong. No grown

person, not even the creator of a Wendy and a Peter Pan, could have

done this thing. It exhales the perfume of an authoritative genuineness

in every line of it. It had to be a child who wrote it--a child with a

child's imagination and a child's viewpoint and a child's ignorance of

the things she wrote about. In a way of speaking it is like those

unintentionally humorous obituary poems which appear in the papers. No

professional humorist can hope to equal them because when he writes one

he does it with deliberate intent to be funny and invariably he betrays

his hand. It is when some poor mourning amateur dips a 'prentice pen in

the very blood of his or her heart and writes such a poem that it

becomes so pathetically and so tragically side-splitting."

This was what I said. Not in these words exactly, but to this effect.

Mind you, I am not proclaiming that I am the only person who has said

this. Between chuckles thousands and thousands of others since that day

have thought and have said it. What I am proud of is that I was the

first person in America to say it, and so to this extent I count myself

a discoverer and I feel a sort of proprietary sense in being permitted

here to introduce "Daisy Ashford: Her Book." I am mindful of the

distinction because of the reason I have just stated and because also in

a way of speaking it qualifies me for some sort of literary kinship with

Sir James M. Barrie.

Even so I do not aspire to the presumptuous hope that any one may say

"Well, I see this man Cobb is doing for Miss Ashford's second book what

Barrie did for her first one." I have no such ambition. A minnow always

errs when he undertakes to swim in the company of a whale. If he tries

to swim alongside he is unnoticed; if he swims in the wake he is

swamped. He makes other minnows jealous or contemptuous as the case may

be, and he is properly ignored by the whale.

Miss Ashford's own preface, accompanying this volume, gives the

chronological sequences of its contents. The first story of all, "A

Short Story of Love and Marriage," she wrote when she was eight years

old. "The True History of Leslie Woodcock" was written three years

later, after "The Young Visiters" had been written. "Where Love Lies

Deepest" trickled from the busy pen of the young person when she was

twelve years old; and "The Hangman's Daughter," the most pretentious of

them all and to my way of thinking the best of her preserved works next

only to "The Young Visiters," was undertaken when she was about

thirteen, she says, and finished in the following year. Also included in

this book is a story by Miss Ashford's sister Angela, done at the age of

eight and entitled "The Jealous Governes; _or_ The Granted Wish." In

this we learn the real facts regarding the coming of babies. Babies are

not fetched by storks. Medical men bring them in boxes and afterward

render bills for the same, as note the following: (page 330) "Miss

Junick Dr. to doctor Paulin for one baby delivered as per agreement L1,"

a low enough price truly. If a child of eight (who in point of years is

so very much closer to being a baby than most of the writers on the

subject are) cannot be trusted to recall the circumstances of this

mystery, who can? We can only regret that a second sister, Vera, the

artist of this talented nursery, did not save her one contribution to

the literary output of the Ashford family. It was entitled "Little Mary

and The Angle." _Angle_ did not refer to a worm but to a visitor from a

celestial domain; we have the word of Miss Daisy Ashford for it that

this story was of a pious character. What a wonderful household the

Ashford household must have been with Daisy and Angela writing romances

and Vera illustrating them and between times doing a bit of writing

herself. Can't you see the pencils flying? Can't you see three little

pink tongues sticking out from between three pairs of purposeful lips

and wriggling in time to the pencils? Can't you see the small brows

furrowed with thought? And the proud parents? And the startled

nursemaid?

To my mind the very finest thing about Miss Daisy Ashford's present book

is the opportunity it gives us, reading it, to follow the growth of her

genius for observation. For surely the faculty to observe and, having

observed, to set down in words the results of that observation is a

genius. It is more than that, it is two phases of genius harmoniously

coupled.

At the age of eight, as we shall note, she begins her career as a writer

by knowing very little of certain phases of life largely dealt with by

older writers; and this little she knows by reason of what she has read

or by reason of what she has heard read. Rapidly, though, she progresses

to the point where, along with these borrowed second-hand impressions,

she incorporates impressions which are all her own. Reading what she

wrote in the first year of her authorship, we can figure, approximately,

when she learned her first French word; when to her there came those

vague appreciations of the Roman Catholic faith which are so fascinating

to the children of non-Catholics--or perhaps the Ashford family were

Romanists. Influenced by these alluring ecclesiastical mysteries, we

find her causing a prospective bridegroom to address the Rev. Father

Fanty as "your kindness" and begging the reverend gentleman "to excuse

my craving for matrimony." Through these pages one sees how travel

broadened the young person's fund of experience, which in her favored

case meant her fund of material, for unlike many writers, old enough to

know better, little Miss Ashford was, by the virtue of a miraculous

intuition, inspired to write, sometimes at least, of things that she

actually knew about, rather than to deal exclusively with topics which

other writers before her had professed to know about. Early in her

opening story she speaks of "Cracknels." Reading this word, my memory

ran back to my own childhood when we knew but three standard varieties

of crackers--soda-crackers, animal crackers and cracknels which last

were round, slickish objects rather like glazed oak-galls, somewhat

dusty to the taste and warranted to create a tremendous thirst for

licorice water and lemonade. I had entirely forgotten cracknels until

Miss Ashford came along yesterday and reminded me of them.

In "A Short History of Love and Marriage"--and how woefully short

sometimes is the history of a love and how short too, perhaps, the

history of a marriage!--she shows to us that for all its admitted

shortness the narrative is properly rounded out. For on page 24 we learn

that the happy couple went on a bridal tour to India and "seven hours

after they got there had two twin babies." Seven hours and two twin

babies, a magnificent showing surely and the prevalent rage for

shortness maintained to the very end! Page 24 is one of the very best

pages in this book, containing, as it also does, a painstaking

description of perhaps the most striking and interesting marriage-morn

costume worn by any bridegroom in the Christian era.

It is not my intention to quote over-liberally from the contents of this

volume. To my way of thinking the trick of inserting copious extracts

from a novel into the foreword of that novel is as great a mistake as

though I invited you to my house for dinner and before dinner gave you

tidbits and choice bites from each course. I should merely be dulling

your appetite, without satisfying your hunger.

My aim is to direct your attention, if I may make so bold, to certain

pages, specifying them by their numbers and trusting that when you have

progressed so far you will, in the reading of them, find the same joy

and the same zest that I have found there. For example, on page 46 I

respectfully invite your consideration to the pains taken in enumerating

the various articles of one Sylvia's running-away or elopement

trousseau. There was a thorough young woman for you, and a provident.

On page 87 occurs mention of two sisters and here, despite my promise of

two paragraphs ago, I cannot resist the temptation to quote one short

but tremendously illuminating line. The author is speaking now of two

sisters and of the elder she says, she "was by no means beautiful but

she was intensely good." How often it happens that those who are by no

means beautiful are intensely good--how often and sometimes oh, how easy

for them to be so good. But most of us, even those who educate our

faculties of observation the better to earn a living thereby, are very

much older than eleven years before we discern this great truth.

I think the brightest gems of all this collection are to be found, in

the greatest profusion, in "The Hangman's Daughter." The ill-fated

gentleman hangman, Mr. Winston, who moved to Kenelham "where only about

two people were hung a year" is in my opinion worthy to be rated with

the deathless and ever-to-be glorious Mr. Salteena. Miss Ashford says

she was shocked when her brothers on hearing the trial scene read (pages

150, 151, 152) laughed at what she had conceived to be a tragic and

dramatic passage in the action of her tale. Later, no doubt, she has

come to realize how dangerous a thing it is for one to acquire, either

intentfully or otherwise, the reputation of being a humorist; for when

he who has been branded as a humorist says a thing with desire to be

serious his friends laugh at it as a most rare whimsicality and when, on

the other hand, he deliberately sets out to be humorous, his enemies

very likely will declare that never before in all his life was he quite

so serious. And had her brothers been older, had they been of an age to

appreciate the unconscious comedy that marked the Dreyfus trial, say, or

had they ever had opportunity to hear the proceedings in sundry murder

trials in America, when learned counsel was asking questions and learned

alienists were making answers, they would have been able to appreciate

the fact that no burlesque description of a murder trial can ever be

quite so utterly comic as a real murder trial sometimes is.

A flashing jewel of dramatic intensity awaits you (pages 229 to 234

inclusive) when you come to read of the rescue of Gladys and Helen from

the grasp of the murderer of Helen's own dear father and of the method

employed by Gladys' heroic brother for detaining the miscreant Likewise,

I pray you, reader dear, that you linger on page 257 wherein the "menu

of the table d'hote" which was "of nightly recurrence" at Lord

Beaufort's castle, is printed in full. In my mind's eye I see little

Miss Daisy Ashford, twelve years old going on thirteen, carefully

bearing away with her the card of the first meal she ever ate in a

regular restaurant and taking it home and treasuring it up against the

time when she might insert it into her greatest story, then in process

of incubation, at exactly the appointed spot to create the most telling

effect, under the most appropriate possible circumstances. Could a

proper respect and a proper instinct for local color rise to greater

heights? I deny it. So too will you deny it when you arrive at page 258

and read the words emphasized by being displayed in capitals that are on

that page at the end of the menu.

Personally I do not think that as a whole this book is equal to "The

Young Visiters." Only once in a decade or so is it vouchsafed the

writing craft that one among us shall create a masterpiece, destined in

time to become a classic and a thing immortal. Only once in an eon or so

is it vouchsafed a writer to write a masterpiece at the age of nine

years. Very few among us ever produce a second perfect work on top of a

first one. But this I will say--every line in this book is worthy to

have been written by the same hand that wrote "The Young Visiters" and

that, I think, is praise enough for any writer.

_New York, April, 1920._

AUTHOR'S FOREWORD

The publication of these stories gives me an opportunity of expressing

my thanks for the very cordial reception which was given to "The Young

Visiters." I only hope that those who have been amused at the adventures

of Ethel and Mr. Salteena will not be disappointed in those of Helen

Winston, Leslie Woodcock, and the others whose histories now appear.

"A Short Story of Love and Marriage," I wrote at eight years old. It was

dictated to my father, who took it down faithfully word for word. My

very first story, "Mr. Chapmer's Bride," which was also dictated, is

among those that have been lost. "The True History of Leslie Woodcock"

was a later production, and was written at about the age of eleven as a

surprise for my mother on her birthday--it was originally entitled "The

Q. I. B." (our family word for a secret)--but after the secret was out I

changed the title. "Where Love Lies Deepest" was written when I was

twelve, and dedicated to our governess of whom I was very fond.

"The Hangman's Daughter," started at the age of about thirteen and

finished the following year, I always consider the greatest literary

achievement of my youth, for the reason that I put so much more effort

into it than any of the others. By this time I had really determined to

become an authoress (an ambition which entirely left me after my school

days), and I put solid work into "The Hangman's Daughter" and really

tried to write well. I shall never forget my feeling of shock when I

read it aloud to my brothers and they laughed at the trial scene! A

great friend of mine whose Christian name was Helen, was the heroine

(Helen Winston) of this story. She was really a little younger than I

was, but was far more "grown-up" in every way, a fact of which I was

secretly rather "jellus," and it did not require much imagination on my

part to picture what she would be at nineteen. I told her she was to be

the heroine of my new novel, which I truly thought would thrill

_anyone_, and I must say she was as excited as I could have wished. She

will be amused now when she reads this book!

My sister Angela's story, which she wrote at the age of eight, will

certainly be voted the most amusing of this collection. It was the first

she ever wrote, and it was followed by "Treacherous Mr.

Campbell"--another lost manuscript. A great deal of "The Jealous

Governes" she wrote herself, as will be noticed by the spelling. Other

portions were dictated to my father and mother, and I think the nurse

had a hand at it too.

My second sister, Vera, was the artist of the nursery, and drew a

wonderful poster to the only play I ever wrote, "A Woman's Crime." She

wrote one story, however. It was of a pious nature, profusely

illustrated, and entitled "Little Mary and the Angle."

Since the publication of "The Young Visiters," I have often been asked

if I don't myself think it funny. When I first discovered it--not having

seen it since it was written--I certainly did. That is one of the most

curious things about it--to be able to laugh at what one wrote in such

solemn seriousness--and that is why I can never feel all the nice things

that have been said about "The Young Visiters," are really due to me at

all, but to a Daisy Ashford of so long ago that she seems almost

another person. It has all been like a fairy tale, from the accidental

finding of the original note book to the day when, at her request, I

left a copy with my friend Miss Margaret Mackenzie, for it is to her I

really owe the publication of the book. She showed it to Mr. Frank

Swinnerton, and thus I was lucky enough to have it brought to the notice

of my present publishers in England and America.

But the real success of the book I owe to the great kindness of Sir

James Barrie in writing such a wonderful preface, and I am glad to have

this opportunity of thanking him publicly. His name gave "The Young

Visiters" a send-off and a reading which it could not have gained on its

own account and of this fact I am most deeply appreciative.

DAISY ASHFORD.

_March, 1920._

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE BY IRVIN S. COBB v

BY DAISY ASHFORD

AUTHOR'S FOREWORD xxi

A SHORT STORY OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE 15

THE TRUE HISTORY OF LESLIE WOODCOCK 27

WHERE LOVE LIES DEEPEST 67

THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER 105

BY ANGELA ASHFORD

THE JEALOUS GOVERNES, OR THE GRANTED WISH 303

A SHORT STORY OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE

CHAPTER 1

LOVE

The house in which Mr. and Mrs. Molvern lived was one of the usual kind,

with its red painted door and small garden looking out on a very dreamy

park. The bed-room windows which all looked out on the front, had half

dirty white curtains in them, above which could be seen dark red silk

sashes of the same dirtiness.

Mr. Molvern was a red haired quick tempered gentleman, with very small

grey eyes and a clever looking pink face. He would always wear brown

suits, but as everybody said he looked much better in black. Mrs.

Molvern was quite on the contrary. She had indeed a quiet temper, with a

pale delicate looking face with large brown eyes that looked at people

with great interest, and her fair hair glistened in the sun. She

usually wore half dirty white dresses, and in going out she wore a dark

blue velvet jacket with black fur and a brown hat with red poppies. She

never wore gloves except on Sundays and then she wore yellow cotton

ones.

At the present time they had a young gentleman staying with them, who

lived in the neighbourhood. He was sitting in his room waiting for the

town clock to strike four, because when it did he had to go out and meet

his truelove, whose name was Edith Plush. His own name was Thomas

Henrick, but he was known as Burke in that family. At last hearing the

hour strike, he snatched up a felt hat, and putting it on his greasy

head started off to meet his truelove.

When he reached Mionge Lane he met his pretty truelove skipping along

most lady-like and primly. She was dressed in a light blue dress with a

white sash tied at the side in two knots. Her long fair hair hung down

her back tied with a pink ribbon, and her fringe was fluttering in the

breeze. Behind her fringe she wore a wreath of green ivy. In one hand

she carried a leghorn hat with red and blue ribbon, and in the other a

silken bag filled with a threepenny bit and two biscuits, and her age

was nineteen.

"Well my pretty bird," she said as she approached Burke, "I hope you

will like to 'manger' a biscuit with me," (I may add that she was fond

of French).

"Thank you Edith," he said, "I will have one if it is a cracknell."

Then Edith burst into a fit of tears and howled out, "Oh but they are

Osbornes."

"Well to dry up those moist tears, I will eat one," said Burke.

"You dear!" said Edith like sunshine after rain, for the smiles had come

on her face, as she opened her silken bag and popped one into his

blistered hand. After this Burk and Edith walked along down the lane,

which I forgot to say was shaded by trees all along.

"Burke," said Edith after a long pause, "you have talked often enough

and said we shall be married one day, but when it is going to come off I

am sure I don't know."

"Well my dear Edith you must recollect I am not a good dancer and have

no nice suits, and you must recollect my people are not in this

neighbourhood and I can't write marriage letters, and to begin with I

don't think my people would like me to be married just yet as I am not

quite twenty nine."

"Well it is silly of you," said Edith, "after having talked to me so

often about it, and bothered to come into my house, and sat on the

drawing room sofa to make arrangements, and now you seem not to care for

it a bit, just because your people are not in the neighbourhood; and

besides I was getting quite excited about it!"

"If you had only a little more reason in you," said Burke, "you might

take it all in and understand a bit, but you are such a great stupid, so

I must leave it alone and wait till I get a chance to speak to Mrs.

Molvern about it--she has got a bit of sense in her if you haven't," and

his revengeful face made poor little Edith shudder. Indeed she was now

too frightened to answer, and she kept on trying to go home every time

she got a chance, but Burke's quick eye caught her every time.

Edith walked on slowly in front thinking what was the best way to cheer

Burke out of his most moodful mind. At last she hit on a plan. "Burke,"

she said "I have painted such a pretty little tray, it will just hold a

cup of tea and a plate of toast and the paint is quite dry now, if you

will come in and have a cup of tea with me to-day, I will gladly show it

to you."

This short but cheerful conversation of Edith's, made Burke quite forget

their quarrel, and he turned round and said, "I will willingly come

Edith, I know your good painting,--hark, there is four o'clock striking

now."

"So it is," said Edith pulling her hat more over her fringe.

Burke and Edith walked down the quiet little village in which both their

houses stood. At last they arrived at Edith's house which was much

prettier than Mrs. Molvern's.

"Don't you think," said Burke as he advanced to it with firm stride,

"that you had better ring the bell, as you have a visitor with you?"

"Oh, no," said Edith "my mother would be sure to say if she knew it was

I, that I was never to ring again, giving all that trouble to the

servants; it isn't as if you were alone."

"Very well," said Burke, "I only thought perhaps it was best."

Edith smiled at him as she went up the front door steps. She led him

into her pretty little bed-room to take off his things while she took

off hers.

"How very comfortable all looks" said Burke, "I feel quite inclined to

write a note at that pretty little table there."

"Oh indeed but you shan't," said Edith just beginning her snappy temper,

but Burke forgot to reply to her.

They then went down and had some tea and Burke much admired the pretty

tray of Edith's. They had for tea some cold ham (the remainder of the

luncheon) some toasted buns, a sago pudding, a dried bloater and a

couple of shrimps.

After this Edith threatened to hate Burke if he would not arrange about

the marriage.

"Look here, I wish you would talk of something else," said Burke, "I

have a good mind not to marry you at all."

But at this Edith clung so wretchedly to his knees that he had to say,

"well, to-morrow morning."

So that next morning Burke walked along down the village trying to make

out where his own dear Edith could be.

Just as he was thinking of going up to her house he saw Norah Mackie

and Evelyn Slattery coming along together.

"Your friend," they said chaffingly, "is picking some old geraniums in

the front garden."

Burke stared at them straight and putting out his tongue once or twice,

walked on to find his darling pet.

"I wish my sister Mary was here," echoed Evelyn, "she would soon strike

out at you." And they walked on grumbling at his impudence.

CHAPTER 2

MARRIAGE

"Well pretty dear," said Burke as he approached Edith's garden.

"Angel! I have been waiting for you to come and talk about the wedding."

"Yes I am perfectly settled," said Burke, and he began: "I have written

to my people and they have written back to say yes I may marry you, and

kind Mrs. Molvern is having such a nice wedding suit made for me, and I

think we will be prepared to receive the Sacrament of Matrimony next

Thursday."

"Thank you so much," said Edith "suppose we talk about it now here on

this sunny bench."

Burke lifted up his coat tails and squatted himself down. "The first

thing to find out about," he said, "is about asking Father Fanty to

marry us."

"Yes, now I have hit upon a plan this very minute," said Edith, "you

will write a letter to him. I have got a rather crumpled bit of paper in

my pocket, and as most men have got a pen in their pockets most likely

you have got one."

"Indeed I have," said Burke, "and a threepenny blotter too."

As for ink, Edith had a halfpenny bottle in her pocket. So Burke began

like this:

"DEAR REV. FATHER FANTY,

I hope your kindness does not mind marrying us

Miss Edith Plush and myself. We are both capable

of receiving the Sacrament of Matrimony on

Thursday next if quite convenient to you. Hoping

you will excuse my craving for Matrimony,

Your sincerely,

THOMAS HENRICK."

Burke told Edith's maid to run to the Presbytery with the letter and

wait for an answer. About a quarter of an hour afterwards this exquisite

and most graceful letter came from Father Fanty.

"MOST DEAR T. HENRICK,

On Thursday I am free from all engagement and am

most willing to marry you, and give a charming

wedding breakfast in my lovely harmonium room. So

with my best congratulations on your coming

marriage,

I am,

Your affectionate priest,

FATHER FANTY."

So on the following Thursday Burke and Edith were dressed as I shall

mention now. The timid darling lady had on a most lovely sky blue

coloured dress with a high bustle, and it was blossomed over with sham

daisies tied on with green ribbon. On her head she wore a wreath of

yellow roses, and her white veil reached down to the top of her stays.

White kid gloves, and as the sleeves of her dress were rather short, her

red beef coloured hands showed between. She had pretty white velvet

boots with grass green buttons, and washed out red stockings. In her

hand she held a bunch of green ivy.

The strong and bold bridegroom wore a red swallow tailed coat, with a

green silk sash tied in front. He had black knickerbockers and white

woollen socks, and black dressing slippers, and he carried a bowler in

his hand.

When they arrived at the church the marriage was splendid, but the bare

legs of Burke were not much appreciated.

For the wedding breakfast they had several cups of Bouillon Fleet, and

eight of Bovril. They had six Vanilla cream puddings and strawberry ices

by the score; but they kept the blinds drawn down in case vulgar little

boys should loom in and say "give us a slice," while the leg of pork was

being cut.

For their honeymoon, they went to the south of India, and seven hours

after they got there they had two twin babies, a boy and a girl which

they called Abraham and Sarah, because they were fond of those holy

saints.

So we will say goodbye to this two chaptered story.

THE TRUE HISTORY OF LESLIE WOODCOCK

To

DEAREST MOTHER

FROM

DAISY ON HER BIRTHDAY

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCING THE FAMILY

"Sylvia Sylvia" cried a man's voice in the hall. "Where is that child?"

"Coming" answered the child for so she was always called by her Uncle

Richard although in years she was close on 19.

And she turned to obey the summons, a deep flush mounted to her usually

too pale cheeks, and lighted up her whole countenance.

Sylvia Monton was little more than a baby when her parents were both

drowned whilst on their way to India where Captain Monton was to join

his regiment. So little Sylvia was left an orphan and her mothers only

brother Richard Earlsdown came forward to take charge of her being a

bachelor and possessing no children of his own.

At the time our history opens Sylvia was a tall thin girl with a fair

and saddened face, which was only enlivened by the sky blue of her

eyes--she had golden hair which she wore combed back from her white and

noble forehead and arranged in heavy waves round her small and shapely

head--a small rosebud mouth which when wide open displayed 2 rows of

pearly white teeth. Small white hands adorned by 3 golden rings and a

tiny round nose which she daintily touched now and again with a lace

hankerchief.

It was 3 oclock on a dismal afternoon late in February and the place was

on the boarders of the Sussex downs.

"What a rainy day for our walk Uncle" sighed Sylvia as she approached

her uncle who was still waiting in the hall.

"I wish it were finer my dear" said Mr. Earlsdown opening a large

unbrella manfully.

Mr. Earlsdown was an elderly man between 50 and 60, he had iron grey

hair and a long bushy beard to corrospond, sharp grey eyes and a would

be handsome face but for a stern forbidding expression it habitually

wore. He was broad and stout and had a manfull way of carelessly

swinging his arms that gave him many friends. Not only this but he had a

loud hearty voice that he knew how to use with a will.

Here Mr. Earlsdown proceeded to turn up his trouser tips and offering

his large umbrella to his niece cried in his hearty voice "let us brave

the storm."

Just then a gust of wind blew Sylvia's dainty toque down a side street.

"Oh uncle" she gasped dropping the gingham in her dismay "do go and

fetch it," but ere she uttered the words a tall handsome fellow

approached bearing his head and displaying the lost hat in his hand.

"Oh thank you" cried Sylvia a beautiful blush mounting her fair cheeks

"I am so very grateful to you."

"I am afraid it is rather dusty" said the newcomer taking out a lovely

silk hankerchief and preparing to wipe the charming object

"Don't trouble sir" said Mr. Earlsdown and taking out a large red

kerchief he seized the hat in his huge hand and pounded it vigorously.

"Oh uncle gently" cried Sylvia "you will spoil my feathers

"I know what I am about my dear" said Mr. Earlsdown "and you sir come

and see us to-morrow, my child will be glad of a caller."

"Oh indeed I shall" cried Sylvia blushing.

And Leslie Woodcock, for that was the handsome fellows name raised his

hat and bowed low saying "I shall be delighted my dear sir, but might I

ask what your address is.

"Certainly my man" exclaimed Mr. Earlsdown as with a hearty laugh he

produced a little card on which was written

R. EARLSDOWN ESQ,

Yellowflower Hall

Mayfield Sussex

Leslie bowed once more and taking the card moved gently away. What took

place after this will be reserved for our next chapter.

CHAPTER 2

LESLIE WOODCOCK

The hero of my story I will now describe.

Leslie Woodcock was about 6 feet in his stockings and fine and well

built. He had very dark brown hair neatly parted at one side, a curly

moustache of the same shade and deep brown eyes always half shut. He had

a large straight nose and mouth to correspond and white well shaped

hands and feet, that set off this good looking young man.

It was about half past 3 oclock on the following afternoon when Leslie

Woodcock dressed in a light grey suit and crimson tie, black felt bowler

and fur lined overcoat, started for Yellowflower Hall.

Sylvia who had been expecting him all the morning was pleased to hear

the front door bell ring, and hurried to the window to wave her hand, as

she knew it _must_ be the good looking stranger.

Just then the drawing room door was flung open and the butler announced

Mr. Woodcock "Oh good afternoon" said Sylvia rushing from the window to

greet the visitor "how good of you to come in all this pouring rain."

"It was a bad day to come, but I was true to my word" answered our hero

warmly shaking hands.

"Yes indeed how wet you must be" said Sylvia and then turning to the

butler she added "Johnson inform Mr. Earlsdown that Mr. Woodcock is

here."

In about 3 minutes a heavy step was heard and Mr. Earlsdown came

bounding into the room laughing loudly.

"How do Mr. Woodcock" he gasped between his peals of laughter "I didn't

at all expect you, in fact I forgot all about you" and here he sank into

a chair and offered a snuff box to his friend.

"Thanks" said Leslie streching out his long thin fingers and taking a

small pinch which he silently dropped on the floor as being so young he

was afraid it would make him sick.

"You'll stop to tea wont you?" asked Sylvia arranging the folds of her

green silk dress.

"Thank you I will if it is no trouble" said Leslie and a smile passed

over his thin lips.

In a few moments Johnson and another footman brought in tea from the

conservatory on a silver tray.

"Now Mr. Woodcock please to help yourself" said Mr. Earlsdown offering

him three or four plates of sugar and other cakes. Leslie took a small

jam wafer and proceeded to nibble it quietly. "How far did you come?"

asked the girl as she was busy pouring out tea.

"Not very far" responded Leslie lifting his full brown eyes to her face.

"I live in Astma House upon the high road.

"Oh I see" replied Sylvia with a nod of her fair head, "you have sisters

and brothers then? for I have seen them coming in and out."

"I have two sisters and a cousin" replied Leslie.

"_Oh_ what are their names? asked Sylvia who had a very curious nature.

"My sisters are Violet and Hilda and my cousin is Albert Morris."

"Oh what sweet names" cried the girl "I wish you would bring them here

some day."

"Perhaps I will" said Leslie "but Albert does not care for calling he is

a very quiet fellow.

"I am sure I should like him. I love boys" said Sylvia.

Here Leslie thought he had better be going so taking his hat and gloves

he shook hands after first promising to bring his family the next time

he came.

CHAPTER 3

THE BALL

About 3 months after the events recorded in our last chapter Mr.

Woodcock decided to give a ball in honour of his daughter Violets

coming of age. So he sent out about 20 invitations and Leslie made quite

sure that Sylvia was amongst the list of invited people.

At last the happy day arrived and as the carriages drew up in front of

Astma House Leslie's form might be seen standing on the door step

looking out for when Sylvia would arrive. At last she came and Leslie

offered his hand to help her up the steps.

Sylvia was attired in costly white satin with an edging of beaver round

the skirt. The body was trimmed with real Venetian Point. Upon her hands

she wore pink kid gloves and in her hair a pink may blossom. Her small

well formed feet were clad in white high heeled shoes and silk

stockings.

"I am afraid I am late Leslie" she said as she entered the hall "but I

had such a bother to fix my hair, my maid was out you see" she added

blushing

"Oh never mind" said Leslie taking Sylvia's cloak and hanging it up "let

us come into the drawing room and join in this walse.

Sylvia's programme was soon filled and she danced till she was tired and

at last while resting in an arm chair she was not sorry to see Hilda

Woodcock approaching her with a strawberry ice.

"Leslie is going to bring you some jelly or cream pudding in a minute"

she said handing Sylvia the tray.

In an instant Leslie came up to her and handing her a jelly retired

quickly saying he would be back soon.

At that moment Sylvia felt a touch on her arm and looking round found

herself face to face with Albert Morris, a short red haired young man

about 22.

"Oh what is it?" cried Sylvia jumping up from her seat.

"Nothing much" replied Albert quietly "only as you are disingaged will

you have a valse with me."

"I really can't" answered Sylvia hotly "I _am_ so tired. I have been

dancing all the evening."

"Very well" said Albert and he went away and Sylvia turning round saw

Leslie sitting beside a young lady gently fanning her and talking to

her.

An angry flush mounted to her fair cheeks and for a moment she could

barely keep her temper, then without a minutes hesitation she walked

boldly towards Leslie and his friend. Leslie jumped up when he saw her

approach "I was just coming to look for you Sylvia" he said and getting

up he followed her to the end of the room.

"Who was that person I saw you talking to so lovingly?" asked Sylvia.

"Oh that was Isobel May Saunders, a great friend of mine" replied Leslie

with a short laugh.

"So I should think a _great_ friend" answered Sylvia angrily "and by the

way you were talking to her I should think you were engaged to her."

"Look here Sylvia don't be angry" said Leslie slowly "but I _was_ going

to have made her my wife once but since I met you I have thought better

of it--please don't say any more about it."

"Oh Leslie" cried Sylvia in surprise "but does the poor girl believe

that you love her

"To tell you the truth Sylvia" replied Leslie getting very red as he

spoke "my belief is that Isobel thinks I love her and as I can not throw

her over altogether that is why you saw me speaking to her just then."

"But what is your reason for not marrying her?" cried Sylvia.

"Well because I thought I would rather marry someone else" said Leslie

blushing and looking straight into her face.

"But who do you want to marry?" said Sylvia blushing in her turn.

"You dearest" he replied in an undertone "ever since the day I came to

call upon your uncle I have set my heart on making you my wife. Do you

think you love me enough to marry me?"

"I think I do Leslie" said Sylvia getting very hot "but I must speak to

uncle about it first."

"Don't forget" said Leslie in a beseeching tone "and let me know as soon

as possible."

So the whole of that evening Leslie and Sylvia kept together but as

Leslie was helping Sylvia on with her cloak, Sylvia saw Isobel Saunders

gazing at Leslie with a look which went straight to her heart.

CHAPTER 4

AFTER THE BALL

Before we go on any further we had better say a word about Isobel

Saunders.

She was the only daughter of Colonel Saunders of the 159th who having

lost a lot of money in the army was now in very poor circumstances. His

wife had died five years previously and left him with three sons and a

daughter. The eldest son William was a tall stout elderly man of about

25 who followed his father's profession. Robert the next was fair and

delicate looking taking after his mother and lived very much at home and

was just 21 years of age. The youngest son Frederick who was Isobel's

junior by 4 years was still at school.

Isobel, who at the time my story opens had just attained the age of 20

years was 5 feet 3 inches in height, she had thick dark hair fashionably

dressed and a massive fringe over her stately forehead. She had

bewitching brown eyes from which long lashes swept her cheeks. She had

an aqueline nose and a bright complextion. She had nice feet and was

fairly podgy.

It was 10 o'clock on the morning after the ball, when Colonel Saunders

came into the breakfast room with an open letter in his hand.

"Here is some news for you Isobel" he said "Your aunt Miss Vickers

intends favouring us with one of her weekly visits she will arrive this

afternoon by the 3 o'clock train, so mind and have everything ready or

there will be a fine fuss."

"Oh dear" exclaimed Isobel preparing to pour out the whisky for her

father. "I always dread Aunt Sophia's visits."

"Yes indeed she is an old nuisance but we must make the best of her and

after all a week is not long."

"That is true" replied Isobel "but still it adds to my other troubles."

and with a sigh she ran up to prepare the bedroom.

The town clock was striking 4 when a cab drew up at Vebena Villa and

Isobel flew to open the front door.

"How are you dear Aunt! she exclaimed.

"Well my dear I am not as well as might be expected. I have had a severe

cold and my servants have worried me so much I thought a week's rest

might do me good" answered the fidgety dame hastening into the drawing

room and taking a seat she proceeded to give Isobel a list of all her

complaints and when she had come to an end of them she turned to her

niece saying "Please tell Jane to take my box up and then after I have

had some tea I will go to bed, I have had a long and fatiging journey."

Here will be a good time to explain Miss Vickers, she was tall and

angular and thin with black hair slightly grey which she wore in an

untidy nob behind, she had dark piercing eyes that always seemed to find

out other people's business.

Isobel smiled as the door closed on the tall and portly frame of her

aunt and she began to re-arrange the room which already in 10 minutes

Miss Vickers had turned upside down.

CHAPTER 5

AFTER THE BALL (_continued_)

Whilst this scene was taking place at Vebena Villa, a very different one

was going on at Yellowflower Hall.

While sitting at the breakfast table Sylvia Monton was wondering how to

ask her uncle if she might come to terms with Leslie Woodcock.

Presently Mr. Earlsdown rose from his chair and seizing his pipe he

entered his study roaring 'Private Tommy Atkins' at the top of his loud

voice.

"I am afraid my uncle is in one of his boisterous moods" sighed Sylvia

finishing her coffee, "but he does get so excited poor uncle especially

when he has been out the night before. I don't remember seeing much of

him at the ball. I was so taken up with Leslie. I am rather glad I did

not see him though for nothing would induce him to wear evening clothes

or a shirt front and he insisted on going in his bicycling suit and such

a soiled red tie and _oh_ his hair it was really like a crows nest, I

don't know what Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock would have said if he had suddenly

burst out with that dreadful 'Tommy Atkins.' but there poor uncle he

_has_ such spirits."

So saying Sylvia skipped into her uncle's study.

"Hullo hullo my lassie" he cried tossing down last week's 'Pick me up.'

"I wanted to speak to you Uncle" said Sylvia putting her trembling hand

on Mr. Earlsdown's shoulder.

"Talk away then" said Mr. Earlsdown "I am prepared for the very worst

news."

"It's nothing much" said the girl "only--

"Wake up wake up my child" said her uncle "only what?"

"Only that Leslie Woodcock has asked me to marry him and with your

permission I will accept."

"I dare say you will" said Mr. Earlsdown "but I am not going to give my

consent" replied the excitable gentleman "I am not going to see you

marry a begger."

"But uncle he is not a begger" cried Sylvia "he is well off, honest and

dependable"

"I dare say he is all that" said Mr. Earlsdown "dependable indeed! why

ten to one when you have been married to him a month he will devoice you

for some other girl he is silly enough to prefer; no no you shall marry

a lord, that is what I want for my money, so next time you see young

Woodcock just send him about his business, impudent young fellow!!"

"Uncle have _some_ mercy" here burst from Sylvia's pale lips "I'll

never marry any one else" and with a cry of "Leslie _my_ Leslie" she

fled from the room and flinging herself on her own bed gave way to

bitter tears.

But finally taking heart of grace she siezed her blotting book and

poured forth these heart rending words.

MY OWN,

Owing to my merciless uncle I am forced to give

you up as he thinks to marry a lord, but _no

never!_ my Leslie and although I may never see you

again think of me always as I shall of you and

believe me to be

Yours and yours alone

SYLVIA.

CHAPTER 6

THE ELOPEMENT

It was past 2 o'clock before Leslie received Sylvia's wretched appeal.

It was brought to him in his room whilst dressing for an afternoon

party. Leslie read it carefully through and then throwing it on the

floor seezed his head in his hands and thought it over.

Presently he looked up with, a determined expression on his face "I must

marry her" he cried, and then sitting down he picked up a sheet of

writing paper and prepared to answer the note and this was what he said.

MY BEST LOVED

If you will agree to this plan I will marry you

yet. Have all your wants packed up this evening by

6 o'clock and we will elope together dearest and

when we are one, we will go to America and make

our fortunes.

Ever dearest

YOUR OWN LESLIE.

He then told one of the servants to take the above to Yellowflower Hall

and give it into Miss Monton's hands, and wait for her answer.

The servant soon returned to say that the young lady would agree to the

plan.

Leslie then began to collect his stockings and under garments and whilst

rummaging in his wardrobe he heard something drop on the floor. He

stooped to pick it up, it was a photograph of Isobel Saunders.

"Poor Isobel" murmured Leslie and wrapping the photo up he put it in his

pocket. "I wonder what she will think of me when she knows."

At 5 o'clock the housemaid came to tell tea was ready.

"Oh bring me a cup of tea up here, "I am not feeling very well" said

Leslie as she closed the door.

At 1/4 to 6 Leslie slipped out by the back door. He was attired in a

long old fashioned ulster, a deer stalking cap, large golosha boots, and

a hunting suit as he had gone to hunt for Sylvia. On his right arm he

carried a bag containing clean under linen and other odds and ends also

his money consisting of L40 in ready gold. He entered the garden of

Yellowflower Hall and stole up unseen to Sylvia's room. He found her

standing by the table buttoning her jacket with nervous trembling

fingers.

"Oh Leslie!" she cried as he entered the room "I am so glad you have

come" and saying this she fell back in a chair and fainted dead away.

Leslie caught hold of the water jug and wetting a sponge applied it to

her white face, and by this and the aid of smelling saults, Sylvia soon

revived.

"I am so nervous" she said "Oh Leslie shall we ever get away in safety?"

"Yes dearest yes" whispered the lover, "trust me darling and you will be

alright."

"I am ready now" said Sylvia in a weak voice as she put a packet of

biscuits into her bundle.

"I'll carry your luggage" said Leslie picking up her bundle which was

tied in a white tablecloth.

Sylvia had been more particular than Leslie as to her luggage. Besides

all her under-linen she had with her two pairs of clean sheets and

pillow cases, some bath towels and soap, likewise a sponge and a yard of

flannel (in case she lost any) a flask of brandy, some new potatoes and

a tooth brush.

Sylvia's window opened into the lawn so it was easy to escape and once

off the high road she and Leslie felt safe.

CHAPTER 7

THE LODGINGS

Leslie and Sylvia having tramped until midnight found themselves weary

and footsore at London.

"I can't afford very good lodgings" said Leslie "my money must last

until I get employment.

"Where shall we go then?" said Sylvia.

"To some common lodging house" said Leslie "you see _you_ have clean

sheets if they are needful--ah there is the lodging house."

So he and Sylvia approached a filthy house at the end of a narrow

street, Leslie knocked at the door and after waiting 10 minutes a dirty

old woman with a candle in her hand, opened the door.

"What is it you want? she said, "disturbing me this time of night!"

"We have come for a lodging" said our hero "how much would it be?"

"4d a night single" said the old woman "and 2d extra if you want a drop

of water to wash with."

Leslie's heart sank within him at these words but he felt bound to

accept saying "I hope the beds and the water are clean."

"Clean enough I'm sure" said the old woman "considering they have only

been used a few times." so saying she led them up a rickety stair case

into a shabby little room.

"The bed ain't made yet said Old Nan pointing to a heap of rags in the

corner.

"Thank you" said Leslie and locking the door he turned to Sylvia who by

this time was wandering hopelessly about the filthy garret.

"We'll make the bed anyhow" said Leslie "get out your sheets Sylvia."

She obeyed and Leslie kneeling on the floor began to sort out the rags.

He found an old blanket which being a shade cleaner than the others he

laid upon the floor covering it with a clean sheet; then stuffing his

jacket inside the pillow case he made it into a pillow, he then laid

another sheet over that and covered it with his and Sylvia's overcoats,

he pronounced the bed made.

"How very dreadful!" gasped Sylvia "I can not sleep upon that bed."

"You must" said Leslie throwing open the window to air the room.

The next morning Leslie, who had sat by the open window all night began

to collect the bed clothes and turning to Sylvia said "we will get out

of this as soon as ever we can."

Then finding a drop of filthy water in a cracked basin he proceeded to

wash his face and hands, though Sylvia said she would rather go dirty

than use such water.

Just then Old Nan entred and looking round said "well now I hope you

have had a pleasant night."

"Oh very" stammered poor Leslie.

"I think we are going now, if you will tell me what it comes to."

"Well let me see" said Old Nan

"2 beds and 2 washes--

"But I didn't wash" said Sylvia

"And _I_ didn't go to bed" said Leslie

"Then it will be 6d growled Old Nan. and after paying their landlady

Leslie and Sylvia fled for their lives.

CHAPTER 9

THE MARRIAGE

"I Wonder where we can find a church to be married in" said Sylvia.

"We dont look as though we were _going_ to be married" said Leslie "and

I feel so soiled after sleeping in that lodging house."

"I should think you do" said Sylvia "I never felt so dirty in my

life--why there is a church Leslie"

"Yes I know but I mean to buy you a white veil and a piece of lace" said

Leslie "here is a shilling get what you can"

Sylvia hurried across the road and soon returned with a yard of book

muslin for a veil and 1/2 a yard of furniture lace.

"That will do" said Leslie and they entered the church.

A middle aged man was busy lighting the church lamps and stared

hopelessly as the couple entered.

"Please are you the clergyman?" asked Leslie.

"No" said the man "Mr. Roberts who is sorting surplices in the vestry is

the parson."

"Can we speak to him" said Leslie quietly

"Yes sir" replied the man opening the vestry door.

"Oh are you the clergyman?" said Leslie to a tall dark man who was just

folding up some clean linen.

"Yes I am" replied the said gentleman "can I do anything for you?"

"Well we wanted to be married" said Leslie bashfully "if this young lady

may put her veil on in the vestry we could then wait in the church till

you are at leisure."

"Yes I think I have time" said Mr. Roberts glancing at his watch "please

sign your names in this book and I will ring the bell for the acolyte"

So saying he touched a spring bell and very soon a small fair-haired boy

appeared in the door way.

"Take two lighted candles into the church Tommy" said Mr. Roberts "and

place two kneeling chairs in the aisle."

Tommy obeyed and very soon Sylvia and Leslie were kneeling side by side

in the church.

About 5 minutes afterwards our hero and heroine walked out husband and

wife!!

"Let us have our wedding breakfast at the Gaiety restaurant" said Leslie

and hailing a handsom the married couple stepped in.

"What would you like my dear" said Leslie sitting down at a ready laid

table.

"I'd like rabbit pie and apple fritters and a cup of coffee please" said

Sylvia throwing off her gloves and displaying her newly put on wedding

ring.

"Very good my dear" said Leslie "and I will have a slice of roast pork

and suet pudding and treacle and beer and soda mixed that is a mild B

and S my dear"

Half way through his pork Leslie pulled out a letter from his pocket and

after piercing at it for two or three minutes he read as follows.

Homer Villa, Margate.

DEAR SIR,

I shall be very please to acomodate you for a

fortnight. You can have a good sized bedroom,

parlour and dining room for 3 guineas per week

including everything else. I shall expect you

tonight so

Believe me to be

Yours very truly

MARY MASON.

"This _is_ good news my dear" said Leslie "if you have done your pie we

will take the first train to Margate, hand me your bundle and we will

start."

It was not a very long journey but Sylvia who was very tired was not

sorry to hear the porters screaming "Margate station."

A pony cart from Homer Villa was waiting for them and Leslie and Sylvia

were soon at their lodgings.

A fat good tempered looking woman showed them into a comfortable

parlour where a lovely tea consisting of ham sandwiches, poached eggs,

tea and bread and butter was waiting for them. And here we will leave

them to enjoy it while we take the train back to Mayfield.

CHAPTER 10

THE CONFUSION

About 1/4 to 8 o'clock the dressing bell at Yellowflower Hall pealed

forth its usual summons.

"I am glad dinner is so nearly ready" said untidy Mr. Earlsdown

straightening his tie and running a comb through his hair "I'll go and

have a quiet glass of claret while I am waiting--perhaps Sylvia will

appear by then."

Mr. Earlsdown had just drained his glass when Johnson brought in some

pea soup, bacon and green cabbage, merangues and chocolate pudding.

"Don't trouble about ringing the second bell Johnson" said Mr. Earlsdown

"just call Miss Monton and I will begin."

So saying he began to serve out the bacon on a golden plate.

"Where is that child" said Mr. Earlsdown after having 3 serves of the

bacon.

Just then Johnson entered with a very long face "If you please sir" he

said "Miss Monton is nowhere in the house and her room Mary says is

_that_ untidy, you'd think a wild menagerie had been there."

"Bless my life" exclaimed Mr. Earlsdown throwing down his fork and

tossing his table napkin to the butler.

Forthwith he rushed upstairs to his niece's room and the sight which met

his eyes was enough to astonish even Mr. Earlsdown. A pile of linen

stood in a corner of the room, hats, jackets and various articles of

clothing were scattered in every direction and at last on the bed a

letter adressed in Sylvia's hand to himself and this is what it said.

UNCLE,

Please do not worry yourself about me. I am quite

safe under the charge of Leslie Woodcock. We shall

be in London to-night but from that day forth I

dont know where we shall be. My name from now is

SYLVIA WOODCOCK.

As Mr. Earlsdown read this coldly worded epistle he flashed his eyes and

stamped heavily on the floor.

"Why bless the girl" he screamed "I'll have her back within an inch of

her life" so saying he tore out of the bedroom and called for Johnson.

The butler came running upstairs to receive his orders.

Johnson take the first train to London and search everywhere for traces

of Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock" and handing the butler 2/6 he sent him off by

the 8.8 to London.

Meanwhile there was also great confusion at Astmer House. On the summons

to dinner Leslie was found missing.

"Dear me" exclaimed Mrs. Woodcock jumping up and knocking over a soup

tureen "Albert go and look for your cousin."

"Oh _he_ is alright" answered Albert "there is no need to fuss."

"Yes there is you heartless boy, go and look for my son at once."

"Oh bother" said Albert flinging down his book.

"Dont snap" said Mrs. Woodcock as Albert dashed furiously out of the

room.

He returned within 1/4 of an hour to say he could find no traces of

Leslie except his tooth-brush in the back garden and a pocket

handkerchief on the stairs.

"Oh I hope he is not lost" cried Mrs. Woodcock "my dear son, where can

he be?"

"Oh but you have me" said Albert with a faint smile.

"What do I care for you?" said Mrs. Woodcock bitterly.

Albert immediately began shuffling about and took a drink of water to

hide his blushes.

"As you are so _very_ stupid" continued Mrs. Woodcock "perhaps you can

_manage_ to walk ** far as Yellowflower Hall and see if you find any

traces of Leslie."

Albert pushed on his hat and stamped out and returned in 1/2 hour in a

rather more excited mood than he went out.

"I say Aunt" he cried running into the dining room "would you believe it

just by that railing near Yellowflower Hall I found Miss Monton's shoe

and Leslie's watch key, I brought both back to show it is true."

Mrs. Woodcock uttered a terrified "Oh" and sank nearly unconscious on

the sofa.

CHAPTER 11

JOHNSON'S SEARCH

Johnson arrived in London at 25 minutes to ten. It was a dark foggy

night and the air was cold. Johnson gave a shiver as he wrapped his

ulster round him.

He wandered hopelessly about for an hour or two and oddly enough he took

the very same lodgings as Sylvia and Leslie had spent their first night

in London; being in that part of the city and too tired to look for

better apartments.

Towards noon on the following day Johnson encountered a friend, Thomas

Bench by name, and forgetting all about his errand he turned into a

public house close by to enjoy a quiet drink with his friend.

"What are you up here for Jim?" said Thomas Bench.

"Well" said Johnson stirring up his hot whisky and water "its rather a

serious matter, my master's niece has gone and run away with her young

man and I am on the look out for her."

"Aye aye" answered Bench scratching his oily head "what sort of a young

miss is she eh?"

"Well she's a pretty sort of girl with plenty of fair hair and blue eyes

there is no mistaking she belongs to the upper ten my man"

"Oh indeed" replied Bench taking a piece of blue paper from his pocket

"what is the young lady's name?"

"Miss Morton by your leave" roared the butler.

"Well" replied Bench "look here." Johnson snatched the bit of crumpled

paper and read it through. On the paper was written

MISS SYLVIA MONTON.

Homer Villa, Margate.

"Mercy" screamed Johnson "wherever did you find it?"

"Well" replied Thomas Bench "I was walking in Orange Alley where old Nan

lives and outside the door I found this scrap of paper, what do you

think it means old pal?"

"I should say" said Johnson biting his lips "it looks as though it meant

that our young lady had taken up her abode there."

"So should I" said Bench with a broad grin and so saying the two men

walked out arm in arm. Outside they parted and Johnson took the first

train for Margate and whilst waiting at the station a telegram was

brought to him by dirty old Nan.

Tearing it open he found it was from Mayfield saying Mr. Earlsdown was

dying and he was wanted at once.

"Oh lor!" ejaculated the butler making a rush for the ticket office.

Johnson did not arrive at Mayfield till 4.0 o'clock, then he instantly

made his way to Mr. Earlsdown's bedroom.

All the servants in the household were standing round the bed and on it

lay the unconscious figure of Mr. Earlsdown.

"What is it?" cried Johnson pushing his way through the crowd.

"Appoplexy" answered Susan the housemaid holding her apron to her

streaming eyes "the poor dear master was so excited thinking about Miss

Monton and then all of a sudden he received a note telling of the

engagement of Mr. Albert Morris with Miss Saunders and then that sent

him off because he always wanted Mr. Albert to marry Miss Monton, and

when Mary went into the drawing room, there he was in a fit."

Just then the door opened and in walked Doctor Mason. The result of his

visit will be seen later on.

CHAPTER 12

SYLVIA'S RETURN

It was a beautiful morning about 3 or 4 days after our hero and

heroine's arrival at Margate. Leslie was just finishing his coffee and

toast and Sylvia was sitting near the window glancing over the morning

paper.

Suddenly her rosy face turned deadly pale and the paper nearly dropped

from her trembling fingers.

"What is is dearest?" asked Leslie placing his arm around her waist and

kissing her pallid forehead "has anything in the paper shaken your

nerves?"

"Oh Leslie Leslie" shrieked Sylvia falling into his arms "read this and

be satisfied that my nerves _are_ shaken."

Leslie siezed the paper and read as follows:

"Mayfield Sussex. Last Tuesday Mr. Richard George

Earlsdown of Yellowflower Hall was siezed with

appoplexy. On that same day he had prevented his

neice from marrying a certain gentleman of the

neighbourhood and _she_ has run away with her

intended, viz Mr. Leslie Alexander Woodcock.

Mr. Earlsdown is now repenting that his consent

was not given to his heartless niece and that if

she comes back before he dies, married or

unmarried, she will receive his love and

forgiveness for ever; he is now in a dying state

and we fear that unless his niece soon returns he

will decidedly expire."

"Shall you go home" asked Leslie quietly.

"Yes yes" exclaimed Sylvia "Oh Leslie help me to pack, I feel too weak."

The trunks were soon packed and the heart broken couple were on their

way to Mayfield. Arriving at the Hall Sylvia flew up to her uncle's room

and throwing herself on the floor shook the room with ear piercing sobs.

"Who is crying?" presently asked Mr. Earlsdown.

"It is me uncle--your repentant niece."

Mr. Earlsdown gave a contented smile and turned away his head.

Presently he turned round and his eyes fell upon Sylvia's white hand on

the counterpane.

"Mrs. Woodcock I see" he said with a smile looking at the golden wedding

ring on Sylvia's third finger.

"Yes Uncle" said Sylvia in a low tone "But you wont leave me till I am

better will you child" said her uncle.

"Never uncle" said Sylvia "never to your dying day."

CHAPTER 13

HOW IT ENDED

Seven years have elapsed since the events told in our last chapter and

our scene once more changes to the ball room at Asmer House. Leslie and

Sylvia no longer newly married people are sitting by the piano and

opposite to them on the sofa are Isobel Saunders and Albert Woodcock.

Presently Albert advances to the piano and asks Sylvia to sing a song.

"Yes if I can get anyone to play my accompaniment" says Sylvia.

"I only wish I could play" said Albert rubbing his face and looking

with sad eyes at Mrs. Woodcock. Immediately Isobel seated herself at the

piano and ran her fairy like fingers over the notes while Sylvia's

melodious voice kept time to the music; and as the beautiful words of

"See the conquering hero comes" rang out like a peal of thunder, Mr.

Earlsdown come bounding in.

Here the band struck up God save the Queen and everybody stood up in

respectful silence; and as the last notes of the German band died away

Mrs. Woodcock took leave of her friends as we will do of the characters

of this book.

THE END

WHERE LOVE LIES DEEPEST

CHAPTER 1

The silvery moon rises slowly above the mountains of white clouds and

sheds its quiet light upon one of the most beautiful scenes of the

sheltered nooks in the picturesque county of Devonshire. The tall green

hills, so thickly covered with wild thyme rise clear and high against

the blue sky above. The rippling waters of a little streamlet glide

softly upon its way through lovely banks of sweet green moss. Presently

a white cloud envelopes the pale moon and all is darkness!

Only for a moment, the cloud passes away and the bright light pours down

upon two figures. The one the tall slim figure of a young girl, the

other the broad well built figure of a richly dressed man. He wore a

beautifully made blue serge suit and a white tie fastened with a gold

and diamond pin. His felt hat fitted as though it had been made for him

and his light overcoat and kid gloves were like the rest of his toilet

well made and of a rich material. His black hair grew thickly on his

head and his brown eyes glared fiercely, his brown skin was red with

rage and his white teeth were clenched.

The girl on the contrary was poorly dressed and did not seem at home in

the presence of the rich man. She wore a pale grey dress trimmed with

green velvet. It had seen its best days for it was worn in many places.

She wore a straw hat and a white scarf round her neck. She was a lovely

girl!! Her plentiful golden hair was coiled into a knob behind and cut

in a small fringe in front. Her large blue eyes spoke of many mysteries

and were fringed by golden lashes. Her cherry coloured lips were small

and pressed together in her nervous state. Her white teeth were clenched

and she trembled under the viscious glare of her companion.

"I tell you Beatrice you are out of your senses, you must be, there is

no doubt of it, how can you refuse such an offer?" said the man

fiercely.

"Oh Lawrence do listen to me," said the unhappy girl, "it is impossible,

it cannot be. You are very kind, and I always had and always shall have

a very great respect for you, but I cannot marry you, indeed I cannot!

we are no match, I am poor and you are rich. Besides I have a reason for

not accepting you for my husband. Oh Lawrence you make me so unhappy!"

and here the poor girl stopped short, gave a hurried look round and

pressed her hand to her heart.

"Beatrice Langton you are a lunatic" cried the man, "give me an answer

straight out--yes or no. Will you be my wife? Speak out and dont go

jibbering on in that sentimental fashion; say yes and you will live in

luxury and riches for the rest of your life, say no and you go home poor

and degraded. Now give me an answer Yes or No!"

The girl raised her head and spoke thus--"Lawrence I am very sorry to

say it but my answer is No! Goodbye Mr. Cathcart, goodbye Lawrence,

perhaps we shall never meet again. What? you will not even shake hands!

Very well, goodnight Lawrence, goodnight."

She turned and went away leaving him in the darkness.

CHAPTER 2

BEATRICE LANGTON'S HOME

When Beatrice went away she made straight for her home for it was close

on nine and her mother would be anxious. Her heart was heavy and her

eyelids were wet with fast falling tears as she made her way accross the

desolate moor. Presently she came to the stream and after crossing the

bridge she made for the common. On the outskirts of the village stood

her home. A little brown cottage with carefully trimmed roses and

jasmine creeping up the porch and a neat little garden in front. She

opened the gate, walked up the path and opened the door.

What a pleasant scene was there before her! A bright fire was burning in

the well kept hearth and an old lady sat beside it knitting stockings

for the coming winter. Many pictures adorned the walls. A gentleman was

writing at a table in the window. Three little girls all in red frocks

and white pinnafores were employed in different ways. The eldest was

some ten years old with curly hair and blue eyes and was busy with some

corn-flowers and poppies in a glass vase. The other two who looked about

eight and six had brown eyes and very fair hair (and) were looking at a

book at the middle table. They all jumped up as Beatrice entered.

"Why Beatrice dear how late you are!" said Mrs. Langton "I sent your

supper down. "Mary, ring the bell, Beatrice must be hungry."

"No I am not," answered Beatrice smiling wearily and seating herself in

the chair her sister had placed for her, "I am only very tired and would

like to go to bed."

"Oh you must have something," said Mr. Langton, "Cook made some lovely

cheese cakes for supper, and you shall have some wine to drink."

Just then the maid entered, and in spite of herself Beatrice was soon

enjoying a hearty meal.

"Oh there is half past nine!" cried Mrs. Langton, "Lily and Tina go to

bed at once, Mary can wait up for Beatrice if she likes."

The two little children ran off hand in hand murmering "lucky Mary."

CHAPTER 3

It was eight o'clock next morning when Beatrice opened her weary eyes

and look round her little room. She jumped up immediately and ran down

to breakfast.

Her father had just gone off to his farming, but her mother was sitting

in her accustomed place by the fireside reading a letter which was

evidently causing her some anxiety.

"Well Mother" cried Beatrice, "what is the matter?"

"Well dear" replied Mrs. Langton, sipping her tea as she spoke, "I have

had a letter from Mrs. Vindsor who went abroad last year, and she wants

you to go and spend the winter with her in Paris. I would like you to go

dear, but you are my eldest child and you are by no means strong."

"Oh Mother do let me go, I should enjoy it, and you know I am much

stronger since I took to eating Mother Segul's Syrup."

"I know my love" said Mrs. Langton, "I will speak to your father about

it, and in the meantime pour me out another cup of tea please."

Beatrice caught hold of the teapot smiling happily as she did so; her

father was not the man to say no, and what he said her mother seldom

differed from; so she cut her bread and carved her bacon singing a merry

song through it all. After breakfast Beatrice dusted the room, got the

children ready for school, and then adjusting a straw hat upon her

golden tresses she prepared herself for a saunter through the beautiful

fields fresh with the smell of new mown hay and Alderny cows. She

gathered flowers as she went and though she felt bright and happy by the

news the post had brought there was a sore corner in her heart--she had

quarrelled with Lawrence Cathcart, and there was not a man in Senbury

Glen who did not know his temper! As she strolled along she caught sight

of Mr. Langton who was discussing the subject of Welsh sheep with a

tradesman. He saw Beatrice and walked towards her.

"Well Bia," he cried, "looking at my cows? aren't they lovely?"

"Beautiful Father," cried Beatrice, "but do you know Mrs. Vindsor wants

me to go to Paris and spend the winter with her family, and may I go?"

"Yes certainly," said Mr. Langton, "and I suppose that means you would

like a pound or two to buy dresses and hats?"

Beatrice bit her lip and smiled, "I suppose so father," she said gazing

placidly at her worn elbows.

"Very well," said her father, "I will give you L10, I should advice a

blue serge dress and a yellow hat."

"Oh no father!" shrieked Beatrice, "I will get a green dress and a hat

trimmed with roses."

"Very well," said Mr Langton kicking the hay with his feet "do as you

please my dear, by the bye when are you expected in Paris?"

"Tomorrow week father," said Beatrice, "at least so Mother says."

Mr Langton whistled and then turning to his daughter he said, "I tell

you what Bia, you had better call at the dressmaker on your way home, I

hate a bustle at the last moment." so saying Mr Langton gave his

daughter L10 in ready gold! Beatrice took them home and put them in her

purse till the afternoon when she paid a long visit to the dressmaker.

She invested in a lovely green silk dress trimmed with a delicate shade

of rose pink, and the dainty little hat was of the same picturesque

colours. She likewise bought a costly diamond brooch and two silver

bangles to make up the L10.

On coming out of the shop she turned on to the moors for a last walk

before going to Paris, for there would be plenty to do at home such as

darning stockings, mending clothes, etc: She called for Nelly Reeves (a

friend of hers); it would be a good chance to outdo her thought

Beatrice, for Nelly had been to Italy the year before and did nothing

but boast of it all day. So the two girls arm in arm started for the

moors. Nelly Reeves was a tall good looking girl, slightly pretty, but

with none of the wistful beauty about her that was so clearly stamped on

all Beatrice Langton's features. She had black hair and what she

considered beautiful eyes, though they really were small and vacant in

their perpetual stare.

"Well I hope you will enjoy yourself" she remarked briskly when Beatrice

told her of the invitation to Paris.

"I am sure I shall," said Beatrice, gently feeling her hair behind,

"only think of the delights of it! The Vindsors live in a Chateau you

know!"

"Yes, I suppose it will be jolly for you," said Nelly "who are the

Vindsors?"

"Oh dont you remember Clara Vindsor?" said Beatrice, "she was so very

pretty and polite in her ways."

"I recollect her," said Nelly gazing on the far away blue hills, "oh

Beatrice how lovely that view is!"

"Yes," said Beatrice sadly, "I came up here last night for a walk."

"Alone?" asked Nelly.

Beatrice wished she had not spoken then, but being frank and

straightforward she replied "no I was not alone."

"Who with?" enquired Nelly.

"Never mind," retorted Beatrice.

"Oh Beatrice do tell me" coaxed Nelly, I'll not tell a soul."

"I dont care if you do," said Beatrice coldly.

"Well let me see if I can guess" said Nelly artfully "was it Mr

Cathcart?"

"What makes you guess him?" asked Beatrice angrily.

"Why because he has been paying attentions to you lately, and I thought

he might have come up here to propose" said Nelly.

"You have most silly ideas!" retorted Beatrice, "if you dont leave off

please to go home, what if he did propose?"

"Oh nothing at all," replied Nelly, "if you are so disagreeable I _will_

go home," so saying Miss Reeves tucked up her dress and walked home.

"Life is hard!" sighed Beatrice, "nothing seems to go right, first I

quarrel with Lawrence and then with Nelly--why what is that?" she cried

as she caught sight of something gold glittering in the pathway.

She stooped to pick it up; it was a gentleman's gold link, beautifully

carved and engraved with the initials L. C.

"L. C." repeated Beatrice handling the link pensively "why they are his

initials, can it be his I wonder? why yes" she continued, "here is the

name Lawrence Cathcart; His Links! yes they are his, I will keep them

and I may some day have occasion to return them to him," so saying she

put the articles in her leather purse and turned towards home.

In some unaccountable way Beatrice turned into the High Street and had

to pass Lawrence Cathcart's house, a splendid white stone building

standing apart from the other houses in a beautiful garden of well

tended blooms.

"What riches!" sighed Beatrice pausing at the iron gates, and as her

blue eyes searched the lovely grounds her glance fell upon Lawrence

Cathcart. He was standing under a tree with an open book in his hands.

He wore a light fawn suit and his black curly hair was exposed to the

Autumn sun; and as Beatrice gazed on this good looking young man she

wondered why she had not noticed before how exquisitely curly his hair

and moustache was, how fine his nose and eyes, and how beautifully his

mouth was curved.

But she did not talk to him or try to attract his attention, and sad and

disheartened she walked home.

CHAPTER 4

Tea was ready when Beatrice returned home and she drew in her chair and

clustered round the table.

"Well, what is your dress like?" asked Mrs Langton as she passed the

butter to her husband.

"Oh it is lovely Mother" answered Beatrice, "and oh Father" she

continued, "I bought some jewellry too!"

"Jewellry" cried Mr. Langton stirring his tea very hard, "with my

money?"

"Well yes father," sighed Beatrice, "I hope you are not angry?"

"What did you buy" enquired Mr Langton.

"Two bracelets and a brooch" said Beatrice sadly.

Mr. Langton coughed and helped himself to some strawberry jam.

"I have been very busy putting some embroidery on your white petticoat

all the afternoon," said Mrs Langton trying to change the subject, "you

know I had a telegram to say you are expected on Thursday instead of

next week."

"Oh Mother" said Beatrice, "I must begin to pack at once!" so saying she

flew up to her bedroom, and ten minutes later the floor was littered

with as many articles of clothing as you could wish to see, and when Mrs

Langton came up after tea she found her daughter seated on the bed amid

stockings of every shade, curling some crimson feathers.

"My dear Beatrice!" cried that good lady in astonishment, "what are you

doing?"

"Well I was trying to pack mother" answered Beatrice calmly.

"I see" said Mrs Langton folding up a blue skirt as she spoke, "if you

will allow me to help you I think you will manage better."

"Very well," replied Beatrice, "there are the trunks."

"Yes I see them" said Mrs Langton, "I think your new dress and hat had

better go in the basket trunk dont you?"

"Perhaps so" said Beatrice gathering the stockings off the bed, "Oh

mother, to think that the day after tomorrow I shall be going to Paris!"

"Yes indeed dear" replied Mrs Langton glancing round the littered room,

"you have plenty of work to do, just darn these stockings will you,

while I collect your hats."

Beatrice threaded her needle and once she was seated in the big

arm-chair, her busy tongue began to go.

"What time do you suppose I shall arrive at Paris mother?" was the first

question.

"Let me see, the boat starts from Newhaven at 11 in the morning," said

Mrs Langton slowly, "I think you get to Paris about ten in the evening

though I wont be sure."

"How nice!" said Beatrice, "is the Vindsor's house very grand?"

"I believe so" replied her mother "at least they keep fifty servants and

nearly everything is either gold or silver!"

"Gracious!" exclaimed Beatrice.

"Yes," said Mrs Langton, "now Beatrice bring that darning downstairs, we

must finish packing tomorrow, I will mend that skirt for you," and so

saying Mrs Langton left the room.

CHAPTER 5

At last the eventful day came and found Beatrice up at six o'clock,

putting the last articles in her hand bag. By eight o'clock she was at

the station taking the last farewells.

The little ones crowded round her, giving her chocolate and various

sweets to eat on the way. Mrs Langton sobbed copiously, and Mr Langton

as he kissed his daughter pressed a sovereign into her hand. But at last

the guard waved his flag, the porters slammed the doors, and Beatrice

found herself spinning away through fields of every shade, fast leaving

Senbury Glen behind and approaching Newhaven Harbour. Beatrice gave a

little sigh half of joy and half of fear, and then subsided into her

novel and refreshments till the train stopped and she found herself in

the aforesaid harbour. There were a great many passengers going by the

Dieppe boat, and Beatrice had some difficulty to declare her luggage and

smuggle the packet of coffee her thoughtful mother had put in the sponge

bag. But at last she got on the boat and once she was seated in her deck

chair gazing on the rough sea, she could not help shedding a few tears

as she thought of the little brown cottage standing alone on the

outskirts of Senbury Glen. But she soon cheered up and asked the

stewardess to show her to her cabin. The woman obeyed and walked along

the deck till she came to a battered looking door, which she opened

saying--"Here is your cabin miss, your berth is number 10 and you will

find some water to wash in."

Beatrice thanked her and entered the room. A woman five children and a

nurse were seated round the room. The nurse had two small babies on her

knee which she was trying to hush to sleep in vain. The mother was

attempting to comb the hair of a very frantic little boy and scolding

two girls who would insist on unfastening all the trunks and scattering

the contents on the floor. Beatrice took no notice of the noisy party,

but went to her corner of the cabin and did her hair and washed her face

in some hard salt water. The stewardess then brought her some tea and a

bit of cake and Beatrice took the opportunity to ask her if she was to

share the same cabin as the children and their elders.

"Well," whispered the stewardess, "I'm sorry to say you must, but I

expect they will go on deck soon and then you will be alright miss."

Beatrice smiled and tried to read her book amidst the deafening roars of

the babies. But in a little while the nurse marched them all up on deck,

and the mother soon followed with one fat baby and a basket of

refreshments in her arms. Then there was peace and Beatrice quite

enjoyed her little dinner of ham sandwiches and a cold custard. But

about 2 o'clock she began to feel drowsy and enjoyed a pleasant sleep,

and at the end of half an hour was surprised to find she was in Dieppe.

She gathered her luggage together and a good natured sailor helped her

off the steamer. She again declared her luggage and went to the station

where she awaited the arrival of the train to Paris. At last it came up,

and Beatrice found a comfortable carriage well padded with cushions and

rugs, and a fat sulky looking girl in one corner who was busily engaged

sucking lemons and studying Bradshaw.

CHAPTER 6

It was close on ten when the train stopped at Paris, and Beatrice and

the fat girl alighted to the platform.

"Do you reside here?" asked the girl in broken English.

"I am here on a visit," replied Beatrice.

"I see; is it not cold mademoiselle?" said this friendly girl.

"Very," answered Beatrice buttoning the collar of her coat.

"Yes very," continued the girl, "ah Mademoiselle you have no wraps; take

my shawl," and without another word the girl pulled off her shawl and

flung it round the shoulders of the astonished Beatrice, and then

disappeared into the refreshment room from which she did not reappear

again in a hurry. Beatrice was too astonished to speak and hardly liked

the coarse woollen shawl which had been so hospitably flung on to her

shoulders.

Just as she had with some difficulty found her luggage a very grand

footman dressed in green plush came up, and touching his hat said "Pour

le Chateau?"

Beatrice said "Oui" in a very vague manner, and soon found herself

rumbling along the streets of Paris in a very comfortable carriage with

her luggage piled round her in a kind of pyramid and the friendly girl's

shawl still clinging to her shoulders.

Soon the vehicle reduced speed and all at once Beatrice found herself at

the great entrance porch of "Le Chateau!"

The footman rang the bell and then went away leaving Beatrice in a

transport of fear and joy on the steps. Soon the door was opened by a

very fat butler with powdered hair and a green plush uniform.

"What can I do for you?" he asked with the air of a king.

"Oh please I have come to stay" said Beatrice nervously.

"Step inside," said the courtly butler.

Beatrice did as she was bid and found herself in a most magnificent hall

hung with rich velvet curtains and paved with Turkish carpets, and

supported by gold and silver pillars.

"What name?" enquired the butler.

"Miss Langton," said Beatrice.

The butler then lead her along costly corridoors and majestic looking

passages and at last stopped at a door which he flung open and called in

a powerful voice "Miss Langton!"

A murmur arose at this announcement and in less than a minute Beatrice

was in Mrs. Vindsor's arms being hugged to death almost. "My dear

Beatrice!" she gasped when her kisses were exhausted "how pleased I am

to see you! the steak has just gone down to be kept hot, come and see

Clara."

These comforting words soothed Beatrice, and then Clara came forward to

greet her friend.

Clara was a slight thin girl about 19 with very fair hair and blue eyes,

she wore a blue satin dress trimmed with real Brussels lace in keeping

with Le Chateau, and a spray of blue flowers in her hair.

"My sisters will be down in one minute" she said kindly "their maids

are doing their hairs."

"Oh I see," said Beatrice rapidly taking off her gloves and displaying

with some pride her white smooth hands.

"I suppose you are very tired," said Mrs. Vindsor giving the fire a poke

with the toe of her shoe.

"Yes I am," said Beatrice "it was very rough crossing."

Just then the door opened and two girls entered about 22 and 24 in age.

The eldest was by no means beautiful but she was intensely good. She had

small black eyes and black hair which she wore in a most peculiar

manner, it was cut in a fringe in front and gathered into a huge knob

behind all except one piece which hung down her back and on the end of

which a single red rose was attached. She was attired in yellow silk and

was by no means courteous to Beatrice, her name was Honoria.

The other girl was the most beautiful of the three. She had lovely brown

hair and soft blue eyes fringed by sweet long lashes. Her nose and mouth

were enough to attract an artist towards her; she was dressed in a

lovely pink silk dress and her knob was arrayed by a pink feather. Her

name was Margaret and she was known through all Paris as the "sweet

young lady with the pathetic blue eyes!" and on the 20th of August (her

birthday) not a single person omitted to give her a present. Beatrice

thought her lovely and kissed her on both cheeks with hearty good cheer.

And so ended Beatrice's first night at Le Chateau.

CHAPTER 7

The next morning Beatrice had a slight headache and did not rise till

the breakfast gong sounded through the walls of the great castle.

Just as she was ready her bedroom was opened and Margaret appeared.

"Oh Beatrice," she cried, "isn't it a lovely morning? Mama has just had

a note asking us all to Mrs. Middle's garden party this afternoon, there

will be a lot of English people there just arrived like yourself."

"Yes very nice," said Beatrice and the two went down to breakfast

together.

Mrs. Vindsor and Honoria were already seated at the table enjoying the

fragrant meal, but Clara had not yet come down.

"How late you are Margaret" protested Mrs. Vindsor.

"I am sorry Mother" said Margaret cracking her egg.

"So I should hope" said Honoria shaking her head so that the rose at the

end of her tail swayed to and fro also.

After the meal was over Clara proposed to take Beatrice for a walk in

the gay town as Margaret was going to trim a hat for Mrs. Middle's

garden party, and Honoria always did the housekeeping.

Beatrice was delighted at the offer and soon joined Clara in the

spacious hall.

"We must go this way" said Clara "as I have to go the Bank for Mother."

"Oh alright" said Beatrice taking Clara's arm.

Then followed a little conversation about nothing in particular, and by

the time they reached the Bank Beatrice had quite decided that though

Clara was very pleasant and cheery she was not as nice as Margaret who

was kindness itself to the strange English girl.

"Would you like to walk up and down while I go into the Bank?" asked

Clara.

"Yes please," said Beatrice who by no means appreciated Banks, and so

saying she left Clara in the office and walked along the gay street. She

seemed very strange as she walked through the strange streets and was so

taken with the fancy shops that she forgot all about Clara in the bank.

"Dear me! what lovely gloves" she said as she stopped outside a large

drapers shop "we dont have such things in England!"

Just then somebody passed behind her and in so doing brushed against her

dress. Beatrice at once looked round and there walking quietly in front

as though nothing had happened was a man!

Beatrice looked in amazement at the gentleman calmly receding up the

road, and as she looked the form seemed to grow familiar in front of her

eyes. Surely she had seen that navy blue suit before, that brown hat and

those boots! Yes! the very walk was familiar to her. She knew that black

curly hair and that well formed back again!--it was Lawrence Cathcart!

Beatrice gave a low cry and covered her face with her hands.

The man looked round and his eyes fell upon the figure of the unhappy

Beatrice. He evidently recognized her for with a little hesitation he

advanced towards her and taking her arm said not unkindly--"Come with

me."

"I can't" groaned Beatrice.

"You must," said Lawrence.

Beatrice could do no more but slowly and sadly she followed her enemy.

Many thoughts flashed through her mind during that walk, thoughts that

Beatrice will never forget.

At last Lawrence stopped at an Inn door and he mounted the steps and

walked in. Beatrice followed in silence.

Presently Lawrence opened a door and the two went into a small but

pretty bedroom.

"Now," said Lawrence, turning the key in the door and looking kindly at

Beatrice, "have you changed your mind since we last met?"

The tears welled into Beatrice's blue eyes and rolled down her now

death-like cheeks. "Lawrence," she sobbed at length, "I wish I could say

I had, I almost love you Lawrence but I cannot marry you."

"Very well" answered Lawrence drawing his lips tightly together, "I see

my journey to France has been made in vain; I may add," he continued

"that I came here purposely to encounter you but all in vain! You have

no real reason for not wishing to become my wife--it is not possible;

but I will now flee from you and perhaps when I am laid upon my bed for

the last time and Death has siezed me in its jaws you will repent of

your past wrongs!!"

"Oh Lawrence!" Beatrice almost screamed in her agony "just one word

before you go!"

"Not one," replied Lawrence, and with these words upon his lips he left

the unhappy Beatrice in a swoon upon his floor.

Beatrice had given one hoarse scream as she fell to the floor, and it

brought a couple of waiters to the room.

"What is it?" asked one.

"A young lady has fainted" said the other "run for the doctor quick."

The next instant there was a regular crowd round Beatrice all intensely

interested, and in less time than it takes to tell old Doctor Holden was

bending over Beatrice's white rigid face.

"She has had some shock I fear" said he feeling the thin white hand "can

anyone in the crowd tell me where this lady lives?"

There was no sound of a reply for the first few seconds and then came a

faint "yes" from the back of the throng.

"Come forward" cried the doctor. A rustling and a murmering of voices

ensued and then the figure of a young girl rushed forward. It was

Margaret Vindsor who had come out in search of Clara and fearing her to

be lost had set out to find her.

"Now" said Dr. Holden giving Margaret a chair, "are you any relation to

this young lady, and where does she live?"

"Oh Dr. Holden!" cried Margaret "she is a friend of ours and is on a

visit to us--oh what shall I do? Oh poor Beatrice!!"

"Why Miss Vindsor is it you?" Asked Dr. Holden in surprise "Waiter run

for a cab, we must take these ladies back to Le Chateau."

It was not long before the cab stopped at the Inn door and Dr. Holden

assisted by two waiters lifted Beatrice into the cab and laid her

gingerly on the seat, while Margaret speedily followed, and then the

doctor himself jumped in and the downcast party drove back to Le

Chateau.

CHAPTER 8

Mrs. Vindsor together with Honoria and Clara were waiting breathlessly

in the hall when the cab drove up. Honoria flew to the door and the

minute she caught sight of the unconscious Beatrice and her sister's

pale face she gave a loud scream and tore rapidly to her bedroom.

Beatrice was carried to her bedroom at once and the doctor soon left

after leaving his directions.

Margaret was in a great state of anxiety, but possessing more self

control than the rest of the family she was appointed nurse. Beatrice

with the aid of salts and mustard plasters soon came to herself, but

Lawrence Cathcart had done his work--rheumatic fever set in and for many

days Beatrice hung between life and death. Mr. and Mrs. Langton were

sent for and duly arrived but to no one would Beatrice confide the

mystery of her illness. The more she thought of it the more ill she

became and Honoria prayed a good deal. By the time she was able to get

up her mind was made up. She would look for Lawrence Cathcart, ask his

pardon and become his wife. Life offered naught else.

CHAPTER 9

Ten years have passed since the events recorded in my last chapter took

place, and Beatrice now a woman of 28, is fair and blooming as ever but

with an anxious care-worn expression round her face. She no longer lives

in the pretty cottage in Senbury Glen for Mr. Langton has lost a great

deal of money farming, and he and his family have changed their quarters

and live in a dingy little house in a London back street. It would take

too long to relate all that has happened in the last years, so I will

describe the events as briefly as possible. To begin with little Tina

who was always a delicate child has died within the last four years and

rests in the churchyard at Senbury Glen. Mary and Lily have had to leave

school early and Mary, a girl of twenty is taking lessons in painting

while Lily stays at home.

One thing I must not omit to mention is that Beatrice is still on the

look out for Lawrence Cathcart but fears she will never find him.

One Spring morning Beatrice comes down to breakfast and finds Mrs.

Langton busy with some papers.

"Well mother" she says sadly for her merry tone has completely deserted

her, "have you heard of anything I can do to earn my living?"

"Yes dear I think so" replies Mrs. Langton glancing nervously at the

manuscript in her hand, "you were always fond of nursing were you not

Beatrice?"

"Yes mother, ever since I had that illness" answeres Beatrice "it was

poor Margaret Vindsor who put the idea in my head."

"Poor Margaret" says Mrs. Langton, for Margaret may be numbered among

the dead.

"Well mother what about me?" asks Beatrice presently.

"Oh I was forgetting" answers Mrs. Langton "I have heard from Captain

Harsh and he says if I care to let you go to India he has a capital

place for you as a military hospital nurse."

"To attend to the soldiers wounded in battle?" asks Beatrice.

"Yes dear" replies Mrs. Langton, "I will read you the letter--"Madam;

Hearing of your daughter's wish to become a hospital nurse, I beg to

offer my services. If you do not object to soldiers I have a lovely

place out here in India where her only work will be to attend to the

soldiers in their bungalows either in the night or day as her turn comes

round. She will live with the other nurses in a comfortable house not

far from the battle field. She will be expected to bring her own

clothes, cups, plates and knives etc: She must be cheerful and kind and

must make herself obliging to the soldiers. I will expect her by the

next mail.

Believe me, Madam,

Yours very sincerely,

GEORGE HARSH (Captain of the 109th

Regiment.)

"That sounds very nice mother" answers Beatrice "I think I will go."

"What about the character you are expected to have?" says Mrs. Langton

artfully.

"I think I am both cheerful and kind" says Beatrice hotly "and as to

being obliging to the soldiers, anybody could do that."

"Perhaps so," smiles Mrs. Langton, "then I will write to Captain Harsh

and say you will go by the next mail."

For many days after this Beatrice is busy preparing for the voyage. And

at last the eventful day arrives and Beatrice clad for the first time in

her nurse's costume steps on board the Victory which is to take her to

the wonderful city of Calcutta.

"Poor Mr. Langton gets quite frantic as he waves his red pocket

handkerchief wildly to his beloved daughter for the last time, and Mrs.

Langton faints on the pier and has to be carried away, which sets the

helpless Beatrice sobbing as though her heart would break and she shouts

messages till she is hoarse and then sheds many tears which continue on

and off till she reaches Calcutta, when the sight of two pleasant nurses

dressed like herself, quite cheers her up.

She advances bashfully towards them and says in meek submissive tones

"if you please are you military hospital nurses?"

"We are," replies the tallest of the two "our names are Nurse Elsie and

Nurse Brandon; of course there is no need to say that I am Nurse

Brandon."

"Of course not" say Beatrice.

"And you are Nurse Mildred I presume" asks Nurse Brandon, gently nudging

Nurse Elsie to join in the conversation.

"No my name is Beatrice Langton" replies Beatrice.

"I know" says Nurse Brandon, "but you will be known as Nurse Mildred in

the wards."

"Oh I see" answers Beatrice glancing at Nurse Elsie whom she thinks she

will like better than the former.

"And now" says Nurse Brandon "we will take you to the Residency; Nurse

Elsie kindly lead the way."

The nurse does as she is told and the three walk on together. At last

they reach a large building of yellow brick with a placcard on the door

on which is engraved "Nurses' Residence." Nurse Elsie opens the door and

leads the way to a large airy room in which some dozen nurses are having

tea.

"This is Nurse Mildred," announces Nurse Brandon in loud tones, and then

seating herself at the table she continues "Nurse Mildred you will sit

next Nurse Helen tonight."

Beatrice gazes vaguely round the room wondering which is Nurse Helen,

when suddenly a pretty nurse with chestnut hair and blue eyes jumps up

and announces that she is Nurse Helen and takes Beatrice to her place.

The tea is good and there is plenty of it, and together with thick bread

and butter and coffee if preferred to tea, Beatrice thinks it is not a

bad meal. After tea Nurse Brandon shows Beatrice to her room and tells

her she need not begin work till to-morrow.

CHAPTER 10

The time speeds rapidly on and Beatrice is now counted as quite an old

nurse. She finds her work in the bungalows very pleasant and the

soldiers find her most obliging. She works hard and is never tempted to

grumble.

One day just as she is settling down to write after tea, after a hard

day's work, Nurse Helen looks in at the door. "Nurse Mildred," she

exclaims "you are to go at once to Bungalow number 5; a wounded soldier

has just been taken there and is very ill I fear."

Beatrice jumps up and putting on her bonnet walks quickly to the 5th

bungalow. It is a little white one on the outskirts of the jungle and

close to the battle field, and in it there is a bed, two chairs, a jug,

basin and table. Beatrice takes hold of a small cup and measures some

ointment into it, and then taking a sponge bathes the man's wounds. He

is a very thin man with long slender hands and black hair and eyes, and

at a first glance Beatrice sees that he is on the point of death. She

does all she can for him and then at his wish reads some Holy Scriptures

to him. Then seeing his eyes droop she goes to the other end of the

bungalow and waits.

Presently she hears a weak voice say "Beatrice!"

She starts, it is a long time since that name has fallen on her ears.

"Beatrice, dont you know me?" says the voice once more.

In a minute Beatrice is at his side clasping his hand in hers. "Oh

Lawrence, Lawrence!" she cries.

Then there is silence. "Lawrence can you ever forgive me?" moans

Beatrice at last.

"Forgive you my darling? It is the one thing I have lived for" says

Lawrence.

"Accept me as your lawful wife," cries Beatrice bending over him.

"Yes darling, yes," says Lawrence faintly. He then tells her in a few

words how in despair he had given up everything and gone into the Army

and lived only long enough to forgive Beatrice, for that day he had

received his death wound in a sharp battle with the enemy.

"And now," he adds, "I shall die happy, and will you remember in after

years (for I shall not live to) how here it was our hearts were

re-united--once more joined together, here it was I accepted you for my

wife, and here it is therefore that Love lies Deepest!"

"Oh my dear!" groans Beatrice heavily, "Lawrence, here is what I was

going to have given you at the French Inn," and she presses a pair of

gold links into his dying hand.

He smiles back at her and says "keep them darling as a remembrance of

me."

Beatrice's only answer is a wild kiss, the last Lawrence will ever

receive, the memory of which follows him to Eternity, the next minute he

falls back with a groan.

Beatrice stands for a rigid moment and then falls prone beside the bed.

And there is only one in all this wide world who knows for certain if

Lawrence Cathcart died a happy death.

THE END

THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER

PART I

CHAPTER 1

PROLOGUE

John Winston had entered into manhood with every prospect of a bright

and brilliant future.

His parents had died leaving him a nice little legacy and a great deal

of land for farming But with all this good fortune, things did not seem

to go right with him.

To begin with, he was idle and did not care for farming, so he let land

waste away till it was good for nothing, and was forced to sell it. He

then encountered a severe loss of money, and by degrees sank lower and

lower in the world till he at last found himself a penniless man with

barely enough to keep a roof over his head.

His only resourse then was marriage. There were plenty of rich girls

about whose parents would be glad to find a suitable husband for them.

John Winston was suitable enough, for he was good looking, witty, and

had a certain amount of good sense; but his kind heart would not allow

him to fall in love with these girls merely on account of their riches,

so had to look out for someone he really loved.

During these explorations he met Helen Carline, a young girl, poor, and

with no relations in the world. She was wondrously pretty with a

profusion of fluffy golden hair and sad blue eyes which spoke all their

thoughts.

Of course John Winston fell in love with her at once and proposed

accordingly. After a little hesitation she accepted and John Winston's

joy was beautiful to witness.

The married couple took a little cottage on the outskirts of the Malvern

Hills and engaged one servant Jane Marshland, by name, about whom we

shall hear more later on.

In the spring of the following year a little girl was born as a crowning

joy to the young husband and wife.

But three months afterwards Mrs. Winston died of fever, which she caught

when visiting a gipsy encampment near her home. So at an early age,

little Helen, (for that was the child's name) was left without a mother,

but she lacked no love or tenderness, for Mr. Winston's only care was

for his beloved child, and Jane Marshland now the nurse, did every thing

she could for the child's health and comfort.

Mr. Winston had to give up his dear little home, and retire with Jane

and his baby to lodgings in London till he heard of some employment.

At last he found something not very satisfactory, but as nothing else

offered he decided to take it. It was to perform the office of hangman

in a small country town in Hants by the name of Kenalham.

It was not a nice position to be in certainly, and Mr. Winston's nerves

were not strong, but the payment was good, and after all only about two

people were hung a year at Kenalham.

So with a sinking heart Mr. Winston packed up his goods and departed

with his child and servant to the little cottage in Kenalham, already

furnished for him. It was a nice little house and Mr. Winston smiled as

he entered the drawing room, "after all" he said to Jane, "so few people

are hung here that nearly all my time will be devoted to my darling

Helen," and he kissed the rosy face of the child.

So, now having explained the position of my story I will skip over a few

years and go on again at the time when Helen had grown up into a

charming sweet mannered girl.