A CHARACTER IS LUCK.
"Truly an interesting girl. There is a vein of good sense about her
that I admire. New Brunswick sends us some fine specimens of
females."
The man who made these remarks was not a gallant of the ninety-ninth
degree, but was a sober, intellectual man of threescore-and-ten and,
judging from the clear, penetrative eye, one who had seen much of
the world as it is.
"From St John did you say, Mr. Metcalfe?"
"Yes, sir. Her father is engaged in the shipping business there, and
I am told is a very fine sort of fellow. I have met Miss Verne
several times and each time am more interested," said the old
gentleman, rubbing his gold-rimmed spectacles in a way that implied
"now for business."
"By the way, sir; that reminds me of a case I have on hand. The
McGregor heirs are at a discount around here and our object is to
hunt up a branch of the family who emigrated to New Brunswick some
forty years ago.
"Old Hugh McGregor, from whom the bulk of the property comes, was an
ironmonger who at one time did a large business in Glasgow, after
which he removed to Manchester, and resided there until his death in
1829.
"His son Robert succeeded in the establishment and was prosperous,
living in good style in a suburban residence five miles from
Manchester.
"As Robert McGregor had no children the nearest heir was his sister,
Jessie McGregor, who unfortunately fell in love with a young student
who attended the same institution as herself. Her parents becoming
acquainted with the facts had her removed and forbade all
intercourse; but love is stronger than bolts and bars, and the fair
Jessie set out to face the world with no visible means of support
but her husband's blandishments. But love is strong and the fair
maiden managed to eke out a subsistence and by untiring effort they
were at least in comfortable circumstances, and succeeded in
educating their first-born for the ministry, but ere the talented
young minister had preached a season his health gave way and he was
called away to reap the reward of the faithful.
"The remaining child, a sweet girl of fourteen, was now the only
solace of the bereaved parents, and fearing that they would also be
deprived of their only joy, sold out their small property and
emigrated to New Brunswick, where they purchased some land, and also
by carrying on some other speculation were once more in prosperity.
"Now," said the old lawyer, glancing up over his spectacles, "our
object is to trace this girl, who is the only surviving heir of the
McGregor estate."
"But on what ground do you ignore Jessie McGregor, who may yet be
alive? She cannot be a centenarian yet, sir."
"True," replied the former, "but Robert McGregor was aware of the
fact of his sister's death some years ago. The latter was too proud
to ask forgiveness for her rash act, and all intimacy ceased when
she left her parent's protection, for old Hugh McGregor was a harsh,
unrelenting man, whom if once thwarted could never be conciliated."
"And how do you intend to proceed? Have you any further
information?"
"None, sir--except that by some intelligence from New Brunswick
about ten years ago, Robert McGregor heard that his sister's child
married a farmer and was comfortably settled."
"There is little trouble in finding the heirs then. Is the property
a valuable one?"
"Real and personal estate amounts to something in the vicinity of
forty thousand dollars."
"Not a bad heritage, I assure you, sir," said the other, with the
least perceptible smile.
A month after the above conversation took place the lawyer was
interviewed by the same individual.
"Yes, indeed, I immediately forwarded the notice to the St. John
_Daily Telegraph_ and to the _Daily Sun_, two leading journals
of that city, and yesterday was rewarded by a letter from a young
solicitor of that city making such inquiries about the McGregor
family that evidently shows that he is in possession of all the
facts that we wish to become acquainted with."
"Are you at liberty to give his name. I am acquainted with the
majority of St. John lawyers," said the other, feeling a lively
interest in the subject.
"Not at present, if I were really disposed to do so," said the
lawyer in the most good-natured manner. "The fact is I am not
exactly in the writer's confidence myself. He wishes, no doubt, to
communicate farther with some of the family in question ere he gives
himself publicity."
"A sensible young man, indeed," ventured the New Brunswicker, for
such he evidently was in his unconventional aspect and easy-going
habits.
On the evening of the same day the same gentlemen held a second
conversation, but this time it was not in a dingy lawyer's office.
The scene was a neat and pretty drawing-room, with all the necessary
adornments native to such an apartment, and also a higher class of
adornment--that of several interesting and fascinating women.
"Home, sweet home," exclaimed Mr. Metcalfe, taking up the newspaper
which Marguerite Verne had just laid aside. "I see you don't forget
our old sheets. Well, they _do_ look familiar."
"I must be very deeply engaged when I cannot find time to run over
the _Telegraph_ and _Sun_--the former I have read since
I was able to spell the words. It occupies a warm spot in my
affections," said Marguerite, smiling, while the soft roseate
blushes rose in sweet confusion upon her face.
"You are a Grit, I presume, Miss Verne," said the host. "I see that
your favorite journal advocates that policy?"
"I cannot say that I am, Mr. Stanhope. I have many friends on that
side, but really my sympathies go with the present government."
"Then you should transfer your affections to its leading New
Brunswick organ, Miss Verne," said the New Brunswicker.
"I admire it upon principle, sir. But pardon me, I am not versed in
politics, and cannot express myself upon the subject," exclaimed
Marguerite, taking up the _Sun_ to have a second glance at the
locals which graced its columns.
"Not versed in politics, Marguerite! Do I hear aright?" cried a
vivacious and interesting maiden of medium height and fair
proportion, with an air of hauteur in her bearing characteristic of
a model English girl.
The speaker was the lawyer's only daughter--a clever
conversationalist and well read in all those branches of literature
which elevate and ennoble the mind, and if applied to the female
character make woman more than a kind of being that can only talk
about what she eats, drinks, and more than all, what she wears and
what her neighbor wears; discuss the latest bit of scandal and take
a superficial view of everything upon which she languidly
condescends to pass judgment.
"Miss Verne is an out-and-out Conservative, I can assure you," said
Mr. Metcalfe, who now came to the relief of his countrywoman with a
feeling of pride. "She can advocate the National Policy in a manner
that would gain over the most stubborn Grit."
"Ah! Mr. Metcalfe, please do not over-rate my abilities in that
respect," said Marguerite in a manner which coolly implied that she
did not wish to get up such an argument as she certainly must if
confronted by the strong Grit views of her interesting and witty
companion.
"Never mind, Marguerite, we will not measure weapons this time,"
cried the former, "But I must try to shake some of the Tory off
before we have done with you. Remember I have made more than one
staunch Liberal convert."
Marguerite laughed at the girl's spirit of enthusiasm and thought
"what a power is woman when her energies are directed aright?" Then
her thoughts took rapid flight to another and different subject. She
was thinking if it were possible for woman to exert her influence in
the manner she would like that the end would justify the means.
"Not that exactly," mused the maiden as she thought of--but,
perhaps, it is better we do not unearth Marguerite Verne's thoughts
at that moment. She is doubtless sensitive, let us act accordingly
and turn to other subjects. There was a sweet simplicity in her
attire on this evening. Her dress of pale-blue bunting was plain
indeed, and save the silver bracelets upon her beautifully-rounded
arms, there was no other attempt at ornament.
Her cheeks were pale, and a shade thinner than usual, and to this
fact the girl may attribute her liberty or rather freedom from the
giddy rounds of dissipation into which she was reluctantly forced
from morn to dewy eve and from dewy eve to rising morn.
Mrs. Verne had to acknowledge that her daughter's health was getting
impaired, and that nothing but rest would restore her former
strength, therefore consented that Marguerite should spend a few
days with the young lady whom she met and became on intimate terms
during a short time spent on one of the steamers plying between
Liverpool and Belfast.
Edith Stanhope, as we have hitherto intimated, was a bright, witty
English girl, and her companionship was healthful and invigorating.
She admired the gentle, winning, child-like ways of the New
Brunswick maiden, and together they formed a pretty picture.
Mr. Stanhope had been a widower for many years, his household
affairs being managed by a maiden sister, whose affection for the
child Edith increased as the latter grew to womanhood, and nowhere
could be found a more peaceful, inviting and cosy little nest than
that of the much esteemed and venerable lawyer--Charles Stanhope, of
Cheapside.
Edith Stanhope had reached the age of twenty-one, and still "in
maiden meditation fancy free." Her life was an undisturbed and
peaceful dream--her days an enjoyable round of simple domestic
pleasure, broken in upon now and then by a few of the young
schoolmates or companions of her childhood.
How keenly Marguerite then felt the difference of their respective
positions as she glanced up from the newspaper and saw the real
happiness that shone so steadily upon the girl's countenance, while
she, wearied with the gaieties of life, was yearning--oh! so
longingly--for the real domestic happiness that she must never
realize.
"Marguerite Verne, am I to attribute that gaze to fond admiration or
pertinent curiosity?" cried Edith, going up to her friend and
playfully shaking her by the shoulders.
"To neither, Edith," said Marguerite, almost sadly, "but to a worse
trait in my character--to jealousy," and the short sigh fell faintly
upon Edith's quick and acute ear.
"To jealousy, you minx," cried the latter, who had a habit of
repeating the speaker's words, which, in many cases, gave more
effect to her arguments.
"To jealousy, indeed. Is it because I have the audacity to address
your countryman, 'whose way of life is fallen into the sere, and
yellow leaf'," replied she, her eyes sparkling with animation and
keen enjoyment.
"Thank you for the quotation, Edith," said Marguerite, running
her small, delicate fingers through the meshes of her friend's
golden-brown hair.
The reply was interrupted by an exclamation of the New Brunswicker.
"Miss Verne I presume you have read both editorials. Is it not
amusing how each goes for the other."
"Yes, Mr. Metcalfe, but I must confess that I am somewhat like a
lady whom I once heard say, 'Well, dear me, I think everything in
the _Telegraph_ is all gospel until I take up the _Sun_ and it
upsets every speck of belief as fast as it went up. Dear me,
I wish I knew which side was genuine, for both cannot be truth.'"
A general laugh followed and Edith Stanhope exclaimed, "I think that
your friend must have been on the fence, Marguerite."
"Yes, and watching to see which side to jump on in the coming
election," cried the old lawyer who had hitherto remained a
listener.
A burst of merriment arose from the trio on the other side of the
room and rang out in peals of laughter.
"Oh, papa, you naughty man to make such an unscrupulous remark
about one of our sex," cried Edith, assuming an air of injured
innocence and trying to look very severe.
"I take it all back my dear. Come let us have some music. It is too
bad to be wasting so much time when one has an opportunity of having
so much ability on hand."
"Do you allude to Marguerite or myself, papa," cried Edith gaily,
while she arose and playfully led her companion, to the piano.
"It is dangerous to say much here unless one very carefully
considers ere he speaks," said the fond father, casting a glance at
his daughter that was worthy of the most ardent lover.
"Well, well, papa, you will go scot-free this time. Of course
Marguerite will favor us."
The latter needed no coaxing. She played a selection of
old-fashioned airs that were more appreciated than the most
brilliant fantasia or classic opera. Then followed a few of the
songs she used to sing for her father and one which had caused
the heart of Phillip Lawson to beat wildly as he stood listening
to the voice he loved so well and bitterly thought of the world that
lay between him and his buried love.
"Miss Verne, you have certainly much power of expression," said the
New Brunswick gentleman as the last note had died away, and, Edith
Stanhope sat silent as if fearing to break the spell.
"I seldom sing except to amuse my father, and the class of music I
practise is simple," was the quiet reply.
A young girl attended by a gentleman several years her senior, now
entered the room. The former was Edith Stanhope's favorite cousin,
and the latter was a distant relative, who was home on a vacation
from a neighboring town, where he held a responsible position in a
banking establishment.
"Ah, my fair cousin; and you have condescended to come at last,"
ejaculated Edith, embracing the latter, and then extending her hand
to the gentleman, exclaimed, "and you, Frank, it is time that you
presented yourself. Just think, you have been here nearly a
week--"
"Not so hard, cousin Edith. Your humble servant arrived on Monday,
and this, I believe, is Wednesday."
"That's right, my boy, defend yourself," said Mr. Stanhope, looking
proudly upon the fair group around him.
As conversation set in lively and amusement was the order of the
day, Mr. Stanhope and his friend quietly sat and looked on,
occasionally answering to some of the sallies sent off at their
expense.
A servant now entered with the evening mail, and assorting the pile
Mr. Stanhope passed to Mr. Metcalfe the two provincial dailies.
"The very information I was seeking," cried the latter in excited
tones. "Just read that."
Mr. Stanhope glanced at the article in question and seemed lost in
amazement; then hastily exclaimed: "It is wonderful how these
fellows get things so soon. The matter has indeed gained publicity,
and the young fellow need hesitate no longer."
"Miss Verne will no doubt be able to give you much information, as
the young lawyer is quite popular in her native city. I may have
known of him, but I'm inclined to think he has established himself
since I left St. John."
Mr. Stanhope passed the newspaper to Marguerite, who, for some
unaccountable reason, felt more curiosity than she was willing to
acknowledge.
As she silently read the paragraph a tremor passed through her
frame, and her heart began to throb wildly, but no emotion was
visible.
"I am quite well acquainted with Mr. Lawson. He is a very great
friend of my father's," were the words that rose to the girl's lips
when she had gained courage to speak.
"That is splendid," exclaimed Edith, who now became interested in
the matter; "I suppose he is young, and handsome beside," added she
in a different tone.
"Keep that part of it to yourself, Miss Verne," said Mr. Metcalfe,
in a tantalizing manner; "Miss Edith is not going to rob New
Brunswick's daughters of what is theirs by right."
"But if the fortune be forthcoming here we should insist that the
heir give some fair one here the benefit of it," cried Edith, who
thought she had the best side of the argument.
"Don't quarrel over this matter, I pray," said the distant relative
with a merry twinkle in his eye, "I am going to ship for St. John
one of these days, and will, if possible, visit the McGregor heir
and make him acquainted with the designs of my fair Saxon Edith."
"And you will exonerate Miss Verne from any complicity in the
matter."
"Most certainly I do," said the relative, while Marguerite Verne
hurried carelessly away to hide the tell-tale blushes which sooner
or later would betray her.