“Capoul Monteith paced to and fro the tent with quick, nervous

strides; he was young, handsome, possessed of vast wealth, and fond of

life, and he cared not to be thus shot down like dog; but he was a

brave man, and thought of Garnet Weston, whom he had always admired,

and half wished to be the loser rather than see his friend die.

“‘I am ready,’ he at length said, and the two friends, strangers in a

strange land, sat down to play the game of life or death.

“Capoul Monteith played with the utmost caution, for, ‘if one must

die, I have as good a right to struggle for life as has Garnet,’ he

thought.

“Garnet Weston played with indifference, a quiet, sad smile upon his

face, and around them stood the three officers, and the platoon that

were to be the executioners of the losing one.

“Ten minutes passed, twenty, and the game was won by Capoul Monteith,

whose face flushed crimson, and then paled again.

“Garnet Weston’s face never changed an expression, for the same smile

rested there.

“The second game passed quickly, Garnet making his moves the instant

Capoul had raised his hand, and surprising all by his reckless

indifference, but cool manner.

“Five minutes passed, and the second game was won by Capoul Monteith.

“‘My God! Garnet, old fellow, I feel for you from my heart,’ cried the

winner, the tears starting to his eyes.

“Garnet pressed his friend’s hand, the same smile upon his face as he

said, quietly――

“‘I was ever a poor unlucky dog, Capoul; but, my friend, when I am

dead look in my saddle-roll, hanging there, and the papers you find

please deliver to the proper address, and――and――Capoul, say to――to

Miss Mabel I left a farewell for her.’

“‘Gentlemen, I am ready.’

“‘Curses on your Imperial humanity! Will you slay a man as though he

were a hound?’ cried Capoul, angrily turning towards the officer, for

it cut him to the heart to thus part with his friend.

“‘I yield to the fortunes of war, Capoul, and these gentlemen but do

their duty.’

“‘Come, let it be over,’ replied Garnet, and shaking the hand of his

friend warmly he was marched away.

“Half distracted with grief, Capoul Monteith paced his tent, his

thoughts whirling, and his brain on fire, as he gazed at the stool

where a short while before poor Garnet had sat.

“An hour passed, and the American officer of the Imperial army stood

before him.

“‘Well?’ said Capoul, hardly daring to ask the question.

“‘He is dead.’

“‘God have mercy upon him,’ groaned the sorrowing friend.

“‘Yes, Captain Monteith, he is dead, and though I have seen many men

die I never saw one face death with such perfectly calm indifference

as did your friend.’

“‘He gave the order to the platoon to fire, and fell instantly; but,

ere he died, he wrote this note to you,’ and the American Imperialist

handed a slip of paper to Capoul, and, turning, left the tent.

“In Garnet’s bold hand was written――

“‘Capoul,――I gave my life away to save you, for I loved Mabel too

dearly ever to let her brother die where I could be sacrificed

instead. I dare tell you this now, for I stand on the brink of my open

grave. Farewell!――GARNET.’

“A bitter night of sorrow passed Capoul Monteith in that lonely tent,

for well he knew his friend had spoken the truth, and when months

after the star of Maximilian’s crown had set in gloom, and he resigned

from the army of the successful Juarez, he wended his way homeward

with a heavy heart, for he could not forget that Mexican soil covered

the noble man who had fallen a sacrifice to save his life.

“Three years passed away after the game for life or death, and one

pleasant evening, toward the sunset-hour, a horseman was riding slowly

along a highway, traversing a fertile valley of a South-western State.

“Three years had added more dignity to the face, and perhaps saddened

it; but otherwise no change had ever come over Capoul Monteith’s fine

features.

“Upon his right hand, setting back from the road, was a pretty little

farmhouse, surrounded by fertile fields, and the sight promising well

for a night’s lodging for man and beast,’ Capoul turned in at the

white gateway, and rode up to the front door, and dismounted.

“The owner of the mansion descended the steps to greet him, and Capoul

Monteith stood face to face with Garnet Weston!

“‘My God! has the grave given up its dead?’ cried Capoul, in dismay.

“‘No, old fellow; you find me flesh and blood, ready and willing to

give you a hearty welcome to this my home, left me by an old bachelor

uncle a few months since. But, come in; I will tell you all.’

“The surprised and delighted Capoul willingly accepted, and around a

well-spread tea-table that evening he heard how Garnet had been

carried forth to be most bunglingly executed; but a squadron of Juarez

cavalry had appeared and frightened off his executioners, ere the

first platoon had retired, and that a watchful ranchero had seized him

and borne him to his ranche, where through months of suffering, he

recovered, and was able to depart from the house of his good friend.

“But it was long ere he could gain strength enough to reach Galveston,

Texas, and there he met an old uncle, who had carried him to his

comfortable home with him.

“The kind old bachelor was one day thrown from his horse, and night

and day Garnet had watched by his bedside, until death relieved him of

his sufferings, and the young man found that his uncle had left him

all his wealth.

“‘But, old fellow, why did you not write to let me know, for you know

not how I have mourned for you?’ asked Capoul.

“‘I did write to my old law partner in New York, and he said you had

moved away, none knew whither.’

“‘True; poor Mabel failed in health, and I carried her to Europe, but

we soon returned; and to effect a change in scene and air I purchased

a fine farm, about two days’ journey from here, and there we now live.

Mabel is contented, if not happy.”

“‘She married――――”

“‘She married? Fiddlesticks! No, she never had any idea of marrying

any man excepting yourself, and you went off to Mexico and nearly

broke her heart.”

“‘God, I thank Thee,’ cried Garnet, and he buried his face in his

hands and wept like a very child.

“Three months passed, and the bachelor home of Garnet Weston had a

mistress to preside over it――a queenly-looking woman of twenty-two,

perhaps, with dreamy, sad eyes, and a face of wondrous beauty.

“That woman was once the heiress and belle of New York――Mabel

Monteith――who had, after long years, married her first and only love,

through that game of life and death, in the gulf-washed land of

Mexico.”

“Well,” said Colonel Snappe, “it’s a moving narrative, and I expect

our friends here, as well as myself, are under the impression that

Garnet Weston was done to death. How he managed to escape is the most

surprising part of the business.”

“Ah, but I am so glad he did escape, poor, dear fellow,” cried

Arabella; “but it is a most touching story. I wouldn’t have missed

hearing it on any account.”

“By Jove, but it’s a splendid narrative――never heard a better,” said

Lord Fitzbogleton. “I know a fellow, who knows another fellow, you

know, who is a capital hand at telling stories, but he isn’t up to the

major――not by an immeasurable distance.”

“Ah, that was a most unfortunate piece of business. It was the first

serious mistake the late Emperor made,” said the colonel.

“It was not so great as going to war with united Prussia,” observed

Sir William Leathbridge. “That was his downfall.”

“Without doubt, Sir William. Nobody will dispute that for a moment;

but he was forced into it; and, after all, much as Napoleon III. has

been maligned, he was not so ambitious or remorseless a man as many

people have been led to suppose. On the contrary, he was a much more

kindly monarch than I at one time gave him credit for. We in this

country look at foreign potentates and foreign politics from our own

point of view.”

“That is but natural, sir,” observed Mr. Downbent. “It is in the

nature and order of things that it should be so.”

“And, in addition to all this,” observed Sir William, “I have always

maintained that as a nation we are greatly prejudiced, and think we

are nearer perfection than any other country.”

“Oh, that, I think, there can be no doubt about, Crasher. One thing,

however, is quite certain. We appear to be miserably behind hand as

far as our detective department goes. Murder is rife in the land,

crimes of the greatest possible amount of ferocity are committed, and

the perpetrators, for some reason or other, are permitted to escape.”

“You have broached a subject, sir,” said Sir William Leathbridge,

“which is an all important one――I mean the protection of human

life――and I don’t believe that under the existing state of things the

Government is competent to deal with this question. Why, it is a

scandal to this nation.”

“You mean the number of murderers who escape detection.”

“I do.”

“Well, we shall do no good till a different class of men are employed

and the whole system is reformed.”

“I’ve got a little bit of a story to tell about a New York detective,”

said Sir William. “It happened when I paid a visit to the United

States.”

Everybody, of course, hoped that Sir William would give the narrative,

which he did after the following fashion――the details of which we

reserve for the succeeding chapter.

CHAPTER CXXXIX.

SIR WILLIAM’S TALE――A MUSICAL MELANGE.

“There was at the time I paid a visit to our American cousins,” said

Sir William, “a sharp, clever fellow named Dixon. He had gained a

considerable amount of reputation as a detective, and I believe he

well deserved the encomiums passed upon him. Any way, as far as I

could judge, he was a remarkably acute man, and he was in addition to

this a civil and obliging officer.

[Sidenote: No. 74.]

[Illustration: MISS ARABELLA LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSOR DELIGHT THE

COMPANY.]

“The case which I am about to present to you does not, perhaps,

possess what I may term the romantic interest of my friend Smythe’s

story; but it has, nevertheless, something to recommend it, since it

serves to show how quickly retribution followed the commission of a

horrible crime.

“My story is that of a dead traveller found in a train.

“The train stopped at Dexham’s bleak depot long enough to permit a man

to spring from the drizzling gloom upon the platform of the through

coach, whose doors were locked. The conductor, ensconced from the rain

in the express car, did not see the new acquisition to his list of

passengers, and the man standing on the platform seemed to be

congratulating himself on the success of what he wished to call

secrecy.

“When the train moved from the station, whose night-clerk slept in his

dimly-lighted office, the unknown passenger quietly drew a brass key

from his pocket, and unlocked the door of the coach. When he closed it

again, himself inside, it was locked as before.

“He found the car lighted by three lamps, and seemingly deserted. Not

a head protruded above the seats, and the air of desolation filled the

place. He heard the rain now falling in earnest, beating against the

windows, beyond whose panes the blackness of darkness reigned.

“Not far from the fireless stove the new passenger seated himself, and

began to brush his hat with a handkerchief. He was in the midst of his

work when something like a groan startled him, and he stopped. Leaning

forward, he listened keenly, and at length rose and walked down the

aisle.

“He seemed satisfied that he had heard a human groan, for he looked

into and between the seats, and it was near the forward door that he

suddenly came to a halt.

“He stood over a man whose head rested on the crimson cushions of the

seat, but whose body lay on the floor.

“From the white lips beneath the silent spectator had proceeded the

startling groan, and the eyes moved once when they caught sight of

him.

“The unknown passenger regarded the scene for a moment before he

stirred a limb. Then he bent over the recumbent man, and with no

little difficulty assisted him to the seat.

“‘I say it’s no use after your murderous blows,’ said the stricken

one, seeming to regard the new passenger as his mortal enemy. ‘You

need not strike me again.’

“‘I never struck you,’ replied the passenger, with a faint smile. ‘My

kind sir, you have mistaken the person. Will you not tell me how all

this came about?’

“It was quite evident that the wounded traveller was near unto death.

One quiver after another passed over his frame, and once or twice

after speaking he gasped for breath. The single spectator saw this and

put his hand on his shoulder.

“‘I will avenge you!’ he said, stooping over the dying traveller.

‘Tell me who did it; I am a detective.’

“The deathly eyes fixed their stare upon him, and when he saw the

white lips move he put his ear down to them.

“‘Tell Natalie――Natalie――tell her that――God pity me!’

“With the last word the traveller’s head fell back upon the

detective’s hand, and the gurgle of death ran up his throat. Then he

turned his face from the light, and the rain-drops that came through a

hole in the pane fell upon a dead man’s brow.

“‘Curse the stupid luck!’ said the detective, standing erect. ‘He

would have told me, I am sure, and my case would not have been

difficult. But let me see what I can find upon him by which to work,

for I swear I will hunt to the death the man who killed the

traveller.’

“An examination of the dead man’s pockets revealed nothing concerning

his identity, and the detective looked puzzled.

“He found an empty pocket-book and a watch; but they did him no good.

“The man had probably reached his thirtieth year; his hair and

well-dressed beard were light, and his lifeless eyes a beautiful blue.

“He was well dressed, but there was no show of ostentation about his

garments.

“After the search the detective unlocked the front door of the coach,

and with another key which he drew from his pocket unlocked the

express car.

“Stepping boldly into it, he startled the messenger, whose hands flew

to an inner pocket when he beheld the unsummoned intruder, but no

pistol was drawn.

“‘No shooting, Tobey,’ said the detective, and the messenger,

recognising the voice, came forward with extended hands.

“‘You take a fellow by surprise, Dixon. I might have shot you.’

“‘Oh! I guess not,’ laughed the detective. ‘Where’s Golden?’

“‘Asleep in yon corner.’

“Dixon stepped forward, and waked a good-looking man, who had fallen

asleep on several bales of gunny-cloth.

“‘You’ve got a dead man on the train,’ Dixon said to the conductor,

when he opened his eyes.

“‘A dead man!’ cried the express messenger, before the conductor,

recovering from his sleep, could utter a single ejaculation.

“‘A man as dead as Chelsea! Come and see him.’

“The messenger picked up a lantern, and the two left the car.

“‘I recollect him,” said the conductor Golden, looking at the dead

traveller. ‘He boarded the train at Monterey, and was my only through

passenger. There’s two stabs in his left breast! You’ve noticed them,

I suppose?’

“‘Oh, yes――nothing ever escapes me,’ replied the detective, with a

smile. ‘Do not either of you gentlemen know aught about him?’

“The messenger shook his head without replying, and the conductor

said――

“‘I’ve met him once or twice before. I think his name is Hardesty.

Concerning his home or his people, I know nothing.’

“A few minutes later, on some sacks stretched on the floor of the

express-car, lay the dead traveller. The lamplight fell over his pale

face and rendered it ghastly, like the faces of corpses.

“Conductor Golden said that the mystery of the passenger’s death

puzzled him. He was sure that no other person tenanted the fatal coach

when he locked it, after taking up the only through ticket, and giving

the proper check.

“The theory of suicide was discussed, but abandoned, as no weapons

were found on the passenger’s person. The messenger recollected a

certain robbery of the company’s car works several years prior to the

fatal night, and stated that a number of coach keys were then taken.

“In all probability some person in possession of one of those keys had

entered the coach at some station, murdered the unknown passenger

while the train was in motion, and made good his escape.

“This theory satisfied messenger and conductor, but not the detective.

“‘Gentlemen,’ he said, calmly, ‘this man was killed by an old enemy.

His watch, worth at least two hundred dollars, remains on his person,

but everything else has been removed. The murderer has carefully

removed all traces of his identity, but his shrewdness shall avail him

naught. For I tell you,’ the speaker’s cold but piercing eyes were

fixed on Golden, ‘I tell you,’ he repeated, ‘that I will hunt him down

and make him pay dearly for his terrible work.’

“‘Your hand on that,’ said the conductor, putting forth his hand, and

the men clasped.

“‘Why, there’s blood on your hand!’ suddenly said Dixon, noting a

crimson spot on Golden’s member. ‘I’ve a mind to arrest you,’ he

added, with a smile.

“‘Do so, and hunt no further for your man,’ returned the conductor. ‘I

had my hand in the dead man’s bosom, hence the gore on my skin. But do

you think you’ll ever catch the perpetrator of the deed?’

“‘Catch him!” cried Dixon. ‘In my detective life I have never followed

a man in vain. John Golden, you have heard of me in the capacity of a

man-hunter, and I promise that you shall be present at the death of

your passenger’s assassin.’

“‘Good! I accept the invitation implied in your words; and Tobey――is

he included?’

“‘Certainly,’ answered Dixon, with a faint smile; and then the

conversation was interrupted by the whistle of the engine.

“‘We’re running into Dayton,’ said the messenger, taking up his book.

‘I put off a parcel here that is not entered on the books,’ and he

glanced from the detective to the corpse.

“The coroner’s inquest elicited no new facts concerning the dead

passenger. The usual verdict that ‘the deceased had come to his death

at the hands of some person or persons unknown to the jury’ appeared

in the morning papers. During the day many people viewed the corpse in

the coroner’s office, but it was not recognised.

“Dixon, the detective, kept about the office the entire day. He

scrutinised the face of each viewer of the corpse, and assisted to put

the dead into the coffin after office hours. Many people wondered who

that strange and commonplace man in the office was, never dreaming

that he one was one of the keenest detectives in the United States.

“He left the office at eleven o’clock and passed under the gaslight

towards the Merchants’ Hotel. This resort was in a distant part of the

city, and to gain it the detective would be obliged to traverse a

portion of the metropolis infested with thieves, gamblers, debauchees,

and wicked people generally. He had traversed it before, unarmed, and

did not fear its denizens.

“He set forth alone, and had gained the nearest and best portion of

the infested district, when a hand was laid on his arm. He stopped and

beheld a young girl looking up into his face.

“‘Well, miss?’ he said, in a tone that reassured the person, for she

came nearer.

“‘I saw you in the coroner’s office; but I was afraid to come in,’ she

said. ‘I looked in from the curb, and ran off when I thought you were

looking at me. Sir, I would like to see him before they give him an

unknown grave. He was my brother.’

“Dixon started and turned full upon the pale, sorrowful girl.

“‘Your brother?’ he cried. ‘What is your name?’

“‘Natalie Green.’

“‘Natalie!’

“It was the last name pronounced by the murdered traveller; and the

detective was startled at finding its possessor so soon.

“‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

“‘In a house two blocks down this street. Oh! sir, do not think me one

of the sinning. I am not. He drew me from home, and I had not the

hardihood to return. I could not face father, though I have not

fallen, and brother George, the dead, has been hunting me ever since.’

“‘Natalie, this is no place for conversation,’ said the detective. ‘In

your home you must tell me the whole story. You know what I am, girl?’

“‘Yes, a detective,’ she replied. ‘They don’t like such as you in

these parts.’

“‘I reckon not,’ he said, with a smile, and together they walked down

the street.

“What followed I need not detail here; the _denouement_ of my story

will tell you.

“One autumn night, three months later, a man boarded a train as it was

leaving a country station.

“The night was the counterpart of the one that witnessed the finding

of the dying passenger in the coach, and the person who had nimbly

leaped upon the platform unlocked the car with the _sang froid_ of a

privileged person.

“He passed through the well-filled coach, and presently faced the

messenger, who was at cards with the conductor. Both men started when

they beheld the new-comer; but they soon recognised him and gave him a

friendly hand.

“‘No man yet,’ said Conductor Golden, with a light laugh, as he looked

up into their visitor’s face. ‘The trail is long, and will in time, no

doubt, grow tiresome.’

“‘But I have reached the end of it!’ said the detective, seriously,

and the conductor rose to his feet.

“‘Good!’ he exclaimed. “Tobey, we will drink to Dixon’s success.’

“‘You must drink soon, then,’ was the reply, and a revolver quietly

slipped from the detective’s pocket.

“‘John Golden,’ he continued, ‘I arrest you for the murder of George

Green. You allured his sister, Natalie, from her home, and swore to

kill him because he followed you. That vow you have kept: you met him

in your through coach, the night was dark, and he your sole passenger.

Then and there you imbrued your hands with blood, and removed from his

person traces of his identity. Deny not the charges, for I am prepared

to prove each and every one! Tobey, there are a brace of handcuffs in

my pocket.’

“The astonished messenger moved towards the detective, when with a cry

of horror the conductor leaped to the half-open express door.

“Dixon sprang forward to arrest him, but was too late.

“The train struck a bridge as the form of the conductor disappeared,

and messenger and detective gazed blankly into each other’s faces.

“‘Dead?’ asked Dixon.

“‘Dead!’ responded Tobey. ‘If he missed the beams he fell into the

river eighty feet below us.’

“‘Well, let him go!’ said the detective. ‘He is the assassin of the

man from whose home he allured a sister.’

“The body of John Golden was never found. Among his papers at his

boarding-house in the city was found a memorandum book belonging to

George Green, and other articles that Natalie identified.

“Thus was the mystery that hung over the dead traveller cleared, and I

have but to add that Natalie returned home, and after the lapse of two

years, became the wife of no less a person than Jerome Dixon.”

“It is very much to be regretted,” said the Rev. Mr. Downbent, “that

the detectives of this country are not able to unravel the many

mysteries which of late have been presented to us in the metropolis.

Indeed, to say the truth, they appear to be grossly at fault in this

respect.”

“We shall never do any good, sir,” observed Sir William, “till a

better class of men are employed, and, I may add, prompter and more

stringent measures are taken to check crimes of this nature. I have

come to that conclusion years ago, and recent events have strengthened

me in the opinion I have formed.”

“It is a most melancholy state of affairs,” said Lady Marvlynn. “I

don’t pretend to be a competent judge of such matters, but everyone

must admit that it reflects no credit on a country which is perhaps

the most opulent and civilised community in the whole world.”

“You are right, my dear lady Marvlynn,” returned Sir William. “The

number of murders committed of late in this country that we know of is

bad enough, seeing that the perpetrators of these crimes are never

discovered, even to say nothing about their being convicted; and then

how many are there perpetrated which are never brought to light in any

shape whatever?”

“This reflection is a most painful one. Looking at the matter with an

unprejudiced eye, we must confess that this country has not so much to

boast of after all. It is true we put down the traffic in human flesh.

We abolished slavery――that is something to our credit.”

“Yes, but at what cost, Sir William?” cried Captain Crasher.

“Never mind the cost. It was done――and effectually done.”

“After much cost both in money and men,” said Crasher. “As we are all

of us in what I may call an anecdotal or story-telling vein to-day, I

will, if you please, tell you a story of the African slave trade.”

“Oh, do; there’s a good, dear soul!” cried Lady Marvlynn.

“By all means, madam, if our friends are agreeable.”

Everybody declared that they would esteem it a favour if the captain

would go ahead; so he at once rushed into the following narrative:――

“Now I am going to tell you a story about ‘The Right of Search,’” said

Crasher.

“The events I am about to describe,” said he, “date back to a period

twenty years ago, at which time I was but a newly-appointed

midshipman――the youngster of the larboard steerage-mess of the ship of

war ‘Excellent,’ Captain David Hodge.

“As they relate to the right of search as applied to slavers, those of

you who are familiar with the subject will pardon a word of

explanation for the benefit of those who are not.

“Slaving not being reckoned as piracy by the law of nations at the

time to which I allude, no ship was permitted to search another, even

though the latter were positively known to be loaded with negroes,

unless the two vessels carried the same flag.

“Consequently, any slaver when pursued, if aware of her pursuer’s

nationality, might run up a foreign flag, and sail coolly away under

its protection, her enemy being entirely powerless in the matter.

“This was the state of affairs from the treaty for the mutual

suppression of the African slave trade between Great Britain and the

United States, in 1842, down to the treaty of 1862, which to some

slight extent mended the matter.

“The ‘Excellent’ had been cruising off the Guinean coast, particularly

about the region between Cape Three Points and the Bight of Benin, for

upwards of four months now, and nothing to speak of had come of it.

“To be sure, we had all been ashore once or twice to call on the King

of Dahomey, the best misrepresentative of royalty to be found on the

western coast at that time, and he had dined us deliciously on shelled

peanuts, and pledged our professional health in deep draughts of his

villainous _sego_.

“But of our legitimate business in that part of the world we had done

little or nothing.

“Nor was this exactly for lack of opportunity. We knew very well that

the rascally old potentate was trading off his subjects at the rate of

a thousand or so every two or three weeks.

“We would even lie there sometimes and see a slaver go to sea, knowing

that her decks below were crowded with miserable negroes. But if we

made a movement to pursue, up would go a Spanish or French flag, and

all we could do was to let her severely alone.

“Once, indeed, we did circumvent one of them most beautifully.

“We had followed her up when she put out of the river until she showed

the stars and stripes, and then, as the breeze was light and the night

a promising one, the old man ordered out the barge and sent an officer

up to Elmina, ten miles above us, to inform a Yankee sloop of war

which we knew to be there. We hung to the slaver all night with the

ship, and just at day break, sure enough, there was the American

making for her with all sail spread.

When the fellow saw her, he thought to get out of it by running up a

French flag, but at this――since change of flag is presumably evidence

of fraud――we both pounced upon him, and in half an hour had his crew

in irons.

“But that wasn’t the story I started to tell. As I say, we were not

always as fortunate as that, and after weeks and weeks of hot weather

and no prizes, the whole ship’s company began to grow desperate.

“One evening, just before twilight came on――or what would be twilight

if they had such a thing in those latitudes――we were standing idly

along up towards Coast Castle, when a sail was reported as seen over

the land, the vessel being just about to emerge from a small bay that

makes in just there. Captain Hodge was on deck at the time, and

himself addressed the masthead.

“‘Do you know her?’ was his first inquiry.

“‘Can’t make her out just yet, sir, on account of the hill,’ answered

the look-out. ‘I should judge, from the size of them tops’ils and the

rake of her masts, that it is the big schooner we overhauled last

week.’

“A moment after, and the captain hailed again.

“‘How is she now, my man?’

“‘_’Tis_ the schooner, sir.’

“‘All right. Keep an eye on her,’ and the captain went below a moment.

“Fifteen minutes after we were in full sight of the slaver――for slaver

we knew her to be. That low black hull and rakish build could belong

to no respectable craft, even if the presence of such could be

accounted for just there and then.

“‘Now,’ cries the old man, again making his appearance on deck, and as

much interested in the affair as was I, the most inexperienced

youngster in the ship, ‘we’ll make her show her colours. If she don’t

recognise us she may show a different flag from what she did before.

If so, she is ours.’

“But the stranger was not to be caught in any such way as that.

“She did remember us perfectly well, probably had known precisely

where we were every day for the last week, and when a gun was fired

she ran up the French flag as innocently as could be.

“Shortly after the sudden darkness of the tropics came on, the

faltering sea-breeze died out entirely, and night set in with the two

vessels within half a mile of each other, and hardly likely to change

their relative positions before morning.

“At daylight, quite contrary to his custom, the old man was on deck

again and inquiring for the slaver. She was still in sight; but a

slight land breeze had sprung up shortly before day broke, and she was

cautiously edging off to the westward.

“Although she might be perfectly safe according to the law’s letter,

she did not feel easy in our vicinity any more than a thief does in

the company of a policeman. And so the captain remarked to the officer

of the watch.

“‘Mr. Bright,’ said he, ‘the nigger doesn’t mean to stay by us long,

even if we can’t touch him.’

“The captain always called all slavers ‘niggers’ without

discrimination or difference.

“Mr. Bright was the second lieutenant, young for his rank, and a man

who had won rapid promotion by his decision and intrepidity. His

answer was characteristic.

“‘And why can’t we touch him?’ he asked, in a meaning sort of way.

The captain seemed to understand him perfectly well; but he shook his

head gravely.

“‘It wouldn’t do, Mr. Bright――it wouldn’t do.’

“‘But nothing would ever come of it, sir. Suppose we should take the

fellow with the French colours flying, do you really think any

complaint would ever reach the French government?’

“The captain still shook his head.

“‘I don’t know about that, Mr. Bright,’ he said; ‘but I don’t like to

do it. The thing would be unprecedented. It’s too bad, too, with the

nigger right here in our hands, and we are not at liberty to take hold

of him,’ and he strode off towards his cabin.

“Yet the lieutenant’s idea seemed still to be working in his mind, for

just as he was about to disappear he called out again, ‘Mr. Bright,

you may as well shake out an extra rag or two and keep the scoundrel

in sight.’ Then he vanished down the stairs muttering something about

his extreme curiosity to behold a cursed ‘nigger’ who could get away

from the ‘Excellent’ when her blood was up.

“So we loitered along after the schooner with what little wind there

was, and after breakfast we were surprised by an order coming into the

steerage, summoning all the commissioned officers, even of lowest

rank, to the captain’s cabin.

“We went aft in a hurry and found all assembled around the cabin

table, except Mr. Bright, who was still in charge of the deck. Captain

Hodge stood at the head of the table. We waited for him to speak.

“‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘please fill your glasses. And now here’s to

the honour and success of the old “Excellent.”’

“We drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Then he went on:

‘Gentlemen, it is too bad, it is outrageous, the way things are at

present. Here have we been cruising up and down here all summer long

and hardly a prize to show for it.

“‘And now, here is another blamed nigger right before our face and

eyes――we know his hold is full of slaves――we can almost see ’em, and

if the wind would haul to west’rd a bit hang me if I don’t believe we

could smell ’em――and yet, because the fellow has run up a French flag,

we’ve got to lose him. Gentlemen, I repeat, it is outrageous!’

“We all asserted clamorously that it was monstrous.

“‘And something ought to be done about it,’ continued the old man,

waxing warmer and more indignant. ‘Ordinarily, I can somehow manage to

stand it, but this fellow has been dodging here for a week with a

rascally lie at his peak, and this time I’m _not_ going to stand it.’

“The captain paused and wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief.

“‘Now, gentlemen,’ he again went on, ‘you all know it was rather

duskish last night when we made the fellow show his colours. Are you

all perfectly certain what flag it was he hoisted?’

“We all kept silent with a puzzled air.

“‘That is to say,’ he continued, ‘are you all perfectly certain it was

the French flag? There was blue in it and red in it. Now, may there

not have been white in it, too? In short, may it not have been the

British Jack?’

“The captain said this with a queer kind of smile that suddenly

betrayed to us his meaning.

“Probably he himself was the most scrupulous officer present――indeed,

upon him must the whole responsibility rest.

“If he chose to run the risk it was hardly probable that any of us

would hesitate, especially at what we considered a perfectly

justifiable piece of deception.

“We had suffered enough already in consequence of this punctiliousness

of the home Government about the right of search.

“Up spoke little Bradford, of Southampton――

“‘I was in the maintop at the time, sir, and my eyesight is very good

indeed. I could almost swear it was British colours she showed.’

“Several others of us made similar remarks in a jocular kind of way;

but the captain interrupted us.

“‘This is no joking matter, gentlemen. If we seize that schooner while

she is under a foreign flag, we deliberately violate the law of

nations, and without doubt run the risk of a national dispute. Yet I

intend to seize her――on one condition.’

“Here he paused, and looked around the circle of eager faces.

“‘Please name it, sir,’ said the first lieutenant, seriously.

“‘That each of you pledge me his honour that he will everywhere and

under all circumstances, unless under oath, insist upon it that she

showed the British flag last night.’

“Every man of us immediately declared his willingness to promise this.

“‘Mr. Hazleton,’ said the captain to me, ‘will you ask Mr. Bright to

step to the companion-way?’

“I went on deck and communicated to the second luff the captain’s

request. As soon as he appeared, Captain Hodge called out to him――

“‘Mr. Bright, are you sure the schooner showed the British flag last

night?’

“‘The British flag? Why, she――oh! yes, I am quite sure.’

“‘Could you swear to it?’

“‘I could do anything almost but swear to it.’

“‘Very well, sir. Can you come down a moment? Gentlemen, let us once

more drink to the honour of the old ship――and remember that that

honour should be as dear to us as our own. And now, Mr. Bright, let us

overhaul the nigger as soon as possible, for, by the Great Horn Spoon,

we’ll have her now if she flies the flag of every nation in

Christendom!’

“All sail was immediately made on board the ‘Excellent,’ and the

slaver, seeing that something was up, and that we evidently meant to

overtake her, did her very best to prevent it. But, as the captain had

said there were few slavers that could get away from the ‘Excellent’

when she was doing her best, and a light breeze abeam was her best

point.

“Slowly but surely we overhauled her, and at noon were almost within

hailing distance.

“The old man was on deck in person, and chose to assume the trumpet

and negotiate the whole business himself. He had a powerful voice, and

he used it as soon as there was the slightest possibility of its being

heard.

“‘Come into the wind,’ he cried, ‘or I’ll blow you out of the water.’

“‘The stranger held straight on. He either did not or would not

understand. But a round shot across his bow brought him to. As we drew

nearer he called out in the best of English:

“‘By what right do you stop a French vessel?’

“‘Go to the pit with your French vessel. You were a British vessel

last night. Stand by till we send a boat on board.’

“‘Two cutters were manned, and under charge of Lieutenant Bright,

dispatched to the schooner. Her papers were examined and her character

as a British vessel by an American firm was positively established.

“The slaver’s crew were put in irons, but left on board their own

vessel. An unusually large prize crew was told off, and, to our

surprise, Lieutenant Bright was put in charge of it. He was a

favourite with the captain, and we had expected the third or fourth

luff would go.

“But the truth was, the captain was a trifle nervous about the affair

after it was over with, and he was particular about the prize. The

schooner’s captain had made a good deal of talk about the matter,

swearing that the vessel was not English, and that his government

would right the matter for him.

“Before Mr. Bright left us for the last time to go on board his new

command the captain took him below and had a long talk with him. Then

the two came up together, shook hands affectionately, and Mr. Bright

went over the side with a farewell nod to us all. Before night the

schooner was out of sight to windward.

“A year after, the ‘Excellent’ having by that time been ordered home,

I learned that Bright took the slaver in all right, but reported that

her officers and entire crew had, by some ingenious plan, escaped in

the long boat before he got away from the African coast.

“Very little had been said about the matter, however, at the navy

department, and shortly afterwards Bright had received his promotion.

I thought that altogether the thing looked rather strange and I

straightway elaborated a theory of my own about the matter.

“By Captain Hodge’s orders Bright had probably put the schooner’s

company on shore before going to sea. The captain thought, I suppose,

that they would be less likely to give any trouble about our

‘violation of the British flag,’ if left in Africa.

“And, as I believe, Bright took home with him from the captain letters

to the Secretary of the Admiralty (a personal friend of his)

explaining the whole matter and recommending Bright for promotion. At

any rate, he was promoted, and we never heard anything more from the

captain of the slaver.”

“Ah, those were times, sir,” said Sir William Leathbridge. “Happily

for the world they have long since passed away.”

“There are a few white slaves in this country, I believe,” said the

captain, carelessly.

“That may be; but they are not slaves in the sense we allude to. Many

men are slaves to habit; indeed, most of us are, but that is very

different to being bought and sold like beasts of burthen.”

“Perhaps I have not duly considered the question,” returned the

captain.

“I do not say that for a moment; on the contrary, no man has had

better opportunities than yourself to thoroughly understand the

subject, and I take it we are not likely to disagree on its general

bearings.”

“I hope not, I am sure,” said Captain Crasher. “But the evil has

passed away, and none of us here, I expect, would wish a return of the

old times. Our American cousins have endorsed the opinion expressed by

the people of this country, and it redounds to their credit that they

have followed the excellent example set by the ‘Britishers,’ as they

term them.”

A desultory conversation followed, in which many of the company took

part, and soon after this it was announced by the hostess that the

concert was about to commence.

Many of the guests had by this time betaken themselves to the

apartment where the musical performances were to be given, and the

remaining portion of the company rose from their seats and sauntered

into the concert-room. They dispersed themselves in groups on the

chairs and couches placed around for their reception.

A young lady was conducted to the piano by Signor Marouski, who was,

in addition to being one of the chief performers, also master of the

ceremonies, or musical director.

The young lady commenced with what might be termed a bombardment of

the instrument. Then she ran over the keys with a rapidity which was

perfectly electrifying.

It was a show piece she was playing――its name, however, did not

transpire. It had the effect of creating astonishment, and that was

all she looked for.

She was, of course, complimented, and then retired to give place to a

young man with weak eyes and a pale face, who stepped forward to sing

a tenor song.

His voice appeared to be weak as well as his eyes, but its tone was

sympathetic, and he sang correctly, and with a certain amount of

feeling which went to the hearts of his hearers.

A trio for the harp, violin, and piano followed. It was a little too

long perhaps, but was very well executed――by artists who were,

evidently, well up to their work.

Lady Marvlynn’s protégée, Miss Arabella Lovejoyce, was now brought

forward by Lord Fitzbogleton. She took her place by the piano, and her

master, Signor Marouski, sat down to the instrument for the purpose of

playing the accompaniment.

He began by executing a prelude of a most difficult and elaborate

nature, after which the vocalist commenced a bravura from one of the

well-known operas.

This she attacked with force and vigour, and it was difficult for

anyone to determine exactly which to admire most, the signor or his

pupil, for they were both so terribly in earnest.

Lady Marvlynn was charmed. The fair Arabella, she afterwards declared,

surpassed herself; anyway she did not let the grass grow under her

feet, but poured forth roulade after roulade in a most energetic and

earnest manner. Her voice was a little thin and sharp――censorious

people might say even piercing――but that did not so much matter――she

got through her piece creditably, and was, of course, highly

complimented at its close.

“By Jove,” said Lord Fitzbogleton, “you are weally quite as

accomplished a singer as the vewy best professional. My dear Miss

Lovejoyce, I am quite enchanted.”

“Oh, pray don’t,” said the pretty pet; “how foolish you make me look,

my lord!”

“Foolish! What a remarkable observation! Foolish, indeed! You ought to

be pwoud. I know I should be if I had a tithe of your ability.”

“Oh, my lord, you are a flatterer, I do believe,” cried Lady Marvlynn,

coming to the rescue; “but of course I know that anything my dear

Arabella attempts to do is sure to please you.”

“Indeed you are mistaken, Lady Marvlynn,” said the young nobleman; “I

am a most wigid cwitic, I assure you.”

The speaker conducted the fair Arabella to her seat, and Signor

Marouski seated himself once more at the piano; he was about to favour

the company with a long scena from a popular opera.

He began by playing a long monotonous prelude of a weird-like

character; to judge from the sounds produced the inference would very

naturally be that some one was in a state of deep dejection, or it

might be despair or agony.

Presently he sang, in a sonorous voice, three prolonged notes. These

were repeated several times, and were succeeded by a jerky, quick

movement; this appeared to be a sort of recitative or prelude, for the

notation was soon of a changed character――still, however, wailing and

melancholy, or it might be said depressing.

That clever entertainer, Frederick Maccabe, says, when performing the

rôle of a street minstrel――

“Why, lor bless you, there aint much occasion to hunderstand much

about music wen you plays to a west-end audience; as long as you play

somethink melancholy it’s sure to go down with the hupper classes.”

Perhaps Signor Marouski was of the same opinion. Anyway, he acted in

accordance with Maccabe’s instructions.

It was a Wagnerian piece he was executing, and many present declared

it to be grand and magnificent. Whether they were able to comprehend

its precise meaning it would not be so easy to determine.

However, the Italian professor sang on.

He evidently threw his whole heart into his work. He was a sound

musician and an admirable vocalist, but he was imbued with the notion

that the “music of the future” was the right sort of thing.

When he came to a conclusion many gave a suppressed sigh of relief,

and many expressed their satisfaction by exclaiming, “Grand! splendid!

remarkably fine!”

“What think you, Sir Eric?” cried one, addressing himself to Aveline’s

husband.

“Oh, if you ask me my opinion,” cried the baronet, “I must tell you

plainly that I consider all this fuss about Wagner is quite out of

place.”

“Oh, my dear Sir Eric,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you don’t know what you

say, I’m sure.”

“Don’t I, though?” returned he. “I most certainly do. I consider it

humbug. I don’t profess to be an accomplished musician and am perhaps

not a competent judge. Why, Lord bless us, I’m old enough to remember

the time when this man’s music was laughed at and scouted in this

country.”

“That’s right enough,” observed Captain Smither Smythe. “What a thing

is popularity――or becoming the fashion would perhaps be the better

term! The English public are afflicted every now and then with a sort

of mad infatuation for eccentricity, and are apt to applaud to the

very echo things they do not understand. As a proof of this I have

only to refer to the _furore_ for the Italian actor, Salvini. They

made a god of him for a season, and then left him to flicker out and

return to his native country a sadder and a wiser man. Doubtless he

was duly impressed with the fleeting nature of popularity. Now it is

the fashion to have a craze for a composer whose works are

incomprehensible to me, and whose beauties are effectually hidden, as

far as I am individually concerned.”

“Really, gentlemen,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you are paying Signor

Marouski but a poor compliment.”

“Pardon me,” said Sir William Leathbridge, “we owe and pay tribute to

the talents of the professor. What we are discussing is the merits of

Wagner.”

Marouski now endeavoured to explain to the company what Wagner had

endeavoured to express in the piece he had just executed, and wound up

by declaring that the German composer was a great genius.

“I admit my inability to appreciate his beauties,” said Sir Eric

Batershall, “still I am not singular in the opinion I have formed. In

an admirably-written article in a periodical a month or two ago the

writer sets forth that, ‘Whereas Mozart’s opera music has been the

delight of every concert goer since the day when it was first

written――and this, irrespective of the scenes to which it

belongs――Herr Wagner’s vocal phrases, detached from the pictures they

illustrate, can only strike the ear as so much cacophonous jargon, in

which every principle of nature and grace has been outraged, partly

owing to poverty of invention and absence of all feeling for the

beautiful――partly owing to the arrogant tyrany of a false and forced

theory.”

“These are strong expressions, I admit,” said the baronet; “but not a

bit too strong, excepting for the fanatics who have set up the

Wagnerian idol, and would coerce the rest of the world into the

worship of the fantastic creed they have adopted, just the same as the

craze for the pre-Raphaelite school of painting, as it was termed, was

endeavoured to be forced on the art-loving world many years ago.”

“That is true enough,” said Mr. Downbent; “it was a craze.”

“A sort of epidemic,” returned the baronet; “but hear me for a moment

or so. Speaking of Herr Wagner’s profuse musical dialogue, and

particularly in relation to ‘Das Rheingold,’ the writer says, ‘The

recitative in which the scenes are conducted is throughout dry,

unvocal, and uncouth, but Glück might never have written to show how

truth in declamation may be combined with beauty of form, variety of

instrumental support, and advantageous presentiment of the actors who

have to tell a story.’”

“Ah, but you English cannot bear to listen to long descriptive

recitative passages,” cried Marouski.

“I admit that as a rule they don’t care about them. Still a great many

persons who listen to Wagner’s operas will feel the force of the

observations I have just quoted. His interminable dialogues, his

annihilation of pleasant comprehensible form of music, and his

systematic crushing out of melody from his compositions, must

eventually cure the musical public, or the small section of it who are

with him, of their unhealthy craze. In the meantime, his operas, ‘dry’

as they usually are, will be revived in the course of the operatic

season, and among them ‘Tannhäuser’ is of course excepted. In this

work there are long dreary passages to wade through, with little else

by way of compensation than the gorgeousness of the _mise en scène_.

The professional march is truly an inspiration, and in the ‘Chant of

the Pilgrims,’ Tannhäuser’s ‘Hymn to Venus,’ and the shepherds’ song,

concessions are made to those who demand continuous understandable

melody. For these indulgences we cannot be sufficiently grateful, and

must congratulate ourselves that ‘Tannhäuser’ belongs to Wagner’s

middle period, and not to his later style, from which tune is

rigorously excluded.”

Signor Marouski smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah,” said he, “it is always difficult for a grand original genius to

make himself understood or to be fully appreciated by the public.”

“There are a number of musical geniuses whose works have been popular

in this country,” observed Smythe, “but I don’t expect we shall agree

upon this subject; and we have to apologise to our kind hostess for

thus interrupting the concert.”

“I like to listen to discussions of this sort,” returned Marouski,

“because I believe that the English people have a much greater love

for good music than foreign nations give them credit for. However, as

you don’t care about Wagner,” he added with a smile, “I will give you

something from an opera by one of my own countrymen.”

Marouski sat down to the piano once more, and sang a recitative air

from one of Rossini’s operas. He executed it in a manner which was

beyond all praise, and the contrast it afforded to his first

performance was so powerful that his audience found it difficult to

believe that it was the same singer they were listening to. The

Italian professor was applauded most vociferously and was evidently

well pleased with his success.

“Now you must not tell me, signor, that the last piece is not a

hundred per cent better than the first,” cried Sir Eric Batershall.

“It all depends upon taste. Each is good in its own particular way.”

Lady Batershall or Aveline, as we have been accustomed to call her,

was now conducted to the piano.

She sang a simple ballad with such pathos and with so much feeling

that the assembled guests were deeply moved.

After a few more pieces had been performed and songs sung, the musical

entertainment was brought to a close.

The conversation became general, the topics discussed were various,

and a vast amount of knowledge was displayed by the speakers in what

might with truth be termed a most delightful convivial discussion.

Among the company was a learned professor――a great naturalist who had

been in many parts of the world――he had been somewhat taciturn during

the earlier portion of the day, but Captain Smithers Smythe, who had

resided in India for some years, drew him out, and an animated

conversation followed upon the great Indian Empire. Professor

Mainwaring had a number of interesting anecdotes to tell, and finally

concluded with the following narrative:――

“You see,” said he, “it is a good many years ago now since I was lost

in the forest, but every minute incident, captain, is green in my

recollection, aye, as if it occurred but yesterday.”

“I can readily understand that.”

“Well, it was an oppressively hot day, in the very height of summer,

when Carter and myself pitched our tent in a secluded forest tract of

land, near the head waters of the Chenaub. I dare say you know the

river?”

“Oh, perfectly well,” returned Smythe. “You had some fellows with you,

I suppose.”

“Dear me, yes. Our party consisted of three native servants, besides

coolies, who had been engaged at the last village to carry the

baggage.”

“And who would run away at the first approach of danger,” said Smythe.

“They were men you could not place implicit trust in, I must confess.

Well, our route lay along a rugged pathway by the side of the river,

through dense forests of pine and cedar which clothed its banks to the

water’s edge, and spread their great branches across its bosom until

they nearly met in mid stream.

“A more perfect solitude could scarcely be imagined; indeed, excepting

a few birds and a solitary black bear I had slain, when busily engaged

performing his toilette in a brook, not another large animal had been

seen for several days since leaving the verdant mountain glades of

Cashmere.

“Whilst my companion and servants were employed in pegging and

stretching out the bear’s skin――an operation requiring to be performed

when the hide is fresh, as otherwise it will shrivel up and become

rotten――I took advantage of the delay, and seizing my gun, strolled

through the forest in quest of novelties in the beast or bird line,

being then engaged in making collections of the natural objects of the

country.

“I had not proceeded far before the fresh run of musk deer indicated

the proximity of that animal, which, like the hare, is partial to

localities, and may be often discovered by following its footprints.

“I accordingly pushed further and further into the forest, in

expectation of meeting a musk at any turn, and until it became evident

that my hopes were not to be realised, when finally, getting tired of

tracking, I gave up the pursuit, and set off in quest of rare birds.

“Here and there the harsh screams of the speckled nutcracker and

yellow grosbeak drew me away in opposite directions, until, after

devious swervings to the right and left, it suddenly dawned on me that

my pocket compass had been forgotten. What was to be done? In what

direction lay the river? It was useless attempting to retrace my

footsteps, for, what between the hard nature of the ground, and my

soft grass shoes, anything like an impression was impossible.

“I pulled out my watch to find it was four o’clock, thus leaving three

hours of daylight. So now in which direction should I proceed? These

and many anxious thoughts flashed across my mind, when, shouldering

the gun, I stared about for a way more likely than another in the

dismal gloom; but not one opening or indication seemed preferable to

the rest.

“How often I had changed front since starting could not be surmised;

however, a conviction arose in my mind that the way back to camp did

not lie in front of the position in which I stood at that moment,

accordingly I wheeled about, and set off at full speed in an exactly

opposite direction.

“At first a straight ahead course seemed the proper one, but after a

time it was apparent that I had been unconsciously bearing off too

much to the left, and, as there was a gentle slope in that direction,

a feeling kept constantly increasing that this was the watershed of

the Chenaub, for the sound of whose troubled waters I stopped

constantly to listen, but in vain.

“Uneasiness now grew apace, with the cravings of hunger, whilst the

sun declined, and finally the glare on the tree tops vanished, leaving

an obscurity which was soon doomed to blacken into night.”

[Sidenote: No. 75.]

[Illustration: LINKED IN FIERCE STRUGGLE, PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALL

FROM THE WINDOW.]

“What a position to be in!” cried Smythe. “Indian forests, as a rule,

are not the safest places in the world for a man to put up at, or

bivouac in for the night. Beasts of prey, to say nothing of snakes or

serpents, are to be found there in abundance.”

“Yes, that is true enough, but, luckily, I did not consider all these

things. Still, I frankly confess, that the idea of being lost in a

forest made my blood run cold. I could not discern any river, and the

idea occurred to me that I might be walking away from it.”

“How dreadful!” exclaimed an old lady in a turban, who was listening

to the narrative. “Most dreadful, indeed.”

“Yes, madam, it was not by any means agreeable, to say the least of

it,” returned the professor. “Of course, I need not tell you that I

did not know very well what to be at, or how to shape my course, since

I was quite out of my reckoning. At length, being perplexed, and not

knowing anything about the track I was following, I halted in front of

a large cedar. This I determined to climb; my object in doing this was

to see if I could, from the upper branches of the tree, discern any

object in the distance which might serve as a guide to deliver me out

of the labyrinth into which I had got entangled.”

“And did you ascend the tree?” inquired the captain.

“Most certainly I did; but I was no wiser; from its very highest

branches I could only discern one unbroken forest, and so I descended

with despair at my heart, and a foreboding of evil for the future, for

by this time I must tell you, that I felt my physical strength giving

way. What with fatigue, want of food, and the exertion of climbing the

tree, I was pretty well done over.”

“A gone coon.”

“Precisely. Very much gone, and very despairing also.”

“My situation was melancholy and desperate to the last degree. If I

had had any companion, anybody to share my troubles, matters would not

have been so bad, but I had not a living creature, not even a dog, for

my companion, and the solitude was well-nigh insupportable.”

“Oh, yes, the beauties of nature are all very well in their way,” said

Smythe, “and I, for one, am a great admirer of them, but not alone.

One wants company in cases of this sort. Enoch Arden felt that in his

tropical island.”

“As darkness drew near,” said the professor, “while seated on a rugged

piece of stone, I counted every percussion cap, bullet, and charge of

powder. An idea flashed across my brain that by firing off a few shots

at intervals and following each report by loud shoutings it might just

happen that my companion and the native ‘shikari’ would discover my

whereabouts. Indeed, a presentiment clung to me all along that the

camp could not be at any very great distance. How anxiously I listened

for a response after every report, whilst my throat ached again with

shouting, and how I kept hoping against hope, until all hope seemed to

have vanished with the daylight, and now not even the noise of an

insect or the murmur of the tree-tops broke the dismal stillness. I

had been on my feet for upwards of twelve hours, without intermission,

and seeing it was nearly midnight I determined to give up the

fruitless struggle, so stretching out my wearied limbs on the hard

ground, and placing the gun by my side, I settled down, tired, hungry,

and anxious, but still anticipating that the morrow would bring my

deliverance.”

“My word, but it is a wonder you escaped with your life,” said Sir

William.

“It does seem a wonder, I confess; but it does not necessarily follow

that beasts of prey were lurking about, as our friend remarked; and,

indeed, such could not have been the case, or I should not have been

here to tell the story.

“Utterly exhausted, I fell into a sound sleep, which lasted several

hours; when awaking I found day breaking, with the wind howling

through the branches overhead.

“To repair the grass sandals and load with buckshot was the work of a

few minutes, when I was once more on my feet and off on the anxious

journey.

“Now pushing through underwood; now carefully treading over prostrate

rotten stems; here getting foul of dependent branches; then brought to

a standstill by a huge patriarch of the forest.

“At length, after wandering for some time, the spoor of a musk deer

was visible, and in a few minutes the little creature jumped up before

me and fell dead with the contents of my gun in its side.

“Soon a fire was made in the usual native way by see-sawing a slow

match in a handful of dried grass or leaves, when, cutting steaks

from, the haunch and stringing them together on a twig, I roasted and

devoured my kabobs with avidity, for, considering that no food had

crossed my lips since the previous morning, it would be doing small

justice to my appetite to say that I felt other than ravenous.

“However, the savoury repast made me feel wonderfully refreshed, and

with a haunch of venison on my shoulder, I proceeded once more through

the wilderness of pine trunks, looking intently in every direction for

the slightest indication of a stream or a water parting.

“The absence of animal life in the depths of the forest has been

frequently observed, and may no doubt be owing to the want of

subsistence for the majority of herbivorous quadrupeds.

“However, as I trudged along from the denser to the more sparsely

wooded parts, in expectation that a clearing would suddenly open out

the country, and show the way towards the river, a musk deer would now

and then spring out of some bush, and, in the intervals between its

fantastic mode of jumping, would stop and turn round and stare at me

in bewilderment, as if it had never seen a human being before.”

“Well, I must confess,” observed Smythe, “that does appear to be most

remarkable. I should have thought that ‘tree tigers,’ as we term them,

would have been there in abundance.”

“I saw none, and if there were any they did not trouble me.”

“You were a most fortunate man.”

“Possibly so. No doubt I was.

“The time must now have been about mid-day, when I came to a gap in

the forest, occasioned by the fall of several spruces. Here, whilst

examining the spot, a horrible feeling came over me that I had passed

the identical opening shortly before dark on the previous day, so that

as I pushed along I could not help muttering to myself, ‘I am walking

in a circle. This comes of always trending towards the left.’

“I consequently started in an opposite direction, and soon found

myself on an incline, and before another hour had gained a small

torrent, the bed of which was choked up by tall bracken and wild

balsams, from whence numbers of the gorgeously attired Monal pheasants

rose and fled down the glen, with the metallic sheen of their gorgeous

plumage glistening in the sunshine.

“Here, virtually, my troubles seemed to have come to an end for ever.

Since the stream was discovered, hopes grew stronger and stronger that

if I could follow it up there would be an end to my anxieties.

“At length the narrow gorge gave way to an open valley, and, listening

now and then, I fancied I could catch the murmur of distant waters,

until the sound finally ended in a continuous roar, and I found myself

on a footpath, with the Chenaub rolling rapidly along its rocky bed.

“One problem, however, remained unsolved, ‘Was my tent up or down

stream?’ Now considering the sameness of the scenery, and very

irregular, not to say eccentric, windings of mountain footpaths in

general, and Himalayan foot-tracks in particular, it would have taken

a greater experience of wilderness ways than I could then command to

have recognised one object more than another, along the route I had

trodden on the way from Cashmere.

“Nevertheless, expecting that footprints might turn up on softer parts

of the path, I searched for such indications of man, but without

success, and the forest on either side gave no token of commanding

positions from whence a survey could be made; consequently, only one

of two alternatives remained, either to push up or down the river

bank.

“I selected the latter, and after devouring a portion of the venison

and pitching the remainder into the river, I pushed down the pathway,

in the belief that I must have struck the river above my camp, which

might turn up at any minute.

“In this expectation I was sadly deceived, inasmuch as hour succeeded

hour, and no trace of my little canvas home became apparent.

“The footpath, moreover, was not always safe; sometimes it ran across

a beetling precipice, at others I had to wade streams; finally it led

away from the river into the gloomy forest, where at dusk, after

clambering up a ledge of rock, I found myself on the brink of a crag,

with the river rushing furiously below.

“To have proceeded further that night seemed only to risk one’s life,

as every minute increased the inability to pick my way in the

darkness; so once more all the pangs of hunger and disappointment came

back in terrible reality, alloyed, however, with a consolation that I

was at all events on the right track.

“The venison I had thrown into the river now rose before my mind, as

supperless and disappointed I lighted a fire and discharged my gun,

following each report by prolonged outcries, such as the natives of

these parts are wont to hail each other with from opposite sides of

ravines.

“But it happened that a sudden bend of the river a short distance

above the eminence on which I stood broke the sounds, and sent them

back in clear echoes one after another.”

“And did no one come to your assistance, Mr. Mainwaring?” inquired

Avaline, anxiously.

“Not at that time, my dear lady; but of course my gun was the only

means that I had of giving an indication of my whereabouts. I

concluded, naturally enough, that my friends would be on the alert and

institute a search for me. Carter, I knew, would never rest till he

had ascertained what had become of me, and I need not tell you that

the report of a discharged weapon carries much further than the most

powerful human voice, but I made use of both, and soon got quite

hoarse from continually shouting.

“The shades of night had now gathered in, when, piling faggot upon

faggot, I sat myself down by the blazing fire, and ruminated on what a

new day might bring forth. At length, with blighted hopes, and fairly

worn out, I once more hugged the gun, and, coiling myself up by the

fireside, fell into a deep sleep.

“I was suddenly awoke by some one exclaiming, ‘Sahib, Sahib!’ and,

starting up, found my native hunter, Eli Shah, standing by my side. He

had been wandering through the forest all day, and was returning to

the tent when my fire attracted him.

“‘O master,’ he exclaimed, ‘we all thought you were dead;’ and,

untying his girdle, he handed me a parcel of sandwiches. ‘This all

comes of your not taking your “magic watch” with you;’ the name by

which he and my other hill servants designated the compass. When I

came to reckon the distance between our encampment and the point where

I had struck the river, it was found I had wandered upwards of five

miles northwards of the former.

“Thus ended a foolish adventure, which none but a tyro in wilderness

wandering would have committed; nevertheless, it was not the last of

similar mishaps that subsequently occurred to me in other and

far-distant regions, when carried away by the excitement of the chase,

and that wild enthusiasm in which the student of nature is prone to

indulge.”

CHAPTER CXL.

THE SURPRISE――CHARLES PEACE’S NEW PANTOMIME TRICK. HIS UNEXPECTED

APPEARANCE ON THE SCENE.

While Professor Mainwaring had been relating the foregoing adventure,

Lord Fitzbogleton and Arabella Lovejoyce had strolled through the

suite of rooms, engaged in close converse.

The young nobleman, who was greatly taken with the lovely Arabella,

evidently desired a _tete-à-tete_ with the fascinating creature.

It is true she cared but little about his attentions――indeed she did

not in any way offer him encouragement, and felt more disposed to view

the matter in a humorous light than otherwise; but she was like most

women――pleased at being made much of by one who seemed to be an

admirer.

His lordship could not at present be looked upon in the light of a

lover, though it must be confessed that he appeared to be fast

approaching that delightful and beautiful state of existence.

He was evidently spooney on Miss Lovejoyce――that is the correct

term――albeit it may be a little too expressive.

They sauntered from room to room, roved like butterflies from flower

to flower――discoursed on the several articles of virtu which came upon

view as they passed along, and being a great admirer of the products

of nature, Lord Fitzbogleton, naturally enough, was attracted by a

choice collection of exotic plants which were displayed in such

admirable order within the conservatory abutting out from the

furthermost apartment.

It was equally natural also that he should wish his fair companion to

admire the choice flowers as well as himself.

Lord Fitzbogleton had not a very strong voice; indeed, it might be

said to be weak. He had, moreover, a slight lisp. This is rather

pleasing than otherwise in a female, provided she be young and pretty,

but it cannot be deemed a recommendation to one of the sterner sex.

But, despite all these little drawbacks, his lordship was a thoroughly

good-natured man, and good-hearted as well, and this is saying a great

deal just now, seeing how few possess either of these qualifications.

When the young people had gained the conservatory Lord Fitzbogleton,

after passing his remarks on the plants before him and discoursing on

their various properties, and which country they were indigenous to,

he looked into the face of his companion.

He intended to convey by the look unutterable things, but its

eloquence was lost upon his companion.

“Now, I don’t know what you think, Miss Lovejoyce, but I call this the

most pleasant part of the day. I have never felt so happy as at the

present moment.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” observed Arabella, looking intently,

with the eye of a connoisseur, at the magnificent bloom of a cactus.

“You are? By Jove, that’s wery wemarkable! I hope and trust the

feeling is wecipwocal. Indeed, I feel assured it is.”

“Oh, certainly, I hope so,” returned his fair companion, who, however,

had great difficulty in suppressing a smile.

“Well, you know, I am not much of a fellow for argument and all that

sort of thing, you know, and I can’t for a moment pwetend to tell

stories and anecdotes like our fwends in the other room; still, I can

appweciate a good tale if it’s well told, and like to hear fellows

hold forth, but I much pwefer being alone with a cweature like――well,

like yourself, Miss Lovejoyce. You understand my meaning, eh!”

“Oh! certainly, my lord――indeed, I quite understand you.”

“I hope we shall soon understand one another better,” he returned,

looking into her face admiringly.

Miss Lovejoyce made no reply; she appeared to be still engaged in

admiring the cactus.

“Confound it! What is there in that flower to attract so much

attention?” observed her companion.

“It is very beautiful,” she returned, carelessly.

“I do not deny that. I know a fellow who grows these sort of

things――takes a delight with ’em, you know. He would tell you the name

and properties of any plant in the whole creation――thinks of nothing

else, I do believe.”

“He is an admirer of nature’s products, doubtless, and is a man of

taste, I suppose.”

“Oh, dear me, yes, but you see some how or other I pwefer animated

nature.”

“Both animated and inanimate nature have their respective charms,”

returned the lady.

“I dare say, but why will you be so pewerse?”

“Perverse! I do not understand you.”

“Well, now, just look here. I want you to give more attention to me.

Don’t you see?” cried his lordship, glaring at her through his

eyeglass.

She smiled, and replaced the pot containing the cactus in its original

position.

“There,” she ejaculated, “will that satisfy you? I am all attention.”

“Oh, Miss Lovejoyce, you are a charming cweature,” said he, taking her

jewelled hand within his own.

“I am afraid you are a flatterer.”

“Oh, so Lady Marvlynn said half an hour or so ago, but you are both

mistaken, I am no such thing. If there is one thing, I plume myself

upon more than another, it is my sincerity.”

“That is a quality which, to say the truth is rare, my lord, and

therefore cannot be too highly prized.”

“You think so?”

“Most certainly, I do.”

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

“Why?”

“Because it gives me hope.”

“Hope?”

“Pwecisely; hope and confidence, for, to say the truth, as a rule I do

not posses much of the latter.”

“Are you wanting in confidence then?” cried the lovely Arabella, with

a wicked smile. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Yes, I admit it is a misfortune. I know a lot of fellows who have the

audacity of a highwayman’s horse. Sometimes I wish I had my share of

the same.”

“I don’t like men who are of too demonstrative or of too pronounced a

character.”

“No more do I,” returned her admirer, “but still, you know, a fellow

can’t get on in the world who is too retiring.”

“No, certainly not. It is the happy medium which is most to be

desired. But what is so engaging your attention just now, my lord.”

“I was looking at this charming wing. It is very chaste in design.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes I do, indeed,” he observed looking intently at the ornament on

one of her fingers. “I admire it immensely, even as I do its wearer.”

Miss Lovejoyce looked down at the tesselated pavement of the

conservatory, but she made no reply.

“I’m going to beg a favour of you,” said he, after a pause.

“A favour?”

“Yes. Will you grant it?”

“I must first know what it is.”

“But you would not wefuse me?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“The nature of the request you have to make.”

“Well, I was about to say, and, ahem, it may as well be said at once.

Don’t you think so?”

“Most certainly I do. Proceed, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, I will. Well, you know, it’s just this――I’ve got a wing

which has been worn by the Queen of Spain. It is a rare jewel――a

trinket of the choicest quality.”

“Indeed! I should like to see it.”

“I not only desire you to see it, but the favour I was about to ask is

that you will accept it from my hand, and――――”

“And what――the other conditions?”

“That you will wear it in remembrance of me. Do you now understand?”

“Oh, I comprehend; but at the same time, you must pardon the

observation, my lord, but I do not see how I can consistently accept

it as a gift.”

And why not, Miss Lovejoyce――I mean Awabella? You must let me call you

Awabella――you weally must. Miss Lovejoyce seems so stiff and formal.”

“Well, call me Arabella if that pleases you better.”

“It does please me, and so it’s a bargain.”

“What’s a bargain?”

“That I am to call you by your Christian name.”

“Agreed then. It is a bargain.”

And now about the wring? You must――you will accept it.”

“I have not said so.

“Not as yet, but you intend to do so.”

“You are arriving at a hasty conclusion, my lord.”

“Not at all. So, now don’t turn away. I hope I have not offended you.”

“Oh, dear me, no; but still, at the same time, I think it would be

very indiscreet on my part to receive a present from you.”

“By no means. I shall be very much hurt if you refuse. Nay, more, I

won’t take a refusal.”

“For a gentleman who is so wanting in confidence your tone is somewhat

dictatorial,” said she, with a merry laugh.

“It is for you to dictate, and for me to obey,” returned he.

“Very good――very good, indeed. I quite agree with you.”

“If you agree with me, I shall consider the question settled.”

“What question?”

“The wing.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, my dear friend, you must allow me some brief space of time to

consider the matter over. You know, my lord, we must be governed by

the rules of etiquette, and, it is, therefore, for me to arrive at

some satisfactory conclusion as to what is seemly and proper in a case

of this sort.”

“Upon my word, Awabella, you talk more like some old sage than as a

cheery and fascinating young girl. I don’t care to argue questions of

this nature. Arguments are altogether out of place in――ahem――in

affairs of the heart, you know.”

“In affairs of the heart, my lord?”

“Certainly. Now don’t you be so pwovoking. I do declare that I have a

mind to stop your mouth with――――”

He drew her towards him and kissed her passionately.

“My lord, pray don’t. What can you be thinking about?” she ejaculated.

“I think only of you, my darling Awabella――only of you,” he replied.

“I am really very sorry you should be wanting in confidence,” she

returned, pouting.

“Well, I don’t care. You’ll dwive me to despewation――that’s what

you’ll do.”

“It appears to me that you are half way there at the present moment.

Do not be so demonstrative. Pray release me.”

He had his arm round her waist at this time, and did not seem disposed

to comply with her request.

The sparkling champagne he had imbibed seemed to have endowed him with

a courage which surprised both himself and his fair companion.

“I think we had better return to the concert-room,” observed Arabella.

“Ah, by no means,” said he, “we are far better here.”

“But I’m positively afraid of you, my lord. Let us return, I pray.”

“I can’t for a moment consent to such a course. No-no, my dear

Awabella; you have said I might call you by that name――this is

elysium. The concert-room is but earth.”

“Pray, don’t be metaphorical or poetic, for it would be more than I

could bear just now.”

“You are the most tantalising, charming, bewitching creature I ever

met with in the course of my life. Oh, Awabella, tell me, dearest, if

you have any wegard for me?”

“How can you ask such a ridiculous question?”

“Widiculous, my charmer!” ejaculated Lord Fitzbogleton. “You surely do

not for a moment imagine I am jesting?”

“I don’t know what to think; you have taken me so by surprise.”

“Ah, ah, endeavoured to carry the fortress by storm, as our friend

Smithers Smythe would say, but you must allow me the privilege,” and

here he snatched another kiss.

“It’s very wrong and altogether improper,” cried Arabella. “If you

don’t desist I shall be offended――indeed I shall; and when I am once

offended I must tell you frankly I am not likely to forget――I won’t

say forgive, but certainly I shall not forget.”

“Now you are angwy.”

“I am not very well pleased with you, I candidly confess.”

“You do not like me, then?”

“I have not said that. You will please me better by being a little

more reasonable. I do not care about so much ardour and impetuosity,

and for this reason I doubt its sincerity. Now don’t be angry――I do

not mean to offend you.”

“You cannot do that. I love you too much.”

“Love me?”

“Yes, that is what I said.”

“Well, my lord, I am bound to believe you.”

“And what say you?”

“At present I do not choose to say anything. So let that pass.”

“Not say anything?”

“No, certainly not. I am a free agent and reserve to myself the right

of placing my affections on the man I deem worthy of them.”

“And am I not worthy of them?”

“I do not say you are not.”

“But you will not say I am. Is that what you mean?”

“As time goes on I shall be better able to judge. A fortress may be

carried by storm, I suppose, but it would be indeed a vain attempt to

gain the heart of a woman by any such means――certainly not my heart. I

only speak of myself.”

“I have no desire to attempt such a course of action,” observed the

young nobleman, in an altered and more subdued tone. “Pardon me. I ask

your pardon,” he ejaculated, falling on one knee before his companion.

“Rise, my lord, pray rise; you would not like to be caught by any of

the company in this supplicating position.”

“I will not wise until you tell me you forgive me,” cried he.

“I do forgive you. Be satisfied with that declaration.”

Lord Fitzbogleton found out that he was no match for his fair

enslaver, whose force of character was far beyond his own. He arose

and looked a little foolish. Most men do when they meet with a reproof

or a rebuff under similar circumstances.

“You are weally most exacting and hard-hearted,” said he, “but,

possibly, I have been to blame; but I am sure you will take a merciful

view of the case. Now tell me, dearest Arabella, if you feel disposed

to take compassion on me. Hang it, but I am a poor hand at pleading my

own cause――don’t you think so?”

“I hardly know what reply to give to such a question,” she observed

with a witching smile.

“I am sure you think so, only you don’t like to acknowledge it. Come,

dearest, let us be friends.”

“We are friends, and true ones I hope.”

“That’s kind of you to say that. I mustn’t, of course, I mustn’t. I

mean I must keep at a respectful distance――eh?”

She laughed again. “I cannot be angry with you, my lord. Indeed, there

is no reason for my being so, seeing that you are so candid――and at

the same time so very affectionate.”

“Hang it all!――don’t chaff a fellow. Nobody likes to be made a fool

of, you know.”

“Certainly not, my lord; and I am not likely to attempt such a thing.

And, indeed, I feel perfectly well convinced that I should not succeed

if I made the attempt. I both esteem and admire you.”

“You admire me――eh?”

“Yes, I see many things to admire in you.”

“What are they?”

“Well, in the first place you’re remarkably good-natured, and you

have, I believe, a good temper; in addition to which I believe you are

sincere――at least I hope so.”

“Say you are sure of it,” he cried quickly.

“As far as I am able to judge at present, I feel assured of it. Will

that satisfy you?”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

The conversation was continued for some time after this, but we must

for the present leave the young people to themselves to pay a visit to

one of the upper apartments of the widow’s house.

While Lady Marvlynn’s guests were engaged in conversation in the

concert-room, and Lord Fitzbogleton was engaged in whispering soft

nothings into the ear of the fascinating Arabella Lovejoyce, a far

different scene was taking place in a chamber above.

James Jabez Jones, her ladyship’s footman, was sent up by one of his

fellow-servants for his mistress’s fan, for her ladyship by this time

began to feel the heat oppressive. She had had a day of considerable

toil and anxiety, and was consequently in what might be termed a state

of flustration.

Now, when Mr. Jones ascended the stairs, in search of the fan in

question, he was a little surprised at hearing a sort of subdued noise

in one of the upstair rooms.

James Jones was a cautious, careful man――so when the sounds, which

were altogether new and strange to him, fell upon his ears, he came to

a sudden halt and listened more intently.

Some one was evidently moving about in an adjoining apartment: of that

he felt perfectly well assured.

Who could it be? was the very natural question he asked himself. Not

any one of the visitors, for they were all below――probably it might be

one of the maid servants. The door of the room was partially open, and

through the crevice of this he peeped in. He then saw the figure of a

man moving about in what he deemed a stealthy manner.

Mr. Jones was surprised――indeed, it might be said astounded.

From what he could make out, the person in the room was a short

elderly man, with a long coat and a sort of wide-awake hat.

“Haint up to no good, I fancy,” murmured James Jones; “leastways

that’s my ’pinion. Who the devil can he be, and what brings him here?”

He peered through the crevice of the door, and saw the suspicious-looking

party lay his hands on some trinkets, and place them in one of the

capacious pockets of his coat.

“Well, I’m blowed,” murmured the astonished footman, “if this ere

don’t take the wind out of me entirely. Why, hang it, the fellow’s a

thief or a burglar, as sure as my name’s Jones! I’m blest if he aint

and no mistake――the audacious circumventing scoundrel!”

It was as plain as a pikestaff――the man was possessing himself of what

property he could lay his hands on; that was too evident.

Mr. Jones was a man of Patagonian proportions――he was tall, and

proportionately stout, with a broad pair of shoulders, and

unexceptionable calves.

In point of fact, he considered himself to be one of the chief

ornaments of the household; but despite his stalwart frame and

athletic limbs, he was what one might term “knocked silly” for a brief

space of time.

The situation in which he found himself was altogether an exceptional

one.

He was calmly contemplating a burglar or professional thief at work,

and James Jones was, as a matter of course, for the moment dumfounded.

The audacity of the man was beyond all bounds.

How he had contrived to effect an entrance into the apartment in

question was a matter the puzzled footman could not determine, but it

was plainly demonstrated that he was there.

“Well I never!” exclaimed Jones. “It seems altogether impossible, and

surpasses all belief, the contemptible, despicable little thief.”

The reader will doubtless be in no way surprised when we signify that

the robber to whom the footman alluded was none other than our old

acquaintance, Charles Peace, who, taking advantage of the family

gathering at Lady Marvlynn’s, had crept into the house to do a little

business on his own account while the festivities were at their

height, and had it not been for the little incident of the fan would

in all probability have escaped notice, and got clear off without

anybody being the wiser. As it was, however, the chances were against

him.

Mr. Jones opened the door and entered the apartment.

“Now, then, sir, what are you doing here?” he suddenly exclaimed.

Peace, whose back was towards the speaker, turned round and looked at

the footman.

“You audacious thieving scoundrel!” exclaimed the latter.

“Stand back!” cried Peace. “If you don’t, it’ll be the worse for you!”

As he uttered these words he drew from his pocket a life-preserver,

which he held menacingly forward.

James Jabez Jones was a brave man. To be threatened and insulted by a

contemptible little wretch like Peace was more than he could stand.

He rushed at once forward and laid hold of the burglar, who deftly

slipped from his grasp, and then with a cat-like spring made for the

half opened window of the bedroom.

Jones, who had not been prepared for this show of activity uttered a

growl of dissatisfaction, and in his turn flew towards the window.

Once more he laid his hands upon the culprit. Peace, who was at this

time kneeling on the sill of the window, preparatory to springing out,

now found his situation a desperate one.

He struck out with his life-preserver, but from the position he

occupied was unable to use it with anything like effect. With one hand

James Jones fairly grasped the collar of Peace’s coat, and with the

other he held the wrist of the burglar to prevent him from inflicting

any more blows with his weapon.

A determined struggle now took place, and our hero, much to his

chagrin, found that he was in the grasp of a formidable and powerful

antagonist.

“You just let go, you d――――d fool,” cried he, foaming with passion.

“Not if I know it,” returned James Jones. “No, my little beauty, don’t

think to get off, because it’s time your game was put a stop to. So

you are the chap as has been committing all these robberies. Glad to

make your acquaintance. There’s a good many as will be glad to see

you.”

“Are there?” cried Peace. “Are there, you ugly dirty flunkey.”

He hardly knew what to say bitter enough, but he was determined to run

any risk rather than be taken prisoner, and had he happened at this

time to be possessed of his revolver, the chances would have been that

James Jabez Jones would have received the contents of one or more

barrels: but he was without that useful weapon, and bitterly deplored

this fact.

Jones stuck to him like a leech, and the burglar found it impossible

to flee himself from his grasp.

Below him was the roof of the conservatory, in which Lord Fitzbogleton

and Arabella Lovejoyce were conversing, altogether heedless of the

scene that was taking place above them.

Peace threw his legs off the window-sill, electing to trust to chance.

He then hung suspended therefrom, held only by the powerful arms of

the footman, who strove to lift him up and drag him on to the sill.

This, however, he found to be an impossibility. Still, he was not

disposed to give up the struggle as hopeless.

Peace kept twisting and turning about, in the hope of wearing out his

tormentor, and, to say the truth, Mr. Jones soon gave symptoms of

distress, as they say in the sporting world; but, to his infinite

credit, however, he stuck manfully to his colours, or rather his

“man.”

Peace placed one of his knees against the wall of the house, and then

threw the upper portion of his body backwards.

This had the effect of forcing Mr. Jones partly through the window.

Indeed, he was nearly coming through bodily, so sudden and artful had

been his opponent’s movement.

It aint no good, you spiteful little reptile,” cried the footman. “You

aint a going to get off――so don’t think it.”

“Aint I,” sneeringly returned our hero, making such a hideous grimace

that the flunkey felt perfectly disgusted, “aint I, Mr. Yellowplush?

We’ll see presently. Oh, Lord, I wish I had――――” he paused suddenly.

“Yes, I dare say you do wish you were on the top of a Brixton

bus――eh?”

“Don’t you be so cheeky, Mr. Yellowplush, “cause you see I aint

accustomed to give in to the likes of you.”

“Aint you?”

“No, I aint, old ugly mug,” returned Peace, making a still more

hideous grimace.

“You’d do very well to grin through a horse collar, you would,”

remarked Jones. “Why don’t you try it? It’s a much more respectable

line of business than prigging, I should say.”

Mr. Jones found his strength giving way. He did not like to leave

go――nevertheless he called out for assistance.

At this particular time a grand piece was being performed by Signor

Maronski and two of his pupils, and it was of so furious a character

that the dulcet voice of James Jabez Jones was drowned thereby.

Nevertheless, when our hero heard the footman shout out he was

perfectly furious and driven almost to desperation.

He placed both knees against the brickwork and gave his body a sudden

and violent jerk. The effect was magical.

James Jabez Jones lost his equilibrium, and he and the burglar fell

together in a deadly grasp.

A crash followed immediately; the glass of the greenhouse was shivered

into a thousand fragments, and two men fell upon the tesselated

pavement. In their passage pots and flowers were upset, and worse than

all the hat worn by Lord Fitzbogleton was forced over his eyes, where

it remained like an extinguisher, his lordship at the same time being

knocked over by the concussion, and a scene took place which I shall

find it difficult to describe.

In the first place Arabella Lovejoyce, who was under the impression

that a thunderbolt had fallen, uttered a series of piercing screams.

The company in the further room rose from their seats and rushed

pell-mell towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded, and in a

moment the green-house and the adjoining room were filled with people

with anxious and inquiring faces.

The charming Arabella fainted in the arms of Major Smithers Smythe; on

the hard pavement of the conservatory lay Charles Peace, stunned and

motionless, and at a short distance from him was the prostrate form of

James Jabez Jones, with pieces of glass sticking in his unmentionables,

and his white stockings stained with blood from the same cause.

Poor fellow, his appearance was rueful in the extreme, but he was not

reduced to a comatose state, albeit he was terribly bruised, and was

aching in every limb.

Lord Fitzbogleton was making desperate efforts to get his head out of

his hat, but at present had not been successful. The broken

flower-pots were strewn around in confusion, and the wreck was

altogether perfectly appalling.

“For mercy’s sake, gentlemen, do tell me what is the matter,” cried

Lady Marvlynn. “What dreadful accident has occurred? And my poor dear

Arabella,” she murmured, as she caught sight of her protegee; “pray

bring her into the house, major, and let the dear girl be attended to.

Oh! merciful heaven, but this is indeed dreadful.”

Arabella Lovejoyce was carried into the house, and placed upon one of

the couches, where restoratives were applied.

Lady Marvlynn returned to the conservatory.

“What is the matter?” she again cried, in a beseeching tone. “For

mercy’s sake do speak, some one of you, and explain this dreadful

business!”

“My dear Lady Marvlynn,” said Lord Chetwynd, “we none of us are able

to explain the meaning of this disaster――for such I take it to be.”

“Will somebody help me off with this hat?” cried Lord Fitzbogleton,

his voice sounding like some pantomimist behind a mask, only a little

more muffled.

Two or three gentlemen hastened to the unfortunate nobleman’s

assistance, and after several efforts the hat was removed.

“Now, then, we shall be able to learn something about the accident,”

said Captain Crasher.

“I know nothing about it, no more than you do,” returned Fitzbogleton.

“James,” said Lady Marvlynn, “what is the meaning of this? You are

wounded and bleeding.”

“Yes, my lady; I am cut about terribly.”

“So he is, poor man. Oh, how very dreadful!” chorused half-a-dozen

fair beauties.

“Dweadful indeed,” said Fitzbogleton. “It’s a mercy I’ve escaped with

my life. As it is, I am not at all sure my head is still on my

shoulders. But where――oh, where is Awabella?”

“In the next room. Go and see how she is――there’s a good man,” said

the hostess.

His lordship went at once.

“Now, James, tell me how this occurred――but you are bleeding, and

perhaps seriously hurt.”

“It’s the glass, my lady, but I’ve picked out all the pieces I could

find. And who is this strange person?” said his mistress, glancing at

Peace.

“He’s been the cause of it all, my lady. He’s a robber, a thief, a

burglar, and I caught him taking a lot of jewellery from one of the

upstair rooms. I rushed forward and collared him, then he threw

himself out of the window, and I had a hard job to hold him.”

“And did you let him go after that?” inquired Crasher.

“No, sir, I wasn’t likely to do that. I stuck to him and he pitched

himself backwards. I lost my balance, and we both fell through the

conservatory.”

“Well, I never heard of such a thing――a burglar in the house, a

ruffian of this nature in our midst,” ejaculated Sir Eric Batershall.

“But you’ve done your duty and deserve the highest possible praise.”

Peace, who had by this time partially recovered, heard the latter part

of the conversation; he deemed it prudent, however, to remain as if

insensible.

He had a large bump on the back of his head, and was in great pain,

but he bore this without even a groan or sigh.

“You had better have your wounds dressed, James,” said Lady Marvlynn,

“after which you will be able to give us a more lucid and detailed

description of all that has taken place.”

A medical gentleman who happened to be one of the party made an

examination of Mr. Jones’s injuries, which he said were fortunately

but of a superficial nature. When this had been done he turned his

attention to the other patient.

Charles Peace was lifted up and placed on his legs, whereupon he

uttered a deep groan.

“Perhaps he is mortally wounded, poor fellow,” cried Miss Fagg.

“Poor fellow, indeed!” exclaimed several. “A scoundrel like him is not

worthy of sympathy.”

But Charles Peace, beyond the bump on his head and divers and sundry

other bruises, was not so very bad after all, but he pretended to be

at death’s door.

This was done in the first place to excite sympathy, and in the next

to gain time.

“We shall have to attend to this man,” said the doctor. “After which

you will hand him over to the officers of justice, I presume.”

This last query was addressed to Lady Marvlynn.

“Oh, yes, of course. I suppose so.”

“You have no other alternative, my lady,” said Sir William

Leathbridge. “The case is clear enough against him. Some of the

articles he has purloined have been taken from his pocket.”

“Ah, just so. Dear me, what an extraordinary thing that a burglary

should have been carried out while so many persons were in the house.”

Peace had a plaister put upon his head by his medical attendant, and

pretended to be so seriously injured otherwise that he could scarcely

walk.

He was left for a few moments in the conservatory, in which were two

or three young ladies of the company, who remained, possibly, to have

a good look at so celebrated a character, for they felt certain he was

celebrated, although none present had the faintest notion who he was.

He crept towards the door of the conservatory, unfastened it, and then

flew across the grounds, in the rear of lady Marvlynn’s house.

“He’s gone!” cried the ladies, “gone! We thought he could not move.”

“Gone!” exclaimed James Jones. “The scoundrel!” And away the wounded

footman went to give chase to the fugitive.

Peace soon convinced his pursuer that he was fleet of foot. He ran

round the grounds and made for the side gate.

Jones, who soon guessed his intention, sought to intercept him――which

he succeeded in doing before he gained the gate.

CHAPTER CXLI.

THE VALIANT FOOTMAN AND THE DESPERATE BURGLAR――THE PRISONER IN THE

STABLE――UNEXPECTED RELEASE.

Lady Marvlynn’s guests were doomed to experience another alarm.

It was soon made apparent that the wounded burglar had attempted to

make his escape, and some of them were under the impression that it

did not much matter if he succeeded in doing so, while others were

most anxious for him to be brought to the bar of justice upon public

grounds.

Some of the gentlemen volunteered to give chase, and sallied forth,

and of course took the wrong direction.

One energetic young man, partly owing to his haste and partly to the

darkness, was brought suddenly to a standstill by his neck coming in

contact with a clothesline which ran from wall to wall in the back

garden.

His neck came with considerable force against this, and he hit out

right and left with his clenched fists at some antagonist who, he

believed, was endeavouring to garotte him. His appearance was so

comic, as well as the circumstances, that his friends could not

refrain from a hearty laugh at his expense, and he afterwards declared

that he fully believed that some one was garrotting him, and that he

was fighting for his life.

Meanwhile, while this and a number of other incidents were taking

place, Mr. Jones had come up with Charles Peace, who was once more in

the valiant footman’s grasp.

Peace now fought like a tiger; he threw himself down and kicked his

assailant unmercifully, and the chances were that he would have got

the better of Jones had not the stableman come to the rescue.

“He’s the most determined little brute that mortal man ever set eyes

on,” remarked James Jones. “He is the very devil himself, I do

believe.”

“We’ll devil him,” returned the stableman. “The best way to serve a

chap of this sort is to prevent him from doing further mischief. He’s

a kicker, you see, and wants the kicking-strap put on.”

And with these words the man fastened Peace’s legs together with a

strap, after which he pinioned his arms with a rope.

When this had been done, he said――

“Now, Jem, we’ll carry him into the stable, and lock him in till we

get a bobby or two to look arter him.”

“You cowardly scoundrels!” exclaimed Peace, in a paroxysm of rage,

“you shall suffer for this.”

“Go on, guv’nor, take your fill of abuse,” returned the stableman.

“Did your mother have any more of your sort?”

Peace was carried into the stable and bound to a post. Then the stable

door was locked on him, and he was left to his reflections which were

anything but of an agreeable nature.

Now, all this had been done in an incredibly brief space of time, and

Mr. Jones considered it very cleverly done――all things considered,

for, smarting as he was from the cuts and bruises he had received in

the recent conflict, he very naturally enough bore our hero no

goodwill, and it would have caused our footman great mortification of

the little scoundrel, or devil as he termed him, had succeeded in

getting clear off after the trouble he (Mr. Jones) had been at.

He returned to the house and made his mistress acquainted with all

that had happened.

“Dear me!” said Lady Marvlynn; “but upon my word, James, I hardly

think you were justified in binding the man.”

“You should have seen him kick and fight, and even try to bite. What

could we do with such a――devil?” he was going to say, but he

substituted ruffian instead.

[Sidenote: No. 76.]

[Illustration: AVELINE AND LADY MARVLYNN LETTING PEACE OUT OF THE

STABLE.]

“Well, I confess I do not understand these things,” returned her

ladyship. “I hope and trust it is all right. It has so completely

upset me that I hardly know what I say or do.”

“I am going to send Peter for a policeman, if you please, ma’am.”

“Oh, indeed, eh――for a policeman.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Oh, very well, perhaps that is the best course. We can consult the

constable when he comes, and take his advice in the matter.”

“It rests with you, my lady.”

“Of course, certainly. Well do as you say――send for a policeman. How

are you now? Do you feel better?”

“Oh, yes, I am a little shaken of course, but am thankful that I

escaped as well as I did.”

“Yes, certainly, we are all thankful. I have reason to be grateful for

the energy and courage you have displayed. It will not be forgotten,

believe me. Neither is it likely to go unrewarded; but more of this

hereafter.”

James Jabez Jones bowed and took himself off. As Lady Marvlynn was

about returning to her guests she was met by Aveline.

“This ruffian is locked up in the stable, dear, and is not likely to

trouble us any more, I hope,” said Lady Marvlynn. “I know you will be

glad to hear that.”

“Oh yes, certainly,” stammered Aveline. “I suppose all will be glad.”

“Why what’s the matter, dear? You seem troubled.”

“I have a word or two to say to you in private.”

“Of course, my darling pet. Come into this room.”

She led her companion into a small apartment which had not been placed

at the disposal of the general company.

“This man whom you are about to give into charge for――burglary――for

housebreaking――――” she paused.

“Well, what of him?”

“Do you intend to charge him?”

“Do I? Well, I suppose so. You heard what the gentlemen said but just

now. I was bound to do so on public grounds.”

“There are private reasons for your not doing so.”

“For my not doing so? You surprise me, Aveline. Name them.”

“He is known to me.”

“I am astounded. Known to you?”

“Yes,” said Aveline, with something like sadness in her tones. “Years

ago he did me a service.”

“Impossible.”

“It is a fact. He was mainly instrumental in throwing a light on the

dark and, at that time, impenetrable mystery which hung over the house

of Ethalwood. He it was who gave Mr. Wrench the information which led

to his discovery of me.”

“His name is then――――”

“Charles Peace. Oh, Lady Marvlynn, I have every reason for believing

him to be a bad man, but I frankly confess I was quite unprepared for

this. I did not think he had sunk so low――that he was so callous――so

debased――but that is but little to the purpose just now. I have one

favour to ask.”

“What is it?”

“That you let him go about his business. Do this for my sake. I cannot

explain all the circumstances which lead up to this, but I say again

let him go.”

“You must be mistaken, my dear. It cannot possibly be the man to whom

you allude.”

“I am not mistaken,” said Aveline. “I saw his face distinctly as he

stood in the greenhouse. Time has not improved its expression; but it

was too familiar to me years and years ago for me to make a mistake,

but if you doubt it I will convince you.”

“How?”

“Simply by our both going to the stable together.”

“We will do so, by all means, if you wish it.”

“I do wish it. I desire to do so most earnestly.”

“Your word is law with me,” cried Lady Marvlynn, who at once left the

room and summoned Mr. Jones.

“I wish to see the prisoner, James,” said she; “give me the key of the

stable.”

“You would not go alone, my lady?” said the footman.

“I am not afraid of this man; give me the key.”

The sagacious flunkey was surprised, but he handed his mistress the

key without any further observation.

Lady Marvlynn returned to Aveline.

“Now, dear, we will proceed thither at once; that is if you are not

afraid to face this tiger,” for such Jones calls him.

“Oh, dear, no, I am not afraid.”

The two ladies hurried along till they had reached the temporary

prison-house of Charles Peace. The lock was turned, the door opened,

then they entered, closing the door after them.

Lady Marvlynn, who had taken the precautions to provide herself with a

flat-glass lantern, now turned its rays full upon the features of the

imprisoned man, who was, as already stated, tied to a post, having

been previously bound hand and foot.

Peace at this time looked the most miserable dejected wretch it was

possible to conceive, and those who were not very well acquainted with

his features would have found it impossible to recognise him, but

Aveline, or rather Lady Batershall, at once saw that the wretched

criminal was the same person she had known in the earlier period of

her life.

She started back, and exclaimed in a subdued tone――

“It is he; but oh, how strangely altered!”

At the sound of her voice Charles Peace became deeply moved, albeit he

strove to maintain an air of bravado.

“And has it come to this, you unscrupulous abandoned man?” said

Aveline. “A common robber――a disgrace to society.”

“I’m ill――have been cruelly treated――and don’t care what becomes of

me,” whined Peace, in a cringing tone. “Taunt me and upbraid me as you

please. I am powerless, and am at your mercy.”

“Yes, at our mercy,” said Lady Marvlynn, turning towards her female

companion and regarding her with an enquiring look. “Poor wretch, he

is at our mercy, and is, moreover, in a sorry plight.”

“I don’t know you, madam,” observed Peace, “but I think if I am to

judge from appearances, that you are kind and tender-hearted. The

other lady I know perfectly well, and she owes me a deep debt of

gratitude, and ought not to upbraid me.”

“She does not do so,” returned Lady Marvlynn.

“She does not? Well perhaps I am mistaken. But you will admit that it

is hard to be treated in this merciless cruel way. Let Aveline

Gatliffe speak for herself.”

“She is no longer Mrs. Gatliffe but a lady of title.”

“I know that, and who caused her to be recognised as a lady of title?

People in this world soon forget past favours.”

“I do not, sir,” cried Lady Batershall, with something approaching to

hauteur in her manner, “be less personal in your observations. I find

you here a criminal, a thief, an outcast, but at the same time I am

ready and willing to render you whatever service lies in my power.

Gracious heaven, how terrible is all this! Tell me what you desire me

to do.”

“I want to be free. If I am given into custody, I am a ruined man, but

if you let me free――――”

“Well, what then? Will you promise me to abandon your present course?

Oh! for mercy’s sake tell me that you will reform and lead a new

life.”

“I will――I promise,” cried Peace, in a hypocritical whining tone, “I

hereby solemnly swear――――”

“Do not swear――there is no need for that,” interrupted the gentle

Aveline. “Give me your word and keep it――that is all I need.”

“I do give you my word. Oh, my lady, have pity on me! My only hope is

in you. Remember that mercy is one of the most divine attributes which

a woman or a man possesses. Think of my poor wife――of my family, and

all who belong to me. You cannot find it in your heart to bring ruin

and disgrace upon me and mine.”

“I am very sad, and cannot express to you my feeling of sorrow and the

miserable state of dejection all this occasions me, dear,” said Lady

Batershall, not taking any heed of Peace’s words, but addressing

herself to her companion. “This man I knew years and years ago. At one

time he was a respectable member of society――at least so I deemed him.

Judge my horror at this night’s proceedings――a common robber, a

ruffian! It is almost incredible.”

“It’s no use going on like that,” whined Peace. “You don’t know how I

have been tempted――what troubles I am surrounded with. What’s the use

of talking of the past, or saying what I was and what I am? Do you

think I want to hear about my former life? It is over. I am as you see

me just now, in the depths of trouble. If you can serve me, which I

very well know you can――do it for old acquaintance sake. There, that’s

plain enough, aint it?”

“Oh, you bad, wicked man!” exclaimed Lady Marvlynn; “but there, I

won’t say any more upon that head.”

“Are you the mistress of this house?” inquired Peace.

“Yes, I am.”

“Very good; and do you intend to give me in charge? Say yes or no,

that I may know what I am to expect.”

“For the sake of this dear lady, I will not give you in charge unless

I am forced to do so.”

“Forced! Who is likely to force you?”

“No one, I hope.”

“And I hope the same. You need not be afraid. I intend to reform if

you will only let me have a chance of doing so.”

“Are you sincere?”

“Of course I am. I’ll lead a new life after this. I’ve seen the error

of my ways, and promise to be as straight as an arrow for the future;

only take compassion one me and release me from this miserable

bondage. I ache in every limb, and my head goes throbbing like

anything. Do cut the cords that confine me; you’ll never regret it. My

dear good creatures, have compassion on a miserable wretch who appeals

to you, and will for the future be as honest and upright as the day.

No time is to be lost if you wish to save me, which I feel assured you

do. Hesitate no longer, or it may be too late.”

“Indeed there is some reason in what he says, dear,” observed the

kind-hearted Lady Marvlynn.

“I will hesitate no longer,” cried Aveline. “Come what may, this man

must be free.”

Without further ado Aveline at once proceeded to unbind the rope which

confined Charles Peace, who in a minute or so was freed from the post,

the strap was then removed from his feet, the cord which confined his

arms was undone, and once more he had free use of his limbs.

“I shall remember this act of kindness to the last and latest hour of

my life,” said he. “Oh, my good angels, for such indeed you are,

accept my most sincere and heartfelt thanks.”

“Now go, say no more in the way of grateful expression. Time presses;

hence away at once without further hesitation,” exclaimed Lady

Batershall, “and remember your promise.”

“Be assured of that. I shall never forget it.”

Aveline opened the stable door, and Charles Peace passed through. The

garden gate was flung open, and the burglar ran at the top of his

speed down the lane which skirted Lady Marvlynn’s palatial residence.

Both ladies listened intently to the sounds of his retreating

footsteps, and when these were no longer heard, Lady Batershall

pressed her hand to her side and exclaimed, in a low breathless tone――

“Heaven be praised, he is free!”

“Ah! my dear,” said her companion, “I know this has been a sore trial

for you.”

“It has――I freely confess it,” was the quiet rejoinder. “I am quite

unnerved, and scarcely know what I am doing.”

“The horribly debased, lost man!”

“But he will reform――I do not think there is any doubt about that.”

“I hope so. I wish I could feel assured of it.”

“I feel it difficult to believe that he could have sunk so low as

this.”

“Do not take on so, dear. Let us hope for the best. I should never

have forgiven myself if I had been constrained to hand him over to the

officers of justice, but I expect we shall be censured by our

friends.”

“I expect so too,” returned Aveline, “but that we must submit to with

the best grace we can. Ah! we shall be censured――there is but little

doubt upon that subject.”

A loud ring at the bell was now given by somebody outside, and upon

the mistress of the house opening the gate a policeman presented

himself.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lady Marvlynn, “you have come.”

“Yes, my lady. There has been an attempted robbery――a burglary in your

house, I understand?”

“Ahem, yes. A very unfortunate affair indeed.”

“Where is the prisoner?” was the next question.

“He was confined in the stable, but has escaped.”

“Escaped!” cried the constable. “How long since?”

“Oh, some little time back, but come in.”

The policeman entered, and glanced in every direction as he did so.

“How did he contrive to make his escape, and which road has he taken I

wonder; but we’ll soon hunt him down.”

“One moment, if you please,” said Lady Marvlynn. “This man, the

burglar, I have let go free, as under no circumstances whatever should

I have charged him. I am sorry to have given you needless

trouble――regret this very much, but as I did not intend to prosecute,

well, you see, I let him go.”

“Umph! Well, you know best, my lady, but I think you will have reason

to regret it.”

“I hope not, but we will talk this matter over presently. Come in and

have some refreshment. James Jones will be able to give you all the

particulars.”

“Who is James Jones?”

“My footman.”

“Oh, I see; but had I not better see if I can recapture the

scoundrel?”

“No. Do as I bid you. Come into the house.”

Lady Marvlynn led the way, the officer of the law following. He was

presently conducted into the servants’ hall, where he found a

well-spread table.

He thought the circumstance a little singular, and could not very well

account in anything like a satisfactory manner for the release of the

culprit, but he was wise enough to keep his thoughts to himself――to

hear, see, and say nothing.

CHAPTER CXLII.

CHARLES PEACE RETURNS HOME――THE BARRISTER’S STORY.

Charles Peace, after his release from the stable, succeeded in getting

out of the neighbourhood without attracting the attention of any

officious or inquiring policeman.

Used as he had been throughout his lawless career to dangerous escapes

and alternations of fortune, this last adventure appeared to make so

deep an impression on him that he was quite unnerved.

This is saying a great deal, seeing that he was a man of so

essentially a callous nature that the better instincts of his nature

were submerged beneath an amount of guilt and atrocity, which, to a

casual observer, would appear to be almost incredible.

He could not fail to acknowledge to himself that he had a desperate

struggle and a narrow escape. Had Lady Marvlynn elected to give him

into custody he knew perfectly well that the hangman’s halter awaited

him, for Lady Batershall knew perfectly well who he was, and she was

too truthful by nature to screen him by any false statements.

He did not for a moment doubt that she would have every wish to do so,

but it would become an impossibility if he had been sent for trial.

The world would then know that the respectable elderly gentleman in

the Evalina-road, who passed as Mr. Thompson, was the murderer of Mr.

Dyson, of Banner-cross.

As Peace thought of this he turned pale and trembled for the future.

He looked at this time a most pitiable object――his head throbbed with

pain, and in addition to this his legs and shoulders bore upon them

many severe bruises, the result of his fall through the conservatory.

He was, however, not much injured by the broken glass, as his

antagonist, the stalwart footman, was the first to fall through the

roof of the conservatory, nevertheless he was in a most dilapidated

condition, and felt dispirited and sick of heart.

When he had got out of the neighbourhood he betook himself to a small

coffee-shop. Here he had some refreshment, and begged permission to go

into one of the bedrooms to wash himself, alleging as an excuse that

he had been engaged in a fight with some one who had insulted him.

Whether the coffee-house keeper believed his story it would not be so

easy to say; however, he affected to do so. The house he kept was not

of very good repute, being, in fact, one to which thieves resorted.

Peace, after a wash up, together with a plentiful application of cold

water to his head, felt a little better, and after swallowing his

coffee and muffin, once more proceeded on his journey.

He was now passable in his external appearance, so much so as not to

attract attention; so in the course of half an hour after he had left

the coffee-shop he went to the bar of a roadside public and swallowed

two stiff glasses of brandy and water.

As we have already indicated he was never at any time a drinking man,

but, as he afterwards declared, he was so “limp” on this occasion that

he was fain to have recourse to stimulants to wind himself up.

We need not follow his footsteps further――it will be enough to note

that he reached his residence in safety. Lady Marvlynn and Aveline

returned to the grand room, in which the guests were assembled.

An inquiry was made by several with regard to the prisoner, and a

general expression of astonishment very naturally followed, when they

were informed by the hostess that he had been set free.

“What!――let the scoundrel go?” exclaimed Colonel Snappe. “I never

heard of such a thing. Why, my dear Lady Marvlynn, what could you have

been thinking about?”

“He was contrite, and pleaded for mercy,” said her ladyship, with a

shrug. “I suppose I have done wrong, but I could not find it in my

heart to detain him.”