"Yes, it is the same. Shall I show you the way?"

"Lord, no, 'oman! I ain't a baby! But I reckon you may toss me in a nightgown and nightcap before you go to bed yourself, for, you know, I come here right from the church, and, of course, didn't fetch any 'long o' me."

"I think you will find all those conveniences laid out on your bed," said Mrs. Force.

"All right! Good-night, ole 'oman!" And she kissed Mrs. Force, to that lady's dismay. "I'm sorry I had to make such a fuss in the church to-day, but I couldn't help it, and it is all for the best. Good-night, ole man! Lord, why, I feel just as if I had knowed you all the days of my life, and you was my own kinfolks! So here goes!" And she stood on tiptoes and pulled down Mr. Force's black-whiskered face and kissed him.

And he bore the punishment with much more fortitude than his wife had done.

Then the frank, rude, handsome creature, in whom there was no wickedness at all, took up her wax taper again, laughed, nodded and went out.

"Well, for a woman who has been robbed of her fortune and forsaken by her husband, she takes life quite cheerfully," said Elfrida Force, with a touch of sarcasm in her manner.

"It is her healthy constitution and happy, animal spirits that enables her to do so," said Abel Force, apologetically.

"She is very ill bred!" said Elfrida.

"That is her misfortune, not her fault, poor thing! But enough of her. How is our darling this evening?"

"Fast asleep, with a regular, normal pulse and respiration. To-morrow she will be quite restored, I think."

"Heaven grant it!" fervently exclaimed Abel Force.

Then he touched the timbre that was to summon Jake, to close up fenders and put out lights.

And then the husband and wife went upstairs together.

When they reached the landing, they were startled by a loud rapping on the inside of Mrs. Anglesea's door.

"She wants something that has been forgotten, I suppose. Go on, Abel, and I will stop and see what she requires," said Elfrida Force.

And the gentleman passed on to his apartments, while the lady paused at their visitor's door.

"Say! Hi! Ole 'oman! You! I want you!" cried the guest, from within, as the lady approached.

"Well, what is it?" inquired Elfrida Force.

"Is your ole man outside?"

"No; he has gone to his room."

"Then it's all right, and I can come out," replied the woman, opening the door and standing there in her ascension robes, while she held up, at arm's length, one of Elfrida's own fine cambric nightdresses, and exclaimed:

"Look here, I say! I can't get into this thing! Why, look at me and look at it! You might's well try to squeeze a pumpkin into a pint pot, as me in it!"

Mrs. Force saw, and recognized the dilemma. The stout woman could not wear one of her night robes; and, if not one of hers, certainly not one of Miss Meeke's, or of either the young girls'—all of which were smaller than her own. What was to be done now?

The lady stood confounded for a moment, and then a bright thought struck her.

"I will find one to fit you, and bring it," she said.

"That's you!" exclaimed the woman.

Elfrida Force turned away and went into her own room to get the wax taper which her husband had carried there, and then she went up into the garret and waked up old Aunt Lucy, who was even stouter than Mrs. Anglesea, and who had a treasure that was the pride of her heart—a small chest, full of fine, snow-white underclothing, that was laid up in lavender, and only taken out to be shown to acquaintances, but never worn.

When Luce was roused out of her sleep, to see her mistress standing over her, with a taper in her hand, she was frightened half out of her wits at—she knew not what, but she instinctively gasped out:

"It's a habit dey gibs deirselves—nuffin' 'tall but a habit dey gibs deirselves!"

"Luce, wake up! I want you to do me a favor."

"Yes, mist'ess! It's a hab——" But a wide gape cut off her proverb.

"Luce! I want you to be so kind as to lend Mrs. Anglesea one of your best, new nightdresses," said the lady.

"Yes, mist'ess, nightgowns. It a hab——You!" with another yawn.

It was full ten minutes before the lady could bring the half-sleeping woman to a consciousness of what was wanted.

Then, indeed, Luce was all attention and alertness, proud to accommodate the visitor. She went to her chest and opened it, filling the room with the fragrance of sweet herbs, and she selected her finest gown, "the one trimmed with torture lace," as she called it, meaning torchon, and she offered to take it herself down to the stranger. But Mrs. Force would not permit her to do that, and, with the gown over her arm, she went downstairs and into the room of her guest.

"Now, then, this here is something like a gownd," said Mrs. Anglesea, admiringly. "And, oh, sakes! don't it smell sweet! Hoome! Ah-h-h!" she exclaimed, pressing the garment up to her face and strongly inhaling its fragrance.

"Good-night," said the hostess, turning away.

"Good-night! Hoome—ah-h-h! how sweet it is!"

"And what a thorough animal you are!" thought the lady, as she left the happy creature delighting herself in the fragrance of lavender and amber.

One more visit Mrs. Force made before she sought her own pillow. She went into Odalite's room, and found her sleeping quietly, with little Elva, in a warm wrapper, lying in an easy chair by her side.

"Why, my little darling, why are you not in bed?" inquired the lady.

"Oh, mamma, because I thought I would sit here with Odalite until you should come, to see if she should want anything."

"It was a kind thought, my tender, little love; but now you may go to bed. Kiss me. God bless you, little tender heart!"

And so, with love and kisses and blessings, Elfrida Force dismissed her gentlest child to rest.

Then she bent over Odalite, and saw that she was sleeping well and breathing easily. She took her hand, and found that her skin was cool and moist, and her pulse was regular.

She kissed the sleeper on the brow, and then knelt and prayed for pardon of that long-past folly, as she prayed daily and nightly; she prayed for protection for those she loved from the machinations of the evil and the designing, and for guidance and help in her perplexities and sorrows. When she finished, she arose and left the chamber.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING

Mrs. Anglesea was up with the sun the next morning. She replenished the smoldering fire from wood that she found in a box at the bottom of the closet. Then she threw open the front and side windows of her corner room, and looked out on the bright, crisp, winter morning.

The ground and the bare trees were glistening with white frost, and beyond and below stretched the blue waters of the bay, intensely blue now under the clear, winter sky.

"It's a pretty place, but, whewew! how cold!" she said, with a shudder, as she pulled down the sash of the last window and turned to the fire.

She could hardly persuade herself to leave it, but, fearing she might be late for breakfast, she at length arose, and made her toilet, hastily and carelessly, with a few splashes of water on her face and neck and a hasty drying, interrupted in the middle to press the lavender-scented white damask to her face to inhale its fragrance. Then she ran a comb through the thick locks of her curly hair, which she finally bunched up into a big mass at the back of her head. At last she put on her clothes, and left her room, noisily banging the door in closing it.

There was no one in the upper hall. All the chamber doors leading from it were shut.

"I reckon they are all at breakfast, and the coffee will be stark cold when I get there. I wish they had waked me up, but I reckon they thought I was tired. I am never too tired to eat," she muttered to herself as she went downstairs.

She hurried directly to the dining room, where she found a fine, open fire burning, and Luce engaged in setting the table.

"Why, Lord!" said the visitor. "Ain't you had breakfast yet? I thought as I should be ever so late!"

"Dear me, ma'am! Is it you? W'y didn't you ring?" inquired, in turn, the surprised negro woman.

"Ring? What should I ring for?" demanded the visitor, drawing a chair before the blazing fire, seating herself, putting her feet upon the fender, and pulling up the edge of her skirt to toast her shins.

Luce paused in her task of placing the knives and forks to look at the vandal.

"Why, ma'am, for somebody to come an' wait on yer, an' fix the fire, an' fetch hot water, an' that," she said.

"Fiddle-de-dee! Wait on your granny!" said the stranger, holding her chubby hands over the fire, and rubbing them, with a sense of comfort.

But Luce had finished placing the knives and forks, and was now bringing china from a corner buffet.

"What's that you have got in your hand there? Is it the sugar pot?" asked the intruder.

"Yes, ma'am," answered the perplexed woman.

"Hold it here to me."

Luce complied, and the visitor took the sugar bowl and poured from it a handful of white lumps, and returned it, saying:

"I reckon I'll champ this sugar to pass away the time while I'm waiting for 'em to come down."

"Ain't you afeared it will take away your appetite for breakfast, ma'am?" inquired Luce.

"Take away my appetite? Ho! ho! ho! That's a good un!" chuckled the guest, as she crunched the sugar in her strong, white teeth.

"Don't yer think as yer'd be more comferable in de parlor, ma'am? Dere's a splendid fire burning dere," suggested Luce.

"No. I'm all right here. I feel just as 'snug as a bug in a rug.' Don't mind, nigger. Go on and do your work."

"Nigger!" Luce had never been so insulted in all her life before, yet she saw that the good-natured creature who was toasting herself before the fire did not mean to insult her.

"Say! I s'pose you've heard all about me, haven't you?" inquired the latter.

"Ma'am?" questioned Luce, hardly knowing how to answer.

"I say, you know who I am, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. You are Col. Anglesea's lady," promptly replied Luce.

"'Col. Anglesea's lady?' What do you mean by that, nigger? I am Col. Anglesea's wife, I'd have you to know! Now, what did you mean by 'lady'?" demanded the stranger, with spirit.

"I am sure, ma'am, I didn't mean no offense wotsomdever. I meant to be more 'spectful in sayin' lady," soothingly replied Luce.

"Well, then, never do you call me a 'lady.' 'Lady' is too unsartain a word. I'm that man's wife, not 'lady.'"

"That's true, ma'am, an' I'm sorry as I made a mistake," said Luce, more humbly, because of a secret irony.

"I s'pose you've heard all about that rumpus in the church?"

"Somefin' of it, ma'am," discreetly observed Luce.

"Only something of it? Well, then, I will tell you all about it. It will pass away the time while waiting for breakfast."

Luce, divided between her curiosity and her love of gossip on the one hand, and her conscientious sense of propriety on the other, made no direct reply.

Mrs. Anglesea began at the beginning and rehearsed all her wrongs, just as she had done to the family in the drawing room on the previous evening.

Luce went in and out between the kitchen and the dining room, and to and fro between the sideboard, the buffet and the table, with a:

"'Scuse, ma'am," every time she went out of hearing.

"How in the deuce can you attend to anything I am saying if you keep jumping around so?" demanded the narrator.

"'Scuse me, ma'am; I hears yer good enough, thank yer, ma'am; an' I has to finish settin' de table," pleaded the woman.

"But you make me fidgety, having to turn my head around every minute after you."

"Werry sorry, ma'am, but de family will 'spect de breakfas' to be ready for 'em. It's—it's a habit dey gibs deirselbes, yer see, ma'am," pleaded Luce. And at the same moment Jake appeared, with a large waiter in his hands, on which were set the hot edibles to be arranged on the table.

With the help of Luce, he put them all in place, and then took a big, brass bell, and rang it with all his might close to the head of the guest.

"Lord bless us! I like music, but not that sort!" cried the latter, clapping her fat hands over the thick, black curls that covered her ears.

Mr. and Mrs. Force came in, followed by all the family, with the exception of Odalite, who was still in bed, and little Elva, who had volunteered to stay with her.

"Oh, you are here, Mrs. Anglesea? I did not know. I had just sent a servant to call you to breakfast. I hope you slept well?" said the hostess, pleasantly.

"Splendid! Never turned in my bed all night. And how are you? And how is the young gal this morning?" inquired the visitor.

"We are all well, thank you. Will you take this seat, nearest the fire?"

"Oh, anywheres convenient. I don't care where I sit."

The other members of the family party greeted the visitor, and then seated themselves at the table.

The visitor was voluble, as usual, praising everything she tasted, and eating heartily of every dish.

When they all arose from the table, she shook the crumbs off her lap on the floor, turned to her hostess, and said:

"Now, old 'oman, if you've got any sewing to do, here's the hands that can do it. I ain't one to sit down and eat the bread of idleness, I tell you. So, if you have got any stockings to darn, or shirts to patch, or anything else to be done in the way of making or mending, just give it to me, and I'll earn my keep, I tell you."

Mrs. Force was so taken by surprise at this speech that she had to pause before replying:

"I thank you very much, but I should not like to trouble you."

"Trouble! Why, you precious ninny, it would be the greatest of pleasure to me. Ain't I making myself at home here? Same as one of you? Go along with you! Get me something to do!"

"Many thanks, but I fear I cannot find anything to-day."

"I'll find something, mamma," Wynnette exclaimed, coming to the rescue. Turning to Mrs. Anglesea, she said:

"Dear ma'am, wouldn't you like to come into the schoolroom with Miss Meeke and me and help us to tie up parcels for Christmas presents to the colored people?"

"Of course I will, if you want me to. But, Lord, that's no work!"

"Oh, yes, it is. There are more than twenty parcels, little and big. And all the stores are in large bundles, and we have got to divide them fairly, and tie them up, and write the names on them. It will take us all the morning."

"All right; I will go 'long of you, and help with the dividing and tying up. I don't know about the names. I ain't very good at writing," said the guest, allowing herself to be carried off by Wynnette.

"How in the name of the Inscrutable could Anglesea ever have been tempted to marry such a woman? Was he drunk, I wonder?" whispered Abel Force to his wife.

The lady shook her head.

"I have given it up," she replied.

Mrs. Force went upstairs, to send little Elva down to her breakfast, and to sit beside Odalite.

Mr. Force went into the little den at the back of the hall, where he kept his writing desk and account books and held interviews with his overseer or his attorney.



CHAPTER XXVII

CONFIRMATION FROM ST. SEBASTIAN

"I am going to ride over to Greenbushes this morning, sir; can I do anything for you before I go?" inquired Leonidas, entering the sanctum where the master of the house sat writing at his desk.

"My dear boy, is it absolutely necessary that you should go to Greenbushes to-day?"

"Oh, no, sir; not at all; nor will I go, if I can be of the least service to you by staying here."

"I am expecting our rector this morning. I am hoping that he will bring me some decisive news from St. Sebastian that may end this terrible suspense."

"'Suspense,' sir? Do you also think that there may be some doubt about the truth of Mrs. Anglesea's story?"

"When I look at the woman, and think of the man, I can scarcely believe her to be his wife. Why, she is illiterate and ill bred to the lowest degree!"

"I think she is infinitely above him!" indignantly exclaimed Le.

"In point of honesty, yes; for he is as despicable a miscreant as ever lived; but, still, not likely to have married such a woman. And it may be possible that there was no California marriage at all. Therefore I feel very anxious to get this telegram."

"But, sir, in case this woman who claims to be his wife has been deceived by a false marriage, and she is therefore not his wife, but his victim, and it should follow that the marriage ceremony performed yesterday should be legal——"

"It should not stand!" roared Abel Force, in sudden wrath. "It should be dissolved by law! In no case shall my daughter ever behold the face of that wretch again!"

"De Reberent Dr. Peters, sah, is waitin' to see yer," said Jake, putting his head into the door.

"Is there any one in the drawing room?"

"No, sah."

"Then show Dr. Peters into the drawing room, and tell him that I will see him there in a moment."

The man went to give his message.

Mr. Force put away his papers, locked his desk, and arose, saying:

"Come, Le; our suspense will be ended in another minute."

"I have been in painful suspense," answered the young man, as they went up the front hall, and entered the drawing room on the right hand side.

Dr. Peters arose and advanced to meet them.

"Good-morning, reverend sir; I am glad to see you. In one word, now: Have you an answer to your telegram?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"The marriage certificate shown you is genuine. It corresponds in every particular with the entry of the same date in the parish register of the church of St. Sebastian where the ceremony was performed."

"Thank Heaven! then my daughter is free!" exclaimed Abel Force.

"Here is the telegram—a very lengthy but quite satisfactory one," said the rector, drawing from his pocket a large coil of what looked like white measuring tape.

Abel Force took it and read it aloud. It need not be repeated here. Enough to say that it was conclusive.

"And the scoundrel knew that he had a living wife, when he led my daughter to the altar! Reverend sir, what should a father, in his righteous wrath, do with such a man?" demanded Abel Force, livid with rage.

"Leave him to the divine Providence," reverently replied the rector.

Abel Force ground his teeth; he felt more like becoming a volunteer instrument of the vengeance of divine Providence.

"A Christian would curb his passion and let the evildoer go his way," continued the rector.

"Then I am a sinner!" exclaimed Le, who had been turning red and white with every ebb and flow of emotion.

"A yielding to anger always tends to make bad worse," said Dr. Peters.

"Uncle," said Le—who always, it will be remembered, addressed his relative by this title—"have you any more commands for me?"

"No, my boy; I only wished you to stay to hear this telegram, if it should come. You have heard it, and now I will relieve you."

"Yes, I have heard it! I have heard it! Good-day, uncle! Good-day, Dr. Peters!" said the young man, rising.

"When will you be back, Le?" inquired Mr. Force.

"Some time this evening, I hope, sir; but don't wait for me," replied the midshipman, and, with another bow, he left the room.

"What is that lad thinking of?" anxiously inquired the rector.

"Nothing unworthy of my ward, or your pupil, reverend sir, we may be sure of that!" replied the squire.

"Young blood is hot and hasty!" sighed the good man.

As he spoke, the door opened, and Mrs. Force entered.

"Good-morning, Dr. Peters! I have just met Leonidas Force, who told me of your arrival, as he hurried from the house, but told me no more. I could not restrain my impatience. What answer, if any, is there to the telegram?" she eagerly inquired.

They told her.

"Thank Heaven!" she exclaimed, fervently, clasping her hands and sinking into the chair just vacated by Leonidas.

The serious walks side by side with the farcical.

The door opened unceremoniously, and Mrs. Anglesea entered, shaking her skirts to shake off ends of soft twine and scraps of lint or paper that stuck to her dress, and exclaimed:

"Well, I've got through with helping the young uns to tie them parcels, and, Lord! wa'n't there a lot of them! And I come downstairs to look for the ole 'oman, and they told me she was in here 'long of the parson, so I knowed you had come about the telegraph message; and how do you do, sir, this morning? And I hope you find yerself very well, and it's all right about the sitifikit and the parish register, eh?"

"They are all correct, madam, I believe—the certificate and the entries in the register perfectly corresponding," replied Dr. Peters.

"Oh, I knowed that; I never expected nothing else, of course. I only wanted the ole folks here to be satisfied as the gal had no right to my ole man, and would only ruinate herself, if she took him."

"Will you take a seat, ma'am?" inquired Mr. Force, rising and bringing forward a large, cushioned armchair.

"Lord, no! I don't want to disturb you! I only come to hear the upshot of this business! I went in the kitchen just now, and asked the cook if I could help her, and she said no; but I saw a heap of currants and raisins on the table to be picked for the plum pudding, and now I am going to help her to do it, whether or no! Well, I reckon I shall stay 'long o' you all till the spring, and try make myself useful and cheerful and contented, as it ain't never no use crying for spilt milk; and, then, I reckon as I can't get any of my money out'n that man—Lord! why, he's gambled it all away long a-merry-ago! I'll just go back to Wild Cats', and open a miners' boarding house! The boys won't let me want! And I s'pose by the time I make another pile my rascal will be coming back to me, to get hold of it! For that's the way they all do! But just let him, that's all! The boys would give him a short trial and a long rope, you bet! You needn't look so horrified, Mr. Parson. You just wait till some foreign beat comes and marries you, and then runs off with all your money, and then see how you'd feel!"

The aged husband of an old wife, the father of married sons and daughters, the grandfather of growing or grown-up boys and girls, could not, by any effort of imagination, put himself in the wrong wife's case; so he only answered by a deprecating bow.

"Well, now I must be going, if I mean to pick them dried currants and raisins for the plum pudding!" said the intruder, and she left the room as suddenly and unceremoniously as she had entered.

"What do you think of our guest, Dr. Peters?" inquired Mrs. Force.

"A rough, untrained, but well-meaning, woman, I should say," replied the rector.

"A mere good-natured animal, I should call her," added the squire.

"My dear, have you got through with your accounts?" inquired the lady.

"Yes, for the present."

"Then let us go into the parlor. It is so much pleasanter there. Come, Dr. Peters."

They left the room, and went into the cheerful, little parlor, usually occupied by Mrs. Force, and having her worktable and low chair in the corner between the open wood fire and the side window, with its pleasant view of the lawn and the woods.

Scarcely were they seated, however, when little Elva came in, first gave her hand to the old minister, who drew her toward him and kissed her cheek, and then went to her mother, and said:

"Mamma, Odalite is wide, wide awake now. She has had some tea, and she wants to see you."

"Very well, dear; I will go to her. You will excuse me, Dr. Peters?"

The rector replied with a bow and a smile.

The lady took the hand of the little girl, and they left the room together.

When they reached Odalite's chamber, Mrs. Force was surprised to see her eldest daughter up and dressed, and sitting in the armchair before the fire.

"My darling, I am so glad to see you so well recovered!" exclaimed the lady, pressing a kiss upon the forehead of her child, and then drawing a chair and seating herself by her side.

"Mamma," said Odalite, "I seem to have been in a trance, or a dream, ever since you gave me that composing draught! What was it—opium, hasheesh, amyle—what? And, mother, how much was real and how much was dream that I have passed through? It seems like the phantasmagoria of a midnight orgie—through which only one thing seems to stand out clearly—that I have had 'some outlet through thunder and lightning' into freedom! Mother, is it true? Am I free?"

"Yes, dearest dear, you are free!" replied the lady, in deep emotion.

"Oh, thank Heaven! Thank Heaven! Oh, I feel as if I could never thank Heaven enough!" exclaimed Odalite, convulsively clasping her hands.

There was silence between them for a few moments, and then Odalite, looking all around the room, and finding herself alone with her mother, dropped her voice to the tenderest murmur, and asked:

"But, mamma, sweet mamma, are you free? Are you free from that man's threats and persecutions?"

"Ah, my dear, I do not know! I do not know!" sighed the lady.

"Then, darling mother, if you are not free, I am not. I am your bondsmaid, and I am your hostage to that man for your deliverance from him. I wish to be nothing else, mamma. I do wish to give my whole life, if it be necessary, to secure your peace of mind."

"My own, own heavenly angel, the sacrifice will not be required. You have been once offered, and you have been wonderfully delivered. It is final, my darling. No victim was ever laid a second time upon the fire!"

"But yet you are not free, mamma?"

"I do not know. I cannot even conjecture what the monster's next move may be. But I do know this—that, whatever he does, or attempts to do, he will not be permitted to touch you, or even to see or to speak to you again!"

"Oh, I should be overjoyed to hear that, if only you were free from him, sweet mother!"

"My darling, the arm that delivered you is not shortened that it cannot save. For, Odalite, whatever the instrument might have been, it was the hand of Providence that saved you."

"I know it, mamma. And I will hope and trust. You never did any evil in your life. You have only suffered from evildoers. Why, on that account, should you continue to suffer? Yes, I will hope and trust. And, mamma, I have roused myself, and am going down to dinner to surprise papa. And then, oh, do let us try to recover the good, old days of peace and gladness that we had before the tempter and destroyer came. Who is downstairs besides our own family?"

"Dr. Peters is here. He brought confirmation of that monster's Californian marriage."

"Oh, I am very glad of that! I would have it confirmed and reconfirmed forever and ever. Who else is downstairs, mamma?"

"Mrs. Anglesea. Your father asked her to the house, that we might hear her statement in more detail. And she seems to like her quarters so well that I am inclined to think that she will stay just as long as she is permitted to do so."

"Well, mamma, let her stay. Poor woman! To be deserted by her husband! Is she very unhappy?"

"Not she! I should say that she is the most happily constituted human being I ever saw. She has the soundest health, the finest appetite, the keenest senses and the dullest sensibilities that I ever heard of. She has no more sentiment than if she ran upon four feet, instead of two! Give her full bodily comforts and pleasures, which she can feel and enjoy, and she will be perfectly happy."

"Oh, mamma, what a character!"

"But that she is very—what shall I say of her that will not seem harsh or uncharitable?"

"Very unsophisticated and very unconventional, mamma?" suggested Odalite.

"Yes, dear, that will do. But for those drawbacks, you may find her amusing."

"But perhaps she is more amusing on account of those drawbacks, mamma," suggested Odalite.

But her mother shuddered.

There was a little bustle at the chamber door, which opened suddenly.

Mrs. Force turned around, and exclaimed:

"Here comes Wynnette, delighted to see you up! And now, dear, I will leave you with your sister, and return to our visitors. You will be down to dinner, you say?"

"Oh, yes, mamma—certainly," said Odalite.

Mrs. Force kissed her daughter, and left the room.

"Mrs. Colonel is a whole regiment, I tell you, Odalite!" she heard Wynnette say, as she closed the door.

Odalite kept her word, and joined her family and friends in the drawing room just before dinner.

Her father met her halfway across the room, kissed her, and led her to a chair by the fire.

The rector came and gravely congratulated her.

Joshua, the bulldog, who had followed her from the hall, came and laid his honest head on her lap.

Lastly, Mrs. Col. Anglesea drew a chair to her side, sat down in it, took her hand, looked tenderly in her eyes, and said:

"You're not mad 'long o' me, are you, honey, for coming and raising a big rumpus in the church and stopping of the marriage, are you, now?"

"Angry with you? No, indeed! I am more grateful to you than words can express!" impulsively exclaimed Odalite.

"That's right! That's the proper sperrit, that is! Why, Lord, he ain't much, if he is a colonel into the army! It's only the Injun Army, anyways! And we know what the Injuns is! Leastways, we know what the Injuns is here, and I don't reckon they're any better out yonder, t'other side of the world! No, honey, he ain't much! Why, Lord, there are heaps of fine young fellows would be glad enough to get you! Why, there is that fine young fellow, that midshipman staying here! Why couldn't you fancy him, now? And lots of others! Let alone taking up with a man older and uglier than your own fath—I mean, than the parson! You've no call to hang your harp on a willow tree, on account of the likes of him!"

"Indeed, ma'am, I do not in the least regret Col. Anglesea," said Odalite, earnestly.

"Lord, don't you, sure enough? Then you wa'n't so very fond of him, after all? Oh, bother! there's that clang-clang of a dinner bell again!" said the speaker, stopping short in her speech.

"Shall I have the honor, madam?" inquired the master of the house, coming up and offering his arm to take her into the dining room.

The rector spent the evening at Mondreer, and then, as a snowstorm was threatened, he accepted his host's and hostess' invitation and stayed all night with them.

Leonidas Force did not return to Mondreer that evening, but the circumstance caused no surprise nor uneasiness, as the young master of Greenbushes was often detained by business to so late an hour that he spent the night at the place.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A STORM BREWING AT MISS SIBBY'S

"Now, tell the truth, and shame the devil, Roland Bayard! Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours?" inquired Miss Sibby, on the afternoon of the same day that witnessed the rector's visit to Mondreer.

"To tell you the truth, then, Aunt Sibby, I have been to Port Tobacco, waiting for a telegram."

"A telegram!"

"Yes, a telegram. After the wedding circus yesterday, the nobs decided to cuss the cost and send several miles of telegram to California, to find out the truth about that alleged marriage."

"Yes, I heard that."

"Well, the squire couldn't take the message, and so he asked the rector to do it. And the rector promised everything the squire wanted, and then, when it was too late to go back from his word, he remembered that he had to make a sick call on a man that was given over by the doctors, and might have to stay with him all night. And I was there, and heard him bewailing his dilemma, and—what could a gentleman do? I offered to take the message to Port Tobacco, and wait there for the answer."

"Well, and to make a long story short, you went there and took the opportunity to stay all night and go on a lark among them low-life tavern people—you, the only adopted nephew and namesake of a lady descended from the Duke of England! I'm ashamed of you!" said Miss Bayard, wrathfully.

"I went there, and gave the message at the telegraph office, and waited for an answer until the office closed for the night. Then I went to the quietest hotel I could find——"

"Oh, yes, I know you did!" ironically interpolated the old lady.

"And I just took a chop and a cup of coffee, and went to bed," continued the youth, without noticing the interruption. "And the first thing the next morning I went to the office, and waited until it was opened. And the first telegram that came clicking over the wires was the one I waited for. And, as soon as ever I got it, I only waited to swallow a cup of coffee and a roll, mounted my horse, and hurried back to the rectory. And as soon as I gave his reverence the telegram I set off here!"

"And I have been that anxious about you!" whimpered the old lady. "And now, tell me, did you know anything about that woman a being of that furriner's wife when you fetched her here to my house?"

"Yes, aunty, I knew it."

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was sworn to secrecy! And, if I had not been sworn, still, I could never have betrayed a woman's confidence. The adopted nephew of the Duke of England's descendant could never do that, you know!" said the boy, with a sly twinkle in his blue eyes.

"No, to be sure," gravely replied Miss Sibby, quite unconscious that she was laughed at.

"There! There's Le! Hello, old fellow! Come in!" cried Roland, starting up and tearing open the front door as he saw young Force ride up and fling himself from the saddle.

"Why, what in the—deuce is the matter with you, old boy?" demanded the young sailor, on seeing the grave aspect of his friend's countenance.

"I want you to do a favor for me, Bayard," said Le, pausing on the outside of the door, and speaking in a whisper.

"It is done!" exclaimed Roland, seizing his friend's hand and slapping his own into it.

"I want you to take a challenge for me."

"A—what?"

"A challenge!"

"Heaven, earth and—t'other place! Whom are you about to challenge?"

"That miscreant Anglesea."

"You are not going to fight a duel, Le?"

"I shall fight a duel or do a murder! That's the alternative!"

"Perhaps you may do both."

"So much the better! But, if you do not want to take my challenge, say so, and you need not do it. I will get some one else."

"Of course I will, Le! And I will be your second, and will stand by you, through thick and thin! Jove, if ever a man had a just cause, you have! He supplanted you in the affections of your betrothed, and tried to betray her to ruin!"

"Don't talk about it, or I shall go mad! It was bad enough when I came home expecting to marry my little girl immediately, and to take her right home to our pleasant farmhouse, to find that I had lost her forever! Still, for her dear sake, I bore that. But now, to know that the man who won her from me had a living wife, and deliberately planned her ruin——Oh-h-h! I shall go mad!"

"What has excited you so, Le?"

"The telegram! I have heard the telegram from the Rev. Dr. Minitree read, confirming all that woman told us!"

"But, dear Le, you had heard her story!"

"I never believed it. Heaven knows, I never believed it! It seemed too unlikely, too preposterous, that the man should have married that woman!"

"But, dear Le, I gave you a hint of how the case stood when we first met, and I saw how cut up you were about losing the girl. I gave you as strong a hint as I could give without breaking faith with the woman, that no marriage could take place between Col. Anglesea and Miss Force."

"Oh, you told me, in a mysterious, oracular sort of way, that something would be sure to happen to prevent the marriage; and, when I doubted, you pledged your honor that there would be an arrest of the proceedings. And then I almost believed you without further explanation; but, when that woman claimed the bridegroom as her husband, I thought you might have been deceived by an adventuress with forged marriage certificates, and I doubted the whole story, until it was confirmed by the telegram. Now the villain shall answer to me for his outrageous crimes against me and mine!"

"Come in, Le, and sit down, and calm yourself. Aunt Sibby will be glad to see you."

"No, no, I cannot. I must go back to Greenbushes. My overseer needs me. You said you would take my challenge and be my second?"

"Yes, indeed, I will, with all my heart and soul!"

"Then here is the missive. Take it at once to that scoundrel. You will find him at the Calvert Hotel. Make all the arrangements, and then come and report to me at Greenbushes. Will you do so?"

"Indeed, I will. You may rely upon me, old fellow."

"Thank you, thank you!" said Le, warmly, as he handed an enveloped note to Roland, remounted his horse and rode off.

Roland Bayard turned and opened the door, to go into the house, and almost stumbled over Miss Sibby in his progress.

"Why, aunty, I beg your pardon. I didn't know you were there. I almost knocked you over. Were you going out?"

"No, I wasn't going out," replied the old lady, in some confusion, as she turned away.

"Aunty, I shall have to go out myself this evening, so, if I am not home by sunset, don't wait up for me."

"Why, where are you going?"

"I am going to the Calvert Hotel on some business."

"What business?"

"Well, it is business connected with the broken-off wedding."

"Seems to me you are a good deal mixed up with this rumpus. What kind of business is it?"

"It is of a confidential nature, auntie, else I could explain it to you."

"Humph! humph! humph!" sniffed the old lady.

The young man laid the enveloped note he had received from Le on the mantelpiece, and went upstairs to put on his best clothes, in which to execute his important mission.

Miss Sibby went and took the note in her hand, looked at it wistfully, then laid it down, and took her spectacles out of her pocket, wiped them, and put them on her nose. Then she took the note up again and read the address.

"To Col. A. Anglesea, Calvert Hotel."

Then she turned it over and examined it. The gummed edges of the envelope had but lightly adhered. She saw that a slight touch would open them.

She sat down in her low chair, with the note in her hand, and considered. She could hear Roland moving about overhead, and knew that he was safe to be there for ten or fifteen minutes.

She was tempted, but not so much by curiosity as by interest and anxiety in and on account of the boys.

"Them lads is up to somethink!" she said to herself. "I knowed they was up to somethink as soon as I heard 'em talking together! I couldn't hear half they said, because the wind was a-blowin' the wrong way, but I knowed they was up to somethink! They always is! Them boys is!

"When two or three of them is gathered together, it ain't the Lord, but the devil, as is in the midst of them. Now, I'm gwine to see what's in this note."

She opened the envelope, and read words that made her hair fairly stand on end.

"The Lord have mercy upon me, a miserable sinner! What is the boys a-coming to in these times, anyhow? This mustn't go, noways!"

And then she did a very sly thing.

The challenge was written on a sheet of very thick, white note paper. It filled only the first page. Miss Sibby tore off the written page, folded it in its own folds, and put it in her pocket. Then she took the blank half of the sheet, folded it, also, and put it back into the envelope. Lastly, she wet the gummed edges of the envelope, and stuck them down, fastening the note much more securely than she had found it.

"Now, then, Roland will make a fool of hisself carrying of a blank note. And I will take myself off to Mondreer, soon as ever I can go, and I will show this here challenge to Mr. Force. And he, being a justice of the peace, will be bound to send out a warrant to 'rest up that bloody-minded young rip of a cousin of hizzen! Lor'! what a time there'll be!"



CHAPTER XXIX

A YOUNG FIRE EATER

When the family and guests of Mondreer arose the next morning, they found the ground covered with snow, but the sky was clear and bright.

The squire and the rector went out on the front porch to look at the weather, just in time to see old Miss Sibby Bayard, in her brown riding skirt and beaver-cloth jacket and hood, ambling up to the house on her slow, but sure-footed, old, white mule.

Both gentlemen stepped down to the horse block to meet and help her to dismount.

"I reckon as you're surprised to see me here, especially at this hour of the morning?" said the old lady, as she lumbered heavily down from her seat.

"We are glad to see you, at any rate, neighbor," said the kind-hearted squire.

"Thanky'! I'm glad to see you, squire, though I wish I had come on more pleasanter business," replied the old lady, as she waddled toward the house.

"I hope nothing has gone amiss with you," said Mr. Force, whom recent events had made somewhat apprehensive.

"Well, not gone amiss, exactly; but going amiss, I tell you all good, unless it is put a stop to! And, Parson Peters, I'm mighty glad to fall in long o' you here! I think it is downright providential—that I do! Because your counsel may be of great vally in this case. 'Two heads is better than one,' sez I, even if one is a cabbage head, sez I."

By this time they had entered the house, and Mr. Force was about to open the parlor door to admit the visitor to the presence of his wife, but she stopped him, hastily, nervously saying:

"No, no, not in there, on no account! This ain't no news for ladies' ears, and I don't want to send none of them into hysterick fits! Let me go into your office, where you do business."

"What is the nature of your business?" anxiously inquired Mr. Force, as he led the way to the rear of the house.

"Life or death! Murder and hanging, for aught I know! And that's the last word I'm a-going to speak till we get inside o' your office, and lock the door after us."

In great anxiety—for his suspicions immediately flew to Leonidas and Anglesea—Mr. Force led the way into his sanctum, secured it against intrusion, and seated his guests, and awaited the further communication of the last comer. What would it be? Had Leonidas made a fatal assault upon Anglesea? Had Miss Bayard learned the fact through Le's bosom friend, Roland Bayard?

Miss Sibby seemed in no hurry to communicate her business.

"Is that door locked?" she inquired.

"Fast," replied Mr. Force.

"Could anybody hear us if they was to listen at the keyhole?"

"No one about the house would be guilty of such an impropriety."

"I don't know that."

Mr. Force got up, took an overcoat from a hook on the wall and hung it against the door.

"Now, then!" he said, resuming his seat.

"Now, then!" said Miss Sibby, fumbling in her pocket, producing a neatly folded, white paper, and handing it to the squire. "Now, then, what do you think of that for a bloody-minded young wilyun? Oh, I tell yer, boys is the devil!"

Mr. Force unfolded and read the paper, staring at it in dismay.

"How came you by this?" he inquired.

"Interslipted of it!" she replied.

"Then this never reached its destination?"

"Eh?"

"This never was delivered?"

"Not much! There'd 'a' been murder done before this if it had been! And there'll be murder done yet if there ain't a stop put to it! Let me tell you all how and about it."

And, while the squire and the rector listened, with the most painful interest, Miss Sibby told of Leonidas Force's sudden visit of the previous afternoon, of her suspicions, and of her seizing an opportunity afforded and opening the envelope, taking out the sheet of note paper, tearing off the half containing the challenge, folding and replacing the other leaf, and finally closing up the envelope, and returning it to its place.

"My wagabone of a 'dopted nevvy took the note without suspicion, and went off with it. I'd like to 'a' seen that colonel's face when he opened it and found nothing but a blank paper! Howsever, I haven't seen hair nor hide of my scamp since, so I don't know how it all ended! And I don't know where he is! But naught's never in danger, and I reckon as he is safe and sound with t'other scamp at Greenbushes."

"What do you think of this, now, for a mad missive? Oh, read it out—read it out! I know how it looks! I want to hear how it sounds!" said the squire, as he passed the challenge over to the rector, and watched the latter staring at the lines.

And, with his hair gradually rising on end, the good man read as follows:

"Greenbushes, December 21, 18—,

"To Col. Angus Anglesea—Sir: You are not only a disgrace to your uniform, but a dishonor to the human form! You are a thief, a liar and a coward! I have written your character in ink, and I mean to seal it in blood! The bearer of this will meet any man you may appoint to make arrangements. I have the honor to be,

"Le Force."

"The boy is mad!" said the rector, as he returned the paper and wiped his spectacles.

"And now, what is to be done?" inquired the squire.

"'What's to be done?'" exclaimed Miss Sibby, excitedly. "There ain't but one thing to be done! You are a justice of the peace, and ought to know what that is! Here I lay a complaint, and lay before you the evidence that two young men are planning a breach of the peace that may end in murder or hanging, or the State prison, at the least, and you ask what's to be done! I'll tell you, then! Give out a warrant to take 'em both up, and fetch 'em before you, and make 'em give bonds to keep the peace, or else send 'em to prison! Let's you and me deal by our own young rascals just as we would by any other's. I make the complaint. You give out the warrant and haul 'em up for judgment. Now, I have done my duty. You do your'n!"

"But my poor Le! And he acts in vindication of my daughter!" sighed the squire.

"'Poor Le,' indeed! It would be poor Le if he was between the four walls of a jail, waiting of his trial for murder! Haul 'em up, squire! Haul 'em up! Make the two young wilyuns—as will break our hearts if you don't—give bonds to keep the peace! It's onpleasant, I know, but not half as onpleasant as murder and hanging."

"I suppose I must issue the warrants," sighed the squire.

"Well, then why don't you do it? Take time by the forelock, sez I. There ain't no time to lose, I tell you that! For, you know, though I interslipted the challenge, and my scamp took a blank in place of it, that won't stop the duel; it will only put it off a little while; it will be fought, all the same, unless them young rascals of ours is took up!"

"I think Miss Sibby is right, squire. I see no way to prevent mischief, except by arresting the two young men and holding them in custody for a while. You need not send them to the common jail. You can keep them here," urged the rector.

"I will do it. There is not a constable nearer than Benedict. I do not like to trust the warrants to a servant to take to the officer, because I wish to give some private instruction with the instruments. You will excuse me, Dr. Peters, I hope, if I ride to town and leave you for a few hours? Mrs. Force and the girls will be happy to entertain you until my return."

"My dear friend, I was about to ask you to order my horse an hour ago, when the arrival of our good neighbor stopped me. It is absolutely necessary that I return to the rectory to meet an engagement this morning."

"Then we will ride together as far as our roads go in the same direction."

Mr. Force rang a bell, which was answered by the entrance of Jake.

"Saddle the rector's horse; also saddle Samson for me, and the brown horse for yourself. Bring them around to the side block. We shall have to ride to Benedict to-day."

The man bowed assent to his master's orders, and left the room.

"You will stay and spend the day with the ladies, I hope, Miss Sibby?" said Mr. Force.

"Well, I reckon I will—if you'll tell the man, when he comes back with the horses, to have my mule put in the stable and fed."

"Certainly."

"And now I'll just go and find the ladies. No, don't stir! I know where to find 'em, and I can denounce myself, too! I haven't any call to stand on ceremony, as if I was one of them upstarts as have got rich suddenly on spectoration! Not I!"

So, gathering up her riding skirt, the old lady left the office and went up the hall to the door on her right hand, where she stopped and rapped.

"Come in!" the gentle voice of Elfrida Force responded.

And Miss Sibby opened the door and entered the room, to be received with acclamation by Wynnette, Elva and Mrs. Anglesea, all of whom were present.

Meanwhile, Mr. Force, seated at his desk in his office, with Dr. Peters by his side, filled out two blank warrants for the arrest of Leonidas Force, of Greenbushes, and Roland Bayard, of Forest Rest.

By the time he had completed them, Jake appeared and announced that the horses were at the door.

"Very well. We shall be ready in a few minutes. Go and tell some one to take Miss Sibby Bayard's mule to the stable."

"I done put that beast up and fed it more 'an an hour ago, sah! I knowed Miss Sibby was going to stay all day, 'cause she allers does. So I 'tended to her animal right off."

"Quite right. Bring me my riding boots."

The servant did as he was bid, and the squire and his guest got ready for their ride.

On their way out to the hall door they stopped at Mrs. Force's parlor, to bid good-by to the ladies sitting there.

The rector gravely shook hands with every one.

Mr. Force merely nodded and smiled his adieus, and said that he should be back in the evening in time for tea.

Then the two gentlemen went out, mounted their horses and rode away, attended by the groom—the minister to his parochial duties, the squire to find an officer to serve his warrants.



CHAPTER XXX

THE BRIDEGROOM'S NEXT MOVE

Meanwhile the two visitors in Mrs. Force's parlor had a pleasant time of it.

Mrs. Force, seeing that the gossip between Mrs. Anglesea and Miss Sibby Bayard would be sure to turn on the character and antecedents of the gallant Col. Angus Anglesea, and thinking that their discourse would not prove very edifying to her young daughters, sent Wynnette and Elva with a message to Miss Meeke, and gave them an intelligible hint that they need not return.

"You never let on a word to me that you was the wife of that man who was going to marry Odalite Force—no, not even when we was all a-talking about the wedding!" said Miss Sibby, reproachfully, before she had been many minutes seated in the parlor.

"Woman alive, I was afraid to tell anybody, for fear the secret would get out, and put him on his guard, and spoil my fun!" exclaimed the lady from Wild Cats'.

"How spoil your fun?"

"Why, this way—prevent me from doing what I wanted to do."

"What you wanted to do?"

"Yes!"

"And what was that? Anything more than stopping the wedding?"

"Yes, indeed! It would have stopped the wedding days before it did if I had let on to you, or to any one else, that he had a wife living, and I was she! Why, the very hint of the thing would have stopped the wedding! But I wanted to put him to a public shame, and make an example of him! I wanted to give him rope enough to hang himself. And to let him pile up wrath against the day of wrath! And so I laid low, and said nothing to nobody until I found him at the altar, with the bride by his side, and then I denounced and disgraced him, in the great congregation of the people!"

Just at this moment a servant entered the room, and handed a note to Mrs. Force.

The lady changed color as she recognized the handwriting, and opened the envelope.

These were the contents:

"I have been waiting and watching for two days, with the patience of a determined man of set and immutable purpose, to get an opportunity for a private interview with you. The opportunity has now rewarded my vigilance. Meet me at once, in the house or out of it."

There was no signature.

Mrs. Force put the note into the fire, saw it blaze and consume in an instant, and then arose, saying to her guests:

"You will excuse me for a few moments?"

"You bet! I know a housekeeper has got to look after her help, I reckon, or there'd be fine doings. We weren't plagued with help at Wild Cats'—not much we weren't! But go along with you now!" said Mrs. Anglesea.

"Is it a bill? I hate bills! 'Specially when I haven't got the money to pay 'em, though I am descended from the Duke of——"

But Mrs. Force had gone to the door, passed out, closed it behind her, and was speaking to the man who had brought the note.

"Where is the gentleman who gave you this?"

"It was the colonel, ma'am," replied the man, in a low voice, as if conscious of naming an objectionable visitor; "and he is standing at the front door."

"Then bring him into the drawing room," she said, as she passed on and entered the place first.

She threw herself into a deep-cushioned chair by the fire, and covered her pale and quivering face with her hands.

A few moments passed, and Anglesea entered, closing the door behind him.

"Well, Friday!" he said, as he advanced and threw himself into a chair opposite to her at the fireside. "I have been watching the house, from the top of the hill, with a telescope in my hand, from morning until night for two days, waiting for a chance to speak to you alone."

"That must have been a great trial for a man of your good appetite and love of ease," replied the lady, with a curl of her lip.

"Not at all! I came out in a comfortable top buggy, which I drove myself, and brought a luncheon of cold ham and canvas-back duck and a flask of brandy. Tied the horse under a tree out of sight of the house, and stood where I could command a full view of the premises without being seen. All day yesterday, as long as it was light enough to see, I watched in vain. No one left the house, except the gallant, gay, young midshipman—the walking gentleman of this light comedy. So I went back to mine inn late at night, and much disappointed. This morning I was here very early, but waited until near noon before anything happened! Then I saw the squire and the rector ride forth together and take the road to Benedict. Then I made a descent upon the fort. So you have my Californian sweetheart staying with you?" he exclaimed, in a light and taunting manner.

"Sir!" said Elfrida Force, in a tone of haughty indignation.

"Oh, come now, Friday, you never really supposed that woman from Wild Cats' to be my wife! And, as for the lighter relationship, I need have no qualms in confessing it to you. A confidence of that kind could not shock you."

A crimson tide of shame and wrath swept over the lady's cheeks and brow, but she controlled her indignation, and kept silence.

"You have no idea how free and easy I feel in your society, Friday. With everybody I feel ill at ease, because I must play a part and seem other than I am. But with you I can be myself. With you I can speak of my bonnes fortunes as to a confidential friend."

"Col. Anglesea, if you are trying to cast reflection upon the good name of the worthy woman from California who is our guest, your labor is in vain. We know that she is your lawful wife," said Mrs. Force.

"You do! Then, by Jove, you know more than anybody else does!" he replied, with a laugh.

"We have received a telegram from the Rev. Dr. Minitree, of St. Sebastian, confirming the fact of your marriage with Mrs. Wright."

"Oh, you have? But suppose at the time of that frolicsome wedding with the Wild Cat widow I had a living wife in London?"

"Man!" cried Elfrida Force, in horror and amazement.

"Yet such was the fact. My wife, Lady Mary Anglesea, was living in London at the time of my marriage with Ann Maria, or Mary Ann Wright, or whoever she was. I have actually forgotten her true name."

"Oh, villain! villain! Your deviltry is unmatched in all the world!"

"Thanks. You do me no more than justice. And you must see by that I am quite worthy to be—your son-in-law; for, my dear Friday, that is what I am. I received the news of the death of my wife, Lady Mary Anglesea, while I was staying at Niagara, and just one week before the most auspicious day on which I met again my old 'pal' and her new family. So, when I married Odalite Force, I was perfectly free to contract lawful marriage, and so the same Odalite is now my lawful wife. 'Read, learn, ponder and inwardly digest' that fact, my lady, if you please."

"You make these statements in reckless bravado. I do not believe one word you say. Why should I believe anything merely upon your authority, when I know, from all experience, that you have not the slightest respect for the truth? You told a falsehood in the church. You said you had never been in California in all your life, and had never before set eyes on the woman who claimed to be your wife. Now, then!"

"I was taken utterly by surprise, as you know—shocked out of my usual self-possession. It was a false move to have denied all knowledge of the Wild Cat. I am ashamed of the false move, but not of the falsehood, in your presence. By the powers, madam! why should I be? I only tell a falsehood. You live one! But come. Don't let us go on complimenting each other in this absurd style. It is so very unprofitable. You do not believe the statement that I have made to you?"

"Why should I believe it merely upon your word?"

"You want proof?"

"I want nothing from you, Angus Anglesea, but your adieus. I should very much like to receive them."

"Really, Friday, you are very reckless. You are playing with edge tools, if you did but know it. Ah, well! I have only to give you proof of the power that I possess over your daughter Odalite to bring you to your knees, madam."

With these insolent words, the man drew a portmonnaie from his pocket, opened it, took out a slip cut from an English newspaper and handed it to her.

With a proud, disdainful smile she took it and read:

"Died.

"Suddenly, at Anglewood Manor, on August twenty-fifth, in the forty-ninth year of her age, Lady Mary, eldest daughter of the late and sister of the present Earl of Middlemoor, and wife of Col. the Hon. Angus Anglesea, H.E.I.C.S."

She returned the slip to the man without a comment.

"Well, madam, what do you think of that?" he inquired.

"I think the poor lady most fortunate in her death, since it freed her from you."

"Thanks, very many. I have kept this little slip, not with the least idea, not with the faintest prevision, that I should ever have this need of it. Nor have I cherished it in tender memory of the dear departed. By no means. I have kept it to gloat over it, as a slave might over his 'free papers.' And I have gloated over the words that gave me liberty. 'Died'—'Lady Mary Anglesea.' What a pleasure it is to read over these words!"

"Oh! Oh!" groaned Elfrida Force, wringing her hands. "I think the worst punishment in hell must be the society of devils!"

"Ten thousand thanks, if that compliment is intended for me. It seems higher than my merits, but it shall be the aspiration of my life to live up to it," said the colonel, with a very low bow.

"Why have you demanded this interview with me? Why have you come here to torment me?" demanded the lady, wringing her hands.

"First of all, to show you, and to prove to you, the true relations in which I stand to your daughter."

"And of what avail will that be to you? You cannot claim our daughter as your wife without an open confession of having married the Widow Wright during the lifetime of your first wife, and thereby exposing yourself to prosecution for more than one crime, the least of which would send you to State prison—for bigamy, for forgery, for robbery. And do you think your California victim is of a temper and disposition to spare you, when she finds out that she has been so criminally deceived—when she knows that you are not her husband? No! She will prosecute you to the utmost extent of the law. And, even if it were possible to suppose that she could forgive your black villainy, forget her own deep wrongs, and forego vengeance, do you suppose it possible that Abel Force would ever be brought to recognize your claim to his daughter? Never, you may depend on it! He will repudiate your claim as the most shameful insult to his family. He will protect his daughter against you with his life. If needful, he will seek a dissolution of this merely nominal ceremony of marriage in the proper courts of law. Why, Abel Force would see his daughter in her grave before he would see her sacrificed to a man publicly disgraced as you have been!"

"Quite so. I perfectly understand that. The situation would be exceedingly awkward in any light. So, my lady, I am not so mad as to come here to claim immediate possession of my wife. I came, as I said, to prove to you that I have a legal claim upon her; that I am her lawfully wedded husband; that she is my lawful wife. All this seems tautological, vainly repetitive; but, then, repetitions are really necessary to make an impression on some people—on yourself, as a matter of detail."

"Be as brief as possible, if you please," said the lady, much relieved by what he had just told her of his non-intention to put in any present claim to the possession of Odalite.

"I will. I shall leave this part of the country in a few hours, and depart for England within a few days. I really think it is the best course for me to pursue at present."

"I really think it is," put in the lady.

"Thanks. You really deserve my forbearance, and I shall spare you for the present, upon certain conditions. If these conditions be fulfilled, you are safe. If they be not, you are lost."

"Let me hear them. I am not at all sure that I shall not prefer to be lost," said the lady, whose spirits had risen under the prospect of her enemy's retreat from the neighborhood.

"Listen, then. I intrust you with the custody of my wife. You must always bear in mind that she belongs to me, and belongs to me until death; no less shall free her! I shall arrange to keep you both under espionage, even from the other side of the ocean. So long as you shall keep faith with me, I shall keep quiet, and patiently await the course of events that shall make my wife the countess of Enderby in her own right, and restore her to my arms. But, on the very sign of an intention to dissolve the bond that binds her to me, or to give her to any other, I shall—at all hazards to myself—swoop down upon you with a sudden destruction from which there shall be no appeal! Do you understand and accept the conditions?" he inquired.

"I understand and accept the conditions," said Mrs. Force, with firmness. "I shall certainly not encourage or countenance the thought of any other alliance for my daughter, although I pray Heaven that she may never live to set eyes on your face again!"

"Thank you! I feel sure that you will keep faith with me—not only from your high esteem and deep affection for me, but also from your own self-interest. I will not further intrude upon your time. Give my love to my wife, and—to my Californian sweetheart. Madam, I have the honor to bid you good-morning!"

Angus Anglesea left the room.

Elfrida Force went to the front window to watch him out of sight, and also to recover her own self-control.

Then she returned to her guests in the parlor.



CHAPTER XXXI

A FOOL'S ERRAND

When young Roland Bayard left the Forest Rest, with Leonidas Force's supposed challenge in his pocket and on warlike thoughts intent, he walked rapidly on toward the Calvert House, an old-fashioned and highly respectable roadside establishment, half farmhouse, half tavern, notable for its pure liquors, fine tobacco and rare game—in season. It was a favorite house of call for travelers on that road, and of sojourn to strangers who might be detained by business or by accident in the neighborhood. It was full four miles from Forest Rest, but, as young Roland owned no saddle horse, he had to walk all the way—no very great hardship, indeed, for a strong, young man on a fine winter night, when the moonlit sky and the snow-covered earth made the scene almost as clear as day.

Roland crunched along the little footpath leading through the wood to the highway, and then walked rapidly over the hard, frozen road—a very solitary road at that hour of the night. High woods flanked it on either side, opening occasionally, now on the right and now on the left, to show some farmhouse, with its barns, fields, gardens and orchards.

It was still early in the winter evening when he reached the Calvert.

It was a very quiet-looking place, a two-story double brick house, rough cast, with white stucco, and having four dormer windows in the front roof, nine long windows in the upper floor and eight on the lower—that is, four on each side of the entrance door. On the right hand side was the public parlor; on the left hand side the bar.

A buggy and two saddle horses before the door were the only signs of business about the place.

Roland went into the bar, and inquired if Col. Anglesea was in the house.

"No; he has not been in since morning," was the answer.

"When is he expected?" inquired Roland.

"Don't know; he said he might not return to-night."

Roland borrowed a newspaper, and sat down to while away a tedious evening.

People came in and went out, but as early as ten o'clock the barroom was nearly deserted.

"Do you think the colonel will be likely to return during the night—after the house is closed, for instance?" inquired Roland.

"Don't know at all. But, even if he should come in after we have shut up, there'll be somebody to let him in. Is the colonel a friend of yours?"

"Do you want to insult me?" demanded young Roland, firing up.

"Oh, no, not at all—no offense! I only asked because you seemed so anxious to see him," mildly pleaded the bartender.

"One may be anxious to see a fellow from other motives than friendship," said Roland, sulkily.

"So they may," conceded the barkeeper. "And ever since that rumpus in the church that broke up the wedding there's a good many people who are anxious to see the colonel out of curiosity."

"Ah, they want to see what the monster looks like who, having a living wife, tries to marry an heiress!"

"Yes; and I reckon that is why the colonel keeps pretty much out of the way. He came here the afternoon of the wedding day, before we had heard of the fuss at the church, and, though we wondered much to see the bridegroom here alone, we couldn't ask any questions. He engaged a room, and then hired a horse and buggy and went off. He hadn't been gone an hour before people began to come in and talk of the broken-up wedding. We took in a great deal of money all the afternoon on account of people gathering here to talk and to hear about the affair. And toward night comes a cart from Mondreer, loaded with all the colonel's trunks, pistol cases, hat boxes, fowling pieces and what not. They were all taken up to his room, but the colonel did not come in until near midnight, and he went away again this morning before sunrise, leaving word that he might not be back to-night."

"Well, it is half-past ten, and he has not returned. I am waiting to see him on very important business, so I think I must take a bed here, and see my gentleman in the morning," Roland decided.

"All right," the barkeeper replied, and he rang a bell that brought a negro waiter to the counter.

"Show this gentleman into the front room over the parlor, and make him comfortable. Would you like a fire, sir?"

"Fire? No, of course not; thank you, all the same," laughed Roland, as he followed the negro man upstairs to the room assigned him.

Roland was wholesomely tired, for he had been traveling on horseback or on foot for nearly forty-eight hours; nevertheless, he waited up until he heard the house closed for the night. Then, when all the calling up and down stairs, the walking back and forth along the passages, the banging of doors and the clattering down of windows had ceased, and the lights were out and the premises were dark and quiet, Roland went to bed and went to sleep. He slept the sound, deep, dreamless sleep of youth, health and fatigue.

It was quite late in the morning when he awoke. The sun was gleaming in golden needles through the interstices of his window shutters.

For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had come into the strange room. In another instant he recollected himself and his errand. He jumped out of bed and threw open the window shutters. It was very cold, and there was no fire, and the water on the washstand had a thin layer of ice over it.

But Roland did not ring for a waiter to bring either fuel or hot water, for he was inured to hardships and accustomed to waiting on himself.

He broke the ice in his ewer, washed his face and hands, wiped and rubbed them with a coarse, crash towel until they shone and glowed, then put on his clothes, and hurried downstairs and into the bar.

There was no one in it at that hour but the bartender and a negro boy.

"Good-morning," said the former. "You are late this morning. Fatigued and overslept yourself, perhaps."

"Yes. Did Col. Anglesea return last night?"

"He did. He came in about an hour after the house was closed. Pete opened the door for him."

"And—where is he now? Can I see him at once, do you think?" eagerly inquired Roland.

"I don't suppose you can see him at once, for Heaven only knows where he is. He took breakfast at sunrise, and went off in a buggy, saying that he should not return to-night."

"Oh-h-h-h!" exclaimed Roland, with a perfect howl of disappointment. "And he has gone?"

"Yes, gone."

"Where? Where?"

"He did not say; so we do not know."

"When will he be back?"

"He said that he should not return to-night; further than that we do not know."

"Oh, why did you not have me called? Why did you not detain him and send for me?" demanded Roland, in the tone of a deeply injured individual.

"My dear fellow, I did not happen to see the colonel, or hear of him, until after he was gone. The head waiter had charge of him, and gave the message he left for the house," mildly pleaded the bartender.

"Oh-h-h! what a disappointment!" cried Roland, leaving the bar to go in search of the head waiter.

He found that functionary in the public dining room, and questioned him closely in regard to the movements of Col. Anglesea; but the head waiter could only repeat the message left with him by the colonel; and this, of course, threw no new light on the subject.

Roland went out and questioned the hostler, but the latter knew even less than the others about the missing guest.

Finally Roland, in spite of his disappointment and anxiety, feeling the keen hunger of a healthy youth, went in and sat down and ate a very hearty breakfast.

Then he paid his bill and left the Calvert, leaving every one, from the host to "boots," wondering what on earth the young man could have wanted with the colonel, to have kept him waiting all night for him.

But, finally, some one remembered that Mr. Roland Bayard was mate of the ship which had brought the colonel's forsaken wife—his first wife, as they called her—from California to Maryland, and that the same Mr. Roland Bayard had escorted the lady to the neighborhood, and had even introduced her to his own aunt, the good Miss Sibby Bayard, who had entertained the stranger without knowing who she really was, or what the nature of her business in the neighborhood might be.

Therefore, the gossips and wiseacres of the Calvert decided that young Roland Bayard must be a messenger from "his first wife."

Roland, meanwhile, unmindful of the discussion he had left behind him, sturdily strode on his way over the frozen highroad, under the winter sky, toward Greenbushes, to report to Leonidas Force.

Greenbushes was full five miles from Calvert's, so he walked on.



CHAPTER XXXII

PREPARING FOR FATE

Leonidas Force, after leaving Forest Rest, put spurs to his horse and galloped all the way to Greenbushes, only pausing when it became necessary to open a gate that crossed the road, by which chance the hard-pressed steed got a moment in which to recover his wind.

When he reached Greenbushes, he sprang from his saddle, threw the bridle to a boy who came up to take the horse, and hurried into the house.

His colored housekeeper came to ask him if he was going to stay home all night, or to return to Mondreer, so that she might know whether she was to get supper, and to make a fire in his bedroom.

Le told her that he should stay at home all night.

The woman went away to attend to his comforts.

Le opened the door of that little, oak-paneled parlor on the right of the hall of entrance, where there was always a fire kept alive for the master, and a round table covered with account books, piles of paper, bundles of pens and bottles of ink.

Le threw off his riding coat, hat and gloves, drew off his boots, thrust his feet into slippers, and dropped into the large, leather armchair before the table, and laid his head upon his folded arms on its top.

Le was not the least of a coward. He knew no fear. Yet he fully realized the awful gravity of the situation in which he had voluntarily placed himself. His Christian conscience began to trouble him.

"Thou shalt not kill!" it whispered to him.

He tried not to hear it.

"The dastardly villain ought to be punished," he said to himself. "My uncle cannot call the beast out. He is a justice of the peace; he is a vestryman in the church; he is a husband and a father. He cannot fight the monster! And he has no son to act for him! I am his nearest male relative, and I have no ties to bind me and keep me from doing a man's part in this matter; it seems my duty. I do not want to kill the wretch, though he deserves to die; I do not want to kill him! I think I would far rather he killed me! But I cannot help it! I must call him out, and he must take the risk! I must avenge Odalite!"

His conscience again spoke:

"Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord."

Luke, an old servant attached to the plantation, came in and laid fresh logs on the fire, and then went out again.

But Le, absorbed in his argument with his own conscience, never noticed the man's entrance or his exit.

"The die is cast now," he said, in conclusion, "and I must abide the issue. The challenge is sent. The scoundrel is a soldier, and he will accept it! I must meet him! And, if I kill him, I must take the consequences in this world and—in the next!"

Martha, the housekeeper, came in with a large tray on which she had arranged her master's supper. She set it down on a side table, while she removed the books and stationary from the center table and spread a white cloth over it. Then she set out his supper, and said:

"Do, please, young marster, try to eat somefin'. That racket at the church seems to hev upset yer so that yer look downright ill."

Le was feverish and thirsty, and he drank cup after cup of tea, nearly as fast as the housekeeper could pour it out. But he could not eat a morsel.

"'Deed, I'm feared yer gwine to have some sort of a fever, young marster! 'Deed, I am!" said Martha, as she began to clear the table, after finding all her persuasions fruitless to induce the young man to eat.

When the woman was gone, Le replaced all the paper, pens and ink upon the table again, and sat down, poor fellow, to write his "last will and testament."

It was very short and plain. He left all his real estate and personal property to his three dear cousins, Odalite, Wynnette and Elva, daughters of his dear relative, Abel Force, of Mondreer, share and share alike, subject only to some trifling legacies to old servants and to a bequest of ten thousand dollars to his dear friend Roland Bayard, of Forest Rest; and he constituted Abel Force and Roland Bayard joint executors.

Next he wrote farewell letters to his friends and relatives.

All this work kept him up long after midnight. When it was finished, he gathered all the documents together and took them with him up to his bedroom, and locked them in the upper drawers of his bureau.

Finally, with the guiltiest conscience, the darkest spirit and the heaviest heart that he had ever experienced in his young life, he laid himself down on his bed. He could not sleep, and he dared not pray. Never before had he laid down to rest without having prayed. But how could he pray now, when he was deliberately planning to break, and make others break, one of the most awful commandments in the decalogue?

So the boy lay awake through all the long and dreary night, waiting for the day. What would the day bring forth? Where would he be the next night?

"If it were only my life that was to be taken! Even if it were only my soul that was to be risked! But the awful fiat of the Most High to be broken! Purposely, deliberately broken! Oh, Heaven! how one man's sin makes many men's crimes!"

So thinking, so feeling, so suffering, Le passed the most miserable night of his whole life.

The gray light of the winter day dawned at last.

Then Le arose and slowly dressed himself.

Roland, he thought, would soon be with him, bringing the acceptance of his challenge and the program of the hostile meeting.

Slowly he descended the stairs and entered the parlor.

Early as it was, the window shutters had been opened, the fire kindled and the room put in order.

Le threw up the window sash to inhale the fresh air. It was keen and cold this winter morning, yet refreshing to his fevered head.

The sun was up and shining from a clear, blue sky upon the snow-covered earth, and the forest of pine beyond, and the grove of cedars, spruce, firs and other evergreens near the house.

Le closed the window at length, and sat down to wait for the coming of Roland Bayard.

Old Luke came in with oak logs to replenish the fire.

"Mornin', young marster! Gettin' colder, ain't it? Shouldn't wonder ef de crik didn't froze ober 'fore night," he said, as he laid the logs carefully on the blazing brands.

Le assented, in a low voice, scarcely knowing what had been said to him, or what he said.

The man retired, and was succeeded by the woman, Martha, who came in to set the table for her master's breakfast.

"Mornin', Marse Le! Hope as yer feel better'n yer did las' night, dough, Lor' knows, now I look at yer, yer doan look any better; yer looks wuss. 'Deed, Marse Le, yer ought to 'sult a doctor," she said, as she opened the tablecloth and flirted it out to spread over the table, keeping her eyes on the young master all the time.

"I am not ill, Martha," he said.

"Ain't yer, now, Marse Le? Well, den, yer's gwine to be, dat's all," was the encouraging comment.

She brought in the breakfast, and spread it temptingly out on the table, a thankless task, for, as before, Le could not be persuaded to choke himself by attempting to swallow a morsel of solid food; but he drank cup after cup full of strong coffee, as fast as the woman could pour it out.

"Kill yerself! 'Deed you will, Marse Le! Drinkin' so much strong coffee an' a-puckerin' ob yer stummick up, 'stead o' fillin' ob it out wid bread and meat! Kill yerse'f! 'Deed yer will!" said Martha, as at last she cleared the table and left the room.

"Yes, sah! Dere he is in de little parlor!" Le heard her say, as she passed through the hall, to some one at the front door.

And in another moment the room door was thrown open, and Roland Bayard appeared.

"Well?" demanded Le, excitedly, as he started up to meet his friend.

"Well, I can't find the sneak! I believe he has cut and run, that's what I believe!" exclaimed Roland, snatching his hat from his head, flinging it angrily on the floor, and throwing himself into a chair.

"What!" cried Le, facing him.

"I say the beat has beat a retreat!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Le.

Then Roland, having recovered his breath, told Le the story of his fruitless adventure at the Calvert House.

"He keeps out of the way on purpose; but he shall not escape me!" exclaimed Le, drawing his breath hard.

"I only came to report to you and take orders for the next step," said Roland.

"He still retains his room at the Calvert?" inquired Le.

"Oh, yes! And all his effects are there."

"Then, dear boy, go back at once to the Calvert, and stay there until he returns, and then give him my note. Take up your lodgings at the house, if need be, until you discharge your mission," said Le.

"Yes—yes—certainly—with pleasure—but——"

"But what?"

"If you could lend me the loan of a strong pair of boots, or, better still, a good saddle horse, it might help the cause a little," replied Roland, laughingly extending both his feet to exhibit his own battered "Wellingtons."

"What a beast I am!" cried Le, smiting his forehead with his open palm in self-disgust. "You have walked all this distance in my cause, while I have a dozen horses turning to stone for want of exercise in the stables there."

And he snatched up an iron hand bell, that might have served for a country church or a steamboat, and rang it loudly.

Old Luke put in his gray head at the door.

"Saddle Jasper for Mr. Bayard, and bring him around to the door."

"Yes, sah! Yere's two ge'men axing for yer, Marse Le," said the old man.

"Two gentlemen? Who are they? Let them come in," said Le.

And, even as he spoke, two men entered the parlor, and, each laying a hand on the shoulder of the youth, said:

"You are my prisoner! Yield quietly. It will be best."



CHAPTER XXXIII

THE ARREST

Leonidas Force and Roland Bayard indignantly threw off the detaining hands, and stared haughtily at their captors.

"Take it easy, young gentlemen, and you shall be treated as such," said old Tom Bowen, a grave, gray-haired, most respectable old man, an elder in the church and county constable for many years.

"'Take it easy!' Take what easy? If it were not for your age and piety, I should think you were drunk or crazy, Mr. Bowen! What is the meaning of all this, anyhow?" demanded Leonidas.

"Oh, don't you see it's all a funny mistake, Force? They have waked up the wrong passengers. They are after some other parties. The thieves that stole Tom Grandiere's young horse, I reckon. But, great Neptune! do we look like horse thieves? Say! Who are you wanting, anyhow, you blooming boys?" demanded Roland, in all sincerity.

The two constables sat down, and "Old Bowen," as he was always called, deliberately drew from his capacious pocket a formidable-looking document, which he unfolded, saying:

"I hold here a warrant issued by Abel Force, Esq., of Mondreer, justice of the peace for the county, commanding me to arrest and bring before him the body of Leonidas Force, of Greenbushes, to answer the charge of a breach of the peace by sending a challenge to fight a duel to one Col. Anglesea, at present a resident of this county. You can take my warrant in your own hands and read it with your own eyes, if you wish to do so, young gentleman," said the mild, old officer, handing the verbose document to which he so briefly referred to the midshipman.

Le took it mechanically, and stared at it without reading a line. He was simply amazed at the event, and wondering with all his might how the carefully guarded secret of his sending the challenge to the colonel at the Calvert Hotel could have become known to Squire Force, at Mondreer.

Meanwhile, the old constable was not idle. He drew from that deep receptacle, his riding-coat pocket, a second document, which he unfolded and handed to Roland Bayard, saying:

"There, sir, is a warrant for your arrest upon very much the same sort of charge—a breach of the peace in taking a challenge from Mr. Leonidas Force to Col. Angus Anglesea. You also can read it, if you wish."

"But I never delivered the challenge," said Roland, laughing at what seemed to him to be a solemn farce. "I never got a chance to deliver it. It is in my pocket at this moment. But I reckon it better not stay there, to rise up in judgment against us," he added, sotto voce, as he arose, went to the fire, drew the white paper torpedo from his vest pocket and dropped it into the flames, where it was instantly burned to ashes.

The constables did not attempt to prevent this destruction. Probably they did not even notice the act. Indeed, the second officer, a dull-looking young man, with a red head and freckled face, did not seem to take any part in the business of the hour.

"Now, then, you see what I have got to do. I have got to do, and 'fail not at my peril,' mind you. Though what peril I should risk in not executing of a warrant is more than I know, long as I have been in the county's service; and very few warrants have I ever had to serve, and that's a fact; and very sorry I am to have to do this, moreover."

"You must do your duty, Mr. Bowen. Neither I nor my friend here will offer any further opposition to it," said Le, good-humoredly. Then, turning to his companion, he added, sorrowfully:

"Oh, Roland, good, old boy, I am so cut up at the thought of having got you into this mess!"

"Don't turn into a blooming idiot, Le. I am glad to be with you in everything. You know it," said Roland, heartily.

"I do know it!" exclaimed Le, pressing his friend's hand.

"Oh, see these boys!" sighed the old man; "these boys I have known ever since they wore short jackets and check ap'ons! But don't fret, lads. 'Twon't go hard with you. And it's a heap better, anyhow, than if you'd been left to your own devices to-day, and fought your duel and killed your man, and had to be arrested for murder to-morrow. Now, that might o' been serious."

"But there was a good chance that I might have been killed myself," suggested Le.

"D'y' call that 'a good chance'? Oh, you misguided young man!" cried the elder. "To be hurried into the presence of your Maker with murder in your heart! But I won't lecture, Mr. Le. I will leave that to the squire. He can, and I reckon he will. Now, then, young gentlemen, maybe we had better be moving. There is a carriage at the door—a most comfortable close carriage—sent by the squire himself. Ah, he had a care for you both, the good squire had. 'Do your necessary duty as kindly as you can, Bowen,' says he to me, he says, after he had put the papers in my hands with his own, and explained what I was to do. And I answered: 'Squire, do you think being county constable for nigh on to fifty years has made a brute beast of old Tom Bowen? Do you suppose that I could handle harsh the two lads I've knowed since they wore check ap'ons? The one lad as growed up in your house? And the other lad as I helped to resky myself when the schooner Blue Bird was wrecked on the shore?' But there! It's no use talking. People say I'm getting too old for my office. Well, let 'em. I mean to hold on to it as long as I can read a warrant or ride a horse. If only to pervent some one taking my place who will be hard on skipple-skapple young uns like you."

"Mr. Bowen, you have had a long ride. Won't you take some home-brewed beer and bread and cheese before you go?" inquired Le.

The dull young man of the red head and freckled face looked up expectantly, but the old constable shook his head, and answered, solemnly:

"No, Mr. Leonidas; not when on duty. No, sir. If I did, there be some who would say I was taking a bribe."

The dull young man of the red head and freckled face dropped his head and looked disappointed.

Leonidas and Roland had by this time put on their overcoats, drawn on their gloves and taken up their hats.

They now said that they were ready to go.

"Come, Bill. Have you gone to sleep there?" inquired the old man of his dull comrade.

The latter got up slowly from his seat, and the little party left the room.

Luke was in the hall, and opened the outer door.

"We are going out on business, Luke, and I shall not be home before night," said Le.

The old servant bowed, without the least suspicion of what the nature of that business could be.

The party left the house, entered the carriage, the young officer mounting the box, and the elder riding inside with the young men; and they took the road to Mondreer—the same pleasant road through the pine woods and across Chincapin Creek Bridge, that Le and his cousins had so often traveled on foot, or horseback, or in a carriage.

It was but half an hour's ride, and at the end of that time they drew up before the door of Mondreer.

Old Bowen alighted first; Leonidas and Roland followed.

"You drive the carriage round to the stable, and keep it there for us to go back to town in," said the old officer to the younger one, who was on the box. "And keep a still tongue in your head, mind you!" he added, in a whisper, to his subordinate, who nodded, and drove off toward the stables.

Old Jake met the party at the door, and said:

"Marster wishes you ge'men to walk right on inter de liberary; and dis is de way," he added, with a bow and a flourish of his arm, as he walked on before and opened the door leading into the rear room, which was Mr. Force's sanctum.



CHAPTER XXXIV

BEFORE THE SQUIRE

Mr. Force was seated in his leathern chair before a large, open fire, and beside a round table covered with books and stationery.

The squire, with his surroundings, looked as little like a magistrate in his office as could be well imagined.

Nor was his greeting of the prisoners at all magisterial.

Both young gentlemen bowed very gravely on entering his presence.

But he arose from his chair and shook hands with each in turn, with a kindly:

"Good-morning, Mr. Bayard! Good-morning, Le! Take chairs, both of you."

The young men bowed again, and obeyed.

There was a short pause, during which the squire reseated himself, and took up a paper which lay on the table beside him, scanned it, and said:

"Here is a most serious charge laid against both of you, young gentlemen—a charge of so grave a nature, indeed, as to compel me, in my character as justice of the peace, to have you arrested and brought here to be dealt with according to the laws you have broken."

"What is the charge, sir, who has made it, and what evidence has our accuser?" inquired Leonidas Force, with some youthful dignity.

"You shall hear," said the squire, and he rang a hand bell on his table, which quickly brought Jake to his presence.

"Go to the parlor and ask Miss Bayard if she will be so kind as to step in here," he said.

The old negro bowed and withdrew.

"By the holy poker, Aunt Sibby heard us yesterday!" whispered Roland to Leonidas.

"I suppose she did; that solves the mystery. But to think of her giving information!" replied Le, in the same low tone.

Miss Sibby entered the room, and closed the door behind her.

"Oh, you are here, you young varmints, are you? And you may thank me that you're up for a simple breach of the peace, instead of for murder, so you may!" she said, as soon as she saw the two young men.

Leonidas bowed and smiled.

Roland laughed, and, rising, gave her his own chair, and then stood up against the corner of the mantelpiece, since there was no other chair in the office.

She seated herself, with a look of determination to do her duty.

The squire took up the New Testament, and, handing it toward the old lady, said:

"Miss Bayard, will you take the usual oath, and then state what you know of this case?"

"No, I won't take no oath, because I won't break the command of Him who said, 'Swear not at all,' but I will make an afformation."

And she lifted her withered hand and made a most solemn affirmation that she would speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to the best of her knowledge and belief, concerning them young tigers and the duel they were planning to fight.

And, having done this, she cleared her throat and began her story.

Leonidas arose from his chair, and went and stood by the side of Roland, and while their accuser gave in her evidence they nudged each other and laughed to themselves like a couple of schoolboys.

"Well, squire, it was yesterday afternoon, and me and Roland was in the house together, for he had just come home from Port Tobacco after going to send that telegram to that parson 'way out yonder and waiting to get an answer 'bout the marriage out there. You know, squire."

"Yes, I know. Proceed."

"Well, while we was talkin'—me and Roland—up rides that young panther there," she said, pointing to Le, who kissed his hand to her for the compliment.

"And my scamp—him there," pointing to Roland, who bowed and smiled, "saw the horse and rider through the window, and rushed out to meet the wisiter and shut the door after him; but he didn't shut it tight enough, and so it came ajar, and the draught come through on my back, and chilled me, and I'm so subject to lumbago that I can't stand a draught on my back. You know, squire."

Mr. Force merely nodded, and the witness continued:

"So I ups and goes to call them boys in out'n the cold, and to shut the door. And then I seen Mr. Le—him there—sitting in his saddle and bending down, talking werry fierce-like to Roland. And Roland—him there—listening as grim as a meat ax. And I says to myself, when two or three of them boys is gathered together, sez I, it ain't the Lord, but the devil, that's in the midst of them, sez I. And you know it, squire."

Mr. Force grunted, in a non-committal sort of way, and the witness continued:

"So I just off with the table cover, and wrapped it round my head and shoulders, and I listened through the little opening of the door. I couldn't hear much, 'cause the wind was blustering, and most of what I did hear was bad words—like—well, 'scown-der-awl,' and such. You know, squire."

Mr. Force nodded.

"But at last I heard something as pretty nigh made my hair rise right up and lift the table cover offen my head. And it certainly did make ice water trickle all down my backbone! And this is what I heard: 'To fight a duel, or to do a murder!' Yes, squire, that was what them two young hyenas was a-planning—them two there, standing by the mantelpiece!"

The two young men bowed to the compliment, and the witness went on:

"Them was the only connected words I heard. And I heard them, 'cause they was said in such a grim, gritty way there was no preventing me from hearing of 'em. But, still, I made out as Roland—him there, a-grinning like a tomfool—was to carry a challenge from Leonidas Force—him there, a-winking like a magpie as has just hid a thimble—to Col. Anglesea, at the Calvert House. And then Mr. Leonidas rode away, and Roland ran into the house so sudden he almost tumbled over me. Yes, you did, you young rhine-horse-o-rus!" she added, shaking her finger at Roland, who dropped his eyes and smote his breast in mock penitence.