"But to come back to the question. Overberg has commissioned me to say that the heir to the Runenberg is likely to make you an advantageous offer for the Werve."

"It could be done privately—as in the case of the farms? Overberg arranged that for me—and there are reasons for avoiding a public sale," cried the old man, brightening up with a ray of hope.

"Yes, Overberg said as much; the only question was whether you could be induced to sell it."

"For myself, yes, with all my heart. But Francis—there's the rub! She has an affection for this old rats' nest, for the family traditions, and for heaven know's what; nay, even for the title which its possession carries with it. God bless the mark! She has got it into her head that at some future day she will be Baroness de Werve; and it is an illusion of hers to restore this old barrack. But her only chance of doing it is to make a rich marriage. Formerly she had chances enough amongst the rich bachelors, but she treated them all slightingly; and now we see nobody in this lonely place."

"But you do not need her permission to sell the Castle?"

"Legally I do not require it; but there would be no living with her if I sold it without her consent. Besides, she has a right to be consulted. When she came of age I had to inform her that her mother's fortune was nearly all spent. It was not my fault. Sir John Mordaunt kept up a large establishment, and lived in English style, without English money to support it; for he was only a second son, and his captain's pay was not large. A little before his death he lost an uncle, to whose property and title Francis would have succeeded if she had been a boy. Shortly after this event my son-in-law died of apoplexy, and I was left guardian to Francis. My evil fate pursued me still, and being in want of a large sum of money to clear off a debt, which would disgrace the family if not paid at once, Francis generously offered me her whole fortune. I accepted it, as there was no alternative, but only as a loan; and promised to leave the Werve to her at my death."

"But Francis is your only grandchild—or stay, I have heard you had a son, General; has he children?"

"My son is—dead," Von Zwenken answered, with a strange kind of hesitancy in his voice. "He was never married so far as I know—at least, he never asked my consent to a marriage; and if he has left children I should not acknowledge them to be legitimate. In short, you now understand why I cannot sell the Castle without Francis' consent; after my death my creditors cannot take possession of it without reckoning with her."

It struck me that Aunt Sophia had never foreseen this, and the mine she had been digging for Von Zwenken would have blown up Francis in the ruins if things had been allowed to take their course. I had, in fact, at my side, a type of the most refined selfishness, profoundly contemptible, recounting to me his shameful scheming under the cover of a gentlemanlike exterior and a polite friendliness, which might deceive the shrewdest man alive. Could I any longer wonder why Francis had so great an aversion to outward forms and ceremonies.

"But," I resumed, "are you not afraid that after your death your granddaughter will be sadly undeceived, and perhaps cheated out of her all by your negligence."

"What can I say, mon cher? Necessity knows no law; and I still hope to better my fortune before the end comes."

"At his age, by what means?" I asked myself.

Then I thought of the packet he had been to fetch from the post-office. I believed I had seen it contained long lists of numbers; they were certainly the official numbers of some German lottery. The unhappy man evidently rested all his hopes on this expedient for re-establishing order in his affairs; and probably invested every penny he could scrape together in such lotteries. I though him an idiot to trust to any such means.

"Nephew," he exclaimed, briskly, and with vivacity, as if a bright idea had struck him, "if it be true Overberg intends to treat with me about the sale of the Castle, would it not be well for you to break the subject to Francis, just to sound her? It appears to me you have some influence over her; and the greatest obstacle would be removed if you could change her fixed ideas on the point."

"I will do so, uncle."

"You can make use of this argument, that the company of the Captain would become less of a necessity for me if I were in some town where other society is to be found."

Fortunately I did not need to answer him: we were at home, the luncheon bell was ringing, and the Captain came out to meet us, jovial as ever. Francis had not returned, and we took luncheon without waiting for her. Only at dinner-time did she put in an appearance. Her toilette was simply made, but she was dressed in good taste, and her beauty brought out to perfection. I was charmed. She seemed to tell me in a silent way that Major Frank had given place to Miss Mordaunt. She was quiet and thoughtful at dinner, and did not scold the Captain, who watched all her movements with dog-like humility. She paid much attention to the General, who seemed absent and out of sorts, for he only tasted some of the dishes. The dinner itself was a much simpler affair than on the preceding day; yet there was sufficient, and one extra dish had been made specially for Von Zwenken, who did not ask for the finer sorts of wine, but made up for this want by drinking two bottles of the ordinary wine without appearing any the worse for it.

The only difference between him and the Captain was, that unlike the latter, he did not frankly confess that he lived to eat, and that his belly was his god. I began to feel a most hearty contempt for this grand-uncle of mine, and more especially when I reflected on the conversation we had had during our morning's walk.



CHAPTER XXII.

Dinner over, I did not hesitate about leaving the gentlemen to themselves. I declined a cigar, and followed Francis to the drawing-room. Rolf soon joined us, and demanded humbly—

"What says my Major—do I not deserve a word of praise?"

"Yes, certainly," she replied, but her face clouded.

Guessing the reason, I whispered to the Captain—

"Don't you perceive you annoy my cousin by always addressing her by that hateful nickname? Can't you see by her elegant dress she desires to appear herself—Miss Mordaunt?"

"Indeed I am a blockhead not to pay better attention; but the truth is, Jonker—excuse me, Freule—the custom is such an inveterate one."

"You and I must break with old customs, Captain," she said softly, but with emphasis, "for we have been on the wrong track—have we not, Jonker?"

"May I say one word," interposed the Captain, "before the Freule and the Jonker begin to philosophise; should the General come in I cannot say it. You know the day after to-morrow is the General's seventy-sixth birthday. I had intended the celebration to be a brilliant affair; but when I hear of wrong tracks, changes, and such farrago, I begin to fear all my plans will fall through."

"Oh! was that the reason you brought in all those dainties this morning?"

"Yes, and I thought the Jonker would be an agreeable addition to our party."

"I give you full leave to arrange it all in your own way, Rolf. Grandfather must be feted."

"Hurrah! of course!" he cried merrily; and off he went to make his arrangements, carefully shutting the folding-doors behind him so as to isolate us from the dining-room.

I was just going to compliment Francis on the change in her style of dressing, when she complained of the closeness of the room, and skipped off into the garden. Left thus to my own resources, I lit a cigar and walked out in front of the house, where I soon espied my lady; and when I joined her she proposed to walk as far as the ruin to see the sun set. Instead of taking the regular path, Francis preferred making direct for the object in view; and we had to trample through the underwood, and were many times tripped by the roots of felled trees. In answer to my remarks on this whim of hers, she replied—

"People say my education was neglected, which is not quite correct. I am not altogether a child of the wilderness. In fact, much trouble was given to my training, only it was not of the right sort. I was brought up as a boy. As you know already, my mother died a few days after my birth, and Rolf's sister was my nurse. Her own child had died, and I replaced it for her. She had a blind affection for me, almost bordering on fanaticism; she obeyed all my wishes, giving as an excuse to any remonstrances that she was the only person in the world who loved me. This was an exaggeration, for my grandfather, who lived in the same house with us, made much of me, though it is true Sir John Mordaunt took little notice of his child. He had previously had a son called Francis, like myself, on whom all his hopes were fixed during the six months the child lived. I was a disappointment, as he wished to have a son to take the place of the lost infant; and he received me with so little welcome that I have heard the last hours of my poor mother's life were embittered by this knowledge. My nurse, who could no longer bear the indifference with which he treated me, one day took me into his room, to show him what a healthy, strong child I was. 'Indeed,' she said, 'it might have been a boy.'

"Rolf has since told me that my father seemed suddenly struck by an idea. From that day forth he devoted much attention to my training, and this has made me what I am. Under pretext of hygiene and English custom, I was dressed in a loose costume, 'a boy's suit,' as my nurse called it, and I was taught all kinds of gymnastic exercises. They hardened me against heat and cold like a young Spartan. Rolf taught me the military exercise, and made me quite an adept at fencing, and all the young officers who dined with us were invited to have a bout with me. Out of complaisance to papa, they allowed me to come off victor; and Sir John was sure to reward me splendidly for any praise I won. At this time grandfather held the rank of Major, and I suppose it was an idea of Rolf's to give me the title of 'Little Major,' with which my father was so pleased that he often addressed me by this sobriquet, and so gave it the stamp of his authority. I well remember, on one occasion, an officer, evidently a stranger, addressed me as Miss Francis, which so much surprised me that I uttered a good round oath in English—it was Sir John's favourite expression; whereupon my father took me in his arms and kissed me, so far as I can recollect for the first time in my life."

"It is less to be wondered at that the bad habit has clung to you even to this day."

"My nurse of course told me it was wrong, and tried to break me of it; but in my childish way I was a match for her, replying, 'But papa does so—is it a sin, then?'

"'Oh, for gentlemen it is different.'

"'Very well, I will be a gentleman; I won't be a girl.'

"Indeed, my childhood was embittered by the idea that I was a girl and could never become a man. I never went to children's parties; I was always with grown-up people, officers, and lovers of the chase, and at eight years of age I was no bad match for some of them on horseback. When my nurse acknowledged she had lost all control over me, a tutor was engaged—yes, a tutor: don't be surprised. Sir John had never either announced the death of his son or the birth of a daughter to his relations in England. For this reason I was isolated from my own sex, and even learned to regard it with somewhat of an aversion, owing to the conversation of Sir John and Dr. Darkins. I profited by such training, though perhaps not exactly as they desired, for I hated a lie, and my chief desire was to show myself such as I was, proud and frank in all my dealings with men. I am convinced grandfather had no hand in this plot, but he was too weak to speak out and set his face against it. Sometimes, however, he gave me needlework to do, and he had a strong aversion to Dr. Darkins. Disputes arose between him and Sir John, and he shortly after moved to another garrison, taking Rolf with him. When I was close upon my fourteenth year, Dr. Darkins was suddenly cashiered, and it was announced to me that I should be sent to an aristocratic ladies' boarding-school. There I played all sorts of pranks, smoked like a grenadier, and had always a supply of extra-fine cigarettes wherewith to tempt my schoolfellows.

"The cause of this great change in my life was brought about in this way. Aunt Ellen, a sister of my father's, had come over to Scheveningen with her husband for the bathing season, and thence she made a flying visit to see her brother, taking everybody by surprise—nobody more so than Sir John himself.

"'Francis must be a big boy now; what are you going to make of him?' I heard her ask my father.

"'There's nothing to be made of him,' my father answered angrily in his embarrassment, 'for Francis is only a girl. The eldest child, a son, is dead. I have only this one.'

"'John, John,' cried the lady reproachfully, 'the whole family believed you had a son, and you have done nothing to undeceive us; and the old baronet, who pays you the yearly income set apart for his heir, is expecting to see you both in England very soon. What do you mean by it? Have you acted like a gentleman?'

"Papa lisped something about 'absolute necessity,' and seemed anxious to induce her to co-operate in his schemes. The proud lady burst forth in indignation—

"'Can you imagine I would become a party to such deception?'

"Sir John, to relieve his disappointment, uttered his usual oath, and ordered me out of the room, as he now perceived I was listening with all my ears.

"I obeyed very unwillingly, and not until I had spoken to Aunt Ellen. He ordered me to hold my tongue, and there was a mingling of menace, of anxiety, and embarrassment in his looks which drove me sheer out of the room. I had never seen him look like that before. What passed between them I cannot say. Aunt Ellen afterwards gave me fifty pounds, and promised to make me that yearly allowance if my conduct was satisfactory at school. I told her I hated girls' schools, and that I should much prefer going to England with Dr. Darkins, as had been promised me.

"'That's out of the question, my child.' More she did not say, and I knew better than to ask Sir John any questions.

"Well, as you may imagine, I did not stay a whole year at school. In some things I had the advantage of the eldest girls, whilst in others I was more stupid and ignorant than the children in the lowest class. My knitting was always in confusion; I broke my needles in my impatience; I spoilt the silk and sampler if I had any marking to do; and, to make matters worse, if any one laughed at me for my awkwardness, or punished me for my carelessness, I flew into the most violent passion. I fought with the assistant-mistress, and boxed the ears of any girl who called me Major Frank—a girl from the same town as myself having betrayed me. Before I had been there six weeks I ran away, and had to be taken back by Sir John himself; but six months later I was dismissed as an untractable, incorrigible creature, whose conduct was pernicious in its effect on the rest of the school. The dismissal, however, was an injustice to me. Music was the only thing I liked at school, and the music master was the only teacher who had never had reason to complain of me; on the contrary, he praised me, he flattered me, and one day he even gave me a kiss."

"The wretch!"

"Yes, this liberty aroused all my feelings of feminine dignity, and I boxed his ears for him."

"That was just like you!"

"The other girls rushed into the room; the headmistress followed to inquire into the cause of the disturbance. Of course the master had the first word, and he was base enough to say I had become so violent on account of his correcting my fingering. When asked for my explanation, I answered that I would not contradict a liar—it was beneath my dignity.

"I declined to apologize, and was threatened with the severest punishments known in the school. They shut me up in a room and fed me on bread and water, but all in vain; the mistress was obliged to write for my father.

"He sent my old nurse to fetch me away, and I confided the truth to her with many tears. She was very anxious to make a scene, give 'madame' a piece of her mind in the presence of her pupils; but I was so glad to get away from the school that I prevented her carrying out her intentions. I told her I should not be believed. The fact was, one of the elder girls told me I was very foolish to make so much fuss about a kiss. The music master kisses me,' she continued, 'and all the others who are pretty,' as he says. Still, we are much too sensible to tell any one, for he lends us French novels forbidden by madame, and improvises invitations for us when we want to go out: in short, he is ready to do us all kinds of services that we could not trust to a servant of the establishment. What folly to make such a man your enemy!

"I have since met this same girl—Leontine was her name—in society, and experienced the advantages of her education. She was ever very polite to my face, and calumniated me directly my back was turned. Thus, you see, under these forms of decorum all kinds of lies and infamy are hidden."

"Francis, I am quite of your opinion that a man's fine manners are no guarantee of his morality or uprightness; but do you think society would be improved by turning all its sin, wretchedness, and ugliness to the surface?"

"It is certain we should then fly from it in disgust and horror."

"But every one cannot fly from it. There are people who are obliged to live in society; and, provided that we do not become its dupe, it is better that what you call the mantle of decorum should give to social life an aspect which renders it supportable."

As we returned from the ruin the sky had become misty, and the sun was setting behind the clouds, its presence being only marked by the orange and purple rays struggling through the mist; the fields were already invisible under this wet sheet of nature's procuring. It was time for us to seek shelter from such humidity as surrounded us. Francis proposed to enter the house with all speed.



CHAPTER XXIII.

Now that Francis was once in the humour to give me the history of her past life, I encouraged her to continue her story.

She went on to say that a Swiss governess was engaged to teach her needlework and other ladylike accomplishments.

"My father," she said, "seeing all his plans foiled by the unexpected visit of my English aunt, left me entirely in the hands of my governess. And as I no longer wrote a letter every year to the old uncle telling him of my progress in fencing and horsemanship, and signing myself Francis Mordaunt (I had been told this was the accepted orthography in England), Sir John received no more bills of exchange from that source. It was these bills of exchange which had enabled him to keep up such an expensive establishment. He ought now to have adopted a plainer style of living; but he preferred drawing upon his capital.

"I thought it my duty to write to Aunt Ellen, and to tell her the truth about my having left the school. She answered me in affectionate terms, and enclosed the annual fifty pounds with many exhortations to industry and much good advice. She even promised me I should come to London on a visit, as she had much to tell me. But, alas! next year she died, and my pension ceased—nor have I ever heard a word of my English relations since.

"Mademoiselle Chelles, my governess, was a woman of tact, and won my affection and esteem. In the long walks we took together our conversation was confidential, and she spoke of the sufferings of the poor, and the pleasures to be derived from relieving them; in short, she showed me the serious side of life in a manner no one else had ever done before. She inspired me with a love for the beauties of nature, and awoke the better feelings which, thus far, had lain dormant; assisting me in my preparation for confirmation. Perhaps she would have succeeded in extirpating 'Major Frank' altogether, but that my nurse grew jealous of her influence; and, worse still, Rolf, now promoted to the rank of lieutenant, fell in love with her. She could not bear the grand soudard, the 'ogre,' as she called him; for his manners frightened her, and he made his offer in such a maladroit fashion that she walked off to my father, and said she would leave the house if ever that man were allowed to put his foot into it again. This, as everybody said, was assuming the 'high tone' on her part. Grandfather and nurse were on Rolf's side, and my father answered—'It's only a governess, let her go.' I myself said little for her; I was too anxious to regain my ancient liberty—though I have since known the loss I sustained in losing her. I was young then; my father ought to have known better. Even to the present day this is one of my grudges against Rolf.

"Again I became 'Major Frank.' I accompanied my father on his rides, and I saw he was proud of my horsemanship. Sometimes we hunted together, and when he allowed me to drive I was ever ready to show off my daring and skill. In the meantime my nurse died, and now, indeed, I felt the truth of her words—that she was the only person in the world who really loved me. I had to take her place, and fulfil the duties of mistress in the household. My father was expecting a visitor from England——"

She stopped abruptly, and fixing her beautiful blue eyes on me with a strange expression, asked—

"Leopold, have you been in the society of women much?"

"When I lived with my mother I saw many of her friends and visitors; but since——"

"That's not the question. I ask you if, like most men, you have sometimes suffered from the intermittent fever called love?"

"I have done my best, cousin, to escape it. Knowing myself to be too poor to maintain a wife in these expensive times, I have always observed a strict reserve in my relations with them in order not to be led away from my principles."

"Then you have never been 'passion's slave,' as Hamlet puts it."

"My time has always been too much occupied for anything of the sort."

"So much the better for you; but I am sorry for myself, because you will not be able to give me the information I am seeking."

"Tell me what you want to know; possibly I can enlighten you."

"I wish to know if you think it possible for an honourable man, who is neither a fool nor a coxcomb, but who, on the contrary, has given evidences of his shrewdness and penetration, not to observe pretty quickly that a girl—how shall I express myself?—that a girl is deeply attached to him, even though no word of love has been exchanged between them?"

I was greatly embarrassed. What could be her meaning? Was this simplicity or maliciousness on her part, to address such a question to me? After a few moments' reflection, however, I answered—

"I believe that, in general, both men and women very quickly discover the mutual feelings which they entertain towards each other, even though no words on the subject have passed between them."

"That is my opinion also now; but at the time I am referring to I was as inexperienced as a child. My father's friends always regarded me as an ill-bred girl, whimsical and capricious, a sort of savage whom nobody cared to invite into society either for the sake of their sons or daughters. The young officers who visited at our house would try to make themselves agreeable; but their conduct appeared so insipid, so ridiculous, that I only mocked them, and gave such biting replies as to disconcert the most intrepid amongst them.

"It was at this time that Lord William came to stay with us. He was introduced to me as a schoolfellow of my father's; at Eton he had been Sir John's fag, and indeed was his junior by only a few years. For some reason, unexplained to me, it was said he had been obliged to leave England, and my father offered him the suite of rooms left vacant by my grandfather. Lord William appeared to be rich; he brought over an immense quantity of luggage, and paid right royally for any service rendered him. I believe, indeed, he had a private agreement with my father about the housekeeping expenses, though neither of them ever told me so. Now a housekeeper was engaged to assist me in the management of the house, and yet it was with the greatest difficulty that I could adapt myself to the duties of mistress of such an establishment. The presence of our visitor, however, greatly aided in reconciling me to my position.

"Lord William (I never knew his family name) was a man of letters, and had had a very valuable and expensive library sent over for his use. Moreover, he was highly gifted with the faculty of communicating his knowledge to others in a pleasant and agreeable manner. He was an enthusiastic lover of art and poetry; he could read and even speak several modern languages, and was passionately fond of antiquities and ancient history. He knew—what we were all ignorant of—that the library of our own small town possessed works of inestimable value on these subjects, and I think this was his reason for choosing it as his place of sojourn on the Continent. At all events he made great use of the library. You may understand my surprise at seeing a man, evidently of high rank, who cared neither for hunting nor noisy pleasures of any kind, and who declared the happiest moments of his life to be those spent in his study, and yet withal he was a perfect gentleman and man of the world. The gentlemen said he was ugly; the ladies were silent on that point, but appeared delighted with the slightest attention he paid them. I thought he bore a striking resemblance to our Stadtholder William III., though less pale. He had a high forehead, strongly marked features, and dark eyes, which made you think of the piercing regard of the eagle."

"Had he also the beak?" I asked, growing impatient.

"I have told you he was like William III. (of England)," she replied, looking at me in astonishment; "his nose was curved sharply. But not to detain you too long, I will at once confess he exercised a powerful influence over me for good. I soon discovered that my manners were displeasing to him, and that he evinced towards me a compassionate sympathy, as if he regretted the sad turn my tastes had taken. One day I overheard him ask my father why he did not take me out into society. He gave as a reason my wild and brusque manners, and the kind of society to be found in a small town like ours. Lord William was not a man to be easily discouraged. He spoke to me privately about my previous life, and put all sorts of questions to me about my education. I told him everything, in my own way, without trying to hide any of the particulars from him.

"'Do you like reading?' he asked me.

"'Not at all,' I answered. 'I like society, men and action.'

"'But any one who does not read, and read much, becomes idiotic, and makes but a poor figure in society.'

"'If that's the case, tell me what I ought to read.'

"'I cannot answer your question right away; but, if you are willing, we will read together and try to make up for lost time.'"



CHAPTER XXIV.

"And so it was settled. He undertook to educate me and to form my tastes. He soon made me acquainted with the masterpieces of German and French literature, and discovered to me the beauties of the classics in his own language; and I learnt from him most assiduously that which Dr. Darkins never could have taught me——"

"And so well, that you fell in love with each other!" I interrupted, giving way to a movement of anger.

"Not exactly; but if you interrupt in that way I shall lose the thread of my narrative. It is at your desire I recount to you the story of my past life; and how much wiser would you be if I were to compress it into a sentence like this for instance: 'Lord William came to our house in the autumn, and left us the following spring'?"

"Without having become your fiance?" I said in agony.

"Without having become my fiance," she answered in a dry, cold tone.

I was angry with myself. I had only too plainly shown that I was jealous of the praise lavished on this stranger. And what right had I to be jealous?

She was the first to break the silence which ensued.

"Leopold," she said, "I perceive that this account of the events of my youth is anything but agreeable to you. If you had left us as I wished you to do this morning, I should not now be wearying you with my recollections of the past."

"Believe me, Francis, I have remained on purpose to listen to them; I promise not to interrupt you again if you will continue."

"Well then, now I will confess to you that I loved Lord William with all the strength of a first love, and with all that innocency of a young heart which does not yet even know that the passion which sways it is love. I soon found that Lord William was dearer to me than all the world beside, and that my chief delight was to obey him in all things, to consult him on all occasions, and to accompany him when and wherever it was possible. I even found means to interest myself in his archaeological researches. I translated for him Dutch documents which formerly I would not have taken the trouble to read. Besides, finding that, like most men, he was fond of a good dinner, I took care to have such dishes prepared as I knew to be to his liking. I began to pay attention to my dress, because he himself, without going to extremes or exceeding the bounds of good taste, was always well dressed. He introduced me into the society of our small town, and I felt vexed every time he paid the least attention to another lady, though I took care not to let him see it. We also gave dinners and received company, and the ladies were greatly astonished at the manner in which Major Frank played the hostess. The winter was drawing to a close, and it had been settled that, on the first fine day which offered, we should all make an excursion to the Werve. My grandfather had returned to the garrison, and I was soon aware he disapproved of my sentiments towards Lord William. And it was not long before I knew the reason why.

"One fine spring morning I was sitting on the balcony with a book in my hand, when I heard my grandfather and father, who sat on a bench underneath, speaking of Lord William and myself in terms which excited my curiosity.

"Grandfather, in a very bad humour, said: 'She is always parading him about, and he pays no attentions to anybody but her. In your place, I should ask him to declare his intentions, and then the engagement can be publicly announced.'

"My father burst out in a loud laugh.

"'Major,' he said, 'what are you thinking of? William, whose intentions are perfectly honest, was at school with me; he is only two or three years my junior, and Francis has not completed her seventeenth year.'

"'What does that matter? He does not look much over thirty, and I tell you she's madly in love with him. How is it possible you have never perceived it yourself?'

"'Bless me, Major!' cried my father, 'you must know that William is married; and, moreover, I am very grateful to him for acting the part of mentor to Francis; indeed she had need of one!'

"'In truth, Sir John, either you are too simple, or you indulge a confidence in your friend I cannot approve of.'

"'You would have the same confidence in him that I have, if you knew him as well. He is every inch a gentleman, sir, and if I hinted the slightest suspicion he would leave the house instantly. And, besides, he is generous, very generous—I am deeply indebted to him. His stay with us is almost at its close. He must return to London to preside at the meeting of some society of antiquarians of which he is the president. The disagreeable affair which obliged him to come to the Continent is almost arranged. He was afraid of a lawsuit which would have caused much scandal in high life, but the mediators are now hopeful of success. His wife, who is travelling in the South with his relations, has written him a very humble letter, imploring him to forget and to forgive. He has told me his mind is not yet quite made up, but that he has a great repugnance to a divorce; probably then——'

"Hereupon the two speakers got up and walked away into the garden. As for myself, I remained for a long time leaning against the balustrade, immovable as a statue of stone. When I found myself quite alone, I could not suppress a cry of grief. Yes, my grandfather had read me! I loved—I loved with passion, and all at once I discovered my passion to be a crime. And he, had he not deceived me by leaving me in ignorance of what it was most important for me to know? Ought he not to have foreseen the danger into which he was leading me by his kind and affectionate treatment? Without doubt he felt himself invulnerable; without doubt he still loved his absent wife. It is true that with his kind manners he always maintained a certain reserve with me; once, indeed, and once only, he had kissed my hand with marks of tenderness for some attention or other I had shown him. That night I could not sleep for joy; on the morrow, however, he resumed his habitual reserve.

"My first idea was to go and reproach him to his face for what I considered his deception towards me; but he was not at home, and would not return before dinner. At table I could not help showing him how much my feelings towards him had changed. This he observed, and when the other gentlemen lit their cigars after dinner, instead of following me to the drawing-room, as was his wont, he took a cigar and stayed with them. I remembered that I could smoke also, and I followed his example. I saw him frown; he threw away his cigar, and invited me to go with him to his study. This was just what I wanted.

"'What is the matter with you, Miss Francis?' he asked. 'I cannot understand the reason for this change in your behaviour towards me.'

"'On a little reflection, my lord, you will easily discover the reason. You know how much I love plain-speaking.'

"'Very good.'

"'What can I think of you when I hear from other people that you are married?'

"I saw he grew pale, but he answered with great coldness—

"'Has Sir John only just told you that? and why to-day above all others?'

"'Sir John has told me nothing; I have heard it by accident. By accident, you understand, my lord, and now I think I have the right to hear from your own lips more particulars about your wife.'

"He drew back some paces; his features became so contracted under an expression of violent suffering that I myself was afraid. For a time he was silent, pacing up and down the room; and finally he said to me, with a mingling of sadness and discontent—

"'I am sorry, Francis, but I did not think the time had arrived when I could give you such a mark of confidence. There is too much of bitterness in your tone for me to suppose your question arises out of an interest in my sorrows, and only those who have such an interest have a claim to my explanations. Is it a young girl like you that I should choose out by preference, in whom to confide the sad secrets of my unhappy marriage? And how could I begin to speak about a subject on the termination of which I am still in doubt?'

"'And it never occurred to you, my lord, that there might be a danger in leaving me ignorant of your marriage?'

"'No, certainly not. I came here to divert my thoughts from my troubles, and to seek solace—which I have found—in my favourite studies. I made your acquaintance in the house of your father, who received me hospitably; and I thought I perceived your education had been neglected, nay, that even a false turn had been given to your ideas. This I have tried to remedy and I must acknowledge you have gratefully appreciated and seconded my efforts; but it does not follow that I ought to acquaint you with all my personal affairs and all my griefs and troubles. I fled from England to escape the condolence of my friends and the raillery of my adversaries. I wished to avoid a lawsuit in which my name—a name of some renown in England—would have been exposed to the comments of a public ever hungering after scandal. Could I have talked to you on such a subject? It would have cast a gloom over the golden dreams of your youth, and rendered the autumn of my life still more cloudy!'

"'The clouds surrounding you, my lord, must be pretty thick already,' I replied, exasperated by his cool manner, 'to prevent your seeing that my ignorance of your marriage has caused me to embark on a sea of illusions, where in the spring-time of life I shall suffer shipwreck.'

"A movement of fright escaped him. I broke forth in complaints and reproaches; he fell back on a divan and covered his face with his hands. He protested he had never guessed at such an idea, never even suspected anything of the sort. Afterwards, when I had eased my mind and was sitting sobbing before him, he recovered himself, and coming over to me he said, in his usual calm and affectionate tone—

"'My child, there is much exaggeration in all you have told me. Your imagination has been struck, and you have suffered it to carry you away, so that you believe all you say now; but I can assure you, you are mistaken. You are impressionable, susceptible, but too young to understand the real passion of love. At your age, young girls have very often some little love affair with the engaging young dancer they met at the last ball. You, who have been kept out of society on account of the masculine education you had received, have known no such temptations; but perhaps for this very reason you were the more exposed to illusions of another kind, which I confess I ought to have foreseen, namely, that of falling in love with the first gentleman who showed you more than the usual attentions of common civility. I happen to be this man. We have read several plays of Shakespeare together. Every young girl may imagine herself a Juliet; but that is no reason why she should imagine her teacher to be a Romeo. Now, seriously, Francis, could you take me for your Romeo? Look at me, and consider how ridiculous any such pretension on my part would be. I am about the same age as your father; I am turning gray; I should also be as stout, but for a disease which threatens me with consumption. All this is far from poetic, is it not? Exercise your reason, your good sense, and you will be the first to acknowledge that I am most unfitted to become the hero of a love affair.'

"I was silent; I felt as if some one were pouring ice down my back. He approached me, and laying his hand on my shoulder, with the greatest gentleness said—

"'I was married one year before your father, and though I have no children, I might have had a daughter of your age. I had accustomed myself, gradually, to regard you as my own daughter; you deprive me of this pleasure, for the present at least, though I am sure you will one day recover from your folly. It is your head which is affected, not your heart, believe me, for I have had experience in the depths of abasement to which the passions may lead a woman who has not energy enough to overcome them. If I had a son—I have only a nephew, who will be heir to my title and property—and if——"

"'Thank you, my lord, I could never address you as my uncle!' and I burst out in an hysterical laugh. There was a beautiful edition of Shakespeare lying on the table, a present from him; I took it up and tore it leaf from leaf, scattering them about the room. At the same instant my maid knocked at the door; she came to remind me it was time to dress for the ball. We had accepted invitations for this evening to the house of a banker, one of the most prominent men in our province. My pride having been touched to the quick, I determined to seek solace in the wildest excitement. I flirted with the only son of this banker, who all through the winter had been very attentive to me. I felt much pleasure in showing Lord William how easily I could forget him; but my eyes were all the while furtively following him to see the effect my conduct might produce. He remained calm and cool as ever. After a while he seated himself at the card-table, and lost a considerable sum of money to my grandfather. On the morrow, I perceived preparations were being made for his departure in all haste. Lord William had received the letters he had so long expected, and seemed to have no time to notice me. I became transported with passion, when my father told me at luncheon that the banker's son had asked permission to wait upon me in the course of the afternoon. You can understand my rage. 'What a falling-off was there!'—from Lord William to a Charles Felters!

"I answered my father that I would not speak to the simpleton.

"'You must!' he replied, in a tone of authority I was little accustomed to in Sir John. 'You have given the young man encouragement, and you had better reflect on the consequences of refusing such a good offer.'"



CHAPTER XXV.

"Poor Charles Felters was quite thunderstruck at the reception I gave him. His gay partner of last evening's dance had changed into a veritable fury. I told him plainly I didn't care a jot for him. He hesitated, he stammered, and couldn't make up his mind to go. I was expecting Lord William every moment to take leave of me, and I would not have them meet. In my confusion my eyes rested on a 'trophy of arms' with which my father had decorated one side of the room. Scarcely knowing what I was about, I seized a foil, handed it to my would-be lover, and taking another myself, I took up my position on guard, exclaiming—

"'The man who wins my love shall win it with the sword.'

"The miserable ninny never even observed that the foils were buttoned, but, throwing down his, rushed out of the room in the greatest alarm."

"I have heard of this feat of arms, Francis," I said, laughing; "and, moreover, that Felters is still running away from you."

"'Voila comme on ecrit l'histoire.' I have myself heard he made a voyage round the world to escape from me; but the truth is he only made a tour up the Rhine, fell in with the daughter of a clergyman, and married her. She has made him a happy man, and he is now the father of a family; nevertheless, all his relations bear me the most intense hatred, and lose no opportunity of serving me a malicious turn. I still held my foil in my hand when Lord William entered the room. His look was sufficient to show me his disapprobation.

"'If your father had taken my advice, Francis,' he said, 'he would have waited some little time before informing you of the intentions of Felters; still there was no reason for your acting in this way. For shame to treat a poor fellow, who perhaps never had a foil in his hand before, in such a manner. But, well! I have always hesitated about putting you to the test; permit me now, however, to take the place of the miserable fugitive.'

"And without waiting for an answer he picked up Felters' foil, and cried—

"'En garde!'

"I literally did not know what I was doing. I would not decline his challenge, and I determined to show him that he was not fencing with an inexperienced girl. He handled his foil with a lightness and firmness of hand I had little expected to find in a man of letters, confining himself, however, to parrying my attacks only; and yet this he did so skilfully that I was unable to touch him. I exhausted myself in my desperate efforts, but I would not ask for quarter.

"'You see such exercise requires more than the arm of a woman,' he said coolly.

"My wild despair and anger seemed to give me strength, and falling in upon him I broke my foil upon his breast. He, with a smile, had neglected to parry this attack, and I saw a thin stream of blood trickle down his shirt-front. Now I was overwhelmed with sorrow and repentance. Sir John and grandfather immediately came upon the scene.

"'It is nothing, gentlemen,' he said to them, 'only a scratch; a little satisfaction which I owed to Miss Francis, and which will perhaps cure her of her taste for such unladylike weapons.'

"'I will never, never more touch them,' I cried in terror when I saw his pocket-handkerchief, which he had applied to the wound, saturated with blood.

"And I have kept my word, though it has not prevented my obtaining a wide reputation as a duellist. Neither Charles Felters nor the servant of Lord William could hold their tongues, though the latter had been forbidden by his master to say a word on the subject. I was reminded very unpleasantly, next time I appeared in the town, that the affair had become public property. Lord William would not allow us to send for a surgeon, but had the wound dressed by his own servant; and, fortunately, it turned out to be less dangerous than I feared at first. I sought my own room, and hid myself there with all the remorse of a Cain. I resolved to throw myself at his feet and beg his pardon. But the reaction to my excited state of feelings had now set in, and I fell exhausted on a sofa, where I slept for several hours a feverish kind of sleep. When I awoke Lord William was gone. After this I was seriously ill; and on my recovery my grandfather took me as soon as possible to the Werve for the fresh country air. Sir John told me, when I was quite well, that Lord William had certainly given proof of his good-nature to allow me to touch him; for while at Eton he had been considered one of the best fencers in the school, and just before quitting England he had fought a duel with an officer in the Horse Guards, and wounded him in a manner that report said was likely to be fatal.

"My answer to this was that I had never suspected Lord William of being a duellist.

"'That he never was; but in this instance his honour was at stake. He could not leave the insult of this captain unpunished. Perhaps, however, he would have acted more justly if he had put his wife to death; and though an English jury would certainly have brought him in guilty of murder, yet, considering the great provocation he had received, public opinion would have sympathized with him in the highest degree. Now he is reconciled to her again, at least in outward appearance; but he has written to me that he is going to make a tour all over the world.'"

"And you have never since heard of this 'My lord?'" I asked Francis, to whose story I had listened with as much sorrow as attention.

"Never; and I don't even know his family name to this day. Changes now followed in rapid succession. My father died suddenly; my grandfather was promoted in rank, and we removed to Zutphen, where I proposed to begin a new life. But though we break with our antecedents, it is impossible to sponge out the past. However, more of this hereafter. I must attend to the other gentlemen, otherwise I shall be accused of neglecting my duties. I will tell you more of this history at another time if it interests you; for it is a relief to me to confide it to a friend. Only never begin the subject yourself, as there are moments when I cannot bear to think of it."

"I promise you this, Francis," I replied, pressing her hand.

It would be impossible for me to recount all the feelings which passed through my mind in listening to Francis's trials. I will not weary you, dear William, for I acknowledge I felt sad and irritable. And yet I tried to think these were her "campaign years," as she calls them, though it was evident her heart had suffered long before she attained her twenty-fifth birthday. If she had told me of deception, so common in the world, of an engagement broken off, of a misplaced affection, such things would not have troubled my peace of mind. What affected me was to think this Englishman had won the place in her affections which I wished to be the first to occupy—that place which permits a man to inspire a woman with confidence, and exercise over her an influence authoritative and beneficial. Time had done much to cool her love for him, but she had not forgotten him; and it was certainly a devotion to his memory which rendered her so indifferent to the merits of other men. I wondered if she had told me all this history in order to make me comprehend the improbability of my being able to replace her ideal. Had she not told me on the heath, on our first meeting, that if she suspected I came to demand her hand in marriage, she would leave me there and then? I felt myself diminishing in her estimation. And there was a portrait of William III. hanging over the mantelpiece which seemed to say to me, ironically, "Too late, too late!"

Yet again I asked myself whether I was not growing jealous of a vain shadow. Eight years had passed since these events. She was no longer a little girl, who could imagine she saw a Romeo in her mentor who was a long way on the wrong side of forty. Who could say that the comparison, which she could not fail to make now, would be to my disadvantage?

I determined not to remain in this perplexity. At the risk of committing an imprudence, I made up my mind to ask her whether she regarded the loss of her Lord William as irreparable. It was necessary for me to know what chance of success was left me.

This night I slept little, for I was rolling over in my mind all sorts of extravagant declarations which I intended to make to my cousin next day. This, however, was the day preceding the General's birthday, and Francis was fully occupied with the Captain in making all sorts of preparations; so that during the whole day I never once could find a suitable moment to begin the subject. The master of the village school would bring up to the Castle his best pupils to recite verses made for the occasion; the clergyman and the notables would also come to offer their congratulations.

Francis sent me to the post-office to fetch a registered letter for her. [4] General von Zwenken was in a bad humour because Rolf had no time to amuse him, and finding myself rather in the way I went off to my room to write.

Here in the afternoon I found on my table a little Russian leather case, on which my initials had been embroidered above the word Souvenir. Inside I found a bank-note equivalent to the sum Francis had borrowed of me; on the envelope which inclosed it she had written, in a bold hand, the word Merci, her name, and the date. The case itself was not new. Poor dear girl! she must have sat up half the night to work my initials in silk, as a surprise. I now felt more than ever how dear she was become to me, and I promised myself not to temporize any longer. Then the idea occurred to me: If I can get her permission, I will ask her hand of the General to-morrow after I have congratulated him on his birthday.

This idea threw me into a transport of joy. I got up from my chair with the intention of seeking my cousin and bringing matters to a crisis at any risk. My hand was already on the handle of the door, when I thought I heard a tap at the window. Immediately a hoarse voice called several times—

"Francis! Francis!"

Astonished, and wishing to know who this could be, I stood motionless. The voice cried again—

"Francis, if you don't open the window I will break the sash all to pieces."



CHAPTER XXVI.

As, for very good reasons, Francis gave no answer, a vigorous arm forced open the window, and a man sprang into the room, seemingly quite indifferent about any damage he might have caused.

"What is your business with Miss Mordaunt?" I asked, advancing towards the intruder.

"A stranger here?" he answered, with an expression of surprise; "I thought they never had visitors now."

"I think the manner of your entrance is much more astonishing, and I am the person surprised."

"Well, yes, my entrance is somewhat irregular," he replied, in the most familiar style possible; "however, Mr. Unknown, I am neither a thief nor a housebreaker. I have entered in this way because I wished no one but Francis to know of my arrival, and I was sure I should find her here; but, now I am here, allow me to rest myself whilst I reflect a little upon the best means of obtaining an interview with her."

And he threw himself at full length on the old sofa, which creaked under his weight.

"Ah! ah!" he continued, examining the walls, "the family portraits are gone—eaten away, no doubt, by the moths and the damp."

It was quite clear to me the stranger was not here for the first time. Though his manners were free, there was something gentlemanly in his personal appearance. Still his dress was fantastic. He wore a short velvet jacket with metal buttons, and a silk handkerchief loosely tied around his neck; tight trousers of a grey pearl colour, and polished riding-boots with spurs, and a soft felt hat.

"You've got nothing to drink here?" he asked, after a pause of some minutes. "I have ridden for three hours, and my throat is almost choked with sand and dust."

He spoke Dutch with a foreign accent. His age seemed to be about fifty, though he might be younger. His lively, active features were never at rest for a moment; his greenish-grey eyes, the fine wrinkles on his high sunburnt forehead, and the paleness of his cheeks, all marked him as the adventurer endued with strong passions—an impression that was increased by his thick-set face, large nose, and the tufted mustachios hanging over his thick, sensual lips. I could not refuse him a glass of water, unwelcome as I found his presence. As I handed it to him I said—

"You seem to know this house well."

"Yes, and that's no wonder; I played many a prank here in my boyhood. But you, sir, who are you? An adjutant of the Colonel's, or a protege of Francis's?"

"I think I have the best right to question you, and to ask who you are?"

"That's true enough; and I would tell you with pleasure, but it's a secret which concerns others besides myself. Call me Mr. Smithson—it's the name I am known by at present."

"Very well. Now what is your business here, Mr. Smithson?"

"I wish you to tell Francis I am here."

"Do you think the news will be agreeable to her?" I demanded.

"I cannot say, but she will come all the same."

"Here, into my room?"

"Bah! our Major Frank is no prude."

"Mr. Smithson, I give you fair warning that if you say a single word derogatory to the character of Miss Mordaunt, I shall instantly make you take the same way out of this room by which you entered it."

"Oh! oh! Mr. Unknown, I am a first-rate boxer. But easy, man, easy! For I should be the last person in the world to say an offensive word about Francis. Now, since you know her, you ought to be aware that she would never refuse to assist a person in distress out of a sense of prudery. Just you ask her to come here to see—not Smithson, because she does not know me under that name, but a relation of hers, who calls himself Rudolf."

"And if she refuses to come?"

"Oh, you make too many difficulties. Ah! is it possible you are her——I should have thought Francis Mordaunt more capable of commanding a batalion than of bowing herself under the yoke of marriage. But, after all, women do change their minds. Then you are the happy mortal?"

"A truce to your suppositions," I answered him in a firm voice; "I am here as a relation, a grand-nephew of the General's; my name is Leopold van Zonshoven."

"Well, upon my word! Probably we are cousins, for I am also related to the General. Francis will not refuse to come, I assure you—especially if you tell her that I do not come to ask for money; on the contrary, I bring some with me."

Hereupon he drew from his pocket a purse containing a number of clean, new greenbacks.

"Tell her what you have seen; it will set her mind at ease, and possibly yours also—for you seem as yet only half-and-half convinced that I am not a highwayman."

I no longer hesitated; but took the precaution to lock my door on the outside, lest he should follow me, and surprise Francis before I had warned her. Having reached her room I knocked gently, and she answered "Come in." It was the first time I had penetrated so far, and I began in a serious tone—

"Something very singular has happened, my dear cousin——"

"It is not an accident you come to announce to me, I hope?" she exclaimed.

"No, but a visit which will not prove agreeable, I am afraid."

"A visit at this time of the day! Who is it?"

"A person who says he is a relation of the family, and refuses to give any name but that of Rudolf."

She knit her eyebrows.

"Good heavens! Unfortunate man! Here again!"

I explained to her how he had forced his way in at the window, and offered to make him retrace his steps if she desired it.

"No, there must be no disturbance," she said, in a state of agitation. "My grandfather must not even suspect he is here. I will go with you, Leopold; this once you must excuse me if I do anything you consider in bad form. How dare he show his face here? I can do nothing more for him. You will stand by me, won't you?"

I took her hand and led her to my room. Rudolf lay on the sofa, fast asleep. When he saw Francis standing before him, he jumped up as if to embrace her, but she drew back. He did not seem hurt, but he lost his tone of assurance.

"I understand, Francis, that my return is not a joyful surprise to you."

"You have broken your promise. You gave me your word of honour you would stay in America. At any rate, you ought never to have set foot in your native country again——"

"Don't judge me without having heard——"

"Is it not tempting fortune to come back here to the Werve, where you may so easily be recognized?"

"Oh, don't make yourself uneasy on that score, my dear. I have taken precautions; and as for breaking my promise, I beg your pardon on my bended knees."

And he made a gesture as if he would fall on his knees before her.

"Don't be theatrical," she said severely, and again retreated some steps from him.

"Heaven forbid! On the boards, to gain a livelihood, it is another thing; but in your presence, before you, Francis, whom I honour and love, I wish to justify my conduct. You may condemn me afterwards, if you like. It was really my intention never to appear before your eyes again. Alas! man is but the puppet of fortune, and I have not been able to swim against the stream. I have had all sorts of adventures—but can I tell you all now?" he added, looking significantly at me. "To tell you the truth, I had reckoned on our being alone."

"Stay, Leopold," she said, in answer to an inquiring look I gave her.

"Francis," resumed Rudolf, with tears in his eyes, "you know you need no protector where I am."

"I know that, but I will not again expose myself to calumny for your sake. As for your security, Rudolf, I can answer for my cousin Van Zonshoven's discretion. You may tell him who you are without fear."

"It is a question of life and death," he said in French, with a most indifferent shrug of the shoulders, and he again stretched himself at full length on the sofa. "The least indiscretion, and my life will be forfeited. What of that? I run the risk of breaking my neck every day."

And then, turning towards me, he began to sing, or rather to try to sing, with a voice quite hoarse, and with a theatrical pose, the following lines out of the opera "The Bride of Lammermoor"—

"Sache donc qu'en ce domaine D'ou me chasse encor ta haine, En seigneur j'ai commande.

At least," he put in, "during the absence of the Baron, for I was heir-presumptive—a presumption which, alas! is destined never to be changed into certitude——"

Francis, visibly affected by his jesting style, interrupted him, and said to me—

"Rudolf von Zwenken, my grandfather's only son."

"It would cost my charming niece too great an effort to say 'My uncle.' It is my own fault. I have never been able to inspire people with the necessary respect for me. Well, now, Cousin van Zonshoven, you know who I am, but there is one point I must rectify: Rudolf von Zwenken no longer exists—he is civilly dead."

"And morally," murmured Francis.

"And if he were to rise again under that name," he continued, without heeding Francis's interruption, "he would commit something like suicide, for he would be arrested and shot."

"And knowing that, after all that has been done to put you beyond danger, you show yourself in this place again! It is inexplicable," cried Francis.

"But, my dear, who told you I had come to show myself here? It is true we give representations in the provinces; but the person who appears in public is Mr. Smithson, so well begrimed that Baron von Zwenken himself would not recognize his own son."

"That's very fortunate, for it would be the death of him," retorted Francis, harshly.

"How you exaggerate, dearest. Monsieur mon pere never had so much affection for me. He shall never know Mr. Smithson. His son Rudolf, however, seeks an interview with him, and requests you, Francis, to assist in bringing it about."

"It is useless, sir; you may neither see nor speak to your father again."

"Can you be so hard-hearted, Francis?"

"My duty obliges me, and I must have some regard for the feelings of your father in the first place."

"But, my dear child, try to understand me. I only wish to kiss his hand and beg his pardon. With this object I have run all risks, and imposed on myself all kinds of fatigue. I have just ridden hard for three hours, hidden myself in the old ruins, climbed the garden wall at the risk of breaking an arm or a leg; then, seeing a light here, I broke in—and all this for nothing! No, my darling, this cannot be; you will still be my good angel, and arrange the meeting I so much desire——"

"I say No; and you know when I have once said a thing I mean it."



CHAPTER XXVII.

Rudolf, after a pause, began once more—

"You have a good heart, Francis. Ah! I know your reasons. You think I am returned again like the prodigal son, with an empty purse, 'after eating of the husks which the swine did eat.' It is just the contrary."

"Don't be profane, Rudolf," said Francis, severely.

"But it is true—I bring money with me, over two hundred dollars in clean greenbacks, as a commencement of restitution, an earnest of my reform. What do you think my father would say if he found them to-morrow morning on his pillow? Don't you think he would receive me with open arms?"

"No, Rudolf, certainly not. You have broken your word of honour, and for this your father will never forgive you. Don't talk of restitution. What is this sum in comparison with what you have cost him, and all the suffering you have caused him and me? Such sacrifices as we had made gave us the right to hope you would leave us in peace—forget us."

Rudolf bowed down his head and heaved a deep sigh. I could not help pitying the unfortunate man. I should have liked to say something in his favour; but the cold, haughty, nay, contemptuous attitude of Francis seemed to impose silence on me. There must be some reason, I felt sure, for her inexorable severity; consequently I remained a passive spectator.

At length Rudolf roused himself from his despondency, drank off a glass of water, and, turning towards Francis, said in his most serious tone—

"Just listen, Miss Mordaunt. It appears to me that, under the pretext of acting as guardian to my father, you oppose a reconciliation between us, without even consulting his wishes; and it is strange that a niece, a granddaughter only, should usurp the position of the eldest son, and refuse to listen to the returning prodigal."

"Don't talk to me about your prodigal son," cried Francis, angrily; "you are not the prodigal son. It is only a passing whim, and you will be carried away again to-morrow by some new idea as you always were."

"Don't you be afraid you will lose anything by it," he said in a bitter tone; "you know I shall never lay claim to my father's property, even though we were reconciled."

"Must I then be suspected of cupidity, and by you indeed!" exclaimed Francis, in the greatest indignation.

"I should never accuse you of anything of the sort. On the contrary, I am only too sensible of your generosity. I only mentioned this to set you at ease about any consequences which might result from my reconciliation with my father. To the world I am Richard Smithson, American citizen; but let me have the pleasure of being for the few minutes I stay here Rudolf von Zwenken, who would speak to his old father once more, and take a last farewell of him. How can you oppose such a desire?"

"Your last farewells signify nothing; you always come back again."

"But if, in spite of your opposition, I go at once and seek my father in the large drawing-room—I have not forgotten my way about the house—who shall hinder me?"

"Do as you like; only I warn you you will find Rolf, who knows you, with grandfather; and Rolf knows his orders, which he will carry out like an old soldier."

"The devil take Rolf! What's the old ruffian doing here?" spitefully exclaimed Rudolf.

"The old ruffian does all he can to cheer the declining years of your father, whom you have rendered unhappy by your conduct."

"My misery would not be complete without your contumely," sobbed Rudolf. "I came here so cheerful and well disposed."

"Mr. Rudolf," I said, "allow me to arrange an interview for you with the General, since Miss Mordaunt declines."

"Don't you trouble yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven," retorted Francis, in her most cold and haughty tone. "I do not decline, but I know it is impossible, and therefore better to say nothing. Rudolf well remembers I threw myself at the feet of my grandfather, and besought him not to send his son into exile unforgiven, and it only added to the pain and sorrow of the scene. Don't forget, either, that you yourself caused the report of your death to be spread abroad. The old man believed it, and I have since heard him say it was a comfort to him. His fears lest you should be arrested, tried, and condemned, were only set at rest when he heard the news. Would you renew his distress, and put him to these tortures again?"

"It is true, too true—you are right," said Rudolf, quite breaking down.

"But you shall not leave the house without some refreshment," returned Francis in a kind tone, now she felt her victory to be certain; "I will go and fetch you something to eat immediately. Cousin Leopold will allow you to have supper and to repose yourself in his room."

Whereupon she left the room, and I was left alone with this singular cousin of mine.

"Bah!" he said, "our Major is not to be trifled with. What eyes she gave me! I felt as if she would pierce me through and through; and yet she has a good heart—there's not one in a thousand like her."

"I think she might have shown a little more of its tenderness towards a relation," I interposed.

"What shall I say? She knows only my evil deeds as she has heard them recounted by my father. When chance or misfortune has thrown us two together, it has always been under circumstances which could not dispose her in my favour. I have cost her both trouble and money—nay, I even fear her reputation has been called in question on my account. When I was in trouble she came to my assistance, regardless of what public gossip might say. It was at Zutphen. My father's door was shut upon me. She agreed to meet me in a lane outside the town, a public promenade little frequented at certain hours of the day—in fact, very seldom except on Sundays. But we were discovered; certain idlers took it into their heads to play the spy on us, and Heaven only knows what sort of reports they set flying about the town. The generous girl had pawned her diamonds in order to assist me, unknown to her grandfather. This act of devotion was of course interpreted to her disadvantage. You may think it would be more noble on her part not to remind me of what she has suffered when she sees me again; but, my dear sir, a perfect woman is as scarce a thing as a horse without a defect. Though she were to scratch and to bite me, I would still bow my head in submission to her——"

The entrance of Francis with a bottle of wine, bread and meat, &c., interrupted what he had to say further. He attacked the eatables with a most voracious appetite.

When he had somewhat allayed his hunger, he began—

"Francis, my darling, where am I to pass the night? I cannot go into that part of the house occupied by the General and Rolf, that's certain. I would go into the stable and sleep in the hay, but that I am afraid the coachman might recognize me."

"We have no coachman now," replied Francis, quite pale.

"What! You have sent away Harry Blount?"

"Harry Blount is dead."

"Dead! Why he would scarcely be thirty years of age. I taught him to ride——but Francis, my angel, you are quite pale; have you also sold your beautiful English saddle-horse?"

"No, Tancredo is stabled at farmer Pauwelsen's; but it is the recollection of Harry Blount which causes me to turn pale. I—it is dreadful—I was the cause of his death."

"Nonsense; come, come! In a moment of passion?" (here he made the gesture of a man who horse-whips another). "I did so more than once, but that does not kill a man—and you will not have murdered him."

"Nevertheless, I was the cause of the brave fellow's death. It occurred during a carriage drive. We had sold the beautiful greys——"

"What! that splendid pair. My poor father!"

"We had a new horse which we wished to run with the only one left us. Harry wanted to try them himself for the first time, but I took it into my head I would drive them. I got on the box by his side, seized the reins, and, as soon as we were on a piece of level road, they went like the wind. I was proud of my skill, and was rejoicing in my triumph; but still Harry shook his head, and recommended me to be prudent. The sky became clouded, and a thunderstorm threatened us. In my folly, I urged the horses on still faster, though they were already taking the bits between their teeth. Harry became alarmed, and tried to take the reins out of my hands; but I resisted, and would not give them up. In an instant the thunder began to roll, and lightning struck right across our way; the horses took fright and began to rear on their hind-legs. Blount jumped off the box to go to their heads, but tripped, and they passed over his body. In despair, I also jumped from the box at the risk of my life, and the violence of the shock caused me to swoon. When I was again conscious, I saw the unfortunate Blount lying on the road, crushed, with scarcely a breath of life left in him. Within an hour he was a corpse."

Here Francis burst into tears, and covered her face.

"It is a pity, Francis, a great pity," replied Rudolf. "For your sake, I would that I had been the victim of this accident rather than Blount. You would have had one burden less to bear. Don't take it so to heart, my child. I have seen others fall from their horses never to rise again alive. What can we do? Wait till our turn comes, and not make life miserable by thinking too much about it. But," said he, "you have not yet told me where I am to sleep. Must I go back to the ruin? It is a cold place, and doubly so when I think of the parental castle close by."

"The truth is, I cannot offer you a room, Rudolf. There is not one suitable for the purpose."

"But why cannot Rudolf share mine?" I asked; "I will give up my bed to him."

"No," he replied quickly; "I will be content with the sofa, if Francis will consent to my staying here."

"Very well," she answered; "only you must promise that to-morrow, before daybreak, you will be far away. It is your father's birthday, and there will be many visitors at the Castle."

"I will start early, I promise you, Francis."

"Well, I will once more trust to your word of honour. And now good-bye. It is time for me to go; otherwise my absence will be remarked upon by the gentlemen of the house."

"Take this purse, Francis; it is a little commencement of restitution; I would I could offer you more, but I have not yet become a veritable Yankee uncle. I have not discovered a gold mine. Accept at least what I can return to you."

And he spread out the American greenbacks before her.

"Are they real ones, Rudolf?" she asked in a grave tone.

"By heavens, Francis, what do you mean by such a question? I have committed many follies in my life—I have been a fool, a ne'er-do-weel, a spendthrift, I am a deserter—but a forger of false bank-notes! Francis, could you suspect me of such infamy?"

"I wish I had only suspicions, Rudolf; unfortunately I have the proofs."

"The proofs!" he cried, in a sorrowful tone of voice; "but that's impossible."

"What am I to think of the false letters of exchange in which you forged your father's signature? We have got them under lock and key, these terrible proofs, and they have cost us dear. I have pardoned this fault with the rest, Rudolf; but facts are facts."

"It is impossible, I tell you!" he answered with firmness. "There must be some terrible mistake in this case, and I trust you will assist me in clearing it up. If my father believes that of me, I am not surprised he should rejoice at my death, nor am I astonished you despise me. However, I solemnly protest to you by all that's dear to me, I am innocent, Francis."

"Yet these bills were presented to Baron von Zwenken, and we paid them to prevent a lawsuit. It could not have affected you very much, for you were in America; but my grandfather would have been obliged to retire from the army."

"Francis, you are possessed of good, sound sense. How dared I have committed such an offence just at the time I was in hiding near Zutphen, at the moment when you were so generously raising funds for my enterprise in America; nay, at the moment when my sincerest desire was to carry my father's forgiveness with me into exile? Show me these accursed bills, and I will prove my innocence."

"They are in the General's possession; I cannot get at them to show you them."

"If we had them here, I would soon prove to you that it is impossible for me, with my wretched handwriting, to imitate the fine and regular hand of my father. What is your opinion, Mr. Leopold?"

"I believe what you say," I answered.

"Ah, that's a relief; it does me good!" he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "My father has been accustomed to spend his leave in fashionable watering-places; is it not possible for him there to have made the acquaintance of some wretch wicked enough to serve him such a turn?"

"For the last few years the General has not been from home, except one winter which he spent in Arnheim."

"Can Rolf have done it?"

"No, don't suspect Rolf; he never had any education, but he's the honestest man living, and he would pluck out an eye rather than cause the old General any trouble."

"Then I don't know whom to suspect. Now take these notes, Francis—they are real, I assure you; take them as a proof you still believe my word."

"I believe you, Rudolf; but I think you have more need of them than I have."

"Never mind me; I have a good position now: first rider in the Great Equestrian Circus of Mr. Stonehouse, of Baltimore, with a salary of two hundred dollars a month—is it not splendid? You see I have not lost my old love for horses. Formerly they cost me much money; now they bring me in a living."

"Well, Rudolf, you might have sunk lower; your business demands courage and address. But I will not accept your money; I never take back what I have given. To-morrow morning we shall see each other again. You need not jump from the balcony and scale the garden wall; I will let you out myself."

"Ah! you wish to make sure of my departure——"

"I have already said I would trust to your promise. Good night, gentlemen."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

She was scarcely out of the room, when Rudolf, who had drained the bottle, began in his usual tone of banter—

"I don't know whether I ought to congratulate you, Mr. Leopold, but I am firmly convinced our charming Major has found her colonel."

I only shrugged my shoulders; for I felt a repugnance to making Francis a subject of conversation with such a fellow.

"Do you imagine I have no eyes? I know the women, I can assure you. I have come across all sorts, and all sizes and colours, in my vagabond life; and my niece, though she were a thousand times Major Frank, is still a woman—a woman with a man's heart, as good Queen Bess used to say of herself. I don't know what you intend to do, but it appears to me you have only to propose—

'Et bientot on verra l'infante Au bras de son heureux vainqueur.'

She is smitten by you, that's certain! Why, she's like a thoroughbred horse. With much patience, much attention, and a firm hand that knows when to be gentle, so one succeeds. As for myself, I was always too rash, too impatient. These gracious devils soon perceive it, and once they know it, you are thrown—there's no help for you. After all, perhaps I am mistaken," he said, seeing I remained silent; "otherwise I would add that I hope you are rich. Her grandfather is ruined——"

"And by whom?" I interposed; a little hard upon him, I confess, but his volubility had become insupportable.

"By whom? that's the question. I have contributed my share, I acknowledge, yet not more than my own fortune which came to me from my mother, as the eldest and only son. John Mordaunt could tell us something if he were alive. He got his wife's fortune when they were married, and Francis ought to have had something when she came of age; that is if anything were left, for they lived in style—yes, a style that would have run through any amount. I was sent off to the Werve with my tutor, for I had begun to understand and to make observations. After the death of my sister I was never invited to the house of John Mordaunt. But perhaps it will not interest you to listen to my old stories?"

"Certainly, I should much like to hear an account of your adventures."

"Well, then, my father was the first cause of my misfortunes, for he opposed my wishes in everything. I wanted to be an officer; and my father would not let me go to the military college at Breda because he was prejudiced against it. He insisted upon my studying law at Leyden: this, he said, would lead to a fortune. Ah, I have found a fortune!" he repeated, with a bitter laugh. "Since I was sent to study for my father's pleasure, I thought it only right to seek my own; and, as he made me a fair allowance, I was soon noted as the wildest and most extravagant of students. I kept my horses and a Tilbury, and ran up enormous bills. Still I attended those lectures which interested me, and I had just put on a 'coach' for the final examinations, when my father lost a lawsuit against my Aunt Roselaer. The supplies were stopped, and I left college without having passed my examination as Master in the Law. My father's interests obtained for me a place in the financial world, but with the condition I should marry a rich heiress. The misfortune was, the heiress in question was of an over-ripe age, with a nose too red for my taste, and I neglected her. My father grew furious, and declared he would discard me. Moreover, I could not settle down to the regular routine of a counting-house for several hours a day, and sometimes extra work in the evening after dinner. I found in the office an old clerk, a regular old stager, who had sat on the same stool at the same desk for twenty years without a chance of promotion. This is my man, I thought, and I left the responsibility in his hands, whilst I amused myself with my friends at the club. But one fine day, when I was out picnicing with a party of friends, my worthy clerk started off with the cash-box. I was of course held responsible, and my father's guarantee was forfeited.

"I dare say the whole of Francis' remaining fortune was swallowed up by this affair and a lawsuit arising out of it. What could I do now? I had a good voice, and I proposed to go to some music academy abroad, and return as an opera singer. My father would not consent to this, and told me the best thing I could do was to enlist in the ranks as a common soldier. I caught at this idea in the hope of being promoted to the position of an officer at no distant date; but I had never been habituated to discipline. I was sent to a small fortress on the frontiers; Rolf was my lieutenant, and he did not spare me either hard work or picket duty. To cut it short, I had enlisted for five years, and I did not stay five months. One fine morning I walked off altogether. I was caught, and I wounded an under-officer in self-defence; the charge against me was as clear as the light of day. But I succeeded in breaking out of prison. I own I was not very strictly guarded, and Francis, as I afterwards learnt, had done her utmost to facilitate my escape. Again I was free as the air; but I must live. I tried everything. I gave lessons in French and in Latin to little German boys, and I taught the little Fraeuleins music and singing; I was even appointed private singer to an Austrian princess, who was deaf, and imagined that my voice resembled Roger's. I wandered about with a travelling opera company, and sang myself hoarse in the open air. I have been coachman to a baron, and travelled for a house in the wine trade, but when they wanted to send me to Holland I had to give up the post. Afterwards I was waiter at an inn, billiard-marker, valet to the secretary of a Polish count, who, appreciating my ability at the noble game of billiards, took me to Warsaw, and hastened to initiate me into his plans for the 'Independence of Poland.' As a matter of course, his enterprise was unsuccessful; but he got sent to Siberia, and I myself was kept in prison for some weeks because I refused to give evidence against him. Again I found myself thrown on the wide world without a penny in my pocket. But I will not weary you with a recital of all I have done and suffered. Perhaps the best thing, and the simplest, for me to have done, would have been to plunge into the Rhine and stay at the bottom; but I have always had a repugnance to suicide, and, besides, I have always been blest with a fund of good spirits and health. I now made a tour of the German watering-places from north to south, getting along as best I could, and changing my name very often. Once I was imprisoned with a Moldavian prince accused of murder, but I was let go, as I could prove my connection with the prince was posterior to the crime. A report then got abroad in Holland that I was dead, and I skilfully manoeuvred to obtain credence for it. At last, weary of my adventurous life, I heard how a member of our family had succeeded in America, and I decided to try my luck there; but I must have money. I flattered myself that after ten years my father would consent to do something for me. I wrote to Francis. The answer was not encouraging. My father threatened, if I dared to cross the frontier, he would hand me over to a court-martial. I thought Francis said this only to frighten me. I came to Zutphen, well disguised, and there I was convinced she had told me the truth. Francis, poor soul, was the only person who took pity on me, and you know already what it cost her. And when I think she could believe me to be guilty of forgery! Oh, the fact is I would not make her more unhappy by telling her what I suspect——"