"What then?"

"Listen; I have my weaknesses, but I have never been ruled by passions. I am not 'passion's slave.' Wine, play, and pleasant company have run away with my money, and in some respects I am no more than a great baby; but a real passion, a tyrannical passion, capable of making me a great man or a great malefactor, such a passion I have never known. Some one in our family, on the contrary, has been ruled by such a passion; and many things I observed in my boyhood without thinking much about them. But you are a discreet man, otherwise Francis would not confide in you as she has done; and, besides, you are a relation of the family—it is better you should be warned."

After a pause—

"Know then that amongst all the trades I tried in Germany, I have had the honour to be croupier in a gaming-house. There, unrecognized by my unfortunate father, I have seen him play with a violence of passion of which you can form no idea; and, believe me, in spite of all my faults, it is in that way both his own and Francis's fortune have been lost. I would have thrown myself at his feet, and besought him not to precipitate himself deeper into this abyss; but my position prevented me. Still, I watched him without his knowing it, and I soon found out for a certainty that he borrowed money of a Dutch banker, to whom he gave bills on Francis's property;—and, you see, rather than confess this to her, he has accused me——"

"But such conduct is abominable!"

"Ah! passions do not reason. I was far away, and my name was already sullied. I only desire to clear myself in Francis's opinion. But to conclude my history: I was not more lucky in the New World than I had been in Europe; I was shipwrecked and lost my all before I could land at New York. I then went to the far West without meeting with anything which promised me a future; in short, I felt quite happy when I made the acquaintance of Mr. Stonehouse, who engaged me to accompany his circus to Europe. And so it has come about that I once more tread my native earth under the protection of the American flag. Once so near the Werve, I was seized with an irresistible desire to see the old place again. My satisfaction and reception have not been very flattering, as you have witnessed; but I will keep my promise to Francis, cost me what it may. And now good night."

Without awaiting my answer he threw himself at full length on the sofa, and soon gave me auricular evidence that he was enjoying the profoundest slumber. I had nothing better to do than follow his example. When I opened my eyes in the morning he had disappeared, but he had left his pocket-book and the notes on the table.

After mature reflection I came to the conclusion that his surmises were right, and that the father had defamed his own son to escape the remonstrances of a granddaughter.



CHAPTER XXIX.

When I began to reflect on the coming day, I remembered that it would be necessary for me to congratulate my uncle on his birthday; and I felt it would require a stretch of the forms of politeness to do this in a becoming manner. It occurred to me now that if Francis could only see through that little glass window in my breast, she would have the best of the argument in future on the subject of the conventionalities of society; for I confess to you, dear William, I had become a convert to Aunt Sophia's opinions with regard to this same General von Zwenken, and now I admired her prudence in preventing her fortune from falling into such hands.

As the birthday fell on a Sunday we all went to the village church, a duty which the General considered his position as lord of the manor imposed upon him; and one which he performed as he would have done any other duty laid down by the military code. The clergyman was old, monotonous, and wearisome. The greater part of the congregation went to sleep under the effects of his sermon. Francis took up a Bible and pretended to read, whilst it seemed to me the wakeful part of the congregation paid more attention to us than to their minister; and the remarks they whispered about one to another struck me as not being very favourable to us. The General alone kept his eyes fixed on the preacher throughout the sermon; but whether his mind was so intently occupied with the subject matter, I will not take upon myself to say.

On our return the fete commenced. The village schoolmaster brought up his scholars, who recited a string of verses glorifying the Baron as patron of the school, though I doubt whether he had ever entered it. And I believe the same verses had done duty for several generations on similar occasions, when the owners of the Werve admitted the master and his scholars to an audience.

Then came the Pauwelsens from the farm, who still address the General as their landlord; after them some of the villagers. All these people were regaled with cake and chocolate. The burgomaster [5] called in his turn; he was a regular rustic, and paid a good deal more attention to me than to the General. He evidently saw in me a mystery which excited his curiosity.

Captain Willibald also put in an appearance, and after congratulating my uncle, handed him a box of cigars, saying—

"They are the old sort; I know your taste exactly."

"Certainly you do, my good fellow; it is an agreeable present. Here in the country one must lay in a stock. What say you, Leo?"

"To my shame, I must own I did not know what to buy you on such an occasion; but I will take care to make up for this omission of mine very soon."

Uncle rejoined in a whisper—

"The one thing I should like you to do is to reconcile yourself with your uncle, the Minister for Foreign Affairs."

Happily it was not necessary for me to reply to this remark. Francis entered the room, and quite charmed me by her manner. She was cordial to all the visitors—I thought I had never seen a better hostess. I saw how amiable she could be when quite at her ease, and not beset by fears of what envious tongues might say as soon as her back was turned.

The dinner was beautifully arranged. The Captain had put on his full-dress uniform, the General his also, and I had given some extra attention to my toilette. Francis was dressed plainly as usual, without much regard for the day or the visitors; and yet there was something original in her style of dress, an elegance which seemed to heighten her beauty considerably. I was struck by the richness and weight of the silver, all engraved with the family coat-of-arms. I felt sure that the Captain and Francis had put their money together to get it from the pawnbrokers for the occasion. At table she took her place between the clergyman and myself. The village lawyer, the postmaster, and some rough-looking country farmers, together with the churchwardens and several members of the local board, had been invited to the dinner. Rolf took his place in the midst of them, and soon loosened their tongues by pointing out the various sorts of wine, and filling up their glasses with no sparing hand. Even the clergyman I found to be much more entertaining at table than in the pulpit, and the conversation never flagged. Fritz, assisted for the nonce by one of the sons of farmer Pauwelsen, had donned a livery which I felt pretty certain was the uniform of an officer metamorphosed. He was more attentive, and more particular than ever in his manner of serving every one; it seemed to me as if he had something on his mind, he was so solemn and serious. In spite of myself I could not help thinking of the utter ruin this once opulent house had fallen into, and of the unhappy son banished from his father's table. As for the General, I had never yet seen him in such good spirits. The table so well served, the appetizing dishes, and the wines which he had such a delicate manner of tasting—all this just suited his epicurean habits. Afterwards we drank coffee in the garden, and Rolf insisted upon our drinking a bowl of May wine; for he was most anxious to display his skill in the composition of this very famous German beverage.

This completed the entertainment, for the country people are accustomed to retire early; and the evening was still young when a great lumbering coach drew up before the hall door, to convey the visitors back to the village.

I had hoped to meet Francis and propose a walk round the garden, but she was nowhere to be found. It appeared she had run over to the Pauwelsens with some of the dainties for the old bed-ridden grandmother. And her first care on her return was to inquire the whereabouts of her grandfather.

"He must not be left alone for a moment to-day," she said to me; "I have not been at my ease all this day."

"Because of Rudolf?" I inquired.

"I can never be sure what whim he will take into his head next. But you are sure that he is gone?"

"Certainly, before I was awake; but he left his pocket-book on the table. I will take it to him to-morrow."

"Don't do anything of the sort, I am sure he will come back; this thought has pursued me like my shadow all this day. But tell me what you thought of my dinner."

"You were a charming hostess, Francis. How I should like to see you mistress of a well-furnished house of your own!"

"And one in which it would not be necessary to take the silver out of pawn when I expected visitors," she replied bitterly.

"My dear cousin, I know this must have been a bitter trouble to you," I answered compassionately.

"This I feel the most humiliating of all; but I did it to please my old grandfather, upon whom I can be severe enough at times about his weaknesses. Rolf, who in spite of his faults is the best-natured fellow in the world, went to the town of——, and we polished it up ourselves. We would not let Fritz into the secret."

"And to me, Francis, to whom you owe nothing, you have given much pleasure, by surprising me with this little Russian leather case——"

"Don't mention such a trifle. I only wished to mark the day on which you became my friend."

"Yes, indeed, your friend for life," I answered, gently drawing her arm within mine. This word had given me courage, it rendered me bold. "I thank you for that word, Francis; but it is not yet enough. Let me be to you more than a friend; permit me——"

"More than a friend?" she cried, visibly agitated. "I beseech you, Leopold, let us not aim at what cannot be realized, nor destroy this relationship which is dear to me, by striving after the impossible. Promise me seriously, Leopold, you will not mention this subject to me again, or use any such language to me."

This answer seemed very like a formal refusal, and yet I remarked an emotion in her voice which to a certain extent reassured me.

"And why should it be impossible, Francis?" I resumed, mustering up all my courage.

This time I got no answer; she uttered a shriek and rushed off to the summer-house, I following her. There a frightful spectacle awaited us.

Rudolf, the miserable Rudolf, was on his knees before his father, kissing his hand. The latter was seated on the bench, to all appearance motionless. Suddenly Rudolf uttered a cry of terror and despair.

"I warned you," said Francis; "you have been the death of your father."

"No, Francis, no, he has fainted. But I found him in this condition; I swear to you by all that's dear to me that I found him thus."

The fact was that the General had become stiff and motionless as a corpse. The trellis work alone had prevented his falling to the ground. His face had turned a little blue, his eyes were fixed and wide open, and his features distorted. Francis rubbed his temples with the contents of her scent-bottle. This friction revived him a little; but prompt medical aid was necessary.

"Tell me where the village doctor lives," cried Rudolf, beside himself in his agitation, "that I may fly to him."

"It will be better to send Fritz," replied Francis, in a cold, decided tone.

I ran off in search of the old and faithful servant, to whom I explained the state of affairs.

"The General has had an attack!" he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, "and it is my fault!"

"How so?"

"I ought not to have allowed it—but I—I could not drive away the only son of the house."

"Of course not, but keep your own counsel and make haste."

And the old soldier started off at a speed I had thought him little capable of.

When I returned the General was in the same condition; Rudolf, leaning against a tree, was wringing his hands.

"That will do no good," Francis said to him; "help me to carry him to his room; Leopold will give us a hand."

"That's not necessary—he is my father, and it is my place to carry him."

In an instant he took up the old man with so much gentleness, and yet with such firmness of muscle, that you would have thought he carried a babe. He refused my assistance even up the staircase. He laid the old Baron on his bed, with his eyes still fixed, and quite unconscious.

"Thank God! there he is safe," said Rudolf, falling into a chair. "I have had many a hard piece of work in my life, but never one in which my heart was so deeply concerned. May I stay here until he regains consciousness?" he asked of Francis like a supplicant.

"I feel that it is impossible for you to leave at such a moment," she answered; "but we must call in Rolf, and if he sees you here——"

"Oh, if he makes the slightest to do I'll twist his neck about like a chicken's."

It occurred to me that the more simple and prudent plan would be for me to go and make the Captain acquainted with what had happened, and obtain his promise to keep silent and to pretend not to know anything about Rudolf's presence. He was enjoying his after-dinner nap when I found him, and I was afraid he would have an attack of apoplexy when I told him about the coming of Rudolf. His anger seemed to make him forget the gravity of the General's position. I endeavoured to make him understand that the accident might possibly be attributed to a fit of cold, caused by drinking May wine in the cool of the evening so shortly after the copious dinner of which the General had partaken; but he had made up his mind that Rudolf was the cause of the misfortune, and he asserted that his duty as a soldier and an officer was to have him forthwith arrested as a deserter.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get this fixed idea out of his head. I succeeded, however, at length in proving to him that the duty which he owed to humanity far surpassed all others at present; that it would be an unheard-of cruelty to arrest the son now at the bedside of a father, dying, for all we knew; that even Francis herself had consented to his staying, and that we were in duty bound to cast a veil over the family secrets. Finally the inborn good-nature of Rolf triumphed, and we went together to the General's room.

The doctor had just arrived. He considered the case serious, and said it would be necessary to bleed the patient. Fritz and Rolf were left to aid the doctor and undress the invalid. Meantime I led Francis into a cabinet where Rudolf had taken refuge and was breathlessly awaiting the doctor's verdict.

As we had left the door ajar we heard the patient recover consciousness, and call for Francis in a strangely altered voice, and address questions to her in a frightened tone; which questions the doctor, not understanding, put down to delirium, though they made it clear enough to us that he had seen and recognized Rudolf, although he mentioned no names.

"If the patient is not kept strictly quiet, I fear it will turn to brain fever," said the doctor on leaving.

"Would you like to see the person you referred to just now?" I asked the General in a whisper, as soon as we were alone.

"No, indeed! I know he is here; he must leave in peace, and at once, never more to appear before my eyes, or—I will curse him."

We could hear a suppressed sigh in the neighbouring cabinet. Rudolf had understood.

Rolf and Francis undertook the duty of watching at the bedside of the patient during the night; and I led Rudolf to my room—I may say supported him, for the strong man reeled. He threw himself on the sofa and wept like a child.

"It is finished," he said. "I could not, after all, have expected anything else, and I have my deserts."

"Francis was in the right, you see; you ought not to have broken your promise."

"It is not my fault I broke it. Fritz caught me this morning just as I was scaling the garden wall, and I was obliged to make myself known to him, otherwise he would have given me in charge as a housebreaker. He then offered to hide me in an unoccupied room on the ground floor until to-night. Thence, unseen, I could watch the movements of my father; and when his guests were gone, I saw him walking alone towards the summer-house, where he sat down, and, as I thought, he had fallen asleep. Then it was I ventured out of my hiding-place and approached him. It appears, however, he must both have seen me and recognized me. But now I have said enough, and this time I will go away for good. God bless him! May the Almighty strengthen dear Francis."

I persuaded him to spend this night with me, and try to get a little rest. From time to time I went to make inquiries about the General, and towards morning I was able to inform Rudolf that his father had passed a fair night and was now sleeping calmly; he could therefore leave with his mind more at ease. I accompanied him a part of the way outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state of his father's health. He gave me his address, as I was to write to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little kindnesses I had been able to show him.



CHAPTER XXX.

The General escaped for this time, but his recovery was slow. He was weak, and both his arms and legs seemed as if they were paralyzed. I allowed myself to be easily persuaded to prolong my stay at the Werve, and I was able to render Francis many little services. One of us two had to be constantly at the side of the convalescent, for Rolf had better intentions than judgment. He let the General have just what he asked for, and would soon have brought on a relapse if we had not watched them both. Francis was very thankful to have me with her; and yet she could not be satisfied that it was possible for me to spare so much time from all my business. She little suspected that my most pressing and agreeable occupation was to remain at her side and win her affections. Her devotion to her grandfather was sublime; she forgot all the wrongs he had done her, and only reproached herself for having caused him pain by her plain speaking. Notwithstanding, as the old man gradually grew better, she was soon again convinced that a certain amount of firmness was absolutely necessary to manage him. During his illness he had requested me, in his first lucid moments, to receive and open all his letters. And in this way I became aware that he was engaged in "risky" speculations, and that he was making debts unknown to Francis. When he was well enough to talk on such a subject, I ventured to remonstrate with him, and to point out the consequences of persisting in such a course, both for himself and for Francis. He promised me he would give up all such speculations, and excused the past on the grounds that he wished to leave Francis something when he died. I was to make the best conditions I could for him in the sale of the Werve. It was time. Overberg consented to wait; but Van Beek, the executor of the will, a man as inflexible as the law itself, had lost all patience. And I was not yet sure of Francis. Weakness on my part, you will say; but no, it was delicacy—it was the fear of having to cut short my stay. I was afraid of the obstinacy of Francis—that she would not consent to a marriage even though I might have won her heart. I was constantly calling to mind that terrible sentence she had uttered in the garden: "You will not use such language to me again." I shuddered at the very idea that a new attempt on my part might draw from her lips a definite and decided No.

The old General had discovered my intentions—of that I was convinced. He was continually insisting upon a reconciliation with my uncle the minister, and that I should prepare Francis for the sale of the Werve. On this latter point, I assured him Francis would listen to reason, and, armed with his power of attorney, I went over to Zutphen to arrange the preliminaries with Overberg. Van Beek was growing less and less manageable; he had sent in reams of stamped paper to Overberg, and the interest on several of the mortgages was six months over due; in fact the situation of affairs had become desperate. I charged Overberg to write to Van Beek that the Werve would be sold, in all probability, at the same time as my marriage with Francis took place; and I thought this would be enough to keep the lawyers quiet for a few days longer. I brought back some little presents for the General and Rolf, who were both highly pleased; and a plain set of earrings and a brooch for Francis, as the time had not yet arrived when I could offer her the diamonds I intended for my bride.

On my return, to my great surprise, I found Francis sadder and more anxious than I had left her in the morning. She accepted my present, but seemed to be little interested in it. She retired early, and I followed her example, as I did not find Rolf's company particularly interesting. Most of the night I spent in reflection and conjectures as to this change in Francis; for I had observed tears in her eyes when she bade me good-night. Once more I made up my mind that the coming day should put an end to all my doubts. At breakfast, Francis, less depressed than the night before, told us she had received a letter from Dr. D., of Utrecht, who gave her very encouraging news of the invalid in whom she was so much interested. I wished to propose to her a long walk in the wood; but when I came downstairs from my room, where I had gone after breakfast to make a change in my dress, I met Francis in the hall, arrayed in her riding-habit. This time she had put on an elegant hat and blue veil, and was waiting for her beautiful horse Tancredo, which the son of the farmer led up to the door saddled.

"Give up your ride this morning, to oblige me," I said to her, with a certain tone of impatience in my voice that could not escape her.

She looked at me in surprise and silence as she played with her riding-whip.

"You can take your ride an hour later," I insisted.

"I have a long ride before me, and I must be back before dinner."

"Then put it off until to-morrow. This is the first opportunity we have had to take a long walk since your grandfather fell ill. Don't refuse me this pleasure."

"You always like to disarrange my plans, Leo."

"To-day I have good reasons for doing so, Francis; believe me, to-morrow it will be too late."

"Really? Your words sound threatening," she said, attempting to smile. "Well, you shall have your way," and she threw aside her riding-whip pettishly. "You'll have to wait until I change my dress; I cannot walk in my riding-habit."

Tancredo was sent back to the stable, and in much less time than I could have imagined my cousin reappeared in a very neat walking-costume.

"And where shall we go?" she asked.

"Well, into the wood, I suppose."

"That's right, the weather is splendid: we can walk as far as the round point, and rest there on the rustic bench which you perhaps remember."

And so we walked through the great lane towards the wood, silent, just because we had so much to say to each other. I had resolved to speak; but I could not decide in my own mind how to begin the subject. She herself seemed to have a thousand other things to talk about beside the one I wished to come to. At length I tried to change the subject by saying it would be necessary for me to fix a day for my return to the Hague.

"I was expecting it, Leopold."

"And are you sorry I am going away?"

"I ought to say 'No,' by way of opposition, which is the only suitable answer to such a foolish question."

"But I—will come back, if you would like it."

"No, Leopold, I should not like it. And I still believe you would have done better to go away the day I first advised you to do so."

"Have I been a burden to you, Francis?"

"You know better than that. You know I have much to thank you for: you have stood by me in days of suffering, and borne my troubles with me; you have been open, frank, and obliging with me; in a word, you have spoilt me, and I shall feel my loneliness doubled when you are gone."

"Not for long, though, for I will come back soon—with—with a trousseau!"

"And, in the name of goodness, for whom?"

"For whom, indeed, but my well-beloved cousin Francis Mordaunt!"

"That's a poor, very poor sort of jest, sir; you know very well that your cousin Mordaunt has no intentions of ever marrying."

"Listen to me, Francis! When we first met on the heath, and you told me your intentions on this point, I had no reasons for trying to dissuade you from them; but to-day, as you yourself know, the case is different. You will recollect the freedom with which I have pointed out to you any defects which I considered a blemish on your noble character. Do you think I should have taken such a liberty if I had not conceived the idea, fostered the hope, of your one day consenting to become—my wife?"

The word, the all-important word, was at last said.

"Well, indeed, Leo," she began with a profound sigh, "since you force me to speak seriously, I must remind you of my last warning, 'not to use such language to me;' it cannot, it may not be."

"And why not, Francis? Did I deceive myself when I thought I was not altogether indifferent to you?"

She turned aside her face in silence, but I was sure I heard something like a suppressed sigh.

"Is it possible you are not disengaged?" I inquired, taking her hand gently and placing myself before her so that I could look into her eyes.

"Disengaged! Certainly I am disengaged," she answered bitterly. "I have done my best to remain so; and I have all along told you I must be independent. It is necessary."

"Ah, I comprehend, Francis!" I exclaimed, carried away by an absurd jealousy; "you are still waiting for your Lord William."

"I?" she returned with passion; "I waiting for Lord William, who never loved me, who caused me to commit a thousand follies, who broke my heart, and who must now be nearly sixty! No, Leopold; don't humiliate me by pretending to be jealous of Lord William. Could I have told you the history of his stay with us if I still loved him?"

"Is it then only a whim of Major Frank, who will surrender to no man, but prefers his savage kind of independence?"

"Don't torment me in this way, Leopold. You can break my heart, but you cannot overcome my objections."

"Then I will discover this mysterious power which enthrals you," I cried, full of anger and pain.

"You already know the duties I have to fulfil, Leopold. Why should you throw yourself into this abyss of misfortunes and miseries, in which I am sinking? and I shall never be able to get out of it my whole life."

"I wish to know your miseries, my dear Francis, to share them with you, and help you to bear them. We will overcome them together—be assured of that, my adored——"

Passion was getting the mastery over me; I caught her in my arms and pressed her to my breast. She made no resistance, but, as if wearied with the struggle, she rested her head on my shoulder—her head so charming in its luxuriancy of golden curls. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were crimson. I thought myself in the seventh heaven.

Suddenly a croaking voice broke the profound silence of the wood—

"Don't let me disturb you. Ah! Now Missy has a lover, it is not surprising she neglects the little boy."

Such were the words we heard close to us, uttered by a hoarse voice and in the coarsest of country dialects.



CHAPTER XXXI.

Francis, pale with terror, disengaged herself from my embrace, and stepped forward a few paces. As for myself, I stood as if thunder-struck.

The person who had spoken these offensive words, and who had doubtless been watching our movements for some time, was an old peasant woman bearing a strong resemblance to the witches in Macbeth. Her sharp black eyes, bare skinny arms, as red and dry as a boiled crab, her face wrinkled and tanned, her blue checked handkerchief tied over her white cap, and the stick on which she supported herself, all contributed to call up before my mind one of those creatures our ancestors would have burned alive. I confess I wished her such a fate when she advanced towards Francis and said, with her ingrained impertinence—

"Now, miss—now I see what you have been so busy about the last five weeks, that you have never once had time to come and see the child."

"My grandfather has been ill, Mrs. Jool."

"Yes, rich people's sickness—there's no great danger; but the young gent there, that's another thing, eh? I tell you all the village is talking about it."

"About what, Mrs. Jool?" asked Francis, indignantly.

"Your neglecting the child for——"

"Listen to me, Mrs. Jool," interrupted Francis, in a calm and firm tone: "neither you nor the village have any right to interfere with my business."

"Hum! the month is up, and a week gone in the second, and when Trineke [6] is not paid the boy suffers for it."

"You shall be paid to-morrow; but I warn you if the child suffer on account of a week's delay in payment, either at your hands or your daughter's, I will take him away from you. To-morrow, or the day after, I shall come to see him myself, and I shall make inquiries of the neighbours."

"What! You would disgrace me and my daughter by taking him away? You try it! we shall then see who is the strongest."

And the insolent, vulgar woman set her arms akimbo, as she whined out—

"This is what one gets for defending great folks."

"It has cost you no sacrifices, Mrs. Jool; for you have simply tried to make money out of your daughter's misfortune."

"And he must have shoes and socks, or else he will have to run about bare-legged in clogs like a peasant's child."

"I will provide them, Mrs. Jool; and now I have heard enough. This is the path which leads to the village."

"What a hurry you're in!"

"These are private grounds; do you understand that? Now take yourself off, or——"

"Marry come up! how anxious you are to get rid of me. Well, well, I am going. Otherwise I am afraid this dandy will play the policeman for her." And so she limped off along the path indicated, mumbling all the way.

Francis then turned to me and said—

"Well, Leopold, this incident will serve to enlighten you; behold a power opposed to my freedom and happiness."

"I understand," I answered, trying to assume a calmness I did not possess; "I understand, Francis—you are too honest to bind any man to you for life, saddled as you are with such a burden. But why did you not confide this terrible secret to me sooner? I will attempt the impossible to save you!"

"But, Leopold, what are you thinking of?" she responded, quite red with emotion; "you surely do not suspect me of anything unworthy? You comprehend that my honour is not herein concerned, though I must suffer for the deplorable consequences of the fault I committed."

"I am listening, Francis; but, excuse me, I do not rightly understand you. Is this not a question of a child which you are obliged to maintain?"

"Yes, certainly; and that's not the heaviest part of the burden. I have also to maintain the mother."

"Francis!" I exclaimed, in a transport of joy and relief.

"Now it is my turn to say I don't understand you," she rejoined, regarding me with an adorable simplicity. "Do you think it a light charge for me, in my position, to bring up a child, and provide for its mother whom I have sent to a private asylum?"

I thanked Heaven from the bottom of my heart that she, in her innocency, did not suspect the conclusions I had drawn from the words and manner of the old witch.

"This is the fatal consequence of my rash obstinacy with poor Harry Blount," she continued. "You have heard me speak of the accident before. He was carried in a dying state into the cottage of this Mrs. Jool and her daughter. In my despair, I repeated several times: 'It is my fault; I have killed him, I have killed him.' The daughter knelt beside Blount in the wildest agony; and Harry could just murmur, 'My wife, my poor wife; have pity on her, Miss Francis!' I did not know until this moment that they were secretly married. I promised solemnly I would care for her, and even if I had made no promise I should still have done all I have done for her.

"The mother always was, and is, a bad woman; she had, as it were, thrown her daughter into the arms of Blount, whom she considered a good match. After the funeral, she made such good use of my words uttered in despair, and spread such nefarious reports in the village, that I was accused in all earnest of being his murderer. In fact, we were obliged to consult the magistrate, a friend of ours, as to the measures we ought to take to contradict and put a stop to such slanderous charges. This, of course, did not relieve me of my obligations towards the daughter, in whom, very soon after the birth of her child, symptoms of insanity manifested themselves. The child had to be taken from her, and it was given in care to a sister of hers in the neighbouring village, who had just lost her youngest born. Perhaps you would imagine she took it out of sisterly charity; but no, she insisted upon my paying her monthly wages as I should have to do any other wet nurse. Besides, I had to do what I could for the poor mother. It was most fortunate for me that on the occasion of my visit to Utrecht I met with Aunt Roselaer, otherwise I could not have afforded the expense the mother has cost under the care of Dr. D. Mrs. Jool, not caring to live alone, went to the house of her married daughter under the pretext of watching over the little one; but the fact is, she would there have a better opportunity of extorting money from me, and this she does under all kinds of pretences. The child has long been weaned, and ought not to be left in their charge. I am always threatening to take it away from them, but I have not yet done so; for, to confess a truth, I have recoiled from the rumours and false charges such a change would give rise to. The mother and child are now costing me the greater part of my income. My grandfather finds fault with me about it, for he regards it as so much money thrown away. Now, Leopold, do you think I could draw a man I really loved into such a maelstrom as this?"

"The man worthy to possess you, Francis, will not be drawn in, but will aid you in getting out of it."

"It is impossible; I will never abandon this child of Harry Blount's."

"I would never advise you to do anything of the sort. I know the way to treat such people as Mrs. Jool. The child must be taken away from her and brought up by respectable farmers; perhaps the Pauwelsens would take him. To-morrow I will go with you to the village——"

"You will only stir a wasps' nest about your ears."

"Oh, never mind; I am not afraid of a sting."

"It's bad enough that this woman has been playing the spy on us to-day."

"When she sees us together to-morrow she will understand that it is useless playing the spy on us any longer."

"But then she will make us the talk of the country-side. You don't know the wickedness that woman's capable of."

"Well, what can she say more than that we are an engaged couple? And is this not true, Francis?" I said, gently taking her hand in mine.

"You come back to the subject again, even now you know all," she murmured; "but you have not calculated all the troubles and burdens which would fall upon you: Rolf, whom we could not send away from the Werve; my grandfather with his large wants—and small income. Oh yes, I know you are going back to the Hague to reconcile yourself with your uncle the minister, as the General has advised you to do; and I understand why. But don't do so for my sake, Leopold, for you have yourself said it would demean you."

"Reassure yourself on that point, Francis; I may forgive my uncle and seek to be reconciled to him, as my religion bids me; but never for the sake of his favours. But why so many difficulties? Don't you see I love you, Francis; that during the last few days I have been at some pains to suppress my feelings, and have therein succeeded better than I gave myself credit for; that, now I have told you all, we must either part for ever, or I must have the assurance you will accept me as your husband? I desire it, Francis; I desire it with a firmness of will that despises all objections and will remove all difficulties."

"Leopold," she replied, "don't talk to me like this. No one ever spoke to me as you have done—you make me beside myself. And yet I ought to resist. I don't wish to be an obstacle in the way of your happiness, whatever it may cost me."

I took both her hands in mine. "Francis," I said, "I love you!" This was my only answer.

"You persist? Can it be? May I still be happy!"

"Enough, Francis; you are mine! I will never forsake you; you are mine for life!"

"For life!" she repeated after me, becoming so pale that I was afraid she would faint. "Leopold, yes, I am yours; I put my trust in you, and I love you as I have never loved before—never before," she whispered quite low.

"At last!" I cried; and pressed the first kiss of love on her lips.

I need not tell you we came in too late for luncheon. It is true we were not hungry. We returned to the house slowly, and almost in silence, and we even slackened our pace as we drew nearer the Castle. Francis, especially, seemed loath to enter.

"Let us rest on the moss at the foot of this large oak tree," she said; "it seems to me that all my misfortunes will come back to me as soon as I enter yonder. I cannot yet separate myself from my happiness. Oh, Leopold! I wish we could fly away together, that no one might interpose between us two."

"We will fly away, dearest; but first we must go through certain formalities which will give us the right to appear in the world as man and wife, and lift up our heads with the best of them."

"And then will follow the breakfast, the visits, and the congratulations of mean and false people, who come with a hypocritical smile to wish us joy, whilst behind our backs they will make a mock of the man who has dared to marry Major Frank!"

"Oh, what a supposition!" I replied; "you must pay for that," kissing her sad face into cheerfulness.

"I don't understand," she continued, "how people can treat so serious a subject as marriage with such lightness. The woman especially makes an immense sacrifice—her name, her will, her individual self; a sacrifice which I always considered it would be impossible for me to make, until I met you."

"And now?" I asked, kneeling before her on the moss, the better to see into her beautiful eyes, which sparkled with happiness and tenderness.

"Now I have no longer so many objections," she replied with her sweetest smile. "But do not remain in that position before me, Leopold. It is only acting a lie, for I foresee you will be my lord and master. But let us now go in, my dear, otherwise they will be alarmed about us at the Castle. They won't know what to think of our long absence."

"Just let me say, Francis, it must be with us as Tennyson puts it—

"Sit side by side, full summed in all their powers, ——— Self-reverent each, and reverencing each: Distinct in individualities, But like each other even as those who love."

"Exactly my opinion!" she exclaimed, applauding the sentiment.



CHAPTER XXXII.

It was just as well we went in, for we met Rolf and Fritz, who had been sent out in search of us, as the General, though in a good humour, was most impatient to speak to us. When we entered his room he was arranging his papers, and did not give us time to announce our engagement, as we intended.

"Francis," he cried, "why did you stay out so long when I have such good news to tell you?"

"That's just what I have to tell you, grandfather; but what can have pleased you so much? You have not been made heir to Aunt Roselaer's property, have you?"

"It comes almost to the same thing, my child. Know then that the heir to Aunt Roselaer's property asks your hand in marriage. It is one of the conditions of the will; and I believe he will be agreeable to you."

I smiled, though I found that Overberg and Van Beek had been in too great a hurry to inform the old Baron of the real state of affairs. I had wished to be the first to break this agreeable surprise to Francis.

She stepped forward towards the General, and in a firm voice she said—

"I am sorry, grandfather, to disappoint you. The gentleman comes too late, for I have just promised my hand and heart to my cousin, Leopold van Zonshoven—and that is the good news I came to tell you."

"But that's all the better, dear child—all the better; for the heir to Aunt Roselaer's property and your cousin Leopold van Zonshoven are one and the same person; and on the condition that you should marry the heir."

Francis, turning on me brusquely, cried, "It is not true, Leopold? Oh, say it is not true!" she exclaimed, violently agitated.

"Then I should not speak the truth," I answered. "The only difference for you," I continued, "is this: you thought you were giving your heart to a 'poor gentleman,' and now, like a prince in the fairy tales, he turns out to be a millionaire. Can such a surprise be disagreeable to you?"

"Not a disagreeable surprise to me"—she almost shrieked, with scintillating eyes and flushed cheeks—"to find you have put on a mask to deceive me! Have you not succeeded in inspiring me with esteem for you by your proud and dignified behaviour, and the elevated sentiments you professed? And do you think I can be happy to find that all this was but a comedy? Could a gentleman have treated me so? But you have deceived yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven. I gave my heart to a young man without fortune, whose upright and noble character I admired, and in whom I had more confidence than in myself; but for the intriguer, who, to seize upon my aunt's fortune and make sure of it, has put on a disguise to win the heart of the woman he was ordered to marry, for this hypocrite, this pretended sage, I have nothing but—my contempt!"

"Be careful, Francis; I know your violent temper often causes you to say that which in cooler moments you regret; but don't insult in such a manner the man you have just accepted as your husband—a man whom no one ever dared to address in such language, neither will he meekly bear it from any living being."

"Need I make any respectful apologies, or do I owe any excuses to you, who have deceived me, lied to me, who have introduced yourself here like a spy, and carried on your mean and degrading speculations up to the very moment when you thought it impossible for me to retract my word? Once more, sir, I tell you, you are mistaken in my character. I will never pardon a man who has abused my confidence!"

"I have not abused your confidence, Francis," I answered, in as calm and gentle a tone as I could; "I have only been studying your character, and trying to gain your affections, before I would venture an avowal of my sentiments—that is all I have done."

"You have been false, I tell you. How can I any longer believe in your love? You came here to make what is called a good stroke of business, to gain your million. It is true, I loved you such as you were not as you now appear in my eyes. I will not be disposed of in marriage by any person dead or alive; and as for you, I refuse your offer. Do you understand me? I refuse you!"

Upon this she fell back in an armchair, pale as death.

I was myself obliged to lean on the back of a chair, for I felt my legs trembling under me. Rolf, tender-hearted as ever, had withdrawn to a corner of the room with tears in his eyes. The General, with agony depicted on his face, sat in his chair wringing his hands, and seemed unable to move from the spot.

"Francis, Francis," he said, "don't let your temper overmaster you in this way. Reflect that the Castle is mortgaged to the last stone, and that the last six months' interest is not yet paid. If sold to-morrow it will not fetch a third of the amount for which I have mortgaged it, and it is only by the generosity of Jonker Leopold that the sale can any longer be delayed. He has offered to take it off my hands, together with all the mortgages with which it is burdened, and to allow me a yearly income which will make me comfortable for life; but you must marry him, otherwise all our plans come to nought. Understand that, and don't insult a man who has such generous intentions towards us. He is still willing to forgive you, if you don't persevere in your senseless refusal, I am sure; for I have for some time already been aware he loves you. And we have not to deal with him alone; there is a will made, and executors and lawyers appointed to see its provisions carried out. Now what shall I write to Overberg?"

"Write, grandfather," said Francis, rousing herself with an effort, "that Francis Mordaunt will not suffer herself to be disposed of in marriage by anybody's testamentary disposition; that she will neither sell herself for one million nor for two millions, and that she has decidedly refused Jonker van Zonshoven's offer of marriage."

Feeling confident Francis would do me justice when more calm and resigned, but feeling also the necessity of not giving way to violence in dealing with a character such as hers, I said—

"I who have your promise and will not release you from it, I request the General to write to Overberg that Miss Mordaunt has accepted my offer, and that the transfer of the Castle de Werve can forthwith be concluded."

"If I will consent to the sale," interposed Francis, still pale and unmoved.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Mordaunt," I rejoined, "your grandfather is the sole owner of the Castle; and during his life the will by which it is bequeathed to you has no force nor value."

"Ah! if she could only be brought to see all the circumstances in their true light," sighed Von Zwenken.

"Well, uncle, you write what I have requested you to write; you know only too well the consequences of any other decision."

"He wants you to write lies!" cried Francis, exasperatingly; "he'll stick to his million, that's clear."

"Francis," said the General, with the tone of a supplicant, "if you knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself, who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him, however much against our own will."

"It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him."

"We shall see about that," I rejoined, proudly.

"You dare to talk to me of constraint—to me!" she cried, becoming furious, and advancing towards me—"you, Leopold," she added, with an accent of real pain.

"Yes, Francis," I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, "you shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable."

I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who, with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room, and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.

"She is like this," he said, "when anything goes wrong with her. Within an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was too violent to last long."

But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But she did not come.

I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia's property; but, after all, what good end could it serve—it would only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how affairs stood, and enclose aunt's letter, which, out of delicacy, I had so far kept to myself. I would add a few words of explanation, and I doubted not that, in her calmer moments, she would do me justice.

And thus I acted; but as all the documents together made up too large a packet for the post, I confided them to a waiter at the hotel, who was to hand them over to a carrier calling every day at the Werve for orders. I flattered myself I should speedily receive an answer, and all the following day I passed in a feverish excitement, only increased in the evening when no answer came. During the night I never slept a moment. Another day passed, and still no answer; and now I gave myself up to the most complete despair. There was nothing for me to do but settle my affairs in all haste at Zutphen and return to the Hague.

I kept Overberg in the dark about my rupture with Francis, only telling him pressing business called me back to the Hague. I signed all the papers he put before me, and told him I would return as soon as possible. The fact was I felt seriously unwell, and, as you know, home is the best place under such circumstances; I thought I could there immerse myself in my favourite studies, but I only remember feeling an unbearable weight of oppression come over me.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

Instead of regaining my usual calm in my own "sweet home," I fell seriously ill the first night after my return. I was attacked by a nervous fever, and remained for several days insensible. My landlady now proved herself a faithful and attentive nurse, and she tells me that my life was almost despaired of for some days. I am convalescent at last, and I shall travel. You will ask where? I don't know yet; nothing is decided.

When I was able to look over the papers which had accumulated on my table during my illness, I found a card from my uncle the minister, who had called to make inquiries about me. My worthy uncle had heard the report that I was a millionaire. I also found quite a heap of letters from Overberg and Van Beek, which I had not the courage to read; one, however, marked "Important," I broke open. It announced the death of my uncle Von Zwenken, and I was invited to the funeral. The date told me that the letter was three weeks old! What had become of Francis?

Doubtless she was still ill-disposed towards me. She seemed to be unaware of my illness, since she had invited me to the funeral of her grandfather. What must she have thought of my silence? Not a single word of comfort or encouragement from me. What annoyances she might already have suffered from the lawyers. I was expecting my doctor every moment, and I had determined to ask his permission to start immediately for Zutphen, when I heard some one coming up the stairs, whom my landlady was endeavouring to call back, she being very strict about my being kept quiet. But, in spite of all her efforts, Rolf burst into the room—Rolf, whom I had ended by loving almost as much as I detested him the first few days of our acquaintance.

"My General is dead," he said, with tears in his eyes—"died in my arms. Francis is gone——"

"She is not ill, however?" I interrupted quickly.

"Not in the least, she is in excellent health; but—she has turned me out of the Werve."

"What do you say?"

"Oh, it was not done in anger or malice; but because she herself will be forced to leave the Castle very soon. In fact, she has already hired a room at farmer Pauwelsen's; but she will tell nobody what she intends to do."

"But tell me all the particulars of the General's death."

"Well, the General had not the courage to resist her, and write to Overberg in the sense you advised him. And as everything was vague and uncertain because of your answering nobody's letters, the lawyers lost patience; and Overberg, egged on, I believe, by that quill-driver in Utrecht, wrote to Freule Mordaunt to know for certain whether or not she was engaged to you. You will guess her answer, short and dry, but without a word of reproach as far as you were concerned, I can assure you. I know she reproaches herself bitterly, and has done so since the day you left, as I told you would be the case."

"Even after she had received the packet from me?"

"She never received anything from you."

"That's very surprising!"

"No, it's not at all surprising, for everything was in the utmost confusion with us from the fatal Friday you left——But I see this is sherry, may I help myself?"

"Certainly, Captain; I beg your pardon, I ought to have thought of asking you sooner."

"Well, then, after you were gone she fainted. Such a thing never happened to her before within my knowledge. I felt almost ashamed of her; but she loved you so much, as she later confessed to me weeping! When she came to herself again, and whilst, as we thought, she was reposing in her own room, she had stealthily gone off to the farm, ordered Tancredo to be saddled, and ridden away at full gallop. At dinner we became dreadfully uneasy as she did not put in an appearance, and neither the General nor myself could eat. But it was much worse when, in the evening twilight, young Pauwelsen came to say Tancredo had returned to the stable alone, without saddle and white with foam."

"An accident!" I cried, beside myself. "Do tell me the worst at once. What has happened to her?"

"Oh, it was not so bad after all, Jonker—only a sprained foot; we found her lying on the moss at the foot of an oak, to which she had been able to crawl to rest herself a little."

"I know that oak!" I exclaimed. "I feel what she must have felt there. She loves me still!"

"I believe so, Jonker, for she said we were to leave her there to die, and to tell you where she died. It appears she had ridden towards the town, and then, suddenly changing her course, was returning to the Castle through the wood; but either she must have pressed Tancredo too hard, or dropped the reins—she cannot explain it herself. But certain it is, the noble animal, no longer recognizing the hand of his mistress, galloped home, and she fell out of the saddle. We carried her home, and laid her on the sofa in the drawing-room. The surgeon declared there was no danger, but said she must not be moved for some days."

"And why did you not send me word immediately?"

"Hum! I wanted to write to you, and she also. I ought not to tell you perhaps, but she wrote a note to you."

"Which I never received."

"No, for young Pauwelsen was charged to deliver it into your own hands at Zutphen; but when he arrived there they told him you had left, and he brought back the letter, which the Freule tore up, with a bitter laugh saying—

"'I deserved no better.'"

"Oh, if I could have foreseen all this!" I cried, wringing my hands.

"I advised you to stay," replied the Captain; "why need you go off in such a hurry?"

"My dear Captain, I felt I was going to be ill; I was ill already. But how was it she did not receive my packet? I waited until the third day for an answer."

"What could you expect? Everything was turned upside down. Fritz had orders to place all letters on the General's writing-table, and he had taken such an aversion to anything in the shape of a communication from the lawyers, that he never opened one of them. Miss Francis was scarcely able to move about again when those accursed creatures set to work and threatened to send in the bailiffs, and Heaven only knows what besides. Then she had to attend to everything, for the General had a second attack of paralysis: those people have been the death of him, and I could not prevent it."

The Captain forgot to add here, what I afterwards learnt, that he had himself hastened the General's end by administering a glass of old cognac to him under the pretext of strengthening him for the occasion of meeting the bailiffs.

"As soon as his eyes were closed," he continued, "the lawyer from Arnheim, who was in possession of the General's will, and Overberg advised Francis to arrange matters with you in an amicable manner; but she would not listen to them. You understand, it was in your name these proceedings had been taken against her grandfather."

"Whilst I lay unconscious on a bed of sickness."

"That's what the Pharisees knew, but they had your power of attorney; and Francis said—

"'Behold the constraint with which he threatened me! And he imagines I shall give way? Never!' You should have seen her, how pale she was, but firm; when the men came to make the inventory of all there was in the Castle!"

"Afterwards she took me aside. 'Rolfie,' she said—it was her word when she wanted to get anything out of me—'Rolfie, now tell me honestly, have you not sacrificed the greater part of your fortune to the wants of my grandfather?'

"'Well, certainly not, Maj—Miss Francis; we have only spent that small sum which we won in the lottery. The General would make use of his part of it to try his luck once more; but I preferred spending my part on a few extras for the table that we might all enjoy it together.'

"'Then that story of yours about an inheritance was a pure invention?' she demanded severely.

"'Pardon, Freule, I have inherited a nice little farm in North Brabant, where I always intended to end my days, if the Freule should' (marry, I would have said, but I was afraid) 'wish to dispense with my services.'

"'And can you live comfortably on it, Captain?'

"'Very; and, besides, I have my pension. Living is very cheap in that part of the country; if the Freule can make up her mind to go with me, we should have a very pleasant life of it together. Though it is no castle, the best room in the house is set apart for your service.'

"'I thank you most cordially, my good Captain; I was most anxious to know whether you were provided for. But we must separate, my dear Rolf.'

"'And where will you go, what will you do?'

"'I cannot tell you that; but one thing is certain, you cannot go with me.'"

The Captain plied himself well with sherry to keep up his spirits, and concluded by saying—

"And so we parted, Jonker. But I thought to myself, I'll pass through the Hague; and here I heard of your illness, and said to myself, 'Probably the Jonker is ignorant of all that has occurred.'"

"Do you know what you must do, Rolf? Go back to the Werve at once. I shall give you a letter for the lawyers to stop all proceedings, and you will take command of the fortress until I come. Retain Fritz in the service, and try to find the packet. I shall be with you to-morrow or the day after, if my doctor will give me permission to leave my room."

"Oh, the packet will be at Overberg's with the rest of the General's papers."

"Then try to find out where Miss Francis is, and induce her to return to the Werve; but don't tell her I am coming there."

At the same moment my landlady brought me the following telegram from Overberg—

"Your immediate presence indispensable; no arrangement possible; F. M. has left the Castle."

I did not hesitate any longer. Without awaiting the doctor's leave, I got Rolf to pack my portmanteau, and we were off before he could stop us. These thick-coming events called forth all my strength, and I forgot how weak I really was.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

When I arrived at the hotel in Zutphen, I was surprised to find a letter awaiting me from Rudolf, who was still travelling through the provinces of Guelderland and Overyssel with his troupe, which was now performing at Laren fair. It ran as follows—

"If you wish to prevent Francis from committing the greatest folly she has yet been guilty of in life, try to meet me at the 'Half-way House,' between Zutphen and Laren, to-morrow morning about nine o'clock."

I promised myself I would not neglect this appointment. I then sent for Overberg, who confirmed all I had heard from Rolf, and explained many things I thought inexplicable. It was Van Beek who had pushed matters to extremities, and he (Overberg) had been quite willing to grant any reasonable delay. He told me one thing I was still ignorant of. A lawyer had sent into Van Beek a copy of a codicil to Aunt Sophia's will, drawn up by her order on the eve of her death, by which she bequeathed to her grandniece, Francis Mordaunt, a yearly income of three thousand florins in case she did not marry Jonker van Zonshoven; and I was bound to pay this pension on condition she made no marriage without my consent. A very far-seeing woman this aunt of mine! I charged Overberg to make known this codicil, and to hand over to Francis the packet which he had found amongst the General's papers. He had sent it to the Castle, but too late; Francis was already gone. I requested him to do his best to find her out, and to deliver it into her hands.

Next morning, when I arrived at the appointed place, a little country inn, the landlady told me that a lady and gentleman were already awaiting me upstairs. I hastened into the large assembly-room, and at the bottom of it I could perceive Rudolf and Francis, almost hidden behind a platform which had been erected for the musicians. Francis stood with her back to the door at which I entered. I wished to give her warning of my presence, but I could not speak; and as I advanced all of a tremble, I heard Rudolf saying to her—

"Nonsense, my dear! you have no idea of the sort of life you wish to lead. You talk of liberty and independence; but I tell you it is slavery and the whip into the bargain. Do you know our bed-room is in the stable with the horses? Do you think the women are much respected because they are so politely assisted to mount their horses during the performance? I can tell you Madame Stonehouse herself is not spared by her gracious husband. And you would cast in your lot with us, susceptible and haughty as you are!"

"There's nothing else I can do," replied Francis. "I can manage a horse, but I cannot become a governess and undertake the care of young children any more than I could earn my bread with my needle. I will not be guilty of the sin of suicide. I have a duty to fulfil in life, though to me life is but a martyrdom. And this is my only resource."

"But, you foolish girl, why don't you seek a reconciliation with your Cousin van Zonshoven? You would then have all a woman could wish for—your castle back, a beautiful fortune, and a husband who would love you truly. Upon that I'll wager my head."

"Yes; he's a man of rare loyalty, indeed, and has shown himself such!" she answered with a choking voice.

"Bah! at the worst he has only acted a little insincerely; white lies, my dear, white lies may be pardoned. Forgive him his peccadillo. He will have much to forgive in you, as you have confessed to me yourself. Tell him you are sorry for what you have said. He will then embrace you and all will be well."

"It is impossible, I tell you; it is too late."

"Why too late, Francis?" I exclaimed, as I stepped forward, unable to restrain myself any longer.

"Leopold!" she cried, turning deadly pale, and covering her face with her hands.

"Francis," I went on gently, "nothing is changed; I still regard you as my betrothed wife."

And saying this I tried to take her hand in mine. But the touch pained her; she sprang back as if she had received the discharge of an electric battery.

"Your betrothed! You have given me to understand this by the manner in which I have been treated!"

"It grieves me to the heart, Francis—I cannot tell you how much. I come now from a sick-bed, and what the lawyers did whilst I lay insensible in the fever was in opposition to my wishes, and quite contrary to my intentions."

"And was it contrary to your intentions to cause my grandfather the shock which led to his death?"

"Most certainly it was, and I did my utmost to prevent it; but you would not assist me, and afterwards it was too late. It was the executors carrying out the last will and testament of the deceased, and it was out of my power to interfere with them. And if the consequences hastened your grandfather's death, you cannot blame me, Francis. For after a calm consideration of all the facts, you will be bound to agree that I was a better friend both to him and to you than you have been to yourselves. Because of a little misunderstanding which I could easily have explained, you have brought all this trouble on yourself, and caused me the most acute suffering. Still all may be well."

"All may be well! Oh, Leopold, Leopold! how can you say so, when the gulf between us is so wide," she replied, with a profound sigh. "You threatened me with force, and you have meanly carried that threat into execution! You had it in your power to drive me to extremities, your one fixed idea being to compel me to marry Aunt Roselaer's heir. I have heard this so often I am sick of the subject; and though I acknowledge you are right from a worldly and material point of view, I had given you credit for better things. Don't you understand, that were I to marry you now under constraint, I should tug at my chains until they made life unbearable to us both, or until they broke!"

"I agree with you, Francis, if you regard our engagement in this light, and I release you from your promise."

"Thank you, but I had already taken measures which render such generosity on your part unnecessary. I am going to travel about in the world, and I have taken steps to separate myself from the past entirely. I have made my contract with Mr. Stonehouse, to whom Rudolf is to introduce me as soon as he arrives here to sign the same."

"Your Uncle Rudolf came here, my dear, to dissuade you from such a step; and if you are awaiting the arrival of Mr. Stonehouse, you will have to wait a long time," responded Rudolf, coolly. "Did you think me such a fool, Francis, as to assist you in your insane idea?"

"Then you never delivered my letter to your master?"

"Certainly not, I did much better. I warned your Cousin Leopold that you were going to commit a folly which would lead to your inevitable ruin."

"Oh, I see! this is another plot against me. Enough; as I cannot trust any one but myself, I will ride off at once and ask to see Mr. Stonehouse in person."

"You will do nothing of the sort," I said, authoritatively, seeing that she rose to depart. "The General is dead, Rudolf civilly dead, and I am consequently, in the eyes of the law, your nearest male relation. Therefore I forbid your entering this abyss, from whence no one ever rises again, in the flower of your age."

"What am I to do?" she cried passionately, yet with an accent of submission in her tone.

"You have simply to return to the Werve," I answered, "where you will find a friend actively preparing for your reception."

"A friend!" she repeated, in astonishment.

"Yes, Rolf; who is to stay there until further orders. Don't be afraid—I shall not importune you with my presence, for I am going to travel."

This latter declaration seemed to make a great impression on her. She regarded me with a strange kind of look, and replied in a tone of voice which betrayed something more than pride and anger—

"In very sooth, Leopold, you are going to travel? Well, then, I will stay at the Werve. Farewell."

And she escaped from the room quickly, shutting the door after her. We soon heard the pawing of her horse outside, and we trusted she would ride back to the Castle.

"Ought I not to follow her?" Rudolf inquired of me.

"No; any mistrust on our part would offend her."

"She is in an unusual state of excitement, and such a reckless rider. Only lately she had an accident."

"That's true; for Heaven's sake follow her! But if you should be recognized yourself?"

"Never fear, I am too well disguised for that. In my present dress I made more than one visit to the Werve during my father's last illness. I have pressed his hand on his death-bed; and he has given me his signet ring. Out of prudence I do not wear it on my finger, but like this, in my bosom, attached by a cord round my neck. And Francis," he cried in triumph, "has accepted assistance from me during these last days of trial. When the Kermis at Laren is over, we shall leave this country; and I shall never more set foot on my native soil," he added, sadly, as he mounted his horse; and pressing my hand for the last time, took an eternal farewell of me.



CHAPTER XXXV.

Our surprises were not yet at an end.

On my return to Zutphen I found Overberg waiting for me at my hotel. He had just received from England a packet addressed to Francis, which Fritz had refused to take charge of, as he did not know where to find her. I assured him that Miss Mordaunt had now returned to the Castle; and I offered my driver double fare if he would go at once to the Castle, and bring me back a recu from Francis. I should then have proof positive of her return to the Werve. I was very anxious to find out what this packet could contain; and I was in despair as to any suitable means of satisfying my curiosity, when early next morning old Fritz arrived at the hotel with a note from his mistress. He had his orders not to deliver it into anybody's hands but mine. I broke the seal with trembling fingers, and read as follows—

"Cousin Leopold—I must speak to you once more before you start on your travels; it is absolutely necessary. You once assured me you were always ready to oblige a woman who exercised the privileges of her sex. May I hope you will come to the Werve to have a last interview with me? Instead of writing I should have preferred to come to your hotel to see you; but I was afraid of scandalizing you by such a liberty. Please send word by Fritz the day and hour I may expect you.

F. M."

I had but one answer to this note; it was to order out the hotel carriage, and drive back with Fritz. My hopes and fears as we drove along I will not attempt to describe; they are better left to your imagination; but everything seemed to turn round before my eyes as we passed over the old drawbridge, and drove up to the hall-door. Rolf was awaiting me at the entrance; and he led me into the drawingroom without a word, only expressing his delight by the manner in which he swung about his cap.

Francis was seated on the sofa which I remembered so well, her head cast down, paler than on the preceding day; but charmingly beautiful in her mourning-dress. She rose hastily, and advanced to greet me.

"Thank you, Leopold, for coming so soon. I knew you would come; I had confidence in your generosity."

"And—am I then no longer contemptible in your eyes, Francis? You have received my packet, and read Aunt Sophia's letter?"

"I have received all the documents, read all—more than was necessary to convince me I had done you an injustice, and ought to apologize to you. Now I am ready to confess it before all the world that I did you wrong; will you pardon me without reserve?"

"Need you ask me that, Francis? But you must never doubt me more, never more, Francis."

After a moment's silence she answered in a low voice—"Never more, Leopold!"

So saying, she pressed my hand with ardour, as a sign of reconciliation. Still, there was a constraint about her manner which prevented my pressing her to my heart as I desired to do.

"Sit down, Leopold," she said; "now we are reconciled I have to ask your advice as my nearest relation and my most trusted friend."

At the same time she unfolded the packet which she had received from England.

"Lord William is dead," she went on; "will you read this letter addressed to me, together with a copy of his will?"

I could scarcely control myself sufficiently to read the letter; but I obeyed mechanically. This letter contained a few words of serious advice, breathing nothing but words of paternal love; though I read between the lines that it had cost him a struggle after her confession to regain this kind of calm affection for her. He had left with Cupid's arrow in his heart. The letter concluded with the most ardent wishes for her happiness; and he expressed a hope she would one day find a husband worthy of her, begging her to accept as a marriage portion the legacy he had left her by his will. Finally, he said, she must allow no considerations whatever, especially money considerations, to induce her to marry a man whom she did not love with all her heart.

The family name with which this letter was signed is one of the most illustrious in the scientific as well as in the political world.

There was also a second letter from the nephew and heir to Lord William's title and immense fortune. He assured Francis of his intentions scrupulously to fulfil the last will of the deceased. Francis was to receive from the estates an annuity of three thousand pounds for the term of her natural life.

"Ought I to accept it, Leopold?" she demanded.

"My opinion is you cannot refuse it, Francis. Your greatest desire has always been to have an independence; and here it is offered you by the hand of a friend."

"You are right, Leopold; I shall follow your advice and accept it. Now I shall not be forced to marry any one; and if I should choose a husband, he cannot suspect me of having done so for the sake of his money. Shall I be rich enough to buy back the Werve?"

"No, Francis; the Werve is in the possession of one who will not sell it for money. If you still desire to become Baroness de Werve, you must take another resolution."

"Leopold," she said, rising, "you say that independence has always been my chief desire. It is possible; but now I understand that my greatest happiness is to be dependent on the man I love. Leo, Aunt Roselaer has left me an annuity which I decline to accept, as a matter of course; but her intentions towards me were kindly, and I will follow her advice. She has forbidden me to marry without your consent."

Then with an indefinable mixture of grace, confusion, and malice, she sank down on her knees before me, and said—

"Leo, I wish to marry my Cousin van Zonshoven; have you any objections?"

"Heaven forbid! I have no objections!"

And with what rapture did I raise her, and clasp her to my breast, where she shed many tears, whilst my own eyes were not dry. We had loved so much, and suffered so much for each other.



What can I tell you more, dear William? We walked out in the grounds, and again visited all the places which had become endeared to us by our former walks. We made all sorts of plans for the future. We wrote letters to Van Beek and the other men of the law, informing them in a grave tone that all the bills would be paid at maturity, or on presentation.

The fact that Francis was in mourning for the General served us as a pretext for being married privately, and in as quiet a manner as possible, an arrangement in accordance with both our wishes. An old college friend of mine, vicar in a small town near the Werve, married us.

Little Harry Blount is already confided to the care of the farmers Pauwelsens. His mother has perfectly recovered, and will one of these days, we trust, marry young Pauwelsen, a son of the farmer, who had already fixed his eyes on her before her engagement to Blount. This good news has removed an immense weight from Francis's mind. We are going to make a long journey, and try to enjoy ourselves thoroughly; the trials we have both passed through have taught us to appreciate our present happiness.

During our absence the Werve will be restored, and Rolf will be left in charge.

To conclude, dear William, I have got Francis to enclose you a note in her own handwriting.

Geneva, 1861. Leopold van Zonshoven.

"That it is becoming in Leo to have sketched the doings of Major Frank in all their shades and peculiarities, even for a friend, I shall never allow; but I feel that in his delicate position it was necessary for him to ease his mind to some one, and that it was better he should do so to a friend across the seas. Therefore I have pardoned him. Now I will request you not to have his letters printed in any of your Indian papers! That would be too bad! Not that Francis van Zonshoven would attempt to defend such a person—oh no! It appears to me no such person ever existed. But there are family secrets in the letters, which I must seriously recommend to your discretion.

"Don't wait until your term of service in India expires, but get your leave of absence and visit us at the Werve. All the windows are now glazed, and there is room enough for Leo's friend, though he came with a whole family.

"Francis van Zonshoven."



NOTES

[1] Strictly orthodox Dutch people think that a sermon in the light, airy French language cannot be so serious and solemn as in their own tongue.

[2] The strictly orthodox party in Holland will only make use of the version of the Bible approved by the States-General in the seventeenth century; the bigots insist upon its being printed in the German characters in use at the time when the first copies were issued.

[3] The Victoria Cross of the Dutch.

[4] In Holland one is obliged to fetch a registered letter; they are never delivered by the postman.

[5] In Holland every village has its burgomaster, who acts as chairman of the local board.

[6] Trineke is a diminutive of Catherine.

THE END