The Man Between: An International Romance

by Amelia E. Barr

  CHAPTER VI

  THREE days passed and Ethel had regained her health and spirits, butFred Mostyn had not called since the wedding. Ruth thought some inquiryought to be made, and Judge Rawdon called at the Holland House. Therehe was told that Mr. Mostyn had not been well, and the young man'scountenance painfully confessed the same thing.

  "My dear Fred, why did you not send us word you were ill?" asked theJudge.

  "I had fever, sir, and I feared it might be typhoid. Nothing of thekind, however. I shall be all right in a day or two."

  The truth was far from typhoid, and Fred knew it. He had left thewedding breakfast because he had reached the limit of his endurance.Words, stinging as whips, burned like hot coals in his mouth, and hefelt that he could not restrain them much longer. Hastening to hishotel, he locked himself in his rooms, and passed the night in a frenzyof passion. The very remembrance of the bridegroom's confident transportput mur-der in his heart--murder which he could only practice by hiswishes, impotent to compass their desires.

  "I wish the fellow shot! I wish him hanged! I would kill him twentytimes in twenty different ways! And Dora! Dora! Dora! What did she seein him? What could she see? Love her? He knows nothing of love--suchlove as tortures me." Backwards and forwards he paced the floor to suchimprecations and ejaculations as welled up from the whirlpool of rage inhis heart, hour following hour, till in the blackness of his misery hecould no longer speak. His brain had become stupefied by the iterationof inevitable loss, and so refused any longer to voice a woe beyondremedy. Then he stood still and called will and reason to council him."This way madness lies," he thought. "I must be quiet--I must sleep--Imust forget."

  But it was not until the third day that a dismal, sullen stillnesssucceeded the storm of rage and grief, and he awoke from a sleep ofexhaustion feeling as if he were withered at his heart. He knew thatlife had to be taken up again, and that in all its farces he must playhis part. At first the thought of Mostyn Hall presented itself as anasylum. It stood amid thick woods, and there were miles of wind-blownwolds and hills around it. He was lord and master there, no one couldintrude upon his sorrow; he could nurse it in those lonely rooms tohis heart's content. Every day, however, this gloomy resolution grewfainter, and one morning he awoke and laughed it to scorn.

  "Frederick's himself again," he quoted, "and he must have been very faroff himself when he thought of giving up or of running away. No, FredMostyn, you will stay here. 'Tis a country where the impossible does notexist, and the unlikely is sure to happen--a country where marriage isnot for life or death, and where the roads to divorce are manifold andeasy. There are a score of ways and means. I will stay and think themover; 'twill be odd if I cannot force Fate to change her mind."

  A week after Dora's marriage he found himself able to walk up theavenue to the Rawdon house; but he arrived there weary and wan enoughto instantly win the sympathy of Ruth and Ethel, and he was immenselystrengthened by the sense of home and kindred, and of genuine kindnessto which he felt a sort of right. He asked Ruth if he might eat dinnerwith them. He said he was hungry, and the hotel fare did not tempt him.And when Judge Rawdon returned he welcomed him in the same generousspirit, and the evening passed delightfully away. At its close, however,as Mostyn stood gloved and hatted, and the carriage waited for him, hesaid a few words to Judge Rawdon which changed the mental and socialatmosphere. "I wish to have a little talk with you, sir, on a businessmatter of some importance. At what hour can I see you to-morrow?"

  "I am engaged all day until three in the afternoon, Fred. Suppose I callon you about four or half-past?"

  "Very well, sir."

  But both Ethel and Ruth wondered if it was "very well." A shadow,fleeting as thought, had passed over Judge Rawdon's face when heheard the request for a business interview, and after the young man'sdeparture he lost himself in a reverie which was evidently not a happyone. But he said nothing to the girls, and they were not accustomed toquestion him.

  The next morning, instead of going direct to his office, he stopped atMadam, his moth-er's house in Gramercy Park. A visit at such an earlyhour was unusual, and the old lady looked at him in alarm.

  "We are well, mother," he said as she rose. "I called to talk to youabout a little business." Whereupon Madam sat down, and became suddenlyabout twenty years younger, for "business" was a word like a watch-cry;she called all her senses together when it was uttered in her presence.

  "Business!" she ejaculated sharply. "Whose business?"

  "I think I may say the business of the whole family."

  "Nay, I am not in it. My business is just as I want it, and I am notgoing to talk about it--one way or the other."

  "Is not Rawdon Court of some interest to you? It has been the home andseat of the family for many centuries. A good many. Mostyn women havebeen its mistress."

  "I never heard of any Mostyn woman who would not have been far happieraway from Rawdon Court. It was a Calvary to them all. There was littleNannie Mostyn, who died with her first baby because Squire Anthonystruck her in a drunken passion; and the proud Alethia Mostyn, whosuffered twenty years' martyrdom from Squire John; and Sara, who tookthirty thousand pounds to Squire Hubert, to fling away at the greentable; and Harriet, who was made by her husband, Squire Humphrey, tojump a fence when out hunting with him, and was brought home crippledand scarred for life--a lovely girl of twenty who went through agoniesfor eleven years without aught of love and help, and died alone while hewas following a fox; and there was pretty Barbara Mostyn----"

  "Come, come, mother. I did not call here this morning to hear theRawdons abused, and you forget your own marriage. It was a happy one, Iam sure. One Rawdon, at least, must be excepted; and I think I treatedmy wife as a good husband ought to treat a wife."

  "Not you! You treated Mary very badly."

  "Mother, not even from you----"

  "I'll say it again. The little girl was dying for a year or more, andyou were so busy making money you never saw it. If she said or lookeda little complaint, you moved restless-like and told her 'she moped toomuch.' As the end came I spoke to you, and you pooh-poohed all I said.She went suddenly, I know, to most people, but she knew it was her lastday, and she longed so to see you, that I sent a servant to hurry youhome, but she died before you could make up your mind to leave your'cases.' She and I were alone when she whispered her last message foryou--a loving one, too."

  "Mother! Mother! Why recall that bitter day? I did not think--I swear Idid not think----"

  "Never mind swearing. I was just reminding you that the Rawdons havenot been the finest specimens of good husbands. They make landlords, andjudges, and soldiers, and even loom-lords of a very respectable sort;but husbands! Lord help their poor wives! So you see, as a Mostyn woman,I have no special interest in Rawdon Court."

  "You would not like it to go out of the family?"

  "I should not worry myself if it did."

  "I suppose you know Fred Mostyn has a mortgage on it that the presentSquire is unable to lift."

  "Aye, Fred told me he had eighty thousand pounds on the old place. Itold him he was a fool to put his money on it."

  "One of the finest manors and manor-houses in England, mother."

  "I have seen it. I was born and brought up near enough to it, I think."

  "Eighty thousand pounds is a bagatelle for the place; yet if Fred forcesa sale, it may go for that, or even less. I can't bear to think of it."

  "Why not buy it yourself?"

  "I would lift the mortgage to-morrow if I had the means. I have not atpresent."

  "Well, I am in the same box. You have just spoken as if the Mostynsand Rawdons had an equal interest in Rawdon Court. Very well, then, itcannot be far wrong for Fred Mostyn to have it. Many a Mostyn has gonethere as wife and slave. I would dearly like to see one Mostyn go asmaster."

  "I shall get no help from you, then, I understand that."

  "I'm Mostyn by birth, I'm only Rawdon by, marriage. The birth-band tiesme fast to my family."

  "Go
od morning, mother. You have failed me for the first time in yourlife."

  "If the money had been for you, Edward, or yours----"

  "It is--good-by."

  She called him back peremptorily, and he returned and stood at the opendoor.

  "Why don't you ask Ethel?"

  "I did not think I had the right, mother."

  "More right to ask her than I. See what she says. She's Rawdon, everyinch of her."

  "Perhaps I may. Of course, I can sell securities, but it would be at asacrifice a great sacrifice at present."

  "Ethel has the cash; and, as I said, she is Rawdon--I'm not."

  "I wish my father were alive."

  "He wouldn't move me--you needn't think that. What I have said to you Iwould have said to him. Speak to Ethel. I'll be bound she'll listen ifRawdon calls her."

  "I don't like to speak to Ethel."

  "It isn't what you like to do, it's what you find you'll have to do,that carries the day; and a good thing, too, considering."

  "Good morning, again. You are not quite yourself, I think."

  "Well, I didn't sleep last night, so there's no wonder if I'm a bitcross this morning. But if I lose my temper, I keep my understanding."

  She was really cross by this time. Her son had put her in a position shedid not like to assume. No love for Rawdon Court was in her heart. Shewould rather have advanced the money to buy an American estate. Shehad been little pleased at Fred's mortgage on the old place, but tothe American Rawdons she felt it would prove a white elephant; andthe appeal to Ethel was advised because she thought it would amount tonothing. In the first place, the Judge had the strictest idea of thesacredness of the charge committed to him as guardian of his daughter'sfortune. In the second, Ethel inherited from her Yorkshire ancestry anintense sense of the value and obligations of money. She was an ardentAmerican, and not likely to spend it on an old English manor; and,furthermore, Madam's penetration had discovered a growing dislike in hergranddaughter for Fred Mostyn.

  "She'd never abide him for a lifelong neighbor," the old lady decided."It is the Rawdon pride in her. The Rawdon men have condescended to goto Mostyn for wives many and many a time, but never once have the Mostynmen married a Rawdon girl--proud, set-up women, as far as I remember;and Ethel has a way with her just like them. Fred is good enough andnice enough for any girl, and I wonder what is the matter with him!It is a week and more since he was here, and then he wasn't a bit likehimself."

  At this moment the bell rang and she heard Fred's voice inquiring "ifMadam was at home." Instantly she divined the motive of his call. Theyoung man had come to the conclusion the Judge would try to influencehis mother, and before meeting him in the afternoon he wished to havesome idea of the trend matters were likely to take. His policy--cunning,Madam called it--did not please her. She immediately assured herselfthat "she wouldn't go against her own flesh and blood for anyone," andhis wan face and general air of wretchedness further antagonized her.She asked him fretfully "what he had been doing to himself, for," sheadded, "it's mainly what we do to ourselves that makes us sick. Was itthat everlasting wedding of the Denning girl?"

  He flushed angrily, but answered with much of the same desire to annoy,"I suppose it was. I felt it very much. Dora was the loveliest girl inthe city. There are none left like her."

  "It will be a good thing for New York if that is the case. I'm not onethat wants the city to myself, but I can spare Dora STANHOPE, and feelthe better for it."

  "The most beautiful of God's creatures!"

  "You've surely lost your sight or your judgment, Fred. She is just adusky-skinned girl, with big, brown eyes. You can pick her sort up bythe thousand in any large city. And a wandering-hearted, giddy creature,too, that will spread as she goes, no doubt. I'm sorry for BasilStanhope, he didn't deserve such a fate."

  "Indeed, he did not! It is beyond measure too good for him."

  "I've always heard that affliction is the surest way to heaven. Dorawill lead him that road, and it will be more sure than pleasant. Poorfellow! He'll soon be as ready to curse his wedding-day as Job was tocurse his birthday. A costly wife she will be to keep, and misery in thekeeping of her. But if you came to talk to me about Dora STANHOPE, I'llcease talking, for I don't find it any great entertainment."

  "I came to talk to you about Squire Rawdon."

  "What about the Squire? Keep it in your mind that he and I weresweethearts when we were children. I haven't forgotten that fact."

  "You know Rawdon Court is mortgaged to me?"

  "I've heard you say so--more than once."

  "I intend to foreclose the mortgage in September. I find that I canget twice yes, three times--the interest for my money in Americansecurities."

  "How do you know they are securities?"

  "Bryce Denning has put me up to several good things."

  "Well, if you think good things can come that road, you are a biggerfool than I ever thought you."

  "Fool! Madam, I allow no one to call me a fool, especially withoutreason."

  "Reason, indeed! What reason was there in your dillydallying after DoraDenning when she was engaged, and then making yourself like a ghost forher after she is married? As for the good things Bryce Denning offersyou in exchange for a grand English manor, take them, and then if Icalled you not fool before, I will call you fool in your teeth twiceover, and much too good for you! Aye, I could call you a worse name whenI think of the old Squire--he's two years older than I am--being turnedout of his lifelong home. Where is he to go to?"

  "If I buy the place, for of course it will have to be sold, he iswelcome to remain at Rawdon Court."

  "And he would deserve to do it if he were that low-minded; but if I knowSquire Percival, he will go to the poor-house first. Fred, you wouldsurely scorn such a dirty thing as selling the old man out of house andhome?"

  "I want my money, or else I want Rawdon Manor."

  "And I have no objections either to your wanting it or having it, but,for goodness' sake, wait until death gives you a decent warrant forbuying it."

  "I am afraid to delay. The Squire has been very cool with me lately, andmy agent tells me the Tyrrel-Rawdons have been visiting him, also thathe has asked a great many questions about the Judge and Ethel. He isevidently trying to prevent me getting possession, and I know that oldNicholas Rawdon would give his eyelids to own Rawdon Court. As to theJudge----"

  "My son wants none of it. You can make your mind easy on that score."

  "I think I behaved very decently, though, of course, no one gives mecredit for it; for as soon as I saw I must foreclose in order to get myown I thought at once of Ethel. It seemed to me that if we could loveeach other the money claims of Mostyn and the inherited claims of Rawdonwould both be satisfied. Unfortunately, I found that I could not loveEthel as a wife should be loved."

  "And I can tell you, Fred, that Ethel never could have loved you as ahusband should be loved. She was a good deal disappointed in you fromthe very first."

  "I thought I made a favorable impression on her."

  "In a way. She said you played the piano nicely; but Ethel is all forhandsome men, tall, erect six-footers, with a little swing and swaggerto them. She thought you small and finicky. But Ethel's rich enough tohave her fancy, I hope."

  "It is little matter now what she thought. I can't please every one."

  "No, it's rather harder to do that than most people think it is. Iwould please my conscience first of all, Fred. That's the point worthmentioning. And I shall just remind you of one thing more: your moneyall in a lump on Rawdon Manor is safe. It is in one place, and in suchshape as it can't run away nor be smuggled away by any man's trickery.Now, then, turn your eighty thousand pounds into dollars, and dividethem among a score of securities, and you'll soon find out that afortune may be easily squandered when it is in a great many hands, andthat what looks satisfactory enough when reckoned up on paper doesn'toften realize in hard money to the same tune. I've said all now I amgoing to say."

  "Thank you for t
he advice given me. I will take it as far as I can. Thisafternoon the Judge has promised to talk over the business with me."

  "The Judge never saw Rawdon Court, and he cares nothing about it, but hecan give you counsel about the 'good things' Bryce Denning offers you.And you may safely listen to it, for, right or wrong, I see plainly itis your own advice you will take in the long run."

  Mostyn laughed pleasantly and went back to his hotel to think over thefacts gleaned from his conversation with Madam. In the first place,he understood that any overt act against Squire Rawdon would be deeplyresented by his American relatives. But then he reminded himself thathis own relationship with them was merely sentiment. He had now nothingto hope for in the way of money. Madam's apparently spontaneous andtruthful assertion, that the Judge cared nothing for Rawdon Court, was,however, very satisfactory to him. He had been foolish enough to thinkthat the thing he desired so passionately was of equal value inthe estimation of others. He saw now that he was wrong, and he thenremembered that he had never found Judge Rawdon to evince eitherinterest or curiosity about the family home.

  If he had been a keen observer, the Judge's face when he called mighthave given his comfortable feelings some pause. It was contracted,subtle, intricate, but he came forward with a congratulation on Mostyn'simproved appearance. "A few weeks at the seaside would do you good," headded, and Mostyn answered, "I think of going to Newport for a month."

  "And then?"

  "I want your opinion about that. McLean advises me to see thecountry--to go to Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, cross the Rockies, and onto California. It seems as if that would be a grand summer programme.But my lawyer writes me that the man in charge at Mostyn is cutting toomuch timber and is generally too extravagant. Then there is the questionof Rawdon Court. My finances will not let me carry the mortgage on itlonger, unless I buy the place."

  "Are you thinking of that as probable?"

  "Yes. It will have to be sold. And Mostyn seems to be the natural ownerafter Rawdon. The Mostyns have married Rawdons so frequently that we arealmost like one family, and Rawdon Court lies, as it were, at Mostyn'sgate. The Squire is now old, and too easily persuaded for his ownwelfare, and I hear the Tyrrel-Rawdons have been visiting him. Such athing would have been incredible a few years ago."

  "Who are the Tyrrel-Rawdons? I have no acquaintance with them."

  "They are the descendants of that Tyrrel-Rawdon who a century agomarried a handsome girl who was only an innkeeper's daughter. He was ofcourse disowned and disinherited, and his children sank to the lowestsocial grade. Then when power-loom weaving was introduced they went tothe mills, and one of them was clever and saved money and built a littlemill of his own, and his son built a much larger one, and made a greatdeal of money, and became Mayor of Leeds. The next generation saw theTyrrel-Rawdons the largest loom-lords in Yorkshire. One of the youngestgeneration was my opponent in the last election and beat me--a Radicalfellow beats the Conservative candidate always where weavers andspinners hold the vote but I thought it my duty to uphold the Mostynbanner. You know the Mostyns have always been Tories and Conservatives."

  "Excuse me, but I am afraid I am ignorant concerning Mostyn politics. Itake little interest in the English parties."

  "Naturally. Well, I hope you will take an interest in my affairs andgive me your advice about the sale of Rawdon Court."

  "I think my advice would be useless. In the first place, I never saw theCourt. My father had an old picture of it, which has somehow disappearedsince his death, but I cannot say that even this picture interested meat all. You know I am an American, born on the soil, and very proudof it. Then, as you are acquainted with all the ins and outs of thedifficulties and embarrassments, and I know nothing at all about them,you would hardly be foolish enough to take my opinion against your own.I suppose the Squire is in favor of your buying the Court?"

  "I never named the subject to him. I thought perhaps he might havewritten to you on the matter. You are the last male of the house in thatline."

  "He has never written to me about the Court. Then, I am not the lastmale. From what you say, I think the Tyrrel-Rawdons could easily supplyan heir to Rawdon."

  "That is the thing to be avoided. It would be a great offense to thecounty families."

  "Why should they be considered? A Rawdon is always a Rawdon."

  "But a cotton spinner, sir! A mere mill-owner!"

  "Well, I do not feel with you and the other county people in thatrespect. I think a cotton spinner, giving bread to a thousand families,is a vastly more respectable and important man than a fox-hunting, idlelandlord. A mill-owning Rawdon might do a deal of good in the sleepy oldvillage of Monk-Rawdon."

  "Your sentiments are American, not English, sir."

  "As I told you, we look at things from very different standpoints."

  "Do you feel inclined to lift the mortgage yourself, Judge?"

  "I have not the power, even if I had the inclination to do so. Mymoney is well invested, and I could not, at this time, turn bonds andsecurities into cash without making a sacrifice not to be contemplated.I confess, however, that if the Court has to be sold, I should like theTyrrel-Rawdons to buy it. I dare say the picture of the offending youthis still in the gallery, and I have heard my mother say that what isanother's always yearns for its lord. Driven from his heritage forLove's sake, it would be at least interesting if Gold gave back to hischildren what Love lost them."

  "That is pure sentiment. Surely it would be more natural that theMostyns should succeed the Rawdons. We have, as it were, bought theright with at least a dozen intermarriages."

  "That also is pure sentiment. Gold at last will carry the succession."

  "But not your gold, I infer?"

  "Not my gold; certainly not."

  "Thank you for your decisive words They make my course clear."

  "That is well. As to your summer movements, I am equally unable togive you advice. I think you need the sea for a month, and after thatMcLean's scheme is good. And a return to Mostyn to look after youraffairs is equally good. If I were you, I should follow my inclinations.If you put your heart into anything, it is well done and enjoyed; ifyou do a thing because you think you ought to do it, failure anddisappointment are often the results. So do as you want to do; it is theonly advice I can offer you."

  "Thank you, sir. It is very acceptable. I may leave for Newportto-morrow. I shall call on the ladies in the morning."

  "I will tell them, but it is just possible that they, too, go to thecountry to-morrow, to look after a little cottage on the Hudson weoccupy in the summer. Good-by, and I hope you will soon recover yourusual health."

  Then the Judge lifted his hat, and with a courteous movement left theroom. His face had the same suave urbanity of expression, but he couldhardly restrain the passion in his heart. Placid as he looked when heentered his house, he threw off all pretenses as soon as he reached hisroom. The Yorkshire spirit which Ethel had declared found him out oncein three hundred and sixty-four days and twenty-three hours was then infull pos-session. The American Judge had disappeared. He looked as likehis ancestors as anything outside of a painted picture could do. Hisflushed face, his flashing eyes, his passionate exclamations, the stampof his foot, the blow of his hand, the threatening attitude of hiswhole figure was but a replica of his great-grandfather, Anthony Rawdon,giving Radicals at the hustings or careless keepers at the kennels "abit of his mind."

  "'Mostyn, seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon! Rawdon Court liesat Mostyn's gate! Natural that the Mostyns should succeed the Rawdons!Bought the right by a dozen intermarriages!' Confound the impudentrascal! Does he think I will see Squire Rawdon rogued out of his home?Not if I can help it! Not if Ethel can help it! Not if heaven andearth can help it! He's a downright rascal! A cool, unruffled, impudentrascal!" And these ejaculations were followed by a bitter, biting,blasting hailstorm of such epithets as could only be written with oneletter and a dash.

  But the passion of imprecation cooled and satisfied his anger in t
hisits first impetuous outbreak, and he sat down, clasped the arms of hischair, and gave himself a peremptory order of control. In a short timehe rose, bathed his head and face in cold water, and began to dress fordinner. And as he stood before the glass he smiled at the restored colorand calm of his countenance.

  "You are a prudent lawyer," he said sarcastically. "How many actionablewords have you just uttered! If the devil and Fred Mostyn have beenlistening, they can, as mother says, 'get the law on you'; but I thinkEthel and I and the law will be a match even for the devil and FredMostyn." Then, as he slowly went downstairs, he repeated to himself,"Mostyn seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon. No, sir, neithernatural nor legal owner. Rawdon Court lies at Mostyn gate. Not yet.Mostyn lies at Rawdon gate. Natural that the Mostyns should succeed theRawdons. Power of God! Neither in this generation nor the next."

  And at the same moment Mostyn, having thought over his interview withJudge Rawdon, walked thoughtfully to a window and muttered to himself:"Whatever was the matter with the old man? Polite as a courtier, butsomething was wrong. The room felt as if there was an iceberg in it, andhe kept his right hand in his pocket. I be-lieve he was afraid Iwould shake hands with him--it is Ethel, I suppose. Naturally he isdisappointed. Wanted her at Rawdon. Well, it is a pity, but I reallycannot! Oh, Dora! Dora! My heart, my hungry and thirsty heart calls you!Burning with love, dying with longing, I am waiting for you!"

  The dinner passed pleasantly enough, but both Ethel and Ruth noticed theJudge was under strong but well-controlled feeling. While servants werepresent it passed for high spirits, but as soon as the three were alonein the library, the excitement took at once a serious aspect.

  "My dears," he said, standing up and facing them, "I have had a verypainful interview with Fred Mostyn. He holds a mortgage over RawdonCourt, and is going to press it in September--that is, he proposes tosell the place in order to obtain his money--and the poor Squire!" Heceased speaking, walked across the room and back again, and appearedgreatly disturbed.

  "What of the Squire?" asked Ruth.

  "God knows, Ruth. He has no other home."

  "Why is this thing to be done? Is there no way to prevent it?"

  "Mostyn wants the money, he says, to invest in American securities. Hedoes not. He wants to force a sale, so that he may buy the place for themortgage, and then either keep it for his pride, or more likely resellit to the Tyrrel-Rawdons for double the money." Then with graduallyincreasing passion he repeated in a low, intense voice the remarks whichMostyn had made, and which had so infuriated the Judge. Before hehad finished speaking the two women had caught his temper and spirit.Ethel's face was white with anger, her eyes flashing, her whole attitudefull of fight. Ruth was troubled and sorrowful, and she looked anxiouslyat the Judge for some solution of the condition. It was Ethel who voicedthe anxiety. "Father," she asked, "what is to be done? What can you do?"

  "Nothing, I am sorry to say, Ethel. My money is absolutely tied up--forthis year, at any rate. I cannot touch it without wronging others aswell as myself, nor yet without the most ruinous sacrifice."

  "If I could do anything, I would not care at what sacrifice."

  "You can do all that is necessary, Ethel, and you are the only personwho can. You have at least eight hundred thousand dollars in cash andnegotiable securities. Your mother's fortune is all yours, with itslegitimate accruements, and it was left at your own disposal after yourtwenty-first birthday. It has been at your own disposal WITH MY CONSENTsince your nineteenth birthday."

  "Then, father, we need not trouble about the Squire. I wish with allmy heart to make his home sure to him as long as he lives. You are alawyer, you know what ought to be done."

  "Good girl! I knew what you would say and do, or I should not have toldyou the trouble there was at Rawdon. Now, I propose we all make avisit to Rawdon Court, see the Squire and the property, and while thereperfect such arrangements as seem kindest and wisest. Ruth, how soon canwe be ready to sail?"

  "Father, do you really mean that we are to go to England?"

  "It is the only thing to do. I must see that all is as Mostyn says. Imust not let you throw your money away."

  "That is only prudent," said Ruth, "and we can be ready for the firststeamer if you wish it."

  "I am delighted, father. I long to see England; more than all, I long tosee Rawdon. I did not know until this moment how much I loved it."

  "Well, then, I will have all ready for us to sail next Saturday. Saynothing about it to Mostyn. He will call to-morrow morning to bid yougood-by before leaving for Newport with McLean. Try and be out."

  "I shall certainly be out," said Ethel. "I do not wish ever to see hisface again, and I must see grandmother and tell her what we are going todo."

  "I dare say she guesses already. She advised me to ask you about themortgage. She knew what you would say."

  "Father, who are the Tyrrel-Rawdons?"

  Then the Judge told the story of the young Tyrrel-Rawdon, who a centuryago had lost his world for Love, and Ethel said "she liked him betterthan any Rawdon she had ever heard of."

  "Except your father, Ethel."

  "Except my father; my dear, good father. And I am glad that Love did notalways make them poor. They must now be rich, if they want to buy theCourt."

  "They are rich manufacturers. Mostyn is much annoyed that the Squirehas begun to notice them. He says one of the grandsons of theTyrrel-Rawdons, disinherited for love's sake, came to America some timein the forties. I asked your grandmother if this story was true. Shesaid it is quite true; that my father was his friend in the matter,and that it was his reports about America which made them decide to trytheir fortune in New York."

  "Does she know what became of him?"

  "No. In his last letter to them he said he had just joined a partygoing to the gold fields of California. That was in 1850. He neverwrote again. It is likely he perished on the terrible journey across theplains. Many thousands did."

  "When I am in England I intend to call upon these Tyrrel-Rawdons. Ithink I shall like them. My heart goes out to them. I am proud of thisbit of romance in the family."

  "Oh, there is plenty of romance behind you, Ethel. When you see the oldSquire standing at the entrance to the Manor House, you may see the hagsof Cressy and Agincourt, of Marston and Worcester behind him. And theRawdon women have frequently been daughters of Destiny. Many of themhave lived romances that would be incredible if written down. Oh, Ethel,dear, we cannot, we cannot for our lives, let the old home fall into thehands of strangers. At any rate, if on inspection we think it wrong tointerfere, I can at least try and get the children of the disinheritedTyrrel back to their home. Shall we leave it at this point for thepresent?"

  This decision was agreeable to all, and then the few preparationsnecessary for the journey were talked over, and in this happy discussionthe evening passed rapidly. The dream of Ethel's life had beenthis visit to the home of her family, and to go as its savior was aconsummation of the pleasure that filled her with loving pride. Shecould not sleep for her waking dreams. She made all sorts of resolutionsabout the despised Tyrrel-Rawdons. She intended to show the proud,indolent world of the English land-aristocracy that Americans, just aswell born as themselves, respected business energy and enterprise; andshe had other plans and propositions just as interesting and as full ofyouth's impossible enthusiasm.

  In the morning she went to talk the subject over with her grandmother.The old lady received the news with affected indifference. She said,"It mattered nothing to her who sat in Rawdon's seat; but she would nothear Mostyn blamed for seeking his right. Money and sentiment are nokin," she added, "and Fred has no sentiment about Rawdon. Why should he?Only last summer Rawdon kept him out of Parliament, and made him spend alot of money beside. He's right to get even with the family if he can."

  "But the old Squire! He is now----"

  "I know; he's older than I am. But Squire Percival has had his day,and Fred would not do anything out of the way to him--he could not; thecounty would make bot
h Mostyn and Rawdon very uncomfortable places tolive in, if he did."

  "If you turn a man out of his home when he is eighty years old, Ithink that is 'out of the way.' And Mr. Mostyn is not to be trusted. Iwouldn't trust him as far as I could see him."

  "Highty-tighty! He has not asked you to trust him. You lost your chancethere, miss."

  "Grandmother, I am astonished at you!"

  "Well, it was a mean thing to say, Ethel; but I like Fred, and I see therest of my family are against him. It's natural for Yorkshire to helpthe weakest side. But there, Fred can do his own fighting, I'll warrant.He's not an ordinary man."

  "I'm sorry to say he isn't, grandmother. If he were he would speakwithout a drawl, and get rid of his monocle, and not pay such minuteattention to his coats and vests and walking sticks."

  Then Ethel proceeded to explain her resolves with regard to theTyrrel-Rawdons. "I shall pay them the greatest attention," she said."It was a noble thing in young Tyrrel-Rawdon to give up everything forhonorable love, and I think everyone ought to have stood by him."

  "That wouldn't have done at all. If Tyrrel had been petted as you thinkhe ought to have been, every respectable young man and woman in thecounty would have married where their fancy led them; and the fancies ofyoung people mostly lead them to the road it is ruin to take."

  "From what Fred Mostyn says, Tyrrel's descendants seem to have taken avery respectable road."

  "I've nothing to say for or against them. It's years and years since Ilaid eyes on any of the family. Your grandfather helped one of the youngmen to come to America, and I remember his mother getting into a passionabout it. She was a fat woman in a Paisley shawl and a love-bird on herbonnet. I saw his sister often. She weighed about twelve stone, and hadred hair and red cheeks and bare red elbows. She was called a 'strappinglass.' That is quite a complimentary term in the West Riding."

  "Please, grandmother, I don't want to hear any more. In two weeksI shall be able to judge for myself. Since then there have beentwo generations, and if a member of the present one is fit forParliament----"

  "That's nothing. We needn't look for anything specially refined inParliament in these days. There's another thing. These Tyrrel-Rawdonsare chapel people. The rector of Rawdon church would not marry Tyrrel tohis low-born love, and so they went to the Methodist preacher, and afterthat to the Methodist chapel. That put them down, more than you canimagine here in America."

  "It was a shame! Methodists are most respectable people."

  "I'm saying nothing contrary."

  "The President is a Methodist."

  "I never asked what he was. I am a Church of England woman, you knowthat. Born and bred in the Church, baptized, confirmed, and married inthe Church, and I was always taught it was the only proper Church forgentlemen and gentlewomen to be saved in. However, English Methodistsoften go back to the Church when they get rich."

  "Church or chapel makes no difference to me, grandmother. If people areonly good."

  "To be sure; but you won't be long in England until you'll find out thatsome things make a great deal of difference. Do you know your father washere this morning? He wanted me to go with you--a likely, thing."

  "But, grandmother, do come. We will take such good care of you, and----"

  "I know, but I'd rather keep my old memories of Yorkshire than getnew-fashioned ones. All is changed. I can tell that by what Fredsays. My three great friends are dead. They have left children andgrandchildren, of course, but I don't want to make new acquaintances atmy age, unless I have the picking of them. No, I shall get Miss Hillisto go with me to my little cabin on the Jersey coast. We'll take ourknitting and the fresh novels, and I'll warrant we'll see as much ofthe new men and women in them as will more than satisfy us. But you mustwrite me long letters, and tell me everything about the Squire and theway he keeps house, and I don't care if you fill up the paper with theTyrrel-Rawdons."

  "I will write you often, Granny, and tell you everything."

  "I shouldn't wonder if you come across Dora Stanhope, but I wouldn't askher to Rawdon. She'll mix some cup of bother if you do."

  "I know."

  In such loving and intimate conversation the hours sped quickly, andEthel could not bear to cut short her visit. It was nearly five whenshe left Gramercy Park, but the day being lovely, and the avenue full ofcarriages and pedestrians, she took the drive at its enforced tardinesswithout disapproval. Almost on entering the avenue from Madison Squarethere was a crush, and her carriage came to a standstill. She was thenopposite the store of a famous English saddler, and near her was an opencarriage occupied by a middle-aged gentleman in military uniform. Heappeared to be waiting for someone, and in a moment or two a young mancame out of the saddlery store, and with a pleasant laugh entered thecarriage. It was the Apollo of her dreams, the singer of the HollandHouse pavement. She could not doubt it. His face, his figure, his walk,and the pleasant smile with which he spoke to his companion were allpositive characteristics. She had forgotten none of them. His dress wasaltered to suit the season, but that was an improvement; for divested ofhis heavy coat, and clothed only in a stylish afternoon suit, his tall,fine figure showed to great advantage; and Ethel told herself that hewas even handsomer than she had supposed him to be.

  Almost as soon as he entered his carriage there was a movement, andshe hoped her driver might advance sufficiently to make recognitionpossible, but some feeling, she knew not what, prevented her givingany order leading to this result. Perhaps she had an instinctivepresentiment that it was best to leave all to Destiny. Toward the upperpart of the avenue the carriage of her eager observation came to a standbefore a warehouse of antique furniture and bric-a-brac, and, as it didso, a beautiful woman ran down the steps, and Apollo, for so Ethel hadmen-tally called him, went hurriedly to meet her. Finally her coachmanpassed the party, and there was a momentary recognition. He was bendingforward, listening to something the lady was saying, when the vehiclesalmost touched each other. He flashed a glance at them, and met theflash of Ethel's eyes full of interest and curiosity.

  It was over in a moment, but in that moment Ethel saw his astonishmentand delight, and felt her own eager questioning answered. Then she wasjoyous and full of hope, for "these two silent meetings are promises,"she said to Ruth. "I feel sure I shall see him again, and then we shallspeak to each other."

  "I hope you are not allowing yourself to feel too much interest in thisman, Ethel; he is very likely married."

  "Oh, no! I am sure he is not, Ruth."

  "How can you be sure? You know nothing about him."

  "I cannot tell HOW I know, nor WHY I know, but I believe what I feel;and he is as much interested in me as I am in him. I confess that is agreat deal."

  "You may never see him again."

  "I shall expect to see him next winter, he evidently lives in New York."

  "The lady you saw may be his wife. Don't be interested in any man onunknown ground, Ethel. It is not prudent--it is not right."

  "Time will show. He will very likely be looking for me this summer atNewport and elsewhere. He will be glad to see me when I come home. Don'tworry, Ruth. It is all right."

  "Fred called soon after you went out this morning. He left for Newportthis afternoon. He will be at sea now."

  "And we shall be there in a few days. When I am at the seaside I alwaysfeel a delicious torpor; yet Nelly Baldwin told me she loved an Atlanticpassage because she had such fun on board. You have crossed severaltimes, Ruth; is it fun or torpor?"

  "All mirth at sea soon fades away, Ethel. Passengers are a very dullclass of people, and they know it; they rebel against it, but every hourit becomes more natural to be dull. Very soon all mentally accommodatethemselves to being bored, dreamy and dreary. Then, as soon as it isdark, comes that old mysterious, hungering sound of the sea; and I forone listen till I can bear it no longer, and so steal away to bed with apain in my heart."

  "I think I shall like the ocean. There are games, and books, andcompany, and dinners, and other things."r />
  "Certainly, and you can think yourself happy, until gradually acontented cretinism steals over you, body and mind."

  "No, no!" said Ethel enthusiastically. "I shall do according toSwinburne--

  "'Have therefore in my heart, and in my mouth, The sound of song that mingles North and South; And in my Soul the sense of all the Sea!'"

  And Ruth laughed at her dramatic attitude, and answered: "The soul ofall the sea is a contented cretinism, Ethel. But in ten days we may bein Yorkshire. And then, my dear, you may meet your Prince--some fineYorkshire gentleman."

  "I have strictly and positively promised myself that my Prince shall bea fine American gentleman."

  "My dear Ethel, it is very seldom

  "'the time, and the place, And the Loved One, come together.'"

  "I live in the land of good hope, Ruth, and my hopes will be realized."

  "We shall see."

  PART THIRD -- "I WENT DOWN INTO THE GARDEN TO SEE IF THE POMEGRANATESBUDDED."

  --Song of Solomon, VI. 11.