THE BRIDE ELECT; OR, THE DOOM OF THE DOUBLE ROSES

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 29, 4 February 1899, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE BRIDE ELECT; OR, THE DOOM OF THE DOUBLE ROSES

BY ANNIE ASHMORE,

•Author of 'Beautiful Kienzi,' 'Corinne's Hansom,' 'Waiting: for Him,' 'The Diamond Collar,' Etc.

CHAPTER I.

A STEP WITH ALEXANDER.

■ At five o'clock one July afternoon lark was soaring in the upper air evgr tbe city oj Edinburgh, and, poised on tremulous wings, its dun plumes fairly quivering with joy, it sang its loud, ecstatic paean as if it would sing its little heart out. It gazed with a bird's brightest intelligence art> the lovely-map that lay beneath, where the kindly sun lit up the peaks of the Salisbury Craigs into spikes of gold, painted Arthur's Seat into a gigantic .emerald and immured hoary Gorstorphine" into mild beauty, while the Pentland Hills crouched lion-like amid their blue mists over the glittering city on its triple throne, and the Firth of Forth, dazzling as liquid silver,.kissed Galina's feet. ItwaswestofEdinburg where stood ja tall, old mansion, planted amid turf and trees, and arabesques of flowers, and girdled by a quiet lane in front, a, jturbjd canal at the rear. . Four young ladies were disposed in various attitudes of negligence or inr dustey around a table, while a lady, Sold enough to ensure respect and firm enough in expression to exact obedience, matroned the gay household. The dainty carpet of sweet sea tints and" creamy lights, the fantastically elegant lounges, and the richly clothed tables, were each helped with the snowy waves of lace, lawn, and muslin ihafc comprised the work of the merry group. A robe of filmy t&Ue lay hudr idled on the piano, wreaths of crisp crape and. shimmering lace g-arlanded the harp, a chaplet of ora-ng* blossoms in a nest of sheer white satijs reposed ion a fat velvet footeushion.

But there was one who stood apart, her back to the bridal array, h.er ten* fler, dreamy face looking1 out i»to the sweet summer. A steady creaiure-^ tall, well poised, graceful, with changeful depths in her dark eyes and flashing tides on her rich c&eek, ■with a lovesome mouth, though reKolute, and a nose that Lady Sane Grey, or, better still, Charlotte Corday, might have had—straight, patiftnt, herofc, with the faintest possible chiselling- off the point, as pne mipivfc correct by one delicate touch to the too perfect nose of a statue.

She leaned against the qasement, one ifoot on the low sill, her brow pressing ,the cold pane, her hands loosely linked apd hanging with, careless grace at one Bide. She was not hearing her merry (bridesmaids as they sewed and chat> ted, and she was not seeing the lovely •view without, as the trees whispered, and the flower petals sailed on the summer air; yet her soul was filled with the cheer of perfect happiness, B-nd the earth seemed very fair to her.

A little maiden rose from her place, ierying to her companions with an arch glance,

'See, Madge, Jessie, Marian, now we have finished the evil let us try the effect. I shall personate the bride, you shall veil me—gracefully—so.' Sha was roguishly regarding her i»wn reflections in the opposite mirror through a mist of sheeny tulle when the elder lady turned her head, caught Fight pf the pretty mimic, and cried, hastily,

'Florice—Florice, put that veil off! \Vhat are you about? You mustn't Tvear a bride's things pn mortal frame till she has worn them; it's noWnot i(uc&y fpr the bride.' 'Oh, Mrs Ellathorne!' and 'Ha! ha! Mrs JSllathorije,' burst f rpni the irre* verent t>rideinaids; but Flqrice (Gal? Tert, sister of the bride, hastily threw ©fJE the bridal veil, with a glance at the silent figure in thewindpw.

Softly she, folded the veil, and softly laid, it dpwn, her eyes yearning as tho brooding dove's fixed on her sister, [till, waked by silence from a smiling reverie, she luiued her calm, noble, countenance toward them.

In a moment Florice was at her side, brimming with impulsive einotiou.

'Glencora, my dear!' she murmured. *Ypn shall never meet ill fortune, if ■Florice be your fate,'

Glencora took the passiopate, upturned face between her two hands, and stooping, kissed it on each cheek; then, with a little sigh, succeeded by a; sudden little smile that transfigured, the majesty of her expression into childish radiance, she put Florice aside, and leaned on the casement again.

'Mrs Ellathorne' cleared her throat, Ipked at her, stitched busily a minute, and then broke up Ler charmed silence. »

will you continue your jotting?- Upon which the bride started, and, with blushing cheeks, picked up a small morocco liote-book, gilt-edged and clasped^ and tapping upon the board with the slender pencil she had drawn from its sheath, waited, with bright regards fastened on Mrs Ellathorne.

'You had arrived at Venice in the second week of August,' began that lady; 'write how long you will probably remain. A week? Then the last of August sees you en route for Switzerland. No? You will not wander farther? Then, just add the date of your probable return, tear out the leaf, and give it to me. Jot down a duplicate for, yourself.'

Glencora's pencil paused; her eyes •were again wandering over ihe sunny lawn, and down the avenue—this time her gaze concentrated, her lips thrilled with repressed tenderness.

Some oae comes, clanging behind Mm the black iron gates that form the culminating point of the green vista, walking hastily, with swinging cane and firm foot, with swinging cane amd firm foot, who quickly divines who stands in the parlour window, whose pace quickens at the sight— a gentleman with frank and fearless eye-r-graeeful —gracious. Glencora sees him through a bride's eyes; and he is very comely. 'Hush, girls!' ejaculated Florice to her chattering comrades; 'hera comes 'Alexander.'

Glencora dropped "her note-book, and, touching the spring of the casement, which slid back, Alexander Buccleugh leaned against the window post, among the honey-suckles, and looked at Glencora until the drew feleser to him, and pnt her two hands In iii*- .

'Yoii'll come in, won't you?' mur- I mured she, smiling ft* ms whispered ggreeting. ■ j " 'No, bonniebel,' —very decidedly — : 'not just now. I've just come from i Princes-street,a nd was going1 home, ' but thought I needn't puss Lady !a Bank without running- up to sshow what 1 chose. "Will you look, Glencora o> . He'looks proud and contented. Tomorrow is his wedding day, and Glencora is his bride-elect. He took from his pocket a jewelcase opened it, and exposed a pair of pearl bracelets, whose translucent drops gleamed through a fairy-like tracery of gold. •Manacles for me?' she said, archly. 'No- for Mrs MexanUcr Buccleugh,' ■LvhUn'pi-pd he b-ick Scora bent over him a moment, with soft, womanly confidence, and praised the gift, and, in lower tones, piaiseci Tne b L , ' praised, perhaps the g»ex. sic Florice, are you all there. Ah. ceived then- merry. I rePf. o fi acb.f« a* haste with small echfieation, and then took Gleneora s hand. 'Come with me a little way, said Alexander. She looked round at Mrs Mathorne, with habitual reference to her judgment. Just to the gate, Gleneora, urged

'Too sunny for her now, Alexander, objected Mrs Ellathorne 'Just a step, ma'am

girlie.'

Come, my

So Gleneora laughed, and disobeyed Mrs Ellathorne; and as she stepped over the low sill, her trailing drapery shook the honeysuckles, and the larks rushed out with a whirr, and sprang straight up into the sunny ether singing loudly.

Arm in arm they paced down the long, gravelled walk. The tall beech and graceful lady-birch arched the way, and flung green shadows, fretted with golden light, upon them.

Glencora leaned upon Alexander's strong arm; she seemed a willing captive, as he lured her still farther and farther clown the walk, and the bride-maids in the drawing-room exchanged smiling glances as Alexander plucked a spray from the prickly holly-hedge by the iron gate, and placed it in her blue-black hair, then played with one of the long, looselycurled tresses that fell low clown her back. Splendid tresses they were, and tied together at the back of the head, in a rich cluster, bjr a nar* row green ribbon.

They saw Alexander open the gate and tempt her farther; they saw her falter and look back at the house; and they saw him ta^-e her handkerchief—a small one, laced at the edge— fold it from corner to corner, and tie it under her chin; and then she went with him, and he shut the gate between her and Lady-Bank. 'Foolish!' exclaimed Mrs Ellathorne. 'Oianeora knows she can't go out with him just now; and the. sun will give her a headache. 1 wish—'

She stopped, as a servant opened the door, and stood waiting to speak, some snowy lace over her arm. 'Well, Jean?'

t 'Please, ma'am, here's the lace that Miss Florice was wantin' ironed, and, please, cook wants to see you.' She-still waited at the "door, her eyes fastened on, the still visible Glencora, walking in the lane with Alexander.

'May I take Miss Culvert's cloak and bonnet, ma'am?' said the girl repectfully. " '

'Yes, yes, Jean; you are thoughtful. Go quick,' said Mrs, Ellathorne, leaving the room; and Jean did so. F|orice watched her from the window as she glided down the leafy avenue, Glencora's long cloak over her arm, her little bonnet in her hand»nd as she watched, Glencora's favourite hound tore round the house and ran after the maid. '

Jean angrily ordered it back in vain. She appeared to threaten it, but the creature only stoodas long as she stood, and then moved after her every step she took. J

Flopice's heart was very Hn-ht as per eyes roamed over Lady-Bank, after the maid had disappeared ou her mission. *

FJonce lover] her sister with no common love; she looked up to her as to some pure, superior spirit, whose full happiness was but a reward for such purity of heart. p rora her d p S I• ?% T doff" she COUW see the pointed gables of Alexander Buc cleugh's l 0 j BUlnmer *»e_ Glencora's future home-fop it was SLrif :1 aU tO- Ladr-Ba^> 25 s:itSr" 6tmporiov'inhe^y^

And Lady-Bank was no common suburban nest. The situation was bewitching and the mansion itself a marvel of architectural grace Lady-Bank had been the home of the two ladies, Glencora and Florice Galvert, ever since their parents' death manyyears ago. ' They were both heiresses of small property, but though Glencora had eoD^e of age three years before she still preferred to live under the roof of her kind guardian, Captain Drummond, with her sister Florice, who was scarcely seventeen. Mrs Ellathorne, the most discreet of widows, and the only sister of the retired captaiin ruled the household with kindly hands and brought up the captain's pretty wards in the way they should go, with irreproachable integrity. And so it came tq pass thafcgust one year ago, when Mr Alexander fJuceleugh bought th e beautiful estate of Denburn/ and became nearest neighbour of the gallant captain's family, and drove every morning past, lovely Lady-Bank on his way to the great United Kingdom Bank, in Princes-street, of which he was principal manager, and sometimes in the dewy summer evenings caught a glimpse of the two sweet ladies Calvert as he returned to his bachelors abode, Sometimes it happened that his thoughts lingered in the cool LadyBank avenue long- after his eyes were resting on the aristocratic splendours of 'Denburn Den,? as he was wont to style that mansion. And, of course, npthing was more natural than for the young banker to pay his respects at the earliest possible date to his nearest neighbours, and to find in courtly Captain Drurnmond a most desirable friend, in Mrs Ellathorne a sympathising matronly adviser, in pretty Florice the best of little confidantes, in beautiful, regal, bewitching Glencora. his heart's delight, and his life's most envied companion. To all of which arrangements of the young people, the captain arid his sister- said never a worrl of dissent.

Thes§ two families lived some two mjles from Ediftbnrgh, on handsome estates^ upon, the- east bank of the

canal, which flowed inland to Gla.sO w, Arbroth, etc., and was lost in the heart of the city. Captain Drnmmond's house itself stood in the centre of the grounds; a spacious lawn stretched in front, beyond which lay handsome garden, whose ivied walls shut out the quiet lane which led up to the two houses. Behind the houses and at the foot of the grounds the canal meandered, being private ground on the Lady-Bank and Denburn side, but much frequented on the other side by foot passengers and carriages and sturdy barge horsey. A lovely spot was this one which Florice Culvert's eyes scanned, this lovely summer eve, and fro7n LadyBank's drawing-room windows she could see ov-r the hawthorn thicket between the two estates the roof of Denburn Hox.se, her sister's future home. In about fifteen minutes, when she was iV r R n seated at her work, singing <fa companions, Alexander firgt? , Avere hi two first . qm . st j ons . "'Ah! but where did you put her?' * p Bluebeard, where is Fatima?' (iOT^ l])ear okl Wehr-wolf. you must disRf>d ,. idinshoO(U ' quoth fl ßx enJessie Buceleugh, a. connection of his own from. Ayr. Mrß |^] a thorne came in at this moment, and catching sight of Alex-

ander, 'Glencora!' cried she, quickly, meaning to chide; "go straight up stairs, and lie down. You are making poor ' She ceased abruptly, looking vainly for Glencora, and at length turned inquiringly to Alexander: 'Has she come home with you?' * He smiled, flushed a little, stammered, and at last blurted out, more to Moriee than to anybody else: 'A little freak of Bonniebel's. She; would make a bet with m:> who would be home first. She came by the walk inside the wall—l by the canal. I've won the bet, and now I'll go out and meet her.' Without another word, he s+rode clown' the a.venue again, and struck through '.he private path in«; rh the thick holly hedge, and from thence 10 his own grounds. 'Foolish!' again said Mrs Ellathorne. 'I wonder ji .lean gave her the cloak,' and she rang hastily for her. •

Another maid appeared. 'Where's Miss Calvert's maid?' 'As I came frae the kitchen, ma'am, T met her comin' in afl: the green wi' her arms fu' o' the clean clothes.' 'Send her up, Molly.' In two minutes Jean stood in the doorway, her face crimson, her pale eyes reading" the carpet, hot and panting-. 'What have you been doing- with yourself, girl?' demanded the mistress, in surprise. 'I'm ironing.' , 'When did you return?' 'Not three minutes ago, ma'am.' 'Did you find your mistress?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

' Where V 'Standing at Mr Buccleugh's gate ,v N ■ Mr lincclengh.' 'And you gave her her bonnet and cloak?' . 'I did; mam. 'And- ' Mrs Ellathorne made a long pause, during which she glanced uneasily down the avenue, and Jean more than once .wiped -ier dry lips with her apron. 'I wish she would come back.' As this needed no "reply, Jean only courtesied again, waited a moment, and with the customary 'Anything more, ma'am?' finally withdrew. Another interval, during which the ladies relaxed into chatting again, and Florice sang more songs; and then Alexander appeared, for the second time, alone. After a sweeping glance around the room, his eyes dilated and darkened. He stood confounded. The bridemaids dropped their needles. Florice rose, with blanched lips and arrested eyes. Mrs Ellathorne swooped forward and demanded, with quiet authority!! 'Alexander, where is Glencora?'

'Truly, I don't know,' said poor Alexander, helplessly. 'I've walked the grove, and the lane, and the canal-side, and I've been over Denburn grounds; and if she hasn't slipped in and gone up to her room unobserved, it's—it's very strange. Stay —I have it!' he cried, a sudden beam dispersing his perplexity. 'Glencora said something about going down through my grounds to sec that old nurse of hers, and bid her good-by. She talked about it before, we made that foolish wager. Perhaps she" ran off there alone, not caring for me to see her parting with the old lady. I'll go there for her.' Tie was going off in a wild hurry this time, but Florice touched him on the arm, and, hardly able to articulate, begged him to take her with him. Mrs Ellatliorne mrttle no objection,though by this time the long twilight had. set in, and the breeze blew fresher. In a few minutes Florice tripped down the shallow stone steps, and joined him as he* stood impatiently by the window, poking his cane into the pink, moaning sea-shells and smooth, tinted shore stones, heaped into the niches of the steps; and they hurried down the walk, he treading quietly over the crunching gravel, she,. in her tremour and vague alarm, walking on the flowers, and tripping on the trim boxwood, and breaking the tall lilies with her skirts as they struck into the path to the thicket. Alexander offered her his arm, and noted, with gathering gloom, her pallor; but he did not speak, only slashing the crisp tops off the flowering fern. 'Florice, my dear little girl,' broke from him at length, 'you do not fear for Glencora, do you?' She glanced earnestly into his grave but unshadowed eyes, and breathed freer. 'No, Alexander, if you do not,* 5 she faltered. 'But just tell me this—was she just a little piqued when she parted from you?' 'Piqued at me, Florice, do you mean?' he asked, with curious incredulity. She nodded. 'No, indeed! Ha! ha! little sister, that's not the1 way to be married tomorrow. Alexander seemed not a bit anxious about the result ci their search, and he knew just hqw it was, so why should she feel startled. She would not. Glencora was not a fool. 'She's at nurse's, all safe. We'll find her there, won't we, Alexander?' said Florice, assuring herself. But she well remembered, Alexander only EmilecL But when they; stood before ,

the Widow McGowan's ivy swathed cottage, and she bustled out* in her white muslin cap, tied with a broad, black ribbon, and came down through her tiny 'kailyard' with a smiling old face of welcome, it needed not a word to tell Florice that she must seek further for her sister. !Not so Alexander. He almost lost temper when the nurse said no.

'Nonsense, Mrs McGowan, she can't be anywhere else. She. must have come while you were out somewhere.'

"That I was na',' cried she; 'my bairn gid me a farewell this mornin', and I hae'na seen her since.'

Florice pulled Alexander away, and in the gloaming the two gazed at each other blankly.

'Come home quick, Alexander!' whispered Florice, fearfully. 'Something nas happened. Onee —twice— now for a run!'

She broke from him, and ran nimbly back across the Denburn grounds, easily outstripping Alexander, who paused a moment to ask his servants if any of them had seen Miss Culvert.

She was walking down the public lane, panting and trembling, when he made up to her and put her hand within his arm again. •Florice, compose yourself. What do you fear? Unaccountable, as it seems, she may have gone down to the Long Tier to meet the captain. This is the hour he comes over to Edinburgh; the Dysart and Kirkaldy ferryboat is just touching the quay now,' looking at his watch, 'and they'll both come lip together after an hour in Prince's street. Pooh! what could possibly harm Giencora? She's at home now; we've missed her. J

But he was hurrying over the lane with unwonted haste.

Was Alexander at last alarmed?

CHAPTER IT

OSSIAN,

There.was little room to hope for her reappearance in the aspect of the house, as they entered turough the iron gates, and hurried up the letfiy avenue. Wild alarms seemed rife on this sweet July evening; lights were flashing through the great rooms— from tne grand drawing-room, where the wedding wreaths were arching the banquet tables, already glittering with their load of silver, lor the wedding feast —to the servants' dormitories up in the fourth story. Lanterns gleamed tnrough the trees, and sometimes a faint voice, sharp with something more than anxiety, cried:

'(llencora! Glencora!'

'What madness! Where can she have gone?' exclaimed Alexander Buccleugh, stopping in his break-neck pace to stare blankly around. 'I certainly expected to find her returned.'

'Oh, Alexander!' sobbed Florice, losing all presence of rniud, and wringing her hands hysterically. "You must have an inkling of where she might have gone. YVnat did she say when you parted?' 'Hush, lriorice dear —nonsense! Crying already? Olennie's not a child to turn frantic about if she doesn't report herself every half-hour. And, .1 declare,' looking at his watch, 'we make as' much fuss as if she were gone three days, and she has only been missing half an hour.

Florice dried her tears. Really they were making too much out of a trifle. Why need Jessie Buccleugh and the other girls shout her name through the woods in that unseemly way? —the night before the wedding, too, when all should be quiet and proper. They ascended the steps and stood in the dark passage, almost laughing at the confusion.

'Little mousie not trapped yet?' cried Alexander, cheerily, as Mrs Ellathorne came down stairs—tall candle in hand.

'Not she! and I must say, Alexander, that this is a very ridiculous —indeed, an unaccountable business. She's not in the house—she's not in the grounds, and as you've again returned without her, she not at nurse McGqwan's. Very unaccountable, Alexander.'

Mrs Ellathorne regarded him with unconcealed reproach. Her hand, which held the candlestick, was covered with the wax, which, in her rapid movement, must have fallen boiling on, and been allowed to fall, unheeded. Evidently Mrs Ellathorne was even more terrified than she. wished to betray.

'I don't think there's any real- cause for your alarm,'' said Alexander, in a voice that trembled a little. 'You know the captain has not yet returned; perhaps she went to meet him. She said something about it, when we were walking in the lane.'

'Nonsense! Glencora would never allow, herself to be seen publicly just now; besides, she had no companion.'

'Oh, I wish Guardie was well at home!' sighed Florice, going to lean dismally in the still open window. Presently she turned round and looked into the room. 'I wish you'd get the girls called in,' she said; 'they are making an awful disturbance crying over the place that Way. It's clear she's not in Lady Bank or they'd have found her. '

Mrs Ellathorne stepped to her side with a hand-bell, and rang it vigorously.

Alexander went down the steps, and stood below them on the gravel walk.

'I'll go and meet the .girls, and tell them. They might think she was found when they hear the bell.'

Then he went clown through the shrubbery towards the canal, and was lost to view. Mrs Ellathorne looked at him as he retreated, then took Florice into the parlour, shut the window, drew the blind, lit the gasilier, every jet, and extinguished the much-abused wax candle, evidently with a resolution to make the best of things.

Tripping feet now sounded, and voices, eager and excited, questioned and answered, as the great dopr flew open, and two of the bridesmaids appeared.

'Found!' exclaimed Marian Gordon, Florice started up.

'Isn't she'found?' said Marian Gordon. 'You rang?'

'No, no, no!' wailed Florice, with a burst of tears. 'She's not found.'

'Oh, we thought she had come back; we ran home when we heard the bell,' said Miss Severn, beginning to cry too.

'Sit down, both of you,' said Mrs Ellathorne, snipping off her thread with unsteady hand. 'I rang to gather you home. You and the servants are makirfg the affair tragical with your lights and outcries; one would think there had been a murder instead of this silly circumstance. ;Now Madge and Marian, dry your eyes, you foolish bairns; and take your work; there's much to do. Where's Jessie?'

'She saw Alexander going down to the canal, and she ran after him, to see if she went that way through the corn, for a trick, or anything.'

'Humbug! She go for a trick, forsooth! She's gone to meet the captain, I daresay. He wanted her, I know.'

They: waited, and as conjecturing

did not seem to improve their spirits, they waited in silence. Presently Alexander and his cousin, ! Jessie, came in together. They looked i just once round the room, then sat down. Florice'a feverish eyes fixed first on •Jessie's grave iace, then on Alexander's gioomv, disturbed cne. *lorice could not make a pretence even ot working now. She sat with locked

hands-. * , , The grit of light wheels sounded on the walk so suddenly, and so near, that they all started, as if by a galvanic shock. 'That's the captain!' said Mrs blJathorhe, rising; 'and (Jlencora, oi course!' Alexander rushed down the steps. A cab was drawn up before tne.door; two men were standing by the steps, one, the captain, counting money; the other, the cabman, holding out his hand for the fare. •You needn't wait at your stand for me to-morrow,' cried Captain Drummond's cherry voice, as the cabman mounted his box. 'I'll be better employed by this time to-morrow evening" I hope, ha, ha! Good-night, cabby'

'Is Miss Culvert not with you? breathed Alexander's cold Jips, as the empty carriage wheeled, round and disappeared. 'Oh, good evening to yon, iniecleugh. Here with the girls'.' But of course you are, as a bridegroom should "be. What's that? Glencora not with me? Of course not. Why, Buecleugh? Good heavens, Alexander, what's the matter?' Captain Drummond stood in the parlour doorway—a handsome, wholesouled sailor of thirty-two—a man, every inch of him, you may be sure. His 'bright blue eyes travelled from face to face in astonishment. Matter enough, he could see that. 'Glencora has not been seen since half-past five,' said Mrs Ellathorne, at last. 'Disappeared? Impossible!' cried the captain, knitting his brows at the mere mention of the information.

-nf that, captain,' spoke up Alexander, a broad glow on his face;'not disappeared in the way you take It. Nobody distrusts my girl. We fear some accident.'

'What accident?' demanded the captain, bluntly. 'Did she leave the house alone?' Buccleugh wiped his damp forehead, sighing heavily. 'So, captain; she left the house with me. I asked her out just for a word in the lane; she had not even a bonnet on her head. When we came to the wicket-gate of the grove between the lands, she made a, wager— 'twas only a silly little bet with me— that she'd be home first, as she was in a hurry about some sewing, and she objected to my staying all the evening alone at Denburn. She was to go one way; I, the other. We parted at the little gate, and in five minutes I had reached here; but we have not seen her since.'

'Which way did she go? By the canal?'

'No, indeed; she went by the private path just inside the hedge, through the high garden, parallel with the lane. I walked down by the canal, because it was longer than her way. Why, she hadn't three minutes walk between her and the parlour window—our tryst.'

'You say she had no bonnet on. She couldn't have gone to see her nurse V' , ,■■....

'No, no, guardie; we looked there,' sobbed Florice.

'She Lsd a bonnet en. What am I thinking of?' said Alexander. 'I was remembering a little lace handkeT^ chief she had tied on her head. As we stood at Denburn gate, before we turned to come back to the little wicket, her maid came along the lane with a bonnet and cloak for her, saying that Mrs Ellathorne had sent them. Does she know nothing about Ulencora after I left her?'

'Oh, no. 1 think I asked her,' said Mrs Ellathorne.

'Call her up,' said the captain, catching at a straw.

Jessie Buccleugh was sitting by the bell rope; she pulled the tassel, and presently the cook appeared.

'It's not we want," said the captain. 'Where's Jean Malcolm?'

'In the kitchen, sir.'

The cook looked crusty and vinegary, as only cooks can look when things go wrong.

'Send her up, cook, directly,' quoth the captain.

'Ay, she may gang r.nd hide awa,' the hussie, Avi' her fleerin' iires scannin' a' my cakes, to fiddle xrV her furbelows!' muttered the cook, disappeaili.ng.

Anon, the lady's maid stood at the door.

'Jean, where did you last see your mistress?' questioned Captain, Drunimond.

Her face, all flushed and hot, with the veins standing out like blue cords on her temples, seemed ready to blanche into consternation.

'The captain means to ask if you saw Miss Calvert after you fetched her her things,' interposed ivirs Ellathorne, gently.

'Indeed, I did na set een on Miss Gtencora sine.j I saw Mr Buecleugh there buckling on her cloak at his am gates.'

'Where did you go then?' asked Alexander.

'I cam' back by the lane, 'sir;' —she stopped and considered —'then doon by the servants' way to the back o' the house.'

'And where" then?'

'I gaed ow're to the green and gathered up Miss Glencora's laces and things, and carried them into the kitchen.'

'And that is all?'

Jean's eyes dwelt on each face in turn, the longest on Alexander' Buccleugh's.

'Ay, that's a, she answered, "deliberately.

*Go, then!' exclaimed Captain Drummond, rising to his feet. The girl lingered a moment.

'Please, mam, said she, addressing Mrs Ellathorne, ''Miss Gleneora told me this morn, as I packed, her boxes, that maybe she would gang to the town to meet Captain Drummond in the evening, if she could get through wi' the wark, for she wanted him to gang wi' her while she bought some things.'

But you see she didn't,' cried the captain, impatiently. This useless waste of time was irritating- him. 'Maybe so, sir; an' maybe no,' murmured the girl, dropping a courtesy, bne might ha' gane ane gate and you the ither. Maybe you missed her on the road.'

'Summon all the servants!' ordered the captain. 'If she went, 'twas not alone; she has gone before with the gardener or his boy for an escort.' 1 hey all came in. The captain's establishment wa« a quiet one/a? befitted a retu-ed shipowner. There were the cook, a cSUemaidi a

housemaid, the young *a£ ing woman, Jean Malcolm, the gar_ derter and his boy, and finally, a <-J °n fectioner's assistant, who had, come to help the cook in that branch of the culinary preparations Ihej came in; none were misßing. •None of yon—pshaw! 1 ?eecin i. if any of you can say anything to the groaned Ale.andei% leaning his head dejectedly on Ms hand. 'We must to work captain. if she went down to : Edinburg it must have been to visit some Mends, aiftl between this and lrilf-past live she could not easily have Here the gardener stepped a little forward, holding his hat by the brim. 'Your honour,' said he, respectfully, '[ think I wad ha' met our young leddy gif she had gane to the town itvveeu"half-past five an' half-past six, for I was a 1 • that • time wheehn a barrow fu' o' pots o' flowers frae ane o' the gardeners in the botanical gar-dens-he's an auld crony o' my unto put along the avenue for the morn; and I'm sure I would ha' met her on the road.' ~ , 'Did you see anybody in particulai in Gower Lane — any carriage, or stranger." , 'Ay!' cried the old man, with sudden ■intelligence; 'I did meet a carriage gaiiopin' doon the lane. There was a gentleman on the box by the driver, an' I caught a sicht, o' anither gentleman sittin' in the coach, wi his back to the horses.' 'Oh, that was Lord Kilcourcy ami his nephew,' interposed Alexander. 'They overtook me as I was walking from the city, and told me they were driving up the road to meet a party six miles on.' 'They didna gang then, sir,' observed the gai-dener; 'for I saw the ruts o* coach wheels turnin' round just ayant the wicket-gate, atween Lady - Bank an' Denburn. They maun ha' gone back.' 'That I cannot say,' rejoined Alexander. 'I spoke to them just as I was entering the gate, and thought no more of them afterward.'

'You may go now,' said Captain Drummoiul," looking impatiently at his watch.

The domestic retired, and he stepped out into the passage, picked up his hat, cane, and gloves, and came in again. 'I think, Bucclengh, our best course is to go at once to the town, and go round Gleneora's acquaintances, and after that '

He paused, and looked round the little company of pale, trembling girls, with their anxious lady at their head.

' I don't think you need fear much,' he said, trying "to speak cheerfully. Our wilful bride will have taken a fancy to some rarity in Prince's street. We wiil be back soon; so, keep up heart, girlies. Hester !'

Mrs EUathorne followed him to the door. He took her hand, and spoke gravely. He whispered, but Florice's eager ears drank in the whisper :

' Sister, don't be alarmed if some men come here by and by, to—to drag the canal ! < and don't let the girls Know.' He hastened after Buceleugh, who, with headlong speed, was already half way down to the g-ates. He went so fast that he never heard Jessie Buecleugh's outcry as the bride's sister fell fainting to the floor.

It was chill, and almost dark now, this calm summer eveningl, as the two gentlemen sped down the avenue into Gower Lane.

' I'll tell you what, Drummond,' exclaimed Alexander, breaking in on rather a dread silence each had shrunk from encroaching upon; ' we'll just step over to Denburn and get out my mare and traps. If speed will avail anything, Houri is the one to spring to it.'

' Agreed !' quoth the captain,

So they hurried up the lane, instead of down, and passed through, the Denburn gates.

And so they missed seeing a sight, or rather hearing- a marvel—to see, there was little. First a clink, clink, adown the silent lane, coming closer ; then, as the sound became distinct, mingled with it a regular snort and a respiring pant ; then a light, bounding tread ; then, the eyes assisting the ears, a little cloud of dust would have loomed, rolling along the middle of the road ; then two redeyes ; and then, just as the iron gate was reached, two white paws might be discerned tearing beneath the iron bars in eager hurry ; and at last, with a louder snort, the tawny figure sprang aside to a gap in the holly hedge best known to doghood, wriggled through, and with long leaps sprang up to Lady-Bank.

Well, 'twas nothing but Glencora's deer-hound, Ossian, wet, weary, and savage from some cause only apparent to himself, coursing home to his kennel.

(To be continued on Monday next.)