MAN, WOMAN, AND FATE.

Evening Star, Issue 11607, 18 June 1902, Page 2

MAN, WOMAN, AND FATE.

(.Published by Special Arrangement.] COPYRIGHT.

BY IZA DUFF US HARDY, Author of ‘ The Lesser Evil,’ ‘ MacGilleroy’s Millions,’ ‘A New Othello,’ ‘ The Girl He Did Not Marry.’ ‘The Mystery of a Moonlight Tryst.’ etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I. and H.—A visitor to Klondike is introduced into a log cabin shared by two young men. Goid seeker all three, they are all English, and this mutual bond soon draws them togethei in amic-.ble discourse The stranger prodices tome old papers, and the men read news Pom home. One ol the partner notices the death of the Hon. Stephen St. Julian, and mentions the fact to hi partner, aLo a St. Julian and first cousin to the present Lord. The stranger decides to remain, and gives the name of Lewis Haynes, whilst St, Julian’s partner is Hugh Hakombe. Haynes and St. Julian become great chums, and outsiders notice a resemblance between them. St, Julian looks over his treasures. He shows Haynes his mother and his sister, and the photograph of another woman. Haynes recognises the last-named and seems interested. St. Julian briefly outlines her history and gives the photograph to Hayfafcs, who puts it in his pocket. CHAPTER HI. “ A marriage is arranged, and will take place during the summer, between Mr Geoffrey St. Julian, of Garston Grange, Biankshire, and his cousin, the Honorable Claire St. Julian, only daughter of Lord St. Julian, of St. Julian’* Tower; Blankehire.” Such readers of this announcement as were acquainted with the family affairs of the St. Julians remarked approvingly that it was an excellent arrangement, and moreover one that they had foreseen as faliing naturally into the course of things, ft must have, of courc, been a great disappointment to Lord St. Julian to have no son, but the next best thing to having a ton of his own to succeed him, was to marry his daughter to his nephew and heir, who inherited from his maternal grandfather the property of Garston Grange, and wbo would succeed to the estate of St. Julian’s Towers as well as the title on the death of the present peer. It was an open secret to the circle of the St. Julians’ acquaintance that the estate was heavily encumbered; Lord St. Julian’s kinsfolk before him had burdened it with a load of debt, and he was not the man to accomplish the task of clearing it—nor had he the wife to assist, or even encourage him in such an endeavor. But their only daughter’s marriage with her cousin Geoffrey would solve all difficulties. For the second lime the Garston gold would enrich the St, Julians’ scantilyfilkd coffers, and as it had relieved the father from a burden of debt, so now in the son’s day it would come to the rescue of the encumbered acres of 6b. Julian’s. The men of the circle generally said Geoffrey St. Julian was a lucky fellow, and those who envied his luck the most said the least about it. The mothers of the daughters to whom Geoffrey had shown, or been supposed to have shown, attention, expressed their gracious approbation of the match, with a certain ostentatious acceptance of it as o. foregone conclusion ; one only was outspoken enough fo say aloud that “it was not to be supposed the St. Julians would let young Geoffrey slip through their fingers ” • they li'-d marked him down since he was a schoolboy, when iStcphcn St. Julian’s broken health had presaged that his life was not likely to be long—the only life that, failing a son of Lord St. Julian’s, stood between Geoffrey and his succession to the title. And the bridc-elect herself? Claire St. Julian thought simply that ?be was the happiest girl in the world The idea that this match was an excellent and desirable one for her never occurred to her save as au occasional passing perception of an unimportant fact. It was a fact, no doubt, but one that did not seem to touch her nearly; it affected her deep happiness no more than a little floating fleck of foam gleaming on the surface of a sun-lit sea reveals it depths. She did not know how her parents had dreamed of this marriage, hoped for it, schemed for it, ever since Hie days when Geoffrey u'ed to come over to the Towers in his holidays, and his conrng used to be Claire’s holiday, too. The St. Julians’ lived with nil appearance of and would live in their o’d accustomed style to the last; but Lord Rl. Julian knew, ton well, how poor was the provision he could make for those he would leave behind him. The marriage between Geoffrey and Gaire would keep property, title, and family interests together, and even though he left no son, his daughter would be mistress of the old home.

It had been a thorn in h'is pillow to think that at his death —and he bad reason to fear that bis life was one not likely to reach the allotted span of man's existence—his wife and child wou!d no longer have any rights in the old home where he and hi* fathres before him had been born, where he had brought his Blanche home a bride, and where their children, of whom Claire was th.p only one surviving, had ■been born. But he had no fear that in the event of his death, his nephew would fail to do a kinsman's dutv bv Lady St. Julian and Claire, or would hurrv them away from the Towers that had been so long their home; still it would be no longer theirs, but his; and if Geoffrey married, what place would there be then under Lis roof for his annt and cousin—unless, indeed, it were his cousin he married?

In these views Lady St. Ju!ian was entirely in accord with her hu>bnnd; indeed, her ideas not only followed his, but outstripped them; and it was her woman's wit which had not only planned that Geoffrey should marry Claire, but perceived that Geoffrey must not be dmwn into engagement too early, and that neither he nor the girl herself must ever have the slightest idea that he had been drawn into the ensacrement at all.

So when this desirable marrage was finally arranged, there were four people made hnppy. Geoffrey thought, and rightlv, that he was a very lucky fellow, and that Claire was the sweetest, dearest girl he had ever known. He was out in the world a great deal, he saw many fair women, and the fairest were ready to smile upon h ; m ; btit always when he came back to St. Julian's Towers, it seemed to him there was none like his sweet conrfn Claire, now his bride^lect. And Lord SL Julian felt his heart's desire was in the straight way to be accomplished, and Lady St. Ju'ian rejoiced with her husband that no stranger, but their own Claire, would reign in the Towers aftor her. Claire herself was radient in the full fln'h of hope and joy; the mother baskpd in the reflected litrht of her daughter's happiness, and held Geoffrey, of ■whom she had always been fond, now dear as a son indeed, for that dear daughter's «ake.

Gars+on Grange was only a few miles from the Towers, a prophirfuity most convenient for lovers, as Geoffrey's father had found it before him. Thirty years ago Henry St. Julian had ridden or driven over to Garston Grange in the pursuit of his wooing of the beautiful heiress, RitA Garston, as often as his son trod the Teverse way now to visit his cousin, fmj fiancee Ca're. Geoffrev was a great pedestrian, and often, walked across the fields and through the wood to the Towers, entering the grounds by a side gate that led through the fir plantation to the gardens. One afternoon in early May ho took the path that he had so often taken before, and found, as al<u he had often done in sonny hours like these, C'svre in the gardens, lingering in the fragrant shade of the lilac trees bending beneath their burthen «f blosscm.

It was one of those days when the softness of sumtber and the frfeafauesfc of spring commingle in the air—the sweet air that was odorous with the flowers of May; and Claire St. Julian, in face and form* in heart and soul, Was all in hatinotty with the seaSon, there was not a note in hor being that was not attuned to the sweet springtide. Geoffrey might have said, if he had been given to putting his sentiments into the form of poetical quotation: Oh, weel may ye my true love ken,. Sae soon as her ye see, For of all the flowers of fair England The fairest flower is she! She was straight and slim, tall and fair as a lily: her face, with its delicate <ind clearly-cut features, its oval "lessening iu perfect cadence," ffbttl broad white brow to dainty chin, was the fairer by contrast with the darkness of her hair unci eyes. She heard Geoffrey whistling a tune ■oftly before a turn of tlie path brought hj m into sight. Geoffrey was generally either whistling or humming when he was in gcod spirits; and though the whittled melody vas soft and low, it came clwirlj to her ears, and her heart fluttered joyously, as a tame bird that sees its mistress .tear. Still she did not hasten her steps to meet him as he came towards her, tall, and litk- and handsome, with the sunshine gilding his fair hair. She would not have hurried, even if a gardener and boy had not been busy at a border close by. When joy [3 coming quick'.y and surely, why run to meet it? It is sweet to wait, quiescent, smiling, watching it draw near—when ib is but the space of a heart-beat, a moment, to wait! —and then, even in the ■sweet familiarity of betrothal, it was nevet Claire's way to take the initiative; yet the delicate faint wild-rose hue, like the dream of a blush, on her cheek deepened as he approached, his eyes fixed upon her face with a smiling glance of glad and tender greeting. Geoffrey's eyes, which one might have expected by his light tawny hair and fair complexion to be blue, but which were of a clear light grey, were about the best of his generally prepossessing features.

"Here I am again," was his &tsy greeting, as he clasped her hand. "Confound thoje fellows!" in a lower tone, as he caught sight of the • gardeners, whose proximity deprived him 6f the opportunity of taking his privilege of a warmer salutation. "How are you, Queenie?" " Queenie" was his pet name for her—a name by which his calling her was in itself a caress. ''All right?" He still held her hand as he made his lovor-like inquiries—inquiries which, looking on her face, so radiant in fresh youth and flush of joy, might well have seemed unnecessary." "Come into the drawing-room, darling," he added, with happy eagerness in hts smiling eyes. "I've just got the last bars 6f that march—just the wind-up that's been baffling me! It came to me as I crossed the fields—came just as if I heard it played in my head," tapping his temple. " Come in, and let me get it on the piano f As they went towards the house, directly they got out of sight of the gardeners, Geoffrey avaded himself of the privilege which their presence had prevented him from claiming at the moment of meeting, and also resumed pos*essiort of the hand he had released, in his enthu c ia*tic description of the inspiration of the "last bars of the march."

Entering the house by a side door, hand iu hand, in happy lovers' fashion, they went into the drawing-room, and Gcoffrey immed lately sat down at the piano, motioning to Claire with a smile to take the seat close by, so that he could see her every time he raised his eyes from the keys. Humming and marking time with one finger in the air, he picked out the notes on the piano with the other hand, his fragmentary vocal accompaniment occasionally broken, breaking into little exultant exclamations: " That's it!" " Now I've got it!" " That's the thing, isn't it, Queenie? Yes, that's just the turn it wanted—that resolving chord, and then dying away softly. And ju=t to introduce a couple of bars of the refrain again here —sn. Don't you think

Claire did think so; he would have been surprised and probably aggrieved if she had thought anything else. She had no special talent for music herself; she could not catch up a tunc once heard and play it immediately by caT, as Geoffrey could; and, although inspired by her lover's example, she had never achieved the composition of the s'mpleft harmony; but she had been well taught, could play and sing pleasingly, though in no way brilliantly or remarkably; her faculties had been trained to the extent of a full apjpreciation of Geoffrey's gifts, and her love inspired her with warm interests in his pursuits, so that, in spite of any deficiency in musical endowments of her own, he always turned to her for the sympathy he never failed to find.

He sat at'thc piano, absorbed in his improvisation, repeating over any parage that seemed to him to require polishing and perfecting. Claire eat by listening admiringly, but presently, as he was experimenting on a chromatic run and flourish, she rose softly and moved quietly to the table to raise the drooping heads of some flowers in a favorite vase. The moment after she hnd moved away, Geoffrey stopped playing and turned his head after ler.

"Where are you going, Claire? *Come back!"

She returned smiling, in the happy consciousness that Geoffrey could not bear her out of his sight • he swung round on the. music stool and wound one arm round her waist to keep her by his side, while with tho other hand he struck the finishing bars of the martial melody. "There, that will do now!" he announced at last, rising up triumphantly.

" You had better write it down at once—for fear vou should forget it," suggested Claire.

" Oh, 1 shan't forget it." "I you just jot it down roughly M copy it for you," she said. " Do, darling; you'll do it ever so much more neatly than I should! But it's a shan>p to trouble von."

"It will be a great trouble! Anything for you always is, you know!" she said with a happy laugh "You'll have plenty to do for me in thp sweet by-and-bye!" he rejoined smilingly. " Til keep your hands full! You'll strike —and rfnke me keep a secretary—a lady secretary!" he added jestingly.

"I shouldn't mind —if she was like Macß.!"

"Macß.," otherwise Miss Matilda MacBean, was an elderly spinster who had for many years officiated in the capacity of combined secretary, lady companion, and housekeeper, to Geoffrey's uncle and aunt, who lived with him at Garston Grange. They both laughed—not that there was anything particularly humorous in the eminently respectable image of Mh« 'MacBean, but they were both in the mood to laugh nt nothing from pure lightness of heart.

"They miss poor old Macß. awfully at the Grange," observed Geoffrey. "I rather miss the old girl myself! They're talking of looking out for a successor. I thinfc I'll offer my assHance in the matter, and look out for one for myself, too—kill two birds with one stone. Joking apart, Queenie, I shall have to get a secretary if I'm going to stand for Southcliffe next election. I shall be swamped in a sea of correspondence. Shall I advertise for an elderly orphan?" "Why not a widow?" "' Beware of widows, Sammy V " he quoted "Would you allow me to engage a widow, Queenie?—a young widow?— a pretty widow?" "Qualified to accompany on violin or piano, as well as to carry out all secretarial duties, to copy music from scraps jotted down in pencil on the backs of old envelopes, acquainted with the lawe of harmony and thorough bass, well up in the sciences, from astronomy down to entomology, able ■to assort and catalogue f hells, minerals, beetles, butterflies, old china, book-plates, and postage stamps." " Anything more?" he laughed. " D 6 yrro think T shall ever find such a c6mbination of qualifications—except here?" "Too trustful, Geoffrey I Do you think

you have a counsel of perfection here?" she rejoined gaily, but with an undercurrent of tender joy beneath her playfulness. " I have all that man could desire, and a good deal more than I deserve!" He replied, smililig as he smoothed the soft, dark hair, which often got picturesquely ruffled during their interviews. His arm was round her waist, her cheek resting caressingly against fate shoulder. It was not an opportune moinent for the door to open, but the respectable and invaluable butler who how presented him-, self was sufficiently ctlßereet by experience not to enter the" apartment suddenly or too noiselessly. He approached with the automaton-like impas?ivenese or awelltra'ned servant, and presented to Miss St. Julian a silver bearing a card. She took it up, and as she read the name it bore her first look of half-per-plexed surprise and doubt passed quickly into an exprcsion nf mildly interested recoimifron and temperate pleasure. "Leopold St. Julian!" she exclaimed with a smile, turning to Geoffrey, who bent his head towards her to read the card too. " Why, it must be old Led turned up azain ! Where has he sprung from? I| thought he'd gone the way of all flesh!" 1 The room was large and long, so that ] neither Claire's soft-voiced exclamation nor Geoffrey's rejoinder reached the ears of the visitor wa'tine in the hall, whom Claire now requested should be shown in, and "•horn the butler ushered forward accordingly. CHAPTER IV. Neither Claire nor Geoffrey had seeri their wandering kinsman for many years, and Clairo especially, who had been a mere r-hild when he went away, had no recool'ection of the dark bearded man who eutered with a firm and leisurely step and an inquiring glance at her afi she went forward to meet him with a smile of Welcome —a sm'le, howevor, in which he detected a certain vagueness, as of non-reerignition and question. "Leopold?" she said, but in an interrogative tone. "Is it-—can it be-rClaire?" he rejoined half-incredulmisly, taking the hand she held out in greeting, and holding it as she replied : " Yes. You would not have known me?" " No. Nor you me, of course?"' She shook her head smilingly. "You'll hardly remember me either?" said Geoffrey, coming forward to add hia greeting to the retnrned wanderer, whose eyes, hitherto fixed on Claire, now turned for the first time in his direction. They were dark deep-set eyes—eyes such as again and again looked out of the St. Julian portraits of this and earlier generations. Geoffrey, who had been but a schoolboy when hj« saw his cousin Leopold last, could but very dimly recall him, and Leopold looked at him with a steady, searching, questioning glance for a full moment before a slight smile dawned beneath the heavy dark moustache as he took the cordially offered hand. "You must surely be Geoffrey?" he said. " But the years have changed us all a good deal."

' Yes, there have enough of them passed since you went away to make some changes. Let me see, how long is it?" " About thirteen years, I think; yes, nearly thirteen and a half it must be—you remember it was Christmas when I came to say good-bye?" "So it is—thirteen years and more!" assented Geoffrey. " Well, you're very welcome back, Leo." Leopold'B slight grave Rmile brightened, and showed them that his could Two pleasant expression when its serious and even somewhat stern thoughtfulness lightened up. He turned to Claire, whose soft brown eyes met his kindly. "Are you glad to see me, too, Olaire?" "Yes, indeed; and so shall we all be."

"You cannot remember me at all, Claire, I suppose? You were such a child"—evidently inclined to refresh his own remembrance, or it might be to test his memory of that child, as his questioning gaze dweft on her face.

"Oh, yes, I can remember your being here at Christmas and bringing a conjuring box and shewing us tricks.' " And what have you been up to all this time, Leo? And where have you sprung from now?" asked Geoffrey, sociably. "Appearing as suddenly as if you had shot up through a trap-door," added Claire, laughingly. "Like a stage demon in blue fire!" he suggested. " Well, what I've been up to most of the time is seeking mv fortune. Where I've come from last is New York, and before that Klondyke." "Where I hope you found the fortune?" "No ; at least not much of a pile. Too many people on Tom Tiddler's ground, picking up gold and silver. I've got a nugget or two," he added, carelessly, "and I thought I'd take a run homo."

At this point his autobiographical relation Was interrupted by the entrance of Lady St. tall, fair, graceful woman, handsome and well-preserved, with an abundance of golden hair. "Mother, who is this?" asked Claire, turning to her with a smile. "I heard. Jenkins told me. But—is it possible? Leopold?" Her smooth, low, equable tones faintly stirred with interest as she looked at the visitor with almost incredulous surprise.

"Don't say that yon'vo forgotten me, Aunt Blanche!" he rejoined, holding out his hand and clasping hers in a warm, firm pressure. "I certainly should never have known you," she answered, frankly gazing at him as if seeing in her mind's eye the smoother, fairer, beardless face of the youth who had left them thirteen years ago. "The beard alters me very much, I know," he said, meeting her look straightly, " and the sun and wind and weather—and the years!" he added, smiling. " It's a transformation 1" she rejoined, her wondering, questioning, half-puzz.ed look melting too into a smiling welcome. "In me! But there's no transformation —no change in you! Time has stood still here!" with flatter jig emphasis and a glance that accentuated the compliment of the word 3.

"But not there!" said Lady St. Julian, glancing at her daughter with a smde, which revealed to Leopold's keen eye* that his insincere or unwarranted compliment had pleased her as well as he could have desired.

"No!" he agreed, bis eyes travelling after hers to Claire's face. "Time has ripened the hud to blossom."

"Why, you arc quite poetic, Leopold," said Lady St. Juplian, graciously accepting hi 3 commonplace. "Your eyes are just the same," fche added smilingly, remembering that young Leo's eyes of old had been apt enough at telling their tale of admiration. He had always been a nice boy, had young Leo, so appreciative and attentive and deferential!

"And have you heard our news, Leopold?" he a-sked presently, when a pause in the conversation seemed to offer an opportunity ot introducing the subject which was uppermost in her thoughts, " the family news?" " The family news?" he echoed, questioningly. Lady St. Julian's smiling glance was directed to her daughter, then to Geoffrey, and she hesitated significantly. " Ah! is that so ?" quickly interpreting the glance. "Is it that—that Geoffrey is the luckiest man in England?" with a ring of sincerity in his tone that set the compliment far apart from the suspicion of mere flattery. "That's about it," Geoffrey agreed promptly, look ng at Claire. C.a.re blushed, and her eyes sank. Her fond mother was look.ng with proud proprietorship and satisfaction from one to the other of the fiances. None of the three noticed the sudden darkening of Leopold's face. It was but a momentary look of displeasure and di-comfitnre—yet why "should he be displeased? His clouded brow cleared almost in-.tantly. "I'm glad I am in time to wish all happiness to my fair cousin," he said, "and to offer my congratulations to Geoffrey. I need notwi-h hm happiness, for I am sure he has it!" Geoffrey nodded, satisfied but undemonstrative; _ " Ah! Geoffrey!" Leopold continued, "it!* you fellows that stay at home thafc-Fortnrie favorc! We .wanderers rove the world over in search of gold, and ft* the lucky one who {Jtars at home Fortune i£ holdmg

a prize worth, more than gold or diamonds!'* "I've done a bit of roving, too, in my day," observed Geoffrey, "and I rather think of getting' Claire to fancy a trip rdund thfe world?*- " There could not be .a more delightful honeymoon," said Leopold. Presently Ldfd St: Julian, having been informed of Leopold's arrival, came to greet.the returned wanderer, and gave him hospitable welcome. ■, Claire's father looked an older man than the father of such a daughter, in the early bloom of her youth, need have been; he was indeed by many years his wife's senior, and looked older, than his years. His scanty hair was of a silvery grey, his features were thin and aquiline, his complexion pale ..and sallow, his figUre spare ttnd angular, his shoulders-stooped, yet hi spite of the stoop hs carriage was not devoid of a certain distinction and dignity, and there was something not unpietuiesque about the contrast of his silvery hair and dark eyes. There was a touch of queruloUsness in his expression, of nervous impatience in his tone sometimes, and it was clear that neither man, wtnaan, nor child wefe in the habit of saying him nay; but he had a Eleasant smile and a gracious mahner, when e liked, and his manner to his returned kinsman was in no way lacking in genially ; his congratulations on his appearance had the ring of cordiality and sincerity. Leopold certainly lboked well and prosperous. Although he humorouly suggested that he had come back again like a bid shilling, he had not the air of a " family failure." Well-dressed, well-groomed, well got-up, confident and self-possessed, he had every appearance of being, and having rca-on to be, satisfied with his success, albeit, in words, he professed to make very light of it, only pleading guilty to the modest "pile" that could bring a man back to his native land. "And when did you arrive?" inquired Lord St. Julian. "Landed the night before last; so you see I. have lost no time in looking you up." "That's right—that's right. Andwhere's your luggage?" "In London—except a hand valise that I've left at the Railway Hotel." "We'll send for it. Blanche, see that Leopold's portmanteau is sent for at once. You'll f-tay, of course. You can have ydur old favorite, 'the turret room, if you like."

" You are very good, Uncle Edward, but indeed I had no); thought of inflicting myself upon you for more than nn hour's visit."

"Tut! tut! An hour?" Lord St. Julian waved the suggestion aside with a halfimpatient gesture of his nervous hand. "Blanche, be can have the turret room, can't he?"

" Certainly • or'' the blue room. Which would you l ; ke, Leopold?"

"I have no choice, Aunt Blanche. You are too good! lam ashamed of myself for taking you by storm in this way." "It is a very welcome kind of storm,'" the h>dy assured h'm, graciously. "You must give us a few days at Garston -Grange, too," said Geoffrey, not to be behindhand in hospitality to his returned kinsman. " Come over to-morrow—-if they," smiling at his aunt and uncle, "will spare you. Come over and dine, anvhnw."

"Whether we can spare hhu °r not?" laughed Claire, who was in gay spirits; and Geoffrey laughijd, too, as if it were a jnke worth laughing at. It was sugge-ted and arranged to everybody's satisfaction that Leopold should for the next few days divide him-elf between the Grange ana the Towers; it could only be a few days, he explained, as he had a good bit of business in London of one kind and another to look after, but he would be only too glad to run down latpr, if they were really willing to bo bothered with him.

Leopold was in h'gh splits; there was a smiling look of content on his face, a gleam of even fometh'ng like triumph in his eyes, the expression of which in repose was often somewhat sombre, as of one habituated to look on the gloomy side of things. To a man of moods, with an occasional morbid inclination to exaggerate a temporary chance of ill-luck into a pursuing evil Fate, a dispoFition to make himself out a failure cm. smallest provocation, the pleasure s>i "finding himself accepted and received by his family as a success was natural and great. In honor of the returned prodigal, Lord St. Ju'ian ordered up his favorite brand of dry champagne for dinner. The wine did credit to the St. Julian cellars, and Leopold did not fail to appreciate it; but ho was no more . exhilirated than the happy circumstances of h : s succces ful return from long self-exile warranted. He entertained them with travellers' tales, chiefly in the lighter vpin, cheerful, as befitted the occasion. Lord St. Julian had not been so much amused for many a day They lingered over dessert longer than usual; the host, who did not like the cho ; cest brands of h : s cellar to be as pearls ca't before sw'ne, observed with satisfaction that the fine old port was rot wasted on his kinsman; nevertheless, wjien the ladies retired, the guest seemed in no way disposed to loiter behind, but was ready promptly to rise and follow them. He looked round the drawing room w ; th its air of luxury, its light and flowers, and the hundred iind one graceful traces of woman's taste and refinement; he looked at the two fair women who might have typified the contrasted yet harmonising beauties of early autumn and ripening spring. "It seems like a dream to be here in the old place again, and to see you, Claire, grown up!" He smiled as his eyes dwelt on the sweet girlish face, so radiant in its fresh youth and happiness. Geoffrey followed his eyes, and smiled too, .proudly—happily. What man would not snrle to look on such a face and know that it was the face of " his bride-to-be, his evermore delight!"—to meet such eyes, and see the sott shy love-light in them answer his own as the delicate bloom deepened on her cheek. Yet, fair and dear and precious as she was in her lover's eyes, perhaps Leopold, looking at her as a stranger—for, kinsman though he was, he wa.s yet no more than a stranger to her—saw more than Geoffrey saw in her face. To her lover she was still in some way the sweet child he hd seen grow up to lovely ma'denhood. But Leopold's piercing eyes saw the woman —a woman whom perchance even Geoffrey did not know! "

If Leopold's mind had retained any imago of his little cousin Claire at all, it had been as a child—the baby face, the infant prattle, the shr'll laugh, the pattering feet It was small wonder now that he dwelt as if fascinated, with the double interest of admiration and half-perplexity, tho seek ng of recognition and reminiscence, on this tad and beautiful girl in her stately grace. She looked the very incarnation of youth and happiness, yet ehe gave him an impression of something latent qualities that, for good or ill, Had never been awrkened. lliere was the promise of strength of wil) in the brow and chin, yet something of possible weakness in the tender lips; and it seemed to him that passion slept deep beneath the radiant calm of the sweet eyes that had looked on nothing eviL When Geoffrey took his leave, Claire went out into the garden with him to sec him off. Leopold's eyes followed them as they sauntered aoross the lawn together, and he took note that they must have lingered long over their good-night, to judge by the *ime that elapsed before Claire returned to the h6use. When he retired to his room • the "turret room,'' which his host and kinsman had reminded him had been his favorite in old day*—he was in no haste to rest. He sat by the window and looked out across the shadowy gardens and the ■dusky distant landscape, the land of which his race had held ,pp. session for centuries. Far off, beyond and between the trees, he caught a glimpse of the pale gleam along the level line of the horizon that he.knew was the sea. He strained his ears and" almost fancied lie could catch its murmur.

Those stately old forest trees, gnarled oaks and noble elms, had cast their shade

on generates of St. Julians! His ancestors had listened-to the whispers of that sea, lapping the shore on which those time-stained walls looked down! He sm.led at the thought, a curious brooding Smile, in wh'eh there, was something half sardonic, half exultant; then, as another thought cro sed his mind, a slowly gathering frown chased the smile from his brow. There was a ruffle even among the rose-leaves of return; one thorn in the flower of welcome pricked him. Geoffrey was heir of these broad acres, Geoffrey was going to marry O.a re. Well, he could not expect Geoffrey to live and die a bachelor. He never had expected it. It was the natural, probable thing that Geoffrey should marry. And yet—he frowned at the idea! No man had a pleasanter smile than Leopold St. Julian when he was in. the smiling mood, but the look of half-sullen di content and gloom that lowered over his features new seemed even more natural to them than the smile, and still more natural was r he look of almost fierce determination that followed. "I'm here!" ho said to him=elf, with a soft) of sombre- exultation that seemed to bode rather evlthan good. " Here—in the Old place—amongst, them all—and welcome! My hard is on it "—clenching the strong right hand that mterl on the. window-sill—" and I'll hoM it tight! Only Geoffrey stands iri the way. Geoffrey's marriage wll shut me out. But—-Geof-frey is not marred yet!" (To be continued).