THE LOST OF HADDON.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11620, 6 April 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE LOST OF HADDON.

"JIVE HUNDRED POUND REWARD! "The above reward will be paid to anyone giving certain information as to the whereabouts of a lady who suddenly disappeared from her home, Haddon Hall, in Lorneshire. She is of medium height, has a weil-formed figure, with small white hands, on which, at the time of her disappearance, she wore some valuable rings, one being in diamonds set in the form of a cross. , She is of extremely attractive appearance; fair, with a profusion of golden hair; her age about twenty-one. V " She was last ■ seen about eight in the evening, at the garden attached to Haddon Hall; and at the time of her disappearance she wore blue velvet, richly trimmed with seed pearls-and white lace. As no article of the unfortunte lady's wardrobe is missing, excepting a black lace mantilla, it is supposed that she cannot have gone far from home. :','..-\

. "Whether she had met with some sudden accident, or has wandered from home in a sudden attack of insanity, no one can form any idea; but the above reward will be paid to anyone bringing reliable information, either to Messrs. Grey and Lawson, Solicitors, Grey's Inn Lane, London; or to Sir Guy Wyverne, Haddon Hill, Lome-' ehire. The reward will be doubled to anyone finding the lady alive. .

- "London, June 30, 18—.

■ "All papers, both English and foreign, > are requested to copy this advertisement." ■fp;> Such Was the advertisement that, one

- bright summer's morning, appeared in every '~ daily paper of note in England. Day after ■day it was repeated, always in the same : words. People read it and wondered. Who ■ was this lady, young and fair, who had disappeared from her home so suddenly? " Lady Magdalen Wyverne, of Haddon Hall, in Lorneshire. Many who read it remembered meeting her the preceding season. She had :\ been one of "the fairest and most graceful women in London. She had shone at Court, Vat ; the opera, at balls and fetes; her fair

young face had been too deeply graven in ' the memory of those who had known her ever to he forgotten. The celebrated artist,

Mr. Firth, painted her portrait, and every-

i\ one remembered it on the walls of the Koyal Academy. For one whole day there was nothing : talked about in London but this advertisement.

Men discussed it at their clubs, women in their drawing-rooms; and the most cal-lous-hearted men, who laughed as they betted on the honour of their neighbours' wives, found no hard word to say of Lady Wyverne. Even they cast no imputations on her—there was no slur upon her fair and honoured name; they spoke of the mystery with anxious faces and bated breath. t Insanity—there had never been any sign of it. There was no trace of it in the fair and lovely face that had drawn all hearts; there was not a taint of it in the Wyvernes of Haddon, or in her own family, the Charltons of Croome. Besides, insanity did not

manifest itself so suddenly. '• Lady Wyverne had dined with her husi: band and his friend, Lord Lynnton, of "i 'Rotherlee, and she had talked to them with her usual charming grace of manner and animation. They had seen no trace, of any illness, either mental or physical, coming, apoh her. She had left the gentlemen over their wine, and had gone up to the nursery, where the little babe, the heir of the Wyvernes, was installed in great state— lovely, |; fair-faced child, with Sir Guy's dark eyes ■':■ and her golden hair. She took the boy in her arms, kissed him, fondled him, sang to him, caressed him, and said, with a smile on her lovely young face, that her little Claude was the sweetest baby ever held. The nurse,-Mrs. Hilton, agreed with her, and the happy young mother, the mistress of Haddon Hall, had gone down on her knees before the laughing, crowing baby, i and had worshipped him as mothers usually * worship the first-born child. Then, still smiling, she left the nursery, with the words of a sweet, soft lullaby rippling over, her lips, and had never entered :■■ it again. . , . Those who beheld her in that moment never saw her since. The child had pined . and almost died; the nurse had turned 'weary, weeping eyes from window to door, but the light feet crossed it no more. "; That was the last seen of her, for cer- : tain; but just as the gentlemen were going into the drawing-room, one of the footmen, who had been out, saw, or fancied he saw, his lady in the flower garden. He believed she had on a blue velvet dress, and " a black lace mantilla thrown over her golden head and shoulders. He could never be quite certain of it; for when he came to be questioned, he grew confused and could not remember in what part of the garden it was. He had passed by quickly, and it might be, he fancied, a figure among the trees. Still, the black lace mantilla was missing; and all the servants in the house knew their lady was in the habit of going out after dinner; sometimes wandering away in the garden until Sir Guy went in search of her. She loved trees and flowers • so well, this hapless Lady Magdalene, that she spent all her time among them. Whether she entered the garden or not, she from that moment was never seen again. -That was how rumour told the story, and there was no solution of the mystery. ' Sir Guy had left 'the dining-room, and, With Lord Lynnton, had lingered a few minutes in the conservatory; they went ■''':■ together into the drawing-room, expecting to find Lady Magdalene there, and to spend the evening, as they both liked to spend it, in music and song.

'. But she was pot there; and the two gentlemen looked blankly at each other. * Sir Guy rang the bell, and asked if her ladyship was still in the nursery; he knew she went there for baby worship every day at tlm time. The answer came that she had gone ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. ■'{■■.'" "My wife must hove gone out into the gardens," said Sir Guy to his guest; " next to the baby, she loves, flowers. She will come in presently, her hands full'of lilies and roses, and full of apologies, too. Shall.: we go out, or will you remain here, Harry. Lord Lynnton was tired, the evening was warm and the claret at Haddon Hall was considered unequalled; altogether, though his lordship admired the lovely face of; the mistress of Haddon and would have liked to see it smiling amid the flowers, still he liked his own comforts better. No one regretted it more seriously than he in after

years. :.'..'. ■,•■, An hour passed, and Lady Magdalene did not appear. Lord Lynnnton declined tea, arid declared it was high time he started , for home, as he had a long ride before him. . " For the first time in his life, Sir Guy. felt annoyed and vexed with his wife. True, she "was fond of flowers, but Lord Lynnton was an honoured guest. She might surely have given up the indulgence of her favourite ■ ■:.. tastes for one evening at least. He was vexed with her, and could not understand how one so thoughtful, so refined as his wife, . could ignore all habits of politeness and leave his guest alone. ' He made some laughing apology to Lord Lynnton, who seemed piqued and annoyed, r • and then they parted, little dreaming, either of them, what the night would bring forth. Sir Guy was vexed, and he showed it. Only God knows how he blamed himself • afterward, for if he had gone in search of her, there might at least have been some .1 clue to her fate— he was vexed. He left the pretty drawing-room, where the fair face he loved would shine no more, and went to the library. He lighted one of his favourite cigars, took up the Times, which he had not opened that day and soon, in the reading of some brilliantly written articles, forgot his vexation and its cause. He read on until, the light died out of the evening sky: he intended to ring for the

lamps, and, fully believing his wife had returned, he sat waiting for her to come in and explain what he considered the unpardonable slight of her absence., ' ";'/] The window was open, and the flowers underneath it sent forth rich streams of fragrance ; the bees hummed as they flew home with treasures of honey; there was a gentle ', ripple ;in the i dense green foliage, a soft whispering of the wind, that was like a ilullaby to the flowers ; and Sir Guy forgot his paper f his dark eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. • There was some excuse for him; from early dawn he had been • out in the fresh air, and he was dreadfully tired. ,

/ He slept until the rosy flush of sunset had all died out of the western sky, and the wind grew chill. ;' When his eyes opened he was startled to find the world lay in darkness, and the summer : evening had faded into night. ; ; . V" - - Where was she, his loved, fair young wife, every hair of whose golden head was precious and dear to him?

He arose with a start, wondering she had not been in to him; and he went rapidly to the drawing-room, expecting to find it lighted up and Lady Magdalene waiting there for him. But the room was in total darkness; the silence of the house was unbroken by any sound.

" Magdalene he cried, " are you here?"

Of course it was fancy, but it seemed to him that for all answer there came a light, mocking laugh on the roll of the night wind. He was not nervous or superstitious, this brave young baronet, whose ancestors had fought and bled on many an English battlefield but as he stood in the silent room a cold, sick fear came over hima fear he could neither account for nor understand. It paralysed him; for half a moment he stood, unable to cry out or move. It was as though a breath of the unknown world had passed over him and chilled his very heart.

Then he recovered himself and rang the bell violently. It was answered by a young footman, who. had not been long in his service. ' ■' "

"Light the lamps and inquire where Lady Wyverne is," he said. The man obeyed. He drew down the long Venetian blinds and lighted the lamps, while his master stood wondering at the unusual sensation which had overcome him; and then the servant returned, to say that her ladyship had not yet re-entered the house. •,, v,

Sir Guy looked at the man in utter amaze. "Still out in the grounds! the sky dark, and after nine o'clock! There must be some mistake."

, He said no more to the servant, but went to his wife's rooms. They, too, were all in darkness and silence; the lady's maid answered his summons, and, in reply to his question, said she had seen nothing of her ladyship since dressing her for dinner. Then Sir Guy, still unsuspicious of all wrong, went up to the nursery, but the little Claude lay sleeping, and his mother—where was she?

How he wished in that moment that he had left Lord Lynnton and gone into the grounds after her. Still without a word to the servants, he went out. into that part of the garden she loved best; he saw, lying on the path, gleaming palely in the moonlight, two white lilies that she had evidently gathered and let fall from her grasp. Near them lay a little white glove, which he knew at once to be hers. Her favourite perfume came softly floating like a message to him; he raised the glove, and again an utterable sense of coming sorrow and fear seized him. "Magdalene!" he cried, looking around at the drooping roses and sleeping lilies. "Magdalene! where are you?" And for all answer, the wind swept around him, and died away with a moan. Thinking she might perhaps have fallen asleep, he went round the garden, and round the grounds, calling "Magdalene! where are you?" and shuddering with untold horror when the wind replied. Then he went back to the house. The lights reassured him he tried to laugh aloud, and say to him that " he was foolish —who could be lost on that sweet June night, so near home, in the nineteenth century, too, when all mysteries were exploded and out of date? How nervous and ridiculous he was; yet, where was she?" ■■...,■ Again he went carefully round the rooms, into the conservatories, the fernery, where someetimes she liked to read; the upper rooms, where she might possibly have gone on some pretext or other; but nowhere and in no place was there any sign of Lady Magdalene Wyverne. He began to feel alarmed then; he saw. the servants gathered together in little groups; he saw the pale face of his wife's waiting-maid; far off, he heard the cries of the little babe, who wept for its mother and would not be comforted.

Sir Guy went among them, looking very pale and stern. "I am afraid something has happened," he said. " Lady Wyverne went out into the grounds after dinner; it is now after nine, and she has not returned. Go out, all of you, and search!" They went, but the search was vain; one by one they returned, hopeless and anxious —there was not trace of their lost mistress.

So the weary night passed on; the little babe cried until it was exhausted, and Sir Guy, almost beside himself, joined the bands of men scouring the woods. When morning light came it found dismay, dread and confusion at Haddon Hall.

Policeman, friends, neighbours, came to help the whole countryside was raised; but the fair, happy young mother, who had left the nursery with a song on her lips, had disappeared from their midst, and was heard of no more.

There were no poachers staying in the quiet woods of Haddon; no shots had been fired, no deed of violence could have been accomplished. She was not unhappy. There had been no mysteries in that sweet, pure life. There was nothing to avenge. She loved her husband with a perfect, worshipping love. She had not sought refuge with any friend. From the moment she turned smiling from her baby she was seen nor heard of no more\ The advertisements continued. The reward was doubled thousands pounds were offered for information of Lady Wyverne, living or dead. Men whose hearts ' were full of greed read it, and tried hard to solve the problem; but it remained a mystery still.

The thousand pounds remained with Messrs. Grey and" Lawwm ; for no man brought news of Lady Magdalene Myverne, of Haddon Hall. Sir Guy Wyverne grew desperate; he was maddened and bewildered by his terrible loss.

CHAPTER I. THE RING. Cold, brilliant, bard, yet withal The queen of gems— perfect diamond. A bright summer day in London, not yet so;late as to send people of .fashion and note from town, yet late enough for the sun to be warm, the mignonette and lilies all in flower, the trees green, and the parks crowded with people.

London at its best; the shops all making the greatest possible show of brilliant and beautiful goods; a general feeling of prosperity and well-doing diffused among all classes, from the mother who hopes to see her daughters well married, down to the humblest tradesman, who rubs his hands and tells his wife, business is looking up at last. : v.- - : '■•-'--' :

Regent-street - is gay and sparkling— thronged with passers-by ; but the shop with which we hatfe to deal lies in New Bond-street. A quiet, unpretentious place, with no very brilliant show in the windows. Yet it is stocked with jewels which have no equal in the wide world. Kings and emperors send there for gems for royal brides. There is an air of quiet and refinement about the place and everyone in it.; Messrs. Hugh and Malcolm have a world-wide renown ; they have no need of advertisement to extend it; the fame of an empress' jewels does that. On this bright June morning a handsome young man might have been seen walking up New Bond-street. He had stopped once or twico before the windows: of different jewellers,gazing at the treasures displayed therein with something ; like a smile on his lips. Looking at him in the June sunlight, _ one might search far and wide without finding a handsomer ■ and nobler-looking man. Tall, well-formed, with broad shoulders and full, broad chest, with a careless grace and easy dignity" that > sat well upon him, no one could i: have passed Sir Guy Wyverne without looking at him with admiration. v ' i : He had a; noble, patrician . face— 'face that had belonged to crusaders and.cavaliers before him; deep eves, ordinarily■' gentle

and thoughtful,'dreamy and tender, yet they could flash with a light no foe cared to see. Speak lightly : of a woman,; sneer at virtue, throw a slur on the good and holy before Sir Guy, then you would see' what those dark, dreamy eyes were capable of. \ There is a face like his in one of Velasquez's most famous pictures dark, : < handsome, and noble, full of fire and of passion, with lips that could smile sweetly as a woman's, yet terribly firm and grave when no cause for smiles was there; a face good'people love and trust implicitly; one that a thief, a liar or a coward would shrink from, for it was the face of a grand and noble man. There is no mistake about him— is a true patrician; he walks and looks about him with an air of one born to rule and command ; yet on this June day, over the gravity of his face there breaks forth such a bright gleaming of smiles that one feels sure he is busied with pleasant thoughts. "I had better go where I am known," he says to himself, turning toward Hugh and Malcolm's. "If they should mention it, it will not matter;.;- all the world will know it soon." ' '

So he passes the large, handsome doors, whioh close noiselessly behind him, and there is an immediate stir among the employees. Sir Guy is well known there. - His family have always dealt with Hugh and Malcolm, and he, the present head, is one of the wealthiest baronets in England, with the savings of a long minority to add to a large income. It is Mr. Malcolm, the junior partner, who meets Sir Guy with courteous words and a desire to know what are his commands. , .': '"

" I want a ring," says Sir —" something very costly and handsome." As he utters the last words a flush comes over the dark, handsome face; but Mr. Malcolm discreetly bows and takes no notice.

Sir Guy walks to the counter, where a chair is placed for him, and then some of the treasures of the house are brought for him to see.

There is a ruby, one single stone, that looks like a drop of crimson blood with a flame in it—a gem on which no value could be placed, for it was priceless. " If that were set in the midst of small pearls," said Mr. Malcolm, " it would make a superb ring." But it did not please Sir Guy; his eyes, though ostensibly fixed on the ruby, were looking at a little white hand, with a rosy flush in the palm, beautiful, slender fingers, tipped with pink hand that might have been taken for a model, both for colour and shape. He did not fancy the ruby then. "No," he said; "that is not quite what I want, Mr. Malcolm."

Then he was shown some emeralds, so pure in their light, of such a marvellous, seatingued hue, they brought to mind all the loveliest stories of gems that sea nymphs wear.

"These are, I believe," said Mr. Malcolm, " some of the finest emeralds in Europe. There are sufficient for a hoop ring, and it would be a gorgeous one." But again Sir Guy looked in fancy at the little white hand, "with its delicate roseleaf flush," and quietly placed the emeralds aside; and Mr. Malcolm looked at his customer as though he thought him difficult to please. .'■■■■■ "I have ii somewhat curious taste in ladies' rings," said Sir Guy. " I like them to have fire and flame, without colour, if such a thing can be." "You would like diamonds, then," said the junior partner. "We have a ring,, but I cannot say it is for sale. It was made for ," and here Mr. Malcolm bent over and said something in a low voice. "Indeed!" said Sir Guy, with some interest; " I should like to see it." The junior partner left him and returned in a few moments with a small case in his hand. He opened it, and held out the ring for Sir Guy's inspection. The dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction. " That is beautiful!" said the young baronet eagerly; "that pleases me very much." It was a ring that, once seen could never be forgotten ; it was made of small diamonds set in the form of a cross. The stones were small, but each one was perfect, of unrivalled lustre, and without flawliterally, diamonds of the first water.

Yet the ring had been made for a finger so small that Mr. Malcolm looked doubtfully at it. ■'''■. ' "It is just the right size," said Sir Guy. trying on his finger. " That will do; I will take it with me."

Looking at it more attentively, he saw the letter " M" curiously engraved inside. "'M,'" ie looking up at Mr. Malcolm. "What is it for?" And again the junior partner bent down and whispered that her highness' Christian name was Marguerite. "It is a strange coincidence," said Sir Guy to himself. "' M' stands for Magdalene as well."

He delayed a few minutes while the ring was carefully packed, then wrote out a cheque. " I do not wish this to appear in the yearly accounts," he said; " I will pay for it at once."

And a few moments later he was on his way to the railway station, littleah! so littledreaming of the time when he should recognise that ring by the stones and the letter.

CHAPTER H. THE FINGKB THE RING FITTED. Vine, vine and eglantine, Clasp her window, trail «*ind twine! Eose, rose and clematis, Trail, and twine, and clasp, and kiss; Kiss, kiss, and make her a bower All of flowers, and drop me a flower, Drop me a flower.

One short hour, and the train had left the great city far behind. It had reached the Kentish hills, which lay fresh and green in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. From between them, every now and then, one caught sight of the blue waters of the channel, ,smooth and calm as the summer wind that danced over the waves.

The train stopped at the Winthorpe Station, and no travelller ever alighted there without looking around in mute admiration, for the station was quaintly built, with oldfashioned gable ends, and it stood in a perfect bower of chestnut trees, all in bloom. Reaching there —leaving noise, bustle, smoke and traffic behindit seemed like dropping into the fair arms of Nature. The silence, the balmy sweetness of the ah, the fragrance of the hay, the hawthorn and wild roses, greeted one; the singing of the brook where the chestnut blossoms fell, were all like so many welcomes. Sir Guy Wyverne left the train at Winthorpe. He seemed to be known. The guard' and porters wished him good day. and the stationmaster came out' to speak to him and they talked under the chestnut trees together. They were respectful to him, but they called him " Mr. Wyverne," and no one appeared to know his title. " You are walking over to Elmslie, I suppose, sir?" said the stationmaster; "and a beautiful walk you will have. I have lived here some time, but I never remember having seen the fields and woods so green lis they are this year." Again that light, luminous smile came over Sir Guy's face —a smile that seemed to deepen in his eyes and play over bis lips, as a sunbeam plays over clear water. He apparently knew some excellent reasons why earth was so fair. He offered the stationmaster a cigar, that left that excellent man in utter bewilderment as to where on earth such delicious leaves grew, and how they could be paid for. Then Sir Guy quitted the station, and turned down the green, winding lane that led to Elmslie. It is well to be an artist can reproduce colours. How can words paint such a scene as that he now passed through? The lanes, where the hedges were one mass of vivid bloom., where woodbine and wildroses mingled with pink may, where wild flowers grew in such abundance that at every step one crushed the sweet blossoms under foot. Ah, me! that my words are so weak. The ripple of the foliage, the songs of the birds, the fragrance of the flowers, the music of the south wind, do not run through them. As he drew near Elmslie, the blue waters of the channel shone in the distance. Mingled with the rich, odourous scent of flowers came the sea breeze, fresh, salt, and tasting of the sea. There was a stile, shaded by tall elm trees, and he stood by it some minutes in silence, looking at the little village that nestled between two steep hills which sloped down to the sea. One must be either a poet or n painter to : enjoy the beautiful scene as he did, with a thousand thoughts struggling for utterance, a thousand beauti-ful-ideas surging in his brain, until his eyes grew moist with tears; for when one does see the hand of God, the depths of the heart are stirred. \ : /-.\ v^/ : .^~^ ■■'... * ■ A little village,' with quaint houses embowered in trees an old chm-«h standing at

the foot of the hill, ivy. clinging to the grey walls ■;.' and % tapering '■>. spire; old-fashioned homesteads dotted here and there, and farms surrounded by meadows and orchards. ~ _ ■■ There, too, were the .hop-gardens,Vand stretching to the left were the bonny woods of Croome. In the distance one could see the turrets of Croome Hall, once the pride of the country. Then came the purple hills that sloped down to the golden shore. There is no pleasure so pure, so holy, so elevating, as that which Nature gives. Men betray, women deceive ; ■ but when did 2* a- , tare's fair face ever turn from the heart that worshipped her? So stood Sir Guypoet, artist, and —with the glamour of beauty strong upon his soul—silent, lost in admiration. v Then, suddenly remembering the ring of which he was the bearer, he leaped over the stile, and soon reached the village. Croome, Hall was more plainly to be seen then. , He passed through the pretty; picturesque- and high-street,' with its few shops and brightwindowed houses; then turned down a quiet road, where stood an old, grey house— village hotel, "The Croome Arms." He seemed well known here. The landlord greeted him with a respectful bow; the landlady with her brightest smiles. The chambermaid even looked the brighter for his coming. A waiter came cheerfully { to the rescue. There seemed to be nothing but delight that " Mr. Wyverne" had come home.

"My room is all "right, I suppose," he said, going upstairs. "It is quite ready for you, sir," replied the waiter. • • . :. -

And the "upstairs rooms" of the " Croome Arms" were not to be despised. Nature had provided curtains in the shape of huge vine leaves and drooping roses, which climbed , even to the roof and there was always in the passage a delicious odour of dried lavender and rose leaves.

The largest room had been given to Sir Guy, and he entered it now. He was tired, worn, and dusty with travelling. Not in such guise could he present himself to Magdalene Charlton loveliest, the most refined and graceful girl in England. There was a bath of cool, fragrant water, a cup of Mrs. Johnson's refreshing tea, and then he started on his mission.

Pie went some litle distance from the village down a high road, where the elm trees met overhead and made a cool, delicious shade. The chimes of the village church, played five, and he quickened his pace. He came at last to large, iron gates, over which golden laburnums drooped their golden blossoms. He opened them, and there lay before him, bathed in June sunbeams, a scene for quiet loveliness never surpassed. A grey, old-fashioned house, full of quaint nooks and corners, and covered with crimson flowers, stood in the midst of a green lawn. By no means a large house—something between a villa and a cottage. A little fountain played in the midst of the lawn, and beds-of gorgeous flowers diversified the green. Garden chairs of quaint design stood under the shade of the tall acacia trees, and a long row of blooming limes formed a background to the whole. Near the fountain stood a young girl, and it was on her Sir Guy Wyverne's eyes lingered. She had not heard his quiet footsteps, and he stood for sometime watching her.

She did 'hot seem to be more than seventeen, with' a face that Guido would have worshippedfair as a lily leaf, with a glorious bloom, resembling the inmost heart of a rose; delicate chiseled features; a low white brow, on which the golden hair waved like a, crown; straight brows, many shades darker than the hair ; eyes of the deepest violet, with a golden light in their clear, glorious depths ; sweet lipsdewy lips, that looked like a young japonica bud; a face that had the soft, spirtual loveliness old masters give to the angels. What was there in it? Something that riveted attention, not only for its wondrous, delicate beauty, but for the expression, for the story that was so dimly shadowed forth upon it. Those who loved her said that peculiar look was a shadow from heaven. Strangers, who for the first time saw her. said a happy life, and a happy death would never fall to her lot.

Have you ever seen such, a face, reader, with the elements of a tragedy mingling with its beautya face that has haunted you and made you wonder how the heart beneath it would love? ■

The sunbeams fell upon Magdalene Charlton's graceful head. They seemed to have been caught in the meshes of that golden hair. If fell, not in ringlets, but in waves, on her white neck and shoulders.

She wore a simple dress of white muslin with white flowers. A crimson rose nestled in her white dress, and in her hand she held a pretty, tame white dove. She was trying to teach it to drink from the little fountain; and a laugh, like clear, soft music, came from her lips when the bird shook its plumage, and tried to fly away. In all the dark after years, Sir Guy never forgot the picture of the girl and the dove at the fountain. It haunted him when the sad tragedy was all piayed out. It was a picture, every line of which was graven on his heart, never to be forgotten. He went up t*her; and she, busied with the bird, did not see him. He laid his hand upon the white, rounded arm. " Magdalene, darling," he said ; " I am here." ,

She turned to him with a cry of delight. The dove was forgotten, and flew away. Her golden head dropped over him, and her fair, flushed face touched his.

" I thought it would be evening when you came," she said. " I did not expect you yet." " Am I too soon?" he asked, with a smile of happy love, sure of his reply. "No," she said. "I only count time when it is passed with you, Guy; the rest seems all blank."

"Then you do care for me?" he said; " and no wandering prince or knight who comes riding by will ever take you from me?"

"Only death will do that," she replied. "We cannot resist death. If that grim, terrible king shakes his scythe at me, I must go: but at no other word than his." " Then I pray Heaven death may be merciful, and take'us both together," he said. "But. mv darling, why need we speak of death? Life lies all before us—bright, smiling, fair as this June day. Let us talk of love, death's rival —I may say his conqueror, for love is immortal." '. " Will you not go in and see mamma?" asked Magdalene. " She is in the drawingroom reading." "No ; I am in the humour for talking to you," he said. " I have longed so much for you that any other voice would jar upon me just now. Magdalene give me your hand."

She gave it to him—the hand he had seen in his fancy—white, with a rose-leaf flush and delicate, tapering fingers." "Why do you never wear f ring?" he asked, somewhat abruptly. " For the simplest of all reasons," she replied, with a smile and a blush. "I have not one to wear. The Charltons do not live at Croome now, Guy, you know." "Not one ring," he said, "for the fairest, prettiest hand in the wide world! I must alter that."

He took from his pocket the litie morocco case containing the diamond ring. When he opened it the sun seemed to scater fire in the stones. ','■'./'

Magdalene utered a cry that was both joy and surprise. " That rami he like the gems queens wear," sheitnried. " It is fcVa queen," he replied ; " and the queen is mine

(To be continued.!

General Dartnell, who has lately been appointed to command the mobile column in the Transvaal, is well known in South Africa. For several years past he has commanded the Natal Mounted Police, without exception one of the smartest colonial police corps extant. Though well over sixty years of age. General Dartnell is still as lissom and alert as many a man forty years his junior. He served in the Indian Mutiny in the Enniskillen Fusiliers, and still bears the mark of his experiences in a shattered finger. This finger has played an important part in many painful interviews which members of the N.M.P. have been compelled to undergo with their commanding officer, when the culprits could generally tell by the manner in which the colonel (as he then" was), pointed the injured member at them whether they were in for a severe punishment or only a harmless wigging. General Dartnell always had the welfare of his men at heart—in fact, the corps had many points in common with oldtime regiments, in which, whilst strict discipline was maintained on duty, off duty every member of it. from the colonel to the latest recruit, mixed together with a certain amity unknown in these' days of short ser-