TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 662, 31 October 1884, Page 5

TALES & SKETCHES.

STORMY WATERS, A STORY OF TO-DAY. BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. Author of “Martydom of Madeline,’’ “The Tryst of Akranmoke,” &c.,’ &c. CHAPTER XXXVII r. SAFE ASHOEE. (Continued.) ‘ Dare to do so,’ muttered Number Five hoarsely, ‘ and be sure you die. What do you think lam? What have you become ? Did not yeu spare the life of a lad because he was like your brother? And did I not help you? Did we not ride like demons down Galton Gulch to rescue a poor old woman Avho once gave us hiding ; and now you propose to me to kill a lad who has prayed for me, a lad with whom I leapt into the grave of the sea. Mate, if I did not like you I would kill you where you sit. Dare to harm a hair of that lad’s head !’ The Yankee tilted up his legs a little higher, set his hat on one side of his head, stroked his beard, and squirted tobaccojuice and then replied—- ‘ What you say, mate, has touched my heart, and it takes a pretty strong blow to make it jump. Guess you’ll hev to excuse me for proposing what I did, but you see that lad was nothing to me, and it seemed such a nice easy way of putting some dollars into the purse. There’s my hand, friend ; he’s your friend and he’ll be mine ; that’s square enough I think.’ ‘ Quite,’ said Number Five taking his friend’s hand, ‘ and now I think we’d better be clearing out of this.’ «I guess we should ; but where the blazes are we to clear to with not a cent in our pockets, and our numbers with a cross agin them up at the headquarters ? I leave it all to you.’ • I’ll manage, I think,’ replied Number Five who went to where Harry and Esther were sitting. They had also had their chat, and the conclusion they had come to was that they would return to London and once more seek Bob Downsey’s. They had just agreed to this when Number Five joined them. ‘ Well, mates, and how do you feel after your dip ?’ he asked. 1 1 owe you my life, lad,’ he said to Esther, ‘ and all I can give you now is “ thank you.” That I do with all my heart.’ ‘You owe me no thanks,’ Esther replied. ‘ You are a brave man, and we are indebted to you.’ ‘ That we are,’ said Harry ; ‘ and I say, mate, have you got any money ?’ ‘ Not a stiver. I forgot all about it till it was too late. I just came to see if you’d saved yours and could oblige me with a trifle.’

‘We can give you your own,’ replied Harry. ‘My friend here saved the pocket book you gave me, and here it is !’ and he handed the book to Number Five.

‘ I can’t take it all,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a fair divide.’

‘No, no ! We have our own, and it is enough !’ and Harry insisted on him taking back the money intact. When the Yankee heard of this he blew his nose for a full minute, and swore that had caused the tears that were in his eyes. Names and addresses, right and v-rong were given to the Coastguard, Hastings town was reached and such as could, or were inclined, took the train for London. Harry and Esther went straight from the station to Lisbury Mews, and very much surprised Matilda, who herself answered the door.

‘ Oh, dear !’ gasped Matilda, and fell back into the lobby. ‘ Oh, dear ; oh, dear ! I must be dreamin’.’

‘Not a bit of you, mother,’said Harry, when he had closed the door. ‘ Here we are again, as pantaloon says, and we’ve come uninvited because we knew we would not be unwelcome.’

* But didn’t you go to sea ?’ asked Mrs. Downsey. ‘Of course you did, but bless me why am I askin’ questions and keepin’ you a-standin’ ’ere ? Oh, my dear, do come this way,’ she said to Esther, and, leading her away, left Harry to look after himself. Presently they joined Harry in the parlor, Esther now attired in her proper dress, and then Mrs. Downsey wanted to hear all about it.

‘ I’ll be no more use than a doll till I knows,’ she said. ‘ And to think as Bob don’t know you’re here, and that there ain’t anythinlc in the ’ouse barrin’ a knuckle o’ cold ’am, and that you’ve been busted up on summat aud will want all sorts of good things.’ ‘ Don’t trouble yourself like a good old dear,’- said Harry, laughing. ‘We have not been half so bad as you think,’ and briefly he told about the loss of the ship. * Aud that there boy and you sivam ashore together,’ she said to Esther. ‘ Well it was plucky of you, and it was a good job you could swim. But where has the boy gone to ?’ ‘My dear Mrs. Downsey, it was the lifebuoy,’ said Harry, smiling. ‘I didn’t s’pose he was a dead one, my lad. And how far would you and he swim together ?’ she asked Esther, ‘ It’s just what my Bob says, that both boys and gals should learn to swim. He’s a werry wise man is my Bob, though maybe he don’t look like it !’

‘ He’s what’s far better, mother, he’s a very good one,’ said Harry, glad to pay Bob a compliment, ‘ but he never showed his wisdom more than when he doubled it by marrying you !’ 1 Go along !’ said Matilda, almost blushin". ‘ And you were left on them masts, with nothing to eat, and had to hold on like cats to a clothespole. Well, whatever people do go to sea for is more’n I can make out. I was once on it at Margit and I took my oath that if once I were ashore I’d never go on it agin and I never have. One can have a wery nice sail up to Putney,

and not risk being sick or drowned. But the tea ’ll be ready, and you’ll hev to excuse the knuckle of ’am ! We’ll have a nice supper when Bob comes ’ome,’ and the good woman bustled about and got the things on the table. Harry and Esther were glad to rest and say nothing more than civility demanded, but their silence was not oppressive, as nature had provided Matilda with a capacity for speaking that she herself enjoyed and nobody else could object to.

CHAPTER XXXIX. HAERY UNDERTAKES A JOURNEY.

Bob Downsey was sitting on his cab on the rank when he bought his evening paper, and among the first paragraphs he saw tvas this one. ~ , _ Wreck of a Vessel.—A ship said to be the “ Charmian,” of London, has gone ashore near Beachy Head. She is fast breaking up. All the hands are saved except one man. The captain had died on the voyage down the Channel. * The wery wessel,’ said Bob, referring to a scrap of paper he took from his waistcoat pocket. ‘ I guess its all up a gum tree with the poor lad now. Wot does it say? ‘All hands saved except one man.’ Who was that man ! Mawther, who was that man ?’ he asked of the mare, but Mawther either did not bear or declined to answer. ‘ Well, well,’ Bob continued, • The mare is struck dumb and can’t say aught—no more would I, I s’pose, if I had as much sense as she has. The “ Charmian,” ’ Bob mused, lookagain at the paper. ‘ Wery Charmian, indeed, I should say. But all saved but one man. That’s the part as puzzles me. Who is that man ? I say Mawther who is or was that man ?’ he asked when he had left the box and was standing by the mare’s head. ‘ Now, you don’t look wise, but say nothing, as some werry wise men who are fools do,’ he enjoined on Mawther. ‘You are only a ’oss, leastaways a mare, and ain’t got any reputation to lose. You jest answer my question, will yer ? Was the man as was lost Mr ’A stings 1’ At that moment Mawther gave one 'of those shivers horses seem to enjoy, and Bob was puzzled how to interpret the equine oracle. Whether the shiver was a shiver or a shrug he could not say, and, of course, the settlement of that point was all important to the true reading of what Mawther meant.

‘ Mawther isn’t going to give an opinion, and I am not able to form one,’ said Bob to himself. * I feel very queer, I do, and I'm not agoing to hang about here till midnight. I shall go home and see if Matildar can ’elp me out of this ’ere mood. And home he went, to see Harry and Esther being entertained by Matildar. ‘ I knew there was summat up !’ said Bob, when the hand shaking was over. ‘ I saw in the papers about that theer “Charmian” being wrecked, and I asked Mawther to tell me who was the man as was not saved, and for once she would not give me an answer, so, ses I, I'll go ’ome and have a talk with Matildar, and here I finds you all alive aud kicking. And what are you going to do now, Mr ’Astings ?’ asked Bob, as Esther and Matildar left the room.’

‘ I shall go to sea again, if I can get away, but Esther must not accompany me again. We have had an awful time of it, and my next ship may be no better. I shall risk going down to Gorseley and try to persuade Mr Morton to take Esther home, and to be candid, Bob, I should just like to have one more look at my little Mary. I shall not dare to speak to her now, but I may be able to see her. In this disguise I think I shall be safe.’

* Am I to drive you down ?’ Boh asked. ‘ No, not this time, Bob ; I shall have to go on the quiet. By-the-by, who came in that night I left ? Was it Kingston, the new squire of Gorseley ? I thought I knew his touch as he brushed past me.’ Bob did not answer at once, but sat ruminating. A promise was to Bob a sacred thing, and he did not like to break the one he had made to Esther, but he was sorely tempted to do so. ‘ I wish I knew what Mawther thinks,’ he muttered.

‘ What about ?’ asked Harry, smiling. ‘ Why, Bob, you are-looking awfully in the dumps.’ ‘lam in the dumps,’ Bob replied. * You was askin if the man as came in was Kingston. Yes, sir, it was him. And I don’t mind telling you, he is the damnedest scoundrel as ever I met with. He will hunt you down, he will ; he’s a cruelly bad lot. Now, you mind wot I am saying, and give him a wide berth.’

‘ I mean to do so for a while. I know what he is, and may one day be equal with him yet.’ ‘ I hope so ; but I don’t like your going down there. He is a devil, and if he finds you, you are in for it. Do you take Miss Esther with you V ‘ No, she will come after me. I will write and let you know what her father says. If he will not take her back, you’ll perhaps let her stay here till I get abroad, and then I will send for her.’

‘Ay will we, my lad ! She can stay here as long as she likes. She’s a good ’n, she is. You should have seen her when she cut up rough with him; she made him feel small, she didf And Matildar, too, she look’d as if she’d liked to make him bald.’ ‘ Him ! Who ?’ asked Harry, who did not apprehend Bob. ‘ Ahem ! I have said all I can say, said p’r’aps somethink more’n I should ’ave said,’ Bob replied evasively. ‘ Now, then, Bob, no mystery. I can guess who the him was ; it was that devil, Kingston.’ ‘ The wery identical bloke. But don’t ask me any more questions. I can’t answer ’em. Here are the woman folks,’ he said, as Esther and Mrs Downsey returned to the room. Harry’s curiosity was whetted, and he was anxious to know what Kingston had said, and what it was that had aroused the ire of Esther and the good Matildar. He therefore pursued the subject. * But, Bob, I think, I ought to know. Kingston is my bitterest enemy, and it is him I have to fight. Any hint of what he means to do might help me to worst him.’ Bob shook his head and replied— ‘ lam muzzled.’

‘ And, you mother, are you also muzzled ?‘ said Harry to Mrs. Downsey. ‘ Muzzled !’ Mrs Downsey echoed. ‘ Not that I know of. But I don’t understand yer.’ ‘ I think I understand,’ said Esther. ‘You were speaking of Richard Kingston. Harry, why is he your enemy 1 Why are you afraid of him ?’

‘ Afraid of him. Nay, Esther, I am not afraid of him, still he is my enemy.’ ■ And why ?’ persisted Esther.’ * Because that there Kingston is the enemy of everything that’s good,’ Bob chimed in. ‘He is a regular willan he is,’ Matildar asserted.

‘ And no one knows that better than yourself, my dear.’ ‘ What do you know about Kingston ?’ Harry now asked Esther. ‘ Ah, I begin to see !’ he said, as Esther blushed and turned away her head. ‘ He- was your enemy too ! And this was the man you have sacrificed so much for,’ he said, almost reproachfully. ‘ Good heavens, what a scoundrel he is ! Esther Morton, by saving Kingston, you caused the death of Walter Carruthers.’

Harry bit his lip, and Esther screamed and hid her face on her lap. ‘ I mean,’ said Harry, ‘ that had it been known Kingston was your betrayer Carruthers would not have been killed.’

Esther sprang to her Let, and, looking Harry full in the face, asked this question — ‘ Was it on my account the young squire was murdered ?’

Harry felt he had made a mistake, and was perplexed how to get out of it. He read aright the thought that was in Esther’s mind and desired to counteract it.

‘ I did not mean that. I mean had you told your father Kingston had wronged you, things would not have gone as they did. Forgive me, Esther, for my hard saying ? You know how sorely I am' beset, and to Kingston I owe all my trouble, and I got angry when I suspected he was also your enemy. Come, lass, say you'll forgive me, and we’ll think no more about it.’ ‘ But I must think about it,’ Esther murmured. * I have been very, very foolish.’ ‘ So have we all been,’ Bob observed, ‘and when we have been foolish, and know it, we are foolish again to think too much about it. Lor’ bless you, miss, when I’ve been foolish I don’t think of being miserable about it. I jest say, it’s done this time, and I won’t do it again. Isn’t that what I do, Matildar ?’ ‘ Just what you do, Bob. And when lam foolish I stops it as soon as I can, and try to make up for it as fast as I can. Now, my dear, don’t cry any more. Shake hands with Mr ’Astings, and give him a kiss, and bless God that that there Kingston will never trouble you anyunore. He won’t come here again, 111 pass my word.’ ‘ That he won’t, Matildar, you made him dror up like a horse that’s checked, the last time he was here. That you did, Matildar, and now we’ll have a bit of supper. _ Miss Esther and Mr ’Astings are quite friendly again I see, and ivot’s the good of us talkin’ when they’ve been and done the wery thing we are adwising ’em to do.’ It was as Bob had said, for Esther had soon suppressed her curiosity as well as her temper, and was begging Harry to pardon her. The pardon was easily obtained, and when she found Matilda had gone to get supper ready, and that Bob had also left for the Crown and Sceptre to get the beer, she made a request to Harry. ‘ One thing you will promise me, Harry,’ she said coaxingly, ‘ you will not let anyone know that I owe my disgrace to Richard — I mean Mr Kingston ?’ Harry would fain have made no such promise, and he replied, ‘ You ask me to do what I am very unwilling to do, and I cannot but think you foolish to screen that man. Tell me this, Esther, do you love him still V • I am ashamed to say I do,’ said Esther, after a pause. ‘ I cannot help it.’ ‘ I wish you could, and you should try to forget him 7 I am afraid he may do you further wrong. Do, like a good lass, tear your love for him from your heart; he is unworthy of you, unworthy of any woman’s love. Will you try and do this, Esther ?’ ‘ I have tried, and I cannot do it. I will try again, and when I remember he is your enemy I may succeed. I will promise you this—he shall have reason to think I hate him should I ever see him again, as I hope I never shall. You will give me your promise now.’ * I will, with one reservation, if needs be I can tell him I know. Give me that leave ?’ ‘ No, no ! I cannot do that. He would only hate you all the more, and you might quarrel with him. Don’t ask me anything, Harry, but just promise you will keep my secret. You have done much for me, and surely you will do this ?’ she argued with true feminine logic that one favor is only a promise of many more. Harry promised with much reluctance, and in his heart he could not help thinking Esther was very silly to do anything to shield Kingston. He did net know that some women are like dogs, who become the more faithful the more they are ill-used.

Over supper all was arranged as to Esther remaining with the Downseys, and it was agreed that it would be best Harry should leave early in the morning, and travel by a cross-country route to Gorseley. ‘ I don’t s’pose there’s any danger, said Bob, ‘ but you know that wot we don t expect is wot is sure to ’appen, so if we expect danger we’ll get safety, and I dessay that’s how it comes about —the man who thinks he’s safe is careless, the one who doesn’t is careful.’ CHAPTER XL. Mary’s Trouble. The evening after the explosion R-ingston returned to Gorseley Manor. All his affairs were well, with two exceptions, and both of these were connected with the Morton family. He was uneasy about what Bob Downsey had learned, and had taken precautions to keep the little man from visiting Gorsely, but on this score he might have been at’ease for Esther had made Bob promise he would not telL her father, nor indeed any one, what he had come to know about her connection with Kingston.^. The other thing that troubled Kingston was how to get Mary into his power. He did not put any value on her independence and firmness at their last interview, but he had no wish to get snubbed again; and he was

at a loss to know how to act with decision. In the end he decided the best plan was to work upon Mary’s father, and in the morning he sent for Morton. Morton was moody and taciturn and not to be drawn into any rash promise. What Mary would do he could not tell, but this he would tell Kingston —she should do as she pleased. ‘ The lass is all I have now,’ said Morton, ‘ and she shan’t be driven to do anything against her will. And to be plain with you, Squire, I don’t think it would be the best thing she could do to marry you.’ ‘ We are a bit from that yet,’ said Kingston, with an uneasy laugh._ ‘ Between now and then she. will have time to decide as to what she will do. If you let her know you would like her to encourage me, that is all I ask/ c I don’t care to do anything of the kind,’ answered Morton, sturdily. * The lass is worth the wooing, and if you like her you’ll take the trouble of doing it for yourself.’ _ ‘ Of course, but don’t you see, she is crying over and always thinking of that fellow Hastings, and won’t listen to me.’ ' Have you been speaking to her ?’ asked Morton with surprise. ‘ Well, we have had a few words,’ replied Kingston, sorry for the lapse he had made. * But I was very coldly received I must confess.’ ‘ "When did you see her. Since that night —Carruthers was killed ?’ ‘ Of course,, I saw her at the inquest, and once since that. I thought she would have told you I had called at the farm.’ ‘ When did you call ?’ ‘ I don’t, quite remember ; a few days ago.’ * Was I about ?’

• No, you were in London I think.’ • And what did Mary say to you V • Told me to go about my business and not worry her, to put it briefly, but of course I don’t mean to give her up for one rebuff.’

‘ No, what do you mean to do ?’ ‘Try again, of course ! Girls are always a iittle shj to begin with.’ ‘ Oh, are they ?’ Morton asked, with his hand over his eyes and thinking. ‘ Have you courted many girls, Squire V he asked, with a keen glance, as he removed his hand.

‘ No, not many. But why do you ask ?’ ‘To know this did you court them with the intention of marrying them ?’ ‘ Not likely,’ replied Kingston, with a laugh. * I mean, we were only flirting !’ he corrected himself. * Don’t look so serious, my good sir,’ he continued, with an attempt at looking amused. ‘To court a girl is not to murder her ; it is quite an innocent affair, I assure you. I suppose you never flirted when you were young ?’ ‘ Not in the sense you mean, I Jthink,’ replied Morton, sternly. ‘ And you know that to me and mine this flirting has not been innocent, and has led to murder. Nay, let me go on,’ he said, as Kingston was about to interrupt him. ‘I, as you know, have had a daughter ruined by this innocent flirtation ; this damnable knavery I call it, and you know that to avenge that ruin these hands are stained with blood ; you know, too,.that the man was one of your kind, your own cousin, and mark me, Richard Kingston, I will not risk my daughter to your flirtations! If you want to marry her, and she will marry you, good and well ; I shall not object, but no flirting between Mary and the likes o’ you shall go on.’ ‘ Upon my soul, Morton ?’ answered Kingston, with great hauteur, ‘ you seem to think your daughter will do me a great honor if she were to marry me, and also to think that because my cousin was a bit of a scamp among the girls that I am no better.’ ‘ I know nothing about what you are among the girls,' said xVlorton, and Kingston felt very thankful he could say so. ‘All I know is this,’ continued Morton, ‘ you don’t get the chance to use Mary as your cousin used Esther. I won’t trust you,’ * You are very plain, my good man, but I think you might be a little less so. However, I will be plain too, and I tbink Mary should be very pleased to be noticed by me.’ ‘ Oh, darn you and your noticing,’ Morton cried, pettishly. What were you not so many days ago ? and as things are to go new what do' your estate and position matter ? My girl wants to be noticed by nobody. She’s as good as you are, or any man alive.’ ‘ Of course, with these very just sentiments I fully agree,’'said Kingston, with a satirical sneer that was lost on Morton, ‘ and I have been wrong in what I have said. But suppose, for a moment, the things we are expecting don’t come to pass, or don’t come for a long time, wouldn’t Mary be better as the Lady of Gorseley than as the wife of some poor farmer ? That is what I meant.’

‘ Well, if you’d said so I would have understood you. I understand you ask my leave to marry Mary, and my leave you have, but Mary must have her own way, and if she won’t have you—you go your way, and there’s no more about it.’

Kingston heard him, partly amused and partly annoyed. He could not help laughin» in his sleeve at the credulity of Morton, who fancied he would dream of taking a daughter of his to wife, and his gorge rose to think he could not snub this old man, and let him know what their relative positions were. Kingston felt, however, that some sort of hint to Morton, as to what would happen if he and Mary presumed too far, was necessary, and frowning, said, ‘ You are strangely forgetful, Morton, that the Squire of Gorseley is usually addressed with deference by his tenants ; and especially so by tenants ■who are in arrears, and retain their farms by favor.’ At this Morton opened his eyes wide, and with a pretty strong expletive by way of preface, said — ‘Well, Squire of Gorseley, I may be forgetful, but I don’t think so. There are squires and squires, you know, and I have your own word for is that you reckon Gorseley as much mine as yours. I_ don’t see why, that being so, that there is any occasion for deference. As for a tenant there are no tenants now; we are all alike, and you and I are not like squire and yeoman, but are brothers.’

‘ By and bye we will be so, but we are not so yet,’ said Kingston, who was trying to decide whether Morton was as much of a knave as he took him to be a fool, while Morton, with instinctive care, was pondering over the best way to ensure the welfare of

Mary. The fate of Esther was ever in his mind’s eye, and he was determined to take every precaution that no harm should befall his other daughter. ‘ Will be so ? Not yet ?’ Morton said. ‘You are surely true to you principles, and, supposing our dream was never realised, you can realise them on your own estates ?’ ‘ I suppose I could,’ answered Kingston aloud, and to himself, ‘ I am sure I never would.’

‘ Nay, there is no supposing in it. It can be done quite easily. You have begun with me, you know.’ ‘ The more fool I,’ thought Kingston, and to Morton, ‘ What you say is very true, and a beautiful ideal, but what if I should change, should cease to dream, and become as my cousin was ? How then would it stand with you and with Mary ?’ ‘ As it stood before,’ said Morton, grimly. ‘ We should be at war, and the first blow you struck me I’d strike back again, and I would not hesitate long about striking. I would hit with haste as well as with strength. You dare not change.’ ‘ Confound him for a hard-headed old screw.’ said Kingston, inwardly, and gave Morton some more wine. ‘ But if you died, what- about Mary then ?’ he asked, as he sipped his brandy. ‘lf she were mine, and I made a settlement of part of the rents on her she would be secure. You see that ?’

‘Very clearly, and approve of it. But why do you talk about me dying ?’ ‘ Because you are getting old, and your health does not seem too good.’ * I hope that is your only rea*on ! When you speak of death, I can’t help remembering how easy it is for you to cause a man to die.’

‘ That is quite another affair. You and I will be of the same family if Mary will listen to me. You will perhaps speak to her and say I will call at the farm to-morrow morning at ten to receive her answer.’

Morton promised and went away ‘ How much bother there is about this girl !’ said Kingston. ‘ But I want her and I’ll have her. Once she is mine I will recoup myself. The pere is a nuisance.’ Morton left the hall in that equivocal frame of mind in which a man feels that the arrangement he has made is a good one, while at the same time he has many doubts if the result of his efforts will not be confusion and disturbance to all concerned. For one thing he was extremely dubious that Mary would listen to the Squire’s attentions on any conditions whatever, and on getting home he put the question to her. To his surprise she at once agreed to see Kingston in the morning and give him an answer. Her father was delighted, and began to hope that all would be well, when his conscience asked, * What would Harry Hastings have said to this.’

CHAPTER XLI.

An Apparition.

Kingston was prompt to his promise, and was at the farm as the hour he had named struck. His punctuality did not annoy Mary, for she felt that no state could be worse than the suspense she was, and had been, in. When she heard from her father what Kingston had been talking to him about, she knew at once it was merely a blind to deceive the old man. She said to her father she would think over what Kingston had said and give him the answer when he came in the morning. What that answer was to be she had decided, but the manner in which it would be given, and the consequences that would follow it, perplexed and vexed her.

She, therefore, heard without a shade of anxiety or surprise that the squire was at the farm, and as an opening to her campaign she determined to let him wait some time before he saw her. He would be better for learning that she was not at his beck and call and ready to wait on him at any hour he fixed, and sent Barby Mayflower into the parlor with a message that as soon as she was at liberty she would join Mr Kingston.

‘ Dressing-up, I suppose,’ said Kingston, on hearing this. ‘ She is a vain and darling little minx. Not a fool either, and has a good deal of policy with her. Just the sort of a girl a fellow would not lose for the world. Has all the attraction of a good bottle of wine—bouquet, richness, sparkle ! Egad, I feel like a connoisseur waiting to taste a vintage of fabulous worth, but my vintage is good because it is not old. Ha, ha !” he laughed at his own little joke, and was at the trouble to see about his necktie and the parting of his hair. ‘ I must take care not to offend her !’ he mused as he sat waiting. ‘ The old man has evidently talked to her and let her see what her duty is ! I liked his style of talking about marrying, as if girls wanted to be married, as if we fellows wanted to be married ! Of course, he’s one of the old school, and doesn’t know how things are done now. His bright little daughter knows better, I’ll warrant and will snap at a good settlement. And that, egad, she shall not want ! I’ll give her anything she likes in that way—anything ! I can afford it now ! When it was Esth ’ He stopped short and listened intently. Had he been talking aloud ? he asked himself, for he was almost sure he had heard his own voice.

His fear, and the fact that to meet the farmer’s daughter he had taken in a good deal of Dutch courage in the shape of cognac, were alone responsible for any sound he had heard.

Before he was able to resume his cogitations, Mary entered the room, and a good deal of Mr Kingston’s self-satisfaction vanishedas he bade her good morning and looked at her. Mary was calm and dignified and Kingston was flustered and vexed. She had resolved to do what she thought her duty at any cost, and her resolution gave her strength ; he had given himself up to a base pursuit, and when he saw the woman he had deemed only good enough to be the object of his idle lust, meeting him calmly while he was disturbed, looking him in the face while his eyes fell from hers,he knew he was found out, and for a while his impudence and assurance failed him.

Mary did not misread his agitation, and seizing the opportunity she asked to what she owed the honor of the Squire’s visit. ‘ Has not your father told you ? I thought, that is, I think, he said he would explain to you,’ Kingston stammered.

‘My father told me you were coming here, on what business he did not say !’ ‘ Business !’ said Kingston staring. * No, no ; I have not come on business. The fact is I have come to—to— ’ he stopped short for he could not put.his real intention so plainly and did not mean to say in as many words he had come to threaten, cajole, or drive his victim into an unlawful connection with him ! Just as little did he mean to say he had come to ask Mary to be his wife, so that he had nothing to say and he looked very foolish. It was about the first time in his life he had felt so, and like all other new feelings it was rather queer and anything but nice. In happier circumstances Mary would have had a good laugh at the comical appearance Kingston made, but she well knew that his embarrassment would not continue, and thinking she could meet him best by maintaining her reserve, she seemed not to notice his fidgeting. Nothing could have irritated Kingston more. There he was like a yokel staring and gaping and unable to utter a word, and there stood Mary, looking on with indifference, perhaps with contempt. ‘ Pray take a chair,’ said Kingston, at last offering her a seat. * Thank you ; I prefer to stand.’

Silence again, and deeper than before. ‘ Perhaps you will excuse me,’ said Mary, at length. ‘ I wish to go into the kitchen to look after the dinner.’

This very prosaic wish was intentional, and with a scarcely perceptible courtesy she left without waiting for Kingston’s answer.

When she was gone he relieved himself with a fesv deep oaths, and rose and walked about the room.

‘What in the name of wonder has gone wrong with me ?’ he asked himself. ‘ What was my business ? Such confounded coolness ! I don’t know how the deuce lam to begin with her. I rather think, too, she sees what lam after ; and I’ll be hanged if I don’t think I’ll give up the game and have it out in another way with her and her father. The old scamp has not spoken, or has spoken against me. He is a suspicious ©ld curmudgeon and that puss is as wide awake as any girl I ever met. She is not a silly fool; she knows how to play her cards better than I do, I think, in a game of this kind. Here she comes again, let me try and do better this time,’ he said, and made an effort to look easy and well pleased. ‘ You are wanting to know my business here, Mary,’ he said, and came close to her. ‘ Can you not guess it; do you not know that I love you ?’ ‘ Don’t speak to me in that way, please, Mary interrupted. ‘ I do not think you love me, and I know I can never love you.’

‘ You are very cruel, Mary, I do love you, always have loved you, and dreamt of you. I cannot be happy, cannot rest until you are mine. You know that now I can make you happy ; I have wealth, position, everything that is worth having, and all that I will be glad to share with you.’ ‘You have‘nothing that can make me happy,” said Mary coldly, as he finished his rehearsed rhapsody. ‘ The things you speak of are nothing to me ; I do not want them ; I will not have them.’

‘ But think, Mary what will happen if you refuse them.’

‘ Well, what will happen.’ Mary asked, and looked him keenly in the face. Kingston could not stand the gaze ; he felt asshamed of what was in his mind. Base and bad as he was he had shame enough to feel that to hold over the girl’s head the threat of ruin to herself and to her father as the consequence of her refusal to listen to him was a mean and unmanly thing, and he shrank from saying what he thought. ‘ Speak out,’ said Mary after a pause, ‘ I am weary of this interview, and anything you can say will not surprise me. I have had indications from you previously as to what you would do.’ * You seem to want to make me use you harshly,’ Kingston said. ‘I am desirous to befriend you and your father, and you treat me with contempt and sneer at me. You know I can help you or I can crush you. ‘ I know you may crush us, I do not think you can help us. If you meant to help us you would not bargain with me to love you, you would know that my heart can never love a man again, you would not have laid yourself out to ruin the man I loved. Love you, Richard Kingston ! No, God help me, I hate you as much as I can hate any being, and you have given me cause. I know what your answer will be ; I do not dread it. Father and I will live somehow, and you will know that if my father’s passion made him your slave, your power, your cunning could not make me your concubine !’ She seemed to grow as she spoke, and the look on her face was one of high resolve and noble motive.

‘You misjudge me, Mary,’ said Kingston, with not a little energy and heat. ‘ Misjudge me most unkindly. Why do you think I would do as you hint ?. and if I have injured Hastings have I not saved your father ? Hastings is now far away at sea, and to me he owes it that he is ' ‘ That I know !’ Mary interrupted. ‘ And I know also that your hell hounds are with him. I know that you hunted him down in London ; oh, I know more than you think, know enough to make me hate to be in the same air you breath! But go on if you can ; let me hear your apology.’ Kingston did not go on, for the reason that he could not. What did Mary know ? he was asking himself. Did she know about Esther ? How could he say anything if she knew that ! and if she knew, might not her father know also ? and then what would restrain the old man from his vengeance ? He wished he had never seen a Morton in his life.

While he mused Mary was thinking, and, argued with herself as she would, she could not make up her mind to be otherwise than the foe of Kingston.

‘ Am I to understand our interview is over ?’ she asked, as Kingston did not speak. ‘ It seems to me, Miss Morton,’ said Kingston severely, ‘that your desire is to provoke me. I have tried to be well disposed towards you, and every friendly movement I make you checkmate it with one of antipathy. I would not bear this from any-

one else, and perhaps it may come to a point ■when I cannot bear it from you.’ This judicious mixture of complaint and warning he hoped would have an effect upon Alary that would make her more kindly disposed. He was mistaken.

‘ You speak to me as if you had some right over me,’ said Mary warmly. ‘ I deny that you have any. Your friendship I do not want, and your enmity I do not fear.’

‘ Because you do not understand how much my friendship is worth to you, nor how much my enmity can injure you. If you knew this, you would not be so haughty, and it is just possible you may know. But, Mary, do not drive me to desperation, for I would not for the world harm you. Give me only one word of kindness, of hope, and I will wait till you can love me. You spoke a harsh word as if I meant you evil. I do not, Mary, I love you, and love you only, and I am free to love whom I please. ‘Do I understand that you would marry me ?’ Mary asked, as she might have asked him did he mean to dine. Kingston did not answer with the ardour of a sincere lover, but, after pausing, said—*Of course, I would marry you, that is by-and-by ! Just now it would not be convenient, there are reasons, and you can guess them, to keep me from thinking of doing so !’ Alary smiled and turned away. Kingston felt she did not believe him, and that move as he would she saw through his subterfuges. Perhaps, after all, he thought it would be better to cast off the mask, and appear in his true character, but when he tried to do this he found he could not succeed so readily as he thought. Mary came to his assistance by saying—- ‘ I think we may part now 1 We understand each other, and you will take your own way, and so will I.’ ‘ But do you know what these ways will be ?’

‘ I know my own, and I can guess yours. Aly way will be a hard one, but it will be honest and of good repute, and I do not fear I will be able to walk it !’

‘ You are mad, Mary; and this talk about honesty and good repute is all very fine as a theory, but when put into practice it is rubbish !’

‘ How do you know ?’ Mary sked, quietly. ‘ Have you ever tried it ?’ Kingston could not answer. He was conscious it would avail nothing to try and deceive Mary, and he had pride enough to refrain from lying when he knew that his lying would be received as such.

* I should like you to go now!’ said Mary, as he gave no signs of taking his leave. ‘lt is painful for me to be in your presence, and we have said all we can say. I had hoped that you, at least, observed the forms of a gentleman.’ ‘ By heaven, girl, you will drive me mad,' cried Kingston, stung to the quick. ‘You have sneered at me ; taunted, ridiculed, lectured me, and because I love you I have borne all. Now you insult me, and even that lam loth to resent. Mary, will you not love me ?’ he cried and grasped her by the hand. ‘lf you say “no ” again I shall hate you. Give me one kiss and say you will try to love me, and there is nothing in the world I will not do for you.’ He spoke rapidly and under excitement, and as he spoke he drew Alary closer and closer to him, while she struggled to free herself.

‘ Be reasonable, Alary,’ Kingston said, as he held her to his breast. * I can give all that a woman could desire. I will give it you, and with this kiss I swear I will,’ and he put his lips to her brow. As if she had been stabbed Alary cried and screamed ‘ Help, help.’ She heard a sound of feet in the lobby, the door went open with a crash, she knew she was relieved from her persecutor’s hold, she saw him spin into the farthest corner of the room, and there fall, and she turned round expecting to see her father, when to her astonishment she saw Harry Hastings. (To be Continued.)