MRS. GAINSBOROUGH’S DIAMONDS.

I.

“Superb! I don’t know when I have seen finer, Tom, really!”

“Ah!” said Tom, complacently handling his left whisker. “And,” he added, after a moment or two, “and thereby hangs a tale!”

It was after dinner—after one of Tom Gainsborough’s snug, inimitable little dinners; only we three—Tom, his wife, and myself: and a couple of negro attendants, as well trained and less overpowering than the best of the native English stock; and that charming dining-room, just big enough, just cool enough, soft-carpeted, clear-walled, and the steady white radiance of the argand burners descending upon the damask tablecloth, crowned with fruits and flowers; and an agreeable shadow over the rest of the room, so that those sable servitors could perform their noiseless evolutions unseen; and a pervading sense of unconscious good-breeding and unobtrusive wealth; and——but I will not speak of the china; I will not descant upon Tom’s wines; I don’t wish to make other people envious. Only it was all inexpressibly good, from fascinating Mrs. Gainsborough and her diamonds, down.

I felt a peculiar interest in Mrs. Gainsborough, because, in addition to her other attractions, she was a countrywoman of mine—that is to say, an American. She was brunette, slender, graceful; with a weird expression of the eyes under straight black eyebrows, an expression which somehow suggested mesmerism—or perhaps a liability on her part to be mesmerised; faultless throat and shoulders; and hands and wrists that she could talk with, almost. Where had Tom found her? I never had thought of asking him; she was a Virginian very likely—an “F. F. V.”; and they had doubtless met upon the Continent. This was the first occasion on which I had seen her in her diamonds. Indeed, Tom and she had only been married a year or two, and had been settled in that bijou residence of theirs scarcely six months; and this was but my third or fourth dinner there. Well, her diamonds became her, and she them; they somehow matched that weird light in her eyes; and I told Tom as much when, after dinner, she withdrew and left us over our wine.

“And thereby hangs a tale,” repeated he, thoughtfully reaching his hand towards the decanter, and filling my glass and his own.

Now, it seemed to me entirely in accordance with young Mrs. Gainsborough’s “style” that there should have been something odd and romantic in the circumstances of her first acquaintance with Tom, and that diamonds should be mixed up with it. Therefore I was more than willing to give ear to the strange story which he proceeded to relate to me. Imagine the servants dismissed, a fresh lump of coal in the grate, the decanter between us, and our legs and elbows disposed in the most comfortable manner possible. Then, this is the story.

II.

“The diamonds, you must know, have been ever so long in our family. It is said they were brought from India, in the time of Marco Polo, by an ancestor of mine. But that is neither here nor there; and sure enough they were only put into their present shape quite recently. I can remember when half of them were uncut, or cut in some barbarous oriental manner, picturesque enough, but not fashionable. And some were mounted as nose-rings, some as clasps, some in the hilts of daggers, and in all sorts of other ways. When I was a child, I was sometimes allowed to play with some of the loose ones, as a treat; until, at last, I contrived to lose one of the biggest. You may not believe it, but the governor actually horsed me and gave me a birching; and the diamonds were locked up from that day. It was only a few years ago that my dear mother, now no more, got them out, and insisted upon their being made up into a regular set by some skilful jeweller. We were thinking of going to Rome at the time, to spend six or eight months, and the first idea was to give the job to Castellani. But then it appeared that my mother had got her eye fixed upon a certain man in Paris, whom she had been told was the first lapidary in Europe. He, and none but he, should set our diamonds. You know my mother generally had her way; and she had it in this case. The fellow certainly did understand his business; his work was well done, as you may have noticed this evening. A queer, pale, nervous little chap he was; not a Frenchman at all, but a Saxon, born in Dresden, I believe, or some village in that neighbourhood. His name was Rudolph—Heinrich Rudolph. He lived and worked in a little dark shop in the Latin Quarter.

“He and I became quite intimate. You see, I had been commissioned to attend to this diamond business, and to remain in Paris until it was done. I was to watch it through all its stages, and be sure that my mother’s directions regarding the style of the setting were accurately followed. When all was finished, I was to pay the bill and bring the diamonds on to Rome, where the family would by that time be established. Well, I was a young fellow, and probably I was not so much cast down at the prospect of spending a month or two alone in Paris as you might suppose. But I doubt whether I should have attended to my ostensible business so faithfully as I actually did, had I not been so greatly taken with my little friend Rudolph. He and I twigged one another, as boys say, from the first. I used to sit and watch him work for hours at a time; and as he worked, he would talk; and very queer captivating talk a good deal of it was. He was a thorough artist and enthusiast, and seemed to care for nothing outside of his profession. He did not appear to me to be in the way of making much money, and it occurred to me that it might be acceptable were I, in an unobtrusive way, to introduce him to some wealthy customers. I knew few people in Paris; but there was a Mr. Birchmore, an American gentleman, staying at my hotel, with whom I had forgathered over a cup of coffee and a cigar once or twice: he was a handsome middle-aged man, with an atmosphere of refined affluence about him such as would have befitted a duke. Not a bit like your traditional Yankee; in fact, I’m not sure that I should have suspected him, if I hadn’t seen his address—‘Fifth Avenue, New York City, U.S.A.’—in the hotel register, about a week after my arrival. He was an agreeable man enough, though not at all the sort to take liberties with; however, I made up my mind that I would get him to Rudolph’s on the first pretext that offered.

“Well, I had an excellent pretext before long. Mr. Birchmore came into the café one afternoon, with rather an annoyed look, and made some inquiries of the waiter. François raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders; there was some further conference, and then he and Mr. Birchmore began searching about the floor of the room. It presently transpired that he had lost a diamond out of his ring, which had contained three matched brilliants. It was nowhere to be found.

“‘I don’t mind the loss of the stone itself,’ said Mr. Birchmore at last, sitting down near my table; ‘but it’s one of a set, matched with great difficulty, and I’m afraid I may never replace it.’

“Here was my opportunity. I set forth the wisdom, skill, and resources of my little Saxon friend in glowing colours; mentioned the work he was doing for me, and declared that if any man in Europe could help Mr. Birchmore to repair his loss, Rudolph was he. Mr. Birchmore at first paid little heed to my representations; but finally I induced him to accompany me to the Latin Quarter, and at least make the attempt. The next morning, accordingly, we set forth; and as we sauntered along the wide pleasant boulevards, our conversation became more free and affable than it had been hitherto. I found my companion could be exceedingly entertaining when he chose it, and had a vast fund of experience and adventure to draw upon. He had been almost everywhere; he had made himself familiar with all varieties of civilised and uncivilised men; as a matter of course, too, he was a versatile linguist. The only direction in which he gave any evidence of comparative deficiency was in that of literature and the fine arts. His life had been essentially an active one; he cared little for Tennyson and Swinburne, for Matthew Arnold and Carlyle. He had, however, read and appreciated ‘Macbeth,’ and some others of Shakespeare’s plays; and he was well acquainted with several of the romances of ‘Unabashed Defoe.’ I did not discover all this in the course of that one stroll over to the Latin Quarter, but it leaked out during our subsequent acquaintance, which was destined to become more intimate and prolonged than I had any idea of then. As I have intimated, Mr. Birchmore was quite frank and open in his talk, except upon one topic—himself. Of his inner life and circumstances I could learn nothing. Though he never was obtrusively reticent, yet he contrived never to refer to his own private affairs. I could not satisfy myself whether he were married or single, whether he were a Catholic or Atheist—hardly whether he were rich or poor. Some shadow of grief, some incubus of fear or calamity, seemed to overwhelm him, and impose silence. The most I could do was to draw inferences; and my inference was that he was a bachelor, a millionaire, a sceptic, and a man who, at some period of his life, had committed, either deliberately or by force of circumstances, a terrible crime! You will see presently how far my estimate was from the truth, or how near to it.

“However, I am anticipating, as it is. We arrived in due time at Rudolph’s little shop, and I introduced him to Birchmore. I had previously told the latter about my diamonds, and now I made Rudolph produce them. The man of the world examined the gems with evident interest, and with a knowledge of their value and qualities which surprised me, and caused the little jeweller to eye my friend with a jealous keenness.

“‘These are all Indian stones,’ was Birchmore’s first remark. ‘There is not an American among them—or stay! What is this? neither an American nor an Indian! An African, I declare, and one of the finest I have seen!’

“‘Der Herr hat recht!’ muttered Rudolph, with a glance at me. ‘Er versteht ja alles.’

“‘You know German?’—he says, ‘What you don’t know about diamonds isn’t worth knowing,’ I put in. Birchmore nodded with a half smile.

“‘I ought to know something about precious stones,’ he said. ‘I spent three years in a diamond mine, for one thing.’ He seemed on the point of saying more, but checked himself, and went on scrutinising the stones, most of which were already in their new setting. ‘A costly parure that,’ he remarked at length. ‘It wouldn’t sell for a penny under thirty thousand pounds.’

“‘Five hundred eighty-five thousand francs, with the setting,’ replied Rudolph, to whom the words had been addressed. ‘Monsieur’s estimate would have been correct, but that this stone here is a little off colour, and this one has a slight flaw, which is now in part concealed by the setting.’

“‘You travel under proper precautions, I trust?’ said Birchmore, after a pause, turning gravely to me. ‘I know the confidence you young fellows have in your courage and cleverness; but a dozen or a score of thieves might conspire together for such a prize as this, and against their skill and address no single man would stand a chance. Ah! I know something of it. I was robbed once.’

“‘Do tell me about it!’ I exclaimed, with an impulsive betrayal of interest that made me smile the next moment.

“‘Another time,’ said he, shaking his head; and presently he added: ‘You will pardon me for presuming to counsel you?’

“‘My dear sir, I am much obliged to you. My idea is that the simplest precautions are the best. I shall carry the stones in an inner pocket, and I shall go armed. No one will suspect me; and if I am attacked, I shall make a good defence at all events.’

“Mr. Birchmore said nothing more, and indeed seemed scarcely to listen to my remarks. I now suggested to him that he might show Rudolph his ring. He put his hand to his waistcoat pocket, and gave a half-suppressed ejaculation of disappointment and annoyance. He had left the ring at home!

“‘No matter; I will call to-morrow, Herr Rudolph,’ he observed. ‘I’ve no doubt I shall find what I want here, if anywhere. Good-morning—that is, if you are ready, Mr. Gainsborough. By the way, Rudolph, I suppose you put your treasures in a safe at night?’

“‘Oh, by all means, Herr,’ replied the little Saxon. ‘And I have a watchman also, who guards all night long.’

“‘A prudent fellow: yes, that will do,’ murmured Mr. Birchmore, in an undertone to himself. Then, with a parting nod and smile, to which the jeweller did not respond, he sauntered out, I following him. We walked back to the hotel. I did not see him again until after dinner, when he offered me a cigar; and when we had smoked together awhile in silence, he said abruptly:

“‘I’ve found that stone.’

“I looked at him inquiringly.

“‘The diamond out of my ring. In my trouser pocket, of all places in the world! Fell out while I was groping for my keys, I suppose. Sorry to have raised false hopes in your friend Rudolph. By the way, he’ll have finished that job of yours before very long?’

“‘In about a week, I fancy. I shall be sorry to leave Paris.’

“‘Yes? Well, it is a nice place; but one gets tired of the nicest places in time. I do. I like to be moving.’

“‘I shall have a month to spend on my way to Rome. This is almost my first experience of the Continent. I wish I had some travelling companion who knew the ropes.’ This hint I let fall in the hope that he might propose to join me; but as he made no rejoinder, I at length ventured to put it more plainly. I gave a rough sketch of the route I proposed to follow, asked his opinion upon it, and finally said that, should his inclination lead him also in that direction, I should be very glad of his company.

“‘Well, sir, I’m obliged to you,’ replied Mr. Birchmore, after a pause of some moments. ‘You couldn’t pay a man a better compliment than to ask him to travel with you; and I would accept your offer as frankly and fearlessly as you make it, only—well, the fact is, I’m not so entirely at my own disposal as I may appear to you to be. I have been through a good many experiences in life, and some of the consequences are upon me still. When you have reached my age—if you ever do reach it—you will understand me better. I suppose I may be fifteen years your senior; well, fifteen years means a good deal—a good deal.’ He puffed a meditative cloud or two, and then added, ‘You’re not hurt? You see how it is? I would really like to accompany you—but I can’t.’

“Of course, I warmly disavowed all resentment and felt inwardly ashamed of having forced him, by the freedom of my advances, into making this explanation. Meanwhile, I could not help liking him better than ever, and feeling more than ever interested, not to say curious, about him. It was now certain that some mystery or other attached to him. I cast covert glances at him, in the vain attempt to read something of his secret through his outward aspect. But he was inscrutable, or rather, there was nothing especially noticeable in him. His face, as I have said, was handsome in its contours; he wore a heavy moustache and a short pointed beard on his chin. His forehead was wide across the temples, but low; and dark brown hair, rather stiff, and streaked here and there with gray, grew thickly over his head. His hands were large, and hairy up to the second joints of the fingers, but they were finely and powerfully formed, and the fingers tapered beautifully, with nails smoothly cut and polished. In figure he was above the medium size, and appeared strongly built, though he had complained to me more than once of rheumatism or some other bodily failing. In walking, he took rather short steps for a tall man, and without any swaying of the shoulders; his hands being generally thrust in the side pockets of his coat, and his face inclined towards the ground. But his eyes, large, bright, and restless, were his most remarkable feature. They appeared to take note of everything: they were seldom fixed and never introspective. Compared with the general immobility of the rest of his countenance, these eyes of Mr. Birchmore seemed to have a life of their own—and a very intense and watchful one. Whenever they met mine fully (which was but seldom, and then only for a moment at a time) I was conscious of a kind of start or thrill, as if a fine spray of icy water had swept my face. What had those eyes looked upon? or what was it that lurked behind them?

“‘We may run across each other again—hope we may,’ said Mr. Birchmore, when he shook hands with me at parting, a few days later. ‘Glad to have met you, Mr. Gainsborough—very glad, sir.’

“‘Thanks; I am glad to have met you. Your acquaintance has profited me not a little.’

“‘Oh, as to that,’ said Mr. Birchmore, with a smile, and one of those startling straightforward glances into my eyes, ‘as to that, the profit will have been mutual, to say the least of it. Good-bye!’

III.

“My route to Italy was rather a roundabout one. Instead of running down to Marseilles and so on viâ Civita Vecchia to Rome, I set off eastwards, and crossed Germany, passing through Cologne, Frankfort-on-the-Main, and Nuremberg; thence I proceeded to Leipzig, and at length brought up in Dresden. It was my intention to go from there southwards through Switzerland to Venice, and thus to make my approach to the Eternal City.

“Dresden, however, detained me longer than I had expected. It was in August that I reached it: there were not many people in town, but I was delighted with the Gallery, with the picturesque sweep of the river, and with the green shade and good music of the Grosser Garten. There were several charming drives, too, in the neighbourhood; and as for the beer, it was really a revelation to a man who had never known anything less heavy and solid than Allsopp’s pale ale.

“I had put up at the Hotel de Saxe, a broadsided old building on one side of a large irregular ‘platz,’ called, I believe, the Neumarkt. My landlord, who was a young gentleman of great personal attractions, interested himself a good deal about my amusements; and one day he happened to ask me whether I had visited a region known as Saxon Switzerland. This, it appeared, was a mountainous district some twenty miles up the Elbe, in which was solved the problem of putting the greatest amount of romantic picturesqueness into the smallest possible compass. It was a land of savage rocks, wild precipices, and profound gorges, conveniently grouped within the limits of a good day’s tramp. It comprised all the sublime and startling features of your Yellowstone Valley in California with an area about equal to the summit of one of the table bluffs in that region.

“I packed my valise for a sojourn of two or three days among these pocket Alps, put my diamonds in that secure inner pocket, and took a droschkey for the railway station. The trip to Schandau (the principal village of Saxon Switzerland) can also be made by steamer; but after discussing the pros and cons of rival routes with my host of the hotel the evening previous, I had decided to go by rail, which provides nearly half as much pretty scenery as the river road, and takes up less than a fourth as much time. I alighted at the station door somewhat late, and having given my trunk in charge to a porter, was hurrying to get my ticket, when my attention was caught by a young lady, who was standing on the platform in an attitude that bespoke suspense and anxiety. Her veil was down, but from the slender elegance of her figure and the harmonious perfection of her costume, I could not doubt that her face was beautiful. Evidently she was not a German; had she been a thought less tastefully dressed, I should have said she was an English girl; as it was, she might be either an Austrian or an American. Even then, I rather inclined to the latter hypothesis.

“She appeared to be entirely alone; but she was scanning with ill-concealed eagerness the crowd that was entering the station, as if in search of a familiar face. When her glance fell upon me, I fancied that she took an impulsive step in my direction; but she checked herself immediately, and looked away. While I was hastily debating within myself whether or not it would be ‘the thing’ for me to go up and ask her if she needed any assistance, I saw a dientsman, or carrier, come up the steps, and taking off his cap, deliver her a note. She tore it nervously open, threw back her veil impatiently, and ran her eyes over the contents. Beautiful she was, indeed! My anticipations had been behind the truth on that score. Such strange, mystical, dark eyes underneath level black eyebrows I had never seen. But just then there was an expression of dismay and distress in them that made me half forget to remember their fascination.

“She now addressed the carrier, seemingly in broken German, for he evidently did not well understand her, and the answer he made appeared to increase her embarrassment. Her slender foot tapped the stone pavement; she read the note once more, crushed it up in her hand, and then her arms fell listlessly at her sides with an air almost of despair. She looked this way and that helplessly.

“By this time several persons besides myself had observed her bewilderment, and I thought I perceived that a certain fat old Jew, wearing a number of glittering rings and a very massive watch-chain, was inclined to take advantage of it. This decided me on my course of action: I came quickly forward, as if I had just caught sight of her, and lifting my hat with an air of respectful acquaintanceship, I said in French:

“‘If mademoiselle will permit me, I may perhaps be of some use.’

“Her veil, either accidentally or of design, dropped again over her face as she turned it towards me. I knew that she was scrutinising me with a woman’s intuitive insight, and I tried to look as guileless and respectful as I am sure I felt. In a moment she asked:

“‘Monsieur est-il Français?’

“‘I’m an Englishman,’ I answered, blushing a little, I dare say, at her implied criticism of my imperfect accent.

“‘Oh, I am glad! I, too, am almost English—I am American. But I don’t know how I can be helped, really!’

“‘Some friend has missed an appointment——?’

“‘Yes, indeed! Oh dear! it’s worse than that. It’s my father.’

“‘You were going by the train——’

“‘There has been some stupid mistake. I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do. We had arranged to start at ten o’clock this morning, and I started first, because I wanted to do some shopping on the way down. I understood that we were to rendezvous here. But he did not come at ten, and I sent a dientsman to the hotel; and now he has brought word from the hotel-keeper that papa started by the ten o’clock steamboat. I had not understood that it was to be the steamboat, you see; and I’m left here all alone.’

“‘But if you took the next train, you would still arrive two or three hours before him; that is—may I ask where you were going?’

“‘Oh, I think Schandau is the name of the place.’

“‘Schandau? Oh, then it’s all right. There is a train starts immediately.’

“‘Yes—but—no; I’m afraid I can’t do that.’

“I was puzzled. ‘Perhaps you would like to telegraph him to come back here for you?’

“‘I don’t know where to telegraph, so that he would get it; besides—— But, excuse me, sir. You are very kind; but I won’t trouble you with my affairs. I dare say I shall get on very well.’

“She turned away with a slight bow; but she was so evidently nonplussed, that I determined to make another effort to gain her confidence. There was not much time to lose; the first bell was already ringing.

“‘I am going on to Schandau,’ I said. ‘If you like, I will send you back to your hotel in a droschkey; and when I get to Schandau, I will hunt up your father and tell him the mistake he has made. Here is my card.’

“She looked at it, and her manner at once changed. A half-repressed smile glimmered on her face. I felt that we were on a right footing at last, though I could not at the time understand how it had happened.

“‘I will confess to you, Mr. Gainsborough,’ she said, glancing up at me with a charming trustfulness in her manner. ‘My papa is so forgetful. We were not coming back to Dresden. After Schandau we were going on to Prague; and he has gone off with all our luggage, and—and he has left me without even any money to buy my ticket! At least, I did have enough, but I spent it all in my shopping.’

“This cleared up matters at once. ‘How stupid of me not to have seen it all before!’ I exclaimed. ‘Now, we have just time to get the train,’ I hurried her on with me as I spoke, bought our tickets in the twinkling of an eye, and without waiting for the change, convoyed her rapidly across the platform, and, with the assistance of a guard, we found ourselves safely ensconced in a first-class carriage just as the train moved off. My beautiful companion, breathless, smiling, and yet seemingly a little frightened, sank back on the cushions, and felt for the fan at her girdle. I wished to give her plenty of time to recover her composure, and to feel assured that I had no intention of taking undue advantage of our position; so, having arranged the windows to suit her convenience, I betook myself to the other end of the carriage, and diligently stared at the prospect for fully five minutes. Nature could endure no more, and at the end of that time I was fain to change my posture. I stole a glance at my fair American. She, too, was absorbed in the prospect on her side, which consisted at the moment of a perpendicular cutting about ten feet distant from her window. Her attitude as she sat there was the perfection of feminine grace. Her left hand, loosely holding the fan, drooped on her lap; her sleeve, slightly pushed up, revealed the lovely curve of her arm and wrist. I am a particular admirer of beautiful wrists and hands, and here I saw my ideal. How exquisitely the glove fitted! and how artistically the colour harmonised with the rest of her costume! The other little hand supported her chin: I could just see the rounded outline of her small cheek, and the movement of the dark eyelash projecting beyond it. Beneath her hat the black hair turned in a careless coil, and charming little downy curls nestled in the nape of her neck. She was a thorough brunette, pale, and yet pervaded with warm colour. Beneath the skirt of her crisp dress peeped the pointed toe of an ineffable little boot, which occasionally lifted itself and tapped the floor softly. Suddenly, in the midst of my admiring inspection, she turned round upon me, and our eyes met. There was an instant’s constraint, and then we both laughed, and the constraint passed away, not to return.

“‘I was going to ask you,’ said I, ‘whether you wouldn’t prefer sitting on this side. You will find the river better worth looking at than that stone wall.’

“‘I am under your orders, sir, for the present; you put me here; and now, if you tell me I am to go elsewhere, I shall obey.’

“She rose as she spoke; the jolting of the carriage caused her to lose her balance; I held out my hand to assist her, and so she tottered across and seated herself opposite me.

“‘Now are you satisfied?’ she asked demurely, folding her hands in her lap, and sending a flash into me from those mystical eyes.

“‘Yes, indeed, if you are. Did you ever travel this way before?’

“‘If you mean, alone with a gentleman I never met before—no!’

“‘Oh, what I meant was——’

“‘I know—I was only making fun. Yes, I believe I was in this part of the country once, when I was a very little girl; that was before I went to the Convent, you know.’

“‘To the Convent?’

“She gave a charming impromptu laugh. ‘I wasn’t quite a nun—I don’t want to make you believe that! Only I was brought up in a convent near Paris; educated there, as many young ladies are. I was there seven years—wasn’t that long? and I only got out a little while ago.’

“‘It must have been awfully dull.’

“‘Oh, I liked it in a sort of way; they were very kind to me there; but then I didn’t know how pleasant it was outside! You would never believe how delightful the world is, if you were only told about it. My papa used to tell me about it sometimes; and he is a great traveller—he has been everywhere. But I didn’t realise it until I saw for myself.’

“‘Have you been to America since leaving the Convent?’

“‘Oh yes. I went to New York, and saw my cousins there. Papa went with me, but he came back to Paris first, and I followed later. I met him again in Paris only a week ago. He will be surprised to see you here, Mr. Gainsborough. What a funny way you have chosen to go from Paris to Rome—through Dresden!’

“‘Yes, I—but, by-the-bye, how did you know I was going to Rome? and why will your papa be surprised——?’

“Again she laughed, and regarded me with so delightfully mischievous a glance that I felt convinced I must in some way be making a fool of myself. What did it all mean? I bit my lip, and the colour came into my face from provocation at my own evident thick-headedness.

“‘If you had only waited a little longer in Paris,’ she continued, still smiling enigmatically, ‘perhaps we might have met in a more regular way, and perhaps, then, you would have let me have had a look at your—diamonds!’

“My diamonds! That explained the mystery in a flash.

“‘Is your father Mr. Birchmore?’

“‘I am Miss Birchmore, if you please, sir. You never asked me for my card, and I didn’t like to force it on you. It was so kind of you to take me on trust, without making sure that I was all right first. I thought Englishmen were more cautious and reserved.’

“I could now join in the laugh against myself with full appreciation of the excellence of the jest. Mr. Birchmore, then, had been a married man after all. Of course he was; why had I not before remarked the strong family likeness between him and his daughter? Take her on trust, forsooth! How I longed to retort that I was ready to take her for better for worse, then and there, if she would have me. If she were a fair specimen of American girls, what a nation of houris they must be, indeed! But, then, they were not all brought up in French convents. It was that that added to Miss Birchmore the last irresistible charm. That it was that gave her that naïveté, that innocent frankness, that unconscious freedom. And this lovely creature had actually known me, by report, before we met. Her father had told her of me, and evidently he had not given me a bad character. And this accounted for the favourable change in her manner when she saw my card. Well, it was altogether delightful; I had been guided by a happy destiny; thank fortune I had so conducted myself as at least not to prejudice Miss Birchmore against me. Verily, good manners are never thrown away; and, moreover, I prided myself (as I fancy most gentlemen do) on my ability to detect a true lady at a glance.

“We now resumed our conversation on a still more confidential footing than heretofore. Miss Birchmore related many amusing anecdotes of her late experience in New York, as well as of her earlier days in the Convent, and even some passages of her child-life previous to the latter epoch. I observed, however, that ever and anon she would check herself, seeming to pass over certain passages in her history in silence; and this reminded me of the similar behaviour which I had noted in her father. That secret—that mystery, whatever it was, that weighed upon him—had cast its shadow over her young heart likewise. Honestly did I sympathise with her unknown trouble, and ardently did I long—all vulgar curiosity aside—to have the knowledge of it imparted to me. Few calamities are so heavy as that, by earnest and friendly help, they may not be lightened. What could it be? In vain I asked myself that question. Here was this lovely girl, in the first fresh bloom of existence, just beginning to taste, with eager uncloyed palate, all the sweet joys and novelties of life—health, youth, a happy temperament, and ample wealth ranked on her side; and yet this bitterness of a misfortune, not by rights her own, must needs communicate its blighting influence to her! It was tragical to think of. Yes, ever and anon I could mark its traces in her vivid face and winning bearing. A passing gloom of sadness in those wonderful eyes; a quiver of apprehension about the lips; an involuntary gesture of nervousness or lassitude; many trifling signs, scarcely perceptible, perhaps, to a regard less keen and watchful than mine had already become. Already?—but time in an acquaintance like this is not to be measured by hours or minutes. It is a trite saying, and yet how true, that those who are under the influence of a strong emotion may live years in a few heart-beats.

“‘Please—oh, please don’t look so solemn, Mr. Gainsborough! What has happened? I should think, to look at you, that you had been robbed of your diamonds at the very least?’

“‘No; they are safe enough,’ said I, calling up as cheerful a tone and aspect as I could muster, and putting my hand over the inner pocket as I spoke. ‘Are you fond of diamonds?’

“‘Oh, did you ever hear of a girl who wasn’t? I think there is nothing so beautiful. Papa has a great many, but he says I mustn’t wear them until after I am married. Isn’t that hard?’

“‘But perhaps you think of being married before long?’ I inquired, with positively a jealous throb at my heart.

“‘No; that’s the trouble; I know I shall never be married.’ These words were uttered in a lower and graver tone, and once more I thought I could discern the flitting traces of that mysterious melancholy. But she brightened up when I said:

“‘Well, he won’t object to your seeing my diamonds, at any rate; not even to your putting them on, perhaps!’

“‘Just for a minute—may I? that will be splendid! Papa says that some of them are the finest he ever saw.’

“‘For longer than a minute, Miss Birchmore, if you are willing—I mean if he——’ What did I mean, pray? Was I going to make an offer of my hand, heart, and diamonds, on less than an hour’s acquaintance, in a railway carriage? and was I going to forget that the diamonds did not belong to me at all, but to my respected mother, who would probably see me cut off with a shilling before granting me the disposal of them? Luckily for my self-possession and self-respect, the train drew up just then at the station known as Krippen, on the bank of the river immediately opposite Schandau. The guard opened the door; we alighted, and the first person we saw was Mr. Birchmore, and close behind him a short, ungainly, beetle-browed fellow, a valet or footman apparently, with a campstool, an umbrella, and a small basket of fruit on his arm.

IV.

“Mr. Birchmore shook my hand cordially, yet I fancied that he betrayed signs of embarrassment or uneasiness. He seemed glad to meet me on my own account, and yet to feel constrained by my presence. Had he any reason for wishing to conceal from me the fact that he had a daughter? It now occurred to me for the first time that in her conversation with me Miss Birchmore had never alluded to her mother. Perhaps her mother was dead—had died in her child’s infancy. Perhaps the silence concerning her arose from some other and less avowable cause; there might be some matrimonial disgrace or tragedy at the bottom of the father and daughter’s reserve. The idea had a certain plausibility, and yet I found it unsatisfactory. The true explanation of the mystery might not be worse than this, but I fancied it must be different—it must be something more unusual and strange.

“‘This is an unexpected pleasure,’ said I, for the sake of saying something, as we descended the steps down the river embankment to the ferry-boat.

“‘The world is not so large a place as people pretend,’ replied Mr. Birchmore. ‘Have you been long in Dresden?’

“‘A week or so. I’ve been doing the neighbourhood, and was told that Saxon Switzerland must not be left out of the list. I came near going by the boat——’ Here I suddenly recollected that if Mr. Birchmore had gone by boat, as his daughter said he had, his presence in Schandau before us was wholly inexplicable. ‘How did you manage to get here so quickly?’ I exclaimed; ‘the steamer can’t be due for three hours yet!’

“He looked at me in apparent perplexity; Miss Birchmore seemed to share my own surprise. There was a pause of a few moments; then she said in a low tone:

“‘You know, papa, I got word that, from some misunderstanding, you had taken the steamer instead of the train.’

“‘Ah, to be sure,’ he rejoined, with a short laugh; ‘I see the difficulty. You must look upon me, I suppose, as a sort of magician, able to transport myself about the country on some new telegraphic principle. Well, I’m afraid I can’t lay claim to any such supernatural power. I shall lose credit by the explanation, but you shall have it nevertheless.’

“‘No, no! give us room for the exercise of our imagination,’ cried I, laughing. The fact was, I felt as if my query had been in some way unfortunate. There was a certain effort in Mr. Birchmore’s manner, and a want of spontaneity in his laugh. In my ignorance of the true lay of the land, I was continually making some irritating blunder; and the more I tried to make myself agreeable, the worse was my success.

“Mr. Birchmore, notwithstanding that I deprecated it, chose to make his explanation. ‘Kate was right,’ said he; ‘my first intention was to go by train. Afterwards I decided on the boat, and left the hotel with the purpose of getting our passage that way, and sending Kate word to meet me at the landing. But the boat turned out to be so crowded that I changed my mind again: it was then so late that I hadn’t time to reach the central railway station; my only chance of catching the train was to jump into a droschkey at the steamboat landing and drive as the kutcher never drove before, for the lower station, which was half-a-mile nearer. I got there barely in time; and Kate, it seems, was waiting at the central all the while!’

“‘And of course,’ added Miss Birchmore, ‘the people at the hotel fancied he had gone by the boat, and sent me word so. Oh yes, I understand it all now; don’t you, Mr. Gainsborough?’

“‘I don’t take it kindly of your father to strip away the illusions from life so pitilessly,’ returned I, in a humorous tone; ‘I should have been much happier in believing that he had flown through the air on the Arabian king’s wishing-carpet.’ This sally sufficed to raise the smile of which we all seemed so greatly in want, and so we got into the ferry-boat in a comparatively easy frame of mind.

“The valet to whom I have already alluded sat on a thwart near the bows, in such a position that I had a full view of him. A more unconciliating object I have seldom beheld. His body and arms were long, but his legs were short, and bowed outwards. His features were harsh, forbidding, and strongly marked; but there was an expression of power stamped upon them which fascinated my gaze in spite of the ugliness which would otherwise have made me glad to look away. It was not the power of intellect, for although there was plenty of a saturnine kind of intelligence in the countenance, it was not to be supposed that a fellow in his position of life would be remarkable for brains. No, this power was of another kind; I do not know how to describe it; but I believe some people would get out of the difficulty by calling it magnetic. Whatever it was, it produced a very disagreeable impression on me, and I could not but wonder that Mr. Birchmore should have chosen to take such a creature into his employ. I had the sense, however, on this occasion to keep my speculations to myself; I was resolved not to make a fool of myself again if I could help it—at least, not with this particular family. I noticed that whenever Mr. Birchmore had occasion to address this man, he did so in a peculiarly severe and peremptory tone, very different from his usual low-voiced style. There was seemingly no great affection for him on his master’s part, therefore; and certainly the valet looked incapable of a tender feeling towards any human creature. Possibly, however, he was invaluable as a servant, and his unpropitiating exterior might cover an honest and faithful heart. Only should such turn out to be the case, I would never again put faith either in physiognomy or my own instinct of aversion. I disliked to think of this ill-favoured mortal being in daily association with my lovely Kate Birchmore—for already, in my secret soul, I called her mine! and I made up my mind that if ever fortune granted me the privilege of making her what I called her, I would see to it that monsieur the valet formed a part of anyone’s household rather than ours.

“Meanwhile the ferryman had poled and paddled us across the river, on the shore of which a swarm of hotel-porters stood ready to rend us limb from limb. But Mr. Birchmore put them all aside save one, to whom he pointed out my trunk, and gave him some directions which I did not hear.

“‘I take the liberty,’ he then said, turning to me, ‘to so far do the honours of this place as to recommend you to the most agreeable hotel in it—the Badehaus, at the farther end of the village, and about half a mile up the valley. These hotels that front the river would give you better fare, perhaps, and less unpretending accommodation; but if quiet and coolness are what you are after—not to mention the medicinal spring water and a private brass band—the Badehaus is the thing.’

“‘The Badehaus be it, by all means.’ This attention surprised me, not because I misdoubted my friend’s courtesy, but because I had imagined that his courtesy would not stand in the way of an unobtrusive attempt to withdraw himself and his daughter from my immediate companionship. Yet so far was this from being the case, that he had taken some pains to secure our being together—for of course the Badehaus must be his own quarters. I glanced at Kate, who had taken her father’s arm, and was pacing beside him thoughtfully, with downcast eyes. Was she glad as well as I?

“We passed through a narrow alley between two friendly buildings, which seemed strongly inclined to lean on one another’s shoulders; crossed the rough cobble-stones of the little market-place, and, gaining the farther side of the bridge, found ourselves on a broad level walk which skirted the southern side of the small valley wherein the village lies. On our right hand was a series of stuccoed villas, built against the steep side of the hill; on our left a strip of meadow, with a brook brawling through it; and beyond this again the straggling array of the village, and the hill on the other side. Overhead, the spreading branches of low trees kept off the glare of the sun. Had Kate and I been there alone, methought, the charm of the place would have been complete.

“‘What delightful little villas these are!’ I exclaimed. ‘Aren’t they better than any hotel—even the Badehaus?’

“‘If you think of spending any great time here—I believe they don’t let for less than a week. But probably these are all full at this season. Higher up the valley, two or three miles beyond the hotel, you would find detached farmhouses, whose owners no doubt would be glad of a lodger. If you are not broken in to a traveller’s hardships, though, you’ll prefer the Badehaus.’

“‘I think I shall prefer it as long as you are there.’

“‘Well, I’m sorry to say that won’t be long—we shall move to-morrow morning. If I had expected you, I—I should have been happy to have arranged matters otherwise. But the fact is, I have engaged rooms at one of the farmhouses I spoke of, and to-morrow they will expect us.’

“My spirits fell at this news like a feather in a vacuum, and I daresay my face showed it. There could be no doubt now that Mr. Birchmore was resolved to get rid of me. That he would go to-morrow to some distant farmhouse I did not question; but as to his having intended any such thing before he saw me alight from the train, I confess I didn’t believe it. It was an unpremeditated expedient; and his inviting me up to the Badehaus was only a polite mitigation of the shock.

“‘I am very sorry!’ was all I could say.

“Kate turned her face a little towards me at the words, and her eyes met mine sidelong. Only that look—she did not speak; but I saw, or thought I saw, enough in it to make our parting at such brief notice a sentimental impossibility. At whatever sacrifice of the laws of ceremony and civilised reserve, I determined that my acquaintance with her, so well begun, should not thus be nipped in the bud. I would sooner win her as a barbarian than lose her as a man of the world. How to execute my determination was a problem to be solved at my leisure.

“We sauntered on to the hotel, chatting discursively; my mind was too much preoccupied to be thoroughly aware what we were talking about. Arrived at our destination, I followed my trunk to my room, having arranged to take an early dinner with my friends. It was nearly two hours before we met again. The dinner passed with the same sort of desultory conversation that we had affected during our walk. Mr. Birchmore’s manner was serious and rather cold. Kate, too, was subdued and grave; not the brilliant laughing Kate of the railway carriage. We were waited upon at table by the saturnine valet whom his master called Slurk—a name that seemed to me to suit him excellently well. He waited on us in perfect silence from the beginning of the meal to the end, though several times peremptorily addressed by his master. There was to me something disagreeably impressive in the fellow’s very taciturnity—it seemed to indicate reserved power. Kate, I noticed, was careful never to speak to him, but I saw his glance several times directed fixedly upon her.

“After dinner Mr. Birchmore produced a cigar and said:

“‘I must take a droschkey over to our farmhouse. Do you young people care to come, or would you rather stay here?’

“‘I think I’ll stay, papa, please,’ answered Kate.

“‘And I, to see that nobody runs away with her,’ I added with an easy smile.

“‘Slurk, get me a carriage,’ said Mr. Birchmore; and nodding a good-bye to us he went out.

“‘How far is it from here—this farmhouse, Miss Birchmore?’ I asked, when we were alone.

“‘I believe about two miles.’

“‘I should like to know its exact situation.’

“‘Why didn’t you go with papa, then?’

“‘Can’t you imagine?’

“She had been absently puckering her handkerchief into folds in her lap. Now she looked up.

“‘Why do you wish to know where we are going?’

“‘Because I’ve taken a great fancy to—to Mr. Slurk, and I can’t bear to think of losing sight of him!’

“I had expected her to laugh and perhaps blush; instead of that an expression of something like terror swept over her face, and she laid her finger on her lip.

“‘Don’t talk of him!’ she whispered.

“Her emotion had so surprised me that I could only stare in silence. Here was another mystery—or stay! could it be that Slurk was at the bottom of all those strange signs and enigmas that I had been puzzling myself over from the first? I was prepared to believe whatever amount of evil concerning the fellow might be required. But what could he have done, or have it in his power to do, that could so affect Miss Birchmore? Had he held her life or fortune at the mercy of a word she could hardly have betrayed more dismay at my jesting satire.

“‘It’s nothing,’ she said, recovering herself after a moment. ‘Only I don’t like him much, and you—and I wasn’t expecting to hear his name just then.’

“‘Heaven knows, it is a very different name I should have spoken!’

“‘No, no, no. You have amused yourself with me to-day; and to-morrow, you must find someone else to amuse you, that’s all!’

“‘Amused myself, Miss Birchmore!’

“‘Well, Mr. Gainsborough, I’m sorry if I failed to entertain you. I’m sure I tried hard. But it’s so difficult to entertain an Englishman!’

“‘Upon my word, I believe you’ve been laughing at me from the beginning! But however ridiculous I may be, Miss Birchmore, I can have thoughts and feelings that are not ridiculous——’

“‘Oh, please—please don’t be angry. And I’m sure I never thought you ridiculous, I—oh, anything but that!’

“The tone, the look which accompanied these last words made me forget caution and self-possession for the moment. ‘Miss Birchmore—oh Kate! I cannot lose sight of you—I cannot lose you! Do you care—is it nothing to you if we never meet after to-day? Kate, I love you!’

“Had the confession come too soon? Was she offended? She shrank away from me with a searching glance.

“‘Do not forget yourself, sir! You are an honourable English gentleman. What have you said?’

“‘I love you—yes, love you!’

“‘Love me!’ she repeated slowly, and caught her breath; her eyes fixed themselves on me with an inward look, as of intense reverie. ‘It must not be—it must not be! but he does love me!’ Her hands fell in her lap; there were tears now in her eyes, but a smile quivered over her lips.

“‘Why do you say it must not be, Kate? It is! It shall be!’ I took her hand, which she scarcely attempted to withdraw; I felt that I had won her, and would hold her against all comers. Just then a knock came at the door; she snatched her hand away and rose to her feet. Mr. Slurk entered.

“‘The band is going to play in the court,’ he said in German. ‘I have kept chairs and a table for the lady and gentleman beneath the trees.’ He made a low obeisance as he spoke, but his malignant glance never swerved from Kate; and she, half turning towards him, seemed impelled by a power stronger than her own will to meet it, though slightly shivering the while with pure aversion. For my own part, I longed with all my heart to kick the varlet into the hall, or throw him out of the window. But prudence warned me to bide my time. If I obtained the footing to which I aspired in Mr. Birchmore’s family, I would settle summarily with Mr. Slurk; meanwhile, I should best consult my interests by conducting myself with all due quietness and decorum. I offered Kate my arm to lead her from the room; but with a barely perceptible gesture she declined it, and walked swiftly before me through the doorway, Slurk making another deep obeisance as we passed. The fellow had a smooth unimpeachable way of getting the better of one that made my blood boil; I commanded myself not without an effort, and nursed my wrath to keep it warm.

“When we reached the court, the brass band had established itself in the little pagoda erected there for its accommodation, and was just striking up; and there, sure enough, were a table and chairs awaiting us beneath the trees. But neither of us was in a humour to face a crowd of people; and by a tacit agreement we turned to the right, and crossing the little plank bridge which spanned the narrow stream that skirted the hotel grounds, we found ourselves in the high-road leading up the valley. Along this we walked for some distance, both of us silent; at length the opening of a path presented itself, which climbed by a zigzag route to the summit of the pine-clad hill. Into this we turned, and in a few moments were out of sight of alien eyes amidst the thick-growing hemlocks. The ascent was steep, and at the first turning in the path my beautiful companion paused for breath.

“‘Will you take my arm now, Kate?’ I said.

“With a faint smile she complied. ‘Just for this once,’ I heard her murmur, seemingly speaking to herself. ‘Never again—but this once I will!’

“‘Now, Kate,’ I said resolutely, bending forward so as to catch her eye, ‘let us have done with mysteries. No more “never-agains” and “just-this-onces,” if you please! First, I want you tell me whether you love me?’

“She drew her breath hard. ‘I can tell you nothing, Mr. Gainsborough——’

“‘You shall not call me “Mr. Gainsborough.” If you can’t call me “Tom,” call me nothing; but I will never be “Mr. Gainsborough” to you again!’

“‘I thought we were to have no more “never-agains?”’ she rejoined, with a passing sparkle of the former playfulness in her air.

“‘None of yours, I meant.’

“‘I will call you “Tom,” if you please, on one condition.’

“‘What condition?’

“‘That you let it be “just this once!”’

“‘Kate, do you love me?’

“‘Oh, you are cruel!’ she cried, with passionate emphasis, slipping her hand from my arm and facing me with glowing looks. ‘I wish I could say I hate you! You are a man of the world, and I a poor girl from a convent, who know nothing. I am trying to do right, and you oppose me—you make it hard and bitter to me. If you loved me as I—as I would love if I were a man, you would not press me so. I tell you, it must not be!’

“‘What is, shall be, Kate! Dear Kate, we love each other; and who in the world shall prevent it, or forbid our being married?’

“‘Hush! hush!’ She came a step nearer to me, and caught my sleeve with her little hand, as a timorous child might do; glancing nervously over her shoulder as if something fearful were hidden amongst the trees. ‘Did you hear nothing?’ she whispered. ‘Did not someone call me?’

“‘Only I have called you, dear. I called you “Kate;” and I want to call you “wife!”’

“She continued to stand motionless, with that frightened listening expression still on her face; and yet my words had apparently passed unheard. What was it, then, that her ears were strained to catch? To my sense, the forest was full of shadowy stillness, tempered only by a faint whispering of leaves, and now and then a bird-note high overhead.

“Gradually the strange preoccupation left her. Her breathing, which had been irregular and laboured, now came evenly and gently once more. She glanced sidelong at me for a moment; then, with a swift tender movement she came yet a trifle closer, and laid her other hand upon my arm.

“‘Tom—Tom dear! I will say it, for we shall be parted soon, and then, if I am alive, I shall be comforted a little to think that I did say it! Listen—Tom dear, I love you! Never forget that I said it—Tom, I love you!’

“I was taken deliciously by surprise. You must not expect me to tell how I felt or what I said. I can only remember that I took her in my arms and kissed her. The bird that warbled over our heads seemed to utter the ecstasy that I felt.

“Presently we began to move on again. I don’t know why I didn’t speak; perhaps I thought that our kiss had been the seal of her surrender, and that therefore words were for the moment impertinent; by-and-by the converse would be renewed from a fresh basis. Besides, my thoughts were flying too fast, just then, for speech to overtake them. I was thinking how singular had been the manner and progress of our acquaintance. It was scarcely in accordance with what I believed to be my normal temperament and disposition to plunge so abruptly and almost recklessly into a new order and responsibility of life. I had fancied myself too cautious, too cool-headed, for such an impulsive act. But it was done, and the fact that Kate’s feelings had responded to my own seemed to justify the apparent risk. We were meant for each other, and had come together in sheer despite of all combinations of circumstances to keep us apart. Knowing, as we did, scarcely anything of each other as worldly knowledge goes, we had yet felt that inward instinct and obligation to union which made the most thorough worldly knowledge look like folly. What would my mother say to it? How would the news be relished by her father? I cared not; I foresaw difficulties enough in store, but none that appalled me. After all, an honourable man and woman, honestly in love with each other, are a match against the world, or superior to it. Union is strength, and the union of loving hearts is the strongest strength of all.

“‘And do you want to marry me really, Tom?’

“We had gained the summit of the steep hill, and were now pacing along the ridge. The narrow winding valley lay sheer beneath us on the right, with the white road and the dark stream lying side by side at the bottom of it. The crest of the opposing hillside seemed but a short stone’s-throw distant; the aroma of our privacy was the sweeter for the pigmy droschkey, with its mannikin inmate, which was crawling along through the dust so far below. We commanded the world, while we were ourselves hidden from it.

“‘I should rather think I did, Kate!’

“‘I thought Englishmen only married as a matter of business; that they married settlements and dowries and rank and influence, and added women merely as a matter of custom and politeness.’

“‘I am satisfied to marry for love; if that’s un-English, so much the better for me!’

“‘You would take me without anything but just myself?’

“‘What is worth having, compared with you?’

“‘Oh Tom! But then, you cannot have just myself alone. Nobody in the world is independent of everything—not even an American—not even an American girl who has lived seven years in a convent! I may not be able to bring you anything good—anything that would make me more acceptable; but what if I were to bring you something bad—something terrible—something that would make you shudder at me if I were ten times as lovable as you say I am?’

“‘Why then, I should have to love you twenty times more than ever I suppose, that’s all!’ I answered, with a laugh.

“‘You don’t mean what you say—at least you don’t know what you say. You are not so brave as you think you are, sir! What do you know of me?’ She spoke these sentences in a lower, graver tone than the previous ones, which had been uttered in a vein of half-wayward, fanciful playfulness. Almost immediately, however, she roused herself again, as though unwilling to let the lightsome humour escape so soon.

“‘Well, let us pretend that you have married me, for better or worse, and that it is all settled. Now, where will you take me to first?’

“‘Where do you wish to go?’

“‘Oh, it must be somewhere where nobody could come after us,’ she exclaimed, with a curious subdued laugh. ‘Nobody that either of us has ever known; neither your mother, nor my father, nor—nor anybody! And there we must stay always; because as soon as we came out, we should lose each other, and never find each other again. And that would be sadder than never to have met, wouldn’t it?’

“‘But, my darling Kate,’ interposed I, laughing again, ‘where on earth, in this age of railways and steamboats and telegraphs and balloons, are we to find such a very retired spot? Unless we took a voyage to the moon, or could find our way down to the centre of the earth, we should hardly feel safe, I fear!’

“‘Oh, well, you must arrange about that; only it is as I tell you; and you see marrying me is not such a simple matter after all. Well, now, suppose we have reached the place, wherever it is—what would you give me for a wedding present?’

“‘What would you like?’

“‘No—you are to decide that. It wouldn’t be proper for your wife to choose her own wedding present, you know.’

“‘I believe such a thing does sometimes happen though, when the people are very fashionable and aristocratic.’

“‘But I am not aristocratic; I am an American. Now, what will you give me?’

“‘What do you say to the diamonds?’

“‘Well, I think I will take the diamonds,’ she said meditatively, as though weighing the question in her mind. ‘Yes, papa said I might wear diamonds after I was married. But might not your mother object?’

“‘Not when she knows whom they are for; and, at any rate, she is going to leave them to me in her will.’

“‘Oh! and you expect that the news of our marriage will kill her?’

“‘It ought rather to give her a new lease of life. But you shall have the diamonds all the same. Will you try them on now?’

“‘Why, have you got them with you?’

“‘Certainly: I always carry them in this pocket.’

“‘How careless! You might lose them.’

“‘No: the pocket buttons up; see!’ and turning back the flap of my coat, I showed her how all was made secure.

“‘But what if robbers were to attack you?’

“‘Then I should talk to them with this,’ I rejoined, taking my revolver from another pocket, and holding it up.

“‘Oh, that’s a derringer! they have those in America. What a pretty one! Let me look at it.’

“‘No,’ said I, replacing it in my pocket; ‘it has a hair-trigger, and every barrel is loaded. You shall look at something much prettier, and not dangerous at all. Here—sit down on this stump, and take off your hat, and I’ll put them on for you.’

“The stump of which I spoke stood at the end of the path we had been following, and within a few rods of the brink of a precipitous gorge, which entered the side of the steep mountain-spur nearly at right angles. Across this gorge (which, though seventy to one hundred feet in depth, was scarcely more than half as wide at the top) a wooden bridge had formerly been thrown; but age or accident had broken it down, until only a single horizontal beam remained, spanning the chasm from side to side, and supported by three or four upright and transverse braces. The beam itself was scarcely nine inches in width; and the whole structure was a dizzy thing to look at. My nerves were trained to steadiness by a good deal of gymnastic experience; but it would have needed a strong inducement to get me across that beam on foot.

“Kate sat down on the stump as I directed; but her manner had become languid and indifferent; the brightness and sparkle of her late mood were gone. As she looked up at me, her level eyebrows were slightly contracted, and the corners of her mouth drooped. Her hands were folded listlessly in her lap. She was dressed in some soft white material, through which was visible the warm gleam of her arms and shoulders; the skirt was caught up in such a way as to allow freedom in walking; she wore a broad-brimmed white hat over her black hair; a yellow sash confined her waist, and her hands were bare. I untied the ribbons of her hat, she permitting me to do so without resistance; and then, kneeling before her, I unbuttoned the diamonds from my pocket, and laid them, in their case, upon her lap.

“‘Now, dear, shall I put them on you, or will you do it yourself?’

“She opened the case, and the gems flashed in the checkered sunshine that filtered down between the leaves of the trees. The sight seemed to rouse her somewhat; a faint spot of colour showed in either cheek, and she drew in a long breath.

“‘They are splendid!’ she said. ‘I never saw anything like them. No, your mother would need to die before giving up these.’

“‘They won’t look their best until you have put them on. Come!’

“‘Oh, I’m afraid! what if——’

“‘Afraid of what?’

“‘What if someone were to come and see——’

“‘Nonsense, my darling! There’s no one within half a mile of us; and if there were, they would only see a lovely girl looking her loveliest.’

“‘How nicely you talk to me! Well then—you put them on me. I won’t touch them myself.’

“The parure consisted of a necklace and a pair of earrings. I lifted them, flashing, from the case; clasped the necklace round her throat, she sitting motionless, and hung the earrings in her ears. A light, that matched their marvellous gleam, seemed to enter into her eyes as I did so.

“‘You and these diamonds were made for each other!’ I said; and bending forwards, I kissed her on the lips.

“For more than a minute she sat there quite still, I kneeling in front of her; we were looking straight into one another’s eyes. Then, all at once, a troubled anxious look came into her face. She rose with a startled gesture to her feet.

“‘Hush! hush! did you hear?’

“‘What’s the matter?’ cried I, jumping up in surprise.

“‘Hush! someone calling—calling me!’

“Again that strange fancy! What did it mean? I could not repress a certain thrill at the heart as I gazed at her. It was very weird and strange.

“As I gazed, a singular change crept over her. Her face was now quite colourless, and its pallor was intensified by the blackness of her mystical eyes. Those eyes slowly grew fixed—immovable, as if frozen. The lids trembled for a moment, then drooped, then lifted again to their widest extent, and so remained. Her lips, slightly parted, showed the white teeth set edge to edge behind them. The rigidity descended through her whole body; she was like a marble statue. She breathed low and deeply, as one who is in profound slumber.

“‘Kate, what has happened to you?’ I cried in alarm, putting my hand on her shoulder. Her arm was fixed like iron; she seemed to hear nothing, feel nothing. She was as much beyond any power of mine to influence her as if she had been dead. The diamonds that glittered on her bosom were not more insensible than she.

“I must confess that I was somewhat unnerved by the situation. Kate was evidently in some sort of trance; but what had put her into that state, and how was she to be got out of it? For aught I knew, it might be the prelude to a fit or other seizure of that nature, involving consequences dangerous if not fatal. In the bewilderment of the moment the only remedy that I could think of was cold water; to dash her with water might be of use, and could scarcely make matters worse. About thirty paces from where we were standing a small rill meandered amongst the roots of the trees, and trickled at last in a tiny cascade down the rocky side of the gorge. Towards this I ran, and stooping down, attempted to scoop up some of the refreshing element in the crown of my straw hat.

“Rising with the dripping hat in my hands, I turned to go back; but the sight that then met my eyes caused me to drop everything and spring forward with a gasp of horror.

“Moving as if in obedience to some power external or at least foreign to herself, as a mechanical figure might move, steadily, deliberately, and yet blindly, Kate had advanced directly towards the narrow chasm, and when I first beheld her she already seemed balancing on the brink. Before I could cover half the distance that separated us, she had set foot on the long beam which spanned the abyss, and had begun to walk along it. By the time I reached the hither end, she was halfway over, stepping as unconsciously as if she were on an ordinary sidewalk, though the slightest deflection from a straight course would have sent her down a hundred feet to the jagged boulders below.

“Standing on the hither verge, every nerve so tensely strung that I seemed to hear the blood humming through my brain, I watched the passage of those small feet, which I had admired that morning as they peeped coquettishly from beneath her dress in the railway carriage—I watched them pass, step after step, along that awful beam. I suppose the transit must have been accomplished in less than a minute, but it seemed to me that I was watching it for hours. I uttered no sound, lest it might rouse her from her trance and insure the catastrophe that else she might escape; I did not attempt to overtake her, fearful lest the beam should fail to support our united weight. I saw her pass on, rigid, unbending, but sure of foot as a rope-dancer; and at last I saw her reach the opposite side, and stand once more on solid earth, preserved from death as it seemed by a miracle. I have no distinct recollection of how I followed; I only know that a few seconds afterwards I was standing beside her, with my arm round her waist.

“I led her forwards a few paces out of sight of the ravine, the mere thought of which now turned me sick, and brought her to a plot of soft turf, beneath a tree with low spreading branches. The trance was evidently passing away; her limbs no longer had that unnatural rigidity; her eyelids drooped heavily, and her jaw relaxed. A violent trembling seized upon her; she sank down on the turf as if all power of self-support had gone out of her. At that moment I fancied I heard a slight crackle among the shrubbery not far off; I looked quickly up, and saw—or thought I saw—a short ungainly figure obscurely stealing away through the underbush. Almost immediately he vanished amidst the trees, leaving me in doubt whether my eyesight had not after all played me false.

“As I turned again to Kate, she was sitting up against the trunk of the tree, the diamonds flashing at her throat and ears, and a puzzled questioning expression on her face.

“‘What makes you look so strange?’ she murmured. ‘Where is your hat! How did we come here, Tom? I thought——’

“She stopped abruptly, and rose slowly to her feet. Her eyes were cast down shamefacedly, and she bit her lip. She lifted her hand to her throat, and felt the diamonds there. Then, with an apprehensive, almost a cowering glance, she peered stealthily round through the trees, as though expecting to see something that she dreaded. Finally she turned again, appealingly, to me, but said nothing.

“I thought I partly understood the significance of this dumb-show. She was subject to these somnambulistic trances, and was ashamed of them. She knew not, on this occasion, what extravagance she might have committed in the presence of me, her lover. She feared the construction I might put upon it, yet was too timid—or, it might be, too proud—to speak. But her misgiving did me injustice. Shocked and grieved though I was, I loved her more than ever.

“‘You were faint, my dear, that’s all,’ I said, cheerfully and affectionately. ‘I brought you under this tree, and now you’re all right.’

“She shook her head, with a piteous smile. ‘I know what has been the matter with me, Mr. Gainsborough,’ she said, with an attempt at reserve and coldness in her tone. ‘I had hoped I might have parted from you before you knew, but—it was not to be so! It is very good of you to pretend to ignore it, and I thank you—I thank you. Here,’ she added, nervously unclasping the necklace and removing the earrings, ‘I have worn these too long. Take them, please.’

“‘Kate, you shall wear them forever!’ cried I, passionately.

“‘I must not begin yet, at all events,’ she returned more firmly. ‘Take them, please, or you will make me feel more humiliated than I do now.’ She put them in my unwilling hands. ‘And now we’ll get our hats and go back to the hotel,’ she continued, with a smile which was pathetic in its effort to seem indifferent and unconstrained. ‘Where are they? Ah!’

“She had just caught sight of her white hat lying beside the stump on the farther side of the gorge. The suppressed scream and the start indicated that she now for the first time realised by what a perilous path she had come hither. She remained for a moment gazing at the beam with a sort of fascination; then, moving forward to the brink, looked down the sheer precipice to the rocks below.

“‘I wish I had fallen!’ she said, almost below her breath; ‘or,’ she added, after a short pause, in a tone still lower, but of intense emphasis, ‘I wish he had!’

“‘You wish I had?’

“‘I did not know you were so near,’ she answered, drawing back from the verge. ‘No, no—not you! Come, we must walk round this place. Tell me,’ she said, facing me suddenly, ‘did you see anyone?’

“‘I think not. I fancied I heard——’

“‘We must get back to the hotel,’ she interrupted excitedly; ‘at least, I must get back. I don’t like to be here. I wish you would leave me. I would rather say good-bye to you here than there.’

“‘I never mean to say good-bye to you at all, Kate. If this is the trouble you hinted at, you overrate it entirely. Why, two people out of every seven are somnambulists. It is as common as to have black hair. Besides, you will outgrow it in a few years; it is only a nervous affection, which any doctor can cure.’

“‘It is not that; you don’t understand,’ she said, with a sigh.

“‘Whatever it is, I’m determined not to lose you. I shall tell your father, when I see him, that I love you, and that wherever he takes you I shall follow. No one can or shall keep us apart.’

“The resolution with which I spoke seemed to impress her somewhat. ‘You can speak to him if you will. But, oh! it is no use. It cannot be; you don’t understand. Let me go; good-bye. No, do not come with me; please do not! I have a reason for asking it. I will see you once more—to-morrow, before we leave. But let me go alone now, if you love me.’

“She went, walking quickly away through the wood. I watched her for a few moments, and then returned to the grass plot beneath the tree, and threw myself down there in a very dissatisfied frame of mind. The sun had set before I returned to the hotel.

V.

“I saw nothing more of Kate that day; but I came across Slurk several times, and there was a peculiar look on the fellow’s countenance which made me renew my longing to chastise him. I was anxious to know whether Mr. Birchmore had returned; but, as I could not bring myself to make any inquiries of his valet, and did not care to let him see me asking anyone else, I was obliged to remain in ignorance. However, as I sat out under the trees at dusk, a tall figure, with a lighted cigar in his mouth, appeared in the doorway of the hotel, and, on my saluting him, he sauntered up to my table, and complied with my invitation to sit down.

“The waiter brought us coffee; and under its stimulus I ventured to introduce the subject which lay nearest my heart to Mr. Birchmore’s notice. No doubt I put my best foot foremost, and spoke as eloquently as was consistent with my downright earnestness and sincerity. Mr. Birchmore heard me almost in silence, only giving evidence by an occasional word or interjection that he was giving me his attention. Once or twice, too, I was aware of his having given me one of those sharp icy glances for which he was remarkable. When I had spoken, he fingered the pointed beard on his chin meditatively, and puffed his cigar.

“‘This is a very fair and honourable offer that you make, Gainsborough,’ he said at length. ‘I liked you before; I like you better now. You take it for granted, I suppose, that I’m pretty well off. There, you needn’t say anything; I’ve no doubt of your disinterestedness; but these matters would have to be mentioned, sooner or later, if the affair went on. I say “if,” because—I may as well tell you at once; it will save us all pain—because it can’t go on: it must stop right here; and I can only regret, for both your sakes, that it has gone so far.’

“‘Mr. Birchmore, I cannot take this for an answer. You have given me no reasons. If you want confirmation of my account of myself, I can——’

“‘I want nothing of the sort; on the contrary, I feel complimented that you should accept us, not only without confirmation, but without question. But you can’t marry my daughter, Gainsborough, much as I like you, and much as I daresay she does. When you are older, you will understand that men cannot always follow that course in the world which appears to them most desirable.’

“‘However young or old I may be, Mr. Birchmore, I am old enough to know my own mind, and to require good reasons for changing it. If you have any such reasons, I wish you’d show your liking for me by telling me what they are.’

“‘Do you remember a talk we once had in Paris, when you hinted that I should accompany you on your jaunt? I told you then that the past life of a man sometimes had a hold over his present, constraining his freedom, whether he would or no. And can’t you imagine that those circumstances, however cogent they may be, or, very likely, just because they are so cogent, might be very inconvenient to talk about? To speak plainly, Gainsborough, I don’t see how your loving my daughter obliges me to tell you all the secrets of my life.’

“‘I don’t want to know your secrets, sir; I wish to marry Miss Birchmore.’

“Mr. Birchmore laughed.

“‘Well, you’re a pretty determined wooer,’ said he. ‘I can’t give my consent to the match, because—well, because I cannot; but if you won’t take No for an answer, nor profit by the warning I hereby give you, I’ll tell you what I will do. I will allow you yourself to discover and acknowledge the causes which make your marriage with Kate impossible. You must not blame me if the discovery gives you pain, and the acknowledgment causes you mortification. I have given you fair warning. And I will only add, sir, that the pain and mortification won’t be all on your side. I could not give you a stronger pledge of my friendship and liking for you than in thus letting you find out what has hitherto been hidden from all the world. And I only demand one condition—that you promise, when you have made your discovery, and left us, never to mention to any human being what our secret was.’

“‘I give that promise with pleasure. As to my leaving you of my own free will, that is—begging your pardon—impossible and absurd.’

“He laughed again, and shot another of his startling looks at me. ‘Very well, young sir, I’ve nothing more to say. Come with us to the farmhouse to-morrow; there’s plenty of room there, and they are used to being accommodating. Stay with us until you’re satisfied, and then—don’t forget your promise!’

“He rose as he finished speaking, and flung away the remains of his cigar.

“‘Good-night!’ he said, holding out his large well-shaped hand.

“‘Good-night! and thanks for your confidence, which you will never regret, Mr. Birchmore.’

“‘Qui vivra, verra!’ was all his answer, as he walked away, with his hands in his coat-pockets and his singular short steps. He was an enigma sure enough, and yet my belief in him was as intuitive and inalienable as in Kate herself. His mysterious hints and warnings were powerless to disturb me: I trusted in the ability of us three combined to overthrow any antagonist. I sat late beneath the trees, smoking, and brooding over my passion, as young men will, and ever and anon glancing up at a certain window, behind the lamp-illumined curtain of which I had reason to suppose my darling was. Was she thinking of me now? Even as I asked myself this, and gazed upwards, a shadow fell upon the curtain; it was pushed aside, and the window was swung back on its hinges.

“With a throb of the heart I sprang to my feet and wafted a kiss from my finger-tips towards the face that peeped out upon me. Stay! was it Kate’s face after all? The arms and shoulders now appeared, and the form leant upon the window-sill. A lucifer-match flashed, and I had the pleasure of beholding the sinister visage of Mr. Slurk lit up by a sulphurous gleam, as he leisurely lit his pipe and stared down at me.

“‘Schöne gute Nacht, Herr Gainsborough!’

VI.

“We made a late start the next morning, and did not reach the farmhouse before four o’clock. I had little opportunity of speaking to Kate on the way; in fact, the presence of Slurk, who sat on the box of the vehicle, and once in a while threw a glance at us over his shoulder, irritated me to such a degree that more tender sentiments were temporarily pushed into the background. Kate herself, though she attempted to appear cheerful, betrayed signs of inward anxiety and nervousness; while Mr. Birchmore conversed with a volubility and discursiveness greater than I had ever remarked in him before.

“The farmhouse stood quite alone, on an unfrequented by-road, in a little angle of the hills. It was not exactly a picturesque building, with its four walls covered with rough plaster and pierced with dozens of small windows, and its enormous red-tiled roof, with those quaint narrow apertures, like half-opened eyes, disclosing a single pane of glass, which do duty as dormers. It stood flush with the road, as German houses are fond of doing; but behind was a large enclosed farmyard, roughly paved with round stones and well walled in. The front door, though rather pretentiously painted and ornamented, with some religious versicle or other written up on the lintel, was not used as a means of entrance or exit. It was, as I afterwards discovered, not only locked and bolted, but actually screwed up on the inside; and the only way of getting into the house was by a side door opening into the courtyard. As the courtyard itself was provided with a heavy gate, you will see that the farmhouse, close to the road though it was, was by no means so easy of ingress or egress as it appeared, supposing, of course, that it was the humour of the inmates to declare a state of siege. I mention these particulars merely by the way: they are common to three houses out of five in this region.

“The Birchmores’ luggage had, it appeared, already been carried over from the hotel; but a man, in rough peasant’s costume, who announced himself as the master of the house, now came out to take charge of my trunk. I was, or fancied myself (as you may have noticed), a quick judge of faces, and this peasant’s face failed to commend itself to me. It was at once heavy and gloomy, while a scar at one corner of his mouth caused that feature to twist itself into a perfunctory grimace, grotesquely at variance with his normal expression. In person he was much above the common size, and to judge by the ease with which he slung my heavy trunk over his shoulder, he must have been as strong as Augustus the Stark himself, whose brazen statue domineers over the market-place in Dresden.

“‘Guten Morgen, Herr Rudolph!’ said Slurk, hailing this giant affably. The two seemed to be on some sort of terms of comradeship, having, perhaps, struck up an acquaintance during the previous negotiations for lodgings. I must say they looked to me to be a not ill-matched pair.

“We alighted, and were welcomed in with surly courtesy by Herr Rudolph. Kate, confessing to a headache, went at once to her room, whence she did not again emerge; Slurk disappeared into the kitchen regions with the landlord; Mr. Birchmore presently went out for a stroll before dinner: and I, finding myself thrown temporarily on my own resources, decided to make a virtue of my loneliness by writing some letters which had been long owing. I accordingly groped my way up the darksome stone staircase, and so along an eccentric passage to my room.

“I did not know then, nor could I, even now, accurately describe the arrangement of rooms in that farmhouse. There were at least three separate passages, not running at right angles to one another, but seeming to wander about irregularly, now and then turning awkward corners, descending or ascending short flights of steps, or eddying into a little cul-de-sac, with, perhaps, only a closet door at the end of it. The consequence was, it was nearly impossible to say whose room adjoined whose. It might be a long distance from one to another, measured along the passage, and yet they might actually be separated only by the thickness of a wall. Where the farmer and his family slept I know not, but I have reason to believe that all our party, including Slurk, were accommodated upon the same floor.

“On opening the door of my room, I found someone already there. This person was a comely young woman, the farmer’s daughter evidently, busy in the benevolent occupation of putting things in order. She had moved my trunk beneath the window, she had put fresh water in the ewer, she had straightened out the slips of drugget on the rough-board floor, she had placed some flowers in the window, and she was now engaged in tucking a clean sheet on the bed. I said she was comely; on second looks she was better than that. She was positively pretty, with the innocent blonde prettiness of some German peasant-girls. Her fair hair, smoothed compactly over her small head, and wound up in a funny little pug behind, possessed a faint golden lustre; her eyes were of as pure and serene a blue as any I ever looked upon; her smooth cheeks, slightly browned by much sunshine which had rested on them, were tinged with healthful bloom; her mouth might have been smaller, but the full lips were well-shaped, and there were white even teeth behind them. Her figure, like that of most Saxon peasant-girls of her age, was robust and vigorous; she wore a simple bodice and skirt, and her feet and legs were bare. Altogether I thought her a very agreeable apparition.

“‘Good-morning, honoured Herr Gainsborough,’ she said gravely, in German, as I entered.

“‘Good-morning, pretty maiden,’ returned I gallantly. ‘You seem to know my name, though I don’t know yours: what is it?’

“‘I am called Christina—Christina Rudolph. It is some time that I have known Herr Gainsborough’s name,’ she added.

“‘Really! how comes that?’ I asked, by no means displeased.

“‘The honoured Herr has been kind to a relation of mine—a very near relation,’ replied Christina, with the same gravity.

“‘Have I? I’m glad to hear it! Was she as pretty as thou?’ inquired I, venturing upon the familiar form of address.

“She blushed, and answered: ‘It was not a woman—it was my brother.’

“‘Oh, thy brother! And where did I meet thy brother?’

“‘In Paris, Herr Gainsborough.’

“‘In Paris! Rudolph! What, art thou the sister of Heinrich Rudolph, who lives in the Latin Quarter, and is considered the cleverest jeweller in the city?’

“‘Yes, honoured Herr,’ returned Christina, smiling for the first time, and showing her pretty teeth and a dimple on either cheek. ‘My brother Heinrich cut and arranged the diamonds in the parure of the honoured Herr’s mother.’

“‘So he did, Christina, and he did it better than anyone except him could have done it. And so thou art really his sister! How did he tell thee of me?’

“‘He wrote to me while you were still in Paris, and described the pretty stones, and told how Herr Gainsborough used to come and sit with him, and see him work, and talk a great deal with him.’

“‘Yes, he was well worth talking with! And I remember now that he said he was born in this neighbourhood, and that he had a sister and a father living here. It was stupid of me not to have thought of that when I heard your name. Well, Christina, I’m afraid I wasn’t of much use to him after all. I tried to get him customers, but I knew very few people in Paris; and the only person I did succeed in introducing to him—by the way! it was this gentleman who is with me now.’

“‘Herr Birchmore; yes, my brother spoke also of him,’ said Christina, her gravity returning. ‘But he did not speak of the young lady, or of the servant.’

“‘No, I believe they weren’t with him at the time. I only met them myself since I came to Schandau.’

“‘The young lady is Herr Birchmore’s—wife?’

“‘His wife? Dear heavens, no! His daughter, of course, Christina.’

“Christina said nothing, being occupied in neatly smoothing out the pillow, and laying the wadded counterpane over the sheet.

“‘Will Herr Gainsborough stay with us long?’ she asked, after a pause.

“‘As long as Herr Birchmore does, I suppose,’ said I carelessly.

“‘And Herr Birchmore’s daughter?’ subjoined Christina, with a twinkle of mischief so demure that I could hardly be sure whether she meant it or not.

“‘Thou art as clever as thy brother, Christina,’ I laughed, colouring a little too however, I daresay, ‘It is true I have not known them long, but—but people see a good deal of one another in travelling together.’

“‘I have heard it said that travelling makes people acquainted with——’ she paused, and looked down thoughtfully at her bare feet. Presently she lifted her blue eyes straight to mine and asked:

“‘Herr Gainsborough has his diamonds with him?’

“‘Undoubtedly! They are never away from me.’

“‘In going about this place, the Herr should be cautious. Some of these hills and valleys are very lonely. There are spots, not far from here, where no one goes for sometimes many months.’

“‘Well, I’ll be very careful, Christinchen,’ I rejoined laughing, and in truth not a little amused at the care my friends took of me. ‘But thou must remember that no one in Germany, except Herr Birchmore, and his daughter, and thyself, knows that any such diamonds as these are in existence—much less that they are in my pocket!’

“Christina raised her finger to her lips, as if to caution me to speak lower. ‘There is at least one other who knows—the man Slurk!’ she said.

“‘Well, perhaps he may,’ I replied, somewhat struck by her observation; ‘and as I see thou hast taken a dislike to the fellow, I will confide to thee that I consider him an atrocious brute. But brute though he is, there’s no harm in him of that kind. He is an old servant of Herr Birchmore, I believe, and would of course be dismissed at once if there were anything serious against him.’

“‘Naturally!’ was all Christina’s answer; she made no pretence of arguing the point with me. ‘Adieu, honoured sir!’ she said at the door. But with her hand upon the latch she paused, turned round, and added rather confusedly: