George Manville Fenn (continued 8)

She hesitated for a moment, as if about to go out by the front, but Cousin Thompson was not puzzled by seeing her pass, for she returned by the way she came, down the kitchen garden to the meadows, and through them and down by the river till she reached the nearest point to the Rectory garden, through which she passed, after stopping to pick a handful of parsley to carry into the house.

Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.

Besieged.

Dally had not reached the Rectory, and Horace North had not sat long thinking over the girl’s words in a way which puzzled him, as it brought a curious feeling of rest and satisfaction to his brain, before a carriage came sharply along the King’s Hampton road, and passed Moredock’s cottage and Mrs Berens’ pretty villa-like home. North was seated, with his head resting upon his hand, thinking.

Miss Mary would be so pleased, the girl had said—pleased that he was better.

It seemed strange to him, but the words set him picturing Mary Salis in the old days at the Rectory; then her accident, and how he had tended her. Then he thought of the sweet, pale, patient face, as she passed through that long time of bodily suffering, to be followed by the lasting period of what must have been terrible mental anguish as she found herself to be a hopeless, helpless invalid—changed, as it were by one sad blow, from a young and active girl to a dependent cripple.

“Poor, gentle, patient Mary!” he said softly; and then, like a flash, his mind turned to the sister—her sick couch, her delirious declaration of her love, and his weak, blind folly in not grasping the fact that the tenderness she lavished upon him was meant for another.

“No, you can’t. Master’s better, and he’s engaged, and can’t see patients.”

North started up on his seat, rigid, and with a wild look in his eyes, as he heard these loudly uttered words, and then sprang to the door.

“Now, my dear Mrs Milt,” said a soft, unctuous voice, which he knew only too well, “pray do not be excited. How can you speak like that?”

“I speak what I think and feel, sir,” retorted the old lady sharply. “What do these people want with master?”

“To ask him to go and attend upon a patient who is in a dying state. There: pray come away. Really, Mrs Milt, you must not interfere like this.”

“I tell you, sir, master don’t want to see patients, and he can’t come out; so you must send them away.”

“Really, Mrs Milt,” said Cousin Thompson, “this is insufferable. My good woman, you forget yourself.”

Every word reached North as he stood close to the door and realised that there was one woman ready to fight in his defence.

North stood there, with his hands clenched and his brow rugged, glaring angrily, for he well knew what this meant. The voices were heard retiring, and the sound of the dining-room door closing, and muffling them suddenly, told him as plainly as if he had seen that the housekeeper had followed Cousin Thompson into that room, where an angry altercation seemed to be in progress.

“Hah!” ejaculated the miserable man; “canting and unscrupulous to the end. He is keeping her in parley while his people do their work.”

He laughed bitterly, for at that moment the door was tried softly, and then there was a gentle tapping on the panel.

“May my money prove a curse to him, and the whole place constantly remind him of his treachery,” he muttered, as the soft tapping was repeated, and a low voice, which he did not recognise, said:

“Dr North—Dr North! Can I speak to you a minute?”

He made no answer, but drew back to the table.

“Will they dare to break in?” he said to himself, as his face wore a look of bitter scorn and contempt.

Just then Mrs Milt’s voice could be heard raised loudly in protest; but it was in vain. Cousin Thompson, under the pretext of holding a parley, had entrapped her in the dining-room, and then interposed his person whenever she attempted to leave by door or window.

The tapping at the door ceased, and there was a sound of whispering; whilst a minute after a stoutly-built, rather hard-faced man, with a determined look, suddenly appeared at the French window looking on the garden, and tried the handle.

It was fast on the inside.

He passed on and went round to the surgery door, which he tried, too; but North had fastened this when he let Dally out, and the man came back, looked in and tapped gently on the pane to take North’s attention. Then seeing that he did not stir from where he stood at the table, the man smiled and beckoned to him.

This he repeated again and again, but North did not stir. Then his lips moved, and he involuntarily repeated Hamlet’s words:

“I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hernshaw.”

The man nodded and smiled again, and passed away.

There was another low murmuring outside the door, and a fresh tapping, as a persuasive voice said:

“Dr North, will you be kind enough to open the door, and come into the dining-room? Mrs Milt, the housekeeper, would like to speak to you.”

“What a child—what a weak lunatic they must think me!” muttered North; but he did not move, and, as he fully expected, the last speaker, as he supposed, went round to the window and tapped softly.

The fresh comer might have been twin brother of the first, so similar was his expression, so exactly a repetition were his acts.

They were of as much avail, and he returned to the hall, when a few words were exchanged in a low tone of voice, followed by a sharp tapping at the dining-room door.

This was opened, and Mrs Milt’s voice rose loudly:

“Stop me if you dare, any of you! and I’ll have the law of you.”

This was followed by a sharp, rustling noise, and the dull thud made by the banging of the baize door.

Then there was the sound of the gravel as some one walked over it hurriedly, and the clicking of the swing-gate before it caught.

“Give the word, sir, and it’s done,” said a deep voice.

“Quick, then!” said Cousin Thompson sharply. “Quick, before that cursed woman returns with help.”

Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.

One Way of Escape.

North drew a deep breath as one of the men stationed himself at the study window and looked in.

He strode towards him, and the man smiled and beckoned to him to come out; but the smile became a scowl as the cord was seized and the blind drawn down.

Just then the door cracked as some one pressed it hard, and then a whispering penetrated to where North stood looking round before crossing to the surgery, entering, and locking himself in.

His first act was to go to the window, where he expected to find that there was another sentry; but window and outer door faced in another direction, and were shut off from the part of the garden where the man stood by a dense patch of ancient shrubbery and a tall yew hedge.

North felt perfectly calm now, but his soul was full of a terrible despair.

He told himself that for him hope was dead; that in dealing with the occult secrets of Nature he had nearly mastered that which he wished to discover, but had failed, and must pay the penalty; while in the future some more fortunate student would profit by that which he had done; and, avoiding the pitfall into which he had fallen, take another turning and triumph.

To this end in the hours of his misery—when it had seemed to him that the strange essence which pervaded him slept—he had committed to paper the whole history of his experiments, from the first start to the time when he had awakened to the fact that he could no longer arrest the decomposition of the important organs, or do more than make a kind of mummy of his subject; but the essence or spirit was, as it were, taken captive, and at the same time held him in thrall.

This, to the most extreme point, he had carefully written out, showing, in addition, the time when he felt that he must have gone wrong, as that where a different course must be pursued by the daring scientist who would venture so much in the great cause.

For he wrote clearly and impressively: failure meant such a fate as his, the constant presence of the spirit of the person who had died, and with it the being compelled to suffer for every wild act or speech this essence would do or make. He told how helpless he was, how he had striven to bring scientific knowledge to bear, fought with his position as a man should who was in the full possession of his faculties, but that he could do no more.

Success meant a crown of triumphant honour; failure, a kind of sane madness, whose only end could be death—a death he was compelled to seek to save himself at once—to save himself from being treated as a maniac, and then to spend a few weeks or months of torture which he knew he could not bear.

In his last paragraphs he pointed out his position. He was believed to be mad, and to clear himself he would have to explain his experiment and his abnormal position, which he owned that no one would or could be expected to believe, save such a savant as the one he addressed—a man who had made the brain his study, and who could feel for the sufferings of the writer.

This letter was enclosed in the packet addressed to his executors for delivery to Mr Delton, and lay in the study, waiting till those executors should receive the last commands.

All was at an end now, and with a feeling of calmness approaching to content, Horace North looked round his surgery with its many familiar objects; and without the slightest feeling of dread took down a small medicine glass from the set standing all ready upon a shelf, and then lifted a large bottle from one particular spot at the end where it always stood, veiling a little recess wherein were a couple of smaller bottles, carefully labelled and marked as to their degree of strength.

“Is it cowardly?” he said quietly. “Is it a sin? Surely not, when I know my position, and—yes, that is my fate.”

For at that moment there was a sharp crack: the door had yielded, and he knew that his cousin’s emissaries—the people from some private asylum—had forced their way into the study, and their next step would be to make their way to where he was.

He could have opened the door, and fled by way of the meadows; but where? To whom? Perhaps at the moment when he made his first appeal for help, the living shadow that he had, as it were, taken to him, would utter some wild cry or absurd jest, and people would believe his pursuers in spite of all that he could declare.

No, it was not cowardice, this hastening of his end; and, withdrawing the stopper, he began pouring out the liquid contents of the little bottle, as the handle of the surgery door was turned, and the panel gave an ominous crack.

“You shall let me pass away in peace,” he said quietly, as he drew away a chair which propped back an inner door of baize, let it swing to, and thrust in both its bolts.

“Cousin Thompson,” he said bitterly, “you were always a miserable wretch, but I withdraw my curse. Take all, and enjoy your wretched life as well as such a reptile can.”

He paused for a few moments, with his lips moving slowly, and a calm look of resignation softening the harsh austerities of his face.

“To forgiveness!” he said softly. “To oblivion!” and he raised the glass to his lips.

Volume Three—Chapter Nineteen.

Vision or Real.

The shivering of glass as the fragments of a pane fell tinkling upon the carpet.

The shivering of glass as the little crystal fell from Horace North’s hand, and a pungent odour filled the room.

“Mary Salis! or am I mad indeed?” ejaculated the wretched man.

He stood motionless, staring at the window as a white arm was forced through the broken glass, and the catch thrust back, but not so quickly but that a deep red stain had time to show; for the jagged glass made an ugly gash above the white wrist, though it was unheeded, and the casement was flung open.

“The door—open that door!” North did not stir, but stood gazing wildly at the pallid face before him, and then he passed his hands across his eyes and tottered to the window, as if drawn there by the eyes which gazed into his.

“Quick! the door—open this door!” was panted forth.

He obeyed mechanically without taking his eyes from the window, feeling his way to the door, and slowly opening it, to stand gazing at Mary Salis, as she caught his hands in hers.

“What were you going to do?” she cried piteously. “You, too, of all men! You must be mad—you must be mad!”

“Yes,” he said vacantly; “they say so. I must be mad, or is—is it past—a dream? Mary Salis—you!”

“What’s that?” cried Mary excitedly, as the sound of the breaking door was heard. North uttered a sigh.

“They are coming,” he cried, “and I shall be too late. Loose my arm—loose my arm!”

“No, no, no!” panted Mary, as she flung herself upon his breast. “It is what I feared; I believed it, and I came. Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t do that!”

“Yes: I must. You do not know,” he whispered hoarsely, as he tried to unlace her arms from about him.

“Yes, I know that you were about to commit self-murder, and you shall not do this thing,” cried Mary wildly.

“Would you see me dragged away to a living death?” he said. “Listen—do you not hear? Loose me, I say!”

He spoke almost savagely now, as he struggled to get the enlacing hands away; but, as he tore at them, Mary clung the closer, drawing herself more tightly to his breast as her face approached his, and her lips parted, her eyes dilated, and she cried as wildly:

“Then kill me too!” He ceased struggling to look at the flushed, love-illumined face that approached his, unable to grasp the whole meaning of what was said, mentally incapable of interpreting the words and looks, the whole scene being like the phantasm of some delirious fit.

A louder crack of the baize door aroused him, and he started away.

“Don’t you hear?” he whispered. “Don’t you hear?”

“Yes,” cried Mary, still clinging to him; “I hear, and it is help.”

“No, no!” he whispered; “it is those men. Ah, I am too late!”

For at that moment there was a sharp rustling of the bushes, and a man ran up over the lawn, to pause bewildered at the scene before him.

“You, miss—here?” he panted breathlessly. “Old Missus Milt said as the maddus folk was taking the doctor away.”

“What?” cried Mary; and a mist floated before her eyes.

“The maddus folk, miss; and they’ve got a carriage round the front.”

With a strength that was almost superhuman, Mary recovered herself, and grasping the situation, she whispered to North:

“Is this true?”

“Listen,” he said.

Mary clung to him tightly as the sounds of the doors being forced bore unanswerable witness to the words; and then, as if to shield him from the threatened danger, she thrust him from her and followed across the surgery.

“No, no!” she panted. “Quick, before it is too late.”

“Go?” he said, in answer to her frenzied appeal.

“Yes, yes; quick—quick! The garden—the meadows.”

North seemed dazed, but Joe Chegg, who had run excitedly to the Manor after meeting the old housekeeper, more with the idea of seeing what was going on than affording help, now caught North’s arm and hurried him out of the surgery and down the nearest path, then in and out among the dense shrubs, so that they were well out of sight before the door yielded, and Cousin Thompson’s emissaries found their prey had gone.

North made no opposition to the efforts of those who held him on either side; but, weak with long fasting, and now utterly dazed, he staggered from time to time, and would have fallen but for the sustaining arms.

“Rect’ry, miss? All right,” said Joe Chegg. “Hold up, sir, or you’ll be down.”

For North had made a lurch, and clung wildly to the sturdy young fellow.

“Oh, try—pray try!” moaned Mary, as she gazed back. “Now; I’ll help all I can.”

“I’ll manage him,” said Joe, who took the appeal to himself. “You let him lean on me. Why, I thought, miss, as how you couldn’t walk.”

“Hush! don’t speak. They may hear us,” whispered Mary, gazing fearfully back as they pressed on through the meadows with the bottom of the Rectory garden still a couple of hundred yards away, when, as Mary glanced sidewise at North, she saw his eyes close, and at the same moment his legs gave way, and he sank towards the grass.

Mary uttered a piteous groan and gazed at Chegg, who had loosened his hold on North’s arm, and now stood with hat raised, scratching his head.

“Now, if some one else was here,” he muttered; and then, in answer to an unspoken question, he cried aloud: “Well, I d’know, miss; but, anyhow, I’ll try.”

A life of toil had made the young fellow’s muscles pretty tough, or else he could not have risen so sturdily after kneeling down, and, contriving to get North upon his shoulder, to start off once more, with Mary urging him to use every exertion, for a shout from behind had thrilled her, and on looking back it was to see two men coming along the meadow at a quick trot, while a third was walking swiftly behind.

Volume Three—Chapter Twenty.

A Race for Liberty.

It was a close race, and Mary Salis felt that, ere many minutes had passed, the strange force which had nerved her so that she had traversed the distance between the two houses, and then enabled her to go through the scene which followed, would fail; but still she struggled on, with their pursuers gaining so rapidly that the gate which gave upon the meadows had hardly been passed and dashed to, and the feeling that at last they were in comparative safety, given her fresh strength, when the two keepers came up, and without hesitation threw open the gate, and followed into the Rectory orchard.

Joe Chegg had lowered his burden on to the ground as the men reached the gate.

“What’ll I do, miss?”

“Stand by me,” panted Mary, stooping to catch Horace’s hand in hers; and then, sinking on one knee, she held to it tightly with both her own.

“Stand by you, miss?” cried Joe. “Yes; I’ll do that; but you run and call for help.”

“No, no,” cried Mary; “I will not go.”

“Now, then,” cried Joe, “what is it? You know you’re a-trespassing here?”

“You get out,” growled one of the men; and he thrust the sturdy young fellow roughly aside.

It was a mistake on the keeper’s part, for Joe Chegg’s father was a Bilston man, notorious in his time for the pugnacity of his life.

His mantle, or rather his disposition to take off his coat, had fallen upon his son, and the result of the rude thrust was that Joe Chegg rebounded so violently that the keeper went staggering back, and by the time he recovered, and his companion was about to join in the attack, Joe had proved himself to be the son of his father, for his coat was lying on the ground.

This was awkward. The keepers were accustomed to tussles with insane patients, and they were ready for a fight with Horace North, and to do anything to force him into the carriage waiting at the Manor House. But Joe Chegg was sane, sturdy, and had begun to square.

A fight with the stout young Warwick man was not in their instructions, and they called a parley.

“Look here, miss,” said the one who had been struck surlily; “just call your bulldog off. We don’t want no trouble, and you’re doing a very foolish thing; so let us do our dooty and go.”

As he spoke he advanced, but a feint from Joe made him flinch, though he gave the young fellow a very ugly look.

“This is an outrage,” cried Mary, rising and speaking now firmly. “What does it mean?”

“It means, madam,” said a voice, as the tall, dark medical man who had visited twice at the Manor now came upon the scene, after a very hurried walk through the meadows—“it means, madam,” he repeated, for he was breathless, “that Dr North is not in a fit condition to be at large.”

“It is not true!” cried Mary indignantly; though the recollection of what she had witnessed made her quail.

“It is quite true, madam; and his nearest friends have taken steps to have him placed under proper treatment, where he can be restored to health.”

“Where what little reason left to him will be wrecked,” something seemed to say within Mary; and she held on more tightly to North’s hand.

“There, madam,” said the doctor; “I have explained this to you, but I will also add, so that there may be no further unpleasantry, that all these steps have been taken after proper advice, and in strict legal manner. Now, be kind enough to let my men assist the patient to rise, and let us get this sad matter settled as quickly as we can.”

Mary wavered, and the doctor saw it.

“Jones,” he said, “you go and get the carriage round here. It will be much the shortest way.”

“Dr North is a very old and dear friend of ours,” said Mary, recovering herself, and speaking with dignity; “and I cannot stand by, in my brother’s absence, and see what seems to me to be an outrage committed.”

“Ah, your brother is away,” said the doctor. “It is a pity, for gentlemen are better to deal with than ladies in a case like this. There, my dear madam, pray accept my assurances that everything is right, and that Dr North will be taken the greatest care of, and restored to you soon perfectly sane and well. Pray be good enough to stand aside.”

“No,” cried Mary firmly; “he shall not go.”

“Just say the word, miss,” whispered Joe Chegg.

“Jones!” shouted the doctor; “come back!”

The second keeper, who was nearly through the orchard, came back, and it was a case of three to one; but Joe Chegg was not intimidated.

“Look here,” he said. “Miss Salis says he isn’t to go, and you’re trespassing here. Hi! you Dally Watlock!” he shouted, as he caught sight of the little maid coming down the orchard; “you let loose that there dog.”

Dally hesitated while, in response to a word from the doctor, the keepers advanced; and they would have succeeded in their task—Joe Chegg’s brave efforts being doomed to failure by the baffling movements of the well-dressed doctor, whom he hesitated to strike—but succour arrived in the person of Salis, who came running down the orchard, red-faced and excited.

The odds were so reduced that a fresh parley ensued, the doctor giving his explanations now once more in answer to the indignant questions of Salis:

“How dare you insult my sister?” followed by another, “How dare you insult my friend?”

“Law or no law, sir,” cried Salis, at last, “Dr North is on my premises, where, so to speak, he has taken sanctuary. You are acting at the wish of Mr Thompson?”

The doctor bowed.

“Then fetch Mr Thompson here.”

“Really, sir—” began the doctor.

“That will do, sir,” cried Salis. “You have heard my decision. If the law forces me to give up my friend, I may be compelled; but I will not give him up to you and these men now. Chegg, see these persons off the Rectory grounds.”

There was no help for it. A struggle would have resulted in the raising of the village, and, shrugging his shoulders, the doctor beat an ignominious retreat with his men.

“Mary!” exclaimed Salis, now for the first time realising the miracle that seemed to have occurred; “is this you?”

The poor girl did not speak, but stood gazing at him with her eyes growing dim, while before he could catch her she sank, first upon her knees, and then forward with her head upon North’s breast, while her soft, fair hair escaped from the bands which held it, and fell loosely about her marble face.

Volume Three—Chapter Twenty One.

Cleaning a Room.

Earlier on that day Dally sat in her bedroom watching from the window, as she had often watched before when it was night.

Her little, rosy face was a study, and her dark eyes glistened like those of an eager rat.

She had well calculated her time, and before long saw Leo come out, book in hand, for her customary walk up and down the garden.

Dally wasted no time, but hurried to Mary’s room to listen for a few moments, and then steal into Leo’s, where she peered in for a moment, and then hurried out to return with a dustpan and brush and a duster. These she placed upon chair and floor to cover her appearance should Leo return; while, after a rummage in her pocket, she brought out a little key.

Before using this she darted to the window, and waited till she could see Leo going from the house, when, with rat-like action, she made for a chest of drawers, upon which stood a desk, opened it with the speed of one accustomed to the task, and lifting one side, thrust in her hand, to draw out a packet of letters tied with a ribbon.

The top one bore a postmark only two days old, and this the girl drew out, skimmed over as rapidly as her illiterate brain would allow, and as she read her countenance changed again and again.

“Ah!” she ejaculated, at last. “You would, would you?” and taking up a pencil from the tray, and a new envelope, she laboriously copied out what seemed to be an address.

Then, with a smile of triumph, she hurriedly refolded the letter and replaced it in the packet, thrust the newly addressed envelope in her bosom, re-locked the desk, and had hardly destroyed all signs of her action, when she heard a slight cough.

Dally ran more rat-like than ever to the place where the dustpan and brush lay, plumped down on her knees, and began to work with her back to the door, humming away in a low tone as busily as could be amongst the dust she raised.

“Dally!” cried Leo, opening the door.

“Yes, miss.”

“Oh, what a dreadful dust! You know I don’t like this unnecessary sweeping going on.”

“But it wanted doing so badly, miss, and you were gone out in the garden.”

“Yes, yes; but leave off, that’s a good girl, now. I want to sit down and read.”

“Yes, miss,” said Dally, hurriedly using the duster.

“Do you know where my brother has gone?”

“No, miss; don’t you?”

“No,” said Leo wearily.

“Oh, yes, I do, miss; he went to the Manor House, and then he come back to Miss Mary, and I think now he’s gone to King’s Hampton.”

“Oh,” said Leo wearily. “That will do; and don’t come to tidy up my room again without asking leave.”

“No, miss,” said Dally, retreating and going back to her own room, where she threw her housemaid’s utensils on the bed, and took out and read the address on the envelope, “Telacot’s Hotel, Craven Street, Strand.”

“Don’t you be afraid, miss,” she muttered, “I won’t tidy up your room again. Oh, what treachery there is in this world! But wait, my dear, and you shall see!”

She replaced the envelope, and stood thinking for a few moments before coming to a decision, and then—

“I haven’t been there dozens of time for gran’fa for nothing,” she said, half aloud. “I know, and I will.

“But suppose—

“He wouldn’t,” she said, after a pause. “They say he never comes out of his room except at night—I will.”

Five minutes after she was going down the garden ostensibly to pick that bunch of parsley, and to obtain it she went to the very bottom of the kitchen garden, and thence into the meadows, through which she almost ran till she reached the bottom of the Manor House grounds, and then, knowing the place as she had from childhood, she easily made her way, unseen, to the surgery, to be found by North.

Dally returned triumphantly, but she did not take the brandy to her grandfather, but deposited it in her box in the bedroom before going about her work as calmly as if she had nothing more important in her mind than dusters and brooms, and the keeping tidy of the portions of the Rectory within her province.

But nothing missed her piercing little eyes, which seemed to glitter as the various matters occurred, and in the intervals she packed a few necessaries in a large reticule bag, which she hung over the iron knob of her bedstead in company with her jacket and hat.

No servant could have been more attentive, or apparently innocent-looking as she stared at Joe Chegg, who, after helping Salis to bear North into the drawing-room, was relegated to the kitchen to be refreshed.

Joe stared hard at her with an indignant frown, as he slowly ground up masses of bread and cheese, and washed them down with copious draughts of ale.

But Joe’s frowns had no effect upon Dally, and her aspect was simplicity itself, as, after a time, he took to shaking his head at her solemnly, following up each shake of the head with a sigh, and then apparently easing his sufferings by an angry bite at the bread.

Each time Joe looked and frowned, Dally replied with a simple, innocent maiden’s round-eyed, wondering gaze, which seemed to ask why he did not speak and say what he had to say.

But Joe Chegg said nothing, only ate, and frowned, and shook his head till he had done; and after a time Dally, having nothing else to do, thrust a little plump hand right down a black stocking till her knuckles represented the heel which had been peering through a large hole, and then and there she began to make worsted trellis-work which looked to Joe Chegg very similar to what he had often done in wood.

The drawing-room bell rang, but before Dally could answer it, Salis appeared at the door.

“Don’t go away, Chegg, my lad,” he said. “I don’t know what visitors may come, and I should like you to hang about the place and watch.”

“Well, you see, sir,” said Joe sturdily, “there’s a man’s time.”

“Oh, yes,” said Salis, smiling; “you shall be paid double time.”

“For how long, sir?”

“Wait and see; and keep a good lookout about the premises.”

He said these words as he was leaving the kitchen door, and met Leo in the hall, directly after, with her handsome eyes looking at him inquiringly.

It was observable, too, in the kitchen that Dally’s countenance looked a little more intent and she bent a little more over her stocking, and began to hum as she darned, while Joe Chegg took up the ale mug, and, after looking into it meditatively, began to work the table-spoonful left at the bottom round and round as if he were preparing an experiment whose aim was to keep one little blot of froth right in the centre like a tiny island of foam in a small sea of beer.

“Yes; I’ll watch,” he said to the mug; “and it won’t be the first time. It arn’t much goes on as I don’t see.”

Dally hummed and ceased to look catlike in her quiescence, for her aspect was kittenish now, and her hum deepened every now and then into a purr.

“Strange things goes on in this here village,” continued Joe, gazing into the mug; “and I sees a deal of what young ladies and persons does.”

Daily’s purr would now have done credit to a Persian puss: it was so soft and pleasant and round.

“But of all the things as ever I’ve see o’ young ladies, I never see aught as ekalled the way as Miss Mary’s got strong and well.”

Dally hummed now, and her tones were those of a musical bee, while the trellis-work in the stocking grew and grew.

“Well,” said Joe, after getting the drop of froth to stand very high out of its beery-whirlpool, “I’m a-goin’ to play policeman now.”

He tossed the remainder of the beer into his throat, and set down the mug.

“There arn’t many jobs as comes amiss to me.”

He rose and walked out of the kitchen, and as Dally saw him from the window on his way round to the front, she gave her stocking-covered fist a dab down on the table and uttered an angry “Ugh!”

Joe Chegg was not playing policeman long before he ran to the front door and knocked.

“Mist—Salis, sir! Mist—Salis. Here’s one on ’em.”

Salis was with North, and did not hear, so that when a keen old gentleman with white hair alighted from a fly, it was to find the door barred by the sturdy young workman.

“Is Dr North here?”

“What do you want with Dr North?” cried Joe surlily.

“I am a medical man, my lad,” said the old gentleman, smiling. “I have come down from London to see him.”

“Yes, I thought you had,” said Joe; “and you can’t see him, so you may just go back, as the t’others have done before. Eh? Oh, I beg pardon, sir. I thought it was the wrong sort.”

For Salis, hearing the altercation, had hurried out, and a brief explanation had set all straight.

“Poor fellow, poor fellow!” said the doctor, after following Salis into his room and hearing an explanation of the case. “Overwrought, I suppose. Well, let’s see him.”

They went to the darkened drawing-room to pause at the door, the doctor making a sign to Salis to stay while he watched the patient, who was ignorant of his presence.

North was lying back on the sofa with his eyes nearly closed, and Mary seated near, holding his hand, and bent towards him as if listening to his breathing.

Suddenly he started—crying out wildly as his eyes opened with a dilated stare; but as he tried to rise, Mary’s soft white hand was laid upon his forehead, and he sank back with a sigh of restfulness; his eyes closed again, and he lay breathing calmly.

Salis looked at Mr Delton, but the old man did not stir. Here was the case developing itself before him, and he could not study it better than unobserved.

Salis was about to re-enter the room, when Dally came and summoned him by pulling his sleeve.

“What is it?” he said sharply, as he turned.

“Mrs Milt, to see you, sir.”

Salis hesitated.

“I will wait till you return,” whispered the old doctor. “I am well employed.”

Salis hurried to where the old housekeeper was waiting.

“I’ve just heard that master is here, sir,” cried the old woman excitedly. “Oh, I am thankful! I found these papers in the study, sir; they were in an envelope directed to me, sir, and this one for the doctor master knows in London.”

Salis uttered a cry of joy.

“Mr Delton is with your master,” he said.

Mrs Milt sighed.

“Let me go to him, sir, please.”

Salis signed to her to follow, and led the way to where North lay now as if asleep, with Mary’s hand held to his brow.

The old housekeeper stood for a few moments watching, and then drew back.

“No, sir,” she said; “I won’t disturb him. I haven’t seen him look like that for weeks.”

“And I will not disturb him,” said the old doctor. “Rest like that must be good.”

He followed Salis into the dining-room, where he sat down to read the communication North had written, and after studying it carefully for some time, he looked up to find the curate’s eyes fixed upon him intently.

“Well?”

“Well, Mr Salis, I think I can say a comforting word or two. By the way, I thought I would come on straight to you instead of calling first at the Manor House, and it is as well I did.”

“But the letter, sir—the letter from my poor friend?”

“Ah, yes, the letter,” said the old doctor dreamily. “I have read and studied it well.”

“And you think?”

“A great deal, my dear sir—a great deal; but I have not finished yet. A clear case of overtaxed brain. I should say that he had worked himself into a state of exhaustion, and then some shock must have occurred to destroy the tottering balance. Not a money trouble, for I think Mr North is well off. Not a love trouble, for judging from what I saw—”

“You are mistaken in that, sir,” said Salis. “My poor friend suffered a grievous shock a short time since.”

“Ah! just as I expected. That is quite sufficient to account for it all.”

“But the future, sir? For goodness’ sake, speak! Your reticence tortures me.”

“I beg your pardon. I am thoughtful and slow, Mr Salis. Let me try and set you at rest. As far as I can judge without further study of the case, I should say that you need be under very little uneasiness.”

“You do not consider his case necessitates his being placed in a private asylum?”

“I should say the people who placed him in one deserved to be hanged. Well, no,” he added, smiling; “not so bad as that, but to be placed in a private asylum themselves.”

“Thank God!” said Salis fervently, and the tears stood in his eyes as he grasped the old doctor’s hands.

The evening was growing old as Mr Delton sat facing Salis in his study, nursing his knee, and calmly watching the curate smoking his one per diem cigar.

“No,” said the old man, smiling; “I rarely smoke now; but North was right; it is good for you. I don’t mind a bit. Pray go on.”

So Salis smoked and sat talking with the tea-things on the table.

Leo had begged to be excused. The excitement had upset her, she said, and she was in her room, where Dally had taken her up some tea, and paused for some moments on the landing, in the dark, to set the saucer down upon the large window sill, and as she bent over the tray a faint gurgling sound was heard, and click as of glass against glass.

The doctor had been in twice to see North, who was sleeping heavily, with Mary and the old housekeeper seated by him, the lamp being shaded and placed where the light could not trouble the patient; and, after a stormy day, all seemed to have settled down to calm repose.

“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “it is not the first time that Nature has performed a miracle of this kind. Your sister’s nervous excitement did what we doctors were unable to perform—triumphed over the inert muscles. They obeyed; the latent force was set in action, and she rose from her couch to go to her poor friend’s help—in time to save him from a very terrible fate, whether that fate was the private asylum, or that which he had evidently in mind. Poor fellow! I wish I had seen him sooner. No; it is better as it is, and he will say so when we have him once more himself.”

“Then you really do feel hopeful?”

“My dear Mr Salis,” said the old man, “if I am not wrong in my ideas, that sweet-faced lady in the next room will slowly and patiently repay our poor friend for unknowingly restoring her to a life of activity. She will bring him back to calm reason.”

“You think this?” said Salis hoarsely.

“Indeed I do. His long and lucid statement to me shows that in every point but one he was as sane as you or I. He had one little crotchet, due to the overstrain, and that will, I feel sure, with a little help, soon disappear. Mr Salis, take my word for it, you may be perfectly at rest.”

“Good heavens!” cried Salis, springing to his feet, for at that moment a wild shriek resounded through the house, followed by a heavy fall in the room above.

Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Two.

Missing the Mail Train.

Ten o’clock had just struck, and the old tower was still vibrating, when Dally Watlock’s bedroom door was softly opened, and the little lady, clad in her tightly-fitting jacket and natty hat, came softly out, to stand upon the landing listening.

The lamp was burning on the hall table, and it sent up a faint yellow glow which shone strangely upon the girl’s face, as she stood listening to the murmur of voices proceeding from the curate’s study, and she could just make out a faint line of light coming from beneath the drawing-room door.

Dally went slowly and softly across the landing till she reached Leo’s door, where she paused to listen; but all was perfectly still, and stealing one gloved hand to the latch, she tried the door cautiously, but it did not yield, and though she tapped twice there was no response.

Dally drew her breath softly between her teeth, and uttered a low, vicious little laugh.

“Good night, dear,” she said softly; “it’ll be ten o’clock to-morrow when you wake, and then—we shall see!”

One of the stairs gave a loud warning creak as she stopped, bag in hand, holding on by the balustrade, and ready, rat-like, to dart back to her room should any one open the study door.

But the murmur of voices still went on, and Dally stole down the rest of the way to reach the hall, creep softly to a swing-door, and pass through into the neatly-kept kitchen, where a fire still glowed and a kettle sang its own particular song.

Dally closed the kitchen door after her, darted across the broad patch of warm light cast by the fire into the darkness of a scullery beyond, and closed a door after her to stand thinking.

“Craven Street, Strand,” she muttered. “Ten miles to King’s Hampton. Ten o’clock to half-past one; I can do it easy, and at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, my dear, we shall see!”

She said these words with a vicious little hiss, and the next minute two well-oiled bolts were shot, the key was turned, the door opened with a sharp crack, and then there was a rustle as Dally passed through, closed the door with a light click of the latch, and stood in the semi-darkness of a soft starlight night.

Drawing a long breath, as if to get a reserve of force, the girl stepped quickly along the path leading round to the front, passing as soon as she could on to the closely-cut lawn, and over it to the gate.

She had nearly reached it, bag in one hand and umbrella in the other, when she turned quickly round to see that she was not observed by any one in the curate’s study; and as she did so she plumped up against something hard and yet soft.

“Oh!” she involuntarily ejaculated, and she started back, as that which she had thumped against took a step forward, and she found that she was face to face with Joe Chegg.

“Where are you going?” he said sourly.

Dally was too much startled for a moment to speak. Then, recovering herself, she said shortly:

“What’s that to you?”

“Heverything,” replied Joe, in a low growl. “Parson said I was to look out about the place; and I’m a-looking. Where are you going?”

Dally drew her breath with a hiss. It was maddening to be stopped at a time like this, when every minute was of importance; and the mail train was always punctual at King’s Hampton at half-past one.

“D’yer hear?” said Joe. “Well, if you won’t answer me, come on to parson, and tell him.”

“No, no, Joe Chegg; don’t stop me, please,” she said softly. “Gran’fa’s ill, and I’m going to take him something.”

“At quarter arter ten, eh? No, you arn’t. Old Moredock went to bed at half-past eight, for I run down and looked in at his windy ’fore he drawed the blind. Yes, I run down and see.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” cried Dally. “How dare you stop me?”

“Parson said I was to look out.”

“Master didn’t tell you to stop me, you great stupid. Let me go by.”

“Nay, I shan’t,” said Joe. “You’re off on larks, and he arn’t here now.”

“Who isn’t here?” cried Dally.

“You know. He’s gone to London, where he’d better stop.”

Daily’s wrath hissed again, and she was about to say something angrily, but she dreaded a scene, and tried the other tack.

“Now, don’t be foolish, there’s a dear, good man,” she said softly. “I just want to go a little way.”

“Wi’ an umbrella and a bag, eh?” said Joe. “Parson Salis don’t know you’re off out, I know.”

“What nonsense, Joe!”

“Don’t you Joe me, ma’am; my name’s Mr Chegg, and you wouldn’t whisper and carny and be civil if you weren’t up to some games.”

“Oh, what a foolish man you are, Joe Chegg!”

“Oh, I am, arn’t I?” said Joe. “Always going up to the Hall of a night, eh? Gets out o’ my bedroom windy, and steals off to meet squires in vestry rooms, I do, don’t I?”

“Joe Chegg!”

“And carries on as no decent female would wi’ my missus’s young man.”

“Joe Chegg! Oh, please let me go by,” whispered Dally. “I want to go somewhere particular.”

“Then want’ll be your master, for you’re not going without parson says you are to. Come on and ask him.”

Joe caught her by the wrist, but she wrested it away, and nearly got through the gate, but he was too quick for her.

“That shows as you’re up to no good,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t fight against seeing your master if you weren’t off on the sly at half arter ten.”

“Half-past ten!” cried Dally. “It isn’t.”

At that moment the chimes ran out the half-hour, and Dally drew her breath hard, and made a desperate effort to pass; but this time Joe caught her round the waist and held her, avoiding a scratched face from the fact that the girl’s hands were gloved.

“How dare you?” she panted, ready to cry hysterically from vexation.

“I dare ’cause I’m told, and I don’t believe I did right in letting Miss Leo go.”

“What?”

Dally suddenly grew limp and ceased to struggle.

“I said I didn’t think I did right in letting Miss Leo go, but I didn’t like to stop her.”

“Miss Leo?” panted Dally. “When?”

“Hour and half ago.”

“It’s a story. She’s fast asleep in bed.”

“Where you ought to be,” said Joe. “So back you go.”

“It’s a story, I say,” panted Dally. “Miss Leo hasn’t been out of her room to-night.”

“Miss Leo went out of this here gate hour and half ago, just as I come back from your gran’father’s, and she arn’t come back.”

“Oh!”

Dally uttered a low, hoarse cry, and turning sharply round ran swiftly back to the place from which she had come, closely followed by Joe, in whose face the door was closed and the bolt slipped.

In another minute Dally had reached the landing, and was listening at Leo’s door, which she tried again.

All was still, and, her breath coming and going as if she were suppressing hysterical sobs, the girl ran into her bedroom, locked the door, threw bag, umbrella, hat and jacket on the bed, opened the window, crept out with wonderful activity, rolled down the sloping roof, dropped to the ground, and ran over the lawn to the summer-house.

Leo Salis had scaled that rustic edifice many a time with great agility, but her skill was poor in comparison with that of the sexton’s grandchild. In a few moments she was on the roof, and reaching up to Leo’s window, the casement yielding to her touch.

She uttered a low sob of rage and doubt now, as, without hesitation, she clambered in to run to the bed, and pass her hands over it.

Tenantless; and the cup of tea, heavily drugged with a solution of chloral, stood where it had been placed, untouched, upon the table.

Even then the girl was not convinced. She would not believe in the ill success of her plans, and that the handsome woman she despised was as keen of wit as herself.

She darted to the wardrobe.

Leo’s jacket was gone!

To another part of the room.

The hat she wore was missing!

Then for a moment the girl stood as if dumbfounded, as the thoughts crushed down upon her that even if she started now, and could get away, she would be too late to catch the London mail. Worse still: Leo must have caught the last up-train at twelve, and long before she could reach the great city, would have joined Tom Candlish at the place he had named in the note Dally herself had borne; and, though she had planned so well, her chances of being Lady Candlish were for ever gone.

She ground her teeth together and panted hoarsely, hardly able to breathe for the sobs which struggled for utterance.

“It isn’t true. It’s a trick!” she cried at last. “I won’t believe it! I’ll go and be there first, and then—

“Oh! what shall I do—what shall I do?” she cried hoarsely; and then, uttering a wild and passionate shriek of misery and despair, she threw herself heavily upon the floor, to tear at the carpet, like some savage creature, with tooth and nail.

Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Three.

Dally’s Hysterics.

Salis ran out into the hall, followed by the doctor, to meet Mary and the housekeeper from the other side.

“North?” gasped Salis; he could say no more.

“Sleeping peacefully,” said the housekeeper; “what is the matter?” For Mary could not speak.

“Leo must be ill,” said Salis, rushing up the stairs to his sister’s room.

“Leo! Leo!” he cried, rattling the door-handle.

For answer there was a moaning, almost inhuman, sound.

“Can you open the door?” said the old doctor, who had followed him. “It must be a fit.”

“Stand back,” cried Salis; and going to the other side of the broad landing, he rushed forward, literally hurling himself at the door, which flew open with a crash.

The light carried by Mary streamed into the room, and lit up the figure grovelling upon the carpet.

In an instant Salis was down upon one knee, and had raised her upon his arm.

“Dally!” he cried wonderingly, as the girl writhed and fought and moaned in his arms. The doctor glanced at the hysterical girl. “Light here,” he said sternly; and as Mary wonderingly bore forward the lamp, the old man lifted the tea-cup, upon which his eyes had instantly lit, smelled, and then cautiously tasted it. He shook his head. “Is she poisoned?” gasped Salis. “No,” said the old doctor promptly. “The lamp a little nearer, please.”

Mary held it towards him, and the old man bent down over Dally and made a rapid examination; no easy task, for she was throwing herself about wildly, and one hand struck the lamp shade and tore it away.

“That will do,” said the doctor in stern, hard tones. “Here: have you another servant? Get her to bed at once.”

As he spoke he seized Dally’s wrist, and gave it a jerk.

“Get up!” he said harshly.

“What a shame!” murmured Mrs Milt indignantly.

“Of this girl to make such a disturbance?” said the old doctor, who had caught her words. “Yes, disgraceful, when there is so much trouble. That’s right; get up. Not your room, I suppose?”

To the surprise of all, Dally had risen, and stood with her hands clenched, looking wildly from one to the other.

“Can you walk to your room, Dally?” said Mary.

The girl nodded sharply, then looked around wildly, and the full force of her trouble coming back, she burst into a passion of tears.

“But where is Leo?” cried Salis. “Where is my sister?”

He darted to the open window and looked out.

“Want me, sir?” said a voice.

“You there, Chegg? How’s that?”

“You telled me to watch, sir.”

“Have you seen any one pass?”

“Only Miss Leo, sir,” replied the man.

Salis turned from the window, looking as if stunned.

“Gone!” he said wonderingly.

“Yes,” cried Dally, mingling her words with sobs of rage and spite. “She’s gone off with Tom Candlish.”

“And you—you wretch—you have helped her,” cried Salis, seizing the girl by the arm.

“I didn’t. It isn’t true. I’ve done everything to keep ’em apart; but they’ve cheated and deceived me,” cried Dally. “She’s gone up to London to meet him—and—and they’ve gone there.”

She tore an envelope from her pocket, and Salis snatched it from her hand to read the address in Craven Street.

“Hartley,” whispered Mary, clinging to him now, “is it true?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “it must be true. Hush! I must leave you now. Mr Delton, will you stay in the house, and watch over my sister and my friend? I must go away at once.”

“There’s no train till to-morrow morning at eight,” sobbed Dally passionately; and she stamped her feet like an angry child as her hysterical fit began to return.

“That will do!” said the old doctor sternly, as he grasped the girl’s wrist once more, and she looked up at him in a startled way, and then quailed and subsided into a fit of sobbing.

“Anything I can do, Mr Salis, you may depend on being done.”

Salis nodded; he could not speak for a moment, but gazed full in his sister’s eyes.

“Did you suspect this?” he whispered.

“Oh, no, Hartley,” she replied.

“No; you could not have suspected.”

He drew a long breath, and seemed to be making an effort to check his agony of spirit, and to be forcing himself to act firmly.

“Chegg,” he cried from the window, “go round to the front door. I’ll meet you there. Mrs Milt,” he said, closing the window, “will you be good enough to see this girl to her room? Stay with her for the present. Mary, poor North is alone,” he added; “go down.”

“And you, Hartley?”

“I’ll follow directly,” he said; and as soon as the room was cleared, he turned to the old doctor.

“You tasted that tea,” he said sharply.

“Yes; strongly flavoured with chloral,” he said.

“Chloral? How could that have got into the tea? And the girl’s fit? Not epilepsy?”

“Hysteria. Rage and disappointment,” said the old doctor. “So it seems to me. There is more beneath the surface than appears. Mr Salis, what can I do to help you?”

“Give me your prayers and ask me nothing,” he replied sadly. “There is more beneath the surface, sir.”

“I will respect your silence,” said the old man, taking his hand. “You are Horace North’s friend, sir, and that is sufficient for me. You are going to town?”

Salis nodded.

“My house is at your disposal,” said the doctor, and he handed Salis his card.

At five o’clock, after due arrangements had been made, Joe Chegg was at the door with a chaise, ready to drive Salis over to the station at King’s Hampton; but, long before that, Dally had begged Mrs Milt to “fetch Miss Mary,” to whom the half-wild, sobbing girl had made a clean breast, of all she knew, and this had been communicated to the curate.

“I need not fear leaving North—I mean on my sister’s behalf?” said Salis, as he stood by the chaise.

“Trust to me, my dear sir, and go without fear.”

Salis climbed into the chaise, and, with his head bent, was driven off through the chilly morning air in search of the fugitive who had nine hours’ start; and as he recalled this he muttered: “I am too late!”

Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Four.

Out of the Shadow.

Hartley Salis found that his words were correct.

He was too late!

He learned that “a gentleman,” as the people at the hotel called him, had been staying at the hotel, that a lady, evidently Leo, had come in by the early train, and that they had gone.

“Heaven only knows where, Mary, dear,” said Salis a week later, as he lay upon the couch, utterly worn out with his efforts to trace the fugitives. “I am broken down. Thank God, dear, I am once more at home. And you?”

“My dearest brother,” she said tenderly, as she knelt beside him and laid her hand upon his burning brow.

“Ah, that’s cool and pleasant,” he sighed, with his eyes closed. “Tell me about North—more than your letters said.”

“He is better—much better,” said Mary, with an eagerness she made no attempt to conceal.

“Yes,” said Salis wearily; “so Mr Delton said.”

“Yes; so Mr Delton said, and he also said, my dear sir, that you too must have rest; your sister, recovering from her own illness, cannot afford to have two invalids on her hands.”

Salis looked up, and held out his hand to the old doctor, who had uttered the words softly, as doctors do: “You have hardly had a good night’s rest since you left.”

“I have not been to bed,” said Salis simply. “There, I will try and sleep now.”

The doctor made Mary a sign, and she drew back as Salis closed his eyes, and the breakfast which had been prepared as he drove in that morning from King’s Hampton after travelling all night remained untasted.

That was at seven o’clock, and it was seven at night when he awoke to look sharply round, and see Mary at the head of the couch.

“I—where am—? Have I been asleep?”

“Yes,” said Mary softly.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, springing up. “I have done all I could, Mary,” he said almost appealingly. “I think they are married. It’s a proud thing for us, dear, to have a lady of title for sister,” he added bitterly, as he took Mary to his heart, and she felt it throbbing with his emotion.

“There,” he said, after a few minutes’ struggle, “now for other duties. I still have you.”

The pressure of Mary’s hand spoke more than words, and the poor fellow sat at last, feeling that, after all, there were great compensations in life.

The sight of a well-dressed visitor coming up to the house interrupted their quiet communion, just as they had felt that no more could be done respecting Leo, after Salis had been placed au courant with the state of affairs at the Rectory. Among others that Dally had been to and fro several times to see her grandfather, but had settled down to her work as of old.

In fact that young lady entered the room directly after the ringing of the gate bell, to state that Mrs Berens was in the drawing-room, and wanted to see master “partickler.”

“I will see her for you, Hartley,” said Mary.

“No,” replied Salis firmly; “I want work to keep my brain quiet, or I shall be ill. Show her in here, Dally.”

“No, no, I will fetch her,” said Mary, smiling at her brother’s want of etiquette.

She left the room to return directly.

“Come and see her, Hartley,” she said. “Poor woman, she is in sad trouble.”

“Hah! I am glad,” cried Salis. “Something to think about. The best medicine for me.”

“Oh, Mr Salis, what shall I do? What you have so often said!” sobbed Mrs Berens, as he entered the room, and she clung to his extended hand.

“What I have so often said?”

“Yes; about riches. I’m a poor, helpless woman now. All gone—all gone!”

It was a long story about how she had allowed herself to be influenced by Cousin Thompson, whom she had permitted to make investment after investment till he seemed to have got the whole of the widow’s money into his hands.

“And all went so well till that day when I offended him, dear Mr Salis. Since then I have had nothing but bad news about my property, and now I can get no answers from him at all.”

“A scoundrel!” cried Salis; “but what day do you mean?”

“That day when—must I tell you everything?”

“If you wish for my help,” said Salis sharply.

“I do, Mr Salis; but pray don’t speak angrily to me. I am so broken and unhappy now.”

“My dear madam, I want to help you. Pray tell me all.”

“He came down to me one day—I have the date somewhere—and he proposed to me. I refused him at once, for I quite disliked the man, and he went away my enemy, I’m sure, and when I heard of his conduct towards his cousin, I felt that I had had a narrow escape from a perfect fiend. And now, Mr Salis, what shall I do?”

“The dog!” ejaculated Salis. “I’m longing for occupation; leave it to me, Mrs Berens. I’ve been seeing a friend—my solicitor—in town about North’s affair with his cousin; we’ll work the two together, and if Mr Thompson does not mind, he’ll find himself in a strange fix.”

Cousin Thompson did find himself in a strange fix, and what with threats of proceedings against him for conspiracy and fraud, he was very glad to compound matters in a way which restored two-thirds of her comfortable little fortune to Mrs Berens.

What time these proceedings were going on, North was gradually improving under Mr Delton’s care, though the old gentleman laughed, and said that the improvement was not due to him.

Certainly it was the case that when North had his often-recurring fits of imagination, when he was fully convinced that the essence of Luke Candlish was with him still, and he turned wild with horror, the touch of Mary Salis’ soft, cool hand laid across his eyes, where he held it as a talisman, invariably exorcised the fancied spirit, and the ghost was laid.

From recurring daily and with terrible force, the fits came at last weekly, and then a month passed before one came, and that was slight.

Then more and more feeble, and then they came no more.

There could only be one result to such intercourse as this. Horace North gradually awakened to the fact that he had been blind as well as partly demented; but a year had elapsed before one day Salis and Mrs Berens entered the Rectory drawing-room to find Mary sobbing gently on the young doctor’s breast, and heard her say:

“I always loved you from the first.”

“Ah, Salis, you here?” said North, rising without a shade of discomposure on his face. “Mens sana in corpore sano, old fellow. I have been asking dear Mary if she will be my wife.”

“My dear Horace,” cried Salis, his face flushing with pleasure, “Heaven bless you both! I am glad: but—er—the fact is, I have been betrayed into asking Mrs Berens—er—to—”

“Dear, dear Mary!” sobbed the homely, simple-hearted woman; “don’t, don’t be angry with me. I do love him so.”

Another year had passed, but there had been nothing definite heard about Leo.

Then came a black-bordered envelope, with the direction in her hand, asking her brother to help her, for she was in terrible straits in London with her child. There was plenty of money to be had, she said, but everything was in confusion, and the agent of Sir Thomas Candlish refused to acknowledge her as the late baronet’s wife.

But the energy of Hartley Salis soon set this right.

For old Moredock’s notion had proved to be correct. Tom Candlish had literally drunk himself to death, and the old man, who had been giving Horace North a good deal of trouble lately, and who was exceedingly fractious and jealous of his grandchild’s young husband, his deputy at the church, suddenly perked up on hearing that “young Squire Tom” was to be brought down from London to the family mausoleum.

There was a grand funeral, and the old man, helped by Joe Chegg, got through his part of the business with a good deal of his old energy.

All was over, and Horace North, who had been one of the mourners, as brother-in-law of Lady Candlish of the Hall, was about to turn away, with his mind strongly exercised by the scene, and the recollections it evoked, when he started, for he felt his sleeve plucked.

He turned sharply round to find himself alone, gazing at the old sexton, as he gave him one of his ghoulish grins—more hideous than ever.

“Now, gran’fa,” said a quick voice, and a rosy little woman, who had evidently been crying, took his arm, “you’re tired out, and must come home. Joe will finish what’s to be done.”

“Go ’way! go ’way!” cried the old man angrily.

“No, no, dear; don’t worrit Dr North now. He’ll come and see you another time.”

“Go ’way! go ’way!” cried the old man again; and then, laying his hideous, gnarled hand upon the doctor’s arm: “Don’t want to try no more ’speriments, do you, doctor, eh?”

North looked at him wildly, and could hardly keep back a shudder.

“No, no, Moredock,” he said, recovering himself.

“But you’ll come and see me to-morrow, doctor, won’t you?”

North nodded, and walked away to Salis, who was waiting for him at the vestry door, and they entered one of the carriages to return to the Hall, while, after watching them go, the old man seated himself upon the mausoleum steps, where he could watch while his new grandson and deputy finished his duty, and the great door was closed.

“Too terrible to attempt,” muttered North to himself. “A narrow escape from a living death, but I still think that I was right.”

“Ay, Joe; ay, Dally; doctor’s a clever man, and I could tell you some strange tales about he; but no, no; no, no! Lock that gate quickly, and help me home. I’m a little stiff about the back. Lock him up, lad! lock him up! Now, Dally, let’s get back. Another Candlish there; eh! my lady, eh!”

“Gran’fa!” cried Dally furiously; and the old man broke out into a chuckling laugh, which nearly killed him, and he had to sit down on a tomb and be patted on the back, and his collar loosened, and then helped slowly home, looking very limp and strange, though with the doctor’s help he managed to survive another year.

The night of the funeral, when the doctor and his young wife returned from the Hall, where the handsome young widow sat alone with her weak, sickly child, North had a return of his imaginative malady; but Mary’s hand was talismanic still, and the shadow passed away, never to return.

The End.

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Volume 2 Chapter 1

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Volume 2 Chapter 2

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Volume 2 Chapter 3

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Volume 2 Chapter 4

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Volume 2 Chapter 5

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Volume 2 Chapter 6

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Volume 2 Chapter 7

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Volume 2 Chapter 8

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Volume 2 Chapter 9

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Volume 2 Chapter 10

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Volume 2 Chapter 11

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Volume 2 Chapter 12

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Volume 2 Chapter 13

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Volume 2 Chapter 14

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Volume 2 Chapter 15

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Volume 2 Chapter 16

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Volume 2 Chapter 17

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Volume 2 Chapter 18

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Volume 2 Chapter 19

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Volume 2 Chapter 20

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Volume 2 Chapter 21

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Volume 2 Chapter 22

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Volume 2 Chapter 23

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Volume 3 Chapter 1

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Volume 3 Chapter 2

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Volume 3 Chapter 3

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Volume 3 Chapter 4

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Volume 3 Chapter 5

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Volume 3 Chapter 6

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Volume 3 Chapter 7

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Volume 3 Chapter 8

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Volume 3 Chapter 9

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Volume 3 Chapter 10

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Volume 3 Chapter 11

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Volume 3 Chapter 12

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Volume 3 Chapter 13

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Volume 3 Chapter 14

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Volume 3 Chapter 15

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Volume 3 Chapter 16

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Volume 3 Chapter 17

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Volume 3 Chapter 18

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Volume 3 Chapter 19

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Volume 3 Chapter 20

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Volume 3 Chapter 21

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Volume 3 Chapter 22

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Volume 3 Chapter 23

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Volume 3 Chapter 24

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