THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF 
 NORTH CAROLINIANA 
 
 C813 
 R35r 
 
FOR USE ONLY IN 
 THE NORTH CAROLINA COLLECTION 
 
 ■':. A -368 
 
ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 By CHRISTIAN REID, 
 
 AUTHOR OF U A GENTLE BELLE," " MORTON HOUSE," " VALERIE AYLMER," 
 
 u nina's atonement," etc., etc. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1, 3, and 5 BOND STREET. 
 
 1885. 
 
COPYBIGHT, 18S5, 
 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 CUAPTEB 
 
 I. — Geoffrey 
 
 II. — In the Moonlight . 
 III. — " Come ye in Peace here, or come ye 
 
 IV. — Confidences 
 
 V. — Among the Flowers . 
 VI. — The Comedy progresses 
 VII. — "Under the Greenwood-Tree" . 
 VIII. — " On the same Spot " . 
 IX. — A Warning — and its Result 
 X. — Geoffrey forms a Resolution . 
 XI. — " Honor before all Things " 
 XII. — Mr. Stanley amuses Himself 
 XIII. — Taking Counsel .... 
 XIV. — Roslyn decides .... 
 XV. — Colonel Duncan makes a Mistake 
 XVI. — Geoffrey's Good Offices . 
 XVII. — Midsummer-Night's Dream . 
 XVIII. — "Our Doubts are Traitors" 
 XIX.— "The Sign of Despair" . 
 XX. — Colonel Duncan's Accident 
 
 IN 
 
 War 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 5 
 
 . 20 
 
 . 30 
 
 . 39 
 
 . 45 
 
 . 62 
 
 . 11 
 
 . 81 
 
 . 90 
 
 . 101 
 
 . 108 
 
 . 117 
 
 . 125 
 
 . 135 
 
 . 145 
 
 . 150 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 166 
 
 . m 
 
 . 183 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXI. — " Here in one Line is his Name writ " 
 
 XXII. — "He will come" 
 XXIII. — A Willful Man 
 XXIV. — " When we two parted " 
 
 XXV. — Mrs. Arden makes a Suggestion 
 
 XXVI. — PiOSLYN CONSENTS 
 
 XXVII. — Weighed in the Balance 
 XXVIII. — Geoffrey gives his Opinion 
 XXIX. — The End of Suspense 
 XXX. — An Anticlimax .... 
 XXXI. — Geoffrey gives a. Hint . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 192 
 . 203 
 . 211 
 . 220 
 . 225 
 . 237 
 . 249 
 . 259 
 . 268 
 . 276 
 . 282 
 
ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 A pleasant, old-fashioned Southern country-house, 
 embowered in trees and standing amid wide gardens and 
 grassy meadows, an air of serene comfort overspreading 
 the whole, in the long, golden light of a summer after- 
 noon, is the familiar picture which rises before the eyes 
 of a young man, who at four o'clock walks up to the gate 
 of the Yardray place, a mile or so out of the town of 
 Xirton. 
 
 He is tired, and warm, and dusty, yet he smiles as his 
 glance roves over the placid scene before him. How well 
 he knows every gable of the house, every bough of the 
 trees, every turn of the paths ! How quiet the whole 
 place is ! But that is natural enough, since what sensible 
 creature would be awake at four o'clock on a blistering 
 July afternoon ? There is certainly no place like home, 
 he thinks, especially when it holds the girl you love best 
 in all the world, and when the brightest of memories 
 cluster round its hearth-stone. It is only such memories 
 that this house holds for Geoffrey Thome, although it is 
 the home of his step-father — a relation seldom held in high 
 esteem by the youthful mind. But, kind and gentle to 
 
6 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 all who come under his influence or authority, Mr. Yar- 
 dray was not likely to fail in kindness to the son of his 
 wife, particularly since Geoffrey was in himself a person 
 likeable in the extreme. The boy had been only twelve 
 or thirteen at the time of his mother's marriage to Mr. 
 Yard ray — himself a widower with one child, a girl three 
 or four years younger than Geoffrey ; arid hence he had 
 readily taken root in the home thus made for him, had 
 looked forward with keen delight to spending his vaca- 
 tion there, and had been, from that day to the present, 
 the willing slave of petty, imperious, spoiled Roslyn. 
 Now he has left college, the world is all before him where 
 to choose, and he has come home with the definite deter- 
 mination to win from the companion and tormentor of 
 his youthful days a promise to be his, when he shall 
 have conquered fortune — a trifling preliminary, which at 
 twenty-one seems hardly worth considering. 
 
 Up the avenue, under the branching elms, he walks, 
 and ascending a flight of steps stands on the veranda 
 which encircles the house. AH is stillness save a sound 
 more expressive of somnolence than even stillness — a 
 long-drawn snore. Geoffrey walks to an angle of the 
 building and looks round on the picture which he ex- 
 pected — a gently swinging hammock, within which re- 
 clines the slumbering figure of Mr. Yard ray, strewn with 
 the newspapers over which he has fallen asleep. The 
 young man does not disturb him, but, entering the house 
 by a conveniently open window, stands in the sitting- 
 room, filled with signs of household- work — his mother's 
 work-table, the children's toys, and a very straggling 
 bundle of scarlet crochet- work, that he at once identifies 
 as Roslyn's. "I don't believe it has advanced any since 
 Christmas ! " he thinks ; and then, while he is mentally 
 
GEOFFREY. 7 
 
 debating whether he shall attempt to rouse any one in 
 the house, there is a rustle of a dress in the hall, and a 
 lady enters, who utters a cry of surprise and delight at 
 seeing him. 
 
 " Geoff ! my dearest boy ! Why, where do you come 
 from ? " she cries. " We did not expect you until to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Got off a day earlier than I expected, mamma, and 
 so just came along," he answers, gayly, not merely submit- 
 ting to her embrace, as is the custom of Anglo-Saxon 
 men, but heartily returning it. "It is delightful to be 
 back ! — and how is everybody \ " 
 
 "Everybody is very well. I can not see how you 
 look, you are so sunburned and dusty ; did you walk out 
 from Kirton ? I am so sorry ! Mr. Yardray wanted to 
 send in on the chance that you might come, but I did not 
 think it at all possible." 
 
 " There was no need — the walk did not matter. I am 
 a capital pedestrian, you know. Where is Roslyn — 
 asleep ? " 
 
 "Of course. I suppose I am the only person in the 
 house who is not asleep, and it must have been some in- 
 stinct of your coming which kept me awake. Tell me all 
 about your visit to your uncle — how was it that he let 
 you off sooner than you expected ? " 
 
 " Oh, he took indigestion so badly that the doctors 
 sent him to the springs for sulphur- water. I could have 
 shouted when I heard it, for I knew it meant freedom 
 for me, and I was most awfully tired of Heath dale by 
 that time. If the capricious old fellow should ever leave 
 it to me, it would be a glorious place in which to live ; 
 but I have often been driven to wonder whether any 
 possible pleasure to be derived from it some day could 
 
8 ROSLYN' 8 FORTUNE. 
 
 compensate for the acute boredom I have suffered 
 there." 
 
 " For shame ! " says Mrs. Vardray. " I am sure your 
 uncle has always been very kind to you, and it should 
 not be very acute boredom to spend one month out of 
 twelve with him." 
 
 " By Jove, but it is — when I think of you and Roslyn 
 here!" 
 
 " It is kind of you to put me first," says Mrs. Yardray, 
 with a smile. " But, my boy, I am afraid you think too 
 much of Roslyn." 
 
 " Why too much ? " asks Geoffrey, shortly. " A man 
 can't think too much of the girl he hopes to make his wife, 
 can he ? " 
 
 Mrs. Yardray shakes her head. 
 
 " That is just what I mean," she says. " You are too 
 young to be thinking of a wife at all — and very unwise to 
 be thinking of Roslyn, who looks upon you as a mere boy." 
 
 " Indeed ! Whom does she consider a man, then ? — 
 old Colonel Duncan ? " 
 
 " Colonel Duncan is not old — except in the opinion of 
 twenty-one. He is in the prime of life, and Roslyn likes 
 him, I think, very well." 
 
 " Roslyn likes everybody ; the question is, does she 
 show any signs of loving him ? " 
 
 " How can I tell % A girl like Roslyn is not easy to 
 read. Her head is more full of amusing herself than of 
 anything else now." 
 
 " A very good proof that it is not full of Colonel 
 Duncan," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. " Now, mamma, be- 
 ing warm and dusty and a trifle tired, I think I will go 
 and make a toilet." 
 
 " I ought to have thought of that before," says Mrs. 
 
GEOFFREY. 9 
 
 Yardray, with compunction. " You will find your room 
 ready." 
 
 With eyes full of pride and fondness, she watches the 
 tall, handsome young fellow as he goes out. " I wish he 
 did not think so much of Roslyn," she repeats to herself 
 as he disappears, and she listens to his bounding step go 
 lightly up-stairs. "But then if his heart is really set on 
 her, there is no use in trying to make him wise." 
 
 She rises and moves across the floor — a slender, grace- 
 ful woman with traces of past beauty on her face — and 
 goes out on the veranda, where she comes upon the slum- 
 bering occupant of the hammock. That the sleep of the 
 latter is less profound than it was, is evidenced by the 
 fact that he has ceased to snore, and as Mrs. Yardray 
 draws near he opens his eyes. 
 
 " Confoundedly hot ! " he says. " And the flies " — 
 striking viciously at them with a paper — " torment one so 
 that it is hardly possible to sleep ! Why are you wan- 
 dering about, Ellen, at this time of the afternoon ? " 
 
 " Geoffrey has come," she answers, in a tone which 
 indicates that this would explain the most erratic con- 
 duct. " Something kept me from sleeping, so I dressed 
 and came down to the sitting-room, and there I found the 
 dear boy." 
 
 "Indeed! What brought him earlier than he ex- 
 pected ? " 
 
 " His uncle left Heathdale earlier than he expected ; 
 so Geoff came without delay. He was so eager for the 
 pleasure of being at home." 
 
 " The pleasure is not all on his side," says Mr. Yar- 
 dray. " I am glad the boy has come. Where is he ? " 
 
 " Gone to make himself a little presentable ; for, be- 
 sides traveling all day, he walked out from Kirton." 
 
10 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " You see you ought to have let me send ! Well, this 
 is wonderfully warm and drowsy weather, so I think I 
 will go to sleep again, and, when it grows cooler, I will 
 rouse up and make myself j>resentable." 
 
 This resolution he promptly proceeds to execute, and 
 Mrs. Yardray, thus left without any one to whom she 
 can talk of Geoffrey, has no resource but to retire to a 
 shady corner of the veranda, and think of him. 
 
 While she is sitting, her work-basket by her side, her 
 needle traveling back and forth over a bit of needle- 
 work, she chances to look up and see a small figure, 
 clad in white and crowned by a large shade-hat, coming 
 across the lawn. Her first impulse is one of slight an- 
 noyance, her next to check herself, and smile pleasantly, 
 as the new-comer — a delicate, demure maiden, whose 
 child-like appearance is somehow compatible with the 
 fact that she is not a child — ascends the steps and comes 
 toward her. 
 
 " Good-evening, Mrs. Yardray," she says, in a voice 
 as delicate and demure as her appearance. 
 
 " Good-evening, Lettice, my dear," replies Mrs. Yar- 
 dray. " Did you not find it very warm walking over ? " 
 
 " Not very — I came through the woods, and there it 
 is shady. Is Roslyn not down yet ? " 
 
 " Not yet — Roslyn's siesta is generally of long dura- 
 tion, you know. You can go and wake her if you like, 
 and tell her that Geoffrey is here." 
 
 " Geoffrey ! — has he come ? " says the girl with a start, 
 her eyes opening, her cheeks flushing slightly. 
 
 " Yes, quite unexpectedly, an hour or two ago." 
 
 " What a surprise it will be for Roslyn ! " says Lettice, 
 in her soft, demure voice. " I must go and tell her." 
 
 She flies lightly away, enters the wide, airy hall, and 
 
GEOFFREY. 11 
 
 passes up the broad staircase — at the head of which she 
 comes face to face with Geoffrey himself, who, freshly at- 
 tired, has issued from his room and is about to descend. 
 
 " Why, Lettice, is it you ? " he says, cordially putting 
 out his hand. " How glad I am to see you again ! " 
 
 u And how glad I am to see you back ! " says Lettice, 
 glancing up from under her hat. " Mrs. Yardray was 
 just telling me of your arrival, and I am going to carry 
 the news to Roslyn." 
 
 " Tell her to come down quickly. I want to see — 
 you both, so much. I want to hear all that you have 
 been doing since our frolics last Christmas." 
 
 " We have been vegetating, chiefly," says Lettice. " It 
 will not take long to tell what we have been doing, but 
 you — you ought to have a great deal to tell." 
 
 " Not particularly much. I have really been studying 
 hard, and I had my reward in coming out with pretty 
 fair standing." 
 
 " We heard that, and were so glad." 
 
 " It was nothing to be proud of — I only aimed at the 
 safe medium of respectability. Books are not much in 
 my line— but I must not keep you here ; only, by all 
 means, come down as soon as possible." 
 
 " With Roslyn," says Lettice, smiling— a quiet, in- 
 scrutable little smile — " I understand, and will bring her 
 as soon as I can." 
 
 She gives him no time for reply, but trips past him 
 and knocks at a closed door. A sleepy voice says, " Come 
 in." She opens it and enters. In the half-light made by 
 closed blinds, only dim outlines are apparent, but on the 
 white-draped bed a reclining figure turns drowsily and 
 says : 
 
 " What is it % " 
 
12 EOSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 " It is I," Lettice answers, coming to the side of the 
 bed. " You lazy creature, wake up ! How can you sleep 
 so long ? " 
 
 " Oh, there is no difficulty about it," says Roslyn, 
 opening her eyes. " If I did not sleep a great deal, I 
 should not have so much vigor when I am awake. What 
 are you doing here at this unhallowed hour ? " 
 
 " I don't call six o'clock an unhallowed hour to be 
 anyw T here. I came to see you, and it is charming to be 
 so hospitably received. But rouse yourself — I have some 
 news for you." 
 
 " As if I cared for any news ! Please go away and let 
 me alone." 
 
 " Shall I tell Geoffrey that ? It is not very compli- 
 mentary, when he has just come home, and is dying to 
 see you." 
 
 " Has Geoffrey come ? " asks Roslyn, opening her eyes 
 again, though with not much more animation. 
 
 " He has, and he begged me to bring you down as 
 soon as I possibly could." 
 
 " Dear old Geoff ! " says Eoslyn. " I am glad he has 
 come — but I could have seen him an hour hence as well 
 as now." 
 
 " What cordiality ! " says Lettice, with a slightly mock- 
 ing accent. "But I suppose it is always so — 'one holds 
 the cheek and the other kisses it.' You were born to hold 
 your cheek to be kissed." 
 
 " And was Geoffrey born to kiss it ? " asks Eoslyn, 
 with a smile which ends in a yawn. She rises as she 
 speaks — throwing back with one hand a cloud of loose, 
 dark, half-curling hair, out of which her face looks like 
 a flower. The white lids are still weighed down with 
 sleepiness ; but that shows to advantage the length of the 
 
GEOFFREY. 13 
 
 lashes which fringe them, and, when they lift, not even 
 the influence of the drowsy god can veil the splendor of 
 the eyes — eyes so liquid, so full, so clear, that in their 
 depths dwells a golden light like that of a gem. The 
 skin is of creamy whiteness, with the tint of a pomegran- 
 ate in the flushed cheeks, and the features have that deli- 
 cate piquancy of outline which is perhaps more charming 
 than absolute regularity, while the expression, the regard, 
 as the French say, of the countenance is of sparkling 
 brightness. 
 
 " He seems to think so," Lettice says, in reply to the 
 last words ; " and, after all, he might do worse. It does 
 not harm one to love a little better than one is loved, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " When you say such things as that you always make 
 me feel as if I were so selfish — receiving much and giving 
 little," says Hoslyn. " How can one help it ? I am sure 
 I care for Geoffrey enough ! If I had a dozen brothers, I 
 could not be fonder of them than I am of him ! ' 
 
 " Poor Geoff ! " says Lettice. " I don't think he cares 
 to represent a dozen brothers ; but, like the rest of us, he 
 must take what lie can get, instead of what he wants ! 
 Let him have what he wants just now, however, and that 
 is the sight of you. Do dress, for I promised to bring 
 you down soon ! " 
 
 Thus adjured, and being by this time fully awake, 
 Roslyn proceeds to make a most becoming toilet — misty, 
 corn-colored organdie, a knot of black lace at the throat ; 
 a crimson rose in the dark hair, dainty slippers on the 
 slender feet. Lettice observes and draws her conclu- 
 sions, but makes no comment — being one of those people 
 that observe much and say little. She has had a some- 
 what hard life, poor Lettice, and has learned the wisdom 
 
14 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 of reticence. For all her child-like aspect, it is a very uii- 
 child-like knowledge of life that looks out of her grave, 
 gray eyes ; and a perception of this sometimes makes Mrs. 
 Yardray entertain a vague distrust of her — a feeling for 
 which she takes herself to task, and for which she en- 
 deavors to atone by marked cordiality of manner. " Let- 
 tice sees too much and says too little," she occasionally 
 remarks ; " but then one must excuse a great deal in a girl 
 who has such a father" — for Lettice's father is a man 
 mentioned as seldom as possible to ears polite. He is 
 a graceless adventurer, of good family but scant princi- 
 ple, who persuaded a foolish heiress to marry him, against 
 the advice of all her friends. The latter, finding they 
 could not prevent the marriage, did her the service of 
 settling her fortune on herself ; and so it chances that al- 
 though the Stanleys are always in pecuniary difficulties 
 — the result of dark ways and tricks not vain on the part 
 of the head of the household — they have so far been saved 
 from absolute ruin. 
 
 " Ready at last ? " says Lettice, as Roslyn finally turns 
 from the mirror. " I will take off my hat before going 
 down." 
 
 She steps to the glass and lifts her hat from a small 
 head, covered with pale brown hair — the kind of hair 
 which always lies smooth and silken — and which, not 
 having the least inclination to curl, is cut in the fashion- 
 able fringe across her forehead, a style not unbecoming 
 to her face. She looks at the reflection of herself with a 
 little mocking air of self -contempt. 
 
 " One certainly has no temptation to vanity after 
 watching you, Roslyn," she says. " I wonder if you are 
 a lucky girl to be so pretty ? — I wonder if you will make 
 anything of it ? " 
 
GEOFFREY. 15 
 
 " What odd ideas seem to strike you, Lettice ! " replies 
 Roslyn. "I don't want to make anything of it — it is 
 enough just to be young and happy." 
 
 "But you can't always be young, and it is not likely 
 you'll always be happy," says Lettice. " The question is, 
 what prize in life are you going to win with such a high 
 card as your face % " 
 
 " None at all, very likely," answers the girl, gayly, 
 " and I don't think I care for any. Don't stop to moral- 
 ize. Let us go down." 
 
 She opens the door and goes out, singing as she flits 
 down-stairs, and Geoffrey, hearing the well-known voice, 
 rushes eagerly into the hall and meets her. 
 
 " Geoff, dear Geoff, I am so glad to see you ! " she 
 cries ; while he can say nothing — being struck dumb by 
 the brightness of her beauty, and by his delight in seeing 
 her. 
 
 " It was so nice of you to come when we were not ex- 
 pecting you ! " she goes on. " There is so much pleasure 
 in a surprise ! " 
 
 " There is so much pleasure in being at home even 
 twenty-four hours earlier than one expected," he replies. 
 " O Eoslyn, how pretty you are ! " 
 
 " Geoff, I am grieved to see that you have not im- 
 proved at all in savoir faire — you pay just as broad com- 
 pliments as ever. Shall I return your kindness by saying 
 that you have greatly improved % Is that a mustache you 
 are cultivating ? " 
 
 "I wonder you need to ask. I consider it a very 
 promising one. A condescending barber assured me the 
 other day that it will be very heavy in six months." 
 
 " Why not in six weeks % I detest to wait for any- 
 thing — even for a mustache — to grow." 
 
10 BOSLYWS FORTUNE. 
 
 " Jack's bean-stalk is the only thing that would have 
 satisfied you in the way of growth," says Lettice, coming 
 down the staircase as the first effusion of meeting subsides 
 — after which they go out on the veranda, where Mr. and 
 Mrs. Yardray and the children are assembled. 
 
 Nothing could be more lovely and peaceful than the 
 scene at this hour, for the sun has nearly touched the 
 horizon, and his last level rays are lying on the velvet 
 sward like a mantle of gold. The spreading fields and 
 distant, shadowy woods are full of summer richness and 
 beauty, and the light breeze which is playing among the 
 leaves brings many fragrant odors on its wings. 
 
 " I am glad that you are not too much spoiled by the 
 grandeurs of Heathdale, Geoff, to appreciate our quiet 
 charms," says Mr. Yardray, who in slippered ease is re- 
 clining in a large chair. " I have heard that it is a very 
 fine place." 
 
 " Very fine indeed," says Geoff, " and about as lively 
 as a penitentiary. Uncle James amuses himself taking 
 medicines, you know ; but there's nothing on earth for 
 me to do, and I am sometimes almost driven to thoughts 
 of suicide." 
 
 " Why don't you brace yourself with thoughts of the 
 change you will make when it falls to you ? " says Eos- 
 lyn. " I can tell you we all count wonderfully on the 
 good time coming, when you are master of Heathdale — 
 don't we, imps ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the children in chorus — while Rob, 
 the eldest boy, says, "I think I'll live with you, 
 Geoff." 
 
 " Much obliged," says Geoff. " But, frankly, I don't 
 count on Heathdale at all. Apart from the uncertainty 
 of reckoning on dead men's shoes, my uncle's prospects 
 
GEOFFREY. 17 
 
 for long life are as good as, or better than, mine. Hypo- 
 chondriacs always live long." 
 
 " You are quite right," says ]\Ir. Vardray. " Put 
 Heathdale, and any thought of possessing it, as much as 
 possible out of your mind. Kothing is so ruinous to a 
 young man's prospects of usefulness as to have a possible 
 inheritance dangling just before him. ' Why should I 
 toil, and deny myself pleasure, and lead a laborious life ? ' 
 he thinks ; ' I shall be rich some day.' And so when that 
 day comes — if it comes at all — he has frittered away his 
 life in waiting for it. You must do better than that, my 
 boy. Your uncle, as you have said, may live thirty years 
 longer — and I am sure you would not grudge him one 
 day of it ; while there is no telling what caprice may in- 
 fluence his disposition of his property at the last. Do not, 
 therefore, suffer yourself to build any expectation or hope 
 on it ; act as if Heathdale did not exist, and make your- 
 self independent of any man's last will and testament." 
 
 " Thank you, sir — I will ! " answers Geoffrey, with 
 rising color and kindling glance. " What you say in- 
 dorses my resolution. My uncle wants me to live at 
 Heathdale and attend to his business — which means, have 
 no independent existence at all — and I have told him 
 that I could not do it, that I must adopt a profession and 
 make a place in life for myself." 
 
 There is a moment's pause. Xobody thinks of Lettice, 
 and Lettice's quick eyes travel round the group and take 
 in the different expressions of the countenances — the un- 
 qualified approval on Mr. Yardray's, the struggling dis- 
 appointment on Mrs. Yardray's, the startled surprise on 
 Hoslyn's, the steadfast light on Geoffrey's. Then — 
 
 " You are right," says Mr. Yardray. " Wealth can 
 be bought too dearly, if independence is paid for it." 
 
18 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " But it seems to me that his uncle — his father's only 
 brother — has a right to provide for Geoffrey almost as if 
 he were his father," says Mrs. Yard ray. — "I fear, my 
 dear, you have been rash." 
 
 " My opinion is not worth much," cries Roslyn ; " but 
 I think you have been brave and wise, Geoffrey. Fancy 
 spending your youth giving pills to Mr. Thome ! " 
 
 " Fancy spending it in any capacity subject to another 
 man's control and whims ! ' says Geoffrey. " I w r ould 
 not endure such bondage for a dozeu Heathdales ! — Don't 
 look so grave, mamma. If I am not able to rise on my 
 own merit, I had better sink and be done with it." 
 
 " That is a boy's idea," says Mrs. Yardray. " I hope 
 I am not mercenary ; but certainly — " she looks appeal- 
 ingly at her husband — " Heathdale should be yours ; and, 
 if you refuse to be your uncle's companion, he may find 
 another, and so be influenced to leave the property away 
 from you." 
 
 " So be it," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. " I can bear 
 that prospect a great deal better than the prospect of 
 spending the best part of my life waiting for a man to 
 die. It would simply come to this: I should murder 
 him at last." 
 
 " Geoffrey ! " 
 
 " Sorry to shock you, mamma ; but truth is mighty, 
 and must prevail. There is the tea-bell, and, if ever a 
 hungry mortal was glad of the sound, I am." 
 
 " I should think so, after traveling all day, and walking 
 out from Kirton," says Eoslyn. " You shall have your 
 old seat, and plenty of peaches and cream — are you still 
 so fond of peaches ? " 
 
 They go in laughing to the tea-table, a very happy, 
 merry group. There is generally fun of some descrip- 
 
GEOFFREY. 19 
 
 tion afloat in the household, but the arrival of their elder 
 brother has sent the mercury of the children's spirits up 
 to fever-heat ; and Roslyn is quite ready to aid and abet 
 them. 
 
 Tea over, Geoffrey goes out to smoke a cigar, and, 
 having lighted it, volunteers the information at the sit- 
 ting-room window that there is lovely moonlight. 
 
 " Yes, it is far too lovely to stay in-doors," says Roslyn. 
 " Come, Lettice, let us go out." 
 
 " You and Geoffrey may take me home, if you like," 
 says Lettice. " It is time I were going, and the walk will 
 be pleasant." 
 
 " The walk will be pleasant any time between now 
 and midnight ; there is no need for you to be in haste." 
 
 " No need, as far as you and Geoffrey are concerned ; 
 but, if I wait, somebody may be sent for me, and that is 
 useless." 
 
 Since Iioslyn knows that the somebody in question 
 will be a rude and disagreeable brother, she does not 
 press delay, but only says : 
 
 " We can change all that, now that Geoff has come. 
 Tell them hereafter you need never be sent for ; that you 
 have an escort here." 
 
 Lettice only smiles and gets her hat, kisses Mrs. Yar- 
 dray, says good-night to Mr. Yardray, and announces her- 
 self ready. Iioslyn makes no preparation, beyond gather- 
 ing up the filmy skirt of her dress, and, unheeding dew 
 or night-air, or any other terror of the prudent, steps out 
 into the clear moonlight of the mid-summer night. 
 
20 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 m THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 • 
 
 Attended by the tall young man, whose cigar glows 
 like a fiery eye, the two girls take their way across the 
 lawn and flower-garden to where a gate opens on a path 
 that runs through the woods for half a mile, and emerges 
 at the borders of the Stanley grounds. In daylight it 
 is a lovely walk, and very shaded, as Lettice averred to 
 Mrs. Yardray in the afternoon ; but after dusk has fallen, 
 it is a little awesome — darkness is so deep along this 
 woodland way, and the forest so full of strange sounds, 
 the echo of waters, the murmur of leaves, the multitudi- 
 nous voices of the insect world ! 
 
 " What contemptible creatures girls are ! " says Ros- 
 lyn, meditatively, as the gate closes behind them. " How 
 dreadfully afraid you and I would be to take this walk 
 alone, or with each other, Lettice ; while, with Geoffrey 
 to guard us, we have not a sensation of fear, but are brave 
 as lions ! " 
 
 " I don't call that being contemptible," says Lettice. 
 " Girls are so weak — what could we do if anything fright- 
 ened us ? " 
 
 "We could run — and Geoffrey knows that, when I 
 run, nothing can catch me." 
 
 " I know you are fleet as a deer," says Geoffrey ; " but 
 Lettice is right : girls are too weak to be daring. I won- 
 der that women possess as much courage as they do ; it 
 must be such a demoralizing thing to feel helpless." 
 
 " It is," says Lettice. " I am glad you acknowledge 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 21 
 
 that when we are brave we deserve more credit than men 
 do. I often think that if I had a man's strength I should 
 fear nothing on earth. I once had a pistol, and while it 
 was in my possession I felt that I could defy man or 
 beast." 
 
 " O Lettice ! Why, a good-sized grasshopper could 
 demolish you ! " cries Koslyn, laughing. " Well, I am 
 not so brave ; even if I had a pistol, I fear I should be 
 more likely to injure myself than anything else. And I 
 am glad Geoffrey is with us now." 
 
 " I am glad of that, too," says Lettice, quietly. 
 
 " And I most glad of all," says Geoffrey, heartily. 
 
 " I am not sure that you are most glad," says Roslyn. 
 " I think we all feel that it is good to be together again 
 — we have been friends and comrades so long. Three is 
 an odd number," she goes on, putting one hand through 
 Geoffrev's arm, the other around Lettice's shoulders, 
 " but I like it. Two people make a kind of ego'isme a 
 deux, and four people virtually form two couples, but it 
 shows a great deal of friendship and sympathy for three 
 people to harmonize as we do." 
 
 " I think it does," says Lettice, " especially since there 
 are so many uncomplimentary proverbs about that num- 
 ber. It is very good of you and Geoffrey not to make 
 me feel like the third wheel of the cart, as the Germans 
 say. But I really never do." 
 
 " How could you ? " cries Roslyn. " Third wheel of 
 the cart indeed ! Why, the cart would stop without you ! 
 It would be no longer a league of friendship, but a stupid 
 kind of family affection." 
 
 " That is putting it rather strongly," observes Geof- 
 frey. " I mean about the stupidity — otherwise I beg to 
 agree. You are a most necessary member of our league, 
 
22 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Lettice, and any nonsense about third wheels should be 
 promptly dismissed." 
 
 " But it is good of you and Roslyn," persists Lettice, 
 " and I assure you I feel it, for, you may never think, but 
 I often do, what a difference your friendship makes in 
 my life. I — ah, well ! you know perhaps how little else I 
 have. I am not social — how can I be ? I never feel at 
 ease with people in general — I am always thinking what 
 they must think — but you two are like part of myself to 
 me." 
 
 This is so remarkably unlike Lettice — these quick 
 words full of feeling — that for a moment Roslyn and 
 Geoffrey are too much surprised to reply. Then the 
 former, recovering herself, says, with an affectionate 
 pressure of the shoulders round which her arm is thrown : 
 
 " You dear old Lettice ! I am so glad we are all that 
 to you, but think what you are to us ! What should we 
 do without you % Think of all the blunders your wisdom 
 saves us from committing ! You advise, and Geoffrey 
 acts, and I — ah, humiliating thought ! what do I do ? " 
 
 " You are the ornament of the league/' says Lettice. 
 " We personify the good, the useful, and the beautiful." 
 
 " Capital ! " says Geoffrey. " I am the useful." 
 
 " I meant that for myself," says Lettice. 
 
 " Oh, no. Geoffrey is certainly the useful," cries Ros- 
 lyn. " Fancy him posing for the good ! I have the 
 highest possible regard for him, as he knows, but I do 
 not think that is exactly his line." 
 
 " Far from it," says Geoffrey. " I am useful or noth- 
 mg." 
 
 " And what can anybody be better than that ? " says 
 Roslyn. " I am sure it is a great deal more compli- 
 mentary than to be held merely ornamental, as I am. 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 23 
 
 Now that I tliink of it, I begin to appreciate the sting in 
 that and to feel insulted accordingly. Nothing could 
 really be more insulting than to tell a person that she is 
 of no manner of use, merely an ornament, a — a — " 
 
 " Flower," says Geoffrey, as she hesitates, " a thing to 
 gladden one's eyes and one's heart." 
 
 "But I am not a flower ; I am a human being, and 
 there is a prejudice in favor of human beings having 
 some brains. Lettice entertains the same complimentary 
 opinion of me. ' You are a creature made for sunshine,' 
 she said to me the other day — a butterfly, in short." 
 
 " What can we do to soothe her ? " asks Geoffrey, ad- 
 dressing Lettice. We can not say that she is not orna- 
 mental, you know. What subject will be agreeable to 
 her ladyshi]) ? " 
 
 " Oh, anything frivolous and childish," says her lady- 
 ship. " Tell us what you did at Heathdale, besides pour- 
 ing out Mr. Thome's medicine." 
 
 " Nothing very frivolous. I read and smoked and — 
 and thought about you." 
 
 " Indeed ! " (with scorn). " And you don't call that 
 frivolous ! Now, if you had meditated on your future 
 career, what heights of fame you mean to reach, there 
 might have been some sense in it. Ah ! if I were a 
 man — 
 
 1 By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap 
 To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon ! ' " 
 
 She looks up laughing at the apostrophized moon ; 
 and the radiance of that enchanted and enchanting lumi- 
 nary falling on the upturned face lends it such magic 
 that Geoffrey is inclined to think that any leap were easy 
 which it inspired. The beauty which he has known so 
 
24 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 long and well, and which is chiefly proved to be beauty 
 in this, that it is ever fresh in its power to charm, has 
 never before thrilled him so keenly. He is conscious 
 that they, who even at their last meeting were boy and 
 girl, are now man and woman, and that this face, with all 
 its fairness and its unawakened passion, is destined to 
 bring more than one new revelation to him before the 
 end comes. It is a moment of instinct and of feeling 
 that stirs him deeply. When he speaks, his voice has 
 wholly changed. 
 
 " I should like to do that, or anything else — for you," 
 he says. " I wish I were not such a commonplace fel- 
 low." 
 
 " Geoff ! " says Roslyn, astonished by the gravity of 
 his tone. She looks up quickly. " Have I said anything 
 to vex you % " she asks. " You know I was only jesting." 
 
 " Yex me ! " he repeats. " How could you ? Of 
 course I know you were jesting, but I have often wished 
 that I were not such a commonplace fellow, or that the 
 times afforded a little more scope for heroic deeds. I 
 should like to do something great — something worth do- 
 ing ! " 
 
 " ' The occasion comes to him who hath the will,' " 
 says Lettice. " The times are not heroic, certainly, but 
 there are things worth doing yet, Geoffrey." 
 
 " And you will do them ! " cries Roslyn's eager voice. 
 " Then, whomever else you may astonish, there will be 
 three people whom you can never surprise — no, not if 
 you became anything — and those are mamma and Lettice 
 and myself." 
 
 " I ought to be invincible with three such believers," 
 says the young man, laughing. But, though he laughs, 
 there is something like moisture in his eyes. Surely 
 
iy THE MOONLIGHT. 25 
 
 praise is sweet from lips that we love, and, although he 
 tells himself that he is foolish to be so much affected by 
 those words, he is really not foolish at all. That old 
 metaphor of the " harp with a thousand strings " is more 
 applicable to the spiritual than the physical nature of 
 man. We have, indeed, a thousand strings of feeling 
 ready to vibrate at a touch, and such a touch has stirred 
 Geoffrey now. It is not the first time that he has felt 
 the natural longing of a young, ardent soul for some op- 
 portunity to prove itself, but now this longing is quick- 
 ened to resolve. 
 
 "It must be," he says, after a short pause, "that 
 every man has a chance, once in life, to show what is in 
 him. I ask no more than that." 
 
 "According to my experience," observes Lettice, 
 " one might as well ask for as much as one wants — one 
 does not get it for asking." 
 
 " How cheerful Lettice' s views of life are ! " laughs 
 Roslyn, " while her general tone of experience would 
 become the Wandering Jew." 
 
 Before Lettice can reply, the lovely, shadow-haunted 
 road, which looks as if it might continue indefinitely, 
 comes to an abrupt end at a stile, beyond which lies an 
 open field, flooded with silver light. They cross this and 
 reach a gate, where Roslyn pauses. They are within a 
 stone's-throw of a house, which they have approached 
 from the side — a large, rambling structure which looks 
 imposing in this kindly moonlight, that hides all signs of 
 dilapidation and "decay. 
 
 " We will bid you good-night here, Lettice," says 
 Roslvn. " I know all at home are anxious to see Geoff." 
 
 t/ 
 
 "But mamma will be sorry if he does not come in 
 
 for a moment and speak to her," says Lettice, 
 2 
 
26 JZOSLYJST'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Of course I must go in and speak to Mrs. Stanley," 
 says Geoffrey. " I will not be long, Roslyn." 
 
 They enter the gate and cross the lawn toward the 
 house. As they approach they perceive two men standing 
 together on the piazza-steps, and Roslyn knows that just 
 what she wished to avoid is coming to pass — they are going 
 to meet Mr. Stanley. As has been already stated, nobody 
 respects and few people like this gentleman, but there is 
 no one, perhaps, who so thoroughly despises, so cordially 
 dislikes him, as Roslyn Vardray. She has not only seen 
 him more closely than any one else, except those who 
 have the misfortune to belong to him, but she entertains 
 for him an aversion which has its root in an instinctive 
 consciousness of all the evil that he embodies. This aver- 
 sion she has never concealed, and Mr. Stanley is as well 
 aware of it as possible. Not one of her glances or tones 
 has been lost on him, and it is not hazarding too much to 
 say that there are few people to whom he would better 
 like to do an ill turn than to this girl, who has looked at 
 him from her childhood with such clear, scornful eyes. 
 
 At present he recognizes her as soon as the group 
 enter the gate, and smiles — not a pleasant smile — as he 
 turns to his companion — a dark, handsome man, with a 
 great deal of the air of the world in his appearance. 
 
 " It is odd, but lucky," he says in a low tone. " Here 
 is the girl." 
 
 " Ah ! " replies the other, quietly. He glances at the 
 approaching trio. " Which ? " he asks. 
 
 " The taller," Mr. Stanley replies. * " Oh, there is no 
 mistaking her. And no denying her good looks. Shall 
 I introduce von \ " 
 
 " Certainly not," returns the other, with a decision 
 which seems to imply that he is aware how little to his 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 27 
 
 credit Mr. Stanley's introduction would be. Then lie 
 laughs. " She does not mean to give you the opportu- 
 nity," he says. 
 
 In fact, Roslyn has paused, at a rustic seat under a 
 group of trees, saying : 
 
 " Some visitor is with your father, Lettice, so I will 
 not go on. I can wait for Geoffrey here." 
 
 " Very well," replies Lettice, understanding and 
 quietly accepting the fact that her father and her father's 
 visitors are not pleasant people to meet. " I will not let 
 Geoffrey stay more than a minute." 
 
 She goes with Geoffrey, and Roslyn sits down on the 
 seat, silver moonlight lying all around, and delicate shad- 
 ows falling over her. She is not thinking of herself 
 enough to be conscious of the lovely picture she makes, 
 but only wonders how long Geoffrey will be detained, and, 
 so thinking, taps her foot impatiently on the dewy grass, 
 while her gaze follows the two figures passing toward the 
 house. She sees that the other two figures on the steps part 
 just before the former reach them — one standing still and 
 shaking hands with Geoffrey, the other walking away. 
 
 "When taking her seat, she forgot that it was very 
 near the circular approach to the house ; but she becomes 
 conscious of this fact when she perceives the stranger ad- 
 vancing directly toward her. He passes hardly three feet 
 from where she sits, and in passing gives a steady look at 
 her. She is certainly worth looking at, this beautiful girl, 
 bending forward in the moonlight, with her fleecy draper- 
 ies, and certainly well-accustomed to being looked at, too ; 
 yet she has a strange consciousness, as if she had never 
 been looked at before, as her glance meets the intent re- 
 gard of the most brilliant eyes she has ever encountered. 
 Their brilliancy is all that strikes her at first ; but after an 
 
28 R0SLY2PS FORTUNE. 
 
 instant she knows that she has also received an impression 
 of a keen, handsome face, and a slender, graceful figure 
 — indeed, the figure can still be scrutinized as it walks 
 onward, though perhaps less rapidly, to the gate. 
 
 " Who can he be ? " she thinks, catching her breath 
 quickly. Certaiuly, unless appearances are very decep- 
 tive, a gentleman — not one of Mr. Stanley's usual asso- 
 ciates — and not only a gentleman, but the most distin- 
 guished-looking man she has ever seen. The warm flush 
 roused by his look is still on her cheek as she sits mo- 
 tionless ; and she has not stirred, but is still so sitting, 
 when Lettice and Geoffrey return. 
 
 " You might as well have come in, Roslyn," says the 
 former. " As you saw, papa's visitor left before we 
 reached the house ; and in any event, you know, he would 
 not have troubled you." 
 
 " Of course I know that," Roslyn answers ; " but I 
 like the fresh air and the moonlight. Lettice, who teas 
 your father's visitor ? I saw him as he passed along the 
 walk, and he is a very handsome man." 
 
 " I do not know," Lettice replies. " He was a stran- 
 ger, and I did not ask papa who he was. I will, however, 
 if you desire." 
 
 " Do ! ' says Roslyn, as she rises ; " and ask, too, 
 what makes his eyes so wonderfully brilliant ; I never 
 saw such eyes before ! Good-night." 
 
 She takes Geoffrey's arm, and they walk across the 
 lawn to the side-gate through which they entered. It is 
 not until they are outside of this that the young fellow 
 says in a low, vexed tone : 
 
 " I hope Lettice will have the good sense to say noth- 
 ing to her father of your having noticed and spoken of 
 that man, Roslyn." 
 
IE TEE MOOELIGET. 29 
 
 " Indeed ! " says Roslyn, flushing quickly. " May I 
 ask why you hope so ? " 
 
 " Surely you know. Mr. Stanley's friends are not a 
 class of persons for you to notice, and he has himself an 
 insolent tongue. Fancy his telling some gambler or 
 horse-jockey that Miss Yardray inquired who he was, and 
 admired his eyes ! " 
 
 " I know a gentleman when I see him," says Roslyn. 
 " This man was a gentleman." 
 
 " In dress and appearance, perhaps so ; but the odds 
 are very much against his being a gentleman and a friend 
 of Mr. Stanley's." 
 
 " There is no reason for supposing that he is a friend 
 of Mr. Stanley's simply because he happened to be there," 
 she answers, coldly. " I am not aware that you have any 
 right to take me to task, Geoffrey ; but I don't want to 
 quarrel the first night that you are at home, so we will 
 say no more about it." 
 
 " I did not mean to take you to task," says Geoffrey. 
 " I only meant to warn you ; you are heedless and know 
 of no harm ; but Mr. Stanley is not to be trusted." 
 
 " I am heedless, am I ? Your opinion of me seems to 
 be very exalted." 
 
 " It is very exalted," says the young man, quickly. 
 " Koslyn, don't be vexed or hurt by my blundering ; 
 don't you know we only find fault with that which is so 
 near our heart that we want it to be perfect ? " 
 
 " But I am not perfect," she cries, with a laugh — 
 " nor likely to be ; and, if I were, you would find me 
 very insipid. But no more fault-finding ' an' thou lovest 
 me ' ; for, as I said before, it would be too bad to quarrel 
 the first night you are at home." 
 
30 ROSLYUPS FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 U COME YE IN PEACE HERE, OB COME YE IN WAR ? " 
 
 Half a dozen miles from Yerdevale — the name of 
 the Vardray place — stands a much older and more stately 
 house, which has been since its erection the home of the 
 Duncans, the family of largest wealth and most influence 
 in all the country-side. Of this family there have never 
 been many representatives, and of late years these have 
 diminished — some falling in battle, some dying from 
 natural causes — until but one remains, the soldierly-look- 
 ing man well known in all the country as Colonel Hugo 
 Duncan, who stands in the morning sunshine on the 
 stone steps of Cliffton (so the house is called, crowning 
 as it does a bold and beautiful cliff above a rushing river), 
 drawing on his gloves preparatory to mounting the horse 
 that is waiting for him. 
 
 A soldierly-looking, but not a handsome, and certainly 
 not a young man. Geoffrey is right enough on that 
 point. Hugo Duncan has reached his forty-fifth year, 
 and looks every day of that age. In figure he is a model 
 of strength, though the square breadth of his shoulders 
 detracts from the grace of his appearance ; but he has 
 little of which to boast in symmetry of feature. It is a 
 frank, resolute, attractive face, however — a face> charac- 
 terized by striking energy and expressing in every line 
 the faculty of command, yet also full of a kindness so 
 genial that, when it shines from the deep-set eyes, it is 
 quite possible to forget what heavy eyebrows hang over 
 them, what a square jaw and firm mouth lie below. 
 
''COME YE IX PEACE, OR COME YE IX WAR?" 31 
 
 Originally of fair complexion — as the auburn liair aud 
 red beard prove — exposure to sun and wind has deeply 
 bronzed all his face, except the broad brow, which pre- 
 serves its whiteness, and lies like a snow-drift under the 
 rich wave of his hair. 
 
 Yes, strong, brave, forceful — " a man every inch " — 
 Colonel Duncan looks : a man to win and possess any 
 good of life which he desires. Yet there is one good 
 which he has not yet won, and which no one can say that 
 there is any certainty of his winning. All the world 
 around him knows that, with the strength of such a pas- 
 sion as comes only to mature manhood, he has set his 
 heart on Roslyn Yardray, but no one knows — not even 
 those nearest to her — what Roslyn thinks of him. It 
 certainly puzzles Colonel Duncan to tell. He is not blind 
 to his own advantages ; though neither is he foolish 
 enough to overrate them. He knows what he is and 
 what he can offer, and he knows that few women would 
 look coldly on him if he came to woo. But, unhappily 
 for himself, he is not that very common character, a man 
 in search of a wife, but a man who loves one woman so 
 well that the rest of the sex is non-existent to him. She 
 is not in the least a coquette, pretty, willful Roslyn, but, 
 "like the sun, she shines on all alike," and a man can not 
 be encouraged by kindness that is indiscriminate. As 
 he draws on his gloves, this bright summer morning, he 
 is considering that he will go to see her, and for the hun- 
 dredth time resolving that he will try to draw some sign 
 from her — when, looking up, he sees a rider entering the 
 gate. 
 
 This is by no means unusual, but he frowns a little, 
 for it is not pleasant to be detained just when one is ready 
 to go out, and the person approaching is a stranger to 
 
32 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 him : a man of slender, handsome figure, and good seat, 
 evidently a gentleman, hut whom he does not know — still 
 does not know when the stranger has paused, has dis- 
 mounted, has left his horse in charge of a servant, and 
 advancing toward the steps where Colonel Duncan stands, 
 lifts his hat. 
 
 The moment that he uncovers, a flash of recognition 
 appears on the face of the elder man, and he comes for- 
 ward with extended hand, though with something lack- 
 ing from the usual spontaneous cordiality of his greeting. 
 
 " This is a great surprise," he says. " Unless I am 
 mistaken, you are Yictor Laurent." 
 
 " You are not mistaken," answers the other, taking 
 the offered hand w T ith much frank grace of manner. " I 
 am Yictor Laurent — your kinsman, whose existence I 
 thought it probable you had forgotten." 
 
 " I never forget any one," replies Colonel Duncan, 
 " though it has certainly been a long time since I have 
 heard anything of you." He hesitates almost impercep- 
 tibly for an instant, then adds, " You are welcome to Cliff- 
 ton." 
 
 " Thanks," says the new-comer, glancing up at the 
 house, on the threshold of which they stand. " I am 
 glad to see it at last. The home of one's forefathers has 
 always a claim on one's interest. It is a fine old place." 
 
 " I think so — naturally," says Colonel Duncan, with a 
 subtile coolness in his manner which only one who knew 
 him intimately could detect. " But let me take you in." 
 
 With a courtesy which sits well on him, he leads the 
 way across the stone-flagged portico, through a large, 
 lofty hall, and into a room where cases of books, easy- 
 chairs, and couches, a writing-table covered with papers, 
 a variety of guns, pipes, whips, and many other imple- 
 
"COME YE m PEACE, OR COME YE IN WAR?" 33 
 
 ments of peace and war, prove that it is a familiar sitting- 
 room. There is, perhaps, no better index to a man's 
 character than the aspect of the apartment in which his 
 life is chiefly passed. This is the room of a man of in- 
 tellectual culture, of active pursuits, and of reiined tastes. 
 The stranger who enters takes in the whole at a glance, 
 a very comjn'ehensive glance, which passes rapidly over 
 other details to linger on the photograph of a girl, in a 
 standing-frame on the mantel, just below an engraving 
 after Landseer. 
 
 Colonel Duncan offers a large, leather-covered chair 
 to his guest ; then, taking one opposite, regards him 
 steadily, while his own strong head, with the rich tints of 
 his hair and beard, comes out effectively against the wal- 
 nut-paneled, book-lined wall behind him. What he sees 
 is this : 
 
 A man so singularly handsome that, but for a certain 
 masculine fire and vigor about him, the feminine term 
 beautiful might almost be applicable to his appearance. 
 He is in the full flush of youth — not more than twenty- 
 five or six — with something suggestive of French or 
 Spanish blood in his dark, clear-cut face, his brilliant eyes 
 with their mingled possibilities of softness and passion, in 
 the grace of his slender figure, the peculiar classic beauty 
 of his head and throat — the very throat of Antinous. 
 With such a physique, in nine cases out of ten, an idea of 
 effeminacy would be suggested ; but there is nothing of 
 the kind here. The face is expressive of thought and 
 daring ; the figure is muscular and lithe as that of an 
 Indian ; the dark, slight hands are full of nervous energy 
 and strength. 
 
 "You have not lost your good looks, Victor," says 
 Colonel Duncan at last, with the same subtile inflection 
 
34: ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 of coldness in his usually genial voice. " Whatever else 
 your years of dissipation have robbed you of, they have 
 spared your appearance." 
 
 " For two good reasons," replies the other : " first, 
 that I have a line constitution ; secondly, that I have 
 given much time to out-door life and sport. A man 
 who aspires to be a crack shot and a good rider dare not 
 spoil his nerves." 
 
 Colonel Duncan smiles. " Quite true," he says. 
 " Well, your crop of wild-oats has been plentiful, I hear. 
 What is the harvest ? " 
 
 It is now Laurent's turn to smile, which he does with 
 flashing effect — the whiteness of his teeth showing under 
 his dark, silken mustache. 
 
 " I believe the harvest is generally the same," he an- 
 swers, with a quietness verging on indifference. " There 
 is not even the merit of variety in our cases. We all 
 reach the same goal, with more or less quickness." 
 
 " And that is— ?" 
 
 " Paiin." 
 
 " Ah ! — is the case so bad as that with you ? " 
 
 " Quite as bad, and not remarkable. Larger fortunes 
 than mine have vanished in less time between Paris and 
 Monaco." 
 
 " Opportunities for ruin not being great enough in 
 this country, you felt bound to seek greater ones in 
 Paris and Monaco ! " says Colonel Duncan, with a little sar- 
 casm. " But I heard of you in New Orleans last winter ? ' 
 
 " Oh, yes — I returned to Louisiana a year ago. When 
 my agent wrote that he could no longer send me any 
 money, I felt bound to come and look into my affairs. 
 Unfortunately, there was by that time little or nothing 
 left to look into." 
 
"COME YE IN PEACE, OR COME YE IN WAR?" 35 
 
 "What has become of your fine plantation on the 
 Bayou Teche ? " 
 
 " It was mortgaged to the full extent of its value, and 
 I was obliged to let it go." 
 
 " A pity ! "What, then, remains to you ? " 
 
 "So little that it is hardly worth enumerating. A 
 few half-worthless stocks, some dearly bought knowledge 
 of life, and a pair of useless hands. Voild tout!" 
 
 " And what do you mean to do ? " asks Colonel Dun- 
 can, pursuing his inquiries in the same business-like 
 tone. 
 
 The young man lifts his shoulders with a very French 
 gesture. " Ma foi, that is hard to tell," he replies. 
 " Will you pardon me if I say that, as my senior and 
 near kinsman, I hoped you might be able to throw some 
 light on the question ? " 
 
 " Let me understand," says Colonel Duncan, quietly. 
 "Are you asking my advice or my assistance?" 
 
 " Your advice," answers the other, a flush mounting 
 to his forehead. "I am aware that there are reasons 
 which make it strange that I should seek it, but, in think- 
 ing over those of my few connections to whom I could 
 apply for a little practical counsel, my thoughts have 
 turned to you. You are my nearest kinsman on my 
 mother's side, and — " 
 
 " And you remember in what relation you stand to 
 me," interrupts Colonel Duncan, shortly. " Why should 
 you hesitate to say so ? You know that, by the terms of 
 my uncle's will, you inherit this place if I die childless. 
 Well, it would be no great inheritance — for not much of 
 the land goes with it ; but the chance that you might 
 (if I should die to-morrow) be the last of the family left 
 here, gives you, of course, a claim on my interest." 
 
36 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I am glad that you allow it," says Laurent. " I 
 have felt it — not on account of my uncle's will, to which 
 you allude, for that I have never thought of any impor- 
 tance — but because we are the last of those who planted 
 their name and influence here. You know better than I 
 the cause of the family estrangement, to which I have 
 only heard allusions ; but, whatever the cause, surely it 
 need not extend its influence to us." 
 
 " There is no reason why it should," replies Duncan, 
 slowly. " Yet there are cases in which one feels the 
 wrong done to another more keenly than if it had been 
 done to one's self — and so I have always felt this." He 
 pauses for an instant, then looks at Laurent with the ex- 
 pression of his face grown almost stern. " If you do not 
 know the cause of the estrangement between the differ- 
 ent branches of the family," he says, " it is right that you 
 should know it, and I am the only person who can tell it 
 to you. Briefly, then, you know that my grandfather — 
 your great-grandfather — had three sons, Hugo, Robert, 
 and Allan. Hugo, the eldest, was passionately attached 
 to a girl who seemed to return his affection and promised 
 to be his wife. They had been engaged for several 
 months, and were to be married soon, when the second 
 brother — who was a naval officer — came home, and for 
 the first time saw the girl. It is supposed that he fell in 
 love with her, at least he made love to her, and one day 
 — a week before the time appointed for her marriage — 
 they eloped. It takes few words to tell a tragedy that 
 can blast a life. My uncle was crushed to earth by the 
 double treachery, and never again was the same man. 
 He had the fatal gift of constancy in affection, and I do 
 not think he ever looked at another woman ; lie certainly 
 dreamed no more of marriage than if he had been a monk. 
 
"COME YE IN PEACE, OR COME YE IN WAR?" 37 
 
 Fortunately, my father — the youngest brother — married 
 early, and, dying soon after, left me an orphan to my 
 uncle's care. I need not speak of his kindness to me — 
 that is beside the story — but, devoted as he was to me 
 (and, thank God ! I was something of a comfort to him), 
 when the hour came to make his will he showed that he 
 could put aside that devotion, and rise above the memory 
 of his wrongs. The woman who betrayed his trust was 
 an heiress, and, after her elopement and marriage to Robert 
 Duncan, they never returned here, but went to Louisiana 
 and purchased the plantation which you have just lost. 
 They had only one child — your mother. Xow you know, 
 perhaps, that the Duncans brought with them to this 
 country certain Old World ideas, the strongest of which 
 was the belief that the family-seat should descend to the 
 oldest son ; failing him, to the next, and so on. Acting on 
 this principle, my grandfather left Cliff ton to my uncle 
 Hugo, and he left it naturally to me. I had not only 
 been as a child to him, but I was the last of the name — 
 Robert Duncan having left no son. But, after that, 
 what he conceived to be his duty to his brother came in, 
 and, if I die childless, you are named as the next heir. 
 But, to prevent any false impression in your mind, I must 
 distinctly state that the entailed inheritance comprises only 
 this house and a small part of the land. The remainder 
 of the estate is partly my inheritance from my father, 
 partly was bought by my uncle (and left unconditionally 
 to me) when, by your grandfather's orders, all that he 
 inherited under his father's will was sold. Have I been 
 clear ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," replies Laurent, with unmoved compos- 
 ure. " The whole story is plain to me now, and I regret 
 that my grandparents bought their happiness — if they 
 
38 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 were happy — at so dear a cost. But what will you ? Love 
 vanquishes all things, and no doubt they believed that 
 our uncle would be philosophical and find another bride." 
 
 " This explanation over," says Colonel Duncan, ignor- 
 ing the latter part of the above speech, " you see exactly 
 how we stand to each other, and what your claim upon 
 me is. Now be good enough to tell me frankly what you 
 desire to ask of me." 
 
 " I have already told you," replies Laurent, in the tone 
 of one who, being slightly w T ounded, draws within him- 
 self. " I remembered you as I saw you once — the impres- 
 sion of self-sustained strength which you made upon me 
 — and I thought, ' If I could see that man he might give 
 me the counsel and help I need.' It is for you to say 
 whether I was right or wrong. Believe me " — he spreads 
 out his hands with another light French gesture — " I shall 
 not blame you if you say — adieu." 
 
 " I could hardly say that to a stranger who came to 
 me for help ; and you are a kinsman," answers Duncan. 
 He rises as he speaks and walks to one of the windows, 
 where he stands gazing out over a fair, wide prospect — 
 the green valley spreading for miles, the river like a silver 
 thread laced across it, the frame of soft hills and shadowy 
 woods. He is not a little puzzled and annoyed. What 
 is he to do ? He has none of the usual dislike of pros- 
 perous humanity for anything in the shape of misfortune 
 — on the contrary, he has a heart easily touched by any 
 cry of distress : but is it the old prejudice against Robert 
 Duncan stirring within him, or why does he feel as if it 
 were no genuine appeal to which he had listened ? Yet 
 in the man's nature is an imperative need to do the thing 
 which is just, and after a minute he turns and goes back 
 to where Laurent sits, a model of serene quietude. 
 
CONFIDENCES. 39 
 
 " I have thought what will be best," he says. " I can 
 not possibly offer you either advice or assistance until I 
 know a little more about your affairs and your capabili- 
 ties. I propose, therefore, that you stay here for the pres- 
 ent, and let us discuss the matter at our leisure. What 
 is done in haste is seldom well done." 
 
 "You are very kind," says Laurent "Few things 
 could tempt me more than such a prospect. I will stay 
 with pleasure for a short time." 
 
 " The matter is settled, then," says Colonel Duncan, 
 turning to ring a bell. " I shall order a room prepared 
 for you, and send to Kirton for your luggage — I suppose 
 you have some \ " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " So here I am established in the fortress which I have 
 come to storm ! It did not open its doors to me very cor- 
 dially, but nevertheless they have opened — etmevoild! 
 If it is the first step which alone costs, that first step has 
 been taken, and I see clearly the nature of the campaign 
 which lies before me. It is one which promises a little 
 more entertainment than I anticipated, for you know 
 with what far from cheerful expectations I set forth to 
 look after this possible inheritance. Of itself, and in it- 
 self, it proves less worth looking after than I imagined — 
 the entailed portion of the estate being small, and its 
 present possessor, a man in the prime of life, with matri- 
 monial intentions, or at least with matrimonial desires. 
 
40 BOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Why, then, have I established myself here, and why do I 
 take the trouble to think of a campaign ? Eh Men, when 
 one has come to the end of one's resources, it is necessary 
 to do something ; and this presents itself as the easiest and 
 most probably profitable thing to be done at present — to 
 establish myself here (very good quarters, though a trifle 
 dull), to be recognized as Colonel Duncan's heir, to induce 
 him to regard me in that light, and above all to frustrate 
 his matrimonial intentions. It is the last that gives 
 zest to the campaign. I always had a passion for comedy, 
 and this promises some good situations and scope for in- 
 trigue — for which, also, I have always had both a taste 
 and a talent. 
 
 " Not that I flatter myself the matter will be easy. I 
 am fully alive to its difficulty. It will require great care 
 to escape suspicion ; but I think that I am equal to what 
 is required of me. A man trained in the school of the 
 great world should certainly not find much difficulty in 
 baffling these dull provincial intelligences. And what I 
 have to do is, after all, very simple, though it is necessary 
 it should be well done : it is only to make a sufficient im- 
 pression upon the heart or fancy of the young lady whom 
 Colonel Duncan honors with his affections to induce her 
 to refuse him. 
 
 " For I am told that I have come in time — that she has 
 not yet accepted him. I am indebted to an old acquaint- 
 ance, whom, with my usual luck, I have met in this neigh- 
 borhood, for the command of the situation which such 
 knowledge gives me. When I told him that I had come 
 to learn what were my chances of inheriting the Dun- 
 can estate, he laughed and snapped his fingers. ' Your 
 chances are worth that J he said. ' Colonel Duncan is 
 about to make a fool of himself by marrying a girl half 
 
CONFIDENCES. 41 
 
 his age.' Naturally interested by this intelligence, I asked 
 a few questions, and, while he was engaged in answering 
 them, the girl herself appeared on the scene. Then the 
 situation was at once made clear to me. A beauty, and 
 with every outward sign of coquetry, there could be no 
 doubt how best to influence her! Happily, young ladies 
 in this country are allowed to marry, or refuse to marry, 
 whom they please ; and unless Miss Vardray is a very ex- 
 ceptional young lady, I do not think it likely that after 
 a little time she will have any inclination to marry 
 Colonel Duncan. Indeed, from what Stanley — the ac- 
 quaintance referred to — tells me, I imagine that she has 
 not much inclination at present ; so I am really about to 
 save him from one of the most unenviable positions in 
 the world — that of the unloved and consequently jealous 
 husband of a beautiful young girl." 
 
 So far has Mr. Laurent — sitting at ease in his own 
 chamber — written, in the intervals of ihaking and con- 
 suming many cigarettes, and of pausing now and then to 
 glance through his open window at the sloping lawn and 
 wide prospect before him. At this point he hears the 
 ring of horses' feet on the drive below, and, just as he is 
 in the act of rising to look out, a knock at the door is fol- 
 lowed by the entrance of a servant, who, with Colonel 
 Duncan's compliments, asks if he would like to ride. 
 
 He answers in the affirmative, locks his unfinished 
 letter in a strong writing-case, makes a toilet quickly, and 
 goes down. He finds his host on the portico, and two 
 well-appointed horses in readiness. 
 
 " Hope I did not disturb you," says Colonel Duncan, 
 as he appears. " I thought you might like to ride. The 
 air is very pleasant now." 
 
42 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I shall like it extremely," Laurent answers. " I have 
 a passion for horses and riding, under all circumstances. 
 What a fine animal ! " he goes on, patting the arched neck 
 of the horse destined for him. 
 
 u He is a very fine animal," says Colonel Duncan, 
 " and is specially detailed for your service while you are 
 here. Do not hesitate to order him whenever you like." 
 
 " Thanks ; you could not give me a better mount. I 
 shall like him extremely. Now " — as they are both in 
 their saddles — " where do we go ? " 
 
 " To Kirton first ; I have a little business there. Then, 
 if you do not object to paying a visit in an informal man- 
 ner, we may call at Yerdevale — the home of some friends 
 of mine." 
 
 " I have not the least objection," replies Laurent, w T ho 
 decides that the stars in their courses are certainly fight- 
 ing for him. " There is nothing more agreeable than in- 
 formal visiting at a pleasant house ; and of course I leave 
 the question of my introduction entirely to your discre- 
 tion." 
 
 Colonel Duncan does not answer for a moment. Per- 
 haps he doubts his own discretion in the proposed intro- 
 duction : but if not to-day, it must take place to-morrow 
 or next day — for, if Laurent is to remain his guest, he 
 certainly can not be excluded from the acquaintance of 
 the family with whom he (Duncan) is most intimate. He 
 has gone over the whole ground before setting out, but 
 now reviews it again rapidly in his mind. With friends 
 whom he knows so well as the Vardrays, it is not neces- 
 sary to go through the form of asking leave to present his 
 cousin, and since the introduction must be a necessity 
 sooner or later, why should he deny himself the pleasure 
 of seeing Hoslyn to-day ? He decides once more that it 
 
CONFIDENCES. 43 
 
 is not necessary, that it would be very foolish to deny him- 
 self this pleasure, yet the doubt that is in his mind makes 
 itself slightly heard in his voice, when he says : 
 
 " Oh, they will be delighted to know you — they are 
 the most kind and hospitable people imaginable. But 
 perhaps it will be well for you to remember " — he pauses, 
 colors : how can he say what is in his mind \ — " that they 
 are people altogether unfamiliar with your type," he ends, 
 hastily. 
 
 Laurent smiles, but answers readily : " Pray make your 
 mind easy. I shall not shock them by betraying the 
 cloven foot of worldly vices. There is nothing I admire 
 more, or would less think of disturbing, than Arcadian 
 simplicity." 
 
 " You mistake me entirely," says Colonel Duncan, di- 
 rectly enough now. " They are neither Arcadian nor 
 simple, but they are old-fashioned enough to believe in 
 certain old-fashioned virtues, and not to hold in very high 
 esteem those who are lacking in them." 
 
 "But I hope that I shall not always be lacking in 
 them," says Laurent, lightly, as he pauses. "Reform is 
 allowed to be possible even by the strictest moralists, and 
 when I range myself and marry — " 
 
 "Marry!" exclaims Colonel Duncan, involuntarily. 
 "You!" 
 
 " Yes, I," the other answers, smiling. " Of course, I 
 could only marry an heiress, but if one is ready to put out 
 her hand — In fact, the matter is pretty well settled. 
 My cousin, Julie Devine, who is one of the richest heir- 
 esses in Louisiana, has kindly promised to marry me." 
 
 " In that case," says Colonel Duncan, suddenly turning 
 toward him, " I confess that I am at a loss to understand 
 why you have sought my assistance." 
 
44 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "Are you?" says Laurent, quietly. "Then let me 
 explain. In the first place, Julie's family object to my 
 financial position, and they have carried her off to Eu- 
 rope, insisting that I shall show some sign of retrieving 
 my affairs, some capability of self-support — so they put it 
 — before they will agree to the marriage. They really 
 can not prevent it, for she will be of age in a year ; but I 
 agree with them so far that I should feel much more self- 
 respectful if at that time I could prove that I have some 
 capability of retrieving my past errors. And this is why 
 I have come to you for help." 
 
 " Which you shall have to the best of my ability ! " 
 says Colonel Duncan, more cordially than he has spoken 
 yet. " And I may be able to help you better for having 
 passed through something of the same experience," he 
 goes on. " I, too, have had to redeem a fortune. Com- 
 ing back here at the end of the war, I was forced to go to 
 work at once to clear off debts and save the old lands 
 from passing to strangers. I worked too hard to be lone- 
 ly, too hard to think of society, or — marriage, or anything 
 else. But, thank God ! I succeeded in my object : every 
 mortgage was paid, and not an acre lost." 
 
 He speaks quietly, and if Laurent does not know all 
 the story of labor and energy and self-denial which lies 
 under these simple words, there are men and to spare in 
 Eldon County who could tell him of it, and what a hope- 
 less task Hugo Duncan seemed to face when he inherited 
 the property, impoverished not only by war, but by the 
 reckless expenditure of two generations. 
 
 " I congratulate you ! " the young man says. " It 
 must be a proud consciousness to feel that you have re- 
 deemed your fortune and saved your inheritance — a very 
 different consciousness from that of having cast it to the 
 
AM02TG THE FLOWERS. 45 
 
 winds ! But pardon me if I say that in your place I 
 should have acted differently — I should have sold the 
 place, and gone into the world to make a free life for 
 myself." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say you would," answers the other. 
 " But I — well, I preferred to stay. And then you forget 
 — I could not sell Cliffton. So I thought it better to in- 
 crease than to lessen the inheritance which had descended 
 to me. After all, wealth is a very good thing. It gives 
 one a great power to help others." 
 
 " It gives one a great power to help one's self," says 
 Laurent, with an honest sigh. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
 
 The last low light of sunset is streaming across the 
 lawn and reddening the shrubberies, when Roslyn comes 
 out all in a cloud of misty white muslin, w T ith roses at her 
 throat and in her hair, and takes her way toward the gar- 
 den. She looks like a rose of the summer herself, Geof- 
 frey thinks, as he throws down a book which he has been 
 trying to read in a shady corner of the veranda, and joins 
 her. 
 
 " Where are you going, my pretty maid ? " he asks, 
 smiling, while his eyes say all of which his heart is full. 
 
 Roslyn, quite accustomed to their language, meets 
 them with her own, as gay and unembarrassed as a 
 child. 
 
 "I am going after some flowers," she answers, "and 
 
46 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 you may come, because you can save my dress and my 
 fingers from the thorns." 
 
 " The best use to which I could be put," he replies. 
 " What can I ask better than to save you from thorns \ ' 
 
 " How very gallant you have become ! " she says. 
 "Did you learn how to make pretty speeches at Heath- 
 dale?" 
 
 " Was that a pretty speech % " he asks. " I did not 
 know it — it was only the truth." 
 
 He speaks with so much simplicity that she does not 
 answer. There is a certain decision about Geoffrey now, 
 which makes her realize that he is no longer the boy she 
 has so long ruled and tormented. The change is subtile 
 but marked, and more than once since his arrival she has 
 glanced at the strong young face — the face of a man with 
 definite aims and tenacious purposes — as if it were the face 
 of a stranger. This impression is transient, however ; the 
 expression changes, the old fun comes into the eye, the 
 old mischievous curl to the lip, and it is the playmate of 
 her childhood that is again before her. So it happens 
 now. In five minutes they are laughing like children 
 among the roses ; but suddenly Geoffrey sobers, as he 
 chances to glance across the flower-beds and lawn. 
 
 " Who are those riding up to the house ? " he asks. 
 " One is Colonel Duncan, I believe ; but who is that with 
 him ? " 
 
 Roslyn glances round a tall bush, and says : 
 
 " Yes, it is Colonel Duncan ; how could you be in any 
 doubt about him ? I am sure he does not look like any- 
 body else. The other " — she pauses — " I don't know who 
 the other is — at least not from here." 
 
 " Shall we go to the house ? " asks Geoffrey, somewhat 
 stiffly. " I suppose Colonel Duncan has come to see you." 
 
AMONG TEE FLOWERS. 47 
 
 " Papa is on the piazza," slie replies. " There is no 
 need to go back until I have finished getting my flowers." 
 
 " Is that the way you treat your admirers ? It is not 
 very flattering." 
 
 " I never think of Colonel Duncan as an admirer 
 of mine," she answers, clipping roses to right and left, 
 rather indiscriminately. " It seems only yesterday that I 
 sat on his knee and he gave me a doll — I think I have 
 that doll's head somewhere now." 
 
 "If it was Marie Antoinette, I remember her very 
 well," says Geoffrey. " She underwent many vicissitudes 
 of fortune, and finally was beheaded, in order to resem- 
 ble more closely her royal namesake." 
 
 " That was your suggestion," says Roslyn, laughing. 
 " Do you think I have forgotten how you persuaded me 
 to let you be headsman, and how I held her on the block 
 while you decapitated her ? " 
 
 " And then how you cried over her ? But I am glad I 
 did cut off her head — very glad ! " 
 
 " Are you ? But you need not cut off the heads of 
 the roses by striking the bushes in that savage way. What 
 has made you so sanguinary ? " 
 
 "I don't like Colonel Duncan," says Geoffrey, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " Then I am ashamed of you," replies Roslyn, prompt- 
 ly. "Everybody likes Colonel Duncan, and /do not see 
 how anybody could help liking him." 
 
 " Oh, I help it very well. You see he never gave me 
 a flaxen-haired doll. I have no memories of that kind 
 clustering round him." 
 
 " I don't think that anybody who ever knew Colonel 
 Duncan could have other than pleasant memories of him," 
 says Roslyn, turning toward the house. 
 
48 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 Somewhat chafed, and conscious of his own want of 
 reason and tact, Geoffrey walks by her side. It is a pretty 
 picture — the evening light, the green lawn, the graceful, 
 white-clad girl with her hands full of flowers, the tall 
 young man strolling beside her ; but, as is frequently the 
 case, the outward appearance of the scene is more idyllic 
 than the reality. When the gentlemen on the veranda 
 perceive them, Colonel Duncan says : 
 
 " So Geoffrey is back, I see ! I had not heard of his 
 arrival." 
 
 " He came only yesterday, and rather unexpectedly," 
 answers Mr. Yardray. 
 
 "What a fine young fellow he has become!" says 
 Colonel Duncan. Then he rises, and, descending the 
 steps, goes to meet the two who are advancing. Greet- 
 ing Roslyn, he turns to shake hands cordially with 
 Geoffrey ; and the latter, despite an uneasy sense of 
 what he has just been saying, can not resist the genial 
 charm which all who know Hugo Duncan acknowledge, 
 nor forget courtesy far enough to be churlish. They 
 exchange a few words, after which Duncan turns to 
 Roslyn. 
 
 " I have taken the liberty of bringing with me, this 
 afternoon, a young cousin whose acquaintance I have 
 made — or, perhaps, I should say renewed — to-day," he 
 says. " I think you will like him." 
 
 " That is very probable — since he is your cousin," an- 
 swers Roslyn, smiling, and not at all averse to Geoffrey's 
 seeing the deference in Colonel Duncan's manner. "I 
 am sure mamma will be glad that you brought him. Have 
 I ever seen him before ? " 
 
 " Never. He has never been here before." 
 
 " What is his name ? "' J 
 
AMOXG THE FLOWERS. 40 
 
 " Laurent. It is a French name — his father was of 
 French descent. He is very handsome, you see." 
 
 Roslyn does see — for at this moment they approach 
 the veranda, and, glancing up, she meets again the brill- 
 iant, steady gaze of the eyes which met hers the night 
 before. 
 
 She is so much surprised as to be almost startled, and 
 Laurent sees instantly that she recognizes him. " She is 
 prettier, even, than I imagined," he thinks, as he is intro- 
 duced. Geoffrey looks at him distrustfully ; he is too 
 handsome, too elegant, too admirably dressed, not to be a 
 mere society fop, the young fellow thinks. " Just the 
 kind of man to fascinate a girl, however," he says to him- 
 self — unconscious that in this he is doing the only girl 
 who is in his thoughts great injustice. Women — espe- 
 cially women who are beautiful themselves — seldom think 
 much of beauty in a man ; and the distinction, the har- 
 monious grace of this man's appearance, does not appeal 
 so strongly to Roslyn's imagination as might be supposed. 
 She takes it all in, but it is less of a charm to her than she 
 would herself have thought possible — though there is no 
 doubt that she feels the magnetism of the eyes, and is 
 pleased by the first tones of the voice. 
 
 " What beautiful flowers, Miss Yardray !" — this is all 
 that he is saying — "even the heat of July spares them for 
 you, I perceive." 
 
 " Yes, there are some roses to be had all through the 
 summer ; but they are not blooming their best, now," she 
 replies. 
 
 " I think I notice some very beautiful buds among 
 
 those in your hands," says Colonel Duncan. " May I not 
 
 have one ? " 
 
 "Certainly you may," she answers, as, sitting down in 
 3 
 
50 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 a chair which Geoffrey places for her, she lets the whole 
 wealth of color and perfume fall into her lap. " Here is 
 your favorite," she says, taking up a deep pink bud with 
 the true rose fragrance, and handing it to him. " One 
 must not put anything with a rose ; it is sufficient for it- 
 self." Then she looks at Laurent. " Should you like a 
 flower?" she asks. "If you sympathize with Geoffrey 
 here, who scorns such adornments, pray don't hesitate to 
 say so." 
 
 " So far from scorning, I shall be very grateful for a 
 rose," he replies. " I always like to wear a flower, but I 
 especially value it when given by fair hands." 
 
 "That is a proper and commendable spirit," says 
 Koslyn, demurely, with only a smile at the corners of 
 her lips. " I confess I like anything that I give to be 
 appreciated." 
 
 " Could you possibly give anything that would not be 
 appreciated ? " asks Laurent, the amusement of his tone 
 relieving it from the appearance of any attempt at gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answers, lightly. " You have no idea 
 how little proper appreciation of the true value of things 
 some people have. Do you like this bud, Mr. Laurent ? 
 It is my favorite rose." 
 
 " It is beautiful," says Laurent, looking at the delicate, 
 half-opened Sofrano she holds. " It is ray favorite also. 
 Thanks " — as she gives it to him.- " Now, pray, believe 
 that one thing which you have given is aj>preciated at its 
 true value." 
 
 " Allow me to add two things," puts in Colonel Dun- 
 can, looking down at his button-hole adornment. 
 
 Geoffrey, very conscious just then of the scratched 
 hands which he obtained in securing those treasures, 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 51 
 
 walks away in a rage of disgust. " She will be spoiled, 
 utterly spoiled," he says to himself. "No woman's head 
 will stand such nonsense ! With those two men standing 
 over her, complimenting her, and looking like — like fools, 
 what is to be the end ( " 
 
 " Geoffrey, what is the matter ? " asks Mrs. Yardray, 
 who meets him in the hall. u You look as tragic as 
 Hamlet." 
 
 "Nothing is the matter," answers Geoffrey, trying to 
 smile ; but the next instant he says, abruptly, " Colonel 
 Duncan is on the piazza, and has brought a cousin with 
 him — somebody that no one ever heard of before — a very 
 great liberty, / think." 
 
 " My dear ! " says Mrs. Yardray, in a tone of expostu- 
 lation, although she knows now what the cloud springs 
 from. " You forget what a friend of ours Colonel Dun- 
 can is. He would not bring any one whom it would not 
 be pleasant for us to meet, and of course he knows that 
 his cousin will be welcome. I must go out and speak to 
 them at once. Is my hair smooth ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, very smooth," replies Geoffrey, without a 
 glance at it. "Roslyn is doing the honors very well, I 
 think," he continues, sardonically ; " but of course you 
 had better go and add your tribute of incense." 
 
 Ashamed of himself, almost before he has finished 
 speaking, he hurries on, and Mrs. Yardray looks after 
 him with a glance of anxious pity. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " she thinks. " But it is better, a great 
 deal better, for Roslyn to marry Colonel Duncan- — and 
 better that he should realize this at once." 
 
 She appears on the piazza a moment later, greets Colo- 
 nel Duncan very cordially, and receives Laurent gracious- 
 ly. Then the group fall into general conversation, and 
 
52 R0SLYN\9 FORTUNE. 
 
 it is not at least until half an hour has elapsed that Lau- 
 rent finds an opportunity to say to Roslyn : 
 
 " I wish you had deferred gathering your roses, Miss 
 Vardray. I should like to see that line old garden of 
 yours." 
 
 " There is not much to see," Roslyn answers ; " but if 
 you have a fancy for old trees and old shrubberies, and a 
 few flowers, I shall be glad to show them to you now." 
 
 " Thanks ; I shall be delighted," he answers, quickly. 
 
 So they walk away, leaving the elders of the party 
 together ; and, if Colonel Duncan looks after them a lit- 
 tle wistfully, it is not because of jealous apprehensions. 
 Wiser, indeed, in many respects are the children of dark- 
 ness than the children of light, and Laurent judged 
 shrewdly in making his confidences respecting his en- 
 gagement. According to Duncan's simple creed of honor, 
 no gentleman could be guilty of making love, either di- 
 rectly or by implication, to one woman, while his faith 
 is pledged to another; so with a mind at rest and a 
 heart free from jealous pangs, he watches the two who 
 walk away — not grudging Laurent the pleasure of spend- 
 ing a short time among the roses in the summer twilight 
 with Roslyn, but only feeling that he would also like to 
 walk by her side, and listen to the music of her sweet, 
 gay tones. 
 
 Mrs. Vardray catches the expression on his face, and 
 divines the feeling which accompanies it. 
 
 " Why do you not join Roslyn and Mr. Laurent ? " 
 she asks. " Pray do not let us detain you." 
 
 But he smiles, and says in his cordial voice : 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Yardray, do you think that you are 
 detaining me ? I assure you that it is a great pleasure to 
 me to be here. And I am glad for Laurent to see your 
 
AMONG TEE FLOWERS. 53 
 
 garden with such a guide. By-the-by, what do you think 
 of him ? " 
 
 " If I were younger, I should probably think that he 
 is charming," replies Mrs. Vardray, smiling. " As it is, 
 I think him very handsome, and — shall I say agreeable \ ' 
 
 " Why not ? " asks Duncan. " But I know what you 
 mean. Attractive though he is, one is conscious of a 
 sense of distrust. In my case, it is founded on my knowl- 
 edge of his past career ; in your case, on feminine instinct, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " I lay no claim to that anomalous power," says Mrs. 
 Vardray, shaking her head. " But experience — the ex- 
 perience of nearly fifty years of life — has taught me some- 
 thing. There are many signs of face and manner by 
 which, almost unconsciously, one judges people — and — " 
 
 " Do not hesitate," says Duncan. " Laurent is a kins- 
 man but not a friend of mine. Pray let me hear frankly 
 your opinion of him." 
 
 " Frankly, then, he strikes me as a man more fasci- 
 nating than trustworthy." 
 
 " My dear ! " says her husband ; " I really think — " 
 
 But Colonel Duncan interrupts him. " I am glad to 
 have my judgment indorsed by Mrs. Vardray's," he says. 
 " I have been afraid that I might do the young man in- 
 justice from — well, from inherited prejudice. It is not 
 fair to visit the sins of a man's parents or grandparents 
 upon him, and one should give the blackest sheep a 
 chance. This is a very black sheep, I am afraid ; but, 
 if he is willing to do better, one should give him the 
 opportunity. He has come to me for advice, and I 
 could not refuse to help him. lie will stay with me for 
 some time." 
 
 " Indeed ! " says Mrs. Yardray. Almost unconsciously 
 
51 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 she looks after the two who have walked away, and 
 the thought that is in her mind is, "I am sorry to hear 
 it." 
 
 "I felt sure that it was a beautiful old garden," says 
 Laurent, " and now I can see that I am right." 
 
 "Almost any place is pretty in mid-summer," says 
 Roslyn ; " but I like this — though of course it is natural 
 that one should like one's home." 
 
 " Who could help liking it ? " says Laurent, looking 
 up at the fine old trees, half covered with ivy, at the 
 luxuriant hedges of evergreen-box twelve or fifteen feet 
 high, at the riotous roses and climbing vines. " It is a 
 place of which to dream. How particularly lovely it 
 must be in spring, when that orchard to the right is in 
 blossom !" 
 
 " It is lovelier than you can imagine," says Roslyn. 
 " Fruit-trees are nearly the most picturesque things in the 
 world at all times ; but when they are in bloom, and the 
 clover is springing under them, then I like the orchard 
 even better than the garden. But here is something I 
 like best of all, I think " — she pauses as she speaks at the 
 end of the garden, which they have reached, and indicates 
 the woodland stretch before them. " There is a charm 
 about woods which no pleasure-grounds can possess." 
 
 " Are you so much of a gypsy as to feel that ? " he 
 asks, resting his arm on the top of the gate, and smiling 
 as he looks at her. 
 
 " I am very much of a gypsy," she answers. " I like 
 all free, wild things. I suppose you don't understand the 
 taste, since I heard you say you have been chiefly accus- 
 tomed to living in cities." 
 
 " Yes, I have lived in cities nearly all my life ; but, for 
 
AMOXG THE FLOWERS. 55 
 
 that very reason, do you not think I might appreciate 
 sylvan things even more than you do?" 
 
 " I hardly think so. Is it not said that artificial pleas- 
 ures spoil the taste for natural ones ? " 
 
 " It is said so, yes ; but all general rules are subject to 
 exceptions, and I flatter myself that I am a very decided 
 exception to this. As a proof, I have promised my cousin 
 to stay with him for some time." 
 
 " I hope Colonel Duncan appreciates the compliment," 
 says Boslyn, with a little more of laughing sarcasm in her 
 tone than he exactly fancies. " Cliffton is a charming 
 place," she goes on, " but unless you like, 7'eally like, the 
 quiet monotony of country life, I am afraid you may be 
 repaid for your sacrifice by being very dull." 
 
 "I do not think that is at all possible," he says, de- 
 cidedly. " I am already greatly pleased with everything. 
 It is merely by chance, as it were, that I am here ; but I 
 feel that it is one of the luckiest chances of my life." 
 
 " I hope you will remain of that mind," says Koslyn. 
 " But I warn you that you must not expect anything in 
 the way of social pleasures. I do not think there could 
 be a duller neighborhood than this. But perhaps you 
 like riding, or fishing, or walking ; or do you take an in- 
 terest in agriculture ? " 
 
 " 1 am afraid I do not take an interest in anything 
 very useful, Miss Yardray. But I like — I do more than 
 like — riding ; and walking, under some circumstances, I 
 consider delightful. By-the-by, can we not extend our 
 walk \ " 
 
 She shakes her head. "Xot this evening — it is too 
 late, and our friends would wonder what had become of 
 
 us." 
 
 " It is not so late as the hour at which I saw you yes- 
 
56 ROSLYX'S FORTUNE. 
 
 terday evening," lie says. " Perhaps, liowever, you are 
 not aware that I have seen yon before '( " 
 
 She looks at him coolly. " Yes," she says, " I am 
 aware of it. I recognized you at once, and I saw that 
 you recognized me. It would be difficult, I think, for 
 either of us to escape recognition — the moon was shining 
 brightly as you passed me on Mr. Stanley's lawn." 
 
 " Then the precedent holds good. You do walk late 
 sometimes ; and why not now, when the moon has not 
 yet risen ? " 
 
 " The case is very different. Geoffrey and I were tak- 
 ing Lettice home ; and I only sat down on the lawn a mo- 
 ment to wait for him. " Besides," she laughs, " yonder 
 is the moon." 
 
 She points toward the east, where fiery-red, and large 
 as a cart-wheel, the full moon is rising over the fields and 
 forest. It is a beautiful scene, an hour full of loveliness 
 and peace, and Laurent feels that what can he, an adept 
 in flirtation, desire better than this — a witching face for 
 inspiration, a summer twilight, a rising moon ? He has 
 a consciousness of being fully equal to the occasion — when 
 Roslyn says : 
 
 " Now, I think we had better return. You have seen 
 the garden, and I have introduced with fine effect a moon- 
 rise for which you did not ask, and for which, therefore, 
 you should be greatly obliged." 
 
 " For which I am greatly obliged," he says, without 
 moving. " But I have hardly taken it in yet ; it is but 
 an instant since you pointed it out. Surely you do not 
 mean that there is any absolute necessity for retracing 
 our steps ? " 
 
 " That depends upon how you define an absolute ne- 
 cessity," she answers. " No one will interfere with you 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 57 
 
 if you stay here and look at the moon for an hour, two 
 hours, any number of hours — but I must return." 
 
 She moves away as she speaks, and Laurent — sur- 
 prised, amused, a little piqued — turns at once to accom- 
 pany her. " She is either very self-willed, or she knows 
 something of the game herself," he thinks. Aloud he 
 says : 
 
 " You are really cruel, Miss Yardray. This is a lovely 
 scene, and we shall lose it entirely at the house." 
 
 " And are there no attractions at the house to atone 
 for "it?" she asks. 
 
 " There is one attraction which would atone for the 
 loss of anything," he says ; " but it is not necessary that I 
 should go there to find that." 
 
 " It is very necessary you should go there to find it," 
 she replies, " if you intend my vanity to appropriate the 
 compliment. Now there is a fine opportunity fur reveng- 
 ing yourself, by pointing out that you did not intend 
 anything of the kind," she adds, with another laugh so 
 sweet and gay that Laurent smiles despite himself. 
 
 " Revenge is sweet," he observes, sententiously, " but 
 not even for the sake of tasting its sweetness, can I affirm 
 that I did not distinctly and entirely intend that your 
 vanity should appropriate the truth which you call a com- 
 pliment." 
 
 She makes a little courtesy, full of mirth and coquetry. 
 
 " That is magnanimous, as well as graceful and gal- 
 lant, Mr. Laurent," she says ; " and I am your debtor — 
 for really I should have felt the blow keenly if you had 
 told me that you did not mean me" 
 
 " You would not have believed me if I had told vou 
 so," answers Laurent, with one of his practiced glances. 
 
 It is a game which is old and common enough to him 
 
58 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 — only deriving freshness from the freshness of the sub- 
 ject — but to Roslyn it is new and somewhat alluring. 
 She has already seen enough of the world to understand 
 what he means, and mingled with a little resentment 
 comes the thought, "What if I should turn his amuse- 
 ment into earnest ! " There is attraction in the thought, 
 and she Iras the first requisite for victory — thorough con- 
 fidence in self, confidence in her own power to charm and 
 subdue. Nor is this confidence without a basis in experi- 
 ence, for when has she ever failed with any man who has 
 crossed her path ? Even now, she knows that Colonel 
 Duncan's eyes are looking eagerly through the twilight 
 for her ; and is not Geoffrey sulking in the background, 
 solely on her account? This sort of thing gives a 
 woman a feeling of assured power ; and so, with all the 
 rashness of one who has never known defeat, Roslvn feels 
 herself fully capable of trying conclusions with Mr. Lau- 
 rent. They stroll slowly back to the house, and, when 
 they reach the piazza, Mrs. Yardray says : 
 
 " You are just in time for tea." 
 
 After tea, Geoffrey has an opportunity to judge for 
 himself of the reputed devotion of Colonel Duncan, and 
 of Roslyn's manner of receiving it. Of the first, he 
 speedily sees there can be no doubt. The idea of con- 
 cealing his hopes and intentions has never for an instant 
 entered Hugo Duncan's mind, and no one could be with 
 him in Roslyn' s society for half an hour without perceiv- 
 ing that he has given her the whole of his heart. That 
 Roslyn herself is aware of this there can be no doubt, 
 either ; but whether the girl has not yet learned the mean- 
 ing of love, or whether she only exercises that reserve 
 which comes as a matter of instinct to the most untried 
 women, Geoffrey is at a loss to tell. He only knows that 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 59 
 
 there is no consciousness in her manner, no wavering 
 color, no drooping lashes, none of those signs which he 
 has been instructed to regard as love's language. 
 
 It is not only Geoffrey who is puzzled on this score. 
 Colonel Duncan himself feels, as often before, completely 
 baffled. There can be no doubt that the girl likes him — 
 she is gracious aud kind and sparkling whenever he draws 
 near ; but will this liking ever grow more ? has it any 
 shade of love in it ? These are questions he asks himself, 
 and to which he receives no satisfactory reply. 
 
 Even if he had the disposition, he has not the oppor- 
 tunity, to make any definite avowal to-night; but the de- 
 sire to have Roslyn to himself for a time grows strongly 
 on him, and before the evening is over he draws her 
 away from the general group by asking her to sing. 
 This means to leave the cool and lovely moonlight of the 
 veranda for the warmer atmosphere of the lamp-lit draw- 
 ing-room ; but she does so without demur, and goes in, 
 attended by him. 
 
 Those outside hear her clear, sweet voice in one or 
 two songs, and then silence falls — at least for them. But, 
 that silence does not reign w r ithin, they can have abun- 
 dant evidence by glancing through the open windows to 
 where Roslyn sits at the piano, talking to her companion, 
 who leans across the instrument. That she is well-con- 
 tent to sit there and talk, the lookers-on clearly perceive 
 — Geoffrey with jealous pain, Laurent with a feeling of 
 annoyance which surprises himself. This might be partly 
 soothed, perhaps, were he aware that he is, during part of 
 the time at least, the subject of conversation. 
 
 " What do you think of my cousin ? " Duncan has said, 
 lightly, yet with some anxiety. 
 
 Roslyn lifts her eyes to his with the frankness of a 
 
60 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 child. " I think he is the most handsome and the most ele- 
 gant man I have ever seen," she answers ; " but he thinks 
 — oh, he thinks very well of himself ! " 
 
 " Most men do, I am afraid," says Duncan, laughing. 
 " Vanity is such a common failing with people who have 
 no such excuse for it as he has, that one feels almost bound 
 to pardon it in him." 
 
 " I don't feel inclined to pardon it in anybody," she 
 says, " at least not in any man. A woman, now, has a 
 prescriptive right to be vain. I am afraid I am vain my- 
 self, but I don't think I am nearly so vain as Mr. Laurent." 
 
 " You are rather hard on him," says Duncan. " Such 
 a handsome young fellow must be pardoned some foibles. 
 He has been spoiled, you see. I have no doubt he is an 
 accomplished lady-killer." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, at all," says Roslyn, with a 
 curling lip. " That is just what I mean — that is what is 
 the matter with him. He has lived among small things, 
 and had small ends. I don't know very much of the 
 world, but it seems to me that, to make a noble character, 
 one must have a noble aim. If I were a man, I would be 
 a man, and endeavor to kill something higher than the 
 hearts or fancies of foolish women." 
 
 " You are right about the noble aim," says Duncan, 
 smiling. " But are you certain that the women are fool- 
 ish who lose their hearts % " 
 
 " I think they are worse than foolish," she answers. 
 " It seems to me that falling in love is a great absurdity 
 from any point of view ; but, if I fell in love at all, it cer- 
 tainly would not be with Narcissus." 
 
 " That is hardly fair to Laurent, who may be a manly 
 fellow, for all his handsome looks and delicate grace. Do 
 you remember 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 01 
 
 4 The fool who last year at her Majesty's ball 
 Sickened me so with his simper and pride, 
 Is the hero now heard of, the first on the wall 
 With the bayonet- wound in his side ' ? 
 
 I don't mean to insinuate that Laurent is the least of a 
 fool, or could even sicken one with a simper of pride ; 
 but I mean that it is well to remember that we never 
 know how much manly stuff there may be even in a curled 
 darling of fashion." 
 
 " You never fail to have something kind to say of 
 every one," says Roslyn, looking up at him with admira- 
 tion, " and you make me feel very uncharitable ; but I 
 meant no harm with regard to Mr. Laurent. He may be 
 as admirable within as without, only I don't think so ! 
 Now, what shall I sing, or do you want to hear me sing 
 any more % " 
 
 " You know I am never tired of hearing you sing — 
 but I fear I have monopolized you too long. Shall we 
 go out again, or shall we call in Laurent and make him 
 sing ? I fancy he sings very well." 
 
 " Oh, by all means call him in. I wonder that I did 
 not think of that before. He has a singing face." 
 
 So Laurent is called in, and admits that he sings "a 
 little." He proves to have a charming tenor voice, and 
 gives several songs — an operatic air, a German serenade, 
 and a French song — accompanying himself with ease. 
 But presently he springs up from the piano with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "I am unconscionable, I fear," he says; "and I think 
 I see by my cousin's face that it is growing time to say 
 good-night. — If you see me very soon again, Mrs. Yar- 
 dray, do not be surprised, for I can scarcely say how 
 much I have enjoyed this evening." 
 
62 HOSLYJV'S FORTUNE. 
 
 A few minutes later the cousins are riding away, and, 
 as Roslyn stands on the steps in the moonlight watching 
 them, Geoffrey hears her humming to herself the air 
 which Laurent sang last. 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 THE COMEDY PROGRESSES. 
 
 " There is such a thing as being too close to a girl 
 when you are in love with her," says Geoffrey, moodily. 
 
 It is to Lettice he is speaking ; and they are alone to- 
 gether in the garden, he lying on the grass, she sitting 
 demurely upright on a rustic bench. 
 
 " I suppose there is such a thing as being too close to 
 anybody whom you particularly love or admire," she re- 
 plies. " There are few idols that will bear too near in- 
 spection." 
 
 " You don't suppose I meant that one might be too 
 close as far as she is concerned ? " exclaimed Geoffrey, 
 more energetically than lucidly. " I meant that, as far as 
 one's own interest is concerned, one might be too close — 
 too familiar, you see. Perhaps I ought to go away and 
 let Hoslyn learn to have some kind of a feeling of strange- 
 ness toward me, for now she treats me exactly as if I were 
 her brother." 
 
 " And how else should she treat vou ? " asks Lettice. 
 " Are you not like a brother to her ? Have you not al- 
 ways lived with her, and are you not living with her now 
 in just that relation?" 
 
 "You know that I am not ! " he answers. "I am no 
 
THE COMEDY PROGRESSES. 03 
 
 brother to her at all. I love her, Lettice ; I have loved 
 her all my life — but I have no hope that she will ever 
 marry me." 
 
 lie is lying back, with his hands under his head, and 
 as he utters the last word his eyes meet Lettice's witli such 
 a look of pain in them that the girl's eyes soften from 
 sympathy. 
 
 " You despair too soon," she says. " It seems to me 
 that if I were a man I would not easily give up anything 
 on which I had set my heart or my will. A woman is 
 different " — her slight hands clasp together — " a woman 
 must submit to circumstances ; but a man should conquer 
 them. You have many advantages in being so close to 
 Roslyn, though there is a disadvantage connected with it, 
 no doubt. She sees you at all times — when you are dull, 
 when you are cross, when you are altogether out of sorts 
 — not like Mr. Laurent, whom she only sees when he is 
 on his best behavior, and exerting himself to be agree- 
 able ; but then there is the compensation that you see her 
 also at all times, and know or ought to know better how 
 to please her than he does." 
 
 " You are a kind comforter," says Geoffrey, " but I 
 do not think there is any compensation in the position at 
 all. It is more tantalizing than anything else, to be so 
 near and yet so far — like the star we have heard of, you 
 know — to be treated with the easy familiarity of an old 
 shoe, and to see that fellow come in and have the best of 
 everything — confound him ! " 
 
 " It is Laurent you are jealous of, then — not Colonel 
 Duncan?" 
 
 " I am jealous of everybody," says the young man, 
 frankly ; u but I certainly think there is more to fear 
 from Laurent than from Duncan. He — I mean Duncan 
 
Ctt ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 — is too old, and Koslyn is too gay. I don't believe she 
 would marry for position and wealth, and I don't think 
 she could have any other reasons for marrying him. But 
 Laurent — well, he is different : and what is he doing 
 here ? " 
 
 " I do not know," answers Lettice. She is half in- 
 clined to add, " I think my father knows," but refrains — 
 partly from habitual caution, partly because she seldom 
 mentions her father's name when it is possible to avoid 
 doing so. Mr. Stanley has smiled significantly on hear- 
 ing of Laurent as domiciled at Cliffton and made familiar 
 at Yerdevale. "A gay young sprig," he said, "a very 
 gay young sprig. Well, I wish him good luck. I'm 
 always glad of the luck of my friends." 
 
 Now, to be a friend of Mr. Stanley's is not a distinc- 
 tion in the opinion of Eldon County ; and being painfully 
 aware of this, Lettice (bearing herself no ill-will to Mr. 
 Laurent) does not mention the fact. She only pauses a 
 moment, and then adds : 
 
 " Of course, it is not likely that I would know — but I 
 suppose it is natural that he should stay with Colonel 
 Duncan, who is his cousin." 
 
 " And who knows no more of him than we do," says 
 Geoffrey. " Lettice " — he hesitates — " have you ever 
 heard your father speak of him at all ? " 
 
 "Very little," answers Lettice, coloring. "I think 
 father has known him in New Orleans, and he met him 
 accidentally in Kirton the day you got home. Mamma 
 told me he brought him to tea that evening ; but I was 
 here, so I did not see him until, if you remember, he was 
 on the piazza as we went up." 
 
 " I remember," says Geoffrey, grimly. It occurs to 
 him with a sense of surprise that " Mr. Stanley's associ- 
 
THE COMEDY PROGRESSES. 65 
 
 ate," against speaking of whom he warned Roslyn that 
 evening, should be at this present moment sitting with 
 Roslyn in the drawing-room — for she was called from 
 this pleasant garden-spot by the intelligence of his arrival. 
 " Come, Lettice, you and Geoffrey," she said. But Lettice 
 shook her head, and Geoffrey did not stir. " I will stay 
 here," said the former. " Mr. Laurent has certainly not 
 come to see me." 
 
 " I echo that with emphasis," says Geoffrey, doggedly ; 
 and so Roslyn goes alone to the house, and the conversa- 
 tion just recorded takes place between those left behind. 
 
 "While it is taking place she has entered the drawing- 
 room — where Mrs. Vardray is entertaining, or being en- 
 tertained by, Mr. Laurent — and has greeted that gentle- 
 man. It is his third visit, the first which he has made 
 alone ; but already he advances to take her hand with the 
 air of a familiar visitor. 
 
 "You must forgive an idle man for coming to cast 
 himself on your charity, Miss Vardray," he says. "My 
 cousin has business to occupy his time, but I have none ; 
 and with a horse at my command, and the road to Verde- 
 vale open, what could I do but come?" 
 
 " We are very glad to see you," answers the girl, smil- 
 ing. As yet she is so fancy-free that the words come 
 easily and lightly from her lips. She is really glad to see 
 him, and her bright, clear glance tells him so as well as 
 her words. He is young, handsome, entertaining, ready 
 with graceful compliments and glances full of homage : 
 what girl would not be glad to see such a cavalier, es- 
 specially in the monotony of a country life, where any 
 fresh element is desirable? 
 
 u The ride alone would be a sufficient inducement for 
 going out to-day," she adds, as they sit down. " What a 
 
66 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 beautiful day it is ! — and what a lovely road from Cliffton 
 here ! The views of the valley from the bluffs are so fine. 
 By-the-by, Mr. Laurent, have you seen yet the one lion of 
 our neighborhood, the falls of the river?" 
 
 "I have not seen them," Laurent answers, "but I 
 think I have heard them ; at least, at night, when all 
 other sounds are hushed, there comes into my window a 
 sound suggestive of some distant Niagara." 
 
 " That is the falls. It is a beautiful place, for the hills 
 close in upon the river, which cuts its way through them 
 in a series of splendid rapids." 
 
 " I must see it," says Laurent, with an appearance of 
 the deepest interest. " Will you be my guide ? Can we 
 not ride there ? I should like it very much." 
 
 " So should I," answers Roslyn ; " but it is rather far 
 for a ride. We usually make the excursion as a picnic, 
 and spend the day on the rocks. We have not been 
 there at all this year. — Why should we not go to-morrow, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " There is no reason why we should not," Mrs. Var- 
 dray answers, " if you can make the necessary prepara- 
 tions." 
 
 " We do not need to make many preparations," says 
 Roslyn. "I am tired of picnics in which the whole 
 neighborhood joins. Do you not think" — she looks at 
 Laurent — " that it would be pleasanter if we just went 
 ourselves ? " 
 
 " Very much pleasanter," he answers, eagerly. " I 
 suppose you mean just you and me." 
 
 " Oh, by no means," she replies, laughing. " Setting 
 aside Mrs. Grundy — or mamma there, who represents her 
 at present — I could not think of subjecting either of us 
 to the test of a whole day's tete-a-tete. When I said l just 
 
THE COMEDY PROGRESSES. 67 
 
 ourselves,' I meant mamma, if she will go — you will, 
 mamma, won't you I — and you and I and Lettice and 
 Geoffrey and Colonel Duncan and the children — they will 
 never be satisfied to be left." 
 
 " I think it is a very good idea," says Mrs. Yardray ; 
 " and if I can not go, Miss Mills will take care of the chil- 
 dren and look after the lunch." 
 
 " It is settled, then," says Eoslyn, gayly. " I hope you 
 do not feel dismayed, Mr. Laurent — a rural picnic is 
 sometimes a very formidable affair." 
 
 " Do I look dismayed ? " asks Laurent. " I assure you 
 I feel delighted. But," he adds, as Mrs. Yardray is at 
 this moment opportunely called from the room, " I can 
 not refrain from wishing that my original programme 
 was to be carried out." 
 
 " Do you mean you wish that only you and I were 
 going?" asks Roslyn, with her piquant smile. "Then 
 to keep you in that mind, it is a fortunate thing that the 
 programme is not to be carried out. One bit of wisdom 
 my limited experience of life has taught me, and it is 
 that if one does not want to grow tired of things or peo- 
 ple one must not see too much of them." 
 
 " That bit of wisdom sounds as if your experience of 
 life had not been very limited," says Laurent. " Gener- 
 ally speaking, it is a sad and disillusionizing truth ; but 
 there are some people of whom one feels instinctively 
 that one could never tire." 
 
 "Are there? " says Roslyn, in a tone of slight incre- 
 dulity. " But one's instincts are sometimes mistaken, 
 you know ; so it is well not to subject them to too severe 
 a test. I am glad you like the idea of a day of gypsy- 
 ing," she adds, changing the subject quickly; "and 
 now do you not think it would be pleasanter to go into 
 
68 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 the garden and join Lettice and Geoffrey, than to sit 
 here ? " 
 
 " I am at your command," he answers, " only ventur- 
 ing to remark that it is pleasant to be anywhere with 
 youP 
 
 " But out-doors on a summer day is better than in- 
 doors with anybody," she says, taking up her wide straw 
 hat ; " so come." 
 
 He rises, and leaving the house, they stroll side by 
 side, as on the first evening of their meeting, across the 
 wide lawn into the pleasant old garden. Here, under a 
 spreading tree, they find the rustic seat, the impression 
 of a figure on the turf, and an open novel, but Lettice and 
 Geoffrey have vanished. Roslyn strongly susj)ects the 
 truth — that, seeing Laurent and herself issue from the 
 house, they, by mutual consent, doubled around the hedge 
 and made away ; but she only smiles, and says, lightly : 
 
 " I left them here, but it seems they are gone. Let- 
 tice, perhaps, went home, and Geoffrey accompanied her 
 — it is a pleasant walk through the woods over to Mr. 
 Stanley's place." 
 
 "Where I saw you first," says Laurent, in a tone that 
 gives a good deal of meaning to the words. " I never 
 imagined that I should have reason to congratulate my- 
 self upon possessing the acquaintance of Mr. Stanley; 
 but I did that night when I saw you in the moonlight. 
 Will you forgive me if I add, but, for having seen you, 
 and desiring to know you, I should hardly have remem- 
 bered that I had a cousin living in this neighborhood ? " 
 
 Considering that this statement is purely an inspira- 
 tion of the moment, it is one which does credit to Mr. 
 Laurent's inventive power. Roslyn flushes a little, for, al- 
 though she has a steady head, this is very subtile flattery. 
 
THE COMEDY PROGRESSES. 69 
 
 "I have no doubt you are indebted to the chance 
 which turned your thoughts in that direction, then," she 
 says ; " for whether or not I am worth knowing — no, Mr. 
 Laurent, please don't say that I am, for really the oppor- 
 tunity for a compliment was too obvious, and really, also, 
 you don't know — there can be no doubt that Colonel 
 Duncan emphatically w." 
 
 " He is a very fine fellow, indeed," says Laurent, with 
 the least j^ossible tinge of patronage in his tone. " I am 
 glad to know him ; but if you fancy that pleasure would 
 detain me — " A slight shrug of the shoulders completes 
 the sentence, expressively. 
 
 " If it does not, it ought to do so," says Roslyn, de- 
 cidedly. " Colonel Duncan is my hero, my chevalier, my 
 type of a noble gentleman." 
 
 " Happy Colonel Duncan ! " says Laurent, letting his 
 dark, brilliant eyes, full of expression, rest on the bright, 
 young face — while to himself he says, " She cares nothing 
 about him, or she could not talk of him in this manner." 
 
 " He ought to be happy if the admiration of every 
 one who knows him can make him so," says Roslyn. 
 
 " I am inclined to think that the knowledge of your 
 admiration would go further to do that than the good 
 opinions of every one else," says Laurent, thinking that 
 he will sound her a little. 
 
 She blushes like a rose, but no change of expression 
 comes into the frank, clear eyes. 
 
 " Colonel Duncan has always been very kind to me," 
 she says ; "but I have too good an opinion of his sense to 
 fancy that he rates my judgment at any such absurd valu- 
 ation." 
 
 "There are some valuations with which wisdom has 
 nothing to do," Laurent replies, " though I am far from 
 
70 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 meaning to imply that any possibly high valuation of 
 your opinion would be absurd." 
 
 " In other words, you are trying to see how many 
 graceful things you can say to me," she answers, gayly ; 
 " but please don't say any more, for I assure you I am not 
 accustomed to compliments, and they might have a very 
 bad effect, if taken in too great a quantity. Since we 
 have not found Lettice and Geoffrey, shall we return to 
 the house ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, if you will allow me to make a sug- 
 gestion, can we not explore those woods which it was too 
 late to enter the other evening? I am sure there are 
 many delightful nooks of shade and coolness in their 
 depths." 
 
 "Indeed, yes," replies the girl. "I do not think 
 there could be more beautiful places anywhere than in 
 those woods ; but " — she pauses, hesitates — " it is rather 
 warm, I fear, to walk this morning." 
 
 " Now, Miss Yard ray," says her companion, seriously, 
 " I call this most cruel and unkind. It was too late the 
 other evening, and now it is too warm ! Are you deter- 
 mined that I shall not enter your enchanted forest ? " 
 
 « No — if you really care to go, I shall be glad to show 
 you all my favorite places. I only thought that another 
 time might be pleasanter — and with Lettice and Geoffrey." 
 
 u There is no time like the present," he says ; " and as 
 for Miss Stanley and Mr. Thorne — well, you must forgive 
 me if I say that I think we do admirably without them. 
 "Will you come ? " 
 
 He holds the open gate in his hand, and his eyes plead 
 more strongly than his words. 
 
 Roslyn hesitates an instant longer — but the woman 
 that hesitates is lost. She goes. 
 
"UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE." 71 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " UNDER THE GEEEXWOOD-TREE." 
 
 The next morning finds a very merry party starting 
 from the door of Verde vale. In an uncovered wagon- 
 ette the children with their governess, Miss Mills, and 
 the lunch-basket, are packed ; while Koslyn, Lettice, and 
 Geoffrey are on horseback. Neither Laurent nor Colonel 
 Duncan appears in the cavalcade, for the road leads past 
 CI iff ton, and they will join the party there. 
 
 "I hope you will have a pleasant day," says Mrs. 
 Vardray, standing on the veranda-steps, as they prepare 
 to start ; and Roslyn answers, gayly : 
 
 " I am sure we shall." 
 
 Geoffrey is not so sure ; but he holds his peace, and 
 prepares to make the best of things. " You can never 
 win a woman's heart by being sulky and cross," Lettice 
 has said to him ; and he has determined to bear her coun- 
 sel in mind and endeavor to mend his manners, which of 
 late have certainly tended toward the decidedly sulky and 
 the objectionably cross. 
 
 In fiction, as in actual life, a man in such a position 
 obtains but little sympathy : his suffering — which is most 
 real — seems to those who are not enduring like pangs, 
 very fanciful ; and our good wishes are likely to go with 
 the successful rival from the mere fact that he is success- 
 ful. Yet, in truth, there is no more miserable creature 
 on earth than the lover who recognizes that the heart on 
 which all his hopes of happiness are set is either beyond 
 his reach or hopelessly drifting away from him. Geoffrey 
 
72 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 has never, from his early boyhood, made any plan of life 
 in which Roslyn did not bear a part, and, when he tries 
 now to brace his courage to the thought of a life without 
 her, a sense of desolation comes over him, which can 
 hardly be expressed in words. To temper this, however, 
 some such wisdom as that contained in the proverb, "Les 
 malheurs des malheurs sont ceux qui rt arrivent jamais" 
 occurs to him, for even in a love-affair he has much of 
 the sound sense which we call practical. " A wise man 
 does not cross his bridges till he comes to them," he says 
 to himself. "Why should I go to meet what may never 
 occur ? What everybody expects Roslyn to do is hardly 
 the thing she is likely to do. If she does, I must bear it 
 like a man, I suppose ; but there is no good in being mis- 
 erable by anticipation." 
 
 Fortifying himself with these reflections, he consented 
 to join the picnic, and now prepares to endure a day in 
 the companionship of the two men whom out of all the 
 world he, at this time, most heartily detests. Of which 
 of the two he is most jealous, it is hard to tell. What 
 good reason he has to fear Colonel Duncan as a rival, he 
 is well aware ; while his distrust of Laurent is as strong 
 as it is instinctive. But, for the present, neither of them 
 is here to share or to monopolize Roslyn's attention. 
 As he rides by her side, her eyes, her voice, her smile, are 
 all his own, and so sweet and blithe are they that he is be- 
 guiled into forgetfulness of the disturbing element ahead, 
 until Lettice, looking down the shadow-flecked road, says : 
 
 " Yonder are Colonel Duncan and Mr. Laurent wait- 
 ing for us. How punctual they are ! " 
 
 " Yery punctual, indeed," says Geoffrey, as he, also, 
 looks forward and perceives two horsemen waiting at a 
 point where the road divides — one fork leading into Cliff- 
 
" UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE." 73 
 
 ton, the other continuing along the river. " They must 
 be anxious to start. I hope we have kept them waiting." 
 
 " For shame, Geoffrey ! " says Roslyn. " I can not im- 
 agine what is the matter with you of late — vou are so bad- 
 tempered ! To think of hoping that you have kept peo- 
 ple waiting — the very most disagreeable thing in the 
 world ! — I hope that you have not waited for us long," 
 she adds with a smile as the two gentlemen ride forward 
 to meet them. 
 
 " Not at all," answers Colonel Duncan. " You have 
 forgotten what an extended view there is from Cliffton. 
 We saw you half a mile away, and so rode down to meet 
 you. I am glad we have so fine a day for the excur- 
 sion," he goes on, as he turns and takes his place by her 
 side. 
 
 " And I am glad you have been tempted to join us," 
 says Roslyn, looking up at him with frank, sunshiny eyes. 
 " I was half afraid that you would scorn the whole affair." 
 
 " Why ? " he asks, smiling. " Do you think me so old, 
 or so grave, that I should be indifferent to a day of sum- 
 mer gypsying ? " 
 
 " Certainly neither old nor grave," she answers, with a 
 laugh, "but dignified, perhaps — and then the falls are not 
 new to you, as they are to Mr. Laurent. But I am very 
 glad you have come," she repeats quickly, fearing that he 
 may think otherwise ; " and I am sure we shall have a 
 very pleasant day." 
 
 " I am sure that you are enjoying it," says Colonel 
 Duncan, looking at the joyousness of her face, which 
 seems to reflect all the sparkling brightness of the sum- 
 mer morning, the glad sunshine on the hills, the glancing 
 lights and lovely shadows of the river. 
 
 " Of course, I am enjoying it," she answers. " I can 
 
74 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 not understand how people can go through life, taking it 
 in a quiet, undemonstrative way — like Lettice, for in- 
 stance. What I enjoy, I enjoy with my whole heart, and 
 soul, and strength." 
 
 " It is a great gift, that of being able to feel so intense- 
 ly," says her companion. " The only drawback is that 
 you suffer as keenly as you enjoy." 
 
 " I suppose I would if 1 had anything to suffer," she 
 answers, " but I have never had a grief in my life ; I don't 
 know what sadness is. I sometimes think that I must be 
 a very shallow creature to be able to say that, but it is 
 true." 
 
 " I do not think it follows at all that you are shal- 
 low," says Colonel Duncan. " Such a nature is rare, but 
 it is a priceless gift — not only to yourself, but to others. 
 Why, it is like going into sunshine, just to be where you 
 are." 
 
 " It is kind of you to say so," she replies, glancing at 
 him with a smile ; and, in doing so, she meets the expres- 
 sion of his eyes, an expression of admiration and tender- 
 ness which no one could mistake. All the passionate love 
 of his heart is clearly revealed at that instant ; and the 
 girl — who, standing on the threshold of this strange mys- 
 tery of feeling, unconsciously shrinks from it — flushes to 
 the roots of her hair, and adds, hastily : " What a fine 
 road this is just here ! Do let us have a good, stretching 
 canter." 
 
 She touches her horse with the whip as she speaks, 
 and while they are galloping over the smooth road, Dun- 
 can has time to wonder what that sudden blush and con- 
 fusion meant. He has some knowledge of women, and it 
 seems to him that it is a good sign — a sign of hope for 
 him. It is the first, the very first, token the girl has ever 
 
" UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE." 75 
 
 given of recognizing his devotion ; and he feels for the 
 first time as if he trod on something like assured ground. 
 At least she knows, she understands — " and it shall not be 
 my fault if she does not understand more," he thinks. 
 
 Meanwhile Laurent, who has no mind to excite his 
 cousin's suspicion or jealousy by any attempt to engross 
 Roslyn's attention, has been riding with Lettice and 
 Geoffrey, making himself agreeable, and impressing them 
 both with a realization of his powers of attraction. " I 
 don't think that even I could resist him, if he were to 
 make love and look at me in the way he looks at Ros- 
 lyn ! " thinks Lettice ; while Geoffrey admits to himself 
 with grim disdain that this is " the kind of fellow " to 
 play havoc with women's hearts. 
 
 Roslyn's canter lasts with little intermission until the 
 place of their destination is reached — a wild and pictur- 
 esque gorge, where the river in a rushing, turbulent 
 flood, cuts its way through the hills that tower abruptly 
 above it, and falls in a series of beautiful cascades. 
 
 The party dismount and fasten their horses some dis- 
 tance from the river-bank, then on foot follow a winding 
 path that leads around the base of the hills to the mar- 
 gin of the rushing water. What words can describe the 
 beauty of such a spot as this, so " lovely, lonesome, cool, 
 and green," that it almost seems as if one might be re- 
 freshed to think of it amid the burning sands of a desert! 
 The reposeful charm of the great heights, clad in green 
 from base to crest, is intensified by contrast with the 
 whirling, surging water, lashing itself to foam around 
 masses of gray rock, and sending clouds of spray heaven- 
 ward from the feet of its cataracts. 
 
 Roslvn has hurried forward, while Colonel Duncan 
 is fastening her horse and his own, and Laurent finds 
 
76 EOSLYX'S FORTUNE. 
 
 her on the margin of the stream, balancing herself in an 
 apparently precarious position on a shelving rock. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " she asks, as he reaches 
 her side. " Is it not splendid ? " 
 
 " The gorge, do you mean ? " he says. il It seems to 
 be very fine ; but I must ask you to show me its beauties 
 — and I beg most earnestly that you will find a safer posi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Than this ? " she asks, laughing. " Why, I was just 
 about to ask if you do not want to follow me out to the 
 middle of the river. I have often gone to that large 
 bowlder which you see yonder, by springing from rock to 
 rock." 
 
 "I admire such wonderful agility," says Laurent, 
 measuring with his eye the distance from point to point, 
 " but I do not think I can possibly venture to imitate it. 
 If there were any danger to brave, it would be a diiferent 
 matter ; but consider how very uncomfortable and how 
 very ridiculous one would be if one fell into the water, 
 and had to wade ashore ! " 
 
 " Geoffrey can tell you how one feels under those cir- 
 cumstances," says Eoslyn, turning to Geoffrey, who, with 
 the rest, has now come up. "It was his unhappy fate 
 once to test the depth and coldness of the water in just 
 that way." 
 
 " You don't add that you were the cause of it," says 
 Geoffrey ; "but Lettice will bear witness that you were." 
 
 " Yes, she was the cause," says Lettice, " for she in- 
 sisted that you could take a leap which you could not. It 
 was so foolish of you to try, that I think you deserved 
 your wetting." 
 
 " How severe you are, Miss Stanley ! " says Laurent. 
 " Have you no sympathy for the follies into which mascu- 
 
" UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE." 77 
 
 line human it j is beguiled by the influence of your own 
 sex?" 
 
 "Not any at all," answers Lettice, decidedly. "If 
 men are so weak as to be influenced to folly by women, I 
 do not pity them — especially since, in nine cases out of 
 ten, I am sure that their own want of sense is the cause 
 of their folly." 
 
 " Thank you, Lettice," says Geoffrey. " I call it un- 
 commonly kind to stand by a fellow in this handsome 
 way." 
 
 " As if you thought that I meant you ! ' says Lettice, 
 with a smile. " You were only a boy then, and Roslyn — 
 well, Roslyn was always a tyrant." 
 
 " I shall certainly not come to you for a character, 
 Lettice," says Roslyn. 
 
 Laurent looks up at her as she stands still balancing 
 on the rock, somewhat above him. 
 
 " Ma reine" he says, softly — so softly that no other 
 ear catches the words — "who would not bow to your 
 tyranny 1 " 
 
 " Come, then," she says, with a mischievous light in 
 her eyes — and before any one can interfere to prevent or 
 expostulate, she is springing from rock to rock toward the 
 center of the river. 
 
 Laurent hesitates an instant — it is rather a dismaying 
 prospect, that of missing some slippery rock, and flnding 
 himself in the surging, eddying water ; but he feels that 
 having embarked on a career of gallantry, and being, as 
 it were, put upon his mettle, he can not decline the chal- 
 lenge. He follows, therefore, with commendable cour- 
 age, and soon finds himself standing safely by Roslyn on 
 a large bowlder in the middle of the stream. 
 
 " Now," she says, turning to him, " are you not repaid 
 
78 BOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 for coming ? Look up the stream — what a fine view we 
 have of the two falls ! I think I like them better as seen 
 from here than from any other point." 
 
 " It is a beautiful spot," says Laurent, " and the view 
 is superb of all that body of water sweeping down upon 
 us. But it does not need the view to make me feel re- 
 paid for coming," he adds, with a direct look into her eyes 
 — " for," he thinks, " since I have been forced to run this 
 absurd risk, I will make the most of the opportunity." 
 
 " I am afraid that you are not a lover of nature, Mr. 
 Laurent," she says. "At least I observe that, whenever I 
 direct your attention to a beautiful scene, you manage to 
 imply something complimentary to ?ne, who am insignifi- 
 cant beyond measure when compared to it." 
 
 " That is a statement open to question," replies Lau- 
 rent. " It is not that I love nature less, but that I love 
 — forgive me ! " he says, abruptly changing his tone of 
 badinage to one of serious meaning. " Some subjects 
 should be held apart from jest — though jest may some- 
 times border so close on earnest that it is rather a veil 
 than a flippancy." 
 
 "Yes," says Koslyn, somewhat unmeaningly. She 
 has thrown a stick into the water, and is apparently en- 
 gaged in watching its gyrations on the tossing current, 
 while thinking that this is going a little further than she 
 likes — or, at least, a little faster. It is not to be denied 
 that her fancy is enlisted in Laurent's favor ; but, despite 
 this fact, she has been conscious, from the first, of an in- 
 stinctive distrust of him, an instinctive sense that his 
 words of homage do not ring wholly true. She suspects 
 him of desiring to trifle with her, and she has decided to 
 meet him at his own game. " Perhaps I may make it 
 earnest for him before he knows what he is about," she 
 
" UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE." 79 
 
 thinks, with a little thrill of anticipative triumph. " It 
 would serve him right." 
 
 But these were the reflections of reason and coolness 
 in solitude. Xow, alone with him, exposed to all the 
 fascination of his poetic face, his eloquent eyes, his modu- 
 lated tones, she feels that her best safety lies, perhaps, in 
 retreat, although she does not part with her armor of non- 
 chalance. 
 
 "Excuse me," she says, with a slight start; <; I an- 
 swered at random, I fear, for the water makes so much 
 noise that it is difficult to hear distinctly — and then I was 
 so much engaged in watching my stick. See, there it 
 goes ! Fancy if it were you or I being tossed about like 
 that ! It may be our fate really, if we should miss our 
 footing." 
 
 " It is already my fate — in a typical sense," says Lau- 
 rent, readily accepting the diversion, and thinking that 
 she has more savoir-faire than he would have given her 
 credit for. " Have you ever thought what it must be, 
 Miss Yardray, to be tossed from one wave of circum- 
 stances to another, to be the plaything of the currents of 
 life, as that stick is of these waters \ " 
 
 " Why should I \ " asks Roslyn. " A human being is 
 not an inanimate stick ; a man ought to be able to guide 
 himself, and not be the plaything of waves and currents." 
 
 "Ought!" he repeats, with a smile half-sad, half-bit- 
 ter. " Yes, I grant you, he ought ; but do many of us 
 do what we ought to ? I, at least, am a striking exanrple 
 of the contrary. I have frittered away my time, my 
 talents, my opportunities, until now that stick typifies my 
 life only too accurately." 
 
 " I hope you are too severe on yourself," says Hoslyn 
 — he has gained his point and interested her, as the ex- 
 
80 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 pression of her face shows. " Even if you have done all 
 this, you are not a stick, and you can do better yet." 
 
 "Perhaps," he says, with meditative mournfulness ; 
 "if I had an object, au aim, something to nerve my pur- 
 pose : but this is what I lack. Life has never seemed to 
 me to hold anything worth striving for. Now, you know, 
 to bring out whatever is good in him, a man must have 
 something for which to strive — some object above and 
 beyond him, to be at once inspiration and reward." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," says Roslyn ; " but is not this to 
 be found ? " 
 
 " Many people find it easily," he says, with a slight 
 accent of contempt ; " but they are people readily satisfied. 
 I do not find it — I mean that my life heretofore has not 
 found it — because the aims that satisfy most men do not 
 satisfy me. I search for Egeria, perhaps — do you know 
 where she is to be found ? " 
 
 The look that accompanies this question says more 
 than a volume of speech, and Hoslyn thrills with that 
 mingled sense of danger and pleasure which gives a sub- 
 tile zest to episodes of this kind. It is not a vulgar flir- 
 tation, but a playing lightly with issues which may be 
 fraught with gravity, a warding off seriousness because 
 feeling that the time for it has not yet come. 
 
 " No," she answers, shaking her head. " I do not 
 number any nymphs among my acquaintances. But they 
 are generally found in sylvan haunts, I believe ; so this 
 might be a good place to look for her." 
 
 " Perhaps I have found her," he says, smiling. 
 
 " Then in that case there is no need to look," she re- 
 plies. " But now I think that we had better go back to 
 the shore, for it is a laborious climb to the upper fall, and 
 I see the others have started." 
 
"OX THE SAME SPOT." SI 
 
 " Let them start," says Laurent. " Why can we not 
 stay here ? We see the fall without the trouble of climb- 
 ing to it." 
 
 u You may stay if you like," says Roslyn. " You 
 will make a very picturesque object alone on this rock in 
 the middle of the river. I will tell you how you look 
 from the upper fall." 
 
 With a laugh she turns away, and, before he can an- 
 swer, is half-way across the river, springing lightly from 
 rock to rock. He has no alternative but to follow — his 
 vexation tempered by amusement, and a dawning sense 
 that there is to be even more piquancy in the affair than 
 he had reckoned upon. 
 
 They rejoin the rest of the party at the upper fall, 
 and an hour or two are spent in climbing over rocks, being 
 wet by spray, gathering ferns, rescuing children from 
 perilous positions, and all the other amusements of a day 
 of gypsying. Finally, Miss Mills proposes luncheon ; and 
 with somewhat exhausted energies and very good appe- 
 tites the party assemble in a romantic spot by the side 
 of the brawling stream. Here they are discussing, with 
 much relish, sandwiches and cold chicken, jellies and 
 cakes, when a sound is heard which carries consternation 
 with it — a long, low, distant roll of thunder ! 
 
 CHAPTER Yin. 
 
 "on the same spot." 
 
 Knives and forks are laid down, and the party gaze 
 at one another in dismay. A thunder-storm out in the 
 
82 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 woods is no trifle, and shelter near by there is none. Miss 
 Mills looked up appeaiingly to the blue sky overhead. 
 
 " Do you think there can be a storm at hand ? " she 
 asks, vaguely and generally, of the company. 
 
 " I'll take an observation," says Geoffrey, rising. 
 
 Colonel Duncan goes with him, and they climb the 
 hill which overshadows them, so as to obtain a wider view 
 of the sky. On gaining the eminence, they at once per- 
 ceive great masses of dark clouds in the southwest, at 
 sight of which Geoffrey shakes his head. 
 
 " There is certainly a heavy storm coming," he says. 
 u The sooner we start for home the better." 
 
 " Yes," says Colonel Duncan, " but you will not be 
 able to reach Yerdevale before the storm bursts. We 
 may reach Cliffton, however, if we ride fast ; so let us 
 get off as soon as possible." 
 
 Their report ends the feast summarily, and prepara- 
 tions for departure are vigorously made. The children, 
 with their mouths still full, clamber into the wagonette, 
 where Miss Mills is exhorting, entreating, and command- 
 ing to haste — being one of those people whom the mere 
 thought of lightning fills with nervous terror — and the 
 equestrians mount their horses as soon as the latter can 
 be saddled. Meanwhile the cloud is moving close, while 
 louder and more loud the roll of thunder comes. 
 
 " We must ride very fast," says Colonel Duncan, as 
 he lifts Koslyn to her saddle. " A cloud of this kind ad- 
 vances rapidly." 
 
 " So will we ! " she answers, gayly. " If it can catch 
 us, it may wet us — now for a breathless gallop ! " 
 
 It is a very breathless gallop, and, by the time they 
 reach the gates of Cliffton, the heavens are obscured by 
 darkness, lightning is flashing around, and thunder roar- 
 
" ON THE SAME SPOT." S3 
 
 ing above them. But they accomplish the distance well, 
 for the first heavy drops of rain are falling on the leaves 
 of the trees as they ride up the avenue. They dismount 
 as hurriedly as they mounted, the wagonette is unloaded, 
 and the horses have hardly been led away, when the storm 
 bursts in all its fury. 
 
 It is a fury which makes them truly grateful to be 
 sheltered from it, as they watch the descending torrents 
 of rain, and see the trees tossing and swaying in the wind. 
 " How fortunate that we reached here just in time ! " they 
 are saying to one another. Roslyn, alone, does not join 
 in the congratulations, having walked to a window, where 
 she stands looking silently out. 
 
 "What fascinates you?" asks Colonel Duncan, going 
 to her side. " Are you thinking how wet you would be 
 if we had been ten minutes later in starting, or the rain 
 ten minutes earlier in coming over ? " 
 
 " Xo," she answers, turning her bright eyes on him. 
 " I was thinking that I shall probably never have as good 
 an opportunity again to be out in such a storm as this — 
 and I have always wanted to be ! " 
 
 " Why ? You don't suppose that it would be pleas- 
 ant, do you ? " 
 
 " Xot in the sense you mean, perhaps — but it would 
 be exhilarating. Don't you want to test everything? 
 What is the good of living, if one does not taste every 
 possible sensation ? " 
 
 He smiles as one might at a child. 
 
 " I confess that ambition has never occurred to me," 
 he says. " Where did you learn such ideas ? " 
 
 " Are they strange ? " she asks. " It seems to me the 
 most natural thing imaginable — to desire to extract from 
 life all that it holds. But," she goes on, with a quick 
 
Si EOSLVX'S FORTUNE. 
 
 change of subject, " do you know that I have nev r er been 
 at Cliff ton before, except once, when I was a very little 
 girl, and papa brought me here with him ? " 
 
 " I remember it well," says Duncan. " It was soon 
 after I returned from the army, and your father came to 
 see me. He had you with him ; you were so pretty — 
 such a fairy rather than a child — that I think I lost my 
 heart to you then. That was ten years ago. I have been 
 very constant, have I not ? " 
 
 " Yery," she answers, lightly. "I remember that you 
 were as kind to me then as you have been since. We 
 went into the garden, and you feasted me on grapes. Can 
 we not go into that garden agaiu ? " 
 
 " I wish it were possible — perhaps it may be when the 
 rain ceases, if you do not mind getting your feet wet. 
 Meanwhile, look around my bachelor's quarters, and tell 
 me if you do not think them fairly comfortable." 
 
 " Much more than that," she answers, glancing over 
 the spacious, handsome room — then, catching sight of her 
 own picture, she blushes quickly. 
 
 " You see that I have at least your shadow here," he 
 says. 
 
 While this conversation is taking place at the window, 
 Laurent has been endeavoring to console the nervousness 
 of Miss Mills, who has retreated to a remote corner, and 
 assures him that she always retires to a dark room, and if 
 possible to a feather-bed, when a thunder-storm is abroad ; 
 while Lettice and Geoffrey are trying to restrain the rest- 
 lessness of the children. But the latter detects presently 
 a smile on Lettice's face as she glances at the window 
 tete-a-tete, and he forthwith demands to know the cause 
 of it. 
 
 " You are a very inquisitive person," she says. " Can 
 
" ON THE SAME SPOT." 85 
 
 not one smile without being called upon to render an ac- 
 count of the why and wherefore thereof 2 Well, if you 
 must know, I onlv smiled because I wondered how lios- 
 lyn feels with the consciousness that the attention of every 
 man here is centered on her, that she is the supreme ob- 
 ject of interest to each one of you, and that you each 
 regard with jealous envy whoever happens to engross her 
 for the time being ! Yonder is Mr. Laurent, fidgeting 
 while Miss Mills describes to him minutely how her great- 
 grand-aunt was struck by lightning ; and here are you 
 dying to go and challenge Colonel Duncan ! There is 
 too much monotony in the matter — there ought to be a 
 rival introduced for the sake of picturesque and dramatic 
 effect — I ought to be one of the bewitching intriguantes,, 
 who, in novels, come in to cross the path and distract 
 the admirers of the heroine." 
 
 " What noncense ! " says Geoffrey, smiling in spite of 
 himself. " Do you know I think you are very well cal- 
 culated to be a bewitching intriguante?" he adds, looking 
 at the girl for the first time in his life as a stranger might 
 look. " There is something about you very attractive, 
 and then one feels that you don't lie altogether on the sur- 
 face, as so many women do — and that is a great thing." 
 
 " It is my turn to say ' nonsense,' now," replies Let- 
 tice, flushing a little. " Don't be so personal, Geoff. Do 
 you know — pray don't murder me — that I think, if I were 
 Roslyn, I would marry Colonel Duncan? lie is a splen- 
 did creature ! Look at him now as he stands talking r<> 
 her; how much homage and deference, together with 
 simplicity, his manner expresses ! " 
 
 "You see wonderful things, Lettice," says Geoffrey. 
 "I think the half of them are in your own imagination. 
 Ileigh-ho ! will this confounded rain never stop, I won- 
 
86 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 der? I don't like being shut np in this place, at all. I 
 think I would rather have been drenched." 
 
 " The rain is too violent to last long," says Lettice. 
 " I have no doubt it will be clear in an hour." 
 
 She proves a true prophet. In an hour the clouds 
 have dispersed, and the w T hole drenched world is bathed 
 in golden sunshine again. Since the woodland dinner 
 was cut short in so unsatisfactory a manner, Colonel 
 Duncan, as soon as they entered the house, ordered 
 a collation to be served ; and so it is that they are 
 lingering in the dining-room around the table, playing 
 w T ith their wine-glasses and talking lightly, when the 
 sudden burst of glory comes, which transforms the 
 dripping, glittering earth to fairy-land. Through the 
 French windows they look out on the garden, and, as 
 the sunlight falls upon it, Roslyn utters an exclamation 
 of delight. 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful, how wonderfully beautiful ! " she 
 cries. " What a lovely place ! It looks as if it were en- 
 chanted. Colonel Duncan, you promised that, when the 
 rain ceased, I should go out there. Now I claim your 
 promise." 
 
 " I am really afraid it is too wet," says Colonel Dun- 
 can, doubtfully — divided between his desire to gratify her, 
 and his fear of the imprudence. 
 
 " My dear Koslyn, you must not thhik of such a thing ! " 
 cries Miss Mills. 
 
 " The idea is absurd," says Geoffrey, shortly. " You 
 might as well have stayed out in the storm." 
 
 Roslyn rises from the table with a smile that from 
 her childhood has always meant a serene and immovable 
 intention of having her own way. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you all," she says. " I 
 
" OX TUB SAME SPOT." 87 
 
 do not insist upon anybody else being drenched ; but I do 
 not mind it — and I am going." 
 
 She moves toward one of the windows as she speaks, 
 and Colonel Duncan follows her. No one else stirs, and 
 Laurent smiles as he watches them — a quiet, rather pleased 
 smile, so Lettice curiously notes — as he lifts a glass of 
 wine to his lips. 
 
 " Well, this is certainly damp," says Boslyn to her 
 companion, as they walk along the wet gravel-paths, and 
 receive a shower of rain-drops from every shrub that 
 they unguardedly touch in passing. "I feel as if I were 
 very seliish in having brought you out to be made uncom- 
 fortable, just to gratify my caprice." 
 
 "You did not 'bring me out," he answers. "I came 
 of my own free-will and pleasure ; and as for my being a 
 little wet, it is a matter of no importance. But I am con- 
 cerned about you" 
 
 " There is no need to be, I assure you. I do what I 
 like — I have always done what I liked — and I never take 
 cold. Besides, I love water, and I would not miss ram- 
 bling through this garden just now for anything. It is 
 like Aladdin's magic garden, every tree and shrub hung 
 with precious stones. Only Aladdin's garden had no such 
 delicious odors in it." 
 
 He smiles, well pleased with her delight, and so, un- 
 heeding the dampness, they wander on — he pointing out 
 what he has done and what he yet hopes to do in the way 
 of improvement, she listening with interest and making 
 suggestion-. Finally, pausing at a large grape-arbor, he 
 says : 
 
 " Do you remember this ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes; I remember it well," she replies, looking 
 around. " This is where you brought me when I was 
 
88 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 here as a child. What a feast of grapes I had, to be sure! 
 And there is the very seat on which I sat, is it not ? " 
 
 She indicates a roughly twisted rustic bench under the 
 shadow of the arbor, and he answers, quietly : 
 
 " It is the very seat ; I have never let it fall to decay. 
 I would ask you to sit down on it again, but it is too wet. 
 I should like to ask you the same question that I asked 
 when we sat on it before." 
 
 " Must I necessarily be sitting on the bench for you 
 to do so % " she asks, with utter unconsciousness of his 
 meaning. " If that is the case, I think I can venture to 
 sit down long enough to hear the question, at least. 
 Now" — she sits down and looks up at him — " was it, 'Do 
 you like grapes ? ' " 
 
 " No," he answers, smiling, yet with a certain gravity 
 of tone. " It was not that. You had finished the grapes, 
 and we were sitting here talking, when I said to you, 
 ' Will you be my wife ? ' " 
 
 Like a flash, a tide of scarlet comes to Roslyn's face, 
 and she springs to her feet as if he had stung her. Her 
 first instinctive feeling is that of resentment — a dim sense 
 that he has taken unfair advantage of her. 
 
 "I was a child then," she says, abruptly, "so I sup- 
 pose there was no harm in such a jest ; but I am not a 
 child now." 
 
 She would walk away and end the matter, but he 
 stands in her jjath and looks at her with serious, aston- 
 ished eyes. 
 
 " Surely you do not think I meant the question as a 
 jest?" he says, with a controlled power, a depth and 
 meaning in his tone, which at once assert their influence 
 over her. " Surely you know better than that. Women 
 are not blind to the fact that a man loves — as yon know, 
 
" ON THE SAME SPOT:' 89 
 
 you must know, liow long and how well I have loved 
 you. The question I have just asked has trembled on 
 my lips for many a day ; but I should not have asked 
 it now if the chance to speak here had not seemed so 
 propitious. The past seemed to link itself with the 
 present ; and the child to whom I lost my heart is the 
 woman I love. Tell me, is there any hope that you will 
 be my wife \ " 
 
 As his voice trembles over the last words — too eager, 
 too earnest, for an unnecessary phrase — the girl realizes 
 the power which rests in her hands, and the value of that 
 which is offered her. She feels awed and humbled by 
 this consciousness, touched by the knowledge of the devo- 
 tion that has so long followed her careless footsteps, 
 and more than sorry for the pain she must inflict. She 
 looks at him with eyes that express all this before she 
 speaks. 
 
 " Why do you ask me ? " she says, in a low voice. " I 
 can not — you must know that I can not." 
 
 " Why can not you \ " he asks, quietly — hardly a sign 
 betraying the pain that wrings his heart. " Is it because 
 you do not love me?" 
 
 " Ntft in that way," she answers, hurriedly. " I can 
 not think of such a thing" — half unconsciously, she 
 shrinks as she speaks : " please forget it — please do not 
 talk of it again ! " 
 
 " You need not fear," he answers. " I only wanted 
 certainty, and now I have it. No, I will not talk of it 
 again. Here, where the hope had birth, I will bury it." 
 
 " I am sorry — I am very sorry ! ' : she says, looking 
 wistfully into *his face. 
 
 " So am I," he answers, with a strange, half-sad smile ; 
 " but we can not help it, either of us, so we will say no 
 
90 RCteLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 more about it. Now I think we had better return to the 
 house, for I fear you are very damp." 
 
 " It does not matter," she answers. " I have only my- 
 self to blame, you know. Oh, I wish, I wish this had not 
 happened ! " she says, clasping her hands. " But you 
 must see yourself that I don't suit you in the least." 
 
 She speaks with an air of appealing argument that 
 almost makes him smile again. But he only replies, 
 quietly : 
 
 " Not in the least, my dear — since you don't think so, 
 certainly not in the least." 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 A WARNING- — AND ITS RESULT. 
 
 One person, at least, has no doubt of what has oc- 
 curred in the garden, when the two people, who went out 
 so gayly, return with grave and serious countenances. He 
 smiles to himself with a sense of pleasure, keener because 
 tinctured with relief. For, after all, who can count on a 
 woman ? — and this woman has by no means proved so 
 susceptible to his attractions as he anticipated. It was 
 quite possible that she might have accepted all that Colo- 
 nel Duncan offers, and no one knows better than Lau- 
 rent that, had she been wise with the wisdom of the world, 
 she would have done so. But, instead, she has exhibited 
 just the degree of folly on which he counted, and has 
 served his purpose in the most complete manner. " Good 
 Heaven ! how lucky I was to come in the nick of time ! ' 
 he says to himself, with a comfortable assurance that 
 
A WARNING— AND ITS RESULT. 01 
 
 the result for Duncan might have been very different 
 had he (Laurent) not brought his fascinations to bear 
 on Roslyn. 
 
 Meanwhile, to Duncan himself, at this time, there is 
 nothing very clear, except that it is necessary not to be- 
 tray to Roslyn how deeply the blow has struck. He 
 bears himself well so long as the party remain ; but that 
 is not very long, for Roslyn is nervously anxious to be 
 gone, and Geoffrey seconds her with such hearty good- 
 will that they are soon homeward bound. Their host 
 sees them off with a courtesy which does not fail in the 
 least particular, and, standing on the portico, watches 
 them until they pass out of the gate. Then he turns and 
 goes into the house, to face alone the realization of what 
 has befallen him. 
 
 Yet it is simple enough. He has asked Roslyn to be 
 his wife, and she has said no. All is over — his hopes, 
 his plans, his very life, as it were, blotted out by that 
 word from a girl's lips. He has been so single-hearted in 
 his devotion — he has given so much, and thought so little 
 of return — that he is startled now by the passionate 
 strength of his despair. "I knew how I loved her, I 
 knew the thought of her was twined into my heart," he 
 says to himself ; " but I did not know how awful it would 
 be to have to do without her." 
 
 Then he thinks, or tries to think, how mad he has been 
 to hope for any other end. How staid, and grave, and 
 middle-aged he must seem to this girl in the first flush of 
 her youth — the girl who has by her side a lover fitted for 
 her in every respect ! " "What could be more natural than 
 that Geoffrey Thorne should win her heart?" he thinks, 
 in his sadness. " God grant he may deserve her ! But 
 how I would have loved her, and cared for her, and made 
 
92 BOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 her life a thing of sunshine, if she had but given me the 
 power ! " 
 
 So it comes back to that bitter " if," which makes the 
 burden of such anguish. The mystery of it is almost ap- 
 palling. Why should that be denied to one which is 
 given to another, with often less desert ? How is it that 
 love (be it ever so true-hearted) can not win love in re- 
 turn, but must stand back and see its crown of life taken 
 down by careless and sometimes by unworthy hands? 
 There is no answer for these questions, asked as they are 
 by many passionate hearts ; and there is no hope, no com- 
 fort, to lighten the darkness of such an hour as passes 
 over Hugo Duncan now. 
 
 It has set its mark upon his face, deepening lines 
 which, before this, were scarcely to be perceived, and 
 giving an altogether new expression to his eyes when 
 Laurent sees him next. Even the man who holds him- 
 self accountable for this suffering is moved to pity it a 
 little. " Of course it is better so," he thinks ; " for, apart 
 from its interference with my claims, the marriage would 
 have been absurd ; but I am sorry for him ! This comes 
 of the folly of loving one woman instead of loving woman 
 in general. Like the uncle, whose pathetic story he re- 
 lated to me, he will probably live and die faithful to his 
 present passion. Otherwise, it would hardly have been 
 worth while to interfere." 
 
 " I have been thinking," says Duncan — the two men 
 are sitting together with their cigars in the summer dusk ; 
 and Laurent, absorbed in the thoughts given above, starts 
 at the sudden sound of that quiet voice — " I have been 
 thinking, Yictor, what is best to be done about your af- 
 fairs. But I am at a loss how to advise, or to help you, 
 unless I know more of your tastes and capabilities." 
 
A WARNIXG-AND ITS RESULT. 93 
 
 Laurent utters a slight laugh. "My tastes! Well, 
 my tastes have not much to do with the matter," he says. 
 " They are all for easy, luxurious things, and strongly, 
 most strongly, opposed to anything in the form of work. 
 And my capabilities are even less to be consulted. They 
 are chiefly for spending money — not at all for saving or 
 making it." 
 
 Involuntarily Duncan draws his brows together as he 
 glances at the young man. The incorrigible lightness of 
 the other's tone jars upon him, such a nature as this be- 
 ing the last with which he can put himself in sympathy. 
 But he makes an effort to be patient. 
 
 " You have surely," he says, " some idea of what you 
 would like to do — or, at least, of what you can do ! " 
 
 Laurent flings away the end of one cigar and lights 
 another, as he answers : " There are a number of things 
 that I can do, but none of them very useful things. I 
 have a good dramatic talent in an amateur way, but my 
 mother was ready to faint when I talked of the stage. I 
 might go on the turf as a jockey, but there is a vulgar 
 prejudice against that as a gentlemanly employment. I 
 have, also, an exhaustive knowledge, expensively acquired, 
 of many games of hazard ; but, while it is eminently re- 
 spectable to lose money on the green-cloth, to make it 
 professionally is not so respectable. This is an honest 
 list of my acquirements. You can judge for yourself 
 how far they are likely to prove available." 
 
 •The look of disapproval on Duncan's face has deep- 
 ened as the other speaks. He now says, coldly, " You 
 have certainly some other acquirements — for instance, a 
 good knowledge of languages, have you not ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," the other answers, carelessly- " I know 
 French, Spanish, and Italian, as well as English. But 
 
94: ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 what, then ? There is nothing to be made of languages, 
 imless one sells one's self into bondage to teach them ; and 
 that for me is not even within the limit of possibility." 
 
 " I was not thinking of that," Duncan answers. " But 
 a knowledge of languages is very useful in commercial 
 life. You might undertake the foreign correspondence 
 of some house with large business abroad." 
 
 Laurent shrugs his shoulders. " I abhor commerce in 
 all its branches," he says. 
 
 " In that case," says Duncan, quietly, " I think that 
 you have already hit upon the only career open to you — 
 marriage to a rich woman." 
 
 Laurent laughs again. " Tou are quite right," he says. 
 " But the rich woman happens to be out of reach at pres- 
 ent, and may remain out of reach, unless I can prove my 
 capability of being something besides a lily of the field in 
 uselessness. So, perhaps, it would be well to consider 
 the foreign correspondence. Do you happen to know 
 any one in need of such a correspondent? " 
 
 "I know a man who may make a place for you to 
 oblige me," Duncan replies. " Of course it will depend 
 on yourself whether or not he finds you useful enough 
 to keep. He is head of a large commercial house, with 
 an important South American trade." 
 
 " "Well," says Laurent, with the tone and air of a man 
 about to swallow a very bitter dose, " if he will have me, 
 I am willing to try self-immolation in this form — for a 
 time, at least." 
 
 " I will see, then, what can be done," says Duncan. 
 u And, since a personal application is always best, I will 
 go to see my friend. I shall leave to-morrow morning, 
 and I may be absent for some time ; but I hope you can 
 manage to get along comfortably here alone." 
 
A WARNING— AND ITS RESULT. 95 
 
 u There is no fear of my not getting along most com- 
 fortably," answers Laurent, very truthfully ; " but I must 
 protest against your taking such a journey on my ac- 
 count — " 
 
 " Xot on your account alone," interposes Duncan. " I 
 have business of my own, also, which may detain me a 
 week or so — I can not tell. But I leave everything here 
 at your disposal and service until my return. I suppose 
 you will not be lonely % " 
 
 " Oh, no. I have an unlimited capacity for indulging 
 in dolce far niente. And then" — a hardly perceptible 
 pause — "there is Verde vale, where I can go now and then 
 for a little societv." 
 
 t/ 
 
 " Yes," says Duncan ; but his tone has changed. He, 
 too, pauses, hesitates, then goes on, as if feeling it impera- 
 tive to speak : " But I hope you will not go there too 
 often," he says, gravely. "Remember that there might 
 be danger in such intercourse, for you — and — for some one 
 else, perhaps. Don't misunderstand me. - I have no rea- 
 son to doubt that you are a man of honor, but harm is 
 sometimes done by want of thought ; and no harm must 
 be done in that house which I can prevent." 
 
 " I do not misunderstand you," says Laurent. " I ac- 
 cept your warning in exactly the spirit in which you 
 mean to convey it, and I assure you that I shall avoid 
 anything that may lead to possible danger. I hope I am 
 a man of honor — at least I know what is due to the 
 woman I have promised to marry. If I fancied that 
 there were any danger for Miss Yardray or myself, in our 
 association, I should leave here instantly. But " — he agam 
 shrugs his shoulders lightly — " I am somewhat too llase 
 to fall in love with a girl's charming face ; and I should 
 insult Miss Yardray if I supposed myself to be so fasci- 
 
96 B0SLT2PS FORTUNE. 
 
 nating that my presence is fraught with danger to her 
 peace of mind. However," he pauses for a moment, then 
 goes on, " I appreciate your feeling, and, if you think it 
 better, I too will leave to-morrow morning." 
 
 " By no means," says Duncan. " I should prefer that 
 you waited here until my return ; and I only intended to 
 warn you of what might be a danger — or, rather, a possi- 
 bility of danger. People often drift into things without 
 considering where they may end until too late." 
 
 " Yery true," says Laurent ; " but I promise you that I 
 shall not drift into anything at all." 
 
 So the matter ends, and the next morning sees Colonel 
 Duncan drive away from the door of Cliffton — his desti- 
 nation a distant city, his probable length of absence en- 
 tirely uncertain. In such a malady as his, the impulse of 
 flight is always strong ; the sufferer feels as if passive en- 
 durance is more than can be borne ; as if there may be 
 relief elsewhere, or, at all events, as if motion is in itself 
 a sort of relief. 
 
 It is with the most sincere satisfaction that Laurent 
 bids his host adieu, and watches him borne rapidly away. 
 "Poor fellow!" he thinks. "He has certainly had a 
 c facer.' But how fortunately it chances for me ! " 
 
 To fully explain this good fortune, it may be stated 
 that Mr. Laurent has become interested in Roslyn beyond 
 the point necessary for strategic success. Not that he has 
 in the least fallen in love — for that is something of which, 
 he is absolutely incapable — but, like many men of bound- 
 less egotism and small passion, he has a facile fancy which 
 is easily taken captive by a new charm, easily stimulated 
 by resistance, and utterly ended by possession. This 
 temporary interest being genuine, gives a character of 
 earnestness to his flirtations, which is the chief secret of 
 
A WARNING— AND ITS RESULT. 07 
 
 their success. He not only seems to be, but is, thoroughly 
 taken captive for the time being ; and real ardor, like real 
 everything else, has a power which the counterfeit can 
 never possess. Interest, especially in love-affairs, can 
 never be very well simulated ; and if it ever successfully 
 imposes upon its victim, it is because that victim is, for 
 the moment, incapable of an act of judgment. Now, 
 Laurent, being well assured that Roslyn has refused his 
 cousin, might readily feel that his self-appointed task as a 
 strategist is unnecessary ; but, in truth, the girl herself 
 has awakened his admiration and excited his vanity to a 
 degree which makes him eager to pursue the affair for his 
 own gratification and amusement. He feels that his fas- 
 cination has been, in a manner, defied, and this conscious- 
 ness acts upon him as a challenge. He mast see those 
 frank and fearless eyes fall before his, the lovely color 
 deepen as it has never deepened yet at his coming, or his 
 voice. For him, a veteran in flirtation, to be baffled by 
 a girl as narrow in experience as she is young in years, is, 
 he feels, altogether unendurable. The longing to win 
 her favor, the desire to draw from her some sign that she 
 reciprocates the feeling so strong in himself, is almost as 
 intense with him as with a real lover ; only there is the 
 great and essential difference, not only that his motive is 
 altogether selfish, but that the desire, once gratified, will 
 prove as short-lived as it is now keen. 
 
 Under these circumstances, he naturally does not long 
 delay presenting himself at Yerdevale. Before half the 
 morning has elapsed, he is sitting with the family group 
 on the broad, vine-shaded veranda, and has told the news 
 of Colonel Duncan's departure. If he had doubted what 
 share Roslyn had in this, the expression of her face, as he 
 
 speaks, would assure him of it. She starts, her color 
 5 
 
98 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 changes, and she looks downward, uttering not a word, 
 while the rest express their surprise. 
 
 " "Why, you are left quite alone at Cliffton, then, Mr. 
 Laurent," says Mrs. Yardray. "Will you not be very 
 lonely ? " 
 
 " I shall be alone, but not lonely," answers Laurent, 
 with a smile. " I can not affirm that I am one of those 
 people that make it their proud boast that they 'are 
 never less alone than when alone ' ; but I have some 
 resources within myself, and I do not object to a lit- 
 tle solitude now and then ; it gives one time for reflec- 
 tion, which the rush and whirl of one's ordinary life do 
 not." 
 
 " Yet I should think you were much more at home in 
 the rush and whirl," says Mrs. Yardray, who is distrust- 
 ful of this fancy for solitude, and inclined to the opinion 
 that Colonel Duncan should have taken his guest with 
 him. 
 
 " I am afraid the meaning of that is not very compli- 
 mentary to me," replies the young man ; " but I am 
 bound to confess that in a general sense you are right. I 
 must also confess that I should doubtless look upon soli- 
 tude at Cliffton in a very different light if I had not so- 
 ciety at Yerdevale to cheer me." 
 
 This is well brought in, and obliges Mrs. Yardray to 
 make a becoming rejoinder, in the form of a hope that 
 he will not hesitate to cheer himself with the society of 
 Yerdevale. " But we must not monopolize you," she goes 
 on. " There are some pleasant families in the neighbor- 
 hood whom you might like to know." 
 
 Anxious not to excite distrust, Laurent does not avow 
 his decided disinclination to meet any of these pleasant 
 families, but replies in general terms, and waives the sub- 
 
A WARNING— AND ITS RESULT. 99 
 
 ject, being quite determined that he will suffer no diver- 
 sion of the kind. 
 
 The morning passes in pleasant idleness ; but, although 
 Mrs. Vardray acknowledges the charm of the intruder, 
 this charm only steels her purpose the more against ad- 
 mitting him to any greater familiarity than can possibly 
 be avoided. 
 
 " He must go home ; I shall not make a precedent by 
 asking him to stay to dinner," she says resolutely to her- 
 self ; and in order to avoid the awkwardness of disregard- 
 ing what seems almost an obligation of hospitality, she 
 leaves the veranda about the time when she knows that 
 Laurent must order his horse. But, alas ! " the best-laid 
 plans gang aft aglee," and it chances that Mr. Vardray 
 steps accidentally upon the scene just as the young man 
 has reluctantly issued the order. 
 
 " What, Mr. Laurent," says that hospitable gentleman, 
 without an instant's consideration, "going to ride home 
 at this hour of the day ? Tut, tut ! you'll have a sun- 
 stroke ! Take dinner with us, and go home in the cool 
 of the evening ; that is the proper thing to do. Since 
 you are alone at Cliffton, we need have no compunction 
 about keeping you." 
 
 "It is I who should have the compunction, I am 
 afraid," says Laurent. " You are very kind, but really to 
 trespass upon your hospitality so much — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " interrupts Mr. Vardray. " We are al- 
 ways glad to see our friends ; and I feel that we ought to 
 take particular charge of you, since Duncan has gone off 
 and left you in this shabby way. — Never mind about the 
 horse, Jim ; the gentleman is going to stay." 
 
 Laurent does not gainsay this, for in fact lie would be 
 very much disappointed if forced to go. He has not seen 
 
100 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Roslyn alone at all, this morning, and. lie wants to see her 
 alone, for several reasons, which may be briefly summa- 
 rized : first, to gratify himself ; secondly, to carry his wary 
 siege of sentiment a little further ; and, thirdly, in order 
 to discover the meaning of a change in her which is very 
 perceptible. She has been remarkably quiet all the morn- 
 ing, and there is an air of effort about her which strikes 
 and puzzles him. The true solution does not occur to 
 him — that she is thinking of Duncan, with a sorrowful 
 and impersonal realization of the pain she has inflicted 
 upon him ; but he does think that she may be regretting 
 her answer, perhaps, in which case it is, from all points 
 of view, essential that he should efface this regret with 
 stronger feelings as soon as possible. 
 
 When Mr. Yardray has countermanded the order for 
 his horse, he turns, therefore, to Roslyn, and says : 
 
 "If I stay, may I not beg for the pleasure of a ride 
 with you this afternoon ? Pray, say yes " — as she hesi- 
 tates ; " you don't know how much I have built upon the 
 hope of it." 
 
 " You must have built very quickly, then," she says, 
 with a flash of her accustomed brightness as she looks at 
 him, "if the idea has only occurred to you since papa 
 begged you to stay." 
 
 " I was not speaking of this special idea, but of the 
 general hope of riding with you," he replies. " If you 
 remember, I proposed that instead of our excursion yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Don't speak of our excursion yesterday," she says, 
 with a little shudder. " It was a failure from beginning 
 to end." 
 
 " It was not all a failure to me," he says. " That time 
 on the rock, for instance — " 
 
GEOFFREY FORMS A RESOLUTION. 101 
 
 He breaks off abruptly, but his well-trained eyes say 
 much, and Roslyn meets them. But now, as before, he 
 is uncertain what effect the eloquent glances have upon 
 her. She only smiles with a gay maliciousness. 
 
 " The time on the rock would be still more memo- 
 rable if you had fallen into the river, as I fancied you 
 would," she says. " A day at the falls seems incomplete 
 without anybody having been wet." 
 
 " And you are absolutely sorry that I was not covered 
 with absurdity as with a garment ! ' he says, reproach- 
 fully. " What have I done to deserve such vindictive- 
 ness I But I will forgive you all evil hopes and intentions 
 if you will go to ride this afternoon." 
 
 " I usually ride with Geoffrey," she answers ; " but for 
 once — yes, I will go with you." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GEOFFREY FORMS A RESOLUTION/ 
 
 Three weeks have passed since Colonel Duncan left 
 Cliff ton, when Geoffrey goes up to Roslyn one morning 
 as she stands on the veranda, and says, abruptly : 
 
 " Will you take a walk with me ? I have something 
 to say to you." 
 
 She looks at him with a little surprise, not so much on 
 account of his hrusqucric, for that of late has become a 
 marked characteristic of manner with poor Geoffrey, as 
 on account of the formality of the recpiest ; but she an- 
 swers quickly, with the air of one anxious to conciliate : 
 
102 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Of course ; I shall be very glad to take a walk, if 
 you will bring me my hat and gloves." 
 
 He goes into the hall, finds the hat and gloves, and 
 returns with them. She ties on the first, draws on the 
 second, and then, looking at him with a smile, says : " I 
 am ready ; where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Oh, anywhere," he answers. " It makes no differ- 
 ence to me ; but we had better go into the woods, I sup- 
 pose ; there we may be free from interruption." 
 
 She understands exactly to what special interruption 
 his sarcastic emphasis refers, but she answers : 
 
 " By all means, let us go into the woods ; I always en- 
 joy a walk there." 
 
 So they set forth — more like a pair of new acquaint- 
 ances than like two people who have grown up from 
 childhood together — take their way through the garden, 
 and, passing out of the gate, soon find themselves in the 
 wood beyond. Avoiding the path which leads in the di- 
 rection of the Stanley place, they follow another that 
 takes them deep into the heart of the green shades, and 
 finally brings them to the bank of a limpid stream, that 
 runs gayly over its stones " in little sharps and trebles." 
 
 " This is where we used to come to fish," says Geof- 
 frey, flinging himself down on the mossy bank. " Many a 
 minnow have I caught here — and so have you, Roslyn. 
 You were very fond of fishing in those days." 
 
 " I wanted to do everything that you did," says Eos- 
 lyn. " I wonder I did not kill myself in trying to keep 
 pace with you in all possible sports. My great grief was 
 that I could not use a gun ; but after I nearly shot you, 
 papa forbade it, you know." 
 
 "Did you nearly shoot me ? " says Geoffrey, looking 
 up at her as she stands over him, in the nickering light 
 
GEOFFREY FORMS A RESOLUTION'. 103 
 
 and shade, a sight " to make an old man young," in the 
 grace and sweetness of her youth. " By Heaven, I wish 
 you had succeeded ! " 
 
 If spoken lightly, the words would mean nothing, but 
 there is a passionate earnestness in the young man's voice 
 and eyes that startles Iloslyn. 
 
 " Why do you talk so ? " she says, in a reproving tone. 
 " It is very wrong — very foolish." 
 
 " It may be foolish ; but it is not wrong," he answers. 
 " At least it is not untrue. Don't you know that I would 
 rather have died, than have lived to suffer what I do 
 now ? " 
 
 " Are you suffering ? " she says, gently, sitting down 
 by him. " I am very sorry." 
 
 " Yes, I have no doubt you are sorry ; I have no doubt 
 you would be still more sorry, if you could know all that 
 I suffer," he replies ; " but you are not sorry enough to 
 help me, Roslyn." 
 
 " How can I ? " she asks, in a low voice. 
 
 " You know," he answers, not looking at her, but at 
 the sunlight flickering down through the green boughs 
 overhead to the flashing water. " You know what I feel 
 for you — that is, you know something of it ; and you may 
 judge, therefore, what it costs me to see you drawing 
 farther and farther away from me every day." 
 
 " But I am not drawing away," she says, eagerly. 
 " Why do you fancy such things ? You are just what 
 you always were to me, Geoffrey — just what you always 
 were ! " 
 
 " Am I ? " he says, still not looking at her. " Well, I 
 suppose I ought to be content with that — but I am not. 
 I wanted to be more to vou, and I see that I can not be. 
 There is the trouble, and you can't help it — not unless 
 
104 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 you tell me that some day you will love me well enough 
 to marry me." 
 
 Silence — a troubled silence on Hoslyn's part, in which 
 she dimly hears the gurgle of the brook over its stones, 
 and the rustle of the leaves above her head. This is no 
 new revelation to her of Geoffrey's feeling ; but now, as 
 ever, it troubles her — coming as an element of discord 
 into her life, marring the serenity of her attachment to 
 him by demanding something which she can not give. It 
 is in the nature and necessity of love to do this — to cast 
 awav that which it has as valueless, because it can not have 
 more. Friendship and affection are scorned by the im- 
 perious tyrant — " all or nothing," is his demand, and he 
 flings aside much that might sweeten life, as failing to 
 satisfy the cry of his hot heart. So it is now with poor 
 Geoffrey. What is Roslyn's affection to him, when the 
 love of which she is capable is reserved for some other 
 man 1 "I want her heart, her whole heart ! " is what he 
 says to himself ; and, while he says it, he feels that it is 
 not for him to win that heart. 
 
 " I don't know how to answer you," she says at last, 
 slowly. " It seems to me strange that you should think 
 of such a thing. "We have always been like brother and 
 sister, and I — I can not have any other thought. If you 
 would put away such ideas, Geoffrey, we should be a 
 great deal happier." 
 
 " You might as well tell me to put away part of my- 
 self," says Geoffrey. " It has grown with my growth, 
 and strengthened with my strength. I have never had 
 any other idea, Roslyn, as far as you are concerned. But 
 I did not bring you out to tell you this," he goes on, ab- 
 ruptly, " for I think you know it as well as I do ; I only 
 wanted to tell you that I am going away." 
 
GEOFFREY FORMS A RESOLUTION. 105 
 
 " Going away ! " repeats the girl. A sense of dismay 
 comes over lier — what malign fate is this which seems to 
 force her to estrange and send away her friends ? The 
 tears rise into her eyes. 
 
 "O Geoffrey, don't — pray don't go!" she says. 
 " What harm have I done to you ? Why should you 
 leave home because I can not feel toward you exactly as 
 you desire ? " 
 
 " That is not why I am going," answers Geoffrey. 
 " If it w r ere simply that, I would wait and hope ; but I 
 can not stay and see another man win you before my 
 eyes ; and that is what is coming to pass, Roslyn." 
 
 She answers not a word. Her eyes fall before the 
 searching gaze of his, and she begins nervously to pull to 
 pieces a daisy that she has gathered. She would reassure 
 him if she could ; but can she? 
 
 Seeing his fears confirmed by the expression of her 
 face, and by this significant silence, the young man strug- 
 gles for an instant with the sharpness of his pain — for 
 how deceitful in hope the heart is we never know, until 
 some such moment of keen, realizing certainty comes — 
 and then, having mastered it by an heroic effort, goes on : 
 
 " It is hard for me to see this ; harder than you can 
 even imagine," he says. " But will you believe me when 
 I tell you that I almost forget myself in thinking of you ? 
 I am certain — more certain than I can express — that you 
 are making a great and terrible mistake in giving your 
 heart to this man ; and I would be willing to suffer all 
 that I do, and more besides, if I could only warn you to 
 some purpose." 
 
 His earnestness is pathetic in its sincerity ; and if he 
 feared to speak, he sees when Roslyn lifts her eyes that 
 there was no need of fear. 
 
IOC ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I have not given my heart to him, Geoffrey ; at 
 least, I don't think so ! " she says, almost in a whisper. 
 " But tell me — I want to be reasonable — why do you think 
 it would be i a great and terrible mistake ' if I did so \ " 
 
 " Because I do not trust him ! " says the young man, 
 energetically. " You will think that is no reason, per- 
 haps ; but, if one's distrust has good ground, it is not to 
 be despised ; and it is not jealousy that makes me distrust 
 him. There is Colonel Duncan ; it would cut me to the 
 heart to see you marry him ; but I should know that you 
 had given your heart and your life to one who is incapa- 
 ble of betraying any trust placed in him ; and, therefore, 
 I should not be without comfort. But what should I 
 feel if I saw you give yourself to this other man ? He is 
 careless ; he is selfish ; by his own confession he has idled 
 away his life, and sought nothing but the gratification of 
 his own pleasure ; if he has a high thought, or a high aim, 
 I have never heard him utter the one, and he has certainly 
 lost sight of the other." 
 
 " You are very severe," says Boslyn, flushing deeply. 
 u I thought something like this of him at first ; but a man 
 may drift into modes of life which he would not deliber- 
 ately adopt. He has had everything to tempt him to idle- 
 ness and pleasure; but, now that he is old enough to 
 think seriously, he says he feels the need of higher aims 
 and more definite objects." 
 
 " I have no doubt he tells you so," says Geoffrey, " for, 
 young as he is, he knows that no plea is so effective with 
 a woman as that which says, ' Help me to mount to higher 
 things.' Well," he goes on, after a moment's pause, " I 
 have said my say, and I am glad it has not made you an- 
 gry. Give it a little thought, won't you, Roslyn ? In- 
 deed, I speak as if — as if I were your brother." 
 
GEOFFREY FORMS A RESOLUTION. 107 
 
 He looks pleadingly at the girl, who returns his gaze 
 with an expression which perplexes him — the expression 
 of one who is awakening to the consciousness of new per- 
 ceptions. 
 
 "Yes, I will think of what you have said," she an- 
 swers, " but I wish that I could hear no more of the sub- 
 ject — I mean from anybody. I thought love sweetened 
 and broadened life ; but, instead, it seems to fill it with 
 bitterness, to make one hurt one's friends, and take them 
 away from one. But you won't go away, Geoffrey, surely 
 you won't go away ? " 
 
 " There is no reason why I should stay," says Geoffrey, 
 gloomily. " I am sure I am not agreeable company to 
 anybody ; while, if I go to poor old Uncle James — I had a 
 letter from him this morning, begging me to come — he 
 won't care how miserable I am." 
 
 " But /care," says Roslyn, who feels as if this is more 
 than she can bear. " Geoffrey, it is not just — it is not 
 right," she cries, passionately. " You should not make 
 me feel as if I had willfully made you wretched. How 
 could I help it \ " 
 
 " Of course you could not help it," replies Geoffrey, 
 whose chivalry is stirred by this appeal. " I am a brute 
 and a fool to have said anything about it — but don't fret ! 
 If you want me to stay, I'll stay. No doubt I should be 
 more miserable away from you than with you ; so I won't 
 go — now." 
 
108 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "honor before all things." 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day, Roslyn ends her 
 siesta somewhat earlier than usual, and comes down-stairs 
 equipped for walking. From the lightness of her step in 
 passing through the house, it is evident that she does not 
 wish to attract attention ; and Geoffrey, who is stretched 
 at ease on a sofa in the sitting-room, does not stir as he 
 sees her pass swiftly and almost noiselessly through the 
 hall. " She is going out," he says, to himself, " and she 
 does not want a companion. She must expect to meet 
 Laurent." 
 
 Jealousy and injustice generally go hand in hand, and 
 so they do in this instance ; the truth being that Roslyn, 
 as she lies awake during the long hot hours of the after- 
 noon, pondering the perplexities of her situation, has de- 
 cided that she will take counsel with Lettice, who she 
 knows possesses a remarkably clear power of judgment. 
 " It will be a comfort to speak to somebody," she thinks 
 — and, so thinking, determines to walk over to the Stanley 
 place, since Lettice is detained at home by the illness of 
 some members of the familv. 
 
 Outside the house the heat is not so great as within, 
 for there is a light, fresh breeze stirring, and the sun in 
 declining westward has lost the fierceness of his power. 
 Long shadows are stretching over the greensward, while 
 floods of level light stream between the trunks of the 
 trees, and light up all the sylvan picture with glory. 
 
 Roslyn, who is quick to feel the beauty and sweetness 
 
"HOXOIi BEFORE ALL THINGS:' 109 
 
 of nature, is walking along the woodland way, swinging 
 her parasol in one hand, while her eyes roving to right 
 and left take in all the loveliness of the scene, when sud- 
 denly a turn of the path brings her face to face with Lau- 
 rent. 
 
 She is so much astonished that for an instant she can 
 not speak, and it is he, who, lifting his hat with a smile, 
 says: 
 
 " What a wonderful thing the power of divination is ! 
 I felt sure that I should meet you, and here you are, all 
 alone, like a fairy princess." 
 
 "I am on my way to see Lettice," she replies, "so it 
 is very natural that 1 should be here ; but I am surprised 
 to see youP 
 
 " The explanation of my appearance is very simple,'' 
 he says. " I was paying a visit to Mr. Stanley, and being 
 tempted to go to Yerdevale by this path — for I felt an 
 instinct approaching to a certainty that I should meet you 
 — I asked him to send my horse over later by a servant. 
 Now, may I ask if your intention of going to see Miss 
 Stanley is fixed as fate, or may I not propose a diver- 
 sion ? " 
 
 " My intention is by no means so fixed that it does 
 not admit of a diversion," says Hoslyn, smiling ; " but, be- 
 fore I speak positively, I must know what you propose." 
 
 " I propose that we shall take a walk through these 
 beautiful woods, and find, perhaps, some spot as lovely 
 and lonely as the glen where you led me one morning — 
 do you remember \ — where we can rest and talk." 
 
 " I can lead you to that same glen, if you like," she 
 says. " It is a favorite haunt of mine, but — " 
 
 She stops, remembering that it was in the very place 
 of which he spoke that Geoffrey gave his warning so 
 
110 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 short a time ago ; and, fraught as it is with that associa- 
 tion, she hardly feels like going to it now. 
 
 " But what ? ' he asks, as she pauses. " Surely you 
 don't mean that there is any reason why you can not go ? 
 Is there any important matter demanding that you shall 
 see Miss Stanley ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, not any at all," she answers. " I was only 
 thinking that novelty is a desirable thing sometimes, and 
 that I can take you to many other places quite as lovely 
 as that." 
 
 " Novelty is not always desirable," he says. " When 
 certain places are associated with pleasant memories, one 
 prefers to return to those places in preference to the love- 
 liest that have no such associations. But what made the 
 charm in this place can make it in another ; so lead me 
 where you like." 
 
 " Let us see what we can find, then," she says, turning 
 into the woods. 
 
 What they have found, half an hour later, is a cool, 
 green nook, all in shade, save that its tree-tops are gilded 
 still with the declining rays of the sun. An abrupt hill- 
 side covered with a wealth of tangled greenness rises over 
 it, and at the base of this flows the same, bright, capricious 
 stream which runs through the glen Roslyn has avoided. 
 It is likely that she has forgotten all her reasons for avoid- 
 ing it, and that the stream brings no reminder to her 
 thoughts, for Geoffrey would certainly groan in spirit 
 could he see how interested she is in the talk of her com- 
 panion. 
 
 That the latter knows so well how to command this 
 interest is no small part of his attraction, and yet, as Ros- 
 lyn has sometimes felt, if she were called upon to state 
 clearly in what the charm of his conversation consists, she 
 
"HOXOR BEFORE ALL TUiyGS." HI 
 
 would be unable to recall anything that could be expressed 
 in words. It is, indeed, a charm of manner more than of 
 words, and it is also largely owing to the infusion of a 
 personal element. Unconsciously, as it appears, but in 
 reality very consciously, Laurent's talk falls into the chan- 
 nel of discussing his own or his companion's life and 
 character, tastes, and opinions. "When we are talking of 
 ourselves, we do not weary ; and if we feel anything like 
 a keen interest in another, we do not often weary while 
 he talks of himself. Lovers, whether acknowledged or 
 unacknowledged, are tireless in egotism, for the exchange 
 of confidences on all these points of personality is only an 
 exchange of egotism. 
 
 The conversation on this occasion, however, is drifting 
 into deeper meaning than usual, for Laurent, as he lies 
 back on the grass and looks up at the sun-reddened tree- 
 tops and the blue sky beyond, says, meditatively : 
 
 " ^That a perfect existence this is ! What an ideal 
 life — a dream of summer days, and happiness, and peace ! 
 If only life, the whole life, might be like it, what could 
 one ask better ? " 
 
 " One would not ask anything very extravagant, then," 
 says Eoslyn, who is sitting on the root of a large tree. 
 " Of course, it can not be always summer, but life in the 
 country flows in the even current that you see, very much 
 the same at all seasons. Frankly, I think you would grow 
 very tired of it after a while," she adds, with a laugh. 
 
 " You say that because you don't know, or you don't 
 care to acknowledge, what makes the charm for me," he 
 answers, quickly, with an irritation in the words like the 
 irritation of pain. Nor is this feigned. Those who play 
 with edged tools are likely to be wounded ; and, to Lau- 
 rent's great surprise, he has found of late that he is 
 
112 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 wounded very deeply indeed. He meant to trifle, and 
 trifling has grown into earnest before lie knows where he 
 stands. Whether it be impulse, fancy, madness, or what, 
 he feels at the present moment that he would give any- 
 thing of which his life holds the possession or the prom- 
 ise, to be free to make the girl who sits before him 
 entirely his own. But he is not blind to the real and 
 tangible obstacles to such a step. He is an engaged man, 
 a man overwhelmed with debt, and a man who must " do 
 the best for himself," let the consequences be what they 
 may. But he is also a man who is accustomed to follow- 
 ing the fancy of the moment, whenever it does not inter- 
 fere with the more serious matters of life, and he has 
 grown day by day more recklessly anxious to win from 
 Roslyn a confession of love, at least. 
 
 " Whatever makes the charm for vou " she answers, a 
 little surprised by his manner, " there is no harm in say- 
 ing that you might grow tired of such a mode of life. I 
 can tell you, by experience, that it is quite possible to 
 grow tired of it. And if / feel this, what would you 
 feel, whose existence has been so different ? " 
 
 « Yery different, indeed," he says ; " but it is the fact 
 of this difference which makes me appreciate what I have 
 found here. I have told you before this how I have 
 squandered my fortune and thrown away my chances in 
 life, been an idler, a good-for-naught, a spendthrift in 
 every way ; but I have not told you yet what is the heav- 
 iest fetter upon me, what I feel most bitterly now." . 
 
 " No," she answers, looking at him with something of 
 curiosity, but more of apprehension, for she is instinct- 
 ively aware that some blow which may strike her very 
 hard is about to fall — " you have not told me. If it is 
 anything you dislike to dwell upon, don't tell me." 
 
"HOXOR BEFORE ALL TIIIXGS." 113 
 
 u I must tell you," lie says, in a voice that seems hoarse 
 with resolution. In truth it has occurred to him as a sud- 
 den inspiration that perhaps by means of the truth he 
 may most readily and with least responsibility arrive at 
 the full knowledge which he desires, and which it is now 
 an imperative necessity with him to gain. " I ought to 
 have told you long ago," he says, " but I have been living 
 in a paradise of dreams, and I put away all disturbing 
 recollections, thinking that forgetfulness for a little while 
 could do no harm. But it has done harm, for awaking 
 must come at last to all dreaming ; and to me it has come 
 in the bitter realization that I love you with all my heart 
 — and that I am engaged to marry another woman!" 
 
 Silence — a silence which may be felt. The world 
 seems going round with Roslyn, and there is the sound as 
 of many waters in her ears. The shock is so great that 
 for a minute she is stunned, and she feels with a dull 
 sense of consternation that she lias absolutely no control 
 of her countenance or her voice. She is incapable of 
 uttering a word, and after a moment he goes on : 
 
 " Do you know what this means for me ? It was a 
 family contract made with my cousin, a mere arrange- 
 ment de convenance / but my honor is bound, and I, who 
 carelessly entered into the bondage, feel now that I have 
 sold every possibility of happiness in life. Roslyn" — 
 he draws nearer, and takes her hand before she can 
 prevent — " what am I to do ? I love you, you only, you 
 alone ! " 
 
 Then Roslyn forces her stiff, dry lips to speak, and 
 says, with a composure that surprises herself : 
 
 " It seems to me that there is only one thing for you 
 to do. If your honor is bound, you must fulfill your en- 
 gagement. As for what you feel for me " — drawing her 
 
114 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 hand from his clasp — " that, fortunately, is a matter of no 
 importance." 
 
 " Is it not ? " says Laurent, stung more deeply than he 
 would have believed possible. "If you mean to you, 
 that may be true ; but to me it is a matter of supreme 
 importance. I feel as if nothing else in the world were 
 of importance, compared to it; and I hoped — I be- 
 lieved — " 
 
 He stops short, seeing that he has gone too far ; for 
 now, like a flash, pride and anger come to Roslyn's aid. 
 She turns her eyes on him, and he sees in their expanding 
 glow that he has failed in what he wanted to draw from 
 her. Many women, as he is well aware, would have cried 
 out anguish-stricken, " I, too, love — is there no hope for 
 us?" But this girl is not made of such stuff. Were 
 what she suffers tenfold greater, she has the courage and 
 strength to say : 
 
 " You hoped and believed that it would be of su- 
 preme importance to me, also? I am glad to tell you 
 that you are mistaken. It is not your fault that it is not 
 so — I am aware of that ; but I am quite able to wish you 
 much happiness, and to be very certain that your feeling 
 for myself will not long disturb your peace." 
 
 It is the simple instinct of pride and self-respect 
 which gives her power to say this, but, if the most subtile 
 knowledge of man's nature had dictated it, she could not 
 have spoken better. To Laurent she is at this moment 
 irresistible, her spirited indifference giving the last touch 
 of fascination to the charm she has for him. 
 
 " I do not deserve your reproach," he says, " for I am 
 glad that I have not involved you in my miserable suffer- 
 ing. I had not thought of danger when I met you first, 
 nor did I realize that I loved you until very lately — too 
 
"IIOXOR BEFORE ALL THIXGS." 115 
 
 late to draw back from tlie peril. Indeed, some peril 
 is so sweet, that a man can ask nothing better than to 
 perish in it." 
 
 "But a man of honor has no right to draw others 
 into peril," says Roslyn, proudly. "I do not mean 
 to reproach you — nor is there any need to do so — but 
 I can not forget much that it seems you have forgot- 
 ten." 
 
 " I have forgotten nothing," he answers. " If I have 
 let my love speak in glance and voice, if I have sought 
 your society and made you feel that your presence was 
 the highest good in life to me, how could I help it ? I 
 never knew, I never dreamed, that I could feel for any 
 woman what I feel for you ; but I could as soon let the 
 blood out of my veins as alter the fact now." 
 
 The passionate sincerity of his tone affects the girl as 
 nothing to which she has listened has ever affected her 
 before. She is trembling from head to foot, and she 
 feels that the scene must end, or she can not answer for 
 her self-control. The longing to escape is the one over- 
 mastering desire of which she is conscious, and she rises 
 to her feet as she says : 
 
 " I do not think I care to listen to such words. They 
 mean nothing — or, rather, they mean a breach of honor, 
 after what you have told me. It seems strange that I 
 should need to remind you of what I thought every gen- 
 tleman must feel, that honor should be held before all 
 things. Even if — if I loved you, I should say that. 
 There is, indeed, nothing else to say. Now, will you be 
 kind enough to return to Mr. Stanley's, and let me go 
 home alone ? I should prefer it." 
 
 " But why ? Why should you banish me ? " he says, 
 imploringly. "Nothing is different from what it was 
 
116 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 before — I have only told you what you must have 
 known." 
 
 "Kothing different from what it was before?" she 
 repeats. " What ! You tell me in the same breath that 
 you love me, and that you are engaged to your cousin, 
 and you think I could have so little perception of what 
 is fitting, so little self-respect, as to suffer matters to go 
 on as they have done ? No, Mr. Laurent, your amuse- 
 ment is at an end. I shall not decline to see you if you 
 come to the house — for that would render explanation 
 necessary — but I hope you will not come often ; and I 
 think that the best thing you can do is to go away." 
 
 " Are you in earnest ? Do you mean it ? " he says, in 
 the tone of one moved to the quick. 
 
 " Can I fail to mean it ? " she answers, lifting her 
 head. " It seems to me it is the only honorable thing to 
 do. I take it for granted that you wish to do what is 
 honorable, even at this late day." 
 
 Certainly, in the experience of most of us, "it is the 
 unforeseen which happens " ; but never has the truth of 
 the proverb been so clearly illustrated to Laurent as at 
 the present moment. Least of all things that he had 
 foreseen was such a spirit as this in Roslyn ; and in his 
 surprise and perplexity he feels that it is better to let 
 her go than to attempt to detain her in her present mood. 
 Uncovering, therefore, he says : 
 
 "I can not defend myself; but perhaps you may 
 think of me more kindly and justly after a time. At 
 least, if I have been wrong, it is I who will suffer the 
 penalty. Will you not say good-by, if I may not go with 
 you % Will you not give me your hand ? It is surely no 
 crime to love you ! " 
 
 But she does not answer, and she does not give her 
 
MR. STANLEY AMUSES HIMSELF. 117 
 
 hand. She turns, instead, and flies away like one who 
 seeks a haven of safety. Where she is going, she does 
 not know until she finds herself at the familiar garden- 
 gate. Then she looks around half bewildered, as if 
 questioning whether all that has so recently passed is 
 not a dream, and as one arousing to consciousness out of 
 stupor, cries : 
 
 " Thank God, I did not let him know ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. STANLEY AMUSES HIMSELF. 
 
 It chances that, while Laurent has been in the woods 
 with Roslyn, Mr. Stanley, having some motive of business 
 or pleasure to take him into Kirton, and not thinking it 
 worth while to order a horse of his own while one stands 
 ready saddled before him, has mounted the animal which 
 Laurent left, and gone into the town. 
 
 This trifling event would not be worth recording — 
 although it is the occasion of much impatience on the 
 part of Laurent, when he returns, to find that his horse 
 has vanished — but for the consequences flowing there- 
 from, and flowing very immediately. Having transacted 
 his business, Mr. Stanley is briskly riding out of Kirton 
 in the yellow light of sunset, when to his great surprise, 
 in sharply turning a corner, he finds himself by the side 
 of Colonel Duncan, who, also mounted on horseback, is 
 riding out of town. 
 
 They exchange salutations, and then, seeing that the 
 
118 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 latter gentleman looks rather curiously at his own horse, 
 Mr. Stanley says : 
 
 " You recognize your horse, eh, colonel ? It is by a 
 mere accident that I happen to be riding him. Laurent 
 called at my house an hour or two ago, and when he left, 
 wanting to go over to Mr. Yardray's by the foot-path — 
 in order, I suppose, to keep some tryst with pretty Miss 
 Roslyn — he asked me to send the horse around by a 
 servant later in the evening. After he left, thinking of 
 something I wanted in Kirton, and this animal being con- 
 venient, I mounted him and rode in. He goes well — re- 
 markably well." 
 
 "He is a fine horse," says Colonel Duncan, "and I 
 know you to be a judge of fine horses, Mr. Stanley." 
 
 " Well, yes, I have a little knowledge of horse-flesh," 
 admits Mr. Stanley, modestly. " Not much more than 
 your friend young Laurent, however," he adds, with a 
 laugh. " He is as good a judge of a horse as of a pretty 
 woman." 
 
 Colonel Duncan frowns slightly, for this mode of talk 
 is as objectionable to him as possible ; but for the first 
 time it flashes across his mind that Mr. Stanley probably 
 knows much more of his " young friend Laurent " than 
 he does himself. This ignorance would not seem to him 
 a matter of any importance, were he only concerned him- 
 self, but those words, " keep some tryst with pretty Miss 
 Roslyn," have suggested a fear that has come to him 
 more than once before — that, in fact, has been a potent 
 cause in bringing him home unexpectedly and unan- 
 nounced. He has an instinct that Laurent does not pos- 
 sess the high sense of honor which alone can make it 
 safe to trust a man in a position of temptation ; and an 
 awakening consciousness of this aroused him out of his 
 
MR. STANLEY AMUSES HIMSELF. 119 
 
 dull lethargy of pain to the realization that he had not 
 acted well in leaving the girl he loved exposed to such 
 a danger. Now a pang contracts his heart — a very un- 
 selfish pang — as he thinks, " Have I come too late ? " and, 
 for her sake, he proceeds to draw out Mr. Stanley. 
 
 That gentleman is easily drawn out — reticence, unless 
 to serve some end of his own, being by no means one of 
 his characteristics. In the space of fifteen minutes, Colo- 
 nel Duncan is greatly and not encouragingly enlightened 
 concerning the character and antecedents of the man who 
 is a stranger within his gates ; and then follows a still 
 greater shock, for Mr. Stanley does not hesitate to assert 
 that a regular " love-affair " is in progress between Lau- 
 rent and Roslyn. 
 
 "It has not seemed my business to warn anybody 
 concerned," he says, with a careless shrug, " but it is a 
 pity for the girl — a great pity ! It is not in the least 
 likely that he thinks of marrying her — he can hardly 
 keep his head, financially, above water now, and is the 
 last man in the world to indulge in the expensive freak 
 of marrying a woman for her pretty face ; but even if he 
 were inclined to marry, he's not the man I'd like to give 
 my daughter to." 
 
 " But is it likely — have you seen or known of any- 
 thing to make you believe it likely — that Miss Yardray 
 has become attached to him % ' asks Duncan, hating him- 
 self for the question, yet feeling that he must learn all 
 that he can, in order to be sure of his ground for future 
 proceedings ; and being aware that, through Lettice, Mr. 
 Stanley has opportunities of acquiring accurate knowl- 
 edge on the subject. 
 
 The other laughs — a slight laugh, but more signifi- 
 cant than many words. 
 
120 KOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " You know Laurent," he says. " Does it strike you 
 as probable that any girl could hold her own against the 
 attentions of a man as well fitted to please women as he 
 is?" 
 
 There is no reply. Colonel Duncan answers the ques- 
 tion to himself, but it is not an answer he is disposed to 
 give Mr. Stanley. Indeed, at this point their roads sep- 
 arate, and the former says : 
 
 " If you see Laurent, I shall feel obliged if you will 
 let him know that I have returned." 
 
 " I'll send him word to that effect when I send the 
 horse," replies Mr. Stanley. " I am not likely to see him 
 again to-day. Good-evening." 
 
 He turns into the road leading to his own house, 
 with a cheerful air and light spirit. He had done a bit 
 of work which satisfies him very well. Many an old 
 grudge has he against Colonel Duncan — such grudges as 
 the black sheep of civilization generally have against their 
 white brethren — and he feels comfortably conscious that 
 he has paid them all off in the news which it was his 
 good fortune to communicate. As for Laurent, if he 
 bears no grudge against him, neither has he any reason 
 to spare him ; and since his chief delight, from his youth 
 upward, has been in the doing of mischief simply for the 
 sake of mischief, he is very well pleased with that which 
 he has just had the opportunity to do. 
 
 Meanwhile, the man to whom he has done this good 
 turn has been inwardly execrating him almost as heartily 
 as if he had known of it, as he sits on the veranda in the 
 twilight, waiting for his horse. Lettice has come out to 
 explain the absence of the horse, and to do a little duty 
 work in the way of entertaining him ; but she finds the 
 latter very up-hill work, for Mr. Laurent is distinctly and 
 
MR STANLEY AMUSES HIMSELF. 121 
 
 unmistakably in a bad temper. Indeed, so marked is 
 this, that it occurs to the shrewd young maiden that some 
 deeper reason than that which appears on the surface 
 must be the cause of it. 
 
 " I hope you found them all well at Verdevale," she 
 says, with the most innocent air. " I have not seen any 
 of the family for a day or two." 
 
 "I have not been to Verdevale," answers Mr. Lau- 
 rent, quite shortly. 
 
 " Ah ! you met Roslyn, then ? " she says, in the tone 
 of one drawing a natural and inevitable conclusion. 
 
 Laurent is very much inclined to exclaim, " Why the 
 mischief should you suppose that ? " but some vague idea 
 of the courtesy due to a woman interferes to prevent the 
 speech, and he reflects that there would be no good in 
 denying that he met Hoslyn, since it is so easy for Let- 
 tice to discover that he did. Therefore he answers, with 
 more than a shade of irritation in his tone : 
 
 " Yes, I met Miss Yardray." 
 
 "And she did not come back with you to see me!" 
 says Lettice, ignoring the irritation. " I consider that 
 very unkind on her part — unless you stopped her in 
 order to enjoy her society yourself." 
 
 " We took a short walk," says Laurent, stiffly, " and 
 then she returned to Verdevale, while I decided to come 
 back here for my horse." 
 
 " I am sorry you should have to wait for him," says 
 Lettice — while her thoughts are busy with the problem 
 thus set before her. Something is plainly the matter — 
 something which has ruffled the equanimity of Laurent 
 to a most unusual degree. " Can things have gone so 
 far that he is forbidden to visit Roslyn, and is making a 
 convenience of us in order to meet her ? " she thinks. 
 
 6 
 
122 ROSLYN' 8 FORTUNE. 
 
 While she is pondering this question, Laurent rises to 
 his feet with an exclamation of relief. " There he is, at 
 last ! " he says, and goes hastily forward, as Mr. Stanley 
 comes riding up to the door. 
 
 " "What, my dear fellow, are you here ? " says that 
 gentleman, cheerily. " Why, this is quite unexpected. 
 Was Miss Roslyn not at home ? " 
 
 " I decided to return for my horse," replies Laurent, 
 brusquely — " and I have had to wait a considerable time 
 for him." 
 
 " Sorry to hear it," says Mr. Stanley carelessly ; " but, 
 I bring you some news in return for having borrowed 
 him without leave. I met Colonel Duncan as I was 
 leaving Kirton, and had the pleasure of riding a mile or 
 so with him. He asked me, if I saw you again, to let 
 you know that he has gone on to Cliffton." 
 
 " Indeed ! " says Laurent, without any indication of 
 surprise. He mounts his horse almost as soon as Mr. Stan- 
 ley has dismounted, and, with scant adieus, rides away. 
 
 "He was in a very bad temper at not finding his 
 horse, papa," says Lettice, quietly, as her father comes on 
 the veranda where she sits. 
 
 " Yery likely, my dear," replies Mr. Stanley, calmly. 
 " He is a young gentleman much given to bad temper 
 when things do not suit him ; but what brought him 
 back, when he said that he did not mean to come ? " 
 
 "I don't know," answers Lettice, the prudent. "He 
 only mentioned that he met Roslyn and took a walk with 
 her." 
 
 " And she sent him back here ! ' says Mr. Stanley, 
 with a laugh. " She is a sensible girl, and knows how 
 to keep things smooth at home. But I think Mr. Lau- 
 rent will have some good reason for bad temper before 
 
MS. STANLEY AMUSES HIMSELF. 123 
 
 long," lie adds with, a complacent nod, as he walks into 
 the house. 
 
 A prophet could not have spoken more truly, for 
 Laurent has reason for very bad temper, indeed, before 
 he is many hours older. Colonel Duncan is a man with- 
 out the faintest power of simulation, and it would be im- 
 possible for him to meet his kinsman as if no change 
 had come over his feelings toward him, when in reality 
 he is filled with wrath and indignation. In his first 
 greeting, Laurent sees tokens of this, and divines what is 
 to follow — what does follow speedily. Duncan is not a 
 man of many words ; so the reproach, when it comes, is 
 keen, the charge direct. Its very directness makes it 
 almost impossible to evade it, were Laurent disposed to 
 do so. But he is not. To-night, at least, he is ready to 
 avow the worst, ready to say, " If this be treason, make 
 the most of it ! " And, as is natural, his candor disarms 
 the elder man somewhat. What can he reply to such a 
 med culjyd plea as this ? 
 
 " Yes," says Laurent, " your instinct, or your informa- 
 tion, is correct. I have behaved like a scoundrel, I sup- 
 pose — and you may call me one if you like. That is, I 
 have fallen in love with Miss Vardrav, and I have made 
 love to her — the last, however, not until I told her the 
 whole truth. I told her that I am engaged, but that I 
 have the misfortune to love her ; and she told me scorn- 
 fully that the information did not interest her in the 
 least. That is how the matter stands : so you see that 
 I am the only injured person — which ought to be, no 
 doubt, a solid and substantial comfort to me, but is rather 
 the reverse ; for, if she had acknowledged that she loved 
 me, I should as certainly break my engagement with my 
 cousin as I stand here now." 
 
124 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "And do you think that would be honorable con- 
 duct ? " asks Colonel Duncan. 
 
 "Who can tell?" replies the other. "It is hard, 
 sometimes, to know where honor lies. It strikes me that 
 it would lie rather in marrying a woman who loves me 
 and whom I love, than in making a cold-blooded marriage 
 of convenience." 
 
 " You should have considered the cold-bloodedness of 
 a marriage of convenience before engaging yourself to 
 make it. A matrimonial engagement, once made, is some- 
 thing from which no man of honor can recede. Hoslyn 
 Yardray is not the girl I believe her to be if she did not 
 tell you that." 
 
 " She did tell me so — with the most unmistakable 
 emphasis," says Laurent. " But — she did not deny that 
 she loves me ; and, what a woman does not deny, she 
 almost affirms. That is my only hoj^e." 
 
 " You have no right to talk of hope while your en- 
 gagement binds you," says Colonel Duncan, sternly. 
 "Remember that I introduced you into the Yardray 
 household, and therefore I feel myself accountable 
 for your conduct. I should feel it in the case of any 
 girl, but especially do I feel it with regard to Roslyn, 
 for whom I have always entertained a peculiar affection. 
 I insist, I have a right to insist, that you do not see her 
 again under present circumstances. If you choose to 
 break your engagement, you can then go to her as a 
 free man, and see what she will say to you ; but now I 
 am determined to shield her from bitterness of any kind, 
 and I repeat that you must go away without seeing her 
 again." 
 
 " I am by no means sure that you have a right to in- 
 sist upon it," says Laurent, coolly ; " but it is pretty much 
 
TAKING COUNSEL. 125 
 
 what I have myself determined to do. Only" — he 
 pauses an instant — " I hardly see how breaking my en- 
 gagement will bring me much nearer to her ; for, placed 
 as I am, I confess that it would be simple madness for 
 me to think of marrying a portionless wife." 
 
 " And will you tell me," says Colonel Duncan, with 
 deep, concentrated indignation, u why you did not think 
 of this before uttering a word of love to a portionless 
 girl ? " 
 
 "Because the utterance came like the love itself, 
 without thought," answers Laurent. " Some impulses 
 are beyond a man's control." 
 
 " Beyond some men's control," says Colonel Duncan 
 dryly ; and there abruptly ends the conversation. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TAKING COUNSEL. 
 
 Colonel Duncan's meditations, during the night 
 which follows, are of a very perplexing order. Setting 
 aside his own feelings altogether — as, with the unselfish- 
 ness of a great nature, he is able to do — he decides that 
 it is incumbent on him to apply whatever remedy may 
 be in his power to the state of affairs between his cousin 
 and Roslyn. He does not doubt that the latter returns 
 the passion of Laurent, but the doubt in his mind is, 
 whether it might not be better that she should suffer 
 from that common calamity of youth, " an unfortunate 
 attachment," than to unite her life to one w T ho, accord- 
 

 126 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 ing to his judgment, would not be likely to make any 
 woman happy. This is the question which he debates 
 during the long watches of the night ; and his final 
 decision is, that he will see Roslyn herself, and be guided 
 by what he can learn or can judge of her state of feeling. 
 " If the attachment is strong and likely to endure with 
 her," he thinks, " matters must be arranged so that she 
 will not suffer. I could endure anything better than to 
 see that radiant face clouded by sorrow and despair." 
 
 Acting on this resolution — of which, however, he says 
 nothing; to Laurent — he mounts his horse the next morn- 
 ing, and rides over to Yerdevale. He is welcomed cor- 
 dially by all the family, with the exception of Roslyn, 
 who does not appear ; and, when he inquires for her, he is 
 told that she is not at home. 
 
 " She went early this morning into Kirton," says Mrs. 
 Yardray, " to spend a few days with her aunt Lavinia." 
 
 " I will call and see her, then," says Colonel Duncan, 
 " since I am going to ride into Kirton myself." 
 
 An hour later he is dismounting at the gate of a large, 
 old-fashioned house, set far back from the street, in spa- 
 cious greenness, which is the residence of Mr. Vardray's 
 widowed sister, Mrs. Arden. Her only daughter having 
 married and moved away, she lives here alone, save when 
 provided with companionship by the visits of her grand- 
 children, or of Roslyn, to whom she is greatly attached. 
 But being always the center of a social circle, she can 
 not be said to lead a lonely life, although it is, in great 
 measure, a solitary one. 
 
 Colonel Duncan feels it necessary to ask for her, al- 
 though he is burning with impatience to see Roslyn, and 
 Roslyn alone ; but it is only in the power and presence 
 of some great emergency that we can violate the useful 
 
TAKING COUNSEL. 127 
 
 and necessary conventionalities of civilized life. He is 
 shown, therefore, into Mrs. Arden's sitting-room, and re- 
 ceived by her most kindly. She is a blithe, elderly lady, 
 with a cheery manner and a charming smile, whose popu- 
 larity arises from her genuine warmth of heart, although 
 this warmth is not indiscriminate. She has her favorites, 
 and, among them, few rank so high as Hugo Duncan. It 
 has long been one of the chief desires of her heart that he 
 may succeed in winning her pretty niece ; and she has 
 consequently regarded with the most marked disfavor all 
 other candidates for that young lady's hand. 
 
 Duncan's eager eyes sweep the apartment as he enters, 
 in search of Roslyn, hardly knowing until this moment 
 how hungry is his heart for the sight of her; but she is 
 not to be seen. Only Mrs. Arden rises from her accus- 
 tomed seat and comes forward to welcome him. 
 
 " This is a very unexpected pleasure, Colonel Dun- 
 can," she says, " though not the less for being unexpect- 
 ed. But I heard of your departure some weeks ago, 
 and did not know that you had returned." 
 
 "I only returned yesterday, quite unannounced," Dun- 
 can answers. " It is among the doubtful privileges of a 
 bachelor existence that one can come and go when one 
 likes, without feeling bound to give warning of arrival 
 or departure." 
 
 " A very doubtful privilege, I should think," says the 
 lady, shaking her head. " I don't know which is most 
 desirable, to have some one to say good-by when one goes, 
 or to welcome one when one returns." 
 
 " But if one is not so fortunate as to possess any one 
 to perform either of those gracious offices, one must find 
 what consolation is possible in the freedom of loneliness," 
 replies Duncan, smiling. 
 
128 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I don't believe there is much consolation in it for 
 you," says Mrs. Arden. " I have a better opinion of you. 
 But, however that may be, your journey has not done you 
 any physical good,Jf I may judge by your appearance. 
 You are looking fagged and worn." 
 
 "A usual result of travel and warm weather," says 
 Duncan ; and then, being so much preoccupied in mind, 
 that it is with an effort he sustains the conversation, his 
 eyes wistfully travel around the room again. 
 
 Mrs. Arden catches the glance, and smiles. 
 
 " I know who it is you want to see, my dear colonel," 
 she says ; " and I am not so obtuse or hard-hearted that I 
 intend to monopolize your visit. I will send for Roslyn 
 presently ; but, first, will you let me ask something about 
 the young man of whom I have lately heard a good deal 
 as being with you at Cliffton 1 Laurent is his name, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " He is a son of Ada Duncan, a cousin of mine, whom 
 you may remember as having been at Cliffton once in her 
 girlhood," Duncan answers. " I confess that I know lit- 
 tle of the young man himself. He came to my door as a 
 kinsman, and you know the clanship feeling that goes 
 with Scottish blood. It was enough for me that he was 
 a kinsman, until — until lately." 
 
 Mrs. Arden nods. 
 
 " Yes," she says. " I understand. It was like a man 
 not to think of consequences, not to realize that his being 
 a kinsman was not warrant enough for letting him carry 
 off our bonny Roslyn." 
 
 " Has it come to that \ " asks Duncan, in dismay. He 
 thought he had prepared himself to know the worst — to 
 know that her heart had gone forever beyond his reach 
 — yet the certainty which seemed to him contained in 
 
TAKING COUNSEL. 129 
 
 Mrs. Arden's words sends a sharp, sick throb of pain 
 through all his being. 
 
 " I am afraid it has," replies the lady. " I have heard 
 rumors and reports, of course — you know how such things 
 get about — but I would not believe that there was any 
 danger until the child came to me this morning. The 
 first look in her eyes was enough to tell me that a change 
 has come over her, that she has lost the gayety of an un- 
 troubled heart and drank her first draught of sorrow. I 
 don't know what her coming here means, but I will tell 
 you what she said — I think you have a right to know." 
 
 " If the desire to serve her is a right, I have," says 
 Duncan. 
 
 " She said," Mrs. Arden goes on : " ' I have not come 
 to see you from an entirely unselfish motive, Aunt La- 
 vinia — in fact, not from an unselfish motive at all. I 
 have come because I want to be away from home for a 
 few days. I may be forced there to see people whom I 
 do not want to see ; but here I can refuse myself to whom 
 I like.' 
 
 " Of course, I did not ask whom she wished to avoid. 
 I only kissed her and told her that I was glad to see her 
 from whatever reason she came, and that she should re- 
 fuse herself to whomever she liked. But I had no diffi- 
 culty in conjecturing whom she meant, and neither, I 
 suppose, have you." 
 
 " I know very well," he answers. " I have heard the 
 whole story from the man whom I blame myself bitterly 
 for having left in a position of temptation. It is because 
 I have heard it, that I am here this morning to see lios- 
 lyn." 
 
 Mrs. Arden looks at him hesitatingly for an instant 
 before she speaks. Then she says : 
 
130 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I do not know whether or not to ask if yon feel at 
 liberty to let me know the whole. It is needless, I am 
 sure, to say — you will understand this — that my interest 
 does not arise from curiosity, but from my love for the 
 child. If I can be of no service in any way, we will not 
 waste time in a useless discussion ; but if I can help you 
 by advice or otherwise, you know how glad I shall be 
 to do so." 
 
 " I think, perhaps, you may help me by advice," he 
 says. " I feel the need of counsel, and I know that you 
 are competent to give it — that I may rely both upon your 
 good sense and your love for your niece. I will tell you, 
 then, all that I know, and see whether your opinion coin- 
 cides with my own, as to the course which I have thought 
 of taking." 
 
 So he tells it all — his accidental meeting with Mr. 
 Stanley on the preceding evening, the gossip which that 
 gentleman related, his indignation against Laurent, the 
 story of the latter, and his own mental debate there- 
 upon. 
 
 " You see, I reproach myself so much for having in- 
 troduced this young man at Yerdevale in the familiar 
 manner 1 did, that I feel responsible for the result of the 
 intimacy thus established," he says. " He could not, even 
 if he had been presented by myself, but in a more formal 
 way, have had the vantage-ground of such unrestrained 
 intercourse as my folly gave him ; for Mrs. Yard ray had 
 an instinctive distrust of him from the very first. She 
 would have been on her guard, and would have kept him 
 at a ceremonious distance, but for my indorsement of 
 him as my kinsman. And since it is by my fault that 
 this unfortunate state of affairs has come about, it is in- 
 cumbent upon me to do what I can to smooth matters. I 
 
TAKING COUNSEL. 131 
 
 must straighten the tangled threads, if it is in my power 
 to do so." 
 
 " I do not, I confess, see any way by which you can 
 straighten them," says Mrs. Arden. "If the man is en- 
 gaged to another woman, and ruined besides, it seems to 
 me that the only thing, as well as the best thing, is for 
 him to go away — the sooner the better. He has certain- 
 ly not acted as a man of honor." 
 
 " He certainly has not," says Duncan ; " but remember 
 that he is young, impulsive, and the temptation was great. 
 Few men in his position would have acted differently — 
 many would not have acted as well, for he might have 
 told his love without telling of his engagement." 
 
 " A man does not tell his love only in words," says 
 Mrs. Arden. "He tells it in unnumbered ways — in look, 
 in tone, in devotion of manner. Do you think women 
 are blind? — do you fancy we are insensible to the whole 
 course of wooing until the end comes in the question, 
 ' Do you love me ? ' If Mr. Laurent wishes to save his 
 character for honor in that way, I consider it a very shal- 
 low device. By every means in his power he tried to win 
 Roslyn's heart, and then he says that he told her of his 
 engagement before telling her of his love ! What right 
 had he to mention love then ? I should have called it an 
 insult ! " 
 
 She speaks with energy — color flushing her cheeks, and 
 fire flashing from her still bright eyes ; and Duncan feels 
 that a female Daniel has come to judgment, on whom no 
 plea of mercy will have effect. 
 
 " ]S"o doubt you are right," he answers. " I can not 
 condone his conduct — I can not even excuse it on any 
 ground save that of overwhelming temptation. Of 
 course, he would not have yielded to the temptation, 
 
132 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 strong as it undoubtedly was, if lie were not weak as 
 well as — " 
 
 " Unprincipled," was the word lie is on the point of 
 uttering; but he checks himself, and goes on after a 
 scarcely noticeable pause, " Putting him out of the ques- 
 tion, however — for, on his own merit alone, he would re- 
 ceive no consideration from me — I must ask you to re- 
 member this, which is my sole concern in the matter, that 
 we have every reason to believe that Roslyn loves him, 
 and it is her happiness of which I am thinking, and which 
 I desire to secure." 
 
 Mrs. Arden looks at him as if she would read the very 
 dejDths of his heart, were such a thing possible. " What 
 is the man made of ? ' she wonders. " Does he love Ros- 
 lyn himself, and if so, by what power of self-abnegation 
 can he talk so calmly of securing her happiness by giving 
 her to another man ? " These are her thoughts, but she 
 does not express them when she says : 
 
 " To gratify an unwise passion would be to insure 
 her unhappiness, rather than to secure her happiness, 
 believe me, Colonel Duncan. I, for one," she continues, 
 very earnestly, "am altogether opposed to anything so 
 short-sighted. Say that she is in love with the man, 
 what then ? She will not be the first girl, by many, who 
 has suffered a heart-ache and been cured in due time — 
 and she will not be the last. Xeither do I think that 
 she is likely to suffer long. But, even if she does suffer, 
 will not that be better, a thousand times better, than 
 for her to marry such a man as this must be — a man 
 without stable principle, a mauvais sujet of the worst 
 description ? " 
 
 "I am afraid she would not agree with you," says 
 Duncan, quietly ; but there is a look of pain on his face, 
 
TAKIXG COUNSEL. 133 
 
 which causes Mrs. Arden to regret having spoken so 
 warmly and unguardedly ; and she exclaims, quickly : 
 
 " Forgive me if I seem too harsh in my judgment, and 
 if I forgot for the moment that one so totally unlike your- 
 self is your kinsman." 
 
 " There is no need to apologize for anything that you 
 have said," he answers, simply ; " you can not think more 
 harshly of him than I am inclined to think. But I wish 
 to be reasonable and just ; and indeed, as I said before, 
 it is not of him that I think — it is of her." 
 
 "And you wish to do what is best for her, I am 
 sure ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 " Suppose that Koslyn were your daughter — all the cir- 
 cumstances of the case being the same as now — would 
 you permit her to marry Mr. Laurent if you could pre- 
 vent such a thing ? I am confident that you would not," 
 she continues, as Colonel Duncan hesitates an instant. 
 " You would feel it your duty to oppose such a marriage 
 to the utmost. And do you think it right to encourage, 
 if not promote it, as you propose to do in the present in- 
 stance ? " 
 
 Duncan rises from his seat and takes a turn up and 
 down the floor before he answers. Then he sits down 
 again, and says, in a low tone : 
 
 " I can not endure to think of her suffering as she will 
 — as she must suffer if she loves him and has to give up 
 her love — and to feel that I am to blame for it." 
 
 " You will be still more to blame if you involve her 
 in the life-long wretchedness of an unhappy marriage," 
 says Mrs. Arden, gravely. " And there is another thing 
 to be considered. Since your cousin is ruined in fortune, 
 and frankly says that he must marry money, how do you 
 
13± EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 expect him to marry Roslyn, who will have nothing till 
 her father dies, and then very little ? " 
 
 " I should settle that by securing my fortune to her," 
 answers Colonel Duncan, calmly. 
 
 Mrs. Arden regards him with the air of one who is 
 unable to credit the evidence of her ears. 
 
 " I beg pardon," she says, " but did I understand you 
 rightly ? — did you say secure your fortune to her ? " 
 
 " I said that," he replies. " Is it strange ? You surely 
 know how deeply I am attached to her : what better use 
 could I make of what is mine, than to secure her happi- 
 ness with it? You know, perhaps, that Laurent is, by 
 my uncle's will, the heir of Cliffton, if I die childless : so 
 I should simply be adding to what he will inherit the 
 rest of the estate. That would be Koslyn's dower." 
 
 The simplicity of his manner, as well as of his words, 
 carries conviction of his sincerity to his listener ; and if 
 for a minute she does not speak, it is because the tears, 
 which rush to her eyes, also choke her. Then : 
 
 " And you — you love her like this," she cries at last, 
 " to a point of generosity beyond anything that I have 
 ever heard of in any other man, and are yet so blind as to 
 think of giving her up — for her happiness, indeed ! For 
 her lasting misery, you will find, if you succeed in carry- 
 ing out your scheme of ill-judged generosity ! " 
 
 " But you forget," he says, " that it is no question of 
 1 giving up ' with me. I do not think I should be mag- 
 nanimous enough for that. She has told me distinctly 
 that she can care nothing for me — I suppose I was a fool 
 ever to think that she could ; and shall I be selfish enough 
 to let any thought of myself stand in the way of what 
 may make her happiness ? " 
 
 " Putting aside the fact which I have already repeated 
 
ROSLTN DECIDES. 135 
 
 often enough — I mean that I can not believe yon would 
 secure her happiness in this way," says Mrs. Arden, " have 
 you wholly forgotten yourself — your own future I Surely 
 you are not so foolish as to fancy that life is over for you, 
 because a silly girl has said no." 
 
 " I do not fancy that, in any sense, it is over for me," 
 he answers ; " but I am certain that I shall never marry, 
 and hence I have a right to dispose of my fortune as I 
 like. What I desire is to see Koslyn, and learn from 
 herself how she regards Laurent — for all depends on 
 that." 
 
 " I have always trusted a great deal to Roslyn's sense," 
 says Mrs. Arden, " and Heaven grant I have not trusted 
 in vain ! I will send her to you ; but before I go I must 
 say that I think it is an honor to have seen and known a 
 man who can so nobly forget himself." 
 
 With this, and before he can reply, she has left the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 KOSLYN DECIDES. 
 
 Some time elapses before Roslyn appears — so long 
 a time that Duncan begins to fear she will not come ; 
 but at last the door uncloses slowly, and she enters. 
 
 The recollection of when and how they parted last is 
 not much in the mind of either. Since then, time seems 
 to have stretched out interminably to Roslyn — a new life 
 filled with new emotions, and lately pierced with keen 
 pain ; while Duncan is thinking so much of her that he 
 has not time to think of himself. lie is struck, as he 
 
136 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 comes forward and takes her hand, with the change in 
 her of which Mrs. Arden spoke : it is almost intangible 
 and quite indescribable, but he sees it, though she smiles 
 and lifts her eyes with the old frank look of welcome. 
 
 " I am glad to see you back again," she says. 
 " When did you return ? " 
 
 He answers her question — speaking half-mechanically 
 — and then they sit down and look at each other : he 
 with an anxious inquiry that he can not disguise, she 
 with a shrinking from scrutiny that he observes in her 
 for the first time, a feeling which makes her rush into 
 speech, since he does not speak at once again : 
 
 " Have you been to Yerdevale ? But of course you 
 have, or you would not have known that I am here. 
 They must all have been delighted to see you." 
 
 " They were all very kind in welcoming me," he re- 
 plies ; " but I confess I did not think as much of their 
 welcome as perhaps I ought to have done, for I went to 
 see you, and you only." 
 
 "Did you?" she says, in a tone of surprise; then 
 there flashes into her mind for the first time a recollection 
 of his words when they were together last, and the color 
 on her face deepens. " I only came into town this morn- 
 ing," she adds, hastily, and not very relevantly. 
 
 " I know," he answers. " I also know why you 
 came," he goes on, thinking that it is best to plunge into 
 his subject at once. " Will you let me speak frankly to 
 you ? Laurent has told me his story." 
 
 She changes color again — to paleness now. But she 
 shows no sign of astonishment, for some instinct has 
 warned her that it is with regard to Laurent that he is 
 here. 
 
 " Yes, you may speak frankly," she answers ; " but I 
 
ROSLYN DECIDES. 137 
 
 do not know that there is anything to be said — concern- 
 ing Mr. Laurent." 
 
 " There is this to be said," Duncan replies, " that I 
 blame myself for having gone away without previously 
 telling you of his engagement. It is true that I warned 
 him ; but I should have known that it was a position of 
 great danger for any young man — and, for your sake, I 
 ought to have been thoroughly open on the subject. I 
 might have foreseen what would happen." 
 
 " Do you mean with regard to me f " she asks. Un- 
 consciously she lifts her head proudly. If she is miser- 
 able, she does not mean to be weak. " So far as I am 
 concerned, nothing has happened, except that I have 
 come here to avoid meeting a man who has behaved in 
 a dishonorable manner." 
 
 The curl of her lips, the light in her eyes, give added 
 emphasis to her words — words that in their trenchant 
 clearness astonish Duncan ; for though Laurent has 
 spoken of her scorn, he is not prepared for so explicit an 
 expression of it as this. He feels for a moment uncer- 
 tain how to answer. He has not come with any inten- 
 tion of pleading his cousin's cause, yet his next words 
 are words of apology for the young man. 
 
 " I understand your indignation," he says ; " but it is 
 only just to remember how greatly he was tempted. I 
 have had to remember this in judging him. No doubt 
 with him, as with many another man, love surprised 
 him." 
 
 " That may be," she replies ; " but had he not time 
 to think? Had he any right, any excuse, to come day 
 after day, to ride, to walk, to talk, to imply all and more 
 than all that he said at last ? It is not his fault that I 
 am not the most miserable woman on earth. But why 
 
13S ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 do I talk of it ? " she breaks off, abruptly. " You see 
 there is nothing to be said. That he is engaged is enough 
 for me. I do not wish ever to hear his name again." 
 
 "But," says Duncan, watching her closely as he 
 speaks, " it is possible for engagements to be broken ; 
 and it is also true, as he has suggested, that there may be 
 more honor in breaking than in keeping an engagement, 
 under such circumstances as these." 
 
 "Has he suggested that?" she asks, the color flashing 
 into her face again. " Surely he does not think that it 
 would matter to me if his engagement were broken to- 
 morrrow." 
 
 " He did not venture to say that it would influence 
 you," Duncan answers. "He told me that you had re- 
 fused to listen to his love. But I — " He hesitates a mo- 
 ment, then goes on, speaking a little more quickly than 
 usual : " I know how far pride can steel a woman's heart, 
 even against the man she loves. So I have come, not as 
 his advocate, but as your friend, to ask you, in the name 
 of our old friendship, to tell me the truth, and give me 
 the right to serve you. If you mean exactly what you 
 say in declaring that you wish never to hear his name 
 again, then I pledge my word that he shall go away, and 
 that you never shall hear it again. But stop and think 
 whether you do mean it. If you care for him — as it is 
 very natural that you should — don't make the mistake of 
 sending him away for a scruple of honor. I frankly tell 
 you that he is not a man whom I should select as the 
 man for you to marry ; but if he is the man you love, 
 you must decide whether or not you will trust your life 
 to him. I appeal to you as a woman, not a fanciful girl, 
 and I beg you to believe in the sincerity of my desire to 
 secure your happiness." 
 
ROSLYX DECIDES. 139 
 
 " Could I know you and doubt it ? ' she asks, in a 
 low voice. The serious gravity of his appeal has affected 
 her as strongly as he could possibly desire. All the feel- 
 ing that has filled and swayed her since she parted with 
 Laurent seems suddenly calmed — whether by the power 
 of the voice that has addressed her, or by the weight 
 of responsibility thrown upon her, she does not know. 
 Perhaps it is the latter, for a recognition of all that de- 
 pends upon her reply makes passionate haste impossible. 
 As she looks at him he sees in her eyes — eyes that never 
 seemed to him so beautiful before — the spirit of reason- 
 ing womanhood to which he has appealed. 
 
 " I will answer you as you deserve that I should, with 
 perfect candor," she says. " You ask if I really mean 
 what I say in wishing that I might never hear Mr. 
 Laurent's name again. An hour ago I thought so ; but 
 wounded pride and indignation had so much to do with 
 the feeling, that perhaps it was not real. What I feel 
 now is that whether or not there would be any excuse 
 for his conduct, there would be none for mine if I list- 
 ened to the suit of a man who is engaged to marry an- 
 other woman, or if I permitted him to break that engage- 
 ment in order that I might listen to him. You talk of 
 a scruple of honor — but surely that is more than a scru- 
 ple, if there be such a thing as honor." 
 
 "You are right," he says, "it is more than a scruple ; 
 it is a very grave question of honor. But you can not 
 blame me for thinking more of your happiness than of 
 anything else." 
 
 " Yes, I blame you," she answers, " because you ought 
 to judge for me as you would for yourself ; and what 
 have I ever done that you should think so much of my 
 happiness ? " 
 
140 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Never mind about that," he says. " If I choose to 
 make your happiness my care, that only concerns myself. 
 What I desire to know is, how best to serve you. I see 
 the situation — your heart is on one side, your pride, your 
 conscience on the other. How to reconcile them is the 
 question." 
 
 He rises, walks across the floor to a window, and 
 stands there for a minute looking out, though evidently 
 seeing no feature of the prospect before him. Roslyn 
 sits motionless and silent. Once she uncloses her lips to 
 speak, but closes them again without uttering a sound. 
 What can she say ? Has he not stated the matter truly ? 
 If she contradicts him, how can she state it better ? 
 
 " Please do not talk of it any more," she says, with 
 child-like simplicity of manner, when he again resumes 
 his seat near her. " I only want to be let alone. I came 
 here in order that I might not see him again. If I am 
 foolish enough to care anything about him, I do assure 
 you that I am at the same time wise enough and honest 
 enough to despise myself for doing so. All is said in 
 the fact that he is engaged. I will not hear anything 
 beyond that." 
 
 " But if he were free — pardon me that I must ask 
 this — if he were free, would you forgive him ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask ? ' she says, shrinking away from 
 the directness of the question ; and turning her face so 
 that he could not see it, she gazed straight out of the 
 window with eyes as unheeding the green beauty they 
 rest upon as his had been just before. " I will not en- 
 tertain the thought of his breaking his engagement ; and 
 I beg you to let him know that it would be useless for 
 him to do so," she goes on. "He can not mend one dis- 
 honor by another, and you are the last, the very last, per- 
 
HOSLTX DECIDES. 141 
 
 son in the world who I should have thought would be 
 the advocate of such a thing." 
 
 " I am not the advocate of it," he answers. " You 
 mistake me entirely if you think so. But engagements 
 are often broken — indeed, they seem very much made to 
 be broken at the present time — and I confess that I am 
 thinking much more of your happiness than of Laurent's 
 honor." 
 
 " But it is my honor as well as his that is concerned," 
 she says. " What should I be if I listened to him now 
 while his engagement exists, or if I suffered him to break 
 it in the hope that I would listen to him then f Do you 
 think that I do not know and feel how generous, how 
 more than generous, you are ? " she says, turning toward 
 him with eyes full of unshed tears. " But you think too 
 much, far too much, of me — and indeed there is no need 
 for you to consider this affair so gravely. I do not look 
 as if my heart were breaking, do I ? " 
 
 If the smile with which she says this is brave, it is 
 also tremulous. And the man before her — the man who 
 would give his heart's blood to serve her — feels that he is 
 utterly at a loss to know how that service shall be ren- 
 dered. He hesitates an instant, gazing at the bright face 
 which is now overshadowed by the change so intangible, 
 vet so marked, which had struck both Mrs. Arden and 
 himself, and then takes her hands abruptly. 
 
 " You have fenced me off," he says ; " you have not 
 spoken the whole truth to me ! How can I appeal to 
 you more strongly and directly ? — how can I persuade 
 you to be perfectly frank and trustful ? I can only say, 
 Roslyn, that I think I deserve your trust ; I can only 
 implore you to give it to me! Tell me if you love this 
 man so that his going will make you miserable, so that 
 
142 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 his staying — if he could stay with honor — would make 
 you happy ? " 
 
 He speaks with such passionate earnestness, that Kos- 
 lyn's tears are ready to overflow, and there is a choking 
 sob in her throat which she can scarcely swallow. But 
 she makes a great effort and does swallow it, and force 
 herself to speak calmly. 
 
 " There is no such if" she answers, " no such possi- 
 bility — and if there were, how do I know that it would 
 make me happy % I do not know ; so I beg you to do 
 nothing in my behalf. Let him go — make him go ! 
 That is all 1 can say." 
 
 She sinks back in her chair as she ceases speaking, 
 and looks so suddenly pale, that he sees it will not do to 
 press her further — even if further insistence would be 
 likely to tell him more than he has learned already — and 
 this he doubts. So he takes her hand again — this time 
 with a gentle friendliness. 
 
 " My dear child," he says, " you must forgive me for 
 tormenting you in this way. But remember how you 
 have been our pet, how we have wanted to keep you al- 
 ways bright and glad, and how little I at least like to be 
 baffled by the fate that has brought this cloud upon you. 
 I feel, too, that it is my fault ; that I am accountable and 
 responsible — and hence I have endeavored to see if it 
 could not be taken away. I thought you might be like 
 other girls — that love and its gratification might be all 
 in all to you ; but I see, and I am proud to see, that you 
 think more of honor than of love, and would rather suf- 
 fer than be happy unworthily. You leave me, therefore, 
 nothing to say but God bless you, and good-by ! " 
 
 He goes without another word, and, before the echo 
 of his footstep has died away, Roslyn's shield of bravery 
 
ROSLYN DECIDES. US 
 
 and pride is gone, and she is sobbing like a heart-broken 
 child. Hardly until this moment has she realized what 
 has been offered her, and now the realization comes with 
 the sense of final loss. She feels perfectly assured that, 
 had she uttered a word expressive of her desire that Lau- 
 rent should remain, Duncan w r ould have smoothed mat- 
 ters to that end — and the temptation was not so sharp 
 when it was offered, as now when it is passed. We are 
 doubtful of the value of many a thing while we hold it, 
 which seems to us absolutely good after it has escaped 
 from our grasp. 
 
 Before her passion of grief has quite exhausted itself, 
 Mrs. Arden comes in — knowing that Colonel Duncan is 
 gone — and great is her astonishment at the scene before 
 her ; for the matter had seemed to her very simple. If 
 Boslyn cares for the man, she has but to say so, and, with 
 an unexampled generosity, Colonel Duncan is ready to 
 play the part of fairy god-father and bring the affair to a 
 happy conclusion. If she does not care for him, she has 
 also but to say so, and the matter is at an end ; in either 
 case Mrs. Arden fails to perceive any need for tears. 
 And here is Roslyn, lying prone on the sofa, her face 
 buried in a cushion, her lovely hair all disordered, and her 
 whole form shaken with convulsive weeping ! 
 
 The intruder upon this storm of grief — for such Mrs. 
 Arden feels herself to be, for an instant — pauses and re- 
 gards, with mingled distress and amazement, the prostrate 
 figure before her — hesitating whether to advance or re- 
 treat. But, after a moment's indecision, she yields to her 
 impulse, and, going forward, puts a kindly arm around 
 the girl's shrinking form. 
 
 " My darling," she says, " how sorry I am to see you 
 so much distressed. Is there nothing I can do for you ?" 
 
144 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Nothing at all," answers Roslyn, battling with her 
 sobs, and choking them down ; " I am a fool, aunty — a 
 fool ! — and you ought to despise me ! " 
 
 " Why, my dear ? " asks Mrs. Arden ; and, seized with 
 sudden uneasiness, she adds, gravely, " Are you going to 
 marry Mr.- Laurent, Roslyn ? " 
 
 " Do you mean that you would despise me if I were ? " 
 asks the girl. 
 
 Mrs. Arden does not answer at once ; she looks at her 
 niece apprehensively, restraining the inclination she feels 
 to answer the question just proposed strongly in the af- 
 firmative — for she does not understand how anybody, with 
 a due sense of honor, could think for a moment of over- 
 looking the breach of honor which Laurent has commit- 
 ted. Hot words were quivering on her lips ; but she is 
 old enough to have learned that violence is much more 
 likely to injure than to help a cause — particularly in a 
 case of this kind. She speaks quietly, therefore, but 
 there is an unconscious inflection of coldness in her voice, 
 which is very perceptible to her hearer. 
 
 " I confess, my dear, that I should be very sorry to 
 see you do anything which, I am convinced, would make 
 you miserable for life." 
 
 Roslyn smiles bitterly, as she pushes back the damp 
 tendrils of hair that are clinging to her brow and cheeks, 
 and looks up. 
 
 " You will not be called upon to despise me, or to be 
 sorry for me, either, Aunt Lavinia," she says — " at least, 
 for this reason. 1 have some sense of honor. He is en- 
 gaged to another woman, and I have told Colonel Dun- 
 can that I will not suffer him to break the engagement 
 for me." 
 
 " Thank God ! " says Mrs. Arden — and she kisses the 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN MAKES A MISTAKE. 145 
 
 tear-stained victor, adding, "You are right — and some 
 day, my dear, some day, you will be as glad, as I am now, 
 that you have come to this decision." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 COLONEL DUNCAN MAKES A MISTAKE. 
 
 When Colonel Duncan returns to Clitlton, to find 
 Laurent comfortably established in a cool, shaded room, 
 smoking cigarettes and reading newspapers with a tran- 
 quil air, it is natural that irritation should be his first and 
 predominant sensation. On account of the conduct of 
 this man, he has not only been taking trouble and discom- 
 fort upon himself, but, what is far worse, he has just 
 seen marks of suffering on the face he loves best — the 
 face he had so fondly and vainly hoped to keep ever 
 without a shadow ; and now he comes from that painful 
 interview to find the culprit, the sole cause and occasion 
 of it, apparently without concern or remorse — a picture, 
 as he lies at ease, of sybaritic self-indulgence ! 
 
 It is no wonder that his heavy brows contract, and 
 that, when Laurent glances up, he sees a stern as well as 
 a heat-flushed face. But as he quietly swings his legs to 
 the floor, and from a recumbent assumes a sitting posture, 
 his own manner remains as unruffled as before. 
 
 "I have been expecting you for some time," he says. 
 " I suppose, however, that you have been to Verdevale — 
 and, as I can testify, that is rather a difficult place to tear 
 one's self away from." 
 7 
 
146 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "I have been to Verdevale, yes — but not all the 
 time," answers Colonel Duncan. "After leaving Verde- 
 vale, I went to Kirton and paid a visit. Miss Vardray is 
 there." ^ 
 
 " Indeed ! With wh*om ? " 
 
 " With her aunt, Mrs. Arden, who lives in that place. 
 I tell you of her whereabout, because she has gone there 
 to avoid any possible chance of seeing you again — such a 
 chance as she thought might occur at Verdevale." 
 
 " Thanks ; you are very kind," says Laurent, quietly. 
 " But may I ask why Miss Yardray thinks it necessary to 
 resort to such extreme measures to avoid me ? I have 
 certainly not evinced any intention of troubling her." 
 
 "Did you have no such intention?" asks Duncan, 
 looking at him keenly. "Not, however, that you are to 
 imagine that she anticipated or feared anything of the 
 kind. She only thought it probable you might be at 
 Yerdevale, and that for her to avoid seeing you there 
 would excite attention; so she went to Kirton, where there 
 would be no difficulty." 
 
 " It was very considerate of her," says Laurent. " But, 
 since I am on the point of taking my departure, she need 
 not have given herself that trouble." 
 
 " It is certainly well that you should go," says Dun- 
 can, promptly, " and I was about to suggest as much. I 
 mentioned, last night, that my friend Mr. North has 
 kindly agreed to give you a place and a trial ; so that it is 
 best you should go to him at once." 
 
 " Yes," says Laurent, in a meditative tone. He looks 
 down at the cigarette which he is rolling between his fin- 
 gers, while he speaks, and he is asking himself what it is 
 best that he should do. Of really putting his shoulder to 
 the wheel and accepting distasteful work, he has never 
 
COLOXEL DUNCAN MAKES A MISTAKE. l±j 
 
 had the least serious idea, though it served his purpose 
 very well to allow Duncan to believe that he had. And 
 if, in consequence of this belief, that gentleman chose to 
 take a good deal of trouble, that surely was his own affair 
 altogether, and did not bind him (Laurent) to anything 
 at all. Shall he now quietly announce that he has no in- 
 tention of troubling Mr. North, or shall he make a feint 
 of accepting the offered situation, in order to propitiate 
 Duncan ? In the latter case, what is to be gained by 
 such propitiation ? These are the questions he asks him- 
 self as he deliberately lights his cigarette. At length he 
 savs : 
 
 " AVe will discuss that matter presently. Just now 
 I should like to know something more about Miss Var- 
 dray — for example, whether she could not be induced to 
 see me. Don't misunderstand me!" — as Duncan starts 
 angrily — " I should only like, before bidding her a prob- 
 ably final adieu, to remove an erroneous impression from 
 her mind — the impression, apparently, that I insulted her 
 by telling her of my love." 
 
 " And was it not an insult to have told her, in the 
 same breath with your declaration, that you were engaged 
 to marry another woman \ " asks Duncan, hotly. " There 
 may be women — no doubt there are women and to spare 
 — who would think lightly of such a breach of honor, 
 but Hoslyn Yardray is not of the number. I was sure of 
 that, even before I saw her." 
 
 " And you have been made more sure by seeing her, 
 T presume," says Laurent, calmly. 
 
 " Yes," Duncan answers, forgetting prudence in in- 
 dignation, " if you wish to know how sure I have been 
 made, I will tell you — in order that you may realize, once 
 for all, what Roslyn Yardray is." And then follows a 
 
US ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 brief recapitulation of his own resolve to secure the girl's 
 happiness at any cost, and of Roslyn's answer. 
 
 Laurent fairly holds his breath as he listens. He can 
 hardly believe that he is not in a dream. With regard to 
 Duncan's conduct, his sentiment is one of mingled amaze- 
 ment and contempt. Such unparalleled generosity is to 
 him only unparalleled folly. But what a prospect it opens 
 for him — the positive assurance of the inheritance of Cliff- 
 ton, and the girl who has captivated his fancy, made not 
 only possible, but desirable as his bride, by the rich gift 
 of the fortune which is Duncan's own ! Was ever mortal 
 man so mad before ? and was ever mortal man so favored 
 by luck, surpassing his wildest dreams? He can hardly 
 contain himself ; his head is whirling with excitement, 
 yet he controls himself sufficiently to realize that he must 
 not let Duncan suspect that this revelation has entirely 
 changed all his resolves and plans. A minute before, he 
 had been satisfied that nothing remained for him but to 
 put Roslyn out of his life, and rest content with his suc- 
 cess in diverting her heart from his cousin. JVov), he 
 says to himself, that all is clear before him, and that he 
 will never resign the hold he has won over her. 
 
 But he takes good care not to betray this new resolve 
 to Duncan. To the latter he only expresses, after a min- 
 ute or two, his sense of the wonderful generosity that 
 prompted the offer which Roslyn refused, and his deep 
 regret that, having so refused, she has left him nothing to 
 do but to go. 
 
 " For that is of course what it comes to," he says. 
 " I will accept what your kindness has provided, and go to 
 Mr. North at once. Work is said to help one to a good 
 many fine results — forgetting, among the rest. I will see 
 what it can do for me." 
 
COL OX EL DUNCAN MAKES A MISTAKE. 119 
 
 " You are right," says Duncan, a little mollified by 
 tins. " I hope that it may do a great deal for you, and 
 you should not delay in presenting yourself to Mr. 
 North." 
 
 " I will go at once and make my preparations for de- 
 parture," says Laurent, glancing at his watch. 
 
 But, although he leaves the room, it is not so much 
 to make his preparations for departure as to decide what 
 his course of action shall be. One thing is plain — that, 
 for the present, at least, it is necessary that he should 
 go ; but he determines that he will not go before he has 
 seen Roslyn. lie will leave Cliffton, so as not to be 
 under the surveillance of his cousin, but he will remain 
 in Kirton until, by one means or another, he has carried 
 his point, until he has seen her and established his influ- 
 ence on a surer basis. 
 
 He does not, however, think it necessary to announce 
 this resolution to Duncan; but he does decline the offer 
 of the latter's companionship into Kirton. When, with 
 the spirit of a host du ancieii regime, Duncan says, " Of 
 course, I shall drive in with you, and see you off," the 
 young man coolly answers : 
 
 " I hope that you will not do anything of the kind ; 
 for, if you drive into Kirton, it will only be to say good- 
 by to me at the hotel instead of here. I shall not leave 
 by the afternoon train, which is a slow one, but shall 
 wait for the midnight express." 
 
 u Then why not wait here ? ' asks Duncan — though 
 he knows very well what purpose the excuse of the mid- 
 night express covers. 
 
 "To give you the trouble of sending me in after 
 nightfall?' says the other, carelessly. " No, thanks — I 
 shall go in this afternoon." 
 
150 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Geoffrey's good offices. 
 
 "When Laurent, on his way into Kirton, calls at Verde- 
 vale to make Ms adieus, there is much surprise mani- 
 fested, and even more felt, by the family. Geoffrey, in 
 especial, is astonished and suspicious. It flashes upon 
 him, with the force of an instinctive conviction, that there 
 is some connection between Hoslyn's going to Kirton, 
 Colonel Duncan's return, and this man's departure. He 
 drove Roslyn into town himself; and he remembers now 
 how pale and preoccupied she looked. Jealousy suggests 
 an unworthy thought to him again, and he wonders if she 
 did not go to Kirton in order to meet Laurent there be- 
 fore his departure — which he shrewdly argues to have 
 been in some way a necessary consequence of Colonel 
 Duncan's return. 
 
 These thoughts are strongly in his mind when, Lau- 
 rent's hurried visit over, he stands on the veranda watch- 
 ing that gentleman drive away, and debating in his mind 
 whether he will not ride into town and see for himself 
 the extent of Roslyn's infatuation and duplicity. He is 
 only deterred from doing so by a feeling that to act the 
 spy, in even the least degree, is a very unworthy part to 
 play. It is impossible to say how his indecision would 
 end, did not a slight chance determine the matter for 
 him. While he still stands with a gloomy brow, saying 
 to himself — " If she has a secret, is it any of my business 
 to pry into it? No— I will not interfere and act like a 
 
GEOFFREY'S GOOD OFFICES. 151 
 
 sneak ! " — a servant on horseback rides up and gives two 
 notes to him. 
 
 One is for himself and one for Roslyn, and both are 
 evidently from the same person. He opens his own, and 
 finds that it is an invitation to an informal dance that 
 evening at the house of a young lady in Kirton, well 
 known to them both. She signs herself, "Your old 
 friend Rose Gilray"; and never before has Geoffrey felt 
 so warmly conscious of the claims of old friendship be- 
 tween himself and the bearer of that name. Go? Of 
 course he will go, and he will make it his instant duty to 
 carry Miss Gilray's note to Roslyn, and persuade her to 
 go also. The excuse he wants is given him, and, sending 
 word to Miss Gilray that he will report to her in an hour, 
 he orders his horse at once. 
 
 When he dismounts at Mrs. Arden's gate and w^alks 
 up to the door of the house, it is with not a little fear of 
 what he may enter upon. He almost wishes now that he 
 had not come, that he had remained away until certain 
 that Laurent was out of Kirton. 
 
 " How like a spy and a sneak I shall feel if I find them 
 together — as no doubt I shall ! " he thinks, with a strong 
 impulse to retreat. It is too late for retreat now, how- 
 ever : if any one is in the drawing-room, he must have 
 been seen from one of the windows ; so he pulls the door- 
 bell, and hears the peal ring through the spacious, silent 
 house. 
 
 Into the broad hall with its waxed floor, its old claw- 
 footed furniture, and pleasant lounging-chairs, comes a 
 neatly dressed maid, who says : 
 
 "Walk in, Mr. Geoffrey, and Pll go up and tell 
 Miss Roslvn you're here. I don't expect she's awake 
 
 yet." 
 
152 EOSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " What ! " says Geoffrey, so much surprised that he 
 forgets to be relieved, " isn't she down ? " 
 
 The girl looks at him, in turn, surprised. What is he 
 thinking of, to imagine that a young lady is likely to be 
 down from her siesta with the sun two hours high ! 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," she says, in a tone of rebuke. " But 
 I'll let her know that you are here." 
 
 She goes away up the wide, shallow staircase, and 
 Geoffrey, sitting down in one of the inviting chairs, re- 
 volves the situation in his mind. Has Laurent been here 
 and gone ? Clearly not, for it has been too short a time 
 since he left Yerdevale for that. Has he an appointment 
 yet to come ? Hardly possible, or Eoslyn would surely 
 be ready to receive him, knowing that railroad trains, like 
 time and tide, wait for no man. But can it be that he 
 will go away without bidding her farewell at all ? Such 
 a proceeding can have only one meaning, the young man 
 feels, and that he is not prepared to credit. Altogether 
 the mystery puzzles him, and when a clock suddenly 
 chimes out on the stillness, striking the hour, he starts, 
 for the distant whistle of a railroad train answers it, and 
 he says to himself that Laurent is off. 
 
 "Roslyn must have known that he is going, and 
 she must have come here to avoid him," is Geoffrey's 
 next thought as he sits patiently w r aiting. "What the 
 deuce does it all mean % Only yesterday she talked of 
 him in a w T ay that showed she was very near caring for 
 him. What has happened since then ? I am not a curi- 
 ous fellow, as a general rule ; but I should like to under- 
 stand this." 
 
 No explanation comes, while half an hour wears away 
 in drowsy silence ; then a door opens and closes again in 
 the upper regions of the house ; a pair of high heels and 
 
GEOFFREY'S GOOD OFFICES. 153 
 
 a trailing dress are heard, and around the bend of the 
 staircase Roslyn comes into view, prettily dressed and 
 smiling — only a slight heaviness about the eyes (which 
 might pass for the effect of an interrupted siesta), making 
 any difference from her ordinary appearance. 
 
 " Geoff, what do you mean by disturbing one at such 
 an hour as this ? " she exclaims. " Have you come to pay 
 me a visit because I happen to be away from home for a 
 day ? Of course, I should be glad to see you at a reason- 
 able hour ; but to rouse one in the middle of a warm after- 
 noon is so provoking." 
 
 Her petulance pleases rather than annoys Geoffrey, for 
 he thinks, reasonably enough, that she would hardly speak 
 so if his coming were seriously disagreeable to her. 
 
 " I am sorry to have disturbed you," he says. " It is 
 true that I might have sent this note to you, but I brought 
 it, because I wanted to take your answer with my own to 
 Miss Eose." 
 
 He gives her Miss Gilray's note, and watches her as 
 she reads it. No flush of anticipated pleasure comes to 
 her face, no light to her eyes. When she reaches the 
 end, she looks up and says, quietly : 
 
 " I am sorry you took the trouble to come just for this. 
 I don't care to go." 
 
 " Not go ! " he exclaims. " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I don't care to. Isn't that reason enough ? ' 
 
 " No," he answers, " I don't think it is. Miss Rose 
 will certainly expect a better one. And your not going 
 will be all the more remarkable from your being in town. 
 What possible excuse can you give? You know they 
 count — that everybody counts — on you." 
 
 She makes a gesture of indifference. 
 
 "Let them," she says. " There is no reason why I 
 
154 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 should constrain myself to do what I don't want to do, 
 merely because people expect it of me. Geoffrey, please 
 don't worry me. I will not go." 
 
 Geoffrey's face grows dark. He knows what this 
 means, and, looking steadily at the countenance before 
 him now, he sees that some of its bloom is gone, and 
 that the heaviness of her eyes may be the result of weep- 
 ing. 
 
 " I am sorry to worry you," he says, " but I am bound 
 to tell you that very disagreeable things will be said of 
 you if you decline this invitation without being able to 
 give any good excuse for doing so. It will be known that 
 you are in town, it will be remembered that you have 
 never failed to appear on such an occasion before, and, of 
 course, people will draw an inference — an inference that 
 may or may not be true, but that, in your place, I should 
 dislike for them to draw." 
 
 Her eyes kindle as she meets his gaze, and she lifts 
 her slender neck with the air of pride that on rare occa- 
 sions belongs to her. 
 
 " I do not, in the least, understand what inference you 
 mean," she says, coldly. 
 
 "Do you not? Then I must remind you that Mr. 
 Laurent left this afternoon, and I am sure I need not 
 point out what connection people will find between that 
 and your refusal to go to a dance." 
 
 Despite her utmost power of self-control, she can not 
 prevent a change of countenance which tells him that his 
 news is news to her, but, for the rest, she has herself well 
 in hand, and bears the ordeal gallantly. 
 
 " Has he gone ? " she says. "I did not know that he 
 — was leaving so soon. Are you certain ? " 
 
 " He was at Yerdevale an hour or two ago on his way 
 
GEOFFREY'S GOOD OFFICES. 155 
 
 to take the train in Kirton, bade everybody good-by, and 
 left a message with my mother for you," answers Geof- 
 frey. " That is all I know. I suppose he has gone. His 
 trunk was along, and Colonel Duncan wasnH? 
 
 He regards her keenly, as he utters the last words ; 
 but her face does not betray her further. She only looks 
 down nervously, closing and unclosing the fan she holds. 
 
 " You see how the matter stands," the young man 
 goes on, stiffly. " Your name has been very much coup- 
 led with his lately, and people will say — well, you can 
 imagine what they will say. Of course, it is nothing to 
 me whether you go to the dance or not — further than that 
 I should be sorry for you to be the theme of such gossip 
 as I know will be the result of your not going. You 
 must decide, however." 
 
 There is a moment's pause. A breeze, blowing lightly 
 through the hail, brings a fragrance of roses and jasmine 
 with it from the garden behind the house ; the clock 
 ticks ; the sunshine streams on an old engraving of the 
 " Death of Montgomery " ; and Geoffrey has no instinct of 
 what cause he is pleading — for whom he has won — when 
 Roslyn, looking up presently, says : 
 
 " I do not believe that any such result would follow 
 my not going to a stupid party in this warm weather ; but 
 since you have thought fit to say such things to me, per- 
 haps somebody else may be found foolish and ill-natured 
 enough to say them of me ; and so I will go." 
 
156 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 midsummer-night's dream. 
 
 Fortunately for Geoffrey's peace of mind, lie lias no 
 intuition of how Miss Gilray is engaged when he calls at 
 her door half an hour later, and is informed that she is 
 out. He scribbles a few lines on his card accepting her 
 invitation, and then continues his way out of town ; for 
 he is charged with the important commission of having an 
 evening dress sent to Poslyn. 
 
 The young lady whom he has failed to see is not very 
 far away. A few squares distant, her pony phaeton is 
 drawn up close to the sidewalk, and she is talking eagerly 
 to a gentleman, who is no less a person than Mr. Laurent. 
 She was driving rapidly down the street when she saw 
 him sauntering under the trees, with the low sunlight 
 streaming on his handsome face and figure ; and having 
 met him once or twice during the past few weeks, at 
 Verde vale, she instantly conceives the idea of securing 
 him for her evening's entertainment. It is the work of 
 an instant to utter his name and draw up her carriage by 
 the spot where he pauses. 
 
 "How fortunate that I should meet you, Mr. Lau- 
 rent ! " she says, eagerly. " I was just thinking of send- 
 ing a note to Cliffton, asking if you will not come to a 
 little dance at our house this evening. Pray, don't say 
 no, for in that case I shall feel sure that you scorn any- 
 thing like village festivity." 
 
 "You are very kind, Miss Gilray," says Laurent, 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 157 
 
 "and nothing would give me more pleasure than to ac- 
 cept your invitation, if I were not intending to leave Kir- 
 ton to-night." 
 
 "But why should you leave it — at least until late — and 
 I believe there is a moon ? You only mean that you are 
 going out to Cliffton, do you not \ " 
 
 " I regret to say that my meaning is, I am going to 
 much more remote regions. I leave on the midnight ex- 
 press." 
 
 " Oh, but donH leave ! " says the young lady, plead- 
 ingly. "Is there any very particular reason why you 
 should ? Can you not stay until to-morrow ? Can I offer 
 you no inducement to stay ? Not even a dance with Ros- 
 lyn \ " 
 
 Few things could have been more distasteful to Lau- 
 rent than is the arch expression which accompanies the 
 last words ; but they suggest a thought to him. He is 
 really yet undecided whether or not to leave on the mid- 
 night train ; and also wholly undecided whether or not to 
 make any attempt to see Roslyn before lie goes. He was 
 debating this question mentally, when Miss Gilray stopped 
 him ; and now her words suggest to him a solution of it. 
 By yielding to her request, he provides himself with an 
 excuse for not leaving ; and although he entertains little 
 hope that he will see Roslyn, there is a shadow of a 
 chance that he may do so, and have an opportunity, not 
 of his own making, for speech with her. These reflec- 
 tions pass swiftly through his mind before he answers : 
 
 " You tempt me very much ; and since there is no 
 pressing reason for my going to-night, I think I will de- 
 fer my departure in order to accept your invitation. It 
 will be a pleasant memory to carry away, as a close to my 
 very pleasant visit to this part of the country." 
 
158 ROSLYN' 8 FORTUNE. 
 
 Miss Gilray is delighted, and expresses her delight 
 frankly. Then, urging upon him that he must not change 
 his mind, that he must not fail her on any account what- 
 ever, she drives away, charmed with herself and her 
 capability to grasp an opportunity. 
 
 Whether or not Roslyn is charmed with the result of 
 this capability, when she hears of it, is quite another 
 thing. 
 
 " So glad to see you, my dear," says Miss Gilray, 
 meeting her effusively. " I have a pleasant surprise for 
 you. By the most delightful accident I met Mr. Laurent 
 on the street this evening, and induced him to delay his 
 departure — of course, you know that he was intending to 
 leave on the midnight express — in order to be here to- 
 night. Are you not heart-broken at the thought of his 
 going? I am sure I should be, if he were my admirer." 
 
 Roslyn puts up her lip and her shoulder with pretty 
 carelessness. Her start had been too slight to be noticed, 
 and she is buttoning her glove, so that her eyes do not 
 betray her. 
 
 " Heart-broken ! " she says. " That is very likely. Of 
 course, I am sorry Mr. Laurent is going ; but somebody 
 else will take his place — or, if not, we shall manage to ex- 
 ist without him. ' Men may come and men may go' — and 
 it isn't worth while to mourn over their coming or go- 
 ing." Then, walking to a mirror to scrutinize herself, 
 "How do I look to-night, Rose?" she asks. "Without 
 flattery, mind. I ask, because I have not been very well 
 to-day." 
 
 " I never saw you looking better," replies Miss Gil- 
 ray, with emphasis. " Your dress is so very becoming." 
 
 " I sent for it because it is the most becoming dress I 
 have," says Roslyn, looking at herself approvingly. Glad 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 159 
 
 is she that she did send for her prettiest toilet ; that she 
 did rub the color into her cheeks, and summon light to 
 the eyes that look back at her from the mirror. Her ob- 
 ject was that nobody should be able to say that she is 
 mourning for Laurent ; but now that she hears he is him- 
 self to be present, she is doubly determined to look her 
 best, to seem her brightest. " He shall know that I was 
 under the impression that he was gone," she thinks, with 
 a sense of cordial gratitude to Geoffrey for having made 
 her come. 
 
 Geoffrey, who is standing at the foot of the stair- 
 case waiting for her in rather a dejected mood — for up to 
 this time he has not been forgiven, but has been treated 
 with an appalling dignity and reserve — is altogether sur- 
 prised by the tone of her voice when she comes down 
 and lays her hand on his arm. 
 
 " You have not asked for the first dance, Geoff," she 
 says, " but I suppose you want it, don't you ? ' 
 
 "I should think so, indeed!' 1 he answers, quickly. 
 " There has been a set or two danced already — we are 
 rather late, you know — and there is a waltz just com- 
 menced. Come ! " 
 
 The next moment they are in the room, his arm is 
 round her lissome waist, and they are circling over the 
 polished floor to the strains of "The Thousand and One 
 Nights." 
 
 They have waltzed together so often, they know each 
 other's step so well, and the delight of both is so great in 
 the exercise, that fatigue is impossible to either ; and so, 
 when Laurent arrives, some time later, the first sight 
 that meets his eye is Roslyn's flushed, radiant face over 
 Geoffrey's shoulder, as she is borne round and round in 
 the swift, intoxicating whirl. 
 
160 EOSLYJSf'S FORTUNE. 
 
 What a shock that sight conveys to his self-love, it is 
 difficult to express. " She thinks that I have gone — gone, 
 too, without a word of farewell ; and this is how much she 
 cares ! " he thinks. " Is it possible that I have been the 
 sport of a heartless flirt? What a consummate fool I 
 have been ! Why, from present appearances, she may 
 very likely marry Duncan to-morrow — and I will have 
 gained nothing at all ! By Jove, she has a steady head ! " 
 
 This tribute of admiration is involuntarily wrung 
 from him by the recollection of how many women, in the 
 coarse of his extensive experience, have proved to have 
 had the reverse of steady heads where he has been con- 
 cerned. And this girl could be subjected to all the dan- 
 gerous fascination of his society, could hear his declaration 
 of passion, and then, with blooming cheeks and laughing 
 eyes, can dance on the night of his departure ! As he 
 watches her, as his gaze follows the graceful figure, the 
 flower-decked head, he is torn by so many conflicting 
 feelings that he can scarcely reply to the remarks of his 
 hostess. Mortified vanity, anger, admiration, love stimu- 
 lated to resolve, all these emotions occupy his mind, and 
 distract his attention from everything but the observation 
 of the brilliant creature who flashes past him again and 
 again, all unconscious, seemingly, of his presence. It is 
 with him the old, old story of his sex — that which is given 
 loses its value ; while that which is beyond reach seems 
 priceless. 
 
 What Geoffrey's sentiments are when, having at last 
 placed Roslyn in a seat, he stands fanning her, and chanc- 
 ing to glance across the room, suddenly perceives the well- 
 known face of the man whom he fancied to be many 
 leagues away by this time, it would be vain to say. A 
 cloud comes over the whole gay scene to him, and, with a 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S BREAM. 161 
 
 change of voice which would in itself tell Roslyn what is 
 the matter, he Bays : 
 
 " Why, yonder is Laurent ! Did you expect to see 
 him here i " 
 
 ' ; Is it probable that I did ? " she asks, quietly, " when 
 you told me this afternoon that he was gone." 
 
 "I told you what he said — that he was going, that 
 
 16. 
 
 " And I had no reason to doubt it. I was quite sur- 
 prised when Rose told me, as she went up to the dressing- 
 room with me, that she met him this afternoon and per- 
 suaded him to remain for the evening." 
 
 " He was not hard to be persuaded, I imagine," says 
 Geoffrey, with intense bitterness of feeling, and not a lit- 
 tle bitterness of tone. " I don't believe he ever meant to 
 go!" 
 
 " lie may have meant to go, and changed his mind," 
 says Roslyn, impatient at his manner of speaking ; while 
 Geoffrey, in turn, who now knows — or thinks he knows — 
 the meaning of the brightness which has been shining on 
 him, feels much aggrieved at her excusing Laurent. All 
 his ideas are again thrown into confusion, and the green- 
 eyed monster is rampant in his breast. As he sees Lau- 
 rent advance across the floor, he puts Roslyn's fan abruptly 
 into her hand. 
 
 " I had better go," he says. " You won't need me any 
 more." 
 
 She glances up quickly, with something like a flash in 
 her eves. 
 
 %J 
 
 " You are foolish, and utterly unreasonable," she says. 
 " Whose fault is it that I am here ? But go, by all means, 
 if you like. I confess I am tired of jealousy and ill- 
 nature." 
 
162 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Permission thus given him to go, Geoffrey naturally 
 does not take advantage of it ; and he is still holding his 
 place, looking irresolute and lowering, when Laurent ap- 
 proaches. 
 
 " How glad I am to meet you here to-night, Miss Var- 
 dray ! " says the last-named, with easy grace. " I was on 
 my way to bid you farewell this afternoon, when Miss 
 Gilray stopped me and induced me to defer my departure 
 until to-morrow by holding out the hope that I should 
 see you to-night. 7 ' 
 
 His tranquil, unruffled manner, his conventional words, 
 may veil anything or nothing, Geoffrey feels — but, to Ros- 
 lyn, his eyes are sufficiently intelligible in their message 
 when she meets them. If her own express anything, how- 
 ever, it is the same careless indifference which tills her 
 voice, when she says: 
 
 " I am a little surprised to see you. Geoffrey told me 
 this afternoon that you had gone." 
 
 " A very natural conclusion on Mr. Thome's part," 
 says Laurent, looking at Geoffrey with a slightly amused 
 expression. " I made my adieu at Yerdevale, expecting 
 to leave ; but, since I was so unfortunate as not to find 
 you there, I certainly could not have been so neglectful as 
 to leave Kirton without seeing you ; therefore I deferred 
 my departure to a later train, and Miss Gilray prevailed 
 on me to postpone it until to-morrow. Now, may I beg 
 for a dance ? " 
 
 Again Geoffrey, unknowingly and certainly uninten- 
 tionally, has served his rival's interest well. Were he not 
 standing by, it is probable that Roslyn would refuse this 
 request, although it is accompanied by an entreating 
 glance from eyes that well know how to entreat ; but to 
 refuse it is to acknowledge that something exists between 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 163 
 
 Laurent and herself beyond the pale of conventional in- 
 tercourse. She hesitates an instant, then rises, not able 
 to tell whether she most regrets the necessity for doing 
 so, or whether she is most glad that circumstances force 
 upon her this last taste of bitter-sweetness. . . . 
 
 Half an hour later the dance is over, and Laurent's 
 opportunity has come. In the dusk dimness of a summer 
 night, at the remote end of a vine-shaded veranda, with 
 fragrance and music filing the air — what fitter place or 
 more suggestive surroundings could be found for a lover's 
 passionate pleading ? And his pleading is very passion- 
 ate, for everything unites to make the thrill of real (which 
 can never be mistaken for simulated) earnestness in his 
 voice. It seems to him that the summer starlight never 
 shone upon a fairer woman than she who sits beside him, 
 so near that he sees the trembling motion of her hand as 
 she listens. 
 
 For she does listen — and as Laurent grows more elo- 
 quent, more urgent, he remembers that the woman who 
 listens generally yields; while Itoslyn, conscious of the 
 traitor within the fortress of her heart, feels that the 
 struggle is too great for her, that the temptation is be- 
 yond her power of resistance. Even the talisman "hon- 
 or" seems to have failed. She sits and listens as one un- 
 der a spell, and it will be many a long day before summer 
 starlight and summer fragrance will fail to bring back 
 the words and tones she hears. 
 
 " You do not deny that you care for me," says Lau- 
 rent at last, exultantly, " and what is not denied is partly 
 owned. My beloved, will you not own it in words ? 
 Will you not tell me that I have won your heart, and 
 trust me that I will find the means to claim it? — and 
 this ! " 
 
164 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 He takes her hand as he utters the last word ; and she 
 does not withdraw it, but, although it remains in his clasp, 
 it is not with the yielding softness with which some hands 
 surrender themselves, but it is instinct, as he feels, with 
 nervous energy that, like electricity, thrills the slight fin- 
 gers to their tips. Laurent, who has held many hands, 
 acknowledges to himself that he has never held one like 
 this before, one that by the mere sensation of touch makes 
 him so conscious of its sj^irit and individuality. 
 
 " I should despise myself if I told you that," says the 
 girl at last. "You have no right to ask it of me — you 
 should not press me in such a manner as this ! If I am 
 weak, if I imply a great deal by merely listening, you 
 ought to be content with that. You ought to go, and 
 only ask the rest when you can ask it with honor. And 
 if that time never comes, why, then — " 
 
 " What then ? " he asks, as her voice pauses abruptly. 
 
 " Then," she says, gathering self-control again by an 
 effort, "do not fancy that I shall break my heart. It 
 may be well for both of us that time and absence should 
 test what we feel. I have a suspicion that it may prove 
 only a midsummer-night's dream," she ends, with a smile 
 that fires the young man's heart afresh. 
 
 " A midsummer-night's dream, my fairest ? " he says. 
 " Ah, wait and see ! But for the pain of leaving you, 
 I should be glad to be tested, for then you might trust 
 me more then than you do now. Now I am conscious 
 that you are holding back, that you will not even let 
 yourself love me ; but if I come back free — " 
 
 " Free with honor," she interrupts. 
 
 " Do you think I could be free otherwise ? ' he asks, 
 with a touch of wounded pride. " You judge me too 
 hardly, because I could not prevent my love for you from 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGIITS DREAM. 1G5 
 
 bursting all bounds of control. You fail to realize the 
 peculiar circumstances of my engagement — " 
 
 "I have just heard you dwell on them all," she says; 
 " but it seems to me that if it is merely a family arrange- 
 ment, you are none the less bound in honor to fullill it." 
 
 " Pardon me," he says. " I grant that I am to a de- 
 gree bound in honor to fulfill it ; but surely you can not 
 think so much bound as if my cousin's affections were 
 involved ? I am sure she cares no more for me than 
 for any other eligible man who will marry her for her 
 fortune." 
 
 " But if you were about to marry her for her fortune," 
 says Roslyn, u you must need a fortune ; and remember 
 that I have none." 
 
 " You are worth a thousand fortunes in yourself ! " 
 he says, with (for the moment) passionate sincerity. 
 "How could money add to your surpassing sweetness?" 
 
 She is not old enough, or cold enough, to suggest that 
 although it could not add to her sweetness, it might add 
 very materially to comfort. Indeed, what young, fair 
 woman, with a pleading lover and a heart treacherously 
 inclined toward him, would be likely to remember how 
 midsummer nights end, and the solid things of life re- 
 turn with the daylight? Roslyn is no wiser than her 
 age and sex would warrant. She listens, and, listening, 
 forgives and trusts. 
 
 " If I am worth so much," she says, " you must heed 
 me. It is not right for you to talk of love, or for me to 
 hear you now. But I will hear you when you return — 
 if you will go away to-morrow, and only come back when 
 you can come with freedom and honor." 
 
 This decision is not at all what Laurent desires. He 
 has no mind to tear himself away from the " roses and 
 
166 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 rapture" of love's dalliance in the fair summer hours 
 that open before him, to face the practical and most dis- 
 agreeable difficulties of his position. But he is intui- 
 tively conscious that, although he has gained much from 
 Roslyn, he will gain no more ; and that to hesitate now 
 will be to forfeit all that he has gained. 
 
 " You do not know how hard, how more than hard, 
 it is to leave you ! " he says, with unfeigned reluctance. 
 "How do I know that you may not shut the door of 
 paradise in my face when I return ? " 
 
 "I have never broken my word yet," she replies, 
 " and you have it : I will hear and I will answer when 
 you return." 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 "our doubts are traitors." 
 
 There are, at least, three pairs of eyes that watch 
 Roslyn closely and distrustfully — though it is with the 
 distrust of love — after Laurent's departure. These eyes 
 belong to Colonel Duncan, to Mrs. Arden, and to Geof- 
 frey Thorne. Each looks anxiously for signs of unhap- 
 piness, following what they suppose to be the girl's final 
 separation from her lover — and each looks in vain. Ros- 
 lyn takes up her usual life in her usual manner, and 
 those who watch for failing spirits or drooping looks 
 watch vainly. 
 
 Of course, had they been aware of it, the reason of 
 this is not far to seek. Roslyn has not parted, in any final 
 sense, from her lover, and she is not only sustained by 
 his promise to return, but she is also conscious of com- 
 
" OUR DOUBTS ARE TRAITORS." 167 
 
 man ding the situation. If — and this if is in her mind a 
 great one — she is certain enough of her own heart when 
 he returns, " free with honor," she has only to hold out 
 her hand like a princess, and it will be taken on bended 
 knee. But if time and thought shall prove apparent love 
 to be only fancy, then she is bound only to hear — not to 
 answer, save according to the dictates of her heart. 
 
 And to say that this heart is a mystery to her, is only 
 to state something familiar to experience from the begin- 
 ning of the world. When she sent Duncan away, pro- 
 nouncing with her own lips the sentence of separation 
 from Laurent, pain had weighed her to the earth, long- 
 ing and regret swept over her in a flood, and that which 
 had passed beyond her reach assumed all the appearance 
 of being eminently desirable with which imagination is 
 apt to endow unattainable things. But when another 
 change came, and it was again placed where she had but 
 to put out her hand and take it, then again doubt rushed 
 in. Was it, after all, so very desirable? Did she, after 
 all, care so very much for it ? Was it a proved and cer- 
 tain good, or only a doubtful and uncertain one? No 
 girl of seventeen, ignorant alike of the world and of her 
 own heart, could answer these questions. But not every 
 girl of seventeen would have been quick as Eoslyn to 
 recognize their existence. She not only recognizes it, 
 but she acknowledges to herself that she is glad for a 
 time to try Laurent, and to try also herself. Since the 
 immediate fascination of his personal presence is with- 
 drawn, the original sentiment of distrust with which she 
 regarded him again asserts itself. Doubts of his stabil- 
 ity, and, worse yet, of his sincerity, recur to her, though 
 she strives to put them aside. But they will not be sti- 
 fled, and as time goes on she grows a little more thought- 
 
168 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 ful. Should Laurent return — and she believes in him 
 sufficiently to think that he will return — what is she to 
 answer ? How is she to learn what she really desires ? 
 
 Older people than Roslyn often find this a difficult 
 dilemma. To know clearly and positively that one wants 
 a thing is more desirable than those are aware who are 
 not tormented by doubt and indecision. The fear — in a 
 choice for life — of making an irretrievable mistake, 
 of finding rose-wreaths turn to chains ; or, on the other 
 hand, of letting slip a good that can never be reclaimed, 
 and of being forced perhaps to cry in after-life — 
 
 " This could but have happened once, 
 And we missed it, lost it forever " — 
 
 it is this fear before which many a woman stands help- 
 less, with no seer to read her heart, or prophesy for her 
 of the future, and into one error or the other men and 
 women fall every day. 
 
 How, then, can Roslyn hope to read aright the riddle 
 of her own wishes ? She is so little able to do it that she 
 takes refuge in fatalism. "If he returns free — with 
 honor — it will be a sign that I shall accept him," she says 
 to herself, as a last resource. 
 
 But, meanwhile, Laurent makes no haste to return. 
 He, too, is in a dilemma. Positive engagement with his 
 cousin he has none, though it served his purpose to say 
 that he had — her family having carried her to Europe to 
 escape rather than to end an entanglement with him ; 
 but, once away from Roslyn, once removed from the in- 
 fluence of her personal charm, he begins to ask himself 
 whether, after all, he shall do well to end the possibilities 
 of life by marrying her. For it is not only that marriage 
 ends some possibilities — as of greater heiresses — but there 
 
" OUR DOUBTS ARE TRAITORS." 109 
 
 is more than the joke of marriage involved here ; there 
 is, he thinks, the putting himself in Colonel Duncan's 
 power. For if he receives wife and fortune from the 
 hands of the latter, he will certainly owe a certain sub- 
 servience to his wishes — he will certainly be bound by a 
 chain of obligation too strong even for him to resist. 
 Meditating upon this, and upon how little sympathy 
 there is between his cousin and himself — the man whose 
 kindness he has returned in a manner worthy of his 
 grandfather's descendant — he almost feels as if a crust 
 of bread and liberty might be better than Cliffton and 
 Roslyn under such oppressive conditions. Both had 
 seemed very desirable when he was near them ; and both 
 would be very desirable still — without Colonel Duncan. 
 But with him — Laurent shudders. " He may live as long 
 as I — or he may outlive me," he thinks ; " so there is no 
 guarantee that if I enter into such bondage it may not be 
 for life." 
 
 So he hesitates, delays — reading a noble generosity by 
 the light of his own narrow conceptions, and unaware 
 how little Duncan would think of exercising the but- 
 vcillance which he dreads. What he intended had been 
 clear enough in the mind of the latter, when he went to 
 see Roslyn that day in Ivirton : he would settle upon 
 Laurent a yearly income, with which he might live where 
 he liked, and all of the estate, outside of the entailed por- 
 tion, should be secured by his (Duncan's) will to Roslyn, 
 so that it could never be alienated from her. This was 
 the idea in his mind — an idea in which there was not the 
 faintest thought of dictating any mode of life to Laurent, 
 or of suffering Roslyn to know by what means her happi- 
 ness was secured. 
 
 But since Roslyn had proved not to be marie of the 
 
 8 
 
170 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 stuff of a love-sick maiden, he had not thought it neces- 
 sary to enter into the details of his intentions to Laurent ; 
 and the latter, left to supply these details by his own im- 
 agination, did so according to his lights. "He would 
 insist, of course, that I should settle down in that dull 
 country neighborhood," thought the man, to whom the ex- 
 citement of great cities was as the breath of life. " That 
 would be purchasing financial ease at too dear a price." 
 He had grace enough not to acknowledge openly to him- 
 self that it would also be purchasing Eoslyn at too dear a 
 price, but in his heart he thought so. 
 
 And therefore he procrastinated. Therefore he went 
 and sat down in Mr. North's office, where he impressed 
 that gentleman speedily as something far more orna- 
 mental than useful, while he said to himself that he 
 would see what time — which solves many riddles — would 
 do for him. 
 
 Meanwhile a few changes took place in the circle he 
 left behind. Mrs. Arden — vaguely distrustful of Roslyn's 
 serenity, and determined, that if it were possible, " that 
 man should be put out of her head " — presently carried 
 the girl away for a month of summer travel from one gay 
 resort to another ; while Geoffrey, with a sad heart, be- 
 takes himself to his invalid uncle and his studies. He, 
 too, has tasted of the fruit of the tree of knowledge since 
 he came home early in the summer, so full of hope and 
 resolve, so eager to secure at once what his heart coveted. 
 He has learned now that if he ever secures it at all — 
 which he recognizes to be very doubtful — it will only be 
 after long effort and patient waiting. 
 
 Of the effort he feels himself capable. " I would do 
 anything to win her ! " he tells himself with truth. But 
 the waiting tries him greatly, for that " all things come to 
 
" OUR DOUBTS ARE TRAITORS:' 171 
 
 him who knows how to wait" is not a Bavins which com- 
 mends itself to the impatient soul of youth. It certainly 
 does not commend itself to Geoffrey, and, when he hears 
 that Roslyn has returned home, he can contain himself no 
 longer; down go his law-books, his uncle is informed that 
 he is imperatively bound to see his mother without loss 
 of time, and, leaving that poor gentleman in an inconsola- 
 ble state of mind, at losing his society, he is off to Yerde- 
 vale. 
 
 Reaching Kirton on an early morning train, he pauses 
 only to take a cup of coffee, and then walks out to Verde- 
 vale in time for breakfast. The young fellow's spirits 
 rise as he strides rapidly along the well-known road in the 
 crystal freshness of a bright October morning. "Whether 
 or not there is any hope that in. the far future he may 
 some time claim Koslyn as his own, he feels that he holds 
 a present and tangible delight just within his grasp — that 
 of seeing her, hearing her sweet voice, basking in the 
 light of her radiant presence ! — and he is glad with the 
 unalloyed gladness of youth. 
 
 He finds the family at Verdevale in a state of cheer- 
 ful commotion. Several trunks, and one plethoric black 
 leather valise, are standing in the front veranda — children 
 are racing, and servants hurrying about in every direc- 
 tion ; and that there is a general air of bustle in the 
 house, he perceives before he comes near it. 
 
 " What's the matter, little one ? " he asks, catching up 
 one of the children, who is the first to see his approach, 
 and, proclaiming his arrival at the top of her voice, comes 
 flying to meet him. ""Who's going away?" 
 
 He is informed that "mamma, and papa, and auntie, 
 and all us children, are going to see Uncle John." 
 
172 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Roslyn, too ? " he asks, in a very crestfallen tone — 
 and is immensely relieved when the child shakes her head. 
 Roslyn is not going — hearing which, he feels that he can 
 support the absence of the rest of the family with exem- 
 plary fortitude. 
 
 He is in the honse by this time, and the next minute 
 is surrounded by all the children, who crowd about him 
 with clamorous welcome, and then comes the equally 
 warm though less noisy greeting of their elders. 
 
 " You are just in time, my boy, to take care of Roslyn 
 and Mrs. Knight, while we are away," says Mr. Vardray, 
 as they sit down to breakfast. " It is fortunate you hap- 
 pened to come just now." 
 
 " O Geoff," cries Roslyn, " don't you remember 
 what a delightful time we had once when mamma and 
 papa went to Uncle John's, and left Mrs. Knight with 
 us?" 
 
 " Don't I ! " replies Geoffrey, his eyes sparkling at 
 the recollection. " I only hope we shall have an equally 
 delightful time now — and T see no reason why we should 
 not." 
 
 " I am afraid," says Roslyn, looking a little pensively 
 at the roll she is buttering, " that we shall not be so easi- 
 ly made happy now as we were then." 
 
 " You may have outgrown the capability of enjoying 
 simple pleasures," says Geoffrey, in a low tone, as he sees 
 that the attention of his mother and step-father is en- 
 grossed by some discussion about their journey, while the 
 children are busy with their breakfast — " but, for me, I 
 shall like your society — and Mrs. Knight's— just as well 
 now as I did then." 
 
 Roslyn laughs. " She is just the same quiet, excellent 
 old soul that she was w T hen we used to read to her after 
 
"OUR DOUBTS ARE TRAITORS:' 173 
 
 tea till bed-time — alternating ' Baron Munchausen ' with 
 ' Last Days of Pompeii.' 1 know she will be delighted 
 to live the old times over again. You were always her 
 special favorite, you know." 
 
 " Why do you make this visit so much earlier than 
 usual ? " Geoffrey asks, half an hour afterward, as he and 
 Mr. Yard ray stand together, waiting for Mrs. Yardray 
 and the children to appear. The carriage is before the 
 door, the luggage is by this time at the station, and Mr. 
 Yardray is becoming a little impatient of the delay. 
 " Xovember used to be the time for it." 
 
 " Yes ; but John has been urging us to come, and 
 Ellen thought the change might benefit Effie. The child 
 has not seemed altogether well lately. — Here you are at 
 last, are you, Ellen ? Come on, come on, children ! I 
 shall not be at all surprised if we lose our train." 
 
 " There is no danger whatever of that," responds 
 Mrs. Yardray, as she kisses Hoslyn good-by, and turns to 
 Geoffrey. " Your watch is always too fast." 
 
 " I have railroad time," says her husband ; and, hurry- 
 ing her into the carriage, they drive off rapidly. 
 
 The two young people who are left behind stand 
 looking at them until the vehicle has passed out of sight ; 
 and then Roslyn sits down on the veranda- steps and says : 
 
 "Don't you wish we could be changed back into 
 children — just for the next month ? I think it would be 
 very pleasant ! " 
 
 " I don't," says Geoffrey, decidedly. " I had rather 
 be as I am, and see you as you are, than to go back to 
 childhood, pleasant as it was while it lasted." 
 
 Roslyn sighs. " We were much happier as children 
 than we are now," she says. 
 
 ; ' Xot happier than we might be ! " cries Geoffrey, 
 
17± ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 with a sudden wistful tenderness in his voice and eyes, 
 at which the girl shrinks perceptibly. Putting her 
 hand in her pocket, she draws forth three or four 
 letters. 
 
 " Here is my morning's work," she says : " to answer 
 these letters." She rises as she speaks. " One of the 
 many advantages that children have over grown people 
 is an exemption from letter-writing — which is certainly 
 the greatest bore of civilized life." 
 
 " Roslyn, I wish you would sit down again and list- 
 en to me for a minute," says Geoffrey, earnestly. " Or," 
 he adds, as she hesitates, " will you take a walk ? Sup- 
 pose we go over and see Lettice ? The morning is beau- 
 tiful, and we shall be in the shade all the way. Will you 
 go?" ^ 
 
 " Yes, if you like," she answers. " I will get my hat 
 and parasol." 
 
 Geoffrey's gaze follows her as she goes into the house 
 — a great many different emotions chasing one another in 
 rapid succession over his face. There is love, there is 
 pain, there is humor, there is bitterness — and, finally, a 
 thoughtful gravity which does not vanish like the others, 
 but still remains when Roslyn rejoins him, and they are 
 walking across the lawn, through the garden, to the gate 
 which opens into the wood. Not many words are ex- 
 changed between them until they have passed through 
 this gate, and are underneath the arching boughs of the 
 forest, with a wealth of gorgeous autumn color all around 
 them, and a breeze, soft and fragrant, as if it came from 
 Araby the Blest, kissing them as they meet it. Then 
 Geoffrey speaks so abruptly that his companion — who is 
 thinking how short a time it is, and yet how long a time 
 it seems, since she took her first walk along these paths 
 
"OUR DOUBTS ARE TRAITORS." 175 
 
 with Laurent — starts perceptibly as his voice falls on her 
 ear. 
 
 " Don't think that I have come to persecute you, Kos- 
 lyn," he is saying. " I have kept the promise I made 
 you when we parted : and I intend to keep the one I 
 make now — that I will never annoy you again by 
 my love or jealousy. And so I hope you will not 
 shnn me ; nor look, whenever I approach you, as if you 
 were in a dentist's chair, waiting while he gets his instru- 
 ments ready to extract one of your teeth — resolute and 
 resigned, but aware of the coming operation." 
 
 " O Geoff ! " cries Roslyn, reproachfully ; " how can 
 you talk so ! When did I ever shun you, or look — as 
 you say ? " 
 
 " When have you not looked so, since I came home in 
 July ? " he says, a little sadly. " But I don't mean to 
 reproach you. It has been my own fault. You really 
 have had more patience with me than I deserved. But 
 now I want you to forget all the vexation my folly has 
 caused you ; and remember only that I am your brother 
 — more than your brother — ' forty thousand brothers could 
 not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.' 
 There — don't look so distressed ! " — as she glances up 
 quickly, with a suspicious dewiness in her eyes — " that is 
 all. I only mentioned the subject because I want to put 
 you at ease with me, or else we are not likely to have 
 much enjoyment of the time we are to spend together. 
 So now understand that there is a truce declared. I am 
 not to make love directly or by implication, and you are 
 not to make excuses for getting away from me. We are 
 to turn back the hands of the clock of time half a dozen 
 years and be happy like children — for a month. Do you 
 agree to it ? " 
 
176 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Agree to it ! " she repeats, divided between an incli- 
 nation to laugh and to cry. " I should be only too glad 
 if the thing could be done in earnest. But I am afraid it 
 can not be done in play." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it can," says Geoffrey, resolutely. " At least, 
 I am sure I can do my part. It is a simple thing, after all 
 — to hold one's tongue." 
 
 " Is it ? " says Boslyn, laughing now. " Many people 
 differ with you — or, at least, if it is a simple, it is not an 
 easy thing. But I did not mean that. I meant that to 
 turn back and be happy like children is not possible." 
 
 "I think it might be managed — for a month," says 
 Geoffrey. " At all events, we'll try. And if we can't be 
 happy as children, we'll be happy as two not very old 
 grown people. Upon that 1 am determined." 
 
 Boslyn looks at him with something wistful in her 
 giance. The confident words touch her with a sense of 
 foreboding. "I don't think it is well to determine upon 
 happiness — not even for a month," she says. "Some- 
 thing might happen ; things seldom occur as we expect 
 or picture them to ourselves." 
 
 It is now Geoffrey's turn to glance at her doubtfully. 
 " I don't know anything likely to occur to mar our hap- 
 piness," he says, " unless — unless some one should come. 
 Perhaps you have reason to expect that ? " 
 
 Color flashes into her face, and she lifts her head 
 haughtily. " I have no reason at all to expect any one," 
 she answers, coldly. " If I had, I should not hesitate to 
 say so." 
 
 Silence follows — silence broken only by the tread of 
 their feet and the rustle of dead leaves along the wood- 
 land path. Geoffrey is owning to himself that he has 
 been a fool to touch that subject ; while Boslyn, glancing 
 
" THE SIGN OF DESPAIR." 177 
 
 presently at his downcast face, sees what a shadow has 
 come over it, and begins to regret her reply. She waits 
 a little, and then says gently, yet still coldly : 
 
 " I think — if we are to be happy for a month — we 
 had better forget, as far as possible, the existence of other 
 people." 
 
 " As far as I am concerned," says Geoffrey, eagerly, 
 " I desire nothing better." 
 
 But already it has been borne in upon him that, after 
 all, it may not be so easy to secure happiness — even for a 
 month. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 "the sign of despair." 
 
 When they return home, they find Mrs. Knight — 
 who has arrived during their absence, and is sitting on 
 the veranda, knitting. 
 
 " How natural the good soul looks ! " cries Geoffrey, 
 as his eyes rest on her before they are within speaking 
 distance. " The same fresh-colored placid face that I re- 
 member ever since I can remember anything ; and I am 
 sure that is the same spotless gown and cap she has had 
 on these ten years past. — Why, how are you, Mrs. 
 Knight \ " he exclaims, running up the steps and shaking 
 warmly the hand she extends. "I'm very glad to see 
 that you're ' come to take care of us children while mam- 
 ma is gone' — as we used to say long time ago." 
 
 Mrs. Knight smiles as she adjusts her spectacles, and 
 fixes her eyes on the tall figure and broad shoulders that 
 
178 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 look very unfamiliar to her in connection with the face 
 that surmounts them. 
 
 " I am very glad to be here," she says, heartily ; " but 
 neither you nor Miss Roslyn look much like children 
 now. You've growed since I saw you last — and if it 
 wasn't for your voice and face, I shouldn't a-recognized 
 you, Mr. Geoffrey, when I saw you come walking in." 
 
 "You haven't changed since I can first recollect," 
 says Geoffrey, " unless it is to grow younger." 
 
 At this Mrs. Knight smiles again, and resumes her 
 knitting. She is an elderly woman, of humble station, 
 but whose upright character and exceptional good sense 
 have made her greatly respected in the neighborhood 
 where she was born and has spent her life. A very 
 unhappy life it was for many years, in consequence of 
 the brutal treatment she endured at the hands of a worth- 
 less and dissipated husband. Death, however, ended her 
 bondage at last; and, shortly after her husband died, she 
 inherited from a distant relative a sum of money, which, 
 though small in itself, was competence and ease to her. 
 " It seems like Providence ordered it so that it shouldn't 
 come while Robert was alive," she said to Mrs. Yardray, 
 with great simplicity. " He would soon a-run through 
 it. But now it'll make me comfortable the rest of my 
 life, and be a great help to Sarah and the children after 
 I'm gone." During the time of her trouble she had re- 
 ceived much and constant kindness from Mrs. Yardray — 
 a fact which she never forgets. If there is illness in the 
 family, if the house is full of guests, or if Mrs. Yardray 
 is leaving home, Mrs. Knight is always available and 
 perfectly trustworthy to take charge of the house, ser- 
 vants, and children ; and comes at a moment's notice to 
 devote herself conscientiously to the performance of any 
 
" THE siGy of despair: 1 179 
 
 duties that may devolve on her. And so it has chanced 
 that she is here now. Roslyn having expressed a wish 
 to be excused from the annual visit to " Uncle John n — a 
 bachelor brother of Mr. Vardray — no objection was made 
 to her remaining at home. 
 
 " Of course, my dear, you can stay if you prefer it," 
 Mrs. Vardray had said. " You know Mrs. Knight will 
 be here ; and I dare say you can persuade Lettice to stay 
 with you a good deal." 
 
 " Don't sleep away the whole of this glorious after- 
 noon, Eoslyn," says Geoffrey, when they are about to 
 separate after dinner. " Shall I order the horses for a 
 ride or a drive ? — and at what hour ? " 
 
 " A ride, by all means," is the reply. " I suppose 
 four o'clock will do. It is rather early — " 
 
 "Xot too early," interposes the young man. "Pray 
 be on time." 
 
 With which exhortation, he betakes himself to Mr. 
 Vardrav's hammock for his own siesta. 
 
 %J 
 
 At half-past four they are cantering lightly along the 
 road which leads to Cliffton, and have just come to the 
 point where the Kirton road branches off to the left, 
 when they meet a servant riding one horse and leading 
 another. Horses and servant are all three acquaintances 
 of Geoffrey and Eoslyn, and as the glance of the latter 
 rests upon the slender, dark-brown horse on which Colo- 
 nel Duncan's groom is mounted, she remembers that the 
 last time she saw the animal he carried a rider handsome 
 and graceful as himself — for this is the horse Laurent 
 rode during his stay at Cliffton. 
 
 The groom has halted at sight of them ; and as, per- 
 ceiving this, they pause an instant, he touches his hat and 
 says : 
 
180 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Thorne? Is Mass' Hugo at 
 your house, sir ? " 
 
 "No," answers Geoffrey, in some surprise — his eye 
 falling on the horse the man was leading. " Why should 
 you think so ? " 
 
 " He came to town this morning with Mr. Shelbourne, 
 and they was going shooting to-day — and Mass' Hugo 
 told me to fetch Redgauntlet to the creek to meet him — 
 that he would be at the bridge about four o'clock, he ex- 
 pected ; but, if he wasn't there, I was to wait awhile and 
 then go on to Yerdevale." 
 
 " He was not at Yerdevale when we left," said Geof- 
 frey, " but he may have got there since, if he was shoot- 
 ing in the woods the other side of the creek. So you had 
 better go on ; and, if you find him there, ask him to wait 
 till we return. We'll be back before long." 
 
 It requires a magnanimous effort on Geoffrey's part 
 to say this ; for the demon of jealousy stirs suddenly in 
 his breast when he hears that Colonel Duncan, who he 
 knows was at Yerdevale only yesterday, intends to be 
 there again this evening. But, remembering his prom- 
 ise, he refrains from saying or even looking what he 
 feels. He is, on the contrary, about to remark upon 
 the beauty of the two horses, as the servant passes on, 
 when Roslyn makes a little exclamation, and points be- 
 fore her. 
 
 A dog has come running out of the woods a short dis- 
 tance in front of them, and, standing still in the middle 
 of the road as it sees their approach, begins to bark fran- 
 tically, in a most distressed manner. 
 
 "I think it is Zoe — Colonel Duncan's setter," says 
 Roslyn. "How singularly she is acting ! She must have 
 lost her master ; or perhaps she saw the horses go by just 
 
" THE SIGN 01 DESPAIR: 1 181 
 
 now. O Geoffrey ! " — as the animal comes tearing to 
 meet them — u what is that around her neck 1 " 
 
 Geoffrey has already sprung to the ground as the dog 
 draws near, and stoops over her with an exclamation of 
 surprise and dismay ; while she seizes his coat-sleeve as 
 soon as it is within reach of her mouth, and, holding fast 
 to it, uttering at the same time a pitiful whining between 
 her teeth, tries to pull him in the direction from which 
 she came. 
 
 " I am afraid Duncan may have met with an acci- 
 dent," the young man says, hastily, after one glance at 
 the object which has attracted the attention of both 
 his companion and himself — a white-linen handkerchief 
 knotted around the dog's neck. As he unties it and 
 holds it up, they perceive that it is half -saturated with 
 blood. 
 
 " I must see what the meaning of this is ! " cries 
 Geoffrey ; and, starting to his feet, he puts the rein of his 
 horse into Roslyn's hand, saying : " Wait here, and I will 
 follow Zoe and find out if anything is the matter. Of 
 course, I will be back as soon as I possibly can." 
 
 Without staying for a reply, he hurries after the dog, 
 which, at a sign from him, has bounded away, retracing 
 her steps to the place where she emerged from the wood 
 a minute or two before. At this precise spot she disap- 
 pears in some bushes, and Geoffrey plunges through 
 them after her. 
 
 If Roslyn were a veteran soldier, and Geoffrey her 
 officer, she could not obey his order more promptly and 
 unquestioningly than she does. Drawing up at the side 
 of the road, she remains just where he left her for what 
 seems to her a long time — a very long time. She has an 
 instinctive conviction that something terrible has be- 
 
182 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 fallen Colonel Duncan ; and, as the lingering minutes drag 
 on, feels the suspense to be very trying. Suddenly it oc- 
 curs to her that she might as well go on to the place at 
 which Geoffrey left the road. JS"o doubt he will return 
 the same way he went. She rides forward to the spot, 
 therefore, and stops at the clump of bushes where he 
 vanished from sight. Looking anxiously down into a 
 dim region of shadow — for the ground slopes away from 
 the road here by a steep declivity — she fancies that she 
 sees a figure some distance away, moving swiftly toward 
 her ; but the undergrowth is thick on the side of the hill, 
 and the foliage of the dense forest-growth shuts out the 
 light so effectually that she is by no means certain but 
 that her sight may deceive her, until her ear catches a 
 sound as of something or somebody crashing through the 
 bushes. She calls in a rather tremulous tone : 
 
 " Geoffrey, is that you ? " 
 
 " No'm, it's me — Jack Curry," a shrill voice responds 
 — the crashing, which continues more vigorously than 
 ever, drawing nearer and nearer. The next moment the 
 interlacing boughs of two tall shrubs close by part, and 
 a half-grown boy pushes through the aperture and stands 
 beside her horse's head. Taking off his hat with one 
 hand, he extends the other to her, saying : 
 
 " Mr. Thorne sent it, ma'am ; and he says please 
 hurry." 
 
 Roslyn takes the note he offers ; but when she sees 
 that, like the handkerchief, it is " red with the sign of de- 
 spair," she is seized with a nervous tremor that shakes 
 her from head to foot, and dims her sight so that she can 
 not for an instant distinguish anything on the paper be- 
 fore her but a faint, blurred confusion of pencil-marks. 
 It is not until after several efforts, that she manages to 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN'S ACCIDENT. 183 
 
 decipher the hurried lines which Geoffrey has written on 
 a leaf of his note-book. This is what he says : 
 
 " Colonel Duncan has accidentally shot himself, and 
 I am afraid his wound is a bad one. Give Jack Curry 
 my horse to go over to Kirton, and do you hurry home 
 and send the carriage to me, to the bend of the creek. 
 I will take Duncan to Yerdevale, as it is much nearer 
 than Cliff ton. Have a room ready, and tell James to 
 take the new road in coming. Be sure about this. 
 
 " G. T." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 colonel duncan's accident. 
 
 Mrs. Knight's somewhat laro-e-featured, fresh-col- 
 ored face is benign, almost smiling, as she sits by a win- 
 dow in the dining-room, where the light is good, and 
 knits many pleasant fancies into the heel of a small 
 stocking which she is manufacturing for her little grand- 
 son. She is thinking what a nice couple Mr. Geoffrey 
 and Miss Roslyn will make, and wondering when the 
 wedding will " come off"; and reflecting that if they 
 should want her to keep house for them — as Mr. Geoffrey 
 used alwavs to say thev would — she doesn't know how 
 she could refuse : though Sarah and the children would 
 think hard of her leaving them, to be sure. 
 
 At this point of her meditation, her ball of yarn, 
 which has rolled gently from her lap to the floor, is taken 
 possession of by a pet kitten, who tosses it back and' forth 
 
184 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 from paw to paw, until the thread becomes taut, and the 
 attention of its owner is attracted. The good woman 
 rises deliberately from her seat, a motion of her hand 
 sends the kitten flying, with arched back, in sidewise 
 leaps across the floor, and she stoops more deliberately to 
 pick up her purloined property, when she hears a light 
 footstep and soft sweep of drapery in the hall. Think- 
 ing that it is probably Lettice, she walks forward to re- 
 ceive her, and is transfixed to the spot by astonishment 
 at sight of Roslyn — Roslyn still in riding-costume, but 
 looking so pale and quiet — so altogether unlike the 
 laughing girl who rode away but a short time before — 
 that if Mrs. Knight were either fanciful or superstitious, 
 she might well take the figure before her for a wraith 
 instead of a reality. Being very matter-of-fact, this idea 
 does not occur to her ; she only asks, with a little trepida- 
 tion, whether anything is the matter, and what has be- 
 come of Mr. Geoffrey. 
 
 Roslyn explains in few words ; and with many ex- 
 pressions of regret that such a misfortune should have 
 happened to Colonel Duncan, Mrs. Knight bustles off to 
 have a chamber prepared, while the girl goes mechani- 
 cally to her own room and takes off her habit. She has 
 sent the carriage as Geoffrey directed — having ridden at 
 speed to the stable, and seen herself that there was no 
 delay in setting out on the part of the coachman. There 
 is nothing more for her to do ; and she sits down at a 
 window from which she can see the new road — which 
 runs a hundred yards or so to the rear of the house — 
 with a sense of mingled helplessness and depression such 
 as she never felt before in her life. It is impossible to 
 do anything but think of Colonel Duncan wounded and 
 suffering. 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN'S ACCIDENT. 185 
 
 After a while Mrs. Knight taps at her door and invites 
 her to come and see if she thinks everything which can 
 by possibility be needed has been prepared for the re- 
 ception of the wounded man ; and glancing at the large, 
 airy, pleasant apartment which has been made ready, she 
 finds but one deficiency in its arrangement. 
 
 " Everything looks as nicely as possible," she says ; 
 " and of course you know a great deal better than I do 
 what is needed, Mrs. Knight. But I will go and get 
 some flowers." 
 
 " That does look pretty," Mrs. Knight says a few min- 
 utes later, when Roslyn has placed a vase of roses on 
 the toilet-table, directly opposite the foot of the bed. 
 
 " I hope he will understand that I put them there," 
 she thinks, as she turns away and goes back to resume 
 her watch by the window. 
 
 Time passes : the sun's bright lances slant more and 
 more, grow golden, pink, crimson, and finally disappear — 
 twilight even is fading into dusk night — before there is 
 any sign or sound on the road she has been watching so 
 steadily and so long. At last the clatter of a horse's 
 hoofs is audible, the stable-yard gate is opened, and pres- 
 ently in the starlight she recognizes Geoffrey's figure, as 
 he comes hurrying to the house. Palpitating with eager- 
 ness, she runs down-stairs and meets him just as he en- 
 ters the back-door and stands in the full ^lare of the hall 
 chandelier. 
 
 As her eyes take in his appearance, she starts back 
 with a cry of horror. His face is very grave, and his 
 hands, wristbands, the whole front of his light gray 
 dress, are soaked with blood. 
 
 " I was in hopes that I might get into the house 
 without you hearing me," he says. " I knew you would 
 
186 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 be shocked if you saw this " — glancing at the crimson 
 stains ; " and I am sorry to say that I have nothing good 
 to tell you." 
 
 "You don't mean that Colonel Duncan is — dead?" 
 she says, with a gasp. 
 
 " No, no ! ' Geoffrey answers quickly. " He is 
 alive ; but the doctors have not much hope of his being 
 so this time to-morrow. — The room is ready, I suppose, 
 Mrs. Knight ? — You had better go to your own room, 
 Roslyn, and stay there. The carriage will be here in a 
 few minutes, and there is a crowd of men with it," he 
 adds, hastily, as he passes her and runs up-stairs, taking 
 three steps at a bound. 
 
 It is late, and the house has at last settled to more 
 than its usual stillness, after much more than usual bustle 
 and commotion. The news of Colonel Duncan's acci- 
 dent, which was carried to Kirton by the messenger who 
 was sent for medical aid, created great excitement in that 
 place. Numbers of his friends — and no man in all the 
 country-side has more friends or warmer ones — hurried 
 to offer their services in any way which might be need- 
 ed ; and not a few accompanied the carriage which con- 
 veyed him in a state of insensibility to Yerdevale, and 
 waited there for some time to learn the verdict of the 
 physicians after their examination was made. 
 
 These supernumeraries have at length been persuaded 
 by the medical men to go home ; and there remain now 
 only the two principal physicians of Kirton, Doctors 
 Kirke and Chelmson, Mr. Shelbourne, the intimate friend 
 of Colonel Duncan, his host for the time being, Geoffrey 
 Thorne, and Mr. Stanley. 
 
 That the latter is no friend of Colonel Duncan's, it is 
 needless to say ; and that, to everybody concerned, his 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN* S AC OLD EXT. 1S7 
 
 presence is extremely unwelcome, Mr. Stanley is per- 
 fectly aware. But he has a reason of his own for being 
 interested in the question of life or death which is pend- 
 ing — a reason strong enough to induce him to remain in 
 the house, though Colonel Duncan may die before morn- 
 ing, the physicians say. It is not his habit voluntarily 
 to face the disagreeables of life — and, of all disagree- 
 bles, that of coming into immediate contact with the 
 presence of death he avoids most. As he is here, how- 
 ever, and means to stay here until there is more cer- 
 tainty as to the issue of the accident than now exists, he 
 makes himself comfortable : enjoys the supper which is 
 served, and the cigars and liqueurs which Geoffrey has 
 provided for his guests ; and, still more, enjoys the annoy- 
 ance exhibited in different ways by all four of the men 
 upon whom he has forced his company. The two doc- 
 tors are cold, Mr. Shelbourne is curt, and Geoffrey is very 
 stiff, in manner ; but he is all suavity himself, and even 
 offers to sit up for the night in the chamber of the 
 wounded man. This offer having been declined without 
 thanks, by Dr. Kirke, he establishes himself in the sit- 
 ting-room with a cigar and a novel. 
 
 But reading anything except a sporting journal is not 
 much in his way. lie soon throws down the volume, 
 starts up suddenly, and, ringing the bell, tells the servant 
 who answers it to bring him writing-materials. His re- 
 quest having been complied with, he dashes off a short 
 letter, having sealed and addressed which, he leaves it 
 lying on the table, extends himself upon a sofa, and goes 
 contentedly to sleep. 
 
 " How is he ? what do the doctors think now ? " Ros- 
 lyn asks, when, after several unsuccessful efforts, she final- 
 ly obtains an opportunity of speaking to Geoffrey. 
 
188 ROSLYX'8 FORTUNE. 
 
 " They think just what they did at first — that it is 
 very doubtful whether he can survive the night," is the 
 reply. " His pulse is barely perceptible." 
 
 " How awful ! oh, how awful ! How infinitely sorry 
 I am ! " the girl says, in a quivering voice — and adds, 
 after a short silence, " How shocked and grieved papa 
 and mamma will be ! — he w T as such a friend of theirs." 
 
 " Yes," says Geoffrey, " they will be greatly distressed. 
 I wish very much that they were at home." 
 
 " So do I," says Roslyn. " But Mrs. Knight is an 
 excellent nurse, you know. They will be glad you 
 brought him here, Geoffrey — glad that you did all you 
 could for him." 
 
 Geoffrey nods. " It would have been certain death 
 to him to have been taken such a distance as to Cliffton," 
 he says. " Indeed, I never thought of it from the mo- 
 ment I saw him. But I am sorry my mother is not at 
 home ; and my father — I wish still more that he had not 
 been absent at such a time." 
 
 " I expect he will come when he hears of the acci- 
 dent," says Roslyn. " I shall not be surprised if he and 
 mamma both come as soon as the news reaches them." 
 
 Neither speaks again for several minutes. They are 
 standing in the moonlight, outside one of the dining-room 
 windows that opens on a small balcony, from which a 
 flight of steps descends to the ground. Presently Roslyn 
 lays her hand on her companion's arm, and silently leads 
 the way down the steps, and along a gravel- walk toward 
 the garden. 
 
 " I feel oppressed in the house," she says, when they 
 have gone some little distance. " It is so sudden and so 
 terrible — to think that Colonel Duncan may be dying ! 
 It seems impossible ! How plainly I can see him when 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN' 8 ACCIDENT, 1S9 
 
 lie was starting home last night, as lie stood in the moon- 
 light shaking hands with papa just before mounting his 
 horse ! And to think — " 
 
 She breaks off abruptly, and closes her fingers tightly 
 on Geoffrey's arm, as she asks, in a tone wistful even to 
 pain : 
 
 " Is there no hope for him ? " 
 
 " You know while there is life there is hope — and he 
 has an excellent constitution," Geoffrey answers. But 
 his voice is less sanguine than his words. 
 
 " How did the accident occur \ " inquires Eoslyn. 
 " I have not heard a word about it." 
 
 " Tou remember what Wash said about bringing the 
 horse to meet his master ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Duncan drove into Kirton this morning with Mr. 
 Shelbourne, who spent the night at Cliffton, and after 
 getting his gun from the locksmith's, where it had been 
 sent to be put in order, they both went out shooting. 
 Shelbourne says that, after a good day's sport, they parted, 
 about four o'clock, in the woods just the other side of the 
 creek. Shelbourne went back to Kirton, and Duncan 
 started in the opposite direction, going down the creek 
 toward the bridge, where his horse would be waiting 
 for him, he said. He was passing within sight of the 
 road, though a considerable distance from it, when he 
 saw Wash riding by, and called to him to stop. But 
 Wash did not hear his voice, and rode on. Then he 
 mounted the fallen trunk of a large tree, and, with his 
 hand resting on the stock of his gun to steady himself, 
 shouted to the boy again. As he did so, his foot slipped 
 on the rounded surface he was standing upon, and he 
 went over backward, involuntarily pulling the gun with 
 
190 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 him as he fell. The trigger caught against something, 
 and the piece was discharged, pouring its contents into 
 his side. It was only a load of bird-shot, and, if the weap- 
 on had not been so near him, the injury would have been 
 trifling, as the shot would have scattered and merely pep- 
 pered him severely. But, you see, when the gun went 
 off, the muzzle must have been within six inches of his 
 body ; and so the charge, which happened to be a heavy 
 one, entered almost like a bullet, and tore through the 
 cartilages just under the left shoulder-blade, making a 
 terribly lacerated wound, which bled fearfully. Still, he 
 did not think it at all serious, but started to make a di- 
 rect cut across the woods to come here. Before he had 
 walked far he began to feel faint, and, putting his hand 
 to his shoulder, found that the blood was streaming from 
 it. He sat down, and had presence of mind to think of 
 sending one of his dogs for assistance. If he had not 
 done so, and but for the chance of her having met us, 
 and my getting to him as soon as I did, he would have 
 bled to death. I found him lying in a pool of blood, and 
 he had barely time to explain in a word or two how the 
 accident happened before he fainted from exhaustion. 
 I did what I could to stanch the wound, and was then 
 writing the note you received, intending to send Joe 
 with it, when I heard somebody whistling, called, and 
 Jack Curry, who was fishing in the creek not far off, 
 came running up." 
 
 "Dr. Chelmson is a good surgeon, isn't he?" says 
 Eoslyn. 
 
 "He ought to be," answers Geoffrey. "He spent 
 two years in the Paris hospitals, I have heard." 
 
 " Surely, then, surely he will be able to save Colonel 
 Duncan ! " 
 
COLONEL DUNCAN'S ACCIDENT. 191 
 
 "He will try, you may be sure," says Geoffrey. 
 " But both lie aud Kirke — who is an able physician, you 
 kuow, though not so good a surgeon as Chelnison — are 
 very apprehensive. The bleeding was so excessive that 
 Duncan has been insensible ever since he fainted first ; 
 and they are afraid he will sink, from sheer exhaustion, 
 before there is time for a rally of the forces of nature." 
 
 " And to think," exclaims Roslyn, " that this terrible 
 accident should have happened merely from an act of 
 carelessness ! Oh, why will people be so reckless in hand- 
 ling fire-arms ! " 
 
 " Only, I suppose, because familiarity destroys the 
 sense of danger," says Geoffrey. " It certainly is deplor- 
 able to think of a man like Duncan losing his life in 
 such a way." 
 
 " Do let it be a lesson to you, Geoffrey ! " says Roslyn, 
 looking up wistfully. " I have often been very unhappy 
 when I saw you walking off with your gun, for you al- 
 wavs were so reckless ! " 
 
 The expression of the sweet, upturned face, seen 
 clearly in the moonlight, goes to Geoffrey's heart, and 
 passionate words spring to his lips. But he remembers 
 his promise, and only says, in a tone of gentle gravity : 
 
 " I will, indeed, be more careful in future ; for it 
 seems as if a life lost in this manner is a life thrown 
 away. But do you know what time it is ? After twelve 
 o'clock ! You must go to bed — and do try to go to sleep." 
 
192 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " HERE IN ONE LINE IS HIS NAME WRIT." 
 
 Geoffrey's advice is good, and Roslyn is well dis- 
 posed to take it ; but, unfortunately, it does not always 
 rest with ourselves whether we can do what we wish. 
 Since she can in no wise aid in the struggle which, she is 
 well aware, is going on so near by, between man's skill 
 and death's perhaps irresistible approach, she would be 
 glad to escape the sense of intense regret and sadness 
 that weighs on her, and to lose, for a time at least, con- 
 sciousness of the pains she feels. 
 
 But she is too much excited to be able to sleep. All 
 manner of thoughts crowd upon her. It seems so hard, 
 so hard, she repeats again and again, that such a trifle — a 
 mere heedless movement — should bring about such a re- 
 sult ! 
 
 Colonel Duncan's face in many different aspects is 
 constantly before her mind's eye. She sees it with its 
 ordinary expression, genial and serene ; she sees the look 
 of bravely repressed pain which it wore that day when he 
 asked her to be his wife, and learned by her manner that 
 the very suggestion was repugnant to her ; and, in imagi- 
 nation, she sees him now, lying white and insensible, with 
 life ebbing low in his veins — or already gone, it may be. 
 
 At this thought, tears for the first time suddenly 
 burst forth, and she sobs passionately, feeling that until 
 this moment she never realized how much a part of her 
 life he has always been, nor ever appreciated all his good- 
 
"■HERE IN ONE LINE IS BIS NAME WRIT:' 193 
 
 ness and nobleness. Recalling the generosity of his 
 conduct with regard to Laurent, a sharp spasm of re- 
 morse clutches her heart — as if a human hand had seized 
 it and was crushing its fibers in a cruel grasp. 
 
 " Always so good and kind and gracious ! " she 
 thinks ; " and I never did anything but give him pain. 
 I could not help it ! But oh, I wish, I wish, I wish he 
 would not die ! " 
 
 Her pillow is wet with tears when at last, like a child 
 that has cried away its grief, she sinks to sleep. 
 
 She awakes the next morning with a confused sense 
 that something has occurred, something is the matter. 
 What it is, she can not at first remember ; but the next in- 
 stant the recollection rushes over her, and she clasps her 
 hands at the thought of what may have happened since 
 she parted with Geoffrey last night. She is glad that her 
 maid has not appeared yet, knowing that, like most ser- 
 vants, the girl delights in telling news ; and the idea of 
 hearing the news which she is dreading, told as a matter 
 of enjoyable gossip, is intolerable to her. 
 
 " I will dress and go down-stairs," she thinks — rising 
 at once. It seems to her that she can better bear to learn 
 the worst from Geoffrey than from anybody else — if it is 
 the worst that must be borne. But, before she has half 
 completed her toilet, the maid appears, and, almost as she 
 enters the room, announces that " the colonel ain't much 
 better this morning, they say." 
 
 Roslyn is so much relieved by this even nagatively 
 good report, that she does not reprove the servant for her 
 eagerness to impart the information, but, with her assist- 
 ance, goes on dressing — asking presently : 
 
 " Is not breakfast nearly ready ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes'm ! I expect they's most done breakfast by 
 
 9 
 
194 R0SLY1PS FORTUNE. 
 
 this time," is the reply. " I've been up twice before, but 
 you was asleep — and Mass' Geoffrey tolcl me to be sure and 
 not disturb you this morning. I come up now to see if 
 you was awake yet, and if I should bring up your break- 
 fast." 
 
 "No," says Roslyn ; "I will go down. Who is here 
 besides the doctors % " 
 
 "Nobody but Mr. Shelbourne. Mr. Stanley was 
 here ; but he e't his breakfast before any of the other 
 gentlemen was ready, and's gone home." 
 
 "Mr. Stanley?" cries Roslyn, astonished. "You 
 must be mistaken, Margery ! What would he be doing 
 here ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, I'm not mistaken, Miss Roslyn. I 
 couldn't be mistaken ; for I saw him myself. He staid 
 here all night." 
 
 Roslyn makes no further comment on this intelligence 
 — but her face is very expressive of sentiments the re- 
 verse of pleasurable as she leaves the room. 
 
 On the stairs she overtakes Mrs. Knight, who never 
 goes to the table when there are guests in the house, and 
 who has now just left Colonel Duncan's room. 
 
 " O Mrs. Knight," she cries, eagerly, " how is Colonel 
 Duncan this morning % I am sure he must be better — 
 you look as if he were ! " 
 
 " The doctors don't seem to think there is much 
 change," answers Mrs. Knight ; but she smiles, and her 
 face, which has lost the solemn expression it wore when 
 Roslyn saw her last, is placid as usual. 
 
 " But what do you think ? " asks Roslyn, anxiously. 
 " You know so much about sickness and everything of 
 the kind, that you ought to be able to judge almost as 
 well as the doctors." 
 
"HERE IN ONE LINE IS HIS NAME WRIT." 195 
 
 " I don't pretend to set np my judgment ag'in theirs," 
 says the good woman, modestly. " They ought to know." 
 
 " Do you agree with them, though ? Tell me that ! ' 
 exclaims the girl, impulsively. "DonH you think he — 
 that he may recover ? " 
 
 " I hope so," says Mrs. Knight, with evident sincerity ; 
 "and I do think that his pulse is a little stronger just 
 within the last hour. If he isn't any better, I can't see 
 that he's any worse — and that's encouraging." 
 
 " Of course it is ! " cries Roslyn, brightening wonder- 
 fully at these cheering words, as a weight of apprehen- 
 sion seems lifted from her mind. " Oh, I am sure he will 
 get well ! " 
 
 They are at the dining-room door as she utters the 
 last sentence ; and Mrs. Knight passes on, while she en- 
 ters the apartment. 
 
 Her face is full of light and color as she exchanges 
 salutations with the gentlemen, and takes her seat at the 
 table. 
 
 " I am so glad to hear that Colonel Duncan is better," 
 she says, addressing Dr. Kirke in particular and the com- 
 pany in general. 
 
 " If he is better," says Dr. Kirke, in a deliberate and 
 somewhat dogmatic tone, " a favorable change must have 
 occurred very lately. When I saw him last, about half an 
 hour ago, there was no appreciable alteration for the bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " There was a slight indication of the approach of a 
 favorable change, I thought," says Dr. Chelmson, sorry 
 to see how suddenly and entirely Koslyn's face has be- 
 come overcast. "I remarked this, as we came down- 
 stairs, if you remember. I should not be surprised to 
 find a decided improvement in his condition very shortly." 
 
196 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Roslyn glances at the young man gratefully, as he 
 speaks. 
 
 " Mrs. Knight thinks his pulse has grown a little 
 stronger," she says. 
 
 " All ! " exclaims Dr. Kirke, with roused attention. 
 " That certainly is a favorable symptom — if it exists." 
 He moves slightly in his chair, then starts to his feet, and 
 says : 
 
 " If you will excuse me, I'll go and see. I can't say I 
 have much faith in Mrs. Knight's opinion ; though she 
 is a sensible woman, and one of the best nurses I ever 
 met with. But I had rather see for myself. — Suppose 
 you come, too, Chelmson ? " 
 
 He leaves the room while speaking, and Dr. Chelm- 
 son, with a bow of apology to Miss Vardray, rises and fol- 
 lows him. 
 
 " It seems to me," says Geoffrey, when they are gone, 
 " that, taking a common-sense view of the matter, Colonel 
 Duncan must be better, or he could not have lived so 
 long as he has, after such profuse bleeding." 
 
 " I agree with you," says Mr. Shelbourne. " He has 
 extraordinary rally ing-power. And," adds the lawyer, 
 with the suspicion of a smile on his firm, well-cut lip, 
 and a very decided glitter in his blue-gray eyes, "Kirke 
 is always a little disposed to draw the long bow in his 
 estimate of the dangerous condition of his patients." 
 
 " Is it not," says Roslyn, " that he is inclined to take 
 a gloomy view of their condition ? I have often noticed 
 that, in cases of ordinary sickness." 
 
 "Perhaps so," says Mr. Shelbourne. "At least" — 
 he smiles — "yours is a more charitable explanation than 
 the one I suggested." 
 
 And probably it is the correct explanation ; for when 
 
"HERE IN ONE LINE IS HIS NAME WRIT." 197 
 
 Dr. Kirke returns to the breakfast-room a moment later, 
 and resumes his place at table, he looks very much more 
 cheerful than he has looked since he saw Colonel Duncan 
 first, and says at once : 
 
 "His pulse is stronger. He may pull through — if 
 fever doesn't supervene now." 
 
 " I don't think that likely to occur," says Dr. Chelm- 
 son, whose sympathy is again exhibited by Hoslyn's face 
 of concern at this suggestion. " The worst is over, I 
 trust," he adds, encouragingly. 
 
 "'Pray, Mr. Thorne," says Dr. Kirke, after finishing 
 his breakfast, " how comes Stanley to be so much inter- 
 ested in Colonel Duncan's case? I was not aware that 
 there was the most ordinary association between the two 
 men." 
 
 " There is not," replies Geoffrey. " I was astonished 
 at Mr. Stanley's intruding himself here last night. I 
 wish my father had been at home, and he would never 
 have presumed to do so. He knows that it is not possi- 
 ble for a man of my age to treat one of his in the manner 
 he deserves ; and he takes advantage of the fact. Why 
 he should affect an interest on Colonel Duncan's account, 
 I don't understand — unless it is for the pure, abstract 
 pleasure of making himself disagreeable." 
 
 " His interest is real, not affected, I fancy," says Mr. 
 Shelbourne, dryly. 
 
 Both Dr. Kirke and Geoffrey look at the speaker in 
 surprise ; but, before there is time to ask his meaning, 
 Colonel Duncan's servant enters, with the information 
 that his master has " come to his senses, and asked where 
 he is and what is the matter." 
 
 Geoffrey and Eoslyn are the only members of the 
 party who do not move precipitately at this announce- 
 
198 HOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 ment. Leaving them still sitting at table, Drs. Kirke and 
 Clielmson, and Mr. Shelbourne, hurry up-stairs at once. 
 
 " Oh, I hope he is better — that he is out of danger ! " 
 says Roslyn, fervently. " Why don't you go and see, 
 Geoffrey % " 
 
 " I will go presently," he replies ; " but three men 
 are enough at a time to claim his attention, I think. He 
 ought not to be fatigued or excited, I am sure." 
 
 " Of course not," assents Roslyn. Then, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, she says, thoughtfully, "What did Mr. 
 Shelbourne mean by saying that Mr. Stanley's interest in 
 Colonel Duncan was real, not affected ? " 
 
 " You are too hard for me," answers Geoffrey, with 
 a short laugh. " I can not conceive what he meant — if 
 he was in earnest." 
 
 " He did not speak as if he were in jest," says Roslyn. 
 " I was amazed when Margery told me that that man had 
 staid here last night. What put it into his head to come, 
 in the first place, I wonder ? " 
 
 Geoffrey shakes his head. " Impossible to say," he 
 replies. " As a matter of course, I was obliged to treat 
 him civilly ; but it goes awfully against the grain with 
 me to do so. I don't think I could tolerate him at all, if 
 it were not on Lettice's account." 
 
 "He may thank Lettice for most of the toleration 
 he gets," says Roslyn — "for all that he gets from any- 
 body in this house. As for his wife, she brought her fate 
 on herself, and does not deserve the least sympathy, in 
 my opinion." 
 
 Geoffrey smiles. " Can't you imagine any excuse for 
 her ? " he says. " Stanley is just the sort of a man who 
 must have been exceedingly attractive to women in his 
 youth." 
 
" HERE IN ONE LINE IS HIS NAME WRIT:' 199 
 
 " How can you say so ? I am sure he must always 
 have been just what he is now — disgusting ! ,: 
 
 She rises from the table as she says this, and walks 
 into the sitting-room. At the same moment, they hear 
 somebody coming down-stairs ; and Geoffrey, who has 
 followed her, goes into the hall, where he meets Mr. 
 Shelbourne. 
 
 That gentleman seems in excellent spirits. "Poor 
 Duncan is all right again as to the head," he says ; " but 
 I am afraid he will have trouble with that shoulder of 
 his. And the doctors say he must be kept perfectly 
 quiet ; must avoid excitement of every kind. I wish you 
 would see to this." 
 
 " I will," says Geoffrey. 
 
 " I have some business that ought to be attended to 
 this morning," continues Mr. Shelbourne ; " and, as he 
 seems so much better, I'll borrow a horse from you and 
 ride over to town. Of course, I'll be back this evening." 
 
 So much of the conversation Roslyn hears, as they 
 walk slowly through the hall, and out into the veranda, 
 where they sit down to wait until the horse which Geof- 
 frey orders for Mr. Shelbourne is brought around. She, 
 meanwhile, chances to notice a letter lying on the table, 
 and is reminded by the sight of it that she has neither 
 seen nor heard anything of the mail this morning yet. 
 Perhaps it arrived before she came down-stairs, she thinks, 
 as it not unfrequently is received very early — a servant 
 going over to Kirton for it every morning, and generally 
 returning by breakfast-time. Geoffrey may have left this 
 letter here. She picks it up — it is lying with the direc- 
 tion down — to see if it is for herself. 
 
 It is not, she finds. It is addressed, " Yictor Laurent, 
 Esq." 
 
200 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 With an almost ludicrous expression of surprise, she 
 stands looking at the name. Who could have been writ- 
 ing to Laurent ? It has evidently just been written, for 
 it has neither stamp nor post-mark. If Colonel Duncan 
 had not been insensible, she might suppose that it was 
 done by his request ; but, since he only recovered con- 
 sciousness a few minutes before, this is impossible. Could 
 Mr. Shelbourne have thought it necessary to apprise 
 Laurent of the accident, expecting it to prove fatal ? 
 
 All these conjectures are comprised, as it were, in one 
 flash of thought — her first thought. Her second thought 
 is, " Mr. Stanley ! " — and she drops the letter as if its 
 touch soiled her fingers ; but her eyes still rest on the 
 name with a sort of fascination. There is a fascination 
 to her in that name ! — the first sound or sight of it always 
 recalls so vividly the man himself. But, after a moment, 
 she thinks a little. Even in the recollection of the man 
 himself there is much that is not pleasurable. 
 
 As we are aware, from the very first evening that she 
 saw him, her sentiments toward Laurent have been very 
 mixed and varying. While keenly sensible to that per- 
 sonal power of attraction which he possesses in a remark- 
 able degree, she has always felt a certain uncomfortable 
 sense of doubt, that at times has amounted to positive 
 distrust, and has never at any moment left her mind, not 
 even when her fancy was most thralled and dazzled. 
 Latterly this distrust has been growing and strengthen- 
 ing. His strange silence, his prolonged absence, and the 
 remarks of many of his acquaintances whom she met dur- 
 ing her summer wanderings — all have conspired to shake 
 more and more the faith to which she has clung, and yet 
 clings. For it is the instinct of love — whether it be true 
 or false love, genuine passion or any of the counterfeits 
 
" HEBE IN ONE LINE IS HIS NAME WRIT." 201 
 
 tliat often deceive the lover himself — to be incredulous of 
 all accusations made against its idol ; and this instinct 
 has been strong with her throughout the whole course 
 of her acquaintance with Laurent — notwithstanding the 
 counter-current of secret doubt already alluded to. She 
 listened to the gossip she could not avoid hearing, just as 
 she had listened to Geoffrey's earnest warning — with re- 
 pressed indignation and annoyance, and also with some 
 willful blindness. . With an "unacknowledged feeling that 
 there was partial truth in what was said, she still believes 
 that jealousy on the part of Geoffrey, and envy and ill- 
 nature on that of the gossiping people she met, had much 
 to do with the matter. And so, up to this time, she has 
 never willingly thought ill of her fascinating lover. 
 
 J^ow, however, as she stands motionless by the table, 
 with her gaze fixed upon vacancy, she is thinking of the 
 many things concerning Laurent which she heard unwill- 
 ingly, and unwillingly remembers ; and the hope she has 
 always cherished, that he w r ould ultimately prove the in- 
 justice of it all — prove that he loves her better than he 
 does his cousin's fortune — this hope is shaken to its foun- 
 dation. There is something almost like contempt in her 
 face as she turns away and walks to a window. 
 
 Glancing out, she sees Geoffrey and Mr. Shelbourne 
 standing on the gravel-walk before the house. The lat- 
 ter is putting on his gloves, and the next minute mounts 
 the horse a servant is holding for him, nods to Geoffrey, 
 and rides away. 
 
 Roslyn watches Geoffrey, with a look of indecision, as 
 he comes up the steps, enters the house, and is evidently 
 taking his way up-stairs. He has passed the door of the 
 sitting-room, when suddenly her resolution is taken, and 
 she hurries after him. 
 
202 BOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Geoffrey ! " she says, rather hesitatingly. " Are you 
 going up to see Colonel Duncan now ? ,: she asks, as he 
 turns and pauses at the sound of her voice. 
 
 " I was going ; but I am not in a particular hurry, if 
 you want anything with me/' he answers, coming to her 
 side. 
 
 " No," she says ; but adds almost immediately : " Yes, 
 I do — I want to ask you a question. Come here a min- 
 ute, please." 
 
 As he follows her into the room, she points to the let- 
 ter lying on the table. " How did that come here ? " she 
 inquires. " Do you know who wrote it ? " 
 
 Geoffrey looks a little surprised — more at her manner 
 than at the presence of the letter, which he takes up as 
 he answers, " No, I did not notice it before." He glances 
 at the superscription, and there is a sudden flash of intel- 
 ligence in his eyes ; but he only says, in a matter-of-course 
 tone: 
 
 " This is Mr. Stanley's writing. I suppose he amused 
 his leisure last night by writing to Mr. Laurent, and for- 
 got to take his letter away with him this morning when 
 he left." He tosses the letter carelessly back on the table 
 as he adds : " Now I will go up and see Duncan, and will 
 come back and let you know how he is getting on. The 
 doctors are still with him." 
 
 " You will find me in the garden," Roslyn says. " I 
 am going to gather some roses for him." 
 
"HE WILL COME." 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "he will come." 
 
 Half an hour afterward, when Geoffrey goes to look 
 for her in the garden, he is not a little shocked to see, as 
 she glances up at the sound of his approaching steps, that 
 her eyes are full of tears. She is sitting in a listless atti- 
 tude ; the roses she has been gathering are heaped beside 
 her on the rustic seat she occupies ; her hands are lying 
 idly in her lap ; altogether, her aj)pearance gives the idea 
 of profound dejection. 
 
 Such a mood seems to Geoffrey so unnatural in Hoslyn 
 — is so utterly unprecedented in all his experience — that 
 he looks aghast for an instant, and then advances impul- 
 sively, exclaiming : 
 
 " What is the matter % Is it possible that you are cry- 
 ing, Koslyn ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have been crying a little," she answers, with 
 a smile that looks as unfamiliar as does her air of depres- 
 sion — a smile half -amused, half -sad. " But pray don't be 
 alarmed," she goes on. " There is nothing alarming in 
 the matter, I assure you. How is Colonel Duncan ? " 
 
 " Better. I suppose the danger is over for the pres- 
 ent, if he can be prevailed upon to be prudent. But I 
 am afraid that will be difficult, with a man not at all ac- 
 customed to illness or confinement of any sort." 
 
 " You suppose the danger is over for the present ? ' 
 repeats Boslyn. " What do you mean % I don't under- 
 stand." 
 
204 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Why, you know there is a charge of shot scattered 
 under and about the shoulder-blade, which ought to be 
 removed ; but, as any further loss of blood just now 
 would be certain death, there is nothing to be done 
 but to let the wound heal without touching it. Then, 
 when his strength is entirely restored, these shot will 
 have to be extracted — some of them, at least. The doc- 
 tors were torturing his shoulder when I went in — that is, 
 Chelmson was replacing the bandages which were neces- 
 sarily put on so hurriedly yesterday evening as to cause 
 great pain. The wound is doing very well, they say ; 
 and there is no indication, as yet, of fever. But old 
 Kirke is so strenuous in his orders about quiet, that I see 
 they are afraid it may come on." 
 
 " How does he look ? " asks Roslyn. 
 
 " Like Seneca's wife," is the reply. 
 
 " So very pale ? " 
 
 " Pale is not the word," answers Geoffrey. " Liter- 
 ally, there is no more life-color in his face and hands than 
 there is in that linen" — pointing to her handkerchief, 
 which lies on the bench beside the roses. " Of course, 
 his skin is not precisely that tint — though, comparatively 
 speaking, it is very w T hite ; which," he adds, " is not sur- 
 prising, considering the amount of blood he lost. I did 
 not think there was as much blood in a man's w r hole body 
 as flowed from his wound." 
 
 " Does he talk much ? " 
 
 Geoffrey shakes his head. " He doesn't talk at all — he 
 is too weak. He kept his eyes shut while they were ma- 
 nipulating his shoulder, and showed no sign of what he 
 was suffering, except that his lips were compressed. The 
 pain must have been acute." 
 
 " How dreadful all this sounds ! " says Eoslyn, with 
 
"HE WILL COME: 1 205 
 
 something of a shudder. " I can't imagine Colonel Dun- 
 can in such a helpless condition. Oh, I am so sorry for 
 him, Geoffrey ! To think of being shut up in a dark 
 room, with two physicians mounting guard over one, 
 on such a day as this ! " — she looks around at the mellow 
 beauty of the autumn morning. " And I suppose it will 
 be some time before he is perfectly well again \ " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," says Geoffrey. 
 
 He speaks rather absently. He is thinking of the 
 day before, when, just at this hour, Roslyn and himself 
 were walking through the woods together, and he was 
 confidently counting upon a month of happiness. Colo- 
 nel Duncan's accident is certainly no personal grief to 
 him — though he is more moved by sympathy and com- 
 passion for the wounded man than he would have believed 
 possible — but the houleversement of the household and 
 Roslyn's anxiety have effectually put an end to any plans 
 of pleasure. 
 
 "' Uhomme jwoposej" he says, abruptly. "You 
 were right, after all, Roslyn. Something has occurred 
 to interfere with that month of happiness on which I 
 was reckoning so confidently yesterday." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I warned you," says Roslyn, in a tone of 
 rej^roach. " I felt that you were too confident. I was 
 afraid that something would happen — because you were 
 
 so sure." 
 
 " Because I was so sure ! " repeats Geoffrey. " Why, 
 this is rank superstition. Do you really believe that 
 Colonel Duncan shot himself because I had determined 
 upon a month of happiness ? " 
 
 " Of course not — how absurd ! But it is not right to 
 be so confident. It is like tempting Fate." 
 
 " "Well, I shall remember this experience, and be more 
 
206 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 cautious in future. But I meant no harm. I only wanted 
 one more month of simple pleasures, such as we have 
 known, to look back upon. But I am not to have it. 
 That is very plain now." 
 
 " Oh, I hope Colonel Duncan may soon be well." 
 
 " He may — and again he may not. But, in any event, 
 he has ended my hope of an idyllic four weeks of happi- 
 ness — confound him ! " 
 
 " Geoff ! " 
 
 " Why should I not confound him ? He could not 
 have played me a worse trick if he had done it purposely. 
 All the family will rush back as soon as they hear how 
 we are situated here : if I had remembered that in time 
 I should certainly have taken him to Cliffton." 
 
 " No, you would not," says Roslyn. " Why do you 
 talk so ? Why do you try to make yourself out so much 
 worse than you are ? You can not deceive me. And I 
 think that to have helped Colonel Duncan as promptly 
 and well as you did, is better than a month of foolish, 
 idle riding and walking and talking." 
 
 " Foolish ! " says Geoffrey, gloomily. " You may call 
 it so if you like, but it would not have been foolish to 
 me. However, that is not the worst." He pauses, hesi- 
 tates, then goes on almost harshly, " The worst is that 
 Laurent will come." 
 
 Roslvn starts. "Why should you think that?" she 
 asks, in a low tone. 
 
 "Do you need to ask?" Geoffrey answers. "You 
 saw that letter. Stanley — confound him, for his officious- 
 ness ! — wrote, no doubt, to tell the news, which will be 
 good news to Mr. Laurent. You think I am unjust ? " 
 — as she looks at him quickly and reproachfully — " but 
 I have remembered something, which is what Mr. Shel- 
 
"HE WILL COME." 207 
 
 bourne meant at breakfast. Laurent is Colonel Duncan's 
 heir — the property is entailed on him. Of course, there- 
 fore, news of the latter's death would be good news to — " 
 
 " Geoffrey ! " she turns on him indignantly. " You 
 have no right to say such a thing — no right at all ! It is 
 cruel — it is unjust ! What has Mr. Laurent ever done 
 that you should think him capable of such baseness ! " 
 
 Geoffrey does not answer for a moment. He is struck 
 dumb by the strength of her emotion. A suspicion that 
 she might not have forgotten Laurent was one thing ; 
 this passionate confirmation of his worst fears is quite 
 another. He absolutely turns pale as he looks at her — 
 not understanding her fully, yet understanding enough 
 to make his heart cold. 
 
 " I did not mean to accuse him of baseness," he says, 
 at length. "It is the way of the world : men do not 
 usually mourn for those whom they succeed in an in- 
 heritance. And there are special reasons here. But I 
 would not have mentioned the subject if I had thought 
 you would — mind so much." 
 
 " Mind ! " says Roslyn, with trembling lips. " Of 
 course, I mind. Whatever Mr. Laurent may or may not 
 be, we have no right to think that of him. And Colonel 
 Duncan — you talk as if he were going to die, when the 
 doctors believe that he will get well." 
 
 " That he may get well," Geoffrey corrects. " He is 
 not out of danger yet. But, whether he lives or dies, 
 Laurent will come. I am sure of that." 
 
 Roslyn is silent. She, too, is sure ; yet in her heart 
 she shrinks from the certainty. For him to be brought 
 in this way, it seems worse than that he should never 
 come at all. 
 
 Suddenly Geoffrey rises to his feet. " Yonder comes 
 
208 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Lettice," he says. " I think, Roslyn, you had better get 
 her to stay with you. This unfortunate state of affairs 
 depresses you too much. As for me, I must go and look 
 after the doctors, who are staying to watch Colonel Dun- 
 can." 
 
 When Lettice approaches the seat, where Roslyn re- 
 mains without stirring, Geoffrey's figure is still in sight, 
 crossing the lawn toward the house. She looks after it, 
 but makes no comment, and, after an exchange of greet- 
 ings, sits down by Koslyn. 
 
 " I am so sorry for you," she says, gently. " It would 
 be bad enough to hear of such a dreadful accident to one 
 you know so well. But to have the dying man absolutely 
 under your roof — that is dreadful ! " 
 
 "He is not a dying man," says Roslyn, quickly. 
 " The doctors are agreed that he is better, and may re- 
 cover — have you not heard 'I " 
 
 " "No. When papa came home he said he would cer- 
 tainly die." 
 
 " So the doctors thought last night ; but there is a 
 change for the better, and they say now that, with care, 
 he may get well." 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear it. Poor Colonel Duncan ! 
 It seemed terrible to think of his dying — so ! But, Ros- 
 lyn, it is still very hard for you, his being here — " 
 
 " Oh, no," Koslyn interposes. " I am glad he is here ; 
 it is such a little thing to do." 
 
 " But it is not as if your parents were at home," Let- 
 tice persists. " Mamma and I have been talking of it, 
 and she has sent me to say that she will come gladly to 
 stay with you, if — if you care for her to do so." 
 
 " Mrs. Stanley is very kind," says Roslyn, to whom 
 
"HE WILL COME:' 209 
 
 such an offer is at once astonishing and embarrassing ; for 
 Mrs. Stanley, who is not a capable person in her own 
 household, would certainly prove a most incapable and 
 troublesome one in such a household as that of Yerde- 
 vale at the present time. "It is very good of her to 
 think of inconvenienciug herself so much — she who 
 never leaves home," the girl goes on ; " but really I do 
 not see any reason why I should allow her to trouble 
 herself so greatly. Nobody is thinking of me — indeed, 
 I might leave home myself, only that somebody must 
 look after the housekeeping, now that Mrs. Knight is 
 confined to Colonel Duncan's room ; and it seems to me 
 that it would be very foolish to think of snch trivialities 
 as a shade of propriety, more or less, at such a time." 
 
 " We did not intend to imply that there is any im- 
 propriety in the position," says Lettice ; " but I — that is, 
 we thought you might feel lonely and uncomfortable, 
 with the house so full of men, and that you would like 
 to have some one — some elderly lady — with you." 
 
 " I have not had time to think of myself," says Ros- 
 lyn, simply, "and I doubt if I shall have time before 
 mamma comes — as, of course, she will come at once. 
 Thank your mother for me, Lettice — I shall not forget 
 her kindness ; but I do not feel that there is any reason 
 why I should put her to so much inconvenience. I have 
 no compunction, however, in keeping you with me as 
 long as you can stay, and you have come for the day, 
 have you not % " 
 
 " I will come back, if you want me," Lettice answers : 
 
 " but, no — I did not come, intending to stay. I came to 
 
 deliver mamma's message, to see how Colonel Duncan 
 
 is, and — to get a letter which papa left here this morn- 
 • ^ 
 
 lDg. 
 
210 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Yes," says Roslyn. A flush comes to her face, but 
 she speaks quietly. " I saw a letter which he left on the 
 sitting-room table. Shall we go and get it ? " 
 
 Lettice assenting, they rise and walk toward the house 
 — their voices falling to a hushed tone as they approach 
 and look up at the closed blinds of Colonel Duncan's 
 chamber. Lettice gives her head a little shake. " It is 
 strange that he should have been brought here," she 
 observes, "and not pleasant for you, Roslyn — say what 
 you will." 
 
 " I never said it was pleasant," Roslyn answers ; " but 
 I did say, and I repeat, that I am glad he is here, because 
 Mrs. Knight is a better nurse than any he could have had 
 at Cliffton, and I — am of a little use. I can see that the 
 doctors have all that they want or need. But here we 
 are. Come in, and let me see if the letter is still where 
 your father left it, or if some servant has misplaced it." 
 
 The letter is still lying where it first met her eye ; and, 
 having pointed it out, she hesitates for an instant, then 
 with an effort says, hastily : 
 
 u I could not avoid seeing to whom it is addressed, 
 Lettice ; and, since your father wrote it last night, when 
 Colonel Duncan was believed to be dying, I think he 
 should add a postscript, telling Mr. Laurent that the doc- 
 tors now think he may recover." 
 
 Lettice nods. " Certainly, that should be done," she 
 says, " and I will endeavor to see that it is done. But 
 don't deceive yourself, Eoslyn. "When Mr. Laurent re- 
 ceives this letter, he will come." 
 
A WILLFUL MAN. 211 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIII. 
 
 A WILLFUL MAN. 
 
 The next morning the physicians pronounce Colonel 
 Duncan decidedly better. 
 
 " Not out of danger, however," says Dr. Kirke, at the 
 breakfast-table. " The least imprudence would bring on 
 fever — and the worst sort of fever — a low typhoid form. 
 But he is progressing favorably so far, and if he will be 
 very careful — avoid all exertion and excitement — why, he 
 will do very well now. — Don't let him talk about busi- 
 ness " — this to Mr. Shelbourne. " I see he is inclined to be 
 unruly on that point. He asked for you yesterday — said 
 he must see you about some business matter of urgent 
 importance — and we had no little difficulty in putting 
 him off. I was glad you were not here ; and the best 
 thing you can do will be to go to town without seeing 
 him again this morning. He must not talk or think about 
 anything exciting — I mean anything that would excite 
 his mind to active thought. Perfect quiescence of mind 
 and body is what he needs at present. — Mr. Thorne, I 
 wish you would remember this. Don't talk to him, or 
 let him talk to you. As to his diet, Mrs. Knight will at- 
 tend to that, and will give him what little medicine he 
 has to take. She's a capital nurse. It's very fortunate 
 that she happens to be here." 
 
 " I will do my best," says Geoffrey, smiling. " But 
 I agree with you in thinking that your patient is inclined 
 to be willful. You must not hold me responsible if he 
 
212 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 injures himself. If he insists on talking, for instance, 
 what can I do to prevent it ? " 
 
 " Tell him that it's against mj orders ; and then walk 
 out of the room." 
 
 " You are always for high-handed measures, Dr. 
 Kirke," says Roslyn, laughing. " You always treat your 
 patients as if they were refractory children." 
 
 " Only when they are refractory," answers the doctor ; 
 " and then they deserve to be treated so. When a man 
 calls me in as a medical practitioner, it is my business to 
 tell him what to do — and his to do what I tell him." 
 
 " But human nature is weak," says Roslyn ; " and, 
 when one is ill, it is very hard to be patient and reason- 
 able, I think." 
 
 " Very hard, indeed," says Dr. Chelmson, looking at 
 his brother physician with a smile. " Dr. Kirke will con- 
 cede that, I am sure." 
 
 " It is necessary," responds Dr. Kirke, uncompromis- 
 ingly — ignoring the fact that he is himself the most im- 
 patient of men when he is ill ; " and such being the case, 
 a man of sense will be reasonable, whether he is patient 
 or not." 
 
 " I'm not sure of that," says Mr. Shelbourne. " There's 
 as much difference between Philip ill and Philip well, 
 as between Philip drunk and Philip sober. For instance, 
 I flatter myself that I am a mild-mannered man when I 
 am well, and not a fool ; but let my familiar demon tic 
 lay his finger on one of my cheek-bones, and I am as 
 irascible as any fool you could find ; and as intractable to 
 control." 
 
 " I can certify to the truth of that statement," says 
 Dr. Kirke, dryly ; " but there is some excuse for a man's 
 irascibility, when tic-douloureux is gnawing his facial 
 
A WILLFUL MAN. 213 
 
 nerves. Colonel Duncan will have no such pain as that 
 to support — no pain at all, to speak of — unless he should 
 bring on fever by some inexcusable imprudence. All 
 that he has to do for the present is to keep quiet — per- 
 fectly quiet." 
 
 " Will not he be more likely to satisfy you in this re- 
 spect," asks Geoffrey, " if he is allowed to see Mr. Shel- 
 bourne, and say whatever it is that he wants to say, than 
 if he is kept from doing so ? I should think it might be 
 more injurious to a sick person to be thwarted in his 
 humor, than to make a temporary exertion in gratifying 
 
 it." 
 
 " You are right," says Dr. Chelmson, decidedly—" eh, 
 Kirke ? " 
 
 The latter hesitates a moment ; then he replies a little 
 reluctantly : " Well, yes ; he ought not to be thwarted, 
 certainly — for that is the sort of thing to irritate and ex- 
 cite him. If his mind is set upon it, I suppose he must 
 have his own way. I'll see, however, if I can't induce 
 him to put off attending to business until he is better able 
 to talk." 
 
 Accordingly, when he pays his parting visit to Colo- 
 nel Duncan after breakfast, before leaving for the day, 
 Dr. Kirke endeavors to convince that gentleman of the 
 propriety of letting business matters take care of them- 
 selves for the present. 
 
 " The more entirely you discharge your mind of all 
 thought whatever," he says, '* the better it will be for 
 you. Every exertion you make, whether physical or 
 mental, accelerates the circulation, and thereby increases 
 the danger of fever, you see. Nor is it merely fever 
 which we apprehend — though, in your weak state, that 
 would be dangerous, to say the least. But, besides this, 
 
214 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 we have another thing to consider. We find that a stray 
 shot glanced from the direction which the others took, 
 and lodged in the arm-pit — in close proximity to the bra- 
 chial artery. This is serious. We have not yet ascer- 
 tained its exact location, because it is impossible to do 
 anything about it at present, and it would be useless, 
 therefore, as well as injurious to harass you by an exami- 
 nation. The moment that your strength permits, we will 
 see to it, as we fear the formation of an aneurism. I need 
 not explain what the result of that would be if not at- 
 tended to in time." 
 
 "I understand," says the wounded man, in a faint 
 Yoice. " I heard what Dr. Chelmson said on the subject 
 yesterday morning ; and that is why I am so anxious to 
 accomplish this business, which is important. It is to 
 make my will." 
 
 " To do so is, I hope and believe, unnecessary," says 
 Dr. Kirke, with gravity. " If I see reason to change my 
 opinion on this point, I will give you immediate warning 
 of the fact." 
 
 Colonel Duncan smiles faintly. 
 
 " Let me see Shelbourne for five minutes," he says. 
 " I will not excite myself, I promise you. A few words 
 will explain all that is requisite ; and, when the thing is 
 done, my mind will be tranquil — which is not the case 
 while it remains undone." 
 
 " Yery well," says the doctor ; but he does not look 
 or speak as if he thought such obstinacy well. " A will- 
 ful man must have his way, I suppose. I will go and 
 send Mr. Shelbourne here ; but, recollect, I warn you 
 distinctly that, in exerting and exciting yourself, you are 
 risking your life." 
 
 He puts his finger on the pulse of the hand that lies 
 
A WILLFUL MAN. 215 
 
 like a piece of marble — as white, almost, and as inanimate- 
 looking — on the coverlet, and finds it, though very lan- 
 guid, increased perceptibly in strength since he felt it 
 last, about two hours before. 
 
 " Your pulse is improving," he exclaims, with satisfac- 
 tion. " You are doing very well indeed ; so well, that I 
 can conscientiously assure you that you may safely let the 
 making of your will stand over for the present. How- 
 ever " — seeing the expression of his patient's countenance 
 — " since you are so set on it, it may be better for you to 
 get it off your mind." 
 
 Colonel Duncan proceeds to do this in the most ex- 
 peditious manner possible, when, a few minutes afterward, 
 Mr. Shelbourne appears at his bedside. He was never a 
 man to waste words needlessly about anything ; and on 
 the present occasion he says tersely, speaking slowly, and 
 with evident effort : 
 
 " Shelbourne, I want you to write my will." 
 
 " Yery well," replies Mr. Shelbourne, sitting down at 
 a table and drawing pen, ink, and paper toward him. 
 " Give me your instructions, and I will put them in legal 
 form. I suppose " — he hesitates an instant — " that I need 
 not remind you that you have power to dispose of only 
 part of your estate ? " 
 
 " I have not forgotten," Duncan answers. " It is 
 what renders this so essential. If I die intestate, Laurent 
 will inherit everything. Xow, Cliffton must be his — 
 there is no help for that ; but I am not inclined to endow 
 him with anything else. Write, then, Shelbourne, that 
 I give and bequeath all of which I die possessed — both 
 real and personal estate — to Roslyn Vardray." 
 
 The lawyer elevates his eyebrows, and pauses for an 
 almost imperceptible space of time before he puts his pen 
 
216 B0SLY1PS FORTUNE. 
 
 to the paper before him. It is on the end of his tongue 
 to say — for, like every one else, he has heard something 
 of current gossip — " My poor friend, is it possible that 
 yon are not aware that by this means yon will endow 
 Laurent with all you j)ossess ? " But he remembers the 
 doctor's caution, he looks at the pale face on the pillow, 
 and holds his peace. • After all, is it likely that Duncan 
 is unaware of w T hat every one else knows ? He shrugs 
 his shoulders and proceeds to write. 
 
 " Add," says Duncan, after a minute's silence, " that 
 I desire she shall have uncontrolled possession of the 
 property as long as she remains unmarried, but that when 
 she marries her estate shall be settled on herself in such 
 a manner as to preclude the possibility of its alienation 
 from her, even by her own act." 
 
 " Ah ! " says Mr. Shelbourne, involuntarily. He is 
 quite certain now that Duncan does know all that he or 
 any one else knows. But, without further comment, he 
 writes, then pauses and asks if these are all his instruc- 
 tions. 
 
 " Yes ; I have not strength for more now," Duncan 
 answers. " That is all which is essential. Make it ready 
 for my signature at once." 
 
 " You shall have it in half an hour," the lawyer an- 
 swers. But, as he leaves the room, he says to himself, 
 " I hope that you may live — to destroy it." 
 
 Having thus made his arrangements to die, Colonel 
 Duncan proceeds to gratify his friends and physicians by 
 rapidly getting better. In the course of a day or two he 
 is so much improved that when Mr. Vardray — whom the 
 news of the accident at once brings — arrives at Verdevale, 
 he finds a man who seems on the high-road to recovery. 
 
A WILLFUL MAN. 217 
 
 For Roslyn was right in supposing that her parents 
 would hasten home immediately ; only, instead of Mrs. 
 Yardray — who is detained by the illness of one of the 
 children — it is Mrs. Arden who accompanies her father. 
 
 " O Aunt Lavinia, this is very good of you ! " she 
 says, gratefully. ' ; I am so glad you have come ! " 
 
 " Since Ellen could not leave Effie, I felt that I must 
 come ; for it is out of all question for you to be left here 
 alone," the kind-hearted lady answers. " I am afraid it 
 has already been too much for you. Poor child ! you 
 look pale." 
 
 " Do I '{ ' with slight surprise. " Then it must be 
 only because of fright and anxiety. I am very well ; 
 but it will be a great relief to know that you are here. 
 It is not that I have really needed any one — at least, not 
 for practical help. But I have needed moral support." 
 
 "I should think so, indeed! " says Mrs. Arden, with 
 a laugh. "A wounded man, a couple of doctors, and 
 half a dozen other men, more or less, might well make 
 you feel the need of moral support. It is most unfortu- 
 nate that we all left when we did, or that Colonel Dun- 
 can had not shot himself a day earlier." 
 
 " My dear aunt ! " 
 
 " My dear Eoslyn, if the shooting was a settled matter, 
 why should it not have occurred a day earlier ? I am sure, 
 if I had my way, it should not have occurred at all ; but, 
 if it was to be, the convenience of all parties concerned 
 might, it seems to me, have been better consulted." 
 
 " If it had been a day earlier," says Koslyn, " Geoffrey 
 wonld not have been here to find Colonel Duncan, and 
 — and he might have bled to death in the woods alone." 
 
 " Never ! " says Mrs. Arden, promptly, though she 
 
 shudders a little. " There is too much for Colonel Dun- 
 10 
 
218 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 can yet to do in the world, I am sure. For that reason, 
 I have felt certain that he will recover." 
 
 " There is every ground now to hope that he will," 
 says Roslyn. " But the doctors are still very careful, and 
 do not relax the vigilance with which they watch him. 
 They seem particularly afraid of the effects of excitement 
 for him." 
 
 " I hope your father is not staying with him too long," 
 says Mrs. Arden. " I think I had better go and end the 
 visit. I want to see him myself." 
 
 But, instead of ending the visit, her advent rather 
 prolongs it — for so glad is Colonel Duncan to see these 
 friends that he is loath to let them leave him, and, when re- 
 minded of the doctor's warnings, he laughs them to scorn. 
 
 " All that is nonsense ! ' he says, disrespectfully. 
 " Kirke is making a tremendous fuss over a very small 
 matter. It strikes me as the height of absurdity for an 
 old soldier — one who has been wounded with serious mis- 
 siles — to be lying here as the consequence of a discharge 
 of bird-shot. But I am getting well, and there is no need 
 whatever of all this parade of caution." 
 
 Mrs. Arden shakes her head. "With all her cheerful 
 optimism, she believes in being on the safe side. " It 
 does no harm to be careful," she says, " and, if one has a 
 physician, I think it is only just to him to follow his ad- 
 vice. I should not like you to endanger the life, that you 
 have so nearly lost, by any imprudence. So we must 
 leave you. — Come, George ! " 
 
 Colonel Duncan looks regretfully at Mr. Vardray, 
 who rises in answer to this appeal. "At least, you will 
 let me see you again before you go away," he says. 
 
 " Are you going away ? " asks Mrs. Arden, turning to 
 her brother with some surprise. 
 
A WILLFUL MAN. 219 
 
 " Yes," lie answers ; " I find Duncan getting on so 
 famously that I think I had better return to Ellen. I am 
 a little uneasy about Effie. And you are here to take 
 charge of everything." 
 
 " Including the invalid," she says, with a smile. " Per- 
 haps it is best that you should go. I don't think there 
 is much the matter with Effie, but one can never tell — 
 and you are not needed here." 
 
 " There I beg to differ with you," says Colonel Dun- 
 can. " He is needed to aid and abet me in the rebellion 
 I clearly foresee that I shall have to make." 
 
 " Don't count on me for such a service as that," says 
 Mr. Yardray. " I am rather inclined to beg you to be 
 patient and run no risks. After all, the doctors may be 
 right, you know." 
 
 This candid admission — which might amuse one doc- 
 tor, but would certainly not amuse the other — is soon 
 verified. Mr. Yardray takes his departure early the next 
 morning ; and, when Mrs. Arden and Roklyn are sitting 
 at the breakfast-table, an hour or two later, Geoffrey 
 enters, looking rather grave. 
 
 " I have just been in Colonel Duncan's room," he says, 
 " and I am sorry to say he is not so well this morning. 
 He did not sleep last night, and he seems a little feverish." 
 
 " Oh," says Koslyn, " that is what the doctors have 
 been afraid of ! " 
 
 Mrs. Arden looks startled. " How unfortunate ! " 
 she says ; " I fear that our coming has had something to 
 do with it." 
 
 " Something, perhaps," says Geoffrey. " But he has 
 been impatient and imprudent all along. Dr. Kirke will 
 be here presently, and then we shall hear if it is anything 
 serious." 
 
220 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I don't think it can be anything serious," says Mrs. 
 Arden, with her happy optimism. 
 
 But Dr. Kirke, when he comes, is inclined to be of 
 another opinion, and he reissues stringent orders against 
 excitement of any kind, though admitting that at present 
 the dangerous symptoms are slight. When he returns in 
 the afternoon, however, he finds the patient in a condi- 
 tion which excites his serious apprehensions, and he de- 
 cides to spend the night at Yerdevale, in order to watch 
 closely, and ward off, if possible, the danger which he 
 fears. The result appears when Geoffrey is awakened at 
 daylight by a knock at his door, and, in answer to his 
 " Come in," Dr. Kirke appears, with a note in his hand, 
 looking both serious and irate. 
 
 " I shall be obliged if you will send this as soon as 
 possible to Chelmson," he says. 
 
 " I hope Colonel Duncan is not worse ! " Geoffrey ex- 
 claims, starting up. 
 
 " He has done just what I have been warning him 
 against from the first," answers the doctor, dryly — 
 " brought on an attack of fever, which as likely as not 
 will finish him." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIY. 
 
 "when we two parted." 
 
 The next few days are days of gloom and anxiety at 
 Yerdevale. The grave faces of the physicians tell every 
 one of Colonel Duncan's danger, and that the battle be- 
 tween life and death is likely to be a hard and close one. 
 Inch by inch they dispute the ground ; but inch by inch 
 
"WHEN WE TWO PARTED:' 221 
 
 they find themselves baffled by the fever, which like a 
 flame seems suddenly to have leaped beyond control, un- 
 til the life of the sick man may be said to hang upon a 
 thread. 
 
 While matters are at this crisis, Roslyn leaves the 
 house one morning — the morning of a day so soft and 
 brilliant that the glory and beauty of nature seem to 
 mock the thought of death — and, with an impulse to es- 
 cape, if possible, from the sense of hopeless sadness that 
 weighs upon her, takes her way down the lawn. She is 
 not thinking at all of where she is going, as she follows 
 the great sweep of the carriage-drive, until she finds her- 
 self at the gate which opens upon the high-road. Here 
 she pauses, and, leaning her arms upon the topmost bar, 
 looks absently and wistfully over a fair prospect of slop- 
 ing fields, and soft, green meadows, belted by glowing 
 woods. She is thinking of the wide scene which Cliff- 
 ton overlooks, all steeped in beauty by this autumnal 
 sun and mist; and of Cliffton's master, lying in his 
 darkened chamber, between life and death, behind her. 
 Will he ever look on the kindly, familiar face of Nature 
 — of his own woods and fields, which he loves so w T ell — 
 again ? She knows how doubtful — how more than 
 doubtful— it is, and, as she puts her hand to her eyes, 
 blinded both by sunlight and tears, she does not observe 
 a horseman advancing along the road from Kirton, who 
 at sight of her suddenly halts. It is only as he springs 
 to the ground that she lets her hand fall and looks up — 
 to see Laurent. 
 
 Notwithstanding all predictions of his coming, his ap- 
 pearance at this moment startles her greatly. Her face 
 tells him so, as she says, involuntarily, " Mr. Laurent ! is 
 it possible this is you ? " 
 
222 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Yes, it is I," Laurent answers, advancing toward 
 her. " Surely you knew that I would come ! " 
 
 " I ? No. Why should I know it ? " she replies. 
 Then she adds, hastily : " But you have come, of course, 
 on account of Colonel Duncan. He is very ill." 
 
 " Is he ? I am sorry," says Laurent. 
 
 And then he stands silent for a moment, looking at 
 her. He has come on account of Colonel Duncan, and to 
 look after his own interest — yes. And the necessity has 
 not been altogether an agreeable one to him. He had 
 hesitated and delayed for several days before deciding to 
 come — fearing his own weakness, fearing further entangle- 
 ment — thinking (perhaps it would be too much to say, 
 hoping) that news of his cousin's death might arrive and 
 make his way clearer. But now, as he stands looking at 
 Roslyn in the morning sunlight, he is at a loss to under- 
 stand his own delay. To see that face again — why did 
 he not fly ? And if — and if, indeed, good fortune is to 
 attend him — if Cliffton is to be his — 
 
 " Do you not know," he says, in a low tone, " that if 
 I had listened to my heart, I should have been here long 
 ago ? " 
 
 Eoslyn lifts her head — a little proudly. That tender 
 tone stirs, stings, rouses her to the necessity of composure 
 and self-control. 
 
 " Why should I have known it ? " she repeats — this 
 time more coldly. " But it is natural that you should 
 have been anxious about Colonel Duncan. His wound 
 has proved very serious." 
 
 " Is there, then, no hope — of his recovery ? " Lau- 
 rent asks. 
 
 How hard it is to control the voice so that it shall 
 not betray anything of one's inmost feeling! Despite 
 
"WHEN WE TWO PARTED:' 1 223 
 
 his efforts, Laurent's voice betrays something of his. 
 There is a shade too little of solicitude, a shade too much 
 of eagerness in his question. Iioslyn's ear feels, rather 
 than hears, both. She glances at him quickly. A sud- 
 den recollection flashes upon her. She hears Geoffrey's 
 voice saying, " It is the way of the world : men do not 
 usually mourn for those whom they succeed." She had 
 indignantly repudiated such a thought when he sug- 
 gested it ; but now — why does she recall it now ? Her 
 clear eyes, with the moisture of unshed tears still cling- 
 ing to their lashes, and violet shadows beneath them, 
 look keenly at Laurent as she says : 
 
 " "While there is life there is hope — is not that what 
 one is always told ? — but Colonel Duncan is in great dan- 
 ger. For a time he was much better — almost convales- 
 cent ; but he committed some imprudences, and fever 
 came on. Then there is trouble about an aneurism : so 
 that his situation is most critical." 
 
 " I am very sorry ! " says Laurent again ; and this 
 time his voice seems to express only deep regret. " In 
 that case I had better go on to Cliffton at once. Of 
 course, I shall see you again — as soon as possible." 
 
 " To Cliffton ! " she repeats. " But he is here with 
 us. Are you not aware of it ? " 
 
 " Here — yet ? " says Laurent, with surprise. " I knew 
 that he was brought here at first ; but I supposed that 
 he had been removed to Cliffton." 
 
 " He has never been well enough to be moved. You 
 will come in ? Though I warn you it is not likely that 
 you will be allowed to see him." 
 
 " I can see " — he hesitates — " the doctors, at least. 
 Thanks, yes — I will certainly go in." 
 
 He lays his hand on the gate as he speaks — for, up 
 
22± ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 to this point, their conversation has been carried on across 
 it, and, when Roslyn draws back, opens it and leads his 
 horse in. Then, as they walk side by side toward the 
 house, it is a minute before either speaks. The thought 
 of their parting is in the minds of both, and renders ordi- 
 nary conversation difficult. As for Laurent, he is more 
 deeply stung than he would have believed possible by 
 the apparent indifference with which he has been met. 
 There have been no blushes, no smiles, no drooping eye- 
 lids to greet him. Roslyn is beautiful — more beautiful 
 than he remembered her — but a change has come over 
 her which is beyond his power to fathom. The gay 
 coquettish girl he left is transformed into a fair, stately 
 woman who seems as unmoved by his presence as if she 
 had never promised to listen — when he returned. 
 
 Presently he glances at her delicate, spirited profile 
 as she walks beside him and sj>eaks abruptly. " You are 
 changed," he says, " greatly changed, since I saw you 
 last." 
 
 " Am I ? " she says, with a slight smile. " Well, it is 
 natural. One does not stand still, you know." 
 
 " But in so short a time one does not usually change 
 so much as you are changed," he says. 
 
 " Does one not ? ' she answers, carelessly. " But a 
 short time is sufficient for a good many different experi- 
 ences, and that produces change — is it not so ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replies — wondering what these experiences 
 have been, but not daring to ask. More and more he 
 realizes that his position is even more difficult than he 
 anticipated. A few direct, passionate words might — 
 though he is not sure of it — put matters right with Ros- 
 lyn. But how can he utter these words, in absolute 
 uncertainty of what his future prospects may be 1 If 
 
MRS. ARDEX MAKES A SUGGESTION. 225 
 
 Colonel Duncan dies, Cliffton will be his ; but Cliffton 
 alone is a small inheritance — and to whom will the re- 
 mainder of the estate go ? Whereas, if Colonel Duncan 
 lives, will he be ready to carry out his promises of the 
 summer ? Who can tell what changes these past months 
 may have wrought ? The great change in Roslyn pre- 
 pares him for other changes as great. He came thinking 
 the ball still at his feet, and that with him alone decision 
 was to he ; but now it is suddenly borne in upon him 
 that everything is doubtful, and that the situation may 
 find him unequal to its demands. 
 
 This is so novel an idea to him — that any situation 
 could find him unequal to its demands — that unconscious- 
 ly he relapses into silence — silence which, on her part, 
 Roslyn makes no effort to break. And so they, who 
 parted as lovers, meet again. 
 
 Naturally, however, only themselves can be aware of 
 their changed relations. As Mrs. Arden and Geoffrey 
 stand, gravely talking on the veranda, the unwelcome 
 and to them significant sight which presents itself is 
 Roslyn, advancing toward them, with Laurent walking 
 by her side, his horse's bridle over his arm. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MRS. ARDEN MAKES A SUGGESTION. 
 
 Mrs. Arden is a woman of fertile resource and great 
 decision of character. " Anything that one desires to ac- 
 complish, one generally can accomplish if one only tries 
 long enough and hard enough," she has often said ; and 
 
226 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 having resolved to prevent Iloslyn " from thowing herself 
 away " on Laurent, she is quickened to energy and perse- 
 verance in her resolve by the appearance of that gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " I am afraid there is no hope," Geoffrey says, when 
 they are discussing the matter, soon after the inopportune 
 arrival. " If poor Duncan dies, as I suppose he will, and 
 this fellow inherits Cliffton, Iloslyn will marry him. We 
 can not prevent it." 
 
 " But what has his inheriting Cliffton to do with the 
 matter?" demands Mrs. Arden. "You do not think 
 that would influence Iloslyn ? " 
 
 " Eoslyn — no. But it will influence him. It will 
 make it possible for him to marry. I doubt if it is possi- 
 ble now. And then " — Geoffrey hesitates — " I have rea- 
 son to believe that Colonel Duncan has left all of his for- 
 tune that he could leave to Iloslyn. I know he made his 
 will the other day — I was called to witness it — and, from 
 something Mr. Shelboume let drop, I inferred as much." 
 
 " It would be like him ! " says Mrs. Arden, startled 
 but not surprised, for she remembers the day when 
 Duncan came to her house, eager to secure Roslyn's hap- 
 piness at any cost, and what had then been his inten- 
 tions with regard to her. Is he likely to have less gener- 
 ous intentions in the face of death l " It would be like 
 him ! " she repeats, wiping the tears from her eyes. 
 " And oh, what fools, what fools, women are ! To think 
 of Iloslyn turning away from such a man, for a nobody 
 like this Laurent ! " 
 
 " He is worse than a nobody," says Geoffrey — " a man 
 without character, and I suspect without principle, who 
 I am sure is altogether mercenary in his intentions — " 
 
 " Well, I know Iloslyn," says Mrs. Arden, with en- 
 
MBS. ARDEN MAKES A SUGGESTION. 227 
 
 ergy, " and / am sure of one thing — that she would not 
 marry Mr. Laurent if she could once be fully convinced 
 of his mercenary intentions." 
 
 " But how is it possible to convince her ? ' says Geof- 
 frey. " It does not seem to me that she ought to need 
 any further conviction than his conduct has already af- 
 forded." 
 
 " Women are very foolish sometimes," says Mrs. Ar- 
 den, shaking her head. " It requires a great deal to con- 
 vince them that a man who talks love means money. I 
 wonder has this man any idea that Colonel Duncan may 
 leave his fortune to Roslyn 1 " 
 
 " I hardly think so. Who would tell him ? Only 
 Mr. Shelbourne positively knows." 
 
 " Then I think we may test him," sa) ; s the lady, with 
 an air of reflection. "A thought has occurred to me, 
 though I won't tell you what it is until I see whether it 
 can be executed. It depends, in the first place, upon 
 Colonel Duncan. I know the doctors would forbid my 
 talking to him on such a subject ; but I don't mind them — 
 only I must choose my opportunity when they are away." 
 
 " It will be a risk," says Geoffrey, rather startled by 
 such an announcement. "I don't think I would trouble 
 him about the matter, if I were you, Aunt Lavinia. 
 What can he do, except, perhaps, put a condition in his 
 will that Roslyn shall not inherit the fortune if she mar- 
 ries Laurent ? That would outrage her, and make people 
 talk tremendously." 
 
 " I have no idea of that kind," says Mrs. Arden. 
 " Don't be afraid, Geoffrey ! I have always fancied that 
 I possess an undeveloped talent for intrigue, and now we 
 shall see if I do." 
 
 She goes away smiling; but Geoffrey is not at all 
 
228 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 easy in his mind. He does not fear her "intrigue," ex- 
 cej)t in its result on Colonel Duncan ; but that, he thinks, 
 may be seriously hurtful. To talk to a man in a desper- 
 ate fever on the most exciting topic that could be sug- 
 gested, does not commend itself to him, any more than it 
 would to the doctors, as an advisable thing to do ; and he 
 determines to frustrate Mrs. Arden's purpose if possible. 
 So far, the knowledge of Laurent's arrival has been kept 
 from the sick man ; and Geoffrey is unable to perceive 
 any good end to be gained by informing him of the fact. 
 " I would have given Aunt Lavinia credit for more 
 sense," he thinks. " If Roslyn will throw away her life, 
 in the face of all warnings and expostulations, that is no 
 reason for killing poor Duncan, who is fool enough to 
 care for her, even more than I do." 
 
 Full of an irritation which is comprehensively directed 
 against Mrs. Arden, Laurent, and Roslyn, he walks into 
 the hall, and there comes face to face with the latter, 
 who is entering from the veranda. 
 
 " Geoffrey," she says, somewhat hesitatingly, " Mr. 
 Laurent has returned " (it is now afternoon), " and desires 
 to know if he can not see Colonel Duncan." 
 
 " Mr. Laurent knows what Dr. Kirke told him this 
 morning ; and of course we are bound to observe the 
 doctor's orders until he changes them. He said that 
 Colonel Duncan must on no account be excited or dis- 
 turbed ; and a visit from Mr. Laurent would both excite 
 and disturb him." 
 
 " Will you tell Mr. Laurent so ? " she asks. " He is 
 on the veranda." 
 
 Geoffrey looks at her doubtfully. Why does she want 
 him to go to Laurent ? " Can you not tell him ? " he asks, 
 a little brusquely. 
 
MRS. AEDEN MAKES A SUGGESTION. 229 
 
 "It will be better for you to speak to him," she 
 answers. ''I am going up-stairs." 
 
 "Without giving him time to reply, she turns and passes 
 the staircase, so that he has no alternative but to walk out 
 on the veranda where Laurent is sitting. 
 
 Their meeting, like all their intercourse, is courteous 
 without cordiality. Geoffrey, with the intolerance of 
 youthful feeling, is unable to constrain himself to more 
 than mere civility to a man whom he both dislikes and 
 distrusts ; while Laurent, amused by a reserve which he 
 ascribes entirely to jealousy, treats him with an off-hand 
 carelessness that has sometimes a dash of patronage in it. 
 At the present time, however, the latter is not evident, 
 as he receives with considerable hauteur the decision with 
 regard to Colonel Duncan. 
 
 " I do not feel at all bound to observe Dr. Kirke's 
 orders," he says, "and I must beg that Colonel Duncan 
 shall be informed that I am here. If he declines to see 
 me, that is another matter." 
 
 " I am sorry that it is impossible for me even to do 
 that without the doctor's sanction," replies Geoffrey. 
 
 An angry flush comes to Laurent's face. " Is the 
 doctor not here ? " he asks. " Can I not see him ? " 
 
 " He is not here just now," answers Geoffrey, " but he 
 will be here before long, and then you can appeal to him. 
 Pray understand that I have no desire to assume any re- 
 sponsibility in the matter ; I simply feel bound to observe 
 his directions." 
 
 " A very good rule in general cases," says Laurent, 
 still haughtily, " but in this particular instance you forget 
 that, as Colonel Duncan's nearest relative, I have a right 
 of admittance to his chamber." 
 
 " That," Geoffrey repeats, " I regret to say, you must 
 
230 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. ' 
 
 settle with the doctors. I have nothing to do but to observe 
 their orders. I hope, however, that you may not find it 
 necessary to wait very long to see them. Either Dr. Kirke 
 or Dr. Chelmson will be here in the course of an hour." 
 
 " I shall wait, then," says Laurent, resuming his seat 
 with a quick, impatient movement. 
 
 Geoffrey hesitates for a moment, then sits down also, 
 thinking that Koslyn will return in a few minutes and 
 relieve him ; but minutes pass, and Koslyn does not re- 
 turn — somewhat to his surprise, and more to that of Lau- 
 rent. To the latter, this is a fresh grievance and source 
 of exasperation, which he is not slow to ascribe to Geof- 
 frey also. He feels certain that the latter has said or 
 done something to keep Koslyn away, and his easy indif- 
 ference of feeling begins to be replaced by a quite active 
 sense of resentment and dislike. 
 
 Meanwhile, the stars in their courses appear to fight 
 for the execution of Mrs. Arden's resolution. The ab- 
 sence of the doctors and the detention of Geoffrey afford 
 her just the opportunity she desires. Of the latter fact 
 she is informed by Koslyn, who meets her in the upper 
 hall on her way to Colonel Duncan's room. 
 
 " I wish you would go down-stairs and take Geoffrey 
 to walk, my dear," she says, with fine disinterestedness. 
 " The poor fellow needs a little exercise and diversion." 
 
 " I should be very glad to do so. Aunt Lavinia," Kos- 
 lyn answers, " but unfortunately I can not — Geoffrey is 
 with Mr. Laurent." 
 
 " Indeed ! I did not know that Mr. Laurent is here." 
 
 " He only came a few minutes ago, and wanted to see 
 Colonel Duncan ; so I sent Geoffrey to tell him what the 
 doctors said." 
 
 " He is very persevering — in his desire to see Colonel 
 
MRS. ARDEX MAKES A SUGGESTION. 231 
 
 Duncan," says Mrs. Arden. " I suppose you will go back 
 to entertain and console him % " 
 
 " TsTo," answers Koslyn, quietly. " I sent Geoffrey, be- 
 cause I did not wish to stay." 
 
 The elder lady smiles — a very well-pleased smile. 
 "Two such congenial spirits will entertain each other 
 delightfully. I am very glad that you sent Geoffrey. I 
 am going to see Colonel Duncan, and I will send Mrs. 
 Knight out for a little relief. Suppose you take her to 
 walk « " 
 
 " I shall be very glad to do so," Eoslyn answers, hon- 
 estly. " We can go out the back way, so as not to be seen 
 — or waylaid." 
 
 Having thus arranged matters to her satisfaction, Mrs. 
 Arden enters the sick-chamber and whispers to Mrs. 
 Knight, who is placidly knitting by the window, that she 
 will relieve her for a while. " Go out," she says. u You 
 need fresh air, and Koslyn means to take you to walk." 
 
 Mrs. Knight smiles. "Miss Eoslyn's kind as she 
 can be," she says, " and I think it will do me good to 
 take the air a bit. The coloners quiet now " — nod- 
 ding her head toward the bed where the recumbent fig- 
 ure lay motionless — a and I shouldn't be surprised if he 
 dozed off a little after that last dose of medicine." 
 
 She rises as she speaks, and goes away very quietly ; 
 while Mrs. Arden, hearing a slight movement of the 
 sick man as the door closes, advances to the side of the 
 bed and bends over him. 
 
 He opens his eyes, that shine large and hollow, out 
 of the pallid, wasted face, and looks at her with a faint 
 smile, as she puts her cool fingers on his pulse. 
 
 " I do not think your fever is quite as high as it has 
 been," she says, almost more to herself than to him. 
 
232 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I have been asleep for a few minutes," he says ; 
 " and I think I must have dreamed a little, for I awoke 
 with the sound of Laurent's voice in my ears." 
 
 " Indeed ! " says Mrs. Arden. For a minute she 
 can say no more, so much is she surprised by the opening 
 thus afforded for what she wishes to say ; and so wholly 
 is she at a loss how to take advantage of this opening. 
 But her irresolution is short. She quickly decides that 
 the opportunity shall not find her unequal to it ; and that 
 the risk (if risk there be) must be run. She therefore 
 goes on : 
 
 " You were not dreaming, or else you slept so lightly 
 that real sounds mingled with your dream, for Mr. Lau- 
 rent is here, and you probably heard his voice through 
 the open window." 
 
 She speaks very quietly ; and is glad to see that, 
 though Colonel Duncan looks surprised, he is neither 
 disturbed nor excited. He is silent for a moment before 
 saying : 
 
 " When did he come ? " 
 
 " This morning. He is very anxious to see you ; but 
 Dr. Kirke did not think it well that he should do so." 
 
 " There is no reason why he should." He says this 
 indifferently, and is silent again for a minute. Then 
 there comes a wistful expression into the eyes that, even 
 before his lips unclose, tell her what is in his mind. 
 
 " Has he " — he hesitates for an instant — " do you 
 know why he has come ? " 
 
 " To see you," she answers, promptly. " At least he 
 says that it was hearing of your accident and illness that 
 brought him." 
 
 Duncan's lip curls into a slight, scornful smile. 
 
 " That is likely," he says. " There is much involved 
 
MRS. ARDEN MAKES A SUGGESTION. 233 
 
 — for him. But he will inherit no more than my uncle's 
 will gives him. I have taken care of that." 
 
 Then the fear of consequences vanishes from the 
 mind of Mrs. Arden, as she sees this opening given her 
 — a far better opening than she could possibly have hoped 
 
 for. 
 
 " Pardon me," she says, quickly ; " but since you 
 have spoken of the matter yourself, I must ask this : in 
 providing against that danger, have you not opened the 
 way to a greater one 1 I mean " — for he looks at her in 
 surprise — " have you not left your fortune to Roslyn ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answers ; " I have done so. AVhy do you 
 speak of it as a danger ? " 
 
 " Because I perceive what you have overlooked — the 
 probable result," she says. " God grant, for every rea- 
 son, that yon may live to enjoy your fortune yourself ; 
 for so surely as it passes to Roslyn, so surely will she 
 marry Laurent ! " 
 
 A brief silence follows. The sick man lies and gazes 
 with his hollow eyes at the stream of golden sunshine 
 pouring in long rays across the room ; and Mrs. Arden 
 watches him and wonders if she has done any mischief, 
 or if she can venture to proceed. 
 
 " I must" she says to herself. " This is my only 
 chance." 
 
 But, just as she is opening her lips, he speaks — slowly, 
 as one who is pondering a new thought. 
 
 " I did not consider that," he says. " I thought, I 
 hoped, that he had gone out of her life. Surely she is 
 not the woman we believe her to be, if she would accept 
 a man who waited until she inherited a fortune to ask 
 her to marry him." 
 
 " I do not know — the position in which she stands to 
 
23± ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 him is not quite clear to me," says Mrs. Arden ; " but I 
 do not think that matters are at an end between them, 
 by any means. This," she adds, quickly, " is only my 
 impression, however. Roslyn has said nothing to me." 
 
 " It may be a right impression," says Duncan ; " but 
 what can we do ? Last summer, as you know, I was 
 willing to smooth away the obstacles between them ; but 
 now — having learned, in the interval, a great deal about 
 Laurent's character — I would place any obstacle that I 
 could in the way of her marrying him." 
 
 " There is one obstacle which you might place," says 
 Mrs. Arden, eagerly. " Shall I tell you what it is ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answers, his eyes growing bright with ex- 
 cited interest, and the fever-flush, which she is too ab- 
 sorbed to notice, deepening on his wasted cheeks. 
 
 " You must forgive me," she says, " if I speak very 
 plainly ; but I know what is best for her happiness and 
 yours — ask her to marry you ! " 
 
 He looks at her in amazement — as if he doubted 
 either her sanity or the evidence of his own senses. 
 
 " Ask her to marry me ! " he repeats. " In the first 
 place, I have done so, and she said that she could not 
 think of it. In the second place, do you know that the 
 doctors think me a dying man % " 
 
 " Not a dying man — only a man in danger of death," 
 says Mrs. Arden. "I do not pretend to disguise the 
 fact of your danger from you ; and I know that you have 
 faced it in your own flioughts, else I should not venture 
 to speak of it. But I believe that, whether it be for life 
 or for death, the best thing that could happen to Roslyn 
 would be to become your wife." 
 
 " You have not thought of what you are suggesting," 
 he says, with an agitation which begins to alarm her. 
 
MRS. ABDEX MAKES A SUGGESTION. 235 
 
 " Through her sympathy she might be induced to think 
 of such a thing — but if I lived, she would be bound to a 
 man she did not love ; and if I died, she would be as free 
 to do what you wish to prevent, as if such an empty 
 ceremony had never taken place." 
 
 "I look at the matter very differently," she says, 
 eagerly. "If you lived, Hoslyn would, I am sure, make 
 as happy and as attached a wife as you could desire ; 
 while, if you died, she would be compelled to wait for 
 some time at least, before marrying Laurent — and, with 
 that time secured, I do not believe she would marry him 
 at all." 
 
 " But the apparent selfishness of such a request ! " 
 
 " There would be no selfishness if you left the decis- 
 ion to her, and put your request on the ground that you 
 wish to secure your fortune to her beyond the danger of 
 any contest. Think of this — pray think of it ! ' she says, 
 hurriedly, " for I hear the doctors' voices, and I can say 
 no more. Heavens ! what would they do to me if they 
 knew what I have said already ? " 
 
 " Stop a minute," he exclaims, as she rises — and his 
 hand clutches her dress. " I can not deny that what you 
 propose would be to me a great happiness ; but I have 
 never for an instant thought of asking — I could not for 
 an instant think of asking it on that ground. But when 
 you speak of Roslyn, and of the danger to which she is 
 exposed, I can only say : I put myself in your hands. 
 Do what you will, so that you make clear to her that 
 I do not ask this on my own account ; and that I will 
 not ask it on any account, unless the doctors distinctly 
 declare that there is no hope for my life. I will not 
 consent to run any risk of her being tied to a man who 
 may live instead of die. But if she will take my name 
 
236 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 and my fortune from me on my death-bed, I shall be 
 grateful." 
 
 " I will tell her. Trust me, and do not think of it 
 again ! " cries Mrs. Arden, really frightened now, to 
 consider what may be the probable result of this agita- 
 tion. " Leave the matter in my hands ; I promise you I 
 will do what you wish, and as you wish. Don't excite 
 yourself ! — don't let your fever grow worse ! I shall 
 never forgive myself if this harms you." 
 
 " I don't think there is any danger that it will," he 
 says, with another faint smile ; " but if it does, it is no 
 matter. I have done my work in the world as well as I 
 could, and I leave no one whose g^ief for me will darken 
 an hour of life : so why should I fear the coming of 
 death ? " 
 
 " You do not know how many there are who would 
 feel that your going darkened life for them," says Mrs. 
 Arden, hurriedly ; " else you would not think this." 
 
 But, as she speaks, tears gather thickly in her eyes at 
 the realization of the truth of his words. Gallant and 
 noble and true though his life has been, many a worth- 
 less existence would, in going out, leave a greater blank 
 behind it ; for the place which we hold in the world is 
 measured exactly by the hearts that love us — not in the 
 general sense of friendship, but in the particular sense of 
 that close affection which death has no power to sever — 
 in which Fate had made Hugo Duncan poor indeed. 
 
EOSLYN CONSENTS. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 ROSLYN CONSENTS. 
 
 It is certainly in Geoffrey's mind to wonder what 
 spirit, intriguing or otherwise, has taken possession of 
 Mrs. Arden, when, after the doctors have gone up-stairs, 
 she appears on the veranda, and greets Laurent with a 
 graciousness which leaves nothing to be desired. 
 
 "Dr. Kirke is still obdurate, I perceive, about per- 
 mitting you to see Colonel Duncan," she says, as she 
 gives the young man her hand. " You must pardon 
 him. He is always a tyrant in a sick-room ; and this case 
 is one in which he is particularly interested." 
 
 " That is natural," replies Laurent ; " but what I feel 
 is, that Dr. Kirke should realize that /am particularly 
 interested, also — and probably more deeply interested 
 than he is." 
 
 "But if you are so deeply interested, you certainly 
 would not wish to run even the least risk that might be 
 hurtful to Colonel Duncan ? " says Mrs. Arden, looking at 
 him with keenly observant eyes. 
 
 " Certainly not," he answers, promptly ; " but I do 
 not believe that my presence could have any hurtful 
 effect upon him. Why should it % " 
 
 Xo one attempts to answer this question. Mrs. Ar- 
 den only says : 
 
 " The doctor has the responsibility of the case, you 
 know, and must guard against any danger." 
 
 " I should not like to characterize the doctor exactly," 
 
233 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 says Laurent, " but he has agreed to mention to Colonel 
 Duncan that I am here, if he finds him no worse than he 
 left him this morning." 
 
 " Well, that is a concession with which I think you 
 ought to be satisfied," says Mrs. Arden. " Meanwhile, 
 you will take tea with ns ? " 
 
 The invitation is, within the bounds of civility, un- 
 avoidable, but to Geoffrey it seems altogether superfluous ; 
 and turning quickly as Laurent answers, " I shall be very 
 happy," he walks around the veranda, which nearly sur- 
 rounds the building, and is rewarded by meeting Roslyn 
 and Mrs. Knight at a side entrance. 
 
 " Why, where have you been ? " he asks, in much 
 surprise, as the girl comes up to the steps, and pauses 
 beside him. 
 
 " I have been taking a walk with Mrs. Knight," she 
 says ; " and I should have asked you to go with us, only 
 you were engaged, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know," he replies, with a vain attempt at 
 reproof of look and tone. "Pray, whose fault was it 
 that I was engaged ? " 
 
 " Mine, if you like," she answers, carelessly. " I 
 thought it was more your place than mine to entertain 
 Mr. Laurent." 
 
 " I assure you that Mr. Laurent did not think so. I 
 never saw a man more disgusted than he looked when 
 you did not return. I was surprised myself. I thought 
 you certainly meant to come back." 
 
 " No " — she shakes her head — " I had no such inten- 
 tion. Mr. Laurent came to see Colonel Duncan, not to 
 see me." 
 
 " Roslyn " — a new fear strikes Geoffrey — " you are not 
 vexed about that \ " 
 
ROSLYN CONSENTS. 239 
 
 " Vexed ! " She lifts her eyes a little indignantly. 
 " Do you think I could be so petty — even if I cared ? 
 No ; what I felt was, that I would not let him do one 
 thing under cover of doing another : and I did not act 
 without good reason, Geoffrey." 
 
 " I am sure of that," says Geoffrey, warmly. " You 
 were perfectly right, and I enjoyed amazingly seeing the 
 disappointment and disgust grow more and more evident 
 on his face ; but I am sorry to say that Aunt Lavinia 
 has asked him to stay to tea." 
 
 " How could she avoid doing so ? You see it is sun- 
 set now. I do not mind that — I feel quite equal to the 
 occasion." 
 
 " I think you are quite equal to it," says Geoffrey, 
 smiling at her. " But where are you going ? — just when 
 I have a little opportunity to talk to you ! " 
 
 " I am going to make a slight improvement in my 
 toilet. See how my hair is falling down ! — and my dress 
 is soiled from the walk." 
 
 She nods, smiles, and, walking across the veranda, is 
 about to enter a glass door which stands open, when 
 a sudden thought seems to strike her, and she turns 
 back. 
 
 " Geoff," she says, almost in a whisper, " you don't 
 know how frivolous I feel when I talk of such trifling 
 things in the face of anything so grave and serious as 
 Colonel Duncan's illness. I suppose the coming of — of 
 Mr. Laurent has made me think, even more than I have 
 before, of all his goodness and generosity and unselfish- 
 ness. No one is like him ! " says the girl, with a rush of 
 tears in her voice ; " and he is dying, perhaps, and I — I to 
 whom he has been so more than kind — I can care whether 
 my hair is smooth, or whether Mr. Laurent comes or 
 
240 " BOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 goes ! Geoff, you ought to despise me, for I despise my- 
 self." 
 
 " I see no reason to despise you," says Geoffrey. " Of 
 course, it is sad to think of Duncan ; but you can not be 
 overshadowed by the sadness all the time." 
 
 " But I ought to be ! — who in the world ought to be, 
 if not I ? " she says. " It is strange that he should care 
 for any one so like a doll or a child ; but he does — you 
 know that he does. And I — " 
 
 She turns quickly and goes away without pausing 
 again, leaving Geoffrey in his inexperience to marvel 
 over the incomprehensible moods and variations of the 
 feminine nature. 
 
 He has reason to marvel over them still more before 
 the evening ends. Koslyn makes her appearance at tea 
 dressed simply, but with a simplicity that greatly en- 
 hances her beauty ; and her manner to Laurent is 
 worthy of the approval and admiration with which Mrs. 
 Arden regards it. It is easy, natural, sufficiently cordial, 
 yet indifferent. Eeserve may mean constraint, injured 
 feeling, suppressed passion — anything ; but in Roslyn's 
 manner there is no shade of effort. If Laurent's pres- 
 ence has power to move her in any way, Laurent owns to 
 himself that he can read no sign of it. She looks at him 
 with unshadowed eyes ; and her voice takes no different 
 tone in addressing him from that which it takes in ad- 
 dressing any one else. 
 
 In truth, the chief secret of her unconcern is preoccu- 
 pation of thought ; for she, like every one else, reads on 
 Dr. Kirke's face the evidence of anxiety. 
 
 " I found Colonel Duncan's pulse much higher than 
 it should have been," he has said to Mrs. Arden — whose 
 guilty conscience accuses her most clamorously — " and it 
 
ROSLYN CONSENTS. 241 
 
 is a sign that alarms me very much. I shall stay until 
 midnight to watch the effect of the medicine I am giv- 
 ing — and, after that, Chelmson will take my place. The 
 patient can not be too closely attended now, nor all causes 
 of excitement too carefully kept from him." 
 
 Mrs. Arden silences her guilty conscience sufficiently 
 to say : 
 
 " You do not intend to let Mr. Laurent see him, 
 then ? " 
 
 The old physician makes a gesture of contemptuous 
 dissent. " I never entertained such an idea ! ' he says. 
 " Mr. Laurent would probably have very little power to 
 excite him ; but, except for some good reason, I am not 
 going to run any risk — not the least." 
 
 " TThat would he say if he knew what 1 have done ? " 
 thinks Mrs. Arden, though she can not bring herself to 
 regret it. 
 
 Laurent, on his part, has received the decision of the 
 doctor without further remonstrance, appreciating fully 
 how useless such remonstrance would prove in the face 
 of Dr. Kirke's resolution and increased anxiety. He 
 only expresses his intention of remaining during part, at 
 least, of the night, and hopes that he may be of service in 
 some way. 
 
 It has been already said that Roslyn reads the mean- 
 ing of the shadow on the doctor's face, and after tea she 
 waylays him in the hall. He had paused a minute in the 
 sitting-room, to give Geoffrey a prescription which he 
 wishes sent at once into Kirton — and, when he comes 
 out, a figure in white is standing by the staircase. 
 
 " Please excuse me, doctor " — it is Roslyn's voice 
 that speaks — " I know you don't like troublesome ques- 
 tions ; but is Colonel Duncan worse f " 
 11 
 
242 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 The tremulous anxiety of her tone is not lost on the 
 doctor's ear, and, looking into the upturned face, he sees 
 that this anxiety is very genuine. 
 
 " I don't so much object to troublesome questions," 
 he says, " as I object to questions which I can not an- 
 swer. Colonel Duncan is not very much worse just now, 
 but there are indications that he may be seriously worse 
 before long. That is exactly the truth." 
 
 Exactly the truth, because spoken, as he thinks, to 
 ears indifferent, save from the interest of friendship; 
 but, as he passes on, a sob rises in the throat of the girl 
 whom he leaves. 
 
 " I know he will die ! 1 am sure he will die ! " she 
 thinks. " People who are useful and would be missed, 
 always die — and worthless, ungrateful people live." 
 
 "Whether or not she stands in her own mind for the 
 type of worthless ingratitude, it is a very subdued Hos- 
 ]yn who presently joins the group now returned to the 
 veranda, where the soft moonlit night is as bright as 
 day. 
 
 "I was just wondering what had become of you," 
 says Geoffrey, as she appears. 
 
 " And I was just fearing that you had deserted us 
 again," says Laurent, speaking in a tone of reproach. 
 During the afternoon he had determined to play the role 
 of injured indignation ; but, when he met Roslyn at tea, 
 her manner at once changed his intention. 
 
 " I stopped to speak to Dr. Kirke," says the girl, as 
 she sits down ; while the moonlight, falling on her face, 
 shows what a troubled look it wears. " He is very uneasy 
 about Colonel Duncan." 
 
 " What an unfortunate accident it was for you that 
 Duncan should have been brought here ! ' says Laurent, 
 
'ROSLTN CONSENTS. 243 
 
 " A thing of this kind affects one just in proportion as it 
 is near one." 
 
 " I think I should have felt for him just the same if 
 he had been at Cliffton," she says, with a little indigna- 
 tion in her voice. " But even if I had not realized the 
 sadness quite so much, I could not on that account wish 
 that he had been taken where he might not have had as 
 much care as he has had here." 
 
 " He must wish it himself, I should think," says Lau- 
 rent. " One does not like to be the cause of so much 
 trouble in another person's house." 
 
 "I hope Colonel Duncan trusts our friendship too 
 much to imagine that we think of any trouble," says 
 Mrs. Arden. "If he only can recover — " Then she 
 pauses. 
 
 " Oh, men often recover after doctors have read their 
 death-warrants," says Laurent. " But I think we ought 
 to change the subject," he continues, looking at Roslyn's 
 face. " Miss Yardray grows more and more sad. — Can I 
 not divert your mind % " he asks, addressing her directly. 
 " Will the moonlight tempt you to take a short walk 
 around the garden % " 
 
 " Neither the moonlight nor you," she answers. " I 
 do not feel like walking." 
 
 After this rebuff, which makes it sufficiently plain 
 that she desires no tete-d-tete with him, Laurent makes no 
 further attempt to secure one. 
 
 " It is just as well," he thinks ; " there is no telling 
 what folly I might utter if I were alone with her." 
 
 So the evening passes in attempts at conversation, 
 which are neither cheerful nor very well sustained. 
 Mrs. Arden and Geoffrey are several times called away, 
 and more than once are both absent for a considerable 
 
244 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE, 
 
 time ; but Roslyn feels no uneasiness about her power of 
 keeping Laurent in check. Only once, as if unable to 
 refrain from speaking that of which his thoughts are full, 
 he looks at her wistfully, and says : 
 
 " It was at night and by moonlight that I saw you 
 last ; but that was July, and this is October." 
 
 " Three months ! " says the girl, indifferently. " Quite 
 a long or quite a short time, according as one looks at it. 
 It seems rather long to me, because so much has been 
 crowded into it." 
 
 " And how long do you think it has seemed to me ? " 
 he asks — a vibration of meaning in his voice that is 
 very clear to her. 
 
 " How can I tell ? " she answers, carelessly. " Very 
 short, I dare say. It really is a short time — and you, I 
 presume, have had no novel experiences to make it seem 
 long." 
 
 " I have had one very novel experience," he says, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 Roslyn does not ask what it is. In proportion as the 
 conversation grows personal, she is aware that it grows 
 dangerous ; and she therefore makes a diversion. 
 
 " I think I hear the sound of wheels," she says. " Dr. 
 Chelmson must be coming." 
 
 It is Dr. Chelmson, who a few minutes later drives 
 up ; and after hearing his report on Colonel Duncan's 
 case — which is as discouraging as that of his colleague — 
 Laurent takes his departure, saying that he will return 
 the next morning. 
 
 An hour later Roslyn has gone to her room ; and, hav- 
 ing extinguished her light, is sitting by the window, with 
 as little disposition to sleep as it is possible for any one 
 to have, when Mrs. Arden opens the door. 
 
ROSLYN CONSENTS. 245 
 
 "Is that you, my dear?" she asks, seeing the white 
 figure in the moonlight. " I thought probably you had 
 not gone to bed. Do you mind if I come in for a short 
 while I " 
 
 " I shall be very glad if you will," answers Koslyn. 
 " I have been sitting here looking at the moonlight, and 
 I don't find it cheerful at all — I suppose because I am 
 not cheerful." 
 
 Mrs. Arden's ear is quick to catch the sound of re- 
 pressed tears in her voice ; and she wonders a little over 
 their cause, as she closes the door and comes forward. 
 
 " You ought to go to bed and forget sad thoughts," she 
 says, kindly. " We can not have you made melancholy. 
 Mr. Laurent was right, perhaps, in saying that, after all, 
 it was a pity Colonel Duncan was brought here." 
 
 " I thought it a very selfish speech — I mean a speech 
 that showed selfish feeling," says Koslyn ; " but I had no 
 right to reproach him, for I have made many just as self- 
 ish. It is true I thought then Colonel Duncan would 
 get well ; but that was no excuse." 
 
 " You did not mean them, I am sure," says Mrs. Ar- 
 den. " You were only thoughtless — never selfish." 
 
 " One is as sorry sometimes for thoughtlessness as for 
 selfishness," says the girl, looking away, out over the sil- 
 ver-flooded landscape. 
 
 " At least you have had no real thought that was not 
 kind," says Mrs. Arden ; "and as for what poor Hugo 
 Duncan thinks of you — that I can scarcely tell you." 
 
 " You have no need to tell me," the girl says, in a 
 low voice. " I know ; and that is what cuts me to the 
 heart. He has given me everything ; and I have given 
 him nothing — hardly a kind word ; not even an anxious 
 thought." 
 
246 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " You are reproaching yourself too much," says Mrs. 
 Arden ; but in this self-reproach she sees a better ground 
 than she had hoped to find for her scheme. She realizes 
 that the situation is in her own hands ; and that it will 
 be very easy to influence Roslyn to her purpose, if she 
 approaches the point with care and skill. 
 
 " It is as well, perhaps, that you have not known him 
 as he deserves to be known," she says, after a moment's 
 pause. " It is better to reproach yourself for having felt 
 too little, than to suffer as you would necessarily suffer 
 if you had felt more. Ah ! " — it is a very genuine sigh — 
 " I should be sorry if any woman who loved Hugo Dun- 
 can were here now ! " 
 
 " You think he is so certain to die ? " asks Roslyn, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 " I don't think the doctors have much hope ; and his 
 situation is certainly very critical and dangerous. Since 
 it is so," she adds, after a minute of hesitation and reflec- 
 tion, " I feel that I must not delay telling you something 
 which he told me to-day — something which concerns you 
 very much." 
 
 The tone in which these words are uttered is more 
 expressive than are the words themselves; and Eoslyn 
 turns her face around with a quick motion of surprise. 
 
 " Something which concerns me very much ? " she 
 says. " What was it, Aunt Lavinia ? " 
 
 Mrs. Arden leans forward and takes her hand — a lit- 
 tle, soft, chill hand. 
 
 " You reproach yourself because you have never given 
 Hugo Duncan anything in return for all that he has given 
 you," she says. "Are you willing to give him some- 
 thing — a great thing to him, yet a slight thing to you, for 
 he only asks it in case he is dying ? " 
 
EOSLYN CONSENTS. 2±7 
 
 " I can not imagine anything that I would not give 
 him if he asked it," answers Roslyn. " But I have no 
 idea what it can be." 
 
 " He asked you for your love once, my dear," says 
 the elder lady ; " and you told him that you could not 
 give it. He asks now that, in case he is dying — 're- 
 member,' he said, ' only in case I am dying ' — you will let 
 him give you his name and his fortune." 
 
 Silence follows these words, for Roslyn is so much 
 astonished that she hardly takes in the full meaning of 
 what she has heard. 
 
 " His name and his fortune ! " she repeats, after a 
 minute. " I do not understand — w r hat does he mean ? " 
 
 " Simply that you will marry him, my dear," answers 
 Mrs. Arden. " Not for his own sake," she adds, hastily, 
 seeing the girl shrink, " but for yours. He wishes to 
 leave you his fortune — he has already done so in his will 
 — but, to put the matter beyond all danger of contest, he 
 desires to leave it in this way." 
 
 " But I can not — I can not ! " says Roslyn, in a chok- 
 ing tone. " To do for money what I would not do for 
 love — oh, I should feel as if it were too base ! " 
 
 " There is no reason for such a feeling," says Mrs. Ar- 
 den. "Look at the matter in this light — the light in 
 which he will regard it — that you do it, not for money, 
 but to gratify a dying man, who loves you devotedly : to 
 make him secure that what he wishes you to have, you 
 will have ; and to show a last appreciation of all he has 
 desired to do for you. If you know how much this has 
 been — how nobly and how utterly he has been willing to 
 set aside self to serve you — think of it, and I am sure the 
 thought will make you feel that this last favor will be a 
 small one for you to grant." 
 
248 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Almost unconsciously to herself, Mrs. Arden's voice 
 has taken a tone of pleading that is not lost on Roslyn. 
 The latter is already wrought to a state of feeling which 
 seconds such an appeal powerfully ; and when to the 
 forces of pity, regret, and reproach, this eager persuasion 
 is added, the result is not difficult to forecast. 
 
 " You think I ought to do it 'I " she asks, breathlessly. 
 
 " I do not see how you can hesitate," answers Mrs. Ar- 
 den, inrpulsively. "Remember that he does not ask you 
 to run any risk of his living — on that point he was most 
 emphatic. Only in case the doctors declare he must die, 
 does he ask you to do this." 
 
 " He is always generous and thoughtful," says the girl 
 in a stifled voice. " Yes, I will do it — how can I refuse ? 
 But, O Aunt Lavinia, it does seem horrible to say, ' only 
 in case he is dying.' " 
 
 " My dear, how could he ask it otherwise ? — and how 
 could you grant it otherwise ? " 
 
 There is no answer ; and, after a moment, Mrs. Arden 
 goes on : 
 
 " Another thing which I would like to say to you is 
 about Mr. Laurent. I do not know — and pray under- 
 stand that I do not ask — how matters stand between you ; 
 but if you have any distrust of him, any desire to test 
 him, and discover how far he is governed by mercenary 
 hopes and wishes, this will give you an opportunity to do 
 so. Tell him to-morrow what you think of doing, and 
 see what he will say." 
 
 " I do not need to test him," says Hoslyn, proudly. 
 " I understand him thoroughly." 
 
 "Nevertheless, it is well to be certain," says Mrs. 
 Arden. "If he is weighed in the balance, and found 
 wanting, you will be justified in believing what you now 
 
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. 249 
 
 only suspect. But I must not stay any longer," she says, 
 abruptly, as the striking of a clock in the hall breaks the 
 silence of the house. " You must go to bed, my dear, or 
 else we shall have a very pale Roslyn to-morrow. Good- 
 night. Try to sleep, and not to think." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WEIGHED IN" THE BALANCE. 
 
 Notwithstanding Mrs. Arden's injunction to the con- 
 trary, Roslyn passes the remainder of the night in think- 
 ing rather than in sleeping. It is long after she is left 
 alone before she even lies down ; and then the hours, as 
 they go, leave her as wakeful as they found her. Dawn 
 is breaking before the lids at last close over her eves and 
 she falls asleep. 
 
 When she wakes it is with a sense of having overslept 
 her usual hour of rising, and she is scarcely surprised to 
 find Lettice standing by the bed, looking at her with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Why, Lettice ! ' she says, springing with a start to 
 an upright position. Am I very late ? — or are you very 
 early ? " 
 
 " It is you who are very late," answers Lettice. " I 
 found breakfast over when I came in ; and Mrs. Arden 
 said that you had been awake late last night, so she would 
 not allow you to be disturbed." 
 
 "Yes," says Roslyn, with a shadow of recollection 
 falling over her face. " I was late last night, and — how 
 is Colonel Duncan this morning?" 
 
250 BOSLYWS FORTUNE. 
 
 " No better, I was told," answers Lettice, gravely. " I 
 think Dr. Kirke is very anxious about him." 
 
 Roslyn does not answer. The memory of last night, 
 of all that Mrs. Arden said, and of her own promise, is 
 too strongly in her mind for her to be able to speak on 
 the subject in her usual manner ; so without a word she 
 rises and begins to dress. 
 
 Lettice watches her some time, silent but observant, 
 according to her usual fashion. Then she says, abruptly : 
 
 " And so Mr. Laurent has come — at last ! I expected 
 him some time ago. "What has delayed him % " 
 
 " 1 have not inquired," Roslyn answers, indifferently. 
 " He came yesterday — to see Colonel Duncan. That is 
 all I know." 
 
 " To see Colonel Duncan ! " repeats Lettice. " Well, 
 yes — no doubt he is deeply interested in Colonel Dun- 
 can ; but I fancy he is more interested in something else, 
 Roslyn." 
 
 " Perhaps so/' says Roslyn ; (i but it is a question I do 
 not care to speculate upon, as I have no knowledge of 
 Mr. Laurent's subjects of interest. Now, will you come 
 and breakfast with me ? " 
 
 " I have breakfasted, but I will go down with you," 
 says Lettice, rising, and feeling as if some change which 
 she did not understand had come over Roslyn. 
 
 No one could be more conscious of the change than 
 Roslyn herself, as she walks past the door of Colonel 
 Duncan's room, and wonders with a sense of awe and dis- 
 may whether Mrs. Arden's proposal of the night before 
 may not have been a dream or a hallucination. 
 
 The first look at Mrs. Arden's face, when thev meet 
 in the hall below, assures her, however, that it was 
 neither. The elder lady's glance is eager, interrogative, 
 
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. 251 
 
 full of interest and anxiety. Yet her words are sim- 
 ple. 
 
 " I would not let you be disturbed, my dear," she 
 says, " because I kept you awake so late last night. I 
 hope you feel well to-day ? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you, Aunt Lavinia," answers Kos- 
 lyn ; but she does not repeat the question which she has 
 already asked Lettice — the inquiry about Colonel Duncan 
 which is usually first on her lips in the morning. " I 
 shall hear soon enough," she thinks ; and then she goes 
 into the breakfast-room. 
 
 While she is sitting there, drinking some coffee, and 
 trying rather unsuccessfully to eat, Geoffrey comes in. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mademoiselle Laziness," he says, 
 with his cheerful smile. " You were certainly determined 
 not to be the early bird that catches the worm, or the 
 worm that is caught by the early bird, this morning. 
 Laurent is here to represent either bird or worm, as the 
 case may be, however." 
 
 " For shame, Geoffrey ! " she answers. " What dis- 
 agreeable comparisons and suggestions ! Sit down and 
 entertain Lettice. I am so stupid that she looks discon- 
 solate." 
 
 " Geoffrey need not sit down to entertain me," says 
 Lettice, " for I have been only waiting until you finished 
 your breakfast — or pretense of breakfast — to say good- 
 by. I just ran over for a little while, to hear how Colo- 
 nel Duncan is, and to have a glimpse of you." 
 
 " But you have not had a glimpse of me yet," says 
 Roslyn, " and I want you to stay ; so you must stay." 
 
 " Must I ? I think not, with your majesty's permis- 
 sion. I never knew any one to whom the imperative 
 mood came so naturally." 
 
252 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Geoffrey has sj^oiled me, and so have you. But 
 please stay, Lettice. I am in earnest when I say that I 
 want you." 
 
 " Kot very much, I think," says Lettice. " You don't 
 want me yet — you have not decided what or how much 
 to tell me. When you do decide, if you have any real 
 need of me, you can come to me, or send for me. Mean- 
 while, I must go home." 
 
 "I will go with you," says Geoffrey; who, being a 
 good deal puzzled himself by the existing state of affairs, 
 feels that he would like a confidential talk. 
 
 Lettice understands him, and says nothing dissuasive 
 of his attention as she takes up her parasol. " A pack- 
 horse to bear other people's burdens is what I was made 
 for," she said once a little bitterly to Eoslyn — but at 
 least she is a willing pack-horse ; and for no burdens 
 so willing as for those of Geoffrey Thorne. 
 
 Roslyn says nothing to detain Geoffrey, nor makes 
 any further attempt to persuade Lettice to remain. See- 
 ing that she is destined to a tete-a-tete with Laurent, she 
 determines to make the use of it which Mrs. Arden has 
 suggested ; and, as far as may be, to test him thoroughly. 
 
 "I am tired of uncertainty," she thinks. "I must 
 know whether they are right or wrong. He shall be 
 weighed in the balance, and, if found wanting, I am done 
 with him once and forever. What do I hope ? what do 
 I desire ? I am sure I do not know. I feel as if I were 
 being impelled by circumstances toward some end which 
 I have not wisdom enough either to desire or to seek." 
 
 " Eoslvn ! " 
 
 It is Mrs. Arden's voice speaking unexpectedly ; and 
 the girl lifts her head with a start from the hands which 
 have been supporting it. 
 
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. 253 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Lavinia," she says. " What is it ? " 
 
 "Nothing startling," answers Mrs. Arden, observing 
 the expression of apprehension in her eyes. " I only 
 came to say that Mr. Laurent wants to know if he may 
 not have the pleasure of seeing you this morning." 
 
 " There is no reason why he should not," Roslyn re- 
 plies, as she rises. " I was just thinking that I would go 
 to him, else he may fancy that I am afraid of him." 
 
 " He is not likely to fancy that," says Mrs. Arden, 
 looking with a smile at the proud young face. " But 
 you had better go ; and pray, remember what I suggested 
 last night." 
 
 " I shall not forget," Roslyn answers. Then she 
 pauses an instant. " Was it a dream, Aunt Lavinia," she 
 says, wistfully — " the other which you suggested % I al- 
 most think it must have been." 
 
 " No, my dear," the elder lady answers ; " it was not 
 a dream. I hope you do not mean that you regret your 
 promise ? " 
 
 " No," the girl answers, gravely ; " I do not regret 
 having made it ; but I hope — oh, I hope very much that 
 I may not be called on to fulfill it ! " 
 
 With this, she walks away, leaving Mrs. Arden to 
 look after her anxiously ; and wonder whether she had 
 not better have left things to take their course. 
 
 Such a doubt as this is not likely long to prevail in a 
 mind so well-poised and well-satisfied as her own ; and 
 she is considering what her next step shall be, by the 
 time Eoslyn is shaking hands with Laurent. 
 
 The latter is standing in one of the open French win- 
 dows of the drawing-room when, hearing a light tread, 
 and the sweep of a dress across the floor, he turns quickly, 
 with such a light of pleasure leaping over his handsome 
 
254 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 face, that Roslyn — who, up to this time, has steeled her- 
 self against him — suddenly feels, with a sharp pang, how 
 hard, how very hard, it is to doubt him. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you ! " he says, impulsively. 
 " I really began to fear you were not coming." 
 
 " I am very late this morning," she answers, " and 
 have jnst breakfasted. If people come so early, they 
 must expect to wait," she adds, with a smile. 
 
 " I came early because I was anxious to hear how 
 Duncan spent the night," he says. " Before I left Kir- 
 ton it was reported that he was either dying or dead." 
 
 " But it is not so bad as that," says Roslyn, with all 
 the color suddenly leaving her cheeks. " I believe he is 
 no better, but not worse — not so much worse." 
 
 " No, the doctors say that his condition is much the 
 same ; but, since he is no better, they fear the worst. It 
 is a sad case ; and I am sorry that there seems no pros- 
 pect of my being able to see him." 
 
 " Is there no prospect of that ? " 
 
 " The doctors are unwilling, and of course I do not 
 desire to press the point." 
 
 Silence for a moment. Hoslyn looks out with trou- 
 bled eyes over the brilliant world, thinking of Duncan, 
 and of what hangs for her upon his life or death ; while 
 Laurent, watching her face, and failing to read her 
 thoughts, presently speaks. 
 
 " I must repeat what I said last night, that this is a 
 most unfortunate state of affairs in its result upon you. 
 I never saw any one so changed as you seem to be." 
 
 " Am I ? " she says, coming back hastily to the recol- 
 lection of things immediately around her. " It is not 
 strange. I have much to change me — much besides the 
 sadness, I mean." 
 
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. 255 
 
 " May I ask what 1 " (in a tone of solicitude which she 
 well remembers). " Surely you know that there is no 
 one whose interest in all that concerns you is deeper than 
 my own," 
 
 " I do not know that at all," she answers, " and I 
 should give my other friends poor appreciation if I be- 
 lieved it ; but I am not sure that you have not a right to 
 know something which is at present concerning me." 
 
 Her manner, even more than her words, surprises him. 
 She looks at him with grave, quiet eyes ; and he, aston- 
 ished and uncertain, replies : 
 
 " I have the right of a deep interest, at least You 
 will do me great injustice if yon doubt that." 
 
 She smiles a little — a smile which means, " You 
 have a deeper interest than you know " ; but he is not 
 able to read the meaning, and it puzzles him. By this 
 time his curiosity is awakened, and his interest stimu- 
 lated. The fair face at which he looks baffles as well as 
 charms him, and no man likes to be baffled — especially 
 by a woman. 
 
 " Yes, I will tell you," she says, quietly, " because I 
 feel that, being Colonel Duncan's nearest relative, you 
 have a right to hear. You must know, then, that, in his 
 generous kindness, he desires to leave his fortune to me " 
 — her eyes, that do not swerve from the face before her, 
 read all the change that comes over it as she utters these 
 words — " and he thinks that the best way to do this will 
 be for me to marry him." 
 
 Her voice stops, and it is fully a minute before Laurent 
 can decide what to say, or find words in which to utter 
 it. This revelation is so wholly unexpected, that he can 
 not at once see what it is best to do, or how he should 
 face it. He is conscious that his countenance has be- 
 
256 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 trayed his dismay ; but after a quick reflection, a quick 
 rallying of his forces, he hopes that this dismay can be 
 turned to good account. 
 
 " And do you mean to do it % " he asks, at length, his 
 voice quivering despite his efforts to control it, and his 
 eyes expressing all the emotions that have rushed over 
 him. 
 
 " That I do not know," she answers, slowly. " My 
 decision depends on many things." Then she looks at 
 him with a full, challenging gaze. " What do you advise 
 me to do ? " she asks. 
 
 The pause which ensues is more full of meaning and 
 uncertainty than any which has preceded it, for both are 
 aware how much hangs on the next words. Koslyn feels 
 her pulses beating with a vibrating rush, and Laurent 
 has an instinct, though no full recognition, of all that is 
 at stake for him. If such a marriage takes place and Dun- 
 can lives, Roslyn, of course, is lost to him f orever. But, 
 then, if Duncan lives, is not Roslyn probably lost to 
 him in any event ? Whereas, if Duncan dies — he almost 
 grows giddy as he thinks of what may follow then : 
 Cliffton his, and all the rest of the fortune which he cov- 
 ets, Boslyn's — his eyes glow as he looks at her. All 
 doubts of his hold upon her disappear. Would she 
 come and ask his advice, throw the virtual weight of de- 
 cision upon him in this manner, if his power were not as 
 great as ever with her, if whatever was hers might not, 
 at a word, be his ? These reflections pass rapidly through 
 his mind — and then he speaks : 
 
 " Since you ask my advice, I can only say that it is 
 hard to refuse a dying man anything he asks. And this 
 man loves you." 
 
 " Yes, he loves me, too well," she says, in a low tone. 
 
WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE. 257 
 
 " But this is a great deal to ask. And then — I must 
 think — mistakes are possible : what if he should not be a 
 dying man ? " 
 
 "That is taken in the risk," says Laurent, too ab- 
 sorbed in his own view of the matter to consider that 
 hers may be different. " It is like playing for a high 
 stake. The chance of failure enters ; but one thinks of 
 the gain, and plays boldly — to win or lose. And there is 
 so much to win here — wealth, happiness : for you must 
 know that only want of wealth has held me back from 
 you ! " 
 
 " I thought — I understood," says Roslyn, " that the 
 obstacle which held you back was honor." 
 
 " Ah, what did that signify ? " he cries, spreading out 
 his hands with a dramatic gesture. "Do you think I 
 would not have burst that bond without a thought — to 
 come to you? But I could not, I dared not. I was 
 held, as in a chain, by the bitterest curse of human ex- 
 istence — want of money. I could not ask you to share 
 — ruin. But fortune has come to our aid as I never 
 dreamed that it would. When Duncan dies, Cliffton, 
 you know, will be mine ; and if the rest is yours — ah, 
 then happiness will be ours at last ! " 
 
 " Will it ? " says Roslyn, in a cold voice. At that 
 moment every shred of illusion falls, and she sees him as 
 he is — with his beautiful exterior, and his hard, selfish 
 heart. " My God ! to think that I nearly loved him ! " 
 she says to herself with a shudder. The repulsion which 
 overcomes her is stronger for the reaction from the fancy 
 which went before. She can hardly force herself to go 
 on addressing him. 
 
 " Will it not ? " he says, quickly. " Of course, there 
 is no certainty until Colonel Duncan's death ; but then — " 
 
258 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " But then you are ready to take his inheritance and 
 enjoy it ! " cries Roslyn, possessed with passionate indig- 
 nation. " I suppose one should not blame you for that. 
 Men like you must feel and act according to their nature. 
 But, gracious Heaven ! what a heart you must have, to 
 deliberately plan — and hope — like this, while he lies be- 
 tween life and death who has been so kind — so gener- 
 ous — ! " She pauses, almost choked by emotion ; but, re- 
 covering herself, goes on hurriedly : " This, however, con- 
 cerns only yourself. What concerns me — me, whom you 
 desire to use as the ball that is thrown for good or ill 
 fortune in play — is to let you know at once the greatness 
 of your mistake, when you dare to fancy that I am yours, 
 to be played for the high stakes you covet ! " 
 
 He sees his mistake, indeed, in the flashing lightning 
 of her eyes, and absolutely quails before her. 
 
 " I never dared to think you mine," he says ; " but, 
 since I love you — " 
 
 She stops him with a gesture of scorn. " Love ! " 
 she says. " Do not make me hate the word which ought 
 to represent a noble thing ! You love me — and yet you 
 are willing to risk the absolute loss of me ! You are 
 willing that 1 should become the wife of a man who may 
 live — in the hope that he may die, and so I would be 
 able to come to you as his widow, enriched with his for- 
 tune ! I do not understand such love, Mr. Laurent — or, 
 rather, I understand and despise it. God grant that 
 Colonel Duncan may live ; but, whether he lives or dies, 
 I am done with you forever! You deceived me once 
 — when you talked of honor, and thought of money. 
 You will never deceive me again. It may spare you 
 future disappointment to understand and believe this at 
 once." 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES HIS OPINION. 259 
 
 With these words, she turns, and, before he can speak, 
 were he so inclined, has crossed the room swiftly and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 GEOFFREY GIVES IIIS OPINION. 
 
 So far, things have worked so smoothly toward Mrs. 
 Arden's end, that she is not prepared to encounter finally 
 a spirited opposition. This comes from Dr. Kirke, who 
 hears of what is proposed with mingled wrath and dis- 
 gust. Indeed, it is difficult to express within due bounds 
 what he thinks of such sentimental folly. 
 
 " If you want to kill the man," he says, brusquely, 
 " you could not find a better way to do it — that is all ! ' 
 
 " But, doctor," says Mrs. Arden, " you forget what I 
 have told you, that Colonel Duncan only wishes this in 
 case he must die. If there were already no hope of his 
 recovery, it could not kill him, you know." 
 
 " While there is life there is hope," replies the doctor, 
 sharply. " I never give up fighting until the patient is 
 in articulo mortis. Besides, where is the sense of such 
 a proceeding ? If he must die, why may he not as well 
 die single as married ? " 
 
 " That," says Mrs. Arden, with dignity, " you will 
 admit is for him to decide. He simply desires that this 
 ceremony may take place when you declare that he can 
 not recover." 
 
 " When I declare that he can not recover, he will be 
 too far gone to admit of any ceremony," says the doctor ; 
 
260 ROSLYN' S FORTUNE. 
 
 " and if you attempt such a thing in his present condi- 
 tion, I warn you that you will probably kill him, and I 
 shall decline any further responsibility in the case." 
 
 "With this ultimatum he walks away, leaving Mrs. 
 Arden in a state of indignation and indecision. To pro- 
 ceed in the face of such an opinion seems impossible, yet 
 to abandon her plan is more than she can think of doing. 
 The result is, that she goes to Geoffrey for advice, and 
 amazes him scarcely less than she has amazed the doctor 
 by the revelation of her intention. 
 
 Nor is Geoffrey's surprise unmingled with other sen- 
 sations. To give up Roslyn — that is, all hope of winning 
 her — as he has done in his heart, is one thing; and to 
 hear that she is absolutely on the point of marrying an- 
 other man, is quite another. The old passion, the old 
 jealousy, rises hot and strong in his breast, and he dis- 
 mays Mrs. Arden by the manner in which he says : 
 
 " Great Heaven ! Aunt Lavinia, what are you think- 
 ing of ? Has Roslyn consented to such a thing ? " 
 
 " Yes, Roslyn has consented," answers Mrs. Arden. 
 " I do not see how she could refuse. Colonel Duncan 
 only asks it in case he is dying." 
 
 " Then whv should he ask it at all ? " demanded Geof- 
 frey, as the doctor has asked before him. " I see no 
 reason why, for a mere sentiment which can do him no 
 possible good, he should want to turn Roslyn into a ivid- 
 ow ! The mere thought is intolerable." 
 
 " It is for her own sake — I have told you that. He 
 wishes to secure his fortune to her." 
 
 "Has he not already done so by leaving it to her in 
 his will? The whole thing is nonsense, Aunt Lavinia, 
 and I am surprised that a woman of your sense should 
 have entertained such an idea ! It is not like Duncan to 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES HIS 0PIXI02T. 261 
 
 have so little thought — -not to consider how much un- 
 necessary pain he would give Roslyn — and I really think 
 he must have made the request when he was delirious." 
 
 " He was nothing of the kind," says Mrs. Arden, who 
 has not courage to acknowledge her own share in the 
 matter. " He was as clear in his mind as you are this 
 moment. I wish you would be reasonable, Geoffrey, be- 
 cause I want to ask your advice how to proceed. Dr. 
 Kirke will not hear of countenancing the matter. He 
 says it will kill Colonel Duncan — although I have dis- 
 tinctly told him that Colonel Duncan only wishes the 
 ceremony performed in case he can not recover." 
 
 " There is absolutely no reason for such a request," 
 says Geoffrey; "and I thought Duncan was a man of 
 more sense and unselfishness than to make it. I have no 
 advice to offer, Aunt Lavinia. I don't at all see how you 
 are to proceed, unless by simply being prepared to seize 
 the final moment when the doctor says, ' He is dying ' — 
 a moment not very favorable for anything of the kind 
 you pror^ose, in real life, whatever it may be in ro- 
 mances." 
 
 " Geoffrey ! " says Mrs. Arden, in a tone of reproach. 
 Then she rises — "I see that I need not have consulted 
 you," she says. C< I gave you credit for more good feeling 
 than it seems you possess." 
 
 " It does not strike me that good feeling is what is 
 called for, so much as common sense," says Geoffrey. 
 "Have you thought how painful in many respects it 
 would be to Roslyn ? " 
 
 " Eoslyn is quite willing to undergo the pain," says 
 Mrs. Arden. "She feels that it is a very slight thing 
 which is demanded of her, to gratify the wish of a dying 
 man who would count no sacrifice to serve her." 
 
262 EOSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 With these words she leaves the room, -without 
 giving Geoffrey time to reply — a fortunate thing, per- 
 haps, since Geoffrey's reply would not be likely to please 
 her. 
 
 " Count no sacrifice to serve her ! " repeats the young 
 man. " There are others besides him, of whom that may 
 be said, but who would not make it a reason for asking 
 a very painful sacrifice of her. I would not have 
 thought it of Duncan — I really would not ! " 
 
 And in this judgment Geoffrey is no more mistaken 
 or short-sighted than the most of us are in judgments 
 that we pass every day — drawing conclusions from errone- 
 ous premises, and pronouncing opinions upon actions the 
 motives of which we can not gauge. 
 
 " I'll see Roslyn at least," he thinks, after a short re- 
 flection ; " and if she is averse — as well she may be — to 
 this thing, she shall not be forced into it by Duncan's 
 selfishness, or Aunt Lavinia's scheming. The fortune, 
 indeed! Confound the fortune — as if Roslyn needed 
 any fortune beyond herself ! " 
 
 With such thoughts the impetuous young fellow 
 swings himself out of the room, and proceeds to search 
 for Roslyn. But that young lady is more easily sought 
 than found. She is not to be discovered in the house ; so 
 he turns his steps in the direction of the garden, and 
 fails, also, to find her there. He might imagine that she 
 has gone out with Laurent, but for the fact, of which he 
 has heard, that this gentleman went away alone some 
 time before. Much puzzled, therefore, he is retracing 
 his steps toward the house, when Ruby, Mr. Vardray's 
 favorite setter, and Roslyn's devoted attendant, espies 
 him, and comes dashing to him from the orchard. 
 
 " By Jove ! why didn't I think of it before ? — that is 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES HIS OPINION. 263 
 
 where she is ! " he says aloud, as the dog springs upon 
 him. 
 
 A pleasant place it is in the orchard, and a favorite 
 place of Koslyn's, under the low-spreading apple-trees, 
 where a minute later he finds her. She is sitting on the 
 grass, and, without stirring, she looks up with a slight 
 smile as he draws near. 
 
 " So you have found me ? " she says. " I did not 
 fancy any one would think of looking for me here." 
 
 ''- Which means that you came here to avoid being 
 found," he says. " After that, I would beg pardon and 
 go away, if I had not a special reason for seeking you ; 
 but I have one : so I hope you will bear with me and let 
 me stay." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answers, indifferently ; " stay, if you 
 like — it does not matter. I only wanted a little while to 
 myself to think ; and I have had it." 
 
 " Do I know the subject of your thoughts ? " asks 
 Geoffrey, throwing himself down on the grass, and look- 
 ing at the fair face which of late has grown so much 
 graver. 
 
 " Do you know the subject of my thoughts ? " she re- 
 peats. "In a general sense, you know the subject of 
 them ; but you could scarcely know what I was think- 
 ing on that subject." 
 
 " Tell me the subject, and let me guess." 
 
 She shakes her head. " If it were worth while for 
 you to guess, I might," she says ; " but it is not." 
 
 " Were you thinking of something of which I have 
 just heard," he asks, quickly — " something which Aunt 
 Lavinia has just told me ? Eoslyn, are you troubled 
 about the promise which has been drawn from you with 
 regard to Colonel Duncan ? " 
 
264 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Xo," she answers, quietly, " I am not troubled about 
 that. Why should I be ? It is not much that he asks in 
 comparison to all that he has given." 
 
 " But this is not a matter of debit and credit," says 
 Geoffrey. "I was afraid you were taking that view, 
 and therefore I want to tell you that it is wrong. You 
 are not bound in the least to do this thing, Koslyn, if it 
 is painful to you ; and painful it must be. It is a very 
 selfish thing of Colonel Duncan to ask — although I sup- 
 pose one should make allowances for a man who is in 
 love and has a fever." 
 
 " I don't think it is a selfish thing," says Roslyn, has- 
 tily. " It seems to me that it is as unselfish as every- 
 thing else about him. He is not thinking of himself, but 
 of me." 
 
 " He desires to give you his fortune, I know," says 
 Geoffrey ; " but this is a very unnecessary step to that 
 end. His will is sufficient to secure it to you." 
 
 She makes a slight gesture, significant both of impa- 
 tience and indifference. " I care nothing about that," 
 she says, " whether it is or is not necessary. He asks it 
 — that is enough." 
 
 A short silence follows. Eoslyn looks away across 
 the meadows, toward the fringing, many-tinted woods, 
 while Geoffrey looks at her thoughtful face and ponders 
 the situation. 
 
 Ci I can't understand it!" he breaks out at length. 
 " I am puzzled as I never was before in my life ! What 
 motive Duncan has for this request, and why you should 
 accede to it from a man for whom you have no liking be- 
 yond friendliness, I can not make out. If I could im- 
 agine that the fortune tempts you, it would be another 
 matter." 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES HIS OPINION. 265 
 
 " I have not thought of the fortune at all," she says, 
 " except that I realize how kind it is of him to wish to 
 give it to me ; and I have made it a test, for — some one 
 else." 
 
 Geoffrey's heart leaps. " You mean Laurent ? " he 
 exclaims. 
 
 " Yes," she replies, " I mean Mr. Laurent. I could 
 not be satisfied of being quite just to him unless I tested 
 him in some way, and this way presented itself. I told 
 him what it was proposed I should do, and he — but stop 
 a moment ! Tell me, Geoffrey, what you would have 
 answered in his place." 
 
 "In his place," answers Geoffrey, "loving you and 
 hoping that you might love me, I should have begged 
 you not to think of doing such a thing. I should have 
 said that no fortune could repay me for the fact that you 
 were, even for one hour, the wife of another man ! ' 
 
 "Mr. Laurent was less romantic," she says, with a 
 faint, bitter smile. " He at once advised me to marry 
 Colonel Duncan." 
 
 " Of course — thinking that he could in that case win 
 both you and the fortune." 
 
 " Yes : and was it not mv fault that he should have 
 
 j t/ 
 
 thought he had but to speak — and win me ? Oh, what a 
 fool, what a fool I have been ! Geoffrey, I scorn myself 
 as much as you can scorn me ! " 
 
 She looks at him with eyes that shine ; the color has 
 risen into her face, and he sees that her hands are trem- 
 bling with excitement. 
 
 "If you scorn yourself," he says, "no more than I 
 scorn you, Roslyn, you need not torment yourself with 
 that sentiment at all. How could you know at first what 
 is plain to you now % " 
 
 12 
 
266 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " But to trust at all, to think at all of a man who was 
 avowedly acting a dishonorable part — that is what I can 
 not forgive myself ! " 
 
 " You forget how many extenuating circumstances 
 there were or appeared to be," says Geoffrey. "Don't 
 be hard on yourself ! You were only a little foolish, as 
 any girl would have been ; and you acted in a difficult 
 position with a dignity and discretion which few girls 
 could have displayed." 
 
 " Ah, you say so to comfort me ; but I — ' I am shamed 
 through all rny nature,' to remember my folly ! " 
 
 " If the wound is only to your pride," says Geoffrey, 
 " I am content — and so should you be." 
 
 " It is only to that," she says — but says with a quiver 
 in her voice, " I am hardly contemptible enough to break 
 my heart about such a man ! I don't know that any man is 
 worth breaking one's heart about, unless — unless it be the 
 man who is dying yonder, and for whom I never cared." 
 
 Her voice sinks, and Geoffrey makes no answer. In- 
 deed, a light dawns suddenly upon him like a revelation, 
 and in the surprise of this revelation he can find no words. 
 As has been already said, the old passion and jealousy 
 have been roused within him, and now they stir tumult- 
 uously. 
 
 "Have I not given you as much as he?' : he is in- 
 clined to ask, but restrains the impulse, being wise 
 enough to understand (many a man does not) that only 
 received love has a claim upon its object, not that which 
 is given without recognition or return. Besides, has he 
 not promised Roslyn to be only her brother henceforth ? 
 And as her brother he feels that now he may find oppor- 
 tunity to serve her. These thoughts require some time 
 to pass through his mind, and hence several minutes 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES HIS OPINION. 267 
 
 elapse before lie speaks again. Then he says, with some- 
 thin o; of wistful gentleness : 
 
 " I should be sorry for you to break your heart about 
 any man, Eoslyn. It always seems to me — it always has 
 seemed to me — as if you were made for the brightness 
 and sweetness of life, not for its pain and gloom. You 
 remember my old quotation about you : 
 
 ' The world, that knows itself too sad, 
 Is proud to keep some faces glad ' — 
 
 and your face was made to be glad.''' 
 
 " You want me to take all and give nothing, then ? I 
 always said that you thought me a soulless creature, a 
 human butterfly, only fit for sunshine. I don't say that 
 you are not right. I am frivolous, and I know it. But 
 I can feel a little — at last." 
 
 She has not looked toward him as she utters these 
 words, but still away across the meadows toward the 
 woods ; so he does not see how tears are filling her eyes, 
 but he does hear the ring of pain and reproach in her 
 voice, and he answers, quickly : 
 
 "If it is to be a soulless creature to make sunshine 
 and gladness and happiness for others in a world that is 
 too sad, then I think you so. But with all your bright- 
 ness I was never dull enough to fancy that you could not 
 feel ; and my only fear is that you may feel too much — 
 that at this present time you are willing to sacrifice your- 
 self from pity and causeless self-reproach." 
 
 She shakes her head. " You are mistaken," she says. 
 " There is no spirit of self-sacrifice in me. If I were un- 
 willing to do this which is asked of me, no doubt I should 
 be selfish enough to refuse ; but I am willing, quite will- 
 ing — pray believe it." 
 
268 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " ' Who is't can read a woman ? ' " Geoffrey thinks, 
 looking into the clear yet baffling eyes that meet his 
 own. What to make of this woman he does not know ; 
 but his doubts do not shake his loyalty of intention. " Of 
 course, it is a matter which you alone can decide," he 
 says, at last. " I only felt bound to let you know what I 
 thought. I hope you will not imagine that I have been 
 actuated by selfishness or jealousy." 
 
 " I could not do you such injustice," she answers. "I 
 know well that you think too little of yourself, and far, 
 far too much of me. I don't deserve it, Geoffrey — I 
 have been worse than a fool ! " 
 
 " Never mind what you have been," he says, smiling ; 
 "you are queen of all our hearts, and you shall have your 
 birthright of happy fortune yet. Now, come" — he rises 
 and holds out his hand to assist her to her feet. "Let us 
 go to the house. No one would know where to find you 
 if — you were needed. And I want to see the progress 
 and end of Aunt Lavinia's schemes." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 THE END OF SUSPENSE. 
 
 The day wears away in a suspense which the house- 
 hold of Verdevale are not likely soon to forget. In the 
 sick-room, which the doctors have hardly left at all, the 
 most critical period of the prolonged battle between life 
 and death has come, and, when the sun sets, no one knows 
 what its issue will be. 
 
 " To night the final crisis occurs," the physicians say. 
 
THE END OF SUSPENSE. 269 
 
 " If by morning be is not materially better, he will 
 
 die." 
 
 It is a night of crisis for Hosl yn, as well as for the al- 
 most dying man. Alone through its long hours, unable to 
 sleep and racked by sore anxiety, she arrives at a clearer 
 knowledge of herself, of her own needs and desires, than 
 she has ever had before ; and she weighs in a balance 
 many things besides the spurious devotion of Laurent. 
 The latter, indeed, has little place in her thoughts ; his 
 influence on her life, which was but weak and tran- 
 sient, has passed away so completely that she recalls it 
 only as one waking from sleep might recall a feverish 
 dream. All her thoughts are given to Duncan ; and she 
 goes back over the life-long record of her association 
 with him, and the record, quite as long, of his affection 
 for her, with that aching sense of the " too late ! " which 
 is the most keen of all the bitter pains of existence. 
 " Does one never realize the value of a thing until it is 
 taken from one % " she asks, with sobbing breath. " All 
 these years I have been so utterly indifferent ; and 
 now, now that I appreciate at last what he is, he is 
 dying, and I can never, never let him know that I am 
 not the weak, vain fool he has taken me to be, and that 
 I have been." 
 
 In this way the night passes ; and, when the first ray 
 of daylight streams into the room, she turns her face 
 away — for what news may it herald ? As the light slowly 
 broadens, her anxiety grows more intense to learn how the 
 night has sped ; but she can not bear to end the suspense 
 by going to inquire, for even suspense is sometimes bet- 
 ter than crushing certainty. The only comfort which she 
 has is that, if he is dying, there is one thing which she 
 may yet do for him before he goes, though he can never 
 
270 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 learn with what a willing heart it is done. " I must be 
 ready and strong enough for that," she thinks, choking 
 back her tears. 
 
 A little later, just as the sun rises, a step comes down 
 the passage and pauses at her door. Her heart seems 
 to pause also — literally to suspend its pulsations — in the 
 interval of apparent hesitation before the door uncloses, 
 and the kindly face of Mrs. Knight looks in. 
 
 " I thought you'd be awake, Miss Roslyn," she says, 
 as the girl's large, dilated eyes meet hers ; " so I've come 
 to tell you that the colonel's better." 
 
 " Better ! ' repeats Koslyn, with a gasp. So entirely 
 has she prepared herself to hear the worst, that the shock 
 of surprise is too great for her to take in the idea at once. 
 " Do you mean that he will not die ? " she asks, after an 
 instant's breathless pause. 
 
 " I hope not," says Mrs. Knight. " The doctors seem 
 to think he won't. Dr. Kirke looks cheerfuler than I've 
 seen him for a long time. So now you may try and go 
 to sleep, my child — you are as white as a sheet." 
 
 She closes the door and goes away, leaving Roslyn in 
 a trance of amazed relief. She has not thought of this 
 at all ; she has been sure that he would, that he must, die ! 
 The reaction of emotion is so great, she has been so spent 
 by the vigil and suffering of the night, that consciousness 
 almost leaves her as she sinks back on the pillow of the 
 bed, saving, inarticulately, " Thank God ! " 
 
 She is still as pale as a lily, but her expression is more 
 bright than it has been for many a day, when Mrs. Ar- 
 den sees her a few hours later. " She is glad to be spared 
 the marriage," that lady thinks. " Poor Colonel Dun- 
 can ! What a pity that he has set his heart on a girl who 
 will never care for him ! " 
 
THE END OF SUSPENSE. 271 
 
 " Good news this morning, my dear," she says, aloud. 
 " The crisis passed so favorably that the doctors think 
 Colonel Duncan will recover. I would not disturb you 
 at daylight to tell you, and I went to sleep soon after- 
 ward ; but I suppose you have heard." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Knight came to tell me very early," an- 
 swers Roslyn. " You might have known that I would be 
 glad to be disturbed to hear such news, Aunt Lavinia." 
 
 " You had certainly a personal interest in hearing it," 
 says Mrs. Arden. 
 
 The girl flushes. " I did not mean that" she says. 
 " There was nothing personal in my gladness." 
 
 " I know there was not," says Mrs. Arden, kissing her 
 with an impulse of self-reproach. 
 
 Later in the morning Laurent comes, and, as it chances, 
 Roslyn is on the veranda when he enters the gate at the 
 foot of the lawn. She turns at once to Geoffrey, who is 
 with her. 
 
 " Yonder comes Mr. Laurent," she says. " Tell him 
 the news — which will be very unwelcome news to him. 
 /do not wish to see or to speak to him." 
 
 " But if he asks for you % " says Geoffrey, quickly, as 
 she moves away. 
 
 " He will not ask," she answers, passing around the 
 corner of the veranda and disappearing. 
 
 But, though she disappears, she does not enter the 
 house. The day is too beautiful, and her heart is too 
 light, in its relief from anxiety, for her to be satisfied in- 
 doors. By a retired, hedged path she takes her way to 
 the garden, and, after wandering idly to and fro among 
 the flowers for some time, she decides that she will go 
 and carry the good news to Lettice and Mrs. Stanley. It 
 has been long since she has taken the woodland walk — 
 
272 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 long since she has felt any inclination to do so — but to- 
 day it will be a pleasure ; to-day — 
 
 " Miss Yardray ! " 
 
 Her hand is on the latch of the gate, which opens on 
 the woods, when her name, called low and eagerly by a 
 well-known voice, arrests her steps and makes her turn. 
 As she sees Laurent advancing toward her, her face grows 
 hard. " How dared he ! " she says to herself. Then she 
 stands quite still — waiting for him. 
 
 But when he approaches there is something about him 
 which, even before he speaks, softens the heart of the 
 stern young judge. He is paler than usual ; he looks like 
 a man who has suffered : and what touches a woman so 
 quickly as that? He speaks, too, very humbly. 
 
 " I am afraid you think this a great presumption. 
 But, when I asked for you, I was told that you had gone 
 out toward the garden ; and I wished so much to see you 
 that I have ventured to follow you." 
 
 " I am at a loss," says Roslyn, coldly, " to imagine 
 why you should wish to see me." 
 
 " You will let me tell you, then," he says. " I am go- 
 ing away to-day ; but, before going, I should like, if 
 possible, to put myself right in your estimation." 
 
 She does not say, " That is impossible," but her face 
 says it for her, as she asks (still coldly), " Why should it 
 matter to you what my estimation of you may be ? ' 
 
 " It matters," he answers, " because you are doing me 
 injustice, and because — whether you believe it or not — 
 I love you." 
 
 " If I have done, or am doing, you injustice," she says, 
 " I am sorry. But the other — we will not discuss that, 
 if you please." 
 
 " Yet it is of that I wish to speak," he says, " because 
 
TEE END OF SUSPENSE. 273 
 
 it is with regard to that you are doing me the greatest in- 
 justice. Having discovered that I am not wholly true — 
 a model of honor — you disbelieve in my sincerity alto- 
 gether. But men are more complex than you think ; and 
 a man who violates the truth occasionally may love as 
 well as if he were a paladin. So I have loved you — not 
 enough, perhaps, to make me forget myself entirely, but 
 enough to make me come nearer doing so than was ever 
 the case before in my life. As I told you yesterday, the 
 fact that I was bound to my cousin would have counted 
 little against the force of this love, if I had not, by my 
 own folly, put marriage out of my power, if I had not 
 been a man too poor — " 
 
 " Mr. Laurent," Eoslyn interrupts, haughtily, " I re- 
 peat that this is a subject of which I will hear no more. 
 It does not interest me, and every word that you utter 
 only sinks you lower in my esteem." 
 
 " That is because you do not comprehend," he says, 
 eagerly — " because you know little of the power of love. 
 Heaven seemed to open to me when I came here, think- 
 ing that I might be able to claim you. And those calcu- 
 lations which offended you so deeply yesterday — what 
 were they but counting steps to you f " 
 
 " I have heard," says Roslyn, " that there are women 
 who can forgive anything done for their sake. But I am 
 not one of those women. Your excuse has no weight 
 with me. I care nothing for such love." 
 
 " But you cared when we parted ! " he says, as if in 
 last appeal. " And if I had hope, the faintest hope, that 
 3^ou might care again, I should not regard poverty or — " 
 
 " Honor 1 " she says. " I do not doubt the last, at least. 
 But you have a short memory, Mr. Laurent, if you have 
 forgotten already what I told you yesterday. It was 
 
274 EOSLYJST'S FORTUNE. 
 
 surely plain enough. But if you wish, I will be more 
 explicit. I will tell you, once for all, that if you were as 
 free as air, and as wealthy as your highest hopes or wildest 
 dreams, I should say to you, as I say now : I care nothing 
 for you, I have no trust in you, and nothing on earth 
 could induce me to marry you ! " 
 
 " You are certainly explicit enough," he says, bitterly. 
 " I shall trouble you no further. I have here a telegram 
 announcing my cousin's arrival in New York. I meant 
 to leave it to you whether I should go or stay. But I see 
 now that there is nothing to do but to go. You will give 
 me your hand in farewell, perhaps. And, if you trust me 
 in nothing. else, trust me, at least, in believing that I love 
 you." 
 
 She holds out her hand. Some instinct tells her that 
 his last words, at least, are true. " I should prefer — for 
 your sake — to believe anything else," she says. " But I 
 will try to think better of you, and I hope that you may 
 be happy." 
 
 " Think of me as one who leaves his best hope of hap- 
 piness here," he says, kissing her hand. 
 
 A moment later she is standing alone, with a feeling 
 as if all that had passed had been a dream. She leans 
 her head unconsciously down on the gate, and, before she 
 raises it, a familiar voice says : 
 
 " Was that the last act of the comedy ? " 
 
 " Lettice ! " says Roslyn, looking up with a start. 
 " Where do you come from ? " 
 
 " From home, my dear," answers Lettice. " Do you 
 think I dropped from the sky ? But, just as I reached 
 the edge of the woods, I saw you standing here with Mr. 
 Laurent ; so I paused — naturally not wishing to interrupt 
 you. Then I saw that tender farewell, and then I came." 
 
THE END OF SUSPENSE. 275 
 
 " It was a farewell," says Roslyn — " a final farewell. 
 He is going away to-day." 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! That is — I don't want to re- 
 joice too soon — if his going means nothing to you." 
 
 " Nothing," answers Roslyn, quietly — " absolutely 
 nothing." She looks away for an instant, and then goes 
 ou : " That is the strange part of it — that it should be 
 absolutely nothing. Three months ago I fancied myself 
 in love with him! And now there is no one whose 
 going could move me less. Is it not strange, Lettice, 
 ' such a little while ago, such a little while ' \ " 
 
 " ' At our own inconstancy, should we sigh or smile ? ' " 
 
 says Lettice, adding the line her words suggest. "I 
 think, in your place, I should smile, for you know you 
 never cared for him. At least, / knew it. I knew you 
 were too true yourself not to detect the ring of false 
 metal." 
 
 " I did detect it," she says. " There never was a time 
 when I felt quite sure that he was true. But let us not 
 speak of him any more — not any more at all. He is dead 
 and buried, as far as we are concerned. But, while we 
 talk in this way, you have not heard the news, the great 
 news that Colonel Duncau is better, that the doctors think 
 now he will get well." 
 
 " It is great news, indeed," says Lettice, watching the 
 light which comes over the face of the other, and drawing 
 her own conclusions therefrom. " There could not be 
 any better news, and I must go and tell it to mamma. 
 Will you not come, Roslyn? The walk may do you 
 good." 
 
 " I think I will," says Roslyn. " It is such a glorious 
 day. And what a day it might have been ! " 
 
276 EOSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 AN" ANTICLIMAX. 
 
 " This I consider decidedly an anticlimax," says Colo- 
 nel Duncan. 
 
 He speaks with a smile, as he finds himself, for the 
 first time since his illness, down-stairs before the cheerful 
 sitting-room fire. His welcome from all the family has 
 amounted to an ovation ; and now that he has been, de- 
 spite his own demur, enthroned in a deep easy-chair, with 
 an outlook through the glass door on the bright Novem- 
 ber day, with its wealth of many-tinted foliage, while 
 within are all the signs of pleasant family life — Mrs. 
 Vardray's work-table, with Mrs. Yardray herself beside 
 it, the open piano, the center-table strewed with odds 
 and ends, and last, but not least, Roslyn's bright eyes 
 and brighter smile — he feels that life is a very good and 
 pleasant thing, even while he utters the above remark. 
 
 " What is it that you think anticlimax \ " asks Mrs. 
 Yardray. " It seems to me that it is a very perfect and 
 delightful climax to see you well again." 
 
 " It strikes me altogether in the light of an anti- 
 climax," he says. "After making all his arrangements 
 to die, a man ought to die, and not come back to life 
 again and be made much of, as you are making much of 
 me." 
 
 "We are only too glad to have you to make much 
 of," says the lady, cordially. "Roslyn looks as if she 
 thought you were very ungrateful for your recovery." 
 
AN AXTICLIMAX. 277 
 
 " I was not thinking that," says Iwoslyn, with a slight 
 blush; "but I was wondering if Colonel Duncan ap- 
 preciates how anxious all his friends were about him 
 when he was ill, that he talks of its being anticlimax to 
 be well." 
 
 " I am not ungrateful for the kindness of ray friends," 
 says Duncan, looking at her and wondering if she under- 
 stands how much of an anticlimax this recovery is to 
 her. " I only feel that, having got so far, it was hardly 
 worth while to have all the trouble over again. But it is 
 a boon to be alive on such a day as this ! " He breaks off 
 abruptly as he rises and walks toward the glass door. " I 
 have not been out yet, and I think this is the best time 
 to begin to take a little open-air exercise. ^Yill you join 
 me ? " he asks, turning to Roslyn. 
 
 " If you think there is no reason why you should not 
 go," she answers. 
 
 " I can not imagine why there should be any reason," 
 he says. " I feel as if I had played invalid and convales- 
 cent long enough." 
 
 So the door is opened, and they go out into the spark- 
 ling sunshine, tempered softly with autumn haze. The 
 day is of that enchanting loveliness which never touches 
 us so much as when it contains a premonition of decay, 
 when Xature arrays herself in her most gorgeous robes 
 before lying down to die. Every tree and shrub is 
 aflame with color, while the turf is still freshly green, 
 and the flowers are blooming more brilliantly than during 
 the summer. 
 
 " You can not go far," says Roslyn to her companion, 
 as they descend the veranda-steps ; " so we will take a walk 
 around the garden. The chrysanthemums and dahlias are 
 worth seeing." 
 
278 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " Everything is worth seeing," he replies. " How I 
 feel the truth of those lines ! — 
 
 ' The common air, the sun, the skies, 
 To him are opening paradise.' 
 
 It is what every one recovering from illness must feel — 
 but what I feel peculiarly, to whom the outer world has 
 always been so much." 
 
 "I know that you have always led a very active 
 existence," she says ; " and the doctor thinks it is to that 
 — to the strength of constitution which it gave — that you 
 owe your life." 
 
 " Very likely. I certainly owe to it health of mind 
 and body during all my life ; so I am quite willing to owe 
 to it the preservation of life also. Ah, what a scene! 
 what an atmosphere ! ' Opening paradise ' could scarcely 
 be more beautiful to eyes that have only seen the walls 
 of a sick-chamber for weeks." 
 
 " I have thought of you often when I have been walk- 
 ing here," says Roslyn, " when I would look at so much 
 beauty — and then at the closed blinds of your windows." 
 
 " If your glances could have penetrated those closed 
 blinds, I might have been consoled a little by their 
 sympathy," he says, smiling. " I certainly needed com- 
 fort very much. I found myself not made of heroic stuff 
 at all, in the way of endurance." 
 
 "Men seldom are heroic about enduring illness or 
 confinement, I believe ; that is our prerogative." 
 
 It will be seen that up to this point the conversation 
 has proceeded easily, and been of very indifferent charac- 
 ter. Now Duncan feels that he must brace himself to 
 say something which he fears may be very painful to his 
 companion, but which it is quite essential that she shall 
 
AN ANTICLIMAX. 279 
 
 hear, which she must hear sooner or later — if not from 
 him, then from some one else. So, with a nervousness 
 which betrays itself a little in his voice, he says : 
 
 " I think I ought to tell you that I had a letter from 
 Laurent the other day. He wrote from New York." 
 
 " Indeed ! " says Roslyn. Unconsciously she looks at 
 him inquiringly — but it is because his tone surprises her, 
 not because she is interested in any news from Laurent. 
 " I hope he is well," she says, with the conventional in- 
 stinct which is frequently of such good service to us in life. 
 
 " Quite well, I believe," Duncan answers. lie hesi- 
 tates an instant — then thinking, "I have no finesse, I had 
 better blurt it out ! " he goes on : " His expressed object 
 in writing was to inquire about my health ; but his real 
 object, I think, was to tell me that he is on the eve 
 of marrying his cousin, who had just returned from 
 abroad." 
 
 Roslyn says " Indeed ! " again, very calmly ; for now 
 she knows why Duncan looks away from her, and why 
 his voice has taken that tone of nervousness. " He is 
 afraid I care ! " she thinks, with a scorn which would 
 steady her nerves, if they needed any steadying. "I 
 knew that Mr. Laurent went to New York to meet his 
 cousin," she says aloud. "I am not surprised to hear 
 that they are to be married." 
 
 " You knew that he was going ! " says Duncan, look- 
 ing at her with surprise. " Did he tell you so ? " 
 
 " Yes, the day he left," she answers, quietly. " That 
 was his excuse for going away without seeing you — after 
 coming to see you ! " 
 
 " Coming to see me ! " he repeats. " I should not 
 like to say what I think was his motive for coming — 
 besides, of course, his desire to see you." 
 
280 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " I think we may leave that out of the question," she 
 says. " I have no idea that he would ever have come 
 back but for the news of your accident." 
 
 " But being here — forgive me ! — did he ignore what 
 passed last summer ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. I think he was quite willing to take up the 
 matter just where he left off. Finding that I had no inten- 
 tion of permitting that, however, he was moved to offer to 
 resign his cousin and remain here — if I said the word." 
 
 " And you—? " 
 
 " He went : so it is plain what I replied." 
 
 " You replied, no doubt, as you did last summer, that 
 you would not permit him to break his engagement for 
 your sake." 
 
 " I do not know whether or not 1 told him that, but I 
 am sure I told him that if he were as free as air, I would 
 not marry him. I was a fool last summer, but happily 
 my folly was not of long duration." 
 
 "Let me beg that you will not call yourself by so 
 harsh a name — and one so undeserved. You were 
 dazzled — what girl would not have been? But, even 
 though there was a little glamour over your sight, what a 
 wonderfully steady head you kept ! " 
 
 She shakes that head with an air of deprecation and 
 denial. " You are very good," she says. "I can never 
 forget how good, with regard to this very thing ; but I 
 can not condone my own folly." 
 
 " I hope you do not judge others as rigorously as you 
 judge yourself," he says, smiling. 
 
 Here the subject drops, but the fairness of the day is 
 wonderfully enhanced in Duncan's eyes by the great load 
 that has been taken from his mind ; and, as he walks by 
 Roslyn's side around the garden, he feels again and again 
 
AN ANTICLIMAX. 281 
 
 how good a tiling it is to be alive. What he has just 
 heard gives him no hope whatever of winning her him- 
 self, but it disposes of the fear that she may be taken 
 away out of the familiar place she has brightened so long, 
 by one unworthy of her. No doubt, she will marry some 
 one else — Geoffrey, perhaps — some day ; but, meanwhile, 
 she is here, as the sunshine is here, and Duncan rejoices 
 in both. 
 
 When they turn to retrace their steps toward the 
 house, he says, breaking rather abruptly a pause which 
 has lasted for several minutes : 
 
 " I have not thanked you yet — I hardly know how to 
 thank you — for your kindness in acceding to my request 
 made when I thought myself about to die. It was like 
 you to be ready to do what I asked ; but I am glad you 
 were spared a thing so painful. It must have seemed 
 selfish of me to ask it — but I had a reason." 
 
 " I never, for a moment, thought it selfish," she says, 
 in a low voice. " How could I — when I knew you were 
 only thinking of me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was only thinking of you. But, you see, if I 
 had properly appreciated the strength of my constitution, 
 I might have spared you the request. However, I am 
 not sorry to know that you were willing to do even as 
 much as that for your old friend. I only want you to be 
 certain of two things : first, that I appreciate your consent ; 
 and, secondly, that I make no mistake about it — that I 
 base nothing upon it, and that I have no intention of tor- 
 menting you with the same request now that I am well." 
 
 To this comforting assurance, Roslyn makes no reply, 
 and a few minutes later they are in the house, where Mr. 
 and Mrs. Yardray meet the late invalid with many hopes 
 that he has not made his first walk too long. 
 
282 £0SLYN>8 FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 GEOFFREY GIVES A HINT. 
 
 A week later Colonel Duncan has returned to Cliff- 
 ton, and Yerdevale has settled into its normal condition. 
 The only change marking what is past is in Roslyn, and 
 this change Geoffrey alone perceives. It is not likely 
 that he would perceive it were his eyes not sharpened hy 
 previous knowledge ; but, as it is, he sees a subtile differ- 
 ence in her — a difference too subtile to be described in 
 words, yet which tells him that she is suffering from a 
 regret none the less real because in a measure unacknowl- 
 edged even to herself. " I am not the first person who 
 has ignorantly and blindly thrown away a treasure," she 
 thinks ; a but I hope I have self-respect enough to abide 
 by the consequences of my folly and blindness, without 
 making any idle moan about it." 
 
 She certainly makes no idle moan ; but Geoffrey sees 
 that all is not light with her — that the blithe spirits are 
 not so blithe as usual, the sunny eyes a little shadowed, 
 the smiles not so frequent or so bright. 
 
 " Now would be my chance, perhaps, if I were like 
 the lovers one sometimes reads of in novels," he thinks. 
 "I might widen the misunderstanding between these 
 two and keep them from ever coming together. But I 
 don't think it would advantage me much if I did. I 
 begin to see that, if I lived with Roslyn a hundred years, 
 I would be no nearer to her at the end of that time than 
 I am now. This being the case, I think the best thing I 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES A HINT. 283 
 
 can do is to try and make her happy in the way she 
 desires. Duncan — confound him ! — has won her heart 
 at last, and he is so stupid that he does not know it ; so I 
 suppose I had better try and make the fact plain to his 
 comprehension — but how ? " 
 
 A question more easily asked than answered : so 
 Geoffrey betakes himself to his adviser-in-chief — Lettice. 
 
 " I am always bothering you about something," he 
 says to her, apologetically, when he finds an opportunity ; 
 " but it is not about myself — at least not about myself 
 directly — that I am going to trouble you now. It is 
 about Roslyn. Tell me if you have observed any change 
 in her of late ? " 
 
 Lettice nods. " There is a change," she says. " What 
 do you think is the cause ? " 
 
 "I would rather hear what you think. I am as 
 clumsy in observation as in everything else, compared 
 with you." 
 
 " Oh, no. Such modesty does not become you ; but 
 of course a woman reads, or ought to read, another wom- 
 an better than a man can. Well, frankly, then, I am 
 sorry to say anything painful to you, but I think Roslyn 
 has found out that she cares for Colonel Duncan — now 
 that he has gone." 
 
 " It is not as painful to me as you might think," says 
 Geoffrey. " When a man makes up his mind finally and 
 definitely that there is no hope for him, he is a fool if he 
 can not submit to the inevitable. What good is it to 
 tear one's hair and cry out against the hardships of Fate ? 
 I am a better philosopher than that." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," says Lettice ; " for indeed I 
 begin to think at last that there is no hope for you." 
 
 " I have known it for some time — long enough to 
 
284 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 learn how to bear it. Perhaps, after all, my love for 
 Roslyn has somewhat of the brotherly character. At 
 least I know that I was so tremendously disturbed over 
 the idea of her marrying Laurent, that this is a great re- 
 lief to me." 
 
 " By this, I suppose you mean the prospect of her 
 marrying Colonel Duncan ? " 
 
 " Yes, for he is a splendid fellow, and a great deal 
 more worthy of her than I am. No, don't look as if you 
 thought me a marvel of generosity " — for Lettice glances 
 at him with admiring approval ; " I am only not stulti- 
 fied by self-conceit, and when I see a thing I know it. 
 ' Let us come back to our sheep,' however, as the French- 
 man said, and tell me what is to be done about Roslyn % 
 I don't want it to be a case like those forlorn lovers 
 whom somebody wrote about : 
 
 ' I was too proud the truth to show, 
 You were too blind the truth to know, 
 And so we parted long ago.' " 
 
 Lettice can not forbear smiling. "I really do not 
 think that you are much hurt," she says. " I fear I have 
 been wasting a great deal of unnecessary compassion on 
 you. But I don't think any solicitude is needed about 
 Roslyn and Colonel Duncan. He has been in love with 
 her so long, that he is not likely to stop loving her now, 
 and some day he will see the truth." 
 
 " You would not give him a hint \ " 
 
 " No, I certainly would not. It is too delicate ground 
 to venture upon ; and, if you were mistaken, think how 
 bad it would be! " 
 
 " I am not mistaken," says Geoffrey, remembering 
 well that day in the orchard when the truth came to him 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES A HINT. 285 
 
 as a revelation. " But I will abide by your decision — 
 especially as I don't clearly see how I would set about 
 giving the hint." 
 
 u It might be awkward," says Lettice, with a laugh. 
 
 "When she laughs, Lettice is a very pretty girl, and so 
 Geoffrey observes, looking down at her pure complexion, 
 her delicate features, and clear gray eyes. What sound 
 judgment she has too, and what a sweet, unspoiled na- 
 ture, in circumstances where many people would be em- 
 bittered ! This is what he thinks, in the pause before he 
 speaks again. 
 
 " Well, I trust to your judgment. But I hope you 
 will observe how things drift, and let me hear. I shall 
 be going away soon, you know." 
 
 " To your uncle, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, to my uncle — poor old fellow ! He is awfully 
 hipped living alone ; and lie wants me to live with him 
 — keeps on writing about it ; so I suppose I must go." 
 
 " I think you ought to go," says Lettice, with decis- 
 ion. " It is not much to give him a few years of your 
 youth in return for his affection — to say nothing of the 
 fortune he will leave you some day." 
 
 " No doubt you are right — somehow you always are 
 right — and I'll go to-morrow. Nobody at home would 
 bolster up my resolution ; so I have put off my departure 
 from day to day." 
 
 " I did not mean to bolster up your resolution for 
 such a speedy departure," says Lettice, smiling — though 
 she feels with something of a pang how much sunlight 
 will go out of her life with his bright presence. 
 
 u If a thing is to be done at all, it had better be done at 
 once," says Geoffrey, philosophically. " Never mind ! ' 
 This consolatory ejaculation is apparently addressed to 
 
286 ROSLTN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 himself. " A few months will pass and then I'll come 
 back — to torment you less than I have during the past 
 summer, I hope, Lettice, but to enjoy your society as 
 much. And, meanwhile, you'll write to me ? " 
 
 Lettice is inclined to think that she will not ; but some- 
 how the words of refusal stick in her throat, and, when 
 Geoffrey takes his departure a little later, they have not 
 been spoken. 
 
 Walking home with a glow of a virtuous resolution to 
 animate his movements, he enters the grounds of Verde- 
 vale while the sun is sending a flood of level gold across 
 them. Just as he emerges from the garden, he perceives 
 Colonel Duncan entering the gate at the foot of the lawn, 
 and he therefore strikes across the sward to meet him. 
 
 " We began to think we should have to send after you," 
 he says, gayly, when reaching him. " Do you feel as if 
 Yerdevale were a prison, from which you had escaped, 
 that you have been so long in coming back ? " 
 
 " I think you know better than that," replies Duncan, 
 smiling. " But I have not left Cliff ton since I returned 
 to it, until to-day." 
 
 He does not add what a struggle it has been with 
 him to remain away, nor how like a foolish moth rush- 
 ing into a flame he feels in coming back. 
 
 "Well, we have all missed you deplorably," says 
 Geoffrey, "and I assure you we feel as if we still had a 
 right of jurisdiction over you. I am heartily glad you 
 have come this evening, for I am thinking of going away 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed ! Where ? " 
 
 " Oh, to my uncle, who has a most remarkable fancy 
 for my society, and appeals to me in heart-rending terms 
 to come and comfort his declining years." 
 
GEOFFREY GIVES A HINT. 287 
 
 " I am sorry you are going," says Duncan, " and I 
 wonder that you are able to tear yourself away." 
 
 " I suppose you mean from Roslyn," says Geoffrey, 
 who sees his opportunity, and prepares to take advantage 
 of it, despite Lettice's advice to the contrary. " But I 
 don't mind telling you that the best thing that can hap- 
 pen to me is to go away from Roslyn. She looks upon 
 me as a brother, and, unless I want her to cease looking 
 on me in any other light than as a tormenter, I had bet- 
 ter be content with that. Honestly, I have not a chance 
 with her — and I never have had." 
 
 " You may have, though," says Duncan, kindly. 
 
 The young man shakes his head. " I have given up," 
 he says. " It is no great wisdom to do that, when one 
 sees one has no chance." 
 
 They are near the house by this time — Geoffrey walk- 
 ing by the side of Duncan's horse — and he knows that, 
 if he is to say anything more definite, now or never is 
 his time. " I'll risk it ! " he thinks — and then he looks 
 up quickly. 
 
 " Only one man has a chance with Roslyn," he says, 
 " and he — must pardon me for reminding him that 
 1 faint heart never won fair lady.' " 
 
 There is not time for another word, since Mr. Yar- 
 dray advances to meet them at this moment ; and in- 
 deed Duncan is so much astonished that it is doubtful if 
 he would be able to reply to Geoffrey's hint had he time 
 to do so. 
 
 But this hint has opened his eyes, and by the aid of 
 it he sees something in Roslyn's eyes when they meet, 
 which without it he might not have seen or interpreted 
 aright. The perception is almost overwhelming in its 
 unexpectedness, and for the rest of the evening he is like 
 
288 ROSLYN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 a man moving, talking, having his being in a dream. 
 He has no intention of making any opportunity to speak 
 to Eoslyn — he feels as if no time of waiting would be 
 long now, with this strange, new happiness to ponder 
 upon ; but without any seeking, the opportunity comes, 
 and he is not the man to let it pass. 
 
 It is the time for his departure, and he finds himself 
 standing with Eoslyn before the sitting-room fire, while 
 Geoffrey has volunteered to go and order his horse. 
 Both Mr. and Mrs. Yardray chance to be out of the 
 room ; and so, looking at the fair face before him, he 
 feels that he must speak. 
 
 " Eoslyn," he says, quickly, with the memory of Geof- 
 frey's words in his mind, " it is said that faint heart 
 never won a lady. Now, I have not a faint heart, but a 
 very loyal and sore one — one that has tried to keep away 
 from you, and has come back because the effort was be- 
 yond its strength. So, I break the promise which I made 
 to you only the other day, and ask if you, who were so 
 generous to a dying man, will be less generous to a living 
 one ? Life has been given back to me, as it were, but I 
 am so ungrateful that T can not feel as if it had any 
 value unless you will share it. Once more — I promise 
 you, for the last time — let me ask if you will not do so ? " 
 
 There is an instant's pause — then Eoslyn, who has in 
 her " no cunning to be strange," puts out her hand. 
 
 " It is for the last time," she says. " You need never 
 ask me again, for I can imagine no better happiness than 
 to share your life. I found that out when we thought 
 you dying." 
 
 " When I robbed you of a fortune by getting well — ■ 
 do you know that ? " 
 
 " To give me the better fortune of your heart," she says.