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Grey and another magistrate sat at the head of the table. When we were in our places the door at the other end of the room was opened, and the more general throng admitted to the side opposite to us. Among them came Mr. Witham, (I must still call him so), and with easy assurance placed himself directly in front of our party, and offered a bow, which only Alfred returned. I observed a slight difference in his appearance consequent on a something foreign in the cut of his clothes and the trimming of his moustache. He was speaking to Mr. M'Kinnom when the prisoners were brought in. His face was turned from them, and they must have been first aware of his presence by the sound of his voice. "Clear enough," I heard him say, in a distinct tone; and then he turned, as if suddenly attracted with the rest of the company, and appeared to scrutinize the captured burglars. Neither shewed any sign of recognition, but I perceived they sometimes glanced towards him."

The depositions were gone into; the men declined saying anything, and were, of course, committed. The case with each seemed indeed "clear enough."

We thought the business was now ended, but were mistaken. There had been in the course of the last examination a slight stir at the further end of the room; the police now brought forward a third man, who had been captured under very suspicious circumstances a few minutes before. As he appeared, Helen grasped my hand and uttered a faint exclamation. I saw her eyes turn quickly from the prisoner to Mr. Witham, and noticed a slight change pass over his countenance as her glance fell on him.

It was stated by a policeman that the person he had brought up had been taken into custody in the garden, not far from the spot where the housebreaking implements had been found. The constable in charge of the gate had not seen him enter, consequently it appeared he might have been in concealment in the grounds all night, and now intended passing out among others. This account, and what followed concerning him, I have almost copied from the report given by the Marsham Advertiser.

He gave his name as Richard Benson, farmer and horse-dealer, of Gillot's Quay, near Liverpool. Being asked by Mr. Harding (the magistrate) what he had to say for himself, he replied, in a confident tone, "It's easy for these fellows to set me down for what they want, but I'd as good a right to look at the place as others here, and I had a sort of curiosity to see how such a strong house as this had been got into. That's all about it."

"Does anyone present know the man?" asked Mr. Grey.

Helen rose, and advanced towards the table. "I yesterday reported to Mr. Kean," she said, "that I had been molested while riding the evening before on Gatton Marsh. That is the man, who, apparently in concert with three others near the ruined huts by the sea, hemmed

in my passage; so that, to be free from them, I had to leap my mare across the cleft. I know nothing further of him." Helen drew back and sat down.

"This is not in your favour," observed Mr. Grey. "What did you mean by troubling the | young lady ?"

"Oh, bless you, sir," the man replied, "I hadn't any ill intentions; I was only larking. I am sure I said nothing but what was civil; and I knew nothing of the other men, bless you! Now did I, Miss, say anything but what was civil? I never meant to drive you to take that dare-devil leap, I'll take my oath !"

Helen spoke again. "You refused to move your horse from the only path by which I could return except that occupied by the three other men. You said you were a civil man, but your tone and bearing were insolent."

"Bless you, Miss, I didn't know who you was; and I ask your pardon if I offended you. You see, when high ladies ride out, they mostly take a groom with them; and how should I know what you was? I thought to have a lark with you, that's all, and I'm sure I was laughing all the while!"

Mr. Grey asked what business had brought him to the neighbourhood.

"I had a horse to sell as I thought would suit a gentleman farmer out on the Marsh-Mr. Grant Wainwright. Not finding him at home, I took a turn to look at the sea, and that's how it was. I heard he'd be back from London tomorrow; so, as I'd still a chance of a deal, I thought I'd wait till then."

"Where did you pass last night?"

"Well, sir, I was on my way to the Ship Inn at Cardington, when I heard a bell ringing, and see people running; and I ran with them some way, expecting it was a fire, as they all seemed to think. Then, when I turned back, they'd shut up-at least I was told so-at the Ship; and I just got a berth in a barge; but they turned me out early, as they were on the move."

Mr. Harding wanted more particular information on this point, but the answer was that he had" got jolly" over-night, and could not give more particulars; but he dared say some of the men might be found to prove what he had said was true.

The magistrate then asked if any respectable person in the neighbourhood could testify to his character.

"I think there's a gentleman here as can, if he will," was the answer.

I guessed this was aimed at Witham. Would he take it up? Yes.

"It is not very likely," he began, "that any gentleman should be in a hurry to speak for you, Benson, after such disgraceful conduct as that you have confessedly been guilty of. You might have caused the death of that young lady; the cleft is a frightful leap; and, though I know and admire, as all do, Miss Dalziel's courage, I am sure she would not without reason have incurred so frightful a risk."

The man was about to interrupt, but Mr.

found whence his irritability had arisen. Lady Arabella Mainwaring had written requesting the marriage might be made known. This he had immediately and decidedly refused to consent to. Helen believed there had been also reference to Mr. Mainwaring's journey to Paris. Mr. Wainwright said that because he had acceded to one request that of allowing Lord St. George to be informed-there was to be no end of asking, until they took Helen away from him; but he should hold Mr. Mainwaring to the tenour of his engagement!

Witham silenced him with a more commanding | to relate, and in the course of the evening she look and gesture than I had supposed him capable of. "Be silent, sir," he said. "It is that coarse, rough tongue of yours I am accusing not any serious intention of offence towards a lady. I hope, however, you may find some one better fitted to speak to your character than myself; as I have only just returned from abroad, and cannot know what you have been about some months. I can say this," and he addresssed the magistrates, "I have bought a horse from this person, and he turned out well. I believe he is tolerably well-known among gentlemen as a dealer in horses, and I have always heard him spoken of favourably in that vocation."

Are you a resident in the neighbourhood?" inquired Mr. Harding.

"No; though not entirely unknown here, as I was visiting Mr. M'Kinnom a few months back. A little affair of business with Mr. Alfred Merrivale drew me here to-day. Certainly Mr. Grant Wainwright would be a fitter person to speak where he now present, as he is a resident, and his connections well-known here."

The police still insisting that the man could not have entered through the gateway without their observation, the magistrates determined on remanding him for further evidence.

Our party then retreated into the library, where the General's hospitality had provided refreshments for his visitors. Tongues that had held enforced silence were now released, and many comments made. The fact had occurred to all that no recognition bad been apparent between Mr. Witham and his "tenant;" but no one doubted young Merrivale's discernment had been correct. Mr. Littington had heard one of the police assert he was positive that man had been up before, for he had seen a photograph of him. Another had said he was like one he knew, but altogether darker.

Alfred left to join his brother and Mr. M'Kinnom, anticipating some conversation with Witham. I was pleased to hear General Wetheral say he hoped to see him before dinner-time, and that there could be no necessity for his leaving Harby Hall while his picture was unfinished. Mr. Littington was also invited to dine. He accompanied Helen and myself through the hall to assist us to mount and expressed much gratification at the part Alfred had played in the affair.

CHAP. XXXV.

A BATTLE FOR LOYALTY.

Helen being in haste to return to her home, we rode fast, and exchanged but few words. Next morning, however, she came to her studies, and I afterwards walked with her up the hill.

She had not found her grandfather in good humour on her return from Harby Hall; but he listened with some interest to what she had

"Of course my grandfather is quite justified quite right," Helen said. "But it seems a long, long time to look forward to, that I must not even see him!"

Tears were in her eyes.

"Dear Helen," I said, "I doubt if your grandfather is quite justified in forbidding that. Certainly I do not know what the precise terins of understanding may have been; but, I think a regard for your happiness should cause him to concede that much, even if it is in his power to refuse it. Do not be down-hearted, dear; he may consent some time when in better humour."

Helen shook her head rather sadly-" and there's Grant coming," she said. "Do not think of that now: think, if we shall have our letters to-morrow."

The last despatch from Vienna had contained but one letter to Helen. Our correspondent was then expecting his mother's arrival. On Sunday morning I knew, by the size of the budget, there was one for each; but, as I was about starting for church, put it in my desk without opening. Helen accompanied me to Fairclough after service, and then our despatches were investigated. A glance at mine, which was long, induced a desire to read it alone; so, while Helen conned hers over, I made believe to be busier than I need. She concluded with a smile and a sigh.

"All right?" I questioned.

"Yes," she said, "he's all right. Both the ladies speak of me very affectionately, he tells me. They spoke of him very affectionately to me; but, somehow, I would rather one of them had nothing to say to either of us."

"Has Grant returned?" I asked, as Helen put up the letter.

"Yes, I hear he was at the Rood last-night, and suppose he will be with my grandfather this morning."

Helen left, and I ran up to my bed-room with my letter. Here it is:

"MY DEAR MRS. GAINSBOROUGH,-Never apologise to me for the length of your letters; their contents are very acceptable to me, even when, as in your last, you take me to task rather severely. My correspondence with you is one of the greatest comforts I have. Helen's dear letters are seldom long: I suppose it is natural that a degree of restraint, which may be attributed to a girl's timidity, should attend them. She does not tell me half enough about herself;

so all I have of a wife comes from the memory of times, the aggregate of which would not amount to half-a-day, and from her letters, need I repeat, your accounts are inestimable to me? Nor is this all-you have been to myself so kind, so considerate, yet so earnestly solicitous I should act up to my duty, that, the fact of having to write to you with the desire to deal honestly in writing, gives a certain support to my good resolutions. It is rather for me to make apologies for my hastily-written and most unequal correspondence. I would say to you now-suffer me to write what at the moment I feel needful; speak your impressions of what I write. They may be mistaken, probably from my own fault in giving you imperfect grounds for forming a judgment on my feelings or actions; but, I am confident they will be sincere, and, when you are much mistaken, you will suffer me to point it out.

times when natural feeling has its sway; and she is so gentle and endearing to those she loves, it is almost impossible seeing her so, and seeing her as she was this evening-I ceased to write as I recalled her loveliness: I said, is it wise to dwell on it? Perhaps, too, the thought came, Is it prudent to rave to Mrs. Gainsborough about a lingering weakness she may despise me for? How I long to see Helen again. I long to hear her honest tones. Could Ï' but have a glove fresh from her hand it would be a charm. I look at the ring on my finger, but the wretched jeweller has marred her hair in the setting-to my fancy-though no doubt he deemed his workmanship exquisite. Well, at all events, I see the lady, my cousin, more soberly now. She is always wearing fresh jewellery. I wonder if those pretty, glittering diamonds are new, or the old ones reset! if the former, where on earth does the money come from? She has been making many bewildering purchases in Paris, and inducing my dear mother to make more than she ought. I shall have to remind the latter that there is no more money forthcoming than that assigned for her use from the rent of the old place. Pleasant task-Mr. Ainslie says he cannot get Helen to draw for what is her own.

"Lady Althea is here, and has been here a week. My mother, being a resident in the same house, I cannot avoid her. I believe you are right-Merton Brown tells me the same although aware of my marriage, she still thinks a certain amount of devotion due to herself from me—a larger measure than you, I know would approve. Yet put altogether from your mind-if it has entertained the idea-that my What do men live for? I suppose I ought cousin could forget her own dignity, or suffer to have some perception. I have been to any compromise of reputation for love of any school, and to college, and to church. My mortal under heaven. I firmly believe she head is rather bewildered just now, but I enwould spurn the fool weak enough to act on tertain an idea that its purpose is to increase such a supposition. She must learn to think our being by development of the good imme a different being from what I have seemed. planted in us. Dazzling, cold, and—yes, it is so But it must take time to bring this about. I can hardly tell either herself or my mother that henceforth I am no longer guided by their judgment or desires. I must simply take my own way when it no longer tallies with theirs. Yet, to confess the truth, habit ties me a good deal. It is most natural-generally most easy to me to comply. Although my heart has thrown off subjection to this beautiful queen, I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that she is lovely, and lovelier to my taste in comparison with the foreign beauties she now moves among. Were she my sister I must feel proud of her: I try as much as possible to think I am her brother."

It was evident to me that Mr. Mainwaring's letter-writing had been interrupted at this place. What followed was not only less coherant, but the handwriting showed that the pen had been changed; and, even differed itself in a degree from his usual clear, firm, characters. Thus it proceeds:

selfish Althea! You have been no good angel to me! I thank heaven I have hold of Helen's hand. Helen has brought me her all; those were your words I remember.

Daylight is coming. I must sleep now. Morning, and this must go to the post, for I may not find time to rewrite it. Take it, kind friend that you are. I will only add that you may believe this-I am fully sensible of the deep debt of gratitude I owe, and should loathe myself could I fail in requiting Helen in the sole way it is in my power to do-in loyalty. I will not let her place in my affections be assailed if I can help it: but I would entreat that, as far as may be, you would urge her to give me something more of herself in her letters. I know, I feel convinced, though circumstanced as I am, I fail to awake it-there is some warmth of feeling in her heart: some unreasonable enthusiasm, perhaps you would call it; such, in fact, as you chided her for at the "I wish that old me of mine were dead in ruin by the rocks. Call it girl's folly, or what reality, that so no old memories would rise up you will, it has highest value for me at present. to haunt and trouble me. I feel sometimes II do not wish to feel too much as though I almost hate her for her cruelty. This night were her father and she my dutiful little she made me hate her. What a fool's paradise girl.—Yours truly. she once led me into; and what a fool I am to let the memory of it rise, when I should be thinking of what followed-if she would only be consistent, that I might despise her; but it seems as though intellect, narrowed by conventional views, ruled her actions. There are

"ARDEN MAINWARING."

I paced up and down the shady walk in my garden that afternoon, revolving over and over the questions, "What should I say to Helen respecting the contents of this letter? What counsel should I give my correspondent? His

candour encouraged me to a hopeful view of the goodness of his heart; I felt sure of his good intentions, but how should I feel confident they would bear the strain of circumstances? True there was a bound I knew would not be passed. I believed what he asserted of Lady Althea's sense of what was due to her own honour. Yet, if he were taught to look upon his union with Helen as a bar to higher happiness-if, dazzled and ensnared, his judgment gave the preference away from her, where was poor Helen's happiness?

When, next morning, our usual studies had been gone through, I suggested to my pupil that, her spelling being now very greatly improved, she might venture to write to Vienna without showing her letters to me. "It may even be as well," I said, "to let Mr. Mainwaring know how it has been. He perceives some slight constraint in your letters to him, and I think would be better pleased to have less faultless but more freely-written letters.' Helen looked embarrassed-troubled. "You must not take it amiss," I went on, "that he wishes for more of yourself, your unconstrained self to be revealed to him. His whole letter to me shows that he thinks of you continually looks to you as to promised happiness.'

"I wish Lady Althea were not there!" was Helen's unexpected reply.

It a little disconcerted me. I felt a necessity for saying something, and hastily questioned "What do you fear?"

66

I fear she will lower me in the eyes of my husband," Helen answered. "I am sure she has the will to do it. It is not having to show my letters to you, dear," she continued, that constrains me; but I know that I never could write- what I feel. I must be content to keep off great errors or mistakes. If I were to let fancy or feeling carry me on, I am greatly afraid my letters would read like nonsense-he would think them absurd! I cannot express; I have not the power of speaking, even, as Lady Althea can; and I have no doubt she writes beautifully. Does he complain much of my letters ?" I read the passages referring to them.

"I am sorry," she said: "I did not intend him to think me cold. I must try and throw off some of my foolish feelings. That great world he is in sometimes makes me feel I have so little to tell him of that can be worth his attention."

"He says, dear, he wants more of yourself." Helen laughed-a nervous little laugh. "It is not considered right to put too many "I's' in a letter," she replied.

"Rules have exceptions, and between friends who love each other that one can hardly stand good. Do as you would be done by' is a better. Do you think I shall be pleased when my letter arrives from Captain Gainsborough if he has been over-careful to count his "I's?"

Helen was silent awhile, then musingly repeated, "His dutiful little girl '-yes, that is what I am to him!"

"Helen, more than that. I know that you love him with a love very different to that you bear your grandfather!"

"Yes, he is more to me than all the world; he is the realization of all I ever hoped forthat is, he might be, if he were more of a reality to me. Even now the better part of my being is all his: he holds it. I have no happiness that I do not share with him in my heart. I always seem to call to him to share it; and, when I am very much worried and troubled, I fancy he would be sorry for me if he knew what I felt; only sometimes I distrust my own happiness, and doubt that he ever will love me." "Helen, darling, you are depressed this morning. You ought not to doubt that for a moment. Remember his letter requires you to encourage him in thinking of you not merely as a good, dutiful child, but the mistress of his heart. Can you not speak of your affection for him much as you have now spoken to me?" "No, I cannot," she answered, decisively. "If my deeds fail to convince him he is loved by me I cannot. Consider-does he yet love me-love me as fully as he would have me confess I love him? No-though he is my husband, I, I cannot write love-letters to him!"

Oh, that cruel Lady Althea! I saw the wound she had inflicted was still unhealed.

"Helen, dear," I said, there is a rightful pride in such matters; but I think your danger is in exceeding. Were it a question only of gratified feeling with your husband, I am not sure that it would be wise to encourage in yourself that sort of pride: but it is more; and mind

he is seeking your love. Whatever grace you may grant in the way of revealing affection is not unsought by him; and when you gave him your hand you gave him the right to claim such love."

"I believe I am in a bad humour to-day," Helen said, after some moments of thought. I am too much disposed to look on the dark side. I should like a good good gallop on Prossy, but the sun is too warm for that till evening; and I don't want to meet Grant, as I am likely to do if I go out then."

"Have you seen him yet?"

"Yes, there has been a formal reconciliation. Moreover, yon may expeet a letter of apology for his language to you that day in the pass.

"I hardly anticipated such a condescension." "It was his own suggestion. He only questioned if I thought you would accept it.'

"And of course you said I should be willing. I have only good will towards your cousin, poor fellow, though I did feel indignant when he was for carrying things with a high hand. Do you think he is at all reconciled to the idea of your engagement? Does he guess with whom it is made?"

"I cannot say. There has been no direct reference to it. He is very quiet. He has been ill."

"Ill? Not from any harm resulting from his conflict with our champion ?"

"Not exactly. Perhaps mortification of feeling has had its part. He has had fever, and looks much thinner-and so pale !"

CHAP. XXXVI.

FRIENDLY COUNSELS.

My duties to my correspondent at Vienna did not seem a whit the less difficult and delicate after this conversation. After tearing up many sheets of paper, I decided to write this: "If I am to help you effectually, it must be by throwing more light upon the conduct and motives of her who troubles your peace. I know that, when I speak to her dispraise, you must look upon me as a partisan; I do not see how that can be avoided; but it ought not to keep me silent.

Accepting entirely your opinion that Lady Althea entertains no idea of compromising her dignity, I yet assert that she seeks a supremacy over your judgment, and also over your affections, which is now neither lawful for her to seek nor for you to yield. I believe that, to maintain such supremacy, she is willing to sacrifice Helen's happiness and yours also; that she would rather you were unhappy as a husband, so that you found consolation in such favour as she chose to bestow.

"Most men who had been as unfairly dealt with as you have would be as bitter in their judgment as they had previously been partial. Such a revulsion of feeling bearing the judgment with it, indicates some weakness, and perhaps the desire to avoid this makes you over generous. I do not blame your magnanimity, but I fear it lays you open to further attempts. She may think that latent affection makes your service to her sweet. This should not be so.

"Had the lady a brother-such another as yourself-do you think he could feel pride in her conduct? Would he feel it was sufficient his sister were virtuous from self-respect, while willing to lead others towards unfaithfulness ?

"I will put the case more strongly to you; what if Helen, circumstanced as she is, were to allow herself the same latitude towards Grant Wainwright? I bear her witness, dear girl, her conduct has been of the very opposite description. She has so honest a concern for her old playmate, that to see he had transferred his allegiance would give her real gratification.

"I have said that Lady Althea is willing to sacrifice Helen's happiness, and I feel it needful to warn you against any view of what Helen is, presented by your cousin. I doubt if you have been informed of an occurrence at Cardington Castle very convincing to Helen in regard to Lady Althea's good-will towards her. I think you ought to know it, but would rather Lady Arabella Mainwaring told you than myself. Helen is very little likely to allude to the matter; but the knowledge of it may help to account to you if her letters since that time have seemed

a shade less genial. If vanity had had much part in poor Helen's affections for you, or had she been unaware that you had loved before, it must indeed have given her bitter mortification, As it is, she is rather more timorous towards you. more reticent. She does not doubt your truth, but she fears comparison with one you once found so love-compelling. I believe there will still remain something of care in her heart on this score, which only your presence can dispel.

"Although I find nothing to blame you for, I must remind you that her care, as matters appeared by your last letter, is far from groundless. I give you credit for having fought, as a man should, to maintain your uprightness. Fight still, and free yourself from the trammels of habit, the habit of seeking pleasure in the society of your cousin. Helen has a woman's pride, and it is not likely she should be very liberal in speaking her heart's feelings towards you while a shadow of doubt hangs over your love for her. Yet, if you knew, as I do, how fully that heart is occupied with thoughts of you, the sense of your duty towards her would be strengthened in the time of trial by pity for the loving girl."

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I locked this up in my desk until Helen's letter should be ready to accompany it. I had charged her to narrate her adventure on the marsh, and to give such particulars respecting Mr. Witham and the affair at Harby Hall the Marsham Advertiser was deficient in. With such material, I was certain her letter would be both long and interesting; and the newspaper was to accompany our despatch.

On the following morning the promised missive from Mr. Grant Wainwright arrived. It contained as ample an apology as I could desire, and I wrote immediately in reply, to the effect that I was satisfied to let by-gones be bygones.

I had promised Helen to come up to Darliston Hall this (Tuesday) afternoon that we might have an evening ride together; but was detained later than I intended by a visitor, Mr. Littington. He came to talk to me about Alfred Merrivale, concerning whose welfare and prospects General Wetheral was much disposed to interest himself. I was pleased to hear that his desire was to afford him something more than a temporary benefit.

"I have thought the matter over," proceeded Mr. Littington; " but must confess myself at a loss how beneficially to advise. If the youth had any inclination for farming I have no doubt the General could help him materially; but as to forwarding his interests as an artist I fear he can do but little. Could it be shewn such a thing would be of real service, he is willing to give commissions sufficient to defray his expenses in London or Paris, but he would be much better pleased, I know, to keep him on his estate, for he has taken a fancy to his company. He thinks too, with me, that your friend is rather young to start for the continent alone. He has not enough experience of the world."

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