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PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.

Vol. LVI. THE LAST NIGHT OF THE OLD YEAR.

BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

It was the last night of the old year, but Shafton Castle was no longer, as in happier days, blazing with light and ringing with nrer- riment, for the heir to all this state and wealth absent, and had been absent for years, and no one knew whether he was alive or dead.

Two women stood within a lofly, uncasemented Gothic window, in that part of the castle which had been in ruins since the civil wars, and which overlooked the ancient church and its grave- yard. One was young and beautiful, but with a certain sadness in her face, as if she had already experienced sorrow, and had almost bidden farewell to hope. The other was midle-aged, but appeared older even than her years; she often coughed, and with a deep, hollow cough, as if seriously ill.

“Oh! if we could only hear from Percy,” the latter said. “If we even knew that he was alive—that we might hope to see him sometime——”

“God’s will be done,” murmured the other, in a low voice, full of suppressed emotion. Then, as the gale whirled the snow in at the window, from the great fir-tree in front, she added, wrapping her companion’s cloak tighter about the feeble figure, “but do come in, dear lady Shafton. Indeed, indeed, you are not fit; to be here.”

A hale, hearty man was hardly fit to be there. It had been snowing fiercely all day, but had now cleared off, and the wind was rising fast, getting keener and wilder every minute. The old oak, that, leafless as it was, half hid the ancient church-tower from sight, writhed in the gale, with a moan like some lost spirit in torment. The moon waded heavily through the driving clouds. At times, the wind would come in such puffs, as it whirled around the corner of the castle, as almost to take the two women from their feet. At times, as when the younger woman spoke now, gusts of snow were driven in upon them.

“I cannot—I cannot,” said the elder lady. “What? Have light and warmth when my poor Percy lies cold and still, like the dead there below?”

To understand our story we must go back for more than three years, to a morning in March, when the whole household, at the castle, was in commotion. The great Shafton topaz, a gem said to have been brought from the far East, when the Shaftons were Crusaders, and which had been worn as a talisman by every Shafton since, had suddenly disappeared. ‘Who had stolen it?” was the question each asked of the. other with blanched face, and to which no one could reply. At last Lady Alice Stanhope sought Lady Shafton’s chamber.

“Have you had no suspicions yet?” she said.

Lady Shafton looked up and answered, “No. Percy has just been here, and says that he has no clue to its loss whatever. When his dear father died it was put away, as is the custom, for Percy's majority; but yesterday, when you made a point of his going to the bull with you, and asked him, as a favor, to wear the ring, he desired me to have it ready for him. So I took it out of my jewel-casket and laid it on the toilet-table ready for him. When he came for it, it was gone, as you know. There was no time to search for it then; but today every nook and corner of the castle has been examined.” “Was no one in your room?”

“No one. That is, no one except Elsie.”

“Ah! Elsie.”

There was not much in the words, but the tone made Lady Shafton look earnestly at her companion. Lady Alice had a high-bred figure and face, with golden hair, and blue eyes, and many persons thought her a beauty. But others said she was cold and haughty, and that cruelty lurked in her steely eyes. This morning those eyes wore their hardest and most relentless look.

“What do you mean?” said Lady Shafton.

�

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360

Thou art a subject, nothing more. Remember, bold one, who thou art, And learn to keep thy proper place.
 * Ollantay. Strike me to the heart.
 * Pachacuti. 'Tis for me to see to that,

And not for thee to choose. Thy presumption is absurd. Be gone!

[Ollantay rises and exit

''A rocky height above Cuzco to the NE. Distant view of the city of Cuzco and of the Sacsahuaman hill, crowned by the fortress.''

 * (Enter armed.)

Ollantay! Thou master of so many lands, Insulted by him thou servedst well. O my thrice-beloved Coyllur, Thee too I shall lose for ever.

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Rh O the void within my heart, O my princess! O precious dove! Cuzco! O thou beautiful city! Henceforth behold thine enemy. I'll bare thy breast to stab thy heart, And throw it as food for condors; Thy cruel Inca I will slay. I will call my men in thousands, The Antis will be assembled, Collected as with a lasso. All will be trained, all fully armed, I will guide them to Sacsahuaman. They will be as a cloud of curses, When flames rise to the heavens. Cuzco shall sleep on a bloody couch, The King shall perish in its fall; Then shall my insulter see How numerous are my followers. When thou, proud King, art at my feet, We then shall see if thou wilt say, 'Thou art too base for Coyllur's hand.' Not then will I bow down and ask, For I, not thou, will be the King— Yet, until then, let prudence rule.

 * (Enter from back, )

Piqui Chaqui, go back with speed, Tell the Princess I come to-night.
 * Piqui Chaqui. I have only just come from there—

The palace was deserted quite, No soul to tell me what had passed, Not even a dog was there.

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362 All the doors were closed and fastened, Except the principal doorway, And that was left without a guard.
 * Ollantay. And the servants?
 * Piqui Chaqui. Even the mice had fled and gone,

For nothing had been left to eat. Only an owl was brooding there, Uttering its cry of evil omen.
 * Ollantay. Perhaps then her father has taken her,

To hide her in his palace bounds.
 * Piqui Chaqui. The Inca may have strangled her;

Her mother too has disappeared.
 * Ollantay. Did no one ask for me

Before you went away?
 * Piqui Chaqui. Near a thousand men are seeking

For you, and all are enemies, Armed with their miserable clubs.
 * Ollantay. If they all arose against me,

With this arm I'd fight them all; No one yet has beat this hand, Wielding the champi sharp and true.
 * Piqui Chaqui. I too would like to give a stroke—

At least, if my enemy was unarmed.
 * Ollantay. To whom?
 * Piqui Chaqui. I mean that Urco Huaranca chief,

Who lately was in search of thee.
 * Ollantay. Perhaps the Inca sends him here;

If so my anger is aroused.
 * Piqui Chaqui. Not from the King, I am assured,

He cometh of his own accord; And yet he is an ignoble man.
 * Ollantay. He has left Cuzco, I believe;

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HOUGH seventeen years had now passed since Yūgao’s death, Genji had not by any means forgotten her. He had indeed since those early days seen much of the world and encountered the most divers temperaments. But he had yet to find a disposition such as hers; and it was with feelings of longing and contrition that he looked back upon their intimacy.

Though Ukon was not a creature of much account, she was the one person to whom he could speak of the dead lady. He felt a considerable degree of affection towards her, and during the years after Yūgao’s death Ukon had practically lived at the Nijo-inNijō-in [sic], being allowed to spend most of her time with the older servants in the house-keeper’s room. Then came the exile, and with Genji’s other servants she went across to the western wing and entered Murasaki’s service. She gave the impression of being a harmless, self-effacing creature, and it would have surprised every one very much to know what was all the while going on in her mind. For Ukon, particularly after the move to the New Palace, was constantly appraising the relative positions of the great ladies who ruled the house, and deciding what place her own dear mistress would now be occupying, were she still alive. ‘Certainly,’ said Ukon to herself, looking critically at the Lady of Akashi, ‘my poor lady would not have been eclipsed by such as

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Rh My own heart tells me it is so— I'm sure that owl announces it. We'll take to the hills at once.
 * Piqui Chaqui. But wilt thou abandon the Star?
 * Ollantay. What can I do, alas!

Since she has disappeared? Alas, my dove! my sweet princess.

 * (Music heard among the rocks.)

Listen to that yarahui, The sound comes from somewhere near.

 * (They sit on rocks.)

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148 you!’ And indeed Ukon had seen for herself that even where his feelings were far less strong than in Yūgao’s case, there never came a time when Genji turned aside from those who had opened their hearts to him, or behaved as though his obligations towards them were at an end. However full might be the cup of his affections, he did not allow a drop to spill; and though Yūgao might not perhaps have been able to vie with so great a personage as Murasaki, yet it was certain that were she alive she would now be occupying one of the main apartments in the newly-finished house.

Such were the sad reflections that dwelt constantly in this solitary lady’s heart. She had never attempted to get into communication with the family of her late mistress, nor even to discover the present whereabouts of the child whom Yūgao had left behind at the house in the Fifth Ward; partly through fear of being questioned concerning her own part in the unhappy affair, partly because there seemed to be no object in doing so. Moreover, Genji had strictly forbidden her to mention the story to anybody, and though she had sometimes thought of writing to the people at the house, she felt that it would be disloyal to him to do so, and was entirely without news. She did, however, hear long afterwards a report that the husband of the nurse in whose care the child had been left was now working in a provincial Treasury and that his wife was with him. It seemed probable that they had also taken the child.

This was indeed the case. Tamakatsura was four years old when she made the journey to Tsukushi. The nurse, after months of vain endeavour to discover Yūgao’s whereabouts, during which she had trudged weary and weeping from quarter to quarter and house to house without finding

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Rh the least glimmer of news, had at last given up all hope. She would have been glad enough for her own sake to keep the child, to whom she had become fondly attached, as a remembrance of the mistress whom she must now regard as forever lost. But there were also the little girl’s own interests to consider. ‘We are humble people,’ thought the nurse, ‘and Tsukushi is a long way off. Perhaps it is my duty to tell her father of what has happened and give him the chance of making some more suitable provision for her future.’ But it was difficult for such people to communicate with a young gentleman of Tō no Chūjō’s quality. ‘If I mention the child to its father,’ she said to her husband one day, ‘he is certain to ask at once how I could have been so foolish as to let our poor young lady out of my sight. And indeed, I don’t know how I should answer him. Then again, it isn’t as if he had ever seen much of the little creature. It would be like handing her over to strangers, and I do not think that, when the time came, I should ever find it in my heart to let her go. He may of course refuse to do anything for her himself; but one thing is certain: if he hears we are going off to Tsukushi, he will never give me leave to take her with us!’ So the nurse declared to her husband and companions. Though Tamakatsura was not much over three years old when her mother disappeared, she had acquired all the airs and graces of a little lady; she was remarkably good-looking and it was apparent that she already had a strong will of her own. But now she was bundled on to a common trading-ship in which no provision whatever had been made for the comfort of the passengers; and as they rowed out into the bay, she began to look very disconsolate. She still thought

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 422 422

“Elsie guilty of taking the ring? Impossible! Why, I have known her from a child—I have trusted her in everything—she loves me as a daughter——”

“Too much as a daughter,” was the answer, with a sneer. ‘Are your eyes still blind, my dear Lndy Shafton? Elsie Leigh aspires to be your successor.”

“You do not mean—it cannot be! Why, it has always been understood that you were to marry Perey yourself—the estates juin, you know——" stammered the bewildered mother.

“That I was to be the future Countess of Shafton was well understood,” answered the younger lady, coolly playing with the tassel of her morning-dress, “But, only yesterday, I surprised my young lord and your poor cousin and companion,” the coutemptuous tone of these last words is indescribable, “in the garden, bill- ing and cooing like a milk-maid and her ewain. Iwas behind one of the big box-trees, and came on them by accident, nor could I escape without betraying myself, so I was forced to hear, and even sev a little, Well, to be short, he was pressing her to accept o ring, and promising that uo other one should ever be his wife. He told her that be had to go away to-day, on bis travels, but that when he was of age he would -come back, and marry her in defiauce of everybody: I suppose be meuat you aud me, sad the will of his father, the late earl,”

Lady Shafton sprung to hor feet, white with rage. She was a passionate woman, intensely proud of ber son's linenge.

“The upstart—tho viper,” she cried. «I will order her, this very minute, to leave the house. How does she dare, the daughter of a common clergyman, even though a cousin of our house—”

She broke down, choked by rage. The Lady Alice laid her hand on the elder woman’s arm.

“A moment, my dear Lady Shafton. Let us avoid scandal, at least such as may affect your noble house. This girl, this Elsie, must be dis- missed, but not on such a plea. Turn her off, but do it for stealing the topaz.”

“The topaz?”

“Yes! Don’t you see? She was the only person in the room beside yourself. If she is base enough to entrap your son, she is base enough for the other. the ring; that the title and wealth always go with its possessor, and that, if the ring is lost, so will they be; and she probably thinks, the silly fool, that by taking the ring she will secure Percy and become Countess of Shafton. To me it is perfectly clear. But say not a word of the scene yesterday. Let no one suspect that Percy has fallen a victim to her wiles. and charge her with the theft; and then tura her off before all the servants. Percy is amy and cannot interfere, and in a fow months he will forget her.”

It is astonishing what power a cold, crafty person, like Lady Alice, has over passionate natures like Lady Shafton. The latter was mere tool in the hands of the younger woman.

But Elsie, when summoned, made a brave fight for her good name. She came in, fresh and buoyant, in all the splendor of her sweet beauty, and though her cheek paled, at first, at the accusation, she soon rallied.

“Steal the topaz!” she exclaimed. “Lady Shafton, you cannot think it. You know you took the ring out of its box, and laid it on the toilet-table yourself. You held it up for me to see, and I came and looked on it; but I did not touch it: I never have ahs! it in my life.”

But all her protestations were useless. In vain she pointed out that the toilet-table stood by the window, and that the casement was open, because the day had been warm.

“Some one may have entered by that way,” she said. But Lady Shafton answered that the window was thirty feet from the ground, and that no tree stood near, by which a thief might have climbed up. In short, even those who were Elsie’s friends, and her sweet ways had made many in that household, were forced to admit that the case against her looked black enough. As for Lady Shafton, she had no doubts. So a carriage was ordered out, and Elsie was driven to the nearest station, penniless and disgraced.

Percy came up from London, the next day, on a last visit to the castle. He found a blotted, hurried note from Elsie, returning the few little gifts he had made to her, and saying that she had gone away and would never see him again. A stormy interview followed between him and his mother. Lady Shafton said, truly, that she did not know where Elsie had gone. “The girl bought her ticket for London,” she told her son, “and said to the groom she would go from that place to her real destination. She knows she is guilty, and means to hide her shame.”

“Mother,” said Percy, “I will not, even from you, bear such words about Elsie. God will yet make her innocence clear. But never, so long as you and I live, will I put foot on this threshold again, till you have acknowledged to Elsie that you wronged her.” And with these words he rushed away, leaving Lady Shafton in a swoon.

He rushed away, and hurried to London, determined to discover Elsie’s retreat, But his �

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150 a great deal about her mother, and, to re-assure herself, she said out loud: ‘I know why we are travelling on this ship; we are going to see mother!’ She returned to this idea again and again, but it received no confirmation on any side, and at last she burst into tears. Two young women sitting near by were also weeping, though they suddenly ceased to do so when one of the sailors reminded them that ‘tears bring bad luck at sea.’

Skirting along the coast they passed much lovely scenery, and the nurse, remembering what delight her young mistress had taken in such sights as these, wished for a moment that she were here to see them. But then she remembered that but for Yūgao’s disappearance she and her husband would never have been driven to accept this wretched post in the provinces, and she gazed regretfully in the direction of the City, envying even the waves that stole back so peacefully towards shores ‘that she, perhaps, would never tread again.’ Soon the rowers began chanting in their rough, wild voices the song ‘Over the distant waves,’ and the two young women, who were sitting face to face, again began to weep bitterly. At last the ship rounded the Golden Cape, and knowing that the coast which now came into view belonged not to the mainland, but to the island of Tsukushi, the travellers felt that exile had indeed begun. The old nurse’s heart sank; but she had her little charge to see to and was most of the time far too busy to think of anything else. Now and again she would drop off to sleep and then, as for some time past, she would at once dream that her mistress appeared before her. But always at Yūgao’s side there stood the figure of another woman, who seemed to follow her wherever she went. The nurse woke from these dreams sickened and afraid, and she felt, after each such occasion, more certain than ever that Yūgao was no longer alive.

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 On the fourth day, I removed the dressing and strapped him once more to the table; then I allowed his consciousness to return—for I would not deprive him of his personality without giving him some of the hideous mental torture he had caused me. To see his fear, terror, and despair! To hear him rave! Oh, that would be music to my ears!

At last, his eyes opened, and he looked wonderingly around; then he saw me and stared. A flicker of recollection came into those strange brown eyes, and he gasped hoarsely:

"What has happened, Horace? Why am I here?" at that moment, he discovered the straps, and shrank before the wild gleam in my eyes. "Horace!"he cried, horror in his tone. "Horace, you—you—"

He paused as I silently held a mirror before him. For a moment, he stared in bewilderment at the face reflected, every feature of which was strange to him; then the terrible realization stunned him—he understood my revenge!

"You fiend—you fiend from hell!" he mouthed through hard, dry lips.

Oh, the unspeakable joy of that moment! I was repaid for all my suffering! If he was horrified now, how would he feel when he knew the rest? I must tell him!

"Just a small payment on the debt I owe you, Wyn, dear boy!" I laughed uncontrollably. "You snatched me from heaven to cast me into hell, so why shouldn't I be a fiend?" Then my laughter ceased, and I glared with hate. "I loved you as a brother, yet you tore out my heart and trampled upon it! You sent me to hell—you made me a fiend—you suggested that I use for my own ends the discovery I hoped would make the world better, and now, by God, you will be the first to undergo it! Do you hear?" I shrieked, and he seemed to shrink within himself. "Do you hear? I am going to relieve you of your personality!"

The result of my announcement far exceeded my fondest hopes! With the scream of a madman, he wrenched and tore at the straps which bound him; then, finding this fruitless, he raved and cursed—all of which I thoroughly enjoyed until I realized he was about to escape me! The light of insanity gleamed in his eyes—the bloody froth which flecked his lips warned me his reason was going!

With the anesthetic crushed to his face, I watched his struggles grow less wild and finally cease. Five minutes later, I had him prepared, and in half an hour, he was back in the bed. In the meantime, I had dissected out the center which I knew, from my operation on the criminal, to be the one which controlled personal recollection.

T WAS done! My revenge was complete and beyond recall! No other living man knew of the existence of my ganglion, and, even I, if I ever so wished, could not replace that which I had removed! It was gone forever—removed by an operation which I, alone of all men, could perform!

With my lust for revenge satiated, I sat beside him to await returning consciousness; and when it came, I repeated in his ear a personal history—that his would not be a blank. I chuckled at its plausibility, for it was that of a man—not unlike him in build—who had told me his story in France, then—died. With what I told him, Selwyn Morris could take up the life of Anthony Jones, and the substitution never be suspected.

I had no doubt as to the result—it could not fail, yet I was overjoyed when, in answer to my question later in the day, he repeated the words I had impressed upon his semi-conscious brain, and asked if I would help him to find employment! Imagine my satisfaction when he accepted my offer and became my man-servant!

Two weeks have elapsed since the operation, and gradually I am reaching the conviction that it was not a complete success—that I removed something more than personal recollection. As Anthony Jones, he appears perfectly normal, yet I feel there is something—something lacking. There is no life, no fire in his eye—it is dull and expressionless. He takes no interest in anything, is stolid, devoid of emotion, and mechanical (that expresses it exactly) in all his actions. He obeys orders to the letter, and has given no cause for the uneasiness I feel; yet he is getting on my nerves—so much so, I am beginning to fear him! Why? I do not know.

ORRIBLE! Inconceivable!

A few minutes ago, Betsy, my little fox terrier, angered by a kick from—Jones, snapped at his leg. Then followed a scene so brutal, so disgustingly fiendish that my soul revolted, and I crouched in terror behind my chair! With a quick grab, Jones seized the little animal and deliberately twisted the head from the body! Nauseated as I was by the sight, I saw something which made me shudder with loathing for myself and my crime!

As he stood there, the dripping carcass in his hands, I saw there was no anger—no resentment—no excitement—there was absolutely no expression whatsoever in his eyes!

Then I knew! And the knowledge almost crazed me! Like Frankenstein, I had created a monster who would destroy me with as little compunction as he had taken the life of the helpless little animal!

God forgive me! No man ever sinned as I! I had robbed him of that something men call a soul!

To my half crazed brain, he appeared in his true light, as he was—a man—no, not a man—a Thing without a soul! A hideous monstrosity!

Fixing those vacant eyes upon me, he advanced—slowly—nearer and nearer until I lost control of myself and sprang up to cover behind the table!

"No—no! Don't touch me—go away!" I screamed in a frenzy, then collapsed half fainting when he turned and strode mechanically from the room!

Only for a moment did my terror allow me to lie there! I staggered to my feet—it was his life or mine! I knew the outcome if he attacked me, unless—unless I could take him unaware!

With throbbing heart and quaking limbs, I stole softly after him. Leaning from a window which opens on the narrow, well-like air shaft, I found him; and from his attitude, I knew he had just tossed poor Betsy's body down the shaft. If I could only reach him before he discovered me! What an opportunity! Sick with dread lest he turn about, I crept forward as stealthily as ever a starving tiger stalked a doe! Surely the terrible pounding of my heart would arouse him! No—he still gazed downward! Nearer—nearer I crept until my outstretched hands almost touched him, I gathered my strength and leaped! Clasping his knees, I shot him out into the darkness, in spite of the grip he obtained on the sill!

Leaning out perilously, I listened; then my brain whirled, and I staggered back to my chair! An icy hand seemed to grip my throat—chills coursed my spine!

In God's name, what was it I had hurled from the window? Not a cry—not a sound of impact on the stones below! I had listened, but no sound came up! Could he have caught something and stayed his plunge down these four stories?

The thought sent me running, and a moment later I was again leaning from the window examining the shaft with


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Rh Shōni, the nurse’s husband, had only been appointed to his post in Tsukushi for a term of five years. But the position he held was a very humble one and when the time came, he found it difficult to meet the expenses of a long journey. Thus their departure for the capital had to be postponed again and again. At last, after many months of disappointment and delay, Shōni fell seriously ill. Tamakatsura was now ten years old and was growing handsomer every day. Shōni, who knew that his end was near, kept asking himself what would become of her in this desolate place. He had always felt that in bringing her with them they had acted somewhat unfairly to the child. For after all she was Tō no Chūjō’s daughter, and her birth entitled her to better surroundings than the cramped and dingy home of a provincial clerk. But five years is not a very long time, and he had always confidently expected that when his term of office ran out he would be able to take her with him to Kyōto and put her into touch with her father. True, it was possible that Chūjō would refuse to acknowledge her. But the City is a big place, and Shōni made no doubt that, once he had settled her there, a girl such as this would not have to wait very long before a satisfactory opening occurred. For this reason he had done everything in his power to raise funds for the journey. But now the last expedient had failed and he knew that for his part he was fated never to leave Tsukushi. During his last days he worried much over the injustice which had been done to the child in detaining her so long away from the Capital, and sending for his sons he said to them: ‘As soon as this is over I want you to take Tamakatsura back to the City. The same day. Don’t wait for the funeral….’

It was only known to the members of Shōni’s family that the little girl was Tō no Chūjō’s daughter. To the other

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152 government clerks and to the world in general she was a grand-daughter of Shōni’s whose parents were in trouble of some kind and had left her in his charge. But in the family she continued to be treated as ‘the young lady’, and every sacrifice was made that she might have, so far as possible, the upbringing to which her birth entitled her. Shōni’s sudden illness and death naturally threw his wife into a piteous state of distraction; but in the midst of her grief, one thought obsessed her; would they ever be able to secure a passage back to the City and restore the little girl to her relations? Unfortunately Shōni had been unpopular with the local people and none of them would give any assistance. Thus the time dragged on, wretched years full of anxiety and discouragement; and still there seemed no prospect of return.

Meanwhile Tamakatsura grew to womanhood. She had all her mother’s beauty, and something more besides; for she seemed to have inherited from her father’s side a singular air of high breeding, an aristocratic fineness of limb and gesture, that in Yūgao, whose beauty was that of the by-street rather than of the palace, had been entirely lacking. She was of a very generous disposition, and in every way a most delightful companion. Her fame soon spread through the island, and hardly a day passed but some local squire or farmer attempted to get into correspondence with her. These letters, written for the most part in a rustic sprawling hand and very crudely expressed, were thrust upon every member of the household in turn in the hope that he or she would consent to act as a go-between. Clumsy documents of this kind were calculated to arouse nothing but disgust in the breast of any one save an islander, and no attention whatever was paid to them. At last the persistence of her suitors became a nuisance, and the nurse put it about that though the girl looked just like other people, she suffered

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1144 Alus, who had no weapons and no language. In that word I recognized what to me seemed the most remarkable discovery I had made upon Caprona, for unless it were mere coincidence, I had come upon a word that had been handed down from the beginning of spoken language upon earth, been handed down for millions of years, perhaps, with little change. It was the sole remaining thread of the ancient woof of a dawning culture which had been woven when Caprona was a fiery mount upon a great land-mass teeming with life. It linked the unfathomable then to the eternal now. And yet it may have been pure coincidence; my better judgment tells me that it is coincidence that in Caspak the term for speechless man is Alus, and in the outer world of our own today it is Alalus, borrowed from the Greek by Haeckel.

The comely woman of whom I spoke was called So-ta, and she took such a lively interest in me that To-jo finally objected to her attentions, emphasizing his displeasure by knocking her down and kicking her into a corner of the cavern. I leaped between them while he was still kicking her, and obtaining a quick hold upon him, dragged him screaming with pain from the cave. There I made him promise not to hurt the she again, upon pain of worse punishment. So-ta gave me a grateful look; but To-jo and the balance of his women were sullen and ominous.

Later in the evening So-ta confided to me that she was soon to leave the tribe.

"So-ta soon be Kro-lu," she confided in a low whisper. I asked her what a Kro-lu might be, and she tried to explain, but I do not yet know if I understood her. From her gestures I deduced that the Kro-lus were a people who were armed with bows and arrows, had vessels in which to cook their food and huts of some sort in which they lived, and were accompanied by animals. It was all very fragmentary and vague, but the idea seemed to be that the Kro-lus were a more advanced people than the Band-lus. I pondered a long time upon all that I had heard, before sleep came to me. I tried to find some connection between these various races that would explain the universal hope which each of them harbored that some day they would become Galus. So-ta had given me a suggestion; but the resulting idea was so weird that I could scarce even entertain it; yet it coincided with Ahm's expressed hope, with the various steps in evolution I had noted in the several tribes I had encountered and with the range of type represented in each tribe. For example, among the Band-lu were such types as So-ta, who seemed to me to be the highest in the scale of evolution, and To-jo, who was just a shade nearer the ape, while there were others who had flatter noses, faces more prognathous and hairier bodies. The question puzzled me. Possibly in the outer world the answer to it is locked in the bosom of the Sphinx. Who knows? I do not.

Thinking the thoughts of a lunatic or a dope-fiend, I fell asleep; and when I awoke, my hands and feet were securely tied and my weapons had been taken from me. How they did it without awakening me I cannot tell you. It was humiliating, but it was true. To-jo stood above me. The early light of morning was dimly filtering into the cave.

ELL me," he demanded, "how to throw a man over my head and break his neck, for I am going to kill you, and I wish to know this thing before you die."

Of all the ingenuous declarations I have ever heard, this one copped the proverbial bun. It struck me as so funny that, even in the face of death, I laughed. Death, I may remark here, had, however, lost much of its terror for me. I had become a disciple of Lys' fleeting philosophy of the valuelessness of human life. I realized that she was quite right—that we were but comic figures hopping from the cradle to the grave, of interest to practically no other created thing than ourselves and our few intimates.

Behind To-jo stood So-ta. She raised one hand with the palm toward me—the Caspakian equivalent of a negative shake of the head.

"Let me think about it," I parried, and To-jo said that he would wait until night. He would give me a day to think it over; then he left, and the women left—the men for the hunt, and the women, as I later learned from So-ta, for the warm pool where they immersed their bodies as did the shes of the Sto-lu. "Ata," explained So-ta, when I questioned her as to the purpose of this matutinal rite; but that was later.

I must have lain there bound and uncomfortable for two or three hours when at last So-ta—entered the cave. She carried a sharp knife—mine, in fact, and with it she cut my bonds.

"Come!" she said. "So-ta will go with you back to the Galus. It is time that So-ta left the Band-lu. Together we will go to the Kro-lu, and after that the Galus. To-jo will kill you tonight. He will kill So-ta if he knows that So-ta aided you. We will go together."

"I will go with you to the Kro-lu," I replied, "but then I must return to my own people 'toward the beginning.

"You cannot go back," she said. "It is forbidden. They would kill you. Thus far have you come—there is no returning."

"But I must return," I insisted. "My people are there. I must return and lead them in this direction."

She insisted, and I insisted; but at last we compromised. I was to escort her as far as the country of the Kro-lu and then I was to go back after my own people and lead them north into a land where the dangers were fewer and the people less murderous. She brought me all my belongings that had been filched from me—rifle, ammunition, knife, and thermos bottle, and then hand in hand we descended the cliff and set off toward the north.

For three days we continued upon our way, until we arrived outside a village of thatched huts just at dusk. So-ta said that she would enter alone; I must not be seen if I did not intend to remain, as it was forbidden that one should return and live after having advanced this far. So she left me. She was a dear girl and a stanch and true comrade—more like a man than a woman. In her simple


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THE LAST NIGHT OF THE OLD YEAR. 423 efforts were in vain. After months of painful suspense, he gave up the search in despair, and went abroad; and the next heard of him was that he was serving in the India mutiny, and had been last seen at the siege of Delhi. Then he was missed, and it was believed he was dead.

Meantime, at Shafton Castle, there was grief, and mourning. Lady Shafton still believed in Elsie’s guilt, but she mourned her son's desertion, and she would not be comforted. The Lady Alice had returned home. The mischief worked by her had been greater than she intended; but she did not regret it: the accusation had not been hatched merely for revenge; it was one she firmly believed to be true; and so, indeed, did evershody, until more than two years after Percy’s disappearance.

It was while the Lady Alice was on n visit to Shafton Cuatle, that she was sitting with Lady Shafton in the western poreh, one summer day. They were not far from the oriel-window, which looked out from the dressing-room of the mistress of tle castle. A thunder-storm had come up suddenly, and the ladies, somewhat alarmed by the rapid peals, had risen to go in, when a bolt struck right in front of them, blasting and splitting a giant oak on the lawn. The vast fabric fell directly toward them, and as it fell, a raven's nest, that had stood for years in its topmost branches, was shot forward almost to their feet. The startled rooks flew off in every direction. But Lady Shafton, who had, at first, sprung back in wild terror, suddenly darted forward, for there, rolling toward her, over the hard road below, was the lost topaz ring.

‘Oh! my son, my son!” she cried. “Oh, Elsie! See, Lady Alice, we were both mistaken. The rooks must have carried it off through my open window. God forgive you and me!”

From that day, the search for Elsie was renewed, and went on simultaneously with inquiries for Percy. At last, Elsie’s hiding-place was discovered, and thither Lady Shafton went herself by the next train. The poor child was living, as a nursery governess, in a remote corner of Cornwall, and little expected to see Lady Shafton, when called so unexpectedly from her young charges. The sincere repentance, but more than alt the failing health and hopeless grief of her old mistress, moved Elsie to such a degree, that she coud not refuse to accompany Lady Shafton home. In that burst of passionate grief, as she fell on the mother’s heart, all was forgotten and forgiven. From that day the two had never been parted, but lived together as mother and daughter. ‘If ever Percy comes back,” Lady Shafton would say, as she leaned, weeping, on Elsie’s shoulders, “you will be my daughter, in name, as well as in reality. Oh! to think you have forgiven me.”

Lady Alice was no longer seen at Shafton Castle. She was still unmarried, and probably would always remain so. Though compelled to admit that Elsie was innocent, she nevertheless hated her rival as only such natures can hate. Lady Shafton had no desire to see Lady Alice. She traced her son’s absence, now that — she knew all, to Lady Alice’s interposition; and the proud heiress had become as distasteful to her’as Elsie had been before.

Meantime no word came from Percy. Letters had been written by his mother to every possible point where he could be looked for, and agents were dispatched to India to search for information; but all to no purpose. - A year had nearly passed since Elsie had returned to Shafton Castle. The broken-hearted mother, accusing herself of her boy’s death, was going slowly, but surely, down to the grave. Elsie, herself, had given up all hope, but, with the unselfishness of her nature, thought only of Lady Shafton’s sorrow. Tonight, the last of the old year, the poor mother was utterly prostrated. In vain Elsie sought to distract her grief. Lady Shafton went from room to room, wringing her hands, and talking of the boyhood of Percy, and especially of the Christmas and New-Year’s festivities, which had always been kept up in his honor. ‘Never, never again shall I see him!” she cried, weeping. At last, she could not contain herself in the inhabited parts of the castle, but insisted on going to the ruined window overlooking the grave-yard, where we left her and Elsie. Poor Elsie! her own heart was well-nigh breaking: sad memories were at work with her also; but she put her own troubles out of sight, and devoted herself only to her companion.

“Do not ask me,” said Lady Shafton, continuing the conversation. “If I could die here, I might be happy. Would that the New-Year might find me still and cold, like Percy.”

“Hush! What is that?” cried Elsie, suddenly. “Surely I heard a gate-latch clicking. Yes! somebody is coming into the grave-yard, as if from the rectory behind the church. Can it be—can it—— Oh! dear Lady Shafton, don’t you know——”

Slowly and feebly, leaning on a stick, with a slouched hat and a heavy cloak, more like an old man tottering on the brink of the grave than a youth just arriving at mature years, the person she pointed at came on. The wind blew �

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 test under his own rules, and partly out of a desire to call Ricks' bluff. It had turned out to be no bluff, and Blair, thinking with his emotions, had been unable to withdraw the agreement.

And the fight with Mendel had only served to harden the cement. Mendel had been instantly and loudly opposed to Ricks' going outside, and Blair had responded just as quickly and justas loudly. Mendel's opposition had finally only intensified Blair's determination to go through with it.

Outside, he had had no choice but to put Ricks to work. There were only the two of them out there, and both were needed. He'd kept for himself the intricate job of guiding the removal of the meteor—the reep pilot was too far back and too involved with the operation of his ship's controls to be able to do the job by himself—but that had left for Ricks the scarcely-less intricate job of holding onto the replacement panel. Blair had kept an eye on him throughout, ready to step in if it looked as though Ricks would lose control, but Ricks had done surprisingly well, after bobbling the ball a bit to begin with.

Now, as Blair kept up a steady drone of low-voiced directions, Dan gradually eased the meteor out of the jagged hole it had made in the hull. The whole scored segment was now bulged outward slightly, and the sawtooth edges of the hole were scraping out and back, with the motion of the meteor.

Then, all at once, the reep jerked backward, as the meteor rasped loose. The hull vibrated beneath Blair's feet, and then quieted.

Blair waited, cautiously watching the jagged tear, but after the second's vibration, there was nothing more. They'd managed it, working and tugging and twisting the meteor in such a way that the remaining air in Section Five was released slowly enough to be of no danger.

Dan's voice came over the helmet radio: "I'll take Junior on home."

"Right."

HE gripper reep shot, turning, up and away from the Station, carrying the meteor far enough away so that it could safely be released without being drawn right back to the Station. Blair watched it go, then stepped cautiously across the scored line and looked down through the hole at the inner hull, five feet away. It was too dark in there to be sure, but he thought he could see the marks of a tiny jagged tear.

Wiley's voice came through the earphones, saying, "Okay, Glenn, I'm ready to slice 'er up."

"Come ahead." He backed out 36


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Rh from a secret deformity which made it impossible for her ever to marry. It had indeed (so the story ran) already been decided that she was to live quietly with her ‘grandmother’ till the old lady died, and after that was to enter a nunnery. But it soon became so irritating to hear every one saying: ‘Isn’t it sad about poor Shōni’s grand-daughter? They say she has got some terrible deformity,’ that the old nurse could bear it no longer and again began racking her brains to discover some way of getting the girl back to her father. Was it conceivable that he would refuse to look after her? After all, he had made quite a fuss over her when she was a baby. The old lady prayed fervently to every Buddha and God that some way might present itself of taking Tamakatsura to Kyōto. But the chance of any member of her family getting away from Tsukushi was now remoter than ever. Her daughters had married local people and her sons were employed in the neighbourhood. In her heart of hearts she still cherished all sorts of schemes for compassing the return of the whole family; but every day it became more and more impossible that anything of the kind would ever happen. Thus Tamakatsura grew up amid continual lamentations and repinings and learnt to look upon life as one long succession of troubles and disappointments, varied only by three great bouts of penance and fasting, each January, May and September. The years went by. She was now twenty; her beauty was at its height, and still it was being wasted in this barbarous and sequestered land.

Some while after Shōni’s death the family had moved along the coast from Chikuzen to Hizen, hoping for a more peaceful existence in a place where they were not known. But Tamakatsura’s reputation had preceded her and, little inclined to credit the stories about her deformity, the notabilities of the neighbouring countryside began

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Rh dawn, Samuel Cabot called a halt.

"Everything is ready," he announced. "We will rest until ten, and at noon we leave. Try to sleep, everyone. God knows we shall need all our faculties for the struggle ahead!"

But Cabot's plea was vain. With such a moment only a few hours off, who on Io could hope to sleep? Hours ahead of time, they were milling about the square.

Nile Vanz got his soldiers into the ten fighting craft somehow. Ships' crews stood at their posts awaiting the order to take off. Vanz portioned the rulers off into different ships.

"We can't risk losing all our leaders in the destruction of one ship," he explained. "Tolek, you and Samuel will command the Valiant. I'll take Kris and young Cabot with me." He divided the rest into teams.

It was almost the last move before their departure. Margo and Kris spoke over the amplifiers to their people. Then the shining belly of the Orsis swallowed them and they reappeared behind the port of the flagship. Dane tried to think that it was the departure that made his heart light. But actually he knew it was that he and Margo would be in the same ship. Crewmen scrambled up after them and threw off lines. They hurried forward to the top deck as bells rang up and down the ship. Standing against the thick glass window, they looked out upon the people far below, a strangely quiet crowd. From ship to ship flashed the ready-signal. In the bow of the Valiant, Serj and Sam Cabot waved.

And now all sounds were hushed within the Orsis. A trembling passed down its sleek length. Slowly, silently, gathering speed, the warship rose from the square. The city dropped away. One by one, the other nine ships arched into the sky. A moment later, Io was a tiny speck in the stern ports.

OR an hour the fleet was fighting the persistent gravity of Jupiter. As the drag was shaken off, the fighting craft hurled themselves forward, faster by the second. Silent as silver needles piercing space, they shot for Planetoid 88. It had been decided that the sleeping army would be picked up on the way. While the men's equipment was old-fashioned, it would do until more modern weapons could be provided. An army of occupation was a necessity, and the Earth-soldiers were best suited for such duty.

Two sleeping-periods passed. The Orsis churned on. Margo, Kris, Brooke and Dane were on the forward observation deck when the first inkling of disaster threatened, like the tip of a black wing passing over the ship. Nile Vanz stamped in, his seamed, iron-jawed visage full of repressed fury.

"Trouble already!" he barked. "I'll grill every half-witted fool in this hulk until I find the guilty one!"

The four looked at each other.

"What's wrong?" Margo asked hurriedly. "Sabotage?"

"You might call it that. Come along."

Puzzling over his meaning, they followed him. Not a word would Vanz speak until they reached the radio room on the top deck. Here he flung the door open and stood aside for them to enter.

Margo had hardly passed through the door when she shrank back with a cry. Over her shoulder Dane saw something that set his lips in a gray line. Blood was spattered on the near wall in scarlet gouts. On the floor, the top of his head shot away, lay the radio operator!

Vanz stalked inside. He yanked a coil from the mass of transmission equipment and let it lie on his upturned palm.

"Five kilobars wave-length," he snapped. "That's not Io's length. It's


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Rh we have in Norway; as all Kinds of Mewsbig and mall, which build their Net in the Clifts of the highet Rocks, beyond the Reach of any one; and ome upon the little Ilands, as the Bird called Terne and the like; whoe Eggs they gather in great abundance among the Stones: The Lundes or Greenland Parrot, o called on account of its beautiful Plumage, and broad peckled Bill: The Lumbs, the a Fowl of a large Size, and very mall Wings; for which reaon he cannot fly. Beides Snipes, and a great Number of others; ome too common to be enumerated and decribed here, and others, of which I know not the Name, but whoe Figure and Shape you will ee in the Cuts. Rh


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154 pestering her guardians with such assiduity that life soon became as harassing as before.

Among these suitors there was a certain Tayū no Gen who held a small position under the Lord-Lieutenant of Tsukushi. He came of a family that was very influential in Higo and the surrounding country, and on this side of the island he ranked as a person of considerable importance. He had, moreover, greatly distinguished himself in a campaign against the insurgents. To a singular degree of hardihood and endurance there was added in his nature more than a fair share of sensuality. Women were his hobby; he kept a prodigious quantity of them always about him, and was continually on the look-out for opportunities of adding to the collection. The story of the beautiful Tamakatsura and of the secret deformity which prevented her marriage soon reached Tayū’s ears. ‘Mis-shapen, is she?’ he cried. ‘Frightened that people will stare? She need not worry about that if she comes to me. I’ll keep her locked up all right!’ and he wrote at once to Shōni’s wife. The old lady, who knew his reputation, was sadly put about. She replied that her grand-daughter was destined for the convent and that no proposals of this kind could be entertained on her behalf. Tayū was not used to be put off like this and, determined at all costs to get his way, he came galloping over to Hizen at full speed. He immediately summoned Shōni’s three sons to his lodging and said to them: ‘Let me have that girl, and you may count on me as a friend for life. My name goes for something on the Higo side….” Two of the sons were easily won over and promised to do as Tayū asked. They had, it is true, a moment’s qualm at the thought of handing over Tō no Chūjō’s child to this lawless provincial swashbuckler. But they had their own way to make in the world, and they knew that Tayū had by no means exaggerated the value of

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424 RED LEAVES. his garments about him, and he had to pick his way carefully among the graves; but there was something in the bearing of the form, something in the mere step itself, that made Elsie's pulse beat quick and fast.

It was a path by which no one, except the old rector, ever approached the castle, for it led to a private postern, at the angle where the ruined part of the edifice joined on to the portion which was still inhabited. But the person approaching was not the rector, as Lady Shafton also saw, even with her dim sight.

"It is Percy, is it not?" she gasped, breathlessly, clinging to Elsie's arm. "Percy! Percy! Oh! my son——”

Her voice rose high and piercing, in a wild scream, and the stranger, looking up, saw the two figures for a moment in the moonlight; but only for a moment, for Lady Shafton had sunk down in a swoon, and Elsie was bending over her.

What more have we to tell ? For it was Percy, as the reader has discovered, and who was soon at his mother's side. Half an hour later he was sitting, with Elsie's hand in his, narrating the story of his return to Lady Shafton, who lay on a sofa, in the warm, bright drawing room, holding his other hand between both of hers. He told how he had been captured at Delhi; how he had been nursed by one of the rebel Sepoys, whom, in former times, he had favored; and how, months afterward, assisted by the same hand, he had made his escape, and reached the British lines in safety. He told how, on arriving at Calcutta, invalided, he had found the letters dispatched for him, and how he had taken the next steamer and landed at Southampton only the night before. It was a tale interrupted many times by breathless inquiries from his mother, and by anxious, loving looks from Elsie.

"I thought to send our old friend, the rector, on ahead, to break the news," he said, "but he had been summoned to the bedside of a dying parishioner, and so I came alone : not as quickly as I would have come, in former days, for my wounded leg is still painful and weak : but when I recognized you, dear mother, and Elsie here beside you, I believe I almost ran. Thank God! I find you both alive!"

Bronzed and bearded as he was, grown manlier and older-looking, the two women hardly recognized him, when he came down to breakfast the next morning. Elsie, blooming with joy and love, seemed, he thought, lovelier than ever, as she greeted him.

Lady Shafton joined their bands, as she entered, saying, "God bless you, my children, and make all your lives as happy as this New Year's day! I shall not die now; I shall live, I feel, for many a long year; but, if you would show that you both forgive me, let this dear child become, soon, my daughter in name as she is already my daughter in heart."

Her wish was carried out.

A quiet, sweet-faced bride, with shy, brown eyes, Elsie herself, looking more beautiful than ever, was married, within a fortnight, at the old church, by the old rector himself. A more fitting countess, everybody said, had never entered Shafton Castle as its mistress. The Lady Alice, however, it was noticed, did not appear at the wedding, but went suddenly to Italy, to stay for some years, it was said.

With the advent of its mistress, and with the ring restored to its rightful owner, the old castle flowered out into a second bloom, richer and more royal than the best of its by-gone splendors. Ever after, too, in memory of its lord's return, high festival was always kept on the LAST NIGHT OF THE OLD YEAR.

RED LEAVES.

BY ROBERT HANNAY.

THE year is on the wane, Red leaves are scant on the trees, The fields are vacant of grain, A chill is over the seas.

Young was she and fair, With health in her sweet eyes; have sore need of prayer, We

For beauty sickens and dies. There are solemn memories 'Twas a sorrowful season of sighs, Haunting the heart and brain; When we missed the gleam of her hair; List to the wind on the roof, the plash of the dreary rain. List to the wind on the roof, the rush of rain from the skies. The year is wearing away, The year will soon be dead, Desolate are the leas; There's a crystal over the rills : The swallows long have fled Dead are the lilies of May, Summer climes and seas. To The purple beath of the hills. Pitiless blows the breeze, The little maiden chills, Pitiless are the skies; Amid shadows long and gray ; List to the rain on the roof, the breeze on the window-sills. Did love forsake the world when death closed those fond eyes?

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Rh his own friendship and protection. On the other hand, life on this part of the island with Tayū against one was a prospect not to be faced with equanimity. If the girl had failed to take in the world the place to which her rank entitled her, that was her father’s fault, not theirs. She ought to be grateful that such a man as this (after all, he was the principal person in the neighbourhood) should have taken such a fancy to her. In Tsukushi at any rate there was no prospect of doing better for her, and Tayū, angered by the refusal of his proffered patronage would certainly stick at nothing. … So they argued, doing their best to scare their mother into assent by stories of Tayū’s violence and implacability. Only the second brother, Bugo no Suke, stood out: ‘I know a good deal about this fellow,’ he said. ‘It’s too much of a shame. We simply cannot hand her over to him. … Somehow or other one of us ought to do what our father asked us to—take her back to Kyōto. There must be some way of managing it….’ Shōni’s two daughters stood by weeping. Their mother was utterly heart-broken. What had become now of all her plans for the girl’s happy future? Of what use had been all these years of isolation and subterfuge, if at the end Tamakatsura must be handed over to this coarse and unscrupulous barbarian?

It would indeed have astonished Tayū to know that any one in Hizen considered him in such a light as this. He had always regarded his attentions to women as favours bestowed; he flattered himself moreover that he knew as well as any man how to conduct a gallant correspondence, and his letters began to arrive thick and fast. They were written in a clean, bold hand on thick Chinese paper, heavily scented. It was evident indeed that he regarded himself as no mean calligrapher. His style of composition was not an agreeable one, being very tortuous and affected. Soon he made up his mind that the time had come for him to call

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156 in person, and he arranged with the brothers to meet him at their mother’s house. Tayū was a man of about thirty, tall and solidly built. He was far from ill-looking; but he had the power (which he frequently exercised) of assuming the most repulsively ferocious expression. This, however, was reserved for his followers and opponents. When in a good temper and engaged upon errands of love he adopted an entirely different voice and manner. You would have thought indeed that some little bird was chirruping, so dexterously did he reduce his rough bass to a small silvery fluting: ‘As a lover, I ought to have come after dark, ought I not? Isn’t that what courting means—coming at night? So I was always told. What extraordinary weather for a spring evening! In autumn of course one expects it….’

Upon a strict undertaking that she would not provoke Tayū in any way, the old lady’s sons had allowed her to see him. He now turned to her saying: ‘Madam, though I never had the pleasure of meeting your late husband, I knew him to be a kind-hearted and upright gentleman. I always hoped that I might one day have an opportunity of showing him how much I appreciated his excellent qualities, and it was with deep regret that I heard of his untimely decease. But though I can no longer do him any service, I hope that you will allow me to show my regard for him in some practical way. There is, I think, a young lady here, (I am right, am I not?) a ward of yours, or relative of some sort? If I venture to speak of her, it is with the greatest deference and respect; for I understand that she is of extremely high birth. I assure you that, were I ever privileged to make the acquaintance of such a person, I should kneel before her like a slave, dedicate my life to her service, humbly petition her…. But I see that you are looking at me somewhat askance. You have

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Rh heard stories no doubt…. Believe me, there is no truth in them. I have in the past admired one or two of our simple country girls; but surely you can understand that this would be a very different matter. Should you admit me to the friendship of your exalted kinswoman, I would set her up as my paragon, my empress, my all-in-all….’ He made many fair speeches of this kind. At last the old nurse answered: ‘I should indeed consider my grand-daughter singularly fortunate to have aroused the interest of so distinguished a gentleman as yourself, were it not for the fact that nature has played upon her a cruel trick at birth. … Sir, I have seldom spoken of this to any one before; but I must assure you that the poor girl’s unhappy condition has for years past been a sore trouble tome. As for offering her hand in marriage to any one—that is entirely out of the question….’ ‘Pray don’t make so many apologies,’ cried Tayū. ‘Were she the most blear-eyed, broken-legged creature under Heaven, I’d have her put right for you in a very short while. The truth of the matter is, the Gods and Buddhas in the temples round here owe a good deal to me, and I can make them do pretty much whatever I choose….’ So he bragged; but when, assuming that his offer had already been accepted, he began pressing the old lady to name a day, she hastily changed the subject, saying that summer would soon be coming, that the farmers were needing rain, plying him in fact with all the usual topics of the countryside. He felt that before he left he ought to recite a few verses of poetry, and after a long period of silent meditation, he produced the following:

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158 ‘I don’t think that’s such a bad poem,’ he said smiling awkwardly. The nurse was in far too agitated a condition to indulge in literary pastimes. Utterly unable to produce any sort of reply, she begged her daughters to answer in her stead. ‘But mother darling,’ the young ladies protested, ‘if you cannot think of anything to say, still less can we….’ At last after much painful cogitation, the old lady recited the following poem, speaking as though she were addressing herself as much as him: ‘Unkind were it indeed should the Guardian of the Mirror frustrate the prayers of one who year on year hath been his and his alone.’ ‘What’s that?’ cried Tayū rushing towards her. ‘How dare you say such a thing?’ So sudden was his onrush that Shōni’s wife jumped almost out of her skin, and she turned pale with fright. Fortunately her daughters were not so easily scared, and one of them, laughing as though an absurd misunderstanding had occurred, at once said to Tayū: ‘What mother meant was this: she hopes that after all the trouble she has taken praying to the Gods of Matsura on our little niece’s behalf, they will not allow the poor girl’s deformity to turn you against her. But dear mother is getting old and it is not always easy to make out what she is saying.’ ‘Oho! Yes, yes, I see,’ he said, nodding his head reflectively. ‘I don’t know how I came to misunderstand it. Ha! ha! Very neatly expressed. I expect you look upon me as a very uncultivated, provincial person. And so I should be, if I were at all like the other people round here. But I’ve been very fortunate; you would not find many men even at the City who have had a better education than I. You’d be making a great mistake if you set me down as a plain, countrified sort of man. As a matter of fact, there’s nothing I have not studied.’ He would very much have liked to try his hand

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Rh at a second poem; but his stock of ideas was exhausted and he was obliged to take leave.

The fact that two of her sons had openly sided with Tayū increased the old lady’s terror and despair. All she could now think of was to spirit the girl away from Tsukushi as rapidly and secretly as possible. She besought the other son, Bugo no Suke, to devise some means of conducting the girl to Kyōto; but Bugo no Suke answered: ‘I wish I could; but I do not see how it is to be done. There is not a soul on the island who will help me. We three used to hang together in old times; but now they say I am Tayū’s enemy and will have nothing to do with me. And with Tayū against one it is a difficult thing in these parts to stir hand or foot, let alone take passage for several persons in an out-going ship. I might find I was doing Lady Tamakatsura a very ill turn….’

But though no one had told the girl of what was going on, she somehow or other seemed to know all about it. She was in a state of the wildest agitation, and Bugo no Suke heard her declare in tones of the utmost horror that she intended to take her own life rather than accept the fate which was in store for her. Bugo was certain that this was no empty threat, and by a tremendous effort he managed to collect a sum sufficient to cover the expenses of the journey. His mother, now getting on in years, was determined not to end her days in Tsukushi. But she was growing very infirm, and it would be impossible for her to accompany them did not one of her daughters consent to come and look after her. The younger sister, Ateki, had been married for several years; but Bugo no Suke prevailed upon her at last to abandon her home and take charge of their mother on the journey. The elder sister had been married much longer; her family was already large and it was obviously impossible for her to get away. The travellers

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160 were obliged to leave home hastily late one night and embark at once; for they had suddenly heard that Tayū, who had gone home to Higo, was expected back in Hizen early next day (the twelfth of the fourth month), and he would doubtless lose no time in claiming his bride.

There were distressing scenes of farewell. It seemed unlikely that the elder sister would ever see her mother again. But Ateki took the parting much more calmly; for though Tsukushi had been her home for so long, she was by no means sorry to leave the place, and it was only when someone pointed back to the Matsura temple and Ateki scanning the quay-side recognized the very spot where she had said good-bye to her sister, that she felt at all downcast at the thought of the journey before her. ‘Swiftly we row,’ she sang; ‘the Floating Islands vanish in the mist and, pilotless as they, I quit life’s anchorage to drift amid the tempests of a world unknown.’ ‘No longer men but playthings of the wind are they who in their misery must needs take ship upon the uncertain pathways of the deep.’ So Tamakatsura replied, and in utter despair she flung herself face downward upon her seat, where she lay motionless for many hours.

The news of her flight soon leaked out, and eventually reached Tayū’s ears. He was not the man to let his prey slip from him in this manner, and though for an instant he was so angry and surprised that he could do nothing at all, he soon pulled himself together, hired a light skiff and set out in pursuit. It was a vessel specially constructed for swift launching, and the wind was blowing hard from shore. He shot across the harbour at an immense speed, with every inch of sail spread, and a moment later was through the Clanging Breakers. Launched upon the calmer waters of the open sea his craft scudded along more swiftly than ever. Seeing a small boat chasing after them at

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Rh reckless speed the captain of the pursued vessel imagined that pirates were on his track and pressed on towards the nearest port. Only Tamakatsura and her companions knew that in that rapidly approaching craft there was one who, by them at any rate, was far more to be dreaded than the most ruthless pirate. Louder and louder beat the poor girl’s heart; so loud indeed that the noise of the breakers seemed to her to have stopped. At last they entered the bay of Kawajiri. Tayū’s vessel was no longer in sight, and as their ship approached the harbour, the fugitives began to breathe again. One of the sailors was singing a snatch of the song:

He sang in an expressionless, monotonous voice, but the melancholy tune caught Bugo no Suke’s fancy and he found himself joining in: ‘With never a thought…’ Yes; he too had left behind those who were dearest to him, with little thought indeed of what was to become of them. Even the two or three sturdy youths who worked for him in the house would have been some comfort to his wife and babes. But these young fellows had clamoured to go with him and he weakly consented. He pictured to himself how Tayū, maddened by the failure of his pursuit, would rush back to Hizen and wreak his vengeance upon the defenceless families of those who had worked against him. How far would he go? What exactly would he do? Bugo no Suke now realized that in planning this flight he had behaved with the wildest lack of forethought; all his self-confidence vanished, and so hideous were the scenes which his imagination conjured up before him that he broke down altogether and sat weeping with his head

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162 on his knees. Like the ransomed prisoner in Po Chü-i’s poem, though returning to his native place, he had left wife and child to shift for themselves amid the Tartar hordes. His sister Ateki heard him sobbing and could well understand his dismay. The plight of those who had remained at Hizen was indeed a wretched one. Most of all she pitied the few old followers and servants who had consented to come with them from the Capital long ago, believing that in five years they would be back again in their homes. To leave these faithful old people in the lurch seemed the basest of treacheries. They had always (she and her brother) been used to speaking of the City as their ‘home’; but now that they were drawing near to it they realized that though it was indeed their native place, there was not within it one house where they were known, one friend or acquaintance to whom they could turn. For this lady’s sake they had left what for most of their lives had been their world, their only true home—had committed their lives to the hazard of wind and wave; all this without a moment’s reflection or misgiving. And now that their precious cargo was within hail of port, what were they to do with her? How were they to approach her family, make known her presence, prove her identity? Endlessly though they had discussed these points during the journey, they could arrive at no conclusion, and it was with a sense of helplessness and bewilderment that they hurried into the City.

In the Ninth Ward they chanced to hear of an old acquaintance of their mother’s who was still living in the neighbourhood, and here they managed to procure temporary lodgings. The Ninth Ward does indeed count as part of Kyōto; but it is an immense distance from the centre, and no one of any consequence lives there. Thus in their effort to find

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Rh some influential person who would help them to fulfil their mission, the brother and sister encountered only the strangest types of market-women and higglers. Autumn was coming on, they had achieved nothing and there seemed no reason to suppose that the ensuing months would be any more profitable than those which they had just wasted. Ateki who had relied entirely upon her brother and imagined him capable of dealing with any situation that arose, was dismayed to discover that in the City he was like a water-bird on shore. He hung about the house, had no notion how to make enquiries or cultivate fresh acquaintances, and was no better able to look after himself than the youths he had brought with him from Tsukushi. These young fellows, after much grumbling, had indeed mostly either found employment in the neighbourhood or gone back to their native province. It grieved Ateki beyond measure that her brother should be thus stranded in the Capital without occupation or resource, and she bewailed his lot day and night. ‘Come, come, Sister,’ he would say to her, ‘on my account you have no cause to be uneasy. I would gladly come a good deal further than we have travelled and put up with many another month of hardship and waiting, if only I could get our young lady back among the friends who ought to be looking after her. We may have spoilt our own prospects, you and I; but what should we be feeling like to-day, if we consented to let that monster carry her off to his infamous den? But it is my opinion that the Gods alone can help us in our present pass. Not far from here is the great temple of Yawata where the same God is worshipped as in our own Yawata Temples at Hakozaki and Matsura, where mother used to take the young lady to do her penances. Those two temples may be a long way off, but the same God inhabits all three, and I believe that her many visits to Hakozaki and Matsura

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164 would now stand her in good stead. What if she were to go to the Temple here and perform a service of thanksgiving for her safe journey to the Capital?’ Bugo no Suke made enquiries in the neighbourhood and found out that one of the Five Abbots, a very holy man with whom Shōni had been well acquainted, was still alive. He obtained an interview with the old priest and arranged that Tamakatsura should be allowed to visit the Temple.

After this they visited a succession of holy places. At last Bugo no Suke suggested a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Hasegawa Kwannon. ‘There is no deity in Japan,’ he said, ‘who has in recent times worked so many miracles as this Goddess of Hatsuse. I am told that the fame of her shrine has spread even to China, and far off though Tsukushi is, I know that Lady Tamakatsura has for years past been deeply interested in the achievements of this Divinity and shown an exemplary piety towards her. I believe that a visit to Hatsuse would do more for our young lady than anything else.’ It was decided that, to give it a greater significance, the pilgrimage should be made on foot and, despite her great age and infirmity, the old nurse would not be left behind. Tamakatsura, wholly unused to such experiences, felt scared and wretched as, pilgrims in front and behind, she tramped wearily on, turning to right or left when she was bid, but otherwise too deeply buried in her own thoughts to notice what went on around her. What had she done, she asked herself over and over again, to deserve this downtrodden existence? And as she dragged foot after foot along the dusty road she prayed earnestly

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Rh to Buddha, saying ‘O Much-Honoured One, if my mother is indeed no longer in this world, grant that, wherever it be, her soul may look upon me with compassion and her prayers bring me quick release, that I may take refuge in the place where her spirit dwells. And if she is still alive, grant, O Buddha, that I may one day meet her face to face.’ So she prayed, and while she did so suddenly remembered that it was a useless prayer. For she was very young when Yūgao disappeared, had only the haziest recollection of her appearance, and even if the prayer were answered, would certainly pass her mother unrecognized! Dismal as these reflections would at any time have been, they were doubly so now, worn out as she was by the fatigue of the journey. The party had indeed travelled at a very leisurely pace and it was not till the hour of the Snake, on the fourth day, that they at last reached Tsuba Market. Tamakatsura was by this time more dead than alive; they attempted to improvise a carrying-chair, but the pain in her legs was so great that she could not bear to be moved, and there was nothing for it but to let her rest at the inn.

The party consisted of Bugo no Suke, two bowmen and three or four very rough-looking boys to carry the luggage. The three ladies had their skirts tucked in at the belt like country-women, and were attended only by two aged crones who looked like broken-down charwomen. It would indeed have been impossible to guess that any person of quality was among them.

They spent the time till dusk in trimming their holy lamps and preparing such other emblems and offerings as are brought by pilgrims to the Hasegawa Shrine.

Going his rounds at nightfall the priest who owned the inn came upon the two decrepit old serving-women calmly making a bed for Tamakatsura in a corner of the best

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166 room of the house. ‘These quarters have been engaged for the night by a gentlewoman who may arrive at any minute,’ he said in consternation. ‘Be off with you at once! Just fancy, without so much as a “by your leave”!’ They were still staring at him helplessly, when there was a noise at the door and it became evident that the expected guests had actually arrived. They too seemed to have come on foot. There were two gentlewomen, very well-conditioned, and quite a number of attendants both male and female. Their baggage was on the backs of some four or five horses, and though they wore plain liveries it was evident that the grooms were in good service. The landlord was determined that the newcomers should have the quarters which he had intended for them; but the intruders showed no signs of moving, and he stood scratching his head in great perplexity. It did indeed go to the hearts of Tamakatsura’s old servants to turn her out of the corner where she was so comfortably established and pack her away into the back room. But it was soon apparent that the only alternative was to seek quarters in a different inn, and as this would have been both humiliating and troublesome they made the best of a bad job and carried their mistress to the inner room, while others of the party either took shelter in the outhouses or squeezed themselves and their belongings into stray angles and corners of the main house.

The new arrivals did not after all seem to be of such rank and consequence as the priest had made out. But it was hard to guess what manner of people they might be; for they concealed themselves scrupulously from the gaze of their fellow-guests and hardly spoke to one another at all.

In point of fact, the person to whom Lady Tamakatsura had been thus unceremoniously compelled to give place

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Rh was none other than her mother’s faithful maid, Ukon! For years past it had been the one comfort of the solitary and grief-stricken old lady’s existence to make this pilgrimage, and Genji had always assisted her to do so with as much comfort as possible. So familiar was the journey that it no longer seemed to her in any way formidable; but having come on foot she was quite ready for a rest, and immediately lay down upon the nearest couch. Beside her was a thin partition of plaited reeds. Behind it she could hear people moving about, and presently some one entered who seemed to be carrying a tray of food. Then she heard a man’s voice saying: ‘Please take this to my Lady. Tell her I am very sorry it is so badly served; but I have done the best I can.’ From the tone in which he spoke it was evident that the lady to whom these apologies were to be conveyed was a person far above him in social position. Ukon’s curiosity was aroused. She peeped through a crack in the partition, and at once had the impression that she had seen the young man before. Who could it be? She racked her brains, but could not imagine. It would indeed have been strange had she been able to identify Bugo no Suke, who was a mere child when she last saw him, while now he was a full-grown man, much bronzed from exposure to the sun and winds of Tsukushi, and dressed in the poorest clothes. ‘Sanjō, my Lady is asking for you.’ So Bugo no Suke now cried, and to her astonishment Ukon saw that the old woman who answered to this name was also certainly some one whom she had once known. But here there could be no mistake. This Sanjō was the one who had been in service with Ukon in Yūgao’s house, and had afterwards (like Ukon herself) been one of the few servants whom Yūgao took with her to the house in the Fifth Ward. It seemed like a dream. Who was the Lady whom they were

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168 accompanying? She strained her eyes; but the bed in the room behind the partition was surrounded by screens and there was no possibility of seeing its occupant. She had made up her mind to accost the maid Sanjō and question her, when part of her doubt resolved itself spontaneously: the man must be that boy of Shōni’s, … the one they used to call Hyōtōda, and the lady towards whom they showed such deference could be no other than Tamakatsura, Yūgao’s child by Tō no Chūjō. In wild excitement she called to Sanjō by name; but the old woman was busy serving the supper and for the moment she took no notice. She was very cross at being called away from her work like this, but whoever it was that wanted her seemed to be in a great hurry, and presently she arrived, exclaiming: ‘I can’t make it out. I’ve spent the last twenty years in service on the island of Tsukushi, and here’s a lady from Kyōto calling for me by my own name, as though she knew all about me. Well, Madam, I am called Sanjō. But I think it must be another Sanjō that you are wanting.’ As she drew near Ukon noticed that the old woman was wearing the most extraordinary narrow-sleeved overall on top of her frumpy old dress. She had grown enormously stout. The sight of her brought a sudden flush of humiliation to Ukon’s cheeks, for she realised that she herself was an old woman, and as Sanjō now looked to her, so must she, Ukon, for years past have appeared to all eyes save her own. ‘Look again! Do you not know me?’ she said at last, looking straight into Sanjō’s face. ‘Why, to be sure I do!’ cried the old lady, clapping her hands, ‘you were in service with my Lady. I was never so glad in my life. Where have you been hiding our dear mistress all this while? … Of course she is with you now?’ and in the midst of her excitement Sanjō began to weep; for the encounter had brought back to her mind the days when

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Rh she was young. What times those had been! And how long, how cruelly long ago it all was! ‘First,’ answered Ukon gravely, ‘you must give me a little of your news. Is nurse with you? And what has happened to the baby girl … and Ateki, where is she?’ For the moment Ukon could not bear to dash Sanjō’s hope to the ground; moreover it was so painful to her to speak of Yūgao’s death that she now listened in silence to Sanjō’s tale: mother, brother and sister were all there. Tamakatsura was grown to be a fine young lady and was with them too. ‘But here I am talking,’ said Sanjō at last, ‘when I ought to have run straight in to tell nurse, …’ and with this she disappeared. After their first surprise the chief feeling of Ateki and her mother, upon the reception of this news, was one of indignation against Ukon, whom they supposed to have left their mistress in hiding all these years, callously indifferent to the suspense and misery of all her friends. ‘I don’t feel that I want to see her,’ said the old nurse at last, nodding in the direction of Ukon’s room, ‘but I suppose I ought to go.’ No sooner, however, was she sitting by Ukon’s couch, with all the curtains drawn aside, than both of them burst into tears. ‘What has become of her, where is my lady?’ the nurse sobbed. ‘You cannot imagine what I have been through in all these years. I have prayed again and again that some sign, some chance word, some dream might tell me where she was hiding. But not one breath of news came to us, and at last I thought terrible things—that she must be very far away indeed. Yes, I have even imagined that she must be dead, and fallen then into such despair that I hated my own life and would have ended it too, had not my love for the little girl whom she left with me held my feet from the Paths of Night. And even so, you see for yourself what I am…. It is but a faint flicker of life….’

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170 In this strain the nurse spoke on, supposing all the while that Lady Yūgao herself was somewhere not far away. ‘How shall I tell her? What am I to say?’ The same questions that tormented Ukon’s brain during those first days after the funeral returned to her now with redoubled urgency. But this could not go on; it was impossible not to speak; and Ukon suddenly broke in upon the old nurse’s outpourings: ‘Listen!’ she said. ‘It is no use my telling you how it happened…. But Lady Yūgao died a long while ago.’

After this there was silence, broken at last by the agonized and convulsive sobbing of these three old women.

It was growing dark, and now with lamps lit and offerings in their hands the pilgrims were about to start for the temple. The women clung to one another till the last moment and, still scarce knowing what they did, were about to set out upon the road together, when Ukon suddenly bethought herself of the astonishment which her attendants must be feeling at this strange addition to the party; moreover Bugo no Suke had as yet heard nothing of the meeting, and for the moment the old nurse had not the heart to enter into a long explanation of what had occurred. The two parties accordingly separated, Ukon scanning with curiosity the pilgrims who filed past her into the street. Among them was a girl, very poorly dressed; her hair was caught up in a thin summer scarf, which held it tight but did not conceal it. In the procession she walked some way ahead, but even the momentary back view which Ukon was thus able to obtain convinced her that the girl was not only of exceptional beauty, but also of a rank in life very different from that of the shabby pilgrims who tramped beside her. When at last they arrived the service was already in full swing and the temple crowded to overflowing; for most of the pilgrims in whose company the party from Tsukushi

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Rh had set out from the city were sturdy-legged peasants and working people who had pressed on through Tsuba without a moment’s rest and long ago secured their places in the holy building. Ukon, being an habitual visitor to the temple, was at once conducted to a place which had been reserved for her immediately to the right of the Main Altar. But Tamakatsura and her party, who had never been there before and had, moreover, the misfortune to fall into the hands of a very unenterprising verger, found themselves bundled away into the western transept. Ukon from her place of privilege soon caught sight of them and beckoned to them to join her. After a hasty consultation with her son, during the course of which the nurse appeared to be explaining, so far as was possible in a few words, who Ukon was and why she had beckoned, the women of the party pushed their way towards the altar, leaving Bugo no Suke and his two followers where the incompetent sacristan had placed them. Though Ukon was in herself a person of no consequence, she was known to be in Genji’s service, and that alone, as she had long ago discovered, was sufficient to secure her from interference, even in such a place as this. Let the herd gape if they chose and ask one another with indignation why two ill-dressed women from the provinces, who had arrived at the last minute, were calmly seating themselves in places reserved for the gentry. Ukon was not going to have her young lady wedged into a corner or jostled by the common crowd. She longed to get into conversation at once; but the critical moment in the service had just arrived and she was obliged to remain kneeling with head lowered. So it had come at last, this meeting for which she had prayed year in and year out! And now it only remained that Genji, who had so often begged her to find out what had become of Yūgao’s child, should welcome the discovery (as she felt sure he

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172 would) and by his influence restore to this unhappy lady the place at Court to which her birth entitled her. Such indeed was the purport of her prayer as she now knelt at the altar by Tamakatsura’s side.

In the crowded temple were pilgrims from every province in the land. Among them the wife of the Governor of Yamato Province was conspicuous for her elegance and consequential air, for most of the worshippers were simple country people, very unfashionably dressed. Sanjō, who, after so many years passed in barbarous Tsukushi, had quite forgotten how town people get themselves up for occasions such as this, could not take her eyes off the magnificent lady. ‘Hark ye,’ she said at last in an awe-struck whisper to the nurse, ‘I don’t know what you’re a-going to pray for to our Lady Kwannon. But I’m a-praying that if our dear young lady can’t be wife to the Lord-Lieutenant (as I have always hoped she might be), then let her marry a Governor of this fine province of Yamato. For a grander lady than that one there I’m sure I’ve never seen! “Just do that,” I said to Lady Kwannon in my prayer, “and you’ll be surprised at the wonderful offerings poor old Sanjō will bring to your altar.” ’ And smiting her forehead with her hand, she began again to pray with immense fervour. ‘Well,’ said Ukon, astonished by this extraordinary speech. ‘You have become a regular countrywoman; there’s no doubt about it. Don’t you know that Madam is Tō no Chūjō’s own daughter? That’s enough in itself; but now that Prince Genji, who for her mother’s sake, would do anything for her, has come into his own again, do you suppose there is any gentleman in the land who would be too good for her? It would be a sad come-down indeed if she were to become some paltry Governor’s wife!’ But Sanjō was not thus to be put out of countenance.

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Rh ‘Pardon me,’ she said hotly; ‘I don’t know much about your Prince Genjis or such-like. But I do know that I’ve seen the Lord-Lieutenant’s wife and all her train on their way to the temple of Our Lady Kwannon at Kiyomizu, and I can tell you the Emperor himself never rode out in such state! So don’t try to put me in my place!’ and unabashed the old woman resumed her attitude of prayer.

The party from Tsukushi had arranged to stay three days within the precincts of the temple, and Ukon, though she had not at first intended to stay for so long, now sent for her favourite priest and asked him to procure her a lodging; for she hoped that these days of Retreat would afford her a chance of talking things over quietly with the old nurse. The priest knew by long experience just what she wanted written on the prayer-strips which he was to place in the holy lamps, and at once began scribbling ‘On behalf of Lady Fujiwara no Ruri I make these offerings and burn….’ ‘That is quite right,’ said Ukon (for Fujiwara no Ruri was the false name by which she had always referred to Tamakatsura in discussing the matter with her spiritual adviser); ‘all the usual texts will do, but I want you to pray harder than ever to-day. For I have at last been fortunate enough to meet the young lady and am more anxious than ever that my prayer for her happiness may be fulfilled.’

‘There!’ said the priest triumphantly. ‘Was there ever a clearer case? Met her? Dear Madam, of course you have. That is just what I have been praying for night and day ever since you were here last.’ And much encouraged by this success he set to work once more and was hard at it till daylight came. Then the whole party, at Ukon’s invitation, moved to the lodgings that her daitoko had reserved for her. Here if anywhere she felt that she

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174 would be able to embark upon the story which she found so difficult to tell.

At last she was able to have a good look at the child for whose happiness she had prayed during so many years. Tamakatsura was undeniably ill-dressed and somewhat embarrassed in the presence of strangers whom she felt to be taking stock of her appearance; but Ukon was unfeignedly delighted with her, and burst out: ‘Though I am sure I never had any right to expect it, it so happens that I have had the good luck to see as much of fine ladies and gentlemen as any serving-woman in the City. There’s Prince Genji’s own lady, Madam Murasaki—I see her nearly every day. What a handsome young thing! I thought there could be no one to compare with her. But now there’s this little daughter from Akashi. Of course she is only a child at present. But she grows prettier every day, and it would not surprise me if in the end she put all our other young ladies to shame. Of course they dress that child in such fine clothes and make such a fuss of her that it is hard to compare her with other children. Whereas our young lady (she whispered to the nurse) dressed as she is at this very minute, would hold her own against any of them, I dare swear she would. I have sometimes heard Prince Genji himself say that of the many beauties whom he has known, whether at Court or elsewhere since his father’s time, the present Emperor’s mother and the little girl born at Akashi stand apart from all the rest. Not one other has he known of whom you could say without fear of contradiction from any living soul that she was perfection itself from tip to toe. Those were his words; but for my own part I never knew Lady Fujitsubo; and charming though the little princess from Akashi may be, she is still little more than a baby, and when Prince Genji speaks

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 ANNETTE

LYLE'S

CHRISTMAS

GIFT.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " DORA'S COLD, " ETC., ETC., ETC.

ANNETTE LYLE walked up the broad flight of steps that led to Mr. Samuel Johnson's handsome mansion at Riverview, and pulled the silver knob of the door-bell with so tremulous a hand that the faint vibration of the wire gained no attention, at first, in the servants' hall below.

While she waited at the door, the sound of gay voices attracted her, floating across the lawn, from the side of the house. She looked around. Where the velvet turf was rolled smoothest in that direction; where the shade; fell softest from the tall elms and maples, a party of ladies and gentlemen were playing croquet.

The steel hoops that gleamed like silver, the gayly-colored balls and mallets, the gayer toilets, the bright faces, the fun, the frolic, the animation of the players riveted Annette's attention like a spectacle from fairy-land. She rang again and again, but still no servant came. At last the game was concluded, and one of the ladies, the winner, looked up. She was a remarkably pretty girl, in whose blonde hair, dressed high and curled, a scarlet bow fluttered, a la Pompadour, matching the trimmings of her Paris dress. Flitting back- ward and forward without rest or cessation, laughing, quarreling, jesting, chattering, in dulging in a dozen outside flirtations, and pay ing little heed to the game itself till the moment of action arrived, it was easy to see that her success, at the last, was owing chiefly to her partner.

He seemed to think so, too, as he stood lean ing on his mallet, laughing quietly at the jokes and compliments of the rest. He was a tall, fair young man, with keen blue eyes and blonde whiskers ; well- shaped, and with much easy grace of manner-the son, or rather the step- son, of the house-for his mother, a handsome widow, had married the rich Mr. Johnson while he was a boy at college, and it was fancied he would be the heir, as he was the partner and favorite of that magnate.

Mrs. Dean was a lady of aristocratic tastes and connections- her plebeian husband had none; she filled his house, therefore, with her own friends, and arranged it according to her own fancies. When her son came home from his university and law studies abroad, he found it a beautifully ordered palace, on which as much wealth had been spent by the reluctant Mr. Johnson in ornamenting, as by his predecessors in building it.

Charles Dean, who knew nothing of the process of these reforms, beheld the result with satisfaction. His fine taste was gratified by the surroundings of his mother's beautiful home, his pride in her was increased by seeing her grace and magnificence as mistress of the mans ion. But he had accepted nothing from Mr. Johnson, till a junior partnership in the firm gave him a right in his house. But when he、 took upon himself the drudgery, that always falls to the youngest of a professional firm, he no longer hesitated to live at his mother's. Meanwhile the house was filled by that mother  with pretty cousins of high estate, among whom it was very pleasant to spend his leisure hours;  and it was one of these, Violetta Villars by  name, very proud of her alliterative title and Parisian education, who claimed his attention now. "Some one is wanting up there," she cried, touching his shoulder and pointing to Annette. "It must be Myra Jones arrived very late- we will go and see."

She went, Mr. Dean followed slowly. A little nearer, her woman's eye resting on the cheap, black dress and dusty boots of the stranger, Violetta fell back; and Charles Dean, relieved from the fear of meeting his antipathy, Miss Jones, went forward more briskly to do the honors of his mother’s house.

Are the servants out, or has no one attended  to you?” he inquired, in a tone and manner naturally courteous and gentle. ‘Pray, come in  and rest,” he added, leading the way without   ceremony, ‘and I will tell my mother you are here.”

It does not matter,” she stammered, flushing painfully under this unaccustomed politeness,  and confusedly accepting the chair he offered.

“I am the plain seamstress,” looking at him   with her shy, beseeching eyes. Charles Dean glanced curiously at the speaker. All her beautiful hair fell about her face. It was dark, luxuriant, short and curling; she wore it turned back over a comb, the ringleted

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