The Cameronians: A Novel, Volume 2 (of 3) (2024)

A Novel.

BY

JAMES GRANT,

AUTHOR OF
'THE ROMANCE OF WAR,' 'OLD AND NEW EDINBURGH, ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

[All Rights Reserved.]

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

CHAPTER

I. 'A WEAK INVENTION OF THE ENEMY'
II. CECIL RECEIVES HIS CONGÉ
III. IN THE PRINCE'S STREET GARDENS
IV. A FRUITLESS TASK
V. THE REGIMENTAL BALL
VI. HEW'S TRIUMPH
VII. 'I HAVE COME FOR YOUR SWORD'
VIII. THE COURT-MARTIAL
IX. A PAGE OF LIFE TURNED OVER
X. GONE
XI. 'THE INITIALS'
XII. TURNING THE TABLES
XIII. BY THE MORAVA
XIV. A MYSTERY
XV. ON DUTY
XVI. THE CASTLE OF PALENKA
XVII. MARGARITA
XVIII. CAPTAIN GUEBHARD
XIX. THE BLACK MOUNTAINEERS
XX. CECIL COMES TO GRIEF

THE CAMERONIANS.

CHAPTER I.

'A WEAK INVENTION OF THE ENEMY.'

Hew resolved, as before, to lose notime in putting Sir Piers on hisguard; he would give him an'eye-opener,' he thought; and, in hisignorance of military discipline and etiquette,almost conceived that the baronet, as fullcolonel of the regiment, might have powerto issue, perhaps, some very stringent andcrushing order concerning the culprit.

Hew, among other 'caddish' tastes andpropensities, was fond of 'sherry-glassflirtations' at bars and buffets, where shamsmiles are bartered for button-hole flowers,amid bantered compliments and honeyedsmall-talk, not always remarkable for itspurity; and while engaged in one of theselittle affairs, he made the casualacquaintance of Herr Von Humstrumm, theregimental bandmaster, a somewhatobese-looking German, with an enormousmoustache and his scrubby dark hairshorn remarkably short; and from thelatter he drew—or alleged to Sir Piersthat he drew—some account of the familyand antecedents of Cecil Falconer; andwith these he came home highly elated;and whatever the conversation really was,the communications did not suffer diminutionin his relation of them; and he brokethe matter to Sir Piers in a cold, hard, andexultant way, that could scarcely fail tostrike the latter as being, at least,ungenerous.

'I have discovered who and what ourhero is!' said he.

'Our hero—who?'

'Our late visitor and guest, Mr. Falconer.'

'Captain Falconer. Well?'

'I met the bandmaster the other day, ata luncheon-bar, and he told me all abouthim,' continued Hew, laughing immoderately.

'I know that in Scottish regiments,especially, every man's family is usuallyknown, his antecedents, and so forth.'

'And who do you think this Falconerproves to be?' asked Hew, with malignancyflashing brightly in his parti-coloured eyes.'A pauper with a long pedigree, you willsay. No, by Jove! he has not even that!'

'What do you mean, Hew?' asked SirPiers, looking up from his chair, withknitted brow.

'I mean,' replied Hew, 'he may, like thestreet balladers, sing

'"I never had a father,
I never had a mother,
I never had a sister,
I never had a brother,
For indeed I'm nobody's child!"'

And adopting the tone and manners of astreet-singer, Hew gave this verse withextreme zest and almost fierce exultation,acting the part with such broad vulgaritythat his hearer winced; but well did Hewknow that he was bringing the strongestargument to bear upon the weakest pointin the character of Sir Piers—an inordinatepride of birth and family.

'Good God! you don't say so, Hew?'exclaimed Sir Piers, more sorrow thananger predominating in his mind for atime—but a time only.

'Fact, though,' replied Hew, carefullyselecting a cigar from his silver case, 'ifa certain chain of deductions may betrusted, and I know that the thought ofhis obscure birth is gall and wormwood tohim—have seen him blush for it more thanonce, at Eaglescraig.'

'His father——' began Sir Piers.

'Nobody knows who that illustriousindividual was. I suppose he doesn'tknow himself, though he must have hadone.'

'And his mother?'

'Was a singer, or actress, or somethingof that kind. Folks in the musical world,like folks on the turf, all know somethingof each other, and so this fellow, VonHumstrumm, assured me that—that it isall as I say; and thus his excellence as asinger and pianist is accounted for at once.The Herr told me that he had performedat her private concerts given in the houseof a noble lady in Belgravia, when theinner drawing-room was turned into quitea beautiful bijou salon de concert, and evenroyalty was present. Pretty circ*mstantial that!'

'Extraordinary!'

'Not at all; there is nothing extraordinaryin this world. Thus I should notwonder if the fellow once figured beforethe footlights! Gad, if the Cameroniansonly knew of this, they'd put him inCoventry—force him to quit!'

'Then how the devil does this band-mastercome to know, if they don't?' saidSir Piers, pacing the room in greatannoyance of spirit. 'I don't understand allthis! Was he not a Sandhurst cadet?'

'I don't know, and don't care,' respondedHew, with an access of sullenness.

'He certainly seems a finished gentleman!'

'I have heard you admire his hands asbeing white and shapely,' said Hew, with a sneer.

'Yes; but what of that?'

'Did you ever observe his mode ofgesticulating with them?'

'No.'

'Well, I have, and to me it seemed toindicate foreign blood and player-likeproclivities.'

Hew's hands were neither white norshapely, and certainly bore no indicationof that refinement of race on which hislistener set such store.

'We have not heard the last of thisfellow,' he resumed, after a pause.

'The last! What do you mean?'

'His interference in our family affairs.A card-playing fortune-hunter, as Idenounced him to be before; he was here nolonger ago than yesterday afternoon,pursuing his designs upon our soft-hearted,and I must say, remarkably soft-headed,Mary! I felt inclined to chuck him throughthe window. Must not this matter bestopped, sir, and with the strong hand?'

'Stopped; I should think so. Should heattempt to cross me, he'd better touchthe fuse of a live shell!' replied the oldman sharply, while memory went back tothe bitter times when his young Piers, soloved, petted, and prized, forgot the hightraditions of his family, and daringly linkedhis fate with a humble girl, whom theproud baronet declined to receive or recognise,most unwisely, as he thought at times now.

'We are an old family, Hew,' he resumed,after a pause; 'and you will be theinheritor of my title in an untarnishedcondition; but you must not rest upon italone, and, with Mary's money added towhat I have to leave you—Eaglescraig,wood and wold, tower andmanor-place—great things may be achieved. You willcherish Mary when I am gone, even as Ihave cherished her; for I have nothingelse now,' he added, as he thought of hisdead son and the never-to-be-forgottennight of the dread and shadowy vision.

'I cannot persuade her to enter eveninto a preliminary and formal engagementwith me,' said Hew, after another pause.

'But,' urged the general, polishing hisbald head with fidgety irritation, 'surely,by this time, something is understood?'

'That—that she will one day be my wife?'

'Yes, of course.'

'But when?'

'When I issue the order!' said Sir Piers,as he stood with his back to the fire and hisfeet planted on the hearthrug in orderly-room fashion.

Hew smiled feebly, as if he feared Marywould care little for such a ukase.

'Devil take this forthcoming ball!' heexclaimed suddenly. 'That fellow will bethere, of course.'

'In his regimentals, too—a good oldphrase that!' said Sir Piers. 'But the ballis somewhat of a nuisance, especially asMary is not yet disillusionné. Yet she isnot a child, that I may prevent her goingto where she has set her heart upon. Butone thing is certain; she must neitherspeak to, nor dance with him on that occasion.'

'I should think not!' said Hew, savagely.

'It is very unfortunate for you, my dearlad, if she has conceived any absurd fancyfor this young man.'

'Oh, I don't care much for that, orwhether or not the bloom is quite wiped offthe plum,' was the nonchalant reply ofHew, at whose remark the general elevatedhis eyebrows.

When Mary heard of this alleged conversation,of which Hew lost no time in acquaintingher, though ignorant as towhether the matter in regard to poorFalconer was a deliberate fabrication ofhis rival or a coarse exaggeration, sheonly smiled scornfully at it, as 'a weakinvention of the enemy;' but her convictionwas, that whether invention or not, itwas calculated to have a most fatal influenceupon the already sweet relationsbetween herself and Cecil; and we canbut hope that its truth or falsity will bediscovered in the sequel.

CHAPTER II.

CECIL RECEIVES HIS CONGÉ.

Sir Piers' indignation with CecilFalconer for presuming toaddress his ward in the languageof love was very great, and he was in theact of 'nursing his wrath to keep it warm,'and studying how to circumvent one whomhe deemed only a well-accredited adventurer,when next afternoon the latter, allunaware of how the general had beenschooled to view him, was ushered into thelibrary, where the former was idling overthe preceding evening's War-Office Gazette.'It is easier to conceive than describe,'says Oliver Goldsmith, 'the complicatedsensations which are felt from the pain ofa recent injury and the pleasure ofapproaching vengeance.' The two weresuddenly face to face!

But Sir Piers, a courteous soldier andgentleman of the old school, though smartingand indignant, was resolved, that whateverturn the conversation took, he neitherforgot their relative positions of host andvisitor, or as officers in her Majesty'sservice.

He felt himself, however, on the horns ofa dilemma. He had no precise right, hethought, to act on Hew's painful informationin any way, obtained, as it was, froma source so subordinate; and he could not,without some distinct reason, forbid hisrecently welcome guest to visit his house,though he was resolved to tell old Tunleyto strike his name off the visitors' list.Unaware of all the mischief that wasbrewing, Falconer advanced cordiallytowards the old general, who rose and gavehim his hand, if not very frankly, and said,stiffly:

'Captain Falconer, I congratulate youon your promotion, sir; I hope it willprove an incentive to future good conductand esprit de corps; but avoid cards,sir—avoid cards!'

Ignorant of how the speaker viewed himas a gambler, almost an adventurer andman of obscure birth, all as alleged byHew, Falconer was alike surprised by thispointed remark and rather indignant at thetone in which it was said, and the generalbearing adopted by Sir Piers.

He now inquired for the ladies, and wassnappishly told that 'they were well,sir—well;' but whether at home or not, SirPiers did not condescend to say; soFalconer almost held his breath at everysound, expecting Mary to enter the room;but he hoped in vain, for never even oncedid a light footstep or the rustle of a dressannounce her vicinity. However, he hadbarely seated himself, when Sir Piers, as ifreading his very thoughts, said bluntly:

'I wished to see you, sir, on a subjectthat has recently come to my knowledge.You have been addressing Miss Montgomeriein terms which no honourable manwould do, without the full permission ofthose who are nearest and dearest to her,and have thus her welfare and her futureat heart.'

Falconer, who felt painfully that in tone,bearing, and expression of eye, Sir Pierswas now very unlike the hearty andhospitable veteran who welcomed him toEaglescraig, said, with a somewhatfaltering voice:

'All who have the happiness to knowMiss Montgomerie will ever have herwelfare and happiness at heart, Sir Piers.'

'Am I right in asserting what I do,Captain Falconer?' asked the latter,ignoring his remark.

'Before being borne away by my feelings,and permitting myself to address yourgrand-niece——'

'And ward. Yes, sir—well?'

'I ought, doubtless, to have obtainedyour sanction——'

'Or sought for it—well, sir—well?'

'And have satisfied you as to—as to——'

'Your means and position?' interruptedthe old man, impatiently.

'Yes, Sir Piers,' said Falconer, takingup his hat, which he relinquished.

'By the way, it has never occurred tome to ask you fully and distinctly who youare—but now I seem to have some rightto do so?' said Sir Piers, as all Hew'spromptings came to memory.

'Who I am?' exclaimed Falconer,partially cresting up his head, yet colouringtoo evidently with mental pain, as thekeen eyes of his questioner could see.

'Yes, sir.'

'I am, as you know, Captain CecilFalconer, of the Cameronian regiment,' hereplied, somewhat haughtily.

'Anything more?'

'In what way?'

'Family—antecedents. The devil! doyou think that I would permit a namelessstranger to address Miss Montgomerie asyou have done?'

'I am not rich, certainly—the reverserather.'

'I don't care an anna for that, as wesay in India; but as regards family——'

'Suffice it that I am utterly alone in theworld,' interrupted Cecil, with a cadencein his voice that made the general feelsome pity for him, though not inclined toyield an inch, for his words seemed tocorroborate all that Hew had alleged orinferred. 'When my poor mother died, Iseemed, for a time, to lose the last linkthat bound me to the world. To her Iowe education, position, the commission Ihold—everything!'

And now, when he spoke of his mother,his voice grew soft and infinitely tender,and a subdued light shone in his avertedeyes—the light of love and a greatreverence.

'And your father?' said the general, ina softer voice.

'I can remember but faintly: he diedwhen I was very young. My mothernever ceased to sorrow for him, and yetI fear, at times, that her marriage had notbeen a happy one, or that he had notdeserved one so brilliant and talented asshe was.'

'Oho!' thought the general; 'this refersto the musical world, evidently. Hew isright, after all.'

'It was selfish of me, perhaps, to leaveher to be a soldier, for she was alone inlife; but it was inspired by love for her,and to gain her esteem, that I worked sohard to become worthy of her, and rise inall that might promote me in my profession.In the School of Musketry atHythe, in signalling and telegraphy, atthe School of Engineering in Chatham, Iwon first-class certificates, and laid them,like a happy school-boy, in her lap. Sincethen I have passed out, one of the first,from the Staff College; and if I went toIndia——'

'Ah yes; go to India, sir, that is theplace!' said the general, soothed a littleand almost forgetting the 'cards.' 'Butour conversation has wandered from thesubject that introduced it,' he resumed,'pulling himself together,' and resolved tobe cool and determined, and for Hew'ssake to end for ever this love-affair. 'Inaddition to what I said, sir, I have to add,that an honourable man should not makeadvances to an heiress—I mean if he ispoor—and, in my time, all the Cameronianswere men of honour!'

Falconer thought that a Cameronianmight still very well make love to a prettygirl with a long purse, and not forfeit thatcommodity which the general sounpleasantly emphasised; but an emotion ofhopelessness began to creep into his heart,and he rose from his seat, though reluctantto withdraw: yet the interview was fatedto have an abrupt and harsh finale.

'Captain Falconer,' said Sir Piers, aftera little pause, 'Miss Montgomerie hasnever disobeyed me since she came to myhouse an orphan; since she was a littlechild that stood upon my knee and nestledher face in my neck, begging me to tellher the same story over and over again—oftenan Indian yarn of snakes, tigers, andwhat not—and I know that she won'tdisobey me now.'

'I hope not, Sir Piers, so far as I amconcerned.'

'I am averse to long and vagueengagements, and have made up my mind toterminate hers by a speedy marriage withher fiancé, Hew Montgomerie, my heir ofentail, as you know. They must marry atonce, or—or——'

'Or what, Sir Piers?' asked Falconer ina low voice.

'She loses every shilling of her fortuneby marriage with another.'

'Gladly—oh, how gladly!—would I takeher penniless; but I shall not be guilty ofinjustice towards her; she would bepermitted to choose for herself. God helpus!' said Falconer, in a very broken voice.'Good Sir Piers, let me see her onceagain, I implore you, just for five minutes,'he added, scarcely aware of what he wassaying.

'Better not, better not, sir; it is useless,'said the general, growing stern; 'muchmischief may be done in five minutes.Once and for ever, sir, let this folly end!I brought you most unwisely to my house,and you used your time there in seekingto detach the affections of my ward, MissMontgomerie, from her affianced husband.Of the good taste that inspired such a lineof secret conduct, I say nothing; but Irepeat, that this scheme on your part (Ispeak not of folly on hers, for I hope shehas been guilty of none) must end; and Ihave the honour to wish you—good-morning.'

He rang the bell, and with a heartswollen by many emotions, Falconerbowed and quitted the room. As he didso, there was in his face an expression ofpainful humiliation mingled with reproach,that powerfully brought back another andan almost similar scene, when he hadexpelled from Eaglescraig his son Piers, andwhen kindly old John Balderstone strove—butin vain—to effect a reconciliationbetween them.

His cool dismissal by the general, andthe curious questions of the latter, madeCecil's blood boil with indignation. Hadhe only known all, it might have proved abad business for the bones of Mr. HewMontgomerie.

Despite the injunction laid upon him,the moth could not be kept from the candle.A fortnight had passed since the general'sukase had gone forth, and yet almost daily,by accident, design, or tacit understanding,Cecil and Mary met, and had the joy oflingering in each other's society, andriveting still closer the links of love thatbound them to each other, but not withouta dread of being watched or discovered byHew, whose favourite haunts, however, layfar apart from theirs.

The spacious gardens, the parks, thehills, the half-empty West-end squares andcrescents, the picture-galleries andpromenades, afforded many facilities for such,apparently unpremeditated, meetings astheirs, and to Mary it seemed as if she hadonly now commenced to live, and as if allher past life had only been leading up tothis, the end of which she, happily, couldnot then foresee.

As for Cecil, the very demon of restlessnessseemed to have taken possession ofhim. Save when on duty, the Cameroniansnever saw him, and he was neverhappy save when, if not with Mary, searchingfor her in those lounges where; in thelimited circle of the Modern Athens—theCity of Idlers—everyone is almost sure tomeet everybody else.

But he had one special annoyance tocontend with. All the regiment knewthat he had been the general's special guestat Eaglescraig, and deemed it strange thatat all his dinners and dances given to themnow, he was never present. Why wasthis? All deemed it 'deuced odd,' andCecil writhed under their surmises, someof which were repeated to him by LeslieFotheringhame and Dick Freeport, and asentiment of defiance became engenderedin his mind.

And it was with fresh annoyance that onparade some morning, or at mess in theevening, he heard some heedless fellowextolling the rare beauty of the general'sward, and mingling the praises thereofwith the extreme appreciation of his winesand the culinary efforts of his chef; andsomewhat of a crisis was put upon this,when Sir Piers dined with the regiment,'in full fig,' and wearing all his medals, onthe anniversary of its embodiment, the19th April, 1689, and treated Falconerwith a coldness of bearing that was but tooapparent to all; thus rousing a kind ofresentment in his heart, and a greaterinclination to defy him in the matter of hisnow secret engagement with Mary, forsuch it formally was: but then, how aboutthe terrible power Sir Piers held over herin virtue of her father's eccentric will!

CHAPTER III.

IN THE PRINCES STREET GARDENS.

Among those invited to the houseof Sir Piers Montgomerie wasLeslie Fotheringhame, of course;but he knew, from Falconer, thatAnnabelle Erroll was still a guest of thefamily, as she and Mary were a pair ofinseparables; and compunction for his pasttreatment of her, and doubt of how sheremembered him now, with a great fear ofbeing contemptuously ignored by her, ledhim to decline, on every occasion, theinvitation accorded, on various pretences.

Annabelle Erroll knew of this, and waspiqued accordingly, so the old breachbetween these two grew wider, if possible.Cecil and Mary, as 'a fellow feelingmakes us wondrous kind,' had a greatdesire to make peace between them; theformer had told her of the love-makingand quarrel by the river, and her sympathywas readily enlisted in the matter.

'You do love him still!' said Mary, asthe two were exchanging confidences inthe seclusion of their mutual dressing-roomat night; 'at least I know, by yourchanging colour whenever his name ismentioned, that you have not forgottenhow to do so.'

'One cannot forget having loved—orhaving loved him, at least,' repliedAnnabelle, in a soft voice.

'Would you marry him if he asked you now?'

'Decidedly not!' exclaimed Annabelle,whose golden hair was floating over hersnowy neck, while, unaided, she was plaitingit up with deft fingers and throwing itthis way and that, in masses, turning hergraceful head sideways to see how theyfell, and perhaps to admire the charmingcurve of her own white shoulders.

'You do not believe me?' she said, asMary laughed at her reply.

'No—because, as I said, at the verymention of his name, even by me, yourcheek flushes and your voice trembles.'

'If they do, it is with just anger,' saidAnnabelle, 'and you are mistaken, dearMary; and I have read, that when anestrangement begins between two who haveloved each other, it is like a tiny stream ofwater, which goes on widening and deepeningday by day, until it becomes a river nobridge can span.'

'Will I ever be estranged from Cecil?'thought Mary. 'Oh no—no—no!'

Various pretty and amiable little schemesformed by Mary to bring them together,with Cecil's aid, failed, and yet their meetingultimately came to pass in the mostcommonplace way imaginable.

With the opening season come the weeklypromenades in the beautiful Princes StreetGardens, where the regimental bands playin the afternoons, for the delectation ofthe fashionables and idlers of the WestEnd.

Bordered on one side by the mostmagnificent terrace and promenade in Europe,and on the other by the emerald-greenbank of the Castle Hill, with all its wavingtrees, and by the mighty mass of the beetlingrock on which stands the hoary fortressof a thousand memories, and more than athousand years, these gardens are altogetherunique; and already they were in almosttheir summer glory, for the air of the valleyin which they lie was fragrant with theperfume of mignonette, of clove-carnations,roses, and heliotrope.

The carefully kept shrubberies were gaywith borders of brilliant flowers, and amidthis varied foliage the laburnum stood upin all the glory of green and gold. Inswarms the happy children were gambollingand playing about on the velvet sward orchasing in zigzag fashion the bees andbutterflies.

The fair promenaders were in all thebright gaiety of their spring costumes,and the grand echoes of the castle rockwere responding to the music of the bandunder our friend Herr von Humstrumm,when Falconer and Leslie Fotheringhamecame sauntering through the throng arm-in-arm,the former watchful for the figureof Mary, and the latter languidly indifferentof all on whom he cast his critical eyes, inone of which a glass was fixed.

Suddenly Fotheringhame, who wasrather a nonchalant personage, started,and the glass dropped from his eye, for,sooth to say, perhaps he could see betterwithout it.

A young lady passed near him, withother two—an elder and a younger—unseenby Falconer, who was looking in anopposite direction; and there can be nodoubt Fotheringhame looked after her witha yearning in his gaze, so sudden, passionate,and tender, as must have touched her hearthad she seen it; but Annabelle Erroll, forit was she, was all unconscious of hispresence. Her companions, we need scarcelysay, were Mary Montgomerie and Mrs. Garth,an old lady who still dearly 'dotedon the military.'

Fotheringhame's first inclination was toquit the promenade and effect an escape;his second thought was to stay, and seeher once—only once again. And in suddensilence he continued to walk slowly to andfro with Falconer, till the abrupt turn ofa narrow shrubberied avenue brought themboth face to face with the three ladies, andthere was no retreating; for as Hewdisliked society of this kind, and was neverpresent, Mary felt perfect confidence, andwelcomed Cecil with one of her brightestsmiles, while he—reading her wish at aglance—hastened to utilise the occasion bypresenting 'his friend, Fotheringhame ofOurs,' to Mrs. Garth and 'Miss Erroll.'

'In for it, by Jove!' muttered Fotheringhameunder his heavy black moustache,as he lifted his hat, and saw before him, inher rare blonde beauty and magnificence ofstyle, now fully developed by a few shortyears, the girl whose artless heart he hadwon only to cast it at her feet—unclaimed—unprized!

Mary's bright little face was dimplingand rippling all over with pleasure, triumphand exultation—all the more so, when shesaw that Leslie Fotheringhame was a manof whom any woman might be proud, morethan ordinarily handsome, with an unmistakabletone, air, and bearing, that doubtlesscame of his early Lancer training; andnow they were all conversing together withapparent ease; for although Mrs. Garthknew what the wishes and orders of SirPiers were regarding Mary and CecilFalconer, she did not conceive that theyextended to the precluding of recognition ina public place.

But had even the suspicious Hew beenthere, not even he, on seeing the quiet andrespectful way in which Cecil raised his hatand lightly took the gloved hand of Mary,could have detected that there was betweenthem the soft and sweet and inexpressiblecharm and link of a secret understanding.And indeed none who saw the apparentlycool composure with which she greetedhim, and talked of the beauty of theweather, the serenity of the sky, of themusic then being discoursed by hisregimental band, could have suspected thatbut an hour or so before, in a shady andsequestered place elsewhere, he had showeredkisses on her lips, and hair, and eyes,and pressed her to his breast, 'á la Huguenot,'again and again.

If deceit were practised in all this, it wasnot their fault, but was born of the pressurethat was put upon them.

As the pair now began to promenadetogether, Cecil of course absorbed Mary,whom Mrs. Garth could not leave; it thusbecame a matter of course that Annabellefell to the lot of Fotheringhame, morethan perhaps her proud heart assented to.His manner was careful, studied, and deeplycourteous. She could not, as yet, detectthe slightest sadness in his glance or tone,or aught of tenderness or reproach either,so well did he veil his manner, and yet hisheart was full of her; and thus these two,who had been so much to each other—allthe world once—were meeting and actingjust as those do who have known eachother for half an hour, or less.

So they walked slowly on and on, allunaware apparently that they were instinctivelyseeking the quiet and lonely avenuesof the garden, yet talking the merestcommonplace all the while, though drinkingin each other's voices and tones, till thegroups of promenaders were all left farbehind, and the music of the band soundedso faint and distant that the hum of thehoney-bees could be heard among the flowers.

Then a silence—a long and awkwardpause occurred; they felt that platitudeswere failing them, and that they had alack of words—a lack that is said to provethe deepest love, for where 'there is adorationthere is paradise,' and Fotheringhamebegan to feel much of the old adoration inhis heart for Annabelle.

'I have been on a long visit to MaryMontgomerie, at Eaglescraig,' said thelatter, after a pause, during which shebecame very pale. 'She would insist uponme coming to Edinburgh with her; butthe season here is nearly over, and I goback to mamma.'

'In Perthshire?'

'In Perthshire,' she repeated mechanically.

'Near where the silver birches overhangthe Tay?' he asked with a caressingsmile.

'Yes—and very soon,' said she, turningas if to retire.

'But not before our ball,' said he eagerly.'You accepted our invitation?'

'Mary pressed me to do so,' she replied,colouring; 'and now we must hasten backto her and Mrs. Garth, for we are quitelosing all that lovely music of Gounod's.'

'Stay one moment—do bear with me,'said he in an agitated voice.

'I do not understand,' she began falteringly,and then paused, yet looking himfully, firmly, and sadly in the eyes; 'haveyou aught to say to me?'

'So we meet again face to face, after allthese changeful years, Annabelle!'

'I am simply Miss Erroll to you, CaptainFotheringhame.'

'I am only Lieutenant Fotheringhamenow. If you remember the past——'

'Could I forget it?' she asked withsparkling eyes, while nervously twirlingher parasol upon her shoulder, by itshandle.

'Then pardon it, I pray you,' he urgedin a voice which more than one woman hadfound it difficult to resist.

'Who is it that says, "Flowers andlove have but a season"?' she asked witha little bitterness in her usually sweet tone.

'Annabelle!'

'I repeat to you, sir, that you mustknow me as Miss Erroll. I have beenthoughtless in coming so far from my friends.'

'I am wrong in forcing my society uponyou,' said he sadly; 'but that is a mattereasily amended. In wronging you, as Idid, dearest Annabelle, I wronged myself,and have suffered deeply accordingly.'

'Our meeting to-day has been—on bothsides, unavoidable, Captain Fotheringhame.Let us return—if it is the best way to spareyou further pain.'

She spoke very calmly and deliberately,yet it cost her a terrible and painful effort.She knew that she loved him still; she felteven the eloquence of his silence, if such aterm can be used, and now dared not lifther eyes to meet his gaze.

'Annabelle,' said he again, and took herhand in his; then a quiver passed over herdelicate form, but the proud girl accordedno other sign as yet of the power he stillpossessed over her. 'Do you despise me—doyou hate me?'

'Hate you—despise you?—why uselanguage so strong? Oh no, no, Leslie,far from either—far from either!' sheexclaimed, as if her heart would burst,and tears welled up in her dark blue eyes.

Then the artificial barrier himself hadraised between them seemed to give way,and he told her in the tenderest and mostearnest of words how fondly he loved her still.

'Let us not cast away the chance ofreconciliation that God in His great kindnesshas accorded us, Annabelle,' he urged,pathetically; 'as I loved you first, I loveyou now—nay, a thousandfold more, for Ihave learned the value of the heart withwhich I so cruelly trifled; and now, I prayyou—I beg of you to be my wife,Annabelle, my wife!'

She shook her head, and withdrew herhand.

'Is it to be thus?' he said sadly, but notreproachfully.

She made no reply, but kept her longlashes down and her soft eyes fixed on thegravelled path.

'Let us be now, as we were then, in thesweet summer days, when the silver birchescast their shadows on the Tay; and let usforget my folly, my wickedness—all thatestranged me from your loving heart anddivided us, Annabelle, when that fair andartful woman of the world, Blanche Gordon,cast her meshes about me.'

'And must I believe that you haveloved me all these years, and love mestill?' she asked softly, and with infinitetenderness of tone.

'God alone knows how tenderly, deeplyand reproachfully, Annabelle!'

'But who knows how you might act ifshe came with her beauty and her meshesagain?' asked Annabelle, who was smilingnow.

'Do not be pitiless to me; and as forher—that woman—she is married, so,Annabelle——'

'Hush—we are interrupted!'

'They suddenly found themselvesenvironed by groups of idlers, and amongothers came Mrs. Garth, with Mary andCecil, all of whom Leslie Fotheringhamewould have wished very far away—atleast on the cone of Arthur's Seat—atthat precise moment.

Face to face again—at last, after all—afterall—with Leslie Fotheringhame,Annabelle was thinking; his smile, hisvoice and presence, were fast bringingback the old and seemingly buried, yetnever forgotten love, to thrill her heartand every pulse as in the bygone time!

Her memory, her whole soul seemed togo back more vividly to those hours whichneither he nor she had ever forgot, andnow, whilst listening to his voice, sheseemed to be out in the bright summersunshine on the rippling waters of theglassy Tay, in his handsome boat with itscrimson velvet cushions; she heard theplash of the sculls, the voices of the birdsamong the graceful silver birches; she sawthe dragon-flies again whizz past, and thebrown trout leap from the azure stream;and he too was in dreamland, and seemedto hear her voice; as when he first heard itsinging:

'Love me always, love me ever,
Said a voice low, sad and sweet;
Love me always, love me ever,
Memory will the words repeat.'

So they parted happily, these two, withhopes to meet again, at least once, beforethe all-important night of the regimentalball, now close at hand.

That some mysterious change had comeover the once nonchalant Leslie Fotheringhame,was soon apparent to the entiremess.

'What the dickens is up now?' saidDick Freeport to Falconer, on thissubject; 'I am sure there is a woman in thecase; and I am sure that fellow never hada love affair since he joined the regiment,or sought peril by imploring Maud to comeinto the garden.'

'All the cause of his being more hardlyhit now, Dick,' said Falconer, laughing.

'If it is the case it will be a horriblepity!' said Freeport, as he shut his pet,and carefully-coloured meerschaum up inits crimson velvet case with an angry snap.'"Of all the wonderful things, and thereare many," says Sophocles in one of hischoruses; "but none more wonderful thanman."'

'Except woman, Dick, why didn't theold Athenian add,' said Cecil, laughing;'so be assured there is a woman at thebottom of this change in Fotheringhame.'

'Shall we have her at the ball?'

'Most probably, so don't forget yourmagic ring with the blue stone, Dick; butyou'll be hooked by a penniless girl someday, Dick!'

'A pity that will be, as manna does notfall from heaven now; but——the fact is,'continued the latter, still pursuing hissurmises on the changed habits andbearing of Fotheringhame, 'that matrimonyspoils a fellow for the service onone hand, and on the other, one can'tthink of bringing a tenderly-nurturedand high-bred lady into the meagresurroundings, and rough and round of barracklife.'

'Of course not, Dick,' replied Falconer;and yet—young though he was—he wasnot without his new day-dreams of agraceful and dove-like girl—of MaryMontgomerie—with tender smiling eyesand white hands, sitting opposite to himin that dingy barrack room, with its plainappurtenances.

But Mary was an heiress, and to wedand bring her there, would involve openwar with her guardian, and too probablythe loss of her inheritance!

'Would I had never seen her!' thoughthe; 'and yet—yet how vague and emptynow would life be without her!'

CHAPTER IV.

A FRUITLESS TASK.

Prior to all this, Sir Piers hadtaken poor little Mary seriouslyto task in person.

She was full of her own fond, happythoughts, and in her own peculiar sanctumor boudoir, when the general, influencedno doubt by some recent remarks ofHew, came in looking black as a thundercloud—asblack, at least, as he ever couldfind it in his brave old heart to be with her;and here she was queen, for her boudoirwas her pet place in the Edinburgh mansion.

The walls were silver-grey, picked outwith bouquets of roses. There weredelicate cretonne hangings to match, andfunny little black and gold chairs withcrimson satin cushions; wood-bracketsfrom Switzerland, and all manner of prettychina things, including porcelain pugs ofall sorts and sizes; and here she receivedhim with that charming, coaxing air, whichno one could resist, and Sir Piers, perhaps,least of all.

She knew that a lecture was coming,and on what subject, too; thus she was alittle nervous, and her pretty dimples cameand went, so fast!

It never occurred to Sir Piers that therewas gross selfishness in thus seeking tocontrol Mary, and to absorb her fortuneinto the exchequer of the future baronetsof Eaglescraig; though he certainly deemedthat he was fully justified in preventinganother family mesalliance, and with anameless gamester.

'Give way to the whim of a girl!' hethought; 'no—no; I shall not be achicken-hearted fool in my old age!'

'You have been out and abroad again, Iunderstand, and without Mrs. Garth, Mary,'he began, while caressing her head, asshe seated herself on a low stool by his side.

'I am close on twenty, and surely oldenough to be trusted out of sight now!'said Mary, laughing.

'Hew says no—when that fellow is about.'

'Hew forgets himself!' said she, with ashrug of her pretty shoulders; 'I shallsoon reach my twenty-first birthday,dearest grand-uncle, and surely then Ishall be my own mistress,' she added,laughing.

To the general she had ever looked upin a sweet, grave, old-fashioned andchild-like manner that gave him great powerover her, but this he felt was, somehow,passing away. He felt some sympathy forher too, for the human heart is, perhaps,the only part of us that does not grow oldwith years; but he deemed that he had aduty to do, and heard her now withuneasiness, as he withdrew his hand from herhead that nestled on his knee.

'Even in your twenty-first year, child,you will not be independent of me,' hesaid; 'I have still a control over yourfortune, if I fail to control your future.'

'I care not for it!' said she, pouting.

'You know not what you possess, andtherefore know not what you would lose;thus I am anxious—more than ever—tolose no time in transferring you and yourheritage to the care of a husband I cantrust.'

'Meaning the inevitable Hew!' sheexclaimed, with a little angry laugh.

'Precisely, girl; I am proud to have aninheritor of our own blood, to my familyhonours, which, but for him, would passaway. If my poor Piers had onlylived——'

'I would to Heaven he had!' sighedMary, with all her heart.

'You tell me, Mary, that when of ageyou will be the mistress of your ownactions. True. You never talked to mein this way before,' he continued, raisinghis voice and starting to his feet; 'but Itell you, that if you dare to countenancethat fellow Falconer——'

'Oh, uncle, don't break my heart by talking thus!'

'Stuff! hearts don't break, though bonesdo. Let there be no clandestine correspondence,still less any meetings; but Itrust to your honour, Mary—I trust toyour honour, child.'

She blushed deeply, painfully, for shehad an appointment with Cecil that veryafternoon. She remained silent, and SirPiers interpreted her silence his own way.

He knew that they must inevitably meetat the ball given by the regiment, and forhimself to be at that especial ball was, hedeemed, a duty he owed to the old corps;so, as for the chances of Mary and Falconermeeting, he would ensure that it wouldonly be as strangers in a crowded ball-room.

'Yes, Mary,' he resumed, 'I trust to yourhonour, that you will keep this fortune-hunterat a distance.'

'I do believe, uncle—nay, I am certainof it,' she said, in a pretty and coy, yethalf-petulant manner, 'that CaptainFalconer would marry me whether I hadmoney or not. Oh how I wish I werewithout it!'

'Indeed!' said he with a cynical smile; 'fora commercial age, your ideas, my dear, are—tosay the least of them—rather peculiar.'

'Now, you dear old pet, I wish youwould say no more on this subject,' saidMary, glancing anxiously at a clock.'

'Why?'

'Because, grand-uncle, I don't want tomarry anyone, and, any way, I will nevercommit the sin—for such it would be—ofmarrying one I do not, and never can love—there!'

'Meaning our Hew?'

'Yes, your Hew.'

'Don't be silly, Mary,' persisted the oldman; 'you must and shall marry Hew,and there is an end of it!'

'But I have given my promise,' beganMary, feeling weary and desperate.

'Promise, to Captain Falconer? Thedevil you have! Did he dare exact one?'

'Oh no, no.'

'How then?'

'It came about somehow,' said Mary, asher fitful colour came and went.

'Did you promise—the devil, I'llexplode!—to—to—marry him?' asked thegeneral with his back against the mantel-piece.

'No.'

'What the deuce then?

'To love him—and him only,' said Mary,piteously, softly, and in a low voice, endingin a little nervous laugh.

'And all this has come of my own follyat Eaglescraig! damme, I'll—I'll—choke!'added the general, pale with anger, andfeeling awkwardly conscious of the futilityof it, with a genuine and honest fear of thefuture, through his unjust ideas of CecilFalconer's character.

'Dear old grand-uncle, you have beenmore than a father to me, ever since I wasa tiny tot, just so high,' said Mary, holdinga little white hand about six inches fromthe carpet; 'and you must pardon me forall this—for Cecil does so love me,' sheurged with tears, 'most tenderly andtruly.'

'Folly—folly, all! has life, has position,no other claim on you than that? One bornof such lineage as ours,' he continued,vaulting on his hobby-horse, 'requires toconsider matters deeply. Disobey me, and Ihand over your fortune to Hew; it shallnever be made ducks and drakes of by agambler and adventurer! By your father'swill (how often am I to tell you this?) it isabsolutely in my power to disinherit you,if you wed without my consent.'

'A most cruel and illegal will!'

'Devised to save you from yourself, andwith a strange prevision of that which wasto come.'

'Unjust! why should the dead be soloth to lose their grasp on, their powerover, the living?'

'Your father's great dread was fortune-hunters,lest you should be sought—asFalconer seeks you—for your money.Moreover, if this young fellow really lovesyou, child, he ought to think more of yourhappiness than daring to seek your hand.'

'Daring?'

'Yes, I say so, considering his origin!You are a romantic little goose! Butgirls in your position must not think ofmen in his.'

'Were you not a captain once?' askedMary, softly.

'Yes, and a jolly ensign too; but then,as now, I was Piers Montgomerie of theEaglescraig! My darling Mary, you arethe apple of my old eye, and I should liketo see you safe and sound under Hew'sprotection, ere the last bugle sounds for me,and summons me away to the Land of theLeal; Hew, save yourself, is the nearestto me in blood now that my Piers is gone,finding his grave I know not where—knownot where!' he added in a broken voice, ashe recalled the real or fancied, but terriblevision he had seen years ago, now. 'Ifmoney can bring happiness you and Hewshould certainly have something very likeit,' said he, returning to the charge.

'We should be very, very miserable—atleast I should—with all our unitedwealth.'

'Tut, tut! how much more miserablewould you be without it?' asked thegeneral; 'and yet, sooth to say, pet Mary,I shall give you even to Hew grudgingly.'

'Why?' asked Mary, hopefully.

'Because,' said the old man, with greattenderness, drawing her head into hisneck, 'then you will be for ever, not mineas you are now, little one, but another's!Where Hew goes, you will go; our oldlife will be gone; a new one will open toyou, and I shall be a lonely, old, old man,lonely as when, years ago, I lost Piers!'

'But I am not yet married to Hew,'said Mary, kissing both his witheredcheeks, from which the red tan of theIndian sun had long since vanished.

So there was a kind of loving armisticebetween them for the present; but all thegeneral had said against Cecil increasedMary's loathing of Hew, a loathing thattook the place of the toleration with whichshe had hitherto accepted, not his peculiarmode of courtship, but the mere fact ofa residence with him in the same familycircle.

And now, as she recalled all Hew'sscandalous hints and rumours, sheremembered the mutual impression which sheand Annabelle shared at Eaglescraig, thatby the expression of his face, the youngsubaltern Falconer had a history; and yetshe loved him not the less because, likeQuentin in Scott's 'Ayrshire Tragedy,' hewas:

'A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle-eyed,
Like one whom all the world had frowned on.'

So the moment Mary was left to herself,she put on a thick Shetland veil, whichvery effectively concealed her lovely littleface, and set forth in haste to hold a certaintryst; thus the worthy old general's taskhad proved as yet a very fruitless one.

CHAPTER V.

THE REGIMENTAL BALL.

There is so close a familylikeness among regimental balls intheir general details, that weneed scarcely describe that of theCameronians, the chief importance of it to ourstory being the events that came of it.

All Edinburgh said it would be 'theball of balls,' and beat those given a monthbefore by the Dragoon Guards and RoyalArchers. The officers were, of course, alldancing men, and there were few or nomarried ones to throw 'cold water' on theextravagances of the rest. It was held inthe Music-hall and Assembly-room, twomagnificent saloons connected by a statelyvestibule, a place generally well patronisedas a promenade between the dances. Eachof these halls are about a hundred feet inlength, and the first-named, on these occasions,is usually set apart for waltzes alone;here was the band of the regiment, in thelofty orchestra, under the guidance ofHerr von Humstrumm, while a fashionablequadrille band was in the gallery of theAssembly-room, which has one of thefinest floors in Europe.

A guard of honour, a hundred strong,under Captain Acharn, occupied theentrance to receive duly the commander-in-chief,Sir Piers, and other general officers;trophies of arms, shields, and claymores,the grouped banners of extinct Scottishregiments from the castle armoury, adouble avenue of azaleas and myrtles,foliage and Chinese lanterns, with jets ofperfumed water, spouting and sparkling inmarble and alabaster basins, all testified tothe good taste of Cecil Falconer and theball-committee, who were there in 'fullpuff,' to receive the guests, who were nowarriving as fast as the carriages could setthem down at the east and west portes-cochère.

Yellow banners, with the trophies of theregiment, drooped over the staircases:'Egypt' with the sphinx, 'Corunna,''China' with the fiery dragon, and lastly,'Abyssinia'; and ever and anon the grandand inspiriting crashes of military musicswept through the double halls. Kiltedofficers from the Highland depôt battalions,in various tartans; gentlemen inHighland dresses, Hussars and Lancers,made gay the scene. And the costumes ofthe ladies, the result of many an anxiousconsultation with mammas and modistes as towhat would be prettiest and most effective,completed a scene in which a great amountof feminine loveliness and grace was notwanting.

In the vestibule, the young secondlieutenants were flying hither and thither,supplying the ladies with enamelledprogrammes; the rooms were crowded by aglittering throng, and already the dancing hadbegun, when the voice of Acharn, callingthe guard to attention, and the clatter oftheir rifles as they came to the 'present,'announced the arrival of Sir Piers and hisparty, and Falconer felt his heart give aresponsive leap.

Roused and inspired by the music, theregimental trophies and familiar badges,and by all his congenial surroundings, theold general looked so bright and happyand he seemed to grow so young againthat Hew, in his impatience to succeedhim, might have thought that the Parcæ—ifhe ever heard of them, which isdoubtful—were forgetting to shorten his span.

Smiling blandly on all, with all hismedals and orders glittering on his gallantold breast, in full uniform, with sash andbelt of gold, he moved through thebrilliant throng, with Mary—Mary seekingfor one face only—leaning on his arm;and he accorded even a pleasant bow toCecil, as the latter hurried to his place inthe dance with a tall and handsome girl,having arranged that Dick Freeport andMary should be their vis-à-vis.

Once or twice as the night wore on,Mrs. Garth, from her place among thechaperons, detected a shadow cross thegeneral's face, and knew that the sight ofthe familiar 'number,' the trophies andthe uniforms, brought back to memorymany a long-vanished face, and amongthem, doubtless, that of his only son.

Circ*mstanced as they were, Cecil feltall the mortifying absurdity of not puttinghis name even once on Mary's card, andpermitting others to fill it—a rapid process;but there was a nameless sweetness in theconviction of the secret understanding thatexisted between them, and that she hadspecially implored him not to ask her.The general's alternate fits of kindness andseverity, and his quick and impetuoustemper, worried her. In his household hewas absolute, or had all the desire to beso; and thus with all her love and respectfor him, a steady emotion of utter rebellionwas gathering in Mary's heart; and whenshe saw Cecil at the ball, she resolved thatit would go hard with her if, by some littlemanœuvring, they did not achieve onedance, together.

Yet her card was filled fast, as she hadpassed through the vestibule—the wholegarrison fighting gallantly to get theirnames inscribed upon it—and she wasoverwhelmed with petitions for dancesmore than she could accord. All the subshad come to the ball prepared to fall inlove with her; and, as Dick Freeport said,they were in duty bound to do so.

The dark dress of Mary—perhaps acurious one for a ball—black tulle,gracefully trimmed with ears of silver wheat,made the pure delicacy of her complexion,her white shoulders, round, polished andsnowy arms, bare from above the dimpledelbow, all more startlingly fair. She had acomplete suite of diamond and pearlornaments. Even to her lover's eyes, shelooked more than usually lovely; therewas a tender flush on her soft cheeks, andpurest pleasure sparkled in her soft face,as she swept round in the waltz withFotheringhame, who was whispering to herof Cecil; and her lithe form seemed fullof firm, yet delicate, strength and vigour.

'Beg pardon,' said Hew, who was nowaltzer, but had ventured on one rounddance with Annabelle Erroll, presumingon her good nature, and after cannoningagainst several exasperated lancers andothers, finally did so against Falconer; 'agay scene,' he added breathlessly.

'Hope you will enjoy yourself,' wasCecil's commonplace reply to Hew, inwhose eyes, even at that moment, he couldread deep and defiant hostility, butpartially veiled by a well-bred smile.

Remembering their gambling experiences,Acharn, a grim, dark officer, whohad now dismissed the guard and taken hisplace among the dancers, would haveopposed the invitation of Hew to the ball;but Falconer, loth to put a slight upon thegeneral, and supposing that he had nothingpersonally to fear in his presence, encloseda card to his would-be rival, and hence hisappearance on the night in question.

He was disposed to be silent and sulky—silentin consequence of a total absenceof ideas; and sulky, because of Mary's tooapparent happy preoccupation, and hersuccession of brilliant partners. Most—if notall—of the Cameronians were as goodperformers on a well-waxed floor as atanything else that is manly, and, as we havealready hinted, the floor of the EdinburghAssembly-room is simply the perfectionof what that for a ball should be.

'What a cub that fellow Hew is!' saidFotheringhame to Cecil in passing, withAnnabelle on his arm, her pale bluecostume becoming her light blonde beautywell. 'Can it be possible,' he whisperedto her, 'that such a girl as your friend canbe capable of marrying one man whileloving another—marrying this Hew CaddishMontgomerie while loving Cecil Falconer?'

'I should hope not.'

'But women are such strange creatures!'

'Men are stranger still,' she retorted,with a bright smile; 'but here comes ourodious Hew—and I promised him this waltz.'

'He imposes on your good-nature;bother the fellow!'

'Our dance, I think,' said Hew, lounging up.

'Number seven,' said Annabelle, affectingto consult her card, while Fotheringhamegave him an impatient stare, for his dislikeof Hew was great.

'How handsome your cousin MissMontgomerie is,' said he.

'She is full of goodness of heart andcommon sense too,' added Annabelle.

'I hope she will prove a girl of veryuncommon sense,' said Fotheringhame.

'In what way?' asked Hew.

'By preferring a Cameronian to anyother man,' replied Fotheringhame withperfect coolness; and Annabelle laughedto see the gleam that shot athwart theeyes of Hew, as he swept away with herinto the dance, to begin a series of 'cannons'again, and elicit remarks of wrath undermany a moustache.

'I don't know what your plans are, oldfellow,' said Fotheringhame to Cecil, astheir eyes mutually followed Mary,admiringly, through the maze of waltzers,'but, if I were in your place, I wouldwrite to Sir Piers, and give him fairwarning that I meant to use every meansto win his ward.'

'Nay, Leslie; I have already won her,'interrupted Falconer, a little triumphantly.

'Well—all the better; and if the girlloved me as she loves you, and as Annabelletells me, I would have her in spite ofall the guardians in Scotland!'

But there was no answering smile in theface of Cecil, who remembered how hislast visit to the house of Sir Piers ended,and the summary manner in which the oldman rang the bell to have him shown out!

And now for a time he remained amongthe crowd of men—the inert or uninterested—whohovered about the doorway, criticallywatching the dancers, and he heardMary again and again praised, as sheswept past in a succession of waltzes. Thegenuine praises of some delighted him;but there were occasional off-hand remarksthat made him inclined to punch more thanone head.

'Not a bad-looking girl at all,' lisped aLancer; 'wish she wouldn't lay on thepowder so freely, though.'

'Powder!' said Bickerton of that Ilk,a well-browned young fellow in theblue-and-gold-laced uniform of the AyrshireYeomanry, 'the devil a pinch of powderis there!'

'By Jove! to my mind, her dress is verychic. Regent Street couldn't turn out abetter! Who the deuce is she?' askedanother lounger.

'Oh! the daughter of Sir Piers Montgomerie,'replied some one whose informationwas vague; 'an old general officer—noend of money, and has refused no endof eligibles, and non-eligibles, alike.'

'Get me an introduction, won't you?'

'Well, perhaps—but her card has beenfull no doubt an hour ago.'

'Who is that swivel-eyed fellow thathangs about her?'

'Her intended, people say—don't likethe fellow; he once played me a fishytrick about a horse.'

'I have certainly seen a face like thatgirl's before,' resumed the Lancer, eyeingMary through his glass.

'Perhaps—but you haven't seen manylike it,' said Dick Freeport. 'I am luckyenough to have booked her for twowaltzes.'

'Great success, this regimental hop ofyours!'

Amid the painful doubts of his ownposition, his hopes and his fears, Cecil sawwith pleasure how radiantly happy hisfriend Fotheringhame and Annabelle Errollwere enjoying the ball and their ownsociety to the fullest extent; and sooth tosay, though Blanche Gordon, the girl whohad 'thrown him over,' was present, andlooking very queenly in her costume andher loveliness, he seemed to have eyesonly for Annabelle; and as his armencircled her there was a depth of emotionin her tender blue eyes when their gazemet his, that called up many a lovingthought, and, though they were silent, ledboth to remember the scenes of their past,upon the shining river, when the boatglided under the silver birches and thewater-lilies floated by her side—scenes tobe visited together, as they hoped, again.

But, as, if there could be no perfectbrightness without a shadow, no perfecthappiness without some alloy, it chancedthat when seated together in the vestibule,for coolness, there occurred an eventwhich—though Annabelle thought little, perhaps,of it then—she had bitter cause toremember afterwards.

A lady, closely veiled, passed quicklynear them, after descending from thegallery usually occupied by servants andprivileged spectators.

She dropped a card-case or purse, andFotheringhame hastened to restore it to her,on which with a low voice, she thanked himby name, involuntarily as it would seem.

'Why are you here to-night?' he askedseverely.

'To see—you.'

'How rash—how foolish—go home!'

She hurried away, and on Fotheringhamerejoining Annabelle, the latter couldsee that he had suddenly become very pale.

'Do you know that—person?' she askedwhile slowly fanning herself, and fixing herupturned eyes upon him.

'Why do you ask, dearest Bella?' saidhe, as if to gain time for thought.

'Because she seemed to know you, andcalled you Leslie.'

'Surely not; but so many people knowme—the world is such a small place. Iknow her to be very unhappy, and this gayscene is the last place where I would expectto see her, even as a spectator.'

He spoke with perfect deliberation andconfidence now, but failed to inspire hislistener with the latter, as she read asudden and settled gloom in his eyes.

The strange woman—a lady evidently—admittedthat she had come hither to seehim. Why? Then he had desired her to'go home.' Where was her home? Whowas she? And why did this chancemeeting make him so distrait?

'Our dance now, darling,' he whispered,drawing her hand through his arm. 'Oneof Schubert's waltzes; old Humstrummgreatly affects Schubert,' he added withrather a sickly smile. But this littleepisode so startled Annabelle, that thetask of getting her fair face and softcomplexion into 'society trim' again cost heran effort; and ere they could get amongthe waltzers in the Music-hall, a strangecommotion there attracted the attentionof both, as it did that of everyone; sothe cause thereof deserves a chapter toitself, for Fotheringhame was struck withhorror and dismay to see his friend CecilFalconer borne past him to a retiring-room,reeling and almost senseless, in the arms ofthree officers of different regiments!

What had happened?

CHAPTER VI.

HEW'S TRIUMPH.

Prior to this startling event, thereels, usually a great figure insuch balls at Edinburgh, hadbeen attracting the attention of Mary,who did not join in them; and the longline of more than a hundred dancers facingeach other, presented a gay spectacle, fromthe number of uniforms, clan tartans, andoccasionally the green uniform and greatgold epaulettes of the Scottish body-guard,worn by some of the male performers.

The 'Cameronian Rant' was struck upby the orchestra in the Assembly-room, andold Mrs. Garth, who deemed herself quiteas much a part of the Cameronians as theadjutant or the big-drum, and who hadbeen vibrating, bubbling, and brimmingover with pleasure all night, now felt hersatisfaction culminate when the aged SirPiers, with the courtly gallantry of the oldschool, led her forth as his partner, andlooked round in vain for Hew and Mary,as a vis-à-vis, whose place was speedilysupplied by Dick Freeport and a younglady whose interest he was exciting onthe subject of his ring with the bluestone.

The reel over, the general had retreatedbreathlessly to his place, where he proceededto button-hole the commander-in-chief—anotherold fogie like himself; andthey were deep in reminiscences of theland of palms and punkahs, tigers andprecious stones, when Cecil, discoveringMary with Annabelle and Fotheringhamein one of those flirtation nooks which areto be found in the corners of the Music-hallat such times, approached, and whisperingthat Hew had disappeared, andthe general was busy, suggested that theymight have one waltz together, as thedouble rooms always make a totalconfusion in the mutual engagements.

She murmured something, mechanically,about the heat of the room, the crowd, andso forth; his arm went round her; thrillinglyher little hand returned the pressureof his own, having to the full as mucheffect upon him as any words she mighthave uttered; and in a moment they werelost amid the whirling crowd of hundredsof waltzers. Her great self-control nearlygave way in the delight of dancing withCecil, 'under the temptation' which, asWilkie Collins has it, 'no woman canresist—the temptation of touching the man sheloves.'

Thus the soft pressure of the hand, whichsilently said so much, was mutually returnedagain and again, as Cecil guided herunerringly amid the mazy circles, till shepaused, palpitating, blushing, andhalf-reclining, breathlessly on his shoulder.

'I have not had such a waltz to-night,Cecil,' she whispered; 'so delightful, Imean.'

'Nor I, darling—one turn more!' Andaway they went again, but at a slowerpace, which enabled them to converse atintervals.

They were not unseen, however, now, forHew, who had been fraternising with oneof the pretty waitresses who superintendedthe luxurious supper-tables in the wingsof the hall, was watching them with aheart full of growing hatred of Falconer;he longed to do him a mischief of somekind—vaguely, savagely, and Mary too,for violating thus the express orders of herguardian. And how radiantly (disgustingly,he thought) happy they looked!

'I'll mar his wooing, and more!' mutteredHew, who possessed in an eminentdegree that quality which is to be largelyfound in the least intellectual natures—lowcunning.

As if she had some intuition of the malocchio under which they were, she whispered:

'Hew has some deep scheme of mischiefin petto against us—I am assured by quietsmiles I have read in his face to-night.'

'He is gone, I think.'

'I hope so; he is so cruel, coarse, andunscrupulous—one, in short, to beware of.'

'Don't bother about Hew, darling; Ifear more Sir Piers—and his neverconsenting.'

'I don't care for what Sir Piers says,'whispered the dear voice; 'I can never,never care for anyone but you, Cecil; I'llwait for you till I'm a hundred.'

At this cheerful prospect he pressed herlittle gloved hand again.

'I'm sure you'll wait as long as I—butoh, Cecil, I'm so wretched at times!'

But the bright mignonne face that smiledback to his didn't look wretched a bit, andin the glittering crowd at times, throughwhich they were sweeping to the intoxicatingcrashes of the regimental band, whilewith each other thus, they felt as muchalone as if the world contained no othercouple than themselves.

'Is not love a thing worth living for,Mary, even for its own sake?'

'It is indeed, Cecil!' whispered Mary,with her brightest smile.

'A dream that comes, I am sure, trulyand purely, but once in a lifetime.'

'And love, it is said, works miracles.'

'I wish it would work one with that dearold fogie, the general! When last he spoketo me it was somewhat like the stern parentin Allan-a-Dale, for he literally

'"Lifted the latch, and bade me begone."

His arm was still encircling her; his lefthand pressed her right; her cheek halfsunk on his shoulder, their breath minglingas they swept on, intoxicated alike by themeasure of the dance and the music ofStrauss; in their souls unmindful of allways and means—of marriage and thegeneral; of houses; of equipages; ofsociety and the world—unmindful of all,save that they loved each other, and weretogether alone—alone even in that brilliantthrong, till Mary could spin no more; andhe led her well-nigh breathless to the mostsequestered seat he could find, betweentwo great vases of flowers near thecurtained gallery, under which some of thesupper-tables were, and his own servant,Tommy Atkins, who was in attendancethere, promptly brought them some icedchampagne.

On the third finger of her left hand,Mary had a ring that Cecil had placedthere—a diamond cluster, and which shewas fond of drawing off her glove tocontemplate, with a self-conscious aspect andtender smile—a ring unnoticed by all saveAnnabelle, who now wore a nearly preciselysimilar emblem.

She had drawn off her glove now, andas she sat fanning herself, while Cecil bentover her chair whispering little nothings,dear only to themselves, Hew Montgomerie,unseen by both, came near.

We have told in our first volume thatHew was a 'good hater'—one precisely afterthe heart of the great Lexicographer—andhow he had made a vow to revenge himselfon Falconer—a vow all the deeper for beingan unuttered one; and the time to redeemthat vow had now come!

Hew's hand passed for a moment lingeringlyover Cecil's goblet of champagne. Aclose observer might have remarked thatHew's hand suddenly opened and shut,and that as he did so the wine frothed upanew and curiously; but no close observerwas there, and Hew withdrew some paces,and laughed his noiseless, joyless laugh, ashe watched Cecil, while replying smilinglyand fondly to some laughing remark ofMary, put his hand to the goblet, lift itfrom the table, and finish its contents ata draught, like a heated and thirsty youngdancer as he was.

Hew then withdrew from their vicinity;but all that followed, followed fast indeed!

Cecil became deadly pale, and anexpression of agony came into his face. Thelights in the domed roof above, and thefigures of the whirling dancers below,seemed to multiply ad infinitum; the musicsounded as if receding to a vast distance;the four corners of the hall seemed to bein swift pursuit of each other, as if itrevolved on an axis: he read a strangeexpression of utter dismay in the face anddilated eyes of Mary, who had startedfrom her seat; he made a wild, but futileclutch at the table to support himself,while a half-stifled cry escaped him, andhe fell with a crash on the waxed floor,when a crowd instantly gathered roundhim, and voices in alarm rose on every side.

'Make way there—poor fellow takenill—the heat—the ventilation here ishorrible!' cried one.

'Stand back—stand back, please—air!'said an officer of Lancers, authoritatively.

'Lift him up,' cried another; 'he hasfainted.'

'Screwed as an owl, you mean,' said avoice there was no mistaking.

'Silence, sir!' exclaimed Captain Acharn,sternly.

But Hew, with his cruel cold smile, andan ill-suppressed gleam in his parti-colouredeyes, thought,

'If there is any nonsense still in herhead about this fellow, surely it must endfor ever now!'

So Cecil, in a state of utter insensibility,was borne away by the hands of kindcomrades, placed in a carriage, andconveyed home to his quarters by Acharnand Dick Freeport, who were in an intensestate of concern and bewilderment; yet'all went merry as a marriage bell' at theregimental ball, and the dancing continuedtill the morning sun began to redden thecastle towers and Arthur's rocky cone; forhundreds in the rooms knew nothing ofthe matter; a few red-coats were suddenlymissed—some engagements broken—andthat was all.

Mary danced no more that night, ofcourse—or for the remainder of the morning,rather—and all that passed seemed ahorrible dream, in which, however, Hew,singular to say, bore no part as yet in hermind, notwithstanding the significance ofher words of warning during the dance.No suspicion so utterly monstrous as thereality was likely to occur to a mind like hers.

The general and his party retired. Hewas horribly perplexed and shocked by anevent so utterly out of his ken andexperience, and he could recall no parallelcase in all the long course of his militarycareer—an officer taken thus in a ball-room;for of course, such is human nature, that theworst construction was instantly put upon it.

'Hah!' muttered Hew, as the carriagebowled through the empty but magnificentstreets to the westward; 'this comes oftaking too much cognac with his soda-water.He'll be drummed out of society,and the regiment too, I suppose, for this,'he added with a grin to Mrs. Garth, whosat back in a corner of the carriage andsobbed sorrowfully.

Finding that no answer was made to hisill-natured remarks, Hew said again:

'This Falconer, used to laugh at thecolonel's jokes and toady to his betters;but, by Jove, he won't have a chance oflaughing at the colonel's jokes after this!'

'Silence, Hew,' said the general, grimly;'but I am thinking more of the honour ofthe regiment than of him.'

'She will either marry me now quietly,or she will not,' thought Hew, triumphantlyand pitilessly; 'if she does not, I supposeher tin will come to me anyhow, thanks toher father's will and this old fool, SirPiers—shame to call the old fellow a fool,though, for being so deuced friendly tome!' he added mentally, with a hiccough.

It has been said truly, that there aretimes, which come into the lives of someof us, in which the agonies of years arecompressed into a few minutes—yea, itmay be a second.

And thus it was with Mary!

Annabelle Erroll had her own cause forsecret unhappiness—the strange episode ofthe closely-veiled woman in the vestibule—butat present all her sympathies wereabsorbed in the great catastrophe of theball, and the unavailing sorrow of herfriend Mary.

CHAPTER VII.

'I HAVE COME FOR YOUR SWORD.'

The mind of Cecil, next forenoon,when he partially awoke, andseemed to grope his way backto life and to the world, was a speciesof chaos. He was ill, sick, abed inthe doctor's hands—too ill to think—tooweak to rise. He found himself in hisquarters in the castle, and the events ofthe past night confused themselvesgrotesquely and hideously with the prosaicfeatures of the apartment in which he lay:the joy and rapture of his being withMary, mingled with the remembered horrorthat seemed to envelop him, as darknessdescended on his eyes and the ball-roomwhirled round him, and amid the circles ofthe dancers, the crash of the music andthe murmur of many voices, he fell heavilyon the floor, as all sense passed away, andhe seemed to sink into a sea!

When he did begin to come round androuse himself, he was sensible of a hum ofvoices, and considerable odour of vinegarand of cigars, in his huge room—for alarge one it was; and there were Acharn,Leslie Fotheringhame, and Dick Freeportand the doctor, refreshing themselves withbrandy-and-water, talking about the balland surmising about himself, sympathisingly,and in low tones.

'I cannot comprehend it,' he heard thedoctor say; 'a curious case, and not likeimbibing too much. He must have eatenor drunk something poisonous at thesupper-table. There was no sudden transitionfrom heat to cold—he had undergoneno great fatigue or excessive weakness tocause such a fit as overtook him; but Ihave known strong and healthy persons,abounding in blood, seized with suddenfaintings after violent exercise——'

'But, man alive, doctor, Falconer is oneof the best round dancers in the regiment,'said Freeport.

'It must have been the closeness of theroom,' said Acharn.

'It looks a deuced deal more likehalf-poisoning,' exclaimed the doctor, with afinger on Cecil's pulse. Then turning toFalconer's servant, Tommy Atkins, and ahospital orderly who were in attendance,he ordered his hands to be rubbed, andhis head to be bathed with brandy, saltsto be held to his nostrils, and a little wine,as soon as he could swallow it, to be givenhim—for he was unwilling to accept theidea that was forcing itself upon him, thatCecil had, perhaps, taken too muchchampagne over-night; and then he withdrew.

In defiance of the doctor's injunction,which was that he was to lie with a lowpillow, Cecil struggled up into a sittingposture and looked rather wildly aroundhim as he greeted his friends.

He felt that he was in a dreadfulemergency—a coil—yet in his pale face therewas that faint indication of a smile that issadder by far than none; for he felt thathowever well-meaning and attached tohim his brother officers were, they werecertain to have but one fatal suspicion inthe matter.

'What on earth has come to you, Falconer,old fellow?' said Fotheringhame. 'Inever knew of your getting into a scrapelike this, even when a greenhorn, who wasfined a dozen of Moselle for first drawinghis sword, or a ditto for the sergeants'mess on first carrying the colours!'

'By Jove! it knocks me into a co*ckedhat,' added Freeport; 'I can't reason overit—the whole thing seems so unnatural—sohorribly unreal! This is a worse scrapethan mine with the three daughters of thedepôt commandant.'

'There was safety in the trio,' saidAcharn.

'Yes—he couldn't marry them all, certainly,'said Fotheringhame, 'though I amnot prepared to say that if the law ofScotland permitted it he might have triedto do so.'

'How can you fellows jest thus?' saidFalconer, faintly.

'True—I beg your pardon,' repliedFotheringhame; 'but chaff and fun aresuch habits with us.'

'I fear that this affair will be no "fun"for me. Have I talked much nonsense,Dick?'

'Well—being screwed—Cecil, you certainlydid talk a lot of stuff; but peopledo that at all times, and even when quitesober.'

Falconer felt his heart sink at the viewhis best friends were taking of thiscatastrophe. He felt that he was the victim ofsome hidden and mysterious circ*mstanceover which he had no control; but howwas that to be proved? and he knew thatin the chief city of Mrs. Grundy thepublic always took the worst possible viewof everything.

'You do not think—you dare not think,'he exclaimed half-entreatingly andhalf-defiantly, 'that I forgot my position andthe honour of the corps, and took toomuch wine last night—in uniform and ata public ball too, in presence of the generalcommanding and all the staff?'

'I fear, my dear Falconer,' said Fotheringhame,'that it only looks too much likethat very mistake.'

'By heavens! I was never near thesupper-tables but once—and had but oneglass of Moselle!' cried Falconerimpetuously.

'But people will be sceptical in suchmatters,' said Acharn, pulling his longblack moustache angrily; 'and from muchof what I heard on parade this morningthere is a devil of a row impending.'

'Over me?'

'Yes.'

At that moment there came a singleknock smartly on the door, and theadjutant entered with an expression of graveconcern on his face. After a few words ofkind inquiry, and half apology, he said:

'I am so sorry for you, my poor fellow,but the chief is furious, and, by his order,I have come—for your sword.'

The words seemed to sink into Falconer'ssoul. He knew all this implied,and that, too probably, it was the beginningof his destruction—the beginning of abitter end!'

So his sword was taken away, and hefound himself under arrest—but arrest atlarge, as the adjutant informed him thathe was at liberty to take exercise withindefined limits, within the barracks, but notto go beyond the barrier-gates of thefortress, and not to quit his room otherwisethan in uniform, minus a sword andsash.

All this was not new to him, of course,yet he had listened to the adjutant as onein a dream, and saw him take away thesword. After the departure of thisimportant official—the grand vizier of thecolonel—the gravity of the situationbecame painfully apparent to all, and it maywell be supposed there was no more jestingthen, and Falconer felt all the horror ofthe new position.

His mysterious illness seemed to growworse now; a dreadful ache racked hishead; his heart grew heavy as lead, andhis spirit seemed to die under this disgraceand all it implied and all it imperilled, andas yet he had not the most remote ideathat he was the victim of a wretch'srevenue: thus the well-meant efforts ofhis friends to rouse him and inspire himwith the hope that he would yet get overit—that all would be explained—that allwould be well in the end, and so forth,were made in vain.

Dick Freeport, Leslie Fotheringhame,and the entire corps were bewildered bythe catastrophe, and poor Tommy Atkins,who doted on his master, was in despair—gotvery tipsy on the head of it, and hadgiven him, therefore, three days in theblack hole, to contemplate the unstabilityof human—and more especially of military—affairs.

Events followed each other fast now;and when again the adjutant most reluctantlyvisited him, it was to announce thathe was in orders for a general court-martial,and to furnish him, by the colonel'sinstructions, with a copy of the chargepreferred against him, 'for conductunbecoming an officer and a gentleman at theball,' together with a list of the witnessesfor the prosecution.

All the bright, youthful, and enthusiastichopes—the hopes cherished for years; allthe visions of glory and honour conjuredup on the day he first donned his uniform,were crushed and gone now, like the dearlove of yesterday, for the love of Maryhad—in one sense—come into his heartbut yesterday; and yet, how strong andkeen, how tender and true it was!

So bewildered was poor Falconer by hismysterious illness, the sudden giddinessand unconsciousness in the ball-room, andhis symptoms since, that he actually beganto believe at last, or adopt the idea, basedperhaps on the remarks of his medicalattendant, that he had been guilty of whatwas unwillingly imputed to him.

And yet, how could it be? Utterlyunconscious as he was of Hew's vicinity tohim on that occasion, the idea that he hadbeen vulgarly, yea brutally, hocussed, neveroccurred to his simple mind, though thedoctors hinted that he must have partakenof something deleterious.

Apart from his comrades of the mess,there was an intense interest in theregiment for Cecil; the soldiers, and eventheir wives, paid him surreptitious visitsof condolence; and the children of hiscompany, who had been the recipients ofso many Christmas-boxes and bonbons,lingered with hushed voices under thewindows of his room—the girls curtseyingand the small boys coming to 'attention'and saluting him quite gravely as theirfathers would have done; and Cecil feltall this keenly and gratefully.

In the barracks and guard-house, hisaffairs were under constant and seriousconsideration, through the medium of muchbirds'-eye, and among many stories ofkindness and generosity, connected withCecil's popularity among the Cameronians,was one which they recalled prominentlynow: how, on one occasion, after a longday's march of heat and thirst, far upcountry in India, when commanding anadvanced picket before the position of ahill-tribe, he had found, on visiting hissentinels, one of them, Tommy Atkins,worn with toil, sound asleep—a crimewhich was death by the Articles of War,if reported.

But instead of making poor Tommy aprisoner with the quarter-guard, he hadshouldered his musket and kept the postin person, watching over the sleepingsoldier on the one hand and the hill-campon the other, till the movement of armedtribesmen in front compelled him to fireand bring the picket under arms.

He saw less of his chief friend LeslieFotheringhame than he might otherwisehave done, for the time of the latter—despiteanxiety for the affair of his friend—wasmuch occupied by Annabelle Erroll,and in dangling after her.

At last there came a day which Cecilnever forgot, from the emotions of mortificationand humiliation it occasioned him,It was a Thursday—the usual 'march-out'day for the regiment. From his windowhe watched its departure, with bayonetsfixed and colours flying, in heavy marchingorder, and in all the pride and bravery ofthe service, while he remained behind aprisoner, disgraced, deprived of his swordand sash, with a terrible ordeal before him,and too probably a doom—to him—worsethan death!

And he heard the drums grow fainterand fainter, till their last notes died awayin the distance, and he heard only thebeating of his heart, that followed themwith painful yearning it had never knownbefore.

Anon, when the regiment returned,Freeport told him that when passing thehouse of Sir Piers Montgomerie, it hadbeen halted in column, when the fine oldsoldier came out on the balcony and wasreceived with a general salute, which hebeheld with swelling heart and glisteningeyes, and then he attempted to make aspeech, but his voice failed him—yet hemade a short one—so short as only to beequalled by that of the Duke of Wellingtonto the Household Brigade, when, afterkeeping silence for some time, he said,'Guards! you know me, and I know you—standat ease!'

'Was—was Miss Montgomerie on thebalcony?' asked Cecil, after a pause.

'No; there was only old Mrs. Garthwaving her handkerchief vigorously, andalternately mopping her eyes with it, poorold soul, as she thought, I have no doubt,of old John Garth of our Grenadiers. Ithought it strange that the belle of ourunlucky ball was not there.'

But Mary had been watching the regiment,sorrowfully, from her own room,and missing an absent face sorely indeed.

To her this was a time of great horrorand dismay; each night that she laid hersweet face on the pillow, she thought:

'If I could only waken in the morningto find it all a dream—all a dream!'

But alas! it was a dream from whichthere was no awakening. Blended withgreat pity and sorrow, she knew and feltnow, in all its intensity, the love she hadthought about, read about in romance, butnever knew till she had met Cecil Falconer;the love, that is, whether found or not, evera young girl's day-dream.

To all, save Annabelle Erroll, she had toact the part of apparent unconsciousnessof, or indifference to, all that was inprogress. Abed, it seemed to her that sheheard every hour struck by the adjacentclocks, and yet she must have slept a little,as the memory of more than one torturingor tantalising dream told her.

People, however, do get through everythingsomehow.

In the petty circle of Edinburgh society,the malheur of Falconer spread with manyexaggerations, and with much rancour; hewas a great bibber, a vaurien, and it wasnot the first time, by many, that he hadbeen in such a scrape; and there was muchlifting up of hands and eyes among theself-righteous who abound in the northerncity of the Seven Hills.

Mary resolved to avoid hearing aught onthe subject of the nine days' wonder; shepaid no idle visits, and was at home but tofew; yet, as many of the few were connectedwith the service, the whole affair,the court-martial, and what was certain tocome of it, were freely discussed in spite ofher.

And he had no one to console him 'upthere,' she would think, as she surveyedresentfully the grand old fortress, with itstowers, turrets, and black portholes, whichseemed to her but as a great trap, or giantlock, barring in Cecil from her and theworld. And all her good-natured friendsassured her, that the military trial couldonly end in dismissal, ruin, and disgrace.Would that she could go to him, and seehim once again, and assure him thatwhatever came to pass, she was his ownstill.

She was tearless and very quiet. Shewould not even retort upon Hew's bitterexultation over the affair—an exultationwhich his detestable nature rendered himincapable of concealing. Her sweet facelooked blank and white, and nothing seemedto rouse her.

Kind old Mrs. Garth felt intense pityfor her.

'Poor darling,' she would say, whilecaressing her; 'no tears yet—would that Icould see you weep!'

'Why?'

'It would at least relieve your heart.You have yet to learn, dearest Mary, thatwith too many in this world the growth oflove is unlike every other growth: it oftenexpands and blooms strongest amid sorrowand gloom and the chill blasts of adversity.'

'I am afraid, Sir Piers,' said Mrs. Garthon one occasion, 'the girl is simplybreaking her heart!'

'Simply breaking her fiddlestick!'growled the general, who was terriblyworried by the whole situation; 'yet Ishould not be angry with poor little Mary,'he added in a gentler tone; 'God is verygood! He took pity on me, a childless oldman, and, seeing an empty corner in myheart, sent her to fill it.'

Mary could hear, incidentally, from timeto time, the general in his pure dismaythat a Cameronian should cause suchesclandre, Mrs. Garth acting in hisinterests, even Annabelle in her sorrow,and not knowing very well what to think(as she had her doubts of mankind ingeneral), all inferring by casual remarksthat Falconer was quite unworthy of her—thatshe had made a lucky escape, and soforth; but they 'forgot that' the womannever yet lived who could cast a true loveout of her heart, because the object of itwas unworthy of her, and that all she cando is to struggle against it in secret; andpoor Mary was no exception to the rest ofher sex generally.

'Look a little beyond the present, dearMary,' said Sir Piers, as he caressed herhead, that nestled beside his knee, andpassed his old shrivelled hand through herrich brown hair; 'I dare say you thinkProvidence very short-sighted in sweepingout of our circle this interloper, who thoughtto come between Hew and yourself, ane'er-do-well, an utter black sheep in birth andbearing!' he added, angrily; for in hisrage at the probable slur cast on theregiment—his regiment—he was pitiless withregard to Cecil, who, for a time, had comebetween the wind and his nobility; andMary knew not exactly how Hew, artfully,insidiously, and openly, by turns, hadsucceeded in influencing Sir Piers against thevictim of his own treachery, but shereplied simply and firmly, as Cecil's lovefor her seemed something too sacred andtoo precious to be referred to so bluntly asit too often was:

'Talk not to me of Hew; had CecilFalconer never been born, I never couldhave loved Hew Montgomerie!'

Hew was one of the many in this age ofrefined civilisation, who, though they haveno fear of God, have a wholesome fear ofthe police! Thus, with all his malevolenthatred of Falconer, he shrank from using adagger or pistol, even secretly; but he hadresorted to a means of revenge more subtleand cruel than either.

The great military influence of Sir Piersmight have arrested the tide of ruin thatwas setting in against Falconer, andmight ultimately have been brought tobear upon the president and members of acourt so honourable and impartial as amilitary one; but Sir Piers was enragedby the whole affair, and his mind was sofull of it that for a time he ceased even toprose about Central India. Thus, formany reasons patent to the reader, hisinfluence, if used at all, was thrown intothe opposite scale; and so Falconer wasleft to his destiny, an inexorable one, bythe code militaire.

'Surely it is sharp work, Sir Piers,resorting to a court-martial at once,' saidFotheringhame on one occasion; 'couldnot your influence with the general commanding——'

'Don't speak of it, sir,' said Sir Piers,testily, with a wave of his hand.

'Is there no other resort?'

'None,' replied the other, sternly.

'Yet I have heard our lieutenant-coloneltell that when you, Sir Piers, were in hisplace at the head of the Cameronians, youwere less severe on a similar occasion, butof more importance than a ball.'

'What was it?'

'When Lieutenant Piers Montgomeriewas placed under arrest.'

The old general blushed scarlet and thengrew very pale. The occasion referred towas when the regiment was leaving Edinburghfor the East; he had urged the mento behave soberly and with proprietyduring their last days in the castle, that allmight parade and march forth in perfectorder; and nobly did they all respond tothe appeal, all save one, his son, who cameflushed from some late entertainment tothe parade in the early morning, to thegreat dismay of Sir Piers. A court-martialwould have ruined his prospects for life;yet he was put under arrest, and, someexample being necessary, it appeared inorders thus:

'Lieutenant Montgomerie, of the Grenadiers,will in future do duty with one ofthe battalion companies.'

This was in the days before the Crimea,when to be attached to a flank companywas equally advantageous and honourable.

'True, Mr. Fotheringhame; the offenderwas my own son Piers,' said the generalwith much emotion, yet more irritation atthe reminiscence; 'but this affair ofCaptain Falconer took place in the face of thecity, as one may say; so let the arrest andcharge take their course!'

How the drum for mess jarred on Cecil'sear when he heard it now! Instead ofdining at that jovial table, and sharing inthe happiness of its social circle, he had hissolitary repast brought to him in covereddishes on a salver, the repast he hadneither the appetite nor zest to eat, andwhich he would rather not have seen norfaced, save for acting a part before hisservant, Tom Atkins, a sympathetic fellow,however, who could not help thinking thathad he been seen groggy in public, howmuch more easily he would have got overit than his luckless captain.

The sweetest and the saddest hoursmust pass away inexorably, and so the sadhours passed with Cecil Falconer.

Day follows day and night follows night—isnot human life made up of these?—butnothing lasts for ever, thank God, washis thought, and the end, be it ever sobitter, comes at last. But bitter as thoseof Marah seemed now the waters of hislife! He felt that Mary and he wereparted for ever; that she could be his loveno more, and that the day-dream of hercould be dreamt over never again!

About this time he received a kind andearnest letter of condolence from oldMr. John Balderstone, who had conceived agreat friendship for him at Eaglescraig;but the terms of it served to irritate Cecil,as they too plainly hinted, 'from whatMr. Hew had reported, that on the night inquestion he had been exhilarated a littletoo much, perhaps.'

He tore and tossed it away with amalediction; yet old John Balderstonemeant well and kindly.

Hew's satisfaction at the progress ofevents was too great for concealment.

'Screwed as Bacchus at the regimentalball!' he thought to himself; 'and this isthe cad who tried to take Mary and hermoney away from me. By-and-by we'llkiss and be friends, as the children say,now that he is scratched for the running.He'll be doing the "blighted being" styleof thing now,' he added aloud to SirPiers. 'How interesting!—it is quite anidyll, whatever the devil that may be.Or perhaps he'll be going on theboards—back to the old trade of his motherbefore him! I have known more than onebroken-down army fellow who came outquite strong in genteel comedy.'

The general heard and eyed him sternly,but with silence. What would hisemotions have been had he fully known all?

Hew, however, thinking it would be aswell to be out of Edinburgh about thistime, took his departure to the country,on pretence of a little fishing; and theeventful day of Falconer's life was closeat hand.

On the night before it, to his ownsurprise, he slept the heavy, yet feverishsleep that follows great tribulation of mindand consequent exhaustion of power; yetnot without a dream in which he heardthe voice of the adjutant again sayinggravely, and with commiseration:

'I have come for your sword.'

CHAPTER VIII.

THE COURT-MARTIAL.

St. Giles's clock, the castleclock, and on the dials of everyother clock, the hands wentinexorably round, and the day and themorning of the eventful crisis cameinevitably at last, and Cecil put on hisbeloved full uniform, as his heart told him,perhaps for the last time—but minus hissword and sash!

He looked round his humbly furnishedbarrack-room, with the eye of one whowas taking a long farewell of something,and a heavy sigh escaped his overchargedbreast. Leslie Fotheringhame, who wasto act as his legal friend in court,pressed his hand, and said in his off-handway:

'Take courage, my dear friend. Keepup your pecker, old fellow; Marshal Ney'sscrape was a worse one than yours.'

Through a crowd of idlers, witnessesand others, who thronged the antechambersand bare stone passages, theyproceeded towards the mess-room, in whichthe court, composed of officers of the rankof captain and above it, was beingconstituted and sworn by the president, andall fully dressed in review order, with theirswords and sashes, around a table litteredwith writing materials and a few volumesof military regulations.

The first incident that jarred on Cecil'snerves was the voice of the president, acranky old Colonel, whose whole life hadbeen passed in sinecure staff appointments,saying:

'Bring in the prisoner!'

And he found himself, after being introducedby Fotheringhame, with whom he satapart at a writing-table, duly charged with'conduct unbecoming the character of anofficer, in having, on the —— day of ——,18—,' etc., etc.; to all of which he listenedas one in a dream; and still more did itall seem so as the day wore on. Howbright the sunshine seemed outside, andhow close and dark the ruin within thatill-omened room, which had been so oftenthe scene of hospitality and convivialjollity.

Through the open windows came, asfrom a distance, the jangle of St. Giles'smusical bells, with 'mingling din,' as Scotthas it; and their monotony and iterationgalled his spirit, and from mereassociation of ideas he felt certain that hemust loath them for ever after.

Of how much Hew Montgomerie washis evil genius, Cecil Falconer knew not,nor had the least suspicion. Yet helooked around the many faces in courtmore than once, expecting to see hisparti-coloured eyes regarding him withexultation; but that worthy was miles awayfrom the spot. Among the spectatorshe saw many legal men, in black withwhite ties, who had come up from theParliament House—that provincial'gossip shop'—to stare, whisper, and makesevere comments, which certainly weresometimes called for; and to drawsomewhat invidious comparisons between themodes of administering civil and militarylaw.

When the minds of those who composeany court are fully made up as to theguilt of the prisoner, and know thesentence that must be passed in conformityto certain iron rules laid down by law andcustom, the proceedings are usuallysummary enough, and so it was in the case ofCecil Falconer.

Doubt of his guilt or error there seemedto be none; most of those composing thecourt had been at the ball in question, andwere more or less cognisant of thebewildering catastrophe; but all that Ceciland Leslie Fotheringhame, as his friendand adviser, desired to bring before thelisteners, were the simple facts that hehad just been dancing—that hence somestrange giddiness might have come uponhim in consequence; of the wine he hadtaken but a single glass, as they couldeasily prove; and they desired to arguethese simple points earnestly, in the hopeof modifying the opinion of the tribunal,and Fotheringhame wished to put a questionto the lieutenant-colonel commanding,as ex-officio prosecutor.

'Stop, sir, please,' said a member ofthe court—Brevet-Major Hammer of theRoyal Artillery, a fiery-eyed little man withgrey spectacles and red nose—a man whohad crammed at Woolwich, and was up tothe ears in military law, though ignorantof all the principles thereof; 'this wouldseem to be a leading question, and, accordingto Hough on courts-martial, such questionscannot be allowed.'

On this subject there ensued muchdifference of opinion, and Major Rammermade some notes thereon with a drypen.

'Clear the court!' cried the presidentin consequence, and there was a generalexodus of the audience.

'What utter stuff this is!' saidFalconer to the adjutant, as they smoked acigar outside, while the fourteen membersof the court, the president and thedeputy-judge advocate, seemed to be allspeaking and wrangling at once; and aftersome twenty minutes' deliberation the courtwas re-opened, and all the audience troopedin again.

The question was voted 'irregular,'though neither Fotheringhame norFalconer had stated what it was to havebeen; so, as the former was about topropose another:

'We are here, sir, to try CaptainFalconer, not you?' said Major Rammer,snappishly; 'not you, sir, remember.'

'Of that circ*mstance I do not requireto be reminded,' replied Fotheringhame,haughtily; 'yet I do not see why theprisoner, or I as his friend, may notquestion the prosecutor as to——'

'In Tylter, on court-martial and militarylaw, in Hough and in Simmonds,' beganMajor Rammer, with emphatic solemnity,and glaring through his goggles roundthe table, 'it is distinctly laid down——'

'Clear the court!' cried some one else.

It was again cleared accordingly, andall the orderlies, idlers, and wonderingadvocates, had to make a stampede intothe dreary stone passages outside.

The debate, whatever it was about, wasa stormy one, and above the voices of allothers was heard that of Major Rammerciting Hough and Simmonds. Thepresident had never sat on a court-martialbefore—and, perhaps, had alwayshoped he might never do so, and neverbe called upon to give a casting vote inany question in this world; thus he wasinduced to comply with the dictum of thefiery-nosed and irritable Major Rammer,in all matters in the present instance,and the charge was eventually broughtclearly home.

The two doctors, though both fastfriends of Cecil's, when examined as tothe after effects of his mysterious illness,only served to make matters worse; and,as doctors proverbially disagree, they didso as to the symptoms on this.

'Clear the court!' once more thunderedMajor Rammer, and after it was clearedagain, the major returned to the attack,flanked by Hough and Simmonds.

In short, the personage who alone couldhave thrown any clear light on the wholecatastrophe, was utterly unthought of byall, and was enjoying himself in the countrywhile waiting impatiently the result ofhis treachery as reported in the publicprints.

When the defence came, the colonel, theadjutant, and others, bore the highesttestimony to the goodness of Falconer'scharacter and disposition, his attention toduty, the love borne him by his brotherofficers and soldiers, and his gallantry onmore than one occasion in India.

Hart's Army List was not at hand as tothe latter.

'Clear the court!' suggested MajorRammer, who required documentaryproofs of the said 'gallantry,' though hisown breast was bare of all decorations.

'Well!' exclaimed Fotheringhame, asthey were again cooling their heels in thepassage; 'if the proceedings of this dayare published, they will read ratherqueerly;' to which he added somethingnot meant for ears polite.

Why prolong this account—a painfullegal farce, for such the ignorance of thepresident, and the interference of 'thewell-read' Major Rammer made it?

To those who knew Cecil well, hishandsome face seemed pale—a face alwaysgrave and dignified; and his eyes seemedto observe the proceedings with a strangelistlessness.

As afternoon drew on Major Rammeroffered less opposition; Cecil was allowedto ask a few questions, as the formerperhaps found himself in a minority, thoughmost industrious in distributing slips ofpaper, with observations and quoted'precedents' all round the table. The tediousproceedings were at length closed—theopinion and finding given—the punishment,whatever it was, meted out, andproceedings on which the existence—certainlythe future—of Cecil Falconer seemedto depend, were despatched to the HorseGuards by the swift night mail.

The weary Falconer's room that nightwas filled with sympathisers, and theproceedings were discussed, and 'that oldpump jammer' duly stigmatised, amidthe consumption of much tobacco, champagne,brandy and seltzer, long after tattoo,the roll-calling, the last farewell soundof 'lights and fires out' had pealed fromthe citadel gate and in the Grand Parade,and after silence and the silver moonlightfell together on the vast fortress and itsrock.

'I thank all much, very much,' saidCecil with no small emotion; 'but it is nouse you fellows talking: there is nothingfor me now but to drift quietly awayinto the dark sea of ruin—it may bedeath!'

His lips were working convulsively ashe spoke.

'Let the worst come to the worst, I'llbear it like a man, and drag out theremnant of my life' (without her, he thought)'an adventurer, a beggar, an emigrant—asoldier in some foreign service, perhaps—whatmatters it how or when the bitterend may come? I'll not shoot myselfanyhow—that were the deed of a sinner andcoward!'

'For God's sake, Cecil, don't run onthis way! It's enough to make a fellow'sheart bleed!' said Fotheringhame withmuch anxiety of manner.

'Who knows what becomes of thosefellows who go to the dogs, or are driventhere?' he asked bitterly.

'Take heart, man—take heart,' urgedDick Freeport, patting him on theshoulder: 'you'll be, at worst, put at thebottom of the list of captains; and you'renot very far above that now.'

'No, no, Dick; I read dismissal in thefaces of the President and that artilleryfellow who was so infernally well up inHough and Simmonds.'

CHAPTER IX.

A PAGE OF LIFE TURNED OVER.

The Horse Guards did not seemin haste regarding Cecil's affair;some days passed on, and hopebegan to flicker up in the hearts of all—eventhe heart of Cecil—of all save Hew,we should say, as that worthy scanned themorning papers, for what he wished to see,in vain.

Evening was always an intolerable timeto Cecil at this period—debarred the mess,and secluded in his room, where, lefttotally to himself, he was wont to indulgein those dreamy reveries that areengendered by a good cigar.

At six-and-twenty or so, it is indeed adreary thing, when, as a writer says, 'muchof life seems still before us, and a darkunfathomable future lies between us andthe grave; when it is a bitter thing to sitalone and ponder on the days to come, anddiscover no bright spot in the darkness,discern no kind hand to beckon us forward.'

There was an evening which Cecil wasfated to remember long, when amid otherscenes, and when surrounded by much ofperil and suffering.

It was the sunset of a lovely spring day.Beyond the ramparts of that great fortress,to look on which to every Scotsman mustseem 'the phantasy of a thousand yearscomprised within a single moment,' thedistant glories of the departing sun threwforward in dark and rugged outline thewooded hills of Corstorphine, bathing inruddy light the waters of the Forth, with itsshores and isles seeming to substitute thehues of heaven for those of earth.

Lost in sad thoughts he sat by thewindow of his lonely room, dreamilywatching the evening haze tinted with gold bythe sinking sun, that already involved inobscurity the lower portions of the city,the gardens where of old the North Lochlay, and out of which the castle rock, thespires and fantastic masses, the pillaredbuildings on the Mound, rose as from a sea,the gathering obscurity, lending a strangewitchery to that wonderful view.

Cecil was then in one of his saddestmoments. In his hand was a tiny packet,and gently and tenderly he fingered it, forit contained the withered daisies culledfrom his mother's grave; and his heartgrew very full as her image came vividlyto memory with all the idolatrous love shehad for him, her only son.

'Thank God she knows nothing of allthis shame and misery! Yet, who cansay—perhaps?' he muttered, and cast hiseyes upward for a moment.

An essayist tells us that 'memory isthe peculiar domain of the individual. Ingoing back in recollection to the scenes ofother years, he is drawing on the secretstorehouse of his own unconsciousness, withwhich a stranger must not intermeddle.' SoCecil felt himself a child again, andinto that storehouse he looked back tomuch of love and sorrow, to many struggles,anxieties, and triumphs, known to himand his mother only—his dead mother, ofwhom we may learn much more anon; andnow by the course of events believing thatMary Montgomerie was utterly lost tohim, he clung more than ever to thememory of his mother, for she had beenall the world to him, as he to her.

'Could I expect that she would spendall the best years of her life waiting for afellow who might never be able to marryher?' he had said once to Fotheringhame.

'But, man alive!' responded the other;'she is able to marry you.'

'Was, you may say; we are separatednow for ever.'

Times there were when Cecil thoughthe should go mad, as the whole situationin all its details of too probable ruin anddisgrace, together with the certain loss ofMary, swept through his brain with painfuland provoking iteration.

Could it be that he was the victim ofsome plot? Hew had been near him onthat night, he had heard; but that was all.Had twenty nights or twenty yearselapsed since that fatal ball? he sometimesthought, for most strange seemedthe confusion of time and inversion ofevents.

So full was he of much and heavythought, that he did not hear his dooropen, or was conscious of any one approaching,till a dog suddenly leaped upon him,thrusting its cold nose into his hand, andanon licked it with hot, flapping tongue—Snarley,as if conscious that his friend wasin trouble, for Snarley it was, grovellingand abasing himself at his feet.

Tommy Atkins had ushered in threeladies and Fotheringhame, their escort.

'Mary!'

'Cecil!'

The two names on each tongue conveyeda world of tenderness, and tender was thelight that shone in the eyes of each—tenderand yearning too, as they held eachother's hands, poor souls, and oblivious ofthose who stood by and tried to lookunconscious, held their hands fast mutually,as if each had recovered some dear treasure,combined with heart and soul.

'You here, Mary!' exclaimed Falconer.

'Yes, Cecil, with Mrs. Garth and Annabelle.'

'If the general knew that I hadchaperoned Mary here,' said Mrs. Garth,tremulously, as she pressed his hand, 'Ishould certainly be discarded, and findmyself homeless in my old age.'

'I thank you, from my soul, Mrs. Garth!'exclaimed Cecil; 'after all theevil that has befallen me, is he stillimplacable as ever?'

'As ever,' replied Mrs. Garth, whileMary only answered with her tears, butSnarley, in the exuberance of his joy,gambolled about among her skirts, as if alively young rat was hidden there; andFotheringhame, thinking that the lovershad better be left to themselves, tookFalconer's powerful field-glass, threw openthe window at the end of his long room,and invited Mrs. Garth and Annabelle todiscover, if they could, the outlines of BenLomond, and the lights of Stirling twinklingout at thirty miles distance, thusaffording the two aching hearts a littleinterchange of words and caresses.

There are few women in this world whodo not resolve firmly and act vigorouslywhen the tender interests of their hearts areaffected; thus Mary had somewhat steppedout of her path, at all hazards, to see andconsole in his affliction the man who lovedher, and whom, she had begun to fear, shemight never meet again.

What course events might take sheknew not, but she knew well that she hadbeen pitilessly told to expect the worst:thus a great pity filled her soul, side byside with her love for Cecil.

Cecil's heart was too full for utterance;he could only whisper to her brokenly,and fold her closely to his breast, while ina soft and cooing voice, yet brokenly too,she assured him of her belief in his perfectinnocence, and of her love which wouldnever, never change or pass away but withher life; and a great calm seemed to comeover the tortured heart of Cecil as heheard her, and told her again and againhow kind, and sweet, and loving—andhow merciful too—it was of her to comeand tell him all this.

Mary had now her own thoughts ofHew as to the fatal event—suspicions, butthey were vague, intangible; and even toCecil she said nothing of them, nor meantto do so, till the worst came, though sheknew not in what form to shape them.

No one among us knows the depth orintensity of the tenderness we have foranyone we love or value, till on the eve oflosing them, perhaps for ever; and thegreat solemn dread that falls on theheart—even as the shadow of death. And Mary,by a deep and solemn presentiment, seemedto feel this, when, after a protractedinterview, during which the same broken-voicedand loving assurances were reiterated againand again, at Mrs. Garth's emphaticrequest she rose to leave Cecil.

Why should they be rent asunder? shethought. She was rich and thus powerful,on one hand; yet how helpless were both,on the other!

'I thank you, Mrs. Garth,' said Cecil;'bear with us a little, for our burden is aheavy one.'

'It has been truly said, dear CaptainFalconer,' replied the old lady, sententiously,yet softly, 'that we must bear theburden of our lives, whatever it be, andcontent us with whatever lot God is pleasedto accord us.'

'True; yet mine may prove a very hardone. But Mary's face, and voice, and tears,I hope will give me strength in the daysto come, if they bring greater evil to me.'

'All love you,' said Mrs. Garth, kissinghim on the cheek.

And while pressing Mary's hand, Cecilreplied by the quotation:

'"The love of all is but a small thing tothe love of one!"

Mary had been possessed by a crave tosee and to comfort him, if possible; hencethe unexpected visit. Like balm pouredupon a wound, it had comforted him, andassured him of her love unchanged whateverhappened; but save in that instance,nothing had come of the visit, and thefuture was as vague and uncertain asever.

Cecil did not leave his room at therequest of Fotheringhame, who had awholesome or nervous dread of anythingapproaching a scene or situation, and yethe was soon to bear a part in one himself!

Clinging to Mrs. Garth, how Mary gotout of the fortress she scarcely knew;hurrying down the steep stone staircase,past the gun-batteries, on which thegreat-coated sentinels now trod to and fro, andthen through the deep archway (wherewhilom the double portcullis hung), andunder the shadow of the stupendous HalfMoon Battery.

Neither, perhaps, did Annabelle Erroll,for she had painful thoughts of herown—bitter, jealous and fiery thoughts—allunlike those of Mary, in whose heart theregushed up a passion of love, sorrow andpity, that filled with hot and blinding tearsthe gentle eyes her close-drawn veil concealed.

They had not come in the carriage, butby a common cab, and as Fotheringhame,with great tenderness, was leading Annabelleto it, she saw—beyond a doubt—theveiled woman of the ball passing in by thebarrier gate.

Beyond a little nervous start as shepassed them—a start felt probably byAnnabelle, whose hand rested on the arm ofFotheringhame. He gave no other sign ofthat person's vicinity; but the sign wassufficient to make Annabelle withdraw her handinstantly, and receive his farewell adieuxwith a brevity and coldness that ratherbewildered him.

But the voice of Leslie Fotheringhamecame indistinctly to her ears—he seemedto be speaking a great way further off thanthat barrier gate, where the Cameroniansentinel stood, and she could see the greatbattery with its cannon and port-holestowering overhead, as through a dull andmisty haze.

What did it all mean?

CHAPTER X.

GONE!

It is said that 'there is nothing sodifficult to believe as a certainty,till we have lived long enoughto feel that it is a certainty, and not adelusion;' but Cecil Falconer soon realisedthe fact of his ruin.

With much genuine commiseration ofmanner and great kindness of tone, theadjutant had acquainted him that he hadbeen dismissed generally—not specifically—andthat her Majesty had no furtheroccasion for his services, and that thegeneral order, thereanent, would be out ina day or two!

Cecil had boasted of the strength givento him by Mary's visit; yet, when thecrash came, his strength and spirit alikegave way.

'My good name and my commissionwere all I possessed in the world, and Ihave lost both!' exclaimed Cecil toFotheringhame, who grasped his hand impetuously;'what will life be, henceforth, for me?

Fotheringhame felt for him deeply,keenly, yet scarcely knew, from the depthof his own emotion, and the desperation ofthe crisis, what to say.

'Think of Mary Montgomerie,' he urged,after a pause.

'I do think of her, but to what end orpurpose? She is further removed fromme than ever. To marry her would be todeprive her of fortune and position—toplace her at the mercy of the general and ofHew; and I—what have I to share withher but disgrace?'

His sun had set—his day of life wasover—over at its dawn and flush! Hisheart failed at the hopeless and pennilessprospect before him; and the impossibilityof having to reconstruct a whole life for thefuture on some new plan, and with otherappliances—or die!

'My dear Fotheringhame, thanks foryour sympathy,' said he; 'but the soonerI am out of this place, the better now.'

'And whither do you mean to go?'

'Heaven alone knows—I do not!' wasthe half-despairing response.

The news spread fast, and, apart from hisbrother-officers, the men of his companycame by sections and scores to shake hishand and bid him farewell. All felt forhim, loved him and sorrowed for him, andthe dark dream, seemed to be in progressstill. Could it all be real?

The first preparation for departure wasto take from his desk the withered daisiesculled from his mother's grave, and placethem in his breast. An intense longingwas in his heart now to be gone—to go,go, go—anywhere!

'I am going away, Tom,' said he toAtkins, who was hovering about him, andmechanically polishing the sword he wouldnever draw again.

'Where to, sir?' asked Tom.

'I don't know where to—as yet—butI'm out of the regiment now!'

'Out of the regiment,' faltered Tom, asif it was an impossible event, even afterall that had preceded it.

'Yes; I am, God help me, a broken man!'

There was a sob in Tom's throat, and heventured to wring his master's hand.

'And you leave, sir——'

'As soon as I can, Tom. Take this noteto the paymaster—I'll need all the moneyI can get.'

Tom saluted, took the note, but hurryinginto his kitchen, in tremulous haste took alittle packet from his knapsack andreturned to place it in Cecil's hand.

'What is this?' asked the latter.

'Not much, sir. You'll excuse me, sir.I can't go away with you, but I may helpyou, at least.'

'But what is this—money?'

'Only a matter of ten pounds sent meby mother, to make me comfortable a bit.I am sorry it isn't more, sir; but if you'lltake it to help you, for poor Tommy Atkins'ssake, he'll be a proud man to-night. You'vebeen a kind master to me, sir, and—and——'

But here the private soldier fairly brokedown, and wept outright, 'bo-hooing' likea whipped urchin. Falconer was greatlyaffected.

'Thank you, my dear fellow—thank you:but this can't be,' said he: and he had nosmall difficulty in getting Atkins to keepthe proffered money.

'Look here,' said Acharn to a groupnext morning in the mess-room, 'Falconerhad only his pay, and this sentence is ruinand beggary to him; I have here a chequefor eight hundred at his service, and Iknow that you fellows, and ever so manymore of the mess, will stump up. We mustdo something to start him, somehow orsomewhere; but how or where is beyondme, for poor Cecil is a soldier, and nothingbut a soldier.'

'But where the deuce is he?' askedFotheringhame, who with Freeport camein with genuine anxiety expressed in theirfaces, to state that his rooms were empty;that he had left the fortress ere tattoo wasbeaten last night, and Atkins knew notwhere he was gone.

'He has got from old Blunt, the paymaster,the last money due to him,' Fotheringhamesaid; 'and he has nothing withhim but a small portmanteau and a braceof revolver pistols. Everything else—hisuniforms, and so forth—he has, by a note,left with me.'

'Where can he have gone?' said one.

'Oh, we'll trace him somehow,' saidanother.

But all attempts to trace him provedutterly unavailing.

So he had left the regiment, silently,quietly and alone, and of course, under thepeculiar circ*mstances, without thefarewell dinner given to a departing comrade—leftit without shaking the hand of anyoneformally—quitting the castle in the night,unseen and unrecognised, taking only a fewclothes and his pistols.

'What does he mean to do with them?'asked Freeport.

'Where can he have gone—what donewith himself?' were the general surmises,while his sorrowing friends looked blanklyin each other's faces, and Fotheringhamehad a great yearning to see and talk withMary Montgomerie on the subject, andwas not without a lingering hope that shemight be able to throw some light on themystery that enveloped the disappearanceof Falconer; but in this matter he wasmistaken, for the days passed on and hewas heard of no more.

Evil tidings fly fast: thus on the verynight of Cecil's departure, through thegeneral, his household became aware of thefate that had befallen the unfortunate.

Looking like a saint in her pure whitenightdress, Mary sat on the edge of her bed,weeping bitterly after Mrs. Garth had lefther, and refusing all the earnest yetcommonplace comfort that Annabelle Errollstrove to give her.

'Oh, what shall we do!' she exclaimed,wringing her slender hands, for in the word'we' there was an affectionate sense ofidentifying his existence with her own;and in this action, as in every other,Annabelle could not help admiring a gooddeal of that elegance and grace whichmarked every movement, posture andgesture of Mary Montgomerie. 'What shallwe do! Crushed, poor and ruined as heis, he is dearer to me than ever.Cecil—Cecil—come to me, Cecil!' she addedhysterically, and hid her face in the bosom ofAnnabelle, who was weeping freely too,and no doubt thinking of the woman withthe veil, as she said:

'How unfortunate we are, dearest Mary,to have both become involved with menwhose lives are enveloped in some cruel ordegrading mystery.'

'Oh, do not say so—so far as poor Cecilis concerned,' replied Mary, with somethingof indignation in her tone.

Next morning found her face to faceat the breakfast-table with Hew, whosefeatures wore their brightest expression,and who was rubbing his cold fishy handswith unconcealed exultation; but Mary hadgot over her weeping now. She was verypale, and to all appearance heard unmovedthe general reading in the morning papersthe final details of Falconer's catastrophe—fiasco,as he called it—to Mrs. Garth,who was officiating at the urn. But SirPiers laid aside the paper as soon as heperceived her. All could see her pallor,and an expression of irrepressible anguishabout her delicate lips—the result of mentalrather than physical suffering; and in truthMary had not slept all night.

A letter lay beside her cup—a letterbrought by morning post. It was addressedin Cecil's handwriting. Sir Pierswas eyeing her firmly and inquiringly as shetook it up hastily and placed it unopenedin the bosom of her dress; but the momentbreakfast was over, she hurried away to herown room to peruse it, with tears thatblurred the lines, and hands that shooktremulously.

It told her briefly that he was about toleave his native land for ever, but for wherehe knew not yet, and cared not; and theconcluding words went straight to heraffectionate heart:

'Farewell, Mary—farewell, my darling—mineno more! farewell for ever, now.All is over with me. We have both beenrash in loving each other so tenderly, withoutthe consent of Sir Piers, your guardian;but our rashness has ended roughly, cruelly,and sorrowfully, especially for me. I havedreamed a happy dream in loving and beingbeloved by you—a dream the recollectionof which will brighten all that remains tome of life, in the desolate path that liesbefore me.'

And so he was gone, without trace, asFotheringhame eventually told her.

Again and again she pressed that tremulouslywritten letter to her lips, andmurmured,

'My darling—my poor lost darling!—surelyhe will write to me, or his friend,again!'

But days passed on, and became weeksand months, and no letter or sign came.

The worst had now come to pass; hervague suspicions of Hew's complicityin the affair were useless now, and Cecilseemed lost to her for ever.

'Now,' thought Sir Piers, with grimsatisfaction, 'now that this unfortunatefellow Falconer is gone, he will forgetMary, and she will forget him, and, as amatter of course, Mary will return to hersenses, and Hew's time will come.'

Perhaps Hew thought so too.

'When she sees him no more she willcease to grieve for him,' said Mrs. Garth,'and this sore trouble will be lifted off ourdarling's heart in time—please God, intime.'

But the very mystery that involvedCecil's departure added to the trouble andthought of the girl he left behind him.

A nervous agony of mind and a greatterror fell upon Mary—a terror that withCecil's hopeless and aimless departure, noneknew for where, a long and dull life laybefore her, without the society of himfor whom she seemed only now to havebegun to exist—he so winsome, manly,chivalrous, and all her own.

Through the long weary hours of thenight she often lay dry-eyed and feverish,without a tear coming to relieve herovercharged heart, for she and Cecil seemedparted now and for ever, as surely as ifdeath had done so. Wild, at times, wasthe longing to follow him—but where?

Would she ever throw her soft armsround him again, and feel his lip meethers!

Then the warm bright morning of theearly summer would come mockingly in,and the routine of life had to be dreamilygone through.

So these two were parted thus, withouthaving knowledge of each other, insickness or health; and without the hopefuljoy of a happy meeting, or reunion at anytime, to look forward to.

It is 'when we are left alone with thereality of an anguish that has hithertobeen but a dread, there comes thedarkness which, like that of Egypt, may befelt.' And such was the dark anguish thatfell upon the heart of Mary now.

CHAPTER XI.

'THE INITIALS.'

In the last chapter we havesomewhat anticipated the progressof time, for in the first fewweeks after the disappearance of CecilFalconer, certain disagreeables in the loveof Fotheringhame and Annabelle Erroll,fortunately for Mary, served to attract herattention and draw her from her own greatsorrow.

Fotheringhame was always a welcomeguest at the house of the general. ToMary he seemed a link with the lost one,and through him alone could she hope tohear tidings that might come to anymember of the mess. To the general, whomhe viewed, so far as his friend CecilFalconer was concerned, as a stupid, obstinate,proud, and avaricious old man, he wasspecially welcome, as the patient listenerto his prosy reminiscences of India, ofbattles and marches, of pig-sticking,shooting expeditions, and potting man-eaters,all of which Fotheringhame heardwith respect and feigned interest, that hemight the more freely enjoy the society ofAnnabelle, and of Mary, whom he reallyloved for the affection she bore his lostfriend.

His engagement with Annabelle was nosecret now; but if it was a source of joyto him, to her it was not without painfuldoubts and fears, for he seemed to havesome secret which she, as yet, failed toprobe.

That he and the lady she had twiceseen, had some hidden and intimate knowledgeof each other, the words overheardby Annabelle on the night of the ballseemed fully to prove. Then there washis undisguised emotion on seeing her passinto the fortress on the night of the visitto Falconer, an emotion that inflamedanew the suspicion, jealousy, and naturalindignation of a proud and sensitive girllike Annabelle.

What was this stranger doing there, shethought, passing the sentinels unchallenged,as if it was her use and wont? whitherwas she going, if not to visitFotheringhame in his quarters? Who,and what was she, and in what mannerrelated to him? Whence this vulgarmystery which had suddenly come into thelives of her and her intended, after theirreconciliation and complete reunion hadgiven her so much of the purest joy?

It filled her with a nameless dread, andas women, in joy as in sorrow, generallyseek the sympathy of each other, now inher jealousy, pain, and mortification, it wasnatural of Annabelle Erroll to confide inher friend and gossip Mary, while, in gustsof pride and anger, she sometimes failed toappear when Fotheringhame came to visither, or received him with a coldness thatcertainly seemed to excite in him pain,surprise, and pique.

Hew, who had some intuitive perceptionof all this, and who dearly loved mischieffor its own sake, brought home exaggerated,and even false, statements of howand where he had met Fotheringhame withladies generally, and especially with onelady in particular.

'Who she is no one knows, but she isalways attired in the richest and mostbecoming of outdoor costumes.

'And seems a lady?'

'Undoubtedly, so far as air and bearing go.'

'Most strange, Hew!'

'Not strange at all, Mary, as the worldgoes,' said he, with a laugh.

'If you are sure of all this, Hew,' saidMary, 'it is a wrong, a great wrong, toAnnabelle.'

'Stuff!' said he. 'Why, Ulysses lovedPenelope very well, but that did notprevent him from being very jolly withCalypso. But people are generally knownby the company they frequent, and we allknow who was his particular friend. Whatthe devil can that fellow have done withhimself? He is too poor for the winetrade, and must have turned digger atBallarat, or a donkey-merchant in Texas.'

Mary gave him a glance of ineffabledisdain, and turned away. She felt keenlyfor the anguish and wounded self-esteemof her friend! and she felt deeply mortifiedthat the chosen friend of Cecil should beplaying the present double part ofFotheringhame, for the general had seen himwith this lady, and he could not be mistaken.

'And Cecil, where was he?' she wouldwhisper to herself for the thousandthtime, as she drew forth a locket with someof his hair.

'It is so little to have of him, and yetso much that it reminds me of him all!'she would say, kissing it tenderly, andretying the tiny ribbon that bound it; 'mydarling Cecil—my own darling!'

Anon she would drop it softly into herbosom, and let it nestle there.

But soon some brief and importantevents brought about a kind of crisis inthe affair of Annabelle and Fotheringhame.

After leaving the general's house oneafternoon, it was found that he haddropped a note on the carpet, a notewhich he had apparently drawn forth withhis handkerchief, and Annabelle picked itup. The envelope was addressed to him ina pretty and free feminine hand, and thetop of the page began, 'My dearLeslie.' Neither of the girls read more, butinstantly replaced it in the cover.Annabelle, as she grew ghastly pale, gazed withsparkling yet doubting eyes upon the note.

What did it all mean? What was tobe done?

It bore a monogram in blue and gold,'F.F.,' and there was a sweet yet subtleperfume about the note that, like theflorid monogram, spoke surely of a femalein the matter, and of a feminine taste too.

'What shall we do?' asked Mary, ingreat perplexity.

'Enclose it, dear, in an envelope ofyours, and post it to him,' said Annabelle.'I do not wish to seem as if I knew aughtof it.'

Bursting with natural curiosity, poorAnnabelle no doubt was; yet she was toohonourable and ladylike to pry into thematter, though, sooth to say, it so verynearly concerned herself.

'Perhaps it is only a note of invitation,'suggested Mary.

'Scarcely,' replied Annabelle, withdifficulty restraining her tears; 'but I shallend this, Mary, by bringing my mostprotracted visit to a close, and go home tomamma, who has been urging me todo so.'

So the note was enclosed and despatched,and another came from LeslieFotheringhame, thanking Mary forreturning the former, adding that 'it wasscarcely worth while doing so;' and whennext they all met, the subject was ignored;but there was a cloud over Annabelle'sface, for the memory of the note, inconnection with other matters, haunted andtormented her. But he, in manner, wascalm, affectionate, and unchanged—thesame as usual.

'It cannot be from Blanche Gordon,' shethought, though she certainly was at theball. This woman—F.F.—can it be possiblethat she is some former flame of Leslie's,with whom he has renewed his intimacy?'

Her jealous fancies ran riot, and notunnaturally.

Next day, Mary, when attended by agroom, riding in a sequestered lane,between trees and hedgerows, came suddenlyupon Fotheringhame and the unknown,walking slowly together hand in hand, ina calm, apparently accustomed, andaffectionate manner, that filled her with somuch grief and astonishment, that, wheelingher horse in another direction, andescaping them, as she hoped, unseen, shedashed home at a gallop, and at oncesought her friend.

Without removing her habit or hat,she threw her arms round the neck ofAnnabelle, who, though used to herimpulsiveness, was certainly startled.

'Dearie—my dearie,' she exclaimed,'can you bear evil tidings?'

'That may depend upon what they are,'replied Annabelle, growing very pale inanticipation.

'Well,' said Mary, in a broken voice,while drawing her friend close in anembrace, 'you must teach yourself to—toforget Leslie Fotheringhame.'

'Not a difficult task, perhaps, as mattershave been going,' was the bitter response;'but why?'

'I have had ocular proof that he istrifling with you and your love, and thathe has, I fear, a wife already—this "F.F."no doubt.'

'Married!' said Annabelle, in a breathlesswhisper, while the four walls of theroom seemed to fly round her and the eyesof Mary, who was impetuously graspingat a conclusion, wore a strange expressionin which high indignation was blendedwith the tenderest pity as she relatedwhat she had just seen, and added:

'Oh, my darling, be calm! I am sosorry to tell you this—but, but—what canwe think?'

'Ah! why does he deceive me socruelly—why labour thus to break theheart of one who loves him as I do?'

'You must learn to think and speak inthe past tense now,' continued Mary,whose tears fell fast, and she clasped herfriend to her own bosom caressingly.

'Married,' thought Annabelle, 'thatcannot be; but he is perhaps about tocast me off—play me false for anotheragain!'

Anger and scorn struggled with loveand sorrow in her heart; but her blue eyeswere dry and tearless.

'Had papa been alive, Leslie dared nothave treated me thus!' she exclaimed;'but he knows I have no protector now,save a widowed mother. I wish that Ihad not met him again, Mary, or that Iwere dead—dead!' she exclaimed throughher clenched teeth.

Mary, alarmed to see the storm she hadraised, now attempted to soothe Annabelle.

'We may judge too rashly, after all,dearie,' she urged; 'it may be only one ofthose meaningless flirtations to which mostyoung men—officers especially—are, itseems, addicted.'

'What right has he to engage in such,even if it be so?'

'Cecil's friend could never be so base!'urged Mary again. 'Oh, let us cling tothe hope that it is something that mayyet be explained away.'

'It—what?' asked Annabelle impetuously.

'This apparent mystery.'

But less gentle than Mary, who was aptto take refuge in tears, Annabelle saidwith outward calmness, though she feltonly despair and exasperation:

'I fear that he is totally withoutprinciple—false as the fell serpent thatbeguiled Eve!'

And when night came she was thankfulto lay her weary head on the pillow,though she did so, not to sleep, but tolong that she was again at home besideher mother, and to agonise herself withdoubts and fears as to the issue of thisaffair, to which she was resolved thereshould be a climax, either verbally or byletter, on the morrow, when Fotheringhamewas expected to luncheon.

But on the morrow matters took a newand more startling turn, ere time forluncheon came.

Mary, who had been idling over themorning papers, suddenly drew Annabelleaside, and said:

'Look at this advertisem*nt. Can itbe that the creature takes the initial of hissecond name—if not his name altogether?'

Annabelle read what the speaker'sslender fingers indicated, and it ran thus:

'Will L.F. meet F.F. to-day in theN.G. at twelve o'clock?'

'This is evidently an appointmentbetween these two—and in the NationalGallery!' said Annabelle. 'Oh, it isintolerable!'

'I must confess that so far as theinitials go, it looks as if such an event wason the tapis,' said Mary.

'But this mode of correspondence issurely beneath Fotheringhame?'

'Though not beneath her—it is herrequest.'

'If married, she would not resort tothis. I shall go to the Gallery, humiliatingthough the act may be.'

'And I too,' exclaimed Mary; 'let thecarriage be countermanded—we were tohave driven this morning, but we shall setout quietly on foot.'

Attired in dresses and hats of differentstyle and colour from those they usuallywore, and Shetland veils tied over theirfaces—than which there can be no moreperfect masque—they set forth on thisexpedition, which was one of great pain toboth, but more particularly to Annabelle.

It was a bright April forenoon, raindropsstill rested on the fresh green leaves,and sparkled in the sunshine, early flowersbloomed abundantly in the gardens,perfuming the air, and the young birds weretwittering in the trees. Pure and bright,it was a morning calculated to make anyonefeel happy without knowing why; butthe hearts of both girls were sad, andMary sighed as she looked at the greatmasses of the fortress, steeped in theradiant sunshine, and thought of him whowas away, she knew not where.

The National Gallery, with its Ionicporticoes, was soon reached by the way ofPrinces Street, and they entered thewestern range of saloons, which contain avery valuable collection of paintings byold masters and modern artists. At thatearly hour they were nearly empty.

Dreamily Annabelle looked at thevarious objects of art around her—thegigantic Ettys, the sweet proud bride ofthe victor of Barrosa—the long-hiddenGainsborough—the girl-wife of Grahameof Lynedoch; and then her eye saw thefigure of one she recognised again—thewoman who had so evidently come betweenher and Fotheringhame—seated in acorner, apart from all, with her veilhalf-down, and her eyes fixed eagerly andexpectantly on the entrance-door.

The two friends could see that she wasperfectly ladylike in style and bearing, inpose and action, and that her costume,though plain and quiet in colour, was richin material. Wrath and pride flamed uptogether in the heart of Annabelle, andwhile shrinking behind a group of sculpture,that she might observe without beingseen, she said:

'It seems to me most unladylike, thismode of espionage, and truth to tell it ishumiliating in the extreme; but I haveneither father nor brother to protect me,Mary, and so I must protect myself.'

'Take courage, Annabelle—perhaps wemay deceive ourselves, and—and—oh,good heavens! here he comes!' said Mary,with a kind of gasp in her voice, asFotheringhame, in 'mufti'—a veryaccurate morning costume—came with hisswinging military step through the longgallery, and raised his hat with a somewhatsad and certainly fond smile on hisface, as the unknown threw up her veiland advanced to meet him. But leadingher back to her seat, he bent over her, anda low and earnest conversation ensuedbetween them, yet not so low but that someof it reached the overstrained ears ofAnnabelle.

'It was rash of you to put in thatadvertisem*nt,' said he; 'and I saw it bythe merest chance, as I never examine thebusiness columns of any paper.'

'Rash? but, dearest Leslie, it is rasherstill, circ*mstanced as I am, to visit thecastle,' she replied in a sweetly modulatedvoice.

Her face was a very fine one; her eyeswere golden hazel—a perilous kind ofeye—'light hazel, the fickle colour,' says awriter, 'the most fickle eye that shines—theeye ever changing, ever seeking somethingnew, ever wearying of what it hath,ever greedy of enjoyment in the present,ever ungrateful for the past and unmindfulof the future.'

Such were the eyes of the handsomewoman on whom the face of Fotheringhamewas bent with tenderness, and whata beautifully moulded face his was, withits heavy, dark moustache, straight noseand well-defined eyebrows.

'If my husband,' she began.

'Don't talk of him, Fanny!' heinterrupted, angrily.

'Oh, the wretch is married!' whisperedAnnabelle.

'And her name is Fanny,' added Mary.

'And so the lawyers have got your casein their hands, my poor Fanny?' said he.

'Yes—and when may I get it out ofthem again?'

'The devil alone knows—he is the greatmaster in all matters legal.'

(Now what could this case be, thoughtthe listeners; here was a freshmystery—perhaps degradation.)

'To serve you, I sold my troop in theLancers, and with the money——'

'I know, Leslie—I know all, dearest.I have suffered much since then.'

'Despite all that, how handsome youare still!' said he, tenderly and admiringly.

'I was handsome a few years ago, asyou know well,' she replied with a sad,but coquettish smile; 'but why seek toflatter me now, dearest Leslie, you of allmen?'

'There is a flatterer beyond us all,Fanny—your own mirror.'

She laughed at this, but there wasundoubted sadness in her laugh.

'Intolerable!' muttered Annabelle, andunwilling to hear more of this mysteriousconversation she withdrew in grief anddismay, followed by Mary, who knew notwhat to make or to think of the whole situation.

They had barely reached home whenFotheringhame came punctually toluncheon, wearing the same dress he hadworn at the peculiar assignation, easy andfrank in manner, with his usual smile oftenderness for Annabelle, who strove tohide the coldness of her manner and theire of her spirit, but utterly failed tocheck the nervous quiver of her sensitive lip.

Mary, who had to act as hostess, andwho had no personal interest in thismatter, scarcely knew what to do, or howto comport herself, full as she was ofdisappointment and just indignation. Theabstraction of her manner was apparent toLeslie Fotheringhame, who scored it downto Falconer's affair; and as Sir Piers,Mrs. Garth, and Hew were all absent, she wasthankful for the attendance of Tunley onthe trio; but the luncheon proceeded withindescribable slowness and oppressivesilence—a silence broken only by strainedand disjointed remarks.

At last the cold fowl, patés, etc., werediscussed, and a move was made to thedrawing-room, where Mary did not followthe pair of lovers, over whom she saw astormy cloud was impending, and thoughtthe sooner it burst the better for themboth—for Annabelle most certainly—andMary's tender heart seemed to bleed forthe proud girl's humiliation.

'My dearest Belle,' said Fotheringhame,attempting to take her hands caressinglyin his the moment they were alone, 'whatis the matter to-day—why this gloom andcoldness of manner to me? In what haveI erred or offended you?'

He gazed at her appealingly and passionately;but she snatched her hands away,and drew herself haughtily up to her fullheight, while her proud white face onlyexpressed much scorn and much grieftoo.

'You treated me once shamefully, Leslie,'she began.

'Let the dead past bury its dead,' saidhe, beseechingly; 'and now, dearestAnnabelle——'

'How dare you speak to me thus again?'she asked, with half-averted face, and herblue eyes flashing with a kind of steel-likeglitter.

'Thus—how?' he asked, in a bewilderedand rather indignant tone, as it seemed toher.

'In terms of love or regard!'

'What do you mean, Annabelle?' heasked, after a pause. 'Surely you havenot permitted me to speak of love to youagain—since that happy day in yondergardens—or rather lured me into it, but torepel and cast me off, in revenge, for ourquarrel in the foolish past time; beguilingme by your sweetness, but to fool me inthe end?'

'I do not care what you think.'

'Good heaven! can it be that you donot love me, Annabelle—do not love meafter all?'

'After all—all what, sir?'

'I hope, Annabelle,' said he, in the firstfaint tone of irritation she had ever heardfrom him, 'that after all this smoke, youhave some fire to follow?'

'I do not understand you, Fotheringhame,'she replied, restraining her tears bya strong effort; 'but I fear that you areinvolved in something very dark and verydreadful. Who is Fanny—Fanny with thehazel eyes?' she demanded, passionately;'Fanny, who is in the hands of the lawyers—whois so afraid of her husband, and forwhom you sold your troop?'

Bewilderment first, and then anger,appeared in the proud face of Fotheringhame,who certainly seemed not to knowwhat to think, and grew very pale. Thenhe smiled, sadly and bitterly, withsomething of anger making his lip quiver.

'Surely, Annabelle,' said he, slowly, asif to gain time to think, 'you, with yoursuperior grace and beauty, assured position,and the indefinable charm you possess forall, and more than all for me, need fear nowoman?'

'Jealousy is stronger than fear, and Iam humiliated enough to be jealous. Youhave secret meetings with a woman to meunknown!' she exclaimed in a low, bitterand concentrated voice.

He grew still paler.

'You cannot deny it?' she added, imperiously.

'I do not—deny it,' he replied, sadly.

'On your honour, and ere all is overbetween us for ever, tell me who she is,though certainly it should matter little tome now.'

He paused, and, with a deep frown,began:

'If you are acting on information givenby Mr. Hew Montgomerie——'

'I am not—I act on information gainedby myself, and even thrust upon me; andhere ends all between us,' she added,tearing off her engagement-ring, andthrusting it into his hand.

'Annabelle, I implore you to be patient,and reconsider this.'

'How dare you ask me to be patient,under such insult and wrong? Go, sir—Ihate you—I never loved you—I leave youto this Fanny, whom we saw in her fittingplace, among the domestics, on the nightof the assembly—this matron of the period,whom I saw entering the castle, doubtless,to visit you—the Fanny with whom youhave secret meetings and a secretcorrespondence—begone to her, and cross mypath no more!'

And sweeping from the room like atragedy queen, she left him.

'Did she but know who that woman is,would she speak of her thus?' said LeslieFotheringhame, almost aloud, as he quittedthe house with an emotion of deep distress,not unmixed with shame and anger.

He made two or three attempts to alterthe decision that Annabelle Erroll hadcome to, of casting him off for ever. Hecalled twice at the house of Sir Piers, buton both occasions was told that she wasfrom home, and Mr. Tunley added, waspreparing to leave town. He wrote her atender and most passionate letter whichmight—nay, surely would—have explainedall; but it was returned to him unopened;and heaven only knew the bitter ache itcost the heart of Annabelle to act thusfirmly and decidedly, for, sooth to say, thelove of Leslie Fotheringhame had become,as it were, a part of her own existence,interwoven with her daily life.

She knew that their engagement hadbecome known to many, and the inevitableexposé and gossip that must follow itssudden ending, exasperated her justly; andthus pride struggled with grief for masteryin her heart, as she brought her visit tothe Montgomeries to a close, and departedfor her own home.

From casual remarks, Mary could learnthat none among the Cameronians hadever heard aught of Cecil since the nightof his disappearance. The poor fellow hadpassed out of their ken completely. Mary'sgrief was all the deeper because it wassecret, and as time passed, the grass seemedto be growing over the grave of all herhopes.

When Fotheringhame left the regimenton leave, she ceased to have expectationof ever hearing of Cecil in any way, eventhrough Freeport or others; and it gaveher much of a shock to learn that themysterious lady—she of the golden hazeleyes—had left Edinburgh too—at least, soHew gleefully informed her.

And now Mary—though she omitted allmention of this circ*mstance in her manyletters to Annabelle—knew not what tothink of Leslie Fotheringhame, save,perhaps, the worst!

She was sick of Edinburgh and its newassociations—the ruin of Falconer and thetoo apparent perfidy of his friend; but sheregarded with equal dread and disgust areturn to the general seclusion of Eaglescraig,and the persecution of Sir Piers andof Hew Montgomerie, and bitterly in herheart did she inveigh against the absurdityof her father's will.

CHAPTER XII.

TURNING THE TABLES.

Eaglescraig—wood andwold, field, garden and lawn—wasin all the glory of summernow, when June brought with it, as usual,the fragrance of the red and whitehawthorn blossoms, the song of the nightingaleand the coo of the cushat-dove; May thatgave fresh greenness to the young corn onthe upland slopes, and studded the grasson the dairy farms of Cunninghame withwhite daisies and golden buttercups; Junethat saw the old general clad in grey,whipping the cool dark pools of theGarnock or the Irvine with rod and line,and the skylark soaring high amid thesilver clouds—the full-uddered cowsstanding knee-deep in the heavy pastures, andthe bees warring among the velvet buds;but where was he with whom Mary wouldfain have looked upon Nature and hernative scenery in their glory!

Eaglescraig in summer was rather unlikethe Eaglescraig to which Cecil Falconerhad come in stern winter to shoot over thecovers; but Mary's heart could gather nobrightness from the locality, which, thoughchanged and more beautiful than in thosedays, was so full of his presence andassociated with him: the lanes throughwhich he had driven her pony-carriagewhen visiting the poor on missions ofcharity; the roads by which they hadridden to Kilwinning and elsewhere; thegarden wherein they had so often lingered;the ancient dovecot on the lawn, and thegrotto where—but why did she tortureherself, in the superstition of the heart, byrecalling all that was, but never could beagain?

As that heart foreboded, she was not verylong at Eaglescraig before the old subjectof her marriage with Hew Montgomeriewas resumed by Sir Piers, who nearlyfound an ally in Mrs. Garth, who came tothe conclusion that everyone loved theirfirst love, as a general rule, and marriedtheir second or third; though she wasnot without her fears that such a marriagewould not be conducive to Mary's welfare,and knew well that too generally, in theend, 'as the husband is, the wife is.'

With all the regard that Hew affectedto profess for Mary, it did not prevent himfrom growling heavily over exchangingEaglescraig for Edinburgh, where yet, sofar as its gaieties were concerned,everything was yet, as the Americans say, 'infull blast.'

'Here, in the quiet of the country,'said Sir Piers, 'she will have timeto think over the escape she madefrom that fellow Falconer; and time tothink over what she ought to do, Mrs. Garth.'

Time to think! Poor Mary had plentyof that: time to ponder in long andoppressive hours, as she lingered by thedovecot with the pigeons fluttering round her;by the burn that flowed at the garden-foot,with Mudie's last new novel half-cutand wholly unread in her lap; and, lost ina day-dream, saw the bees seek the flowersand the butterflies darting to and fro,while wondering with all the intensity oflove and pity where he was, and whatdoing, now!

Sir Piers did not precisely see his wayto acting like the stern parent or fieryguardian of the melodrama; but he thoughtthat the time was approaching when hemust do something to bend Mary to hispurpose, and compel or cajole her into theacceptance of Hew, his heir of entail andsuccessor.

'You knew that—that young man but avery short time, Mary,' said he one day inreference to Falconer, and playfullypinching her chin.

'True,' she replied, with a sweet sadsmile; 'but it does not take years to learnto—love. Was it so with you, grand-uncle?'

'No, by Jove! we were in cantonmentsat Simmerabad, and expecting the routeevery day, the route for Jubbulpore, whenLady Montgomerie and I were married,egad! at the drum-head, I may say.'

But as far as Hew's interests wereconcerned, a visit from Mr. John Balderstoneone day gave Sir Piers much occasion tothink over them—and pause.

A close correspondence with AnnabelleErroll was Mary's chief solace and supportabout this time; they had so much incommon to commune about. Yet thename of Fotheringhame never once escapedthe former, though he was mourning thata girl with such an amount of strength ofcharacter and so much loveliness had goneout of his life—for Annabelle was awonderfully beautiful girl—beautiful withthe charms of glittering golden hair, ofslightness of form and white purity; tall,slender and full of grace; and though herheart was wrung by the memory of all shehad passed through since the night of theCameronian ball—that night on which shehad been so happy—she thanked Heavenfor the strength it gave her to cut theGordian knot and quit the atmosphere ofdoubt, perplexity, degrading deception, andchaos in which she had latterly foundherself in Edinburgh. 'No girl could beexpected to undergo that sort of thing overand over again,' as she once wrote toMary; so well it was, she added, that shehad with decision laid the future lines ofher life and that of Fotheringhame, so farapart from each other.

Hew was smoking on the terrace oneforenoon, deep in the study of his betting-book—astudy that did seem a very pleasantone, if one might judge from the expressionof his face—when he saw Mr. John Balderstone,the faithful and jolly old factor andfriend of the family, coming ambling upthe long avenue, top-booted, on hisfavourite old roadster, an easy-going bay,high in the forehead, round in the barrel,and deep in the chest, as John averred,'all that a roadster should be;' and hedismounted at the entrance door with the airof a man who felt himself at home andsure of a welcome.

'Now, what can this old buffer want?'thought Hew, sulkily, as the rider threwhis reins to Pate Pastern, who took thebay round to the stables; 'but he is alwayscoming here, whether wanted or not.'

'Good-morning, Mr. Balderstone,' headded, but without offering his cold, damphand, which the visitor had never takensince the insulting trick had been playedhim with the pair of jack-spurs.

Between these two there was no openwar, but a species of armed truce: a veileddislike or species of civil suspicion.Mr. Balderstone knew pretty well the secretcharacter of Hew, and cordially detestedhim. Hew knew the great influence theold factor possessed with Sir Piers, andhad mentally resolved that when he 'cameto his kingdom,' i.e. succeeded to the titleand estate of Eaglescraig, Mr. JohnBalderstone should receive his congé, and prettyquickly, too; and that old Tunley, andeven Sandy Swanshott, the aged game-keeper,together with Mrs. Garth, wouldhave marching-orders, also. But thegeneral 'was so confoundedly hale—seemedas if he would never die!'

'Did I not see Miss Montgomerie on theterrace?' said Mr. Balderstone, with atwinkle in his bright yet dark-grey eyes;'she need not avoid me—bless her!—eh,billing and cooing as usual, I suppose, Mr. Hew?'

Hew muttered an ugly word under hisred moustache, and said, coarsely:

'I'll make my innings now, I suppose,as I have the field to myself.'

'And no red-coated rivals—eh?'

'Look here, Balderstone, I don't likechaff; but I can tell you that Sir Piersdid me a deuced lot of mischief by bringingthat fellow here from Dumbarton, andpetting him, egad! as if he had been hisown son. He is a regular old fool, SirPiers!'

'I can hear nothing said against him, Mr. Hew.'

'At all events, I may indulge in afew bitter thoughts of this base-borninterloper, who has caused so much turmoil.'

'Base-born—how know you that he is so?'

'Bah! I heard all about him in Edinburgh.'

'Not all, surely?'

'Yes, as sure as I am the heir toEaglescraig! What are you laughing at?'demanded Hew, who had been in Tunley'spantry, sharply.

'I do laugh, and heartily too; butpardon me,' said old John Balderstone,whose paunch, enfolded in a deep corduroywaistcoat, was actually shaking, whileHew, by some intuition of coming mischief,he knew not why, eyed him dubiously,even savagely.

'By the way, have you ever heardaught of that unfortunate younggentleman?' asked the factor.

'What young gentleman?' said Hew, sulkily.

'Captain Falconer.'

'Oh! the singing woman's son—dancer,or whatever she was—no; how should Ihear of him?'

'A pity—he must be found.'

'Found—for what?' asked Hew, growingpale, as he recalled the event of theball. 'You'll have to seek him where hehas gone.'

'And where is that?'

'The husks and the swine-trough—orthe devil.'

'How can you speak so pitilessly?'

'I don't owe him much, I think,'muttered Hew; with an imprecation.

'God knows all you owe him.'

'How—why—in what way?' thundered Hew.

'As reparation.'

'D—n the fellow, I never wrongedhim!' exclaimed Hew, growing paler thanever, while his shifty eyes wanderedrestlessly about, and fear seized him thatJohn Balderstone had discovered, he knewnot what.

But on this day the latter took allHew's insolence of manner with wonderfulequanimity, while his rubicund face seemedto beam and ripple all over with good-nature,and his eyes were twinkling as ifhe had something in petto that greatlydelighted him.

'Reparation,' growled Hew, scornfully;'reparation for what?'

'Here comes the general; he will tellyou all about it,' said the factor, as SirPiers, in an old tweed suit, arrived from amorning's fishing, with rod in hand, a fullbasket, and a venerable wideawake hat,garnished all round with flies and catgut.

'Welcome, John; welcome, Balderstone! youhave business with me? Step indoors.A glass of sherry and a biscuitbefore luncheon—tiffin, as we say inIndia—and then we'll hear all about it.'

'Business to which Mr. Hew may aswell listen, as it interests him very nearly,'said Mr. Balderstone, with a suddengravity of demeanour that impressed theformer unpleasantly, and filled his heartwith the alarm of the guilty, and he wasthe first to assist himself to a glass of thesherry which Tunley placed on the dining-roomtable; 'and as what I have to relateis not without interest to our dear MissMary,' added Mr. Balderstone, 'I wouldwish her to be present too.'

'Now what the devil can all this beabout?' thought Hew, in a cold perspiration,as he took another glass of sherry,and thought of the ball and the court-martialthat came of it, while Mary seatedherself near Sir Piers, with her heartbeating quickly and unequally, and her whitehands trembling at her Berlin-wool work.

'In this matter I must begin at thebeginning, as we used to read in the oldstory-books,' said Mr. Balderstone, polishinghis bald head with his handkerchief,and looking up at the ceiling as if hewould draw inspiration therefrom.

'Begin at the beginning!—don't saythat,' said Sir Piers.

'Why, general?'

'Because it reminds me how a poorfellow of Ours used those very words whenabout to relate some secret to me, as helay dying by the roadside, on the march toMalwah, and though he began at thebeginning I never heard the end of his story;so we buried him beneath a palm-tree, inhis cotton quilt, the only coffin we couldafford him—poor old Sandy Freeport—thefather of Dick who is in the Cameroniansnow; and I remember that John Garthread the funeral service over him bytorch-light. Now fire away, Balderstone.'

The latter gazed fondly and admiringlyon Mary in all her delicate beauty, clad ina loosely made brown holland morning-dress,relieved only by the spotless whitecuffs at the snowy wrists, and a simplecollar of the same at her slender throat,and said:

'I have some strange tidings for you,Sir Piers—tidings which may seriouslyshock your nerves.'

'Never! d—n it, John Balderstone,speak out, sir!' said the baronet withirritation. 'Who the devil ever heard of anold Cameronian with nerves! And thesetidings——'

'Concern your son—your only son Piers.'

'What of him—now?' asked the otherin a changed and rather broken voice.

'His fate—his story.'

'Piers is dead,' said the baronet hoarsely,as he recalled the shadowy form—the dim,yet distinct outline—he had seen on thenight of terror, so long ago.

'I know it,' said Mr. Balderstone, sadly;'poor Piers—poor boy! for he was but aboy when compared with your years andmine now.'

'Well.'

'How Piers married the pennilessdaughter of a struggling artist, andwas therefore expelled from this house—yea,from this very room, you know,'said John Balderstone, speaking veryslowly and deliberately, while the general'swrinkled hands grasped the knobs of hisarmchair, and he fixed his hollow yetbright eyes firmly on the speaker's face;'how his commission was sold, and themoney went, you know too; but there wasmuch more that you and I never knew,and never shall know, till the long, longday when all things will be known. Piersbecame an artist, and died in sore penurysome years after quitting his father'shouse.'

'Where?'

'In an obscure street of Rome; but heleft behind him a son—the son of the girlhe had married.'

'My grandson!'

'And heir.'

Hew fastened his glass in his eye—thegreen one—and glared at John Balderstone,who said:

'I know nothing precisely, though I canguess of months of penury and strugglingto keep the wolf from the door, Sir Piers;but that such was the case I have littledoubt from what I have gleaned: ofwanderings from town to town—the husbandtrying to sell his pictures, and the wife toget engagements as a concert-singer—forshe was highly accomplished—to supporther husband in his last illness, andmaintain her little boy. Piers was found deadone night at his easel. Pride preventedthe widow from applying to you; andthough she felt how sweet and dear itwas to have her child as a precious linkbetween her and Piers, she bestowed uponit her own name, which was CeciliaFalconer, and as Falconer the boy grew tomanhood. Now you know who I mean!'

Sir Piers was struck dumb, andcontinued to grasp the arms of his chairwith nervous energy, while Hew felthimself grow pale, and hot, and cold; and tothe memory of the startled Mary cameback the episode of Annabelle's 'BirthdayBook,' and the curious admission ofFalconer that he had been named Cecil afterhis mother.

In fact they were all paralysed andabsorbed by the strangeness of this revelation.

'The proofs of what I say were sent tome, and thereby hangs another curiousstory,' continued John Balderstone. 'Awoman of indomitable spirit and pride, thisCecilia Falconer (or Montgomerie) resolvedthat never in your lifetime, Sir Piers, wouldshe seek your friendship or alliance, noruntil your death make known the rankand claims of her son; but she diedsuddenly and unexpectedly, and the secret ofwho her husband was died with her, so faras Cecil was concerned, for indeed heknows it not even unto this hour.'

'Then how the devil do you——' beganHew, impetuously; but Balderstone silencedhim by a wave of his hand.

'Her great musical talents won herpowerful and titled patrons, and throughone of them she got her son a cadetship,and by a singular chance he was gazettedto the Cameronians, the regiment of hisfather and grandfather.'

'I believe the whole affair a d——dtarra-diddle, from beginning to end!' exclaimedHew, while a kind of gasp escaped thegeneral.

'You have not yet heard the end,' saidJohn Balderstone with a quiet laugh, ashe drew from his breast-pocket a largeenvelope or packet, soiled by the dust ofmany years, and covered with old andforeign postal marks and stamps. 'Inthis envelope, addressed to me, as herhusband's friend, the widow, when her lastfatal illness came upon her, sent for safetythree papers: the marriage certificate ofherself and Piers, performed at Rome;the certified register of the child's birth,endorsed by herself and Piers, and theregister of the latter's death at Rome. Butthe packet on which such interests dependedhad fallen behind a bookcase in my office;there it has lain for fifteen years, and I neverknew of its existence till yesterday. Andhere is your son's writing, Sir Piers, whichI never expected to see again in this world,and it comes to me like a message from thedead,' added Balderstone, with a tremulous voice.

'From the dead, indeed!' added thegeneral, more tremulously still, as he tookthe documents and strove to read themthrough glasses that became moist anddim.

On the back of the marriage-registerwas written in a feminine hand:

'Nov. 5.—He died to-night, speaking ofhis stern father and not of me who lovedhim so! Oh Piers! my husband, myhusband! how shall I live without you—liveon alone in the long years to come, unlessit is for our boy! In losing you I lose myall. For me you gave up home, friends,fortune, rank and position—all the worldfor me—yet, oh my husband, all the wealthof my love was yours!'

The date corresponded with the general'sdream or vision! Could Piers' spirit haveflashed home at the instant of hisdeparture? Can such things be, and may mensee them and live! thought he.

'My poor Piers! my poor Piers!' hegroaned. 'John Balderstone, none butGod and myself can tell how I havesuffered in my soul for my severity to him inthe past time.'

And so the long years had gone, andothers had come; and behold this was allthat had resulted from the old man's pride,petulance, and injustice. His only son haddied in penury and obscurity; that son's wifehad despised even his vaunted name andhad taken her own; and now, their onlyson, the legal and lawful heir of Eaglescraig,a crushed and ruined creature likehis father before him, had been driven forthinto the world, in darkness and despair,too surely also to ruin and death!

Sir Piers sighed bitterly, and seemedutterly to forget the existence of Hew, towhom this new state of things came like aprolonged roll of thunder. To the formerit seemed as if the irrevocable past wasthrowing its shadow over his present andhis future—a shadow deep as the grave;nay, that past made the future, and itsshadow was over him still!

This accounted for the expression of eyethat Mrs. Garth had traced in Cecil; andSir Piers had now a perfect key to thatwhich had so often perplexed him—asomething that the voice, face, and manner ofCecil brought to memory out of the mistsof the past, causing him much vague andmental exercise—the resemblance to hisdead son; clearly accounted for now, whentoo late—all too late, perhaps.

'Scratched—out of the race!' mutteredHew with an oath, as he slunk away, andbetook him to brandy and seltzer in Tunley'spantry, while Mary, her lithe and slenderform full of energy, her dark and eloquenteyes filled with joyous light, seemed all unlikethe languid Mary of the past month or so,as Balderstone's narrative came to an end.

Could it all really be in earnest, and nodream? Cecil was her cousin—her owncousin, and that lawful heir of Eaglescraigwhom Sir Piers, by the powers of hisfather's will, desired she should marry,while Hew was scarcely even a cousin byScottish reckoning—little more than anamesake to her; but Cecil—Cecil, wherewas he?

Here was an astounding discovery; anabsorbing topic from the discussion ofwhich, although their minds were full ofit, and overpowered by it, they werecompelled to cease during dinner and othermeals, in that jerky, half-and-half way inwhich people are wont to adopt whenservants are present, though the interestof their whole souls may be concentratedin it for the time.

But menials are close and watchfulobservers, and it was soon pretty wellknown to Mr. Tunley and all in theservants' hall, the topic which engrossedthose in the dining-room—that Mr. Hewwas not heir to the general's title andestate; but some one else was—who theyscarcely could define. So the matter wasspeculated upon, twisted and turned over,eliciting a score of different opinions; butto all it was apparent that Sir Piers wasperplexed, was daily conferring with JohnBalderstone; that Miss Mary—'bless her,'said they all—was radiant with joy; andMr. Hew, with whom none sympathised—asmight be expected—wore a sullen,baffled, and exasperated look.

The tables had been turned with avengeance; but Hew had one crumb ofcomfort: Cecil was gone, no one knewwhere, and might never be heard of again,in which case he—Hew—would resumehis old place as heir of entail!

In his anxiety to discover the lost, andmake some reparation to the dead, SirPiers forgot all the dark colours in whichHew had painted Cecil, and felt withregard to his son that, as Dickens says,'there is no remorse which is so deep asthat which is unavailing; and if we wouldbe spared its tortures, let us remember thisin time!'

Mr. Balderstone suggested that theyshould advertise for the lost one; but poorCecil was now where no advertisem*ntswould ever reach him.

CHAPTER XIII.

BY THE MORAVA.

Sunset, red and glowing, in alovely land where a long spurof the Balkan mountains overlooksthe current of the Morava, and wherefair fields of rice and maize, hemp andtobacco, cover the upland slopes, for it isearly in September, and the days are ofgreat heat still. The golden shafts or raysof the setting sun shot upward from theflank of the mountain range, and shed theirruddy gleam upon the shining river. Slowlysank the glorious sun, as if reluctant toquit the strange and terrible scenes itwas leaving: on one side the camp andbivouac of an army, with its fires forcooking and scaring wild animals, its pilesof baggage and arms, groups of soldiers inthousands; on the other, the awful débrisof a newly-fought field, covered with killedand wounded men and horses, brokencaissons and gun-carriages, drums andstandards, pools of blood in which the flieswere battening; and paler then grew theupturned faces of the dead, as the lastsegment of the sun disappeared, and thebrightness it left behind began to deepenfrom gold and red to sombre violet in theplain, though light yet lingered on themountain summits.

In the tents and around the fires, menspoke little of the artillery duel that hadpreluded the conflict, of whether theServians had broken the armistice, or theTurks had done so by opening with theirguns, and little even of the victory; for thesoldiers fresh from it and flushed withtriumph and carnage, Servians and Russiansalike, spoke only of the gallant butnameless British volunteer who had saved thelife of the general, the terrible oldTchernaieff, and that of his chief aide-de-camp,the gallant Count Michail Palenka,and who had been made a sub-lieutenanton the field, and decorated after it withthe gold cross of the order called theTakovo of Servia, and welcomed back with shouts of,

'Dobro—dobro! Ghivo—ghivo! (Welldone—long life); hourah!'

In one of the terrible charges of cavalry,led by himself, Tchernaieff had his horsekilled under him by a cannon shot, butthis volunteer had remounted him on hisown, and also dragged Count Palenka outof the terrible mêlée.

The Turkish horse were led, not by aPasha or other officer, but by a franticdervish, wielding on high a long staff,furnished at the end with a shining brassknob, and shouting:

'Allah is here! Allah and the angelswho fought at Bedr!'

The Servian Hussars and Lancers, withthe Russian Dragoons, advanced to joinissue in the charge for a third time, notsorry to exchange close quarters for adesultory carbine-fire. Both sides camethundering on, the Lancers with theirspears in the rest, the Dragoons withswords pointed to the front, and all withtheir horses well in hand, till within a fewyards, when they let them go at racingspeed, and dashed with terrible force andfury among the Turkish squadron.

Anon the Lancers, finding their weaponsuseless at such close quarters, slung them,and smote heavily on every side with theirkeen bright swords. Long and hard wasthe fight, and for a time the minglingmasses were too closely wedged in someplaces to use even their swords, andgrappled with each other, while theentangled chargers, enraged and frightened,reared, plunged, struck out and brained ortrampled into gore the dead and wounded.

Here it was the volunteer saved thegeneral and his faithful aide-de-camp,covering them as they struggled back,faint and breathless, out of the débris;thrusting with his lance till it snapped intwo, and then hacking his way out withthe sword; and it was only after it was allover, and he came afoot out of the field,dazed in aspect, with teeth set, eyes dilatedand glaring with the fierce fever of battle,and clutching a sword, the blade and hiltof which were literally covered with blood,that he fairly knew what he had done, andthe burst seams of his uniform showed allhow well he had plied his weapon that day.

Thirstily and gratefully he took a draughtfrom a tin canteen of Negotin wine, whicha passing sutler gave him.

Cecil Falconer, for the volunteer was he,though in that blood-stained foreignuniform few would have recognised the oncefashionable Cameronian officer, was sorelychanged in aspect. He was brownervisaged, bearded to the eyes, yet his facewas worn and lined, and his eyes seemedsunk and keen, with the wolfish expressionworn by those of men who are daily facingperil and death.

As a volunteer, he wore the uniform ofa private—a brown tunic faced with scarlet,crimson pantaloons, now covered with bloodand mud, and a grey cloth cap, not unlikethe Scottish glengarry. Fighting in acause for which—and in that of a princefor whom—he cared nothing; fighting inbattle as a weaker spirit might have betakenitself to alcohol to drown the past and giveoblivion to the present, poor Cecil hadfound his way to Servia, and had that daydone wonders, setting little store on thelives of those he fought against—thebarbarous and brutal Turks—and certainlynone whatever on his own life.

Refused a commission in the service bythe Servian minister of war—for, by theinfluence of long conquest, there is muchof the Ottoman in the character of theServian people, who are fatalists, and asdistrustful of all strangers as a John Bullof the last century—he had joined'Tchernaieff's Own' as a volunteer trooper, andon that day by the Morava had won hiscommission, and the cross of the Takovo;but what a mockery they were to him, andhow little he cared about them!

Since joining in the humble and apparentlyhopeless capacity he had taken,he had undergone all the perils and miseriesof the Servian campaign; had beencompelled to consort, at times, with fierce andlawless comrades, who were most repugnantto his refined nature; he had been generousto all with his money, when he had any,which was not often now; he had nursedthe wounded, buried the dead, and wongolden opinions from all; he had groomedhis own horse and the horses of others;had to hew wood, to cook coarse rations,when there were any to cook; slept on thebare earth in the rain and the storm, orsharing a tente-d'abri when one could begot, and sharing it with a comrade—someunsavoury and unwashed Servian trooper,whose vicinity was, in itself, a horror.

As most people know, but a very shorttime ago the Christians in Bosnia andelsewhere took arms against their oppressors,the Turks, who were unable to suppressthe insurrection, and soon after thedisturbance was intensified by a declarationof war against the Porte by Prince MilanoObrenovitch of Servia, who, by his army,was proclaimed King of Bosnia, and whosefather, the alleged slayer of the famousCerni Georges, began life as a cattle-driver,and first distinguished himself in battle sofar back as 1807. Born in 1854, PrinceMilano succeeded Michail III. (who wasassassinated); and as the new war spreadinto Bulgaria, as we all know, it took theform of atrocities unparalleled in modernEurope, unless we except the Cromwelliansat Wexford and the Williamites at Glencoe.The villages of the Christians wereplundered and given to the flames; theirmale inhabitants slain without mercy,under nameless tortures; women and girlscarried off to slavery. The dead lay heapedin the churches to which they had fled forshelter, and dogs and hungry kites toretheir flesh as they lay unburied by thewayside.

And now it was within forty Britishmiles of that Bulgaria, where so muchwild work was being done, that on theevening of the 28th of September, afterTchernaieff had crossed to the left bank ofthe Morava below Boboviste, and foughtone of the greatest battles in the Servianwar—a battle in which Prince Milan lost3000 men, killed and wounded, while theRussians lost in proportion, and had sixtydead officers on the field—a battle inwhich the explosion of seven Turkishpowder-caissons added to the horror andslaughter—that Cecil Falconer foundhimself warmly complimented, and again andagain shaken by the hand, by old Tchernaieff,as the saviour of himself and hisfavourite aide-de-camp, Palenka.

'We shall never forget your servicesand your bravery this day!' said thelatter—a pleasing and handsome man—inFrench.

'And your promotion, monsieur,' addedthe general, in the same language, 'willbe my future care, either with the youngKing of Servia, or with our Father theEmperor, if you choose to take service inRussia, as so many, of your countrymen,like Bruce, Wilson, Greig, and Ochterlony,have done, attaining fame and fortune.'

The offer was not an inviting one, butCecil thanked the general for his graciousnotice of his service, and for the rank andcross conferred upon him; and the formerthen rode off to his head-quarters,accompanied by Count Palenka.

He was a short, thick-set man, reservedand haughty in manner and bearing, andcovered with Russian orders and medals,won in no petty wars. His eyes weresmall, the lids heavy; his nose was large;his complexion a ruddy bistre colour, andhis hair and thick moustache weresomewhat of a mouse-skin hue. Whether itwas the occasion or not, we cannot say,but his face, figure, and voice dwelt longin Cecil's memory. And now, to obtainsome of that food and other refreshmentof which he stood so much in need after aday of such terrible work, he joined agroup of officers of his own corps, whowere lounging on the grass near a fire, atwhich their servants were preparing ameal for them, and all made Cecil—thehero of the hour—most welcome, profferinghim their flasks and cigar-cases.

Singular indeed was the group, andstriking too, on which fell the fitful flashesof the adjacent watch-fire, for night hadfallen, and the firmament overhead was fullof brilliant stars.

German, French, Italian, Serb, andEnglish could be heard, amid the group,chattered in turn, and sometimes all atonce. Rich and picturesque in contourand colour were some of the uniforms, andthey were worn by men of several nationswho had come to serve the newly-proclaimedKing of Servia and Bosnia. Inthe uniform of his infantry there was aNassauer, who had won his laurels and hisiron cross at the gates of Paris, in the warof 1871; Guebhard, a captain of Lancers,a man closely shaven save his moustache,with a silent manner, and most unpleasantexpression of face; a dark and handsomeBohemian baron, armed with a quaintfamily sword of fabulous antiquity, nowcaptain of a Bulgarian band, wearing asheepskin cap, a richly broidered bluejacket, and loose trousers that had oncebeen white, with pistols and yataghan inhis girdle. There were a couple of RussianLancers in red, and a Hussar in a sky-bluejacket, laced with yellow, who woreCrimean medals and had been lads, nodoubt, when our troops went up the heightsof the Alma, and were too politic, or toowell-bred, to show the real hatred theysecretly bore to all Britons; and in theServian uniform, as captains, with threesilver stars on their scarlet-faced browntunics, were two ex-officers of our ownFoot Guards, whom we shall call Stanleyand Pelham, who—in search of a newsensation—had come out to see life (anddeath too) in Servia; there was an Englishambulance doctor in the truly awfulchimney-pot hat of civilisation; and thoughlast, not least, the ubiquitous correspondentof a London paper, in a kind ofuniform—a frogged coat and forage-cap—with arevolver at his belt, and a case of writingmaterials slung over his shoulder, as jollyand as much at home with everyone as ifhe had first seen the world and beenweaned in a Servian bivouac, and ready tojoin with hearty goodwill a few whostruck up 'La Belle Serbe,' the nationalchant of the country, to an air of great antiquity.

A light or two in the distance indicatedthe locality of the rather meanly-builtvillage of Boboviste; and ever and anoncries and shrieks on the night-windindicated that of the battle-field, where theambulance-parties, doctors and nurses,were at work among the wounded anddying—Christians and Moslems alike.

The ex-guardsmen were chatting gailytogether, and it seemed like a leaf out ofthe book of his old life to Cecil as helistened to them.

'A regular wanderer's club this, by Jove!'said one, laughing; 'made up of all sorts.I little thought to find you here, Stanley.'

'As little did I expect to find you.'

'Well, I suppose, with us both, it hascome of backing the wrong horse toooften—the little villa and brougham atSt. John's Wood—the brougham with itsthree-hundred-guinea horses, and all the rest of it.'

'Not with me,' said Stanley; 'I foundmyself riding sixteen stone, and wished tobring down the flesh somehow. Besides,I was never much of a home-bird.'

'No,' assented the other, expelling hiscigar-smoke in long concentric circles;'but there is a novelty in all this new workhere, with a vengeance. Only think,Stanley, in London, a few hours hence,would find us at the opera, at a crush inBelgravia, or consecrating the time tobilliards, to the joys of Bacchus, and thechaste salutes of Venus, by Jove!'

'A devil of a business that last Turkishcharge was,' said Pelham; adding, in alow voice, 'I shouldn't have cared if thatfellow Guebhard had been knocked onthe head—well, unhorsed at least, to-day;he is a cantankerous brute—bad form, very.'

Cecil looked at the officer of Lancersindicated, but knew not then that a timewas coming when he would heartily sharePelham's wish.

'This is not your baptême de feu, Ibelieve, even in Servia?' said the latter tohim, suddenly.

'No—I have received that baptismbefore,' replied Cecil.

'Where?'

'In India.'

'Indeed! What regiment?'

Cecil remembered the mode of hisleaving the beloved corps; he felt hischeek flush hotly, and, affecting not tohear the question, turned to thewar-correspondent of the London daily, whowas making notes for ulterior presspurposes, and took from Cecil's own lips hismodest detail of the charge in which hesaved the lives of General Tchernaieff andCount Palenka:—all of which episodewould doubtless appear in the illustratedpapers from sketches 'made on the spot,by our own artist,' whose immediatewhereabouts was Fleet Street.

'How those Montenegrins fought to-day!'exclaimed Pelham, after a pause; 'armedwith their sharp yataghans they came onlike a living flood, after delivering theirmusketry-fire, and then flinging away theirfirearms, fell on with their blades in thesmoke, precisely as the Scottish Highlandersused to do of old.'

'We'll have to write home about allthese things.'

Cecil smoked in silence, and thoughtwhat home had he, or to whom could hewrite save to one who dared not receivehis letter!

Amid this easy kind of talk, ever andanon the cries of pain—long-drawn moans,ending in a half-scream—came on thebreeze from the adjacent battle-field.

'We shall hear the howling of the evilvilas to-night,' said Guebhard, with a grimsmile, as he took the meerschaum from hismoustached mouth.

'Who are they?' asked Cecil, whoseknowledge of Italian and German stoodhim in good stead amid the polyglot kindof conversation that went on around him.

'Don't you know?' said Guebhard, alittle superciliously; 'but it is a Servianidea—superstition if you will—that spiritsso named come at midnight to exult overthe slain; these are the hideous and fiendishvilas, for there are others that are handsomeand good.'

Coffee and cigarettes discussed, and abottle or two of vina drunk to wash downmutton-chops fried in a flat earthen potwith a wooden handle, stuck into thehottest part of the bivouac fire, Cecilrepaired to the place where his troop hadpicketed their horses, and looked after hisown, which Tchernaieff had sent back tothe bivouac. It was unbitted and munchingsome chopped forage; he relaxed thegirths, and, rolled in his great coarsetrooper's cloak, lay down on the bare earthbeside it, though rain was beginning tofall. He was sore in every limb, andweary with the events of the day. He waswithout a wound, but many a buffet, blow,and strain, got he knew not how, began tomake his bones ache now, as he thoughtover the stirring events of the day, andgave himself up—as he too often did—tosad and harrowing reflections.

Mary and the Cameronians—the regimentand Mary! was it the past life orthe present one that was a dream? Sofar away did the old life seem now, thatthough some of the events we have relatedhappened but a few months since, yearsseemed to have elapsed since Mary's lastlove-kiss lingered on his lips on thattwilight evening in Edinburgh, and whenhe listened for the last time to the soundof her voice—the voice that had been fora time, and was still, the music of his life.

Oblivious of the pouring rain and soddenbivouac, he lay there thinking not of thepast battle, or the present glory now; hewas remembering the regimental ball—thelights, the music, the swift tenderexpression of Mary's eyes as she swept throughthe dance with him—their first and lastdance, the returned pressure of her softhand, the touch of her hair on his cheek;all the exultation of the time, and morethan all, her secret visit to him in the oldgrey fortress of the city!

Could she but see him now!

His hopes—if he had any—his plans anddesires, the scenes around him, hiscompanions and his circ*mstances, were allchanged now, as thoroughly as if he hadbeen born in a new, or other age. Theworld rushes past so fast now (for steamdestroys time and distance), that his troubleswere beginning to seem old; or as if thewhole of his former life had passed away,and that if he was to cut out fortune, fame,and at least food, in the new one, the oldlife could not be forgotten too soon.

But Mary Montgomerie was the centralfigure in that former world still.

'How completely the romance has diedout of my life!' he thought; 'and our love,it seems so like a dream to me now—but asweet and beautiful one; a dream that cancome no more, yet I am glad that I havehad it. I would that I had a flower herhand has touched—a glove or a ribbon shehas worn! Could I but know, that on mydead face such tears as hers might fall!'he added as he gave way to his dismalthoughts, and sooth to say his othercirc*mstances were dreary enough.

The pouring rain had long since extinguishedall the camp and bivouac fires, andwas adding to the miseries of the woundedand the dying. He had covered his horsewith a blanket, and made a pillow of hisholsters, and, with the flaps of his Servianforage cap tied over his ears, lay theresleepless and heedless of whether he was kicked,or trampled upon, by his charger's hoofs, orthe hoofs of others, while ever and anonthe deep thunder grumbled over the spurof the Balkans, and the red lightning flasheslit up vividly, for a moment, the waters ofthe fast-flowing Morava, and a strange towerclose by—a tower of human skulls, erectedto commemorate a victory over the Serviansby the Turks under Comourgi.

CHAPTER XIV.

A MYSTERY.

It was six in the morning of thefollowing day. From theeastward came a blaze of glorioussunshine; the rain had ceased aboutmidnight; the blue sky overhead was cloudless;shadows strange and darkly defined fellto the westward from rock and tree; theMorava was glowing in golden light; butby its margin lay the battle-field with allits horrors—a place that no sunshine couldbrighten.

Cecil was roused from sleep by CaptainMattei Guebhard, who announced thatGeneral Tchernaieff required his presenceat head-quarters forthwith.

'For what purpose?' asked Cecil.

'How can I tell!' was the sulky rejoinder;'you will learn when you get there.'

The truth is, that this Mattei Guebhard,who was—justly, as events proved—coldin the king's service, had been unhorsed inone of the charges on the previous day,and had come a little scurvily out of theaction, having failed to rally or reform histroop; thus, though he dared not to sneerat Cecil, he was jealous of the honours hehad won, but never could have conceivedhow little the ex-Cameronian valued them.

There is perhaps more hate at first sightin this world than there is love at firstsight; and somehow Mattei Guebhard felta curious hatred of Cecil, who was aware atthe same time of having a most decidedrepugnance of him. Yet they exchangedcigars, and picked their way across thebattle-field, where the dead were beingburied in trenches; the peasantry werestealing arms and whatever they could lay handson; where the scared vultures were hovering,angry and expectant, overhead; and whereall the hedgerows, hollows, and ditcheswere, as usual in every battle-field, strewedwith those mysterious scraps of papers, thatare the sport of the passing breeze.

What they are, no one cares to inquire,not even plunderers and burial parties, whofling them contemptuously aside, aftersearching the pockets and other repositoriesof the slain. They may be only OrderlyRoom reports, and parade returns; but toofrequently they are the last letters frommothers and sweethearts, or wives—lettersfull of love and prayerful tenderness, tothose who can peruse them no more.

It was the first general action that Cecilhad ever been in, and the field to him lookedawful, in the sweet bright morning sunshine;and the idea occurred to him, that if it betrue—and we cannot doubt it—that to theCreator the fall of a sparrow is not a matterof indifference, what must that of a humanbeing be? Yet, there they lay in thousands,butchered, hacked, and in some instancestorn out of the semblance of humanity, bycannon shot and shell.'

'Here we are!' said Guebhard, gruffly,cutting short his reflections.

In a tent, round which a lancer guardwas posted, dismounted, and leaning ontheir horses, with some staff-officers abouthim, Tchernaieff was seated at a table, andwas in the act of sealing a long andofficial-looking blue envelope. Close by lay thebody of a favourite staff-officer, for separateinterment. A sheet covered it, and the dulloutline of the profile, and the up-turnedfeet, showed plainly and ghastly to the eye.A veteran soldier, of great experience, andmuch stateliness of manner, he receivedCecil politely and cordially, shook hishand, proffered his handsome silver case ofcigarettes, and then said,

'To business.'

A portion of the letter was to the effect,that he had appointed Cecil to serve on hisstaff, as an extra aide-de-camp, vice ColonelMacIver, popularly known as 'Tchernaieff'sScotchman,' who had joined theRussian army at Kischineff; and his firstduty in his new capacity was to be thebearer of despatches to Belgrade; and Cecilbowed, and muttered his thanks and gratitude.

'This packet contains my report of thebattle,' said Tchernaieff, with militarybrevity, rising to end the interview ere itwas well begun; 'the casualty lists, and,more than all, my plan for our furtheroperations, if approved of, by his Majestythe King.'

Guebhard's face was a study for a painteras he heard all this, in the background, withhawk-like eyes, and ears that quivered, sointently did he listen.

'You will take the road by Resna andParagatin,' said the General, speakingpointedly and emphatically; 'speak to noneon the way; save for what you want—foodand fresh horses; let no one join you onany pretence, or attempt to turn you fromyour path. Here is the route chalked outfor you, the seven towns through which youhave to pass, ere you reach Belgrade.Remember and be wary, as I have found youbrave and trustful.'

'Take this ring,' said Count Palenka,coming forward, and drawing a valuableRussian diamond from his finger: 'I cannotgive you gold medals or crosses like theKing or his excellency the General; but Imay insist upon your wearing this, as apersonal gift from myself—the gift ofgratitude for a life gallantly saved at greatperil.'

Flattered by the high trust so suddenlyreposed in him by Tchernaieff, Cecil, forthe first time since he had set foot onServian soil, felt his heart fill withsomething of the fire of his wonted ambition;but he knew not that he was selected, as astranger, for this perilous and importantduty; and still less, perhaps, did he knowthat there was a rival and pretender to thethrone of Servia, in the person of PrinceGeorgeovitch, who had scouts, adherents,and secret supporters everywhere.

He looked at the war-map, with whichevery staff-officer was furnished, and sawthat the distance between Belgrade andthe temporary head-quarters of Tchernaieff(who next day was to begin his march toAlexinatz) was, in all, about a hundredmiles, as the crow flies, through a wild,disturbed, and rather lawless country,by steep, rough, and heavy roads; yet, iftolerably well mounted, he hoped toperform the duty, and overtake the army, infour days at the latest, and this he saidlaughingly to Pelham and Stanley as hebade them adieu, and, quitting the camp,disappeared on the road to Resna.

The army advanced ten miles to Alexinatz,where a daring alerte, culminating ina regular foray, was given to the Turkswithin their own lines; but several dayspassed on, and became weeks, without Cecilre-appearing at head-quarters. He left fewbehind him to surmise as to the cause ofthis—still fewer to regret him, though allbelieved that he must have been cut off onthe way—but how?

'I shall be deuced sorry, if that poorfellow comes to grief,' said Pelham; 'heseemed a gallant soldier, and every inch agentleman. Curiously reticent about hisantecedents, though; he laughed seldom,and when he smiled, did so as if smilesbelonged to his past rather than his presentlife; but that he was an army man wasevident—he had all the cut of it.'

'Had—don't talk in the past tense yet,'replied Stanley; 'he told us he had beenunder fire in India.'

'Has left the service under a cloud,perhaps—was the scapegrace of thefamily, probably. My family has one: Iwas that evil spirit in mine.'

'Any way, I do wish we had him back.'

The two Englishmen eventually offereda handsome reward in Austrian ducats forsome intelligence regarding their missingcomrade; and it came, vaguely, to theeffect that two wood-cutters, three weeksback, had seen a mounted officer, answeringto the description of Cecil, attemptingto ford the Morava near Palenka, aboutforty miles off, and struggling with itscurrent just as the sun went down, anevent in these lands followed by instant darkness.

'Near Palenka?' said Captain Guebhard,with a frown, and then a cunning smile, asif questioning himself.

'Did he fairly cross?' asked Pelham.

'Who can say?' replied Guebhard;'and if so, why has he not returned?'

'Were the bodies of a man and horsefound in the river?'

'The wood-cutters said no; but I'll rideto Palenka and make inquiries, if Tchernaeiffaccords me leave,' he replied, turningaway.

'Why is he so solicitous in the matter?'observed Pelham; 'his dislike of ourabsent friend has been pretty apparent to me.'

'The devil only knows his object; butI don't like his smile.'

'With his cunning black-beady eyes andbistre-hued visage, this Guebhard remindsme of a half-nigg*r fellow who was gazettedto the Dragoon Guards, when I was inthem before joining the Coldstreams. Wewere anxious to get rid of him; but hewas sly as old Nick, slippery as an eel, andcautious as a lawyer. At last oneevening we all came to mess with our facespainted copper-colour or black, and withhuge stick-up collars, to the astonishmentof the waiters and of him too; but he tookthe hint, and sent his papers in to theHorse Guards next day.'

So Cecil's fate remained as yet involvedin mystery.

But that Guebhard did get leave 'tosearch' was evident, as the two Englishmensaw him quitting the camp soon after,attended by two or three mounted Montenegrins,melo-dramatic looking cut-throats,armed with rifles, pistols, and yataghans,clad in tattered garments with sandals ofcow-hide, unkemped, unwashed, black-bearded,and ferocious in aspect.

'By George!' said Pelham, 'I shouldnot like my safety to be looked after bysuch fellows as these!'

CHAPTER XV.

ON DUTY.

After carefully loading his pistols,and scrutinising closely thetrappings of his horse, a fine,fleet and active animal, Cecil bade adieuto the army of Tchernaeiff, and took hisway westward on his lonely mission.

But for his forfeited position (forfeited,as he had always felt, by no fault of hisown) and lost love—the lost life as itseemed—how exciting and joyous, to ayoung and ardent spirit, such a task asthat he had in hand, with such adventuresas it promised in wild Servia, would havebeen; for Servia, though nearly half thesize of Scotland, is yet a kind of terraincognita to the world of Europe generally.

'What will be the end of it all for me?'he thought, as he looked around him onthe strange land to which he had come tobegin life anew—the world again.

Yet his spirit began to rise in spite ofhimself, as he proceeded at a hand gallopin the pure morning breeze, and he feltthat life was not without some zest after all.

Here and there great forests borderedthe way, with little valleys openingbetween, wherein, as being warm andsheltered, the tobacco-plant is cultivated.The country seemed lonely generally;more than once, however, groups ofwild-looking and well-armed peasantry andworkers from the salt and copper-mines,passed him; but during this part of hisjourney he met with nothing exciting, saveat the little town of Tjuprga, for so itfigured on his map, though he utterly failedto pronounce it, and into which he rodejust as the sun, a great round globe of fire,was sinking behind the hills.

On repairing to the only cafane or hotelin the place, he found a Russian dragoonofficer taking his departure therefrom, andprior to doing so, about to lash with hisheavy whip a pretty little waitress, whomhe accused of cheating him out of twocopper piastres.

This was more than Cecil could endure;he drew a pistol from his holsters andcalled to the Russian to face him; but,muttering something about 'an island cur,'the gallant Ruski spat at his feet in tokenof detestation, and galloped away.

'And I am the comrade of wretches suchas this!' thought Cecil, as he dismountedand found that he had accomplished thirty-fivemiles of his journey.

After a repast of hashed duck andcaviare (having, as usual there, to use hisown clasp-knife and pocket-fork), and aftera bumper or two of strong red wine withthe natural soda-water, which comes frommany springs in Servia, Cecil lit a cigar,and, divested of his arms and tunic, gavehimself up to reflection—and, sooth to say,he had as usual plenty to ponder over—whilewatching the sunlight fading out inthe little street of one-storeyed houses,mere huts built of white-washed clay, andwhich he knew were too probably withoutbeds, tables, or chairs, and furnished withlittle more than an iron pot, in which theinhabitants cooked, and out of which theyate everything.

Carefully securing his door againstintrusion when night fell, he slept on a divanwith his rug and cloak over him and hissword and pistols under his head for apillow; and next morning, after settlinghis bill for a few copper piastres (onehundred and twenty-eight of which go toone British sovereign), he was again in thesaddle and pursuing the road to Bratisna.

The next day saw him without anyincident—somewhat to his disappointment,certainly to his surprise, at least. After passingthrough Kolar, and then sem*ndria, as hishorse was breaking down, he was compelledto halt there for the night, withintwenty-four miles of his destination. But thehalt was not without interest, as there forthe first time he saw that river so famed inhistory, the magnificent and dark-blueDanube, the waves of which 'havewitnessed the march of Attila, ofCharlemagne, of the Lion of the North, and thearmies of imperial France; and whoseshores have echoed to the blast of theRoman trumpet, the hymn of the pilgrimsof the Cross, the wild halloo of the sons ofIslam, and whose name is equally dear tohistory and to fable.'

Reining up his horse upon a slope, hewatched the river for a time, flowing therebetween mountains clothed with foresttrees, its blue waters in the vista washingin some places beaches of yellow sand,with pretty, toy-like hamlets sleeping inthe sunshine, and then rode in to sem*ndria,which occupies a low peninsula in theriver and is overlooked by a quaint oldcastle, in remote ages the abode of thekings of Servia, and which has since beentaken and retaken, battered and bombardedby Turks and Hungarians in turn.

Next morning saw him approaching hisdestination, the stately city of Belgrade.Towering over its picturesque masses, overthe spires and domes of more than ahundred Greek churches and Moslem mosques,steeped in the blaze of the morning sun onone side, and with deep shadows on theother, rose its citadel on the summit of aprecipitous rock, surrounded by a loftywall with flanking towers, a triple fosse,and a magnificent esplanade, four hundredyards in breadth.

On the summit waved the Serviantricolour, pale-blue and red together, withthe white outside.

Around on every side spread lovelygardens. As he approached this famousfrontier city, the scene of so many bloodysieges, Cecil could not but smile, in theseour days of vast projectiles, at rememberinghow great a feat it was thought of theScoto-Austrian Marshal Loudon, when in1789 he opened his first parallel there, atone hundred yards from the glacis. Thatstately citadel was the scene of manyawful atrocities perpetrated upon Christians,and Cecil ere he left it was shownthe place where Rhigos the Greek wassawn asunder limb by limb; and so latelyas 1815, thirty-six unhappy Servians,among them the grandfather of CountPalenka, were impaled alive, in violationof a pledge given for their safety.

Anxious to return and to be rid of hisdespatches, Cecil certainly did not loiter,and in a few minutes he found himselftraversing the streets of timber-builthouses, and those lines of open woodenstalls which compose the shops, the barberand coffee vendor alone having glazedfronts, and where the nationalities are sodistinctly marked in the motley population,the laughing shopkeeper in his tinyServian bonnet, the suave insinuatingGreek banker or merchant in his red skullcap,and the haughty, sallow and beardedarmourer, blacksmith, or baker, alwaysTurks, as their white turbans show.

His national uniform, the time and thecause—news of battle—a great victoryover the 'Turkish dogs' by the Morava,spread like wildfire, and Cecil had nodifficulty in finding his way to the palace ofthe prince, or, as he was then universallynamed, King Milano, which is simply ahandsome house with back and frontgardens, near the War Office, on theboulevard leading to the sem*ndria road, whichis bordered by double rows of trees.

As Cecil approached this edifice,important though his mission, some delayoccurred in his presentation, as a CircassianPrince with six hundred horsem*n—allwild-looking and picturesque Tcherkesses,had just come in to join the standard of KingMilano. He was a very handsome youngfellow, wearing a busby of black Astracanfur, with a coat of the same material (wornover a shirt of the finest linked mail), witha row of cartridge tubes across the breastof it; his sabre blazed with precious stones,and he wore a pair of white kid gloves thatwould have done credit to Regent Street.

Then came Cecil's turn, and by officersof the staff, wearing blue coats and redtrousers, and French kepis with wavingplumes, he was ushered into a statelyapartment, and was graciously received byMilano, who gave him his hand to kiss,and read the despatches aloud to the grouparound him, with considerable emphasisand the most intense satisfaction.

Photographs have made all so familiarwith pictures of the Servian King, that nodescription of him is necessary. Suffice it,that he was all the more warm in hisreception of Cecil on discovering that he wasa Briton, and learning the services he hadperformed in the recent battle. Milanowas then in his twenty-second year, havingbeen born at Jassy in 1854. He spokeFrench with fluency, having been educatedat Paris, where his studies were interruptedby the assassination of Michail Obrenovitchin 1868, after which he was proclaimedPrince of Servia by the Council of Regency.

Replies to the despatches would be givenCecil forthwith, and meantime an aide-de-campwas desired to conduct him to theKrone Hotel. There, weak and weary withhis long and rapid journey, Cecil gladlyflung himself upon a divan, and after arepast, made terrible by the inordinateseasoning of red pepper and red capsic*ms,or paprikas, with a bottle of Negotin claret,made from grapes that always grow onstony soil, he began to enjoy himself at anopen window which faced the Gardens ofBelgrade, which are certainly very beautiful.

Servian officers and Servian ladies werepromenading there, or eating sweetmeatsat marble tables, and reading the ServianIstok, while the band of the Royal Guardplayed in the gardens, and now and thenthe national air of 'La Belle Serbe' wascalled for and greeted with applause.

To Cecil, the people seemed pleasing inaspect; their eyes were blue or hazel, withchestnut hair and oval faces that weregenerally smiling. The men, tall, robust,and handsome; the women, slender,delicate, and all wearing graceful head-dresses.

Lovers were loitering there, and flirtationswere in progress, as they are everywhereall over the world, and many werethere who seemed happy as the yellow-throatedbird that sung in a mulberry treeclose by where Cecil lingered over a cupof coffee and a cigarette, and thought ofthe newness of his surroundings, and thestrangeness of his fate, and his purpose inbeing there—if he had a purpose at all!

It was strange—passing strange! Inthat field by the Morava he set no storeupon his life—not even for Mary's sake, asshe was lost to him as completely as if shewere dead—yet how many who had circlesof relations and friends to deplore them,and who doubtless set all necessary storeupon their own lives, had perished there,falling 'as the leaves fall when forests arerended.'

Was he the same Cecil Falconer, who,but four months before, had been marchingto the drums of the Cameronians?

An end was put to his reverie by theappearance of the aide-de-camp, who broughthim the king's despatches, and that eveninghe quitted Belgrade. As he gave a lastglance at the wayfarers who loitered aboutthe streets and at the doors of the cafes,cigarette in mouth, with their richly inlaidswords and long pistols stuck in theirshowy scarves, and with muskets slungbehind them, looking very picturesque—hethought they would, at the same time, beunpleasant fellows to meet in some lonelyplace in a land where police are scarcelyknown.

He took a farewell glance of the Danube,studded with tiny villages, their churchesand minarets, with Servians on one sidefishing in curious little boats, Hungarianson the other tending their flocks, with vastmountains towering in the distance, andthen rode quickly on what was now hishomeward way.

Continuing his journey along the leftbank of the Morava, the close of thesecond day found him, as he supposed,within thirty miles of Deligrad (from whichGeneral Tchernaieff had moved to fighthis victorious battle), when it becamepainfully certain to Cecil that he had tooevidently taken a wrong path and lost hisway, in a very lonely district, where fewpersons were to be seen, and where neitherhis German nor Italian availed in makinginquiries.

Of the Roman road he had been pursuing—aroad old as the days of Trajan—alltraces had disappeared, and he foundhimself in a narrow forest path,overshadowed by huge pines, where he wouldbe certain of not finding a guide, as suchplaces are avoided at night, as being thehaunt or abode of the vilas, evil spiritswho can assume all shapes, but especiallythat of the cuckoo, according to Serviansuperstition.

Hence it was, perhaps, that two wood-cutterswhom he saw, fled at the approachof a mounted figure, looming tall in theforest—and these were the men whopocketed the Austrian ducats of Pelhamand Stanley.

Fires glowed redly here and there uponthe distant hills—doubtless from copperand iron mines; but twice, isolated rocketsdescribed their fiery arcs athwart thedarkening sky; what this might indicate, heknew not; but urged his horse onward bythe narrow path, which descended abruptly now.

He thought he could hear the murmurof a great current—the flow of a river;but could discern nothing then, betweenthe stems of the trees, or in the starlesssky overhead—for in Servia the twilight—thegloaming, as the Scots call it—isvery brief, and when the sun goes down,utter darkness, with amazing rapidity,envelops all the scenery.

Now an involuntary cry escaped him, ashis horse, though at a walk, toppled heavilyforward, and before he could respire asecond time, he and it were both immersedin the current of a dark and rapid stream,too evidently the Morava.

The bank over which they had fallenwas too steep to make the least attempt toreturn that way possible. He took hisfeet from his stirrups, held up his horse'shead, and guiding it gently with the streamand towards the other side, uttered anexclamation of joy, as he felt its feettouching the ground. But ere he left thestream, the trunk of a tree that camesurging past, struck him from the saddle;yet he clutched his reins, and stumbledashore, bringing the horse with him.

He was safe, but, after a brave man'snatural emotion of gratitude to God forthat safety, a cry of dismay escaped him,on finding that his sword-arm hungpowerless by his side.

It had been dislocated by the force withwhich the tree had struck him. In a wildand unknown place, he was now helplessas a child, and something very much akinto consternation fell upon him.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE CASTLE OF PALENKA.

While his heart sank within him,at the idea of being so suddenlyrendered helpless and unfit foractive exertion, in such a place and at sucha time, his first thought was to ascertainthat Milano's despatches were safe and dry.With difficulty he found that they were so,in his sabretache, and after putting freshcartridges in his pistols, to be ready (thoughone handed now) for any emergency, hetook his horse by the bridle, and somewhatdisconsolately led it up a slope, towardswhere some lights were twinkling, high inthe air above him, to all appearance, andabout a mile distant.

Up, up the steep slope he struggled, bya path that led through an open gateway,and pursued a winding direction, till hereached a terrace or plateau, before acastellated edifice of striking outline andconsiderable dimensions, to all appearancethe abode of some Servian magnate orlandholder; but he was so faint with painand exertion, that all he looked on seemedto be whirling around him.

An appeal to the knocker, a huge ringin the mouth of a grotesque face, broughta servant, a tall and robust fellow, in aspecies of livery, to the door, and by thelights in the vestibule that opened beyond,he stared with equal surprise and alarmupon the dripping visitor, who in a somewhatpolyglot language, stated the predicamenthe was in. Another and anothercame, and ere long they made out that Cecilwas an officer of the Servian cavalry—amessenger from the king, who had metwith an accident; and as such he foundhimself rather abruptly ushered into anapartment of palatial aspect, where twoladies, an elder and a younger, were intentupon a game of chess, by the light of alarge shaded lamp, the globe of which wassupported on the shoulders of a silverstatuette of Atlas; but both now arose withastonishment expressed in their faces.

Cecil at that time felt himself as if in adream, or only half conscious of what waspassing around him; he rememberedafterwards his words of explanation, thecommiseration of their replies in the mostsoftly modulated Servian (a soft languageat all times) and he found himselfcommitted to the care of 'Theodore,' the manwhom he had first seen, and who provedto have been an old soldier, who had seenmany broken bones in his time.

Cecil's sodden uniform was removed, andhis hurt at once seen to, by the valet andan attendant of the lady of the house, whohad been for a time one of the good sistersof the Santas Kreuz Militar, and knewprecisely what to do, so fortunately forCecil he was in good hands.

By them, gently, but firmly, the partialdislocation of the arm at the shoulder—fortunatelyit was only a partial one—wasspeedily reduced, a process during whichCecil nearly fainted. Cloths dipped invinegar were then applied; some wine wasgiven him, and soon after he was left torepose; but he, who had slept on the bareground for months past—though now in acharming room and luxurious bed, with acoverlet of rich silk lace, lined with paleblue silk, surrounded by luxuries to himunknown since he quitted Britain—feltsleepless, and as the hours passed by theywere hours of pain and anxiety—pain toendure, and anxiety to be gone on his duty.

Great weariness weighed down his eyelids,and pain would be exchanged for whathe thought at times was a dream, orsound sleep; and as parts of the dream,he saw the walls of a handsome room, alittle Greek oratory with a prie dieu beforeit; and therein the figure of some saint,with a gilt halo of horseshoe-shape aroundthe head, and a tiny pink lamp burningbefore it, and the girl, Ottilie, for such washer name, watching and flitting about itnoiselessly.

She was more than pretty, with a violet-colouredvelvet jacket, embroidered withgold, under which she wore a habit-shirtof the softest white cambric; and her darksheeny hair was braided close round hersmall head, not under, but over askull-cap of crimson cloth.

These, and other details, Cecil took noteof next day, rather than on the night inquestion; and closing his eyes, he stroveto collect his thoughts and think—think ofwhat, or of whom, but Mary Montgomerie?

He was now to deem as past and gonefor ever the love that made his veins totingle and his heart to thrill in his bosom;yet he could not but remember with intensetenderness the last kiss she had givenhim, and the time—one of those, so someone says, that are given us by God to helpus by the sweetness of their memory, inweary days to come.

She was so far away—so far away! Itseemed he could but think of her as theliving do of the dead—perhaps as the deadmay do of the living.

To him the slow hours were passedrestlessly—almost without repose. 'There is,'says a writer, 'a strong contrast between asleepless night and the first hours thatfollow it. Everything appears from sodifferent a point of view! The phantomsof night become again familiar objects, in thesame way as in the region of ideas thingsgigantic reassume ordinary proportions.We fancy we are contending with theimpossible, and find ourselves in presence ofpaltry difficulties. We believed thatheroism was demanded of us, and find thatit is simple duty we have to accomplish.'

So it was with Cecil when day dawned,and brought with it ideas that were practical.

Betimes came Theodore with hot coffeeon a silver salver, which he proffered witha military salute, and the information that'his excellency's' horse had been attendedto at the stables, and there was his uniform,dry and brushed to perfection, with hispistols and sword, burnished as only an oldsoldier could burnish them, for Theodorehad served with the Austrian army inBohemia, and been twice wounded atSadowa, where his regiment was thatremarkable one which perished nearly to aman under the new and terrible fire of thePrussian needle-gun; with all of whichfacts he informed Cecil, while re-dressinghis hurt and assisting him to attire.

He also informed him of something else—thathe was in the family residence ofMichail, Count Palenka; and so, by mid-day,with his arm in a sling, Cecil expressedhis anxiety to thank his hostess, thewidowed mother of the count, for herkindness to him.

He announced himself as 'Sub-LieutenantCecil Falconer, of "Tchernaieff'sOwn," aide-de-camp on the staff,' and wasushered into the presence of the ladieswhom he had seen on the precedingnight.

'The preserver of my son's life in thebattle by the Morava!' exclaimed thecountess, coming forward and taking hisleft hand between both of hers, and gazingupon his face with humid yet beaming eyes.

'I only did my duty, madam, though thecount was pleased to think I did more,'replied Cecil, 'and bestowed this ring upon me.'

'My birthday gift to my dear brother!'said the younger lady, laughingly.

'Your hand has worn it, then?' asked Cecil.

'Since I was a little girl in Vienna.'

'That enhances the value of it to me,'said Cecil gallantly, with a bow; 'butsurely it must have been a world too widefor one of your fingers.'

'True; but I had it enlarged for Michail.'

Now, during the natural well-bred inquiriesconcerning his injury, and so forth,Cecil had opportunity for observing hishostess and her daughter Margarita.

The countess, though verging on fifty,was still very handsome, for the Servianwomen, by their mode of life, can prolongtheir beauty beyond the average climacteric.She wore a long flowing dress of blackcashmere, with a train behind, and confinedat the waist by a silver girdle; a frill ofsoftest muslin was round her throat, anda square of fine white lace arranged like awidow's cap was pinned over her head,with the ends falling on her shoulders.She had clearly cut features, soft dark hairlined with silver, fine eyes, and a shapelyfigure still.

Margarita was a womanly-looking girl ofmore than middle height, having a full androunded figure of remarkable grace andelegance of bearing, set off by quantitiesof delicate lace and flowing drapery.Stately in walk and in every movement,she was a brilliant, flashing, and imperial-likebeauty, with large and liquid eyes, aclear-cut aquiline profile, masses of rich,dark hair, and a small mobile mouth, withpouting, red and rather sensuous lips; andshe was self-possessed, refined, and highly-bred.

Educated at Vienna—for Servia waslong a province of Austria (after beingshuffled backward and forward betweenthe Emperor and the Porte)—she washighly accomplished, according to theEuropean standard, and it was but too evidentthat she welcomed the advent of Cecil'svisit—especially as a young Briton—forthe women in Servia are reckoned as beingquite inferior to the men, fit only to be theplaything of youth and the nurse of oldage; a peculiarity of manners that has notarisen from four centuries of tyrant Turkishrule, but seems to be inherent in oldSlavic custom, such as still appertains inRussia. But European ideas and fashionsare now the rule at Belgrade, thus thecountry must change fast; and Margaritahad been the reigning beauty when thereas a maid of honour to the Princess Natalie,the wife of Milano, and daughter of awealthy banker in Odessa.

The conversation soon drifted back tothe great Servian victory, and the narrowescape of Count Palenka and the general.

'How courageous it was of you to riskyour life to save theirs; how self-devotedto give Tchernaieff your horse!' said thecountess.

'It is not often a soldier has two suchstrokes of good luck at once,' replied Cecil.

'Had you no fear for your own life—nodread of dying?' asked the countess.

'No, madam.'

'Why?' asked Margarita, who hadscarcely spoken yet.

'Because it is as natural to die as to live—todie as to be born; and life has now notmany charms for me,' he added, withinvoluntary sadness or bitterness.

'Now—had it more once?' asked Margarita.

'Yes—many—nearly all that I coulddesire, contrasted with it now.'

'I grieve to hear you say so—you, withlife before you still,' said she, eyeinghim with growing interest, while slowlyfanning herself with a great round featherfan, though the atmosphere was coolenough.

'You cannot leave this place for daysyet,' said the countess, after a pause.'Margarita shall write to the count and requesthim to tell General Tchernaieff of youraccident. Meantime she and I will nurseyou,' she added, with a kind motherlysmile, 'and make you well and strong.'

Cecil sighed as he thanked her, andfeared that his sword-arm would beuseless for many a day; and indeed he wasincapable of mounting a horse as yet.

CHAPTER XVII.

MARGARITA.

Though named the castle ofPalenka, the abode of the countof that name partook more ofthe character of a fortified house, as it hadbeen built by his grandfather, an old heyduc,on the basem*nt of a Roman or other ancientfortress, and had a legend connectedwith it, similar to that told of the castle ofSkadra, that to propitiate the vilas, abeautiful young girl had been built up alivein the foundation of one of the towers;and Margarita, one day, showed Cecil theidentical place in question.

All the rooms had parqueted floors,polished like a coach-panel. In thedining-room, or hall, was a large roundtable of massive form and baronial aspect,and a lofty oak buffet, full of shining plate,quaint crystal goblets, and quainter china.

The drawing-room was fitted up somewhatin the Turkish style or taste, for thoughit had a grand piano and orthodox Europeanchairs, a low divan of yellow satin ran allround it, and many of the most beautifulobjects of art that Vienna could produceadorned it. Trophies of arms hungeverywhere, many of them very old, many ofthem collected perhaps by the veteranheyduc, who fought often in battle under KaraGeorge, and who was impaled at Belgrade;for here we may mention that theseheyducs were outlawed and deemed robbers bythe Turks, and like the Scottish caterans,imagined that in setting law at defiancethey were only combating for a principleof independence, and not acting dishonourably;and most of them, like old Michail,the Heyduc of Palenka, made it their boastthat they robbed only the rich Mosleminvaders, but were generous to the Servianpoor; and for military services to the Houseof Austria, his son was created a count byFrancis I., the ally of Britain againstNapoleon.

Cecil's mind was made comparativelyeasy by the fact that Margarita hadwritten to her brother the count, detailingthe mishap which detained him at Palenka;but the letter was never received, sohe knew nothing of the mystery thatenveloped his disappearance at headquarters:and day followed day very quietlyin that sequestered abode among the forests,and so far from any town.

The old countess, who had a truly Servianand holy horror of all strangers, thawedspeedily to Cecil, and declared him one ofthe most delightful companions she hadever met, even in Vienna.

A thorough Servian of the old school,she was full alike of religion and superstition,and observed most scrupulously thenumerous fasts of the Greek Church—thefour annual terms of abstinence, and everyWednesday and Friday, and never uttereda holy name without crossing herself.

She was never tired of telling her beads,and if she awoke in the night when thewind was high, she trembled as shethought of the traditional vampire—a bodywhich the Serbs supposed to be possessedby an evil spirit, which comes forth fromthe tomb of death to suck the blood of theliving, till traced, taken, and burned toashes. She believed in the existence ofold Servian witches, who could steal awaymen's hearts, and close the wounds throughwhich they had drawn them.

'I fear there are young witches in Serviawho steal away men's hearts and leave thewound an open one,' said Cecil, who, butfor the presence of Margarita, would soonhave become intensely bored at Palenka,as the chief, if not only, visitor there wasthe pope or priest of the nearest village,a blue-eyed and long-bearded old man, whocould only speak Serb, and whose demigodwas the Archbishop of Belgrade.

Accustomed for months past to themisery and wretchedness of the Serviancamp, to Cecil, the dinner-table with shiningwhite cloth, plate, crystal and ivory knives,under a flood of light from a rose-colouredchandelier, seemed the luxury of Sybaris;and for several days he had his food cutfor him by old Theodore, or by the prettyhands of the girl Ottilie.

Both mother and daughter were intenselyloyal in the cause of Milano and Servia,and hated the Turks as bitterly as everthe old heyduc himself could have done.

'It was my brother Michail who recapturedthe cross at Belina last year, as nodoubt you know?' said Margarita.

'I was not in Servia then—what was theepisode?' asked Cecil.

'It was in the famous battle of July.When the Turks ravaged Belina in Servia,they carried off a great cross from thealtar of the church, and came on to theassault of our Servian troops, bearing it infront, and shouting, "You cannot fire onyour God—you dare not fire upon yourProphet!"'

'And our poor Servians, rather thancommit sacrilege, dared not fire, and stoodperishing in their ranks!' said the countess.

'Till our Michail, at the head of achosen band, burst, sword in hand, amongthe dense mass of red fezzes, recapturedthe cross, and brought it into the lines ofMilano, over heaps of dead and dying; andthen—but not till then—did the Servianspour in a dreadful fire of shot, shell androckets, beneath which the columns of theinfidels melted away.'

When Margarita spoke, even with energy,as she often did, there was always somethingsweet and innocent about her, witha certain quiet dignity, and a touch ofsoftness in her expression, which, when takenwith the bright and lofty character of herbeauty, rendered her wonderfully attractive.

She soon discovered that he was musical,and they sang frequently together, whileshe played the accompaniment; and whenhe gave forth the notes of the Master ofRavenswood's farewell to his lost love, andgave it with a power and pathos that,though she had heard many of the besttenors at Vienna sing the same air, yetnone had seemed to do so with such tendernessand heart-broken despair—and whentheir eyes met, her heart began to thrillbeneath the ardour of his gaze, for Cecil,when he sung thus, gave his whole soul toit, and thought of Mary—Mary Montgomerieonly, or it might be the memoryof the mother that taught him; butto the ear of Margarita every note seemed,as she once said, 'to be a lover's wail overa lost love.'

On one of these occasions, Cecil sawsome pieces of dance music lying about,inscribed with the name of Captain MatteiGuebhard.

'The captain—he is a friend of yours?' he remarked.

'He was here on a visit to Michail once—yes,'she replied, with a shrug of hershoulders, and dismissed the subject. 'Igrew weary of him; he was jealous as Jelitza!'

But Cecil observed next day, that allthose particular pieces of music haddisappeared.

Always fond of female society, Cecilfound the daily association with thisaccomplished girl a source of the purest pleasure,and he strove, but in vain, to find tracesand resemblances in her to Mary Montgomerie;for Margarita was larger, darker,more brilliant and colossal in her beauty, ifwe may use such a term.

She had quite a repertory of Servianlegends, to which she recurred from timeto time, and told with a piquancy whichher foreign accent and foreign graces ofmanner enhanced; and one day she tookhim to a little lake—a dark and stagnanttarn, overshadowed by great trees, andnear the Morava, which she affirmed tomark the grave of the jealous Jelitza, sofamed in Servian song.

Remembering her reference to thispersonage when she spoke of Guebhard, heasked who she was.

'Oh, the very incarnation of jealousy!'said Margarita; 'she could not bear eventhe brotherly tenderness of her husbandPaul for his young sister, and in order toalienate him, slew his favourite courser,and charged her with the act. But Paulgave credit to his sister's denial. Thenshe slew his falcon, and blamed his sistertherefor; but Paul would not believe her.And at last she killed her little baby, andleft in its tender body a knife which Paulhad given his sister, whom he now slew inthe wildness of his fury, by having hertorn asunder by wild horses. But in theend, the jealous Jelitza perished by thesame fate; and then we are told, "thatwheresoever a drop of blood fell from her,there sprang up the rankest thorns andnettles. Where her body fell, when dead,the waters rushed and formed this lake sostill and stagnant. O'er the lake thereswam a small black courser; by his side agolden cradle floated; on the cradle sat agrey young falcon. In the cradle, slumbering,lay an infant: on its throat the whitehand of its mother; and that hand a goldenknife was holding." All these apparitionswere visible here, once yearly, on thisstagnant lake, till the days of my father,who had it blessed by the Archbishop ofBelgrade, since when they have been seenno more.'

All the legends Margarita told himwere wild and gloomy; yet the Serviansseemed to Cecil a lively people, and togetherthey often watched the reapers singingmerrily in the fields, and dancing, to thefiddle and native bagpipe, when work wasover, the kolo, the national dance of thepeople.

Both were young and both were handsome;the acquaintance so suddenly begunripened rapidly: but Cecil, unmoved by thebrilliant attractions of Margarita, and bythe perilous influences of propinquity, neverfor a moment felt his heart waver in itsloyalty to Mary, though he deemed her lostto him, and all other human love was deadin him now.

When the September evenings closedin, and the old lady, clad in costly velvettrimmed with beautiful fur from the Balkans,was reading her missal in a corner, Cecil andMargarita, if not at the piano, were generallyseated close together—very close, anobserver might have thought—at a tripodtable of green marble, playing chess, hewith his left hand, for the right was yet ina sling; and watching, which he could notfail to do, her lovely little hand, so whiteand delicate, a very model for a sculptor,pushing the pawns and knights about,while all was still without, save the flow ofthe Morava on its way to join the Danube.

Between these two, when the countesswas not present, we are compelled toadmit that the conversation sometimeswaxed perilous, notwithstanding Cecil'sresolute platonism, when the large liquideyes of Margarita, under their thick darkfringes, met his, and her scarlet lips, whichwe have said were rather sensuous, quiveredand smiled, with an expression all theirown; and one of those perilous times waswhen, somehow, they fell on the subject oflove—a natural one enough between a handsomeyoung fellow and a beautiful woman.

'There are times,' said Cecil, after apause, in reply to something Margarita hadsaid, 'when men dare not love.'

'Dare not—when?' asked Margarita, as shemade a false move, and had to play her king.

'I mean when to love is rashness, orwould be presumption,' said he, thinking, asno doubt he was, of Mary and her vain oldguardian.

'There may be rashness, but there is nopresumption in any man offering his trueand honest love to any woman—even a princess.'

'But would the princess accept it?' said Cecil.

'Perhaps,' replied Margarita, looking athim with one of her smiles, and thendrooping her lashes; 'love is romance,' she added.

'Then I have lived the romance of mylife,' said Cecil, a little bitterly, andperhaps unwisely, 'and have only its grimrealities before me now.'

'Already—and you so young?' she asked,with dilated eyes.

'Already!'

'I trust you mistake, and that romancemay come again,' said she, softly.

'It is utterly past, so far as hope goes now.'

'Does the grass of the grave grow aboveit?' she asked after a pause.

'In one sense—for my hope is buried.'

'I do not think any grave is so deep thatwe can bury in it all hope of another loveand other happiness,' said Margarita,perhaps misunderstanding him, and making arather leading remark, which Cecil—thoughnot obtuse on such matters—failed, in hisutter preoccupation, to perceive. Margaritabit her lip, and shoved her pawns about.She, accustomed to adulation and muchadmiration, was rather piqued by Cecil'scoldness.

'All the world is alike to me now,' saidhe, rather absently; but she gathered theconviction that he was neither married norengaged.

'Are you so much of a misogynist thatyou cannot even be the friend of a woman?'she asked.

'I have not said so,' said he; 'nor am Iin any degree a misogynist,' he added, withanimation.

'Then you can conceive a friendship?'

'Yes, and a most tender one—and gowhere I may,' he added, coming rather tothe point, as Margarita thought, 'I shallnever forget the friendship I have conceivedfor you.'

'That emotion is not always a lasting one.'

'Why—how?' he asked.

'Because it often ends where—lovebegins,' she replied, with a laugh and adowncast smile.

Cecil felt his heart beat quicker.

'Oh, by Jove!' thought he, 'this sort ofthing won't do—what must I say next?This is making awful running, and I haveonly been a fortnight here!'

But at that moment the countess, whohad dropped asleep over her missal, awoke,and the conversation changed.

Truth to tell, Cecil was beginning to besomewhat scared, rather than flattered, bythe brilliant œillades and rash speeches ofMargarita. He did not quite understandthe romantic impulses that came of herhalf-wild Servian blood, though partly tamedand tempered by a fashionable Europeaneducation. She was totally unlike anyother woman he had met before, and hecould not determine to his own satisfactionwhether she had conceived a secret fancyfor him, or was only seeking to entanglehim in a flirtation, for her own amusem*nt,as she had perhaps entangled MatteiGuebhard and others before him.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CAPTAIN GUEBHARD.

When Cecil thought of thedespatches with which he hadbeen entrusted by Royal hands,of the approved plans of the campaignwhich Tchernaieff anxiously and eagerlyawaited; when he reflected, too, how he,a foreigner, a stranger, a humble andnameless volunteer, had been promoted,decorated, and honoured with high trust; andwhen he thought of the ready suspicion,jealousy, and mistrust of the Russians andhalf-oriental Servians of whom he was nowthe comrade, he groaned in agony of spiritover the helplessness which caused hisdetention at Palenka, and neither thesociety, the rare beauty, nor the blandishments,for it was fast amounting to blandishment—ofthe dazzling Margarita couldconsole or wean him from the path of duty,or drown the sense of peril, perhaps,involved.

All the young men of Belgrade, and allthe 'eligibles' of elsewhere, were with thearmy of Milano as officers or volunteers, allfighting the infidel Turks 'for freedom andServia;' consequently, save the old pope,Palenka was without male visitors justnow; and in the adjacent village, a placewith a name not easily pronounced, it was'noised abroad' that the strange officer whohad so suddenly appeared at Palenka hadsucceeded in winning the heart of thebeautiful Margarita, who had been hithertodeemed so unimpressionable by all, and itwas thought not to redound much to thecredit of the old countess, or to that of theyouth of La Belle Serbe, that such a prizeshould be carried off without a struggle.

'The young Herr Lieutenant is playingwith fire here!' said the grey-moustachedTheodore to Ottilie, gloomily.

'How so?' responded the girl, gaily;'is not youth the season for love? and ourmistress is beautiful.'

'And manhood is the season formarriage, girl; but he dare not marry her,and she dare not marry him,' he addedgrimly, twitching his beard; 'and I wishhim well away from Palenka!'

'Why?'

'Because he is a fine fellow—every incha soldier—and I would not see evil cometo him.'

'Evil?'

'I said evil, and I know—well, what I know.'

The curiosity of Ottilie was piqued, butTheodore was in no mood to gratify it.

To Margarita, Cecil was a species ofinteresting enigma. He had some sorrowfulpast, which he carefully kept from her;she felt that instinctively, and she wasnever weary of hearing him tell of theplaces he had been in—India, Scotland,England, and Italy—and smiled sweetlyand softly at his descriptions of distantlands, that she had only heard of at school.She knew that he was accomplished, andthe superior in education and ideas of anyman she had yet met; thus, she admiredand evidently liked him very much: butthe villagers and the household wereadopting conclusions too abruptly.

She had a perfect consciousness of herown beauty—a beauty of that remarkabletype and quality which seems to belong tono country, so rare and striking wasit—and, to enhance it, she had alreadydecided that a few of her most becomingtoilettes might be necessary for her purpose,which was no doubt to attract and dazzle,as she felt that his presence at Palenkawould greatly brighten the hours shedeemed lost, by a temporary exile fromVienna, in consequence of her brother'spresence with the army.

Preoccupied though he was by thoughtsof another, and only anxious to take hisdeparture, as he now hoped to do in a dayor so, her coquetry became one day veryapparent to Cecil, and it amused while itflattered him, as she invited his attendanceon her at the piano.

On this day she had arrayed herself forconquest; and whether it was thewell-assorted costume she wore and the subtleperfume of some fragrant flowers she heldin a white and ungloved hand, or the softlight in her dark and liquid eyes, but Cecilthought certainly that he had never seenher look so piquante, brilliant, and lovely,with a loveliness picturesque and all her own.

She began to run her fingers over thekeys, and then suddenly exclaimed, with alittle laugh:

'Oh, this will never do!'

'What?' asked Cecil, as he hung over her.

'I have been playing with one glove on—howabsurd! Please to help me off withit,' she added coquettishly, holding out herhand to him in a pretty, helpless way.

Such a tiny, lavender-tinted glove sheheld forth to him to unbutton. Faultlesslyit fitted the white dimpled hand, andreached far up the arm, with many littlewhite buttons, the undoing of which wasnow the task assigned to him; and as hefelt in his hand the firm, white, taperedarm, he saw a little mocking smile abouther beautiful mouth; and, as their eyesmet, something he read in hers made Cecilfeel inexpressibly foolish. He must, hethought, say something tender—but why?

He was just undoing the last button,when Theodore came in with a card on asilver salver, announcing 'der Herr CapitanGuebhard;' and the figure of the latterwas now seen looming darkly in the doorway,as he took in the whole situation andadvanced slowly, with his spurs and sabre clanking.

'Playing with hearts, as usual,' said he,with a laugh that had no sound in it, as hetook her hand and bowed curtly to Cecil.

'How dare you say so!' she replied,while a flush crossed her face, and anexpression of irritation came into it for amoment.

After a little pause, the visitor said,after she requested him to be seated:

'I have just heard from old Theodore ofwhat had befallen the Herr Lieutenant. Ihave also heard, but at head-quarters, thathe has important despatches from the Kingto General Tchernaieff. There was a fearthat you had lost your way, or fallen intothe enemy's hands, and I volunteered tocome in search of you.'

'For that I thank you, Captain Guebhard;and as for the despatches——

'You will please to hand them over to me.'

'Pardon me,' said Cecil, and paused,while a dark gleam crossed the eyes ofGuebhard.

'How is your arm—well, I suppose?'he asked, with the slightest approach to asneer.

'If well, I should not be loitering atPalenka.'

'You are nearly able to handle yoursword, I presume?' he continued, in amore marked tone, while playing alternatelywith the tassel of his sabre and hislong black moustache.

'Very nearly, Captain Guebhard; but itis not the habit with British officers tobring their swords into a drawing-roomamong ladies.'

'Very likely; but I am a Servian officer,and I hope you consider yourself onenow.'

There was something quietly offensivein the tone and bearing of Guebhard thatirritated Cecil. The latter rememberedthe pieces of music inscribed with themonogram of the captain, and theirdisappearance too. He also rememberedthat Margarita had spoken of Guebhard'sjealousy—that he was jealous as Jelitza,of the Servian legend and proverb; andCecil thought there could be no jealousywithout some love, or what passed as such.

What were, or had been, the relationsbetween Margarita and Guebhard in pasttime—and how were they situated now?That he came freely and installed himselfas a privileged ami du maison was evident,and as such he was warmly welcomed bythe countess. But on what footing—as afriend of the absent count, as the fiancé ofMargarita, or as a relation of the family?

So Cecil felt puzzled as well as irritated,and when again asked for his despatches,he plainly and firmly declined to give themup to Guebhard, though a superior officer.

'I fear I have interrupted your performance,'said the latter, abruptly changingthe subject; 'does the Herr Lieutenantsing?' he asked of Margarita.

'Yes—with power and skill,' she repliedpromptly; 'but when you entered I wasjust about to sing to him.'

'What?'

'"The Wishes."'

Cecil urged her to begin, and placed themusic before her, on which she sang bothsweetly and effectively the little Serviansong so-called, and of which the first verseruns thus, and is peculiar in its idea:

'"Oh that I were a little stream,
That I might flow—my love—to him!
How should I dance with joy when knowing
To whom my sparkling wave was flowing!
Beneath his window would I glide,
And linger there till morning-tide;
When first he rouses him to dress,
In graceful garb, his manliness—
Then should he weak or thirsty be,
Oh, might he stoop to drink of me!
Or baring then his bosom, lave
That bosom in my rippling wave!
Oh, what a bliss if I could bear
The cooling power of quiet there!"'

And as she sang, Guebhard, who doubtedwhether these six wishes referred tohimself, listened and looked on with a visage,the lowering expression of which remindedCecil of Hew Montgomerie undersomewhat similar circ*mstances.

The captain of Servian Lancers had,as elsewhere stated, a silent manner andan unpleasant expression on his usuallypale face, and analysis—not necessarily avery keen one—detected several defects init. Among these, apart from his cunningblack beady eyes, were thin cruel lips, anda general aspect of the face beingperpetually a mask. He was not appearing quiteto advantage just then, for if his mannerswere quiet, and generally polished, he hadthe stealthy gentleness and grace of a cat,and his bearing was suggestive of theadage that 'still waters run deep.'

He was a man of mixed race, and not apleasant one to have, as Cecil felt him tobe, a secret enemy; for he was half Italianand half Bulgarian, with a considerabledash of the Ruski. Cecil could littleconceive how far his secret enmity was yet tocarry him; but he did not relish beingreminded of his duty by Captain Guebhard,and still less to have hints given that heshould soon leave Palenka behind him.

To allow the unexpected visitor toapproach Margarita, and freely converse withher if he wished to do so, Cecil drew nearto the countess and joined her in watchingthe reapers in a field, but he could nothelp overhearing, though said sotto voce,something that had reference to himself.

'Playing with hearts again, as I saidbefore?' whispered the captain.

'Don't be absurd!'

'I remember what mademoiselle was at Vienna.'

'Then your memory, like your sex, is—is——'

'What?' asked the captain, softly.

'Treacherous.'

'And so the Herr Lieutenant has beenidling here,' said Guebhard, 'while wewere enjoying ourselves by the Morava?'

'Enjoying yourselves?' asked Margarita.

'Yes—cutting up the Turkish dogs.Life is too short to let slip any opportunitynowadays.'

'Especially life in Servia—it is full ofperils; and so you were solicitous for hissafety? How kind!'

'I was solicitous to see you. I heardthat he had been seen in the vicinity ofPalenka.'

'By whom.'

'Some wood-cutters—so I made the excuseand came here.'

'Thus shunning your duties in the field?'

'Not more than he does.'

'With a disabled arm?'

'For you to nurse,' replied Guebhard,with a smile on his lips and a glitter in hiseye, that, had Cecil seen it, might havewarned him of mischief to come; and lowthough they spoke, he heard his despatchesreferred to more than once: thus he wasscarcely surprised when he changed placeswith Guebhard and rejoined Margarita atthe piano, that, under cover of a verybrilliant sonata, she questioned him aboutthem.

'Where are those despatches about whichMattei Guebhard seems so anxious?' sheasked.

'In my sabretache.'

'And it?'

'Is in my apartment,' he replied, withsurprise.

'As you cannot wear it constantly, takethem therefrom,' she said, in an emphaticwhisper.

'Why?'

'They may be abstracted.'

'By whom?'

'I do not—cannot say by whom,' shereplied, with half-averted face.

'Do you suspect?'

'Yes.'

And a crash on the instrument closed aconversation, on which Cecil resolved notto lose a moment in acting, and repairingto his own room, transferred the packetfrom the sabretache attached to hissword-belt to the breast-pocket of his uniformtunic.

He felt grateful to her for the interestMargarita had thus evinced in him, but hewas sorely puzzled to know why Guebhardwas so anxious to obtain the documentscommitted to his care; and he was soonconvinced that her suggestion had notcome too soon, when about two hours afterhe discovered the Servian captain in theact of quitting his—Cecil's—apartment.

'You here, Captain Guebhard?' heexclaimed, with surprise and indignation inhis tone, all the more so that he read abaffled and confused expression in the faceof the other.

'Pardon me,' said he, bowing and passingon, 'but the dressing-bell has rung fordinner—I was in haste, and mistook yourapartment for mine.'

It might be so; but Cecil thought it acurious circ*mstance that his belt andsabretache, which he had left hanging onthe wall, were now lying on a sofa, and hesmiled as he felt the packet safe in hisbreast, and resolved to secure his door forthat night, the last he meant to spend inPalenka.

Cecil resolved to be in every way on hisguard against this man Guebhard, and yetere the night passed he was very nearlyhaving a quarrel with him—a quarrelwhich, but for some forbearance on thepart of the former, might have ended in aresort to pistols between them, after theladies had retired and he and the captainwere left to their cigars and wine; but thelatter preferred raki, and under itsinfluence he lost much of his subtle suavityand oily politeness, and the real Bulgar inhis blood came out.

And, sooth to say, Cecil was not sorrywhen the ladies did retire, for Margarita,either to please and amuse herself, or totease and anger Guebhard, had addressedthe whole, or nearly the whole, of herconversation to him, though it ran chieflyon the progress of the war.

Lying or half-reclining on a divan, witha rummer of raki and water at hand, acigar between his lips, and his cunningalmond-shaped eyes half-closed, thoughthey glittered brightly, Guebhard, aftersome remarks about Margarita and hersinging, to all of which Cecil listenedsilently, said:

'She is a dazzling girl—don't you think so?'

Cordially, Cecil admitted she was so.

'I wonder blood has not been shedabout her long ere this!' he exclaimed, ina curiously suave yet vicious tone.

'Bah!' said Cecil, 'people don't fightduels nowadays.'

'In your cold-blooded country, perhaps,'was the quietly scornful interruption.

'And we shall have daily blood enoughspilt in other ways,' continued Cecil,without heeding him.

Guebhard drained his rummer, refilledit, and was not long in thinking of somethingelse offensive to say, and gave eachlong, black, lanky moustache a vigoroustwist, as if he gathered courage from theperformance.

'You have not been idle while here,apparently, Herr Lieutenant,' said he, withone of his curious smiles, while carefullyselecting a cigar from his case and profferingCecil one.

'I do not understand you, CaptainGuebhard,' replied the latter.

'You will understand this, that I heardyour names—yours and Margarita's—bandiedabout in the common cafane ofthe next village.'

Cecil coloured with anger, but saidquietly: 'We are not accountable for thegossip of the vulgar or the ignorant.'

'It is a pity, however, to compromise ayoung lady by your attentions, HerrLieutenant.'

'Who do you mean?' asked Cecil, angrily.

'Who but Margarita Palenka?' repliedGuebhard, suavely, but decidedly, emittinggreat circles of smoke from his lips.

'Compromise her?'

'I have said so, Herr.'

'With whom?' asked Cecil, endeavouringto suppress his annoyance; 'her motheror—you? I am here, like yourself, as aguest, and I do not recognise your right,Captain Guebhard, either to advise me, orsuggest to me any line of conduct.'

'If I attempted to do so, it would beas your friend, and still more as the friendof Count Palenka's sister.'

Guebhard's voice was becoming thickunder the influence of the fiery raki, andhe sat for half-a-minute glaring at Cecil ina curious half-defiant and half-stolidmanner, especially when the latter wasnot looking at him.

'At all events,' he said bluntly, 'GeneralTchernaieff expects you to report yourselfin due course at Alexinatz.'

'Did he send you to me with this message?'

'No.'

'Then I require no advice from you,sir, as to any course I may choose toadopt.'

Guebhard's eyes glittered like those ofa rattlesnake beneath their half-closed lids,and Cecil began to eye him back steadilyand sternly.

'Captain Guebhard,' said he, 'to recurto the first matter in hand, the rumours atthe cafane, what is your peculiar interestin the matter?'

'What matter?' stammered Guebhard.

'My intimacy—friendship—what youwill, with the sister of Count Palenka?'

'Simply that I love her!' exclaimedGuebhard abruptly, with all the impulseof his really passionate nature; 'that Ilove her, and will brook no rival!'

'Then you need not fear me as one,'said Cecil, laughing aloud; 'and if it willease your mind, be assured that I hadalready arranged to leave this placeto-morrow; my arm is so nearly well now,that I shall be able to reach my saddlewith ease. And to end this rather absurdconversation,' he added, as he rose to retirefor the night, 'be assured, I repeat, thaton my honour you need fear no rival in me!'

'He lies, in his heart—the Englishdog!' thought Guebhard, as he silentlygave Cecil his hand; 'and there are nolunatics like women, when an interestingforeigner comes their way. But I'll marhis wooing, between this and headquarters—byall the devils I will!'

'And you leave this to-morrow for thefront?' said he.

'To-morrow, by noon, at latest; andyou, Herr Captain?'

'I—I go on to Belgrade; but you ride by Resna?'

'Yes.'

The captain, whose voice and steps werealike unsteady, withdrew, and Cecil wasnot ill-pleased that they had partedwithout the quarrel which the other seemedanxious to provoke.

Next morning he found that the captainhad quitted Palenka at an early hour, andsoon after he was further to learn thatGuebhard had not taken the road toBelgrade.

Ere noon next day, old Theodore wasleading Cecil's horse, accoutred, to and frobefore the door.

'We are so sorry that Palenka is aboutto lose you,' said Margarita, in her softesttone to Cecil, who had been saying somewell-bred things, but in the genuine fulnessof his heart, for the hospitality he hadreceived.

'It is most kind of you to say so,' hereplied, doubtful of how she might leadhim on, for her eyes and manner were fullof coquetry at the time.

'Don't you regret it?' she asked, with awould-be shy, upward glance.

'After all your kindness to me, astranger, I should be most ungrateful notto do so!'

'But we may meet again,' said thecountess, joining in the conversation.

'Perhaps,' said Cecil, with one of hissad smiles; 'but considering the chancesof war, of life and events here, tooprobably never.'

Margarita stood by fanning herself, asshe usually did. She knew that a fansuited well the style of her beauty, andshe seldom neglected to display her skill inthe use of one, and she had fans of allcolours to suit her dresses.

So his sojourn at Palenka was ended now.

Intelligent and well read, Cecil was alsomaster of that kind of small talk whichmarks a man of the world; and he hadpleasantly wiled away many an hour withMargarita, the memory of which wouldhaunt her in the time to come. It was acompanionship, brief but pleasant, whichshe would be sure to miss, and to recallwith genuine regret.

'She has been trying to lure me into aflirtation pour passer le temps,' thoughtCecil, as he rode down the slope on thesummit of which Palenka stood; 'and Iam well rid—well clear of her alluringmeshes.'

At a turn of the path he waved his capin farewell, as he knew that her softbright eyes were watching him from awindow; but he knew not that fromanother point eyes were watching hisdeparture in which a less pleasantexpression might have been read.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE BLACK MOUNTAINEERS.

The path by which he proceededwas narrow, rugged, oftenascending rocky steeps anddescending into rapid water-courses; thus hisprogress was slow and devious. It wasoften bordered by forests of oak, ash andyew—the latter imparting a great gloomto the scenery; it was overshadowed byhills, particularly those of Mount Mezlanie,with alpine peaks that were covered withthyme, rosemary, and other aromatic plants.Here and there he saw goats perched uponfragments of rock, their long beards wavingin the wind; and occasionally when thecountry became open, he passed bare fieldswhereon the oats and millet had beenreaped.

So he was once again in his saddle, withhis sword by his side, his pistols in hisholsters, and the world of wild life beforehim! His pistols? He thought it as wellto look to them, and on doing so, found thatthe cartridges had been withdrawn fromthe chambers of both!

By whom had this been done, and why?He could not suspect the old soldierTheodore; but he did suspectGuebhard of tampering with some of thegrooms. Forewarned thus, he at onceproceeded to examine and reload themcarefully.

As he rode on, he thought with moreamazement than irritation of his conversationwith the captain over-night, and of thatpersonage's declaration of his regard forMargarita—his open jealousy, and threatof brooking no rivalry. Whether she hadloved Guebhard in the past time, or whethershe loved him still, was a matter of suchlittle consequence to Cecil, that he scarcelythought about it at all.

'Could I,' he reflected—'could I butforget my own past, with its brightnessand gloom—though the brightness wasMary, the gloom my mysterious disgrace—Imight yet have some hope in the futurehere—even here! My foot is already onthe first step of the ladder, and military rank,perhaps glory itself, may yet be mine. Imay yet gather one leaf of laurel, and whocan say but that a corner in the Temple ofFame may await me too!'

He laughed at the thought. He was,in fact, too young to feel quite despairingyet. His spirit rose with the exhilarationinduced by a rapid ride; and he at lastbegan to think with ardour of the mess ofthe old corps, seeing his name in the publicprints—the exultation and commendationof his pluck and bravery by LeslieFotheringhame, Dick Freeport, and others—evenhis story going the round of the men'sbarrack; and more than all, of what wouldbe the emotions of Mary Montgomerie!

Then, at the thought of her, he let hisreins drop on the mane of his horse, andsinking into reverie—a reverie induced bythe stillness around him—left the animalto proceed at its own pace, and even topause, and crop the herbage by the wayside.

Never again, too probably, would thethreads of their life cross, even for amoment, for Mary seemed as far removedfrom him now as heaven from earth.Then it would seem difficult to realise theidea that his life could pass on, unto theend, without Mary in it; and vaguelythere would spring up in his heart thewild tumultuous hope that if he strove,even in this new and barbarous land, shemight yet be his.

How often in the wretched Servianbivouac, through the long hours of wearynight, had he lain under the starscommuning in bitterness with his own soul, ifwe may say so; and out of the starlightMary seemed to come to him vividly infancy—Mary in her sweetness and loveliness,with all her gentle, soft, and winninglittle ways—her grace of movement, hertenderness of tone—the Mary that, tooprobably, he should never meet more.

Yet they had been so happy in theirsecret love of each other—the love that inits flush needs nothing more than to bemutual, 'though marriage seemed distantas death;' and as distant as that the formerseemed now, though the risk of death wasnearer than he thought.

Lost in reverie, he had proceeded thusa few miles, ere he became aware of theunpleasant fact that he had too probablylost his way, for the road tracks divergedand crossed each other so frequently, andhe met no one of whom he could makeinquiries, till at a turn of the path he camesuddenly upon two Montenegrins, whowere on foot, under a tree, against whichtheir muskets rested, and who were in theact of taking some food, each with thebridle of his horse over one arm.

Both were as repulsive-like men as onecould meet, especially in a place so lonely,and the sudden appearance of Cecil seemedto afford them considerable interest. Theywere evidently two of the 'BlackMountaineers,' belonging to the body whichserved in the army of Servia, and theybore those arms which their race are neverwithout, even in their most peacefuloccupation: a musket, pistols, and yataghan—ashort and sharply-curved flat sword,without a guard. They wore old andtattered garments of no particular colour,sandals of raw hide, were black-bearded,cunning, and forbidding in aspect—lookingevery inch like what the Montenegrinsare in reality, savage barbarians, who inbattle mutilate the fallen, and who nevercrave mercy, nor yield it, for when one isseverely wounded, to save him from theenemy, his own comrades cut off his head.

As the language of these pleasant peopleis a dialect of the Servian, Cecil had notvery much difficulty in making themcomprehend the dilemma in which he foundhimself. They exchanged curious smiles,and then pointed out the way which led,they averred, to Resna.

Cecil gave them a few piastres; but, ashe rode off, he saw them snatch up theirmuskets from the trunk of the tree, and inhot haste proceed to charge them, whichthey did somewhat slowly, as the weaponswere old-fashioned muzzle-loaders. Whenagain he looked back, both were takingdeliberate aim at him over the saddles oftheir horses!

A double flash and double reportsfollowed, and two bullets whistled past: onewas flattened out against a rock, like asilver star; the other ripped some barkfrom a tree. And now, deeming discretionthe better part of valour, while his heartswelled painfully with anger and indignation,he put spurs to his horse and droveit along at full speed.

Ere he could well reflect upon the courseto pursue, two more muskets flashed outof the coppice ahead of him: 'ping! ping!'the bullets whistled past; they came fromrifled barrels, and he could see two moremounted Montenegrins.

Cecil's heart began to beat wildly now;he had no coward's fear of death, thougha great horror of being butchered thus,helplessly and without defence. Yet hewas not without hope of escape; heremembered how many he had seen miss therunning deer at Wimbledon, and resolvedto trust to the heels of his horse: but soonit cast a shoe, and the other began toclatter, for evidently the nails had beenloosened!

The abstraction of the cartridges fromhis holster-pistols, and this tampering withhis horse's shoes, he could account for now,when remembering that the villain Guebhardhad been in the stables betimes thatmorning; and it was but too evident thathe had thus beset his returning path, andthese precautions showed that, notwithstandingthe number of his followers, hehad a wholesome appreciation of Cecil'spluck, skill and bravery.

Another shoe was shed; his horse beganto flounder now, and he heard thepursuing hoofs coming fast upon his rear.Cecil knew from experience the cruelty ofwhich the Montenegrin nature is capable.He had heard, and seen, how Turkishwounded and prisoners had been shorn oftheir lips, noses, and ears, by the sharpyataghans of those so-called Christians,the Black Mountaineers, whose favouritehousehold ornament is a Turkish head,dried in smoke; and who often bury theirprisoners up to the breast and maketargets of them at a hundred yards; andsuch a fate might now be his if he fellinto their horrible hands; and he knewnot how many were in pursuit of him.

It was not impossible that MatteiGuebhard had thus beset the road to cut himoff, in a spirit of jealousy, rivalry, andrevenge; but it seemed more probablethat his present desperate and lawlessproceedings had some mysterious reference tothe interception of the despatches. Thisfact proved an alarming puzzle to Cecil, wholonged, sternly, eagerly, breathlessly, tohave the captain alone with him, face toface, and within range of his pistols.

In hopes to baffle pursuit, he had quittedthe direct road, or that which he supposedto be such, and wheeled off by a path tothe left, but did so in vain, for they werefollowing him fast, and his horse, shoelessnow, failed to grip the loose soil of the waywith its hoofs alone.

Outriding the rest, two were now gettingunpleasantly close to him, as the path,a very narrow and winding one, began toascend a steep spur of Mount Mezlanie. Herid himself of one of these by his pistol, butas he wheeled round in his saddle to deliverthe Parthian shot by which he did so, hefelt in his right arm a maddening pang ofpain, and a cold perspiration burst over him.

'God!' he exclaimed, 'if it is thus withme now, how will it be if I come to usemy sword!'

The second Montenegrin, fast and faroutrode the rest, and without wasting timein using rifle or pistol, he came thunderingfull upon the rear of Cecil, whose horse,though fresh from the stable, after days ofenforced idleness, and liable to resent theuse of bit, curb and spur, was toiling upthe steep and rugged path there was noquitting or avoiding. Cecil could see thatit came close to the very verge of aprecipice and then turned acutely to the left.

This he perceived just in time to savehimself from a sudden and horriblecatastrophe, by slackening speed, and guiding hishorse, by bridle and knee, carefully roundthe perilous corner; while his pursuer,intent blindly on bloodshed and slaughter,came furiously up to the spot, and failingto turn the angle, being ignorant of it, orunable to check his speed, went over theprecipice—headlong, horse and man—throughthe air, to find mutilation and death, wheresoon the vultures would be gathering, atit* base, some hundred feet below.

His fate evidently made the rest morewary and caused some delay in the pursuit,which enabled Cecil to distance themconsiderably, as he pursued the pathwaythrough a solitary glen; but he could seethat they were still keeping him in sight,at a time when the afternoon was faradvanced, and the darkness of a suddenthunderstorm began to obscure both skyand scenery.

CHAPTER XX.

CECIL COMES TO GRIEF.

At this very time yesterday he hadbeen hanging over Margaritaat the piano, and busy with thenumerous buttons of her long kid-gloves;and then listening to her coquettish songof 'The Wishes.'

Now what a change had come! Hewas a fugitive, pursued by men who wereveritable human bloodhounds!

'No doubt about Guebhard now!'thought Cecil. 'Fool that I was not toquarrel with him at Palenka as he wished;and shoot him on the terrace, or anywhereelse. But a time may come; nay, mustcome—if I escape—if I escape!'

And a time did come, when they wereto meet face to face, though Cecil couldlittle foresee, then, when and where it wasto be.

It was plain enough that this subtle andferocious fellow, half an Oriental, in thefirst moments of supposing himselfsupplanted by Cecil—already so successful inthe field and camp—had resorted to thedeep scheme of cutting him off andobtaining his despatches; spurred on by theintensity of the twin passions, love andhate—love for Margarita, and hate for asupposed rival, in more ways than one;and if successful, there was no knowingwhat foul stories he might circulate toblacken the honour of the dead, withTchernaieff—stories that might ultimatelyfind their way into every print in Britain!

To Cecil there was a bitterness worsethan death in the thought of this; but hecould little conceive that it was not forTchernaieff, or any other officer in Servia,the fatal despatches and plan of the futurecampaign were wanted!

Cecil looked from an eminence; hispursuers were still in sight, but lookingfaint and distant, amid the gatheringgloom.

'If it comes to the worst, I would ratherbe shot down than captured—could I beassured of being shot dead,' thought Cecil,as he rode steadily on, he knew not inwhat direction; he could make out thathis pursuers were five in number, and onewas evidently Guebhard. 'Had I a goodEnfield rifle, I could pick every man ofthem off at leisure from this, and thenthere would be a few less Montenegrins totrouble the world.'

These fellows had belonged, of course,to that Montenegrin contingent, five hundredstrong, which had come into the camp ofGeneral Tchernaieff; but he being anofficer as humane as he was brave, hadbeen compelled to expel the whole forcefor their barbarous mutilation of the Turkishwounded, and many of them were nowprowling about as idle freebooters.

These Montenegrins—men of the racewhich make such a stir in Europeanpolitics at present—were literally savagesof the Zerna-gora, as it is named, from themountains clothed with darkest pine, whichcover the greatest part of its surface—meninured to arms, hardship and cruelty fromtheir boyhood—without religion or scruple,save in implicit obedience to their chiefsor leaders; and in camp and out of it theycommitted many an awful outrage, thereport of which never found its way intothe columns of the Glas Czentagora orofficial journal of Montenegro.

Cecil knew that when leaving Palenka,he had, at the utmost, only some fortymiles to travel, with a horse that was freshand active; but its shoes had beentampered with, he had been driven fromhis proper path, and the difficulties of thathe traversed were now enhanced, as astorm came on.

Black and heavy clouds overhung thesavage landscape—for savage it seemed, inits utter solitude. For the hour, the skybecame preternaturally dark, and remainedso till night deepened; and far in the hazydistance the ghastly green forked lightningflashed with weird splendour about thepeaks of Mount Mezlanie, and the thunderboomed sullenly in the valleys below; andonce or twice, when he obtained glimpsesof the winding Morava, its current seemedincreasing, as if in haste to leave the stormbehind it.

Then the heavy smoke-like rain camedown with a species of roar on the earth,crashing through the foliage of the trees,for hours after the time that should haveseen our wanderer safe within the outpostsof Tchernaieff; but wild though the storm,he welcomed it as a means of concealinghim from his pursuers, for he felt that ifovertaken, his arm was yet so feeble as tomake him rather helpless. He wascompelled to ride slowly now, and with a firmhand on a shortened rein.

The enormous pine trees towered skywardlike giants, and seemed to assumesomething menacing in their aspect amidthe gloom. Knotted and gnarled stemsand roots also seemed to take the form ofthose grotesque monsters that figure in theforest through which Undine went; and inimagination perils mysterious and impalpableseemed to gather in the lonely pathof Cecil, who was not without an activeand fervid imagination.

At last he reached what appeared to bethe border of the woodlands he had beentraversing; the pathway grew broader;lights glittered out of the obscurity, andhe could make out the form of a two-storiedhouse, which he at once approached.

From the highway, as he supposed it tobe, a modern gate gave access to a paththrough an orchard, as he eventually found,and in the centre thereof stood the house—theinmates of which, a Servian farmer andhis family, received him with politenessrather than cordiality, and under theinfluence of the native distrust of allstrangers, though he wore the brownServian tunic of the patriotic army; buthis pleasant and genial manner, and thefairness of his complexion won him favour,and while his horse was being stabled, hesoon found himself installed before a woodfire, drying his sodden uniform, while thefarmer's wife prepared some food, and herspouse endeavoured to describe the way hemust pursue to reach the outposts ofTchernaieff, near Deligrad.

The house was a snug one. A tile-pavedentrance-hall gave access to a roomoff it with four shuttered windows; it wasfloored with red tiles; an iron stove stoodin a corner, and all round was a divancovered with rugs and cushions.

'Well,' thought Cecil, as some food wasset before him, 'there are worse things inthis world than taking pot-luck with aServian farmer!'

Youth and hunger alone made him relishthe plate of hot paprakash, or chicken soupwith tomatoes dressed with hot pepper,bread, cheese, and black coffee à la Turque,served up in pottery, the form of whichindicated a vast antiquity in its design—forthe jars, vases, and plates, glazed whiteand green, were all Roman in style, andmight have been used by the Emperor Trajan.

But little archæology was in Cecil'smind then; he was thankful to his hostessfor the meal she gave him, and was intenton the host's description of the route hemust pursue on the morrow, and was inthe act of accepting from the hands of theformer a tiny dish of the famous sweetmeatof Kirk-kelisie (near the Balkans),boiled grapes formed in a roll withwalnut-kernels, when a strange sound likea distant 'whoop' caught his ear, togetherwith the tramp of horses' hoofs. Then hefelt his heart leap and his colour change, or fade.

'Horsem*n are coming up the hollowway,' said a peasant, entering in haste.

'Horsem*n!' exclaimed Cecil, startingup and looking at once to his pistols.

'Armed, too—Montenegrins—I sawthem by a glimpse of the moon.'

'Guebhard and his gang—my pursuers.I am lost!' cried Cecil, leaping from thetable and buckling on his sword, as helooked hurriedly around him for concealment,defence, or escape.

His evident emotion and admission thathe had pursuers renewed at once the inbornmistrust of the Servian household, who allshrank from him. Despite his uniform andthe gold cross of Takovo, they imaginedhe must be a culprit, and felt neitherdisposed to conceal nor defend him. Even thegentle hostess eyed him now with horror,mistrust and affright.

Cecil saw in a moment that he hadnothing to hope for from his host, or theservants, among whom were four stalwartServians; and just as he heard the noiseof horsem*n dismounting at the door, andthe unmistakable voice of Guebhardsummoning the house, he hurried away to theupper story, and locking two doors behindhim, resolved with his sword and his pistolsto sell his life as dearly as possible.

By the noise and din below he becameaware that his pursuers had greatlyincreased in number, and now indeed a violentdeath seemed close to him—terribly so, andhis heart beat wildly.

'One can die but once,' thought he;'and why should we shrink from what wecannot shun?' he added, involuntarilyquoting Byron. If he perished in thatobscure and secluded place, who wouldthere be to regret him, save Mary? Andthen he thought of his comrades of theold Cameronians; but none would everknow his fate. There was something verybitter in that reflection, yet the memory ofthe regiment, and of his comrades, seemedto nerve him anew at this terrible crisis.

In the dark he sought about for furnitureto barricade the room-door, if it wasforced, and to form a barricade to fire over.A chest or two, a table and chairs, he piledagainst it, and then examined the window—itwas small, narrow, far from the ground,apparently; but all was obscurity anddarkness without, and unknown to him, therewas immediately beneath it a deep hole,formed by the farmer when digging forcopper ore. But now two minutes hadbarely elapsed, when shouts and execrationsfell upon his ears, together with the din ofblows upon the first door he had closed.

It was speedily beaten in, and then thedoor of the room was assailed. It seemedstronger, and for a time resisted the blowsthat were rained upon it.

'He wears a diamond ring, the gift ofPalenka, which will prove a fortune towhoever gets it,' he heard Guebhard sayin a loud voice; 'and he has a plan of thecampaign, well worth a thousand ducats tome, and more to Kara Georgevitch!'

But his Montenegrins scarcely neededthese incentives to outrage and bloodshed.

Through a hole in the door Cecil, for amoment, saw them crowding and jostlingin the narrow passage, by the light of atorch held by one of their number.Ferocious-looking they were, yet men ofmagnificent physique, in long white camises,open in front, with gaudy waistcoats below;their sashes filled with knives, yataghanssharp as needles, and brass-butted pistols;their faces inflamed by raki, their dark eyesgleaming like those of devils; their whiteteeth glistening; their wide bluepetticoat-trousers reaching to the knee, and theirfeet encased in thongs and sandals of hide.

A gleam of light flashed inward, as anaxe clove a rent in the door, and thereat,for a moment, he saw the gleaming eyesand pallid face of Guebhard, and he firedfull at it; but with what effect he never knew.

He fired again and again, at a venture,through the door, and so did his assailants;but their chance bullets went wide of theintended mark; while more than oneshriek and hoarse malediction announcedthat his fire had told on the group wedgedin the narrow space without; but now thedoor was yielding fast, and Cecil, awarethat when once it was broken down hewould inevitably perish by a death tooprobably of protracted mutilation andtorture, threw open the window andresolved to drop therefrom.

Firing all the chambers of his revolverat the door, through the splintered gaps inwhich a red light was streaming now, helowered himself down, just as two of hisassailants came rushing round a corner ofthe house, intending, no doubt, to cut offhis retreat; and quitting his hold on thewindow-sill, he fell down—down—he knewnot whither; but it was into the excavationalready mentioned, and there he layfor some moments, stunned, confused, andwell-nigh senseless, and incapable of furtherthought or action.

Round the hole, wherein he lay, hispursuers gathered.

'Here he lies!' exclaimed Guebhard,'stunned or dead!'

'A single shot to make sure!' said one,co*cking his long brass pistol.

'Not one!' cried Guebhard, imperatively;'I hear cavalry moving through thewood—perhaps those we might be sorry tomeet. He lies still enough—some of ourballs must have hit him—I saw blood inthe room.'

That was the case certainly; but it wasblood from the wounds of some of his ownfollowers.

'Hark!' he added, as the sound of acavalry trumpet was heard close by; 'hereare shovels—cover him up—and when thehorse are past, we can return and get whatwe want, at leisure.'

Cecil heard all this; he never stirred—scarcelybreathed; and now he felt shovelfulafter shovelful of earth thrown uponhim, cold, damp, and moist, as theyproceeded, not to bury, but merely to coverhim up, with the intention of concealing, asthey thought, the dead body for a briefspace.

No groan, no sigh, no sound, escapedhim, while this horrible process went on;yet he felt a horror and dismay nolanguage can depict, as he knew not howmuch soil they might heap upon him.

Unseen, or unnoticed by them, heeventually felt himself compelled to movehis head, lest his face should be covered ascompletely as his body was; and thensuffocation would ensue.

At last a great mass was shovelled in;his head was entirely concealed, and thenGuebhard and his Montenegrins withdrewfrom the spot.

END OF VOL. II.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYPERS, GUILDFORD.
J. W. & Sons.