Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 27 September 1877 — Page 7

PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE.

'.v.- 1*

A Novel of Thrilling Interest About the Great Strikes in England.

BY CHARLES RKADE.

Continued from Last Issue.

"But, Mr. Raby," said grace, ruefully,

4,I'm

with my back to the holly-tree." "You can ask Coventry to change places."

Mr. Coventry rose, and the change was effected. "Well, it is your doing, Ceventry. Now fche'll overlook YOU." "All the better for me, perhaps I'm content: Miss Carden will look at the holly, and I shall look at Miss Carden'" -v i-' 'Faate de mieux.' 'C'est mediant.' 'And I shall fine you both a bumper of champagne, for goiug out of the English language.' •I shall take my punishment like a man.' 'Then take mine as well. Champagne with me means frenzy.'

But, in the midst of the easy banter and jocose airy nothings of the modern dining-room, an object attracted Grace's ye. It was a picture, with its face turnsd to the wall, and some large letters on the back of the canvass.

This excited Grace's curiosity di reCtlv, and, whenever she could without being observed, she peeped, and tried to read •he inscription but, what with Mr. Kahead, and a monster candle that ,tood before it, she could not decipher unobserved. She was inclined to xsk Mr. Raby but she was very quick, ind, observing that the other portraits #ere of his family, she suspected at once .hat the original of this picture had ofended her host, and that it would be in iad taste, and might be offensive, to juestion him. Still the subject took jossession of her.

At about eight o'clock a servant anlounced candles in the drawing-room. Upon this Mr. Raby rose, and withut giving her any option in the matter, anded Iter to the door with obsolete eference.

In the drawing-ioom she found a arpsichord, a spinet, and a piano, all ned expressly for her. This amlised er, as 6he had never seen either of the older instruments in her life. She layed on them all three.

Mr. Raby had the doors throwft* (S^en hear her. She played some pretty little things om Mendelssohn, Spohr, and Schuert.

The gentlemen smoked and praised. Then 6he found an old music-book, played Handel's overture to Otho, the'minubt The gentlemen left off praising directly, came silently into the room to hear immortal melodist. But this is the le in music the lips praise the gentl. latinous, the heart bi'ats fn silence at .uJghty melodious. Tea and otee came direct! after arils, a.id, ere the,) were disposed of, servant announced "'The NVassailers.' "Well, letthtm in," said Mr. Raby. The school children and ung people of the llage trooped in, and made their obeis.ce, and sang the Christmas Carol—

God rest you, merry gentlemen. Lot nothing you iKsmay. hen one of the party produced an image the Virgin and Child, and another fered comfits in a box: a third prented the wassail cup, into which Raby imediately poured some silver, and oventry followed his example. Grace knbled Tor her purse, and, when she had and it, began to fumble in it for her ver, But Raby lost all patience, and said, ?here, I g'ive this for the lady, and fche'll .y me next Christmas." 4, The wassailers departed, and the juire went to say a kind word %ot hi* mbler guests. Miss Carden took that opportunity to

Mr. Coventry if he had noticed the :ture with its facet® the wall. He said had. 'Do you know who it is?' •No idea.' 'Did you read the inscription 'No. But, if you are curious, I'll go ck to the dining-room, and read it.' I'm afraid he might be angry. There no excuse tor going there now.' Send me for your pocket-handkei-ief. 'Please see whether I have left my cket-handkerchief in the dining-room, r. Coventry,' said Grace, demurely._ Mr. Coventry smiled, and hurried •ay. But he 60011 came back to say candles were all out, the windows en, and the servants laying the cloth supper. 'Oh, never mind, then," said Grace hen we go in to. supper I'll look myt."

But a considerable time elapsed before per, and Mr. Coventry spent this time making love rather ardently,

Grace in defending herself her teebly. [t was nearly eleven o'clock when r. Raby joined them, and they all nt into supper. There were candles hted on the table and a few here and sre upon the walls: but the room was ry sombre: and MB. Raby informed :m this was to remind them of the ral darkness, in which the world lay ore the great event they were about :elebrate. le then helped each ot them to a le full of frumety, remarking at the ie time, with a grim smile, that they re not obliged to eat it there aid be a very different supper aficr jnight. L'hen a black-letter Bible was brought and he readmit all to himself at a -table.

1

tier an interval of 6ilence #0 passed, re was a gentle tap at the bay window. .Raby

went

and threw

it

open, and.

ediately a woman'# voice, full, clear, ringing, sang outside: he first Noel the angels did say, as to three poor shepheards, in fields hey lay fields where they were keeping their

&

--I

a cold winter's night that was so p» Chorus. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,

Born is the King of Israel,

chorus was also sung outside. uring the chorus one of the doors ned and Jael Dence came in by it the treble singer, who was theblackith's sister, came in at the window, and the two women inet in the room and the second verse in sweetest harny. These two did not like invalids, as their re refined sisters too often do from

their broad chests and healthy lungs, and noble throats, and above all, their musical hearts, they poured out the harmony so clear and full, that every glass in the roorrr rang like a harp, ana a bolt ot ice seemed to 6hoot down Grace Carden's back bone and, in the chorus, gentle George's bass was like a diapason. They looked up and saw a star That shone in the East beyond them far And unto the earth it gave a great light. And so it continued bath day and night.

Chorus. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel. As the "Noel proceeded some came in at the window, others at the doors, and the lower part of the room began to fill with singers and auditors.

The Noel ended there was a silence, during which the organ was opened, the bellows blown, and a number of servants and others came into the room with little lighted tapers, and stood, in a long row. awaiting a signal from the Squire

He took out his watch, and, finding it was close oh twelve o'clock, directed the doors to be flung open, that he might hear the great clock in the hall strike the quarters.

There was a solemn hush of expectation, that made the sensitive heart of Grace Carden thrill with anticipation.

The clock struck the first quarter— dead bilence the second—the third— dead silence.

But, at the fourth, and with the first stroke of midnight, out burst the full organ anir* fiftv voices, with the Gloria in exgeUis Deo and, a* that divine hymn surged on, the lighters ran along the walls and lighted the eighty candles, and, for the first time, the twelve waxen pillars, so that, as the hymn concluded, the room was in a blaze", and it was Christmas Day.

Instantly an enormous punch-bowl was brought to the host. He put his lips to it and said, "Friends, neighbors, I wish you all a merry Christmas." 'ihen there was a cheer that made the whu*c house epho and, by this time, the tears were running down Grace Carden's cheeks.

She turned aside to hide her pious erao» tion, and found herself right opposite the picture, with this inscription, large and plain in the blaze of light— 'GONE INTO TRADE."

If. in the midJle of the pious harmony, that had stirred her soul, some blaring trumpet had played a polka, in another key, it could hardly have jarred ,more upon her devotional frame, than did this earthly line, that glared out between two gigantic yule candles, just lighted in honof Him, whose mother was in trade when he was born.

She turned from it with deep repugnance, and seated herself in silence at the table.

Very early in the supper she made an excuse, and "retired to her room: and, as she went out, her last glance was at the mysterious picture. bhe saw it again next morning at break.last-time but, it must be owned, Aith different eyes. It was no longer contrasted with a religious ceremony, and with the sentiments of gratitude and hu milky proper to that occasion, when we commemorate His hirth, whose mother iiad gone into trade. The world, and society, whose child she was, seemed now to Bpeak with authority from the canvas, and to warn her how vain and hopeless were certain regrets, which lay secretly, I might say "clandestinely, at hei heart.

She revered her godfather, and it was no small nor irrelevant discovery to find that he had actually turned a picture in disgrace to the wall, because its owner had decended to the level, or probably not quite to the level, of Henry Little.

Jael Dence came tip from the farm on Christmas afternoon, and almost the first word Grace spoke was to ask her if she knew whose picture that was in the dining room'. This vague description was enough for Jael. She said she cpuld not tell lor certain, but she had once heard her father s&y it was the Squire's Own sister but, when she had pressed him on the subject, the jld man had rebuked her—told her not to meddle too much with ether folks' business. 'And to be sure, Squire has his reasons, no doubt,' said Jael, rather dryly. •The reaaon that is written on the back?' •Ay: and a very poor reason too, to my mind.' 'You are not the best judge of that— excuse me for saying so. Oh dear, I wish I could see it.' •Ddn't think of such a'thing, Miss. You can't, however, for it's padlocked down that wayybu could never loose it without being found out. No longer agone than last Yule-time 'twas only turned, and not fastened. But 'they say in the kitchen, that one day mst month Squire had them all up, and said the picture had been tampered with while he was at Hillsborough and he t-colded, and had it strapped and padlocked as it is.

The reader can imagine the effect of these freh revelations. And a lover was at hand of good birth, good manners and approved by her godfather. That lover saw her inclining towards him, and omitted nothing to compliment and please her. To be 6ure, that was no uphill work, for he loved her better than he had ever loved a woman in his lite, which was a good deal to say in his case.

They spent Christmas Day \ery hap pily together. Church in the morning then luncheon then thick boots, a warmer 6haw!, and a little walk all together for Mr. Raby took a middle course since no positive engagement existed, he would hot allow his fair guest to go about with Mr. Coventry alone, and sc be compromised, even in village eyes butv on the other hand, by stopping now and then to give an order, or exchange a word, he gave Coventry many opportunities, and that gentleman availed him* selt of them with his usual Uct.

In the .evening they sat round tne great fire, and Mr. Raby mulled and spiced red wine by a family receipt, a huge silver saucepan and they sipped the hot and generous beverage, and told stories and legends, the custom of the house jon Christmas night. Mr. Raby was an inexhaustible repertory ot ghost-stories and popular legends. But I select one that was told by Mr. Coventry, and told with a certain easy grace that gave it no little interest-

MR. Co VENT RY'S TAI When I was quite a child, there was a very old woman living in our village that used to frighten me with her goggle eyes, and muttering. She passed for a witch, I think and when she -died—I was eight years old then—old people put their heads together, and told

THE TERRE HAUTE WEEKLY OAZKTTK.

strange stories about her early life. It seems that this Moll) Slater was away in service at Bollington, a village half way between our place and Hillsborcugh, and her fellow-servants used to qniz her because she had no sweetheart. At last, she told them to wait till next Hillsboro' fair, and they should see. And, just before the fair, she reminded them of their sneers, and said shg would not come home without a sweetheart, though she took the Evil one himself. For all that, she did leave the tair alone. But, as she trudged home in the dark, a man overtook her, and made acquainjanee with her. Ht was a pleasant fellow, and teld her his name was William Easton, Of course she could not see his lace very well, but he had a wonderfnlly sweet voice. After that night he used to court her, and sing to her, but always in the dark. He never would face a candle, though he was challenged to more than once. One night there was a terrible noise heard—-it is described a* if a number ot men were threshing out corn upon the roof—and Molly Slajer was found wedged irr between the bed and the wall, in a,place where there was scarcely room to put Your hand. Several strong men tried to extricate her by force but both the bed and the woman's body resisted so strangely that, at last, they thought it best to send for the parson. He was a great scholar, and himself under some suspicion of knowing more than it would be good for any less pious, person to know. Well, the parson came and took a candle that was burning, and held it to the place where poor Molly was imprisoned, and moaning and they say he turned pale, and shivered, for all his learning. I forget what he said or did next but by-and-by there was a colloquy in a whisper between him and some person unseen and they say that this unseen whisper wa6 very sweet, and something like the chords of a harp, only low and very articulate. The parson whispered, 'God gives a sinner time.' The sweet voice answered, 'He can afford to he is the stronger.' Then the parson adjured the unseen one to wait a year and a day. But he refused, still in the gentlest voice Then the parson said these words "By all we love and fear, by all you fear and hate, I adjure you to loose her, or wait till next Christmas Eve.:

I suppose the evil spirit saw some trap in that proposal, for he is said to have laughed most musically. He answered: 'By all I fear and hate, I'll loose her never but, but I'll %yait for her till the candle's burn out and he chulkled most musically again. 'Then wait to all eternity,' the parson roared and blew the candle out directly, and held it, with his hands crossed over it,"

Grace Carden's eyes sparkled in the firelight "Go on," she cried excitedly. The girl was loosed casilv enough after that but she was found ^o be in a swoon, and not the least bruised, though ten villagers had been pulling at her one after another." "And what became of her afterwards?"

She liveJ to be 96. and died in my time. I think she had money left her, But she never married and when sne was old she wandered about the lanes, muttcrine, and frightening little boys, myself among the number. But now my little story follows another actor of the tale." 'Oh, I'm so glad it is not over.' 'No. The parson topic the candle •away, and it was never seen again. But, somehow, it got wind that he had built it into the wall of the church perhaps he didn say so, but was only understood to say so, However, people used to look around the church for the place. And now comes the most remarkable thing of all three years ago the present rector repaired the floor of the chancel, intending to put down encaustic tiles. Much his Surprise, the workmen found plenty of old en«au9tic tiles: they had been interred as rubbish at some period, when antiquity and beauty were less respected than they are now, I suppose.'

Mr. Raby broke i.i, "The Puritans. Barbarians! beasts! It was just like them. Well, sir-*-?." •'When the rector found that, he excavated more than was absolutely necessary for his purpose, and the deeper he went the more encuastic tiles. In one place they got down to the foundation, and they found an oak chest fast in the ro£k,—a sort ot chanel had been cut in the rock for this chest, or rather box (for it was only about eighteen inches long), to lie in. The master mason jvas there luckily and would not move it till the rector had seen it. He was sent for, but half the parish was there before nirn and he tells me there were three theories firmlv established, and proved, before he could" finish his bsSakfast and get to the spot, theory of Wilder, the village grocer: 'It is treasure hidden by them there sly old u.onks." Mr. Wilder is a miser, and is known to lay up money. He is, I believe, the only man left in tne North Country who ean show you a hundred spade guinea^"

Mr. Raby replied energetically. "I respect him." Wilder forever What was the next theory'?" '•The skeleton of a chiid. I. fjrget who propounded this but I believe it earned the majority. But the old sexton gave it a blow. 'Nay, nay,' said he •them is the notions of strangers. I was born here, and my father aton me. It will be Molly Slaters candle, and nought else.' Then the whole story about poor "Molly came up again over the suspected box. but I am very tedious.

Tedious! You are delightful, and thrilling, and pray go on. The rector had the box opened?

On the spot, Weill "The box went to pieces, in spite of all their care. But there was no doubt as to its contents."

Grace exclaimed, enthusiastically, "A candle. Oh, do say a candle!" Mr. Coventry responded, "It's awfully tempting but I suspect the traditional part ot my story is SLIGHTLY EMBELLISHED: so the historical part must be accurate. What the box did really contain, to my knowledge, was a rush-wick, much thicker than they are made nowadays and this rushwich was impregnated with grease, and even lightly coated with a sort of brown wafer-like paste. 'The rector thinks it was a combination ot fine dust from the box with the original grease. He shall show it you, il ^ou are carious to see it." "Of course we are curious. Oh, Mr. Raby, what a strange story, And how well he told it." 'Admirably. We must drink his health.' "Til wish it him instead, because I require all my reason just now to understand his story. And I don^t under­

stand it, after all. There you found the candle, and so it is all true. But what does the rector think?' 'Well, he says there is no conncction whatever between the rush-wi 2k and—' 'Don't tell her what HE says,' cried Raby, with a sudden fury that made Grace start and open her eyes. 'I know the uppy. He is what is called a divine nowaJays but used to be called a skeptic. There never was so infidel an age. Socinus was content to prove Jesus Christ a man but Renan has gone and proved him a Frenchman. Nothing is so gullible as an unbeliever. The right reverend father in God, Cocker, has gnawed away the Old Testament the Oxford doctors are nibbling away the New: nothing escapes but the apochiypa: yet these same skeptics believe the impudent lies, and monstrous arithmetic, of geology, which babbles about a million years, a period actually beyond the comprehension of the human intellect and takes up a jawbone, that some sly navvy has transplanted overnight from the churchyard into Lord knows what stratum, fees the navvy, gloats over the bone, and knocks the Bible down with it No, Mr. Coventry, your story is a good one, and well told don't let us defile it with the comments of a skeptical credulous pedant. Fill your glass, sir. Here's to old religion, old stories, ol 1 songs, old houses, old wine, old friend?, or" (recovering himself with admirable^ grace) "to new friends that are to be old ones ere we die. Come, let the stronger vessel drink, and the weaker vessel sip, and all say togeth er, after me—

Well may we all b«., III may we never see,

,y.j That make good company ..' Beneath the roof of Raby."

When this rude rhyme had been repeated in chorous, there was a little silence, and the con versa ion took a somewhat deeper tone. It began through Grace asking Mr. Raby, with all the simplicity of youth, whether be had ever seen anything supernatural with his ow.i eyes. "For instance,*' said she, "this deserted church of yours, that you say the shepherd said he 6aw on fire- did YOU see that? ".Not I. Indeed, the church is not in 6ight from here. No, Grace, I never saw any thing 'supernatural: and I am sorry for it, for I laugh at the people's notion that a dead man has any power to injure the living how can a cold wind come from a disembodied spirit? I am all that a ghost is, «nd something more and I only Wish I could call the dead from their graves I'd soon have a dozen gentlemen and ladies out of that old church-yard into this very room. And, if they would only come, you could see me converse with them as civily and as calmly as I am doing with you. The fact is, I have some questions to put, which only the dead can an&wer— passages in the family correspondence, referring to things I can't make out for the life of me." "Oh, Mr. Raby, pray don't talk in this dreadful way, tor fear they should be angr and come." And Grace looked fearfully'round over her shoulder.

Mr. Raby shook his head and there was a dead silence. Mr. Raby broke it rather unexpected ly. "But, said he gravely, "if I have seen nothing, I've heard something. Whether it was supernatural, I can't 6ay but, at least, it was unaccountable and terrible. I have heard THE GABRIEL HOUNDS!"

Mr. Coventry and Grace looked at one another, and then inquired, almost in *a breath, what the Gabriel hounds were. "A strange thing in the air that is said, in these parts, to toretell calamity." "Oh dear!" said Grace, "this is thrilling again pfay tell us:" "Well, one night I was at Hillsborough on business, and as I walked by the old parish church, a great pack ot beagles, in fullcrv, passed close over my head.""Oh!" 'Yes they startled me, as I never was startled in my life before. I had never heard of the Gabriel hounds then, and I was stupefied I think I leaned against the wall there full five minutes, betore I recovered myself, and went on. •Oh dear! But did anything come oi it?' 'You shall judge tot voiirsclf. I had left a certain house about an hour and a half: there was trouble in that house, but only of a pecuniary kind. To tell the truth, I came back with some money for them, or rather, I should say, with the promise of it, I found the wife in a swoon: and, up stairs, her husband lay dead by his own hand.' 'Oh, my dear god papa!' cricd Grace, flinging her arm tenderly round his neck. 'Ay, my chiid, and the trouble did not end there. Insult followed ingratitude and a family feud, which is not healed yet, and never will be—till she and her brat come on their knees to me.'

Mr. Raby had no sooner uttered these last words with great heat, than he was angry with himself. "Ah said he, the older a man gets, the weaker. To think of my mentioning that to you young people And he rose and walked about the room in considerable agitation and vexation. "Curse the Gabriel hounds! It is the first time I have spoke of them since that awful night it is the last time I will ever speak ot them. What they are, God who made them, knows. Only I pray I may never hear them again, nor any friend of mine."

Next morning Jael Dence came up to the Hall, and almost the first question Grace asked her was, whether she had ever heard of the Gabriel hounds.

Jael looked rather puzzled. Grace described them after Mr. Raby. "Why, that will be Gabble Retchet," said Jael. "I wouldn't talk much about the like, if I was you, Miss."

But Grace persisted, and- at last extracted from her that sounds had repeatedly been heard in the air at night, as of a pack of hounds in full cry, and that these hounds ran before Trouble. "But," said Jael, solemnly, 'they are not hounds at all they are the souls of the unbaptized children wandering in the air till the day of judgmf nU"

This description, however probable had the effect of making Grace disbelieve the phenomenon altogether, and* she showed her incredulity by humming a little air.

But Jael soon- stopped that, "Oh, Miss, pray don't do so. If you sing before breakfast, vou'll cry before supper."

At (breakfast, Mr. Coveatry invited Miss Carden to go to the top of Cairnhope Peak, and look over four counties. He also told her she could see Boilinghope House, his own place, very well from the Peak.

Grace assented: aud,•immediately after

I

breakfast, begged Jael to be in the way to accompany her. She divined, 'vith feminine quickness, th*t Mr. Coventry would be very apt, if he pointed out Bollinghope House to her from the top of a mountain, to say, "Will you be its mistress?" but, possiblyshe did not wish to be hurried, or it may have been only a mer« instinct, au irrational impulse pf self defense, with which the judgement had nothing to do or perhaps it was simple modesty. Any way,she engaged Jael to be of the party.

It was talked of again at luncheon, and then Mr. Raby put in a word. "I have one stipulation to make, young people, and that is that you go up the east side, and down the same way. It is all saf« walking on that side. I shall send you in my four-wheel to the foot of the hill, and George will wait for you there at the 'Colley Dog' public-house, and bring you home again."

This was, ot course, accepted with thanks, and the four-wheel came around at two o'clock. Jael was seated in front by the side of George, who drove Mr. Coventry and Grace, behind. He had his fur-cloak to keep his companion warm on retumine from the hill but Mr. Raby, who did nothing by halves, threw in some more wraps, and gave a warm one to jael she was a favorite witb hira, as indeed were all the Dences.

They started gayly, and rattled oft ta good pace. Betore they had got many yards on the high-road, they passed a firplantation, belonging to Mr. Raby, and a magpie fluttered out of this, and flew across the road before tha:n.

Jael seized the reins and pulled them so powerfully, she stopped the pony directly. "Oh, the foul bird!"' she cried, "turn back! turn back!" "What for?'' inquired Mr. Coventry. "We shall meet with trouble else! One magpie! and right athwart us too." "What nonsense!" said Grace. "Nay, nay, it is not Squire knows better. Wait just one minute till 1 speak to Squire!" She sprang from the carriage at one bound, and holding up her dress with one hand, ran into the house like a lapwing. "The good, kind, silly thing!" said Grace Carden.

Jael soon found Mr. Raby, and told him about the magpie, and begged him to come out and order them back.

But Mr. Raby smi ed, and shook his head. "That won't do. Young ladies and gentlemen of the present day don't believe in omens." "But you do know better, sir. I have heard father say you were going into Hillsborough with him one day. and a magpie flew across, and father persuaded you to turn back." #4 "That is true he was goiqg in to buy some merino sheep, ai.d 1 to deposit my rents in Carrington's bank. Next day the bank broke. And the merino sheep all died within the ear. But how many thousand times does a magpie cross us and nothing come of it Come, run away, my good girl, and don't keep them waiting."

Jael obeyed, with a sigh. She went back to her party—they were gone. The carriage was just disappe ring round a turn in the road. She looked at it in amazement, aud even with anger, it seemed to her a brazen act of bad faith. 'I wouldn't have believed itofher,' said she, and she went back to the house mortified and grieved. She did not go to Mr, Raby again but he happened to catch sight of her an hour afterwards, and called to her—'How is this, Jael? Have you let them go alone, because of a magDie?' And he looked displeased. 'Nay, sir: nhe gave me the slip, while I went to speak to you for good and 1 call it a dirty trick, saving your presence. I tolk her I'd be back in a moment.' "Oh, it is not her doing, you may be sure it is the young gentleman, lie saw a chance to get her alone, and of cotirse he took it. I am not very well pleased but 1 suppose she knows her own mind. It is to be a marriage, no doubt." He smoothed it over, but was a little put out and staiked away without another word: he had said enough to put Jael's bosem in a flutter, and open a bright prospect to her heart Miss Carden once disposed of in marriage, what might she not hope? She now reflected, with honest pride, that she had merited Henry's love by rare unselfishness. She had adyised him loyally, had even co-operated with him as far as any poor girl, with her feelings tor him, could do and now Mr. Coventry was going to oppose marriage to her rival, and she believed Misa Carden would say 'yes,' though she could not in her heart believe that even Mi»s Carden did not prefer the other, 'Ay, lad,' safd she, 'if I am*able to win thee, I'll be able to say I won. thee fair.'

These sweet thoughts and hopes soon removed her temporary anger, and nothing remained to dash the hopeful joy that warmed that large and loyal heart this afternoon, except a gentle misgiving that Mr. Coventry might make Grace a worse husband than she deserved. It was thus she read the magpie, from three o'clock till six that afternoon.

Whpn a man and a worn in do any thing wrong, it is amusing to hear the judgments of other men and wometf thereupon. The men all blame the man, and the women,all the woman. That is jndgment. is it not?

But in some cases our pitchfarthing judgements must be either heftds or tails so Mr. Raby, who had cried heads, when a Mrs. Raby would have cried 'woman,' was right it WAS Mr. Coventry, and not 'Miss Carden, who leaned over to George, ani whispered, 'A sovereign, to drive on without her! Make some excuse.'

The cunning Yorkshire groom's eye twinkfed at this, and he remained passive a minute or two: then, said suddenly, with well-acted fervor, *1 can't keep thet pony waiting in the cold, like this applied the whip, and rattled off with such decision, that Grace did not like to interfere, especially as George was known to be one of those hard masters, an old servant.

So, by this little ruse, Mr. Coventry had got her all to himself for the afternoon. And now she felt sure he would propose that very day.

She made no ^movement whatever either to advance or to avoid the declaration.^''

It is five miles: from Baby Hall, through Cairn hope village, to the eastern foot of Cairnhope and while George rattles them over the hard and frosty road, I will tell the reader something about this young gentleman, who holds the winning cards.

Mr. Frederick Coventry was a man oC the world. He began life with a good estate, and a large fund accumulated dur* ing his minority.

He spent all the money in learning thfc world at home and abroad and when it was all gone he opened one eye.

But, as a man cannot see very ckar

with one orb, he exchanged rouge-et-noir^ etc., for the share-market, and, in other respects, lived as fast as ever, till he ha# mortgaged his estate rather hearu/. Then he began to open both eyes.

Next, he fell in love with Grace Carden anJ upon that he opened both eyes very wide, and wished very much he had has time to live over again.

Nevertheless, he was not much to be pitied. He had still an estate, which, with due care, could pay off its encuaa* branees and he had gathered some valuable knowledge. He knew women better than most men, and he knew whist profoundly." Above all, he had acquired what Voltaire justly calls le grand art de plaire he had studied this art as many women study it, and few men. Why, he even watched the countenance," and smoothed the rising bristles of those he wished to please, or did not wish to displease. This was the easier to him that he had no 6trong .convictions on any great topic. It is your plaguy convictions that make men stubborn and disagreeable.

A character of this kind is very susceptible, either of good or evil influences and his attachment to Or ace Carden was turning him the right way.

Add to this a good figure and a distiim guished air, and you have some superficial idea of the gentleman towards whom Grace Carden found hetself drawn circumstances, and not unwillingly, though not with that sacred joy and thrill which marks a genuine passion.

They left George end the trap at the "Colley Dog," and ascended the mountain. There were no serious difficulties on this side but still there were little occasional asperities, that gave the lover an opportunity to offer his arm and Mr. Coventry threw a graceful devotion even into this slight act of homage. He wosed her with perfect moderation at first it was not his business to alarm her at starting he proceeded gradually and, by the time they had reached the" summit^ he had felt his way, and had every reason to hope she would accept him.

At the summit the remarkable beauty of the view threw her into raptures, ana interrupted the more interesting topic an which he was bent.

But the man of the world showed no impatience (I don't say he felt none) he answered all Grace's questions, and toM her what all the places were. 4

But, by-and-by, the atmosphere thick* ened suddenly in that quarter, and he then told her gently he had some* thing to show her on the other side the knob.

He conducted her to a shed the shepherds had erected, and seated her on a rude bench. "You must be a little tired/* he said.

Then he showed her, ia the valley, one of those delightful old red brick houses, Witts stone facings. That is Bollinghope.

She looked at it with polite interest Do you like it? Very much.. It warms the landscape so lie expected a more prosaic answec but he 100k her cue.

I wish it wan a great deal prettier thaa it,is, and its owner a much better mau richer—wiser—

You are hard to please, Mr. Coventry!. Miss Card?n—Grace—may I call you Grace?

It seems to me you have done it» & Biit I.had no right.' Then, 01 course, you will never do it again.

I bhould be very unhappy if I thought that. Miss Carden, I think you know how dear you are to me, and have been ever since 1 first met you. I wish I had ten times more to offer you than I have* But I am only a poor gentleman, of good descent, ?ut moderate means, as you see." Comedie! (Bollinghope was the sort of house that generally goes witk £5000 a year at least.) 'I don't care about your means, Mr.. Coventry,' said Grace, with a lofty smile. *It is your amiubte character that I esteem.' 'You forgive me for loving you for hoping that yon will let me lead you U» my poor house there', as my adored wife:'

It had come and, although she knew it was coming, yet her face was dyed with blushes. 'I esteem you very much,' shefaltered, 'I thank you tor the honor you do me but 1—oh, pray, let me think what 1 cm doing.' Sne covered her lace with her hands, and her bosom panted visibly.

Mr. Coventry loved her sincerely, and his own heart 4eat high at this moment. Heaugured well from her agitation but presently he saw something that puzzled him, and gave a man of his experience a qualm.

A tear forced its way between her fingers another and another soon followed.

Coventry said to himself, There's some other man." And he bighed heavily but even in this moment of true and strong feeling he was on hi* guard and said nothing.

It was his wisest course. Shewas left to jieraelf, and an amazing piece of female logic came to Mr. Coventry's aid: She found herself crying, and got frightened at herself That,' which would have made a man pause, had ^u*t the opposite effect on her. She felt that MO good could come to any body of those wild and weak regrets that made her weep. Sha saw she had -A weakness and a folly to cure*' herself of, and the cure was at hand. There was magic in marriage a gentleman, could, somehow, iffAKI a girl love him, when once she had married him. Mr. Coventry abould be enabled to make her love him he should cure her of this trick of crying it woultt be the best thing for every body—f6r HIM, for Jael, for Mr. Coventry, and even for herself.

She dried her eyes, and said, in a low, tremulous voice: "Have yea spoken papa of—ofthis "No. 1 waited to be authorised you. May I sneak to him

Yet. z"May I tell him—?'* Ob, I can't tell you what to tell him. Hdw dark it is getting Please take me home/' Another tear or two.

Then, if Coventry had not loved her sincerely, and also been a man of the world, he woqld have lost his temper: and if he had lost his temper, he -would have log the lady, for sbcfwould have seiaed'theSfoat oppoitunity to quarrel. But nfe he' took her hand gently, and set himself to eoptfort her. He poured out his love to hijr, and promised her a lite of wedded happiness. He drew so delightful a picture of their wedded life, and ina voice

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