stern, and were not looking at me, but beyond me. One moment I thought his fever had returned, but following his gaze, I looked round; there stood Lady Cairnedge. She had come close behind me. John was face to face with his mother, and my uncle was not there to defend him. I felt it an awful moment. "Are you ready?" she said, nor pretended greeting. She seemed slightly discomposed and in haste. I was by this time well aware of my lover's determination of character, but I was not prepared for the tone in which he addressed the icy woman calling herself his mother. "I am ready to listen," he answered. "John!" she returned, with mingled severity and sharpness. "Let us have no masquerading. You are perfectly fit to come home with me, and you must come at once. The carriage is at the door." "You are quite right, mother!" answered John calmly; "I am fit to go home with you. But Rising does not quite agree with me. I dread such another attack, and do not mean to go yet." The drawing-room had a rectangular bay-window, one of whose three sides commanded the door. The opposite side looked into a little grove of larch-trees. Lady Cairnedge had already realized the position of the room. She darted to the window, and saw the carriage but a few yards away. She tried to throw up the sash but failed. Without a moment's hesitation, she twisted her handkerchief round her gloved hand, and dashed it through a pane. "Men!" she cried, in a loud, imperative voice," come at once!" The moment she went to the window, I sprang to the door of the room, locked it, took out the key, put it in my pocket, and stood with my back to the door. I heard the men thundering at the door of the house. Lady Cairnedge turned toward the door, as if she would herself open the house door, saw me standing, understood what I had done, went back to the window, and called again to her ser I darted to the chimney, where for John's sake a clear fire was burning, caught up the poker, and thrust it between the bars. "The "That's for you!" I whispered. men will not touch you with that in your hand. Defend yourself; never mind about me. If your mother move hand or foot to help them, then it is my turn! He gave me a smile and a nod, and his eyes lightened. I saw that he trusted me, and I felt fearless as a bull-dog. In the mean time, she had been talking to her men, and they were looking how to take the sash out of the window. Then I saw that John could defend himself much better at the window than after they had got into the room. I went softly up behind his mother as she watched the men, put my hands round her neck and clasped them in front, then pulled her backward with all my strength. It was done in a moment. We fell on the floor together, I under of course, but clutching as if all my soul were in my fingers. I felt like a tigress fighting for her cub. "To the window, John," I cried, "and break all their heads!" He snatched the poker from the fire, and the next moment I heard a crashing of glass, but of course I could not see what was going on. It was no noble way of fighting, but life was at stake. What was dignity to me where John was in danger! But, awkward as was my enemy's position, mine was not much less so, and while determined to hold on to the last, I felt she would soon get the better of me, for she was much bigger and stronger, and kicked and struggled like a mad woman. Suddenly the tug of her hands on mine ceased. She gave a great shriek. I felt a shudder go through her. She lay still. I relaxed my hold cautiously, for I feared it might be a trick to get free. Then horror seized me, and I writhed from under her to see what I had done, for I thought I had killed her. But as I rose I caught sight of the pale face of my uncle pressed against that part of the window that looked into the grove, and immediately remembered how Lady Cairnedge had looked at sight of him before; I knew then the cause of her outcry, though not the reason, and that I had not hurt her. The next moment my uncle flew to the other side of the window, and fell upon the men with a stick in such fury that he drove them for refuge to the carriage. But there the horses, frightened at the noise behind them, began to add to the tumult. They went prancing about the drive, rearing and jibbing, so ་ that two of the men had to run to the help | evening. "But what could the sight of of the coachman to prevent catastrophe. my uncle have to do with it?" I asked. From the moment they flew to the horses' " Probably he knows something, or she heads, they saw no more of their assailant, thinks he does," he answered. nor did I. John left the window, where he had not got a fair blow at one of his besiegers, and came to me where I was trying to do what I could for his mother, who seemed in a dead faint. While we busied ourselves to restore her, the third man came softly to the much-broken window, put his hand through, undid the catch, and flung the sash wide. John looked, left his mother, caught up the poker from the floor, and darted to the window. "Set one foot within the window you may, perhaps, Parker," he said, "but if you put your head in, I swear I will break it." The man did not heed him, not believ ing he would hurt him, and put his head through the window. Now John had honestly threatened the man with the poker, fully intending to use it. But it is one thing to threaten and another to perform; it is one thing to raise a poker, and another to strike a head with it. John did indeed raise the weapon, but when he saw the dumb, blind back of the man's head, he could not bring the horrid poker and it together. He threw it from him, and casting his eyes about, saw a huge family Bible on a side table. He sprang to it, and caught it up-just in time. For the man had got one foot firm on the floor and was slowly drawing in the other, when down came the Bible on his head with all the force John could add to its weight. He tumbled senseless on the floor. "Here, Orbie!" cried John; "help me to bundle him out before he comes to himself. Take what you would have! he said, as between us we shoved him out on the gravel. There his companions found him and attended to him. There was no more getting in at the window. I fetched smelling-salts and brandy, and everything I could think of -fetched Penny, but she could suggest nothing better; Lady Cairnedge lay motionless. She breathed, but did not open her eyes. We lifted her, and laid her on the sofa. John stood looking at her, very ready to do anything for her, but expressing in his countenance little compassion. Whatever the cause of his mother's fainting, which he had never seen happen before, he was certain it had to do with some bad passage in her life. He said so to me that same "Wouldn't it be better to put her to bed, and send for the doctor, Jahn?" I said at last. Whether the sound of my voice, calling her son by his Christian name, stung her proud ear, or the powers of her life had at length slowly awaked, I cannot tell, but the same moment she sat up, and said hurriedly, passing her hands over her eyes, and casting a scared glance about the room, "Where am I? Is it gone? Neither of us answered. She rose, looking ghastly. "Call Parker," she said feebly but imperiously. "He is not quite able to appear," answered John. She kept staring at the window, but sideways. Nothing was to be seen but the gathering night. She rose and walked from the room, erect, but white as a corpse. I followed her to the door. Parker was seated in the rumble, one of the others beside him. The third man opened the carriage door. She stepped in, and dropped into the seat. The carriage rolled away. I went back to John. "I must leave you, darling! " he said. "I cannot subject you to such another outrage. I am afraid sometimes my mother may be what she would have you think me mad. I ought to have said I hope she is. It would be the only possi ble excuse for her behavior. And sure the natural end of loving one's own way like that, is to go mad. If you don't get it, you go mad; and if you do get it, you go madder that's all the difference. But I must go." I tried to expostulate with him, but it was of no use. "You "Where will you go?" I said. cannot go home." "I am not sure," he answered, "that home is not the right place for me. I would take the reins in my own hands at once, if I were sure it was legal. I will go to London, and have a talk with my father's lawyer. He will tell me what I ought to do." "But you have no money, John," I said. "How do you know that?" he returned, with a smile. "Have you been searching my pockets?" 66 John!" I cried. He broke into a merry laugh. "You are quite right," he said. have not. But your uncle will lend me a five-pound-note." "He would, I am sure. But I don't think he's in the house," I answered. "I have one of my own, though; I'll just run and fetch it." I bounded away to get the note. It was like having a common purse already to lend John five pounds! But I had no intention of letting him leave the house that night-the same day he had first been out of his room after a serious illness - that was, if I could help it. My uncle had given me the use of a drawer in that same bureau in which he kept the precious stones; and there, partly, I think, from the pride of sharing with my uncle, I kept everything I counted precious; I should have kept Zoe there if she had not been too big. The five-poundnote was one he had given me my last birthday. I had had no occasion to change it, for he was always buying things for "I had forgotten all about John!" he said. "And as to what you tell me I did, I know nothing about it. I haven't been out of this room since I saw that spectre in the kitchen." "John's mother, you mean, uncle!" "Ah! she's John's mother, is she? Yes, I thought as much—and it was more than my poor brain could stand. It was too terrible! My little one, this is death to you and me!" My heart sank within me. One thought only went through my head that come what might, I would no more give up John, than if I were already married to him in the church. "But what is it, dear uncle? I said, hardly able to get the words out. "I will tell you another time," he answered, and rose and made for the door. "John is going to London," I said, fol. lowing him. 66 What's he going to do there? he asked listlessly. "To see his lawyer, and get things on a footing of some sort between his mother and him." "That is very proper," he replied, with his hand on the lock of the door. "But you don't think it would be safe for him to travel to-night do you, uncle so soon after his illness?" I asked. 'No, I cannot say I do. It would not safe. He is welcome to stop till to morrow." be "Will you not tell him so, uncle? He is bent on going!" "I would rather not see him. There is no occasion. It will be a great relief to me when he is able — quite able, of course I mean - to go home to his mother where it suits him best to go." or It was indeed like death to hear my uncle talk so differently about John. What had John done to be treated in this way - taken up and made a friend of, and then cast off without reason or warning! Poor uncle! he was not at all like himself! And then to say he forgot our trouble and danger! to say he never came near us in our sore peril, when in fact we owed our deliverance to his courageous assault on our enemies! Something was terribly wrong with poor uncle! I dared hardly think what it could be! I stood speechless. My uncle opened the door, went down the stair, and left me. I stood motionless, with the echo of his footsteps along the corridor in my ears. It was as if my life went ebbing with the sound of them. I was stranded on a desert shore, and he in whom I had trusted was leaving me there. | frequently, perhaps generally, mistaken for I came to myself a little, got the fivepound-note, and returned to John. When I reached the door of the room, I found my heart in my throat, and my brains upside down. I felt as if I could not go in. How could I let him go out so late? How could I let him stay where his departure would be a relief? It would be a relief even to me to have him gone from where he was not wanted. I concluded, however, that, even for my uncle's sake that he might not have John's death at his door-I must persuade him to stay till the morning. I went in, and gave him the note, but begged him, for my love, to go to bed. In the morning, I said, I would drive him to the station. With some difficulty he yielded - but with no suspicion how much all the time I wished him gone. I too went to bed, but | only to lie listening for my uncle's return. It was long past midnight before he came. Then I fell asleep, and slept rather late. As soon as I was up, I sent Penny to order the phaeton, and then ran to find my uncle, in the hope he would wish to see John before he left; I was not sure he had realized that he was going. thinking, with only this relation to it, that I In my dream I was still awake, and still watching for my uncle's return. I heard the sound of Death's hoofs, not on the stones of the yard, but on the gravel before the house, and coming round the house till under my window, when my uncle called me to come down; he wanted me. I thought I was a child, and sprang out of bed, ran from the house on my bare feet, jumped into his downstretched arms, and was in a moment seated in front of him. Death gave a great plunge, and went off like the wind, cleared the gate in a flying leap, and rushed up the hill to the heath. The wind was blowing behind us furiously; I could hear it roaring, but did not feel it. It seemed unable to overtake us ; we outstripped and kept ahead of it; but if we slackened speed for a moment, it fell upon us raging. We came at last to the pool in the centre of the heath, and I wondered we had been such a time in reaching it at the My uncle was neither in his room nor his bedroom. I went to the stable, where Dick was putting the horse to the phaeton. He told me his master had come to the stable two hours before, had saddled Death himself, as was his custom, and ridden away. He was not looking well, Dick said, but a mouthful of fresh air would doubtless set him to rights. He did not often ride out so early seldom indeed after coming home so late; and that he had done so strengthened my anxiety about him, and made me feel yet more that things were becoming compli-speed we were making. It was the discated. malest place, with its crumbling peaty John seemed so much better, and so banks, and its water brown as tea. Traeager after the projected interview with dition declared it had no bottom - went his lawyer, that I felt comforted concern-down into nowhere. ing him. I did not tell him what my uncle had said the night before, partly because it would be a wrong to him to mention what he might wish forgotten, and partly because, not knowing what he meant, I could serve no end by doing so. We parted at the station very much as if we had been married half a century, and I returned home to brood over the strange things that had happened. But before long I found myself in such a weltering swamp of futile speculation, that I turned my thoughts perforce into other channels, lest I should lose the power of thinking, and be drowned in reverie-which is so 66 Here," said my uncle, bringing Death to a sudden halt, "we once had a terrible battle, Death and I, with the worm that lives in this hole. You know what worm it is, do you not?" I had heard of the worm, and any time I happened in galloping about the heath to find myself near the hole, the thought would always come back with a fresh shudder-what if the legend was a true one, and the worm was down there biding his time! but anything more about the worm I had never heard. "No, uncle," I answered; "only that it is a worm that lives in the hole." "Ah," he answered, with a sigh, "if you do not take the more care, little one, you will one day learn, not what the worm is called, but what it is! The worm that lives there, is the worm that never dies." I gave a shriek, for I seemed never to have heard of the horrible creature before. To think of its being so near us, and never dying, was too terrible. "Don't be frightened, little one," he said, pressing me closer to his bosom. "Death and I killed it. Come with me to the other side; you will see it lying there, stiff and stark." "But, uncle," I said, "how can it be dead how can you have killed it, if it never dies?" Ah, that is the mystery !" he returned. "But come and see. It was a terrible fight. I never had such a fight or dear old Death either. But she's dead now. It was worth living for, to make away with such a monster!" We rode round the pool, cautiously because of the crumbling banks, to see the worm lie dead. On and on we rode. I began to think we must have ridden many times round the hole. "I wonder where it can be, uncle?" I said at length. "We shall come to it very soon," he answered. 66 But," I said, "mayn't we have ridden past it without seeing it? He laughed a loud and terrible laugh. "When once you've seen it, little one, you too will laugh at the notion of having ridden past it. The worm that never dies is hardly a thing to escape notice!" We rode on and on. All at once my uncle threw up his hands, dropping the reins, and with a fearful cry covered his face. It is gone! I have not killed it! No, I have not! It is here! it is here!" he cried, pressing his hand to his heart. "It is here, and it was here all the time I thought it was dead! What will become of me! I am lost, lost!" At the word, old Death gave a scream, and laying himself out, flew with all the might in his swift limbs to get away from the place. But the wind, which was behind us as we came, now raged in our faces; and soon I saw we should never reach home, for with all Death's fierce endeavor, we moved but an inch or two in the minute, and that with a killing struggle. "Little one," said my uncle, "if you don't get down we shall all be lost. I feel the worm rising. It is your weight that keeps poor Death from making headway.' Í turned toward my uncle, but sideways, so as to see past him. A long neck, surmounted by a head of indescribable horror, was slowly rising straight up out of the middle of the pool. It should not catch them! I slid down by my uncle's leg. The moment I touched the ground and let go, away went Death, and in an instant was out of sight. I was not afraid. My heart was lifted up with the thought that I was going to die for my uncle and old Death. The worm was on the bank, and crawling toward me. I went to meet it. Suddenly it sprang from the ground, threw itself upon me, and twisted itself about me. But it was a human embrace, the embrace of some one unknown that loved me! I awoke and left the dream. But the dream never left me. CHAPTER XXVI. THE EVIL DRAWS NIGHER. I ROSE early and went to my uncle's room. He was awake, but complained of headache. I took him a cup of tea and left him. About noon a letter was delivered at the door. I took it to my uncle. He read it with perturbation, and fell back with his eyes closed. I thought he was in a faint, and ran for brandy. "Don't be frightened, little one," he called after me. "Won't you tell me what is the matter, uncle?" I said, returning. "Is it necessary I should be kept ignorant of it?" Only for my sake, little one.' "But, uncle, whatever troubles us," I ventured, don't you think it must be better that those who love us should know it? Is there some good in a secret after all?" "None, my darling. You are perfectly right," he answered. "But how shall I tell you! The thing that made me talk to you against secrets, was that I had one myself one that is eating the heart out of me. But that woman shall not know and you be ignorant! I will not have a secret with her! Will you leave me now, please, little one." |