CHAPTER L. OID SIR DOUGLAS. ALICE IMPARTS HER DISCOVERIES. THE next day was the Sabbath. Peace shone from the clear autumn sky, and glorified the common things of earth. Birds sang, flowers opened wide, streamlets and falls seemed to dance, as they rippled and rolled in the light. The freshness of the morning was over the cultured fields; the freshness of the morning was over the barren moor; the freshness of the morning sparkled in the dewy glen. Neil had promised his old nurse to " step into her sheiling," his mother being absent, and go with her to church; for which the old woman was already pinning on her snowy cap, and best shawl, and smiling, not at herself, but at a vision of Niel, in her glass. 66 tortures of the Inquisition, and the cruelty Much has been said and written of the of those who look on and yet not show to tortures of the mind? What "grand But what are physical tortures Inquisitor" ever looked on with more stony indifference to unendurable suffering than Alice Ross as she watched the flush of colghastly paleness and big drops stand on our rise to cheek and temple - fade to the marble brow; while the breath of life seemed to pant and quicken as if suffocation would follow. -- burst from that over-charged bosom, as her Even she started at the long moan which half-brother closed his eyes and leaned back on the bank. He had read it all. ALL. was Alice asked sadly and demurely, and very anxiously, if she might walk with her half brother, and if he would mind setting out half an hour "too soon," as she had something very particular to say to him. Sir Douglas consented. They walked in utter silence great part of the way, as far as the broomy knowe," where Alice had first talked with him of "kith-and-kin love." There they halted, and there they sat down, there she reminded him of that day! There visit to the blind beggar with the indented Not in vain had Alice Ross paid her long -in a sort of frightened, subdued whisper- scar on his thin right hand. Not for the ing voice Alice said, "I know well that first time since that day I myself have forfeited much that hand exercising its unequalled skill at no nor for the hundredth of my claim to brother's love, though it seems imitation and forgery; nor that apt and torto me even now that I love you better than tuous brain devising schemes of ruin or venall-ay, even better than my dream of wed-geance on those who had offended. ded love! But whether I have forfeited or not, I feel cannot bear others should deceive ed and soiled, had apparently its corresThe passionately torn letter, gravel-stainyou; and I've brought to this place what ponding half, also gravel-stained and soiled must be shown, though it wring my heart in (and carefully had Alice's light heel and the showing, and yours in the reading. all I can do, in return for your mercy and Kenneth's mad passion had ground it into It's clever hand sought the very spot where indulgence to me. All I can do in return the earth in the morning.) But the half is to prevent your being deceived by others! that corresponded in form, altered the whole God knows what we are all made of! I've sense of the letter. The sentences referring not had an hour's peace since I picked this to her love for Sir Douglas were apparently up. Kenneth trampled it under foot just addressed to Kenneth. Her notice that she as you went to speak with him yesterday would be in Edinburgh read like an apmorning; and I was out gathering flowers; pointment to him to meet her there. Her alluand then I thought it looked so unseem- sions to the necessity" if all this torment ly in the garden-ground; and then as I continued" of confession to her husband, gathered it up I saw I could not help see- barely escaped the sense that she had to ing some strange words; and at lastat last-oh! Douglas, do not have any an- passion. The letter only stopped short at a make confession of a return of his unlawful ger with me! nor much with her; for it's clear implication of sin. Perhaps even the my belief there is witchcraft round her, and two bold accomplices employed in its connone can help loving her that sees her." possible credence would cease to open. All coction felt that on that hinge the door of was left in doubt and mystery. Except that to that bold avowal of guilty love an answer Sir Douglas looked strangely into Alice's eyes as she handed him the gravel-soiled, earth-stained papers. It was Gertrude's had been secretly delivered, conveying all the encouragement it was possible to give referring to the old day of Naples; to the little note of adieu, telling him they were parting "for a time, not for ever," that it was better for him, for her, for all." The passage that hoped he "would see the decency, the necessity, of withdrawing from Glenrossie," was a little fragment wanting in the torn sheet. No one could read the letter and still think Gertrude a true and holy-hearted wife; though those who choose to give her "the benefit of the doubt," might believe sin only imminent, not yet accomplished. The part that was forged was not more stained or spoiled than the portion which was no forgery. Every word fitted naturally in every sentence. If ever human being held what looked like proof incontrovertible leading to miserable conviction, Sir Douglas held it that day, as he sat on the wild, fair hill with all the peace and beauty of nature spread around him. ing her huge brown leather psalm book, wrapped in a clean white cotton pockethanderchief. Neil gave it gently into her withered grasp, with a kindly pat on her shoulder, and turned to accompany his father to their usual seat. Sir Douglas passed onwards as in a dream, his face was very pale. "Papa's hand, that he hurt yesterday, seems to pain him very much," Neil whispered to Alice. She nodded demurely without speaking. It was not right to speak in church. Neil ought to know that. Sir Douglas sat very pale, still, and stately by the side of his handsome little son, and many a kindly glance wandered to the pew when the boy's full, sweet, and strong voice rose to join the psalmody. The young laird was the idol of Sir Doug. las's tenantry. "He was just what auld Sir Douglas himsel' had bin; a thocht stouter, may be, but just the varry moral o' him." He rose at length, and held his right hand out to Alice; his left was bandaged and in pain. She put her slender fingers forward to meet his touch, and felt the icy dampness that speaks of faintness at the heart. He cleared his throat twice before speaking, and then said with an effort: "I believe you have done right. Be satis-minded to put her away privily." fied that you have done right: it was a duty not to let me remain in ignorance." So the service went on, till all of a sudden Sir Douglas gave a deep audible groan. They were reading the first chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew, and had come to the nineteenth verse: "Then Joseph, her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a public example, was Then he stood still and looked wistfully out on the lovely scenery, the lake below, the hills above, the grim rocks of Clochnaben, the valley where smiled Glenrossie, the speck of white light that denoted where lay the Hut, with a still tinier spark of scarlet reflected from the flag, set up on the days they meant to visit it. "Fair no more! pleasant never, never again!" he murmured to himself, as he gazed; then he turned slowly to Alice. "We must go on to church. Say nothing of all this to any fellow-creature. Be as usual; I shall, I trust, be as usual. This is the battle of LIFE." At the gate of the churchyard were the usual groups of men, women, and children uncovered, greeting with smiles and respectful curtseys their beloved chieftain and landlord. In general he had a kind word or sentence for each and all. He tried twice, but his voice faltered, for they inquired in return after "her Leddyship at the Castle," and the answer choked in his throat. His boy Neil turned into the gate, holding the old nurse by the hand, and carry Young Neil started at the groan, and clasping his father's hand in his own, looked anxiously up in his face, and half rose from his seat, as though expecting him to leave the church from illness. But Sir Douglas sat still, his eyes steadily fixed on the minister. It is strange that women who have been falsely accused, never think of drawing consolation from the fact that the holiest of all women whose lives are recorded, the one woman who was permitted to be as it were the link between earth and heaven, according to the transmitted history of the Christian religion, had to endure her share of earthly shame. Nor only that, but that a lesson as to the fallibility of all human judgment lies wrapped in the written account of the conduct of her husband Joseph. He was a "just" man. A good man, merciful, affectionate, anxious to do that which was right in the sight of God; anxious to bear himself fitly and with all indulgence to his neighbor. But his human mercy extended only to "putting her away privily." He would not put her to public shame, though his own trust was broken. That was the sum of all, till the angelic vision made all clear. "I may be away more days than you expect, dear Neil. You will do all as if I were here — lessons: conduct: care in shooting: all- won't you?" As Sir Douglas listened, he also leaned a tender little kiss, the bandage over the to the side of that incomparable merey wounded hand. which would spare shame. He knelt a little longer in final prayer than usual, before he passed out into the sunshine and greeted the assembled groups with a degree less of abstraction, still holding Neil by the hand. Arrived at Glenrossie, he shut himself up in the library and wrote. His letter was not long. It was addressed to Gertrude, and enclosed the gravelstained papers which Alice had given him. He wrote the address and sealed it, with a firm unshrinking hand; but long he sat and gazed at it after it was written, as if in a painful trance; and when he rose from the table where he had been writing, he felt as though threatened with paralysis, and stood a moment holding by the brass-bound table, fearing he might fall. Then he passed to his own dressingroom, and sent for Neil. THE following are the results, says the Mechanics' Magazine, of the trials of various American breech-loading rifles as reported by the military commissioner appointed to examine them. The Roberts breech-loader fired 84 balls in six minutes, an average of 14 in one minute, all striking inside the target, and penetrating 15 one-inch planks laid side by side. The Sharpe's rifle fired 100 balls in less than seven minutes, and penetrated the thirteenth plank. The Millbank rim-fire gun fired 99 balls in six minutes and a half, and penetrated the eleventh plank. The Lansom gun fired 12 balls in one minute. Ball's carbine expelled 75 balls in nine minutes and a half. The Prussian needle gun, which was tested in the same way as the others, fired an average of six to seven balls a minute, and penetrated the eleventh plank. The Remington breech-loader fired 100 balls in 6 minutes and 53 seconds, and penetrated the eleventh plank. CHEAP BEEF. - The Food Committee of the Society of Arts has done good service, observes the Daily News, by calling attention to a new importation of boiled beef from Australia. Messrs. M'Call, of 137, Houndsditch, have on sale a first consignment of 60,000 lbs. of Australian beef, and have made arrangements for taking a similar quantity every month. The meat is the best Australian beef, not salted, but carefully stewed and packed in "I will, father; I will. Trust me, father, You can trust me, can't you?" and the boy smiled, with his sweet candid eyes fixed full upon his father's face. "Yes yes! Oh God! let me trust You, my son, if I never again trust any other human being! And to the consternation of Neil, Sir Douglas flung his arms round his son's neck and sobbed like a child. In the morning, while dawn was yet breaking and Neil lay yet wrapped in happy boyish slumbers, rapid wheels once more sounded softly along the great fir-avenue; the caressing feathery branches that had bent over Gertrude's departure the previous day, brushed over the roof of the carriage that now bore her husband from home. The squirrel leaped and scampered up the brown stems, and the scattering cones fell to the earth, and lay on the dewy grass in silence. Great was the silence in Glenrossie that day: the master had departed. tins hermetically sealed. It has none of the common objectionable appearances or flavours of preserved meat; and, being ready cooked, is exceedingly cheap at the retail price of 7d. the pound without bone. This is not more than 6d. a pound with bone; and if it be true that one company alone in Australia could send us annually the beef of 10,000 fat oxen at this price, some of us may yet live to see beef coming down in price in the general markets of this country. PAY OF MAGAZINE WRITERS. The Springfield Republican, in its literary gossip, tells us :- "The Atlantic pays generally five dollars per page for prose, though some writers receive much more than this. Edmund Kirke got one hundred dollars for his Chicago Conspiracy.' The market value of poetry seems to vary a good deal. One poet says, that for some of his best productions he has received from the Atlantic only five dollars, while, for far poorer ones, ten dollars have been awarded him. Those who have had experience in bargaining at this establishment, for the sale of literary wares, opine that the price paid therefor, depends a good deal upon the mood of the editor-in-chief; if he is in good humour, the seller is liberally compensated; otherwise, not. Harper's rates are about the same, five dollars per page for prose." PART II. The next morning Ursula and I had a long talk together about Monsieur Jacques. She told me that she had known him ever since she was sixteen years old, and that he was established in Florence when she and her father were living there; and then she said, in a sort of natural way which went to my heart, "He had nobody, and I had nobody, and so we drew together." "But Colonel Hamilton was with you then, wasn't he?" said I. "Oh, yes," she answered; "but papa never cared at all about the things I cared for, and then I usedn't to see much of him -I never was much with him- but I loved him dearly for all that," and her eyes filled with tears. "At first I was too young to go into the world, and then Jacques used often to come and spend the evening with me because it was so lonely when papa was away dining out or at the theatre." "And used you to be left quite entirely alone?" said I. "Had you no woman in the house to look after you?” "Oh, I had the Meneghina, our old Italian maid," she replied. "She generally used to bring in her work and sit with us. When I was eighteen, I thought that, perhaps, papa would then take me out with him, but I think he liked best going out by himself; it left him so much more free and independent. I suppose that was the reason why he never introduced me to any of his friends, or took me to the houses of the people that he knew." "Then did you never go out at all?" said I. "Oh, yes, I went out a little, but into quite a different set from papa's. I went to Giambattista's parties Giambattista Giacomelli was my singing master. Such a dear old fellow! and he had delightful musical parties every Sunday, to which papa allowed me to go." “Well,” said I, “but did you go to these parties alone?” "No," she answered. "Our landlady, the Del Nero, went to them, and I went with her. She lived in the floor above us, and I used often to go up there of an evening when papa went out and they were at home. It was there that I first met Jacques. The Del Nero used to play splendidly on the piano, and he used to accompany her on the violin. She, too, had musical evenings which were charming; the society was entirely Italian, composed of doctors, lawyers, artists and literary men- all clever and well educated. This is the only really welleducated society in Florence; the fashionable people are of an unbelievable ignorance. The Del Nero's husband was an avvocato. I don't think I saw any English faces, except those of papa and one or two of his men friends, in all the years that I lived in Florence. I was fourteen when I went there, and I am twenty-four now; that makes ten whole years, doesn't it?" Her account of her life sounded very strange and desolate. Her father seemed to have taken such little care of her, that I felt really shy of asking her many questions. Later, the outline was filled up for me by Monsieur Jacques, who told me that Colonel Hamilton was a perfect monster of selfishness altogether the most heartless man that he had ever met with. Instead of taking the least pleasure or interest in his child, he was, on the contrary, in despair at having a daughter of that age, and kept her entirely in the background. He used to go about in all the bad fashionable society of Florence, got up in the most youthful style and lavishing every luxury upon himself, while poor Ursula had hardly decent clothes to her back. More than once, the good Del Nero had given her a gown, without which she would have been unable to accompany her even into the modest Italian circle to which they belonged; and in spite of all this, Monsieur Jacques told me that she had perfectly doted upon her father while he lived, and had nearly died of his death. It seems that he had retained his handsome looks and charm of manner to the last, and although he was as hard as a stone, always contrived to be good-tempered and pleasant at home. Certainly nothing could be much more strange than the state of things between Ursula and her friend. At first I supposed it must be foreign; it was, however, evidently not so much foreign as individual, for it excited far greater indignation in Madame Olympe's mind than it did in mine. I had certainly never seen any manners in the slightest degree resembling theirs; but after the movement of surprise which they created in me at first, I soon got accustomed to them, and the whole relation had a side so touching and pretty, that, notwithstanding its somewhat unusual manifestations, I began by accepting, and ended by sympathizing with it. Ursula's strength and decision were like health to the little morbid mortal who looked up to her as morally far superior to himself, and his devotion and knowledge of the world were everything to so young a woman, Madame Olympe and myself, and was putwhose impulsiveness, combined with her ting her au courant of the affairs of the vilextreme simplicity of character, tended to lage. They did not appear to be in a very put her greatly in the power of designing flourishing condition, as far as morality was people. In spite of the weakness of his concerned, for he continually began acnature, the singleness of his desire after her counts of proceedings which, after the three welfare invested him in some sort with the first suggestive words, had to be imparted authority of a father or a brother. in a whisper, to the great annoyance of poor Madame Olympe, who nevertheless could not help laughing at the absurdity of the thing. The cure would begin:- "Madame la Comtesse has doubtless heard about Thérèse Pichon? Is she aware that only three nights ago....?" aud then a long whisper. I endeavoured immediately to begin a little subject with Monsieur Kiowski; but I saw, by his absence of all rejoinder, and the frightful vacancy of the eye he riveted upon me, that he was straining every nerve to catch the luckless Thérèse's little adventure. A minute afterwards it would be, with great gravity, "Has Madame la Comtesse been told that Auguste Leroy is going to leave the village? It appears that on Wednes day last, one of the keepers going his rounds in the forest at midnight, found him. Then another whisper, and at the end, The change of air and of surroundings had already done me so much good, that on the Wednesday morning I was actually able to take a little walk with Margery before breakfast. The park is not very large, but there are charming walks all round it not shrubbery, but regular woodland paths; it being, in point of fact, simply a bit of the forest enclosed. The weather was quite heavenly, and the purity and elasticity of the air something enchanting; one felt all the time as if one were drinking vivifying draughts of some electric water. The soil is sandy, drying directly after the heaviest rain, and the air is of the light, exhilarating quality which always goes with that particular kind of soil. Poor Margery asked me anxiously when I meant to go home, and was greatly relieved when she found that I did not mean to exceed the limit I had originally fixed to my visit. She" His brother says that after that he will was comfortable enough, she said, but they were an unsociable set, and did not live in the least like English servants. At about eight in the morning every one went down, took a little bowl from a shelf on the wall, got it filled with cafe au lait, and drank it with a little bit of bread-and-butter, standing. There was nothing like a breakfasttable, and nobody thought of sitting down. They then all dispersed, and did not meet again until after our dejeûner a la fourchette at about twelve, when they had their second breakfast. This was devoured in all haste, after which they again separated. There was nothing like a servants'-hall, as in our great houses, and no assembling in the kitchen as in our small ones. The menservants remained by themselves, and the women sat entirely in their own rooms. Excellent rooms they were, Margery told me; large, airy, with every comfort, and a look of prettiness and elegance that was quite unknown with us. Supper, which took place after our late dinner, brought them together again, but only for the purpose of eating-which ceremony, like the previous one, was got over as speedily as possible. At breakfast we had Monsieur le Curé, from Marny a stalwart, weather-beatenlooking man, with a demure, rather sly, but not bad countenance. He sat between keep him no more. Dame! It is the third time that it happens!" At last there came a story, in which "la Malheureuse" played a great part, and was repeated with strong reprobatory emphasis. This story was a very long one, and presently reached such an appalling crisis that even poor Madame Olympe, who was, as one may say, "to the manner born," could stand it no longer, but calling out, "The boat! the boat!" hastily jumped up from table, and ran to the window. "The boat! where's the boat! let me see the boat!" cried Monsieur Kiowski, throwing himself impetuously into the spirit of the thing, and nearly overturning the table in the wild excitement with which he tore to the window. It was only the boat which comes down the river every morning regularly. To-day it appeared in the very nick of time, and deserved extra notice: but I observed that whenever it appeared it always created a slight agitation. I suppose that the general monotony of their lives ended with making little events become important in their eyes. When it had passed out of sight they returned to the table. I do not think that in the whole course of my life I ever beheld any human creature devour as Monsieur le Čuré did: he ate largely of soup, of both the hot dishes and of the three cold ones, besides the salad and |