Evening Star Newspaper, April 18, 1896, Page 16

16 THE COST OF HIS HEAD ————-—_—_ BY MRS. ALEXANDER, Author of “The Wooing O’t.’* ———— (Copyright, 1896, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) Sackville street, Dublin, was looking very much alive on @ fine spring morning in the first decade of this century—before “the dis- tressful country” had recovered the fury ive It to him yourscif.” and despair of Emmet’s insane attempt at rebellion—while the southern and northern districts were still honeycombed with secret sceieties and hopeless plots against the Erglish government. A regiment of infantry had just marched dcwn the broad thoroughfare to Carlisle's bridge, on their way to the Phoenix Park, and a crowd of ragged, frequently bare- footed idlers, attracted by the drums and fifes, dispersed as the soldiers turned along the quays—a runaway horse proving a ecrnter attraction; so they rushed to in- creese its speed and terror by the wild ef- fcrts of a dozen and more men to catch it. Failing in this attempt, they collected around the entrance of the Royal Hotel, Where a postchaise and horses were seen to draw up. Within, in a private sitting room looking on the street, two gentlemen sat at breakfast—one, short and thick, with a plain and very shrewd face and red hair, dressed in the heieht of the prevailing feshion—the other, tall, thin, broad-shoul- dered, bony, with grave, dark eyes, a strong jaw and well-cut mouth, short, nearly black hair, and a stately carriage, wore military uniform. He had risen and was ut of the windo’ st." he said. “I # very punctual in these deed, innocent of that great offense! Why are you starting so soon for your com- You have nearly ten days to “I want to pay a visit on my way,” re- turned the colonel, coming back to the ta- ble. “I am glad to have had this glimpse of you, Lane. You were rather in luck to get the vice regal private secretaryship. I don’t fancy I shall be long in the south, so I'll look you up on my way back, I fancy, before the summer is over.” will. Who are you going to low I met at Bath last win- . Digby. John That's the man! I know him. He has a duck of a daugh- zby of Athgarvan?” Miss Digby fs a very charming young aid the colonel, stiffly. you'll like the place. He is a very well-affected country squire. Don't lcok at your watch, Capel, you needn't start just this moment. I-have a little hint to give yor Its of great importance to catch this young fool Valentine Costello, who has been giving us a lot of trouble. He has been chiefly educated in France,and has a head on his shoulders. The idiotic Feesantry are devoted to him, and he has keen In hiding In the hollows and shanties of the Knock-me-down mountains—charac- teristic name, eh?” “It is, indeed!" “Old Brigadier Kenistan has never been able to put his hand on him—you mus! r. I'll give you a line to a very cl an Irish-A feaa, whom I sent to track Coste and one or two ensible pation is fer- e in support of a claim oO a cquple of farms that andfather. Try and see out a pocket book, “Is to him yeurself. He is to be found or heard of Black Bull, Clonmel. Jeff a deuced his own pocket boo! hing to do with such > it cannot be helped. falls and we cate elevating his eye- having a . but I suppo: unless the returned Lan I must be off pow. Many thanks ind hespitality, Lane." “How far do you go today?” am advised to sleep at Kilkenn there's about thirty miles then to do t morrow—on » Athgarvan. By the way, what an infernally careless set of beggars they are in this queer country! I gave a letter to the waiter yesterday morning to post; it was for I telling him of my for your proposed visit. When I came down stairs just now the dent scoundrel haoded own epistle, saying: ‘Sure, the post off a trifle too soon yes! so I missed it by half a second, and I thought as your honor was goiag to Athgarvan, maybe you'd like to take it yourself.” ” Both men laughe “It is really n “No one in Trel scted a guest Is. They descended together to_the street and shook hands heart! The colonel havirg lcoked to the security of his lug- gage, stepped into the chaise, the postil- lions spurred their gaunt cattle, and with @ great clatter of hoofs and a cheer from the bystanders, which the sight of four horses starting together was sure to make, they dashed down the street, carrying Col. Capel to take up the command of the Cork net to which he had just been appoint- ed Traveling at that period was not the most delight? occupation for an ease-loving man. In point of fact, it was very little, if anything, better than it was in the middle of the last century. Besides the irksomeness of lonely travel- Ing. the pain of seeing the squalid wretch- edness which defaced the country, the gal- lant officer was eager for other reasons to get to his journey’s end, and found his heart beating faster than usual at the idea of seeing Grace Digby in a few minutes. He had seen a good deal of that young lady, and, in spite of his grave, stern exterior, he had been hard hit by her deep blue eyes, shaded as they were by long lashes, and su mounted by delicate but well-detined eye- brows—many degrees darker than her bright red-brown hair—by her richly fair com- plexion, which suggested a diet of cream and almonds, her softly curved mouth and pearly teeth, that could smile so mischiev- ously and sometimes so kindly—also by her willowy figure, which was divinely tall and exquisitely proportioned. But Capel, a shy, sensitive man, was kept at bay by the bright friendliness of her manner, and the amount of saucy fun which oe in her eyes and on her sweetened 3. While he hesitated a callous father, who was far too Irish to imagine the Possibility of any man hesitating to ask any woman to marry him, carried her off to his remote home, and Capel was now determined not to lose a chance if he had one. It had been a dull, drizzling day, but as the ostillions, by dint of spurring and shout- ing, ““rose’’ a gallop for the avenue, the sun shone out and the clouds broke up. Athgarvan was situated in a picturesque gtrip of country, near the river Blackwater, where the scenery Is more wooded than is usual in Ireland. It had a background of hills to the westward, behind which the sun was sinking, and as the avenue led up bere Diego — the castle, a large house ler IS warlike wide and pleasant. ‘¢ appellation, was rriv: at the entrance, Capel was re- — by a small, wizened, discontented- king man in a rustyblack suit, and a tall, Yose-limbed, potato-faced youth in a livery — too wide for his undeveloped propor- “Is Mr. Digby at home?” asked the colonel. eS is so, surr; only he’s out just at pres: “But he'll be in In a jiffy,” added th tf man, with a welcoming AAS ere “Howld yer tongue, Watty, and hand down the luggage,” added the butler, with an air of reproot. “Stop, my man,” cried Capel. “I am not t matter,” said Lane. minds much how un- eee THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 18, 1896~TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. expected, and I do not Itke to alight with- out knowing if it is convenient.” “Convanient, is it?” interrupted the but- ler; “why, in course it {s. Anyway, Miss ‘Grace ig in, and she'll be delighted to make you welcome, surr. A gentleman like you ought not to pass us by.” “Please give her my card, then,” said the colonel, offering {t, hot without a feeling of dismay, as he noticed the grimy paw which closed upon it. “Do not go until I see you,” added Capel to the chief postillion. “I'll take the boys around to the yard, yeur honor, and give them a drop of whisky,” said the butler. “Ye know yer way, boys?” “Begorra, we do!” was the ready re- sponse. “Follow me, surr, if you plaise.” Laying the smeared card on a tray, the old man ied the way across-the hall, which was adorned with antlers ani other hunt- ing trophies, through an archway and down a corridor, to a double door. Capel followed, expecting to wait. until his card was tuken to Miss Digby. But to his surprize he heard himself at once an- neunced, and saw, as he crossed the threshold, his much admired “Irish girl” standing in the center of the room. On one side of her a keen-looking black and white terrier was sitting up in an attitude of beg- ging; on the other, a young lady, with a pretty, saucy little face and piquant, turn- ed-up nose, was kneeling on a low chatr, her clasped hands resting on the back, which was straight and high. ‘The last rays of the sun shone strangely, through the windows on che left, and fall- ing across the face of the young hostess, he saw that she looked startled and dis- tressed. in short, by no means pleased to see ith, while her companion was smiling with a wa’ smile. He Was Inclined to Go and See What Manner of Woman This Was. Capel would gladly nave turned and fied; but, even as he thought, Miss Dighy ad- venced to meet him, with a radiant look of welcome, exclaimung: ‘his is Kind and good of you, Col. Cape T had no idea you were in Ireland. How pleased m father will be to tind you here when he comes in.” “I trust you will excuse this uncere- monious intrusion, Miss Digby," he repiied, with a profound bow. “I wroce yesterday asking leave to avail myself of the hos- tality Mr. Digby so kindly offered, but L find my letter was not posted. fore—" : “Dear colonel, do you think expla necessary? {t would have been hac passed by. Delany, have Col. gage taken to his room. “ell Mr: to see to it. Let me introduce my cousin, Miss O'Grady, Col. Capel bring some sherry and biscuits. Her color rose as she spole, and Capel felt absolutely dizzy with ¢ warmth of his reception. Delany soon appeared with sherry of a very superior quality, and a lively conver- sation ensued, in which Capel joined with unusual fluency and yleasure. Time flew fast in this agreeable mversa, and the shades of evening were closing, when Ca- pel’s attention was roused by the sound of wheels and the trampling of horses out “Ah! there is our good old friend! cried Grace Digby, ve expect another visitor today had a very weary journe rs my mother’s governess, and came here after she was a widow to try keep me in order when I was a mothe child. She has been staying away near Mitchelstown with some friends, and is go- ing to give us a few weeks before she re- turns to her son in Engiand. We have not seen her for a long time. Will you excuse me, Col. Capel, if I go to receive her? She is a dear old French lady, and speaks n- glish wonderfully well, but with an Lrish accent.” Capel rose and opened the door for her. Mis O'Grady had left the room a second before. A sound of many votces all speaking to- gether, the trampling of feet, the bumping of a heavy box, came confusediy to Capel's ear. He was inclined to go and see what manner of woman this was, but politeness restrained him. In a few minutes Miss Digby returned smiling, but paler than she was. “The poor, dear thing is terribly and has gone to her room till dinner is ready. Nelly is attending to her. Would you like to go to yours, Col. Capel?" and Capel assented. sne had bee back ond tired, PART II. Capel found himself installed in a large, luxuriously furnished bed room. To be sure, everything that could be worn out had been considerably used, not to say frayed. Still, there was an air of luxury about the apartment which made it pleas- ant to the eye, and Capel dressed for dinner in a very cheerful mood. Whatever Miss Digby's first impression on his appearance had been, she was really glad to see him. What eyes she had! And how they spoke. She was a good deal his junior. Yet he was @ young man still. Indeed, since he had left boyhood behind, he had rarely felt so young as at present. In a way, too, Grace Digby was not young for her nineteen years—there was a wealth of womanliness about her that raised her above mere girl- hood, and suggested heavenly ideas as to what her love would be. When Capel descended to the drawing room he was cordially greeted by the mas- ter of the house, who was in possession of the hearth rug, before a large turf fire. Digby was a tall, handsome, white-haired man, with a clear brown complexion and healthy color. There was a keen look in his dark eyes and a humorous curl in the corners of his somewhat full-lipped mouth, Prhich suggested an all-pervading sense of ‘un. “Begad, I am sorry I wasn’t at home to receive you,” he said, when he had inducted his guest into a comfortable armchair, “But I am sure Grace took care of you! And tomorrow I'll show you a bend in the stream where you'll find trout galore. Are you a lover of the rod? It’s the only sort of sport to be had at this time.” “I can’t say Iam much of an angler. I prefer shooting, and still more hunting.” “I hope we shall besable to show you some sport in the autumn! I only heard the day before yesterday that you were to take command of the southwest district, I hope you'll stay over the winter. We count Cork next door. It's not much more than thirty-five miles.” Here Ellen, or more commonly, Nelly O'Grady came in, and, joining her uncle on Le hearth rug, passed her arm throug “What Is only thirty-five miles o! ie she asked. . eae “The beautiful city called Cork, darlin’. Faith, our horses ought to know the way there! My girls have the devil's own duck of a milliner there, a Frenchwoman no less, arg no matter what wars and blockades and scrimmages are going on, she manages to have the latest modes from Paris. It's my belief sho invents them all in her own back parlor, and fixes her price, too.” he more to her credit, uncle. Doesn't invention deserve reward?” “The ladies can hardly go and return that distance in a day.” “No, nor the horses, either; but mad’mol- selle is most accommodating. She has ele- eae lodgings to let, over the shop, where er favorite customers may try on from morning till night; and empty the pockets of mankind in these parts.”* “Come, uncle! Grace and I are the most prudent young women in Munster!” “Faith, you are, my jewel! Why, here's aa 4 The door opened as he spoke, and Grace Digby entered. She wore a dress of deli- cate gray, the long plain directoire skirt belled out at the bottom with several nar- row flounces; and a lace fichu crossed over the bosom became her well. Capel could hardly turn his eyes from her to the fig- ure which leaned on her arm, though it was sufficiently remarkable. A tall, stiff old lady, clad In a gorgeous brocaded silk of many colors, looped up Jeff’ ri over a quilted petticoat, long lace mit- tens over her hands and arms—very white hair piled on the top of her head—and a large half handkerchief of costly black lace thrown over it and tied loosely under her-chin, a small diamond star fastening the point of her hair in front. Her cheeks were highly rouged, and in striking con- trast to this effect of youth she wore large blue spectacles. She was angular in figure and held herself very upright. “My dear Mme. de Suresne,” cried her host, advancing with empressment, and bowing over her hand. “This is a real pleasure. We feafed that my lady Mas- Sarene would not have parted with you, especially as we looked for you, yesterday im_ vain.” “Ah, mon ami!—my var’ goot friend! I am_ obli to hasten my steps! Mon son, my Victor, is ill. He needs the pres- ence of his mother, and I must-hasten to him. But you, dear Mr. Digby, you look well, and these dear children,” a wave of her fan toward Grace and her cousin, bloom like the fair flowers they are!” “I fear you have had a very fatiguing journey, madame. “Ma foi, it was a trying one! the last I shall make in tkis green isle of yours.” “Pray do not say so! Let me present my friend, Col. Capel, to you, a sgen- tleman of Somersetshire whose acquuint- ance we had the pleasure of making in Bath last winte e “I am very pleased to know you, sir,” and she made him an enormous courtesy. “If you please, miss, the dinner is serv- ed,” said the cranky looking butler, with a discontented sniff. “Come, madame. It is a long time since I have had this pleasure," said the host, of- fering his arm. “Will you take Nelly?” said Miss Digby, with a laughing look at Capel. “Why not both?” remarked Nelly. “Certainly,” he returned, offering an arm to each. . “Madame.” of course, sat on Mr. Digby’s right, and Grace placed Capel on the same side, opposite Miss O'Grady. The dinner was good and abundant, and conversation flowed freely, Mr. Digby tak- ing the chief part, being well supported by the ex-governess. She spoke English with a decided Irish accent, but frequently lapsed into French, with which her host was-fa- miliar. Capel found his young hostess most gra- cious and charming. She asked him if he would ride with her the foliowing day, as she was afraid her father had some Kis- terial business to transact in the town. “We call Baliinagar a ‘town,’ Col. Capel. I do not fancy it looks like one to you.” “Oh, begad, it thinks itself a fine town!" eried Digby. “I haven't been down there this week past, so I must go tomorrow.” “Pray, do not trouble yourself about me,” Capel was beginning, when Delany, the but- ler, who had j) lifted the cover from a pair of roast ducklings, put in his contribution to the talk with the odd familiarity which formerly existed in Ireland with nearly pect for “the masther” and the “a' then I'm glad nayther yourself nor the young ladies were down in the town today, anyway: “How so, Delany?” “Sure, I thought the sight would lave me ", when I went down just eyes this evenin’, to say a word to Finigan'’s mother—she “My dear madame * * * this is a real pleasure.” dying, an’ making a beautiful end, rest her sowl!—what should I see but the polis stick- ing up a play card, offering £50 for that 1l- ligant boy’s head, young Valentine Cos- tello's—the cruel murdering devils! Five hundred pounds, no less! and" (with a glance at his master's military guest) “what is he but a boy that’s not come to his right sense yet? Sure, in a year or so, he'll know better!” “In the meantime he may do a lot of mis- chief.” said Capel, gravely. “That's true!” cried Digby, “if only young fellows and eathusiasts would stop and think of the awful responsibility they Incur, and the misery they cause, they would see ‘tis better to bear the ills we ha I seed that informin’ s along with the poli pocket stuck out with the bills, an" a paste pot in his bands. He'll be having a bullet in the side of his head, some night,” put in the footman. “Howld your tongue, Watty. lany, in a loud bitter ‘aside. ged hlundering gossoon of y call to prate with the gentry Capel listened in amused astonishment to this unheard-of mingling of menials in the talk of their masters, while he noticed that Grace's cheeks grew pale, “This harbarous country is not fit for so tender a soul,” he thought. “Five hundred pounds for Val Costello's head! I never thought it would be worth so much!” cried Nelly, with a slightly hys- terical laugh. “Probably he never knew its value be- fore,” said Mme. de Suresne. Did you know this rebel?" asked Capel, in much surprise. “As children we played together, but he went to France, and we have not seen him for many years,” replied Grace, hastily. A pause followed, which was broken by the old French lady, who observed: “Ah, yes, I well rememb=r him; he was what you call one imp of mischief!" As soon as the cloth was removed the ladies left the room, in spite of Mr. Digby’s gallant remonstrance. ‘The door seemed scarcely to have closed upon them, and Mr. Digby was in the act of drawing his chair-nearer to his guest, when Capel lifted his hand, exclaiming: “What's that?” “I did not hear anything,” said the other. “Some one called. I fancied it was Miss Digby's voice.” Her father rose at once and went out of the room, followed by Capel. In the hall they found a group of servants, with Grace and her cousin, gathered around Mme. de Suresne, whom the butler and the footman were in the act of raising from the par- queted floor. “What is the matter?” cried Digby. “Oh! it's so unfortunate!” cried Grace; “dear Mme. de Suresne slipped and fell. I fear she has sprained or dislocated her ankle. See, she is in great pain.” A low moan broke from the sufferer. “Send for nurse!” cried Nelly. As she spoke, a stout, square, well-dressed woman came to tkem quickly, followed by a man in a striped waistcoat, carrying a cane “American ir sort has no chair. “Here! cried nurse, in authoritative tones; “‘put the dear lady in this, and you and Watty can carry her upstairs—no! Mr. Delany, you are not fit to try. Stan’ out of the way, Miss Nelly, Alannah!” “Send for Dr. Stokes!” cried Digby. “Not & bit of it!” said nurse, stoutly; “I'm as good as any doctor for a sprain or a strain. Lave her to me, av your lady- ship will be content with me?” “Yes, well content,” murmured the suf- ferer, stretching out her hand and adding some words in French, which no one heed- ed, for the bearers lifted the chair and its occupant, end went away upstairs, follow- ed by all the women present. “Come back and have another glass of claret, Capel.’ said the host. “This is rather an unlucky turn. A wrench of that kind is bad for a woman of madame’s years. “She seems remarkably vigorous,” re- turned Capel. “I observed that when the servants let her go, to place the chair be- hind her, she stood quite firm for a mo- ment, holding on to the banisters. A little more talk, another glass of claret, and they were irterrupted by the entrance of Grace. “Welll” cried Digby. “Oh! she seems easier. Nurse has bound up her ankle locsely, with some of the famous lotion, and put her to bed. Nell is going to stay with her, and I have come to give you your tea, which is ready in the drawing reom.” The gentlemen followed her, and after the “cup which cheers,” etc., Capel asked for a song. “Come into the next room,” she sald. He obeyed, and found its chief furniture was a harp and a plano, a guitar and stands full of music books. Grace Digby drew the harp to her and proceeded to tune it. “Is it not unlucky?” she said. “It will be some days before madame can come down stairs, but nirse says it is not a bad sprain.” “What a useful person,” said Capel. “I should havesiked you to see more of Mme. de Suresnaj she is a most agreeable companion.” 4 “Yes; it 1s unlucky all around; but you are to sing, are you not?” Grace looked smilingly Into his : eyes. “You shall have an old Irish ditty. I want to steep you in things Irish. Then you will understand and Ifke us.” “Like!” he echoed. ‘You have taught me more than liking!” Grace shook head at him with co- quettish v arning; and stretching her white arms acriss the,chords began the sweet, wild, pathetic ballad, ‘“‘Savourneen Deel- ish,” while Capel listened attentively. 3819 i PART II. The next few: days made themselves wings—wings of @japhanous delight. There was the cheery breakfast, the report of the invalid upstairs#always listened to with in- terest—some gossip about the “boys,” as the disaffected peasantry were generally termed, contributed by Delany, who was @ pessimist and an intense aristocrat—then the plans for the day were discussed, and the division of labor, if attending to Mme. de Suresne could be so called, mapped out, Ellen O'Grady reserving herself for the afternoon in order to leave Grace free to ride or walk with her uncle and Capel. The latter had by this time surmounted his shyness and self-distrust, and longed fe ishly for the chance of a tete-a-tete, when uid avow his love and hopes to his scinating hostess. Sometimes he was made miserable by the dexterity with which Grace evaded the various traps he laid for her, and the dreadful thought oc- curred to him: “Does she love some other fellow, and therefore shrink from the pain of refusing me point blan! Then some gracious phrase, some — melting glance, w which bu He had tion t uld add fresh fuei to the flame ned so steadily in his heart. a curious, unreasonable convic- y O'Grady did not like him, of impai‘emee in her E a touch of bitterness here and ther hrases, struck the colone ly aroused suspicions. minded and generous 1 keenly observant, and determined to make himself as agreeable as possible to the pretty little Hibernian. 1. C ables pel, after a saunter to the me talk with the old generally wrote ie in called by courtesy Miss O'Grady rally sat at work. She was an adept at lace making and other fanciful fabrication: I suppose that Miss Digby is at her sual Good Samaritan task of reading aloud to the sufferer upstairs,” said Capel, owery morning, t Irish agriculturists “iine growing w 4 “Oh, I suppose she is. But sprained ankle should injure the eyesight, I why a do not understand,” retur 1 Nelly. “Nor I. However, at madame’s age it is Natural enou, that she should like to spare her e: * yes. Ah, yes, I forgot.” “At all event 3 Digby is most faith- ful in performing elf-imp¢ “Yes, indeed, she is!” cried Nelly, looking up with a gleam of uneasy light in her dark, quick eyes. “Then she is kindness itself," added Capel. to women,” returned Nelly. Can she be cruel to that portion of the human race which is chiefly devoted to her?” “Well, you see, she was vexed with one of them, ard so she's ready to punish the whole lot." “That unfair,” while he aid Capel, thought, s is di It is hateful | to t-any one has been before me." “And then,” returned “Grace is | tremendously men are cold 5 inks [English rye such Miss O'Grady, you ration to . Lam not’sure. I have never heen Grace has been there a a whole year at M t in and out of a in, elegant si t would make laughing to you die race take off Miss Mon- el Lifted His Ha |. Execlaiming: “What's that?" Stor lecturing the young ladies; and they learned all about the heathen and goddesses, and a very bad set seem to have heen.” “But 1 thought that Mis brought up by this old Fr Capel, taking a fresh sheet of pa) Yes. of course she was,” impatiently. he went to finish at Chester, No one but an Englishman would have needed that plained.” ‘Come, Miss O'Grady not be so hard on us thick-brained Saxons,” said Capel, good humoredl: Perhaps a long resi- dence in this country might sharpen our wit: then gods they Digby had been a Well, maybe so. It would take a long time,” laughing saucily. “Where's the putting in his h usual on his wize “I don't know wants him?" “Faith, Jefferies, the Yankee, no less about ould Daly’s farm. I'm thinkin nothing but a land grabber, bad * him, if it’s after the land he Is.’ “T fancy iny uncle has gone down to the farm. Anyhow, I'll go away, I don’t fancy the man. Don't put him in’ here, Delany. It will disturb the coionel.”” “Pray don't think of me, I have just finished my letters.”” “Thank you, surre If T lave the black- asked Delany, , with a sourer look than ed face. returned Nelly; “who avised crature in-the, hall, some of the boys | will be putting the comether on him. Miss O'Grady gathered up her w departed, and the next moment a sm slight man, -with keen biack eyes, ne: and well dressed in a dark green riding suit and top boots, a whip in his hand and with almost, but not quite, the air of a gentleman, was ushered into the room. “Your servant, sir,” he said, in a pecullar voice, neither Irish nor Engiish, “You are Mr. Jefferies," said Capel, ris- ing and confronting him. “You are’ gen- erally to be heard of—? “At the ‘Black Bull,’ the newcomer. - “Exactly, L ie @ note for you;” and Clonmell,” put in Capel drew f@rth Zhe note Lane had given im. Jefferies it.quickly. “All right,” he sai hav. A expecting this. Not see- ing or hearing ftam you, I came here to see you.” “And your business?” said Capel, sharp- ly, not liking the looks of the man. "| “You will, I believe; be summoned to your command a little sooner than you expect,” returned Jefftties,“reaiily, ‘and I wish to warn you that there is no use in looking for the rebel Costello in these parts. I have sure word thgt begis in hiding up in Glen- algthe better, for not being le the bcys will not be isk Sife and limb to screen garrif, which among his 0: 80 ready to him,” * “Tf that's » I wonder he does aot find seme fi: '& Boat to take him to sea. I suppose h® is*in communication with France “No doubt, sir. W1 ting up in Cork, sir?’ “At the Crown and Scepter Hotel. How the deuce do you know that I am likely to be summoned sooner than the 20th?" “Because the brigadier is bad, sir—sick with the liver—and will be asking you to come.”” “That remains to be seen,” said Capel. “Hallo, Mr. Jefferies!” said Digby, coming in quickly; ‘‘so you are after Daly’s farm again. I tell you you need a lot more evi- dence to make matters clear to me. Now, it is close on luncheon time—you go and have some dinner—and I'll talk to you after.” He rang. Delany immediately ap- peared, and, receiving his master’s orders, jerked his thumb over his shoulder, croak- ing out: “This way, Mr. Jefferies.” This unexpected visit was a godsend to Capel, for at luncheon Mr. Digby excused himself from joining the guest and daugh- ter in the afternoon ride. “I'll have to look into this fellow's claims on one of the farms close by He seems to think that as ‘e will you be put- ed duties.” | ani! | Hope, th | the & magistrate I can do something for him. He claims to be the grandson of the elder brother of the present owner, who left this country for his country’s good fifty years “Pray do not mention it. If Miss Digby will be my guide—” - “You'll excuse her father,” put in Digby, good naturedly. Capel thought he had never seen Grace look more charming than when she reap- peared-“‘en amason,” her graceful, supple figure displayed in the close-fitting habit. Capel’s heart beat high. The spirit of the spring—that time of love and renewed life—poured its magic through his being. “This is a day I shall never forget!’ he broke out, after a silence of some dura- tion; “and yet it may be a fatal one to me. “How so, Col. Capel? Do not be down- hearted.” “As you tell me that, I accept it for a ood omen.”” “If wishing you well can cess you will have it—only. “Only what?” “I do not want you to catch poor Val Costello.” “But, Miss Digby, an unreasoning man of his kind, who leads the ignorant and mis- guided to bloodshed and misery, deserves to be punished. It is want of thought, of conscientiousness, that makes your country what It is.” “Well, God knows it is miserable enough. I feel mor? unhe than you can imegine, and what can J do “Leave it,” said Capel, “Your heart is too tender to endure the sight of wretchediness you cannot relieve.” “And yet I can at times forget there is such a thing as sorrow in the world, and feel as if life w 1} song and laughter. Today I am rathe though mad- ame is better (she Limped about her room wonderfully well today). I hope she will come down stairs the day after tomor- row." “I hope she will, if you desire it. bring you suc- emphatically, She ought to be well after the kind care of such a nurse."” 4 These words brought them to the chief entrance of Athgarvan, ar in front of them man ed on a stout, The rider drew up d was speak- ing to the lodge keeper when Capel pressed his horse into the center and up be- side him. a(ches for Col. Capel?” he asked. § said the man, saluting and hick letter from a pouch at his tore it open, a la at By t ad come 1 they descried uniform mount- up. “Nothing wrong, I hope!" she exclaimed. s. I am summo: who is ill, I mus “For me, predeces tomorrow.’ 1 to see my leave you “I am indeed sorry,” she said. But pel, who was in deep thought, did not m to hear her. How far have you come today?" ked of the trooper, who looked hot tired. “From Cork, lady. “What, all that wa she and ! Follow us into the house and you shill have some food—you mu. need it.” “Thank you,” said Capel, rousing bim- “I dare say he needs both food and rode or and as soon as the old bu -e told him to look aft ae at ode ‘The ar brary was untenanted when Grace Tr entered it. her caval 1 will leave she said; “but fir which you it ill, of course, reject un- s Dighy, and after, will It struck me that as uresne has heard that th orvette thal takes the yatches to Bristol, is in Cor now, it would be very kind of to give her a seat in your chaise. could set ner down at Sille. Delp who would let Coinmander quaintance of and he v om is all h the gre eager to cod care | 1 dit H Her Ww Cape! take for any one in his innings. “Is r; indeed, do all T hom you take an inte Now, p hear me [ must speak the | word ave been at my lips a dozen times. You must know, you must feel, that I love you with all my soul, with all my } strength! I do not know if I have the faintest Chance of success with you. I can not tell if you will think me presumptuous, But—I hardiy ¢ the possibility of your ‘no.’ Life you seems to me | unbearal | “Ah, Col. € ggerate your own impressi Grace, in low tones, flushing growing white. thought you liked us all, but not like this. Indeed, I fear Iam not suited to ye are things in me that you would I—ah—do not ask me to marry you. rot. Indeed, I tears. pu ha attachment, or e: ment, pel, walking to and “Forgive me if Iam rude, but I am ut unhinged. I should not question you. I-Grace, do not weep. or if-you do let it in my arm: and he her to him. le some infernal mystery un me, my darling, my life is yours.” said Capel, “You are too good, ing gently from him, ‘and I am very fool- she returned, draw- ish. 1 do not want to love an: seems to make people miserable. 0, no, love, if reciprocated, must be heaven. ‘Grace, will you always reject Grace hesitated, clasped and un- clasped ker hands, looking divinely sweet, and slightly mischievous. if you care to give me time, and take time yourself, ask if I have made up my mind when—oh—when you have deposited Mme. de Suresne with her compatriot in Cork.” “I breathe again. A thousand thanks, my love, my queen. I will dare to hope.” “But not too much. I scarce dare to hope myself,” exclaimed Grace, and gathering up her habit she fled swiftly away. PART Iv. It was a fresh, bright morning when the party reassembled at breakfast next day. Though on the point of leaving what was to him an earthly paradise, Capel felt joy- ous—almost exuliant. In spite of her am- biguous speech he thought Grace had be- trayed a certain degree of liking for him which he hoped to transform into a ten- Gerer, deeper feeiing by the force of his own passionate devotion, and “he dreamed of bright days to come.” It seemed, too, that every one was sorry to part with him. The usually radiant countenance of his host was graver than Capel had seen it before. Grace was very pale and quiet, though when her eyes met those of her lover, a soft color rose in her cheeks and faded away. Elien O'Grady tried to laugh and talk as usual, but her eyes told a tale of weeping and sleeplessness, “I am so glad it is fine and dry,” she exclaimed. “Mme. de Suresne has such a bad cold; she has quite lost her v “Yes, faith,” put in Mr. Digby, as hoarse as a raven last night. She'll be all right, however, when she’s safe on board her majesty’s ship Calliope, but we are all in the doleful dumps this morning. Begad, colonel, we'll miss you terribly. You must come over as often as you can spare time from hunting the rebels, and restoring peace by dint of licking them,” “I only hope you may not find me too frequent a visitor.” “Ah, not I! or the darlings here, I'll promise you.” “Yes, colonel, dear, you'll come back soon,” said Nelly, caressingly; “and now T'll go and see that madame cats a good breakfast. 1t will be quite a fatiguing day for her.” “Grace, my heart,” said Digby, ‘make sure that they put up a luncheon basket with a bottle of port; yellow seal, mind.” “And, Col, Capel, you will see our dear one. Love z friend safe into mademoiselle’s house, 72 Domenic street. All the post boys know ft,” said Grace; and she also rose to assist her cousin in last attentions to their invalid guest. “I wonder what ails that little O'Grady girl,” thought Capel. “She is not sorrow- ing over my departure; she has anything but a fancy for me. An hour later 1 chaise and pair was at the door, and “all hands,” that is, all the masculine hands in the house, seemed busy about it, strapping on the luggage, put- ting in the wraps, looking to the wheels and talking to the post-boy. “What a qu2er, thoughtless, fun-loving lot they are. Why, none of them ever served me at meal without a broad grin on their faces,” thought Cepel, as he stood on the doorstep looking at the group. But Mme. de Suresne now appeared, limp- ing, a stick in one hand, and the other resting on Digby's arm. She was carefully wrapped up in a large cloak of velvet, a huge bonnet, over which an extensive black lace veil was tied under her chin, and black kid gloves, with long empty fin- ger ends. She made Capel a courtesy in spite of her injured ankle, and thanked him hoarsely for his kindness in taking charge of a tiresome old woman. Then with much care she was assisted into the chaise. “They do say the boys has been having a bit of a scrimmage there by Murrogh- more Pass," said the butler; “but sure you'll g2t through in the height of daylight and if they meddle with you the colonel st say he comes from Athgarvan.” “I can tell them that. Did I not use the ongue in the old times when % the dear lady who is gone, in her charities,” said madame. ‘Come, M. le colonel, let us be going.” Capel ook leave, therefore, kissing the ung Jady*s hands. He thrilled at the ook that came into Grace's eyes 1s they met his—they were infinitely sad, wistful and loving; yes, absolutely loving. With this detightful impression he sprang into the chaise, the post-boy cracked his whip, the aSsembled men servants gave a cheer, throvgh which came a sound of laughter, and they were off at a good pace down the avenue, Capei, in a state of considerable exulta- tion, skewed his comparion cvery possible attention. He rolled up his cloak to put under her feet. drew up one window and let down another, and was most tender in his inquiries as to her comfort. Her arswers were brief, but it was evidently an effort to her to speak. Presentiy she eemed to sleep, and Capel cheerfully re- signed himself to silence and casile build- ing. Two hours had nearly passed whe old lady stirred and roused herself, was immedi. Capel ely on the alert and adminis- tered sandwiches and wine, but madame did not seem any than befcre. it might more inclined to talk have been half an hour later when the road entered a narrow. v or gorge, with ste=p, rocky sides, and Capel observed that the post boy whipped up the hotses. They were tired, for it was toward the end of a long and hiliy stage. As they rea the middel of the pass a sound of voices, cries, laughter reached Capel’s ears, and turning a ben: of the road they came in sight of a wi looking crowd of ragamutfins, some armed with pikes and some with pitchforks and pistols. “This ts aw cried Capel, “but ay do not larmed. I'll speak vo n and they will probably dispersi The men crowded around the carriage, hooting, yelling and evidently bent on Vio- lence “Why do we stop you!” screamed a red- headed giant of a countryman, in reply to Capel’s question, “be yeu to be hounding on uderers to win the 1 h You're twice as bit the ould brigadie “Stop!” cried Mme. Suresne, laying her hond on his arm. “Let me speak. She t her head out of the window with some and of Costello's ran enemy as cried the red-headed leader, derisively, and added some words in an_unknow tongue—un- n at least to Capel. Whereupon the addre: the crowd, apy nguage, and produced rst eyes and mouths i attention was given words. Presently applause began, asies of laughter, exclamations shouts cf evident delight followed. dame drew in her head. “Tell rive on while the boys are in good she said. The ‘command, however, was needless. The posulion used his spurs, the horses broke into a gallop, and for some yards a ering, laughing, uprearious following t pace with the chaise. They soon ailed off, however, and Capel laughingly complimented madame on her fluency in irish. “You must have a wonderful mem- he concluded. ‘Ah, you see, | have been staying with Mme. la Comtess—Lady Masserene. They tive ina very remote wild country where they all speak Irish, so it all came ba to him to humo: did they “Voyez vous? They are Costello’s boys. They thought you had put a price on his head, and I think they wanted to murder you. I said you were a friend of Shaun Digby, and told them a funny story. They want to stop us? are mere children, “Very unp nt children. Anyhow, adame, I owe you my life.” Madame made a little grimace. “Could I ever have faced my sweet pupil had I let_a hair of your hair be hurt?” she »o not false hopes to me, vel. “It is cruel Ah, mon dieu, how tired I am!” said and relapsed into silence and sleep. No further interruption oc- red till they reached the first of a series of outposts on a line at some distance from the tuwn. Here the chaise was stopped by a sentry, who demanded the password end looked scrutinizingly into the carriage. “Who is the offic in command?” asked Capel, in a tone of anihority. “Lieut. Merrick,” replied the sentry. “I wish to speak with him.” The sentry called out the guard, end soon a bright-looking young officer came up. He shook hands ccrdially with Capel. “Delighted you have come. We are at sixes and sevens—poor old Elton fs not up to his work. You've been staying at Ath- garvan? Ah—a delightful place. Have you *s grandmother? Eh, what, s old French governess? A is not the rose, but has dwelt with her. Pray present me. This acomplished and some compliments exchanged, Merrick and Capel spoke apart. “Nothing wrong, I hope?” claimed. “Seems rather ike a mummy with a cold,” said the former. “By the way, the people seemed ‘n a dis- turbed state ir a place called the Pass of Murroghmore,” said Capel. “They tried to stop us, but we maraged to get through. Come and dine with me tonight at the Harp and Crown. I must deposit my French friend at her destination. I fancy she ha: had enough, so I'll not delay any longer. ‘Afraid I carnot have the pleasure of dining with you today, but tomorrow I shall call. I, suppose you will enter on your command the day after?" They parted cordially, Merrick walking with Capel beside the carriage till past the sentries. ~ Less than an hour after they stopped at the door of the renowned French milliner, and madame took quite an effusive farewell of her kind escort. “I shall call and see how you are tomor- row,” said Capel. “Pray do! I'll send a line to that dear child, Grace, this evening and tell her what a delightful compagnon de voyage you are —what a companion for life you would make.” she ex- PART V. Laughing, yet pleased at the compliment, Capel drove away to his hotel, whence, af- ter making his toilet, he went to call upon the Invalid brigadier. Still in a happy mood, he went carly to inquire for Mme. de Suresne next day, and was graciously received by the accomplish- ed madeinoiselle. “Mme. de Suresne. Ah, yes; she had spoken of monsieur, but a messenger warn- ed her that the vessel was ready to sail = a at the turn cf the tide last night, so she hastened to depart, and must be nearly across the channel by this time. “That is very extraordinary!” exclaimed Capel. “Why, she was dead beat when she arrived. I am surprised that I was not informed of the Calliope’s movements. I should certainly have sent a dispatch by er.” “Did the commander know that monsieur was coming?’ asked mademoiselle. “Well, perhaps not,” returned Capel, rous- ing himseif from a puzzied frame of mind. “Did madame send any letters to Athgar- van?" “Yes, of course. The postillion celled early this morning, soon after daybreak, for a short billet which dame left for him to take back.” “Then I trust madame will have a pleas- ant voyage, and I need trespass no longer on your time.” Mademoiselle led him to the door with impressive civility, and Capel made his way to the quarters of the man he was to supersede. After a long interview state of affairs in the dist plained to him, he took his way on foot to bis hotel. Turning the corner of a street he found himself face to face with a young man in naval uniform. Hallo, Poyntz!” he exclaimed, ing a distant cousin. here?” “Oh, Col. Capel! Very glad to see you! I am first ‘luff’ of the tHope.”” Didn't the Calliope sail last night?” certainly not, I am going on board in which ¢ ict was fully ex- recogniz- “What brings you now. Capel felt profound surp: ersiness. ise and some un- “Capt. Seton is your commander, es; do you know htm?” . but I should like to see and speak with him.” “He is ashore today, and dines at the Harp and Crown, as there is a dig pall on. my hotel." returned Capel. “I ask for an interview.” He is a very good fellow, a little rough and ready.” “Come and dine with me Poyntz; I'l not delay you So, getting handsoi officer, Capel proceeded to his hotel, established himself in the coffee 7 watch the coming of Capt. Seton. Th: ner hour was much earlier in those 80 before long Seton came in. A fe and several bows introduced the to e other, and the naval officer ed Capel’s courteous invitation to dinner. It was half over, when the host star-ed the topic of the disaffected state of the coun*ry, and expressed his annoyance at having to hunt down a young fellow like Costello. “Oh, you'll get over all that after a few weeks in this queer country. As to Cos- tello, I heard odd stories at junch today. at a house away near the cove. The gentlo- men had een out fishing, sea fishing, this morning, and one of their boatmen sald ho had had a queer job the night before. I and another had been engaged by strange man to row an old lady out to a little bay not far beyond the harbor. This old lady was very finely dressed, and had a veil tied round her head and face. they found a strange ship lying at anc and when they were aiongside, ihe lady caught hold of a rope and climbed board in a jiffy, like a regular sailpr, shows ing some masculine undergarments as she did so, and a sturdy pair of legs. Then the anchor was lifted, the ship swung round to the tide, and was off with a fair breeze. We sent for the young boatman, and I cross-examined him a bit. He could not make out the nationality of the man who hired the boat—he was not Irish nor Erglish. He was small and dark and rather grim. I think it must have been that spy Jefferies, It seems he has not been scen about anywhere for s a we'll never see Cost w this Jefferies, once,” said Cap, feeling stunned. “He ‘then ‘said Ce was hiding in Glengarriff. ‘I don't believe he ever told any one the truth, but I do know that a strange ship has been seen dodging about the coast, and I believe they have taken Costello off in disguise.” Capel was struck dumb. The whole plot flashed clear before his mind, and he be mute. If he confessed how he had been, it would expose t to the anger of the ruling pow acting a traitor’s part. But he was deeply wourded and mortally offended. To be made a laughing stock by the woman he loved so fondly! It was unbearable. He could hardly command himself to carry on the conversation and.when alone he seized pen and paper, and wrote a stern, angry letter, which in due time produced the fol- lowing reply: “I have deserved all you say. I have ée- ceived and betrayed you. You are cight to say you will never see my face again. I ean only urge that I did this to save a young life full of promise, which is most precious to my more than sister, Ellen O'Grady. Moreover, Val is completely c ed of his mistaken enthusiasm. Do not think all the suffering yours. You are wounded, insulted, disappointed, but you do not feel what I do, the gnawing sting of remorse. Yet, Col. Capel, could I have done less for my old playfellow, for Elle cousin? God bless and keep you. We can never meet again. GRACE DIGBY Over and over did Capel read this bricf epistle. and each time he felt his indigna- tion fading away. He knew exactly how her voice would sound if she had sp the words, Across all the cares of hi command, all his efforts at improvement and reorganization, he caught her voice; and saw the last look he had caught from her lovely ey er,” he said, to his soldier servant, one evenirg at dinner, “go round to Fo- . order a chaise and four for sherp tomorrow morning. I want to see Mr. Digby and return at night. I'll be back to 10 o'clock supper.” “AN right, sir. Capel wrote out some instructions and addressed them to the next in command. Then he went to bed and tried to sleep, in vain. The next dey was wet and thunderous. Unable to go out, Grace and her cousi were sitting listlessly in a sort of recess at the end of the big drawing room, from which it was divided urtains. ‘These the girls often drew across the wide space tomorrow, now.” nely rid of the young end om to accept- must to take off from the desolate size of the room. “You know you have my everlasting gratitude, Grac (Hen O'Grady was speaking.) for I could not taken; but I w “You have saved Val and me, have lived had he been h we had not brought you bad luck. Do not give up hope, my dear, gererous cousin. Do not regret what you have done. “No,” said Grace, slowly and very dis- tinctly. “I do not, though the cost of Val's head has been my broken heart,” and cov- ering her face with her hands, low sobs broke from her. The curtains were pushed aside, and to their amazement Capel carne quickly to her side. eak, my love, my darling,” : harsh and bit but I find that Ife without you is intolerable. If you can love me, I will forgive everything. Give me your heart, give me yourself, ut- terly, and forever.” He drew her to him in a passionate embrace, and as she whis- pered: “But I do. I have tried not to love you, and I cannot help it,” his lips caught hers and clurg there unrebuked. In the in- tense sweetness of this first kiss all in- dignation and bitterness were swept away forever. Ellen O'Grady had slipped from the room at once, and going to the library encounter- ed her uncle coming into the hall at a rapid pace. “They tell me Col. Capel_has arrived. Where is he?” exclaimed Mr. Digby in some excitement. “Don’t be in a hurry,uncle! I rather think Profound Attention Was Given to Her Words. he and Grace are settling that you shall see a good deal of each other in future!” “Nelly, my heart! You don't say so?” (The end.) — Left Out in the Cold. From Ta Famille. “Jacques, how is it you never bring any geod marks tome from school?” “Oh! papa, there are such a lot of us that when my turn comes there are none left.”